work_25ivph6guvdtxi4jly5qjxutdy	----	Melissa Dearey: 'Betty Friedan 'Betty Friedan: a Tribute' by Melissa Dearey University of York Sociological Research Online, Volume 11, Issue 3, <http://www.socresonline.org.uk/11/3/dearey.html>. Received: 17 Feb 2006 Accepted: 9 Aug 2006 Published: 30 Sep 2006 Introduction 1.1 For some commentators, it would seem that the occasion of Betty Friedan’s death earlier this year provides an ideal opportunity for remembering her infamous pugnacity and reigniting old debates over who rightfully holds the title of “founder” of the Women’s Movement. Certainly, as Friedan herself admitted in her memoir Life So Far (2000), she could be a difficult person to get along with, to put it mildly. And while she was justifiably proud of her contributions to the Women’s Movement, she was always deeply unhappy with the title of “mother” of the Women’s Movement with which she was designated from early on, often doing her best to distance herself from this dubious role. The long-standing tendency among some of her generation to downplay her overall influence by, for example, emphasising her nature as a bully particularly toward her women colleagues, her defence of the family, her concern for the rights of men (as well as women) and appeal for the inauguration of the feminist “second stage” by calling for the end of feminism as it had hitherto been conceived (e.g. by Germaine Greer (2006), Camille Paglia (2006), and Judith Hennessee (1990)). This contrasts quite starkly with what has been recognised as the inherent radicalism of her writings by feminists of latter generations (e.g. Susan Faludi (1993), Naomi Wolf (2006) and Natasha Walter (2006)). This leads us to wonder precisely what the nature of her contribution to feminism and contemporary cultural life in general is, and also to ponder how the eulogising process within the feminist community takes shape. Is niceness the mark of a feminist leader/icon, or the extent of her radicalism? How are we to critically evaluate the contribution of such a woman to a presumably unitary historical movement of such characteristic diversity? 1.2 Such arguments over founder status and personality have always functioned as distractions for those who might wish to detract from the contribution of certain individuals to any movement, serving at least to obscure or at least quell debate on other more pertinent issues. While it is true that no single person can claim to be the founder of contemporary feminism or the Women’s Movement, neither should personality nor politics be a bar to the feminist pantheon. But how are we to assess the value to society at large of a life and body of work? I suggest that such disagreements and controversies over the person of Betty Friedan and the impact of The Feminine Mystique and her other writings are founded on a fundamental misunderstanding of the complex interrelationship of her life with her work. If we resist the temptation to view Friedan as a bully, reactionary or turncoat, and The Feminine Mystique in particular as what it was purported to be—a social scientific study of the state of feminism in post-war America—we get a very different picture of her seminal and ongoing contribution to contemporary feminism. If we rather read her life and the lives of the women she encountered as told through The Feminine Mystique as a groundbreaking and eponymous work of collective and individual women’s life writing, its meaning and importance in the feminist canon become much clearer and less the object of self-righteous indignation on the part of her unimpressed colleagues. As the younger generation of feminist like Natasha Walter and Susan Faludi point out, the significance of Friedan’s work is born out by the fact that, on re-reading The Feminine Mystique, it seems that little has actually changed. 1.3 On this reading, The Feminine Mystique (1963) comprises a challenging and original amalgamation of the symbolic representations of women’s life narratives in post-War American society. As an ostensibly social scientific study based substantially on auto/biographical data, The Feminine Mystique has from the beginning caused not just uproar and controversy, but additionally a number of reflexive problems particularly for feminist readers. As a work of social science, it is severely hampered by Friedan’s application of a collection social psychological approaches popular in the 1950s to interpret the experiences and lives of the women she interviewed, especially in view of the fact that these theories lacked any substantial concept of gender and hence was seriously flawed in terms of any critical potential in dissecting the social composition of the “woman question” as this was understood at the time. http://www.socresonline.org.uk/11/3/dearey.html 1 21/02/2012 http://www.socresonline.org.uk/11/3/dearey/dearey.html 1.4 But The Feminine Mystique is much more than its structure as a scientific study might indicate. As a work of women’s life writing, its residual meaning as a canonical feminist text is less easily dismissed. Like other auto/biographical texts of its type, The Feminine Mystique uses innovative practices of life writing to initiate widespread cultural and epistemological change in a way that is observable in similar texts from the beginning of the modern period (Descartes’ Discourse on Method being another case in point). As with these other seminal texts, the complex and contradictory representations of the individual lives within these works is probably best understood as auto/biography, that is to say, as a kind of fabular narrative of women’s reality and developing consciousness, as distinct from objective representations whose authenticity value rests on factors such as factual verification. As such, such writings don’t so much record the empirical details of the personal history, nor do they represent “fictional” stories about the epic lives of the people concerned in the mode of entertainment. Rather than conforming to our ideas of historical or literary discourses, auto/biographies (at least of this type) perform a decidedly sociological function. This is observable in the stylised, to use Stephen Gaukroger’s (1995) term, portrayal of the life narrative in these texts, and its rhetorical function in persuading readers of the necessity for widespread social change. In addition, part of the function of these auto/biographies is to recall from memory some of the dominant attitudes of the past which are, upon reflection for their audiences, no longer the “natural” and accepted phenomena of social life they appeared to be prior to the appearance of these texts. 1.5 Hence the prominence within many obituaries of Friedan of her overall contribution in the form of a destroyer of myths about femininity in general and women’s purported happiness in domesticity (e.g. Solnit, 2006; Pollitt, 2006). In the case of The Feminine Mystique, this entailed the recording of dominant social attitudes toward women at the time as recorded, for example, in women’s magazines and other forms of popular cultural opinion in light of what it actually felt like for these women to live in that kind of society. Some eulogists dismiss Friedan’s accomplishment of this through her reliance on “junk data” (Seligman, 2006: 44) or data which are as unfamiliar to contemporary women as the lives described in the novels of Jane Austen (Pollitt, 2006), but perhaps they miss the point. Friedan’s exploration of what were up to then the unarticulated stories of the widespread suffering and systematic destruction of American women via the conceit of the “problem with no name” made the process of articulating such stories possible on a vast scale. Through the exploration of the meanings, emotions and other interior experiences invested in the symbolic language used by the women Friedan interviewed and by Betty Friedan herself, she helped “bring to narrative”, in the phraseology of Paul Ricoeur, a new social reality. Though some of these stories might seem naïve or even unacceptable to many readers now (feminist or otherwise), their power and empowering qualities as significant moments in the transformation of many “ordinary” women’s private lives into the proper subject matter of politics is hugely important. 1.6 Having said this, there is no doubt that Betty Friedan’s considerable output of what can be regarded as auto/biographical writings—spanning the four decades from the publication of her first book The Feminine Mystique in 1963 to her autobiography Life So Far in 2000—continue to pose a number of problems for feminist and auto/biography scholars interested in keeping in step with current trends of thinking on either subject. For one thing, The Feminine Mystique (1963) would appear to epitomise the feminist “instrumental text”, being the first to be emblazoned with the epithet “This book changes lives”, a slogan that is virtually synonymous with second wave feminism and the emerging “Women’s Movement” of the 1960s and 1970s. 1.7 Though there are many feminist academics who have challenged what they consider to be the mythology of such instrumental texts (e.g. Wilson, 2001; Peel, 2002), there are plenty of reasons to suggest that The Feminine Mystique did change women’s lives, and on a massive scale—this book sold nearly 3 million copies in its first three years in print and was widely translated; subsequently, Betty Friedan became a household name, and not just in the United States. At public events, she was regularly approached by women who testified to the dramatic effect The Feminine Mystique had on their lives. But despite this phenomenal success, things have not been entirely rosy in the feminist garden, and a lot of the trouble is blamed on this book. At the time of its publication, Susan Brownmiller dismissed the whole phenomenon surrounding Friedan’s style of protest and The Feminine Mystique as “hopelessly bourgeois” (Brownmiller in Hennessee, 1998), while Elaine Showalter recalls how she and her fellow middle class academics felt at the time that Friedan “…seemed to have in mind women different from me” (Banner in Showalter, 2001: 269). A generation later, in her book Backlash (1991), Susan Faludi identifies The Feminine Mystique as a radical work of feminist thought, while Friedan’s biographer Judith Hennessee (1998) considers it to be a pre-emptive backlash against radical feminism of any hue. 1.8 Such ambiguity can be put down to the fact that The Feminine Mystique was and is a complex text, frequently contradictory in its ethical, political and theoretical interpretations of the lives of the women Friedan interviewed for the book, not least in its proposed solutions to the “woman question” reiterated as the “problem with no name”. Put in context, each of the above interpretations of The Feminine Mystique is justified: Friedan was in the main only concerned with white, middle-class “housewives”, so the whole enterprise was very bourgeois. At the same time, women who were in paid employment and who also genuinely enjoyed looking after their families and nice homes in the suburbs were the ones who Friedan claimed did not suffer from the “feminine mystique”—the myth of female fulfilment in a life of total domesticity—and it was these “working” wives and mothers who were the ones she offered up as exemplars of modern womanhood for the full-time “desperate housewife” to emulate, thus many feminist academics and other professional women would not have been Friedan’s targeted audience. The Feminine Mystique was radical insofar as it had in its sights full-scale social change concerning the social norms of being a woman, but reactionary in that it continued to define the role of “woman” as a classically feminine heterosexual/wife/mother for whom caring and domesticity within the ambit of family life are still the preferred vocational expectations (Oakley, 1974). It was consequently also reactionary in some of its treatment of the stories of women’s lives told to her in trust and anguish over the many gleaming coffee tables in those immaculate suburban livingrooms; in hindsight, it is perhaps unlikely that many of these women would have been so forthright with her had they known how some of them would be portrayed as in http://www.socresonline.org.uk/11/3/dearey.html 2 21/02/2012 the later chapters of The Feminine Mystique. But perhaps it is considered most reactionary in its resolute defense of the social institution of the family. 1.9 When we think of 1950s American society, the family does not immediately spring to mind as an institution which was under threat or particularly in need of defending. But this is precisely what Friedan detected in her sensitivity to the zeitgeist of post-war American society: the disintegration of the American female psyche she claimed to have experienced herself and witnessed in other women all around her in the suburbs of New York. To her, this was a critical situation which she was convinced would ultimately lead to the disintegration not just of the family, but of society as a whole as it was then known. For Friedan, the irony was that women’s lives were being systematically destroyed in the supposed interests of preserving family life. In response to this, The Feminine Mystique featured prominently in the emerging challenges to the hegemonic idea of a civil society during the 1960s, problematising the discursive construction of “woman” into what would eventually become a militant political identity, be she married with children and comfortably middle class. As auto/biography, The Feminine Mystique portrays certain iconic images of women that functioned as key mechanisms in these types of text to achieve the massive cultural changes in which they played a central part, particularly during the 1960s and 1970s. Such elemental textual tropes of womanhood articulated in The Feminine Mystique (e.g. the comfortable concentration camp survivor, the nagging harridan, the “desperate housewife” as sexual predator, the “have-it-all” working wives and mothers) deserve closer scrutiny and analysis, without necessarily being occluded by the temptation to proffer an evaluative opinion on Friedan’s personality or fundamental role as founder in place of this central task. What is of more interest to me as a feminist is how these images of women were told, how they worked in the broader cultural narratives of change operative at the time, and what they mean for us now as narrative representations of womanhood and femininity. The formulation of such questions itself justifies the contribution of Friedan’s writings to the continuing work of feminist research. 1.10 In addition, it is crucial to examine more closely the overall structure of this genre of life writing and how the symbols used worked within such a historically distinctive narrative of woman’s subjectivity. It is arguable that the foundationalism and functionalism against which Friedan railed so vociferously, far from forming the antithesis to her version of modern women’s auto/biography, arguably carried within them the seed of their own demise in the form of auto/biographical discourse (evocative of Foucault). Auto/biography as a classically male discursive form and autobiographical writing as a traditionally masculine pastime made possible by the unpaid work of women was and is essential to the functioning of these texts at the social level. As the cite of resistance to oppressive political systems of power and identity, such texts function as subjective frameworks within which to imagine other social possibilities and finally to persuade an adequate number of people of the need to inaugurate cultural change. While it is currently fashionable for many feminists and historians to pour scorn on such a liberal and pragmatic agenda developed by Friedan and communicated through such a conventional form of discourse, the radicalism of such a political agenda then and now has something to recommend it in view of the alternatives which after so much time seems in many respects to be simply more of the same. 1.11 The Feminine Mystique represents a challenging if disjointed composite of auto/biographical vignettes nested in other scientific theories (mostly in the form of social psychology), to promote a particular moral social institution (a conception of the family informed by American and Jewish cultural values) and also to initiate widespread social change through a stylised reconstruction of the life story. Then again, so too do the reactions of her contemporaries to the live(s) represented in this text meet with a similar combination of admiration, distain and disbelief (e.g. Faludi, 1991; Hennessee, 1999; Horowitz, 1998, respectively). These remarks are intended to indicate some of the similarities of structure, reception, and purpose of this type of sociological autobiography, to use Robert Merton’s (1988) designation, and its importance to the evolution of modern epistemological systems, moral institutions, and mechanisms for manageable (perhaps in its way radical, if certainly not anarchic) cultural change. In the pursuance of this objective, Friedan’s overwhelming reliance on the auto/biographical “I/we” to communicate the most important ideas of such commentators serves two rhetorical functions, indicating that these texts were fundamentally intended: (i) to gain widespread public acceptance for the theses contained within them and (ii) to promote the sense of identification with the reader by constructing a new secular use for the hitherto religious practice of meditation, where the reader is intended to “give months, or at least weeks…” to thinking about these matters “…before going further” (Descartes cited in Dauler Wilson, 1978: 5). It was the need to encourage women to consider these issues and then go further which Friedan always had in mind; despite what has been criticized as her personal need to remain the centre of attention, this objective should not be forgotten. 1.12 While this shift of attention may downplay the significance of Friedan’s rudeness to her peers, it doesn’t let her off the hook in terms of her debt to her subjects as portrayed biographically in The Feminine Mystique. Such problems emanating from the tendency to conflate scientific, literary and rhetorical discourse to the single category of language (auto/biographical or otherwise) in human scientific reasoning are especially apparent from the feminist and constructionist standpoints. In her book Gender and Agency: Reconfiguring the Subject in Feminist and Social Theory (2000), the political philosopher Lois McNay (2000) describes her deep concerns about how such accounts of the real, everyday life experiences of ordinary people are commonly used by social scientists to exploit the convergence of material with symbolic conceptions of corporeal identity, that is, the different types of stories about embodied experience that can be told and how these are subsequently understood in their specific theoretical contexts over time. McNay claims that the main problem with recent feminist work on such texts is that, following the linguistic or post-structuralist turn, it has gravitated toward a narrowly constructed symbolic conception of these experiences of embodiment. She concludes that this bias ironically favours the demands of abstraction, generality and theory construction at the expense of material social reality. In this sense, “ …difference is understood principally as instability within meaning systems and not, in more sociological terms, as the differentiated power relations constitutive of the social realm” (McNay, 2001: 14). Consequently the hegemony of the symbolic in such auto/biographical writing impoverishes the material http://www.socresonline.org.uk/11/3/dearey.html 3 21/02/2012 references to the public social world by emphasizing the private realm of individual and “interiorized” experience, thus denying or simply ignoring the “real” material nature of social oppression and exploitation. If true, this must be regarded as a devastating critique of symbolic language in auto/biography epitomized by Friedan. But, the question is, is this a fair criticism of auto/biography, given the consensus on its essentially rhetorical construction as merely a system of tropes (de Man, 1979)? Would the derogation of symbolic language in favour of more empirical or referential language in auto/biography really satisfy the feminist desire to expose and articulate in auto/biography real, material social oppression? Would a more scientifically reliable version of The Feminine Mystique have done more for women? 1.13 These are serious questions which lead us to briefly consider the topic of Friedan’s treatment of her auto/biographical subjects, and moreover of feminism’s continuing revision of the concepts of subjectivity and agency in the context of a feminist social theory and the construction of a feminist literary canon. This is especially important in view of feminism’s long-standing commitment to recover the marginalized experiences of women and other oppressed groups in the first instance in order to redress the inequalities underpinning these life narratives. If part of this remit is to proscribe the use of language/tropes in the auto/biographical text to serve the higher interests of feminist theory, then the problem of subjectivity, agency and language—the constituents of auto/biographical writing—become more urgent concerns. In view of what Christine Battersby (1998) has called the innately paradoxical nature of the female subject- position, within which the possibility and indeed desirability of a feminist metaphysics of identity comes into question. Though these are bigger issues, what is imperative in the present circumstances is the need not to give in to the temptation to obscure or paper over these uncomfortable and unpleasant contradictions in feminist writing, nor to discount them in light of lesser concerns such as personality or status. 1.14 Yet as Battersby (1998) and McNay (2000) contend, the notion of a female subjectivity is a possibility still worth exploring. The feminist turn to subjectivity—the classic domain of Cartesian foundationalism —reflects a renewed interest in the sociological concept of agency in view of the transformations to social and economic structures following widespread changes to the status of women over the last 40 years, thanks, in part, to books like The Feminine Mystique. The effects of these processes and the restructuring of gender relations in the everyday lives of women and men over this period may or may not have made the old patriarchal model of gender inequality based on male domination and female submission obsolete. As with Enlightenment thinking, this however does not mean that the aspects of gender restructuring are unambiguously positive or liberating for either women or men; on the contrary, McNay points out that the situation with regard to the structuring of autonomy and constraint for the individual in contemporary society have become extremely complicated and difficult to negotiate, “…emerging along generational, class and racial lines where structural divisions amongst women are as significant as divisions between men and women” (McNay, 2000: 1-2). Though there is no denying that these issues were among Friedan’s many blind spots, at the same time, such limitations should not detract from the significance of her contribution to women’s lives as the subject of personal politics or the legacy of women’s writing as the creative site of female subject representation. Nor should these considerations excuse commentators (feminist or otherwise) from their duty to evaluate the contribution of the figures of the past in a rigorously critical and impartial way which does not reify or reject the needs or practices of previous generations of women writers like Betty Friedan in light of contemporary values. References BATTERSBY, Christine (1998) The Phenomenal Woman: Feminist Metaphysics and the Patterns of Identity. Cambridge: Polity Press DAULER WILSON, Margaret (1978) Descartes. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul DE MAN, Paul (1979) Allegories of Reading: Figural Language in Rousseau, Nietzsche, Rilke, and Proust. New Haven and London: Yale University Press FALUDI, Susan (1991) Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women . New York: Crown FALUDI, Susan (1993) “Afterword”. In French, Marilyn (2005) The Women’s Room. London: Virago FRIEDAN, Betty [1963] (1992) The Feminine Mystique. Harmondsworth: Penguin FRIEDAN, Betty (2000) Life So Far. New York and London: Simon & Schuster GAUKROGER, Stephen (1995) Descartes: An Intellectual Biography . Oxford: Clarendon Press. GREER, Germaine (2006) “The Betty I Knew”. The Guardian. Tuesday, Februrary 7, 2006. HENNESSEE, Judith (1999) Betty Friedan: Her Life. New York: Random House MCNAY, Lois (2000) Gender and Agency: Reconfiguring the Subject in Feminist and Social Theory . Cambridge: Polity MERTON, Robert (1988) “Some Thoughts on the Concept of Sociological Autobiography” in Martha White Riley (ed) Sociological Lives. Newbury Park: Sage OAKLEY, Ann (1974) Housewife. New York: Penguin Books http://www.socresonline.org.uk/11/3/dearey.html 4 21/02/2012 PAGLIA, Camille (2006) ‘I felt like falling to my knees and thanking her ghost for all she did’: Feminist Writers Pay Tribute. The Guardian. Tuesday, Februrary 7, 2006. PEEL, Ellen (2002) Politics, Persuasion, and Pragmatism: A Rhetoric of Feminist Utopian Fiction . Columbus: The Ohio State University Press SELIGMAN, Dan (2006) “The Friedan Mystique”. Commentary. April 2006. SHOWALTER, Elaine (2001) Inventing Herself: Claiming a Feminist Intellectual Heritage. New York: Schribner SOLNIT, Rebecca (2006) “Three who made a revolution”. The Nation. April 3, 2006. WALTER, Natasha (2006) ‘I felt like falling to my knees and thanking her ghost for all she did’: Feminist Writers Pay Tribute. The Guardian. Tuesday, Februrary 7, 2006. WILSON, Anna (2001) Persuasive Fictions: Feminist Narrative and Critical Myth. Lewisburg and London: Bucknell University Presses WOLF, Naomi (2006) ‘I felt like falling to my knees and thanking her ghost for all she did’: Feminist Writers Pay Tribute. The Guardian. Tuesday, Februrary 7, 2006. http://www.socresonline.org.uk/11/3/dearey.html 5 21/02/2012 'Betty Friedan: a Tribute' Sociological Research Online, Volume 11, Issue 3, <http://www.socresonline.org.uk/11/3/dearey.html>. Introduction References 
work_27x3h6p3pvfjbbydjt2npnw5ka	----	Microsoft Word - MJSS vol 3 no 10 July 2012.doc ISSN 2039 9340 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (10) July 2012 293 Gender Differences in Language as Affected by Social Roles Eglantina Hysi “Aleksandër Moisiu” University, Albania. Email: eglantinah@hotmail.it Abstract: Variations in language, besides other factors, seem to be direct and significant products of gender variable. The division of society into men and women, both being different and complex, is reflected in various forms in language which is the most important means of communication among them. The article will focus on variations related to gender of speakers. It will reveal differences that are found in the language of women and men, and will link these differences with the social roles that are assigned to them in Albanian society (and other countries) as well as with the socio-cultural environment where they live. Hence we will present gender-related pecularities that give insight into the position of women and their status. It appears that rules laid upon them have made their language more hesitant, indirect and euphemistic. However, their speech inevitably reveals their expressive and emotional nature especially while relating to their children. Keywords: women’s language, social role, division of labour, euphemism, silence. 1. Introduction The last several decades have witnessed an increase in research on the nature and existence of differences between men and women. One particularly popular question has been the extent to which men and women use language differently. This popularity stems, in part, from the fact that language is an inherently social phenomenon and can provide insight into how men and women approach their social worlds (Newman et al. 2008).This whole body of research also accounts for the lack of agreement over the best way to analyze language. Coates and Johnson (2001) pointed out that the study of language provides a uniquely “social” perspective on the study of gender differences. Given that our understanding of other human beings is heavily dependent on language, the average differences in communication style that we report are likely to play a central role in the maintenance of gender stereotypes and may perpetuate the perception of a “kernel of truth” that underlies those stereotypes. In this research we have chosen to examine gender differences in language use under the perspective of social roles. Social role theory was introduced by social psychologist Alice Eagly in 1987. It suggests that the sexual division of labor and societal expectations based on stereotypes produce gender roles. As such, women and men behave in gender-typed ways because the social roles that they perform are associated with different expectations and require different skills. For example, because women are caregivers for children more often than are men, they more frequently exhibit traditionally feminine behaviors such as nurturance and a concern over personal relationships. Whereas men are more likely to be perceived as aggressive and competitive and have traditionally been viewed as financial providers. The gendered division of labor in society relies heavily on the allocation of women’s function to the domestic, or private, realm and men’s to the public realm. It is a well-known fact that women worldwide have had since at the beginning of society organization a secondary status and as Trudgill puts it language simply reflects this social fact. The paper will focus on linguistic variations related to the gender of the speaker. It will reveal differences found in the speech of women and men in areas such as lexicon and will relate these differences to the social roles assigned to men and women in Albanian culture and beyond. ISSN 2039 9340 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (10) July 2012 294 2. Division of labour It is only relatively recently that sociolinguists have returned their attention to gender. Coates (2004) explains that one of the reasons is linked with changes in the position of women in contemporary society.In traditional dialectology, the informants selected were typically non-mobile, older, rural and male (Chambers and Trudgill 1980:33). It was only in the late 1980s that studies appeared which concentrated on female speakers (Bate and Tylor 1988, Coates and Cameron 1989). Until relatively recently, men were automatically seen as the heart of society, with women being peripheral or even invisible (Coates 2004:5). The pioneering book Language and Woman’s Place of Robin Lakoff was the first influential account of women's language. We think that the publication of this book in 1975 was not coincidental given the fact that in the 1970s women continued to challenge traditional gender roles that confined them to work as child bearers and housewives, or kept them in routine, low-status positions. Lakoff (1973, 1975) strongly endorsed the idea that language reflected women's secondary status in society. In Albania we must say that the first scholars to carry out research in this area are Eqerem Çabej and Gjovalin Shkurtaj. Academic Çabej, since at the beginning of his studies in the years 1940s of the twentieth century, first spoke of a "women's language" in the framework of euphemisms since women’s language has been considered as hesitant. Following him, but widening the focus of study, linguist Shkurtaj has devoted special attention to gender as a sociolinguistic variable in his books "Sociolinguistics" and "Ethnography of Speaking", bringing into view ethnolinguistic features of women’s language in Albania. In an effort to understand and to trace differences in gender discourse, it is necessary to shed light on the factors that lead to a language stratification, such as mentality, traditions, but also the differen temperament and character of women and men.Members of all societies judge both sexes on the basis of these oppositions: men are strong, women are weak; men are aggressive, women are passive, men are reserved, women are emotional, men are rational, women are irrational, men are direct, women are indirect, men are competitive, women are cooperative. Many may object to these as actual descriptions, or as ideals to be aimed, but we all agree that these are part of the general image we have for me and women.These traditional oppositions of both sexes are closely linked with social division of labor, and, as we shall see below, this is not simply a division of physical and mental labor, but of emotional labor as well. Given that some activities require a greater strength and have a higher prestige, division of labor can be a division of values as well: accross societies it is closely related to power and status. So, men, being physically stronger, have taken on jobs that require more physical strength, or have a greater social impact, through the disposition of goods and services. While the traditional position of women is seen at home and away from the public domain. Such a division of labour cannot but result in a social division of speaking, ways of expression, a greater frequency of certain words. As aforementioned, there is an emotional division of labour between men and women. No matter where they are, women are expected more than men to remember birthdays, to heal the wounds of children, to offer intimate understanding. On the contrary, men tend to judge, to advise or provide solutions to mechanical problems. Women care for the needs of others, as a result in their lexicon there are words and expressions associated with house and its furniture, especially with cleaning and laundry, feeding, caring for children, cooking utensils and etc. Everything is included in the folk Albanian saying ‘women’s work and women’s words’ (Shkurtaj:1999). Women, as bearers of children, are assigned not only to delivering them, but to raising and nurturing them, processes of which have made their language more empathetic. In literature as we know, it is talked about a difference of women’s language, especially in terms of frequency of words with diminutive suffixes showing affection (Shkurtaj: 2004). Thus, part of their speech are expressions such as in Albanian: hënëz e mamit, yllka e motrës, doçkat e tua. Parents in Englishspeaking countries too use more diminutives ( kitty, dogie) when speaking to girls than to boys ( as quoted in Eckert 2003:16) and they use more inner state ISSN 2039 9340 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (10) July 2012 295 words (happy, sad) again when speaking to girls. Expressions of women closer to emotions of everyday life can also be found in Albanian: Drita e syrit! Drita e shtëpisë! Ylli i motrës!. Benevolent swearing (cursing followed by a compliment), is another feature of their language: Të hëngërt mortja, sa e mirë je bërë! Të marrtë e mira të marrtë sa e bukur dukesh!. That shyness that women show while approaching their children is also found in communication with others where they use tropes: i jap gjoks fëmijës, e ushqej, i jap të pijë, qan fëmija për gji. . To pamper their children, women usually use spoling and pampering words by dropping the last syllable at the end of the word (apocope): ma (for mami), ba (for babi), no (for nënë), xha (for xhaxhi), xhi, teto (for uncle’s wife on their fathers’ side), gege, dajkë (referring to uncle’s wife on their mother’s side). Observing the communication of children we find that it is achieved by the childlike model utterances (Baby talk). Baby talk is characterized among other things, by the shortening of syllables and sounds at the beginning of words, a phoentic phenomenon known as aphaeresis. This way of communication is facilitated by women to ease pronunciation, because young children find it difficult to articulate vibrant consonants and elongated words. Thus, wanting to identify with the language of children, in mothers' vocabulary we may find variants such as: piti i mamit (instead of shpirti), eja te mushi (abbreviation of Mamush), lola logël (dora e vogël). Such features would sound weird in men's language, because wanting to maintain "the authority" of the man; they do not caress their children and are not involved in the process of feeding and raising them. It is special elements as such that build communication with the child and mother, which make the language of women significantly different from that of men, in an important aspect of language such as vocabulary. 3. Assertiveness-The Power of Expression Relative status that is assigned to men and women in society has affected the strength expressed through language, as the most important means of communicating ideas and opinions. And it is women who are faced with an old tradition, in which her social role has been reduced.Restrictive mentality has dictated them where, when, how and with whom they can speak. In an effort to achieve more freedom of expression, women seem to have searched for linguistic devices that give them more power and better support their opinions. In his chapter dedicated to women in the book entitled Language: It’s Nature, Development and Origin (1922), Jespersen found that women widely used adverbs. He argues that this is a distinctive trait: the fondness of women for hyperbole will very often lead the fashion with regard to adverbs of intensity, and these are very often with disregard of their proper meaning (Jespersen 1922:250). Other linguists as well have criticized this feature of women’s language; they consider it as an artificial tool by which women aimed to express their power of thinking.The excessive use of adverbial forms is gently mocked by Jane Austen in Nothanger Abbey (1813), in the speech of Isabella Thorpe. “My attachments are always excessively strong.” “I must confess there is something amazingly insipid about her.” “I am so vexed with all the men for not admiring her!- I scold them all amazingly about it.” (as cited by Coates 2004:11). The use of adverbial forms of this kind was a fashion at this time, and was associated with women’s speech. The little adverb so in conjunction with an adjective is more frequent in women’s than in men’s language, as noticed by both Jespersen and Lakoff. However, they provide different explanations for this gendered- preferential usage. ‘Women-explains Jespersen-much more often than men break off without finishing their sentences, because they start talking without having thought out what they are going to say’ (1922:250). ISSN 2039 9340 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (10) July 2012 296 Referring to so Lakoff draws a distinction between these to sentences: I like him very much and I like him so much. To say the former would be to show you feelings quite openly to a great extent. Whereas it is safer to use the latter for it weasels on that intensity.That is because, according to Lakoff, women are not to disclose strong emotions, or to make strong assertions. It appears that men do not face such problems. In conflict situations, for example, when they want to express their physical strength they accompany it quite often with verbal violence. It is namely men who tend to use ‘vulgar language’. And we would like to focus a little bit on this subject, because the belief that women’s language is more polite, more refined-in a word, more lady like-is very widespread and has been current for many years (Coates 2004:13). Presumably there have always been taboos on language, but it looks as if the courtly tradition of the Middle Ages, which put women on a pedestal, strengthened linguistic taboos in general, and also condemned the use of vulgar language by women, and its use by men in front of women. The belief that women are limited in the use of vulgar language is still widely held. Lakoff made the following obsevation: a. Oh dear, you’ve put the peanut butter in the refrigerator again. b. Shit, you’ve put the peanut butter in the refrigerator again. Lakoff (1975:10) comments that it is safe to predict that people would classify the first sentence as part of ‘women’s language’, the second as ‘men’s language’. Jespersen with regard to swearing says: ‘There are great differences with regard to swearing between different nation; but I think that in those countries and in those circles in which swearing is common it is found much more extensively among men than among women: this is at any rate true in Denmark’(1922:246). Avoidance of swearing and of ‘coarse’ words is held up to female speakers as the ideal to be aimed (as is silence, as we shall see below). If a female speaker talked rough she would be scoulded, and an instant critical reaction would follow: ‘Hey, but you’re a woman!’. It is also clear that, as Maltz&Broker (1982) outline, the socialization process through which boys and girl proceed is different. Girls learn to be accomodating, compliant, and polite, while a greater degree of assertiveness, competitiveness and agressive linguistic behaviour is tolerated from boys. As the result women’s speech is filled with hesitations, euphemisms; women deliberatly avoid vulgar language. Because of their social role women tend to be polite and socially correct in behavior; they are more likely than men to be reserved and elegant in their linguistic behavoiur. As Lakoff puts it: ‘Women don’t use off-color or indelicate expressions, women are the experts at euphemisms’(1975: 55). Albanian scholar Cabej held the same view. In clearly difining euphemisms he stresses their social aspect; one of the motives that leads to the use of euphemisms is fear for not wanting to hurt somebody’s feelings and shame. Euphemisms may be used to hide unpleasant or disturbing ideas, even when the literal term for them is not necessarily offensive.This is the case of euphemisms on taboos words such as those on sexuality. Sometimes, using euphemisms is equated to politeness. 4. Silence and verbosity Proverbial aphorism that speech is silver, but silence is golden seems to apply especially to women. They are so often reminded about that golden silence that not only reflects sagacity but also-and even more importantly-obiedience and submission (Edwards 2009:138). The image of silent woman is often held up as an ideal-‘Silence the best ornament of a woman’ (English proverb). This idea is also supported by the theory of ‘muted groups’ proposed by anthropologists Shirley and Edwin Ardener (Ardener 1975, 1978). Women (and minorities) are considered muted groups because they are considered to be lower in status or subordinates than the dominant groups. They cannot easily express their perceptions or experiences. These perceptions and experiences must first be filtered through or translated ISSN 2039 9340 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (10) July 2012 297 into the dominant (patriarchal) system of communication. Women (and members of other subordinate groups) are not as free or as able as men are to say what they wish, because the words and the norms for their use have been formulated by the dominant group, men (Kramarae 1981: 454). In many cultures women are silenced by rules or costums laid down by the dominant group (e.g. women are not supposed to speak in synagoges or other religious settings). Restrictions on expression for women has been recognized in Albania as well: ‘Woman ... is surpressed and suffocated from the heavy yoke of education that does not recommend and order other than prohibition: Don’t touch, don’t go out, don’t speak, don’t laugh, don’t do this, don’t do that as educator wishes’ (Stermilli 1982:64). And despite the overwhelming desire to change things woman has no other choice but to remain subject to social constraints: ‘But, alas, am not a guy and as woman I cannot utter a single word’ (Stermilli 1982:51). Limited and patriarchal mindsets have emerged in Albanian families, and have imposed on them the same linguistic behavior. Social constraints in communication were observed in wedding ceremony and although they have become less rigid, they have accompanied the young brides throughout their life in the new family. The tradition of silence has had a wide geographic spread, from south to north, and time span too. Earliest evidence is found in the work of Edith Durham (1990) who said that after the first week of the ceremony, the bride could be seen at any hour of the day and should not say a word, but must stand still, just as much frozen as before. Silence is a fine Jewel for a Woman; but it's little worn. (English proverb) Although silence is the desired state for women, there is an age-old belief that women talk too much. Dale Spender once suggested an explanation: ‘The talkativeness of women has been gauged in comparision not with men but with silence.....then any talk in which woman engages can be too much’ (Spender 1980:42). Some studies find that in the domestic sphere, where women are often seen as being in charge, they are more talkative and this has become a pecular feature of them. Maybe that is also because they perform work that cannot be hampered by conversation. Men in most cases do work that requires energy, and concentration. Speaking in this case would undermine their progress, so they are more reticent to work. In formal and public contexts the assumption is that men outrank women. The basic trend is for higher-status speakers to talk more than lower-status ones. In most contexts where status is relevant, men are more likely than women to occupy high-status positions. As the result, they speak more. However, it is not only social division of labor that makes women more verbose.There are also influences of temperament and their psychology that reflect the separation into gender (Shkurtaj 1999). Women because of their nature are more expressive in communicating their feelings and intense experiences, so they cry, sigh and curse more than men. So when we hear curses such as: Të futsha në dhe! Të hëngërt mortja! T’u shoftë dera! Mos të pastë jot’amë! we cannot but automatically attribute them to the speech of women. This does not exclude the fact that there are also men who speak a lot and curse. Depending on the respective provinces and mentalities men curse as well, but this does not mean that cursing has become a distinct feature of their speech. Setting variables such as the gender of participants, topics being discussed, status and age variations all contribute to the differences observed in the speech of men and women. While different studies (considering different variables) provide different results regarding women’s verbosity, it seems that at least they agree on the fact that women’s language is more affiliative, men’s more assertive. 5. Conclusion Men and women behave differently in social situations and take different roles, due to the expectations that society puts upon them (including gender stereotyping). Language as a social phenomenon inevitably reflects this. Studies on gender and language have shown differences in women’s and men’ that are brought about ISSN 2039 9340 Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences Vol. 3 (10) July 2012 298 by their different position in the social structure, encountering differential opportunities and constraints. As a result, women’s language is described as hesitant, refined, euphemistic but also affiliative and compassionate. It is true that gender differences in power are perceived to be eroding. As women gain more access to positions typically associated with power, their social role seems to be changing. However, this does not necessarily imply that women have overcome all barriers that impede their communication. Positive changes are to be expected so that men are not exclusively directing the communication rules. References Ardner, Sh. (1975). Perceiving Women. London: Mallaby Press. Ardner, Sh. (1978). The nature of woman in society. In Sh. Ardner (Eds.), Defining Females, (pp. 9-48). London: Cross Helm. Bate,T. and Taylor, A. (1988). Women Communicating: Studies of Women’s Talk. Ablex, Norwood, NJ. Coates, J. (1993). Women, men and language. ( 2nd ed), London: Longman. Coates, J. (1996). Women Talk: conversation between women friends. Oxford: Blackwell. Coates, J. (1998). Language and Gender: A Reader. Oxford: Blackwell. Coates, J. and Cameron, D. (1989). Women in their Speech communities. London: Longman. Coates, L., & Johnson, T. (2001). Towards a social theory of gender. In W. P. Robinson & H. Giles (Eds.), The new handbook of language and social psychology (pp. 451–464). New York: Wiley. �abej, E. (1949). Disa eufemizma të shqipes. Tiranë: B.I.SH 1. �abej, E. (1978). Disa eufemizma të shqipes. In Studime Gjuhësore. Vol IV. Prishtinë. Chambers,J.K. and Trudgill, P. (1980). Dialectology. Cambridge: Cambridg University Press. Durham, E. (1990). Brenga e Ballkanit dhe vepra të tjera për Shqipërinë dhe shqiptarët. Tiranë. Eckert,P., McConnell-Ginet, S. (2003). Language and Gender. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Edwards, J. (2009). Language and Identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jespersen, O. (1922). Language, Its Nature, Development and Origin. London: George Allan & Unwin. Kramarae, C. (1981). Women and men speaking: Frameworks for analysis. Rowley, MA: Newbury House. Lakoff, R. (1975). Language and Woman’s Place. New York: Harper & Row. Maltz, D.N., & Borker, R.A.(1982). A cultural approach to male-female miscommunication. In J.J. Gumperz (Ed.). Language and social identity (pp.196-216). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Newman, L., Groom C. J., Handelman, L.D., Pennebaker, J.W. (2008). Gender Differences in Language Use: An Analysis of 14,000 Text Samples. Discourse Processes, 45. (pp.212). Taylor & Francis Group, LLC. Stërmilli, H. (1982). Vepra letrare. Tiranë, Shkurtaj, Gj.(2004). Etnografia e të folurit. SHBLU: Tiranë. Shkurtaj, Gj. (1999). Sociolinguistika. SHBLU: Tiranë. Trudgill, P. (1974). Sociolinguistics. 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work_2dmweeqtqvfophgsprsdof2qb4	----	I’ll Take My Science Spicy, Please 1860 Trainee and Young Investigator Corner T he Task by William Cowper was published in 1785. This blank verse poem in 6 books helped spark the Romantic era, commented on social issues to encourage change and in- fluenced English authors, notably Jane Austen. The Task still resonates in modern times with Cowper’s catchphrase “variety is the very spice of life,” reminding us to embrace and diver- sify our perspective through new experiences and dynamic relationships. Diversity is advantageous and preferred in nearly all as- pects of life. Even in biology, heterogeneity of selected cell populations and single-cell molecular profile variations are essential for population-level function as “functional diversity facilitates collective behavior that otherwise would be inac- cessible to a homogenous population.”1 Drawing from cel- lular biological diversity, we as scientists should incorporate diverse educational and experiential knowledge from ongoing personal and professional development. Training and mentoring the next generation of scientists requires blended career knowledge. I admire researchers with diverse educational experience and believe that from diver- sifying one’s knowledge and experience a broader range of working skills and professional network emerges. With hav- ing a diverse perspective, creative problem solving and a will- ingness to entertain and accept new or alternative viewpoints are gained. This is not to be interpreted that a scientist should not have a particular research theme rather there are experi- ences, skills, and training beyond STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) education to be successful in today’s work place. The cultural diversity among scientists is one of the great- est luxuries this field has to offer, and I believe those who em- brace and foster these international relationships have more success. Some of my favorite principal investigators (PIs) es- tablished laboratories in both their ancestral homeland and in the United States, providing opportunities for cross-cultural collaborations through consortiums and symposia. My inter- est in international relationships began with an independent study grant in England during undergrad and continued as a Fulbright Scholar in South Korea before graduate school. As important as personal relationships are to succeed in any ca- reer, diverse educational training and skills is another way to position one’s self competitively in today’s workforce. My education in engineering, law, and biotechnology has aided me in obtaining a variety of work experiences including Fortune 500 companies, government laboratories, law firms, and universities. From these experiences, I reached an in- formed decision regarding what opportunities I am most inter- ested in pursuing for my career and became more prepared to adapt, manage, and succeed in friendly or adverse situations. These experiences also increased my range of professional skills, which is increasingly important to succeed in scientific research. The work of a PI encompasses many different elements including managing large budgets, overseeing and motivat- ing personnel, mentoring young scientists, interacting with vendors, presenting research, writing persuasive grants and articles, serving as peer reviewer, recognizing intellectual property and commercializing research, organizing and start- ing-up a biotech company, and more. Given the depth and diversity of skills necessary to successfully serve as a PI, it is perplexing to me that I have not met a PI with an MBA. However, an advanced degree in business, as useful as it might be, may not be of interest to many academic researchers. Alternatively, more dual-doctrine students pursue medicine. Research scientists holding dual degrees such as PhD-MD, DVM-PhD, or DDS-PhD garner insight to empower their re- search from clinical practice. It is a long road to obtain multiple professional degrees, but I firmly believe more is better regard- ing training for academia and research. Personally, I possess a JD in addition to my PhD. I graduated from law school Spring 2009, during the peak of the recession and was advised by my intellectual property (IP) attorney mentors to pursue a PhD as I I’ll Take My Science Spicy, Please Kathleen M. Broughton (Circ Res. 2017;120:1860-1861. DOI: 10.1161/CIRCRESAHA.117.310664.) © 2017 American Heart Association, Inc. Circulation Research is available at http://circres.ahajournals.org DOI: 10.1161/CIRCRESAHA.117.310664 The opinions expressed in article are not necessarily those of the editors or of the American Heart Association. From the San Diego State University Heart Institute and the Integrated Regenerative Research Institute, CA. Correspondence to Kathleen M. Broughton, PhD, JD, San Diego State University Heart Institute and the Integrated Regenerative Research Institute, 5500 Campanile Dr, San Diego, CA 92182. E-mail broughton.sdsu@gmail.com D ow nloaded from http://ahajournals.org by on A pril 5, 2021 mailto:broughton.sdsu@gmail.com Broughton I’ll Take My Science Spicy, Please 1861 waited for the recession to end. It was a happy happenstance to find satisfaction in scientific research. The freedom and creativ- ity offered by conducting scientific research suits my personal- ity as I enjoy the variety of work skills applied as a researcher and professor. My current postdoc mentor serves an important role to foster my success as a young investigator through creat- ing a work environment richly filled with collaborations rather than with competitions and actively promotes each laboratory member’s research and professional skills within the scien- tific community. Despite the challenge to work among some researchers, the majority of PIs have been intrigued and sup- portive of the PhD-JD combination and my opting for a profes- sorship and research career over practicing IP law. In scientific research, there are many ways a JD can be applied. My JD concentration in law and technology was useful during my PhD as I worked in our university’s tech transfer office and gained a strong sense of IP intel from the university and PI perspective. Currently, I am more involved in biotech start-up issues and the Small Business Innovation Research (SBIR) and Small Business Technology Transfer (STTR) programs through the Small Business Administration. I find these programs as an exciting means for PIs to begin com- mercialization of their research innovations; commercializa- tion of research from academia is an evolved business model for industry approaches to R&D funding and has influenced government agencies oversight and involvement. The third mission of a university, together with teaching and research, is engagement with society and industry (ie, research commercialization) and is achieved through a com- mitment within the Triple Helix of industry, government, and academia.2 Patent applications and licensing agreements from universities have increased,3 and industry R&D is changing through practices such as closing traditional R&D sites and opening satellite branches near collaborating universities.4 This allows industry the luxury of shifting risk and financial burden to university researchers, whom utilize government grants to fund the work. Utilizing this nouveau research model will spur more innovation within our research community, and I believe a broad base of skills will be essential to propel fu- ture scientists in this environment. Considering various avenues of diversity and its impor- tance in shaping our research community, it is from the ex- pansion and utilization of our differences in a collective that will mold the future of scientific research and discovery. This mindset dovetails back to the Romanticism era, characterized by individualism, imagination, and intuition. Integrating the second line of the proverb “variety is the very spice of life, that gives it all its flavor,” it is from pursuing diverse experiences and skills and applying it in a harmonious melody that we may fully enjoy the aroma and taste of what scientific research careers have to offer. Acknowledgments This article is dedicated in loving memory of my Mother, Jeanette Marie Broughton, who encouraged my educational and professional pursuits, shaped my core values, and reminded me to be thankful for life’s daily blessings. Sources of Funding Dr Broughton was supported by National Institutes of Health grant F32HL136196. Disclosures None. References 1. Dueck H, Eberwine J, Kim J. Variation is function: are single cell differ- ences functionally important? BioEssays. 2016;38:172–180. 2. Ranga M, Etzkowitz H. Triple Helix systems: an analytical framework for innovation policy and practice in the Knowledge Society. Ind High Educ 2013;27:237–262. 3. Powers JB. R&D funding sources and university technology transfer: What is stimulating universities to be more entrepreneurial? Res High Educ 2004;45:1–23. 4. Schuhmacher A, Gassmann O, Hinder M. Changing R&D models in research-based pharmaceutical companies. J Transl Med. 2016;14:105. doi: 10.1186/s12967-016-0838-4. D ow nloaded from http://ahajournals.org by on A pril 5, 2021 
work_2liwaoubrrcojf46moy6wd247q	----	Miranda, 11 | 2015 Miranda Revue pluridisciplinaire du monde anglophone / Multidisciplinary peer-reviewed journal on the English- speaking world  11 | 2015 Expressions of Environment in Euroamerican Culture / Antique Bodies in Nineteenth Century British Literature and Culture Dale Townshend, Angela Wright (eds), Ann Radcliffe, Romanticism and the Gothic Laurence Talairach-Vielmas Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/7149 DOI: 10.4000/miranda.7149 ISSN: 2108-6559 Publisher Université Toulouse - Jean Jaurès Electronic reference Laurence Talairach-Vielmas, “Dale Townshend, Angela Wright (eds), Ann Radcliffe, Romanticism and the Gothic ”, Miranda [Online], 11 | 2015, Online since 22 July 2015, connection on 16 February 2021. URL: http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/7149 ; DOI: https://doi.org/10.4000/miranda.7149 This text was automatically generated on 16 February 2021. Miranda is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/7149 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Dale Townshend, Angela Wright (eds), Ann Radcliffe, Romanticism and the Gothic Laurence Talairach-Vielmas REFERENCES Dale Townshend, Angela Wright (eds), Ann Radcliffe, Romanticism and the Gothic (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014), 257 p, ISBN 978–1–107–03283–5 1 1764 marked both the publication of the first Gothic story, Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto (1764), and the birth of one of the most popular Gothic writers of the romantic period—Ann Radcliffe. 250 years later, Ann Radcliffe, Romanticism and the Gothic, edited by Dale Towshend and Angela Wright, freshly re-examines Radcliffe’s work, looking at the impact and reception of her œuvre and its relationship to the Romantic literary and cultural contexts. If the Gothic was considered as low mass fiction characterized by repetitions and stereotypes and believed to be written by women for women, romanticism was associated with poetry and high art. However, as this collection of articles demonstrates, the links between the Gothic and Romanticism were much more complex: the Romantic literary culture often distorted facts of the Gothic and the Romantic aesthetics were more often than not informed by Gothic conventions and read by the main Romantic artists, as Percy Bysshe and Mary Shelley probably best illustrate. The 13 chapters are organised into 3 different parts, entitled “Cultural Contexts”, “Ann Radcliffe’s Creative Output” and “Ann Radcliffe and Romantic Literary Culture”. In Part I, the first chapter, by Dale Towshend and Angela Wright, looks at the critical reception of Radcliffe’s fiction from her first novels to her last publications. Townshend and Wright explain how Radcliffe addressed the criticisms raised in many reviews or how her first novels often met mixed critical responses. Her rendering of landscape and her poems were not particularly acclaimed, and Radcliffe’s reputation ironically only rose in 1798–1823 when she vanished from Dale Townshend, Angela Wright (eds), Ann Radcliffe, Romanticism and the Gothic Miranda, 11 | 2015 1 the literary scene. As Townshend and Wright recall, in the first half of the 19th century Radcliffe’s fiction was read by the romantic poets and sometimes even emulated or parodied. The second chapter, by Joe Bray, deals with the way in which Radcliffe engaged with late 18th century debates around the portrait. As a staple of Gothic fiction, the animated portrait has always been a means of probing the boundary between representation and reality. Radcliffe’s use of the portrait, as in The Mysteries of Udolpho and The Italian, shows how the motif of the portrait helps her bring into question the nature of reality. In the following chapter, Edward Jacobs analyses Radcliffe’s influence on romantic print culture as well as on later literary and print cultures. Indeed, the success of the Gothic as a genre cannot be envisaged without taking into consideration the role of the circulating libraries, which not only ensured Radcliffe’s success but also that of numerous (mainly) female authors of Gothic romances. Radcliffe published her fiction anonymously until The Mysteries of Udolpho (1794); but it soon became obvious that The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne: A Highland Story (1789), A Sicilian Romance (1790) and The Romance of the Forest (1791) were written by a woman, as suggested by the addition of “by the authoress of” on the front page of her novels, as underlined by Townshend and Wright in the first chapter. Some circulating library publishers, such as Thomas Hookham, specialised in female authors, particularly capitalised on “authoresses” to promote their publications. Or so did the Romantic age believe, Jacobs argues, as illustrated by Isabella Thorpe’s reading in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey (1818). The way in which Romantic literary culture may have exaggerated the actual proportion of female authors or of women using circulating libraries may be partly responsible for the condemnation of the Gothic as a genre likely to corrupt the tastes of the public. The part played by the Gothic in early debates about low “mass” culture, and the influence of women, as both writers and readers, lies thus at the heart of Jacobs’s chapter which nonetheless explains how the Romantic literary culture may have distorted parts of the story (more men actually subscribed to circulating libraries, for instance). Chapter 4, by James Watt, closes the first part by focussing on the political resonances of some of Radcliffe’s novels, her views of progress as shown by her depictions of savagery, and tries to trace a few topical terms or allusions throughout her novels. 2 In Part 2, Alison Milbank examines “ways of seeing” in The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne and A Sicilian Romance in order to highlight how Radcliffe may have anticipated the Romantic visionary perspective. Whilst Radcliffe’s writing is often organised around a series of visual images, her sources of inspiration often came from travel guides or paintings, like those of Salvador Rosa, as in A Sicilian Romance. Chapter 6, by Diane Long Hoeveler, examines The Romance of the Forest and the impact of some of the motifs, such as the ruined and haunted abbey, the manuscript or the skeleton in the chest which became clichés of the genre and were recurrently re-used, adapted or parodied. Hoeveler mentions several adaptations of the novel (such as J.J. Horsley Curties’s Ancient Records; Or, the Abbey of St Oswythe (1801) and The Horrors of Oakendale Abbey (1797) by Elizabeth Carver, which both play upon the motif of the skeleton in the chest (although Hoeveler seems unaware of the real identity of “Mrs Carver” and the particularities of the giant skeleton in the latter example). The chapter emphasizes the way in which the Gothic conventions that arguably originated in Radcliffe’s novel became widespread either through rewritings or even translations into French, German or Italian. In Chapter 7, Robert Miles looks at The Mysteries of Udolpho to probe the connections between the Gothic and Romanticism so as to show how Radcliffe’s fiction Dale Townshend, Angela Wright (eds), Ann Radcliffe, Romanticism and the Gothic Miranda, 11 | 2015 2 was in fact pre-Romantic and far from writing low-brow fiction as many of her detractors claimed. Travel writing is tackled in the following chapter, by JoEllen DeLucia, who examines the aesthetic treatments of space and time in Radcliffe’s A Journey Made in the Summer of 1794… (1795) and the way in which Radcliffe “troubles the distancing and mediating techniques used to gauge Romantic writers’ experience of foreign and familiar lands” (136). Radcliffe’s narrative is informed by works such as Samuel Johnson’s A Journey to the Western Islands of Scotland (1775) and many of her views (as argued in the preceding chapters, although no connection is made here), resemble the paintings of Salvator Rosa or Claude Lorrain. Radcliffe’s accounts of the Continent, DeLucia contends, deal with the issue of national identity and undoubtedly impacted her views on Britishness and perceptions of her native country. In Chapter 9, on The Italian; or, the Confessional of the Black Penitents (1796–97), Jerrold E. Hogle explains how Radcliffe’s novel, written in reaction to Lewis’s The Monk (1797), is informed by Walpolean elements, as defined in his preface to the second edition of The Castle of Otranto. As she blends the “ancient” and the “modern”, Radcliffe proposes a romance that anticipates Wordsworth and Coleridge’s romanticism, Hoggle contends. The following chapter, on Gaston de Blondeville (1826), Radcliffe’s alleged final novel, relates how the authoress met harsher reviews, although, as Samuel Baker shows, the text, started around 1802 may have anticipated developments in the Gothic mode and Romanticism more generally. 3 The last part of the edited collection comprises three chapters on Ann Radcliffe’s poetry (Jane Stabler), on Radcliffe’s influence on Romantic fiction from the 1790s to the 1830s (Sue Chaplin) and on stage adaptations between 1794 and 1806 (Diego Saglia). The issue of literary taste and the Gothic’s appropriation by Jane Austen and Walter Scott, just as Radcliffe’s relation to the early 19th century novel of manners and Scott’s historical romances leads Chaplin to argue, for instance, that Radcliffe’s fiction may have been on the side of “high culture”, a view that counteracts to some extent earlier discussions about the reception of Radcliffe’s novels and the issue of aesthetic merit. The example of Henry Tilney, in Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey is once again conjured up to highlight Tilney’s ability to distinguish Radcliffe’s fiction from other “horrid” romances, an ability to discriminate which typifies the young man’s “taste”. This exploration of the context in which Radcliffe’s novels were produced and circulated, informed by many historical facts is undoubtedly a significant addition to Gothic criticism and certainly helps reconsider Radcliffe’s fiction. One may regret the absence of a substantial introduction and/or the lack of links between chapters, however, especially as issues such as that of aesthetic taste and Radcliffe’s influence on the emergence of mass fiction is pointed out in several articles and partly lies at the basis of the debate on the relationship between the Gothic and romanticism. But the collection nonetheless provides a fascinating insight into the impact of Radcliffe’s œuvre in the Romantic period and beyond and should appeal to scholars interested in the origins of the genre and the genesis of Gothic conventions. Dale Townshend, Angela Wright (eds), Ann Radcliffe, Romanticism and the Gothic Miranda, 11 | 2015 3 INDEX Keywords: Ann Radcliffe, the Gothic, romanticism Mots-clés: Ann Radcliffe, roman noir, Gothique, romantisme AUTHORS LAURENCE TALAIRACH-VIELMAS Professeur Université Toulouse Jean Jaurès talairac@univ-tlse2.fr Dale Townshend, Angela Wright (eds), Ann Radcliffe, Romanticism and the Gothic Miranda, 11 | 2015 4 mailto:Talairac@univ-tlse2.fr Dale Townshend, Angela Wright (eds), Ann Radcliffe, Romanticism and the Gothic 
work_2o7v5xztgvcgdbilhblbqbsiv4	----	Tjihe Hlotanj^uage^sociation oj America ORGANIZED 1883 INCORPORATED 1900 Officers for the year 1952 President: Albert C. Baugh , University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia 4 First Vice President: Casimir D. Zdanowicz , University of Wisconsin, Madi- son 6 Second Vice President: Henry W. Nordmeyer , University of Michigan, Ann Arbor Executive Secretary: William Riley Parker , New Tor\ University, New York 3 Treasurer: John H. Fisher , A[ew Yor^ University, New York 3 Executive Council For the term ending 31 Dec. 1952 Merritt Y. Hughes , University of Wisconsin, Madison 6 Kemp Malone , Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore 18, Md. Ira O. Wade , Princeton University, Princeton, N. J. For the term ending 31 Dec. 1953 Douglas Bush , Harvard University, Cambridge 38. Mass. Henry Grattan Doyle , George Washington University, Washington 6, D. C J. Milton French , Rutgers University, New Brunswick, N. J. For the term ending 31 Dec. 1954 Hayward Keniston , University of Michigan, Ann Arbor H. W. Victor Lange , Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. Carl F. Schreiber , Tale University, New Haven, Conn. For the term ending 31 Dec. 1955 C. Grant Loomis , University of California, Berkeley 4 Justin M. O’Brien , Columbia University, New York 27 A. S. P. Woodhouse , University of Toronto, Toronto 5 Staff Associate Secretary: C. Grant Loomis , University of California Assistant Editor: Robert E. Taylor , New Tor\ University;Research Assistant: Kenneth W. Mildenberger ; Assistant to the Executive Secretary: Donna Rowell ; Assistant to the Treasurer: Ruth Olson ; typists: Naomi Taylor and Trudy Railing Trustees of Invested Funds George Henry Nettleton , Tale University William Albert Nitze , University of Chicago Le Roy Elwood Kimball , New Tor\ University, Managing Trustee The 1952 Meeting is scheduled to be held in Boston, Massachusetts, on 27, 28, and 29 December UNIVERSITY PRESS JANE AUSTEN: irony as defense and discovery By MARVIN MUDRICK. In this book Jane Austen emerges from behind the comfortable assumptions of a hundred years and takes her true place among the most stalwart of the great ironists. Mr. Mudrick analyzes all her writings and studies her irony in its sources and development. “An exciting experience ... An intelligent and con- tinuously critical book on Jane Austen.”—Arthur Mizener $5.00 THE SENSE OF SHAKESPEARE’S SONNETS By EDWARD HUBLER. A delightfully written book on Shakespeare’s sonnets, which seeks to dispel the notion that they were the beautiful but empty elaboration of conventional matter. Instead, the author reveals that Shakespeare’s mind found constant expression in them and that his developing thought fits into the larger context of his thought in the plays. Edward Hubler is professor of English at Princeton. Princeton Studies in English, No. 33 $3.00 THE RESTORATION COMEDY OF WIT By THOMAS H. FUJIMURA. This new interpretation of Restoration comedy seeks to rescue it from the prevailing view that the comedies are artificial, satirical, and chiefly distinguished for their verbal bril- liance. The first part of the study is devoted to determining what the Restoration meant by wit, what its role was in the comedies, and how the content of the witticism was influenced by contemporary philoso- phy. The comedies of Etherege, Wycherley, and Congreve are then analyzed in terms of this new perspective, and emerge as realistic, fundamentally serious, and curiously modern. $4.00 Order from your bookstore, PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS 
work_2pbsfw2fmjg4rfsrum2nfphn3u	----	OP-MLJJ140082 584..602 Music & Letters, Vol. 95 No. 4, � The Author (2014). Published by Oxford University Press. All rights reserved. doi:10.1093/ml/gcu081, available online at www.ml.oxfordjournals.org ‘THOUGH THIS BE MADNESS, YET THERE IS METHOD IN’T’: A COUNTERFACTUAL ANALYSIS OF RICHARD WAGNER’S ‘TANNHA« USER’ BY ILIAS CHRISSOCHOIDIS, HEIKE HARMGART, STEFFEN HUCK, AND WIELAND MU« LLER* MUCH LIKE WAGNER HIMSELF, the eponymous hero of Tannha« user treads a path of stark contrasts and rapid swings. From the Wartburg to the Venusberg and eventually to Rome, the gifted bard is transformed from self-centred artist to seduced disciple, disil- lusioned devotee, hopeful lover, self-loathing pilgrim, and finally redeemed sinner. He tries everything and everything is trying. These contrasts reach a peak in the opera’s central episode, the song contest at the Wartburg. Tannha« user has just been welcomed at the court, received Elisabeth’s favour and affection, and is ready to compete for the contest’s prize, one as lofty as her hand. Instead of securing his reintegration within the Wartburg with a brilliant performance, however, he spoils the event with insolent remarks and the exhibitionist disclosure of his Venusberg experience. His behaviour offends his peers, scandalizes the court, breaks Elisabeth’s heart, and brings him to the edge of death. Why would Tannha« user sacrifice everything for nothing? Character flaws may be one answer. By this time in the opera, we know that his pride led him away from the Wartburg (Landgraf: ‘Kehrest in den Kreis zuru« ck, den du in Hochmuth stolz verlie�est?’ [Have you returned to the circle you forsook in haughty arrogance?]; Wolfram: ‘als du uns stolz verlassen’ [when, in haughtiness, you left us]; Act I, sc. iv, ll. 387^8, 458).1 In the Venusberg, we find him incapable of fulfill- ing his duties (all attempts to praise the goddess end up in complaints and self-pity) and his betrayal of Venus for the Virgin Mary (‘mein Heil ruht in Maria!’ [my salva- tion rests in Mary!]; Act I, sc. ii, l. 302) is followed by swapping the latter for Elisabeth and then her, too, for a moment in the limelight of swaggering self-adulation. This, in turn, he publicly regrets, committing himself to penance for sin, and even after his un- successful visit to Rome he briefly relapses into fascination with Venus. Thus,Tannha« u- ser’s irrational behaviour in the song contest is not surprising; indeed, it prepares us for the opera’s tragic end. A man of such swings of mood and action will never find peace in this world. *Stanford University; email: ichriss@stanford.edu. European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD) and WZB Berlin; email: harmgarth@ebrd.com. WZB Berlin and University College London; email: steffen.huck@wzb.eu. University of Vienna and Tilburg University; email: wieland.mueller@univie.ac.at. Work on this essay was supported by the ESRC Centre for Economic Learning and Social Evolution (RES-538-28-1001). Earlier versions of the essay were presented at the ‘Game Theory, Drama & Opera’ (2010) 5http://www.ucl.ac.uk/ �uctpshu/gamesandopera.html4 conference at University College London and at the University of California, Berkeley (2012). We are grateful to Thomas S. Grey for his support of our research and to the anonymous reviewers of this journal for their constructive criticism. 1 Excerpts from the libretto are from Wagner’s Gesammelte Schriften und Dichtungen (1871), reprinted in Richard Wagner, Dokumente und Texte zu Tannha« user und der Sa« ngerkrieg auf Wartburg, ed. Peter Jost and Cristina Urchuegu|¤a (Mainz, 2007), 491^524. 584 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://www.ucl.ac.uk/~uctpshu/gamesandopera.html http://www.ucl.ac.uk/~uctpshu/gamesandopera.html http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ Another explanation lies withWagner himself,Tannha« user’s creator and model, who forged a story out of two loosely connected tales, recorded in the opera’s title (Tannha« u- ser und der Sa« ngerkrieg auf Wartburg). The need for formal disciplineçi.e. adhering to conventions, such as the big climax in the Act II finaleçoverrode that for dramatic conviction. Whether for structural or philosophical reasons, the Wartburg had to appear midway between the Venusberg and Rome, the song contest should stand between a life of sin and a quest for redemption, and Elisabeth had to become ‘the woman who, star-like’, leads Tannha« user ‘from the hot passion of the Venusberg to Heaven’.2 Both explanations are valid and throw light on Tannha« user’s reckless behaviour. Like most exegetical efforts with the opera, however, they take for granted the hero’s hyper-emotional nature, compulsiveness, and spontaneity: ‘Provoked to the utmost by the arrogant impotence of the other court poets’,3 he ‘becomes more and more frenzied, as if forgetting his present surroundings’,4 and acts ‘[f]aster than [he] can think’,5 ‘as if possessed by a demon’,6 so that ‘the very decision to sing appears in him as a spontaneous action bringing out the real drama’,7 which would not have unfolded had he not been ‘rash enough to boast that he had known the unholy joys’.8 For Carl Dahlhaus, in particular, ‘Tannha« user’s feelings and actions . . . are marked by impulsiveness and an extraordinary amnesia. He appears to be not completely in control of himself, a prisoner of the moment and of the emotion that happens to have hold of him. Events take place in abrupt oscillation between extremes.’9 Even a sympa- thetic reader of the opera like Carolyn Abbate understands Tannha« user’s relation to Venus as a‘compulsion’ and calls his interruption of the contest a‘rebellion against the platitudinous serenades of the other singers’ prompted by ‘frustration, pride, and the in- escapable memories of Venus’.10 So entrenched is the Romantic hero trope that issues of choice, planning, and strategy are left out of the picture, as if his actions were involuntary responses to external stimuli and his decisions lacked any kind of mental processing. Yet Simon Williams reminds us that Tannha« user parts company from contemporary portrayals of operatic heroes by being ‘a protagonist in conflict with himself’ to a point that his‘men- tal conflict . . . is the action’.11 Such conflict emerges through incompatible thoughts and choices. Indeed, a close reading of the opera reveals, for example, that his departure from the Venusberg is a conscious choice arrived at through rational thinking. Memories of his past life interlace and clash with his Venusian experiences, leading to 2 ‘A Communication to my Friends’, in Richard Wagner’s Prose Works, trans. William Ashton Ellis, 8 vols. (London, 1892^9), i. 340. ‘das Weib, das dem Tannha« user aus den Wohllustho« hlen des Venusberges als Himmelsstern den Weg nach Oben wies’; Dokumente, 67. 3 Dieter Borchmeyer, Drama and theWorld of Richard Wagner, trans. Daphne Ellis (Princeton and Oxford, 2003),125. 4 Claude M. Simpson, Jr., ‘Wagner and the Tannha« user Tradition’, Proceedings of the Modern Language Association, 63 (1949), 244^61 at 259. 5 Joachim Ko« hler, RichardWagner:The Last of the Titans, trans. Stewart Spencer (New Haven and London, 2004),170. 6 Ernest Newman,Wagner Nights (London,1949), 97. 7 Reinhard Strohm, ‘Dramatic Time and Operatic Form in Wagner’s Tannha« user’, Proceedings of the Royal Musical Association,104 (1977^8),1^10 at 4. 8 D. Millar Craig, ‘Some Wagner Lapses’, Musical Times, 80 (1939),17^18 at 18. 9 Richard Wagner’s Music Dramas, trans. MaryWhittall (Cambridge,1979), 25. 10 ‘Orpheus and the Underworld: The Music of Wagner’s ‘‘Tannha« user’’’, in Richard Wagner,Tannha« user (Opera Guide, 39; London and New York, 1988), 33^50 at 34, 39. More recent interpretations of the opera focus on its female characters and the role of sexuality in Wagner’s life and work: Nila Parly, Vocal Victories: Wagner’s Female Characters from Senta to Kundry (Copenhagen, 2011); Eva Rieger, Richard Wagner’s Women, trans. Chris Walton (Woodbridge, 2011); Laurence Dreyfus,Wagner and the Erotic Impulse (Cambridge, Mass., 2010). 11 SimonWilliams,Wagner and the Romantic Hero (Cambridge, 2004), 50. 585 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ comparison with and, ultimately, preference for the one over the other. His longing for change and freedom in Act I shows an active mind capable of choosing between alterna- tives. This is indeed the subject of his lengthy argument with Venus. Tannha« user abandons the Venusberg fully aware of the privileges he leaves behind and the hardships lying ahead: nach Freiheit doch verlange ich, for freedom, then, I long, nach Freiheit, Freiheit du« rstet’s mich; for freedom, freedom, do I thirst; zu Kampf und Streite will ich stehen, for struggle and strife I will stand, sei’s auch auf Tod und Untergehen: ^ though it be, too, for destruction and death: drum mu� aus deinem Reich ich flieh’n, ^ from your kingdom, therefore, I must fly, (Act I, sc. ii, ll. 209^13) In another example from Act I, we find him resisting the knights’offer to bring him back to the Wartburg, which shows at least knowledge of two alternative paths. He agrees to join them only when Wolfram reveals Elisabeth’s flattering response to his songs. Based on this new information, Tannha« user revises his beliefs about the Wartburg and his decision not to look back (‘denn ru« ckwa« rts darf ich niemals seh’n’; Act I, sc. iv, l. 424). Learning about Elisabeth’s feelings makes his return there a compelling choice (‘Ha, jetzt erkenne ich sie wieder, / die scho« ne Welt, der ich entru« ckt!’ [Ha, now I recognize it again, the lovely world that I renounced!]; Act I, sc. iv, ll. 474^5). Pursuing this line of probing the hero’s mental state, this essay offers a new reading of the Sa« ngerkrieg auf Wartburg. We propose that Tannha« user’s seemingly irrational be- haviour is actually consistent with a strategy of redemption, in ways that recall Polonius’s famous diagnosis of Hamlet ‘Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t’.12 Specifically, we suggest that he consciously disrupts the contest, knowing that only a public disclosure of his sinful past can propel him onto the path of redemption. GAME THEORY The key question we pose is: does Tannha« user have to choose between alternative outcomes at the start of the Sa« ngerkrieg? To answer it, we draw on methodologies from the social sciences, specifically game theory, which seeks to account for social inter- action by assuming that individuals’ choices express some underlying preferences and beliefs.13 Such an analysis requires two steps, a reconstruction of the choice set (what else Tannha« user might have done) and an analysis of unobserved counterfactuals, namely potential outcomes of the alternative unchosen actions. What would have happened if Tannha« user had won or lost the tournament instead of interrupting it? What would his gains and losses have been in each case? Comparing these potentialities with the outcome of his real action helps us reconstruct the strategic context at a particular point in time and evaluate the significance of the decisions we observe on stage. Although not every action results from strategic thinking, the interpretation of human behaviour becomes hardly possible without assuming some form of goal- orientation on the part of its agent. For example, the conclusion that Paris prefers love to wisdom, when he awards Eros’s golden apple to Aphrodite and not to Athena, lies in the assumption that he is making a conscious goal-oriented choice. Had his action 12 William Shakespeare, Hamlet, II. ii. 206. 13 For an introduction to the topic, see Ken Binmore, Game Theory: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford, 2007). 586 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ been determined by social forces (protocol) or biochemical processes (genetic factors, use of controlled substances), we would have been unable to infer anything about his values and preferences. This is particularly important in drama, which typically explores the clash between human free will and external forces. Much of our empathy with a tragic hero is predicated on our knowledge or inference of alternative scenarios. Adam and Eve could have refrained from eating the forbidden fruit; Antigone could have obeyed Creon; Elsa could have honoured her marital oath to Lohengrin; and Tannha« user could have praised divine love instead of Venus. A staple in the social sciences and the methodological engine in modern economics, game theory has only recently begun to be applied in the humanities, chiefly by non-humanists.14 Misconceptions of the ‘rationality’ assumptions and concerns about a universalism that favours statistical averages and downplays historical variables perhaps explain the unwillingness of scholars and literary critics to engage with the theory. As Herbert Lindenberger frankly admits, ‘Most of us [humanists] feel uncom- fortable accepting the possibility that our responses to art can be charted by science; even when such charting seems plausible, we prefer to add a je ne sais quoi’.15 Yet game theory may accommodate drama better than real-life situations. By its very nature, already analysed in Aristotle’s Poetics, drama telescopes and reconfigures reality in ways that make it meaningful to an audience. Formal divisions (three or five acts) and time^space unities allow for the creation of short and long arcs emphasizing the causality of human action. Unlike history, Aristotle insists, poetry (including drama) not only describes events but also imbues them with character, helping us understand their origin and probable consequences as a class of phenomena:16 it is not the function of the poet to relate what has happened, but what may happençwhat is possible according to the law of probability or necessity. . . . Poetry, therefore, is a more philo- sophical and a higher thing than history: for poetry tends to express the universal, history the particular. By the universal I mean how [people] of a certain type on occasion speak or act, according to the law of probability or necessity; and it is this universality at which poetry aims in the names she attaches to the personages. [9/51a^b] Critical for the success of drama is the absence of irrationality (‘Within the action there must be nothing irrational’ [15/54b]). To achieve this the poet has to describe a person’s preferences: ‘Character [ethos] is that which reveals moral purpose, showing 14 Patricia Cohen, ‘Next Big Thing in English: Knowing They Know that You Know’, The New York Times, 1 Apr. 2010, p. C1. Pioneer studies include Steven J. Brahms’s Biblical Games: A Strategic Analysis of Stories in the Old Testament (Cambridge, Mass., 1980) and Game Theory and the Humanities: Bridging Two Worlds (Cambridge, Mass., 2011); George Butte’s I Know that You Know that I Know: Narrating Subjects from Moll Flanders to Marnie (Columbus, Ohio, 2004); and, more recently, Michael Suk-Young Chwe’s Jane Austen, Game Theorist (Princeton, 2013). Among the few humanists engaged in game theory-based criticism, Paisley Livingston (Literature and Rationality: Ideas of Agency in Theory and Fiction (Cambridge, 1991)) examines works by Theodore Dreiser, E¤ mile Zola, and Stanislaw Lem, and offers a broad discussion of why and how the assumption of rationality can advance literary analysis. Roughly speaking, Livingston pursues three lines of enquiry. First, he shows how the taking into account of characters’ (as well as authors’) intentions and rationality can improve our understanding of literature. Secondly, he argues that many rather ordinary statements made in literary criticism do, in fact, presuppose intentions and rationality. And, thirdly, he tries to illustrate how the analysis of literature can contribute to the advancement of concepts of rationality in philosophy or the social sciences. More recently, Lisa Zunshine has offered readings of Richardson’s Clarissa and Nabokov’s Lolita using theories of mind or metarepresentation (how to think about other people’s thoughts and to distinguish informational layers in literary genres):Why We Read Fiction:Theory of Mind and the Novel (Columbus, Ohio, 2006), and ‘Why Jane Austen Was Different, and WhyWe May Need Cognitive Science to See It’, Style, 41 (2007), 273^97. 15 Herbert Lindenberger, ‘Arts in the Brain; or, What Might Neuroscience Tells Us?’, in Frederick Luis Aldama (ed.),Toward a Cognitive Theory of Narrative Acts (Austin, Tex., 2010),13^35 at 33. 16 5http://classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/poetics.html4; translation by S. H. Butcher. 587 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/poetics.html http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ what kind of things a man chooses or avoids’ [6/50b]. As preference and probability are key concepts in game theory, one could understand drama as the first social science la- boratory in history, a controlled space where human behaviour is exhibited, observed, and studied in optimal cognitive settings. By applying game theory to Tannha« user’s be- haviour at the song contest we will be able to test the rationality of his actions and enrich the opera’s hermeneutic tradition by offering a counterintuitive interpretation of his seemingly incomprehensible attitude. WAGNER’S MASTER PLAN While redemption is a conventional dramatic goal, the existence of a redemption strategy (extracting, so to speak, Tannha« user’s redeemer through an ‘irrational’ choice) requires a high level of dramatic craftsmanship. Such a strategy emerges from Wagner’s own writings. In his essay ‘U« ber die Auffu« hrung des Tannha« user’, he explicitly identifies the hero’s cri de coeur in the Act II finale as the opera’s turning point: Tannha« user. TANNHA« USER Zum Heil den Su« ndigen zu fu« hren, To lead the sinner to salvation die Gott-Gesandte nahte mir: God’s messenger drew near me! doch, ach! sie frevelnd zu beru« hren But, oh, to touch her wantonly hob ich den La« sterblick zu ihr! I raised my dissolute gaze to her! O du, hoch u« ber diesen Erdengru« nden, Oh Thou, high above this land of earth, die mir den Engel meines Heil’s gesandt, Who sent the angel of my salvation to me, erbarm’ dich mein, der ach! so tief in Su« nden have mercy on me who, oh, so deep in sin, schmachvoll des Himmels Mittlerin verkannt! shamefully failed to recognize heaven’s mediator! (Act II, sc. iv, ll. 417^24) ‘These words’, Wagner declares, contain the pith of Tannha« user’s subsequent existence, and form the axis of his whole career; without our having received with absolute certainty the impression meant to be conveyed by them at this particular crisis, we are in no position to maintain any further interest in the hero of the drama. If we have not been here at last attuned to deepest fellow-suffering with Tannha« user, the drama will run its whole remaining course without consistence, without necessity, and all our hitherto-aroused awaitings will halt unsatisfied.17 This moment is important because until now Tannha« user is really a fugitive from the Venusberg, his options being atonement for his sins or the reunion with Elisabeth. But her saintly response to his betrayal generates so much pain that redemption is no longer a choice, but rather fate that he can neither embrace nor resist. As Wagner explained to audiences in 1853, This chastened erstwhile knight of Venus has seized [without discrimination] upon the sole path to salvation now pointed out to him, terribly aware of the outrage he committed against 17 ‘On the Performing of Tannha« user’, in Richard Wagner’s Prose Works, trans. Ellis, iii. 179. ‘Diese Worte, mit dem ihnen verliehenen Ausdruck und in dieser Situation, enthalten den Nerv der ganzen ferneren Tannha« userexistenz, die Axe seiner Erscheinung, und ohne den durch sie hier, an diesem Orte, beabsichtigten Eindruck mit vollster Gewissheit empfangen zu haben, sind wir gar nicht im Stande, ein weiteres Interesse an dem Helden des Dramas zu bewahren. Wenn wir hier nicht endlich zum tiefsten Mitleiden mit Tannha« user gestimmt werden, ist das ganze u« brige Drama ohne Zusammenhang und Nothwendigkeit in seinem Verlaufe, und alle bis dahin angeregten Erwartungen bleiben unbefriedigt’; Dokumente,127. 588 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ his good angel Elisabeth. He is stung with remorse and animated solely by the desire to perform the direst acts of penance for the deadly blow dealt to the pure heart of this loving maiden.18 So crucial was Tannha« user’s epiphany for Wagner that, when his lead singer Tichatschek failed to meet the dramatic challenges of the role, he preferred to cut the entire passage at the opera’s premiere rather than to suffer an embarrassing perform- ance.19 To further stress its importance, he silenced all other voices in the final (Vienna) version of 1875 (bb. 907^26). If Wagner intended to create such a powerful moment in the drama, one that would engender the utmost sympathy and pity in the audience, he may well have remembered his Aristotle. We read in the Poetics that ‘tragedy is an imitation . . . of events inspiring fear or pity. Such an effect is best produced when the events come on us by surprise; and the effect is heightened when, at the same time, they follow as cause and effect.’20 The surprise we experience in the opera comes from an anticipated victory turning into disaster. From the closing of Act I and until the disruption of the contest the theme of redemption disappears altogether and we are prepared for Tannha« user’s reunion with Elisabeth. To make their Act II duet even more suggestive, Wagner draws on the Leonore^Florestan reunion duet in Fidelio (perhaps influenced by the presence in his cast of Wilhelmine Schro« der-Devrient, the most celebrated Leonore of her time). Tannha« user’s volte-face, his failure to perform what everyone (on- and offstage) has been expecting of him, is a brilliant coup that makes the opera work as drama. We will discuss later whether or not there is causality involved here. Far from a cheap diversion to renew the redemption plot, Elisabeth’s sacrificial rescue is meant to be the catalyst for Tannha« user’s salvation. As in Fliegender Holla« nder and Lohengrin, the hero needs not only redemption but also a redeemer, a woman who can bear personal responsibility for his salvation. If prior to the contest Elisabeth was a patron or potential bride, she now becomes a guardian angel, the ‘star-like’ object leading the sinner to redemption. (To emphasize this contrast in her function, Wagner decided to excise Tannha« user’s Act I reference to her as ‘Engel’ in the opera’s first prose draft.21) Indeed, for Wagner, Tannha« user embarks on the pilgrimage ‘not for the pleasure of his own redemption, but only so as to be able to return with a pardoned soul and thereby conciliate the angel who has wept for him the bitterest tears of her life’.22 It is true that they will never see each other in this world and their love can only be completed beyond this life. But this is secondary to the fact of their spiritual bonding as redeemer and redeemed. The Sa« ngerkrieg is thus not ‘merely a fac� ade . . . filling the second act with theatrical parades and noisy disputes’, as Carl Dahlhaus asserts,23 but a sanctioning device for 18 Concert programme for the May 1853 Zurich concerts, in Thomas S. Grey (ed.), Richard Wagner and his World (Princeton and Oxford, 2009), 502^3. ‘Vom Innewerden seines Frevels an Elisabeth, dem Engel seiner Noth, auf das Furchtbarste ergriffen, zerknirscht von Reue und beseelt von dem einzigen Verlangen, durch Martern aller Art den Todesschmerz zu su« hnen, mit dem er das reinste Herz der liebenden Jungfrau traf, ergreift der entnu« chterte Venusritter wahllos das Heilmittel, das die Welt ihm zeigt’; Dokumente,153. 19 See Dokumente,127, and Patrick Carnegie,Wagner and the Art of the Theatre (New Haven and London, 2006), 34^5. 20 Aristotle, Poetics, ch. 9, [52a]. ForWagner’s knowledge of the work, see Jeffrey L. Buller, Classically Romantic: Clas- sical Form and Meaning inWagner’s Ring (Philadelphia, 2001). 21 Dokumente, 341. 22 Concert programme for the May 1853 Zurich concerts, in Grey (ed.), Richard Wagner and hisWorld, 503. ‘nicht um die Wonne der Entsu« ndigung fu« r sich zu gewinnen, sondern als Begnadigter den Engel zu verso« hnen, der ihm die bitterste Thra« ne des Lebens geweint’; Dokumente,153. 23 Dahlhaus, Richard Wagner’s Music Dramas, 23. 589 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ Tannha« user’s redemption through Elisabeth.24 (The fact that his identity as an artist practically disappears in Act III supports this view.) In order for Elisabeth to reveal her redemptive qualities, however, Tannha« user has to do something sufficiently unfor- givable and offensive to incur universal condemnation. Praising Venus exactly when he was supposed to publicly solicit Elisabeth’s favour (and possibly her hand) is an act of dramatic necessity serving the opera’s goals. TANNHA« USER’S DILEMMA According to Dieter Borchmeyer, Wagner draws ‘a veil over the motivation behind the tournament in the libretto’ in order to cover the ‘fundamental contradiction at the root of the opera’s conception’, namely Tannha« user’s incoherent behaviour.25 Yet a close reading of the score provides clues about the hero’s state of mindçwhat he knows, what he is aware of, and what he hidesçwhich help us understand his seem- ingly incomprehensible actions. To begin with, Tannha« user leaves the Venusberg determined to repent for his sinful life there (‘Den Tod, das Grab im Herzen, / durch Bu�e find’ ich Ruh’’ [Both death and the grave they are here in my heart; through penance I shall find peace]; Act I, sc. ii, ll. 293^4) and sticks to his choice until just before the end of Act I. Not only is he moved to tears by the pilgrims’ chorus but also he fully adopts, singing solo, the second stanza of their hymn (see Ex. 1): Tannha« user. TANNHA« USER Ach, schwer dru« ckt mich der Su« nden Last, Alas, the burden of my sins weighs me down, kann la« nger sie nicht mehr ertragen; I can endure it no longer; drum will ich auch nicht Ruh noch Rast, I will know neither sleep nor rest therefore und wa« hle gern mir Mu« h’ und Plagen. and gladly choose toil and vexation. (Act I, sc. iii, ll. 360^3) Why then does he decide to return to theWartburg? True as it may be that Elisabeth’s name and memory cast a spell upon him, we find that his conversion actually requires both persuasion and peer pressure. The knights’ first attempt to recruit him meets with strong resistance: Tannha« user. TANNHA« USER La�t mich! Mir frommet kein Verweilen, Let me be! Delay avails me naught, und nimmer kann ich rastend steh’n; and never can I stop to rest! meinWeg hei�t mich nur vorwa« rts eilen, My way bids me only hasten onward, denn ru« ckwa« rts darf ich niemals seh’n. and never may I cast a backward glance! (Act I, sc. iv, ll. 421^4) The intensity of their effort is evident in the multiple renderings of the concluding two lines in diminished-seventh chord arpeggiation leading to a rhythmic stretto. And even after Elisabeth is invoked, Wolfram launches a second round of discourse, putting a rational case for Tannha« user’s return to the Wartburg: verschlo� ihr Herz unsrem Lied; her heart closed to our song; wir sahen ihre Wang’ erblassen, we saw her cheeks grow pale, fu« r immer unsren Kreis sie mied. ^ she ever shunned our circle. 24 MaryA. Cicora, too, finds that the song contest ‘helped realize or ‘‘redeem’’ the Tannha« user legend’ by providing ‘the crucial plot element’ in the opera: From History to Myth:Wagner’s Tannha« user and its Literary Sources (Bern, 1992), 165,174. 25 Borchmeyer, Drama and theWorld of Richard Wagner,145. 590 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ O kehr’ zuru« ck, du ku« hner Sa« nger, Oh, return, you valiant Singer, dem unsren sei dein Lied nicht fern, ^ let not your song be far from ours. den Festen fehle sie nicht la« nger, Let her no longer be absent from our festivals, auf’s Neue leuchte uns ihr Stern! let her star shine on us once more! (Act I, sc. iv, ll. 459^65) Only afterWolfram’s long and eloquent narrative, reinforced with a new round of pleas by the knights, does Tannha« user shout: Zu ihr! Zu ihr! O, fu« hret mich zu ihr! To her! To her! oh, lead me to her! Ha, jetzt erkenne ich sie wieder, Ha, now I recognize it again, die scho« ne Welt, der ich entru« ckt! the lovely world that I renounced! (Act I, sc. iv, ll. 473^5) It would be unfair, then, to interpret this long discourse as an ‘instant’ change of heart. Without necessarily betraying his resolve to repent, Tannha« user embraces a task that is more urgent and close to hand (theWartburg is visible in the background;26 Rome is far away). In a sense, he is on a rescue mission to restore Elisabeth’s mental health and, we may assume, the court’s proper function. Elisabeth being the Landgraf’s next-of-kin, her melancholy and absence from the court’s tournaments are indeed matters of state, and so is Tannha« user’s return to the Wartburg. EX. 1. Tannha« user, from Act I, sc. iii 26 See Richard Wagners Tannha« user-Szenarium, ed. Dietrich Steinbeck (Berlin,1968), 87. 591 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ Indeed, the brilliance of the festivities’ music leaves no doubt of the significance of the song tournament. Statements by both Elisabeth and the Landgraf create high anticipa- tion for Tannha« user’s appearance. Never explicitly stated in the libretto, yet present in Wagner’s first prose draft,27 the idea of a marital union sealing the contest hovers in the air (hence Wolfram’s regret ‘So flieht fu« r dieses Leben / mir jeder Hoffnung Schein!’ [Thus vanishes, for this life, my every gleam of hope!]; Act II, sc. ii, ll. 106^7). Tannha« user’s affection for and commitment to Elisabeth are evident in the early scenes of Act II. Upon glancing at her, he throws himself at her feet (‘ungestu« m zu den Fu« �en Elisabeth’s stu« rzend’; Act II, sc. ii, l. 25) and their synchronous cries of joy in their duet leave no doubt of their destined union. But there is a shadow. When Elisa- beth inquires about his past (‘Wo weiltet ihr so lange?’; l. 39), Tannha« user’s singing freezes to recitation and the haziness of his statement is matched with descending lines in the lower register, as if the heathen forces of his past drag him down to the cavernous Venusberg: Tannha« user. TANNHA« USER Fern von hier, Far from here in weiten, weiten Landen. Dichtes Vergessen in broad and distant lands. Deep forgetfulness hat zwischen heut’ und gestern sich gesenkt. ^ has descended betwixt today and yesterday. All’ mein Erinnern ist mir schnell geschwunden, All my remembrance has vanished in a trice, und nur des Einen mu� ich mich entsinnen, and one thing only must I recall, da� nie mehr ich gehofft euch zu begru« �en, that I never more hoped to greet you, noch je zu euch mein Auge zu erheben. ^ nor ever raise my eyes to you. (Act II, sc. 2, ll. 41^7) Either his memory is clouded or he just lies to protect Elisabeth from damaging knowledge of his past. The second seems to be the case. Elisabeth is absent from his deliberations and longings at the Venusberg, and his surprise at hearing her name from Wolfram suggests that his memories of her were deeply buried. Even more sug- gestive of his concealment is the use of the masculine form ‘Gott der Liebe’ before Elizabeth, when everywhere else in the opera we encounter the feminine ‘Go« ttin’: Venus. Die Liebe fei’re, die so herrlich du besingst, da� du der Liebe Go« ttin selber dir gewannst! Die Liebe fei’re, da ihr ho« chster Preis dir ward! (Act I, sc. ii, ll. 111^13) Tannha« user (hingerissen). Den Gott der Liebe sollst du preisen, er hat die Saiten mir beru« hrt, er sprach zu dir aus meinenWeisen, zu dir hat er mich hergefu« hrt! (Act II, sc. ii, ll. 82^6) 27 [6 July 1842:] ‘so bleibe hier und wirb um Elisabeth!’ the Landgraf urges the hero in Act I. Wagner notes ‘Die folgende Schilderung von der Entdeckung der Liebe Elisabeths zu Tannh. tra« gt Wolfr. vor.çDer Landgr. nimmt dann das Wort u. gestattet Tannhr um Elisabeths Hand zu werben.’ Immediately after the reunion scene, the Landgraf says ‘Was der Gesang Wunderbares weckte u. anregte, soll er denn heute kro« nen u. zur Vollendung fu« hren! Tannha« user, dir zeig’ ich den Weg auf dem du diese Edle erringen kannst. / Ein Fest hab’ ich bereitet, du, Elis., sollst seine Fu« rstin sein! Die Sa« nger alle berief ich,çmeine Ritter u. Edlen sind geladen. Sie nahen’: Dokumente, 341, 342. The explicit references to their impending marriage disappear in the second prose draft dated 8 July. 592 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ Tannha« user (in ho« chster Verzu« ckung). Dir, Go« ttin der Liebe, soll mein Lied erto« nen! Gesungen laut sei jetzt dein Preis von mir! (Act II, sc. iv, ll. 322^4) Most importantly, his lie is exposed by his music, which shifts from A flat major to C major with descending lines in the bass linking his statement to a similar denial of his past in Act I. In particular, the claim‘All’ mein Erinnern ist mir schnell geschwunden’ receives swinging chromatic semitones in the bass line, a harmonic challenge to the solidity of his claim (Ex. 2). Actually, Tannha« user remembers very well, as we discover in his next statement. To Elisabeth’s question ‘Was war es dann, das euch zuru« ckgefu« hrt?’ (What was it then that brought you back?; l. 49) he answers: ‘Ein Wunder war’s, / ein unbegreiflich hohes Wunder!’ (ll. 51^2) (Ex. 3(a)). Miracles defy explanation and have no traceable cause. But while he claims ignorance, his music identifies the exact moment that led him to the Wartburg. As Carolyn Abbate has observed, his musical statement is a re- casting of his Act I epiphany following the pilgrims’ chorus (Ex. 3(b^c)).28 It was his resolve to repent for his Venusberg years that brought him back. In other words, in the middle of his reunion scene with Elisabeth, when all attention goes to the lovely couple and the redemption plot is about to be forgotten, Tannha« user shows awareness of the causal link between his salvation and his return to the Wartburg. At the start of the Sa« ngerkrieg, then, Tannha« user faces a dilemma. He has a past that he cannot reveal, an obligation waiting to be fulfilled, and a present desire to be united with Elisabeth. What should he do? By winning the contest, he gets the girl but will be in danger of losing her once his past is revealed (an outcome that Wagner explores in his next opera Lohengrin).29 If he loses, he is free to make the pilgrimage but Elisabeth’s hand may well be offered to the winner. Both options are problematic because Tannha« user participates in a high-profile competition while still being a sinner, and therefore vulnerable. Since there is no time to atone before the contest, his best option is to cancel or postpone the event and avoid the danger of Elisabeth being committed to another minstrel. His strategic situation can then be described as follows: make pilgrimage unite with Elisabeth Win the contest NO / PERHAPS YES Lose the contest YES NO / PERHAPS Sabotage the contest YES YES / PROBABLY The table rows list his possible actions, the columns his aims, and the entries where rows and columns meet indicate whether the actions are likely to achieve the specific aims. The table shows that both winning and losing the contest have undesirable consequencesçconsequences he can avoid by sabotage. So, however irrational and self-defeating his behaviour at the contest may appear to everybody, on- and offstage, it actually serves his twin aims of redemption and union with Elisabeth better than any other choice. Like Hamlet, he may have ultimate goals that only the semblance of madness can help him realize. Praising Venus creates a scandal, interrupts the competition, generates public pressure for his repentance, and keeps Elisabeth 28 ‘Orpheus and the Underworld’, 45^6. 29 Ilias Chrissochoidis and Steffen Huck, ‘Elsa’s Reason: On Beliefs and Motives inWagner’s Lohengrin’, Cambridge Opera Journal, 22 (2010), 65^91. 593 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ EX. 2. (a) Elisabeth^Tannha« user duet (Act II, sc. ii); (b) Act I, sc. iv 594 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ available. As in all games, of course, at the start of the competition there are variables he cannot control, namely Elisabeth’s reaction, the punishment imposed by the court, and the Pope’s decision.30 Still, under the given circumstances his choice of Venus is strategically superior to any other, and as we find in the end, it is the only one that can lead him to salvation because Elizabeth’s pain and sacrifice will become his path to freedom, peace, and spiritual union with her. The question here is whether Tannha« user’s praise of Venus is conscious, premeditated, planned.31 To be sure, the flashes of Venusberg music suggest that Tann- ha« user is gradually being overtaken by past memories,32 exactly as memories of his mortal life had spoiled his service to the goddess of love in Act I. Yet Wagner’s stage direction describing him in a trance-like state was an afterthought resulting from the elimination of Walther’s song in the last two versions of the opera.33 In the Dresden version of 1845, the deterioration of the contest from competing statements on love to Ex. 2. Continued 30 For a game-theoretic treatment of the latter (in particular, the use of the staff miracle), see Heike Harmgart, Steffen Huck, and Wieland Mu« ller, ‘The Miracle as a Randomization Device: A Lesson from Richard Wagner’s Opera Tannha« user und der Sa« ngerkrieg auf Wartburg’, Economics Letters,102 (2009), 33^5. 31 While economists would typically be agnostic about whether decision-making is conscious or not, content with ‘as if’ approaches, it appears to us that applying these instruments to drama and opera requires a fuller approach, taking into account mental processes. 32 ‘Tannha« user . . . scheint sich in Tra« umereien zu verlieren’ (ll. 195^6); ‘Tannha« user (in ho« chster Verzu« ckung)’ (l. 322). 33 For the problem of the opera’s multiple versions, see Barry Millington,Wagner, rev. edn. (Princeton,1992),177^8. 595 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ ad hominem attacks appears much more gradual, thus more controlled and rational. Im- patient to reach the scene’s climax much earlier,Wagner ‘stages’ him, in 1875, as a spon- taneously possessed artist. The idea of a premeditated choice has already been suggested in a 2007 production of Tannha« user by Robert Carsen at the Paris Ope¤ ra. Turning the Sa« ngerkrieg into an early twentieth-century exhibition, Carsen had the hero calmly choose the ‘Praise of Venus’, a large (presumably nude) painting he had started working on in Act I, as his entry for the competitionçbefore he has a chance to see or hear any of the other com- petitors and to become agitated by their hypocrisy.34 Eliminating temporality makes EX. 3. Tannha« user’s ‘cries’: (a) Act II, sc. ii; (b) Act I, sc. iii; (c) melodic and harmonic com- parison of Tannha« user’s two ‘cries’ 34 [unsigned], ‘‘‘Tannha« user’’, fre' re deWagner; Lyrique. Le metteur en sce' ne Robert Carsen fait du he¤ ros un artiste incompris. L’ope¤ ra, a' Paris, est porte¤ par des voix et un Seiji Ozawa tre' s inspire¤ s’; Le Temps, 29 Dec. 2007. 596 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ things easier, of course, as each contestant makes a decision prior to the event. But is there anything in the score that could support the idea of premeditation? The answer is yes: we do find signs of thinking and calculation in Tannha« user’s performance.35 In a radical departure (‘a brutal musical interruption’ according to Abbate36) from Wolfram’s key of E flat major, Tannha« user launches his praise of Venus in E major, the two keys representing the ‘opposing spheres’ of the divine and the sensual in the Ex. 3. Continued 35 Many of the musical similarities below have already been discussed in Reinhold Brinkmann, ‘Tannha« user’s Lied’, in Carl Dahlhaus (ed.), Das Drama Richard Wagners als musikalisches Kunstwerk (Regensburg, 1970), 199^211; Abbate, ‘Orpheus and the Underworld’; and ead., In Search of Opera (Princeton, 2001),117. 36 Abbate, ‘Orpheus and the Underworld’, 43. 597 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ opera.37 He thus continues the pattern of ascending semitone keys in his Act I eulogies (D flat, D, E flat), which signalled his renewed efforts to please the goddess of love while pleading for his freedom (Ex. 4).38 Resuming this sequence after an entire act EX. 4. Tannha« user’s four verses in praise of Venus: (a) Act I, sc. ii; (b) Act II, sc. iv 37 Millington,Wagner,177. 38 This point is not affected by the opera’s different versions, since Wagner began with a single strophe in E flat major (1845) and kept adding extra strophes a semitone lower each time (D major in 1861 and D flat major^D major in 1875). 598 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ and in a contrasting environment can hardly be a coincidence; it rather suggests an in- tensification of the process. The fact alone that he never reached tonal alignment with the goddess while at the Venusberg (actually, the one-strophe praise in the Dresden version is in E flat major) invites us to probe the sincerity of his statement. Indeed, exactly when his words prepare us for the climax (‘zieht in den Berg der Venus ein!’) his music swerves away from the initial key and concludes in D major. This is unex- pected and breaks the pattern of tonal consistency represented by his previous praises. What is more, the new key is associated with invocations of Maria and Elisabeth in Act I, and his closing phrase, however conventional it may sound, is a recasting of his liberation shout ‘mein Heil ruht in Maria!’ in Act I, whose power instantly dematerialized the Venusberg (Ex. 5). This musical betrayal of Venus is not an accident. Being a master musician, Tann- ha« user surely understands the difference between the two keys and has memorized enough music to know which cadence is attached to which text. Had he been genuinely transported and sincerely enthusiastic, he could not have produced such a glaring contradiction between the rhetorical and musical aspects of his performance, between his song and his signal.39 And the fact that he is the only one in the Hall aware of this Ex. 4. Continued 39 For Carolyn Abbate, the recurring musical references in the opera represent the hero’s ‘conscious memory’: ‘the orchestra is the sound of Tannha« user’s mind. . . .The music is what is inside his mind as he recovers the past’ (‘Orpheus and the Underworld’, 44, 47). 599 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ betrayal renders the scenario of an engineered crisis more, not less, likely. (Remember that he wants this disruption and if everybody else understood the double entendre his strategy might become effectless.) Within a few bars, Tannha« user succeeds in sabotaging both the contest and his own attachment to Venus. While everyone hears him praising the goddess of sensual love, he himself reaffirms his denial of her. (His decision to rejoin her in Act III comes only after his strategy fails, leaving him without absolution and any hope of returning to Elisabeth.) It is a brilliant coup that tricks both the Wartburgians and the audience. It also helps resolve the chronic com- plaint about his swift (and thus unconvincing) change of heart from praising Venus to submitting to Wartburg’s strict morality. This new interpretation of Tannha« user’s faux pas works not only because he is a full human beingçsomeone who cannot just feel and love but who is also able to think, reflect, remember, and revise his beliefsçbut also because he is a music artist in control of two different informational tracks, verbal and musical.40 Thus he is able to produce statements of varying truth depending on the convergence of musical and rhetorical content. A musical gesture and phrase already associated with a thought or decision can later be used for the exact opposite claim, as we saw above. When and why this happens is predicated on social context. Tannha« user is unable to put down roots in any establishment because he is constrained by convention and re- EX. 5. (a) Tannha« user’s self-dedication to Mary in Act I, sc. i; (b) the conclusion of his praise of Venus in Act II, sc. iv 40 As James Garratt puts it, Tannha« user is ‘highlighting the predicament of art’ and his story is ‘that of art itself’: Music, Culture and Social Reform in the Age of Wagner (Cambridge, 2010), 49. 600 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ petitiveness. The eternity he is offered at the Venusberg becomes as torturous as reliving the same winter day in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania in Danny Rubin and Harold Ramis’s Groundhog Day (1993). What the recurrence of his Venus aria tells us is that he keeps repeating himself like an assembly-line worker and no renewal of sensual ecstasy can revitalize him. In the Wartburg, too, he finds an institutionalized setting with pompous rituals and a strong division between acceptable and forbidden themes. As long as these external forces restrict his self-expression, Tannha« user is compelled to be untrue to others and to make contradictory statements. The semblance of irrationality is his only shield against attachments that threaten his ultimate goal of redemption. Ex. 5. Continued 601 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ Thanks to his musical track, however, we are able to see into his mind and detect a strategy of redemption. The remarkable aspect of Elisabeth is that she turns from a romantic pursuit to a vehicle of salvation for him. She came to love him because of his art, but unlike Venus she is pure and spiritual enough to sacrifice her love, even her life, for his salvation. Her intervention in the Act II finale is what revitalizes Tannha« u- ser’s mission and becomes his source of inspiration. It is the epiphany of realizing the pain he has caused to her that sanctifies his Act I resolve to expunge the impurities of sensuality in his life. This is why his two cries in Acts I and II are identical musical gestures yet of different musical content. They are signposts in his progress towards re- demption and spiritual renewal. Spoiling the Sa« ngerkrieg is a strategic choice that leads from the one to the other. Unsure as Wagner had been through to the end of his life about the dramatic perfection of Tannha« user und der Sa« ngerkrieg auf Wartburg, he may, in the end, have produced an opera that works better if approached from a cognitive perspective than from a historical, formal, or stylistic one. ABSTRACT The eponymous hero of Wagner’s Tannha« user treads a path of stark contrasts and rapid swings that culminate in the opera’s central episode, the song contest at Wartburg. Instead of securing his reintegration within the court with a brilliant performance, Tannha« user spoils the event with insolent remarks and the exhibitionist disclosure of his Venusberg experience. His behaviour offends his peers, scandalizes the court, breaks Elisabeth’s heart, and brings him to the edge of death. Why would he sacrifice everything for nothing? Existing interpretations of Wagner’s Tannha« user blame either the hero’s flaws or the young composer’s unconvincing dramaturgy, and take for granted Tannha« user’s hyper-emotional impulsive nature. This essay offers a radic- ally new perspective on the opera by drawing on game theory, the dominant method- ology in the social sciences. Through a detailed analysis of the hero’s decision-making, it argues that his seemingly irrational behaviour is actually consistent with a strategy of redemption. Musical evidence in the score indeed suggests that Tannha« user may have consciously disrupted the contest, knowing that only a public disclosure of his sinful past can force him to make the pilgrimage to Rome and secure a permanent union with Elizabeth. 602 at V ienna U niversity L ibrary on A ugust 26, 2015 http://m l.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://ml.oxfordjournals.org/ 
work_2q3ts43puvfjdbghwx4buvwuim	----	Defining and Defending the Middle Ages with C. S. Lewis humanities Article Defining and Defending the Middle Ages with C. S. Lewis Brian Murdoch School of Humanities, University of Stirling, Stirling FK95NQ, Scotland, UK; b.o.murdoch@stir.ac.uk Received: 13 May 2020; Accepted: 12 June 2020; Published: 18 June 2020 ���������� ������� Abstract: The scholarly writings of C. S. Lewis (1898–1963) have both inspired the study of the Middle Ages and confirmed the relevance to the humanities that medieval literary texts can have for the present. He was aware that the straitjacket implied by periodisation can blind us to the universal values presented in medieval literature. Qualitative assumptions made about the (usually undefined) Middle Ages include an alienating remoteness, and also a general ignorance, especially of science and technology. Lewis drew a ention to the knowledge of astronomy, for example, and pointed out that medieval technical skills in architecture, agriculture and medicine are important for us to be aware about. Three medieval works illustrate this universality with respect to technical skills (the Völundarkviða); identity and the self (the Hildebrandslied); and the popular love-song (the courtly love-lyric). Lewis cautioned against pejorative terms like ‘Dark Ages’, noted problems of perspective in assessing all pre-modern literature, and showed that earlier works have a continuing value and relevance. Keywords: C. S. Lewis; periodisation; the Middle Ages; medieval studies; qualitative judgement; universal themes; technology; identity; courtly love “The Chapters between William I (1066) and the Tudors (Henry VIII, etc.) are always called the Middle Ages, on account of their coming at the beginning”. (Sellar and Yeatman 1930, p. 22) C. S. Lewis has done more than most though his scholarly writing not only to inspire, encourage, and defend medieval studies, but also to explain and indeed to define them, partly by posing the apparently simple question of where and when the Middle Ages are to be located. He did so in two of his works in particular: first in his Cambridge inaugural lecture of 1954, “De descriptione temporum”; and secondly in a series of lectures given in Oxford several times before his translation to the Cambridge Chair of Medieval and Renaissance English, and published as The Discarded Image in 1964, just after his death. The opening of his inaugural lecture cites various typical and amusingly ill-conceived a acks on the Middle Ages, perhaps the best of them being Domenico Compare i’s contrast of them with “more normal periods of history.” Lewis’s other examples note the assumption of a generally superstitious dimness in a period perceived overall as a “great dark surging sea.” We are all too familiar with assertions of the mists of medieval ignorance by commentators, who might themselves benefit from some acquaintance with the trivium and the quadrivium; more recent scholars, of course, have provided vigorous defences ((Classen 2017, 2020), and especially (Classen 2019b)). There seems to be somewhat less readiness to condemn other historical periods in such an outright and dogmatic fashion. The specific accusation of inadequacy, for example, is not usually levelled at the late Neolithic, although it apparently took our stone-age forebears many centuries just to perfect stone tools (Cummings 2017). To be fair, that period also offered the hugely important scientific developmentof be er strains of cultivatedwheat, in what has properly been called Humanities 2020, 9, 51; doi:10.3390/h9020051 www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com http://www.mdpi.com/2076-0787/9/2/51?type=check_update&version=1 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/h9020051 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities Humanities 2020, 9, 51 2 of 11 the Neolithic revolution (Cole 1959). In terms of literary periodisation, the Bronze Age is acclaimed for Homer, and the Augustan for Vergil, without any of the opprobrium that the word ‘medieval’ so often carries with it. Post-Rousseau, and with a necessarily increasing awareness of ecology, a itudes are often equally uncritical, indeed more usually entirely positive (some might even call it patronising), about the levels of understanding in supposedly primitive societies. Un- or ill-informed assumptions are always dangerous. The general ignorance assumed for the Middle Ages is often damned even further as being reflected in a literature which is in consequence quite alien to the modern world. However, to take a very modern piece of literary micro-periodisation, the writers in the golden age of the English detective story in the 1930s are not looked down upon for their complete ignorance of DNA, or of electronic media, both of which have radically changed the genre and have separated them from modern detective stories with an enormous divide. Why the Middle Ages—whenever they were—should be singled out for special a ack is hard to explain. Every age is ignorant in comparison with what comes after. One of Lewis’s most telling comments at the start of his lecture is the statement: “All lines of demarcation between what we call ‘periods’ should be subject to constant revision. Would that we could dispense with them altogether.” He cites the historian G. M. Trevelyan, who had noted that: “Unlike dates, periods are not facts. They are retrospective conceptions that we form about past events, useful to focus discussion, but very often leading historical thought astray” (Lewis 1962, p. 11; Trevelyan 1942, p. 92). That ‘but’ is important, and we do not, perhaps, even need the word ‘historical’ in the final clause. Periodisation, in history or literature, can be misleading, and Lewis’s question of whether we need the periods at all is worth careful consideration. He had taken his lecture title from Isidore’s Etymologies, and he noted that Isidore himself divided history not qualitatively, but simply into convenient blocks (Lewis 1962, 1964). A tagged period may appear to be a convenience, but to refer to the ‘Middle’ Ages does beg the question of what comes at either side, while more obviously qualitative terms such as the Dark Ages or the Age of Belief are even more dubious. The issue is still a relevant one. More recently, important considerations of the problem have been published in particular by Jacques Le Goff (Le Goff [2003] 2005; Le Goff [2014] 2015). There is an argument for the use of centuries alone, even if these are themselves arbitrary, and based in any case upon a Christian calendar no longer even accepted everywhere in the West, even if we can now at least give dates according to the Common Era. Reference to the Middle Ages does, in fact, usually imply Western Europe (Lewis describes himself as “Old Western man”), and while there may be similarities here and there on individual points, we cannot apply the general notion of the Middle Ages to China, to India, to South America; it is not even entirely straightforward in the Slav world. Geographically the location is Western Europe. There has been some particularly interesting work on this problem recently with the concept of the paradigm shift (Classen 2019a). The first response to those who voice the cliché of medieval ignorance, or use the adjective as a synonym for ‘backward’ or ‘barbaric’, must be to ask when the interlocutor thinks the Middle Ages were. The definition cited at the head of this paper from that estimable historical corrective 1066 and All That, in fact—aside from the apposite joke—locates them in the period from the Norman Conquest to the Tudors, what we might sometimes call the later Middle Ages. However, do we set as a start date the death of Vergil? The fall of Rome? The Völkerwanderungen? The Strasbourg Oaths in 842? The Conquest in 1066? The great period of Gothic building? Do we end the period with the Renaissance (whenever and wherever we wish to place it)? Copernicus? The invention of printing? The Tudors? The Reformation? The discovery of the New World, or of the circulation of blood (by Columbus, that is, rather than by the Vikings, and by Harvey in 1628 rather than—query—by Galen)? It is clear from the suggested beginnings and ends of the Middle Ages that a great many dates, whether they are based upon broad movements, single events, or technological or political changes, are possible, but that the potential time covered is very long indeed, far too long for a single period. Even classical antiquity, if we go from Homer to Vergil, embraces only eight centuries or so, the Middle Ages perhaps twelve or thirteen. The Chair to which Lewis had just been appointed Humanities 2020, 9, 51 3 of 11 was the new one of Medieval and Renaissance English, and his theme was that those two supposedly distinct periods could not easily be distinguished. The breadth of possibilities for when the Middle Ages actually were can readily subsume the Renaissance. The question is left open of whether ‘medieval’ is a valid or useful term at all. Lewis paid a ention in his inaugural lecture to possible divisions between different ages. Of course, sub-divisions are always possible, and early, high, or late medieval may be acceptable as (very) rough guides. For the early period, the term Dark Ages is sometimes encountered, and Lewis addressed this designation as well. It, too, is pejorative, implying perhaps that those mists of medieval ignorance were at that stage especially thick and murky. Lewis notes that there were nonetheless major achievements in the centuries before 1200, and refers to the hinged book, the codex rather than the roll; and to the invention of the stirrup. The use and misuse of the term Gothic is also interesting, and it, too, was at some stages simply pejorative, implying Germanic barbarism (much as the word Vandal is currently used), although its association with perpendicular architecture (though not with the Fraktur typeface) has redeemed it to some extent. Its more recent applications to a genre of romance, and later still to a related fashion style have even less to do with Wulfila (Haslag 1963). One age, then, is no more ignorant in relative terms than any other. History moves onwards, even if the term ‘progress’ might imply something a li le more optimistic than it deserves. As time passes, specific areas of knowledge may recede, although it is rarely the case that they are forgo en completely. Lewis was aware that progress implies taking the past with us, not leaving it behind. The knowledge acquired by Greek and then Arab physicians and scientists, for example, did (just about) survive, re-emerging in Southern Europe during the twelfth century. The loss of technological skills from an earlier period, too, was even noted with regret, as in the Anglo-Saxon poem known as The Ruin, from the tenth-century Exeter Book. The speaker observes the broken walls and once-great buildings (possibly, though not definitely, of Roman Bath) and mourns that the craftsmen who built them are no more: “Eorðgrap hafað/waldendwyrhtan”, the master-craftsmen are held by the grave’s grip (Mitchell and Robinson 1986, p. 238, v. 6f.). However, building skills did return. It is interesting that Victorian architectural technology, to which reference will be made later, can nowadays itself be the subject of a laudatio temporis acti, though not, perhaps, in poetry. In recent centuries we have experienced an exponentially rapid rate of movement in the development of technology in particular, although Lewis again questioned how much the illusion of perspective affects this. “The distance between the telegraph post I am touching and the next telegraph post looks longer than the sum of distances between all the other posts” (Lewis 1962, p. 17). He pointed further, however, not to the possible end of the Middle Ages, but rather to what he saw as the greatest divide—the chasm—which separates us from an age which might embrace in literary terms both Homer and Jane Austen, a divide occasioned principally by the rise of the machine. When Lewis’s lecture was given as a radio broadcast it was under the title “The Great Divide” (Zaleski and Zaleski 2015, p. 445). One further comment is worth citing, since it goes, in fact, even beyond the industrial revolution: “When Wa makes his engine, when Darwin starts monkeying with the ancestry of Man, and Freud with his soul, and the economists with all that is his, the lion will have got out of its cage” (Lewis 1962, p. 17). Are we to end the Middle Ages, then, in about 1820, or even 1920? If the Middle Ages (pace Sellar and Yeatman) are simply those sandwiched between classical antiquity and the modern, why not take them much closer to the present? We have moved on from Darwin, Freud, Keynes and indeed Lewis. Two world wars and many later events have shown us very clearly what a combination of technology and real ignorance can accomplish, and on what scale. Technology and industry are a divide, but if the term ‘positively medieval’ is a negative euphemism, all new technologies (including the bow-and-arrow and the printing-press) are potentially double-edged, something which argues against their use in qualitative judgments of any period. It is with a perhaps unconscious irony that Lewis reminds us in his inaugural that in Beowulf an old sword is assumed to be be er than a new Humanities 2020, 9, 51 4 of 11 one. Henry Bessemer (ofthe manufacturing process) andHiram StevensMaxim (ofthe gun) wereboth engineers working with a technology involving steel, the one ultimately more useful, perhaps, though both were far-reaching; and the effects of the la er’s invention surely outstripped any historical barbarism in terms of sheer numbers. Medieval ignorance, held to be more or less completely comprehensive in a backward-looking period, is frequently imagined as having been bolstered by educational processes based exclusively on early and religious texts. This kind of global dismissal is readily countered by such important studies as the large second volume of James Bowen’s History of Western Education, significantly titled Civilisation of Europe. Sixth to Sixteenth Century (without the term ‘medieval’), which demonstrates the richness and variety in the development of education over the long period from the fall of Rome (Bowen 1971). In The Discarded Image Lewis stresses the heterogeneity of all the various sources that went into medieval education (especially at the new universities), but does draw a ention to the basic problem of study in the period, based as it was upon wri en authorities who, while accepted as authoritative, nevertheless contradict each other. He sees what he calls the Medieval Model as one of harmonisation, building and perfecting “a syncretic Model not only out of Platonic, Aristotelian and Stoical, but out of Pagan and Christian elements.” (Lewis 1964, p. 12). Even the fall of Rome left behind a great deal in legal and administrative terms. In addressing the question of what was known and thought about life and the universe in The Discarded Image, Lewis remained aware of the apparent apartness of much of medieval thought, but stressed the inheritance of the Middle Ages from both the classical and the Germanic (and Celtic) worlds. He makes the point, too, that we need not treat a medieval literary work as we might a modern one; we should not view it as an isolated production, but as cumulative. He gives the example of Malory “doing a few demolitions here and adding a few features there” as the last in a series of authors, rather than as an individual writer using a selection of sources. He also saw what he had established as his Medieval Model of the universe as continuing down to the end of the seventeenth century (Lewis 1964, p. 33). More recent scholarship has extended this approach back into the so-called Dark Ages. A recent article (the title is of considerable interest) on “Bede, St Cuthbert and the Science of Miracles,” stresses that Bede’s De temporum ratione “assembles a strikingly coherent account of the universe as a working system […] Straightforward information on the size and orbit of the sun is given, together with an extremely clear explanation of the causes and timings of lunar and solar eclipses” (Lawrence-Mathers 2019). It has always been incumbent upon those of us concerned with medieval literature to ensure some familiarity with other aspects of life and learning in the relevant centuries, and with the workings-out of Lewis’s Model. In German studies there is a well-established interest in scientific or medicalwritings, helpingtocombattheassumptionthatsuchmaterialsweremoreorlessnon-existent. There were recognisable scientists, of course, even if their methods and resources were not like those of the modern world. As an early example we might point to Hermann of Reichenau (Hermannus Contractus, the Lame, 1013–1056), whose mathematical and astronomical work compensated for his physical disability—the comparison with Stephen Hawking is hard to avoid. His works survive in a significantly large number of manuscripts. Working in the first half of the eleventh century, “Hermann did not have access to older Greek and Arabic texts but had some knowledge of their contents through the works of authors in Spain and Lorraine […] Hermann was a key figure in passing down elementary knowledge about astronomy and mathematics to the future scholars of the west” (Archibald 1995, p. 57). As an aside, Hermann (whose writings are in volume 221 of Migne’s Patrologia) also composed Latin sequences. It is clear that medicine in the earlier medieval centuries was still cut off to some extent, from the work of Galen, and a glance at any medieval medical treatise (the numbers of such texts might well surprise denigrators of medieval knowledge) shows that for a long time charms were included beside recipes and procedures. Charms, of course, are regularly dismissed as classic illustrations of medieval Humanities 2020, 9, 51 5 of 11 superstition and magic, but it is still worth recalling that occasionally—as in the case of epilepsy, for example—a charm such as the Old High German Contra caducem morbum (von Steinmeyer 1963, pp. 380–83) might well have appeared efficacious in the face of a seizure, and the calming of the patient with the repetitions of the Paternoster would certainly have been safer than some of the prescriptions; epilepsy is even now imperfectly understood. It is also worth wondering whether bleeding charms might (apparently) have worked (Murdoch 1988a, 1988b). There was of course a hiatus in the loss of much early medical knowledge, but the herbarium at St. Gall was celebrated, and later on, medical centres were established at Salerno and Montpellier, and some knowledge returned and was developed. Especially interesting, perhaps, are the mulieres Salernitanae, the female physicians, like Trota in the twelfth century, associated with a very widely used compilation on gynaecology, or Rebecca Guarna, slightly later, who wrote on diagnosis by urine sample. By the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries we might mention Fracastoro and Hu en on syphilis. Figures in the field of medicine from the thirteenth century onward in Germany, too, include Ortolf von Baierlant, whose comments on dental treatment were admirably conservative (and whom we can hardly condemn for his unawareness of amoxicillin). The Cistercian Hildgard von Hürnhaim wrote on diet in the same century, and we may also refer to the polymath Konrad von Megenberg in the fourteenth, and to Heinrich von Pfalzpaint (Pfalzpeunt) on wounds in the fifteenth (Keil 1968; Bein 1989). It is a point familiar enough to those involved with medieval German literature that the central problem of Hartmann’s Der arme Heinrich is revealed to be metaphysical only after the resources of actual medicine have been investigated and found to be of no use. On the general deficiency in technology as a whole sometimes assumed by modern detractors of the period, one needs to do li le more than to point to the construction of the cathedrals and castles (Gimpel 1961; Clarke 1984). The names of the designers and technicians are perhaps not as well known, but that these edifices were built to last, and with the same skills and solidity of, say, Victorian engineering, is undeniable, even if the purposes for which they were built may no longer be viewed as necessary or acceptable. Yet it is not too far-fetched to compare the durability of Lincoln Cathedral, begun in the eleventh century, with Joseph Bazalge e’s sewage system for London in the nineteenth. Those interested in the literature of the whole period (and indeed anyone venturing to comment upon it) need some grasp of the economic considerations and of technology even in the agricultural sense, as supplied by such well-known studies—to refer to just one—as that by Michael Postan on mediaeval society. It is interesting that Postan takes—albeit cautiously—the start of the Middle Ages as the Anglo-Saxon se lement of England and continues it on to the fifteenth century, and that he is also aware of necessary variations elsewhere in Europe (Postan 1972). As indicated, the awareness of DNA might well now offer an even greater divide between our age and earlier periods than the industrial revolution, even more so than that provided by modern advances in astronomy, or indeed space travel, because that was at least imagined before it became reality. The Middle Ages may not have reached the moon or established the existence of exoplanets, but Lewis’s chapter on the heavens certainly a acks the view that everyone in the Middle Ages had their feet firmly on a flat earth, gazing superstitiously at the stars. The idea of the earth as a sphere goes back to the fifth century B.C.E., of course, even if it is fair to say that a layman at almost any period, including the present, might still (subconsciously) assume flatness in terms of practicality, or more likely not think about it at all; and superstitions regarding the stars may be found in any newspapers even now. Lewis discusses natural laws, and his Medieval Model of the universe is “in many ways… scientifically astute” (Zaleski and Zaleski 2015, p. 257). In terms of magnitude, for example, Lewis cites the South English Legendary, from what is in any case a remarkable passage, on the route to the stars: “Muche is betwene heuene & eorþe,” so that a man might travel “Euerich dai forti mile” but still not reach the highest heaven “in eiȝte þousond ȝer” (Lewis 1964, p. 98; D’Evelyn and Mill 1956, p. 418). Multiplied out, that is still far short of what we now know of astronomic distances, but as Lewis again notes, the imaginings of ten million miles and a thousand million are much the same. Humanities 2020, 9, 51 6 of 11 Of course, it must be added that there are still very many things that were not foreseen, and that the progress made in astronomy (increasingly so since the Hubble telescope) continues with enormous rapidity; but summary judgements are still dangerous. Lewis did much to dispel those medieval mists. Having looked at the stars, he turns his a ention in The Discarded Image to the inhabitants of the earth, acknowledging that some aspects of medieval zoology can indeed seem childish, although it might be added that even now it is probably easier to believe in the unicorn than in the platypus, if one has never visited Australia but has perhaps seen a narwhal tusk in a museum. The Physiologus (second or third century) and Conrad Gesner’s Historia animalium (of the sixteenth century) both do include the unicorn, even if otherwise they are themselves very far apart scientifically, with Gesner as the father of modern zoology, although occasionally both are assigned to the Middle Ages. Lewis points out, too, that genuine knowledge of some animals at least was far more detailed than it is in the (urban) present, in the persons of the shepherd, the henwife, the beekeeper. Lewis’s principal interest, however, was literature, and it is worth noting that his own critical approach in another and rather different book, An Experiment in Criticism, published in 1961, makes no distinctions in his examples between periods (Lewis 1961). The work is about taste and reading in general, and it is relevant that he can in the discussion of one aspect—realism, in fact—draw upon Beowulf, Chaucer, Dante, Swift and Wordsworth to make his point. Medieval literature—do we need to add “of course”?—deals much of the time with universals equally prominent in modern literature (Classen 2020). We may look, at least briefly and with Germanic examples only, at three themes treated in medieval texts—technology, identity, and love—in order to underscore the relevance (a much-used word, usually negated in comments on the Middle Ages) of such texts for the modern reader. It would be too obvious, however, to include a celebrated late medieval morality play: Death still summons Everyman, and that theme is as modern as it always was. Technology is a central theme in one early work: the Old Norse Völundarkviða, the poem of Wayland the Smith (to whom Lewis refers in The Discarded Image), perhaps of the tenth or eleventh century. There is magic involved here with the swan-maidens (although fantasy-writing is currently more popular than ever, so that this should not lead to the dismissal of the work); and there is a story-teller’s horror-motif in the making of drinking cups from the skulls of two murdered boys, jewels from their eyes, and a necklace from their teeth. This seems (and is) thoroughly barbaric, or even (in the modern literary sense), Gothic, although in the context it is designed to underline not just the skills of Völundr, but more firmly the necessary and necessarily visible political removal of the king’s only legitimate heirs. The Völundarkviða is a narrative of abduction, revenge, murder and rape (none of them exclusive to the Middle Ages), but the central theme is the initial capture of Völundr by Niðuðr, from which all else derives, and on which the narrative depends. He is abducted for the clear reason that he is the smith, the maker of gold rings, but also of weapons; his gold is taken, but so is his sword, and it is because of his mastery of metal that he is hamstrung so that he cannot leave. He manages, however, not just to remove Niðuðr’s sons, but to drug and impregnate his daughter Böðvild, forcing the king to swear—significantly “by shield-rim and sword-edge” (at skjaldar rönd… ok at mækis egg, (Jónsson 1926, p. 151, strophe 34))—that it is his child who will inherit the kingdom. Völundr is able to escape, too, by his own skills. His (literal) flight is again a fantasy element, but at the heart of the narrative remains Niðuðr’s desire for the smith’s technological skills, even if at the last he is forced to realise that those skills are more than he bargained for; technology can be dangerous (Murdoch 1996). The Eddic poem does not promote abduction, murder and rape. In the context they are simply political realities, and this, too, is not exclusively medieval. If a personal anecdote (Lewis had one in his lecture) may be permi ed, a former student specialising in management studies, who had also enjoyed a course on the Germanic hero, was asked by a sceptical interviewer why she had done so. She reported that she had compared a modern CEO to a medieval king, often facing unforeseen problems that might require drastic action, even Humanities 2020, 9, 51 7 of 11 if not actually murder. Her quick thinking presumably secured the post for her, rather than the Nibelungenlied as such, but the point is a good one. In his Cambridge lecture Lewis mentioned specifically, although again briefly, the Old High German Hildebrandslied, noting that it would have been understood by the readers of the Iliad, many centuries before. This is doubtless true in terms of important warriors facing one another in single combat, but the work can also speak clearly to the modern world, as has been pointed out by Classen (2005). The poem addresses an existential problem, the potential impossibility of asserting or establishing one’s own identity in a given (and here a tragic) situation. In terms of transmission it is easy to dismiss the Hildebrandslied as an almost paradigmatically obscure medieval work. It is incomplete, and it survives in a single manuscript in a linguistically confused form, such that every word in it has been picked over by the philologists (von Steinmeyer 1963, pp. 1–15). Whether its origins are Gothic or Lombardic is equally often debated. As a story it contains no suspense, and most of it is dialogue or soliloquy (Classen 2013). It is not, however, about a ba le between two warriors at all, even though the narrator gives that impression in the opening lines. It is about the discovery by one man that it is impossible to avoid a ba le when he wants and needs to do so. We are told at the start that the two potential combatants are representative champions from different armies, and although, with reference to a somewhat distorted history, it can be imagined which armies these are, that is of lesser relevance. Each of the two has a job to do in respect of the armies to which they owe allegiance, but a further piece of information sets the tone for the whole work: the dvandva-compound sunufatarungo, a father and a son, bound together in a single word. Hildebrand, the father, is, however, alone—the word is chosen deliberately—in being able to perceive the whole situation. He tries to say who he is, but the long-lost son who stands before him has no reason to believe him, and voices first the logical idea that since his father was a famous warrior, he is probably dead by now, and then hardens this to the entirely definite conclusion that he actually is dead: tot ist Hiltibrant. The existential isolation of the older warrior means that he must demonstrate his continued prowess as the only way to assert his own identity. That we have no ending may be symbolic, but it is unimportant: Hildebrand must kill his son, even if the la er had clearly inherited some at least of his father’s skill to have become a champion himself. Only by killing his own son can Hildebrand show who he is, and only then could the story be known. Hildebrand’s a empts at reconciliation are not only failures, but counter-productive; the offer of gold which is, the audience is told in an aside, obviously associated with the Huns merely lets the young warrior, Hildebrand’s son Hadubrand, assume perfectly reasonably that his adversary is a Hun who is trying to trick him. Hildebrand eventually accepts that he might as well be a Hun. This is the extreme situation faced by the principal protagonist, who is forced, if his existence is to be valid at all, to choose (distorting Sartre’s example) to jump from the cliff. The context may be a medieval one; the existential solitude of Hildebrand is not. C. S. Lewis’s first major work, The Allegory of Love, was published in 1936 and remains a standard handbook. His study of the medieval phenomenon of courtly love—something which is, as he admits at the start of the work, “apt to repel the modern reader”—nevertheless presents it as the basis for modern ideas of romantic love. Lewis’s introductory remarks have a bearing on his overall view of periodisation when he points out that the examination of a period when allegorical love was a normal state of expression will enable us to understand our present, and even our future (Lewis 1936, p. 1; see Zaleski and Zaleski 2015, p. 181). Courtly love, and its expression in lyrics such as those of the German Minnesang is (as Lewis was aware) one of the areas frequently dismissed as merely medieval, of no relevance to the modern world, and in any case pre y odd. There is a very strong connection indeed between Minnesang and the popular love song from the Victorian period to the present, apart, however paradoxical this may sound, from the music. It is admi edly difficult to separate the music from the words, and between the medieval and the modern love lyric there is also a difference in reception. Popular music is now Humanities 2020, 9, 51 8 of 11 classless and also very widely disseminated, and modern technology has ensured that it requires a mental effort for us now to separate the words from the melody. The music to which medieval German love lyrics were sung is either inaccessible, or, when reconstructed, alienating, but the alienation disappears when the focus is upon the lyrics as such. Ruth Harvey wrote a paper nearly sixty years ago linking the lyrics of Heinrich von Morungen with those of Cole Porter and Hoagy Carmichael (Harvey 1963), but many of her parallels still hold and will doubtless continue to do so. Comparisons with Lennon and McCartney would be just as plausible. It is impossible to cite entirely up to date examples of popular songs about love because the concept of what is up to date shifts constantly, but the theme is—and will surely continue to be—ever with us. The basic premise of the poetry of courtly love is the direct or indirect expression of undying devotiontoanunnamed(orifnamed, thenstillunidentified)beloved, whomayormaynotreciprocate that love. That the object of the love may be married to someone else is similarly not unknown in modern love songs (Country and Western provides examples). Courtly love persists in a popular song culture which also maintains the eternal paradox of all love poetry, that a public (with modern media very public) declaration is being made of what is supposedly a private passion. Since it is all equally clearly a literary construct, it can be received and redirected in the mind of the individual listener towards another person, or, if it is more objectively about the pains of love, for example, then it can be applied empathetically. Those who dismiss courtly love as yet another illustration of medieval apartness might also consider the (physically) massive collection edited by Arthur Ha o under the title Eos of the aubade, the tageliet, or dawn-song throughout the ages in a very wide range of cultures indeed (Ha o 1965) The theme of the lover leaving at dawn or cock-crow is familiar to students of medieval German in the early anonymous “Slâfest du, friedel ziere?”(“Are you asleep, dear love?”), in the poems of Heinrich von Morungen, or in such striking pieces as that by Wolfram von Eschenbach beginning “Sine klâwen durch die wolken sint geslagen,” with the opening image of dawn’s talons having torn through the clouds of darkness. Now as then the dawn-song can reach a high level of poetry, including one example by a Nobel literature laureate, in Bob Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright.” Ha o’s collection refers in its English section to “Empty Bed Blues,” and the Everly Brothers produced in 1957 an entirely classical aubade (which remains familiar) in the strikingly modern context of a drive-in moviewith“WakeUp, Li leSusie.” Ha o’s Eos, incidentally, isaparticularlygoodexampleofliterary continuity, since it takes us from Ancient Egyptian, to Far Eastern parallels and to poetry in Quechua, as well as including most European vernaculars of the Middle Ages and beyond. It is something of a by-way in the defence of the Middle Ages, but it is an irony that the enthusiastic endorsement of the period by the Romantics and much later by Hollywood might actually have reinforced some of the prejudices of those who dismiss the period. People and situations made to look and sound archaic in a way that cannot have had any basis in reality have doubtless contributed to the process of alienation. Lewis was keen on the writings of Sir Walter Sco , and delivered a toast to him in Edinburgh in 1956 (Benne 1965), but for all that, Sco has quite a lot to answer for in the perception of the Middle Ages, even if the Sco ish Tourist Board and many later and less skilled storytellers (and writers for television) might well wish to defend him. Lewis was at least balanced in his praise of Sco , who did stimulate interest in the Middle Ages, although he certainly distorted things as well. The dangers are even clearer in, for example, the earlier translations of medieval works such as Kudrun or the Nibelungenlied in popular series such as Everyman’s Library, in which there were no finely dressed, strong warriors, but inevitably heroes of doughty mien apparelled in noble raiment. Tushery is not medieval. Lewis set the machine age as the great period divide, more important than any limits for the Middle Ages or the Renaissance, but others may now be suggested, and we may well continue to shift that great divide onwards, with the effect that even comparatively recent ages (and their literature) are pushed backwards toward the Middle Ages. The awareness of DNA is, as already mentioned, one such new divide, but we might also cite nuclear energy (and its implications), the awareness of black Humanities 2020, 9, 51 9 of 11 holes (though relativity is simply too complex), sound and image recordings, film and television, or more philosophically the sexual revolution (which, according to Philip Larkin’s poem, began in 1963, the year of Lewis’s death) and the beginnings, at least, of gender equality. It ought not to be necessary to point out that a negatively qualitative judgment of the undefined Middle Ages as a period of especial ignorance which has nothing to say to the present, is illogical at best. Efforts can and must be made to show that the Middle Ages were not unaware of all science and sociology, but were simply a stage in the normal progress of humanity which is reflected in the literature; one really does wonder why Compare i (who should have known be er) thought the Middle Ages were less normal than other periods, or what, indeed, he thought of as a normal period of history at all. Now, long after Lewis’s own declaration of himself as a dinosaur, there have been many evaluations of his importance as a medievalist and literary scholar (Adey 1998; MacSwain and Ward 2010). It must be noted, of course, that there have been plenty of changes and shifts in emphasis in medieval studies themselves, especially since the end of the nineteenth century, and indeed since Lewis’s time. One example is the welcome growth of interest in the role of women in religion, literature and society, which is an important development. To take only a few examples, we may refer to the focus upon writers like Mechthild von Magdeburg and other women mystics, or on literary figures such as Christine de Pisan, and to recent very detailed historical studies such as (to offer a fortuitous example) that by Massimiliano Vitiello on queenship and the Ostrogoth Amalasuintha (Vitiello 2017). The present essay is focused upon C. S. Lewis, however, and it is inappropriate to move too far away from the theme, but it is also worth noting that there have been methodological shifts in the approach to medieval topics, as demonstrated and enumerated, for example, in Michael Ti mann’s examination of the way the early Germans have been presented (Ti mann 1991). Lewis’s worries about periodisation should not lead, however, to a counsel of despair, and we need not take his reservations to mean that we must refer only to the literature of the tenth century, or the fifteenth century and so on. It simply means that in writing and teaching we need to be aware of, and cautious in our use of blanket terms like ‘medieval,’ making clear that it is difficult in literary terms, though not impossible, to embrace Ausonius and Boethius as well as Malory or Sebastian Brant, and also that social and historical elements which set the writing in this and every other period apart from today’s world are constantly shifting. The broad term ‘medieval’ will continue to mean, probably, the period roughly from the folk migrations to the birth of printing, but even that is only an approximation, always requiring closer (but neutral) sub-definition in terms of early, central, late and so on. Above all, Lewis reminds us that periodisation, if it is to be done at all, must not be done qualitatively, and that with the passing of secular time things and a itudes simply change, and that those changes should be noted. As a cultural division, Lewis was also aware that Latin (let alone Greek) is no longer regularly found in the school curriculum, so that it may now be pointless to note that tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis, but it is pertinent nonetheless. We should defend Medieval Studies in the way Lewis did, define and redefine, as scholars since his time have done, and make clear, too, that works of literature wri en in the whole extended period regularly have a great deal to say, because great literature in all periods deals with universals. We may end with another quotation from C. S. Lewis, in this case employing a railway image, which in itself reflects (for the moment, anyway) another of the great divides between all literature up to Jane Austen, and ourselves: “Humanity does not pass through phases as a train passes through stations: being alive, it has the privilege of always moving yet never leaving anything behind. Whatever we have been, in some ways we are still.” (Lewis 1936, p. 1). Funding: This research received no external funding. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. Humanities 2020, 9, 51 10 of 11 References Adey, Lionel. 1998. C. S. Lewis, Writer, Dreamer and Mentor. 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work_2r452ioztnevzeu2khguix5k6e	----	Citation for published version: Room, G 2015, 'Capital in the twenty-first century', Journal of European Social Policy, vol. 25, no. 2, pp. 242- 248. https://doi.org/10.1177/0958928715573487 DOI: 10.1177/0958928715573487 Publication date: 2015 Document Version Peer reviewed version Link to publication University of Bath Alternative formats If you require this document in an alternative format, please contact: openaccess@bath.ac.uk General rights Copyright and moral rights for the publications made accessible in the public portal are retained by the authors and/or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy If you believe that this document breaches copyright please contact us providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1177/0958928715573487 https://doi.org/10.1177/0958928715573487 https://researchportal.bath.ac.uk/en/publications/capital-in-the-twentyfirst-century(3470ac0e-8c52-44ef-b4a7-796e44c06c28).html 1 CAPITAL, INEQUALITY AND PUBLIC POLICY Graham Room, University of Bath Review Article: Thomas Piketty, Capital in the Twenty-First Century, Belknap/Harvard University Press, 2014, 696 pp, ISBN 978 0 674 43000 6 To appear in Journal of European Social Policy, 2015, Vol 25 No 2 1. Introduction Thomas Piketty (2014) has produced a study attracting world-wide attention: by economists, but perhaps even more, by the policy elites, the media and the educated public. His translator Arthur Goldhammer has done a terrific job and the resulting text, while extending to almost 600 pages (even excluding the notes) is lucid and immensely readable. There is careful reference to the important empirical data on which the study is based but this does not weigh the book down, and those data that are marshalled in the book itself – as distinct from being made available on-line for the technically-minded reader – are helpful and clearly presented. The opening and concluding chapters provide admirable summaries of the main argument, for the reader who cannot afford the time to plough through the whole text. Piketty’s book warns us that capitalism has an in-built tendency to growing inequality. We cannot rely on wealth and prosperity ‘trickling down’. Nor can we take comfort from the ‘Kuznets curve’, predicting that while inequality is likely to be high in the early stages of development, it will then progressively fall. It is true that inequalities of capital ownership and income from capital fell in the period 1914-45; but this was due to the destruction of wealth in two world wars, and the social and political turmoil of the time. Now however old trends in inequality have re-asserted themselves. What is needed is purposeful government action to reduce such inequalities: without these, the future of our societies is likely to nasty and brutish. These conclusions have been political dynamite: they have been widely acclaimed by the left and resisted by the right. They deserve attention by the European social policy research community for at least three reasons. First, welfare systems developed in western industrial societies in part as a response to the inequality and insecurity that capitalism engendered for the mass of the population. Picketty tells us that those inequalities, muted somewhat during the mid-20th century, are likely to get worse through the present century. Second, Piketty argues that institutions and public policies matter: he may not say a lot about these, but he issues an implicit invitation to the social policy research community, to flesh out and test what he argues. Third, in his final section, Picketty examines the social and economic crisis of the Eurozone and sets out a number of reforms: these should be of interest to all scholars of European policy. Nevertheless, the thesis that Piketty develops needs to be treated with some care; and it cannot be accepted without significant modification. 2. Capital and Inequality over three centuries Piketty tells us that economic analysis should be embedded in an appreciation of the historical and institutional context. Quite right. This already marks him out from much of orthodox economics, with its mathematical formalism. Piketty’s own study ranges across three centuries, even if this is constrained by the sources of data that are available to him: 2 France and the UK offer him the most in this regard, from the late 18th Century to the present. He underlines this historical dimension by peppering his story with Jane Austen and Balzac, and their characters’ efforts to cope with the contours of inequality of their time. For the impoverished but ambitious bachelor or spinster, the path to security lay through marriage, whether into landed wealth, or the new industrial property of the bourgeois nouveaux riches. Nevertheless, Piketty is then at risk of viewing capital and inequality over the succeeding centuries overly through the lens of that period. This was a world of agricultural rents, supplemented by legacies vested in safe government bonds. This was the world delineated by David Ricardo (1821): with rents securing a rising share of national output, while entrepreneurs struggled to win a fair profit and the labouring populace was left to survive on the breadline. This is the portrait of industrial society that Piketty – perhaps unwittingly - generalises across the centuries: and while the first half of the 20th century may have seen a shift to a more meritocratic and egalitarian order, recent decades, he argues, have seen that older and less palatable dynamic re-assert itself. It is this dynamic that Piketty aims to capture in the central argument of the book: ‘When the rate of return on capital [r] exceeds the rate of growth [g] of output and income, capitalism generates unsustainable inequalities that undermine the meritocratic values on which democratic societies are based’ (page 1). How are we to judge this statement? It is not enough to display the trends in r and g in different countries and the inequalities which may then arise. What we also need is a theory of how the economy works – and how these different variables thus affect each other. This Piketty fails to provide. Or, insofar as he does provide such a theory, it is one which is still stuck in the agrarian society of Austen and Balzac and Ricardo, with the rentiers enjoying a stranglehold on the distribution of income. Marx – and indeed Adam Smith before him – looked beyond that agrarian society to the new modes of capitalist production that were emerging, the new social and property relations they entailed. Many of their successors did the same - Veblen and Schumpeter, Keynes and Hayek – albeit with a diversity of approaches. This is what we need today, if we are to understand how capital and inequality are evolving in our own century. Consider the dynamic of r and g, as presented by Piketty. In the long-term, the rate of growth of national output and income g depends on the rate of technical progress and the growth of the population. Piketty reckons that rates of technical progress are unlikely to exceed 1%; and with falling birth rates world-wide, the annual rate of growth of output is unlikely to exceed 2%. Meanwhile, the long-term rate of return on capital r was around 5% during the 19th Century; war and social change in the early-mid 20th Century disrupted this stability; now however, with inequalities in capital ownership returning to former levels, we can he claims expect that rate of return to be restored. With r therefore generally above g, inequalities can only grow. Piketty adds a further equation in justification of his argument: β = s/g. Here β is the capital/income ratio, s is the savings rate and g is again the growth rate. This equation describes the value to which β tends in the long-term, for given values of s and g. Piketty has already told us why he expects g to fall during the coming decades; this implies that with a fairly stable saving rate s, the capital/income ratio β will steadily increase. However, both s and g ‘depend on millions of individual decisions…and are largely independent of each other’ (p 199). What this misses however is the dynamic interrelationship of r, s and g. The rentier’s return on capital in the 19th Century may have enjoyed long-term stability at around 5%; and this may, as Ricardo argued, have been dictated at the beginning of that century by the rate of 3 return on land and natural resources. Now however what is needed is an understanding of how that rate of return is determined in industrial and post-industrial societies. Marx, Schumpeter and Hayek centred their attention on entrepreneurs, their capacity to innovate and invest and their readiness to take risks. Keynes and his successors underlined the uncertainty that such entrepreneurs nevertheless faced and the important role of government, in providing a stable framework of expectations, not least through programmes of public expenditure and investment. It is these rates of public and private investment that then drive the rate of technical progress and the rate of growth g. Sluggish growth will soon lead to a declining rate of return r. And for the Keynesians at least, the rate of savings s will also then fall. It is therefore quite insufficient for Piketty to offer his equations, without any more thorough and dynamic analysis of the economy to which they refer. In the absence of that analysis, his grounds for asserting that r is likely to exceed g are tenuous; the same goes for his assertion that β will steadily increase. And yet it is on these assertions that the rest of his argument about growing inequality rests. 3. The Rise of the Super-rich and the Super-managers Piketty points to three major changes in our industrial societies, since the start of the 20th Century, in the contours of inequality. First, the middle classes have acquired a significant share of national wealth, notably through ownership of their own housing. This represents a significant shift from the world of both Ricardo and Marx, with the mass of the population lacking any wealth and haunted by the spectre of Malthusian starvation. Second, the expansion of education and the rise of high-skill occupations are associated with recent waves of ‘skill-biased technological change’. Third, the last thirty years has seen an enormous increase in rewards for the ‘super-managers’, especially in the US and the UK and especially in the financial sector. For Piketty, it is the last of these that is most significant for our understanding of capital and inequality in the 21st Century. This is consistent with a wide range of other recent scholarship on the ‘winner-take-all society’ (Frank and Cook, 1995). Piketty refers to this as ‘meritocratic extremism’ – the ‘apparent need of modern societies to designate certain individuals as “winners”’ (p 334). But how are we to understand and evaluate this development? Here again, Piketty’s thinking is perhaps too deeply rooted in the context of early industrial capitalism. Thus he seems generally content with the traditional distinction between income from capital and income from labour. As we have seen, income from capital he sees first and foremost as the income of the rentier. It is therefore no surprise that he treats the incomes of the super-managers as income from work. Nevertheless, those incomes have increasingly taken the form of capital gains and equities. They may not be incomes from capital; but they are incomes in the form of capital. And once received, they are a source of income from capital for the recipients and their families. For Piketty however, capital is either inherited or the carefully accumulated result of saved wages, a nest-egg set aside for retirement. He points us again to the experiences depicted by Jane Austen and Balzac, as having a timeless relevance. Of course, we might accept that ‘saved wages’ can embrace the capital gains and stock options of the super-managers, no less than the far more modest sums that the wage- or salary-earner puts aside each month. But again, this surely calls out for an understanding of the new modes of capitalist production that have emerged in recent times and the new social and property relations they entail. Piketty makes only the briefest of references to ‘entrepreneurial income’ and ‘entrepreneurial labour’ (pp 41, 204, 439); and he provides no analysis of its place within the modern economy and its relationship to innovation and risk-taking. Nor therefore does he examine 4 how far the stupendous rewards paid in the financial sector might be said to represent compensation for innovation and risk taking. He does not engage with Galbraith’s argument that much of this involves predatory looting of corporate and public wealth (Galbraith, 2009): behaviour that has less affinity with entrepreneurship than with Russian oligarchs and international criminals. Nor does Piketty consider the potential relevance of Veblen’s account of the ‘leisure class’ (Veblen, 1899). This is the super-rich as a status group. As Weber pointed out, such status groups cement their solidarity by inter-marriage and by shared patterns of consumption (Gerth and Mills, 1948: Ch 7). The latter reinforce their closure and their social and economic distance from the larger society. It is common for such status groups to admit and embrace the most capable and loyal of the upwardly mobile; and to bestow on them the appropriate wealth and style of life, not as a reward for effort, but to secure their moral commitment and loyalty. To use the distinction first made by Turner (1960), this is not so much ‘contest mobility’ as ‘sponsored’ mobility. It is then unsurprising that, as Piketty notes, the super-rich include several different social groups, some with very high incomes from inherited capital, others with high incomes from ‘labour’ (p 301): all united in self-congratulation and defence of their shared accomplishments. After all, does not the wealth and privilege showered upon the super- managers, as marks of their success, demonstrate the efficiency with which the recruitment and promotion mechanisms of large corporations operate? Piketty is rightly dubious of attempts to justify these high rewards. Can the super-incomes of the super-managers be explained in terms of skill-biased technological change? Piketty doubts that we can identify and distinguish the marginal productivity and skill of the top 1% (p 330ff). Compensation committees flinch at making such assessments and seem simply to pay the ‘going rate’. But what basis is there for confidence that these recruits are indeed the most capable of the upwardly mobile? Gladwell (2008) has cogently argued that contingency – luck – is as important as talent: and that had chance produced a quite different set of candidates, a no less plausible celebration of their scarce talent would have emerged from the bosom of their new social home. To this extent, Piketty’s ‘meritocratic extremism’ reflects not so much the extraordinary talent of the beneficiaries, as the closure and solidarity of the various economic and political elites. 4. The Role of Interests and Institutions The half-century after 1914 produced more egalitarian societies. Two world wars devastated the publicly and privately held wealth of many of the combatants; wars and depression produced mass pressures for a more socially active government. Welfare systems and highly progressive income taxation were the result. As Piketty argues, politics and institutions matter. From the 1980s however, that legacy came under attack from neo-liberal doctrines and policies, including the privatisation of public assets. Piketty’s account of this attack is rather limited: for a more thorough treatment we must look to other writers, such as Hacker and Pierson (2010). Their analysis of winner-take-all politics acknowledges their debt to Piketty’s earlier work: the trade in ideas could usefully flow the other way also. Hacker and Pierson point out, for example, how the super-rich in the US have benefitted over recent decades from the capital gains associated with neo-liberal deregulation and tax cuts. Such windfalls have then been channelled in part to finance the major political parties. The political influence thereby secured has enabled the super-rich, not necessarily to reverse social legislation, as to block its application to the changing conditions of today’s world, so that it just ‘drifts’, becoming increasingly ineffectual (Ch 9). 5 The social legislation of mid-century responded to the voices of the masses, protecting them against the insecurities of industrial society and pooling the risks that they faced (Baldwin, 1990). In recent decades, it is from the rich and the major corporations that the most strident calls for protection have come, with government and the taxpayer underwriting the stability of the financial institutions in particular. With government-mandated pensions and government bonds increasingly mediated by those institutions, they simply cannot be allowed to fail. That gives them enormous leverage, politically as well as economically. Inequality of power goes with inequality of income and of capital. But to what end? Why do people want to be so rich: and having become rich, why do they want to be even richer? This is not a question that Piketty poses: but Hacker and Pierson provide a clue. The efforts of the super-rich are devoted to ‘shifting the risks of their new economic playground downward’ (p 13). Amidst the anomie and uncertainty of capitalist societies, the prize is to maintain freedom of manoeuvre, block unfavourable developments and offload uncertainty onto others (Marris, 1996; Pierson, 2004). This is a struggle to design the future: to ensure that come what may, tomorrow will turn out well. This is why, as Keynes observes, the accumulation of wealth is often not so much for eventual consumption, it is for some indefinitely distant date, to ensure a place in the sun, whatever the future disposition of the world (Tily, 2007: 142). Not least, it assures the super-rich that even amidst the devastation likely to be unleashed by climate change, their security and continued well- being will be assured. 5. National and Global In Chapter 12 of his book, Piketty concedes that his focus up to that point has been too narrowly national. Now he aims to set his analysis in a global context. This includes a consideration of the global distribution of billionaires and the potential role of the sovereign wealth funds of China and other emerging economies. There is little if any attempt to return to his basic equations and examine how they play out beyond a strictly national context – in terms for example of capital accumulation, growth and savings in a transnational context. Nor – to set alongside his treatment of billionaires and sovereign wealth funds - is there much on the role of multinational corporations. International economic relations are treated primarily in terms of capital flows and economic growth rates. There is little on the relationships of dependence that this can involve and the adverse terms on which countries may find themselves incorporated as the vassal states of the major economic powers (Weiss et al., 2004; Arrighi, 2007). Nor does Piketty say much on the effects of economic globalisation on employment in the industrial societies of the north, with the weakening of trade unionism and the erosion of social benefits. Piketty refers to the new rich of the BRICS countries and the other newly emerging economies. He points to how these are selectively recruited into the ranks of the super-rich (p 464-5) – the very status group sponsorship and closure to which we referred above. He underlines how this community can dissociate itself from any national community, its ties and obligations, by its use of offshore tax havens. The wealth thus secreted amounts to perhaps 20% of global GDP (pp 465-7). Finally, Piketty argues (pp 436-9) that these developments are likely to produce widespread political discontent, unless there is a corresponding increase in repression. Nevertheless, given the scope for fragmenting and demonising malcontents, repression may well be more viable and effective than Piketty seems to expect. 6. Policy Implications and Recommendations 6 Piketty ends by addressing the implications for public policy, both nationally and internationally. He makes brief reference to capital controls, protectionism and industrial policy, but rather dismissively: here are few echoes of such scholars as Wade (1990, 2004). He has hopes for the redistribution of rents from oil production, but he does not consider whether this approach might be extended to other natural resource endowments. He is intrigued by the limitations on the individual property rights enjoyed by Chinese billionaires: but he does not consider more generally how individual and collective property rights might be re-worked for the capitalism of the 21st Century, with limitations on the freedom of individuals to appropriate the fruits of collective effort (Macpherson, 1962; Hirsch, 1977). Instead, his main focus is on a global tax on capital: this he expects both to limit the growth of inequality and to enable better regulation of the financial and banking system. The details of how this would operate are however left rather sketchy, as is its political feasibility. From here, Piketty turns finally to the crisis of the Eurozone. His attention is on the institutional reforms that Europe requires: in Piketty’s view, a new and more democratically accountable authority for fiscal and budgetary management. This, he reckons, would enable Europe to free itself from the shackles of the Maastricht budgetary rules, and permit a more vigorous and effective economic policy for growth and investment. Such growth would in turn, his equations suggest, serve to moderate inequality. Such institutional reforms may be necessary, but they are unlikely to be sufficient, without an appropriate economic strategy. Again however, Piketty suffers from the lack of a clear theoretical analysis of how a modern economy works. His position would, in particular, be considerably strengthened by a Keynesian account. It is important to be clear as to what the Keynesian message was - and what it was not. Keynes called for active government to address the challenges of both economic depression and expansion. He sought less to abolish capitalism, more to save it from itself. Market economies could not be expected to look after themselves. In his General Theory (1936), Keynes faced an economy with high unemployment, but no confidence among businesses that it made sense to invest – and no confidence among banks that it made sense to lend. Government had to take the initiative and engage in programmes of public investment. These would not only generate activity and incomes in the here and now, but would also give businesses confidence themselves to invest, confident that those investments would yield returns by the time they came on stream, because of the improved economic situation. They would also build economic capacity for the future, in terms of industrial plant, skills and public infrastructure. Monetary policies will not do the trick: central banks can therefore play only a limited role. Nor indeed are supply side measures sufficient. What is needed instead are major programmes of public investment that will generate economic growth and build up Europe’s future economic capacity. This is what can also make public sector deficits manageable. This is the central message of Keynesian economics, but one which the Eurozone is failing to heed. At the end of 2011, the European Union took fresh steps (albeit without the UK) towards a fiscal union, in an effort to satisfy the markets and bring back stability for the Euro. New rules of fiscal prudence were put in place: national finances would henceforth be in a German straitjacket. The German approach, as consolidated over the post-war period, was one of classical fiscal prudence, little influenced by Keynes. Year after year, an export surplus in manufactures meant that a gently deflationary fiscal stance at home was not inappropriate. Now the German model is being imposed on countries whose situation is very different. It remains to be seen how far the German model, set in a Europe-wide context, will allow for proactive public investment programmes of the sort that Keynes envisaged. Without this, the EU is likely to face general deflation and zero or low growth for the rest of this decade. 7 Today’s concern with appeasing the markets would have seemed strange to Keynes, with his memory of how badly the markets had served the western economies, during the depression of the 1930s and the mobilisation of resources for total war. He called instead for the ‘euthanasia of the rentier’: the side-lining of finance capital and its subordination to the public investment programmes of the active state. The ascendancy of the financial markets which developed from the 1980s will need to be put into reverse, if Piketty’s institutional reforms are to have much hope of success. This is more easily said than done. Powerful financial interests underpin the present regime. Fiscal reform and tightening will still be required in many countries. Fiscal reform can however mean many things. It may mean cutting back on public services and support for the poor. But it can also mean cutting back on fiscal welfare for the rich and the closing of tax havens. Politics will be back. Notwithstanding therefore the limitations of his study, Piketty has set the debate moving again. Henceforth it will be much more difficult for the opponents of reform to celebrate inequality, as the price we should all be ready to pay for growth, prosperity and international harmony. Not least, Piketty has set the scene for a debate which must involve not only economists but also students of social policy, especially those concerned with the future evolution of the European Union in particular. REFERENCES Arrighi, G. (2007), Adam Smith in Beijing, London: Verso Baldwin, P. (1990), The Politics of Social Solidarity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Frank, R. and P. Cook (1995), The Winner-Take-All Society, New York: Penguin Galbraith, J. K. (2009), The Predator State, New York: Free Press Gerth, H. H. and C. W. Mills (1948), From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology, London: Routledge Gladwell, M. (2008), Outliers: The Story of Success, London: Penguin Hacker, J. S. and P. Pierson (2010), Winner-Take-All Politics, New York: Simon and Schuster Hirsch, F. (1977), Social Limits to Growth, London: Routledge and Kegan Paul Keynes, J. M. (1936), The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money, London: Macmillan Macpherson, C. B. (1962), The Political Theory of Possessive Individualism, Oxford: Oxford University Press Marris, P. (1996), The Politics of Uncertainty, London: Routledge Pierson, P. (2004), Politics in Time, Princeton: Princeton University Press Piketty, T. (2014), Capital in the Twenty-First Century, Cambridge, Mass: Belknap/Harvard University Press Ricardo, D. (1821), Principles of Political Economy and Taxation, London: John Murray Tily, G. (2007), Keynes's General Theory, The Rate of Interest and 'Keynesian' Economics: Keynes Betrayed London: Palgrave Macmillan Turner, R. H. (1960), 'Sponsored and Contest Mobility and the School System', American Sociological Review, 25(6): 855-862. Veblen, T. (1899), The Theory of the Leisure Class, New York: Macmillan Wade, R. (1990, 2004), Governing the Market, Princeton: Princeton University Press Weiss, L., E. Thurbon, and J. Mathews (2004), How to Kill a Country: Australia's Devastating Trade Deal with the US, Crows Nest: Allen and Unwin 
work_2tvf5ryc25fxxc25iru5ake6ka	----	SYMPOSIUM: THE FOUNDATIONS OF CAPITALISM Capitalism’s Two Cultures Ryan Patrick Hanley Published online: 10 January 2012 # Springer Science+Business Media, LLC 2012 “One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other.”1 So says Jane Austen’s Emma in a line that merits all the attention and notoriety it has received. The line itself beautifully captures the polarization and opposi- tion that defines much of our contemporary political world, as well as the alienation and isolation that constitutes much of our contemporary psychology. But Emma’s notion of mutual misunderstanding has a special import in the wake of the recent financial crisis and our ongoing debates about capitalism’s future. For among the most striking and dis- tressing elements of this debate has been the ‘mutual incom- prehensibility’ of the business and academic worlds.2 The root of the problem is all too familiar, and lies in our convenient distinctions between the practical and the theo- retical, the concrete and the abstract, the world of affairs and the world of ideas. At the heart of such distinctions is an important truth: namely that our single world contains mul- tiple spheres, and the virtues or methods that bring success in one sphere are not always those that bring success in another. But that’s hardly contentious as far as it goes. More crucial are the implications of this distinction for the debate over capitalism. For too often the legitimate distinction between the two spheres threatens to degenerate into suspi- cions and mutual hostility—a hostility fatal to the shared interests that in fact unite the camps for all their genuine differences. This is in some sense an ancient debate and its history and implications have been well described by others, includ- ing such luminaries as Wilhelm Roepke and F. A. Hayek. Thus in A Humane Economy Roepke observes that when it comes to certain types of questions, the “hard-boiled busi- ness world” either “ignores such questions or leaves them, with contempt, to the ‘unbusinesslike’ intellectuals,” while “these same intellectuals’ distrust of the business world match and mutually exacerbate each other.” Roepke saw in this the seeds of a tragedy, and his account of this tragedy deserves quotation, even at some length: If the business world loses its contact with culture and the intellectuals resentfully keep their distance from economic matters, then the two spheres become irre- trievably alienated from each other. We can observe this in America in the anti-intellectualism of wide circles of businessmen and the anti-capitalism of equally wide circles of intellectuals. It is true that intellectuals have infinitely less social prestige in America than in Europe and that they are much less integrated into the network of society and occupy a much more peripheral place than their brothers in Europe. They retaliate for this seating plan at the nation’s table with their anti-capitalism, and the busi- nessmen and entrepreneurs repay the intellectuals’ hostility by despising them as “eggheads.” In so dynamic a competitive economy, the Ameri- can intellectuals have to admit that the gulf between education and wealth, which is derided in Europe in the person of the nouveau riche, is the rule rather than the exception, as it should be; on the other hand, American businessmen easily fall into the habit of treating the intellectual as a pompous and would-be- clever know-all who lacks both common sense and a 1 Jane Austen, Emma, ed. Fiona Stafford (London: Penguin, 1996), 79. 2 For an excellent comprehensive overview of the history of the antipathy of intellectuals to capitalism, see Alan S. Kahan, Mind vs. Money (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 2010), and esp. his treatment of “our mutual incomprehension” (pp. 127–30). R. P. Hanley (*) Department of Political Science, Marquette University, P.O. Box 1881, Milwaukee, WI 53201-1881, USA e-mail: ryan.hanley@marquette.edu Soc (2012) 49:151–154 DOI 10.1007/s12115-011-9519-3 sound scale of values. Since in both cases the caricature is often not very far from the truth, the result is a vicious cycle of mutually intensifying resentment which threat- ens to end up in catastrophe. One has to break out of this vicious circle by making the world of the mind as respectable to the business world as, conversely, the business world to the world of the mind.3 Roepke’s account is as striking for its rhetoric as for its critique of both parties to the dispute; clearly he thinks there is plenty of blame to go around. And he is hardly alone. Hayek was likewise struck by the fact that the “propertied class” of his day was “almost exclusively a business group,” indeed one that “lacks intellectual leadership and even a coherent and defensible philosophy of life.”4 It would of course be well worth exploring the relative truth of this proposition today, yet our focus here must be the implica- tions of this fact for our current debate. On this front, the final two lines of Roepke’s passage do the heavy lifting. Here he suggests that the current standoff, if left unresolved, must necessarily end in “catastrophe,” and that something must be done “to break this vicious circle.” Well and good, some might say: but what exactly ought we to do? How ought we attempt to overcome this divide? We might begin by identifying its causes. In general, it seems right to say with Roepke and many others that today’s professioriate is generally skeptical towards capitalism and to business. Yet it would be wrong to assume that such skepticism owes to fondness for some sort of competing ideology. To write off academics today as “Marxists” or “postmodernists” or some similar thing would be to miss (and to miss by a considerable margin) the reality of uni- versities today, in which such ideologies in fact have a limited role. The general academic skepticism towards mar- kets is less the result of the professiorate’s embrace of a competing ideology than the result of the fact that the values of capitalism are seen to be in disaccord with the democratic values the professioriate genuinely embraces. This fact gives rise to a specific problem. When the business world defends the values of markets it often appeals to vales; businesspeople are just like everyone else in this respect. But the specific values that they often invoke tend to be values not shared by academics. In defending capitalism businesspeople are thus prone to argue that it is ethically valuable insofar as a) it affords everyone the op- portunity to become wealthy; and b) allows individuals to remain wealthy insofar as it protects their right to use their wealth as they will. Now, however legitimate such arguments may or may not be, seen as a means of persuad- ing professors they are deeply flawed, insofar as they appeal to a set of values simply not held by most academics. Put bluntly: few academics are rich, and even fewer, one sus- pects, chose to enter academia in the hopes of becoming so. In this sense, self-selection serves to determine academics as a group that simply doesn’t much admire wealth. That itself is significant; if true, it may mean that the academic attitude to the pursuit of wealth is less due to moralistic sneering or even envy and resentment than to simple factors of group selection. But however this may be, a degree of relative per- sonal indifference to wealth seems to define academics rather broadly—and indeed pro-capitalist academics nearly as much as anti-capitalist academics—and that there exist legitimate explanations for this indifference that do not require recourse to some theory of academic attachment to rival ideologies. In any case, this leads to a question. If in fact there really is a “values divide” that separates the business from the academic world, what hope is there for persuading the academic world of the benefits of markets? I actually incline to some optimism on this front. For however hopeless the task may be of persuading academics to adopt values to which they are constitutionally skeptical (if not downright hostile), a different approach may bring success: namely the effort to demonstrate to academics the virtues of markets by appealing to the values and convictions that already animate them. Let me give two examples of what I mean. Academics, for all their indifference to wealth, have no shortage of attachments—often fervent attachments—to other values. One is their attachment to diversity. Both those on and off university campuses can of course instantly recognize this concern. Questions of diversity have shaped the campus climates of American universities for some time now, and one would be hard pressed to name a more widely held contemporary academic value. But what implications does this have for the debate over capitalism itself? Clearly the concern for diversity has led many to march under the banner of anti-capitalism. Yet it may be that appreciation of genuine diversity might lead one in a quite opposite direction—or so, at any rate, argues Hayek. In his Constitution of Liberty, Hayek argues that among the greatest benefits of a free society—as well as its chief engine—is an enthusiasm and openness to “experiments in living.”5 Such experiments, Hayek suggests, at once enable individuals to develop their talents and pursue their interests, and also to innovate in a creative and collaborative manner that promotes the progress of society. Indeed, it was this—and not the simple capacity of a free society to generate wealth—that led Hayek to defend it so fervently. Yet today this argument is relatively rarely heard; diversity and toleration are grounds for opposition to the free society built on free markets rather than support of it. 3 Wilhelm Roepke, A Humane Economy (Wilmington, DE: ISI Books, 1998), 115. 4 F.A. Hayek, The Constitution of Liberty, ed. Ronald Hamowy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011), 194. 5 Ibid., 98–100, 195. 152 Soc (2012) 49:151–154 The widespread academic commitment to diversity is thus one academic value to which defenders of that capital- ism might wish to appeal. A second is the perhaps no-less widespread concern with social justice. Social justice is a strikingly common academic value; what decent person after all could be against it? Yet as Hayek himself explained at length, the concern for social justice often leads to an embrace of values and ideologies opposed to capitalism. This process is as familiar to us as it was to Hayek. As it happens, I first wrote these lines in Tel Aviv in early Sep- tember 2011, where just days previously an estimated half million Israelis had taken to the streets to demonstrate in the name of social justice. My revision of these lines a month later coincided with my return to the US, where the “Occupy Wall Street” movement clearly echoed many of the concerns on the street in Tel Aviv. In any case, both protests are only the most recent instantiations of the strikingly ubiquitous propensity of the demand for social justice to manifest itself as opposition to the inequalities and injustices perpetrated by capitalism. Yet for all this, one might wonder whether the concern for social or distributive justice need necessarily lead to hostility to the free market. On the contrary, if social justice is understood to be a concern to fight poverty as opposed to a concern to fight inequality (two concerns too often confused) then it may be that such a concern might well lead one to take quite a different position. Scholars today increasingly recognize that one of Adam Smith’s key lessons was to disaggregate the concern for poverty from the concern for inequality.6 As Smith knew well, this latter concern was what animated critics of the market then and now in their campaigns against the evils of commercial society. Yet as Smith sought to demonstrate in response, the effect of commercial society was to generate not simply wealth for the few, but also and more importantly the “uni- versal opulence” that Smith hoped to see extend “to the lowest ranks of the people.”7 In Smith’s eyes, capitalism and social justice are in closer accord than the critics of capitalism have sometimes assumed. This however is again a side of the debate rarely heard, to our collective detriment. For by reminding us that the original argument for commer- cial society was its capacity to promote the well being of the worst-off among us, arguments such as Smith’s can serve to demonstrate that the free market is in fact not simply an engine of wealth generation for the few, but one capable of advancing the betterment of the condition of all that lies at the heart of the universal desire for social justice. To this point our focus has been on why businesspeople might wish to consider reorienting their arguments away from values they themselves hold to the values that academ- ics hold, diversity and social justice prominent among them. At the same time, academics could stand to make some changes too. Their values are hardly limited to the concerns with diversity and poverty on which we’ve been focused to now. Others are more problematic, and one in particular: namely skepticism towards profit. I introduce this with an anecdote. A colleague of mine teaching at a university in New York once told me that as far as he could tell, he was the only faculty member on his campus who encouraged his students and advisees to go into business. I can imagine it. Most of our grad- uates leave with the assumption that profit seeking is to be regarded as suspicious, whereas non-profit work is to be regarded as noble. But even those who genuinely value and respect social work and service work might see this as a shame. For not only does the antipathy to profit tar with much too broad a brush, it creates much too rigid a distinction between the moral value of for- profit work and the moral value of non-profit work. As we all know, the motives for volunteer work are many, and not all of them disinterested. So too it may be that work for profit deserves to be rethought. For just as there exist many types of and reasons for non-profit work, there may be more than one way of thinking about for- profit work—and indeed it may be that we err no less in denigrating all types of profit than we do in celebrating all types of non-profit. When academics speak critically of profit seeking, they seem to mean either of two things: first, a sort of zero-sum game in which all profits of individuals come at the expense of other individuals; or, second, a type of activity motivated by plain greed and indifferent to the nature of the activity or the product or the effects of such an activity, so long as it generates a profit. Now, insofar as academics and others are skeptical of this sort of profit seeking, they’re right to be so; greed isn’t praiseworthy, and promoting self-advancement at the conscious expense of the well being of others isn’t something that many of us will celebrate. The problem is that these hardly exhaust the meaning of profit. As econo- mists will tell us, activities are often profitable because they fulfill the deeply felt needs of many individuals. While such a definition hardly exhausts the range of reasons why a given activity is profitable, it does help to remind us that the need-fulfillment of others—an activity that all decent people committed to social justice will welcome—is the end of much for-profit activity. And while it can take a little extra effort to see, profitability often serves not merely as a signal to the selfish as to how to direct their activities to get ahead, but also as a signal to prompt activity that meets the needs of others. It can be argued—and indeed should be argued—that actions done for others without hope of reward deserve a 6 See e.g. Jerry Z. Muller, “The Portrait and the Painter,” Adam Smith Review 2 (2006): 229–30. 7 Adam Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, ed. R.H. Campbell and A.S. Skinner (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1981), vol. 1, p. 22. Soc (2012) 49:151–154 153 different sort of esteem than actions done for others in the hope of compensation. To reject this out of hand would be to reject a very powerful stream of our philosophical heritage, one that unites thinkers from Aristotle to Aquinas to Mai- monides and Smith. But that question, however important, shouldn’t be confused with the question of the best means of organizing a polity and economy that efficiently meets the needs of its many citizens. It is for this reason that the activities of business require rethinking by academics. For once we disaggregate the motive for profit seeking from the effects of profit seeking, we can see that however unattrac- tive or even repellant the former sometimes is, its effects are almost always genuinely beneficial to many. Now, whether all or many or even some academics are likely to come to speak of matters this way is not something of which we can be sure. Nor can we be sure whether business- people will think it so needed to persuade academics of markets that they will be willing to engage in the sort of hard work described here. Nor can we even be sure that this is the best method of bringing the two sides together.8 But we can be sure about two things. First, today’s debate over capitalism is every but as polarized and seemingly intractable as the noto- rious “two cultures” debate described by C.P. Snow and to which the title of this essay refers.9 Second, the attempt to articulate the benefits of the system one group espouses in a form and with categories the other group genuinely appreciates is likely to be far more productive and much more in our collective best interest than the simple failure of each community to engage the other that has defined our debates over capitalism to this point. Ryan Hanley is the author of Adam Smith and the Character of Virtue (Cambridge, 2009), and co-editor, with Darrin M. McMahon, of The Enlightenment: Critical Concepts in History, 5 vols. (Routledge, 2010). He is the editor of the Penguin Classics edition of Adam Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments (Penguin, 2010), and current President of the Inter- national Adam Smith Society. This article was written for a conference co-sponsored by the Manhattan Institute and Society. Grateful acknowl- edgement is given to the Marilyn G. Fedak Capitalism Project for its support. 8 For one alternative, see Kahan’s suggestion that the best means of bridging this “abyss” would be a “détente” established by affording intellectuals a new role as sources of moral culture (Mind vs. Money, esp. pp. 20–26, 271–92). 9 C.P. Snow, The Two Cultures (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). 154 Soc (2012) 49:151–154 Capitalism’s Two Cultures 
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work_342kyiplqnelrj3gzzoxnwzevu	----	Dorothy L. Cheney (1950–2018) 147 obituary Dorothy L. Cheney (1950–2018) Primatologist who gave voice to animal communication and cognition. Dorothy Cheney, who died in November 2018, was best known for her long-term studies of vervet monkeys in the Amboseli basin of Kenya and chacma baboons in the Okavango Delta of Botswana. Dorothy collaborated with her husband Robert M. Seyfarth throughout her career, pioneering the use of playback experiments in studies of free-ranging primates. These experiments allowed them to rigorously test hypotheses about the meaning of vocal signals and social knowledge in an ecologically valid context. Their work made primatological research relevant to a much broader array of disciplines, including philosophy, linguistics, cognitive science, comparative psychology and behavioural ecology, and transformed our knowledge of how non-human animals understand their social worlds. In addition to over 150 articles and book chapters, Dorothy and Robert produced two comprehensive syntheses of work on social cognition, How Monkeys See the World: Inside the Mind of Another Species (1990) and Baboon Metaphysics: The Evolution of a Social Mind (2007). These books provided authoritative synthetic analyses of the current state of knowledge about communication and social cognition of primates—weaving together empirical evidence and experimental studies from their own research with relevant work from a wide range of disciplines. Dorothy was also one of the five co-editors of the Primate Societies (1987), a volume that has had a prominent place on the bookshelf of every working primatologist for three decades. Dorothy was born in 1950 and earned her undergraduate degree in political science from Wellesley College. She originally intended to attend law school, but a fateful decision to accompany her husband to South Africa, where he was planning to study chacma baboons, altered her career plans. Instead of law school, she earned a PhD at Cambridge University under the supervision of Robert Hinde. Later, Dorothy and Robert moved to Rockefeller University where they worked for several years with the late Peter Marler, a leader in the field of animal communication. Dorothy and Robert joined the faculty at the University of California, Los Angeles in 1981, and in 1985 they moved to the University of Pennsylvania where Dorothy became a professor of biology. Inspired by Peter Marler, Dorothy and Robert began a study of vocal communication in vervet monkeys in Amboseli National Park. They recorded vocalizations of individually identified monkeys and then played the vocalizations back to the monkeys under carefully controlled conditions to observe their responses. One of their most important experiments built on Tom Struhsaker’s observation that vervet monkeys produce different alarm calls for different predators and respond differently to each. Dorothy and Robert used playback experiments to demonstrate that vervet monkeys responded to the different (recorded) alarm calls for snakes, raptors and leopards in the same way that they would have responded to the sight of these predators. In other words, they showed that listeners are able to extract sophisticated meaning from their group members’ calls. This finding had a profound impact on the study of language origins and primate cognition and laid the foundation for the highly active research field of ‘referential communication’ in animals. Dorothy and Robert also provided the first insights into what monkeys know about their social world. For example, they played the distress calls of infants to females to find out whether they could recognize the calls of their own infants. As expected, mothers stared in the direction of the hidden speaker when they heard their own infants’ calls. However, Dorothy and Robert inadvertently discovered that when other females heard the calls, they looked at the mother, suggesting that they were aware of relationships between other mothers and their infants. This provided the first evidence of what we now call third-party knowledge and was later extended to knowledge of other individuals’ dominance relationships. Robert and Dorothy were invited to take over the late William J. Hamilton’s long-term study of baboons in Moremi and began their work there in 1992. Although initially disappointed by the baboons’ relatively small call repertoire, the pair came to appreciate the rich complexity of the baboons’ social lives. They learned that baboon calls carry acoustic information about the identity of the caller and that the calls provide reliable information about the callers’ intentions and fighting ability. Like vervets, baboons represent other individuals’ kinship ties and dominance relationships, categorizing others according to their individual traits and their membership in higher order groups. They also found that the baboons have some capacity for causal reasoning. Dorothy played an important role in collaborative efforts to extend studies of vocal communication to investigate how monkeys perceive events in their day-to- day lives. Using noninvasive techniques for extracting hormone metabolites from faecal samples, she and her colleagues assessed baboons’ responses to potentially stressful events, such as a change in the male dominance hierarchy or the loss of a close relative. For example, male chacma baboons often commit infanticide after Credit: Robert M. Seyfarth Nature ecology & evolutioN | VOL 3 | FEBRUARY 2019 | 147–148 | www.nature.com/natecolevol http://www.nature.com/natecolevol 148 obituary they immigrate into groups and acquire top-ranking positions. Studies of females’ stress hormone levels before and after changes in the identity of the top-ranking male showed that lactating females, whose infants were most vulnerable to infanticide, exhibited the most pronounced increases in these hormones—suggesting that these females had some understanding of their own risk. Long-term behavioural and demographic data collected by a series of investigators working under Dorothy and Robert’s supervision also documented the positive impact of social bonds on female reproductive success and longevity. In recognition of her academic accomplishments, Dorothy was elected to the National Academy of Sciences and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences in 2015. She held an honorary PhD from University of Neuchatel, Switzerland (2013) and received the Distinguished Primatologist Award from the American Society of Primatologists (2016) and the Distinguished Animal Behaviorist Award from the Animal Behavior Society (2016). Dorothy was also an outstanding mentor to her doctoral students and postdoctoral fellows. She provided direct and sometimes bracing feedback, along with unstinting support and encouragement. Many who worked with Dorothy became part of her academic extended family, sharing a strong connection with each other. In addition, Dorothy was a valuable role model for a generation of academics trying to balance the (often) conflicting demands of academic life, fieldwork and family. Dorothy and Robert brought their own children, Lucy and Keena, to the field for extended periods, and many families made Baboon Camp their temporary home. We fondly remember warm afternoons fishing from the sandy beaches of the Boro River, convivial dinners under the stars, song sessions around the campfire and endless gossip about the baboons. Dorothy had the uncanny ability to find parallels between the baboons’ social dilemmas and personalities with those of characters in Jane Austen novels. Her sharp mind, dry wit and abiding fondness for the animals she studied endeared her to many. ❐ Jacinta Beehner1, Thore Bergman1,2, Julia Fischer3,4 and Joan B. Silk5* 1Department of Psychology University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI, USA. 2Department of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI, USA. 3Cognitive Ethology Laboratory, German Primate Center, Göttingen, Germany. 4Department of Primate Cognition, University of Göttingen, Göttingen, Germany. 5School of Human Evolution and Social Change, Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ, USA. The authors all worked on the Moremi baboon project with Dorothy and Robert and have co-authored a number of papers over the years. *e-mail: joan.silk@asu.edu Published online: 14 January 2019 https://doi.org/10.1038/s41559-018-0783-0 Nature ecology & evolutioN | VOL 3 | FEBRUARY 2019 | 147–148 | www.nature.com/natecolevol mailto:joan.silk@asu.edu https://doi.org/10.1038/s41559-018-0783-0 http://www.nature.com/natecolevol Dorothy L. Cheney (1950–2018) 
work_346q4iox5felpknzvxznfb7oze	----	Matter of the manor A visual essay Belinda Mitchell University of Portsmouth Dr Karen Fielder University of Portsmouth ABSTRACT Buildings decay and mutate; they are made of hybrid assemblages of material sourced from near and far, “…emergent mosaics of various temporalities, collages of matter characterised by an incessant becoming”.1 We are interested in the “continuity of process - that is with the perdurance or life expectancy of a thing, or how long it can be kept going”.2 This thinking supports us to shift away from a reading of historic buildings as objects analogous to documents inscribed with fixed histories to one where space, time, materials and people are intertwined in an unfolding process. We are interested in matter as material as affective particles, atmospheres, spectral traces, gestures and actions. We are interested in the disciplinary territory that lies in the overlap between interior design and conservation practice by focusing on ways of conceptualising historic interiors as unfinished sites of experience that are loaded with affective capacity. The research aims to examine the representation of space from the inside out, through explorations of interiority and embodied practices and how we can rethink historic interiors. Taking the form of collages, our design work uses an uninhabited 16th- century timber-framed manor house as a case study. Here we propose that the house is experienced all the more poignantly as it hangs in a transitional state prior to any programme of restoration and reuse that aspires to implement a unifying scheme leading to a static end point. FORWORDS We work as an interdisciplinary team made up of an interior designer and a historic building conservationist interested in the overlaps and divergences in our disciplinary perspectives. Our concern is with what Juhani Pallasmaa refers to as the “forceful emotional engagement” of historic settings as subjective experiences.3 Orthodox approaches to understanding historic buildings conceptualise them as documents with narratives and chronologies waiting to be discovered through objective analysis. Historic England advises that we observe a building “in order to ascertain what information it provides about its origins, form, function, date and development”.4 This says little about the human encounter with the building in the here and now and how it stirs the senses, the emotions and the imagination. Since the 1970s, conservation doctrine has embraced the notion that the heritage value of a place is a cultural construction rather than an absolute truth which is intrinsic to the heritage object.5 The Burra Charter adopted by ICOMOS Australia in 1979 enshrined the principle that conservation decisions should acknowledge multivalent and subjective heritage values. This principle was widely taken up in national policies and guidance across the globe.6 What matters is how communities and individuals make meanings and attachments with historic places. However, these subjective meanings are inherently difficult to articulate and to capture in textual language. The required professional tools and vocabularies are lacking. There is a tendency to privilege empirically-defined and documented tangible historical truths that revert to more orthodox conservation traditions based on specialist knowledge of material fabric and academically-described historic importance.7 For the designer, architectural processes and practices tend to focus on the form and function of a building and architecture as a solid object. Architecture is often represented as a bounded artefact frozen in time through the use of perspectival images in the form of photographic representation and linear drawings which do not represent how they are, have been or will be inhabited. Buildings are drawn untouched by the passing of history. “Architectural space”, writes Jeremy Till, “… is emptied of all considerations of time and is seen as a formal and aesthetic object."8 Conceptualising architecture as an assemblage shifts away from this static position and allows for engagement with issues of interiority and the temporal; “an architecture of assembling and dissolving and how elements of a building infold and unfold with each other to the point of distinction”.9 The approach we take is archaeological. It maps presence through the topology of the surface and the finds beneath it. We practice the unfolding of space and time through mapping material relationships experienced in the present. Inspired by New Materialist thinking, both building and body are understood as living material, as Jane Bennett speaks, as matter: “[T]he sentences of this book also emerged from the confederate agency of many striving macro- and microactants: from ‘my’ memories, intentions, contentions, intestinal bacteria, eyeglasses, and blood sugar, as well as from the plastic computer keyboard, the bird song from the open window, or the particulates in the room”.10 Our method of working is experimental and we draw on Jane Rendell’s Site Writings11, her use of pronouns and multiple readings of family objects. In this work Rendell explores the use of subjective and objective writing and the relationship of the photographic image to text as a way to activate traces of lived experience in the history of Architecture and its language. We also engage with the work of embodied practitioners in the field of performance such as Miranda Tuffnell and Chris Crikmay.12 This situates our practice in lived experiences where the material of bodies, personal and pre-personal memories, shifting positions and gestures are used as a material paste to create poeticised images.13 In this way we break from the formal structures and processes we would normally use to investigate a historic site where it is read as documentary evidence viewed from an objective distance. We move from the comfort of our disciplinary norms to allow the free flow of our imaginations and the unfolding of our embodied experiences. We investigate these embodied methods of representation in a case study of Wymering Manor located in Cosham, Hampshire, UK, abandoned since 2006. Originally constructed in 1581/2, the Manor has been used as a home, a religious school and in later years, a youth hostel. During alterations made in the 1780s, an elegant double-height bow window was added to the west facade, cutting through the massive timbers holding the building up. The weakened frame eventually gave way causing the ceilings to collapse in the north-west corner. Attempts to repair the frame over the years failed and the Manor was eventually vacated leaving its future uncertain. Fearing its loss, in 2013 the local community formed a preservation trust which included local politicians, historians, residents and business people. They bought the Manor for a nominal sum from Portsmouth City Council and assumed responsibility for its care. Wymering Manor is now in a state of transition and its remaking is taking place slowly and organically; it is being reshaped through the desires, gestures and actions of local people rather than the intentions of a fixed plan and known aesthetic outcome designed to secure its future once and for all. It is this liminality that draws us to the Manor. Referencing the New Materialist work of Jane Bennett, we employ creative writing processes and the viewfinder of a small Nikon Coolpix camera to explore our perceptions of its interior. We write and draw ourselves into the spaces through shifting our positions, from I, to you, to we, as a provocation to our disciplinary assumptions about old buildings. UNFOLDING TIME We were first captivated by the Manor because it is a wonderful assemblage that has no clear chronological narrative. Architectural elements are borrowed from elsewhere: some from a Palladian mansion called Bold Hall near St Helen’s in Lancashire, staircases perhaps from a Jacobean manor, and fabric in the cellars and chimneystack reused from an earlier building. Records exist in fragments in the form of faded photos, documents and handwritten family letters that are held by the Trustees, but they cannot tell the whole story. What may be the original front door into the Manor is now a feature in a room known as the Dining Room, which also once functioned as the library. This door goes nowhere; it is blocked on the outside and cannot be opened. As a youth hostel, the rooms were turned into dormitories, old doors were labelled with room numbers and fire evacuation notices, and modern toilets and showers were added. Now new material relations are appearing through the interactions of the community as they search for a future for the house. Donated furniture from different eras has been staged throughout its rooms and the main hall has a small gate-legged Victorian table set with a lace mat, glass vase and a Jane Austen book. These still lives begin to suggest new narratives and connections: Jane Austen’s brother, Francis Austen, was a churchwarden at the neighbouring church and is buried in the churchyard, although there is no record Jane ever visited the house. Furniture and props introduced by event companies called Dark Encounters and Torchlight Heritage for Agatha Christie plays and ghost tours include mock Tudor confessional boxes and medieval pillories that suggest new ways for visitors to imagine these spaces. Stacked chairs await audiences, pianos anticipate rooms filled with music, fluffy paint rollers look forward to freshly coating the flaking walls. These new materials are a manifestation of community desires and longings and the diverse motivations of its new owners and volunteers. The images and writing that we present in the first part of this paper sketch scenes in the unfolding story of the Manor. Each signals a dream world in the making where material assemblages express the longings of the people trying to save it. These drawings capture the community’s optimism for the continuity of the Manor; they act as an architectural type, a cohesive material structure and perhaps an artefact documenting an accumulation of installations operating as compositional events, “as a gathering place of accumulated deposits which depend on the dense entanglement of affect, attention, the senses and matter”.14 These scenes are in continuous motion as shifting actions constantly set up new material and social relations and clusters of affects. They represent moments in the thick time of the Manor as it moves on its uncertain trajectory, capturing “a present that gathers the past and holds the future pregnantly, but not in an easy, linear manner”.15 Through these tangles of material relations we see that the house has the power to affect and to be affected in multiple ways, they act as haecceities “of relations of movement and rest between molecules or particles”.16 They are compositions that resonate with the diverse co-existing desires of the community, scenes which are replete with unresolved possibilities and threats. The Music Room changes each time we visit from a scene reminiscent of an Agatha Christie Murder Mystery, to an actor’s changing room, to an exhibition space for community visits. Yet decay and imminent collapse are ever present, fresh scatters of fallen plaster on the carpet, spreading stains of damp on the walls, old mortise joints in the timbers slowly parting under the strain. We build the affective qualities of our images and text over time, embedding our experiences, memories and conversations into their making. We grow dialogues between ourselves and the space, allowing our responses and imaginings to unfold outside of our disciplinary gestures. Our work shifts towards a formative language where we use the material of our bodies, the staging of the house and its atmospheres to shape our conversations and an undirected outcome free of formal structures and methodologies. This process challenged our disciplinary habits and professional vocabularies and compelled us to be more open to gestures of the local community. Insert complex images: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 , 6, in pairs as double page spreads. AFTERWORDS In this work we set out to experiment with new methodologies for our practice to investigate tools with which to express the affective capacities of historic interiors. An embodied approach gives historic ‘fabric’ a more dynamic and agentic role, defining materiality by what it does rather than by what it is. The drawings we created through image and text gave voice to the house, we created a gestalt, a story of the many voices of the human and non-human actants at the Manor. Our writing enabled us to see differently in spaces that became familiar, challenged our prejudices and the gestures we make unthinkingly from years of practice. The images that we first took were unthinking, we stood on the thresholds taking photographs as site notes, aide-memoires as documentary evidence to take back to the office/studio. The process of creative writing invited an engagement to be in, “sitting in”, “drawing in” the details of the scenes around us and of our bodily sensations. Our photographic positioning shifted from the threshold to sitting in the space to draw an archaeology of presence, of ourselves within the surroundings. The process required us to let go of disciplinary assumptions about authenticity, significance, the science of decay and aesthetics. These receded in importance as we opened ourselves to the gestures of the community and their desires for what the house might be. The slow process of settling into the house and participation in ongoing acts of community engagement allowed subjective meanings and attachments to reveal themselves over time. The ad-hoc repairs, paint colours and imported furnishings, storytelling, the staging of interiors, event-making, and the introduction of modern facilities, all reflect a complex process of looking after the Manor which does not necessarily adhere to the norms of conservation and interior practice. The lack of resources pulls the community into the house to care for it themselves. Their longings and desires are evident in these unfolding actions and the choices and priorities which emanate from their own conversations with its matter. New Materialist thinking and creative processes supported us to think in terms of clusters of relationships, entanglements of affect, people and objects and to question our normative values when working in historic settings. At Wymering we engaged with the material matter of the Manor through its life history, its ongoing ecologies, its perdurance and imagined futures. Our images and text create new visual and verbal languages of the site and of its materialities that can be embedded into practice. Space and time are folded together with the contortions of our bodies, of the house, and its communities as we create tactile and poeticised representations of its interior. We will continue working between creative writing and photographic drawing to collect the multiple voices at Wymering as it moves on its uncertain trajectory, to add these methods to our professional toolkits and to contribute these insights to ongoing conversations about the future of the Manor. Biographies: Belinda Mitchell is a Senior Lecturer at the University of Portsmouth, School of Architecture, where she co-ordinates masters programmes taught in an interdisciplinary environment; Interior Design, Historic Building Conservation and Sustainable Cities. Her teaching and visual art practices take place through collaborative and interdisciplinary processes that are focused around drawing and embodied methodologies. Recent exhibitions include, Sites of Exchange: materialising conversations, University of Portsmouth, 2014; Making Conversation, as part of Situation, RMIT University, 2014; Sites of Conversation, a group exhibition and symposium at Winchester School of Art, University of Southampton, 2017. Dr Karen Fielder is a Senior Lecturer at the University of Portsmouth, School of Architecture, where she leads the MSc in Historic Building Conservation. She has a Doctorate in history awarded by the University of Southampton in 2012, funded by an AHRC collaborative doctoral studentship with the National Trust. Her research interests include past and present approaches to altering historic buildings, and the experiential and sensory qualities of historic places. We would like to thank The Wymering Manor Trust and Janet Hird for their support and engagement with the project and its on going development. We would also like to thank Julieanna Preston for her insight and critical comments that have supported the development of the text and complex images. NOTES 1. Tim Edensor, “Incipient Ruination: Materiality, destructive agencies and repair,” in Element of Architecture: Assembling archaeology, atmosphere and the performance of building spaces, eds. M. Bille and T. Sørensen (Oxford: Routledge, 2016), 349. 2. Tim Ingold, Making, Anthropology, Archaeology, Art and Architecture (Oxford: Routledge, 2013): 104. 3. Juhani Pallasmaa, The Eyes of the Skin: Architecture and the senses (Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 2005),13. 4. Historic England, Understanding Historic Buildings: A guide to good recording practice, Historic England 2016,11, https://content.historicengland.org.uk/images- books/publications/understanding-historic-buildings/heag099-understanding-historic- buildings.pdf/. 5. Discussed in Salvador Muñoz Viñas, Contemporary Theory of Conversation (Oxford: Elsevier Butterworth-Heinemann, 2005). 6. The Burra Charter: The Australia ICOMOS Charter for Places of Cultural Significance, ICOMOS 2013, http://australia.icomos.org/publications/charters/. 7. For example, English Heritage, Understanding Historic Buildings: Policy and guidance for local planning authorities, English Heritage, 2008, https://historicengland.org.uk/images-books/publications/understanding-historic- buildings-policy-and-guidance/. 8. Jeremy Till, “Thick Time,” in Intersections: Architectural Histories and Critical Theories, eds. I. Borden and J. Rendell (London: Routledge, 2000), 283-296, 285. 9. Bille, Elements of Architecture: Assembling archaeology, atmosphere and the performance of building spaces),12. 10. Jane Bennett, Vibrant Matter, A political ecology of things (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010), 23. 11. Jane Rendell, Site Writing: The architecture of art criticism, (London: I B Tauris 2010). 12. Chris Crickmay and Miranda Tuffnell, Body, Space, Image: Notes towards improvisation and performance (Hampshire: Dance Books Ltd, 1990). 13. Juhani Pallasmaa The Embodied Image: Imagination and Image in Architecture (Chichester: John Wiley & Sons, 2011), 11. 14. Kathleen Stewart, “Afterword:Worlding Refrains”, in Affect Theory Reader, eds M. Gregg and J. Seigworth (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010), 340. 15. Till, “Thick Time”,292. 16. Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus (London: Bloomsbury Revelations, 2016), 304. 
work_34biwebjy5d7xp25kq7jzkfpu4	----	Trollope and Murasaki: Impressions of an Orientalist | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 37, Issue 3 December 1982 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| December 01 1982 Trollope and Murasaki: Impressions of an Orientalist Edward Seidensticker Edward Seidensticker Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1982) 37 (3): 464–471. https://doi.org/10.2307/3044663 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Edward Seidensticker; Trollope and Murasaki: Impressions of an Orientalist. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 December 1982; 37 (3): 464–471. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/3044663 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1982 Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Trollope and Murasaki: Impressions of an Orientalist' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Trollope and Murasaki: Impressions of an Orientalist Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_35fo6czirjcg7jfystrdbchkbm	----	section of my university’s library and are never checked out, except by the intrepid literary scholar. Conversely, the works quoted in “cultural” journals line the literature sections of the library and enjoy occasional outings. I be­ lieve that cultural studies should be viewed as an area of interest separate from but cognate with literary studies. If literary studies should motivate interest in the factors in­ fluencing the constitution of texts, cultural studies should yield an even larger picture, which exposes the agencies affecting the emergence of other art forms and reveals the connections between these forms. The indistinct in­ termingling of the cultural and the literary may be very “cultural,” but it is not particularly helpful for achieving the aims of either cultural or literary studies. MORADEWUN ADEJUNM0B1 University of Botswana There is evidence for the old idea that some literature transcends culture: works have been read with delight in different periods. Shakespeare was warmly received in a nineteenth-century America that hated kings, although there are few “Americans” in Shakespeare, few characters below the aristocracy, almost none with ideals of social mobility. And what of the reception here of Jane Austen, whose novels include almost no characters below the landed gentry? Perhaps the nineteenth-century Americans who enjoyed Shakespeare and Austen were ignorant of cultural studies and thus could encounter European class assumptions without disgust. The bliss of reading in­ volves a good deal of ignorance—or of imagination, of suspension of disbelief. The teacher of literature, as a teacher of pleasure, can set the weight of the world aside. Literature that does not transcend culture may benefit greatly from cultural studies. The appreciation of satires, epigrams, and sermons from earlier periods depends on historical notes, a kind of attenuated cultural studies. One might argue that cultural studies tends to turn all literature into satire or sermon. Measure for Measure, which does not transcend its context, can be read as satire or as com­ mentary on the spousal Canons of 1604 or on the change of reign. The issues in the play—handfast marriage, sex­ ual passes or harassment, and the change of political authority—make Measure for Measure teachable. My freshman students delight to recognize some of their concerns in it. But Othello is not on my freshman read­ ing list, because in transcending culture the work forgoes this appeal. Literature that transcends culture may be damaged or undermined by cultural studies. I think this has happened to Austen, whose early admission to the canon made aca­ demic rediscovery impossible. And it has not helped her recent fortunes that Austen’s main, almost her only, sub­ ject is the marriage of true minds. 1 believe that Austen now is less assigned (in high school and college), though more read, than ever; film has "taught” her works in a way that our classrooms cannot. One could argue that lilm and TV set the curriculum now. No wonder cultural stud­ ies seems important: it shows how culture dominated lit­ erary production and reception in the past, just as media culture controls us. ALAN POWERS Bristol Coniitutnilv College, MA I have a career in English largely because 1 serendipi- tously mentioned my interest in British cultural studies when I went on the job market in the mid-1980s. The lit­ erary academy was just discovering the work of the Birm­ ingham Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies, as the sessions on cultural studies organized by the Sociologi­ cal Approaches to Literature group for the 1988 MLA meeting signaled. 1 had been drawing on Birmingham cultural studies since I read a review of Dick Hebdige’s Subculture: The Meaning of Style in Trouser Press in 1979, and the appearance in PMLA of my article featur­ ing the Sex Pistols, in 1991, might have seemed a sign that cultural studies had influenced literary studies. In fact, I was realizing that cultural studies was dead on ar­ rival in the United States. The effort to relate cultural studies and the literary, which has largely been futile, started at least with Ray­ mond Williams’s The Long Revolution, in which Williams held that “it is with the discovery of patterns” running through a variety of texts “that any useful cultural analy­ sis begins.” The goal of reconstructing these patterns should be to “reveal unexpected identities and corre­ spondences in hitherto separately considered activities” ([Penguin, 1965] 63). The subsequent effort of British cultural studies to enlarge the range of cultural forms that counted was a political intervention, intended to counteract the views of other leftists—including, ironi­ cally, the founder of the Birmingham center, Richard Hoggart—that youth culture was worthless. In Hiding in the Light, Dick Hebdige describes a general “cartogra­ phy of taste,” in which “by pursuing a limited number of themes . . . across a fairly wide range of discourses it may be possible ... to modify the received wisdom,” both within the academy and outside it ([Routledge, 1988] 48). When confronting the literary, cultural studies ought to reveal “the extent to which one of the major functions of literary criticism as an institution” is to cor­ don off “those cultural forms based on mechanical and electronic reproduction” (Colin MacCabe, The Linguis­ tics of Writing [Manchester UP, 1987] 301). Cultural studies ought to demonstrate just how full a life the liter­ ary has in popular culture, a project that will often re­ quire building from sources and incidents beneath the notice of scholars—the citation of Graham Greene in a biography of the Sex Pistols, for example. The primary problem with much of the academic work identified with cultural studies simply because it makes forays into mass culture is that it does not reconsider the disciplinary ter­ rain. In a scathing review of psychoanalytic and post­ structuralist interpretations of Madonna, Daniel Harris points out that in “spurning the pieties lavished on the canon, academics demonstrate how incomplete the post­ modern break with traditional forms of artistic analysis has been, how abysmally they have failed to take popular culture on its own terms” (“Make My Rainy Day,” Na­ tion 8 June 1992: 792). As a result of academic careerism, cultural studies in the United States was conflated with postmodern theory, another trendy field, though a far more dominant one, and quickly became a bandwagon for academic leftists. Stu­ art Hall noted that ‘“cultural studies’ has become an um­ brella for just about anything” in American scholarship (“The Emergence of Cultural Studies,” October 53 [1990]: 22). University presses, for instance, are free in labeling their publications “literary and cultural studies.” Still worse, according to Barbara Epstein, chair of the History of Consciousness program at the University of Califor­ nia, Santa Cruz, cultural studies enacts what it’s supposed to be studying, the “fascination with being a celebrity” (Tom Frank, “Textual Reckoning,” In These Times 27 May 1996: 24). The audience that witnessed the caval­ cade of cultural studies stars at the formative University of Illinois conference in 1990 was obsessed with prefer­ ment and aggrieved by neglect. One of the organizers of the conference, Lawrence Grossberg, who went on to coedit the proceedings and the journal Cultural Studies, effectively installing himself as the CEO of cultural stud­ ies in the United States, has argued that cultural studies needs to be crossed with the work of Gilles Deleuze and Michel Foucault (We Gotta Get Out of This Place [Rout­ ledge, 1992]). The result of this amalgamation with post­ modern theory, Epstein observes, is that cultural studies has adopted the widespread poststructuralist silliness of insisting “that nothing is real, everything is a matter of appearances,” and of minimizing human agency (Frank 24). The occasion for her comments was the physicist Alan Sokal’s hoax on Social Text, an article baited with the thesis that physical reality is only “a social and lin­ guistic construct” (“Transgressing the Boundaries— Toward a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity,” Social Text 14 [1996]: 217). Daniel Harris sim­ ilarly complains that postmodern theorists primarily pro­ mote their “most cherished tenet—that . . . there is no stable and empirically verifiable ‘reality’ behind the va­ garies and impermanence of language” (793). This anti­ materialism completely contradicts the original basis of cultural studies, the materialism exemplified by Raymond Williams and by the efforts of Birmingham mentors such as Richard Johnson to set out a “postpoststructuralist” view of agency that would acknowledge the power of ide­ ology and other social constraints but also the human ca­ pacity to negotiate with them. Considering the complete recasting of cultural studies in the United States, it is hardly surprising that Michael Berube would write that no one “really needs or wants to hear the Birmingham-Hoggart-Williams narrative” about the British origins of cultural studies (“Bite Size The­ ory,” Social Text 36 [1993]: 89). Donna Haraway, one of the best-known postmodern theorists associated with cultural studies in the United States, has said with perfect equanimity that cultural studies is about “everything and nothing” (Scott Heller, “Cultural Studies,” Chronicle of Higher Education 31 Jan. 1990: A4). That pretty well sums up why, a decade after the literary discovered cul­ tural studies, PMLA is still wondering exactly what cul­ tural studies is supposed to do. NEIL NEHRING University of Texas, Austin At Indiana University, graduate students in most humani­ ties and social science disciplines can now “minor” in the fledgling Cultural Studies Program. The faculty members in the program represent twelve disciplines, from anthro­ pology to telecommunications. The largest number are from English. Despite much faculty and student interest in cultural studies programs, creating one is an uphill struggle against existing disciplinary regimes. There aren’t many such programs—let alone departments—in North America today, even though many academics want to turn their disciplines, or at least their own teaching and research, toward cultural studies, because of what they see as the arbitrary narrowness of present disciplin­ ary rules, procedures, and objects of study. For “literary” disciplines (so the story goes), the source of our discontent has been “theory” (especially poststruc­ turalism, Marxism, and feminism). But other forces are reshaping English departments in particular. One is the exponential increase of entire new literatures in English, produced in former British colonies (Australia, India, Ni­ geria, etc.) and in North America by ethnic “minorities” (African, Asian, and Native American, among others). The long struggle to include American literature in the 
work_35hccofexfcuxdssza4gusq7bu	----	forum_119-5_P3T1.indd Forum PMLA invites members of the associa- tion to submit letters, printed and dou- ble-spaced, that comment on articles in previous issues or on matters of general scholarly or critical interest. The editor reserves the right to reject or edit Forum contributions and offers the PMLA au- thors discussed in published letters an opportunity to reply. The journal omits titles before persons’ names, discour- ages footnotes, and does not consider any letter of more than one thousand words. Letters should be addressed to PMLA Forum, Modern Language As- sociation, 26 Broadway, 3rd floor, New York, NY 10004-1789. Reinventing Retirement To the Editor: Most of the respondents to Carolyn Heilbrun’s “Guest Column: From Re- reading to Reading” (119 [2004]: 211–17) seem generally to accept her rather dismal view of what is and is not possible in retirement. I disagree. Two of the fine scholars (and teachers) who were my dear friends and mentors did some of their best work in their eighties and nineties. One of these was John C. Pope, who was nearing ninety when those of us attending the Medieval Acad- emy meeting agreed that his latest article on an Old English poem was the model of what a scholarly article ought to be; he had just mailed off another important contribution when he died, very suddenly, at ninety-three. Another was Ruth J. Dean, whose prizewinning masterwork, Anglo-Norman Litera- ture: A Guide to Texts and Manuscripts, was published about three years be- fore she died, at the age of one hundred. I cannot compare myself with such examples, but at least I have com- pleted (and published) four books since my retirement, and I have finished work on another, which I hope will see publication soon—when my collabo- rators have finished their share. I have, to be sure, somewhat shifted my area of concentration since I stopped teaching, and I have been spending my time on editing and working with medieval culinary records rather than literature in the more usual sense. Almost all my published articles in recent years have been on culinary matters, but I made a start on this twenty-five years ago, and it can’t be said to be a new area for me. At seventy-six, I am slowing down, and I spend a larger part of my time rereading novels (most recently, all of Jane Austen and Emma Lathen, one of my favorite writers of whodunits), but I am apt to feel guilty of slacking off when I do this in daylight hours. Constance B. Hieatt Essex, CT 1 1 9 . 5 ] [ © 2004 by the modern language association of america ] 1353 
work_35x62fiswvcc3jlutqqnhh6kza	----	www.sciencemag.org SCIENCE VOL 301 25 JULY 2003 443 E X H I B I T S Regaining One’s Marbles The Internet has accomplished what decades of public cam- paigns and bitter squabbling haven’t: reuniting the famous mar- ble frieze from the Parthenon in Athens, a sculpture 160 meters long that wrapped the temple with religious and mythic im- agery. Although the actual frieze remains in fragments housed in Athens, London, and Paris, archaeologists and the public can now study a complete online version at this site maintained by the Greek government. Created between 447 and 432 B.C., the meter-high frieze de- picts some 360 human figures, more than 250 animals, and the 12 gods of Olympus, all in a sacred procession to the Acropolis. Two hundred years ago, the British diplomat Lord Elgin sawed off and carted away half of the frieze, and the marbles remain at the center of a heated debate over repatriation. The virtual tour brings together for the first time all the remaining stones from Elgin’s section, now in the British Museum, and the sections held by the Louvre and the Acropolis Museum. You can scrutinize dig- itized photos and stone-by-stone descriptions of the frieze, or read background information regarding its design and history. This group of horsemen (above), for instance, formerly galloped along the north side of the temple. Where stones are incomplete due to damage, drawings of the missing sections dating back to the 17th and 18th centuries supplement the photos. zeus.ekt.gr/parthenonfrieze/index.jsp?lang=en&w=1152 R E S O U R C E S Warming Up to a Frigid Sea Bering Climate, a new site from the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, offers a wealth of data for research- ers studying the ecosys- tems and climate of the Bering Sea and how they might respond to global warming. Such questions are particularly important because the sea supplies half of the seafood eaten in the United States. Visitors can trawl more than 40 data sets on ice cover, winter surface temperatures, salmon catches, and other measurements. You can download the data, plot them, or check for correlations between data sets. A photo gallery lets you meet some of the sea’s denizens, such as this puffin (above), and a plethora of links summons other sources of information. www.beringclimate.noaa.gov/index.html D A T A B A S E The Lowdown on a Killer Bug Tuberculosis, the disease that slayed John Keats, Jane Austen, and George Orwell, remains a leading killer, responsible for about 2 million deaths world- wide every year. Researchers working to foil the evasive TB bacterium can round up plen- ty of information on its genes and proteins at TubercuList, a genomic database from the Pasteur Institute in Paris. The site brims with data on some 4000 genes from Mycobac- terium tuberculosis. Pick a gene and learn the function of the protein it encodes, call up a map showing its chromoso- mal location, or pinpoint near- by genes. Each entry also lists relevant references and lets you download the gene’s DNA sequence or the amino acid sequence of its protein for fur- ther analysis. genolist.pasteur.fr/TubercuList NETWATCH edited by Mitch Leslie C R E D IT S : (T O P ) N A T IO N A L D O C U M E N T A T IO N C E N T R E O F G R E E C E ;W IL L IA M F O L S O M /N A T IO N A L M A R IN E F IS H E R IE S S E R V IC E /N O A A ; C O M P U T E R G R A P H IC S L A B /U N IV E R S IT Y O F C A L IF O R N IA , S A N F R A N C IS C O Send site suggestions to netwatch@aaas.org. Archive: www.sciencemag.org/netwatch S O F T W A R E Molecules on Parade Aimed at everyone from drug de- signers to researchers tracking the nuances of protein evolution, Chimera is a jazzy molecular model- ing package from the Computer Graphics Lab at the University of California, San Francisco. Users can import atomic coordinates from databases such as the Protein Data Bank or upload their own measure- ments, then manipulate and analyze molecular architecture. The program flags likely hydrogen bonds and pinpoints landmarks such as he- lices or sheets within messy 3D data.You can create catchy graphics—for example, the program lets you install windows in bulky molecules to expose their internal organization. What looks like a piece of chewed bubblegum in this image (above) is a molecule of the antitumor drug netropsin wedged be- tween two DNA strands. Chimera can also parse protein sequence data, aligning matching segments and illustrating the structures they encode.The package is free for researchers in academia, government, and nonprofit organizations, and its creators plan to release a revamped version every 6 months. www.cgl.ucsf.edu/chimera o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://scie n ce .scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://science.sciencemag.org/ EXHIBITS: Regaining One's Marbles DOI: 10.1126/science.301.5632.443a (5632), 443.301Science ARTICLE TOOLS http://science.sciencemag.org/content/301/5632/443.1 CONTENT RELATED file:/content/sci/301/5632/netwatch.full PERMISSIONS http://www.sciencemag.org/help/reprints-and-permissions Terms of ServiceUse of this article is subject to the is a registered trademark of AAAS.ScienceScience, 1200 New York Avenue NW, Washington, DC 20005. The title (print ISSN 0036-8075; online ISSN 1095-9203) is published by the American Association for the Advancement ofScience © 2003 American Association for the Advancement of Science o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://scie n ce .scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://science.sciencemag.org/content/301/5632/443.1 http://www.sciencemag.org/help/reprints-and-permissions http://www.sciencemag.org/about/terms-service http://science.sciencemag.org/ 
work_37lsuazffndddcumizznj3bqza	----	"Books That Civilize as Well as Satisfy": Surveying Children's Reading Habits in 1940s and 1950s Australia and New Zealand "Books That Civilize as Well as Satisfy": Surveying Children's Reading Habits in 1940s and 1950s Australia and New Zealand Bronwyn Lowe Book History, Volume 20, 2017, pp. 374-393 (Article) Published by Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:53 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/bh.2017.0013 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/674975 https://doi.org/10.1353/bh.2017.0013 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/674975 In 1906, New Zealand journalist and strident imperialist Constance Bar- nicoat published the results of a survey of colonial girls’ reading habits from across the empire in popular British journal Nineteenth Century and After.1 In choosing to focus on “colonial girls,” Barnicoat was fighting against the prevailing idea that colonial girls would not be as intelligent as those girls from the British Isles. Yet Barnicoat concluded that the results of the survey were quite positive, noting that many girls read Charles Dickens, Sir Wal- ter Scott and Jane Austen.2 She defended the few “inferior” results of the survey in comparison with a similar survey of British girls by arguing that the responses of country girls and Indian girls had been included; the girls surveyed had also been younger than the respondents of the British survey.3 Barnicoat’s hope that girls would be reading the “right” fiction is indicative of a widely held concern developing throughout the first half of the twen- tieth century: that girls should grow up preparing for their future roles as wives and mothers—and girls’ reading of the “right” books was thought to help achieve this. As reading surveys of Australian and New Zealand children continued to be conducted throughout the twentieth century, they reflected a raft of differing concerns amidst a growing moral panic. This panic encompassed fears about the rise of new technologies and children’s declining intelligence, and also the effect of American comics on young children. Educationists and sociologists worried that the material that children were consuming would affect their psychological development. Some of these concerns were similar to those of their international counterparts in Britain, the US, and Canada. Others more closely reflected widely-held antipodean concerns about the state of Australia and New Zealand as new nations. Yet the actual results of reading surveys conducted across the nations are similar, with Martyn “Books That Civilize as Well as Satisfy”  Surveying Children’s Reading Habits in 1940s and 1950s Australia and New Zealand Bronwyn Lowe Surveying Children’s Reading in Australia and New Zealand 375 Lyons noting the “remarkable convergence of young peoples’ reading tastes around a few celebrated titles” internationally across this period.4 Books that appear repeatedly across decades and nations across this period include L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables series and Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women for girls, and Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island and Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer for boys. The main difference for Australian children in particular was the appearance of certain Australian children’s classic books in lists of favourite books, namely Ethel Turner’s Seven Little Australians and Mary Grant Bruce’s Billabong series. All of these books were recorded by surveyors with approval as being both socially and intel- lectually appropriate for children aged from around ten to fourteen years old. This article will examine a range of surveys taken over the 1940s and 50s in Australia and New Zealand, focusing on W.J. Scott’s 1947 survey of New Zealand children’s reading habits, and Connell, Francis and Skilbeck’s ac- count of Australian adolescents’ reading habits published in 1957. Because the children who were surveyed for such projects were of a similar age, a close comparison of the projects is possible and, indeed, highly useful. When examining the surveys of children’s reading habits undertaken over this period, it is important to keep in mind the limitations of using such studies as historical data. Results are interpreted by adults interested in fo- cusing on a particular aspect of reading habits, with their own concerns and fears about what they might find. However, Kathleen McDowell argues that, in comparison with other evidence of children’s reading habits, surveys have certain advantages: “Data was collected in a more timely manner than similar data taken from the biographies of adult individuals remembering back to their young reading interests,” she states. “Children’s responses to surveys were given in both multiple-choice and more open-ended forms, so that there is a substantial body of children’s own writings about their reading.”5 These factors lend a voice to the children participating in such surveys, giving them agency to showcase the various ways in which they chose to read. Rather than focusing on the results of the surveys themselves, however, this article will address the motivations and concerns of those con- ducting the surveys—which are vitally present in the analysis of the results that they publish. Surveys have often been used to find out what children were reading in any given time period. In the United States and the United Kingdom surveys became prevalent at the end of the nineteenth century, and they have contin- ued to be conducted until the present day. Historians of reading Helen Da- Book History376 mon-Moore and Carl F. Kaestle, Jonathan Rose and Joseph McAleer have all made important contributions to their field through their use of historical reading surveys.6 Yet few historians have sought to focus on the motivations and concerns of adults in conducting such surveys. Reading surveys proliferated throughout the first half of the twentieth century.7 In fact, in 1946 American curriculum consultant Bernice E. Leary was already remarking on their prevalence, noting especially of high school students that “their reading preferences have been discovered and re-dis- covered, until there is no doubt that the best readers among them have no quarrel with the classics in the right place, that the average elect contem- porary literature, and that the weight of free choice is for a rather whole- some mixture” of texts. 8 Leary saw the intense focus on the results of such surveys as being ultimately unhelpful, as she saw the particular stress on the detrimental impact of radio and film on children as not being grounded in solid evidence.9 Yet such surveys continued to be conducted. The first large-scale reading survey wasn’t undertaken in Australia until the 1930s, when the Melbourne Teachers’ College surveyed over 3,000 Vic- torian children. The results of this survey were meant to be published by the Australian Council for Educational Research but they have since been lost, and only extracts of the survey survive until this day. By the 1940s, when more surveys of this kind were starting to be made, they tended to follow Terman and Lima’s 1931 model of studying “the qualitative and quantita- tive aspects of children’s reading, with special reference to individual dif- ferences caused by age, sex, intelligence and special interests.”10 However, the most illuminating conclusions from these surveys can be taken not from their results, but from how the surveyors record and then analyze these results. Understanding Adults’ Approaches to Children’s Reading Habits Reading surveys can and should be seen in the context of the vast social sur- veys undertaken across the Western world over the first half of the twentieth century. Seth Koven notes that “the social survey can be seen as inherently value-laden, a product of and servant to politics and the state,” going on to say that such surveys “played an important role in shaping social policy, so- cial reform and social work.”11 The reading surveys discussed in this article fit into this model in a way, as the conductors of the surveys aim to shape Surveying Children’s Reading in Australia and New Zealand 377 library policies and reform English curriculums—thus shaping the future citizens themselves. Yet they also reflect the various interests of the librar- ians, educational researchers and sociologists that undertook such surveys. The concerns authors lay out in their published findings should also be seen as part of a wider moral panic surrounding children’s reading experi- ences, and especially their readership of comics. Since Stanley Cohen’s pio- neering work into moral panics was published in 1972, this area has seen great attention.12 Moral panics often focus on the behaviour or habits of children and youth, and so many historians have since attempted to piece together adults’ attitudes towards children’s behaviours and habits. Kirsten Drotner, in discussing the media panic, which is what she calls a specifica- tion of the wider moral panic, classifies it as an adult discussion primarily focused on children and youth, instigated and purveyed by the media. In addition, she argues, the proponents often have professional stakes in the subject, as teachers, librarians, cultural critics, or academic scholars.13 The analyses of surveys discussed in this article should, then, be seen as respond- ing to the media panic playing out at this time. Styles and Arzipe argue that “adults, usually with good intentions, have always agonised about children’s reading,” going on to address adults’ instincts in censoring such reading habits. However, history, they argue, “shows us that the healthy reaction of the young is to resist such constraints and that a goodly proportion of young readers have always defied attempts to impose conformity and limit their freedom to reach out and read as and what they please.”14 This was certainly the case among Australian and New Zealand youth, who found a myriad of different ways to access books and magazines not necessarily approved of by parents and teachers. This article will, then, argue that the analysis that the authors choose to employ on their results were both “value laden,” in reflecting the concerns of the state, and a public response to the broader moral panics surrounding Australian children’s recreational habits of the 1940s and 50s. Any efforts that adults made to control children’s recreational habits, in addition, were effectively foiled by the methods that children used to access banned books anyway. W.J. Scott and Postwar Concerns for Children The Second World War irrevocably changed girls’ everyday experiences and reading habits. Children were mobilised for the war effort in huge num- Book History378 bers, mainly through schools. Children also dug trenches, collected salvage, bought war loan certificates, sold raffle tickets and performed in fundraising contests.15 Newspapers reported on these activities with joy. But such en- deavors were contrasted with stories expressing dismay that many children were progressing down the wrong track to adulthood. This was part of a broader moral panic fuelled by the worry that wartime strains would bring about the moral degradation of society, and children specifically. In Austra- lia the West Australian reported that “boys found themselves disturbed by war conditions and for many girls war was an artificial stimulus. It often meant glamour and excitement, and emotional conflicts which the family could handle in peace time became sharpened by the war tension.”16 Con- cerns about girls, on the other hand, centered on how their sexuality might be affected, and newspapers commented on the growing amount of girls they feared were heading down the path to prostitution.17 More broadly, there were also worries about discontented youth. This was seen as an issue during the war when unfailing patriotism was expected, but it continued after the war ended, with articles looking to help youth who were “suffering from the upheavals of war.”18 This scale of moral panic had been unprec- edented in Australian history. Concerns about a negative American cultural influence on Australian children also proliferated. Varied reading material was becoming harder to find, as governments banned material not considered to be “essential” to the war effort.19 Adults writing letters in the press worried that children were being corrupted by American culture in the form of comics and romance books, and the belief that good books were an antidote for poor “mental hygiene” remained common.20 These concerns had become common in Aus- tralia and New Zealand in the 1920s and 1930s, but now took a wartime turn. Yet wartime conditions in Australia and New Zealand actually con- spired to make it more difficult for children to access what might have been considered to be harmful American publications. Severe restrictions were put into place against the importation of such material, and international comics, film and radio magazines, and fashion publications were prohibited from entering the country.21 Nevertheless the 1940s saw an explosion of interest in how Australian and New Zealand children were occupying their time, during a period of what was considered to be significant psychological stress. In this context Joan Coates published a survey of 700 school students from a variety of schools in the city and the country for her Masters of Education thesis at the Melbourne Teachers’ College in 1943.22 Coates did not have any survey Surveying Children’s Reading in Australia and New Zealand 379 training for this project. Instead, and at the suggestion of prominent Mel- bourne educationist G.S. Browne, who was looking to see whether or not children’s reading habits had changed in the last ten years, she based her survey on the Melbourne Teachers’ College survey, the results of which had been lost by the time her work was completed. Being unable to compare her results to the results of the Teachers’ Col- lege survey, Coates presented her work as a stand-alone survey. Reflecting the wartime setting of her results, Coates showed that while boys were most interested in reading the war news section of the newspaper, girls turned first to the children’s section.23 Coates showed that school and adventure sto- ries were the favourite genres among girls, recording girls’ favourite books to be Little Women and Anne of Green Gables. Australian authors Mary Grant Bruce and Ethel Turner were also popular among girls.24 One of the conclusions that Coates drew from her study was that “it seems to be true that though girls often read books written for boys, boys rarely read books written for girls,” a finding consistent with the findings of other scholars around that period.25 Coates’ own assumptions about boys’ and girls’ reading were presented quite clearly in the text. In writing that “on the whole the girls’ tastes seem to be more stereotyped and less interesting than the boys,” her value judge- ment that boys’ reading was of a higher quality than girls’ reading was made clear—but this was a common assumption to make across the first half of the twentieth century. In her work on British children’s reading from 1880–1910, for example, Kimberley Reynolds draws a distinction between what was considered at the time to be “high” and “low” areas of juvenile publishing. Reynolds argues that high fiction consisted of those works “rec- ognised as having literary merit,” including “boys’ adventure and school stories” and “depictions of bourgeois family life”; whereas low fiction consisted of “those works denied literary merit, notably girls’ stories and ‘bloods’ or comics.” High fiction, including the mainstream of children’s lit- erature, “tended to be read by both sexes,” whereas low fiction was mainly written for girls and working-class children.26 Such assumptions are present throughout Coates’s work. When she wrote that her ultimate aim was to cultivate “a perception of literary values” in school students, girls’ reading habits were considered to be a particular priority.27 According to surveys of the type conducted by Joan Coates, the most popular American books read by children during the 1940s were in fact always children’s classics that were approved by parents and teachers. Yet in recording her findings, Coates still questioned how the quality of books Book History380 that boys and girls were reading might be improved. She was particularly concerned about the content of comics and magazines, and worried that while they were by no means the most popular form of magazine among girls, “film magazines might have a harmful effect on the girls because they present a meretricious scale of values emphasizing beauty, glamour, wealth and notoriety, and making light of divorce and unfaithfulness.”28 This worry seems overstated considering that the Australian Women’s Weekly, which presented a much more traditional vision of Australian femininity, was overwhelmingly the most popular magazine among girls.29 After the war, concerns about magazines’ and comics’ harmful effects on girls did not abate. In 1947 the biggest survey of antipodean children’s reading habits to be published so far was received with wide acclaim when W.J. Scott presented the results of a survey of New Zealand secondary- school-aged boys’ and girls’ reading, film, and radio habits. Scott was heav- ily involved in the education profession in New Zealand as a lecturer in Eng- lish at the Wellington Teachers’ Training College, honorary secretary of the Wellington branch of the National Education Fellowship, and a founding member of the Wellington Co-operative Book Society.30 His study stemmed from a request by the New Zealand Council for Educational Research for an investigation into the teaching of English in the post-primary school; the survey was to correspond with a separate study on the teaching of English in secondary schools by Professor Ian Gordon. So while Scott’s survey focused on children’s reading habits at home, rather than their reading of school books, it was also designed to assist English teachers in finding out what books children enjoyed. Scott’s questionnaire was given to 3,972 schoolchildren, aged mostly be- tween 13 and 18, for them to fill out in the classroom in October of 1942. Yet any impact that this classroom environment might have placed on the students’ responses was not mentioned. Scott was by his own admission an “inexperienced investigator,” and he did not have any formal social science training to conduct the survey. As such, his project is not deeply concerned with questions of methodology—such questions are treated in a much more sustained manner by the sociologists Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck in their 1958 survey. The 1942 questionnaire comprised a range of different questions about children’s reading of books, periodicals, and poetry and plays. Questions about their habits regarding the cinema and radio were also asked. Scott based his questions largely on an English survey by A.J. Jenkinson entitled, What Do Boys and Girls Read? An Investigation into Reading Habits with Surveying Children’s Reading in Australia and New Zealand 381 Some Suggestions about the Teaching of Literature in Secondary and Senior Schools, which was published in 1940. So in the same way that Coates’s project had been conceived as a response to an earlier reading survey, Scott’s project also continued the conversation conducted through Jenkinson’s work. Indeed, many surveys across the period speak to each other in this way, and show an awareness of other work being completed in the field. Accordingly, similar questions and concerns are also raised throughout the texts. Scott and Jenkinson both explained that the aim of their research was to contribute to the improvement of the teaching of literature in schools, but both men also revealed a great deal about their personal concerns about children’s reading habits, in response to prevailing attitudes towards this in the 1940s. In the introduction to his survey results, Scott argued that “a knowledge of the books, magazines, newspapers, films, and radio items that [children] voluntarily choose to fill their leisure hours is indispensible if the task of teaching English, and particularly English literature, is to be well done.”31 Jenkinson’s main thesis throughout his book was that teach- ers continuously gave children the wrong books to read: books that were too far above their level of reading interest and expertise.32 He argued that, if gently encouraged to read in the right direction, children would develop their own healthy reading habits. However, Scott refrained from recom- mending giving New Zealand children this much agency in their reading choice in his survey; his concerns about books’ and comics’ impact on chil- dren’s development thus came through much more strongly. These concerns are particularly apparent in Scott’s reflections that students were not “being successfully taught to like the best literature they [were] capable of.”33 Scott’s survey was produced in a period of increasing fears that children were reading the “wrong” sort of books, that they were reading less overall and that their reading of comic books was eroding their intelligence.34 Scott himself worried that even children who read English periodicals like the Champion or the Crystal would retract into a life of fantasy rather than trying to understand or grapple with the real world.35 The results of his sur- vey, however, go some way towards challenging prevailing concerns about childhood at the time. In the findings of his survey Scott presented separate results for favorite book titles and favorite authors. For girls Little Women took the top position, Anne of Green Gables came second, and Good Wives, the sequel to Little Women, third.36 For boys Stevenson’s Treasure Island, Ballantyne’s Coral Island, and Hughes’s Tom Brown’s Schooldays made up their favourite three books.37 Among both girls and boys, socially approved children’s classics made up the majority of their top ten most popular books. Book History382 Despite these results, Scott expressed great concern over the books that children were reading. He discussed the difficulties of developing in children a proper taste in books “that civilize as well as satisfy,” and noted that the solution would involve many changes, both at school and at home. “Then it could be expected that the liking for Dickens would increase still further . . . the girls’ need for emotional relationships be satisfied by more Jane Austen, Dickens, and George Eliot and less Georgette Heyer, G.S. Porter, and A.J. Cronin.”38 Here he showed a belief that reading of the “proper” literature would stimulate girls’ correct development, and this was a common senti- ment of the time. Yet rather than noting a trend of children turning away from the “great authors,” Scott showed Dickens to be the third most popu- lar author among both girls and boys. His results did show that American literature had become very influential by the 1940s, a fear held by many Australians. Yet the majority of American books such as Little Women re- corded in the survey were approved of by most Australians. Scott’s concerns were, then, heavily overstated—perhaps influenced by the common calls of the time for children’s reading habits to be improved. Through Scott’s reflections on children’s favourite books shines a defense of a canon of children’s literature, which he saw as coming under threat from more temporarily popular novels and magazines. Many scholars have attempted to define what a classic novel is, describing a literary work that has “endured over time, has universal meaning,” and explaining that “more than one age has read it and decided that it has something really important to say.”39 For Scott and most adults around this time, authors of children’s classics included Louisa May Alcott, L.M. Montgomery, Frances Hodgson Burnett, Mark Twain, and Robert Louis Stevenson—and these classics con- tinue to remain in the canon today, represented in series such as the Oxford Children’s Classics. Other children’s books, including books by Mary Grant Bruce, R.M. Ballantyne, and the Biggles series, were socially accepted at the time but were not considered, in Scott’s eyes, to be classics. Many of these books have struggled to retain so many readers. Often parents and teachers started seeing such books as being out of date, whereas children’s classics were considered to have more universal messages. Bruce’s books, for example, fell out of print in the 1960s, and would later be seen by teachers and librarians to be racist and sexist. Brenda Niall concedes “there is no denying the racial stereotypes in the Bruce nov- els,” but argues that Bruce “has been misjudged by anxious censors who have not seen her work in historical perspective.” She states that the books “have been taken to task with a severity which can only be explained by the Surveying Children’s Reading in Australia and New Zealand 383 special vigilance given to children’s reading,” indicating that concerns about children’s literature remain perennial.40 Scott’s explanations for the reading preferences of girls versus boys illus- trate widely held views about the differences between the sexes. He noted that girls tended to re-read books more frequently than boys, and that their reading tastes were more varied. While girls read domestic and romantic tales in large numbers, they also read “boys’ stories,” including adventure and detective stories. Scott shows that boys’ reading habits were narrower, and focused mainly on adventure, detective, and humorous stories. Scott posited that the explanation for these differences was “probably to be found in the greater intensity of the girls’ responses and their more comprehensive curiosity about people and personal relationships,” going on to observe that “girls remain the ‘gentler’ sex, temperamentally and physically more sensi- tive than the ‘stronger’ one, and endowed with greater delicacy of feeling and a warmer sympathy for the weak.”41 In this analysis Scott showed himself to have similar attitudes towards the different reading habits of boys and girls as did previous surveyors of chil- dren’s reading habits who simply attributed the differences between boys’ and girls’ reading habits to differing temperaments.42 Yet the analyses re- corded in such stories do not take strongly into account the varied life expe- riences of boys and girls in this period; they miss out on several of the differ- ences between their experiences of reading as well. One main aspect of their reading experiences missing from such surveys is a detailed understanding of how children accessed their books. At a time when books were still very expensive, many children received books from parents and relations only at birthdays and Christmas time; another common way of receiving books was as school prizes. As a result, children did not have as much choice as is commonly assumed in such surveys to pick all of their books themselves; they were directed repeatedly towards the types of books thought to be the most appropriate for them—and this was commonly based on their gender. This was also the case in libraries, with many librarians taking an active role in removing certain books from children’s book choices.43 These factors all would have conspired together to direct children towards socially approved books for boys and girls—an issue not taken strictly into account by Scott and other surveyors. Scott’s concerns over the detrimental effects cheap literature may have been having on children’s minds were also reflected in his analysis of children’s reading of poetry and plays. His educational focus also shines through, as he directly connected children’s readership of poetry with the ef- Book History384 fectiveness of their classroom teachers—in this way placing the responsibil- ity on the teacher rather than the child.44 In reporting average results of the readership of poetry outside of school, Scott reflected that “to get the emo- tional release that poetry has always been able to give the willing listener or reader, [children] are taught to go instead to its modern competitors—the film and radio . . . in the face of this competition poetry of any subtlety and delicacy of feeling has little chance of attracting many readers.”45 He opined that teachers themselves did not have the necessary training or knowledge to inspire students to read more than the poems that appear in school text- books and anthologies, and argued that poetry would help children aspire to develop and mature emotionally. The results of Scott’s survey were reported on widely in Australia and New Zealand; his impact in Australia was heightened by his presence at several educational conferences there shortly after his book was published. At such conferences, he continued to present on the importance of encour- aging in children a love of the “right” literature, so that they would be discouraged from the reading of comics and magazines.46 Scott’s work was also recommended briefly by the famed British children’s literature advo- cate Geoffrey Trease in his book Tales out of School. Trease remarked that everyone should read Scott’s chapter on the reading of comic books and magazines—even though, at the time that Scott conducted his survey, many comics and magazines had in fact been banned from importation to New Zealand due to wartime restrictions, which further limited what was avail- able to children.47 Despite its drawbacks in analysis of the results of his survey, Scott’s work has in fact proved to be enormously useful and indeed influential to future scholars interested in surveying children’s reading habits; his results corre- spond closely to surveys conducted around the same time across the West- ern world. Yet the concerns that Scott threaded throughout his work also serve to illuminate to scholars the prevailing attitudes and concerns of the time; it is these concerns that make Scott’s work interesting as a cultural and historical artefact. His fears regarding the detrimental impact of film, radio and comics on the reading habits of children show the strength of these concerns around the globe. Scott’s intended use of this survey as a tool for teachers to improve their students’ reading habits, on the other hand, gives us valuable insights into the perceived role of teachers during this period. It also shows the lack of agency afforded to the students themselves in their emotional development—instead teachers, using classic literature and po- etry as their aid, were expected to take on this responsibility. Surveying Children’s Reading in Australia and New Zealand 385 Surveying Australian Adolescents in the 1950s In comparison to previous decades, in the 1950s children started staying at school for longer, completing the various Leaving certificates that pro- vided pathways into expanding white collar jobs.48 Indeed, Lees and Sen- yard argue that it was the increased duration of children’s schooling in this decade and “a greater recognition of the individual” that brought the issue of the teenager to new prominence.49 There was also a new emphasis on the sexualised teenager, about which many Australians expressed concern, and fears of the effects of American comics also re-emerged as they start- ed to enter Australia in greater and greater numbers.50 These comics were viewed as flooding the Australian market with violent, sexual and intellectu- ally inferior material; they were also seen to distract children from reading good books.51 In 1956, the introduction of television provoked similar fears among Australian adults, some of whom were convinced that children’s reading and literacy levels would drop.52 A growing number of newspaper articles debating the issue of children’s reading habits was accompanied by more sociological research on children overall, as university-based sociological surveys of specific groups began to accumulate.53 Reading surveys continued to be conducted by individual li- brarians or teachers who questioned children from one particular area or school; these were often published in the Australian Library Journal.54 Most of these surveys sought to identify children’s favourite books, how many books they were borrowing and the sort of books that they liked to bor- row. While these surveys aimed to find out such information in order to better serve the children, like W.J. Scott’s 1947 New Zealand survey they also reveal adult concerns about the quality of books that children were reading. Yet we see other agendas promoted in these types of surveys as well. As Kathleen McDowell writes, reading surveys of children conducted by librarians also tend to focus on librarians’ ability to inspire in children a love of reading; the promotion of the good work that librarians do is often a feature of these surveys.55 In 1957 sociologists Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck published Growing Up in an Australian City, based on a study which had surveyed 9,500 ado- lescents, approximately 10 percent of the adolescent population of wider Sydney, on a wide range of issues. It was at the time the largest survey of Australia’s youth to be conducted.56 This survey, which began in 1951, had arisen out of a desire among Education students at the University of Sydney to study the relationship between Australian culture and Australia’s educa- Book History386 tional programme and theories. While the students themselves did not have formal social science training, the project was supervised by Connell, Fran- cis, and Skilbeck, who were accomplished social scientists at the top of their field—at a time when sociology was just starting to boom in Australia. The discipline would start to gain much more traction moving into the 1960s.57 Positioned as being concerned with the future of Australia’s adolescents, and being much more wide-ranging than any previous surveys, the project elicited great interest around Australia. The fact that the lead authors were all professional sociologists also lent the project more weight when it was discussed in newspapers. The allure attached to the professionalization of the project was something that the authors took advantage of when they made explicit public policy suggestions. The surveyors were keenly aware of the social differences between dif- ferent groups of adolescents, and so they were surveyed proportionately to the number of children from upper, middle and lower class living areas, and they conceived the survey as a way to represent the interests and develop- ment of Australian adolescents more generally. In the 1950s this was a com- mon way to use sociological surveys. Mike Savage, for example, writes that “by defining the local as a site of social change, rather than as a location in a wider landscape, [sociologists] abstracted the local study from its envi- ronment, and so mobilized them as displaced exemplars of the nation.” He goes on to write that these projects “involved the use of sampling, survey, and interview methods, which gave sociologists a distinctive lever to prise change open.”58 Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck aimed to use their analysis of a quickly changing adolescent population to effect change in Australia’s educational policies. Concerns over how Australian culture was promulgated through Austra- lia’s youth pervaded the wide-ranging survey. The survey seeks to present a new understanding of Australia’s youth through the application of three themes—“learning appropriate roles,” “achieving emotional stability,” and “seeking intellectual maturity,” in which the reading of appropriate books was seen to assist. The main concern presented throughout the survey was, then, that Australia’s youth develop into healthy and productive Australian citizens. During the survey, 629 adolescents had been asked about their reading and film-watching habits specifically, including 13–15-year-old girls, and 13–18-year-old boys. The survey separated the boys into two groups, com- prising 13–15-year-old boys at school, and 15–18-year-old-boys that were all out of school at this time.59 These adolescents answered questions on Surveying Children’s Reading in Australia and New Zealand 387 their reading habits as part of a larger survey called “Twenty Questions,” for which they answered a range of different questions about their recre- ational habits. The survey’s chapter on “the pattern of adolescents’ book reading” returned to the theme of the promulgation of Australian culture, and it was particularly concerned with what the survey conductors saw as the Americanisation of the adolescents’ reading habits. In this way it conveyed similar concerns to Scott’s survey of the state of adolescents’ reading habits, and these authors also promoted a focus on de- veloping “good reading habits.” Yet again this stress on “good reading” ap- peared overstated as the authors went on to present their findings. Of the 90 13-year-old girls who had been surveyed on their reading, Eleanor Porter’s Pollyanna was the most frequently mentioned book, named by five differ- ent girls. It was also the most popular book for the fourteen-year-old girls. The Anne of Green Gables books and the Little Women books were also popular for both ages.60 In this case girls’ reading tastes were explained by arguing that their preferences for “stories of home life, gentle sentiment, and tempered excitement” gave them “a feeling of security and stability in an unsure world.”61 The authors noted that most of the girls’ favourite books at this stage are books that “have been popular with this age group for at least a generation.”62 They are the books that the authors widely accept to be suitable for the age group, to be high in quality and have a worthwhile message—they are, then, books of the accepted canon of children’s litera- ture. But again the authors neglected to tease out the different ways that girls had been steered towards these books their whole lives. These authors did, however, allow for the influence of schools on girls’ reading habits.63 They suggested that school libraries would be more likely to carry older books, and that school staff would be more likely to recom- mend older fiction rather than more recently published works. The authors added that “the strong narrative element in most of the classics carries an appeal to the adolescent, while most of the modern novels demand an emo- tional awareness and a willingness to understand the psychological implica- tions of human conflict for which few 13 to 15-year-olds are prepared.”64 This explanation again shows that sociologists had a limited understanding of how girls were handling early adolescence in postwar Australia. While the idea that girls would read such books as an antidote to what was going on in the world is legitimate, this impulse does not seem to be present in girls’ autobiographies and memoirs; nor do they normally mention a sense of uncertainty at this time in their lives.65 The authors had a similar attitude towards boys’ reading habits, point- ing out thirteen-year-old boys’ love of Biggles, but also of Treasure Island, Book History388 Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Wind in the Willows. The authors devoted a few pages to exploring the Biggles books, evidently looking to assuage any con- cerns that parents might have about the books’ excessive readership among young boys. They noted that the books’ attraction for boys was in their fo- cus on action over any deeper sense of emotion or explication of characters’ motivations. Likening them in this way to adventure comics, they regretfully reported that “younger adolescents do not have available to them a supply of literature which combines the attractiveness of Johns’ skilful plot devel- opment with a more sensitive criticism of human life and character at a level which can be appreciated by them.”66 On the other hand, they worried that schools tended to direct boys towards more modern books when they did not have the emotional maturity to deal with them. Again in this work ap- pears an implicit belief that socially accepted children’s classics were more appropriate for children than more modern books. The canon of children’s literature, then, continued to be defended with little attention being paid to the importance to children of more contemporary and relevant books. Having set up a sense of boys’ and girls’ maturity levels through the rest of their surveys, Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck were perhaps better equipped to analyze the effect of such books on adolescents’ emotional lives than was Scott. Nevertheless in their analysis of both boys’ and girls’ attitudes towards books, the authors still neglected to track how exactly children located and accessed books that they wanted to read; they placed primary responsibility on the schools in influencing children towards appropriate books and they did not take into account the other ways children accessed books at this time. There was minimal acknowledgment that there might be a contrast between books that children were reading, or being encouraged to read, at home versus at school, for instance. This aspect of children’s reading habits was more effectively established in Marjorie Roe’s 1958 survey of 326 children from the Mittagong area of New South Wales. A school librarian, she does not appear to have had any formal social science training. Instead, Roe was motivated by a sense of great unease that children were being steered towards books that were simply popular, arguing that teachers and librarians must “seek continually to improve their reading taste in accord with what they need if they are to develop fully and mature.”67 Roe based her work on Scott’s survey, and the two projects reflect similar concerns. Roe noted the extreme popularity of Enid Blyton books among boys and girls of particular schools, stating that “fifty-three per cent of all girls and 31 per cent of all boys named Blyton” as their favourite author.68 She stated Surveying Children’s Reading in Australia and New Zealand 389 that “for individual schools the figures ranged from 68 per cent for Blyton down to nil,” going on to show that girls’ schools and peer groups in fact played as large a role in how girls chose their reading matter as did the rec- ommendations of school teachers.69 Roe was, for the most part, scathing of schools’ influences on children’s reading habits, writing that when children were asked for the titles of books that had been recommended to them by teachers, the answers “were not encouraging. 200 titles were mentioned and 101 of them were classics. . . . The good contemporary children’s fiction recommended by teachers did not amount to more than three per cent of the total recommendations.”70 Like Bernice E. Leary before her, Roe worried about the lessons that people would take from the findings of reading surveys, writing that while most reading surveys ended up making generalisations about what books chil- dren read, “there is no reason to believe that because children read and like ‘bloods,’ unlikely adventures, and romances, that these are the types of books they need—for example, for their best possible development through the period of change known as adolescence.”71 These attitudes and concerns are clear in Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck’s discussions of Sydney adolescents reading comics. The sociologists were particularly wary of what they called romantic comics, with “provocative titles such as Dramatic Love, True Sweetheart Secrets, and Intimate Confes- sions” that “invite the reader to share vicariously the affairs of young men and women experimenting with their social relationships and expressing graphically their emotional reactions to the . . . circumstances into which their inexperience may lead them.”72 While boys did read a wide range of comic genres, the authors noted that girls were reading romance comics far more than any of the other genres, which were all aimed at boys. Kevin Patrick notes that “while US reprints virtually dominated some comic book genres, such as the ‘teenage’ (e.g. Ar- chie Comics) and ‘romance’ (e.g. Young Romance), Australian-made titles were amongst the top-sellers in other categories.”73 Therefore, concerns about the Americanisation of Australian children’s culture had particular pertinence for girls, and girls were the focus of the moral panic surround- ing comics at this time. This panic was fuelled by calls to ban such comics altogether. Indeed in discussing the types of comics that he would like to see banned, W. Keenan of the Catholic Young Men’s Society in Benalla specified “romantic comics, which place an unhealthy emphasis on sex, crime comics, which glorify crime and criminals, and those which portray brutality and horror to excess. Certain American comics which give a farcical picture of Book History390 home and family life are also to be deplored.”74 He thus demonstrated a fear that Australia’s way of life would be changed by the influence of Ameri- can culture. The Current Affairs Bulletin argued that the reading of comics among children, “may be only a thin thread in the all-over pattern where there are good books in the home and a love of books inculcated in the chil- dren by their parents; also where parents take care to provide their children with suitable books at each stage of their development.” Yet it indicated a concern that, in families where “good” reading habits were not established, the habit of comic reading would continue into adulthood.75 While Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck played into these prevailing con- cerns about adolescents’ comic book reading habits, again the evidence that they reported cautioned against worrying about this issue too much at that stage. The authors admitted that, in fact, most of the adolescents that read comic books in great numbers “read slightly (though not significantly) more books a month than do the non-comic book readers. It seems that there are some adolescents who read little or nothing at all—neither comic books nor real books—and it also appears that there are other adolescents who are voracious readers, who will therefore read, irrespective of whether the matter consists of books or comics.”76 As the majority of the books that the authors had recorded adolescents to be reading were considered to be appropriate, it then should have followed that readership of these books would have proved to be an antidote against the apparently pernicious influ- ence of American comics. Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck’s study is a useful historical artefact—not only in its recorded attitudes towards children, but also in its assumption of the central importance of reading in adolescents’ development. As sociolo- gists at a time when professionalization was being seen to be more and more valuable, their dictation of public policy towards adolescents also provided a sense of urgency to their project. While Scott had aimed for his project to be useful to specific teachers, Connell, Francis and Skilbeck used the weight of their profession to effect wider change. In the case of Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck, as in the case of W.J. Scott, the very results that the authors recorded should have counselled against responding with great worry and consternation about the state of children’s reading habits. Instead, both of these surveys, along with many (though not all) of the smaller surveys conducted over the 1940s and 50s, presented great concern that children’s intelligence was being seriously eroded by their readership of comics and inappropriate literature. These responses were fu- elled by the greater moral panic concerning children’s recreational habits Surveying Children’s Reading in Australia and New Zealand 391 that was happening at the time. While all of these surveys are useful in iden- tifying the types of books that children were reading across this period, the views on reading habits that the authors presented drew on preconceived notions of what children “should” be reading. This prevented them from finding effective ways to understand the actual children’s reading habits that they themselves recorded. Notes 1. Janet McCallum, “Barnicoat, Constance Alice,” from the Dictionary of New Zealand Biography. Te Ara—the Encyclopedia of New Zealand, updated October 30, 2012, http:// www.TeAra.govt.nz/en/biographies/3b10/barnicoat-constance-alice 2. Constance A. Barnicoat, “The Reading of the Colonial Girl,” Nineteenth Century and After no. 358 (1906), 950. 3. Barnicoat, “The Reading of the Colonial Girl,” 950. 4. Martyn Lyons, “Reading Practices in Australia,” in A History of the Book in Australia 1891–1945: A National Culture in a Colonised Market, ed. Martyn Lyons and John Arnold (St Lucia, Qld.: University of Queensland Press, 2001), 337. 5. Kathleen McDowell, “Toward a History of Children as Readers, 1890–1930,” Book History 12, no. 1 (2009): 242. 6. Helen Damon-Moore and Carl F. Kaestle, “Surveying American Readers,” in Literacy in the United States: Readers and Reading since 1880, ed. Carl F. Kaestle, et al (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1991); Jonathan Rose, The Intellectual Life of the British Work- ing Class (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2001); Joseph McAleer, Popular Reading and Publishing in Britain: 1914–1950 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992). 7. For examples of international reading surveys, see A.J. Jenkinson, What Do Boys and Girls Read? An Investigation into Reading Habits with Some Suggestions about the Teaching of Literature in Secondary and Senior Schools (London: Methuen & Co. Ltd., 1940); Arthur Melville Jordan, Children’s Interests in Reading (New York: Teachers College, Columbia Uni- versity, 1921). 8. Bernice E. Leary, “What Does Research Say about Reading?,” The Journal of Educa- tional Research 39, vol. 6 (1947): 437. 9. Leary, “What Does Research Say,” 439. 10. Lewis M. Terman and Margaret Lima, Children’s Reading: a Guide for Parents and Teachers (New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1931), vi. 11. Seth Koven, “The Dangers of Castle Building—Surveying the Social Survey,” in The Social Survey in Historical Perspective, 1880–1940, ed. Martin Bulmer, Kevin Bales, and Kath- ryn Kish Sklar (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 368. 12. Stanley Cohen, Folk Devils and Moral Panics: The Creation of the Mods and Rockers (London: MacGibbon and Kee, 1972). 13. Kirsten Drotner, “Dangerous Media? Panic Discourses and Dilemmas of Modernity,” Paedagogica Historica: International Journal of the History of Education 35, no. 3 (1999): 596. 14. Morag Styles and Evelyn Arzipe, “Introduction,” in Acts of Reading: Teachers, Text and Childhood (Stoke-on-Trent, UK: Trentham, 2009), 1-6, 4. 15. Melanie Oppenheimer, Volunteering: Why We Can’t Survive Without It (Sydney: UNSW Press, 2008), 34–38. 16. “War’s Effect on Children. Preventing Strain,” West Australian, 14 June 1941, 13. Book History392 17. See for example “Plan to Save Erring Girls,” Courier Mail, 10 June 1943, 3. 18. “Religion to Stem Youth Delinquency,” Morning Bulletin, 27 July 1946, 5. 19. Geoffrey Sawer, Australian Federal Politics and Law, 1929–1949 (Parkville, Vic.: Mel- bourne University Press, 1963), 106. 20. See for example Caroline Isaacson, “Your Child and His Reading Need Wise Vigi- lance,” Argus, 25 July 1944, 7. 21. “Love Tales, Comic Strips in Ban List,” Adelaide News, April 11 1940, 11. 22. Joan Coates, “Reading Habits and Interests of Victorian Boys and Girls” (MEd thesis, University of Melbourne, 1943), 2. 23. Coates, “Reading Habits,” 46. 24. Coates, “Reading Habits,” 26. Small surveys and articles from children’s librarians also tend to confirm these findings. In 1947 Alice M. Lapthorne, a children’s librarian in Mil- dura, stated that “girls still read the old favourites Montgomery, Bruce, Porter, as well as modern Wynne, Cheyne, and Potter,” showing that girls in fact were also reading modern books, although they do not appear so much on reading surveys. Alice M. Lapthorne, “Where Children Browse. Mildura Children’s Library,” Australasian Book News and Library Journal 1, no. 12 (1947): 557. 25. Coates, “Reading Habits,” 67. See also Barbara Henderson, “What Children Like to Read,” Australasian Book News and Library Journal 2, no. 4 (1947): 173. 26. Kimberley Reynolds, Girls Only? Gender and Popular Children’s Fiction in Britain, 1880–1910 (New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1990), xvi. 27. Coates, “Reading Habits,” 27. 28. Coates, “Reading Habits,” 45. 29. Coates, “Reading Habits,” 44. The Weekly clearly recognised this large teenage readership, as in 1949 they began publishing in the magazine an imported comic strip called “Teena” about an American “bobby-soxer,” or teenager. In 1954 they began publishing a teenage supplement as well. See Susan Sheridan et al., Who Was That Woman? The Australian Women’s Weekly in the Postwar Years (Sydney: UNSW Press, 2001). 30. William Renwick, “Scott, Walter James,” in Dictionary of New Zealand Biography. Te Ara—the Encyclopedia of New Zealand, http://www.TeAra.govt.nz/en/biographies/5s8/ scott-walter-james 31. Walter J. Scott, Reading, Film and Radio Tastes of High School Boys & Girls (Wel- lington: New Zealand Council for Educational Research, 1947), 1. 32. Jenkinson, What Do Boys and Girls Read?, 144–45. 33. Scott, Reading, Rilm and Radio Tastes, 41. 34. See for example H.W.B., “Reading ‘Muck.’ Children’s Habit. How Can It Be Stopped?,” Auckland Star, 22 November 1944, 4. 35. Scott, Reading, Film and Radio Tastes, 83. 36. Scott, Reading, Film and Radio Tastes , 8. 37. Scott, Reading, Film and Radio Tastes, 8. 38. Scott, Reading, Film and Radio Tastes, 34. 39. Evelyn Winfield and Brian Keaney, as quoted in Sally Maynard, Cliff McKnight, and Melanie Keady, “Children’s Classics in the Electronic Medium,” The Lion and the Unicorn 23, no. 2 (1999): 184–201. 40. Brenda Niall, Australia through the Looking-glass: Children’s Fiction 1830–1980 (Carlton, Vic.: Melbourne University Press, 1984), 131. 41. Niall, Australia through the Looking-glass, 56, 58. 42. See George W. Norvell, “Some Results of a Twelve Year Study of Children’s Reading Interests,” The English Journal 35, no. 10 (1946): 531–36. 43. See for example Mavis Thorpe Clark, Trust the Dream: An Autobiography (Spring Hill, Vic.: Ronda Hall, 2004), 45. Surveying Children’s Reading in Australia and New Zealand 393 44. Scott, Reading, Film and Radio Tastes, 146. 45. Scott, Reading, Film and Radio Tastes, 153. 46. “Reading Influences Child’s Mind,” The Telegraph, 5 September 1946, 7. 47. Geoffrey Trease, Tales out of School: A Survey of Children’s Fiction (London: New Educational Book Club, 1948), 81–82. 48. Terry Irving, David Maunders, and Geoff Sherington, Youth in Australia: Policy, Ad- ministration and Politics: A History since World War II (South Melbourne: MacMillan Educa- tion Australia, 1995), 5. 49. Stella Lees and June Senyard, The 1950s—How Australia Became a Modern Society, and Everyone Got a House and Car (Melbourne: Hyland House, 1987), 140. 50. Craig Campbell and Helen Proctor, A History of Australian Schooling (Crows Nest, NSW: Allen & Unwin, 2014), 181. 51. See for example “Drive Urged for Control of Comics,” News, 16 July 1952, 3. 52. Kate Darian-Smith and Paula Hamilton, “Part of the Family: Australian Histories of Television, Migration and Memory,” in Remembering Television: Histories, Technologies, Memories, ed. Kate Darian-Smith and Sue Turnbull (Newcastle-upon-Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2012), 31–32. 53. R.W. Connell, “Australia and World Sociology,” in Histories of Australian Sociology, ed. John Germov (Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 2005), 17. 54. Marjorie Roe, “The Teen-age Reader,” Australian Library Journal 7, no. 2 (1958): 14–21; Margaret Hoskin, “Survey of Children’s Reading Taste,” Australian Library Journal 5, no. 4 (1956): 141–42. 55. McDowell, “Toward a History of Children as Readers,” 249. 56. McDowell, “Toward a History of Children as Readers,” xiii. 57. Stuart Macintyre, The Poor Relation: A History of Social Sciences in Australia (Mel- bourne: Melbourne University Press, 2010), 98. 58. Mike Savage, Identities and Social Change in Britain since 1940: The Politics of Meth- od (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 140. 59. W.F. Connell, E.P. Francis, and Elizabeth E. Skilbeck, Growing Up in an Australian City: A Study of Adolescents in Sydney (Melbourne: Australian Council for Educational Re- search, 1957), 14. 60. Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck, Growing Up, 183. 61. Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck, Growing Up, 185. 62. Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck, Growing Up, 185 63. Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck, Growing Up, 189. 64. Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck, Growing Up, 189. 65. See Bronwyn Lowe, “‘The Right Thing to Read’: Australian Girl Readers in History and Text, 1910–1960” (PhD thesis, University of Melbourne, 2014). 66. Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck, Growing Up, 189. 67. Roe, “The Teen-age Reader,” 17. 68. Roe, “The Teen-age Reader,” 20. 69. Roe, “The Teen-age Reader,” 20. 70. Roe, “The Teen-age Reader,” 20. 71. Roe, “The Teen-age Reader,” 17. 72. Connell, Francis and Skilbeck, Growing Up, 156. 73. Kevin Patrick, “The Cultural Economy of the Australian Comic Book Industry, 1950– 1985,” in Sold by the Millions: Australia’s Bestsellers, ed. Toni Johnson-Woods and Amit Sar- wal (Newcastle-upon-Tyne, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2012), 168. 74. W. Keenan, “The Menace of Comics,” Benalla Ensign, 23 July 1953, 3. 75. “Australian Reading Habits,” Current Affairs Bulletin 12, no. 3 (1953): 46. 76. Connell, Francis, and Skilbeck, Growing Up, 166. 
work_3bdmpyevqjg7hn3w6p3t6yvk3q	----	Rivista semestrale online / Biannual online journal http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 16 / Issue no. 16 Dicembre 2017 / December 2017       Direttore / Editor Rinaldo Rinaldi (Università di Parma)     Comitato scientifico / Research Committee Mariolina Bongiovanni Bertini (Università di Parma) Dominique Budor (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle – Paris III) Roberto Greci (Università di Parma) Heinz Hofmann (Universität Tübingen) Bert W. Meijer (Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Instituut Firenze / Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht) María de las Nieves Muñiz Muñiz (Universitat de Barcelona) Diego Saglia (Università di Parma) Francesco Spera (Università Statale di Milano)     Segreteria di redazione / Editorial Staff Maria Elena Capitani (Università di Parma) Nicola Catelli (Università di Parma) Chiara Rolli (Università di Parma)     Esperti esterni (fascicolo n. 16) / External referees (issue no. 16) Gioia Angeletti (Università di Parma) Franca Dellarosa (Università di Bari Aldo Moro) Gillian Dow (University of Southampton) Michael C. Gamer (University of Pennsylvania) Michele Guerra (Università di Parma) Francesco Marroni (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) Liana Nissim (Università Statale di Milano) Francesca Saggini (Università della Tuscia – Viterbo) Anna Enrichetta Soccio (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) Enrica Villari (Università Ca’ Foscari, Venezia) Angela Wright (University of Sheffield)     Progetto grafico / Graphic design Jelena Radojev (Università di Parma) †                                 Direttore responsabile: Rinaldo Rinaldi Autorizzazione Tribunale di Parma n. 14 del 27 maggio 2010 © Copyright 2017 – ISSN: 2039-0114 INDEX / CONTENTS       Special Jane Austen AUSTEN RE-MAKING AND RE-MADE. QUOTATION, INTERTEXTUALITY AND REWRITING   Editors Eleonora Capra and Diego Saglia               Austen in the Second Degree: Questions and Challenges DIEGO SAGLIA (Università di Parma) 3-11   The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons EDWARD COPELAND (Pomona College – Claremont) 13-39   “Comedy in its Worst Form”? Seduced and Seductive Heroines in “A Simple Story”, “Lover’s Vows”, and “Mansfield Park” CARLOTTA FARESE (Università di Bologna) 41-56   Bits of Ivory on the Silver Screen: Austen in Multimodal Quotation and Translation MASSIMILIANO MORINI (Università di Urbino Carlo Bo) 57-81   Remediating Jane Austen through the Gothic: “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” SERENA BAIESI (Università di Bologna) 83-99   Revisiting “Pride and Prejudice”: P. D. James’s “Death Comes to Pemberley” PAOLA PARTENZA (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) 101-122   P. R. Moore-Dewey’s “Pregiudizio e Orgoglio”: An Italian Remake of Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” ELEONORA CAPRA (Università di Parma) 123-142   Recreating Jane: “Austenland” and the Regency Theme Park MADDALENA PENNACCHIA (Università di Roma Tre) 143-154   Writing in the Shadow of “Pride and Prejudice”: Jo Baker’s “Longbourn” OLIVIA MURPHY (Murdoch University – Perth) 155-169   Reading the Austen Project PENNY GAY (University of Sydney) 171-193 MATERIALI / MATERIALS       James Frazer, il cinema e “The Most Dangerous Game” DOMITILLA CAMPANILE (Università di Pisa) 197-208   Jeux et enjeux intertextuels dans “Le Soleil ni la mort ne peuvent se regarder en face” de Wajdi Mouawad SIMONETTA VALENTI (Università di Parma) 209-233   Re-membering the Bard : David Greig’s and Liz Lochhead’s Re-visionary Reminiscences of “The Tempest” MARIA ELENA CAPITANI (Università di Parma) 235-250       LIBRI DI LIBRI / BOOKS OF BOOKS       [recensione – review]‘Open access’ e scienze umane. Note su diffusione e percezione delle riviste in area umanistica, a cura di Luca Scalco, Milano, Ledizioni, 2016 ALBERTO SALARELLI 253-257 Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 16 / Issue no. 16 – Dicembre 2017 / December 2017 EDWARD COPELAND THE ANONYMOUS JANE AUSTEN: DUELLING CANONS 1. The two canonical traditions All adaptations as the first condition for their success, writes Julie Sanders, depend on their readers’ familiarity with the adapted source, a “canonical” recognition.1 One can cheerfully agree to that proposition in regard to movies called Persuasion, or Emma, or Sense and Sensibility. No question, these movies are ‘adaptations’ of Jane Austen’s texts, their more ‘adapted’ bits including, for example, a much extended part for the youngest Dashwood sister in the Emma Thompson Sense and Sensibility2 and, in the Laurence Olivier Pride and Prejudice,3 Lady Catherine de Burgh revisited as a kindly mother-hen. 1 J. Sanders, Adaptation and Appropriation, London and New York, Routledge, 2006, p. 120. 2 See Ang Lee, Sense and Sensibility, Columbia Pictures Corporation – Mirage, USA-UK, 1995. 3 See Robert Z. Leonard, Pride and Prejudice, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, USA, 1940. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 14 On the other hand, what would you call a work equally loose in its borrowings when the poached material does not make even the most cursory nod towards its source? Amy Heckerling’s film Clueless for example,4 a film based on Austen’s Emma, but casual indeed with its source, places its substantial gamble in the marketplace on a crowd of ticket-buyers with pockets full of change and heads empty of Austen.5 This sort of borrowing, says Julie Sanders, might loosely be called an “appropriation”, a polite term for pilfering in which “the intertextual relationship may be less explicit, more embedded”.6 “Adaptations”, she notes in distinction, depend upon a fixed canon to direct the reader to the source. “Appropriations” depend upon, well… she doesn’t say. In place of our usual assumptions about canons as fixed, there may be another understanding of canon that can take Julie Sanders’ unstable term “appropriations” under its wing. James A. Sanders, a canonical scholar, offers his experience in editing the Dead Sea Scrolls to suggest how appropriations, or “repetitions” as he calls the phenomenon, are in fact the key to his understanding of canon. “The word canon”, he writes, “has two meanings”. Canon may indeed refer “to a discrete body of literature having a stable structure”, but “canon [also] refers to the function of a particular literature in the communities that find their identity and ethos in it”.7 “At the simplest level”, he argues, “the first consideration of canonical criticism is the phenomenon of repetition. […] Minimally speaking it is the 4 See Amy Heckerling, Clueless, Paramount Pictures, USA, 1995. 5 David Streitfield reports that Pride and Prejudice is among the most opened book on Oyster but is finished less than one percent of the time. See D. Streitfield, Books, Just Like You Wanted, in “New York Times”, 3 January 2014. 6 J. Sanders, Adaptation and Appropriation, cit., p. 2 (my emphasis). See also L. Hutcheon, A Theory of Adaptation: History, Theory, Fiction, New York and London, Routledge, 2006, p. 3 and p. 9. 7 J. A. Sanders, From Sacred Story to Sacred Text: Canon as Paradigm, Eugene (Oregon), Wipf and Stock, 1987, p. 14. Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 15 nature of canon to be remembered or contemporized through repetition”.8 Moreover, the “repetition of a community value”, he writes, “introduces the possibility, some would say the necessity of resignification of that value to some limited extent”.9 A proto-canonical process, in other words, goes into operation through community values well before the ‘fixed’ canon reaches its state as a formal product.10 Such an understanding of canonical process operates paradoxically between opposite poles – in one direction between cultural instability and the canon’s fixed form and, in the other direction, between canonical stability and a community’s developing values.11 In this way, Julie Sanders’ embedded appropriations work like James Sanders’ repetitions, setting up the possibility of “a posture of critique, even assault” on unacknowledged sources.12 Such casual appropriations of Jane Austen’s novels, the allusions or repetitions that readers might (or might not) recognize, shift our attention from the exclusivity of a finalized canon to the less familiar operation of a canon in process, one in which a “community […] finds its identity in […] an otherwise obscure and disorderly, even inexplicable, world”.13 8 Ibidem. 9 Id., Canon and Community: A Guide to Canonical Criticism, Eugene (Oregon), Wipf and Stock, 1984, p. 22. 10 See Id., The Canonical Process, in The Cambridge History of Judaism, edited by W. D. Davies, L. Finkelstein and S. T. Katz, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2006, vol. 4, p. 231. Cf. Id., From Sacred Story to Sacred Text: Canon as Paradigm, cit., p. 30: “Adaptability and stability. That is canon. Each generation reads its authoritative tradition in the light of its own place in life, its own questions, its own necessary hermeneutics”. 11 See ibidem, p. 14 and p. 30. 12 J. Sanders, Adaptation and Appropriation, cit., p. 4. 13 J. A. Sanders, Canon and Community: A Guide to Canonical Criticism, cit., p. 22 and p. 25. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 16 2. The proto-canonical world Women’s fiction in Jane Austen’s day operated for the most part as a collective body, not, as today, as a bid for an individual author’s celebrity. As opposed to the elevated status that Jane Austen’s name now enjoys in the literary canon, readers in the nineteenth century were to take a very long time to arrive at any such consensus. From the 1811 anonymous publication of Austen’s Sense and Sensibility until Richard Bentley issued his collected edition of her works in 1832-1833, Austen’s name did not appear on the title-page of a single one of her novels. The low value contemporaries placed on this “class of fictions”, Walter Scott’s dour expression for women’s novels,14 provided a distinctly unreliable base on which to mount Jane Austen’s posthumous fame. The designations Miss Austin, Miss Austen or Mrs. Austin, if the name were known to readers at all, sufficed in the same spirit as Miss Edgeworth, Miss Ferrier or Miss Burney – as the female-authored novel lying on the library table. When the publisher John Murray wrote to Lady Abercorn a year after Austen’s death (December 1817) that he was “printing two short but very clever novels”, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, “by poor Miss Austen, the author of Pride and Prejudice”, Lady Abercorn replied at once, “Pray send us Miss Austen’s novels the moment you can […] it is a great pity we shall have no more of hers”,15 pious regret for one sparrow among many in a well-stocked marketplace of 14 See note 19. 15 S. Smiles, A Publisher and His Friends: Memoir and Correspondence of the Late John Murray, with an Account of the Origin and Progress of the House 1768- 1843, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2014, vol. 2, pp. 64-65 (1st edition London, John Murray, 1891). Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 17 women novelists.16 The multiple names – Miss Austin, Mrs. Austin or Miss Austen – functioned in contemporary society as simply one more participant in a “plurality of voices, of other words, other utterances and other texts”.17 Female authors assumed that the repetitions and variations they took unacknowledged from the plurality of voices simply belonged to the job description of novelist.18 Although Walter Scott gives Emma extravagant praise in the “Quarterly Review”, he still offers nothing better in defence of that lesser “class of fictions” to which Austen’s works belong than to suggest them as a refuge in “hours of languor and anxiety, of deserted age and solitary celibacy, of pain even and poverty” that “are beguiled by the perusal of these light volumes”. Addressing the novel before him, he closes his glowing remarks on Emma by recommending it merely as one from which “the youthful wanderer may return from his promenade to the ordinary business of life, without any chance of having his head turned by the recollection of the scene through which he has been wandering” – that is, as nothing more than a pleasant watering-place diversion.19 Richard Whately’s even more extravagant praise of Austen’s Northanger Abbey and 16 G. Allen, Intertextuality, London and New York, Routledge, 2000, p. 71: “In the modern market system, the name of the author allows the work to be an item of exchange value […] the capitalist market system […] encourages us to view works as disposable, or at least finite, commodities”. 17 Ibidem, p. 72. 18 Anthony Mandal places Austen firmly in a broad spectrum of Jane Austen’s associations with other novels. See A. Mandal, Jane Austen and the Popular Novel: the Determined Author, Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2007 and also E. Copeland, Women Writing About Money: Women’s Fiction in England 1790-1820, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1995, pp. 117-158 (for Austen’s general participation in the women’s tradition, in particular “The Lady’s Magazine”). 19 [W. Scott], [review of Emma], in “Quarterly Review”, XIV, October 1815 [issued March 1816], pp. 188-201, cited from Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage, Edited by B. C. Southam, vol. I: 1811-1870, London, Routledge & Kegan, 1979, p. 59 and p. 68. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 18 Persuasion in the “Quarterly Review”, ultimately comparing the author’s characters to Shakespeare’s, concludes likewise, that “Miss Austin’s works may safely be recommended, not only as among the most unexceptionable of their class, but as combining, in an eminent degree, instruction with amusement […] for mere innocent amusement is in itself a good […] especially as it may occupy the place of some other that may not be innocent.”20 A canonical process more powerful, however, than either Scott or Whately understands, guides “this class of fictions”. Mr. Morland, the fictional spokesperson for Letitia Elizabeth Landon in her novel Romance and Reality (1831), recalls his lifetime of reading novels as a voyage of discovery through the community of women’s fiction: “One does not easily forget the impressions of our youth”, he says, “and mine passed in the reign of female authorship”. He traces his earliest enthusiasm for the popular novels of the Minerva Press, then with added years, through the novels of Mary Robinson, Ann Radcliffe and Charlotte Smith, and finally, his maturation into adulthood in the company of “Miss Edgeworth, Miss Burney and Miss Austen”.21 Jane Austen herself affirms the community of women’s fiction in Northanger Abbey: “Alas! if the heroine of one novel be not patronized by the heroine of another, from whom can she expect protection and regard? [...] Let us not desert one another; we are an injured body”.22 In the same novel her hero, Henry Tilney, boasts of his experience in reading within the women’s tradition: “I myself have read hundreds and 20 [R. Whately], [review of Northanger Abbey and Persuasion], in “Quarterly Review”, XXIV, January 1821, pp. 352-376, cited from ibidem, p. 105. 21 L. Landon, Romance and Reality, London, Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley, 1831, vol. II, pp. 192-194. 22 J. Austen, Northanger Abbey, edited by B. M. Benedict and D. Le Faye, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2006, p. 30 (I, 5). Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 19 hundreds. Do not imagine that you can cope with me in a knowledge of Julias and Louisas”, citing the two most favoured names for their heroines as proof of it.23 3. Austen’s and women’s fiction Austen indulged in her own appropriations from the woman’s canon through a story entitled Guilt Pursued by Conscience; or, The Perfidious Friend, a tale she found in “The Lady’s Magazine” of 1802. Stories in “The Lady’s Magazine” were provided by the readers themselves as free and grateful offerings to the muse – a thrifty policy of the magazine that resulted in monthly conversations of free-flowing tales in which the shared concerns of the authors and the readers, the same beings in very fact, could be examined in unending repetitions, not unlike internet blogging today. The tale that claimed Austen’s particular attention will catch the eye of any present-day reader of Emma: “Mr. Knightley, a country-gentleman of not very large fortune, but such as was amply sufficient for his mode of living—as he rarely visited the capital, had an aversion to the expensive pleasures of dissipated life—had married, from the purest of affection, and an esteem which grew with his knowledge of its object, a young lady of foreign birth, who had been left a deserted orphan at a boarding-school near the residence of a relation of his whom he sometimes visited. As by this union he made no addition to his property, nor formed any advantageous connexion, he was by some blamed, and others ridiculed. He however found himself amply compensated […] by the amiable qualities and virtues of his wife; who, like himself, despised ambition, and sought only the genuine enjoyments of domestic happiness.”24 23 Ibidem, p. 108 (I, 14). See J. Spencer’s The Rise of the Woman Novelist: From Aphra Behn to Jane Austen, Oxford, Blackwell, 1986, pp. 107-210. 24 Guilt Pursued by Conscience; or, The Perfidious Friend: a Tale, in “The Lady’s Magazine”, November 1802, p. 563. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 20 Few contemporaries would have remembered Guilt Pursued by Conscience – or would have cared if they did – but any reader of Austen’s Emma remotely familiar with popular fiction would have taken the point of its concern. Is it possible, “The Lady’s Magazine” tale asks, for a Mr. Knightley to wed a penniless orphan from a boarding school? The Mr. Knightley in the magazine does so with grateful alacrity. Jane Austen’s Mr. Knightley never considers it for a moment. Only Emma Woodhouse and Harriet Smith, great novel readers themselves, could dream of such a thing. Austen appropriates “The Lady’s Magazine” tale in the broadest sense of parody, the “ironic signalling of difference at the very heart of similarity” or “repetition with critical distance”.25 Austen made deliberate incursions into the despised field of popular literature through “situated conversation”, a crafty practice implicitly announcing her own work as “counter- novelistic”, but at the same time assuring herself of a profitable stake in the popular market.26 That is true enough, but Austen’s irony, her characteristic distancing of her works from the tradition, was achieved over time and, in her early writing, not always with complete success. In Sense and Sensibility for example, Colonel Brandon’s melodramatic in-set account of the two Elizas – that is his confession to Elinor Dashwood of his own failed love for the first Eliza and his report of Willoughby’s seduction of the second Eliza, her daughter – reminds us of the dangers of entrapment in the rhetorical slough of women’s fiction. Colonel Brandon concludes his tale of Willoughby and 25 L. Hutcheon, A Poetics of Postmodernism: History, Theory, Fiction, New York and London, Routledge, 1988, p. 26. 26 K. Sutherland, Jane Austen’s Textual Lives: from Aeschylus to Bollywood, Oxford and New York, Oxford University Press, 2005, p. 217. See also J. Simons, Jane Austen and Popular Culture, in A Companion to Jane Austen, editors C. Johnson and C. Tuite, Oxford, Wiley-Blackwell, 2009, p. 469. Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 21 the second Eliza by bringing the boilerplate resources of contemporary women’s fiction into play. He reports to Elinor with horror that “he [Willoughby] had left the girl whose youth and innocence he had seduced, in a situation of the utmost distress, with no creditable home, no help, no friends, ignorant of his address! He had left her promising to return; he neither returned, nor wrote, nor relieved her.”27 In like manner, Anna Maria Bennet writing from the bottom of the literary status pile, the Minerva Press, supplies the readers of her popular novel The Beggar Girl and Her Benefactors (1797) with just such a cry of outrage: “from such a state of happy security, to be at her age at once sunk from affluence to poverty, without one natural friend, was enough to shake the strongest mind”.28 Charlotte Smith, a middle-level author, serves up the expected dish in her Ethelinde, or the Recluse of the Lake (1789): “young, beautiful, indigent, and friendless, the world was to her only as a vast wilderness, where perils of many kinds awaited her”. 29 Mrs. Ann Radcliffe, the gold standard of gothic fiction, provides yet another version from the heroine of The Italian or the Confessional of the Black Penitents. A Romance (1797): “‘Alas!’ said she, ‘I have no longer a home, a circle to smile welcomes upon me! I have no longer even one friend to support, to rescue me! I—a miserable wanderer on a distant shore!’”30 27 J. Austen, Sense and Sensibility, edited by E. Copeland, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2006, pp. 237-238 (II, 9). 28 A. M. Bennett, The Beggar Girl and Her Benefactors, London, William Lane at the Minerva Press, 1797, vol. II, p. 127. 29 C. Smith, Ethelinde, or the Recluse of the Lake, London, T. Cadell, 17902, vol. V, p. 38. 30 A. Radcliffe, The Italian or the Confessional of the Black Penitents. A Romance, Edited by F. Garber, With an Introduction and Notes by E. J. Clery, Oxford and New York, Oxford University Press, 1981, p. 220. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 22 Colonel Brandon, to his credit, updates the hoary trope, a practice in “the nature of canon”,31 by altering Mrs. Radcliffe’s heroine from a “wanderer on a distant shore!” to Austen’s more modern heroine “left […] ignorant of his address!”. Austen’s more characteristic posture, the mockery of such jargon, paradoxically appears in the very same novel, Sense and Sensibility, relying on an appropriation, one also borrowed from “The Lady’s Magazine”, The Shipwreck. This tale from the magazine’s supplement for 1794 supplies two significant names for characters in Sense and Sensibility, Willoughby and Brandon. At the opening of “The Lady’s Magazine” tale, the reader finds Miss Brandon, who has long held a distinct preference for Mr. Willoughby (and he for her), waiting inconsolable, but obedient, aboard a ship preparing to set sail for Bristol where she must marry her father’s choice for her husband, an elderly colleague in trade. A sudden storm in the harbour sweeps Miss Brandon into the sea. By the greatest good fortune, Mr. Willoughby, who attends the ship’s departure, spies Miss Brandon’s danger and unhesitatingly plunges into the waves to bring her safely to shore. When Mr. Brandon, the father, learns of his daughter’s narrow escape, he instantly demands to meet her rescuer: “Her preserver appeared and announced himself as Willoughby; that Willoughby who […] would not hesitate to encounter a thousand times the same danger he had now braved to shield her from harm.”32 A grateful Mr. Brandon, reversing his past refusal to countenance the couple’s union, agrees to an immediate celebration of their nuptials. Austen’s quiet repetition of the billowing waves of The Shipwreck as a 31 J. A. Sanders, Torah and Canon, Eugene (Oregon), Wipf and Stock, 1972, p. XV: “It is in the nature of canon to be contemporized”. 32 The Shipwreck, in “The Lady’s Magazine”, Supplement for 1794, p. 680. Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 23 mere “driving rain”33 in Sense and Sensibility reveals an author at the top of her ironic game. When Willoughby arrives at the Dashwood cottage the morning after Marianne’s accident, the youngest Dashwood sister, Margaret, greets his appearance with a quotation taken directly from “The Lady’s Magazine” story: “Marianne’s preserver” she exclaims – Austen noting that her expression had “more elegance than precision”.34 “The Lady’s Magazine” Shipwreck remains in Austen’s memory, resurfacing four years later in Emma when the novel’s heroine mistakenly interprets Jane Fairfax’s sailing accident as sure evidence of Jane’s guilty love for her best friend’s husband, Mr. Dixon, her timely preserver from the Weymouth waves.35 4. Appropriating Austen’s novels: the 1820s and 1830s In this context, it should not be surprising that novelists of the period that followed Austen felt free to import dialogue, characters and plots from Austen’s works with no obligation to their source, just as she had done with “The Lady’s Magazine” tales. Novelists of fashionable aristocratic life, the next generation of novelists to follow Austen, were outrageous poachers of Austen’s works. Richard Bentley, the publisher of the first collected edition of her novels (1832-1833), acknowledged Austen’s influence on this profitable contemporary genre in the preface to his edition of Sense and Sensibility: “Miss Austen is the founder of a school of novelists”, he writes, “and her followers are not confined to her own sex, but comprise in their 33 J. Austen, Sense and Sensibility, cit., p. 49 (I, 9). 34 Ibidem, p. 55 (I, 10). 35 See Id., Emma, edited by R. Cronin and D. McMillan, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005, p. 171 (II, 1). Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 24 number some male writers of considerable merit”.36 The followers Bentley refers to, the “silver fork school”,37 took its name from the radical critic William Hazlitt as his term of contempt for their slavish attention, as he considered it, to the tastes and manners of a corrupt aristocracy. The school enjoyed a huge success in the 1820s and 1830s, making the fortune of their primary publisher, Henry Colburn, and, by no coincidence, his sometime partner Bentley himself. Edward Bulwer, a leading member of the school, confessed to being surprised and appalled by the popularity of these works: “Read by all classes, in every town, in every village, these works […] could not but engender a mingled indignation and disgust at the parade of frivolity, the ridiculous disdain of truth, nature, and mankind, the self-consequence and absurdity, which, falsely or truly, these novels exhibited as a picture of aristocratic society.”38 Bentley no doubt hoped that his claim of Austen’s relation to these glamorous and popular fictions would promote his new collected edition of her novels. Ironically however, it was Jane Austen’s self-identification with the language and mores of the genteel middle classes that made her novels so tempting to authors writing about the aristocracy in the 1820s and 1830s. Austen’s novels had aimed at a lower social group, a narrow “coalition of Anglican gentry and middle-class people of merit”, with the intention “to educate [her readers] stylistically and therefore politically”.39 Silver fork 36 H. Austen, Memoir of Miss Austen, in J. E. Austen-Leigh, A Memoir of Jane Austen and Other Family Recollections, Edited with an Introduction and Notes by K. Sutherland, Oxford and New York, Oxford University Press, 2002, p. 154 (“An editorial paragraph issued from Bentley’s office and not strictly part of Henry Austen’s ‘Memoir’”). 37 W. Hazlitt, The Dandy School (1827), in Id., The Complete Works, Edited by P. P. Howe, London and Toronto, J. M. Dent and Sons, 1934, vol. 20, p. 146. 38 E. Bulwer, England and the English, Paris, Baudry’s European Library, 1834, p. 252. 39 G. Kelly, Jane Austen and the Politics of Style, in Re-drawing Austen: Picturesque Travels in Austenland, edited by B. Battaglia and D. Saglia, Napoli, Liguori, 2004, p. 68. Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 25 novelists shared the same intention, to educate their readers, but for them the aim was political as they turned their attention towards a much wider span of society, one covering the genteel middle classes, the gentry and the aristocracy itself. The importance of Austen’s novels for authors in these years, 1825 to 1840, politically the Age of Reform, lay in her gift to them of a “new consciousness fully consonant with cultural evolution”, that is, the “fundamental assumption” that “our knowledge of the world […] our world of everyday life” belongs to the great world of politics and public life.40 For novelists who placed liberal political reform at the top of their agenda, Austen’s Sir Walter Elliot could easily be reworked as a proto-canonical ‘repetition’ for an enfeebled aristocracy; Mr. Rushworth for a dim-witted upper gentry; Mrs. Elton, for an aggressive merchant class. Each of Austen’s characters “is in fact a text with a style and language of its own”,41 texts ideally suitable for such appropriation. Constantine Henry Phipps, Lord Normanby, an aristocrat writing in the cause of Reform, borrows (with no acknowledgement) the plot of Persuasion for his novel Matilda: A Tale of the Day (1825), and has a significant twist on his repetition, having the Anne Elliot character, after breaking off the engagement to her Captain Wentworth, haplessly succumb to her guardian’s will and the well-meant advice of her late mother’s best friend, and marry the wrong man, a wife-beater and, it turns out, a narrow-minded Tory as well. When her true love, a liberal Whig, returns to mend their relationship, Normanby turns the heroine’s tragic marriage into a sympathetic, but deeply troubled case for revised divorce laws. 40 M. Hayes, Why Jane Austen Made It a Movie, in Jane Austen. Oggi e ieri, a cura di B. Battaglia, Ravenna, Longo, 2002, pp. 26-27 and p. 31. 41 B. Battaglia, Jane Austen’s ‘Chameleonic’ Art and a Poetics of Postmodernism, in Jane Austen. Oggi e ieri, cit., p. 41. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 26 Novelists of fashionable life found Austen’s novels richly stocked with solutions to their most pressing needs: first, a genteel language that could buffer the awkwardness of introducing the middle classes into higher company and, second, plots that with only slight alterations could alert contemporary readers to a change in political and social mores. The briefest survey of the silver fork school makes for encounters with Jane Austen that always can surprise. Marianne Spencer Hudson’s novel Almack’s (1825) produces a Lady Norbury who complains fretfully: “I am not fond of young men […] they make such a noise in the house with their boots, and they clap the doors so after them”.42 Very much the same thing Mr. Woodhouse says of Frank Churchill in Emma: “He has been opening the doors very often this evening, and keeping them open very inconsiderately. He does not think of the draught. I do not mean to set you against him, but indeed he is not quite the thing!”43 In the same novel Mr. John Knightley objects to going out to Mr. Weston’s house for dinner: “The folly of not allowing people to be comfortable at home […] when they can! […] in defiance of the voice of nature, which tells man […] to stay at home himself, and keep all under shelter that he can […] Going in dismal weather, to return probably in worse; — four horses and four servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had at home”.44 Sir William Lacy in Thomas Henry Lister’s Herbert Lacy (1828) endorses the sentiment: 42 M. Hudson, Almack’s. A Novel, London, Saunders and Otley, 1827, vol. I, p. 193. 43 J. Austen, Emma, cit., p. 268 (II, 11). 44 Ibidem, pp. 121-122 (I, 13). Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 27 “Conceive, if you can, a spectacle more delightful, than that of a whole family going, in the worst of weather, six miles out and back again, actuated and supported only by a noble determination to do as other people do.”45 Landon begins her novel Lady Anne Granard, or, Keeping Up Appearances (1842) with a foolish married couple about to launch into familiar Austen territory: “For five years every thing went on exceedingly well, excepting that every year a daughter made its appearance, a fact which astonished no one so much as it did Lady Anne herself […] Moreover it was a son they wanted, as a male heir was necessary before any settlement could be made of the property.”46 Any boarding-school girl would recall Pride and Prejudice: “When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly useless; for, of course, they were to have a son. This son was to join in cutting off the entail […]. Five daughters successively entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet […] had been certain that he would.”47 It was Austen’s ear for contemporary speech, however, that made the most profound mark on her followers. Edward Bulwer Lytton reminds contemporary authors of the new Austen way in Pelham: or The Adventures of a Gentleman (1828), his first novel of fashionable life: “ […] there is only one rule necessary for a clever writer who wishes to delineate the beau monde. It is this: let him consider that ‘dukes, and lords, and noble princes,’ eat, drink, talk, move, exactly the same as any other class of civilized people—nay, the very subjects in conversation are, for the most part, the same in all sets.”48 45 T. H. Lister, Herbert Lacy, Philadelphia – New York – Boston, Carey Lea & Carey, 1828, vol. I, p. 285. 46 L. E. Landon, Lady Anne Granard, or, Keeping Up Appearances, London, Henry Colburn, 1842, vol. I, p. 11, 47 J. Austen, Pride and Prejudice, edited by P. Rogers, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2006, p. 340 (III, 8). 48 E. Bulwer Lytton, Pelham: or The Adventures of a Gentleman, London, Henry Colburn, vol. III, pp. 49-50. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 28 Marianne Hudson, possibly the most free-handed of her contemporaries with variations on Austen’s dialogue, mines Emma for a wealth of opportunities to demonstrate her proficiency in Austen-speak. When Austen’s middleclass Mr. John Knightley addresses Jane Fairfax, he “ […] smiled, and replied, ‘ […] The post-office has a great charm at one period of our lives. When you have lived to my age, you will begin to think letters are never worth going through the rain for.’”49 In Hudson’s Almack’s a kindly duke finds similar words for the heroine of that novel: “‘I fancy, when your ladyship is a little older,’ said the Duke smiling, ‘you will find your nerves not quite so easily excited: none but very young ladies ever receive such exquisitely interesting letters’.”50 Miss Bates’s old mother, referring to Jane Fairfax’s ‘crossed’ letters (lines written over one another at right angles to save space and postage), tempts another Hudson aristocrat into Austen’s idiom: “Well, Hetty,” says old Mrs. Bates, “now I think you will be put to it to make out all that chequer-work”.51 A great lord in Almack’s protests likewise: “I have often wondered what the deuce women can find to write about: such crossed sheets! One ought to be paid for deciphering their chequer-work.”52 Catherine Grace Francis Gore, the leading female author of the silver fork school, compared by contemporaries to Austen, is the most complex 49 J. Austen, Emma, cit., p. 316 (II, 16). 50 M. Hudson, Almack’s, cit., vol. II, p. 137. 51 See J. Austen, Emma, cit., p. 168 (II, 1). 52 M. Hudson, Almack’s, cit., vol. II, p. 137. Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 29 and probing of Austen’s debtors. Gore reworks two of Austen’s novels, Emma and Mansfield Park, at least three times each. Emma presents Gore with opportunities to explore Austen’s trope of the independent woman. In her first appropriation of Emma, the anti-heroine of Mothers and Daughters (1831) enters the novel as a character “neither handsome, clever, nor amiable”,53 an elegant tribute to Gore’s source. This unpromising character thrashes her two elegant, but much-abused daughters through the London marriage market in a vain attempt to land them aristocratic marriages. In Gore’s second appropriation of this novel, Pin Money (1831), a bright, spirited, but naïve heroine shows herself inadequate to navigate aristocratic London without a guide more responsible than the boarding school chum she chooses. Finally, in Mrs. Armytage: or, Female Domination (1836), Gore traces the frightening career of a young woman born to Emma’s happy state of independence, in whom, as with Mr. Woodhouse and Miss Taylor, her father and tutor can see no flaw. She grows into a domestic terror and a political monster. In Gore’s appropriations of Mansfield Park, any heroine with a limp in her step, a smallpox-ruined complexion or a hopeless love for her cousin is entitled to refuge in the Park’s East room, where Fanny’s “writing desk, and her works of charity and ingenuity, were all within her reach […] Every thing was a friend, or bore her thoughts to a friend”.54 The reader thus finds Cousin Mary (smallpox) in Gore’s Mothers and Daughters “ […] surrounded by her books, her work, her music, her easel, her flowers, her birds! [...] sufficing to her own amusement—yet ever ready to lay aside her favourite pursuits and preoccupations in order to contribute to the happiness of others.”55 53 C. Gore, Mothers and Daughters: A Novel, London, Richard Bentley, 1831, vol. I, p. 4. 54 J. Austen, Mansfield Park, edited by J. Wiltshire, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005, p. 178 (I, 16). 55 C. Gore, Mothers and Daughters: A Novel, cit., vol. III, p. 32. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 30 In her Stokeshill Place, or The Man of Business (1837), the Bertram sisters stroll over to become the Drewe sisters: “ […] tall, handsome, high-bred girls […] with no worse disqualification than [their] selfishness […] All without was bright and polished, — and all within hollow and unprofitable”;56 the very judgment visited on Austen’s spoiled Bertram girls: “ […] it is not very wonderful that with all their promising talents and early information, they should be entirely deficient in the less common acquirements of self- knowledge, generosity, and humility.”57 These spoiled girls are given a Fanny Price figure to patronize as well: “Rivalship with such a person was out of the question; and instead of treating her want of connection with the scorn it would have provoked from some country baronet’s daughter, they were fascinated by her unassuming gentleness, and amused by her naïveté”;58 the discriminating variation of a higher social class on the relationship between the Bertram sisters and their humble cousin: “Though unworthy, from inferiority of age and strength, to be their constant associate, their pleasures and schemes were sometimes of a nature to make a third very useful, especially when that third was of an obliging, yielding temper.”59 56 Id., Stokeshill Place, or The Man of Business, London, Henry Colburn, 1837, vol. I, p. 101. 57 J. Austen, Mansfield Park, cit., pp. 21-22 (I, 2). 58 C. Gore, Stokeshill Place, or The Man of Business, cit., vol. I, p. 101. 59 J. Austen, Mansfield Park, cit., p. 19 (I, 2). Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 31 The heroine of Gore’s Stokeshill Place Margaret Barnsley (scarlet fever, hopeless love) revisits her old schoolroom, like Fanny Price, to get the better of some very unsettling reflections: “There stood the piano, awaiting her with its figures and concertos, — the drawing-box with its chalks, — the eternal tapestry-frame with its worsteads and floss- silk; — while Blair, Chapone, Graham, Trimmer, Hannah More, Fordyce, Gisborne, and a few other female classics, displayed their well-worn tomes on the shelves of her limited bookcase.”60 In Gore’s final and most extended appropriation of Mansfield Park, The Cabinet Minister (1839), the orphaned heroine, Bessy Grenfell, lives in the home of her wealthy aunt where she nurses, like Fanny Price, dual anxieties over her brother’s career ambitions and a secret and unrequited love for her cousin, the son of this aunt, with regular bouts of verbal abuse from her aunt in the combined idioms of Mrs. Norris and Sir Thomas Bertram. It is to her East room that she retreats for solace: “She arose and bestirred herself; her favourite books and occupations were again around her. She would not suffer herself to dwell upon evils, perhaps never to be realized.”61 5. Austen in the crossfire: duelling canons How the contemporary critical establishment, the professionals of the literary periodicals, could have remained so utterly silent about this plentiful, even flamboyant recycling of Jane Austen’s novels is a mystery, one that deliberately conceals the conflict of critical attention that divides popular literature from approved literature throughout the century; the difference between an understanding of canon as an achieved status of 60 C. Gore, Stokeshill Place, or The Man of Business, cit., vol. II, p. 2. 61 Id., The Cabinet Minister, London, Richard Bentley, 1839, vol. II, p. 271. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 32 value as against canon understood as a process in the development of a readership’s common values. The usual account of Jane Austen’s long-delayed rise to fame, for example, rests on contemporary uncertainty about her deserved presence in a formal, fixed canon. The market at the beginning of the nineteenth century flourished on celebrity, the glittering reputations of authors like Scott, Lord Byron and Robert Burns, a privileged mark of value that continued through the century, and one that ran completely counter to the collective system that supported even the best known of women writers like ‘Miss Burney’, ‘Miss Ferrier’, ‘Miss Edgeworth’ and ‘Miss Austin’. The female-weighted collection of novels edited by Anna Laetitia Barbauld, The British Novelists (1810-1820), where eight are written by women and fourteen by men, easily lost its bid to establish a novelistic canon to Walter Scott’s collection, Ballantyne’s Novelist’s Library (1821-1824), in which “twelve are men, [only] two are women”.62 Professional critics of the nineteenth century complain over and over that Miss Austen is not well known, that hers is a talent too good, too refined for the masses, that she is a hidden treasure of English letters.63 The great triumvirate of Austen’s supporters in the century, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Archbishop Whately and George Henry Lewes, resort to elevating their author to honorary male status, a “prose Shakespeare”,64 a well-considered design to inoculate her against “this class of fictions”, the 62 C. Johnson, “Let Me Make the Novels of a Country”: Barbauld’s “The British Novelists” (1810/1820), in “NOVEL: A Forum on Fiction”, 34, Spring 2001, p. 170. Claudia Johnson offers an account of these two competing efforts to create a selective canon of the British novel. 63 See B. C. Southam, Introduction, in Jane Austen, The Critical Heritage, cit., vol. II: 1870-1940, 1987, p. 21, p. 46, p. 50 and p. 52. 64 [G. H. Lewes], [review to The Fair Carew], in “The Leader”, 22 November 1851, p. 115, cited from Jane Austen, The Critical Heritage, cit., vol. I: 1811-1870, p. 130. Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 33 dismissive phrase Scott uses for women’s fiction. Women authors simply falls below their horizon of serious critical consideration. Austen is thus lofted into the company of established male merit in the manner of Angelica Kauffman and Mary Moser in Johan Zoffany’s painting The Academicians of the Royal Academy (1771-1772) in which the male academicians are shown busily at work on the task of ‘life-drawing’ while the Academy’s only two female members are consigned to portraits hung on the wall. Even Walter Scott, who valued Austen’s works to the end of his life, never gets past the undigested fact that her great talents must exist beside those of ladies who write “this class of fictions”. In his journal, he records with genuine, if patronizing admiration: “That young lady had a talent”, one he admits is denied to him. Two weeks later, he returns to the sub-text of ladies who write fiction: “The women do this better—Edgeworth, Ferrier, Austen have all their portraits of real society, far superior to any thing Man, vain Man, has produced of the like nature”. And, in a late conversation cited by John Lockhart, he throws up his hands in wonder: “There’s a finishing-off in some of her scenes that is really quite above every body else”.65 The problem for Austen’s nineteenth-century admirers lies in her undeniable claim to be placed in the formal canon of English literature and yet her persistent association with the stain of women’s popular fiction. Ironically, the three greatest female luminaries of mid-century English letters, Charlotte Brontë, George Eliot and Elizabeth Barrett Browning, found the critics’ repeated comparisons of Austen to Shakespeare a deeply 65 W. Scott, The Journal 18256-26, the text revised from a photostat in the National Library of Scotland, edited by J. G. Tait, Edinburgh, Oliver & Boyd, 1939, vol. I, p. 135 and p. 144 (14 and 28 March 1826) and J. G. Lockhart, Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott, Bart., Edinburgh – London, Robert Cadell – John Murray and Whittaker, 1837, vol. VII, p. 338, cited from ibidem, p. 106 Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 34 troubling issue. Its implied exclusivity threatened their own claims as women to seats on Mount Olympus. Charlotte Brontë wrote to Lewes to protest what she considered his excessive praise of Austen. Lewes responded hotly that she “must” read Austen and, as Brontë quotes his own words back to him, “learn to acknowledge her as one of the greatest artists, of the greatest painters of human character, and one of the writers with the nicest sense of means to an end that ever lived”. Brontë reluctantly promised to follow his advice to read Austen, but closed her return letter to him with a flourish of unmistakable contempt for the task, “I do not know when that will be, as I have no access to a circulating library”, that low place.66 Elizabeth Barrett Browning also protested Austen’s elevation to canonical status, deeming the critics’ admiration of Austen’s characters a misplaced evaluation, the effect of mere “craft”, not “poetry”. For her taste, she wrote Mary Russell Mitford, Jane Austen’s novels were unworthy to be compared to Mary Howitt’s “delightful” translation of Frederika Bremer’s The Neighbours. A Story of Every-Day Life (1842): “I do consider the book of a higher & sweeter tone”, she writes Miss Mitford, “than Miss Austen had voice & soul for”.67 Regarding Austen’s canonical status, Elizabeth Barrett Browning is distinctly unimpressed: Miss Austen is “delightful exquisite in her degree!”, but she does not belong in the same company 66 T. J. Wise and J. A. Symington, The Bröntes: Their Friendships, Lives, and Correspondence, Oxford, Blackwell, 1932, vol. II, p. 180 (C. Brontë, letter of January 18, 1848), cited from ibidem, p. 127. 67 The Letters of Elizabeth Barrett Browning to Mary Russell Mitford, 1836- 1854, edited and introduced by M. B. Raymond and M. R. Sullivan, Waco (Texas), Armstrong Browning Library of Baylor University, 1983, vol. II, p. 99. See K. Halsey, Jane Austen and her readers, 1786-1945, London, Anthem Press, 2012, p. 155. Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 35 with those “who aspire, like ourselves”, she confides, to the higher claims of Literature.68 George Eliot is more circumspect in her opinions of Austen expressed in her later years, she was living after all with Lewes, Austen’s most outspoken nineteenth-century promoter. But in an early unsigned essay, The Progress of Fiction as an Art (1853), an essay her biographer considers to be from her pen, she has this to say of Austen: “Without brilliancy of any kind — without imagination, depth of thought, or wide experience, Miss Austin, by simply describing what she knew and had seen, and making accurate portraits of very tiresome and uninteresting people, is recognised as a true artist, and will continue to be admired, when many authors more ambitious69 […] will be neglected and forgotten.”70 As for Austen’s canonical status, all this talk of Shakespeare is a mistake: “Miss Austin’s accurate scenes from dull life, and Miss Burney’s long histories of amiable and persecuted heroines, though belonging to the modern and reformed school of novels, must still be classed in the lower division.”71 George Eliot shares Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s contempt for the women’s tradition to which Austen belongs: “They show us too much of the littlenesses and trivialities of life […] They fall short of fulfilling the objects, and satisfying the necessities of Fiction in its highest aspect […] .”72 68 Ibidem, vol. II, p. 109. See K. Halsey, Jane Austen and her readers, 1786- 1945, London, Anthem Press, 2012, pp. 154-158. 69 She remarks with perhaps a hint of personal anxiety. 70 [G. Eliot], The Progress of Fiction as an Art, in “Westminster Review”, LX, October 1853, p. 358, cited from Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage, vol. I: 1811-1870, cit., p. 145. 71 [G. Eliot], The Progress of Fiction as an Art, cit., p. 145. 72 Ibidem, pp. 145-146. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 36 Even Lewes succumbs finally, and with obvious regret, to the high- minded notions of his helpmeet, George Eliot, and confesses in his last essay on Austen, published in 1859, that Austen “never stirs the deeper emotions […] never fills the soul with a noble aspiration”. The problem, he implies, falls to the contamination of the woman’s novel. “Her fame, as we think”, he writes, “must endure. But, after all, miniatures are not frescoes, and her works are miniatures”.73 The anxiety that women’s popular culture compromised Austen’s status remained a lasting influence. Catherine Gore’s The Hamiltons: or, Official Life in 1830 (1834), thought to be her best novel, gathered dust in university libraries for over hundred years with no notice of its massive appropriations from Sense and Sensibility: a recycling of Austen’s plot, the same two sisters, the same two suitors, the predatory Lucy Steele, with bits of little-altered Austen dialogue salted-in along the way.74 But for those with eyes to see, ample evidence demonstrates that her texts were deeply involved in the popular marketplace. James Edward Austen-Leigh’s Memoir of Jane Austen found the late-Regency association of silver fork fiction with his aunt’s novels unsafe territory, responding to the threat by turning her into a figure of Victorian propriety. As for F. R. Leavis and the New Critics of the mid-twentieth century, they took umbrage at any association at all of popular literature with Jane Austen. Matthew Whiting Rosa’s study The Silver Fork School (1936), a representative example, roundly rejects Gore’s explicit confession 73 [G. H. Lewes], The Novels of Jane Austen, in “Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine”, LXXXVI, July 1859, cited in B. C. Southam, Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage, vol. I: 1811-1870, cit., p. 166. 74 See E. Copeland, The Silver Fork Novel: Fashionable Fiction in the Age of Reform, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2012, pp. 37-64. Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 37 in the preface to her novel Pin Money that her work is influenced by “the familiar narrative of Miss Austin”:75 “One feels a difference in their works not to be atoned for by any amount of similarity in aim or subject, the delicate clarity of an Austen novel is as remote as can be from the prolix cumbrousness of a Gore novel.”76 One of the advantages, however, of Jane Austen’s delayed path to formal canonical status is the respite that twenty years of title-page anonymity provided her between 1811 and 1832, before she became “Jane Austen” in Bentley’s collected edition, before her descendants branded her as a Victorian lady, or her Janeite champions created her as the ‘Dear, dear Jane’ of ‘Austen-land’, or James Edward Austen-Leigh made her the mark of “cultivated minds”,77 or Leavis announced her to be the “inaugurator of the great tradition of the English novel”,78 or, for that matter, before the 1970s variably introduced Jane Austen as the conservative propagandist, the subversive feminist, the political radical, or more recently, the modern person’s guide to sexual ecstasy. 79 None of these Jane Austens existed when her novels were appropriated by the silver fork authors during the 1820s and 1830s. With our knowledge of their rampant predations, we may now dismiss the hundred year-old canard that Austen’s novels lacked an early popular audience. The multitudinous adaptations, appropriations and repetitions of the years immediately after her death had the effect both of 75 C. Gore, Pin Money: A Novel, London, Henry Colburn, 1831, vol. I, n. p. 76 M. W. Rosa, The Silver Fork Novel: Novels of Fashion Preceding “Vanity Fair”, New York, Kennicat Press, 1964, p. 128. 77 K. Sutherland, Jane Austen’s Textual Lives: from Aeschylus to Bollywood, cit., p. 12. 78 F. R. Leavis, The Great Tradition, London, Chatto & Windus, 1950, p. 7. 79 See K. Sutherland, Jane Austen’s Textual Lives: from Aeschylus to Bollywood, cit., p. 12. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 38 extending and confirming public access to Austen in areas hitherto unsuspected. As for the operations of Julie Sanders’ unacknowledged appropriations in later fiction, it would be hard to account for Vanity Fair, A Portrait of a Lady, Howard’s End or, for that matter, the loopy teenagers in Heckerling’s Clueless without Austen’s proto-canonical presence. As Cornel West recently observed of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, it is “impossible” to think that “characters like Didi and Gogo are not fundamentally connected to the preoccupation in the quotidian that you get in the light, playful, subtle, sophisticated, complex stories of Jane Austen”;80 an insight that frankly embraces the presence of such a canonical process in the on-going world of the novel. Finally, however, it must be admitted we are left with puzzling questions about the reading practices of Austen’s day. Could there have been a highly selective, elite readership for example, one that would be able to nod appreciatively when an obvious adaptation or an unacknowledged appropriation of Austen swam to the surface? Was there a second tier of readers, a less knowing market where embedded appropriations were normal and expected, silently incorporated into a proto-canon of developing tastes and values? Or, should we imagine a much cannier general readership than we have previously thought, one in which all novel readers were in on the game, readers who knew their way around the novel better than professional critics blinded by their obsession with the establishment of a formal canon? It could be that Jane Austen was slowly becoming a classic without their help through inclusions and exclusions made by time passing and by reader choice. In other words, it could be that a functioning canon at work on Scott’s “this class of novels” 80 C. West, Power and Freedom in Jane Austen’s Novels, in “Persuasions. The Jane Austen Journal On-Line”, 34, 2012, pp. 114-115. Edward Copeland, The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons 39 was silently making a seat for Jane Austen on Mount Olympus notwithstanding the gallant, but unnecessary imprimatur provided by the professionals. Copyright © 2017 Parole rubate. Rivista internazionale di studi sulla citazione / Purloined Letters. An International Journal of Quotation Studies F16_2_copeland_duelling Blank Page Template Copyright breve 
work_3howatzsdzg2jorvfzi32amzry	----	S1060150318001407jra 137..153 A Victorianist Looks Back: Fluidity vs. Fragmentation U. C. KNOEPFLMACHER IN Middlemarch, when Mr. Brooke asks Edward Casaubon how hearranges his documents, the pedantic would-be author of “The Key to All Mythologies” replies with a “startled air of effort” that he puts them into “pigeon-holes mostly.” Dorothea’s uncle is baffled. He com- plains that his own scattered gatherings became much too “mixed in pigeon-holes: I never know whether a paper is in A or Z.” Embarrassed, his niece volunteers to sort out his papers: “I would letter them all, and then make a list of subjects under each letter.” Her offer catches Mr. Casaubon’s attention. Commending Mr. Brooke for having such “an excellent secretary at hand,” he gravely smiles his approval. But the befuddled gentleman whose mind remains full of disconnected “fragments” bluntly rejects Dorothea’s offer: “‘No, no,’ said Mr. Brooke: ‘I cannot let young ladies meddle with my documents. Young ladies are too flighty.’”1 I begin this retrospective essay with George Eliot not only because I continue to revere her as the John Milton of the nineteenth century but also because she was the very first of the many Victorians whose work I thoroughly studied, taught, and wrote about. I had read Silas Marner and A Tale of Two Cities in high school. But as a non–English major in col- lege, my exposure to nineteenth-century novels was limited to a senior seminar on Joseph Conrad taught by Ian Watt that had included Almayer’s Folly (1895). A few years later, when asked to choose a special author for Princeton’s PhD exams, I was told that Conrad was much “too recent” to be admitted into the canon. This veto proved to be extremely fruitful. I had already devoured Adam Bede and Middlemarch in a graduate course taught by E. D. H. Johnson and could now more fully delve into George Eliot’s essays, fictions, and poetry. Daniel Deronda, which F. R. Leavis wanted to turn into a non-Hebraic novel called “Gwendolen Harleth,” now attracted a former refugee child far more than Nostromo ever did.2 U. C. Knoepflmacher, the Paton Foundation Professor Emeritus at Princeton University, has authored over a hundred scholarly articles, six books on Victorian topics, and edited or coedited a dozen collections of essays, from Nature and the Victorian Imagination (1978) to Victorian Hybridities (2010). His publications also include a children’s book, as well as selected poems. Victorian Literature and Culture, Vol. 47, No. 1, pp. 137–153. © Cambridge University Press 2018. doi:10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core Canonicity and periodicity were still dominant in the late 1950s. To prepare for their comprehensive exams, graduate students were told to rely on A Literary History of England, the 1948 five-part volume edited by Albert C. Baugh with the assistance of four other scholars.3 Of these parts, the last, longest (and, to my mind, least helpful) was “The Nineteenth Century and After (1798–1939),” edited by Samuel Claggett Chew (1888–1960), a Bryn Mawr professor. Although he allowed Jane Austen a chapter of her own, Chew did not accord the same privi- lege to the Victorian women writers he placed into communal pigeon- holes. If Elizabeth Barrett was granted a mere three pages in a chapter called “The Brownings,” Christina Rossetti was subordinated to her brother in “Rossetti and His Circle.” Finally, in “Other Novelists of the Mid-Century,” Chew found some room for Elizabeth Gaskell and the three Brontës (with closer attention given to Emily than to her sisters). Here, too, he lodged a writer cast as a bluestocking who had lost the “temporary prestige” she once enjoyed to become “little read today.”4 That author was George Eliot, whose works Chew listed before subordi- nating her to the still “popular and enormously prolific” Margaret Oliphant, “commended by no less an authority than Sir James Barrie.”5 T. S. Eliot’s Arnoldian dicta on what writer was major or minor were still very much in force. But these fixities were also undermined by seem- ingly irreconcilable modes of scholarship. Many teachers adopted and ardently promoted the close textual readings that Cleanth Brooks and Robert Penn Warren had introduced as a welcome foil to the old philo- logical emphasis. Others, however, questioned the subjectivity of such readings. Only facts mattered because foolproof and irrefutable: How did the performance of medieval miracle plays on moving carts differ from their staging on immobile sets? What conclusions might be drawn from the eighteenth-century decrease of the adjectival or adverbial con- structions still used so lavishly by Thomas Browne a century earlier? To others, annotating letters or editing previously dispersed essays or even collating textual variants seemed a more valuable (and far safer) task than an indulgence in risky textual interpretations. But for a third group of scholars such divisions also created the pos- sibility of new amalgams. Given the fertility of the nineteenth century, Romanticists and Victorianists could now validate literary productions by examining them within the wider contexts provided by political his- tory, philosophy, religion, science, and the visual arts. F. R. Leavis had suggested that John Stuart Mill’s discussion of Jeremy Bentham and Samuel Taylor Coleridge as binary opposites might become a template 138 VLC • VOL. 47, NO. 1 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core for future students of the nineteenth century. But backward-looking sages like Thomas Carlyle, John Henry Newman, Matthew Arnold, John Ruskin, and Walter Pater were also acquiring a new importance in the 1960s. I had called my first book “Allegories of Unbelief,” a far better title than the more descriptive one under which it appeared: Religious Humanism and the Victorian Novel: George Eliot, Walter Pater, and Samuel Butler (1965). My pairing of Middlemarch and Daniel Deronda stressed the implications of generic shifts I would trace in a second book on George Eliot’s early fictions from “Amos Barton” to Silas Marner. Before, however, in an essay called “The Rival Ladies,” a cocky graduate student had aligned Mrs. Humphry Ward’s Lady Connie and Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover to argue that Lawrence was mocking his predeces- sor’s nostalgic return to Arnold’s and Arthur Hugh Clough’s Oxford in a novel she had published during World War I. Aldous Huxley, her nephew and Lawrence’s friend, let me know that the connection was plausible but also gently chided me for disrespecting a benign matriarch who, though no George Eliot, had exerted a powerful impact on all who knew her. It was an admonition worth absorbing. Never again did I create rigid antinomies to derogate one text at the expense of another. I would continue to link fictions, poems, and essays throughout my career. But, mindful of William Wordsworth’s insistence on finding “similitude in dis- similitude” and unlikeness in likenesses, I avoided the fixities of period- icity and canonicity and became increasingly distrustful of ideological dualisms and the divisive grids imposed on gender and genre. * In its Spring 1984 issue, the Victorian Newsletter printed a trio of retrospec- tive essays by Jerome H. Buckley, George H. Ford, and Elaine Showalter that expanded talks they had given at the Modern Language Association’s one hundredth convention in December 1983. Whereas Buckley’s and Ford’s paired pieces were entitled “Looking Backward— Victorian Poetry and Prose” and “Looking Backward—The Victorian Novel,” Showalter pointedly called hers “Looking Forward: American Feminists, Victorian Sages.” All three critics seemed guardedly optimistic about the burgeoning future of Victorian studies; Buckley noted that in the 1930s Victorian essayists, read as “ideologues” rather than as artists, had received greater attention than the poets or novelists. Yet by the time a volume of essays proposed by the MLA’s Victorian Group in 1939 finally appeared in 1950, well after the ending of World War II, A VICTORIANIST LOOKS BACK 139 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core its contributions seemed “tentative” and “apologetic.”6 Topics such as “the Victorian sense of humor” or the “educational theories of Thomas Arnold” had become outdated. A new emphasis on alienation and doubt, as well as an interest in “language and style” now “decisively” pro- duced the revalidation of poets such as a Tennyson whom earlier critics had “disdainfully ignored.”7 George Ford also recalled a time in which “the word ‘Victorian’” still aroused hostile responses in “most quarters.”8 Quoting Virginia Woolf’s guarded praise of Middlemarch as “one of the few English novels written for grown-up people,” he genially commented: “Good for Middlemarch, of course! But the sentence sounds (does it not?) as if most other Victorian novels are, in effect, kid stuff; . . . this assumption had to be sur- mounted before we could shift from contempt for the Victorian novel to affectionate respect.”9 That regained respect, Ford maintained, had allowed George Eliot to recuperate her former eminence. Citing the scholar he had chosen to cover Eliot criticism for his 1978 Guide to Research, he had already noted that from 1960 to 1974 “more was written about Eliot than in the whole one hundred years between 1859 and 1959”10 and kindly pitied “poor Knoepflmacher” for having to contend with “much redundant criticism.”11 Declining to end his essay with predictions about the outcome of battles waged by new theoretical camps, Ford deplored the emergence of “jargon-ridden” discussions “so loaded down with a freight of theoret- ical apparatus” that their “small points” could become “boring and unin- telligible.” Like Buckley, however, he ended on a celebratory note: Victorianists, he concluded, were no longer “scholarly hill-billies perma- nently doomed to eat below the salt at the academic feasting table.”12 George Eliot was equally prominent in Elaine Showalter’s survey of the rich outlets that Victorian texts had offered to women readers and feminist scholars. Her essay’s opening stressed the impact that Daniel Deronda had on a fugitive Jane Alpert, the leftist bomber who opted “to take the highroad” by turning herself in to the FBI after recalling a pow- erful passage in that work.13 Showalter uses Alpert’s “passionate identifi- cation” with George Eliot’s last novel to explain why Victorian studies should have become a home for American woman scholars.14 She also credits a “shift away from Middlemarch to Daniel Deronda” that began in the early 1970s for helping situate “feminist criticism within the broader milieu of contemporary literary theory.”15 Rightly hailing Woman and the Demon as “the boldest and most thor- oughgoing feminist revision of [patriarchal] Victorian conventions,”16 140 VLC • VOL. 47, NO. 1 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core Showalter recalled Nina Auerbach’s self-definition as a female Carlyle: “Like him, I want to recover a new mythos, one in which male and female Victorians alike countered a crisis of faith, and one which may provide women today with an unexpectedly empowering past.”17 She then pre- sented an impressive roster of over thirty female Victorianists and three male critics (Eliot Gilbert, George Levine, and U. C. Knoepflmacher) as contributors to a field that had become more “flexible, liberal, and canon- ically open” than the “quintessentially masculine” discipline of American studies.18 Read today, the testimonies by Buckley, Ford, and Showalter help- fully highlight major shifts in Victorian studies. Still, the three essays are not quite free of rigidities they either retain or reintroduce. Thus, for example, Buckley seems unduly doubtful about Eliot Gilbert’s piece on Alfred Lord Tennyson’s King Arthur as “female king,” an essay that Showalter rightly praised. Moreover, Buckley’s generic conjunction of nonfiction prose with poetry remains unexplored, even though Pater’s portraits in The Renaissance were beginning to be aligned with the dra- matic monologues of Robert Browning, while Carlyle’s On Heroes and Hero-Worship had been likened to the novelistic incursions into sundry pasts by Sir Walter Scott’s Victorian imitators. Buckley and Ford also clung to some earlier prejudices. Though claiming that Lytton Strachey’s Eminent Victorians had launched modernist repudiations of Victorian culture, both writers seem unaware that his satirical portraits are always balanced by an affectionate identification with figures margin- alized by a masculinist ideology.19 Today, Elaine Showalter’s 1984 appraisal of feminist scholarship may strike us as more tentative than her confident reconstructions in the 1977 A Literature of their Own had been. In that influential work, she had acknowledged the importance of Carolyn Heilbrun’s insistence on a “lit- erary sensibility” that was not “feminine, but androgynous,” equally embraced by the female and male writers of the Bloomsbury Group.20 But she now suggested that feminist critics should not over-affiliate them- selves with modes of interpretation introduced by male theorists, fearful that “feminist interests” may become compromised or even “outweighed” by “theoretical concerns drawn from Darwinian determinism, Freud, Lacan, Derrida, and Foucault.” Even though the mixture of “gender and genre” stressed by one male Eliot critic may well hold “considerable interest” for feminists, Showalter also insisted that the purity of a criticism of their own could best be preserved by an avoidance of meetings such as those held during the 1980 George Eliot centenary celebrations at which A VICTORIANIST LOOKS BACK 141 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core feuding “male and female scholars clashed over the ownership” of her “legacy.”21 At a Philadelphia meeting in which I had talked about gender trans- positions in juvenile texts by Victorian women writers, Elaine remarked that the burgeoning field of children’s literature might prove to be a hos- pitable terrain for a male feminist. She was correct. In 1984, the same year in which her “Looking Forward” survey appeared, I was the sole male speaker on the last day of a colloquium on the “Poetics of Gender” held at Columbia University. Beginning with the figure of Scheherazade, the storyteller who so cleverly delays her execution by a misogynist autocrat, I examined the ways in which nineteenth-century women authors reclaimed the female fairy tales that male writers like Giambattista Basile, Charles Perrault, and the Brothers Grimm had appropriated. But my attempt to blend Victorian studies with the new field I had entered was unsuccessful. Although my feminist listeners had taken copious notes, there were no questions until a shy graduate stu- dent asked how my discussion of Lewis Carroll might differ from Nina Auerbach’s. Since she was not at the conference, I welcomed the oppor- tunity to expound my affinities with the fine feminist who became my friend and collaborator. As editor of a special issue of Tulsa Studies in Women’s Literature on the theme of “Woman and Nation,” Auerbach had asked me to contribute a piece. She liked my ideas for an essay on “E. Nesbit and the Reclamation of the Female Fairy Tale.” A few years later, I begged her to coedit a book I had contracted. The title we settled on was half Nina’s and half my own: Forbidden Journeys: Fairy Tales and Fantasies by Victorian Women Writers. After agreeing on our choice of texts, we produced introductions that blended our authorship so seamlessly that she rightly boasted that no reader would be able to tell who had written which paragraph. Before that successful blending, however, Nina reexamined a kin- ship myth that both of us had cherished—namely, that, as she put it, “we tended to think about literary things (and other such academic things) in startlingly similar ways.” Our collaboration, she now main- tained, would succeed because her lust for fantasy was balanced by my paternal investment in “real children” like those I had fathered. I felt that her characterization was unnecessarily divisive. “The child that grabs me,” I told her in one of my long letters, “is the-child-in-the-adult author speaking to the child-in-the-adult reader.” Adapting Catherine Earnshaw’s words about Heathcliff, I insisted that she was actually truer than I to that inviolable child. 142 VLC • VOL. 47, NO. 1 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core Nina cherished the allusion. “The idea of me as a Heathcliffian Catherine,” she wrote back, “has sent me into paroxysms of wild giggles.” And she agreed: “I think I may be austerely childlike in my refusal [to hop on] advantageous merry-go-rounds every one else seems eager to be on.” And to reward me even further, she added that she had also cher- ished the opening section of the Emily Brontë book I was working on: “I love what you do with De Quincey and Wuthering Heights and am beating myself [up] for never having thought of the two together.” I recalled this typically generous reassertion of our continuing affinities for an April 2017 Philadelphia meeting that mourned the loss of the wonderful scholar/teacher who had so unexpectedly died on February 3 of that year. * To introduce a note of levity into their “Special Millennial Issue” of December 2000, the editors of PMLA featured some academic cartoons. Among these was a two-page comic strip entitled “A Strobe-Light History of the MLA.” Starting with a still benign “Philological Pastoralism,” the sequence satirized later developments such as T. S. Eliot’s “Rule of Canons” in the 1940s and 50s.22 Yet it also welcomed the “beachheads” secured by feminists in the 1970s and the 1980 formation of a division solely devoted to the study of children’s literature. In the panel celebrat- ing that event, Maurice Sendak’s Max and a huge Wild Thing brandished a banner that read “KID LIT: IT’S MAGIC” amid a procession of party- goers headed by a fairy godmother and Dorothy with her dog, Toto. The parade included a strutting Mowgli, a somersaulting Wilbur, an air- borne Mary Poppins and Peter Pan, as well as a timid rabbit. The bearded Figure 1. “A Strobe-Light History of the MLA” (“Special Millenial Issue,” PMLA, December 2000). A VICTORIANIST LOOKS BACK 143 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core artist inscribed himself, as modestly as Browning’s Lippo Lippi, among the revelers whose “empowerment” greatly horrified traditionalists cling- ing to a crumbling “cannon.”23 The MLA’s validation of children’s literature as a field for academic study had been preceded in 1972 by the publication of a volume of essays compiled by the University of Connecticut’s Francelia Butler. Initially called The Great Excluded: Critical Essays on Children’s Literature, this collection was transformed into the first volume of Children’s Literature (an annual now in its forty-sixth year). The volume’s twenty-one mini-essays moved chronologically from “Aesop as Litmus” to twentieth-century texts. Victorians were represented by “Parallels between Our Mutual Friend and the Alice Books” as well as by a transhis- torical and transnational piece on “Ruskin’s King of the Golden River, St. George’s Guild, and Ruskin, Tennessee,” written by the editor.24 Propelled by Martin Gardner’s 1960 Annotated Alice, an essay on “Alice Our Contemporary” stressed Lewis Carroll’s continued centrality in American culture.25 In their attempts to resituate forgotten, marginalized, or underval- ued women writers, feminist critics had found a logical place within the study of Victorian literature and culture. But, as Butler’s collection of previously “excluded” texts for juvenile listeners and readers showed, the criticism of children’s literature demanded an awareness of a wider historical and geographical scope. Indeed, the so-called “golden age of children’s books” that flourished in Victorian and Edwardian England had its origins in the eighteenth century’s second half, when an audience of middle-class families required readings for their increasingly literate children. This new audience welcomed chapbook adaptations of the first part of Gulliver’s Travels for their Lilliputian offspring and encour- aged the creation of moral tales by authors such as Sarah Trimmer (1741–1810) and Anna Laetitia Barbauld (1743–1825). The Victorians, however, were the first to pay a great deal of critical attention to children’s books. In A Peculiar Gift (1976), Lance Salway col- lected some forty essays published in “popular periodicals” as well as in “the great literary journals of the day” to validate his claim that Victorian culture had regarded books for juveniles as an integral part “of the general body of literature” and hence as worthy of attention as those written for adult readers.26 Headed by an epigraph from Maria Molesworth, the prolific author of a hundred children’s books and a per- ceptive critic of Hans Christian Andersen and Juliana Horatia Ewing, Salway’s selections confirm the extraordinary importance that texts for 144 VLC • VOL. 47, NO. 1 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core the young held for the Victorian imagination and the sophistication with which they were treated. Still, despite Salway’s 1976 collection or the equally indispensable Oxford Companion to Children’s Literature edited by Humphrey Carpenter and Mari Prichard in 1984, the nineteenth-century juvenile classics that English departments began to add to their curricula still excluded major authors such as Maria Edgeworth or the brilliant, Austen-like Mrs. Juliana Horatia Ewing. Indeed, male critics who now privileged the fantasies of Lewis Carroll and George MacDonald dismissed moral tales by female authors as being too “didactic.” Their creation of a false binary, as Mitzi Myers rightly insisted, hampered “research into a germinal period of children’s literature” and forestalled an “informed discussion of broader issues, such as the relation of instruction to delight or of gender to genre or of adult writer to child audience (including the author’s own inner child self).”27 Myers had welcomed my award-winning 1983 essay on “The Balancing of Child and Adult” and later greeted the publication of the tales Auerbach and I had edited as validating her claims that Edgeworth’s “feminized pastorals” provided a template for later women writers who “depicted children within a landscape invested with mythic resonance and moral magic.”28 Among these, Anne Thackeray Ritchie, who edited her father’s fictions as well as Edgeworth’s tales, certainly stood out. Her witty updating of “old wives tales” already refashioned for the educated young “femmelles” who had been Perrault’s prime read- ers was further extended by her “niece” Virginia Stephen. But the two children’s books that Virginia Woolf wrote for her nephews, Nurse Lugton’s Curtain and The Widow and the Parrot, were first published in 1982, and the stories her Victorian mother, Julia Duckworth Stephen, had written did not appear until 1987. Myers’s demand that greater attention be paid to the dual child/ adult readership of books that many academics still derogated as puerile and regressive led to another collaboration. In 1997, she and I coedited a special issue of Children’s Literature on “Cross-Writing and the Reconceptualizing of Children’s Literature.” Mitzi’s coinage of “cross- writing” was a much better term than my “balancing” had been in describing the interactive nature of texts created by adult writers who tapped a childhood imagination. Still, both of us felt that closer attention had yet to be paid to the “cross-reading” process that such texts demanded from their dual audience. We decided to return to the subject, but after Mitzi’s untimely death, that task fell to me. My essay on “Children’s Texts A VICTORIANIST LOOKS BACK 145 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core and the Grown-up Reader” in the Cambridge Companion to Children’s Literature included letters written to Maurice Sendak by third-graders who had read Where the Wild Things Are and listened to the text’s transfor- mation into an opera. Perry Nodelman’s excellent 2008 The Hidden Adult, however, extended the topic. His Derridean notion that the seeming “simplicity” of children’s texts merely acts as a “shadow” that obscures “a more complex and more complete understanding of the world” impeded by adult habits of binary thinking would have appealed, I like to think, to Mitzi Myers.29 A continued interest in the textual fusions of seeming opposites had led me to a writer whose former reputation, though still harder to redeem than Eliot’s, was beginning to rise again. In another award- winning essay on “Kipling’s Just-So Partner: The Dead Child as Collaborator and Muse,” published in the “cross-writing” issue of 1997, I tried to flesh out an elegiac subtext obscured, and yet conveyed by, the childlike playfulness of word and image that makes Just So Stories for Little Children such an enduring masterpiece. An earlier look at Rudyard Kipling’s bigendered imagination and more recent discussions of his textual rearrangements and lifelong appropriations of Victorian poets in his verses and fictions still need to be greatly extended, as does a fuller study of his impact on modern writers such as Randall Jarrell and Sendak.30 George Ford did not include Rudyard Kipling in his 1978 guide to Victorian fiction. Born in 1865, Kipling’s meteoric rise to fame as a short- story writer and poet had reached its highpoint in the 1890s, when he also began to be cherished for charming a vast transatlantic audience of child readers. But the reception of his 1897 “Recessional,” written on the occasion of Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, revealed a major split between two contrary adult readerships. Ultraconservative “patriots” hailed his verses as a rebuke of an unspiritual materialism infecting the Queen’s empire; liberals and radicals, however, read it as an attack on the excesses of British colonialism. Two years later, as he began to work on Kim, a text that, like Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, can be read by both adolescents and grownups, Kipling lamented that he had become less accepted as a “story-teller and rhymester” because his critics were imposing one-sided readings on “the two meanings” he always had tried to put “into my work.”31 If George Eliot’s fame waned after the carnage of World War I led her readers to question the ideological constructions of the previous cen- tury, Kipling’s politics already had frayed his reputation by the time he 146 VLC • VOL. 47, NO. 1 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core received the 1907 Nobel Prize for Literature. Neither his epitaphs for the Great War’s fallen soldiers (and for his own son Jack) nor his canny pre- monitions about the threat of Hitlerism did little to endear him to those who grudgingly admired his versatile imagination. Three years after his death and a few months before the outset of a second world war, W. H. Auden suggested that “Time,” which worships “language and for- gives / Everyone by whom it lives,” might eventually use this “excuse” to pardon “Kipling and his views.”32 But that pardon was hardly imminent. Biographers, editors, and some critics heeded Randall Jarrell’s insistence that Kipling’s oeuvre could not be bifurcated by being placed into sepa- rate “good” and “distasteful” pigeonholes. But despite their efforts and the survival of many of his texts in film and on television, Kipling remained unforgiven. He had yet to survive the obstacles raised by the postcolonialist critics of the 1980s and 90s who condemned him for aes- theticizing imperialism and by those who stressed his latent misogyny, racism, and Judeophobia. * Describing a visit to Dorchester by George Eliot and George Henry Lewes in his 1968 biography of the novelist, Gordon S. Haight indulged a brief fantasy: “What a splendid imaginary conversation a Landor might write between George Eliot and young Thomas Hardy.”33 Like the fictional Mr. Brooke, Walter Savage Landor (1775–1864) remembered meeting Romantics like Robert Southey and Wordsworth yet had lived long enough to be able to recall young Victorians like Marian Evans. But the imaginary portraits he published in periodicals from 1824 to 1853 usually featured the dialogues of paired ancients such as Lucretius and Menander. Landor would hardly have aligned the author of Adam Bede with the Dorset native who was only nineteen in the Victorian anno mira- bilis of 1859. Rudyard Kipling and George Eliot belonged to generations that were even further apart. Not yet fifteen when George Eliot was buried next to Lewes in 1880, Kipling would become one of Thomas Hardy’s pallbearers. The world had changed. As the majordomo of a blissful realm like the “paradise” into which an amiable Sir Walter Scott ushers Jane Austen in Kipling’s poem “Jane’s Marriage,” Landor might wisely have tried to keep Eliot and Kipling apart by housing them in distant wings of his own Hotel “Paradiso.” But these two intelligent ghosts would have quickly discovered unexpected affinities. Both had started as journalists before they turned to poetry and fiction, and despite highly A VICTORIANIST LOOKS BACK 147 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core successful literary careers, both continued to see themselves as exilic out- siders whose verbal constructs tried to repair painful memories of sever- ance and loss. Kipling, who, according to Randall Jarrell, was the only writer who could “invent a conversation between an animal, a god, and a machine,” might have cherished talking to George Eliot.34 His shade would apolo- gize to her for having misrembered that it was her witty Mrs. Poyser and not Anthony Trollope’s Mrs. Proudie who had uttered the memorable sentence about the deficiency of men’s “insides” that he quoted in a let- ter to the mother-substitute he also entrusted with a reconstruction of childhood traumas he dared not show to his parents.35 To make amends for not crediting Adam Bede for that citation, Kipling might even have tried to convince George Eliot that his poem “The Land” was a distant and modest cousin of her Warwickshire pastorals. Eliot had created her fictional Loamshire rustics as foils to the ever- shifting flux of history. Similarly, Kipling pays tribute to Hobden, a lowly but wise Sussex peasant once called “Hobdenius—a Briton of the Clay” by his Roman overlord.36 Reappearing in different eras to help a succes- sion of landowners avert a rivulet’s overflow, Hobden’s transhistorical interventions are more helpful in averting floods than the memory of St. Ogg is in The Mill on the Floss. Like Adam Bede or Caleb Garth, this father figure is translated into art by the offspring of a savvy craftsman. Kipling might also have tried to dangle his last published work of fic- tion before the woman who never authored the volume on Shakespeare she had been asked to write for a Great British Writers series. In “Proofs of Holy Writ,” the native who has returned to his home near the river Avon becomes a self-effacing ghostwriter who translates a portion of Isaiah for the King James Bible. Knowing little Latin, less Greek, and no Hebrew, Kipling’s Shakespeare consults the multilingual Ben Jonson but relies on his own shaping powers to capture the sublimity of the prophet studied by Rabbi Ben Ezra as well as by the two Brownings. Would that imaginary portrait of collaborating writers have led the author of Daniel Deronda to accept Kipling as her kin? Probably not. But if so, she might have shown him her blank-verse transcription of a Hebrew midrash in her very last poem, “The Death of Moses.” Randall Jarrell called Kipling a “Wandering Jew” because he lived in many places as “an uncomfortable stranger repeating to himself the com- forts of earth.”37 Indeed, Kipling endorsed the henpecked but wise King “Suleiman bin Daoud” he orientalized in the last of his Just So Stories and cast the princely Kadmiel as a mythic Sephardic wanderer who causes a 148 VLC • VOL. 47, NO. 1 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core lawless medieval England to adopt the Magna Carta at the end of Puck of Pook’s Hill. As his poem “The Rabbi’s Song” demonstrates, he found it easy to identify himself with such ancients. His irrational loathing of the secular Jews who had succeeded—as he wrongly thought—to find a permanent home in modern Europe stemmed from a jealousy fueled by his own bitter sense of dislocation. Perhaps that alienation provided a bridge between the increasingly estranged great Victorians and their more nihilistic Modernist heirs. The “Finale” of Middlemarch offers a backward-looking pendant for the “Prelude” in which George Eliot had presented a “child-pilgrimage” as a “fit beginning” for Saint Theresa’s later “epic life.”38 Childhood is still honored in the novel’s “Finale.” But the symbiosis of the little brother-sister pair who toddled out of Avila “hand-in-hand” (3) is denied to any “new Theresa” (612). Mary Garth’s Middlemarch neighbors assume that a “little book” she wrote for her three boys, “‘Stories of Great Men, taken from Plutarch,’” must surely have been written by her university-educated husband (608). Dorothea Ladislaw’s son is allowed to play with his cousins and may eventually inherit Mr. Brooke’s estate. But, as the wife of an alien outsider, his idealistic mother must remain a “foundress of nothing” (4). Her stream of influ- ence can only be spent in “channels of no great name” (613). Still, the conclusion to Middlemarch was wonderfully rechanneled, fifty-five years later, by another childless woman novelist. “It is finished,” says Lily Briscoe before she rolls up her canvas at the end of To the Lighthouse. She knows that the portrait of an earthly Madonna and her little son may molder in some attic. But Lily is satisfied. There is no need for her to devise a pre-Raphaelite composition in which a mother and child can sail into a Florentine past. Nor will she mythologize them by adding a saintly ferryman. Aware that Mr. Ramsay cannot cease to bemoan his inability to find pigeonholes for the last eight letters of the alphabet, Lily refuses to join this Casaubon-like patriarch on his trip to the lighthouse. A brother-sister pair who lost their childhood oneness long ago reluctantly join their father. But their water journey is hardly as risky as that undertaken by Tom and Maggie Tulliver. Next to Lily, an aging bachelor wakes up, still half asleep. Like the dreamer who observed a little girl at the outset of The Mill on the Floss and like the dozing Red King at the end of Through the Looking Glass, Mr. Carmichael has recalled the dream-child he loved and lost. Unlike Maggie Tulliver, Alice Liddell, or Effie Kipling, however, this dream-child is a boy. Lily identifies herself with this fellow outcast but refuses to A VICTORIANIST LOOKS BACK 149 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core succumb to his nostalgia. Unlike her creator, she will not drown. Her homage to Mrs. Ramsay as another foundress of nothing can survive in a masterpiece that, like Middlemarch or even Kim, must be read as a rela- tion about relations. Fluidity matters. Only connect. NOTES 1. Eliot, Middlemarch, 3. 2. Nostromo had led this Holocaust refugee to hope that he might some- day emulate Conrad by creating intellectual constructs in my third language. But my infatuation with the novel’s mesmeric prose was undermined by its anti-Semitic portrait of Hirsch, the craven Jew tor- tured by a despot who resembled the military fascists I had seen in South America. 3. In the index to Baugh’s Literary History, the names of authors deemed important such as “Eliot, T. S.” were bolded, whereas those of “Eliot, George,” the three Brontë sisters, Elizabeth Gaskell, and Margaret Oliphant remained unbolded. 4. Chew, “The Nineteenth Century and After,” 1378. 5. Chew, 1381. 6. Buckley, “Looking Backward—Victorian Poetry and Prose,” 3. 7. Buckley, 2, 1. 8. Ford, “Looking Backward—The Victorian Novel,” 3. 9. Ford, 4. 10. Ford, Victorian Fiction, 234. 11. Ford, “Looking Backward—The Victorian Novel,” 5. 12. Ford, 6. 13. Alpert, Growing Up Underground, 355. 14. Showalter, “Looking Forward,” 6. 15. Showalter, 8. 16. Showalter, 6. 17. Auerbach, Woman and the Demon, 4. 18. Showalter, “Looking Forward,” 8. 19. The gender transpositions in Eminent Victorians (examined in my Victorians Reading the Romantics) create sympathetic foils for the fig- ures Strachey satirizes. The hero of his 1917 book is Florence Nightingale, the female androgyne Queen Victoria preferred to her bungling ministers. Her masculinized portrait is complemented 150 VLC • VOL. 47, NO. 1 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core by Strachey’s sympathetic presentation of Newman and General Gordon as feminized idealists. 20. Showalter, A Literature of Their Own, 263. Doubtful about the “balance and command of an emotional range that includes male and female elements,” Showalter claimed that androgyny lacked “zest and energy” even though Tennyson’s notion that the poetic imagination is preeminently hermaphroditic (“gyno-androus or “andro-gynous”) can be applied to many nineteenth-century female fictions. 21. Showalter, “Looking Forward,” 8. Since no such clashes occurred at the Canadian and British centennial conferences, Showalter was referring to the divisive meetings held at Rutgers University, where Marxists, Freudians, structuralists, and Aristotelians tangled with each other. In his final critique of the proceedings, Alexander Welsh shrewdly noted that the main division had been between ideo- logues who eschewed textual analysis and those who, like Auerbach and myself, had based their generalizations on close readings. 22. Knoepflmacher, “A Strobe-Light History of the MLA,” 1728. 23. Knoepflmacher, 1729. 24. Butler also wrote a thoughtful preface and provided a second essay on “Death in Children’s Literature.” Still remembered as an indefat- igable civil rights activist, she had fought for desegregation on vari- ous battlefronts. 25. Two decades earlier, Chew had treated the Alice books as minor but “enduring” and “unique” oddities written by “an eccentric Oxford don to amuse his little girl friends” (“The Nineteenth Century and After,” 1334). 26. Salway, A Peculiar Gift, 11. 27. Myers, “Romancing the Moral Tale,” 98. 28. Myers, 99. 29. Nodelman, The Hidden Adult, 206. 30. See my “Kipling as Browning: from Parody to Translation,” reprinted in Victorians Reading the Romantics, 180–200. Sendak may have known Jarrell’s incisive “On Preparing to Read Kipling” before he illustrated his friend’s children’s books. Still, his conversion of Max into an aggressive wolf-boy who tames “wild things” by staring into their eyes before he joins them in a wordless rumpus surely stemmed from his own childhood reading of the Mowgli and Toomai stories in The Jungle Books. 31. Kipling, Letters II, 357. 32. Auden, Poems, 82. A VICTORIANIST LOOKS BACK 151 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core 33. Haight, George Eliot, 305. 34. Jarrell, “On Preparing to Read Kipling,” 335. 35. As Thomas Pinney notes in his edition of Kipling’s autobiographical writings, the young writer had shared a self-illustrated manuscript of “Baa Baa, Black Sheep” with Mrs. Edmonia Hill, at whose house in Allahabad he had written the story (Something of Myself, 135–36). His elevation of this confidante into a literary mentoria resembles his lifelong deference to the many female predecessors, from Aphra Behn (1640–1869) to E. Nesbit (1858–1924), whose work he revered. 36. Kipling, Poems, 949. 37. Jarrell, “On Preparing to Read Kipling,” 337. 38. Eliot, Middlemarch, 3. All subsequent references to this edition are noted parenthetically in the text. WORKS CITED Alpert, Jane. Growing Up Underground. New York: William Morrow, 1981. Auden, W. H. Selected Poems. Edited by Edward Mendelson. New York: Random House, 1979. Auerbach, Nina. Woman and the Demon: The Life of a Victorian Myth. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982. ———, and U. C. Knoepflmacher, eds. Forbidden Journeys: Fairy Tales and Fantasies by Victorian Women Writers. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992. Buckley, Jerome H. “Looking Backward—Victorian Poetry and Prose.” Victorian Newsletter 65 (Spring 1984): 1–3. Butler, Francelia. “From Fantasy to Reality: Ruskin’s King of the Golden River, St. George’s Guild, and Ruskin, Tennessee.” Children’s Literature 1 (1972): 62–73. Chew, Samuel Claggett. “The Nineteenth Century and After.” In A Literary History of England, edited by Albert C. Baugh, 1109–1605. New York: Apple-Century Crofts, 1948. Eliot, George. Middlemarch (1871). Edited by Gordon S. Haight. Boston: Riverside, 1956. Ford, George H., ed. Victorian Fiction: A Second Guide to Research. New York: Modern Language Association, 1978. Eliot, George. “Looking Backward—The Victorian Novel.” Victorian Newsletter 65 (Spring 1984): 3–6. Haight, Gordon S. George Eliot: A Biography. New York: Oxford University Press, 1968. Heilbrun, Carolyn G. Towards a Recognition of Androgyny: Aspects of Male and Female in Literature. New York: Knopf, 1973. Jarrell, Randall. “On Preparing to Read Kipling.” In Kipling, Auden, & Co.: Essays and Reviews: 1935–1964, 332–45. New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1980. 152 VLC • VOL. 47, NO. 1 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core Kipling, Rudyard. The Letters of Rudyard Kipling. Vol. II: 1890–99. Edited by Thomas Pinney. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 1990. ———. The Poems of Rudyard Kipling, II. Edited by Thomas Pinney. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. ———. Something of Myself and Other Autobiographical Writings. Canto Classics. Edited by Thomas Pinney. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. Knoepflmacher, U. C. “Balancing Child and Adult: An Approach to Victorian Fantasies For Children.” Nineteenth-Century Fiction 37 (March 1983): 497–530. ———. George Eliot’s Early Novels: The Limits of Realism. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968. ———. “Kipling’s Just-So Partner: the Dead Child as Collaborator and Muse.” Children’s Literature 25 (1997): 24–49. ———. “A Strobe-Light History of the MLA,” PMLA 115, no. 7 (December 2000): 1728–29. ———. Victorians Reading the Romantics. Edited by Linda M. Shires. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2016. Myers, Mitzi. “Romancing the Moral Tale: Maria Edgeworth and the Problematics of Pedagogy.” In Romanticism and Children’s Literature in Nineteenth-Century England, edited by James Holt McGavran Jr., 96–128. Athens and London: University of Georgia Press, 1991. Nodelman, Perry. The Hidden Adult: Defining Children’s Literature. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2008. Plotz, Judith. Romanticism and the Vocation of Childhood. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2001. Salway, Lance, ed. A Peculiar Gift: Nineteenth Century Writings on Books for Children. Harmondsworth: Kestrel, 1976. Showalter, Elaine. A Literature of Their Own: From Brontë to Lessing. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977. ———. “Looking Forward: American Feminists, Victorian Sages.” Victorian Newsletter 65 (Spring 1984): 6–9. Stephen, Julia Duckworth. Stories for Children, Essays for Adults. Edited by Diane F. Gillespie and Elizabeth Steele. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1987. Woolf, Virginia. Nurse Lugton’s Curtain (1965). New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1991. ———. To the Lighthouse (1927). New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1955. ———. The Widow and the Parrot (1982). New York: Harcourt, Brace & Jovanovich, 1988. Wordsworth, William. “Preface to Lyrical Ballads.” In Wordsworth Poetical Works, Edited by Thomas Hutchinson. Rev. ed. Ernest de Selincourt. London: Oxford University Press, 1966. A VICTORIANIST LOOKS BACK 153 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318001407 https://www.cambridge.org/core A Victorianist Looks Back: Fluidity vs. Fragmentation Notes Works Cited 
work_3k7s65nzlzd3hb4ojctcuiyjhq	----	REVIEWS 155 hope of a solution. But any solution is as likely to be the result of economic pressures as a desire by fishery manag- ers and the wider fish-buying public to put the conserva- tion of petrels ahead of fish on the dinner plate. I cannot improve on John Warham's closing sentence: 'The target animals, tuna, albacore, swordfish, etc. are so valuable that, as with whales, the stocks may have to be consider- ably depleted before the fishery becomes uneconomic, by which time the birds may have been even more depleted.' (M. de L. Brooke, Department of Zoology, University of Cambridge, Downing Street, Cambridge CB2 3EJ.) GLACIAL GEOLOGY: ICE SHEETS AND LAND- FORMS. Matthew R. Bennett and Neil F. Glasser. 1996. Chichester, New York, Brisbane, Toronto, Singapore: John Wiley. xi + 364 p, illustrated, soft cover. ISBN 0-471 - 96345-3. £19.99. Those interested in glacial geology and geomorphology were for a long time served by only one dedicated text, David Drewry's Glacial geologic processes (1986). Fur- thermore, the mathematical approach of this text did not suit all readers. However, two new texts have lately been published in this field: Glacial environments, by Michael Hambrey (1994), and, now, Glacial geology: ice sheets and landforms. In their preface, the authors state that the text arises from their enthusiasm for glacial geology and a perceived need for a student text with which to stimulate this enthu- siasm in others; their aim is to provide an accessible account of glacial geology at the undergraduate level. The authors have indeed produced a text that both undergradu- ates and their teachers will find a useful learning and teaching resource. However, it is also likely that this text will continue to be useful for reference at postgraduate level and beyond. Early chapters provide a glacier dynamics context: 'The history of ice on Earth,' 'Mass balance and the mechanism of ice flow,' and 'Glacial meltwater.' The main part of the text is concerned with the processes and products of glacial erosion and deposition: 'The processes of glacial erosion,' 'Landforms of glacial erosion,' 'Gla- cial debris transport,' 'Glacial sedimentation on land,' 'Landforms of glacial deposition on land,' 'Glacial sedi- mentation in water,' and 'Landforms of glacial deposition in water.' The emphasis is on the interpretation of glacial landforms and sediments for former ice dynamics. The final chapter, 'Interpreting glacial landscapes,' synthe- sises information on the processes and products of glacial erosion and deposition from previous chapters to deal with the pattern of landform-sediment distribution produced at the ice-sheet scale. The text is attractively presented and, as might be expected, profusely illustrated with diagrams and black- and-white photographs. The examples given partly reflect the authors' field experience in Argentina, Great Britain, Greenland, Iceland, and Svalbard, although examples from other parts of the world are also cited. The writing style is clear and non-mathematical. A novel and useful feature is the use of discrete information 'boxes' providing concise stand-alone information on key topics, such as glacial history and the oxygen isotope record, the structure of glaciers, grain-size distributions and transport distances, eskers and sub-glacial deformation, and the measurement and analysis of till fabric. A feature of this text is the presentation of material in summary form, which enhances the value of the text for reference at all levels. Concise tables at the ends of chapters on 'Landforms of glacial erosion,' 'Landforms of glacial deposition on land,' and 'Landforms of glacial deposition in water' summarise the morphology of the principal erosive, direct depositional, glaciofluvial, glaciolacustrine, and glaciomarine landforms and their significance for glacier reconstructions. For instance, p- forms are described as smooth-walled, 'sculpted' depres- sions and channels cut into bedrock, indicative of warm- based ice, abundant meltwater, and low effective normal pressures, and typical of thin ice; flutes are described as low, linear sediment ridges formed in the lee of boulders or bedrock obstacles, indicative of local ice-flow directions, thin ice, and the presence of warm-based ice; and plough marks are described as linear furrows or depressions on the seabed, indicative of iceberg grounding. Another good example from the chapter 'Glacial sedimentation on land' is a table summarising diagnostic criteria for the recogni- tion of common diamicton lithofacies in the field, which is followed with examples of facies models with typical vertical logs for different glacier thermal regimes. The same chapter also provides a great deal of detail on the various till types, and additional material on fluvial sedi- mentation, and includes a table summarising the principal sedimentary characteristics of the main types of till (de- scribed as lodgement, sub/supraglacial melt-out, deforma- tion, flow, and sublimation) in terms of particle shape, size, fabric, packing, lithology, and structure. It is difficult to identify significant shortcomings in this text. Neither of the chapters on 'Glacial meltwater' nor on 'Glacial debris transport' consider fluvial sediment trans- port, such as suspended sediment or bedload: readers seeking up-to-date material on this subject could refer to the Annals of Glaciology proceedings of the Reykjavik symposium on glacial erosion and sedimentation (volume 22). Given the unavoidable profusion of terminology, a glossary might have been helpful, but several summary tables to some extent serve this purpose and the index is comprehensive. There are a small number of typographic errors, the most obvious of which is the substitution of the prefix 'austra' for 'Austre' in Norwegian glacier names. Inevitably, comparisons will be made between this text and Hambrey's. At 364 pages, Bennett and Glasser's text is longer than Hambrey's (296 pages), but both provide useful and stimulating treatments of glacial geology, and neither is clearly better nor worse than the other. There are some differences in emphasis: Bennett and Glasser tend to emphasise landforms and the results of ice-sheet model- ling, whereas Hambrey tends to emphasise the description of sedimentary facies and marine environments, although 156 REVIEWS there is naturally much common ground. The two texts are probably best viewed as complementary, each providing comprehensive views of a field in which the necessarily meticulous description, classification, and interpretation of field evidence benefit from the widest appreciation of the variety of glacial environments. In this respect, the use of numerous Alaskan examples in Hambrey's book is a useful complement to the largely Scandinavian examples of Bennett and Glasser. In summary, the authors have achieved their aim of producing a concise, accessible text that conveys their own enthusiasm for the subject, and it should be recommended to all who have an interest in learning about, teaching, or researching in glacial geology. (Richard Hodgkins, De- partment of Geography, University of Bristol, Bristol BS8 1SS.) I MAY BE SOME TIME: ICE AND THE ENGLISH IMAGINATION. Francis Spufford. 1996. London: Faber & Faber. 372 p, illustrated, hard cover. ISBN 0-571- 14487-X. £15.99. The English polar explorers of the first part of the present century had a supreme capacity for understatement and unintentional irony. Robert Falcon Scott recorded that the Antarctic continent was a place that: 'comes nearer to satisfying my ideal of perfection than any condition I have ever experienced....No words of mine can convey the impressiveness of this wonderful panorama displayed to my eye.' Yet, the stated attitudes of the members of the Scott expedition towards the Antarctic interior were often quite ambivalent. The Antarctic was not only a desolate and foreboding space, it was also intensely poetic and beautiful. Positive images of nature could be combined with an appreciation of the harsh charms of the polar world: the long polar nights, the changing rhythms of light and darkness, and the dangerous polar blizzard. The cultural and ideological significance of polar ex- ploration is the subject matter of Francis Spufford's I may be some time. The poles did undoubtedly fire the imagina- tions of English polar explorers and administrators. As with their European and Soviet counterparts, the poles, as the literal and figurative ends of the Earth, were often considered remote, inaccessible, unattainable, and, there- fore, as worthy adversaries. Within English public culture, the subsequent conquest of the poles was considered indicative of industrial progress and modernity, techno- logical prowess, masculine endeavour, scientific curios- ity, national prestige, and humankind's mastery over the natural world. However, the English record on polar exploration was undoubtedly mixed, as explorers either implanted the British flag on the polar wastes and claimed everything they could see for Great Britain or died some- where en route. The members of the former group were often uncertain of their geographical position, whilst those of the latter group later became immortalised. Thus, the failure of the Scott expedition was to be of lasting cultural significance within England, judging by the stream of newspaper stories, works of fiction, state-sponsored me- morials, and postage stamps generated in the aftermath. However, Spufford's account of polar exploration is far more wide-ranging than just Scott's expeditions. It stretches from a discussion of the eighteenth century and the Burkean sublime to nineteenth-century popular Eng- lish literature. Spufford's account, through the employ- ment of generous quotations and extracts, touches upon the varied geographical imaginations of nineteenth-cen- tury polar writings. This does produce a paradoxical consequence, however. On the one hand, his account is rich and varied in terms of sources and contextual back- ground, especially as it relates to the writings of Charles Dickens, Sir John Franklin, and Jane Austen. It is a potent mixture of historical scholarship and a form of literary criticism. There are many rich insights, such as noting the growing popularity of polar images and references within the urban landscape and the production of commemorative commodities such as pottery and cigarette cards. On the other hand, the writing style is long-winded and often tedious in relating key points. A more concise version of this book might have been more effective, had some of the details pertaining to the descriptions of the polar landscape or polar personalities been compressed. The descriptions of Clements Markham are classic in this respect, as the reader is bombarded with anecdotes and asides that ulti- mately detract from some interesting observations about either Markham's relationship with Scott or his dreams of imperial conquest and territorial aggrandisement. The final pages of Spufford's account return to the ill- fated Terra Nova expedition and the last moments of Scott's party, in a tent somewhere on the polar ice. The poorplanning of Scott, the arrogance of ClementsMarkham, and Oates' spirit of self-sacrifice are joined together for one last moment. The British Empire had acquired another dead hero. Visual technologies associated with the cinema and photographic journalism played their part in reproduc- ing the thrills and perils of polar exploration for English audiences. The tragic failure of Scott was later to be used for another form of imperial incitement: this time for the troops fighting for king and country in the muddy fields of Flanders. In spite of some reservations over the turgid writing style, this is an important book, and it one that is likely to have enduring significance. Within polar studies, there has been a tendency to be remarkably uncritical of polar exploration in terms of thinking about its importance in shaping public culture, ideas about nature, and national identity. A dominant, and largely whiggish, approach to the history of exploration has also prevented more critical appraisals of those expeditions and their ideological sig- nificance. Spufford has produced a book of considerable scholarship, which draws together many relevant sources. It is a pity, however, that the referencing is not more thorough, given the extensive quotations and inferences. There are a number of key themes that Spufford could and probably should have addressed within this book. Whilst Spufford may not be aware of the growing aca- 
work_3spmbqewxrfajh2cl7znbw6lf4	----	Available Online : https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-2-issue-2-February-2020/ Addaiyan Journal of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences, 2020; 3(01):24- 32 Available Online: https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ 7 24 ISSN : 2581-8783 (Online) Addaiyan Journal of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences © Addaiyan International Publishers (An international Publisher of Research & Academic Resources) Journal Homepage: https://aipublisher.org/projects/ajahss/ TRACING THE EVOLUTION OF THE IMAGE OF AFRICAN FEMALES THROUGH THE AGES: AN OVERVIEW OF SELECTED LITERARY WORKS Ebele Peace Okpala Department of English Language and Literature Nnamdi Azikiwe University,Awka,Anambra State,Nigeria Abstract: The image of African women has evolved over the years. The study traced and critically analyzed how African female persona and experience have been depicted starting from pre-colonial, colonial to post- colonial eras using selected literary texts. It highlighted the impacts made by feminist writers towards a re-definition of the African woman. The theoretical framework was hinged on Feminist theory. Feminism, feminist ideologies and their proponents were also highlighted. The research revealed that the image of pre-colonial and colonial African women as portrayed in Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart and Arrow of God, Elechi Amadi’s The Concubine, Wole Soyinka’s The Lion and the Jewel, Flora Nwapa’s Efuru, El Saadawi’s The Woman at Point Zero, Mariama Ba’s So Long a Letter among others was ascribed a second class status. The Post- colonial African women have come to the awareness of their rights and roles through the numerous intellectual and political campaigns of African feminist writers. Their image has changed from being in the kitchen, bearing and rearing children to also shouldering responsibilities as most powerful men in the community as depicted in Chinua Achebe’s Anthills of the Savannah, Chimamanda Adichie’s Half of the Yellow Sun among others. The study recommended the acquisition of good education and self-development as the major strategies to confront the impediments orchestrated by patriarchy. Keywords: African women, Patriarchy, Image, Experience, Feminism. Introduction African women are always at the fringes of their communities’ activities and never part of the decision- making process, even when their interests are at stake. In fact, little is seen, heard, and talked about them. They are either farming, fetching water or firewood, plaiting their hair, cleaning their private or public huts; washing cooking utensils, being beaten by the father, brother or husband; running away from the masquerades, going or coming back from the market, bearing or rearing children… (Orabueze 137) In traditional African society, young males are trained to be aggressive and fearless leaders in modern society. They are not trained to be responsible fathers and caring husbands. For the girls, the emphasis is laid more on good behaviors, cleanliness, obedience, and hard work (Apena 282). This aims at creating marital harmony in the future home. Corresponding Author* Ebele Peace Okpala Article History Received: 15.12.2020 Accepted: 25.12.2020 Published:23.01.2021 https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-1-issue-8-october-2019/ https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ https://aipublisher.org/projects/ajahss/ Available Online : https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-2-issue-2-February-2020/ Addaiyan Journal of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences, 2020; 3(01):24- 32 Available Online: https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ 7 25 Utoh-Ezeajugh records that: In the social structure of most African societies, men are groomed from birth to imbibe an attitude of supremacy over women, who are then nurtured to feel and act inferior to men. In operating within the sphere of social conventions and cultural restrictions, the woman is regarded as being less intelligent, less creative, less productive and of less economic value and by implication, of less social value than men. (136) Unfortunately, conflict erupts in the marital relationship when the women refuse to accept such a status quo and demand a share of the male-dominated power. Ever since 1782, with the publication of Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Women in England, in which she portrays men as tyrants, women have been fighting for equal economic, socio- political, and legal rights with men. This struggle is also expressed in the works like Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own, Mary Ellman’s Thinking About Women, Kate Millet’s Sexual Politics and Margaret Fuller’s Women in the Nineteenth Century. In 1928, women won the right to vote. Tremendous changes were recorded as the image of women began to wear a new look. On the literary front, female writers like Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Elizabeth Gaskell and George Eliot began to display a high level of intellectualism in their projection of English Society. Politically, the first woman’s rights convention led by Lucretia Mott and Elizabeth Stanton proposed the amendment of the American constitution to read, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men and women are created equal” (Nnolim 134). Similar submissions and demonstrations were recorded in Europe, Asia and Africa. In Nigeria, feminism has a long history. Most of its movements are protest-based. They are usually resistant to the destructive socio-political system of the periods. In 1929, Aba Women demonstrated against the prevailing socio-political problem designed against them. The Egba women of Yoruba also fought against the flat tax rate. In 1944, Mrs. Fumilayo Ransom-Kuti formed the Abeokuta Ladies Club (ALC) which aimed at improving the standard of womanhood. The club was subsequently changed to the National Council of Women Societies (NCWS). Political activists like Queen Amina of Zaria, Margaret Ekpo, Madam Tinubu of Lagos, etc. participated fully in the modern nationalist movement. A better life for Rural Women, Poverty Eradication, etc were political programs designed to enhance the economic condition of rural women. Brief Review of Feminist Theories Feminism, which can be described as the organized movement which supports and promotes equality for men and women in political, social, and economic issues, has been critically extended into several theoretical schools. It encompasses work in a variety of disciplines; sociology, anthropology, history, philosophy, women studies and literary criticism. Feminist theory aims to understand gender inequalities and focuses largely on gender politics, power relations and sexuality. It provides a critique of these social and political reactions and focuses on the promotion of women’s rights and interests. Themes such as discrimination, patriarchy, victimization, sexual oppression, etc are explored in feminist theory. The feminist movement has produced a lot of feminist fiction and non-fiction and has created a new interest in women’s writing. It also prompts a general reassessment of women’s historical and academic contributions in response to the assertion that women’s lives and contributions have been under- represented in areas of scholarly interest. The growth in scholarly interest even warrants the reissuing of long-out-of-print tests by various presses such as Virago Press and Pandora Press. Mary Wollstonecraft https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-1-issue-8-october-2019/ https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ Available Online : https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-2-issue-2-February-2020/ Addaiyan Journal of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences, 2020; 3(01):24- 32 Available Online: https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ 7 26 wrote one of the first works of feminist philosophy, A Vindication of the Rights of Women, which called for equal education in 1792 and her daughter, Mary Shelley also became an author, best known for her 1818 novel, Frankenstein. The Australian feminist Germaine Greer, published The Female Enuch (1970) which became an international best seller and an important text in the feminist movement. In the 1960s and 1970s, authors used the genre of science fiction to explore feminist themes. Notable in this genre were Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness (1969), Joanna Russ’ The Female Man (1970) and Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaids Tale. Apart from the above, several movements of feminist ideologies have over the years developed; these include; Liberal feminism; which seeks the individualistic equality of men and women through political and legal reforms without altering the societal structures. It further propagates the idea that total equality with men (in jobs and pays) must be realized or based on individual skill, expertise and proficiency. Alice Paul, Elizabeth Boyer and Judith Hole are the key proponents of this feminist ideology. Socialist Feminism connects the oppression of women to exploration and labour. Socialist feminists are trade union oriented and urge for the emancipation of women from sexual abuse. Socialist feminists like Kate O’Hare, Allison Jaggar, Emma Goldman and Christine Obbo are the leading proponents of this (Nnolim 219). Cultural feminism believes in making the best of what is biologically endowed with women. A woman is an inherently more kind and gentle. The world will be a better place, according to them, if women are given the opportunity to rule. Women uphold interdependence, co-operation, joy and trust while men value hierarchy, competition and dominion. The major advocate is Carol Gilligan. Eco Feminism believes in the link between the woman and nature, hence the term Mother Earth. It seems men’s control of the land as responsible both for the oppression of women and the destruction of the environment. It focuses mainly on the mystical connection between woman and nature. The major proponent is Van Dana Shiva. These Feminist theorists have written so persuasively for the total emancipation of women and have depended on the merit of logic and legal means to convince men to see reason. African feminist scholars see feminism of the Western World as alien hence the reluctance to embrace it. This is partly because African society is made up of diverse cultures within its diverse regions. What is practiced in one region could be the opposite in another. The image of African females This study will trace and analyze how the image of the woman in the works of African writers evolved during the three stages of colonization-pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial periods. It will equally look into the efforts made by feminist writers towards a re-definition of the image of the African woman. Pre-colonial and Colonial Eras During these periods, women were mostly docile, without formal education, and were made to believe that their primary assignment was to bear children. They were rural women indeed with no one to better their lives. Their occupations were mainly farming and trading. African female writers emerged in the 1960s. African males were the pioneer writers, their fictions were written to recapture Africa’s image dented by colonialism and as such necessitated the heralding of masculine traditions leaving little or no room for female values. The identity of a woman then depended solely on her husband. If his name is https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-1-issue-8-october-2019/ https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ Available Online : https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-2-issue-2-February-2020/ Addaiyan Journal of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences, 2020; 3(01):24- 32 Available Online: https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ 7 27 Okonkwo, she acquires a spurious and nondescript name Nwunye Okonkwo (Okonkwo’s wife) (Adimora-Ezeigbo 116). In Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, for instance, which records one of the earliest of the works of African fiction, women are given minor roles. The three wives of Okonkwo are numbered as part of his acquisitions; Okonkwo was clearly cut out for great things. He was still young but he had won fame as the greatest wrestler in the nine villages. He was a wealthy farmer and had two barns full of yams and had just married his third wife. To crown it all he had taken two titles… (7) His wives are introduced by name, rank, and snippets of characters. Ojiugo, the youngest wife is beaten severely for going to “plait her hair at her friend’s house and did not return early enough to cook the afternoon meal” (23). Nwoye’s mother, the first wife, tries to cover her. Ekwefi was Okonkwo’s second wife, whom he nearly shot (31). When Okonkwo brought Ikemefuna home, “that day he called his most senior wife and handed him over to her” (12). After the murder of Ikemefuna, Okonkwo is heard cursing himself; When did you become a shivering old woman, Okonkwo asked himself, you who are known in all the nine villages for your valour in war? How can a man who killed five men in battle fall to pieces because he has added a boy to their number? Okonkwo you have become a woman indeed. (51) Masculine roles are described with positive words like valour, logical, brave, trustworthy while of women are frickle, shivering, shallow or vain (Chefetz 41). Elechi Amadi in his works portrays his men as a dignified group while his women are treated with disdain. His male characters consistently pass derogatory comments about their women. In The Concubine, for instance, Madume dismisses his wife with the statement, “women argue forwards and backward” (70). Wakiri confides in his friend Ekwueme, “when it comes to nagging I treat all women as children” (20). Wigwe advises his son to regard his wife as “a baby needing constant correction” (181). Almost all Amadi’s female characters are depicted as inferior and subordinate to men. His heroine is all that a man would wish a woman to be. She must be endowed like Ihuoma, with the kind of physical attractiveness that will make a man proud to possess her. Wole Soyinka is not left out in this. In his play, The Lion and the Jewel (1963), his most prominent characteristic of women is an extraordinary beauty, a beauty which will be possessed by the man. As his title suggests, the male is given the qualities of strength, bravery and expertise while the female is endowed with virtues of ornament or most valuable possession. These African sexiest writers depict the woman as helpless and dependent, either prostitutes or housewives destined in the words of Ogunyemi to “carry yam and foo-foo to men discussing important matters”. During the pre-colonial and colonial periods also, a tradition of “female husband and male daughter” is adopted to ease the pain of not having a male child (Adimora-Ezeigbo 31). A girl could be made to marry so that her bride price could be used for the sustenance of her male siblings like Ogwoma in Zulu Sofola’s Wedlock of the Gods. Most husband/wives relationships were like that between a Headmaster and his pupils. Most homes were like luxurious prison where indices of battering abound. Okonkwo in Achebe’s Things Fall Apart, for instance, “ruled his household with a heavy hand. His wives especially https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-1-issue-8-october-2019/ https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ Available Online : https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-2-issue-2-February-2020/ Addaiyan Journal of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences, 2020; 3(01):24- 32 Available Online: https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ 7 28 the youngest, lived in perpetual fear of his fiery temper, and so did his little children” (II). He gave his second wife a sound beating and left her and her only daughter weeping, for merely cutting a few leaves from banana tree to wrap some food (30) while his other wives hover around mumbling “it is enough, Okonkwo,” from a reasonable distance (31). Eugine (Papa), in Adichie’s Purple Hibisvus, beats his wife (Beatrice) and she loses her pregnancy. With little or no provocation, he attempts to kill her, making her spend months, laying in coma for weeks at the hospital as she discloses; Do you know that small table where we keep the family Bible, nne? Your father broke it on my belly… My blood finished on that floor even he took me to St. Agnes. My doctor said there was nothing he could do to save it. (248) Beatrice could only respond to the crisis by only crying and remaining calm. Eke also supports that wife- beating is very common in many African countries and wives often condone such nefarious activities. Firdaus’ father in EL Saadiwi’s Women at Point Zero, constantly beats and punches his wife who willingly submits her body to him which he brutalizes her in order to appease his ego and emotions (179). Through imposed African cultural practices, women in this period were repressed, “contained and monitored under the constant gaze of a male, first the father, their brother (where there is one), husband and sometimes the son” (Eke 50). They experienced a great deal of oppression. They were subjected to slavish levirate system, torturous and debasing widowhood practices whereby a widow may be required to drink miliozu, water used in washing the corpse of her late husband, like Anayo in Ifeoma Okoye; The Trial and Other Stories, to confirm that she had in no way contributed to his death. They may be, like Eziagba in Adimora-Ezeigbo’s The Last of the Strong Ones, victims of Nluikwa, a system by which a lady will not be allowed to marry but stays back in her natal home to bear male children (Worgugi 142). These eras recorded the highest level of gender oppression. The cultural belief and practice of widow inheritance confirm the societal approval that women are nothing but properties or accessories that could be possessed or inherited. Post Colonial Era Tradition, beliefs and cultural practices in the pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial eras in Africa, bear traces of female marginalization. Nevertheless, the contemporary ‘liberated’ African woman is better than her pre-colonial and colonial counterparts. She has the benefit of formal education and the choice of who she marries, subject to her parents’ approval. She may, however, be battered by her husband depending on his temperament, but she can subvert the patriarchal order and move out of unhappy marriage, reject levirate marriage and sustain her family units (Molly Chiluwa (100). Mariama Ba, in her So Long a Letter, decries polygamy as a sacrilege to the precepts of genuine marriages using Ramatoulaye and her friend Aissatou. Nwapa writes to challenge the male writers and make them aware of women’s inherent vitality, independence of views, courage, self-confidence, desire for gain, and high social status. In her works, female characters are given a major role and the men are marginalized that they are barely noticed (Orabueze 138). Nnolim equally confirms that, no woman in Nwapa’s novel is a parasite that depends on men for substance. If anything in Idu, it is the man who has no inner resources, who borrows money constantly from the wife, who when the wife deserts him hanged himself from the thatched roof of his hut. (196) https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-1-issue-8-october-2019/ https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ Available Online : https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-2-issue-2-February-2020/ Addaiyan Journal of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences, 2020; 3(01):24- 32 Available Online: https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ 7 29 Nwapa explores the theme of moral laxity in her novels. … but this is treated in response to earlier novels written by men where prostitution is always associated with women…. But in my novels, there is a reversal of roles-men are the prostitutes. In Women Are Different, Chris, Dora’s husband, is a male prostitute, kept by a German woman. Ernest, Rose’s former boyfriend, goes from one woman to another without finding satisfaction.,, Amaka is in control of her relationship with the Alhaji and Reverend Fr. Maclaid (in One is Enough). The men have lost the initiative, always on the move, finding it impossible to settle down anywhere. (97) She creates sophisticated female protagonists-beautiful, intelligent and rich by all standards. In her works, women rule and control the market place of their world. Mothers are positioned as prime movers and sole agencies who exploit their traditional role and power to control their men. She tries as much as possible to rebrand the seemingly disparaged African woman. She captures this vision in an essay. “So while some Nigerian male writers failed to see this power base, this strength of character, this independence, I tried … to elevate the woman to her rightful place … I tried to analyze the woman’s independent economic position and the power she wields by the mere fact that she controls the pestle and the cooking pots” (528). Nwapa portrays women as humane, fearless and courageous in moments of crisis in her Wives at War and Other Stories. They are better managers of difficult times than men. As Ibiyemi Mojola observes that “fictional narrative is often generated by life experiences and women writers in West Africa regularly focus on women’s condition in their works of fiction”. (10) Kaine Agary in her Yellow-Yellow, fights a twin war of violence against Niger Delta environment and violence against women. She agrees with Nwachukwu-Agbada who believes that “Africa cannot be free until her women are free” (3). Agary links the destruction of Niger Delta region with the violation of a woman. Chimamanda Adichie in her Purple Hibiscus, presents a more ideologically protesting stance of the woman before her men. She fights against the unfriendliness, cruelty and brutality of man against the woman. She seems to pull down the wall of patriarchy. Beatrice (Mama) and Kambili are the most suppressed, silenced, and brutalized, physically, psychologically and emotionally in the novel. Eugene (Papa) is the symbol of patriarchy whose mere presence sparks off the fire of danger that keeps the women under tension and fear. Kambili laments “Fear. I was familiar with fear, yet each time I felt it, it was never the same as the other times as though it came in different flavours and colour. (196). She finds herself perpetually in the danger zone as Papa beats her at any slightest provocation. She is caged to the extent that she is starved of social life. She is forced to live a silent, silenced life. She lacks voice on what to say, she only has to wish or would have wanted. She cannot answer Amaka (her age mate cousin) back; “I stood there, staring at her, wishing Aunty Ifeoma were there to speak for me” (141). At Papa’s death, Beatrice (Mama) and Kambili get their freedom and liberation. Mama fires Kelvin their chauffeur and replaces them with Celestine. Kambili now talks aloud and controls the family wealth. Adichie conveys that the death of Papa (symbol of patriarchy) is the only factor that will; restore the image, voice and freedom of women in Africa. In Half of the Yellow Sun, Adichie creates women of substance, who, as Nnolim observes, no longer carry foo-foo and soup to men discussing important matters. Olanna and Kainene, having been educated abroad, are assertive and meet men of their dictates(4). Beatrice in Chinua Achebe’s Anthills of the https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-1-issue-8-october-2019/ https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ Available Online : https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-2-issue-2-February-2020/ Addaiyan Journal of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences, 2020; 3(01):24- 32 Available Online: https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ 7 30 Savanah, is a professional who operates on the same wave-length as the most powerful men in the land (Charles Fonchingong 145). Adichie advises Ijeawele to teach Chizalum, from the cradle, that a girl should be seen as an individual, not a girl who should behave in a certain way. Domestic work and care-giving should be gender-neutral. A father should do all that biology permits, which is everything except breastfeeding(2). She maintains that in raising a child, especially in this era, people should focus on ability and interest instead of gender, because gender prescribes how we should be, rather than recognizing how we are. Baby girls should be taught self-reliance and how to fix physical things when they break. They should be encouraged to speak their mind, be kind, brave and honest. Above all, they should be made to study, to be able to understand, question their world, express themselves and achieve their desired ambitions. Conclusion African female writers like Flora Nwapa, Ifeoma Okoye, Buchi Emecheta, Nawal El Saadawi, Yvonne Vera, Zaynab Alkali, Tess Onwueme, Ama Ata Aidoo, Zulu Sofola, Efua Sutherland, Mariama Ba, Chimamanda Adichie, Tracie Utoh-Ezeajugh, Akachi Adimora-Ezigbo, Ann Iwuagwu, etc have extensively explored the female experience in their male-dominated society. They create a woman’s world in which female characters exist in their own right, not as mere appendages to a male world (Horne 120). The method and manner by which they project the image of the woman, her economic independence, her relationship with her husband and children and her position in society has, however, been criticized by some scholars. Acholonu for instance, argues that what affects development in African society is not gender-related but economic power. She believes that a rich and educated woman who is outspoken, hardworking and fearless can hardly be suppressed by any member of her society. Nnolim condemns their scandalous, criminal and murderous levels (217). They are indicted for promoting self-actualization and emancipation through immorality. Nevertheless, the African female authors have achieved a remarkable level of success in such a way that the image of the women is no longer placed at a disadvantaged position. For instance, the supreme court of Nigeria, declares as repulsive, in the article “Supreme Court Scraps Customs Disinherit Women”, the custom that disinherits married women because they do not have a child for the late husband. (Soniyi 1) Women, according to Uzoamaka Azodo, “….. are expressing their resentment of beating, sexual abuse and sexual harassment. In addition, they are seeking custody of their children after separation instead of automatically handing them over to their ex-husband and his family” (250). African women are still vocal with their pains and joys, they assert themselves through their determination to take charge of their lives, they attempt to control their destinies as far as that is possible. While we eulogize these African feminist writers for their achievements, it is also important that we pin- point some of their excesses which should be avoided for women’s struggle to retain its justification. Examples include hatred for men, rejection of motherhood duties, and drive to be like men. They also mistake uniformity for equality. To them, the equality of man and woman means that husband and wife must share every aspect of the household work and childcare mathematically equal. Again, they seem to forget that as long as pregnancy and lactation are the special preserve of women, that men and women cannot have a uniform duty in childcare. (Nnamani 221) Despite criticisms, African female writers, continuously portray the pains and experiences of women of various generations, classes, and social statuses to enhance their effort towards reconstituting the biased https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-1-issue-8-october-2019/ https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ Available Online : https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-2-issue-2-February-2020/ Addaiyan Journal of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences, 2020; 3(01):24- 32 Available Online: https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ 7 31 presentation of female persona in their creative works. They are gradually transforming the status of the pre-colonial and colonial women from a subordinate position of the old order to a rank of competent independent and focused women of substance. Reference 1. Achebe, Chinua, Morning Yet on Creation Day. London; Heinemann, 1975. 2. . . . Things Fall Apart. London; Heinemann, 1958. 3. . . . Anthills of the Savanah Oxford, Heinemann, 1987. 4. Acholonu, Catherine. Motherism: The Afrocentric Alternative to Feminism Let’s Help Humanitarian Project”, Women in Environmental Development Series, Vol.3, Owerri; 1995. 5. Acholonu, Rose. “Beyond Feminism: The Harvest of Accomdationist Love. Journal of Modern Language Association of Nigeria” (JMLAN), Vol.2, 1994, p.42. 6. . . . “The Female Predicament in the African Novel”. In Chukwuma, Helen (ed). Feminism in African Literature. Enugu; New Generation Books 1994, pp. 38-52. 7. . . . Family Love in Nigeria Fiction: Feminist Perspectives. Owerri; Achisons Publisher, 1995. 8. Adichie, Chimamanda Ngozi Purple Hibiscus. Lagos; Farafina, 2006. 9. . . . Half of a Yellow Sun. New York, Knopt, 2006. 10. . . . We Should be Feminists. New York, Vintage Books, 2014. 11. . . .Dear Ijeawele https://books.google.com.ng/books/about/Dear Ijeawele OR a Feminist Manifesto in.html?id=LOexDQAAQBAJ & Source =kp cover & redir esc=y 12. Adimora-Ezeigbo Akachi The Last of the Strong Ones. Lagos, Oracle Books, 2001. 13. Agary, Kaine Yellow-Yellow. Lagos; Dtalkshop, 2006. 14. Apena, Adeline: “Bearing the Burden of Change” Colonial and Post-Colonial experience in Flora Nwapa’s Women Are Different in Umeh, Marie (ed). Emerging Perspectives on Flora Nwapa Critical and Theoretical Essays. Asmara; Africa World Press, 1998. 277-289. 15. Azodo Uzoamaka “Nigerian Women in Search of Identity: Converging Feminism and Pragmatism” in Umeh, Marie (ed). Emerging Perspectives on Flora Nwapa’s Critical and Theoretical Essays. Asmara; Africa World Press, 1998. pp 241-259. 16. Ba, Mariama. So Long a Letter. Ibadan, New Horn Press Ltd, 1980. 17. Banyinwa Horne, Naana, “Flora Nwapa’s This is Lagos: Valorizing the Female through Narrative Agency”. In Umeh, Marie (ed). Emerging Perspectives on Flora Nwapa’s Critical and Theoretical Essays. Asmara; Africa World Press, 1998. pp 441-476. 18. . . . African Womanhood: The Contrasting Perspectives of Flora Nwapa’s Efuru and Elechi Amadi’s The Concubine”. In Davies, M Carole Boyce and Anne Adams Graves (eds). Ngambika: Studies of Women in African Literature. Trenton, New Jersey; Africa World press, 1986. pp 119- 129. 19. Chefetz, Janet .S. Masculine, Feminine or Human?: An Overview of the Sociology of the Gender Roles. Illinois; Peacock Publishers, 1979 .p.41. 20. Chiluwa, Molly. “Partriarchy versus Womanism in Nigeria: “Rethinking Womanist Theorization.” New Perspective on a Literary Enigma: A Festschript in Honour of Professor Theodora Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo. Ibadan, University Press, 2014, p.100. 21. Eke, Maureen N. “The Inner Life of Being: Failed Maleness and “Modern” Love”. Emerging Perspectives on Nawal EL Saadawi. Eds Ernest N. Emenyonu and Maureen Eke. Trenton African Press, 2010. pp. 49-65. 22. Elechi Amadi. The Concubine. London, Heinemann, 1966. https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-1-issue-8-october-2019/ https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ https://books.google.com.ng/books/about/Dear Available Online : https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-2-issue-2-February-2020/ Addaiyan Journal of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences, 2020; 3(01):24- 32 Available Online: https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ 7 32 23. Fonchingong, Charles C. “Unbending Gender Narratives in African Literature”. Journal of International Women’s Studies: Vol. 8 1 Nos. 2006 pp. 135-146. 24. German, Grees. The Female Eunuch. London, Paladin Publishers, 1970. 25. Majola, Yemi. “The Works of Flora Nwapa”. In Otokunefor Henrietta C. and Obiageli C. Nwodo (eds) Nigeria Female Writers: A Critical Perspective Lagos: Malthouse, 1989. 19-29. 26. Nnolim E.C. Issues in African Literature. Yenagoa: Treasure Resource Communication, 2009. 27. . . . Approaches to the African Novel: Essay in Analysis. Port Harcourt; International Publisher, 1990. 28. Nwachukwu Agbada, J.O.J Literature as Liberation: A Quantum Factors in Sustainable Development (Inaugural Lecture). Uturu; ABSU Press, 2008. 29. Nwapa, Flora. “Women and Creative Writing in Africa”. In Nnaemeka Obioma (ed). Sisterhood, Feminism and Power: From Africa to the Diaspora. Asmara; African World Press, 1988, pp 89- 99. 30. . . . Efuru. London, Heinemann, 1966. 31. . . . Idu. London, Heinemann, 1969. 32. . . . One is Enough, Enugu: Tana Press, 1981. 33. . . . Women Are Different. Enugu, Tana Press, 1986. 34. . . . Wives at War and Other Stories. Enugu; Tana Press, 1981. 35. Ogunyemi, Chikwenye, ”Woman and Nigeria Literature” Perspectives on Nigerian Literature. Vol.1 Lagos; Guardian Books, 1988. 36. The Trail and Other Stories Lagos, African Heritage Press, 2005. 37. Orabueze, F.O. Society, Women & Literature in Africa. Port Harcourt; M&J Orbit Communications Ltd, 2010. 38. Saadawi, Nawal EL. Women At Point Zero. London. Zed Books, 1983. 39. Soniyi, Tobi. “Supreme Court Scraps Customs that Disinherit Women”, This Day 14 April, 2014; p.1. 40. Soyinka, Wole. The Lion And The Jewel. Oxford, University Press, 1963. 41. Utoh-Ezeajugh, Tracie. “Nigeria Female Playwrights and the Evolution of a Literary Style: Gendered Discourse in the Plays of Tess Onwueme, Irene Salomi-Agunloye and Tracie Uto- Ezeajugh”, Gender Discourse in Africa Theatre, Literature and Visual Arts. A Festschrift in Honour of Professor Mabel Evwierhoma. Eds. Tracie Chima Utoh-Ezeajugh, Barclays Foubiri Ayakoroma. Ibadan, Kraft Books Ltd, 2015, pp. 133-154. 42. Wollstonecraft, Mary. A Vindication of the Rights of Women. London, J. Johnsok, 1792. 43. Woolf, Virginia. A Room of One’s Own. London, Hogarth Press, 1929. 44. Worguji, Gloria Eme. “Male Child Syndrome in Selected Fictions of Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo”. New Perspectives on a Literary Enigma: Festschrift in Honour of Professor Theodora Akachi Adimora-Ezeigbo. Eds Emmanuel A Adedun and Onuora Benedict Nweke Ibadan, University Press, 2010. p.142. https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-1-issue-8-october-2019/ https://aipublisher.org/ajahss-volume-3-issue-1-January-2020/ 
work_3r7s3ff26bb6hp3ymfahpjabyu	----	Jane Austen Fan Fiction and the Situated Fantext The Example of Pamela Aidan’s Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman Veerle Van Steenhuyse 1 Universiteit Gent Building on recent findings in the field of fan fiction studies, I claim that Pamela Aidan’s Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman is indirectly influenced by three cultural phenomena which centre around Jane Austen and her work. Aidan’s fan fiction text stays close to the spirit of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice because she “reimagines” the novel according to the interpretive conventions of the Republic of Pemberley, a fan community. These conventions demand respect for Austen and her novels because they are shaped by the broader, cultural conventions of Janeitism and Austen criticism. Similarly, Aidan’s text is more individualistic and “Harlequinesque” than Austen’s novel, because the Republic allows writers to reproduce the cultural reading which underlies BBC / A&E’s adaptation of Austen’s novel. 1. Introduction Jane Austen has a fan base, and a creative one at that. For decades, her devotees have written stories on the basis of her fictional worlds— recounting what happened after Emma’s wedding, for example, or what might have taken place after Mr. Bennet’s death. Such narratives are instances of “fan fiction”: fiction written by and for fans, which is founded on the characters, settings, concepts, or plots of antecedent texts. These may be literary classics, like Austen’s novels, but more often they are non-canonical novels, Japanese anime and manga, video games, television shows, and films. Fans have published their stories in fanzines, letterzines, and other amateur forms of press since the 1930s, but with the rise of the Internet, the tradition exists on a considerably larger scale: the World Wide Web now houses millions of “fics,” posted by hundreds of thousands of writers (Coppa 2006a: 42-3; Sendlor 2011). Since Austen fan fiction has always been a niche phenomenon, it has received less academic attention than fan fiction based on media texts (such as the Star Trek franchise) or popular novels (such as the Harry Potter sequence) (Busse and Hellekson 2006: 17-24). As a consequence, Austen fan fiction sometimes jars with the “central readings and theoretical approaches” of fan fiction studies (17-8). 1 The author would like to thank Gert Buelens for his constructive and detailed comments on the drafts of this article and Jean Pierre Vander Motten for his supervision of the research on which it is based. Her current research project is supported by a PhD fellowship of the Research Foundation – Flanders (FWO). 2 Veerle Van Steenhuyse Many theorists have argued, for instance, that fans write in response to “the seemingly all-encompassing force of commercial media” (Busse and Hellekson 2006: 18; Parrish 2007: 57; e.g. Kustritz 2003: 373-4). This line of thinking has its roots in Henry Jenkins’s Textual Poachers (1992), an ethnographic study of media fans which builds on Michel de Certeau’s The Practice of Everyday Life (1984). Jenkins typifies fans as “textual poachers,” who “appropriate popular texts and reread them in a fashion that serves different interests” (23, 24). “Slash” fans, for example, can be said to commandeer the intellectual property of others because they reinterpret the sexual orientation of their favourite characters (Parrish 2007: 69; Jones 2006: 264) and write fan fiction from this “corrective” reading (Parrish 2007: 65). Juli J. Parrish has pointed out, however, that Jenkins’s metaphor does not apply to every form of fan fiction (69-70). This certainly holds true for Austen fan fiction. Janeites, as Austen fans are commonly known, know very well that their idol’s work is out of copyright and, therefore, “fair game” (Austen.com 2009b; Bowles 2003: 19). The poaching paradigm has been challenged in other ways, too. In “Canons and Fanons: Literary Fanfiction Online” (2007), Bronwen Thomas calls into question the poaching metaphor’s connotation of unbridled freedom. She points out that the creative licence of fan writers is typically restricted by interpretive conventions, which are created in a top-down and bottom-up fashion. While fan fiction sites “police the content submitted by users” according to specific contributor guidelines, users continually generate conventions of their own, by reviewing other texts and inserting details into their own fictions (Thomas 2007). Thomas supports this analysis with a study of the “Republic of Pemberley,” a website which, between 1997 and 2008, hosted an archive of Austen fan fiction. Writers were asked to set their fics in “the same historical era” as Austen’s novels, to present her characters “in a manner faithful to their original conception,” and to take their cue from “Jane Austen’s own sense of taste and humanity” (Pemberley.com 2003; cf. Pugh 2005: 37-9). At the same time, the site’s community developed conventions about the married life of the Darcys, and borrowed materials from the screen adaptations of Austen’s novels (Thomas 2007). While the Republic’s “critical apparatus” resembles that of most other fan fiction sites, its contributor guidelines are remarkably protective of Austen’s “legacy”. Considering this “respect for the source texts and their author,” and the “almost Leavisite tone” of the guidelines in question, Thomas concludes that the notion of literary canon, “not just as some kind of badge of quality, but also as guarantor of moral improvement and education,” still holds sway in the Austen fandom (Thomas 2007). This has some very interesting implications, which Thomas does not explore in depth. It implies that fan writers are not just influenced by fancultural constraints, such as the expectations of their readership or the “technological interfaces” they use (Stein and Busse 3 Veerle Van Steenhuyse 2009: 192; Stein 2006: 248-9), but also by broader, cultural conventions. The influence of these conventions should be discussed in greater detail and so this essay examines how they impact upon Pamela Aidan’s Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman, a rewrite of Pride and Prejudice, whose form is shaped by the complex system of practices, evaluations, and interpretations which surround Jane Austen and her work. This system is very extensive and diverse. Austen’s novels have held a secure place in high culture since the early twentieth century, inspiring a wealth of reviews, books, essays, and other forms of academic discourse (Kaplan 2005). Unlike many canonical texts, moreover, Austen’s work has a rich history in popular culture, where it has inspired numerous adaptations, completions, and sequels, as well as Jane Austen Societies, fan sites, and merchandise (Macdonald and Macdonald 2003: 1; Breuer 2000; Thompson 2008). Her work has generated several clusters of interpretations, values, physical and discursive practices, products and social structures, associated with particular groups of people and labelled as “high” or “popular”. Aidan’s text bears traces of three such clusters, having been informed, firstly, by the practices of Janeitism, secondly, by the value system of Austen criticism, and finally, by the interpretation of BBC/A&E’s 1995 production of Pride and Prejudice. This influence is not as straightforward as it may seem, however, since cultural conventions, whether highbrow or popular, are swept up in the process of fan writing, and its incessant interplay of “canon,” “fantext,” and creativity. 2. Writing Fan Fiction: Constraint and Negotiation 2.1 Canon and Creativity In “Brownian Motion: Women, Tactics, and Technology” (1991), Constance Penley offers an alternative view of the relationship between fan writers and their source texts. While Henry Jenkins’s fans “take something from a private cultural preserve,” Penley’s “reimagine the preserve itself” (Parrish 2007: 67-8). In fandom, a fan writer’s preserve, or source text, is known as her “canon” (Busse and Hellekson 2006: 9). This concept is related to canon in its common usage. Just as the Western canon comprises the pillars of Western culture, or rather, what a community believes those pillars to be, a fan writer’s canon comprises every event a group of fans accepts as “real” or authorised. This is where the similarity ends, however. Fans do not limit their canon to “great” works of art; indeed, they tend to draw on works which are excluded from the Western canon 2 (Thomas 2007). 2 This implies that, while there is only one “canon” in Western culture, there are many “canons” in fandom. This is reflected in the term’s usage, both in academic and fannish circles. While “Western canon” is invariably used with a definite article, its fannish equivalent is used in a plural form (e.g. “closed canons”—Pugh 2005: 27; Parrish 2007: 28; Fanlore.com 2011b), with an indefinite article (e.g. “a closed canon”—Pugh 2005: 26; Parrish 2007: 70, 151; Fanlore.com), with a definite article (e.g. “In the case of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the canon includes . . . ”—Parrish 4 Veerle Van Steenhuyse Penley’s characterisation highlights two aspects of canon. On the one hand, it presents the fan writer’s source text as a framework within which fans are creative. In effect, source texts tend to provide the “universe, setting, and characters” of a fan fiction text, while fans weave in events of their own creation (Busse and Hellekson 2006: 9). Fan writers share their enthusiasm for the source text with a “fandom,” a group of fans assembled around a specific object of interest (Parrish 2007: 26). These fans may disagree on what is canonical and what is not. In many of today’s literary fandoms, such as Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, a fan writer’s canon can include any configuration of novels, screen adaptations, “and even interviews and comments made by the authors” (Thomas 2007; Busse and Hellekson 2006: 9-10). The preferences of fan writers can be very apparent in the fan fiction they produce and, indeed, in the fandom itself. In the Austen fandom, for example, there is a rift between fans who base their stories primarily on the adaptations and fans who “focus principally on the books” because the latter “claim some intellectual superiority over the first group” (Thompson 2008). On the other hand, Penley’s characterisation indicates that fan writers rewrite the source text. Henry Jenkins has stressed that fan writers use canon as a jumping point for their own creative efforts (Jenkins 2008b; cf. Thomas 2006: 227, Parrish 2007: 32). Fan texts, he believes, are ultimately grounded in “negative capability,” by which he means gaps and details in the source text which invite readers to use their own imagination 3 (Jenkins 2008a; cf. Pugh 2005: 41). Jenkins distinguishes five such elements, including holes (events which are not narrated, but which must have happened), silences (elements which appear to be excluded for ideological reasons), and potentials (elements which suggest how the narrative could have continued or, I would add, how it could have taken an alternative course) (Jenkins 2008b). Fans appear to have a predilection for negative capability which relates to characters and their relationships (Jenkins, 2008b; cf. Coppa 2006b: 229). To some extent, fan writers withdraw these from canon as they would artefacts from an archive (cf. Derecho 2006: 65). They treat characters as “complex creations complete with physical descriptions, histories,” and “personalities” (Kaplan 2006: 135; Pugh 2005: 70-1, 65-6). At the same time, however, they accept that there is room for debate. A source character’s personality is largely a matter of interpretation, as is his exact eye colour, his background, or his relationship with other people. Faced 2007: 28; Pugh 2005: 27), and, perhaps most strikingly, without an article (e.g. “without contradicting canon” (Pugh 2005: 26), “any departure from canon,” “adherence to canon” (Parrish 2007: 33), and a detail “easily inferred in canon” (Fanlore.com 2011b)). In addition, the term is used as an adjective, interchangeably with “canonical” (e.g. a character “is canon”—Parrish 2007: 32; Fanlore.com 2011b). 3 Jenkins has drawn “negative capability” from the work of John Keats, but he uses it in a completely different sense. While Keats understands “negative capability” as the ability to be “in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact & reason” (qtd. in Jenkins 2008a), Jenkins relates it to an “encyclopedic impulse” on the reader’s part, i.e. a desire to “know all of the details of a favorite story” (Jenkins 2008a). 5 Veerle Van Steenhuyse with these obscurities, fan writers tend to reproduce the reading they prefer, while they weave in “all kinds of argumentation” to defend their interpretation (Jenkins 2008b; Kaplan 2006: 151). Fans, then, may respond to a text’s negative capability by filling its gaps. According to Sheenagh Pugh, this response is the hallmark of fans who want “more of” canon (42). These fans are reluctant to leave the universe of their choice and create additional material to prolong the experience (42-3). They may fill Jenkins’s “holes,” for example, with stories called “missing scenes”—stories which recount “incidents, conversations, interactions that take place within the timescale of canon and are compatible with canon, that might have happened and in some cases must have happened, but which are not seen on the page or the screen” (57). Fans can also want “more from” canon, however (Pugh 2005: 42). In that case, they feel that their canon is not “perfect or fully realised,” and see “possibilities in it which were never explored as they might have been” (43). This response may result in stories which depart from canon. These may be corrective to a greater or a lesser degree. Some fans set out to correct annoying parts of canon, such as Jenkins’s “silences,” or write with another agenda in mind. Others simply find it enjoyable to realise the “potentials” of characters, relationships, and events (Jenkins 2008a). A fan’s departures may likewise be more or less extreme. This is indicated by the double meaning of “alternate universe,” a term used in fandom to describe stories which feature source characters but take place in a different universe than the canonical one. This universe may be entirely different (for example, when characters are dropped into a different time period) or practically identical to canon (Fanlore.com 2011a). Pugh has argued that a missing scene becomes an alternate universe story the moment it seems illogical that later canonical action follows from it (63). By this view, a story in which Elizabeth believes a warning about Wickham earlier in the story, and changes her behaviour toward Darcy, is an alternate universe story, while a story in which she dismisses such a warning is a missing scene (63-4). Whether fans reproduce most of their source text, however, or rewrite it almost entirely, they always adhere to and diverge from canon. After all, fan stories must refer to a source text to qualify as fan fiction, but they must also diverge from it to be worth telling (Parrish 2007: 34, 138). Fan fiction, then, is always shaped by the interplay of canon and individual creativity. 2.2 Creativity in a Community Context Fan fiction texts are not usually produced in a vacuum. As Louisa Stein and Kristina Busse note, many fans, “especially those who choose to share their work with other fans, are aware of and engage with already existing fan communities and traditions during their creative process” 6 Veerle Van Steenhuyse (196). Fan communities are, quite literally, groups of fans who interact socially, for example on blogs, forums, mailing lists, and bulletin boards (Parrish 2007: 26). These communities may assemble around a very narrow field of interest. Increasingly, for example, they are devoted to particular ‘ships, i.e. romantic pairings of source characters (Parrish 2007: 86; Busse and Hellekson 2006: 15). Fan communities are also interpretive communities, in Stanley Fish’s sense of the word (Stein and Busse 2009: 197; Costello and Moore 2007: 126). Their members tend to share particular “interpretations and interpretive strategies” when it comes to the source text (Stein and Busse 2009: 197). If a community centres around a particular ‘ship, for example, its members will “agree on the centrality of particular events, characteristics, and interpretations that support their favored romantic pairing” (Stein and Busse 2009: 197). The members of a Star Trek community may agree, for instance, to interpret the interactions of Kirk and Spock in a romantic light. In that case, they agree to reread the source text in a similar way. Because fan writers are aware of these interpretive conventions, and know that their readership is aware of them too, a community’s preferred reading of the source text acts as an additional constraint (Stein 2006: 248). This restriction is created very gradually. I have noted that fan fiction texts contain a wealth of fan-made materials, which supplement or contradict canon. These additions may become “generally accepted and used by other writers” in the community (Pugh 2005: 41; Thomas 2007), to the extent that certain details, tropes, and plot elements become cliché (Marley 2003). This fannish canon is known as the community’s “fanon” (Busse and Hellekson 2006: 9). This fanon is never carved in stone, however. Fans can always voice their opinion in reviews, conversations, and, indeed, in fics of their own (Parrish 2007: 105). As a result, community conventions are always a “work in progress” (Busse and Hellekson 2006: 6, 7; Pugh 2005: 222). Because the term “fanon” can have negative connotations in fandom (Driscoll 2006: 90), a related concept serves better. By reading, writing, and reviewing fics, fans constantly add to the “fantext” of their fandom, i.e. “the entirety of stories and critical commentary written in a fandom (or even in a pairing or genre)” (Busse and Hellekson 2006: 7). Because each community produces texts from particular readings, this fantext contains “multitudes of interpretations of characters and canon scenes,” which are “contradictory yet complementary to one another and the source text” (Busse and Hellekson 2006: 7; Kaplan 2006: 137). The interpretive conventions of fan communities, then, can be typified as “fantextual” conventions. The influence of this fantext can be enormous, as a fan’s “understanding of the source is always already filtered through the interpretations and characterizations” that it contains (Busse and Hellekson 2007: 7). Since the advent of the Internet, however, it has become increasingly difficult to trace the finer points of this impact in fan fiction texts. Before the 1990s, “fandom was a face-to-face 7 Veerle Van Steenhuyse proposition”: fans socialised and distributed their fan fiction in fan clubs and on conventions (13). They were introduced to the fandom, moreover, through a process of enculturation (13; Karpovich 2006: 178). This made it relatively easy for communities to uphold a number of rules, also with respect to fan fiction. Fan writers could be instructed, for example, not to write “real person slash”—slash fiction about real people rather than characters (Busse and Hellekson 2006: 13). This is difficult to achieve in an online environment. Fan writers no longer depend on fan communities to get their work published, while “lurkers” can get hold of fan fiction “without interacting with other fans” (13). As a result, writers can have a readership even if their texts go against the guidelines of particular communities. Indeed, it has become easier to find like-minded fans as technologies became more advanced. ListServs, newsgroups, bulletin boards, and blogs have allowed fans to discuss topics more efficiently, and to assemble around specific fields of interest (13-5). As a consequence, today’s fandoms are splintered “into nearly innumerable factions,” devoted to different “stories, styles, or pairings” (15). This increased fragmentation has made it easier for fans to avoid fics which are not to their taste (15). At the same time, “online fanfic libraries” have collected stories from all over fandom, and made it possible for readers to search them on such details as the presence or absence of particular characters or even of “happy endings” (Pugh 2005: 229). As a result, prospective fan writers are no longer “enculturated” by a particular community (Karpovich 2006: 186; Parrish 2007: 24-5), but infer standards and expectations from a wide range of stories, be it in the style or pairing they are interested in. The process whereby fans negotiate fantextual conventions, then, has become increasingly difficult to follow. 3. Contextualising the Fantext While several theorists have discussed the fantext and its role in the process of fan writing, few have considered the cultural context in which that fantext is embedded. I believe, however, that the boundaries between fantext and context become blurred in the process of fan writing—especially in the Austen fandom. I will demonstrate this with Pamela Aidan’s Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman. This fan fiction text needs to be understood against the background I have just outlined. An Internet fic, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman was posted in instalments between 1997 and 2005. This is no coincidence. Though Aidan had been a fan of Pride and Prejudice since secondary school, she only became fascinated by Mr. Darcy after she watched BBC/A&E’s 1995 adaptation of the novel, which starred Colin Firth as Darcy (Aidan 2006b: 252). Because Aidan “could not get enough of the film,” she went in search of “more” on the Internet (Irene 2007). She discovered a number of sites devoted to Jane Austen and the BBC/A&E adaptation, becoming most “appreciative of 8 Veerle Van Steenhuyse The Republic of Pemberley (pemberley.com) and The Derbyshire Writer’s Guild (austen.com)” (sic) (Aidan 2006d: 286). To satisfy her craving, Aidan started reading fan fiction, which she found in the sites’ archives (Irene 2007). Because few fics actually told the story “in real time from Darcy’s point of view,” however, Aidan decided to write such a story herself (Irene 2007). She started posting it on the two sites I mentioned, on Austenesque, and on Firthness.com (Aidan 2009; Aidan 2006b: 247). Once completed, her text comprised three parts: At An Assembly Such As This, Duty and Desire, and These Three Remain 4 . Aidan received feedback throughout her creative process (Irene 2007). These reviews showed her that she “could depart from Austen, sometimes in some very shocking ways, and still not only keep [her] readership but get them to agree to the twists [she] was giving the story” (Aidan 2009). In the following, I will consider these departures in light of three cultural phenomena: the practices of Janeitism, the value system of Austen criticism, and the preferred reading which underlies the BBC/A&E adaptation. I will argue that although Aidan seems to negotiate little more than the contributor guidelines of the Republic of Pemberley, she also reproduces three conventions which underlie the Republic’s policy. I will argue that her staying close to the spirit of Austen’s text is attuned to the interests of Janeitism, on the one hand, and the highbrow notion that Jane Austen is a canonical author, on the other. Similarly, her portrayal of Darcy is grounded in the idea that Pride and Prejudice is individualistic and romantic—a reading made particularly popular by BBC/A&E’s 1995 production of the novel. 3.1 Fidelity to Canon Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice has as much negative capability as any other source text. Her novel can be reread, for example, from the idea that Darcy and George Wickham have feelings for each other. Similarly, it is possible to offer a sobering perspective on Austen’s world, if one adopts the viewpoint of the men, “servants, traders and workers who are present but silent in her books” (Pugh 2005: 195). Although Aidan adopts Mr. Darcy’s viewpoint, however, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman does not offer such a perspective on Pride and Prejudice. As I will demonstrate, Aidan stays relatively close to Austen’s text, departing from the letter of the novel, but staying true to the spirit of it. Notably, Aidan uses Austen’s novel, rather than its adaptation, as her primary point of reference. This preference is particularly clear when the series departs from Austen, staging scenes differently (cf. Aidan 2006a: 6-7; Austen 4 Aidan eventually decided to publish the series, keeping most of the original text intact (Aidan 2009). An Assembly Such As This appeared in 2003, Duty and Desire in 2004, and These Three Remain in 2005. All three books were removed from their original locations, but they can still be retrieved with the Wayback Machine (from Austen.com). The title of At An Assembly Such As This was ultimately changed to An Assembly Such As This. Similarly, the trilogy’s title was changed from The Chronicles of Pemberley to Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman. 9 Veerle Van Steenhuyse 2003: 13-4; I.2 5 ), for example, or leaving them out entirely (Aidan 2006a: 65-8; Austen 2003: 25). Aidan does not lift events (Aidan 2006a: 1; I.2) or dialogue (Aidan 2006a: 3; I.2) from the series as she does from Austen, although, as I shall discuss in greater detail below, some of her additions are clearly influenced by it. In essence, Aidan supports everything Austen mentions about Darcy. This amounts to snippets of information, such as the ones provided by Austen’s narrator (e.g. Austen 2003: 18, 12), and a brief account of Darcy’s past, which he gives to Elizabeth in the novel’s final chapters (Austen 2003: 346-351, 359-361). These details are “embodied” in Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman: they underlie Aidan’s version of the source text’s events, and the events of her own invention. In the following excerpt, for example, Darcy follows “good principles” in “pride and conceit” (Austen 2003: 349) during and after his first meeting with Charles Bingley: It was just this exuberance of character that had made Charles the object of several cruel jokes among the more sophisticated young gentlemen in Town and had been the means of bringing him to Darcy’s notice. Unwillingly privy to the planning of one such humiliation conducted during a game of cards at his club, he had heard enough to disgust him and form the resolve to seek out the unfortunate youth and warn him away from those he had thought his friends. To Darcy’s surprise, what had started as Christian duty became a satisfying friendship. Charles had come far since his first visit to Town, but there were still moments, like the present, when Darcy despaired of ever cultivating in him a proper reserve. (Aidan 2006a: 2- 3) Here, Darcy knows that it is right to warn Bingley, but he does not see how overbearing it is to instruct his friend in “proper reserve”. Aidan confirms this paradox in Darcy’s character throughout her trilogy, by writing out his thoughts and feelings (for example, about the Darcy name—Aidan 2007a: 26) and by adding a number of missing scenes (such as his adventures at Norwycke Castle—Aidan 2007a: 49). This does not mean that Aidan is not creative. Her additions are always coloured by her preferred reading of Darcy’s behaviour, person, and transformation. While Austen’s Darcy separates Bingley and Jane because he does not see any symptoms of love on her side (Austen 2003: 192), for example, Aidan’s Darcy cannot believe that Jane Bennet is sincere in her regard for Bingley because of his own experiences with Wickham (Aidan 2006a: 17-8) and scheming society women (56). Similarly, Aidan’s Darcy is a man of the world, who is confronted with such matters as the Luddite movement (Aidan 2006c: 19) and the “Irish 5 I have numbered the scenes according to the scene selection on the DVD (Langton 2001). The Roman numerals refer to episodes. 10 Veerle Van Steenhuyse Question” (Aidan 2007a: 180-1)—historical facts which Austen systematically excludes from her work (Irene 2007). Finally, Aidan weaves in her own reading of Darcy’s transformation. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman is meant to solve a specific question: “how did Fitzwilliam Darcy change so dramatically between the opening pages of the book and his reacquaintance with Elizabeth at Pemberley, a change not only in his inner man, but one that carries him to great personal acts of charity involving a man he has every reason to hate?” (Aidan 2007b: 446). In answer to this question, Aidan describes how Darcy rediscovers his faith. In Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman, Darcy’s response to Wickham’s deceit is partly presented through conversations with religious characters, such as Mrs. Annesley (Aidan 2006c: 44-5) and Georgiana (Aidan 2007a: 220- 5). These dialogues show that Darcy is unable to consider Wickham’s deception in terms of Providence (Aidan 2006c: 44-5). As a result, he cannot “pity” the “natural frailty” of his enemy, let alone help him to overcome it (Aidan 2006c: 3-4). In a number of missing scenes, set before his visit to Rosings, Darcy is tempted to deny the workings of Providence (Aidan 2006c: 208-9) and confronted with his (unchristian) desire for revenge (Aidan 2006c: 272, 280; Aidan 2007a: 4, 9). This confrontation is key to his development. Faced with “the dark depths in his heart,” Darcy has to admit that he is not as gentlemanly as he once wanted become and, later on, that there might be some truth in Elizabeth’s “epithets” (156). Encouraged by Georgiana, he learns to see Elizabeth’s refusal as providential, and tries to change, with the help of “a newborn compassion joined with determined practice” (267). Although his further development is shaped by Elizabeth’s reproofs (252), just as his actions are inspired by her distress and his feeling responsible for it (369, 374-5), the “good principles” Darcy rediscovers in Aidan’s trilogy are actually Christian principles: he learns to do the right thing by his enemy (360), as well as his friends, his peers, his family, and, indeed, Elizabeth. These examples show that Pamela Aidan negotiates the constraints of her canon without violating the guidelines of the Republic of Pemberley. Although she departs from the letter of Pride and Prejudice, her text ultimately supports the novel, with “Jane Austen’s characters behaving as she wrote them in scenes we might wish she had an opportunity to write herself” (Pemberley.com 2003). Aidan’s tendency to fill gaps, rather than make them, is not exceptional in the Austen fandom. Jane Austen’s writing has long been acclaimed for its economy. Indeed, modernist authors like Virginia Woolf used her work in a “campaign against the over-decorated gushiness of Victorian fiction” (Lynch 1996: 174), holding up her novels as “the compact ideal that women’s novels of the future” should try to attain (173). Many fans respond to this economy in a “more of” fashion. Some work out the “love scenes” Austen left out (Pugh 2005: 60) or rendered “in reported speech or paraphrase” (60). Others simply “spell out emotions where Austen herself did not choose 11 Veerle Van Steenhuyse to” (60) or write out missing scenes “among the male characters and minor characters” (61). Still others are inspired by Austen’s “non- endings” and write sequels (O’Connell 2000; Pugh 2005: 47). Considering that the Republic is an online community, it is remarkable that so many fan writers chose to stay true to the spirit of Austen’s work (cf. Pugh 2005: 37-8). It is impossible for one online community to control everything that is written in a fandom; and this is also true of the responses to Austen. Two of the four sites which accepted Pamela Aidan’s story had, and still maintain, a different editorial policy than the Republic of Pemberley. The largest of these, the Derbyshire Writers’ Guild, shares many contributor guidelines with the Republic, but it is more tolerant of alternate universe stories set in Austen’s universe. In addition, the site archives “modern stories, time-shifted stories, stories with fanciful elements,” and “more irreverent stories” (Austen.com 2009a; O’Connell 2000). Firthness, a smaller site, is even less prescriptive and accepts “adult fanfic” 6 (Pugh 2005: 246). These communities give fans the chance to get “more from” Austen, within certain limits. Like Bronwen Thomas, I believe that the Republic’s popularity, in spite of these alternative possibilities, is due to Austen’s status as a canonical author. I wish to contend, however, that the Republic’s heritage is far more complex than Thomas has suggested. To fully understand the fantextual conventions of the Republic, one needs to understand the particulars and the history of its cultural context. This context was shaped by Janeites, on the one hand, and Austen critics, on the other. 3.1.1 Janeitism “Janeitism” can be defined as the “self-consciously idolatrous enthusiasm for ‘Jane’ and every detail relative to her” (Johnson 1997: 211). It first appeared in “the last two decades of the nineteenth century” (211). This was mainly due to J. E. Austen-Leigh’s A Memoir of Jane Austen (1870), in which her nephew gives a “familial, insider’s view of the novelist” (Lynch 2005: 112; Johnson 1997: 211). However, Austen’s popularity also benefited from Richard Bentley’s “deluxe Steventon Edition of Jane Austen’s Work” (1882) (Johnson 1997: 211) and from the appearance of cheaper editions of her work (1883 and later) (211). By the early twentieth century, Janeitism was widespread among the day’s “publishers, professors, and literati” (213). Apart from Caroline Spurgeon, a lone female Janeite, Austen’s champions included Montague Summers, A. C. Bradley, Lord David Cecil, Walter Raleigh, R. W. Chapman, and E. M. Forster (Johnson 1997: 213-4). Assembled in reading communities like the Royal Society of Literature (Lynch 2005: 115; Johnson 1997: 214), these enthusiasts transgressed “the dogmas 6 To some extent, this is the case because of the site’s demographic. Both the Republic of Pemberley and the Derbyshire Writers’ Guild ban adult fiction from their archives because some of their members are still minors (Pemberley.com 2007; Austen.com 2009b). 12 Veerle Van Steenhuyse later instituted by professional academics presiding over the emergent field of novel studies,” for example by talking “about characters as if they were real people” or by speculating “upon their lives before, after, or outside the text itself” (Johnson 1997: 214). Janeitism fell into disrepute, however, as novel studies became institutionalised. To be a Janeite slowly became synonymous with being a fan—a term which has, from the first, carried similar connotations of enthusiasm, but in a negative sense (Jenkins 1992: 12). Interestingly, modern-day Janeites take an approach to Jane Austen and her works which is very similar to that of their predecessors, even though they are now predominantly female (Johnson 1997: 222-3; Lynch 2005: 115). According to Deidre Lynch, Austen still “fosters in her readers, as most other literary giants do not, the devotion and fantasies of personal access” we now associate with “the fan” (Lynch 2005: 111). Claudia L. Johnson has noted, moreover, that Janeites still want to know as much as possible about “Janean” artefacts, ranging from “balls” and “picnics” to “Addison’s disease” and “petty-theft” (Johnson 1997: 223). Finally, it is still a “common Janeite game” to imagine “how a character in one novel might behave towards a character in another,” or to speculate “how the novels might continue after the wedding” (223). The Republic of Pemberley seems to cater to these interests. While its contributor guidelines ensure that fans respect Jane Austen and her work, its boards provide general information about her life and times, and its archive of fan fiction satisfies cravings for “more of” (Pemberley.com 2009). The reverent tone of the Republic’s guidelines (Thomas 2007), then, appears to be part of a broader discourse, inspired by the site’s cultural context. 3.1.2 Austen criticism Claudia L. Johnson has noted that “Austen’s novels hold a secure place in the canon of high as well as popular culture” (Johnson 1997: 224). They have, in other words, “a popular audience and an academic one” (Lynch 2005: 113) 7 . This divide in Austen’s readership dates back to the mid-twentieth century (Kramp 2007: 151), when “the New Criticism” established a “reformed” field of “English studies in the American university” (Brown 1996: 12). Mainly due to Ian Watt’s The Rise of the Novel (1957), this reformation had a particularly great impact on novel studies 8 . Most importantly, it became accepted that to study the novel was to study a number of formal features which supposedly characterised the 7 Of course, it is possible that these two groups overlap, considering that book-based fan sites tend to be even “more literate” (Pugh 2005: 121) than those of media fandoms, the writers of which have always had a high standard of education (Coppa 2006: 45; Pugh 2005: 130, 131). However, “academic” fans tend to behave differently according to the situation they are in (Parrish 2007: 51-2). 8 Written mainly to solicit the attention of New Critics (Brown 1996: 34), Watt’s Rise emphasises the novel’s “formal realism” and lays its origins in the mid-eighteenth century (Hunter 1990: 7; Brown 1996: 32). Although his thesis has been questioned ever since (Hunter 1990: 7), it held considerable sway at contemporary American universities (Brown 1996: 32). 13 Veerle Van Steenhuyse genre (Hunter 1990: 29-30). Both Watt and the New Critics treated Austen as a “pivotal figure” in the history of this form (Brown 1996: 34), because her work appeared to merge “Fieldingesque and Richardsonian novelistic modes” (15). Because novels, however, still “lacked the cultural prestige of poetry and drama,” Austen scholars felt the need to distinguish themselves from non-academic, Janeite readers (Johnson 1997: 221; Hunter 1990: 29). After all, “so long as novels were believed to be about characters, novel studies could seem to be species of gossip of precisely the sort in which Janeites delight” (Johnson 1997: 221). To “consolidate” their authority, this “new professerate” began to develop a different way of reading Austen, creating some of the dogmas still in use today (213). Modernist authors, such as Virginia Woolf, had already praised Austen’s economy and restraint and portrayed her as “a prim and passionless authoress” (Lynch 1996: 175), whose “stiff upper lip” would become the trademark of every “modern Englishwoman” (176). This version of the author was subsequently professed by Q. D. and F. R. Leavis, who adjusted it to include Austen’s satirical eye, with which she was said to embark on a “historical mission, which was to target those novels (sentimental fiction in the juvenilia; Gothic romance in Northanger Abbey) which give the novel a bad name” (184). Janeites were eventually attacked from this perspective. In 1940, D. W. Harding claimed that “Austen’s ‘books are . . . read and enjoyed by precisely the sort of people whom she disliked’ ” (qtd. in Johnson 1997: 213; George 2007: 35). Since then, many “professional scholars, whose claim to prestige is validated by their vocation’s protocols of dispassion and objectivity,” have similarly been bothered by “amateur cultures of Austenian appreciation—because they are associated with, variously, unbecoming levity, sentimentality, a determination to integrate fiction into life or a conservative nostalgia” (Lynch 2005: 118). Interestingly, there is a similar “divide” between theorists and fans of popular culture, such as film scholars and cinephiles (Hills 2002: 3-6). Considering this tension, Matt Hills has pointed out that although academics approach their object of study in an “objective” way, they have an admiration and respect for it which is not dissimilar to that of fans (4-5). The Republic of Pemberley’s respect for Austen’s work, then, may also be due to the fact that her novels have received academic attention. 3.2 Individualism and “Harlequinisation” I have argued that the Republic of Pemberley, in general, and Pamela Aidan, in particular, seek to preserve Austen’s fictional world as much as possible, because Jane Austen is generally considered to be an admirable, canonical author. It is interesting to note, then, that the Republic actually originated as “a support group for people addicted to” the BBC/A&E production of Pride and Prejudice (Pemberley.com 2007). This adaptation 14 Veerle Van Steenhuyse outstrips many others in terms of “distribution and mass appeal” (Kaplan 2005). An immediate hit, it “attracted at least 10 million viewers when it was first serialized on British television in 1995 (and before it was broadcast in more than 40 other countries)” (Kaplan 2005). This had a considerable impact on the book market, with Penguin selling “430,000 copies of Pride and Prejudice in the year after the serial was first broadcast” (Kaplan 2005). A product of this Austenmania, the Republic has always honoured its “gushing roots, and the Austen-for-the-masses feel that a demonstrative love of the adaptations brings to the site” (Pemberley.com 2007). I believe that Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman is shaped by this loophole in the Republic’s editorial policy. Pugh has argued that “[f]or many who have read the book, Davies’ adaptation has added something to their understanding of the characters” (22, 70). This is certainly the case for Aidan, who began to see Darcy in a different light after she watched the adaptation. While she had found Darcy’s character “sketchy” and “unlikable” in Austen’s novel, Colin Firth’s performance “brought to the fore intriguing suggestions of who Darcy might really be” (Aidan 2006b: 252). The adaptation’s influence is most obvious, perhaps, in Aidan’s descriptions of Darcy. When Colin Firth accepted the part of Austen’s romantic lead, he knew he would “have to get together a very lively, dynamic, varied performance and then not act it,” because “nobody ever knows quite what Darcy’s thinking” (Firth, qtd. in Birtwistle and Conklin 1995: 99-100). To hint at this inner turmoil, Firth developed a distinct “physical vocabulary” (Cherly Nixon, qtd. in Belton 2003: 187). Aidan has incorporated elements of this vocabulary in her text. Both in the series and the trilogy, for example, Darcy twists his ring when he is uncomfortable (IV.24, Aidan 2006a: 34, 96; 2007a: 32) and turns away to look out the window when he wants to keep his reactions and thoughts to himself (VI.33; Aidan 2007a: 34, 58, 391). This suggests that Aidan’s reading of Pride and Prejudice is influenced by the BBC/A&E adaptation. In fact, one could argue that it functions as an additional source of information—as a secondary canon. Aidan’s portrayal of Darcy is also shaped, however, by the preferred reading which underlies the adaptation. Even though the BBC/A&E series is hailed for its faithfulness to the novel (Belton 2003: 186; George 2007: 35), several theorists have shown that it actually “creates the illusion of fidelity to the original by presenting an interpretation of Austen’s narrative that is also attuned to the sensibilities of a 1995 audience” (Belton 2003: 186; cf. Margolis 2003: 34-5). Ellen Belton has argued, quite convincingly, that this interpretation is grounded in the “late twentieth-century assumption that the needs and desires of the individual take precedence over other values” (194). The 1995 audience, in other words, wanted “Elizabeth to have it all” (187)—and that includes a lover who sees her “as an independent subject” (191). Because of the “cultural acceptance of the idea of the New Age Man,” Austen’s 15 Veerle Van Steenhuyse Darcy needed to be softened and romanticised (187, 193). The adaptation achieves this by highlighting the way he takes into account Elizabeth’s “feelings and wishes,” after he has disregarded them so blatantly before his first proposal (191). As I shall demonstrate, this lays the 1995 production open to a charge of “Harlequinization” (Margolis 23, 37): it creates a chemistry between Darcy and Elizabeth which resembles the sexual tension of a Harlequin romance novel 9 . Aidan’s picture of Darcy is very similar, as it is both individualistic and “Harlequinesque”. The first is exemplified by the trilogy’s ending. While Austen ends her novel with “a careful discrimination among relationships and a weighing of personal inclinations against moral and social obligations” (Belton 2003: 186), the final lines of Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman read: Sweeping up her other hand, Darcy brought both to his heart. She was his; he was hers. He was in want of nothing more. ‘Elizabeth,’ he whispered. She looked up into his eyes. ‘Dearest loveliest Elizabeth.’ (Aidan 2007a: 437) This conclusion clearly focuses on Darcy’s needs, and Darcy’s needs alone. Like the series, which ends with a kiss, Aidan’s ending suggests that individual happiness is more important than other considerations (Belton 2003: 186). Aidan’s Darcy is also more Harlequinesque than Austen’s, because she reproduces some of the series’ changes. To make visible Darcy’s evolution, the BBC/A&E adaptation builds on the “looks, glances, and facial expressions” with which Austen tried to say what could not be spoken (Belton 2003: 187). Although Elizabeth is still the main focaliser of the story, Darcy is occasionally “given the floor”. This alternating focalisation makes it “a story about Elizabeth and Darcy, rather than a story about Elizabeth” (Andrew Davies, qtd. in Birtwistle and Conklin 1995: 4). Most importantly, the progress of their relationship “is charted through a movement from sidelong glances to direct contemplation to mutual admiration” (Belton 2003: 190). This gives the couple’s interactions “a powerful erotic charge” (Lisa Hopkins, qtd. in Belton 2003: 188), which is emphasised by a number of “anachronistic alterations pertaining to sexuality” (Margolis 2003: 34). While Austen’s Darcy meets Elizabeth at Pemberley, for example, looking like “he was . . . that moment alighted from his horse or his carriage” (Austen 2003: 242), Firth’s Darcy has just taken a swim in the Pemberley lake (IV.23). Aidan does not include such “anachronistic alterations” in her story. True to form, she uses Austen’s novel as her primary source text, refusing to draw on the series or on her own imagination if the latter 9 Outside of the United States, these novels are commonly known as Mills and Boon novels. The typical Harlequin or Mills and Boon novel tells the love story of a beautiful young woman and a handsome man, who get married after many difficulties. The genre is also notorious, however, for its erotic content (Morrissey 2008: 11, 24, 29). 16 Veerle Van Steenhuyse provides an alternative. Instead, she incorporates Darcy’s side of the “regard” in her story (having him observe Elizabeth’s behaviour to assess her state of mind) and emphasises it by means of close character focalisation. This appears, for example, when you compare the accounts Austen and Aidan give of Darcy and Elizabeth’s meeting at Pemberley: They were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was his appearance, that it was impossible to avoid his sight. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush. He absolutely started, and for a moment seemed immovable from surprise; but shortly recovering himself, advanced towards the party, and spoke to Elizabeth, if not in terms of perfect composure, at least of perfect civility. (Austen 240-1) As [Darcy] took a step backward, one of the ladies turned, her eyes coming to rest full upon him. The light in them struck him like a bolt. Elizabeth! My God, Elizabeth? Every nerve in his body came alive, yet he seemed unable to command them to any purposeful action. Elizabeth—here! The truth of it raced through him, yet his mind reeled into denial. How could it be? But it must be; for there she stood not twenty yards away, her lovely eyes wide in surprise and then turned from him as a blush suffused her cheeks. An answering heat flushed his face as he searched for a sign, and indication of how he should approach her. None came, and she remained a picture of beautiful confusion. That he must relieve her anxiety was his only thought; he must be the one to make a beginning. Willing his limbs forward, he went to her. (Aidan 2007a: 273) Like most fan writers, Aidan uses a “relatively transparent style of prose conducive to an immersive reading experience” (Coppa 2006b: 240). What makes Aidan’s style transparent and visual is the amount of detail she uses. In line with Darcy and Elizabeth’s meeting in the series (IV.23), Aidan pays particular attention to the look Elizabeth and Darcy share; however, she also gives a detailed description of Darcy’s physical behaviour (“took a step backward”) and sensations (“like a bolt,” “every nerve in his body came alive,” “heat”), his observations (“her lovely eyes wide in surprise”), and his thoughts (“Elizabeth! My God, Elizabeth?”). In this respect, Aidan departs from Austen. Jane Austen adds information about “contextual cues, setting, and paralinguistic cues of character behavior” (Thomas 2006: 231) to her text, but she uses such references sparingly. Aidan, in contrast, adds enough information to make explicit her interpretation of the scene. In this excerpt, her attention to “nonverbal” detail suggests that Darcy is infatuated with Elizabeth. Aidan does this throughout the trilogy. While her Darcy constantly registers the sounds, smells, textures, and sights of his environment, he displays a heightened awareness of Elizabeth. This is 17 Veerle Van Steenhuyse the case when he sees her (e.g. Aidan 2006a: 155-6; 2007a: 47, 389), (nearly) touches her (Aidan 2006a: 63; Aidan 2007a: 300), smells her (Aidan 2006a: 114; Aidan 2007a: 27, 299), or even thinks of her (Aidan 2006c: 108; Aidan 2007a: 51, 64, 281). I believe this adds a layer of unresolved sexual tension to Aidan’s trilogy, which resembles that of the series. Aidan’s use of close character focalisation adds a layer of unresolved sexual tension, much as “anachronistic alterations” do in the series. However, close character focalisation also allows Aidan to bring together a wide range of different readings. Deborah Kaplan has remarked that “close character focalization” is quite common in “relationship-based” fics, especially if the pairing is not supported by canon, because it is particularly suited to defend an interpretation (2006: 139). Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman is such a “fictional essay,” too, but one that resonates with a wide range of readings. 4. Conclusion Pamela Aidan’s Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman is shaped by the interplay of canon, fantext, and creativity. This interplay, however, also takes place in a rich cultural context. My case study suggests that Austen fans negotiate the cultural readings which circulate in this context on two interrelated levels: on the micro-level of the fan fiction text and on the macro-level of the fantext. I have traced the impact of three such readings from the micro-level of Aidan’s trilogy to the macro-level of the Republic of Pemberley’s fantextual conventions. First, I have pointed out that Aidan stays relatively close to Austen’s novel. Like other fan writers, Aidan “reimagines” her source text: she uses the negative capability of Pride and Prejudice, in this case Darcy’s perspective, as a jumping point for her own creative efforts. On the one hand, she “reimagines” her canon because she is creative within the framework of Pride and Prejudice. She accepts everything Austen mentions about Darcy’s behaviour, character, and transformation, and supports it with missing scenes, back-stories, thoughts and feelings of her own invention. On the other hand, however, she also rewrites Austen’s text. Faced with the latter’s economy, Aidan reproduces, and defends, the readings she prefers. She weaves in her own interpretation of Darcy’s motivations, his viewpoint, and his transformation. There can be no doubt that these readings depart from the letter of Austen’s novel. Because they stay true to the “spirit” of her work, however, Aidan’s response is of the “more of” type, rather than the “more from”. I have related this to the fantextual conventions of the Republic of Pemberley. These conventions are interpretive conventions. Members of the Republic agree to “reread” Austen’s novels in a respectful way. This policy appears to be grounded in two broader cultural discourses. The discourse of Janeitism combines a devotion to Jane Austen and her 18 Veerle Van Steenhuyse work, an interest in her life and times, and a fascination with the “potentials” of her work. The discourse of Austen criticism, though developed in response to that of Janeitism, is likewise underlain by an admiration and respect for Austen’s work. The Republic of Pemberley caters to Janeite interests, but its protectiveness appears to be fuelled by an awareness of Austen’s canonicity. Just as Aidan weaves her own reading into Austen’s text, then, the Republic appears to weave elements of Janeitism and Austen criticism into its contributor guidelines. Secondly, I have noted that Aidan’s reading of Pride and Prejudice resembles that of the BBC/A&E adaptation, one that “embodies” a distinct interpretation of the novel, particularly of the character of Mr. Darcy. On the one hand, it captures Austen’s character in a specific physical vocabulary. On the other, it tailors Darcy to the needs of its late-twentieth-century audience. He is softened, romanticised, and shown to respect Elizabeth as an independent subject. At the same time, the series uses looks and glances to suggest that Darcy is infatuated with Elizabeth, and that she comes to admire him, too. This creates an erotic charge, which is emphasised with a number of departures from the novel. Aidan does not incorporate these departures in her trilogy but, with the help of close character focalisation, she does weave in the adaptation’s reading of Darcy and its unresolved sexual tension. I have related this to a loophole in the Republic’s editorial policy. Because the community still honours its “gushing” roots, it does not ban Harlequinesque elements from its archives. Both Aidan’s text and the Republic’s guidelines, then, contain elements of yet another reading. Ultimately, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman suggests that cultural readings are swept up in the dynamics of canon, fantext, and individual creativity. As such, they contribute to the incessant movement which characterises the fandom’s fantext. Unique interpretations such as Aidan’s can become widely accepted in the fan community. This can change the community’s fantextual conventions and the cultural readings embedded in them. Approaching the source text from these new interpretive conventions, other fans can then begin to see new creative possibilities in their canon. As long as these fans defend their views, as hundreds have done before them, Austen’s characters will lead a life of their own in cyberspace. References Aidan, Pamela. 2006a [2003]. An Assembly Such as This [Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman 1]. New York: Simon & Schuster. Aidan, Pamela. 2006b. Q&A with Pamela Aidan. In An Assembly Such as This [Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman 1], Pamela Aidan. New York: Simon & Schuster, 252-255. Aidan, Pamela. 2006c [2004]. Duty and Desire [Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman 2]. New York: Simon & Schuster. 19 Veerle Van Steenhuyse Aidan, Pamela. 2006d. Q&A with Pamela Aidan. In Duty and Desire [Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman 2], Pamela Aidan. New York: Simon & Schuster , 284-287. Aidan, Pamela. 2007a [2005]. These Three Remain [Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman 3]. New York: Simon & Schuster. Aidan, Pamela. 2007b. Q&A with Pamela Aidan. In These Three Remain [Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman 3], Pamela Aidan. New York: Simon & Schuster, 444-448. Aidan, Pamela. 2009. Darcy. E-mail to Veerle Van Steenhuyse. Austen, Jane. 2003 [1813]. Pride and Prejudice. London: Penguin Books. Austen.com [The Derbyshire Writers’ Guild]. 2009a. Home page. 15 Apr. 2009 <http://www.austen.com/derby/>. Austen.com [The Derbyshire Writers’ Guild]. 2009b. Contributor Guidelines. 14 Apr. 2009 <http://www.austen.com/phorum/read.php?5,2413,2413#msg-2413>. Belton, Ellen. 2003. Reimagining Jane Austen: The 1940 and 1995 Film Versions of Pride and Prejudice. In Jane Austen on Screen, Gina Macdonald & Andrew Macdonald (eds.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 175-196. Birtwistle, Sue & Susie Conklin. 1995. The Making of Pride and Prejudice. London: Penguin Books/BBC Books. Bowles, Kate. Commodifying Austen: The Janeite Culture of the Internet and Commercialization Through Product and Television Series Spinoffs. In Jane Austen on Screen, Gina Macdonald & Andrew Macdonald (eds.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 15-21. Breuer, Rolf. 2000. Jane Austen etc.: The Completions, Continuations and Adaptations of Her Novels. EESE Resources: Jane Austen. 14 Mar. 2011 <http://webdoc.sub.gwdg.de/edoc/ia/eese/breuer/biblio.html>. Brown, Homer. 1996. Why the Story of the Origin of the (English) Novel Is an American Romance (If Not the Great American Novel). In Cultural Institutions of the Novel, Deidre Lynch & William B. Warner (eds.). Durham: Duke University Press, 11-43. Busse, Kristina & Karen Hellekson. 2006. Introduction: Work in Progress. In Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, Karen Hellekson & Kristina Busse (eds.). Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 5-32. Coppa, Francesca. 2006a. A Brief History of Media Fandom. In Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, Karen Hellekson & Kristina Busse (eds.). Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 41-59. Coppa, Francesca. 2006b. Writing Bodies in Space: Media Fan Fiction as Theatrical Performance. In Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, Karen Hellekson & Kristina Busse (eds.). Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 225-244. Costello, Victor & Barbara Moore. 2007. Cultural Outlaws: An Examination of Audience Activity and Online Television Fandom. Television New Media 8(2): 124-143. Derecho, Abigail. 2006. Archontic Literature: A Definition, a History, and Several Theories of Fan Fiction. In Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, Karen Hellekson & Kristina Busse (eds.). Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 61-78. Driscoll, Catherine. 2006. One True Pairing: The Romance of Pornography and the Pornography of Romance. In Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, Karen Hellekson & Kristina Busse (eds.). Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 79-96. Fanlore.com. 2011a. Alternate Universe. 14 Mar. 2011 <http://fanlore.org/wiki/Alternate_universe>. Fanlore.com. 2011b. Canon. 14 Mar. 2011 <http://fanlore.org/wiki/Canon>. http://www.austen.com/phorum/read.php?5,2413,2413#msg-2413 20 Veerle Van Steenhuyse George, Lianne. 2007. The Opposite of Sex: Why We’re Obsessed with Jane Austen and Regency-Era Romance. Maclean’s 120: 35. Hills, Matt. 2002. Fan Cultures [Sussex Studies in Culture and Communication 5]. London: Routledge. Hunter, J. Paul. 1990. Before Novels: The Cultural Contexts of Eighteenth-Century English Fiction. New York: W.W. Norton & Company. Irene, Jessica. 2007. Reader Report: Pamela Aidan Signing at Third Place Books. Online posting. AustenBlog. 18 December 2008 <http://www.austenblog.com/2007/01/22/reader-report- pamela-aidan-signing-at-third-place-books/>. Jenkins, Henry. 1992. Textual Poachers: Television Fans & Participatory Culture. London: Routledge. Jenkins, Henry. 2008a. How Fan Fiction Can Teach Us a New Way to Read Moby-Dick (Part One). Online posting. Confessions of an Aca-Fan: The Official Weblog of Henry Jenkins. 21 Feb. 2009 <http://henryjenkins.org/2008/08/how_fan_fiction_can_teach_us_a.html>. Jenkins, Henry. 2008b. How Fan Fiction Can Teach Us a New Way to Read Moby-Dick (Part Two). Online posting. Confessions of an Aca-Fan: The Official Weblog of Henry Jenkins. 21 Feb. 2009 <http://henryjenkins.org/2008/08/how_fan_fiction_can_teach_us_a_1.html>. Johnson, Claudia L. 1997. Austen Cults and Cultures. In The Cambridge Companion to Jane Austen, Edward Copeland & Juliet McMaster (eds.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 211-226. Jones, Robert. 2006. From Shooting Monsters to Shooting Movies: Machinima and the Transformative Play of Video Game Fan Culture. In Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, Karen Hellekson & Kristina Busse (eds.). Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 261-280. Kaplan, Deborah. 2005. The Pride of Austen Critics: A Prejudice? Chronicle of Higher Education (11 Mar.): B10-B12. Kaplan, Deborah. 2006. Construction of Fan Fiction Character Through Narrative. In Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, Karen Hellekson & Kristina Busse (eds.). Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 134-152. Karpovich, Angelina I. 2006. The Audience as Editor: The Role of Beta Readers in Online Fan Fiction Communities. In Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, Karen Hellekson & Kristina Busse (eds.). Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 171-188. Kramp, Michael. 2007. Austen, the Late-Millennial Moment, and the Modern Man. In Disciplining Love: Austen and the Modern Man. Columbus: The Ohio State University Press, 150-2. Kustritz, Anne. 2003. Slashing the Romance Narrative. Journal of American Culture 26(3): 371-384. Lynch, Deidre Shauna. 2005. Cult of Jane Austen. In Jane Austen in Context, Janet Todd (ed.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 111-120. Lynch, Deidre. 1996. At Home with Jane Austen. In Cultural Institutions of the Novel, Deidre Lynch & William B. Warner (eds.). Durham: Duke University Press, 159-192. Macdonald, Gina & Andrew Macdonald. 2003. Introduction. In Jane Austen on Screen, Gina Macdonald & Andrew Macdonald (eds.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1-8. Margolis, Harriet. 2003. Janeite Culture: What Does The Name ‘Jane Austen’ Authorize? In Jane Austen on Screen, Gina Macdonald & Andrew Macdonald (eds.). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 22-43. Marley, Dorothy. 2003. The Seven Deadly Fanons of Characterization: A Spotter’s Guide. Online posting. The Fanfic Symposium. 18 December 2008 <http://www.trickster.org/symposium/symp138.html>. http://www.austenblog.com/2007/01/22/reader-report-pamela-aidan-signing-at-third-place-books/ http://www.austenblog.com/2007/01/22/reader-report-pamela-aidan-signing-at-third-place-books/ http://henryjenkins.org/2008/08/how_fan_fiction_can_teach_us_a.html http://henryjenkins.org/2008/08/how_fan_fiction_can_teach_us_a_1.html http://www.trickster.org/symposium/symp138.html 21 Veerle Van Steenhuyse Morrissey, Katherine E. 2008. Fanning the Flames of Romance: An Exploration of Fan Fiction and the Romance Novel. MA thesis. Georgetown University. O’Connell, Pamela Licalzi. 2000. A World Without End For Fans of Jane Austen. New York Times: G10. Parrish, Juli J. 2007. Inventing a Universe: Reading and Writing Internet Fan Fiction. Diss. University of Pittsburgh. Pemberley.com [The Republic of Pemberley]. 2009. Home page. 8 May 2009 <http://www.pemberley.com/>. Pemberley.com [The Republic of Pemberley]. Bits of Ivory Guidelines. 2003. 14 Apr. 2009 <http://www.pemberley.com/derby/guidenew.html>. Pemberley.com [The Republic of Pemberley]. Frequently Asked Questions. 2007. 18 Dec. 2008 <http://www.pemberley.com/faq.html>. Langton, Simon (dir.). 2001. Pride and Prejudice. Colin Firth (perf.). Andrew Davies (swr). BBC / Arts and Entertainment Network, 1995. DVD. Universal Pictures (Benelux), 2001. Pugh, Sheenagh. 2005. The Democratic Genre: Fan Fiction in a Literary Context. Bridgend: Seren. Sendlor, Charles. 2011. FanFiction.Net Fandoms: Story and Traffic Statistics. Online posting. Fan Fiction Statistics – FFN Research. 14 Mar. 2011 <http://ffnresearch.blogspot.com/>. Stein, Louisa & Kristina Busse. 2009. Limit Play: Fan Authorship between Source Text, Intertext, and Context. Popular Communication 7(4): 192-207. Stein, Louisa Ellen. 2006. “This Dratted Thing”: Fannish Storytelling Through New Media. In Fan Fiction and Fan Communities in the Age of the Internet, Karen Hellekson & Kristina Busse (eds.). Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 245-260. Thomas, Angela. 2006. Fan Fiction Online: Engagement, Critical Response and Affective Play through Writing. Australian Journal of Language and Literacy 29(3): 226-239. Thomas, Bronwen. 2007. Canons and Fanons: Literary Fanfiction Online. Dichtung-digital 37(1). Thompson, Allison. 2008. Trinkets and Treasures: Consuming Jane Austen. Persuasions On-Line 28(2). Author’s address: Veerle Van Steenhuyse Universiteit Gent Rozier 44 9000 Gent Belgium Veerle.VanSteenhuyse@UGent.be http://www.pemberley.com/ http://www.pemberley.com/derby/guidenew.html http://www.pemberley.com/faq.html 
work_3tdccwqagjdujbssiu5hqh7gue	----	Microsoft Word - MJSS VOL 3 NO 2 MAY 2012.doc  ISSN 2039‐2117                      Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                      Vol. 3 (2) May 2012            357 Specifying Metadiscoursal Signals in the Novel Pride and Prejudice and its Two Persian Translations By Copple’s model (1980) Esmaiel Kaboli Boroujeni Islamic Azad University, Shahreza Branch Faculty of Humanities English Language Department Email: ekaboli1364@gmail.com Doi:10.5901/mjss.2012.v3n2.357 Abstract: Finding out the metadiscoursal signals in any language and analyzing their usage specially in meaning transfer between two different languages is very important. The present paper adopted the model presented by Vande Copple (1980), to find all of the metadiscoursal signals in the first five chapters of the novel Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. The number of metadiscoursal signals in all of the related parts in the original novel was compared with those of its two Persian renderings by Pooranfar and Ardakani by a comparative study using Vande Copple’s model. The results of the study showed that the number of metadiscoursal signals usage in the TL translation made by Ardakani was more than of those in Pooranfar’s translation. However, considering both translations, they were poor in transferring the original metadiscoursal signals into the Persian language and it resulted to the less comprehensibility of them comparing to that of original novel. Besides, the consistency, meaningfulness and communicativeness of the translated texts were in a lower level than the original due to the lower number of metadiscoursal signals. As a result, it was made clear that the use of metadiscoursal signals is necessary and complementary in any kind of discourse use. Key words: Metadiscourse signals, Text connectives, Code glosses, Validity markers, Narrators, Illocution markers, Attitude markers, and Commentaries 1. Introduction In the process of transferring the meanings, ideas, attitudes, and information we are dealing with language and its different devices (Johnston, 2008). One of the most applicable ways to transfer the ideas in any language is writing. The world of writing is an expanded world for which there have been many debates, researches, and techniques. These techniques can be applicable from the very direct and surface to the very indirect and deep sections of the language. The techniques used in the deepest part of the language especially in writing in order to transfer the meaning and ideas are as deep and complex as what their names denote (Woods, 2006). One of these complicated tools is the metadiscourse through which we can add to the deepness of meanings, attitudes, and ideas which are not very clear as we look at the surface part of a piece of writing (Hyland, 2005). So, it becomes clear that we should adopt a good method and point of view to deal with the metadiscourse and its signals in a text. One of the best views found upon the metadiscourese signals is the model presented by Vande Copple (1985), which has broadly dealt with the metadiscoursal signals (MDSs). Using this model, the present study has tried to find out the extent to which metadiscoursal signals have been used in the novel “Pride and Prejudice”. Besides, this study tries to find out that how much these original metadiscourse signals are transferred in both translations made by “Pooranfar” and “Ardakani”. Then, the researcher has done a comparison among the results of the study to determine which one of the metadiscourse signals has been more successfully transferred to the target language and which one has the least portion in the target language.  ISSN 2039‐2117                      Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                      Vol. 3 (2) May 2012           358  All of the language producers and receivers are dealing with the use of metadiscourse signals throughout the language production all the times (Johnston, 2008). Metadiscourse is somehow the inner side of the language and as the term “meta” denotes, it is something more than what we can deal with (Hyland, 2005). So, one of the most important features of any text is its usage of metadiscourse signals. When the issue of translation between two completely different languages is under investigation, this matter gets more and more highlighted. In the course of translation, in addition to the elements of grammar, vocabulary, text type, and context there should be a great consideration for discourse and in a larger and deeper scale, metadiscoursal elements. As a matter of fact, without the useful application and noting the metadiscoursal elements a comprehensive and full scale translation will not be fulfilled. Therefore, first, all of the metadiscoursal elements should be understood perfectly in the original text and be explainable in a comprehensive way; later on, in transferring the materials to the target language the best counterparts or equivalents should be used in the translated text instead of the metadiscoursal elements within the original text. 2. Literature Review 2.1. Metadiscourse Definitions and Continuums According to Ken Hyland (2005), metadiscourse is in relation to the self-reflected expressions used in a piece of text by the writer or in a speech by a speaker in order to negotiate and interact the meaning to the reader or audience. Later, he points out the near relationship between metadiscourse job and the one by rhetoric. Based on his assumptions “rhetoric is the art of persuasion” and hence, it is about the way we influence our audiences. Ken Hyland (2005) has brought some pieces of writings in different genres to show how metadiscorsal elements can insert meaning to the text and how they can be influential. a) I admit that the term ‘error’ may be an undesirable label to some teachers. (PhD dissertation ) b) To call a patient at the Royal Free costs 39 off-peak and 49 peak - time per minute!! (Letter to the editor) c) As you know I always meet the assignment de ad-lines (Personal email) d) The newly devised menu ‘Essence D’asiatique’ (of Asian influence) features tantalizing cuisine expertly prepared on the premises. (Restaurant review) e) Read could be sighted on the square minutes before the start of the test receiving deliveries from James Anderson (remember him?) (Sports journalism) The underlined parts and even the shapes are considered the metadiscoursal signals of these pieces of text by all of which the writer has efficiently transferred some implicit meanings to the readers. Part (a) uses ‘’ to show this is not the writers attitude. Part (b) makes use of exclamation mark to show surprise. In part (c) through the use of smile, the writer points out that it’s a joke. In part (d) the usage of parenthesis shows an explanation and finally in part (e) through the application of a question there is a shift to readers to offer a personal comment. In all of the written or spoken discourse works, there are two levels: the primary level upon which the propositional content in established, and the metadiscourse level which is added to the primary level to signal the presence of authors (Vande Copple, 1985). In addition, Halliday (1985) believes that there are three functions of language: (1) the ideational function of language used to express referential information about the matter; (2) the interpersonal function of language in which authors or speakers interact with the readers  ISSN 2039‐2117                      Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                      Vol. 3 (2) May 2012            359 or hearers; and (3) the textual function of language used to shape language into a connected text. While the ideational function of language is fulfilled by the primary level of discourse, the other two functions of language are fulfilled by the metadiscourse level (Copple, 1985). The use of metadiscourse can be seen in the works of the earliest scholars such as Aristotle as well as those of modern authors, but the point is the inconsistency of use (Hyland, 2005). They use metadiscoursal elements to show different matters and opinions. For example, Aristotle used words which show self confidence authority, whereas another writer, like Bruner, made use of hedges or later authors used metadiscourse elements in their essays and treatises (e.g. Borges, Calvino Descartes, Geothe, (2003); scientists such as Darwin, Gould, & Woodruff (1998)). In addition, metadiscourse is frequently found in popular magazines and books, as well as in technical articles, reports, and books (Crismore and Farnsworth, 1990). The potential importance of metadiscourse has been approved by numerous scholars in different disciplines. A number of communication scholars, modern rhetoricians, and educators believe that, when used appropriately, metadsicourse can guide and direct readers through a text by helping them understand the text and the author’s perspective (Bradley, 1981; Williams, 1985; Winterowd, 1983), thereby making the text more friendly and considerate (Singer, 1986). Obviously, Metadiscourse exists in most of the written works and this illustrates its long history span over major historical periods. Metadiscourse can be used across ten genres and disciplinary discourse types: history, drama, handbooks, textbooks, poetry, religion, biography, fiction, essay, philosophy, and science. Authors discourse about their discourse by choosing from a wide variety of forms to present their textual and interpersonal metadiscourse: as single words, phrases, full clauses/sentences, and paragraphs (Widdowson, 2007). They often choose from such categories of textual metadiscourse (e.g. code glosses, logical connectors, topicalizers, previews and reviews, and narrators) and interpersonal materials (e.g. direct addresses to the readers, hedges and emphatics, evaluatives, and other commentaries), (Johnstone, 2008). Sometimes the authors use metadiscourse elements about the content, text or the processes and strategies used during writing. Metadiscourse is used for different purposes to inform, to persuade, or to express. Sometimes there are multiple pruposes as to inform and persuade, to express and persuade, or to inform and express (Crismore, 1985). 3. Research Methodology The model used in this study to analyze the related data is mainly the model presented by Vande Copple (1980), then after collecting the related information from the original and translations, through the use of charts and diagrams more information was gathered about the original and target language MDSs. So, all of the MDSs in the original novel and its two translations were detected and elaborated. The model is as follow: 3.1. Categorization of Metadiscourse Considering depth of meaning realized by discourse markers and the amount of meaning they are transferring to the readers, there are a number of different models elaborating the categorization of metadiscourse. 3.2. Vande Copple Model (1980) The model presented by Vande Kopple (1980) has been used for data collection and analysis of the study due to its elaborative and full scale nature in the explanation of metadiscourse and being favored by numerous writers such as Crismore and Farnsworth (1985). Vande Copple’s model which is divided into two main parts, regarding the linguistic and extra linguistic factors, considers all the possible available types of metadiscourse in any kind of text. Although there are some problems concerning the application of this model  ISSN 2039‐2117                      Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                      Vol. 3 (2) May 2012           360  and similar models for different kinds of texts especially their translations, it will be hardly tried to elaborate well the use of MDSs in both original and translated novel. Here the first part of Copple’s model is presented: 3.2.1. The First Part of the Model Textual Metadiscourse Signals Text Connectives Code Glosses Validity Markers Narrators Figure1. First Part of the Copple’s Model As presented, the first part is concerned with the textual types of metadiscourse which mainly deal with linguistic and cohesion markers. They will be clearly explained here: 3.2.1.1. Text connectives Text connectives show how different parts of the text are connected to each other. These items can connect different parts of a text together and shape a cohesive text. They are mainly classified in three categories as below: A. Consequences: first, next …. B. Reminders: as I mention, as it made clear… C. Topicalizers: with regard to, in connection with … 3.2.1.2. Code glosses Code glosses are used to help the readers or hearers understand the writer’s or speaker’s intended meaning. Based upon the reader’s or hearer’s knowledge these devices can reword, explain, define or clarify. All of these are done through putting the desired information within parentheses or making it as an example. 3.2.1.3. Validity markers Validity markers are used to express the writer’s or speaker’s commitment to the probability or truth of a statement. In other words s/he tries to show how much s/he is in agreement with the quoted information. There are mainly three groups of validity markers including: A. Hedges: perhaps, might … B. Emphatics: clearly, undoubtedly … C. Attributers: according to … 3.2.1.4. Narrators Narrators are used to inform readers of the sources of presented information. Sometimes, writers want to directly quote someone else’s believes for which they should use statements like: according to …  ISSN 2039‐2117                      Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                      Vol. 3 (2) May 2012            361 3.2.2. The Second Part of the Model Interpersonal Metadiscourse Signals Attitude Markers Illocution Markers Commentaries The second part of Copple’s model is dedicated to the interpersonal metadiscourse where lots of attention is devoted to the bidirectional relations between two communicators. Here we should go further the linguistic and structural matters and even lots of symbols may have their own meanings. These subparts will be defined here: 3.2.2.1. Attitude markers Attitude markers are used to express the writer’s attitude to the propositional matter presented. In other words the attitude markers show how much the writer is interested in the presented materials. This is done through the use of statements like: Unfortunately, interestingly, I wish that … 3.2.2.2. Illocution markers Illocution markers are used to make explicit the discourse act the writer is performing at certain points. As explicitness is very important to transfer the desired meaning and since it is necessary for the writer to give his/her readers the sense of end, illocution markers are used in texts by using statements like: To conclude, I hypothesize, to sum up … 3.2.2.3. Commentaries Commentaries are used to address readers directly by commenting on the reader’s probable mood or possible reaction to the text. This helps the writer to build a closer relationship with his/her readers. Commentaries are fulfilled by statements like: You will certainly agree that, you might want to read that … As it was made clear, this study tries to put all the metadiscoursal elements of the original novel into such a distinction and table; then, the same procedure will be followed for the two translations and at last, a comparison between them will be made. 3.3. Materials The data used in this study was gathered from the original novel pride and prejudice written by Jane Austen. This novel has got sixty one chapters and the text belongs to two hundred years ago. The first translation has been done by Pooranfar and the second translation by Ardakani. Pooranfar has not rendered three of the original novel chapters in her translation, while Ardakani has translated all of the original novel chapters into Persian. Then the counterpart and equivalent data in two translations done by Pooranfar and Ardakani were analyzed in order to have a comparison and contrast between the MDSs presented in the original novel and their equivalents. Clearly, all of the data gathered based on the model from the original and translated novels will be usefull in MDSs analysis.  ISSN 2039‐2117                      Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                      Vol. 3 (2) May 2012           362  4. Findings and Discussion As the figure4.3 shows, the highest and fewest number of metadiscourse signals belonged to the validity markers and illocution markers respectively, where blue stands for the original novel, red stands for the first translation, and green stands for the second translation. Moreover, as depicted clearly, the second translation appeared to be more similar to the original text in the use of certain MDSs than the first translation. Both translators have rendered less number of MDSs in their translations comparing to that of the original novel. 4.1. Data Analysis Concerning the investigated novel of Pride and prejudice the first translation by Pooranfar transferred 347 MDSs to the target language out of 452 original MDSs, while the second translation by Ardakani rendered 411. The lower the amount of MDSs in any text especially the translated texts, comparing to the original one shows the less capability of that text to state clearly the original meaning. There were many differences between the two translations concerning the amount of MDSs use. Although all of the Chapters in the original novel have been analyzed, in this paper the researcher has just brought three sample chapters of the original novel in a comparison with its two Persian renderings. Here are the tables of detailed information of those three chapters of the novel: Table 1: Metadiscourse elements in chapter 1 of the novel MD Signal Original Translation 1 Translation 2 Text Connectiv es _ However little known the feeling… _ But it is, returned she;… _ …,that Netherfield park is let at last… _ بهرصورت کمتر در ... مورد احساسات _ اما اين واقعيت ..... - باالخره پارک ندرفيلد... _ درهرحال کمتر در مورد ... احساسات _ اما اين واقعيت ..... - درآخر پارک ندرفيلد... Code Glosses _ He agreed… that he is to take possession of… _ او موافقت کرد که ... ميتواند مالکيت _ وی با اين نظر موافقت کرد که... Narrators _ …, returned she. _ …, said his lady to… _ در جواب گفت:... _ خانمش روزی به او گفت:. _ در جواب گفت:... _ خانمش روزی به او گفت:. Validity maker _ …, you must know… _ It is very likely that… _ قاعدتا بايد بدانی... _ خيلی احتمال دارد که... - بايد اينرا بدانی که... - آنچه خيلی احتمال دارد... Attitude markers _ He has good fortune to… _ …and was so much delighted _ وضعيت و موقعيت خوب.. _ او خيلی شاد بود که... _ وضع مالی خوبی که... _ شادمانی زياد او...  ISSN 2039‐2117                      Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                      Vol. 3 (2) May 2012            363 According to the data presented in the table, there are generally 10 MDSs in this Chapter of the original novel. Both translations have done a good job and they have transferred all of the original MDSs into the Persian language. Table 2: Metadiscourse elements in chapter 2 of the novel MD Marker Original Translation 1 Translation 2 Text connectives _ He could do it but… _ Impossible is that… _ ولی از طرفی او ... _ اين غير ممکن است که.. _ اما او بايد ... _ غير ممکن است... Validity markers _ Impossible, …, impossible… _ غير ممکن است آقای بنت _ اين غير ممکن است. .. .محال است Narrators _ replied Elizabeth, … _ cried her mother _ اليزابت پاسخ داد... _ مادرش در جواب ميگويد _ او پاسخ داد _ صدای مادرش درآمد... Attitude markers _ She said resentfully _ I am glad to find out… _ He replied fretfully _ با خشونت گفت _ خيلی خوشحالم _ با بد اخالقی ادامه داد. _ با غيظ گفت... _ خوشحالم که... _ با بداخالقی جواب داد. Illocution markers _ Aye, so it is… _ So, it will be important _.......... _ پس اين مسئله... .بله اينطور است_ _ بنابراين.... Commentaries _ She has no discretion this matter. _ او برای سرفه کردن _ او که گناهی ندارد. مالحظه ی هيچی را نميکند According to the table, there were eleven MDSs in this chapter of the original novel. Both translations have rendered all of the original MDSs except one of the text connectives. As a result, both translations have done a good job in this respect. Table 3: Metadiscourse elements in chapter 3 of the novel MD Marker Original Translation 1 Translation 2 Text connectiv es _ Not all that Mrs. Benet, … _ consequently she was… _ …, in town so soon after… ...خانم بنت برای_ _ او و اليزابت مرتبا... _ بعد از چند روز آمدن به...... ...خانم بنت برای_ _ و در نتيجه .... _ پس از آمدن به شهر... Code glosses _ Only five all together: she and her daughters,… _ بيش از پنج نفر نيستند. خودش و دخترانش و... _ شش خانم را با خودش آورده: خودش و دخترانش و... Validity markers _ They were wonderfully handsome, … _ …extremely agreeable and.. _ زيبای شگفت انگيز... _ بسيار دوست داشتنی.. _ بسيار خوش قيافه بودندو... _ فوق العاده خوش رو... Narrators _ …, said Mrs. Benet… _ …, said he. _ خانم بنت گفت... _ او در پاسخ گفت... _ خانم بنت گفت... _ او در پاسخ گفت... Attitude markers _ Wonderfully handsome… _ Extremely agreeable… _ They had the advantage of.. _ زيبای شگفت انگيز.... _ بسيار دوست داشتنی... _ دختران موفق برای... _ بسيار خوش قيافه بودند. _ فوق العاده خوش رو... _ براوامتيازی داشتند.  ISSN 2039‐2117                      Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                      Vol. 3 (2) May 2012           364  According to the table, there were eleven MDSs in this chapter of the original novel. Both translations have rendered all of the original MDSs except one of the text connectives. As a result, both translations have done a good job in this respect. Figure3. Frequency of metadiscourse signals in the novel 0 20 40 60 80 100 120 Original 1Translation 2Translation 4.2. Discussion In the current research the focus was on the presence of seven metadiscourse signals in the novel pride and Prejudice and its two Persian renderings by Pooranfar and Ardakani through the model presented by Vande Copple (1985). The results derived from the analysis of sixty one chapters of the novel helped the researcher to answer the question concerning the amount of metadiscourse presence in the original novel and its Persian translations. The analysis has shown that the metadiscourse signals of the original novel have been less transferred to the Persian translations. The discussion of results will be presented in seven separate paragraphs for each metadiscourse type. Concerning Text connectives, all the Sixty One tables related to the Chapters of the novel showed that 75 instances were found in the original novel. Considering the first translation, fifty five of them have been transferred to the Persian language while a great number of the metadiscourse signals have remained untranslated. Yet, the second translation did a better job and transferred sixty six of them to the Persian language. As text connectives are very crucial in text consistency and help a lot in building the meaning, the second translation should be considered as a more valuable and meaningful translation than the first one. In terms of Code glosses, according to the data collected in Chapter Four their total number in the original novel was fifty nine of which the first translation has transferred forty and the second translation fifty. Code glosses are definitely necessary to make the meaning more explicit and exemplify some information in a text, hence the code glosses’ role is crucial (Hyland, 2005). Therefore, the meaningfulness and transparency of the second translation has been considered and done well. Meanwhile, the first translation did not render about one third of the original code glosses showing less effort to transfer the meaning correctly. Considering the data available in Chapter Four, there were one hundred seven Validity markers in the original novel of which the first translation had just rendered 67 and the second translation ninety four items to the Persian language. The role of validity markers in identifying the amount of validity and correctness of  ISSN 2039‐2117                      Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                      Vol. 3 (2) May 2012            365 any information in a text is absolutely fantastic (Halliday, 2002). Without them, it is not clear how much the reader can trust any specific part of the text and the extent of the writer’s belief in what is said remains ambiguous. Therefore, the amount of trust upon the validity and trueness of the information in the novel seemed greater in the second translation. But, considering the first translation, forty items of validity markers have not been transferred to the Persian language, showing weakness of translation in this respect. Regarding the narrators, there have been sixty three narrators detected in the original novel. From this range of MDSs the first translation has transferred 56 and the second translation has rendered sixty one into the Persian language. Narrators metadiscourse signals identify the source of any information within the text and without this nothing can be regarded authoritative and reliable (Gee, 1999). Considering this fact, we can conclude that the second translation is more authenticated due to the higher application of narrators; on the other side, the first translation has not transferred seven original narrators’ MDSs to the Persian language and should be considered as a less reliable text. The number of metadiscourse signals in attitude type was One Hundred and Three on the whole. While the first translation rendered ninety three to the Persian language, the second translation transferred one hundred MDSs to the target language. Among the metadiscourse signals, attitude markers are used in order to show the writer’s attitude toward the propositional content (William, 1983). Considering the amount of transferred attitude MDSs to the Persian language, the second translation again has done a better job and just three original attitude markers have remained untranslated. As a result, the second translation can better show the writer’s attitude toward everything in the text and it will be more explicit and meaningful. In this study the least amount of metadiscourse signals belonged to illocution markers. Nineteen illocution markers were discovered in the original novel out of which the first translation has rendered fourteen and the second translation has transferred sixteen. This kind of metadiscourse signal can show where and how the speech and discourse is going to have a conclusion (Johnston, 2008). Because of the higher amount of illocution markers transferred to the target language, the second translation is more valuable in making conclusions through the text. But, again the first translation has done poorer job in this respect and it has a less sense of closure in any part. Finally, in relation to the commentaries the total number of occurrence in the original novel was twenty six in all. While the first translation has transferred twenty two to Persian language, the second translation has rendered twenty four. The commentaries’ usage in a text is to declare the writer’s opinion about the reader or the audience (William, 1983). It can be concluded that the first translation has not been so successful in transferring the original commentaries, while the second translation has done a better job in this respect. As a result, the second translation is more powerful in showing the writer’s comments about the reader. 5. Concluding Remarks The presence of metadiscoursal signals is crucial and necessary in identifying the exact and deep meaning, either in formation or understanding (Cook, 1994). The use of metadiscourse signals can help the writer to meaningfully build his/her text as well as the readers or audience to better understand the writer’s or speaker’s intended meanings (Gee, 1999). In other words, without discourse and in a deeper scale metadiscourse signals nothing is meaningful and the use of language would be just a hodge-podge of different linguistic items. The analysis of data presented in this study led to the following conclusions: Concerning the text connectives, there were twenty MDSs less than the original in the first translation and just ten MDSs less than the original. It can show why the first translation failed to render different textual connections. So, the meaningfulness of the first translation is weaker than the second translation. The second translation rendered the code glosses better than the first translation and this was helpful in explaining more the intended meanings. There is the same story for the validity markers and narrators. This matter makes the translation more authentic and meaningful.  ISSN 2039‐2117                      Mediterranean Journal of Social Sciences                      Vol. 3 (2) May 2012           366  As far as the interpersonal MDSs are concerned, the first translation again did a worse translation comparing to the second translation and considering all attitude markers, illocution markers and commentaries the second translation was more authentic, meaningful and understandable. In fact, the first translation rendered lower amount of interpersonal MDSs and it was less comprehensible and it was not well connected. As a result, according to the data given about the number of MDSs in both translations and the original novel, from the discourse and metadiscourse point of view, the second translator has a more acceptable and meaningful translation comparing to that of the first translator. References Abrams, M. (1953). The discourse of literary criticism and theory. London: Routledge. Armbruster, B. (1981). Schema theory and the design of content area textbooks. New York: Palgrave Macmillan Cook, G. (1994). Discourse and literature: the interplay of form and mind. London: Oxford University Press. Crismore, A & Vande Kopple, W. (1998). Metadiscourse in persuasive writing: a study of texts written by American and finnish university students. Newbury Park: Sage. Cutting, J. (2008). Pragmatics and discourse: A resource book for students. New York: Routledge. Gee, J. P. (2005). An introduction to discourse analysis. London: Routledge. Halliday, E. (1978). Language as social semiotic: The social interpretation of language and meaning. EUA: University Park. Hyland, K. (2005). Metadiscourse,exploring interaction in writing. London: Routledge. Johnston, B. (2008). Discourse analysis. New York: Routledge. Marandi, S. (2002). Contrastive EAP rhetoric: metadiscourse in Persian versus English. Tehran: university of Tehran. McCarthy, M. (1991). Discourse analysis for language teachers. New York: Cambridge university press. Widdoson, H. G. (2004). Text, context, pretext: critical issues in discourse analysis. New York: Blackwell pub. Woods, N. (2006). Describing discourse: a practical guide to discourse analysis/ Nicola Woods. London: Hodder Arnold. 
work_3tddwa2nfjg45oxufet7gogkem	----	Entangled colonial landscapes and the 'dead silence'? : Humphry Repton, Jane Austen and the Upchers of Sheringham Park, Norfolk This is a repository copy of Entangled colonial landscapes and the 'dead silence'? : Humphry Repton, Jane Austen and the Upchers of Sheringham Park, Norfolk. White Rose Research Online URL for this paper: http://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/98119/ Version: Submitted Version Article: Finch, Jonathan Cedric orcid.org/0000-0003-2558-6215 (2014) Entangled colonial landscapes and the 'dead silence'? : Humphry Repton, Jane Austen and the Upchers of Sheringham Park, Norfolk. Landscape Research. pp. 82-99. ISSN 1469-9710 https://doi.org/10.1080/01426397.2013.848848 eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ Reuse Items deposited in White Rose Research Online are protected by copyright, with all rights reserved unless indicated otherwise. They may be downloaded and/or printed for private study, or other acts as permitted by national copyright laws. The publisher or other rights holders may allow further reproduction and re-use of the full text version. This is indicated by the licence information on the White Rose Research Online record for the item. Takedown If you consider content in White Rose Research Online to be in breach of UK law, please notify us by emailing eprints@whiterose.ac.uk including the URL of the record and the reason for the withdrawal request. 1 Entangled Landscapes and the ‘dead silence’? Humphry Repton, Jane Austen and the Upchers of Sheringham Park, Norfolk. Jonathan Finch, University of York, UK Abstract This paper explores two aspects of designed landscapes in the late-eighteenth and early- nineteenth centuries that are often neglected – first, the importance derived from intersecting (auto)biographies of designers and patrons, and, secondly, how they relate to global social, economic and political networks. Sheringham Park, Norfolk, reveals the significance of the relationship between the designer, Humphry Repton, the patron and his wife within their respective (auto)biographies. It is positioned alongside Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park (1814), its exact contemporary, to draw out relationships between the principle actors and the wider colonial world. The paper will therefore address questions about the role of designed landscapes in personal and historical narratives, and in particular, their position within the international issue of colonialism. This paper explores two related aspects of designed landscapes in the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries that are often neglected – first, how they might derive importance from their place within intersecting (auto)biographies of both designers and patrons at the micro level, and secondly, at the macro level, how they embody contemporary social and political concerns at a national and international level, including crucially, how they engage with global nature of contemporary economic and political networks. By exploring Humphry Repton's commission at Sheringham Park on the coast of north-east Norfolk, this paper will consider the importance of his relationship with it owners, Abbot Upcher and his wife Charlotte, to the design process and how the relationship drew upon shared social and political views which extended across to events on the 2 continent, and people and place were connected to colonialism and slavery. As such it situates the landscape alongside a contemporary cultural work, Jane Austen's Mansfield Park (1814), which deals with many of the same issues of political ethics, estate improvement and colonialism at the turn of the century, and which uses Repton to communicate a particular set of sensibilities towards landscape. The paper will therefore address questions about the role of designed landscapes in political and historical narratives, and in particular, their relevance to understanding the reception or evasion of colonialism in the early-nineteenth century. Given the amount of material surviving for Repton it is perhaps not surprising that he has already been the subject of a geographical biography (Daniels 1999), and Stephen Daniels has discussed Repton's involvement at Sheringham on a number of occasions (1986, 1993, 1999) within national and continental contexts. Similarly, colonialism and estate improvement has been discussed as a literary theme within Mansfield Park, most notably by Edward Said (1994), but there has been little development of the theme within landscape studies. This paper will consider Repton's landscape at Sheringham within the context of colonialism for the first time, and discuss how the relationship between the domestic and the colonial was negotiated through biography within early nineteenth- century cultural landscapes. Sheringham: a biographical landscape Repton's professional involvement at Sheringham, on the north-east coast of Norfolk, was entangled with political issues of a local, national and global nature from the outset. Three years after the battle of Trafalgar and Nelson's death in 1805, Repton was tipped off about a government scheme to settle £90,000 on an estate as part of the nation's gift to Nelson's family. Repton's son William, a solicitor in the nearby market town of Aylsham, was acting as steward to Cook Flower who owned the Sheringham estate, and suggested that it might be a suitable candidate as it was situated on the coast not far from Burnham Thorpe where Nelson was born in 1758 (Daniels 1999, 90-91). But Repton's bid was unsuccessful and William sold the land to Abbot Upcher and his wife Charlotte 3 (Figs. 1 & 2). Upcher was the son of Peter and Elizabeth Upcher, wealthy farmers of Ormesby St Michael, on the eastern edge of the Norfolk Broads, about six miles north-west of Great Yarmouth, where their third son, Abbot was born in 1784 (Yaxley 1986, 1). His young wife was the daughter of the Rev. Henry Wilson of Kirby Cane, to the south-west of Yarmouth, who later inherited the title of Baron Berners (Yaxley 1986, 1). The couple and their new family had suffered a series of setbacks in their search for a suitable home, but Upcher was won over by the 'beautiful and romantic' landscape at Sheringham, despite being 'cruelly disappointed' with the house which he described as 'only a better type of farm house' (NRO UPC 156/1 641 x 8). Upcher recorded signing the agreement for Sheringham in the early evening of Wednesday July 10th 1811, having dined with William Repton and his father 'the famous planner of grounds &c' in Aylsham (NRO UPC 156/1 641 x 8). This, their first meeting, resulted in Humphry Repton being commissioned to improve the landscape and design a new house fit for the young owners. He produced his Red Book for Sheringham (RBS) exactly a year later (Fig. 3) 1 , which included designs for the new house, drawn up by his eldest son John Adey Repton, who had trained with the Norwich architect William Wilkins and had been an assistant to John Nash in London, before joining forces with his father in 1800 (Carter, Goode and Laurie 1982, 129-130). From the outset, it is clear that Sheringham had deep personal resonances for Repton: "After having passed nearly half a century in the study of natural scenery and having been professionally consulted in the improvement of many hundred places in different parts of England, I can with truth pronounce that Sherringham [sic] possesses more natural beauty and local advantage than any place I have ever seen...this may be considered my most favourite work." (RBS) 1 The Red Book for Sheringham is unpaginated as is a facsimile published in 1976. Direct quotes are simply referenced RBS in the text. 4 Even if one discounts Repton's customary flattery towards his patrons, and the fact that this was a substantial commission during a period when the lack of work had caused him considerable anxiety, there is a real sense that he was celebrating a return to home ground. His mood may have been coloured by the recognition that he was entering the final phase of his career, at the age of fifty-eight, but it undoubtedly reflected his pleasure in returning to Norfolk, which he habitually referred to as 'the Prophet's own country’ (Repton 2005, 26; RBS). Sheringham is situated in the region of Norfolk that Repton was most familiar with. In 1778, at the age of twenty-six, and following the death of his parents, he had retired from an unsuccessful stint as a Norwich merchant, and moved to the Old Hall at Sustead, six miles south-east of Sheringham. There he enjoyed the life of a local squire, contributing pieces on the local landscape, agriculture and churches to Armstrong's History and Antiquities of the County of Norfolk (1781) , and befriending his landlord, William Windham of Felbrigg Hall, a prominent Whig politician, for whom he subsequently worked during the 1780 election (Daniels 1999, 69-73). Despite lamenting that his skills had been largely ignored by Norfolk landowners over the course of his career, all but seven of Repton's twenty or so commissions in the county cluster closely together in a triangular area stretching from Norwich in the south, to Sheringham thirty miles north on the coast, and east as far as the edge of the Broads at Honing Hall (Repton 2005, 26; Carter Goode & Laurie 1982; Daniels 1999, fig.68). In the Red Book Repton re-immersed himself in the familiar character of this tightly defined region: its undulating topography and the rich agricultural capacity of the loamy vales winding between the protective hills, which accommodated a profitable mixed agricultural regime of arable and pasture. In both scale and character, the landscape was quite unlike that at Holkham, further along the coast to the west, where Repton had worked for Thomas Coke, 1st Earl of Leicester, and where the light sandy soils and sheep-walks had been enclosed into 5 the vast rectilinear fields commonly associated with enclosure and the drive for improvement in the late-eighteenth century. Repton set out a scheme for Sheringham that subtly enhanced the work that Cook Flower had begun, avoiding dramatic alterations, but aimed at improving the limited extent of grassland, supplementing the existing planting with new plantations, and, at its core, proposing a modest new house in the Italianate style (Fig.4), situated in the lee of the hill to shelter it from the ocean and the winds from the north (Williamson 1998, 275-77). Key to Repton's sense of success was his burgeoning relationship with the Upchers: rather than being important simply within Repton’s professional biography, Sheringham derives its significance from the confluence of Repton’s reflective sense of autobiography and the biography of the Upchers - a young couple in the ascendancy. There were a number of parallels between the lifepaths of Repton and Upcher that fostered both their immediate relationship, and a sense of reflection in the older Repton: Upcher's late father was born in Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk, in 1751 and Repton was born in the same town a year later; Upcher's family connections were in Suffolk and Essex, as were Repton's; and Abbot Upcher was twenty-seven when he bought Sheringham, a year older than Repton had been when he moved to Sustead. Co-incidence also followed lifepaths: Upcher had feared for the life of his wife and young son when the carriage he was driving crashed into a deep roadside ditch near Haddiscoe Dam in poor weather - when only a month earlier Repton had sustained a spinal injury when his carriage overturned returning home from a ball with his daughters in January 1811 (NRO UPC 156/1 641 x 8). Repton's regard for the Upchers was founded on strongly domestic and paternalistic foundations; it was based on the admiration of a young evangelical family on the threshold of their lives together who would provide the moral lead for the local community. Repton uses family relationships as a recurring theme in the Red Book, noting, for example, that 6 "All planters delight most in woods of their own creating, as parents are most fond of their own progeny"(RBS). Repton often placed the family at the centre of his landscape philosophy, and his designed gardens are represented as for family use and private recreation, with flower gardens and terraces, rather than landscapes of 'learned allusion' such as Stowe, for example, where in the early-eighteenth century visitors were expected to exercise their classical learning and political wit, whilst promenading past lines of allegorical statues (Hunt 1992, 141). In addition to conventional plans, the Red Book for Sheringham includes sections through the proposed house that are populated by the family, servants and gardeners going about their daily routines, emphasising that the house was a busy and permanent home, rather than a political stage for grandees or a seasonal retreat from London. At first floor level, Repton provided direct access from the suite of rooms which formed the nursery out into the 'Children's gardens, Play ground &c' that were terraced into the hillside behind the house (RBS). Repton also emphasised the place of children within the gardens at Endsleigh in Devon, which he worked on at the same time as Sheringham (1809-14), for very different patrons in the shape of the Duke and Duchess of Bedford (Carter, Goode and Laurie 1983, 150). This awareness of family and lifecycle at Sheringham and Endsleigh may have been prompted by Repton's unexpected reliance on his family following the carriage accident six months before Abbot Upcher bought Sheringham. Repton's injuries restricted his ability to travel the country on commissions, and demanded the use of a wheelchair, frustrating his ability to engage with clients on site. He was suddenly forced to rely on his sister and sons, as evident in the fact that his Red Book for Endsleigh, dated 1814, was not produced at Repton's office and home in Hare Street, Essex, but at his sister's house in Aylsham, where he was also working on the improvements at nearby Sheringham. Repton was particularly sensitive to the role of resident gentry within their locality, and he saw the arrival of the Upchers as fulfilling the need for the landowning elite to provide social, moral and political leadership within local communities. His increasingly conservative or reactionary views 7 are well documented and he asserted the benefits of a paternalistic estate with a resident gentleman and family in the Red Book (Everett 1994, 181-194; Daniels 1999, 92). Encouraged, no doubt, by the Upchers' established charitable credentials, Repton emphasized the relationship between the happiness of gentry families in houses from whence returned poor 'women and children with cheerful faces, bearing away jugs of milk & broken victuals', compared to those places from which 'lame and blind beggars were driven away' (RBS). Similarly, offering the poor periodic supervised access to the woodland on the estate to collect dead branches was one way to turn them from 'idle thieves or active poachers' into those ready 'to rise at night to serve the Liberal Patron' (RBS). Repton's concern with the provision for the rural poor and the increasingly punitive institutionalisation of poor relief over more traditional forms of paternalism is evident in the Red Book when he considers the wider local landscape of the village, and suggests that the workhouse should not be an object 'of disgust to the Rich and of terror to the Poor', but could instead be made to look 'less like a Prison' by removing the high wall in order to open up the street 'into a neat village green with its benches and a May Pole, that almost forgotten Emblem of rural happiness and festivity' (original emphasis, RBS). His thoughts on the role of the workhouse in mediating relationships between the poor and polite classes, as expressed through its architectural form and landscape setting, is developed further in his recommendations for the new workhouse at Crayford in Kent, where his son Edward was curate, which he completed while still involved at Sheringham in 1816 (Daniels, 1999, 57-8). Repton's plan was for a south facing, cottage-style workhouse on the heath to capture a healthy dry situation, with a view of the country for the inmates, and a location where the polite inhabitants could purchase fruit and flowers grown by the younger inmates. However, the open sunny aspect of the southern front was to be contrasted with the 'darksome Gloom' of the quadrangle to the north side, which was to be 'considered as a sort of punishment for misbehaviour and refractory conduct' (Repton 1816, 228-29). Repton's workhouse was intended to be an animating element within the landscape, which rewarded 'extraordinary industry or good behaviour', and where girls and boys were not to be trained in spinning or other manufacturing trades, but the 'more wholesome' occupation 8 of market gardening, whilst the boys were drilled by an old soldier 'to become the future defenders of their Country' (Repton 1816, 227-31; Daniels 1999, 57-8). Repton's views of the poor and how to deal with them during a time of war and possible revolution reflected contemporary social tensions. His concern that landed power and resources should be deployed to ensure a sympathetic and compliant rural working class was based on both a fear of internal, domestic unrest and the intervention of France, either in a direct military invasion, or stirring up civic strife. Repton readily saw the phantom of revolution behind domestic unrest and perceived a specific geography – both human and economic – to it, that mapped the presence of the manufacturing classes, hence his desire to avoid the young poor of Crayford being trained up in skills of the manufacturing trade. Indeed, part of the appeal of Sheringham, which Repton explained to Upcher in the Red Book, was that it lay outside Norfolk's weaving district where that ‘different species of animal’ (RBS) - the manufacturer with non-conformist attitudes - was ready to stir up discontent and revolution. Repton had encountered the threat of violence and disorder in the industrialising cloth industry at first hand when he worked for Benjamin Gott of Armley, on the outskirts of Leeds in 1810, and two years later the Luddite campaign of machine breaking gathered strength across the manufacturing districts of the country (Daniels 1981). In Repton's model for political stability, the paternalistic estate stood as a bulwark to social discontent and social change, but he was increasingly worried by what he saw as a tendency for landowners to privilege immediate profits over longer term stability. He was particularly concerned by the increasing distance between the population at large and both the traditional aristocracy and the increasingly numerous nouveau riche. He was acutely disappointed by his treatment at the hands of supposedly 'noble' patrons such as the Lascelles at Harewood House, Yorkshire in 1802, for example, where his proposals were 'counteracted' and the new triumphal arch, which articulated the important relationship between the house and the village, was built at an 'unmeaning' distance to both (Repton 2005, 87; Finch 2008, 518- 20). Elsewhere, Repton's suggestions for Coke at Holkham went largely ignored, and even his relationship with William Windham at Felbrigg ended in disappointment and dispute (Carter, Goode 9 & Laurie 1982, 24-25). On the other hand, Repton saw great danger in the actions of those who profiteered during the European wars and either refrained from ploughing that money back into the estate infrastructure, or set about reaping short term profit from estates they purchased, rather than investing on long term and labour intensive projects. His discomfort about the rural social relationships was brought together in the section on 'Improvements' in Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening (1816). 2 Revisiting an imagined estate landscape after ten years, Repton describes how the patriarchal landscape with its sunken park pale and stile, revealing broad- leaved hard woods mixed with thorn bushes, all visible from a shaded bench on the edge of the common, had been radically transformed after the estate was bought by a newly enriched owner 'whose habits have been connected with trade' and who erected a high park paling: "not to confine the deer, but to exclude mankind, and to protect a miserable narrow belt of firs and Lombardy poplars: the bench was gone, the ladder-stile was changed to a caution against man-traps and spring-guns, and a notice that the foot-path was stopped by order of the commissioners." (Repton 1816, 192-93) Stephen Daniels has noted that for Repton the social changes occasioned by the economic conditions of war during the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth centuries exemplified 'an unravelling of the economic, aesthetic and moral adjustments that constituted prudent estate management' and that Repton tended to conflate his own physical and financial decline in his later career with a 'terminal malaise corrupting the condition of the country as a whole' (Daniels 1986, 148-49), so it is all the more significant that Sheringham gave him such personal satisfaction, and suggests he found, in the Upchers, a very active sense of paternalistic responsibility. Despite Repton's growing conservatism and concern at the pace and direction of change in the rural landscape, in some quarters he retained the reputation as a radical improver (Everett 1994, 184). 2 Hereafter Fragments. The image is discussed in Daniels 1988; 1999, 52-4 and Everett 1994, 185. 10 Repton is famously mentioned during an exchange about estate improvement in Jane Austen's first mature work Mansfield Park (1814), one of two novels (along with Northanger Abbey) named after a landed estate, and, critically, one that Austen was writing whilst Repton was working at Sheringham. Austen started planning Mansfield Park in February 1811, probably completing it in the summer of 1813, and it was published in May 1814 (Sutherland 1996, vii). Austen's novels are located on or around estate landscapes and their houses, and the estate setting of house, grounds and the wider estate landscape are metonyms for a cultural heritage shared by the participants, and the actions of those actors and their response to that inheritance are taken as an indication of their character and social responsibility, or 'sensibility' (Duckworth 1971b, 25-26; Quaintance 1998). In the novel Austen uses Repton to personify the fashion for ill-conceived programmes of improvement that disregard the ecology of traditional landscapes, and were implemented with complete disregard for the historic cultural inheritance of an estate, and thus mirrored the superficial vanity of new owners unconnected to land or communities. In Mansfield Park Mr Rushworth excitedly plans the transformation of the Elizabethan Sotherton Court: 'Repton, or anybody of that sort, would certainly have the avenue at Sotherton down; the avenue that leads from the west front to the top of the hill, you know', causing Austen's heroine, Fanny Price, to declare: 'Cut down an avenue! What a pity! Does it not make you think of Cowper. ‘Ye fallen avenues, once more I mourn your fate unmerited' (Austen 1996, 48). Repton was in fact a fan of Cowper’s poems, reading them to William Wilberforce as they toured the Harewood landscape together, for example, and by 1811 he was as conservative in his views as Austen, and shared her opinion – expressed through Fanny - that aspects of the estate landscape carried particular symbolism for social relationships, extending beyond woods and trees to the spatial relationship between the house and its attendant church and village, as highlighted in Repton's comments about dispensing charity from the house, and his dismay at Harewood. Given these areas of common concern, Repton is undoubtedly misrepresented in the novel – as he was as Marmaduke Milestone, in Thomas Love Peacock’s Headlong Hall (1816) - or rather it is clear that Repton's changing views had failed to 11 impact on his popular reputation, established during the 1790s during the controversies over the Picturesque and his defence of 'Capability' Brown's legacy (Hunt 1992, 139-40; Everett 1994, 184). Repton and Austen's use of the estate as a fundamental instrument of political and social stability was one explored by conservative political commentators such as Edmund Burke, who used the destabilising effects of excessive or imprudent improvement within estate landscapes as imagery to convey the effects of revolution on the state, drawing in the wider European context to the simmering social tensions at home (Duckworth 1971b, 45-48). However, Burke was careful to differentiate between 'improvement' and 'innovation'. He associated the former - treating the deficient or corrupt parts of an established order with the character of the whole in mind - with the nature of the English revolution; whilst the latter was ‘always odious’ and characterised the French revolution (cited in Duckworth 1971a, 33). In Mansfield Park, Austen uses Repton's fame as a landscape designer to reference the dramatic and insensitive landscape transformation that he and Austen, like Burke, actually believed had a seriously detrimental effect on the body politic, signifying rapid social change and likely to cause the destabilisation of society through abandoning established tropes of landed paternalism. The greatest fear was that domestic unrest would be ignited by intervention from the continent. The response nationally was an increasing militarisation of the country on an unprecedented scale. Locally, for example, Abbot Upcher's home town of Great Yarmouth was transformed over his lifetime. In 1782 a heavily armed fort was built in Gorleston opposite the entrance to the harbour with further artillery defences added in 1801, whilst in 1806 Southtown Armoury was built to plans by James Wyatt, providing an arsenal to serve the fleet. William Windham, a close friend and correspondent of Burke who served in government as secretary at war, spent the summer of 1803 raising a volunteer force at Felbrigg and trying to improve the county's coastal defences (Ketton-Cremer 1982, 242-52; ODNB). Such was the threat of imminent invasion along the coast that the gentry kept their valuables packed and horses harnessed and the farmers of 12 Northrepps reputedly kept waggons ready to evacuate their families inland should the beacons along the coast be lit to signal the invasion was underway (Gurney n.d., 11). The constant presence of the navy around the Norfolk coast was captured in one of John Sell Cotman's most striking watercolours, 'The Mars riding at anchor off Cromer', which he painted in July 1807, just before the ship's involvement in the bombardment of Copenhagen. The Mars was a 74 gun ship of the line commanded by William Lukin, heir to the Felbrigg estate, after the death of Repton's landlord William Windham, the last of the direct line, in 1810 (Ketton-Cremer 1982, 258-262). Lukin had been looking to retire from the navy and farm in Norfolk for a number of years and had entered into correspondence with Cook Flower about the Sheringham estate and had even signed a contract to buy the land which was cancelled in 1808, opening up Humphry Repton's interest and the Upcher's eventual purchase (NRO WKC 7/91/1-13 404 x 4). In the Red Book that Repton prepared after the immediate threat of invasion had subsided, the ocean is a constant presence, 'a leading feature in the landscape of an island' (RBS) emphasising the nation's separateness; adding an element of the sublime to the beauty of the landscape; and depicted as a busy shipping channel dotted with craft of all sizes, emphasising its role in maintaining England's security, expansion and commerce. The oak trees at Sheringham predictably take on the mantle of national symbolism (see Daniels 1998). Rather than resisting by yielding, as the birch and sycamore did, the oak plantations stand resolute: "While Oceans breath may blast a single tree, England's combined Oaks resist the Sea Emblem of Strength, increas'd by Unity" (RBS) Colonial Context The domestic political situation in the first two decades of the nineteenth century was rooted in the social and economic changes of the industrial revolution, increasing urbanisation, and their effects on rural communities. However, the revolutions in Europe make it impossible to isolate the 13 situation within the realm of domestic politics, and, as both Mansfield Park and Sheringham Park demonstrate, there was also a strong connection with international tensions. The central theme of Mansfield Park, from which it is possible to draw important resonances with Sheringham, is the shadow that colonialism cast over the English landscape. The domestic and social turmoil that unravels when the patriarch Sir Thomas Bertram is called away to settle issues on his Antiguan sugar plantations demonstrates the importance of his personal authority in both landscapes. As Edward Said has argued, the crisis may bring those relationships dramatically to surface, but what is both more significant and deliberately less apparent, is that 'the domestic tranquillity and attractive harmony' of Mansfield Park is assured by 'the productivity and regulated discipline of the other' (Said 1994, 104). Said argues that Austen synchronises domestic and colonial authority and makes it clear that the practice of ownership, with its social responsibilities and position at Mansfield Park, is sustained by the parallel yet absentee ownership and management of a colonial plantation. That plantation, elided in the novel as an 'absent' or dislocated landscape, is sustained by the barbaric social relationships of slavery. The point Austen makes is that whilst law and propriety are built upon the possession and control of land in England, the whole edifice of the estate, house and household at Mansfield Park, though apparently insulated and self-contained, is in fact underpinned and sustained by colonialism and slavery. Rather than validating a vision of England's uncontested imperial prerogative, Fraiman (1995) argues that the tensions and jealousies within Mansfield Park demonstrate Austen's intention to highlight the depravity within social and spatial relationships based on slavery, both abroad and at home. In the novel, when Fanny Price asks Sir Thomas about his involvement with the slave trade over dinner her question is met by 'such a dead silence' that the subject is awkwardly dropped (Austen 1996, 165). Said has argued that the ‘dead silence’ suggests that the two worlds cannot be explicitly connected within the polite world, as there simply is no common language to unite the two landscapes (1994, 115). The key issue becomes the extent of that 'dead silence' or whether there were references 14 woven into the everyday which were cues referencing the colonial context, to which we must become more sensitised. The discourse of colonialism and slavery surfaces dramatically in the Sheringham Red Book, for example, when Repton is writing about the relief of the poor: ‘And whether the poor Slave be driven by the Lash of the Whip, or the dread of confinement in a workhouse, he must feel that Men are not all equal altho’ he may be taught to read that they are so’ (RBS) Repton amended the passage when he reproduced it in Fragments on the Theory and Practice, for publication some five years later to read: ‘And whether the poor Slave is urged on by the Lash of the Negro driver, or the dread of confinement in a workhouse...’ (1816, 205) Here it seems there is not silence but a dynamic and changing vocabulary – stark within the context of rural improvement and poor relief – that possibly reflects changing sensibilities to the issue of slavery, once the effects and weaknesses of the abolition of the slave trade in 1807 had become apparent. In fact, juxtaposing domestic and colonial conditions was a familiar conceit within the wider discourse of rural reform and improvement, from the late eighteenth century. In the General View of the Agriculture of the West Riding, which includes the Lascelles' Harewood estate, the famine and misery predicted as a result of retaining unenclosed common fields and commons, is described as a just punishment ‘for our neglect of the domestic cultivation of our own bread plant, and a foolish predilection for the culture of the foreign sugar cane’ (Rennie et al 1794, 110). The interplay between geographically distinct but economically dependent landscapes in contemporary literature suggests that there were occasions when the two could share a common language even if only for dramatic 15 effect. The most frequent use was to draw attention to the increasing brutality and oppression meted out to the British labouring poor, as Repton did, or to highlight the preoccupation of reformers on the abolition of slavery in the colonies rather than on domestic inequalities. The deliberate positioning of the two cultural landscapes alongside each other allowed contrasts to be drawn between the social relations within each landscape and to question polite society's right to represent itself as morally enlightened and politically just (Mitchell 1993, 11). The economic relationship between the English estate landscape and plantations in the Caribbean, in terms of sustaining change and design, has yet to be studied in detail, and they are still routinely considered as distinct spheres. However, as the nineteenth century progressed, colonial possessions were increasingly seen, not as distinct and separate but, as John Stuart Mill argued, “more properly as outlying agricultural or manufacturing establishments belonging to a larger community… If Manchester, instead of being where it is, were on a rock in the North Sea...it would still be but a town of England, not a country trading with England; it would be merely, as now, a place where England finds it convenient to carry on her cotton manufacture. The West Indies, in like manner, are the place where England finds it convenient to carry on the production of sugar, coffee…The trade with the West Indies…more resemble[s] the traffic between town and country” (Mill 1965, 3:693) Both novelist and economist demonstrate the significance of the colonial landscape to the metropole, emphasising the importance of the spatial or geographical in the material realisation of social and economic relationships. Whilst archaeologists and historians tend to deal with space and location through the specifics of a site or estate in the Caribbean or in the 16 UK, there is a tendency to neglect the particular ties of kinship and ownership which linked landscapes directly (Seymour, Daniels and Watkins 1998). Simon Smith (2006) has demonstrated the importance of kin-based networks to 'gentry capitalism' in his study of how the Lascelles family of Harewood House developed their interests through extensive networks that encompassed many aspects of the Atlantic trade, but the extent to which those colonial networks and connections permeated and operated within contemporary English society is more elusive. The national investment in sustaining the colonial sphere impacted on the personal and family lives of those involved in its increasingly complex workings. Whilst stationed in the Caribbean in the late 1780s, for example, Nelson met and married his wife Frances Nisbet on the island of Nevis where she was born and brought up (Sugden 2004, 306-316). Repton's family life was also touched by Britain's colonial commitments: on the 22nd November 1808, less than a fortnight before he began to conceive Sheringham as a possible memorial for Nelson, his son Edward married Mary Herbert, the daughter of Joseph Herbert, President of the Council of Montserrat in the West Indies (Carter, Goode & Laurie 1982, 28). Five months later Repton was lamenting to his wife that Mary was stealing young Edward from the family and suffering in the unfamiliar English climate: ‘She is a poor cold thing – I found her at Norris’s with her hands in thick worsted gloves sitting over the fire…[with] a great shawl on…we must bear with our loss of dear Edw[ar]d – for he is lost to us – but there enow of us to be happy...till Mary + our dee find out those they can love better than us’ (quoted in Carter, Goode & Laurie 1982, 28) Repton's expressed his regret at the loss of his son in his comment about trees in the Sheringham Red Book - 17 "In proportion as the trees become attached to the Soil so we become attached to them, while our children leave their homes, forming new attachments" and "Our trees are children which never disappoint us" (RBS) Repton's sense of loss was probably informed by his opinion of his new daughter-in- law's family. Joseph Herbert effectively ran Montserrat for thirty years as a senior member of the white plantation-owning elite. But only a year before the Herbert-Repton marriage, in 1807, he was suspended and then acquitted of exporting slaves after the abolition of the slave trade, and by the 1820s he was heavily in debt and petitioning parliament on behalf of the beleaguered slave owners (Berleant-Schiller 1996). Austen had her own close family connections with the colonial economy, with two brothers in the navy and one in the militia. Her brother Frank sailed on two voyages to the West Indies in 1805 and 1806, calling at Antigua where he formed a hostile opinion of way slaves were treated there (Sutherland 1996, xxiii). Her brother Charles married Fanny Palmer in Bermuda in 1807, and the couple visited Jane at Chawton in 1809, less than two years before she started work on Mansfield Park. All three biographies reveal personal family connections to the colonies and a direct familiarity with the economics of enslaved labour, coercion, and diaspora. Just as Sam Smiles (2008) has shown that J.M.W. Turner invested in the Caribbean economy, so Repton and Austen were drawn into it through family marriages. Repton also saw the impact colonial money was having on the English landscape through working for patrons such as the Lascelles who had grown rich exploiting the Atlantic trade, from owning slave ships to collecting customs, before becoming plantation and slave owners (Finch 2008). At Sheringham, however, Repton’s young patrons were drawn from a very different political and social circle. As early as 1766 Abbot Upcher’s grandfather, the Rev. Abbot Upcher of 18 Sudbury, Suffolk, had been in correspondence with Benjamin Franklin through a small philanthropic group called 'The Associates of Dr Bray' (which included Samuel Johnson in their number) that supplied religious books to schools and churches in America and England, and for which Franklin had served as chairman. Upcher was considering donating £1,000 to buy land in Philadelphia and build a school for the purpose of ‘educating negro children’, and it was an important enough donation to merit Franklin's attendance at the Society's meeting to discuss how best to proceed (Quinlain 1949, 39-40). Although the plans were subsequently interrupted by the death of his wife, Upcher eventually donated £500 to the cause. Repton and the Upchers shared a belief in the role of the estate and the paternalism of the landlord within the political economy of landscape, and in their wider moral horizons. However, Abbot Upcher's early and unexpected death in 1819 brought the landscaping and building at Sheringham to a halt. Bouts of illness had plagued him from 1811 and in October 1812 he was 'seized with a violent nervous fever', which Repton believed was brought on by the collapse in property prices. Repton responded by offering to sell the estate for Upcher and resurrected his scheme with the Nelson Trust in a series of markedly avaricious letters to his son William (Daniels 1999, 98-99). Upcher recovered, refused to sell, and returned to Sheringham where he continued to improve the estate and implemented Repton's suggestions - planting 500 Spruce trees, new game coverts, as well as fruit trees in the land marked out to be 'experimental fields or kitchen gardens' (Yaxley 1986, 4-6). However, after five years of sustained work on the estate which included pulling down the old poor house and renovating the church, with the house itself months from completion, Upcher was taken ill in the spring of 1817. The fever returned in January 1819 and he suffered a stroke and died on the 2nd February. 19 As a young widow, Charlotte Upcher took on the role of her late husband by managing the estate and making decisions about letting farms. She also remained an active charitable patron within the locality establishing a Female Friendly Society, a village school, and free Sunday School amongst other local amenities (NRO UPC 58 640 x 8; Yaxley 1986, 38). She was supported in her grief by friends and neighbours Thomas Fowell Buxton and his wife Hannah, who leased Cromer Hall from 1821 before settling at nearby Northrepps Hall in 1828. Buxton took over the parliamentary campaign for the abolition of slavery from William Wilberforce in 1825, and was the public face of a group of evangelical social reformers campaigning against the slave trade and colonial reform. Much of the essential research, collating of evidence, report and speech writing was undertaken in Norfolk by the women in the circle - notably Buxton's daughter Priscilla and his cousin Anna Gurney, who lived at Overstrand Cottage on the edge of Buxton's Northrepps estate, eight miles from Sheringham (Gleadle 2009, 226; Midgley 1992). Just as the women in the Buxton circle challenged the contemporary dichotomy between the feminine domestic/private and the masculine public/political spheres, which even reformers such as Wilberforce had insisted upon, so did Charlotte Upcher (Laidlaw 2004; Midgley 1992). Charlotte continued to make donations to groups such as the ‘Ladies Society for Promoting the Early Education and Improvement of the Children of Negroes and of People of Colour in the British West Indies’ into the 1840s, and corresponded with Wilberforce (who she met at Cromer when he stayed with the Buxtons in 1822) and other evangelicals and abolitionists including Rev. William Ellis, Rev. Charles Simeon and Zachary Macaulay (NRO UPC 156/1 641 x 8). Despite being a neighbour and close friend of the Buxtons, Charlotte was on the periphery of their national political campaigns, although she did accompany them to the House of Commons for the passing of the Great Reform Act 20 in 1832, and she was present at a county meeting in Norwich in 1840 at which the middle- class anti-slavery group, led by Buxton and his friend J.J. Gurney clashed with the local Chartists, eager to press home their dissatisfaction with the new Poor Law, exemplifying the continuing contestation of the abolition movement within the context of domestic protest movements (Gleadle 2009, 249-255). Conclusion The Upcher family only completed the house and took up residency in 1839 when Abbot and Charlotte's son, Henry Ramey Upcher - who had laid the first stone of the house's foundation in July 1813 aged three - moved in with his new wife. Charlotte, who remained a widow, lived in a farm house on the estate until her death in 1857 (NRO UPC 156/1 641 x 8). Today garden historians acknowledge Sheringham Park as Repton's masterpiece and the National Trust open the grounds to the public, as Repton had perhaps foreseen - suggesting that 'proper persons' might be admitted at a discrete distance to humanise and animate the scenery (Carter, Goode and Laurie 1982, 129; RBS). Repton's belief that a landscape should facilitate social discourse reflected the growing significance of bourgeois values in the early- nineteenth century, and his patrons, the Upchers, involved themselves in the improvement of the landscape through their own paternalistic principles. So on one level the significance of the landscape at Sheringham Park is recognised in its association with Repton and the Upchers, and it garners new significance from the confluence of their biographies and the wider political tensions and cultural values of those involved in its creation and use, themes which are now recognised in an exhibition and guidebook (Daniels & Veale 2012). 21 The interrogation of the biographies and social networks reveals a rich personal and political milieu for all those involved with the cultural values expressed, and importantly, practiced through the landscape. Importantly, those themes are directly connected to international issues of slavery and colonialism, about which the previous scholarship on the landscape has been silent. Repton's admiration of Wilberforce, with whom he read Cowper, an abolitionist poet, whilst staying at Harewood House, the material legacy of a fortune made from slavery, should not be dismissed. The chapter 'Concerning Colours' in Fragments (1816) is addressed to Wilberforce who introduced him to Dr Milner's theories on light and colour, whilst Repton's publisher, Thomas Bensley, also published a collection of poems in 1809 to celebrate the abolition of the slave trade (Montgomery et al 1809). Repton shatters Said's 'dead silence' about the relationship between landscapes of the metropole and the colonies in the Red Book for Sheringham (1812) when he refers to the 'Lash of the Whip', a statement amplified in Fragments (1816) as the 'Lash of the Negro Driver'. Significantly, Repton also changed his comment about manufacturers being a 'different species of animal' (RBS): in Fragments they become a 'different class of mankind' (1816, 207) suggesting a shift in perception of the British working classes after the European wars, in response to both the changing domestic tensions, and the dynamic relationship between reform in the metropole and in the colonies. 3 Sheringham Park as a political space, connected biographically and spatially to a wide network of colonial reform that stretched back to the involvement of Abbot Upcher's grandfather with evangelical groups in the Americas during the 1760s, and connected it to the centres of political activity at neighbouring Northrepps Hall and Overstrand Cottage, from where Parliamentary campaigning was orchestrated by women in the Buxton family. The connections link 3 I am grateful to Steve Daniels for drawing my attention to these changes, and Bensley's output. 22 Repton's landscape to the Caribbean and the Americas, and to Africa against the tide of diaspora. It is by pursuing the relationship between social networks and landscape change that the narrative engages with important global issues that have hitherto been omitted, demonstrating a need to reconsider the role and presence of the colonial within apparently abstracted landscapes of the eighteenth century. Repton's role at both Harewood and Sheringham suggests that there is not a distinction to be made in terms of design between the landscapes of the slavers and the abolitionists. For the Lascelles at Harewood, Brown's park, improved by Repton, was a statement of legitimacy, proof that the family had negotiated the path from colonial merchants to established landed elite; at Sheringham, Repton's designs realised the Upcher's belief in a paternalistic, moral landscape, loaded with the symbolism understood by Jane Austen, that connected a stable community, and acted as a bulwark against the military and ideological threats from abroad. Both landscapes were, however, connected directly to the colonial environment. Harewood, like Mansfield Park, built on the profits of slavery; Sheringham linked to the social networks co-ordinating the growing momentum for abolition. If the importance of people and landscape in the eighteenth and nineteenth century is to be fully understood, there is a need to address the 'dead silence' commonly encountered amongst scholars with regard to colonialism and its role, not just in the obvious urban and institutional centres through which colonial governance and finance was orchestrated, but in the apparently insulated estate landscapes that formed such a fundamental part of the British countryside. 23 Bibliography Armstrong, M.J. (1781) History and Antiquities of the County of Norfolk, vol.3 (Norwich). Austen, J. (1996) Mansfield Park Ed. Kathryn Sutherland (Harmondsworth, Penguin). Berleant-Schiller, R. (1996) The White Minority and the emancipation process in Montserrat, 1807-32 New West Indian Guide/Nieuwe West-Indische Gids, 70(3/4), pp. 255-281. Carter, G., Goode, P & Laurie, K. (1982) Humphry Repton: Landscape Gardener 1752-1818 (Norwich, Sainsbury Centre for Visual Arts). Daniels, S. (1981) Landscaping for a Manufacturer: Humphry Repton's Commission for Benjamin Gott at Armley in 1809-1810, Journal of Historical Geography, 7, pp. 379-96. Daniels, S. (1986) Cankerous Blossom: troubles in the later career of Humphry Repton documented in the Repton correspondence in the Huntingdon Library, Journal of Garden History, 6, pp. 146-61. Daniels, S. (1993) Fields of Vision: landscape imagery and national identity in England and the United States (Oxford, Polity Press). Daniels, S. (1999) Humphry Repton: landscape gardening and the geography of Georgian England (Yale: Paul Mellon Centre for Studies in British Art). Daniels, S. & Veale, L. (2012) Humphry Repton at Sheringham Park. Bringing landscape to life 1812-2012 (Aylsham, National Trust/AHRC). Duckworth, A.M. (1971a) The Improvement of the Estate: a study of Jane Austen's novels (Baltimore, John Hopkins University Press). Duckworth, A.M. (1971b) Mansfield Park and Estate Improvement: Jane Austen's Grounds of Being Nineteenth Century Fiction 26(1), pp. 25-48. Everett, N. (1994) The Tory View of Landscape (Yale: Paul Mellon Centre for Studies in British Art). Finch, J. (2008) Three Men in a Boat: biographies and narrative in the historic landscape, Landscape Research, 33(5), pp. 511-530. Fraiman, S. (1995) Jane Austen and Edward Said: gender, culture and imperialism, Critical Inquiry, 21(4) pp.805-821. Gleadle, K. (2009) Borderline Citizens: women, gender and political culture in Britain, 1815-1867 (London, British Academy). Gurney, R.H.J. (n.d.) A Hundred Years at Northrepps Hall, 1795-1895 (unpublished manuscript). Hunt, J. D. (1992) Sense and Sensibility in the Landscape Designs of Humphry Repton, in J. D. Hunt (ed.) Gardens and the Picturesque: studies in the history of Landscape Architecture (Cambridge Mass., MIT Press), pp. 139-168. Ketton-Cremer, R.W. (1982) Felbrigg: the story of a house (London, Futura). 24 Laidlaw, Z. (2004) 'Aunt Anna's Report': the Buxton women and the Aborigines Select Committee, 1835-37, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 32(2), 1-28. Midgley, C. (1992) Women Against Slavery: the British Campaigns, 1780-1870 (London, Routledge). Mill, J. Stuart (1965) The Collected Works of John Stuart Mill, Volume III - The Principles of Political Economy with Some of Their Applications to Social Philosophy (Books III-V and Appendices), ed. John M. Robson (Toronto, University of Toronto Press). Mitchell, W.J.T. (1993) In the Wilderness, London Review of Books, 15(7), pp. 11-12. Montgomery, J., Grahame, J. and Benger, E. (1809) Poems on the Abolition of the Slave Trade (London). NRO UPC 156/1 641 x 8 Memorials. Compiled by Rev. Abbot Upcher. NRO UPC 58 648 x 8 Envelope entitled 'Receipts etc' containing letters, bills, receipts relating to the estate during the time it was administered by Charlotte Upcher c.1825-1857. NRO WKC 7/91/1-13 404 x 4 Letters of Woodford, Taylor, Amyot etc re. buying an estate for Capt Lukin, 1808. Oxford Dictionary of National Biography Peacock, T.L. (1816) Headlong Hall (London). Quaintance, R. (1998) Humphry Repton, "any Mr Repton," and the "Improvement" metonym in Mansfield Park, Studies in Eighteenth Century Culture 27, pp. 365-84. Quinlan, M.J. (1949) Dr Franklin meets Dr Johnson, Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography, 73(1), pp. 34-44. Rennie, G., Broun, R., Shirreff, J. (1794) General View of the Agriculture of the West Riding of Yorkshire, with observations on the means of its improvement (London). Repton, H. (1816) Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening (London). Repton, H. (1976) The Red Books of Humphry Repton (London, Basilisk). Repton, H. (2005) Memoirs, edited by A. Gore and G. Carter (Norwich, Michael Russell). Said, E. W. (1994) Culture and Imperialism (London, Vintage). Seymour, S. Daniels, S. and Watkins, C. (1998) Estate and empire: Sir George Cornewall's management of Moccas, Herefordshire and La Taste, Grenada, 1771-1819, Journal of Historical Geography, 24(3), pp. 313-351. Smiles, S. (2008) Turner and the Slave Trade: speculation and representation, 1805-40 British Art Journal, 8(3), pp. 47-54. Smith, S. D. (2006) Slavery, Family and Gentry Capitalism in the British Atlantic: the world of the Lascelles, 1648-1834 (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press). Sugden, J. (2004) Nelson: a dream of glory (London, Pimlico). 25 Sutherland, K. (1996) Introduction in, J. Austen Mansfield Park ed. Kathryn Sutherland (Harmondsworth, Penguin). Williamson, T. (1998) The Archaeology of the Landscape Park: garden design in Norfolk, England, c.1680-1840 (Oxford, Archaeopress). Yaxley, S. (1986) Sherringhamia: the journal of Abbot Upcher 1813-16, (Stibbard, Larks Press). 26 Figures Fig.1: Abbot Upcher of Sheringham (1784-1819) by George Henry Harlow. Oil on canvas, 73.5 x 61 cm (Copyright National Trust Images). 27 Fig.2: The Honourable Mrs Abbot Upcher, née Charlotte Wilson (1790-1857), by Richard Westall, 1814. Oil on canvas, 61 x 51.5 cm (Copyright National Trust Images). 28 Fig. 3: The view of Approach from The Red Book for Sheringham (without overlay) showing sea busy with shipping, and probably the three protagonists, Repton sketching on the right, and the Upchers having alighted from their carriage in the centre (Copyright National Trust Images). 29 Fig.4: Sheringham Park. The house looking north-east (Copyright: the Author) 
work_3tnne632nbem7bairm2qikzw6i	----	Microsoft Word - ES 37-2016-DEFINITIVO.docx Received 01/04/16 – Accepted 25/05/16 ES. Revista de Filología Inglesa 37 (2016) Elinor Shaffer and Catherine Brown, eds. The Reception of George Eliot in Europe. The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe, Series Editor: Elinor Shaffer. London: Bloomsbury, 2016. Pp. lvi, 453. £150.00. ISBN 978-1-44119-022-2. JESÚS VARELA ZAPATA Universidade de Santiago de Compostela In the mid-nineteenth century a select group of Englishmen were trying to change the world. Some of them were politicians and bureaucrats who, from the comfort of their office in London, seemed to rule the waves of the seas all over the world. Others were engaged in the battle for ideas, in the hope of breaking into new scientific and philosophical ground. Herbert Spencer, influenced by the novelty of Darwin’s theories, was amongst these select few and particularly invested in laying the ideological foundation of Eurocentrism, while Charles Bray and Robert Owen were actively involved in social reform and the improvement of labour conditions. In turn, George Lewes represented the small but increasing influential minority of freethinkers and libertarians who departed from Victorian conventions and moral strictures. All of these thinkers, and some others, had in common their being acquainted with George Eliot. Eliot was another intellectual giant of the time who, from an early age, had developed a passion for reading and learning. This trait would eventually lead her to a later venture: translating the work of continental philosophers such as Friedrich Strauss, Ludwig Feuerbach, and Baruch Spinoza. By the time she was in her early thirties she was already the acting editor of the Westminster Review, where the leading reformist voices of the times aired their views. She chose a male pen-name in order to gain credibility in a world where the rights of women were still being refuted and fought over. However, this disguise was more of an act of rebellion than a conformist move; it was a way of asserting her determination to go as far as any men could go and, in fact, she challenged all the conventional moral attitudes of the Victorian age; as her biographer Kathryn Hughes has put it: “Her avowed agnosticism, sexual freedom, commercial success and childlessness were troubling reminders of everything that had been repressed from the public version of life under the great little Queen” (2001: 2). Therefore, when marriage with Lewes proved impossible for legal reasons, they engaged in a permanent relationship bound by a passion for travel. Their journeys all over Europe would prove very influential in her career. On the one hand, they would mark the personality of the writer, 134 JESÚS VARELA ZAPATA ES. Revista de Filología Inglesa 37 (2016) making her more mature and aware of the depth of European philosophy, culture and linguistic diversity; on the other, her presence in the major capitals would make her an influential figure in the world of art; as John Rignall, in George Eliot, European Novelist (2011: 3), points out: That she became a novelist of European stature, published in English on the Continent by Tauchnitz or Asher and translated into many European languages, is well known. Tolstoy included her in the list of those writers who made a great impression on him in the period in which he wrote his great novels, and she was on friendly terms with Turgenev, who admired her work and The Mill on the Floss in particular. The publication by Bloomsbury of The Reception of George Eliot in Europe is in itself a confirmation of the canonical status the writer still enjoys at present. If only because among other writers included by the publisher in the series called “The Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe” we find the likes of Virginia Woolf, James Joyce, Jonathan Swift, William Butler Yeats, Henry James, or Oscar Wilde. It is unavoidable, at this point, to refer to one of Eliot’s admirers, F.R. Leavis, who started his critical piece, The Great Tradition (1913), with such an authoritative statement: “The great English novelists are Jane Austen, George Eliot, Henry James and Joseph Conrad” (9). However, the fact is that, on the issue of canonicity, contributors to The Reception of George Eliot in Europe have acted in a restrained way, so as to not turn the featured writer into an idol. None of them have been tempted to go to great lengths to extol her popularity; on the contrary, some of them have been honest enough to admit that Eliot’s reputation has fluctuated with time, in some cases for the worse. For instance, Boris M. Proskurnin points out that interest in Eliot is still high in post-Soviet Russia among scholars, but is negligible if we consider her status among publishers and the general public (262, 284); similarly, the Norwegian contributor admits that Eliot’s case has been declining in her country (“The Enthusiasm that Petered Out”, runs the title of this contribution). The Hungarian Szegedy-Massák mentions the opinion of his countryman and scholar Antal Szerb who, in a history of world literature of his authorship, candidly reveals what seems to be an almost too forthright opinion: “the once immense popularity of George Eliot … sems to have evaporated” (343). Very often throughout the volume we find Eliot’s popularity and assessment of her work put in relation to authors such as Dickens, Thackeray, Charlotte Brontë or Jane Austen. This has been frowned upon by some critics, as is the case with Russel Perkin, who has remarked that Eliot should better be compared to Goethe, Balzac or Flauvert (1990: 45). The problem is that comparison with fellow British writers of the time, particularly with Dickens, often results in Elinor Shaffer and Catherine Brown, eds. The Reception of George Eliot in Europe 135 ES. Revista de Filología Inglesa 37 (2016) unfavourable reports for George Eliot, either because she is considered a difficult read, or on account of the rural background of some of her works which are not particularly appealing to urban reading audiences. All in all, taking into consideration the different contributions gathered in the volume under review, one reaches the conclusion that the importance of Eliot abroad has been unequal. For instance, we can talk about the minor impact of Eliot on Spanish territories, especially when considered alongside Germany, where translations of her work were remarkable from the very moment of publication (let alone the fact that English reprints were also common in that country). Paradoxically enough, María Jesús Lorenzo-Modia argues that Eliot has probably influenced Spanish writers such as Galdós, Clarín or Pardo Bazán, while Röder-Bolton states that German literature of that time was not so responsive. As it has been implicitly suggested above, The Reception of George Eliot in Europe has been arranged following geographical criteria. Editors Elinor Shaffer and Catherine Brown have allocated individual chapters to the major European countries, grouped in three sections (Northern, Southern and Eastern Europe). Some countries get full coverage, as is the case with Germany: a single chapter covers Eliot’s reception in that country during her lifetime. This is followed by another section in which the differences between cultural policies of the East and the West are discussed. Finally, there is an appendix on the reunified German state. Italy is also dealt with in detail throughout three different chapters. In turn, Catalonia is considered separately from Spain, following linguistic and not political criteria. However, the editors have fallen short of being exhaustive in their coverage of the map, since we miss the entries for countries such as Portugal, Finland (partially covered in the chapter on Sweden) and the former Yugoslavia. The absence of Switzerland, Belgium or Austria might have been justified if they had been dealt with in other chapters devoted to cultures in the German, French or Dutch languages, but this is not the case. Chapters are not balanced in length; while it is only to be expected that the chapter on Greece or Bulgaria will be shorter than that on Spain, the fact is that there is no satisfactory explanation to account for the fact that the contribution dealing with France is only one third of the Spanish one. There is no lack of technical detail in this edition: the initial appendix (“Timeline of the European Reception of George Eliot, 1819-2015”) provides invaluable information and reference for the learned reader. This is complemented by other itemized entries in the appendices and footnotes included in individual chapters. Beyond the data, which is mainly oriented to scholarly specialists in George Eliot, those doing research on the assorted European national literatures dealt with in the volume or even the curious reader will embark on a fascinating cultural history of the continent during the last two centuries if they choose to read the book. Mihály Szegedy-Maszák makes it 136 JESÚS VARELA ZAPATA ES. Revista de Filología Inglesa 37 (2016) explicit from the outset that his avowed intention is to row against the tide in reception studies by relating George Eliot’s impact in Hungary to historical and political circumstances. However, this contributor must have been surprised at reading the final copy of the collected essays, since most of them have taken a similar approach. In fact, after reading the whole volume, one gets the impression that different ideological battles have been fought across Europe in the name of George Eliot, or, at least, some which have taken her books as an alibi of sorts. This means that although her work was frowned upon and restricted in Spain during Franco’s regime, the same production was generally privileged by communist authorities in Eastern Europe. In this way, we learn that the Marxist East German regime gave an extra allowance of scarce printing paper at their disposal to publish Eliot’s work. Perhaps it was only because she was considered a viable case in point to explain the decline of Capitalist societies. In this same line, Annika Bautz aptly compares the epilogues usually enclosed in East German editions with those appearing across the border in the twin Federal Republic where the emphasis seems to have been placed on moral issues. Similarly, Zdenek Beran points out that the papers and books published in Czechoslovakia on Eliot’s work were often based on Marxist doctrine and “the demands for precisely this kind of analysis under the Communist regime” (316); these remarks resemble those relating Hungary’s “clichés of the so-called Marxist criticism” (344). Diederik van Werven, in the chapter on the Netherlands, widens the coverage of the ideological manipulation of Eliot’s work by mentioning her favourable reception among Protestant editors of that nationality in the nineteenth century, pointing out that “[they] certainly did not reflect the intellectual development of the author” (66). Religious bias, and particularly the Protestant background of her works, is also the basis to explain the relative unimportance of Eliot in French markets (165). Nineteenth-century Sweden constitutes an extraordinary case of ideological polyvalence in Eliot’s appraisal: she finds favourable reviews among those sympathizing with French naturalism and secular radicals, while she is equally endeared to conservative reviewers. In this volume, attention is also given to discussions of technicalities related to the art of translation. This is not surprising, given the fact that Eliot herself was not always pleased with the quality of some of the renderings of her work in other languages, not least because she was an indefatigable translator all of her life. Thus, Vesela Katsarova, deals extensively with the difficulties found by Bulgarian translators to accommodate Eliot’s style; the chapters devoted to Poland, Hungary, or Romania also deal with these issues although more briefly. Along these lines, Alain Jumeau calls Eliot’s personal choice of D’Albert-Durade as her translator into French “unfortunate,” as he mentions a number of mistakes as well as stylistic issues that result in a “stiff, clumsy and unnatural” text (165). Translation always leaves ample ground for manipulation Elinor Shaffer and Catherine Brown, eds. The Reception of George Eliot in Europe 137 ES. Revista de Filología Inglesa 37 (2016) of assorted ideological tenets; Spain, under Franco, saw many examples of omissions or changes to original texts (Rabadán 2000); in this case, Hurtley and Ortega, the contributors from Catalonia, mention how the Spanish translation of Adam Bede published in the early 1940s was able to circumvent the moral strictures that, in similar works, caused certain parts to be excised (252). As a conclusion, we should say that this volume proves an interesting account of the reception of Eliot’s work across Europe. In this way, it fulfils the main purposes delineated by the editors and contributors, providing readers with an overall view of Eliot’s progress towards the canonical status she has arguably achieved. For example, as any scholar familiar to her work might expect, we learn that the most translated novels are Adam Bede, The Mill on the Floss, Silas Marner and Middlemarch. However, we can say, on a positive note, that the volume reviewed here ends up delivering much more than the minute archival detail. We find much insight on Eliot’s creative progress and intellectual background. It is interesting to follow the writer’s philosophical stance, especially her indebtedness to the work of Spinoza and Compte, as well as the impact of her views on agnostic and positivist thinkers all over Europe. Some of the keys to understand her work may be found in entries such as that of María Jesús Lorenzo-Modia, providing a full account of Eliot’s passion for Spanish religious painting. She also gives evidence of Eliot’s popularity when she explains that after visiting several Spanish cities incognito she was immediately recognized by fellow travellers when the couple signed with their true name in a boarding house in Granada. This helps to understand Lewis’ strong position when he was bargaining, in his condition as Eliot’s agent, for royalties from the German editors. This interest has known ups and downs but it is reflected in the fact that a prestigious publisher such as Bloomsbury has thought it wise to produce yet another critical volume on George Eliot –one that stands to make a substantial contribution to scholarship in nineteenth-century studies. REFERENCES Hughes, Kathryn. Eliot. The Last Victorian. New York: Cooper Sq Press, 2001. Leavis, Frank R. The Great Tradition. George Eliot, Henry James, Joseph Conrad. 1948. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1972. Perkin, J. Russell. A Reception History of George Eliot’s Fiction. Ann Arbor and London: UMI, 1990. Rabadán, Rosa, ed. Traducción y censura inglés-español 1939-1985: estudio preliminar. León: Universidad de León, 2000. Rignall, John. George Eliot, European Novelist. Farnham and Burlington: Ashgate, 2011. 
work_3wyll2pvrffffemcnqyypva3dm	----	1 "This is an Accepted Manuscript of an article published by McMaster University Press in the journal Eighteenth-Century Fiction, anticipated date of publication in January 2017, available at: [DOI]" ‘Popular fiction after Richardson’ by Bonnie Latimer The influence upon the later novel of The History of Sir Charles Grandison (1753-4) is not universally acknowledged—but, this essay will suggest, it ought to be. Famously, it was a favourite of Austen’s, who adapted it as a play, and George Eliot prized it above Clarissa.1 Closer to its own time, popular fiction reprises it: in 1771, Elizabeth Griffith’s Lady Barton imagines herself as Harriet Byron, whilst the anonymous History of Mr Byron and Miss Greville and The Adopted Daughter (both 1767) recycle names and scenes familiar from Grandison.2 Sophia Briscoe’s The History of Miss Melmoth (1772) appears to reproduce a number of its tableaux.3 For readers afraid of its bulk, a kind abridger produced a redacted Grandison.4 Some authors, apprised of the novel’s imminent appearance, did not wait for Richardson to publish before responding: The Memoirs of Sir Charles Goodville, advertised over the winter of 1753, pipped Richardson to the post by almost a year.5 The ‘Lover of Virtue’ unflatteringly noted Grandison’s effect upon novels of its generation: ‘Your success has farther corrupted our taste, by giving birth to an infinite series of other compositions all of the same kind’.6 This article examines Grandison’s immediate legacy following its publication in late 1753 and early 1754, and how it helped to shape the popular novels of the mid-1750s, 60s, and early 70s. I suggest that Grandison offers a grand ideological vision of personal virtue which functions as a greater, organising social principle. Its ultimate expression is the stable community, bonded together through personal example and superintendence, and through the 1 Jane Austen, Sir Charles Grandison: Or, the Happy Man, ed. Brian Southam (Oxford, 1981); Gillian Beer, George Eliot (Brighton, 1986), 84. 2 The History of Mr Byron and Miss Greville, 2 vols (London, 1767). The novel recycles the names Byron and Greville, but also various situations. See also The Adopted Daughter; Or the History of Miss Clarissa B, 2 vols (London, 1767). 3 [Sophia Briscoe], The History of Miss Melmoth, 2 vols (Dublin, 1772). 4 The History of Sir Charles Grandison, Abridged from the Works of Samuel Richardson (London, [1769?]). 5 The Memoirs of Sir Charles Goodville and His Family, 2 vols (London, 1753). 6 ‘Lover of Virtue’, Critical Remarks upon Sir Charles Grandison… (London, 1754), 4. 2 public encouragement of marriage. Richardson’s Sir Charles embodies the magnetically virtuous individual whose duty and pleasure it is to draw together the community—and perhaps even the nation. This paradigm of virtue provides a key reference-point for popular fiction after Richardson, whether it is imitated, repurposed, or mocked. This article reads a range of later novelists as respondents to Richardson, from light sentimental novels forgotten by criticism, to more celebrated sentimental utopian fictions— from texts which evidently reflect his influence, such as Sarah Scott’s Millenium Hall (1762), Anna Meades’s William Harrington (1771), and Mary Walker Hamilton’s Munster Village (1778), to narratives with very different politics, such as John Kidgell’s The Card (1755) and John Shebbeare’s Fielding-esque romp The Marriage Act (1754). For all their variety of outlook and quality, I suggest that these novels can be productively read as reproducing a Grandisonian ideal virtue and utopian country estate. If Grandison’s vision of the ideal society is neither ideologically innovative nor philosophically sophisticated, it does crystallise within novelistic fiction an image of the good life and the benevolent community leader which proves intensely and enduringly popular in the years following its publication. Before embarking on this argument, however, it is necessary to consider what it means to say that Grandison is an ‘influential’ novel. Reproducing Grandison Questions of literary influence are notoriously hard to resolve. In the eighteenth century, authors often conflated any clear lines between influence, adaptation, translation, and rewriting, by framing their works as ‘alter’d’ versions of another text, by writing ‘in imitation of’ someone else, or by presenting as ‘translations’ texts which differed substantially from their originals. Appropriation, of one kind or another, was a means by which Richardson’s contemporaries repeatedly engaged with his writing, from the Pamela controversy, to Lady Echlin’s alternative ending to Clarissa, to The Paths of Virtue, which adapted Richardson’s novels for children.7 There is a strong tradition of scholarship on rewritings and extensions of 7 See Thomas Keymer and Peter Sabor (eds), The Pamela Controversy: Criticisms and Adaptations of Samuel Richardson’s Pamela, 1740-1750, 6 vols (London, 2001); Elizabeth Echlin, An Alternative Ending to Richardson’s Clarissa, ed. Dimiter Daphinoff (Bern, 1982); ‘Samuel Richardson’, The Paths of Virtue Delineated (London, 1768); Leah Price, ‘Reading (and not reading) Richardson, 1756-1868’, Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture 29 (2000), 87-103. 3 Richardson’s fictions, understandably focused on his first novel. 8 Within such comment, Grandison remains comparatively neglected.9 A major contention of this essay is that Grandison deserves more recognition as an ‘influential’ novel—although a piece of this length can only begin to make this argument. Contemporaries such as the ‘Lover of Virtue’, cited above, certainly saw it that way. Catherine Morland and Isabella Thorpe’s discussion in Northanger Abbey (1818) of Radcliffean gothic implicitly understands Grandison, that ‘amazing horrid book’, as paradigmatic of the sentimental-realist novel, an antitype to Isabella’s favourite tales. 10 Austen’s use of Grandison as shorthand for the mid-century sentimental novel is less surprising if we recall Alan Dugald McKillop’s insight that Richardson’s last published fiction ‘set the tone’ of novels for the second half of the century. 11 Following McKillop, Gerard Barker sees Grandison’s effect on later-century novels as ‘profound and pervasive’, although he notes that ‘the nature of its influence has never been thoroughly examined’—a challenge which subsequent critics have not notably met. Barker identifies as key to Grandison’s importance both the exemplary character of Sir Charles and Harriet’s narrative role, the latter point explored by Joe Bray, who claims Grandison as an anticipator of free indirect discourse. 12 Looking closely, one can see Grandison cropping up repeatedly in the decades following its publication: it is alluded to in multiple forgotten texts, but also by Griffiths, Austen, and Edgeworth, as well as being adapted (The Paths of Virtue, the abridged Grandison), and extended in the form of Mary Wollstonecraft’s free translation Young Grandison (1790). 13 Indeed, in certain areas of eighteenth-century novel scholarship Grandison’s influence is routinely noted, such as work on Sarah Scott.14 8 As well as Keymer and Sabor, see William Warner, Licensing Entertainment: The Elevation of Novel Reading in Britain, 1684-1750 (San Bernadino, CA, 1998); David Brewer, The Afterlife of Character, 1726-1825 (Philadelphia, 2005). 9 The major exception is Gerard Barker’s Grandison’s Heirs: The Paragon’s Progress in the Late Eighteenth-Century Novel (Newark, 1985). See also, inter alia, Edward Copeland, ‘The burden of Grandison: Jane Austen and her contemporaries’, Women and Literature 3 (1983), 98-106. 10 Austen, Northanger Abbey (1818), ed. James Kinsley and John Davie (Oxford, 2003), 26. 11 Alan Dugald McKillop, Samuel Richardson: Printer and Novelist (Chapel Hill, NC, 1936), 213. 12 Barker, Grandison’s Heirs, 13, 9, 36, 44; Joe Bray, ‘The source of “dramatized consciousness”: Richardson, Austen, and stylistic influence’, Style 35: 1 (2001), 18-33. 13 Cf Edgeworth’s Belinda (1801), ed. Kathryn Kirkpatrick (Oxford, 1994), 477. 14 For example, Vincent Carretta, ‘Utopia Limited: Sarah Scott’s Millenium Hall and The History of Sir George Ellison’, Age of Johnson 5 (1992): 303–25; Markman Ellis, The Politics of Sensibility: Race, Gender, and Commerce in the Sentimental Novel (Cambridge, 1996), 87; Alfred Lutz, ‘Commercial Capitalism, Classical Republicanism, and the Man of Sensibility in The History of Sir George Ellison’, SEL 39 [1999]: 557–74; Bonnie Latimer, ‘Courting Dominion: Sir Charles Grandison, Sir George Ellison, and the organizing principle of masculinity’, The Eighteenth-Century Novel 9 (2012), 109-131. 4 Even whilst acknowledging these relationships, though, one must recognise the dangers in asserting the influence of one text upon another. Firstly, as David Brewer reminds us, investigations of borrowing tend to suffer from ‘a paucity of evidence’.15 Secondly, even where one can identify authorial knowledge of an earlier work and pinpoint textual parallels, it is well to remember that post hoc non est propter hoc. In many cases, it is impossible to prove beyond doubt that a phrase or idea was plucked from one precursor, however significant, rather than simply being ‘in the air’ at a particular moment. Thirdly, attempts to specify influence risk positioning the chronologically prior text as ‘more original’ than the later one, perhaps as pioneering rather than merely containing the features which the second allegedly borrows: when, of course, that first text may be just as enmeshed in networks of influence and imitation as the second. Where does this leave us, however, when faced with a description such as this, of a married couple in Catherine Parry’s Eden Vale (1784)? Mr. and Mrs. Grandison seem literally to have but one soul; they live, they breathe but for each other…The chearfulness which they are so remarkable for, seems encreased by each other’s presence, and you see an involuntary joy light up their countenances when they meet, even after the shortest absence.16 The picture echoes Sir Charles and Harriet, who have ‘hearts, so united, so formed, for one another’, and whose expressions reveal ‘a joy that lighted up a more charming flush than usual’.17 It is hardly possible to prove that Parry wrote with a copy of Grandison to hand, or even that she had read it—but to regard the re-use of the name and the verbal similarities as coincidental is also unpersuasive. Reading such a novel, one can, without presuming to recover authorial intentionality, see it as engaging with Grandison. In addressing Grandison’s influence, I draw on the thought of several scholars. Foremost amongst these is David Brewer, whose term ‘imaginative expansionism’ captures a host of recreative practices through which readers extend fictions, treating characters in ‘broadly successful texts…as if they were both fundamentally incomplete and the common property of all…merely a starting point’ for another text.18Although Brewer’s consideration of novelistic ‘afterlives’ is foundational to this argument, I extend his focus on character to consider tropes such as the country estate and publicly sanctioned marriage. Another suggestive model is Catherine Kodat’s theory of the ‘eidetic image’. Kodat understands 15 Brewer, The Afterlife of Character, 7. 16 [Catherine Parry], Eden Vale, 2 vols (London, 1784), 1: 12-13. 17 Richardson, The History of Sir Charles Grandison (1753-4), 7 vols, ed. Jocelyn Harris (Oxford, 1972), 7: 438-8, 6: 226. Hereafter cited in-text as ‘Gr.’. 18 Brewer, Afterlife of Character, 2. 5 ‘adaptation’ as an ‘after-image that is a kind of mental reviewing of an image that has passed’, representing ‘a complementary “negative” of the original image, in that there are common properties shared by both…(usually shape), but also clear differences (usually color).’19 Such a metaphor may be useful for thinking about later incarnations of Grandison-hall such as Austen’s Pemberley, recognisable as having a similar ‘shape’ but ‘coloured’ by different preoccupations. Most useful, though, is Rhoda Trooboff’s softer-focus idea of influence, which represents ‘an organic, familial, quasi-Darwinian model, which I call reproduction’ and which disclaims the ‘quasi-legal and quasi-economic models…embodied in “plagiarism” and “appropriation”’.20 Trooboff’s conceptualisation is particularly eligible for this argument because it does not assign intentionality or suggest that a precursor-text is the only or even principal source of a later one: instead, she reads the reappearance of tropes between texts as a significant reproduction which indicates influence but which does not preclude either text’s participation in wider conversations. In this essay, I try to position Grandison not as wholly innovating the features which I suggest later writers drew from it, but as realising them in a way which proved compelling for contemporaries, and which invited rewriting. Richardson’s fictions courted reproduction: as Brewer notes, Richardson ‘built opportunities for imaginative expansion…directly into [his] work’, for instance by invoking an extratextual ‘fictional archive’ through which the reader could project Pamela’s ‘off-page’ life.21 I suggest that a similar effect is achieved through the accounts of Grandison-hall, which abound with detail, but also indicate their own insufficiency, and the consequent need to imagine more. Harriet’s letters through volume 7 outline life at the hall, but teasingly leave gaps. She praises Sir Charles’s feasting of his tenants, but announces that she ‘will not trouble you…with an account’ of it. She alludes to the ‘charm[ing] contriv[ance]’ and ‘minut[e]’ detail with which Sir Charles organises the servants, but this is only to whet the appetite: when her sketch ends, Harriet begs Dr Bartlett to expatiate upon ‘the charming subject’ of the estate, and to ‘tell…more of…Sir Charles’s management and intentions’ (Gr., 7: 285-8). Unhappily, they are interrupted and the topic never resumed: but I suggest that here, Richardson encourages the reader to fill in a more detailed account. Also significant is the insistence on reproducing features of Sir Charles’s estate; amongst others, Mrs Selby instantly 19 Catherine Kodat (2005), cited in Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Adaptation, 2nd edition (London, 2013), 172. 20 Rhoda Trooboff, ‘Reproducing Oroonoko: A case study in plagiarism, textual parallelism, and creative borrowing’, in Susan Iwanisziw, Troping Oroonoko from Behn to Bandele (Burlington, VT, 2004), 108- 140: 109. 21 Brewer, Afterlife of Character, 114, 136. 6 determines to construct a servants’ library along the lines of Sir Charles’s (Gr., 7: 286). A desire for ‘more of’ Sir Charles—to borrow Brewer’s phrase—is not only experienced by Grandison’s characters, but is recommended to the novel’s readership, in the concluding ‘Editor’s Note’ and ‘Letter to a Lady’. Here, Richardson ‘leav[es] decisions’ about his characters’ futures to the reader, encouraging them to picture new characters, such as Harriet and Sir Charles’s ‘fine and forward child’ (Gr., 7: 468). Given the openness of this invitation, it is surprising that scholarship has not focused more on engagements with Grandison. With this in mind, I turn now to a closer examination of Grandison’s fantasia of a well-ordered society, which, I suggest, becomes paradigmatic for later novelists. Crouds and societies: Community romance Sarah Scott’s rakish visitor to Millenium Hall, Lamont, who acts as a devil’s advocate throughout that novel, challenges the ladies of the Hall by suggesting that their interest in constructing an ideal society is at odds with that society’s isolation from the beau monde. Mrs Mancel sets him straight: Do you then…mistake a croud for society? I know not two things more opposite. How little society is there to be found in what you call the world? It might more properly be compared to that state of war, which Hobbes supposes the first condition of mankind…What I understand by society is a state of mutual confidence, reciprocal services, and correspondent affections…22 Mrs Mancel’s ‘society’ is sentimental (‘correspondent affections’) and latitudinarian (reciprocal benefits underpinning mutual affection). But there are two points here: firstly, the remote georgic world of Millenium Hall is not at odds with society in the abstract, but figures it, or even constitutes it. Secondly, despite the emphasis on reciprocity, any reader of Scott will know that the Millenium Hall community is deeply hierarchized, depending upon the exemplary ladies who head it. In this way, Scott’s novel bears comparison to the ideal societies of many ‘sentimental’ novels from the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, which purport to be private love stories, but which are also, in some sense, condition-of-England novels, community romances whose amorous plots terminate not in narrow prospects of personal bliss, but in 22 Sarah Scott, A Description of Millenium Hall (1762), ed. Gary Kelly (Ontario, 1995), 111-112. Hereafter cited in-text as ‘MH’. 7 more expansive social or communal visions. The tendency is apparent in Austen’s fiction, from the vista presented by Emma (1816)—the ‘sweet view’ of the English landscape dominated by the property whose doyenne Emma will be—to the conclusions of Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Mansfield Park (1814), which end with their heroines not only as brides of the novel’s most upright men, but as agents of the moral order of their communities (Marianne’s romance makes her a wife, but also the ‘patroness of a village’).23 These rural communities surrounding the virtuous genteel protagonists owe much to a classical utopian tradition (as Christine Rees notes, they are indebted to the ‘Horatian ideal’ of the country estate), but, I suggest, such conclusions can also productively be read as marked by Grandisonian tropes. 24 Grandison-hall, where Sir Charles presides, with the ‘happiness of hundreds’ bound up in his, represents ‘paradise’—which, for his dependants, consists of strict ‘Laws’ and an improving library (Gr., 7: 265, 285). He creates a secure, regulated demesne, and in so doing, as Gerard Barker argues, he symbolically purges the novelistic estate of the Fielding-esque reformed rake and squire, in favour of a new paragon.25 His control over this space is enabled through personal scrutiny and example: he takes ‘a personal Survey of his whole estate’, making himself ‘acquainted with every tenant, and even cottager…enquir[ing] into his circumstances’. The tenants’ obedience is ensured through the esteem due to his uniform virtue, with the result that Sir Charles exacts more respect than his social superiors, as those on his estate ‘watch his eye in silent reverence’. As Dr Bartlett remarks, Sir Charles is, in this, an example to the ‘whole world’ and thus a significant political force within the novel’s imagination (Gr., 7: 287-9). This self-creation of the virtuous protagonist as organiser of and exemplar to the community represents the coalescing of different mid-century ideas of virtue, realised in a distinctly Grandisonian form and bound together by ‘the seemingly universal admiration of Sir Charles’.26 23 Jane Austen, Emma (1816), ed. James Kinsley and intro. Adela Pinch (Oxford, 2003), 283; Sense and Sensibility (1811), ed. James Kinsley and intro. Margaret Anne Doody and Claire Lamont (Oxford, 2004), 288. 24 Christine Rees, Utopian Imagination and Eighteenth-Century Fiction (London, 1996), 179. 25 Barker, Grandion’s Heirs, 26. 26 Tita Chico, ‘Details and frankness: Affective relations in Sir Charles Grandison’, Studies in Eighteenth- Century Culture 38 (2009), 45-63: 47. It is beyond this essay’s scope to engage in detail with Sir Charles’s forebears, but significant contexts include libertine discourse, conduct literature, and latitudinarianism. See Mary Yates, ‘The Christian rake in Sir Charles Grandison’, Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900 24: 3 (1984), 545-61; Sylvia Kasey Marks, Sir Charles Grandison: The Compleat Conduct Book (Lewisburg, PA, 1986); John Dussinger, ‘Richardson’s “Christian vocation”’, Papers on Language and Literature 3 (1967), 3-19; Elaine McGirr, ‘Manly lessons: Sir Charles Grandison, the rake, and the man of sentiment’, Studies in the Novel 39: 3 (2007), 267-83. 8 Popular post-Grandison novelists such as John Shebbeare and Anna Meades conclude with closely comparable utopian visions of the English country estate, which I suggest can be read as engagements with Richardson’s novel. Shebbeare’s The Marriage Act, published months after Grandison, positions itself in the tradition of Fielding, ‘an Author whom we adore’—and yet distinct parallels exist between his work and Richardson’s.27 Shebbeare’s hero, Sir William Worthy, landscapes his gardens similarly to Sir Charles, decorating and adorning the Seat of his Ancestors…The Water was elegantly understood, and designed, winding in noble Meanders, through Plantations of Trees…the Banks smiling with living Turf…all reflected in the translucent Fluid, which fell in natural Cascades. (MA, 2: 174-5) This mirrors Grandison-hall, which features ‘a winding stream… quickened by a noble cascade’ in a ‘park…remarkable for its prospects, lawns, and…trees of large growth…the plantations of [Sir Charles’s] ancestors’ (Gr., 7: 272). Like Sir Charles, however, for Shebbeare’s hero the curatorship of his grounds is the backdrop to the real interest: This was all…executed as much for the sake of giving Bread to the honest and frugal Labourer, as for the Beauty which it afforded…Such was [Sir William’s] Reputation in his native Land…that he was beloved by the Hearts of thousands…His Manner of Living was a Pattern to be followed by all human Nature… (MA, 2: 176) Mr Sterlin in the same novel has like ideas: ‘he cherished the industrious Labourer, relieved the Wants of those whose Days of Work were at an end’, and ‘preserved the Superiority of his Birth and Fortune’ whilst ‘prevent[ing] all Law-suits amongst his Neighbours’ (MA, 2: 190). In this, Sir William and Mr Sterlin, with their blameless histories and stern supervisory gazes, are rather Grandisonian than Fielding-esque, participating in the same ‘community of appetite and feeling’ as Richardson’s hero.28 These characters also recall Scott’s Sir George Ellison, in her 1766 continuation of Millenium Hall, which is generally seen as a response to Grandison and in which the unswervingly virtuous hero knits together his community by supervising the industrious poor: he employs labourers for their own good, and adopts protégés from whom ‘he required a letter every two months…continuing a dependance [sic] on him which could not fail proving of great service to them.’29 The consequence for all, as for Sir Charles, is a magical prosperity: Sir Charles is initially concerned that his father’s spendthrift ways have depleted his estate, but by the time of his marriage, these money- worries silently disappear to enable his charity. Similarly, Sir George Ellison accedes to wealth, and despite allowing all the local farmers free sport, Shebbeare’s Mr Sterlin’s 27 [John Shebbeare], The Marriage Act, 2 vols (London, 1754), 2: 288. Hereafter cited in-text as ‘MA’. 28 David Shields, Civil Tongues and Polite Letters in Early British America (Chapel Hill, NC, 1997), xvi. 29 [Sarah Scott], The History of Sir George Ellison, 2 vols (London, 1766), 1: 136-7, 2: 211. 9 ‘Manors were filled with Game, whilst Gentlemen of more Rigour had scarce a Hare or a Partridge in theirs’ (MA, 2: 189-190). To read these figures as ‘Grandisonian’ is to identify their reproduction of features of the iconic virtue embodied in Sir Charles, to see them as ‘after-images’ of Richardson’s hero. Sir Charles Grandison is exemplary not only locally, but to a wider imagined England. 30 Just as Sir Charles is a national pattern, Anna Meades’s William Harrington, which frames itself as having been edited by Richardson, concludes with its hero becoming part of a national network of revamped libertines, who disperse themselves throughout the country, each seeding his own virtuous community. In some ways, this speaks to a tradition of the rake reformed by wedlock, but it is significant that the closing marriages are compared to Sir Charles and Harriet’s (‘Here…is a noble parade for you! one almost as sumptuous as that on the wedding of Sir Charles Grandison’), with the new household at Harrington-Hall establishing a familiar rural utopia of grateful tenantry and gratified landlord: ‘what pleasure in life can exceed that of giving happiness to a set of honest creatures, made happy by your bounty?’31 Sir William Harrington’s associate Lord S., having been convinced by his friend’s example, determines to replicate this set-up at his Berkshire estate: I intend to pay the people for my remissness in going thither, by following…the full example my brother has set us in this part of the world, endeavouring, in the same manner he has done, to win the affections of all the people under us. This…is a thing absolutely necessary to be done by all landlords, since they will ever be sure to find themselves better attended to through motives of love than those of fear… (WH, 2: 208-9) The novel closes with nodes of Grandisonian virtue spread across several counties, with an obliged poor ‘attending to’ their exemplary gentry, both partners in a communally sustained moral order which forms a miniature ideal England. Such tropes become current in the hackneyed novels which follow in Grandison’s wake. They are also important, however, for understanding the related strain of sentimental utopian writing by women, most obviously Sarah Scott and Mary Walker Hamilton, who imagine a perfect political order in the form of ‘female’ utopias, but who also, I suggest, share ideational structures with post-Richardsonian formula fiction. Their utopias are marked by the 30 Many commentators have seen Grandison’s society as figuring Englishness: for example, Margaret Anne Doody, ‘Richardson’s Politics’, Eighteenth-Century Fiction 2 (1990), 113-26; Ewha Chung, Samuel Richardson’s New Nation: Paragons of the Domestic Sphere and ‘Native’ Virtue (New York, 1998); Teri Doerksen, ‘Sir Charles Grandison: The Anglican family and the admirable Roman Catholic’, Eighteenth- Century Fiction 15 (2003), 539-58. 31 [Anna Meades], The History of Sir William Harrington, 4 vols (London, 1771), 4: 202, 2: 207-8. Hereafter cited in-text as ‘WH’. 10 ‘paternalism’ and ‘manipulation’ Gerard Barker finds in Sir Charles.32 The description of Millenium Hall mirrors the more obscure texts: as well as the managed ‘natural’ landscapes, the ladies live by the Grandisonian maxim that ‘the example of the great infects the whole community’, and their charity consists of directing its activities: The ladies settle all these matters…and told us, that as they, to please God, assisted us, we must…serve others…[they] hire nurses for those who are very ill…[they] take every child after the fifth of every poor person, as soon as it can walk, till when they pay the mother for nursing it…There never passes a day that one or other of the ladies does not come and look all over our houses…it is all for our good (MH, 164, 66-7)33 Managing the poor as a resource, they engineer mutually beneficial relationships between them—but, in familiar fashion, preserve the necessary hierarchy, such that the ladies remain at the centre of the community, ‘beholding numbers who derive every earthly good from your bounty’, just as Sir Charles is the focus of every reverential eye (MH, 120). Like Grandison, The Marriage Act, and Millenium Hall, Mary Walker Hamilton’s Munster Village is a novel interested in social virtue and in an English national picture.34 Munster Village can, like Millenium Hall, be read as having a Grandisonian tone, sharing with both a focus on the landed gentry and a subscription to a capitalist ethos. In a formulation which might act as epigraph to all of these texts, Hamilton’s Lady Frances defines virtue in latitudinarian terms as based in obliging others: Virtue…is nothing else than that principle by which our actions are intentionally directed, to produce good, to the several objects of our free agency… what a superior joy have I not experienced…in exerting this disposition, in acts of beneficence!…It is true, the great works I have carried on… the manufactories I have introduced into this kingdom, &c. &c. have procured me the suffrage of the world, and may transmit my name down to posterity.35 As for Sir Charles, virtue is construed as activity, benefiting others but reflecting on the donor, the exemplary community leader. Lady Frances models her own nature as a pattern, ‘constant in her attendance at church’ because ‘[p]ublic acknowledgements of the goodness of God…contribute to give a whole community suitable apprehensions of him: and these…it was equally her duty to propagate’ (MV, 1: 96). This utopia, like Millenium Hall and Grandison-hall, features a regulated peasantry; significantly, the estate is designed by 32 Barker, Grandison’s Heirs, 28. 33 Compare Sir Charles: ‘People of fashion…should consider themselves as examples to the lower orders’ (Gr., 7: 266). 34 Eve Tavor Bannet compares them thus (‘The Bluestocking sisters: Women’s patronage, Millenium Hall, and “the Visible Providence of a Country,”’ Eighteenth-Century Life 30: 1 (2005), 25-55: 39). 35 [Mary Walker Hamilton], Munster Village, A Novel, 2 vols (London, 1778), 1: 176-80. Hereafter cited in-text as ‘MV. 11 Capability Brown, shorthand for a type of landscape marked by the sort of artful artlessness, the ‘subtle artifice’ embodied in Grandison-hall and its fictional descendants. 36 As Peter Denney notes, the Brownian landscape ‘resembles a set of spatial sumptuary laws’: the houses are built with gradations in their quality and situation, with the centre of the estate occupied by a panoptical ‘tribuna’.37 It is here that Lady Frances’s statue is erected, stamping her priority onto the landscape (MV, 1: 64-7). Her estate is a functioning society, characterised, like Millenium Hall, by retreat, as Lady Frances pours her energy into ‘the care of her family, and…the improvement of [her] property’, eschewing ‘the world’ to create a ‘society…manifestly maintained by a circulation of kindness’ (MV, 1: 59-60). This society is not merely inward-looking, however, but represents an ideal Englishness. The narrator notes that Lady Frances’s library was ‘greatly wanted in this kingdom’, which ‘remains without any considerable public library’, discounting the Royal Society’s library and the British Museum as unfit for purpose (MV: 1: 68-9). If the Millenium Hall ladies offer an example which George Ellison reconstructs ‘on a smaller scale’, exporting their vision, Lady Frances aims for works of ‘national magnificence’, making explicit the ambition to refigure the nation that is visible in the other novels considered here (MH, 207; MV, 1: 91). Lady Frances’s organising energy and exemplary virtue, as well as her social position, allow her to construct a nation-estate markedly similar to Grandison-hall and to the ideal estates it foreshadows; in this way, the ideas sketched out in Richardson’s late fiction of a hierarchical community of the obliged poor and the adored gentry, self-contained and yet figuring the nation, are reproduced both in formula fiction and in proto-feminist utopian writing: all of these texts participate in a common ideology. Shining lights and libertines: Contesting personal example It would be misleading to suggest, however, that novelists following in Richardson’s footsteps subscribe uncritically to Grandisonian exemplarity. The personal magnanimity upon which the ideal community depends can also be construed as stifling, and as providing convenient advantages for the benevolent gentry. Texts such as Millenium Hall and Munster Village do not appear to register their protagonists’ dogmatic tendencies. An overbearing benevolence which accords glory to the genteel donor, is, however, a part of Richardson’s 36 Tim Richardson, The Arcadian Friends: Inventing the English Landscape Garden (London, 2008), 468. 37 Peter Denney, ‘“Unpleasant, tho’ Arcadian Spots”: Plebeian poetry, polite culture, and the sentimental economy of the landscape park’, Criticism 47: 4 (2005), 493-515: 505. 12 legacy which his contemporaries single out. Critical Remarks on Sir Charles Grandison (1754), for instance, notes that Sir Charles’s ‘benevolence has something showy and ostentatious in it’.38 Francis Plumer’s Candid Examination of…Grandison (1755) charges that whilst Sir Charles is ‘very active’ in benevolence and ‘superlatively good’, he is also ‘insufferably vain’ and ‘loves to hear himself talk’.39 Grandison can be read not only as celebrating Sir Charles’s brand of virtue, but also as exploring the ‘cost of moral aspiration’, or even as a form of ‘totalitarian fiction’, and this aspect of the novel figures in later writers’ engagements with it.40 John Kidgell’s The Card (1755) concludes with such a critique. This novel explicitly rewrites aspect of Grandison’s plot, closing with the hero marrying an Italian bride. Kidgell also makes a cast of dramatis personae from other novels appear towards the end of his second volume. Kidgell playfully pairs unlikely characters at his hero’s wedding ball, such as Roderick Random and ‘Mrs Booby, late Miss Pamela Andrews’, but saves his real satire for his own revived Sir Charles Grandison, who attempts to reprimand a reincarnated Tom Jones and is chastised in consequence, having ‘the Misfortune to have his Ears boxed’. 41 In a mocking trivialisation of Sir Charles’s determination not to fight, his interference in other people’s business is treated as a childish tendency requiring a nursery rebuke. Like Shebbeare, Kidgell positions his novel in the tradition of Fielding, eschewing Richardsonian exemplary virtue as rigid and stultifying—but, like Shebbeare, its very negotiation of such tropes can be seen as an interested reproduction of elements of Grandison. As David Brewer points out, ‘there seems to have been something in Richardson’s work which called out for engraftment, even if it did not guarantee adherence to Richardson’s terms’.42 Even novels as avowedly Richardsonian as Anna Meades’s William Harrington can be read as part of a Grandisonian discourse which repeats without necessarily fully subscribing to the surveillance of the hero. Despite the novel’s being written in homage to Richardson, its last epistolary word is given to a jaunty libertine rebuttal of Sir William’s newfound rectitude, as Bob Loyd, Sir William’s former companion, rejects Sir William’s 38 ‘Lover of Virtue’, Critical Remarks, 20. 39 [Francis Plumer], A Candid Examination of The History of Sir Charles Grandison, 3rd ed. (London, 1755), 6, 19. 40 Mark Kinkead-Weekes, Samuel Richardson: Dramatic Novelist (Ithaca, NY, 1973), 294; Rebecca Anne Barr, ‘Richardson’s Sir Charles Grandison and the symptoms of subjectivity’, The Eighteenth Century: Theory and Interpretation 51: 4 (2010), 391-408. 41 John Kidgell, The Card, 2 vols (London, 1754), 2: 294-6. 42 Brewer, Afterlife of Character, 129. 13 exhortations to conversion. 43 Loyd frames his erstwhile friend’s Anglican virtue as pseudo- Methodist cant, mocking the reformed rakes’ hortatory letters: He may say—Oh, brethren! I have been wicked, very wicked, but I am enlightened by a new light…as a candle that hath been newly snuffed…so brethren, my sins have been cropt off; they no longer choak up my light…I am, I say, like a candle that hath been newly snuffed--&c. (WH, 4: 250) This is an aspersion offensive both to Sir William, but also to Richardson’s scepticism about ‘enthusiasm’. 44 For all their cardboard predictability and derivation as pale imitations of Lovelace’s crew, Meades’s libertines can reply to the sermonising of the virtuous male characters, scorning them as ‘new’ and ‘shining’ lights, and asserting that they ‘are not convinced of [Sir William’s ideas] being better, or more conducive to happiness than our own’. They are given a successful ending, happily depriving the foolish Mrs Loyd of her fortune and absconding to the Carolinas with two girls they have ‘ruined’, before abandoning them for new adventures (WH, 4: 251-4). Just as Grandison ends with an invitation to imagine beyond the novel’s end, so Meades allows the reader the pleasure of thumbing a figurative nose at the stuffiness of Sir William Harrington, as the libertines head off to the expansive horizons of the new world, suggestively excluded from the English rural utopias of Sir William and Lord S., but possibly enjoying rather a better time in the colonies. It is significant that as well as England, Meades’s libertines eschew marriage, because it is this factor which, as well as taming Sir William and Lord S., stabilises the ideal communities they construct and constitutes the backbone of the novel’s fantasy Englishness. Wedlock and nunneries: The national significance of marriage Marriage is a central concern of Grandison: Sir Charles is ‘for having every-body marry’.45 He promotes, mends, or supports the marriages of his sisters Charlotte and Caroline, the Beauchamps, Miss Mansfield, the O-Haras, the Danbys, his ward Emily, and even his former lover, Clementina. Adam and Eve’s prelapsarian marriage is a recurrent trope of the novel, and marriage is the worst of punishments: when Sir Hargrave abducts Harriet, he threatens not to rape, but to marry her. I have argued elsewhere that Sir Charles’s sponsoring of marriage ties generates a stable community, a microcosm of the nation in which couples are 43 Meades makes comparisons between her characters and Richardson’s (for example, WH, 1: 165, 248-9). 44 For a discussion of Richardson’s attitude to Methodism, see Misty G. Anderson, Imagining Methodism in Eighteenth-Century Britain (Baltimore, 2012), 63-8. 45 Richardson, Grandison, 2: 429. 14 fixed in respectable wedlock, ensuring their subordinating gratitude to him as the engineer of their bliss. 46 This is one way in which Sir Charles creates himself as leader within a society containing men older and of higher rank than he. This model of marriage also assumes a public interest in the formation of conjugal ties and in matrimonial conduct: Sir Charles is opposed to ‘private’ nuptials, and assumes a third-party monitory role in various marriages. Grandisonian marriage draws on a number of mid-century discourses, formulating a version of the institution which permits significant intervention and scrutiny by the benevolent hero, in the name of a greater good.47 In this, Grandison does not simply reprise the standard eighteenth-century marriage ending; instead, it closely investigates how marriage stabilises a community, which is why, as John Allen Stevenson notes, the novel unusually does not end with a wedding but with married life.48 I conclude by arguing that this vision of marriage as a matter of public interest, legislated for centrally, is reproduced in later fictions, and I focus on two perhaps unexpected candidates: Scott’s and Hamilton’s female utopias. Sir Charles’s plan for a Protestant nunnery is a widely remarked feature of the novel, and represents in part a response to anxieties over single women of the propertied classes. Ruth Perry and Amy Froide both argue powerfully that such women in this period experienced a ‘great disinheritance’, marked by a proliferation of discourse around their place in society; Sir Charles’s nunnery allows these women a space outside of marriage in which they can be understood as productive rather than surplus.49 Importantly, though, his plan does not come to fruition in Grandison, as Charlotte notes in frustration (Gr., 4: 355). Instead, the hint is taken up outside the novel’s pages: Shebbeare fleshes out a copycat plan, but the most famous realisation is Millenium Hall, which provides, to re-invoke Kodat, a differently coloured ‘after-image’ of Sir Charles’s idea (MA, 2: 166-8). Scott elaborates the nunnery as a retreat for gentlewomen who dedicate themselves to self-improvement and charity—but it 46 Making Gender, Culture, and the Self in the Fiction of Samuel Richardson: The Novel Individual (Burlington, VT, 2013), 167-181. 47 Relevant here are the twin cultural imperatives of nuptial choice, but also the insistence on the importance of that choice, which meant that it could often be guided. See Ruth Perry, Novel Relations: The Transformation of Kinship in English Literature and Culture, 1748-1818 (Cambridge, 2004), 286-7; Naomi Tadmor, Family and Friends in Eighteenth-Century England (Cambridge, 2007), 207, 242, 252. It is significant that Grandison was being finished and revised as the Hardwicke Marriage Act, which promoted ‘public’ marriage, was being passed (cf. David Macey, ‘“Business for the Lovers of Business”: Sir Charles Grandison, Hardwicke’s Marriage Act, and the specter of bigamy,’ Philological Quarterly 84: 3 (2005), 333-55). 48 John Allen Stevenson, ‘“A Geometry of his own”: Richardson and the marriage-ending’, Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900 26:3 (1986), 469-83: 472. 49 Perry, Novel Relations, especially 38-76; Amy Froide, Never Married: Singlewomen in Early Modern England (Oxford, 2005). 15 emerges that one of their primary purposes is the institutional promotion of marriage. In a manner akin to Sir Charles, the ladies of Millenium Hall develop a scheme to ensure the marriages of young women: the ladies had…given fortunes…to about thirty young women, and…they had seldom celebrated fewer than two marriages in a year…Nor does their bounty cease on the wedding-day, for they are always ready to assist them…and watch with so careful an eye over the conduct of these young people, as proves of much greater service to them than the money they bestow… the young women bred up at the schools these ladies support, are so much esteemed for many miles round, that it is not uncommon for young farmers, who want sober good wives, to obtain them from there… (MH, 167-8) The ladies thus systematise the nuptials of the lower orders, enabling suitable marriages through the formal gifting of money and advice. George Ellison’s wife, appearing a few years later, will go one better than this, publicly signalising good wife material by pinning red ribbons onto the girls.50 Here as elsewhere, the ladies’ charity is a structural investment in the community: they promote not only agriculture, but human reproduction through state- sanctioned marriage, carefully managing the political economy of their hierarchized society. Munster Village also features a ‘nunnery’ of sorts, an academy for young women ‘who labour under any imperfection of body’ so that ‘by increasing their resources within themselves’ they may ‘compensate for their outward defects’ (MV, 1: 77). Like the Millenium Hall ladies’, however, this proto-feminist paradise is interested in marriage: the academy is in fact a school for wives, which ‘runs counter to that of Madame de Maintenon...where the young women, who should have been instructed in…the duties of a family…were only fit to be addressed by men who were rich enough to require in a wife nothing but virtue’. In fact, as Lady Frances says, ‘domestic society is founded on the union betwixt husband and wife’ (MV, 1: 188, 1: 78-9, 1: 55). Part of her deliberate construction of ‘society’ is the formal sponsorship of new marriages. The Millenium Hall ladies prescribe marriage not for themselves, of course, but for society at large. I read their institutional support for marriage as Grandisonian in that it reproduces an understanding of the virtuous protagonist not as merely generally sympathetic to marriage, but as the embodiment of a ‘state’ interest, acting ‘on behalf of a larger social good’.51 In his novel, Sir Charles represents ‘the public’ and is ‘intitled’ to intervene in and even to coerce marriages, acting as a marital broker and monitor well before he himself shows a serious inclination to wed (Gr., 2: 307, 4: 315). Similarly, Mrs Maynard’s explanation for the ladies’ support for marriage is the Richardsonian sentiment that ‘We consider matrimony 50 [Scott], George Ellison, 2: 218. 51 Laura Hinton, ‘The heroine’s subjection: Clarissa, sadomasochism, and natural law’, Eighteenth-Century Studies 32: 3 (1999), 293-308: 297. 16 as absolutely necessary to the good of society; it is a general duty’ (MH, 163). There is a common ideological investment here. Just as Grandison hints at the possibility of a Protestant nunnery and includes the stories of ‘old maids’ such as Lady Gertrude, but then turns away from spinsterhood towards marriage as the most viable career for young women, so Millenium Hall actually locates normative female experience within state-run marriage, the individual’s method of contributing to the communal good within the utopian estate society. This tendency, I suggest, is at least in part explicable as a reproduction of Grandison’s vision of virtue. * * * Looking back on the 1750s, Catherine Talbot remembered them fondly as ‘those Giddy Years (those Harriet Byron Years)’.52 The legacy of Clarissa to the later novel is traceable in scores of heroines subject to parental tyranny and loathsome proposals. 53 Grandison’s impact, however, is less immediately visible: it is rather a legacy of ideas than characters. These ideas are manifest in multifarious ways, but by looking specifically at notions of community and marriage, we can see at least some of the ways in which the novel’s powerfully appealing ideals of prosperity and stability set the tone for respondents of the 1750s and shortly thereafter, novelists who reshape the Richardsonian vision of the nation-estate perpetuated through virtuous marriage and genteel supervision for their own political ends. 52 Quoted in T. C. Duncan Eaves and Ben D. Kimpel, Samuel Richardson: A Biography (Oxford, 1971), 360. 53 Hinton, ‘The heroine’s subjection’, 293-308. 
work_3y6vfufn4ne73hxg3tk27p6w2m	----	4 January 1969 MEDICAL JOURNAL 49 Correspondence Letters to the Editor should not exceed 500 words. Hong Kong Influenza B. D. Apthorp, M.R.C.P ........................49 Chest Physicians W. D. W. Brooks, F.R.C.P., and others ......49 Radiation Hazards of High Altitude Flight J. F. Loutit, F.R.C.P., F.R.S. . .................... 50 Factors in Host-Virus Relationship Constance A. C. Ross, M.D................... 50 Inhibition of Lactation with Oestrogens C. K. Vartan, F.R.C.O.G.; D. D. Brown, M.D.; S. McPherson, M.B., D.OBST.R.C.O.G. 50 Polyglutamyl Forms of Folate Acid in Man A. V. Hoffbrand, M.R.C.P. ..................... 51 Malignant Renal Lesions and Erythrocytosis M. A. Sperber., M.D. ........................... 51 Dipyridamole in Acute Myocardial Infarction M. Friedemann, M.D. ........................... 52 Sheepskins and Tetanus D. C. Cowling, F.R.A.C.P., and others ...... 52 Fibrinolytic Activity and Sickle-cell Crises A. Mahmood, PH.D., M.R.C.P.ED . ............ 52 Hiatus Hernia W. Silber, F.R.C.S.ED. ........................... 53 Treatment of Skin Fissures Lieutenant-Colonel H. C. M. Walton, M.B. 53 Tests for Hearing H. S. Sharp, F.R.C.S ........................... 53 E.C.G. in Diagnosis J. Horton, M.B . .................................... 53 Keloids G. Holmes, F.R.C.S . .............................. 53 Intravenous Penicillin H. Smith, M.R.C.P., and S. E. J. Young, M.B. ................................................ 53 Training of Surgeons 0. Gish ............................................. 54 Alcohol and Drugs G. E. Philip, M.B ................................. 54 Frusemide for Cardiac Failure in Infancy D. Pickering, M.R.C.P.ED. ........................ 54 Insanity and Tumours Adelola Adeloye, M.R.C.P., and others ... 54 Bilateral Parietal Thinning in Bronze Age Skull P. C. Dutta, M.B. ................................. 55 Dr. Thomas Percival and Jane Austen Sir Zachary Cope, M.S., F.R.C.S. ... ............ 55 Bladder Distension Causing Oedema of Legs B. Balakrishna, M.B. ................. .......... 56 Solvents for Ear Wax H. Godfrey, M.P.S . . ............................. 56 Adversity G. Moses, M.B. .................................... 56 Medical Immigration A. J. Akhtar, M.R.C.P.ED. ........................ 56 Salaried Service J. F. G. Pigott, M.B . ................. .......... 57 Recognition for Seniority E.R. C. Walker, F.R.C.P. ........... .......... 57 British Doctors in North America E. 0. Evans, M.B . . .............................57 Green Paper Rosemary A. Hill, M.B.; Mervyn Goodman, MR.C.S. ............................................. 58 Medical Assistants I. M. Librach, D.P.H. ...........................58 S.H.M.O. Grade N. Strang, M.B. ................... ................. 58 Joint Consultants Committee G. G. Muir, M.D. .................................58 Doctors and Patients Alma Hale-White. ................................58 Hong Kong Influenza SIR,-It occurs to me that some medical practitioners may be interested to hear of my recent experience dealing with an epidemic of Hong Kong influenza. The outbreak occurred during the months of September-October in a 30,000-ton liner cruising in the Pacific (Sydney, Honolulu, North America, Honolulu, Japan, Hong Kong, Sydney). There were 700 crew mem- bers, and about 1,400 passengers. In all I saw approximately 200 cases among the passengers, 80 among the crew, and 15 officers. There were probably considerably more milder cases who did not consult me or my assistant. The onset of the illness was identical in nearly every case. The patient complained of a head- ache. This was so severe that the phrase "it feels as if the top of my head is lifting off " was constantly used. The temperature was usually in the region of 101-102' F. (38-39° C.), the highest being 105' F. (41' C.). There was a characteristic violaceous colour to the oro- pharynx. Despite the severe headaches there were no physical signs suggestive of meningism. None of the cases presented in a state of shock, as was suggested might happen in your leading article (14 December, p. 655). Several elderly patients presented with a severe toxic psychosis, the disorientation doubtless being en- hanced by the strange surroundings of the ship. Europeans seemed to withstand the condition better than the Asian crew, many of whom remained ill for a considerable time. Elderly patients showed a predisposition to complica- tions. It is interesting to note that neither myself, my assistant, or two nursing sisters developed the disease. The majority of patients developed a cough, and I estimate that as many as 60 % of the patients that I saw developed frank bronchitis with purulent sputum. Only a handful devel- oped signs suggestive of pneumonia. Though some patients responded to aspirin and linctus codein., many required antibiotics-tetracycline being the one usually administered. I am sure that the problem for the general practitioner will be whether to administer tetracycline ab initio. The feeling of most of my Australian colleagues would seem to be that in this epidemic the majority of cases develop a bronchitis, which is only brought under control by broad-spectrum antibiotics; this being so, the earlier they are given the better. The contrary view is that the early exhibition of tetracycline might lead to a tetracycline-resistant infection. On the ship it was easy to see patients twice daily, and judge each case on its merits. This would almost certainly not be possible in general practice. Doubtless if the epidemic comes there will be two camps-the early and the late tetracycline prescribers.-I am, etc., London E. 1. B. D. APTHORP. Chest Physicians SIR,-You published a Table (Supplement, 14 September, p. 110) showing the numbers of doctors in posts above house officer grade in N.H.S. hospitals and in general practice. This Table, provided by the Ministry of Health, included comments on the prospects in the various specialties. We wish to draw attention to the discrepancy between the Ministry's laconic statement that prospects in the specialty diseases of the chest are " uncertain," and the recommendations of the subcommittee appointed by the Standing Medical Advisory Committee to report on chest clinics in relation to the rest of the hospital services. The report of this sub- committee, of which one of us was chairman, was endorsed by the Central Health Services Council. It was published by the Ministry in July 1968, and commended to hospital authorities by the Minister in H.M.(68)45. The report drew attention to the fact that respiratory diseases remain, and are likely for the foreseeable future to remain, prominent among causes of death and disability, being the stated cause of about 16% of deaths in England and Wales, and the commonest cause of absence from work for sickness. It recommended that the current trend towards the incorporation of chest clinics in general hospitals should be encouraged, and that " as new hospitals are built and old hospitals redeveloped, provision should be made for the work of chest clinics . . . to be incorporated as part of the activities of the general hospital " (para. 14). Moreover, " the medical staffing of the chest department . . . should follow the general pattern of staffing appropriate to other special departments. The consultant should be called 'physician to the chest department ' " (para. 18). The report further considered both the special facilities required for such a depart- ment and the special training required by the consultant. It follows from these recom- mendations that a physician with special training in diseases of the chest will be required in every district general hospital. If we accept the estimate that one district hospital should provide for every 120,000 population, we may conclude that 400 physicians in charge of chest departments will be required in England and Wales, on a population estimate of 48 million. Additionally, one or more specialized thoracic units will continue to be required in each region (para. 17). Each of these will require at least one specialized physician. Presum- ably physicians with special training in chest diseases will continue to be required also in teaching hospitals. The desirable number of physicians specializing in chest diseases may o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.1 .5 6 3 5 .4 9 o n 4 Ja n u a ry 1 9 6 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
work_3ykugiue5ba3dotwgaaouivdjq	----	Book Reviews (p. 142); the meaningless Arabic 'rs proves to be a corruption of the name of the Lydian city of Daldis (p. 196); the obvious error of translating pi'sos "peas", as aruzz, "rice", is quite plausibly explained in terms of a corruption in the Greek text available to the Arabic translator (p. 196). One is frequently struck by unexpected ways in which Arabic translators took their own vocabulary to apply to the task of translation. The Arabic adib, for example, quite predictably renders k6smios, "well- behaved", or pepaideumenos, "educated", but for it to be taken as equivalent to kritikos, "one able to judge" (p. 136), is quite surprising. On the other hand, the problem may be that the correct reading of the Arabic (in several places in the passages) is arib, "shrewd", "clever", orthographically very similar to adib in manuscripts, especially of the eleventh century and after. In other cases, it is clearer that translators were encountering difficulties, perhaps due to problems involving an intermediary translation into Syriac. The Greek schoivos means "rushes", but the Arabic term used to translate it, idhkhir, means "lemon grass", a common pharmacological item in medieval Arabic materia medica (p. 184). The Arabic arz, "pine tree", is an appropriate rendering of peuk&S, "[Corsican] pine", or pftus, "[stone] pine", but not libanot6s, "frankincense tree" (p. 195). It is, of course, a vaulable outcome of the compilation of this work that attention is drawn to such specifics. Medical historians will continue to find this lexicon indispensable to the study of the transmission of Greek medical texts. The classics of the field loom large in the corpus, and many textual problems are discussed. Medical terminology is recognized as a distinct category and treated as such. To judge from the scope of the fascicles published thus far, the Lexicon promises to be a work of considerable length. It is therefore encouraging to see the editors proceeding at an expeditious pace and providing cumulative glossaries and indices. It will be some years before the work is completed, but it is already a research tool of great value. Lawrence I Conrad, Wellcome Institute Andrew Wear, Johanna Geyer-Kordesch, and Roger French (eds), Doctors and ethics: the earlier historical setting ofprofessional ethics, Clio Medica 241Wellcome Institute Series in the History of Medicine, Amsterdam and Atlanta, GA, Rodopi, 1993, pp. viii, 303, £17.00, Hfl. 45.00 (paperback 90-5183-553-1). One of the key characteristics of the development of principles guiding the practice of medicine in the twentieth century is the reliance placed upon independent advice and ideas drawn from sources extermal to the profession. For example, lay involvement in professional regulatory bodies was introduced in the 1920s in Britain and has since become an important component of modem self- regulatory systems. Interestingly, however, as the present volume reveals, ancient principles of medical ethics also derived considerable input from sources beyond the profession, such as rules of moral philosophy (as revealed in Vivian Nutton's chapter on the Hippocratic Oath and Roger French's chapter on Friedrich Hoffmann), legal theory (as is apparent from Johanna Geyer-Kordesch's chapter on infanticide in eighteenth-century Prussia), and religious dogma (a central theme linking all of the chapters). One striking example of the relationship between medical ethics and religion is to be found in Vivian Nutton's opening chapter, in which it is revealed that in some later versions of the Hippocratic Oath, the words were laid out in the shape of a cross (p. 24). The present volume contains many similar such instances of discoveries in the ethical regulation of medicine across Europe throughout history. The present collection of ten chronologically arranged chapters on the earlier historical setting of professional ethics (a somewhat bland title), is based upon papers given at a 108 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059597 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059597 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Reviews conference held at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, organized by the Wellcome Unit for the History of Medicine. It is the latest in the Wellcome Institute Series in the History of Medicine with all contributors being associated with the Wellcome Institute in some senior academic capacity, save for Professor Luis Garcia-Ballester who is a member of the CSIC Unit of the History of Science in Barcelona. The work delves into the history of medical ethics starting with the Greek tradition and ending around the time of Thomas Percival's Medical ethics of 1803 (although some chapters raise issues which extend into the early twentieth century, such as Andreas- Holger Maehle's superb piece on the development of the ethics of animal experimentation). Four themes could be said to link the chapters: the sources and influences which underly the declaration of medical ethical principles; the way in which ethical guidance given to doctors fluctuated over time; the relationship between the practice of medicine and the creation of ethical principles governing the conduct of practitioners; and the gradual increase in the extent and scope of ethical regulation in the profession. These themes are explored in a variety of contexts which describe how ethical principles evolved to meet a number of practical ethical dilemmas. For example, Johanna Geyer- Kordesch's discussion of infanticide in eighteenth-century Prussia, Michael J Clark's examination of the involuntary confinement of the mentally ill in Victorian Britain, Ole Peter Grell's analysis of the religious and ethical dilemma faced by physicians during the plague years of whether they should stay and treat the afflicted or flee in order to treat patients of the future, and Andreas-Holger Maehle's lengthy consideration of the ethics of vivisection already noted. As is usual in writings on medical history, a number of authors deal with these themes from the viewpoint of famous writers in the history of medical ethics (such as Gabriele de Zerbi, a teacher of philosophy and medicine at the University of Padua in the 1490s, Friedrich Hoffmann, Professor of Medicine at the University of Halle in the 1690s, and Thomas Gisborne, an Anglican clergyman writing in the 1790s). It would, perhaps, have been preferable to have allocated more space to chapters which dealt with other crucial ethical dilemmas such as emotional and sexual relationships between doctors and patients, professional confidentiality (both mentioned briefly in passing by Roger French), and abortion. For the present reviewer, those chapters which examined specific ethical issues worked better than those which considered specific practitioners' writings on medical ethics, the latter of which tended to be largely illustrative accounts of the ethical tracts in question. None the less, each chapter provides new insights into the nature and antecedents of the ethical regulation of medicine from a wide variety of geographical and historical perspectives. Russell G Smith, University of Melbourne John Wiltshire, Jane Austen and the body: 'the picture of health', Cambridge University Press, 1992, pp. xiii, 251, £30.00 (0-521-41476-8). Medical historians consulting this book may wonder "why Jane Austen?" rather than Aphra Behn, Defoe, Richardson, Smollett, Sterne, Scott, Thackeray, George Eliot, Henry James, James Joyce, or any number of others who were interested in "the body?" It is not a question John Wiltshire wants to hear, nor one he answers. He writes about the author from an already privileged position, as if his readers had agreed in advance that Austen should be the subject of an inquiry about matters bodily and medical, even when construed in the loosest sense. Readers with other perspectives may think this material could have been better cast as a substantial "essay" that was not enlarged into a book. Others will have preferred more self-reflection on the principles guiding the method used, i.e., why, for example, the interpretations eschew 109 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059597 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:17, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059597 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_45qwzmhf2nbqzindfmshnqpzje	----	107 J@RGONIA - ELEKTRONINEN JULKAISU ISSN 1459-305X Julkaisija: Helan tutkijat ry. © Kirsi-Maria Hytönen 28/2016 http://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi:jyu-201612095007 Muutakin kuin äänen puutetta Arvio teoksesta Kaartinen, Marjo (toim.). Hiljaisuuden kulttuurihistoriaa. Cultural History – Kulttuurihistoria 12. Turku: Turun yliopisto. 2015. 383s. ISBN 987-951-29-6128-3. Kirsi-Maria Hytönen Turun yliopiston kulttuurihistorian oppiaineen julkaisusarja Cultural History – Kulttuurihistoria sisältää monipuolisia teemoja ja kiinnostavia aiheita. Sarjan kahdestoista osa käsittelee hiljaisuutta ja siihen liitettyjä merkityksiä. Kuten kulttuurihistorian luonteeseen sopii, teeman määrittelyssä on katto korkealla ja seinät leveät: joukkoon mahtuu monenlaista. Kulttuurihistorian professori Marjo Kaartisen toimittama artikkelikokoelma Hiljaisuuden kulttuurihistoriaa (2015) yllättääkin monipuolisuudellaan. Kirjassa liikutaan Euroopan historiassa keskiajalta 1900- luvulle, ja mukana ovat myös tämän päivän arjen kokemusten tutkimus. Kokoelma osoittaakin, että hiljaisuus ja äänet voivat liittyä monenlaiseen tutkimukseen ja tilanteisiin. Vaikka nykyajan elämäntapaa pidetään kiireisenä ja etenkin kaupungeissa meluisana, sai kirjan lukeminen minut havainnoimaan, miten hiljaisuus ja äänettömyys ovat kuitenkin jokapäiväinen osa elämää. Hiljaisuutta kun on niin monenlaista. Kirjan tavoitteena on pohtia hiljaisuuden eri merkityksiä eri aikoina ja erilaisissa historian tilanteissa. Jo johdannossa tuodaan esiin, kuinka monenlaisia hiljaisuuden käyttötavat voivat olla: äänen voimakkuuden säätely melusta hiljaisuuteen voi liittyä esimerkiksi tiettyihin tiloihin, ihmissuhteisiin, vallankäyttöön tai ihmisen henkiseen maailmaan. Ihmisten suhde hiljaisuuteen onkin yksi kirjan keskeisistä teemoista. Hiljaisuus ei ole pelkästään äänen puutetta, sillä kuten Kaartinen johdannossa toteaa, ”ääni ja äänettömyys ovat tunnustetusti molemmat hiljaisuuden puolia.” (s. 9.) Hiljaisuutta tuskin voi tutkia tutkimatta ääntä. Ääni, äänettömyys tai hiljaisuus voivat olla sekä hyvää että pahaa, tilanteesta riippuen. Ääni voi olla kuisketta tai melua, ja hiljaisuus voi olla painostavaa tai rauhoittavaa – ja kummassakin voi tunnelma muuttua hetkessä toiseksi. Esimerkiksi tasaista, rauhallista käytöstä arvostetaan monissa kulttuureissa, ja Suomessa sitä pidetään jopa kansallisena erityispiirteenä. Kuitenkin se voidaan tulkita myös ujoudeksi. Toisinaan hiljaisuus tulkitaan myös ylpeydeksi tai ylimielisyydeksi, kuten Jane Austen on osoittanut Mr. Darcyn http://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi:jyu-201612095007 J@rgonia vol. 14, nro 28 (2016) ISSN 1459-305X Hytönen, K-M. (2016). Muutakin kuin äänen puutetta. J@rgonia, 14 (28). http://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi:jyu-201612095007 108 kuuluisassa henkilöhahmossa. Musiikki- ja teatteriesityksissä sekä elokuvissa voidaan ääntä ja hiljaisuutta käyttää dramatiikan luomiseen: kovan melun äkkinäinen sammuttaminen täydelliseksi hiljaisuudeksi tai hiljaisuuden katkaiseminen äkillisellä kovalla äänellä toimivat varmasti aina yleisön herättäjinä. Kirja jakautuu kahteen osaan. Ensimmäinen puolikas johdannon jälkeen kuvaa hiljaisuutta lähinnä ääneen puutteena, äänettömyytenä. Se sisältää seitsemän tutkimusartikkelia, joista kolme sijoittuu keskiajan uskonnollisiin ympäristöihin. Vahva keskiajan uskonnon hiljaisuuksiin tai äänettömyyksiin liittyvä painotus kirjassa kuvaa sitä, miten keskeistä hiljaisuus on ollut keskiajan luostarielämässä, kirkoissa ja kirkollisissa teksteissä. Osion muut artikkelit käsittelevät hiljaisuutta kirjoitetussa muodossa, esimerkiksi fiktiivisissä kertomuksissa, matkakertomuksissa, kirjeissä kuvatuissa elämäntilanteissa tai -tavoitteissa, sekä hiljaisuutta vaativia päiväunia käsittelevissä kyselyvastauksissa. Kaikissa artikkeleissa on läsnä tilan käsite, ja hiljaisuus tai sen puute liittyy nimenomaan erilaisiin tiloihin ja niihin nivoutuviin merkityksiin. Kirjan toinen osio lähestyy hiljaisuutta vaikenemisen ja vaietuksi pakottamisen kautta. Keskeinen teema on valta. Eri aikoihin ja eri tilanteisiin sijoittuvat tapausartikkelit kuvaavat sitä, miten valtaa voidaan käyttää vaientamaan toinen ihminen tai ihmisryhmä. Hiljaisuus ei kuitenkaan aina tarkoita alistumista, vaan myös äänettömyys voi olla vallankäyttöä. Artikkeleissa valtaa kuvataan esimerkiksi sukupuolihistorian ja naisten käytössäädösten näkökulmasta, Ranskan vallankumoushistoriassa, hautauskäytännöissä ja kahden naisen suhteessa. Lappi on mukana kahdessa artikkelissa, joista toinen käsittelee vaiettua historiaa ja toinen sitä, miten Lapin hiljaisuudesta on rakennettu käsite, joka kuvaa koko alueen kansanluonnetta. Äänettömyyden monet eri tasot Teoksen artikkeleista erityisesti kolme kiinnosti minua erityisesti. Otto Latva kertoo artikkelissaan, miten pinnanalaista äänimaisemaa kuvattiin 1800-luvun länsimaissa. Latva rajaa tarkasteluajankohtansa päättymisen 1870-luvulle, jolloin käsitys vedenalaisesta maailmasta muuttui mittaamisen tarkentuessa esimerkiksi syvyyskarttojen kehittyessä. Sitä ennen pinnanalainen maailma oli hiljainen ja mittaamaton, jollain tapaa rajaton ja täynnä mystiikkaa. 1800-luvun mittaan pinnanalaista maailmaa alettiin vähitellen esittää kuvataiteessa ja kirjallisuudessa, ja merta koskeva monitieteinen tutkimuskin kehittyi. Latvan lähteenä toimivat ajan pohjoisamerikkalaiset, brittiläiset ja ranskalaiset tieteelliset julkaisut sekä matka- ja kaunokirjallisuus, joita laativat tiedemiehet, kirjailijat ja runoilijat. Ajallisesti 1800- luvun alkupuolelta lähteitä on vähemmän, mutta kiinnostus mereen lisääntyy vuosisadan edetessä. Latvan teksti vie lukijan mukanaan vedenpinnan alle. Hän tuo hienosti esiin sen, miten käsitys pinnanalaisesta elämästä ja hiljaisuudesta muuttui 1800-luvun mittaan. Hän kuvaa sitä täydellistä äänettömyyttä ja tyhjyyttä, jopa olemattomuutta, joka liitettiin pitkään meren pinnanalaiseen elämään. Kuten Latva toteaa, 1800-luvun alkupuolella merta määriteltiin etenkin taiteessa usein sen pinnalla raivoavan myrskyn http://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi:jyu-201612095007 J@rgonia vol. 14, nro 28 (2016) ISSN 1459-305X Hytönen, K-M. (2016). Muutakin kuin äänen puutetta. J@rgonia, 14 (28). http://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi:jyu-201612095007 109 kautta, mutta vaahtopäisenkin pinnan alla vallitsi tyyni hiljaisuus. Näihin kuvauksiin ei kuitenkaan yleensä liittynyt empiiristä havaintoa, vaan vedenpinnan alaista hiljaisuutta käytettiin paljon metaforana esimerkiksi ihmisen sisäisen ja ulkoisen maailman välillä. Vuonna 1870 ilmestyneessä Jules Vernen mereen syvyyksiin ulottuvassa seikkailu- ja tieteisromaanissa Vingt mille lieues sous les mers pinnan alainen maailma ei Latvan mukaan enää ollut tyhjä, mutta silti kyllä äänetön. Vernen kirjassa vesi on täynnä elämää. Se ei ole painostavasti äänetön, vaan rauhallisen hiljainen, sivilisaation meluun kyllästyneen ihmisen toiveiden täyttymys, Kapteeni Nemon rauhan tyyssija. Latva päättää artikkelinsa paljastamalla kiinnostavan tosiasian: vasta 1900-luvulla tutkijat saivat ensimmäiset todisteet siitä, että aaltojen allakin voi olla ääntä. Tietomme merenalaisesta äänimaisemasta ovat siis suhteellisen nuoria. Toinen teksti, jonka äärellä unohdin ympäröivän maailman melun, oli Mari Tiihosen artikkeli väkijoukon äänettömyydestä ja sen merkityksestä Ludvig XVI:n kukistuessa Ranskan vuoden 1789 vallankumouksen aikana. Kyse on painostavasta äänettömyydestä, joka liittyy valtaan ja vallankäyttöön. Artikkelissaan Tiihonen osoittaa, että hiljaisuus voi olla vallankäytön väline myös sosiaalisen hierarkian alaportailla. Kuten Tiihonen toteaa, hiljaisuus ei tule ensimmäisenä mieleen Ranskan suuresta vallankumouksesta, ainakaan kumousta tekevästä kansasta. Kouluvuosien jälkeen en ole lukenut Ranskan vallankumousten historiaa, joten todennäköisesti ajattelen asiasta kuten moni muukin amatööri: äänen meluava pauhu on ollut osa vallankumouksen tekemistä, sen tekijöiden yhteenkuuluvuutta ja voimannostetta. Siksi Tiihosen artikkeli onkin oivaltava osoittaessaan, mikä voima voi kiteytyä juuri äänen puutteeseen vallankumouksen keskellä. Tiihosen artikkelin keskiössä on kolme tapahtumaa, jotka kaikki liittyvät Ludvig XVI:n kukistumiseen: kuningasperheen epäonnistuneen pakoyrityksen jälkeinen paluu Pariisiin 1791, kuningasta vastaan käyty oikeudenkäynti 1792 sekä julkinen teloitus 1793. Lähteenä toimivat tapahtumiin osallistuneiden kertomukset aikakauden lehdissä. Tiihonen toteaa aineiston sisältävän sille luonteenomaisia ristiriitaisuuksia, ja aikalaiskuvausten suhde todennettaviin faktoihin on kiinnostavaa. Se ei kuitenkaan ole tällä kertaa tutkimuskohde, vaan juuri hiljaisuuden merkitykset aikalaisteksteissä. Hiljaisuuden tulkinnat vaihtelevat aikansa ranskalaisten teksteissä, ja kuten Latva, myös Tiihonen kirjoittaa tavalla joka vie lukijan mukanaan aiheena olevaan ajanjaksoon, 1790-luvun Pariisiin. Esimerkiksi pakoyrityksestä kiinnijäänyttä ja Pariisiin palaavaa kuningasta ympäröi satojen tuhansien kadulla seisovien ihmisten joukko, jonka hiljaisuus oli, Tiihosen sanavalintoja käyttääkseni, synkkää ja kolkkoa. Kansanjoukon hiljaisuutta selitetään aikalaislähteissä kahdella tavalla. Yhtäältä kerrottiin, että 30 000 kansalliskaartin sotilasta piti vihaista kansaa aisoissa ja jakoi ohjeita, ettei mellakkaa saa syntyä. Kansaa uhkailtiin, että kuninkaan solvaamisesta seuraa rangaistus. Toinen, virallinen ja vallankumoukselle myönteisempi lähde taas kertoo kansan hiljaisuuden johtuneen siitä, että kuninkaan nähtiin olevan matkalla tuomiolle, ja majesteetillisella hiljaisuudella osoitettiin kuninkaan menettäneen valtansa. Myös Ludvigin teloitus tapahtui hiljaisuuden vallitessa. Tiihonen kuvaa sen yhteydessä myös sitä, miten hiljaisuutta käytettiin politiikan välineenä myös http://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi:jyu-201612095007 J@rgonia vol. 14, nro 28 (2016) ISSN 1459-305X Hytönen, K-M. (2016). Muutakin kuin äänen puutetta. J@rgonia, 14 (28). http://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi:jyu-201612095007 110 vaikenemisen kautta: kuninkaan kuolemasta ei haluttu tehdä numeroa, jotta kuningas ei jäisi elämään ihmisten mieliin. Kolmas kirjan artikkeli, joka kiehtoi minua pitkään lukemisen jälkeenkin, on Marja Tuomisen historiantutkijan salapoliisityön kuvaus petsamolaisen Grigori Mihailinpoika Dianoffin tarinan selvittämiseksi. Grigori oli kalastaja ja poromies, jota syytettiin talvisodan aikana vakoilusta Neuvostoliiton hyväksi. Hän istui kuritushuonerangaistuksen osallisuudesta maanpetokselliseen toimintaan. Kuoltuaan 1948 Grigori jätti jälkeensä muistikirjan, jonka kuvaus tapahtumista hänen vangitsemisensa jälkeen on hämmentänyt hänen jälkeläisiään. Nyt historiantutkijan käsiin päätynyt muistikirja on ristiriidassa virallisen totuuden eli Dianoffin saaman tuomion ja sen perusteiden kanssa. Tuomisen artikkelin aiheena onkin vaientaminen ja vaikeneminen tilanteessa, jossa puhuminen olisi vaarallista tai jopa turhaa. Dianoffin pidätys, kuulustelut ja tuomio liittyvän niin kutsuttuun Petsamon vakoilujuttuun. Loppuvuodesta 1939 Petsamon seudulta vietiin Kemiin kuulusteltavaksi yli 70 vakoilusta ja maanpetoksellisesta toiminnasta epäiltyä. Näistä viisitoista sai tuomion, Grigori mukaan luettuna. Kemissä häntä kuulusteli Valtiollisen poliisin etsivä Sulo Auer, jolla oli maine ”Kemin kauhuna”. Valtiollisen poliisin asiakirjat kuvaavat kuulusteluja siisteinä ja Grigorin tunnustaneen vakoilun kahdessa kuulustelussa. Grigorin oman version mukaan kuulusteluja oli enemmän, ja niihin sisältyi muun muassa kiduttavaa väkivaltaa ja aseella uhkailua. Tuominen paikantaa artikkelinsa alussa itsensä ja lähteensä taitavasti kuvaamalla, miten ristiriitaisia kaikki niin kutsuttua Petsamon vakoilujuttua koskevat lähteet ovat. Varsinaista faktuaalista totuutta on vaikea julistaa, mutta se ei ole Tuomisen tavoitekaan. Sen sijaan hän kuvaa, millaisia jälkiä tapahtumasta on jäänyt eri arkistoihin, millaisista lähteistä tapahtumia ylipäätään voi selvittää, ja millainen on kunkin lähteen näkökulma asiaan. Grigori Dianoffin tarina jää avoimeksi, mutta myös kaihertamaan mieltä vaiettuna, hiljaisena epäoikeudenmukaisuutena historiassa. Tuominen oli saanut muistikirjan käsiinsä Dianoffin jälkeläisiltä, ja kertoo saaneensa muitakin yhteydenottoja asian tiimoilta. Nykyisiä sukupolvia vaivaa se, että perheiden historiassa on jotain vaiettua, painostavan hiljaista, josta ei puhuta eikä muistella. Havaintoja hiljaisuudesta Hiljaisuuden kulttuurihistoriaa on kiinnostava kokoelma. Lievä hajanaisuuden tunnelma johtuu kirjan jakautumisesta kahteen hyvin erilaiseen tapaan käsittää hiljaisuus. Ehkä toimivampi ratkaisu olisi ollut valita joko konkreettinen äänimaisema ja siihen liittyvät hiljaisuudet, tai keskittyä vaikenemisen ja vaientamisen teemaan historiassa. Viime vuosina on nostettu esiin erilaisia häpeälliseksi tai muutoin vaietuksi katsottuja aiheita jopa kansallisessa sotahistoriassa. Kirjassa on kuitenkin vältetty päällekkäisyydet näihin teemoihin, ja siltä osin valittu näkökulma pitää loppuun asti. Toimituksellista tarkkuutta ja vaativuutta olisin kaivannut hiukan lisää. Esimerkiksi kolme keskiajan uskontoon liittyvää artikkelia puuroutuvat hiukan keskenään. Nämä kolme artikkelia, jotka käsittelevät luostarimeditaatiota, keskiajan uskonnollisuutta ja kirkkoja tilana, olisivat hyötyneet siitä, että niiden osittain samanlaiset tulokset olisi yhdistetty yhteen artikkeliin. http://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi:jyu-201612095007 J@rgonia vol. 14, nro 28 (2016) ISSN 1459-305X Hytönen, K-M. (2016). Muutakin kuin äänen puutetta. J@rgonia, 14 (28). http://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi:jyu-201612095007 111 Lopuksi voi kysyä, kuten Tuuli Vatula artikkelissaan: ”löytyikö vaiettu maailma ja jos, millainen se on?” (s.301) Minulle tämä artikkelikokoelma avasi uusia näkökulmia hiljaisuuteen, ja herätti havainnoimaan ääntä ja äänen puuttumista eri tavoin kuin aiemmin. Ääni on jotain melko itsestään selvää, ja oleellisesti osa jokapäiväistä arkeamme. Myös hiljaisuuden abstraktit merkitykset ovat läsnä jatkuvasti: toiset asiat saavat huomiotamme enemmän koska ne ovat äänekkäitä, ja toisista asioista emme välttämättä puhu vaan jätämme ne hiljaisuuteen. Tämä tekstikin syntyi syysillan hiljaisuudessa kesämökillä, jossa hiljaisuus ei ole äänetöntä: syksyinen pimeys ikkunoiden takana suhisee tuulta ja järven aaltoja. Hiljaisuus ei siis välttämättä ole täydellistä äänen puuttumista, vaan rauhoittumista ja hiljentymistä, takkatulen äänen kuuntelemista. FT Kirsi-Maria Hytönen on etnologian tutkijatohtori Jyväskylän yliopistossa. http://urn.fi/URN:NBN:fi:jyu-201612095007 
work_43p7u6t7z5ccdljglt26qmfqpm	----	2498-5473 / USD 20.00 © 2016 Akadémiai Kiadó, Budapest Hungarian Journal of Legal Studies 57, No 1, pp. 10–24 (2016) DOI: 10.1556/2052.2016.57.1.2 Image Rights: Exploitation and Legal Control in English and Hungarian Law by Corinna Coors* and Péter Mezei** Abstract. In the past decades due to changed technical advances, features of the personality have become economically exploitable to an extent not previously known. Pop stars, TV celebrities as well as famous athletes have sought protection against the commercial use of their images, names and likenesses without their consent.1 Despite the economic value of personality and image rights, there is currently no international standard or agreed legal concept for recognising an image right. While many jurisdictions, for example, the US, Germany, France and Hungary offer express statutory protection against the unauthorised commercial use of an individual’s image by a third party in the context of publicity or personality rights, English law provides no cause of action for the infringement of image rights as such. Although a celebrity may currently obtain protection through various statutory and common law rights, such as the developing law of privacy, trade mark law breach of confidence and, in particular, the tort of passing off, none of these rights were designed to protect image or personality rights.2 In this context, this article explores the potentially enforceable rights, their benefits and practical strategies to protect name and image rights in the UK3 and Hungary. Keywords: image rights, personality rights, privacy 1. INTRODUCTION The article is structured as follows. Firstly, it will be introduced how image rights might or might not be protected and exploited under the doctrine of passing off, trademark law and privacy law of the United Kingdom. Secondly, the regulations of the Hungarian Civil Code4 on image rights will be covered, as well as multiple other tracks of protection and exploitation under the law of Hungary, including copyright and trademark law. Finally, the main features – similarities and differences – of the two legal systems will be compared. * Associate Professor, Ealing School of Law, University of West London, United Kingdom. E-mail: corinna.coors@uwl.ac.uk ** Associate Professor, Institute of Comparative Law, Faculty of Law, University of Szeged, Hungary. Adjunct Professor (dosentti) of the University of Turku, Faculty of Law, Finland. He is a member of the Hungarian Council of Copyright Experts. E-mail: mezei.@juris.u-szeged.hu 1 See in the UK for example Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3; Irvine v Talksport [2002] 2 All ER 414 (Laddie J), [2003] EWCA Civ 423; in Germany, for example: Boris Becker – BGH, 29 October 2009, I ZR 65/07; Marlene Dietrich, BGH, 1 December 1999, I ZR 49/97, BGHZ 143, 214. 2 Waelde, Laurie (2014) 803. 3 Blum, Ohta (2014) 137–147. 4 Act V of 2013 on the Civil Code. (Hereinafter: HCC 2013.). 11IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW 2. IMAGE RIGHTS IN THE UK 2.1. Definition of the Term “Image Right” in the UK An image right can be defined as a term used to describe rights that individuals have in their personality, which enables them to control the exploitation of their image.5 A person’s image is to be understood in broad terms and may generally include name, voice, signature, likeness and photographs and illustrations of the personality. In relation to the protection of one’s personal image, the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) confirmed in the second Hannover v Germany judgment that the image is “one of the chief attributes of (…) personality, as it reveals the person’s unique characteristics and distinguishes the person from his or her peers. The right to protection of one’s image is thus one of the essential components of personal development. It mainly presupposes the individual’s right to control the use of that image including the right to refuse publication thereof.” 6 However, as noted above, English courts have traditionally been reluctant to expressly recognise personality and publicity rights and to provide protection for vague concepts such as names, likenesses or popularity. Celebrities can currently seek protection through the various existing intellectual property and, in particular registered trademark rights or common law passing off claims although these remedies often lack clarity and transparency.7 In the absence of a formal legislative or jurisprudential recognition of personality rights, English courts are increasingly stretching the boundaries of existing rights to strike a balance between competing interests and to recognise the commercial value of image rights.8 This has become a challenging task, particularly in the new technological era where images, photos and knowledge can be shared worldwide instantaneously and anonymously. 2.2. Passing off Even though English judges do not expressly recognise a general personality or image right per se, the common law action passing off has always been a flexible instrument to take into account new developments including false endorsement and false merchandising claims. In this context, the scope of an action of passing off was tested in the recent decision of the English Court of Appeal concerning the protection of image rights, involving the famous pop star Rihanna and the fashion chain Topshop.9 The Court of Appeal confirmed the basic principle that in English law there is no “image right” or “character right” which allows a celebrity to control the use of his or her name or image.10 The court upheld the trial judge’s finding11 that Topshop’s unauthorised use of Rihanna’s image on a T-shirt was passing off. 5 Proactive Sports Management Ltd v Rooney & Ors [2011] EWCA Civ 1444 para 1 per Lady Justice Arden. 6 Von Hannover v Germany (No 2) (App nos 40660/08 and 60641/08 [2012] EMCR 16 (ECtHR, Grand chamber), para 96. 7 Romer, Storey (2013) 51; Middlemiss, Warner (2006) 131–142. 8 Cornish, Llewelyn (2003) 618.; Walsh (2013) 253–260. 9 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3. 10 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor, per Lord Justice Kitchin, para 29. 11 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd (t/a Topshop) & Anor [2013] EWHC 2310 (Ch). 12 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI The facts of the case were that in March 2012 Topshop, a well-known fashion retailer, started selling a T-shirt with an image of Rihanna on it. The image in question was of Rihanna during a video-shoot for her 2011 “Talk That Talk” album. Topshop had obtained a licence from the photographer but no licence from Rihanna. Rihanna claimed that the sale of this T-shirt without her permission infringed her rights and brought an action against Topshop for passing off and trade mark infringement. Since Reckitt & Colman Ltd v Borden Inc12 in 1990 – also known as the Jif Lemon case – in order to succeed in a passing off action the claimant has to prove that: (1) he/she possesses a reputation or goodwill in his/her goods, name or mark; (2) there has been a misrepresentation by the defendant which has led to confusion; (3) this misrepresentation has caused damage to the claimant’s reputation or goodwill in the claimant’s goods, name, mark. The High Court found that all of these elements were present in the Rihanna case, arguing that the retailer was taking advantage of “Rihanna’s public position as a style icon”13 to increase its own sales. Moreover, the Court found that the use of that particular image on the T-shirt might lead Rihanna fans to believe that it was part of her marketing campaign for the album.14 Mr Justice Birss concluded, “Many will buy a product because they think she (Rihanna) has approved of it. Others will wish to buy it because of the value of the perceived authorisation itself. In both cases they will have been deceived.”15 The fact that Rihanna already has her own clothing line with Topshop rival River Island and enjoyed substantial goodwill in the UK and the position of Topshop as a major reputable high street retailer were crucial to a finding of passing off. One of the first false endorsement cases in the UK before this was Irvine v Talksport in 2003 where the radio station Talksport had sent out promotional material to potential advertising buyers including a brochure featuring a photograph of the F1 racing driver Eddie Irvine.16 In this case Talksport had manipulated a previous photo of Irvine in which he had been holding a mobile phone by superimposing the Talksport radio onto the image in place of the phone. Irvine successfully sued Talksport Radio for passing off. The Irvine case was of particular importance for the development of image right protection in the UK, bringing traditional passing off law up to date with modern commercial reality. If the actions of the defendant created a false message which would be understood by the customers to mean that his goods have been endorsed or recommended by the claimant, then the claimant can succeed in passing off.17 Considering the special circumstances in the Rihanna case, it is not surprising that the Court of Appeal confirmed the decision of the trial judge and found in her favour. The classic passing off elements and circumstances leading to false endorsement as in Irvine v Talksport were present. The T-shirt damaged Rihanna’s goodwill, would result in loss of sales for her own merchandising business if a substantial number of consumers were likely to buy the T-shirt falsely believing that it was authorised by Rihanna and represented a loss of control over her reputation in the fashion sphere. 12 Reckitt & Colman Products Ltd v. Borden Inc [1990] RPC 341. 13 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3., para 45. 14 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3. para 69. 15 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3, para 72. 16 Irvine v Talksport [2002] 2 All ER 414 (Laddie J), [2003] EWCA Civ 423. 17 Irvine v Talksport [2002] 2 All ER 414 (Laddie J), [2003] EWCA Civ 423., para 25. 13IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW The decision of the Court of Appeal, however, is unlikely to open the floodgates for claims to be brought every time a celebrity image is used without a licence on merchandising. The trial judge, Mr Judge Birss, had already emphasised that “Whatever may be the position elsewhere in the world, and however much various celebrities may wish there were, there is today in England no such thing as a free standing image right”.18 It follows that each case will depend on the individual circumstances, in Rihanna’s case, her past association with Topshop and the particular features of the image itself, and that, “the mere sale by a trader of a T-shirt bearing an image of a famous person is not, without more, an act of passing off.” 19 2.3. Trademark Protection In addition to the tort of passing off, the registration of a trademark may provide effective protection against the unauthorised commercial exploitation of the image of a celebrity. Generally, the successful registration of a famous name or image as a trade mark prevents a third-party from using the trade mark in the course of their own trading. One of the advantages of a registered trade mark is that it is easier to enforce because it automatically enjoys protection in the jurisdiction within which it is registered, while the claimant in a cause of action for passing off has to prove the three essential elements: goodwill, misrepresentation and damage. The registration of celebrities as such, however, has proved difficult and has been put into question since the appeal in Elvis Presley Enterprises Inc v Sid Shaw Elvisly Yours.20 In this case the Court of Appeal upheld the decision to overturn registration of a variety of styles of the name Elvis Presley. The court decided that a celebrity name was not registrable as a trade mark as it was not distinctive. The court appeared to acknowledge the monopoly power that could be conferred on traders if celebrities’ names could be registered as trademarks. Simon Brow LJ noted: “there should be no a priori assumption that only a celebrity or his successors may ever market (or licence the marketing of) his own character. Monopolies should not be so readily created”.21 Although this case was considered under the old Trade Marks Act 1938, the principles in the case are still relevant to the consideration of modern trademark applications and has been followed in the decision by the trademark registry to turn down the application to register the name “Diana, Princess of Wales” as a trademark.22 The Princess of Wales sought registration of the words DIANA, PRINCESS OF WALES in a very wide range of goods and services. The application was based on the view that there was a significant trade in DIANA, PRINCESS OF WALES souvenirs whilst the late Princess of Wales was alive, and a trade in memorabilia in the immediate aftermath of her death. 18 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3, para 2. 19 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3, para 75. See also: Fletcher, Mitchell (2015) 405. 20 Elvis Presley Enterprises Inc v Sid Shaw Elvisly yours [1999] RPC 567. Waelde, Laurie (2014) 817. 21 Waelde, Laurie (2014) 598. See also Lord Parker of Waddington in Registrar of Trade Marks v W. and G. Du Cros Ltd. (1913) AC 624 at 634, 635: “It is apparent from the history of trade marks in this country that both the Legislature and the Courts have always shown a natural disinclination to allow any person to obtain by registration under the Trade Marks Acts a monopoly in what others may legitimately desire to use.” 22 Executrices of the Estate of Diana, Princess of Wales’ Application [2001] ETMR 25. 14 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI The application was rejected on the basis that it was unlikely the public would attach any trade mark significance to the Princess’s name appearing on commemorative products given there was no such significance when she was alive. The average and circumspect consumer would not expect that all commemorative articles bearing the Princess’s name were commercialised under the control of a single undertaking. The application was also rejected because the name lacked the necessary trademark character for the goods listed in the application. Similarly, an application to register the name “Jane Austen” in respect of toiletries and similar goods was rejected.23 It was successfully argued that the mark was devoid of distinctive character under section 3(1)-(b) of the Trade marks Act 1994. These cases show that for a famous name to qualify for a trademark registration the public must associate the celebrity with the goods sought for registration. The public association will ensure that the celebrity’s name will be seen to be indicating origin and will not merely be indicating subject matter.24 It follows that the celebrity should seek to educate consumers to view its trademark as a source identifier as opposed to a common name for its goods and/or services, as otherwise, it is unlikely that the celebrity’s name will be considered a designation of origin. 2.4. The developing Law of Privacy Although historically, English common law has recognised no general tort of privacy, privacy in English law is a rapidly developing area that considers in what situations an individual has a legal right to informational privacy - the protection of personal or private information from misuse or unauthorised disclosure.25 In the absence of a tort of privacy, the equitable remedy of breach of confidence, a variety of torts limited to intentional infliction of harm to the person and administrative law principles relating to the appropriate use of police powers have all been recently used to resolve cases which involve allegations of an infringement of personal privacy. In relation to the law of breach of confidence in Prince Albert v Strange, for example, the High Court of Chancery awarded Prince Albert an injunction, restraining Strange from publishing a catalogue describing Prince Albert’s etchings.26 In Coco v AN Clark (Engineers) Ltd27 a claim was made for breach of confidence in respect of technical information whose value was commercial. In this case the information was found not to be of a confidential nature as it was already in the public domain. In Kaye v Robertson the claimant, a well-known actor, attempted to obtain an order restraining the publication of photographs of the injuries he had sustained in a car crash which had been obtained via deception by a tabloid’s journalist while he was still in hospital undergoing treatment.28 The claimant argued that he was entitled to relief based on a multitude of different torts, including libel, trespass and nuisance. The Court of Appeal concluded that only malicious falsehood was applicable to the circumstances of the case having decided that no tort of privacy existed in English law with 23 Jane Austen Trade Mark [2000] RPC 879. 24 Beverly-Smith (2004) 41; see Linkin Park LLC [2006] ETMR 74. 25 Bainbridge (2012) 347. 26 Prince Albert v Strange [1849] EWHC Ch J20. 27 Coco v AN Clark (Engineers) Ltd [1969] RPC 41. 28 Kaye v Robertson [1991] FSR 62. 15IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW the House of Lords in Wainwright v Home Office confirming this view.29 Privacy rights have, however, received increasing recognition both nationally and at European level. The key justification for this change is Art. 8 (1) of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) which provides a right to respect for a person’s private and family life. Two recent cases reflect the fast developing area of privacy law in the UK which has been supported and enhanced by the enactment of the Human Rights Act 1998. Douglas v Hello The first case concerned the two actors, Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones. The stars had married in November 2000 and had granted exclusive rights to pictures of their wedding to the Ok! magazine but the defendant, the publisher of the Hello! magazine had its own pictures, which it planned to publish. On application the claimants obtained an interim injunction in the High Court, preventing the defendant from publishing unauthorised photographs of the claimants’ wedding on the grounds that the pictures were a breach of confidence and an invasion of the individual claimants’ privacy. The defendant, Hello! magazine, successfully appealed to the Court of Appeal, which discharged the interim injunction against the defendant. An emergency injunction was granted which was set aside three days later by the Court of Appeal and the images were later published in Hello!. The Douglases succeeded in this case because the wedding and party were held to be private events, on private property. The House of Lords affirmed the claimants’ right to hold their wedding in private and protect their intimate moments from the distressing and invasive effects of unauthorised photography. The House of Lords, by a split majority of 3-2, upheld the action for breach of confidence. The main issue was whether the photographs represented confidential information. The majority ruled that the disputed photographs provided information as to how the wedding looked and constituted confidential information. However, Lord Walker in Douglas v Hello summed up his position on image rights as follows: “under English law it is not possible for a celebrity to claim a monopoly in his or her image as if it were a trademark or a brand”.30 Moreover, Lord Justice Hoffman noted: “there is (…) no question of creating an ‘image right’ or any other unorthodox form of intellectual property. The information in this case was capable of being protected (…) simply because it was information of commercial value over which the Douglases had sufficient control to enable them to impose an obligation of confidence”.31 Campbell v Mirror Group Newspapers In Naomi Campbell v Mirror Group Newspapers the model Naomi Campbell was photographed leaving a rehabilitation clinic where she attended regularly meetings of Narcotics Anonymous (“NA”).32 The photographs were published in a publication run by MG Newspapers. The headline alongside the photograph read: “Naomi: I’m a drug addict” and the article contained some general information relating to Miss Campbell’s treatment 29 Wainwright v Home Office [2003] UKHL 53. 30 Douglas v Hello [2007] UKHL 21, para 293 per Lord Walker. 31 Douglas v Hello [2007] UKHL 21, para 124 per Lord Hoffmann. 32 Campbell v MGN Ltd [2004] UKHL 22 on appeal from Campbell v MGN Ltd [2002] EWCA Civ 1373. 16 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI for drug addiction, including the number of meetings she had attended in the clinic. The supermodel had previously claimed that she did not have a drug addiction. Miss Campbell claimed damages under the tort of breach of confidence. On appeal, the House of Lords, by a 3:2 majority, held that this was a breach of confidence. Whilst it was acceptable to publish a story about her having lied about taking drugs and her addiction and the fact that she was receiving therapy, publishing the additional information about the treatment with NA together with details of the treatment and photograph went too far and were not relevant for the public discourse.33 However, in her judgment Baroness Hale of Richmond made clear that: “in this country we do not recognise a right to one’s own image. (…) We have not so far held that the mere fact of covert photography is sufficient to make the information contained in the photograph confidential.”34 In summary, to obtain protection under English privacy laws the activity photographed must be private. If by contrast, someone published a picture of a celebrity going shopping in a public street, a claim for breach of confidence or privacy would most likely fail. Children may enjoy special protection as held in Murray v Express Newspaper Plc where a photographer depicted the author JK Rowling’s son David, then 19 months old, being pushed in a buggy with his parents in an Edinburgh street to and from a local café. In that case it was arguable that an expedition to the café was part of each member of the family’s recreation time, such that publicity was intrusive and likely to adversely affect such activities in the future.35 The recent case Mosley v News Group Newspapers also shows that courts have been more willing to rule that adulterous or casual sex affairs are matters in which one or both of the people involved have a reasonable expectation of privacy and will issue injunctions unless the defendant can persuade the judge there is a strong public interest in publishing the information.36 The facts of the case were that Max Mosley, the former president of the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (FIA), was awarded £60,000 against the News of the World in an action alleging breach of confidence and unauthorised disclosure of personal information for its exposure of his participation in a sado-masochistic orgy with prostitutes. The English law on privacy has therefore strengthened the economic and private rights of celebrities but it is questionable if and when ordinary people have a right to commercial confidence. What the cases show is that even celebrities have a right of privacy during private events on private property and with regard to information about a person’s health and their treatment for ill health. Moreover, Campbell has established that the values enshrined in Art. 8 and 10 ECHR will now be considered as part of a cause for an action of breach of confidence. 33 Campbell v MGN Ltd [2004] UKHL 22 on appeal from Campbell v MGN Ltd [2002] EWCA Civ 1373., para 24 per Lord Nicholls of Birkenhead. 34 Campbell v MGN Ltd [2004] UKHL 22 on appeal from Campbell v MGN Ltd [2002] EWCA Civ 1373., para 154, per Baroness Hale of Richmond. 35 Murray v Express Newspapers Plc [2008] EWCA Civ 446 and recently in: Weller v Associated Newspapers Ltd [2014] EWHC 1163 (QB). 36 Mosley v News Group Newspapers [2008] EWHC 1777 (QB); see also Mosley v United Kingdom [2011] 53 E.H.R.R. 30. 17IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW 3. IMAGE RIGHTS IN HUNGARY 3.1. Definition of the Term “Image Right” in Hungary Image rights under Hungarian law form part of a much broader concept of personality rights. These rights have their roots both in Hungarian constitutional law and civil law.37 Although personality rights per se are not listed among the fundamental rights of Hungarians under the current Fundamental Law,38 some of the fundamental rights have inherent connection with the personality of human beings.39 The legal literature correctly points out, however, that the basic purpose of the Fundamental Law is to list the fundamental rights and principles that a democratic country shall respect and enforce. The content of these rights – including personality and image rights – might be regulated by separate laws,40 so for example by the Civil Code of Hungary.41 The Hungarian civil law was amended by the acceptance of the Hungarian Civil Code (HCC) in 2013. HCC 2013 replaced HCC 1959 on March 15, 2014. In HCC 1959 image rights were listed under Title IV on “civil law protection of persons” and Chapter VII on “personality and intellectual property rights”.42 Currently, image rights are included within Book II on “Persons”, Part III on “Personality Rights” and Title XI on “General clauses and certain personality rights”.43 Personality rights, generally, provide for a right of protection against different forms of intrusion into the private sphere of persons. The structure of the rules on personality rights is absolute, that is, they are based on prohibitions and everyone is obliged to respect such rights. Any behaviour to the contrary might lead to an enforceable infringement. Personality rights are therefore closely connected to the integrity of different aspects of a person’s life and privacy. Personality rights are limited under the HCC 2013. Infringements are excluded, where the affected person directly or indirectly approved the behaviour of the user (“volenti non fit injuria”),44 or where the law allows for such intrusion (for example in order to use images for evidence purposes in criminal trials).45 All the above aspects show that Hungarian civil law does not focus on the exploitation (economic) aspects of personality and image rights. The wording of the rules on image rights under HCC 1959 and HCC 2013 show some significant differences. The old regime generally prohibited any misuse of the image (visual depiction) of a person (that is, his or her likeness) or the audio and/or video recording of 37 On the historical and doctrinal analysis of personality rights under the Hungarian Civil Code of 1959 (Act IV of 1959, hereinafter: HCC 1959) see: Sólyom (1983). On the most recent systematic analysis of image rights see: Boronkay (2014). 38 Magyarország Alaptörvénye (2011. április 25.), Chapter “Szabadság és Felelősség”, Arts. I-XXXI. 39 E.g. freedom and personal safety [Art. IV(1)]; fair trial provisions [Art. IV(2)-(4); defence against unlawful attack on the person [Art. V]; protection of private and family life, home, goodwill or personal data [Art. VI]; freedom of expression [Art. IX] and so forth. 40 Petrik (2013) 145. 41 See further: A személyhez fűződő jogok (2005) 3. 42 “A személyek polgári jogi védelme” and “A személyhez és a szellemi alkotásokhoz fűződő jogok”, respectively. See: HCC 1959, Art. 80. 43 “Az ember mint jogalany”, “Személyiségi jogok” and “Általános szabályok és egyes személyiségi jogok”, respectively. See: HCC 2013, Art. 2:48. 44 Boronkay (2014) 17–19. 45 Petrik (2013) 147–148.; A személyhez fűződő jogok (2005) 4. 18 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI a person’s voice, or the mixture of these two.46 HCC 1959 specifically required the affected person to authorise exposure of the image or recording to the public.47 Case law under HCC 1959 confirmed that the unauthorized recording of someone’s voice is per se an infringement, and consequently the user had to rely on a defence to avoid liability.48 Furthermore, the use of a picture of a person required permission with respect to both the creation of the photograph and the method of use.49 Alternatively, courts have consistently refused to treat the verbal and written disclosure of the substance of a sound recording, as well as the conveyance of the existence of a sound recording and a photograph as an intrusion to the image rights of persons.50 HCC 1959 explicitly allowed for the use of images and recordings of missing persons or people who were subject to criminal proceedings for committing serious crimes given that “weighty public interests” (especially the discovery of the crimes) or “equitable private interests” support such disclosure.51 Case law confirmed the legality of the use of images,52 video recordings53 and sound recordings54 both in criminal and – somehow expanding the scope of the provision – in petty offence procedures for purposes of evidencing.55 Furthermore, public figures (especially politicians) had to tolerate broader (harsher) expressions/opinions of people, especially due to the fact that they were fulfilling their duties in favour of society. So for example image rights of politicians were not infringed where photographs functioning as a caricature were published about them as long as such opinion of the publisher fits within the general frames of freedom of expression.56 Alternatively, images of public figures might be only used with regards to their public acting/performance.57 In a notable case – decided under the rules of the HCC 1959 – the Court of Appeal of Budapest decided that photographing policemen in service infringes the personality rights of the policemen.58 Later, however, the decision was found unconstitutional, and the Hungarian Constitutional Court overruled the judgment, claiming that any photograph that was taken at a public place and serves the interest of news reporting shall be disclosed without authorisation of the depicted persons.59 In its decision the Constitutional Court opined that when the different rights and interests of policemen and that of the whole society clash, the latter shall prevail. The Constitutional Court highlighted that freedom of 46 HCC 1959, Art. 80 para (1). Compare to: A személyhez fűződő jogok (2005) 9. 47 HCC 1959, Art. 80 para (2). 48 BH 2008/266. 49 BH+ 2015/13. Compare to: A személyhez fűződő jogok (2005) 10. 50 EBH 2012.P.16; BH+ 2013/155. 51 HCC 1959, Art. 80 para (2). 52 BH+ 2011/199; BH+ 2015/13. 53 EH 2000/296. 54 BH+ 2013/324. 55 Compare to Boronkay (2014) 24–25. 56 BH 1994/127; BH 2000/293. See further: Halmai (2000) 17–32. 57 BH 2006/282. See further: Boronkay (2014) 23. Under BDT2006.1298 public acting means any performance in events that might affect the life of the society; that might influence the national or local issues; or that were organized with such purposes. 58 Fővárosi Ítélőtábla Pf.20.656/2012/7. The decision was later approved by the Curia (Supreme Court) as well. See: BH 2014/104. Note that the latter decision was handed down before the ruling of the Hungarian Constitutional Court that ultimately quashed the Court of Appeals’ decision. 59 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat. 19IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW press has been a part of the Hungarian historical constitution.60 It functions as the means to create and maintain democratic public opinion, and all forms of press shall be equally protected under this fundamental right.61 Further, the distinct treatment of the right to privacy and the recording of the likeness or the voice of a person in public places is in accordance with the ECHR and the practice of the ECtHR.62 Consequently, the Constitutional Court has based its final decision on the constitutional aspects of freedom of press and human dignity, rather than civil law.63 As such, the protection of personality rights needs to be balanced with the freedom of press, as well as the right to receive and impart information in cases of public interest.64 The Constitutional Court declared the reporting of public events (assemblage of members of the union of protective services) a direct realisation of freedom of press and the freedom to impart information, as well as the shaping of “democratic public opinion”.65 With respect to the issue at hand, the majority opinion of the decision noted that reporting of the assemblage shall not be limited under personality rights, as long as imparting information on the event is not abusive.66 As such, taking photographs of policemen serving at (securing the safety of) a current assemblage deserves public attention, even if policemen are not “real participants” of the event. Exceptions to the freedom to record the likeness of policemen might exist. Such an example is where the human dignity is infringed by the reporting (like depicting the suffering of injured policemen), or where only one policeman is recorded on the image.67 Consequently, a factual, objective visualization of the crowd of a public event shall be treated as lawful and necessary in order to depart information by the press.68 Ultimately the Constitutional Court quashed the Appeals Court decision that decided the case in the opposite way.69 The new wording of image rights under HCC 2013 builds upon the regulations of HCC 1959, but – at the same time – codifies the case law introduced above. The current law requires the authorization of the affected persons to the creation as well as any form of use of an image or recording,70 including but not limited to reproduction, distribution, performance, display, transmission or making available (via the internet) to the public.71 No infringement occurs, where the affected person authorised the use of the image or recording either directly or indirectly. No authorisation is needed, however, where the picture or recording is taken of a crowd (“tömegfelvétel”)72 or of a “performance at a public event” (“nyilvános közéleti szereplés”). The latter limitation requires some clarification. The definition of “performance at a public event” is broader than the concept of performances of public figures.73 HCC 2013 clearly allows for the unauthorized photographing of and 60 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, paras. [11]-[14]. 61 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, paras. [15]-[17]. 62 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, paras. [25]-[26]. 63 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [27]. 64 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [35]. 65 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [38]. 66 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [42]. 67 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, paras. [43-44]. 68 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [48]. 69 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [49]. 70 HCC 2013 Art. 2:48 para. (1) 71 Petrik (2013) 157. 72 Compare to: A személyhez fűződő jogok (2005) 10. 73 On the concept of public figures see: Törő (1979) 22.; Sarkady (2006). 20 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI recording the voice of celebrities as well and not only “politically exposed persons”, as long as the affected performance is a part of “public life”, that is, it exceeds the limits of the performer’s private life and it deserves attention from the publicity. Furthermore, the limitation of personality rights of “politically exposed persons” is explicitly allowed by HCC 2013. It stresses that “exercising the fundamental rights relating to the free debate of public affairs may diminish the protection of the personality rights of politically exposed persons, to the extent necessary and proportionate, without prejudice to human dignity”.74 Such regulation a contrario confirms that the personality rights of celebrities deserve stronger protection. Notwithstanding the above, the private life of persons – following the standards of international human rights documents – is protected by the HCC 2013 as a separate personality right.75 Any arbitrary – unreasoned or statutorily not permitted – intrusion into the privacy of persons, including “politically exposed persons” and celebrities as well, shall be prohibited.76 Notwithstanding the above, Menyhárd recently opined that such separate protection of the private life of people under civil law might be unnecessary. First, such interest is protected as a fundamental right under international and domestic norms, and these laws include obligations of the countries/governments to defend their nationals’ rights. Second, the privacy of people is specifically protected through multiple unique rights – both under the Constitution and/or the HCC.77 It is consequently necessary to differentiate between the general right of personal right and the other specific rights of privacy. It is the task of the courts to meet this challenge.78 3.2. Intellectual Property Rights As HCC 2013 functions as lex generalis for all civil matters, it necessarily evades answering specific questions that might arise under lex specialis provisions, for example under intellectual property rights. Both copyright law and trademark law include rules that are closely connected to the protection of private interests over the images of and recordings of the voice of persons. The lex specialis nature of these statutes means, however, that not the person or the personality rights are protected, but rather the expressions of these persons, as long as these expressions fit into the relevant subject matter of the copyright or trademark laws. The Copyright Code of Hungary rules on the protection of works of authorship and other protected achievements (performances, recordings, broadcasts etc.). Not the ideas or the forms, but the expressions that are original in nature are protected. As such an image that visually depicts a person might be automatically79 protected as a protected subject matter (as a photographic work).80 Copyright is, however, solely granted to the photographer, 74 HCC 2013 Art. 2:44. 75 HCC 2013 Art. 2:43 point b). 76 See especially Supreme Court’s decision no. Pfv.IV.21.028/2000 from the case law under HCC 1959. The decision seems to be fully applicable under the current rules of HCC 2013. 77 See for example: life or health of people, protection of integrity and personal data, protection against discrimination, defamation or trespassing. 78 Menyhárd (2014) 178. 79 Compare with the Painer decision of the Court of Justice: Eva-Maria Painer v Standard Verlags GmbH and Others, Case C-145/10, ECLI:EU:C:2013:138. 80 Act LXXVI of 1999, Art. 1 para. 2 point i). The latest version of the statute that is available via WIPO’s database (http://www.wipo.int/wipolex/en/details.jsp?id=11840) is valid in respect of the quoted paragraphs. 21IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW that is, the author of the work, since the likeness of a person (his face or fully body image) does not function as an expression, but rather as a mere fact. In Hungary, printing the face of the famous Italian actor, Bud Spencer, is quite common, as well as selling products with the tag of “beer and sausage competition” that refers to a remarkable scene of the movie “...altrimenti ci arrabbiamo!” (“Különben dühbe jövünk”, “Watch Out, We’re Mad!”, 1974). In the movie Bud Spencer and Terence Hill competed in drinking beer and eating sausages until losing consciousness. This type of competition became a form of amusement amongst college students in Hungary. Audio or video recordings of the voice of persons are treated in a more complex fashion under copyright law. Publicly held speeches are protected subject matter,81 and consequently the author of the speech deserves copyright protection. Although the Berne Convention might allow for the opposite,82 the Copyright Code of 1999 did not exclude public speeches held by politicians from the scope of protected subject matters. Furthermore, performers and producers of the audio and video recordings similarly deserve neighbouring rights protection. In the latter cases, no originality is necessary on the side of the producer and the performer in order to be covered by the rules of the Copyright Code. Still, the HCC, as lex generalis, comes into the foreground. As we have stressed above, under Art. 2:48 para. (2) no authorization is needed to make a voice recording taken of a crowd or of a “performance at a public event”. Consequently, any other recording might be subject to authorisation. So for example a public university lecture shall not be classified as a performance in the crowd (“tömegfelvétel”) or at a public event (here, again, the Hungarian expression is more descriptive: “nyilvános közéleti szereplés”). Finally, the Copyright Code of 1999 also includes provisions on merchandising rights; however, these are all attached to original works of expressions, especially unique and original characters or the title of a work83 rather than the likeness or voice of a person, even if the latter is the author of such titles or characters. The Hungarian Trademark Law grants protection to “any signs capable of being represented graphically provided that these are capable of distinguishing goods or services from those of other undertakings”.84 These signs might include names, pictures and sound signals as well.85 The use of names as trademarks is quite common in Hungary as well;86 however, no widely known example might be presented, where the name of a person that was not closely connected to goods or services and that does not have any unique, distinctive feature was registered. Similarly, the likeness or the recorded voice of a person might function as a trademark, if it is distinctive and is capable of incorporating the respected good or service. A notable example of trademarked slogans of celebrities is the one that the late sport reporter, Jenő Knézy used. He would start his commentary at all sports events 81 Act LXXVI of 1999, Art. 1 para. 2 point b). 82 Compare to the Berne Union Convention (1971), Art 2bis para 1. 83 Act LXXVI of 1999, Art. 16 paras. 2–3. 84 Act XI of 1997, Art. 1 para. 1. The English translation of the statute is available via WIPO’s database: http://www.wipo.int/wipolex/en/text.jsp?file_id=330915. On the substantive requirement of distinctiveness see: Vida (2010) 75-78.; Szalai (2010) 8–33. 85 Act XI of 1997, Art. 1 para. 2 points a), c) and f). Here, the protection of sound signals – that are not graphical, but aerial signs – under Art. 1 para 2 point f) necessarily broadens the scope of Art. 1 para. 1 that explicitly refers to signs that might be graphically represented. 86 See for example: László, Mező (2013) 26–30. 22 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI with “good evening and enjoy the game” (“jó estét, jó szurkolást”).87 Another example is that of the likeness of the former reality show celebrity Alekosz which was depicted in his unique pose, where the ultimate picture was used as the advertisement for another reality show titled “Love Supreme – Alekosz is looking for a wife” (“Szerelem a legfelsőbb szinteken – Alekosz feleséget keres”).88 The above examples are clearly connected to commercially exploitable services, and they evidence that the mere name, likeness and voice of a person cannot be protected under trademark law without such direct distinctiveness. 4. COMPARATIVE AND CONCLUDING REMARKS A comparison of the legal systems of the UK and Hungary indicates several major differences with respect to image rights.89 A fundamental reason for that diversity comes from the traditional distinguishing of common law and statute law. Hungarian civil law fully recognises a right of personality and provides explicit statutory protection against the unlawful commercial exploitation of an individual’s image. In contrast, English judges still do not expressly recognise a general image right, however, the common law actions of passing off and breach of confidence have always been useful instruments to flexibly adapt to developments including false endorsement and false merchandising claims. In addition to the explicit statutory protection provided in Hungary, both systems provide for protection under specific intellectual property laws, in particular trade mark law or copyright law. As we have seen, however, the prerequisites of the use of images and recorded voice under the rules of copyright and trademark law are quite special, and therefore the scope of such exploitation is quite tight. To qualify for trademark registration in cases where the celebrity is already famous, the public must associate the celebrity with the goods sought for registration and the name or likeness must be sufficiently distinctive. Copyright under both systems is more likely to assist in protecting the rights of the broadcaster or photographer but situations rarely arise where copyright provides a realistic means of protecting a person’s image as such. In the UK, however, in addition to that, copyright may subsist in the image of fictional characters, providing a cause of action against its unauthorised use by third parties, alongside other heads of claim, such as passing off. Although historically, English common law has recognised no general tort of privacy, privacy in English law is a rapidly developing area that considers in what situations an individual has a legal right to informational privacy – the protection of personal or private information from misuse or unauthorised disclosure. Where there is reasonable expectation 87 Application number: M9803164; registration number: 157778. The application for the trademark was submitted by Knézy’s children, Jenő Knézy, Jr. (who is a sport reporter as well) and Beatrix Knézy. The trademark application was submitted on August 5, 1998, and it was registered on September 14, 1999. Knézy passed away in 2003, and the protection was not renewed in 2008. 88 Application number: M1101262; registration number: 204548. The application for the trademark was submitted by Magyar RTL Televízió Zrt., the owner of Hungary’s most popular television channel (RTL-Klub). The trademark application was submitted on April 21, 2011, and it was registered on October 26, 2011. 89 On the differences between the British and Hungarian – and several other – legal systems with respect to privacy see: Menyhárd (2014) 180–201. 23IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW of privacy, taking and publishing of photographs without consent is likely to be an invasion of privacy, unless there is a clear public interest at stake. The law on privacy has partially changed in the last few years in Hungary. The new HCC has – at least partially – codified the former case law on this issue; however, it left unanswered several significant questions. Menyhárd correctly noted that the boundaries between private interests of people (especially those under “private life” and any other rights under HCC) still need to be settled by the judges. As a matter of fact, such new regulations do not seem to be in any contradiction with the special laws on intellectual property law. Consequently, HCC 2013 and the copyright and trademark laws may easily complement each other: HCC 2013 rules on the existence of the rights and interests of persons; whilst Intellectual Property norms regulate the economic exercise of privacy rights. In the absence of a formal legislative or jurisprudential recognition of image rights and what has been identified as “piecemeal” legislation and protection, English courts are increasingly stretching the boundaries of existing rights to strike a balance between competing interests and to recognise the commercial value of image rights. It remains to be seen whether English Courts will gradually recognise the existence of a proper personality or image right in the near future. Unlike their British colleagues, Hungarian judges do not need to significantly change the practice on image rights. This is especially true in light of the decision of the Constitutional Court on the publication of photographs of policemen. Although that decision has left a certain margin of discretion for judges to consider the facts of the cases on an individual basis (especially with respect to the private life of public figures), it has confirmed that a factual, objective visualisation of the crowd of a public event should be treated as lawful and necessary in order to obtain and make information available by the press. It follows that the protection afforded to images by Hungarian Law is broader than in the UK, and generally sufficient to protect a personality against the use of images for commercial purposes. LITERATURE Bainbridge, D., Intellectual Property, (9th ed, Pearson 2012). Beverly-Smith, H., The commercial appropriation of personality (Cambridge University Press 2004). Blum, J., Ohta, T., ‘Personality disorder: strategies for protecting celebrity names and images in the UK’ (2014) 2 Journal of Intellectual Property Law & Practice 137–147. Boronkay, M., ’A képmáshoz és a hangfelvételhez fűződő jog’ in Z Csehi and A Koltay and Z Navratyil, A személyiség és a media a polgári és a büntetőjogban az új Polgári Törvénykönyvre és az új Büntető Törvénykönyvre tekintettel (Wolters Kluwer 2014) 11–56. Cornish, W., Llewelyn, D., Intellectual Property: patents, copyright, trademarks and allied rights (5th ed, Sweet and Maxwell 2003). Fletcher, S., Mitchell, J., ’Court of Appeal found no love for Topshop tank: the image right that dare no speak its name’ (2015) 1 European Intellectual Property Review 394–405. Halmai, G., ’Közszereplők személyiségvédelme kontra közügyek vitathatósága’, (2002) 2 Fundamen- tum 17–32. László, Á. M., Mező, B., ‘Kell a cégér! A forgalmazói védjegyhasználat egyes kérdései’, (2013) 2 Iparjogvédelmi és Szerzői Jogi Szemle 26–30. Menyhárd, A., ‘A magánélethez való jog a szólás- és médiaszabadság tükrében’ in Z Csehi and A Koltay and Z Navratyil, A személyiség és a média a polgári és a büntetőjogban az új Polgári Törvénykönyvre és az új Büntető Törvénykönyvre tekintettel (Wolters Kluwer 2014) 177–226. Petrik, F., ‘Személyiségi jogok’ in L Kecskés and A Kőrös and K Makai and Á Orosz and A Osztovits and F Petrik, Az új Ptk. magyarázata I/VI. – Polgári Jog, Bevezető és záró rendelkezések, az ember mint jogalany, öröklési jog (HVG-Orac, 2013) 166–214. 24 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI I. Könyv: A személyek – III. Rész: A személyhez fűződő jogok, (2005) 3 Polgári Jogi Kodifikáció 3–15. Romer, J., Storey, K., ‘Image is everything! Guernsey registered image rights’, (2013) 1 Entertainment Law Review 51–56. Sarkady, I., ’A közszereplők személyiségvédelme a bírói gyakorlatban’, Médiakutató (Fall edn 2006). Sólyom, L., A személyiségi jogok elmélete (Közgazdasági és Jogi Könyvkiadó 1983). Middlemiss, S., Warner, S., ’Is there still a hole in this bucket? Confusion and misrepresentation in passing off’ (2006) 2 Journal of Intellectual Property Law & Practice 131–142. Szalai, P., ’A védjegy megkülönböztetőképességének elvesztése’ (2010) 5 Iparjogvédelmi és Szerzői Jogi Szemle 8–33. Törő, K., A személyiség jogi védelme (Közgazdasági és Jogi Könyvkiadó 1979). Vida, S., ’Az Európai Bíróság gyakorlatának hatása a magyar védjegyjogra’ (2010) 3 Iparjogvédelmi és Szerzői Jogi Szemle 75–78. Waelde, Ch., Laurie, G. (et al), Contemporary Intellectual Property (3rd ed, Oxford University Press, 2014). Walsh, Ch., ’Are personality rights finally on the UK agenda?’, (2013) 1 European Intellectual Property Review 253–260. 
work_476zjpxdsfcehncxptunr4632a	----	Microsoft Word - Kruger_Proof.doc Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology 2013, 7(3), 197-210. ©2013 Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology 197 Original Article VARIATION IN WOMEN'S MATING STRATEGIES DEPICTED IN THE WORKS AND WORDS OF JANE AUSTEN *Daniel J. Kruger School of Public Health and Population Studies Center, University of Michigan Maryanne L. Fisher Department of Psychology, St. Mary’s University Sarah L. Strout Department of Psychology, Dominican College Michelle Wehbe Shelby Lewis Shana’e Clark Literature, Science, and the Arts, University of Michigan Abstract We hypothesize that distinct mating strategies are identifiable in the female characters created by popular British author Jane Austen. Although Austen wrote her novels in the early 19th Century, and consequently the novels reflect social constraints not applicable to similarly aged women in modern Western societies, we contend that research participants can accurately identify the mating strategies of characters and express relationship preferences consistent with their own fitness interests. Austen's characterizations of women's mating strategies are remarkably similar to depictions in the modern literature of evolutionary psychology. We use personality descriptions of four primary characters assembled from passages in Austen’s novels, Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park. When selecting characters with whom to form a hypothetical long-term romantic relationship, participants preferentially chose those who successfully established long- term relationships in the novels. Participants generally favored characters who exemplified short-term mating strategies, such as those who generally valued partners more so for the direct benefits they provided rather than emotional connection, for non- committed sexual relationships. These results provide stronger empirical support of our hypotheses than earlier efforts. Keywords: Literary Darwinism, Jane Austen, mating strategy, sexual selection AUTHOR NOTE: Please direct all correspondence to Daniel J. Kruger, 1420 Washington Heights, University of Michigan. Ann Arbor, MI 48109-2029. Email: kruger@umich.edu Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 198 Introduction Jane Austen, considered the originator of the Regency (1811-1820) romance, was a subtle satirist and shrewd analyst of human behavior. Her novels consistently maintain their popularity (Harman, 2009). They are all love stories (Boyd, 1998), as Austen writes about young women entering society and the marriage market with the goal of finding a suitable mate (Barash & Barash, 2005). Austen's perennial prominence may result from her focus on the challenge of obtaining the right romantic partner and her adeptness at accurately depicting human experiences in this important endeavor (Boyd, 1998). Austen’s depiction of human universals are, of course, framed by her cultural and historical context (Carroll, 2001), which is the social gentry class of early 19th century England (Harman, 2009). Austen’s characters did not casually date as modern women and men do; gentry girls were socially isolated until making their social debut at age 16 at a grand ball. They would then attend formally structured and chaperoned dances, assemblies, and dinner parties to meet marriage-minded gentlemen (Stasio & Duncan, 2007). Men needed to establish themselves financially to be marriageable, typically reaching courting age at 21. Eldest sons usually inherited the family estate; younger brothers had to obtain independent standing and resources. Promiscuity, at least for women, was unacceptable. Divorce was very expensive and women bore the preponderance of the associated shame. Of course, novels written about well-behaved people who follow all the social rules and carefully avoid misadventures would presumably not be that interesting, marketable, or even realistic. Thus, morally principled characters, as well as of crafty females, male and female flirts, and male seducers also inhabit Austen’s novels (Klingel Ray, 2006). Literary Darwinism In recent decades, literary scholars have promoted the use of evolutionary theory for understanding products of human culture, including literary fiction (e.g., Boyd, Carroll, & Gottschall, 2010; Carroll, 1995; Wilson & Gottschall, 2005). Many works in the emerging field of Literary Darwinism follow the humanist tradition of qualitative descriptive analysis (e.g., Fisher & Cox, 2010); others have utilized the empirical and quantitative methods of the social sciences (e.g., Carroll, Gottschall, Johnson, & Kruger 2009). All of these works illuminate how evolutionary themes pervade many of the continuously popular literary works, ancient sagas, and the oral traditions of contemporary peoples in non-industrial societies. Literary Darwinists promote the importance of analyzing life history goals, such as reproduction, and examining and individual differences in life history strategies, such as mating and parenting (Carroll, 2005). Literary Darwinists investigated alternative male mating strategies depicted in late 18th and early 19th century British Romantic literature in a series of empirical studies (Kruger, Fisher, & Jobling, 2003; Kruger & Fisher, 2005a; Kruger & Fisher, 2005b; Kruger & Fisher, 2008). In these studies, it was shown that proper and dark heroes in these novels respectively resemble men with long-term and short-term mating strategies (Kruger et al., 2003). Moreover, the findings suggest that both female and male readers can distinguish these strategies based on a brief personality sketch assembled from passages in the novels. That is, people associate the proper hero with attributes that indicate a successful long-term, low risk and high parental investment male mating Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 199 strategy and the dark hero with attributes of a high-risk, high mating effort mating strategy (Kruger & Fisher 2005a; Kruger & Fisher 2005b). When imagining themselves interacting with these characters, people express preferences and make choices consistently that would be beneficial to their own reproductive success. For example, women preferred proper heroes for long-term relationships but increasingly favored the dark heroes as the relationship length decreased (Kruger et al., 2003). Men preferred the proper hero as a business partner, son-in-law, and companion for their girlfriends on a weekend trip out of town (Kruger & Fisher, 2008). Variation in Women's Mating Strategies Women also vary in their mating strategies (e.g., Quinlan, 2001). Bailey and colleagues (2000) found noticeable variation among women's sociosexuality, which refers to one’s openness towards engaging in casual sex. This finding is notable because the vast majority of research on sociosexuality examines between-sex differences, with men consistently having higher scores than women (Bailey et al., 2000). In addition, women’s mating strategies may be complex and contingent on their circumstances, possibly even more so than those of men. Many women may opt to tradeoff an ideal reproductive partner against a cooperative child-rearing partner, leading to mixed strategies of marrying or forming other long-term relationships while also engaging in short-term sexual unions (Gangestad & Simpson, 2000). Despite these advances in our understanding of female mating strategies, research on individual differences in women's allocation of effort towards mating and parenting is scarce, especially in terms of how literary characters exemplify these strategies. Mating Strategies Exemplified by Austen’s Characters Jane Austen is well known for her rich descriptions of female protagonists and their varied experiences in their quest for male partners (Harman, 2009), and thus, it seems natural to explore women’s mating strategies as depicted in her texts. Her intuitive understanding of women’s reproductive concerns has attracted the attention of Literary Darwinists (e.g., Boyd, 1998; Carroll, 2005). For example, Barash and Barash (2005, p. 41) describe her as “the poet laureate of female choice.” Furthermore, Austen’s insights include characters’ strategies being contingent on their physical attractiveness (Barash & Barash, 2005), female competition including misinformation and competitor derogation (Stasio & Duncan 2007), and mate preferences that mirror the descriptions summarized by modern evolutionary psychologists (Barash & Barash, 2005; Stasio & Duncan, 2007). Based on the fact that Austen’s novels focus on interactions that have fitness benefits (e.g., attracting a mate, competition for a desired mate), we propose that her characters should be immediately comprehendible to young adults, such that they would understand the various mating strategies the characters employ. Hypotheses As mentioned, Austen's novels exemplify social norms of early 19th century England (Carroll, 2001) that may contrast with those encountered by similarly aged women in modern Western societies. However, we propose that modern readers will express relationship preferences consistent with their own fitness interests. We predict Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 200 that men will prefer characters for long-term, committed relationships who successfully established long-term relationships in the novels, (i.e., Jane Bennett and Fanny Price, described below). We expect men will prefer characters that are imprudent, careless, and flirtatious for non-committed sexual relationships, such as a one-time sexual affair and as an extra-pair sexual partner when cheating on their own partner (i.e., Lydia Bennett and Maria Bertram). We predict this pattern both in evaluations of each character’s attractiveness for various relationships, and in direct choices between characters. We also predict that preferences for an intermediate romantic relationship of two months will fall between those for long-term commitment and one-time sexual affairs. We further hypothesize that women will intuitively identify the pattern of male relationship preferences, because this knowledge would facilitate their own mating strategies. Moreover, we predict that both men and women should also be wary of short- term or opportunistic female strategists as partners for their hypothetical sons. These short-term strategists may be more likely to have sexual affairs or abandon their families, and thus cuckold their mate and divert time and resource investment from other possible recipients in his family. In our initial study (Strout et al., 2010), we found weak support for these hypotheses. Men preferred the long-term strategist (Jane Bennett) to the flirty Lydia Bennett for both a long-term committed relationship and a short-term relationship, but did not have a preference for a one-night sexual relationship. Men preferred the short- term strategist (Maria Bertram) to the commitment-seeking Fanny Price for a one-night sexual relationship, but did not show a preference for other relationships. However, in a third comparison (Emma Woodhouse from Emma and Mary Crawford from Mansfield Park), men did not indicate any relationship preferences. In the current study, we use a refined set of character descriptions, with passages copied directly from the novels. We have also removed the comparison of characters from two different novels. We expect that these enhancements to the stimuli will increase the sensitivity of study participants in comprehending the characters’ mating strategies and responding accordingly. In the preliminary study we included characters portrayed in two of Jane Austen’s texts, Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park, exemplifying variation in women’s mating strategies. Pride and Prejudice revolves around the romantic exploits of the five Bennett sisters. Only a male relative can inherit the Bennett estate, even if he is more distantly related. Mrs. Bennett has no sons and is eager to find suitable husbands for her daughters. Each daughter is unique in temperament and behavior. In both the preliminary and current study we decided that although Elizabeth Bennett is the central character, we chose to focus on her sisters Jane and Lydia because of their starkly contrasting personalities and mating strategies. Jane Bennett is 22 years old at beginning of the story. She is educated and refined but has a less lively mind than her sister Elizabeth; Jane is equally sensible but sweeter and more reserved. She is the most beautiful young lady in the neighborhood but takes a passive approach toward relationships. This situation is coupled with an overbearing mother. Although she does not actively pursue Mr. Bingley when they are likely in love with each other, they end up happily married. Lydia Bennett, the youngest sister, is 15 years old at the beginning of the story and vastly different from her sister Jane. Rather than waiting for men to express an interest in her, she directly pursues potential mates without discretion. Austen describes Lydia as young, headstrong, and frivolous, with a passion for socializing and flirting with nearby military officers. Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 201 Mansfield Park follows the experiences of a young woman who is raised by her affluent relatives, as she has an alcoholic and disabled father. Fanny Price, the central character, is 18 at the beginning of the novel. Her standard of living is far lower than that of her rich aunt and uncle, who raise her but treat her as socially inferior to her four cousins. Her behavior is often motivated by her desire to please others. She harbors deep affections for her cousin Edmund, but represses them knowing that these feelings would displease her benefactors. She is sensitive, shy, intelligent, and virtuous, and she refuses to marry a man she cannot respect. She is trustworthy and everyone’s confidant. Edmund eventually realizes his love for Fanny, she reveals her own feelings, and they marry happily. Maria Bertram is Fanny’s cousin and three years older. Maria is very beautiful, and actively uses her beauty to her advantage, in marked contrast to Jane Bennett. Maria is engaged to Mr. Rushworth, a wealthy but foolish young man. Yet, when Henry Crawford expresses his interest in her (despite her engagement), she competes with her sister Julia for Henry’s attention. After both of her romantic relationships deteriorate, she ends up living with her aunt. As mentioned, the preliminary study served as an initial investigation into preferences for Austen’s female characters according to desired relationship length. However, our methodology was not as strong as it could have been, in that we contrasted characters from different novels and used passages that were rather short. We have refined the passages, and the characters used for comparisons are from the same novels. This latter change may improve the participant’s ability to readily comprehend the variance in the mating strategies of the characters, given that Austen contrasted the characters against each other within her novels. Method Participants Undergraduate participants (N = 341; 230 female, M age = 20, SD age = 3) at two public universities in Michigan completed anonymous surveys at their convenience over the Internet to fulfill a course requirement. There was no significant sex difference in age. Participants described their ethnic descent as White/Caucasian (89%), Hispanic (3%), African American (2%), Asian (2%), Native American (1%), Pacific Islander (one participant), and as “other” (3%). Respondents identified themselves as Christian (62%), including Catholic (40%), Protestant (14%), Evangelical (4%), Orthodox (4%), and as having no religious affiliation (19%), Jewish (4%), Buddhist (1%), Latter Day Saints (one participant), and as having an “other” religious affiliation (14%). Procedure Participants read brief passages describing the personality characteristics of the two female characters from Jane Austen’s novel Pride and Prejudice, and two female characters from Mansfield Park. These descriptions were assembled directly from passages found throughout the novels. It is important to note that for all four characters, we avoided directly describing characters’ actual depicted behaviors in romantic or sexual relationships to prevent bias. We also excluded what we identified as direct information on the character’s physical appearances (though see Discussion). Although these characteristics are relevant to both mating strategies and the dramatic content of the novels, we intended to solely focus on behavioral patterns. Separate survey sections Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 202 contained descriptions of two characters with contrasting personalities from each novel, and characters were not identified in the survey. Passage 1A: Jane Bennett (Pride and Prejudice) She was all loveliness and goodness, her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. Every sentence of kindness was a fresh source of happiness to her. She would willingly have gone throughout the world without believing that wickedness existed. Her delicate sense of honor was matched with the most generous and forgiving heart in the world. She was a most willing listener. Her feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and there was a constant complacency in her angelic air and manner. Her look and manner were open, cheerful and engaging. She was firm where she felt herself to be right. With all possible mildness, she declined interfering in other people's issues. Passage 1B: Lydia Bennett (Pride and Prejudice) She was always unguarded and often uncivil, prone to boisterous exclamations. She had an imprudent, wild giddiness and was stubborn, ignorant, idle, vain, and absolutely uncontrolled. In a voice rather louder than any other person’s, she would enumerate the various events of the day to anybody who would hear her. She seldom listened to anybody else for more than half a minute. Her mind was more vacant than those of her sisters. Passage 2A: Fanny Price (Mansfield Park) Eternally gracious, she was always anxious to suggest some comfort to others. Exceedingly timid and shy, she was rendered speechless at expressions of affection. Few young ladies of her age could be less called on to speak their opinion. She was soon beyond her knowledge, and was very happy in observing all that was new, and admiring all that was pretty. She was not often invited to join in the conversation of the others, nor did she desire it. Her own thoughts and reflections were habitually her best companions. Being always a very courteous listener, and often the only listener at hand, she came in for the complaints and the distresses of most of them. Passage 2B: Maria Bertram (Mansfield Park) She was indeed the pride and delight of them all. She was to be pitied on occasion; not for her sorrow, but for her want of it. Fully established among the belles of the neighborhood, her vanity was in such good order, that she seemed to be quite free from it, and gave herself no airs; while the praises attending such behaviour served to strenghten her in believing she had no faults. No one loved to lead better than she. To see only the Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 203 expressive profile of the man she desired as he turned with a smile to another woman, or to catch the laugh of the other, was a perpetual source of irritation. We counterbalanced the order of characters. Both men and women were asked to rate how much they would like and get along with each of the characters. Men indicated how attractive they perceived each character would be for three types of relationships: a long-term committed romantic relationship, a short-term (2-month) romantic relationship, and a one-time sexual affair, using a labeled 11-point decile scale ranging from 0% to 100%. Men were also asked which character within a pair they would prefer: “to accompany you to a party,” “for a formal date,” “for sexual relations,” “for marriage,” “as a mother,” “for engagement to your 25-year-old son,” “to introduce to your parents as your partner,” and “to cheat on your partner with? (Assuming you are already in a romantic relationship).” Similar to men, women indicated which character within a pair they would prefer: “to accompany you to a party,” “for engagement to your 25-year-old son,” and “to leave alone with your boyfriend or husband for an evening.” Women also indicated which character within a pair they thought would be preferred by men for: a sexual affair, marriage, as a mother to their children, and to have an affair with (i.e., cheat on their partner with). Analyses We created a 2 (character) x 2 (participant sex) Mixed Design Analyses of Variance model to examine the extent to which participants predicted liking and getting along with characters, in separate analyses for each novel. Then, for men, we again created two (i.e., one for each novel) separate 3 (relationship type) x 2 (character) Repeated Measures Analyses of Variance models to examine the attractiveness of characters for each type of relationship. We used paired-sample t-tests to determine the simple effects by relationship type. Finally, we conducted binomial comparisons for the choice items where women and men reported preferences Results Both men and women reported that they would generally like Jane more than Lydia, F(1,339) = 531.97, p < .001, and would get along better with Jane compared to Lydia, F(1,339) = 584.49, p < .001. There were no main effects of participant sex or interactions between participant sex and character. Both men and women indicated that they would generally like Fanny more than Maria, F(1,339) = 30.21, p < .001. Overall, for this comparison, women also liked both characters less than men, F(1,339) = 5.48, p = .02, but there was no interaction between participant sex and character. Both men and women reported that they would get along better with Fanny than with Maria, F(1,339) = 65.23, p < .001. The interaction between participant sex and character did not reach statistical significance, although there was a weak trend such that men, more than women, predicted they would get along with both characters, F(1,339) = 2.87, p = .091. Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 204 Effect of Relationship Type on Attractiveness For items pertaining to Jane and Lydia’s attractiveness to men, Jane was more preferred overall to Lydia, F(1,220) = 96.73, p < .001, but the longer the relationship under consideration, the stronger the preference for Jane became, F(2,220) = 83.38, p < .001 (see Figure 1). There was also a main effect for relationship type, F(2,220) = 10.67, p < .001; men found the characters more attractive for sexual affairs than for longer relationships. Men did not show a preference for one-time sexual affairs, t(110) = 0.44, p = .687, d = .04, but preferred Jane for a short-term romantic relationship, t(110) = 8.30, p < .001, d = .78, and a long-term committed romantic relationship, t(110) = 15.94, p < .001, d = 1.51. Figure 1. Men’s mean attractiveness ratings for characters in Pride and Prejudice. For items pertaining to Fanny and Maria, there were no main effects for character or relationship, but the shorter the relationship under consideration, the greater the tendency for men to prefer Maria over Fanny, F(2,220) = 32.25, p < .001 (see Figure 2). Men preferred Maria more for a one-time sexual affair, t(110) = 5.66, p < .001, d = .53, and a short-term romantic relationship, t(110) = 2.93, p = .004, d = .28, but preferred Fanny for a long-term committed romantic relationship, t(110) = 2.21, p = .029, d = .21. In post-hoc analyses, we collapsed data across the characters with the same mating strategy. Participants rated characters with a long-term mating strategy more attractive overall than characters with a short-term mating strategy, F(1,220) = 28.16, p < .001, and gave higher overall attractiveness ratings for sexual affairs than for long-term committed relationships or short-term relationships, F(2,220) = 5.70, p = .004. The predicted interaction between characters' mating strategy and relationship length on attractiveness ratings was significant, F(2,220) = 89.34, p < .001. Characters with long- term mating strategies were preferred for long-term committed relationships, t(110) = 11.34, p < .001, d = 1.41, and short-term relationships, t(110) = 4.13, p < .001, d = .47. Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 205 Characters with short-term mating strategies were preferred for sexual affairs, t(110) = 2.84, p = .005, d = .32. Preferences Between Characters Women showed clear distinctions for both sets of characters in their preferences for relationships and their predictions of men’s preferences for relationships (see Table 1). Women preferred Jane for a party companion, to leave alone with their boyfriend or husband for an evening, and especially as a daughter-in-law. Women nearly universally thought that men would prefer Jane for marriage and as a mother to their children, yet about 90% also thought that men would prefer Lydia for non-committed sex and also a sexual affair partner when cheating on their partner. Women made a similar set of distinctions between Fanny and Maria, though these were not as strong as for the contrast between Jane and Lydia. Fanny was preferred as a daughter-in-law, and as an evening companion for their boyfriend or husband, yet Maria was preferred as a party companion. The pattern of predictions for male preferences was replicated; women thought that men would prefer Fanny for marriage and as a mother to their children, but prefer Maria for non-committed sex and a sexual affair partner when cheating on their partner. Table 1. Proportion of Women Selecting Each Character for Various Roles Pride and Prejudice Mansfield Park Predictions for women’s preferences Jane Lydia Fanny Maria Party companion 61** 39 38 62** Daughter-in-law 97** 3 80** 20 Companion for partner 75** 25 87** 13 Predictions for men’s preferences Non-committed sex 14 86** 10 90** Marriage 98** 2 77** 23 Mother to his children 99** 1 82** 18 Extra-pair sex partner 10 90** 11 89** Note: ** indicates p < .001, preferred character is annotated Men also showed a pattern of preferences for characters, although not as consistently as women. They preferred Jane for a party companion, and had strong preferences for Jane as a daughter-in-law, to introduce to their parents as their partner, for marriage, and as a mother to their children (see Table 2). Men were less consistent in their preferences for uncommitted sexual relationships, with a weak tendency to favor Lydia (that approached statistical significance; p = .087) and no clear favorite for an extra-pair sex partner (p = .34). These results suggest a general male tendency to avoid Lydia more so than they did for any of the other characters. In comparison, men had clear preferences for characters from Mansfield Park for every type of relationship. Fanny was favored as a daughter-in-law, to introduce to their parents as their partner, for marriage, and as a mother to their children. Maria was favored as a party companion, for non-committed sex, and as an extra-pair sex partner. Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 206 Table 2. Proportion of Men Selecting Each Character for Various Roles Pride and Prejudice Mansfield Park Jane Lydia Fanny Maria Party companion 72** 28 32 68** Daughter-in-law 92** 8 70** 30 Non-committed sex 41 59 35 65* Marriage 94** 6 75** 25 Introduce to parents 94** 6 67** 33 Mother of children 94** 6 74** 26 Extra-pair sex partner 45 55 27 73** Note: * indicates p < .01, ** indicates p < .001, character preferred annotated Figure 2. Men’s mean attractiveness ratings for characters in Mansfield Park. Discussion Despite writing in the early 19th century and depicting a world with social constraints that contrast with those of today, Jane Austen created novels that remain popular. One key to their pervasive popularity may be the way the characters are described, and more particularly, how the characters were created to depict a variety of women’s mating strategies. Some characters, such as Jane Bennett from Pride and Prejudice and Fanny Price from Mansfield Park seem to typify women interested solely in long-term relationships, who would fall in love and marry before they would engage in sexual relations. These women are passive in their mating strategies, waiting for men to approach and select them, rather than pursuing men actively. Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 207 Other characters, such as Lydia Bennett from Pride and Prejudice and Maria Bertram from Mansfield Park, actively engage in flirtation and pursuit of a potential mate, and they engage in short-term relationships. We hypothesized that participants’ ratings for a character’s attractiveness would be a function of the mating strategy the character exemplifies in the text, even when this information is excluded from the descriptive passage. All of the significant results provide support for this hypothesis. For example, men’s preferences increased for the characters representing a long-term strategy as the duration of the hypothetical relationship increased, albeit more strongly for the Jane-Lydia comparison than the Fanny-Maria comparison. We intentionally chose characters we believed to exemplify distinct strategies, and also compare characters from the same novel. Using more ambiguous characters or comparing ones from more disparate works may hinder reader’s abilities to distinguish strategies. We predicted that participants would hypothetically interact with the characters in ways that would be consistent with their own fitness interests. Thus, we predicted that men would prefer Jane and Fanny for long-term committed relationships, including marriage and having children. We also expected men to prefer Lydia and Maria for non- committed sexual relationships, such as a one-time sexual affair and as an extra-pair sexual partner when cheating on their own partner. We found this to be correct using both a continuous measure for each character and a forced-choice selection between the characters. However, men seemed to have an aversion to Lydia, such that they only considered her for an extra-pair sex partner, or for an uncommitted sexual interaction. Moreover, approximately half of the men still considered Jane for these two types of interactions, and thus, there was no strong preference for Lydia, even when the interaction was very brief and primarily sexual. We expected men to express the strongest preferences for the long-term commitment female strategists for long-term committed relationships, the strongest preferences for the short-term or opportunistic female strategists for a one-time sexual affair, and intermediate preferences for an intermediate romantic relationship of two months. We did not find this result for the Jane-Lydia comparison. Men preferred Jane for the hypothetical long-term and, albeit a little less strongly, for the short-term relationship, but there was no preference for the brief sexual relationship. Again, this finding suggests men perceived Lydia very negatively (see below). In comparison, our prediction was supported for the Fanny-Maria comparison, as men preferred Fanny for the long-term relationship, and preferred Maria for the short- term relationship, and even more so for the brief sexual relationship. Maria Bertram is described as “fully established among the belles of the neighborhood.” When preparing the character descriptions, we did not interpret this statement to be about physical features, but it is a reasonable assumption that a “belle of the neighborhood” would be physically attractive. Maria had the same overall attractiveness as Fanny Price, the other character from Mansfield Park, whose physical features were not described. Our hypothesis was that preferences for relationships with the characters would be a function of the length/type of relationship under consideration, and this is exactly what we found. Maria may have been considered more attractive overall because of her presumed physical appearance, yet Fanny was preferred for long-term committed relationships and Maria was preferred for one-time sexual affairs. This issue may be relevant to a lesser extent for Jane, who is described as “all loveliness and goodness.” We expected that this would be interpreted in the context of the personality description forming the rest of the passage. If some participants Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 208 interpreted this as a cue of physical attractiveness, it may have boosted attractiveness ratings for Jane overall, yet it would not account for the predicted shift in preferences by relationship length. The results for the Jane-Lydia comparisons replicate our original findings (Strout et al., 2010), and we now find support for our hypotheses in the Fanny- Maria comparisons, contrasting with our previously non-significant results. We predicted and found that women would identify the aforementioned pattern of male preferences for the characters, because this knowledge would facilitate their own mating strategies. Our findings clearly suggest that women are able to predict mate preferences, which may mean that women know what personality features to highlight, depending on their mating strategy. For example, if seeking a long-term, committed relationship, women may attempt to demonstrate that the possess attributes such as those listed for Jane and Fanny, whereas if seeking a short-term or brief, sexual relationship, they will exhibit the traits used to describe Maria (and less-so, Lydia). Our results showed stronger distinctions by women as a function of the proportions of responses, although the level of statistical significance is also in part a function of the greater statistical power for women given that there were over twice as many women as men. It is notable that the findings are strongest for the Jane-Lydia comparison. Why did men perceive Lydia so negatively? It could be that the personality descriptions used for Lydia are more strongly associated with a short-term strategy. For example, the description for Lydia indicates that she is giddy, impulsive, and vain. Narcissism, which is usually perceived as a negative trait, is associated with promiscuous sexual behaviors in both men and women (Webster & Bryan, 2007). It is also possible that she is described in a manner that is not feminine; for example, she is loud, rather than quiet and demure (e.g., Ward & Sethi, 1986). Men may avoid someone who seems so immature, as being in a relationship with her may adversely impact their social reputation. Lydia is noted to be 15 in the novel and quite young to be making her romantic debut; although we did not mention her age in her description, readers may wonder about this. More likely, though, is the fact that she is described very unfavorably. She is said to be ignorant, a poor listener, and unintelligent, all of which are negatively evaluated personality characteristics. It remains interesting, though, that although she is described so negatively, approximately half of the men preferred her for a hypothetical short-term and a brief, sexual relationship. Overall, both men and women indicated that they liked the characters associated with a long-term strategy better than those associated with a short- term strategy, a pattern which was replicated when asked with whom they would get along. It could be that we tend to like and imagine getting along best with those who are most reliable, stable, and who would not potentially poach a mate. The negative portrayal of Lydia’s personality may be a limitation for this study. It may be useful to include more positive or neutral passages, if available, in the description of Lydia used in any future work. Finally, we expected men and women would express strong preferences for female characters exemplifying long-term commitments as daughters-in-law. Daughters- in-law who are prone to seeking short-term relationships, or brief sexual encounters, might subject their mates to cuckoldry. From the view of the parents (i.e., our participants imagining who they would prefer as a daughter-in-law), it makes sense to want a hypothetical son to marry a woman who would be faithful, thereby increasing paternity certainty and one’s inclusive fitness. Moreover, often daughters-in-law assist with caring for elderly parents (although not as much as daughters; Merrill 1993). If the daughter-in- Mating strategies in Austen Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 7(3). 2013. 209 law was similar to Lydia, it would be unlikely to receive any care as an aging parent, whereas someone like Jane would provide far better assistance. One other avenue for future research would be to explore how women’s own mating strategies relate to the way they perceive the characters. For example, women who are currently pursuing a mate for a long-term relationship may look upon Jane and Fanny less favorably, as they represent hypothetical rivals by pursuing a similar mating strategy. Likewise, women who are engaging in casual sexual relationships, and thus using a short-term mating strategy, may judge Lydia and Maria more harshly, given that they are employing a similar strategy. Therefore, future researchers might wish to gather information on the participants’ own mating strategies and determine if they relate to one’s perceptions of characters. In conclusion, an interdisciplinary approach is necessary to fully understand human nature. By using empirical psychological research methods to explore themes in literature, we sought to advance the development of literary studies from a Darwinian framework, while also shedding light on the intricacies of human female sexuality. 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work_3pqr6aaweraornkrcxqnd2bdwq	----	PROFIT AND PRODUCTION: JANE AUSTEN’S PRIDE AND PREJUDICE ON FILM by Katherine Eva Baresay Hon. B.A., University of Toronto, 2006 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS in The Faculty of Graduate Studies (Film Studies) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) August 2008 © Katherine Eva Barcsay, 2008 11 Abstract Adaptation from literature to film has always been a much criticized enterprise, with fidelity criticism, or an attempt to discredit fidelity criticism, often driving the critical discussion. However, this type of thinking is somewhat limited, becoming circular and going nowhere productive. Instead, taking into account what has come before, this thesis attempts to settle on a method of examination that moves away from fidelity criticism and towards an approach that aligns itself with cultural studies. Adaptations, then, can be seen as products of the historical, cultural, political and general socio-economic framework out of which they emerge, owing perhaps more to their context of production than to their source material. In order to provide a case study that reflects this idea, this paper looks to an author who has been adapted on multiple occasions, Jane Austen, and examines her as a cultural construct. Looking at Austen’s most popular novel, Pride and Prejudice, and using Robert Z. Leonard’s Pride and Prejudice (1940), Cyril Coke’s Jane Austen ‘s Pride and Prejudice (1980), Simon Langton’s Pride and Prejudice (1995), Andrew Black’s Pride and Prejudice: A Latter Day Comedy (2003), Gurinder Chadha’s Bride and Prejudice (2004) and Joe Wright’s Pride & Prejudice (2005), the thesis argues that the appeal of Austen is a result of her cult status and economic viability, and also the malleability of her text, which allows filmmakers to use it in a number of different contexts, while still embodying the source material. 111 TABLE OF CONTENTS Abstract ii Table of Contents iii Chapter One: Introduction 1 Chapter Two: Adaptation and its Issues 10 Chapter Three: The Appeal of the Past and the Cult of Jane Austen 31 Chapter Four: Six Adaptations of Pride and Prejudice 55 4.1 Television Adaptations 58 4.2 Star Powered Adaptations 74 4.3 Contemporary Adaptations 96 Chapter Five: Conclusion 117 Filmography 123 Bibliography 124 1 Chapter One: Introduction “Great literature must spring from an upheaval in the author’s soul. If that upheaval is not present then it must come from the works of any other author which happens to be handy and easily adapted.” - Robert Benchley, Chips off the Old Benchley Adaptation is certainly prevalent in our current era of mass intertextuality. Video games become films, films become novels, novels become musicals, and the list goes on. Anything and everything can, and likely will, be adapted. However, this is hardly a new phenomenon. According to Marshall McLuhan, “the content of a new medium is always an old medium. Therefore, written narratives appropriate oral tales just as the movies borrow from books and television from film” (qtd. in Ray 42). Stories have constantly been adapted, even literary greats such as Shakespeare, for example, relentlessly adapted the source material for his plays from the stories of others. As far back as ancient Greece, stories were adapted to suit the particularities of the teller. Homer and Virgil are the names we know today because they wrote the stories down; but, the stories of Odysseus and Aeneas had been told by many different people, and in many different ways. The Bible, too, is a compilation of oral stories that were written down and anthologized, stories that had been recounted orally and, likely, with a certain amount of variation. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that adaptation has remained of the utmost importance in contemporary times. This trend of using past stories and re-shaping them for new needs has not disappeared with the advent of film; it has only become more prevalent. According to George Bluestone, D.W. Griffith, who is considered one of the foremost innovators of the silent era, owes much of his inspiration to Charles Dickens and “particular passages are cited to illustrate the dissolve, the superimposed shot, the close-up, the pan” (2). The oral tradition, then, produced stories that were eventually written down, which ultimately 2 developed into literature. Literature, then, has provided the inspiration for cinema, allowing words on a page to be embodied visually. Yet, this process of adaptation has not been without controversy. Scholars are divided over the issue of fidelity and many feel that straying from the letter of the novel is unacceptable. Often, these types of criticisms become emotionally motivated.1 Understandably, readers become invested in novels, commonly creating their own visuals to accompany the prose. In a film, the way characters are portrayed is left to the discretion of the filmmaker, often not matching up with our own ideas. So, fidelity frequently has more to do with our own unique vision than with the text itself. However, for this study, these emotional responses need to be placed at the sidelines, to a certain extent, because in a lot of early adaptation theory these issues of fidelity dominated the discourse, and they were often motivated by an emotional rather than an intellectual response to the film. Certainly, there are some adaptations that I prefer over others, for some reason or another, but my personal preferences do not have a place in an academic argument. These kinds of preferential arguments are ones that I want to move away from, and instead move towards an historical and cultural approach to the adaptations. The issue of fidelity obviously stems from the nature of the source material. As Dudley Andrew says, “the distinctive feature of adaptation is the matching of the cinematic sign system to a prior achievement in some other system. Every representational film adapts a prior conception but adaptation delimits representation by insisting on the cultural status of the model” (9). Andrew stresses that all flimmaking is a kind of adaptation, whether it has a source text or not. This is an important point, as people are constantly influenced by what they have seen and heard previously, whether they are aware of it or not. Even the process of turning a screenplay into a finished film becomes an adaptation of sorts, as things are bound 3 to shift and change. The issue with novel to film adaptation is, just as Andrew says, to be found in the cultural status of the model. The film hopes to capture the cultural appeal of this model but often, in so doing, creates animosity in those who feel that the text has been altered. Is fidelity to the source of the utmost importance? Is it necessary at all? Due to the differing nature of the mediums, scholars even question whether adaptations can occur at all. In the first chapter, “Adaptation and its Issues,” I address these questions and engage with the relevant scholarship in the area, mapping what has been done, but also what has not, to show that the discussion of fidelity ends up hindering a truly profitable examination of the practice of adaptation. It is not so much fidelity to the source that is important, but the reasoning behind choosing that particular source and the way that the context of production shapes the source. In this study, it is historical, political, economical and cultural concerns that become of the utmost importance. We certainly camot discount that, in our own time, choosing to adapt is still an economically motivated choice. Production companies have realized that success in one form can lead to success in another. Adaptation is certainly not limited to books. While I am mostly concerned with adaptations from literature to film, I think it is useful, from an economic stand point, to look at how far beyond the novel adaptations have spread. Anything can be adapted, if it is deemed profitable enough. Theme park rides, video games, ‘true stories’ and popular TV shows have all found places on the big screen. This process works both ways and, in turn, popular films are now often adapted into books, plays, and even toys or games. One need not look beyond the rather odd phenomenon that is Legally Blonde: The Musical (which premiered on Broadway in April 2007), to see that this is the case.2 This is a time of intertextuality. Re-makes and covers are commonplace in the film and music 4 industries and, perhaps more than ever, the popular arts are motivated by economics. Nothing is off limits and the issue of adaptation remains a prevalent concern. Cross promotion and merchandising are obviously all motivated by the potential for fmancial gain. Taking something that is already popular in one medium and adapting it into another is much safer than taking a chance on something that is unproven. Cross promotion and new forms of adaptation have become a modem form of vertical integration, with studios owning the rights to produce toys, games, novels, theme park rides, etc., all of which can be based around the film and its characters and then marketed on studio owned television stations (Thompson 82). The new goal is to have the target audience “watching a batman video while wearing a batman cape, eating a fast food meal with a batman promotional wrapper and playing with a batman toy” (Bolter qtd. in Hutcheon 88). This is integrated advertising in its most developed form. While cross-promotional strategies have brought an added dimension to the adaptation debate, the adaptation of novels to film remains economically stable and it continues to be done largely because of the potential for economic gain. As Donald Larsson notes, “novel rights are bought by producers not from love of literature, but because a successful and prestigious book can assure a good return, and if the work in question is in the public domain, so much the better” (Larsson 76). This is not to say that the process of adaptation should be condemned because of its economic goals, but we must bear this in mind when studying adaptations and realize that they are not simply an artistic pursuit. Hence, the choice to adapt a novel is often connected to the popularity of the author, as well as the subject matter of the story. Linda Hutcheon asks, “are some kinds of stories and their words more easily adaptable than others?” (15). Pride and Prejudice, with its many film and television adaptations (not to mention countless stage adaptations, etc.) certainly 5 appears to be one of those stories. Charles Dickens, author of over twenty novels, as well as a number of short stories and plays, is the most adapted fiction author to date, but Jane Austen isn’t far behind him, and she is definitely the most adapted female author. This is especially impressive when one considers the fact that she only wrote six novels in her lifetime. Both authors have been described as writing in a theatrical manner, which would seem to make them easier choices for adaptation as they are already so focused on dialogue and strong characterizations, two of the most important elements of a play or a screenplay. Jane Austen’s novels have been adapted for film and television on at least thirty-three separate occasions, not to mention being adapted for the stage multiple times as well. While they have been predominantly well received, they are not immune to fidelity criticism. Responses to these films only further prove that fidelity is very much a subjective category. As Kathryn Sutherland notes, “the fact that one writer finds boringly faithful a film which another sees as having only a tenuous relation to the original while yet another finds it too faithful, suggests that there is no clear consensus about what faithful means in this discourse” (340). Fidelity criticism becomes more about possession, fidelity to an individual’s reading of the text, rather than to the text itself. Regardless, that does not seem to stop it being discussed over and over again. Moving away from fidelity, I am concerned with why Austen is adapted and how these adaptations come to be more reflective of the needs of the societies and cultures out of which they emerge than of the actual source material. In the second chapter, “The Appeal of the Past and the Cult of Jane Austen,” I look at the marketability of the past in contemporary culture and the way that we re-create and consume that past. I then move on to establish the cult of Jane Austen, and the American re claiming of British culture, examining Austen’ s posthumous position as a celebrity. Looking at her most popular novel, Pride and Prejudice, which has been adapted for the screen on ten 6 occasions, it becomes evident that our fascination with the past, as well as with our obsession with all things Austen combine to make the adaptations of this text economically viable. Beyond this, a study of the novel itself reveals how open it is to multiple readings, meaning that it can easily be re-shaped to reflect the needs and desires of the filmmaker, and the time and place in which they are working. Austen’ s work becomes a perfect choice in this respect because it is so accessible. It is, in the words of Brian McFarlane, “a novel about money and marriage, and about why people marry each other, and the factors, frequently economic, which complicate progress toward marriage and make for difficulty within it” (2005: 8). These are themes that have remained relevant into the twenty first century. It is also a text that lends itself to multiple interpretations, as the hundreds of different critical works can attest. Both the adaptations and the novel itself are evocative of in the words of Rachel M. Brownstein, “the differences between ways of seeing” (57). Elizabeth and Darcy, for example, often see the same situation in different ways, the prime instance being their thoughts on Jane’s attachment to Bingley. Similarly, adaptors will have different ways of seeing the novel as a whole, leading to different finished products. As Tara Ghoshal Wallace states, Pride and Prejudice, “in spite of its seamless surface, is neither coherent nor comprehensive” (58). There is no correct reading of this text since, according to Darryl Jones, “paradigms of reading and of criticism are not themselves absolute” (2). It has been, and continues to be, reinterpreted, which is why there can be so many adaptations, each choosing to privilege a different aspect of the novel. However, Pride and Prejudice is not an undiscovered text by any means. Being Austen’s most popular novel means that, in the words of Jan Fergus, “the text is likely to be over-familiar, making a fresh or even attentive response difficult” (Fergus 87), but perhaps this challenge is part of the appeal. Regardless, this issue is one that adaptors must address when deciding how they want to tell the story. 7 In the third chapter, “Six Adaptations of Pride and Prejudice,” I look at the film adaptations specifically, examining how the interpretive nature of Austen’ s text allows filmmakers with different goals, and coming out of different historical and cultural contexts, to produce films that are exceedingly diverse, but that are still reflective of Austen’ s text. While there have been ten adaptations, not all are available for viewing. On January 23rd 1949, NBC’s Philco Television Playhouse released a one hour adaptation of Pride and Prejudice as episode seventeen of the first season. The series would continue to run until early 1956, and it became known for its live productions of original stories and adaptations of novels and plays. Unfortunately, through my correspondence with NBC,3 I have learned that much of this material has been lost, and what remains has not been released to the public, for purchase, or general viewing. As well, the BBC’s 1952/58 versions, and the 1967 BBC version, are virtually impossible to locate. In fact, according to the BBC, it is unlikely that copies of the 1952 and 1958 adaptations are even in existence.4 The 1958 version is actually a re-staging of the 1952 version, using the same sets and identical scripts, but with different actors and a different director. It would have been interesting to see how two such closely related productions differed; however, regrettably, this simply was not possible. As a result of availability, I concentrate on the six remaining adaptations: Robert Z. Leonard’s Pride and Prejudice (1940), Cyril Coke’s Jane Austen ‘s Pride and Prejudice (1980), Simon Langton’ s Pride and Prejudice (1995), Andrew Black’s Pride and Prejudice: A Latter Day Comedy (2003), Gurinder Chadha’s Bride and Prejudice (2004) and Joe Wright’s Pride & Prejudice (2005). Breaking them down into three sub-sections, I examine the films in the context of television adaptations, star powered adaptations and contemporary adaptations, linking each production to the time period and culture out of which it came and looking at discrepancies between the films and the text as culturally motivated. 8 Adaptations, then, say more about the culture in which they are produced than they do about the source material. In the words of Ellen Belton, “the adaptation offers an opportunity for filmmakers to reread a narrative from another age through the lens of their own time and to project onto that narrative their own sense of the world” (195). Because it is so open to interpretation, Jane Austen’ s work becomes a perfect choice, malleable, easily yielding to the adaptors’ desires, but always recognizably Austenian. Obviously, filmic adaptations are first and foremost economic pursuits. Austen’s story has proven to be economically viable and this is largely due to Austen’ s own cult status as well as the focus on economics within the novel, the character based narrative, the flexibility of the text, and the easily accessible themes, such as love, wealth and class, that translate to any time and any place and remain relevant in present time. Notes 1 See, for example, Louise Flavin’s take on Austen adaptations on film. 2 For those that are unfamiliar, Legally Blonde (Robert Luketic) was a surprisingly successful 2001 film that tells the story of Elle Woods (Reese Witherspoon), a sorority girl who decides to go to Harvard law school. Email to Author from Mr. Ben Silverman, 20 June 2007. Email to Author from Ms. Kate Harwood, 29 May 2007. 9 10 Chapter Two: Adaptation and its Issues “A list of words making a poem and a set of apparently equivalent pictures forming a photoplay may have entirely different outcomes. It may be like trying to see a perfume or listen to a taste.” - Vachel Lindsay, The Art of the Moving Picture The Oxford English Dictionary states that to adapt is to “make suitable for a new use or purpose, to alter or modify, adjust one thing to another or, to become adjusted to new conditions.” This seems to be a simple enough definition, straightforward and clear. Adaptation involves the alteration of one entity into another, and change is inherent in this process. However, issues surrounding adaptations in our contemporary society are rarely viewed in such uncomplicated terms. Can this literal definition really do justice to such a complicated pursuit? I would argue that it can, but that many are unwilling to look at it this way, or to accept the adaptation as a creature that has a place and importance outside of its source material. Thinking of adaptation in the more scientific sense of the word would allow us to not only become more emotionally distanced from the source material, but also to see the process as a phenomenon that is deeply imbedded in cultural studies, one that is growing and changing, literally adapting to different times and places. Adaptation in film has the potential to be doubly appealing to producers because it can attract regular filmgoers, as well as those who are curious about the way in which the source has been transformed. Who will play our favorite character? How will they show visually what the author has only been able do with words? Adaptation, in this respect, seems as if it might be a freeing medium as it allows for the creation of a visual representation of the text. Yet, we are rarely truly happy with adaptations. One needs only to survey an audience leaving a screening of an adaptation to find a number of critical opinions. Even those who liked the film will often have a few nitpicks, be they with regards to casting or cutting, among other things. Perhaps the director’s vision didn’t match our own, or we feel 11 that something of the utmost importance was left out. It’s certainly true that stories are often altered when they move from the word to the screen. According to George Bluestone, in a sample of twenty four adaptations, forty percent altered the story in order to achieve a happy ending (42). These kinds of alterations are what enrage those invested in fidelity criticism. I do agree that dramatic story changes should be avoided, because changing the story in its entirety defeats the whole purpose of adaptation. Why adapt if you aren’t planning on using the outline of the source material to shape your text? However, this is not to say that the source has to be followed to the letter as certain changes cannot be helped and things cannot always be represented the same way on film as they are in literature. The task of literature, in the oft quoted words of Joseph Conrad is, “by the powers of the written word, to make you hear, to make you feel — before all, is to make you see” (Conrad qtd. in Bluestone 1). In this sense, film seems to be the perfect way to put pictures to words. However, as Christian Metz points out in The Imaginary Sign fier, this can lead to a certain amount of discontent on the part of the viewer as he “will not always find his film, since what he has before him in the actual film is now somebody else’s fantasy” (12). This idea is a prevalent issue in adaptation studies, as reading requires us to create our own images and our own concepts of characters and scenes. So, as Joyce Boyum notes, a preference for the novel over the film may have less to do with the novel itself and more to do with the film not matching perfectly with our own imagination of it (60). It is not necessarily the words of the text that move us; indeed, according to James Griffith, “we are moved by things that the words stand for” (Griffith 37). Perhaps then, the perfect spectator would be one who had not read the book at all. They will see the film like any other film and not like an adaptation. I would argue that, while these viewers may have fewer issues with the film, they are not truly experiencing it as it was meant to be experienced. The adaptation 12 chooses to promote its source material for a reason and it relies on references to that source. This is not to say that someone who hasn’t read the book cannot enjoy the film, far from it, only that in order to experience the film as an adaptation you must have some degree of familiarity with the source material. However, it is something of a catch twenty-two, because the closer people are to the source text, the more fully formed their version of that text will be. As a result, these spectators will likely be less open to other interpretations. No matter how informed or well thought out a film is, our specific vision is not likely to match perfectly with someone else’s and the film adaptation forces us to see things in a fixed and very specific way. As Bluestone states, “if the history of aesthetics proves anything, it is that a given set of myths, symbols, conventions is unable to satisfy all spectators at all times in all places” (31). Something that holds such a high position in society, like a classic novel, is going to be more plagued by issues of fidelity, as the adaptation becomes a representation of this cherished text. People seem to be much more inclined to accept an adaptation of a novel that exists within popular culture, as there is a pervasive thought that “great literature seldom makes great movies. But very good pulp makes very good movies” (Levy qtd. in Griffith 17). While what makes a good novel or a good film is somewhat subjective, one could concede that, generally, something like serialized detective fiction can be adapted without fail. You rarely hear the fidelity question raised with regard to the BBC television adaptations of the Ruth Rendell Mysteries or the Inspector Morse series. In fact, they are rarely even described as adaptations. Even the high profile James Bond series usually appears to avoid this kind of criticism. It seems that it is, generally, adaptations of high profile literature that are expected to remain faithful to the letter. 13 This idea raises a lot of questions that Bluestone addresses in his seminal work, Novels into Film (1966). While much of Bluestone’ s work centers on a study of each individual medium, he does make some interesting observations, especially the idea that once a film has become a critical and economic success, issues of fidelity are often placed on the back burner (114). Bluestone also asks some important questions like: should a film be faithful, and to what exactly? Or, can the way the novel is narrated (such as first person) be adequately conveyed in a film? Certainly, the voice-over is an oft used technique, but it is frequently distracting, providing a quick fix to narrative issues that the film cannot find a way to deal with visually. Though Bluestone does not find definitive answers to his questions, and eventually seems to come to the conclusion that film cannot recreate the intricacies of the novel, engaging with the subject at all did raise awareness about adaptation and the issues of fidelity that usually surround it. As a result, his work holds an important place in adaptation theory.’ Adaptation theory, though, continues to occupy a place at the margins partially because, in the words of Cartmell and Whelehan, “literature on screen was too literary for film studies and too film-based for literary studies” (2007a: 1). Concentrating on adaptations from novel to film, one constantly encounters the fidelity argument. When one takes a classic piece of literature, or a well loved book, and adapts it for the screen there is rarely unanimous praise. Instead, adaptations are criticized for straying from the book, being different or not being as ‘good.’ This idea of inherent ‘goodness’ is almost impossible to measure and we might wonder why the novel is constantly praised as a superior art form, as there is nothing to say that the stories found therein are entirely original. In the words of Walter Benjamin, “storytelling is always the art of repeating stories” (90). The way we experience these two mediums can also never be entirely united. In general, film-going (and filmmaking as well) is a collective experience.2 14 We sit in seats in a theatre surrounded by other people and, while we each have our own individual experience, it is done in a communal setting. A novel, on the other hand, we rarely experience collectively. It is a much more solitary experience. We can choose how slowly the story is revealed simply by closing the book. People can discuss novels in book clubs or with friends, but we rarely experience a novel in a group setting in the same way that we see a film. Clearly, film is also a visual medium, and it must show its story to the audience. The inner monologue or perspective of a character cannot be written in; it must be shown visually, or else the character must literally speak what they are feeling. For these reasons alone, a film cannot be exactly like the novel from which it was adapted. While Morris Beja insists that film and literature are two modes of the same art form, he is one of the few who argues this and he fails to adequately account for the differences between the two mediums. Certainly, film and literature are both narrative mediums but they are also, as I have mentioned, vastly different. So, bearing in mind the difference between story and plot, while novel and film adaptations can share the “same story, the same ‘raw materials,’ [they] are distinguished by means of different plot strategies which alter sequence, highlight different emphases, which — in a word — defamiliarize the story. In this respect, of course, the use of two separate systems of signification will play a crucial distinguishing role” (McFarlane 2007b: 23). While a metaphor cannot possibly be the same in a film as it is in a novel, the idea of metaphor can be conveyed through camera work and, more importantly, through editing. In some sense, film style becomes the prose. In this case, in the words of Andre Bazin, “the style is in service of the narrative: it is a reflection of it, so to speak. And it is not impossible for the artistic soul to manifest itself through another incarnation” (23). It is these kinds of alterations and attempts to achieve a similar effect through different means that 15 make the study of adaptation interesting, and they should not be used to damn the whole process. As Brian McFarlane says, “literature and film might be seen, if not as siblings, at least as first cousins, sometimes bickering but at heart having a good deal of common heritage” (2007b: 28). Unlike most representational arts, film and the novel both take time to unfold. While the time involved is different, neither medium gives us all of the information all at once. This sets film and literature apart from something like painting or photography, where all the information is available right away. Film can also be aligned with the novel in that both can be seen as a means of escape for the viewer or reader. As Joyce Boyum states, we read and watch films for the same reasons, “for the opportunity to identif’ with — even to transform ourselves into — other human beings for awhile and vicariously participate in their lives” (39). So, film and literature can have a similar effect and a similar narrative structure, but they present their material in different ways and through a somewhat different language. According to Bluestone, states of mind, memory, imagination and dreams “cannot be as adequately represented by film as by language” (47). I would argue that adequate is the wrong word to use. Film can be used to represent all kinds of states of mind and the way that this is accomplished demonstrates the artistry of the filmmaker. However, I would agree that the way these states of mind are depicted is extremely different from the way they are depicted in a novel. These differences are, in my mind, a good thing as they allow for creativity and artistry to exist in two different mediums. Bluestone states that, film “can lead us to infer thought, but it cannot show us thought directly. It can show us characters thinking, feeling, and speaking, but it cannot show us their thoughts and feelings. A film is not thought; it is perceived” (48). For Bluestone, this fact is to the detriment of film, making adaptations an impossibility. But, film can show thoughts and feelings. Showing is exactly what film does, as opposed to the novel, which tells. For my purposes, as someone looking at 16 multiple adaptations of the same source, different choices with regards to showing what can seemingly not be shown are of the utmost importance, and reflective of the filmmaker’s context of production as well as their own creative inklings. Film truly is a different medium; so, the expectation that the film will perfectly resemble the book is an impossibility that can cause nothing but harm. Film may have its own language, but it is vastly different than the written word. As Boyum notes, “it has no permanent vocabulary; it has no fixed grammar; and though its syntax is characterized by certain rules of usage, it can’t, in the manner of verbal language, be referred back to any pre-existent code” (21). Perhaps this is a good thing, as film becomes much freer and can then represent what the novel cannot, or at least represent it in new and different ways. Film is able to bring us images, as well as sounds and music, something the novel could never do. Before print culture, stories were told by the human voice. So film, with its ability to represent the human voice, can be seen as a way to take us back to the earliest form of storytelling. As James Griffith says, “the issue of film adaptations from novels becomes a very simple matter: the adaptation cannot be the same thing” (30), but that does not mean that it has less value from a critical standpoint. It would be easy to pick apart every adaptation because while picture and word can convey the same things they must do so in different ways. Film obviously cannot directly say, “it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife” (Austen 51). True, the sentence could be uttered in voice over, but a heavy reliance on voice over is usually a device that filmmakers try to avoid because it is often distracting, taking away from a medium that was designed to be visual. However, through creativity, this exact message can be conveyed. The filmmaker, then, “becomes not a translator for an established author, but a new author in his own right” (Bluestone 62). Adaptation by its very definition involves a change, so if we long for a 17 process that will replicate a novel perhaps we should refer to it as translation. Like translators, adaptors have a double task. They must show faithfulness to the source, or, as Boyum states, “why bother using it at all?” (70). At the same time, they must create something new in a new language. In the adaptor’s case, this new language is that of the cinema. However, translation also has its share of problems and issues, as a translation can never be entirely accurate and the translator often falls victim to the same types of criticism as the adaptor. This is because certain things simply cannot be translated accurately. As Robert Stam states, perhaps a more productive way to look at adaptation is “to see it as a matter of a source novel’s hypotext being transformed by a complex series of operations: selection, amplification, concretization, actualization, critique, extrapolation, analogization, popularization and reculturalization” (68). Adaptation then becomes a very complex process that cannot be reduced to faithful or unfaithful as, with each adaptation, the emphasis placed on each of these different operations will shift slightly. Regardless, adaptation is always something of an alteration process, taking a text and engaging with it in new and different ways. So, if adaptation implies change, why does it create such controversy? Perhaps there is a fear that the film will replace the book in some way. The fact that these are two vastly different mediums makes that an unlikely idea and, often, film adaptations end up boosting the sales of the source novel. Indeed, novels are often re-released when they’ve been adapted for the screen with new covers that feature stills from the film. This is done in the hopes that, after seeing the film, you will return to the source material and read (or re-read) the book. In fact, after the 1939 film release of Wuthering Heights (William Wyler), more copies of the novel were sold than in the entire time since its initial publication (Boyum 16). Despite all this, there still remains a fear that film will replace the novel as the foremost narrative 18 medium. While novels continue to be published and the written word remains part of our everyday lives (the fact that I’m writing this is proof of that fact), I do not think these fears are entirely unfounded. I think it’s fairly obvious that, in modem societies, at any one moment, more of the population is watching television or going to the movies than reading a book. That being said, I do not think you can argue that adaptation is the cause of this fact. According to studies done by the IBA Research department in 1985, 46% of a group of 3000 respondents stated that they purchased the book as a direct result of seeing the adaptation (Giddings, Selby and Wensley 22). As Hutcheon argues, adaptation can breathe new life into a book. It does not “leave it dying or dead, nor is it paler than the adapted work. It may, on the contrary, keep the prior work alive, giving it an afterlife it would never have had otherwise” (176). It is cross promotion at its best. Yet, regardless of these cross promotional tendencies, the novel is almost always seen as the higher art form. It is the original that should be altered as little as possible and, as a result, cuts to or changes from the book are rarely viewed favorably. Some, like Robert B. Ray, even go so far as to refer to film adaptations as “citations grafted into a new context” (Ray 45). Why is the novel privileged, one might ask, since it is not a more superior medium when it comes to representing reality. According to Bluestone, “language cannot convey non-verbal experience.. .reality cannot be conveyed — only the illusion of it” (12), perhaps creating a new reality of its own. According to Robert Stam, the novel remains the privileged source because of a hierarchical approach that exists in our society, “the assumption is, that the older arts are necessarily better arts” (4), and that the novel contains some sort of superior essence that is impossible to transcribe. Stam also rightly questions how filmmakers could ever possibly be faithful to this essence, or to the intentions that the author may not even have been aware of. Yet, according to Thomas Leitch, it is only by doing exactly this, that the 19 fidelity critics can be appeased (16), although, he does not necessarily agree with those critics. For Leitch, “fidelity makes sense as a criterion of value only when we can be certain that the model is more valuable than the copy” (19). This is a virtually impossible task, so we end up going around in circles and the debate in adaptation theory continues without actually going anywhere. We cannot move away from fidelity because we keep engaging with it. Obviously, I too am guilty of this because it has become out of the question to discuss adaptation theory’s past (or even the act of adaptation in general) without evoking it. Yet, scholars are not the only ones who bring up issues of fidelity. While the scholars who I have discussed engage with these ideas from a critical perspective, and while McFarlane insists that those with a literary background are more likely to be sticklers for fidelity (2007a: 4), it is often the general public who are the most fidelity conscious, desiring that their favorite novel be perfectly represented on the screen. One has only to go to a movie theatre on any given night to hear statements like ‘I liked the book better’ or ‘she was supposed to have brown hair.’ Yet, the question that continues to emerge with regards to fidelity is what does the film need to be faithful to? And, how does it go about this? Many argue that absolute fidelity is impossible because of the differences between the two mediums and, for some, this is an indication that adaptation should not occur,3 while for others (myself included) it is merely a statement of fact that does not detract from the cultural value of these films. Certainly, there are different degrees of faithfulness and different intentions with regards to this. Dudley Andrew points to three different methods of adaptation and calls them borrowing, intersection and transforming (98-104). Each of these, according to Andrew has a different goal in mind. Borrowing seeks to take only the shell of the original and to place it in a new context in an attempt to create something entirely new out of the source material. In terms of 20 Pride and Prejudice, something like Bridget Jones ‘s Diary (Sharon Maguire 2001) would fit into this category. Even something like Bride and Prejudice (Gurinder Chadha 2001) or Pride and Prejudice: A Latter Day Comedy (Andrew Black 2003) could be said to occupy this place. Andrew defines intersection as coming from a desire to preserve the unique nature of the source material, mixing modem techniques with period aesthetics. Finally, transformation embodies a desire for the utmost fidelity, a literal attempt to transform the novel from page to screen and this is clearly where we would place the BBC adaptations of classic novels. While Andrew’s categories are far too simplistic and general, it is useful to break down adaptation and to examine the motivations behind them. Still, one must be careful not to allow these classifications to turn into value judgments. We should avoid, for example, seeing ‘borrowing’ as better, or worse, than ‘intersection’ or ‘transformation;’ they are merely different. While all adaptations draw from a source, they each have different intentions for that source, as I hope my later analysis of Pride and Prejudice will reveal. However, intentions are rarely privileged, and we often choose to pan a film because it did not perfectly recreate our perception of the book. As a result, adaptations will never be able to avoid comparison with their source material as they openly state their relationship with the novels from which they are adapted. The source material is obviously a huge part of an adaptation, but it is not profitable to think of them solely as products of the novels from which they were derived because then they are reduced to nothing more than duplications, and it is this mode of thinking that allows adaptations to be (often unfairly) scrutinized. Some, like David L. Kranz, argue that “literary source and cinematic adaptation should be measured not in terms of each other but in comparison to similar works in the medium of each” (85). Sarah Cardwell, too, champions “a non-comparative approach to adaptations, rejecting comparison with source books” (2007a: 52). Eliminating comparison entirely, 21 however, is going too far. Adaptations are adaptations and for this reason they remain forever connected with their source material, whether we choose to see it or not. If we do not acknowledge the source text, what is to set an adaptation apart from any other film? Certainly, all films have elements of adaptation in them and we are constantly borrowing from what we have previously seen and heard, both consciously and subconsciously. Yet, if we see all films as adaptations of previous sources, then adaptations themselves become non-existent, and they lose their identity. These films are different because they make a conscious choice to adapt a specific source. Placing them in the same context as all other films is like, in the words of David L. Kranz, “saying that because most feature films include music on the soundtrack that all films are musicals” (98). Privileging the source above all else can do little more than damn the whole process of adaptation. Nevertheless, the source remains an important part of the finished film as there was obviously a reason why the filmmaker chose to adapt that novel, at that time. Studies of adaptations need to find a balance between a comparison of source material and film and an examination of the cultural and socio-economic environment that existed at the time of the film’s production. We need to look for external factors that may have shaped the final product, as well as the decision to adapt in the first place. In the words of Beja, “what a film takes from a book matters; but so does what it brings to a book” (88). So, if adaptations fall under such critical scrutiny, why does the practice continue to be so popular? And, why do these films market themselves as having been based on a book when, as Bertolt Brecht insists, the process of adaptation puts writers in “the position of a man who lets his laundry be washed in a dirty gutter” (qtd. in Giddings, Selby and Wensley 3). The answer to this question undoubtedly lies in economics. Adaptations of admired texts consistently perform well and taking a popular novel and adapting it into a film is usually a 22 ‘safe bet.’ It eliminates the element of risk, as much as that is possible. As a result, one might find an increase in the number of adaptations that are produced “at times of economic downturn” (Hutcheon 5), as these are times when safe choices are privileged. Financial gain is clearly the goal here and, as Hutcheon points out, “a bestselling book may reach one million readers.. .but a movie or television adaptation will find an audience of many million more” (5). True, a film will likely reach a large audience, but there is also added pressure because of this. So, in the words of Donald Larsson, adaptation is the product of multiple factors, such as “the aesthetic intent of the adaptor in conjunction with market pressures to produce a saleable commodity” (71). It may not be a wholly economic pursuit, but nor is it an entirely aesthetic one, and this fact needs to be acknowledged when adaptations are studied. Adaptation Theory is a field that has been well traversed, especially since film has virtually replaced the novel as our “society’s most popular narrative form” (Elliott 13). Indeed, if we are concentrating on most of the developed world, films are much more heavily promoted than most books, and film culture has a strong and firmly established position in our society. According to Boyum, film has become, “not only the dominant narrative medium of our century, but its dominant artistic form” (31). Yet, many films continue to draw upon the novel for source material, which, depending on the novel chosen, sets up certain expectations on the part of the viewer. Is this phenomenon a “representation of crass commercialism or high minded respect for literary works?” (McFarlane 7). More than likely, it is motivated by a mixture of both. Regardless, the issue of adaptation raises a number of questions. How is a novel adapted into a film? Can it be done at all? According to many, including Vachel Lindsay with whose words I opened this chapter, it cannot. For him, the process of adaptation undermines film as a unique medium. For others, like Virginia Woo1f the process is “unnatural and disastrous” (qtd. in Boyum 6). Jonathan Miller is in agreement, 23 stating that “most novels are irreversibly damaged by being dramatized” (qtd. in Hutcheon 36). Others go so far as to damn the process of adaptation for showing what the novel cannot, as for them “to visualize the character, destroys the very subtlety with which the novel creates this particular character in the first place” (Giddings, Selby and Wensley 81 )•4 It is clear that a tension exists between novel and film, perhaps similar to one that exists between painting and photography. In both cases, the newer art appears to lack the respectability of the former. Though it is important to address this material, as it has its place in the evolution of adaptation theory, it seems to be something of a moot point. Arguing that a film cannot adapt a novel, or that it destroys the novel in the process, takes us nowhere productive. Adaptations have been a part of cinema since its inception, and it is unlikely that scholars or critics will be able to convince the powers that be to stop adapting for the good of the novel. This line of criticism, then, becomes woefully unproductive. Instead, we should be focusing on what we can learn from these adaptations. Questions of fidelity pervade almost every text that deals with issues of adaptation. In fact, every text that I consulted mentioned it in some degree of detail. However, what seems to be missing from the field is a more in-depth look at the issue of multiple adaptations of the same source. This would allow us to see how adaptations change, depending on their context of production and to examine why culturally diverse groups might choose to work with the same source material. Many adaptation studies examine films and look at them in relation to the novel form. Often, however, issues of fidelity take precedence and, while this can be fruitful in some cases, it tends to place the film in a box and does not look beyond the novel to examine the context of production. In these sorts of studies, the film usually emerges as lacking originality or as having ruined the book, which remains the authority. It becomes a ‘dammed if you do, dammed if you don’t’ scenario. Even those who discount the fidelity 24 argument still engage with it in order to prove its unimportance.5The fidelity argument, then, becomes a circular one, going nowhere and offering nothing more than evaluative, and often subjective, judgments. All this being said, what do we focus on if not fidelity? For me, the answer lies in the economic, cultural and societal motivations that surround the decision to adapt, a decision that is rarely based on fidelity to a novel. Erwin Panofsky states that, “films are a product of a genuine folk art” (qtd. in Bluestone 6). What he means here is that those who originally created film technology did not consider themselves to be artists; instead, they were inventors and observers, deeply imbedded in their own cultural history. Early films like La Sortie des usines Lumière or Repas de bébé (Louis Lumière 1895) were hardly motivated by any sort of artistic desire. They were films that showed people in their own specific cultural contexts. I would argue that film has not strayed all that far from these origins. Granted, artistry has found a place in film but, in order for a film to succeed in front of a mass audience, it has to possess something that is attractive to that particular group of people. Culture grows and changes and what is popular at one time will not necessarily be popular ten years (or even two years) later. So, the successful films tell us a lot about the context of their production and the general preferences of the audiences. In this respect, film is still very much about culture. Adaptations are no exception. In fact, a story that is so popular in one medium that it finds a place in another should give us an idea of the kind of narratives that speak to a particular society. In the words of Walter Benjamin, an adaptation has its own “presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be” (qtd. in Hutcheon 6). It is clearly connected to the culture out of which it emerges. Hutcheon perfectly sums up this idea when she notes that: We engage in time and in space, within a particular society and a general culture. The 25 contexts of creation and reception are material, public, and economic as much as they are cultural, personal and aesthetic. This explains why, even in today’s globalized world, major shifts in a story’s context — that is, for example, in a national setting or time period — can change radically how the transposed story is interpreted, ideologically and literally (28). It is these cultural contexts that prove to be the most fascinating. One is able to examine what in the core of that story speaks to those people at that time, as we will all have differing responses to an adaptation because of our own cultural conditioning. When something is adapted on multiple occasions, and in many different contexts, there must be something inherently appealing about that story to a variety of cultures. Determining what exactly that is, is predominantly where my own interests lie as these multiple adaptations prove the age old adage that the more things change, the more they remain the same. We cannot argue that our experiences do not change our perception of the world. So, it makes sense that historical or cultural experiences will have an effect on the adapter and the overall production of an adapted screenplay. Thus I argue for an approach to adaptation that views it in more scientific terms, something that changes to suit a particular environment. In biology, it is the organisms that adapt to their surroundings who survive. I would argue that, with regards to filmic adaptations, it is the adjustments to the culture and history out of which they emerge that allows films to become economically successful within their target demographic. After all, the majority of people look for material that is going to resonate with their own lives, at least in some way. Fidelity criticism sees the novel as holding the meaning that must be transcribed in film. We need to look at the relationship between the film and the novel, but this does not necessarily need to be done in evaluative terms. The novel is a resource and it does not need to be followed to the letter. Certainly, if something is drastically altered we may want to 26 investigate why this is the case. If Lizzie Bennett runs off with Mr. Wickliam and Mr. Darcy declares his love for Mr. Collins then we probably need to figure out a way to adequately account for this change. However, this kind of dramatic re-writing rarely occurs. It is usually slight departures from the novel that reveal the most about the context of production, as will hopefully become evident in my subsequent analysis of the various adaptations of Pride and Prejudice. No one today upholds the lifestyle and values of 19th Century England; yet, Pride and Prejudice adaptations do not suffer as a result. The novel continues to take on many differing shapes and forms and remains a popular choice for adaptation. These adaptations are not continuations of the story of Elizabeth Bennet (although those do exist); they are retellings of the same story over and over again, a story that continues to have mass appeal. What is it about this novel, these characters and these themes that speak to so many, almost two hundred years after its initial publication? Obviously, filmic adaptations of this story have proven to be economically viable and this is largely due to the focus on economics within the novel, the character based narrative and the easily accessible themes, such as wealth and class, that translate to any time and any place. This story has been shifted and altered and its retellings helps to remind us that, in Hutcheon’s words, adaptations show us that “there is no such thing as an autonomous text or an original genius that can transcend history, either public or private” (111). I, too, am reading these films from within my own cultural positioning, which will admittedly color my perception of them in a different way than someone viewing the MGM film in 1940, but these sorts of factors cannot be helped and I do not think they make a study of these films any less revealing. What we must not forget though is that, in general, adaptation is an economic pursuit and the intertextuality of adaptation would indicate that people are well aware of its potential to be financially lucrative. Film adaptations are well placed within the economic framework. 27 In the early days of cinema, adaptations were used as a means of legitimizing cinema and bringing artistic credo to the medium by borrowing the cultural capital of a previously established work. While we are less explicit today, I would argue that many adaptations of classic novels are still attempting to use the status of the source material to elevate the position of the film. It is clearly a practice that works, which becomes apparent if one looks at the sheer number of Academy Award winning films that were adapted from so-called ‘novels of quality.’ Adapting novels and short stories also creates material for films and produces a product that can be distributed in the hopes of making a profit. According to Larson, “once it was discovered that stories on film drew audiences, there arose a need for more and more stories to consume” (76). For the most part, early adaptations were generally greeted with praise and did not encounter the hostility of fidelity criticism. Primarily aimed at the lower classes, adaptations of classic novels were seen almost as educational. In the words of a 1911 critic, “the word classic has some meaning. It implies the approval of the best people in the most enlightened times. The merits of a classic subject are nonetheless certain because known and appreciated by comparatively few men. It is the business of the moving picture to make them known to all” (Bush qtd. in Boyum 4). These adaptations only increased with the coming of sound because, with the new technology, dialogue could be recreated (Corrigan 36). Technology has been an important aspect of adaptations, as changes in the medium mean that the films themselves will become very different products. For example, the 1 940s version of Pride and Prejudice will be startlingly different from the 2005 version; both because of changes in culture, but also for the simple fact that location shooting, widescreen, surround sound and color film have all been perfected in the time between the two productions. 28 Adaptations of novels were also often chosen because of their ability to attract a widespread audience, consisting of both readers of the book and curious spectators. However, in terms of economics, literary fiction and film are vastly different. Because of the costs of production and promotion (among other things) there is much more at stake in a film and, according to Bluestone, while “a novel can sell 20000 volumes and make a substantial profit, the film must reach millions” (Bluestone 33). Bluestone wrote these words in 1957 and the figures have obviously increased, but the idea still remains the same. Film is a mass medium, and requires a mass audience to sustain its costs. As a result, filmmakers who adapt tend to privilege materials that constantly put people in the seats. In general, mainstream films are too expensive to allow for a great deal of experimentation. Unlike authors, who have the freedom to write what they want, filmmakers are much more restricted by studios’ desires to stick with the tried and true storylines that have worked in the past. Century adaptations usually fit into this category, especially because of the ‘quality programming’ label that is consistently attached to them. As James Naremore states, “1 9” century classics have always been the best sources for prestige movies” (11). Film historians have seen early adaptations of classic literature and drama as a way ofjustifying cinema as an art form and making it more legitimate. As Hutcheon observes, “today’s television adaptations of British l8 and 19th century novels may also want to benefit from their adapted works’ cultural cachet” (Hutcheon 91). If, as McFarlane argues, “film early embraced the representational realism of the nineteenth century novel” (2007b: 23), then adapting these novels for the screen would seem like an easy task, a perfect fit. It is clear that Jane Austen’s stories fit this tried and true mold, as she has been a popular commodity since the 1900s. All of her novels, Pride and Prejudice being no exception, are texts motivated by character, making them well suited for a film adaptation. 29 Characters “are crucial to the rhetorical and aesthetic effects of both narrative and performance texts because they engage the receiver’s imagination through recognition, alignment, and allegiance” (Murry Smith qtd. in Hutcheon 1 1). Strongly developed characters can be easily transferred from literature to film, making up for the differences between the mediums and allowing viewers to see beyond the simple act of showing as opposed to telling. According to Bazin, cinema adopts characters from literature and “brings them into play; according to the talents of the screenwriter and the director, the characters are integrated as much as possible into their new aesthetic context. If they are not so integrated, we naturally get these mediocre films that one is right to condemn, provided one does not confuse this mediocrity with the very principle of cinematic adaptation” (24). So, for Bazin, it is the way characters are used that determines the quality of the adaptation. Certainly, in the many adaptations, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet have been shaped in different ways, but they remain essentially the same characters, as it is character that is the fundamental focus of Austen’s novel. Economically, Austen is also a clear choice as she has been dead for long enough that her work is now in the public domain and the studio adapting her work will not have to pay the same kind of royalties as they would if they were adapting a best seller by a living author. All this, combined with her continually resonant themes and fully developed characters, helps to explain why Austen’s work has been adapted for film and television on more than thirty three different occasions. 30 Notes 1 The fact the Bluestone’s work remains the most oft-quoted text with regard to adaptation studies indicates how little progress has been made in the field since the late 1 950s. 2 Although, DVD and home theatre culture are changing this to a certain extent. example, both Virginia Woolf and Vachel Lindsay, among others, were vehemently opposed to the practice of adaptation. “Giddings, Selby and Wensley do not feel this way. In the above quotation, they are merely referring to others who do. Kamilla Elliott and Brian McFarlane are just two examples among many. 31 Chapter Three: The Appeal of the Past and the Cult of Jane Austen “It’s a very select Society, an’ you’ve got to be a Janeite in your ‘eart, or you won’t have any success.” - Rudyard Kipling, The Janeites We cannot discount the place of the past in the present. Our own apprehensions about the present often result in a turn to the past, examining past events, perhaps in an attempt to determine where we went wrong. Returning to past classics, and the nostalgia that often accompanies them, is not a new discovery and it is not limited to the Victorian era (although adaptations of Victorian novels do make up a large part of the BBC classic serials). Even as early as 1662, people were looking to the past for inspiration. For example, in 1662 Thomas Fuller wrote The Worthies of England, which attempted to preserve and describe the English past for the benefit of contemporary readers (Giddings, Selby and Wensley 34). Later, in the mid 1 800s, it became a trend to set operas in medieval times. In more contemporary times, we appear to have turned to the Victorian era for inspiration, and to the idea of heritage. However, this is not the only time period that has received nostalgic attention. We have also seen 50s nostalgia run rampant in America during the final years (and beyond) of the Vietnam War, with movies like American Graffiti (George Lucas 1973) and television shows like Happy Days (Garry Marshall 1974-1984). Even fashion trends reflect a look back, with 80s styles creeping back into contemporary culture. Fashion is a good way of illustrating the return to the past because, while we may sport those 1980s legwarmers, they are given a modern twist. In short, they are not exactly as they were during their initial existence. The same can be said of period adaptations. While there is an overwhelming desire to be true to the times (which is a staple of BBC adaptations), it seems impossible to avoid some modernization. As Giddings, Selby and Wensley point out, “the past shared neither our obsession with the crisp cleanliness of 32 clothes, nor the chemistry and technology to daily indulge in such mania. Yet our classic serials show people all dressed in (seemingly) their Sunday best” (x). They also address the fact that people likely would have worn old clothes that were out of fashion, despite the fact that period adaptations always clothe their characters in perfectly contemporary styles, rarely having them wear the same gowii on more than one occasion. While this may seem like something of a straying point, it serves to emphasize how much our own cultural preferences creep in, even when we do not want them to. We are constantly “projecting onto the past the assumptions of the present” (Giddings xi). The past, then, has more in common with the present than we might at first acknowledge. So, the constant adaptations of period dramas can be seen as embodying nostalgia for a simpler time, but we must be aware that the past holds a mirror up to the present. As Giddings, Selby and Wensley note, “the past can never be transcribed, it always has to be reinvented. And it is never innocently reinvented but will always bear the fingerprints and distortions of the time which reinvented it” (50). Stories about the past remain popular and will likely continue to do so. Perhaps this is because, in our complex world often made impersonal by our continual reliance on technology for communication, a return to the past becomes something of a safe-haven, an escape to a time where human interaction seemed to occur more frequently. However, we cannot ignore the fact that the delights and uses of the past are often economic in nature. As Robert Hewison notes, “instead of manufacturing goods, we are manufacturing heritage, a commodity which nobody seems able to define but which everybody is eager to sell” (9). In this respect, the heritage industry becomes an economic superpower, a veritable signpost for capitalism, telling viewers that history is whatever we want it to have been. According to Eckart Voigts-Virchow, these “heritage industries re-establish the past as a property or possession which.. .by right of birth, belongs 33 to the present, or, to be more precise, to certain interests or concerns active in the present” (123). We have found a modem day use for the past, as a way to make money. The nineteenth century novel has been, and still remains, a favorite among adaptors in the twentieth and twenty first centuries. These novels are immensely popular because of their rich stories that contain narrative devices that seem to fit perfectly with cinematic adaptation. The films that they inspire “emotionalize space and time by constructing a cultural memory” (Voigts-Virchow 128); in other words, they forge a connection to the past through the present. The novels are also famous in their own right, and filmmakers do not hesitate to capitalize on this. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, they are out of copyright. So, these adaptations are financially lucrative, but what is the appeal for the spectator? Why do we watch these types of films over and over again? What makes these films so popular is their ability to appeal to a wide cross section of the population. For some, in the words of Linda Troost, “historical films and serials provide entertainment, allowing a temporary escape from a modem world of care, predictability, or dullness. For others, they provide fare more intellectual than the blockbuster films that dominate the multiplex cinema” (75). Period adaptations are usually lavishly presented with high production values and they typically focus on the visual, making them a perfect means of demonstrating new technologies, such as color or widescreen. Obviously, film is a visual medium, but these films tend to focus quite explicitly on cinematography, and on creating beautiful pictures. As a result of this, visual aspects are usually privileged over any real sense of historical accuracy. What looks best is what is done. This is not to say that these films are not conscious of historical inaccuracies, but that small things (such as the above costume examples) are placed by the wayside in an attempt to create a ‘prettier picture,’ an image of a time that was more pure and beautiful than our own. The grittier, dirtier side of the past is 34 rarely showcased. According to Kathryn Sutherland, the heritage movie “produces sumptuous affairs drenched with material significance: not just glamorous costumes but grand sets crammed indoors with priceless art objects and antique furniture, and out of doors painstaking period style tableaux” (343). It is almost as if these films are, in and of themselves, an attempt to package and brand high culture. If any author is evocative of this fact it is Jane Austen, whose popularity has grown to overwhelming proportions in the nearly two hundred years since her death. Her six novels have been adapted for film and television on thirty three occasions,1 and none of her novels have ever been out of print. People simply do not seem to tire of seeing these stories re enacted again and again. According to John Wiltshire, “each generation produces its own works of art, but not entirely out of their own materials. Rewritings of Jane Austen are primary examples of this process” (5). The fact that she is a known name and that her work is in the public domain clearly has a place in the decision to adapt. But, there is obviously something more in her work that keeps audiences returning, a combination of economic viability and well-written, well-developed storylines. As Douglas McGrath (director of the 1995 production of Emma) jokingly states, “I thought Jane Austen would be a good collaborator because she writes, you know, superb dialogue, she creates memorable characters, she has an extremely clever skill for plotting — and she’s dead, which means, you know, there’s none of that tiresome arguing over who gets the bigger bun at coffee time” (qtd. in Parrill 3). Austen wrote during a time of transition, occupying a position between the 18th and i9’ century styles of novel writing. In the l8 century, Samuel Richardson and Henry Fielding presented readers with two different styles. Richardson focused on complex and individual characters, while Fielding is known for the commentary of his omniscient 35 narrators (Moler 3). Jane Austen is very much a part of this 18th century tradition, starting her juvenilia with Sir Charles Grandison (l790s), based on Richardson’s historical work and then continuing on to create something distinct by blending Richardson and Fielding’s styles. In doing so, she created deeply defined characters and joined them with a strong narrative voice that, in the words of Kenneth L. Moler, “opens the door to modern fiction” (4). So, in this respect, and for her use of the English language, Austen remains an important figure. Despite the fame of both Richardson and Fielding, Austen is a name that is associated with more than just 18th Century writing. Certainly, Richardson and Fielding’s novels remain well known. In terms of film, Tom Jones has been adapted five times, Joseph Andrews once and Richardson’s Clarissa and Pamela have also found a place on the screen. However, what these authors lack is Jane Austen’ s cult status, a status that ensures that, thirty three adaptations later, audiences continue to be enthralled by her texts. So much so, that the BBC has just released new adaptations of four of her six novels.2 Google Jane Austen and you get 10,800,000 hits, a number that tops any other female literary figure, with the exception of JK Rowling of Harry Potter fame. Considering the years since Austen’s death, this is quite an impressive feat. A search on Richardson or Fielding yields only 634,000 and 2,060,000 hits, respectively. Admittedly, Britney Spears tops both Austen and Shakespeare at 92,200,000 hits. While Google is far from an academic resource, it is indicative of mass popularity and Austen continually ranks highly. Austen was popular in her own time and her contemporaries praised her. Just eight years after her death, Walter Scott was quoted as saying “the exquisite touch which renders ordinary commonplace things and characters interesting from the truth and description of the sentiment. What a pity such a gifted creature died so early!” (qtd. in Jones 11). Yet Austen’ s work never sold on the same level as Scott’s. Pride and Prejudice sold somewhere in the 36 range of 3000 copies, doing well on a limited scale. However, Walter Scott’s novels were, according to Moler, “selling out in editions of 10,000 copies” (8). While Austen’s novels were always popular and well received, Jane would never earn widespread and overarching acclaim until years after her death in 1817. Certainly, she had her fans, like Thomas Macaulay and George Lewes, but it was not until the late 1 800s with the publication of J.E. Austen Leigh’s A Memoir ofJane Austen (1870) that she began to be more critically acknowledged (Johnson 211), eventually becoming a household name. Walter Stafford, the Earl of Iddesleigh, said in 1900, “it would be a delightful thing if a magazine could be started which should be devoted entirely to Miss Austen.. .We are never tired of talking about her; should we ever grow weary of reading or writing about her” (qtd. in Stovel 227). It seems that little has changed since Stafford’s time. In 1923, a scholarly edition of her novels was released by R.W. Chapman and interest began to grow. In this edition, Chapman includes a variety of contemporaneous additions, from almanac pages to dancing manuals, and onto copies of the original title pages. According to Claudia L. Johnson, this places “Austen safely within the national past the better to secure her there as a refuge from the present” (218). By 1923 people had already experienced the horrors of the First World War, so the idea of the past as a form of refuge was steadily becoming a prominent theme. The return to Austen could also be seen as an attempt to look back to England’s pre-war torn glory days. From 1923 Austen’s popularity grows exponentially, and 1939 marks both the start of the Second World War, and, according to Moler (10), the year of modern Austen scholarship, brought on by the publication of Mary Lascelles’s Jane Austen and her Art. This was also, not coincidentally, the year that the first film adaptation of Austen’s work went into production, MGM’s Pride and Prejudice. There are now countless critical books, biographies and essays on Austen, with more continuing to 37 be published. One has only to look at the Austen section in any library to become overwhelmed by choice, as I myself have discovered first hand. She has become, in the words of Moler, “a veritable scholarly industry” (13). It seems that regardless of whether or not there is anything new to say about her, books continue to be published. As a result of this continued interest, Austen’s novels, and her life as well, have become marketable source material. Austen has been embraced for being ahead of her time, and her irony and social critiques are at the forefront of academic criticism. Yet, she is also the author of generic products. I do not mean this in the derogatory sense, but one must acknowledge Austen’s use of the marriage and courtship plot to tell love stories that always end happily for the protagonists by their marriage to a good, loving, and (usually) wealthy man. This is certainly not a storyline invented by Austen and her plots are far from revolutionary. In Austen’s time, it would have been extremely difficult for a woman writer to publish anything that strayed too far from the marriage/romance plot and, while Austen did sometimes publish her novels under the moniker “by a lady,” she never attempted to disguise her gender with a pseudonym. So, within that genre, Austen shapes her material to display her own worldview, lining her texts with a grain of irony that lies just beneath the surface. In the same way that the writers of Cahiers du Cinema praised Hitchcock for his ability to be somewhat subversive within the tightly regulated studio system, so, too, do contemporary critics praise Austen for her ability to both embrace and undercut the romance plot that shaped her gothic predecessors. Within these romances, we often find a cynical narrator and a heavy emphasis on the economics of the time. As Darryl Jones notes, there is a “fundamental economic basis” (18) in all of Austen’ s work, especially with regards to women. It is no surprise that Elizabeth Bennet only realizes that she loves Mr. Darcy after she sees Pemberley. While this statement is presented 38 in a humorous light during her exchange with Jane, there appears to be an underlying truth to it. Despite the fact that she only published six novels and has been dead for almost two hundred years, Jane Austen is a veritable celebrity. While her antics may be less exciting than Lindsay Lohan or Britney Spears, she remains in the public eye. In fact, in 1995 she was listed as one of People Magazine’s most intriguing people and, in January 1996, Time published an article with the headline “Sick of Jane Austen yet?” (Looser 159). She has spawned a cult of self-proclaimed “j aneites” who celebrate all things Austen. Each of her novels have been adapted for the screen on multiple occasions in the sixty eight year period from 1939 to 2OO7; the two most popular being Pride and Prejudice and Emma, at ten and eight respectively. The adaptations tend to focus on the comforting gentility of the past, largely removing the satire and irony (with the possible exception of Amy Heckerling’s Clueless, which was released in 1995) and remaining in keeping with the heritage tradition. Economics obviously continues to play a role in these adaptations as they tend to attempt to capitalize upon, in the words of Harriet Margolis, “people’s desire for a stable, recognizable world — a cultured world — such as we associate with Austen” (23). This is a world of structure and rules, where the line between good and bad is always black and white, and where decorum and common sense are always rewarded with happiness and profitable marriage. There is never any doubt that these films will end happily, an appealing thought in uncertain times. Economically speaking, the films have been more than successful and Jane Austen’s name “seems to authorize green-lighting.., and has come to function like a license to print money” (Margolis 39). Sense and Sensibility (Ang Lee 1996), for example, has grossed more than $125 million worldwide, costing only $15.5 million to make (Kaplan 178). The success 39 of these films is evocative of Austen’s presence in our own time, a time when we, according to Suzanne R. Pucci and James Thompson, “consume culture” (5). Now, the film adaptations have become representations of the novels. James Thompson draws attention to the fact that a 2000 edition of Emma “comes with a sticker that announces ‘now a major motion picture” (13).While there are those who cry out against the, so-called, commodification, or “harlequinization” (Bowles 15) of Austen, these films are largely well received. As John Wiltshire notes, “their romantic nostalgia is hard to resist” (135), so hard, in fact, that even the janeites seem to approve. The term ‘Janeite’ actually entered the English language in 1896 (Johnson 224), as a way of describing enthusiastic followers of all things Jane Austen. One need only look at Rudyard Kipling’s “The Janeites” (1922) to discover the widespread appeal of her novels. Through the “Janeites,” the notion emerged that, in the words of Brownstein, “Austen could be therapy for people whom history has made sick, [which] has an origin in global crisis and in a profound yearning for a world still sufficient to its own forms and rituals” (217). These characters exist in a time of the First World War and Austen’ s novels are something that they all cling to. This was, or so the thinking goes, a time before war, before morals, rules and decorum lost their place. As Humberstall says, in “The Janeites,” “there’s no one to touch Jane when you’re in a tight spot” (137), a sentiment that has been echoed in the film adaptations of Austen’s work, especially those produced during times of war. While Kipling’s story is more than 80 years old, the obsession with Austen has not waned, by any means. In our own contemporary times, the internet has become a way for fellow janeites to communicate, chatting to each other at the extensive “Republic of Pemberley” website,4which classifies itself as “your haven in a world programmed to misunderstand obsession with things Austen.” Here, since 1995, one can encounter Austen 40 fans from The Philippines, Italy, The USA, England, China, Canada, New Zealand, Malaysia, and everything in between. The site is largely made up of discussion boards devoted to the novels, but also to fan fiction where members can create their own stories using Austen’s characters. These fans then, are both consuming Austen and reproducing her at the same time. Readers are remaking Austen in the same way she remade texts which influenced her, which is evident in the gothic components of Northanger Abbey, among other things. Because we cannot know authorial intent, remaking and imitation become what fans, and also adaptors, have come to do. Jane Austen has transcended her six novels and has become a created cultural figure. Love her or hate her, she is somewhat unavoidable. This Austen persona, this performance, has overshadowed the real Austen, who we arguably could never have known. Austen’s work is not as far removed from performance as one might at first assume. In her own time, novels were, in the words of Moler, “written not only with an eye to the solitary reader but with an ear to the listener” (68). They were designed to be read aloud, aligning her novels with the more collective experience that one encounters in the cinema or the theatre. Despite all this, adaptations of Austen’ s novels do encounter the difficulties that I discussed in the first chapter. Obviously, the omniscient narrator cannot exist in an adaptation, unless a filmmaker was to rely predominantly on voice over, which is unlikely. However, the filmmakers have found ways around these sorts of difficulties. With regard to the issue of the omniscient narrator, many of the narrative statements can be translated into stage directions for the actors. Statements such as “Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was rather offended; and therefore checked her laughter” (Austen 95) are not be spoken; instead, they are conveyed visually through the performances of the actors. Audiences appear to have been able to see beyond these changes as Austen 41 adaptations have been highly successful and generally well received, with the possible exception of Patricia Rozema’s politically charged Mansfield Park (1999). Rozema makes the background theme of slavery explicit in her adaptation, removing the film from the heritage escapism category that Austen’s work usually occupies. Perhaps, this explains why it was largely rejected by viewers. As a woman who was so concerned with money, in both her writing and her own life, it is interesting to note that Jane Austen has herself become a commodity. In fact, many of the complaints that Austen adaptations receive are centered on the fact that Austen has becomes a marketer of “heritage products” (Troost 80). We do not merely have books by and about Austen. There are Jane Austen dolls, mugs, tote bags, action figures, t-shirts, a Pride and Prejudice Board game, and a slew of other Austen related products. Some even equated the return of high-waisted regency style dresses, seen in collections from designers like John Galliano, to the proliferation of Austen adaptations in the 1990s (Troost and Greenfield 11). Even houses used as locations in the film adaptations have spawned a sizable travel/tourism industry, allowing fans to visit them. These have been so popular that film locations are now featured in the official travel guide to Britain and the official travel website devotes multiple sections to Britain on film.5 In fact, the 1995 Pride and Prejudice serial spawned a ‘Darcy mania’ so large that “Lyme Park, the national trust property that served as Pemberley, was jammed with hundreds of paying visitors” (Troost 84), anxious, I’m sure, to see the infamous pond where Darcy swam. This Darcy-mania reached such heights that screenwriter Andrew Davies is quoted as saying that the thing he is probably best known for in his “whole career is putting Mr. Darcy in a wet shirt” (qtd. in Cartmell and Whelehan 246). The Guardian even reported ‘Darcy Parties,’ where women gathered to watch that scene over and over again (Looser 160). There is very little to do with Jane Austen that has not become a marketable 42 commodity. It seems that Henry James was right when he said that people have found “their dear, our dear, everybody’s dear Jane so infinitely to their material purpose” (qtd. in Jones 200). She has become a cultural presence, appealing to scholars for the complexity of her work, but also retaining mass popularity. In this respect, contemporary Austen is able to traverse two different worlds, simultaneously existing in high culture and popular culture. Not only is Austen able to move between high and low art, but she is also representative of both traditional and liberal values, depending on how you choose to read her works. On the one hand, her work is evocative of tradition, conformity and convention, glorifying the manners and decorum of 1gthi century England. On the other hand, Austen is a revolutionary, undercutting her own society through irony as well as strong female protagonists who appear to defy convention. There is, to use the clichéd phrase, something for everyone in her work. In the words of Wiltshire, “Jane Austen is a signifier with multiple meanings” (12). As a result of this widespread appeal, Austen is an extremely marketable commodity, as the number of films that reference her would indicate. Jane Austen Mafia! (Jim Abrahams 1998) is clearly a parody film, but its use of Austen’s name is relevant in that it demonstrates an overt awareness of her cultural and economic capital in the film industry, and beyond. To be the subject of parody is also a symbol of marketability.6Certainly, with the release of multiple Austen adaptations, in the early to mid I 990s, she became more of a household name than ever. According to James M. Welsh, “Austen is a special case, appealing, on the one hand, to an academic audience for her splendid wit and irony and, on the other, to a far wider readership drawn to Austen for reasons having to do with romance, courtship and ‘heritage’ nostalgia” (xvi). 43 Austen’s ability to ‘sell’ a film is evident in the number of commercially viable adaptations of her work, especially those that use her name, for example, Jane Austen ‘s Emma (Diarmuid Lawrence 1996) and Jane Austen Persuasion (Roger Michell 1995). However, it is also relevant to look at the number of recent films that focus on her own life. 2002’s The Real Jane Austen (Nicky Pattison), combines documentary and fiction to provide us with an account of Jane’s life as she might have lived it. Miss Austen Regrets (Jeremy Lovering 2008) and Becoming Jane (Julian Jarrold 2007) both use what are left of Austen’ s letters to attempt to piece together different portions of her life. Both of these films romanticize Austen, turning her life into a narrative from one of her books, admittedly without the storybook ending. Regardless of the endings, these biographical films embrace heritage and nostalgia in the same way that adaptations of her novels do, focusing on the romance and spectacle of regency England. By burning her sister’s letters, Cassandra Austen has created a creative enterprise that centers on the mystery of Jane Austen’ s life, a mystery that is continually being re-interpreted through biographies (of which there are so many that I could fill pages and pages with their titles alone) and films. Perhaps this element of mystery has added to her popularity, as we continue to strive to know ‘the real Jane Austen,’ in the same way that scholars and fans attempt to know the real Shakespeare. Both authors remain popular years after their death and very little is known about either of them. They have also both become symbols of ‘Englishness,’ almost becoming trademarks by their familiarity alone. While they are both familiar, neither is truly known. There is an overwhelming desire to know Austen’ s inner life, which prevents the novels and the author from remaining entirely separate. Biography, then, according to Wiltshire, occupies a “transitional space” (21) between fact and fiction, made up largely of speculation (and often ridiculous speculation at that). For example, Claire 44 Tomalin’s statement that Austen would likely have enjoyed wearing trousers if she had lived in modem times (121) is both impossible to prove and largely irrelevant. Because so little is actually known of Austen’s life, many of these biographies become fictionalized, as Becoming Jane and Miss Austen Regrets demonstrate. The popularity of such narratives and the desire to know as much as possible about Austen is indicative of her cult status. There are, as well, at least three forthcoming films that incorporate elements of Austen into their narrative. Lost in Austen (Dan Zeff 2008) is a television film, made for Britain’s ITV, which centers on a modem woman who switches places with Elizabeth Bennet, in what can only be described as a cross between Freaky Friday (Gary Nelson 1976) and Anne-Marie Macdonald’s play, Goodnight Desdemona, Good morning Juliet (1988). Sense and Sensibilidad (Fina Torres 2008) is a modem retelling of Sense and Sensibility set in a Latino community in Los Angeles and Jane Austen Handheld (Tristram Shapeero 2008) is a modem retelling of Pride and Prejudice as told by a documentary film crew, which is, in itself, a nod to Pride and Prejudice’s overwhelming presence on film. Even something like The Jane Austen Book Club (Robin Swicord 2007) is evocative of Austen’s place in a modem, specifically American, context, with each character living out a different aspect of one of her novels. It is evident that Austen’s popularity is not declining by any means. For Sutherland, “Jane’s power lies in her familiarity; whether recognized or not, she is already part of a wider cultural system with a common set of conventions” (21). In this day and age, you would be hard pressed to find an adult who had not at least heard of Jane Austen. Sharon Maguire’s Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001) is a useful example to illustrate ‘Austen-mania.’ The film was adapted from Helen Fielding’s novel of the same name, which owes its basic plot to Pride and Prejudice.7In this sense, the film becomes an adaptation of an adaptation, which complicates it, but also serves to emphasize the magnitude of the ‘cult 45 of Jane’. Jane Austen has become such a common cultural icon that references to her turn into inside jokes that almost everyone is in on. The presence of Cohn Firth (famous for his portrayal of Mr. Darcy in the 1995 BBC version) in the role of Mark Darcy is just one instance where previous adaptations are evoked. Even the infamous pond scene is recreated when Mark Darcy emerges from a fountain after fighting with Daniel (Hugh Grant) near the end of the film. Hugh Grant and Gemma Jones were also known for their roles in Lee’s Sense and Sensibility and screenwriter Andrew Davies also wrote the screenplay for the 1995 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. Embeth Davidtz played Mary Crawford in Rozema’s Mansfield Park and Crispen Bonham Carter played Bingley alongside Cohn Firth’ s Darcy. Despite being ‘once removed’ from Austen’s novel, Bridget Jones ‘s Diary is indicative of the familiarity that surrounds Austen’s text, and its marketability, perhaps sharing something with Amy Heckerhing’s Clueless (1995). In this sense, Bridget Jones Diary can be read as a postmodern adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, playing with notions “of pastiche and nostalgia” (Brooker 110) that Brooker evokes with regard to remakes and period films. It is also interesting to note that Renee Zellweger (who plays Bridget) is actually an American actress, a fact that connects the film with Jennifer M. Jeffers’ thoughts surrounding the Americanization of British fiction. This phenomenon is also apparent in direct Austen adaptations, like Emma (Douglas McGrath 1996) which starred Gwyneth Paltrow. Even adaptations that featured a cast of entirely British actors (such as Ang Lee’s 1995 production of Sense and Sensibility, among others) have not only received distribution but been highly successful in the US. Using adaptations such as these, that were extremely popular in the States, Jeffers points to “the American film industry’s invention of a tradition of British Literature for the American viewing public” (3). British fiction adaptation becomes a genre 46 in itself which is something that goes back to the 1940 MGM version of Pride and Prejudice, and well beyond. According to Harriet Margolis, we are now living in an age where a film’s opening weekend numbers do more to draw people into the theatres than a good critical review. Culture, which was once aesthetically controlled, is now largely tied up in economics (30- 31). Economics and culture have become interchangeable, making the line between high and low culture somewhat blurry. Austen, then, has become both a cultural and an economic construct. Because of the economics of filmmaking and the cost involved in production and marketing, films have to, according to Paul Willemen, attempt to appeal to an “international market, or at least a very large domestic one” (qtd. in Jeffers 13). America is still the super power of filmmaking and film consumption. With such a large population, many of whom are living in a fairly high economic bracket, an American audience is one that filmmakers want, and often need, to recoup their costs. So, marketing a film to an American audience seems to be a wise choice, a choice which many British filmmakers make, even delving into co-productions financed by American studios. Capitalism appears to require Americanization, at least to a certain extent. Why are American audiences interested in these English literary figures and these English narratives? According to Jeffers, “Americans take voyeuristic pleasure from watching the English upper class struggle with their pure white, upper class problems in the fantasy time-capsule of the English past” (6). Although, if the element of the past is removed, one could argue that any American teen drama functions on a somewhat similar level, easily reduced to ‘pretty, white, rich kids, with problems.’ It is the past that acts as a differential and becomes of the utmost importance. The past is a place of British dominance, perhaps appealing to American audiences both because they have now replaced Britain as superpower, but also because of the element of escape. This is a foreign 47 and more simple time and, while there are differences, language commonalities prevent these stories, and these authors, from being alienating. According to Brian McFarlane, mainstream cinema owes much of its popularity to representational tendencies that it shares with the 19th century English novel (4). While this is perhaps something of a sweeping claim, it does help to explain the prevalence of period dramas on contemporary screens. However, it does not explain why Austen herself is so popular. What is it in these novels that allows them to be so easily lent to a filmic representation? Andrew Davies, who is one of the few screenwriters to achieve celebrity status thanks, in a large part, to his penning the 1995 BBC serial of Pride and Prejudice, states that the writer whom he respects the most is Jane Austen. According to Davies, “you don’t notice how crappy these plots are until you try to adapt them, but you don’t ever have to worry about hers. Everything happens according to the right season and the timing is perfect, like the time it takes to get from x to y is always right” (qtd. in Cartmell and Whelehan 244). She is described as making the adaptor’s role as easy as possible with her visual language and witty dialogue. As Davies notes: If she said the apple trees were in blossom, you would be bang in the right month, all those things work perfectly. A second reason is that her dialogue is so sharp and witty and dramatic, you can just copy it out and one does that quite a lot.. .and it’s so funny and also, she is so dramatic, she builds up her drama. She sets up her little jokes and time bombs and big dramatic surprises and then she pays them off at just the right moment, like great comedy writers are supposed to do (qtd. in Cartmell and Whelehan 248). While this is clearly a statement from a casual interview, it does point to some of the areas in Austen’s writing that make her such a popular choice for adaptation. Austen is, first and foremost, interested in people and their relationships and she engages her audience “both intellectually and emotionally” (Moler 7). These novels are about 48 people and, while it may be clichéd to say so, that makes them timeless. Human interaction, and the various difficulties and pleasures involved therein, is part of our daily lives. They are, according to Moler, “eternal elements in the human condition” (7). Austen then is able to do what Samuel Johnson encourages. She is able to “disregard present laws and opinions, and rise to general and transcendental truths, which will always be the same... [writing] as a being superior to time and place” (qtd. in Moler 49). There is a simplicity to her work that remains relevant, despite being dated. As Austen herself said, “three or four families in a country village is the very thing to work on” (qtd. in Crang 114). These are not epic novels; they deal with the ordinary and the everyday, looking at money, love, and marriage, themes which have changed remarkably little in the almost two hundred years since Austen’s death. Adaptations, then, become reflective of these issues in our own time. As Emma Thompson argues, “people are still concerned with marriage, money, romance, finding a partner” (qtd. in Dole 58). I would also argue that the somewhat dysfunctional families present in all of Austen’ s novels also resonate with contemporary readers. These are themes that every person can relate to and there is no one correct way to read Austen’s work. As Sutherland notes, “meaning never finally settles, but remains at play across a range of possibilities” (354). These novels are open to interpretation, a very attractive quality for an adaptor. Austen was a careful observer and this is evident in her stories, which are made up of detailed character studies, perhaps helping to explain their continued popularity. It is easy to become absorbed by these characters who, according to Sutherland, “erase all signs of production” (16). Even background characters, such as Charlotte Lucas or Mr. Collins, for example, are strongly developed and given important moments in the novel. Within these character studies, Austen also provides a sense of escapism associated with heritage products. These novels do not tackle large issues or try to explain the meaning of life, nor do the 49 characters within them. Because she tackles themes of the everyday, it is easy to see why Virginia Woolf said, “of all great writers she is the most difficult to catch in the act of greatness” (qtd. in Stovel 231). Her novels are concerned with the characters themselves. While these characters do seek knowledge, it is self-knowledge rather than knowledge of the world in general. Winston Churchill is quoted as saying: “what calm lives they had, those people! No worries about the French revolution, or the crashing struggle of the Napoleonic Wars. Only manners controlling passion so far as they could, together with cultured explanations of any misehances” (qtd. in Jones 29). Despite the precarious political climate in which Austen was writing, she does not directly engage with this material, instead finding escape in country life and the aristocracy. These novels take place during a time of war, Pride and Prejudice specifically. Here, although it is never made explicit, officers and the arrival of the militia in Meryton do indicate the theme of war that occupies the background of the novel. As Bluestone notes, Austen was aware of the realities of war, but chose more light-hearted fare as the focus of her works (144). Perhaps this, along with the sense of escapism, explains why this novel has been adapted during times of war. This escapism allows viewers to fantasize about seemingly simpler and less stressful times. In fact, according to Claudia Johnson, Austen’ s novels were prescribed for shell shocked war victims as a form of therapy (217), a means of escaping the horrors of their situations and finding solace in the pleasures of the past. In our own time of desensitization and reality television shows like Big Brother or The Real World (which tend to capitalize on the drunken antics of their ‘stars’), the polish and manners of Austen’s world become a welcome and refreshing other. Of all of Austen’ s novels, Pride and Prejudice has been the most often adapted, and it is adaptations of this text that I choose to focus on in the coming chapter. It is, arguably, 50 Austen’s most famous work, and it is certainly one of the most quoted. As well as the ten film and television adaptations, it has also inspired a number of plays and novels that continue the stories of the characters. Helen Haistead’ s novel Mr. Darcy Presents his Bride: A Sequel to Jane Austen ‘s Pride and Prejudice is just one of a number of similar titles. Austen’ s novel was first begun under the title of First Impressions in 1796, but publishers were uninterested. It was not until 1813, after much revision, that the Pride and Prejudice we have come to know was published. At the time of its initial publication, the novel was well received, described in an unsigned review as being “far superior to almost all the publications of the kind...the story is well told, the characters remarkably well drawn and supported, and written with great spirit as well as vigor” (qtd. in Southam 41). This idea of well drawn characters was not limited to this one review. In general, Austen has been praised for her character development, and another unsigned 1813 review mentions that “the fair author of the present introduced us at once to a whole family, every individual of which excited the interest and very agreeably divides the attention of the reader” (qtd. in Southam 43). This is a novel that “demonstrates the difficulty of evaluating plausible but conflicting representations of reality” (Ghoshal Wallace 15) and teaches readers the consequences of judging too quickly. Austen alternately defends and criticizes the social customs of her time; yet, she is neither too revolutionary, nor too traditional for mainstream audiences. In Pride and Prejudice, as in all of her novels, the final moments find the status quo maintained. Elizabeth may question society and forge her own path, to a certain extent, but she finds herself happy in a traditional (and economically beneficial) marriage at the end of the novel. As a result, this text becomes a perfect one for mainstream, or even more conservative, film and television, because it does not, ultimately, challenge ideological norms. This is also a text that relies on a blending of form and content, making it a perfect choice for the needs of 51 narrative cinema. According to Jan Fergus, “so well do they mesh and so perfect is the effect: absolute absorption in the world is created” (120). For those who view cinema as an escape, a trait often associated with heritage products, this absorbing power is very appealing. Pride and Prejudice gives us multiple characters and multiple stories, leaving adaptors with a rich variety of choices. While the characters are well developed, there is little description of their looks. Other than knowing that he is handsome, we know next to nothing about Darcy’s physical features. The same is true of Elizabeth and the other characters. This leaves adaptors a lot of room for interpretation, knowing that they can cast the production without the fear of audience members complaining because Elizabeth had blonde hair in the book. Austen’s novels avoid such details completely. As the six adaptations discussed in the following chapter show, there are many different ways of seeing these characters. As Wiltshire points out, “knowledge of a man like Darcy is an interpretation and a construction, not a simple absolute” (108). I would argue that the same could be said of any of the characters. Setting, too, could be anywhere. Longbourn, Pemberley and Netherfield are certainly described in the novel, but their location is not made explicit, nor are their interiors exhaustively described. We get no account of colors, designs, furnishings or general decor (Moler 64). This is in keeping with Samuel Johnson’s idea that the job of the author is “to examine not the individual, but the species; to remark general properties and large appearances: he does not number the streaks of the tulip...and must neglect the minuter discriminations” (qtd. in Moler 66). Despite this seeming lack of explicit details, the novel continues to, as Sue Parrill states, “appeal to readers’ and viewers’ nostalgic longing for the order and beauty of the past” (6). Pride and Prejudice is a fairy-tale, or so argues Darryl Jones (93), and in many ways, he is correct. Austen herself described the novel as “rather too light and bright, and 52 sparkling” (qtd. in Wiltshire 107). Certainly, the first adaptation of the novel (the 1940 MGM production) does attempt to embody a certain fairy-tale quality, as do most of those that follow. However, in terms of genre, I would be more inclined to place this novel within the tradition of the romantic comedy, perhaps a prototype for the highly developed contemporary model. The theme of misjudgment is obviously at the core of this text, as it is in all romantic comedies and Harlequin romance novels alike. These characters are blind to each other and completely unaware of the fallacy of their own judgments. These are two intelligent characters, but they are, as Moler states, “profoundly ignorant about important aspects of themselves” (34). In the end, Elizabeth and Darcy learn and grow as they come to know themselves and each other. Elizabeth states, “till this moment, I never knew myself’ (Austen 208). This is a moral that finds its way into the core of every adaptation of the novel. If one was searching for the so-called ‘essence’ of the text, this would likely be it. It is a romantic comedy, but it is also a novel about sex and money. It is about seeing, blindness and misrecognition. Themes of self discovery, courtship and marriage, business and property, pride and prejudice (obviously), wealth and class, feminism and education, and mamiers and morals, all find a place in this novel (Flavin 56-60) and force adaptors to make a choice regarding what they wish to focus on. A different focus can create an entirely different film, as the following chapter will hopefully reveal in more detail. These are all themes that can have relevance in our contemporary world. Love and marriage remains an important aspect of our society. Recent campaigns (and a subsequent win) to lift the ban on gay marriage in California indicate that the institution of marriage is still relevant and important. Business, property and economy remain significant within our contemporary capitalist structure, and the ties between economics and marriage still exist. Feminism, education and morals are all still pertinent themes as well. I am not attempting to argue that nothing has 53 changed since the early 1 800s. However, I do maintain that these themes are still relevant, and will continue to be as pertinent two hundred years from now as they were two hundred years ago. 54 Notes Thirty four, if one were to include a 1997 episode of the children’s cartoon series Wishbone, entitled “Furst Impressions.” 2New adaptations of Northanger Abbey (Jon Jones), Sense and Sensibility (John Alexander), Persuasion (Adrian Shergold) and Mansfield Park (lain B. MacDonald) were all produced for a special Austen series that began airing in 2007 in Britain, and 2008 in the US and Canada. This series also included Miss Austen Regrets (Jeremy Lovering), a fictionalized account of Austen’s life. This number excludes the theatre productions based on her work, of which there are many. Unfortunately, neither time, nor space allow me to discuss the theatre adaptations, so, when I speak of the number of adaptations, I am only addressing film and television. www.pemberley.com Found here: http://www.visitbritain.calthings-to-see-and-do/interests/films/index.aspx 6 Austen herself began her writing career producing parodies of famous literary works for her friends and family, so she was no stranger to the process of adaptation. The sequel, Bridget Jones: The Edge ofReason (Beeban Kidron 2004), is known for its connection to Mansfield Park. 55 Chapter Four: Six Adaptations of Pride and Prejudice “The third requisite in our poet or maker is imitation, imitation, to be able to convert the substance or riches of another poet to his own use, not as a creature that swallows what it takes in, crude, raw or undigested; but that feeds with an appetite, and hath a stomach to concoct, divide, and turn all to nourishment” — Ben Jonson, Timber or Discoveries, being Observations on Men and Manners Some novels are clearly more difficult to adapt than others. Taking on something such as Laurence Steme’ s Tristram Shandy is obviously going to be a far more challenging task than adapting a more linear story like Pride and Prejudice. But, even beyond its linearity, there is something in Austen’ s work that makes it readily adaptable. All six of the following films are based on Pride and Prejudice, yet they are not the same film by any means . It is clear that a change in genre can create a change in expectation. We do not expect a Bollywood film to resemble a BBC heritage miniseries; yet, we expect both to resemble their source material in some way. Since most are (at least to some degree) familiar with this story and because Austen has such a fan following, there is likely to be a higher expectation for fidelity than in an adaptation of a lesser known work by a lesser known author. This raises various authorial questions. Who is the author? The Director? The Screenwriter? The Editor? Jane Austen? The Cinematographer? All these are viable options, but it is impossible to truly assign that role to any individual. The film becomes a collaborative effort, a product of the time out of which it emerged. There is also the issue of quotation here. Not quotation from the novel directly, but quotation from other adaptations. One cannot underestimate the influence of the adaptations that have come before. Cohn Firth’ s Darcy, for example, no doubt altered people’s perception of the character and the overwhelming popularity of his take on Darcy is sure to have influenced later adaptations. In all the adaptations, Darcy begins as an unknowable entity for Elizabeth; he is made this way by his social and economic standing, as well as his 56 aloof nature. However, each adaptation has a different way of constructing the characters, their conflicts and the overall story of the text, an interpretation which is directly related to their own historical or cultural moment. Genre, too, has an effect on the adaptations and it is clear that, in the words of Sarah Cardwell, “the genre provides its framework, its ground rules, and a set of expectations for the audience. Most viewers will know this genre better than they will know the source book. They will have preconceptions about representations of the past, of gender and class in this genre” (Cardwell 2007a: 56). If the actors in a BBC miniseries suddenly broke out into a lavish, and seemingly unmotivated, song and dance number, viewers would likely be shocked and confused. However, most people wouldn’t bat an eye if they saw this in a Bollywood feature. Different adaptations will appeal to different people, that much is obvious. As Linda Hutcheon notes, “British televised versions of classic novels now generate in their viewers expectations about style. These expectations are not really dictated by the adapted literary texts, but rather by the television medium’s desire to signal artistry through specifically cinematic markers of quality” (124). Cardwell addresses a similar idea and evokes techniques such as the long take, long shots, slow tracking shots and orchestral music, all of which we see ad-nauseum in both the 1980 and 1995 BBC adaptations. However, regardless of genre, as Cardwell notes, “Austen’s novels are mostly adapted into whimsical, light-hearted, gently ironic romances” (184). One might question how filmmakers not of British origin deal with a novel set in another country. Should they attempt to match that particular place and time? Or, should they alter the material to fit their own cultural situation? In the six screen adaptations covered here, we find examples of both. Certainly, none of these films are exactly like the novel. For example, some choose to stray from Elizabeth’s perspective and show us scenes of Darcy and 57 Bingley alone, scenes that Elizabeth could not have witnessed and which the narrator does not explicitly mention. The most oft mentioned of these is to be found in the 1995 BBC production wherein Darcy jumps, fully clothed, into a pond in an attempt to cool his passions. These scenes are used as a device to allow the viewer to get to know the characters in a more intimate sense, to humanize Darcy and make him into the silent, but romantic, hero that the 1995 BBC version would have him be. Whether this is true to the Darcy in the book is beside the point. Viewers at this time wanted a passionate gentleman, and this is what they received. Despite their differences, all six films remain similar in their source material, proving Hutcheon’ s point that through the re-telling of a story “the conservative comfort of familiarity is countered by the unpredictable pleasure in difference” (173). 58 4.1 Television Adaptations According to John Caughie, “television drama is a central component of postwar British culture, and its arguments and debates are both an extension and a complication of social, political, aesthetic and cultural debates” (2). If any broadcast network is synonymous with British television drama, it is the BBC. BBC television adaptations have become linked with classic literature, and they continue to produce countless fidelity conscious serials of many 19th century works, where viewers delight in watching stories that they are usually somewhat familiar with, slowly unfold on screen. Jane Austen’s works have been a particularly favorable choice. Serials were preferred, in part, because, in Caughie’ s words they “had the advantage of economies of scale” (204), meaning that the cost was less per episode than broadcasting a new piece of work each week. As a result, the classic serial has become a staple of the BBC since the end of the Second World War and was one of the few film-related products that Britain could sell on the international market, tempting viewers with, as Caughie states, “the national past captured like a butterfly on a pin in a museum of gleaming spires, tennis on the lawn, and the faded memory of empire” (209). Certainly, serials like The Forsythe Saga (James Cellan Jones 1967) set the stage for the wave of historical dramas that would gain popularity in the 1980s and 90s. There is something familiar about these films, which all have a similar look and follow the same sets of conventions, such as: “high production values, authentic detailed costumes and sets; great British actors; light classical music; slow pace; steady, often symmetrical framing; an interest in landscapes, buildings and interiors as well as characters; strong, gradually developed protagonists accompanied by entertaining cameo roles; and intelligent, faithful dialogue” (Cardwell 189). They tend to be slow moving, standing in opposition to the frenetic pace of a typical, Hollywood-produced, action blockbuster. This 59 often makes them more theatrical in nature, and allows for the focus to remain on the visual as, for Andrew Higson, the goal is to “transform narrative space into heritage space: that is, a space for the display of heritage properties rather than for the enactment of drama” (39). These films are filled with romance, lavish costumes, balls and grand houses. Spectacle is of the utmost importance. Pride and Prejudice, with its elaborate settings and cultural capital, becomes a perfect choice for this genre of films. For Sarah Cardwell, it is the frequency of production that yields “the establishment of a more clearly defined and longstanding genre of classic-novel adaptations than one encounters in the cinema” (182). The fact that six of the ten adaptations of Pride and Prejudice have been for television only further strengthens this statement. While the first adaptation may not have been for television, all of those that were released between 1941 and 2003 existed on the small screen alone, and few were preserved. Many of these adaptations, including the hour-long Philco Television Playhouse adaptation (1949) as well as the 1952, 1958 and 1967 BBC versions are virtually impossible to find today. This has partially to do with the fact that television technology was not as advanced as that of film. Television shows were not able to be recorded until 1947 (Cardwell 185) and, even beyond this, few of these recordings were kept. As a result, my focus here is on the surviving 1980 and 1995 BBC adaptations, which demonstrate the television serial’s “proclivity for British classic novels, reflecting the prevailing notion of educating and informing the public about British Cultural Heritage” (Cardwell 182). Something like Pride and Prejudice that deals with the everyday and domesticity seems perfectly suited to television, a medium that is consumed from within a domestic environment. Television adaptations of the BBC bring with them a particular standard stemming from the ideals of Lord John Reith (its first director general) who wanted the BBC “to 60 inform, educate and entertain” (Cardwell 187). This is a corporation that is wrapped up in the idea of quality programs, programming that encourages education and cultural growth, which is a tradition of state sponsored networks. This desire to educate and to use programming for public growth, explains the more fidelity conscious productions that come out of the BBC, as these serials are expected to be more than just mere entertainment. They are designed to better their viewers, occupying the space in between mainstream and art-house, and attempting to appeal to both markets. Both the 1980 and 1995 adaptations are made up of multiple episodes, increasing their running time and allowing for more material to be included, which will naturally place them in a more fidelity conscious position. In fact, the BBC avoids the term adaptation completely, preferring instead to refer to these serials as ‘dramatizations,’ implying that the original text has not been extensively altered. Obviously, by adapting for television and using a mini-series format, the creators have a larger amount of time to play with. It goes without saying that more detail can go into a five hour mini-series than a two hour film. By splitting the story into parts, the films will also more closely resemble the way that readers first engaged with these texts, as most literature in the 19th century (and before) was published in serial form, with the various parts being released over time. As Morris Beja notes, watching a serial adaptation will undoubtedly “be closer to reading most novels than a feature film can be; for it will be something we can come back to periodically, rather than something we complete in a single sitting” (84). Television became a very important medium for Britain in the late 1 970s (and beyond) when, in the words of Hill, “television was destined to play an increasingly significant role in the maintenance of British film production” (53). In fact, John Hill and Martin McLoone are quoted as saying that “television has more or less become the film 61 industry” (1). Director Mike Leigh was in agreement and claimed that in Britain in the 1 970s and 1980s, “all serious flimmaking was done for television” (qtd. in Giles 58). As Paul Giles points out, this is likely something of an exaggeration, but it does indicate that British television occupies a higher critical position than most North American TV. The BBC, for example, has been on the air since 1936, is government financed and has no advertising. BBC-2 was set up in 1964, and, for a long time, these were the only choices for viewers. Even by the late 1980s British cable was limited to a few stations, with none of the kind of choice that Americans would have been used to by this time. According to Giles, anywhere from three to twelve million would watch a program in an evening (59). With limited choice, the amount of people that would see a film broadcast on television was significantly higher than it would have been in North America. These programs were, in the words of Alan Benneff, “addressing the nation” (qtd. in Giles 59). While the BBC serials are generally praised from a fidelity point of view, they have not been immune to criticism. They are very much evocative of the heritage film movement that helped to commodify Britain. Throughout these films, Britain is portrayed not only as a country with a rich and heroic past, but also as a country that was willing to put that past up for sale. These heritage adaptations, then, have often been connected with the marketing of the past. The past was, in the words of Higson, “packaged as artifacts and images that could be sold to contemporary consumers, or experiences that could be bought into by tourists” (51). Thatcher’s government saw the potential in the film industry but, for the most part, any changes that the government made to film funding during this time were commercially, and not artistically, motivated. According to Linda Troost, and many others, these serials present an unrealistic view of life in England by, “privileging the upper class, showing a monocultural society, indulging in nostalgia for an England that never existed, and espousing 62 conservative Thatcherite values” (80). Certainly, in 1980’s Pride and Prejudice, we are never allowed to forget Darcy’ s aristocratic background, a fact that does not have nearly so much importance in any of the other adaptations. Britain would continue to be associated with heritage and past glories, from the 1 980s until the late 1 990s when the image of ‘cool Britannia’ would emerge with films like Trainspotting (Danny Boyle 1996). In an attempt to prove that Britain could do more than just heritage, this cycle of films attempted to re-invent the British film industry, usually focusing on the decidedly unglamorous lives of urban, working class, contemporary youth. This stands in stark opposition to the heritage film, with its focus on country landscapes and the aristocracy. The 1980 Pride and Prejudice, then, was released at the beginning of this heritage movement, paving the way for later serials such as Brideshead Revisited (Charles Sturridge 1981). Premiering on January 13th, 1980, the series ran in five parts on BBC-2. The 1980 film emerged out of a particular historical period, one of a general 1980s British Conservatism that came with the Thatcher era. So, we need to consider the film not only as an adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, but also as a product of the BBC, and, as an early example of the heritage cinema that became popular in the 1 980s with titles like Chariots ofFire (Hugh Hudson 1981). This was a prolific time for British films, with more being made than in any decade since the 1950s and many of them attracted international acclaim (Elsaesser 45). Adapted for the screen by Fay Weldon, this serial was shot on videotape and released just after the National Heritage Act was established. The Heritage Act was drafted by MP Norman St. John Stevas in order to “defend or conserve the natural environment against the encroachment of industry and big business” (Dobie 258). However, the act was lined with conservatism and Madeleine Dobie, among others, read its purpose as 63 “to defend the inherited property rights of the rural aristocracy against the anticipated encroachments of the urban working class” (258). Margaret Thatcher was elected in May 1979 and dominated British politics until she was forced to resign as party leader in November 1990. Committed to reversing the decline of the British economy, Thatcher brought about change in many areas, including weakening unions by passing anti-union laws, and introducing free-market economic policies (Cooke 4) in an attempt to increase industry competition. Marketing and commodification became of the utmost importance. In general, Thatcher’s government turned to the radical conservative wing and brought about an increase in class division with an emphasis on individualism where, according to Quart, “acquisition of wealth and the consumption of goods became the prime values” (19). It makes sense, then, that in the 1980s adaptation, the importance of family is downplayed. Elizabeth is an individual with needs and goals that do not reflect the larger family unit, a choice that differs greatly from the 1940, 2005 and Bollywood adaptations. As a result, Mr. Bennet is closest to the Mr. Bennet that we encounter in the novel and is not given the redeeming qualities that he has in the three aforementioned versions. He does not need to be redeemed, because family is not stressed in this series. This is also the case in the 1995 version, which is slightly less traditional and made with a heightened sense of the sexuality of the lead characters in mind, as I will discuss later. During the 1 980s, traditional, conservative ideals were stressed in both England and America.2Thatcher herself called for a return to Victorian values (Cooke 129), and what better way to emphasize this than through adaptations of Victorian, or proto-Victorian, texts?3 Heritage films, then, presented traditionalist ideals and extreme wealth, all set against a lavishly constructed and comforting backdrop of the past. These films functioned, in the words of Dobie, as “a palliative, promoting a sense of unbroken tradition and reaffirming 64 national identity” (247), providing refuge and stability during times of change through a reinvented (or invented) national history. Obviously, Pride and Prejudice is a perfect choice for adaptation. It is a novel that can be easily serialized, it is representative of Britain’s great literary tradition, and it is ultimately quite conservative in its values. Because of this return to a privileging of traditional values, it is of no surprise that, in this version, Darcy’ s aristocratic ties are constantly made apparent, and the fact that he is from a “respectable, honorable and ancient family” (Austen 356), is frequently drawn attention to. This film is probably the most faithful, as it rarely strays from the text, even making use of multiple voice-overs to convey Elizabeth’s thoughts as they were written by the novel’s omniscient narrator. Generally, it was well received and in keeping with BBC broadcasts of the time, even earning two BAFTA TV nominations for lighting and costume design. However, it was not the international success that the 1995 version would go on to be. In terms of location, this 1980 production made great strides and was the first adaptation of Pride and Prejudice to utilize location shooting, allowing for the use of real historical props and properties. The seemingly ‘genuine’ look further imbeds the film within the heritage tradition. This is also true of the 1995 version, where locations were rigorously scouted and considered to be another character in the film. In these heritage films, the emphasis on landscape creates a “ruralist nostalgia” that harkens back to the picturesque tradition, while savoring the idea of “the past utopia” (Voigts-Virchow 130). However, despite several scenes shot on location, the 1980 version remains more concerned with conversations taking place in fixed interior settings, giving it a staged appearance that is not particularly exciting to watch, but is perhaps more in keeping with the traditions out of which the novel emerged. David Rintoul’s Darcy, while less engaging than Cohn Firth’s, is probably more evocative of the Darcy of the novel. Because of technological limitations and 65 perhaps funding as well, the film looks less polished than other productions, taking on a home video quality that was typical of 1 980s television productions. In general, the sets are limited and the lighting is similar to that of a contemporary television soap-opera. As well, the decision to film predominately indoors was likely motivated less by artistic choice and more by economic constraints, as location shooting is always more expensive and this series certainly did not have the budget that the 1995 production did. While I have slipped into a discussion of fidelity here (something that I advocated against in the earlier chapters), it is only to prove that this production is especially fidelity conscious, which is likely due to its cultural moment and its place within the heritage movement of the Thatcher era. Because the film embodies a ‘nostalgic look back,’ the time period must be presented as magnificent, and representative of Britain’s past glory. So, the potentially political and satirical nature of Austen’ s work is largely eliminated. The importance of Darcy’ s aristocratic ties is played up in this version, instead of viewed with a certain degree of irony. As Andrew Higson notes, “in this version of history, a critical perspective is replaced by decoration and display, a fascination with surfaces, an obsessive accumulation of comfortably archival detail in which a fascination with style displaces the material dimensions of historical context” (qtd. in Jeffers 46). The past must be portrayed as a more perfect time. As a result, Longbourn becomes a perfect heritage building and any indication that the Bennets are struggling on a working farm (which the novel does mention) is removed. The building is there to be looked at and the more static camera movement, which is traditional of heritage cinema, is reflective of this. In this version, we are always given an establishing shot of a great building before moving inside. The film works from the outside in, but it never delves too far beneath the facade, preferring, instead, to concentrate on the beauty of pristine surfaces, not wanting to go too deep, or look too closely, for fear of the grime that might be revealed. 66 The two BBC mini-series of Austen’s novel are separated by just 15 years (which is not all that long, in the grander scheme of things). The 1995 Pride and Prejudice (Simon Langton) was co-funded by A&E and it premiered on September 24th on BBC-1, ran 300 minutes, and was described by The Sunday Telegraph as “a lovely day out in some National Trust Property” (qtd. in Higson 57). It would go on to receive international acclaim, earning nominations (and often winning) for BAFTA TV awards, as well as Emmys, among other things. While the 1980 adaptation is very clearly a television adaptation in terms of aesthetics, it was also marketed to a wide audience. In the early 1 980s (and before), due to the lack of choice in British television channels, filmmakers could expect a mass audience. By the 1 990s British television productions had begun to utilize the resources of film and to begin to operate more in terms of the free market principles that Thatcher’s government put into effect. Because of the advent of channel four, viewers now had more choice, so television programs marketed themselves more in terms of niche audiences, appealing to specific groups determined by age, gender, etc., as opposed to the general viewer. These later films, which Claire Monk dubs “post heritage” (qtd. in Dobie 248) tended to differ from their predecessors because they no longer attempted to target broad groups by appealing to their sense of national identity (among other things, of course). They were also more concerned with gender and sexual identity, which the 1995 adaption is certainly evocative of. According to Lez Cooke, there was a “post modern shift away from the idea of a producer — led culture, in which broadcasters delivered to a mass audience what, on the whole, they felt the public needed, towards a consumer — led culture where the broadcasters were forced to compete with an increasing number of competitors for a share of the audience” (162). 1995’s Pride and Prejudice reflects this, attempting to appeal to the romantic nature of what was likely a predominantly female audience, and ultimately ending up as, in the words of Cooke, “a good 67 old-fashioned love story, a high culture soap opera with its romance updated for a 1 990s audience” (168). The differences between the 1980 and 1995 versions proves Malcolm Bradbury’ s point that “even without any temporal updating or any alterations to national or cultural setting, it can take very little time for context to change how a story is received. Not only what is re-accentuated but more importantly how a story can be re-interpreted can alter radically” (qtd. in Hutcheon 142). So, time plays an issue as much as place and culture do. On the 22’ of November, 1990, Thatcher’s time as a leader came to a close, and her preference for ‘traditional values’ began to hold less weight. While the 1980 version functioned to re-inscribe conventional standards associated with heritage, the 1995 version had different goals, despite the fact that it still operated as a heritage text. What is it that the 1995 adaptation is trying to tell viewers? According to Brian McFarlane, it is “that sexual attraction is more potent than class or wealth” (2007a: 8). While I think that this is somewhat of an over generalization, McFarlane probably has a point, as the emphasis certainly lies on the sexuality of our hero and heroine. The focus, in this adaptation, has shifted from the Thatcherite values of the 1980 serial, to a mode of flimmaking more concerned with attracting an international audience, as well as maintaining a more specifically targeted domestic one. Moving away from the Darcy of 1980, this Darcy’s aristocratic position is no longer what defines him; it is his passion and masculinity. This is in keeping with the trend in 1 990s British cinema, which seemed, according to Claire Monk, “preoccupied with men and masculinity in crisis” (157), a preoccupation that perhaps emerged out of “growing sexual liberalism, greater female participation and achievement in the world of work and increasing fluidity of gender roles” (158). Out of this anxiety emerged a different standard of 68 masculinity, of which this Darcy is a prime example. He is both physically strong and emotionally sensitive. This Darcy is just steps away from becoming a character in a Harlequin romance, and he is clearly designed with a female audience in mind, much more so than Rintoul’s Darcy. This shift is representative of the attempt to target niche audience markets, a shift which began in the 1990s as a result of the advent of multiple television channels. As screenwriter Andrew Davies stated, he was “very consciously representing the books for a contemporary audience, trying to bring out the themes of the scenes and the undercurrents in the books that most speak to us today” (qtd. in Cartmell and Whelehan 244). In keeping with the many 1990s films that began to offer up the male body as the object of the gaze,4 Pride and Prejudice offers Darcy up as an object for consumption. In fact, the majority of scenes added to this film, which are not directly derived from the novel, involve Darcy. More specifically, they involve Darcy engaging in some sort of physical activity, from fencing, to billiards, to bathing. Darcy (and Elizabeth as well) is also costumed in a way that draws attention to his physique, often seen clad in tight breeches. It is no surprise that this Darcy is most known for his various physical displays and has been aptly christened “wet t-shirt Darcy” by scholars and the media alike (Jones 189). This is further illustrated in Bridget Jones ‘s Diary, when Bridget is described watching the famous pond scene over and over again, swooning over Cohn Firth’s Darcy. This is, very much, Darcy’s film, and he is far more present in the story than David Rintoul’s Darcy is. Where, in the 1980 version, we get a voice over of Elizabeth reading Darcy’ s letter, here, we see Darcy act. While Elizabeth reads, the viewer is given flashbacks of Darcy intervening as Wickham attempts to seduce Georgiana, and of Darcy advising Bingley to leave Jane. We later see his role in Wickham’s marriage to Lydia and his place at the ceremony. While, in the novel, we know Darcy is 69 responsible for persuading Wickham to marry Lydia, his role is not so actively described. Perhaps because this version is so Darcy-centric, Wickham’ s flaws are much more heavily emphasized. In most versions, we only hear of Wickham’s nefarious ways; however, here, the viewer actually gets visual confirmation of these acts through the flashbacks. In Austen’s work, the reader is clearly aligned with Elizabeth and the majority of the text is written with regard to her perspective. The 1980 version follows the same general trend. In this version, however, we often get Darcy’s perspective; we see into his mind, and we watch as he watches Elizabeth, which he often does. In the 1940 version, viewers watch Elizabeth looking out of windows.5In this production, we watch Darcy do the same, indicating a shift in emphasis. In fact, watching Darcy struggle with his repressed desires is the crux of the film. In general, this is a production that is most concerned with physicality, and with the sexuality of its protagonists. In the words of Hutcheon, “a personal crisis is made to replace a political one” (12). For Hutcheon, the political could, for example, be represented by the sharp social commentary that one finds in Austen’ s work, something that is, largely, absent from this production. Here, then, the political undertones of the novel are removed and replaced with personal crises on the part of the characters. This version is less about class division and more about individual characters and their desires. As Andrew Davies remarks, “the central motor which drives the story forward is Darcy’ s sexual attraction to Elizabeth” (qtd. in Wiltshire 115). Darcy is much more athletic than previous Darcys, and he is seen as an active male from the very opening of the film where he and Bingley gallop up to Netherfield. This is a Darcy offered up to the female gaze and fetishized; the camera is constantly focused on him. He is representative of man as commodity, which Austen herself touches upon when she writes, “however little known the feelings or views of such a man 70 may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters” (51, emphasis mine). Certainly, the 1995 version wholeheartedly adopts the idea of Darcy, through his various activities, as a product to be looked at and consumed. That being said, Elizabeth, too, is more physically active, constantly pictured walking through fields, even from the opening of the film. Not only this, but she is also an active participant in her relationship with Darcy, perhaps reflective of in the words of Ellen Belton, “1990s preoccupation with equality in romantic attachments” (192). She is connected to nature, earthy even, in a way that Elizabeth Garvie’s Elizabeth is not. This is a film that focuses on the physical, which is made evident through its marketing strategy, advertizing itself as “a six part adaptation of simply the sexiest book ever written” (qtd. in Flavin 67). While the mini- series does not contain the sex scenes that were rumored to be included at the time of production, viewers do catch glimpses of Darcy swimming, Darcy in the bath, Darcy and Elizabeth kissing and Wickham and Lydia in bed, among other things. The costumes, too, are much less demure than in previous adaptations as we find the men in tight breeches and the women in low cut dresses, something that is never present in the 1980 production. Compared with that highly conservative adaptation, this one seems almost racy. The focus of this film centers on the love theme, specifically on the tortured and sexually charged relationship between Elizabeth and Darcy. It is about Elizabeth and Darcy finding love and fulfillment, having it all. This is perhaps why the film seems to concentrate on their individual needs and desires, eliminating the focus on the family unit that drives the 1940 version, for example. Jane and Elizabeth are largely separate from their family, both visually and through the way the narrative is constructed •6 There is really no sense of family unity; instead, this is a film about individual desires. Through her connection with Darcy, 71 Elizabeth finds her fulfillment in a utopian relationship perhaps reflecting, in the words of Belton, “the late twentieth century assumption that the needs and desires of the individual take precedence over other values” (194). Davies’ script conveys a sense of intense desire on Darcy’ s part, a desire that is simply not present in the 1980 version. While the 1980 film gave us Darcy as an aristocrat, a man of tradition, the 1995 version gives us Darcy as a man of action and a man of passion, perhaps in keeping with changes in masculinity that were occurring in the 1990s. As Linda Troost and Sayre Greenfield note, this version of Darcy “tells us more about our current decade’s obsession with physical perfection and acceptance of gratuitous nudity than it does about Austen’s Darcy, but the image carves a new facet into the text” (6). While physical features remained important, the hard-bodied, emotionless, Reaganite hero was fading away to be replaced by the man of sentiment and intellect, who still retained his inherent masculinity and a sense of mystery. Darcy is not just a body, as Cheryl L. Nixon notes, he is “a medium of emotional expression” (24) and his relationship with Elizabeth centers on romance, and not courtship (as the novel and the 1980 version do). He is evocative of the desire to have everything. As Martine Voiret puts it, “we now want men to be egalitarian, sensitive, nurturing, and expressive. We, in other words, expect men to possess two sets of somewhat irreconcilable differences.. .Jane Austen’s movie adaptations reflect this ambivalence. They translate contemporary desires for a type of masculinity that happily embodies those conflicting features” (238). Perhaps, for this reason, this 1995 Darcy remains something of an enigma, not entirely knowable. When Elizabeth visits Pemberley in the novel, she finds a portrait of Darcy where he is pictured as open and smiling. However, in this adaptation, Darcy’ s expression in the portrait is pensive, almost mysterious. As a result, this Darcy became the perfect embodiment of the ideal man of mystery who was both active 72 and sensitive, a fact that is evidenced by the Darcy-mania that swept much of the western world.7 This adaptation is known for its grand location scenes, and the heavy reliance on outdoor locations, which perhaps explains why the characters seem more active. Regardless, these outdoor scenes are meant to capture the glory and beauty of the English countryside in the early 19th century. This, two hundred years later, is clearly an impossibility. After all, landscapes and architecture can, and do, change. However, there is a prevalent idea that location shooting somehow lends to the authenticity of the project, despite the fact that we can have no idea which houses Austen used as the inspiration for Pemberley or Longbourn, if she used any at all. Regardless, this remains a visual novel, written at a time when both landscape painting and domestic tourism were becoming increasingly popular. The English countryside was becoming a spectacle for consumption, as evidenced by the rise in the guidebook industry during the l8 century (Ellington 95-96). Clearly, the visual elements found in the novel translate well into film. From the very opening of this series, landscape is stressed as we watch Darcy and Bingley gallop across an open field, eventually glimpsing Netherfield in a long-shot that emphasizes its grand scale. As Bingley and Darcy race away, we cut to Elizabeth who is watching them from atop a hill. We then follow her through fields to reveal the beautifully manicured Longbourn. Once again, we start with an establishing shot of the exterior, before moving inside. In this version, according to H. Elisabeth Ellington, “landscape.. .becomes the sign of desire” (90). Certainly, this becomes evident in Elizabeth’s visit, and subsequent reaction, to the grounds at Pemberley. She and Darcy are joined, partially, through their shared love of the outdoors. As Davies has mentioned on a number of occasions, English architecture and landscape become another character in the film, aligning the production with 73 the commodification of the past often associated with heritage productions. Here, we concentrate on the beautiful landscape and any social problems fade into the background. As Fay Weldon (the screenwriter of the 1980 adaptation) states, “experience tells filmmakers you can sell English heritage all over the world, and get your money back” (qtd. in Ellington 94). However, this film is also much more humorous than its BBC predecessor, with the Bennet and Bingley sisters played much more for comic effect. The film, then, becomes reflective of fading conservative values in the wake of Thatcher’s prime-ministry and the election of more liberal leaders in both Britain and the US. This version’s intense popularity proves that it was what audiences wanted at that particular time. In fact, approximately 10.1 million watched the final episode on the BBC, and 3.7 million watched the adaptation in the United States on A&E (Parrill 61). As of 2002, this production had earned 1,620,255 pounds sterling for the BBC and, in 1995 alone, video copies of the series sold 150,000 copies (Parrill 5), to be matched only by the number of copies of the book that were sold after the serial’s release. Membership in the Jane Austen society of North America (JASNA) was also affected by this production, jumping fifty percent in 1996. With its massive success, this miniseries paved the way for, as Lisa Mullen notes, “the megabucks classical adaptation, [whichi has been the definition of profitable flagship programming — gobbling up budgets, sure, but paying out big-time in overseas revenue and global prestige” (qtd. in Margolis 28). 74 4.2 Star Powered Adaptations In adaptation studies, performers are rarely discussed, but we must not forget that, as Robert Stam writes, “in cinema the performer also brings along a kind of baggage, a thespian intertext formed by the totality of antecedent roles. Thus Laurence Olivier brings with him the intertextual memory of his Shakespearian performances” (60). This idea ties into star power, which remains a driving force behind big budget studio films, regardless of whether they are adaptations, or original screenplays. The 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice might easily have been dubbed Keira Knightley ‘s Pride and Prejudice, as opposed to Jane Austen ‘s Pride and Prejudice (the title of the 1980 version). Similarly, although perhaps not to such a widespread extent, Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier, both established stars in their own right, were clearly the main selling points behind the 1940 studio era MGM feature. These versions also seem wrapped up in the idea of escape, of the past as an innocent safe haven where contemporary audiences could escape from the horrors of war. In 1940, a New York Times reviewer described MGM’ s Pride and Prejudice as, “a picture of a charming and mannered little English world which has long since been tucked away in ancient haircloth trunks” (Crowther qtd. in McFarlane 2007a: 5). However, there is a different side to the MGM version. Appearing at the start of the Second World War, it was likely not a coincidence that MGM chose to adapt a British novel, especially one that portrayed Brits as people with a strong and glorious past, and who had the same, day to day, dilemmas as the American people. Mrs. Bennet even briefly mentions the battle of Waterloo, a statement that is absent from the novel, and which reinforces Britain’s strong military history. This film became one, in the words of Linda Troost, “designed to strengthen the British and American alliance at a fragile moment” (76), demonstrating, according to Jennifer Jeffers, “the modern English language need for popular narratives to bind a diverse nation of people” (4). In this 75 particular case, the Americanization of a British text is being used to bind two diverse nations, and to create a sense of allegiance between them. In fact, the term Heritage was actually coined with regard to a number of films in the late 1930s and early 1940s (of which Pride and Prejudice is clearly one) that drew from aspects of English national heritage in an attempt to rally support for Britain’s War effort (Jeffers 45). MGM’s Pride and Prejudice was certainly not an anomaly for the studio era. According to George Bluestone, in 1935 alone, one third of the feature films produced were adapted from full length novels (3). Classic literature was a safe choice, as these stories easily adhered to the content constraints of the Hollywood Production codes, which were in existence at that time. In general, the industry “showed a strong preference for films derived from novels, films which persistently rated among top quality productions” (Bluestone 3). In the studio era, fidelity criticism was not as prevalent as it is today, so films were still eager to explicitly utilize the cultural cache of the novel in an attempt to legitimize the film. Pride and Prejudice was no exception to this trend. These films, often based on British texts or culture, feature “grand manor houses and idyllic villages that have not been touched by the modem age” (Glancy 3). Certainly, Pride and Prejudice is evocative of this, but it is also evocative of the lightness and frivolity that often accompany studio era comedy films. Even the marketing campaign is in keeping with this playful quality, waming viewers, “bachelors beware! Five gorgeous beauties are on a Madcap Manhunt!” (qtd. in Pan-ill 49). This is not a campaign that we would ever expect to find accompanying a BBC adaptation. Between 1930 and 1945, over 150 British-inspired movies were made in Hollywood (Glancy 1). These films celebrated British culture and history, featured British cast and crew members, and many were even shot in Britain at partner studios.8 MGM British, for example, shot at Denham studios. British actors were established there and then recruited to 76 Hollywood, when the time was right. Greer Garson is a prime example of this practice, which involved taking established foreign actors and putting them in genre films with strong foreign appeal (Glancy 69). MGM, in particular, was known for its British-inspired films in this period. Louis B. Mayer and MGM had been aiming to garner a reputation as a studio associated with prestige products. They were known for their big budget pictures, brought together by top stars and high production values (Margolis 27), and films such as Mutiny on the Bounty (Frank Lloyd 1935) and David Copperfield (George Cukor 1934) are strong examples of this. These types of films were made again and again, with increasingly bigger budgets. This fact alone is a testament to their popularity. This appears to have been a time when Americans were particularly interested in British history and culture, or at least filmic representations of it, and MGM capitalized on this. Pride and Prejudice was a perfect film for the studio, completely in keeping with its desired image as a studio that was, in the words of Harriet Margolis, “proud of making wholesome family entertainment, films in line with conservative (US) Republican values, but entertaining — and commercially successful — nonetheless” (28). The idea behind this production is said to have come about in 1935 when Harpo Marx attended a performance of Helen Jerome’s Pride and Prejudice: A Sentimental Comedy. He thought the play would do well on film and set out to bring it to the screen as a light comedy with Norma Shearer (the wife of producer Irving Thalberg) and Clark Gable in the lead roles (Belton 177). Obviously, the film was always meant to be a star vehicle. However, the project fell apart because of Shearer’s initial hesitations and Thalberg’s subsequent illness and death in September of 1936. The project was shelved until 1939, when it was picked up by Robert Z. Leonard. British actors Laurence Olivier and Greer Garson were signed to the lead roles. When contracts were signed, war had already broken out in Europe (Belton 178). Choosing to hire 77 the highly successful British author Aldous Huxley and MGM’s Jane Murfin (who was known for writing romantic comedies) as co-script writers, was certainly no co-incidence. It, in a sense, created a symbolic union between British and American ideals, in keeping with the project’s goal to rally support for the British War effort. The film itself opens with a title that reads, “It happened in OLD ENGLAND, in the Village of Meryton,” which stresses English heritage and the fairy-tale quality of the story. This line is followed by the cast, who are listed by house, “those living at Netherfield, those living at Longboum,” etc. This opening introduces viewers to the heritage tale that is about to unfold and replaces “it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife” (Austen 51), the famous line that opens the text.9 One cannot ignore that these ‘British’ films were largely economically motivated and, at this time, the American film industry was dependent, according to H. Mark Glancy “upon foreign earnings” (7). These films had to appeal to a wide audience, one that stretched beyond the domestic market. Because of the war, and the language barriers caused by the advent of talking pictures before that, Hollywood had a more limited foreign market available to them. For this reason, making films that would seem to appeal to both American and British audiences was a choice that would allow for maximum exposure, and, one would hope, maximum profitability. The war years, when most of these ‘British’ films were made, actually proved to be an era of exceptional success for the film industry (Glancy 9), as these types of films proved popular in multiple markets. MGM, for example, had foreign earnings of roughly 34% on the majority of its ‘British’ pictures (Glancy 69). This would explain the high budgets that were continually allocated for British costume dramas. This was, however, a time of great change for Hollywood. The hiring of Will Hays (a Midwestern Republican of high standing in the protestant Church) to head the MPPDA was a conscious move to attempt 78 to increase Hollywood’s respectability. By the mid 193 Os, the production code was in full force, and high moral values were constantly stressed. As a result, a novel like Pride and Prejudice, which is nothing if not in keeping with moral conservatism, becomes a perfect choice for adaptation on multiple fronts. The Hays office was also in charge of, according to Glancy, “protecting the industry’s collective interests abroad” (41). What better way to do this than by adapting classic British literature, producing films that were both pro-British and passed the censorship guidelines with flying colors, due to their focus on traditional and archaic aspects of British heritage, aspects that proved appealing to American audiences. Pride and Prejudice was popular in its time; when it opened at Radio City Music Hall in August 1940, it drew the largest audience (during the month of August) that the theatre had ever seen, ultimately earning $1,849,000 (Parrill 56). While it was not one of the largest successes for MGM, the film did well and was rewarded with an Academy Award for costume design at the 1940 ceremony. The film became a symbol for a perfect past. As Ellen Belton notes, “the fact that such a world never existed either in history or in the novels of Jane Austen only adds to the poignancy of the invented memory and to the intensity of an audience’s longing to recover it” (178). Generally, the film was critically praised as well and considered to be in the spirit of the novel, using dialogue, spoken with English accents, that Austen herself might have written, despite fairly significant departures from the story as a whole. These departures could be explained, to a certain extent, by the fact that the film is based on both Helen Jerome’s more comedic stage adaptation, and the original text. As a result of this, and because of the fact that the film was marketed as a studio era comedy, comedic elements are played up. Kitty and Lydia are played more for comedy, drunkenly stumbling around the May Day garden party that replaces the Netherfield Ball. Mrs. Bennet, 79 while always an over the top character, is also heightened in this film, which may, again, have more to do with the acting style of the period. In terms of more significant departures, in this film Elizabeth falls in love with Darcy after her return from Rosings, but her interest begins at the May Day garden party which is, in itself, demonstrative of seemingly delightful British pastimes. As a result, there is no need for her journey to Pemberley and it, along with the Gardiners, is omitted. This also means that viewers do not see an overt example of Darcy’ s wealth, a display that might, according to Belton, “be unpalatable to a 1940 audience” (182), an audience that had just been through the Great Depression. The film is quite fast paced and Elizabeth takes little time to fall in love with Darcy, which is in keeping with the studio era comedies. Obviously, the film is fairly short in comparison to the miniseries, running at just under two hours and elements of the novel, such as this visit to Pemberley, had to be cut in the interest of time. Budget concerns would also have been an issue, as reproducing Pemberley in a studio would have been a daunting task. A less obviously explainable departure is found in Lady Catherine’s final exchange with Elizabeth. In this film, Lady Catherine visits Elizabeth at Longbourn, not in an attempt to dissuade her from marrying Darcy, but, instead, to try to determine her true feelings. Here, she acts on Darcy’s behalf. This change could be attributed to a number of different factors, the most popular theory being that Edna May Oliver (who played Lady Catherine) wanted to remain true to the stern but good hearted characters that audiences had come to expect her to play (Bluestone 142). It also allows for the class barrier between Elizabeth and Darcy, which is created at the opening ball, to be more completely demolished. In this film, the line “I am in no humor to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men” (Austen 59) is replaced with “I am in no humor tonight to give consequence to the middle classes at play,” emphasizing the differences in their standing. Ultimately, Darcy comes to realize that 80 it is his haughty treatment of others that makes him reprehensible. In this respect, Lady Catherine’s final act speaks to the attempts to create a sense of allegiance between America and England. Elizabeth comes to stand in for America, and Darcy for England. In this version, in the end everyone is happy with their union, and any class barriers have been dispelled. Overall, it is a film tied up in ideals associated with the MGM label, stressing family values in a way that the novel really does not. While Elizabeth remains independent, the importance of the family unit is stressed from the opening shot, which has all the girls and Mrs. Bennet shopping together, to the closing shot, which pictures Mrs. Bennet looking out on her girls (who are all with suitable partners) and uttering, “think of it. Three of them married, and the other two just tottering on the brink.” Throughout the film, the family travels in a pack, which we see even from the carriage race early on, a scene which stresses the family as a cohesive unit, while remaining in keeping with the fast-paced excitement of studio era films. Elizabeth is much more protective of her family than she is in the BBC versions, even spoon-feeding her mother after Lydia runs away with Wickham, and defending her family to Miss Bingley at the May Day party. Despite the fact that it is Darcy overhearing Mrs. Bennet bragging about Jane and Bingley’s union that hinders their blossoming romance, this Elizabeth remains very family oriented. This is not a production that is about individual fulfillment; it is about what is good for the family as a whole, and society by association, an idea that is evocative of the concept of unity in a time of war. The allies, then, become a family, banding together for the common good. Elizabeth is less independent than she is in other productions, and independence here is replaced by a certain degree of masculinization. She often wears ties and her mother chooses a blue dress for Lizzie, and a pink one for Jane. These are minimal details, but they do stand 81 out as a way of setting Elizabeth apart from the other members of her family, while still maintaining the more tight-knit family unit. One of the more famous added scenes in this adaptation occurs when Darcy and Elizabeth challenge each other at the archery range, with Elizabeth ultimately bettering Darcy. Interestingly enough, this film would be quoted in the 1996 version of Emma (Douglas McGrath). This is indicative of the way that adaptations are often shaped by other adaptations, as opposed to the text itself. For example, it seems clear that there are echoes of Cohn Firth’s Darcy in Matthew MacFadyen’s 2005 portrayal. The MGM film is also not immune to an allusion to other films, as we can see in the choice of costumes. The full skirts and bonnets are significantly closer to the costumes one finds in the highly successful Gone with the Wind (Victor Fleming 1939). These costumes become distinctly American, further forging the connection between Britain and America, and translating a British source into an American context. This film is, in the words of Jeffers, modeled “on the American public’s viewing tastes.. .replac[ing] cultural ‘foreignness’ with American citations” (13). According to Michael Klein, the women in Pride and Prejudice have more in common with “conventional Midwestern small town daughters and matrons” (10) than the British Aristocracy. This attempt to appeal to both sides is evocative of the British war-time films of studios like MGM, films that, according to Glancy, “found favor on both sides of the Atlantic” (96), as evidenced by their ability to recoup the high production costs. However, after the war, these types of films waned, likely because a strong alliance between America and Britain was no longer necessary, and the return of a larger overseas market meant that Hollywood was no longer entirely dependent on Britain for foreign distribution. The 2005 Pride and Prejudice remains true to the tradition of American financiers producing ‘British’ products. The film was produced by Working Title’0 by way of Focus 82 Features, which is owned by NBC Universal and is an example of a ‘major independent’ film company. In this respect, the film is evocative of the American power over the film industry, potentially leaving, according to Higson, “its British filmmakers with little control over the decision-making process, and may ensure that much of the revenue generated at the box office goes back to the USA” (7). As in the studio era, many of these studios set up production in the UK because of the clear cost advantages. According to Neil Watson, shooting in the UK “is up to thirty percent cheaper than the US” (81). These savings are further increased by various tax write-offs, which act as major incentives. Certainly, American backers profited from the widespread success of 2005’s Pride and Prejudice, and it is an example of what Tino Balio describes as, “expanding horizontally to tap emerging markets worldwide, by expanding vertically to form alliances with independent producers to enlarge their rosters, and by partnering with foreign investors to secure new sources of funding. English costume dramas is just one small strand to such developments in media economy” (qtd in Higson 88). While it seems like a contradiction in terms, Hollywood has now commercialized the independent sector and all of the major studios now own offshoots responsible for independent ‘quality’ productions. Heritage films are almost always released under these independent subsidiaries, perhaps in an attempt to appeal to those rebelling against big budget studio pictures. These films straddle the line between commercial and independent cinema, at once being financed by large studios, but appealing to the seemingly independently minded. The film is certainly reflective of so-called ‘quality’ drama, and it was treated as such by critics, earning award nominations from a variety of different sources, including four Academy Award nominations for: Best Actress (for Knightley), Best Costume, Best Original Score and Best Art Direction. Director Joe Wright, who began his career in British television 83 drama, took home a BAFTA award for Most Promising Newcomer. The film was also nominated for two Teen Choice Awards for Choice Drama and Choice Actress (Knightley). Award nominations tend to indicate which groups of people value a certain film. So, while these Teen Choice nominations may seem to pale in comparison to Oscar nods, they do draw attention to the younger audience to which Wright’s film was marketed, which explains some of the alterations made to Austen’s novel. After all, period adaptations of classic literature rarely, if ever, show up on the radar of the Teen Choice Awards. The fact that this one does, is significant. In terms of cuts, the film compresses Elizabeth’s visit to Rosings and Hunsford Parsonage, as well as Pemberley. Lydia’s elopement is also dealt with in a very short period of time. In the interest of time, minor characters like Maria Lucas, Louisa Hurst, Mr. Hurst, and Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, among others, are eliminated altogether. The film also alters several scenes to contribute to its image as a romantic love story. As a result, the rather ordinary interior location of Darcy’s first proposal (which takes place inside Hunsford Parsonage) becomes an epic outdoor scene amidst a torrential downpour. Similarly, his final proposal takes place at daybreak on a misty moor, with Darcy emerging out of the shadows, which is certainly more epically romantic than the setting of the country path in mid- afternoon that one encounters in the novel. Darcy is pictured quite alone here, in harmony with nature, connecting him to the romantic hero who, according to Sarah Ailwood, is “solitary and socially detached” (1), and who “seeks self-fulfillment in nature” (1). Significantly, when we first see Darcy at Rosings, he is shot looking out the window next to a bird in a cage (Ailwood 2), emphasizing the fact that he is trapped, and indicating his preference for the outdoors, which further stresses his position as a romantic hero. Perhaps the most significant example of romanticism occurs at the end of the film, where viewers 84 watch an intimate moment between Darcy and Lizzie while they sit on the terrace at Pemberley. Here, he refers to Lizzie as Mrs. Darcy over and over, which is what he promises to call her whenever he is filled with happiness. Like the 1995 series, the final moment of the film is a freeze frame shot as the two kiss. While the shots may be similar, the effect is different, as this final shot is far more steeped in romanticism as a result of the scene that precedes it. It becomes almost like something out of a teen romance. Interestingly enough, this scene was reserved for American audiences only. It was removed from the British version after test audiences found it to be too sentimental. The theatrical British version, then, ends with Mr. Bennet saying, “let them come in, for I am quite at leisure,” which undercuts the romantic plot as a whole and leaves the final emphasis on the business-side of marriage. The film opens with a shot of the misty English countryside as the sun rises and, as a result, the romanticism of the film is firmly established from the outset. The camera then begins to track, somewhat expectedly, with Knightley, who is reading as she walks home to Longbourn, dressed in fashions from 1797, the period when Austen first drafted the story. Here, as in most of the film, Elizabeth is dressed in earth tones, signifying her connection with nature and indicating that she is somewhat wild and unpredictable, very much a character in her youth. Tracking shots lead us into a feminine space, the messy, but once grand, Longbourn. This is not the Longbourn of the heritage adaptations, or of the MGM version. This Longbourn, like that of Bride and Prefudice, is messy and unkempt, and it is obviously a farm. Geese and pigs wander around outside (and inside as well, on occasion), workers tend to fields, hay is gathered, laundry hangs to dry; this is a realist take on the time period. These are certainly not sights that one would expect to find in the earlier BBC adaptations, which sought to glorify the past as a time of perfection for Britain. There is nothing glorious about the realities of life on a farm. Only after the family and the interior is 85 established does the camera pull back to reveal the exterior of the house, drawing attention to the way heritage films portray landscape and architecture, by doing just the opposite. Here, we work from the inside out, not the outside in. This is a grittier, although not entirely less attractive, version, and the Bennets’ more rural Longboum makes Pemberley seem all the more grand. The wealth of the Bennets’ is significantly downplayed when we compare it to the 1995 and the 1980 versions (and even to the novel), allowing the relationship between Darcy and Elizabeth to take on Cinderella-like, fairytale proportions. Like the 1995 version, the film concentrates on the sexual attraction between Darcy and Elizabeth, but it does so within a realist aesthetic, while still managing to remain true to the beautiful landscapes and grand houses of the heritage adaptations. The portrayal of this sexual attraction also shifts slightly. While the 1995 series concentrated on Darcy, this version concentrates on Elizabeth. This makes sense in light of Knightley’ s star status and her ability to draw in a younger audience, which is what the film attempts to do. In this respect, according to Carol M. Dole, the film takes on elements of the teen reworking that one encounters in Baz Lulirmann’s 1996 production, Romeo + Juliet (2007: 1). The title says it all, just as Romeo and Juliet becomes Romeo + Juliet, so too does Pride and Prejudice become Pride & Prejudice. It is a slight modification, to be sure, but it does indicate a shift, and a departure from the original. While this version is not modernized, and it does remain connected to heritage, there is also the sense that it is trying to be a ‘young and hip’ rendition of the tale. Why else would the film’s advertizing campaign have used the fact that it was brought to us “by the producers of Bridget Jones’s Diary” (qtd. in Dole 2007; 1), before even mentioning Austen? Choosing Joe Wright to direct was clearly another attempt to create a younger version of the text. Wright was just thirty-two at the time of filming, and his previous work (of which there was little) was in contemporary British TV drama. With 86 regard to Pride & Prejudice, Wright is quoted as saying, that he “wanted to make it real and gritty and be as honest as possible” (qtd. in Dole 2007; 1). While the film does have realistic elements, it is still a romance, and one often imbued with elements borrowed from the teen genre. At the assembly ball, for example, Elizabeth overhears Darcy’s slight against her because she and Charlotte are hiding under a bleacher-like structure, reminiscent of something out of a John Hughes film, a fact that Wright himself acknowledges on the DVD commentary. There is also more of a sense of immaturity in Bingley, something that connects him to the buddy character of the teen film, the sidekick of the more confident and mysterious Darcy. Like the modern-day Bingley of Pride and Prejudice: A Latter Day Comedy (a film clearly marketed to a younger audience), this Bingley is slightly more simple and bumbling, not altogether confident in his pursuit of Jane. Even in the final moments, Bingley is awkward, needing Darcy to help him practice his proposal speech as they are pictured against the beautiful British landscape. This scene emphasizes both their friendship, and the grandeur of the countryside. It is just one of many instances of, in the words of Dole, “youth oriented filmmaking techniques, balanced with the visual pleasures of the heritage film” (2007: 1). The large budget, according to Jessica Durgan, allowed Wright to “interpret the novel more broadly and place greater emphasis on the grand romantic scope of the story” (1). Elizabeth’s sexual awakening is also in keeping with the idea of youth. Unlike, for example, Jennifer Ehie’ s mature womanly Elizabeth of the 1995 version, or Greer Garson’ s, for that matter, Knightley’s Elizabeth is still very much a girl, and the story centers on her growth and maturation. Even from the opening, Elizabeth laughs with her sisters and joins them in listening in on her parents. She mocks them slightly, but she is still affectionate and very much a part of this world, lacking the decorum of maturity in a way that Jennifer Ehie’s 87 Elizabeth simply does not. This Elizabeth is often giggling, as we witness when she first sees Darcy at the Netherfield Ball, and later, when she catches a glimpse of Pemberley in the distance. There is an innocence about her and she is not yet sure of how to conduct herself. Knightley is, in fact, the first actress to actually be the correct age to play Elizabeth Bennet. Interestingly enough, in this version, instead of telling Lady Catherine her age (twenty, in Austen’s novel), she skirts around the issue and, throughout the film, she seems much younger. This is likely done in an attempt to have her character resonate with a younger audience. Here, we are given an almost teenage Elizabeth, who shouts at her parents, saying, “for once in your life, leave me alone,” as she struggles in her move toward independence. She is, quite literally, a younger Elizabeth and, as Catherine Stewart-Beer notes, she “has an air of contemporary tomboy about her” (2). She is often dressed in a more male manner, occasionally seen wearing a vest and collared shirt that is evocative of Greer Garson’s more masculine clothed Elizabeth. As in the 1940 production, this costume choice is used as a way of setting Elizabeth apart from the rest of the family without losing a sense of faming unity. There is a focus, in this version, on the anxieties connected with moving from childhood to adulthood. As Catherine Stewart-Beer comments, “perhaps this anxiety is reflective of the times we live in — undoubtedly a circumspect, uncertain era, when compared to the past securities and smugness of the optimistic mid-1990s” (2). Ultimately, this Elizabeth does come of age, coming to terms with adulthood and all that it entails. Here, touch awakens feelings that Elizabeth was initially not aware of. When Lizzie returns to Longbourn after Jane’s illness, the camera takes a close up shot of both her, and Darcy’s, hands as he helps her into the carriage. The camera then cuts to a close up of Elizabeth, visibly shaken. This is the first moment of Lizzie’s coming of age, awakening to her sexuality, in a reverse of the 1995 series. This is culminated in her trip to Pemberley. In this 88 version, when Elizabeth sees Darcy’ s statue (the change from painting to statue, makes it all the more tangible) she is finally able to realize her attraction to Darcy, and to understand it. She later misinterprets a hug between Darcy and Georgiana and becomes jealous at the thought of Darcy with someone else. This adaptation, then, is about Elizabeth coming to terms with her desire for Darcy, as opposed to Darcy dealing with his desire for Elizabeth, which we encountered in the 1995 series. It is also significant that the film begins and ends in sunrise, showcasing the circle of her growth, from childhood to adulthood. In keeping with the fact that this is Elizabeth’s tale, we often witness shots from her point of view, or close ups of her looking, which she is almost always doing. The sweeping tracking shots of the opening sequence align us with Elizabeth’s perspective and attempt to replace the novel’s prose, but they also distance us from the more static camera of the heritage adaptations. While the viewer of the heritage film looks at a distance, in this film, the viewer becomes a more active participant in the film. Joyce Goggin links this investigative perspective to the contemporary video game, where viewers are provided “with the kinesthetic illusion that they have entered a projected space and may explore and participate in this technologically mediated space” (4). Wright himself states that he “wanted a 360-degree world, where you could look around any corner.. .you’re then able to go in and out of doors and in and out of windows and really see and feel the environment for a full 360- degrees rather than something very static and stage-bound” (qtd. in Goggin 4), which we find in heritage adaptations. This connection to the world of gaming is just another indication that this film is targeted at a younger demographic, one that would see the video game perspective as the norm. Cinematography also functions as a way of speaking the narrative. For example, we watch the servants cover furniture at Netherfield and know that Bingley is gone without 89 having to be told explicitly. In this version, the camera is often moving, peaking around corners and into rooms in a behind-the-scenes style that stands in opposition to the surface of the 1995 and 1980 series. Heritage adaptations are almost photographic in their cinematography, allowing the subject to present itself with minimal distraction by using long takes and deep focus. Here, however, the camera rarely stops moving, depth perception shifts, and things are always coming in and out of focus. This is reflective of Elizabeth herself, and the alteration between her seeing things clearly and unclearly. When Lizzie discovers that Darcy is responsible for ending the relationship between Bingley and Jane, the shot focuses on Lizzie, and Darcy goes out of focus, re-enforcing Elizabeth’s statement that she never wishes to see him again and indicating that she is shutting him out. According to Jessica Durgan, this more creative shooting style allows the film to distance itself from heritage adaptations, “gain its edge, and appeal to a younger and wider audience” (4). The camera does look, there is no denying this, but, for example, in the opening sequence, it focuses on the mess, rather than the grandeur of the Bennet’s possessions. One would certainly find no messy quarters or scattered bonnets in the heritage adaptations. Later in the film, there is also a sequence where the camera spins about Elizabeth while she is on a swing. From her perspective we see the passing of time, and the changing of the seasons, as the camera continues to spin. This is reflective of Elizabeth’s position on the swing, an act which, in the words of Durgan, “rejects the static pictorialism of the heritage genre and calls attention to the technical aspects of flimmaking” (5). Here, the art of filmmaking is tied to the art of painting and Wright often sets up shots that echo Vermeer’s paintings. The opening scene with Mary at the piano forte is a prime example, and one which calls to mind 1662’s, The Music Lesson. These shots emphasize female domesticity, while heightening the artistic merit of the cinematography. 90 On the other hand, the film does continue to romanticize the landscape of England and romanticism is certainly a large part of the production. It is, more often than not, landscape that is the focus, as opposed to the heritage productions which tend to focus on architecture. Cinematography remains of the utmost importance, but it is about showcasing landscape and intimacy of space, though it does still often reflect the ‘glory of England’ aesthetic of the heritage films. The very opening of the film, with sunlight slowly filling a misty moor, is deeply embedded in the romantic tradition. This is just one of many scenes that make use of dusk, or dawn, allowing the camera to showcase the beauty of light hitting buildings, or crossing landscapes, but also seeming to be reflective of Elizabeth’s growth and her movement from youth to enlightenment, from darkness to light. In the final moments, Darcy and Elizabeth embrace as the sun comes up between them and they are bathed in light together, indicating that the transformation is complete. The inclusion of scenes of Elizabeth on a cliff, looking out as her dress billows in the wind, and of Darcy, emerging from the mist on the moors, clearly employ the romantic tradition, emphasizing the sheer beauty of the landscape. Another example of this occurs as Lizzie walks to Netherfield to see Jane. She is pictured in an extreme long-shot, walking across the frame against a cloudy sky, with only a lone tree occupying the background. When Elizabeth arrives at Netherfield she is disheveled and muddy, with her hair loose and tangled from the walk. She looks wild, connected with nature in the same way that the romantic hero is. The use of overt romanticism and idealism gives the film an escapist feel, aligning it with the 1940 version, both of which emphasize the importance of unity in a time of war, and provide the means of escape from the harsh realities of the contemporary world. In the end, Durgan asserts that Working Title’s cool new exports “really just reflect old, conservative ideologies, updated and repackaged to attract a new 91 generation” (8). It is true that the status quo is not ultimately challenged in Austen’s text, so it is unsurprising that the film ultimately reinforces a fantasy that is somewhat conservative. Like the MGM version, the film was made during a time of war, providing a means of escape to a seemingly simpler place, which might be necessary at such a time. The film remains true to the relationships between the characters, and in the same way that the 1940 version focused on the importance of family, so, too, does this adaptation. Lizzie and Jane bond under the covers and Lizzie laughs and plays with her sisters. Everything is done to convey the fact that she is part of a unit, not a complete individual. As is the case in Chadha’s Bride and Prejudice, Mr. Bennet is softer and less abrasive than Austen’s Mr. Bennet, or the Mr. Bennet that we encounter in both the BBC miniseries. He is often shown tending to plants, illustrating the fact that he, like Elizabeth, is close to nature, although his is a more contained nature that comes with the maturity of age. As Barbara K. Seeber notes, these productions “downplay his parental shortcomings. ..and these changes to Austen’s text produce a family which serves as an image of the nation: united, affectionate, and headed by a benevolent and wise father figure” (1). This sense of family unity is in keeping with the emphasis on togetherness during the ‘war on terror,’ a togetherness that is well illustrated by Britain’s support of America, and subsequent entry into the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, as a gesture of unity. The scene of the military parade, a scene that does not exist in any of the other adaptations, is also in keeping with this theme, drawing attention to the heroism of the troops, a telling message in a time of war. In accordance with the idea of family unity, here, Donald Sutherland, who is no stranger to playing the sympathetic father, as his role in Ordinary People (Robert Redford 1980) would indicate, creates a Mr. Bennet who loves his wife and his family. Added scenes show him lovingly embracing Mrs. Bennet as the camera peers through windows to 92 voyeuristically reveal them in bed together (significantly, with two lovebirds in a cage by their window), or comforting Mary after he asks her to stop playing at the Netherfield ball, scenes that are decidedly absent from the novel. Even in the final moments of the film, we are presented with an altogether different Mr. Bennet. When he discovers that Mr. Darcy is responsible for the marriage between Wickham and Lydia, he says, “my God, I must pay him back.” This is in stark opposition to the Mr. Bennet of the novel who delights at the thought of not having to pay Darcy back, saying, “it will save me a world of trouble and economy. Had it been your uncle’s doing, I must and would have paid him; but these violent young lovers carry everything their own way. I shall offer to pay him tomorrow; he will rant and storm about his love for you, and there will be an end of the matter” (Austen 385). Mr. Bennet is changed, so that a close-knit family dynamic can be privileged. The film also softens its portrayal of Mrs. Bennet. Certainly, she is still meddling, but she becomes significantly less abrasive and she and Mr. Bennet are presented, for the most part, as a unit, as opposed to, in the words of Seeber, “drawing attention to the separation between them by making Mrs. Bennet the butt ofjokes” (3). In the novel, Mr. Bennet marries Mrs. Bennet because he is “captivated by youth and beauty” (Austen 236), an affection that faded when he discovered his wife’s inadequacies of intellect. Here, he is anything but unaffectionate with his wife. This is a family that has come together and there is no sense that Elizabeth is ever ashamed of them as she is in the 1995 series (at the Netherfield Ball, for example), partly, because she has less reason to be. Mrs. Bennet is not consciously bragging about Jane’s marriage at the ball, as she is in earlier versions. Instead, it is presented as a slip of the tongue after having too much to drink, a fact that is re-enforced by her being visibly hung-over in the next scene.’2 Even Mr. Collins becomes his most sympathetic, as one cannot help but feel sorry for him as he awkwardly stands alone at the Netherfield ball. 93 Significantly, the speech wherein he tells Mrs. Bennet that, in light of the situation with Wickham, Lydia would be better off dead, is removed completely. Instead, in this moment, the importance of family is once again stressed as the viewer only sees the remaining girls comforting Mrs. Bennet. This Elizabeth is much more accepting of her family, but her family is also portrayed as a much more closely knit group. Gone is the individualism that dominated the BBC adaptations. Here, we are presented with a film designed to showcase Keira Knightley and, as a result, the production is more heavily skewed towards Elizabeth and changes between the 1995 and 2005 versions emphasize the shift from a story about Darcy, to one about Elizabeth. Because of Knightley’ s star status in both the US and the UK, there is no doubt that the decision to cast her was, at least partly, economically motivated, as Knightley has proven that she can fill theatres. Even in the poster, Knightley is prominent in the foreground, while Darcy remains somewhat blurry in the background. The DVD cover for the 1995 series features Darcy in the foreground, with Elizabeth and Jane seated behind him. In Wright’s film, Elizabeth controls the camera, not Darcy, in large part because Knightley is a star and Macfadyen is largely unknown. This is a Keira Knightley film, and while I’d guess that most people asked could tell you that she’d starred in this adaptation, you’d likely be hard-pressed to find those who could name the director and screenwriter (Joe Wright and Deborah Moggach respectively). She becomes the ‘brand name’ associated with the film. Certainly, as Peter Brooker states, “average flim-goers probably take more notice of a film’s star than of its director. Stars or actors are, after all, visible on screen for approximately two hours, whereas the director merely fronts or ends the credits” (107). Because Knightley is the driving force behind this production it becomes geared to a slightly younger audience, one who may not be familiar with the 1995 version. Since the 1995 version had such a large 94 following of fans who believed that it would be sacrilege to try and improve upon it, attempting to appeal to a different demographic seems to be a wise choice. However, these viewers will likely be less familiar with the novel and, as a result, “Austen’ s verbal satire vanishes, to be replaced by jokey or naughty one-liners from the mouths of comic or minor characters” (Troost 87). I do not mean for this observation to be a damning one, for the film is still very clearly Pride and Prejudice; it is simply a different Pride and Prejudice, for a different audience, at a different time. The film is also representative of the Americanization of a British text that was so predominant in the MGM version. As Higson states, one way in which “heritage films are tailored for American audiences is by inserting ‘America’ into the films themselves” (143). In this case, the presence of American actress Jena Malone, known for her roles in films like Stepmom (Chris Columbus 1998), as well as more independent fair like the cult favorite, Donnie Darko (Richard Kelly 2001), yields a distinctly American presence. Donald Sutherland in the role of Mr. Bennet is another non-British connection. While he was born in Canada, he is an actor who has gained an overwhelmingly large presence in Hollywood over the course of more than fifty years in the industry. Keira Knightly also fits into this category to a certain extent. She was born in the UK and got her start there, but has since achieved fame in Hollywood with films like Pirates of the Caribbean (Gore Verbinksi 2003), making her a household name in both the US and the UK. So, the film remains British, but there is an underlying American presence. Moving beyond the film as a star vehicle, it is important to see it as a product of its time. While it is challenging to examine something so contemporary, the fact that the film is nostalgic should come as no surprise. Like the MGM production, this film was produced at a time of war. Because this is predominantly America’s war, the desire to create allegiance 95 between Britain and America, that was so present in the MGM version, is less of a focus. This version is much more centered on a sense of escapism, likely forged in “the context of present fears, discontents, anxieties or uncertainties” (Jeffers 43). Yet, the film remains economically driven. In this case, British roots are transformed by non-British funding, and success is measured by performance within the American commercial market. 96 4.3 Contemporary Adaptations When looking at contemporary adaptations, we move away from the setting of the English countryside (where all the other adaptations are set). However, this shift only proves that “Englishness does not crumble, it migrates” (Voigts-Virchow 130). While Bride and Prejudice (Gurinder Chadha 2004) and Pride and Prejudice: A Latter Day Comedy (Andrew Black 2003) appear to move away from the heritage films, there are still connections to be made. Both films are startlingly different, but both are evocative of John Wiltshire’s discussion of the modification of an original text. For Wiltshire, “the end result will not be imitation or mimicking of the original, but a new independent work of art that can stand in comparison, which perhaps prompts in readers a sense of deep similitude or affinity, but which rarely resembles the original in any obvious way” (70). Bride and Prejudice can be placed within the small scale trend of blending Bollywood and Heritage, of which Mira Nair’s Vanity Fair (2004) is another prime example, while Pride and Prejudice: Latter Day Comedy blends Mormon filmmaking with the ‘chick-lit’ genre. These films both come out of cultures that value the demure, so the more conservative aspects of Austen’s work would undoubtedly be appealing. There is nothing racy about her novels, and even Charlotte Bronte stated that “passions are perfectly unknown to her” (qtd. in Jones 191). While the 1995 version clearly disagrees with this idea, constantly stressing the sexual tension between Elizabeth and Darcy, it is still fairly conservative in terms of actual physical intimacy and this is something that works within the more traditionalist value system contained in both Bollywood and Mormon films. In fact, the films even share similar taglines, emphasizing that Elizabeth and Darcy are a perfect match, albeit in different ways. Andrew Black’s version is a simple and direct, “love has met its match,” while Chadha’s film says, “Bollywood meets Hollywood and it’s a perfect match,” emphasizing the cross cultural 97 nature of the romance. Both stress the significance of marriage, which is of the utmost importance, both in Bollywood films, and in the Mormon Church. In these taglines, it is the endpoint that is the focus, not the journey. These stand in opposition to the more somber and romanticized tagline of Wright’s version which reads, “sometimes the last person on earth you want to be with, is the one person you can’t be without,” actually stressing the fact that Darcy and Lizzie are, seemingly anyway, an inappropriate match. Bollywood is an adaptive vehicle, adapting everything from Madame Bovary to the Godfather, and creating an industry that produces an average of 400 films a year for a weekly audience of 35 million (Nayar 73). Like the world of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, Bollywood films offer their audiences perfect stories in which all conflicts are resolved, leaving only a fairy-tale worthy happily ever after. They, like the heritage films, are also often concerned with tradition and the past. While Bollywood seems like a departure from the other films, Gurinder Chadha’s Bollywood inspired Bride and Prejudice (2004) has a place in my argument, as it is a production that is financially connected to the US and the UK, and is artistically connected to its own cultural milieu. The film was financed by UK and US backers (including the UK film council) and it is representative of the western ‘trendification’ of eastern culture which emerged in the film industry in the early 2000s.’3 The pairing of a distinctly British novel with a specific style of Indian flimmaking is interesting, as it is representative of the global nature of flimmaking culture and indicative of the way that different cultures can be blended. This film takes place across a global stage and was, in fact, filmed in both English and Hindi.’4 The action is not confined to Netherfield, Longbourn and Pemberley, but to Amritsar, London and Los Angeles. The Bennets become the Bakshis, living in a city that was once colonized by the British. The film plays with the idea of a global culture, and the global film discourse that began to find importance in the 98 ‘new millennium.’ This becomes apparent in Lalita (Elizabeth) and Darcy’s relationship. Here, the conflict between the two is largely cultural, but the more economic elements of Austen’ s text remain as the Bakshis (like the Bennets) are a family of some importance, who have suffered economically. The film opens with the Bakshis’ ‘Longbourn,’ which is falling into disrepair, but was obviously once glorious. While she and her sisters15 prepare for the wedding that stands in for the assembly ball, Lalita is given Austen’s famous opening line, saying, “all mothers think that every single guy with big bucks must be shopping for a wife.” From the wedding at the very beginning of the film, the song and dance numbers of Bollywood cinema are emphasized. The film is clearly a hybrid, blending Bollywood spectacle with the conservative ideals of Austen’s regency England. However, these two ideals are not as diametrically opposed as one might imagine. The film, then, becomes connected to Edward Said’s theory of Orientalism, and also to the ‘trendification’ of the west, or, as Ananda Mitra puts it, “the browning of the west” (14). The film was made at a time when Indian culture was extremely popular and is reflective of the romanticization of the ‘other’ that is a staple of Orientalism. More specifically, the film becomes reflective of Bollywood’ s western popularity, as, according to Ruth La Ferla, many are now “embracing Bollywood style, which they might once have dismissed as kitsch” (2). La Ferla also cites the opening of Andrew Lloyd Webber’ s musical, Bombay Dreams, and M.A.C. cosmetics line of Bollywood inspired make-up, as other indications of contemporary eastern popularity (2). One might also look to the popularity of pashmina scarves and henna tattoos, among other things, as examples of the prominence of elements of the east, in western culture. This trend has not lessened since the film’s release in 2004, and Bollywood stars have become more recognizable forces in the west, many even taking part in a tour of Canadian cities this summer, where tickets sold for as much as $1000. 99 In the same way that British talent was coveted by Hollywood during the studio era, so, too, are Bollywood filmmakers and actors becoming desirable international commodities. In March 2006, Newsweek’s cover read “India Rising” and a June 2006 issue of Time carried the cover “India Inc.” Both magazines devoted a significant amount of space to stories that dealt with the popularity of Indian culture and the economic growth of India as a country (Malik 98). Just this year, the popular American show, So you Think you Can Dance, featured multiple Bollywood dance numbers for the first time, and even Canadian-born Mike Myers has recently expressed a desire to be a part of a Bollywood film (Warner 1). As Adrian M. Athique observes, “Bollywood is a trend that is taking over the whole world” (304). This is certainly not the first time that depictions of India have been popular. During the 1 980s, when heritage films flourished, there was also, in the words of Hill, a “Raj revival” (99), perhaps inspired by the Merchant-Ivory productions that began to be made in the early 60s.’6 This was in keeping with the idea of depicting Britain as a country that once ruled over a great and powerful empire, of which India was a part. In these films, such as A Passage to India (David Lean 1984), there is an emphasis on visual display and the romanticized beauty of India. This remains the case in Bride and Prejudice; however, this version is a blending of three different cultures and it is evocative of the more global discourse that surrounds filmmaking. While foreign films always found some screen time in America, there is more and more hybridity and cultural blending that occurs in contemporary films, producing products that are suitable for distribution in multiple markets. In fact, in 2002, the British Film Institute organized ImagineAsia, which showcased Bollywood films as part of an Indian summer festival that took place throughout the nation (Athique 301). A similar film festival is taking place within Bride and Prejudice when Lucky and Wickham 100 run off together. Darcy and Lalita discover them in the theatre and, as the characters on screen fight, so, too do Wickham and Darcy. Interestingly enough, the film that is playing in the background is Purab Aur Pachhim (Manoj Kumar 1970), which translates as East and West, an interesting commentary on the cultural divide that shapes the film. Certainly, this Bollywood film festival does not seem out of place in contemporary Britain. In fact, the official British travel website even has a section that it devotes to “Bollywood Britain,”7complete with a guide to the UK locations used in Bollywood films, which is similar to another guide on the site that is devoted to the locations used in heritage films. Like the heritage films of the 1980s and 90s, these Bollywood inspired festivals and attractions were designed to, in the words of Athique, promote “the consumption of Indian cultural products by the United Kingdom’s majority white population (301),” and, in doing do, they became another example of the trendification of the east. Here multiculturalism translates to capitalism. Bride and Prejudice, then, seemed like a perfect way to capitalize on both the popularity of Austen and heritage and the popularity of, and fascination with, all things Indian. According to Angelique Melitta McHodgkins, “heritage films have become the new carriers of Englishness, and thus bring within them the continuance of England’s imperialist mission, selling a glorified history of England from a period when England’s empire was at its height and strength” (3). Bride and Prejudice mixes the heritage project with Bollywood, in an attempt to produce a film that is neither wholly one thing, nor the other. The film stars the so-called ‘Queen of Bollywood,’ Aishwarya Ray, in her first English speaking role and it also uses the dance numbers of the Bollywood tradition; yet, it remains, quite clearly, Pride and Prejudice. According to Chadha, she was “only interested in making a Bollywood-style Hindi movie that somehow interacted wholeheartedly with another cultural tradition, in this 101 case it was English literary tradition” (qtd. in McHodgkins 20). Chadha herself occupies these two worlds, as a woman of Punjabi decent who grew up in Southhall, a suburb of London. The film was marketed as “Hollywood’s first major attempt at integrating the essence of Bollywood into a feature film” (McHodgkins 22) and, in many ways, according to McHodgkins, “Bride and Prejudice successfully forces Western audiences to recognize that another film tradition exists and is independent of Hollywood” (49). It is significant that Chadha chose to place the Bakshi’s home in Amritsar, rather than somewhere more recognizable for western audiences, like Mumbai. Those who are familiar with Indian history will surely know Arnritsar as the site of the 1919 Jallianwala Bagh Massacre, where, on April 13th, three hundred and seventy nine peaceful demonstrators were killed, and another twelve hundred were wounded. This occurred when British Indian Army officer Reginald Dyer commanded his troops to open fire on a group of unarmed civilians. More than twenty years later, in an attempt to avenge this wrong, Udham Singh assassinated Michael O’Dwyer, (who had been the Lieutenant Governor of the Punjab during the massacre) whom he deemed to be largely responsible. While this may seem like a digression, it is interesting that it finds a place in Chadha’ s film, as a way of implicating Britain, in its role in India’s troubled past. The Bakshis, after all, live on Udham Singh Road. This, then, becomes a Pride and Prejudice that is not about class, but about culture. Initially, Darcy and his mother Catherine (who is this film’s embodiment of Lady Catherine de Bourgh), see India as a commodity and, in this respect, as McHodgkins points out, they align themselves with “the colonial occupiers of nineteenth and twentieth-century India” (23), occupiers that do not understand, or care to learn about, the traditions of India. In Darcy’ s case, this is more about ignorance than anything else, but Catherine remains 102 unconvinced, seeing no reason to visit the real India, since America now has all the Indian things she needs. Instead, from the comfort of her Beverley Hills hotel,18 Catherine states that chai lattes and Deepak Chopra are as much India as she wants, or needs. Darcy is ultimately shown the virtues of India, but he, too, is initially prejudiced, saying that he “[doesn’t] know how business functions [there],” which is indicative of his inability to see beyond his own familiar business practices. It is Darcy’s refusal to be open to new experiences that initially frustrates Lalita. Similarly, it is British Wickham’ s knowledge of India that attracts her to him. He is eager to learn and has a vast knowledge of the history of Amritsar, and Indian culture. Interestingly enough, when Lalita dreams about Wickham, the dream takes place in the English countryside, complete with a maypole in the background. She is also dressed in period costume, in an overt reference to Austen’s time, and the heritage adaptations that preceded this film. By the end of the film, Darcy has embraced Indian culture, and is pictured playing a traditional drum before he and Lalita are married. Throughout the film, characters are painted in a poor light by their rejection of India. In the novel, Lady Catherine is a social snob and Caroline Bingley and Mr. Collins are both social climbers, longing for a place in the upper class world. In Chadha’s tale, Caroline and Mr. Collins (who becomes Mr. Kohli) are made unpleasant or ridiculous, as the case may be, by their denial of their cultural heritage, in favor of something else. Caroline sees India as dirty and valueless, preferring her stately, heritage-worthy, British home. When they visit Goa, she is pictured wearing a Burberry bathing suit and visor, which both portray her as ridiculous, and emphasizes her preference for British material goods. Kohli, on the other hand, chooses America, where he thinks anything is possible. When Kohli arrives at the Bakshi’s house, the daughters are lined up, as they are in the heritage adaptations, before they sit down to dinner. Here, instead of preaching morality, Kohli (who owns three Subway 103 franchises) preaches the value of America, where he believes anyone can succeed. Later, when he asks Lalita to dance, he prefaces it by saying, “I prefer American hip-hop, but, in the words of Gloria Estefan, the rhythm is going to get you.” At one point Kohli even says, “these Indians, they don’t know how to treat tourists,” to which Lalita responds, “these Indians? Are you not Indian anymore?” Kohli is made ridiculous by his rejection of his own heritage, in favor of an American one. Both Kohli and Caroline deny their roots and adopt other cultures, which is a large part of what vilifies them in the eyes of this adaptation, echoing their behavior in the novel but twisting it slightly in order to create a new context. In North America and Britain, Bride and Prejudice was generally well received for an independent film, earning $24 million worldwide’9and receiving two British Independent Film Award nominations, for achievement in costumes, and production. As in other adaptations of the text, in this Bollywood-inspired adaptation, place remains a motivator for the plot, but it is a different place. Not any less romanticized, but different all the same. In Orientalist texts, place becomes as important as character, used as a way of illustrating the ‘otherness.’ I would argue that heritage adaptations of Pride and Prejudice function in the same way, using the local of Austen’ s England as a character itself. Pride and Prejudice, then, is a text well versed in representing ‘otherness’ or, at the very least, alternative histories, on screen. Here, instead of the enigma of Pemberley, viewers are presented with “the enigma that India represents” (Mitra 60). There remains a fascination with the other and, in the words of John Hill, “an interest in the clash of cultures and the possibility of overcoming social and cultural barriers” (103). For Said, Orientalism is about Western domination over ‘the other,’ allowing the westerner to have a relationship with the East, without losing “the relative upper hand” (Said 7). However, while I agree that this applies to many films that portray India, I’m not sure that 104 it is the case with Bride and Prejudice, a film that was made by a director of Indian decent, and one that features an Indian woman in the leading role. While Darcy’ s perspective is clearly important, Elizabeth is ultimately who the audience is aligned with, as it is her perspective that we see. Darcy sees India as an uncivilized, old fashioned country and Lalita thinks that Darcy could never understand her country, or her culture, and that he is only there to profit from it. The East is not portrayed as “a site of eroticism, decadence and sexual gratification” (Hill 105), as it often was in previous texts. Instead, Chada is attempting to use the popularity of Indian culture in the late 1 990s, and early 2000s, as a way of making a film that attempts to break down stereotypes about India and its people. Certainly, not all critics felt this way, and for many, in the words of Adrian M. Athique, it is “all about authenticity: that the real experience of Indian cinema can only be accessed by those who are steeped in its cultural context and its history” (299), and not by those who are only able to catch a glimpse of it for two hours at a time. Regardless, the film industry (in both Bollywood, and Hollywood) remains economically motivated and the Indian film industry is making more efforts to sell itself globally, while Hollywood attempts to capitalize on Eastern popularity. By using Pride and Prejudice, a classical British text, and placing it in a Bollywood context (that also uses both English and American spaces), the film begins to occupy a transnational space, evocative of a growing global film discourse. Anything that might inhibit international harmony, on a long term scale, is removed. For example, while Lalita and Darcy’s relationship is initially filled with obstacles, they are all things that can be overcome quite easily, with a slight change of perspective. Larger issues, such as differing religious practices, that might hinder Darcy and Lalita’ s union, are noticeably absent from the film. However, overall the film does remain true to the more conservative ideals of Bollywood. For example, there is no kiss at the end of the film, or any 105 kisses at all, for that matter, as this is something that is considered taboo in Bollywood cinema. As recently as 2006, a kiss between Aishwarya Ray (who plays Lalita in this film and who was crowned Miss World in 1994) and Hritchik Roshan in the movie Dhoom 2 (Sanjay Gadhvi 2006) caused such a stir that it was brought to court for obscenity. The on- screen kiss was considered to be derogatory towards women. Instead, the various Bollywood dance numbers become a substitute for displays of desire, in the same way that Darcy’s dip in the pond (in the 1995 series) evoked his need to cool his passions, without this ever having to be explicitly referenced. Because of the nature of the novel, even the raciest adaptations ultimately remain quite decorous. As a result, a story like Pride and Prejudice, that does not overtly stress a sexual relationship between any of the characters, becomes a perfect choice for a Bollywood adaptation. Because the novel is more dated, the more conservative ideals that it presents are largely in keeping with those of Bollywood. Bollywood films stress that any conflict and tension be resolved in a moral manner before the film ends. According to Sheila J. Nayar, “release and catharsis must be carefully contained, so that the collective experience can be pleasurable and — even as violence splatters or lasciviousness thrusts its way across the screen — moral at its core” (84). Certainly this is the case in Pride and Prejudice, where even Lydia’s indiscretions, which are arguably the most scandalous aspect of the novel, are resolved morally through her marriage.20 In general, anything that might cause a strong reaction on the part of the viewer is eliminated. Religion, politics, sexuality,2’and class, are all removed from these films (Nayar 76). This would explain why the class differences that cause tension between Darcy and Elizabeth in the novel are replaced by cultural ones in Chadha’ s adaptation. However, the end result remains the same. In Pride and Prejudice, as in all Bollywood, says Nayar, “love, the end product, the sought-after relationship in a film, is 106 pennissible only insofar as it leads to marriage” (85). It does, of course, do just that, and the final joint wedding between Lalita and Darcy and Jaya and Balraj Bingley is evocative of a similar scene that closed the 1995 version, without the kiss, of course. The importance of marriage and family in Austen’s time translates perfectly and plays out on the Bollywood stage, ending with, in the words of Nayar, “the successful eradication of all tension between oneself and one’s immediate family, and between one’s family and one’s future spouse” (86). In this, as in all adaptations, the Bennet family’s (specifically Mrs. Bennet’ s) disdain for Darcy evaporates into thin air once the two are engaged. However, in order to retain the perfect ending, the film is decidedly open ended. Darcy and Lalita appear to have moved beyond cultural prejudices, but there is no indication of what will happen after the wedding. Where they will live is a question that remains unanswered, as we cannot imagine either Darcy or Lalita completely giving up their way of life. Nonetheless, in keeping with the impossibly perfect endings of Bollywood films, Bride and Prejudice is able to leave us only with the image of Lalita and Darcy riding off into the sunset atop elephants. The perfect conclusion of the novel, and the demure society of 19th century England, fits perfectly with Bollywood cinema’s strict sexual censorship and the reliance upon, usually impossibly perfect, happy endings. It seems likely that, if the novel is to be modernized, it must be done so within a more conservative or traditional framework, as the 19th century courtship practices that plague Elizabeth and Darcy, and the importance of marriage that is continually stressed throughout the text, would simply not resonate in a mainstream modem setting. In this respect, we can connect the film to Pride and Prejudice: A Latter Day Comedy, as, in both cases, the filmmakers were able to set the action in contemporary times and, because of religious and cultural restrictions, not appear dated in their depiction of the evolution of a modem relationship. 107 The updated Mormon version attempts to find a contemporary resonance for an age- old story. 2003’s Pride and Prejudice: A Latter Day Comedy (Andrew Black) is directly connected to, and financed by, the Mormon Church. As a result, it is more connected to independent feature production than to Hollywood. Andrew Black’s Pride and Prejudice is distributed by Excel Entertainment Group, which is a media conglomerate known for being a distributor of Latter Day Saints films, and the film is clearly an example of the phenomenon of LDS flimmaking. This is a surprisingly strong film industry, one which has produced many films that emphasize the core values of the Mormon faith, and provides an alternative to the mainstream Hollywood films that their religious practices would deem inappropriate.22 The LDS film industry began in the late 90s with the commercial distribution of Richard Dutcher’s God’s Army (1999), which is usually credited as the first ‘official’ LDS film. Nine years later, the industry is increasingly strong. In fact, this year marked the annual LDS film festival, running from January 16th to 19th in Orem, Utah, which had an attendance of over 6500.23 In terms of media, the Mormon Church is quite regulatory. Former Church president Ezra Taft Benson is quoted as saying, “don’t see R-rated movies or vulgar videos or participate in any entertainment that is immoral, suggestive or pornographic” (qtd. in Stout 56). According to Daniel A. Stout, “movies, television, and the internet, for example, are often seen as threats to religious identity when they present alternative ways of expressing faith” (50). By creating an insular film industry, the Mormon Church can produce films that reinforce the values of the faith. The idea of heritage and the past is something that plays a strong role in the Church of Latter Day Saints, and its importance makes a novel like Pride and Prejudice, which has so often been used as a means of producing heritage cinema, a valid choice. The more traditional aspects of Austen’s fiction can also be maintained in a 108 modern Mormon adaptation in a way that would be impossible in a more mainstream contemporary adaptation. The traditional elements of the story combined with the fact that this is a novel that has widespread appeal likely influenced the choice to adapt it. As well, using it may have been motivated by an attempt to produce a Mormon movie that had the potential to engage a large cross section of the population that included Mormons and non- Mormons alike. Using Austen in a religious context is not limited to the Mormon adaptation. In fact, there are a growing number of Christian Romance novels in the US that reshape Austen for their own purposes and that, in the words of Juliette Wells, “rely on the perceived universality of Austen’ s primary concerns” (1). Debra White Smith, for example, rewrites Austen novels as present day Christian romances, marketed for teens and published by the Christian press, Harvest House. Penned by Smith, novels like Austen’s Northanger Abbey become the modern Christian teen romance, Northpointe Chalet. What these novels do, says Wells, is use the fact that Austen’ s stories remain compelling, even when removed from their original context and placed in a Christian one, “appealing to an audience whose reading is guided by faith rather than by an academic understanding of literature” (1). I would argue that this statement applies equally to Pride and Prejudice: A Latter Day Comedy, a film which is clear in its application of Austen, choosing her story because it is so malleable and can so easily be re-shaped to reflect contemporary Mormon values and concerns. The film had a limited theatrical run, earning $377, 000 gross and appearing mostly in theatres in Utah. Its widest release was only 20 theatres, but it remained on those screens for 31 weeks.24 Originally titled Pride and Prejudice: A Latter Day Comedy, the film dropped the latter half of the title when it was released on DVD, in an attempt to appeal to a more mainstream audience. On a similar note, the DVD version of the film was heavily edited, so 109 as to remove the more overtly Mormon elements of the film, such has having Collins refer to Elizabeth as Sister Bennet, among other things.25 The theatrical version can be accessed on the DVD, but it isn’t made obvious and viewers have to know that it’s there in order to be able to find it. It becomes something of an Easter egg for the persistent viewer. Despite its ties to the Mormon Church, the film is not without economic motivations (as the attempt to mainstream it for the DVD release would indicate) as the producers hoped that this would be a Mormon film that would reach a mainstream audience. As a result, they attempted to capitalize both on the popularity of Austen and her best loved novel (and the heritage genre by association), and the contemporary trend of chick-lit. This is not Austen’ s first chick-lit rewrite. In fact, Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones Diary is often credited with launching the genre and there is definitely the sense that this film is emulating the referential quality that one finds in that text. As a result, sly references to Austen run rampant. Lydia has a pug named Austen, Elizabeth is studying Jane Austen in class, Darcy and Elizabeth dine at ‘Rosings’ restaurant, the girls live on Longbourn Street and Lydia and Jack Wickham go to a Vegas wedding chapel with a Scottish theme, which recalls the Bennets’ fears that Lydia and Wickham have gone to Scotland to marry. The film even makes use of inter-titles with quotations from the novel that pop up occasionally, written on vibrant pastel backgrounds which further emphasize the fact that this is a chick-lit version of a classic tale. For example, we read that “Lydia and Kitty were idle, silly and vain,” before we see them primping in the bathroom mirror. Later, we read, “how ashamed I should be of not being married before three and twenty,” a line which speaks to the overall theme of the film. The film also quotes other film adaptations and at one moment a character says “men, run for your lives, menstruating monsters approaching,” perhaps a twist on the 1940 adaptation’s tagline: “bachelors beware! Five gorgeous beauties are on a madcap manhunt!” 110 This adaptation is structured in an attempt to capitalize on films like Clueless (Amy Heckerling 1995), but instead of high school, the film is set at Brigham Young University, a predominantly Mormon university in Utah. In fact, the casting call for the film asked for an “Alicia Silverstone-type” to play Lydia and a “Renee Zellweger-type” to play Elizabeth (Woolston 3), connecting the film to both Clueless and Bridget Jones ‘s Diary. Moving away from the more religious overtones, the film becomes representative of chick-lit, making reference to other films of this genre through casting, and even having the characters obsessed with the ‘Pink Bible,’ a guide to securing a husband. Elizabeth, then, stands in contrast to the boy obsessed Kitty and Lydia (and even Jane, to a certain extent), who think of nothing but marriage. Elizabeth obviously still believes in marriage, but a desire to establish a career sets her apart from the other characters, in the same way that reading sets Austen’s Elizabeth apart from the other women in her world. When Wickham says, “if you sink the eight ball, I’ll marry you” (while they play pool at a party that combines the Netherfield ball and the Assembly Ball), Elizabeth misses on purpose, emphasizing her disinterest in the prospect of marriage. Though, in the end, Elizabeth comes to see the importance and value of marriage. In terms of chick-lit, the DVD producers are explicit, even releasing the DVD in a bright pink clamshell with the title written in cursive strokes, both traits that are associated with the covers of these novels (Woolstoon 1). In the same way that black covers signified detective fiction in France and yellow colors signified murder mysteries in Italy, so, too, have pink or pastel colors come to signify chick-lit in the US. Within the film, the mise-en-scene, as well as the plot continues to draw parallels with this genre. Bright colors (predominantly pinks) cover the girls’ house where they bide their time while they try to balance career aspirations, school and romantic prospects, all of which, according to Jennifer Mary 111 Woolston, are grounded in “the quintessential chick-lit framework” (2). Pride and Prejudice becomes a useful text because it is all about the socio-economic pressures faced by its female characters, while simultaneously stressing their desires and needs, all of which are also traits of modern chick-lit. In this respect, the novel is easy to adapt within the chick-lit framework, while still producing a film that fits in with more conservative Mormon values. In the novel, while Elizabeth is liberal and does push boundaries, she ultimately does not stray too far from traditional values. This Elizabeth is no exception. She initially rejects the thought of marriage and chooses her career. However, at the end of the film Elizabeth marries Darcy, just as she does in Austen’ s story. These are young women, but their Mormon values allow the more dated elements of Austen’ s story to translate with little difficulty. For example, ancestors and heritage have an essential place in the Mormon faith, as they do in Austen’s novel. Admittedly, in Austen’s novel, ancestral ties are used to determine social positioning in a way that they are not in the Mormon Church. Regardless, when Elizabeth mentions that her ancestors are from England, it is both a reference to Austen and her text, and to Mormon culture as a whole. While the film does not try to be overt in its Mormonism, it is certainly evident. Even little things, like Bingley knowing the origin of Jane’s name points to the culture out of which this adaptation emerges. The girls are occasionally pictured driving to Church, and Collins talks extensively about his missionary work, as well as discussing the practice of giving testimony, which he later does. Overall though, these are younger, and more liberal, modern Mormons. These characters all continue to live the principle, but Collins and Mary are rendered ridiculous for all viewers, regardless of their religious affiliations, because of their old-fashioned values. Collins even utters statements like “we’ve been commanded to multiply and replenish the 112 earth,” which is set up as a comedic moment in the film, giving Elizabeth and the other girls an opportunity to laugh at his outdated principles. In Black’s version, the Bennet sisters become roommates and Mr. And Mrs. Bennet are eliminated all together (as are the Gardiners and Lady Catherine). Privileging younger characters is a trait of the chick-lit genre, which often “focuses on young, single, professionals (Woolston 2), and it is also evocative of the producer’s attempts to appeal to a younger audience, in the same way that Clueless did. In addition, the emphasis on marriage in Mormon culture eliminates the need for a Mrs. Bennet on multiple levels. Firstly, because marriage is so significant, there does not need to be a character to stress its importance. For example, despite the fact that all the characters are supposedly in college together, only Elizabeth demonstrates any sort of career aspirations. The other four girls are all looking for husbands above all else. Secondly, the film shies away from showing bad marriages, believing that marriage should not occur at all if it is not, according to the Mormon Church, a ‘celestial union.’ In Austen’s text, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet do not a have a particularly good marriage, having married hastily in their youth. It is suggested that, according to Kathleen Anderson, “his choice of lust over esteem reflects his moral weakness” (1). This is not the type of marriage that the Mormon Church would want to showcase, as it would undercut the values that are at the core of the religion. As a result, their bickering presence is eliminated all together. In terms of characters, those that are included are presented in a way that is in keeping with Mormon values. We certainly do not have the eroticization of Darcy and Elizabeth’s relationship that one encounters in the 1995 (or even the 2005) version and neither the men, nor the women, are presented as sexual beings, which is obviously reflective of the more conservative ideals out of which the film emerged. The fact that these two modern versions 113 can exist and both remain recognizably Pride and Prejudice is demonstrative of the multiple levels of interpretation that exist in the novel. Here, in Black’s film, marriage is for companionship and family. There is no sense of sexual tension between Darcy and Elizabeth, or between Bingley and Jane. There is affection and respect, to be sure, but little more. Bingley is also somewhat of a departure, though his ‘new money’ is emphasized in this version, as it is in Austen’s novel. While good natured, this Bingley is portrayed as something of a buffoon, who made his money by marketing a series of musical tapes for dogs, a choice that I cannot even begin to explain. Darcy remains British, so the English connection is maintained, and Pemberley becomes a cottage in the woods that Elizabeth happens upon while trying to escape a storm. It is the simple pleasures of this Pemberley that entice her, not the grand house and extensive gardens of the heritage adaptations. Like the 1995 and 2005 versions, the film retains the emphasis on landscape, but it is not used with heritage connotations. The landscape becomes an American one, and the stress is on the beauty of nature as an example of God’s creation, using multiple shots of woods, mountains and desert landscapes to evoke this. The film does deviate from the novel more than any other adaptation, which one could attribute to it being set in contemporary times (although Bride and Prejudice is also contemporary), but, more than likely, it has to do with the fact that the film is grounded in the chick-lit genre. In Black’s film, as in Chadha’s, Lydia does not marry Wickham. Instead, she remains single and becomes an author of self-help books. Mary and Collins fall in love and marry and, while Charlotte Lucas does appear briefly, there is no indication that there is any sort of relationship between her and Collins. In the novel, Charlotte does not marry Collins for love; it is not fate, it is a business transaction. However, marriage without love, respect and God’s command, is something that stands in opposition to the values of Mormon faith, 114 and the change reflects that. Also, it is likely for this reason that Lydia is rescued from marrying Wickham. Lydia’s indiscretions with Wickham are played down significantly, and there is no indication that they’ve slept together. In fact, Darcy’s issue with Wickham does not stem from his seduction of Georgiana (who is called Anna in this film). Instead, Wickham is revealed to have a gambling problem and he marries wealthy women in an attempt to support his habit. This re-write is in keeping with the de-sexualisation of the characters. In this version, Elizabeth and Darcy are able to save Lydia from a marriage to a man who does not truly love her, once again emphasizing the importance of marriage as a privileged institution, and not something that can occur if it is not built on strong values. The Mormon faith is a family centered religion, in which marriage is considered to be a celestial union, and where husband and wife are sealed together through God. In Black’s film, characters like Lydia and Kitty are made foolish because they do not see the true meaning of marriage. Wickham, too, becomes a cad, not because he seduces young girls with no plan of marrying them, but because he marries for money and without God. On a similar note, Jane and Bingley are not broken up by Darcy. Again, because marriage is supposed to be a celestial union between man and woman, written in the stars by God, breaking up a marriage to be would vilify Darcy. Instead, Bingley breaks it off because he misinterprets an exchange between Jane and Collins, and thinks that they have become engaged. Alterations like these may appear small, and, in general, the film is not overt in its Mormonism. However, if one examines the changes made, they tend to center around the issue of marriage, stressing its importance and making sure that it is represented in a positive light, and as a holy union. In the final moments of the film, we watch Elizabeth and Darcy’s engagement and the word “amen” is quietly uttered as the credits begin to role. 115 Notes Jane Austen ‘s Pride and Prejudice (Cyril Coke 1980), Pride and Prejudice (Simon Langton 1995), Pride and Prejudice (Robert Z. Leonard 1940), Pride & Prejudice (Joe Wright 2005), Bride and Prejudice (Gurinder Chadha 2004) and Pride and Prejudice: A Latter Day Comedy (Andrew Black 2003). 2 Reagan and Thatcher actually shared quite a lot, including their modest upbringing in small towns as well as similar ideals with regards to economic, domestic and foreign policies (Friedman xiii). Austen, while not exactly a Victorian author, did write during a transitional phase and her work represents the shift in literature that occurred between the early 1 800s and the late 1 830s (when Victoria came to the throne). In this respect, I think we can label her work proto-Victorian. Such as Brad Pitt in Thelma andLouise (Ridley Scott 1991). More than likely this technique is due to the fact that the 1940 film is a studio production and exterior shots of the open countryside would not have been possible. 6 They are often shot apart from the rest of the family. Interestingly enough, the emphasis on Darcy’s money is significantly played down in this version, the focus being, in the words of Lisa Hopkins, not “on what he has, only on what he is” (117). 8 This is partially due to British quota regulations, which required that a certain percentage of films exhibited in Britain be made on British soil (Glancy 67). This line is also used to open every other adaptation (with the exception of Joe Wright’s). In all other versions, Elizabeth is given the task of sarcastically uttering some modified form of it. 10 They are known for producing mainstream films that are highly successful in the United States. Four Weddings and a Funeral (Mike Newell 1994), Bridget Jones’s Diary (Sharon Maguire 2001) and Love Actually (Richard Curtis 2003) are all examples of their work. According to boxofficemojo.com, the film earned over $121 million gross during its theatrical run, which is certainly respectable for a period piece. It also opened as the number one movie in Britain, earning $4.5 million that week, and remained at number one for two additional weeks. 12 In the same scene, we see Lydia and Kitty drunk, reflective of the 1940 adaptation. 13 Bollywood/J-Iollywood (Deepa Mehta 2002), The Guru (Daisy von Scherler Mayer 2002), Mystic Masseur (Ismail Merchant 2001), Monsoon Wedding (Mira Nair 2002), Bend it like Beckham (Gurinder Chada 2002) and Moulin Rouge (Baz Lurhmann 2001) are just a few of the films that evoke elements of Indian, specifically Bollywood, culture. 2002 also marks the first year that a Bollywood film (Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Devdas) was selected at Cannes (Athique 310), indicating the genre’s rise in artistic credibility, or at least its more widespread appeal. 14 In India the film was released under the title Balle Balle: Amritsar to L.A, eliminating the Pride and Prejudice reference. This version is also 11 minutes longer than the English version. Unfortunately, I have not been able to locate a copy. 15 Kitty is notably absent, cut from the film entirely. 16 Merchant-Ivory is a production company started by an Indian producer, Ismail Merchant, and an American director, James Ivory. They began producing James Ivory-directed films in the early 1960s. These films often focused on foreigners in India (be they English, or American) and were usually aimed at an international market. The Householder (James Ivory 1963) and Shakespeare- Wallah (James Ivory 1965) are two early examples. Merchant-Ivory also acted as the US distributor for the, highly regarded, Pather Panchali (Satyajit Ray 1955), as well as many of Ray’s subsequent works, in an attempt to bring an Indian film great to a wider audience. While their greatest successes can be attributed to adaptations of British novels (specifically those of E.M. Forster), like Howards End (James Ivory 1992), their early films forged the way for future, heritage themed, productions, involving India, America and Britain. 17 Found here: http://www.visitbritain.caJthings-to-see-and-do!interests/films/bollywood-britainlindex.aspx 18 This is meant to represent both Pemberley and Rosings, since, in this version, Lady Catherine has become Darcy’s mother, and not his aunt. 19 Source: boxofficemojo.com 20 Both Bride and Prejudice and A Latter Day Comedy choose to have characters intervene, preventing Wickham from taking advantage of Lydia (or Lucky) in any way, thus eliminating the sense of scandal altogether. 21 The violent reaction to a film like Deepa Mehta’s Fire (1996) is indicative of the fact that the majority of Indian audiences are not comfortable with seeing these kinds of themes represented on screen. 116 22 For example, the members of the Mormon Church are cautioned against viewing R and PG-I 3 rated films (Stout 55). 23 http://www.ldsfilmfestival.org/index.php?locationindex.php 24boxofficemoj o.com 25 For my purposes, I will be referring to the theatrical version, as I consider this to be the original. However, the differences between the two are generally quite minimal. 117 Chapter Five: Conclusion “We must cut our coat, according to our cloth, and adapt ourselves to changing circumstances.” - William Ralph Inge - “Finally, in conclusion, let me say just this.” - Peter Sellers Adaptation is a process that has occurred since the first organisms. Things are, and were, always shifting and changing, forced to modify themselves in order to keep up with changing situations. One might argue that I have not been speaking about scientific adaptation, about an organism growing and evolving to suit changing surroundings. However, to a certain extent, that is exactly what I have been doing. Adaptation, in all its forms, is done to suit the needs of an environment, whether it be biological in nature, or otherwise. Adaptations of stories have been told since language was first used. As human beings, we long to re-tell and re-create stories that we have enjoyed. Because of this, stories are passed down from generation to generation, never remaining exactly the same, changing ever so slightly, at the discretion of the storyteller. You would be hard pressed to fmd someone who was critical of this oral tradition, or about the adaptation of these stories into plays or novels. Why, then, does the adaptation of literature to film yield results that are so often hostile? We do not judge organisms for adapting to suit their environment, so why should we criticize stories for doing the same thing? Admittedly, I am being somewhat facetious here, but it is only to illustrate my point. The trend of fidelity criticism that has plagued adaptation studies is one that has little to offer. Questioning the validity of adaptation, or asking whether it is a process that can ever be done ‘properly,’ are simply not questions that can be answered defmitively. They are subjective. What one person considers a perfect and faithful adaptation, another might find to be completely inadequate. Judging the film by its closeness to the text 118 is, ultimately, ineffectual, as two such different mediums cannot possibly be used to create perfect reflections of one another. The film is different from the novel; there is no getting around this. However, if we choose to see adaptation in a more scientific sense, and look towards its literal meaning, there is much more to be discovered therein. Adaptation, by definition, involves change, so we must expect this when watching a film that attempts to take a written medium and turn it into a visual one. It is also a process that occurs when an organism needs to change in order to meet the needs of a new environment. To a certain extent, film, as a medium, is this new environment. However, it is also made up of the historical, political, regional, economical and cultural trends of a particular time period. Therefore, each adaptation is different, partially because they are adapting themselves to their own new environments, while still remaining recognizable, and reflective of their source. Initially, the choice to tell and re-tell stories was motivated by the desire to entertain and amuse others and to keep history and customs alive; it was a social activity. However, since the advent of commerce, entertainment became a marketable commodity. Since then, providing entertainment has become a legitimate career for many people in many different capacities. Storytellers, like Shakespeare for example, made their livelihood by providing diversions for the masses to consume. These were not necessarily stories that people were unfamiliar with, but they were, nevertheless, presented in a new form. All stories are, to a certain extent, adaptations of others, changed slightly to accommodate new needs. Austen herself told stories of classic love and romance; she was not creating revolutionary content by any means and she, too, as an unmarried woman, was well aware of the economic nature of the written word. The commodification of the story has done nothing but increase over time, indicating that the choice to adapt is first and foremost economic. Obviously it is popular stories that are 119 selected because they are economically viable; the two go hand in hand. Arguably, in most countries, film now dominates mass entertainment, and has done for a long time. In this era, it is no longer one writer who seeks to capitalize on re-inventing a popular tale. Producers, actors, agents, publicists, screenwriters, directors, studio executives, and a whole host of others, rely on the popularity of films to make their living. Adaptations have proved to be successful (though not without criticism, to be sure), drawing audiences who are interested in both the original tale, and its re-invention. When adapting novels in an industry where so much money is on the line, the selection process is of the utmost importance. Best sellers, popular authors, and classic novels that have been consistently well regarded, make intelligent choices economically because they have proved to be viable commodities in other mediums. Finding texts that satisfy all three of those stipulations is rare, and those that do are adapted time and again because they have proven that they can consistently fill seats from decade to decade. It is clear that Jane Austen produces such texts. Jane Austen, while popular in her own time, has become a veritable celebrity in our own, gracing magazine covers and inspiring films based on what is known of her life. In the nearly two hundred years since her death, Austen has managed to acquire cult status. She is also the subject of countless academic texts, dating from the 1 900s to the present, not to mention the fact that JASNA (The Jane Austen Society of North America) has members from all over the world, and is responsible for producing Persuasions, an annual journal dedicated exclusively to a study of Austen and her work. As a result, Austen occupies a unique position, finding a place in both the scholarly world, and the world of popular culture. Her ability to appeal to a wide cross section of the population means that adaptations of her works are liable to be financially lucrative, a fact the producers are likely well aware of. Austen’s 120 work also produces so-called ‘cinema of quality,’ appealing to studios and networks (like the BBC, for example) that are typically associated with this kind of fare. In addition to her cult status, Austen’s works lend themselves to multiple adaptations because of their easily relatable themes and the sense of escape that they provide, which only increases her value in the eyes of producers. Pride and Prejudice is Austen’s most popular novel, and it is a perfect example of the ‘happily-ever-after’ world that she provides for her readers. This novel is not an epic work. Despite the fact that Austen was likely writing and revising during the Napoleonic Wars, she avoids the topic of war almost altogether. Instead, she provides a safe haven in a world where the story is about the ordinary, every-day lives of her characters. For contemporary audiences, this seemingly simpler past provides a nostalgic escape from our own uncertain times. So, economically, adapting this novel (and all of her other novels) remains a relatively safe choice, a way of enticing people to see the film, both because of the popularity of the novel, and of previous adaptations. However, while economics is a large motivator in the decision to adapt, it is not the only factor. Beyond economics, filmmakers will look for texts that support their own individual vision. Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is known for being an interpretive text, supporting multiple readings. It is, at once, a classic love story, a proto-feminist text, a novel about class, wealth, economics, marriage (and the politics associated with it), and a number of other things. Individual readings can privilege different elements, but still be representative of the novel as a whole. This is a story that is easily molded to reflect the individual wants and wishes of its reader, making it a perfect text for adaptation. Ultimately, the novel’s proven popularity (and Austen’ s, by association) is used as a means of attracting audiences, and its interpretive nature allows filmmakers a great degree of creative freedom to reflect the particular needs and desires of their own time. 121 The source text is clearly important, and there is no doubt that a Jane Austen novel and a Ernest Hemingway novel will create altogether different films. However, the adaptations themselves, ultimately say more about the cultural and political moment and the preferences of a particular audience, than they do about the source material. This is not to say that any text can replace Pride and Prejudice in the hearts and minds of its readers, and viewers. Undoubtedly, it is Austen’s cultural capital and her overwhelming popularity that motivate the decision to adapt in the first place. Adaptations of Austen have proved, quite consistently, to be both critically and economically successful, a veritable match-made-in- heaven for producers. However, once this text is in the hands of the filmmaker, it yields to his or her will, retaining Austen’s basic framework, but becoming more about the desires and needs of its particular era and/or culture, and leaving behind those of regency England. Certainly, many of these desires remain the same, as another reason why Austen remains popular is because the themes she deals with are so eternal. However, the overall picture of the films, and the elements of Austen’ s text that are privileged, or left out, ultimately tells us about the historical, political, economic and cultural concerns that were important when the filmmaker was creating his or her version of Pride and Prejudice. When I use filmmaker here, I am being somewhat purposefully evasive, because I think that, in terms of filmmaking in general, both the director and the screenwriter have a fair amount of creative power when it comes to what we ultimately see on the screen. Obviously, editors, actors, cinematographers, etc. all play a role as well, and it is probably best to see films as collaborative entities, making them even more a product of the society in which they were created. Certainly, the six adaptations that I have examined can all be placed, quite firmly, in the cultural tradition or historical moments out of which they emerged. Whether they reflect 122 desired wartime alliances with Britain, conservative heritage values, individualism and re defined gender roles, family unity in a time of war, the culture clash between east and west, or the traditional values associated with Mormonism, these films all use Austen’s text in very different ways. However, despite the fact that the films themselves are so different, it would be impossible for anyone who had read Pride and Prejudice to watch these films and remain unaware of the source material. In the end, each film has a different goal, but Austen’s text is so malleable and enduring that it can adapt to all of these goals, while still proving to be entertaining, economically viable and recognizably Austen. 123 Filmography Becoming Jane. Dir. Julian Jerrold. With Anne Hathaway and James McAvoy. 2 Entertain, 2007. Bride and Prejudice. Dir. Gurinder Chadha. With Aishwarya Rai and Martin Henderson. Pathe Pictures International, 2004. Bridget Jones’s Diary. Dir. Sharon Maguire. With Renee Zeliweger and Cohn Fifth. Studio Canal, 2001. Emma. Dir. Douglas McGrath. With Gwyneth Paltrow and Jeremy Northam. Miramax Films, 1996. The Jane Austen Bookclub. Dir. Robin Swicord. With Kathy Baker, Hugh Dancy and Maria Bello. Mockingbird Pictures, 2007. Jane Austen’s Emma. Dir. Diarmuid Lawrence. With Kate Beckinsale and Mark Strong. Meridian Broadcasting, 1996. Jane Austen’s Persuasion. Roger Michell. With Amanda Root and Ciaran Hinds. BBC, 1995. Mansfield Park. Dir. Patricia Rozema. With Frances O’Conner and Jonny Lee Miller. Miramax Films, 1999. Miss Austen Regrets. Dir. Jeremy Lovering. With Olivia Williams and Greta Scacchi. BBC Films, 2008. Pride and Prejudice. Dir. Robert Z. Leonard. With Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier. MGM, 1940. Pride and Prejudice. Dir. Cyril Coke. With Elizabeth Garvie and David Rintoul. BBC, 1980. Pride and Prejudice. Dir. Simon Langton. With Jennifer Ehle and Cohn Fifth. BBC, 1995. Pride and Prejudice. Dir. Andrew Black. With Kam Heskin and Orlando Seale. Bestboy Pictures, 2003. Pride and Prejudice. Dir. Joe Wright. With Keira Knightly, Matthew MacFadyen and Rosamund Pike. Focus Features, 2005. The Real Jane Austen. Dir. Nicky Pattison. With Anna Chancellor and Gilhian Kearney. BBC, 2002. Sense and Sensibility. Dir. Ang Lee. With Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet. Columbia Pictures, 1996. 124 Bibliography Ailwood, Sarah. “What are men to rocks and mountains? Romanticism in Joe Wright’s Pride & Prejudice.” Persuasions: The Jane Austen Journal On-Line 27.2 (2007): 1-3. Anderson, Kathleen. “The Offending Pig: Determinism in the Focus Features Pride & Prejudice.” Persuasions: The Jane Austen Journal On-Line 27.2 (2007): 1-3. Andrew, Dudley. “Well Worn Muse: Adaptation in Film History and Theory.” Narrative Strategies: Original Essays in Film and Prose Fiction. Eds. Sydney M. Conger and Janice R. Welsch. Macomb: Western Illinois University Press, 1980. 9-19. Ashby, Justine and Andrew Higson eds. British Cinema, Past and Present. London: Routledge, 2000. Athique, Adrian M. “The Crossover Audience: Mediated Multiculturalism and the Indian Film.” Continuum: Journal of Media and Cultural Studies 22.3 (2008): 299-311. Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. New York: Penguin Classics, 1985. Bazin, Andre. “Adaptation, or the Cinema as Digest.” Film Adaptation. Ed. James Naremore. Piscataway, Rutgers University Press, 2000. 19-28. Beja, Morris. Film and Literature: An Introduction. New York: Longman mc, 1979. Belton, Ellen. “Reimagining Jane Austen: the 1940 and 1995 film versions of Pride and Prejudice.” Jane Austen on Screen. Eds. Gina MacDonald and Andrew MacDonald Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. 175-197. Bluestone, George. Novels into Film. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1957. Bowles, Kate. “Commodifying Austen: the Janeite culture of the internet and commercialization through product and television series spinoffs.” Jane Austen on Screen. Eds. Gina MacDonald and Andrew MacDonald Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. 15-22. Boyum, Joy Gould. Double Exposure: Fiction into Film. New York: Plume, 1985. Booker, Peter. “Postmodern adaptation: pastiche, intertextuality and re-functioning.” Th Cambridge Companion to Literature on Screen. Eds. Deborah Cartmell and Lmelda Whelehan. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007. 107-121. Brownstein, Rachel M. “Northanger Abbey, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice.” Th Cambridge Companion to Jane Austen. Eds. Edward Copeland and Juliet McMaster. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997. 32-58. 125 Cardwell, Sarah. “Adaptation Studies Revisited: Purposes, Perspectives and Inspiration”. Thc Literature/Film Reader: Issues of Adaptation. Eds. James L. Welsh and Peter Lev. Lanham: Scarecrow Press, 2007a. 51-65. “Literature on the small screen: television adaptations.” The Cambridge Companion to Literature on Screen. Eds. Deborah Cartmell and Imelda Whelehan. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007b. 18 1-197. Cartmell, Deborah and Imelda Whelehan. “Introduction — Literature on Screen: a synoptic view.” The Cambridge Companion to Literature on Screen. Eds. Deborah Cartmell and Imelda Whelehan. 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work_4btbjjcewzbnhe3zvqm2yhk2yq	----	Preface / Préface All Rights Reserved © Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, 2017 Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d’auteur. L’utilisation des services d’Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d’utilisation que vous pouvez consulter en ligne. https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Cet article est diffusé et préservé par Érudit. Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l’Université de Montréal, l’Université Laval et l’Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. https://www.erudit.org/fr/ Document généré le 5 avr. 2021 21:53 Lumen Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies Travaux choisis de la Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle Preface Préface Joël Castonguay-Bélanger, Betty A. Schellenberg et Diana Solomon Volume 36, 2017 URI : https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1037850ar DOI : https://doi.org/10.7202/1037850ar Aller au sommaire du numéro Éditeur(s) Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle ISSN 1209-3696 (imprimé) 1927-8284 (numérique) Découvrir la revue Citer ce document Castonguay-Bélanger, J., Schellenberg, B. A. & Solomon, D. (2017). Preface / Préface. Lumen, 36, v–xi. https://doi.org/10.7202/1037850ar https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/ https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1037850ar https://doi.org/10.7202/1037850ar https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/2017-v36-lumen02702/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/ lumen xxxvi, 2017 • v-xi Preface/ Préface The 2015 CSECS/SCEDHS conference in Vancouver brought together over 170 scholars from Canada, the US, Europe, and South America to consider the conference theme “The States of the Book,” taking up questions related to how print in all its forms influenced and was shaped by the long eighteenth century. Literacy, the book trade, read- ership, the sociability of texts, and the interplay of print and manuscript are often pursued within more narrow confines, such as London’s Grub Street or the decade of the 1740s, but the internationality of the conference made it possible to consider these issues on a global scale. Special features of CSECS/SCEDHS 2015 included a reception at Simon Fraser University’s Woodwards campus featuring Steve Collis’s reading of a poem “Home at Gasmere”; a performance of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century French and German lute music; and a tour of sites in Vancouver’s Stanley Park meaningful to Indigenous peoples in the eighteenth century and earlier. The first of our keynote speakers, Professor Roger Chartier of the Collège de France and the University of Pennsylvania, is one of the most influential scholars of the “States of the Book” for his work on the book as material object embedded in social and cultural history. From his seminal text The Order of Books to his recent studies of the physical circulation and changing meanings of European works such as Cervantes’ Don Quixote and Las Casas’ La destruyción de las Indias, Chartier demonstrates how the early modern book dictates its modes of consumption and the systems of knowledge that contain it. We are honoured to have the opportunity to feature in this volume Chartier’s plenary address, entitled “Materiality of the Text and Expectations of Reading: Congruence or Conflict?” In this article, Chartier challenges Lumen 36.final.indd 5 2016-10-18 11:48 AM vi 1 J. Castonguay-Bélanger, B. A. Schellenberg & D. Solomon structuralist and reader-response theories of textuality and interpreta- tion on the one hand, and the new bibliography on the other, for rein- forcing the separation of the physical book from the “text.” We must rather, he argues, insist on the expressivity of the material text itself, on the porosity of boundaries between author, printer, and reader in the creation of the text, and on the power of material forms of the book to engender interpretations and reinterpretations. Putting such interpretive principles to work, Professor Janine Barchas of the University of Texas at Austin has published a wide range of scholarship that painstakingly traces the connections between material objects and literary meaning. In Graphic Design, Print Culture, and the Eighteenth-Century Novel, Barchas considers how paratexts such as title pages, ornaments, and indexes fostered the development of the novel as an independent genre. Her second book, Matters of Fact in Jane Austen, interprets Austen as a historically-informed, celebrity- watching writer who chose real names, events, and locations based on her own research. “What Jane Saw,” an innovative digital humanities project, opens up even further interpretive possibilities for Austen as it reveals what paintings she would have seen during her visits to London’s Shakespeare Gallery in 1796 and to the Sir Joshua Reynolds exhibition in 1813. At CSECS/SCEDHS, Barchas delivered a ground-breaking plenary talk, “The Lost Books of Austen Studies,” in which she con- vincingly dismantled the commonly-held belief that R.W. Chapman was Austen’s first critical editor. The talk produced audible gasps, tears, and a sustained standing ovation with the audience realizing that Barchas had corrected a long-standing mistake in Austen studies and given a forgotten heroine her due. The conference’s thirty-four panels on book history and print culture spanned geographies, genres, practices, and textual forms. Geographies ranged from the broad – the Canadian North, the Transatlantic, and prerevolutionary France – to the specific: books in convents. Genres included political printings, plays, visual satire, sacred and profane books, the digital humanities, and newspapers, the last of which fea- tured Chance David Pahl’s analysis of how Samuel Johnson’s periodi- cal accounts of sentimental suffering reflect their generic form. Many presentations took up practices of writing, editing, circulating, market- ing, and reading. Gary Kelly argues that a distinctive and unofficial form of cultural citizenship was fostered by late eighteenth-century six- Lumen 36.final.indd 6 2016-10-18 11:48 AM Preface/Préface 1 vii penny publications as cheap sources of knowledge and entertainment. David Smith’s article demonstrates how descriptive bibliography and paratextual analysis can illuminate the circumstances of composition, transmission, and reception of the works of Mme de Graffigny. In a study of post-revolutionary book culture in France, Annie Champagne analyses the dissonant production and reception of Pierre Didot’s most ambitious publishing venture, the monumental edition of Oeuvres de Jean Racine. Catherine Fleming’s print-culture-themed paper on the collaboration between John Dryden and printer Jacob Tonson was featured on a panel entitled “Producing Dryden, Producing the King.” Among a series of papers on beautiful books, ugly books, dangerous books, and “books that make you feel bad” were two sessions devoted to “Nuns and the Book.” In one of those panels, Amandine Bonesso proposed a re-reading of the spiritual autobiography of Marie de l’Incarnation through analysis of her self-representation as reader and author. As is the practice at CSECS conferences, presentations on all top- ics related to the eighteenth century were welcomed, and we are pleased to publish several strong papers that move beyond the confer- ence theme. Jes Battis’s article on how eighteenth-century molly cul- ture used slang to create and transmit queer subculture originated on a panel about humour, and Eric Miller originally presented his work on poetic responses to “Druid Rocks” as part of a session on influences from classical antiquity on eighteenth-century life. Erica Mannucci’s study of French radical Sylvain Maréchal discusses his early imprison- ment for sedition as his motive for embedding inflammatory ideas within commercial serial publications. It is fitting that a conference dedicated to discussing the “States of the Book” should conclude by producing a volume available in print and online. We hope you enjoy the completed articles that developed from some of the conference’s most stimulating presentations. * * * À l’occasion du congrès annuel de la Société canadienne d’étude du dix-huitième siècle (SCEDHS/CSECS) organisé à Vancouver en 2015, près de 170 chercheurs du Canada, des États-Unis, d’Europe et d’Amé- rique du Sud se sont rassemblés autour du thème « Le livre dans tous Lumen 36.final.indd 7 2016-10-18 11:48 AM ses états » pour réfléchir au rôle et à la place de la culture imprimée au cours du long dix-huitième siècle. Trop souvent, les questions qui relèvent de l’histoire de l’alphabétisation, du commerce du livre, du lectorat, de la sociabilité des textes et des rapports entre manuscrits et imprimés sont abordées à l’intérieur de cadres déterminés par les fiefs spécifiques à chaque spécialiste – un tel s’intéressera surtout à la bohème littéraire de Londres, un autre consacrera ses travaux à l’étude d’une seule décennie, etc. La nature internationale du congrès a tou- tefois permis d’exposer ces questions à de nouvelles perspectives et à d’autres échelles d’analyse. Parmi les activités et événements spéciaux qui ont marqué ce congrès 2015, mentionnons d’abord la lecture du poème « Home at Gasmere » par Steve Collis lors de la réception organisée au campus Woodwards de l’Université Simon Fraser. Nous avons également eu droit à un récital de luth qui mettait à l’honneur la musique française et allemande des xviie et xviiie siècles, ainsi qu’à une visite guidée de Stanley Park à travers quelques sites fréquentés depuis plusieurs siècles par les populations autochtones. La première de nos conférences plénières a été prononcée par Roger Chartier, professeur au Collège de France et à l’Université de Pennsylvanie, spécialiste reconnu mondialement pour ses travaux importants en histoire du livre, de l’édition et de la lecture. Depuis ses toutes premières publications, le professeur Chartier nous invite à ne jamais perdre de vue que le livre est d’abord un objet matériel, et que la circulation de celui-ci s’inscrit toujours à l’intérieur d’une histoire sociale et culturelle dont il faut tenir compte pour comprendre la manière dont différentes époques et différents milieux ont pu s’appro- prier ses contenus. Dans un ouvrage majeur comme L’ordre des livres, de même que dans ses études plus récentes consacrées aux fluctuations de sens ayant touché des œuvres comme Don Quichotte de Cervantes et La destruyción de las Indias de Las Casas au cours de leur diffusion européenne, Chartier nous rappelle qu’un texte rencontre toujours son lecteur par l’entremise d’un objet qui lui dicte les modalités de son appropriation et les systèmes de savoirs dans lequel il s’inscrit. Nous sommes honorés de pouvoir présenter dans ce volume la version écrite de la conférence de Roger Chartier, « Matérialité du texte et attentes de lectures. Concordances ou discordances ? ». Dans ce texte, Chartier revient sur la manière dont la bibliographie matérielle a pu, au même titre que les théories formalistes de l’interprétation mises de l’avant par viii 1 J. Castonguay-Bélanger, B. A. Schellenberg & D. Solomon Lumen 36.final.indd 8 2016-10-18 11:48 AM les tenants d’une approche purement linguistique des textes, contri- buer à renforcer plutôt qu’à effacer l’opposition classique (mais trom- peuse) distinguant d’un côté l’œuvre et, de l’autre, le livre ou l’objet imprimé. Beaucoup plus fertile est l’approche soucieuse de mettre en lumière l’expressivité spécifique du support matériel, la porosité des frontières entre auteur, imprimeur et lecteur dans le processus de production du texte, et la manière dont la variété des formes maté- rielles du livre participe aux interprétations et aux réinterprétations dont il fait l’objet. En s’appuyant sur ces principes, Janine Barchas de l’Université du Texas à Austin a consacré une grande partie de ses travaux à retracer minutieusement les relations qui existent entre objet matériel et sens littéraire. Dans son ouvrage Graphic Design, Print Culture, and the Eighteenth-Century Novel, la professeure Barchas s’est intéressée au rôle joué par le paratexte (page titre, ornements, index, etc.) dans le développement du roman en tant que genre littéraire autonome. Son deuxième livre, Matters of Fact in Jane Austen, présente Austen comme une auteure férue d’histoire et très au fait de l’actualité, s’appuyant dans l’écriture de ses romans sur des recherches préalables qu’elle n’hésitait pas à effectuer elle-même. « What Jane Saw », projet novateur qui s’inscrit dans le domaine en plein essor des humanités numériques, entend élargir encore davantage l’éventail des interprétations possibles de l’œuvre d’Austen en révélant les peintures que l’écrivaine aurait vues lors de ses visites de la Shakespeare Gallery de Londres, en 1796, et de l’exposition de Sir Joshua Reynolds en 1813. Dans sa conférence plénière intitulée « The Lost Books of Austen Studies », Barthas s’est attaqué de façon audacieuse mais convaincante à l’opinion commune voulant que la première édition critique des œuvres d’Austen soit attribuable à R.W. Chapman. Des soupirs bien audibles et quelques pleurs n’ont pas manqué de se faire entendre tout au long de cette conférence, mais celle-ci s’est tout de même conclue sous les applau- dissements d’un public heureux de voir Barthas rendre justice à une héroïne obscure et corriger enfin une erreur trop longtemps admise au sein des spécialistes de Jane Austen. Les trente-quatre séances de ce congrès consacré à l’histoire du livre et de l’imprimé ont donné l’occasion d’aborder des géographies, des genres, des pratiques et des formes textuelles nombreuses et variées. Les espaces couverts allaient du très large – le Grand Nord canadien, Preface/Préface 1 ix Lumen 36.final.indd 9 2016-10-18 11:48 AM l’espace transatlantique, la France prérévolutionnaire – au plus res- treint : les couvents. Parmi les genres étudiés figuraient des pamphlets politiques, des pièces de théâtre, des caricatures, des livres sacrés et pro- fanes, des nouveaux médias et des journaux, ces derniers ayant permis à Chance David Pahl de se livrer à une analyse de la manière dont les comptes rendus périodiques des souffrances sentimentales de Samuel Johnson ont été marqués des traces formelles de leur origine géné- rique. Plusieurs communications ont porté sur des questions relatives aux pratiques d’écriture, d’édition, de circulation, de promotion et de lecture. Gary Kelly soutient qu’une forme distincte et non officielle de citoyenneté culturelle a vu le jour grâce aux éditions bon marché qui, à la fin du xviiie siècle, ont rendu les divertissements et les savoirs plus accessibles. L’article de David Smith montre comment la bibliographie matérielle et l’analyse du paratexte peuvent éclairer les circonstances de composition, de transmission et de réception de l’œuvre de Mme de Graffigny. Dans son étude sur la culture du livre dans la France postrévolutionnaire, Annie Champagne tente d’éclairer la production et la réception dissonantes de la plus ambitieuse entreprise éditoriale de Pierre Didot, sa monumentale édition en trois volumes des Œuvres de Jean Racine. La communication de Catherine Fleming consacrée à la collaboration entre John Dryden et l’imprimeur Jacob Tonson a été livrée au cours d’une séance intitulée « Produire Dryden, produire le roi ». Au milieu d’un ensemble de communications consacrées aux beaux et aux moins beaux livres, aux livres « dangereux » et à ceux qui rendent malade, deux séances proposaient d’étudier les rapports entre « Les religieuses et le livre ». Amandine Bonesso y a présenté à une relecture de l’autobiographie spirituelle de Marie de l’Incarnation à travers l’analyse de sa représentation en tant que lectrice et écrivaine. Comme il est d’usage à la SCEDHS, les communications sur tout sujet relatif au long dix-huitième siècle étaient les bienvenues et nous sommes heureux de publier quelques articles qui explorent d’autres thèmes que celui du congrès. Le texte de Jes Battis sur la transmission linguistique d’une culture homosexuelle clandestine en Angleterre trouve son origine dans une séance dédiée à l’humour tandis que la communication « Druid Rocks » d’Eric Miller a d’abord été présentée dans une séance sur les influences de l’Antiquité clas- sique au dix- huitième siècle. Enfin, dans son article, Erica Mannuci revient sur quelques-unes des idées radicales et séditieuses de l’écrivain x 1 J. Castonguay-Bélanger, B. A. Schellenberg & D. Solomon Lumen 36.final.indd 10 2016-10-18 11:48 AM pamphlétaire Sylvain Maréchal et analyse la manière dont celles-ci ont pu être enchâssées dans ses publications commerciales et sérielles. On ne saurait trouver de meilleure façon de souligner le succès d’un congrès voué au « livre dans tous ses états » qu’en publiant un volume qu’on pourra lire aussi bien dans sa forme imprimée que dans sa forme numérique. Nous espérons que vous apprécierez les articles stimulants que nous avons réunis ici et vous souhaitons une agréable lecture1. Joël Castonguay-Bélanger Département d’études francaises, hispaniques et italiennes Université de Colombie-Britannique Betty A. Schellenberg & Diana Solomon Department of English Simon Fraser University 1. The volume editors wish to thank David Weston and Marilyse Turgeon-Solis for their assistance with its preparation. Les éditeurs souhaitent remercier David Weston et Marilyse Turgeon-Solis pour l’aide qu’ils ont apportée dans la préparation du présent volume. Preface/Préface 1 xi Lumen 36.final.indd 11 2016-10-18 11:48 AM 
work_4ieyxk7uqzdgveh5c2egvyirsq	----	Three Hitherto Unnoted Contemporary Reviews of Jane Austen | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 26, Issue 4 March 1972 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article [Footnotes] Article Navigation Research Article| March 01 1972 Three Hitherto Unnoted Contemporary Reviews of Jane Austen William S. Ward William S. Ward Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1972) 26 (4): 469–477. https://doi.org/10.2307/2933277 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation William S. Ward; Three Hitherto Unnoted Contemporary Reviews of Jane Austen. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 March 1972; 26 (4): 469–477. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2933277 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search [Footnotes] [Footnotes] 1 B. C. Southam's Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage (London, 1968)Southam Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage 1968 Google Scholar   The reviews of Emma reprinted here are not noted in this volume. It may be well to point out also that an error occurs on p. 266 of Southam Northanger Abbey and Persuasion re- printed on pp. 266-68 (a new series of Scots Magazine), NS2 (May1818), 453-55May NS 453 2 Scots Magazine 1818 Geoffrey Keynes, Jane Austen: A Bibliography (London, 1929)Keynes Jane Austen: A Bibliography 1929 Google Scholar   Charles Beecher Hogan, "Jane Austen and Her Public," RES, NS1 (1950), 39-5410.2307/51177439 R. W. Chapman, Jane Austen: A Critical Bibliography (Oxford, 1953)Chapman Jane Austen: A Critical Bibliography 1953 Google Scholar   Joseph M. Duffy, Jr., "Jane Austen and the Nineteenth-Century Critics of Fiction, 1812-1913," Diss. University of Chicago 1955 Frederick Martin Link, "The Reputation of Jane Austen in the Twentieth Century with an Annotated Enumerative Bibliography of Jane Austen Criticism from 1811 to June 1957," Diss. Boston University 1958. This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1972 By The Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Three Hitherto Unnoted Contemporary Reviews of Jane Austen' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Three Hitherto Unnoted Contemporary Reviews of Jane Austen Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) 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work_4j2oyr7mwvaflf7eh2afqodmgm	----	156 REVIEWS there is naturally much common ground. The two texts are probably best viewed as complementary, each providing comprehensive views of a field in which the necessarily meticulous description, classification, and interpretation of field evidence benefit from the widest appreciation of the variety of glacial environments. In this respect, the use of numerous Alaskan examples in Hambrey's book is a useful complement to the largely Scandinavian examples of Bennett and Glasser. In summary, the authors have achieved their aim of producing a concise, accessible text that conveys their own enthusiasm for the subject, and it should be recommended to all who have an interest in learning about, teaching, or researching in glacial geology. (Richard Hodgkins, De- partment of Geography, University of Bristol, Bristol BS8 1SS.) I MAY BE SOME TIME: ICE AND THE ENGLISH IMAGINATION. Francis Spufford. 1996. London: Faber & Faber. 372 p, illustrated, hard cover. ISBN 0-571- 14487-X. £15.99. The English polar explorers of the first part of the present century had a supreme capacity for understatement and unintentional irony. Robert Falcon Scott recorded that the Antarctic continent was a place that: 'comes nearer to satisfying my ideal of perfection than any condition I have ever experienced....No words of mine can convey the impressiveness of this wonderful panorama displayed to my eye.' Yet, the stated attitudes of the members of the Scott expedition towards the Antarctic interior were often quite ambivalent. The Antarctic was not only a desolate and foreboding space, it was also intensely poetic and beautiful. Positive images of nature could be combined with an appreciation of the harsh charms of the polar world: the long polar nights, the changing rhythms of light and darkness, and the dangerous polar blizzard. The cultural and ideological significance of polar ex- ploration is the subject matter of Francis Spufford's I may be some time. The poles did undoubtedly fire the imagina- tions of English polar explorers and administrators. As with their European and Soviet counterparts, the poles, as the literal and figurative ends of the Earth, were often considered remote, inaccessible, unattainable, and, there- fore, as worthy adversaries. Within English public culture, the subsequent conquest of the poles was considered indicative of industrial progress and modernity, techno- logical prowess, masculine endeavour, scientific curios- ity, national prestige, and humankind's mastery over the natural world. However, the English record on polar exploration was undoubtedly mixed, as explorers either implanted the British flag on the polar wastes and claimed everything they could see for Great Britain or died some- where en route. The members of the former group were often uncertain of their geographical position, whilst those of the latter group later became immortalised. Thus, the failure of the Scott expedition was to be of lasting cultural significance within England, judging by the stream of newspaper stories, works of fiction, state-sponsored me- morials, and postage stamps generated in the aftermath. However, Spufford's account of polar exploration is far more wide-ranging than just Scott's expeditions. It stretches from a discussion of the eighteenth century and the Burkean sublime to nineteenth-century popular Eng- lish literature. Spufford's account, through the employ- ment of generous quotations and extracts, touches upon the varied geographical imaginations of nineteenth-cen- tury polar writings. This does produce a paradoxical consequence, however. On the one hand, his account is rich and varied in terms of sources and contextual back- ground, especially as it relates to the writings of Charles Dickens, Sir John Franklin, and Jane Austen. It is a potent mixture of historical scholarship and a form of literary criticism. There are many rich insights, such as noting the growing popularity of polar images and references within the urban landscape and the production of commemorative commodities such as pottery and cigarette cards. On the other hand, the writing style is long-winded and often tedious in relating key points. A more concise version of this book might have been more effective, had some of the details pertaining to the descriptions of the polar landscape or polar personalities been compressed. The descriptions of Clements Markham are classic in this respect, as the reader is bombarded with anecdotes and asides that ulti- mately detract from some interesting observations about either Markham's relationship with Scott or his dreams of imperial conquest and territorial aggrandisement. The final pages of Spufford's account return to the ill- fated Terra Nova expedition and the last moments of Scott's party, in a tent somewhere on the polar ice. The poorplanning of Scott, the arrogance of ClementsMarkham, and Oates' spirit of self-sacrifice are joined together for one last moment. The British Empire had acquired another dead hero. Visual technologies associated with the cinema and photographic journalism played their part in reproduc- ing the thrills and perils of polar exploration for English audiences. The tragic failure of Scott was later to be used for another form of imperial incitement: this time for the troops fighting for king and country in the muddy fields of Flanders. In spite of some reservations over the turgid writing style, this is an important book, and it one that is likely to have enduring significance. Within polar studies, there has been a tendency to be remarkably uncritical of polar exploration in terms of thinking about its importance in shaping public culture, ideas about nature, and national identity. A dominant, and largely whiggish, approach to the history of exploration has also prevented more critical appraisals of those expeditions and their ideological sig- nificance. Spufford has produced a book of considerable scholarship, which draws together many relevant sources. It is a pity, however, that the referencing is not more thorough, given the extensive quotations and inferences. There are a number of key themes that Spufford could and probably should have addressed within this book. Whilst Spufford may not be aware of the growing aca- REVIEWS 157 demic literature on the cultures of imperial exploration, it seems surprising that the book should end on the demise of the Scott expedition. What is interesting about the Scott expedition is precisely its enduring relevance of the polar ice for Engl ish audiences in the post-Scott era. Why are the English, as opposed to the Scots, Irish, or Welsh, so fascinated with things polar? Spufford has nothing to note, for example, on the culture of polar exploration in late twentieth-century Britain. This is important because it touches upon not only the commemoration of past polar explorers such as Scott but also public responses to con- temporary polar personalities such as Fiennes, Stroud, and Swan. In a post-imperial age, imperial institutions par excellence, such as the Royal Geographical Society and The Times, continue to promote polar heroics either through generous coverage or sponsorship, in spite of the fact that the polar continent has been thoroughly mapped. Whilst Spufford's book is full of insight and historical detail, it does not help address the enduring legacy of polar explo- ration to the English imagination and, in that sense, it was disappointing to this reader. (Klaus Dodds, Department of Geography, Royal Holloway, University of London, Egham, Surrey TW20 OEX.) THE EAST-WEST INTERFACE IN THE EURO- PEAN NORTH. MargaretaDahlstrom, Heikki Eskelinen, and Ulf Wiberg (Editors). 1995. Uppsala: Nordisk Samhallsgeografisk Tidskrift. vi + 155 p, maps, soft cover. ISBN 91-972338-4-6. The Cold War has officially been pronounced as over, and this has definitely led to a greater emphasis on regionalism, especially its implications for the peripheral, marginalised areas within nation-states. In the decentralized, restruc- tured, and consolidated world economy that has emerged since the 1980s, with new communications technologies, new forms of corporate organization, and new business services having intensified 'time-space compression,' the logic and apparatus of statehood is not conducive to trans- national integration. The regional alternative to statism seems potentially compensatory, in terms of the quality of world order, for both the erosion of hegemonic stability and the more acute forms of pathology that are afflicting the weak nation-state. However, almost any generaliza- tion about regionalism is suspect because of unevenness of different regional settings and of the varying degrees to which economic, political, and cultural life has been re- gionalized. Also, because formal regional structures are still being constituted overwhelmingly with state actors as members, the framework of nation-states continues to be a source of friction. The main reason for this, of course, is that the functional logic of statehood hinges on reinforcing differences between nations while reinforcing similarities within nations. The key questions that arise therefore are: can a new geopolitical equilibrium be established between 'national-territorial' and 'local' interests through regional integration? Can regional frameworks help in realizing the critical shift from 'dominance' to 'non-dominance' as the fundamental principle of political governance? The ques- tion is, in other words, how to achieve and sustain 'positive regionalism,' one that promotes environmental sustainability, human rights, human-resource develop- ment (especially in relation to vulnerable minorities and indigenous peoples), and demilitarization of both space and mind? The central focus of The east-west interface in the European north is on cross-border interaction and coop- eration between western and eastern Europe in the so- called 'northern periphery,' that is, between the northern- most parts of Finland, Norway, and Sweden and the northwestern corner of Russia. Both the experiences of and the preconditions for trans-national cooperation in the European north — currently manifest in the efforts of the North Calotte Committee and the Barents region initiative — are critically investigated from socio-cultural, eco- nomic, and political perspectives. What does the end of the Cold War mean, in practice, for people in the northern periphery of Europe? Can a common northern identity across the east-west divide in the Euro-Arctic be forged, or are Russians and the inhabitants of the Nordic countries fated to live in different worlds? How real and meaningful is the cultural gap between the two, and how will it affect trans-national business cooperation in the area? Will the peripheral regions of the north be able to overcome the legacy of peripherality and effectively participate in the profound technological and organizational restructuring of the Nordic and Russian economies in an environmen- tally sustainable manner? These are the kinds of questions raised in this book. The book consists of 10 chapters, including a concise introductory essay. In chapter one, the editors point out that a new northern dimension has been added to the European integration process by the EU membership of Finland and Sweden, and they describe the cross-border interaction in the north as a 'strategy for regional develop- ment in more peripheral parts of neighbouring countries' (page 1). They argue that, notwithstanding several major structural differences between the partners concerned (that is, governments of the four countries involved, eight sub- national regions, and representatives of indigenous peo- ples), there is a common stake in the sustainable develop- ment of the European north. Security, ecology, and economy are pinpointed as the major driving forces behind the cooperation efforts in the resource-rich Euro-Arctic, which, 'with its remote location, harsh climate and vast territory...has been a typical geographical periphery. Its socio-economic developments have been controlled by external decision-makers, mainly from the national capi- tals' (page 3). In chapter two, Kimmo Katajala writes about the role and great impact that the major metropolis of St Petersburg had on eastern Finland during the nineteenth and early part of the twentieth centuries, in almost all sectors of produc- tion. Correspondingly, the development of the transport networks was closely tied to the demands of industry and trade. Although this influence was almost erased by the October Revolution, current developments have clearly 
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work_4l4zcajudzed3ksi4cctdc4k6y	----	Écritures féminines et dialogues critiques : subjectivité, genre et ironie / Writing Women and Critical Dialogues : Subjectivity, Gender and Irony by Françoise Lionnet (review) Écritures féminines et dialogues critiques : subjectivité, genre et ironie / Writing Women and Critical Dialogues : Subjectivity, Gender and Irony by Françoise Lionnet (review) Nadège Veldwachter L'Esprit Créateur, Volume 53, Number 1, Spring 2013, pp. 170-171 (Review) Published by Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:53 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/esp.2013.0014 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/507893 https://doi.org/10.1353/esp.2013.0014 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/507893 gratitude had played in upholding social cohesion. The book examines the tension between these two changes and their rhetorical expression in the works of Challe, Marivaux, Rousseau, and Diderot. Each of these writers advances the transformative effect of one or both of the two emotions. Bridging the classical era and the beginning of the Enlightenment, Challe’s treatise, Difficultés sur la religion, focuses on the author’s anger in his existential relation to God. In La Vie de Mar- ianne, Marivaux explores how Marianne’s gratitude toward her benefactors inspires the recogni- tion of her independence and moral worth as a human being. Rousseau plays the key role, invok- ing both sentiments to powerful effect. Anger and gratitude figure prominently in both his personal social encounters and in his works, the fiction as well the discursive texts. From the moment of his inspiration on the way to visit Diderot incarcerated at Vincennes, anger serves the polemics of his attack on injustice and inequality. Rousseau’s anger will have an illocutionary force on his readers, inspiring their gratitude to him and redefining their sense of self in relation to Rousseau the man. His anger and his discomfort at the way gratitude in a relation of patronage weakens personal liberty and identity will lead him to propose the neutral rule of law to govern all ranks in society equally. His works will thus exceed their descriptive value to have a far last- ing effect in reshaping personal relations, first between author and reader, and second, extended to other social and political relations. Anger, resentment, and the vicissitudes of gratitude resurge in the polemics between Lui and Moi in Diderot’s Le Neveu de Rameau, as each provokes the anger of the other and Lui suggests that Moi should gratefully acknowledge his debt to Lui as an inspiration for Moi’s own genius. By the close of the century, these two sentiments, described and dramatized in the texts of major authors, succeeded in redefining the individual in his relation to the social and political sphere. One can question whether Voltaire or other Enligthtenment writ- ers should have been included. What is clear is that Coleman’s monograph lays the groundwork for exploring bourgeois drama or novels by women, such as Graffigny’s Lettres d’une Péruvi- enne, where the bourgeois or marginalized individual who expresses anger or gratitude merits respect and the recognition of his or her rights as a social being. JANIE VANPÉE Smith College Françoise Lionnet. Écritures féminines et dialogues critiques : subjectivité, genre et ironie / Writ- ing Women and Critical Dialogues : Subjectivity, Gender and Irony. La Pelouse, Trou d’Eau Douce, Ile Maurice: L’Atelier d’écriture, 2012. Pp 314. ISBN 99903-36-68-7. Cette collection d’essais rassemblant textes français et anglais est l’un des deux volumes qui retracent l’évolution de la pensée critique de Françoise Lionnet, l’une des chercheuses les plus respectées dans les études francophones, au cours de ces vingt dernières années. L’intention derrière ce recueil est formulée sans ambages. Il s’agit d’ « un effort de réévalu- ation de l’histoire littéraire et de ses lacunes » (19). Pour ce faire, Lionnet déploie une méthodolo- gie exemplaire résolument ancrée dans l’interdisciplinaire. Le livre, divisé en deux parties, suit une chronologie et une thématique distinctes. La première partie allant de 1991 à 2001 s’ouvre sur la dénonciation de la « misogynie ordi- naire » (19) qui imprègne la tradition poétique des pontes de la littérature française et francoph- one : Breton, Senghor, Césaire, de Chazal et Maunick. Lionnet déplore le poids patrimonial d’une littérature où la femme est réduite à un ‘signe’ métaphorique vidé de toute subjectivité. Les trois chapitres suivants sont dédiés, respectivement, à Humbert, Devi et Collen, auteures mauriciennes, qui répondent à ce discours masculin. « Le principe organisateur de l’auto-portrait » (61) dans À l’autre bout de moi d’Humbert fait naître un dialogue innovant avec Nietzsche où psychanalyse et philosophie informent le concept de fragmentation identitaire ; plus avant, le contexte de la condition ouvrière féminine des années 1980 dans There is a Tide de Collen révèle l’éclatement 170 SPRING 2013 L’ESPRIT CRÉATEUR culturel des nouvelles nations postmodernes à la merci de modes de consommation mondiaux qui ne laissent guère de fonctionnalité à l’expression du ‘local’. Couvrant la période de 2002 à 2012, la deuxième partie élabore une topologie fertile pour soulever et éclairer les interrogations autour du concept de littérature-monde en français. La mul- tiplicité des sujets abordés donne à la fois une vision globale et comparative de la littérature fran- cophone dans toute sa richesse intertextuelle. Prenant une position adverse aux préceptes du mouvement de la littérature-monde, Lionnet adopte trois axes de démonstration. Les relations translinguistique et transhistorique entre Maryse Condé et Emily Brontë ainsi qu’entre Marie-Thérèse Humbert et Jane Austen sont examinées à travers les réécritures ‘périphériques’ du canon anglais. Dans Le Dernier Frère d’Appanah, Lion- net révèle la résonance ‘multidirectionnelle’ des mémoires juive et mauricienne de la seconde guerre mondiale. L’auteur conclut sur les notions de mimétisme et d’ironie retracées dans l’hom- mage rendu à l’œuvre de Devi. C’est en vertu d’un chevillage narratologique assuré que l’argu- mentation convainc. Au lieu du racornissement critique d’une pensée de la francophonie soumise aux diktats du centre parisien, Lionnet offre une relecture de « codes et pratiques rhétoriques qui ont toujours été le sceau philologique […] de nombreux textes francophones» (176) chez des écrivains voyageurs des 17e et 18e siècles (Bernardin de Saint-Pierre). Ceci lui permet de dévoiler les formes déjà présentes, à l’époque moderne, de créolisation et mondialisation propices à l’avènement de ce qu’elle nomme la relation « transcoloniale » (183). L’atout majeur de cet ouvrage est de faire (re)découvrir un critique incontournable des études postcoloniales dont l’œuvre explore et met en pratique les notions d’hybridité et cosmopolitisme littéraire dans un souci constant de renouvellement de sa pensée. NADÈGE VELDWACHTER Purdue University VOL. 53, NO. 1 171 BOOK REVIEWS 
work_4mtsq2jgtbacpioivh2fk74oh4	----	UDK 82.0 Jernej Habjan Inštitut za slovensko literaturo in literarne vede ZRC SAZU ANALIZA SVETOVNIH-SISTEMOV IN FORMALIZEM V LITERARNI ZGODOVINI Desetletje po Morettijevem predlogu oddaljenega branja svetovne literature kritike tega kulminirajo denimo v Holquistovi zavrnitvi oddaljenega branja v imenu jakobsonovske filo- logije. Oddaljeno branje se resda odpove natančnemu branju, ne pa tudi Jakobsonu. Formalni »skoki«, ki jih Franco Moretti rekonstruira s pomočjo kvanititativnih analiz dolgega trajanja form, aktivirajo prav to, čemur Roman Jakobson pravi »poetska funkcija jezika«. Še več, Jakobsona zanemarja ravno tisto zgodovinopisje, ki Morettijevo teorijo svetovne literature sooča z lokalnimi literarnimi dejstvi, ki naj bi zaslužila kanonizacijo. Te kritike prezrejo, da lahko teorijo ovrže le močnejša teorija, ne pa dejstva, in da utegne biti dobro izhodišče za to prav Morettijeva umestitev lokalnih dejstev v periferije, ki jih izkoriščajo kanonizirani centri, ne pa v sam kanon. A decade after Franco Moretti s̓ plea for the distant reading of world literature, its cri- tiques are culminating in, say, Michael Holquist s̓ dismissal of distant reading on behalf of Jakobsonian philology. Distant reading, however, can indeed be charged with denouncing clo- se reading, but not Jakobson. The formal “jumps” reconstructed by Moretti via quantitative analyses of the longue durée of forms activate what Roman Jakobson calls the “poetic func- tion of language.” Moreover, Jakobson is ignored by the very historiography that confronts Moretti s̓ theory of world literature with local literary facts that are said to deserve canonisa- tion. These critiques fail to see that theories can be falsified only by stronger theories, not by facts, and that Moretti s̓ location of local facts not in the core s̓ canon, but in the peripheries exploited by the core, may be a good starting point. Ključne besede: oddaljeno branje, analiza svetovnih-sistemov, natančno branje, struktu- ralna poetika, Franco Moretti, Roman Jakobson Keywords: distant reading, world-systems analysis, close reading, structural poetics, Franco Moretti, Roman Jakobson Leta 2000 je Franco Moretti zastavil vprašanje, kako bi literarna veda mogla seči onkraj svetovnega kanona, in podal tale negativni odgovor: »Nekaj je gotovo: ne s pomočjo natančnega branja peščice tekstov, te sekularizirane teologije (ʻkanon!ʼ), ki se je iz veselega mesteca New Haven razširila po vsej literarni vedi.« (MORETTI 2000: 208) V spremljevalni razpravi pa je strategijo natančnega branja, ki jo je v metodo utrdilo novo kritištvo in dokončno uveljavil dekonstrukcionizem, označil za »teološko vajo – zelo slovesno obravnavo zelo redkih tekstov, pojmovanih zelo resno –, medtem ko v resnici potrebujemo majhno pogodbo s hudičem: znamo brati teks- te, zdaj se naučimo še ne brati tekstov« (2011: 11). Pet let zatem, po nizu predlogov zamenjave dekonstrukcionističnega natančnega branja kanona s tem, kar je Moretti poimenoval »oddaljeno branje« »svetovnega literarnega sistema«, je pozitivni odgo- vor prinesla tale retrospekcija: »Medtem ko je nedavna literarna teorija iskala navdih Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://srl.si Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 2, april–junij 120 pri francoski in nemški metafiziki, sem torej menil, da se lahko v resnici veliko več naučimo pri naravnih in družbenih znanostih.« (2011: 44) Moretti je novi spoznavni predmet, svetovno literaturo kot zgodovinsko diferen- ciran sistem form, dejansko proizvedel z navdihovanjem pri analizi svetovnih-siste- mov; in z navezavo na grafe kvantitativnega zgodovinopisja, geografske zemljevide in drevesa evolucijske biologije je zamejil čas, prostor in kronotope nekaterih izmed ključnih formalnih elementov, ki naddoločajo tiste žanre, ki naddoločajo zgodovino svetovne literature. Oddaljeno branje kot aplikacija analize svetovnih-sistemov na literaturo Svetovnosistemska šola konceptualizira moderno zgodovino kot proces obliko- vanja meddržavnega sistema, strukturiranega okrog delitve med zgodovinsko giblji- vim centrom akumulacije kapitala in njegovo vsakokratno (pol)periferijo. Center, polperiferija in periferija se premeščajo v skladu z gibanjem sistemskih ciklov aku- mulacije: cikel s centrom v Genovi se začne oblikovati v poznem 14. stoletju in ga sredi 16. stoletja izrine nizozemski cikel, ki se sredi 18. stoletja umakne britanskemu ciklu, ki ga proti koncu 19. stoletja nadomesti ameriški cikel, pri čemer ZDA v za- dnjih štiridesetih letih vse bolj zgubljajo boj za ekstraprofite proti jugovzhodni Aziji.1 Kakor moderni svetovni-sistem je po Morettiju (2011: 9–10, 21) tudi svetovna li- teratura »ena in neenaka«, en sam sistem, katerega struktura pa je razdeljena na ka- nonični center in marginalizirano (pol)periferijo. Moretti rekonstruira »dolgočasno« (MORETTI 1998: 150) dolgo trajanje inertnih form na periferijah kanona kot ozadje ka- nona, kot potencialni, a ne aktualizirani kanon. Tako seveda postane zanimiv ne samo »dolgčas«, pač pa – to je morda še težje doseči – sam kanon, ki nenadoma začne zasta- vljati nelagodna vprašanja, med katerimi je na primer tole: »Kako se pripovedna forma izkristalizira iz zbirke naključnih, nezrelih in pogosto groznih poskusov?« (prav tam) Dialektiko enosti in asimetričnosti, zaradi katere je svetovna literatura »ena in ne- enaka«, sistem, najučinkoviteje formalizira Morettijeva uporaba evolucijskih dreves, zlasti njegovo drevo polpremega govora (MORETTI 2011: 126–38), ki sklepa njegov petletni niz poskusov, da bi zajel svetovno literaturo.2 Sodeč po drevesu, postopek polpremega govora med Jane Austen in Flaubertom ter Zolajem vse bolj odpravi raz- korak med likom in pripovedovalcem. Po tej saturaciji antagonizem med individuom in družbo ponovno vznikne, brž ko se postopek preseli v Rusijo Dostojevskega. Ponovno 1 Za diagram teh sistemskih ciklov akumulacije gl. ARRIGHI 2009: 192; za malce drugačno krono- logijo, ki jo je predlagal glavni predhodnik analize svetovnih-sistemov, gl. BRAUDEL 2010; za uvod v svetovnosistemski pristop gl. poleg Braudelove knjižice WALLERSTEIN 2006. 2 Sklepno poglavje Grafov, zemljevidov, dreves, ki po poglavju o grafih in poglavju o zemljevidih obravnava drevesa, Moretti (2011: 113, 115) vpelje takole: »Spet je pred nami diagram. Medtem ko so dia- grami v prvem poglavju kvantitativni, v drugem pa prostorski, so evolucijska drevesa morfološki diagrami, ki zgodovino sistematično povezujejo s formo. V nasprotju z literarno vedo, v kateri so teorije forme obi- čajno slepe za zgodovino, zgodovinske razprave pa slepe za formo, evolucijska misel dejansko obravnava morfologijo in zgodovino kot obe razsežnosti enega drevesa: vertikalna os od spodaj navzgor prikazuje re- gularno minevanje časa /…/, horizontalna pa spremlja formalno raznovrstnost /…/, ki bo sčasoma privedla do ʻizrazite zvrstiʼ ali do popolnoma novih vrst. /…/ Od skupnega nastanka k izjemni pestrosti rešitev: veje morfološkega drevesa z izjemno intuitivno močjo zajamejo to nenehno razločevanje življenjskih form.« Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jernej Habjan, Analiza svetovnih-sistemov in formalizem v literarni zgodovini 121 odpravo razkoraka, a tokrat ne brez antagonizma, prinese vrnitev postopka v Evropo, a to pot v Vergov sicilski, politično nekonsolidirani del Evrope. Naposled se lik in pri- povedovalec znova ločita vzdolž osi center/periferija, ko evropski visoki modernizem potuji objektivnost buržoazne ideologije, Vargas Llosovi in drugi latinskoameriški »diktatorski romani« pa subjektivnost kompradorskega vodje. Namesto nepovezanih dekonstrukcionističnih natančnih branj – ki bi se jim po- vrh vsega Verga ali celo Vargas Llosa najbrž niti ne zdel vreden dekonstrukcije – tako uzremo proces, katerega dialektika se materialno artikulira v geografiji. Postopek pol- premega govora je namreč kot moderna ideološka kompromisna tvorba prepoznan in postvarjen v centru svetovnega-sistema 19. stoletja; problematiziran kot tak v moderni- zirajoči se Rusiji; zgolj delno obnovljen na evropski južni polperiferiji; in nato ponovno relativiziran v izhodiščnem zahodnoevropskem centru in na dotlej inertni latinskoame- riški periferiji, pri čemer sta obe področji tedaj, v ameriškem stoletju, že polperiferni. Vendar je oddaljeno branje namenjeno premagovanju razdalj ne le med Jane Au- sten in Vargas Lloso, temveč tudi med Jane Austen in Amelio Opie, med Vargas Llo- so in Davidom Vińasom. Oddaljeno branje ne poskuša (de)konstruirati kanona, pač pa obravnava kanon kot zgolj eno izmed potencialnih zgodovin literature, in sicer kot tisto, ki je zaradi vzrokov, ki tvorijo zakone literarne zgodovine, postala dejanska zgodovina. To je jasno razvidno iz Morettijeve druge osrednje študije, ki uporablja evolucijsko drevo, namreč iz njegove arheologije podžanrov detektivske zgodbe, ki so ostali zgolj potencialnosti zaradi Conan Doylove zmagovite uporabe postopka ključev kot jakobsonovskega sprožilca poetske funkcije jezika detektivskih zgodb. Drevesa lahko tedaj odkrijejo tako razmerja med na videz nepovezanimi aktual- nostmi kakor potencialnosti, ki so jih zasenčile aktualnosti. Se pravi, na novo lahko osvetlijo ne samo razmerja med elementi kanona, pač pa tudi periferne literarne for- me, ki jih je marginaliziral kanon kot celota. V prvem primeru drevesa rekonstruirajo razvejevanje enot (kakršna je postopek polpremega govora), v drugem pa nasprotni proces (kakršen je poenotenje žanra detektivske zgodbe pod znamenjem postopka ključev). V izhodiščnem predlogu oddaljenega branja sta bila procesa resda razde- ljena med razvejajočimi se, nacijam podobnimi drevesi in poenotujočimi, trgom po- dobnimi valovi (MORETTI 2011: 22–25); zdi se, da se sredi desetletja ta razlika že reflektira v samo drevo, ki lahko kot takšno formalizira obe vrsti procesov. Toda tega ne gre razumeti kot revizijo pod pritiskom številnih kritik izhodiščnega predloga. Nasprotno, nova drevesa še kompleksneje, konkretneje prikažejo dialektiko centra in periferije, ki je pri delu med aktualnostmi, kakršni sta Jane Austen in Vargas Llosa, ali na primer tržni mehanizem, ki obsodi pred-doylovske ključe na zgolj potenci- alnost. Ta drevesa je še lažje mobilizirati v Morettijevem izhodiščnem boju zoper proučevanje literatur kot samozadostnih nacionalnih in celo lokalnih identitet. Dekonstrukcionistična kritika oddaljenega branja Strategiji oddaljenega branja mnogi očitajo, da zvaja posebnost sleherne litera- ture oziroma kulture na njeno mesto v binarnem dispozitivu centra in periferije. A kljub silni navezanosti na sodobno kritično teorijo te kritike ne poskušajo na primer Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 2, april–junij 122 dekonstruirati tega binoma in tako ali drugače pokazati, da to razlikovanje manife- stno daje prednost centrom, latentno pa se naslanja na periferije. Nasprotno, te kritike poskušajo zgolj dokazati, da literature in kulture, s katerimi se identificirajo, niso periferne; namesto za dekonstrukcijo kanona se potegujejo za priznanje svojih lokal- nih literatur kot vrednih kanonizacije. Delajo namreč – z vidika dekonstrukcionizma usodno – napako, da uporabljajo izraza center in periferija kot besedi, politično ne- korektni besedi vsakdanje govorice, ne pa kot termina analize svetovnega-sistema, tj. teorije centralnega izkoriščanja periferij. Podobno so oddaljenemu branju očitali, da zanemarja posebnosti posameznih je- zikov in se zanaša le na filološke študije iz druge roke (napisane v angleškem jeziku; ARAC 2002: 40). V tem primeru bi dialektičen in neidentiteten odgovor mogel biti v tem, da se oddaljeno branje zateka k že opravljenim študijam prav zato, da bi moglo njihov predmet, dano lokalno literaturo, artikulirati na ravni predmeta analize sve- tovne literature in mu tako podeliti dostojanstvo novega spoznavnega predmeta. Od- daljeno branje tvega z branjem zunajbesedilnih postopkov in žanrov (ter sekundarne literature v angleščini) ravno zato, da ne bi bilo kakor natančno branje omejeno na branje (primarne) literature v angleščini. Dekonstrukcija je tedaj ne samo to, kar kritike oddaljenega branja zahtevajo, am- pak tudi to, pred čimer so ranljive. Pa še to je, kar te kritike zanemarjajo, saj prezre- jo Morettijevo lastno dekonstrukcionistično uporabo para center/periferija. Moretti resda začne s trditvijo, da je pohod romana na način prilagajanja zunanjemu vplivu značilen za periferije, spontan pohod pa za centre. Toda to stori le zato, da bi lahko pokazal, da je pravilo prvi primer, ne drugi (2011: 15–16). V resnici Moretti vpelje opozicijo pravilo/izjema in, potem ko jo projicira na binom center/periferija, dobi veliko konkretnejše razmerje med periferijo-kot-pravilom in centrom-kot-izjemo. V končni izpeljavi (2011: 36–37) pa celo pokaže, da je spontanost ne le izjemna, pač pa neobstoječa, saj je pohod romana zmerom, tudi v centrih, izid kompromisa. To pa ga ne napeljuje k relativizmu. Razlika med centrom in periferijo namreč ostaja, a ni v genezi elementa (kakršen je pohod romana), temveč v njegovem mestu v sistemu: bistveno je to, kje je element glede na center, ne pa to, ali je nastal samoniklo. Videti je, da na podobno napačno branje naletimo v primeru Morettijevega iz- hajanja iz ideje Fredrica Jamesona, da pohod neke forme vselej zahteva kompromis med tujo formo in lokalnim gradivom. Moretti dejansko obravnava to opozicijo kot enega izmed zakonov literarne zgodovine, vendar kritike prezrejo, da opoziciji doda lokalno formo (2011: 20). S tem ko trdi, da to formo destabilizira tuja forma, nakaže, da je naddoločena, dvojno vpisana. Kajti lokalno formo kot lokalno določa gradivo, kot formo pa to, kar ji je tuje, ta druga določenost pa je naddoločenost, saj tuja forma poleg lokalne forme določa tudi lokalno gradivo, ki tudi samo določa lokalno formo. Lokalna forma je torej zgostitev, simptom asimetričnosti kompromisa: nestabilnost lokalne forme (kakršna je pripovedovalec) signalizira podrejenost lokalnega in gra- diva tujemu in formi (na primer lokalnega lika tujemu sižeju; 2011: 17 op. 23). Kritikam oddaljenega branja torej že njihova tarča ponudi dekonstrukcijo dvojice center/periferija. Še več, ta dekonstrukcija brani lokalne literature, v imenu katerih so te kritike kritične, bolje kakor one same. Ker namreč obravnava te literature kot izkoriščane po centru, vsekakor doseže več kakor preproste zahteve po sprejetju teh literatur v kanon, Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jernej Habjan, Analiza svetovnih-sistemov in formalizem v literarni zgodovini 123 zahteve, ki ne uvidijo, da kanon sestavljajo natančno teksti, katerih kanonični status se zdi zdravorazumski in je kot tak odvisen od ideološkega in ne znanstvenega priznanja. In sicer gre po Morettiju za ideologijo povprečnega bralca in bralke, tj. – kot prikaže drevo detektivskih ključev – za ideologijo trga: »Kanone ustvarjajo bralci in bralke, ne profesor- ji in profesorice: akademske izbire so zgolj odmevi procesa, ki poteka povsem zunaj šole, nič drugega niso kakor nejevoljno etiketiranje.« (MORETTI 2000: 209) Filološka kritika oddaljenega branja Ta napad na oddaljeno branje tedaj še zdaleč ni obramba natančnega branja. In sicer ni obramba ne dekonstrukcionistične ne filološke različice natančnega branja. Dese- tletje po Morettijevem predlogu oddaljenega branja svetovne literature številni drugi radikalni misleci odvračajo od natančnega branja v prid historičnemu materializmu. (Na primer Tariq Ali je novembra 2008 na 12. letni konferenci inštituta Parkland v Edmontonu označil tedaj svežo globalno ekonomsko krizo za dogodek, ki je kritični misli zastavil nalogo, ki je ta ne bo mogla opraviti z zanašanjem na natančno branje, ki je zadnji dve desetletji prevladovalo v mednarodnem akademskem polju. Maja 2010 pa je na 3. letnem Subverzivnem filmskem festivalu v Zagrebu podobno sodbo izrekel Slavoj Žižek.) Istočasno kritike, ki jih literarna veda naslavlja na Morettija, kulmi- nirajo na primer v Holquistovi zavrnitvi oddaljenega branja v imenu jakobsonovske filologije. Michael Holquist (2010: 81) diagnosticira trenutno stanje literarne vede kot »obliko morske bolezni, stanje, v katerem subjekt med drugim zgubi občutek za smer«, in prepoznava njegov glavni simptom v dejstvu, da »[v]rednost raziskovanja, oprtega na tradicionalno natančno branje izvirnih tekstov, zdaj ogroža raziskovalni model, ki ga Franco Moretti, tudi sam izpričan mojster natančnega branja, zagovarja pod rubriko ʻoddaljeno branje «̓. V samozavestni jedrnatosti te zavrnitve lahko razberemo saturacijo starejših kri- tik oddaljenega branja, ki so jih med drugimi prispevali Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, Emily Apter in Jonathan Arac. Tako Gayatri Spivak (2003: 107–09 op. 1) degradira oddaljeno branje v vir učbenikov, iz katerih naj bi črpalo (in ki naj bi jih naposled dekonstruiralo) natančno branje; Emily Apter (2003: 256, 280–81) kljubuje oddalje- nemu branju s pomočjo spitzerjevske nadnacionalne filologije; Arac (2002: 35) pa ne vidi v oddaljenem branju nič manj kakor primer do globalizacije prijazne teorije, ki zanemarja singularnost jezika in s tem literarne vede. Oddaljeno branje resda zavrača natančno branje, ne pa tudi Jakobsonove poetike. Nasprotno, formalni skoki, ki jih Moretti rekonstruira s pomočjo kvantitativnih ana- liz »dolgočasnega« dolgega trajanja formalne evolucije, aktivirajo ravno to, čemur bi Roman Jakobson (1979: 305) rekel »naravnanost na izraz«3 in pozneje »poetska funk- cija jezika«, ki »projicira načelo ekvivalence s selekcijske osi na kombinacijsko os« 3 »V emocionalnem in pesniškem jeziku jezikovne predstave /…/ močno usmerjajo pozornost nase /…/. Pri tem pa se sorodnost emocionalnega in pesniškega jezika tudi konča. Medtem ko v prvem afekt na- rekuje zakone besedni gmoti, /…/ poezijo, ki ni nič drugega kakor izjava, naravnana na izraz, urejajo tako rekoč imanentni zakoni; komunikacijska funkcija, lastna tako praktičnemu kakor emocionalnemu jeziku, je tu minimizirana.« (JAKOBSON 1979: 305) Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 2, april–junij 124 (JAKOBSON 1989: 160).4 Spomnimo se dreves: geografsko premeščanje polpremega govora je obravnavano kot sredstvo naravnanosti tega postopka na izraz; in ključi so uzrti kot tisto, kar sproži poetsko funkcijo jezika detektivskih zgodb, tj. kot »zglob, ki združi [preteklost in sedanjost] in s tem spremeni zgodbo v nekaj, kar ni zgolj vsota svojih delov: v strukturo.« (MORETTI 2000: 218) Jakobsona, pace Holquist, ne zanemarja oddaljeno branje, pač pa sama kompara- tivistična politika priznanja lokalnih kultur, ki kritizira oddaljeno branje. To identite- tno politiko delno reproducira celo Holquistova obramba Jakobsona pred Morettijem. Kajti kljub svoji manifestni kritiki postmodernega prisvajanja jakobsonovskega jezi- kovnega obrata kot obskurantističnega relativizma (HOLQUIST 2010: 91) ta obram- ba predstavlja Jakobsona kot nekakšnega postmodernega zagovornika manjšinskih literatur (2010: 85, 95 op. 7) in kot dekonstrukcionističnega razkrinkovalca jezikovne konstruiranosti univerzalnih resnic ali, v najboljšem primeru, kot apostola truizma o diskurzivnosti realnosti: »Nalogo filologije, da spodbija iluzijo, da lahko ljudje ube- žimo pred morjem besed v nekakšen mitičen pristan absolutne resnice, je Jakobson opravljal briljantno« (2010: 94). Proti tej nasprotipostavitvi oddaljenega branja in strukturalne poetike bi morali poudariti, da Moretti (2009: 154) celo v nedavni izrazito kvantitativni študiji vztraja, da je »formalna analiza /…/ tisto, ob čemer se mora izkazati sleherni nov pristop, naj bo kvantitativen, digitalen, evolucionističen ali kakršen koli že«. Prav to pa je poanta Jakobsonove (ne)slavne šale, da je raziskovanje literature brez formalne analize prav tako naključno kakor aretacija brez ključev: [P]redmet literarne znanosti ni literatura, temveč literarnost, tj. tisto, kar napravi neko delo literarno. Literarni zgodovinarji pa so bili doslej predvsem podobni policistom, ki takrat, ko imajo nalogo, da aretirajo določeno osebo, za vsak primer zaprejo še vse tiste, ki so bili v stanovanju, pa tudi vse one, ki gredo po naključju mimo hiše. Prav tako je za literarne zgodovinarje porabno prav vse: življenje, psihologija, politika, filozofija. Name- sto literarne vede nastaja konglomerat disciplin, gojenih na domači gredici. (JAKOBSON 1979: 305; prevod delno naveden po: VERČ 2010: 46) Ravno od te primere se praviloma ograjuje tisti – večinski – del sodobne literar- ne vede, ki kritizira tudi oddaljeno branje. Ta dvojna zavrnitev postane razumljiva, brž ko se zavemo, da formalna analiza, kakršno prakticirata Jakobson in Moretti, le stežka potrdi trenutno literarnovedno zagotavljanje, da je ta ali ona lokalna literatura oziroma kultura (običajno tista, ki ji pripada izjavljalec tega zagotavljanja) edinstve- na identiteta, neodvisna od sleherne svetovnosistemske naddoločenosti, in samostoj- na članica kluba svetovnega kanona. V večini primerov teh literarnovednih pozivov po priznanju perifernih tekstov kot pripadajočih svetovnemu kanonu pač ni mogoče podkrepiti s formalno analizo teh tekstov. 4 »Selekcija poteka na podlagi ekvivalence, podobnosti in različnosti, sinonimije in antinomije, kom- binacija, sestava sekvence, pa temelji na bližini. Poetska funkcija projicira načelo ekvivalence s selekcijske osi na kombinacijsko os. Ekvivalenca je povzdignjena v konstitutivno sredstvo sekvence. V poeziji je zlog izenačen s katerim koli zlogom iste sekvence[.]« (JAKOBSON 1989: 160) Z vidika Jakobsonovega kon- cepta poetske funkcije obravnava njegovo zgodnjo idejo o naravnanosti na izraz SKAZA 1984: 429–30. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jernej Habjan, Analiza svetovnih-sistemov in formalizem v literarni zgodovini 125 Onstran kritike: Oddaljeno branje kot svetovna filologija Lokalna literarna dejstva, ki naj bi ovrgla Morettijev model s centrom in (pol) periferijo ali/in Jakobsonovo definicijo poetske funkcije jezika, nas pripeljejo do sklepne poante: identitetna politika priznanja je epistemološka ovira pri razume- vanju procesa ovrženja določene teorije. V Althusserjevi materialistični epistemo- logiji je ideologija tista, ki je večna, in ne teorija (ALTHUSSER 2000: 84–87), in celo v Popperjevi liberalni epistemologiji je trditev teoretska prav toliko, kolikor jo je mogoče ovreči (POPPER 1998: 120, 95–96), po Feyerabendu pa ni teorija nič manj kakor imuna proti ovrženju z dejstvi in ovrgljiva zgolj z močnejšo teori- jo (FEYERBEND 1999: 23–26, 68–70, 344–45). Medtem ko institucije, ki svoja protislovja rešujejo z vpeljevanjem dopolnilnih institucij, zagotavljajo ideologiji večno materialno eksistenco,5 je teorija alternativa ideologiji prav v tem, da je per- tinentna le lokalno, tako da jo lahko ovržejo zgolj primeri, ki jih je neka močnejša teorija vselej že preoblikovala v spoznavni predmet, ne pa samonikli, pri tej ali oni ideologiji sposojeni predmeti. (Se pravi, ovrženje je usodno za teorijo samo, če ga obravnavamo v slovarskem, ideološkem pomenu, ne pa v Popperjevem teoretskem pomenu.) Tako je ovrgljivost dobra novica za vsako teorijo posebej, ovrženje posa- mezne teorije pa dobra novica za teorijo nasploh, saj se lahko ovrženje neke teorije zgodi samo kot nastop močnejše, konkretnejše teoretizacije »dejstev«. Moč dolo- čene teorije narašča sorazmerno z ovrgljivostjo te teorije in doseže ničlo v hipu, ko neka močnejša teorija aktualizira ovrgljivost kot ovrženje. Prav to dialektiko ima v mislih Moretti, ko se strinja s Popperjem, da je »vrednost neke teorije sorazmerna z njeno neverjetnostjo« in da »[l]ahko neko retorično konfigu- racijo – naj se zdi v luči drugih zgodovinskih ugotovitev še tako absurdna – popolnoma negira zgolj boljša retorična konfiguracija« (MORETTI 2005: 23, 24; prim. MORETTI 2011: 37 op. 13, 16 op. 18). Ravno to zanemarjajo kritike oddaljenega branja, ko posku- šajo to strategijo ovreči s sklicevanjem na dejstva o (domnevno singularnih) partiku- larnih literarnih in kulturnih identitetah, ne pa na teoretske koncepte. Negacija centra-kot-spontanosti je odličen primer. Jale Parla (2004: 117, 120–21) in Jonathan Arac (2002: 38) resda opomnita Morettija, da je celo centralni avtor, kakršen je bil Fielding, priznal Cervantesov vpliv. Toda razlog za to, da Moretti sprejme to kritiko pripisovanja spontanosti literarni evoluciji v centru sistema, je v tem, da ga spomni na mogočo teoretsko – in ne empirično – kritiko, in sicer na ma- terialistične teorije forme kot kompromisa: Tu so reči enostavne: Jale Parla in Jonathan Arac imata prav – in tudi sam bi moral to vedeti. Navsezadnje je bila teza, da je literarna forma zmerom kompromis med nasprotu- jočimi si silami, lajtmotiv moje intelektualne formacije, ki sem ga srečeval vse od freudo- vske estetike Francesca Orlanda do Gouldovega »načela pande« ali Lukácseve koncepcije realizma. Le kako sem mogel »pozabiti« vse to? (MORETTI 2011: 36; prim. 166) 5 Prim. MOČNIK 2009: 256–62. Najbližji (in zato v marsičem najbolj oddaljeni) primer: pregovori kot del materialnosti spontane ideologije vsakdanje govorice vedno nastopajo v parih, tako da jih ne more ovreči noben primer – če ni bog najprej sebi ustvaril brade, je pa kovačeva kobila bosa, in ko slika ne pove več kakor tisoč besed, je pač pero ostrejše kakor meč. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 2, april–junij 126 Če naj gremo do konca: Francesci Orsini, ki opozicijo izhodiščnega in ciljnega jezika, implicirano pri njem in Pascale Casanova, nadomesti z dvojico gostujočega in gostiteljskega jezika, Moretti odvrne: »Kulturna industrija kot ʻgost ,̓ ki ga povabi ʻgostitelj ,̓ ki ʻsi prisvajaʻ njegove forme … So to koncepti ali sanjarije?« (2011: 37 op. 15) Ta odgovor gre brati kot ovrženje konceptov z močnejšimi koncepti, ne z dejstvi, in sicer v tem primeru z opozicijo center/periferija, kakor jo je konceptualizirala analiza svetovnih-sistemov. Izhajajoč iz tega konceptualnega para, pa bi se mogli lotiti tudi »dejstev«, na katera se sklicuje Francesca Orsini: denimo na njen identite- tni očitek, da globalna literatura ne vpliva na indijsko literaturo, pač pa jo zanemarja (ORSINI 2002: 87), bi lahko odvrnili z Wallersteinovo tezo, da so tovrstna izključe- vanja periferij ravno eden od načinov izkoriščevalskega vključevanja teh periferij v svetovni-sistem (WALLERSTEIN 2006: 40–41).6 Kar zadeva Jakobsonovo literarnost, bi poskus ovrženja z dejstvi morda želel priklicati tekste, ki se ne zdijo naravnani na izraz, a kljub temu veljajo za literarne. Dejansko sta to antiesencialističnim kritikom strukturalne poetike predlagala že re- cimo Gérard Genette in Jonathan Culler. Nedavno pa je Marko Juvan (2011: 134–37) interpretiral pesem »novinec v drugi zvezni ligi belišće« oziroma šport (ŠALAMUN 1968: 45), ki jo je leta 1968 Tomaž Šalamun, tedaj že razvpit pesnik, naredil tako, da je športni komentar postavil kot niz vrstic in ga objavil v svoji pesniški zbirki namen pelerine. Juvan s tem primerom ni hotel ovreči Jakobsonovega koncepta literarno- sti, pač pa pokazati, da moremo in moramo ta koncept uporabiti za zajetje konven- cionalne narave kraja objave, avtorjevega položaja v literarnem življenju, obzorja pričakovanja in drugih okoliščin, v katerih ta ali oni tekst postane literaren. Te oko- liščine, navsezadnje institucija umetnosti sama, med drugim dosežejo – kot je prav tako nedavno pokazala Maja Breznik na primeru »reprezentant massimo bianchi in uradnica luciana carere« oziroma who is who (ŠALAMUN 1968: 3), ki je prav tako izšel v zbirki namen pelerine –, da Šalamun »danes velja za največjega slovenskega pesnika po drugi svetovni vojni« (BREZNIK 2010: 84). K temu preoblikovanju Jakobsonovega koncepta v smeri konvencij lahko dodamo dvoje. Prvič, te okoliščine so vselej že vpisane v tekst. V Šalamunovem primeru pre- prosti postopek razdelitve proznega teksta v približno enako dolge vrstice aktivira poetsko funkcijo jezika tega teksta. Ti »manjši posegi« (JUVAN 2011: 136) kar najja- sneje projicirajo Jakobsonovo načelo ekvivalence s selekcijske osi na kombinacijsko os; kot pravi Juvan o podobnem primeru v eni zgodnejših različic razprave: »Vest iz črne kronike o nesreči pri delu se zgolj z verznim prepisom v očeh bralca ali bralke temeljito spremeni.« (JUVAN 2000: 39) Tekst uteleša ničelno stopnjo – in ne odso- tnost – literarnosti. Kot tak pa uteleša tudi naddoločenost kontinuiranega govora z diskretno pisavo: glasno branje, ki po Juvanu (2000: 40, 2011: 135–36) odpravlja raz- liko med verzi športa in prozo športnega komentarja ter s tem zahteva razširitev – po Virku (2008: 104–05) pa celo odpravo – Jakobsonovega koncepta, ne obstaja. Kajti glasno branje, ki zanemari verzne konce športa, ni nič bolj veljavno kakor branje, ki zanemari recimo ločila športnega komentarja. Prav z Juvanovega (in Virkovega) 6 Mimogrede, Pascale Casanova, ki jo ne samo Francesca Orsini, pač pa večina kritikov zavrača hkrati z Morettijem, reflektira svoj projekt zgodovine svetovne literature kot dopolnjevanje – in ne nadomeščanje – Jakobsonovega vprašanja »Kako?« z zgodovinopisnim »Zakaj?« (CASANOVA 1997: 33). Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jernej Habjan, Analiza svetovnih-sistemov in formalizem v literarni zgodovini 127 dekonstrukcionističnega stališča7 je mogoče pokazati, da glasno branje vselej že si- gnalizira verzno obliko športa in tako aktivira njegovo poetsko funkcijo.8 Drugič, noben literarni tekst ne more ovreči Jakobsonove ali katere druge teorije, ne da bi bil – ponovno: vselej že – konceptualiziran kot literarni tekst. Ravno zato, ker ni danega bistva literarnosti, se antiesencialisti ne morejo preprosto sklicevati na tekste, kakor da je njihov literarni status očiten. Kolikor je takšna očitnost izid kanonizacije in sorodnih ideoloških procesov, se mora sleherni poskus znanstvene- ga ovrženja Jakobsonovega koncepta začeti pri konceptualnem prikazu literarnega statusa teksta, uporabljenega pri ovrženju. In videti je, da lahko celo v radikalnem primeru Šalamunovega »ready-made« ta konceptualni prikaz priskrbi že Jakobsonov koncept literarnosti, kar pa falsifikacijo tega koncepta seveda preobrne v verifikacijo. Če se vrnemo k Althusserju, lahko dodamo, da se verovanje v falsifikacijsko moč dejstev zateka k utajitvi razlike med realnim in spoznavnim predmetom. Že več kot desetletje Moretti opozarja svoje (potencialne) kritike, da je oddaljeno branje namenje- no konceptualizaciji novega spoznavnega predmeta, svetovnega literarnega sistema, in ne preprostemu zanikanju partikularnih lokalnih književnosti. In četudi se tako rekoč vsaka kritika oddaljenega branja začne z navedkom Morettijeve izhodiščne teze, da »svetovna literatura ni predmet, ampak problem« (MORETTI 2011: 9; prim. MORET- TI 2000: 217 in 2011: 182), se prav vsaka nadaljuje z odvrnitvijo od njegove teorije v imenu domnevnih dejstev o singularnosti lokalnih identitet. Zato ne preseneča, da je moral Moretti to poanto ponoviti celo v nedavnem referatu »Network Theory, Plot Analysis« (Teorija omrežij, sižejska analiza), kvantitativni analizi Hamleta, ki, mimo- grede rečeno, razvija – ne pa ovrže – njegovo vse prej kot kvantitativno interpretacijo elizabetinske tragedije, razvito pred več kot tremi desetletji (MORETTI 1979). Nekako sredi tega desetletja (kritik) oddaljenega branja pa je Moretti (2011: 163–64, 183) opustil metodološko debato o oddaljenem branju v prid samemu oddaljenemu branju. To je smiselno, kolikor teoretske konstrukcije spoznavnega predmeta ni mo- goče naturalizirati, popredmetiti v statično metodo. Zaradi neizbežne konstruiranosti spoznavnega predmeta je sleherna popolnoma metodološka debata pred-teoretska. A zaradi istega razloga je za teorijo konstitutivna debata o teoriji, saj se teoretizacija spo- znavnega predmeta ne more verificirati zgolj s pred-teoretskim sklicevanjem na dani realni predmet (razprava o teoretski strategiji je torej že teoretska razprava; MOČNIK 2009: 265–66). Moretti pripiše moč ovrženja zgolj teoriji (in je zato deležen mnogih literarnovednih kritik); zato gre njegovo odklonitev elegantne metodološke debate v imenu prozaične empirične analize (2011: 183) brati kot odklonitev abstraktne ideo- 7 »Prvi pogoj /…/ funkcioniranja [elementa govorjene govorice]: njegovo lociranje glede na določen kod /…/. Prek empiričnih variacij tona, glasu itd., morebiti prek določenega akcenta, je treba npr. biti zmo- žen prepoznati identiteto, povejmo, označevalne forme. /…/ [T]a enotnost označevalne forme [se] konsti- tuira le prek svoje iterabilnosti, prek možnosti biti ponavljana /…/ v odsotnosti določenega označenca ali intence aktualnega pomena, kakor tudi vsake intence prisotne komunikacije. [T]a strukturna možnost biti odvzet referentu ali označencu (torej komunikaciji in svojemu kontekstu) naredi iz vsakega znamka, tudi če je ta oralen, grafem na splošno[.]« (DERRIDA 1995: 128–29) 8 Tudi Morettija Juvan (2009: 195–201, 205) dopolnjuje v smeri konvencionalnosti pojma svetovna literatura: »[V]saka nacionalna literatura ali medliterarna skupnost je ustvarila svojo verzijo svetovne kla- sike, vsaka literatura svojo produkcijo medbesedilno utemeljuje na sebi lastnih svetovnih izborih.« (206) (Za Virkovo zavrnitev Morettija gl. VIRK 2007: 188–89, 195 in 2009: 20 op. 30.) Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 2, april–junij 128 loške prakse v prid konkretni teoretski praksi konstruiranja spoznavnega predmeta iz realnega predmeta. Se pravi, namesto da v skladu z identitetno politiko predstavlja lokalne literature in kulture kot vredne sprejetja v svetovni kanon, bi moralo literarno zgodovinopisje pokazati, da je kanon zgolj eden izmed možnih izidov literarne evolucije, tisti, ki je potekal v centrih na račun (pol)periferij. Namesto da teorijo svetovnega literarnega sistema, kakor jo razvijata Franco Moretti ali recimo Pascale Casanova, zgolj sooča z dejstvi o domnevno edinstvenih lokalnih književnostih, bi morala veda uvideti, da lahko teorijo ovrže samo močnejša teorija, ne pa poljubna dejstva. Morda lahko rav- no strategija oddaljenega branja, ki teh lokalnih književnosti ne locira v kanonični center svetovnega literarnega sistema, pač pa v (pol)periferije, ki jih center izkorišča, služi kot izhodišče za takšno močnejšo teorijo svetovne literature. Viri in literatura Louis ALTHUSSER, 2000: Ideologija in ideološki aparati države. Izbrani spisi. Prev. Zoja Skušek. Ljubljana: Založba /*cf. (Rdeča zbirka). 53–110. Emily APTER, 2003: Global Translatio: The »Invention« of Comparative Literature, Istan- bul, 1933. Critical Inquiry 29/2. 253–81. Jonathan ARAC, 2002: Anglo-Globalism? New Left Review 16. 35–45. Giovanni ARRIGHI, 2009: Dolgo dvajseto stoletje. Prev. Marjan Sedmak. Ljubljana: Sophia (Respublica). Fernand BRAUDEL, 2010: Dinamika kapitalizma. Prev. Gregor Moder. Ljubljana: Sophia (Teorija). Maja BreZniK, 2010: Splošni skepticizem v umetnosti. Primerjalna književnost 33/2. 75–86. Pascale CaSanOVa, 1997: Beckett lʼabstracteur. Pariz: Seuil. Jacques DerriDa, 1995: Signatura dogodek kontekst. Prev. Simona Perpar in Uroš Grilc. Sodobna literarna teorija. Ur. Aleš Pogačnik. Ljubljana: Krtina (Temeljna dela). 119–41. Paul FeYeraBenD, 1999: Proti metodi. Prev. Slavko Huzjan. Ljubljana: Studia humanitatis. Michael HOlQuiSt, 2010: Roman Jakobson and Philology. Critical Theory in Russia and the West. Ur. Alastair Renfrew in Galin Tihanov. Abingdon in New York: Routledge. 81–97. Roman JaKOBSOn, 1979: Новейшая русская поэзия. Selected Writings V. Haag: Mouton. 299–354. --, 1989: Lingvistika in poetika. Prev. Zoja Skušek. Lingvistični in drugi spisi. Prev. Drago Bajt idr. Ljubljana: ŠKUC, ZIFF (Studia humanitatis). 147–90. Marko JuVan, 2000: Vezi besedila. Ljubljana: LUD Literatura (Novi pristopi). --, 2009: Svetovni literarni sistem. Primerjalna književnost 32/2. 181–212. --, 2011: Literary Studies in Reconstruction. Prev. Simona Lapanja idr. Frankfurt idr.: Peter Lang. Rastko MOČniK, 2009: Spisi iz humanistike. Ljubljana: Založba /*cf. Franco MOretti, 1979: La grande eclissi. Forma tragica e sconsacrazione della sovranitá. Calibano 4. 9–52. --, 1998: Atlas of the European Novel 1800–1900. London in New York: Verso. --, 2000: The Slaughterhouse of Literature. Modern Language Quarterly 61/1. 207–27. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Jernej Habjan, Analiza svetovnih-sistemov in formalizem v literarni zgodovini 129 --, 2005: Signs Taken For Wonders. Prev. Susan Fischer, David Forgacs in David Miller. Lon- don in New York: Verso. --, 2009: Style, Inc. Reflections on Seven Thousand Titles (British Novels, 1740-1850). Criti- cal Inquiry 36/1. 134–58. --, 2011: Grafi, zemljevidi, drevesa in drugi spisi o svetovni literaturi. Prev. Jernej Habjan. Ljubljana: Studia humanitatis. Francesca ORSINI, 2002: India in the Mirror of World Fiction. New Left Review 13. 75–88. Jale Parla, 2004: The Object of Comparison. Comparative Literature Studies 41/1. 116–25. Karl R. POPPer, 1998: Logika znanstvenega odkritja. Prev. Darja Kroflič. Ljubljana: Studia humanitatis. Aleksander SKaZa, 1984: Komentarji in opombe. Ruski formalisti. Ur. Aleksander Skaza. Prev. Drago Bajt in Frane Jerman. Ljubljana: MK. 421–84. Gayatri Chakravorty SPiVaK, 2003: Death of a Discipline. New York in Chichester: Colum- bia University Press. Tomaž ŠalaMun, 1968: namen pelerine. Ljubljana: Samozaložba. Ivan VerČ, 2010: Razumevanje jezikov književnosti. Ljubljana: Založba ZRC, ZRC SAZU (Studia litteraria). Tomo VirK, 2007: Primerjalna književnost na prelomu tisočletja. Ljubljana: Založba ZRC, ZRC SAZU (Studia litteraria). --, 2008: Literarnost in etika. Literatura XX/209. 98–115. --, 2009: Novi pristopi, stare zablode. Primerjalna književnost 32/2. 1–22. Immanuel WallerStein, 2006: Uvod v analizo svetovnih-sistemov. Prev. Tanja Rener. Ljubljana: Založba /*cf. (Rdeča zbirka). SuMMarY A decade after Franco Moretti s̓ plea for the distant reading of world literature many other radical thinkers are rejecting close reading on behalf of historical materialism. At the same time, critiques addressed to Moretti by literary scholars are culminating in, say, Michael Holquist s̓ dismissal of distant reading in the name of Jakobsonian philology. The self-assu- red brevity of this dismissal can be read as a saturation of such older critiques as Gayatri C. Spivak s̓, Emily Apter s̓ and Jonathan Arac s̓. Distant reading can indeed be charged with denouncing close reading – but not Jakobson. On the contrary, the formal ʻjumpsʼ reconstructed by Moretti through quantitative analyses of the longue durée of forms activate what Roman Jakobson would call the ʻpoetic function of language .̓ Jakobson is, pace Holquist, ignored not by distant reading, but by the very CompLit identity politics that rejects distant reading. Moreover, it is this politics that is reproduced even in Holquist s̓ defense of Jakobson against Moretti, portraying as it is Jakobson as an advocate of minor literatures and a demystifier of universal truths as mere language. Against this juxtaposition of distant reading and structural poetics one should stress that even in his recent hard-core quantitative study, Moretti maintains that formal analysis is what any new approach must prove itself against. This is the point of Jakobson s̓ comparison of literary study without formal analysis to an arrest without clues, a pun rejected by much of the current comparative literary scholarship that dismisses distant reading. And this double rejection is obvious, since formal analysis of Jakobson s̓ or Moretti s̓ kind can hardly corro- borate the current scholarly pleas for recognising local literatures as autonomous identities. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 2, april–junij 130 Hence, rather than trying to follow identity politics in presenting local literatures as part of the world literary canon, contemporary comparative literary studies should show that the canon is dependent on ideological and not scientific recognition. Rather than simply trying to confront Moretti s̓ or, say, Pascale Casanova s̓ theory of the world literary system with local literary facts, literary scholars should realise that a theory can be falsified only by a stronger theory, not by random facts about allegedly singular local literatures. It may be that the di- stant reading approach, which locates these local cultures not in the core s̓ canon, but in the peripheries that are exploited by the core, can serve as a starting point for such stronger theory of world literature. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_2_1.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 Powered by TCPDF (www.tcpdf.org) http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://www.tcpdf.org 
work_4osvlvrwnjhglf5v7bw7ehfn54	----	Tale Looks John Ruskin: The Early Years Tim Hilton The authoritative biography of the most influential nineteenth-century critic of art and society. This volume, the first of two projected volumes, covers the period from 1819 to 1859 and describes the events, relation- ships, travels, and literary and artistic movements that influenced Ruskin's work. ^ '-" 4 "Stupendous." —Fiona McCarthy, The Times (London) Illus. $22.50 The Illustrated Zuleika Dobson Max Beerbohm Introduction by N. John Hall One of the best comic novels in English, now available for the first time with Beerbohm's delightful watercolor and pencil illustrations reproduced in full color and original size. "Delightful." —Michiko Kakutani, New York Times 80 color illus. $19.95 C. R. Ashbee Alan Crawford The first comprehensive biography of one of the most significant figures in British artistic and cultural life at the turn of the century, this book docu- ments the life and work of C. 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:11, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100026010 https://www.cambridge.org/core GrmtBHtcdn F. W. Maitland G. R. Elton In the eyes of scholars of history and jurisprudence, F. W. Maitland is among the very greatest of English historians, yet little has been written about him. G. R. Elton, one of the leading historians of his own genera- tion, now remedies this omission with a skilled, succinct, and vigorous essay that is both biography and critique. $15.00 Available in paperback The Last Country Houses Clive Aslet A "witty and entertaining" (Eden Ross Lipson, New York Times) archi- tectural and social history of the magnificent country houses built in Britain between 1890 and 1939. 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:11, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100026010 https://www.cambridge.org/core PAST AND PRESENT a journal of historical studies "la plus grande revue d'histoire du monde anglo- phone": Annales "No historical periodical has done more than Past and Present to influence the study and teaching of history in British universities . . . It has proved extremely fertile in new interpretations, ideas and controversies . . . What makes Past and Present so invigorating is that it encour- ages historians to extend their horizons and ask new questions": Times Higher Educational Supplement Past and Present began publication in 1952. It now appears in February, May, August and November. 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U M I Research Collections 300 North Zeeb Road Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106 TOLL FREE NUMBERS Continental U.S.: 1-800-423-6108 Michigan, Alaska & Hawaii: Collect 1-313-761-4700 Canadian Customers: 1-800-343-5299 or TELEX (230) 23-5569 British Columbia: 112-800-343-5299 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100026010 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:11, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100026010 https://www.cambridge.org/core CHICAGO The Industrial Reformation of English Fiction Social Discourse and Narrative Form, 1832-1867 Catherine Gallagher "This is the best piece of inter- disciplinary Victorian literary criticism I have seen. The scope of Gallagher's scholarship is immense. [The book] is really a marvelous achievement." — Norman N. 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work_4pch5xutjvch3pfeo72fd7cveq	----	"A Survey of Recent Scholarship in English by CSECS Members" Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l'Université de Montréal, l'Université Laval et l'Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. Érudit offre des services d'édition numérique de documents scientifiques depuis 1998. Pour communiquer avec les responsables d'Érudit : info@erudit.org Compte rendu "A Survey of Recent Scholarship in English by CSECS Members" Mark McDayter et Lisa M. Zeitz Lumen: Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Lumen : travaux choisis de la Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, vol. 25, 2006, p. 233-244. Pour citer ce compte rendu, utiliser l'adresse suivante : URI: http://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012088ar DOI: 10.7202/1012088ar Note : les règles d'écriture des références bibliographiques peuvent varier selon les différents domaines du savoir. Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d'auteur. L'utilisation des services d'Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d'utilisation que vous pouvez consulter à l'URI https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Document téléchargé le 5 April 2021 09:53 16. Review Articles / Recencement des recherches A. A Survey of Recent Scholarship in English by CSECS Members 2004 was a fruitful year for eighteenth-century scholarship in Canada, as even a casual perusal of the output of our specialists in the period will make apparent. The work of Canadian scholars upon the literature, culture, and history of the period covers an impressively wide expanse of subject matter, and includes scholarly editions, biographies, thematic studies, catalogues, collections of critical essays and primary sources, and monographs on individual authors. The brief survey that follows cannot pretend to comprehensiveness, but it does provide an illuminat- ing glimpse of the range and accomplishment of our nation's contribu- tions to eighteenth-century studies over the course of a single year. There is much here that will edify, instruct, and enlighten, but, even more gratifyingly, it has been the experience of these reviewers that there is also a great deal to savour and enjoy. * * * Perhaps the greatest compliment a reader can pay to a scholar is to say that, as a result of reading a critical study, one is compelled to re-read and to re-consider its subject. Such a compliment must be paid to Nicholas Hudson and his wide-ranging and provocative Samuel Johnson and the Making of Modern England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). This is a major book on a major author that engages some of the most important current concerns in eighteenth-century studies, and argues that Johnson is a 'far more complex, significant, and even forward-looking figure than historians have generally acknowledged' (12). H u d s o n ' s tone t h r o u g h o u t his s t u d y is corrective. Sharing Johnson's 'spirit of contradiction' (a spirit that makes his study so stimulating), Hudson opposes the tendency he discerns in some current scholarship to 'tailor intellectual history to our own ideological agendas' and attempts, instead, to read Johnson within his eighteenth-century social and cultural contexts — 'as part of a process that was changing LUMEN XXV / 2006 1209-3696 / 2006 / 2500-0233 $12.00 / © CSECS / SCEDHS 234 Mark McDayter & Lisa Zeitz England from a pre-modern into a modern society' (2). Johnson is neither as compellingly conservative nor as pleasingly progressive as some would have him; his was the perspective of an upwardly mobile figure of the 'incipient' middle class which saw that its interests would be best served by a traditional, but flexible, social order. Through both a careful examination of controversies within Johnson scholarship and criticism, and fresh readings of primary texts, Hudson offers balanced and nu- anced accounts of eighteenth-century party politics and Johnson's politi- cal writings (the 'modernity' of which Hudson claims, knowing his views will be controversial); Johnson's open-mindedness on feminist issues and his promotion of education for women, something that Hud- son characterizes as part of a larger 'project of middle-rank consolida- tion' (75); and Johnson's contribution to the 'construction of English nationhood' — with its attendant negotiations between public spirit and private self-interest, and its promise of emerging greatness and prosper- ity — and the place of empire in that conception (here Hudson weighs Johnson's support of a 'moral' empire over a mercantile one, and warns that Johnson was more supportive of the promise of empire — especially its potential to promote Christian 'civilization' and 'the peace of nations' — than some scholars would have him). Hudson's book, then, in its own re-making of our understanding of 'Samuel Johnson' simultaneously explores not only how Johnson 'was made by the evolving social circum- stances of his age but also how he helped to construct the meaning of what it was to be "English"' (5). Another study that engages the making of the middle class in England — specifically, the formation of a new subject category in late-eight- eenth-century England — is Andrew O'Malley's The Making of the Mod- ern Child: Children's Literature and Childhood in the Late Eighteenth Century (New York: Routledge, 2003), Number 28 in Routledge's 'Children's Literature and Culture' series. A fundamentally middle-class construc- tion, the product of 'an emerging, oppositional middle-class ideology' (3), the modern child (as represented in the pedagogical, medical, and children's literatures of the period) embodied the virtues (industry, obedience, self-reliance) and exhibited the social practices (charity, thrift) upon which industrial capitalism would come to depend. Indeed, the author argues, these literatures 'helped create that very system' (16). O'Malley's work is very well informed by previous scholarship on early children's literature (which is engaged deftly and critically by the author), but where this book stands apart is in its careful distinctions of class difference and its focus on the middle classes as 'the primary source of the ideological content of children's literature in its early years' (20). Working in the line of Raymond Williams and E. P. Thompson, O'Malley displays an acute awareness of the importance of class dynamics. His Review Articles / Recencement des recherches 235 exploration of the self-representation of the middle class as moral, productive, and different from the classes above and below, and his emphasis on children's literature as a mechanism of control, discipline, and the internalization and normalization of middle-class values result in a study that is as much about the cultural production of class and the making of a middle-class British identity as it is about children's litera- ture. Still, it is through fine close readings of familiar primary texts that O'Malley makes his argument, and those looking for fresh and astute discussions of authors like Trimmer, Day, the Kilners, and Wakefield, and works such as Little Goody Two-Shoes will not be disappointed. Sarah Fielding wrote for children, too, but was best known in her own age, as in ours, as 'the author of David Simple' (published in 1744), and sister to Henry Fielding. Perceptions change, however, and Peter Sabor's new Broadview edition of The History of Ophelia (Peterborough: Broad- view Press, 2004), Fielding's last novel, provides a new reason to reac- quaint ourselves with this increasingly important novelist who, as Sabor notes, seems 'set to become widely read and vigorously debated once again' (30). There is, in fact, much in this newly edited novel to spark such debate. Published in 1760, The History of Ophelia is an epistolary comic narrative featuring a fascinating blend of influences and styles. It employs a parodie gothic setting, four years (as Sabor points out in his introduction) before the publication of The Castle of Otranto. Somewhat unusually for the period, Fielding employs an idyllic pastoral Welsh setting for the first portion of her narrative, and uses Ophelia's ignorance of English culture and 'civilization' as the vehicle for much gentle satire. Above all, however, The History of Ophelia can be read as a sympatheti- cally revisionist retelling of Samuel Richardson's Clarissa. In place of the attractive but ultimately irredeemable Lovelace, Fielding gives us Lord Dorchester, an abductor who, despite his libertine beginnings, becomes the protector rather than the ravisher of Ophelia. In so doing, Fielding acts upon the notion, expressed in her 1749 Remarks on Clarissa, that one can imagine Richardson's heroine with 'a Lover whose honest Heart, assimulating (sic) with hers, would have given her leave, as she herself wishes, to have shewn the Frankness of her Disposition, and to have openly avowed her Love' (299). Peter Sabor's treatment of his text has resulted in an exemplary teaching edition, and one that fits well with the other excellent classroom texts for which Broadview has become well-known. The History of Ophelia is an old-spelling edition, but the text has been well annotated, so that there is little here likely to give undergraduates much difficulty. In a succinct but invaluable (and fully-referenced) introduction of some thirty pages in length, Sabor provides an informative outline of Field- ing's writing career, and locates the novel itself within a variety of 236 Mark McDayter & Lisa Zeitz different contexts, carefully tracing its influences and parallels (as for example with Charlotte Lennox's The Female Quixote). As is usual with Broadview editions, The History of Ophelia includes appendices that feature excerpts from a number of contemporary and near-contempo- rary materials. In addition to the useful excerpt from Fielding's Remarks on Clarissa, quoted above, the edition includes three contemporary re- views, the text of a spurious addition to the Dublin edition of 1763, and three illustrations from a 1785 reprinting of the novel. Also, in the interest of locating the text within a larger literary context, Sabor has added an excerpt from Letters Written by a Peruvian Princess (1748), a novel which may have provided a model for Fielding, and from Frances Burney's Evelina, a passage that may, in turn, have been influenced by Fielding's novel. If it is true that the discipline is ripe for a resuscitation of Sarah Fielding's works, Sabor has provided an edition that will do much to facilitate it. Much of the impetus for recent reappraisals of previously neglected authors such as Sarah Fielding, of course, has derived from the vibrant and exciting fields of gender and sexuality studies. Raymond Stephan- son's The Yard of Wit: Male Creativity and Sexuality, 1650-1750 (Philadel- phia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004) is an engaging and thorough study of the 'culture of eighteenth-century male creativity' as revealed through its employment of images of the male genitalia. The degree to which Stephanson is breaking new ground here is evident from the anecdotes he recounts in his frequently amusing Preface, in which he places the inception of this study within the context of an academic culture that had not yet developed a place for its subject matter and approach. That one of his colleagues apparently assumed a paper he was delivering on the subject of 'Men & "Yard"-Work in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries' was to be about men's domestic labour highlights the degree to which even the vocabulary for discussions of masculine sexuality in the period remains new and unfamiliar, despite the recent rise of the field of 'male studies.' Stephanson's interest is in the shift in the perceptions and under- standing of masculinity in the eighteenth century, and, in particular, with the way in which these changing paradigms are reflected in the period's characterization of male creativity. As he notes, the 'male liter- ary culture of the period depended on a shared symbolic and metaphori- cal system to fashion a myth about its own creativity.' The range of expressions of this myth is, of course, enormous, and Stephanson's discussion provides copious examples. The result is, however, far more than a catalogue of conventionalized metaphors for masculine creativity, for the author places all within the contexts of the 'hierarchical dynamics and power structures of male literary communities' (xii), and of the Review Articles / Recencement des recherches 237 concurrent and related shifts in the cultural perceptions of the l i t e r a r y / and of the literary marketplace in particular. Stephanson's central focus in this study is Pope, as the writer who most clearly associated his own creative power with his sexuality, and who was most notoriously victimized by public attacks u p o n his puta- tive sexual inadequacies. But the book's explorations of the context and background for the association of male creativity with masculine sexu- ality range far beyond the subject of 'Alexander the Little': Rochester, Wycherley, Sterne, and Wortley Montagu, to name but a few, receive significant attention here as well. Working its way authoritatively through such fields of study as diverse as eighteenth-century medicine and physiology, the literary trade, and social and cultural history, The Yard of Wit weaves a compelling and convincing portrait of its subject that is bound to prove an important contribution to our understanding of gender and literary creativity in the period. Juliet McMaster is probably best known for her work on Jane Austen and nineteenth-century fiction, but in Reading the Body in the Eighteenth- Century Novel (Houndmills; New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004) she has produced a fascinating study of the use and significance of nonverbal communication in the eighteenth century that will be of interest to almost anyone working in the earlier period. Although McMaster sug- gests that her book is less 'a history of ideas' than a 'study of the assimilation of ideas' (xii), her study is comprehensive and wide-ranging enough to provide a solid introduction to what is a surprisingly large and complicated subject. She is centrally concerned with the novel, and her focus is, in particular, upon such works as Tristram Shandy, Tom Jones, Clarissa, Sir Charles Grandison, and Camilla, but her treatment of the intellectual and artistic contexts through which these novels can be read takes her much further afield than might be expected from a simple 'literary' study. For McMaster, the 'reading' of body language in the eighteenth century was less the unconscious reflex that it has become today than a very deliberate exercise in communication. Physiognomy and its related fields were, for that reason, also a subject of very serious debate in the period, 'congenial to the physician, the physiognomist, the painter, the actor, and the novelist' (xiii). While we arguably share with the eight- eenth century a yearning for the ability to read the mind through the body, for trustworthy correspondences between exterior and interior, such debates played a more important role then than they do now. Indeed, McMaster argues that some eighteenth-century novels were participants in these disputes about the validity of the emotional and psychological evidence provided by the body. 238 Mark McDayter & Lisa Zeitz The variety suggested by the catalogue of professions interested in physiognomy, quoted above, gives a good indication of the scope of McMaster's exploration of her subject. She usefully looks (as did eight- eenth-century authorities) to visual artists like Hogarth and Le Brun for cues, as well as to theatrical representations of emotion. There is also a most useful discussion of medical models, and of scientific/philosophi- cal approaches to the body and communication, including an examina- tion of the roots of these ideas in classical sources such as Aristotle's Physiognomonica. McMaster eschews a simple chronological arrange- ment of her materials in favour of a thematic structure, as she deals in turn with some of the different 'codes' used to read the body. This organizational principle allows each chapter to, in some sense, run in parallel with the others, a method that makes the correspondences between the variety of different approaches to nonverbal communica- tion all the more evident. Reading the Body deals in some depth with the fields of medicine (with reference to Tristram Shandy), physiognomy, facial expression (with a focus upon Le Brun and Richardson's Clarissa), and gesture (discussed in the context of the theatre and Frances Burney's Camilla). A conclusion that looks ahead through Jane Austen to the nineteenth century makes it clear that, whatever the fate of such systema- tized approaches to nonverbal communication as physiognomy, later ages were no less anxious to read the mind through varieties of bodily display. Between 1987 and 2003, the International Society for Eighteenth Cen- tury Studies hosted a series of five separate round-tables on the subject of the life, works, and influence of William Beckford. Held in five different countries on two continents, the meetings have borne fruit with the publication of an essay collection entitled William Beckford and the New Millennium (New York: AMS Press, 2004), edited by Kenneth W. Graham with Kevin Berland. The geographical range of the sites of the round-ta- bles that were the genesis for this volume (Number 47 of AMS Studies in the Eighteenth Century) is reflected in the international origins of the contributors, who hail from Italy, France, Sweden, Portugal, Brazil, the United Kingdom, Canada, and the United States, a fact that is not inappropriate given that, as the editors note, Beckford himself 'was a sensitive traveller able to discover and convey sympathies throughout Europe' (1). The introduction to the collection cites three recent events that have prompted a reassessment of Beckford entering into the new millennium: a New York and London exhibition of works from Beckford's collections of object d'arts, a 'paradigm shift' in studies of gender that has 'been extending sympathetic understandings of gay and lesbian sexualities in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries' (2), and the new accessibility of Review Articles / Recencement des recherches 239 a collection of Beckford manuscripts left as a bequest to the Bodleian Library. All of these are reflected, to lesser or greater degrees, in a volume that exhibits enormous diversity in its subject matter and approaches: the thirteen essays to be found herein approach their versatile author through the visual arts, music, literature, sexuality, landscape and inte- rior design. The essays have been arranged to reflect the 'stages of Beckford's creative life' (3): the first three, by John Benyon, Mirella Billi, and Dick Claésson, examine early expressions of Beckford's vision and style through the late 1770s and into the 1780s; all are interesting, but Benyon's first essay, which explores Beckford's homoeroticism in the context of eighteenth-century understandings of sexuality, childhood, identity, and gender, seems particularly timely. Under the heading 'Mature Fic- tion' appear three further essays which shift the focus of the volume to the last two decades of the eighteenth century; these include essays by John Garrett (addressing Beckford's satiric vision), Didier Girard (on Beckford's command of French style as evinced from manuscript ver- sions of the first Épisode de Vathek), and the volume's editor, Kenneth Graham, which explores the 'uneasy truce' between Enlightenment and Gothic imposed by the peculiar sensibility exhibited throughout the unified narrative of Vathek with The Episodes of Vathek. The next section of the collection, 'Beckford in Portugal/ is comprised of essays by Laura Bettencourt Pires and Paulo Mugayar Kùhl concern- ing Beckford's travels to Portugal, and his responses to Portugese land- scape and culture. The section 'Fonthill Abbey and Bath' is focussed upon Beckford's interest in landscape and interior design, and includes essays by Stephen Clarke, Laurent Châtel, and George Haggerty, all nicely illustrated with reproductions and photographs. The volume concludes with Kevin Cope's essay 'The Millenium Continues to be an Incident: Occasional Reflections on the Renewability of Beckford's Repu- tation.' Cope's reflections wander freely through Beckford's oeuvre and his reputation, and into contemporary popular culture, and locate his subject's paradoxical appeal in his ahistorical 'incidentalism,' an artistic vision of such disconnectedness that his works seem at once immediately relevant, and at the same time impossible to assimilate to recognized categories. Given the bewildering variety of Beckford's own interests and productions, so well reflected in this volume, it is difficult to dis- agree. Those who enjoy a touch of scandal and sordid scenes of low-life in their scholarly reading will undoubtedly be attracted to L. L. Bongie's From Rogue to Everyman: A Foundling's Journey to the Bastille (Montreal: McGill-Queen's University Press, 2004). Bongie's compelling and exten- sively-researched volume recounts the history of Charles de Julie, a 240 Mark McDayter & Lisa Zeitz rogue of the first order w h o haunted the seedier quarters of Paris in the mid-eighteenth century. The hero of Bougie's study lived a various life indeed: through his checkered and unsavoury career, de Julie was a soldier (and deserter), a pimp, a pedlar of scandalous news sheets, an informer and police officer, and, most surprisingly, a poet. That his career ended with two years imprisonment in the Bastille, his release from which in July of 1755 preceded his death by only a few months, seems hardly surprising. That the reader should find herself caring about the sad conclusion of this unregenerate life is a great deal more so, and is testament both to Bougie's abilities as a storyteller, and to the unex- pected universality of his protagonist's lifelong struggles. These struggles ended, at last, with de Julie's death in poverty and obscurity: not even Bongie's obviously painstaking research has been able to reveal the exact date or circumstances of his protagonist's demise. We are, however, offered a series of prison letters written by de Julie from the Bastille in the last years of his life. One of the most interesting aspects of these, and indeed, of de Julie's comportment throughout his life, is the absence of any obvious rancour against the system that was, in effect, to kill him in his thirtieth year. This rogue's activities were, as Bongie notes, 'conducted eagerly and complicitly within rather than outside the broader social norms of his times'; he was very much a man of the older, pre-revolutionary world, accepting of the assumptions of the social, political, and economic system that so effectively, and fatally, victimized him. Bongie offers his reader 'a ground level, unapologetically material sense of everyday low life during one of the most fascinating periods of French history' (ix-x), and this he unquestionably delivers. Our fascina- tion with de Julie notwithstanding, this study is most truly a social history, for its vivid evocations of mid-century Paris, its playhouses, taverns, gardens, and, most of all, its darkly criminal and wretched underworld, provide enormously valuable insights into the day-to-day reality of what was then still, perhaps, Europe's greatest capital city. The same can be said of the innumerable portraits in miniature of the gov- ernment functionaries, soldiers, police, prostitutes, and criminals that populated this world. Bongie treats de Julie himself as a kind of exem- plification of all that was most fascinating, and most horrifying, about the metropolis: the sheer variety of his experiences qualifies him as the 'everyman' of the volume's title, and ensures that the reader connects, and ultimately even empathizes, with this strange antihero of the ancien régime. His was indeed the 'life of a marginal man caught u p in a desperate struggle to survive by fair means or foul' (x). Crime and punishment is also the subject of two fascinating 'compan- ion' titles, published by Thoemmes under the steady guidance of James Review Articles / Recencement des recherches 241 E. Crimmins, that compile eighteenth- and nineteenth-century writings on the death penalty: a reprint (with new introduction) of Basil Mon- tagu's seminal three-volume collection, The Opinions of Different Authors upon the Punishment of Death, which first appeared between 1809 and 1813 (Bristol: Thoemmes Continuum, and Tokyo: Edition Synapse, 2004); and a wide-ranging seven-volume collection of writings by both supporters and opponents of capital punishment, selected and introduced by Pro- fessor Crimmins, entitled The Death Penalty: Debates in Britain and the U.S., 1725-1868 (Bristol: Thoemmes Continuum, and Tokyo: Edition Synapse, 2004). One of the most useful features of the Thoemmes reprint of the Opinions is the provision of a 'bibliographic list of contents' that identifies the sources of Montagu's selections, as well as modern standard editions of the texts (where they are available). Crimmins's introduction makes a persuasive case for Montagu's contributions ('as an agitator,' xv) to penal law reform being given short shrift by historians, and describes the twelve hundred pages (and nearly one hundred items) of the vol- umes as 'an epic attempt by Montagu to define comprehensively the terms of debate' between advocates and opponents of the death penalty (xx). Like the Opinions, Crimmins's own selection of writing (which takes care not to repeat the contents of the Opinions, and includes complete texts as often as possible) represents both sides of the argument. Ap- proached from a number of perspectives — moral, legal, religious, political, and philosophical — what Crimmins describes as 'the core debates' about the death penalty 'unfolded and took their recognizably modern shape' (xvii) in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. It is difficult not to be struck, as one reads Crimmins's helpful list of the principal issues explored in the materials he has collected, by the extraor- dinary relevance of these discussions to contemporary debates (espe- cially in the United States). Professor Crimmins also has written an accessible, informative, and engaging ninety-seven-page introduction to the thought (moral, legal, political, and constitutional) of Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832). Part of the Wadsworth Philosophers Series, On Bentham (Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 2004) serves its intended audience of undergraduates and interested general readers well: Bentham's utilitarian ethics, the 'unambiguously secular and empiricist conception of the world' u p o n which utilitarian- ism is founded, Bentham's critical analysis of British penal law, his political economy, his panopticon plans, and his ideas on constitutional law are all discussed with clarity and precision, and are accompanied with accounts of the current critical debates around each. That painstaking scholarly archival and documentary work by Cana- dian scholars is not limited to the fields of law and the social sciences is amply demonstrated by two new works on the subject of music. Musi- 242 Mark McDayter & Lisa Zeitz cologist Paul F. Rice, in his meticulous archival study, Fontainebleau Operas for the Court of Louis XV of France by Jean-Philippe Rameau (1683- 1764) (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen Press, 2004), Volume 107 in the continu- ing series 'Studies in the History and Interpretation of Music/ focuses on the five operas (the scores for four of which — Daphnis et Lglé, Les Sibarites, La Naissance d'Osiris, and Anacrêon — survive in some form) that Rameau wrote for performance at the royal residence at Fontainebleau in 1753 and 1754. The book opens with a fine, fully contextualized chapter on Fontainebleau's performance spaces and practices; court intrigues, personalities (with special attention to the fascinating figure of Rameau's antagonist, Mme de Pompadour), and the role that politics played in the musical life of the court of Louis XV; and the querelle des bouffons (pitting proponents of Italian opera against supporters of the French, with Rameau — the former radical — cast in the role of iconic hero of the French tradition). Throughout his careful, albeit at times necessarily speculative, examination of archival source material, Rice's aim is to create a 'reasonably accurate picture' (239) of the Fontainebleau performances. In addition to determining the likely ordering of the scores, Rice explores the relationship between Rameau's creative, com- positional process and the changing configuration of the performance space at Fontainebleau (because of the renovation of the theatre between 1753 and 1754); comments on Rameau's varied and clever orchestration and his 'remarkable' (263) attention to orchestral colour; and describes the composer's brilliance as a musical dramatist who, through his set- tings, 'reveals his understanding of the psychology of the characters' (144). This timely study of Rameau's late work takes its place among the growing body of scholarship and criticism on the composer — a happy accompaniment to the ongoing publication of the new complete works (under the general editorship of Sylvie Bouissou). Professor Rice has also been busy making the British music of the period more accessible: his catalogue of eighteenth-century British solo secular cantatas — aimed at scholars, teachers, and performers — is accompanied by a helpful introduction that describes the range of the genre and the changing social role of cantatas in the eighteenth century (from works for home entertainment, played by dedicated amateurs, to complex, increasingly florid works performed by professional singers in public pleasure gardens like Vauxhall and Raneleigh). Each entry in The Solo Cantata in Eighteenth-Century Britain: A Thematic Catalog (Warren, Michigan: Harmonie Park Press, 2003) — Number 84 in the series 'Detroit Studies in Music Bibliography' — provides manuscript sources, published sources (including availability on microfilm), poet's name, a synopsis of the text, musical specifications (each movement is listed by textual incipit, with musical incipits for closed-form airs), secondary Review Articles / Recencement des recherches 243 literature, and discography (although few of these cantatas have been recorded). Detailing works such as 'The Roast Beef Cantata/ and 'Tris- tram Shandy's Ghost' (described as 'a series of non-sequiturs'), Rice's reference book should be of broad interest, as the repertory it catalogues 'provides the opportunity to assess the cultural and musical changes experienced in England during the century' (xviii). Turning from music to art, and in particular to the unique marriage of the visual and the verbal in the work of William Blake, it is a pleasure to note the appearance of John B. Pierce's The Wotid'rous Art: William Blake and Writing (Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press; London: Associated University Presses, 2003). Characterizing his critical study of 'the representation of writing in the works of William Blake' as 'enabled' by deconstruction, with its 'double writing' and forms of 'undecidabil- ity' (160-61), Pierce argues that this approach (the report of the death of which — at least for him — would seem to have been greatly exagger- ated) is especially useful in bringing together 'the material Blake and the theoretical Blake' (11). Pierce treats writing from 'three complementary perspectives' (25) throughout this study: as a thematic concern (how Blake depicts the act and instruments of writing — the 'scenes of writ- ing' — in both text and design), as a formal category with conventions different from speech, and as a theoretical construct (as the written mark 'attempts to body forth' some concept, it 'fails to do so. It stands for an absence'). These perspectives allow Pierce to discuss the complexities of Blake's depiction of writing — as at once, for example, acting as a mediator between the h u m a n and the divine (the 'wond'rous art of writing' having been given 'to Man' by God), and acting as a constrain- ing, confining, and authoritarian force (the 'textual tyranny' represented by the figure of Urizen 'flanked by stone tablets and crouched on a book of blots while writing and engraving in books on either side of his tremendously compacted body'[59]). One cannot, of course, 'summa- rize' deconstructive readings. One can, however, ask whether a state- ment like the following, which appears at the conclusion of Pierce's chapter on the Continental Prophecies, is persuasive: 'Even as Blake writes the work into a longer linear narrative that appears directed toward culmination, completion, and apocalypse, he writes the text into resistance, rupture, and fragmentation' (89-90). For this reader, it is. The work of eighteenth-century scholars in Canada is marked by a healthy balance between traditional scholarly projects like editing, cata- loguing, and archival study, and richly interdisciplinary and innovative studies of eighteenth-century culture that engage gender and sexuality studies, scientific and philosophical contexts, legal history, political theory, and creative expression in all its forms. If the diverse and exciting studies of the eighteenth century sampled in this brief overview are any 244 Mark McDayter & Lisa Zeitz indication, the future of Canadian scholarship on that most vibrant and fascinating of periods will be seen to be very bright indeed. MARK MCDAYTER & LISA ZEITZ University of Western Ontario 
work_4qk4ugfzovcgdobv2jhbb5bzqa	----	introduction Introduction: gender studies,... 9 Ilha do Desterro Florianópolis nº 42 p.009-017 jan./jun. 2002 INTRODUCTION: GENDER STUDIES, FEMINIST PERSPECTIVES, AND CONTEMPORARY READINGS S a n d r a R e g i n a G o u l a r t A l m e i d aS a n d r a R e g i n a G o u l a r t A l m e i d aS a n d r a R e g i n a G o u l a r t A l m e i d aS a n d r a R e g i n a G o u l a r t A l m e i d aS a n d r a R e g i n a G o u l a r t A l m e i d a where do we see it from is the question Adrienne Rich This issue of Ilha do Desterro assembles texts from different perspectives, which provide analyses of issues of Gender, Women’s studies, and feminist criticism and give a specific focus on the literary and cultural production in the contemporaneity. It aims at opening a venue for debate in the field by including articles by scholars in Brazil and from English-speaking countries within an interdisciplinary perspective. It is organized around sections that have as a central focus issues of gender relations, representation of women, Women’s studies, masculinity, and feminist criticism in interaction with other transdisciplinary studies in the field of literature, cultural politics, film studies, post-colonialism, travel literature, financial fictions, music, and translation. It addresses a multiplicity of codes, either social, sexual, racial or political through which feminist discourses that resist univocal manifestations become materialized. Some of the texts also foster a fruitful dialogue between Brazilian feminist criticism and the critical 10 Sandra Regina Goulart Almeida debate that takes place abroad, especially in English speaking countries. Some authors speak from their locus of enunciation – from where they see it –, providing a reading of texts that negotiates the differences in specific cultural contexts. The world-wide tendencies at the beginning of this new century point to massive globalization of a market economy and a neo-liberal pluralism that often lead to an easy acceptance of concepts of multiplicity and desterritorialization. This view has the effects, many times, of reproducing and preserving a unilateral conception of the world, evoking an apparently plural universe that, nevertheless, reveals itself as spatially and temporally unified. Regarding gender studies and feminist criticism, it is of paramount importance to caution against such universalizing and generalizing tendencies. Contemporary feminist criticism, as the Brazilian critic Heloisa Buarque de Hollanda points out, is not limited to an agenda of vindication of equality anymore, going beyond this once primary concern by focusing nowadays on demands that center around notions of difference and diversity within feminism (11). Along the same lines, Donna Haraway describes an impasse within feminist criticism at the end of the twentieth-century. In her view, feminism has been metaphorically located “in the belly of a monster,” presenting a dilemma that demands that feminist critics adopt not only a critical but, above all, a political positioning. Haraway equates this “monster” that has hindered the development of feminism in terms of a specific location and a specific time frame: “the First World in the 1980s and after” (4). Such a critical position, as observed in several articles in this volume, will enable the visualization of a contemporary feminist criticism that can be articulated through its local specificity, rejecting the uncritical acceptance of external models and rethinking the notions of gender and difference as an attempt to get out of the “belly of the monster.” Several critics have pointed out the relevance of gender studies and feminist criticism in changing the focus of the critical debate in contemporary agendas. Such importance is due to the interference of these theoretical formulations in the development of contemporary Introduction: gender studies,... 11 criticism, such as postmodernism, post-colonialism and cultural studies (Hollanda, Said, Hall, Culler). Stuart Hall, for instance, establishes two highly positive and productive moments in the theorization of cultural studies –what he calls, “theoretical work as interruption.” This external interruption came first from the field of gender studies and feminism, and secondly, from ethnic and racial studies. Feminism, however, caused a major rupture in the theoretical path of cultural studies: “As a thief in the night, it broke in; interrupted, made an unseemly noise, seized the time, crapped on the table of cultural studies” (268-69). The violence and force of the metaphor of invasion, desacralization, and illegal appropriation, employed by Hall, clearly refers the resistance that feminist criticism has had to face within the field of contemporary critical studies. It also points to the need for feminist critics to redefine this initial rejection as an unconditional acceptance, that is, the need to force the entrance to, to question pre-established assumptions, to interrupt the traditional theoretical flow, and, above all, to desacralize predominant values. The power of the metaphor of defecation vividly conveys the transgressive and abject act performed by feminist criticism in changing the discipline of critical studies in our contemporary world. The first section of this issue, entitled “Feminist Criticism and Cultural Politics,” is devoted precisely to these issues, which are related to theoretical analyses of feminist criticism, Women’s Studies and cultural politics. The volume opens with an article by Sneja Gunew, entitled “Feminist Cultural Literacy: Translating Differences, Cannibal Options,” which ponders the role and future of Women’s studies. For her, Women’s Studies have focused on interdisciplinarity, involving scholars in the task of translations between the disciplines and in the need to rethink the curriculum. She also considers the difference between Women’s Studies as a subject area and feminism as an approach. Another central issue in the theorization of Women’s Studies is the concern about the differences within and among feminists – what Gunew believes is the focus of a so-called “third wave feminism.” She warns, however, about the danger of identity politics and embedded essentialism in what is understood nowadays as “global feminism.” 12 Sandra Regina Goulart Almeida Considering Tsing’s concept of “faithless translation,” Gunew proceeds to analyze the interrelation between feminism and Women’s Studies, focusing on the intersection of women, food and ethnicity, particularly the trope of cannibalism. In her view, the faithless translation inherent in the trope of cannibalism will help Women’s Studies to reach beyond identity politics. Barbara Godard also discusses the issue of translation, especially in an analysis of the works by Quebec women writers that are translated into English, both in Canada and the United States. She analyzes the indices of reception of these translations and the relation in the field of textual production of Quebec literature in English translation and the manifold intercultural relations. She points to the inherent feminization of Quebec literature in the field of cultural production and how the asymmetrical relations of power in Canada have been based upon the terrain of the politics of language. She shows how a feminist translation manages to engage in “interventionist practices of rewriting that draw attention to the process of translation,” thus contributing to the questioning of the work of transfer and the circulation of a translated text in a new environment. Rita Terezinha Schmidt, in “A crítica feminista na mira da crítica,” fosters a dialogue with some critical writings about “Brazilian feminisms,” presenting a lucid and highly provocative discussion about the production of knowledge about and by feminist criticism in Brazil. She addresses the issue of the importation of theoretical formulations by Brazilian critics, in addition to framing feminist criticism in a national context, providing a brief historical perspective of the reception of feminist criticism in Brazil and its development on national grounds. Schmidt claims that, far from being an uncritical reception, such importation of theory goes through a process of acclimatization in this new locus of enunciation. In the Brazilian scenario, feminist criticism has been responsible for the emergence of a literary criticism that has rescued the silenced voices of women writers in the nineteenth-century, thus being responsible for what she terms a “historical turn” in literary criticism in Brazil. Introduction: gender studies,... 13 The second section, entitled “Women Writing: New Readings,” presents two articles which focus on nineteenth-century literature, offering new readings of women’s texts. Ana Lúcia Gazzola explores travel texts by women writers who came to Brazil during the colonial period, with a special focus on the letters by Jemima Kindersley, the first travel log on Brazil written by a woman, dated from the eighteenth- century. Gazzola points to the power mechanisms implicit in this colonial contact and claims that these travelers did not narrate their experiences in order to understand the New World but rather to legitimate the colonial project. By analyzing travel texts by women, Gazzola shows how they operate a double transgression: by traveling and by writing. However, they would very often have to negotiate between opposing forces – transgression and conformity to the ideals of femininity – and contradictory positions – justifying the colonial enterprise while simultaneously undermining it. In a similar vein, Renata Wasserman explores the use of ambiguity in what she calls “financial fictions” in women’s writings by analyzing the novel The House of Mirth, by the American writer Edith Wharton. She shows how, despite tracing the plights and decline of a female character, the novel uses the world of business as its carrying metaphor. The female protagonist, by destabilizing the value statements and judgments pertaining to her class, performs a critique of the mercantilist American society in the nineteenth-century. The next section provides readings of fictions by contemporary women writers that question issues of gender and representation. In “Bluebeards and Bodies: Margaret Atwood’s Men,” Judith Still analyzes the short story “Alien Territory” and the novel The Blind Assassin by the renowned contemporary Canadian writer Margaret Atwood. Rather than focusing on Margaret Atwood’s representation of women, Still chooses to center her analysis around the male characters and the masculine economy of quantifiable exchange and an ambiguous gift economy. By doing so, Still exposes the gender relations embedded in Atwood’s postmodern narrative, showing how intertwined and ambiguous the representation of both male and female characters are. 14 Sandra Regina Goulart Almeida Susana Bornéo Funck shows how issues related to racial and ethnic differences and their correlation with social classes have become central in the theorization and political practice of feminism since the 1980s. She examines novels by contemporary women writers from English speaking countries – Margaret Laurence, Marge Piercy and Angela Carter, writers whose work are markedly informed by feminist concerns –, showing how issues of gender/race/class are problematized in their works. Stelamaris Coser, on the other hand, addresses the issue of immigrant writing in the work by the Cuban-American writer, Cristina Garcia. By analyzing the narrative frame of Garcia’s texts, Coser demonstrates how the author explores issues of gender oppression and segregation that opens up spaces of resistance for her female characters. The focus is on the stories told by contemporary women who are conscious of their new role as agents of their own destinies and who recreate, through their narratives, their cultural, historical and political heritage, as the analysis of The Agüero Sisters shows. Izabel Brandão analyzes the novel Perfectly Correct (1996) by the English contemporary writer Philippa Gregory, who undertakes a rewriting of D. H. Lawrence’s work. Focusing primarily on the Lawrentian short-story “The Virgin and the Gypsy,” which is studied by the protagonist in Gregory’s fiction, the author juxtaposes, by critically analyzing from a feminist perspective, the notion of Lawrence’s “Dark Man” and that of the contemporary “New Man,” a concept much in vogue during the nineteen-eighties and early nineties in the United Kingdom. The section on “Post-colonialisms and Feminisms” provides readings of texts produced in the interface between these two theoretical stances. Solange Ribeiro de Oliveira discusses in her essay the interconnection between music and literature by comparing the use of music metaphors and the representation of feminine identity in patriarchal societies in the short story “Visiting the Hutterites” by the American writer Irene Wanner. Oliveira shows how this category of feminine identity, like atonal music, resists definition and depends on Introduction: gender studies,... 15 an array of influential factors such as race, class and also religious aspects. She shows how traditional tonal music is often manipulated by oppressive forces as a means to mirror a stable and homogeneous community, only apparently without conflicts. Sandra Goulart Almeida analyzes Arundhati Roy’s controversial first novel, The God of Small Things (1997), showing how the author transgresses several social, historical and cultural codes of Indian society, thus destabilizing not only issues of gender and race but also those of the body politic and corporeal relations. Peônia Guedes dedicates her article to the analysis of the new Indian immigrant in Bharati Mukherjee’s fiction and how the author attempts to rewrite traditional and stereotypical paradigms of identities, pointing to the fact that identity is inherently a socially constructed phenomenon. She discusses the cultural hybridization of the new American and how Mukherjee’s fiction discloses the new reality of a postmodern, globalized, multicultural country. The section on literature and film begins with an article by Tom Cohen, who discusses the issue of female impersonation in Hitchcock’s work, demonstrating how the director exposes the fabrication of gender positions and the performative nature of gender. He shows how the violence in Hitchcock, which is often directed at “woman,” can be read in different ways and how the male position is not a given or dominant, but, rather, a fiction. Sandra Guardini T. Vasconcelos, on the other hand, discusses images of femininity in the intersection between literature and cinema with a central focus on the canonical text by Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice. Vasconcelos discusses the myth of romantic love and the centrality of marriage in bourgeois England. She points to a continuous dispute, present in Austen’s novels, between marriage of convenience and marriage for love, an issue that predominates in the eighteenth century. She explains how the novel reflects an ideology of the period in which the works were produced while simultaneously providing alternative stories of their culture and provisional possibilities for women. The film, on the other hand, does not do justice to the novel in 16 Sandra Regina Goulart Almeida the sense that it provides an image of social harmony and reinforces an image of femininity that are absent from Austen’s novel, giving a reassuring view of love and marriage. The last section contains three reviews of books written by women that address issues about gender relations and feminist perspectives. It gives a sample of some critical production by women theoreticians from Brazil and from English speaking countries that tackle different and diverse issues. The first review is of a book by the Brazilian critic Solange Ribeiro de Oliveira, who discusses the question of gender and identity in the work of Chico Buarque de Holanda, Bertoldt Brecht and John Gay. It is followed by a review on Toril Moi’s book, specifically the essays “What is a Woman? Sex, Gender, and the Body in Feminist Theory” and “’I am a Woman’: The Personal and the Philosophical” which focus primarily on the feminist work by Simone de Beauvoir, giving a rereading of her seminal work in the area – The Second Sex. The last article reviews the book by Alvina Quintana about Chicana literary voices, which testifies and demonstrates how feminist criticism has become a multilayered and plural field. The articles here assembled discuss issues related to feminist criticism as a mode of articulation that slides and shifts, in a constant dialogue with other forms of expression and power relations. Contemporary feminist criticism has as one of its aims the task of forcing its way out of the “belly of the monster,” that is, getting out of the impasse generated within feminism by developing mechanisms that will enable the theoretical investigation and problematization of multidimensional spaces, critically pluralized, in a constant internal dialogue with its many differences. This issue might figure as one of these instances. Introduction: gender studies,... 17 WWWWWorks citedorks citedorks citedorks citedorks cited Hall, Stuart. “Cultural Studies and Its Theoretical Legacies.” Critical Dialogues in Cultural Studies. Eds. David Morley and Kuan-Hsing Chen. London: Routledge, 1996. 262-75. Haraway, Donna J. Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Culture. New York: Routledge, 1991. Hollanda, Heloisa Buarque. “Introdução: feminismo em tempos pós-modernos.” Tendências e impasses: o feminismo como crítica da cultura. Rio de Janeiro: Rocco, 1994. 7-19. Rich, Adrienne. An Atlas of the Difficult Word. New York: Norton, 1991. 
work_4rpvfgnvuzcq7edtc2f5cymkry	----	Redirect support Skip to main content Accessibility help We use cookies to distinguish you from other users and to provide you with a better experience on our websites. Close this message to accept cookies or find out how to manage your cookie settings. Login Alert Cancel Log in × × Home Only search content I have access to Home Log in Register Browse subjects What we publish Services About Cambridge Core Cart Cart Access provided by Carnegie Mellon University Manage institution login Logged in as: Carnegie Mellon University Manage institution login Register Register Log in Cart < Back to search results Home Redirect support You may have arrived at this page because you followed a link to one of our old platforms that cannot be redirected. Cambridge Core is the new academic platform from Cambridge University Press, replacing our previous platforms; Cambridge Journals Online (CJO), Cambridge Books Online (CBO), University Publishing Online (UPO), Cambridge Histories Online (CHO), Cambridge Companions Online (CCO), and Shakespeare Survey Online (SSO) which no longer exist. All content from these platforms is now available on Cambridge Core. In order to find the content you are looking for, use the search box at the top right of the page to search Cambridge Core or follow the links below to our key product areas. Useful links Collections & Series Journals Books eBook content from our publishing partners (previously published on UPO) Open access Librarians Authors Publishing partners Agents Corporates Additional Information Accessibility Our blog News Contact and help Cambridge Core legal notices Feedback Sitemap Join us online Legal Information Rights & Permissions Copyright Privacy Notice Terms of use Cookies Policy © Cambridge University Press 2021 Back to top © Cambridge University Press 2021 Back to top Cancel Confirm × 
work_4ucu3fgdtrekzmw7ygobvkz7ju	----	<4954BCADBAF1BDBA3135B1C72032C8A328C7A5C1F632C7A5C1F633292E687770> Journal of Information Technology Services http://dx.doi.org/10.9716/KITS.2016.15.3.115 한국어 소설에서 유정명사용 조사 기반의 인물 추출 기법* 박태근**․김승훈*** A Character Identification Method using Postpositions for Animate Nouns in Korean Novels* Taekeun Park**․Seung-Hoon Kim*** Abstract Submitted：June 20, 2016 1 st Revision：July 20, 2016 Accepted：July 26, 2016 * 본 연구는 문화체육 부 한국콘텐츠진흥원의 2016년도 문화기술 연구개발 지원사업으로 수행되었음. ** 단국 학교 응용컴퓨터공학과 교수, 교신 자 *** 단국 학교 응용컴퓨터공학과 교수 Novels includes various character names, depending on the genre and the spatio-temporal background of the novels and the nationality of characters. Besides, characters and their names in a novel are created by the author’s pen and imagination. As a result, any proper noun dictionary cannot include all kind of character names which have been created or will be created by authors. In addition, since Korean does not have capitalization feature, character names in Korean are harder to detect than those in English. Fortunately, however, Korean has postpositions, such as “-ege” and “hante”, used by a sentient being or an animate object (noun). We call such postpositions as animate postpositions in this paper. In a previous study, the authors manually selected character names by referencing both Wikipedia and well-known people dictionaries after utilizing Korean morpheme analyzer, a proper noun dictionary, postpositions (e.g., “-ga”, “-eun”, “-neun”, “-eui”, and “-ege”), and titles (e.g., “buin”), in order to extract social networks from three novels translated into or written in Korean. But, the precision, recall, and F-measure rates of character identification are not presented in the study. In this paper, we evaluate the quantitative contribution of animate postpositions to character identification from novels, in terms of precision, recall, and F-measure. The results show that utilizing animate postpositions is a valuable and powerful tool in character identification without a proper noun dictionary from novels translated into or written in Korean. Keyword：Information Extraction, Korean Novels, Character Identification, Postpositions for Animate Nouns, Korean Linguistic Feature 韓國IT서비스學 誌 第15卷 第3號 2016年 9月, pp.115-125 116 Taekeun Park․Seung-Hoon Kim 1. 서 론 정보 추출(Information Extraction)은 자연어 텍 스트로부터 개체(Entity) 이벤트와 같은 요한 정보들을 추출하는 작업이며(Küçük and Adnan, 2012), 개체명 인식(Named Entity Recognition) 은 정보 추출의 일부분으로(Küçük and Adnan, 2012), 텍스트 내의 개체명을 발견한 뒤, 인명, 지 명, 조직명과 같은 미리 정의된 클래스로 분류하는 작업이다(Nadeau and Kekine, 2007). 이러한 개체명 인식 기법들의 부분은 규칙 기반 알고리즘 는 기계학습 기반 기술을 활용하고 있는 데(Nadeau and Kekine, 2007), 두 가지 기법의 단 은 이고 장 은 활용하고자 하는 하이 리드 기 법들이 최근 제안되고 있다(Küçük and Adnan, 2012; Shaalan and Oudah, 2014). 그러나 개체명 인식 기법들에 한 분석 연구 (Nadeau and Kekine, 2007)에 따르면, 개발된 개 체명 인식 기법들을 목표 텍스트 장르가 아닌 다 른 텍스트 장르에 용하는 것은 쉽지 않음에도 불구하고, 부분의 연구들이 텍스트 장르와 도메 인에 한 향을 크게 고려하지 않고 있다고 한 다. 재까지 제안된 부분의 기법들은 신문 기 사와 같은 텍스트로부터 개체명을 추출하는 것에 을 맞추고 있다. 본 논문은 한국어로 번역되거나 창작된 소설로 부터 주요 등장인물, 인물 간 소셜 네트워크 시 공간 배경 등을 컴퓨터가 자동으로 추출하는 것을 목표로 하는 연구의 일부분으로, 유정명사용 조사 를 활용하여 한국어 소설로부터 인물명 등장인 물(Character Names and Nominals)을 추출하는 기법을 제안하고자 한다. 소설에서 인물명 등장인물의 추출은 발화(인용 기호 내의 문장)의 화자 식별(Speaker Identifica- tion)을 해 필요하다(Elson and McKeown, 2010). 화자 식별이 되면, 인물 간의 소셜 네트워크를 악하여 도서를 분류할 수도 있고(Elson et al., 2010), 화자의 성별, 나이 등을 악하여 text-to-speech 기반 스토리텔링 시스템에서 화자에 어울리는 목 소리로 책의 내용을 읽어 수도 있다(Iosif and Mishra, 2014). 인물명은 “이사벨라”와 같은 고유 명사이며, 등 장인물은 “아버지”와 같은 일반 명사이다. 신문 기사를 상으로 하는 기존의 개체명 인식 기법들 은 고유명사인 인물명만 추출하는데 반하여, 소설 에서의 인물 추출에서는 고유명사인 인물명 뿐만 아니라 일반명사인 등장인물까지 추출하여야 한다 (Elson and McKeown, 2010). 유정명사란 사람이 나 동물 따 를 나타내는 명사를 의미하며, 유정명 사 뒤에 붙을 수 있는 표 인 조사로 ‘-에게’가 있다(Jeong, 2012). 본 논문에서는 유정명사 뒤에 붙을 수 있는 조사를 “유정조사”라고 간략히 표기 하도록 한다. 본 논문에서 유정조사 기반의 인물 추출 기법을 제안하는 이유는 다음과 같다. 첫째, 작가들의 독 창 인 문체로 작성되는 다양한 소설에 하여 기 계학습 기법을 용할 수 있을 정도로 충분한 학 습 데이터가 구축되기 이 에도 활용할 수 있는 인물 추출 기법이 필요하기 때문이다. 이것은 규 칙 기반 개체명 인식 기법의 결과를 기계학습 기 반 개체명 인식 기법의 입력으로 사용하는 하이 리드 기법의 등장 배경이기도 하다. 둘째, 소설의 배경 거리에 합하도록 작가에 의해 창조되 었거나 앞으로 창조될 모든 인물명을 포함하는 고 유명사 사 의 구축이 어렵기 때문이다. 따라서 본 논문에서는 충분한 학습 데이터의 구축이 어려운 한국어 소설이라는 장르에 하여 고유명사 사 에 의존 이지 않은 인물 추출 기법을 제안하고, 정 확률(Precision), 재 율(Recall) F-measure로 제안 기법의 성능을 분석하고자 한다. 본 논문의 구성은 다음과 같다. 제 2장에서는 련 연구들을 소개하고, 제 3장에서는 한국어 소 설에서 유정조사를 활용한 인물명 등장인물 추 출기법에 하여 기술한다. 제 4장에서는 성능 분 석 결과를 살펴보고, 마지막으로 제 5장에서는 본 논문의 결론 향후 연구 방향을 정리한다. A Character Identification Method using Postpositions for Animate Nouns in Korean Novels 117 2. 련 연구 본 장에서는 소설에서의 인물명 등장인물 추 출과 련된 국내외 연구들을 소개한다. Elson and McKeown(2010)에서는 어 소설에 서 발화자를 인식하기 한 기법이 제안되었고, Elson et al.(2010)에서는 어 소설에서 인물간 소셜 네 트워크를 추출하는 기법이 제안되었다. 제안된 두 기 법에서 공통 이면서 가장 먼 수행되는 단계는 소설의 내러티 (Narrative) 부분에서 인물명( : “Isabella”)과 등장인물( : “her father”)을 인식 하는 것이다. 신문 기사를 상으로 하는 기존의 개 체명 인식 기법들은, 이상의 두 기법과는 달리, 고 유명사인 인물명만 추출한다는 차이 을 가진다. 이 상의 두 기법에서는, 고유명사인 인물명을 추출하 기 하여 Stanford NER tagger를 사용하 고, 고 유명사가 아닌 등장인물을 추출하기 하여 정 사, 부정 사 소유격을 활용하 을 뿐만 아니라 상 상속의 존재 등의 단어 목록을 제공하는 WordNet 까지 활용하 다. Iosif and Mishra(2014)에서는, 구텐베르크 로 젝트로부터 선택된 어린이 소설을 분석하는 다단계 시스템이 제안되었다. 이 연구의 목 은 Text-to- Speech(TTS) 기반 스토리텔링 시스템 개발을 하여 소설 장르에 한 분석 기술을 확보하는 것 이다. 제안된 다단계 시스템에서는, 고유명사인 인 물명을 추출하기 하여 Stanford CoreNLP suite of tools를 활용하 고, 고유명사가 아닌 인간 는 비인간 등장인물의 추출을 하여 WordNet을 활용하 다. 그러나 이상의 연구들은 문자를 지원하는 어로 작성된 소설을 상으로 하고 있다. 문자 를 지원하지 않은 언어에서 고유명사를 식별하는 것이 어에 비하여 월등히 어렵다는 사실은 이미 잘 알려져 있다. 하이 리드 기법을 제안한 연구 (Küçük and Adnan, 2012)에 따르면, 어린이 소 설을 상으로 한 개체명 인식 실험에서, /소문 자를 구분하는 텍스트에서의 F-measure는 81.61% 는데 반하여, /소문자 구분이 없는 텍스트에서 의 F-measure는 74.68%에 불과하 다. 이러한 이유로, 아랍어를 한 하이 리드 개체명 인식 시 스템(Shaalan and Oudah, 2014)은 아랍어 단어를 어로 번역한 다음, 번역된 단어가 문자로 시작 하면 이 단어를 고유명사로 표기하는 방법을 사용 하기도 하 다. 아랍어나 한국어와 같이 문자를 지원하지 않는 언어로 작성된 문서에서 고유명사인 인물명에 해당 하는 개체를 추출하기 하여, 많은 NER 시스템들 은 실제 사람의 이름 는 잘 알려진 사람의 이름 목록을 포함하는 고유명사 사 을 사용한다. 를 들어, Seon et al.(2001)에서는 서울 화번호부로 부터 인물명을 수집하여 고유명사 사 을 만들기도 하 다. 그러나, 한 국가의 인물명으로만 구축된 고 유명사 사 을 사용하는 NER 시스템은 다른 국가 의 인물명 추출에 어려움을 겪을 수 있다(Küçük and Adnan, 2012). 한국어로 작성된 소설 는 문헌 국역본에서의 개체명 추출 내용을 포함하는 연구는 많지 않다. Lee(2009)에서는, 19세기에 작성된 문헌의 국역본 에 하여 개체명 추출의 필요성을 역설하기는 하 으나, 연구 내용에서 개체명 추출은 수동으로 이루어졌다. Park et al.(2013)에서는, 한국어로 번 역되거나 창작된 세 권의 소설에 하여 등장인물 간 소셜 네트워크의 구축을 하여 인물명을 추출 하기는 하 으나, 인물명 추출의 모든 단계를 자 동화하지는 못했다. 구체 으로 서술하면, KAIST HanNanum 형태소 분석기와 조사 목록( : ‘- 가’, ‘-는’, ‘-은’, ‘-에게’, ‘의’ 등) 고유명사 사 을 활용하여 개체명을 자동 추출한 뒤, Wiki- pedia와 잘 알려진 인명사 에 하여 추출된 인 물명을 수동으로 교차 확인하는 작업을 수행하 다. 이상의 두 연구(Lee, 2009; Park et al., 2013) 에서는 인물명을 추출하는데 있어서 사람의 개입 을 필요로 하 기 때문에, 인물명 추출에 한 정 확률과 재 율 등의 성능 결과 값을 제시하고 있 지 않다. 118 박태근․김승훈 3. 한국어 소설에서 유정조사를 활용한 인물 추출 기법 성능 분석 방법 한국어로 번역되었거나 창작된 소설로부터 유정 조사를 활용하여 인물명 등장인물을 추출하는 기법과 성능 분석 방법은 <Figure 1>과 같다. <Figure 1> Usability Analysis Procedure of Postposi- tions for Animate Nouns in Character Identification from a Novel 한국어 소설이 텍스트 일 형태로 주어지면, 처리 과정을 거친 뒤, 문장의 주어로 추정되는 모 든 단어들을 자동으로 추출한다. 이러한 단어를 본 논문에서는 주어후보라 부른다. 다음으로, 소설 본 문에서 유정조사와 함께 사용된 이 있는 모든 주어후보를 인물명 등장인물(Character Names and Nominals)로 자동 추출한다. 이와는 별도로, 재 율 계산을 하여 인물명에 해당하는 모든 주 어후보를 수동으로 추출한다. 다음으로, 자동 추출 된 인물명 등장인물 목록과 수동 추출된 인물 명 목록을 이용하여, 정확률, 재 율, F-measure 를 계산한다. 이에 추가로, 수동으로 추출된 인물 명의 소설내 등장빈도를 계산한다. 마지막으로, 이 상의 정보들을 활용하여, 한국어 소설에서 인물명 등장인물 추출에 한 유정조사의 활용성 정도 를 분석한다. 3.1 텍스트 처리 소설은 내러티 (Narrative)과 발화(Utterance) 로 구성된다. 발화는 소설 등장인물의 생각이 실 제로 문장 단 로 실 된 것을 의미하며, 작가는 인용문 기호를 사용하여 특정 문장이 발화임을 표 시한다. 내러티 는 소설의 거리를 이끌어 나가 는 문장의 집합으로, 일련의 사건이 가지는 서사 성을 1인칭 혹은 3인칭 에서 서술하는 문장들 로 구성된다. 소설의 인물명은 내러티 에서 주어로 등장하지 만, 많은 경우, 발화에서는 주어생략에 의해 인물 명이 주어로 등장하지 않거나 명사로 체된다. 그러나 소설의 인물명은 발화에서 유정조사와 함 께 등장할 수 있다. 이러한 이유로, 본 논문에서 주 어후보를 추출할 때에는 내러티 에 해당되는 텍 스트만 상으로 하고, 유정조사를 이용하여 인물 명과 등장인물을 추출할 때에는 내러티 발화 체 텍스트를 상으로 한다. 따라서 텍스트 처리 과정에서 내러티 에 해당되는 텍스트와 발 화에 해당되는 텍스트로 원문 소설을 분리한다. 3.2 주어후보 자동 추출 한국어 문법에서 주격조사는 ‘-이/-가’이고 ‘-은/ -는’은 보조사로 정의되어 있다. 하지만 소설을 포 함하는 많은 문서에서, 주어가 될 수 있는 체언 뒤 에 ‘-이/-가/-은/-는’을 붙여 주어로 사용하고 있 다. 를 들어, “해리가 말했다.”와 “해리는 말했 다.”를 모두 사용하고 있다. 한, 소설의 인물명들 은 수차례부터 많게는 수백차례까지 내러티 에서 주어로 등장하기 때문에(Elson and McKeown, 2010; Elson et al., 2010), 받침 있는 인물명의 경 우, (‘-이’, ‘-은’) 조사 모두와 함께 내러티 부분에 등장하거나, 받침 없는 인물명의 경우, (‘- 가’, ‘-는’) 조사 모두와 함께 내러티 부분에 한국어 소설에서 유정명사용 조사 기반의 인물 추출 기법 119 등장한다. 따라서 주어후보 자동 추출 단계에서는 내러티 부분에서 (‘-이’, ‘-은’) 조사 는 (‘- 가’, ‘-는’) 조사 모두와 함께 사용된 이 있는 모든 단어들을 주어후보로 추출한다. 이 단계에서 단어의 형태소를 분석하지는 않기 때문에, ‘많이’와 ‘많은’이라는 두 단어가 소설 내에 존재하는 경우, ‘많’이라는 한 자가 주어후보로 추출될 수도 있다. 이와 같은 방법으로 주어후보를 추출하는 이유는, 작가에 의해 창조되는 다양한 인 물명이 형태소 분석의 모호성에 의하여 주어에서 배제되는 경우를 막기 함이다. 를 들어, 꼬꼬마 형태소 분석기(Lee et al., 2010)로 “이사벨라는”을 형태소 분석하면, “[0/이사벨/일반명사], [3/라/(일 반명사)+4/는/(주격조사)]”와 같은 형태소 분석결과 가 얻어지며, “빌리는”을 형태소 분석하면, “[0/빌리 /(동사)+2/는/( 형형 성어미)]”와 같은 형태소 분석 결과가 얻어지는데, 본 논문에서는 “이사벨 라”와 “빌리”와 같은 인물명을 모두 주어후보로 추 출하기 하여, 형태소 분석기를 사용하지 않는다. 3.3 유정조사를 이용한 인물명 등장인물 자동 추출 단계에서 추출된 주어후보에 하여, 소설 본 문에서 유정조사와 함께 사용되었는지 여부를 확인 한다. 본 논문에서는, 어떤 주어후보가 유정조사와 함께 사용된 경우, 그 주어후보는 고유명사인 인물 명이거나 고유명사가 아닌 등장인물로 추정한다. 이 때, 확인 상이 되는 텍스트로는 소설의 내러티 뿐만 아니라 발화까지 모두 해당된다. -hante(-한테) -hanteseo(-한테서) -hantero(-한테로) -hanteneun(-한테는) -ege(-에게) -egeseo(-에게서) -egero(-에게로) -egeneun(-에게는) -egen(-에겐) -egekkaji(-에게까지) -egedo(-에게도) -egeseon(-에게선) -egeseoneun(-에게서는) <Table 1> List of Animate Postpositions 국어국립원 표 국어 사 에 포함된 366개의 조사 에서 “(사람이나 동물 따 를 나타내는 체 언 뒤에 붙어)”라고 표기되어 있는 유정조사와, 사 에는 등록되어 있지는 않지만, 소설 등에서 자 주 사용되는 유정조사의 활용형태 목록은 <Table 1>과 같다. 그러나 <Table 1>에 나열된 유정조사와 함께 소설 본문에 등장하는 주어후보를 모두 추출한다 면, 추출된 주어후보의 상당수가 명사이거나 불 특정한 사람을 나타내는 명사, 수사 는 의존명 사일 수 있다. 따라서 소설의 인물명 등장인물만 추출하고 자 하는 본 단계에서는, 소설 본문에서 유정조사 와 함께 사용되는 주어후보라고 하더라도, 1) 명사( : ‘나’, ‘우리’, ‘그’, ‘그녀’ 등), 2) 불특정 명사( : ‘사람’, ‘남자’, ‘여자’ 등), 3) 집합명사( : ‘일가’, ‘가족’, ‘무리’ 등), 4) 복수형( : ‘사람들’, ‘남자들’, ‘여자들’ 등), 5) 수사( : ‘하나’, ‘둘’, ‘셋’ 등), 6) 의존명사( : ‘놈’, ‘명’, ‘분’, 등)에 해당하는 경우, 인물명 등장인물로 최종 선택되지 않도록 필터링한다. 3.4 인물명 수동 추출 등장빈도 계산 유정조사를 이용한 인물명 등장인물 추출 결 과에 한 재 율 계산을 하여, 추출된 주어후 보 에서 인물명에 해당하는 것들을 수동으로 추 출한다. 한, 유정조사를 이용하여 자동 추출된 인물명 과 그 인물명의 소설내 등장율과의 계를 분석하 기 하여 주어후보에서 수동으로 추출된 인물명 의 등장빈도를 계산한다. 소설내 인물명의 등장빈 도를 계산하기 하여, 국어국립원 표 국어 사 에 포함된 366개의 조사 에서 인물명의 뒤에 붙 을 수 있는 조사와, 발화에서 인물명이 불릴 때 사 용되는 기호, 이들의 조합을 <Table 2>와 같 이 선정하 다. 120 Taekeun Park․Seung-Hoon Kim -ga(-가) -gwa(-과) -kke(-께) -kkeseo(-께서) -kkeopseo(-께옵서) -neun(-는) -da.(-다.) -do(-도) -rang(-랑) -robuteo(-로부터) -reul(-를) -majeo(-마 ) -man(-만) -mankeum(-만큼) -bogo(-보고) -buteo(-부터) -siyeo(-시여) -a(-아) -a,(-아,) -a.(-아.) -a!(-아!) -ya(-야) -ya,(-야,) -ya.(-야.) -ya!(-야!) -yamalro(-야말로) -ege(-에게) -egeda(-에게다) -egero(-에게로) -egeseo(-에게서) -yeo(-여) -yeo,(-여,) -yeo.(-여.) -yeo!(-여!) -wa(-와) -eurobuteo(-으로부터) -eun(-은) -eul(-을) -ui(-의) -i(-이) -ida(-이다.) -iraseo(-이라서) -irang(-이랑) -isiyeo(-이시여) -iya.(-이야.) -iyeo(-이여) -cheoreom(-처럼) -hante(-한테) -hantero(-한테로) -hanteseo(-한테서) ,(콤마) .(마침표) !(느낌표) <Table 2> List of Postpositions and Symbols for Getting the Frequency of Each Character Name 소설 내 인물명의 등장율은 모든 인물명의 등장 빈도 합에 한 한 인물의 등장빈도 비율로 계산 한다. 를 들어, 인물명 A의 등장율이 1%라는 것은 소설의 체 인물명의 등장빈도 합에 하여 인물명 A의 등장빈도 비율이 1%라는 것을 의미 한다. 3.5 정확률, 재 율, F-measure 계산 본 논문에서 정확률, 재 율 F-measure의 계 산식은 다음과 같다. 정확률 자동추출된인물명및등장인물수 올바른인물명및등장인물수 재현율 수동추출된인물명수 자동추출된인물명수    정확률재현율  ×정확률×재현율 정확률은 유정조사를 이용하여 자동 추출한 인 물명(고유명사) 등장인물(일반명사)에 한 실 제 인물명이나 등장인물의 비율로 계산된다. 이에 반하여, 재 율은 수동으로 추출된 인물명(고유명 사) 에서 얼마나 많은 인물명이 유정조사를 이 용하여 자동 추출되었는지의 비율로 계산된다. F- measure는 정확률과 재 율의 조화평균으로 계산 된다. 3.6 유정조사의 활용성 수 분석 련연구에서 언 한 바와 같이, 한국어로 번역 되거나 창작된 소설에서 인물명을 추출하는 기존 의 두 연구(Lee, 2009; Park et al., 2013)에서는 인물명의 추출에 사람의 개입을 필요로 하 기 때 문에, 인물명 추출에 한 정확률과 재 율 등의 성능 결과가 제시되어 있지 않다. 따라서 본 논문 에서 제안하는 기법의 성능 수 을, 비록 한국어 로 작성된 소설은 아니지만, /소문자를 구분하지 않는 텍스트로 표 된 어린이 소설을 상으로 한 개체명 인식 연구(Küçük and Adnan, 2012)의 실 험 결과와 비교한다. 다음으로, 본 논문에서 제안하는 기법의 활용성 에 하여 분석한다. 본 논문에서 제안하는 기법은 유정조사를 활용하기 때문에, 작가가 의인화를 사 용하지 않는 경우, 자동 추출된 인물명과 등장인물 은 모두 유정명사일 것으로 기 된다. 성능 분석 결 과에서 상당히 높은 수 의 정확률이 얻어지는 경 우, 본 논문에서 제안하는 기법이 어떻게 활용될 수 있는지에 하여 분석한다. A Character Identification Method using Postpositions for Animate Nouns in Korean Novels 121 4. 실험 결과 4.1 실험 상 소설 목록 한국어 소설의 인물명 등장인물 추출에서 유 정조사의 활용성 수 을 분석하기 하여, 본 논 문에서는 한국어 소설 80권으로 실험을 진행한다. 이 에서, 11권의 소설은 한국어로 번역된 소설 이며, 나머지 69권은 한국어로 창작된 소설이다. 실험에 사용되는 80권의 소설은 연구과제 수행을 하여 확보된 소설들 에서 임의로 선택하 다. 실험에 사용된 도서의 목록은 <Table 3>과 같 은데, 한국어로 창작된 69권의 소설 이름을 모두 나열하기에는 공간이 부족하므로, <Table 3>에는 번역 소설 11권의 제목만 포함되어 있다. Book Author 1 Blinder Instinct (사라진 소녀들) Andreas Winkelmann 2 Nineteen Eight-Four (1984년) George Orwell 3 The Detective is in the Bar (탐정은 바에 있다) Azuma Naomi 4 A Little Princess (소공녀) Frances Hodgson Burnett 5 Romance of the Three Kingdoms(part 2) (삼국지( )) Lou Guanzhong 6 New Moon (뉴문) Stephenie Meyer 7 O Zahir (오 자히르) Paulo Coelho 8 Pride and Prejudice (오만과 편견) Jane Austen 9 Breaking Dawn ( 이킹 던) Stephenie Meyer 10 Twilight (트와일라잇) Stephenie Meyer 11 Eclipse (이클립스) Stephenie Meye ~80 69 novels written in Korean <Table 3> List of 80 Novels Translated into or Written in Korean for Experiment 본 논문에서는, 약 50,000단어 정도로, 비슷한 단어 수를 가지는 한국어 소설들로 실험을 수행하 려 하 으나, <Figure 2>에 보여지는 바와 같이, 100,000 단어 정도로 구성된 몇 개의 소설들도 실 험 소설로 사용되었다. <Figure 2>의 x축은 소설 의 인덱스를 나타내는데, 1번부터 11번까지의 소설 이 한국어로 번역된 소설로서, 이 번호는 <Table 3>의 소설의 인덱스와 일치한다. <Figure 2> The Number of Words in Each Novel 4.2 실험 결과 활용성 분석 <Figure 3>은 80권의 한국어 소설에 하여, 유정조사만을 사용하여 인물명 등장인물을 추출 하 을 때의 정확률과 재 율을 보여 다. <Figure 2>와 동일하게, <Figure 3>에서 x축의 1번부터 11번까지는 번역 소설이며 12번부터 80번까지는 한국어 창작 소설이다. <Figure 3>의 실험 결과에 따르면, 체 80권 에서 총 1,811개의 인물명 등장인물이 자동 추 출되었으나 이 에서 1,776개가 올바르게 추출된 것이어서, 체 정확률은 98.07%로 계산되었다. 권 당으로 바꾸어 표 하면, 권당 22.64개의 인물명 등장인물이 자동 추출되었고, 이 에서 22.20개가 올바르게 추출된 인물명 등장인물이었다. 다르 게 표 하면, 체 80권의 책으로부터 인물명이나 등장인물이 될 수 없는 총 35개의 단어들이 추출 되었는데, 이 단어들은 부분 의인화되어 사용된 것들이었다. 를 들면, “그 착한 목소리에게…” 122 박태근․김승훈 는 “지 해의 빛한테…”와 같은 문장에서 ‘목소 리’와 ‘빛’이 의인화되어 유정조사와 함께 사용되 었고, 그 결과 인물명 등장인물로 잘못 추출되 는 결과가 래되었다. <Figure 3> Precision and Recall in the Character Identification only with Animate Postpositions from 80 Korean Novels <Figure 3>의 실험 결과로부터 재 율을 계산 해 보면, 체 80권으로부터 수동 추출된 총 1,433 개의 인물명 에서 1,007개의 인물명이 유정조사 에 의해 추출되었으므로, 체 재 율은 70.27%로 나타났다. 권당으로 표 하자면, 권당 17.91개의 인물명이 존재하지만, 유정조사로 찾아낼 수 있는 인물명은 12.59개 다. 이상의 정확률과 재 율로 F-measure를 계산 해보면, F-measure는 81.88%가 된다. 비록 한국 어로 작성된 소설은 아니지만, /소문자 구분이 없는 텍스트로 작성된 어린이 소설을 상으로 한 하이 리드 개체명 인식 연구(Küçük and Adnan, 2012)의 F-measure 값이 74.68%인데 비하여 더 높은 성능을 보임을 확인할 수 있다. 그러나 <Figure 3>에서 각각의 소설별 재 율 을 살펴보면, 한국어로 창작된 소설 , 약 8권의 소설에서 재 율이 60%보다 낮게 나타났으며, 가 장 낮은 두 개의 재 율은 36.00%와 39.66%에 불 과하 다. 한 재 율이 60% 이하인 8권의 소설 에서 5권이 두 명의 작가의 소설로 나타났다. 이 러한 사실로부터 유정조사를 활용하는 기법만으로 는 작가의 문체에 따라 재 율의 편차가 커질 수 있음을 알 수 있다. 다르게 표 하자면, 작가가 유 정조사를 즐겨 사용하지 않는 문체를 가지고 있는 경우, 제안하는 기법의 재 율은 낮아질 수 있다. <Figure 4>는 소설 내의 명사의 집합 SN과 유 정명사의 집합 SA, 무정명사의 집합 SI 유정조 사를 이용하여 추출한 인물명 등장인물의 집합 Sa의 계를 보여 다. <Figure 4> Set of Nouns SN, Set of Animate Nouns SA, Set of Inanimate Nouns SI, and Set of Extracted Character Names and Nominals Sa 소설 내의 모든 명사는 유정명사 는 무정명사 로 구분되며, 소설의 인물명(고유명사)과 등장인물 (일반명사)은 유정명사의 집합 SA에 속한다. 그러 나 본 논문에서 유정조사를 활용하여 추출한 인물 명과 등장인물의 집합은 <Figure 4>(b)의 Sa에 불과하다. 앞서 언 한 바와 같이, 작가의 문체에 따라 Sa의 크기가 결정되기 때문에, 어떤 작가가 쓴 소설이냐에 따라 제안하는 기법의 재 율 편차 는 커질 수 있다. 그러나 우리는 Sa의 정확률이 매우 높다는 것에 주목한다. Sa의 정확률이 100%에 가까운 경우, Sa 에 속한 명사를 활용하여, 1) 이들과 계를 가지 거나 2) 이들이 사용된 문장과 유사한 패턴의 다 른 문장에 등장하는, 명사를 인물명 는 등장인 물로 단할 수 있을 것으로 생각한다. 를 들어, 해리포터 시리즈에서 “해리”가 Sa에 속해있고 “헤르미온느”가 SN\Sa에 속해있으면서, 소 설 본문에 “헤르미온느와 해리가”라는 문장의 일부가 존재하는 경우를 생각해 보자. 그러면, 우리는 “헤 르미온느와 해리가”로부터 “해리”와 “헤르미온느” 한국어 소설에서 유정명사용 조사 기반의 인물 추출 기법 123 <Figure 5> Recall if All Characters, which Appearance Rate ≥ 1.0%, are Extracted <Figure 6> Recall if All Characters, which Appearance Rate ≥ 0.5%, are Extracted 가 동등한 계에 있다는 사실을 알 수 있고, 그 결 과 “헤르미온느”도 인물명 는 등장인물일 것이라 단할 수 있다. 유사하게, Sa에 속해있는 명사의 소유격 패턴과 동사 패턴을 이용하여 SN\Sa에 속 해있는 발견되지 못한 인물명 등장인물을 추출 할 수 있을 것으로 생각한다. 이상의 아이디어를 구 하기에 앞서, Sa에 속한 인물명 등장인물을 활용하여, 각각의 소설별로 인물명의 등장율이 1% 이상 는 0.5% 이상이면 서 SN\Sa에 속해있는 모든 인물명을 추가로 발견하 는 경우, 재 율이 얼마나 상승할 수 있는지 추정 해 보면 다음과 같다. <Figure 5>와 <Figure 6> 는 각각 등장율이 1% 0.5% 이상인 인물명을 모두 발견하는 경우의 80권의 재 율을 보여 다. <Figure 5>로부터 재 율을 계산해 보면, 체 80권으로부터 수동 추출된 총 1,433개의 인물명 에서 1,119개의 인물명이 추출되어, 체 재 율이 78.09%로 증가할 것으로 추정된다. 그리고 <Figure 6>로부터 재 율을 계산해 보면, 체 80권으로부 터 수동 추출된 총 1,433개의 인물명 에서 1,200 개의 인물명이 추출되어, 체 재 율이 83.74%로 증가할 것으로 추정된다. 뿐만 아니라 <Figure 6> 에서는, 각각의 소설별 재 율도 다섯 권을 제외 하면 모두 70%보다 높게 나타났다. <Figure 5>와 <Figure 6>의 결과로부터, 각각 의 소설별 인물명의 등장율이 1% 이상 는 0.5% 이상인 모든 인물명을 발견하는 경우의 F-mea- sure를 계산해보면, 각각 86.94%와 90.34%가 된다. 이상의 성능 결과와 활용성 분석 결과로부터, 유 정조사를 활용하여 한국어 소설로부터 인물명 등장인물을 추출하는 근 방법은 매우 효율 인 방법일 뿐만 아니라, 새로운 인물 추출 기법 개발에 도 유용하게 활용될 수 있음을 알 수 있다. 5. 결 론 본 논문에서는 충분한 학습 데이터의 구축이 어 려운 한국어 소설이라는 장르에 하여 고유명사 사 에 의존 이지 않은 인물 추출 기법을 개발하 기 하여, 인물명 등장인물 추출에 한 유정 조사의 활용성을 정확률, 재 율 F-measure로 분석하 다. 이를 하여, 한국어로 번역된 소설 11권과 한국어로 창작된 소설 69권을 상으로 실 험을 수행하 다. 실험 결과, 단순히 유정조사를 사 용하여 인물명과 등장인물을 추출하는 매우 간단 한 방법만으로도 81.88%의 F-measure 값을 얻 을 수 있었다. 한 활용성 분석을 통해, 본 논문 에서 제안하는 기법이 새로운 인물 추출 기법 개 발에도 유용하게 활용될 수 있음을 알 수 있었다. 향후에는, 유정조사를 활용하여 추출된 인물명과 등장인물 정보를 기반으로, 제안하는 기법이 발견 하지 못한 인물명 등장인물을 추가로 추출하는 기법에 한 연구를 진행하고자 한다. 124 Taekeun Park․Seung-Hoon Kim References Elson, D.K. and K.R. 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Seo, “Named Entity Recognition using Machine Learning Methods and Pattern-Selection Rules”, In Proceedings of the 6th Natural Language Processing Pacific Rim Symposium, 2001, 229-236. Shaalan, K. and M. Oudah, “A Hybrid Approach to Arabic Named Entity Recognition”, Jour- nal of Information Science, Vol.40, No.1, 2014, 67-87. A Character Identification Method using Postpositions for Animate Nouns in Korean Novels 125 About the Authors Taekeun Park (tkpark@dankook.ac.kr) Taekeun Park received his B.S., M.S., and Ph.D. degrees in Computer Science and Engineering from POSTECH, Pohang, Korea in 1991, 1993, and 2004, respectively. He joined POSTECH PIRL in 1993 and moved to SK Telecom in 1996. From 2000 to 2001 and from 2001 to 2002, he worked for 3Com Korea and Ericsson Korea, respectively. In 2004, he joined in the department of Multimedia Engineering, Dankook University, Korea. He is currently on the faculty of the department of Applied Computer Engi- neering at Dankook University. His research interests include data proce- ssing, IoT, wireless/mobile communications, and distributed services. Seung-Hoon Kim (edina@dankook.ac.kr) Seung-Hoon Kim received his Ph.D. degree in Computer Science and Engineering from Pohang University of Science and Technology (POSTECH), Korea in 1998. Dr. Kim is currently a professor of Dept. of Applied Computer Engineering, Dankook University, Korea since 2001. From 1989 to 1990 he was a member of technical staff in Electronics and Telecom- munications Research Institute(ETRI), Taejon, Korea. From 1991 to 1993 he was a member of technical staff in POSDATA, Seoul, Korea. His current research interests include data computing and networking, IoT, distributed systems, and etc. 
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work_5267fxef5bdcnhw3iol3rre7me	----	Revista de Lenguas ModeRnas, N° 14, 2011 / 33-42 / ISSN: 1659-1933 Resumen The Virgin and the Gipsy es una novela corta escrita por D.H. Lawrence en 1926 y publicada en 1930. En ella, se presenta un asombro o fascina- ción ante el misterio que rodea a la figura masculina del gitano, a quien se dota de caracterizaciones que lo alejan de la cultura dominante de principios del siglo XX. La abyecta mirada hacia la mujer gitana y la animalización sexualizada del hombre gitano se legitiman en el texto de Lawrence, siguiendo la corriente de fascinación propia del modernismo hacia la figura del gitano. En este artículo se traza un recorrido por la relación existente entre el sujeto activo de la narración, el que mira y escribe a sus personajes, y el objeto pasivo que es receptor implícito de la reescritura de su identidad como ser estereotipado y animalizado. A partir de una imagen romantizada de este personaje, la aproximación reificante que lo envuelve conlleva su desintegración identitaria, tanto a partir de la formación de una mirada de fascinación y deseo, como desde la abyección propia desde un horizonte de expectativa predeterminado. Palabras claves: gitano, D. H. Lawrence, identidad, otredad, imaginario Abstract The Virgin and the Gipsy is a short novel written by DH Lawrence in 1926 and published in 1930. The author presents in this novel a sense of fascination about the mystery surrounding the gypsy male protagonist, Producción de identidades en espacios otros: imaginarios del gitanismo en The Virgin and the Gipsy de D.H. Lawrence Eduardo Barros GrEla Facultad de Filología Universidad de La Coruña, España Recepción: 28-3-11 Aceptación: 16-5-11 “…but the dark man will blow the one spark up into fire again, good fire.” B. Guttenberg Revista de Lenguas ModeRnas, n° 14, 2011 / 33-42 / issn: 1659-193334 L a publicación de The Virgin and the Gipsy en el primer tercio del siglo XX supuso una mirada retrospectiva a la representabilidad del exceso en la forma de la misteriosa estética del gitanismo. D.H. Lawrence presenta una figuración tangencial de la “impersonalidad” modernista a partir de la misteriosa figura de “The Gipsy”, que aparece aislado en una manifestación simbólica de la otredad, en disonancia con la permisividad epistemológica de la legitimada estandarización del extrañamiento moderno. Versado en argumen- tos críticos hacia el alienante devenir de la industrialización, el autor de esta pequeña novela dirige su enfoque estético hacia la espontaneidad y la vitalidad que encuentra en el gitano como referente de su aparato nostálgico de represen- tación identitaria. Su exotización del imaginario gitano se corresponde con una mirada melancólica ejercida como punto de apoyo sobre la artificiosa identifi- cación del otro en el aparato ideológico de la modernidad, resultando aquélla en un deslizamiento de cosificaciones de la identidad del individuo que repercute contradictoriamente en las intenciones originales del escritor inglés. La elección de un tema de evidente insuficiencia crítica como la representa- ción del “gitanismo” a partir de la obra de un autor como D.H. Lawrence, cuya aproximación al exotismo romaní dista de la especialización concreta que sí ate- sora con respecto a otros temas en sus obras, es algo que podría suscitar un cierto escepticismo crítico en una aproximación inicial. No obstante, dado que existe una tradición de representaciones romantizadas de este sujeto étnico –una tra- dición que ha perdurado a través de los diferentes epistemes y estéticas de las literaturas occidentales–, tiene este análisis como objetivo estudiar, desde una aproximación estética, una serie de puntos de fricción presentes en la obra del autor de Lady Chatterley’s Lover (1928) que resultarán de gran interés para las ulteriores investigaciones que persigan ahondar en la discusión de la represen- tabilidad y las actuaciones1 de la identidad gitana. who is depicted as a holder of characterizations that are far from those be- longing to the dominant culture of the early twentieth century. The abject gaze towards gypsy women and the sexualized animalization of gypsy men are legitimized in Lawrence’s text following Modernist fascination with the mysterious figure of the gypsy. This article outlines an overview of the re- lationship between the active subject of the narrative, who gazes at and writes his characters, and the passive object that undergoes the rewriting of their identity as a stereotyped and animalized object. Based on a roman- ticized image of this character, the author provides a reifying narrative that conveys the disintegration of the gypsy’s identity. Both the production of a gaze of fascination and desire, and the abjection resulting from a pre- established horizon of expectation are critically looked at in this essay. Key words: gypsy, D.H. Lawrence, identity, otherness, imaginary BARROS. PRoducción de identidades en esPacios ... 35 La actancialidad de esta identidad se ha visto expandida –y, a la vez, res- tringida– por una actuación construida desde un imaginario extrínseco al gi- tanismo cultural (Charnon-Deutsch, 69), con un poder mediático de tal enver- gadura que ha producido una fagocitación centrípeta de la diversidad estética inherente a la cultura gitana, provocando un proceso de asimilación (Belton, 139) que desemboca en un consenso cultural tácito que lo define –desde el exte- rior– como un rasgo idiosincrásico2 y propio. Así, las múltiples referencias cultu- rales que han estigmatizado la identidad gitana han repercutido directamente en el palimpsesto cultural de este grupo étnico, cuya auto-referencialidad como “otredad para el otro” se ha asentado como característica de su desarrollo social3. El año de publicación de The Virgin and the Gipsy (1930) resulta lo suficien- temente significativo como para situar los indicios ideológicos de transformación paranoide subyacentes a la estética modernista y a sus plasmaciones literarias. La distancia temporal entre lo que Merleau-Ponty definió como la corporalidad (1999, 247) de los personajes y la proyección imaginada de éstos se manifiesta abiertamente relevante como para que la observación externa de las caracterís- ticas propias del objeto representado ofrezca un abanico de diferentes aproxima- ciones críticas hacia la configuración sistemática de (d)escribir a estos persona- jes, así como la proyección cultural de sus comunidades. Históricamente, la cultura romaní ha sido semantizada bajo una definición dual que oscila entre una imagen “romantizada”, promovida por las incursiones “taxonómicas” llevadas a cabo en el siglo XIX en España4 por parte de varios observadores del centro y norte de Europa y, por otro lado, la figuración margi- nal proyectada por el imaginario social español –y compartido por otros muchos pueblos europeos– que siempre ha perseguido a la cultura gitana. Una mezcla insurrecta de ambas tendencias se aloja insoslayablemente en muchos de los tra- tados que progresivamente han dirigido una óptica destructiva de la identidad de un grupo étnico que tradicionalmente ha soportado agresiones identitarias en su formación –también– espectacular. Por un lado, obras de reconocido prestigio en el canon literario como la cervantina La Gitanilla o Tiempo de Silencio, de Luis Martín Santos, se incrustan en el muro del estereotipo para tapiar formas incómodas de otredad, y se manifiestan abiertamente condescendientes hacia este grupo étnico. En circunstancias similares otros autores abogan, no obstan- te, por teñir sus interpretaciones literario-culturales con una perspectiva más científica, más cercana al empirismo metodológico, y defienden una maquina- ria positivista de dudosa (y sospechosa) objetividad informativa. Es el caso de ciertos “exploradores de la observación”, tales como Borrow (1923) o Smith of Coalville (1883), historiadores o etnógrafos que se sumergen directamente en la cultura que están estudiando para rebatir o confirmar sus apriorísticas hipótesis teóricas: …the females frequently enter the harems of the great, pretending to cure children of the “evil eye,” and to interpret the dreams of the women. They are not unfrequently seen in the coffee-houses, exhibiting their figures in lascivious dances to the tune of various instruments; yet these females are Revista de Lenguas ModeRnas, n° 14, 2011 / 33-42 / issn: 1659-193336 by no means unchaste, however their manners and appearance may denote the contrary, and either Turk or Christian who, stimulated by their songs and voluptuous movements, should address them with proposals of a dis- honourable nature, would, in all probability, meet with a decided repulse. (Borrow 13) En el caso de Smith of Coalville, sus impresiones no son menos certeras: We can domesticate the goose, we can tame the goldfinch and the linnet; but we shall never reclaim the guinea-fowl, or accustom the swallow to a cage. Teach the Gipsy to read, or even to write; he remains a Gipsy still. His love of wandering is as keen as is the instinct of a migratory bird for its an- nual passage; and exactly as the prisoned cuckoo of the first year will beat itself to death against its bars when September draws near, so the Gipsy, even when most prosperous, will never so far forsake the traditions of his tribe as to stay long in any one place. His mind is not as ours. A little of our civilization we can teach him, and he will learn it, as he may learn to repeat by rote the signs of the zodiac or the multiplication table […] But the lesson sits lightly on him, and he remains in heart as irreclaimable as ever. (57) Este asombro ante la otredad del gitano por parte del sujeto que ostenta la mi- rada narrativa indica un posicionamiento extrínseco y reificante hacia éste. La abyecta mirada hacia la mujer gitana o la animalización exaltada del hombre gitano y su sexualización implícita se legitiman en estos textos. Así, las aproxi- maciones discursivas que se van a tratar en este estudio se encuentran entre las que proponen un acercamiento a estas dos líneas argumentativas enfrentadas que se acaban de mencionar: por un lado, y de manera explícita, se desliza sobre la trama de la obra de D. H. Lawrence, en primer término, una imagen roman- tizada de un protagonista en la penumbra, oculto, implícito, que propone una retórica en retorno insalvable a la negación de su propia condición. En segundo lugar, esa aproximación reificante envuelve posturas de desintegración identi- taria por parte del objeto observado, tanto desde una formación del deseo de la mirada (Bhopal, 97) como desde su abyección fenomenológica (Saul, 119)5. El autor de The Virgin and the Gipsy dibuja una diáfana dicotomía entre la discursividad de la razón que se arrastra por el discurso de sus violentas páginas y la estaticidad romántica que las constriñe. En ellas, la figura del gitano adquiere un valor simbólico que cuestiona desde el mismo discurso la condición marginal de su asignada esencia, aplicada en este caso a la inevitable extinción del imaginario tradicional que ha definido a la identidad gitana. El autor hace entrar en diálogo –con su texto– las limitaciones romantizadas con las que la tradición literaria de búsqueda de lo sublime lo había confrontado. En el estado general de la obra como sátira difuminada del concepto romantiza- do, el gitano, quien durante gran parte de la obra permanece embutido en una pasividad helicoidal, obedece, falto de voluntad, a las acciones que la afásica personalidad de Yvette, la protagonista femenina, le ordena. La descripción que BARROS. PRoducción de identidades en esPacios ... 37 se ofrece del gitano a partir de una narratividad en estilo indirecto libre –en el momento crítico de la narración en el que por primera vez ambos protagonistas se cruzan– transcribe las reacciones “naturales” de quien se enfrenta a la figura misteriosa, lúgubre del gitano: “...the gipsy man at the top of the steps stood imperturbable… but his bold eyes kept staring at Yvette, she should feel them on her cheek, on her neck, and she dared not look up” (45). La aparente pasividad que muestra el gitano en esta escena esconde en realidad para el autor un poder de seducción y agresividad oculto en la mirada. Las fugas pensativas de Yvette tienen más que ver con una búsqueda de pasión procesada por la propia virgen encarcelada, sumergida en su íntimo círculo de subjetividad, que con una realidad “de base empírica” que no haya de despren- derse de su integridad a través del filtro perceptivo que la protagonista encarna desde la voz del narrador. Con esta fragmentación de la grotesca unidad pensan- te de Yvette, se puede entender que aquella idea decimonónica del gitano como nigromante está siendo parodiada en este texto –en un grado ingente de sutile- za– por parte del autor. Esta desviación hermenéutica se produce a pesar de que la crítica sobre este mismo pasaje tiende a regurgitar la idea de que Lawrence está recuperando un concepto costumbrista ya utilizado por Jane Austen, tal y como refleja Barnett Guttenberg en su estudio sobre la presencia del realismo y el romanticismo en la obra del escritor inglés: …a number of scenes seem drawn from the novel of manners… the rectory, the dancehall, the automobile… Even closer to the world of Jane Austen is the episode of Yvette’s tea-cake transgression, in which the sins against decorum by absent-mindedly winding up with two cakes on her plate. (Guttenberg, 99) Como veremos, no obstante, la protagonista participación de Yvette en la trama narrativa de The Virgin and the Gipsy juega un papel determinante no sólo en la configuración espacial sino en la misma creación de espacialidades identitarias pertenecientes a cada uno de los personajes principales. Al mismo tiempo que se ofrece la imagen del gitano subjetivizada por los ojos de la protagonista, el texto ofrece al lector otra imagen suya, también subje- tivizada, pero en esta ocasión por un ente que tiene mayor capacidad de contro- lar la percepción lectora de cara a la interpretación del texto: el mismo narrador extradiegético. La vía a través de la cual el narrador ofrece una versión que enfatiza la condición del gitano como criminal o peligroso marginado es la de varios personajes que representan la estaticidad de la vida acomodada dentro del universo de esta obra. La actitud presentada por los compañeros de Yvette cuando se produce el encuentro con la caravana de los nómadas representa un modelo de actuación ampliamente asociado con el de una gran mayoría de la clase media inglesa de principios del siglo XX: un sentimiento de admiración exó- tica en constante contradicción con la repudia social resultante de la aceptada estereotipificación que lleva a Yvette a construir una personalidad más allegada a la propia de quienes la acompañan que a la que sería la evolución esperada de Revista de Lenguas ModeRnas, n° 14, 2011 / 33-42 / issn: 1659-193338 la suya propia en una situación como la que se presenta: “…Lottie retired blus- hing and confused, and it was Ella’s turn. She was much more calm and shrewd, trying to read the oracular words” (45); “… you have to be a bit lordy with people like that…” (51). Esta postura de fascinación y abyección se hace patente a lo largo de toda la obra no sólo en lo que afecta al propio imaginario del gitano y a su presencia concretizada en los habitantes de esas caravanas, sino también en todos los per- sonajes que deslicen bajo sus máscaras rasgos de algún tipo de “rebeldía indómi- ta”. La propia Yvette aparece como réplica de “She-who-was-Cynthia” (36) y de su rasgo compartido en torno al ansia de libertad y la necesidad de dinamicidad como oposición a la pasividad imperante y alienante. Así, mientras Yvette mues- tra esa curiosidad epistemológica por la “peligrosidad” del gitano, los personajes principales se atascan en un laberinto de problemas inherentes a su estilo de vida, siendo el personaje de Lucille quien mejor ostenta esa condición imperso- nalizada del sujeto moderno, y demostrándolo especialmente en los enfrenta- mientos que tiene con el personaje que representa el estanco tradicionalismo por antonomasia: The Mater. La figura contestataria de esta persona literaria no encaja con la imagen bohemia y marginal de los gitanos que se ha establecido como “estándar” (Ó hAodha, 17). Lo hace más con la imagen de joven revolucionario desclasado que, en ideología contestataria paralela, pero actitud social contrapuesta, sur- ge como “brazo activista” de quienes abogan por una automarginación de la cul- tura gitana. Quien representa mejor esta actitud dentro de la obra de Lawrence es Joe Boswell y la idea por él representada del gitano anónimo, representación que se diferencia de la que ofrecen Yvette y su madre precisamente en que éstas ansían seguir una forma de vida como la que observan los gitanos, idea- lizándola como existencia que ha trascendido las ataduras sociales. La cultura gitana es, pues, escrita desde una epistemología no-gitana que se encarga de definir la idiosincrasia de aquélla. Yvette da forma a este conflicto al buscar la forma de vida del gitano a la vez que el gitano necesita de la forma de vida que ella rechaza: His appearance was curiously elegant, and quite expensive in its gipsy style. He was handsome, too, pressing in his chin with the old, gipsy con- ceit, and now apparently not heeding the strangers any more, as he led his good roan horse off the road, preparing to back his cart (21). La fascinación que Yvette muestra en esta cita hacia la misteriosa figura del gitano responde a todos los cánones de la visión burguesa del modernismo hacia el exotismo de tal personaje, lo que le provoca en primera instancia un sen- timiento de atracción reforzado por las peculiaridades distintivas de este hombre sin nombre (Blum-Reid, 5). Su apariencia, “curiosamente elegante y cara”, atrae la atención de una Yvette que se ve sorprendida por la transgresión de esos cáno- nes del imaginario popular sobre el gitano a los que responde el hombre a quien observa, a la vez que se observa en él. BARROS. PRoducción de identidades en esPacios ... 39 En estas palabras dirigidas por Yvette a su lector implícito se pueden ob- servar rasgos propios del sentido claramente vanguardista en su tradicionalismo que se refleja en la figura del gitano: sublevación contra los valores tradicionales que la constriñen; fascinación por lo extraño; anhelo de rebeldía contra la estéti- ca burguesa establecido, etc. Este contexto es idóneo para escribir identidades de alteridad que funcionen como referentes axiológicos y de representación, en una suerte de deconstrucción epistemológica que devenga en una genealogía de la identidad del margen. El texto de D.H. Lawrence articula ese afán subalterno de responder a la necesidad contestataria y utópica de las generaciones hastiadas por inercias sociales y corduras culturales que subyacen de forma circunstancial a la obra del autor inglés. El texto se acerca, así, a la concepción que Lawrence relata en torno a la virginidad como discurso aporético de la relación entre la mujer protagonista y la manifestación estética de su Otredad. Un ansia de fin y comienzo amalgama- dos se representa en una dialéctica con la que Lawrence invita a una forma de entender la sexualidad muy parecida a la que el mundo gitano parece responder de acuerdo con los estándares marcados por el autor inglés. Porque la virginidad entendida en su dimensión espiritual juega una baza perdedora en su obra, se puede categorizar su presencia como la de un ente más entre la disposición de los personajes pertenecientes a esta novela corta. La tan discutida escena final entre la virgen y el gitano aislados del resto del contexto sociocultural que los define, gracias a una oportunidad envuelta en turbulentas disposiciones, representa el momento climático de la obra en el que se cuestiona la virginidad de Yvette – como sinécdoque de un cambio de paradigma– mediante una dialéctica discursi- va plasmada en la corporalidad de los dos participantes, finalmente reconciliada. Puede parecer razonable que la pérdida y posterior recuperación de la con- cepción de virginidad que tiene lugar en la escena descrita suceda aquí con pre- tensiones epistemológicas de representar a través de la figura del gitano –y de la figura gitanizada de Yvette– el proyecto de cambio de paradigma asociado con el periodo de entreguerras, del que, irónicamente, Yvette y el gitano son representativos en su atribuida corporalidad. En un recurso lúdico de acertada ejecución, el autor manipula narrativamente el discurso para llevar al gitano a una posición identificable con la del caballero honesto, respetuoso y de valo- res intachables que normalmente se le otorgaría al personaje antitético de todo lo que representa el gitano. Yvette, que advierte la proterva condición del –in- nombrable– gitano, actúa sin embargo atendiendo a motivaciones culturales que cuestionan la axiología de su educación, y hace prevalecer sus pulsiones ante las alienantes inercias de su adoctrinamiento. D.H. Lawrence describe al gitano protagonista como una persona con una actitud aparentemente pasiva, cuyas funciones espaciales y psicomotrices no tie- nen la mayor relevancia más que dentro de la idealización a la que están siendo sometidas por la mirada subjetivizadora de la narradora improvisada. Tal con- dición se presta para cuestionar por oposición la validez de las formas de repre- sentación con las que el gitano europeo occidental ha sido definido. En los mo- mentos narrativos de The Virgin and the Gipsy en los que éstos aparecen, bien se Revista de Lenguas ModeRnas, n° 14, 2011 / 33-42 / issn: 1659-193340 encuentran en movimiento, o en un receso de su permanente migración. Cuando se acerca a la residencia de Yvette impulsado por sus actividades comerciales, la descripción del gitano objeto de la mirada de Yvette en la de “a man with a cart” (37), que anticipa la localización del deseo no manifestado de la joven, quien tras aproximarse al temido referente de su aspiración emocional se resiste a ser partícipe de la movilidad epistemológica atribuida por Lawrence a los compo- nentes del grupúsculo gitano. Se trata del momento de la seducción, cuando se encuentran en el campamento de éste: “But, where is your wife?/ -She is gone out with the basket. They’re all gone out, cart and all, selling things…” (45). En estos ejemplos se muestra de forma explícita la prominente repercusión del espacio como forma de cuestionamiento epistemológico que subvierte el proceso comunicativo en la estructura de conocimiento de Yvette, para exponerla a una liberación identitaria que la aleje de las inercias establecidas por los aceptados –y castrantes– protocolos sociales. Su forma de aprehender el mundo debe so- meterse a un desplazamiento espacial para adquirir la necesaria alienación que la aleje de las estructuras predeterminadas de su conocimiento, y la figuración nómada del gitanismo al que se aproxima le permite relativizar sus estándares cognitivos. Esta artificiosa idealización del “primitivismo” humano proyectada por Yvette en su imaginada versión del gitano se referencia de forma explícita en varios pasajes de la novela, en concreto durante los desplazamientos de su ima- ginación, que la llevan a pensarlo caminando hacia su casa cantando (76), en una imagen construida que se corresponde con aquella del “Tirra-lirra by the river”, en referencia al conocido pasaje de Lord Tennyson en “The Lady of Shalott”6: She seemed always to imagine that someone would come along singing Tirra-lirra! or something equally intelligent, by the river. […] She always expected something to come down the slant of the road from Papplewick, and she always lingered at the landing window. Often a cart came, or a motor-car, or a lorry with stone, or a laborer, or one of the servants. But never anybody who sang Tirra-lirra! by the river. The tirra-lirraing days seemed to have gone by. (83) Desde que se produce esta declaración de intenciones de deseo por parte de la mujer protagonista de esta novela corta, el lector queda expuesto al reconoci- miento de un proceso de palimpsesto identitario sobre la representabilidad del gitano como objeto de un deseo, más que como sujeto ontológico con capacidad autonómica de actuación. La artificiosidad de la Otredad encontrada en la narra- tividad de Yvette concuerda con las intenciones estéticas de un David Herbert Lawrence dispuesto a reconciliar las tensiones axiológicas de la modernidad. El gitano, así, como paradigma melancólico de la libertad de pensamiento y de la separación ontológica de las paralizantes convenciones sociales y culturales pro- pias del período de entreguerras, se convierte en la obra de Lawrence en una herramienta de la alteridad que encaja perfectamente en las pretensiones dialé- cticas del autor inglés. BARROS. PRoducción de identidades en esPacios ... 41 Notas 1. El vocablo “actuaciones” se refiere aquí a las participaciones activas del sujeto en la representación de sí mismo, más como actante con posesión de “agency” que como objeto representado. 2. Cfr. George Borrow y George Smith of Coalville. 3. Para obtener más información sobre las diferentes ramificaciones del desarrollo social del pueblo gitano, ver Mike Sell, “Bohemianism, the Cultural Turn of the Avantgarde, and Forgetting the Roma”. 4. No de forma exclusiva, cfr. Belton, Acton o Malvinni. 5. En D.H. Lawrence. A Personal Record, E.T. (seudónimo de Jessie Chambers, ami- ga de juventud de Lawrence que publicó varios artículos de su correspondencia, así como notas con impresiones particulares suyas sobre el escritor inglés y la relación de amistad que existió entre ambos) afirma que Lawrence “greatly admired Georges Borrow. He spent a whole sunny Saturday evening up on the Annesley Hills telling me about Borrow’s life and about Lavengro, making the story so vivid that Borrow see- med to be an actual acquaintance” (109-110). La referencia directa al conocimiento de Lawrence de la obra de George Borrow y, en concreto, de Lavengro, the Scholar, the Gypsy, the Priest (1851) es indicativo de la profunda influencia que las taxonomías del pueblo gitano, publicadas por Borrow, tuvieron sobre la escritura posterior del autor de The Virgin and the Gipsy. También la admiración de Lawrence hacia Smith of Coalville, y su coincidencia en la fascinación inducida por el pueblo gitano, aparece recogida en Janet Lyon, “Gadze Modernism” y en Abby Bardi “‘In Company of a Gipsy’: The ‘Gyp- sy’ as Trope in Woolf and Brontë.” 6. “His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;/ On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;/ From underneath his helmet flow’d/ His coal-black curls as on he rode,/ As he rode down to Camelot./ From the bank and from the river/ He flash’d into the crystal mirror,/ “Tirra lirra,” by the river/ Sang Sir Lancelot” (44). Bibliography Acton, Thomas Alan, y Gary Mundy. Romani Culture and Gypsy Identity. Hat- field: University of Hertfordshire Press, 1997. Balbert, Peter. “Scorched Ego, the Novel, and the Beast: Patterns of Fourth Di- mensionality in The Virgin and the Gipsy”. Papers on Language & Literature 29.4 (1993): 395-416. Bardi, Abby. “‘In Company of a Gipsy’: The ‘Gypsy’ as Trope in Woolf and Brontë”. Critical Survey, vol. 19, 2007 (pp. 40-50). Belton, Brian. Questioning Gypsy Identity: Ethnic Narratives in Britain and America. Lanham, MD: Rowman Altamira, 2005. Bhopal, Kalwant, y Martin Myers. Insiders, Outsiders and Others: Gypsies and Identity. Hatfield: University of Hertfordshire Press, 2008. Bloom, Harold (ed.). D.H. Lawrence. New York: Chelsea House Publishers, 1986. Blum-Reid, Sylvie. “The Elusive Search for Nora Luca: Tony Gatlif’s Adventures in Gypsy Land”. Portal Journal of Multidisciplinary International Studies Vol. 2, No. 2 July 2005. Revista de Lenguas ModeRnas, n° 14, 2011 / 33-42 / issn: 1659-193342 Borrow, George. The Zincali. London: Constable & Co., 1923. . Lavengro: The Scholar, the Gypsy, the Priest. New York: Simon & Schus- ter, 2008. Brown, Marilyn R. Gypsies and Other Bohemians. The Myth of the Artist in Nine- teenth-Century France. Michigan: UMI Research Press, 1985. Charnon-Deutsch, Lou. The Spanish Gypsy. The History of a European Obses- sion. Pennsylvania: Penn State University Press, 2004. E.T. D.H. Lawrence. A Personal Record. Londres: Jonathan Cape, 1935. Ferreira, María Aline. “The Virgin and the Gipsy as a rewriting and subversion of Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott”. D.H. Lawrence Review 23 (1991): 167- 177. Guttenberg, Barnett. “Realism and Romance in Lawrence’s The Virgin and the Gipsy”. Studies in Short Fiction 17 (1980): 99-113. Kalnins, Mara (ed.). D.H. Lawrence: Centenary Essays. Exeter: Bristol Classical Press, 1986. Lawrence, D.H. The Virgin and the Gipsy. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1931. Malvinni, David. The Gypsy caravan: from real Roma to imaginary gypsies in Western music and film. Philadelphia: Psychology Press, 2004. Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Fenomenología de la percepción. Barcelona: Editorial Altaya, 1999. . El ojo y el espíritu. Barcelona: Paidós, 1986. ÓhAodha, Micheal. On the margins of memory: recovering the migrant voice. Newcastle, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2007. O’Nions, Helen. The Marginalization of Gypsies. Leicester: Blackstone Press, 1995. Preston, Peter (ed.). D.H. Lawrence in the Modern World. Cambridge: CUP, 1989. Saul, Nicholas y Susan Tebbutt. The role of the Romanies: images and counter- images of ‘Gypsies’/Romanies in European cultures. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2005. Sell, Mike. “Bohemianism,the Cultural Turn of the Avantgarde, and Forgetting the Roma”. TDR Vol. 51, No. 2 (verano 2007), pp. 41-59. Smith of Coalville, George. I’ve been a-Gypsying. Londres: Fisher Unwin, 1883. Tennyson, Baron Alfred. The lady of Shalott. New York: Dodd, Mead & Com- pany, 1881. 
work_547m3n2njbgo3gnfffvjw5zvoe	----	1824 BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL VOLUME 287 17 DECEMBER 1983 era? These factors have not figured prominently in analyses of vaccine associated paralysis, and the familiar routine ad- ministration of both oral attenuated poliovaccine and triple diphtheria, tetanus, and pertussis vaccine to children has not proved dangerous. In particular, the pertussis vaccine has not emerged as an agent provocateur for poliomyelitis associated with oral attenuated poliovaccine. Any case of acute paralysis which might possibly be due to poliovirus, whether after vaccination or otherwise, should be immediately investigated by testing stool specimens for the presence of virus. Virulent polioviruses still abound in the world and may be imported into countries such as Britain to exploit any gaps in individual or herd immunity. Occasional cases of paralytic poliomyelitis still occur in Britain in un- vaccinated children and adults with or without recent travel abroad, and we must be on guard against any complacent, premature belief that this infection need no longer be considered in differential diagnosis. Virological tests can distinguish vaccine derived from "wild" strains of poliovirus more accurately nowadays, and they can also identify the occasional cases of poliomyelitis due to those other enteroviruses against which poliomyelitis vaccines cannot be expected to protect. Continuing surveillance by both virological and epidemiological techniques is essential for satisfactory and sustained control. Meanwhile, better vaccines are on the way, though the present vaccines are so good that any improvements will be impossibly difficult to show in field trials. NORMAN R GRIST Professor of Infectious Diseases, Regional Virus Laboratory, Ruchill Hospital, Glasgow G20 9NB IInternational symposium on poliomyelitis control, Washington, 1983. Rev Infect Dis (in press). 2 Dick G. Combined vaccines. Can J Public Health 1966;57 :435-46. 3Grist NR. Safety of poliomyelitis vaccines. Br MedJr 1983;286:917. 4WHO Consultative Group. The relation between acute persisting spinal paralysis and poliomyelitis vaccine- results of a ten-year enquiry. Bull WHO 1982;60:231-42. Prostacyclin-powerful, yes: but is it useful? To realise why we cannot answer the question asked in the title we need to take the story of the discovery of prostacyclin back to its unlikely origins in the work oftwo gynaecologists in 1930.1 We must follow the trail through a period of quiescence and neglect until we reach an unprecedented explosion of research in the 1970s, culminating in the award of the 1982 Nobel prizes for medicine and the marketing of prostacyclin in 1983 (by then, and over 2000 scientific papers too late, renamed epoprostenol). In 1930 the instillation of fresh human semen into the uterus was found to cause powerful muscular contraction or relaxa- tion.1 The activity resided in a lipid soluble acidic fraction, which could be further subdivided by ether and phosphate buffer extraction. Because the source of the active agents was thought to be the prostate they were named "prostaglan- dins," and because of the way in which ether and phosphate are spelt in Swedish the subfractions were labelled prostaglan- din E and prostaglandin F respectively. They were regarded as a curiosity or an irrelevance, though the structural studies carried out by Bergstrom and his colleagues2 3 began to show that the biological activities were due to a family of un- saturated hydroxy acids with an entirely novel shape which resembled a hairpin bent around a five membered ring. The existence of a large family of prostaglandins provided the explanation of the confusing and conflicting pharmacologi- cal results which hitherto had been obtained by testing body fluids and tissue extracts, and in the 1960s increasingly refined synthetic techniques made it possible to study indi- vidual prostaglandins instead of indeterminate mixtures of variable and shifting composition. Individual pure prostaglandins were soon shown to have profound effects on tissues other than smooth muscle. The first link with the thrombotic story came in 1967, when prostaglandin E1 was shown to be the most powerful inhibitor of platelet aggregation so far discovered4 5and to be capable of stopping injured animal arteries from forming platelet thrombi when it was infused intravenously.5 Attempts to infuse it into man confirmed that platelet inhibition could be produced- but at a price in respect of vasoactive and gut side effects,6 which we shall meet again as our story unfolds. By now, the recognition of the universal distribution of prostaglandins and their powerful biological effects was blow- ing away the fog of neglect which had hidden them from general view for four decades. Soon they were found to play a crucial part in many disturbances of body function such as inflammation. Vane7 showed that the therapeutic effects of salicylates and aspirin like drugs were due to their ability to prevent the synthesis of proinflammatory prostaglandins. This aspirin effect was due to inhibition ofthe cyclo-oxygenase enzymic step which transforms membrane arachidonic acid into the cyclic endoperoxides prostaglandin G2 and p-osta- glandin H2. The hunt was then on for the identity of deriva- tives of these endoperoxides which were mediating the in- flammatory response. Samuelsson and his colleagues8 provided the answer when they showed that platelets and white cells could use the cyclic endoperoxides to generate a highly active substance which they named thromboxane. This was found to have a short half life; the initial, short lived compound was named thromboxane A2 and its stable derivative thromboxane B2. Thromboxane A2 was found to have intense vasoconstric- tor, bronchoconstrictor, and cytolytic activity as well as being a very powerful platelet aggregator. The final step in the chain that led to the marketing of prostacyclin (alias epoprostenol) came in 1976 when the Wellcome group9 found that vessel walls could use the same arachidonate derived endoperoxides, prostaglandin G., and prostaglandin H2, to generate an unstable material which had diametrically opposing properties to thromboxane A.,; this artery derived substance (which they named prostaglandin X but was subsequently rechristened prostaglandin 1, and prosta- cyclin) was a vasodilator, a bronchodilator, a cytoprotective, and a very powerful inhibitor of platelet aggregation. Indeed the concentration of prostaglandin El, previously regarded as the most powerful natural inhibitor of aggregation, which inhibited adenosine diphosphate aggregation by half was 21 ng 1 while for prostacyclin it was only 0 4 ng 1.10 The complementary nature of thromboxane A2 and prosta- cyclin led to increasing speculation about their Yin and Yang functions in the economy of the body in health and disease. Might the blood be maintained in its normal fluid state only because "good" prostacyclin from vessel walls kept "bad" o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J (C lin R e s E d ): first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.2 8 7 .6 4 0 8 .1 8 2 4 o n 1 7 D e ce m b e r 1 9 8 3 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL VOLUME 287 17 DECEMBER 1983 thromboxane A, from platelets at bay ?11 Might the functioning of distant body tissues and cells be controlled by prostacyclin released from the lungs which was acting as a hormone by resetting cellular cyclic adenosine monophosphate and calcium onentrations ?12 The history of theseideas and their present state is fully documented in the July 1983 British Medical Bulletin, which is entirely devoted to prostacyclin, throm- boxane, and leukotrienes. So much for the background; now for the task in hand, which is to appraise the prospects of prostacyclin as a therapeutic agent, since a formulation for intravenous use ("Flolan") has just been launched. The suggestion is that the drug should be used to "keep platelets in circulation" in circumstances in which "artificial surfaces. . . cause activation, aggregation and consumption of platelets." This where a knowledge of history proves useful, since we can now say "But surely prostacyclin is a very unstable substance and will have powerful actions on tissues other than the platelets? Moreover, is it acting as a pharmacological agent because of its power in inhibiting platelets rather than as a physiological corrective ?" Early doubts had already been expressed":: "Imagine a drug with the following characteristics. It is inactive orally so has to be given intravenously. . . . Continuous infusion is required because the drug is rapidly eliminated with a half life of minutes. Most of the recipients complain of headache and all are flushed in the face. . . . Sudden bradycardia, nausea and pallor can occur without warning. Side effects are severe because the drug is usually given at the highest dose the patient will tolerate." The Lancet's anonymous leader writer regarded it as a marketing man's nightmare but wisely ob- served "it is hoped that prostacyclin will do well at stud, siring second generation agents which are better tolerated and easier to use and which have wider applications in vascular disease." Lewis and Dollery have provided an excellent and timely review14 of the actual therapeutic achievements of prostacyclin so far, and their comments can conveniently be divided into two sharply contrasting areas. The first is the ability of prosta- cyclin to minimise loss of platelets when blood is exposed to artificial surfaces such as in haemodialysis, cardiopulmonary bypass, and charcoal column perfusion for liver failure. In all of these techniques platelets may be deposited in the extra- corporeal circuits, producing thrombocytopenia and bleeding in the patient; or they may be returned to the circulation as aggregates which may then embolise producing organ failure and microangiopathy. After reviewing all the available studies Lewis and Dollery accept that prostacyclin may be used as the sole antithrombotic agent in such systems but they add that "the doses of prostacyclin required as sole anticoagulant in extracorporeal devices are sufficiently large to cause marked side-effects in conscious patients. In such patients prostacyclin is most likely to be used as a heparin-sparing agent rather than as a complete replacement for it." They also point out that most patients can be adequately treated with these circuits without the use of prostacyclin and that the platelet sparing effects of the drug confer an appreciable but only marginal benefit. They believe that a stronger case can be made for the use of prostacyclin in charcoal perfusion than in the other systems because "the treatment cannot in some cases be carried out without the use of prostacyclin." In respect of extracorporeal artificial surfaces the feasibility and immediate value of using prostacyclin has thus been well documented, and we now need to marshal evidence to deter- mine whether overall mortality and morbidity will be improved by using it more widely. When the artificial surface is intra- corporeal rather than extracorporeal a similar platelet sparing 1825 effect can be shown.'5 The rate of deposition of platelets labelled with "'In was noticeably reduced on prosthetic arterial grafts during infusion of prostacyclin and returned to its initial high value when the infusion was stopped. Outcome studies of graft patency and patient survival must now be mounted, for it may be that some blood cell deposition is necessary to form a natural protective lining on the prosthetic surface. It is when Lewis and Dollery begin to consider the value of prostacyclin in conditions where no man made artificial surface activates the blood that they start to answer my title question- with a "Don't know.'4 In both thrombotic thrombocytopenic purpura and haemolytic uraemic syndrome, damaged vessel walls and intravascular fibrin strands have been thought to provide a disease made activating surface which cannot produce its own prostacyclin. In these circumstances prostacyclin would have been expected to spare platelets by preventing their consumption-and yet there is no convincing evidence that this occurs. The picture is even more confusing in disease of the limb arteries, whether of the atherothrcrnbotic type leading to claudication, rest pain, gangrene, and amputation or the "vasospastic" type with Raynaud's phenomena. The original uncontrolled observations16 on the effect of intra-arterial prostacyclin claimed that it produced an improvement in the healing rate of gangrenous ischaemic limbs which was main- tained for several months, even though the infusions had spanned only a period of days. The clinical course of peripheral vascular disease is so variable that many candidate drugs and their proponents have fallen prey to the trip wires and the anti- personnel mines which defend the area. More recent studies have given conflicting results, but there is still a hint of benefit which outlasts the known pharmacological properties of the drug. Lewis and Dollery conclude that "at present it is not possible to draw any definite conclusions about the value of prostacyclin in peripheral vascular diseases. More double- blind studies are needed. It is difficult to see how a drug that is only a weak vasodilator and that causes a short-lived but marked effect upon platelets could have a longlasting thera- peutic action." The latter point may not be insurmountable, for in our early studies6 of infusions of prostaglandin El we found that the observed effects outlasted the circulatory life of the infused material. If prostacyclin similarly changes some fundamental property such as cellular cyclic adenosine mono- phosphate or calcium flux then it will be the half life of this change rather than of the prostacyclin itself which will deter- mine the duration of the effect. Lewis and Dollery also review some studies of prostacyclin in a wide range of other conditions (angina, pulmonary hyper- tension, asthma, pregnancy induced hypertension, renal graft rejection, and cardiac failure). Understandably, they can offer no helpful conclusions and like me'7 they must be sad at the tremendous imbalance between the worldwide interest in the discovery of prostacyclin and the lamentable lack of adequate clinical trials of its efficacy. Since their review, further com- pletely uncontrolled observations have been published claim- ing that prostacyclin may be of benefit in stroke,'8 and in my view "unless we are prepared to put as much effort into testing for clinical effectiveness as we put into basic research and de- velopment our patients might be better off if we stopped search- ing for antithrombotic drugs and concentrated instead on simple manoeuvres of current proved value such as cessation of smoking and better blood pressure control."'17 And yet it is hard to see how major studies can ever be mounted in common and lethal or disabling vascular diseases such as venous thromboembolism, myocardial infarction, stroke, and limb gangrene using prostacyclin itself because of o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J (C lin R e s E d ): first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.2 8 7 .6 4 0 8 .1 8 2 4 o n 1 7 D e ce m b e r 1 9 8 3 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 1826 BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL VOLUME 287 17 DECEMBER 1983 its instability, its short duration of action, and its requirement for carefully monitored infusion techniques. For the present, then, we must accept that prostacyclin is indeed powerful and useful in extracorporeal shunts. How ironic that, despite its early claims to be a natural balancing substance in the thrombotic equation, the usefulness of prosta- cyclin has been most clearly proved in entirely man made settings where blood meets an artificial surface. In the common spontaneous vascular diseases we must recognise that not only is prostacyclin not yet of proved value but that it is unlikely to be so. The real hope here lies in the exploitation of this novel compound to generate a stable, orally active prostacyclin analogue which will have selective affinity for the platelet receptors and will have minimal effects on the heart and blood vessels. Like the inventor who answered his critics by saying "But what is the use of a newborn baby?" we should be prepared to say of epoprostenol "Wait till it grows up and has children of its own-for what the world is waiting for is 'Son of Prostacyclin.' J R A MITCHELL Foundation Professor of Medicine, Nottingham University, University Hospital, Nottingham NG7 2UH Kurzrok R, Lieb CC. Biochemical studies of human semen; action of semen on the human uterus. Proc Soc Exp Biol Med 1930;28:268-72. 2 Bergstrom S. Chemistry of prostaglandin. Nordisk Medicin 1949;42: 1465-6. 3 Bergstrom S. Isolation, structure and action of the prostaglandins. In: Bergstrom S, Samuelsson B, eds. Prostaglandins. Proceedings of the 2nd Nobel symposium. Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell, 1967:21-30. 4 Kloeze J. Influence of prostaglandins on platelet adhesiveness and platelet aggregation. In: Bergstrom S, Samuelsson B, eds. Prostaglandins. Proceedings of the 2nd Nobel symposium. Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell, 1967:241-52. 5 Emmons PR, Hampton JR, Harrison MJG, Honour AJ, Mitchell JRA. Effect of prostaglandin E1 on platelet behaviour in vitro and in vivo. Br Med J 1967 ;ii :468-72. 6 Elkeles RS, Hampton JR, Harrison MJG, Mitchell JRA. Prostaglandin El and human platelets. Lancet 1969 ;ii :111. 7 Vane JR. Inhibition of prostaglandin synthesis as a mechanism of action for aspirin-like drugs. Nature New Biology 1971 ;231 :232-5. 8 Hamberg M, Svensson J, Samuelsson B. Thromboxanes a new group of biologically active compounds derived from prostaglandin endoperoxides. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 1975;72:2994-8. 9 Moncada S, Gryglewski R, Bunting S, Vane JR. An enzyme isolated from arteries transforms prostaglandin endoperoxides to an unstable substance that inhibits platelet aggregation. Nature 1976;263:663-5. 10 Whittle BJR, Moncada S. Pharmacology of prostacyclin and thromboxanes. Br Med Bull 1983;39:232-8. 1 Moncada S, Vane JR. Arachidonic acid metabolites and the interactions between platelets and blood-vessel walls. N Engl J Med 1979;300: 1142-7. 12 Moncada S, Korbut R, Bunting S, Vane JR. Prostacyclin is a circulating hormone. Nature 1978 ;273 :767-8. 13 Anonymous. The prototype. Lancet 1982;ii:424. 14 Lewis PJ, Dollery CT. Clinical pharmacology and potential of prostacyclin. Br Med Bull 1983;39:281-4. 15 Sinzinger H, O'Grady J, Cromwell M, Hofer R. Epoprostenol (prostacyclin) decreases platelet deposition on vascular prosthetic grafts. Lancet 1983 ;i: 1275-6. 16 Szczeklik A, Nizankowski R, Skawinski S, Szczeklik J, Gluszko P, Gryglewski RJ. Successful treatment of advanced arteriosclerosis obli- terans with prostacyclin. Lancet 1979;i:I 1 1 1-4. 17 Mitchell JRA. Clinical aspects of the arachidonic acid-thromboxane pathway. Br Med Bull 1983;39:289-95. 1 Gryglewski RJ, Nowak S, Kostkatrabka E, et al. Treatment of ischemic stroke with prostacyclin. Stroke 1983;14:197-202. Legislation and teenage sex To paraphrase Jane Austen, it is a truth universally acknow- ledged that parliament should not make new laws when those most closely affected advise that the proposed legislation is unwise and unworkable. Earlier this month the BMA called a press conference to leave the press and public in no doubt that doctors do not want any change in the law governing the prescription of oral contraceptives for girls under the age of 16. No one doubts the good intentions of most of those who want to prohibit doctors from prescribing the pill in these circum- stances without the consent of the girl's parents; but the campaigners have mostly been arguing from conviction rather than experience. The attitude of doctors would have been very different if the call for legislation had come from the families directly affected-namely, those in which 14 and 15 year olds have been prescribed the pill-or from doctors working with teenagers. In practice the pressure has mostly come from adults shocked by reports of promiscuous sexual behaviour among adolescents but with little or no direct experience of the realities. Doctors in family planning clinics or in general practice who are asked for advice on contraception by teenage girls have to make a pragmatic assessment. Almost always these girls have already formed a sexual relationship, often stable and overt. Most have no wish to keep their mothers in the dark; of those few who do ask for confidentiality, one third can be persuaded at the first interview to tell their parents and another third agree later.' The remaining third ofgirls must believe they have very strong reasons for rejecting the doctor's advice-for doctors do always make an attempt to bring the parent into the picture.2 Who will gain from a law insisting that in these circumstances the girl should be told that she may not be supplied with a contraceptive ? At the heart of the matter are the very different ways in which people think of teenage sexuality. Should pregnancy be seen as a punishment for illicit sex ? Is fear of pregnancy really an important deterrent ? If sexually active teenagers are denied access to medical contraception are they more likely to stop having sex or to use some unreliable contraceptive technique that requires no prescription ? The BMA press conference spelt out the medical hazards of early sexual experience and of pregnancy; doctors working with schoolchildren are only too aware of the physical and psychological problems that may sometimes be associated with sexual activity in the early teens. But like it or not, doctors have to work in the real world. Over the years we have worked out a whole range of compromise solutions that seem to minimise damage to our patients; intending legislators should be extra- ordinarily certain that they have found a better answer. Timmins N. All children's treatment threatened by pill challenge, doctors say. The Times 1983 Dec 2:3 (cols 1-3). 2 British Medical Association. Minors and contraception. The handbook of medical ethics. London: British Medical Association, 1981:18. o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J (C lin R e s E d ): first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.2 8 7 .6 4 0 8 .1 8 2 4 o n 1 7 D e ce m b e r 1 9 8 3 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
work_5bkgzxtupbaopix6c6wczcjiqu	----	The Omnipotence of the Psychoanalyst | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1177/0003065115609445 Corpus ID: 2075278The Omnipotence of the Psychoanalyst @article{Nass2015TheOO, title={The Omnipotence of the Psychoanalyst}, author={Martin L. Nass}, journal={Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association}, year={2015}, volume={63}, pages={1013 - 1023} } Martin L. Nass Published 2015 Psychology, Medicine Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association T he issue of retirement in the psychoanalytic profession is a rather delicate and usually unspoken matter. In fact, a recent paper by Norman Clemens (2011a) is titled “A Psychiatrist Retires: An Oxymoron?” On many occasions nonpsychoanalytic colleagues and friends have asked about my own plans for retirement, but I cannot think of one instance when a psychoanalytic colleague asked me when I was planning to retire. It is a question that had never occurred to me until rather recently. I had… Expand View on SAGE ncbi.nlm.nih.gov Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 1 CitationsBackground Citations 1 View All Topics from this paper Arabic numeral 100 Accidental Falls Psychotherapy One Citation Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Getting Better All the Time? J. Slochower Psychology 2019 1 View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-10 OF 33 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Serious Illness in the Analyst: Countertransference Considerations S. Abend Psychology, Medicine Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association 1982 99 Highly Influential View 5 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed On: At what age should a psychoanalyst retire? D. Quinodoz Medicine, Psychology The International journal of psycho-analysis 2013 5 Save Alert Research Feed The Empty Couch: the taboo of ageing and retirement in psychoanalysis by Junkers, Gabriele. J. Wright Medicine, Psychology The Journal of analytical psychology 2015 7 Save Alert Research Feed A psychiatrist retires: the happening. N. Clemens Psychology, Medicine Journal of psychiatric practice 2011 3 Save Alert Research Feed A psychiatrist retires: an oxymoron? N. Clemens Psychology, Medicine Journal of psychiatric practice 2011 5 Save Alert Research Feed Some superego conflicts in the analyst who has suffered a catastrophic illness. R. Lasky Psychology, Medicine The International journal of psycho-analysis 1992 7 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Catastrophic illness in the analyst and the analyst's emotional reactions to it. R. Lasky Psychology, Medicine The International journal of psycho-analysis 1990 29 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed When the Analyst Dies: Dealing With the Aftermath Tove Traesdal Psychology, Medicine Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association 2005 12 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Mortality, Integrity, and Psychoanalysis (Who Are You to Me? Who Am I to You?) Ellen Pinsky Psychology, Medicine The Psychoanalytic quarterly 2014 4 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed The Death of the Analyst: Patients Whose Previous Analyst Died While They Were in Treatment R. Galatzer-Levy Psychology, Medicine Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association 2004 15 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 ... Related Papers Abstract Topics 1 Citations 33 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
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work_5hvjxj3eubc5ffqaegwu3umi2u	----	SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY* Susana Borneo Funck (UFSC) Carmen Rosa Caldas (UPSC) ABEL, Elizabeth, ed. Writing and Sexual Difference. Brighton: Harvester, 1982. , Mariange Hirsch, and Elizabeth Langland, eds. The Voyage In: Fictions of Female Development. Hannover, NH: Univ. Press of New England, 1983. AUERBACH, Nina. Communities of Women: An Idea in Fiction. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press, 1978. BARRETT, Michele, ed. Women and Writing. London: Women's Press, 1979. BASSNETT, Susan. "Textuality/Sexuality." Essays in Poetics, 9 (1984): 1-5. BAYM, Nina. Woman's Fiction: A Guide to Novels by and about Women in American, 1820-1870. Ithaca, NY: Cornell Univ. Press, 1978. de BEAUVD/R, Simone. The Second Sex. Trans. H.M. Parshley. New York: Knopf, 1953. BERNIKOW, Louise, ed. The World S lit 0 n: Four Centuries of Women Poets in England and Amer ca, -1 5 . New York: Random House, 1974. BLAKE, Kathleen. Love and the Woman Question in Victorian Literature: The Art of Self-Postponement. New York: Barnes Noble, 1983. BOWLES, Gloria and Renate D. Klein, eds. Theories of Women's *Due to space limitations, we have restricted ourselves to broad generic or historical investigations. Specific articles will be entered only when not already included in a book-form collection of criticism. /Major and/or basic works. ELSA 10 DESTERRO, NP 24, 2P semestre de 2985, p. 115 Studies. London: Routledge s Kogan Paul, 1983. BROWN, Cheryl and Karen Olson, eds. Feminist Criticism: Essays on Theory, Poetry, and Prose. Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1978. BROWNSTEIN, Rachel M. Becoming a Heroine: Reading about Women in Novels. New York: Viking, 1982. CAMERON, Deborah. Feminism and Linguistic Theory. London: Macmillan, 1985. CHODOROW, Nancy. The Reproduction of Mothering: Psychoanalysis and the Sociology of Gender. Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1978. CHRIST, Carol P. Diving Deep and Surfacing: Women Writers on Spiritual Quest. Boston: Beacon Press, 1980. CORNILLON, Susan Koppelman, ed. Images of Women in Fiction: Feminist Perspectives. Bowling Green, Ohio: Bowling Green Univ. Popular Press, 1972. DALY, Mary. Beyond God the Father: Toward a Philosophy of Women's Liberation. Boston; Beacon Press, 1973. GyM/ECOlOgy: The Metaethics of Radical Feminism. London: The Women's Press, 1979. DELANY, Sheila. Writing Women: Women Writers and Women in Literature, Medieval to Modern. New York: Schocken Books, 1984. DIAMOND, Arlyn. "Practicing Feminist Literary Criticism." Women's Studies International Quarterly, 1 (1978):149 -152. , and Lee R. Edwards, eds. The Authority of Experience: Essays in Feminist Criticism. Amherst, Mass.: Univ. of Massachusetts Press, 1977. DINNERSTEIN, Dorothy. The Mermaid and the Minotaur: Sexual Arrangements and Human Malaise. New York: Harper & Row, 1976. DONOVAN, Josephine, ed. Feminist Literary Criticism: Explorations in Theory. Lexington, KY: The Univ. of Kentucky Press, 1975 DuPLESSIS, Rachel Blau. Writing beyond the Ending: Narrative Strategies of Twentieth-Century Women Writers. Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana Univ. Press, 198 . FAIRBANKS, Carol. More Women in Literature: Criticism of the Seventies. Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1979. FERGUSON, Moira, ed. First Feminists: British Women Writers from 1578 to 1799. Old Westbury, NY: Feminist Press, 1984. FERRES, Kay. "Since Sexual Politics: A Selected Bibliography of Feminist Literary Theory." Literature in North Queensland, 8 (1980):101 -09. FETTERLEY, Judith. The Resisting Reader: A Feminist Approach to American Fiction. Bloomington, nd.: Indiana Univ. Press, 1978. FLEISCHMANN, Fritz, ed. American Novelists Revisited: Essays in Feminist Criticism. New York: G.K. Hall, 1982. 116 GILBERT, Sandra M. "Life Studies, or, Speech After Long Silence: Feminist Critics Today." College English, 40 (1979):849-63. "Soldier's Heart- Literary Men, Literary Women, and the Great War." Signs, 8 (1983):422-50. , and Susan Gubar. The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination. New Haven, Conn.: Yale Univ. Press, 1979. , and Susan Gubar, eds. The Norton Anthology of Literature by Women: The Tradition in English. New York: Norton, 1985. [See Review in this issue.] and Susan Gubar. "Sexual Linguistics: Gender, Language, Sexuality." New Literary History, 16 (1985):515-43. and Susan Gubar, eds. Shakespeare's Sisters: Feminist Essays on Women Poets. Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana Univ. Press, 1979. CORNICE, Vivian, and Barbara K. Moran, eds. Woman in Sexist Society: Studies in Power and Powerlessness. New York: New American Library, 1971. GREENE, Gayle, and Coppelia Kahn, eds. Making a Difference: Feminist Literary Criticism. London: Methuen, 1985. HARDWICK, Elizabeth. Seduction and Betrayal: Women and Literature. New York: Random House, 1974. HAYS, R. Hoffman. The Dangerous Sex: The Myth of Feminine Evil. New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1964. HEILBRUN, Carolyn G. Reinventing Womanhood. New York: Norton, 1979. , and Margaret R. Higonnet, eds. The Representation of Women in Fiction. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1983. HESS, Thomas B., and Elizabeth C. Baker. Art and Sexual Politics: Women's Liberation, Women Artists, and Art History. New York: Macmillan, 1973. HIATT, Mary, The Way Women Write: Sex and Style in Contemporary Prose. New York: Teacher's College, 1977. HOCH-SMITH, Judith, and Anita Spring, eds. Women in Ritual and Symbolic Roles. New York: Plenum Press, 1978. HOMANS, Margaret. Women Writers and Poetic Identity. Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, lam "'Her Very Own Howl?: The Ambiguities of Representation in Recent Women's Fiction." Signs, 9 (1983):186-205. R HOWE, Florence, and Ellen Bass, eds. No More Masks: An Anthology of Poems by Women. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1973. HUF, Linda. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Woman: The Writer as Heroine in American Literature. New York: Ungar, 1983. JACOBUS, Mary. "Is There a Woman in This Text?" New Literary History, 14 (1982):117-42. , ed. Women Writing and Writing About Women. London: Croom Helm, 1979. 117 JANEWAY, Elizabeth. Between Myth and Morning: Women Awakening. New York: Morrow, 1974. . Man's World, Woman's Place: A Study in Sexual Wythaft? New York: William Morrow, 1971. . "Women's Literature." Harvard Guide to Contemporary American Writing. Ed. Daniel Hoffman. Cambridge, Mess.: Harvard Univ. Press, 1979, pp.342-85. JENKINS, Mercilee, and Cherie Kramarae. "A Thief in the House: The Case of Women and Language." Men's Studies Modified. Ed. Dale Spender. London: Pergamon, 1981. AMASS, Suzanne. "The Critic as Feminist: Reflections on Women's Poetry, Feminism, and the Art of Criticism." Women's Studies, 5 (1977):113-27. . Naked and Fiery Forms . Modern American Poetry by Women, A NeW Tradition. New York= Harper 4 Row, 1976. KAPLAN, Cora, ed. Salt and Bitter and Good: Three Centuries of English and American Women Poets, New York; Paddington Press, 1975. XAPLAN, Sydney Janet, Feminine Consciousness in the Modern British Novel. Urbana, t11.: Univ. of Illinois Prete. 1975. . "Literary Criticism." Signs, 4 (1979:514-27. XOLODNY, Annette. "Dancing through the Minefield: Some Observations on the Theory, Practice and Politics of a Feminist Literary Criticism." Feminist Studies, 6 (1980): 1-25. "Some Notes on Defining a 'Feminist Literary Criticism.'" Critical Inquiry, 2 (19751:75-92. XRAMARAE, Cherie, and Paula A. Treichler. A Feminist Dictionary. New York: Methuen, 1986. XRIETEVA, Julia. Revolution in Poetic Language. Trans. Margaret Waller. New York: Columbia Univ. Press, 1984. LAXOFF, Robin. Language and Woman's Place. New York: Harper, 1975. McCONNELL-GINET, Sally, Ruth Barker and Welly Furman, eds. Women and Language in Literature and Society. New York: Praeger, 1980. MARL, Mary, and Helene Koon, eds. The Female Spectator: English Women Writers before 1800. Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana Univ. Press, 1978. MAINIERO, Line, and Langdon Lynne Faust. American Women Writers: A Critical Reference Guide from Colonial Times to the Present. 4 vols.. New York: Ungar, 1985. MARKS, Elaine, and Isabelle de Courtiviron, eds. New French Feminisms Amherst, Mass.: Univ. of Massachusetts Press, 1979. (Important articles by Xavier° Gauthier, Luce Irigaray, Julia Kristeva, and Helene Cixous.] MIDDLEBROOK, Diane Wood, and Marilyn Yalom. Coming to Light: American Women Poets in the Twentieth Century. Ann Arbor, Mich.: The Univ. of Michigan Press, 1985. 118 MILLER, Beth, ed. Women in Hispanic Literature: Icons and Fallen Idols. Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1983. MILLER, Nancy K. "Emphasis Added: Plots and Plausibilities in Women's Fiction." PMLA, 96 (1981):36-48. • The Heroine's Text: Readings in the French and English Novel, 1722-1782. New York: Columbia Univ. Press, 1980. MILLETT, Kate. Sexual Politics. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1970. MOERS, Ellen. Literary Women: The Great Writers, Garden City, NJ: Doubleday, 1976. MOI, Toril. Sexual Textual Politics: Feminist Literary Theory. London: Methuen, MYERS, Carol Fairbanks. Women in Literature: Criticism of the Seventies. Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1976. NEWTON, Judith Lowder. Women Power, and Subversion: Social Strategies in British Fiction, 1778-1860. Athens, GA: Univ. of Georgia Press, 1981. OLSEN, Tillie. Silences: Why Writers don't Write. New York: Delacorte tress, 1978. "Women Who Are Writers in Our Century: One Out of Twelve." College English, 34 (1972):6-17. OSTRIKER, Alicia. Writing Like a Woman. Ann Arbor, Mich.:Univ. of Michigan Press, 1985. POOVEY, Mary. The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer: Ideology as Style in the Works of Mary Wellstonecraft, Mary Shelley, and Jane Austen. Chicago, Ill.: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1984. PRATT, Annis. Archetypal Patterns in Women's Fiction. BlooMington, Ind.: Indiana Univ. Press, 1981. RADWAY, Janice. Reading the Romance: Women, Patriarchy and Popular Literature. Chapel Hill, NC: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1984. Adrienne. Of Woman Born: Motherhood as Experience and Institution. New *Perk: Norton, 1976. . On Lies, Secrets, and Silences: Selected Prose, 1966- ------1978. New York: Norton, 1979. ROBINSON, Lilian S. Sex, Class, and Culture. Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana Univ. press, 1978. ROGERS, Katharine M. The Troublesome Helpmate: A History of Misogyny in Literature. Seattle: Univ. of Washington Press, 1966. , ed. Before Their Time: Six Women Writers of the Eighteenth Century. New York: ngar, 1979. RUSS, Joanna. How to Suppress Women's Writing. Austin, TX: Univ. of Texas Press, 1483. RUTHVEN, K.K. Feminist Literary Studies: An Introduction. Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1984. SHERMAN, Beck, and Julia A. Sherman. The Prism of Sex: Essays in the Sociolo of Knowledge. Madison: Univ. of Wisconsin Press, 1979. RICH, 119 SHOWALTER, Elaine. The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830-1980. New York: Pantheon, 1985. . "Filling the Angel in the House: The Autonomy of Women Writers." The Antioch Review, 32 ( ) :338-53. A Literature of Their Own: British Women Novelists from Bronti to Leasing. Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 1977. Rev. Ed. 1482. , ed. The New Feminist Criticism: Essays on Women, Literature and Theory. New York: Pantheon, 1985. [Collec- tion of major essays. See Review in this issue.] , ed. Women's Liberation and Literature. New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1 71. "Women and the Literary Curriculum." College English,32 ------(1471):856-62. SPACES, Patricia Meyer, ed. Contemporary_Women Novelists: A Collection of Critical Essays. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Ball, 1977. . The Female Imagination. New York: Knopf, 1975. Imagining a Self: Autobiography and Novel in Eighteenth - ------Zentury England. Cambridge, Miss.: Harvard Univ. Press, 1976. "Women's Stories, Women's Selves." Hudson Review, 30 (1977):29 -46. SPENDER, Dale. Man Made Language. London: Routledge, 1980. SPRINGER, Marlene, ed. What Manner of Woman: Essays on English and American Life and Literature. New York: New York Univ. Press, 1977. STANSBURY, Sherry A. "A Bibliography of Feminist Criticism." Canadian Newsletter of Research on Women, 6 (1977):84 -114. STERNBURG, Janet. The Writer on Her Work. New York: Norton 1980. STEWART, Grace. A New Mythos: The Novel of the Artist as Heroine, 1877-1977. St. Albans, VT: Eden Press Women's Publications, 1979. STIMPSON, Catharine. "Feminism and Feminist Criticism." Massachusetts Review, 24 (1983):272 -88. STUBBS, Patricia. Women and Fiction- Feminism and the Novel, 1800-1920, LondOn:Methuen, 1979. TODD, Janet, ed. Gender and Literary Voice. New York: Holmes s Meier, 1980. WALKER, Cheryl. The Nightingale's Burden: Women Poets and American Culture before 1900. Bloomington, Ind.: Indiana Univ. Press, 1982. 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work_5lndlq2qvnfu7iocedd5gw46pq	----	B a oks VISIONS OF THE PAST: THE CHALLENGE OF FILM TO OUR IDEA OF HISTORY by Robert A . Rosenstone Harvard University Press, 1995; 271 pages When Professor of History Raben Rosenstone first introduced movies in his Caltech classes in the 1970s, and then in 1977 taught a course entitled "History on Film ," class enrollments soared. But ultimately this innovarion made an even more profound impact on his own studies, luring the self- acknowledged "Dragnet" historian (just the facts, ma'am) into the theoret.ical issues of how film works to create or "re-create" history. "History does not exist until it is created," writes Rosen- stone. Film, he found, offers a new relationship to the past and a new concept of what we mean by "history." His latest book, comprising a collection of essays exploring what hap- pens when words are trans- lated into images, suggests that film is an even more appropriate medium for showing us the past than are words on a page. There are, however, different and more complex rules for history on film than for history on the page, and in his book Rosenstone discusses how these "rules" are observed in the various forms of historical film: for example, documen- taries, films that mix fictional and historical characters, films from other cultures, and experimental films with deliberate anachronisms and inventions that "re-vision" history. He discusses five films in depth, including Reds and The Good Fight. Rosenstone, who served as historical consultant on the former and narration writer on the latter, also practices what he preaches. 42 ENGINEERING & SCIENCE NO. 199 7 Is HEATHCLIFF A MURDERER? PUZZLES IN 19TH-CENTURY FICTION by John Sutherland Oxford University Press, 1996; 258 pages So, does Heathcliff murder Cathy's brother in Wuthering Heights? Reasonable doubt . And how about Becky Sharp in Vanity Fa ir? Does she kill Jos Sedley in the end' Of course not, says John Suther- land, but Thackeray wants his readers ro suspect her anyway. Victorian authors, not stupid by any means or even simply careless, had various reasons for slipping such red herrings and other enigmas and anom- alies into their novels, and Sutherland plays detective in teasing out these reasons and suggesting imaginative interpretations of 37 literary "puzzles." Sutherland, the Lord Northcliffe Professor of Modern English Literature at University College London, as well as a visiting (annually) professor of literature at Cal- tech, where he taught from 1983 to 1992, is a closer reader than most people, perhaps not wholly unrelated THE CHEERFULNESS OF A RESCUE OPERATION by Oscar Mandel to the fact that he has edi ted a number of these works for the World 's Classics series. Most of the readers of this paperback, which made The Times bestseller List in London , probably never lost any sleep over these puzzles in the original texts. But even if you didn't notice that Jane Austen lets apple trees blossom in June in Emma and that Dickens gets sloppy with his seasons in Martin Chuzzle- wit, this remarkably unstuffy book, with evocations of such nineties phenomena (19905, that is) as date rape and the movie spoof Frankenhooke1j not to mention reasonable doubt, is fun to read and might even lure you into the novels themselves. So why did Henry James rewrite the ending of The Port,"ait of a Lady' And why doesn't H. G. Wells's invisible man make himself an invisible suit and some invisible food? DUTCH ART: Davaco Publishers (Netherlands), 1996; 128 pages English novelists in the 19th century may have planted puzzles in their work, but 17 th-century Dutch painters mOSt assuredly did not, according to Professor of Literature Oscar Mandel. In this short book Mandel rakes on the current intel1ectual fashion of imposing 20th- century interpretations of "semi-veiled meanings" on these paintings, interpreta- tions that invariably see gloomy, moralistic lessons beneath the surface of the most riotous peasant feasts, merry companies, and" even innocent stilllifes and land- scapes. Mandel chalks this up to our own century's "assault on euphoria" and sets out to liberate the "self-evidently happy works" of the 17th- century Dutch painters "from the excesses of academic earnestness." The Dutch painted their hedonistic displays of food and flowers and depictions of the human PREHISTORIES OF THE FUTURE: THE PRIMITIVIST PROJECT AND THE CULTURE OF MODERNISM Edited by Elazar Barkan and Ronald Bush, Stanford University Press, 1995; 449 pages drama of daily domestic life, he writes, to create images for pleasure and joy-and as a telief from the incessant moralizing of the past. He also argues that the heroic, allegorical paintings of the time, which appear to be loaded with obvious high- minded meaning , are really using Biblical and classical themes as a front to indulge in painting nudes- and some quite erotic ones at that. Mandel grants that a tradi- tion of vanitas paintings did exist, with unambiguous, and legitimate, symbols-skulls, skelerons-of the transitori- ness of life. But, he claims, not every snail nibbling a tulip petal connotes mortal- ity, not every bird is a lewd proposition, and sometimes an empty shoe is only an empty shoe. Most of the 16 essays in this book exploring the influence of ethnography on what has become popularly known as modernism were originally presented at a 1991 conference jointly sponsored by Caltech and the Claremont Graduate School Humanities Center. In the late 19th century various technologies (for example, railroads, teleg- raphy, photography) btought Western culture into closer encounter with primitive cultures, ushering in a pro- found alteration in how Westerners perceived oth- ers-and themselves. This To HEAR OURSELVES AS OTHERS HEAR US: TAPE RECORDING AS A TOOL IN MUSIC PRACTICING by James Boyk, MMB Music, Inc., 1996,78 pages James Boyk , Cal tech lecturer in electrical engineer- ing and music, explains his own coaching techniques "for music students , teachers , performers, and those who en j oy a peek behind the scenes." Not just a technical how-to manual , the book teaches how to listen to oneself, and it is tichly illustrated with anecdotes from the author's own career as pianist and teachet and with reflections on making music. Among other things, it advises us to "squint our ears " when listening to tape playbacks, and to dance and sing along. But the technical side is not overlooked: Boyk also includes a chapter on audio systems and compo- nents, giving readers the inside scoop from his many years testing recording new fascination with the primitive pervades much of the literature, art, and music of the early 20th centuty. The book's editors, who also organized the original con- ference, Elazar Barkan, associate professor of history at Claremont Graduate School (as well as director of its Humanities Center and previously instructor in history at Cal tech), and Ronald Bush , professor of literacure at Caltech, don't follow the easiet, more heavi- ly traveled routes through the familiat modernism terrain. Rather, they and the other AND TEACHING equipment in his Caltech lab. Yehudi Menuhin has called the book "valuable to both teacher and student, " and Andre Watts contributes that it's "a treasure-trove of information, advice and entertaining musical insights for both amateur and profes - sional musicians .... [which] should be required reading for all lovers of music." contributors shift backwatd and dig deeper into the political, social, and racial antecedents and complexities of encounters with primitive societies. Some of the essays deal with academic anthro- pology, but tOpics also encompass vampires and violence, Gauguin in Tahiti , Josephine Baker in Paris, the influence of African American music on Irving Berlin, T. S. Eliot 's fascination with primi- tive peoples , and the effect of ethnographic photography 's erotic images on Victorian morality. TECHNICALLY SOUND Caltee h-Occi d e nta I Concert Band compact disk The Cal tech-Occidental Concert Band, directed by Bill Bing, director of Cal- tech 's instrumental music program, has recorded its first CD. It's loaded with such Caltechiana as the "Centen- nial Suite," written by alum- nus Les Deutsch (BS '76, PhD '80) for Caltech 's lOOth birth- day; "Throop March," written in 1900 and "unearthed " in 1987; and a medley of unfot- gettable songs from the 1920s including "Lead Us On, Our Fighting Beavers," "Fight, Men of California Tech, " and the "Gnome Sweetheart Song" (all sans lyrics, unfortunately). There are pieces by two other local composers with a Caltech connection (but no beavers or Gnomes) and , oh yes, some rves, Sousa, and Mozart roo. The CD cao be ordered from the Cal tech Bookstote (818- 395-6161) for $12.95 plus shipping and handling. D- JD 199 7 ENGINEERING & SCIENCE NO. 4' 
work_5lyuna5qn5a5zirzknarvqykqu	----	Middlemarch: Crescendo of Obligatory Drama | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 18, Issue 1 June 1963 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction   Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| June 01 1963 Middlemarch: Crescendo of Obligatory Drama Neil D. Isaacs Neil D. Isaacs Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1963) 18 (1): 21–34. https://doi.org/10.2307/2932331 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Neil D. Isaacs; Middlemarch: Crescendo of Obligatory Drama. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 June 1963; 18 (1): 21–34. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2932331 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Middlemarch: Crescendo of Obligatory Drama' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Middlemarch: Crescendo of Obligatory Drama Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_5m6yjxlccndh3iwjl6ksgoeirq	----	Shakespeare’s Sonnets that differ from Foster’s estimates and largely confirm the preliminary results achieved in Anne Lake Prescott’s and our “When Did Shakespeare Write Sonnets 1609?” (Studies in Philology 88 [1991]: 69-109). He says most of the sonnets were composed late; we believe that many were written around 1593-94, when sonnets had become popular in England, although many were revised or added later, sometimes much later. Shaxicon is a valuable introductory tool, but other evi­ dence, including the contexts of each pair of words pro­ duced by it, must supplement it. A. KENT HIEATT Deep River, CT To the Editor: Almost a decade ago, in his Elegy by W. S.: A Study in Attribution (1989), Donald W. Foster first explored the possibility that Shakespeare might have written A Fu­ neral Elegy. A product of meticulous research and scru­ pulous argument, the book reached no firm conclusion on this question, but in subsequent presentations to the Shakespeare Association and the MLA, Foster has gone from cautious advocacy to unequivocal certainty. Now in his October 1996 PMLA article he concludes that “A Fu­ neral Elegy belongs hereafter with Shakespeare’s poems and plays .. .” (1082). In the article Foster almost completely ignores the strong evidence against Shakespeare’s authorship, much of which he considers in his book. Lines 139-40 (in which “country” means home area, a sense in common usage as late as Jane Austen), 145-78, and 557-60 clearly imply that WS committed a youthful indiscretion and will learn from it to avoid scandal in the future. I find it impossible to believe that at forty-eight and about to re­ tire Shakespeare could have been concerned about his “endangered youth” and “days of youth.” Foster ex­ plained in 1989: “It is certainly possible in the phrase ‘the hopes of my endangered youth’ to envision a poet who is speaking as a young man, perhaps a man even younger than Peter himself. Indeed, those readers who are disinclined to accept Shakespearean authorship of the poem may find here an insurmountable objection, one that counterbalances all evidence that Shakespeare may have written the poem” (Elegy by W. S. Yld). The elegy in its entirety provides the most compelling evidence against its attribution to Shakespeare. That the supreme master of language, at the close of his career, could have written this work of unrelieved banality of thought and expression, lacking a single memorable phrase in its 578 lines, is to me unthinkable. The poem is not simply uninspired, it is inept in its stumbling rhythm, its conventional and flat diction, its empty sententious­ ness. Nowhere in the work do I encounter Shakespeare’s creative signature, despite Foster’s astounding statement that the poetry of the Elegy is “no better, if no worse, than what may be found in Henry VIII or The Two Nobel Kins­ men” (Elegy by W. S. 201; my emphasis). Selecting al­ most any passage at random—for example, 525-36—I see a pedestrian prosiness, an absence of concreteness and specificity, a lack of any true affective quality. What I find most distressing in Foster’s article is his confident assertion that study of A Funeral Elegy will open “new critical directions,” presumably for the study of Shakespeare’s work generally (1092). That inclusion of the poem in the canon, already promised for three lead­ ing editions of the collected works, will legitimate A Fu­ neral Elegy as a proper, even exciting, object of critical and biographical study is a dismal prospect indeed. SIDNEY THOMAS Syracuse, NY To the Editor: I read Donald W. Foster’s essay with great interest. Partly on the basis of information supplied in the essay, I believe that the author of A Funeral Elegy was Elizabeth Cary rather than Shakespeare. The subject of the Elegy, William Peter, was born in Devonshire in 1582 and lived in Oxfordshire from the late 1590s to 1609, when he returned to Devonshire, where he married Margaret Brewton. He was murdered in Janu­ ary 1612. Shakespeare was eighteen years older and lived mainly in London during Peter’s entire adult life; he would have had little opportunity to have become a close friend of Peter. Cary was three or four years younger than Peter and lived mainly in Oxfordshire during Peter’s more than ten years of residence in the vicinity. Cary married in 1602, but the union was arranged and apparently love­ less. In the early years of her marriage Cary did not reside with her husband, who left England in 1604 and returned in 1608, the year before Peter left Oxfordshire and Cary gave birth to her first child. (Information about Cary’s life can be found in the introduction to The Tragedy of Mariam, ed. Barry Weller and Margaret W. Ferguson [Berkeley: U of California P, 1994].) After noting the grief felt by Peter’s friends, the Elegy poet singles out one of them: Amongst them all, she who those nine of years Liv’d fellow to his counsels and his bed 
work_5mtl7xhrobgkrorlcilobqnb2a	----	Clark’s intellectual Sudoku 149 European Review of Economic History, 12, 149–155. C© 2008 Cambridge University Press Printed in the United Kingdom doi:10.1017/S1361491608002190 Clark’s intellectual Sudoku H A N S - J O A C H I M V O T H Universitat Pompreu Fabra and ICREA. Economics Department, Ramon Trias Fargas 25–27, Barcelona, Catalunya E-08005, Spain, voth@mit.edu For many years, Greg Clark was mainly known amongst economic historians for two things – his devasting book reviews are as witty as they are insightful. He also invented a signature recipe for academic articles. Start with a fresh puzzle. Chop some theory and carefully knead into puzzle. Gently squeeze some data and mix well. Garnish with a racy dressing of Cambridge-honed essay-writing skills, while stirring the pot. Then, turn up the heat and watch how the puzzle slowly mushrooms into an ever larger paradox. Wrap into some mystery and serve as is. Given these two proclivities, news that Greg Clark was writing a book caused a bit of a stir. There were those who expected that the right to review the book would be auctioned off on Ebay, with high bids by Graham Snooks and the friends of Walt Rostow. Others predicted that a book by Greg would turn into a mega-mystery maze manuscript – one out of which the author himself could not possibly emerge with proofs in hand. As it turns out, the book hit the bookshelves quite quickly. What started out as lecture notes (which Greg Clark lent me when I was a struggling visiting professor, trying to prepare my first course on European economic history) has turned into a handsome 420-page tome – just big enough not to be suspected of being pop scholarship, and still small enough to be taken down to the beach or onto the next interminable flight. It is the latest contribution in the distinguished Princeton University Press economic history series, edited by Joel Mokyr. Instead of having to outbid each other for the right to review the book, there are actually opportunities to offer one’s views galore. After the New York Times correspondent Nicolas Warde discovered the book and wrote about it with the eye-catching headline ‘In dusty archives, a theory of affluence’, a staggering number of reviews have appeared. From the Atlantic Monthly to the Economist and the Süddeutsche Zeitung, journalists, economic historians and economists have dissected the book’s merits. It clearly touched a nerve. For months, the blogosphere has been alive with commentary, criticism and rebuttal. Works with such wide appeal only come along once a decade or so. Not since Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs and Steel has a single book on economic history been discussed so vigorously, by so many. 150 European Review of Economic History The argument highlighted by Warde and pursued subsequently by other reviewers is the most provocative one in the book – the idea that the Industrial Revolution was all about the patient, non-violent and civilized rich outbreeding their impulsive, impatient and poor brethren. Clark applies this idea with remarkable consistency. For example, in his analysis of low labour productivity in nineteenth-century India, he concludes: differences in labor productivity must stem from differences in the quality of labor in production across societies, differences that stem largely from the local social environment . . . labor problems were at the root of India’s failure to industrialize under British rule in 1657–1947 and under independent Indian governments. The socially induced lethargy that afflicted Indian labor may have extended throughout the society. . . In Clark’s model, norms are principally transmitted from parents to children. A standard set of ‘bourgeois values’, such as patience leading to saving and capital accumulation, produces economic success. The reason why these norms only become prevalent in European societies is that the European rich produced more surviving children than the poor. The same was not true in Asia. Greg Clark may have had the idea first in an unpublished seminar presentation from 1989, as he explains in a footnote. The fact is that Galor and Moav still made it into print first, in an influential and widely cited Quarterly Journal of Economics article in 2002. It is part of the influential ‘unified growth’ approach that tries to offer a single theory explaining the transition from Malthusian stagnation to self-sustaining growth. Galor and Moav argue that an upward drift in the quality of human populations was critical for the transition from ‘Malthus to Solow’. Greg builds on this work, but his treatment of Galor and Moav will not earn him a reputation for generosity towards the scholars on whose shoulders he stands. Relative to the conceptual work of Galor and Moav, Clark mainly adds some fragmentary and probably unrepresentative evidence (based on joint work with Gillian Hamilton). The dataset on parts of England, 1585–1638, has a large number of observations and is expertly analysed. Yet to base grandiose claims about differences in reproductive success around the globe on such a slender empirical basis is similar to writing a history of the universe based on some scattered observations from 1930s rural Shropshire. There are many problems with the argument, bold as it is. It is hard to understand why Clark does not try harder to compare like with like – the European rich with the Asian rich. Instead, he compares the European rich with Chinese and Japanese noblemen. The nobility in England and other parts of Europe was not particularly successful in reproducing. It is highly doubtful that, if the data fairy granted us one wish and gave us perfectly comparable data (on, say, reproduction rates at the same percentile of the wealth distribution in Asia and Europe), the results would support Clarke’s hypothesis. The Chinese rich often had concubines, in part with the aim of producing as many sons as possible. Simple arithmetic suggests that any Clark’s intellectual Sudoku 151 polygamous society (in which taking another wife is tied to wealth) should have produced a much steeper fertility gradient by wealth than Europe did. The book’s most provocative hypothesis is also its least convincing. In part, it seems like an afterthought that allows Clarke to tie together the disparate strands in this book, ranging from Indian cotton mills to the incomes of English labourers. How do we know, for example, that there must have been something wrong with the cultural norms of nineteenth- century India? Clark’s argument works by process of elimination. It can’t have been machinery – the spinning machines were English. Nor can it have been management – that was English, too. Hence there is no alternative but social norm and cultural attitudes. This logic ignores the possibility that poor levels of nutrition could have contributed to the low productivity of Indian workers. Nutrition was poor, as evidenced by very low stature. Tending spinning machines requires manual dexterity. In modern-day data, children who are deprived of protein show markedly lower hand–eye coordination and cognitive development. The fact that it took twice as many Indians to man the English machines as it did back in Manchester may have something to do with impediments like this. Recent research on early childhood development shows that imperfect nutrition may have life-long consequences for a child’s cognitive development. Given how short and evidently malnourished Chinese and Indian populations were, it is surprising that this possibility is not even discussed in the book. Similarly, recent work on appropriate technologies argues that just because machinery is the same around the globe, we shouldn’t expect the same level of output (Basu and Weil 1998; Acemoglu and Zilibotti 2001). This also undercuts the logic of ‘no alternatives left’ that Clark employs to argue the case in favour of social norms as the ultimate determinant of poor productivity. Finally, as some reviewers have already pointed out, there is little to suggest that transmission of behaviour from parent to child (genetically or through education) needs to be decisive. Given how slow and costly child-rearing is, there should be important opportunities for alternative mechanisms to accomplish what the author attributes to outbreeding. While the evidence marshalled by Clark is suggestive, I am ultimately unconvinced that cultural and social norms have to be blamed for the failure of non-European countries to develop. What has also not received the attention it deserves is Clark’s characterization of the history of living standards. He claims nothing less than that living standards in 1800 in England were no better than on the plains of Africa millennia before. There was no material progress in the history of mankind until 200 years ago: It is common to assume that the huge changes in the technology available to people, and in the organizational complexity of societies, between our ancestors of the savannah and Industrial Revolution England, must have improved material life even before modern economic growth began. But in this chapter I show that the logic of the natural 152 European Review of Economic History Table 1. Consumer durables in Essex pauper inventories Item % of households owning the item Chairs 95 Chest of drawers 32 Mahogany furniture 5 Looking-glass 27 Clocks/watches 20 Pictures/prints 10 Candlesticks 49 Poker 12 Tea-related items 46 economy implies that the material living standards of the average person in the agrarian economies of 1800 was, if anything, worse than for our remote ancestors. [my italics] This argument must be wrong. Clark’s point springs from the economic logic of the pre-industrial world. Since technological advances eventually lead to larger populations, living standards cannot improve. He explicitly exempts the consumption of the upper crust from this view. What pins down the equilibrium in the Malthusian world are the living standards for ordinary citizens. Nobody doubts that for those outside the Jane Austen set, life could be tough. Yet the claim that Englishmen and bushmen had similar living standards is not convincingly demonstrated by any data. Table 1 gives a summary of the kind of goods that the elderly English poor owned in the eighteenth century. The data in Table 1 are from pauper inventories compiled by King (1997). The poor could apply for income support in exchange for leaving their possessions in their will to the parish. By definition, the group of individuals to whom the data in Table 1 refer is not rich. Yet 95 per cent of them had chairs, half owned candlesticks and a fifth had a clock or watch. As Landes (2000) points out, watches and clocks were so expensive that even by the middle of the twentieth century, they were widely considered luxury items. Their ancestors on the African savannah (with whom Clark compares the living standards of the English poor) would undoubtedly have marvelled at these possessions and would have thought them the pinnacle of luxury. A brief look at consumption patterns amongst the English poor in the 1790s adds weight to this criticism. The data come from one of the earliest budget surveys, inspired by the plight of the farm labourers reeling from poor harvests during the Napoleonic Wars. Even within this disadvantaged group, there was money left for tea and coffee, for sugar and treacle. Fuel and light – not a commodity on the savannahs – attracted 5 per cent of all spending. Drink (almost all alcoholic) accounted for 10 per cent. The fact that half of the Essex paupers had ‘tea-related items’ also shows how far down the Clark’s intellectual Sudoku 153 Figure 1. Composition of working-class expenditure, 1788–92 Source: Voth (2003). social hierarchy new forms of consumption had penetrated. If variety is the spice of life, having access to tobacco, alcohol and stimulants such as tea should be highly valuable. Economic historians may not do a great job at incorporating the value of variety in measures of real wages – but this is a case of mismeasurement, and not of stagnation. Nor is Clark’s logic compelling when he decides to ignore the consumption of the upper classes. Their incomes and wealth may have towered over those of the rest of the population. Does this mean we should ignore them? Population growth could have been determined by how the bottom 80 per cent fared – but Clark’s argument about the importance of the rich outbreeding the poor suggests that we want to emphasize the rich even in terms of aggregate demographic behaviour. Equally, the productivity of everyone underpinned the palaces and churches, plays and concerts, paintings and sculptures. The fact that productive capacity was there to be allocated to such pursuits, rather than ending up in the pockets of peasants, should not lead us to conclude that living standards in general went unchanged for millennia. Undoubtedly, high mortality rates underpinned high European real wages. In an economy with a factor of production in fixed supply – land – population pressure is bad for incomes, and high mortality does much to reduce this pressure. However, the book seems at times confused about the difference between welfare and real wages that is introduced by this. Higher death rates may raise incomes; few would argue that they increase well-being. Other work examining similar mechanisms, such as Alwyn Young’s (2005) paper on the ‘Gift of the dying’ (about Aids in Africa), is much clearer about these ambiguities. 154 European Review of Economic History This reviewer struggled equally with the revisionist claims in the section on fertility. Clark tells us that the ‘old hat’ view of Europeans limiting fertility through late marriage is wrong. Fertility rates in Asia were similarly low as a result of female infanticide, and much lower than the speed limit set by the Hutterites. This is different from what Malthus thought of China in particular, and comes from the work of Lee and Wang (2001). Malthus believed famines and epidemics reduced population pressure resulting from unrelenting reproductive behaviour. Yet the fact that fertility rates in Europe and Asia were similar is oversold. Only towards the end of a long chapter is the reader told that, since Europeans were much richer, they produced fewer children at any given income level. This restores what we always knew about European exceptionalism. Real wages on the continent (west of a line from St Petersburg to Trieste) were high mainly because of the much stricter fertility control as a result of the European marriage pattern. Amidst the revisionist claims, one could have almost missed that the fact European population stagnated during the early modern period. At the same time, it surged in India and China. To sum up, this book is unique. It is bold, insightful, funny and erudite. More than any other academic work I have reviewed, it reflects its author’s personality. A Farewell to Alms is always clever, sometimes mischievously so. It also contains a remarkable mixture of narrative styles and rhetorical techniques, using everything from the charts and tables one expects to complaints about UC Davis salaries, pictures of American teens munching Big Macs, images of Indian and English cotton workers, and a New Yorker cartoon (the latter is enlisted to make fun of institutional economics). The writing is elegant and concise, the literature surveyed vast. Crucially, the book succeeds brilliantly in focusing attention on what economic historians can contribute to the big picture – from where did the sudden wave of economic and social change emerge that has swept all before it in the last 200 years? I am not sure that the new Big Thing in this book – differential reproductive success – will stand the test of time. Nonetheless, Greg Clark has provided a remarkably coherent and comprehensive narrative that ties together his earlier work spanning a vast array of periods, themes and countries. As intellectual Sudokus go, it represents an impressive feat. References ACEMOGLU, D. and ZILIBOTTI, F. (2001). Productivity differences. Quarterly Journal of Economics 116 (2), pp. 563–606. BASU, S. and WEIL, D. N. (1998). Appropriate technology and growth. Quarterly Journal of Economics, 113 (4), pp. 1025–154. GALOR, O. and MOAV, O. (2002). Natural selection and the origin of economic growth. Quarterly Journal of Economics 117, pp. 1133–91. KING, P. (1997). Pauper inventories and the material life of the poor in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. In P. King, T. Hitchcock and P. Explaining the industrial transition 155 Sharpe (eds.), Chronicling Poverty: The Voices and Strategies of the English Poor 1640–1840. Basingstoke: Macmillan. LANDES, D. (2000). Revolution in Time: Clocks and the Making of the Modern World. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press. LEE, J. and WANG, F. (2001), One Quarter of Humanity: Malthusian Mythology and Chinese Realities, 1700–2000. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. VOTH, H.-J. (2003). Living standards and urban disamenities. In R. Floud and P. Johnson (eds.), Cambridge Economic History of Britain. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. YOUNG, A. (2005). The gift of the dying: the tragedy of AIDS and the welfare of future African generations. Quarterly Journal of Economics 120, pp. 243–66. European Review of Economic History, 12, 155–165. C© 2008 Cambridge University Press Printed in the United Kingdom doi:10.1017/S1361491608002207 Explaining the industrial transition: a non-Malthusian perspective G E O R G E G R A N T H A M McGill University, Department of Economics, Montreal, Canada, george.grantham@mcgill.ca The large-scale structure of world economic history exhibits three steady states punctuated by two phase transitions. The first transition arrived with the domestication of plants and animals; the second with the invention of engines capable of converting thermal to mechanical energy for applications in mining, manufacturing, and transportation. Yet, although both transitions led to increases in the absolute size of the economy, they affected the standard of living differently. Whereas the Industrial Revolution resulted in sustained growth in real per capita income for more than two centuries, over nine millennia the Agricultural Revolution spent itself in population growth that left per capita income insignificantly higher, and possibly lower than the level prevailing under hunting and gathering. This pattern raises three fundamental questions in economic history: why did the first great technological transition produce secular stasis in living standards? Why has the second yielded both steady growth in population and rising living standards? What triggered the transition from the stationary agricultural state to the progressive industrial state? A Farewell to Alms treats these questions in a novel synthesis of classical economics and historical sociology that explains the Industrial Transition as the indirect consequence of the earlier agricultural state. The principle of diminishing returns and Malthusian demographic dynamics supply 
work_5rstwxssmnfhtlryewml6yr5bm	----	Encyclopedia Plutonica | HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory: Vol 5, No 1 Skip to main content SearchSearch This journal Anywhere Quick Search in JournalsSearchSearch Quick Search anywhereSearchSearch Advanced Search Log in | Register Access provided by Carnegie Mellon University Skip main navigationmenuDrawerCloseTextmenuDrawerOpenTextHome Subscribe/renew Institutions Individual subscriptions Recommend to your library Purchase back issues Browse issues All issues Online sample issue For contributors Submit manuscript Author guidelines Publication ethics Editorial policies Authors' rights Open access at Chicago Obtaining permissions About About HAU Editorial team Contact the editorial team Abstracting and indexing Advertise in HAU HomeHAU: Journal of Ethnographic TheoryVolume 5, Number 1 Previous article Next article Free Encyclopedia Plutonica Anush Kapadia Anush Kapadia City University London Search for more articles by this author City University London Abstract Full Text PDF EPUB MOBI Add to favorites Download Citations Track Citations Permissions Reprints Share on Facebook Twitter Linked In Reddit Email QR Code Sections More Abstract Comment on Piketty, Thomas. 2014. Capital in the twenty-first century. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University. There is much to say about the methodological shortcomings of this work of vaulting ambition. There is also much to say about why it has garnered the public reception it has. More still can be said of the questions it begs; this will be the burden of what follows. Yet it must be said at the outset that, for all its ahistoricism masking as history, all its gestures toward methodological ecumenicalism, its nomothetic essence poorly balanced by good faith humility, this is an unmistakable breaking of rank. Only a deeply cynical reader would see this as a rearguard action by a discipline of cracking legitimacy. No, Piketty’s (2014) is a genuine apology for the scientism of his colleagues, a long-awaited, mainstream acknowledgement of the political situatedness of intellectuals, and perhaps above all, an attempt to make facts available for public debate and discussion in the best spirit of the European Enlightenment, a set of ideals to which the author frequently refers. This is a work that proudly associates itself with the encyclopedic tradition of its Gallic forbearers, explicitly citing Diderot, for example (Piketty 2014: 269). As Piketty proudly proclaims, “I have presented the current state of our historical knowledge concerning the dynamics of the distribution of wealth and income” (571). But tragically, social science outside of economics rarely lends its ears to the sorts of facts Piketty is presenting. As he rightly notes in a parting shot to social scientists, the old left in the academy have completely outsourced the study of the economic to the economists they love to hate. Our allergic reaction to even the most basic numerical facts is deeply disabling in more than one way. Methodologically, it suppresses that central lesson of Capital (the original), that the capitalist economy is a massive engine of commensuration, rendering radically diverse branches of a bewilderingly capillary social division of labor legible to each other in quantitative terms. We might be able to repeat this catechism to our students, but if we are not actually producing and consuming the thick institutional descriptions that outline exactly how the plethora of contemporary capitalist formations actually do this work—work that is never purely economic but never purely uneconomic—we really can’t afford to throw stones. Economists continue to have the ear of the prince because they tell better stories about how the world works. And by better, I mean they exist. The old social science left, with its debilitating fear of the metanarrative, has both forgotten the political potency of the metanarrative while mistaking all macro stories for essentializing ones. In various ways, Piketty points the way to another kind of anthropology that genuinely folds in the macroeconomic. He makes excellent use of the shifting social meanings of inflation, for instance, noting how money was so solid in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries as to be taken to be a naturalized fact rather than the instrument of class rule it was. When inflation is drafted in to dilute war debt, money loses this solidity and reference points switch over. Or again, when he points to the return of kinship in many advanced nations as an organizing principle of capitalism with the atrophy of the state and the reassertion of the patrimonial fundamentals of capitalism. Could this be a wake-up call for a kind of economic anthropology we haven’t seen in a while? Surely one of the most depressing ironies of the last generation of work in anthropology—there are always honorable exceptions—is that the discipline served as the bizzaro mirror image of the discipline of economics that is equally unhinged from economic reality and equally incentivized to produce the baroque and pass it off as knowledge. At opposite ends of the intellectual division of labor, anthropology and economics both produced show dogs rather than hunting dogs.1 For all his infelicities, Piketty wants to hunt. Nomos or idios? For Piketty, what started as a substantial but modestly empirical attempt to map out contemporary inequality has now flowered into a stab at that holy grail of political economy, namely the equations of motion of capitalism itself. The language of laws and central contradictions abounds, even as the laws in question are really accounting identities posing as transhistorical regularities and the contradictions are arithmetical rather than fundamentally social. The story of contemporary inequality is a story of deep, tectonic tendencies interrupted by “shocks” that, by construction, come from outside the system: war, taxation. But if the generational arithmetic of accumulated savings is left to do its work, the story goes, it produces the stark inequalities that are native to capitalism. One doesn’t have to be a Marxist to see the primacy of the arithmetical over the socio-structural in this work. How can it be otherwise when the bland categorical “decile” replaces the real world formation that is class? This is altogether more political arithmetic than political economy. The generational-arithmetical logic is best displayed in the section entitled “The law of cumulative growth” (Piketty 2014: 74). Here, the drip-drip of the long durée is rendered as a world-historical force: The central thesis of this book is precisely that an apparently small gap between the return on capital and the rate of growth can in the long run have powerful and destabilizing effects on the structure and dynamics of social inequality. In a sense, everything follows from the laws of cumulative growth and cumulative returns, and that is why the reader will find it useful at this point to become familiar with these notions. (Piketty 2014: 75–77) In a phrase, “Money tends to reproduce itself ” (Piketty 2014: 440). Well, not quite. This is almost literally the definition of what Marx called the commodity fetish, namely exploitative social relations between people taking the systematic appearance of autonomous relations between things. Capital has indeed reproduced itself as stark inequalities in wealth, this much Piketty has documented. But that is merely a what, a statistical description. The holy-grail question is how and why, and in what historically contingent forms, a set of theoretical and historical questions. It is a measure of how deeply we are lacking in the social sciences that what is in the end a grand statistical compendium is being read and written up as grand theory. Piketty is quite right to chastise other social sciences for abandoning the ground to economists. But having the field to themselves has apparently got the better of even the best of them. There is perhaps a supereconomist phenomenon at work here that parallels the rather thin driver of inequality that Piketty identifies, namely the rise of the supermanager. This highly abstracted account obviously strips out all kinds of social realities, and our author is not naive enough to completely run roughshod over them. Just so, he repeatedly invokes the idiographic as kind of methodological disclaimer: “Are there deep reasons why the return on capital should be systematically higher than the rate of growth? To be clear, I take this to be a historical fact, not a logical necessity” (Piketty 2014: 353). And again, “To my way of thinking, the inequality r > g should be analyzed as a historical reality dependent on a variety of mechanisms and not as an absolute logical necessity” (361). And yet these good-faith disclaimers seem to be repeatedly washed away by inexorable logic: “wealth originating in the past automatically grows more rapidly, even without labor, than wealth stemming from work, which can be saved” (378). Consider, further: When growth is slow, it is almost inevitable that this return on capital is significantly higher than the growth rate, which automatically bestows outsized importance on inequalities of wealth accumulated in the past. This logical contradiction cannot be resolved by a dose of additional competition…. The inequality r > g implies that wealth accumulated in the past grows more rapidly than output and wages. This inequality expresses a fundamental logical contradiction. The entrepreneur inevitably tends to become a rentier…. The past devours the future.” (Piketty 2014: 423, 571) For all the putative adherence to the historical method, the underlying logic of this work shows a deep lack of historical imagination. It is as if the only template to think about the present is the past. The liberal citations of Jane Austen, Henry James, and the Aristocats (yes, the cartoon) illustrate that Piketty’s imaginary is very much under the influence of the belle époque. Here he has committed the sin of thinking that two social structures that have similar statistical properties necessarily have similar social dynamics. This is the quantitative error par excellence. Is it really the case that contemporary capitalism, in all its luxuriant local variety, can be thought of as a return to the preshocked norm that was the belle époque? Do we really have a return of patrimonial capitalism in the rich world, or is it something altogether more institutionally interesting? Patrimony or technostructure? Capital is basically used here as a synonym for wealth: “I use the words ‘capital’ and ‘wealth’ interchangeably” (Piketty 2014: 47). This “theory of value” is actually a step back from classical political economy. It also leads to a misconstrual of the dynamics of overmature capitalism. Recall that Adam Smith’s definition of capital stock in the Wealth of nations was written up as an advancement on the existing mercantilist epistemology because all things that could generate value had … value. The mercantilist focus on moneystocks was a dangerous distraction and a radical narrowing of the idea of wealth. Piketty takes this Smithian view of capital as a past accumulation of assets, where an asset is basically an ownership right in law to the fruits of something that can be used either as a store of value or a factor of production. This includes financial and nonfinancial assets, land, equity, and everything in between. Piketty’s work is ultimately a historical inventory of ownership of wealth. Yet this is ultimately a step back from classical political economy because, from Smith onward the question is, why is X worth something? What value mechanism undergirds social wealth? This question is not asked in this work; it is apparently obvious why the things in Piketty’s wealth inventory have value in the first place. Not so, of course. Smith and Marx alike had labor theories of value but used them to radically different effect. For Marx, his theory of value was also a theory of politics. If value comes from social labor, then we have a political target in the elimination of capitalist property relations that generate a systematic surplus for some on the backs of others. Even if this was a radically inaccurate theory of value—a long and tortuous question—at least Marx asked the question. By not having a theory of value then, Piketty’s politics is radically truncated to the ameliorative form of a global wealth tax rather than something more transformative. In his therapeutic narrative, the deep drives of the capitalist system have to be permanently repressed by a global fiscal superego. Further, “value” here just comes from time: savings magically augment themselves apparently so long as there are no shocks, all we really need is the passage of time. Without a theory of value, there is no need to invoke a structure of exploitation that is definitional of capitalism. To be sure, there is much talk of the rentier as the eventual fate of the entrepreneur. Yet “rent” is just the flow that accrues from legal ownership of capital assets. If the dynamics of capital ownership lead to excessive rent, the solution is not the extreme one of abolishing private property but the Continental one of repressing it. Here we come to the nub of the structural blindness that this mode of analysis generates. Ownership is ownership, the nature of the underlying assets—real or financial—as well as the mechanisms of ownership are really just superstructural, “surface disturbances, crests of foam that the tides of history carry on their strong backs,” as Ferdinand Braudel —apparently a source of inspiration for Piketty—renders events in his Mediterranean world (1995: 21). According to Piketty: Rent is a reality in any market economy where capital is privately owned. The fact that landed capital became industrial and financial capital and real estate left this deeper reality unchanged. Some people think that the logic of economic development has been to undermine the distinction between labor and capital. In fact, it is just the opposite: the growing sophistication of capital markets and financial intermediation tends to separate owners from managers more and more and thus to sharpen the distinction between pure capital income and labor income. (2014: 424, emphasis added) There is a real cost to this institutional blindness. For one, we get the magicality of interest as mentioned above. But further, we cannot really account for the blistering rise of inequality that Piketty has so strenuously documented if we don’t have an epistemology that brings the institutional structures of contemporary capitalism into view. Just so, we are told that the real driver at the top is the rise of the so-called supermanager. Two things govern historically unprecedented levels of compensation for this group: social norms that tolerate higher compensation (Piketty 2014: 332) and the rise in the “bargaining power” of supermanagers in the light of uncertainty over the valuation of their true contribution to the firm (512). Yet none of these features bespeaks any deep change in the structure of capitalism; they merely pave the way for a return to the statistical norm. In truth, managers have captured organizational forms in which capitalist power is now formatted, but it is organizations that have this power to begin with. As such, managerial capitalism is something quite distinct from patrimonial capitalism, a qualitative difference that is of some moment. Who actually owns American capitalism? Piketty glosses over the vital fact that direct household ownership of financial assets—the main assets in contemporary capitalism, we are assured—has, as of the 1980s, declined to a mere third in the United States and Canada, and even less in other advanced nations.2 In other words, households do not directly own American capitalism, even the “patrimonial” ones of the second Gilded Age that he believes we are now living through. Pension funds and mutual funds do, along with other “institutional investors.” The financial wealth that Piketty is talking about is therefore predominantly shares that rich households have in these institutional investors who in turn own equity in actual productive firms. Figure 1: From Rydqvist, Spizman, and Strebulaev (2014). View Large ImageDownload PowerPoint Why is this seemingly low-level piece of institutional plumbing important? Because it gives us a purchase on the institutional dynamics that have created our own inequality as something very much in their own time, not Aristocats redux. With just a passing reference, Piketty glosses over perhaps the central fact of contemporary capitalism, that is, capitalism since about the late nineteenth century. The revolution that is the modern corporation completely altered the grammar of capitalism through “the dissolution of the atom of property” by separating ownership and control in the joint-stock company.3 The gripping phrase is that of American Institutionalist lawyers Adolf Berle and Gardiner Means from the locus classicus on the subject, their 1932 The modern corporation and private property. In the modern corporation, a sprawling Weberian bureaucracy, the owners—the shareholders—do not run the show. They are, by construction, dispersed equity buyers having to hire managers to run the affairs of the company. As such, ownership of capital and control over the resource were fundamentally sundered, creating an entirely new institutional weather system that has led us to the impasse that Piketty documents. This tectonic shift is massaged in a few paragraphs as a rise in “bargaining power” of the managers. That is precious understatement. The entire regime of corporate governance, the rise of the narrative of shareholder value, and the very flourishing in the financial industry as a domain for professionals rather than well-connected placemen, owes its origin to the rise of the institutional investor as the owner who struggled to get control over its capital. How to stem the tide of managers taking over the shop in a manner that threatened American productivity as it waned in the 1970s? Have strong, independent corporate boards that supervise their work, give them stock options to align their incentives with that of the real owners, make them focus incessantly on the quarterly stock price as a neutral measure of their worth. Out of this matrix comes the supermanager, which says one thing: the direct owners of American capitalism, the institutional investors, are getting a raw deal, and a crisis to boot. Power is with the controllers, not the owners. Capitalism is in the grip of what John Kenneth Galbraith (1967) called the technostructure, operated by the supermanager. Unlike in Rhenish capitalism, the head of an American firm is something of an autocrat, but still something less than a Schumpeterian entrepreneur. He is an administrator, really a private bureaucrat. Modern capitalism is an ecology of organizations. These large, complex bureaucracies, public and private, have a logic of operation that is sui generis; it cannot be reduced to some grand narrative of the return of the rentier. Corporate governance and shareholder value have failed to put back together the sundered fact of modern property. What managers have control over, therefore, is capital in the modern sense: an organizationally-channeled social force that releases huge amounts of human potential and creates along with it human and ecological degradation. Capital as wealth-ownership simply does not get at either the specific institutions of capitalism nor the deep reasons why it can reproduce itself. Back to the future? The problem is that, by personalizing the problem, one personalizes the solution. Piketty has obviously tapped straight into the moral outrage of our postcrisis moment, but the solutions he proposes bring the state into play in a manner that again belies the reality of how contemporary capitalism is formatted. It is, at this late juncture, almost tiresome to repeat the lesson that the state is constitutive of capitalism, not some external encumbrance; Piketty’s foundational reliance of the legal-political fiction of property should make this obvious. Yet the state only really makes an appearance at the end of the book as a deus ex machina. Since “there is no natural, spontaneous process to prevent destabilizing, inegalitarian forces from prevailing permanently,” (2014: 21), the state solves the problem by forcing itself on capitalism. Right at the end, we are offered another, to my mind more fruitful route. When Piketty ends by pointing to “new forms of property and democratic control of capital” (2014: 569), he is breaking from his own script and charting out a more endogenous response to contemporary capitalism that does not merely rely on ex post tax-and-transfer but ex ante democratization of real control. It is perhaps no coincidence that this kernel of an alternative vision occurs around his brief digression intro central banking (547–53). The magic of bank debt is that it opens out the future, allowing us to truly bootstrap our energies by using the future fruits of a production process to get it off the ground today. But credit is pharmakon: both medicine and, if used in excess, poison. The fact of having the people’s bank as the central bank means that we have more institutions at our disposal to forge a postcapitalist economy than Piketty allows for. For all his righteous indignation, Piketty sees only the repressive hand of the state where he might see, in the form of the people’s bank, an enabler of new horizons. The rage is shared, but a conjuncture has arrived that demands more of our political imagination than economics has to offer. Will social science rise to the occasion? References Jairus Banaji. 2010. “Islam, the Mediterranean and the Rise of capitalism.” In Theory as history: Essays on modes of production and exploitation. Leiden: Brill. First citation in article Google Scholar Adolf Berle, Gardiner Means. 1932. The modern corporation and private property. New York: Harcourt, Brace, and World, Inc. First citation in article Google Scholar Ferdinand Braudel. 1995. The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean world in the age of Philip II. Berkeley: University of California Press. First citation in article Google Scholar David Colander. 2010. “The Keynesian method, complexity, and the training of economists.” Middlebury College Economics Discussion Paper, No. 10–35. http://sandcat.middlebury.edu/econ/repec/mdl/ancoec/1035.pdf First citation in article Google Scholar John Kenneth Galbraith. 1967. The new industrial state. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. First citation in article Google Scholar Thomas Piketty. 2014. Capital in the twenty-first century. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University. First citation in article Google Scholar Kristian Rydqvist, Joshua Spizman, Ilya Strebulaev. 2014. “Government policy and ownership of equity securities.” Journal of Financial Economics 111 (1): 70–85. First citation in article Google Scholar Notes 1. This is David Colander’s phrase; see Colander (2010). 2. For recent numbers on this well-known trend, see Rydqvist, Spizman, and Strebulaev (2014). 3. “Partnerships remained the most common and dominant form of capitalist organisation down to the nineteenth century” (Banaji 2010: 259). Anush Kapadia International Politics Social Sciences Building City University LondonWhiskin Street London EC1R 0JD United Kingdom Anush.Kapadia.[email protected]ac.uk Previous article Next article Details Figures References Cited by HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory Volume 5, Number 1Spring 2015 Published on behalf of the Society for Ethnographic Theory Article DOI https://doi.org/10.14318/hau5.1.026 Views: 127 This work is licensed under the Creative Commons | © Anush Kapadia. 2015. Crossref reports no articles citing this article. Close Figure Viewer Browse All FiguresReturn to Figure Previous FigureNext Figure Caption The University of Chicago Press Books Chicago Distribution Center The University of Chicago Terms and Conditions Statement of Publication Ethics Privacy Notice Chicago Journals accessibility University accessibility Follow us on facebook Follow us on Twitter Contact us Media and advertising requests Open access at Chicago Follow us on facebook Follow us on Twitter 
work_5skhgy2lujhnfkxrpkqghxcgvy	----	ANNOTATIONS5 As ophthalmologists it is our obvious duty to press for a proper ophthalmic service for all classes of the community by qualified medical practitioners with ophthalmic training who should receive an adequate fee for their work. ,A revision and extension of the National Ophthalmic Treatment Board would seem to be the ideal solution of our part of the problem. We view with alarm the prospect of state control of the voluntary hospitals and we think that free choice of doctor must be accorded to the patient for the success of any scheme of re-organization of the health services. And, lastly, a similar freedom should be meted out to the medical practitioner. May we not agree with that great Scottish physician who, in one of his prefaces, said'he thought, with Adam Smith, that a'mediciner should be as free to exercise his gifts as an architect-or a mole catcher ? A Singular Error Madame de Stael's well known epithet vulgaire, applied to the writings of Jane Austen, was a blow which staggered lovers of the Hampshiie novelist's books until some one suggestedihat the adjective in this case meant "commonplace" rather than "low." Thence onwvards everything was comfortable. Our own comfort is often disturbed round about the beginning of each month by the fear that we have missed some dreadful howler in reading the proofs: Could a graph of our feelings be constructed it would show a regular rise and fall each month over a good many years with occasional excrescences above the common level where we have blundered more than usual. We regret to have to -record that this happened in our October number, where, on page 436, occur the words "There is little or no data." We understand that this slip- shod construction is increasingly common in physical literature. That such a monstrous error should be prevalent is indeed a flaw in a centuries-long system of classical education.' There is, however, no reason to despair, all will be well when the new Education Act is' passed'and we may look forward with confidence to the time when, in the words' of our erudite Minister of Education, the boy well grounded in Latin-will "take" (not only) "the internal combustion engine (but also the whole range of phYsics) " in his stride." t 515 co p yrig h t. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y h ttp ://b jo .b m j.co m / B r J O p h th a lm o l: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b jo .2 7 .1 1 .5 1 5 o n 1 N o ve m b e r 1 9 4 3 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://bjo.bmj.com/ 
work_5spfukfqmjhipizmwz3ua3pk5e	----	Shakespeare’s Sonnets that differ from Foster’s estimates and largely confirm the preliminary results achieved in Anne Lake Prescott’s and our “When Did Shakespeare Write Sonnets 1609?” (Studies in Philology 88 [1991]: 69-109). He says most of the sonnets were composed late; we believe that many were written around 1593-94, when sonnets had become popular in England, although many were revised or added later, sometimes much later. Shaxicon is a valuable introductory tool, but other evi­ dence, including the contexts of each pair of words pro­ duced by it, must supplement it. A. KENT HIEATT Deep River, CT To the Editor: Almost a decade ago, in his Elegy by W. S.: A Study in Attribution (1989), Donald W. Foster first explored the possibility that Shakespeare might have written A Fu­ neral Elegy. A product of meticulous research and scru­ pulous argument, the book reached no firm conclusion on this question, but in subsequent presentations to the Shakespeare Association and the MLA, Foster has gone from cautious advocacy to unequivocal certainty. Now in his October 1996 PMLA article he concludes that “A Fu­ neral Elegy belongs hereafter with Shakespeare’s poems and plays .. .” (1082). In the article Foster almost completely ignores the strong evidence against Shakespeare’s authorship, much of which he considers in his book. Lines 139-40 (in which “country” means home area, a sense in common usage as late as Jane Austen), 145-78, and 557-60 clearly imply that WS committed a youthful indiscretion and will learn from it to avoid scandal in the future. I find it impossible to believe that at forty-eight and about to re­ tire Shakespeare could have been concerned about his “endangered youth” and “days of youth.” Foster ex­ plained in 1989: “It is certainly possible in the phrase ‘the hopes of my endangered youth’ to envision a poet who is speaking as a young man, perhaps a man even younger than Peter himself. Indeed, those readers who are disinclined to accept Shakespearean authorship of the poem may find here an insurmountable objection, one that counterbalances all evidence that Shakespeare may have written the poem” (Elegy by W. S. Yld). The elegy in its entirety provides the most compelling evidence against its attribution to Shakespeare. That the supreme master of language, at the close of his career, could have written this work of unrelieved banality of thought and expression, lacking a single memorable phrase in its 578 lines, is to me unthinkable. The poem is not simply uninspired, it is inept in its stumbling rhythm, its conventional and flat diction, its empty sententious­ ness. Nowhere in the work do I encounter Shakespeare’s creative signature, despite Foster’s astounding statement that the poetry of the Elegy is “no better, if no worse, than what may be found in Henry VIII or The Two Nobel Kins­ men” (Elegy by W. S. 201; my emphasis). Selecting al­ most any passage at random—for example, 525-36—I see a pedestrian prosiness, an absence of concreteness and specificity, a lack of any true affective quality. What I find most distressing in Foster’s article is his confident assertion that study of A Funeral Elegy will open “new critical directions,” presumably for the study of Shakespeare’s work generally (1092). That inclusion of the poem in the canon, already promised for three lead­ ing editions of the collected works, will legitimate A Fu­ neral Elegy as a proper, even exciting, object of critical and biographical study is a dismal prospect indeed. SIDNEY THOMAS Syracuse, NY To the Editor: I read Donald W. Foster’s essay with great interest. Partly on the basis of information supplied in the essay, I believe that the author of A Funeral Elegy was Elizabeth Cary rather than Shakespeare. The subject of the Elegy, William Peter, was born in Devonshire in 1582 and lived in Oxfordshire from the late 1590s to 1609, when he returned to Devonshire, where he married Margaret Brewton. He was murdered in Janu­ ary 1612. Shakespeare was eighteen years older and lived mainly in London during Peter’s entire adult life; he would have had little opportunity to have become a close friend of Peter. Cary was three or four years younger than Peter and lived mainly in Oxfordshire during Peter’s more than ten years of residence in the vicinity. Cary married in 1602, but the union was arranged and apparently love­ less. In the early years of her marriage Cary did not reside with her husband, who left England in 1604 and returned in 1608, the year before Peter left Oxfordshire and Cary gave birth to her first child. (Information about Cary’s life can be found in the introduction to The Tragedy of Mariam, ed. Barry Weller and Margaret W. Ferguson [Berkeley: U of California P, 1994].) After noting the grief felt by Peter’s friends, the Elegy poet singles out one of them: Amongst them all, she who those nine of years Liv’d fellow to his counsels and his bed Hath the most share in loss: for I in hers Feel what distemperature this chance hath bred. (511-14) The “she” mentioned in this passage cannot have been Peter’s wife, who was only nineteen at his death, but may have been a friend of Cary or even Cary herself. In the quoted passage the poet deeply empathizes with the woman who shared Peter’s bed. If Cary was the author of the Elegy, why did she not identify herself? In the seventeenth century a married no­ blewoman’s public display of grief for a male commoner would have provoked gossip. Gossip and scandal are ma­ jor themes of the poem. For example, the poet mentions having been the victim of scandalous rumors in the past (137-48). It makes sense that Cary would have disguised her identity. Why not adopt the initials of a leading poet- dramatist? Cary was an aspiring poet and a closet drama­ tist. It would be flattering if someone surmised that her poem was written by Shakespeare. The unusual poetic form of the Elegy is identical to that of Cary’s Tragedy of Mariam. Each consists mainly of quatrains of iambic pentameter rhyming abab, punc­ tuated irregularly by couplets. The poetic style and skills exhibited in the Elegy are similar to those evident in Ma­ riam: the versification is competent, the ideas are clearly and simply expressed, and imagery and figurative lan­ guage occur infrequently and are commonplace. In 578 lines there are no striking images, metaphors, or puns, no vivid phrasings, no flashes of poetic brilliance. Nowhere in all Shakespeare’s works, not even in his least admired writings, can one read so many consecutive lines of un­ distinguished poetry. Foster provides evidence of lexical similarities between the Elegy and Shakespeare’s works. But he finds compa­ rable similarities between the Elegy and Mariam: “A text that WS drew on but that Shakespeare is not known to have read is Elizabeth Cary’s Tragedy of Mariam. . . . Cary’s play has a significantly high lexical match with A Funeral Elegy. . . . Examples of the correspondence between Mariam and A Funeral Elegy can be multi­ plied” (1085). The lexical similarities between the Elegy and Shakespeare’s works may have arisen because Cary was influenced by the many works of Shakespeare that had been published by 1612. It is more likely that Cary encountered Shakespeare’s published works than that Shakespeare had access to Cary’s as-yet-unpublished manuscript of Mariam. Why does Foster not present an argument that Cary could not have written the Elegy! Perhaps he assumes that the author could not have been a noblewoman on the grounds that in the seventeenth century noblewomen did not typically write elegies for male commoners. But no­ blewomen of the period also did not typically publish original plays—the only one to do so was Elizabeth Cary. Although Cary was not a great poet, she was not a typi­ cal noblewoman, and the Elegy nowhere specifies the sex or social class of the poet. It is more likely that Cary wrote the Elegy for a fellow resident of Oxfordshire un­ der the cover of the initials of a poet whose work she ad­ mired than that Shakespeare wrote 578 consecutive lines of prosaic poetry in memory of a person he had little op­ portunity to encounter. JAMES HIRSH Georgia State University Editor's note. During the final stages in the preparation of Donald Foster’s essay, an error was introduced into the formula on page 1091, the denominator being acci­ dentally inverted and the key misreported. The editor re­ grets this error. A correction is given in the erratum on page 434 below. Reply: A Funeral Elegy seems to have displaced Primary Colors as a favorite attributional guessing game. Schol­ ars wanting to avoid ascribing this funereal text to Shake­ speare have tossed other names into the ring for twelve years, beginning in 1985 with Stanley Wells’s prepubli­ cation advice to me to consider the Devon poet William Strode. Yet the identification of WS with William Shake­ speare stands unshaken. James Hirsh’s speculation about Elizabeth Cary illustrates why this is so. That Cary did not write WS’s elegy is obvious from internal biograph­ ical evidence, as well as from Cary’s lexicon, grammati­ cal accidence, syntax, and prosody. During the time that Hirsh imagines Cary and William Peter becoming close friends in Oxford, she was in Burford and then in Berk- hampstead, living under authority so strict that she was often not permitted even to read. Because Jacobean society was a small world and closely knit, tenuous evidence can be adduced to identify WS as almost anyone, including William Shute and Wil­ liam Strachey (both published by Thorp) or the play­ wrights William (not “Wentworth”) Smith, author of The Hector of Germany (1613), and John Ford (an associate of William Peter). Katherine Duncan-Jones first nomi­ nated William Strode (father to Wells’s 1985 nominee), then William Sclater (a Puritan divine). I wait to see whether Duncan-Jones will present internal evidence or will even include external evidence that I have made available: the Strodes were distantly related to the Peters 
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work_62ntw2radvezpl7kbva7gwzroi	----	4.IJELAPR20184 www.tjprc.org editor@tjprc.org TAKING THE HIGH ROAD: A STUDY OF JANE AUSTEN’S IDENTIFICATION AND CLASSIFICATION OF CHARACTERS BASED ON ‘CLASS’ IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE RENU GOSWAMI 1 & RITU KUMARAN 2 1 Research Scholar, Department of English, AISECT University, Bhopal, India 2 Professor, Department of English, AISECT University, Bhopal, India ABSTRACT This paper is an insight into Jane Austen’s sharp observation and judgement of characters based on social behavior as depicted in Pride and Prejudice. Jane Austen belonged to an educated family with noble ties. She was deeply influenced by the Industrial Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars which impacted the social life of Regency England in the late 18 th and early 19 th century. The Industrial Revolution proved to be a blessing in disguise for the middle class especially the traders and merchants who earned a great fortune because of industrialization which in turn stirred their desire to climb the social ladder and mingle with the upper class. Besides the social turmoil, Jane Austen’s focus in the novel is marriage and courtship. Her characters belong to the upper and middle class in the novel Pride and Prejudice. The ambition of her characters at the personal level in finding an ideal man coupled with social aspirations of being acquainted and recognized as the upper class has been projected by Austen through the use of humour, satire, and wit. The social behavior of her characters, the dialogues and social interactions between them in the novel is a reflection of their class. Her novels are often identified as the novel of manners. Jane Austen critiques the social customs and norms of Regency England and is famous for her commentaries on the British landed gentry of Regency England which is evident in her novel ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Jane Austen has been primarily recognized for her satire on social realism in the novel. She acknowledges the importance of noble inheritance and money but her judgement of characters in the novel is not based on social class alone but identifies the class as being directly proportional to social etiquettes and mannerisms of her characters. KEYWORDS: Class, Novel of Manners, Regency England, Social Behaviour & Social Realism Received: Jan 09, 2018; Accepted: Jan 29, 2018; Published: Mar 01, 2018; Paper Id.: IJELAPR20184 INTRODUCTION ABBREVIATIONS: PP- Pride and Prejudice Jane Austen highlights the social turmoil and class conflict of regency England through her male and female characters belonging to the upper and the middle classes. In PP her characters are judged by the extent to which they comply with the Regency England code of conduct defined for the upper- class men and women. Since a woman’s respect and success lies in finding the right bridegroom at the right age, it is important for a woman to be well- accomplished and socially graced as expected by the society. It is also a reflection of her financial status and guarantees a better chance of a prospective groom. Jane Austen introduces the concept of a ‘gentleman’ to reflect upon her concept of class for her male characters. She uses the term ’gentleman’ to enlighten the readers of the social class mobility and class conflicts. As a ‘novel of manners’ PP is a mirror of social etiquettes and mannerisms expected in Austen’s times O r ig in a l A r tic le International Journal of English and Literature (IJEL) ISSN (P): 2249-6912; ISSN (E): 2249-8028 Vol. 8, Issue 2, Apr 2018, 25-28 © TJPRC Pvt. Ltd. 26 Renu Goswami & Ritu Kumaran Impact Factor (JCC): 5.9876 NAAS Rating: 3.12 and its impact on the characters in forming impressions and social judgement. Jane Austen’s PP gives a vivid description of the distinctions between the upper and middle class on the basis of social codes of conduct rather than on income generated from the land. Through her concerns over courtship and marriage, Austen highlights the social etiquettes and mannerisms of her characters in defining their journey to climb the social ladder in the prevailing social atmosphere. ANALYSIS OF PRIDE AND PREJUDICE Austen introduces the Bennett family comprising of Mr. Bennett, who owns the Longbourn estate, his wife,Mrs Bennet and their 5 daughters Jane, Elizabeth, the female protagonist, Mary, Catherine ,and Lydia. Mrs. Bennet is desperate to get her daughters married to well-to-do upper class bachelors knowing that her daughters would be rendered destitute as Mr. Bennet’s property would be entailed to William Collins a distant cousin of Mr. Bennet. Since Mrs. Bennet is unable to bear a male heir to Mr. Bennet’s property, in the patriarchal hierarchy, her daughters would bear the burden of falling into the lower class if they are unable to captivate a good match and marry into the upper class. Since Mr. Bennet does not have to earn for a living the Bennet sisters are considered gentlewomen by virtue of birth. Mr Bennet is introduced in the novel as a gentleman with a good sense of humour; he follows the etiquette calls on Mr. Bingley, who has shifted into his neighborhood in order to begin the acquaintance as followed in Regency England. On the other hand, Mrs. Bennet is excited about the idea of the eligible match for her daughters who have arrived in the neighborhood. She does not behave, but acts high class and is a woman of mean disposition belonging to the middle class by birth. Mr. Bingley belongs to the ‘nouveau rich’ upper-class gentry whose family has inherited money in trade during the Industrial Revolution and are soon to become landlords. Mr. Darcy the male protagonist a close friend of Mr. Bingley is a wealthy gentleman and the proprietor of Pemberley estate in Derbyshire, England who comes on a visit to his friend in Hertfordshire, England. Besides gentle birth and wealth, Austen judges the conduct and mannerisms of her male characters in social gatherings. On a visit to Mr. Bingley at Herdfordshire, Mr. Darcy along with Mr. Bingley is introduced to the Bennet sisters at a ball which according to Austen plays a crucial role in courtship. The attitude and behavior of the two friends at the ball towards the young ladies are contrasting which Jane Austen conveys through the first impressions formed at first sight although, as the novel progresses she convinces the readers to be empathetic towards her male protagonist Mr. Darcy. Jane Bennet also is known as Ms. Bennet by virtue of being the eldest daughter of the Bennets according to Regency Era customs, comments about Mr. Bingley ‘He is just what young man ought to be.. sensible, good -humoured, lively and I never saw such happy manners! so much ease with such perfect breading.’ Through Jane’s comments, one is convinced of Mr. Bingley’s gentlemanly aura. At the ball the conversation between Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy when Mr. Darcy comments on being asked to dance with Elizabeth the female protagonist and the second daughter of the Bennets ‘She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me;’ It is evident from his talks that Mr. Darcy is class-conscious, proud and arrogant and Austen satirizes social class by mocking at his disagreeable nature. Austen projects class differences by highlighting Mr. Darcy’s demeaning attitude towards Elizabeth Bennet, although he falls in love with her later on. Austen is optimistic about the social class of the new Taking the High Road: A Study of Jane Austen’s Identification and 27 Classification of Characters Based on ‘Class’ in Pride and Prejudice www.tjprc.org editor@tjprc.org middle class, the tradesman, and merchants to which the two friends belong to, but her introduction of Mr. Bingley gives her perception of a gentleman as not determined by wealth alone. Austen emphasizes the power and influence of the landed gentry through Mr. Bennet. Through her portraits of Mr. Bennet, Mr. Bingley and Mr.Darcy of different birth order and inheritance, Austen highlights social conduct as the key to a gentleman amidst class mobility and social turmoil of the late 18 th and early 19 th century caused by the Industrial Revolution. George Wickham, Austen’s militia officer is a gentleman bestowed upon him by Mr. Darcy’s family on account of his father’s virtuous deeds. Mr. Wickham’s father has worked on Mr. Darcy’s estate for his father. George Wickham is introduced as a charming, good -looking militia officer, but deceitful. Austen satirizes the social hierarchy by calling Wickham a gentleman for his appearance and the gentleness and goodness in his manner. The conversation between Ms. Bennet and Elizabeth about Mr. Darcy and Wickham, ‘there certainly was some great mismanagement in the education of those two young men, one has got all the goodness and the other all the appearance of it’ reveals Austen’s views on the gentlemanly professions defined in Regency England. By comparing the two characters Austen highlights the correlation between gentle birth and good breeding. However, she does not ignore the mannerisms and conduct of her characters and projects it as a prerequisite for the title of a gentleman. Through the themes of courtship and marriage, Austen has also projected that being socially adept and socially graced is equally important for women and also increases the chances of prospective grooms. Elizabeth the female protagonist is also the favourite daughter of Mr. Bennet. She is introduced as a girl with intelligence, good sense of humour, presence of mind, pleasant disposition, confident and a well accomplished lady. Although rejected by Mr. Darcy for a dance at the first ball Elizabeth’s conduct and behavior captivates Mr. Darcy who falls in love with her. During a conversation with Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr. Darcy’s aunt and the owner of the Rosalyn estate Mr Bennett tells her in marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman’s daughter; so far we are equal‘. Austen is optimistic about being of noble birth and status associated with being the landed gentry, but she lays emphasis on chivalry for a gentleman and being well accomplished for a lady in identifying an individual to the social class they belong to. On the other hand Lydia, fifteen years old and the youngest of the Bennet sisters is an impulsive, self-centered girl thoroughly spoilt by her mother. Breaking Regency Era rules of conduct she is encouraged by Mrs. Bennet to attend balls and social gatherings at the age of fifteen. She elopes with the wicked Wickham put the family reputation at stake not realizing that she has four elder sisters to be married. Although Mr. Darcy comes to her rescue and forces Wickham to marry her, the credit goes to Elizabeth because of the love and respect she has earned from Mr. Darcy by virtue of her proper conduct. CONCLUSIONS Today ‘money makes the mare go’but Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice can be viewed optimistically even today as it gives the relationship between class, money and social conduct. Her protagonists are a role model in being a true gentleman and a gentlewoman, and representation of class in its true essence. Austen’s Pride and Prejudice has embedded within deep concerns over money, status, and property. The novel deals with the landed gentry as well as the middle class, ‘nouveau rich’ which is the most influential class of the society in Regency England as a consequence of the Industrial Revolution. Pride and Prejudice deals with the prejudiced patriarchal society and Austen has made use of satire to mock the English society of the times. Her characters belong to the upper and 28 Renu Goswami & Ritu Kumaran Impact Factor (JCC): 5.9876 NAAS Rating: 3.12 middle class and are a realistic depiction of the society that existed in the late 18 th and 19 th century. Regency England society was guided by social rules, regulations, and customs for both men and women. In Pride and Prejudice, Austen describes her characters through dialogues and social interactions giving the readers a living and realistic depiction of the society and its expectations from individuals.Her protagonists Mr. Darcy and Ms. Elizabeth are not only an ideal representative of Austen’s England but also a role model for the young men and women. REFERENCES 1. Austen, Jane. (2011)Pride and Prejudice. New Delhi: Lexicon Books. 2. Singh, Sushila.(1981) Jane Austen: Her Concepts of Social Life. New Delhi: S. Chand and Company Ltd. 3. Gao, Haiyan(2013). Jane Austen’s Ideal man in Pride and Prejudice. Theory and Practice in Language Studies, 3,2, 384-388 4. Johnson,Rebekah., &Tencza,Mrs. (2013). Manners and Etiquette of Pride and Prejudice. Barleby. Retrieved from https://www.bartleby.com/essay/Manners-and-Etiquette-of-Pride-and-Prejudice-P3P89NLK6ZYA AUTHOR DETAILS RENU GOSWAMI Research Scholar, Department of English, AISECT University, Bhopal, India 
work_5vaet6ig6bcgtlaxxcbf7crc6a	----	2498-5473 / USD 20.00 © 2016 Akadémiai Kiadó, Budapest Hungarian Journal of Legal Studies 57, No 1, pp. 10–24 (2016) DOI: 10.1556/2052.2016.57.1.2 Image Rights: Exploitation and Legal Control in English and Hungarian Law by Corinna Coors* and Péter Mezei** Abstract. In the past decades due to changed technical advances, features of the personality have become economically exploitable to an extent not previously known. Pop stars, TV celebrities as well as famous athletes have sought protection against the commercial use of their images, names and likenesses without their consent.1 Despite the economic value of personality and image rights, there is currently no international standard or agreed legal concept for recognising an image right. While many jurisdictions, for example, the US, Germany, France and Hungary offer express statutory protection against the unauthorised commercial use of an individual’s image by a third party in the context of publicity or personality rights, English law provides no cause of action for the infringement of image rights as such. Although a celebrity may currently obtain protection through various statutory and common law rights, such as the developing law of privacy, trade mark law breach of confidence and, in particular, the tort of passing off, none of these rights were designed to protect image or personality rights.2 In this context, this article explores the potentially enforceable rights, their benefits and practical strategies to protect name and image rights in the UK3 and Hungary. Keywords: image rights, personality rights, privacy 1. INTRODUCTION The article is structured as follows. Firstly, it will be introduced how image rights might or might not be protected and exploited under the doctrine of passing off, trademark law and privacy law of the United Kingdom. Secondly, the regulations of the Hungarian Civil Code4 on image rights will be covered, as well as multiple other tracks of protection and exploitation under the law of Hungary, including copyright and trademark law. Finally, the main features – similarities and differences – of the two legal systems will be compared. * Associate Professor, Ealing School of Law, University of West London, United Kingdom. E-mail: corinna.coors@uwl.ac.uk ** Associate Professor, Institute of Comparative Law, Faculty of Law, University of Szeged, Hungary. Adjunct Professor (dosentti) of the University of Turku, Faculty of Law, Finland. He is a member of the Hungarian Council of Copyright Experts. E-mail: mezei.@juris.u-szeged.hu 1 See in the UK for example Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3; Irvine v Talksport [2002] 2 All ER 414 (Laddie J), [2003] EWCA Civ 423; in Germany, for example: Boris Becker – BGH, 29 October 2009, I ZR 65/07; Marlene Dietrich, BGH, 1 December 1999, I ZR 49/97, BGHZ 143, 214. 2 Waelde, Laurie (2014) 803. 3 Blum, Ohta (2014) 137–147. 4 Act V of 2013 on the Civil Code. (Hereinafter: HCC 2013.). 11IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW 2. IMAGE RIGHTS IN THE UK 2.1. Definition of the Term “Image Right” in the UK An image right can be defined as a term used to describe rights that individuals have in their personality, which enables them to control the exploitation of their image.5 A person’s image is to be understood in broad terms and may generally include name, voice, signature, likeness and photographs and illustrations of the personality. In relation to the protection of one’s personal image, the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) confirmed in the second Hannover v Germany judgment that the image is “one of the chief attributes of (…) personality, as it reveals the person’s unique characteristics and distinguishes the person from his or her peers. The right to protection of one’s image is thus one of the essential components of personal development. It mainly presupposes the individual’s right to control the use of that image including the right to refuse publication thereof.” 6 However, as noted above, English courts have traditionally been reluctant to expressly recognise personality and publicity rights and to provide protection for vague concepts such as names, likenesses or popularity. Celebrities can currently seek protection through the various existing intellectual property and, in particular registered trademark rights or common law passing off claims although these remedies often lack clarity and transparency.7 In the absence of a formal legislative or jurisprudential recognition of personality rights, English courts are increasingly stretching the boundaries of existing rights to strike a balance between competing interests and to recognise the commercial value of image rights.8 This has become a challenging task, particularly in the new technological era where images, photos and knowledge can be shared worldwide instantaneously and anonymously. 2.2. Passing off Even though English judges do not expressly recognise a general personality or image right per se, the common law action passing off has always been a flexible instrument to take into account new developments including false endorsement and false merchandising claims. In this context, the scope of an action of passing off was tested in the recent decision of the English Court of Appeal concerning the protection of image rights, involving the famous pop star Rihanna and the fashion chain Topshop.9 The Court of Appeal confirmed the basic principle that in English law there is no “image right” or “character right” which allows a celebrity to control the use of his or her name or image.10 The court upheld the trial judge’s finding11 that Topshop’s unauthorised use of Rihanna’s image on a T-shirt was passing off. 5 Proactive Sports Management Ltd v Rooney & Ors [2011] EWCA Civ 1444 para 1 per Lady Justice Arden. 6 Von Hannover v Germany (No 2) (App nos 40660/08 and 60641/08 [2012] EMCR 16 (ECtHR, Grand chamber), para 96. 7 Romer, Storey (2013) 51; Middlemiss, Warner (2006) 131–142. 8 Cornish, Llewelyn (2003) 618.; Walsh (2013) 253–260. 9 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3. 10 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor, per Lord Justice Kitchin, para 29. 11 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd (t/a Topshop) & Anor [2013] EWHC 2310 (Ch). 12 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI The facts of the case were that in March 2012 Topshop, a well-known fashion retailer, started selling a T-shirt with an image of Rihanna on it. The image in question was of Rihanna during a video-shoot for her 2011 “Talk That Talk” album. Topshop had obtained a licence from the photographer but no licence from Rihanna. Rihanna claimed that the sale of this T-shirt without her permission infringed her rights and brought an action against Topshop for passing off and trade mark infringement. Since Reckitt & Colman Ltd v Borden Inc12 in 1990 – also known as the Jif Lemon case – in order to succeed in a passing off action the claimant has to prove that: (1) he/she possesses a reputation or goodwill in his/her goods, name or mark; (2) there has been a misrepresentation by the defendant which has led to confusion; (3) this misrepresentation has caused damage to the claimant’s reputation or goodwill in the claimant’s goods, name, mark. The High Court found that all of these elements were present in the Rihanna case, arguing that the retailer was taking advantage of “Rihanna’s public position as a style icon”13 to increase its own sales. Moreover, the Court found that the use of that particular image on the T-shirt might lead Rihanna fans to believe that it was part of her marketing campaign for the album.14 Mr Justice Birss concluded, “Many will buy a product because they think she (Rihanna) has approved of it. Others will wish to buy it because of the value of the perceived authorisation itself. In both cases they will have been deceived.”15 The fact that Rihanna already has her own clothing line with Topshop rival River Island and enjoyed substantial goodwill in the UK and the position of Topshop as a major reputable high street retailer were crucial to a finding of passing off. One of the first false endorsement cases in the UK before this was Irvine v Talksport in 2003 where the radio station Talksport had sent out promotional material to potential advertising buyers including a brochure featuring a photograph of the F1 racing driver Eddie Irvine.16 In this case Talksport had manipulated a previous photo of Irvine in which he had been holding a mobile phone by superimposing the Talksport radio onto the image in place of the phone. Irvine successfully sued Talksport Radio for passing off. The Irvine case was of particular importance for the development of image right protection in the UK, bringing traditional passing off law up to date with modern commercial reality. If the actions of the defendant created a false message which would be understood by the customers to mean that his goods have been endorsed or recommended by the claimant, then the claimant can succeed in passing off.17 Considering the special circumstances in the Rihanna case, it is not surprising that the Court of Appeal confirmed the decision of the trial judge and found in her favour. The classic passing off elements and circumstances leading to false endorsement as in Irvine v Talksport were present. The T-shirt damaged Rihanna’s goodwill, would result in loss of sales for her own merchandising business if a substantial number of consumers were likely to buy the T-shirt falsely believing that it was authorised by Rihanna and represented a loss of control over her reputation in the fashion sphere. 12 Reckitt & Colman Products Ltd v. Borden Inc [1990] RPC 341. 13 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3., para 45. 14 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3. para 69. 15 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3, para 72. 16 Irvine v Talksport [2002] 2 All ER 414 (Laddie J), [2003] EWCA Civ 423. 17 Irvine v Talksport [2002] 2 All ER 414 (Laddie J), [2003] EWCA Civ 423., para 25. 13IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW The decision of the Court of Appeal, however, is unlikely to open the floodgates for claims to be brought every time a celebrity image is used without a licence on merchandising. The trial judge, Mr Judge Birss, had already emphasised that “Whatever may be the position elsewhere in the world, and however much various celebrities may wish there were, there is today in England no such thing as a free standing image right”.18 It follows that each case will depend on the individual circumstances, in Rihanna’s case, her past association with Topshop and the particular features of the image itself, and that, “the mere sale by a trader of a T-shirt bearing an image of a famous person is not, without more, an act of passing off.” 19 2.3. Trademark Protection In addition to the tort of passing off, the registration of a trademark may provide effective protection against the unauthorised commercial exploitation of the image of a celebrity. Generally, the successful registration of a famous name or image as a trade mark prevents a third-party from using the trade mark in the course of their own trading. One of the advantages of a registered trade mark is that it is easier to enforce because it automatically enjoys protection in the jurisdiction within which it is registered, while the claimant in a cause of action for passing off has to prove the three essential elements: goodwill, misrepresentation and damage. The registration of celebrities as such, however, has proved difficult and has been put into question since the appeal in Elvis Presley Enterprises Inc v Sid Shaw Elvisly Yours.20 In this case the Court of Appeal upheld the decision to overturn registration of a variety of styles of the name Elvis Presley. The court decided that a celebrity name was not registrable as a trade mark as it was not distinctive. The court appeared to acknowledge the monopoly power that could be conferred on traders if celebrities’ names could be registered as trademarks. Simon Brow LJ noted: “there should be no a priori assumption that only a celebrity or his successors may ever market (or licence the marketing of) his own character. Monopolies should not be so readily created”.21 Although this case was considered under the old Trade Marks Act 1938, the principles in the case are still relevant to the consideration of modern trademark applications and has been followed in the decision by the trademark registry to turn down the application to register the name “Diana, Princess of Wales” as a trademark.22 The Princess of Wales sought registration of the words DIANA, PRINCESS OF WALES in a very wide range of goods and services. The application was based on the view that there was a significant trade in DIANA, PRINCESS OF WALES souvenirs whilst the late Princess of Wales was alive, and a trade in memorabilia in the immediate aftermath of her death. 18 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3, para 2. 19 Fenty & Ors v Arcadia Group Brands Ltd & Anor [2015] EWCA Civ 3, para 75. See also: Fletcher, Mitchell (2015) 405. 20 Elvis Presley Enterprises Inc v Sid Shaw Elvisly yours [1999] RPC 567. Waelde, Laurie (2014) 817. 21 Waelde, Laurie (2014) 598. See also Lord Parker of Waddington in Registrar of Trade Marks v W. and G. Du Cros Ltd. (1913) AC 624 at 634, 635: “It is apparent from the history of trade marks in this country that both the Legislature and the Courts have always shown a natural disinclination to allow any person to obtain by registration under the Trade Marks Acts a monopoly in what others may legitimately desire to use.” 22 Executrices of the Estate of Diana, Princess of Wales’ Application [2001] ETMR 25. 14 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI The application was rejected on the basis that it was unlikely the public would attach any trade mark significance to the Princess’s name appearing on commemorative products given there was no such significance when she was alive. The average and circumspect consumer would not expect that all commemorative articles bearing the Princess’s name were commercialised under the control of a single undertaking. The application was also rejected because the name lacked the necessary trademark character for the goods listed in the application. Similarly, an application to register the name “Jane Austen” in respect of toiletries and similar goods was rejected.23 It was successfully argued that the mark was devoid of distinctive character under section 3(1)-(b) of the Trade marks Act 1994. These cases show that for a famous name to qualify for a trademark registration the public must associate the celebrity with the goods sought for registration. The public association will ensure that the celebrity’s name will be seen to be indicating origin and will not merely be indicating subject matter.24 It follows that the celebrity should seek to educate consumers to view its trademark as a source identifier as opposed to a common name for its goods and/or services, as otherwise, it is unlikely that the celebrity’s name will be considered a designation of origin. 2.4. The developing Law of Privacy Although historically, English common law has recognised no general tort of privacy, privacy in English law is a rapidly developing area that considers in what situations an individual has a legal right to informational privacy - the protection of personal or private information from misuse or unauthorised disclosure.25 In the absence of a tort of privacy, the equitable remedy of breach of confidence, a variety of torts limited to intentional infliction of harm to the person and administrative law principles relating to the appropriate use of police powers have all been recently used to resolve cases which involve allegations of an infringement of personal privacy. In relation to the law of breach of confidence in Prince Albert v Strange, for example, the High Court of Chancery awarded Prince Albert an injunction, restraining Strange from publishing a catalogue describing Prince Albert’s etchings.26 In Coco v AN Clark (Engineers) Ltd27 a claim was made for breach of confidence in respect of technical information whose value was commercial. In this case the information was found not to be of a confidential nature as it was already in the public domain. In Kaye v Robertson the claimant, a well-known actor, attempted to obtain an order restraining the publication of photographs of the injuries he had sustained in a car crash which had been obtained via deception by a tabloid’s journalist while he was still in hospital undergoing treatment.28 The claimant argued that he was entitled to relief based on a multitude of different torts, including libel, trespass and nuisance. The Court of Appeal concluded that only malicious falsehood was applicable to the circumstances of the case having decided that no tort of privacy existed in English law with 23 Jane Austen Trade Mark [2000] RPC 879. 24 Beverly-Smith (2004) 41; see Linkin Park LLC [2006] ETMR 74. 25 Bainbridge (2012) 347. 26 Prince Albert v Strange [1849] EWHC Ch J20. 27 Coco v AN Clark (Engineers) Ltd [1969] RPC 41. 28 Kaye v Robertson [1991] FSR 62. 15IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW the House of Lords in Wainwright v Home Office confirming this view.29 Privacy rights have, however, received increasing recognition both nationally and at European level. The key justification for this change is Art. 8 (1) of the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) which provides a right to respect for a person’s private and family life. Two recent cases reflect the fast developing area of privacy law in the UK which has been supported and enhanced by the enactment of the Human Rights Act 1998. Douglas v Hello The first case concerned the two actors, Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones. The stars had married in November 2000 and had granted exclusive rights to pictures of their wedding to the Ok! magazine but the defendant, the publisher of the Hello! magazine had its own pictures, which it planned to publish. On application the claimants obtained an interim injunction in the High Court, preventing the defendant from publishing unauthorised photographs of the claimants’ wedding on the grounds that the pictures were a breach of confidence and an invasion of the individual claimants’ privacy. The defendant, Hello! magazine, successfully appealed to the Court of Appeal, which discharged the interim injunction against the defendant. An emergency injunction was granted which was set aside three days later by the Court of Appeal and the images were later published in Hello!. The Douglases succeeded in this case because the wedding and party were held to be private events, on private property. The House of Lords affirmed the claimants’ right to hold their wedding in private and protect their intimate moments from the distressing and invasive effects of unauthorised photography. The House of Lords, by a split majority of 3-2, upheld the action for breach of confidence. The main issue was whether the photographs represented confidential information. The majority ruled that the disputed photographs provided information as to how the wedding looked and constituted confidential information. However, Lord Walker in Douglas v Hello summed up his position on image rights as follows: “under English law it is not possible for a celebrity to claim a monopoly in his or her image as if it were a trademark or a brand”.30 Moreover, Lord Justice Hoffman noted: “there is (…) no question of creating an ‘image right’ or any other unorthodox form of intellectual property. The information in this case was capable of being protected (…) simply because it was information of commercial value over which the Douglases had sufficient control to enable them to impose an obligation of confidence”.31 Campbell v Mirror Group Newspapers In Naomi Campbell v Mirror Group Newspapers the model Naomi Campbell was photographed leaving a rehabilitation clinic where she attended regularly meetings of Narcotics Anonymous (“NA”).32 The photographs were published in a publication run by MG Newspapers. The headline alongside the photograph read: “Naomi: I’m a drug addict” and the article contained some general information relating to Miss Campbell’s treatment 29 Wainwright v Home Office [2003] UKHL 53. 30 Douglas v Hello [2007] UKHL 21, para 293 per Lord Walker. 31 Douglas v Hello [2007] UKHL 21, para 124 per Lord Hoffmann. 32 Campbell v MGN Ltd [2004] UKHL 22 on appeal from Campbell v MGN Ltd [2002] EWCA Civ 1373. 16 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI for drug addiction, including the number of meetings she had attended in the clinic. The supermodel had previously claimed that she did not have a drug addiction. Miss Campbell claimed damages under the tort of breach of confidence. On appeal, the House of Lords, by a 3:2 majority, held that this was a breach of confidence. Whilst it was acceptable to publish a story about her having lied about taking drugs and her addiction and the fact that she was receiving therapy, publishing the additional information about the treatment with NA together with details of the treatment and photograph went too far and were not relevant for the public discourse.33 However, in her judgment Baroness Hale of Richmond made clear that: “in this country we do not recognise a right to one’s own image. (…) We have not so far held that the mere fact of covert photography is sufficient to make the information contained in the photograph confidential.”34 In summary, to obtain protection under English privacy laws the activity photographed must be private. If by contrast, someone published a picture of a celebrity going shopping in a public street, a claim for breach of confidence or privacy would most likely fail. Children may enjoy special protection as held in Murray v Express Newspaper Plc where a photographer depicted the author JK Rowling’s son David, then 19 months old, being pushed in a buggy with his parents in an Edinburgh street to and from a local café. In that case it was arguable that an expedition to the café was part of each member of the family’s recreation time, such that publicity was intrusive and likely to adversely affect such activities in the future.35 The recent case Mosley v News Group Newspapers also shows that courts have been more willing to rule that adulterous or casual sex affairs are matters in which one or both of the people involved have a reasonable expectation of privacy and will issue injunctions unless the defendant can persuade the judge there is a strong public interest in publishing the information.36 The facts of the case were that Max Mosley, the former president of the Fédération Internationale de l’Automobile (FIA), was awarded £60,000 against the News of the World in an action alleging breach of confidence and unauthorised disclosure of personal information for its exposure of his participation in a sado-masochistic orgy with prostitutes. The English law on privacy has therefore strengthened the economic and private rights of celebrities but it is questionable if and when ordinary people have a right to commercial confidence. What the cases show is that even celebrities have a right of privacy during private events on private property and with regard to information about a person’s health and their treatment for ill health. Moreover, Campbell has established that the values enshrined in Art. 8 and 10 ECHR will now be considered as part of a cause for an action of breach of confidence. 33 Campbell v MGN Ltd [2004] UKHL 22 on appeal from Campbell v MGN Ltd [2002] EWCA Civ 1373., para 24 per Lord Nicholls of Birkenhead. 34 Campbell v MGN Ltd [2004] UKHL 22 on appeal from Campbell v MGN Ltd [2002] EWCA Civ 1373., para 154, per Baroness Hale of Richmond. 35 Murray v Express Newspapers Plc [2008] EWCA Civ 446 and recently in: Weller v Associated Newspapers Ltd [2014] EWHC 1163 (QB). 36 Mosley v News Group Newspapers [2008] EWHC 1777 (QB); see also Mosley v United Kingdom [2011] 53 E.H.R.R. 30. 17IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW 3. IMAGE RIGHTS IN HUNGARY 3.1. Definition of the Term “Image Right” in Hungary Image rights under Hungarian law form part of a much broader concept of personality rights. These rights have their roots both in Hungarian constitutional law and civil law.37 Although personality rights per se are not listed among the fundamental rights of Hungarians under the current Fundamental Law,38 some of the fundamental rights have inherent connection with the personality of human beings.39 The legal literature correctly points out, however, that the basic purpose of the Fundamental Law is to list the fundamental rights and principles that a democratic country shall respect and enforce. The content of these rights – including personality and image rights – might be regulated by separate laws,40 so for example by the Civil Code of Hungary.41 The Hungarian civil law was amended by the acceptance of the Hungarian Civil Code (HCC) in 2013. HCC 2013 replaced HCC 1959 on March 15, 2014. In HCC 1959 image rights were listed under Title IV on “civil law protection of persons” and Chapter VII on “personality and intellectual property rights”.42 Currently, image rights are included within Book II on “Persons”, Part III on “Personality Rights” and Title XI on “General clauses and certain personality rights”.43 Personality rights, generally, provide for a right of protection against different forms of intrusion into the private sphere of persons. The structure of the rules on personality rights is absolute, that is, they are based on prohibitions and everyone is obliged to respect such rights. Any behaviour to the contrary might lead to an enforceable infringement. Personality rights are therefore closely connected to the integrity of different aspects of a person’s life and privacy. Personality rights are limited under the HCC 2013. Infringements are excluded, where the affected person directly or indirectly approved the behaviour of the user (“volenti non fit injuria”),44 or where the law allows for such intrusion (for example in order to use images for evidence purposes in criminal trials).45 All the above aspects show that Hungarian civil law does not focus on the exploitation (economic) aspects of personality and image rights. The wording of the rules on image rights under HCC 1959 and HCC 2013 show some significant differences. The old regime generally prohibited any misuse of the image (visual depiction) of a person (that is, his or her likeness) or the audio and/or video recording of 37 On the historical and doctrinal analysis of personality rights under the Hungarian Civil Code of 1959 (Act IV of 1959, hereinafter: HCC 1959) see: Sólyom (1983). On the most recent systematic analysis of image rights see: Boronkay (2014). 38 Magyarország Alaptörvénye (2011. április 25.), Chapter “Szabadság és Felelősség”, Arts. I-XXXI. 39 E.g. freedom and personal safety [Art. IV(1)]; fair trial provisions [Art. IV(2)-(4); defence against unlawful attack on the person [Art. V]; protection of private and family life, home, goodwill or personal data [Art. VI]; freedom of expression [Art. IX] and so forth. 40 Petrik (2013) 145. 41 See further: A személyhez fűződő jogok (2005) 3. 42 “A személyek polgári jogi védelme” and “A személyhez és a szellemi alkotásokhoz fűződő jogok”, respectively. See: HCC 1959, Art. 80. 43 “Az ember mint jogalany”, “Személyiségi jogok” and “Általános szabályok és egyes személyiségi jogok”, respectively. See: HCC 2013, Art. 2:48. 44 Boronkay (2014) 17–19. 45 Petrik (2013) 147–148.; A személyhez fűződő jogok (2005) 4. 18 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI a person’s voice, or the mixture of these two.46 HCC 1959 specifically required the affected person to authorise exposure of the image or recording to the public.47 Case law under HCC 1959 confirmed that the unauthorized recording of someone’s voice is per se an infringement, and consequently the user had to rely on a defence to avoid liability.48 Furthermore, the use of a picture of a person required permission with respect to both the creation of the photograph and the method of use.49 Alternatively, courts have consistently refused to treat the verbal and written disclosure of the substance of a sound recording, as well as the conveyance of the existence of a sound recording and a photograph as an intrusion to the image rights of persons.50 HCC 1959 explicitly allowed for the use of images and recordings of missing persons or people who were subject to criminal proceedings for committing serious crimes given that “weighty public interests” (especially the discovery of the crimes) or “equitable private interests” support such disclosure.51 Case law confirmed the legality of the use of images,52 video recordings53 and sound recordings54 both in criminal and – somehow expanding the scope of the provision – in petty offence procedures for purposes of evidencing.55 Furthermore, public figures (especially politicians) had to tolerate broader (harsher) expressions/opinions of people, especially due to the fact that they were fulfilling their duties in favour of society. So for example image rights of politicians were not infringed where photographs functioning as a caricature were published about them as long as such opinion of the publisher fits within the general frames of freedom of expression.56 Alternatively, images of public figures might be only used with regards to their public acting/performance.57 In a notable case – decided under the rules of the HCC 1959 – the Court of Appeal of Budapest decided that photographing policemen in service infringes the personality rights of the policemen.58 Later, however, the decision was found unconstitutional, and the Hungarian Constitutional Court overruled the judgment, claiming that any photograph that was taken at a public place and serves the interest of news reporting shall be disclosed without authorisation of the depicted persons.59 In its decision the Constitutional Court opined that when the different rights and interests of policemen and that of the whole society clash, the latter shall prevail. The Constitutional Court highlighted that freedom of 46 HCC 1959, Art. 80 para (1). Compare to: A személyhez fűződő jogok (2005) 9. 47 HCC 1959, Art. 80 para (2). 48 BH 2008/266. 49 BH+ 2015/13. Compare to: A személyhez fűződő jogok (2005) 10. 50 EBH 2012.P.16; BH+ 2013/155. 51 HCC 1959, Art. 80 para (2). 52 BH+ 2011/199; BH+ 2015/13. 53 EH 2000/296. 54 BH+ 2013/324. 55 Compare to Boronkay (2014) 24–25. 56 BH 1994/127; BH 2000/293. See further: Halmai (2000) 17–32. 57 BH 2006/282. See further: Boronkay (2014) 23. Under BDT2006.1298 public acting means any performance in events that might affect the life of the society; that might influence the national or local issues; or that were organized with such purposes. 58 Fővárosi Ítélőtábla Pf.20.656/2012/7. The decision was later approved by the Curia (Supreme Court) as well. See: BH 2014/104. Note that the latter decision was handed down before the ruling of the Hungarian Constitutional Court that ultimately quashed the Court of Appeals’ decision. 59 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat. 19IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW press has been a part of the Hungarian historical constitution.60 It functions as the means to create and maintain democratic public opinion, and all forms of press shall be equally protected under this fundamental right.61 Further, the distinct treatment of the right to privacy and the recording of the likeness or the voice of a person in public places is in accordance with the ECHR and the practice of the ECtHR.62 Consequently, the Constitutional Court has based its final decision on the constitutional aspects of freedom of press and human dignity, rather than civil law.63 As such, the protection of personality rights needs to be balanced with the freedom of press, as well as the right to receive and impart information in cases of public interest.64 The Constitutional Court declared the reporting of public events (assemblage of members of the union of protective services) a direct realisation of freedom of press and the freedom to impart information, as well as the shaping of “democratic public opinion”.65 With respect to the issue at hand, the majority opinion of the decision noted that reporting of the assemblage shall not be limited under personality rights, as long as imparting information on the event is not abusive.66 As such, taking photographs of policemen serving at (securing the safety of) a current assemblage deserves public attention, even if policemen are not “real participants” of the event. Exceptions to the freedom to record the likeness of policemen might exist. Such an example is where the human dignity is infringed by the reporting (like depicting the suffering of injured policemen), or where only one policeman is recorded on the image.67 Consequently, a factual, objective visualization of the crowd of a public event shall be treated as lawful and necessary in order to depart information by the press.68 Ultimately the Constitutional Court quashed the Appeals Court decision that decided the case in the opposite way.69 The new wording of image rights under HCC 2013 builds upon the regulations of HCC 1959, but – at the same time – codifies the case law introduced above. The current law requires the authorization of the affected persons to the creation as well as any form of use of an image or recording,70 including but not limited to reproduction, distribution, performance, display, transmission or making available (via the internet) to the public.71 No infringement occurs, where the affected person authorised the use of the image or recording either directly or indirectly. No authorisation is needed, however, where the picture or recording is taken of a crowd (“tömegfelvétel”)72 or of a “performance at a public event” (“nyilvános közéleti szereplés”). The latter limitation requires some clarification. The definition of “performance at a public event” is broader than the concept of performances of public figures.73 HCC 2013 clearly allows for the unauthorized photographing of and 60 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, paras. [11]-[14]. 61 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, paras. [15]-[17]. 62 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, paras. [25]-[26]. 63 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [27]. 64 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [35]. 65 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [38]. 66 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [42]. 67 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, paras. [43-44]. 68 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [48]. 69 28/2014. (IX. 29.) AB határozat, para. [49]. 70 HCC 2013 Art. 2:48 para. (1) 71 Petrik (2013) 157. 72 Compare to: A személyhez fűződő jogok (2005) 10. 73 On the concept of public figures see: Törő (1979) 22.; Sarkady (2006). 20 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI recording the voice of celebrities as well and not only “politically exposed persons”, as long as the affected performance is a part of “public life”, that is, it exceeds the limits of the performer’s private life and it deserves attention from the publicity. Furthermore, the limitation of personality rights of “politically exposed persons” is explicitly allowed by HCC 2013. It stresses that “exercising the fundamental rights relating to the free debate of public affairs may diminish the protection of the personality rights of politically exposed persons, to the extent necessary and proportionate, without prejudice to human dignity”.74 Such regulation a contrario confirms that the personality rights of celebrities deserve stronger protection. Notwithstanding the above, the private life of persons – following the standards of international human rights documents – is protected by the HCC 2013 as a separate personality right.75 Any arbitrary – unreasoned or statutorily not permitted – intrusion into the privacy of persons, including “politically exposed persons” and celebrities as well, shall be prohibited.76 Notwithstanding the above, Menyhárd recently opined that such separate protection of the private life of people under civil law might be unnecessary. First, such interest is protected as a fundamental right under international and domestic norms, and these laws include obligations of the countries/governments to defend their nationals’ rights. Second, the privacy of people is specifically protected through multiple unique rights – both under the Constitution and/or the HCC.77 It is consequently necessary to differentiate between the general right of personal right and the other specific rights of privacy. It is the task of the courts to meet this challenge.78 3.2. Intellectual Property Rights As HCC 2013 functions as lex generalis for all civil matters, it necessarily evades answering specific questions that might arise under lex specialis provisions, for example under intellectual property rights. Both copyright law and trademark law include rules that are closely connected to the protection of private interests over the images of and recordings of the voice of persons. The lex specialis nature of these statutes means, however, that not the person or the personality rights are protected, but rather the expressions of these persons, as long as these expressions fit into the relevant subject matter of the copyright or trademark laws. The Copyright Code of Hungary rules on the protection of works of authorship and other protected achievements (performances, recordings, broadcasts etc.). Not the ideas or the forms, but the expressions that are original in nature are protected. As such an image that visually depicts a person might be automatically79 protected as a protected subject matter (as a photographic work).80 Copyright is, however, solely granted to the photographer, 74 HCC 2013 Art. 2:44. 75 HCC 2013 Art. 2:43 point b). 76 See especially Supreme Court’s decision no. Pfv.IV.21.028/2000 from the case law under HCC 1959. The decision seems to be fully applicable under the current rules of HCC 2013. 77 See for example: life or health of people, protection of integrity and personal data, protection against discrimination, defamation or trespassing. 78 Menyhárd (2014) 178. 79 Compare with the Painer decision of the Court of Justice: Eva-Maria Painer v Standard Verlags GmbH and Others, Case C-145/10, ECLI:EU:C:2013:138. 80 Act LXXVI of 1999, Art. 1 para. 2 point i). The latest version of the statute that is available via WIPO’s database (http://www.wipo.int/wipolex/en/details.jsp?id=11840) is valid in respect of the quoted paragraphs. 21IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW that is, the author of the work, since the likeness of a person (his face or fully body image) does not function as an expression, but rather as a mere fact. In Hungary, printing the face of the famous Italian actor, Bud Spencer, is quite common, as well as selling products with the tag of “beer and sausage competition” that refers to a remarkable scene of the movie “...altrimenti ci arrabbiamo!” (“Különben dühbe jövünk”, “Watch Out, We’re Mad!”, 1974). In the movie Bud Spencer and Terence Hill competed in drinking beer and eating sausages until losing consciousness. This type of competition became a form of amusement amongst college students in Hungary. Audio or video recordings of the voice of persons are treated in a more complex fashion under copyright law. Publicly held speeches are protected subject matter,81 and consequently the author of the speech deserves copyright protection. Although the Berne Convention might allow for the opposite,82 the Copyright Code of 1999 did not exclude public speeches held by politicians from the scope of protected subject matters. Furthermore, performers and producers of the audio and video recordings similarly deserve neighbouring rights protection. In the latter cases, no originality is necessary on the side of the producer and the performer in order to be covered by the rules of the Copyright Code. Still, the HCC, as lex generalis, comes into the foreground. As we have stressed above, under Art. 2:48 para. (2) no authorization is needed to make a voice recording taken of a crowd or of a “performance at a public event”. Consequently, any other recording might be subject to authorisation. So for example a public university lecture shall not be classified as a performance in the crowd (“tömegfelvétel”) or at a public event (here, again, the Hungarian expression is more descriptive: “nyilvános közéleti szereplés”). Finally, the Copyright Code of 1999 also includes provisions on merchandising rights; however, these are all attached to original works of expressions, especially unique and original characters or the title of a work83 rather than the likeness or voice of a person, even if the latter is the author of such titles or characters. The Hungarian Trademark Law grants protection to “any signs capable of being represented graphically provided that these are capable of distinguishing goods or services from those of other undertakings”.84 These signs might include names, pictures and sound signals as well.85 The use of names as trademarks is quite common in Hungary as well;86 however, no widely known example might be presented, where the name of a person that was not closely connected to goods or services and that does not have any unique, distinctive feature was registered. Similarly, the likeness or the recorded voice of a person might function as a trademark, if it is distinctive and is capable of incorporating the respected good or service. A notable example of trademarked slogans of celebrities is the one that the late sport reporter, Jenő Knézy used. He would start his commentary at all sports events 81 Act LXXVI of 1999, Art. 1 para. 2 point b). 82 Compare to the Berne Union Convention (1971), Art 2bis para 1. 83 Act LXXVI of 1999, Art. 16 paras. 2–3. 84 Act XI of 1997, Art. 1 para. 1. The English translation of the statute is available via WIPO’s database: http://www.wipo.int/wipolex/en/text.jsp?file_id=330915. On the substantive requirement of distinctiveness see: Vida (2010) 75-78.; Szalai (2010) 8–33. 85 Act XI of 1997, Art. 1 para. 2 points a), c) and f). Here, the protection of sound signals – that are not graphical, but aerial signs – under Art. 1 para 2 point f) necessarily broadens the scope of Art. 1 para. 1 that explicitly refers to signs that might be graphically represented. 86 See for example: László, Mező (2013) 26–30. 22 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI with “good evening and enjoy the game” (“jó estét, jó szurkolást”).87 Another example is that of the likeness of the former reality show celebrity Alekosz which was depicted in his unique pose, where the ultimate picture was used as the advertisement for another reality show titled “Love Supreme – Alekosz is looking for a wife” (“Szerelem a legfelsőbb szinteken – Alekosz feleséget keres”).88 The above examples are clearly connected to commercially exploitable services, and they evidence that the mere name, likeness and voice of a person cannot be protected under trademark law without such direct distinctiveness. 4. COMPARATIVE AND CONCLUDING REMARKS A comparison of the legal systems of the UK and Hungary indicates several major differences with respect to image rights.89 A fundamental reason for that diversity comes from the traditional distinguishing of common law and statute law. Hungarian civil law fully recognises a right of personality and provides explicit statutory protection against the unlawful commercial exploitation of an individual’s image. In contrast, English judges still do not expressly recognise a general image right, however, the common law actions of passing off and breach of confidence have always been useful instruments to flexibly adapt to developments including false endorsement and false merchandising claims. In addition to the explicit statutory protection provided in Hungary, both systems provide for protection under specific intellectual property laws, in particular trade mark law or copyright law. As we have seen, however, the prerequisites of the use of images and recorded voice under the rules of copyright and trademark law are quite special, and therefore the scope of such exploitation is quite tight. To qualify for trademark registration in cases where the celebrity is already famous, the public must associate the celebrity with the goods sought for registration and the name or likeness must be sufficiently distinctive. Copyright under both systems is more likely to assist in protecting the rights of the broadcaster or photographer but situations rarely arise where copyright provides a realistic means of protecting a person’s image as such. In the UK, however, in addition to that, copyright may subsist in the image of fictional characters, providing a cause of action against its unauthorised use by third parties, alongside other heads of claim, such as passing off. Although historically, English common law has recognised no general tort of privacy, privacy in English law is a rapidly developing area that considers in what situations an individual has a legal right to informational privacy – the protection of personal or private information from misuse or unauthorised disclosure. Where there is reasonable expectation 87 Application number: M9803164; registration number: 157778. The application for the trademark was submitted by Knézy’s children, Jenő Knézy, Jr. (who is a sport reporter as well) and Beatrix Knézy. The trademark application was submitted on August 5, 1998, and it was registered on September 14, 1999. Knézy passed away in 2003, and the protection was not renewed in 2008. 88 Application number: M1101262; registration number: 204548. The application for the trademark was submitted by Magyar RTL Televízió Zrt., the owner of Hungary’s most popular television channel (RTL-Klub). The trademark application was submitted on April 21, 2011, and it was registered on October 26, 2011. 89 On the differences between the British and Hungarian – and several other – legal systems with respect to privacy see: Menyhárd (2014) 180–201. 23IMAGE RIGHTS: EXPLOITATION AND LEGAL CONTROL IN ENGLISH AND HUNGARIAN LAW of privacy, taking and publishing of photographs without consent is likely to be an invasion of privacy, unless there is a clear public interest at stake. The law on privacy has partially changed in the last few years in Hungary. The new HCC has – at least partially – codified the former case law on this issue; however, it left unanswered several significant questions. Menyhárd correctly noted that the boundaries between private interests of people (especially those under “private life” and any other rights under HCC) still need to be settled by the judges. As a matter of fact, such new regulations do not seem to be in any contradiction with the special laws on intellectual property law. Consequently, HCC 2013 and the copyright and trademark laws may easily complement each other: HCC 2013 rules on the existence of the rights and interests of persons; whilst Intellectual Property norms regulate the economic exercise of privacy rights. In the absence of a formal legislative or jurisprudential recognition of image rights and what has been identified as “piecemeal” legislation and protection, English courts are increasingly stretching the boundaries of existing rights to strike a balance between competing interests and to recognise the commercial value of image rights. It remains to be seen whether English Courts will gradually recognise the existence of a proper personality or image right in the near future. Unlike their British colleagues, Hungarian judges do not need to significantly change the practice on image rights. This is especially true in light of the decision of the Constitutional Court on the publication of photographs of policemen. Although that decision has left a certain margin of discretion for judges to consider the facts of the cases on an individual basis (especially with respect to the private life of public figures), it has confirmed that a factual, objective visualisation of the crowd of a public event should be treated as lawful and necessary in order to obtain and make information available by the press. It follows that the protection afforded to images by Hungarian Law is broader than in the UK, and generally sufficient to protect a personality against the use of images for commercial purposes. LITERATURE Bainbridge, D., Intellectual Property, (9th ed, Pearson 2012). Beverly-Smith, H., The commercial appropriation of personality (Cambridge University Press 2004). Blum, J., Ohta, T., ‘Personality disorder: strategies for protecting celebrity names and images in the UK’ (2014) 2 Journal of Intellectual Property Law & Practice 137–147. Boronkay, M., ’A képmáshoz és a hangfelvételhez fűződő jog’ in Z Csehi and A Koltay and Z Navratyil, A személyiség és a media a polgári és a büntetőjogban az új Polgári Törvénykönyvre és az új Büntető Törvénykönyvre tekintettel (Wolters Kluwer 2014) 11–56. Cornish, W., Llewelyn, D., Intellectual Property: patents, copyright, trademarks and allied rights (5th ed, Sweet and Maxwell 2003). Fletcher, S., Mitchell, J., ’Court of Appeal found no love for Topshop tank: the image right that dare no speak its name’ (2015) 1 European Intellectual Property Review 394–405. Halmai, G., ’Közszereplők személyiségvédelme kontra közügyek vitathatósága’, (2002) 2 Fundamen- tum 17–32. László, Á. M., Mező, B., ‘Kell a cégér! A forgalmazói védjegyhasználat egyes kérdései’, (2013) 2 Iparjogvédelmi és Szerzői Jogi Szemle 26–30. Menyhárd, A., ‘A magánélethez való jog a szólás- és médiaszabadság tükrében’ in Z Csehi and A Koltay and Z Navratyil, A személyiség és a média a polgári és a büntetőjogban az új Polgári Törvénykönyvre és az új Büntető Törvénykönyvre tekintettel (Wolters Kluwer 2014) 177–226. Petrik, F., ‘Személyiségi jogok’ in L Kecskés and A Kőrös and K Makai and Á Orosz and A Osztovits and F Petrik, Az új Ptk. magyarázata I/VI. – Polgári Jog, Bevezető és záró rendelkezések, az ember mint jogalany, öröklési jog (HVG-Orac, 2013) 166–214. 24 CORINNA COORS, PÉTER MEZEI I. Könyv: A személyek – III. Rész: A személyhez fűződő jogok, (2005) 3 Polgári Jogi Kodifikáció 3–15. Romer, J., Storey, K., ‘Image is everything! Guernsey registered image rights’, (2013) 1 Entertainment Law Review 51–56. Sarkady, I., ’A közszereplők személyiségvédelme a bírói gyakorlatban’, Médiakutató (Fall edn 2006). Sólyom, L., A személyiségi jogok elmélete (Közgazdasági és Jogi Könyvkiadó 1983). Middlemiss, S., Warner, S., ’Is there still a hole in this bucket? Confusion and misrepresentation in passing off’ (2006) 2 Journal of Intellectual Property Law & Practice 131–142. Szalai, P., ’A védjegy megkülönböztetőképességének elvesztése’ (2010) 5 Iparjogvédelmi és Szerzői Jogi Szemle 8–33. Törő, K., A személyiség jogi védelme (Közgazdasági és Jogi Könyvkiadó 1979). Vida, S., ’Az Európai Bíróság gyakorlatának hatása a magyar védjegyjogra’ (2010) 3 Iparjogvédelmi és Szerzői Jogi Szemle 75–78. Waelde, Ch., Laurie, G. (et al), Contemporary Intellectual Property (3rd ed, Oxford University Press, 2014). Walsh, Ch., ’Are personality rights finally on the UK agenda?’, (2013) 1 European Intellectual Property Review 253–260. 
work_65qelmmuxfbrbpkf5tu47kbe3e	----	A history of Animal Behaviour by a partial, ignorant and prejudiced ethologist | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1006/ANBE.2003.2183 Corpus ID: 53158835A history of Animal Behaviour by a partial, ignorant and prejudiced ethologist @article{Huntingford2003AHO, title={A history of Animal Behaviour by a partial, ignorant and prejudiced ethologist}, author={F. Huntingford}, journal={Animal Behaviour}, year={2003}, volume={66}, pages={409-415} } F. Huntingford Published 2003 Psychology Animal Behaviour This essay looks back on the history of Animal Behaviour through a compilation of all the papers published in the journal, since it got its present name, that used sticklebacks, the white rat of ethology, as experimental subjects. This stickleback-eye view confirms the role that Animal Behaviour has played during its first 50 years in fostering and recording the important developments that have taken place in the discipline. It also speaks to its current flourishing state as a key journal for… Expand View on Elsevier doi.org Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 9 CitationsBackground Citations 5 Methods Citations 2 View All Tables from this paper table 1 9 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency New Zealand trends in animal behaviour research Veronica Guadarrama-Maillot, J. Waas Biology 2008 1 Save Alert Research Feed Tinbergian Practice, themes and variations : the field and laboratory methods and practice of the Animal Behaviour Research Group under Nikolaas Tinbergen at Oxford University Graeme Beale Psychology 2009 2 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Trends in animal behaviour research (1968–2002): ethoinformatics and the mining of library databases T. J. Ord, E. Martins, Sidharth Thakur, K. Mane, K. Börner Psychology Animal Behaviour 2005 32 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites methods Save Alert Research Feed Behavioral biology of trace fossils R. Plotnick Biology Paleobiology 2012 27 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Using citizen science to survey the invertebrate communities on reclaimed collieries Kevin J. Rich Biology 2011 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Towards computational models of animal cognition, an introduction for computer scientists Z. Ma Computer Science Cognitive Systems Research 2015 6 Save Alert Research Feed Trying to See Red Through Stickleback Photoreceptors: Functional Substitution of Receptor Sensitivities M. Rowe, C. L. Baube, J. B. Phillips Biology 2006 21 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Evolutionary Genetics in the WIld : from Populations to Individuals T. Leinonen Biology 2010 Save Alert Research Feed Step 1 : Measure ( or Compute ) Light Step 2 : Compute Cone Quantal Catches M. Rowe 2007 View 2 excerpts, cites background and methods Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-10 OF 26 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Hormonal correlates of being an innovative greylag goose, Anser anser K. Pfeffer, J. Fritz, K. Kotrschal Psychology Animal Behaviour 2002 57 Save Alert Research Feed Selective breeding for differential aggression in mice provides evidence for heterochrony in social behaviours J. Gariépy, Daniel J. Bauer, R. Cairns Psychology Animal Behaviour 2001 34 Save Alert Research Feed Does corticosterone mediate bidirectional interactions between social behaviour and blood parasites in the juvenile black iguana, Ctenosaura similis ? K. Hanley, J. Stamps Biology Animal Behaviour 2002 25 Save Alert Research Feed Family, sex and testosterone effects on garter snake behaviour R. B. King Biology Animal Behaviour 2002 23 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Behavioural individuality assessed from two strains of cloned fish K. Iguchi, N. Matsubara, Hiroshi Hakoyama Biology Animal Behaviour 2001 48 Save Alert Research Feed Generalization of fear in farm mink, Mustela vison, genetically selected for behaviour towards humans J. Malmkvist, S. W. Hansen Biology Animal Behaviour 2002 95 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Influence of colony genotypic composition on the performance of hygienic behaviour in the honeybee, Apis mellifera L. H. S. Arathi, M. Spivak Biology Animal Behaviour 2001 75 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Variation in steroid hormones associated with infant care behaviour and experience in male marmosets (Callithrix kuhlii) S. Nunes, Jeffrey E. Fite, J. French Psychology, Medicine Animal Behaviour 2000 114 Save Alert Research Feed Pigs shift too: foraging strategies and spatial memory in the domestic pig K. Laughlin, M. Mendl Psychology, Medicine Animal Behaviour 2000 68 Save Alert Research Feed Behavioural insensitivity to supplementary testosterone during the parental phase in the chestnut-collared longspur,Calcarius ornatus S. Lynn, L. Hayward, Z. M. Benowitz-Fredericks, J. Wingfield Biology Animal Behaviour 2002 89 Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 ... Related Papers Abstract Tables 9 Citations 26 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. 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work_65fzfakr5bdbxg6g7pi5zpvnfu	----	Globalisation, cosmopolitanism and consumption University of Warwick institutional repository: http://go.warwick.ac.uk/wrap This paper is made available online in accordance with publisher policies. Please scroll down to view the document itself. Please refer to the repository record for this item and our policy information available from the repository home page for further information. To see the final version of this paper please visit the publisher’s website. Access to the published version may require a subscription. Author(s): MIKE SAVAGE, DAVID WRIGHT, MODESTO GAYO-CAL Article Title: Cosmopolitan nationalism and the cultural reach of the white British Year of publication: 2010 Link to published article: http:dx.doi.org/ 10.1111/j.1469-8129.2010.00449.x Publisher statement: The definitive version is available at www.blackwell-synergy.com http://go.warwick.ac.uk/wrap 1 Cosmopolitan nationalism and the cultural reach of the White British Mike Savage, David Wright and Modesto-Gayo-Cal. Corresponding Author: Dr. David Wright, Centre for Cultural Policy Studies, University of Warwick, Coventry CV4 7AL. e-mail: D.Wright.3@warwick.ac.uk Biographical Notes Professor Mike Savage is Director of the ESRC’s Centre for Research into Socio- Cultural Change at the University of Manchester. His recent works include the co- authored Globalisation and Belonging and The politics of method: identities and social change in Britain since 1940. David Wright is an Assistant Professor in the Centre for Cultural Policy Studies at the University of Warwick with interests in the sociological study of taste, cultural consumption and cultural policy. He was a Research Fellow on the Cultural Capital and Social Exclusion project, based at the Open University. Modesto Gayo-Cal is an Assistant Professor at the Universidad Diego Portales in Santiago (Chile). He was a Research Fellow on the Cultural Capital and Social Exclusion project at Manchester University. His areas of interest are theories of nationalism, political behaviour, middle-classes and cultural consumption. Along with Savage and Wright, he is a co-author of the book Culture, Class, Distinction (Routledge, 2009). mailto:D.Wright.3@warwick.ac.uk 2 Cosmopolitan nationalism and the cultural reach of the White British Abstract In recent years, strong claims have been made for the breakdown of national boundaries and the re-formation of national identities in an increasingly interconnected global world – driven in large part by the possibilities and limitations that emerge from an increasingly global media world. It has been argued that new post-national, cosmopolitan subjectivities accompany, enable and feed-off globally oriented forms of cultural consumption. This paper examines these claims in the light of unusually comprehensive data on the tastes of the white British population collected in a large national sample survey, in-depth interviews, and focus groups. By identifying and analysing the geographical spread of the cultural referents of the tastes of the white British we make an empirical assessment of the claims for cosmopolitan identities. We argue that, if white British identities are being reformed by processes of globalisation it is, paradoxically, in an increasingly Anglophone direction. Key Words: Cosmopolitanism, culture, national identity, taste. Word-count: 7,949 3 Introduction: Cultural contact, cosmopolitanism and the ‘national’ imagination. During the 1990s the analysis of nationalism pitched those who emphasised the modernity of nationalism, linked to the role of state building and modern forms of print communication, against those who emphasised the long term historical bases of national identities emerging out of complex webs of ethnic affiliations and cultural tensions (e.g. Anderson 2006; Breuilly 1993, Smith 1995, 1986). Recently, there has been increasing recognition that globalisation, mobility and migration have somewhat altered the stakes of these debates. These developments demand a somewhat different analytical approach, focusing on everyday practices and the cultural meanings of national belonging in hybrid conditions (Billig 1995; Hearn 2007; Smith 2008), and relating contemporary nationalism to cosmopolitanism (Calhoun 2007, 2008) as the dominant form of apparently ‘post-national’ identity. In Nick Stevenson’s words cosmopolitanism tends to be conceptualised as ‘a way of viewing the world that among other things dispenses with national exclusivity. …. Arguably cosmopolitan thinking is concerned with the transgression of boundaries and markers and the development of a genuinely inclusive cultural democracy and citizenship for an information age’ (Stevenson 2003: 332) In this paper, by contrast, we argue, on the basis of significant empirical evidence on the geographical spread of cultural tastes, that cosmopolitanism does not necessarily mark a break from distinctly national cultures, as much as a complex reworking of 4 them. We follow here in the footsteps of Calhoun (2003) who famously defines cosmopolitanism as complicit with the world view of corporate executive ‘frequent travellers’, who have the ability to (reworking Simmel’s famous phrase about the ‘stranger’) ‘come today and leave the day after tomorrow’. In this perspective cosmopolitanism is not only linked to the privileged classes but is also central to the hold of ethnic and religious divisions characterised by the (so called) ‘War on Terror’ and what Huntington (1996) identifies as the ‘Clash of Civilisations’. Thus Calhoun (2007) underlines the ambiguity of cosmopolitanism. On the one hand, in societies and in a world where cultural diversity is a norm, it is easier or more feasible people for people to live together in egalitarian terms. However, on the other hand, taking into account that inter-personal solidarities come from particularistic, specific or local social interrelations, a locally disembedded orientation damages social solidarity. Drawing on these perspectives, we can see how cosmopolitan identities can be central to the reworking of white, Christian, Eurocentric and Anglophone identities. Our position emphasises the need to understand the relationships between cosmopolitanism and nationalism as a part of a broader global process, which is attentive to how cultural signifiers from different parts of the globe are configured into a distinctively national formation. Here there is an important difference from the 1990s debate on nationalism which pitched modernists, who emphasised ‘‘the invention of nationalism’, in which the nation is seen as a cultural artefact or ‘imagined community’ (Anderson 2006) against primordialists who emphasised the nation as durable ‘historic deposit’ (Smith 1986). Both accounts differently analysed what might be termed the ‘internal formation of nations’ - for instance the development of transport networks, schooling systems, citizenship entitlements, and the existence of key symbolic referents 5 of the nation which were appreciated by the national population. By emphasising the role of ‘cosmopolitan nationalism’, however, we can focus on how constructions of the nation are also bound up with global flows and movements. This involves criticising the view that contemporary forms of cultural production and circulation, and consumption shatter national boundaries and permit new fluidities in the movement of people, signs, artefacts and identities in the way proposed by sociologists such as Albrow (1996), Castells (1996) and Robertson (1995). We argue, in contrast, that national cultures can be remade through contemporary cultural flows (see more generally, Calhoun 2007, 2008) whilst also recognising that, following Smith (1986) the so-called ‘hybridization’ or ‘fragmentation’ of national identities are phenomena that run in parallel with the maintenance of the privileged political or symbolical positions by ethnicities which were dominant in the first place. We therefore part company from sociological arguments that flows promote new kinds of homogeneous spaces, or what Augé (1995) famously called ‘non-places’. The world of shopping malls and motorway interchanges, airport lounges, waterfront developments and suburban estates seemed to evoke new kinds of global spaces which could be found in all nations. Instead we emphasise that, in the wake of intensified geo- political tensions, global cultural flows involve the proliferation of diverse cultural signifiers and global connections that can generate new kinds of national identity (Gilroy 1993; Ong 1999; Kalra et al. 2005; Papastergiadis 2000). Appadurai’s emphasis on the proliferating flows of different ‘scapes’ has been influential in pointing to the way that distinct identities are constructed through mobilising specific imaginaries (Appadurai 1996). New forms of cultural mobility lend themselves to the re-working of national cultures. In this paper we therefore pursue the argument that cosmopolitanism 6 allows the reformation of white British identities in an environment which is both multi- cultural and shaped by global cultural flows. The British case is a particularly interesting one to consider here, having been identified by Calhoun (2008: 431) as the central location for cosmopolitan discourse i . British identities have historically been closely linked to empire and trade (Kumar 2005; Cohen 1997) so that it is highly germane to consider how global cultural flows might be remaking Britain’s national cultural referents. The complex relations between the English, Scottish, Welsh and Irish have themselves made British national identities (as well as those of its constituent nations) historically fraught and uncertain. This is one reason why British notions of ‘high culture’ have often looked outwards, for instance to European cultural referents, notably European classical music and literature. This is linked to the relative historical weakness of explicit cultural conceptions of ‘Englishness’ until the recent past (see Kumar 2005 and Hutchinson et al 2007). Post war changes including de-colonisation and the decline of empire, immigration into the UK, as well as the incorporation of the UK into the European Union pose powerful challenges to British culture which draw on motifs of Eurocentric whiteness and Empire. Although interest in ‘whiteness’ and ‘Britishness’ or ‘Englishness’ as an object of sociological study has risen in recent years (e.g. Jacobson 1997; McCrone 1997; Langlands 1999) there remain relatively few empirical case studies of how this is understood ‘on the ground’. Savage et al. (2005) draw on 182 in-depth interviews with predominantly white middle class residents near Manchester to argue that, although many people have considerable global connections with their kinship networks, friendships and life experiences often ranging well beyond UK boundaries, their 7 salience rarely stretches beyond the Anglophone boundaries of the former British Empire. To address this limitation, this paper examines in detail the geography of the symbolic imagination of the white British population as it is revealed by their cultural tastes to reflect on their relationship to contemporary national identity. We draw on the unprecedented range and quality of the data collected as part of the ESRC funded ‘Cultural Capital and Social Exclusion’ ii project on cultural taste, participation and knowledge in the UK in 2003-2006 (see Bennett et al 2009). This project involved three components. Firstly, we conducted 25 focus groups with groups from different age groups, geographical locations within the UK, sexualities, occupational groups, and ethnicities. 17 were with ‘white British’ focus groups. Secondly, we carried out a national sample survey of 1564 respondents (along with a boost survey of 227 respondents drawn from three minority ethnic groups: Pakistani, Indian, and Afro- Caribbeans). This survey contains an unusually varied number of questions on a range of cultural preferences and practices. A particular feature of these questions is that they do not just ask about people’s interests for genres but also ask people to identify which named artists, or specific works they know of and like. Because these named artists were deliberately derived from a variety of global locations, we have an unusual means of assessing how our respondents were able to connect with cultural signifiers with different origins. Finally, we also conducted in-depth interviews with respondents to the survey and, where appropriate and possible, their partners. This amounted to a further 44 interviews selected according to a theoretical sample designed to capture a range of social positions (see Silva 2005). Thirty-one of these were with white respondents. 8 The paper here uses both quantitative and qualitative data. In the second part we deploy our quantitative data, to assess how common it is for respondents to identify artists or art works from different geographical origins. We show here that it is British, and to a lesser extent, American referents which massively predominate amongst our national sample in general and our white British sample in particular. Moreover we show that both continental European and especially Asian, African, and South American sources are largely invisible. The absence of European contacts, traditionally those which have been lauded as the predominant focus for high culture, is especially important for the younger age groups. In the third part of the paper, we use our qualitative material to explore in greater depth how cultural contacts outside the UK were referred to. Our interest here is, in the spirit of Walter Benjamin (1973), in unpicking the auratic hold of different geographic locations in the minds of our respondents to reveal the kinds of excitements and fascination associated with different locations and to explore how respondents deal with the collapse of distance. In the fourth part of our paper we examine the theme of ‘escape’ in the qualitative data, and show the distinctive appeal of American cultural forms to the white British and in particular the power of either ‘quirky’ American culture or cultural forms which evoke a nostalgically ‘re-imagined’ British national space. Alongside this we see a tendency for younger sections of the white British population to distance themselves from cultural forms which might more obviously represent the contemporary nation. Together these four substantive points contribute to the debates between ‘cultural’ and historic or ethnic accounts of national identities by revealing the extent to which the global flows of contemporary culture serve to accentuate an imagined Britishness for White Britons. 2: The geography of cultural connections: survey evidence. 9 Our project was concerned to examine whether Bourdieu’s concept of cultural capital (1984) could be applied in the British context (see Bennett et al 2009 for an overview). The use of a survey combined with a qualitative phase to examine British tastes allowed us to engage with Bourdieu empirically and theoretically. The survey is sociology’s technology for knowing ‘nations’ (Savage and Burrows 2007), and Distinction was ineluctably a national study, a fact which has garnered criticism about both its ignorance of the ethnic complexity of 60s France and about the limited transferability of its insight to other places (Bennett et al. 2009; Holt 1997). Our survey’s deliberate engagements with both questions of ethnicity and with global culture, then, are two significant refinements to Bourdieu’s approach. It is interesting in this context to note that the concept of cultural capital, uneasily straddles national and European frames of reference, to the general exclusion of those from either the Americas or from various post-imperial landscapes. Embodied ‘high’ culture in the UK has historically been continental European in its definition and scope. This is true whether one focuses on the aristocratic, leisured culture of the ‘Grand Tour’ or that of the intellectual modernist ‘avant-garde’. In the former case, the cultural canon was identified with the ‘classical’ civilisations of Greece and Rome, channelled through the Renaissance which was centred in Italy, and then diffusing in the Enlightenment in the 18 th and 19 th centuries into France, Germany and other parts of northern Europe through classical music and the romantic novel. In the latter case, the central modernist cities (apart from London) were Paris (above all), Berlin and Vienna, with lesser venues such as Trieste, Turin, Barcelona and Moscow. The exception to this Eurocentric modernist is embrace is New York (perhaps construed as the United States’ honorary 10 European city) which was the only major modernist city to be located outside Europe. From within this framing, American culture has traditionally been identified, often disparagingly as ‘mass’ culture (Hoggart 1957), which lowers standards and spreads commercial values, whilst cultural forms from other parts of the world, though selectively incorporated through the ‘cosmopolitan’ experiences of the merchant classes, have historically been simultaneously marginalised and exoticised through ‘Orientalism’ (Said, 2003). In any case, cultural resources and their geographical spread are entwined with narratives of national identity and the symbolic imaginaries of nationhood. Given these historical patterns, what does our survey data indicate about the salience of different geographical markers in the cultural repertoire of the British today? 11 Table 1: Popularity of named artists/ art works, broken down by region. Named artist or art work Regional location Haven’t heard of (%) Like (%) Film Directors (would make a point of watching) Steven Spielberg US 4 44 Alfred Hitchcock US/UK 5 34 Pedro Almodovar E 92 3 Ingmar Bergman E 43 7 Jane Campion ‘Other-World’ 83 2 Mani Rathnam ‘Other-World’ 94 1 Books Haven’t heard of (have read) Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (JK Rowling) UK 4 21 Pride & Prejudice (Jane Austen) UK 7 38 Solace of Sin (Cathryn Cookson) UK 48 8 I know why the caged bird sings (Maya Angelou) US 80 4 The Firm (John Grisham) US 35 17 Madame Bovary (Flaubert) E 60 7 Musical works Haven’t heard of (listened to it and liked it) Wonderwall (Oasis) UK 26 49 Einstein on the Beach (Phillip Glass) US 84 3 Symphony No 5 (Mahler) E 53 19 Kind of Blue (Miles Davis) US 69 13 Oops I did it again (Britney Spears) US 22 26 Chicago (Frank Sinatra) US 8 65 Stan (Eminem) US 31 35 Four Seasons (Vivaldi) E 21 56 Visual Arts Haven’t heard of (seen works by and liked) Vincent Van Gogh E 6 67 Pablo Picasso E 6 49 Frida Kahlo ‘Other World’ 88 4 JMW Turner UK 27 51 Tracey Emin UK 72 3 Andy Warhol US 26 22 LS Lowry UK 23 55 12 Source: CCSE data, weighted We begin with a simple listing of the popularity of named film directors, books, musical works and artists in our national sample. Clearly, our findings are only valid for the items we examine here, although these are much more wide ranging than for other surveys. Table 1 reports on the proportion of the sample who like, or alternatively have not heard of, the various specific artistic works or artists that we inquired about in our research, which we break down by four global locations: British, American, continental European and ‘other world’. We should note that our British category includes English and Scottish artists, and American only includes works or artists from the United States. We do not have the data which allows us to readily tease out the relationship between national identities within the UK (on which see Condor et al 2006). We can see considerable specificity by cultural field in the salience of different regions of origin. In films, American directors massively predominate (though we should note Hitchcock’s hybridity as an English director who made his career in Hollywood). Even though we chose relatively popular European directors, and those from other parts of the world, they have very little general salience amongst our sample. In the field of literature, by contrast, the most popular novelists were British (Jane Austen and JK Rowling), though the American thriller writer John Grisham also has a good standing, and outpaces the British romance writer, Catherine Cookson, whose work is strongly associated with North Eastern England. By contrast Gustave Flaubert, as an exemplar of the European tradition of high-culture has few devotees. iii Music appears to travel easiest, insofar as European, American and British musicians enjoy high recognition, and levels of popularity appear more easily explained by their genre than by any other factor, with Phillip Glass, and to a lesser extent Mahler and Miles Davis having least 13 popularity. The same is true in the visual arts, where we see van Gogh, closely followed by LS Lowry, JMW Turner and Pablo Picasso enjoying most popularity, but Tracey Emin and Frida Kahlo being largely unknown and even more unappreciated. A few general conclusions can be derived from these findings. Firstly, figures from outside Europe, the US and UK do not command significant knowledge. The most strikingly unknown were the films of the Tamil Indian Mani Rathnam and the Mexican artist Frida Kahlo who was unknown by 88% of the sample. Secondly, the appeal of European influence was largely confined to the worlds of visual art and music, and there is a pattern that the older the figure is, the more popular they are (Vivaldi is more popular than Mahler, Van Gogh than Picasso, Bergman than Almodavar). American influences enjoy hegemony with respect to film directors and music. We might thus summarise our findings that cultural forms demanding linguistic competence are entirely skewed towards Anglophone referents, and although there is greater openness to European influences in music and the visual arts, this Euro-centrality may be a residue from older formations. Of course the cultural items we chose in our survey are largely arbitrary – and there are significant and important reasons, other than those of geography or global flows which enable or allow for an artist or item to be known or otherwise (note the 72% of the sample who hadn’t heard of the artist Tracey Emin, ubiquitous in the British art world and media circles). We will shortly use our qualitative material to provide other evidence on the geographical range of the white population. Before we do this, we can usefully examine how far different social and ethnic groups vary in their likelihood of appreciating art works and artists from different regions of the world. 14 We constructed a scale for cultural appreciation for artists and art works in each of four regions: British, European, American, and ‘Other World’. Respondents who had heard of the artist or art work obtained one point, which became two points if they also liked the artist or work. In addition to the questions listed in Table 1 (which indicates how each work or artist was coded to a region), we also used questions on favourite TV programmes. To give an example, respondents who appreciated every British artist and art works could obtain a maximum score of 19; those who had not heard of any would get 0. Each of the four scales has a different maximum because of the different number of questions focusing on artists or works from different regions. We can see that the ‘Other World’ score only has a maximum score of 5, and for this reason this scale is not readily interpretable. For the purposes of comparison Table 2 reports the score of each group as a percentage of the total possible score, to allow for comparison between the four scales and the various social groups. What is interesting to note here is the extent to which the scores vary by social group, so that we can explore variation in pre-dispositions to artists or works from different regions. Here we see some interesting patterns, with those for different age groups being the most noteworthy. Amongst 18-24 year olds the percentage on the American scale was 44% of items known and liked, whilst for European it was 25% and for ‘Other World’ it was only 8%. Amongst the over 65s, the relationship between British, American and European tastes is reversed, with British tastes dominating and the percentage on the scale for American tastes falling behind that of continental Europe. The percentage on the ‘Other world’ scale was lower, at 4%. We see here, then, two very different generations in terms of their cultural connections: an 15 older group where British, American and European references compete, but where one can detect British references dominating. This is very different from the younger group where American contacts dominate over others. Our findings are interesting in view of the arguments put forward by Back (1996) and Tyler (2004) which claim that younger whites are more questioning of national categories, and more able to borrow from ‘other’ ethnicities. Our findings suggest that, whilst, they do indeed score less highly in their valuing of British artists and works, and they look predominantly to American sources. Table 2: Percentage scores on scales by socio-economic, ethnic and age-groups. British American European ‘Other’ world professionals 56,8 41,3 44,3 8,0 Intermediate 54,2 37,9 34,3 6,0 Working class 45,8 34,2 24,3 4,0 Male 46,3 37,5 31,4 4,0 Female 53,7 35,8 39,3 8,0 White English 52,6 37,5 33,6 6,0 White British 49,5 35,8 28,6 6,0 White other 41,6 40,8 40,7 12,0 Ethnic minority 30,5 29,2 20,0 12,0 18-24 35,3 44,2 25,0 8,0 25-34 43,2 43,8 30,0 6,0 35-44 50,0 37,5 32,1 6,0 45-54 53,7 37,5 32,1 6,0 55-64 59,5 34,6 37,9 6,0 65-74 55,8 27,9 32,1 4,0 75+ 52,6 23,8 30,0 4,0 No educ qualifications 48.8 30.5 22.1 3.6 GCSE, CSE, O- level, NVQ/SVQ Level 1or 2 49.8 37 29.5 4.4 RSA/OCR Higher Diploma, City & Guilds Full T 53.1 39.8 31.8 3.8 GCE A-level, Scottish Higher Grades, ONC 50.5 38.8 31.1 7 Univer/CNAA Bachelor Degr, 57.4 42.1 45.3 10 16 Master Deg/Ph.D./D.Phil Indian boost 30,0 29,2 19,3 20,0 Pakistani boost 27,4 25,0 14,3 12,0 Afro-Carribbean 30,5 37,9 21,4 12,0 Source: CCSE data, weighted Although class differences in attitudes to cultural diversity are often emphasised, here they prove to be relatively muted. In fact the professionals score higher on every scale than the working class, and by a similar ratio. This includes references to American work and artists, so indicating that American culture is no longer (insofar as it ever was) predominantly mass, working class, culture. The slight exception to this point is that the score for European contacts is almost double amongst the professionals compared to the working class. This pattern recurs for data on education, where the university educated outscore those with lower levels of education and with a particular jump in the university educated towards familiarity with both ‘Other-world’ and European referents. Both these findings suggest that cosmopolitan tastes are bound up, as Bourdieu might suggest, with struggles for social status. Those who identify as White British gain high scores for British items, and demonstrate more recognition for American than European items with, again, items from the ‘Other world’ being marginal. The ‘white other’ scale, which includes Irish and other forms of European and migrants from former colonies shows an intriguing pattern, with British, American and European items all equally recognised, and with twice as many familiar ‘Other world’ items on average than their White British counterparts. Minority ethnic groups score lower on all the scales (apart from ‘Other world’), and especially on the European and British scales. The last three rows of Table 2 unpack these scores further by using our boost sample to distinguish three different ethnic minorities: here Pakistanis score lowest on all scores, followed by 17 Indians, whereas Afro-Carribeans obtain the highest scores especially on the American scale (so indicating the pull of the ‘Black Atlantic’, Gilroy, 1993). This data offers an important perspective to contemporary accounts of national identity, especially those concerned with the challenge to apparently settled identities wrought by emerging cultural flows. The identification, sampling and measuring of the cultural choices and preferences of white British population provides important empirical weight for theorising in this area – though, these findings need to be treated carefully. They are valuable in giving some indications of the cultural reach of different groups amongst a national random sample, but are too broad brush to allow us to tease out how ethnicity and geographical location interact and are articulated in the identities of our respondents. The most important finding, which indicates the striking decline in the salience of Eurocentric attachments amongst the national affiliations of the young, is one which we explore further in the next section. 3: Breaking the hold of continental Europe? There is considerable interest in the extent to which the British are ‘reluctant Europeans’ in terms of their attitudes to the European union and more generally the ‘European project’ (Cinnarella 1997; Cinnarella and Hamilton 2007). Cram (2009), for instance wonders how far there is a process of ‘banal Europeanism’ by which at a mundane level European practices are becoming more established. We are able to address this in telling ways by looking at British cultural tastes and preferences. One of the advantages of our focus group material is that participants introduced their own references in the course of their conversations, and did not simply respond to our prompts. This more ‘naturally occurring’ data, therefore, gives a more powerful way of 18 assessing the kinds of geographical range that these groups used. Considering this evidence, across the entire social range of the white focus groups, the absence of European referents in literature and film is remarkable. There were 53 references to specific books: none of these was to any named continental European author. The one exception, the autobiography of the German Formula One champion Michael Schumacher, is perhaps revealing since the author is not first and foremost a writer. Of the 91 references to a named film, only 1 was to a European film (the French Delicatessen). Of the 16 references to film directors, only 2 were to Europeans (the Spaniard Pedro Almodovar and the Dane Lars von Trier). Of 65 references to actors, only 1 was to a figure of continental European origin. This was the Austrian-American Arnold Schwarzenegger, currently Governor of California, whose film career is closely associated with – in fact entirely located in - Hollywood. Even in the world of music, where our survey shows greater appreciation and recognition of Europeans, only seven out of the 167 references are to continental Europeans (Mozart 3; Bach 2; Beethoven; Vivaldi). Whereas contemporary British and American musicians generate intense feelings and excitements, this invariably does not extend to continental Europe. We can also use our in-depth interviews with white respondents to consider the kind of art works and artists that individuals conjured up as being personally meaningful to them. The general pattern is similar. Out of 96 references to writers, only 4 were European (one of which is to the biography of Ingrid Bergman). Of 96 specific films that were named by our respondents, only one, Fanny and Alexander directed by Ingmar Bergman, was from continental Europe. Out of 111 references to musicians, there was only one reference to ‘Europop’ (to Abba, who famously and initially 19 controversially, sang only in English), and there were only 10 (all contained in 3 out of 44 interviews) references to European composers. Rather than being sources of fascination or interest, it appears that European references are marginal, even to the lives of the professionals for whom Table 2 indicates have the greatest European reference points. Insofar as such references are salient, this is nearly always for deeply old, classical, genres, which may be valued as historical resources but are not seen as having much contemporary purchase. What our qualitative interviews further reveal, though, is that when European or classical forms of culture are identified, they are usually treated in disparaging ways. Maria – a modern language teacher from the north of England, was an enthusiast for many artists, but she drew the line at the French writer and philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre. Maria Yeah, well I’m thinking of people like Sartre, I think sometimes they try to be so convoluted that they just end up going up their own backsides to be honest. Ronald – a legal secretary from the English Midlands who was unusual in being a genuine devotee of classical music, reflects a persistent ‘trace’ of the classical, European canon of high art and literature but one he shrinks away from in favour of his ‘not too heavy’ brand of English classical literature. In talking about his favourite literature, he shies guiltily away from ‘classical’ literature as he describes his preferences, 20 Ronald Well modern literature. I tend to read both classic otherwise, and modern literature. So it can be any of those. Interviewer Classics like what? Ronald Well, you’ve got, nothing ridiculously heavy, you know the true old English novels, Jane Austen, Hardy, those sort of things, but I’ve got Herodotus to read at the moment, I haven’t started it, it’s on the bookshelf looking appealing at me but I haven’t started it yet. The articulation of preferences provided by our qualitative material deepens our understanding of the complex relationship between cultural preferences and national identity. The evidence of these exchanges in particular is that European reference points are no longer (insofar as they ever were) central to British cultural geography. They are not, in Benjamin’s terms ‘auratic’. They are familiar, ‘tired’, a sign of a lost world, which, like Ronald’s unopened Herodotus, hang-around as half welcome guests from the distant past. If they do not constitute points of cultural excitement or fascination in the cultural construction of contemporary British identity, the next section begins to explore where these points might lie. 4: Sources of cultural fascination. In many of our qualitative interviews, we see a strong motif which celebrates ‘escape’. Such a notion is hardly a discovery – indeed it has been central in various ways to sociological and cultural studies accounts of the relationships between popular culture and everyday life. Of particular interest here, however, is the ways this escape seeks to 21 put Britain at a distance. It does so through an appeal to a non fixed space, yet at the same time, we can see it as under-girded by a cultural geography which involves features of difference and familiarity. This focuses either on an English fantasy past, or to the Anglophone parts of the world, reflecting what Gilroy (2004) has identified as a nostalgia for an imagined national past and a dissatisfaction or melancholy with a particular interpretation of the national present. Irene, a retired factory worker from the Midlands describes her preference for the American drama series of the 1980s in terms of their distance from her own life -experiences Irene Well I think we used to like Dallas and The Colbys and all that kind of thing, because it was glamorous and you know it took you out of the world, what it is today with all the beautiful clothes and you know the richness of all the oil fields. Maria (the Sartre disliking language teacher mentioned above) contrasts her ‘anti- Europeanism with two forms of decidedly British literary texts. On the one hand the altered Britain of the sci-fi parodist Terry Pratchett, which she describes thus, Maria For me the sci-fi part of it, it’s more fantasy than sci-fi , I’m thinking of Terry Pratchett, because it’s just so incredibly funny and it’s drawing parallels with our world but it’s set, it’s - his Discworld it’s a different world completely but there are parallels to our world jumbled up periods in time as well. A lot of it is sort of set with the decor being Tudor or Mediaeval but there’ll be modern concepts or a particular thing that happened in history would be reflected in his books. And he’s basically parodying it, very funny how they’re written. Nearly 22 every single sentence he writes is a reference to something else and the normal person just wouldn’t understand half of them. This altered, re-imagined Britain, with a quirkiness beyond the ken of ‘the normal person’ serves to distance Marie from parochial concerns and can be interpreted as a symbolic distancing from the reality of the national social space, though also allows the comfort of the familiarity of intertextuality. On the other hand she also describes her preference for historical detective fiction with decidedly British settings Maria I can give you for example there’s the Cadfael ones, although I do find her writing style a little bit heavy going at times. Susannah Gregory, she does, her series are based on Matthew Bartholomew, physician, a lecturer at Cambridge in the 15th century. Her books are especially good because they sort of bring the whole world to life. Michael Jecks’ books, he’s set in 14th century Devon. Candice Robb, she’s set in York in the 15th century and it’s the whole Mediaeval period. I love history and to have something that makes you think set in that period and books that do actually bring it to life, for me it’s just perfect. Popular tastes for reading are bound up with narratives of national identity in 21 st century Britain. Wright (2007), for example, considers national nostalgia as one element of the BBC’s 2003 search for ‘the nation’s favourite book’, The Big Read. In her study of the cultural meanings and referents of the Harry Potter literary franchise Cecire (2009) notes the tendency for fantasy literature to entail a ‘re-imagining’ of an idealised Anglicised history and landscape as a means of negotiating changed conceptions of Britishness. We see this re-imagined British landscape clearly here. Such texts, which 23 offer escape from Britain through parodising it, or either historical or futuristic referents, might be further contemporary manifestations of what Aldridge (1995), in his study of the success of the Peter Mayle book series on Provence refers to as literary ‘myths’ for the English which offer the means for readers to negotiate with and ironise the altered position of the UK in the broader European, post-imperial, global context. The tension between similarity and difference they exhibit also explains the appeal of American culture. Another respondent, Cherie, a professional in the heritage industry from the North of England similarly articulates her taste in detective novels, distinguishing between the ‘Miss Marple, in the library kind of thing’ – a definitively English kind of text which evokes an early twentieth century imaginary of imperial but genteel forms of national life – and what she views as more sophisticated American crime fiction. This casting of American literature as sophisticated is echoed by Amy, a doctoral student and focus group participant. We can contrast her preference for the American novelist Ann Tyler’s parabolic novels about ‘quirky, odd people’, with her hatred of the British TV drama series Bad Girls, which she describes as ‘the pittance. It’s crap TV’ We have seen in Section 3 that the white middle classes score highly on the American scale, as well as the British and European scales. Our qualitative findings do suggest a complex process of the ‘gentrification’ of American culture. A central feature here is the possibility of appropriating popular culture: or reclaiming what was sometimes called by our participants, ‘crap TV’. Especially in the focus groups of the younger white middle classes, a central theme became that of delineating ‘rubbish’ and the conditions under which such ‘crap’ could legitimately be consumed. By identifying certain programmes as ‘crap’, and hence showing that one knows the rules of the game of taste, 24 In Bourdieu’s terms, it becomes possible to watch them, in an ironic way. The noteworthy thing here, from our perspective, is that amongst the white British focus group discussants, ‘crap’ was consistently associated with British texts and forms. Focus groups, notably those held with younger professionals, made revealing comments about their ability to reflexively define and name their viewing patterns as a means of demonstrating the sophistication of their cultural palettes whilst disavowing forms of snobbery – a narrative of ‘I know it is crap and therefore I can watch it’ exemplified by Geena, a Trades Union officer recruited into a focus group organised with lesbians (a group consisting entirely of young, educated professional women). Here she refers to her recent viewing of a reality TV show set in the package holiday industry, Geena I watched something like ‘Club Reps: The Workers’ iv the other week and it was fantastic What was fantastic about it? Geena Because it could not have been further removed from my life in terms of the sort of age, orientation and geographical location and it’s completely unchallenging and yeah it demands nothing of me. By contrast, American popular culture is especially liable for positive appropriation. Sean, a young academic who took part in a focus group organised around young professionals remarks in relation to his own TV viewing Sean It involves constant moving between programmes, none of which I particularly enjoy! There’s this wonderful moment where something like the 25 West Wing really is on but, the rest of the time it’s so often just watching crap till one in the morning because I really can’t be bothered to go to bed. Zara, a marketing officer for a midlands arts gallery recruited to a group of professionals working in the culture industries similarly refers to contemporary American drama series as essential viewing, Zara There are programmes that I absolutely can’t miss otherwise somebody dies. Things like Twenty Four and Six Feet Under and the West Wing which I absolutely have to see British popular culture, though, is less likely to be appropriated in this way. When asked to describe the term ‘trashy TV’, participants in a focus group organised with cultural professionals produce the following exchange Tina: Big Brother, unfortunately for me it’s my trash soaps Zara Eastenders, oh Tina oh, it’s a load of crap Zara: every time you turn the telly on it’s on and you just - I don’t, you know if I’m in I’ll watch it, if I’m not in it doesn’t bother me but - I do feel myself drawn to it and I hate it, I hate myself for it ‘cos it’s rubbish The evidence here is that contemporary claims to cultural distinction appear to draw on a rendering of ‘quirky’ American/ Anglophone cultural forms. A fascination with TV programmes such as Six Feet Under, The Sopranos, or the West Wing; or the writing of 26 Ann Tyler or Terry Pratchett, is symptomatic of an emergent form of cultural cosmopolitanism which at one level seeks out the ‘other’, though it is essentially an ‘other’ which is congenial to the world views of the white, educated middle classes. This is especially important to understanding the cultural identities of these apparently cosmopolitan groups. For white Britons these almost-familiar referents reflect a taste- formation which re-embeds established, imperial, connections, whilst claiming a certain distance from parochial Britishness. Conclusions In this paper we have argued, on the basis of unusually wide ranging and detailed data on the cultural tastes and practices of a representative sample of the white British population, that we can see a re-making of British national cultural preferences. There is no simple cosmopolitanisation of cultural referents. Although we can identify various kinds of ‘scapes’ and ‘cultural mobilities’ which cross national boundaries, in our view, these largely serve to intensify white Anglophone identities, especially amongst the white, educated, middle classes. In the light of this evidence we propose three substantive concluding points. Firstly, proponents of globalisation such as Roland Robertson may well be correct in claiming that people are aware of the relativity of national cultures, and the fact that their cultural forms are particularistic and exemplify certain cultural limits and boundaries. However, this awareness is in large part still premised on the mundane centrality of national cultural forms, and is hence dependent on the continued power of national cultural referents – though the strategies of distancing oneself from these 27 referents was important, especially to younger cohorts. What we also see is that in seeking a certain critical distance from this national culture, large numbers of white Britons are drawn to historical or futuristic parodies, or utopic settings set in places which are both distant from, and yet utterly familiar to, the British setting. It is this which explains the attraction of the ‘imaginary landscape’ of those former colonies of the British Empire which have significant numbers of white settlers. This is the cultural imaginary of the (post-) colonial white British. Secondly, we have detected the weakening hold of European cultural referents. Although English language and culture historically emerged out of the European arena, and notwithstanding the UK’s membership of the European Community, and the considerable amount of tourism to selected European venues, European culture - where it is referred to at all - is seen as a historical residue, not an active area of contemporary cultural engagement. No contemporary continental European figures were identified in either our focus groups or in-depth interviews as ones that conveyed cultural fascination or interest. Although canonical Europeans from the past were known, especially in the visual arts and music, these did not convey excitement or intensity. We see this as the weakening of a Eurocentric white identity and its replacement with a more Atlanticist, Anglophone version. Finally, we need to note the sheer invisibility of cultural referents from vast areas of the world. China - and Asia in general, Africa, and South America, not to mention Eastern Europe, are ‘terra incognita’. Whilst these places might be increasingly culturally visible at the level of the global academy, the random post-code sample and the broad range of focus group participants reported here suggested they have little purchase in 28 the white British imagination more generally. Notwithstanding Edward Said’s arguments about the way that Orientalism involves the exoticised visibility of the ‘other’ our data indicates the mundane invisibility of the other. Our qualitative data indicate no references to, or interest in, non-Christian cultures. What we need to recognise, therefore, is that the proliferation of cultural flows is highly uneven across the globe, and tends to be based on the well known principle of ‘homophily’, that is to say they connect territories which are seen as being populated by ‘people like us’. In our view, therefore, we need to be attentive to the way that global flows and diasporic identities, far from encouraging utopic, liberal cosmopolitan identities, actually facilitate new kinds of particularistic ethnic and national identities. i Britain was a center of the 1990s boom in talk of cosmopolitanism. Reference to ‘cosmopolitan Britain’ became standard speech, as in: ‘Cosmopolitan Britain has emerged as one of the world’s most diverse and innovative food and drink markets’ It evoked sophisticated, metropolitan culture versus the non- cosmopolitan hinterlands; this was a period of renewal in the cultural and financial life of British cities with yuppies, art galleries, and startling improvement in restaurants’ (Calhoun 2008: 431) ii This paper draws on data produced by the research team for the ESRC project Cultural Capital and Social Exclusion: A Critical Investigation (Award no R000239801). The team comprised Tony Bennett (Principal Applicant), Mike Savage, Elizabeth Silva, Alan Warde (Co-Applicants), David Wright and Modesto Gayo-Cal (Research Fellows). The applicants were jointly responsible for the design of the national survey and the focus groups and household interviews that generated the quantitative and qualitative date for the project. Elizabeth Silva, assisted by David Wright, co-ordinated the analyses of the qualitative data from the focus groups and household interviews. Mike Savage and Alan Warde, assisted by Modesto Gayo-Cal, co-ordinated the analyses of the quantitative data produced by the survey. Tony Bennett was responsible for the overall direction and co-ordination of the project. iii The BBCs 2003 of the ‘nation’s favourite’ book, The Big Read, revealed a similar Anglophone dominance. Of the 100 books finally placed only 8 were written in a language other than English. Three of these were from South or Latin America (Two books by the Columbian Gabriel Garcia Marquez and one by the Brazilian Paulo Coelho) and only one by a contemporary European writer, the German novelist Patrick Suskind). iv A British documentary series following the exploits of a team of travel reps working for a package holiday company catering for British holiday makers in Greece and Gran Canaria. 29 References Albrow, Martin, 1996. The Global Age. Cambridge: Polity. Aldridge, Alan, 1995. ‘The English as They See Others: England Revealed in Provence’. The Sociological Review 43 (3): 415-434. Anderson, Benedict, 2006. Imagined Communities, Rev. ed. London: Verso Appadurai, Arjun, 1996. Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalisation. London and Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Auge, Marc, 1995. Non-places: Introduction to the Anthropology of Hyper-modernity. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Back, Les, 1996. New Ethnicities and Urban Culture: Racisms and Multiculture in Young Lives. London: UCL Press. Benjamin, Walter, 1973. Illuminations. London: Fontana. Bennett, Tony., Savage, Mike., Silva, Elizabeth., Warde, Alan., Gayo-Cal, Modesto., Wright, David, 2009. Culture, Class, Distinction. London: Routledge. Billig, Michael, 1995. Banal Nationalism. London: Sage Bourdieu, Pierre (1984) Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste. London: Routledge. Breuilly, John, 1993, Nationalism and the State, Manchester, Manchester University Press. 30 Calhoun, Craig, 2003. ‘The Class Consciousness of Frequent Travellers: Towards a Critique of Actually Existing Cosmopolitanism’ in S. Vertovec and R. Cohen (eds.) Conceiving Cosmopolitanism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Calhoun, Craig, 2007. Nations Matter. Culture, History, and the Cosmopolitan Dream. New York: Routledge. Calhoun, Craig, (2008), ‘Cosmopolitanism and Nationalism’, Nations and Nationalism, 14 (3): 427-448. Castells, Manuel, 1996. The Rise of the Network Society. Oxford: Blackwells Cecire, Marie, 2009, ‘Medievalism, Popular Culture and Identity Formation: Nationalism in a Globalizing World’. Paper presented at Nationalism and Globalization, ASEN conference, LSE, April 2009. Cinnirella, Marco, 1997. ‘Towards a European Identity? Interactions Between the National and European Social Identities Manifested by University Students in Britain and Italy’. British Journal of Social Psychology 36: 19-31. Cinnirella, Marco, and Hamilton, Saira, 2007. ‘Are All Britons Reluctant Europeans? Exploring European Identity and the Attitudes to Europe of Citizens of South Asian Ethnicity’. Ethnic and Racial Studies 30 (3): 481-501 Cohen, Robin, 1997. Global Diaspora. London: UCL Press Condor, Susan, Gibson, Stephen, Abell, Jackie, 2006. ‘English Identity and Ethnic Diversity in the Context of UK Constitutional Change’. Ethnicities 6 (2): 123-158. Cram, Laura, 2009. Identity and European Integration: Diversity as a Source of Integration’, Nations and Nationalism, 15 (1): 109-128, Gilroy, Paul, 1993. The Black Atlantic. London, Verso. Gilroy, Paul, 2004. After Empire: Multiculture or Postcolonial Melancholia. London: Routledge. 31 Hearn, Jonathan, 2007. National Identity: Banal, Personal and Embedded’, Nations and Nationalism, 13 (4): 657-674. Hoggart, Richard, 1957. The Uses of Literacy. Penguin: Harmondsworth. Holt, Douglas B, 1997. ‘Distinction in America? Recovering Bourdieu’s Theory of Taste From its Critics’, Poetics, 25 (2/3): 93-120. Huntington, Samuel P, 1996, The Clash of Civilizations, New York: Simon and Schuster. Hutchinson, John, Reynolds, Susan. Smith, Anthony, D, Colls, Robert and Kumar, Krishnan, 2007. ‘Debate on Krishan Kumar’s The Making of English National Identity’, Nations and Nationalism, 13 (2): 179-203 Jacobson, Jessica, 1997. ‘Perceptions of Britishness’. Nations and Nationalism, 3 (2): 181-199. Kalra, Virinder, S., Kaur, Raminder, Hutnyk, John, 2005. Diaspora and Hybridity. Sage: London. Kumar, Krishnan, 2005. The Making of English National Identity, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Langlands, Rebecca, 1999. ‘Britishness or Englishness? The Historical Problem of National Identity in Britain’. Nations and Nationalism, 5 (1): 53-69. McCrone, David, 1997. ‘Unmasking Britannia: the Rise and Fall of British National Identity’. Nations and Nationalism, 3 (4): 579-596. Ong, Aihwa, 1999. Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logics of Transnationality Durham: Duke University Press. Papastergiadis, Nikos, 2000. The Turbulence of Migration. Cambridge: Polity. Robertson, Robert, 1995. ‘Glocalisation: Time-space and Homogeneity-heterogeneity’ in M. Featherstone, S. Lash and R. Robertson (eds) Global Modernities. London: Sage. 32 Said, Edward, 2003. Orientalism Rev. ed. London: Penguin. Savage. Mike, Bagnall, Gaynor, Longhurst, Brian, 2005. Globalization and Belonging. London: Sage. Savage, Mike and Burrows, Roger, 2007. ‘The coming crisis of empirical sociology’, Sociology, 4 (5): 885-899. Silva, Elizabeth.B, 2005. Household Study: Technical Report. CCSE document, available at http://www.open.ac.uk/socialsciences/cultural-capital-and-social- exclusion/project-summary Smith, Anthony D, 1986. The Ethnic Origins of Nations, Oxford, Blackwells Smith, Anthony, D, 1995. ‘Gastronomy or Geology: the Role of Nationalism in the Reconstruction of Nations’, Nations and Nationalism, 1 (1): 3-23 Smith Anthony, D, 2008. ‘The Shifting Landscapes of Nationalism’, Nations and Nationalism, 8 (2): 317-330. Stevenson, Nick, 2003. ‘Cultural Citizenship in the ‘Cultural’ Society: A Cosmopolitan Approach’, Citizenship Studies 7 (3): 331-348. Tyler, Katharine, 2004. ‘Reflexivity, Tradition and Racism in a Former Mining Town’. Ethnic and Racial Studies 27 (2): 290-309. Wright, David, 2007. ‘The Big Read: Assembling the Popular Canon’. International Journal of the Book 4 (4): 19-26. http://www.open.ac.uk/socialsciences/cultural-capital-and-social-exclusion/project-summary http://www.open.ac.uk/socialsciences/cultural-capital-and-social-exclusion/project-summary 
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work_6cveaab5w5cvdjuz2h6gmuteoi	----	175 175..177 Ten books I was a teenager when, at Kuala Lumpur Railway Station, I fell in love with books; until then, I just read them. But these were the recently produced Penguin Modern Classics, addictive in their light grey paperback tones, their shape and feel. Among their authors Evelyn Waugh was an early favourite, with his richly laconic prose and his ironic understanding of how and why people behaved in a certain way, and of their often thoughtless assumptions of class and upbringing. For the next 10 years, during which I did a classics degree then a medical degree, a stream of paperbacks (and an unfortunate habit of hoarding them) informed my process of becoming a doctor. The problem of reading good writers, however, is the contrast they make with the appalling prose of your standard textbook or journal article. In the course of a career in psychiatry, finding only ten books that seem worth mentioning is rather difficult. As a serious clinician, you are supposed to have read Jaspers, Kraepelin, Freud and so forth, but reading more than a few chapters of complex translated German tends to have a ‘dusty’ feel. My theme, therefore, is English prose, written with care and love. Three Hundred Years of Psychiatry, 1535 to 1860 by Richard Alfred Hunter and Ida Macalpine As an amateur historian of psychiatry who has served his time in the endless repetitions and copper plate handwriting of Victorian asylum casebooks, I cannot possibly exclude Three Hundred Years of Psychiatry, 1535 to 1860 by Richard Alfred Hunter and Ida Macalpine.1 Written by practising psychiatrists (mother and son), its subtitle is A History Presented in Selected English Texts. These texts were largely collected by Hunter and Macalpine as a labour of love. From Bartholomaeus Anglicus (who describes melancholy as ‘a humour boystrous and thicke . . . bred of troubled congealyngs of bloud’), via treatises on everything from hallucinations to witchcraft and ‘hysteric disorders’, there are beautifully annotated sections of often just three or four pages, covering the gamut of writings up to Thomas Laycock’s ‘Unconscious cerebration or mentation?’ of 1860. This is more than a gold mine; it sets out the whole planetary system of the development of psychiatry, with all its difficulties and inanities. Whether it be diagnoses, knowing what to do with people, ethics, or the psychology of Shakespeare, it is all here, in a little over a thousand pages. Critics of history tend to mock archaic versions and dated language, but Timothy Rogers’ (1658–1728) advice ‘to the Relations and Friends of Melancholly People’ would help every crisis resolution team member feel that they have something useful to do, however badly trained or supported. Illustrations of Madness by John Haslam In the same historical vein, and as an inner-city psychiatrist, I cannot leave out the most enjoyable of the writings of John Haslam (1764–1844), apothecary to London’s Bethlem Hospital. Haslam wrote the first-ever book-length account of a single psychiatric case, namely Illustrations of Madness, which was first published in 1810. A nicely edited version with an introduction by the late Roy Porter was brought out by Tavistock Classics, 2 and it really is a delightful outline of a seriously psychotic individual, the notorious James Tilly Matthews (1770–1815). Matthews claimed (among other things) that he was tortured by a gang of assailants working with an Air Loom machine, which could cause ‘bomb-bursting’, ‘lobster-cracking’, and ‘lengthening of the brain’. Even more wonderful is that Haslam, who was defending his diagnosis in the light of a number of mocking criticisms from other members of the medical profession, produced an illustration of the Air Loom machine, which has now in fact been constructed and lies (I think) in a museum in Newcastle. The whole complex outline of the case is both fantastical and illustrative of Haslam’s clear and rather vitriolic prose style. Haslam published it because he thought it could effect some good ‘by turning the attention of medical men to the subject of professional etiquette’, and in the hope that it would curb ‘the fond propensity to form hasty conclusions or tend to moderate the mischief of privileged opinion’. Like psychiatry and psychiatrists today, he struggled with stigma, doubt, ready mockery and sheer ignorance. llustrations of Madness is a mere 81 pages of a detailed description of a complex delusional system, and every other page will chime with clinicians who treat psychotic patients today. The Discovery of the Unconscious: The History and Evolution of Dynamic Psychiatry by Henri F. Ellenberger While research in the history of psychiatry has been prolific over the past 30 years and articles are easily available – for example, in the journal History of Psychiatry – the other unique work that cannot be ignored by anyone who wants to understand how we got where we are is Henri F. Ellenberger’s The Discovery of the Unconscious: The History and Evolution of Dynamic Psychiatry.3 Magnificently referenced, and stretching from what the author called the ‘ancestry’ of dynamic psychotherapy, Ellenberger outlines the arguments and theories about the unconscious in ruthless detail, ending with a plea for doing justice to ‘the rigorous demands of experimental psychology and to the psychic realities experienced by the explorers of the unconscious’. Although he insisted on seeing dynamic psychiatry as a science, Ellenberger’s clear prose and sheer love of his subject are quite thrilling. Anyone wanting to understand what Freud was on about, why he argued with Janet, where Jung and Adler went to, and all the extraordinary events around psychoanalytic congresses, rejected theories, narcissistic bickering and the rise of psychotherapy will have a wonderful read. It is such a good book you can pick it up, read any chapter and enjoy it because of the level of clarity and information provided, as well as the author’s detached understanding of why people thought what they thought and argued so intensely. For example, the comparison between Freud and Adler starts with a list of characteristics in which Freud is described as ‘handsome, imposing, with a well-groomed beard’, while Adler is ‘not particularly handsome, unassuming, with a small moustache and pince-nez’. Ellenberger reckoned there was a fundamental law of the history of culture, namely ‘the swinging back and forth between two basic attitudes of the human mind’. Like all the best historians therefore, not only is he easy to read but what he has to say helps illustrate what we are doing in the here and now. Organic Psychiatry: The Psychological Consequences of Cerebral Disorder by William Alwyn Lishman When it comes to reading about psychiatry as practised in the clinical setting, I do not think I would have got through my career had it not been for William Alwyn Lishman and his Organic Psychiatry: The Psychological Consequences of Cerebral Disorder.4 As his registrar at the Maudsley Hospital in the late 1970s, it 175 The British Journal of Psychiatry (2016) 209, 175–177 doi: 10.1192/bjp.bp.116.175661 Chosen by Trevor Turner Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core was enough just to listen to him talk, lecture and adumbrate on why we did things. His definitions of terms were lucidity personi- fied. Likewise, the elegance of his writing in Organic Psychiatry is such that you can open it at any chapter and enjoy the read. The basis of ‘symptoms and syndromes with regional affiliations’, the complexities of epilepsy and head injury, and all the potential obscurities of the relationship between psychiatry and metabolic disorders or neurology are outlined with clarity and verve. One of the tragedies of British psychiatry has been the separation of psychiatric from neurological practice (something not accepted in Germany, for example) and a reading of Lishman can only make one wiser in the broadest context of clinical practice and personal experience. As mentioned earlier, the problem with most textbooks is their appalling prose and sheer dullness (brief papers, such as editorials, are so much nicer), so studying the prose in Organic Psychiatry should be mandatory for any up and coming researcher. If evidence-based practice is the watchword of our times, then clear writing and evidential discourse are essential to ensuring that articles and books are read, that ideas are taken on board, and that they are striking enough to enthuse young and old alike. Psychiatry in Dissent by Anthony Clare A more idiosyncratic discourse about the world of psychiatry, especially relevant to the generation that had to work through the anti-psychiatry theories of the 1960s and 1970s, is Psychiatry in Dissent by Anthony Clare.5 Clare is a vivid and engaging communicator; he presented In the Psychiatrist’s Chair on radio and television, and was a funny and engaging conversationalist and teacher. The book was nicknamed ‘Psychiatry Indecent’ by colleagues and friends, but it did something vital for the restoration of morale in a profession battered by its negative history, the assaults of sociology, and the disbelief in mental illness generated thereby (which was not helped by the antics of R.D. Laing and colleagues). Here was someone arguing clearly and honourably for psychiatry as the extraordinary unifier of medicine, psychology, sociology, law, history and geography. In a world where schizophrenia was intellectually accepted as a capitalist construction, Clare put up his hand and stated that there really was such a thing as mental illness, and that clinical diagnosis and even hospitalisation were perfectly acceptable procedures to help those who could not look after themselves. This is a lesson perhaps forgotten today, with the over-arching emphasis on home treatment and assumed recovery. Clare also insisted on the professional need for a broad biopsychosocial approach that embraced the profound truths of clinical medicine. He did not refrain from detailing the mistaken enthusiasms of the past, but acknowledged with sympathy the ‘desperate methods’ required to offer any hope whatsoever when managing chronic psychosis in crowded and underfunded asylums. He also recognised the traps by which certain treatments or therapies get promulgated and maintained (gurus and shamans often to the fore), and how brave one has to be to stand up against accepted norms in practice. In the 1940s and 1950s, these were psychosurgery, electroconvulsive therapy and even insulin coma therapy, and after these came the rise of mass psychopharmacology, which is still with us today. Clare was also aware that the British psychiatric service, whatever its faults, was a good deal ‘more efficient and humane than most comparable services in Western Europe or North America’. Many people would suggest that this assertion is still true today, despite the constant assaults and cuts on our community-based services, which in themselves remain unmatched in terms of commitment and resources compared with anywhere else in the world, bar perhaps New Zealand. King Lear by William Shakespeare With regard to non-clinical reading – which accounts for most people’s reading – any psychiatrist who does not try to engage with some of the world’s acknowledged masterpieces is missing out on the best resource we have for understanding character, motivation, the roots of action (and inaction) and the seedbeds of mental illness. The briefest summary of the characters of Jane Austen, George Eliot, Charles Dickens, Henry James et al would show that every variation of psychiatric disorder runs through the canon of English literature. Whether they be ‘nervous troubles’, such as afflict the mother of Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice, or psychotic illness, such as provides the basis for Trollope’s He Knew He Was Right, bits and pieces of psychiatric symptoms are everywhere to be seen. One of the most unique descriptions of going mad, in a variety of ways, is in Shakespeare’s King Lear,6 which even includes someone pretending to be mad (the character of ‘Poor Tom’). This gives us a good understanding, some 400 years later, as to what the common crowd recognised as the overt behaviour expected of real madness. While King Lear is not strictly a ‘book’, it is a prose poem of heart-breaking power, which rewards re-reading and/or re-seeing (both, ideally) on a regular basis. In one of Lear’s opening statements – ‘Nothing will come of nothing, speak again’ – there is an intrinsic and fearful sense of the possible bleakness of our existence. Our predecessors felt it so painful that they preferred the happy ending version – the Nahum Tate version, which dominated the English stage from 1681 to 1834. Perhaps King Lear should be prescribed reading for the MRCPsych, although voluntary exposure would be a better way to understand its truth. Nostromo by Joseph Conrad Oddly enough, my favourite ‘big read’ of a classic novel starts off with a quote from Shakespeare: ‘So foul a sky clears not without a storm’. This is Nostromo by Joseph Conrad (1857–1924), 7 subtitled, rather quirkily, A Tale of the Seaboard. Deemed by classical critics as possibly the greatest novel in English of the 20th century, it is set in South America, possibly Colombia, and deals with the workings of an English-run silver mine and the outcome of a revolution. Its portrayal of characters, their relative isolation, a near-psychotic interlude of utter loneliness and the way people live as ‘social animals’ is unremitting and palpable. In fact, on my second reading, I had to read many of the chapters twice because of the amount of detail, and the sheer joy of just taking it on board made me think ‘why not read it again?’ It is this combination of the clarity of the language – even though English was Conrad’s third, after Polish and French – the complexity of action and the way people think and act that makes Nostromo unlike anything else. If you read it through (and it would take a proper holiday away from the hurly-burly of everyday activity and IT) it is likely to change the way you think about things. Father and Son: A Study of Two Temperaments by Edmund Gosse An equally haunting description, this time of an intense individual, is provided by Edmund Gosse (1949–1928) in his autobiographical work Father and Son: A Study of Two Temperaments.8 As a leading literary figure of his time, Gosse wrote many critical works and was very much at the heart of the English literature and publishing world. He was, for example, Librarian to the House of Lords before the First World War. His memoir, however, derives from his idiosyncratic upbringing by a parent who, although a reputed Victorian zoologist, was also one of the most radical defenders of religious belief in Britain. Gosse senior fervently attempted to 176 Ten Books Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core reconcile the findings of geology and scientific theories of the length of the Earth’s existence with the description of the beginning of the world in the Book of Genesis, arguing that fossils had been deliberately placed there by God to test our faith. Edmund’s young life was characterised by endless readings of the Bible and constant attempts to undermine understandings of the Darwinian world, as well as considerable isolation. Unsurprisingly, he developed a growing distaste for the Holy Scriptures and, while loving his father, had to move away from the world of evangelical religion. Edmund described having no clear recollection of his first outburst against this, which was when his father asked his daily question of whether Edmund was ‘walking closely with God?’ and Edmund responded by fleeing the house. The book is a detailed and loving description of growing up in a world in which he simply did not believe, and having to reconcile his own understanding with a reluctance to break from (and of necessity hurt) a loving parent. The fact that Gosse junior emerged so bright, sociable and integrated with the world, despite this fervent upbringing, is made understandable by the gentleness of his language and the generosity of spirit evident in his memoir. Sword of Honour trilogy by Evelyn Waugh As someone brought up by more liberal parents, whose young lives had been dominated by the Second World War, I cannot exclude that particular influence from my piles of reading. Evelyn Waugh (1903–1966) was recommended to me by my father and I first read his work in Kuala Lumpur Railway Station. Waugh produced the Sword of Honour trilogy,9–11 which describes his own wartime experiences in novel form. It follows the ‘magnificently chequered’ career of Waugh’s alter ego, Guy Crouchback, an idealistic Catholic dealing with a range of mad, funny, desperate and vicious characters as he makes his way through the chaos and betrayal (as he saw it) of his ideals during the war. Waugh writes like a dream; there are episodes of truncated conversations and off-beat discussions in the midst of, for example, landing on a moonlit beach in Crete and being shot at by Germans while drunk. He also dealt with the corruptions of the society that allowed all these events to happen. Although Waugh himself was an apoplectic, socially inept semi-alcoholic with a barbiturate habit (his short story The Ordeal of Gilbert Pinfold describes an episode of hallucinations when withdrawing from barbiturates and should also be required psychiatric reading), his understanding of the way people think about things, and the disconnections between people, is always astute and often very funny. Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf Finally, who can leave out Virginia Woolf (1882–1941) and Mrs Dalloway? 12 I only read this several years ago, having previously felt too fearful of the whole Bloomsbury world, and not realising the extent to which Woolf could write with extraordinary detail and intensity, even about just one day in London (which is the nature of the plot of Mrs Dalloway). Woolf herself suffered from what was probably relapsing bipolar disorder, and ended up drowning herself in a Sussex river in 1941. Her description of Mrs Dalloway’s sense of consciousness and the events surrounding her, of a visit to a leading psychiatrist in London, and the intriguing clarity of the way she gets inside her characters are, in that rather tired phrase, ‘part of modern sensibility’. It is not the kind of book you can read and put down quickly. However, although it is deemed some kind of ‘stream of consciousness’, it is wholly practical and clear, and the sort of work that we all think we should be able to write, using a day in our own lives. In that sense it is democratic, wise and sympathetic. There are of course many other ‘Ten Book’ selections that could fit the bill, with endless permutations, but the task would be sweetly endless. Just trying to describe why a book is worth reading makes me envy the writing skills of my chosen authors. 1 Hunter RA, Macalpine I. Three Hundred Years of Psychiatry, 1535 to 1860: A History Presented in Selected English Texts. Oxford University Press, 1963. 2 Haslam J. Illustrations of Madness. Routledge, 1988. 3 Ellenberger HF. The Discovery of the Unconscious: The History and Evolution of Dynamic Psychiatry. Basic Books, 1970. 4 Lishman WA. Organic Psychiatry: The Psychological Consequences of Cerebral Disorder. Blackwell, 1978. 5 Clare A. Psychiatry in Dissent. Tavistock, 1976. 6 Shakespeare W. King Lear. Cambridge University Press, 1960. 7 Conrad J. Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard. Harper & Bros, 1904. 8 Gosse E. Father and Son: A Study of Two Temperaments. W. Heinemann, 1907. 9 Waugh E. Men at Arms. Chapman & Hall, 1952. 10 Waugh E. Officers and Gentlemen. Chapman & Hall, 1955. 11 Waugh E. Unconditional Surrender. Chapman & Hall, 1961. 12 Woolf V. Mrs Dalloway. Hogarth Press, 1925. Trevor Turner Consultant Psychiatrist, Keats House, London SE1 9RS, UK. Email c/o: bjp@rcpsych.ac.uk 177 Ten Books Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_6dyezrbwpvgpvhgxh2merino3e	----	CREATIVITY IN A NUTSHELL* Margaret A. Boden university of Sussex * This article is reprinted from pp. 1-10 of M. A. Boden, The Creative Mind: Myths and Mechanisms (London: Routledge, 2004). Creativity and computers: what could these possibly have to do with one another? "Nothing!," many people would say. Creativity is a marvel of the human mind. But computers, with all due apologies to Mario, Sonic, and friends, are basically just tin-cans. It follows -- doesn’t it? -- that the two are related only by utter incompatibility. Well, no. Computers and creativity make interesting partners with respect to two different projects. One, which interests me the most, is understanding human creativity. The other is trying to produce machine creativity -- or anyway, machine "creativity" -- in which the computer at least appears to be creative, to some degree. What is Creativity? First things first. Human creativity is something of a mystery, not to say a paradox. One new idea may be creative, while another is merely new. What’s the difference? And how is creativity possible? Creative ideas are unpredictable. Sometimes, they even seem to be impossible -- and yet they happen. How can that be explained? Could a scientific psychology help us to understand how creativity is possible? Creativity is the ability to come up with ideas or artefacts that are new, surprising, and valuable. "Ideas," here, includes concepts, poems, musical compositions, scientific theories, cooking recipes, choreography, jokes ... and so on, and on. "Artefacts" include paintings, sculpture, steam-engines, vacuum cleaners, pottery, origami, penny-whistles ... and you can name many more. As these highly diverse examples suggest, creativity enters into virtually every aspect of life. It’s not a special "faculty," but an aspect of human intelligence in general. In other words, it’s grounded in everyday abilities such as conceptual thinking, perception, memory, and reflective self-criticism. So it isn’t confined to a tiny elite: every one of us is creative, to a degree. Nor is it an all-or-none affair. Rather than asking "Is that idea creative, Yes or No?," we should ask "Just how creative is it, and in just which way(s)?" Asking that question will help us to appreciate the subtleties of the idea itself, and also to get a sense of just what sorts of psychological process could have brought it to mind in the first place. Creative ideas, then, are new. But of course, there’s new -- and there’s new. Ask a teacher, for instance. Children can come up with ideas that are new to them, ev en though they may have been -1- Dagstuhl Seminar Proceedings 09291 Computational Creativity : An Interdisciplinary Approach http://drops.dagstuhl.de/opus/volltexte/2009/2211 in the textbooks for years. Someone who comes up with a bright idea is not necessarily less creative just because someone else had it before them. Indeed, if the person who had it first was Shakespeare, or Euclid, we’d think even more highly of the achievement. Suppose a twelve-year old girl, who’d nev er read Macbeth, compared the healing power of sleep with someone knitting up a ravelled sleeve. Would you refuse to say she was creative, just because the Bard said it first? Perhaps, if you’d been talking around the topic with her, encouraging her to come up with non-literal ways of speaking, and even putting one or more of the three key ideas into the conversation. Otherwise, you’d hav e to acknowledge her remark as a truly imaginative one. What you might do, and what I think you should do in this situation, is to make a distinction between "psychological" creativity and "historical" creativity. (P-creativity and H-creativity, for short.) P-creativity involves coming up with a surprising, valuable idea that’s new to the person who comes up with it. It doesn’t matter how many people have had that idea before. But if a new idea is H-creative, that means that (so far as we know) no-one else has had it before: it has arisen for the first time in human history. Clearly, H-creativity is a special case of P-creativity. For historians of art, science, and technology -- and for encyclopaedia users, too -- H-creativity is what’s important. And in daily life, we appreciate it too: it really isn’t true that "The old jokes are the best ones". But for someone who is trying to understand the psychology of creativity, it’s P-creativity that’s crucial. Never mind who thought of the idea first: how did that person manage to come up with it, given that they had never thought of it before? If "new," in this context, has two importantly different meanings, "surprising" has three. An idea may be surprising because it’s unfamiliar, or even unlikely -- like a 100-to-1 outsider winning the Derby. This sort of surprise goes against statistics. The second sort of surprise is more interesting. An unexpected idea may "fit" into a style of thinking that you already had -- but you’re surprised because you hadn’t realized that this particular idea was part of it. Maybe you’re even intrigued to find that an idea of this general type fits into the familiar style. And the third sort of surprise is more interesting still: this is the astonishment you feel on encountering an apparently impossible idea. It just couldn’t have entered anyone’s head, you feel -- and yet it did. It may even engender other ideas which, yesterday, you’d hav e thought equally impossible. What on earth can be going on? The Three Ways of Creativity "What is going on" isn’t magic -- and it’s different in each type of case. For creativity can happen in three main ways, which correspond to the three sorts of surprise. The first involves making unfamiliar combinations of familiar ideas. Examples include poetic -2- imagery, collage in painting or textile art, and analogies. These new combinations can be generated either deliberately or, often, unconsciously. Think of a physicist comparing an atom to the solar system, for instance, or a journalist comparing a politician with a decidedly non-cuddly animal. Or call to mind some examples of creative associations in poetry or visual art. In all these cases, making -- and also appreciating -- the novel combination requires a rich store of knowledge in the person’s mind, and many different ways of moving around within it. The journalist or newspaper-reader needs a host of concepts about both politics and animal behaviour, and some "personal" knowledge about the individual politician in question. Cartoonists who depict Ken Livingstone (the first publicly-elected Mayor of London) as a newt are tapping into many different conceptual streams, including gossip about what he keeps in an aquarium in his home. The surprise you feel on looking at the cartoon is largely caused by seeing a human figure with a newt’s crest and tail: a combination of ideas that’s even less probable than the outsider winning the Derby. If the novel combination is to be valued by us, it has to have some point. It may or (more usually) may not have been caused by some random process -- like shaking marbles in a bag. But the ideas/marbles have to hav e some intelligible conceptual pathway between them for the combination to "make sense." The newt-human makes sense for many reasons, one of which is Ken’s famed predilection for newts. (What are some of the others?) And (to return to the example from Macbeth) sleep is a healer, as knitting can be. Even if two ideas are put together randomly in the first place, which I suspect happens only rarely, they are retained/valued only if some such links can be found. The other two types of creativity are interestingly different from the first. They inv olve the exploration, and in the most surprising cases the transformation, of conceptual spaces in people’s minds. Exploring Conceptual Spaces Conceptual spaces are structured styles of thought. They’re normally picked up from one’s own culture or peer-group, but are occasionally borrowed from other cultures. In either case, they’re already there: they aren’t originated by one individual mind. They include ways of writing prose or poetry; styles of sculpture, painting, or music; theories in chemistry or biology; fashions of couture or choreography, nouvel cuisine and good old meat-and-two-veg ... in short, any disciplined way of thinking that’s familiar to (and valued by) a certain social group. Within a given conceptual space, many thoughts are possible, only some of which may have been actually thought. Some spaces, of course, have a richer potential than others. Noughts-and- crosses is such a restricted style of game-playing that every possible move has already been made countless times. But that’s not true of chess, where the number of possible moves, though finite, is astronomically large. And if some sub-areas of chemistry have been exhausted (every possible molecule of that type having been identified), the space of possible limericks, or sonnets, has not -- and never will be. -3- Whatever the size of the space, someone who comes up with a new idea within that thinking- style is being creative in the second, exploratory, sense. If the new idea is surprising not just in itself but as an example of an unexpected general type, so much the better. And if it leads on to others (still within the same space) whose possibility was previously unsuspected, better still. Exploratory creativity is valuable because it can enable someone to see possibilities they hadn’t glimpsed before. They may even start to ask just what limits, and just what potential, this style of thinking has. We can compare this with driving into the country, with an Ordnance Survey map that you consult occasionally. You can keep to the motorways, and only look at the thick red lines on your map. But suppose, for some reason (a police-diversion, or a call of nature), you drive off onto a smaller road. When you set out, you didn’t even know it existed. But of course, if you unfold the map you’ll see it marked there. And perhaps you ask yourself "I wonder what’s round that corner?," and drive round it to find out. Maybe you come to a pretty village, or a council estate; or perhaps you end up in a cul-de-sac, or back on the motorway you came off in the first place. All these things were always possible (and they’re all represented on the map). But you’d nev er noticed them before -- and you wouldn’t hav e done so now, if you hadn’t got into an exploratory frame of mind. In exploratory creativity, the "countryside" is a style of thinking. Instead of exploring a structured geographical space, you explore a structured conceptual space, mapped by a particular style of painting, perhaps, or a specific area of theoretical chemistry. All professional artists and scientists do this sort of thing. Even the most mundane street- artists in Leicester Square produce new portraits, or new caricatures, every day. They are exploring their space, though not necessarily in an adventurous way. Occasionally, they may realize that their sketching-style enables them to do something (convey the set of the head, or the hint of a smile) better than they’d been doing before. They add a new trick to their repertoire, but in a real sense it’s something that "fits" their established style: the potential was always there. Transforming the Space What the street-artist may also do is realize the limitations of their style. Then, they hav e an opportunity which the Sunday driver does not. Give or take a few years, and ignoring earthquake and flood, the country roads are fixed. Certainly, you can’t change them. Your Ordnance Survey map is reliable not only because it’s right, but because it stays right. (Have you bothered to buy a new book of road-maps within the last few years?) But the maps inside our heads, and favoured by our communities, can change -- and it’s creative thinking which changes them. Some changes are relatively small and also relatively superficial. (Ask yourself: what’s the difference?) The limits of the mental map, or of some particular aspect of it, are slightly pushed, slightly altered, gently tweaked. Compare the situation in geographical space: suppose everyone in that pretty village suddenly added a roof-extension to their cottage. It may ruin the prettiness of the village, but it won’t change the dimensions of the map. At most, the little "portrait" of the village (assuming that it’s that sort of map) will have to be redrawn. -4- The street-artist, then -- or Picasso, in a similar position -- has an opportunity. In principle, he (or, as always, she) could do the psychological equivalent of adding roof extensions, or building a new road (a new technique, leading to new possibilities), or even re-routing the motorway. Re-routing the motorway (in "real life" as in the mind) is the most difficult of all. The surprises that would engender could be so great as to make the driver lose his bearings. He may wonder if he’s been magically transported to a different county, or even a different country. Maybe he remembers a frustrating episode on his last trip, when he wanted to do something but his passenger scornfully said: "In England, motorways are like this: they simply don’t allow you to do that. You want to do it? Tough! It’s impossible." A giv en style of thinking, no less than a road-system, can render certain thoughts impossible -- which is to say, unthinkable. The difference, as remarked above, is that thinking-styles can be changed -- sometimes, in the twinkling of an eye. Someone skilfully writing a limerick won’t find iambic pentameters dropping from their pen. But if you want to write a new sort of limerick, or a non-limerick somehow grounded in that familiar style, then maybe blank verse could play a role. The deepest cases of creativity involve someone’s thinking something which, with respect to the conceptual spaces in their minds, they couldn’t have thought before. The supposedly impossible idea can come about only if the creator changes the pre-existing style in some way. It must be tweaked, or even radically transformed, so that thoughts are now possible which previously (within the untransformed space) were literally inconceivable. -- But how can that possibly happen? Machine-Maps of the Mind To understand how exploratory or transformational creativity can happen, we must know what conceptual spaces are, and what sorts of mental processes could explore and modify them. Styles of thinking are studied by literary critics, musicologists, and historians of art, fashion, and science. And they are appreciated by us all. But intuitive appreciation, and even lifelong scholarship, may not make their structure clear. (An architectural historian, for instance, said of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Prairie Houses that their "principle of unity" is "occult".) This is the first point where computers are relevant. Conceptual spaces, and ways of exploring and transforming them, can be described by concepts drawn from artificial intelligence (AI). AI-concepts enable us to do psychology in a new way, by allowing us to construct (and test) hypotheses about the structures and processes that may be involved in thought. For instance, the structure of tonal harmony, or the "grammar" of Prairie Houses, can be clearly expressed, and specific ways of exploring the space can be tried out. Methods for navigating, and changing, highly-structured spaces can be compared. Of course, there is always the additional question of whether the suggested structures and processes are actually implemented in human heads. And that question isn’t always easy to answer. But the point, here, is that a computational approach gives us a way of coming up with -5- scientific hypotheses about the rich subtleties of the human mind. Computer Creativity? What of the second link between machines and creativity? Can computers be creative? Or rather, can they at least appear to be creative? Many people would argue that no computer could possibly be genuinely creative, no matter what its performance was like. Even if it far surpassed the humdrum scientist or street-artist, it would not be counted as creative. It might produce theories as ground-breaking as Einstein’s, or music as highly valued as McCartney’s "Yesterday" or even Beethoven’s Ninth ... but still, for these people, it would’nt really be creative. Several different arguments are commonly used in support of that conclusion. For instance: it’s the programmer’s creativity that’s at work here, not the machine’s. The machine isn’t conscious, and has no desires, preferences, or values -- so it can’t appreciate or judge what it’s doing. A work of art is an expression of human experience and/or a commmunication between human beings, so machines simply don’t count. Perhaps you accept at least one of those reasons for denying creativity to computers? Very well, I won’t argue with you here (but see Chapter 11 of Boden 2004). Let’s assume, for the purpose of this discussion, that computers can’t really be creative. The important point is that this doesn’t mean that there’s nothing more of interest to say. All the objections just listed accept, for the sake of argument, that the imaginary computer’s performance is indeed very like that of human beings, whether humdrum or not. What I want to focus on here is whether it’s true that computers could, in fact, come up with ideas that at least appear to be creative. Computer Combinations Well, think of combinational creativity first. In one sense, this is easy to model on a computer. For nothing is simpler than picking out two ideas (two data-structures) and putting them alongside each other. This can even be done with some subtlety, using the (connectionist) methods described in Chapter 6. In short: a computer could merrily produce novel combinations till Kingdom come. But would they be of any interest? We saw, above, that combining ideas creatively isn’t like shaking marbles in a bag. The marbles have to come together because there is some intelligible, though previously unnoticed, link between them which we value because it is interesting -- illuminating, thought-provoking, humorous ... -- in some way. (Think sleep and knitting, again.) We saw also that combinational creativity typically requires a very rich store of knowledge, of many different kinds, and the ability to form links of many different types. (Here, think politicians and newts again.) -6- And we don’t only form links, we evaluate them. For instance, we can recognize that a joke is "in bad taste." In other words: yes, the links that the joker is suggesting are actually there (so it is a real joke). But there are other links there also, which connect the ideas with sorrow, humiliation, or tragedy. The joker should have noticed them, and should have refrained from reminding us of them. For a computer to make a subtle combinational joke, never mind to assess its tastefulness, would require (1) a data-base with a richness comparable to ours, and (2) methods of link- making (and link-evaluating) comparable in subtlety with ours. In principle, this isn’t impossible. After all, the human mind/brain doesn’t do it by magic. But don’t hold your breath! The best example of computer-based combinational creativity so far is a program called JAPE, which makes punning jokes of a general type that’s familiar to every eight-year-old (see Chapter 12). But making a one-off jest is usually more demanding. Ask yourself, for instance, what Jane Austen had to know in order to write the opening sentence of Pride and Prejudice: "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." (And why, exactly, is it funny?) Artificial Explorers and Self-Transforming Machines What about exploratory creativity? Several programs already exist which can explore a given space in acceptable ways. One example is AARON, a drawing-program described in Chapter 7. AARON can generate thousands of line-drawings in a certain style, pleasing enough to be spontaneously remarked upon by unsuspecting visitors -- and to be exhibited in galleries worldwide, including the Tate. (The most recent version of AARON is able to paint its drawings, too: see Chapter 12.) Another is David Cope’s "Emmy," discussed in Chapter 12. This composes music in many different styles, reminiscent of specific human composers such as Bach, Vivaldi, Mozart ... and Stravinsky. Still others include architectural programs that design Palladian villas or Prairie Houses (also mentioned in Chapter 12), and programs that can analyse experimental data and find new ways of expressing scientific laws (Chapter 8). A few AI-programs can even transform their conceptual space, by altering their own rules, so that interesting ideas result. Some of these ideas were already known to human beings, though not specifically prefigured within the program. (See the discussion of the automatic mathematician, AM, in Chapter 8.) But others are first-time-fresh. "Evolutionary" programs, for instance, can make random changes in their current rules so that new forms of structure result. At each generation, the "best" structures are selected, and used to breed the next generation. Tw o examples that evolve coloured images (some of which, like AARON’s, are exhibited in galleries world-wide) are described in Chapter 12. In each case, the selection of the "fittest" at each generation is done by a human being, who picks out the most aesthetically pleasing patterns. In short, these are interactive graphics-environments, in which human and computer can cooperate in generating otherwise unimaginable images. These computer-generated images -7- often cause the third, deepest, form of surprise -- almost as if a coin being tossed repeatedly were suddenly to show a wholly unexpected design. In such cases, one can’t see the relation between the daughter-image and its parent. The one appears to be a radical transformation of the other, or ev en something entirely different. Anyone who has watched TV regularly over the past few years, or who has visited museums of contemporary art, will already know that many novel graphic images have been produced by self-transforming AI-programs of this kind. The problem is not to make the transformations: that is relatively easy. What’s difficult is to state our aesthetic values clearly enough to enable the program itself to make the evaluation at each generation. At present, the "natural selection" is done by a human being (for example, the gallery-visitor). In more well-regulated domains, however, the value-criteria can often be stated clearly enough to allow the evolutionary program to apply them automatically. An early example, a program for locating leaks in oil-pipelines, is mentioned in Chapter 8. Now, scientists are starting to use these techniques to enhance their own creativity. Biochemical laboratories in universities and pharmaceutical companies are using evolutionary programs to help design new molecules for use in basic research and/or medicine. Even the "brains" and "bodies" of robots can now be evolved, instead of being designed (see Chapter 12). Values and Creativity One huge problem here has no special relevance to computers, but bedevils discussion of human creativity too. I said earlier that "new" has two meanings, and that "surprising" has three. I didn’t say how many meanings "valuable" has -- and nobody could. Our aesthetic values are difficult to recognize, more difficult to put into words, and even more difficult to state really clearly. (For a computer model, of course, they hav e to be stated really, really clearly.) Moreover, they change: who will proudly admit, today, to having worn a beehive hairdo or flared trousers in the 1960s? They vary across cultures. And even within a given "culture," they are often disputed: different sub-cultures or peer groups value different types of dress, jewellery, or music. And where transformational creativity is concerned, the shock of the new may be so great theat even fellow-artists find it difficult to see value in the novel idea. Even in science, values are often elusive and sometimes changeable. Just what "simpliity" or "elegance" mean, as applied to scientific theories, is something that philosophers of science have long tried -- and failed -- to pin down precisely. And whether a scientific finding or hypothesis is "interesting" depends on the other theories current at the time, and on social questions too (might it have some medical value, for instance?). Because creativity by definition involves not only novelty but value, and because values are highly variable, it follows that many arguments about creativity are rooted in disagreements about value. This applies to human activities no less than to computer performance. So even if we could identify and program our aesthetic values, so as to enable the computer to inform and -8- monitor its own activities accordingly, there would still be disagreement about whether the computer even appeared to be creative. The answer to our opening question, then, is that there are many intriguing relations between creativity and computers. Computers can come up with new ideas, and help people to do so. Both their failures and their successes help us think more clearly about our own creative powers. Further Reading: Boden, M. A. (2004), The Creative Mind: Myths and Mechanisms (London: Routledge). 2nd edn., revised/expanded. -9- 
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work_6lprx667h5gbpi5jf2ywo5cxqu	----	ISSN 0030-8129 I / ■ I ^umc I / ■ I Number 1/ Publications of the Modern Language Association of America Mav 1989 New Paperbacks From Princeton Narrative and Its Discontents Problems of Closure in the Traditional Novel D. A. Miller "Closure, or how the ending completes the meaning of a narrative. Is the subject of D. A. Miller's Narrative and Its Discontents. By examining the works of three nineteenth- century novelists—Jane Austen, George Eliot and Stendhal—Miller sets out to show that even in traditional narratives the endings do not exert 'the totalizing powers of organiza­ tion' that have been claimed for them. ,.. 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Mr. Dljkstra has demonstrated beyond any doubt that Williams was enormously Influenced by experimentation in the visual arts and that he attempted to emulate the Stieglitz group In focusing on the object Itself, delineating It as precisely as possible and letting it represent the moment of perception without intruding personal comment." —Comparative Literature Paper: $9.95 ISBN 0-691-01345-4 The Look of Russian Literature Avant-Garde Visual Experiments, 1900-1930 Gerald Janecek "The Look of Russian Literature Is an Invaluable source of Informa­ tion for the student of avant- garde art and literature. ... But besides being of Interest to the spe­ cialist, this book will also appeal to the average reader with an appre­ ciation for the arts. In fact. Its Intrinsic value is complemented by Its very good 'looks.' " —Slavic and East European Journal 188 illustrations. Paper: $14.95 ISBN 0-691-01457-4 Walden Henry D. Thoreau Editea by J. Lyndon Shanley Walden, Thoreau's account of a year spent alone In a cabin by a pond In the woods. Is one of the most Influential and compel­ ling books In American literature. This paperback version contains the complete, authoritative text approved by the Center for Edi­ tions of American Authors of the Modern Language Association. "... It Is the Walden of my adolescence I remember most viv­ idly-suffused with the powerfully intense, romantic energies of ado­ lescence, the sense that life Is boundless, experimental, provislon- ary, ever-fluld, and unpredict­ able. ..." —Joyce Carol Oates, from the Introduction Paper: $6.95 ISBN 0-691-01464-7 Drawing by David Johnson AT YOUR BOOKSTORE OR Princeton University Press 41 WILLIAM ST. . PRINCETON, NJ 08540 . (609) 452-4900 . ORDERS 800-PRS-ISBN (777-4726) May 1989 Publications of the Modern Language Association of America Volume 104 Number 3 PUBLISHED SIX TIMES A YEAR BY THE ASSOCIATION The Modern Language Association of America ORGANIZED 1883 INCORPORATED 1900 OFFICERS FOR THE YEAR 1989 President: Victor Brombert, Princeton University First Vice President: Catharine R. Stimpson, Rutgers University, New Brunswick Executive Director: Phyllis Franklin EXECUTIVE COUNCIL For the term ending 31 December 1989 Peter Elbow University of Massachusetts, Amherst Joan M. Ferrante Columbia University Patricia Meyer Spacks Yale University For the term ending 31 December 1991 Joan DeJean University of Pennsylvania Frances Ferguson Johns Hopkins University Myra Jehlen Rutgers University, New Brunswick For the term ending 31 December 1990 Thomas M. Greene Yale University Lawrence Lipking Northwestern University Judith Ryan Harvard University For the term ending 31 December 1992 Andrew P. Debicki University of Kansas Elaine Showalter Princeton University Domna C. Stanton University of Michigan, Ann Arbor TRUSTEES OF INVESTED FUNDS Carolyn G. Heilbrun Hugh O’Neill New York, New York New York, New York Malcolm Smith (Managing Trustee) New York, New York PMLA (ISSN 0030-8129) is published six times a year, in January, March, May, September, October, and November, by the Modern Language Association of America. Membership is open to those persons who are professionally interested in the modern languages and literatures. 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OFFICE OF PUBLICATION AND EDITORIAL OFFICES 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003-6981 All communications including notices of changes of address should be sent to the Member and Customer Services Office of the Association. If a change of address also involves a change of institutional affiliation, that office should be in­ formed of this fact at the same time. Second-class postage paid at New York, NY, and at additional mailing office. Copyright ® 1989 by The Modern Language Association of America. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 12-32040. United States Postal Service Number 449-660. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to PMLA, Member and Customer Services Office, Modern Language Associa­ tion of America, 10 Astor Place, New York, NY 10003-6981. Contents • May Editor’s Column ......... 277 Notes on Contributors..................................................................... 280 Forthcoming in PMLA . .281 Special Topics..................................................................... 282 Criticism in Translation ........ 283 Presidential Address 1988. Limelight: Reflections on a Public Year. Barbara Herrnstein Smith................................................. 285 Poetics against Itself: On the Self-Destruction of Modern Scientific Criticism. Roger Seamon .................................................. .......... 294 Abstract. Modern critical theory is commonly thought of as a collection of diverse methods, schools, systems, and approaches. There is, however, a significant pattern in the diversity. This pattern is generated by the conflict between the widespread effort of twentieth-century theorists to make criticism scientific and the internal resistance to that effort presented by the hermeneutic impulse. The scientific tradition is characterized and unified by a set of common theoretical principles and by a common sequence of transformations that each school within it undergoes. The result of these transformations is that every proposed scien­ tific model for criticism changes into an interpretive method and the project of scientific criticism is subverted. (RS) Foucault’s Oriental Subtext. Uta Liebmann Schaub . . 306 Abstract. Foucault’s work has been investigated from within the Western intellectual tra­ dition. My study approaches it from outside that tradition, from the perspective of Oriental thought. Oriental concepts were appropriated by the Western counterculture of the sixties and were espoused by associates of Tel quel when Foucault began to develop his radically subversive critique of Western discourse formation. Eastern models appear to have shaped his own discourse to such an extent that they function as a concealed subtext in his work. He criticizes the West for its anthropocentrism and logocentrism, its antagonistic dialec­ tics, and its confidence in an unlimited advance of systematic knowledge. Foucault’s enterprise is grounded in Oriental, chiefly Buddhist, systems that emphasize a progressive decentering of the individual through praxis rather than theory, a logic of coexisting opposites, a paradoxical language, and a knowledge unattainable through logocentric rationality. (ULS) Baudelaire’s Theory of Practice: Ideology and Difference in “Les yeux des pauvres.” Geraldine Friedman........................................317 Abstract. Baudelaire’s poetry dramatizes the self-effacing quality of dominant discourse so well that until recently critics have failed to engage his interest in ideology. In the prose poem “Les yeux des pauvres,” the traces of that self-effacement allow us to read the ideo- logical implications of what seem to be the text’s purely aesthetic and ethical dimensions. By staging encounters with social and sexual difference, “Les yeux” challenges the princi­ ple of reflexivity underlying its announced aesthetic of the correspondences. In question­ ing the logic of the same that governs the mystified speaker’s figuration and psychology, the text asks whether and how an Other can escape the confines of the official egalitar­ ian ideology of post-1848 France, which tends to cast alterity in its own image. (GF) Art and Power in the Spectacle Plays of Calderon de la Barca. Margaret Rich Greer........................................................... 329 Abstract. The court spectacle plays of Calderon de la Barca, when viewed within their historical, physical, and dramatic context, reveal a polysemous structure of meaning that both supports and criticizes the ruling monarch. The first of these, El mayor encanto amor, reproves Philip rv’s pursuit of sensual pleasures in time of war and his surrender of power to his prime minister; the last, Hado y divisa de Eeonido y Marfisa, attempts to forge a credibly regal image of the weak Charles n. These plays dramatize the belief that the poly­ phonic richness of theatrical representation can not only serve and guide the king but also generate his authority, that the proper constitution of the central figure in the theater of power may depend on the power of theater. (MRG) Recipes for Reading: Summer Pasta, Lobster a la Riseholme, and Key Lime Pie. Susan J. Leonardi................................................. 340 Abstract. Recipes, whether in cookbooks or in other texts, exemplify embedded and gen­ dered discourse. In the 1951 edition of Irma Rombauer’s The Joy of Cooking, Marion Becker’s editorial altering of the proportions between “bed”—the narrative that frames the recipes—and recipe erodes the bed and erodes as well the usefulness of the recipes. More cognizant than Becker’s text of the importance of this bed, E. F. Benson’s comic novel Mapp and Lucia both embeds the recipe for those masculine—whether male or female—readers unaware of the recipe’s social significance and establishes a connection between recipe with­ holding and narrative. Nora Ephron’s Heartburn uses the recipe and its social meanings to play with notions of reproducibility both literary and culinary and thereby elaborates a connection, implied in the early versions of Joy, between recipe sharing and narrative production and consumption, a connection that “Recipes for Reading” itself attempts to reproduce. (SJL) The Virtues of Reading. Carmen Martin Gaite .... 348 Forum................................................................................................... 354 Report of the Executive Director ...... 363 Forthcoming Meetings and Conferences of General Interest . . 372 Index of Advertisers..................................................................... 373 Professional Notes and Comment ...... 386 Announcements 386 Journal Notes 390 Minutes of the MLA Delegate Assembly 392 Meeting of the MLA Executive Council 402 In Memoriam 410 
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work_6nsg6bdkmjhydfl352ui2e3rlm	----	Reading for Health: Medical Narratives and the Nineteenth-Century Novel by Erika Wright (review) Reading for Health: Medical Narratives and the Nineteenth-Century Novel by Erika Wright (review) Kylee-Anne Hingston Victorian Review, Volume 42, Number 1, Spring 2016, pp. 195-196 (Review) Published by Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:53 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/vcr.2016.0050 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/663158 https://doi.org/10.1353/vcr.2016.0050 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/663158 Bo ok Reviews 195 in Victorian culture, and demonstrating the shared history of the rise of the cellular prison and the emergence of feminist advocacy. j a n i c e s c h r o e d e r Carleton University • Reading for Health: Medical Narratives and the Nineteenth-Century Novel by Erika Wright; pp. 229; Athens: Ohio UP, 2016. $79.95 cloth. As early as 2005, Diane Price Herndl lamented the “disciplinary divide between the medical humanities and disability studies” that exists in spite of obvious overlaps between the two fields (593). Though it makes a valuable contribution to Victorian medical humanities, Erika Wright’s Reading for Health reveals the continued lack of engagement between the two fields. As Wright acknowledges, her book focuses on the notion of health rather than disease or disability, unlike most corporeality-centred Victorian studies since the late twentieth century. Opening with an analysis of John Ruskin’s “call for ‘healthy literature’ ” in Fiction, Fair and Foul (1880–81; 4), Reading for Health analyzes health as a “persistent, if often overlooked” (15) thematic and formal defining feature of the nineteenth-century novel. Historicizing her approach through readings of early nineteenth-century medical texts that emphasize what she calls the “hygienic” model of health—that is, one of maintaining health and preventing disease rather than of curing and recov- ering from ill health—Wright traces narrative patterns of prevention that counter those of cure in nineteenth-century novels by Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, Charles Dickens, Harriet Martineau, and Elizabeth Gaskell. Moreover, Reading for Health shows us these narrative patterns with a clarity that makes their presence undeniable. However, as someone working in disability studies, I could not help but notice a want of dialogue with disability scholarship in Wright’s book (apart from its brief drawing on Maria Frawley’s Invalidism and Identity in Nineteenth- Century Britain for one chapter). The book would have benefited greatly from further attention to the discourse of disability studies, especially that which focuses on narrative. For example, I was surprised to find that Reading for Health’s discussion of the crisis and cure plot, “which imagines health as the end or beginning” (5) of narrative, made no mention of David Mitchell and Sharon Snyder’s Narrative Prosthesis, a major work that theorizes at length about this exact type of plot’s use of disability. Additionally, when discussing readers’ reluctance to appreciate the prevention narrative, explaining that victorian review • Volume 42 Number 1 196 they “prefer disaster, always needing the fix of a ‘cure’ to keep them inter- ested” (44), Wright would have profited from a familiarity with disability studies to theorize why readers “need” that cure. As Lennard Davis explains in Bending Over Backwards, the quick fix, the cure, has to be repeated endlessly, like a pat- ent medicine, because it actually cures nothing. Novels have to tell this story over and over again, as do films and television, since the patient never stays cured and the disabled, cured individually, refuse to stop reappearing as a group. (99) Moreover, the field of disability studies addresses how a prevention model of health is actually a model of cure—but on a wide scale that seeks to rid illness and disability at large in a quasi-eugenic impulse.1 Just as Ruskin’s disparagement of the focus on disability and illness in Victorian fiction is a political move (in his case, an elitist, anti-industrialist one), so is Reading for Health’s focus on health while neglecting disability, whether it was meant to be or not. By ignoring disability scholarship in a book on health, Wright risks contributing to the marginalization of disability and risks implying that disability is inherently not a part of health. She does escape that risk, however: the book does not locate disability and disease in the body but instead consistently recognizes the social construction of health and illness, especially in the chapter arguing that invalid writers and narrators redefine health to include themselves and their bodies. With this reservation in mind, I want to emphasize that the lack of disability discourse in Reading for Health is part of a larger problem caused by the persistent divide of medical humanities and disability studies (particularly in North American scholarship) and not a problem of Wright’s book alone. Indeed, in spite of this lack, Reading for Health makes an essential intervention in Victorian studies and narrative theory. Notes 1 See, for example, the vast amount of work done on pre-implantation genetic diagnosis and disability rights. Works Cited Davis, Lennard. Bending Over Backwards: Disability, Dismodernism, and Other Difficult Positions. New York UP, 2002. Herndl, Diane Price. “Disease versus Disability: The Medical Humanities and Disability Studies.” PMLA, vol. 120, no. 2, 2005, pp. 593–98. K y l e e - a n n e h i n g s t o n St. Thomas More College • 
work_6s7mmov7xvcljdqbb4goe5gckm	----	İçerik Mobil Cihazınız İçin Uygun Değil Mobil cihazlarda, tarayıcı içinde dokümanınızı görütüleyemiyoruz. Bunun yerine dosyayı cihazınıza indirerek görüntülemeyi deneyebilirsiniz. İNDİR & GÖRÜNTÜLE 
work_6stte7wi75bqtnowcswirldy4a	----	Late Nineteenth-Century American Realism: An Essay in Definition | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 16, Issue 3 December 1961 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| December 01 1961 Late Nineteenth-Century American Realism: An Essay in Definition Donald Pizer Donald Pizer Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1961) 16 (3): 263–269. https://doi.org/10.2307/2932644 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Donald Pizer; Late Nineteenth-Century American Realism: An Essay in Definition. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 December 1961; 16 (3): 263–269. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2932644 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1961 By The Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Late Nineteenth-Century American Realism: An Essay in Definition' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Late Nineteenth-Century American Realism: An Essay in Definition Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_6ue4mfryzrh4rmhxlz3b6aklku	----	BJGP Back pages-Master[1] 134 British Journal of General Practice, February 2008 A patient’s diary: episode 14 — Dr Teacher’s dream Evening surgery is over. In his consulting room, Dr Teacher relaxes for a few minutes with a favourite Jane Austen novel. But his eyelids are heavy. He sleeps. He dreams … Sally Greengage, good-looking, clever and ambitious, with a comfortable flat in a fashionable part of town and a happy disposition seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly 28 years in the world with very little to distress or vex her. Wishing to qualify herself in the medical profession, she had recently engaged herself as apprentice to Mr Gerald Teacher, a reputable local apothecary. She soon proved herself an apt pupil, rapidly acquiring a skillful consultation manner and a good knowledge of medicinal herbs; much admired and respected by her many grateful patients, she seemed to have a brilliant professional future ahead of her. If she had any fault at all it was perhaps the power of having rather too much her own way and a disposition to think too well of herself. She would sometimes alight on an interesting diagnosis without sufficient resort to the evidence base, or indeed the counsel of her master. She would also delight in giving injudicious advice to the apothecary’s female servants concerning their personal lives and matrimonial aspirations. However, these disadvantages of her character, if they can be so described, were at present unperceived by Sally and so did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her. Now there lived in the pleasant little village of Glanders Magna in the County of Surry, a very civil and respectable gentleman of middle years called Norman Gland. He and his wife, Hilda, had a very pleasant house enclosed before and behind by small, yet well-tended gardens. Although an amiable man, with an enquiring mind and a friendly disposition, it was universally acknowledged that Mr Gland’s thoughts were excessively occupied by the state of his health. For many years he had fretted over the condition of his liver and other internal organs; and his conversation revolved almost entirely round the remedies he had sought for them. All manner of herbs were sent for from London; leeches had many times been applied in vain and even the drawing of three of his teeth wherein lay, he was convinced, the source of the disorder, appeased his suffering for only a few days. And now, being once again sorely distressed, he had sent for his favourite apothecary, Mr Teacher, who practised but a few miles away. So it was that Mr Teacher and Miss Greengage were proceeding in the doctor’s new carriage along the country lane which led to Glanders Magna. As the carriage moved along they talked of an affair which had of late been exciting the interest of both of them. There was a young health care assistant in the practice, not above 17 years, who was very taken with Mr Martin, the local podiatrist and had hopes of an offer of marriage from him. ‘Pray, Dr Teacher,’ said Sally, ‘do not you think that Harriet should aim higher than Mr Martin who is a man of limited education. In truth he is a very agreeable young man but in no way is he Harriet’s equal. You may as well know that she shewed me his letter, and I am glad to say that I was able to guide her to pen to refuse his offer. For I have it in mind to make a match for Harriet with Dr Elton!’ ‘Oh, Sally’ returned her mentor, ‘I have always thought your intimacy with Harriet a foolish one, though I have kept my thoughts to myself. But now I perceive that it has been very unfortunate for Harriet. You will puff her up with such ideas about herself that she will lose all chances of matrimony with a man of her station in life. Do not forget the mystery of her parentage which in our society is bound to count against her.’ It was not long before the carriage drew up under the pleasant chestnut trees that sheltered the home of Mr and Mrs Gland. Mrs Gland welcomed them courteously for indeed she was relieved to see them. ‘Oh, Miss Greengage, it is so obliging of you to come and bring Mr Teacher because Norman has been so ill lately, I do not know what to do with him. He lies on the couch in his dressing room, groaning constantly and refusing all food except for a thin gruel which is the only nourishment his poor liver can tolerate. Do tell me, Miss Greengage, have you brought the leeches? Or will you do scarification and cupping today. Please do not draw any more of his teeth or he will never chuse to eat the apple dumplings that I made him, when a week ago I was in high hope of his recovery. Do not you think that the air here might be too full of impurity? We were considering a visit to the sea at South End, but Mr Gland says he is now much too weak. Oh dear, am I talking too much, dear Miss Greengage?’ Sally was tempted to make a tart remark to the effect that Mrs Gland’s volubility was entirely within her expectations. Sometimes her youthful high spirits made her tongue run ahead of her kinder sensibilities; and Mr Teacher had had occasion to remonstrate with her about it, to her considerable shame. This time she restrained herself and merely said, ‘not at all, Mrs Gland, you are understandably upset. Now shall you conduct us to your patient?’ So they climbed the stairs and entered the dressing room, where Mr Gland lay groaning. A bowl of gruel lay untouched on the small table by his couch. ‘It is good to see you, Teacher,’ said the invalid, on perceiving his old friend. ‘And your fair apprentice too. But I fear your visit is too late. I fear that the consumption has destroyed my liver entirely and spread to my other vital organs. If only you had a magic glass with which to see inside me you would be amazed at the terrible destruction.’ ‘Now, now, my dear Gland,’ replied the good doctor. ‘Pray do not distress yourself in this way. Let me examine this specimen of your urine that I see Mrs Gland has thoughtfully placed on the sideboard for us. Now, I declare, it is perfectly clear and the colour is most satisfactory. If I may say so, your melancholy temperament has again led you to experience a lowering of the spirits as a physical suffering. This is not British Journal of General Practice, February 2008 135 Serial One of the many areas of clinical practice in which GPs are accused of failing to keep up with modern methods is in the management of allergies. It seems that every couple of years some elite medical body documents the woeful state of standards in primary care and insists on the urgent need for more training for GPs as well as demanding the provision of more specialist services. So when patients ask for a referral for skin tests or other forms of expert investigation and treatment, I duly oblige. It is always something of an anticlimax when they return with a recommendation for a prescription for some combination of an antihistamine, a steroid cream, inhaler or nasal spray, and sodium cromoglycate eye drops. I used to think — ‘I could have done that’ — in fact, I already had. But now, I’m just grateful that by the time they have discovered the uselessness of patch testing and the limitations of all these medications, their symptoms have usually passed (at least until next time). It is reassuring to discover, from Mark Jackson’s excellent Allergy: the history of a modern malady, that doctors and patients have been engaged in a frustrating waltz around the problem of allergy for more than a century, indeed since 1906 when the Austrian paediatrician Clemens von Pirquet coined the term. Like most such neologisms, this one was not well received by his peers and it took a while to catch on. Yet in time it proved a potent and enduring metaphor for the ‘pathologies of progress’ in the 20th century, its associated conditions expressing a ‘symbolic aversion to the diverse horrors of modern life’.1 Jackson notes the pioneering allergists’ difficulties in establishing a firm scientific foundation for their emergent clinical speciality. Nor could science resolve the long- running turf war between mainstream allergists who insisted on a strict definition of allergic conditions in terms of hypersensitivity reactions and clinical ecologists who sought to include a wide range of disorders attributed to diverse environmental factors and associated with a vast range of non-specific symptoms. This battle was once characterised by the paediatric immunologist John Soothill as a conflict between ‘the blimps’, predominantly respectable physicians, and ‘the nuts’, sometimes renegade doctors or psychiatrists, joined by a range of alternative therapists and nutritionists. For the blimps, allergy meant simply hay fever, asthma, urticaria, and eczema, for the nuts, however, allergy signified the full diversity of human responses to the toxic hazards of modern life. Over the past two decades a growing environmentalist consciousness has provided a ready resonance for the notion of an epidemic of allergic disorders resulting from atmospheric pollution and from chemicals in the workplace, in the home, and in foods and drugs. The blimps have baulked at nutty notions such as ‘multiple chemical sensitivity’, and have rejected many nutty (though lucrative) tests. However, they have pragmatically relabelled ‘food allergy’ as ‘food intolerance’ and have entered the flourishing market in elimination diets and nutritional supplements. While the blimps have always been quick to accuse the nuts of quackery and profiteering, ever since Big Pharma (in the shape of Parke Davis & Co) financed Sir Almoth Wright’s pioneering Department of Therapeutic Inoculation at St Mary’s in the 1920s, the boundaries in allergy between science and pseudoscience, and between evidence-based practice and commercially-driven practice, have always been blurred. It is heartening to see that, 20 years after GPs were effectively banned from giving courses of desensitising injections for hay fever after a series of anaphylactic fatalities, immunotherapy is now making a comeback (at least in hospital outpatient departments). A century on, allergy has come full circle. As Jackson observes, ‘perhaps more than any other condition, allergy embodies the biological, political, and spiritual challenges faced by inhabitants of the post-modern world’.1 REFERENCES 1. Jackson M. Allergy: the history of a modern malady. London: Reaktion, 2006. DOI: 10.3399/bjgp08X277159 The problem of allergy Mike Fitzpatrick uncommon in country gentlemen; we see many such cases and some have even been described in the learned journals. You may recollect, Sally,’ he said, turning to his young apprentice, ‘that I placed the volume on your desk only yesterday in the hope that you would read it. But alas,’ he went on shaking his head solemnly, ‘you did not.’ ‘I meant to read it’ said Sally. To which her master replied, ‘I have seen a great many lists of books and journal articles that Sally has meant to read. And very good lists they were too, But somehow she cannot find the time, but must be always exchanging the latest intelligence with her young friends, or buying new clothes. I have given up expecting any course of serious reading from Sally.’ On receiving this rather affectionate admonition, Sally pouted a little but made no reply other than a toss of her fair head. Changing the subject, she reminded her master that they had brought some fresh herbs from the physic garden especially for Mr Gland and that a good result might be anticipated by applying them in a poultice to his liver. She then proceeded to do this with utmost skill and competence ... Mr Gland thanked them in a low voice for their trouble and said that he would make sure that Mr Teacher’s fee was sent to him by his widow, even if, as he feared, he did not live to see the sun rise on another day. Mr Teacher, patted him fondly on the shoulder and said that he looked forward to attending on him for many a year. And with a word of thanks to Mrs Gland for the apple dumplings that she had stuffed into his bag, he turned and descended the stair, followed by the resourceful Miss Greengage. From the diary of Dr Teacher. DOI: 10.3399/bjgp08X277140 
work_6v4cvg3pvrg6vcmtayk4u2mvwy	----	Impact: Critical Practice Impact: Critical Practice Prof. Helen Small, University of Oxford The kinds of claim typically made for Humanities research impact  Generating new ways of thinking that influence creative practice.  Creating, inspiring and supporting new forms of artistic, literary, linguistic, social, economic, religious and other expression.  Contributing to economic prosperity via the creative sector including publishing, music, theatre, museums and galleries, film and television, fashion, tourism, and computer games.  Informing or influencing practice or policy as a result of research on the nature and extent of religious, sexual, ethnic or linguistic discrimination. Kinds of claim made …  Changing public understanding of x cultural object or practice, or of its significance  Bringing x cultural object/practices to new audiences  Preserving, conserving, and presenting cultural heritage  Helping professionals and/or organisations adapt to changing cultural conditions and/or values Kinds of claim made …  Influencing the content of curricula and syllabi in schools, other HEIs or other educational institutions [beyond the originating institution] for example through the widespread use of research publications, derived text books, new primary sources or an IT resource in education.  Enhancing delivery of educational curricula, or assisting development of pedagogical tools and practice.  Taking education beyond existing institutions in ways that assist lifelong learning, and/or the learning of individuals or groups not catered for by existing educational institutions. DH specific claims  Creating new forms of digital conservation and/or interpretation of cultural objects/practices  Establishing new standards for digital conservation and/or interpretation  Enhancing public access to, and engagement with, national (or private) cultural collections  Producing integrated virtual collections not otherwise able to be experienced as a whole Enhancing Public Understanding of Jane Austen and Curatorship of her Texts  Jane Austen has, since the late nineteenth century, occupied a powerful position within English- speaking culture, popular and canonical, accessible and complexly academic. Kathryn Sutherland's engagement with audiences beyond academia has improved public understanding of how Austen's works and life acquired the forms and significance they have had. Sutherland's research has enabled better-informed teaching of Austen at secondary school and university level, and assisted high quality educational programme-making for television. Her collaborative work on the digitization of Austen's working drafts has set new standards for the encoding of literary manuscripts, assisting literary curatorship and improving public accessibility to cultural heritage Underpinning research (sample)  An edited anthology of family-written biographies and recollections of Austen …brought together for the first time all the first-hand accounts of Austen's life written by those who knew her …. Sutherland used these original accounts to shine light on the Austen family's persistent management, censorship, and marketing of a particular version of Austen that has its latest manifestation in Deirdre Le Faye's `authoritative' biography Jane Austen: A Family Record (2004). The editorial apparatus and critical introduction to Sutherland's anthology considered the absence of a critical theory of biography that can help us address the reality and concept of the partial life (the life of a famous figure for whom only incomplete evidence survives). The academic impact (sample)  A significant aspect of Sutherland's impact has been the contribution made to providing new resources and forming new agendas for other academics engaged in studies of Austen. The anthology of Austen family biographies (A Memoir of Jane Austen and Other Family Recollections, 2002) has been adopted world-wide as a university course book (e.g. Colby College, the University of Delaware, Southern Illinois University) as well as having wide take-up by the general public (Austen commands levels of public interest probably second only to Shakespeare among Britain's classic writers). It is regularly reprinted, and has to date sold 4,440 copies and netted revenue of £12,735, for OUP. Textual Lives has directly shaped a burgeoning interest in reception studies of Austen at university level, serving as a model, for example, in recent publications including Juliet Wells, Everybody's Jane(2011) and Gillian Dow and Clare Hanson, eds, Uses of Jane (2012). Wells writes: `Kathryn Sutherland's Jane Austen's Textual Lives [...] has had a profound impact within Austen studies, including but not limited to reception history and the study of popular culture ... I take up where Sutherland leaves off' (pp. 14-15). It is a recommended teaching text at numerous universities, including the Open University, St Andrews, Exeter, and the University of Texas at Austin. It has sold 1,280 copies and netted revenue of £24,555 to date. Wider impact  Jane Austen's Fiction Manuscripts: A Digital Edition provoked huge academic and public interest when it went live in October 2010 (Ref. i). The edition offered the first chance to view Austen's fiction manuscripts as a reunified collection since their dispersal in 1845, and the first chance for any member of the general public to engage with them in high quality, free, digital form. The site has had 4,237,474 hits (113,204 unique visitors) between its launch and the end of the auditing period (Ref. ii). Between 23 October and 19 November 2010, 454 news articles (Radio, TV, newspapers) covered the story internationally; Sutherland was interviewed by many major British and North American papers and broadcasters. Her free online podcast lectures, `Jane Austen's Manuscripts Explored', in the Oxford University BODcasts series, had attracted 1386 downloads by the end of the audited period (Ref. iii). Wider impact (cont.)  [The digital resource has had] important technical implications for future work in manuscript conservation and curation. It provided a model for the use of digital media that admits public access to materials too delicate and too valuable to be open to easy view in a library or museum. Technically, the project set new standards for the digital encoding of working draft manuscripts (with the establishment of an international subcommittee for TEI-XML encoding of writers' revisions, chaired by Elena Pierazzo, Technical Researcher on the Austen Digital Edition). Immediate impact came with its inclusion in the British Library's major public exhibition, `Growing Knowledge: The Evolution of Research' (October 2010-July 2011), an interactive showcase of innovative projects from the arts, science, and medicine, inviting the general public to engage with the latest digital research. It also featured in `Oxford Impacts', an Oxford University publicity drive, showcasing its major research. In January 2013, Sutherland demonstrated the web-edition to the Right Hon. Vince Cable, Secretary of State for Business, Innovation, and Skills as an example of innovation in the Humanities. Open Educational Resources (OERs) in English: Enriching the School Curriculum and Supporting Transition from School to University  Great Writers Inspire (www.writersinspire.org) is a JISC funded project designed by Smith, Williams and Beasley in collaboration with IT services to expand the Oxford English Faculty's open educational resources on the web. Prompted by the success of Smith's Approaching Shakespeare podcast lectures (2010), GWI represents a systematic approach to creating, gathering and curating online research content targeted directly at students and teachers in secondary schools, further education, lifelong learning, and universities. Combining tailor-made podcasts, curated eBooks, audio talks, video files, and scholarly essays, GWI and AS have brought the Faculty's research to a global audience of over 740,000. http://www.writersinspire.org/ Digital Resource Example (cont).  `Approaching Shakespeare' and `Great Writers Inspire' have had significant impact on a range of beneficiaries outside Higher Education, including school students and their teachers and life-long learners. AS was and is the most successful of the Faculty's early experiments with the podcast lecture format. Downloaded 407,319 times by the end of the audit period, it is a recommended resource in schools across the UK. … Email feedback includes: `I came across [AS] last year on iTunes when writing on Othello, and found your lecture a fantastic help... as an introduction to ways of thinking about the play, and to how I might try to put together an argument about it' - from a 6th form student; and `As head of More Able and Talented at a large state school, I am constantly looking for resources to improve our teaching and your podcasts are giving us just that opportunity. Members of the English department are now using Wittgenstein's Dabbit illustration in the way you did and finding it to be a very effective approach and our more able students are being encouraged to listen to the podcasts both to improve their understanding of the plays and to encourage them to believe that Oxford ... operates at A-level they will find accessible' - from a teacher. Digital Resource Example (cont.)  Collecting existing materials together and enriching them with new resources has gained an audience for materials unlikely otherwise to attract notice at secondary school level. This process has taken place in part through a WordPress blog (http://writersinspire.wordpress.com/), launched June 2009, which captures new resources and academics' scholarly posts. Paid graduate student ambassadors contributed content, including blog entries and short essays (e.g. explanatory context for items in the Oxford Text Archive). All material goes into Apple's global publishing platform Apple iTunes U, and (in parallel) into the main university media website www.podcast.ox.ac.uk to enable more direct retrieval through Google. IT-Support have worked closely with Google, who already ranked the University of Oxford highly, using titles, keywords, and sheer volume of content to maximize GWI's ranking in their search engine. Type the word `lectures' and the name of a major British author or text into Google (e.g. `Shakespeare', `Dickens', `Beowulf'), and Oxford English Faculty material will generally be the first search finding. http://writersinspire.wordpress.com/ Problems/questions  - the language of case-study presentation (avoid the Soc Sci in-house diction)  - giving away one’s hard-won exceptionalism  - extracting the information from commercial organisations and (ironically) from public/govt bodies  - remaining honest about (not overselling) the indicative nature of *all* the data  - (for HE institutions), keeping the level appropriately high. Infrastructure challenges in impact reporting  finding the most efficient model of operation for administrative and infrastructural assistance - providing and sustaining paths for impact via libraries, innovation centres, clinics etc. without overwhelming core activity  finding effective, non-burdensome modes for obtaining and collating evidence of impact and reach, and keeping cognizant of changing requirements for impact reporting  maintaining the centrality of the underpinning research to the ’public value’ claims made 
work_4up7de24rjdfravhatdex3cjye	----	D i s c i p l i n i n g l o v e Kramp_final.indb 1 1/12/2007 2:52:59 PM Kramp_final.indb 2 1/12/2007 2:53:00 PM D i s c i p l i n i n g l o v e Austen and the Modern Man Michael Kramp The OhiO STaTe UniverSiTy PreSS Columbus  Kramp_final.indb 3 1/12/2007 2:53:00 PM Copyright © 2007 by The Ohio State University. all rights reserved. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kramp, Michael. Disciplining love : austen and the modern man / Michael Kramp. p. cm. includes bibliographical references and index. iSBn-13: 978–0–8142–1046–8 (alk. paper) iSBn-13: 978–0–8142–9126–9 (cd-rom) 1. austen, Jane, 1775–1817—Criticism and interpretation. 2. austen, Jane, 1775–1817—Characters—Men. 3. austen, Jane, 1775–1817—influence. 4. Masculinity in literature. 5. Men in literature. i. Title. Pr4037.K73 2007 823.’7—dc22 2006031386 Cover design by James Baumann. Text design by Jennifer Shoffey Forsythe. Type set in adobe Minion. Printed by Thomson-Shore, inc.. The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the american national Standard for information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials. anSi Z39.48–1992. 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Kramp_final.indb 4 1/12/2007 2:53:00 PM To Joseph Francis Swan and Dorothy Kramp— whose importance to this work I am still learning to appreciate  Kramp_final.indb 5 1/12/2007 2:53:00 PM Kramp_final.indb 6 1/12/2007 2:53:00 PM P r e fac e / ix acknowledgments / xv I n t ro d u c t I o n love, social/sexual organization, and austen / 1 c h a P t e r 1 the emergence of the modern nation and the development of the modern man / 17 c h a P t e r 2 rationalizing the anxieties of austen’s Juvenilia: henry tilney’s composite masculinity / 35 c h a P t e r 3 austen’s sensitive men: willoughby, Brandon, and the regulation of sensation / 56 c h a P t e r 4 austen’s tradesmen: Improving masculinity in Pride and Prejudice / 73 c h a P t e r 5 exposing Burkean masculinity, or edmund confronts modernity / 89 c h a P t e r 6 remaking english manhood, or accepting modernity: knightley’s fused finitude / 109 C O n T e n T S  Kramp_final.indb 7 1/12/2007 2:53:00 PM c h a P t e r 7 Imagining malleable masculinity and radical nomadism in Persuasion / 124 c o n c lu s I o n / 143 n ot e s / 151 wo r k s c I t e d / 183 I n d e x / 195 viii / c o n t e n t s Kramp_final.indb 8 1/12/2007 2:53:00 PM Austen, the Late-Millennial Moment, and the Modern Man mythopoeticism and the Promise keepers responded to what they announced as a critical time for men. the leaders of these late-millennial men’s move- ments, robert Bly and Bill mccartney, delineated the difficulties ostensibly experienced by american males of the 1990s, and outlined strategies to reaffirm masculine identity as stable, integral to larger hegemonic social structures, and vital to the security of the nation. these groups indicted the transformation of the american family, the proliferation of working women, and the atrophy of traditional male social and sexual roles for what they dubbed a crisis of masculinity. Bly’s and mccartney’s visions for rejuvenated maleness differed, but both advocated the practice of homosocial rituals in which men gathered with other men—and removed from women—to remind each other of proper male identity and activity. the success of these popular men’s movements coincided with Jane austen’s mid-1990s cultural revival, in which films, television series, cookbooks, calendars, and other oddities helped to reenergize austen’s enduring appeal—an appeal that has received considerable attention from austen critics, fans, and devotees.1 while Bly and the Promise keepers responded to what they saw as a crisis P r e F a C e  ix We are living at an important and fruitful moment now, for it is clear to men that the images of adult manhood given by the popular culture are worn out; a man can no longer depend on them. By the time a man is thirty-five he knows that the images of the right man, the tough man, the true man which he received in high school do not work in life. Such a man is open to new visions of what a man is or could be. (Bly ix) We have a unique opportunity today, the chance to stand up, be counted, and give men who have chosen a different road an alternative before it’s too late. . . . Christian men all over our nation and around the world are suffering because they feel they are on a losing streak and they can’t break the pattern. The Adversary has us where he wants us—feeling defeated. It need not be that way. (McCartney 11–13) Kramp_final.indb 9 1/12/2007 2:53:00 PM x / P r e f a c e moment for men by encouraging homosocial practices designed to reestab- lish strong hegemonic structures, austen’s late-millennial vogue showed how the cultural authority of heterosexual men could be maintained without evangelical meetings or Iron John ceremonies. Indeed, the late-twentieth- century revisions of austen’s work showcased the model of modern mascu- linity that emerged alongside the development of the western nation in the years following the french revolution; and the filmic updates of austen’s narratives depicted such men as attractive and romantic individuals. the reappearance and lure of austen’s men in the wake of the crisis announced by the late-twentieth-century men’s movements suggests the value of her fictional world, and specifically her male characters and their model of masculinity, to the amelioration of social concerns about men. her men are not the virile wild men imagined by Bly, nor are they the devoted family men who attended mccartney’s large Promise keepers’ gatherings. my project aims to study the masculinity modeled by the men of austen’s novels—men who attempt to achieve sexual and social security amid the insecurity of the post-revolutionary period. the men of her tales respond to diverse and conflicting cultural standards for male identity and behav- ior generated by england’s volatile discursive response to the revolution. they are well-managed men who are capable of becoming active members of the modern english nation because they monitor their desires. despite the romantic draw of the men in the late-millennial filmic versions of austen’s tales, my readings of her novels will demonstrate that her men are appealing and effective modern men precisely because they regulate their susceptibility to amorous emotions. devoney looser, in her assessment of austen’s relevance to mid-1990s men’s movements, questions: “are austen’s heroes appealing because they are in some sense ‘new’ to us; because they harken back to older versions of masculinity; or because they are—like her women—some sort of hybrid of the two?” (164). I will argue that austen’s men are attractive to late-millennial american culture because they embody a well-disciplined masculinity that allows them to maintain their participa- tion in hegemonic and heterosexual social structures, such as marriage and family, without isolating themselves from women. men’s collectives such as Bly’s mythopoeticism and the Promise keepers attempted to rebuild such hegemonic and heterosexual social structures by reminding men of their supposedly distinct sexual and social responsibilities. these movements charged that contemporary men had lost their cultural identity, function, and direction;2 Bly and the Promise keepers, like many other pundits and critics of masculinity, offered plans for repairing men that required what michael a. messner describes as “spiritually based homosocial Kramp_final.indb 10 1/12/2007 2:53:00 PM P r e f a c e / x i rituals through which [men] can collectively recapture a lost or strayed ‘true manhood’” (17).3 these men’s groups wanted to stabilize sex-based identity and function as fixed and oppositional, and this project generated a vast cul- tural following. michael kimmel and michael kaufman note that “millions of men have been forced to grapple with what it means to be a man,” and they conclude that these “men are searching, looking for a new sense of mean- ing” that movements such as mythopoeticism and the Promise keepers were ready to provide (283). Bly’s Iron John: A Book About Men (1990) encouraged men to embrace their intrinsic manliness—in opposition to intrinsic wom- anliness—and to dismiss diluted or complicated models of masculinity that might subdue male potency; the Promise keepers, likewise, urged confused or troubled men to recall the gender stability inherent in what messner calls “biblical essentialism.” messner explains that the “Promise keepers’ discourse relies on little or no scientific justification or basis for its essentialist beliefs”; rather, biblical essentialism is “based on faith” and “allows Promise keepers’ discourse about women to be couched in terms of ‘respect’ for women (in their proper places as mothers, wives, and emotional caretakers of house and home)” (30). the 1990s men’s movements insisted that men are fundamen- tally different from women, and they charged men to embrace such differ- ences as vital to their sexual identities and social functions. while these men’s movements reacted to what they saw as a crisis in masculinity, the updates of austen’s narratives reminded us that crises of masculinity are nothing new, and the successful period-piece films provided american culture with an efficient strategy for easing anxieties about con- temporary men without banishing them from women. the long-standing appeal of austen’s narratives has been due to the charm of her characters, their manners, and their society; more specifically, austen’s tales have remained attractive because they supposedly show us men and women who engage in romantic relationships devoid of angst or crisis in a world free of conflict, controversy, and uncertainty.4 henry grunwald wrote of the several austen films: many teenagers say that they are attracted by the elegant houses and what they believe to have been a gentler and more humane way of life. other observers argue that these films convey a controlled passion that is more sensuous than the crass sexual exhibitions of so many current movies. . . . as for me, watching each of the austen productions, I was struck by the good manners and the correct english––language representing manners of the mind. the contrast with the vulgarity of most other films and much of daily life brought me a sense of relief, of being in an oasis. (a16) Kramp_final.indb 11 1/12/2007 2:53:00 PM x i i / P r e f a c e grunwald’s comments on the 1990s austen films illustrate the millennial conception of the novelist’s work as a repository of a well-organized society clearly distinct from the present. the organization of her characters was also observed by late-twentieth-century american audiences. ellen goodman explored america’s obsession with austen’s men and women and concluded “that what makes the characters appealing and exotic to us is that they are so full of restraints and/or constraints” (a23). the self-regulation of austen’s men and women mirrors their ostensibly structured society that critics admire. and it is noteworthy that the sexual restraint and social sta- bility that goodman and grunwald value in the austen recreations is quite similar to the stability—both social and sexual—that Bly and the Promise keepers attempted to provide men through their manifestoes. american culture of the 1990s was enamored of both the discipline of austen’s het- erosexual romances and the sex-based dichotomy of the men’s movements: both appeared to offer a return to hegemonic social and sexual structures as a simple strategy for ridding modernity of its complexity. ultimately, the social/sexual subjectivity modeled by austen’s men is at once more attractive and more useful to society; her men do not need homosexual rites to amend their insecurities, and their relations with women promote the biological and cultural reproduction of the nation. I am not suggesting that the austen vogue of the late twentieth cen- tury responds to, corrects, or perpetuates the men’s movements of the same period; I believe that austen’s late-millennial reappearance helped american culture to recall a model of masculinity that was vital to the resolution of a previous social and sexual crisis. the men of austen’s novels become con- tributing members of english society in the years following the french revo- lution, the era in which the emerging modern nation develops its organizing civic structures. these male figures of austen’s corpus are examples of what have become a prototype of modern masculinity and a vital component of the heterosexual hegemony that the late-millennial men’s movements sought to preserve. kimmel and kaufman explain that the men’s move- ments of the 1990s vocalized “the cry of anguish of privileged american men, men who [felt] lost in a world in which the ideologies of individualism and manly virtue are out of sync with the realities of urban, industrialized, secular society” (263). the late-twentieth-century man, according to kim- mel and kaufman, was no longer able to make sense of his sexuality in an altered world, and the men’s movements gave such uncertainty a voice and a home. austen’s corpus, however, offers uncertain modern men a solution; her works show how post-revolutionary men resolved their insecurities and gained access to the modern nation and its social structures by placating cul- Kramp_final.indb 12 1/12/2007 2:53:01 PM P r e f a c e / x i i i tural desires for proper masculinity and managing their desires. the filmic updates of austen depicted attractive heterosexual men who did not need to retreat from women to be functional social and sexual subjects. the austen films portrayed men who were at once pleasant and safe; in addition, these men upheld the hegemonic quality of patriarchal structures such as family and marriage without appearing separatist or tyrannical. my study invites us to reconsider the simultaneity of the popular men’s movements and austen’s late-millennial vogue as a way of assessing the social value of her men, but my book is fundamentally a reading of austen’s novels. my goal is to dem- onstrate the enduring cultural utility of austen’s men, and I am specifically interested in how the disciplined masculinity modeled by her men helps to resolve social and sexual crises and promote social order. Kramp_final.indb 13 1/12/2007 2:53:01 PM Kramp_final.indb 14 1/12/2007 2:53:01 PM this book is the product of a longstanding obsession with the work of Jane austen, and thus I know that I owe debts of gratitude to far more people than I am able to remember here. thanks are due to my many colleagues and friends who have read all or parts of the manuscript, and in particular to erin Jordan, ann little, Brian luskey, mark Berrettini, and tom Brede- hoft. I would also like to express my sincere gratitude to devoney looser for her helpful suggestions and advice on this project. for her tireless and precise work as a research assistant, thanks to amy otis. I am also extremely grateful to my many teachers over the years who have encouraged me to con- tinue writing and thinking. I especially wish to thank Virginia hyde, albert J. rivero, debbie lee, ronald J. Bieganowski, s. J., shawn michelle smith, claudia l. Johnson, tim machan, John ehrstine, nicholas kiessling, John d. mccabe, Victor Villanueva, Joan Burbick, alex hammond, and michael f. mccanles. special thanks are due to carol siegel—especially for her cease- less commitment to intellectualism. thanks to my family, and especially my parents, for their love and sup- port. I would also like to thank Joseph conwell, s.J., and Jane rinehart, who long ago showed me the importance of this work; perhaps I was paying more attention than I knew. I am very appreciative of the financial support of the university of northern colorado office of the Provost and the sponsored Programs and academic research center for providing financial support to help fund research for this project. my special thanks to sandy crooms, my editor at the ohio state univer- sity Press, for making the publication process a joy for me. I would also like to thank maggie diehl and her staff for their precise copyediting. thanks to Jackson and nicholas, for reminding me of the ever-impend- ing hope of youthful masculinity. and finally, my dearest gratitude to rita, who consistently shows me that love need not be disciplined. a C K n O w L e D g M e n T S  xv Kramp_final.indb 15 1/12/2007 2:53:01 PM Part of chapter 7, “Imagining malleable masculinity and radical nomad- ism in Persuasion,” and part of the conclusion appeared in Rhizomes 2 (2001), 5–30. for their permission to reprint that material here, I thank the journal’s editors, ann kibbey and carol siegel. x v i / a c k n o w l e d g m e n t s Kramp_final.indb 16 1/12/2007 2:53:01 PM In henry tilney’s charge to catharine morland, he implies that this land and time are safe and ordered. In emma woodhouse’s expression of disgust with the behavior of frank churchill, she identifies his actions as unmanly. her aversion, likewise, presumes that there is a proper way for a man to act in society that all males ought to know. these comments of austen’s characters remind us of her concern with the identity of the english nation and its men. austen’s corpus dramatizes england’s transformation into a modern nation, and an integral element of this process is the modernization of english men. she depicts men who achieve the social and sexual propriety referenced by emma woodhouse despite the cultural turmoil engendered by england’s response to the french revolution—turmoil that henry tilney does not acknowledge. austen’s men respond to a variety of cultural directives for proper masculinity, and they acclimate themselves to the needs of a changing society, but they must carefully regulate their proclivity to sexual desires to ensure their prolonged stability. austen’s novels do not portray a society attempting to forbid men from engaging in sexual activity; rather, austen’s tales present a modernizing nation that attempts to regulate how its men stylize and fashion themselves as sexualized subjects. michel foucault points out that “sexual behavior is not, as is too often assumed, a superimposition of, on the one hand, desires i n T r O D U C T i O n Love, Social/Sexual Organization, and austen  � Remember the country and the age in which we live. Remember that we are English, that we are Christians. Consult your own understanding, your own sense of the proba- ble, your own observation of what is passing around you. (Henry Tilney, in northanger abbey 159) So unlike what a man should be!—None of that upright integrity, that strict adherence to truth and principle, that disdain of trick and littleness, which a man should display in every transaction of his life. (Emma Woodhouse, in emma 360) Kramp_final.indb 1 1/12/2007 2:53:01 PM 2 / I n t r o d u c t I o n that derive from natural instincts, and, on the other hand, of permissive or restrictive laws that tell us what we should or shouldn’t do.” he concludes that “sexual behavior is more than that. It is also the consciousness one has of what one is doing, what one makes of the experience, and the value one attaches to it” (“sexual choice, social act” 141–42). I will treat the issues of sexuality, sexual desire, and love within austen’s texts not as natural instincts that must be either satisfied or repressed, but as matters of social conduct and cultural consciousness that are crafted, maintained, and adjusted. aus- ten repeatedly represents men who monitor their sexualities as part of their larger civic duty, and their self-management allows them to participate more fully in a modernizing culture. as I discuss in my opening chapter, the english society that emerged in the years following the french revolution specifically instructed men how to prevent emotion from endangering their civic identities. early-nineteenth- century england actively sought strategies to curb the passionate behavior of men associated with the radical experiment in france, and england was especially nervous about men’s susceptibility to love and sexual desire. austen’s works consistently illustrate this important dialectic between the individual’s sexuality and the security of the national community. austen specifically notes the social complications and consequences involved in sexual desire, love relations, and marriage, and she likewise demonstrates how civic duties affect the pursuit of desire and romance. throughout my argument, I will use the term social/sexual subjectivity to denote this com- plex interrelation between the social statuses and sexualities of austen’s men. I want to emphasize how the late-eighteenth-century cultural discourses that I discuss in my first chapter were concerned with both the construction of a modern english nation and the formation of a disciplined modern man. austen’s corpus is a useful cultural site to study how men of a modern- izing nation respond to cultural anxieties about masculinity. her narra- tives depict men who monitor their amorous emotions while maintaining romantic relationships with women; these relationships, however, are inevi- tably marked by the order amenable to a society in transition rather than the volatile unpredictability of love. gilles deleuze and félix guattari provok- ingly inquire, “what does it mean to love somebody,” and they conclude: It is always to seize that person in a mass, extract him or her from a group, however small, in which he or she participates, whether it be through the family only or through something else; then to find that person’s own packs, the multiplicities he or she encloses within himself or herself which may be of an entirely different nature. to join them to mine, to make them penetrate mine, and for me to penetrate the other person’s. heavenly nuptials, multi- Kramp_final.indb 2 1/12/2007 2:53:01 PM l o v e , s o c I a l / s e x u a l o r g a n I z a t I o n , a n d a u s t e n / 3 plicities of multiplicities. every love is an exercise in depersonalization. . . . (Thousand Plateaus 35) for deleuze and guattari, love destroys the singularity and security of the individual and compels each lover to embrace the diversity and complexity in both the self and the other; love engenders lines of flight or new kinds of relationships between the diverse and mobile packs that constitute the lovers. such love prevents men and women from embracing the specific and singular roles that both the post-revolutionary english nation and the late-millennial men’s movements assigned to citizens to establish gender clarity and ordered civilizations. for deleuze and guattari, “being-lover” and “being-loved” allow individuals to pursue fluid emotion, pleasurable sensation, and subjectivities marked by flexibility. they ultimately announce that we should “use love and consciousness to abolish subjectification”; they see the potential of love to subvert the ordering forces of modern civilization that subject us/make us subject to disciplined modes of sexuality (Thousand Plateaus 134).1 the male figures of austen’s corpus are, however, strongly urged to become regulated social/sexual subjects in order to provide the civic and cultural leadership required to stabilize the modern english nation. the literary and political discourses of the 1790s establish distinct desires for appropriate english maleness, and each of these models requires the proper man to maintain a singular, static, and well-managed sexuality that does not entail self-banishment from women; austen’s work offers us portraits of men who relinquish the “heavenly nuptials” and powerful desire theo- rized by deleuze and guattari in favor of a disciplined model of modern love endorsed by post-revolutionary england.2 this modern love solidifies stable individual identities for men and women, and, by ensuring strict gen- der polarity, it ultimately helps to justify and maintain hegemonic structures that support modern patriarchy. Austen, Love, and Marriage the issues of love, sexuality, and marriage have, of course, received consider- able attention in austen scholarship, and the centrality of these features in her work has helped to promote her enduring appeal.3 austen’s late-twenti- eth-century revival illustrated how her supposed documentation of gender and social propriety has remained extremely attractive to american consum- ers. austen’s ostensible authority on gender, marriage, and love, however, has historically focused upon women. eve kosofsky sedgwick, in a later mani- festation of her infamous 1989 mla conference presentation, noted that Kramp_final.indb 3 1/12/2007 2:53:01 PM 4 / I n t r o d u c t I o n “austen criticism is notable mostly, not just for its timidity and banality, but for its unresting exaction of the spectacle of a girl Being taught a lesson” (“Jane austen and the masturbating girl” 315). sedgwick’s characterization of austen scholarship as a practice in disciplining vivacious young women reflects a lengthy tradition of “marriage” criticism that claudia Johnson discusses in her influential essay, “austen cults and cultures.”4 austen criti- cism continues to insist upon the educational value of her corpus for young women, and the late-millennial austen craze reminded us of this reputed applicability of the writer’s stories. natalie tyler, in her wonderfully enter- taining handbook The Friendly Jane Austen (1999), reveals the longevity of this cultural belief in austen’s panoramic authority on both women’s lives and their progression toward marriage.5 tyler presents austen as an advi- sor who offers helpful counsel to troubled individuals, and she specifically upholds the valuable marital advice in austen’s works. tyler adds that “the marriage plot compels austen’s heroines to learn how to read human char- acter. . . . hence it is also an education plot” (59). this popular conception of her tales as guidebooks for young women’s effective marriage preparation has prompted numerous critics in the years following austen’s hollywood successes to explore the role of the writer and her tales in expounding the cultural narrative of heteronormativity.6 and her contemporary cultural clout as a heterosexual romance advisor has encouraged scholars to sustain both the “girl-Being-taught-a-lesson” model of criticism and the focus on the narratives’ marriage plots; however, austen criticism remains notably silent on the sexuality and behavior of the heterosexual male lover.7 Instead, the critical penchant to view austen’s corpus as a marital training ground for young women has led to a scholarly focus on the female subject.8 Important feminist and female-centered treatments of austen throughout the 1980s—including sandra m. gilbert and susan gubar’s The Madwoman in the Attic (1979), leroy w. smith’s Jane Austen and the Drama of Woman (1983), margaret kirkham’s Jane Austen, Feminism and Fiction (1983), mary Poovey’s The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer (1984), and John hardy’s Jane Austen’s Heroines: Intimacy in Human Relationships (1984)—established a vital new arena in austen criticism by advancing sophisticated arguments about the depiction of women and femininity in the six novels.9 these early feminist critics provided detailed explorations of femininity and women’s social lives in austen’s texts. their works, nonetheless, often isolated austen’s representations of female characters, effectively disregarding the symbiotic and complex processes of gender formation in austen’s narratives; moreover, this concentration on her portrayal of the heroine has traditionally theorized (either implicitly or explicitly) a simple and static man who is the opposite Kramp_final.indb 4 1/12/2007 2:53:01 PM l o v e , s o c I a l / s e x u a l o r g a n I z a t I o n , a n d a u s t e n / 5 and/or oppressor of women. the critical emphasis on austen’s marriage plots has thus encouraged many to read her corpus as a collection of tales documenting a woman’s search not for love or a lover, but for a stable and stabilizing husband. the young woman’s marital quest, according to this standard approach of austen criticism, involves various lessons the heroine must learn as she matures and accepts her own social/sexual limitations. this critical sup- position depends upon a conception of masculinity as fixed and static; the ideal man for each heroine is presumably somewhere within the narrative, and if she learns the requisite lessons, she will find her man—who is simply waiting to be found. laura tracy claims that austen portrays exactly such autonomous and self-determining men; she argues that “one of austen’s sub-themes about men in her work [is] that they cannot be changed by women”; she concludes that “austen implied that men in western culture are created to be independent subjects—heroes of their own lives” (157). this traditional reading of austen, which casts each woman’s idealized man as a secure and independent figure, is strongly rooted in freudian notions of oedipal development that presuppose the masculine subject as an always-already complete and fully formed sexual subject. In Sexuality and the Psychology of Love, freud outlines the different challenges faced by men and women throughout their oedipal developments. he theorizes that men must successfully progress beyond these trials to achieve sexual and social maturity, but he bemoans that “the majority of men are . . . far behind the masculine ideal” (193). freud’s notion of a “masculine ideal” that men sup- posedly seek has remained important to the field of masculinity studies and integral to the success of the late-millennial popular men’s movements.10 kaja silverman’s widely anthologized study, Male Subjectivity at the Mar- gins (1992), may have epitomized this freudian influence as she explored the struggles and failures of modern men to reach the apex of masculin- ity—the same struggles and failures that prompted many men’s interest in Bly’s mythopoetic manifesto and Promise keepers’ gatherings. this freudian theory of masculinity effectively bifurcates men—that is, each man is either an ideal male sexual subject, or he is lacking.11 freud’s conception of men and masculinity is reductive, and it is specifi- cally ineffective for studying austen’s fictional representation of gendered identity. the men of austen’s corpus, rather than attempting to imitate a single and stable paragon of masculinity, must negotiate numerous inter- twined and contradictory standards for proper maleness that are always inflected by national concerns and perpetually debated and revised. claudia l. Johnson accurately expresses the complexity of austen’s male characters Kramp_final.indb 5 1/12/2007 2:53:02 PM 6 / I n t r o d u c t I o n when she announces that “we will miss what is distinctive about austen’s achievement if we assume that masculine self-definitions were givens rather than qualities under reconstruction” (Equivocal Beings 199). the develop- ing english nation does not offer austen’s men a single and static system for male sexual development à la freud; the literary and political discourses of the 1790s debate various models of masculinity and male social identity. deleuze and guattari, in their response to freud, take up precisely this point, explaining that modern societies “make a habit of feeding on the contradic- tions they give rise to, on the crises they provoke, on the anxieties they engen- der” (Anti-Oedipus 151). the post-revolutionary cultural disorder creates such a contradictory situation for england’s men, and freud’s prominent theory of sexuality cannot negotiate this complexity. angus mclaren points out that “freud’s famous question ‘what do women want?’ has garnered a good deal of indignant attention,” but as mclaren reminds us, “few have observed that he did not ask ‘what do men want?,’ the assumption being that everyone knew” (3). my treatment of austen allows for a reexamination of the emergent model of western masculinity, and I demonstrate that post- revolutionary men’s desires—and perhaps more importantly, post-revolu- tionary society’s desires for men—were neither certain nor static. Modern Man and the Aesthetic of Existence austen’s corpus provides us with a unique opportunity to study masculinity and male sexual development for three primary reasons: (1) it coincides with profound historical changes in western conceptions of men and maleness; (2) it demonstrates the important dialectical process of gender formation; and (3) it portrays men who have become cultural icons of masculinity. Joseph a. kestner rightly notes that “the formation of modern ideologies of masculinity occurred precisely at the time of austen’s formation as a novel- ist” (147). austen’s texts depict modern men who attempt to achieve new and changing standards for proper male sexual identity, and she emphasizes how this process is affected by numerous discourses and events, including the transformation of english society, the reconfiguration of its class struc- ture, and the social/sexual formation of women. to consider the complexity of these various cultural concerns to which austen’s men respond, I employ foucault’s notion of the aesthetic of existence that he develops in the second and third volumes of The History of Sexuality. foucault’s work offers a flex- ible understanding of sexualized subjectivity that allows me to theorize the impact of diverse socially produced qualifications for appropriate maleness Kramp_final.indb 6 1/12/2007 2:53:02 PM l o v e , s o c I a l / s e x u a l o r g a n I z a t I o n , a n d a u s t e n / 7 without neglecting the individual’s interaction with these cultural forces. foucault indicates that the deployment and regulation of sexuality involves an ethics or aesthetics of existence that he discusses as an “elaboration of a form of relation to self that enables an individual to fashion himself into a subject of ethical conduct” (Use of Pleasure 251).12 he explains that the sub- ject’s ethics involve “the kind of relationship you ought to have with yourself . . . which determines how the individual is supposed to constitute himself as a moral subject of his own actions” (“on the genealogy” 263).13 england’s cultural debates of the 1790s delineate various and conflicting standards for proper masculinity that the men of austen’s fiction must negotiate as they fashion themselves as sexual and national subjects; austen’s tales reveal that these men’s efforts repeatedly compel them to relinquish their identities as lovers and discipline their sexual desire. while freud’s theory of an idealized masculinity invites critics to read austen’s corpus as a manual for young women in quest of mr. right, foucault’s theory of the aesthetic of existence allows us to examine—within the context of england’s late-eighteenth-cen- tury discussions—how and why austen’s male characters form their social/ sexual subjectivities. austen’s men craft disciplined social/sexual identities that enable them to satisfy a variety of cultural desires for proper masculinity, and this model of male sexuality is integral to the development of the modern english nation throughout the nineteenth century. austen’s men learn to become stable subjects who are then able to participate in hegemonic heterosexual structures like marriage and family; moreover, the regulation of their desires masks their complexity and prevents any destabilizations. austen’s novels illustrate an efficient model of love and desire that serves the state and its systems of cultural reproduction. her portrayal of the heterosexual romance narrative is undeniably marked by such concerns of national stability and social rehabilitation, and her corpus offers us multiple portraits of men who opt to pursue the ordered rationality of secure/securing love rather than the messiness and complications of sexual desire. this strategy for male sexual formation has become the dominant model of western masculinity that is reinforced whenever the hackneyed “crisis of masculinity” resurfaces. In deleuze’s brilliant “letter to a harsh critic,” he explains that “non- oedipal love is pretty hard work,” and he points out that the majority of modern lovers are hesitant to expose themselves “to love and desire” and instead revert to “the whining need to be loved that leads everyone to the psychoanalyst” (10). this “whining need” fueled the successes of the mid- 1990s men’s movements, and it likely helped to entice moviegoers to the filmic adaptations of austen’s tales in search of a simpler time when love Kramp_final.indb 7 1/12/2007 2:53:02 PM 8 / I n t r o d u c t I o n supposedly “worked.” the propinquity of the late-millennial men’s move- ments and the austen cultural revival, however, ultimately reminds us of the incipience of our efficient and effective model of disciplined modern love. non-oedipal love, as deleuze notes, is risky and even arduous, and austen’s novels illustrate that as the modern english nation recovers from the radical tumult of the french revolution, it could not allow its men to assume such perilous and laborious tasks that might distract them from the business of ordering the state. Austen Criticism and Masculinity despite freud’s sustained influence in the study of sexual development, theorists of masculinity finally succeeded in questioning and destabilizing the long-standing assumption of a fixed and natural male figure during the same mid-1990s period that experienced austen’s hollywood vogue and the rise of popular men’s movements. r. w. connell’s Masculinities (1995), robyn wiegman’s American Anatomies: Theorizing Race and Gender (1995), and michael kimmel’s Manhood in America: A Cultural History (1996) all challenged the cultural and critical expectation of a static man by examining the histories of different masculinities and exploring the various processes of men’s social formations; moreover, these and other theorists of masculinity emphasized the intellectual and political synergy between feminist scholar- ship and masculinity studies.14 wiegman explained that the deconstruction or “‘unmaking,’ if you will, of the category of men importantly remakes masculinity as pertinent to if not constitutive of female subjectivity, thereby rendering complex feminism’s ability to negotiate the distinctions and inter- connections between sex, sexuality, and gender” (“unmaking” 33). connell likewise insisted that “no masculinity arises except in a system of gender relations.” connell added that “rather than attempting to define masculinity as an object (a natural character type, a behavioural average, a norm), we need to focus on the processes and relationships through which men and women conduct gendered lives” (71). the work of connell, wiegman, and kimmel helped to initiate new theoretical strategies for studying the forma- tion of masculinity as a dialectical process informed by historical contexts and individual men’s desires. although alfred P. ollivier wrote a master’s thesis on austen’s men in 1950, austen scholars did not begin to directly address her men until this critical reconfiguration of masculinity. the theme of the 1996 meeting of the Jane austen society of north america (Jasna) was “Jane austen and her men,” and the subsequent 1996 volume of Persuasions collected much Kramp_final.indb 8 1/12/2007 2:53:02 PM l o v e , s o c I a l / s e x u a l o r g a n I z a t I o n , a n d a u s t e n / 9 of the convention attendees’ work on the subject.15 during this same mid- 1990s period, scholars began to treat austen’s men as part of larger critical projects. roger sales’s Jane Austen and Representations of Regency England (1994) offered an impressive reading of austen’s later works within the con- text of regency scandals, including the indecorous activity of prominent men such as the Prince of wales. sales’s criticism has been particularly important in identifying new ways to historicize gender identity in austen’s tales by rethinking the relationship between her narratives and the regency crises. Johnson’s Equivocal Beings: Politics, Gender, and Sentimentality in the 1790s (1995) provided an innovative reading of gender in the late eighteenth cen- tury, but she devoted only her afterword to austen. Johnson read Emma’s knightley as an impressive male figure capable of rehearsing earlier models of chivalric masculinity while simultaneously performing modern male duties. she argued that knightley’s humane model of masculinity “[dimin- ished] the authority of male sentimentality, and [reimmasculated] men and women alike with a high sense of national purpose” (191). Johnson sug- gested that knightley initiated a new type of english maleness that is neither anachronistic nor overly progressive; this model of masculinity, according to Johnson, “desentimentalizes and deheterosexualizes virtue, and in the process makes it accessible to women as well [as men]” (199). the critical work of sales and Johnson demonstrated the importance of austen’s men to our larger understanding of post-revolutionary england, and specifically illustrated the emergence of modern men alongside the development of the modern nation. tim fulford’s Romanticism and Masculinity: Gender, Politics and Poetics in the Writings of Burke, Coleridge, Cobbett, Wordsworth, De Quincey and Hazlitt (1999) has likewise been a vital contribution to the study of mas- culinity in early-nineteenth-century literature. fulford added to Johnson’s work by evaluating the national responses to the french revolution and the subsequent reconfigurations of england’s cultural conception of proper masculinity. fulford argued that throughout the romantic period, “chival- ric manhood did not die”; he asserted “it was relocated in the middle classes,” and he traced this thesis through the writings of many major male writers of the period (Romanticism and Masculinity 9). his work encouraged a recon- sideration of both the romantic(ized) male subject and the literary repre- sentation of men in the period, and his more recent treatments of austen’s novels have been especially informative to my investigation of masculinity in her corpus.16 and yet, this critical energy has not generated sustained critical study of austen’s male characters; rather, this interest in austen’s men seems to have culminated with the publication of audrey hawkridge’s Jane and Her Gentlemen: Jane Austen and the Men in Her Life and Novels (2000). Kramp_final.indb 9 1/12/2007 2:53:02 PM 1 0 / I n t r o d u c t I o n hawkridge’s work provided a comprehensive but uncritical and ahistori- cal assessment of the male figures in austen’s family and fiction. while this book did offer interesting speculations on the representation of maleness in austen’s texts, hawkridge’s goal was simply to demonstrate the artistry of austen’s characterization by documenting the impact of the men in her life on the men of her stories. hawkridge made clear that her “particular exami- nation of Jane’s world looks at the men in her family and her social circle, what she thought of them and how they affected her life. they cast their own light on the men in her works, most of whom she presents so roundly that we feel they are old friends, to admire or smile at as she intended but never to hate” (7). hawkridge’s fond appreciation for austen’s men may have con- cluded what appeared to be a promising new area of austen studies. despite the accomplishments of masculinity theorists and the work of scholars such as sales, Johnson, and fulford, austen’s men have not yet received the critical study necessary to delineate the cultural efficacy of her novelistic project’s conceptions of masculinity. Men, Love, and the Modern Nation I treat austen’s novels as a collection of cultural documents that exposes both a social anxiety about masculinity and a social response to this anxiety. my focus throughout is to evaluate the social discipline of the male lover that austen’s work dramatizes. austen’s works have been influential in craft- ing western notions of the idealized man, but it is a critical misreading to assume that austen’s tales advocate or uphold either a disciplined model of masculinity or any other ideal of maleness.17 Instead, in my discussions of the individual novels, I consider various men’s attempts to develop social/ sexual subjectivities that will allow them to participate in the civic commu- nity and its hegemonic structures, and I explore the ramifications of such attempts on the men’s identities as lovers. I make no effort to take up every man in austen’s corpus, and prominent figures such as mr. darcy, edward ferrars, and henry crawford receive only brief mention. I concentrate on men whose social/sexual subjectivities reveal important shifts in the mod- ernizing nation’s expectations for men. england’s ambitions for the modernizing nation and its men are the principal topics of my first chapter, and I briefly frame my discussion of the late-eighteenth-century discourses on nation and masculinity by con- sidering the influence of prominent eighteenth-century courtesy books upon such public debates. the turbulent decade of the 1790s has proved fecund ground for studies of austen, and yet treatments of her novels have Kramp_final.indb 10 1/12/2007 2:53:02 PM l o v e , s o c I a l / s e x u a l o r g a n I z a t I o n , a n d a u s t e n / 1 1 largely ignored the various prescriptions of ideal manliness that emerged throughout this period. these models of maleness are produced by a nexus of literary and political texts that focused on and responded to the national crisis engendered by the french revolution, the rising feminist movement in england and europe, the continuing enlightenment tradition, and the senti- mental rhetoric of the late eighteenth century. the post-revolutionary cul- tural documents I investigate explored plans for the future of the nation and debate the worthiness of proposals for far-reaching social reform. england’s ideal of masculinity was a recurring component of these discourses, and I will specifically treat three discourses that structured the public dialogue about masculinity: the contemporary relevance of a chivalric social system, the volatile relation between the enlightenment doctrine of rationality and the sentimental tradition, and the appropriate relations between the sexes. my goal in this chapter is to establish the historical and textual context out of which austen’s depictions of masculinity emerged. I organize my discus- sion of the late-eighteenth-century cultural debates around the works of edmund Burke and mary wollstonecraft; I concentrate on the political and philosophical texts in the initial chapter, and I consider relevant literary works within my discussions of austen’s novels. I then provide a selective treatment of austen’s juvenilia, and while I do not concern myself with the impact of the post-revolutionary discourses on the male lovers of these short tales, I do note a burgeoning cultural anxiety about young men, their neglect of courtesy book guidelines, and their sus- ceptibility to the dangers of love and sexual desire. I argue that the social/ sexual subjectivity of Northanger Abbey’s henry tilney serves as austen’s fictional response to this growing concern about england’s young men. tilney’s strong adherence to the doctrine of rationality protects him from the potentially overwhelming powers of love. henry models a masculinity rooted in Jacobin principles of reason and industry; he will not allow the irrational or sublime to affect his behavior, and even his climactic decision to disobey the authority of his father and travel to the morlands’ home is based upon reason. and yet, henry’s restraint reveals his knowledge of other cultural debates on nation and masculinity, including the discourses of chiv- alry and enlightenment feminism. he is a disciplined man whose structured behavior protects him against the snares of romance that entangle the young lovers of austen’s juvenilia. the suitors of marianne dashwood show us more extensive examples of the dangers of love and desire. austen casts Brandon and willoughby as men of sensation who are schooled in the appreciation of sensory per- ceptions, respectful of sentiment, and liable to uncontrollable emotional outbursts. the narrator portrays these men as lovers, and she notes the Kramp_final.indb 11 1/12/2007 2:53:03 PM 1 2 / I n t r o d u c t I o n severe consequences of such behavior; Brandon has taught himself to regulate his senses and manage his sensitivity, and the narrative dramatizes willoughby’s training in modern love. the long-standing reading of Sense and Sensibility as marianne’s epiphany that Brandon is the truly right man for her implies that there is some outstanding difference between her suit- ors, but I argue that willoughby and the colonel are essentially committed to the same model of male behavior. Brandon has simply already learned what willoughby learns by the end of the novel: that to become a trusted and responsible figure in the modern national community, men of sensation must discipline their sensitivity. Pride and Prejudice offers us an important glimpse of the cultural recon- ceptualization of masculinity that accompanies england’s modernization. I treat darcy as an exemplar of a vanishing type of man; he is a resplendent figure who is at once chivalric, rational, and romantic, and I argue that his status as an ostensibly impeccable man highlights his uniqueness. the aris- tocratic tradition that darcy embodies and Pemberley institutionalizes is waning, and while it is still greatly admired in the novel, its representatives are dwindling. the novel indicates that as the esteemed nobleman and his accompanying mythology become less common in the modern nation, eng- land must now establish new models of male social identity and begin train- ing non-aristocratic men to assume greater civic responsibilities. I focus on the development and improvement of mr. Bingley and mr. gardiner. Both of these men have benefited from the successes of the trade class in the early nineteenth century, and each receives important guidance in proper mas- culinity from darcy; moreover, the special attention that darcy devotes to Bingley, whose family has risen from the trade industry, suggests that landed men are concerned enough about the future of the nation’s masculinity to mentor men of new money. while Pride and Prejudice shows us a society preparing for the transi- tion to a new nation and a new kind of man, Mansfield Park dramatizes a society in denial of this transition. the various crises of the Bertram household anticipate the impending collapse of the aristocratic tradition that we see in Persuasion. edmund’s sincere effort to re-solidify his family serves as austen’s final fictional attempt to preserve this decaying lifestyle and its model of masculinity. I present edmund as the last bastion of the declining aristocratic community; the hero’s social/sexual subjectivity specifically tries to merge the qualities of manliness—the gentleman and the clergyman—that Burke outlines in his Reflections on the Revolution in France (1790). edmund invests great importance in both identities, and he virulently defends the importance of the ecclesiastical profession against the charges of the sensually stimulating mary crawford. the hero’s infatuation Kramp_final.indb 12 1/12/2007 2:53:03 PM l o v e , s o c I a l / s e x u a l o r g a n I z a t I o n , a n d a u s t e n / 1 3 with mary tempts him to abandon the discipline of Burke’s archaic mode of socially responsible maleness in favor of the pleasures of modernity, but edmund ultimately anesthetizes his sensitivity to amorous desires. the hero’s marriage to his cousin slows the deterioration of his aristocratic fam- ily, preserves the integrity of the Bertram line, and perpetuates endangered models of masculinity, but the atavistic quality of this union also reveals the desperation of the aristocracy to reproduce itself. In Emma, the atrophying aristocracy and its model of masculinity become comic. mr. woodhouse is a ridiculous male figure who maintains only ceremonial responsibilities in his community. the tradition that edmund Bertram endeavors to save now appears to have dissipated with little regret. I treat knightley as an embodiment of what foucault theorizes as the modern subject whose social/sexual identity is marked by finitude. I agree with Johnson that knightley is an important figure in the history of masculinity because of his adaptability; he values the agricultural heritage of donwell abbey and serves as a pastoral caretaker for the downtrodden of highbury, but he also rebukes frank churchill’s excessive gallantry and willingly pursues the company of the rising trade class. knightley is truly an impressive man who has loaded his finite social/sexual subjectivity with all the masculine characteristics desired by the post-revolutionary discursive community. he is an extremely well-ordered individual like henry tilney, but unlike the hero of Northanger Abbey, knightley is not committed to one model of male sexuality; his is a flexible masculinity, and he has learned to adjust his social/sexual identity to a modern nation. knightley, moreover, shows how modern men can preserve social/sexual identity, maintain a vital civic role, and keep the company of women by carefully regulating any amo- rous desire or sexual passion. In Persuasion, austen finally presents us wentworth—a man who embraces amorous emotions. wentworth is a lover who experiences first- hand the personal and cultural consequences of such a social/sexual identity. the pain of his truncated early romance with the heroine lingers throughout the tale, but the naval hero ultimately regains a willingness to experience desire and passion. wentworth and his naval colleagues are distinct from the previous men of austen’s corpus and sir walter elliot, who embodies the utter demise of the aristocracy and its model of english masculinity.18 the elliots must relinquish their landed estate, and while the narrator highlights the decadence of sir walter and his circle, she likewise accentu- ates the sincerity and compassion of the naval community. wentworth is a sensitive man whose very body bears the marks of seafaring life, but unlike willoughby or Brandon, the naval hero does not allow his prior experiences of sensation to curb or anesthetize his sensitivity. he remains open to desire Kramp_final.indb 13 1/12/2007 2:53:03 PM 1 4 / I n t r o d u c t I o n and its social, emotional, and romantic ramifications; his social/sexual iden- tity is essentially insecure, and his maritime marriage to anne prevents his sexuality from becoming stultified or disciplined. my conclusion briefly considers what I theorize as the cultural response to anne and wentworth’s dynamic nautical relationship. I discuss the prolif- eration of small communities that Sanditon suggests are quickly appearing along the english coast. while mr. heywood insists that the vast growth of such oceanside settlements is economically and socially dangerous for the nation, austen presents sanditon as a successful capitalistic venture; it is a modernized village whose satirized inhabitants have no interest in expe- riencing the mobility and volatility of the sea that anne and wentworth embrace. sanditon may be near the water, but the naval community of Per- suasion will not be spending much time in this well-regulated coastal locale. sanditon’s modernity prevents individuals from expressing and experienc- ing potentially destructuring emotions and desires that might disturb the stability desperately sought by post-revolutionary england. sanditon can tolerate only conventional figures whose desires and passions are disciplined, predictable, and easily categorized. this disciplined model of social/sexual subjectivity has become a cru- cial component of the modern nation and its men. austen’s corpus por- trays a nation in the process of becoming modern that is nervous about its men. these men of austen’s tales respond to this anxiety by developing stable social/sexual identities capable of enduring such transformation; they become functional men who help to stabilize the post-revolutionary nation and its social structures. In terry castle’s controversial review of austen’s let- ters to her sister, she claims “it is a curious yet arresting phenomenon in the novels that so many of the final happy marriages seem designed not so much to bring about a union between hero and heroine as between the heroine and the hero’s sister” (“sister-sister” 3). castle’s comment frightened many austen fans and critics because of its suggestion of lesbianism, but castle actually points to the sibling-like quality of austen’s marriages. Indeed, she presents several of her marital relationships as close friendships that resemble familial bonds rather than sexual unions. austen’s popularity as a default-relationship advisor may even stem from the absence of sexual desire in her novels’ concluding marriages. modern society desperately wants marriage to be cleansed of the messiness of sex and desire, and austen’s corpus offers us a valuable example of this burgeoning cultural ambition in the years following the french revolution. as england becomes a modern nation throughout the nineteenth century, passionate male lovers become liabilities who cannot consistently assume civic responsibilities; such lovers might be able to exist on the seas, but the post-revolutionary english nation Kramp_final.indb 14 1/12/2007 2:53:03 PM l o v e , s o c I a l / s e x u a l o r g a n I z a t I o n , a n d a u s t e n / 1 5 needs stable men who will not permit love to interrupt their involvement in hegemonic social structures. austen’s novels may offer us instructions, but they are rarely instructions for lovers; her texts do, however, teach us how heterosexual men can solidify their involvement in the modern national community by dismissing the role of the lover in favor of a disciplined social/sexual subjectivity. Kramp_final.indb 15 1/12/2007 2:53:03 PM Kramp_final.indb 16 1/12/2007 2:53:03 PM historians have traditionally pointed to the post-revolutionary period as the era in which the modern european nation emerged.1 the appearance of the nation-state, moreover, promoted both the modernization of various social structures, like the family, the citizenry, and the military, and the alteration of cultural conceptions of gender and class. Indeed, as anne mcclintock suggests, the very process of nation-building is necessarily gendered and requires a population ordered by social markers. as the modern english nation developed in the years following the french revolution, political, philosophical, and literary writers actively engaged in public debates about the appropriate social/sexual identities for men and women; moreover, these discussions occurred during a time of economic and social transformation. foucault concisely explains these shifts when he notes that “at the end of the eighteenth century, the bourgeoisie set its own body and its precious sexual- ity against the valorous blood of the nobles” (History of Sexuality, Vol. 1: An Introduction 127–28). england’s industrious middle classes challenged the hereditary authority of the nobility and established new opportunities for non-aristocratic citizens amid the instability of the early nineteenth century. austen’s novels document the effects of both this socioeconomic transition and the late-eighteenth-century debates on the future of the nation; her male characters confront the social anxieties associated with the civic and class instability and respond to gender prescriptions produced by the public discourses of the 1790s.2 C h a P T e r 1 The emergence of the Modern nation and the Development of the Modern Man  �7 Nationalisms are not simply phantasmagoria of the mind; as systems of cultural rep- resentation whereby people come to imagine a shared experience of identification with an extended community, they are historical practices through which social difference is both invented and performed. . . . Nationalism becomes in this way radically con- stitutive of people’s identities, through social contests that are frequently violent and always gendered. (McClintock 260) Kramp_final.indb 17 1/12/2007 2:53:03 PM 1 8 / c h a P t e r 1 the reform culture that permeated england in the 1790s created a dis- cursive community that continually addressed this anxiety. lisa Plummer crafton points out that the french revolution initiated “the largest, most far-reaching and broadest ‘debate’ in [english] literary and cultural history, a war of ideas that encompasses philosophy, theories of history, the study of language, the history of art, gender stereotypes, [and] religion” (x). this decade witnessed sundry textual responses to the radical events in france that outlined proposals to ensure england’s future stability as a nation, and these proposals inevitably emphasized the importance of citizens’ social/ sexual subjectivities. the writers of the 1790s were certainly concerned with more than the classification of gender, but as doris Y. kadish indicates, for participants in the post-revolutionary debates, “the strategy of politicizing gender . . . served many functions.” she explains that gender offered the ostensible security of a fixed marker of identity during a period in which “class and other distinctions were uncertain”; kadish concludes that “gen- der provided a convenient and universally understandable analogy to be used, even if pure examples of masculinity and femininity were becoming increasingly difficult to find” (3–4).3 contributors to the discursive field of the 1790s thus relied upon the social gender structure to provide stable markers of subjectivity integral to their larger reform projects.4 and since, as mcclintock reminds us, the modernizing european nation conceived of the male citizen as “the progressive agent of national modernity (forward- thrusting, potent and historic),” political and literary writers alike in the 1790s offered distinct portraits of an ideal man as integral components of their plans for the future of the english nation (263). Life, Progress, and Male Hegemony such models of masculinity were envisioned within an era of english cul- tural transformation that corresponded with what foucault theorizes as “the entry of life into history.” he explains that during the final years of the eighteenth century, “western man was gradually learning what it meant to be a living species in a living world, to have a body, conditions of existence, probabilities of life, an individual and collective welfare, forces that could be modified, and a space in which they could be distributed in an optimal man- ner” (History of Sexuality, Vol. 1 141–42). the opportunities to enhance, alter, or adjust one’s physical and material conditions of existence invited men and women to imagine and pursue improvement, and the english nation promoted this culture of progress. linda colley explains that post-revolu- tionary england created a new patriotism that “served . . . as a bandwagon on Kramp_final.indb 18 1/12/2007 2:53:03 PM t h e e m e r g e n c e o f t h e m o d e r n n a t I o n / 1 9 which different groups and interests leaped so as to steer it in a direction that would benefit them.” colley adds that “being a patriot was a way of claim- ing the right to participate in British political life, and ultimately a means of demanding a much broader access to citizenship” (5). throughout the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, men of the middle classes demon- strated their patriotism in order to enhance their civic identities and social functions; and the modernizing nation welcomed such patriotism because of its growing need for the bodies and sexualities of bourgeois men. england’s newfound appreciation for the potential of bourgeois men derived from the nation’s demand for soldiers in the revolutionary and napoleonic wars, laborers in an industrializing economy, and new social leaders in the wake of the declining aristocratic power structure. the nation became conscious of the necessity to maximize the potential of its people, and in 1798, great Britain conducted its first census and issued the first of two defence of the realm acts. the act of april 1798 “demanded from each county: details of the number of able-bodied men in each parish, details of what service, if any, each man was prepared to offer to the state, details of what weapons he possessed, details of the amount of live-stock, carts, mills, boats, barges and grain available, details of how many elderly people there were, how many alien and infirm” (colley 289). england’s overt attempt to organize its human and material resources in response to various threats and instabilities exposed the nation’s heightened need for the contributions of all its citizens, especially the previously neglected middle classes. the slow atro- phy of the aristocracy created civic openings that patriotic bourgeois men attempted to fill in order to improve their social standings and ensure their roles in the english nation and its hegemonic structures.5 fulford claims that post-revolutionary england “wanted a hero to prove its power and manliness against the french,” but as he notes, the nation instead became “a society in which traditional models of authority and gender had been dis- credited without being successfully replaced” (Romanticism and Masculinity 6, 9). connell likewise argues that the downfall of the traditional aristocratic man simultaneously resulted in the ascension of a gentry masculinity that “was closely integrated with the state” and its local and national administra- tion (190). connell concludes that this civic-based mode of gentry mascu- linity prospered because of its bifurcation into a new hegemonic form of masculinity and “an array of subordinated and marginalized masculinities” (191). this hegemonic masculinity became the prevailing model of modern western masculinity that directed aspiring men to maintain power in both the domestic and public spheres.6 leonore davidoff and catherine hall explain that “manhood was to become a central part of claims to legitimate middle-class leadership” (199). Kramp_final.indb 19 1/12/2007 2:53:04 PM 2 0 / c h a P t e r 1 If the patriotic bourgeois man of modern england were to become an active participant and useful component of the civic community, he must not relinquish hegemonic control of his home and wife. the modern man’s fail- ure to maintain authority in the domestic realm impeded his ability to act politically, as he could not be a social man without the sexual subjectivity generated by his hegemonic maintenance of home. english bourgeois men thus attempted to make themselves vital members of the english nation by demonstrating both economic and sexual stability; indeed, they pursued sexual stability as a means to justify their public and private social roles. this process inevitably involved what harriet guest discusses as a “perme- able” relationship between the public and private spheres (15). the man’s relationships with his wife and family provided him with the stable sexual- ity required to function as an efficacious member of the civic community, and his emergent role in the civic community made his body and sexuality increasingly important to the nation.7 as Joane nagel argues, “the culture and ideology of hegemonic masculinity go hand in hand with the culture and ideology of hegemonic nationalism” (401). Post-revolutionary england recognized its need to deploy the potential of middle class men in order to establish a stable and hegemonically ordered nation; england, in turn, offered these men the opportunity to establish their own social/sexual stabil- ity by maintaining hegemony at home. Designing Sexuality in the Modern Nation the volatility of english culture in the post-revolutionary years accentuated the social desire for the stabilizing effects of a hegemonic nationalism and masculinity. as we have seen, england recognized its need for the bodies and sexualities of more men, and hence, it likewise realized that these men must be properly taught to train and use their bodies and sexualities. foucault explains that at the close of the eighteenth century, sex and its regulation became “a concern of the state . . . sex became a matter that required the social body as a whole, and virtually all of its individuals, to place themselves under surveillance” (History of Sexuality, Vol. I 116). men who would become valued members of the public community must first learn how to admin- ister their social/sexual subjectivities to maintain hegemony and promote the nation, and the social discourses that responded to the radical events in france accordingly designed various models of appropriate maleness. these discourses dialogued with an ongoing tradition of male courtesy books that instructed england’s men how best to live as sexualized subjects, but unlike the earlier instruction manuals for proper masculinity such as The Prince Kramp_final.indb 20 1/12/2007 2:53:04 PM t h e e m e r g e n c e o f t h e m o d e r n n a t I o n / 2 1 and The Book of the Courtier, the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries wit- nessed a democratization of this educational process. since modern england required the cooperation of its national citizenry, it attempted to regulate the sexuality of a larger male population. the writers of the 1790s created a dis- cursive field in which they engaged and revised the courtesy book tradition to present divergent visions of proper masculine sexuality—visions of the proper male subject as well as his attributes, associations, and civic duties.8 the men of austen’s corpus negotiate these models of masculinity in order to stabilize their social/sexual subjectivities and gain access to the national community. two well-known schools of thought emerged in these politically charged debates: one associated with the publication of edmund Burke’s widely read Reflections on the Revolution in France (1790) and the anti-Jacobin writers of the period, and the other closely linked to the radical thinkers of the dis- senting tradition, including such Jacobin figures as william godwin, mary wollstonecraft, and mary hays. seamus deane maintains that the french revolution “polarized British politics to an unprecedented extent.”9 he explains that “the publication of edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Revolu- tion in France in 1790 compelled those who took part in the subsequent political debate to declare, in however elementary a fashion, the principles of their political beliefs” (4).10 Burke’s rhetorical response to the french revolution clarified his ideas for a future english nation, but his Reflections also forced his discursive opponents to enunciate—via juxtaposition—their plans for england.11 Burke and the anti-Jacobins were appalled by the revo- lution; they advocated a return to a traditional model of civilization rooted in firm class and gender distinctions and claimed that every individual must accept his/her fixed position in society. Burke and his followers also pre- sented a chivalric conception of the noble man strongly influenced by the popular sentimental male figure of the late-eighteenth-century novel. while godwin, wollstonecraft, and other Jacobin writers briefly supported the french revolution, they focused on developing their own ideas for a culture of progress and reform. they critiqued Burke’s ancestral vision of society as irrational and ridiculed his nostalgic chivalric conception of masculinity as antiquated and impotent. the Jacobins upheld reason and industriousness as the guiding principles for any nation and maintained that modern men must become rational creatures rather than antiquated effeminate figures. I will trace three threads of this dialogue concerning the proper mode of english masculinity that consistently appear within the post-revolutionary political, philosophical, and literary texts: (1) the utility of chivalric man- hood in modern society, (2) the correct balance of rationality and masculine sentiment, and (3) the manner and quality of relationships between men Kramp_final.indb 21 1/12/2007 2:53:04 PM 2 2 / c h a P t e r 1 and women. Both literary and political works repeatedly addressed these issues to debate different features of the proper english man who could guide and manage the nation; moreover, as england sought to regulate the bodies and sexualities of non-aristocratic men, it attempted to demonstrate both the vital potential of such men and the necessity of properly deploy- ing this potency. the earl of chesterfield’s Letters to His Son on the Fine Art of Becoming a Man of the World and a Gentleman (1746–47) may have significantly increased the cultural exigency to illustrate to non-aristocratic men the importance of their bodies and sexualities. chesterfield’s attempt to teach his illegitimate child the life and manners of the aristocracy empha- sized dissimulation; he highlighted the value of appearance and impression rather than the more orthodox virtues of knowledge and ethics. at one point in his letters, chesterfield writes that “to be heard with success, you must be heard with pleasure: words are the dress of thoughts” (288). his praise for well-dressed words rather than appropriate language drew the ire of dr. Johnson and others, but his larger project threatened to undermine presum- ably stable markers of proper masculinity. the post-revolutionary english nation could not allow men to learn how to feign proper maleness; england needed an influx of men who knew how to use their sexualities to materi- ally improve themselves and the nation. the various modes of masculinity considered throughout the post-revolutionary period inevitably returned to the sexuality of the proposed english male, i.e., his sexual style, his sexual behavior, and his sexual desire.12 The Merits of Chivalry the most wide-ranging component of the late-eighteenth-century debates about the appropriate english male was the relevance of chivalric notions of society and masculinity. edmund Burke, the most influential supporter of chivalric manliness, wrote his Reflections on the Revolution in France as a direct response to richard Price’s call for vast democratic “reform.” Burke felt Price’s vision would annihilate chivalric structures, and he instead offered a politics of nostalgia.13 while he suggested more progressive politi- cal ideas in his other writings, Burke maintained a conservative attitude toward social reform in his Reflections;14 he believed england must retain its monarchical system of government and carefully categorize the privi- leges and responsibilities of its citizens. he reconsidered the enlightenment concepts of progress, rationality, and the social contract, and concluded “in this partnership all men have equal rights; but not to equal things. he that Kramp_final.indb 22 1/12/2007 2:53:04 PM t h e e m e r g e n c e o f t h e m o d e r n n a t I o n / 2 3 has but five shillings in the partnership, has as good a right to it, as he that has five hundred pound has to his larger proportion” (110). Burke’s rhetoric echoed richard allestree’s influential christian courtesy books, The Whole Duty of Man (1661) and The Gentleman’s Calling (1676), in which allestree highlighted individuals’ “callings.” allestree explained that “[men’s] Call- ings and employments become so various . . . because one man is furnished with an ability, which qualifies him for one sort of calling, another is by his distinct propriety markt out for another” (Gentleman’s Calling 8). like allestree, Burke wanted—and even required—the social participation of all individuals, but he stipulated that people must recognize and respect their fixed positions in society. he discouraged men from pursuing strategies for social improvement and specifically directed them to submit to the authority of organizing civic structures. he demanded that men practice what gillian skinner describes as “obligation and dependence” in order to secure a “con- servative, Burkean [political] ideal” (155).15 Burke wanted english citizens to remain loyal to a romanticized notion of a stable nation rather than experi- ence the instability of modernity. he explained that “when antient opinions and rules of life are taken away, the loss cannot possibly be estimated. from that moment we have no compass to govern us; nor can we know distinctly to what port we steer” (129). Burke’s rhetoric of fear deemphasized the cul- ture of progress that invited middle-class men to assume larger civic func- tions and encouraged readers to yearn for an ordered world of time past, as well as the political, economic, and gender systems associated with this mythical period. Burke again iterated allestree’s influential courtesy books when he argued that manners were an indispensable feature of an ordered society; Burke, however, heightened the nation’s current need for such propriety because of the damaging effects of the french revolution. he described the french revolution as “the most astonishing [circumstance] that has hitherto hap- pened in the world,” and he specifically pointed to its influence on england’s system of manners. he acknowledged that “france has always more or less influenced manners in england” (131), but he insisted that “among the revo- lutions in france, must be reckoned a considerable revolution in their ideas of politeness” (120). he argued that england must return to what he pre- sented as its native ancestral system of economics, politics, and gender, and he asserted that manners were vital to such a national project. he announced that “there ought to be a system of manners in every nation which a well- formed mind would be disposed to relish. to make us love our country, our country ought to be lovely” (129). he repeated Price’s patriotic manifesto that men should love their nation, but Burke maintained that this love must Kramp_final.indb 23 1/12/2007 2:53:04 PM 2 4 / c h a P t e r 1 revolve around manners rather than radical liberty. gregory claeys indicates that for Burke, “manners and civilisation distinguished modern from bar- baric societies, and depended crucially upon the spirit of the gentleman and of nobility” (314). Burke invested gentlemanly behavior—and its associative social structures—with the ability to re-stabilize english culture in the wake of the french revolution, and, thus, Burke’s vision of masculinity became vital to his plan for the future of the english nation. Perhaps Burke’s most effective rhetorical device for convincing his read- ers of the value of the chivalric masculinity he idealized was to announce its death. In one of the most widely discussed passages in his Reflections, he mourned the loss of what he believed to be the traditional men and manners of england: But the age of chivalry is gone.—that of sophisters, oeconomists, and calcu- lators, has succeeded; and the glory of europe is extinguished for ever. never, never more, shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, that dignified obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom. the unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of nations, the nurse of manly sen- timent and heroic enterprize is gone! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that chastity of honour, which felt a stain like a wound, which inspired cour- age whilst it mitigated ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing all its grossness. (127) Burke bemoaned the apparent demise of men who sustained chastity, honor, and heroic sensitivity, as he believed such male figures were essen- tial to preventing the revolutionaries’ ideas about social status and sexual behavior from migrating to england. tom furniss explains that “in Burke’s analysis . . . the danger of the revolution is that . . . it promises to substi- tute a bourgeois order in the place of traditional structures” (187). furniss indicates that Burke offered his version of chivalry “as a ‘noble’ egalitarian code which nevertheless maintains distinctions of rank” (176). Burke’s imagined chivalric community ostensibly provided the equality and demo- cratic opportunity sought by the non-aristocratic citizens of a moderniz- ing nation, but it simultaneously preserved hereditary privileges and upheld gallant male behavior. he wanted the nation to rely upon an entrenched political system, whose power structure was maintained by chivalric men.16 frans de Bruyn argues that Burke’s model man was “a representative and guardian of the nation’s history and cultural tradition . . . the very embodi- ment of customs and manners, and is thus a figure for the entire society Kramp_final.indb 24 1/12/2007 2:53:04 PM t h e e m e r g e n c e o f t h e m o d e r n n a t I o n / 2 5 to emulate” (49). this ideal male figure was a key component to Burke’s overall vision of a future england because he served as both the adminis- trator of a chivalric social system and an exemplar of proper english male sexuality.17 Burke’s various discursive opponents responded to his Reflections by attacking him, the chivalric structures he adulated, and his vision of english masculinity. Joseph Priestley censored Burke for his advocacy of an anti- quated system of organizing culture that “nothing but an age of extreme barbarism recommended” (29). catherine macaulay likewise challenged Burke’s assumption of the naturalness of chivalry to english cultural history; she repositioned chivalry as a social invention that reacted to “the evils aris- ing from ferocity, slavery, barbarism, and ignorance.” macaulay concluded that “now, when the causes no longer exist which rendered them useful, we should rather think of freeing society of all the evils inherent in those false notions of honour which they gave rise to” (On Burke’s Reflections 54). macaulay and Priestley denied the relevance of chivalry to the dynamic post- revolutionary period in which english culture needed to maximize rather than restrict the potential of its populace. they disputed Burke’s claims about the benevolent organizing powers of chivalry and suggested england’s need for modernized social structures. wollstonecraft joined Priestley and macaulay in decrying Burke as an anachronistic thinker; wollstonecraft specifically crafted an alternative model of masculinity in opposition to the gallant masculinity idealized by Burke. In A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792), wollstonecraft openly derided the chivalric culture and its gentlemanly manners that Burke valued. she divested such behavior of any vital social import and charged, “so ludicrous, in fact, do these ceremonies appear to me, that I scarcely am able to govern my muscles, when I see a man start with eager, and serious solicitude, to lift a handkerchief, or shut a door, when the lady could have done it herself ” (126). wollstonecraft ridiculed Burke’s model of masculin- ity as both foolish and revolting. In addition, she argued that such chivalric performances debilitated men by making them irrational, effeminate, and consequently less useful to the national community. she consistently empha- sized the responsibility of men to accept the physical preeminence of their bodies; for example, she announced that “in the government of the physi- cal world it is observable that the female in point of strength is, in general, inferior to the male. this is the law of nature; and it does not appear to be suspended or abrogated in favour of woman. a degree of physical superior- ity cannot, therefore, be denied—and it is a noble prerogative!” (Vindication of the Rights of Woman 74).18 wollstonecraft urged men to embrace their Kramp_final.indb 25 1/12/2007 2:53:04 PM 2 6 / c h a P t e r 1 physical virility as a distinctive mark of their sex, and she requested that they demonstrate this bodily potential through action. as she explained in A Vindication of the Rights of Men (1790), “talents are only to be unfolded by industry” (42). sir Brooke Boothby seconded this argument a year later by insisting that “men are encouraged to every useful exertion by the cer- tainty of enjoying fruits of their industry” (110–11). unlike Burke, who favored ancestral social structures, wollstonecraft and Boothby supported a culture of merit and progress based upon a vigor they saw as rational. woll- stonecraft mocked the gallant masculinity that Burke mourned and instead lamented that “the days of true heroism are over, when a citizen fought for his country like a fabricius or a washington” (Vindication of the Rights of Woman 214). as with Burke, we may learn the most about what wollstone- craft valued by considering what she eulogized: the virile and accountable man of industry. wollstonecraft was particularly harsh on the men who might presum- ably fit Burke’s model of masculinity—soldiers. she claimed that “standing armies can never consist of resolute, robust men; they may be well disci- plined machines, but they will seldom contain men under the influence of strong passions, or with very vigorous faculties.” wollstonecraft viewed the men of the military as mechanized figures who could not act or lead with vitality. she explained that such men were “particularly attentive to their per- sons, fond of dancing, crowded rooms, adventures, and ridicule. like the fair sex, the business of their lives is gallantry.—they were taught to please, and they only live to please” (92–93). she chastised them as physically and psy- chologically weak men who shunned issues of true national consequence in favor of decoration and ceremony. wollstonecraft endorsed what g. J. Bark- er-Benfield terms “standards of healthy citizenship . . . in order to produce virtue [which] looks back to the ‘manly’ political, moral tradition” (106). wollstonecraft wanted men to be virile, active, and “other” than women, and she, like Burke, conceived of her proper english man as a central feature of her larger vision of a modern nation. thomas gisborne, in his tremendously popular Enquiry into the Duties of Men (1794), offered a useful summation of the Jacobin discursive retort to Burke. gisborne concluded that “the main concern of every englishman is not with the conduct of his ancestors, but with his own” (I: 101). like wollstonecraft, gisborne emphasized the need for men to accept their own bodily and social responsibilities rather than rehearse the duties of the past. these various criticisms of Burke’s desire for gallant and noble men produced a distinct vision of a rational and industri- ous masculinity that influenced austen’s depiction of men. Kramp_final.indb 26 1/12/2007 2:53:05 PM t h e e m e r g e n c e o f t h e m o d e r n n a t I o n / 2 7 The Proper Ratio the dialogue on the relevance of chivalry to post-revolutionary english culture was far-reaching and prompted writers of the 1790s to consider additional characteristics for english men, including the appropriate balance such male figures should maintain between rational and sentimental behav- ior. as we have seen, Jacobin writers of the 1790s criticized chivalry as an arcane social system with an irrational code of propriety. they also charged that chivalry encouraged men to act with uncontrollable sentimentality and unrestrained passion. while such thinkers turned to the enlightenment tradition to outline a model of masculinity based upon reason and indus- try, anti-Jacobins relied heavily upon the legacy of the earl of shaftesbury’s Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times (1711) and the literary icon of the sentimental male hero to define their proper man. Prominent works such as samuel richardson’s Sir Charles Grandison (1753–54), laurence sterne’s A Sentimental Journey (1768), and henry mackenzie’s The Man of Feeling (1771) offered popular and influential examples of this figure. these and other novels dramatized the wisdom of men who shared shaftesbury’s belief in the primacy and benevolence of emotions. shaftesbury proposed that “in general all the affections or passions are suited to the public good, or good of the species” and concluded that men are “accordingly good or vicious as the sensible affections stand with them” (250, 255–56). shaftesbury’s work legitimated and indeed elevated the man of feeling as a courteous, trusted, and prudent leader who was fondly memorialized by popular sentimental novels. But by the late eighteenth century, physical sensations and sentimental emotions became an issue of great concern, as english radicals and conservatives alike criticized the excessive overflow of passions associated with the french revolution.19 many Jacobins initially supported the revolution as the culmination of the rational pursuit of the rights of men, but they eventually became disgruntled with the irrational activity and excessive emotion of the rebels. conservative anti-Jacobin writ- ers denounced the brutality of the revolt and announced that the french had forgotten how to “feel” properly. Both camps responded to the radical events in france by attempting to delineate equilibriums between reason and emo- tion that “proper” english men ought to develop.20 Burke’s Reflections was a very good example of this difficult struggle to codify the proper display of male sentiment. his treatise was extremely pas- sionate, as he filled his work with rhetorical flourishes aimed at garnering emotional support for the departed french monarch.21 Burke, however, Kramp_final.indb 27 1/12/2007 2:53:05 PM 2 8 / c h a P t e r 1 was also extremely concerned with the dangerous potential of men’s undis- ciplined feelings. he indicated that “society requires . . . that even in the mass and body as well as in the individuals, the inclinations of men should frequently be thwarted, their will controlled, and their passions brought into subjection” (111). Burke demanded the social subservience and tem- pered sentiment of men, and he imagined such regulation as reasonable. he criticized the revolutionaries for their uncontrolled emotion and lack of respect for ancestral authority, and proclaimed that “[r]age and phrenzy will pull down more in half an hour, than prudence, deliberation, and foresight can build up in an hundred years” (216).22 Burke could not endorse what he understood as excessively sensational masculinity that he blamed for the overthrow of a secure hereditary system of politics, economics, and gender relations; nonetheless, he did share shaftesbury’s concern with proper feel- ing. In his discussion of the horrors of the revolution, he claimed that “we are so made as to be affected at such spectacles with melancholy sentiments” (131). he compared the violent distress experienced by the french royals to a theatrical performance, and admitted, “I should be truly ashamed of find- ing in myself that superficial theatric sense of painted distress, whilst I could exult over it in real life” (132). Burke believed that we must express proper emotion within the appropriate context, and he was convinced that english men have a natural ability to feel properly. he concluded by declaring that “[w]e have not (as I conceive) lost the generosity and dignity of thinking of the fourteenth century. . . . we preserve the whole of our feelings still native and entire, unsophisticated by pedantry and infidelity. we have real hearts of flesh and blood beating in our bosoms” (137). Burke wanted england to recapture the sensitivity that he associated with a chivalric system of society. he claimed that men were passionate creatures, and while he believed this passion must be disciplined, he also insisted that modern england could not allow strict rationality to strangle such sentimentality. Burke’s Reflections produced a complicated social desire that directed the men of austen’s nov- els to retain emotions while simultaneously submitting to the regulations of entrenched structures. this powerful desire for a proper man of feeling who upholds the authority of traditional systems of power received challenges from the usual Jacobin discursive opponents. while the literary texts that challenged the ideas of Burke and others about sentiment presented complex male figures who incorporated emotion alongside their commitment to reason, politi- cal writers ridiculed Burke and his rhetoric as overly sentimental. Boothby, for instance, referred to the “dangerous tenets” of Burke’s work and argued that “all enthusiasm is certainly excess, it begins where reason ends” (6, 13). macaulay similarly compared Burke’s idealization of the fourteenth Kramp_final.indb 28 1/12/2007 2:53:05 PM t h e e m e r g e n c e o f t h e m o d e r n n a t I o n / 2 9 century to “methodized sentimental barbarism” (On Burke’s Reflections 54). even hannah more reported that “some of the blackest crimes which stain the annals of mankind, profligacy, murder, and especially suicide” could be traced “back to this original principle, an ungoverned sensibility” (II: 100). these writers warned of the risks of emotionalism they associated with Burke’s Reflections, and Jacobin thinkers grew increasingly concerned about the impact of this sensibility upon english men. mary anne radcliffe specifically addressed the vulnerability of men of sentiment to financially desperate women. she mused, “how many unhappy young men have fallen a sacrifice, both in mind and body, to the diabolical artifices which these poor, miserable, abandoned women are driven to practice for bread!” (419). radcliffe demonstrated a specific liability of sensibility that threatened to endanger the civic potential of aspiring young english men. she re-worked Burke’s genteel rhetoric and charged these men to “act like men, and, as men of honour, support the dignity of their character” (428). radcliffe’s larger goal was, of course, to improve the social opportunities for women, but she also pointed to the damaging effects of hypersentimentality upon men and women alike. wollstonecraft was likewise extremely critical of the sentimental masculin- ity that she identified with Burke’s writing and person. she addressed Burke directly: “all your pretty flights arise from your pampered sensibility . . . you foster every emotion till the fumes, mounting to your brain, dispel the sober suggestions of reason” (Vindication of the Rights of Men 9). wollstonecraft decried that Burke, like his man of feeling, was ruled by uncontrollable and irrational passion. she even redefined his advocacy of a noble and genteel sentiment as “sensibility,” which she described as “the manie of the day” (8). wollstonecraft highlighted the dangers of this “manie” to men. she explained that “men who possess uncommon sensibility, whose quick emotions shew how closely the eye and heart are connected, soon forget the most forcible sensations” and are “not spurred on to any virtuous act” (53). wollstonecraft, like Boothby and macaulay, was concerned that Burke’s text would encourage men to become physically weak and socially feeble. she believed that england must “cultivate [its] reason” rather than adhere to an antiquated chivalric theory of rank and manners, which she claimed had “emasculated [men] by hereditary effeminacy” (Vindication of the Rights of Men 60; 40).23 wollstonecraft accordingly espoused rationality as the basis of her plan for a future england and its populace. she felt that men and women could progress by rational and industrious behavior that was limited by Burke’s theory of natural rank, gender, and sentiment. she aggressively questioned, “what do you mean by inbred sentiments? from whence do they come? how were they bred? are they the brood of folly, which swarm like the insects on Kramp_final.indb 29 1/12/2007 2:53:05 PM 3 0 / c h a P t e r 1 the banks of the nile, when mud and putrefaction have enriched the languid soil?” (Vindication of the Rights of Men 32). wollstonecraft’s powerful and putrid image implied that Burke’s plan for the nation and its man would indeed spoil the promise of the land and its citizens. she refused to accept Burke’s proposition of inherent manly sentiments and claimed that “[t]he mind must be strong that resolutely forms its own principles; for a kind of intellectual cowardice prevails which makes many men shrink from the task, or only do it by halves” (Vindication of the Rights of Woman 81). rather than suggesting, as Burke did, that men possessed a priori emotions, wollstone- craft remained a true empiricist and insisted that men must experience the world and its sensations prior to determining how they “feel.”24 she wanted the modern male of england to renounce Burke’s belief in inborn feelings and discern his own passions through rational processes. she understood the importance of emotion and revealed her desire for a man who could “[blend] happily reason and sensibility into one character,” but she was ada- mant that “sensibility is not reason” (132–33).25 austen continually presents men who experience difficulties resolving this dialectic between reason and emotion as they attempt to enhance their social/sexual subjectivities and pursue relations with women. Men and the Rights of Women the emergence of modern enlightenment feminism was part of this culture of progress that encouraged the improvement of the nation and its citizens. Prominent works published by wollstonecraft, mary hays, mary robin- son, and others confronted both traditional gender systems and england’s patriotic call for men to exercise hegemonic control over the domestic sphere. while the modern english nation encouraged men to maintain such hegemony as a means to improving their social/sexual identities, these early feminist critics reevaluated longstanding expectations of masculinity as a means to reconstructing femininity. Burke, however, was not interested in modernizing sexual identity; his call for a return to a chivalric system of pol- itics, economics, and gender relations derived from what Johnson describes as Burke’s belief that “the continuance of civil order resulted not from our conviction of the rational or metaphysical rightness of certain obligations or arrangements, but rather from our attachment to customary practices” (Equivocal Beings 3).26 Burke implicitly endorsed the distribution of the sexes into the “natural” hegemonic structure delineated by conduct and courtesy books. such manuals repeatedly emphasized entrenched gender roles and specifically highlighted the need for a woman to care for a man and Kramp_final.indb 30 1/12/2007 2:53:05 PM t h e e m e r g e n c e o f t h e m o d e r n n a t I o n / 3 1 his public standing. allestree instructed the wife to “be extremely tender” of her husband “by making all that is good in him as conspicuous, as public as they can; setting his worth in the clearest light, but putting his infirmities in the shade” (The Ladies Calling II: 34). the feminist critics who responded to Burke’s desire for an ancestral model of gender relations challenged this longstanding perception of the woman as the caretaker of the man. they employed the enlightenment doctrine of reason to demand a modern con- ception of the formation and maintenance of gender that did not require aspiring men to retain a hegemonic relationship with women. Indeed, many of these feminist writers reversed allestree’s influential advice by organizing their claims around the enlightenment theory that rational men should want to improve the social status of equally rational women. hays, for example, began her Appeal to the Men of Great Britain on Behalf of Women (1798) by describing the nation’s male citizens as tra- ditionally “remarkable for an ardent love of liberty”; she then extrapolated that the extant oppression of women and its potential amelioration should be “equally interesting” to men (i–iii). mary anne radcliffe was much more direct in her discussion of the need for men to participate in the social emancipation of women. she indicated that “it was never intended that women should be left destitute in the world, without the common necessaries of life” and concluded by asking, “then is it not highly worthy the attention of men, men who profess moral virtue and the strictest sense of honour, to consider in what mode to redress these grievances!” (409). radcliffe borrowed from Burke’s rhetoric of honorable chivalric masculin- ity to insist that a proper english man must concern himself with women’s social subjection. even more, in her conservative Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education (1799), declared that “men of sense . . . need be the less inimical to the improvement of the other sex, as they themselves will be sure to be gainers by it.” more disagreed with many of the leading feminist thinkers of the 1790s, but she felt that if men supported the edu- cation of women, such women would be less enamored of gaining equality and more interested in becoming learned and useful (II: 13). these writ- ers produced a cultural desire for men to involve themselves in the social conditions of women, and macaulay, in her Letters on Education (1790), succinctly enunciated the need for such men. she explained that the “hap- piness and perfection of the two sexes are so reciprocally dependent on one another that, till both are reformed, there is no expecting excellence in either” (216). this notion of a symbiotic relationship between the sexes permeated many of the discussions of gender throughout the decade and ultimately encouraged english men to develop a knowledge and concern for the progress of women. Kramp_final.indb 31 1/12/2007 2:53:05 PM 3 2 / c h a P t e r 1 The Regulation of Love and Desire english men were specifically asked to reconfigure their amorous relation- ships with women as part of the social effort to improve the rights and status of women. courtesy and conduct books had long addressed the issue of love between a husband and wife, and we can trace a growing concern about love throughout the eighteenth century. In 1622, william gouge claimed that “no dutie on the husbands part can be rightly performed except it be seasoned with loue” (350). allestree similarly argued that “’tis love only that cements the hearts, and where that union is wanting, ’tis but a shadow, a carcass of marriage” (The Ladies Calling II: 24). these influential early manuals por- trayed love as the fundamental component of marriage, but by the 1700s writers began to warn of the volatility of love. John essex, for example, advised women to manage the love of marriage. he cautioned young women of “men who behave themselves with the greatest decorum and good man- ners”; according to essex, such actions engendered “the Passion of love . . . [that] at last arrives to be the cause of so many extravagances in the world” (124). the anonymous author of The Lady’s Preceptor (1743), likewise, admonished that “love is a whimsical Passion” that “gives a visionary Plea- sure, but at the same time there is infinite danger in being led by it” (27). By the end of the eighteenth century, love has ceased to be salutary and has instead become potentially destructive. as John gregory concluded, “[t]he effects of love among men are diversified by their different tempers. an art- ful man may counterfeit every one of them so as easily to impose on a young girl of an open, generous, and feeling heart, if she is not extremely on her guard” (84). that which once solidified the marital relationships between men and women now constituted a threat to both naïve young women and the very institution of marriage. critics of Burke’s nostalgic vision for the english nation repeated these warnings about the effects of love upon men, and they consistently pointed to the dangers of wedding a lover. wollstonecraft, for example, bemoaned that “husbands . . . are often only overgrown children; nay, thanks to early debauchery, scarcely men in their outward form” (Vindication of the Rights of Woman 91). like gregory, she instructed that “in the choice of a husband, [women] should not be led astray by the qualities of a lover—for a lover the husband, even suppos- ing him to be wise and virtuous, cannot long remain.” she warned of the ephemeral nature of the male lover who began as a “sprightly lover” only to be transmogrified “into a surly suspicious tyrant” (189–90). the male lover, according to wollstonecraft, was an unstable creature who oppressed the female sex by becoming an irrational despot and weakened the nation Kramp_final.indb 32 1/12/2007 2:53:06 PM t h e e m e r g e n c e o f t h e m o d e r n n a t I o n / 3 3 by becoming an indolent man. she wanted men to dismiss the dynamic emotions and turbulent malleability of love in favor of a physically strong and focused sexual status. and she was certainly not alone in this discur- sive endeavor to banish the male lover. hays insisted that “no reasonable woman, no woman with a spark of common sense, dreams that a husband is to continue a lover, in the romantic sense of the word” (Appeal 85). she later addressed the appropriate conduct of men toward women and con- cluded that “men should be guided by, and act upon, the same principles, in governing the female sex, as in the other transactions of life” (158). while hays instructed men to treat women as business partners capable of ratio- nal exchanges, hannah more offered more subtle recommendations for the restructuring of amorous relations. she acknowledged that “the sexes will naturally desire to appear to each other, such as each believes the other will best like . . . and each sex will appear more or less rational as they perceive it will more or less recommend them to the other.” more granted a certain sen- sual attraction between men and women, as well as an inclination to adjust the amount of reason employed in such encounters, but she noted that “it is . . . to be regretted, that many men, even of distinguished sense and learn- ing, are too apt to consider the society of ladies, rather as a scene in which to rest their understandings, than to exercise them” (II: 42). more, hays, and wollstonecraft echoed eighteenth-century conduct and courtesy books with their cautionary treatments of love, and they established a cultural desire for men to pursue romantic relations with reason rather than passion. austen’s fiction consistently explores the cultural dangers associated with male lovers, including the risks incurred by young women who become romantically involved with such men; moreover, austen’s corpus demon- strates that men who abandon erotic desire in favor of social/sexual security inevitably enjoy functional marriages, improve their social/sexual identities, and become useful to the modern english nation. the many qualifications for the proper english man produced in the discursive field of the 1790s cre- ated a dynamic zone of nation and masculinity. these various literary and political discourses delineated social expectations for english maleness that the male characters of austen’s corpus attempt to satisfy in order to become active participants in the post-revolutionary nation. her narratives con- tinually portray men who willingly embrace a lack of love in order to secure their social/sexual subjectivity. her male characters craft secure aesthetics of existence in response to the many desires produced by post-revolutionary literary and political discourses; they can never meet all the standards devel- oped for the model national male figure, but by relinquishing their roles as lovers they ensure their immunity from the destabilizing powers of amorous Kramp_final.indb 33 1/12/2007 2:53:06 PM 3 4 / c h a P t e r 1 desire. Post-revolutionary england was desperate to reestablish order and structure; it could not allow men to experience the diversity and dynamic flexibility involved in passionate love. austen was aware of the delicate state of the nation, and she demonstrated how various men responded to this crisis by managing their emotions, regulating their sexual behavior, and renouncing love. Kramp_final.indb 34 1/12/2007 2:53:06 PM mrs. Vernon’s comment reveals a prominent cultural concern of the post- revolutionary years: the unstable young man of england who is rashly pursuing too many resolutions and consistently failing to fulfill them. as Jane west’s instructions to her fictional son suggest, the philosophical and political discourses of the 1790s that publicly discussed the proper means of reforming and improving english masculinity established distinct yet specific models for appropriate maleness that the nation’s men were urged to imitate. austen’s juvenile writings, written throughout the latter years of the eighteenth century, provide humorous and often ridiculous portraits of men who respond to these textually produced expectations for masculinity by attempting to change, improve, and even perfect their sexualized aesthet- ics of existence. the men of austen’s juvenilia attempt to achieve hegemonic C h a P T e r 2 rationalizing the anxieties of austen’s Juvenilia Henry Tilney’s Composite Masculinity  35 You will meet with a thousand publications tending to impress your mind with the idea, that you are a free independent being. . . . But believe your mother, when she assures you, that high ideas of independence are dangerous . . . retain a strong sense of your dependence upon your master, your parents, and your Creator; you will then act uprightly and consistently. (Jane West, in Letters addressed to a young Man on his First entrance into Life I: 39–40) Young Men are often hasty in their resolutions––and not more sudden in forming, than unsteady in keeping them. (Mrs. Vernon, in Lady Susan 245) Her greatest deficiency was in the pencil––she had no notion of drawing––not enough even to attempt a sketch of her lover’s profile, that she might be detected in the design. There she fell miserably short of the true heroic height. At present she did not know her own poverty, for she had no lover to pourtray. She had reached the age of seventeen, without having seen one amiable youth who could call forth her sensibility; without having inspired one real passion, and without having excited even any admiration but what was very moderate and very transient. (Austen, northanger abbey 4) Kramp_final.indb 35 1/12/2007 2:53:06 PM 3 6 / c h a P t e r 2 social/sexual stability through their relationships with women, but they are inevitably frustrated as lovers; they are duped, compromised, and even abandoned.1 although we do not note in the juvenilia a clear negotiation of the specific prerequisites for proper masculinity created by the discourses of the late eighteenth century, austen’s early texts offer examples of insecure young men and portray a nation nervous about its future male social/sexual subjects. I will examine three early tales that illustrate the challenges experi- enced by youthful english men as they attempt to craft culturally approved aesthetics of existence; “Jack and alice,” “catharine,” and Lady Susan drama- tize england’s extant uneasiness about its young masculinity and provide examples of adolescent male figures whose struggles with love exacerbate this national anxiety.2 austen’s humorous explanation of catherine morland’s failure to draw her lover bespeaks an additional problem concerning england’s men: the heroine cannot even imagine her hero, whom both she and readers antici- pate, because of an apparent absence of valiant young males in her society. austen’s remarks, moreover, foreground catherine’s romantic expectations for her future lover, henry tilney. tilney, like the anxious men of the juve- nilia, is presented as a self-conscious figure, but he successfully organizes his social/sexual subjectivity. henry is able to rehearse various modes of mascu- linity prescribed by the discourses of the 1790s because he maintains a strict adherence to the enlightenment principle of the rational individual—the exact model about which west warns the young recipient of her Letters. while henry demonstrates both his chivalric and sentimental training, as well as his interest in the social status of women, his various “male” per- formances are always regulated by reason. his intellectual control enables him to maintain a well-managed aesthetic that the men of austen’s juvenile writings could not, but austen ultimately shows how tilney’s commitment to logic leads to a similar end: henry, like his fictional male predecessors in austen’s juvenile texts, is revealed to be an inept lover who is unwilling to accept the radical multiplicities of deleuzian love. henry, as opposed to the male subjects of the juvenilia, is a socially functional modern man; he has heard and responded to specific socially produced desires by crafting a comprehensive aesthetic of existence that enables him to monitor his social/ sexual behavior and consciousness.3 his is a masculinity of restraint, and his restricted sexuality is marked by the excessive regulation that the anti-Jaco- bins parody. henry is a hegemonic man whose social/sexual security helps to secure the future of the english nation, but austen illustrates how his ratio- nalized masculinity inhibits his ability to explore the volatility of passionate love. Kramp_final.indb 36 1/12/2007 2:53:06 PM r a t I o n a l I z I n g t h e a n x I e t I e s o f a u s t e n ’ s J u v e n I l I a / 3 7 the men of her juvenilia are quite clearly not complete men capable of fulfilling sundry requirements for proper english maleness, yet their fic- tional representations reveal austen’s early concern with the instability of the nation’s young men. her juvenile works offer compelling portraits of absurd men who expose their insecurities as they try to solidify their social/sexual identities. charles adams, the primary male figure of “Jack and alice,” may be austen’s most hilarious representation of the english male’s attempt to fix his sexuality; adams actually imagines himself to be perfect—or at least perfectible. austen informs us that “charles adams was an amiable, accom- plished and bewitching young man; of so dazzling a Beauty that none but eagles could look him in the face” (Catharine 11). the narrator portrays him as an angelic man who is both graceful and attractive, and he appro- priately attends a masquerade party wearing “a mask representing the sun.” she continues to explain that “the Beams that darted from his eyes were like those of that glorious luminary tho’ infinitely superior. so strong were they that no one dared venture within half a mile of them” (12).4 this comic portrait emphasizes adams’s supposed excellence, but it also subtly suggests his precarious insecurity. he is not content existing as a normal man; he seeks perfection, and this ambition requires him to perpetually explore new ways of enhancing himself. adams’s infatuation with this goal of solipsistic male perfection recalls godwin’s assertion that men are perfectible; godwin urged men to “express the faculty of being continually made better and [receive] perpet- ual improvement,” but austen details the absurd nature of her mock-hero’s arrogant efforts to achieve impeccability (Enquiry I: 93). austen notes that “the singularity of his appearance, the beams which darted from his eyes, the brightness of his wit, and the whole tout ensemble of his person had subdued the hearts of so many of the young ladies, that of the six present at the mas- querade but five had returned uncaptivated” (13). austen’s comments deride adams’s lofty perception of himself, and his excessive confidence neither enables him to pursue effectively romantic passions nor garners for him the amorous attentions of women. Indeed, we learn that “the cold and indiffer- ent heart of charles adams . . . preserved its native freedom; polite to all but partial to none,” and following his stern dismissal of his sole female suitor, “he still remained the lovely, the lively, but insensible charles adams” (14). he knows how to be courteous, and alice is enthralled by his person, but he appears uninterested in and perhaps incapable of experiencing or exchang- ing passionate sensations. while he is not able to pursue romantic possibilities, adams still knows he must marry, and he is clearly concerned with his future wife. he announces, Kramp_final.indb 37 1/12/2007 2:53:06 PM 3 8 / c h a P t e r 2 “whoever she might be, [she] must possess Youth, Beauty, Birth, merit, and money” (19). he demands perfection for himself, and he requires a similar level of excellence in the woman who may be his wife. after he refuses the proposal of marriage offered by the heroine’s father, adams explains: I look upon myself to be . . . a perfect Beauty––where would you see a finer figure or a more charming face. then, sir I imagine my manners and address to be of the most polished kind; there is a certain elegance, a peculiar sweet- ness in them that I never saw equaled and cannot describe. . . . I am certainly more accomplished in every language, every science, every art and every thing than any other person in europe. my temper is even, my virtues innu- merable, my self unparalleled. since such, sir, is my character, what do you mean by wishing me to marry your daughter? . . . I expect nothing more in my wife than my wife will find in me––Perfection. (23) adams’s lofty marital expectations and grandiose conception of himself effectively preclude his involvement in a love relationship as he could never locate an equally magnificent specimen. the comic and violent resolution of the brief tale demonstrates the severe dangers precipitated by adams’s pursuit of individual and spousal perfection: austen announces his marriage to the conniving lady williams in the narrative’s final sentence.5 adams’s relentless pursuit of excellence has led to ridiculous and harsh consequences, as he must now tolerate the treacherous activity of this older female advisor. the narrator illustrates how adams, the seemingly flawless male, is incapable of discerning her deceptive powers; for all his greatness, adams falls victim to the lures of the manipulative lady williams and is shown to be both fal- lible as a man and inept as a lover.6 “catharine, or the Bower” offers another important example from the juvenilia of england’s unease with the attitudes and behavior of its youth- ful masculine citizens. catharine’s domineering and disciplining aunt, mrs. Percival, is especially frightened by the potential threat adolescent men pose to young women; she forbids her niece from attending social balls, fearing “that it would not be possible to prevent [kitty] dancing with a Man if she went” (201). later, mrs. Percival explains that “there is certainly nothing like Virtue for making us what we ought to be, and as to a young man’s, being young and handsome and having an agreable person, it is nothing at all to the purpose for he had much better be respectable” (218). mrs. Percival’s comments reveal both a strong anxiety about the appropriate education and activity of contemporary english men and a powerful nostalgia for men of old. she openly criticizes “the shocking behaviour of modern young men, and the wonderful alteration that had taken place in them, since her time, Kramp_final.indb 38 1/12/2007 2:53:06 PM r a t I o n a l I z I n g t h e a n x I e t I e s o f a u s t e n ’ s J u v e n I l I a / 3 9 which she illustrated with many instructive anecdotes of the decorum and modesty which had marked the characters of those whom she had known, when she had been young” (220). mrs. Percival, like Burke, is convinced that english masculinity is no longer what it once was, and she is quite frightened by what she sees as its devolving condition. this apprehension becomes a central issue in the narrative, most prominently through austen’s depiction of edward stanley. stanley descends from a family of “large fortune and high fashion,” and we learn that this fortunate son has recently “returned from france” (191, 207).7 he enters the narrative boldly, arriving at the Percival residence while kitty’s relations have departed for the ball. he has little difficulty introduc- ing himself to the heroine, as he confidently proposes: “miss Percival, what do you say to my accompanying you [to the ball]? and suppose you were to dance with me too?” (209). he has none of the caution and reserve that mrs. Percival demands in young men. he is excited about the opportunity to attend the social event with the heroine, but he regrets that he “shall cut a sad figure among all your devonshire Beaux in [his] dusty, travelling apparel.” he requests time and supplies to improve his appearance, instructing kitty, “You can procure me some powder perhaps, and I must get a pair of shoes from one of the men” (209). he takes great care in making-up his face and person, recalling the stereotypical behavior of the french effete, and kitty learns that his desire to improve his appearance “had not been merely a boast of vanity . . . as he kept her waiting for him above half an hour” (209).8 austen presents stanley as an extremely self-conscious man who adheres to arcane expectations about the physical appearance of a socially proper male. he may be a “modern” man, according to the definition of mrs. Percival, but he follows antiquated models of english and french masculinity—although these may be perverted modern models. kitty becomes quite enamored of stanley despite, or perhaps because of, his modernized chivalric behavior.9 austen explains that while her heroine “had not yet seen enough of him to be actually in love with him. . . . there was a novelty in his character which to her was extremely pleasing; his per- son was uncommonly fine, his spirits and Vivacity suited to her own, and his manners at once so animated and insinuating, that she thought it must be impossible for him to be otherwise than amiable. . . . he knew the powers of them himself ” (224). edward is clearly not the kind of man whom kitty is accustomed to meeting. he is elegant and gallant, appears conscious of his own artifice, and employs this facade effectively. kitty later notes “the power of his address, and the Brilliancy of his eyes,” adding that “the more she had seen of him, the more inclined was she to like him, and the more desirous that he should like her” (225). stanley definitely has an opportunity Kramp_final.indb 39 1/12/2007 2:53:06 PM 4 0 / c h a P t e r 2 to behave as a lover, but the heroine’s anticipation of potentially recipro- cated amorous emotions is thwarted when she learns the following morning that “mr. edward stanley was already gone” (225). upon hearing this news, kitty initially chides herself as a “silly” and “unreasonable” woman, but she soon decides that “it is just like a Young man, governed by the whim of the moment, or actuated merely by the love of doing anything oddly! unac- countable Beings indeed!” (225–26).10 although kitty is definitely intrigued by the novelty of stanley’s masculinity, she seems completely willing to dismiss his unpredictable actions as simply what young men do. and yet, austen demonstrates how his quick departure actually reflects the powerful social pressures that prompt young english men to avoid the dangers associ- ated with potential amorous behavior. camilla, kitty’s confidant and stanley’s sister, eventually explains the young man’s abrupt exit. camilla tells kitty that her brother extended “his love to you, for you was a nice girl he said, and he only wished it were in his power to be more with You. You were just the girl to suit him, because you were so lively and good-natured, and he wished with all his heart that you might not be married before he came back.”11 camilla openly assures the heroine that edward “certainly is in love with you,” and she portrays her brother as a young man captivated by kitty—a young man who must abandon her company because of the dictates of his father. camilla informs kitty, “oh! you can have no idea how wretched it made him. he would not have gone this month, if my father had not insisted on it” (227). unlike romantic lovers, edward stanley, and his apparent strong love for the hero- ine, succumbs to a patriarchal system of power and discipline.12 he follows Jane west’s advice, avoiding the dangers she associates with enlightened young men’s “high ideas of independence” and maintaining his “strong sense of dependence” upon his father (Letters Addressed to a Young Man I: 39–40). kitty envisions her lost lover as an extremely melancholic man who is “obliged to tear himself from what he most loves, [whose] happiness is sacrificed to the vanity of his father!”; but austen presents edward as an inept lover; he is a man who seems interested in romance and is definitely effective in garnering the amorous emotions of a woman, but he is incapable of developing or reciprocating such passions (228). austen depicts him as a young man compelled to respect the desires of patriarchy rather than pursue a desubjectifying love relationship. In Lady Susan, austen provides a third early example of a stultified male lover who is continually controlled and manipulated by his society’s desires. reginald de courcy is initially quite fascinated by the opportunity to meet lady susan, the radically independent heroine who is perhaps the most rebellious female of austen’s corpus.13 we are told that “reginald Kramp_final.indb 40 1/12/2007 2:53:07 PM r a t I o n a l I z I n g t h e a n x I e t I e s o f a u s t e n ’ s J u v e n I l I a / 4 1 [had] long wished . . . to see this captivating lady susan,” even though he is quite critical of the titular character prior to their first meeting (211).14 lady susan describes him as “a handsome young man, who promises me some amusement,” and concludes that “there is something about him that rather interests me, a sort of sauciness, of familiarity which I shall teach him to correct (217).15 lady susan plans to retrain reginald, suggesting both the malleability and the vulnerability of the youthful english male. and lady susan’s efforts are rather successful. mrs. Vernon, reginald’s sister, instructs their mother that her son’s “admiration was at first very strong, but no more than was natural . . . but when he has mentioned [lady susan] of late, it has been in terms of more extraordinary praise, and yesterday he actually said, that he could not be surprised at any effect produced on the heart of man by such loveliness and such abilities” (218). reginald, according to mrs. Vernon, has fallen victim to the seductive powers of lady susan, who claims that she has simply “subdued [reginald] entirely by sentiment and serious conversation, and made him . . . at least half in love with me” (220). lady susan emphasizes reginald’s utility rather than his emotional com- mitment, describing him as a suitable substitute for other men no longer in her service, and admitting that “he is quite agreable enough . . . to afford me amusement, and to make many of those hours pass very pleasantly” (221). reginald can be made to serve a purpose, and lady susan is convinced that she can mold and direct his affections to her ends. reginald’s father also attempts to influence the behavior of his tractable son. sir de courcy writes to reginald, “I know that young men in general do not admit of any enquiry even from their nearest relations, into affairs of the heart; but I hope . . . that you will be superior to such as allow nothing for a father’s anxiety.” he is aware of the uncomfortable circumstances of a father’s investigation into a son’s love interests, but sir de courcy is deeply concerned about reginald’s potentially overwhelming romantic passions. sir de courcy tells reginald that he “must be sensible that as an only son and the representative of an ancient family, your conduct in life is most interesting to your connections. In the very important concern of marriage especially, there is everything at stake” (222). reginald’s father, echoing the sentiments of Burke’s Reflections, emphasizes the familial and social respon- sibilities that his son must uphold; the de courcy patriarch insists that it is his “duty to oppose a match, which deep art only could render probable, and must in the end make wretched” (223). like the father of edward stan- ley, sir de courcy exercises his paternal authority in an attempt to discipline the behavior and emotions of his son. reginald’s father is part of an older generation of english men and seems to share mrs. Percival’s doubts about the worthiness and stability of modern males. he urges his son to curb Kramp_final.indb 41 1/12/2007 2:53:07 PM 4 2 / c h a P t e r 2 destabilizing amorous emotions, and his regulatory efforts imply a societal apprehension about young english masculinity.16 mrs. Vernon claims that sir de courcy is correct to be cautious about his son’s behavior as a lover. she reports that lady susan continues to “[call] forth all [reginald’s] tender feelings,” leading him to express strange new emotions (229). lady susan also notes the newfound sensitivity of reginald; she informs her confidant, mrs. Johnson, that her newest project is “some- times impertinent and troublesome. there is a sort of ridiculous delicacy about him” (230). she concludes, “this is one sort of love––but I confess it does not particularly recommend itself to me” (231). she has suppos- edly enjoyed her recent encounters with reginald, including her attempts to reform his character, but she now regrets his overflow of sentiments and pro- claims that “artlessness will never do in love matters” (236). she will not tol- erate reginald’s apparently “honest” feelings, and even though she retrained him, she no longer appreciates her trainee once he has become a lover.17 lady susan seems frightened that reginald might become overwrought with uncontrollable passion, like sir Peter osborne, the lovelace-esque figure of mary hays’s The Victim of Prejudice (1799). osborne is an emotional male who employs “adulation and offensive gallantry” to court mary, the novel’s heroine; she reports that osborne “renewed his persecutions with a disgust- ing audacity, insulted me with licentious proposals, contrived various meth- ods of conveying to me offers of a splendid settlement, and reduced me to the necessity of confining myself wholly to the house” (51, 96). at the close of the tale, hays references the example of osborne and cautions the english male: “. . . let him learn, that, while the slave of sensuality, inconsistent as assuming, he pours, by his conduct, contempt upon chastity” (174). austen presents reginald as a young man in danger of becoming such a slave to his emotions, and lady susan is appalled at the possibility. like wollstonecraft, she wants nothing to do with young male lovers who are at best volatile and potentially destructive. reginald’s obsession with lady susan prevents him from renouncing his interest in the powerful older woman until the close of the narrative. he finally writes to lady susan and announces, “the spell is removed. I see you as you are” (263). he cites various reports of the woman’s scandalous behav- ior and bids her good riddance, charging that she mistreated him, especially as he “was an encouraged, an accepted lover!” (264). reginald is angry and frustrated; he acted the role of a lover but was treated as surrogate entertain- ment. austen’s text documents the dangers young male lovers experience, but it also highlights the ongoing social regulation of english men’s roman- tic interests. once the news of reginald’s break from lady susan reaches his mother, lady de courcy quickly promotes a new strategy to “try to rob him Kramp_final.indb 42 1/12/2007 2:53:07 PM r a t I o n a l I z I n g t h e a n x I e t I e s o f a u s t e n ’ s J u v e n I l I a / 4 3 of his heart once more” (268). she plans to foster a love relationship between reginald and frederica, lady susan’s troubled daughter. In the brief conclu- sion to the novel, austen informs us that “frederica was therefore fixed in the family of her uncle and aunt, till such time as reginald de courcy could be talked, flattered, and finessed into an affection for her––which, allowing leisure for the conquest of his attachment to her mother . . . might be reason- ably looked for in the course of a twelvemonth” (272). although reginald has successfully dismissed the lure of lady susan, he must now negotiate new expectations for his affections and new marital schemes orchestrated by his family. he has admittedly failed as a lover; he is not allowed to pursue his own amorous emotions, and this discipline of the masculine subject reveals both a cultural anxiety about the uncontrollable quality of male lovers and a social desire to manage their sexualities. while austen’s juvenile tales do not maintain the consistent engage- ment with the political and literary discourses of the 1790s that we see in her full-length works, these texts document her early interest in the nation’s anxiety about its young male citizens. the juvenilia provide us with images of nervous english men who realize that they must modify and improve their aesthetics of existence, but these male figures remain uncertain of the necessary alterations. they are merely aware of the “dangers to which young men are, in this age particularly exposed,” about which Jane west warns her fictional son in Letters Addressed to a Young Man on His First Entrance into Life (1803). west explains that these hazards “are multiplied in a consider- able and tremendous degree by the remarkable change which has taken place in manners” (I: xxii). the men of austen’s juvenilia face a great chal- lenge; as they struggle to become proper male figures, the very standards for appropriate masculinity are shifting. they specifically experience insecurity and frustration as lovers because they pursue romantic and/or marital pos- sibilities that threaten to destabilize their social/sexual subjectivities. austen depicts henry tilney, the hero of Northanger Abbey, as a similarly self-con- scious male figure who manages to control his anxieties through his ardent devotion to rationality. while austen exposes the instabilities of the men of her juvenile texts, she shows how henry relies upon the dictates of reason to inform his language, guide his actions, and regulate his performances as a modern man of england. she presents henry as an impressively complete masculine figure who successfully performs numerous versions of proper english masculinity by rationalizing the features of these sexual models. austen’s characterization of henry tilney as a rational man recalls an important literary archetype of the late-eighteenth-century novel: the philo- sophical advisor. Jacobin and anti-Jacobin novelists debate the value of an empiricist epistemology by personifying such men and dramatizing both the Kramp_final.indb 43 1/12/2007 2:53:07 PM 4 4 / c h a P t e r 2 benefits of reasonable thought and the dangers of stern logic. Jacobin writers such as mary hays and gilbert Imlay attempt to document england’s need for men of reason in their fictional accounts. mr. francis, the benevolent distant consultant of hays’s Memoirs of Emma Courtney (1796), informs the heroine that a man “who tamely resigns his understanding to the guidance of another, sinks at once, from the dignity of a rational being, to a mechani- cal puppet, moved at pleasure on the wires of the artful operator” (49). according to mr. francis, men must exercise their own intellectual capacities or run the risk of becoming controlled by the machinations and desires of another. he prophesizes that “reason will fall softly, and almost impercep- tibly, like a gentle shower of dews, fructifying the soil, and preparing it for future harvests” (50). mr. francis imagines rationality as a fortifying and regenerative force that promises to foster the spirit of reform in the nation. austen often presents tilney as a fictional descendant of mr. francis; tilney similarly employs reason to evaluate the behavior of others, administer his own actions, and theorize future possibilities. the hero of Northanger Abbey is also reminiscent of P.P.—esq., the wise counselor of gilbert Imlay’s uto- pian novel The Emigrants (1793), who also emphasizes the tyranny of social control and the essential importance of reason. P.P. explains that “men will no longer continue to be attached to forms, and therefore it becomes a folly to reverence a system, that has not for its basis, reason and truth” (199). he later adds that “all men who are conscious of having acted in every respect like gentlemen, always court enquiry and investigation” (239).18 P.P. redefines a proper gentleman as an empirical scientist who resists inherited modes of thought and determines his ideas through sensory experience. austen’s por- trayal of henry suggests the strong influence of such earlier fictional figures like mr. francis and P.P.; henry is committed to rationality, and he depends upon reason to order his social/sexual subjectivity. while Jacobin writers’ advocacy of enlightenment models of masculin- ity clearly influences austen’s characterization of henry tilney, his aesthetic of existence is also informed by anti-Jacobin novelists such as sophia king and elizabeth hamilton, whose texts strongly ridicule such a rational man. king’s Waldorf: Or, the Dangers of Philosophy (1798) recounts the adventures of lok, a dangerous philosophical male who “offered a new system of phi- losophy, which at once leveled sacred and political ties.” lok has no respect for the ancestral cultural policies that Burke valued, and king’s anti-hero instead affirms that “[m]atrimonial opinions, and a belief of god, were . . . absurdities” (I: 33). king also notes how lok believes that “[v]irtue and vice are equally analogous; the excess of virtue is virtue no longer, but, degenerat- ing into superstition, prejudice, and austerity, becomes vice” (I: 76).19 king’s tale highlights the hazards of men who excessively employ reason to guide Kramp_final.indb 44 1/12/2007 2:53:07 PM r a t I o n a l I z I n g t h e a n x I e t I e s o f a u s t e n ’ s J u v e n I l I a / 4 5 their opinions and actions; austen’s novel likewise details henry’s suscepti- bility to the dangers of obsessive reason and his efforts to avoid such peril. hamilton’s Memoirs of Modern Philosophers (1800) narrates another story of an obnoxiously deluded philosopher, Vallaton, whose loyalty to reason perverts his ethical principles. Vallaton boldly insists that “duty is an expres- sion merely implying the mode in which any being may be best employed for the general good,” and concludes that “in the eye of a philosopher no promise is, or ought to be, binding” (I: 38–39; II: 275). like lok, Vallaton critiques Burke’s conception of individual duty and instead promotes a proto-Benthamite model of social economics.20 his love of logic leads him to favor the primacy of utility and prevents him from honoring social con- tracts such as marriage and citizenry. henry tilney’s rational attitudes and actions are not as extreme as those modeled by lok and Vallaton, but austen creates her hero within the discursive context of these earlier fictional men. henry’s rationalized composite social/sexual subjectivity empowers him to perform various modes of masculinity, but austen’s text also illustrates the social/sexual consequences of his adherence to reason. henry is indeed a stern enlightenment thinker who relies upon the laws of logic. when catherine announces to miss tilney “that something very shocking indeed, will soon come out in london,” a famous dialogue fol- lows in which the two young women misconstrue the actual subject of their conversation. henry’s role in this dialogue serves as a template for the hero’s use of rationality to acquire knowledge and mold his aesthetic of existence. catherine explains that it “is to be more horrible than any thing we have met with yet. . . . It is to be uncommonly dreadful. I shall expect murder and every thing of the kind” (87–88). the heroine bills the upcoming event as both real and sublime, but henry will not allow his sister to conceptualize reality as wonderful or confusing. the hero’s empiricist mindset demands that he designate anything fantastic as irrational and ultimately insignificant; his commitment to reason also forces him to establish limits and categories for acceptable “true” experience.21 henry rebukes his female companions: “come, shall I make you understand each other, or leave you to puzzle out an explanation as you can? no––I will be noble. I will prove myself a man, no less by the generosity of my soul than the clearness of my head” (87).22 henry feels compelled to perform an ostensibly chivalric duty, and while he accentuates the artifice of his gallant behavior, he also presents his “noble” task as an intellectual accomplishment. he chides his sister by explaining that “[catherine] talked of expected horrors in london––and instead of instantly conceiving, as any rational creature would have done, that such words could relate only to a circulating library, [eleanor] immediately pic- tured to herself a mob of three thousand men assembling in st. george’s Kramp_final.indb 45 1/12/2007 2:53:07 PM 4 6 / c h a P t e r 2 fields” (88). henry’s adherence to enlightenment thought compels him to employ reason as a universal epistemological panacea; he is convinced that any rational person would arrive at such a “logical” conclusion and distin- guish reality from imagination.23 henry’s stern rationality may remind us of earlier fictional figures like mr. francis and P.P., but austen’s hero has also been exposed to the chivalric archetype upheld by Burke and modeled by general tilney. austen notes that henry’s father, “like every military man, had a very large acquaintance,” and her remark recalls wollstonecraft’s harsh diatribe on the proficient sociability of soldiers; indeed, the general maintains other features of such an affected gallantry, including his fondness for decorating and his inter- est in planning potential marital relationships (73).24 he is also a careful practitioner of chivalric propriety, and when catherine visits the tilneys at Bath, austen indicates that “to such anxious attention was the general’s civility carried, that not aware of her extraordinary swiftness in entering the house, he was quite angry with the servant whose neglect had reduced her to open to door of the apartment herself.” following their meeting, “the general attended [catherine] himself to the street-door, saying every thing gallant as they went down stairs, admiring the elasticity of her walk, which corresponded exactly with the spirit of her dancing and making her one of the most graceful bows she had ever beheld, when they parted” (79). on catherine’s exit, the general will not risk the indelicacy of his servant, yet austen portrays his gallant speech and bow as both ridiculously artificial and carefully planned to promote a mutual affection between the young heroine and his son.25 henry’s father demonstrates for the hero some of the utility of chivalric masculinity, but the narrator ultimately reveals the strategizing quality of the general’s “noble” actions, specifically his sudden decision to send catherine home unattended. while henry employs features of the chivalric system exemplified by his father, he is keenly aware of the artifice involved in the etiquette of this ancestral mode of behavior.26 henry’s knowledge of such decorum is clear in an early exchange with the heroine. austen relates: “after chatting some time on such matters as naturally arose from the objects around them, he suddenly addressed her with––‘I have hitherto been very remiss, madam, in the proper attentions of a partner here; I have not yet asked you how long you have been in Bath; whether you were ever here before; whether you have been at the upper rooms, the theatre, and the concert, and how you like the place altogether’” (11–12). austen juxtaposes “naturally” occurring subjects to the chivalric niceties in which henry is quite skilled. he has learned that a proper english man must make these inquiries of a new female acquaintance, and while he is able to perform this task, austen highlights the comedic qual- Kramp_final.indb 46 1/12/2007 2:53:08 PM r a t I o n a l I z I n g t h e a n x I e t I e s o f a u s t e n ’ s J u v e n I l I a / 4 7 ity of his language. she notes how henry “affectedly [softens] his voice” and responds “with affected astonishment” (12). henry is not sincerely invested in the chivalric model of masculinity like his father or gallant literary figures such as Vivaldi, the romantic hero of ann radcliffe’s The Italian (1797). rad- cliffe describes Vivaldi as “a knight of chivalry, who would go about the earth fighting with everybody by way of proving [his] right to do good”; he truly believes in the value of noble masculinity, but henry recognizes the artifice involved in the genteel code of manners that accompanies this archaic ideal of male sexuality (122). he even explains to catherine, “now I must give one smirk, and then we may be rational again” (12).27 henry’s initial appearance in the novel reveals his proficiency in chivalric conduct, but he is quick to return to the rationality upon which he depends to administer his aesthetic of existence. henry again demonstrates his exposure to the chivalric paradigm of gender and society in his well-known explanation of marriage as a country dance. he denounces the impropriety of John thorpe for attempting to interrupt his dance with the heroine, insisting that “he has no business to withdraw the attention of my partner from me.” henry explains to cath- erine, “we have entered into a contract of mutual agreeableness for the space of an evening, and all our agreeableness belongs solely to each other for that time. . . . I consider a country-dance as an emblem of marriage. fidelity and complaisance are the principal duties of both” (56). henry’s language recalls the conservative rhetoric of Burke’s Reflections; as Burke insists that men and women must honor the “contracts” of a time past, including such policies as gender subordination, ancestral descent, and monarchical authority, henry claims that men and women must honor a dance as a social agreement.28 henry continues to analyze his metaphor of marriage for the bewildered heroine: “You will allow, that in both, man has the advantage of choice, woman only the power of refusal; that in both, it is an engagement between man and woman, formed for the advantage of each; and that when once entered into, they belong exclusively to each other till the moment of its dissolution” (57). he acknowledges the subordination of the woman in this arcane gender structure, and he emphasizes the intent of both the dance and the marital union to facilitate the individual and social security of the participants. henry may be aware of the artifice involved in such a gender system; he occasionally accepts elements of a chivalric culture as conven- tional and even useful.29 and yet henry remains committed to the primacy of rationality, and he infuses his chivalric training with reason to provide security and social harmony at two key moments in the narrative: (1) while driving catherine to northanger, and (2) following his discovery of the heroine in his mother’s Kramp_final.indb 47 1/12/2007 2:53:08 PM 4 8 / c h a P t e r 2 chamber. on the drive to northanger, catherine observes that “henry drove so well,––so quietly––without making any disturbance, without parading to her, or swearing at them. . . . and then his hat sat so well, and the innu- merable capes of his great coat looked so becomingly important!” (123). catherine’s thoughts reflect her romantic sentiments, but they also serve to distinguish the impressive horsemanship skills of henry from the obnoxious boasts and insecure actions of John thorpe, who cannot control his horses from “[dancing] about a little at first setting off ” (44).30 unlike thorpe, tilney is not concerned with impressing the heroine by the accomplish- ments of his horse or the price of his gig; the hero, rather, plays the role of a well-disciplined gentleman-coachman, regulating the power of the horse and providing catherine with safe and comfortable travel. he again ratio- nally deploys chivalric behavior when he unexpectedly finds catherine in his deceased mother’s chamber. after he learns of the heroine’s imaginings about his father’s role in the death of his mother, henry invokes reason and declares, “dear miss morland, consider the dreadful nature of the suspicions you have entertained. . . . remember the country and the age in which we live. remember that we are english, that we are christians. consult your understanding, your own sense of the probable, your own observation of what is passing around you” (159).31 henry presents his view of england as a land of tranquility, beneficence, and communal participation as rational, and his enlightenment epistemology likewise encourages him to dismiss the her- oine’s speculations. austen notes “henry’s astonishing generosity and noble- ness of conduct, in never alluding in the slightest way to what had passed” (161). he avoids embarrassing catherine by discussing her secret trip to his mother’s chamber, and while henry’s adherence to reason enables him to resolve this difficult situation calmly, it also leads him to uphold a chivalric conception of the nation as a pastoral and secure land, effectively preventing him from considering the heroine’s suspicions about the general. henry depends upon reason to order his perception of the world and his composite aesthetic of existence, but his devotion to intellectual powers does not prevent him from rehearsing the sentimental mode of masculin- ity—even if such performances are artificial. austen exposes henry’s con- ventional sentimentality following catherine’s attempt to express her regret for rudely passing the tilneys in John thorpe’s gig. the heroine explains that she “begged mr. thorpe so earnestly to stop; I called out to him as soon as ever I saw you . . . and, if mr. thorpe would only have stopped, I would have jumped out and run after you.” the narrator then asks, “Is there a henry in the world who could be insensible to such a declaration? henry tilney at least was not” (71). this language highlights the constructed quality of henry’s sensitivity to emotional language; he is aware of a social desire for Kramp_final.indb 48 1/12/2007 2:53:08 PM r a t I o n a l I z I n g t h e a n x I e t I e s o f a u s t e n ’ s J u v e n I l I a / 4 9 men of sentiment, and he is able to play this part when needed, but henry inevitably evaluates emotions rationally. when discussing the legitimacy of sensational gothic novels, henry insists that “the person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid. I have read all mrs. radcliffe’s works, and most of them with great pleasure. the mysteries of udolpho, when I had once begun it, I could not lay down again.––I remember finishing it in two days––my hair standing on end the whole time” (82). henry’s comments indicate both his intellectual apprecia- tion of the gothic novel as a valid genre of literature and his sensitivity to the feelings aroused by the sublime art. unlike John thorpe, who arrogantly asserts that “novels are all so full of nonsense and stuff,” henry has learned to value the sensations produced by these texts (31).32 while austen’s hero demonstrates his capacity to feel sensibly, he will not allow his feelings to overpower his disciplined rationality; he carefully elucidates that his admiration of radcliffe’s novels is primarily because they offer pleasurable experiences. henry’s practiced approach to sensation is also apparent in his “lecture” on the picturesque. austen informs us that henry’s explanations of the picturesque “were so clear that [catherine] soon began to see beauty in every thing admired by him. . . . he talked of fore-grounds, distances, and second distances—side-screens and perspectives––lights and shades” (87). this narration reminds us of the excessively romantic attitude of her heroine, but austen’s comment also emphasizes henry’s rational understanding and control of the picturesque. he is affected by the beauty of pictorial sensations, and he can explain such sublime artistic experi- ences clearly, cataloguing and describing various components and qualities of natural splendor. he appears to act much like mr. subtile, the satirized philosophical figure of Isaac d’Israeli’s Vaurien (1797), who endeavors to “arrange the vast diversities of nature . . . to methodize what is spontaneous and to attempt to enumerate all its endless varieties” (62). like mr. subtile, henry offers rational explanations for seemingly irrational phenomena such as the picturesque and the sublime. he is convinced that he can order the world in a clear and logical fashion, and while he can mimic the traditional behavior and discourse of a man of feeling, his sensitive performances are always regulated by reason. henry’s adherence to reason likewise informs his interest in the cultural status of women. wollstonecraft, hays, and other enlightenment feminist thinkers of the late eighteenth century criticized the inherited social percep- tions of women as illogical creatures and emphasized their intellectual capac- ity. henry seems conscious of both lines of argumentation, and despite the often presumptuous quality of his language, he attempts to uphold women as essentially rational beings.33 following his arrogant explanation of the Kramp_final.indb 49 1/12/2007 2:53:08 PM 5 0 / c h a P t e r 2 misunderstanding between his sister and the heroine concerning the riotous events in london, eleanor chides her brother: “and now, henry . . . that you have made us understand each other, you may as well make miss morland understand yourself––unless you mean to have her think you intolerably rude to your sister, and a great brute in your opinion of women in general” (88). henry responds to this charge by insisting that “no one can think more highly of the understanding of women than I do. In my opinion, nature has given them so much, that they never find it necessary to use more than half ” (89). henry’s comment is obnoxious, but it also reveals his belief in women’s intellectual abilities.34 tilney reminds us of an earlier fictional henry, the virtuous hero of elizabeth Inchbald’s Nature and Art (1796), who also treat- ed women as enlightened creatures. Inchbald recounts that the “first cause of amazement to rebecca,” henry’s future wife, “was that he talked with her as well as with her sisters” (47). austen’s henry, like Inchbald’s hero, advocates the rational capacity of the female sex, and he engages in intelligent conver- sations with men and women alike. terry castle suggests that tilney “is an admirer of female understanding; what he regrets (though he never says so directly) is that women do not take their own intelligence seriously enough”; henry seems to have responded to hays’s request that men express concern with the social subordination of women, and as castle concludes, “austen’s hero, one suspects, has read his wollstonecraft too” (Introduction xxiii). Per wollstonecraft’s dictates, henry upholds the potential of women’s minds, remains devoted to reason, and becomes neither a gallant military man like his father nor a male lover.35 unlike the other young men of the novel, henry will not play the part of the foolish male lover; austen presents James morland, John thorpe, and captain tilney as unmanaged males whose impulsive actions help to accentuate the disciplined rationality of tilney. austen describes James, who becomes engaged to the ridiculous Isabella thorpe, as “the anxious young lover . . . who [comes] to breathe his parting sigh before” he leaves to request the consent of his father (95). he is adept at playing the role of the romantic suitor, demonstrates his advanced sighing skills, and eventually experi- ences great frustration reminiscent of the men of austen’s juvenilia. John thorpe also displays the stereotypical traits of an emotionally enamored male throughout the first volume, as he continually attempts to impress the heroine with his horse, his gig, and his acquaintances. Isabella finally warns catherine that John is “over head and ears in love with you,” and at the end of the first volume he appears foolish, as he attempts to subtly court cath- erine (112). thorpe addresses catherine: “a famous good thing this marry- ing scheme, upon my soul! a clever fancy of morland’s and Belle’s. what do you think of it, miss morland? I say it is no bad notion” (97). austen presents Kramp_final.indb 50 1/12/2007 2:53:08 PM r a t I o n a l I z I n g t h e a n x I e t I e s o f a u s t e n ’ s J u v e n I l I a / 5 1 thorpe as an arrogant lover whose stratagems garner no effect from the heroine. neither John nor James is a committed man of reason like henry, and they are thus vulnerable to the irrational power of amorous emotions. henry, however, carefully regulates his susceptibility to romantic pas- sions, and this approach encourages him to reconceptualize love as a rational phenomenon. when catherine becomes concerned for her brother because of the extensive attention Isabella offers captain tilney, henry reminds the heroine, “You have no doubt of the mutual attachment of your brother and your friend; depend upon it therefore, that real jealousy never can exist between them; depend upon it that no disagreement between them can be of any duration. their hearts are open to each other, as neither heart can be to you; they know exactly what is required and what can be borne” (119–20). henry speaks of love as a stable force, and he disregards catherine’s hypoth- esis of mutable love as he earlier dismissed her belief in the mimetic quality of gothic novels. he cannot fathom emotions based upon uncontrollable forces, and later in the story he presents love as a skill one develops. when henry engages the heroine in a humorous conversation about her fondness for flowers, he informs her, “now you love a hyacinth. so much the better. You have gained a new source of enjoyment. . . . and though the love of a hyacinth may be rather domestic, who can tell, the sentiment once raised, but you may in time come to love a rose” (138). henry treats amorous pas- sions as learned abilities that one can study and master. he explains to cath- erine, “I am pleased that you have learnt to love a hyacinth. the mere habit of learning to love is the thing” (139). henry’s comments are witty, but they also illustrate his understanding of love as an acquired talent—not unlike his proficiency as a gentleman-horseman—that can be rationally improved and deployed. henry is forced to reconsider his disciplined conception of love when he learns of the rumored engagement between his brother and Isabella. our hero is initially quite confused and exclaims that “frederick will not be the first man who has chosen a wife with less sense than his family expected”; he adds, “when I think of his past declarations, I give him up. . . . It is all over with frederick indeed! he is a deceased man––defunct in understand- ing” (165–66). although the news of a planned union between captain til- ney and Isabella poses a significant challenge to henry’s theory of love, he behaves as a true enlightenment thinker and dismisses his improper brother as unreasonable. he cannot tolerate an irrational sibling for the same rea- sons he cannot accept emotions that are illogical; he thus denounces his brother. critics have not paid enough attention to the disillusionment and frustration henry experiences after he learns of frederick’s folly.36 this scene forces the hero to reevaluate not only his understanding of amorous pas- Kramp_final.indb 51 1/12/2007 2:53:08 PM 5 2 / c h a P t e r 2 sions but also his strategy for organizing his social/sexual subjectivity. the dictates of reason, on which he has depended to guide his judgments and direct his behavior, can explain neither the volatility of male lovers nor the instability of illogical emotions that he has recently witnessed. austen now conveniently allows henry to return to his pastoral parsonage at woodston, as he can no longer endure the irrational events that he experiences at the gothic abbey.37 henry’s removal to woodston, followed by the planned visit of his father, eleanor, and catherine, also provides austen with an important opportunity to distinguish the highly disciplined and rational son from his gallant father. henry shares none of the general’s concerns with interior decorating or gardening; he maintains a rustic domestic sphere that leads his father to inform catherine, “we are not calling it a good house. . . . we are not com- paring it with fullerton and northanger—we are considering it as a mere Parsonage, small and confined, we allow, but decent perhaps, and habit- able” (172). the minimalism of the hero’s residence reflects the simplicity of his activities at woodston. he joins the heroine and his other visitors on “a saunter into other meadows, and through part of the village, with a visit to the stables to examine some improvements, and a charming game of play with a litter of puppies just able to roll about” (173). while henry’s woodston living is not a bona fide farm, he enjoys an agrarian existence reminiscent of the agricultural lifestyles modeled by numerous fictional men of late-eighteenth-century Jacobin novels. like delmont, the wise male fig- ure of charlotte smith’s The Young Philosopher (1798), who explains, “farm- ing . . . never attracted me by the lucrative prospects it offered, but because I hoped to keep myself independent by it,” henry maintains a basic dwelling at woodston that enables him to remain free from the authoritative control of his father (III: 12). delmont eventually questions how “any man ever can so submit” to the authority or ideas of another “who has the power of earn- ing his bread by the sweat of his brow” (I: 226–27). delmont’s comments may anticipate henry’s commitment to his own rationally acquired ideas, yet they also remind us of the financial independence that austen’s hero has secured. woodston, as opposed to the abbey, is a rational and simple domain where henry can regain his disciplined aesthetic of existence and observe catherine away from his family’s gothic estate. henry’s time at woodston may remind him of the enlightenment epis- temology on which he relies to craft his aesthetic of existence, but the next time we see the hero he appears on the brink of performing the role of a romantic lover. and yet, his arrival at fullerton, following his father’s rude dismissal of catherine, is both predictable and dramatically disappointing. henry “proposes” to catherine on their walk to the allens’ residence, but Kramp_final.indb 52 1/12/2007 2:53:09 PM r a t I o n a l I z I n g t h e a n x I e t I e s o f a u s t e n ’ s J u v e n I l I a / 5 3 austen only informs us that her heroine “was assured of his affection; and that heart in return was solicited, which, perhaps, they pretty equally knew was already entirely his own.” the narrator explains that “though henry was now sincerely attached to [catherine], though he felt and delighted in all the excellencies of her character and truly loved her society, I must confess that his affection originated in nothing better than gratitude, or, in other words, that a persuasion of her partiality for him had been the only cause of giving her a serious thought. It is a new circumstance in romance, I acknowledge, and dreadfully derogatory of an heroine’s dignity” (198). austen draws attention to the artificial quality of her romantic ending and the rational- ized affections of her hero. we do not witness henry’s supposedly romantic behavior, but we are told that he loves the heroine’s company and appreciates her character. the narrator even “confesses” that henry’s feelings for cath- erine are the logical result of a sense of gratitude he experiences because of the heroine’s great esteem for him. like Inchbald’s henry, for whom “love, however rated by many, as the chief passion of the human heart, [was] but a poor dependent, a retainer upon other passions; admiration, gratitude, respect, esteem, pride in the object,” tilney maintains stable and ostensibly rational preferences for the heroine rather than uncontrollable amorous passions (49). deleuze explains that “the pluralism of love does not concern only the multiplicity of loved beings, but the multiplicity of souls or worlds in each of them” (Proust and Signs 7). henry will not allow such multiplic- ity to become exposed in either himself or the object of his “affection.” he retains the solidity of his well-crafted composite masculinity and avoids the destabilizing dangers of love. although henry has played the part of the archetypal romantic hero in defying his father’s orders and proposing to catherine, austen highlights henry’s adherence to a rational conception of sexual relations and love.38 austen remains self-conscious about her concluding marriage through- out the final chapters of the novel. she notes the general’s attempt to forbid his son from pursuing the heroine, “but, in such a cause, [the general’s] anger, though it must shock, could not intimidate henry, who was sustained in his purpose by a conviction of its justice.”39 austen adds that her hero “felt himself bound as much in honour as in affection to miss morland, and believing that heart to be his own which he had been directed to gain, no unworthy retraction of a tacit consent, no reversing decree of unjustifiable anger, could shake his fidelity, or influence the resolutions it prompted” (202). henry appears determined to marry catherine not because of his strong affection for her, but because he was urged to gain a “heart” for her by his father—and henry will not allow himself to renounce an emotion he has rationally attained. his bold actions incur the risk of disownment, but he Kramp_final.indb 53 1/12/2007 2:53:09 PM 5 4 / c h a P t e r 2 considers such an abjuration of learned sentiments as unjust and unreason- able. tilney’s stance is again reminiscent of the position taken by delmont, who announces that “a man would have in every thing else not only a very ordinary, but a very sordid mind, who would give up the freedom of that mind to the miserable hope of a legacy” (I: 226). like delmont, austen’s hero clings to his enlightenment epistemology and advocates the preeminence of a man’s reason over his familial connections. he momentarily rehearses the part of a male lover, but unlike the men of austen’s juvenilia, his perfor- mance is rationally managed. henry will not forfeit his logically developed interest in the heroine, but the “lovers” will also not proceed in their plans without the general’s assent; austen’s hero, unlike the many satirized philosophers of late-eighteenth- century anti-Jacobin texts, will not abuse or recklessly employ the dictates of reason. the narrator indicates that henry’s and catherine’s “tempers were mild, but their principles were steady, and while his parent so expressly forbad the connexion, they could not allow themselves to encourage it. . . . his consent was all that they wished for.” they are not romantically inclined enough to marry without parental sanction; they proceed cautiously, and even though henry’s “present income was an income of independence and comfort,” the hero and heroine choose not to marry until they receive the general’s approval (203). unlike most lovers in austen’s corpus, catherine and henry are not in need of financial support, yet their stability does not impel them to act impetuously or irrationally. henry’s father eventually does support their marriage, but not because he suddenly realizes the ben- efits of such a union; austen attributes the patriarch’s change of heart to the overwhelming emotions created by his daughter’s marriage to “a man of fortune and consequence.” austen notes that this event strongly affected the general, producing “an accession of dignity that threw him into a fit of good-humour, from which he did not recover till after eleanor had obtained his forgiveness of henry, and his permission for him ‘to be a fool if he liked it’” (204).40 the hero’s father, who is susceptible to the power of gallantry and nobility, is unable to control himself and simply permits henry’s “fool- ishness.” the general’s volatility ironically precipitates the rational love of henry and catherine. henry’s steadiness prevails; he acquires a marital status and retains the capacity to rationally perform various roles prescribed for the english man. henry’s successful endeavor to satisfy the distinct desires produced for socially proper english maleness is attributable to his consistent devotion to reason. he crafts and maintains a composite aesthetic of existence that enables him to rehearse assorted manly duties without relinquishing his rational masculinity. the men of austen’s juvenilia, like henry, are self- Kramp_final.indb 54 1/12/2007 2:53:09 PM r a t I o n a l I z I n g t h e a n x I e t I e s o f a u s t e n ’ s J u v e n I l I a / 5 5 conscious figures who experience great anxiety about their social/sexual subjectivities, but they lack the ordering force of henry’s strict enlighten- ment epistemology and are thus exposed as incompetent and foolish men. austen’s presentation of her hero in Northanger Abbey emphasizes how his perpetual reliance upon the dictates of reason ensures his hegemonic stabil- ity—even as he rehearses diverse and contradictory modes of appropriate english masculinity. henry’s rationalized sexuality allows him to demon- strate his chivalric training, his learned sentimentality, and his interest in the condition of women, but austen dramatizes how his dedication to reason ultimately inhibits his ability to participate in desubjectifying love relations. henry, like the ridiculous male figures of the juvenilia, must establish an approved sexuality in order to participate fully in the early-nineteenth-cen- tury reformed national community; he crafts a well-disciplined masculine identity, and austen demonstrates how his rational marriage to catherine precludes him from experiencing the multiplicity and instability of deleuz- ian love. he will not permit himself to accept the illogical, overwhelming, and destructuring powers of amorous passions. henry’s rationalized aes- thetic of existence regulates the explosive potential of his relationship with catherine and maintains the security of his composite masculinity. Kramp_final.indb 55 1/12/2007 2:53:09 PM marianne dashwood critiques the rational mode of masculinity adhered to by men like henry tilney and the disciplined model of masculinity followed by men of restraint like edward ferrars, and she instead announces her expectations of a male lover who remains inexhaustibly passionate. mari- anne wants men to dismiss the restrictive structures of modern society and feel power(fully). marianne encourages men to embrace and vocalize their emotions and energies, and for the young heroine such explicit passion is an essential character trait of her idealized lover. her reflections strongly influ- ence our readings of her two suitors: the mature colonel Brandon and the youthful willoughby. Both Brandon and willoughby are well-schooled in the tradition of male sensibility, and they demonstrate their susceptibility to feeling throughout the narrative. austen’s Sense and Sensibility (1811) relates the story of each man’s romantic pursuit of marianne, but it also dramatizes the dangers that confront sensitive men; moreover, the novel documents the efforts of these men to regulate their emotions and order their aesthetics of C h a P T e r 3 austen’s Sensitive Men Willoughby, Brandon, and the Regulation of Sensation  56 I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not in every point coincide with my own. He must enter into all my feelings; the same books, the same music must charm us both. . . . Mama, the more I know of the world, the more am I convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love. I require so much! (Marianne Dashwood in Austen, Sense and Sensibility 14–15) That is what I like; that is what a young man ought to be. Whatever be his pursuits, his eagerness in them should know no moderation, and leave him no sense of fatigue. (Marianne Dashwood in Austen, Sense and Sensibility 38) The relation to self that constitutes the end of the conversion and the final goal of all the practices of the self still belongs to an ethics of control. (Foucault, The history of Sexuality, vol. 3: The Care of the Self 65) Kramp_final.indb 56 1/12/2007 2:53:09 PM a u s t e n ’ s s e n s I t I v e m e n / 5 7 existence by adhering to models of male behavior prescribed by post-revo- lutionary discursive forces. Brandon has learned to temper his sentimentality by reverting to Burke’s conception of a modern chivalric man; willoughby painfully discovers that he, too, must limit his volatile passions, but he instead relies upon enlightenment principles of rationality to mitigate the risks of his impulsive behavior. most importantly, austen dramatizes how both sensible male characters must abandon the role of the male lover to secure their hegemonic social/sexual subjectivities. Brandon and willoughby craft socially functional aesthetics of existence, yet austen’s text illustrates how their accomplishments depend upon their control of emotions. austen’s presentation of these men’s struggles to regulate their sen- sibilities resembles the hellenic process of self-formation that foucault introduces in The History of Sexuality, Vol. 2: The Use of Pleasure.1 foucault indicates that the success of the ancient greek world depended upon the individual’s understanding of “the relationship with the self that enabled a person to keep from being carried away by the appetites and pleasures, to maintain a mastery and superiority over them . . . to remain free from interior bondage to the passions, and to achieve a mode of being that could be defined by . . . the perfect supremacy of oneself over oneself ” (31). this efficient greek system of self-discipline promoted a citizenry based upon individual self-surveillance, including the supervision of irrational passions. Brandon and willoughby participate in a modern version of this method of self-formation; and yet, there is an important distinction between Brandon and willoughby’s self-regulation and the ancient greek practice. foucault points out that for the proper greek man, the control of sensation actually becomes a source of great pleasure “in which the relation to self takes the form not only of a domination but also of an enjoyment without desire and without disturbance” (The History of Sexuality, Vol. 3 68).2 Brandon and willoughby, however, discover that they must manage what deleuze and guattari theorize as the diversity and unpredictability of love to ensure their abilities to meet other standards for proper english masculinity; for austen’s modern english men, the discipline of their feelings promotes their social/ sexual regulation rather than their sensual pleasure. austen introduces both sensitive men following the dashwoods’ move to Barton cottage, and we quickly discover that colonel Brandon has already regulated his susceptibility to sentiment. sir John middleton initially describes the colonel as the “only . . . gentleman there besides himself . . . a particular friend who was staying at the park, but who was neither very young nor very gay” (28). austen echoes sir John’s sketch of Brandon as a stoic yet genteel man; she depicts her elder hero as “silent and grave,” add- ing that “his appearance . . . was not unpleasing, in spite of his being in the Kramp_final.indb 57 1/12/2007 2:53:09 PM 5 8 / c h a P t e r 3 opinion of marianne and margaret an absolute old bachelor, for he was on the wrong side of five and thirty.” the narrator concludes that “though his face was not handsome his countenance was sensible, and his address was particularly gentlemanlike” (29). austen’s narration highlights the maturity and reserve of Brandon, but it also suggests his extant sensibility; he is an older gentleman who has felt and experienced a diversity of sensations. and while he currently seems neither interested in nor capable of expos- ing such sensitivity, he has the knowledge and tact to listen attentively to marianne’s music; he “heard her without being in raptures . . . and she felt a respect for him on the occasion, which the others had reasonably forfeited by their shameless want of taste” (30). marianne appreciates Brandon’s refined sophistication, especially his sensitivity to musical pleasure, but she criticizes him for not appearing “animated enough to be in love” and adds that he “complain[s] of rheumatism. . . . the commonest infirmity of declin- ing life” (31–32). she recognizes Brandon as a man of sensibility who has disciplined his emotions to such an extent that he can no longer experience erotic love. Indeed, the colonel refrains from the destabilizing behavior of a male lover, and he is too old and rheumatic to perform the virile masculine behavior requested by wollstonecraft and her followers; he instead reverts to the safety of Burke’s model of chivalric masculinity to order his aesthetic of existence. austen presents willoughby, unlike Brandon, as both a virile man and a lover. the youthful suitor originally appears as a “gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing round him.” when he observes marianne’s fall, he “put down his gun and ran to her assistance.” he “offered his services, and perceiving that [marianne’s] modesty declined what her situation rendered necessary, took her up in his arms without farther delay, and carried her down the hill” (35). willoughby’s actions may resemble those of a roman- ticized chivalric hero coming to the rescue of the ailing maiden, but he also demonstrates his virility by exerting great physical strength and endurance. austen notes his “manly beauty and more than common gracefulness,” and marianne constructs him as an “equal to what her fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite story.” 3 he is an impressive male specimen who makes a heroic entrance, “and he then departed, to make himself still more interest- ing, in the midst of a heavy rain” (36). austen initially constructs willoughby as a storybook hero: mysterious, handsome, and virile. the excitable heroine concludes, “every circumstance belonging to him was interesting. his name was good, his residence was in their favourite village, and she soon found out that of all manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming” (37). she immediately identifies willoughby as the manifestation of her ideal man who remains physically powerful and emotionally unrestrained. Kramp_final.indb 58 1/12/2007 2:53:10 PM a u s t e n ’ s s e n s I t I v e m e n / 5 9 sir John confirms many of marianne’s quickly formed impressions of willoughby. he dubs the young man “as good a kind of fellow as ever lived. . . . a very decent shot,” and declares “there is not a bolder rider in england” (37). sir John’s remarks remind us of willoughby’s superior physical skills: he knows how to ride and hunt, and he performs such activities in a bold manner. sir John also informs us of willoughby’s fondness for sensual and social activities by noting his ability to dance “from eight o’clock till four, without once sitting down” (38). he is a tireless dancer whom marianne praises for his “perfect good-breeding,” his ability to unite “frankness and vivacity,” and his declaration that “of music and dancing he was passionately fond” (39–40). he pays her great attention while she recovers from her inju- ries, and the heroine learns that he is a great and passionate reader, leading her to conclude that “willoughby was all that her fancy had delineated” in her earlier attempts to outline the ideal male companion. willoughby amaz- ingly appears to fulfill all of marianne’s standards for an acceptable man, but austen foreshadows the perilous social consequences of his impressive feat when elinor notes that he “[slighted] too easily the forms of worldly propriety, he displayed a want of caution” (41–42). willoughby may be an imposing man trained in the traditions of sensibility, but he has not cur- tailed his passions, and this lack of discipline encourages his involvement in desubjectifying amorous activities that engender dangerous sexual and social consequences. austen establishes and ultimately traces an important distinction between marianne’s admirers; while Brandon relies upon tradi- tional chivalric behavior to organize his aesthetic of existence, willoughby will eventually turn to rational principles to order his unstable social/sexual subjectivity. and yet, willoughby shows few rational tendencies early in the story. his love of sensation and his fervent disregard for customary behavior remind us of montague, the maligned rake of mary hays’s feminist reform novel, Memoirs of Emma Courtney (1796). montague is “blown about by every gust of passion” and “had never given himself time to reason, to compare, to acquire principles”; hays adds that montague was “accustomed to feel, and not to reason” (37). willoughby shares montague’s faith in the infal- lible accuracy of sensory perceptions, and austen’s male figure also too often neglects rational thought in favor of emotional urges. willoughby acts impulsively, maintains no profession, and like many of the vilified male figures of Jacobin novels, shows little inclination toward assiduous behavior. sir John informs the dashwoods that “mr. willoughby had no property of his own in the country . . . he resided there only while he was visiting the old lady at allenham court, to whom he was related, and whose possessions he was to inherit” (37–38). willoughby demonstrates no ambition to enhance Kramp_final.indb 59 1/12/2007 2:53:10 PM 6 0 / c h a P t e r 3 his standing in the modernizing nation through his own labor and instead prefers to trust in the beneficence of his aged aunt. he may be a striking young man, but he enjoys neither the direction of aspiring middle-class men nor the independence of rational male characters. austen differentiates willoughby from fictional men such as henry tilney and the many farm- ers of Jacobin novels who pursue industrious agricultural work rather than depending upon a familial inheritance. willoughby is completely opposed to enlightenment principles of progress, many of which were adopted by late-eighteenth-century feminist thinkers such as wollstonecraft and hays. willoughby does not appear interested in achieving hegemonic security through his relations with women; rather, he experiences pleasures and sen- sations during his time with marianne. austen’s novel, however, ultimately illustrates how willoughby must reconfigure his method of relating to/with women. he must embrace the advice of wollstonecraft and hays—specifi- cally their insistences that men respect the rational capacity of women and dismiss the role of the lover within marriage—to ensure his participation in the emerging national community. while willoughby eventually sacrifices amorous activity for conjugal stability, Brandon has already relinquished the behavior of a lover. elinor displays great concern for Brandon’s delicate constitution, especially in comparison to his youthful counterpart. she seriously questions “what could a silent man of five and thirty hope, when opposed by a very lively one of five and twenty” (42). Brandon appears too mild, with a reserve that “appeared rather the result of some oppression of spirits, than of any natural gloominess of temper,” to compete with the aggressive hunter for the young heroine’s attention. the colonel has previously felt emotions, and although he is not “naturally” melancholic, he has learned to regulate his passions by adhering to the chivalric model of masculinity advocated by Burke. willoughby claims that Brandon “is just the kind of man . . . whom every body speaks well of, and nobody cares about; whom all are delighted to see, and nobody remembers to talk to” (43). willoughby’s comment suggests the social acceptability of a male like Brandon. he is a culturally approved man who causes no disturbance and garners no notice because he has con- structed his aesthetic of existence in accordance with the specific requests of the post-revolutionary discursive field. he appears to have all the essential characteristics of a proper english man—save a wife—with no prominent insufficiencies. despite Brandon’s hesitancy to pursue romantic love, he is nonethe- less highly skilled at feeling and appreciating sensation. willoughby may be more dramatic in his display of emotion, but austen informs us that Brandon remains “on every occasion mindful of the feelings of others” (53). Kramp_final.indb 60 1/12/2007 2:53:10 PM a u s t e n ’ s s e n s I t I v e m e n / 6 1 he is reminiscent of the benevolent paternal figure of ann radcliffe’s The Romance of the Forest (1791), arnand la luc, who is similarly described as “ever sensible to the sufferings of others” (258). radcliffe claims that la luc’s “mind was penetrating; his views extensive; and his systems . . . were simple, rational, and sublime” (245). like la luc, Brandon expresses empathy and compassion throughout the story; in addition, both men have panoramic minds and display a remarkable ability to accept both the laws of reason and sublime happenings. elinor instructs willoughby and her sister that the colonel “has seen a great deal of the world; has been abroad; has read, and has a thinking mind.” she declares that she has “found him capable of giving me much information on various subjects” and notes that “he has always answered my inquiries with the readiness of good-breeding and good nature” (43). elinor reconfigures the colonel as an experienced and oft-con- sulted reference manual, and she concludes that he is “a sensible man, well- bred, well-informed, of gentle address . . . possessing an amiable heart” (44). elinor correctly identifies the colonel’s education and experience, as well as his training in both sensibility and chivalry; this background informs both his sensitivity and his sense of duty to others. Brandon is especially concerned about his abandoned niece, eliza, and when he receives news of her whereabouts, his interest in her welfare becomes paramount. austen notes that he “changed colour, and immediately left the room” (54). the colonel is sensually affected by the report of eliza’s abandonment, but he quickly suppresses these passions and acts as a dutiful man. he cancels the party to whitwell and departs for london, informing willoughby and his other guests, “I cannot afford to lose one hour” (55). Brandon sincerely regrets both the abrupt nature of the day’s canceled event and his sudden exit, but he immediately begins his journey on horseback, after bowing silently to marianne (56). the narrator emphasizes the col- onel’s chivalric behavior whenever he becomes emotionally overwrought; rather than allowing himself to become flushed with sentiment, he mounts his horse, heroically departs to save an endangered woman, and offers a humble bow to his would-be lady. austen carefully distinguishes Brandon’s heroic performance from the actions of many obnoxiously chivalric men showcased in the fiction of the 1790s. for example, the colonel is clearly distinct from coke clifton, the villain of thomas holcroft’s radical novel, Anna St. Ives (1792), who is devoted to “a high sense of fashionable hon- our” and “well acquainted with foreign manners” (5; 117). unlike clifton, Brandon is not a foolish practitioner of arcane french customs; the colonel is a responsible man who maintains great compassion for eliza and relies upon chivalric traditions to keep his masculinity structured. his journey to london is crucial to the development of the narrative because it precipi- Kramp_final.indb 61 1/12/2007 2:53:10 PM 6 2 / c h a P t e r 3 tates willoughby’s mysterious departure from Barton, but it also illustrates how marianne’s suitors revert to alternative models of male social/sexual subjectivity whenever their sensations become overwhelming. while Bran- don relies upon ideals of duty to guide his actions, willoughby is initially obsessed with pleasurable sensations promised by social activities such as the outing to whitwell. the novel demonstrates how Brandon’s strategy promotes a model of masculinity better suited to stabilize english men, domestic settings, and the post-revolutionary nation. following Brandon’s departure, austen stresses the instability promoted by willoughby’s libertine behavior; the young suitor provides marianne with a horse and later captures a lock of her hair. Both incidents suggest willoughby’s physical intimacy with the heroine: the gift of the horse recalls the unrestrained passion often associated with artistic renderings of the animal, and the shearing of marianne’s hair certainly reminds us of a simi- larly aggressive man’s activity in Pope’s “rape of the lock” (49; 51). austen’s young lover may be named after the rakish figure of francis Burney’s Evelina (1778), but his courtship strategies resemble the undisciplined sentiments exhibited by william from Inchbald’s Nature and Art (1796). Inchbald claims that “william indeed was gallant, was amorous, and indulged his inclination to the libertine society of women”; she adds that william was “well versed in all the licentious theory” and “thought himself in love, because he per- ceived a tumultuous impulse cause his heart to beat, while his fancy fixed on a certain object, whose presence agitated yet more his breast” (41; 45). like william, willoughby is schooled in excessively romantic conduct, and he, too, quickly convinces himself of the sincerity of strong feelings derived from his experiences of physical sensations. willoughby becomes even more forward in the absence of mrs. smith. he escorts marianne, without an attendant, around what they presume to be his future home at allenham.4 he acts as a confident lover, and while marianne is undoubtedly exhilarated by willoughby’s amorous performances, even the young heroine becomes concerned about his resources. as she reflects on the possibility of sharing mrs. smith’s house with her passionate lover, she “could easily conceive that marriage might not be immediately in their power; for though willoughby was independent, there was no reason to believe him rich.” she knows that he “lived at an expense to which” his present income “could hardly be equal, and he had himself often complained of his poverty” (61). marianne is aware of her lover’s financial limitations and the impossibility of their sudden marriage, but she remains convinced that willoughby will be her lover, her husband, and a landed gentleman. and yet, austen reveals that willoughby is primarily a pleasure seeker who has little interest in the responsibilities of an english gentleman modeled by men such as mr. darcy and mr. knightley. Kramp_final.indb 62 1/12/2007 2:53:10 PM a u s t e n ’ s s e n s I t I v e m e n / 6 3 willoughby may unwisely assume a level of future financial security, but he never announces an inheritance; and unlike Brandon, he shows no inclination to perform the social duties of the aristocratic gentleman, such as administering an estate and caring for dependents. rather, willoughby is enamored of the simplicity and charm of Barton cottage. he insists that “not a stone must be added to its walls, not an inch to its size, if my feelings are regarded” (62). willoughby appears much like Pierre de la motte, the indebted fugitive of The Romance of the Forest, whom radcliffe describes as “a man whose passions often overcame his reason, and, for a time, silenced his conscience” (2). willoughby experiences a similar emotional engulf- ment, as he is incapable of accepting either the rationality of time or the mutability of human existence. he neither wants his friends nor their house to alter; he is attached sentimentally to Barton and implores, “tell me that not only your house will remain the same, but that I shall ever find you and yours as unchanged as your dwelling; and that you will always consider me with the kindness which has made every thing belonging to you so dear to me” (63–64). he echoes wordsworth’s desire to remember always “spots of time.” willoughby wants to capture and continuously return to moments and people of great sensation. he appears to have little ambition for either the aristocratic life proposed by the discourses of Burke and his followers or the culture of merit and progress theorized by the Jacobins. while he has a strong admiration for the past, his nostalgia is not for a lost chivalric system and its noble man. austen presents willoughby as a passionate male who is fond of a simple lifestyle and frustrated by the conflicting desires of the modern english nation. austen’s narrative shatters willoughby’s attempt to experience con- tinuously the simple sensations aroused by his time at Barton. he is able to remain near this “spot” only a day longer; distraught with emotion, he informs the dashwood family (after attempting to reveal the matter to mari- anne) that “mrs. smith has this morning exercised the privilege of riches upon a poor dependent cousin, by sending me on business to london” (65). willoughby’s explanation accentuates both his unstable social/sexual stand- ing and the authoritative function of his female relation, whose influential power reminds us of the efforts of wollstonecraft and other enlightenment feminist thinkers to expand the social conception of women.5 mrs. smith employs her financial standing to affect willoughby’s behavior, and as Phoe- be smith notes, she is specifically concerned with preventing “willoughby from following the dictates of his heart to marry marianne” (11). mrs. smith prompts her nephew to discipline his overwhelming passions for the heroine and concern himself with the “business” of developing a hegemonic social/sexual subjectivity through marriage. In leaving he declares, “I will Kramp_final.indb 63 1/12/2007 2:53:10 PM 6 4 / c h a P t e r 3 not torment myself any longer by remaining among friends whose society it is impossible for me now to enjoy.” willoughby does not make a heroic exit like Brandon; instead, the young virile suitor exits pining of his suffer- ing and indicting his aged female relation. elinor notes this severe alteration in his manner and claims that his present actions are “so unlike a lover, so unlike himself ” (66). elinor’s remarks suggest both the common perception of willoughby as a lover and the nascence of a significant alteration in his aesthetic of existence. mrs. smith compels him to leave Barton after she learns of his scandalous affair with the second eliza; he no longer maintains strong passions for miss williams, and his abandonment of her and their newborn child exposes willoughby’s improper training as a man of feeling. austen illustrates how willoughby must now dismiss his romantic passions for marianne to acquire a socially sanctioned masculine subjectivity; mod- ern england cannot allow its young men to act impulsively with fervent passion. austen specifically demonstrates that he must address the dictates of enlightenment feminist thought: willoughby must establish a new appre- ciation for the social potential of women, relinquish his identity as a lover, and adopt rational principles to craft a nationally proper masculinity. austen foreshadows such a change in willoughby’s emotional demeanor, but when marianne travels to london she eagerly expects to encounter the same passionately exuberant man. the narrator notes that the heroine “was internally dwelling on the perfections of a man, of whose whole heart she felt thoroughly possessed, and whom she expected to see in every carriage which drove near their house” (121). while austen’s narration reveals the exces- sively romantic attitude of marianne, it also reminds us of the contradictory expectations for proper english masculinity that willoughby must negotiate; he has traveled to london in accordance with the directives of enlighten- ment and feminist writers for a man of reason, yet he is still idealized as a lover by the heroine. his actions in london reflect this tension as well as an impending change in his aesthetic of existence. he no longer behaves as a passionate and virile figure unconcerned with custom and propriety;6 the influence of mrs. smith and his own financial need have clearly forced him to reorder his sexuality in accordance with the desires of modern english society. while Brandon maintains regular contact with the dashwood sis- ters, willoughby’s endeavor to restructure his sexual subjectivity forces him to hide from the heroines. when he eventually encounters marianne, after elinor notices him in a crowded room of a london party, austen indicates that “he immediately bowed, but without attempting to speak to her, or to approach marianne, though he could not but see her” (152). he now tries to behave in a manner for which he had earlier rebuked Brandon: willoughby would like to be noticed by all and approached by none. Kramp_final.indb 64 1/12/2007 2:53:10 PM a u s t e n ’ s s e n s I t I v e m e n / 6 5 willoughby adopts the socially approved behavior of a reserved man who rehearses the customary chivalric niceties modeled by henry tilney, but marianne, unlike catherine morland, refuses to allow such hackneyed propriety. she demands, “good god! willoughby, what is the meaning of this? have you not received my letters? will you not shake hands with me?” (152). she rebukes his disciplined emotions, but willoughby, who now seeks social/sexual security, can no longer dismiss the stable models of hegemonic masculinity provided by codifying structures such as chivalry and reason. the narrator claims that willoughby could not avoid confronting marianne, “but her touch seemed painful to him, and he held her hand only for a moment. . . . all this time he was evidently struggling for composure.” wil- loughby is still a man of feeling, but he will not permit himself the oppor- tunity to enjoy or reciprocate physical sensations, especially previously felt sensations.7 he can only speak briefly to his former lover before he “turned hastily away with a slight bow and joined his friend” (153). austen high- lights willoughby’s determination to regulate his powerful emotions with the order promised by the cold logic of an extreme rationalist; his decision to solidify his social/sexual subjectivity through marriage is a rational choice informed by business. like Brandon, willoughby will not be able to banish completely his propensity to feel, but the narrator records his attempts to strategically manage his sensations. the london scenes also document a different but equally difficult struggle for Brandon, who has already successfully disciplined his suscep- tibility to emotion. the narrator notes that the colonel continually visited the heroines at mrs. Jennings’s home; “he came to look at marianne and talk to elinor” (145). despite his extant desires for marianne, Brandon restrains from actively pursuing their pleasurable potential; he instead performs as a chivalric gentleman who remains concerned about his ward and passively admires his beloved. he arrives at Berkeley-street one afternoon looking “more than usually grave” and “sat for some time without saying a word.” he informs elinor that her “sister’s engagement to mr. willoughby is very gen- erally known” and then questions, “Is every thing finally settled? Is it impos- sible to—? But I have no right, and I could have no chance of succeeding.” he is nonplused and effectively silenced by his own thoughts and abridged words. he can only tell elinor that for marianne he “wish[es] all imaginable happiness; to willoughby that he may endeavour to deserve her” (149–50). Brandon momentarily adopts the mindset of a lover, only to leave his per- formance incomplete. he may appear to imitate the ancient greek model of self-formation, garnering ostensible satisfaction from his well-ordered masculinity, but he has actually constructed a carefully regulated aesthetic of existence that does not permit the volatile emotions engendered by love. Kramp_final.indb 65 1/12/2007 2:53:11 PM 6 6 / c h a P t e r 3 austen presents Brandon much as mr. dudley, the virtuous paternal figure of Jane west’s A Gossip’s Story (1797), who “possessed in eminent degree the virtues of the head and the heart . . . [and] knew how to reduce his desires to that moderate standard, which is most likely to produce content” (I: 13–14). the colonel, like mr. dudley, is a man learned in both knowledge and sensi- bility, but he most importantly knows he must contain his feelings to ensure the safety of his sexuality and the comfort of his social existence. after willoughby’s formal break with marianne, Brandon successfully explains—at least to elinor—the primary reasons for his regulated sensa- tions. he struggles to relate the story of the elizas, including willoughby’s scandalous activity with his young ward. he compares his love for the first eliza to willoughby’s relationship with marianne and informs elinor that he and the first eliza “were within a few hours of eloping together for scotland” (179). he discusses the plight of his romantic childhood love, her divorce from his brother, and her death; his account again reveals his strong com- mitment to a sense of duty inspired by his adherence to a chivalric form of masculinity. we learn that after he finally located the abandoned first eliza, Brandon nursed her during her final moments of life and accepted the dying mother’s child as his responsibility (181). the colonel’s account of earlier events invites us to revise our conception of his character. he again appears very similar to mr. dudley, whose mind was “awakened to all the impres- sions of duty both to his maker and his fellow-creatures” and “[possessed] sufficient strength to overcome the extreme indulgence of hopeless grief.” west indicates that “though [mr. dudley] found it impossible to forget that he once was most happy, he acquiesced with patient resignation in the limited enjoyments which his situation allowed” and preserved “the anxious tenderness of the paternal character” (I: 15). like mr. dudley, Brandon reveals his youthful romantic happiness, but he is now a responsible and resigned patriarchal man who can neither forget the pain of his troubled past nor actively pursue new experiences of pleasure. while his discussion with elinor provides scandalous information concerning willoughby, Bran- don’s story also demonstrates his commitment to emotional discipline and his allegiance to Burke’s conception of a noble and dutiful masculinity.8 the colonel’s history, likewise, reemphasizes his training in the tradi- tions of sensibility. like mr. dudley and willoughby, Brandon, too, was once a passionate lover. he has stabilized his subjectivity, but he is not yet a complete modern english man, as he still lacks the social/sexual security engendered by a hegemonic marital relationship. unlike willoughby, how- ever, the colonel benefits from a solid financial standing because, as John- son reminds us, the “days of [his] subjugation to a corrupt father and older brother are happily behind him” (Jane Austen 70). england has updated Kramp_final.indb 66 1/12/2007 2:53:11 PM a u s t e n ’ s s e n s I t I v e m e n / 6 7 its economy, and Brandon is no longer subjected to archaic traditions that dictated familial roles; the colonel’s economic and social stability enables him to perform two prominent actions in the final stages of the novel that confirm his commitment to the traditions of sentimentality and chivalry: his offer of the delaford living to edward ferrars and his service as elinor’s attendant and mrs. dashwood’s escort during marianne’s illness. when he learns of mrs. ferrars’s strategy to impede the planned marriage between edward and lucy steele by withholding her son’s inheritance, the colo- nel is astonished at the “impolitic cruelty . . . of dividing, or attempting to divide, two young people long attached to each other” (246). he is sensible of the feelings of young lovers—even if he will no longer behave as a lover himself—and critical of the coarse heartlessness exhibited by mrs. ferrars. In addition, his gift of the delaford parsonage to edward recalls a chivalric economic structure in which land was administered by a feudal lord. his genteel beneficence circumvents the authority of mrs. ferrars and provides edward with a domestic sphere, a safe opportunity to marry without the risks of love, and a chance to solidify his involvement in the modern national community. Yet Brandon sees his action as neither heroic nor noble. he remains a disciplined man who reveals little interest in gallant ceremonies. he does not even want to make the offer himself; he requests, rather, that elinor present the living to edward. miss dashwood lauds the colonel’s generosity toward a man he does not know and insists that there “are not many men who would act as he has done . . . few people who have so compassionate an heart!” (249). even the timid edward realizes that Brandon “is undoubt- edly a sensible man, and in his manners perfectly the gentleman” (253). the comments of elinor and edward remind us of Brandon’s sensibility as well as his adherence to a chivalric model of maleness. he is a sentimental man schooled in genteel behavior, but he prefers the role of a dutiful protector and provider to the gallant activity of a glorified hero. the colonel’s behav- ior is reminiscent of another of Jane west’s kind-hearted paternal figures, mr. herbert, who presides over The Advantages of Education: Or, the History of Maria Williams (1793). west announces that “integrity seems [to be] the predominant feature of [herbert’s] soul. he has the greater share of inde- pendence, of sentiment, than I ever knew a man possess. nothing can per- suade him to alter a conduct which he considers to be conscientious; and he fears no person’s resentment, when engaged in the cause of virtue” (II: 225). like mr. herbert, Brandon believes in the sincerity of his own emotions, and he is determined to act upon them regardless of the social consequences. as a man of sensibility, the colonel trusts his feelings, but he has also trained his sensations to prevent the possibility of an uncontrollable overflow of Kramp_final.indb 67 1/12/2007 2:53:11 PM 6 8 / c h a P t e r 3 passions, and this careful discipline allows him to remain perpetually useful to his modernizing society without relinquishing his sensitivity. when the dashwood sisters remove to cleveland, the colonel quickly follows and continues his service to marianne and elinor. Brandon remains a dutiful companion of the heroines, but miss dashwood also notes the “needless alarm of a lover” in “[Brandon’s] looks of anxious solicitude on marianne’s feeling, in her head and throat, the beginning of a heavy cold” (267).9 austen documents how Brandon remains sensibly affected by marianne’s sickness; it frightened him, and the narrator notes that he “tried to reason himself out of fears” (270). when elinor later approaches him about her sister’s worsening condition, the colonel listens “in silent despon- dence;—but her difficulties were instantly obviated, for with a readiness that seemed to speak the occasion . . . [he] offered himself as the messenger who should fetch mrs. dashwood.” Brandon is still sensitive to sensations, but he will once again perform as a responsible chivalric figure, offering to transport the mother of marianne to her bedside. austen informs us that “whatever he might feel, [Brandon] acted with all the firmness of a col- lected mind, made every necessary arrangement with the utmost dispatch, and calculated with exactness the time in which [elinor] might look for his return” (272). while he appears to perform as a romantic hero, he still acts in a controlled and ordered manner, outlining his travel plans and determining his timeframe. despite his well-trained susceptibility to feeling, Brandon is organized and regulated. following Brandon’s departure, willoughby arrives at cleveland and attempts to acquire from elinor news of marianne’s health. he stam- mers, “Your sister . . . is out of danger. I heard it from the servant. god be praised!—But is it true?—is it really true?” elinor attempts to remain silent, but willoughby proclaims, “for god’s sake tell me, is she out of danger, or is she not?” (278). he is emotionally overtaken with his concern for the heroine’s health, and paralleling Brandon’s inability to inquire coherently of marianne’s marital arrangements, willoughby can only stutter his words. when miss dashwood inquires the reason for his surprising visit, he pro- vides an ambiguous response: “I mean . . . to make you hate me one degree less than you do now.” he continues, “I mean to offer some kind of explana- tion, some kind of apology, for the past” (279). willoughby knows that his recently related history has transformed his social reputation, and he asks elinor for the opportunity to account for his behavior. he begins his story by defending his innocent initial attractions to marianne and the dashwood family at Barton. he informs elinor that at that time he “had no other inten- tion, no other view in the acquaintance than to pass my time pleasantly while I was obliged to remain.” he claims that marianne’s person and charms Kramp_final.indb 68 1/12/2007 2:53:11 PM a u s t e n ’ s s e n s I t I v e m e n / 6 9 “could not but please me” and acknowledges that originally his “vanity only was elevated” by her affection (280). he suggests that his time with marianne at Barton was sensibly pleasurable and claims that while he was susceptible to such sensations he was also ignorant of the dangers associated with amo- rous emotions. willoughby presents his incipient romantic desires for the young heroine as accidental, but as austen’s novel suggests, even men who unintentionally adopt the pose of a lover endanger the social/sexual security of themselves, others, and the nation. as willoughby’s compromised masculinity is in part due to his economic instability, he also attempts to explain his precarious financial status. he declares that his “fortune was never large” and indicates that he “had always been expensive, always in the habit of associating with people of better income than [himself]” (280). he is a connoisseur of pleasure, and although he had always maintained hope in the possibility of a significant inheri- tance after the death of his aunt, willoughby indicates that “it had been for some time [his] intention to re-establish [his] circumstances by marrying a woman of fortune” (280). unlike delmont and other industrious men of Jacobin novels who plan to earn their sustenance through agricultural labor, willoughby’s monetary hopes rest upon a familial inheritance and a marriage to a wealthy woman. he is honest about his desires for an ample income, and he freely admits that marrying marianne “was not a thing to be thought of.” he concludes that he “was acting in this manner, trying to engage her regard, without a thought of returning it” (280). willoughby announces both his coarse desire for affluence and his careless, but eventu- ally powerful, interest in marianne. he grants, “I did not know the extent of the injury I meditated, because I did not then know what it was to love” (280).10 he expresses his own surprise at developing sincere amorous emo- tions for marianne. his comments recall the irrational and uncontrollable quality of love; they also remind us that even a man who performs briefly as a romantic lover risks significant consequences. willoughby once developed powerful amorous passions for marianne, but he has now learned that aspir- ing modern men must view love as a rational activity based upon pecuniary and utilitarian concerns rather than desire. west describes The Advantages of Education as a fictional attempt “to counteract the evils incident to the romantic conclusions which youths are apt to form” (I: iv). austen’s novel, likewise, illustrates how modern english men must treat romantic passions like a dangerous narcotic; the only sure way to prevent possible peril is to practice total abstinence. willoughby, of course, did not keep such a vow, but he learned that he must regulate his susceptibility to emotions and sensations because “a circumstance occurred—an unlucky circumstance, to ruin all [his] resolu- Kramp_final.indb 69 1/12/2007 2:53:11 PM 7 0 / c h a P t e r 3 tion, and with it all [his] comfort” (281). according to willoughby, when mrs. smith discovered his scandalous activity with eliza, she threatened to relinquish her future financial support, although she did offer to “forgive the past, if [he] would marry eliza” (283). willoughby acknowledges that he once maintained romantic feelings for miss williams, but their affair now seems childish and immature. he briefly appears to behave as a man of sensibility who will not accept a passionless marriage complemented by a large inheritance from his aged aunt, but he is also not willing to pursue his ostensibly sincere love for marianne without some degree of economic stability. he now reverts to the safety of rational behavior displayed by men like henry tilney. willoughby acts in a “reasonable” manner, as he departs for london, “[believing himself] secure of [his] present wife, if [he] chose to address her” (283). he opts to dismiss his passions and the sentiments of the male lover to pursue the social standing facilitated by an economically promising marriage. his rational decision also implies a consciousness of his previous irresponsible performances as a lover; he must now turn to stern enlightenment codes to repair the damage amorous feelings inflicted upon his masculinity.11 he has also come to appreciate the mandates of late-eighteenth-century feminist thinkers. he respects the new social pres- ence of women like his aunt, and as wollstonecraft instructs, he does not confuse his responsibilities as a husband with the identity of a lover. Indeed, he concludes that his own “domestic happiness is out of the question” (291). willoughby will not enjoy marital bliss, and it is precisely his willingness to forgo the felicity of amorous experiences that allows him to stabilize his social/sexual subjectivity. following willoughby’s confession and explanation, austen allows Brandon a similar opportunity to reconfigure himself through his unheard conversation with mrs. dashwood. the emotional mother effectively recre- ates Brandon, describing him as a desperate sentimental man who will also be a useful addition to her family. she tells elinor that he “opened his whole heart to me yesterday as we travelled,” and according to mrs. dashwood, the colonel has loved marianne “ever since the first moment of seeing her.” mrs. dashwood concludes that Brandon’s regard was “infinitely surpass- ing anything that willoughby ever felt or feigned, as much more warm, as more sincere or constant. . . . such a noble mind!—such openness, such sincerity!—no one can be deceived in him” (295). she depicts Brandon as a passionate lover who is well trained in sentimental behavior, but she also highlights his social stability. mrs. dashwood admires “his fortune too” and explains that “at my time of life . . . everybody cares about that;—and although I neither know, nor desire to know, what it really is, I am sure it must be a good one” (297). mrs. dashwood’s characterization of the colo- Kramp_final.indb 70 1/12/2007 2:53:11 PM a u s t e n ’ s s e n s I t I v e m e n / 7 1 nel establishes him as a man suitable to serve as marianne’s protector and ostensible lover. he is a disciplined man of sensibility who relies upon his “noble mind” to manage his aesthetic of existence. Brandon’s control of his passions prevents him from enduring the volatile consequences of love, and his financial standing enables him to revert continually to chivalric male activities to participate in the national community. austen concludes her novel by reporting both marianne’s eventual mar- riage to the regulated colonel and willoughby’s frustrated marital status. austen suggests that Brandon “still sought the constitutional safeguard of a flannel waistcoat” and concludes that he “was now as happy, as all those who best loved him, believed he deserved to be” (333). her ambiguous nar- ration reminds us of the colonel’s melancholic past and sentimental train- ing, but it also suggests the limits—and the publicly anticipated limits—of his conjugal bliss. Brandon’s experience of pleasure derives from his control rather than his overflow of sensations, and the narrator implies that even his friends do not expect him to experience exuberant joy. austen adds that marianne “restored his mind to animation, and his spirits to cheerfulness,” and “her whole heart became, in time, as much devoted to her husband, as it had once been to willoughby” (334).12 marianne can recharge the colonel’s sensibility and facilitate his social life, but she can only love him as much as she did willoughby—and even that will take time. marianne briefly appears like the far more timid catherine morland, whom tilney hopes will learn to love different flowers. the restricted nature of her commitment to the colonel may be crass, but is also essential, as he could not successfully man- age an immoderate amorous experience. Brandon is more financially stable than willoughby, but it is his emotional discipline that distinguishes him as a socially functional mate for marianne. he will not allow passions to overwhelm himself or his wife, and his control also allows him to perform various social roles prescribed for the proper english man. the narrator shows how willoughby can also successfully fulfill numer- ous expectations for the appropriate national man once he relinquishes his amorous inclinations.13 willoughby, like Brandon, does not enjoy unbridled domestic pleasure, but he eventually discerns how to accept the compro- mises involved in his socially sanctioned conjugal relationship. he was not forever heartbroken, nor did he abandon the world; rather, “he lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself ” (334). he remains a virile man of sensibility, as he continues to relish the possibility of physical sensations. austen notes, “his wife was not always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity” (334). like Brandon’s ambiguous future “happiness,” willoughby’s joy in life appears Kramp_final.indb 71 1/12/2007 2:53:11 PM 7 2 / c h a P t e r 3 limited and somewhat perverted. his “domestic felicity” involves almost everything but his wife, and while he is certainly not a miserable hermit, like gulliver, he seems more interested in his horses than his supposed lover. austen illustrates how willoughby’s decision to discipline his susceptibility to emotions helps him to meet other post-revolutionary expectations for english masculinity. he can still hunt, ride, and appreciate sensations, but he must no longer allow his emotions to overtake his reason. he has established a secure aesthetic of existence by acting rationally, and while he is now able to participate in the burgeoning modern nation, he must perpetually abstain from the multiplicities and volatilities of love to maintain his status. neither willoughby nor Brandon is able to exist as an unchecked man of sensibility, and austen demonstrates how each suitor must avoid amorous emotions to ensure his secure domestic life. willoughby restrains his suscep- tibility to romantic love by relying upon rationality to direct his behavior, while Brandon consistently relies upon the socially accepted chivalric model of behavior to order his sexuality. willoughby may become more disci- plined, but he is clearly still a man in training who is learning to respond to the dictates of reason and the requests of enlightenment thinkers such as wollstonecraft. Brandon is already disciplined, and while he may not be an extremely exciting male figure, austen suggests that he is the kind of man who is of great use to the nation during the cultural unrest of the early nine- teenth century. the colonel still must solidify his social/sexual subjectivity, and his need for amelioration prefigures austen’s later depictions of aspir- ing tradesmen who strive to develop and broaden their identities as english men in order to assume more significant social responsibilities; moreover, Brandon’s guarded masculinity also anticipates the stable sexualities of social administrators like mr. darcy and mr. knightley, who perform vital leadership roles in their communities. marianne may idealize a passionate man, but austen’s story illustrates that post-revolutionary english society desires carefully disciplined masculine subjects who will assume the respon- sibility of guiding england through its post-revolutionary transformation. these men, of course, must still marry to establish hegemonic identities and reproduce a national citizenry, but as wollstonecraft argues and austen’s text dramatizes, functional and secure marriages must not involve deleuzian love. Kramp_final.indb 72 1/12/2007 2:53:12 PM much of Pride and Prejudice’s enduring appeal is no doubt due to the reputa- tion of the novel as a “shamelessly” happy story in which, as Johnson notes, the characters realize their dreams (Jane Austen 73).1 this perception, of course, is primarily based upon the romantic account of elizabeth and dar- cy’s love relationship. elizabeth is one of the more alluring female figures in the history of english letters, and darcy is admired as both an ancestral man of england and a lover.2 he is a phenomenal male figure, and the heroine sarcastically announces early in the tale that she is “perfectly convinced . . . that mr. darcy has no defect” (50). mrs. gardiner, however, later explains to elizabeth that the benevolent patriarch of Pemberley “wants nothing but a little more liveliness, and that, if he marry prudently, his wife may teach him” (288). according to the heroine’s aunt, darcy must “learn” to overcome his cautious reserve and appreciate the energy of other individuals; and though austen reveals throughout her corpus how love can destabilize lesser men, the hero of Pride and Prejudice is the exceptional man who benefits from his C h a P T e r 4 austen’s Tradesmen Improving Masculinity in Pride and Prejudice  73 While the novels of Austen’s contemporaries, with very few exceptions, are given over to crises of social and marital disintegration, Pride and Prejudice is a categorically happy novel, and its felicity is not merely incidental, something that happens at the end of a novel, but is rather at once its premise and its prize. In its readiness to ratify and to grant our happiness, Pride and Prejudice is almost shamelessly wish fulfilling. The fantasies it satisfies, however, are not merely private––a poor but deserving girl catches a rich husband. They are pervasively political as well. (Johnson, Jane austen 73) [A] relationship with the self . . . is not simply “self awareness” but self-formation as an “ethical subject,” a process in which the individual delimits that part of himself that will form the object of his moral practice, defines his position relative to the precept he will follow, and decides on a certain mode of being that will serve as his moral goal. And this requires him to act upon himself, to monitor, test, improve, and transform himself. (Foucault, The history of Sexuality, vol. 2: The Use of Pleasure 28) Kramp_final.indb 73 1/12/2007 2:53:12 PM 7 4 / c h a P t e r 4 amorous experiences. Indeed, he eventually relates to the heroine: “[Y]ou taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You shewed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased” (328).3 darcy’s love for elizabeth—a love that is not deleuzian but ostensibly edifying—helps him to accept his proper social function, and as Johnson concludes, austen ultimately depicts him as “singularly free from the faults that underline comparable figures elsewhere” (Jane Austen 73). darcy presides over this shamelessly happy story as an exemplar of english masculinity, and his extraordinary social/sexual subjec- tivity suggests the lack of any remotely equivalent men. darcy’s preeminent class position as the current head of an ancient, land- ed, yet untitled family immediately distinguishes him from the other men of the novel. In addition, he is an outstanding man because of his ability to satisfy the various and distinct socially produced desires for proper english masculinity generated by the discursive field of the 1790s. he is a physically imposing man who is eager to fish with mr. gardiner at Pemberley (235); he can be a coldly rational man, as he demonstrates by his unwillingness to allow Bingley to risk his recent rise in society by embracing an irrational love; and he also exposes great sensibility, as in his second proposal when he “expressed himself . . . as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do” (325). although he is a versatile man, austen most clearly portrays darcy as an adherent to Burke’s model of chivalric mascu- linity, and as alistair duckworth explains, “he has a Burkean regard for the wisdom of his ancestors” (129). darcy carefully follows Burke’s outline for a man of ancestral heritage; he is noble, well mannered, and upholds the majesty and tradition of his Pemberley estate that symbolizes his aristocratic lineage and grounds his cultural authority.4 his outstanding social/sexual standing, buttressed by the grandeur of Pemberley, allows him to serve as an administrator of social morality who effectively orchestrates and evaluates the activity of the novel. darcy’s exceptional status as a disciplined man who is virile yet genteel, romantic yet responsible, anticipates both the impending collapse of idealized Burkean masculinity and an important cultural shift in england’s expectations for its male leaders. austen’s mature novels suggest that the post-revolutionary english nation can no longer rely solely upon Burkean aristocratic men like darcy to provide civic and moral guidance; as Mansfield Park, Emma, and Persua- sion illustrate, country gentlemen are aging, and the noble ideals they once embodied are quickly atrophying. while this decline of the aristocratic man and his Burkean principles is not apparent in Pride and Prejudice, austen’s novel does accentuate darcy’s singular status, and his marriage to eliza- Kramp_final.indb 74 1/12/2007 2:53:12 PM a u s t e n ’ s t r a d e s m e n / 7 5 beth effectively ensures that the next generation’s mr. darcy will lack true aristocratic lineage. there are simply no other men of darcy’s standing or grandeur in the narrative, and in her later tales austen portrays the decay of Burkean masculinity quite clearly. In the latter half of the novelist’s corpus, she demonstrates that the modernizing nation will not be guided solely by men of the aristocracy, and as we begin to see in Pride and Prejudice, eng- land must prepare for and expect important civic activity from its rising trade class that mary evans and other austen scholars have observed in her novels. evans notes that austen’s texts dramatize how in the early 1800s “a largely rural world of agricultural production gave way . . . to an urban world of mechanized industrial production” (3–4).5 Pride and Prejudice specifi- cally portrays two men, affiliated with the trade class that emerges from this urban industrial growth, who attempt to improve themselves and enhance their responsibilities in the modern english state: mr. Bingley and mr. gar- diner. gardiner is a successful and respected man of trade, and while Bingley is not himself a member of the trade class, his descent from a prosperous fam- ily of trade continues to mark him throughout the novel; he may no longer work, but he is still defined as a man from trade. neither Bingley nor gardin- er enjoys the status and power of darcy, but Bingley has substantial financial means, and gardiner displays a genteel Burkean demeanor usually reserved for a nobleman. they cannot become complete men like darcy, but they are able to ameliorate their sexualized aesthetics of existence. foucault explains that the ancient greek practice of molding an aesthetic of existence did not entail “the individual . . . [making] himself into an ethical subject by univer- salizing the principles that informed his action; on the contrary, he did so by means of an attitude and a quest that individualized his action [and] modu- lated it” (History of Sexuality, Vol. 2 62). Bingley and gardiner must create individualized rather than idealized social/sexual subjectivities by focusing on specific anxieties and needs that will enable them to enlarge their roles and responsibilities in their social communities: Bingley orders his aesthetic of existence around the pursuit of pleasure, while gardiner organizes his around a sense of duty. these men of/from trade do not threaten to usurp darcy’s role as a civic and moral administrator, but as successful members of england’s emerging middle classes, gardiner and Bingley embody what ernest gellner dubs the “idea of progress” that “european thought since the eighteenth century has come to assume” (3). gellner explains that follow- ing the french revolution, “life has come to be lived on an upward slope. the nature of things has a bias towards improvement. Improvement is both anticipated and required” (4).6 Bingley and gardiner’s social advancements help them to become more involved in early-nineteenth-century english Kramp_final.indb 75 1/12/2007 2:53:12 PM 7 6 / c h a P t e r 4 society, but their class positions ultimately prevent them from joining or intimately participating in the nation’s ancient history. while Emma and Persuasion offer more poignant portraits of a newly emerging class structure and the decaying aristocracy, Pride and Prejudice dramatizes how england and its ancestral leaders are beginning to recog- nize the social potential of new classes of men, represented by Bingley and gardiner, who have either wealth or a sense of duty—but not both. Indeed, darcy’s close relationship with Bingley suggests that the gap between new and old money is shrinking, and the hero’s kindness and collaboration with gardiner demonstrate an astonishing degree of cooperation between the aristocracy and the tradesmen of london. darcy, like his arrogant aunt, is certainly not interested in abandoning his ancestral privilege. austen’s novel makes explicit his extant preeminence as an english male, but the hero’s relationships with these men of/from trade illustrate an important transi- tion in the nation’s conceptions of class and masculinity. to ensure that the increasing involvement of this new-money class is properly regulated, even men of/from trade must be taught traditional modes of english maleness and trained to make appropriate contributions to the state. men like Bingley and gardiner are not expected (or allowed) to become established cultural leaders, but austen’s narrative documents their increasingly prominent role in the civic community.7 they improve themselves and expand their social roles, but their historical class status permits them to become only appren- tices and assistants of darcy—not his partners in guiding the moral and social development of the national community. ernest renan, in his canoni- cal “what Is a nation?,” points out that “a nation is a soul, a spiritual prin- ciple. two things, which in truth are but one, constitute this soul or spiritual principle. one lies in the past, one in the present. one is the possession in common of a rich legacy of memories; the other is present-day consent, the desire to live together, the will to perpetuate the value of [this] heritage” (52). austen’s tradesmen actively engage the events of the present national com- munity, and their prosperity facilitates their personal enrichment, but they do not and cannot share the aristocratic historical tradition of england that is romanticized by Burke and personified by darcy. their status as men of trade, whose money was recently earned rather than ancestrally inherited, prevents them from fully joining the mythologized english national heri- tage. they are improving, and as they improve they become more valuable to the present and future of the state, yet they always already exist as historically inferior men because of their class. Bingley is introduced long before the appearance of gardiner, and we soon learn that the former has both ample financial resources and a definite plan for social improvement. as a poster child for the successes of the trade Kramp_final.indb 76 1/12/2007 2:53:12 PM a u s t e n ’ s t r a d e s m e n / 7 7 class, he embodies the great economic potential of this segment of society. and austen’s text reveals a strong cultural anxiety about him—especially his penchant for destabilizing love relationships. even a landed aristocratic man like darcy is concerned with the development of this newly wealthy man; austen’s hero both tutors Bingley in Burke’s model of traditional male behavior and encourages him to discipline his amorous desires. the novel documents the pressures and difficulties Bingley experiences as he attempts to meet the desires produced by Burke and other post-revolutionary writ- ers for proper english masculinity. austen’s portrayal of Bingley thus also instructs other prosperous men, who have recently emerged from the trade class, of the lessons they must learn to become integral participants in the national community. Bingley is “a young man of large fortune from the north of england”; he is “gentlemanlike” and has “a pleasant countenance, and easy, and unaffected manners,” but his money is both earned and new (1; 7). like many ascendants from the rising trade class, he has significant monetary holdings, but austen exposes early in the novel that he is still quite inferior to the administrator of the Pemberley estate. she relates that darcy “was much handsomer than mr. Bingley” and that “in understanding darcy was the superior” (8; 13). Bingley is a compelling figure because he approaches the masculine excellence upheld by darcy. he occupies a new position in the social hierarchy somewhere above the trade class and below the gentry, and this precarious space severely complicates his social/sexual subjectivity. John mcaleer explains that Bingley’s family is “passing from the middle class into the gentry,” and “they exhibit the uneasiness such a transi- tion involves” (73).8 Bingley is expected to continue his family’s social rise, and austen’s text details his struggles to accomplish this task while perform- ing as a lover. Bingley, like gardiner, must specifically learn to act as a Burkean man of england to gain acceptance as an appropriate male figure and potential future leader. as an exemplar of Burke’s ideal of english masculinity, darcy remains an especially important influence on Bingley, and this man of new money knows that his efforts for self-improvement largely depend upon his ability to follow the model of maleness offered by the administer of Pember- ley. Bingley playfully asserts that “if darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference” but then quickly admits that he does “not know a more aweful object than darcy” (44). Bingley’s remarks on the awe-inspiring quality of his friend foreground the influence of the hero on the “inferior” men of the story; but while Bingley knows he must learn from the example set by darcy, he is also conscious of his shortcomings as a man from trade. austen notes that “mr. Bingley inherited property to the amount of nearly an hundred thousand Kramp_final.indb 77 1/12/2007 2:53:12 PM 7 8 / c h a P t e r 4 pounds from his father, who had intended to purchase an estate, but did not live to do it” (12). It is now Bingley’s responsibility to enshrine the family’s new cultural position, yet he knows he cannot simply copy the architectural drawings for the darcys’ residence. when Bingley’s sister encourages him to model his future estate after Pemberley, he answers that he “will buy Pemberley itself if darcy will sell it” and explains to his sibling that it would be “more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation” (33). Bingley recognizes his own limitations and his own potential; he realizes that he could never fully pattern his future home after the ancestral Pemberley because he lacks the heritage of the darcys. Bingley’s comments also remind us of his significant cash holdings; if darcy’s grand estate were somehow for sale, Bingley theoretically could buy it. unlike darcy who maintains proud connections to the history of a specific domestic realm, Bingley is a man of the present, who acknowledges that “whatever I do is done in a hurry . . . and therefore if I should resolve to quit netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes” (36). he informs mrs. Bennet that “when I am in the country . . . I never wish to leave it; and when I am in town it is pretty much the same. they have each their advantages, and I can be equally happy in either” (37).9 Bingley is neither personally nor financially tied to a specific domestic domain; he and his income are mobile. while he understands that his continued advancement will require him to acquire an estate, he knows that such a purchase could only simulate a home like Pemberley. Bingley certainly respects Pemberley and the ancestral legacy that darcy’s family estate symbolizes, but Bingley’s attempts to improve his social/sexual subjectivity inevitably revolve around his primary concern: the pursuit of pleasure. darcy may be unimpressed by the meryton ball, but Bingley informs his friend, “I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life, as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty” (9). Bingley is a pleasure seeker who enjoys social events, especially interac- tions with attractive women, and his acquired wealth allows him to fulfill such desires. he becomes particularly interested in Jane, and austen reports that while he housed her at netherfield during her illness, “his anxiety for Jane was evident, and his attentions to herself most pleasing” (30). Bingley even experiences pleasure in caring for miss Bennet, and when she is finally ready to leave her bed at netherfield, he “was full of joy and attention. the first half hour was spent in piling up the fire, lest she should suffer from the change of room” (47). Bingley also maintains his fondness for dancing and remains committed to his plan to host a ball at netherfield. when his sister challenges his idea for a ball by announcing that there are “some among us to whom a ball would be rather a punishment than a pleasure,” he declares, “If you mean darcy . . . he may go to bed, if he chuses, before it begins.” Bingley Kramp_final.indb 78 1/12/2007 2:53:13 PM a u s t e n ’ s t r a d e s m e n / 7 9 momentarily dismisses the example of darcy’s tastes, and after miss Bingley counters by suggesting that “[i]t would surely be more rational if conversa- tion instead of dancing made the order of the day,” her brother explains, “much more rational, my dear caroline, I dare say but it would not be near so much like a ball” (48). early in the novel, austen emphasizes Bingley’s pursuit of pleasures—even irrational pleasures—but she later dramatizes how darcy instructs his understudy to manage such volatile enjoyment.10 following Bingley’s privately sponsored ball, austen relates that “[he] was all grateful pleasure” to accept an invitation to dine with the Bennets. he is unable to make this proposed meeting because his training in Burkean male behavior begins to take precedence over his preference for pleasure (93). miss Bingley informs Jane that “the whole party have left netherfield by this time, and are on their way to town; and without any intention of coming back again” (105). this regrettable news invites us to speculate on darcy’s hegemonic direction of Bingley’s activity. although elizabeth is certain that Bingley is not acting on his own volition, Jane insists that his removal to london “must be his own doing.—he is his own master” (106). Jane is often dismissed as a simpleton, but she clearly understands Bingley’s responsibility to focus his own aesthetic of existence; she upholds the power of the successful bourgeois subject to mold his own position in the modern- izing national community. elizabeth, however, is certain that Bingley “was really fond of Jane . . . and much as she had always been disposed to like him, she could not think without anger, hardly without contempt, on that easiness of temper, that want of proper resolution which now made him the slave of his designing friends, and led him to sacrifice his own happiness to the caprice of their inclinations” (119). elizabeth identifies what she under- stands to be Bingley’s weakness, that is, his ductility, and the heroine charges him with becoming too susceptible to the dictates of others, especially darcy. according to the heroine, the same easiness of temper that enables Bingley to excel as an amiable entertainer is also the primary reason for his inability to pursue his own desires. darcy certainly sways Bingley’s plans, but the latter’s impressibility should not be read only as an indication of his utter inferior- ity. Bingley’s significant monetary holdings facilitate his social improvement and his pursuit of pleasure, yet he knows his wealth is not ancestral; hence, he must establish a hegemonic social/sexual identity and learn Burkean mas- culinity to solidify his new class position in the nation—and darcy is still the best teacher around. we discover more about the powerful social forces that influence Bingley and his desires from elizabeth’s conversations with darcy during her visit to hunsford. Indeed, as befits Bingley’s deference, we hear far more about Bingley’s actions from others than we do from himself. when the heroine Kramp_final.indb 79 1/12/2007 2:53:13 PM 8 0 / c h a P t e r 4 asks darcy if “mr. Bingley has not much idea of ever returning to netherfield again?” the hero responds, “I have never heard him say so; but it is prob- able that he may spend very little of his time there in future. he has many friends, and he is at a time of life when friends and engagements are continu- ally increasing” (158). darcy highlights the demanding quality of Bingley’s dynamic class position; at this unstable point of his life, as he assumes new cultural identities and responsibilities, he must consider the heightened importance of his business acquaintances, personal relations, and social engagements. colonel fitzwilliam darcy also speaks with elizabeth about the insecure tradesman. the colonel informs the heroine, “I really believe darcy does take care of [Bingley] in those points where he most wants care. from something that [darcy] told me in our journey hither, I have reason to think Bingley very much indebted to him” (164). darcy is an active spon- sor of Bingley who has taken special care to direct the tradesman’s efforts to learn “proper” english masculinity, and fitzwilliam specifically reports that “[darcy] congratulated himself on having lately saved a friend from the inconveniences of a most imprudent marriage, but without mention- ing names or any other particulars, and I only suspected it to be Bingley from believing him the kind of young man to get into a scrape of that sort” (165). as fitzwilliam’s comment indicates, Bingley is known as a man apt to become overly impressed by irrational sensual charms––a man who needs to be reminded of the dangers of love and the powerful social forces that ought to inform an aspiring english man’s behavior. darcy’s concern for and tutelage of Bingley again suggest the hero’s recognition that wealthy men of trade like Bingley are becoming vital resources in england’s future—and these men must be taught to discipline their passions to ensure their matura- tion as stable men of the nation. Bingley’s misguided pursuit of pleasure is, according to darcy, specifically dangerous to the tradesman’s efforts to improve his masculinity and secure his new social standing. after elizabeth’s rejection of the hero’s initial pro- posal, he admits to offering such advice to the pliable Bingley. darcy tells elizabeth he has “no wish of denying that [he] did every thing in [his] power to separate [his] friend from [the heroine’s] sister”; darcy adds that he “had often seen [Bingley] in love before” (170; 175). the hero knows that his aspir- ing friend is susceptible to the perils of overwhelming amorous passions, and while he acknowledges that he has deceived Bingley by encouraging him to seek alternative ways to safely stylize his sexuality, darcy firmly believes that what he did “was done for the best” (177). as a wealthy man without a noble family background, Bingley’s reckless pursuit of pleasure is liable to engender a fall in society that would negate his family’s recent rise. darcy recognizes that such vulnerable men cannot risk the dangers associated with amorous Kramp_final.indb 80 1/12/2007 2:53:13 PM a u s t e n ’ s t r a d e s m e n / 8 1 emotions, and he is specifically anxious about Bingley, whose wealth quali- fies him to become a prominent player in the modern post-agrarian state. following darcy’s admission of responsibility, the heroine offers a revised assessment of Bingley. she notes that “[Bingley’s] affection was proved to have been sincere, and his conduct cleared of all blame, unless any could attach to the implicitness of his confidence in his friend” (189). elizabeth may acquit him, but her comments also point to his continued dependence on the example and instructions of darcy. Bingley yields to darcy’s authority as a man of national heritage who can provide accurate instructions on how to meet Burke’s qualifications for male civic organizers. elizabeth’s awareness of Bingley’s struggle to mold his own sexual sub- jectivity after darcy’s powerful example of Burkean masculinity allows her to observe acutely how Bingley’s distinct class position alters his behavior. when she encounters Bingley at Pemberley, she appreciates his “unaffected cordiality with which he expressed himself, on seeing her again,” and austen notes that he “looked and spoke with the same good-humored ease that he had ever done” (230). In spite of his efforts to become a Burkean man, Bing- ley speaks and acts without ceremony. he even exposes his extant romantic interest in miss Bennet when he tells elizabeth that it “was a very long time since he had had the pleasure of seeing [Jane] . . . it is above eight months. we have not met since the 26th of november, when we were all dancing together at netherfield” (231). Bingley’s precise memory is an impressive indication of his feelings for Jane, but it is not clear that he is a secure man capable of pursuing his own desires without first clearing his actions with darcy. we must wait for the re-arrival of Bingley and darcy in meryton to identify the integrity and focus of the former’s aesthetic of existence. Bingley is “both pleased and embarrassed” upon his arrival at longbourn; he once more illustrates his emotional and physical sensitivity by remaining suscep- tible to the potency of amorous experiences (297). elizabeth even records “how much the beauty of her sister re-kindled the admiration of her former lover. when first he came in, he had spoken to her but little; but every five minutes seemed to be giving her more of his attention” (299). Bingley is still animated by and pleased with Jane, who now declares that “he is blessed with greater sweetness of address, and a stronger desire of generally pleas- ing than any other man” (304). Bingley is obsessed with pleasing—pleasing Jane, pleasing darcy, and even pleasing the annoying mrs. Bennet—and he has likewise become a very skilled seeker of pleasure, but while pursuing pleasure permits him to improve his social/sexual subjectivity, this focus for his aesthetic of existence will not enable him to fulfill Burke’s desire for a chivalric male who can provide civic and moral leadership. Bingley’s wealth, nevertheless, does allow him to establish a stable social/ Kramp_final.indb 81 1/12/2007 2:53:13 PM 8 2 / c h a P t e r 4 sexual identity based upon the pursuit of pleasure. after the announcement of the engagement between Bingley and Jane, elizabeth reflects upon their future marriage. austen narrates, “in spite of his being a lover, elizabeth real- ly believed all his expectations of felicity, to be rationally founded, because they had for basis the excellent understanding, and super-excellent disposi- tion of Jane, and a general similarity of feeling and taste between her and himself ” (308). elizabeth, like darcy, is concerned about Bingley’s proclivity to love unreasonably, but she logically forecasts a life of contentment for the couple because of their mutual tastes and tempers; they are both unassum- ing individuals who simply want to enjoy pleasure. Bingley has consistently demonstrated his tendency to comply with the commands of others, and as we soon learn, even his return to netherfield was authorized by darcy, who advises elizabeth that Bingley is most unaffectedly modest. his diffidence had prevented his depending on his own judgment in so anxious a case, but his reliance on mine, made every thing easy. I was obliged to confess one thing, which for a time, and not unjustly, offended him. I could not allow myself to conceal that your sister had been in town three months last winter, and that I had known it, and purposely kept it from him. he was angry. But his anger, I am persuaded, lasted no longer than he remained in any doubt of your sister’s sentiments. he has heartily forgiven me now. (330) darcy’s “confession” indicates his continued influence on the diffident Bing- ley.11 darcy finally accepts that while Bingley’s money makes him an eligible man to assume a greater role in the leadership of england, he is simply not capable of regulating his pursuit of pleasure, even if such discipline could enhance or even ensure his role in the future nation. Bingley cannot achieve the masculine excellence of darcy, but austen’s aspiring man from trade has certainly come a long way, and he and Jane will now leave meryton to seek their pleasure.12 austen relates that “mr. Bing- ley and Jane remained at netherfield only a twelvemonth. . . . the darling wish of his sisters was then gratified; he bought an estate in a neighbouring county to derbyshire, and Jane and elizabeth, in addition to every other source of happiness, were within thirty miles of each other” (342). Bingley finally attains the all-important estate that grounds him as a landed man of the nation, but this home is purchased and still thirty miles from the splen- dor of Pemberley. for all darcy’s influence on his friend, Bingley can only approach the sphere of the remarkable romantic hero. while Bingley’s acqui- sition of the estate helps to aggrandize his aesthetic of existence, he remains socially and sexually inferior to darcy. Bingley has tried to learn from darcy Kramp_final.indb 82 1/12/2007 2:53:13 PM a u s t e n ’ s t r a d e s m e n / 8 3 throughout the narrative, but he is ultimately a man of new money—derived from trade—who is enamored of pleasure rather than cultural prestige. his relationship with Jane is not deleuzian, but it may anticipate a new telos for romantic male behavior; his love for Jane promotes his pleasure rather than his social/sexual stability. Bingley must depend upon his money instead of his marriage or lineage to form his hegemonic identity, and though his grand residence materially marks him as a nationally prominent man, he uses his financial resources to pursue pleasure rather than the discipline of Burkean masculinity. Bingley exists as an ersatz gentleman without an ancestral heritage; still austen’s novel demonstrates a strong social interest in training such men in the traditional modes of english masculinity. Bingley’s is not a complete success story, but it does offer a blueprint for other thriving men of new money to follow. mr. gardiner is such a prosperous man of trade, but since he has not inherited significant wealth he does not have the financial resources that Bingley uses to pursue extensive material pleasures and purchase an estate. despite his lack of ready cash, he is a responsible man who acts as a dutiful Burkean guardian for the Bennet family. the narrator presents gardiner as a happily married older tradesman who has trained his amorous desires; he is neither a cherished romantic love figure like darcy nor an ambitious seeker of sensual pleasure like Bingley. austen initially mentions gardiner as mrs. Bennet’s “brother settled in london in a respectable line of trade” (23). as an urbanite, he is a rarity in austen’s fiction, yet the narrator notes that he is also “a sensible, gentlemanlike man, greatly superior to his sister as well by nature as education.” Indeed, austen claims that “the netherfield ladies would have had difficulty believing that a man who lived by trade, and within view of his own warehouses, could have been so well bred and agreeable” (124–25). gardiner is an impressive male figure who, despite his class standing, appears to fulfill Burke’s expectation for well-mannered masculinity.13 gardiner does not receive darcy’s direct tutoring; neverthe- less, he still attempts to perform many of the duties prescribed by Burke for proper english men (75). Indeed, gardiner displays many of the attributes required of a Burkean man, save the requisite ancestral standing and class status. while gardiner does not become a prominent figure until late in the novel, austen draws specific attention to his classed identity near the end of the second volume. as elizabeth awaits a planned tour of the lake district with her aunt and uncle, the narrator informs us that “mr. gardiner would be prevented by business from setting out till a fortnight later in July, and must be in london again within a month; and as that left too short a period for them to go so far . . . they were obliged to give up the lakes” (211–12). these comments emphasize the restrictions gardiner experiences because of Kramp_final.indb 83 1/12/2007 2:53:13 PM 8 4 / c h a P t e r 4 his business obligations. like Bingley, gardiner has commitments that force him to adjust his social activities and modify his aesthetic of existence. the shorter alternative holiday through derbyshire, on which the gar- diners are joined by the heroine, highlights the tradesman’s social grace and personal versatility. the most important events of this journey are, of course, the travelers’ visits to Pemberley. austen notes mr. gardiner’s “willingness” to view darcy’s landed estate, and she reports that his “manners were easy and pleasant” in his discussions with the nostalgic housekeeper, mrs. reyn- olds, who perpetually praises the hero (213; 218). gardiner is polite, well mannered, and amenable to a doting caretaker, remaining “highly amused by the kind of family prejudice, to which he attributed her excessive com- mendation of her master” (219).14 he is not offended by mrs. reynolds’s lavish admiration of darcy; rather, he adopts Burke’s theory of ancestral privilege and accepts that it is natural for servants to admire their masters. while at Pemberley, gardiner also reveals his skill as an outdoorsman, and we are told that “though seldom able to indulge the taste, [mr. gardiner] was very fond of fishing” (223). mr. darcy offers gardiner free license to fish on the grounds of Pemberley, and after originally opting not to accept this invitation, the tradesman soon joins darcy and others in a fishing party “at Pemberley by noon” (235). mrs. gardiner speaks of her husband as a man “who was fond of society,” and his behavior at Pemberley illustrates his comfort with different classed domains and distinct modes of culturally approved masculine activity (232). he is a flexible man, but his economic situation eventually disqualifies him from becoming either a true Burkean man or a leader in the modern nation. gardiner nonetheless attempts to perform as a heroic Burkean figure following the shocking news of lydia’s elopement by providing familial lead- ership and attempting to restore order. In the subsequent london scenes, austen portrays gardiner’s ability to rehearse traditional chivalric duties and reveals his inability to match darcy’s model of Burkean masculinity. Immediately after elizabeth’s explanation of the events surrounding lydia’s affair, “mr. gardiner readily promised every assistance in his power” (247). he offers his services like a sacrificial hero, and his relatives understand him as such an altruistic man. Jane even assures herself, “now that my dear uncle is come, I hope every thing will be well” (252). as an urban resident, gardiner is especially helpful in the mission to locate lydia, and upon arriv- ing at longbourn, he provides “general assurances of his affection for [mrs. Bennet] and all her family, [and] told her that he meant to be in london the very next day” to “assist mr. Bennet in every endeavour for recovering lydia.” he also tries to calm his relatives by reminding them “not [to] give way to useless alarm . . . though it is right to be prepared for the worst, there is no Kramp_final.indb 84 1/12/2007 2:53:13 PM a u s t e n ’ s t r a d e s m e n / 8 5 occasion to look on it as certain” (253). mr. gardiner is given and willingly performs the role of family champion who will structure chaos and ensure domestic peace. In addition, he encourages his family to be reasonable. Prior to beginning his quest to save lydia and comfort his family, gardiner pledges to “prevail on mr. Bennet to return to longbourn, as soon as he could, to the great consolation of his sister, who considered it as the only security for her husband’s not being killed in a duel” (259). austen’s comment again reminds us of mr. gardiner’s graciousness. he has the impressive ability to endure mrs. Bennet’s excessively irrational fears about her husband’s activity in london with poise. although he adopts features of a heroic male, he is still a business man, and this class status encourages him to act pragmatically.15 mr. gardiner demonstrates his new responsibilities by laboring ardu- ously to locate lydia in london, but while austen presents him as a familial guardian she also emphasizes how he continues to think and act as a trades- man. he sends mr. Bennet home, and gardiner soon writes his brother- in-law to inform him that “after you left me on saturday, I was fortunate enough to find out in what part of london they were” (266). he breaks the news that lydia and wickham are “not married,” but he instructs mr. Ben- net that if he is “willing to perform the engagements which I have ventured to make on your side, I hope it will not be long before they are” (267). mr. gardiner appears as a master detective and an effective matchmaker. he has both found the missing lovers and arranged a workable scenario for them to wed. his experience in trade again serves him well; it allows him to negoti- ate a deal that will benefit all parties and mitigate potential consequences. gardiner cannot completely mend the damage that the improper actions of lydia and wickham have caused, but he does provide a feasible solution that minimizes additional injury. we learn from mrs. gardiner and others that wickham has incurred a large financial debt that must be paid prior to his marrying lydia, and mr. gardiner has apparently made arrangements to settle this financial matter. gardiner’s involvement in lydia and wickham’s elopement even includes a ceremonial function in his niece’s marriage. lydia, upon her return to longbourn, tells her sisters that her uncle was to give her away at her wedding, but he “was called away upon business to that horrid mr. stone” (282). lydia’s comment recalls gardiner’s ubiquitous professional demands that consistently interrupt his other activities, but the youthful Bennet girl’s account also accentuates the tradesman’s inability to perform traditional patriarchal duties such as the offering of a young bride. although gardiner rehearses many of the skills required for Burkean mascu- linity, his class status and business obligations continually prevent him from fully assuming such a social/sexual identity. lydia continues her story by noting that following mr. stone’s untimely Kramp_final.indb 85 1/12/2007 2:53:14 PM 8 6 / c h a P t e r 4 request for her uncle’s assistance, she was momentarily frightened that her nuptials must be delayed, but she soon realized that “the wedding need not be put off, for mr. darcy might have done as well” (282). lydia’s remark reminds us of the ever-increasing modern interchangeability of aristocratic men like darcy and tradesmen like her uncle; darcy assumes the role of gardiner, and as lydia suggests, the administrator of Pemberley is a suit- able replacement. lydia’s report also prompts elizabeth to inquire of her aunt about the presence of mr. darcy at lydia’s wedding. mrs. gardiner’s subsequent letter to elizabeth provides information regarding the hero’s activity in london and further details on mr. gardiner’s attempts to extend his social duties. mrs. gardiner specifically narrates the account of darcy’s arrival at cheapside and his discussions with mr. gardiner. she assures her niece that her “uncle would most readily have settled the whole” of wick- ham’s debt, but as she explains, darcy insisted that “nothing was to be done that he did not do himself ” (286). austen’s language accentuates darcy’s romantic subjectivity, his great social power, and gardiner’s classed limita- tions as a tradesman. he apparently has the available cash to pay wickham’s substantial obligations, but as austen shows, gardiner must defer to darcy’s authority; while the tradesman is willing to assume the responsibility of the sacrificial heroic figure who can restore order and structure to civilized society, darcy will not permit a man of trade to play this part. the hero may be interested in promoting the development and improvement of men from the trade class, but he is not yet prepared to relinquish or share the Burkean role of administering civil society and its ethical codes. Pride and Prejudice suggests that bourgeois men like gardiner and newly ascendant men like Bingley are becoming necessary to the maintenance of the english nation, but the novel also illustrates aristocratic men’s desire to preserve their extant privileged status as the curators of england’s moral order. mrs. gardiner closes her letter by telling the heroine that “at last your uncle was forced to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece, was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it” (286). and indeed, when elizabeth had initially heard of the planned nuptials between lydia and wickham, she confidently pronounced, “oh! it must be my uncle’s doings! generous, good man, I am afraid he has distressed himself. a small sum could not do all this” (268). the heroine was confident that her uncle had been her family’s benefactor, despite the great financial sacrifice such altruistic actions would have required, and she presented him as a noble man who had miraculously resolved the crisis. later, however, mr. gardiner only offers “intreaties that the subject might never be mentioned to him again” (276). elizabeth may imagine mr. gardiner as a heroic Burkean male, but he knows better than to claim this identity for himself. after eliza- Kramp_final.indb 86 1/12/2007 2:53:14 PM a u s t e n ’ s t r a d e s m e n / 8 7 beth writes to her uncle to express her appreciation, mrs. gardiner indicates to her niece that her “letter . . . gave [mr. gardiner] great pleasure, because it required an explanation that would rob him of his borrowed feathers, and give the praise where it was due” (286). he appreciates the heroine’s grati- tude, but he is happier to acknowledge who truly saved lydia and her family from shame. mr. gardiner is a man of integrity who is eager to renounce credit for darcy’s generous actions. gardiner has raised himself in society by his endeavors in trade, but he is not interested in continuing this rise under false pretenses. although he does not possess the financial means to operate as an aristocratic male, he organizes his attempts to improve his aesthetic of existence around many of the values upheld by Burke as essential to the proper man of england. at the novel’s close, austen informs us that “with the gardiners, [darcy and elizabeth] were always on the most intimate terms” (345). the narrator’s concluding comment recalls the comparison between darcy and Bingley, who are only thirty miles removed from each other. gardiner is also “close” to the masculine excellence embodied by darcy and perpetually “visits” this zone of romantic splendor. and while his class status as a respectable tradesman allows him to ameliorate his aesthetic of existence, this same class position prevents him from acting as a public guardian of his community. although they fall shy of darcy’s romantic masculine preeminence, both gardiner and Bingley manage to improve their sexualized subjectivities by focusing their aesthetics of existence around specific concerns. neither Bingley nor gardiner is an extraordinary romantic lover like darcy, but they consistently attempt to enhance themselves and serve as important examples of the enlightenment theory of the human potential for improvement developed by godwin. godwin explains that “we are all of us endowed with reason, able to compare, to judge and to infer. the improvement therefore, which is to be desired for one, is to be desired for another” (I: 146). gardiner and Bingley personify this egalitarian mantra as they strive to secure their participation in the dynamic post-revolutionary english nation. they are ultimately unable to perform all the roles and responsibilities that Burke outlines for a proper man of england, but they are nonetheless impressive male figures whom the nation needs. and yet, despite the social improve- ment modeled by nouveau riche men like Bingley and tradesmen like gar- diner, austen’s presentation of darcy remains an archetype of romantic masculinity. a personal ad in the July 29, 1999, issue of The Stranger, a seat- tle-based entertainment newspaper, announced: “Single Irish Female: 27yo blnd/blu 5'10'' Irish-catholic background. olympia seeks mr. darcy. Beach, travel, sports fan, bookstores, autumn, guinness, leisurely sunday mornings: all good.” the listing illustrates the continued attractiveness and prominent Kramp_final.indb 87 1/12/2007 2:53:14 PM 8 8 / c h a P t e r 4 versatility of the hero of Pride and Prejudice. darcy is still “desired,” and we continue to uphold his financial and social standing as vital features of an idealized man. Bingley and gardiner will never measure up to this standard of male perfection, but the prominent emergence of the middle classes throughout the nineteenth century forces the modern english state to con- cern itself with men who are not necessarily ideal. austen’s novel reflects an important cultural crisis of the post-revolutionary years: grand men of pure aristocratic ancestry, like the aristocratic tradition itself, are atrophying, and england must now garner important civic contributions from men of/from trade like Bingley and gardiner—men who have demonstrated great ambi- tion for personal and social improvement. they will never become legend- ary romantic lovers, and they are not capable of reviving ancestral lines of descent, but they embody a spirit of progress and amelioration that drives the modernization of the english state. Kramp_final.indb 88 1/12/2007 2:53:14 PM In Pride and Prejudice, austen anticipates the emergence of a new class of men of/from trade and points to the diminishing number of grand Burkean men like darcy; in Mansfield Park, she explores the cause of this decline, as she dramatizes how england’s post-revolutionary culture exposes contra- dictions in Burke’s model of aristocratic masculinity. edmund Bertram des- perately attempts to embody both the principle of religion and the principle of the gentleman that Burke presents as essential to a civilized nation, but as austen’s novel suggests, such a synthesis is becoming more difficult and less functional in the modern world. Burke’s ideal of english maleness is closely aligned with a larger call for nostalgic cultural reformation; he insists that “people will not look forward to posterity, who never look backward to their ancestors” (83). he believes that post-revolutionary england must recapture the spirit of an earlier civilization regulated by an edifying religious presence and directed by valorous gentlemen like mr. darcy. and Burke claims that proper men must be heroic and genteel—dutiful and sensitive. In his famous C h a P T e r 5 exposing Burkean Masculinity, or edmund Confronts Modernity  89 The manners I speak of, might rather be called conduct, perhaps, the result of good principles; the effect, in short, of those doctrines which it is their duty to teach and recommend; and it will, I believe, be every where found, that as the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the rest of the nation. (Edmund Bertram in Austen, Mansfield Park 84) Nothing is more certain, than that our manners, our civilization, and all the good things which are connected with manners, and with civilization, have, in this Euro- pean world of ours, depended for ages upon two principles; and were indeed the result of both combined; I mean the spirit of a gentleman, and the spirit of religion. (Burke, reflections 129–30) [T]he aim of the modern art of government, or state rationality, namely, [is] to develop those elements constitutive of individuals’ lives in such a way that their development also fosters the strength of the state. (Foucault, “‘Omnes et Singulatim’” 322) Kramp_final.indb 89 1/12/2007 2:53:14 PM 9 0 / c h a P t e r 5 discussion of the french revolutionaries’ treatment of marie antoinette, he claims that “in a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers,” he would have expected “ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult” (127). he admires a chivalric code of male conduct, but he is also moved by this memory and asserts that “we are so made as to be affected at such spectacles with mel- ancholy sentiments” (131). Burke charges such sentimental gentlemen with the responsibility of securing the nation, and while such a task might have prompted males to be both heroic and sensitive in england’s past, Mansfield Park presents a modern culture that is no longer conducive to this anti- quated sexual identity, behavior, or consciousness. austen’s tale specifically documents edmund’s labors and consistent failures to meet Burke’s expectations for a gentleman and a religious leader in post-revolutionary england. he is eager to perform the clerical duty of serving as a moral exemplar to the nation, and he alternatively displays great sensibility and heroism throughout the novel, but he is unable to reconcile such duties and behaviors with the modern sensations and experiences that mary crawford invites him to pursue. although edmund initially views his responsibilities as a member of the clergy as heroic, he is repeatedly tempted by a new mode of valor that seeks sensual exhilaration and pleasure. he becomes enamored of the capacity of a modernized masculinity, and austen tracks his attempts to craft such an exciting aesthetic of existence. while he is certainly tempted by sensuality, he ultimately chooses to limit his oppor- tunities to experience such pulsations; he instead clings to Burke’s model of masculinity, resolidifies his aristocratic family, and reclaims his vocation as a heroic clergyman by marrying his cousin. edmund discovers that he cannot exist as a Burkean man in the modern english nation, so he decides to marry internally and remain stable within the atavistic culture of the past. he even- tually heeds Burke’s warning that “when ancient opinions and rules of life are taken away, the loss cannot possibly be estimated. from that moment we have no compass to govern us; nor can we know distinctly to what port we steer” (129). the pseudo-incestuous union of edmund and fanny symboli- cally does recuperate a sense of cultural direction by halting the collapse of the Bertram family, ensuring the continuation of its legacy, and reestablish- ing the disciplinary function of the clerical gentleman. edmund’s love for fanny is most certainly not deleuzian; the hero’s marriage to his cousin is neither romantic nor passionate, but it is safe, and as the novel suggests, the english aristocracy needs such safeguarding in the early nineteenth century. the collapse of the Bertram family is symptomatic of the larger post- revolutionary cultural demise of the english aristocracy, and austen’s is not the only novelistic treatment of the modern difficulties facing the nation’s Kramp_final.indb 90 1/12/2007 2:53:14 PM e x P o s I n g B u r k e a n m a s c u l I n I t y / 9 1 historical elite. walter scott’s Waverley (1814), published in the same year as Mansfield Park, addressed the tenuous state of england’s aristocracy and spe- cifically documents the hero’s attraction to and ultimate rejection of its trea- sured chivalric code. like edmund, waverley grows up strongly influenced by his father, but waverley’s father, unlike sir Bertram, is no longer interested in maintaining long-established structures. waverley’s uncle, sir everard, how- ever, is still quite invested in atrophying chivalric customs, and he actively attempts to instruct his nephew in the importance of such traditions. scott notes that sir everard spent much time “[examining] the tree of his geneal- ogy, which [was] emblazoned with many an emblematic mark of honour and heroic achievement” (8). scott emphasizes his hero’s ambivalence toward such training early in the narrative; he “yawned at times over the dry deduc- tion of his line of ancestors, with their various intermarriages, and inwardly deprecated the remorseless and protracted accuracy with which the worthy sir everard rehearsed the various degrees of propinquity.” still, scott observes that “if . . . he sometimes cursed in his heart the jargon of heraldry, its griffins, its moldwraps, its wyverns, and its dragons, with all the bitterness of hot- spur himself—there were moments when these communications interested his fancy and rewarded his attention” (16). Both waverley and edmund are young aristocratic men who, as they develop their sexualized aesthetics of existence within a shifting english culture, must negotiate the long-standing cultural importance of chivalry and its code of masculinity. waverley and edmund likewise become torn between the lure of ances- tral systems and the inconsequence of such antiquated machinery in the modernizing world. alice chandler argues that scott’s works “deal with a past that is passing away,” and she notes that “scott knows that historical change is not to be resisted” (31). the Bertrams are not as receptive to a potential cultural transition, and austen illustrates how familial and national pressures encourage edmund to view the regulation of his masculinity as essential to the future of the aristocracy and its chivalric mores. waverley is likewise urged to continue chivalric traditions cherished by his uncle, and when the hero encounters charles edward and his fellow rebels attempting to usurp the english throne, he becomes enamored of the finery associated with the great Pretender. scott’s narrator reports, “unaccustomed to the address and manners of a polished court, in which charles was eminently skilful, his words and his kindness penetrated the heart of our hero, and eas- ily outweighed all prudential motives” (193). as edmund is overwhelmed by the sensations associated with the modern urban lifestyle of mary crawford, waverley is overwhelmed by the splendor associated with the great Pretend- er’s chivalric performance; but when waverley “looked closer upon the state of the chevalier’s court . . . [he had] less reason to be satisfied with it” (250). Kramp_final.indb 91 1/12/2007 2:53:15 PM 9 2 / c h a P t e r 5 scott’s hero eventually dismisses the relevance of such chivalric traits and traditions and accepts the realities of modern life, while edmund ultimately reverts to such an archaic model of masculinity to safeguard his masculinity from the dangers of england’s post-revolutionary culture—including the risks involved with mary crawford’s sensuality. although he pursues the potential of various modern temptations throughout the novel, edmund clings to a hegemonic social/sexual subjectivity rooted in an antiquated ver- sion of chivalric heroism and clerical gentility. scott’s novel portrays the increasing inconsequence of england’s ances- tral lore as an inevitable result of the modern nation-state, but austen’s Mansfield Park dramatizes the desperate attempts of the english aristocracy to retain its status as the nation’s civic and moral leaders.1 the text docu- ments many failures to accomplish this end and specifically dramatizes the embarrassments of the Bertram family; moreover, austen’s work offers edmund and fanny as the new (and likely last) hope for the family’s, and perhaps the aristocracy’s, resurgence; edmund will act as the sacrificial hero who can restabilize ancestral english ideals cherished by Burke, and the heroine will serve as a pure and fecund woman who has the potential to cleanse the current generation of the aristocracy and reproduce the next. austen may specifically memorialize england’s need for such sacrificial hero(in)ism during the tale’s strange stargazing scene. when edmund and fanny wander out on the lawn to engage in some casual stellar viewing, the hero notices the constellation arcturus in the sky, and fanny observes the bear, but she announces, “I wish I could see cassiopeia” (102).2 her desire to see cassiopeia invites us to consider the passive heroine as an androm- eda figure longing for an image of her distant mother. and indeed, fanny does become a virginal offering of sorts; she is sent to her wealthy family, embodies a feminine innocence unmatched by the other young women of the novel, and accepts her role as the next maternal figure of the aristocracy. such a mythological reading of this scene also anticipates the emergence of a Perseus figure who will valorously save fanny from her chains. edmund is, of course, the ideal individual to fulfill such a heroic role. he will serve as fanny’s educator, protector, and counselor; in addition, he will become her husband. he learns to value fanny’s importance to his family and herself, and per Burke’s request he treats her with great sensibility. when edmund finally accepts the severity of his family’s demise, he quickly reconfigures his sexualized aesthetic of existence to wed his cousin, safeguard the future of the Bertrams, and symbolically preserve the nation’s aristocracy. throughout the tale, edmund, as a future member of the clergy, is invest- ed in the condition of both his family and the nation. It is in and through Kramp_final.indb 92 1/12/2007 2:53:15 PM e x P o s I n g B u r k e a n m a s c u l I n I t y / 9 3 this ecclesiastical identity that he endorses a strong sense of social morality and represents a proper mode of conduct for others. as a clergyman he advocates individual responsibility and subservience to a higher authority, whether that be nation, god, or family. he continually deploys what fou- cault terms pastoral power—“the individualizing of power” or “the devel- opment of power techniques oriented towards individuals and intended to rule them in a continuous and permanent way” (“‘Omnes et Singulatim’” 300). edmund’s ecclesiastical duties require him to “assume responsibility for the destiny of the whole flock and of each and every sheep” (“‘Omnes et Singulatim’” 308). he exercises such power to ensure that all members of his community behave properly and assume specific and useful social roles. he is a concerned man who, like knightley, attempts to make certain that each individual is cared for and instructed to support the nation.3 austen particu- larly details edmund’s consistent anxiety throughout the novel with his fam- ily, and specifically with the activities and ideas of young women; he takes steps to protect women, but he also encourages them to sacrifice their bodies and desires for the state. he realizes that the biological and cultural future of the aristocracy depends upon adolescent women’s (re)productions—and hence, the morals and training of women like his sisters and mary crawford are of national import. these females are the most likely candidates to bear the next generation of the aristocracy, but they fail to maintain moral values and ancestral principles, and thus the task of reproducing the nation’s future leaders falls on the heroine. fanny’s untainted femininity is indeed key to england’s emerging con- ception of a national community, for as nira Yuval-davis points out, “it is women—and not (just?) the bureaucracy and the intelligentsia—who repro- duce nations, biologically, culturally and symbolically” (2).4 mcclintock adds that the english nationalistic fervor that developed in response to the french revolution assigned female citizens a specific duty. she explains that “Britain’s emerging national narrative gendered time by figuring women (like the colonized and the working class) as inherently atavistic—the con- servative repository of the national archaic” (264). fanny may not enjoy high social standing like the Bertram girls and mary crawford, but the heroine can still become a vital member of the national community by assuming this conservative atavistic function. fanny is not lured by the possibilities of the modern urban world; she prefers the nostalgic pleasures of the country and the quiet of the drawing room sofa. the narrator indicates late in the novel that edmund’s regard for fanny is “founded on the most endearing claims of innocence and helplessness, and completed by every recommendation of growing worth” (429). fanny is not a physically impressive specimen, but Kramp_final.indb 93 1/12/2007 2:53:15 PM 9 4 / c h a P t e r 5 edmund learns to value fanny for her purity; she has apparently not been adulterated by the complexities and vices of post-revolutionary culture. Yuval-davis concludes that women are taught to assume a “‘burden of repre- sentation,’ as they are constructed as the symbolic bearers of the collectivity’s identity and honour, both personally and collectively” (45). fanny embraces such responsibility, as she, rather than the Bertram girls, comes to embody the hope of the aristocracy—physically and metaphorically; still, she is not able to reach her potential without the heroic sacrifices of edmund, who exercises his pastoral power to direct her development. austen’s initial depictions of edmund and fanny emphasize both his sensitive concern for the heroine and the potentially overwhelming sensitivity of young english aristocratic men. Prior to fanny’s arrival at mansfield, the narrator foregrounds the Bertram family’s anxiety about the latent sensuality of its adolescent boys. mrs. norris, in her attempt to dissuade sir thomas from bringing fanny to mansfield, cautions, “sup- pose her a pretty girl, and seen by tom or edmund for the first time seven years hence, . . . I dare say there would be mischief ” (4). the loquacious aunt’s fear of her nephews’ vulnerability to “pretty girls” reminds us of the cultural unease about male youth that austen dramatizes in her juve- nilia. england’s future aristocratic men, like the Bertram boys, have been preserved in isolated environments, and the introduction of unknown females—especially ones who might be/become physically appealing—is viewed as potentially dangerous. Post-revolutionary culture was certainly aware of the great peril of undisciplined young men, and Jane west’s Tale of the Times (1799) detailed the great volatility of intemperate aristocratic men like monteith, whose “passions were naturally very strong; and, never having been taught the necessity of restraining them, they were increased by continual gratification, till they somewhat resembled the impetuous tor- rent” (III: 193–94). mrs. norris’s comment suggests the possibility that the ignorant young Bertram men might follow monteith’s example, and austen proves the obnoxious aunt wise with her portrayal of tom Bertram, who “was careless and extravagant” (17). tom is not a responsible man, and his decadent lifestyle, replete with debauchery and foolishness, mirrors that of the Prince regent.5 the elder Bertram son personifies the impending demise of the traditional aristocratic male leader, and his lavish lifestyle even forces edmund to relinquish the small living initially intended for him; as austen suggests, “the younger brother must help to pay for the pleasures of the elder” (19). and because the elder son neglects his duties as both a model of ethical behavior and a future family leader, edmund must assume these roles—responsibilities that are integral to maintaining an ancestral stock and its hegemonic functions. Kramp_final.indb 94 1/12/2007 2:53:15 PM e x P o s I n g B u r k e a n m a s c u l I n I t y / 9 5 Indeed, austen presents edmund in direct opposition to tom. she notes how the hero’s “strong good sense and uprightness of mind, bid most fairly for utility, honour, and happiness to himself and all his connections” (18). he clings to his genteel upbringing, and his training certainly qualifies him to provide valuable civic service, but his loyalty to an archaic model of mascu- linity leaves him inexperienced with the sensual possibilities of the modern world. this ignorance is not a significant detriment early in the novel, as he successfully employs his antiquated Burkean sensitivity to attend to fanny within the safe confines of mansfield. edmund first meets his cousin when he finds her “sitting crying on the attic stairs” and “tried to console her” (12). he appears as a counselor and comforter who listens to her and attempts to ease her discomfort; he even offers to assist fanny in writing a letter to her beloved brother william (13–14). the narrator relates that the heroine “felt that she had a friend, and the kindness of her cousin edmund gave her better spirits” (14).6 he continues to care for his cousin, acting as a sentimental- ized Burkean male who remains sensitive to the pangs of others—especially women; this early encounter, moreover, anticipates edmund’s activity as fanny’s advisor who can instruct the heroine to direct her body and talents for the good of the nation. edmund is an emotional Burkean male whose ancestral heroism is viable at his family’s residence, but when the boundaries of mansfield are broached, the antiquated nature of the hero’s masculinity is exposed. and mansfield’s borders are soon crossed and its security threatened when sir thomas travels to antigua. the departure of edmund’s father cre- ates a leadership void in the family that compels the hero to accept an early audition as a replacement patriarch. austen indicates that “in edmund’s judgment” the departing father “had sufficient confidence to make him go without fears” for the conduct of the remaining children (28). even lady Bertram observes “how well edmund could supply [sir thomas’s] place in carving, talking to the steward, writing to the attorney, settling with the servants” (29). he can perform the mundane husbandry of a benevolent Burkean man within a controlled domestic sphere, but he quickly encoun- ters new challenges engendered by the improper conduct of young women. edmund is critical of modern english women, especially those who involve themselves too greatly with physical and social ornaments. he concludes that “[t]he error is plain enough . . . such girls are ill brought up. they are given wrong notions from the beginning. they are always acting upon motives of vanity—and there is no more real modesty in their behaviour before they appear in public than afterwards” (44–45). edmund speaks as a confident man of moral integrity who is sincerely concerned with the education and activities of the nation’s youthful female subjects. Kramp_final.indb 95 1/12/2007 2:53:15 PM 9 6 / c h a P t e r 5 while edmund eventually identifies his sisters as examples of such inap- propriate aristocratic women, mary crawford initially epitomizes the mod- ern female who both appalls and stimulates the hero. Indeed, edmund’s first conversations with mary revolve around her overt criticism of sir Bertram’s stern education of his daughters. austen notes that “edmund was sorry to hear miss crawford, whom he was much disposed to admire, speak so freely of her uncle. It did not suit his sense of propriety and he was silenced” (51). he may be fond of mary, but he is also nonplussed by her disregard for aristocratic gender training. she seems disinterested in inherited gender identities, and though her attitude clashes with the hero’s strong convictions about a woman’s national responsibility, he is nonetheless intrigued by this urban woman—especially her charming talent for the harp. he “spoke of the harp as his favourite instrument, and hoped to be soon allowed to hear her”; and even when mary speaks despairingly of the naval profession, he “reverted to the harp, and was again very happy in the prospect of hearing her play” (53–54). edmund is unwilling, and perhaps unable, to discuss rationally mary’s attacks on traditional national structures such as the patri- archal aristocracy or the military, but he does employ his Burkean sensibility to appreciate her music. mary challenges the contemporary feasibility of edmund’s archaic sexuality, and the hero soon turns to his innocent cousin for advice. he informs the heroine that “it is [mary’s] countenance that is so attractive. she has a wonderful play of feature!” (56). he knows that miss crawford’s careless talk of sir thomas “was very wrong—very indecorous,” but he nevertheless admires her face, her “warm feelings and [her] lively spirits” (57). and despite her impropriety, austen informs us that edmund “was beginning . . . to be a good deal in love” (58). Johnson evaluates the novel’s romantic relations and argues that “the men in Mansfield Park are nervous about female sexuality”; she concludes that “edmund, for example, is alternately spellbound and horror stricken by mary crawford” (Jane Austen 108). edmund’s traditional training as a Burkean man of sensibil- ity endangers him as he pursues a relationship with this sensual modern woman. he becomes overwhelmed by the sensations mary produces, and his aesthetic of existence is especially threatened by his emerging amorous desires that tempt him to disregard familial and national responsibilities in favor of pleasure. edmund is not an established aristocrat like his father or darcy, and, hence, austen’s hero struggles to uphold antiquated chivalric traditions in a modern culture replete with new pressures and pleasures. for example, after learning that fanny is unable to participate in the equestrian activities of the household, he creates a complex scenario by deciding that “fanny must have a horse” (31). he again acts as a sensitive and heroic protector of this passive Kramp_final.indb 96 1/12/2007 2:53:15 PM e x P o s I n g B u r k e a n m a s c u l I n I t y / 9 7 heroine, but he soon offers to provide miss crawford with riding lessons, and borrows fanny’s horse to lead mary and other members of the mans- field community on four days of equestrian adventures, leaving his cousin at home (60). when he returns from his exhilarating outing, he inquires, “But where is fanny?—Is she gone to bed?” (64). he now demonstrates great concern for the heroine, who has developed a headache from walking amidst roses. edmund promptly chastises mrs. norris: “has [fanny] been walking as well as cutting roses; walking across the hot park to your house, and doing it twice, ma’am?—no wonder her head aches” (65). edmund “was still more angry with himself ” and “was ashamed to think that for four days together [fanny] had not had the power of riding” (67). he realizes that his undisciplined desire to pursue external stimulation with mary has led him to neglect his pastoral responsibilities as a future aristocratic patriarch—spe- cifically his familial (and national) duty to protect virginal women like his cousin. his selfish pursuit of pleasure has allowed a young english woman to become literally overheated and physically jeopardized. edmund quickly recalls his duties as a future male leader of the atrophy- ing aristocracy and a caretaker of the wholesome heroine, as his insistence that fanny join the mansfield party to sotherton demonstrates (69–70). at sotherton, edmund accentuates his Burkean identity by differentiating both his masculinity and his ideas about english culture from the other visitors, many of whom are intrigued by the proposed modernization of rushworth’s estate. during a tour of the grounds, mary aggressively challenges edmund to defend his choice to join the clergy by insisting that “[m]en love to distinguish themselves, and . . . distinction may be gained, but not in the church. a clergyman is nothing” (83). mary’s comments echo godwin’s radical assertion that humans are capable of “being continually made better [by] receiving perpetual improvement,” and while godwin’s anti-hereditary mantra may have fueled aspiring modern men like Bingley and willoughby, edmund quickly dismisses such recent cultural thought (I: 93). he immedi- ately responds to miss crawford’s assessment by declaring: a clergyman cannot be high in state or fashion. he must not head mobs, or set the ton in dress. But I cannot call that situation nothing, which has the charge of all that is of the first importance to mankind, individually or col- lectively considered, temporally and eternally—which has the guardianship of religion and morals, and consequently of the manners which result from their influence. no one here can call the office nothing. If the man who holds it is so, it is by the neglect of his duty, by foregoing its just importance, and stepping out of his place to appear what he ought not to appear. (83)7 Kramp_final.indb 97 1/12/2007 2:53:16 PM 9 8 / c h a P t e r 5 edmund insists that the church is essential to the well-being of the nation because ecclesiastical leaders provide models for proper individual behavior and protect the inherited values of the civic community.8 he concludes that “it will . . . be every where found, that as the clergy are, or are not what they ought to be, so are the rest of the nation” (84). edmund invests his role as a future administrator of the church with great significance to the state, describing his duties with the same national, social, and moral rhetoric employed by Burke in his Reflections.9 his identity as a clergyman seemingly allows him to merge Burkean sentimentality with Burkean heroism, but austen’s novel reveals that he is not able to synthesize these masculine traits in modern environments such as the unorganized areas of sotherton. In such an unstructured environment, edmund’s sensitivity to mary soon prompts him to dismiss again his role as a guardian of fanny, as he leaves his cousin behind to continue walking and conversing with the mod- ern woman. his career plans still amaze mary, who reports that his drive reminds her of “some of the old heathen heroes, who after performing great exploits in a foreign land, offered sacrifices to the gods on their safe return” (97–98). she shockingly equates his adherence to duty with an archaic pagan offering rather than christian national leadership. she completes her cri- tique by adding that a “clergyman has nothing to do but to be slovenly and selfish—read the newspaper, watch the weather, and quarrel with his wife. his curate does all the work, and the business of his own life is to dine” (99). mary strips the ecclesiastical profession of its sacrificial heroism, forcing edmund to reconcile yet again the disparity between Burke’s advocacy of the spirit of edifying religion and the spirit of a gentleman. austen’s hero must defend a traditionally valued english profession against mary’s indictment. edmund confronts this difficult rhetorical challenge within the discursive context of other fictional clergymen such as matthew lewis’s ambrosio and elizabeth Inchbald’s dorriforth—men who showcased the failures of the church to maintain its traditional existence in the changing modern world. lewis’s The Monk (1796) details the dangers posed by physical sensations to even the most reverent young man, ambrosio, who despite his public rep- utation as a “man of holiness” and “a present . . . from the Virgin,” recognizes that he is but a man “whose nature is frail, and prone to error” (16–17; 40). edmund, like ambrosio, is a renowned young man devoted to the ecclesias- tical life who struggles to negotiate physical desires; ambrosio’s trials are cer- tainly more spectacular, but these promising youth essentially experience the problem of new sensations. ambrosio’s trial begins when rosario identifies herself as a young woman named matilda; lewis reports that this formerly innocent man now experienced “the full vigour of manhood. . . . he clasped her rapturously in his arms; he forgot his vows, his sanctity, and his fame: Kramp_final.indb 98 1/12/2007 2:53:16 PM e x P o s I n g B u r k e a n m a s c u l I n I t y / 9 9 he remembered nothing but the pleasure and opportunity” (90). ambrosio’s lascivious involvement with rosario—who is, of course, the loyal servant of satan—results in the demise of his ecclesiastical role and the subsequent collapse of society’s religious and moral center. edmund may not be tempted by the Prince of darkness, but he is forced to negotiate the sensual charms of mary crawford that endanger both his stable clerical identity and the continued prosperity of his aristocratic family. austen’s hero must also shun the inappropriate example of Inchbald’s dorriforth, an older clergyman who “[becomes] a hard-hearted tyrant . . . [and] an example of implacable rigour and injustice” after he weds his former ward (A Simple Story 95). Inchbald notes that dorriforth’s “love to his lady had been extravagant—the effect of his hate was extravagant likewise” (197). edmund learns to eschew such extreme and unbalanced modern sexualized subjectivities and instead crafts his ecclesiastical subjectivity after Burke’s nostalgic model. he embraces an established clerical identity to deploy pastoral power, but austen exposes his continued vulnerability to newfound physical pleasures as the Bertram household prepares for the domestic drama that concludes the novel’s first volume. the desire to stage a small drama, initiated by mr. Yates and supported by tom, maria, and henry crawford, becomes edmund’s most trying chal- lenge as the temporary mansfield patriarch. edmund “was determined to prevent it,” and he initially attempts to dissuade the others from acting within an ancestral home by arguing that “if we are to act, let it be in a the- atre completely fitted up with pit, box, and gallery” (112). edmund appreci- ates the value of mansfield, and he understands that such a domain cannot be allowed to devolve into a house of “acting”; he does not want homes like mansfield or Pemberley—the physical foundations of the aristocracy and its inherited ideals—to become mere theatrical settings. and he is severely worried about women acting—or acting women; he is specifically anxious about his sister maria, whom he considers committed to mr. rushworth.10 edmund is obsessed with directing the behavior of young females, and as a pastoral figure he is frightened they might assume various “play” identities that could distract them from their familial and national responsibilities as reproducers. tom, however, rebukes edmund’s authoritative stance and momentarily reassumes his status as the impending patriarch of mansfield. he announces, “I know my father as well as you do, and I’ll take care that his daughters do nothing to distress him. manage your own concerns, edmund, and I’ll take care of the rest of the family” (114). edmund defers to the will of his lavish brother, recalling his instability as a temporary aristocratic leader. he may know what is right and proper according to his Burkean training, but this alone does not empower him to defuse the lure of modern drama. Kramp_final.indb 99 1/12/2007 2:53:16 PM 1 0 0 / c h a P t e r 5 despite his failure to halt the plans to stage an intimate domestic drama, edmund initially refuses to join the histrionics himself; he announces, “no, as to acting myself, . . . that I absolutely protest against” (115). his attitude toward the play, of course, takes a notable turn when he learns that mary crawford will participate. austen narrates the scene carefully: “maria gave edmund a glance, which meant, ‘what say you now? can we be wrong if mary crawford feels the same?’ and edmund silenced, was obliged to acknowledge that the charm of acting might well carry fascination to the mind of genius” (116–17). he yet again succumbs to the temptation of an opportunity to experience moments of sensory exhilaration alongside mary; he is to “play” a young clergyman beloved of amelia, the character per- formed by miss crawford.11 edmund originally dismisses such typecasting, explaining that he “should be sorry to make the character ridiculous by bad acting. . . . and the man who chooses the profession itself, is, perhaps, one of the last who would wish to represent it on the stage” (131). he is both fright- ened and excited by the prospect of dramatically performing scenarios that might blur the distinction between reality and the stage, but his remarks also suggest his inability to act as both a responsible clergyman—an identity that he has defended despite its recent fictional representations—and a romantic lover. he may be conscious of the failings of ecclesiastics like ambrosio and dorriforth to balance their clerical responsibilities with sensual passions, and edmund may even realize that his involvement in the drama risks his own demise, but he is tempted by the possibility of new and undisciplined sensations. edmund, in a scene that foreshadows the novel’s closing wedding, again turns to fanny for advice in resolving this tension between his heroic duties and his physical sensitivity. he initially adopts a rhetoric of crisis, asserting, “I do not know what to do. this acting scheme gets worse and worse you see. they have chosen as bad a play as they could; and now, to complete the busi- ness, are going to ask the help of a young man very slightly known to any of us. this is the end of all the privacy and propriety which was talked about at first” (138). edmund embellishes his language, à la Burke, to emphasize the frightful consequences of a seemingly innocent and private mansfield affair that might become public. he presents himself as a heroic figure who must now assume a dramatic role to preserve the integrity of his aristocratic fam- ily and its ancestral home. he proclaims, “there is but one thing to be done, fanny. I must take anhalt myself. I am well aware that nothing else will quiet tom” (138). he explains “they will not have much cause of triumph, when they see how infamously I act. But, however, triumph there certainly will be, and I must brave it. But if I can be the means of restraining the publicity of the business, of limiting the exhibition, of concentrating our folly, I shall be Kramp_final.indb 100 1/12/2007 2:53:16 PM e x P o s I n g B u r k e a n m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 0 1 well repaid” (139). he presents himself as a martyr who will perform the part of anhalt only to contain the ridiculous performance. his involvement forces him to confront volatile sensations that he is not well trained to negotiate, but sir thomas’s return from antigua on the night of the dress rehearsal halts the dramatic escapades before the hero becomes imperiled by his performance. the restored mansfield patriarch briefly criti- cizes all the participants in the play, but austen devotes special attention to his rebuke of edmund. she carefully relates this scene through the eyes of her heroine: “such a look of reproach at edmund from his father [fanny] could never have expected to witness; and to feel that it was in any degree deserved, was an aggravation indeed. sir thomas’s look implied, ‘on your judgment, edmund, I depended; what have you been about?’” (166). austen’s subtle narration of sir Bertram’s reprimand reminds us of the father’s, and indeed the nation’s, expectation that edmund would perform appropriate paternal duties; sir Bertram looked to edmund to maintain order in his stead, and edmund has failed to prevent the ills of modernity from penetrating the ancestral family’s domestic realm. austen emphasizes that fanny is likewise disturbed by edmund’s inability to perform as substitute aristocratic patri- arch; the hero quickly renews his sense of moral propriety by isolating and upholding his cousin’s behavior. he announces to his father, “we have all been more or less to blame . . . every one of us, excepting fanny. fanny is the only one who has judged rightly throughout” (168). edmund is beginning to grasp fanny’s value as a pure woman, and she may reciprocate his apprecia- tion as she now becomes more active in (re)constructing edmund as a heroic male who remains sensitive. she even addresses edmund’s name, explaining to mary crawford that “the sound of Mr. Bertram is so cold and nothing- meaning—so entirely without warmth or character!—It just stands for a gentleman, and that’s all. But there is nobleness in the name of edmund. It is a name of heroism and renown—of kings, princes, and knights; and seems to breathe the spirit of chivalry and warm affections” (190). fanny now dem- onstrates her value to the hero by portraying him as a legendary man who, despite his failings as a substitute patriarch, is still valorous, responsible, and sensitive. edmund’s own earnest attempts to resecure his Burkean masculinity lead him to recall the importance of an ancestral home’s integrity, and he voices such sentiments when discussing his own future dwelling. although henry crawford claims that edmund ought to consider multiple improvements to his living at thornton lacey, austen’s hero endorses the traditional archi- tectural principles of his inherited home. edmund indicates that he “must be satisfied with rather less ornament and beauty” (219); he upholds the relevance of archaic chivalric culture even to structural design. he adopts the Kramp_final.indb 101 1/12/2007 2:53:16 PM 1 0 2 / c h a P t e r 5 conservative ideas of Jane west, whose Letters Addressed to a Young Man on His First Entrance into Life (1803) praises the importance of such historical precedent and announces that “our ancestors acted upon this plan for a long course of ages, and supported it by various civil and religious injunctions” (I: 56). edmund greatly values and respects his nation’s legendary customs, and he relates the importance of such practices to the construction and style of his home. he concludes that “the house and premises may be made comfortable, and given the air of a gentleman’s residence without any very heavy expense, and that must suffice me; and I hope may suffice all who care about me” (219). edmund, like Bingley, realizes that expensive modern updates cannot replicate the ancestral domain of a gentleman. austen’s hero appears pleased with the antiquated architecture of thornton lacey, even though he presents his contentment as something of a sacrifice—that is, he “must be satisfied” with a home inherited from an aristocratic family. edmund’s comments also suggest that the reconstruction of the Bertrams must begin internally; as a future clerical leader and sentinel of morality, he must first order his own house, remove modern distractions, and marry a woman willing and able to secure his hegemonic identity and reproduce the aristocracy. although austen emphasizes edmund’s adherence to these ends, she also records his continued struggles to sustain such a dated aesthetic of existence in the post-revolutionary nation. austen notes that “edmund was at this time particularly full of cares; his mind being deeply occupied in the con- sideration of two important events now at hand, which were to fix his fate in life—ordination and matrimony” (230). edmund is a serious young man, and despite his prior difficulties as a substitute patriarch, he is committed to a future career as a morally edifying clergyman. and yet, he recognizes that he cannot achieve this clerical identity as an ethical leader of england by himself; he, like the other unmarried men of austen’s corpus, must acquire a wife to establish the hegemonic male social/sexual subjectivity required to participate fully in the national community. austen explains that “his duties would be established, but the wife who was to share, and animate, and reward those duties might yet be unattainable. he knew his own mind, but he was not always perfectly assured of knowing miss crawford’s” (230). edmund appears as both a willing servant of the state who imagines his wife as a dutiful partner and a sentimental man who longs to know the true feelings of the sensually appealing mary. he concludes that “the issue of all depended on one question. did she love him well enough to forego what had used to be essential points—did she love him well enough to make them no longer essential?” (231). the hero is prepared to abstain from modern allurements, but he is not convinced that mary is ready to make the same Kramp_final.indb 102 1/12/2007 2:53:16 PM e x P o s I n g B u r k e a n m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 0 3 sacrifice. edmund, as a well-trained Burkean man and future aristocratic leader, should simply dismiss mary as a woman of the modern world who does not appreciate ancestral culture, but he is also a sensitive man, and he remains susceptible to mary’s sensual charms. austen carefully observes edmund’s continued fascination with mary and treats her hero as she often does her heroines—excited for a ball and anxious about dancing partners. austen remarks that “in every meeting” edmund maintained “a hope of receiving farther confirmation of miss crawford’s attachment; but the whirl of a ball-room perhaps was not partic- ularly favourable to the excitement or expression of serious feelings” (232). edmund becomes frustrated and desperate, and while he manages to reserve a dance with miss crawford, he explains to his passive cousin that mary “says it is to be the last time that she ever will dance with me. . . . she never has danced with a clergyman she says, and she never will” (243). edmund’s future ecclesiastical duties again clash with his exploration of the sensual experiences mary affords; she will not tolerate the hero’s religious serious- ness at a ball, and edmund’s clerical role precludes his reckless pursuit of pleasures beyond the controlled environment of a mansfield dance floor. austen’s hero is anxious about the conflict between his heroic masculinity and his physical attraction to mary, but he concludes, “it will all end right. I am only vexed for a moment” (243).12 edmund also remains anxious about the current sexual vulnerability of young english females, and he now rededicates himself to the pastoral task of securing the cultural utility of the nation’s unmarried women. he is espe- cially concerned with fanny, and he surprises his cousin by strongly advo- cating her marriage to henry crawford. after sir thomas fails to convince his niece of the beneficence of such a union, edmund “came to [fanny], sat down by her, took her hand, and pressed it kindly.” the narration closely parallels their initial encounter when the hero comforted and consoled the frightened heroine; edmund now exercises his ostensibly compassionate pastoral power to encourage fanny to accept the identity of a well-married woman. austen indicates that he “was, in fact, entirely on his father’s side of the question,” supporting henry as a man and the potential benefits of the heroine’s marriage to him (303). edmund later explains to fanny that crawford “will make you happy, fanny, I know he will make you happy; but you will make him every thing” (319). edmund’s comments reveal both his concern for his unmarried and dowryless cousin and his own understand- ing of the cultural value of such an innocent young woman. he recognizes that henry will provide fanny with the financial and domestic security she presently lacks, but it is fanny who can provide henry with an atavistic con- nection to an ancestral english culture and its aristocratic values. edmund Kramp_final.indb 103 1/12/2007 2:53:16 PM 1 0 4 / c h a P t e r 5 knows that fanny’s purity can cleanse henry of the modern stains that hinder him from crafting a proper masculinity and obediently serving the nation. fanny’s resistance to edmund’s advice indicates both her strong individ- ual will and her adherence to ancestral rather than modernized ideals. she knows that the crawfords are essentially altered by modernity, and austen’s heroine refuses to make such a cultural transition—or merge her purity with the perversity of outsiders. sir thomas, who does not yet understand fanny’s importance to his own aristocratic domain, chastises his niece and promptly returns her to her family at Portsmouth;13 the subsequent demise of the Bertram family allows the patriarch and his son to develop an appreciation for the heroine’s vital role in sustaining the aristocratic realm, its ideals, and its inhabitants. edmund, for instance, continues to discuss his volatile feel- ings for mary with fanny, and in one of his letters to the heroine he reports that after a trip to london—the world of mary—he “returned to mansfield in a less assured state.” he relates that his “hopes are much weaker,” but he admits: “I cannot give her up, fanny. she is the only woman in the world whom I could ever think of as a wife” (382; 384). he knows that he cannot exist as a responsible ecclesiastical figure alongside mary’s “influence of the fashionable world” and her “habits of wealth,” but he is clearly still enamored of the modern woman. he reverts to a perverted version of chivalric heroism and announces, “I must bear it . . . I can never cease to try for her. this is the truth. the only question is how?” (384). he acts as a hopelessly devoted lover who will persist in his efforts to acquire the affections of a disinterested lady. John wiltshire argues that in this lengthy letter, “austen adopts, or rather adapts, the convention of the sentimental novel and edmund . . . expose[s] his heart, his bleeding heart, to his correspondent . . . . by revealing with such naked sincerity the helplessness of his passion for mary” (Jane Austen and the Body 104). edmund’s behavior is sentimental and seemingly heroic, remind- ing us of his Burkean training, but austen again exposes the incompatibility of this masculine sexuality with modernity. edmund constructs his senti- mental pursuit of mary as heroic, but Mansfield Park reveals that his heroic sensitivity actually endangers the stability of his family and the nation. the impending collapse of the Bertram family reminds edmund of the great peril of sensations produced by erotic desire, the vulnerability of the aristocracy and its values, and mansfield’s specific need of fanny; in addi- tion, the crises of mansfield prompt edmund to reassume his function as a familial savior. lady Bertram tells fanny of tom’s alcohol-induced illness and informs the heroine that “edmund kindly proposes attending his broth- er immediately” (388). lady Bertram’s account echoes earlier depictions of her son as a hero, and austen now overtly announces both the aristocratic Kramp_final.indb 104 1/12/2007 2:53:17 PM e x P o s I n g B u r k e a n m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 0 5 family’s and the heroine’s desperate need for edmund’s valor. the narrator suggests that “edmund was all in all. fanny would certainly believe him so at least, and must find that her estimation of him was higher than ever when he appeared as the attendant, supporter, cheerer of a suffering brother” (391). fanny is aware of edmund’s great importance to her, and she now also knows his significant role as a protector of the Bertrams and their ancestral cultural values. mary crawford is likewise conscious of edmund’s valiant position in his family, but she playfully constructs him as “sir edmund” and crassly questions whether edmund “would not do more good with all the Bertram property, than any other possible ‘sir’” (396). mary redefines edmund’s heroism as an indispensable practical skill for a modern man seeking to maximize possible improvement and advancement. fanny, how- ever, conceptualizes her cousin as an ancestral hero who can right wrongs, uphold a chivalric sense of duty, and remain sensible; and edmund appears up to the task, as he willingly cares for his lavish brother who has tarnished the family’s aristocratic legacy. the next Bertram family scandals that edmund must resolve involve the embarrassing escapades of his sisters; when he learns of maria’s improper relations with henry crawford and Julia’s elopement with Yates, he quickly writes his wholesome cousin to discuss the affairs. he sounds like a van- quished knight who has failed in his quest, as he reports that “there is no end of the evil let loose upon us” (404). edmund’s rhetoric suggests that Burke’s nightmare vision has come true, and the english nation now has “no compass to govern us” and consequently, can no longer “know distinctly to what port we steer” (129). the degeneration of england’s aristocracy is met- onymically represented by the errors of edmund’s family, whose individual members have failed to perform as dutiful and selfless participants of a larger cultural unit. and the ultimate breakdown of the Bertram aristocratic tradition is attributed to the public shame of young aristocratic women who could have culturally and biologically reproduced the nation. edmund has failed to protect these members of his flock, and although he has consistently redefined himself as a sacrificial hero whenever he has encountered prior difficulties or dilemmas, he now acts as a Burkean man of feeling. when he arrives at Portsmouth to transport the heroine back to mansfield, he proclaims, “my fanny—my only sister—my only comfort now” (405). he emotionally announces his new appreciation for fanny;14 she may not be an adventurous heroine, but like andromeda, she appears eager to offer her body for the good of her family and its culture. edmund, however, is still not fully prepared to abandon his fascination with mary. when edmund and fanny finally arrive at mansfield, he appears extremely confused, and austen depicts the sensitive hero as “sunk in a Kramp_final.indb 105 1/12/2007 2:53:17 PM 1 0 6 / c h a P t e r 5 deeper gloom than ever . . . with eyes closed as if the view of cheerfulness oppressed him, and the lovely scenes of home must be shut out” (408). as soon as he encounters mary, he attempts to anesthetize his senses, prefer- ring “to bury his own feelings in exertions for the relief of his brother’s” (409). he can exist safely as a valorous yet sentimental man alongside fanny, but he knows mary threatens the stability of his identity as an impending leader of the aristocracy. edmund instead numbs his senses and, much like the heroine, assumes a sacrificial role for the good of his family and the nation.15 still, he is able to renounce mary crawford only after her casual response to the news of his family’s scandals. edmund explains, “she rep- robated her brother’s folly in being drawn on by a woman whom he had never cared for. . . . to hear the woman whom—no harsher name than folly given!—so voluntarily, so freely, so coolly to canvass it!—no reluctance, no horror, no feminine—shall I say? no modest loathings” (414–15). edmund is again nonplussed by mary, but it is no longer her verbal impropriety that overwhelms the hero; he cannot stomach mary’s restrained reaction to the impulsive and irresponsible activity of his sisters. edmund realizes that mary is not able to serve as his wife and partner, but he does not immediately forget her. Indeed, he actively attempts to rep- resent her as an enjoyable illusion of his mind, claiming that it was not the physical person of mary that excited his interest, but “the creature of my own imagination . . . that I had been too apt to dwell on for many months past. . . . [c]ould I have restored her to what she had appeared to me before, I would infinitely prefer any increase of the pain of parting, for the sake of carrying with me the right of tenderness and esteem” (418). edmund’s reflections echo the poetic speaker of coleridge’s “kubla khan,” who imag- ines what might happen if he were able to revive the vision of an abyssin- ian maid; like coleridge’s narrator, edmund is obsessed, even though he recognizes the dangers of his obsession. austen indicates that “time would undoubtedly abate somewhat of his sufferings, but still it was a sort of thing which he never could get entirely the better of; and as to his ever meeting with any other woman who could—it was too impossible to be named but with indignation” (420). austen explicitly notes edmund’s continued fasci- nation with mary, but austen has also shown that he is unable to reconcile his antiquated sexuality with the modern woman’s lifestyle. and since no other woman could possibly fill the void her absence has left, edmund is forced to abandon his desires for sensual exhilaration and instead accept the safety and reliability of an atavistic and benevolent marital union. the nar- rator indeed declares that “fanny’s friendship was all that [edmund] had to cling to” (420). austen opens her final chapter by assuring her readers of satisfactory Kramp_final.indb 106 1/12/2007 2:53:17 PM e x P o s I n g B u r k e a n m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 0 7 closure. she proclaims, “let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore every body, not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest” (420). austen self-consciously announces her intention to lighten this dark tale of the aristocracy’s embarrassing demise; she promises to offer an end- ing replete with conjugal ceremonies, the necessary punishments, and “toler- able comfort.” the heroic edmund is, of course, unpunished, but he may be disciplined; or perhaps austen’s concluding remarks bespeak the requisite regulation of Burkean masculinity in modern england: scarcely had [edmund] done regretting mary crawford, and observing to fanny how impossible it was that he should ever meet with such another woman, before it began to strike him whether a very different kind of woman might not do just as well—or a great deal better; whether fanny herself were not growing as dear, as important to him in all her smiles, and all her ways, as mary crawford had ever been; and whether it might not be a possible, an hopeful undertaking to persuade her that her warm and sisterly regard for him would be foundation enough for wedded love. (428–29) while austen usually employs indirect speech to reveal the complex thought processes of her heroines, she uses this narrative strategy here to portray her hero’s change of heart. she presents edmund’s burgeoning “romantic” interest in his cousin as a natural progression, but it is also essentially lim- ited; his brotherly affection for fanny may provide “foundation enough” for marriage.16 edmund has learned that his archaic Burkean masculinity simply cannot handle the excitement of modern women, and his cultural duty as a moral exemplar requires him to manage his sensitivity to their charms. he needs to marry a woman who is willing and able to reproduce both the next generation of the Bertram family and its aristocratic ideals, but his wife must also solidify his hegemonic social/sexual identity. austen indi- cates that his regard for fanny was “founded on the most endearing claims of innocence and helplessness, and completed by every recommendation of growing worth” (429). as a pure and willing woman, fanny has all the traits edmund now requires in a wife; she holds the latent potential to cleanse the aristocracy of its recent stains, bear and rear its future members, and secure edmund’s status as a future leader of the nation. austen reports that edmund’s marriage to fanny permits the hero to continue “[l]oving, guiding, protecting her, as he had been doing ever since her being ten years old.”17 these disturbing comments suggest that edmund views his marriage to fanny as an extension of his closely monitored ado- lescent regard for the frightened girl; he reestablishes himself as her heroic Kramp_final.indb 107 1/12/2007 2:53:17 PM 1 0 8 / c h a P t e r 5 guardian, and she, likewise, will remain his advisor and champion. edmund renounces romantic sensibility in favor of innocent juvenile emotions, but his immature aesthetic of existence allows him to perform as a chivalric hero from bygone days, despite the turbulent culture of post-revolutionary eng- land. the narrator can only tersely observe, “what was there now to add, but that he should learn to prefer soft light eyes to sparkling dark ones” (429). the shift in edmund’s amorous interest appears shockingly casual and rather humorous, as he must simply eschew the “dark lady” for the subservi- ent heroine who, not coincidentally, possesses the light eyes associated with england’s supposed historical people. austen adds one final discomforting note to the narrative, as we learn that with the death of dr. grant, edmund acquires the mansfield ecclesiastical living (432). the narrator indicates that the hero and heroine “removed to mansfield” to live “within the view and patronage of mansfield Park” (432). edmund now physically and symboli- cally merges his marital union with both his clerical duties and his famil- ial/national responsibilities as a future aristocratic patriarch. his marriage to fanny stabilizes his masculinity, but it also enables him to ensure and direct the biological and cultural reproduction of the english aristocracy. he fulfills his role as a Perseus figure, coming to the rescue of the sacrificed heroine; and fanny, as an andromeda figure, fortifies the hero’s masculin- ity. edmund needs her feminine innocence and integrity to accomplish his herculean task of maintaining the ancestral culture of england’s past in the modernizing nation; moreover, austen’s corpus continues to suggest that english culture cannot risk the potential volatility of deleuzian love or male lovers. Kramp_final.indb 108 1/12/2007 2:53:17 PM emma’s comment regarding mr. knightley’s preference for deliberate behav- ior reminds us of the hero’s effectiveness as a social organizer: he values premeditated action, distrusts irrational spontaneous behavior, and carefully plans his conduct to ensure the contentment of his community. knightley is a trusted civic leader who upholds the ideals of an ancestral english cul- ture, and yet, like darcy, he understands that the post-revolutionary nation is changing and must at least prepare for significant social shifts. Pride and Prejudice depicts darcy as a representative of a vanishing breed of romantic aristocratic men, and the narrative outlines the development of ambi- tious bourgeois men; Mansfield Park documents the impending demise of england’s aristocracy, its families, and its male leaders; Emma dramatizes knightley’s attempt to maintain qualities of Burke’s ideal of aristocratic english masculinity while directing the maturation of a modern commu- nity and its young women and men. knightley, unlike edmund Bertram, is neither afraid of modernity nor determined to preserve an archaic civiliza- tion; edmund shields himself from the growing dangers of contemporary england to safeguard his masculinity and the future of the aristocracy, but knightley embraces the nation’s new developments even as he remains C h a P T e r 6 remaking english Manhood, or accepting Modernity Knightley’s Fused Finitude  �09 Before the end of the eighteenth century, man did not exist––any more than the potency of life, the fecundity of labour, or the historical density of language. He is a quite recent creature, which the demiurge of knowledge fabricated with its own hands less than two hundred years ago. (Foucault, The Order of Things 308) We need to see how everyone, at every age, in the smallest things as in the greatest chal- lenges, seeks a territory, tolerates or carries out deterritorializations, and is reterritorial- ized on almost anything. (Deleuze and Guattari, what is Philosophy? 67–68) Mr. Knightley does nothing mysteriously. (Emma Woodhouse in Austen, emma 203) Kramp_final.indb 109 1/12/2007 2:53:17 PM 1 1 0 / c h a P t e r 6 invested in the lore and structures of england’s history. he understands that english males can no longer follow nostalgic models of sexuality, and while he performs important rituals of the nation’s ancestral culture, knightley also endorses the values of reason and industry championed by enlight- enment thinkers. Emma documents its hero’s attempts to embody both traditional and modern modes of masculinity while preserving his sexual stability. he is neither an admired romantic figure like darcy nor a Burkean cleric endowed with national import like edmund Bertram; nonetheless, knightley crafts a sexuality that serves as an archetype of modern masculin- ity: he fulfills both Burke’s expectations for a chivalric male and the desires of post-enlightenment thinkers for a virile man of reason. he realizes that he can secure his fused sexuality and his hegemonic social identity by mar- rying the heroine—a union that will neither engender mr. woodhouse’s fear of the “break up [of] one’s family circle” nor promote the volatile effects of deleuzian love (11). austen’s hero is self-consciously concerned with proper masculinity, and as Johnson points out, Emma “persistently asks how a man should behave and what he ought to do” (Equivocal Beings 197). she specifically argues that the novel “[diminishes] the authority of male sentimentality, and [reim- masculates] men and women alike with a high sense of national purpose” (Equivocal Beings 191). while mr. woodhouse represents an atrophied mode of aristocratic masculinity, knightley, according to Johnson, is the paragon of a reimmasculated man; he models a new “humane” British masculinity, but he also recalls a pre-Burkean tradition of “gentry liberty, which valued its manly independence from tyrannical rule” (Equivocal Beings 199; 201). knightley is a distinctive man because he engages in modern activities and relations without neglecting england’s historical notions of maleness. he resists the tyranny of sentimentality, but he also recognizes that the sen- timental masculinity of aristocratic men like mr. woodhouse, edmund Bertram, and sir elliot were once important to the nation; as Johnson elabo- rates, it “guaranteed the continuation of the charm, the beauty, the hospital- ity, and the goodness of old england itself, which liked its gallant old ways even if they did not make sense, and which won our love, veneration, and loyalty” (Equivocal Beings 198). But knightley, like darcy, recognizes that modern english culture must now embrace the realities of post-revolution- ary progress and train young men who can bridge the gap between the decay of an old society and the emergence of a new nation. and while darcy helps tutor aspiring men of/from trade to assume larger civic roles and responsibilities in the modern english nation, knightley has (re)trained himself to adjust to the impending changes of england’s mod- ernizing culture. Johnson explains how he is both “impeccably landed, a Kramp_final.indb 110 1/12/2007 2:53:17 PM r e m a k I n g e n g l I s h m a n h o o d / 1 1 1 magistrate” as well as “a farmer and a man of business.” knightley is “a gen- tleman of ‘untainted’ blood and judicious temper,” but he is also “absorbed in the figures and computations emma considers so vulgar”; he is “a man of energy, vigor, and decision, and as such emphatically not an embodiment of the stasis unto sluggishness Burke commended in country squires” (Equivo- cal Beings 201). Johnson is correct to highlight knightley’s accomplishment as a new kind of english male who embodies a humane model of indepen- dent manliness; his sexuality, however, is nonetheless calculated and struc- tured. his well-disciplined and functional aesthetic of existence requires him to remain deliberate in his activity, rationalize potentially uncontrollable emotions like love, and reconfigure marriage as the culmination of logical feelings. knightley synthesizes qualities of Burkean maleness, enlightenment masculinity, and gentry independence, creating a new male subjectivity that becomes vital to the nation’s transition from a preindustrial rural society to a modern state.1 his fused masculinity is crucial to the successful negotiation of his changing local and national community. the world of Emma, like the nation of the early nineteenth century, experiences important social shifts that alter its organizational structure; moreover, Emma is a novel preoccupied with the status of the nation and the idea of “englishness.” highbury’s inhabit- ants consistently return to englishness as a tool for describing their everyday experiences and encounters; they employ national adjectivals to name and evaluate their community and its residents, demonstrating the novel’s invest- ment in the traditions of england’s past and marking the village as a domain of native english people. mr. knightley claims, “mrs. weston is the very best country-dance player, without exception, in england” (221); upon learning of frank and Jane’s engagement, emma offers mr. weston congratulations “on the prospect of having one of the most lovely and accomplished young women in england for [his] daughter” (363); and mrs. elton cannot prevent herself from declaring the strawberries of donwell abbey are “the best fruit in england” (324). the people of highbury also continually broach national issues such as citizenship and the empire. when frank tours highbury with the heroine, he shows himself “to be a true citizen of highbury” and dis- plays his “amor patriæ” by buying gloves at ford’s (179); in order to dismiss the annoying mrs. elton, Jane fairfax enters into a strange but historically accurate glorification of the english postal service as “a wonderful establish- ment” (266); and even miss Bates references the difficult Irish question of the early nineteenth century, as she almost distinguishes Ireland from the British empire (141).2 Peter smith argues that “the principal topic in Emma, as in Mansfield Park, is england, england’s weaknesses, the dangers inherent in those weaknesses, and the choices that might still be made to secure the Kramp_final.indb 111 1/12/2007 2:53:18 PM 1 1 2 / c h a P t e r 6 nation’s future” (221). austen emphasizes knightley’s sustained interest in the future prosperity of highbury and the nation; moreover, she illustrates how his concern with the development of young english men will be essen- tial to continued civic contentment. austen presents highbury as a microcosm of england’s reconfigured post-revolutionary culture; it is a “large and populous village” that is growing quickly and experiencing notable social changes (5). Julia Prewitt Brown points out that “the novel is peopled with upwardly and downwardly mobile individuals.” she adds that the community of Emma “is viewed not from the perspective of frozen class division but from a perspective of liv- ing change” (114). unlike the aristocratic inhabitants of mansfield Park, the citizens of highbury accept the inevitability of social transformation as a reality of the modernizing nation; consequently, individuals like mrs. weston, frank churchill, and Jane fairfax enjoy significant social ascen- sions, the Bateses experience a steady fall, and tradesmen like the coles are now hosting members of ancestral families like knightley and emma. In addition, austen’s text indicates that members of aristocratic families, like John knightley and Isabella, can explore new urban professional lifestyles. Emma is a novel that reveals definite cultural shifts, but as Peter smith notes, it is not a tale of apocalyptic despair but a narrative that considers various strategies for adjusting to the progressions of modernity—progressions that appalled and stultified the worlds of Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park. miroslav hroch theorizes that “the basic precondition of all national movements—yesterday and today—is a deep crisis of the old order, with the breakdown of its legitimacy, and of the values and sentiments that sustained it” (75). the culture of Emma is slowly accepting the collapse of traditional systems of order, such as the aristocracy and its archaic mode of masculinity; the inhabitants of highbury have not forgotten about historical structures of power, but they also allow new cultural possibilities. knightley, as a new english man who accepts that english society must adjust to a post-revolutionary nation, manages to preserve some traits of the past culture. unlike sir Bertram, austen’s hero shows little ambition to suspend the modernization of england, but he is not merely resigned to or ambivalent about impending transformations. he is aware of Burke’s desire for the perpetuity of england’s aristocratic male leaders, and he appears throughout much of the novel as a feudal lord for highbury who keeps the community organized, content, and free from significant disturbances. for example, when knightley discusses his project to renovate the path to lang- ham, he points out that he “should not attempt it, if it were to be the means of inconvenience to the highbury people” (97). knightley may appear to plan upgrades for his own estate, but he is also concerned with improving the qual- Kramp_final.indb 112 1/12/2007 2:53:18 PM r e m a k I n g e n g l I s h m a n h o o d / 1 1 3 ity of public roadways for the residents of the burgeoning village who need safe and convenient routes to participate in the modern national economy.3 when he later arrives at the coles’ party, emma observes that he has traveled in his carriage and commends him: “this is coming as you should do . . . like a gentleman” (191). It is at this party, moreover, that we learn that knightley has gallantly sent his carriage for the Bateses and Jane fairfax (200). he knows how to act as a chivalric man, and his charitable deeds prove his status as a noble and genteel figure. his compassion for the citizens of highbury recalls charlotte smith’s depiction of Desmond’s montfleuri, a rational landed patri- arch who “made it the business of his life to make his vassals and dependents content, by giving them all the advantages their condition will allow” (I: 82). like montfleuri, knightley retains the duties of a concerned feudal adminis- trator who, as duckworth claims, “continually [brings] into the daily life of highbury the spirit of chivalry” (156). knightley is invested in both the social improvement of his community and the sustenance of ancestral customs, but for knightley, cultural updates are not necessarily frightening, and the hero does not revert solely to archaic modes of masculinity. donwell abbey is integral to knightley’s fused sexuality as it provides a nexus to england’s chivalric culture and allows the hero to demonstrate his adherence to enlightenment dictates such as reason and industry. austen highlights knightley’s affinity for the abbey throughout the novel, as he is continually concerned with his stewards and crops, but the narrator pays special attention to his estate following the announcement of his plan for a strawberry-picking expedition. mrs. elton attempts to assume control of the arrangements and declares, “It is to be a morning scheme, you know, knight- ley; quite a simple thing. . . . there is to be no form or parade––a sort of gipsy party.––we are to walk about your gardens, and gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under trees;––and whatever else you may like to provide, it is to be all out of doors. . . . every thing as natural and simple as possible” (320–21). knightley promptly dubs mrs. elton’s plans as both irrational and unnatural; he has no intention of allowing his friends to perform the anti- quated behavior of a premodern culture or adopt the exoticized guise of a racial stereotype. he replies, “my idea of the simple and the natural will be to have the table spread in the dining-room. the nature and the simplicity of gentlemen and ladies, with their servants and furniture, I think is best observed by meals within doors” (321). knightley’s idea of the natural is pointedly rational, even though he proposes traditional dining conventions and the use of servants. he will not allow sentimental aggrandizements or unreasonable behavior to taint his ancestral lands. when mrs. elton later expresses her desire to travel to donwell by don- key, he also notes the irrationality of this fancy by explaining that donkeys Kramp_final.indb 113 1/12/2007 2:53:18 PM 1 1 4 / c h a P t e r 6 are unnecessary since “donwell-lane is never dusty, and now it is perfectly dry”; however, he allows her to “come on a donkey . . . if you prefer it. You can borrow mrs. cole’s” (321). he highlights the modern accessibility of his estate, but as a humane and desentimentalized english man, he allows mrs. elton’s idiotic desire for a donkey, much as he continually tolerates the archaic behavior of mr. woodhouse. he even manages to accommodate the heroine’s father during the donwell expedition, arranging care for the ante- diluvian patriarch within the ancestral abbey. knightley is routinely respect- ful of mr. woodhouse, whom Johnson accurately describes as “the ideal of sentimental masculinity described throughout this book” (Equivocal Beings 198). the hero is not ignorant of the nation’s chivalric lore and its corre- sponding models of masculinity, and he is not motivated to rid the nation of such representatives. he is not a diehard disciple of godwin, committed to demonstrating that a “generous blood, a gallant and fearless spirit is by no means propagated from father to son” or insisting that “the descendants of a magnanimous ancestry” are “the legitimate representatives of departed heroism” (Enquiry I: 41). knightley is in no hurry to precipitate modernity, but he is also not frightened by progress, and his maintenance of donwell is indicative of this attitude. the hero, unlike the Bertrams, has successfully integrated his ancestral home into his community’s changing culture, but he has also managed to maintain the abbey’s historical grandeur. when emma arrives at donwell for the strawberry-picking expedition, she reflects, “It was just what it ought to be, and it looked what it was––and emma felt an increasing respect for it, as the residence of a family of such true gentility, untainted in blood and understanding” (323). she adds, “It was a sweet view––sweet to the eye and the mind. english verdure, english culture, english comfort” (325).4 donwell is an evocative pastoral world reminiscent of a mythologized medieval england, replete with steward-like figures such as william larkins and robert martin; but while the hero’s realm may appear nostalgic and romanticized, he remains an active partici- pant in the daily duties of the land. he is undoubtedly a genteel man, but he is also a man with “a great deal of health, activity, and independence” (191). the narrator also notes that knightley, “as a farmer, as keeping in hand the home-farm at donwell . . . had to tell what every field was to bear next year” (90), and during a tour of the grounds with harriet, he offered “informa- tion as to modes of agriculture, &c” (326). he still plays a major part in the business of the abbey, following the model of the assiduous farmers of the late-eighteenth-century utopian novels by Jacobin writers such as charlotte smith, elizabeth Inchbald, and gilbert Imlay. his agricultural planning specifically reminds us of Imlay’s captain arl-ton, who spent his mornings “laying out his grounds, and planting the several fruits, and other things Kramp_final.indb 114 1/12/2007 2:53:18 PM r e m a k I n g e n g l I s h m a n h o o d / 1 1 5 necessary to the comfort and pleasure of living.” Imlay adds that arl-ton “not only attends to this business, but he does a great part of it with his own hands, which gives him that exercise so necessary to invigorate the constitu- tion” (313). knightley could leisurely enjoy his grand estate, but he adopts the behavior of the Jacobin farmers, who commit themselves to working the soil with vigor. his exceptional status as an aristocratic man who has adapted to post- enlightenment modernity is not lost on the citizens of highbury; even miss smith recognizes the hero’s impressive qualities, and after she introduces emma to robert martin, harriet admits that her young admirer “certainly . . . is not like mr. knightley.” emma quickly explains to her friend that “mr. knightley’s air is so remarkably good, that it is not fair to compare mr. mar- tin with him. You might not see one in a hundred, with gentleman so plainly written as in mr. knightley” (28). the heroine’s comment emphasizes both the rarity and the grand social reputation enjoyed by the administrator of donwell, who seems to reek gentility and nobility despite his commitment to rationality and industry. and yet, emma is not necessarily enamored of the hero’s “downright, decided, commanding sort of manner”; she explains that “it suits him very well; his figure and look, and situation in life seem to allow it; but if any young man were to set about copying him he would not be sufferable” (30). emma suggests that knightley’s social standing enables him to fuse chivalric and modern masculinity, but her remarks also indicate that the consequences of the hero’s mechanized identity are rather unap- pealing. knightley is deliberate, structured, and imposing; he embodies the paradox that foucault associates with the development of modern subjectiv- ity in the early years of the nineteenth century. foucault argues that in the decade following the french revolution, the modern individual emerges and is defined by its accordance with natural laws, scientific dictates, and cultural customs for the purpose of becoming finite and naturalized (Order of Things 310).5 foucault concludes that “the experience taking form at the beginning of the nineteenth century situates the discovery of finitude not within the thought of the infinite, but . . . as the concrete forms of finite existence” (316). the post-enlightenment human subject, according to philosophers like godwin and thomas Paine, is endowed with the ability to improve and diversify her/his mode of being, but as foucault theorizes, this potential is always already contained by the “natu- ral” potential of man’s physical body.6 knightley is a compelling example of this foucauldian modern subject; he furnishes his finite sexual subjectivity with both Burkean and enlightenment standards for masculinity, but even after this impressive achievement, his capacity is essentially finite. deleuze and guattari discuss the modern individual’s relationship to powerful social Kramp_final.indb 115 1/12/2007 2:53:18 PM 1 1 6 / c h a P t e r 6 forces, such as the post-revolutionary discourses on english masculinity, in terms of a tri-fold process of territorialization, deterritorialization, and reterritorialization (Anti-Oedipus 10). the different late-eighteenth-century dictates for proper maleness mark knightley, and austen illustrates how he is territorialized by chivalric and rational guidelines; but she also demonstrates how his modern faculty to reason and adapt permits knightley to deterri- torialize himself by exposing the artifice and irrationality of anachronistic customs. Emma, however, suggests that he is consistently reterritorialized as a disciplined man who reverts to a synthetic yet finite subjectivity that allows him to make a successful and secure transition to a modern english culture. he ultimately seeks a safe and predictable marital union, free from the mul- tiplicity of deleuzian love, which will ensure his mechanic masculinity. austen accentuates knightley’s well-organized sexuality by distinguish- ing him from both the archaic mr. woodhouse and yeomen like robert mar- tin, but she devotes far more attention to the important differences between the hero and frank churchill. austen traces the hero’s running commentary on frank, and knightley’s remarks reveal both his anxiety about the future of the nation’s undisciplined young men and his own conceptions of proper masculinity. he initially becomes upset when he learns that frank has again postponed, because of the churchills’ claims on his time, a planned visit to his father and new bride at randalls. austen’s hero claims that he “cannot believe that [frank] has not the power of coming, if he made a point of it. . . . a man at his age––what is he?––three or four-and-twenty––cannot be without the means of doing as much as that. It is impossible” (131). knight- ley then instructs emma that “there is one thing . . . which a man can always do, if he chuses, and that is, his duty; not by [maneuvering] and finessing, but by vigour and resolution”; he adds that “a sensible man would find no difficulty” in dutifully visiting his father and mrs. weston (132). knightley upholds both duty and sensibility as essential features of the proper english man, and while his advocacy of responsibility employs sentimental rhetoric reminiscent of Burke’s Reflections, his emphasis on the vigor and resolution of men recalls wollstonecraft’s call for industrious and accountable men. knightley concludes his assessment of the churchills’ influential guidance by charging that “as [frank] became rational, he ought to have roused himself and shaken off all that was unworthy in [the churchills’] authority” (134). the hero insists that the dismissal of irrational authority is a marker of a mature man, and knightley later directly addresses the effects of this unreasonable tutelage upon frank. while discussing the young man’s let- ter of apology with emma, knightley insists that “[h]e knows he is wrong, and has nothing rational to urge.––Bad” (404). knightley allows the archaic sentimentality of mr. woodhouse and the silly ideas of the ineffectual mrs. Kramp_final.indb 116 1/12/2007 2:53:18 PM r e m a k I n g e n g l I s h m a n h o o d / 1 1 7 elton, but he cannot countenance the irrational behavior of modern young men who will become the leaders of the modern english nation. knightley consistently treats frank’s immature behavior as a severe defi- ciency that prevents him from becoming a leader in his community. after witnessing the young man’s manipulation of a child’s game, he declares, “these letters were but the vehicle for gallantry and trick.” the hero derides frank as a “gallant young man, who seemed to love without feeling, and to recommend himself without complaisance” (314). knightley, as an industri- ous man of labor who maintains an ordered sexuality and a well-planned agricultural estate, remains consistently perturbed by frank’s pursuit of use- less sensations; he cannot allow frank’s laziness, charges him with being “a very weak young man,” and concludes that he is “leading a life of mere idle pleasure” (133–34).7 knightley knows that the men who will guide england through its transition must be noble and active, chivalric and industrious, and he informs emma that frank “can be amiable only in french, not in english. he may be very ‘amiable,’ have very good manners, and be very agreeable; but he can have no english delicacy towards the feelings of other people” (134–35). knightley’s scorching rebuke marks frank as a french effete who has followed only Burke’s call for a hypersensitive man of lore; frank clings to the antediluvian masculinity modeled by mr. woodhouse, but, as knightley continually indicates, the young man has received inap- propriate training as a misplaced sentimental english male. for example, upon his initial tour of highbury, frank “begged to be shewn the house which his father had lived in so long, and which had been the home of his father’s father; and on recollecting that an old woman who had nursed him was still living, walked in quest of her cottage from one end of the street to the other” (176). frank’s intemperate fondness for nostalgia leads him on a ridiculous quest for a mysterious woman of whom he has little knowledge. he upholds an extravagant and irrational fondness of the past, recalling mr. woodhouse’s futile desire to preserve the continuity of his “family circle” and willoughby’s earnest wish to recollect his experiences at Barton cottage as fixed (11). frank also shares willoughby’s fondness for dancing, and when the topic of a ball is broached, he “argued like a young man very much bent on danc- ing” (177–78). In addition, frank is a devoted singer, who is later “accused of having a delightful voice” (204)—a skill he is all too happy to exhibit. knightley once more criticizes frank’s enthusiasm for sensory pleasures, and the hero differentiates himself from the younger man by advocating calcu- lated and regulated sensibility. knightley knows he is “no dancer in general,” and he angrily charges, “that fellow . . . thinks of nothing but shewing off his own voice. this must not be” (207; 206). frank, according to knightley, is Kramp_final.indb 117 1/12/2007 2:53:18 PM 1 1 8 / c h a P t e r 6 egotistical and does not understand how to relate proper feeling. the hero’s response to frank’s late letter, in which he offers an apology and explana- tion to the heroine, accentuates his rationalized discipline in opposition to frank’s careless behavior. he observes, “mystery; finesse––how they pervert the understanding! my emma, does not every thing serve to prove more and more the beauty of truth and sincerity in all our dealings with each other” (404). knightley’s comment invites us to speculate on the mechanical order of his future life with emma, but it also elaborates his idea of proper feeling. he equates appropriate sensibility with exposed sincerity and the absence of any unreasonable or potentially disruptive mystery. he is especially bothered by frank’s gift of the pianoforte to Jane and argues “that was the act of a very, very young man, one too young to consider whether the inconvenience of it might not very much exceed the pleasure” (405). knightley criticizes frank’s anonymous gift as an example of his underregulated affection. austen’s hero is concerned with the sustained contentment of his civic community, and he appears extremely anxious about its future male leaders like frank, who are drawn to both volatile emotions and an anachronistic mode of masculinity. knightley has no interest in mysterious or irrational activities and instead maintains that proper sentimentality requires appropriate restraint and careful planning. even when knightley broaches the proposal of mov- ing to hartfield to live with emma and the needy mr. woodhouse, austen observes that the administrator of donwell spoke “in plain, unaffected, gentleman-like english, such as [he] used even to the woman he was in love with” (407). knightley is always already regulated, even when he discuss- es—with the woman he ostensibly loves—the radical idea of abandoning donwell abbey for hartfield, the realm of the heroine.8 austen exposes his move to hartfield as a strategic decision intended to ensure his regulation rather than as a result of his strong passion for emma. Indeed, the text dem- onstrates knightley’s restraint from passionate love—a desire that deleuze claims can engender “a plurality of worlds.” deleuze explains that “the plu- ralism of love does not concern only the multiplicity of loved beings, but the multiplicity of souls or worlds in each of them” (Proust 7). modern sexual subjects, according to deleuze, have the ability to exceed our finitude and experience new relations through sexual desire and erotic love––relations that could allow us to appreciate infinite possibilities of sensations, subjec- tivities, and sexualities. Emma suggests that knightley cannot tolerate such desires or relations; they would destabilize his mechanized masculinity and prevent him from providing the leadership his national community desper- ately needs during its modernization. for deleuze, love allows an individual to unsettle the order of his/her territorialization, but knightley instead relies upon his reterritorialization as a finite subject to merge new and old models Kramp_final.indb 118 1/12/2007 2:53:19 PM r e m a k I n g e n g l I s h m a n h o o d / 1 1 9 of english masculinity. Julia Prewitt Brown claims that save the influence and enthusiasm of the heroine, “mr. knightley is a dull and predictable eng- lish gentleman” (109). knightley is indeed deliberate and disciplined, but his “love” for emma represents not an anomaly in his structured subjectivity, but the insurance of his stability. despite his close self-management, knightley is aware of amorous emo- tion, its signs, and its ramifications; in order to maintain the stability of his sexuality, he rationalizes “love” as a negotiated transaction and treats over- whelming amorous emotion as a hazard to be avoided. and while knightley never accepts love as a romantic passion associated with sexual desire, he is, nonetheless, conscious of how others practice love. he is especially concerned about immature young men like frank churchill and robert martin, who are susceptible to irrational emotions that risk irresponsible behavior and severe depression. his early conversations with emma about robert martin and harriet smith reveal his fears of such unmanaged passions. the hero specifically recalls how he had attempted to dissuade his young steward from pursuing the engagement because of the woman’s low social position, but he knows that love can engulf a man and admits he “could not reason . . . to a man in love” (55). emma also recognizes the irrational tendencies of male lovers, and she explains that “till [men] do fall in love with well-informed minds instead of handsome faces, a girl, with such loveliness as harriet, has a certainty of being admired and sought after, of having the power of choos- ing from among many” (57). the heroine challenges knightley’s view of mr. martin’s sacrificial proposal to harriet and quickly reminds the hero that it would be “very much mistaken” to suggest that “your sex in general would not think such beauty, and such temper [as harriet’s], the highest claims a woman could possess” (57). emma’s comment recalls mrs. arlbery’s explana- tion of men’s approach to marriage in Burney’s Camilla (1796). she asserts: “o, intolerably, with the men! they are always enchanted with something that is both pretty and silly; because they can so easily please and so soon disconcert it; and when they have made the little blooming fools blush and look down, they feel nobly superior, and pride themselves in victory. . . . a man looks enchanted while his beautiful young bride talks nonsense” (254).9 emma shares mrs. arlbery’s belief that men pursue beautiful women even if they are silly, and the heroine’s charge exposes both the cultural expectation that young english men will treat women’s physical attractiveness as the pri- mary impetus for amorous emotion and the exception of knightley to this rule. although knightley earlier informed mrs. weston that he “[loves] to look at [emma],” his persistent observation of the heroine resembles a close surveillance rather than an admiration of her physical appearance (34). still, Kramp_final.indb 119 1/12/2007 2:53:19 PM 1 2 0 / c h a P t e r 6 knightley is not ignorant of the machinery of love, and austen tells us that he specifically “felt the disappointment of [robert martin], and was morti- fied to have been the means of promoting it” (60).10 the administrator of donwell can recognize the pathological effects of romantic desire when he sees them, and he even behaves as an inquisitive detective seeking to prevent other youth from engaging in the perilous activities of love. In the latter third of the novel, austen pays increasing attention to the hero’s “detection” of the secret relationship between frank churchill and Jane fairfax. the narrator informs us that mr. knightley initially “began to suspect [frank] of some double dealing in his pursuit of emma. that emma was not his object appeared indisputable” (309). austen adds that he “began to suspect [frank] of some inclination to trifle with Jane fairfax. he could not understand it; but there were symptoms of intelligence between them” (310). the narra- tor’s comments provide a telling analysis of the hero’s notion of love: it is, for knightley, an “inclination” or mystery whose clues can be diagnosed and studied but not fully comprehended. he has seen Jane and frank reciprocate glances and gestures at a dinner party, which “brought him yet stronger sus- picion of there being a something of private liking, of private understand- ing even, between frank churchill and Jane” (310). austen’s description is ultimately quite humorous; frank and Jane are, of course, engaged in a love relationship, but knightley can only fathom this as a mysterious “private lik- ing.” he does not—and perhaps cannot—associate this “liking” with sexual desire, but he knows not to take such strange visual exchanges and inexpli- cable partiality lightly. knightley thus endorses a notion of “love” and marriage that is logical and controlled. when he speaks to emma early in the novel about her pur- ported matchmaking success with mr. and mrs. weston, knightley corrects her by stating that “a straight-forward, open-hearted man, like weston, and a rationally unaffected woman, like miss taylor, may be safely left to manage their own concerns” (11). he is convinced that men and women do indeed acquire strong sentiments for each other, and yet, he speaks about these feel- ings as neither mysterious nor turbulent. Instead, knightley imagines love relationships as rational associations that can be reasonably negotiated.11 he specifically informs mr. woodhouse and the heroine that he cannot regret mrs. weston’s departure from hartfield “when it comes to the question of dependence or independence!—at any rate, it must be better to have only one to please, than two” (8). knightley openly supports the marriage of emma’s former attendant not because of her strong love for mr. weston but because the union promises to reduce mrs. weston’s domestic workload; it is, according to the hero, eminently logical for mrs. weston to marry, as she will now have fewer people to serve. he announces a similar view of mar- Kramp_final.indb 120 1/12/2007 2:53:19 PM r e m a k I n g e n g l I s h m a n h o o d / 1 2 1 riage when he discovers emma’s plan to match elton with harriet. knightley instructs the heroine that “men of sense, whatever you may chuse to say, do not want silly wives” (58). he adds that elton specifically is “a very good sort of man . . . not at all likely to make an imprudent match. he knows the value of a good income as well as anybody. elton may talk sentimentally, but he will act rationally” (59). knightley upholds marriage as a rational endeavor with prominent financial implications, and he recognizes, per the discourses of wollstonecraft and other enlightenment feminists, that male lovers make unreasonable husbands.12 knightley’s regulated approach to love prevents his deterritorialization and thus allows him to maintain a fused finitude throughout the novel, but this rational view of such emotion also leads him to misunderstand impas- sioned behavior. for example, late in the novel, the hero incorrectly construes frank’s mysterious actions as indicators of the young man’s strong feelings for the heroine. once he convinces himself of frank’s courtship of emma, he plans a trip to london to visit his brother, but before leaving he stops at hartfield to confront the heroine. austen reports that knightley “looked at [emma] with a glow of regard. . . . he took her hand . . . and certainly was on the point of carrying it to his lips––when, from some fancy or other, he suddenly let it go” (349).13 austen carefully portrays this scene to provide a glimpse of possible reciprocated feelings between knightley and emma, but she also highlights the hero’s reluctance to voice his sentiments or pursue physical desire. the narrator concludes that knightley and emma “parted thorough friends, however; [emma] could not be deceived as to the meaning of his countenance, and his unfinished gallantry;––it was all done to assure her that she had fully recovered his good opinion” (350). emma interprets the hero’s actions as a reassuring sign of his pseudo-fraternal friendship; and upon reconsideration, she views his behavior not as an indication of strong amorous feeling but as a reassurance of his benevolent approval. knightley reverts to his identity as a fraternal guardian of the heroine and quickly departs her company to prevent any spontaneous amorous exchanges. knightley may leave highbury to remove himself from impulsive interac- tions with the heroine that could destabilize his mechanic masculinity, but his trip to london actually serves to show the hero how modern marital relations can allow a structured man to ensure his continued stability in the tumultuous culture of the nineteenth century. upon his return, knightley “accidentally” meets emma on her walk, and “for a moment or two nothing was said . . . till she found her arm drawn within his, and pressed against his heart” (385–86). after attempting to con- sole emma for the disappointment he assumes she must feel following the announced engagement of frank and Jane, he speaks of his own interests Kramp_final.indb 121 1/12/2007 2:53:19 PM 1 2 2 / c h a P t e r 6 and asks the heroine, “tell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding?” (389–90). austen repeats this pathetic image of the supplicant knightley as she narrates his endeavor to propose to the heroine, “I cannot make speech- es, emma. . . . If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am.––You hear nothing but truth from me” (390). nancy armstrong argues that knightley’s proposal speech “is a renunciation of the conventional language of love” (151). But knightley renounces nothing; his truncated attempt to express his sentiments is instead a manifestation of his disciplined sexuality that cannot risk deploying the destabilizing powers of love. austen’s mechanized hero cannot follow deleuze’s instruction to “[open himself] up to love and desire (rather than the whining need to be loved that leads everyone to the psychoanalyst)” (“a letter to a harsh critic” 10). knightley accepts the ordered finitude that ensures his modernity. he becomes an influential example of the diluted yet structured modern male. knightley values security, familiarity, and continuity; his disciplined sexual- ity restricts his potential to love, and his close regulation allows him to craft a fused masculinity to bridge the gaps between Burke’s ancestral model of maleness, the enlightenment conception of the proper english man, and the needs of the modernizing nation. emma understands the ramifications of knightley’s mechanical sexu- ality, and rather than forcing her longtime companion to enunciate his regard, she quickly responds to his feeble entreaty. austen narrates that the heroine “spoke then, on being so entreated.––what did she say?––Just what she ought, of course. a lady always does.––she said enough to show there need not be despair––and to invite him to say more himself ” (391). austen’s witty commentary circumvents the need to discuss openly a proposal and subsequent acceptance. this scene, moreover, details emma’s careful man- agement of the cautious hero; she encourages her “lover” and convinces him of his inevitable success. the narrator quickly explains that “within half an hour, [knightley] had passed from a thoroughly distressed state of mind, to something so like perfect happiness, that it could bear no other name” (392). austen portrays our hero as an obsessive intellectual who has successfully managed to resolve tensions in his mind; knightley is allowed to be happy, but austen is careful to note that “no other name” could be applied to the hero’s experience. austen adds to the strangeness of this aborted proposal scene when she informs us that knightley had traveled to london “to learn to be indifferent.––But he had gone to a wrong place. there was too much domestic happiness in his brother’s house; women wore too amiable a form in it; Isabella was too much like emma” (392). these comments imply that knightley finally decided to voice his long-established feelings for the heroine not because he experienced a romantic epiphany, but because of the striking likeness he recently observed between emma and Isabella. his Kramp_final.indb 122 1/12/2007 2:53:19 PM r e m a k I n g e n g l I s h m a n h o o d / 1 2 3 “love” for emma is reignited by a desire for a woman like Isabella—and the hegemonic stability she promotes for the modern english man. knightley convinces himself that if his brother—a man from the same ancestral fam- ily—can exist safely as a married man in the modern urban world of lon- don, he might certainly enjoy security in highbury—as long as he marries a woman who will protect his continued sexual security by valuing ancestral customs and prevent any destabilizing eruption of desire. once knightley has persuaded himself of the safety of a marriage to emma, he does directly declare his love for her. Indeed, he announces, “[I] have been in love with you ever since you were thirteen at least” (419).14 this comment is troubling for many reasons. first, if this claim is true, knightley developed his affection for the heroine when she was likely still a prepubescent, reminding us of the hero’s disassociation of romantic love from sexual desire. his shocking declaration, moreover, demonstrates his perpetual inability to act on his emotions, as it has taken him eight years to vocalize his ostensibly strong feelings. knightley’s long-term relationship with emma and the woodhouse family reduces the potential volatility of his “love,” and as marriage will cause little to no change in his relationship with the heroine, he should be able to maintain indefinitely his well-ordered masculinity. emma also reflects on their lengthy relationship and notes that knightley “had loved her, and watched over her from a girl.” she adds, “let him but continue the same mr. knightley to her and her father, the same mr. knightley to all the world; let donwell and hartfield lose none of their pre- cious intercourse of friendship and confidence, and her peace would be fully secured” (376–77). emma wants to preserve knightley as stable and finite, and her comments suggest her understanding that his stability is indeed vital to the continued contentment of their society. late in the story, emma iterates her concern with knightley’s secured identity. following the hero’s request that emma “call [him] something else,” the heroine insists, “Impossible!––I never can call you any thing but ‘mr. knightley’” (420). he must remain the same mr. knightley to placate his wife, but his deliberate consistency also allows him to craft and sustain a regulated sexuality that fuses traditional and modern features of hegemonic english masculinity, eschews the destabilizing emotions of erotic love, and serves as a poignant example of the disciplined modern man. austen ends her tale by reporting that “the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predic- tions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union” (440). austen empha- sizes not the love between the hero and heroine but the fulfilled expectations of the friends who attended the wedding. love is absent, while social desires are satisfied, modernity is accepted, and knightley’s finite masculinity is secured. Kramp_final.indb 123 1/12/2007 2:53:19 PM Virginia woolf ’s comment on Persuasion has prompted numerous critics to explore the novelty of austen’s final completed narrative.1 this scholarly emphasis on the freshness of Persuasion has in turn encouraged readers of austen to view her prior five tales as familiar stories that commemorate the stability of england. austen’s novels, however, persistently question the secu- rity of the nation’s ancestral order, and as we have seen, she exposes one fea- ture of this social insecurity by dramatizing a crisis of english masculinity. her works reveal a cultural anxiety about both england’s future male leaders and the decay of its ostensibly established men. Northanger Abbey depicts the consequences of henry tilney’s disciplined adherence to enlightenment dic- tates of rationality and the tyrannical behavior of general tilney. Sense and Sensibility narrates the inability of mr. John dashwood to sustain the unity of his landed family following the death of his father and details the struggles of Brandon and willoughby to train their sensibilities. Pride and Prejudice highlights the final exemplar of the crumbling english aristocracy, but it also prefigures a newly emerging class of men associated with trade, upon whom england must now depend for important civic contributions. Mansfield Park offers perhaps the most powerful image of the collapse of ancestral conven- C h a P T e r 7 imagining Malleable Masculinity and radical nomadism in Persuasion  �24 History is always written from the sedentary point of view and in the name of a unitary State apparatus, at least a possible one, even when the topic is nomads. What is lack- ing is a Nomadology, the opposite of history. (Deleuze and Guattari, a Thousand Plateaus 23) Revolutionaries often forget, or do not like to recognize, that one wants and makes revo- lution out of desire, not duty. (Deleuze and Guattari, anti-Oedipus 366) There is a new element in Persuasion. [Austen] is beginning to discover that the world is larger, more mysterious, and more romantic than she had supposed. (Woolf 204) Kramp_final.indb 124 1/12/2007 2:53:19 PM I m a g I n I n g m a l l e a B l e m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 2 5 tions; this dark novel prefigures the fall of the Bertram family and portrays edmund’s incestuous efforts to maintain some sense of religious integrity, genteel masculinity, and an inherited cultural structure. Emma presents a world that has begun to accept the impending social transformation of the post-revolutionary nation and illustrates how even Burkean men can successfully adapt to modernity. austen’s corpus has been concerned with england’s transition to modernity throughout, and, thus, her last text is not a radically new direction for austen; Persuasion continues austen’s depiction of this cultural shift that marks the early decades of the nineteenth century, but the novel also offers a portrait of a new kind of english man—a man who dismisses conventional modes of masculinity developed by Burke and enlightenment thinkers in favor of a malleable sexuality that embraces the radical fluidity and social/sexual instability engendered by deleuzian love and desire. wentworth, like knightley, adapts conventional modes of english mas- culinity to the culture’s recent innovations, but unlike the hero of Emma, wentworth eventually relinquishes his reliance on the security of modern finitude to pursue volatile sensations. knightley understands that he must adjust his aristocratic masculinity to participate actively in a post-revolu- tionary culture. In Persuasion, wentworth ultimately realizes that english society must necessarily become disciplinary as it continues to modern- ize; the naval captain opts to seek an alternative maritime existence char- acterized by movement and deregulation. his love for anne exposes the disordered diversity of his masculinity, and with the heroine he seeks out a nautical lifestyle that does not depend upon the customs, organizational systems, or philosophical dictates upheld by post-revolutionary discourses. the marriage between hero and heroine that ends Persuasion imagines a new world in which individuals prefer the complexity and dynamism of them- selves and others to the stability and security sought by austen’s other men. the marital union of anne and wentworth does not negate their identities as sailor and wife; they remain subjects of early-nineteenth-century england, and their social/sexual identities as sailor and wife are integral to the success of the modernizing nation. their marriage is, however, both a reaction to and a revolution against the antiquated world of england’s ancestral culture, represented by the eroding world of mansfield, the inertness of mr. wood- house, and the decadent lifestyle of sir walter. the hero and heroine are not interested in the egoism and predictability of a stable hall of mirrors; they search out alterity and perpetual change. wentworth’s volatile love for anne enables him to pursue what deleuze and guattari term “nomadic waves or flows of deterritorialization” (A Thousand Plateaus 53). while knightley’s reliance on the unifying effect of modern subjectivity necessitates his reter- Kramp_final.indb 125 1/12/2007 2:53:20 PM 1 2 6 / c h a P t e r 7 ritorialization, wentworth’s passion for the heroine allows him to evade the regulatory forces of post-revolutionary civilization and embrace the waves and flows of the sea—even as he remains on land.2 wentworth’s dynamic and malleable masculinity is especially promi- nent because of the pathetic status of other men in the novel; the ancestral english society that has been faltering throughout austen’s works has now reached the critical stage of decadence, and the male leaders of this society in Persuasion are marked by such decay. austen may foreground the atrophy of aristocratic masculinity at the novel’s start, as sir walter begins the narrative by reading from the Baronetage of “a still-born son, nov. 5, 1789” (9). this “still” death of the potential elliot heir symbolizes both the cessation of the integral family line and the demise of an ancestral masculinity cherished by Burke, the Bertrams, and sir elliot. Burke’s vision of a sustained connection to the nation’s heritage has failed; the elliot heritage must now accept exter- nal influences, as its men literally and metaphorically have become still and impotent. Burke’s worst fears are now realized; as he muses in his Reflections, “all is to be changed. all the pleasing illusions, which made power gentle, and obedience liberal, which harmonized the different shades of life, and which, by a bland assimilation, incorporated into politics the sentiments which beautify and soften private society, are to be dissolved” (128). the powerful yet gentle aristocratic english men who administered the nation’s inherited hegemonic culture are putrefying. austen’s text specifically demonstrates the inability of sir elliot and his heir to accept modern social developments, including new kinds of identities and relations. Persuasion portrays the ancestral man of england in a state of decay that is distinct from the desper- ate nostalgia of the Bertram males and the benign idiocy of mr. woodhouse; moreover, the traditional culture that had buttressed such archaic men is now itself deteriorating, exposing the crass artifice that once solidified the hegemonic function of aristocratic men. austen immediately prefigures the death of Burke’s model of the english man with her character sketch of the novel’s extant practitioner of such archaic male sexuality. sir walter is the paragon of this decaying masculinity, and as the narrator explains, “vanity was the beginning and the end of [his] character, vanity of person and of situation” (10). he is only able to navigate the world through his own egotistical concerns, and his egoism prevents him from appreciating alterity. his ignorance in isolation even threatens the sustainability of the domestic domain that secures his aristocratic standing.3 when his decadent lifestyle leads to a substantial debt that forces him to have action taken, he allows his lawyer to rent his ancestral home to admi- ral and mrs. croft, who have recently returned from the war with france. Kramp_final.indb 126 1/12/2007 2:53:20 PM I m a g I n I n g m a l l e a B l e m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 2 7 lady russell reflects on this decision and offers an informative comment on both sir walter and post-revolutionary england’s aristocratic community. she muses, “what will he be doing, in fact, but what very many of our first families have done,––or ought to do?––there will be nothing singular in his case” (18). lady russell’s remarks reveal the publicly recognized demise of england’s traditional culture; it is no longer anomalous for aristocratic fami- lies to rent their estates to individuals of new money. the ancestral domestic sphere that once symbolized the historical power of england’s elite, à la Permberley, has been abandoned and transformed into an equity-produc- ing investment. and unlike knightley’s move from donwell to hartfield, the elliots are forced to leave their ancestral home out of financial exigencies and must now assume rented quarters. the impending heir of kellynch, sir william walter elliot, initially appears to share sir walter’s disinterest in preserving the cultural legacy of the family estate.4 he married a woman of new money prior to the start of the narrative, but the narrator indicates that he is now interested in renew- ing his connections with his relations by marrying one of his single cousins. anne, his presumed choice as a second wife, provides a prominent commen- tary on her cousin, explaining that he “was rational, discreet, polished,––but he was not open. there was never any burst of feeling, any warmth of indig- nation or delight, at the evil or good of others.” the narrataor concludes that “this, to anne, was a decided imperfection” (152). austen continually highlights mr. elliot’s ability to perform standard enlightenment rationality and predictable Burkean gallantries, but like knightley his behavior is hack- neyed and mechanical—devoid of dynamism and spontaneity. mr. elliot appreciates the utility of both chivalric and rational activities as strategies that enable him to achieve egotistical ends. austen presents mr. elliot as the future of the male aristocracy. her portrayal of the territorialized kellynch heir reveals how social dictates for appropriate english maleness have disci- plined his body and desires. his pursuit of new money only promoted his reterritorialization, as he now must return to his ancestral family to acquire new monetary resources through a sanctioned marriage. the narrator’s initial portrait of wentworth appears strikingly similar to her sketch of mr. elliot: wentworth is ambitious and industrious, and he focuses his energies around the pursuit of anne. In austen’s retrospective account of wentworth and anne’s early relationship, the narrator casts her hero as a charming romantic figure who is both confident and enthusiastic; however, Persuasion’s account of the early trials of wentworth reminds us that fabulously romantic men like darcy are no longer viable. we learn that almost eight years ago, wentworth, “not immediately employed, had come Kramp_final.indb 127 1/12/2007 2:53:20 PM 1 2 8 / c h a P t e r 7 into somersetshire. . . . he was, at that time, a remarkably fine young man, with a great deal of intelligence, spirit and brilliancy” (29). austen notes that anne and wentworth “were gradually acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly and deeply in love” (30). the narrator momentarily adopts the style and narrative technique of sir walter scott’s popular romances: wentworth is a mysterious yet common man who has ingratiated himself to a wealthy and powerful family; he is “a young man, who had nothing but himself to recommend him, and no hopes of attaining affluence, but in the chances of a most uncertain profession, and no connexions to secure even his farther rise in that profession . . . a stranger without alliance or fortune” (30). austen casts her hero as a humble man with lofty aspirations who, like mr. elliot, eagerly seeks advancement. not surprisingly, wentworth auditions various conventional modes of english masculinity in order to achieve hegemonic social/sexual security. despite his mundane and fortuneless status, wentworth adopts the optimism advocated by enlightenment thinkers like godwin and embod- ied by men like gardiner and Bingley; at other times, it is tempting to view wentworth as a devoted man of reason like henry tilney. wentworth indeed initially appears to support godwin’s claim that “fortitude is a habit of mind that grows out of a sense of our independence.” austen’s hero, like godwin, believes in the preeminence of the independent man, and he is con- fident of his ability to advance himself by “consulting and providing for his own subsistence” (Enquiry II: 10). austen, likewise, explains that “captain wentworth had no fortune. . . . But, he was confident that he should soon be rich;—full of life and ardour, he knew that he should soon have a ship, and soon be on a station that would lead to every thing he wanted.” he fol- lows the model of Jacobin heroes who remain convinced in the efficacy of their individual desires and efforts. while anne is attracted to this impres- sive young man and specifically admires his “confidence,” lady russell, the heroine’s trusted advisor, translates wentworth’s “confidence” as a “sanguine temper, and fearlessness of mind”; she concludes that although he “was bril- liant, he was headstrong” (30–31).5 the same brash enthusiasm that godwin champions and lures anne frightens the cautious lady russell, who per- suades our heroine to dismiss the ambitious but financially insecure sailor. wentworth promptly “[leaves] the country in consequence,” but he does not immediately abandon his commitment to conventional modes of english masculinity (31). he no longer appears as a mysterious romantic hero, but austen continues to present her hero as an industrious man who has earned his wealth and merit. austen’s stereotypical early depictions of wentworth have led critics like andrew h. wright to argue that the hero is often obsessed with “over- Kramp_final.indb 128 1/12/2007 2:53:20 PM I m a g I n I n g m a l l e a B l e m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 2 9 conventionality” (151). he appears briefly as a romantic figure and soon adopts enlightenment dictates of self-improvement; Jocelyn harris even dubs wentworth the descendant of the archetypal conservative patriarch, sir charles grandison. harris explains that wentworth’s “dashing naval career displays the martial hero,” and “his rescue of anne from the suffocating embraces of the child or his concern for her fatigue are knightly and gentle enough” (204). wentworth can perform and adopt various conventional mas- culine behaviors, and austen’s early portraits of the young man demonstrate how he benefits from such hegemonic male identities. Indeed, wentworth enjoys the success promised by the enlightenment’s advocacy of individual industry and improvement. austen announces that “all his sanguine expec- tations, all his confidence had been justified. his genius and ardour had seemed to foresee and to command his prosperous path. . . . he had distin- guished himself, and early gained the other step in rank––and must now, by successive captures, have made a handsome fortune” (33).6 wentworth, like the farmers of Jacobin novels, has labored to garner his success, but unlike such agricultural men and austen’s own aspiring men like Bingley, gar- diner, and mr. weston, wentworth has achieved his accomplishments while serving in the navy, and the national importance of his service enhances the value of his body and industry. wentworth has obtained access to the national community by serving the national community, and the turbulent instability of the war-ridden seas proves vital to his social/sexual subjectivity. while his active duty in the military involved great efforts and industri- ous labor associated with the enlightenment ideal of english masculinity, wentworth reverts to hyper-conventional chivalric behavior upon his return to england. during his visit to uppercross, austen casts her hero as a chival- ric figure who can behave gallantly and perform noble deeds. the miss mus- groves are promptly enamored of wentworth. they speak of his “pleasant manner” that they believe demonstrated how “he felt all the motive of their attention just as he ought,” and they observe that “he had looked and said every thing with such exquisite grace” (55). the miss musgroves conceive of our hero as an elegant man, and their family finds “charming manners in captain wentworth, no shyness or reserve” (59). the miss musgroves’ comments remind us of harris’s assertion that austen presents wentworth as the next grandison; moreover, the young women’s remarks also recall Burke’s model of a gallant and sensible man. wentworth’s charming early behavior at uppercross more closely resembles Burke’s portrait of an effete military man whom wollstonecraft rebukes than the virile man idealized by the feminist thinker. austen’s portrayal of her hero suggests that he is both knowledgeable of Burke’s model of masculinity and is capable of rehearsing chivalric behavior; he even joins charles musgrove on various gentlemanly Kramp_final.indb 129 1/12/2007 2:53:20 PM 1 3 0 / c h a P t e r 7 shooting expeditions. he also maintains this chivalric persona when he encounters anne. during a visit with the crofts, wentworth apologizes to anne for almost assuming her chair, reciting, “I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat.” austen reports that “though [anne] immediately drew back with a decided negative, he was not to be induced to sit down again.” wentworth rehearses conventional chivalric masculinity, and even persists in the appropriateness of his actions, but the narrator explains that “anne did not wish for more of such looks and speeches. . . . [his] cold politeness, his ceremonious grace” (72). anne’s reflections indicate both her dislike of gallant rituals and the visibly artificial nature of wentworth’s performance. austen’s most explicit comment on wentworth’s hyper-conventional behavior follows her hero’s eager announcement of his intentions to marry. austen relates: “it was now [wentworth’s] object to marry. he was rich, and being turned on shore, fully intended to settle as soon as he could be prop- erly tempted . . . ready to fall in love with all the speed which a clear head and quick taste could allow” (62). he presents his impending marriage as the final step in confirming his hegemonic status as a stable and successful english man. wentworth informs his sister that he is “quite ready to make a foolish match. any body between fifteen and thirty may have me for asking. a little beauty, and a few smiles, and a few compliments to the navy, and I am a lost man” (62). wentworth appears willing to behave irrationally, but he is nonetheless methodical in his planning. he will act foolishly for the purpose of acquiring the wife who will secure his standing as an established english man; moreover, the qualities he desires in his future wife reveal the conflicted and synthetic nature of his own masculinity. wentworth explains to his sister that he seeks a woman who will have “a strong mind, with sweet- ness of manner” (62). austen’s naval hero imagines his appropriate wife as a hybrid female who is not only confident and intellectual but also tender and sensitive. his insistence that his spouse should be firm of mind recalls the male behavior advocated by wollstonecraft, while his belief that a woman must be tender and sensitive reflects Burke’s investment in female delicacy. Johnson points out that wentworth “is in fact caught within highly charged tensions about women’s manners, and his description of the ideal woman is oxymoronic, because however much he may desire ‘strength’ in women, he considers it essentially inconsistent with the sweetness he also exacts” (Jane Austen 150). Johnson is correct to emphasize wentworth’s “oxymoronic” expectations for a future wife; and while such expectations demonstrate the contrarieties of proper english femininity, they also allow austen to highlight wentworth’s adherence to diverse models of conventional english maleness. Kramp_final.indb 130 1/12/2007 2:53:20 PM I m a g I n I n g m a l l e a B l e m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 3 1 wentworth rearticulates his chivalric attitudes toward women when he asserts that he “would never willingly admit any ladies on board a ship of his” because he believes it is impossible “with all one’s efforts, and all one’s sacrifices, to make the accommodations on board, such as women ought to have.” wentworth affirms an archaic notion of fragile femininity and responds to his brother-in-law’s harsh rebukes by asserting that “there can be no want of gallantry . . . in rating the claims of women to every personal comfort high” (68). wentworth defends the actions of a chivalric man who protects and pampers elegant women, but his sister promptly critiques his antiquated views. mrs. croft chides wentworth, dubbing his ideas about women’s need for elaborate accommodations as “all idle refinement” (68). she instructs him, “I hate to hear you talking so, like a fine gentleman, and as if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures” (69). mrs. croft’s comments directly address the hero’s conventional behavior; he has been acting like a fine gentleman, and his sister identifies this performance as artificial. admiral croft concludes that when wentworth “has got a wife, he will sing a different tune. when he is married. . . . we shall have him very thankful to any body that will bring him his wife” (69). wentworth will not allow such patronizing predictions and immediately declares, “now I have done. . . . when once married people begin to attack me with, ‘oh! you will think differently, when you are married,’ I can only say, ‘no, I shall not;’ and then they say again, ‘Yes, you will,’ and there is an end of it.” (69–70). wentworth’s closing remarks in this discussion may appear trite, but they effectively illustrate the artificiality of his sexual identity; he knows he is rehearsing established modes of masculinity, and his comments expose the routine he must execute. and yet, while austen’s other heroes learn to accept such territorialized roles and the disciplined existences they ensure, went- worth eventually recognizes the inherent discipline of his territorialization and learns to deterritorialize himself from such social/sexual regulations. But wentworth is able to accomplish his deterritorialization only because of his love relationship with anne, and in the early portions of the narrative the hero is still a bitter individual who appears as a stereotypical melancholic man; the narrator notes that “he had not forgiven anne elliot. she had used him ill; deserted and disappointed him” (62). anne is also conscious of wentworth’s resentment, and austen relates that her heroine “felt the utter impossibility, from her knowledge of his mind, that he could be unvisited by remembrance any more than herself. there must be the same immediate association of thought, though she was very far from conceiving it to be of equal pain” (63). anne is certain that wentworth maintains strong memories of their earlier romance, and her belief proves true when wentworth unex- Kramp_final.indb 131 1/12/2007 2:53:21 PM 1 3 2 / c h a P t e r 7 pectedly encounters the heroine at her sister’s home. austen narrates, “the surprise of finding himself almost alone with anne elliot, deprived his man- ners of their usual composure” (78). this scene serves as our first indication of wentworth’s extant feelings for the heroine; his sensations overwhelm his composed behavior, revealing cracks in his sexuality that well-regulated men like knightley or mr. elliot would never allow to become visible. wen- tworth is discomposed because of his powerful amorous emotions for the heroine—emotions that deleuze and guattari suggest prompt individuals to divulge “the multiplicities [the beloved] encloses within himself or herself which may be of an entirely different nature. to join them to mine, to make them penetrate mine, and for me to penetrate the other person’s” (Thousand Plateaus 35). wentworth’s passions for the heroine enable him to unveil and accept the diversity of anne and disclose his own multiplicity. the artificial singularity and crafted security of his subjectivity become engulfed by the malleability he comes to embrace within himself and his lover. wentworth is indeed susceptible to the potency of amorous emotions, and while he clings to conventional male behavior early in the novel, austen soon presents him acting as neither a Burkean man nor a coldly rational individual. for example, when he finds anne hampered by her ill-tempered nephew, he removes the young boy from her back. austen relates that anne “found herself in the state of being released from [the child]; some one was taking him from her.” she is surprised to find that wentworth has been her “rescuer,” and the narrator stresses both “his kindness in stepping forward to her relief ” and “the silence in which it had passed” (79). wentworth’s benevolent action does not follow the conventions of chivalric heroism or sentimental masculinity; rather, his is a quiet deed of concern. he behaves in a similar manner during the return from their lengthy walk to the hayters. anne relates that “she saw how her own character was considered by cap- tain wentworth; and there had been just that degree of feeling and curiosity about her in his manner, which must give her extreme agitation” (87). his feeling leads him to arrange for anne to ride home from the outing with the beneficent crofts. austen informs us that “captain wentworth, without saying a word, turned to her, and quietly obliged her to be assisted into the carriage.” anne is clearly affected by this gesture of kindness and reflects, “though condemning her for the past . . . he could not see her suffer, without the desire of giving her relief. It was a remainder of former sentiment” (89). wentworth’s gestures are marked by neither virility nor heroism; he does not carry anne or provide her with a pristine transportation. and yet his actions are also not the result of rational deliberations; he instead demon- strates compassion for anne. wentworth’s behavior reminds us of foucault’s theory of the aesthetic of the existence, which “implies complex relation- Kramp_final.indb 132 1/12/2007 2:53:21 PM I m a g I n I n g m a l l e a B l e m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 3 3 ships with others insofar [that] this ethos of freedom is also a way of caring for others” (“the ethics” 287). austen prefigures how wentworth’s aesthetic is ultimately not egotistically organized around chivalric or enlightenment conventions of hegemonic masculinity; his social/sexual subjectivity instead revolves around his care for others—a compassion that enhances his ability to appreciate diversity in himself, others, and new physical locations. the artifice of wentworth’s early masculine performances deteriorates prominently during the expedition to lyme, where he reunites with his nomadic naval colleagues. his behavior becomes notably less conventional at this seaside locale, and as wentworth acts more freely he becomes more receptive of his own feelings for anne. Indeed, the atrophy of the hero’s rote masculinity appears to mirror the landscape of lyme, whose “principal street [is] almost hurrying into the water” (93). this mingling of earth and sea emblematizes austen’s depiction of the naval community and its ability to transfer the values of a maritime existence to a domestic setting. anne is very impressed by the hospitality of wentworth’s naval friends, and the heroine indicates that “nothing could be more pleasant than their desire of considering the whole party as friends of their own, because the friends of captain wentworth” (95). she is drawn to the unaffected charm of the har- villes, noting how different it is from “the usual style of give-and-take invi- tations, and dinners of formality and display” (96). the domesticated naval community, unlike anne’s antiquated family, is not interested in elaborate social gatherings; moreover, wentworth acts with a cordial simplicity and a sincere concern for others when he is surrounded by his naval colleagues. the men and women of the navy are not able to abandon social identities and regulations, but as roger sales argues, “the naval officers . . . inhabit a world which values comradeship or partnership” (182). wentworth’s friends, unlike Bingley or the coles, are not concerned with sustaining their recently elevated social positions; they instead, as tony tanner points out, “reconsti- tute a meaningful domesticity, re-create the idea of home, [and] ultimately redefine the notion of society itself ” (224). austen’s portrayal of the navy anticipates both a new kind of domestic life and new social possibilities that austen’s corpus had not earlier imagined. the naval community revises the standard hegemonic function of the domestic sphere. the men of the navy have already solidified their importance in the nation; thus, they have no need to establish their sexual stability by maintaining hegemonic control at home. and while harville and Benwick cling to various conventional con- ceptions about men and women, austen highlights the geniality of the men and women of the naval community. austen favorably presents the naval community as nomadic packs; its members are not tied to specific domestic settings or tethered to structured Kramp_final.indb 133 1/12/2007 2:53:21 PM 1 3 4 / c h a P t e r 7 social identities. deleuze and guattari theorize that nomads exist and move as packs in which they enjoy “absolute movement.” they explain that “nomads have no points, paths, or land, even though they do by all appear- ances” (Thousand Plateaus 381). austen’s portrayal of wentworth’s naval comrades emphasizes their versatility and acceptance of diverse experiences and people; they welcome unknown visitors without reservation, and do not conceive of their “home” as a fixed point of stasis. this radical flexibility and open reception of others displayed by the navy accentuates the conventional- ity of wentworth’s earlier actions. moreover, his reunion with the harvilles also allows us to appreciate wentworth’s compassion for his maritime friends. we learn, through anne’s conversation with captain harville, of the hero’s dutiful and empathetic service to the melancholic Benwick.7 follow- ing the death of Benwick’s fiancée, fanny harville, wentworth offered to inform his friend of the deplorable news. harville tells anne that “nobody could do it, but that good fellow, (pointing to captain wentworth). . . . [he] travelled night and day till he got to Portsmouth, rowed off to the grappler that instant, and never left the poor fellow for a week” (105). harville’s story suggests the hero’s knowledge of the tradition of male sentiment, but this account also reminds us how wentworth’s care for others in the nomadic naval pack is an integral feature of his aesthetic of existence. wentworth’s care of his self involves his concern for others, and his time in lyme prompts him to reconsider the care he has displayed toward louisa musgrove. louisa’s near-tragic fall from the lyme cobb encourages wentworth to reevaluate his relationship with the young woman as well as his conventional and contradictory expectations for women. he previously informed louisa that his “first wish for all, whom I am interested in, is that they should be firm,” but when the young woman announces her intention to jump a second time from the seaside wall, the hero “advised her against it, [he] thought the jar too great” (86). louisa, however, persists, and jumping “too precipitate by half a second . . . was taken up lifeless!” wentworth is shocked by louisa’s fall and looks upon her “with a face as pallid as her own, in an agony of silence” (106). the hero endures an overwhelming emotional experience, while anne illustrates her resourcefulness by calling for a surgeon. wentworth “caught the word; it seemed to rouse him at once, and saying only ‘true, true, a sur- geon this instant’” (107). louisa is not well served by wentworth’s conflict- ing desires for female firmness and delicacy—neither her strength nor her fragility prevents her fall. anne’s adaptability, however, enables the heroine to manage this moment of crisis and disruption. her actions simulate the versatility required of the naval community, and wentworth appreciates her flexibility. he even requests that anne remain with the harvilles to assist in Kramp_final.indb 134 1/12/2007 2:53:21 PM I m a g I n I n g m a l l e a B l e m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 3 5 the care of louisa, explaining, “if anne will stay, no one so proper, so capable as anne! . . . You will stay, I am sure; you will stay and nurse her’; cried he, turning to her and speaking with a glow, and yet a gentleness, which seemed almost restoring the past” (111). while the visit to lyme begins with anne’s admiration of wentworth’s naval community, by the end of their outing wentworth observes the maritime values of the heroine. the lovers had earlier ceased their relations because of severe class distinctions, but anne and wentworth now appear comfortable with the social/sexual subjectivities allowed by a nomadic lifestyle. austen highlights the effects of wentworth’s sustained affection for anne following his arrival in Bath.8 when he first encounters the heroine in Bath, the narrator records that “he was more obviously struck and confused by the sight of [anne], than she had ever observed before; he looked quite red.” austen adds that “[t]ime had changed him, or louisa had changed him. there was consciousness of some sort or other. he looked very well, not as if he had been suffering in health or spirits . . . yet it was captain wentworth not comfortable, not easy, not able to feign that he was” (166). wentworth is again discomposed by anne; the “multiplicities of multiplicities” that, according to deleuze and guattari, become manifest in a love relationship, inhibit the hero from sustaining himself as a stable man. the familiar con- ventions of male behavior upon which wentworth had previously relied to orchestrate his conduct are no longer functional. his passion for anne over- whelms such models of hegemonic english masculinity; he suddenly lacks an organizing mechanism around which to order his sexuality, and while he offers anne his umbrella to protect her during a walk in the rain, he does not protest when she refuses. he quickly abandons his chivalric routine, as he does when anne later spots the hero amongst a group of naval officers. the narrator relates that he “was preparing only to bow and pass on, but [anne’s] gentle ‘how do you do?’ brought him out of the straight line to stand near her, and make enquiries in return, in spite of the formidable father and sister in the back ground” (171). his feelings for anne prevent him from reverting to secure/securing modes of english masculinity like austen’s other men; he has allowed love “to abolish [the] subjectification” that deleuze and guattari claim leads individuals to assume territorial- ized modes of disciplined behavior (Thousand Plateaus 134).9 deleuze and guattari argue that “every love is an exercise in depersonalization on a body without organs yet to be formed” (Thousand Plateaus 35). austen empha- sizes wentworth’s disavowal of conventional masculine artifice that would establish him as a hegemonic social/sexual subject in favor of the malleable masculinity devoid of regulatory structures like machines or organs. the Kramp_final.indb 135 1/12/2007 2:53:21 PM 1 3 6 / c h a P t e r 7 narrator reports that the heroine “was expecting him to go every moment; but he did not; he seemed in no hurry to leave her” (172).10 he again dem- onstrates his sustained care for anne—a concern that remains integral to the development of his own aesthetic of existence. the heroine recognizes his compassion and concludes that “all, all declared that he had a heart returning to her at least; that anger, resentment, avoidance, were no more; and that they were succeeded, not merely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness of the past; yes, some share of the tenderness of the past. she could not contemplate the change as implying less.—he must love her” (175). anne, unlike emma and fanny, does not imagine her husband as a guardian or friend; anne presents the hero as a committed and passionate lover who risks his security by revealing his emotions. wentworth is sensi- tive to the depersonalizing forces of desire and their effects upon both him and his beloved. while anne is confident of wentworth’s love, the hero must negotiate one final obstacle before he can enunciate his feelings for the heroine. mr. elliot’s inconsistent courtship of anne causes wentworth notable anxiety during the latter portion of the novel. the hero initially observes a strange familiarity between the heroine and her family heir during the lyme outing, but his concern escalates following the concert in Bath.11 during intermission, the narrator reports that anne and wentworth were engaged in a cordial dialogue, and the hero “even looked down towards the bench, as if he saw a place on it well worth occupying”; however, “at that moment, a touch on her shoulder obliged anne to turn round.––It came from mr. elliot.” mr. elliot’s ill-timed request for an Italian translation greatly affects wentworth, who offers the heroine “a reserved yet hurried sort of farewell. ‘he must wish her good night. he was going––he should get home as fast as he could. . . . [t]here is nothing worth my staying for’” (180). wentworth’s recent expressions of sincere emotions have left him vulnerable to destabi- lizing experiences, including envy, which threaten his tenuous aesthetic of existence. he has exposed himself to a diversity of powerful feelings, and mr. elliot’s interruption compels the hero to revert to established models of masculine propriety to save face. anne is not long in discerning the reason for her lover’s abrupt departure: “Jealousy of mr. elliot! It was the only intel- ligible motive. captain wentworth jealous of her affection!” (180). went- worth’s conveyance of affection will prove essential to his efforts to deter- ritorialize himself from the social dictates for appropriate english maleness, but this brief scene illustrates how jealous sentiments easily encourage him to become reterritorialized by conventional modes of english masculinity. wentworth does not immediately dismiss the ceremonious male behavior that once again inhibits his ability to express emotions.12 austen brilliantly Kramp_final.indb 136 1/12/2007 2:53:21 PM I m a g I n I n g m a l l e a B l e m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 3 7 positions her hero struggling with envy while he quietly remains within ear- shot of anne’s discussion with harville on the duration of amorous feelings. wentworth takes this opportunity to author his climactic love letter in which he reveals the volatility of his passions for the heroine:13 I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own, than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago. dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. for you alone I think and plan. . . . I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. (223) wentworth adopts the language of a lover, using a vocabulary of passion unprecedented in austen’s earlier narratives. he announces the power of his extant feelings for anne—feelings that he claims have remained con- stant. he acknowledges his weak and embittered behavior that engendered resentment, but he also explains that anne—and not a post-revolutionary social discourse on appropriate maleness—serves as the sole motivation for his recent actions. he willingly admits that he is overwhelmed by his emotions for the heroine, and he again offers himself as a vulnerable lover. wentworth’s powerful revelation exposes the breadth of his emotions, and his exposure is both potent and dangerous: it illustrates the sincerity of his feelings, but it also promotes the instability and pliability of his sexuality. his letter is the most open disclosure of amorous emotion by any man in austen’s corpus, and his passionate expression proves vital to his deter- ritorialized, nomadic lifestyle. the narrative immediately foreshadows this unplanned movement when the hero, soon after delivering his letter, approaches anne and charles musgrove. charles inquires about went- worth’s intended direction, thinking he may be able to relinquish the duty of escorting anne; when charles asks, “captain wentworth, which way are you going? only to gay-street, or farther up the town?” wentworth promptly responds, “I hardly know” (226). wentworth’s lack of knowledge about his future plans prefigures his impending domestic life with anne—a life that will not be structured around definitively ordered plans or dictated by a decaying social system. Immediately following wentworth’s announcement of undirected movement, austen relates that the lovers “exchanged again those feelings and those promises which had once before seemed to secure every thing, but which had been followed by so many, many years of division Kramp_final.indb 137 1/12/2007 2:53:21 PM 1 3 8 / c h a P t e r 7 and estrangement. there they returned again into the past . . . more tender, more tried, more fixed in a knowledge of each other’s character, truth, and attachment; more equal to act, more justified in acting” (226–27). anne and wentworth renew their amorous emotions, but they are now more “tender” and “tried.” wentworth’s letter has clearly affected his lover, and the hero maintains that “of what he had then written, nothing was to be retracted or qualified. he persisted in having loved none but her.” wentworth even refer- ences his attempt to mask his passion for anne with artifice; he announces that “he had meant to forget her, and believed it to be done. he had imag- ined himself indifferent, when he had only been angry” (227). wentworth exposes both his constancy and his prior pretense. he openly declares his perpetual desire for the heroine, but he also admits his earlier efforts to obscure his volatile desire. wentworth is self-conscious about his earlier dependence upon con- ventional versions of english masculinity to shield himself from the diverse experiences engendered by love; moreover, he now willingly acts upon his desires for anne. wentworth explains that he traveled to Bath so that he “could at least put [himself] in the way of happiness.” he adds that in Bath “[he] could exert [himself], [he] could do something” (229). austen’s hero deliberately acts to pursue his own amorous desires, prominently distin- guishing himself from other men of austen’s corpus who happen upon love. his behavior is governed by love—not by enlightenment notions of rationality or Burkean conceptions of chivalry. he abandons such models of english masculinity and opens himself to the unpredictable flows of amo- rous desires when he questions, “was it unpardonable to think it worth my while to come? and to arrive with some degree of hope? You were single. It was possible that you might retain the feelings of the past, as I did” (229–30). wentworth identifies himself as lover of anne, and his deleuzian love allows him to reveal his own diversity, experience the multiplicity of his beloved, and evade the modern cultural discipline that urges men to create finite social/sexual subjectivities. wentworth’s openness even allows him to revisit his former feelings of bitterness toward the heroine. he tells anne that for many years he “could think of [her] only as one who had yielded, who had given [him] up, who had been influenced by any one rather than by [him]” (231). his confession reminds us of the hero’s prior reliance upon enlightenment notions of indi- vidual responsibility that instructed men and women to act as independent agents and earn their successes by laborious effort. he could fathom anne’s obedience to her family only as weakness, but he now admits, “I did not understand you. I shut my eyes, and would not understand you, or do you justice” (233). wentworth’s earlier strategy for managing his strong passions Kramp_final.indb 138 1/12/2007 2:53:22 PM I m a g I n I n g m a l l e a B l e m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 3 9 for anne required him to dismiss her behavior as irrational and unworthy, effectively protecting himself from his emotions for the heroine. he again discusses his past adherence to conventional enlightenment notions of merit and industry when he explains that he “[had] been used to the gratification of believing myself to earn every blessing that I enjoyed. I have valued myself on honourable toils and just rewards” (233). austen’s hero, like the farmers of Jacobin novels, felt that he could earn his rewards through toil, but as he concludes, he “like other great men under reverses . . . must endeavour to subdue my mind to my fortune. I must learn to brook being happier than I deserve” (233). wentworth’s emotional language illustrates the convention- ality of his previous mindset and behavior, but his love for anne negates the relevance of such cultural dictates. he realizes that he will now experience more happiness than either his individual industry merits or his rational capacity justifies. wentworth accepts an aesthetic of existence free from the regulations of enlightenment or Burkean codes of masculinity. he is nonetheless an established man, “with five-and-twenty thousand pounds, and as high in his profession as merit and activity could place him” (234). he is a professional sailor, and this social status ensures his participation in the nation; yet, unlike the other men of austen’s corpus, wentworth no longer depends upon a hegemonic social/sexual identity. his elastic aesthetic of existence instead revolves around a nautical lifestyle marked by nomadic flows and the care of himself and his lover.14 austen may prefigure such a migratory way of life by not placing anne and wentworth within a stable and permanent domestic setting. Prewitt Brown notes that “Persuasion is the only one of [austen’s] novels that ends with a vague ignorance of where the hero and heroine are going to live, and even of what the years will bring for them” (140). austen does not install anne and wentworth in a secure domain, but she does acknowledge the power of amorous emotions to guide their behavior. In classic austenian style, she questions, “who can be in doubt of what followed? when any two young people take it into their heads to marry, they are pretty sure by perse- verance to carry their point” (233). austen’s comment may appear strikingly similar to the witty quips that close many of her narratives, but this closing remark actually accentuates the potency of anne and wentworth’s desires. unlike the “lovers” of Northanger Abbey and Emma, anne and wentworth “carry their point”; they are not stalled by belated parental approval. In addition, austen does not qualify anne and wentworth’s happiness as she does for many of the marriages that close Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, and Pride and Prejudice. the future of Persuasion’s lovers is strikingly ambiguous, and the lack of their definitive plan reminds us of the undula- tions inherent in their maritime relationship. Kramp_final.indb 139 1/12/2007 2:53:22 PM 1 4 0 / c h a P t e r 7 austen’s closing remarks highlight both the radical movement and the powerful desires involved in wentworth and anne’s marriage. the narrator concludes that “anne was tenderness itself . . . [and] the dread of a future war all that could dim her sunshine. she gloried in being a sailor’s wife, but she must pay the tax of quick alarm for belonging to that profession, which is, if possible, more distinguished in its domestic virtues than in its national importance” (237). anne and wentworth accept the realities involved in their nautical existence, and according to austen, the values associated with this lifestyle are more important in the domestic sphere. wentworth and anne, however, are not rooted to a single domicile; they must instead accept the wisdom of mrs. croft’s prophecy that “none of us expect to be in smooth water all our days” (69). anne and wentworth’s acceptance of inevitable motion—and the radical malleability it requires—allows them the opportu- nity to seek a nomadic life, removed from the territorializing structures of a nation that is experiencing both decay and modernization. unlike austen’s prior couples, anne and wentworth do not uphold the relevance of an ancestral culture or attempt to advance enlightenment doctrines; they are always already prepared to leave the discipline of post-revolutionary eng- land. austen suggests throughout the novel that the lovers’ feelings for each other engender personal insecurity, and the close of the novel may anticipate the radical impact of their relationship upon english society. deleuze and guattari point out that “love and desire exhibit reactionary, or else revolu- tionary, indices . . . where persons give way to decoded flows of desire” (Anti- Oedipus 366). anne and wentworth do not, of course, organize aggressive countercultural movements, but they do embody potentially revolutionary desires for each other. they model a deleuzian existence that encourages men and women to pursue the multiplicity of love and the complexity of packs rather than hegemonic relationships and the organized discipline of modern england. austen does not provide us with a complete nomadology as theorized by deleuze and guattari, and yet she does offer an image of what such a nomadic life might entail, especially for sexualized lovers in a modern nation. deleuze and guattari explain that the “nomad can be called the deterritorialized par excellence, . . . because there is no reterritorialization afterward” (Thousand Plateaus 381). wentworth and anne serve as compelling examples of this migratory concept, as they avoid the reterritorizalization inherent in the acceptance of a stable domestic life. austen’s lovers resist the lure of social security in favor of the mobility of the sea, and as deleuze and guattari conclude, “the maximum deterritorialization appears in the tendency of maritime and commercial towns to separate off from the backcountry, from the countryside” (Thousand Plateaus 432). anne and wentworth achieve Kramp_final.indb 140 1/12/2007 2:53:22 PM I m a g I n I n g m a l l e a B l e m a s c u l I n I t y / 1 4 1 such separation from the reterritorializing forces of modern capitalism and post-revolutionary nationalism that encourage men and women to accept individualized and functional civic roles. wentworth and anne embrace both the dynamism of their malleable lifestyle and the destabilizing power of their love. wentworth specifically allows himself to experience amorous pas- sions, exposing the diversity of his masculinity; unlike austen’s other men, he does not fix his sexuality––it remains in flux and perpetually nomadic. he reveals, by expressing his amorous emotions for anne, the variety involved in his social/sexual subjectivity, and his awareness of this multiplicity enables him to live a nomadic existence with his wife, pursuing potentially revolu- tionary desires. Kramp_final.indb 141 1/12/2007 2:53:22 PM Kramp_final.indb 142 1/12/2007 2:53:22 PM austen’s initial portrait of wentworth highlights his masculine convention- ality, but the naval hero’s deleuzian love for anne ultimately allows him to accept his own multiplicity as well as the diversity of others. wentworth is an anomaly in austen’s fiction, as her other heroes strive to develop aesthetics of existence that are stable and closely regulated. her male figures navigate the post-revolutionary discursive field that produces divergent desires for appropriate english masculinity; they attempt to establish themselves as hegemonic national men by negotiating the dictates of Burkean and enlightenment thinkers. and her men ensure their social/sexual security by eschewing the overwhelming complications engendered by love. anne and wentworth, however, disregard the hegemony of early-nineteenth-century domesticity in favor of the dynamism of a nautical existence characterized by compassionate reciprocity, turbulence, and a proximity to the sea. the modern english society desperately attempts to reinstall structure, order, and discipline following the napoleonic wars, and correspondingly, the nation promotes fixed yet conflicting versions of organized masculinity to develop a new generation of disciplined and responsible male leaders. went- worth circumvents such discipline, as he and anne embark on a maritime journey that is sure to include fluctuations and instability. the england in which austen wrote understandably sought to return to a mythical organic community of safety and stability that supposedly existed sometime prior to the turbulence of the french revolution—and her stories are still upheld as fictional visions of such a culture. she portrays characters who mold themselves as static social/sexual subjects in order to help sustain the unity of the nation, its nexus to the past, and its future prosperity. while criticism has concentrated on the representations of her female characters and their struggles to negotiate various social expectations, she, as we have C O n C L U S i O n  �43 Kramp_final.indb 143 1/12/2007 2:53:22 PM 1 4 4 / c o n c l u s I o n seen, also documents the efforts of her men to pursue secure social/sexual identities. austen’s male figures strive to follow different instructions for crafting masculinities that will reputedly ensure the future prosperity of the english nation, but her narratives also reveal the consequences of such attempts. her male characters discipline themselves by dismissing the vola- tile possibilities of love to achieve a stable mode of hegemonic masculinity preferred by the nation, but their suppression of amorous desires also inevi- tably leaves them mechanized and reterritorialized. Persuasion narrates the collapse of england’s ancestral culture, and austen, rather than positioning anne and wentworth in a rebuilt domestic domain, sends her hero and heroine to the sea, where they will accept a new life rooted in movement, malleability, and multiplicity. wentworth and anne model a deleuzian love relationship and embody features of deleuze and guattari’s deterritorialized nomad; austen’s lovers resist the reterritorialization of modern capitalism by embracing the complexity produced by their powerful amorous emotions and avoiding the stasis of a permanent domestic dwelling. austen continues her literary journey to the sea in her final work, the unfinished comic tale Sanditon. she returns to a maritime setting to relate the strange tale of a prospective resort town that accentuates the exceptional nomadism imagined in Persuasion. sanditon is a coastal settlement, but we should not expect to find naval packs or anne and wentworth spending much time in the company of lady denham and the Parker family. austen presents sanditon as a maritime experiment that has failed to embrace the undulations of the sea; the village has instead become reterritorialized by modernity. upon mr. Parker’s return from his failed effort to acquire a sur- geon, he rides through the older section of town and announces, “civiliza- tion, civilization indeed! . . . look my dear mary––look at william heeley’s windows.––Blue shoes, and nankin Boots!––who would have expected such a sight at a shoemaker’s in old sanditon!––this is new within the month. there was no blue shoe when we passed this way a month ago.––glorious indeed!” mr. Parker is thrilled with the economic growth of the commu- nity; he revels in this burgeoning mercantilism and reflects, “well, I think I have done something in my day. now, for our hill, our health-breathing hill” (339). he takes great pride in the financial maturation and impend- ing future of the town—a great success that is symbolized, according to mr. Parker, by the arrival of fashionable new shoes. he and his business partner, lady denham, are speculators who have invested in sanditon; rather than allowing their intimacy with the sea to deterritorizalize themselves from the regulations and organ(izing) structures of a modern industrializing nation, Parker and denham desperately hope and scrupulously plan to bring order and commercialism to the sea. Kramp_final.indb 144 1/12/2007 2:53:22 PM c o n c l u s I o n / 1 4 5 mr. Parker announces his enduring confidence in the continuing success of sanditon to mr. heywood early in the narrative when he announces that “everybody has heard of sanditon . . . the favourite spot of all that are to be found along the coast of sussex” (325). mr. heywood acknowledges that he has “heard of sanditon,” but he is not convinced of the continued prosperity of such communities. he explains that “every five years, one hears of some new place or other starting up by the sea, and growing the fashion.––how they can half of them be filled, is the wonder! Where people can be found with money or time to go to them! Bad things for a country;––sure to raise the price of Provisions and make the poor good for nothing” (325). this dia- logue between mr. heywood and mr. Parker illustrates the emerging popu- larity of the nomadic maritime lifestyle, but it also suggests the attempts of some to reterritorialize this nautical existence by transferring modern venture capitalism to the coast. and mr. heywood is especially concerned about the social viability and utility of such maritime communities that invite individuals to escape the daily routines of england’s industrializing society; he finds these settlements detrimental to the sustenance of the state economy and hazardous to the management and utility of the lower classes. his remarks remind us of england’s burgeoning industrial economy that adam smith suggested would require the efficient use and organization of mass human resources.1 mr. heywood is seriously worried that communi- ties like sanditon are encouraging irresponsible behavior and promoting the decline of the individual’s social utility. Parker acknowledges the validity of heywood’s concerns, but the former upholds sanditon as a valuable asset to the nation. Parker also agrees that the english coast has become overpopulated; indeed, he announces, “our coast is abundant enough; it demands no more [settlements]. . . . and those good people who are trying to add to the number, are in my opinion excessively absurd, and must soon find themselves the dupes of their own fallacious calculations” (325–26). Parker sympathizes with heywood’s criticism of these sundry seaside communes that he identifies as bad financial ventures, but he presents sanditon as a necessary complement to a prosperous english state––with just the requisite amount of modernity thrown in to guarantee new commodities, propriety, and discipline. and yet, despite Parker’s and heywood’s criticism, the nation has, according to austen’s text, witnessed a proliferation of these colonies on the ocean. this dialogue may occupy only a small section of austen’s final work, but it suggests the author’s keen knowledge of a growing number of coastal cooperatives—groups of people who have disregarded modern security in favor of the fluctuations and fluid- ity of the sea. wentworth and anne will not be found in the reterritorialized village of sanditon, but you may spot them in the streets of one of the many Kramp_final.indb 145 1/12/2007 2:53:22 PM 1 4 6 / c o n c l u s I o n smaller underdeveloped encampments. austen’s deleuzian lovers could not remain radically dynamic and malleable in sanditon, but these smaller com- munities, viewed by Parker and heywood as political and economic liabili- ties, might embrace anne and wentworth’s social/sexual flexibility. sanditon has tamed the turbulence of the sea and replaced the volatil- ity of a nautical setting with a stagnant elegance reminiscent of sir elliot and mr. woodhouse. two of the tale’s male figures, sir edward and arthur Parker, continue the legacy of such a decaying mode of masculinity as they crave convention and stasis. sir edward appears fond of the ocean, but the nephew of lady denham speaks of the sea and the shore by using “all the usual Phrases employed in praise of their sublimity, and descriptive of the undescribable emotions they excite in the mind of sensibility.––the terrific grandeur of the ocean in a storm, its glassy surface in a calm, its gulls and its samphire, and the deep fathoms of its abysses, its quick vicissitudes” (351). sir edward, like Benwick, is a man who “had read more sentimental novels than agreed with him”; he displays a hackneyed sensibility by mechanically employing conventional Burkean expressions of sublimity (358). he recites an appreciation for the sea, but he is not interested in experiencing its turbu- lent fluctuations. likewise, arthur Parker, a self-proclaimed invalid, insists upon stability while residing in sanditon—along with plenty of strong cocoa and heavily buttered toast (369). austen notes that “mr. arthur P.’s enjoy- ments in Invalidism were very different from his sisters––by no means so spiritualized.––a good deal of earthy dross hung about him” (370). arthur may represent the antithesis of wentworth; the convalescent abhors move- ment and builds his aesthetic of existence around inactivity. Both arthur and sir edward can manage nicely in sanditon; they have access to a lending library replete with sentimental novels, and they receive plenty of afternoon refreshments. these men may have gone to the sea, but instead of embracing its fluctuations they have sought out stultifying proprieties to ensure their reterritorialization. wentworth ultimately disregards the security or reterritorialization promised by conventional propriety; he organizes his aesthetic of existence around the care of himself and others—allowing him to appreciate the complex flows and lines of flight that enmesh him with his relations and surroundings. his malleable social/sexual subjectivity enables him to remain deterritorialized and explore new ways of stylizing himself and relating to others. he remains outside the disciplinary structures of modern society that foucault claims limit our possible relational experiences. foucault explains that in the modern “institutional world . . . the only relations possible are extremely few, extremely simplified, and extremely poor” (158). he adds that Kramp_final.indb 146 1/12/2007 2:53:23 PM c o n c l u s I o n / 1 4 7 “society and the institutions which frame it have limited the possibility of relationships because a rich relational world would be very complex to man- age.” wentworth and anne confront the challenges of these modern rela- tional restrictions that foucault argues regulate individuals; austen’s lovers, however, refuse to accept such regulation as they pursue potentially revolu- tionary desires that allow them to “imagine and create a new relational right that permits all possible types of relations to exist” (“the social triumph” 158). wentworth and anne remain fluid, and this fluidity allows them to embrace a diversity of relations and audition a deleuzian nomadic lifestyle. deleuze explains that nomads have the potential to explore new cultural possibilities because they “aren’t part of history; they’re excluded from it, but they transmute and reappear in different, unexpected forms in the lines of flight of some social field” (“on Philosophy” 153). anne and wentworth have the capacity to pursue new lines of flight that do not iterate historical conventions but instead facilitate new becomings. and deleuze shamelessly announces that “men’s only hope lies in a revolutionary becoming” (“con- trol and Becoming” 171). he theorizes that nomads evade the territorializing effect of regulatory forces that aim to organize our desires by creating our lacks; austen’s dramatization of wentworth and anne’s marriage provides a glimpse of such a nomadism, and her mention of the many smaller coastal settlements in Sanditon indicates that this nomadic ambition is growing. the new “becoming” sought by anne, wentworth, and other aspiring nomads is undoubtedly dangerous, both to the stability of the post-revo- lutionary nation and their individual subjectivities, but it also promotes a social/sexual status that enables them to love and be loved. anne and wentworth’s expressed amorous emotions are crucial to their nomadic fluidity. their undisciplined love exposes them to multiple flows of passion and desire; indeed, deleuze and guattari conclude that “making love is not just becoming as one, or even two, but becoming as a hundred thousand” (Anti-Oedipus 296). anne and wentworth’s amorous sincerity allows them to embrace the unpredictability of the sea, and their maritime existence con- tinually augments the dynamism of their relationship. austen’s other lovers strive to purge their lives of volatile passions and sensations to create socially secure identities, but her presentation of anne and wentworth highlights the potent diversity engendered by their love. and yet, modern civilization invariably prefers sexualities that are regulated and stable; organized culture has little patience for radically fluid nomadic lifestyles and instead encour- ages responsible social agents who are static and safe. critics of the mid- 1990s austen craze identified austen’s novels as a site of such social/sexual security. laurie morrow even went so far as to juxtapose austen to “moral Kramp_final.indb 147 1/12/2007 2:53:23 PM 1 4 8 / c o n c l u s I o n relativism,” claiming that the early-nineteenth-century author “believes in moral absolutes” (263). morrow presented austen as an ethical absolutist who offers us definitive strategies to ensure social progress, cultural stability, and self-improvement.2 the late-millennial austen vogue, as I noted in my preface, corresponded with the emergence of popular mid-1990s men’s movements that also prom- ised self-improvement and social contentment. while morrow upheld aus- ten as a panacea for the ills of (post)modernity and moral decomposition, Bly and the Promise keepers promoted strict sexual separation and social hegemony as the necessary conditions for strong men and a stable culture. gary r. Brooks and glenn e. good addressed the late-millennial crisis of masculinity announced by Bly and the Promise keepers in their New Hand- book of Psychotherapy and Counseling with Men (2001). Brooks and good note that “everywhere we look we see signs of deeply dissatisfied contempo- rary men” (3). they add that “for many, the past few decades have ushered in a period that has eroded traditional male values and damaged the image of masculinity itself ” (4). Bly and the Promise keepers offered various strat- egies for recovering traditional notions of masculinity and manliness, and the central tenet of both movements was the strict social and sexual separa- tion of men and women. this fundamental step was designed to eradicate the problems that Brooks and good note; male values were to be defined in opposition to female values, and the image of masculinity was to be codified in opposition to femininity. the mid-1990s men’s movements proposed to reestablish sexual certainty and stability as the initial step in reordering a confused culture. despite the successes of these men’s movements, the late-twentieth- century austen vogue offered a more amenable plan for maintaining the sexual security of men and the social security of the nation. the updates of austen’s narratives showed us attractive men who lived with women in endearing relationships. the modern men of austen’s works did not need to exclude themselves from women because they disciplined their susceptibil- ity to desire. while Bly and the Promise keepers urged confused men to let loose their emotions amongst other men, the late-millennial revisions of austen’s stories reminded us how men and women could comfortably coex- ist if men regulated their emotions. the men and masculinity envisaged by austen’s tales are at once more appealing and more socially productive than Bly’s wild man or the Promise keepers’ christian husband. austen’s men do not need to remove themselves from women to preserve their social/sexual stability, and their relations with women ensure the biological and cultural reproduction of the nation. the late twentieth century, like the post-revolu- Kramp_final.indb 148 1/12/2007 2:53:23 PM c o n c l u s I o n / 1 4 9 tionary years, was a time of turbulent cultural uncertainty, and masculinity was just one of many social markers in doubt. But as abigail solomon- godeau concludes, “masculinity, however defined, is, like capitalism, always in crisis. and the real question is how both manage to restructure, refurbish, and resurrect themselves for the next historical turn” (70). austen’s men serve as useful early examples of our ongoing modern attempt to manage a disciplined masculinity that is sexually safe and socially useful. her men are neither feeble nor inefficacious, but they are also not emotionally overbear- ing figures; they are well-managed social/sexual subjects whose hegemonic identities promote both the order of sexual relations and the organization of the modernizing nation. Kramp_final.indb 149 1/12/2007 2:53:23 PM Kramp_final.indb 150 1/12/2007 2:53:23 PM Notes to Preface 1. american society has long been fond of austen and her works; ever since the 1870 publication of James edward austen-leigh’s A Memoir of Jane Austen, the novelist has remained popular in america. Ian watt, however, argues that it is in the mid-twentieth century when american literary criticism became particularly interested in austen and her novels. the american academy, not coincidentally, developed this interest in austen following a time in which the american public was fascinated with the early-nineteenth- century author. while americans endured the many cultural, economic, and personal tragedies of world war II, austen enjoyed great popular appeal through the metro-gold- wyn-mayer (mgm) production of Pride and Prejudice. this film, as kenneth turan points out, was accompanied by a conscious attempt to “sell” austen to the american public, leading mgm to “launch its greatest book promotion in years, with no less than five popular-priced editions of the book getting into print as a result of the film” (“Pride and Prejudice” 142). the american press did not ignore this promotion of the early-nine- teenth-century novelist. as americans tired of the misery and mud of the battles overseas, harold hobson and others “advertised” austen as a peaceful and sanguine author of educational tales. hobson announces that “Jane austen took little account of war. no one would guess from her novels that she lived through the most perilous time great Britain endured until 1940 brought a new and more dangerous enemy even than napoleon.” hobson adds that “miss austen neglected war; and, in return, war has passed her by. not only are her homes unharmed, but the very streets through which her characters moved on their morning walks are little touched” (6). hobson’s romanticized view of a safe austen is echoed by henry seidel canby, an associate editor of The Saturday Review of Literature. canby claims that “the greatest novels (in english at least) written in wartime are unquestion- ably Jane austen’s”; and yet, canby declares that throughout austen’s tales, “the war, if we remember correctly, is never mentioned except in the last” (26). even as late as 1959, an anonymous review in Time suggests that “Jane austen grew up in the world of the french and american revolutions, and showed no trace of interest in either. the world of her six novels is simply and finally that of genteel young women gunning for husbands” (“Jane extended”). the mid-twentieth-century american media capitalized upon austen’s n O T e S  �5� Kramp_final.indb 151 1/12/2007 2:53:23 PM established cultural popularity and (re)constructed her as the proprietor of a safe domes- tic world that served as a relief from the horrors of war. america’s love affair with austen, however, did not end with the fall of hitler. for a lengthy discussion of the significance of austen-leigh’s Memoir, see B. C. southam’s introduction to Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage, Vol. 2, 1–12. for a further consideration of the american reception of austen in the nineteenth century, see John halperin, “Jane austen’s nineteenth-century critics: walter scott to henry James.” see Ian watt’s discussion of the rise of american liter- ary criticism on austen in his introductory essay to Jane Austen: A Collection of Critical Essays. 2. Bly, for example, addresses a loss of heroic models and myths; he claims that we must listen again to “the old myths,” in which we hear “of Zeus’ energy, that positive leadership energy in men.” Bly explains that “from king arthur we learn the value of the male mentor in the lives of young men; we hear from the Iron John story the importance of moving from the mother’s realm; and from all initiation stories we learn how essential it is to leave our parental expectations entirely and find a second father or ‘second king’” (ix–x). Bly calls on men to recall ancient models of masculinity that once served to order western civilization. and both Bly and the Promise keepers echo the 1790s concern with social transformation. messner notes that Bly’s movement “[believes] that industrial society has trapped men into straitjackets of rationality, thus blunting the powerful emo- tional communion and collective spiritual transcendence that they believe men in tribal societies typically enjoyed” (20). the Promise keepers blame the growth of this modern society and its social movements for the demise of the traditional family and its stable gender roles. messner explains that “Promise keepers is more apt [than Bly] to blame feminism, gay liberation, sexual liberation, and the ‘breakdown of the family’ for men’s problems” (17). these 1990s movements, like the post-revolutionary discourses of the late-eighteenth and early-nineteenth century, offer explanations (or at least justifications) for the respective crises of masculinity, and their plans to repair fragile or vulnerable men inevitably involve a clear conceptual and physical separation of men from women. 3. John gray’s Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus (1992) and anne and Bill moir’s Why Men Don’t Iron: The Fascinating and Unalterable Differences Between Men and Women (1999) attempted to outline intrinsic differences between the sexes that help to justify the ostensibly redemptive male-only gatherings and hegemonic social systems that depend upon a clear cultural distinction between the sexes. 4. laurie morrow, for example, upholds austen’s fiction because it “provides an escape from an unattractive present” (262). morrow insists that austen’s narratives “hold the promise that bad behavior can be limited and provide hope that the world can be a better place” (263). morrow invests austen’s work with the salutary ability of improving culture by improving individual behavior; and morrow specifically credits austen with documenting the pleasures and comforts of a hegemonic society based upon a strictly divided system of gendered identity. she writes: “austen presents favorably intelligent women who seek traditional roles and who are content in them and respected; she does not portray such women as witless, helpless victims, yearning to discover themselves. she doesn’t ridicule them as stay-at-home cookie-bakers. austen plays to a desire for domesticity today’s women often feel but dare not admit, sometimes even to themselves” (262–63). austen, according to morrow, shows us a pleasant, well-mannered, and ordered culture in which women eagerly accept domestic regulations; and late-twentieth-century america clearly saw austen as a champion of security and stability. 1 5 2 / n o t e s t o P r e F a C e Kramp_final.indb 152 1/12/2007 2:53:23 PM Notes to Introduction 1. deleuze and guattari believe that “sexuality is the production of a thousand sexes, which are so many uncontrollable becomings” (Thousand Plateaus 278). a sexual subject, according to deleuze and guattari, has the potential to experience a vast diversity of sexes, sexualities, and sexual sensations. 2. deleuze theorizes that “to love is to try to explicate, to develop these unknown worlds which remain enveloped within the beloved” (Proust and Signs 7). for a further discussion of deleuze’s theory of love and the subject, see ronald Bogue, Deleuze and Guattari (1989), 43. 3. as I have suggested elsewhere, american society has specifically credited austen with the ability to teach men and women proper gendered behavior. see specifically kramp, “the Potency of Jane, or the disciplinary function of austen in america,” 19–32. this popular conception of austen, moreover, derives from a long-standing scholarly tradition that emphasizes austen’s assent with her own culture’s conceptions of gender propriety. Philip mason effectively illustrates the critical basis for this popular percep- tion of austen. while he admits that “it is as novels that miss austen’s books should be read,” he claims “they are social history too.” he continues: “they are minute and exact sketches . . . of the way her people thought about marriage, property, social differences, and the kind of behaviour which was proper for ladies and gentlemen” (70–71). mason’s argument has more recently been echoed by Penelope Joan fritzer who, in Jane Austen and Eighteenth-Century Courtesy Books (1997), suggests that austen’s novels dramatize proper behavior for men and women as outlined in eighteenth-century courtesy books. see especially 3–9. 4. Johnson traces this obsession with educating young women through the works of f. r. leavis, d. w. harding, and wayne Booth; she specifically indicates that austen scholars in the 1960s began to highlight the heroines’ premarital training by presenting the marriage plots as the “telos towards which the narrative[s] . . . moved since the first page” (“austen cults and cultures” 221). she concludes that “critics as diverse as mark schorer, lionel trilling, Ian watt, arnold kettle, marilyn Butler, tony tanner, Patricia P. Brown, and mary Poovey” view such premarital regulation of women as a vital compo- nent of both their character development and their preparation for marriage (222). see also, Johnson’s “the divine miss Jane: Jane austen, Janeites and the discipline of novel studies.” 5. tyler declares that “Jane austen has taught me how to read the world and has given me more guidelines and examples on how to behave than the combined efforts of emily Post, psychoanalysis, and a lengthy stay at the Betty ford clinic possibly could” (xvii–xviii). tyler’s comments are, of course, reminiscent of the long tradition of Janeit- ism that has transformed austen into an angelic figure who is simultaneously salutary and omniscient. 6. the work of sedgwick has been extremely influential in identifying this het- eronormalizing strand in austen criticism. sedgwick announced that “[a] lot of austen criticism sounds hilariously like the leering school prospectuses or governess manifestoes brandished like so many birch rods in Victorian s-m pornography” (“Jane austen” 315). clara tuite has recently observed that the canonical authority of austen rests upon an unquestioned “heterosexist investment” in the novelist’s works as manuals for proper romantic love; tuite, moreover, explains that “the heterosexual investment in the natural- n o t e s t o I n t r o d u c t I o n / 1 5 3 Kramp_final.indb 153 1/12/2007 2:53:24 PM ness of these marriage endings underwrites austen’s canonicity” (17). this heterosexist investment and the emphasis on austen’s authority as a marriage/love advisor is clearly apparent in tyler’s work; she insists that “in all of austen’s novels the lovers face a chal- lenge and in every case the lessons of maturity, correct conduct, and rational thought are mastered;” she concludes that “in every case the novel ends happily as eventually the declaration and offer are made and accepted” (61; 58). 7. while there have been few critical discussions of heterosexual men in austen’s corpus, there is a rich scholarly tradition within austen studies that considers the impor- tance of the novelist to historical and contemporary queer cultures. Johnson points out that “one of the biggest open secrets of the literate world, after all, is that austen is a cult author for many gays and lesbians” (editorial response 4). for further discussion of this tradition, see such important recent works as d. a. miller’s Jane Austen, or The Secret of Style (2003) and clara tuite’s Romantic Austen: Sexual Politics and the Literary Canon (2002). 8. Virginia woolf ’s famous comments on austen, which certainly aided the writer’s entrance into the literary canon, may also have institutionalized this scholarly practice that has sharply focused austen scholarship. woolf announced in 1925 that austen was “the most perfect artist among women, the writer whose books are immortal” (206). woolf upholds the creative and imaginative genius of the novelist, but she also spe- cifically identifies austen as the elite female artist. woolf ’s proclamation undoubtedly elevated austen’s position in the academic study of english literature, and it likely helped to generate numerous important feminist discussions of the nineteenth-century author throughout the 1980s. 9. such works directed our attention to the personal, familial, and national impor- tance of the maturation, marriage, and sexuality of austen’s young women. these studies enhanced our knowledge of english women’s social experiences in the years following the french revolution; this critical trend to focus on the stories and depictions of women in austen’s corpus culminated with the publication of deborah kaplan’s Jane Austen among Women (1992). kaplan shifted the focus of traditional austen criticism from the disciplinary approach that sedgwick identified and instead insisted the novelist’s texts were marked distinctively by a women’s culture. kaplan still emphasized the primacy of the heroines in the novels, but she also firmly asserted that “austen found crucial sup- port for her writing career not from her sister alone but also from the women’s culture that austen’s female friends made.” kaplan employs her concept of a “women’s culture” to theorize the presence of “an independent, self-assertive female” in austen’s texts (Jane Austen 3–4). she claims that, unlike “feminist and nonfeminist postmodern literary crit- ics [who] deconstruct the subject, the concepts of women’s culture . . . grant selfhood to women” (5). kaplan’s project positions austen as a significant progenitor of a feminist theory of subjectivity that conceptualizes the female as an independent entity who emerges from an integral women’s culture. In addition, kaplan’s criticism aligned austen with the objectives of second-wave literary feminism, specifically the goal to concentrate on the fictional representation of women. 10. gerald I. fogel offers a helpful summary of freud’s theory of male sexual develop- ment. fogel explains: freud’s view of male sexuality is often summarized in a few sentences. the recognition of the differences between the sexes is one of the crucial events that accompanies and influences the phallic-oedipal phase, which is characterized in 1 5 4 / n o t e s t o I n t r o d u c t I o n Kramp_final.indb 154 1/12/2007 2:53:24 PM the boy by a wish to obtain exclusive sexual possession of the mother by defeat- ing and eliminating the father. under the threat of castration by his powerful, forbidding rival, the little boy renounces his incestuous infantile claims and solves his dilemma by identifying with his father, who is internalized as the psychic agency of the superego. castration anxiety and the importance of the relation to the father is central. successful oedipal resolution correlates with a strong, healthy sexual identity and the consolidation of a more mature, autono- mous psychic structure. (6–7) 11. gilles deleuze and félix guattari announce that “[p]sychoanalysis is like the rus- sian revolution; we don’t know when it started going bad. we have to keep going back further” (Anti-Oedipus 55). 12. deleuze’s theory of the folded subject, like foucault’s concept of the aesthetic of existence, involves the subject’s efforts to craft a unique space of identity within and through powerful social forces. deleuze theorizes that human subjects construct a fold to function effectively in society, explaining that “subjectivation is created by folding” (Foucault 104). Individuals, for both foucault and deleuze, must negotiate the discourses and demands of culture as they create modes of existence. deleuze employs the metaphor of the fold to explain this process in which the subject navigates and records multiple social desires for her/his “self,” and as deleuze notes, “the multiple is not only what has many parts but also what is folded in many ways” (The Fold 3). for a further discussion of deleuze’s theory of the fold, see alain Badiou’s “gilles deleuze, The Fold: Leibniz and the Baroque” and constantin V. Boundas, “deleuze: serialization and subject-formation.” Boundas, in his analysis of deleuze, indicates that “the subject is the individual who, through practice and discipline, has become the site of a bent force, that is, the folded inside of an outside” (115). 13. this participation of the individual in discursive power relations is key to fou- cault’s understanding of ethical behavior and the subject. he explains that he “wanted to try to show . . . how the subject constituted itself.” he “had to reject a priori theories of the subject in order to analyze the relationships that may exist between the constitution of the subject or different forms of the subject and games of truth, practices of power, and so on” (“ethics” 290). 14. while each of these theorists has written extensively on masculinity, see especially, r. w. connell’s Masculinities (1995), michael kimmel’s The Politics of Manhood: Pro- feminist Men Respond to the Mythopoetic Men’s Movement (And the Mythopoetic Leaders Answer) (1995), kimmel’s Manhood in America (1996), kimmel’s The Gendered Society (2000), and robyn wiegman’s American Anatomies: Theorizing Race and Gender (1995). see also Judith kegan gardiner’s collection, Masculinity Studies and Feminist Theory: New Directions (2002), and rachel adams and david savran’s The Masculinity Studies Reader (2002). 15. olliver’s thesis, “Jane austen’s male characters” has not garnered significant criti- cal attention. the 1996 Jasna meeting, however, produced an important issue of Persua- sions. In looser’s contribution to the conference (and later the journal), she refers to “the groundbreaking recent work interrogating masculinities in austen’s writings” (161). this work, like Joseph a. kestner’s “Jane austen: revolutionizing masculinities” and Joseph litvak’s “charming men, charming history,” offers intelligent readings of austen novels that encouraged scholars to pursue critical book-length studies of her men. this has not happened; instead, scholars have tended either to follow kestner’s model of focusing on n o t e s t o I n t r o d u c t I o n / 1 5 5 Kramp_final.indb 155 1/12/2007 2:53:24 PM the latter novels’ depictions of masculinity or pursue uncritical and ahistorical readings of austen’s men. feminist scholars, including the writers I have previously mentioned, have consistently and effectively addressed austen’s men in critical assessments of the novelist’s women; I will discuss specific critics in my treatments of the individual novels. this scholarship, like much feminist scholarship, opened the possibility of studying gen- der relations and gender identity in austen’s corpus. 16. fulford’s recent articles have been extremely helpful to my work on austen’s men. see especially “romanticizing the empire: the naval heroes of southey, coleridge, austen, and marryat” and “sighing for a soldier: Jane austen and military Pride and Prejudice.” 17. many of these well-managed male figures, including mr. darcy and mr. knightley, have long-enjoyed popular appeal. the mid-1990s austen movies solidified and perhaps advanced the lure of such men as romantic figures; as deborah kaplan points out, “the casting of the film’s heroes was instrumental in achieving the on-screen-romance-ifica- tion of austen’s work” (“mass marketing” 174). see also lisa hopkins, “mr. darcy’s Body: Privileging the female gaze,” which explores the presentation of colin firth’s body in the BBc television production of Pride and Prejudice. 18. as I mentioned earlier, fulford’s work has been especially helpful in explaining new cultural developments engendered by the glorious return of the military from the napoleonic wars; fulford specifically notes that Persuasion ushers in a new model for the gentry based upon professionalism. he explains: “austen’s navy redefined gentility in terms of professional activity and discipline” (“romanticizing the empire” 188). Notes to Chapter 1 1. the late eighteenth century has long served as a convenient marker for the emer- gence of european nationalism, and this period specifically demonstrates the importance of textual dissemination to the creation of a national culture. scholars of nationalism have traditionally pointed to the post-revolutionary years as the age in which the modern european nation develops. ernest renan announces that “france can claim the glory for having, through the french revolution, proclaimed that a nation exists of itself ” (46). Benedict anderson theorizes the nation as “an imagined political community” and argues that “print-language is what invents nationalism” (6; 134). In the decade following the french revolution, english writers produced numerous texts that created alternative visions of imagined national communities. these works constructed england’s modern national identity through a dialogic process, both likening itself to and differentiating itself from france. seamus deane explains that “france . . . provided a useful contrast in highlighting what was distinctive about england’s experience and its constitutional and cultural forms” (2). england’s discussions about the revolution throughout the 1790s questioned the validity and justness of the french experiment while they simultaneously established the principles and parameters for the various envisioned future english states. Prasenjit duara argues that “nationalism is best seen as a relational identity” (163). a nation secures its status as unique and sovereign by isolating itself from other states, but a national culture, as Paul gilroy notes, is “conceived along ethnically absolute lines, not as something intrinsically fluid, changing, unstable, and dynamic, but as a fixed property of social groups rather than a relational field” (355). the method for creating a modern nation is dialectical and relies upon the juxtaposition with an “other” state, but the end 1 5 6 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 1 Kramp_final.indb 156 1/12/2007 2:53:24 PM product is assumed to be independent and unique. 2. although austen did not publish her novels until the second decade of the nine- teenth century, many critics have effectively demonstrated the importance of the 1790s to her tales. see, for example, claudia Johnson’s Jane Austen: Women, Politics, and the Novel (1988) and marilyn Butler’s Jane Austen and the War of Ideas (1975). 3. gary kelly agrees with kadish’s claim. kelly examines the turbulent post-revo- lutionary period and notes that “in this conflict of loyalties, identities and distinctions, gender difference was increasingly important and complex” (Revolutionary Feminism 5). 4. this presumed certainty regarding gender was particularly important in this period because of the cultural uncertainty surrounding knowledge and identity that scholars such as foucault identify in this period. foucault explains that “[t]he last years of the eighteenth century are broken by a discontinuity similar to that which destroyed renaissance thought at the beginning of the seventeenth; then, the great circular forms in which similitude was enclosed were dislocated and opened so that the table of identities could be unfolded; and that table is now about to be destroyed in turn, while knowledge takes up residence in a new space” (Order of Things 217). 5. linda colley notes that “defeat in america, revolution in france, and war with both, together with the expanding volume and diversity of domestic and imperial gov- ernment, imposed a massive strain on the lives, nerves and confidence of the British élite.” colley points out that “in all, nineteen members of Parliament are known to have committed suicide between 1790 and 1820; more than twenty lapsed into what seemed like insanity, as did their monarch george III” (151–52). colley adds that this stress was compounded by the lack of aristocratic heirs; she explains that “many landowners did not marry,” and “for nearly a century, landed families were thus not reproducing themselves” (156). 6. for further discussion of the development of the domestic sphere in post-revo- lutionary england, see Women, Privilege, and Power: British Politics, 1750 to the Present, edited by amanda Vickery (2001); kathryn gleadle, “British women and radical Politics in the late nonconformist enlightenment, c. 1780–1830”; harriet guest, Small Change: Women, Learning, Patriotism, 1750–1810 (2000); and robert B. shoemaker, Gender in English Society, 1650–1850: The Emergence of Separate Spheres? (1998). 7. this process should not be surprising, but important scholarship such as nancy armstrong’s Desire and Domestic Fiction (1987) has failed to account for the role of the domestic sphere in the construction of post-revolutionary english middle-class male subjectivity. while armstrong treats the domestic sphere as a new power for “the domes- tic woman . . . through her dominance over all those objects and practices we associate with private life,” I emphasize the role of the domestic sphere in establishing both sexu- ally and politically powerful men and the modern hegemonic structures that perpetuate such power (3). finally, I believe it is important that such men seek sexual stability and the subsequent membership in the national citizenry as the traditionally dominant male aristocracy atrophies. 8. I treat the various texts of this public discussion as part of what foucault identi- fies as “a steady proliferation of discourses concerned with sex” that he describes as “a discursive ferment that gathered momentum from the eighteenth century onward” (His- tory of Sexuality, Vol. 1 18). foucault’s work has been instrumental in the study of the deployment of sexuality from the late eighteenth to the end of the nineteenth century; indeed, his assertion that “the history of sexuality—that is, the history of what functioned in the nineteenth century as a specific field of truth—must first be written from the n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 1 / 1 5 7 Kramp_final.indb 157 1/12/2007 2:53:24 PM viewpoint of a history of discourses” invites us to re-read england’s textual responses to the revolution in terms of their commentaries on the nation’s conception of proper male sexual identity (69). foucault adds that “it is not simply in terms of a continual extension that we must speak of this discursive growth; it should be seen rather as a dispersion of centers from which discourses emanated” (34). the discourses of the 1790s are diverse and complex. they are not simply extensions of one another but divergent disseminations that develop “a complex machinery for producing true discourses on sex” (68). foucault’s use of the term sexuality incorporates much more than sexual organs, sexual preference, or gender identification. armstrong explains that for foucault “sexuality includes not only all those representations of sex that appear to be sex itself—in modern culture, for example, the gendered body—but also those myriad representations that are meaningful in relation to sex” (11). 9. catharine macaulay also speaks of the polarization of British politics following the french revolution. she indicates in 1790 that “two parties are already formed in this country, who behold the french revolution with a very opposite temper: to the one, it inspires the sentiments of exultation and rapture; and to the other, indignation and scorn” (On Burke’s Reflections 6). this dialectic, of course, involved much manipulation, as the individual participants in the debates of the late eighteenth century exaggerated both their limited knowledge of the revolution and the arguments of their counterparts. hedva Ben-Israel kidron investigates how english historians respond to the revolution; she points out that “[i]n england, knowledge of the events could not be so readily assumed as in france” and concludes that “the story, therefore, had to be told” (5). english writers’ strategic retelling of the history of the french revolution solidified a polarized political landscape in england that helped to delineate distinct visions of the future nation and its man. 10. Burke’s discourse of the chivalric male is both prevalent and powerful throughout the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. l. g. mitchell points out that Burke’s Reflections was “an immediate best seller” and suggests that “never has a book been so widely read and so widely spurned” (vii–viii). 11. the english writers of the 1790s soon discovered that their respective narratives of the activity in france were particularly important because “the revolution had created a wider reading public for political affairs and that there was a need to control the subject” (kidron 5). england’s respondents to the revolution such as Burke and wollstonecraft, encouraged by this new audience for political texts, attempted both to support their plans for a revised nation and its man while simultaneously denigrating the proposals of their opponents. they read and responded to each others work, creating a complex and tumul- tuous debate in which the initial arguments quickly become lost and perverted in favor of rhetorical attempts to sway public opinion. 12. foucault explains that such writings did not prohibit sex; rather, sex was “man- aged, inserted into systems of utility, regulated for the greater good of all, made to func- tion according to an optimum” (History of Sexuality, Vol. 1 24).this production of a true concept of sex leads foucault to conclude that “sexuality must not be thought of as a kind of natural given which power tries to hold in check, or as an obscure domain which knowledge tries gradually to uncover. It is the name that can be given to a historical con- struct” (105). 13. richard Price’s A Discourse on the Love of Our Country (1789) initiates this tem- pestuous dialogue by calling for a prominent reconfiguration of english duty. Price insists that he must explain to men “the duty we owe to our country, and the nature, foundation, 1 5 8 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 1 Kramp_final.indb 158 1/12/2007 2:53:24 PM and proper expressions of that love to it which we ought to cultivate” (1–2). Price’s call for national love creates a desire for men to maintain strong amorous feelings for their country, but his text actually precipitates additional socially produced desires throughout the late eighteenth century that limit english men’s ability to love. he conceptualizes amorous patriotism as essential to the liberty enjoyed by a nation and its residents, and he denounces monarchy and ancestral descent as impediments to this pursuit. 14. although I will talk about Burke as the leading voice of the conservative camp in this debate, his ideas on revolution are far more complex than many Jacobin writers suggest. while Burke was clearly opposed to the french revolution and actively spoke out against this event, he was not simply a conservative thinker who disavowed all revolutionary activity. as he makes clear in his Reflections, Burke supported the glorious revolution and the american revolution. for an extended discussion of Burke’s ideas on revolutionary activity, see Peter J. stanlis, Edmund Burke: The Enlightenment and Revo- lution, 195–215. stanlis points out that “in social and political affairs, Burke was not a determinist and insisted that man is, to a great extent, a creature of his own making, and when made as he ought to be made, is destined to hold no trivial place in the universe” (196). Burke supports revolutionary action that helps men arrive at their “proper” place, but he does not believe the french revolution pursued this end. 15. gillian skinner adds that “[i]n Burke’s view, absolute equality was not only unat- tainable but also undesirable; inequality was part of the natural order of things” (160). 16. susan khin Zaw indicates that “Burke sees the state in the image of the family: much as subordinate members of a household must love, honour and obey its head if there is to be peace, security and prosperity within the family, so the lower orders must love, honour and obey their rulers if there is to be peace, security and prosperity within the state” (128). 17. this romantic remembrance involves class demarcations, even though these markers are becoming less clear. stephen k. white indicates that Burke was primarily addressing “the aristocracy and gentry of england,” and “the appeal to chivalry was aimed at the ‘second nature’ of these classes” (67). Burke speaks to the socially powerful and elite and incites their fears of potential rebellion. 18. she added later that “nature has given woman a weaker frame than man” and concluded that “bodily strength seems to give man a natural superiority over woman” (Vindication of the Rights of Woman 97–98; 108). 19. for further discussion of the literary precedents for the sentimental hero, see ann Jessie Van sant’s Eighteenth-Century Sensibility and the Novel: The Senses in Social Con- text, 98–110. 20. Van sant discusses how the very concept of sensibility or proper feeling was “related to immediate moral and aesthetic responsiveness” (5). Indeed, both conservative and radical writers will uphold their perspectives on emotion as moral concerns. 21. see especially 125–27. 22. sapiro points out that in Reflections, “Burke relayed his moral and political mes- sage as a nightmare teller would: not merely through a chronological story or a logical argument but by invoking the horror of it all through tone and imagery” (189). Burke’s rhetoric attempts to evoke fear in his readers, consequently encouraging them to dismiss nightmarish revolutionary passions. 23. thomas Paine is perhaps the most ardent supporter of a strict devotion to ratio- nality as a means of improving the english nation and its men. Paine, in the first part of his Rights of Man (1791), outlines a historical process that moves from the “government n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 1 / 1 5 9 Kramp_final.indb 159 1/12/2007 2:53:25 PM of priestcraft” to the time of “conquerors,” and finally to the reign of reason, which he understands to pursue “the common interests of society, and the common rights of man” (120–21). eleanor ty explains that “[Paine’s] own work [emphasized] fact and common sense, using a ‘vulgar’ and plain rather than a decorous and refined style, [appealing] to a great mass of the common people” (9). Paine distinguishes his envisioned nation from the english aristocratically ordered community of Burke by imagining a pseudo-egalitar- ian civilization of rational men. Virginia sapiro claims that for wollstonecraft, “[t]he powers of reason and under- standing must be developed for virtuous social relations to exist––and vice versa. this was the basis of her vision of history” (225). 24. Barker-Benfield points out that wollstonecraft “criticizes [Burke] throughout for affecting sensibility rather than being genuinely a man of feeling” (107). 25. Zaw relates that “wollstonecraft believes that someone who, like Burke, merely feels and does not reason cannot be virtuous. But she also believes that someone who reasons without feeling cannot be good. her solution to this conundrum is her concept of feeling informed by reason” (135). 26. for an extensive discussion of Burke’s chivalric gender system, see Johnson, Equivocal Beings, 1–19; see also Zaw 123–30. Notes to Chapter 2 1. austen’s juvenile writings, like her novels, are comedies, and she works with/in the conventions of this literary genre. to this extent, the vast majority of her youthful tales end in marriages, albeit often quite humorous and absurd marital unions. for a lengthy consideration of austen’s use and manipulation of literary conventions within her juve- nile writings, see lois a. chaber, “transgressive Youth: lady mary, Jane austen, and the Juvenilia Press,” and Julia epstein, “Jane austen’s Juvenilia and the female epistolary tradition.” 2. the frustrations experienced by the men of the juvenilia certainly anticipate the struggles endured by the men of austen’s mature fictions; and yet, critics have histori- cally disregarded the importance of her juvenile writings. the publication of Jane Austen’s Beginnings: The Juvenilia and lady susan (1989), a collection of essays on austen’s early writings edited by J. david grey, ostensibly announced the arrival of her juvenile productions within the field of academic literary study. margaret drabble explains in her foreword to this anthology that “one does not need a degree in english literature to appreciate [the juvenilia’s] wit and their extraordinary narrative confidence,” but they do “repay study.” drabble adds that “a good case is made here for both studying and teaching some of the juvenilia” (xiii). while it is now possible to teach austen’s youthful writings because of two well-edited affordable versions of this literature, grey’s critical text remains an anomaly in austen studies as the sole full-length critical work devoted to her early tales, although many scholars have briefly examined austen’s juvenilia to inform their discussions of the author’s later works. this became a popular trend throughout the 1980s, as numerous writers, especially second-wave feminist critics, looked to the author’s early narratives to frame their readings of austen’s mature corpus. this critical tendency helped to legitimate the juvenilia as literature that merited scholarly attention. sandra gilbert and susan gubar’s The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination (1979) solidified both second-wave 1 6 0 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 2 Kramp_final.indb 160 1/12/2007 2:53:25 PM academic feminism within english studies and the place of the juvenilia within austen studies. gilbert and gubar asserted that “it is shocking how persistently austen demon- strates her discomfort with her cultural inheritance, specifically her dissatisfaction with the tight place assigned women in patriarchy and her analysis of the economics of sexual exploitation” (112). gilbert and gubar insist that austen is continually concerned with the position of women in society and argue that throughout her juvenile writings she critiques and parodies societal conventions that “have inalterably shaped women’s lives” (114). gilbert and gubar identify women and women’s issues as the primary subject of austen’s work and the appropriate subject of austen criticism, leading to numerous feminist studies of her corpus throughout the 1980s. The Madwoman in the Attic also revealed the importance of the juvenilia to the critical approach of second-wave feminist scholars––a critical approach that neglected the depiction of austen’s masculine figures. leroy w. smith followed the lead of gilbert and gubar, suggesting that in the world of the juvenile writings “the female’s life is much more difficult than the males’.” smith concludes that in these works “austen already understood how individuals are affected by patriarchal values” (49). deborah J. knuth likewise dismisses the prominent struggles experienced by austen’s male characters throughout her early fictions and believes that these tales offer a “logical point of departure for a study of Jane austen’s women’s rela- tionships” (66). and claudia Johnson, in her essay, “‘the kingdom at sixes and sevens’: Politics and the Juvenilia,” indicates that “austen was well aware of the way in which her presentation of female characters in the juvenilia was politically coded” (52–53). these critics accurately highlight the importance of the female subject within austen’s juvenilia, but these tales ultimately dramatize various tensions of the english gender system in the post–french revolutionary years, including a cultural anxiety about the insecure young man. for an extensive discussion of the relative critical neglect of austen’s juvenilia, see margaret anne doody’s Introduction to Catharine and Other Writings. 3. Joseph litvak argues that “men like henry tilney become increasingly troubling for their ‘perverse’ combination of cockiness with complaisance” (“charming men” 269). litvak’s comment recalls the strange composite quality of henry’s subjectivity and sexu- ality, but I will argue that the hero’s “troubling” appearance is ultimately the result of his rational efforts to fulfill his society’s distinct yet specific expectations for proper mascu- linity. he seems cocky to many readers because of his ability to satiate the desire-produc- ing machine; moreover, he seems complaisant because his subjectivity is extremely well organized and will not allow the development of any irrational sensation or experience. this incongruous permutation of accomplishment and ambivalence is essential to the comic quality of austen’s depiction of henry. 4. he is a superior man, reminiscent of samuel richardson’s famous hero, sir charles grandison. margaret anne doody argues that “behind this charles adams––a most un-fallen son of adam (in his own opinion)––we can see not only richardson’s sir charles, but whole sets of enlightenment concepts of self-improvement and self- approval” (xxviii). like grandison, adams is a grand and beloved male character who continually tries to ameliorate himself. 5. frances Beer argues that “Jack and alice” ridicules the “slippery equivocation” of women like lady williams, a character described as a “[study] in corruption” (11). 6. “three sisters,” another pithy novel included in the initial volume of austen’s juvenilia, traces the trials of mr. watts, who, unlike adams, maintains no pretensions about either his perfection or his future spouse. watts actively pursues a wife throughout this tale, and he focuses his energy on a family of three sisters. he initially proposes mar- n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 2 / 1 6 1 Kramp_final.indb 161 1/12/2007 2:53:25 PM riage to mary stanhope who proclaims: “I do not intend to accept it. . . . he is quite an old man, about two and thirty, very plain so plain that I cannot bear to look at him. he is extremely disagreeable and I hate him more than any body else in the world” (55). when the letters of miss georgiana stanhope assume narrative control of the novel, watts remains a notably anxious and unattractive figure uninterested in amorous emotions. georgiana describes watts as “rather plain to be sure” and questions, “but then what is Beauty in a man; if he has but a genteel figure and a sensible looking face it is quite sufficient. . . . mr. watts’s figure is unfortunately extremely vulgar and his countenance is very heavy” (59). georgiana’s reflections remind us of watts’s deplorable appearance; but her remarks also imply that male beauty is unnecessary if a man is genteel. watts is not a comely man, but like charles adams he displays little ability to pursue effectively romantic relations with women. he is an obnoxiously authoritative figure, who, as mary stanhope relates, “talks a great deal of women’s always staying at home and such stuff ” (56). watts upholds a patriarchal gender system that requires separate sexualized spheres, and he believes he must marry a woman whom he can control and detain at home. he is not picky about who this woman may be, and mary understands that if she does not accept his proposal, he will extend his offer to her sisters, but “he won’t be kept in sus- pense” (57). watts’s behavior suggests his realization that he needs a domesticated woman to be a socially proper man, but he has no desire for a particular woman. when mary and watts begin discussions about their “desired” marriage, both attempt to exercise control. mary demands a new blue and silver chaise, but she reports that “the old fool wants to have his new chaise just the colour of the old one, and hung as low too.” watts will not tolerate the ubiquitous prenuptial demands of a woman, and he tells mary, “as I am by no means guided by a particular preference to you above your sisters it is equally the same to me which I marry of the three” (61). his honest state- ment certainly affects mary, who agrees to marry the stubborn man. she then proceeds to list her various “needs” as his wife, including jewels, balls, a greenhouse, travel, and a private theatre; and mary informs her future husband that all he can expect from his acts of generosity is “to have me pleased” (62). watts is not at all interested in this masculine role, and when mary’s sister sophia iterates these standards for her future husband, watts asserts: “these are very odd Ideas truly, young lady. You had better discard them before you marry, or you will be obliged to do it afterwards” (63). watts will not tolerate such requests, and he is perfectly willing to sacrifice any personal romantic desires for the ben- efit of an easily placated domestic partner. he is still concerned that he ought to marry, but he will not, and perhaps cannot, play the role of the emotionally overwhelmed lover who succumbs to the excessive demands of a “beloved.” austen concludes her short novel in a comically mundane manner. after agreeing to a compromise regarding the colors and height of the new chaise, mr. watts actively affects the persona of a lover before mary. he announces: “I am come a courting in a true lover like manner” (66). watts’s overt proclamation of his altered status emphasizes the artifice involved in this new identity. his artificial amorous behavior, however, ironically leads to troubling consequences, as he is now offended by mary’s comments concerning mr. Brudenell, an attractive man who appears near the story’s close. mary expounds: “watts is such a fool! I hope I shall never see him again. . . . why only because I told him that I had seen a man much handsomer than he was this morning, he flew into a great Passion and called me a Vixen” (67). watts is unable to handle the undisciplined passions of a love relationship. while he had earlier insisted upon his unattachment to any specific woman, now that he has become a “lover,” he will not allow his wife to express desires or 1 6 2 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 2 Kramp_final.indb 162 1/12/2007 2:53:25 PM even admiration for any man except himself. like many gothic villains, he becomes a jeal- ous man who must control his domesticated female partner. mary’s mother intervenes to calm the frustrated lover; he now “met mary with all his accustomed civility, and except one touch at the Phaeton and another at the greenhouse, the evening went off with a great harmony and cordiality” (67). he appears to abandon his role as a lover, revert- ing to the safe masculine identity that guarantees him a wife, the necessary domestic machinery, and the ubiquitous domestic squabble. austen presents watts as a humorous male figure who is perfectly capable of acquiring a female counterpart and achieving a secure aesthetic of existence. his accomplishment comically allays a social anxiety about unmarried men, but austen’s juvenile text also illustrates the inability of young men to express and embrace sincere amorous emotions that might destabilize their sexual sub- jectivities. 7. austen draws immediate attention to stanley’s exposure to french fashion and culture, experiences that inform his character throughout the story as he remains extremely conscious of his dress and his social activity. he is reported to be “as handsome as a Prince,” and he is appropriately forthcoming (206). 8. despite this great length of time that he devotes to his toilet, stanley emerges and announces, “have not I been very quick? I never hurried so much in my life before” (209). 9. stanley continues to rehearse earlier models of appropriate masculinity when he escorts kitty to the ball. upon arriving at the social event, austen relates that he, “forcibly seizing [kitty’s] arm within his, overpowered her voice with the rapidity of his own” (211). he now reverts to a ridiculous form of chivalry that parodies “gallant” male behavior. It is at the ball, moreover, when we learn from stanley’s family about his other personal traits and ambitions. his sister camilla, who is also the confidant of kitty, informs the heroine that her brother has returned from france because “his favourite hunter . . . was turned out in the park on his going abroad, [or] somehow or other fell ill” (213). stanley’s fondness for hunting, like his concern with his personal appearance, has tremendous influence on his activity, and except for these two overwhelming under- takings, we discover the young man is still relatively uncommitted. unlike his politically active father, the younger stanley “was so far from being really of any party, that he had scarcely a fixed opinion on the subject. he could therefore always take either side, and always argue with temper” (221). he seems to be committed to nothing but his toilet and horse, and the elder stanley also reports that his son is “by no means disposed to marry” (219). edward knows how to dress and hunt, but he is still a young man who remains uninterested in either political stances or long-term love relationships. John halperin describes edward stanley as possessing a “peculiar combination of gallantry toward women and egregious self-absorption” (39). austen highlights stanley’s “peculiar combination” of masculine attributes, and this odd synthesis demonstrates the insecure status of the (new) modern young men of england. 10. leroy smith argues that “stanley’s abrupt departure brings an embarrassing recognition that a young woman should not expect seriousness from a socially privileged young man” (48). 11. see John davie’s explanatory note on this sentence for an extended discussion of austen’s use of the word “nice” (383). 12. austen’s early works do include the occasional romantically inclined man who takes great pride in disregarding parental authority. edward lindsay, the hero of “love and friendship,” is an amusing male character who is perhaps the most memorable lover n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 2 / 1 6 3 Kramp_final.indb 163 1/12/2007 2:53:25 PM of austen’s juvenile writings. Indeed, lindsay may be the most amorously eloquent and expressive man in austen’s entire corpus. he is initially described as “the most beauteous and amiable Youth,” and laura, the narrator of the tale, indicates that she “felt that on him the happiness or misery of [her] future life must depend” (Catharine 78, 79). he is a physically attractive man on whom are placed extremely high expectations, but lindsay is also a comically rebellious figure who has acted against his father’s plans for his future wife. lindsay explains: “my father, seduced by the false glare of fortune and the delud- ing Pomp of title, insisted on my giving my hand to lady dorothea. no never exclaimed I. lady dorothea is lovely and engaging; I prefer no woman to her; but know sir, that I scorn to marry her in compliance with your wishes. no! never shall it be said that I obliged my father” (79). lindsay’s abrupt stance in opposition to his father demonstrates the hero’s ridiculous sense of independence. he openly admits to his strong feelings for lady dorothea, but he resists a potential marital union with her because it would accord with his father’s wishes. austen’s early characterization of lindsay highlights both his nubile appearance and his fierce obstinacy toward his father. he is a radical beauty, and he is determined to express and act upon his ideas concerning love. lindsay proposes to laura after relating his history with much romantic sensi- bility. he asks: “[m]y adorable laura . . . when may I hope to receive that reward of all the painfull sufferings I have undergone during the course of my attachment to you, to which I have ever aspired? oh! when will you reward me with Yourself?” (80). he is a very effective rhetorician who knows how to express both a dramatic story and amorous emotions. and he is also successful, as laura informs us that they “were immediately united by [her] father, who tho’ he had never taken orders had been bred to the church” (80). austen’s comic wit suggests the ridiculous quality of lindsay’s romantic language. he believes in the potency of love, and he appears content to live on and through his pas- sion, even if his marriage is not official. lindsay chides his sister: “[d]id you then never feel the pleasing Pangs of love. . . . does it appear impossible to your vile and corrupted Palate, to exist on love? can you not conceive the luxury of living in every distress that Poverty can inflict, with the object of your tenderest affection?” (82). lindsay is commit- ted to his amorous emotions and takes great pleasure in the sensations promoted by his love relationship with laura. he is a man of great sensibility and sensitivity who remains extremely resistant to the regulatory measures of paternal authority. when lindsay later encounters his father, he proclaims that it is his “greatest boast that I have incurred the displeasure of my father!” and describes his words and actions as manifestations of “his undaunted Bravery” (83). lindsay constructs himself as a rebel who is apparently uninterested in both his family’s and his society’s concern about his future marital plans. while he briefly fashions himself as a courageous and stern man, his actions upon the surprising reunion with his old friend, augustus, reveal a notably different sensibility. when lindsay encounters his old companion, he declares, “my life! my soul!”; augustus responds, “my adorable angel!” and austen reports that these pas- sionate men then “flew into each other’s arms” (82). lindsay and augustus certainly appear comic, but austen’s depiction of their emotional display also emphasizes their powerful passions. they are important anomalies in austen’s corpus: male characters who are able and willing to express feelings and sensations. after augustus is forced into debtor’s prison for his indulgent postmarital lifestyle, lindsay follows his friend to offer his assistance and comfort, and the men return to the action of the narrative only to die in a fatal phaeton accident. lindsay manages to survive the crash for a moment, and his wife “was overjoyed to find him yet sensible” (97). he is sensitive and committed to love 1 6 4 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 2 Kramp_final.indb 164 1/12/2007 2:53:25 PM until his death; he disregards the authority and anxieties of his society in favor of his own passionate desires, including his amorous interests. he denounces the disciplinary measures of his own culture, choosing instead to pursue his sensations and amorous emotions. the post-revolutionary english nation, however, cannot tolerate such men, and austen depicts lindsay’s efforts to pursue a life lived on love as frustrated, ridiculous, and tragic. 13. for a further discussion of lady susan’s radical prominence in austen’s corpus, see Julia l. epstein, “Jane austen’s Juvenilia and the female epistolary tradition”; Barbara J. horwitz, “lady susan: the wicked mother in Jane austen’s work”; Beatrice anderson, “the unmasking of lady susan”; and hugh mckellar, “Lady Susan: sport or cinderella?” 14. he tells his sister, mrs. Vernon, that lady susan has disturbed the peace of mul- tiple households through her scandalous activity. reginald respects the cultural impor- tance of the domestic realm, and he views lady susan as a threat to this vital domain. reginald reports to his sister: “By [lady susan’s] behaviour to mr. manwaring, she gave jealousy and wretchedness to his wife, and by her attentions to a young man previously attached to mr. manwaring’s sister, deprived an amiable girl of her lover” (211). 15. lady susan adds: “[reginald] is lively and seems clever, and when I have inspired him with greater respect for me than his sister’s kind offices have implanted, he may be an agreeable flirt” (217). 16. reginald attempts to alleviate his father’s fears about the seductive powers of lady susan, reporting that he “can have no view in remaining with lady susan than to enjoy for a short time . . . the conversation of a woman of high mental powers.” while he does believe that “the world has most grossly injured that lady, by supposing the worst,” regi- nald assures his father that he maintains only trivial interests in the elder woman (226). reginald presents himself as a free-spirited man who is simply enjoying the company of lady susan. 17. reginald’s sentimentality is not isolated to his “love” for lady susan, as he is also susceptible to frederica, the heroine’s daughter. frederica appeals directly to the passion- ate man, requesting his assistance in her efforts to avoid her mother’s authority. while reginald does act on behalf of frederica, asking lady susan to relinquish her plans for the marriage of her daughter to sir James, he is quickly again enamored of the older woman, declaring that he had “entirely misunderstood lady susan” (247). mrs. Vernon advises her mother that her son is once more under the controls of lady susan, warning, “Prepare my dear madam, for the worst. the probability of their marrying is surely heightened. he is more securely her’s [sic] than ever” (251). mrs. Vernon’s reflections highlight the familial concern over the marital plans of reginald. austen also suggests an anxiety about his insecure sexual and social subjectivity. reginald seems conscious of the powerful desires produced for his masculinity, but he is also very nervous. lady susan describes him as “a man whose passions were so violent and resentful,” and following their discussion about frederica’s potential marriage to sir James, she adds that it was easy “to see [in reginald] the struggle between returning tenderness and the remains of displeasure.” while lady susan finds “something agreable in feelings so easily worked on,” reginald’s turbulent emotions demonstrate his personal instability, as he remains susceptible to lady susan’s charms and unable to revert to a stable masculine sexuality (252–53). 18. Imlay’s novel shares many of the enlightenment sentiments voiced by william godwin’s Enquiry Concerning Political Justice (1793), published the same year as The Emigrants. godwin argues that “the actions and dispositions of men are not the offspring of any original bias that they bring into the world in favour of one sentiment or character n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 2 / 1 6 5 Kramp_final.indb 165 1/12/2007 2:53:26 PM rather than another, but flow entirely from the operation of circumstances and events acting upon a faculty of receiving sensible impressions” (I: 26–27). godwin adds that “the enquirer that has no other object than truth, that refuses to be misled, and is determined to proceed only upon just and sufficient evidence, will find little reason to be satisfied with dogmas which rest upon no other foundation, than a pretended necessity impelling the human mind to yield its assent” (I: 29). 19. lok’s influence on waldorf, the hero of the novel, is significant; nevertheless, king closes her novel by documenting waldorf ’s realization that “the true philosopher seeks the good of mankind; he foregoes his own interests to promote their good, and never hurts them willingly” (II: 61). 20. hamilton presents delmond as her hero, who considers honor to be “the inspiring motive of the great and noble” and cherishes “the sentiments of honour” that he learned reading childhood romances of the “lives of those illustrious heroes” (I: 150; 124). 21. claudia Johnson argues that “henry categorically denies the gothic any legiti- mately mimetic provenance” (Jane Austen 35). 22. maria Jerinic argues that “[t]he object of austen’s parody and the real threat to women, however, is not the gothic novel but it is men, particularly men who wish to dic- tate to women what they should and should not read. austen does not want to reshape or reform men, but her text does insist that women be allowed the same opportunities as men to choose what they read” (138). henry, of course, fancies himself an expert critic on literary texts and certainly participates in the authoritative stance described by Jerinic. 23. henry’s commitment to enlightenment reason specifically affects his attitudes about language. when catherine refers to radcliffe’s Mysteries of Udolpho as a “nice” book, henry responds: “the nicest;––by which I suppose you mean the neatest. that must depend upon the binding” (83). henry is a student of samuel Johnson’s Dictionary of the English Language, and thus he is convinced that words have definitive meanings that can be ascertained and protected. eleanor tells catherine that henry “is for ever finding fault with me, for some incorrectness of language, and now he is taking the same liberty with you. the word ‘nicest,’ as you used it, did not suit him; and you had better change it as soon as you can, or we shall be overpowered with Johnson and Blair” (83). eleanor describes her brother as a man obsessed with the proper and fixed meanings of words, and while henry’s fondness for Johnson and Blair may not appear to demonstrate his commitment to rationality, his desire to demarcate appropriate definitions illustrates his participation in the enlightenment project to delineate and enforce specific catego- ries of knowledge and experience. henry explains that “originally perhaps [‘nice’] was applied only to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, or refinement;––people were nice in their dress, in their sentiments, or their choice. But now every commendation on every subject is comprised in that one word” (84). he is very frustrated that words are no longer used in the “correct” manner, and his attitude implies that they indeed have a proper usage. By calling for specified semantics, our hero demonstrates his commit- ment to a dichotomous understanding of language and thought as either reasonable or unreasonable. Johnson argues that “because henry dictates the parameters of words, the kind of control he exercises extends to thought itself ” (Jane Austen 38). for a further consideration of this scene, see Johnson, Jane Austen, 39. for a more extensive discussion of henry’s attitudes on language, see tara ghoshal wallace, “Northanger Abbey and the limits of Parody,” 264. 24. for more discussion on the general’s interests in domesticity, see hoeveler, 129–30. 1 6 6 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 2 Kramp_final.indb 166 1/12/2007 2:53:26 PM 25. general tilney uses his gallantry to exercise authority and control, but he even- tually acts in a notably nongallant manner when he turns catherine from northanger “without any reason that could justify, any apology that could atone for the abruptness, the rudeness, nay, the insolence of it” (183). see tanner 65 for a consideration of the general’s gallantry. 26. austen introduces henry as “a very gentlemanlike young man” who was “rather tall, had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent and lively eye, and, if not quite hand- some, was very near it” (11). the narrator’s initial description announces the hero to be a gentleman, but her qualifying statements immediately draw attention to the construction of such a chivalric man of gentility. 27. for further consideration of this frequently discussed conversation, see diane hoeveler’s “Vindicating Northanger Abbey,” 125–26 and david monaghan, Jane Austen: Structure and Social Vision, 20–21. 28. for an extensive consideration of the implications involved in henry’s comments on marriage, see Johnson, Jane Austen, 38, and tanner 63. 29. austen quickly invites us to laugh at such social propriety, however, as henry informs catherine: “take care, or you will forget to be tired of [Bath] at the proper time.––You ought to be tired at the end of six weeks” (58). the narrator again displays henry’s awareness of the irrational conventions associated with “proper” chivalric social activity, allowing us to laugh at the knowledge and performance of the impressive hero. 30. marvin mudrick offers a compelling reading of John thorpe. mudrick claims that thorpe is “importunate and unscrupulous enough to carry the gothic role; but there is nothing sinister about him. he is simply exasperating, vulgar, rude, and foolish” (46). mudrick concludes that that thorpe does not “[abduct] or [torture] catherine when she declines his attentions; he does not even connive with her father at marrying her against her will. his world and his talent are too limited for spectacular achievements; but he does as much mischief as he can” (47). 31. henry’s comments are ironic not only because of the general’s later tyrannical activities, but also because of the country and the age in which this novel was written. austen’s language reminds readers of the napoleonic wars and the larger post-revo- lutionary turmoil that racked the english nation. tony tanner points out that “henry tries to evoke an england which is a kind of phantasm of peaceful life from which the possibility of horror and violence has been eradicated” (71). Johnson’s work has been instrumental in drawing attention to the political overtones of austen’s language. for a consideration of the language employed by henry in this scene, see Jane Austen 40. 32. Joseph litvak acknowledges henry’s knowledge of literary texts but insists that henry disciplines the literary quality of novels. see “charming men, charming history,” especially 255–56. 33. henry’s rationality also guides his attitude and behavior toward women; he appears conscious of the social debates about women’s intellectual abilities, but he is also aware of hackneyed conceptions of the young female. for example, henry announces his fear to catherine that he “shall make but a poor figure in your journal tomorrow,” dem- onstrating his knowledge of women’s supposedly compulsory habit (12). he explains: “my dear madam, I am not so ignorant of young ladies’ ways as you wish to believe me; it is this delightful habit of journalizing which largely contributed to form the easy style of writing for which ladies are so generally celebrated. every body allows that the talent of writing agreeable letters is peculiarly female. nature may have done something, but I am sure it must be essentially assisted by the practice of keeping a journal” (13). n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 2 / 1 6 7 Kramp_final.indb 167 1/12/2007 2:53:26 PM henry’s comment is both humorous and presumptuous, as he presumes that catherine must keep such a daily account. he is also aware of the trends and maintenance of female attire, and he informs mrs. allen that he purchased a gown for his sister “the other day, and it was pronounced to be a prodigious bargain by every lady who saw it.” henry is an apparent expert in women’s clothing and can even spot a deal. he can pur- chase fashionable clothing, locate economical garments, and even evaluate the durability of fabric. when mrs. allen asks him about catherine’s gown, henry replies: “It is very pretty, madam . . . but I do not think it will wash well; I am afraid it will fray” (14). he is comfortable and confident demonstrating his knowledge of women’s dresses so long as he restricts himself to rational remarks. for a discussion of henry’s skill as a tailor, see hardy, Jane Austen’s Heroines, 3–6 and morgan, In the Meantime, 67. 34. many critics have drawn attention to henry’s condescending attitude toward women. see especially Jerinic 144; Johnson, Jane Austen, 37–38; cohen 222–24; and lit- vak 267. 35. castle adds that “henry does not so much tell catherine what to think as show her that she can think” (Introduction xxii). henry appears to know wollstonecraft’s Vin- dication, but as Johnson argues, he often behaves as “a self-proclaimed expert on matters feminine, from epistolary style to muslin” who “simply believes that he knows women’s minds better than they do” (Jane Austen 37). Johnson’s criticism recalls the perception of henry as an arrogant individual. he is a confident man who can participate in many dis- cussions and perform various masculine roles, and he is even willing to instruct women in matters “feminine.” henry is a performer, and he can play a variety of parts, but he is also exposed as a self-conscious comic character who is aware of the artifice involved in his composite masculine social/sexual subjectivity. 36. mark loveridge, for example, argues that “henry is sophisticated,” and “has his own, rather unnerving, analytical attitude to the world, to catherine, and to the idea of character” (6). and mudrick points out that “henry prides himself on his worldliness and his lack of sentimentality” (43). loveridge, mudrick, and others are correct to emphasize our hero’s sophisticated analytic approach, but the report of his brother’s impending marriage and the corresponding collapse of James morland’s engagement threaten to shatter henry’s worldview and his understanding of love. he cannot comprehend these events, and Johnson’s Dictionary is unable to explain them clearly. Various critics have linked henry’s sophistication to the novelist’s own sophisticated persona. for a discus- sion of this interesting topic, see mudrick 43 and wallace, “Northanger Abbey and the limits of Parody,” 262. 37. henry’s immediate response to this moment of personal instability is to leave northanger. he announces to catherine and eleanor: “I am come, young ladies, in a very moralizing strain, to observe that our pleasures in this world are always to be paid for, and that we often purchase them at a great disadvantage, giving ready-monied happiness for a draft on the future, that may not be honoured” (170). as he prepares to leave for his other home at woodston, he reflects upon the sacrifices he has and must make. austen again emphasizes her hero’s self-consciousness, allowing her hero to invoke an edifying tone and adopt the discourse of dr. Johnson. henry seems aware of the consequences he has had to accept because of his efforts to develop a complete masculine subjectivity and sexuality. his duties at woodston force him to leave northanger and the heroine, but before he departs he offers catherine a “gratified look on being told that her stay was determined” (178). this is the most overt expression of affection that austen allows henry in the novel. 1 6 8 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 2 Kramp_final.indb 168 1/12/2007 2:53:26 PM 38. susan morgan claims that henry, “in the finest spirit of romance, defies his father for the sake of true love” (68). margaret kirkham echoes morgan, suggesting that henry “learns to see in catherine’s unaffected character qualities which inspire true affection” (88). and leroy smith argues that “the qualities that have attracted henry tilney to catherine from the first––spontaneity of feeling and expression, honesty and openness, natural taste––are unchanged by her disillusioning experience. they move henry to pro- pose in spite of his father’s objections” (59). these critics neglect austen’s self-conscious- ness as a novelist and ignore the absence of any indication that henry “loves” catherine. he does rehearse certain aspects of the romantic male role, but his dogmatic rationality prevents him from expressing sincere amorous emotions. his esteem stems from an assurance of catherine’s affection, and even the narrator does not attempt to define this union as a love relationship. 39. austen discusses the hero’s complex story about the general’s misunderstand- ing of catherine’s potential wealth and announces: “I leave it to my reader’s sagacity to determine how much of all this it was possible for henry to communicate at this time to catherine” (201). austen again openly acknowledges her own narrative artifice, and she also elaborates on the self-consciously rebellious activity of henry. 40. austen’s depiction of the general recalls the behavior of radcliffe’s marquis of mazzini, the villain of A Sicilian Romance (1790). radcliffe’s novel details how the mar- quis loses his rational faculties and becomes “successively the slave of alternate passions” (184). late in the story, the narrator notes that the marquis’s “head grew dizzy, and a sudden faintness overcame him . . . [he] found himself unable to stand” (189). general tilney is likewise overcome by the emotions engendered by his daughter’s marriage and loses control of his rational faculties. Notes to Chapter 3 1. foucault’s late work on the ancients has received much criticism and insufficient serious consideration in terms of his overall project on the history of sexuality. for an extensive consideration of foucault’s writing on greek and roman cultural and sexual practices, see Paul Veyne, “the final foucault and his ethics,” and foucault’s own essay, “writing the self,” both in Foucault and his Interlocutors, edited by arnold I. davidson. 2. as foucault later explains, “moderation was quite regularly represented among the qualities that belonged—or at least should belong—not just to anyone but particu- larly to those who had rank, status, and responsibility” (History of Sexuality, Vol. 2: The Use of Pleasure 61). foucault explains that the man who was able to curtail his sensations was able to “[derive] pleasure from the moderation [he displayed]” (65). 3. leroy smith claims that willoughby is “the most sexually attractive of austen’s males” (77). 4. the youthful heroine insists that “mr. willoughby . . . is the only person who can have a right to shew that house,” and hesitatingly remarks that the grounds “will one day be mr. willoughby’s” (58–59). marianne has already planned her marriage to the man whom she considers the eventual owner of the allenham estate. 5. for an interesting consideration of female authority in the novel, see tara ghoshal wallace, “Sense and Sensibility and the Problem of feminine authority” and Phoebe a. smith’s “Sense and Sensibility and ‘the lady’s law’: the failure of Benevo- lent Paternalism.” n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 3 / 1 6 9 Kramp_final.indb 169 1/12/2007 2:53:26 PM 6. we learn that he has left his card while the dashwood sisters were out (146). we discover that he received an invitation to attend a small dance sponsored by sir John but did not attend (148), and we know that he does not return marianne’s letters. his character is certainly altered, and elinor now relates “her suspicions of willoughby’s inconstancy” to her mother (149). 7. he retains a strong romantic sensibility for marianne, and even the coldly rational elinor realizes “that such a [romantic] regard had formerly existed” between him and her sister (155). the sisters’ reaction to “willoughby’s” harsh letter provides us with further information concerning both his relationship to marianne and his efforts to resolve the complex social forces that affect his self and gender. elinor reacts quite strongly to the epistle. she could not “have supposed willoughby capable of departing so far from the appearance of every honourable and delicate feeling—so far from the common decorum of a gentleman” (159). critiquing his dishonorable, ungenteel language, elinor recon- structs willoughby through her expectation that he should write and behave as a socially proper gentleman. marianne shatters her sister’s perspective when she declares that “he is not so unworthy as you believe him” and informs her that “he has broken no faith with me” (161). adamant that he did once reciprocate her amorous affection, the passionate heroine refuses to accuse willoughby of conspiring against her. she claims that it is easier to believe that she has been deceived “by all the world, rather than by his own heart” (164). she even questions the potentially manipulative actions of his female companion at the previous evening’s affair (165). although marianne’s emotion overwhelms her, she also seems strangely aware of the many forces that have influenced willoughby’s actions. wallace examines the multiple figures of feminine control in the novel and suggests that “there are so many women who inscribe their desires on willoughby, who assert author- ity over him.” wallace concludes that willoughby’s “own desire, his very self, becomes muted and blurred” (Sense and Sensibility 157). mrs. smith, elinor, marianne, and others develop expectations for willoughby. Paralleling the social discourses of masculinity that inform the construction of his self, he must resolve the requests of these authoritative women and his attraction and repulsion to their desires. 8. the colonel’s story, coupled with the news of willoughby’s marriage to miss grey, greatly alter the public perception of Brandon and willoughby. even though he explains to elinor that his tale was meant only to alleviate her sister’s suffering and not “to raise myself at the expense of others,” the colonel does garner a new level of respect after he tells his story (183). marianne no longer avoids him, and the narrator reports that the romantic heroine “was obliged, or could oblige herself to speak” to the mature and rheumatic man (188). mr. John dashwood cautiously approves of Brandon’s “[t]wo thousand a-year” living (195), and the colonel again demonstrates his artistic sensibility by appreciating elinor’s screens (205). In addition, public attitudes toward willoughby have significantly altered. ultimately, the discourses and narratives that sir John, the Palmers, and others constructed for a man like willoughby have all failed. sir John “could not have thought it possible” that a man “of whom he had always had such reason to think well” could ruth- lessly neglect marianne for another woman. after all, sir John “did not believe there was a bolder rider in england.” mrs. Palmer “was determined to drop [willoughby’s] acquain- tance immediately, and she was very thankful that she had never been acquainted with him at all” (187). members of willoughby’s society recognize his inability to embrace fully the various demands they have placed upon him and chastise him for this “failure.” 9. when her sickness becomes severe, and the Palmers realize they must vacate cleveland for the safety of their child, mrs. Jennings’s cunningly acknowledges the need 1 7 0 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 3 Kramp_final.indb 170 1/12/2007 2:53:27 PM for the colonel to remain near the object of his affection. mrs. Jennings also declares that “his stay at cleveland was necessary to herself, that she should want him to play at piquet of an evening” (269). she attempts to reconfigure Brandon as a romantic and sentimental lover, but mr. Palmer insists that the colonel is simply a stable and knowledgeable man, “a person so well able to assist or advise miss dashwood in any emergence” (270). mr. Palmer, like Brandon, has abandoned the role of the lover for the safety of a disciplined aesthetic of existence. mr. Palmer cannot comprehend the colonel’s romantic reasons for remaining at cleveland, but he has little difficulty understanding the utility of the mature Brandon in such a dire moment. 10. he adds: “to avoid a comparative poverty, which [marianne’s] affection and her society would have deprived of all its horrors, I have, by raising myself to affluence, lost every thing that could make it a blessing.” willoughby broaches his sustained love for marianne, and the financial urgencies that forced his desperate actions; moreover, he is conscious of the decisions he had to make to limit his emotional sensibility and govern his desires. he can still recall the amorous passions enflamed by his time with marianne. he admits: “to have resisted such attractions, to have withstood such tenderness!—Is there a man on earth who could have done it!” (281). 11. he tells elinor not to feel sympathy for his present status, but for “my situation as it was then. . . . my head and heart full of your sister,” when he “was forced to play the happy lover to another woman” (287). his self-consciousness reminds us of his train- ing in the tradition of sensibility, but his remarks also suggest his earlier engagement in amorous emotions. willoughby, in order to regulate his aesthetic of existence, has had to eschew the behavior of the male lover in favor of a well-disciplined masculinity. marilyn Butler posits that “willoughby’s crime proves . . . not to have been rank villainy, but expensive self-indulgence so habitual that he must sacrifice everything, including domestic happiness, to it” (Jane Austen and the War of Ideas 194). willoughby, indeed, has been self-indulgent. austen’s tale dramatizes how multiple and contradictory social desires prevent willoughby from achieving a stable sexuality, but the narrator also emphasizes the causal effects of his decisions. miss dashwood listens patiently to the story of willoughby’s reconfigured masculinity and softened considerably in her attitude toward him, but she harshly reminds him, “You have made your own choice. It was not forced on you” (289). elinor, through austen’s novelistic narration, explains the dynamics of his difficult situation: the world had made him extravagant and vain—extravagance and vanity had made him cold-hearted and selfish. Vanity, while seeking its own guilty tri- umph at the expense of another, had involved him in a real attachment, which extravagance, or at least its offspring, necessity, had required to be sacrificed. each faulty propensity in leading him to evil, had led him likewise to punish- ment. the attachment, from which against honour, against feeling, against every better interest he had outwardly torn himself, now, when no longer allowable, governed every thought; and the connection, for the sake of which he had, with little scruple, left her sister to misery, was likely to prove a source of unhappiness to himself of a far more incurable nature. (290–91) even the sense-saturated elinor, sounding like a reflective dr. Johnson, can identify the multilayered complexities of willoughby’s decisions and actions, and she is alert to the severe consequences that he must now embrace. n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 3 / 1 7 1 Kramp_final.indb 171 1/12/2007 2:53:27 PM 12. alistair duckworth argues that “marianne’s marriage to the rheumatic colonel Brandon is a gross over-compensation for her misguided sensibility” (104). 13. austen adds additional salt to his wounds by suggesting that “had he behaved with honour towards marianne,” mrs. smith would have offered him financial support, and “he might at once have been happy and rich” (334). the narrator suggests that had willoughby reverted to chivalric rather than rational masculinity, he might have enjoyed financial security and a love relationship. Notes to Chapter 4 1. for an interesting consideration of the long-standing popularity of Pride and Prejudice and its doting readers, see Joseph litvak’s “delicacy and disgust, mourning and melancholia, Privilege and Perversity: Pride and Prejudice” and gene koppel’s “Pride and Prejudice: conservative or liberal novel––or Both? (a gadmerian approach).” Barbara sherrod describes Pride and Prejudice as a “classic love story because it set the pattern for a modern popular love story, the story in which an independent-minded and fascinating woman is loved by a remote, powerful man” (68). for further consideration of the great attractiveness of darcy, elizabeth, and this “timeless” love story, see lisa hopkins, “mr. darcy’s Body: Privileging the female gaze,” cheryl l. nixon’s “Balancing the courtship hero: masculine emotional display in film adaptations of austen’s novels,” and norma rowen’s “reinscribing cinderella: Jane austen and the fairy tale.” 2. darcy is introduced as a “fine, tall person [with] handsome features, [and a] noble mien” and is appreciated for his appearance and “his having ten thousand a year” (7). he is a physically impressive man with many favorable attributes, and the other characters in the novel consistently reflect upon both his great wealth and his extensive accomplishments. when charlotte lucas discusses his purported pride with elizabeth, the heroine’s friend concludes that “his pride . . . does not offend me so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. one cannot wonder that so very fine a young man, with family, fortune, every thing in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud” (16). charlotte ties darcy’s phenomenal individual accomplishments to his familial background and income, which James held- man notes “is at least 300 times the per capita income in his day” (“how wealthy” 39). darcy’s economic supremacy facilitates his personal flexibility and romantic grandeur, and according to charlotte there is nothing wrong with owning up to your accomplish- ments. charlotte’s unnamed younger brother agrees: “If I were as rich as mr. darcy . . . I should not care how proud I was. I would keep a pack of foxhounds, and drink a bottle of wine every day” (16). darcy is perceived as an appropriately confident man who func- tions as a role model for aspiring english boys. 3. sherrod explains that darcy’s “love for elizabeth makes him a better person [and] brings out the excellence of his character” (68). 4. John mcaleer theorizes that austen imagined a moral society as an effectively organized country estate that must be “administered by a caring landowner.” mcaleer adds that “a country estate was an embodiment of the natural moral order” and con- cludes that “[austen] asked only that men would so conduct themselves that their behav- iour would affirm the existence of a stable order energized by sound moral principles” (72). 5. austen scholars have often discussed the importance of social class status in Pride 1 7 2 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 4 Kramp_final.indb 172 1/12/2007 2:53:27 PM and Prejudice, but these critical treatments tend to revolve around the wealth of darcy and the financial dilemmas of unmarried women. James heldman, for example, points out that “[m]oney matters to everyone––to avid readers of Jane austen as well as to normal people. It certainly mattered to Jane austen herself. her novels and her letters are liberally peppered with references to money. characters are defined by their incomes and fortunes as much as they are by their appearances and their manners” (“how wealthy” 38). and John mcaleer explains that “each character in Pride and Prejudice adds to our knowledge of the workings of the social hierarchy” (74). 6. austen’s characterization of Bingley and gardiner reflects this new cultural atti- tude, and their bourgeois ambition likewise recalls godwin’s post-revolutionary critique of ancestral authority in his Enquiry Concerning Political Justice (1793). godwin argues that “a generous blood, a gallant and fearless spirit, is by no means propagated from father to son” (I: 41). he insists that humans are equal and perfectible beings who main- tain “the faculty of being continually made better and receiving perpetual improvement” (I: 92–93). although neither Bingley nor gardiner echoes godwin’s overt criticism of aristocratic heritage, they do embody his advocacy of individual amelioration. 7. austen’s portrayal of these ambitious male characters reminds us of godwin’s depiction of Barnabas tyrrel in Caleb Williams (1794). like Bingley and gardiner, tyrrel is a thriving member of the middle class who has raised himself in the social class sys- tem; godwin even announces that he “might have passed for a true model of the english squire” (16). Bingley and gardiner attempt to imitate the behavior of such an ersatz gentlemen, and while austen, unlike godwin, does not allow a villainous aristocrat to murder her aspiring men, she also does not allow her men of trade to assume aristocratic standing. 8. mcaleer concludes that to mr. Bingley “has fallen the task of acquiring a landed estate, the essential move that will establish him as a gentleman” (73). 9. when his sisters laugh at the report that the Bennets have an uncle who resides “somewhere near cheapside,” Bingley responds, “If they had uncles enough to fill all cheapside . . . it would not make them one jot less agreeable” (30). as a man of trade him- self, Bingley defends the domestic location of mr. gardiner, but darcy instructs his friend that having relations in this mercantile center “must very materially lessen [the Bennet sisters’] chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world.” Bingley makes “no answer” to darcy’s explanation, and his silence suggests his inability to understand fully the importance of class to complex social power structures and potential marital unions (31). 10. Juliet mcmaster argues that “in Bingley we see the best of social mobility. he is good-humored and charming, and he never stands on ceremony” (“class” 124). mcmas- ter accurately identifies the attractive qualities of Bingley’s character, but he is still a man in transition, and his social instability prevents him from experiencing utter happiness like darcy. 11. dennis allen claims that “Jane and Bingley are prevented from the consummation of their love by diffidence, which makes each doubt that his or her love is reciprocated, and they are separated by Bingley’s malleability, which makes him excessively dependent on darcy’s opinion.” allen concludes that “[t]heir reunion is brought about . . . by a rever- sal of darcy’s machinations, itself evidence that Bingley is still easily influenced” (436). even at the novel’s close, darcy retains a definite degree of influence over his friend; darcy managed to remove Bingley from Jane, and he now maneuvers to bring them together again. n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 4 / 1 7 3 Kramp_final.indb 173 1/12/2007 2:53:27 PM 12. for an interesting discussion of the marriage between Jane and Bingley, see Joel weinsheimer’s “chance and the hierarchy of marriages in Pride and Prejudice,” 18–19, marvin mudrick, Jane Austen: Irony as Defense and Discovery 105, and Bruce stovel’s “‘a contrariety of emotion’: Jane austen’s ambivalent lovers in Pride and Prejudice,” 29. 13. for more discussion on the “worthiness” of gardiner, see monaghan, Jane Austen: Structure and Social Vision, 87; Juliet mcmaster, “class,” 124; and rachel Brownstein, “Jane austen: Irony and authority,” 63. 14. mrs. reynolds, in her discussions with the gardiners, claims that she “never had a cross word from [darcy] in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old. . . . If I was to go through the world, I could not meet with a better.” she speaks of darcy as “the best landlord, and the best master . . . that ever lived” (218–19). david monaghan indicates that “darcy does not expect his employees to be groveling subordi- nates, but regards them as sensible human beings whose respect must be earned. neither does he see them simply as instruments of labour, but rather as rational human beings who must be included in the community of the big house and introduced to Pemberley values” (83). susan morgan adds that “darcy is an outstanding member of society, a landowner with both power and responsibility” (80). mrs. reynolds’s comments may be the result of many years of intimacy with darcy, but critics continue to laud the hero as a remarkable man. 15. gardiner may model many of the masculine traits requested by Burke, but the tradesman also relies upon his reason, and he understands that in a modern post-chival- ric nation men are not killed in duels. moreover, when he joins mr. Bennet in london, he agrees to assist his brother-in-law in his plan to “enquire at all the principal hotels in town,” even though “mr. gardiner himself did not expect any success from this measure, but as his brother was eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it” (260). mr. gar- diner is a dutiful man who is willing to serve when needed, but he has nothing to prove. he is neither a youth who feels compelled to impress others with his valor and virility, nor a stern man of rigid tradition who must impose a strict procedural policy. he shows no inclination to “correct” idiotic people like mr. collins or mrs. Bennet, and he, like mr. Bennet, does not believe that the purpose of life is to “make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn” (323). gardiner is not interested in establishing unquestion- able authority or raising himself at the expense of others. he is a respectable character because of his mature social affability that enables him to enhance his cultural role. Notes to Chapter 5 1. In the early 1970s, a period that witnessed a severe reconfiguration of austen as a politically invested writer, duckworth and Butler turned to Mansfield Park to demonstrate austen’s anxiety about the stability of her society. duckworth claims that in this novel austen “is concerned with defining a proper relation between the individual and society” (37). duckworth explains that such a relationship revolves around the individual’s appre- ciation for the landed estate; he insists that individuals must discover and embrace their “proper” relation to society to “improve” the estate, cleansing it of modern perversions and returning it to an ancestral status. duckworth concludes that “an estate is the appro- priate home of what Burke terms the ‘collected reason of the ages’ or the ‘wisdom of our ancestors’; and for Jane austen as for Burke, historical prescription is an important basis for social and moral behavior” (58). duckworth aligns austen with Burke, suggesting that 1 7 4 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 5 Kramp_final.indb 174 1/12/2007 2:53:27 PM Mansfield Park illustrates an ambition to recreate a nation rooted in ancestral wisdom, historical precedents, and traditional modes of behavior. Butler, likewise, reads the nar- rative as an explicitly anti-Jacobin text, claiming that “Mansfield Park is the most visibly ideological of Jane austen’s novels. . . . [in which] she can exploit to the full the artistic possibilities of the conservative case” (War of Ideas 219). Butler argues that “the theme of Mansfield Park is the contrast of man-centred or selfish habits of mind, with a temper that is sceptical of self and that refers beyond self to objective values” (Jane Austen and the War of Ideas 247). for Butler, austen’s novel advocates the sacrifice of self-importance for the good of the national community and its “shared” values. 2. alma Zook investigates what she terms “the one explicitly astronomical reference in all of [austen’s] novels” and concludes that “miss austen gets it right.” Zook indi- cates that the narrator’s “reporting of the evening sky during this incident is sufficiently accurate and detailed,” and austen’s precise description of this evening’s sky suggests her concern with this event (29). Zook maintains that austen’s description of the night sky is accurate enough “that one may determine, to a fair degree of precision, the orientation of the drawing room at mansfield Park in which this conversation takes place” (29). 3. edmund appears to endorse Burke’s revised version of the social contract as a “partnership [in which] all men have equal rights; but not to equal things.” Burke adds that “he that has but five shillings in the partnership, has as good a right to it, as he that has five hundred pound has to his larger proportion” (110). austen’s hero, per Burke’s theory, works to ensure that each member of society assumes a stable and efficient role in the nation. 4. Yuval-davis effectively discusses the tripartite national significance of women, as she analyzes three discourses that “use” women to perpetuate national projects: (1) the people as power; (2) the eugenicist; and (3) the malthusian. for an extensive discussion of these discourses, see Yuval-davis 26–38. 5. for a detailed discussion of the Prince regent’s scandalous activity, see sales 56–83. 6. this early encounter highlights edmund’s role as a supporter and protector of fanny, and as laura mooneyham argues, his first act for his cousin “prepares us for the role edmund will play in fanny’s education” (71). while we are far removed from his eventual marriage to the heroine, our hero quickly demonstrates his pastoral care for fanny. 7. Pepper worthington argues that “we are convinced edmund Bertram will wear no lace on his shirts, no flowers in his lapels, no gold on his fingers, no make-up on his face.” he maintains that edmund is “a man of character . . . steady, predictable, the salt of the earth” (73). 8. oliver macdonagh notes that edmund “presents the clergyman as social mould- er,” concluding that “it is not precisely social control which edmund here envisages, but rather a form of social husbandry” (44). 9. gary kelly suggests that while “mary crawford . . . can only see the church as a field of play for the individual and the individualist,” edmund defends “the church as an important moral and therefore an important social institution . . . [echoing] the great- est British attacker of individualism and defender of traditional social institutions, that other edmund, one of the greatest public speakers of the age, edmund Burke” (“reading aloud” 133, 135). tony tanner maintains that austen “clearly considered the role of the clergyman as being of special importance—less for the saving of souls . . . and more for the saving of society” (170). n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 5 / 1 7 5 Kramp_final.indb 175 1/12/2007 2:53:27 PM 10. for a specific discussion of the history of Lovers’ Vows, see Pedley 311–12. edmund’s initial concerns with converting his father’s house into a private theatre and allowing women to act are particularly important to Pedley’s consideration of the scan- dalous dramatic production. Pedley specifically investigates the social opprobrium of female actors. 11. duckworth notes that “despite all his reasoning, his agreement to act in the play marks his surrender to mary crawford’s sexual attraction” (63). mary later remembers his struggle to resist participating in the histrionic activities and proclaims, “his sturdy spirit to bend as it did! oh! it was sweet beyond expression” (325). depicting edmund as a fallen hero in a sinister manner, mary invokes the discourse of the heroic male remi- niscent of Burke’s writings but also notes her ability to tempt the “hero” into dangerous detours. she seems aware of edmund’s simultaneous attraction and repulsion to her and the opportunities she offers. 12. following edmund’s disappointing evening at the ball, he departs for a week to Peterborough. anticipating his son’s eventual occupancy at thornton lacey, sir thomas informs fanny that “as to edmund, we must learn to do without him. this will be the last winter of his belonging to us, as he has done” (257). Predicting edmund’s permanent move from mansfield, sir thomas presents his son as an adolescent male on the verge of manhood. 13. sir thomas’s behavior is reminiscent of Imlay’s lord B—, who maintains that “the tranquility of society depended upon the tyranny which should be continually exercised over [women], otherwise a female empire would destroy every thing that was beautiful, and which the talents of ages had accumulated” (106). 14. for an impressive discussion of edmund’s strange feelings for fanny at this point in the novel, see claudia Johnson, Jane Austen: Women, Politics, and the Novel, 117. 15. we learn that sir thomas has proclaimed that his younger son “must be for ever divided from miss crawford” (413). 16. austen uses the subjunctive mood to relate the alteration in her hero’s attitude, revealing that this shift remains contrary to reality. 17. critics, not surprisingly, have diverse views on the closing marriage of Mansfield Park. laura mooneyham notes the “relative passivity” that permeates the “scope allowed edmund’s and fanny’s romantic resolution.” mooneyham maintains that “austen no doubt considered a love scene between fanny and edmund an unnecessary effusion” (105–6). Julia Prewitt Brown, on the other hand, claims that “the marriage of fanny and edmund is consciously invested with hope” (98). John skinner reminds us that the strange marital union “further undermines expectations of orderly dénouement” (139). austen tells us of “the joyful consent which met edmund’s application” for marriage (430), but masami usui correctly asserts that the “ending of fanny’s happy marriage . . . cannot be judged by the conventional value of marriage” (21). moira ferguson astutely mentions that when edmund “decides [fanny] will make him an appropriate wife, her parents’ response is not mentioned. we assume they are neither told nor invited to the wedding” (125). Notes to Chapter 6 1. mary evans places austen’s work in the context of england’s post–french revolu- tion modernization and indicates that its “transformation . . . into an industrial capitalist 1 7 6 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 5 Kramp_final.indb 176 1/12/2007 2:53:27 PM society involved the thorough integration of all aspects of social and material life into a form of order compatible with the demands of a society geared to the maximization of profit” (3). In this newly developing world, states must organize and employ any and all social resources, including their populations, effectively and strategically. although the community of highbury is not yet industrialized, Emma prefigures significant modifica- tions in england’s ancestral economic system, such as the rise of the trade class and the optimism of the yeomanry. 2. austen dedicated the work to the Prince regent, and it received the rave reviews of walter scott, england’s most prolific and best-known author of the day. for a specific discussion of austen’s dedication and scott’s review, see B. c. southam’s Introduction to Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage, Vol. I. In the twentieth century, trilling dubbed the novel’s representation of england as “idyllic” (59), and susan morgan hailed it as “the great english novel of the early nineteenth century” (50). 3. duckworth reads austen’s corpus as a body of conservative tory texts that advo- cate social improvement via the improvement of the manor estate in her novels. he uses Mansfield Park as the basis for this argument and claims that Emma is also extremely concerned with improving the estate; however, he claims Persuasion is a failure because the estate is abandoned. It is worth noting that when frank brings harriet back to hart- field after the encounter with the gypsies, austen tells us that emma quickly gave “notice of there being such a set of people in the neighbourhood to mr. knightley” (301). 4. the heroine’s description of donwell may have inspired trilling’s idyllic account of the world of Emma. he asserts that “there appears in Emma a tendency to conceive of a specifically english ideal of life” (53). he adds that “we cannot help feeling that ‘english verdure, english culture, english comfort, seen under a sun bright without being oppres- sive’ make an england perceived—if but for a moment—as an idyll” (57). 5. foucault continues by pointing out that this modern individual is one “who lives, speaks, and works in accordance with the laws of an economics, a philology, and a biology . . . a being whose nature (that which determines it, contains it, and has traversed it from the beginning of time) is to know nature, and itself, in consequence, as a natural being” (Order of Things 310). 6. foucault explains that “to man’s experience a body has been given, a body which is his body––a fragment of ambiguous space, whose peculiar and irreducible spatiality is nevertheless articulated upon the space of things” (Order of Things 314). 7. It is interesting that while knightley is tremendously critical of frank throughout the story, our hero also envies his youthful counterpart. late in the novel, knightley informs emma that “frank churchill is, indeed, the favourite of fortune. every thing turns out for his good.––he meets with a young woman at a watering-place, gains her affection, cannot even weary her by negligent treatment––and had he and all his family sought round the world for a perfect wife for him, they could not have found her supe- rior.––his aunt is in the way.––his aunt dies.––he has only to speak.––his friends are eager to promote his happiness.––he has used every body ill––and they are all delighted to forgive him.––he is a fortunate man indeed!” (388). 8. Johnson argues that “in moving to hartfield, knightley is sharing [emma’s] home, and in placing himself within her domain, knightley gives his blessing to her rule” (Jane Austen 143). 9. mrs. arlbery later adds that in such a marriage, “the balance is always just, where n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 6 / 1 7 7 Kramp_final.indb 177 1/12/2007 2:53:28 PM force is not used. the man has his reasons for chusing you; you have your reasons for suffering yourself to be chosen. what his are, you have no business to enquire; nor has he the smallest right to investigate yours” (780). 10. knightley adds later that mr. martin was bitterly distressed by the rejection of his proposal, claiming that “a man cannot be more so” (90). 11. mrs. weston, interestingly enough, later directly confronts mr. knightley about his inexperience regarding intimate companions, reminding him that he is “so much used to [living] alone” that he “[does] not know the value of a companion” (32). 12. although he refers to harriet as a potential “silly wife” early in the novel, he later reports on her education and social development, announcing to emma that she has become “an artless, amiable girl, with very good notions, very seriously good principles . . . placing her happiness in the affections and utility of domestic life” (431). knightley discusses earlier signs of harriet’s social improvement. see specifically 293–95 and 298. 13. Prior to leaving for london, knightley asks emma if she has “any thing to send or say, besides the ‘love,’ which nobody carries” (348). while his comment is certainly conventional, it also suggests the hero’s conception of love. 14. knightley has made earlier mention of his knowledge of and intimacy with emma from an early age. he tells mrs. weston that “emma is spoiled by being the cleverest of her family. at ten years old, she had the misfortune of being able to answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen” (32). Notes to Chapter 7 1. nina auerbach’s groundbreaking essay, “o Brave new world: evolution and revolution in Persuasion,” ushered in a new wave of criticism on this final completed austen novel. auerbach argued that Persuasion develops a new world that will be “guided by emotion and vision” and “governed by nature and by human desire.” the men and women of the old landed interests “who cannot accommodate themselves to these laws . . . are threatened and deprived of power” by “the representatives of nature and feeling” (117). many critics have followed auerbach’s lead in discussing how the novel imagines both the death of an old world and the development of a new world. tony tanner argues that “in this novel . . . institutions and codes and related values have undergone a radical transformation or devaluation. there are values, but many of them are new; and they are relocated or resisted” (216). charles J. rzepka returns specifically to auerbach’s articles and claims that “in Persuasion, the highest type of self-realization, for women as for men, seems to be comprised in the notion of active contribution, not in claims to individual rights and privileges, nor to freedom or self-assertion and self-expression, all of which can more aptly be said to characterize the values of sir walter and elizabeth . . . than of anne elliot and frederick wentworth” (108). see also timothy fulford’s “romanticizing the empire: the naval heroes of southey, coleridge, austen, and marryat.” 2. wentworth’s naval background is very important to the maritime marriage that ends this novel. tanner notes that “even though anne and wentworth are models of emo- tional stability and constancy, the emotions are by nature inherently potentially unstable” (246). Prewitt Brown adds that “anne and wentworth inherit the england of Persuasion, if only because they see it, and will experience it, as it really is: fragmented and uncertain. for the first time in Jane austen, the future is not linked with the land” (146). 3. roger sales refers to sir walter as “an ageing dandy who spends a lot of time 1 7 8 / n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 7 Kramp_final.indb 178 1/12/2007 2:53:28 PM admiring his face and figure in large looking-glasses. the family portraits watch him watching himself ” (172). 4. Interestingly, he had earlier attempted to “free” himself from the elliot tradition by marrying without the authorization of sir walter. austen relates that “instead of push- ing his fortune in the line marked out for the heir of the house of elliot, he had purchased independence by uniting himself to a rich woman of inferior birth” (14). 5. many critics have discussed this stubborn quality of wentworth. Johnson claims that the hero’s “steadfastness to the point of inflexibility actually aligns him with sir wal- ter, and he must mitigate his self-will before reconciliation is possible” (Jane Austen 157). michael williams indicates that wentworth “has a large and not unjustified self-confi- dence; he is always in search of sweeping and decisive action, always impatient of mere convention. he will where necessary defy authority, and he has an understanding that is as quick, emotionally, as it is in every other way” (163). leroy w. smith simply dubs wentworth “the most headstrong of austen’s heroes” (158). smith adds that “wentworth is not a fool or a hypocrite, but he is trapped by circumstances, sexual bias and masculine egotism. Before he can discover his own full nature or what a woman is, he must, like the female, exorcise the internalised patriarchal presence” (160). 6. austen’s novel is very much concerned with the financial successes of the navy during the napoleonic wars. for a detailed discussion of the financial prosperity enjoyed by many members of the British naval force, see Peter smith’s “Jane austen’s Persuasion and the secret conspiracy” and monica f. cohen’s “Persuading the navy home: austen and married women’s Professional Property.” 7. austen carefully constructs Benwick’s character. she relates that after the death of fanny harville, Benwick “considered his disposition as of the sort which must suf- fer heavily, uniting very strong feelings with quiet, serious, and retiring manners, and a decided taste for reading, and sedentary pursuits” (94–95). austen also aligns Benwick with Byron and scott through his tastes in poetry (98). 8. Prior to arriving in Bath, wentworth travels “to see his brother in shropshire,” and we do not hear about wentworth until anne accidentally encounters admiral croft in Bath (128). anne and the admiral discuss the surprising news from lyme that the melancholic Benwick and the recovering louisa plan to marry. the admiral attempts to explain wentworth’s response to this happening, suggesting that “frederick is not a man to whine and complain; he has too much spirit for that. If the girl likes another man bet- ter, it is very fit she should have him” (163). admiral croft speaks of his brother-in-law as both a spirited and a rational man––one who will recover from this “disappointment” and one who apparently understands the rationale for louisa’s change of heart. the admiral describes wentworth as a strong individual who will overcome this setback, but we discover that the news of Benwick’s relationship with louisa actually fosters the hero’s active pursuit of his desires for anne. 9. deleuze and guattari believe that “sexuality is the production of a thousand sexes, which are so many uncontrollable becomings” (Thousand Plateaus 278). a sexual subject, according to deleuze and guattari, has the potential to experience a vast diversity of sexes, sexualities, and sexual sensations. the male figures of austen’s corpus are strongly discouraged from pursuing such profound multiplicity; in the decades following the unrest in france, the english nation requires sturdy and regulated men who can reestab- lish order. 10. he openly discusses the turmoil and pain of their recent trip to lyme, concluding that “the day has produced some effects however––has had some consequences which n o t e s t o c h a P t e r 7 / 1 7 9 Kramp_final.indb 179 1/12/2007 2:53:28 PM must be considered as the very reverse of frightful” (172). wentworth’s comment suggests his emerging understanding of the need to embrace unexpected events and surprising emotions. he is beginning to realize the significance of dynamic desires and malleability, and anne reflects upon the alteration in wentworth’s behavior. 11. austen relates how during this coastal expedition, “captain wentworth [had] looked round at [anne] instantly in a way which shewed his noticing of it. he gave her a momentary glance,––a glance of brightness, which seemed to say, ‘that man [mr. elliot] is struck with you,––and even I, at this moment, see something like anne elliot again’” (101). 12. following the concert, wentworth continues to struggle with his envy of mr. elliot, and when he encounters anne in the company of the harvilles and musgroves she observes that “the same unfortunate persuasion, which had hastened him away from the concert room, still governed. he did not seem to want to be near enough for conversa- tion.” wentworth remains apprehensive; he is frightened to reveal his powerful feelings for the heroine that could expose the latent multiplicity of his self and the potential malleability of his masculinity. when anne discusses the travel plans of mr. elliot, “she felt that captain wentworth was looking at her; the consciousness of which vexed and embarrassed her, and made her regret that she had said so much” (209). 13. anne charges that men are quicker to forget amorous emotions than women, instructing harville that men “have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions” (219). while anne maintains a rather traditional view that women live a private life while men engage the public realm, harville attempts to coun- ter anne’s argument by employing a naval image. he declares, “if I could but make you comprehend what a man suffers when he takes a last look at his wife and children, and watches the boat that he has sent them off in, as long as it is in sight, and then turns away and says, ‘god knows whether we ever meet again!’” (221). harville’s response reminds us of the transitory nautical existence that both he and wentworth have lived over the past eight years and helps us imagine the emotion experienced by wentworth during his time in the navy. we soon discover that wentworth’s various movements have not lessened his affection for the heroine. 14. austen, on the final page of the story, specifically addresses wentworth’s compas- sionate assistance of mrs. smith “by putting her in the way of recovering her husband’s property in the west Indies; by writing for her, acting for her, and seeing her through all the petty difficulties of the case, with the activity and exertion of a fearless man and a determined friend” (237). Notes to Conclusion 1. smith explained that “the annual labour of every nation is the fund which originally supplies it with all the necessaries and conveniences of life which it annually consumes, and which consist always, either in the immediate produce of that labour, or in what is purchased with that produce from other nations” (8). smith adds that “the greatest improvement in the productive powers of labour, and the greater part of the skill, dexterity, and judgment with which it is any where directed, or applied, seem to have been the effects of the division of labour” (11). 2. I have argued elsewhere that america has historically turned to austen as a potent 1 8 0 / n o t e s t o C O n C L U S i O n Kramp_final.indb 180 1/12/2007 2:53:28 PM disciplinary force who has the power in both popular and academic culture to enforce conservative norms of heterosexuality. for a further discussion of this topic, see my article “the Potency of Jane, or the disciplinary function of austen in america.” Patricia rozema’s filmic adaptation of Mansfield Park (1999), the last of the austen films released in the 1990s, posed a clear challenge to morrow’s conception of austen. Jay carr pro- nounced that rozema’s version of the fall of the Bertram family “continues Jane austen’s winning streak on film,” and kristine huntley predicted that “yet another wave of Jane austen mania is about to hit,” but rozema’s film presented american popular culture with a notably distinct “austen.” the “austen” of rozema’s Mansfield Park showed little inclination to inform us how to behave as stable socially proper sexualized subjects, and the movie left americans wondering what happened to “dear aunt Jane.” eleanor ringel gillespie angrily asserted that rozema revised the tale by giving it “a dash of lesbianism, a pinch of feminism and a dollop of social conscience.” desson howe was also upset with this recent “perversion” of austen’s genteel world; howe argued that “rozema pushes the subtle austen off the cliff of discretion. and discretion is the very essence of austen’s writ- ing.” howe and gillespie’s comments reveal their expectation for an austen who values the predictable simplicity of a mythical prior culture; like morrow, howe and gillespie present austen’s stories as models of safety, manners, and propriety. gillespie even con- cludes that “rozema’s at-arm’s-length contemporary agenda may work as an intellectual exercise, but it robs the movie of any sense of anything being at stake.” and yet, rozema’s film actually heightens the social significance of austen’s cor- pus. the filmic adaptation captures the social complexity, sexual dynamism, and cultural instability of post-revolutionary england, but as Johnson notes, these are features of austen’s corpus that admirers prefer to ignore. Johnson explains that “rozema’s movie is controversial because a powerful nostalgia motivates many assumptions about austen, who is imagined to have celebrated a life that unfolded before the advent of the ills of modernity––such as doubt, war and, more recently, feminism and multiculturalism” (“this Is a Mansfield Park”). although austen’s texts capture a moment of severe crisis in the history of the modern english nation, contemporary american culture continues to maintain an anachronistic view of austen as a wise counselor who can provide us with guidelines for living a civilized and well-mannered life, replete with sexual regulations and gendered propriety. rozema’s film awakens american society to the reality that aus- ten never sought to offer an instruction manual for social/sexual stability. austen’s works do not provide us with characters who serve as paragons of the appropriate male and female subject; nor do her tales necessarily inform us how to live as stable and singular sexualized creatures. austen’s novels detail the responses of men and women to post- revolutionary society’s desires for their sexualities, and her narratives document how men and women curtail and manage their desires to ensure both their individual security and their involvement in the modern nation. austen never attempts to draw us a map to a promised land of social stability; her works, indeed, suggest that such a sphere does not exist. she does, however, point the way to the sea, and while the sea holds no promises of security, it allows individuals the opportunity to embrace their own diversity as well as the complexity of others. 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Kramp_final.indb 193 1/12/2007 2:53:31 PM Kramp_final.indb 194 1/12/2007 2:53:31 PM i n D e x  �95 adams, rachel, 155n14 The Advantages of Education (west), 67, 69 allen, dennis, 173n11 allestree, richard, 23, 31–32. see also The Gentleman’s Calling; The Whole Duty of Man anti-Jacobins, 21; critique of Jacobin figures, 59; philosophical advisor figure, 43–45, 54; political and novelistic tradition, 27–28, 43, 175n1 American Anatomies (wiegman), 8 american revolution, 19, 159n14 anderson, Beatrice, 165n13 anderson, Benedict, 156n1 Anna St. Ives (holcroft), 61 Appeal to the Men of Great Britain (hays), 31 armstrong, nancy, 122, 157n7, 158n8 auerbach, nina, 178n1 austen, Jane: authority on love and mar- riage, 3–4, 153n3; critical emphasis on love and marriage, 4–5; critical emphasis on women, 4, 143, 153n3, 154n9; critical treatments of men, 4–5, 155–56n15; enduring cultural appeal of narratives, ix, xi–xiii, 3, 147–48, 151n1, 181n2; heteronormativity of scholar- ship, 4, 153n3, 153–54n6, 181n2; icon status of male characters, 6, 156n17; mid-1990s cultural revival, ix–xii, 7–8, 147–48, 152n4, 181n2; post–world war II reception, 151–52n1, 152n4; promi- nence in queer culture, 154n7; role of 1790s in critical treatments of, 157n2. See also specific works; Jane austen society of north america (Jasna); Janeitism austen-leigh, James edward, 151–52n1 Badiou, alain, 155n12 Barker-Benfield, g. J., 26, 160n24 Beer, francis, 161–62n5 Bentham, Jeremy, 45 Blair, hugh, 166n23 Bly, robert, ix–xii, 5, 148, 152n2; wild man, 148 Bogue, ronald, 153n2 Booth, wayne, 153n4 Boothby, sir Brooke, 26, 28–29 Boundas, constantin V., 155n12 Brooks, gary r., 148 Brown, Julia Prewitt, 112, 119, 139, 176n17, 179n2 Brown, Patricia P., 153n4 Brownstein, rachel, 174n13 Burke, edmund, 11–12, 21, 32, 63, 77, 159n14; on chivalry, 22–26, 31, 74–75, 81, 90, 129, 159n17, 160n26; ancestral cultural vision, 24–28, 44, 76, 84, 105, 126, 159n17; on aristocratic principles and social responsibility; 22–23, 41, 45, 63, 74, 77, 89, 112, 159n15, 159n16, Kramp_final.indb 195 1/12/2007 2:53:31 PM 1 9 6 / I n d e x 175n3; on individual duty, 22–23, 41, 45; on manners, 23–24, 89; popular- ity of Reflections, 158n10; on relations between the sexes, 30–31, 39, 130, 160n26; on religion, 89–90; rhetorical language, 100, 116, 159n21, 159n22; on sentimentality, 27–30, 90, 95, 110, 117. see also Reflections on the Revolution in France Burney, francis, 62, 119, 178n9. see also Camilla; Evelina Butler, marilyn, 153n4, 157n2, 171n11, 174–75n1 Byron, lord, george gordon, 179n7 canby, henry seidel, 151n1 carr, Jay, 181n2 castle, terry, 14, 50, 168n35 chaber, lois a., 160n1 chandler, alice, 91 Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times (shaftesbury), 27–28 chesterfield, earl of, 22 chivalry, post-revolutionary discourse on masculinity, 22–26 claeys, gregory, 24 cohen, monica, 168n34, 179n6 coleridge, samuel taylor, 106 colley, linda, 18–19, 157n5 connell, r. w., 8, 19, 155n14. see also Mas- culinities courtesy/conduct book tradition, 10, 20–21, 30–32 crafton, lisa Plummer, 18 crisis of masculinity, ix–xi, 148–49 davidoff, leonore, 19 davidson, arnold I., 169n1 davie, John, 164n11 deane, seamus, 21, 156n1 de Bruyn, frans, 24 defence of the realm acts, 19 deleuze, gilles: on becoming, 147; on the fold, 155n12; on love, 7–8, 36, 53, 72, 74, 90, 108, 110, 116, 118, 122, 125, 138, 143–44, 153n2; on nomads, 147. See also deleuze, gilles, and félix guattari deleuze, gilles, and félix guattari: on body without organs, 135; on desire, 124, 140; on love, 23, 57, 132, 135, 140, 147; on nomads/nomadology, 124–25, 133– 34, 140, 144; on psychoanalysis, 155n11; on sexuality, 153n1, 179–80n9; on ter- ritorialization (de/re), 109, 115–16, 125, 135, 140, 144. See also deleuze d’Israeli, Isaac, 49 doody, margaret anne, 161n2, 161n4 drabble, margaret, 160n2 duara, Prasenjit, 156n1 duckworth, alistair, 74, 172n12, 174–75n1, 176n11, 177n3 The Emigrants (Imlay), 44, 46, 166n18 Emma (austen), 1, 9, 13, 109–23; aristo- cratic model/responsibilities of knight- ley, 62, 72, 109, 112; cole’s party, 113; critical heritage of novel, 177n2, 177n3; decline of aristocracy/emergence of new classes, 74, 109–12, 125, 129; donwell expedition, 113–15; exercise of pastoral power, 93, 119–20; historical recep- tion of novel, 177n2; Irish question in, 111; knightley’s agrarian role, 113–15; knightley’s critique of frank churchill, 116–18, 177n7; knightley’s deliberate behavior, 109, 111, 115, 122–23, 125; knightley’s departure from donwell, 118, 178n8; knightley on love and marriage, 118–23, 178n13; knightley’s marriage to emma, 122–23, 178n14; knightley as social organizer, 109, 112, 136; knightley’s trip to london, 121– 23; mr. woodhouse’s anxieties, 100, 117; novel’s concern with nation/eng- lishness, 111–12, 177n4; role of donwell abbey, 113–15, 177n4 enlightenment: post-revolutionary dis- course on rational masculinity, 27–30, 36, 43–45; post-revolutionary feminist discourse on masculinity, 30–31, 49. See also feminism; rationality Enquiry into the Duties of Men (gisborne), 26 epstein, Julia, 160n1, 165n13 Equivocal Beings (Johnson), 9 essex, John, 32 evans, mary, 75, 177n1 Kramp_final.indb 196 1/12/2007 2:53:31 PM I n d e x / 1 9 7 feminism: critical emphasis on women in austen scholarship, 4, 143, 153n3, 154n9; post-revolutionary feminist discourse on masculinity, 30–31, 49. See also enlightenment; austen, Jane ferguson, moira, 176n17 firth, colin, 156n17 fogel, gerald I., 154–55n10 foucault, michel: on aesthetic of existence, 6–7, 56–57, 73, 75, 132–33, 155n12, 155n13, 169n2; on ancients, 57, 169n1; on ethics, 132–33, 155n13, 169n2; on modern government, 89; on modernity, 17–18, 157n14, 177n6; on modern individual, 109, 115, 177n5, 177n6; on pastoral power, 93; on regulation of bodies, 20; on relational right, 146–47; on sexual desire, 1–2; on sexuality, 1–2, 20, 157–58n8, 158n12 french revolution: england’s response to, 1–2, 11, 18, 21, 158n9, 158n11, 158–59n13; treatment of marie antoi- nette, 90 freud, sigmund: on masculinity, 5–8, 154–55n10. see also Sexuality and the Psychology of Love The Friendly Jane Austen (tyler), 4 fritzer, Penelope Joan, 153n3 fulford, tim, 9–10, 19, 156n16, 156n18, 178n1. see also Romanticism and Mas- culinity furniss, tom, 24 gardiner, Judith kegan, 155n14 gellner, ernest, 75 The Gentlemen’s Calling (allestree), 23 gilbert, sandra, 4, 161n2. see also The Mad- woman in the Attic gillespie, eleanor ringel, 181n2 gilroy, Paul, 156n1 gisborne, thomas, 26. see also Enquiry Into the Duties of Men gleadle, kathryn, 157n6 glorious revolution, 159n14 godwin, william, 21, 166n18, 173n7; critique of aristocracy, 114; human potential for improvement, 87, 97, 115, 128, 166n18, 173n7; on perfectibility of man, 37 good, glenn e., 148 goodman, ellen, xii A Gossip’s Story (west), 66 gouge, william, 32 gray, John, 152n3 gregory, John, 32 grey, J. david, 160n2 grunwald, henry, xi–xii gubar, susan, 4, 161n2. see also The Mad- woman in the Attic guest, harriet, 20, 157n6 hall, catherine, 19 halperin, John, 152n1, 163n9 hamilton, elizabeth, 44–45, 166n20. see also Memoirs of Modern Philosophers harding, d. w., 153n4 hardy, John, 4, 168n33. see also Jane Aus- ten’s Heroines harris, Jocelyn, 129 hawkridge, audrey, 9–10. see also Jane and Her Gentlemen hays, mary, 21, 30, 31, 33, 42, 44, 49, 59–60. see also Appeal to the Men of Great Brit- ain; Memoirs of Emma Courtney; The Victim of Prejudice hegemonic masculinity, x–xiii, 19, 148–49. See also crisis of masculinity heldman, James, 172n2, 173n5 hobson, harold, 151n1 hoeveler, diane long, 167n24, 167n27 holcroft, thomas, 61. see also Anna St. Ives hopkins, lisa, 156n17, 172n1 horwitz, Barbara J., 165n13 howe, desson, 181n2 hroch, miroslav, 112 huntley, kristine, 181n2 Imlay, gilbert, 44, 114–15, 166n18, 176n13. see also The Emigrants Inchbald, elizabeth, 50, 62, 98–99, 114. see also Nature and Art Iron John (Bly), xi The Italian (radcliffe), 47 Jacobins, 21; agricultural fictional themes Kramp_final.indb 197 1/12/2007 2:53:31 PM 1 9 8 / I n d e x and figures, 52, 114–15, 129, 139; politi- cal and novelistic tradition, 27–29, 43; philosophical advisor characters, 43–45; principles of reason and industry, 11, 26, 29–30, 63, 69, 128 Jane Austen and the Drama of Woman (smith), 4 Jane Austen, Feminism and Fiction (kirkham), 4 Jane and Her Gentlemen (hawkridge), 9 Jane Austen and Representations of Regency England (sales), 9 Jane Austen’s Heroines (hardy), 4 Jane austen society of north america (Jasna), 8, 155n15. see also Persua- sions Janeitism, 153n5. See also austen, Jane Jerinic, maria, 166n22, 168n34 Johnson, claudia, 4, 5–6, 9–10, 13, 30, 66, 73–74, 96, 110–11, 114, 130, 153n4, 154n7, 157n2, 160n26, 161n2, 166n21, 166n22, 167n28, 167n31, 168n34, 168n35, 176n14, 178n8, 179n5, 181n2. see also Equivocal Beings Johnson, samuel, 22, 166n23, 168n36, 168n37, 172n11 Juvenilia (austen), 11, 35–43, 50, 54, 94; “catharine, or the Bower,” 36, 38–40; “Jack and alice,” 36–38; “love and friendship,” 164n12; “three sisters,” 162n6 kadish, doris Y., 18, 157n3 kaplan, deborah, 154n9, 156n17 kaufman, michael, xi–xii kelly, gary, 157n3, 175–76n9 kestner, Joseph a., 6, 155n15 kettle, arnold, 153n4 kidron, hedva Ben-Israel, 158n9, 158n11 kimmel, michael, xi–xii, 8, 155n14. see also Manhood in America king, sophia, 44, 166n19. see also Waldorf kirkham, margaret, 4, 169n38. see also Jane Austen, Feminism and Fiction knuth, deborah J., 161n2 koppel, gene, 172n1 kramp, michael, 153n3, 181n2 The Lady’s Preceptor (anon), 32 Lady Susan (austen), 35–36, 40–43; critical assessment of lady susan, 165n13 leavis, f. r., 153n4 Letters Addressed to a Young Man (west), 35–36, 40, 43, 102 Letters to His Son on the Fine Art of Becom- ing a Man of the World and a Gentleman (chesterfield), 22 lewis, matthew, 98. see also The Monk litvak, Joseph, 155n15, 161n3, 167n32, 168n34, 172n1 looser, devoney, x, xv, 155n15 love: cultural danger of male lovers, 2–3, 7– 8, 32–34; regulation of, 32–24, 147–48; relation to hegemony, 7–8, 10–11. See also deleuze, gilles; deleuze, gilles, and félix guattari; hegemonic masculinity loveridge, mark, 168n36 macaulay, catherine, 25, 28, 29, 158n9 macdonagh, oliver, 175n8 mackenzie, henry, 27. see also The Man of Feeling The Madwoman in the Attic (gilbert and gubar), 4 Male Subjectivity at the Margins (silver- man), 5 Manhood in America (kimmel), 8 The Man of Feeling (mackenzie), 27 Mansfield Park (austen), 12, 89–108; anxiety about culture’s young men, 94; Bertram daughters’ escapades, 105–6; critical his- tory of novel, 174–75n1; decline of aris- tocracy/emergence of new classes, 74, 90–92, 104–5, 109, 112, 124–25; desper- ation of aristocracy, 92; on edmund’s attempt to be gentleman and clergy- man, 90–91, 157n7; edmund compared to waverley, 91–92; edmund’s concern with nation’s young women, 93, 99, 105–6, 176n10; edmund’s ecclesiastical duties, 92–93, 97–99, 102, 105, 108, 110, 175n8, 175–76n9; edmund as fanny’s caretaker/guardian, 94–95, 96–98, 107–8, 136, 175n6; edmund’s living at thorton lacey, 101–2; edmund as Kramp_final.indb 198 1/12/2007 2:53:31 PM I n d e x / 1 9 9 sacrificial hero, 92, 100–101; edmund as substitute patriarch, 95, 99, 176n12; fanny’s return to Portsmouth, 104; on fanny’s value to the nation, 93, 105, 107–8; henry crawford’s proposal to fanny, 103–4; mary’s allure, 96–97, 103, 176n11; mary’s criticism of sir Bertram, 96; mary’s critique of clergy, 97–99, 175–76n9; party to sotherton, 97–99; role of drama in, 99–101, 176n10, 176n11; role of myth in, 92, 105, 108; rozema’s filmic adaptation, 181n2; tom Bertram’s irresponsibility, 94; tom’s sickness, 104–5 Masculinities (connell), 8 masculinity: emergent western model, 6; historical shifts in concept, 6. See also hegemonic masculinity; masculinity studies masculinity studies, 8–10, 155n14. See also masculinity mason, Philip, 153n3 mcaleer, John, 77, 172–73n4, 173n5, 173n8 mccartney, Bill, ix–x mcclintock, anne, 17–18, 93 mckellar, hugh, 165n13 mclaren, angus, 6 mcmaster, Juliet, 173n10, 174n13 A Memoir of Jane Austen (austen-leigh), 151n1 Memoirs of Emma Courtney (hays), 44, 46, 59 Memoirs of Modern Philosophers (hamil- ton), 45 men’s movements, late-millennial, ix–xii, 5, 7–8, 148–49, 152n2, 152n3 messner, michael, x, 152n2 metro-goldwyn-mayer (mgm), 151n1 miller, d. a., 154n7 mitchell, l. g., 158n10 moir, anne and Bill, 152n3 monaghan, david, 167n27, 174n13, 174n14 The Monk (lewis), 98–99 mooneyham, laura, 175n6, 176n17 more, hannah, 29, 31, 33. see also Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education morgan, susan, 168n33, 169n38, 174n14, 177n2 morrow, laurie, 147–48, 152n4, 181n2 mudrick, marvin, 167n30, 168n36, 174n12 mythopoeticism, ix–x, xi–xii, 5 nagel, Joane, 20 napoleonic wars, 19, 143, 156n18, 179n6 nation, england’s modernization as, 1–2, 6–7, 10–12, 74–76, 177n1; anxieties about young men, 1–2, 14–15; decline of aristocracy, 19, 74–76, 88–90, 157n5; domestic sphere/public sphere, 19–20, 30, 157n6, 157n7; emergence of hege- monic masculinity, 19–21, 30–31; need for middle classes, 19, 22, 25, 177n1. See also nationalism nationalism: emergence of modern euro- pean nation, 17, 74–76, 156n1; theories of, 17, 75–76, 156–57n1 Nature and Art (Inchbald), 50, 62 New Handbook of Psychotherapy and Coun- seling with Men (Brooks and good), 148 nixon, cheryl l., 172n1 Northanger Abbey (austen), 1, 11, 13, 35–36, 43–55, 60; on general tilney, 46, 52–53, 167n24, 167n25, 169n39, 169n40; henry’s chivalric training, 46–48, 65, 167n26, 167n29; henry’s conventional sentimentality, 48–49; henry on lan- guage, 48–49, 166–67n23; henry on marriage, 47, 53, 167n28; henry’s rational masculinity, 45–46, 49–55, 70, 124, 128, 166n23; henry on women, 47, 49–50, 167–68n33, 168n34, 168n35; henry at woodston, 52, 168–69n37; influence of Jacobin agrarian figure, 52; influence of Jacobin philosophical advi- sor figure, 43–45; on James morland, 50, 168n36; role of the gothic, 45–47, 166n21, 166n22 ollivier, alfred P., 8, 155n15 Paine, thomas: devotion to reason, 159–60n23; on human potential for improvement, 115 Kramp_final.indb 199 1/12/2007 2:53:32 PM 2 0 0 / I n d e x Pedley, colin, 176n10 Persuasion (austen), 12, 13–14, 124–41; alternative maritime existence in, 125–26, 138–41, 143–44, 178–79n2; on anne and wentworth’s early relation- ship, 127–28, 131–32; critical history of novel, 124–25, 156n18, 178n1; decline of aristocracy/emergence of new classes, 74, 112, 126–27, 140, 144; louisa’s fall, 134–35; on naval community, 133–35, 180n13; pathetic status of masculinity in novel, 126–27, 179n3; on renting of kellynch, 126–27; trip to lyme, 133–35, 180n10; wentworth’s conventional mas- culinity, 127–31; wentworth’s expres- sions/experiences of love, 135–38; wentworth’s jealousy of mr. elliot, 136, 180n11, 180n12; wentworth on wife/ marriage, 130; wentworth on women, 130–31 Persuasions, 8, 155n15. See also Jane austen society of north america picturesque, 49 Poovey, mary, 4, 153n4. see also The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer Pope, alexander, 62 Price, richard, 22–23, 158–59n13 Pride and Prejudice (austen), 12, 73–88; aristocratic model/responsibilities of darcy, 62, 72, 89, 172n2; BBc television production, 156n17; Bingley compared to darcy, 77–78; on Bingley’s family origins, 76–77, 102; Bingley’s marriage to Jane, 82–83, 173–74n11, 174n12; Bingley as pleasure-seeker, 78–79, 82–83, 173n10; Bingley’s training in Burkean masculinity, 79–81; on darcy’s preeminent class position, 74–75, 172n2; decline of aristocracy/need for new men, 74–76, 88–89, 109, 112, 124; elizabeth’s visit to hunsford, 79–81; elizabeth’s visit to Pemberley, 81, 84, 174n14; on enduring appeal of novel, 73–74, 172n1; gardiner as Burkean guardian, 83–87, 174n13; gardiner’s business obligations, 83–84, 86, 173n9; on love story of darcy and elizabeth, 73–74, 87, 110, 127, 172n1; lydia’s elopement, 84–87; mgm filmic adapta- tion, 151n1; on rising trade class, 75–76, 88, 128–29, 173n5, 173n6; role of Pem- berley, 74, 77–78, 82–83, 172n4; visit to lake district, 83–84 Priestley, Joseph, 25 Prince of wales, Prince regent: regency scandals, 9, 94, 175n5; Emma dedica- tion, 177n2 Promise keepers, ix–xi, 5, 148, 152n2 The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer (Poovey), 4 psychoanalysis, 7, 122, 153n5, 155n11 radcliffe, ann, 47, 49, 61, 63, 166n23, 169n40. see also The Italian; The Romance of the Forest radcliffe, mary anne, 29, 31 rationality: post-revolutionary discourse on masculinity, 27–30, 36, 43–45. See also enlightenment renan, ernest, 76, 156n1 Reflections on the Revolution in France (Burke), 12, 21–22, 25, 27–29, 47, 116, 126, 158n10 richardson, samuel, 27, 129, 161n4. see also Sir Charles Grandison robinson, mary, 30 The Romance of the Forest (radcliffe), 61, 63 Romanticism and Masculinity (fulford), 9 rowen, norma, 172n1 rozema, Patricia, 181n2 rzepka, charles J., 178n1 sales, roger, 9, 133, 175n5, 179n3. see also Jane Austen and Representations of Regency England Sanditon (austen), 14, 144–46; men of san- diton, 146; modernization of village, 145; popularity of seaside communities, 146 sapiro, Virginia, 159n22 The Saturday Review of Literature, 151n1 savran, david, 155n14 schorer, mark, 153n4 scott, walter, 91, 128, 179n7; review of Emma, 177n2. see also Waverley sedgwick, eve kosofsky, 3–4, 153n6, 154n9 Kramp_final.indb 200 1/12/2007 2:53:32 PM I n d e x / 2 0 1 Sense and Sensibility (austen), 11–12, 56–72, 124; Brandon’s constitution, 60–61, 65– 66, 71–72; Brandon’s gift of delaford living, 67; introduction of Brandon, 57–58; introduction of willoughby, 58–59, 169n4; london scenes, 64–68, 170n6; marianne’s sickness, 68–69, 171n9; role of elizas, 61, 64, 66, 70; role of mrs. smith and allenham court, 59–60, 62–64, 70, 169–70n5, 170n7, 172n13; whitwell party, 61–62; wil- loughby’s admiration of Barton cot- tage, 63–64, 117; willoughby compared to gulliver, 72; willoughby’s confession, 68–70, 171n10, 171n11; willoughby’s fondness for sensation, 59–60, 117; willoughby’s reversion to rationality, 69–72, 170–71n8 sensibility: post-revolutionary discourse on masculinity, 27–30; in Sense and Sensi- bility, 56–57, 71–72; hackneyed sensibil- ity, 146. See also sentimentality A Sentimental Journey (sterne), 27 sentimentality: post-revolutionary dis- course on masculinity, 27–30; senti- mental hero, 159n19. See also sensibility Sexuality and the Psychology of Love (freud), 5 shaftesbury, earl of, 27–28. see also Char- acteristics of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times sherrod, Barbara, 172n1, 172n3 shoemaker, robert B., 157n6 silverman, kaja, 5. see also Male Subjectivity at the Margins Sir Charles Grandison (richardson), 27, 129, 161n skinner, gillian, 23, 159n15 skinner, John, 176n17 smith, adam, 145, 180–81n1 smith, charlotte, 52, 54, 69, 113, 114. see also Desmond; The Young Philosopher smith, leroy w., 4, 161n2, 163n10, 169n38, 169n3, 179n5. see also Jane Austen and the Drama of Woman smith, Peter, 111–12, 179n6 smith, Phoebe, 63, 170n5 solomon-godeau, abigail, 149 southam, B. c., 152n1, 177n2 stanlis, Peter J., 159n14 sterne, laurence, 27. see also A Sentimental Journey stovel, Bruce, 174n12 The Stranger, 87–88 Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education (more), 31 sublime, 45, 49, 61, 146 Tale of the Times (west), 94 tanner, tony, 133, 153n3, 167n25, 167n28, 167n31, 176n9, 178n1, 178n2 Time, 151n1 tracy, laura, 5 trilling, lionel, 153n4, 177n2, 177n4 tuite, clara, 153–54n6, 154n7 turan, kenneth, 151n1 ty, eleanor, 160n23 tyler, natalie, 4, 153n5, 154n6. see also The Friendly Jane Austen usui, masami, 176n17 Van sant, ann Jessie, 159n19, 159n20 Vaurien (d’Israeli), 49 Veyne, Paul, 169n1 Vickery, amanda, 157n6 The Victim of Prejudice (hays), 42 Vindications of the Rights of Men (woll- stonecraft), 26 Vindication of the Rights of Woman (woll- stonecraft), 25 Waldorf (king), 44 wallace, tara ghoshal, 166–67n23, 168n36, 169–70n5, 170n7 watt, Ian, 151–52n1, 153n4 weinsheimer, Joel, 174n12 west, Jane, 35–36, 40, 43, 66–67, 69, 94, 102. see also The Advantages of Education; A Gossip’s Story; Letters Addressed to a Young Man; Tale of the Times white, stephen k., 159n17 The Whole Duty of Man (allestree), 23 wiegman, robyn, 8, 155n14. see also Amer- ican Anatomies williams, michael, 179n5 Kramp_final.indb 201 1/12/2007 2:53:32 PM 2 0 2 / I n d e x wiltshire, John, 104 wollstonecraft, mary, 11, 21, 25–26, 50, 60, 63, 116; critique of Burke, 29, 160n24, 160n25; on dangers of male lover, 32– 33, 42, 70, 72; on military, 26, 46, 129; on need for men of industry, 116, 130, 159n18; on reason and sentimental- ity, 29–30, 49, 70, 160n23; on relations between sexes, 30–31, 60, 70, 72. see also Vindication of the Rights of Woman; Vindication of the Rights of Men woolf, Virginia: on austen’s artistry, 154n8; on Persuasion, 124 wordsworth, william, 63 worthington, Pepper, 175n7 wright, andrew h., 128–29 Yuval-davis, nira, 93–94, 175n4 Zaw, susan khin, 159n16, 160n25, 160n26 Zook, alma, 175n2 Kramp_final.indb 202 1/12/2007 2:53:32 PM 
work_6wqgvfwlvfafjdotwodcauxitu	----	PM LA Publications of the Modern Language Association of America Edited by John Hurt Fisher Secretary of the Association Volume 84 Number 6 October 1969 Pages 1529-1722 Published Seven Times a Year by the Association Printed by the George Banta Company, Inc., Menasha, Wisconsin Tibe 5DodernJ^nguagcI|s5O(iafwn of America ORGANIZED 1883 INCORPORATED 1900 OFFICERS FOR THE YEAR 1969 President: Henry Nash Smith, University of California, Berkeley First Vice President: Maynard Mack, Yale University Second Vice President: Louis Kampf, Massachusetts Institute of Technology Executive Secretary: John Hurt Fisher, New York University Treasurer and Director of Programs: Kenneth W. Mildenberger, Modern Language Association EXECUTIVE COUNCIL For the term ending 31 December 1969 Morton Bloomfield, Harvard Univ. Robert B. Heilman, Univ. of Washington John W. Kneller, Oberlin Coll. For the term ending 31 December 1970 William T. Bandy, Vanderbilt Univ. C. 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Copyright © 1969 by The Modern Language Association of America. Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 12-32040. CONTENTS • OCTOBER An “Unknown” Luther Translation of the Bible. By Heinz Bluhm. . Abstract. Luther’s German writings contain a large number of Biblical quo­ tations, many of which differ from his translations of these same passages in his formal Bible. It is obvious that he generally did not take time to look up a passage in his published versions, but produced a new, ad hoc translation which was the inspiration of the moment. The variorum Weimar edition of Luther’s Bible, now complete in twelve volumes, regrettably does not include these in­ formal quotations. From among all the casual quotations occurring in Luther’s German writings, a few examples from the New Testament are presented and discussed in this article, along with the corresponding texts of the Greek original, the Vulgate, and the pre-Lutheran German Bibles, as well as Luther’s official renderings. Luther’s ad hoc translations are often even more vivid and concrete than his official Bible itself. They might be said to constitute a new Luther Bible—one which is not complete, to be sure, but which includes many if not most of the great scriptural passages. These casual quotations are fresh evidence of Luther’s impressive stature as a literary figure. They should be included in any new variorum edition of Luther’s German Bible. (HB) Vercelli and the Vercelli Book. By Maureen Halsall...................... Abstract. Most theories designed to explain how and when the Vercelli Book came into the hands of the canons of San Eusebio di Vercelli are little more than guesswork; and those which endeavour to single out a particular agent of transmission ignore local data, such as the records of the commune, abbey, hospices, proto-university, and cathedral, which provide a wealth of documen­ tation for the frequency of Vercelli’s contacts with England and Englishmen both during and after the Middle Ages. The only solid evidence for the length of time that Codex cxvii has rested in the cathedral archives must be found in the manuscript itself and in the various book catalogues drawn up by the canons down through the centuries. Of special interest among these catalogues is a recently discovered one, dated 1426, which describes what is probably the Vercelli Book in terms suggesting that it is an old possession of the Eusebian chapter, thus lending support to the contention that the inscription on 24v of the manuscript is indeed north Italian of the eleventh century. (MH) Aretino and the Harvey-Nashe Quarrel. By Daved C. McPherson Abstract. Gabriel Harvey and Thomas Nashe disagreed violently about Pietro Aretino, the Italian polemicist and pornographer (1492-1556), and their dif­ ferences about him help to explain why Nashe was able to make a laughing­ stock of Harvey in their literary quarrel. During Harvey’s youth (in the 1570’s), he held the then prevailing view that Aretino was a gifted polemicist and politician (only in the 1590’s did English writers begin to think of the Italian almost exclusively as a pornographer). In 1592 Harvey attacked Aretino just as violently as he had earlier praised him. His change of opinion must have occurred because he had had his fingers burned writing satire in 1580 and because Nashe, now his opponent, was praising Aretino extrava­ gantly as the Scourge of Princes. Harvey, because of his distaste for Aretino and indeed for all satirists, was now writing as a man of reason above scurrility. Nashe, with Aretino as one of his models, cultivated an opposite pose, that of the lashing modern prose satirist, long on hyperbole and short on sober serious­ ness. Harvey, with his ponderous irony, was no match for Nashe, the “true English Aretine.” (DCMcP) 1537 1545 1551 Imitation and Metamorphosis: The Golden-Age Eclogue in Spenser, Milton, and Marvell. By Patrick Cullen...................................... Abstract. If the neo-classical aesthetic of imitation could lead to poetic photo­ copies, it could also stimulate a remarkable variety of invention, as Spenser’s “April,” Milton’s Nativity Ode, and Marvell’s “The Picture of Little T. C.” demonstrate. All are imitations of the golden-age or messianic eclogue, and can­ not really be understood outside of their genre; but at the same time they completely metamorphose the conventional generic pattern. Spenser’s “April” employs the golden-age conventions not only to celebrate Elizabeth I but also, and more importantly, to portray symbolically, in the identification of Elisa with Song, the Orphic ordering power of art, the interrelation of the order of art and the order of the body politic, and the new golden age of poetry heralded by his work. Milton’s Nativity Ode uses the same formulas (but remolded by Christian truth and the procedures of divine meditation) to praise the true messiah, Christ, and to celebrate the new golden age, the new Eden, which His birth begins. And Marvell’s “Little T. C.” uses the golden-age formulas to assert wittily the Renaissance longing for a new golden age of free love, when Honor ceases to restrict the natural flowering of the human bud. (PC) Achilles’ Shield: Some Observations on Pope’s Iliad. By Fern Farnham................................................................................................ Abstract. A study of Pope’s treatment of the passage in the Iliad known as the Shield of Achilles provides insights into his working methods, his place in the quarrel between Ancients and Moderns, and his attitude toward and appreci­ ation of Homer. Our understanding of the published text can be enhanced by some knowledge of the manuscript revisions of the passage, including Pope’s own sketch of the Shield, by an examination of Vleughels’ Shield of Achilles which Pope ultimately chose to illustrate his text, by a consideration of his notes with their extensive debt to, as well as departures from, the notes of Madame Dacier, and finally by a study of Pope’s essay, “Observations on the Shield of Achilles.” This essay is shown to be only partially the work of Pope, the first two parts having been lifted, with inadequate acknowledgment, from two French defenders of Homer, Andre Dacier and Jean Boivin. The third and original part of Pope’s essay points directly to the critical principles, with their emphasis on pictorial presentation, which guided him throughout his transla­ tion of Homer. Pope’s view of the Shield passage, when contrasted with ancient allegorical interpretations or modern mythopoeic ones, reveals both his limita­ tions and his success as a leader of his age in a critical and philosophical re­ affirmation of the epic tradition. (FF) The Comic Conclusion in Jane Austen’s Novels. By Lloyd W. Brown.................................................................................................... Abstract. The conclusions of Jane Austen’s novels are invariably ironic devices for the final summary of themes and characters. This role is illuminated by three main elements of all the conclusions. First, the novelist parodies the predictability of sentimental “happy endings” in much popular fiction. This accounts for the exaggerated self-consciousness with which she approaches the mechanics of concluding her own narratives, a self-consciousness that seems on the surface to contradict Jane Austen’s well-known dislike of unrealistic plots. Second, she subverts the canons of poetic justice that are integral to most happy endings: instead of allocating rewards and punishment in accordance with ideal conventions, Jane Austen exposes the prevailing social norms that frequently undermine and replace traditional ideals. Finally, she replaces the arbitrary endings of poetic justice with the logical evolution of character and theme. Each character “punishes” or “rewards” himself, in keeping with his frequently unreliable sense of right and wrong. These features are particularly useful in a much-needed revaluation of Mansfield Park, for they demonstrate 1559 1571 1582 that it is not the didactic work described in traditional criticism. Thus Jane Austen’s comic conclusion is a consistent device for the realistic, rather than didactic, analysis of character and society. (LWB) Ruskin, Pugin, and the Contemporary Context of “The Bishop Orders His Tomb.” By Robert A. Greenberg.......................... Abstract. When read in the context of the 1840’s, “The Bishop Orders His Tomb” is seen to be neither an explicitly anti-Catholic poem nor a simple his­ torical construct. Much of its bent and many of its details had previously been expressed by so vigorously polemical a Catholic writer as Pugin; they appear again later in Ruskin’s pages. Browning’s concern rather—and this he shares with Newman, as well as Pugin and Ruskin—was to search out in the past the roots of his own age. The corruption of spirit that he discerns in the Renais­ sance he also recognizes as extending into his time. The ethos represented by Saint Praxed is dead; the modern world has begun; the qualities of the Bishop are the qualities of Browning’s reader. The same historicizing of the past in­ forms “My Last Duchess,” which dramatizes in the deadly embrace of the Duke and the Duchess the destruction of the old order at the hands of the new. The Duchess survives as a frozen portrait, Saint Praxed as no more than a confused and ineffectual memory. But despite the coherence of his analysis, and unlike Ruskin and Pugin, Browning refused to enter the lists with a pro­ gramme of his own. (RAG) Stations of the Breath: End Rhyme in the Verse of Dylan Thomas. By Russell Astley............................................................................. Abstract. Starting where Yeats and Owen left off, Dylan Thomas developed a system of consonantal correspondences which moved rhyme from the match­ ing of same to the matching of similar sounds. His early verse abounded in such devices as zero consonance (rhyming, in a context of consonance, all syllables ending in an open vowel), partial consonance (rhyming two consonant clusters one of which is deficient in one or two members), close consonance (rhyming consonants which are phonetically similar rather than identical), and frame rhyme (rhyming words marked by both alliteration and consonance). In “Then was my neophyte” Thomas built an elaborate stanza by systematically associating and contrasting rhyming syllables according to the degrees of likeness among them. During the later thirties, however, he began to exercise increasing restraint in his use of the more unconventional of these consonantal devices; and although an unprecedented system of rhymes, founded upon assonance, began to take shape throughout the forties, it never quite attained the hierarchical articulation of the earlier consonant-based system. Instead, Thomas’ latest work (his unfinished “Elegy,” for example) shows him pre­ occupied, just before his untimely death, with the exploration of simple, even quite traditional, stanzas based almost entirely upon conventional true rhyme. (RA) A Prosody for Whitman? By Roger Mitchell.................................. Abstract. A prosody has four characteristics: predictability, continuity or whole­ ness, basis in a prominent feature of the language, and flexibility. Given such a definition, Whitman took significant steps toward developing a prosody that vies with accentual and accentual-syllabic prosodies in its subtlety and in its relative freedom from arbitrariness. Based on the rhythms of grammar, Whitman’s poetry is constructed of groups rather than stresses, though stresses are here used to measure the size of groups. He is skillful both in arranging these groups and in controlling their relative size so as to reinforce his meaning. Whether measured in groups/line or stresses/line, his most consistent rhythmic form is the parabola. His use of it occasionally shows a formality and intricacy which are never attributed to him. (RM) 1595 1606 Calvinism and Cosmic Evil in Moby-Dick. By T. Walter Herbert, J*............................................................................................................. Abstract. Melville employs theological materials which complicate and deepen his portrayal of cosmic evil in the conflict of Ahab and the whale. Father Mapple’s presentation of the Jonah story sets forth Calvinist teachings which throw Ahab’s revolt into relief as a revolt against the ultimate. Melville elabo­ rates Ahab’s view of his symbolic quarry by drawing upon an anti-Calvinist tradition in which Calvin’s God was attacked as a brutal monster. Further, Calvin’s interpretation of the Old Testament King Ahab heavily influences the characterization of Captain Ahab. Calvin used King Ahab as an example of the reprobate, those predestinately damned. He stressed Ahab’s victimiza­ tion by Satan and his madness as marks of his reprobation. Melville uses these themes in a way which makes evident the cosmic evil implicit in the plight of one who is thus hopeless. Here also he draws upon a tradition of attack against Calvinism. But while Melville’s use of theology is extensive and sophis­ ticated, it is always subordinate to the thematic concerns of Moby-Dick. (TWH, Jr.) Howells’ Use of George Eliot’s Romola in April Hopes. By Jack H. Wilson.................................................................................................... Abstract. Howells’ many references to George Eliot’s Tito Melema, beginning in 1864 and continuing up into the twentieth century, indicate that the char­ acter embodied insights on the nature of moral evil and the complexity of human personality which answered to Howells’ intuitions on these subjects. Alice Pasmer’s mistaken charge in Chapter xliii of April Hopes that her fiance is, like Tito, “a faithless man” has the important function of revealing that her moral sensibility is seriously flawed. But Howells is doing more with Alice than creating merely another Puritan dutiolator. It becomes apparent as Alice’s selfishness is more fully revealed in the last third of the novel that it is her character which is glossed by comparison with Tito. At the end of the novel Alice is poised at the point where Tito began, and Howells, by marrying her to Dan, has created the conditions which will encourage the hardening of her selfishness into a predominant force in her character. Thus Howells subtly indicates what direction her moral development will inevitably take. (JHW) The Lively Art of Manhattan Transfer. By E. D. Lowry.................. Abslract. Manhattan Transfer, John Dos Passos’ first important study of urban- industrial life, owes much to the machine-oriented aesthetic of Italian futurism and other modernistic movements in the visual arts. Utilizing techniques and modes of perception indigenous to the machine age, Dos Passos sought to ex­ press the spirit, rhythms, and structure of modern reality in such a way as to evoke in the reader a sense of involvement and participation in the problems of contemporary society. In its visual directness and sensory immediacy, Manhattan Transfer suggests the influence of photography and the “lively arts” of film and vaudeville. In its overall pattern of compositional contrasts and oppositions, the novel resembles abstract painting and the montage struc­ ture of the motion picture. Basic to Dos Passos’ outlook is a synoptic or visual concept of reality as a network of dynamically interacting parts. Only by view­ ing his world as a “system” in which nothing is fully comprehensible in isola­ tion can man realize himself as a responsible individual and direct the energies of the machine toward socially desirable ends. (EDL) Structure and Dramatic Technique in Gide’s Saul and Le Roi Can- daule. By D. M. Church..................................................................... Abstract. Two early Gide plays, Saiil and Le Roi Candaule, represent a revolt against the realistic and naturalistic theater of the nineteenth century, yet they cannot be completely classified as symbolist because of Gide’s insistence on the importance of psychologically particularized characters. Character is a 1613 1620 1628 major consideration that determines the dramatic quality, the structure, and the techniques of the plays. Saul, which bears many superficial resem­ blances to Shakespeare’s plays, is completely dominated by the figure of the King. The play’s structure reminds one of a fugue; it is more an intellectual artifice than a dramatic development. In Le Roi Candaule, as in Saiil, the title figure is completely dominant to the point that other characters seem mere puppets. In each play the action hinges on a voluntary self-destructive decision made by the protagonist. But the dramatic effects are due largely to Gide’s interesting, yet not always masterful, use of theatrical tricks. In spite of their obvious flaws, these plays deserve consideration as forerunners in the twenti­ eth-century French trend toward using theater as theater to express meaningful ideas about the nature of man. (DMC) “La marquise sortit a cinq heures.” Par Albert Chesneau.............. 1644 Abstract. Simple structural analysis applied to passages cited from the works of Andre Breton elucidates the reasons for his condemnation of the statement “La marquise sortit a cinq heures” (see his Manifeste du surrealisme, 1924) as non-poetic. This study demonstrates the opposition existing between the above-mentioned realist sentence, essentially non-subjective (third-person subject), non-actual (past tense predicate), contextual (context can be sup­ posed), and prosaic (lack of imagery), and on the other hand a theoretic sur­ realist sentence, essentially subjective (first-person subject), actual (present tense predicate), and non-contextual, producing a shock-image. In reality, Breton’s surrealistic phrase does not always contain all of these qualities at once. However, in contrast to the condemned phrase which contains none at all, it does always manifest at least one of these characteristics, the most im­ portant having reference to the evocative power of the shock-image. A final comparison with a sentence quoted from Robbe-Grillet, the theoretician of the “nouveau roman,” proves that even though it may appear objective, the surrealist phrase is really not so. In conclusion, the four characteristics of the ideal surrealist sentence—subjectivity, actuality, non-contextuality, and abil­ ity to produce shock-images—create a poetics of discontinuity opposed to the classical art of narration as found traditionally in the novel. (In French) (AC) The Spanish Debate Over Idealism and Realism Before the Impact of Zola’s Naturalism. By Gieeord Davis.............................................. 1649 Abstract. In the middle 1870’s a polemic concern in the daily and periodical press over idealism and realism anticipates Spain’s later reception of natural­ ism, and reveals the general affiliations of Valera’s art for art’s sake and of Alarcon’s moralism. Earlier hostility to French influence now permeates neo- Kantian concern for the relative merits of the good (idealism), the true (real­ ism), and the beautiful (art for art’s sake). Philosophical and literary debate is twisted by the quarrel of liberals and neo-Catholics. Much writing was stimu­ lated by the debates in the Ateneo in 1875 and 1876 over the effects of realism in the theater. Many intellectuals took part, including Revilla and Valera. The summary position is one of essential idealism ready to compromise to meet the scientific age. The polemic of Navarrete and Vidart over Pepita Jimenez (1874) is an early manifestation of this debate, and the quarrel of the liberals and neo-Catholics over Alarcon’s reception to the Academy (1877) reduces the polemic to bitter argumentum ad hominem. One of the early reports of Zola’s naturalistic writings (also in 1877) shows that the “cuestion palpitante” was an immediate and intensified continuation of the debate. (GD) Notes, Documents, and Critical Comment: 1. Whitman’s Earliest Known Notebook: A Clarification (by John C. Broderick). ... 1657 “For Members Only”: News and Comment........................................ 1660 PMLA PUBLICATIONS OF THE MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA Published Seven Times a Tear *-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Indices: Vols. i-l, 1935, li-lx, 1945, li-lxxix, 1964 •P-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- * EDITORIAL COMMITTEE David M. Bevington, 1974 University of Chicago J Milton Cowan, 1970 Cornell University A. Dwight Culler, 1974 Yale University Hugh M. Davidson, 1973 Ohio State University E. Talbot Donaldson, 1971 Columbia University Richard Ellmann, 1973 Yale University Victor Erlich, 1974 Yale University Donald J. Greene, 1973 University of Southern California Cecil Y. Lang, 1973 University of Virginia James E. Miller, Jr., 1973 Universily of Chicago Stephen G. Nichols, Jr., 1974 Dartmouth College George Nordmeyer, 1972 Hunter College Paul R. Olson, 1974 Johns Hopkins University Donald H. Reiman, 1970 Carl H. Pforzheimer Library Henry H. H. Remak, 1971 Indiana University Hallett D. Smith, 1971 California Institute of Technology Willard Thorp, 1970 Princeton University Editor: John Hurt Fisher Assistant Editor: William Pell Advertising Coordinator: Barry Newman A STATEMENT OF EDITORIAL POLICY PMLA endeavors to represent the most distinguished contemporary scholarship and criticism in the modern languages and literatures. It welcomes either new or traditional approaches by either young or established scholars, providing only that whatever it publishes is well written and likely to be of permanent value. The distribution of papers in PMLA should reflect work of distinction actually being done from year to year, regard­ less of periods or languages. 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work_76stoqpzfrco7e6o5xeuiuxl5q	----	VLC_46_3-4_BookReviews 632..636 3. Sarah Stickney Ellis, The Women of England (1838), Indiana University Victorian Women Writers’ Project, https://webapp1.dlib.indiana.edu/ vwwp/welcome.do;jsessionid=DE6159B41E8EC05F43256581BDC7745F, 14. 4. Paul Fussell, Class: A Guide through the American Status System (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1983), 24; Wahrman, Imagining the Middle Class, 16. 5. Leonore Davidoff, The Best Circles: Women and Society in Victorian England (Totowa: Rowman and Littlefield, 1973), 45; quoted in Elizabeth Langland, Nobody’s Angels (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1995), 34. 6. Carolyn Steedman, “True Romances,” in Raphael Samuel, Patriotism: The Making and Unmaking of British National Identity (London: Routledge, 1989), 30–31. 7. A. A. Milne, When We Were Very Young (London: Methuen, 1924), 81. Milne was not a middle child, but he was the youngest of three. Data KAREN BOURRIER DATA was not a word that the Victorians used regularly. The BritishEnglish corpus of the Google NGram viewer, which visualizes word fre- quency across the corpus of books scanned by Google as of 2012, shows a slow increase in the use of the word “data” in the nineteenth century, with a dramatic spike around 1990 (see fig. 1). The Oxford English Dictionary ties the rise of “data” specifically to the rise of computing and com- puters in the mid-twentieth century. Data is collective. Now typically used as a mass noun, data signifies related bits of information, usually numbers, con- sidered collectively. Informally, data means any sort of digital information. In this essay, I use digital humanities methods to collect data about the Victorian novel. Concentrating on Anthony Trollope’s third Chronicle of Barsetshire, Doctor Thorne, I examine what social media traces on Goodreads, a popular social cataloguing site where users review and recom- mend books to friends, can tell us about the way we read Victorian litera- ture now. In doing so, I hope to uncover information about a collective everyday Victorianism. While previous work in reader response theory suf- fered from the difficulty of obtaining data on how people read, for the first 632 VLC • VOL. 46, NO. 3/4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000438 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://webapp1.dlib.indiana.edu/vwwp/welcome.do;jsessionid=DE6159B41E8EC05F43256581BDC7745F https://webapp1.dlib.indiana.edu/vwwp/welcome.do;jsessionid=DE6159B41E8EC05F43256581BDC7745F https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000438 https://www.cambridge.org/core time, Goodreads offers us “a large-scale network of serious readers and their readings with the attendant metadata” in James English’s words.1 Lisa Nakamura remarks that “scholars looking to study reading culture ‘in the wild’ will be rewarded by a close study of Goodreads.”2 Doctor Thorne is an interesting case study at this cultural moment because Julian Fellowes chose to dramatize Trollope’s novel in the wake of his enormously popular period drama, Downton Abbey. Fellowes’s announcement that he would adapt Doctor Thorne provoked an immediate spike in tweets about Trollope in May 2015.3 However, it was not until Doctor Thorne actually aired, in March 2016 on ITV in the U. K. and on Amazon Prime in May 2016 in the U. S., that Goodreads saw an increased number of users reviewing the novel.4 Eighty of the top 300 reviews of Doctor Thorne appeared in 2016, as opposed to 23 to 25 reviews per year each of the previous three years. Those who read Doctor Thorne generally liked it, of 4,095 users who rated the novel, 76% gave it four or five stars out of a possible five, while only 4% gave it two stars or less.5 Fora general audience, Trollope, with his focus on marriage and money and his smooth prose style, seems to be a natural successor to Jane Austen, who has been endlessly adapted in the past 25 years. Austen was by far the author that reviewers most frequently compared Trollope to; she is men- tioned 49 times in the top 300 reviews, followed by Charles Dickens at 26 men- tions, and George Eliot at 9. Users also included Doctor Thorne on lists devoted to “What to Read After You’ve Finished Jane Austen” and “More for the Jane Austen Purist,” where they collaboratively ranked Trollope’s novel as 157 out of 334 books and 47 out of 98 books respectively.6 As one reviewer put it: “How am I almost 35 and just experienced the wry fun of a Trollope novel? Seriously, next time you see a nerdy thirteen-year-old clutching Austen and Dickens, be sure to put some Trollope in her hands as well.”7 Figure 1. Frequency of the word “data” in British English literature from 1800 to 2000. Graph created using Google NGram viewer, Google Books Ngram Viewer: http://books.google.com/ngrams. DATA 633 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000438 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at http://books.google.com/ngrams http://books.google.com/ngrams https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000438 https://www.cambridge.org/core Despite the strong connection between Austen, Trollope, and adap- tation, it would be a mistake to presume that general readers are only in it for the costume drama. Although the 2016 miniseries seems to have prompted many to read the novel, this was not what they focused on in their reviews. Only forty-one, or 13.67%, of the top 300 written reviews mentioned the adaptation. By contrast, 151, or 50.33%, of reviewers expressed familiarity with Trollope’s oeuvre in general, either intimating (“I do really enjoy Trollope; there is something quite soothing and stim- ulating both in watching his novels march along to their ordered end- ing”) or directly stating that they had read or were at least familiar with some of Trollope’s other novels (“I’ve read 99 percent of the trollopes, even the obscure ones, and this one is my absolute favorite”).8 Love (of Trollope, of his characters, or of the book in general) was the main theme that came up in written reviews. Yet, reviewers were actu- ally about as likely to mention Trollope’s style (which they compared to “butter” and “silk”) as love of his characters (the “marvellously irreverent” Miss Dunstable, mentioned 29 times, was universally liked).9 Delving deeper into Trollopian style, many readers found Trollope amusing, with 65 of 300 reviewers mentioning enjoying his humour. By contrast, the narrator alternately amused and infuriated readers. As one reader put it, “even with all his Victorian mansplaining, Trollope and I might be friends after all.”10 And of, course, many readers found Trollope dull, though not everyone thought this was a bad thing: “The plot is like taking a familiar train ride: one knows where one is going to wind up, and one knows where all the stops are going to be. The pleasure is in watching the scenery (i.e., the characters) go by.”11 Some scholars have theorized that literature which enters the canon becomes depoliticized over time, appreciated for its aesthetic qualities rather than its political commentary.12 This is not so with Doctor Thorne, which many read as a form of social critique. Eighty-nine reviews men- tioned Trollope’s skewering of the British class system, money, and mar- riage; many of these readers wondered whether Mary’s inheritance undermined Trollope’s criticism of the class system, others were disturbed that Scatcherd’s downfall seemed to be a punishment for his social ascen- dancy. Fewer readers made a direct connection to the present day, but it seems that Trollope functioned equally well as an escape from and a cri- tique on the 2016 U. S. election. Readers commented that “it was the per- fect escape from post-inauguration depression.”13 One reviewer wrote that rereading the novel “provides great insight into the carnival of politics today”;14 another compared Sir Roger Scatcherd, “a boorish construction 634 VLC • VOL. 46, NO. 3/4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000438 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000438 https://www.cambridge.org/core tycoon who uses his new wealth to buy a seat in Parliament,”15 to Donald Trump shortly after he announced his candidacy for president. Reading Trollope by the numbers, a mode the highly regimented novelist surely would have appreciated, reveals an appreciation amongst general readers of not only the marriage plot and his characters, but also of his style and his social commentary. Numbers may be on the upswing as evidence in literary studies; Andrew Goldstone and Ted Underwood point out that after a century of decline in mentions of num- ber words in scholarly articles, there appears to be an upturn in the use of numbers.16 Social media data has the potential to transform the way we read Victorian literature now, illuminating the way our objects of study are read outside the classroom. NOTES 1. James English, “Prestige, Pleasure, and the Data of Cultural Preference,” Western Humanities Review 70, no. 3 (2016): 119–39, 137. English argues that Goodreads was a valuable purchase for Amazon, which acquired the company in 2013, because reviews of books on Amazon were scant and influenced fewer than 10% of read- ers on their next book purchase. See English, 131–33. 2. Lisa Nakamura, “‘Words with Friends’: Socially Networked Reading on Goodreads,” PMLA 128, no. 1 (2013): 238–43, 241. 3. Karen Bourrier, “Victorian Memes,” Victorian Studies 58, no. 2 (2016): 272–82, 276. 4. Data on exactly how many Goodreads users read Doctor Thorne in 2016 would be preferable here and is in theory collected by Goodreads. However, this data is not available to the general public through the API at this time. In this article, I work with the top 300 (of a possible 381) written reviews on Doctor Thorne, available to the public and col- lected on 27 October 2017. Goodreads allows users to add books, which can result in several different editions in the database (though the general policy is for all editions, including translations, e-books and audiobooks, to have one entry). Here, I consider the most popular edi- tion, which had 4,095 ratings as opposed to the next most popular at 37, as of 27 November 2017. Using the software NVivo, I coded the top 300 reviews by hand for mentions of familiarity with the author, social critique, love (of the author and of characters), medium of consump- tion, and writing style. I used NVivo’s automated word frequency search in these reviews to determine the other authors that reviewers DATA 635 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000438 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000438 https://www.cambridge.org/core compared Trollope to, and mentions of particular characters. I am grateful to Paul Pival, special and numeric data services specialist in Libraries and Cultural Resources at the University of Calgary, who scraped the reviews and introduced me to NVivo. 5. Goodreads, November 27, 2017, https://www.goodreads.com/book/ show/29151142-doctor-thorne?from_search=true. 6. “Doctor Thorne > Lists,” Goodreads, November 27, 2017, https://www. goodreads.com/list/book/29151142. 7. Cassandra, “Review of Doctor Thorne,” Goodreads, November 10, 2013; and Kelly, “Review of Doctor Thorne,” Goodreads, Decmber 3, 2016. 8. Cynthia, “Review of Doctor Thorne,” Goodreads, February 25, 2008. 9. Douglas Dalrymple, “Review of Doctor Thorne,” Goodreads, May 21, 2015; Carol Apple, “Review of Doctor Thorne,” Goodreads, February 26, 2015; Margaret, “Review of Doctor Thorne,” Goodreads, October 26, 2010. 10. Christen, “Review of Doctor Thorne,” Goodreads, July 19, 2016. 11. Spiros, “Review of Doctor Thorne,” Goodreads, July 5, 2009. 12. For a summary of this position, see Deidre Lynch, Loving Literature: A Cultural History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015), 28. 13. Meg, “Review of Doctor Thorne,” Goodreads, February 7, 2017. 14. Margaret O’Connor-Hurst, “Review of Doctor Thorne,” Goodreads, December 29, 2015. 15. Sharon, “Review of Doctor Thorne,” Goodreads, July 2, 2015. 16. Andrew Goldstone and Ted Underwood, “The Quiet Transformations of Literary Studies: What Thirteen Thousand Scholars Could Tell Us,” New Literary History 45, no. 3 (2014): 359–361. Decadence KRISTIN MAHONEY Though our thoughts turn ever Doomwards, Though our sun is well-nigh set, Though our Century totters tombwards, We may laugh a little yet. —John Davidson, A Full and True Account of the Wonderful Mission of Earl Lavender1 636 VLC • VOL. 46, NO. 3/4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000438 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29151142-doctor-thorne?from_search=true https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29151142-doctor-thorne?from_search=true https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29151142-doctor-thorne?from_search=true https://www.goodreads.com/list/book/29151142 https://www.goodreads.com/list/book/29151142 https://www.goodreads.com/list/book/29151142 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000438 https://www.cambridge.org/core Data Notes Decadence 
work_7a5oglvb7zeuvo3ub2vdhx5t5i	----	On the comparison of literary and scientific styles: the letters and articles of Max Born, F. R. S | Notes and Records of the Royal Society of London Login to your account Email Password Forgot password? Keep me logged in New User Institutional Login Change Password Old Password New Password Too Short Weak Medium Strong Very Strong Too Long Congrats! Your password has been changed Create a new account Email Returning user Can't sign in? Forgot your password? Enter your email address below and we will send you the reset instructions Email Cancel If the address matches an existing account you will receive an email with instructions to reset your password. Close Request Username Can't sign in? Forgot your username? Enter your email address below and we will send you your username Email Close If the address matches an existing account you will receive an email with instructions to retrieve your username Cookies Notification This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse the site you are agreeing to our use of cookies. Find out more. × brought to you byCarnegie Mellon University Skip main navigationJournal menuClose Drawer MenuOpen Drawer MenuHome All Journals Biographical Memoirs Biology Letters Interface Interface Focus Notes and Records Open Biology Philosophical Transactions A Philosophical Transactions B Proceedings A Proceedings B Royal Society Open Science Brought to you by Carnegie Mellon University Sign in 0 Cart Search Anywhere This Journal Quick Search anywhereEnter words, phrases, DOI, keywords, authors, etc... SearchGo Quick Search in JournalsEnter words, phrases, DOI, keywords, authors, etc... SearchGo Advanced Search Skip main navigationJournal menuClose Drawer MenuOpen Drawer MenuHome Home Content Published ahead of print Latest issue All content Subject collections Blog posts Information for Authors Guest organizers Reviewers Readers Institutions About us About the journal Editorial board Author benefits Policies Journal metrics Open access Sign up Purchase eTOC alerts RSS feeds Newsletters Request a free trial Submit Restricted access MoreSections Get Access Get Access Tools Add to favorites Download Citations Track Citations Share Share on Facebook Twitter Linked In Reddit Email Cite this article Bolton H. C. and Roberts Alan 1995On the comparison of literary and scientific styles: the letters and articles of Max Born, F. R. SNotes Rec. R. Soc. Lond.49295–302http://doi.org/10.1098/rsnr.1995.0029 Section Restricted accessArticle On the comparison of literary and scientific styles: the letters and articles of Max Born, F. R. S H. C. Bolton Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author and Alan Roberts Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author H. C. Bolton Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author and Alan Roberts Google Scholar Find this author on PubMed Search for more papers by this author Published:01 July 1995https://doi.org/10.1098/rsnr.1995.0029 Abstract There has been much scholarly activity in literary textual analysis; problems have included the literary analysis of characters, the disputed authorship of texts, hidden insertions in another hand and the continuation of incomplete texts. Classically the interpretations of these literary problems are given in terms of literary judgements, but there are no reasons to forbid numerical arguments based on statistical techniques, and it is to be hoped that literary and statistical judgements are seen not as contradictory but as complementary. If we can use the much-burdened word ‘style’, then we would hope that the choice between the use of literary and statistical judgements can be viewed as an exercise of style by the person making the judgement. Footnotes This text was harvested from a scanned image of the original document using optical character recognition (OCR) software. As such, it may contain errors. Please contact the Royal Society if you find an error you would like to see corrected. Mathematical notations produced through Infty OCR. Previous Article Next Article Access options Sign in for Fellows of the Royal Society Please access the online journals via the Fellows’ Room Not a subscriber? You canrequest a library trial. Personal login Username or email Password Forgot password? Keep me logged in Institutional login Purchase Save for later Item saved, go to cart Notes and Records - PPV issue - 25 to 69 years old $22.00 Add to cart Notes and Records - PPV issue - 25 to 69 years old Checkout Restore content access Figures Related References Details 31 July 1995 Volume 49Issue 2 Article Information DOI:https://doi.org/10.1098/rsnr.1995.0029 Published by:Royal Society History: Published online01/01/1997 Published in print01/07/1995 Copyright and usage: Scanned images copyright © 2017, Royal Society Statistics from Altmetric Close Figure Viewer Browse All FiguresReturn to FigureChange zoom levelZoom inZoom out Previous FigureNext Figure Caption NOTES AND RECORDS About this journal Contact information Purchasing information Submit Author benefits Open access membership Recommend to your library Help Author benefits Purchasing information Submit Open access membership Recommend to your library Contact information Help ROYAL SOCIETY PUBLISHING Our journals Open access Publishing policies Permissions Conferences Videos Blog Manage your account Terms & conditions Privacy policy Cookies Our journals Historical context Open access Publishing policies Permissions Conferences Videos Blog Manage your account Terms & conditions Privacy policy Cookies THE ROYAL SOCIETY About us Contact us Fellows Events Grants, schemes & awards Topics & policy Collections Venue hire About us Contact us Fellows Events Grants, schemes & awards Topics & policy Collections Venue hire Back to top Copyright © 2021 The Royal Society 
work_7cibxhx3vndnfdphgygeudkmbe	----	Jane Eyre's Imagination Jane Eyre's Imagination Author(s): Jennifer Gribble Reviewed work(s): Source: Nineteenth-Century Fiction, Vol. 23, No. 3 (Dec., 1968), pp. 279-293 Published by: University of California Press Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2932556 . Accessed: 05/03/2013 09:38 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. . University of California Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Nineteenth-Century Fiction. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucal http://www.jstor.org/stable/2932556?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Jane Eyre's Imagination JENNIFER GRIBBLE Then my sole relief was to walk along the corridor of the third story, backwards and forwards, safe in the silence and solitude of the spot, and allow my mind's eye to dwell on whatever bright visions rose before it-and certainly they were many and glowing; to let my heart be heaved by the exultant movement, which, while it swelled it in trouble, expanded it with life; and, best of all, to open my inward ear to a tale that was never ended-a tale my imagination created and narrated continuously; quickened with all of incident, life, fire, feeling, that I desired and had not in my actual existence (I, xii, 138).1 HIS CENTRAL PASSAGE has caught the eye of most critics of Jane Eyre, for it focuses the novel's peculiar quality of subjective revelation. Charlotte Bronte's first successful novel is all too clearly self-projective, both in its account of the workings of the imagina- tion and in its concern with social demands and tensions. "I will show you a heroine as plain and as small as myself" 2 she told her sisters, who still believed in the convention of the beautiful hero- ine. And Charlotte Bronte shares with her heroine the tremendous energy of an imagination pressing at the confines of a governess's social context and a nervously retiring personality. Her letters refer again and again to the compensatory and vicarious role of "the faculty of imagination" in her own dreary life. There is, of course, as Suzanne Langer notes,3 an intimate connection between social tensions and imaginative activity: we are driven to the symboliza- [279] Jennifer Gribble is senior lecturer in English at La Trobe University, Victoria, Australia. 1Volume, chapter and page numbers cited thus refer to Jane Eyre, Shakespeare Head ed. (Oxford, 1931). 2Quoted by E. C. Gaskell, The Life of Charlotte Bronte (Dolphin Books, New York), p. 259. 3 Feeling and Form (London, 1959), p. 253. This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 280 Nineteenth-Century Fiction tion and articulation of experience when we must understand it to keep ourselves oriented in society and nature. Jane, like Charlotte Bronte, is sustained by imaginative activity of various kinds; they have a common tendency to render their experience by extended images, frequently images drawn from the creative process itself. The intense and varied imagining is at times undisciplined, unre- lated to the novel's real imaginative logic: in this, as in other ways, the distinction between the narrator and the heroine begins to blur. Charlotte Bronte's tendency to an uncritical identification with her heroine, and in particular her fascinated interest in Jane's imaginative powers, suggest why the novel can so easily be dis- missed as "subjective," or as "romantic" in the pejorative sense. The presence of what look like very conventional romantic ele- ments-the mad wife, the bogus wedding, the visionary dreams and coincidences-seems to provide further symptoms of such a ro- manticism. Phrases like "our first romantic novelist," "our first subjective novelist" usually imply judgments like Kathleen Tillot- son's, that Jane Eyre is "a novel of the inner life, not of man in his social relations; it maps a private world," 4 or of G. Armour Craig, that it is "the reduction of the world to the terms of a single vision." 5 For Craig, as for the novel's first critic, G. H. Lewes, this central passage on Jane's imaginings gives evidence that Charlotte Bronte sees the imagination as a consoling escape from the realities of life. It seems to me that Charlotte Bronte's romanticism is of a more exploratory and interesting kind than has generally been acknowl- edged: that in Jane Eyre she is attempting, if not always consist- ently and successfully, to examine the workings of the creative imagination. Jane Eyre is a portrait of the artist in a less explicit way, perhaps, than most other novels of the kind, though it is clearly a near portrait of Charlotte Bronte as a young woman. Jane is an artist in the formal sense only by virtue of her skill in draw- ing. But in concentrating attention on the significance of Jane's active and sensitive imagination and its relationship with, and responses to, what it encounters, the novel inevitably unfolds the processes by which art is made. In Jane, to use Coleridge's very 4 Novels of the Eighteen-Forties (Oxford, 1956), p. 257. "The Unpoetic Compromise," English Institute Essays, 1955 (New York, 1956), p. 40. This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Jane Eyre's Imagination 281 relevant terms, we see the functioning of the primary imagination, or basic acts of perception involved in the most normal contacts of the mind with "nature." But further, the novel presents and emphasizes the contrast beween the more sophisticated organizing activities-the fancy, by which Jane ties the elements of her experience into uneasy and arbitrary synthesis, and the secondary imagination, which, like poetry, fuses the disparates of experience into profound and meaningful order. In Jane's responses to events, in her drawings and her dreams, we see a mind actively creating its experience. Charlotte Bronte's interest in the imagination, "that strong restless faculty that claims to be heard and exercised," 6 iS less coherent than Coleridge's (whose poetry she certainly ab- sorbed-there is no evidence of her reading his prose), but her novels show an increasing insight into its vagaries and powers. Far from envisaging the imagination as an escape from the reali- ties of life, Charlotte Bronte must surely have agreed with G. H. Lewes7 that it is only through the imagination that "reality" can fully be explored and understood. In fact, the source of the debates between Reason and Fancy that recur in her letters and novels is a purposeful effort to explore the relationship between "inner" and "outer" worlds. The impulse behind her first novel, The Pro- fessor, had been a determined adherence to "the real," a repressing of the fantastic romances of Angria, the dream kingdom she had shared in childhood with her brother. "Nature and Truth," the two great neoclassical deities, were to be her guides.8 But the in- sistent claims of her own inspiration, her own invention, proved too strong to be repressed. Increasingly she strives, like Words- worth and Coleridge's Lyrical Ballads, to reconcile "the power of exciting the sympathy of the reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and the power of giving the interest of novelty by the modifying colours of the imagination." 9 As M. H. Abrams shows, the whole tendency of Coleridge's thinking, especially the distinction between fancy and imagination, is to relate the "mecha- nistic" "fixities and definites" involved in the theory of the passive, 6 The Brontes: Their Lives, Friendships and Correspondences (Oxford, 1932), p. 153. 7"Recent Novels: French and English," Fraser's Magazine, XXXVI (Dec., 1847), 687. 8 See her exchange with Lewes after his review of Jane Eyre, in Correspondences, Vol. II, 152. 9 Biographia Literaria, ed. J. Shawcross (Oxford, 1907), Chap. xiv. This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 282 Nineteenth-Century Fiction reflecting mind to his central concern with the active, creating mind.10 Less consciously, Charlotte Bronte is attempting, from Jane Eyre onwards, to balance the claims of an objective, shared world of phenomena of which she must give faithful account, and a belief in the transforming, organic power of the imagination. Jane Eyre questions the kind of dichotomy between inner experi- ence and outer world that she (and also G. H. Lewes) had once believed necessary. The novel attempts what Coleridge describes as "the mystery of genius in the fine arts" "to make the external internal, to make nature thought and thought nature." 11 In no abstract theoretic way, but in the very terms of the imaginative activity itself, it reveals how shifting is the sense of "reality," or that which the mind plays upon, how uncanny is the power of the imagination to anticipate and transform the stuff of experience, to forge its own version of the facts, to find in the natural world that complex sense of relatedness that the romantic poets find. Such a concern makes difficult demands of the novelist, howv- ever, especially one with a predilection for autobiographical form. In Jane Eyre there is the need constantly to distinguish between Jane's imagination and Charlotte Bronte's, and the two are not always distinguishable. Further, despite her "romanticism," Char- lotte Bronte is not writing a form of romance but attempting to register the claims of the imagination within the conventions of the nineteenth-century novel. Her novel is as firmly committed to the evaluation of Jane as a social being, to the ways in which her social experience forms her, as it is to what her imagination dis- covers about that experience. Such a balance of claims is not easily maintained. Charlotte Bronte's attempt to show, through Jane, the power of the imagination to anticipate, organize, and even trans- form the stuff of experience, is in danger of succeeding too well, that is, of lapsing into wish-fulfillment, the kind of imaginative absolutism to which Craig objects. "Annihilating all that's made" may be possible in the lyric situation of Marvell's garden, where the speaker's isolation from a social context is also clearly limited in duration. But Charlotte Bronte has set herself the task of show- ing that her heroine's imagination is necessarily limited as well as extraordinarily powerful. It is only by confronting Jane with those aspects of society and identity that resist the controlling, synthesiz- 1 The Mirror and the Lamp (New York, 1958), Chap. vii. ""On Poesy and Art," Biographia Literaria, Vol. II, 256. This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Jane Eyre's Imagination 283 ing activity of the observing and perceiving mind that she can represent the power of her own imagination to tell a tale that com- prehends more than Jane's, and, as well, the validity of other ver- sions of the facts. This is, of course, essentially the meaning of our demand for "objectivity" in the novel-that the total view we absorb from its pages should take its bearings from more than one mind's view, that against any central character's integrity of vision should be ranged the other possible visions (including the au- thor's) that make up the complexities of our composite experience. In other words, while Charlotte Bronte may explore, through Jane's experience, the interaction and fusion of internal and exter- nal, individual and society, thought and nature, she must represent as objectively as possible the facts on which Jane's imagination works, and also that which is intractable, which challenges Jane's sense of herself, her desires, her imaginative domination. It is this interest in the problems of living in society, then, that provides the necessary counterpoise to the imaginative powers of the heroine. Jane's progress, like that of many another Victorian heroine, is ostensibly a social one; the basic structure of the novel depends on her defining, developing movements from context to context. Jane is pathetically eager to belong: "I saw you had a social heart," Rochester observes of her. In the acting out of her longings to establish herself socially, to discover a role appropriate to her sense of self, she encounters some challenges, hardships and restraints that no imaginative energy can transform. Throughout the novel, a series of crucial episodes summarize Jane's imaginative and social progress. A discussion of two of these, and their inform- ing contexts, may help to demonstrate the connected relationships between Jane and Charlotte Bronte, Jane and society, and the question of the power and function of Jane's imagination. Jane's traumatic experience in the red-room is one such episode: it starkly images Jane's life at Gateshead and her developing sense of herself in relationship with others. Although she is herself narra- tor, the interest of her tale lies more in the dramatizing of her relationship with the Reed family than in any outpourings of her inner life. She is "humbled by the consciousness of [her] physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed," excluded from the family group at the fireside until she should acquire "a more socia- ble and childlike disposition, a more attractive and sprightly man- This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 284 Nineteenth-Century Fiction ner." And although John Reed's brutality and his mother's an- tagonism are more sharply felt by being presented through the consciousness of Jane, we are still made aware that the Reeds are not as monstrous as they may appear to the sensitive alienated child, but comprise a not untypical Victorian family of spoilt children and coldly correct mother faced with a strange child who in no sense belongs to them. Imprisoned in the fearful red-room, the child, who scarcely understands her disgrace and alienation, has the uncanny experience of catching her reflection in the glass: Returning, I had to cross before the looking-glass; my fascinated glance involuntarily explored the depth it revealed. All looked colder and darker in that visionary hollow than in reality: and the strange little figure there gazing at me, with a white face and arms specking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear moving where all else was still, had the effect of a real spirit; I thought it like one of the tiny phantoms, half fairy, half imp, Bessie's evening stories represented as coming up out of lone, ferny dells in moors, and appearing before the eyes of be- lated travellers (I, ii, 11). Jane's imagination, playing on this sharply isolated image of her- self, reveals to her the essential nature of her position at Gateshead and makes explicit what lies implicit in the preceding pages. She is a strange small creature, a visitor among ordinary people, bring- ing with her from her own lonely region a startling power and even a malevolence (of the kind, we later note, that terrifies Mrs. Reed). It is a genuine perception of the creative imagination, blurring the distinction between the Jane who looks in the mirror, and the reflected Jane who looks up out of the hollow: "All looked colder and darker in that visionary hollow than in reality" and yet the reflected figure "had the effect of a real spirit." The interaction between fact and imagination, between external and internal, is such that we are compelled to accept a composite view of the child's insignificance and her power, of her subjection to experience and her control of it. And of course the incident is a paradigm of ro- mantic theories of the imagination, in its playing on the mirror paradoxes of activity and passivity, inclusion and exclusion, ego- tism and self-abnegation, and in that the essential creative insight into the social facts comes at the moment of most complete social isolation. The real success of the passage is perhaps that Charlotte Bronte's own imagination is working so precisely and relevantly. Jane's This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Jane Eyre's Imagination 285 vision, while losing none of its power, is complemented by Char- lotte Bronte's "placing" of the child. The later reflections of the mature Jane extend this placing: "they were not bound to regard with affection a thing that could not sympathize with one amongst them, a heterogeneous thing, opposed to them in temperament, in capacity, in propensities" (I, ii, 13). Her experience at Lowood school is a further stage of Jane's self-discovery in relation with others, where, in particular, the stoic Helen Burns radically ques- tions Jane's tendency to a self-justifying view of the Gateshead years. Helen's doctrine of endurance begins to influence Jane as she attempts to "return good for evil," "to eschew the self-centred- ness of day-dream and self-righteousness," and to adhere to cer- tain fixed social and moral principles. This social and moral growth leads Jane to submit with patience to the coldness of her dying aunt and to the selfishness of her cousins. And it bears di- rectly on her rejection of Rochester. For all the force and insight of Jane's imagination, then, we are still aware that it here subserves as well as renders Charlotte Bronte's controlling insight, and that the essential distance be- tween creature and creator is preserved. For contrast, one might take the comparable passage where Jane first explores Thornfield Hall: I lingered in the long passage to which this led, separating the front and back rooms of the third story: narrow, low and dim, with only one little window at the far end, and looking, with its two rows of small black doors all shut, like a corridor in some Bluebeard's castle. While I paced softly on, the last sound I expected to hear in so still a region, a laugh, struck my ear. It was a curious laugh; distinct, formal, mirthless (I, xi, 135). Here the distinction between the imaginations of heroine and creator is lost: the impact of that laugh surely depends for its effect on the kind of sensation suggested in "the last sound I ex- pected to hear in so still a region," that is, on a quietness, an ab- sence of threat. In fact, however, Jane's impressions of the small, dark, close corridor, her telling "Bluebeard's castle" comparison, have prepared the way for just such a sinister note, so that Jane's surprise at the intrusive noise is not as convincing as it should be. In this case, Charlotte Bronte's imagination has leapt ahead, fore- stalling her heroine and calling in question the dramatic integrity of her responses. This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 286 Nineteenth-Century Fiction There is, of course, a further vision in the red-room. The real trauma comes after night falls, and the child's mind dwells on the morbid associations of this place where her uncle has died: I began to recall what I had heard of dead men, troubled in their graves by the violation of their last wishes, revisiting the earth to punish the perjured and avenge the oppressed; and I thought Mr Reed's spirit, harassed by the wrongs of his sister's child, might quit its abode- whether in the church vault or in the unknown world of the departed -and rise before me in this chamber. I wiped my tears and hushed my sobs; fearful lest any sign of violent grief might waken a preternatural voice to comfort me, or elicit from the gloom some haloed face, bend- ing over me with strange pity. This idea, consolatory in theory, I felt would be terrible if realised: with all my might I endeavoured to stifle it-I endeavoured to be firm. Shaking my hair from my eyes, I lifted my head and tried to look boldly round the dark room: at this moment a light gleamed on the wall. Was it, I asked myself, a ray from the moon penetrating some aperture in the blind? No; moonlight was still, and this stirred; while I gazed, it glided up to the ceiling and quivered over my head. I can now conjecture readily that this streak of light was, in all likelihood, a gleam from a lantern, carried by some- one across the lawn: but then, prepared as my mind was for horror, shaken as my nerves were by agitation, I thought the swift-darting beam was a herald of some coming vision from another world. My heart beat thick, my head grew hot; a sound filled my ears, which I deemed the rushing of wings: something seemed near me; I was oppressed, suffo- cated: endurance broke down; I rushed to the door and shook the lock in desperate effort. Steps came running along the outer passage; the key turned, Bessie and Abbot entered (I, ii, 14). This is one of several occasions in the novel where weight is given to Jane's "fairy" powers; later incidents go even further, and sug- gest that she actually does possess supernatural or extrasensory perceptions. Here, we are in no doubt that Jane has only seen a gleam of light. As the lengthy analysis of her thought process indi- cates, the final climactic delusion is the imagination's attempt to transform the facts of her imprisonment and alienation. One more readily accepts this incident than the comparable later one of the mystic call and answer between Jane and the blinded Rochester, because here Charlotte Bronte, although showing the power of Jane's imagination to affect her own perceptions, is in no danger of endorsing those perceptions in the face of all probability. Never- theless, the interest of the incident clearly lies in the effects of Jane's vision, for however private and deluded it does bring about This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Jane Eyre's Imagination 287 the desired end, changing Jane's position from outcast to object of pity and wonder, and thus of acceptance. The relationship with Rochester is the obvious danger point for Charlotte BrontW's tendency to be overinvolved in Jane's suc- cess. Jane's life as governess at Thornfield Hall, even before she meets its master, encourages her in the kind of escapist dream quoted at the outset. Her dreams are of movement-busyness, people, towns-the qualities Charlotte Bronte found lacking in the novels of Jane Austen: "what throbs fast, full, though hidden, what the blood rushes through." 12 The "stormy seas" and violent motions of which she dreams on the night she saves Rochester from the fire, and her strange prophetic drawings, have the melodra- matic coloring of conventional romanticism, a coloring of which Charlotte Bronte is usually aware. But it is Craig's contention that Jane's visions, swinging free of any "objective" facts the novel might provide, become the substance of the novel. There are, I think, two points at which one must agree that Charlotte Bronte is not securely in control of her heroine's imagin- ings-where an unqualified conventional romanticism is offered and endorsed. One is the episode following the mock-marriage, where Jane, in flight from the bigamous intentions of Rochester, coincidentally discovers some long-lost cousins. Jane's encounter with a new and different social context is part of the basic pattern of the book. But her cousin St. John's subsequent offer of a "mis- sionary marriage," embodying just that adherence to right princi- ple that Jane found lacking in Rochester's proposal, is too sche- matic, too much the passionless opposite of Rochester's. For this reason I cannot see it, as Craig does, as a climax of Jane's progress. It is a "religious call' certainly, but in context it looks more like a humiliation than a victory. The final heaven-directed reunion with Rochester circumvents the whole dilemma. And again, in the mystic call and answer between the separated lovers Charlotte Bronte seems to be straining to deliver her heroine, laboring the connection between Jane and Rochester to the point where events are falsified to vindicate Jane's vision. In both these cases, the evidence lies in a dislocation of the delicately balanced relationship between Jane's imaginings and the world they encounter. That " Correspondences, Vol. III, 99. This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 288 Nineteenth-Century Fiction world, reduced to the schematic and the coincidental, is tempo- rarily a mere adjunct of Jane's willful imagination. These points of weakness, however, surely do not vitiate Char- lotte Bronte's purpose in the novel as a whole. That Jane's dreams and drawings are highly colored and girlishly romantic the author does indeed see and know as part of a girlhood she had herself lived through. It is the intent of this novel to show that the hero- ine, in her development from daydream to maturity, hovers be- tween fancy and real insight. The interest is not primarily in the quality of Jane's imaginative activity, but in its relationship with the context in which it works. Jane's drawings, so clearly springing from, and prophesying, aspects of her experience-from the ornithological book she reads at the opening of the novel, to the blinding of Rochester-but lurid in themselves, are a case in point. We are, I think, compelled to accept that Jane's imagination has extraordinary powers: the detailed analysis of her physical symp- toms at moments of heightened awareness-the rapid beating of the heart, chill, paralysis-convey an almost scientific vindication of such states of being. Jane's sensitivity and the acuteness with which she judges Rochester's whims justify in part his favorite descriptions of her-"mocking changeling," "almost unearthly thing"-and his parable of their love, for his step-daughter: "it was a fairy come from elf-land." And the dreams in which Jane foresees her separation from Rochester and the devastation of Thornfield Hall seem to me to relate validly to the "actual." Like her draw- ings, Jane's dreams combine sensations already experienced in the narrative, such as the social barrier that divides the lovers, and Jane's sense of duty-"burdened with the charge of a little child." The settings of these dreams, too, recall the actual, notably the roadway on which the lovers first met and parted, and the strange, deceptive structure of Thornfield Hall itself. The effect is to show how Jane's sensitive response to her experience can foresee, through the transmuting and organizing activity of dream, the calamity implicit in what has already been lived through. Certainly, then, the coming of Rochester transforms Jane's exist- ence, but for the most part it provides something actual on which her imagination can feed, in Rochester's own fascinating personal- ity and in the introduction of the neighboring society. We in no sense feel that Jane creates this life, or that Rochester is a mere puppet of her imagination. There is a sense in which her imagina- This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Jane Eyre's Imagination 289 tion comprehends and assimilates him, anticipating the course their relationship will take. As Rochester first rides towards her she remembers Bessie's fable of the Gytrash, or North-of-England spirit, which comes upon belated travelers, and she glimpses, as horse and rider and dog pass her, "one mask of Bessie's Gytrash." The fancy links the rider with the Jane of the mirror vision and prefigures the ways in which Jane does come to control Rochester, and he to depend on her. A moment after, his horse has slipped and thrown him. Later, the incident has a strange unreality for Jane, the element of fable again catching the blurring of fact and fancy or wishing. On her return home she stops again at the stile "with an idea that a horse's hoofs might ring on the causeway again, and that a rider in a cloak, and a Gytrash-like Newfoundland dog, might be again apparent" (I, xii, 147). Nevertheless, elsewhere in this section Jane's seeming control of her experience, her imagination leaping ahead of the action in dream, vision, prophetic drawing, is counterpoised by aspects of her experience that are not susceptible of her control or her fore- knowledge. Rochester's strange caprices bewilder her; the visiting gentry, despite their Angrian behavior, reduce her to a mere grey shadow. Neither Jane's imaginative powers, nor Charlotte Bronte's tendency in a few cases to claim too much for them, can be said to cancel out Blanch Ingram's social superiority, the uncomprehend- ing hostility of the Reeds, the recurring disharmonies between the desire of the individual mind and the intractable facts of life. "There is no difference between the mind that knows the world of this novel and the mind that seeks to know it in terms of a private vision," Craig insists. Perhaps I can best conclude my disagreement with him by taking up the relationship between Jane and "nature." Jane's feeling for and dependence on the natural world may well seem to question the kind of social orientation I have been stress- ing. In the anguished days after she leaves Rochester, when her sense of identity, purpose, meaning is completely shaken and she feels all ties with human society cut, throwing herself on the mercy of the elements, she seeks the solace of nature: I touched the heath: it was dry, and yet warm with the heat of the summer-day. I looked at the sky; it was pure: a kindly star twinkled just above the chasm ridge. The dew fell, but with propitious softness; no breeze whispered. Nature seemed to me benign and good; I thought This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 290 Nineteenth-Century Fiction she loved me, outcast as I was; and I, who from man could anticipate only mistrust, rejection, insult, clung to her with filial fondness. To- night, at least, I would be her guest-as I was her child (II, xxviii, 1 1 ). And yet the solace is temporary: "I was a human being, and had a human being's wants." "Human life and human labour were near. I must struggle on: strive to live and bend to toil like the rest" (114). Jane's closeness to nature, her sensitivity to its signs, is linked with her tendency to visualize in order to understand-the natural world offering the most immediate, as well as the most deeply felt, source of analogy. She goes to nature in order to discover and de- fine, but her discoveries lead back inevitably to the problems of social living. It is the relevance of nature, as well as the kind of natural world represented, that distinguishes Jane from such a Jane Austen heroine as Fanny Price. Fanny turns from the troubled household of Mansfield Park to look at the scene outside the window,13 where all that was solemn, and soothing, and lovely, appeared in the brilliancy of an unclouded night, and the contrast of the deep shade of the woods. Fanny spoke her feelings. "Here's harmonyl" said she; "Here's repose! Here's what may leave all painting and all music be- hind, and what poetry only can attempt to describe! Here's what may tranquillize every care, and lift the heart to rapture! When I look out on such a night as this, I feel as if there could be neither wickedness nor sorrow in the world; and there certainly would be less of both if the sublimity of nature were more attended to, and people were carried more out of themselves by contemplating such a scene." 14 It would be inconceivable for this heroine to throw herself into such intense physical contact with nature as Jane Eyre does, when, for example, she sleeps on the bare turf. The ordered eighteenth- century landscape on which Fanny delights to look, her very formu- lation of response to it-"carried more out of themselves by contemplating such a scene"-measures the distance that separates her from Jane. For it is essential to Charlotte Bronte's intent, to her conception of the imagination, that she should attempt to blur such distinctions between the observer and the scene and to make the world of nature contiguous with the human mind. 2S The Verbal Icon (New York, 1964), p. 110. 14 Mansfield Park, Bentley ed. (London, 1877), p. 98. This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Jane Eyre's Imagination 291 Again we must press the distinction between Charlotte Bronte and her heroine, however. Both of them are striving to apprehend analogies in nature, Jane's imagination reflecting that of her cre- ator. Rochester, for example, takes on the shape of the mighty tree riven by storm, in the dream of Jane as in the actual garden created by Charlotte Bronte. But Jane's analogies sound stock, second-hand, at a remove, as indeed they are. Jane visualizes the noise of Rochester's coming as, in a picture, the solid mass of a crag, or the rough boles of a great oak, drawn in dark and strong on the foreground, efface the aerial distance of azure hill, sunny horizon and blended clouds, where tint melts into tint (II, xii, 140). There is an irrelevance as well as a remoteness here. But Charlotte Bronte's imagination, at its creative work, conveys the quiet, sus- pended existence of Jane in her winter walk, in the integrally related terms of the peaceful bare countryside: If a breath of air stirred, it made no sound here; for there was not a holly, not an evergreen to rustle, and the stripped hawthorn and hazel bushes were as still as the white, worn stones which causewayed the middle of the path. Far and wide, on each side, there were only fields, where no cattle now browsed; and the little brown birds which stirred occasionally in the hedge, looked like single russet leaves that had for- gotten to drop (I, xii, 140). Jane is so stilled in wintry suspension of life that, like the birds, she has become as inanimate as the last dried leaves. The natural world is more than mere analogy here-it is an essential and harmonious dimension of human experience. With similar evoca- tive particularity, the whole of nature seems to attend the coming together of Jane and Rochester in the garden "sheltered and Eden- like" and to provide, in a way no analysis could do, a sense of the force and naturalness of their love, aspects only suggested by the crisp repartee that characterizes it. And Jane's delight at the harmony of Thornfield is given in natural terms; her return to Thornfield on a warm evening is full of harvest sights and sounds, the "shooting leaf and flowery branches," the midsummer sun, the skies of extraordinary purity: Nature must be gladsome when I was so happy. A beggar-woman and This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 292 Nineteenth-Century Fiction her little boy-pale, ragged objects both-were coming up the walk, and I ran down and gave them all the money I happened to have in my purse-some three or four shillings: good or bad, they must partake of my jubilee. The rooks cawed and blither birds sang; but nothing was so merry or so musical as my own rejoicing heart (II, xxiv, 23). This passage is particularly interesting, I think, in explaining how this kind of relationship with nature differs from mere pa- thetic fallacy. As W. K. Wimsatt has pointed out, such a relation- ship works, in romantic nature poetry, by blurring the distinction between literal and figurative-the poet wants to read a meaning into the landscape, but he also wants to find it there.'4 Jane's re- joicing heart identifies itself with the birds' songs, nature's jubilee increases her own, and out of the fullness of her joy she seeks to transform human lives too. Yet Charlotte Bronte is careful that the passage also acknowledges the presence of poverty and suffer- ing, the more sober cawing of the rooks. And there comes a time when Jane's misery puts her out of tune with nature's bounty and creativity: He who is taken out to pass through a fair scene to the scaffold, thinks not of the flowers that smile on his road, but of the block and axe-edge (II, xxvi, 107). Birds began singing in brake and copse: birds were faithful to their mates; birds were emblems of love. What was I? In the midst of my pain of heart, and frantic efforts of principle, I abhorred myself (II, xxvi, 108). These passages seem to me to preserve the kind of validity I find in the novel at best-to show on the one hand the energy and power of Jane's imagination in transforming, or making its own, aspects of the natural world it seizes as relevant, yet on the other hand, the integrity of the natural world as something that exists in its own right. For further illustration of the distinction between Jane's imagination and Charlotte Bronte's in this respect, there is a moment when Jane's imagination, powerfully tenanted by grief, plays upon the destruction of her happiness: Jane Eyre, who had been an ardent, expectant woman-almost a bride-was a cold, solitary girl again: her life was pale; her prospects were desolate. A Christmas frost had come at midsummer; a white December storm had whirled over June; ice glazed the ripe apples, This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Jane Eyre's Imagination 293 drifts crushed the blowing roses; on hay-field and corn-field lay a frozen shroud: lanes which last night blushed full of flowers, today were pathless with untrodden snow; and the woods, which twelve hours since waved leafy and fragrant as groves between the tropics, now spread, waste, wild, and white as pine-forests in wintry Norway (II, xxvi, 74). It is significant that such is Jane's sense of dispossession, of aliena- tion at this point that she deliberately turns from the contempla- tion of nature in its midsummer beauties, and by her metaphor transforms its sights and sounds, the former emblems of her court- ship, into the fanciful equivalents of her own darkened vision. Hers is a landscape that swings away from the actual, and it is part of our understanding of her state of being at this crisis that we should see it so. And this case of the absolutism of the imagination is clearly recognized as absolutism by Charlotte Bronte. But in general, nature is for Jane no mere escape from the pres- sures of social living but a means by which she comes to understand more surely and deeply what her social experience teaches. And for Charlotte Bronte the mind's relationship with the natural world offers the most immediate illustration of the powers and limitations of the imagination. For this remarkable novel does not merely map a private world. It attempts, though not always suc- cessfully, something quite original. In probing the relationship between one mind's world and the larger world of social relations it demonstrates the insights of romanticism within the conventions of the nineteenth-century English novel. This content downloaded on Tue, 5 Mar 2013 09:38:01 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Article Contents p. 279 p. 280 p. 281 p. 282 p. 283 p. 284 p. 285 p. 286 p. 287 p. 288 p. 289 p. 290 p. 291 p. 292 p. 293 Issue Table of Contents Nineteenth-Century Fiction, Vol. 23, No. 3 (Dec., 1968), pp. 253-375 Front Matter [pp. ] The Significance of Dual Point of View in Bleak House [pp. 253-264] Style and Purpose in Maria Edgeworth's Fiction [pp. 265-278] Jane Eyre's Imagination [pp. 279-293] The Summons of the Past: Hawthorne's "Alice Doane's Appeal" [pp. 294-303] The Literary Contexts of "My Kinsman, Major Molineux" [pp. 304-311] Melville and the Fortunate Fall: Typee as Eden [pp. 312-323] Symbolism and Psychological Realism in The Red Badge of Courage [pp. 324-331] Notes The Symbolism of the Italian Background in The Marble Faun [pp. 332-336] Billy Budd, Claggart, and Schopenhauer [pp. 336-343] Dickens' Flora Finching and Joyce's Molly Bloom [pp. 343-346] Reviews Review: untitled [pp. 347-349] Review: untitled [pp. 349-351] Review: untitled [pp. 351-355] Review: untitled [pp. 355-359] Review: untitled [pp. 359-361] Review: untitled [pp. 361-365] Review: untitled [pp. 365-368] Recent Books: American Fiction [pp. 368-375] Back Matter [pp. ] 
work_7fcrwkxigfasfo3sas2z4v56fi	----	PII: 0953-5438(89)90029-5 Modelling devices and modelling speakers T.J.M. Bench-Capon and A.M. McEnery The roles played in an illocutionary act by models of the means of communication and the communicator are distinguished, and qualita- tive differences between the models appropriate in the two cases identified. Applied to human-computer interaction, this means that a user must have models of the computer both as a communications device and a communications medium, and of the system author as interlocutor. Keywords: speech acts, illocutionary acts, user models, human- computer interaction This short note is a response to the commentary (Barlow et al., 1989) on our views that computer dialogues should be seen as mediated discourse (Bench-Capon and McEnery, 1989). One point needs clarification: the commen- tary stated that we restricted our discussion to nonintelligent, nonadaptive systems. While finding the use of ‘intelligent’ somewhat question-begging, we did intend to include systems of all kinds currently found, including expert systems, knowledge-based systems, hypertext systems, and anything else that might be termed ‘AI’. Even so, the commentary does take a rather more inclusive view of interaction than was the concern of the original paper. In that paper we were addressing only the question of how a user should go about the interpretation of messages from the computer system, and the selection of input to that system. It may be helpful to explain our reason for this focus. It was essentially that the elements of the interaction in which we were interested were those concerned with communication. We should perhaps at this point make clear our views on the nature of communicative acts. Following Austin (1962) and Searle (1969), we believe that an act of communication involves the simultaneous performance of a number of distinguishable acts. There is the ‘utterance act’ which involves the making of certain sounds, in the case of speech, or certain marks, in the case of writing, or causing certain images to appear on a computer screen, as in programming. Second there is a ‘propositional act’ in that these Department of Computer Science, University of Liverpool, PO Box 147, Liverpool L69 3BX, UK. Tel: (051) 794 3697. Email: sq35@uk.ac.liverpool.ibm 220 0953-5438/89/020220-05 $03.00 @I 1989 Butteworth & Co (Publishers) Ltd Author’s reply sounds, marks or images may have some conventional semantics assigned to them by virtue of being part of some language. Third there is the illocutionary act in that the performer of the utterance act will have some intention to convey a meaning to the recipients of the act. This meaning is the illocutionary force, which may be distinct from the propositional force, the literal interpretation of the utterance. To complete the picture, there is the ‘perlocutionary act’, by which the recipient of the utterance ascribes a meaning to the utterance, which may be termed the ‘perlocutionary force’. A successful act of communication occurs when the illocutionary and perlocutionary forces coincide. An act of communication therefore requires both an originator of an utterance, whom we term the ‘speaker’ irrespective of the communication medium, and one or more recipients of the utterances (the ‘hearer(s)‘). It is part of the responsibility of the speaker to make his utterance in such a way as to best promote the coincidence of the illocutionary and perlocutionary forces. This will influence the utterance act both in the way it is performed, perhaps suggesting the use of block capitals for some handwritten information, and the utterance made, since a variety of utterances with different propositional forces could be used to perform a given illocutionary act. Again in the original paper we concentrated on the latter aspect, giving stress to the selection of utterance taking into account the intended hearer and his cultural and linguistic propensities. Thus our focus was on the interaction as an act of communication, posing the questions as to who is the speaker and who is the hearer, and offering programmer and user as answers. This was because we were interested in this aspect of the interaction and not because we wished to deny that any interaction at all with the device took place: to draw an analogy with telephone conversations, the act of communication is between the two people at either end of the telephone line. The telephone is a necessary condition of their communication, and they must understand how to use the telephone effectively, and must interact with their devices, but the communicative interaction that is taking place remains between the conversationalists. The role of secondary producers is a side issue with respect to communications aspects; the enjoyment of a telephone conversation may be enhanced by the ergonomic design of the instrument, but it contributes little to the understanding of what is being said. So too with books; a reader needs to have a model of the device so he can find particular statements, and may relish the fine binding and pleasant typeface, but understanding the content, ascribing a perlocutionary force, depends most crucially on the reader’s model of the author. When we meet the phrase ‘Mr Elton actually violently making love to her’ (Austen, 1816) in a novel, it cannot be understood in the absence of a model of the author: we must envisage an altogether less physical scene knowing that it was written by Jane Austen than we would if it had been written by a contemporary author such as Jackie Collins. Again one must not, however, read us as denying that the model of the device has any role in the speaker’s selection of utterance and the hearer’s interpretation of that utterance. A wise speaker will avoid the use of a word Bench-Capon and McEney 221 which has a near homophone which could lead to misunderstanding when talking but need not take this trouble when writing, The use of the telephone places well-known constraints on useful forms of utterance; the lack of visual clues from the speaker may dictate a quite different form of words from what could be used in face to face conversation. Selection of utterance is a complex matter and must be influenced both by the speaker’s understanding of his audience, which we stressed, and the speaker’s understanding of the medium, which we did not. Similarly, interpretation is a complex matter to be performed in the light both of the hearer’s understanding of the speaker, and the hearer’s understanding of the medium. We remain of the opinion that the disregard of the medium is, however, more by way of a hindrance to effective communica- tion, whereas disregard of the partner in the communicative act is likely to have disastrous consequences. Thus the model of the medium may be seen as being of a secondary importance. Where the act of communication is mediated by a device, a model of the device is required for two different reasons. First, and most obvious, is that a model is needed because otherwise the participants in the interaction simply could not use the device to communicate. It is vital to know where to speak into a telephone if one is to be heard. This aspect of the device model assumes a greater importance in the case of computers than books and telephones. That is because we are all familiar with telephones and books (of a variety of sorts: novels, text books, directories, etc.), and they are so standard in their behaviour that we can use them without needing to develop a fresh device model for each telephone or book encountered or, indeed, without thinking about the model to any great extent. Only when confronted with a particularly novel sort of telephone do we need to consider how to use it. Computers, in contrast, are neither so familiar, nor so standardised, and have a potentially far greater range of functionality. Therefore when confronted with a new computer system it may well take us some time and experimentation before we develop our device model, and understand how to use the system effectively. Systems with WIMP interfaces provided a good example of this: when they were first introduced even experienced computer users took some time to become accustomed to the idea of opening icons with double clicks, dragging an icon around the screen by holding down the mouse button, and deleting files by dragging their icon to the mysterious picture at the bottom of the screen. Their existing models of the computer as a device were useless as a guide to the behaviour of the device with this extended functionality, and so needed extension to accommodate this extra functionality. The second role of the device model is that it provides an understanding of the constraints operating on communication via the device. If communication is to be effective, these constraints must be understood by both participants in the communicative act, so they can work within them. Both of these roles together, however, are not sufficient to enable effective communication: ultimatety successful understanding still requires that the hearer understands the speaker sufficiently to ascribe a meaning to the utterance. 222 l~~e?acf~ng with Computers vot I no 2 {~989~ One concrete example may help here. Suppose a user is stuck while interacting with a system, knowing what he or she wishes to do, but unsure how to do it. The user must be aware, from knowledge of the constraints imposed by the medium, that it is necessary actively to seek help; while a puzzled look might elicit help in a face to face situation, it is of no avail in this kind of mediated situation. Next, also from the device model, the user must be aware of how to solicit help on the topic causing confusion. Assuming that the device model is sufficient to enable the user to reach this point, it will now be possible for the user to secure some help message. But this message needs to be interpreted, and here the user must employ some model of the originator of the message, namely the programmer. Users thus require models both of the computer, as a device and as a medium of communication, and of the system author, as speaker. The programmer requires similar models of the computer, and a model of the user as hearer. It is, however, vital to recognise that these models are qualitatively quite distinct. The models of the device are not only playing different roles from the model of the speaker, but are of an entirely different nature. The model of the system as a device is essentially there to answer questions of how to achieve certain effects, and comprises of a number of causal hypotheses of the form ‘if I do this, then this will happen’. These hypotheses are meant to be consistent, so that the same cause is expected to result in the same effect. The model of the system as means of communication is quite different: this comprises a number of constraints on the interaction resulting from the features of the medium as compared with other potential communications media. Thus this kind of model inhibits forms of utterance dependent on visual clues from use over a telephone line, and forms of utterance depending on tone of voice from writing, and so on. Obedience to the constraints is, however, a matter of judgement: irony often depends on visual clues for its detection, but is not wholly impossible over the telephone, provided one is well known to the person with whom one is speaking. The mechanism of cause and effect is not paramount here. Models of speakers and hearers are different yet again; while there are strong causal elements here in that it is used to answer questions of the form ‘how can I best explain this to my hearer? and *what made the speaker use that expression?‘, we have no expectation of consistency such as we have with devices. Use of the speaker/hearer models is an art, while use of the device models can be a science. This may just be because of the complexity and mutability of speakers and hearers as compared with devices, but it needs to be recognised by the users of such models. The remark towards the end of the commentary (Barlow et al. 1989) about the probable cognitive impossibility of a user modelling the producer of the system probably stems from a confusion of these two kinds of model. A definitive causal model, in the sense of knowing which buttons to press to evoke a particular response from a person, may well be impossible. This cannot, however, be the case for a model of the sort appropriate to a speaker, since were it impossible, it would be impossible to understand any communication. Such a model is a necessary prerequisite of any communicative function, as we Bench-Capon and McEnery 223 Author’s reply attempted to argue in our original paper, and as is supported in Grice (1982), Diaper (1988) and elsewhere. Such a model must take into account any effect of the medium on the message, but while the characteristics of the device being used may be of some significance, the illocution will still depend for its success on the models held by the communicants of one another. All users of a language are more or less good at forming such models, and form such models whenever they participate in an interaction with another person. Nor is there any reason why the ‘best professional psychologists’ should be any better than anyone else at forming these kinds of models. The skill required here is not an understanding of the mind in a causal sense, but a social skill everyone develops and hones from infancy. To conclude, our original paper focused on one particular aspect of human-computer interaction, namely the interaction as a communicative act. We did so because we felt that this aspect had been neglected or misunder- stood: had we been trying to be uncontroversial we might have better titled our paper ‘People communicate through computers, not with them’. Of course it is necessary to consider the role of the device in the interaction, and the constraints that it imposes on the communication. We do, however, believe that it is fruitful to see the interaction fundamentally as a communication between programmer and user, since this enables the distinctions made in philosophy alluded to above to be exploited within the discipline of human-computer interaction. It is worth considering as separate issues how to aid users in constructing device models so they can know how to use the medium to communicate, how the utterance should be formed (particularly as the computer offers such a range of options such as text, pictures, and sound), what constraints the mediation of the computer places on the forms of utterance, and how the user can be aided in constructing a model of the speaker. Our view is that these distinctions are currently blurred, to the disservice of all concerned. Finally it would assist the designers of systems if they recognised themselves as speaking to their users through the computer rather than as building a system that would speak to users on its own account. We trust that this note helps make clear the distinctions that underlie our views, and corrects any overstatement in our original paper. References Austen, J. (1816) Emma Thomas Nelson, London, 116 Austin, J.L. (1962) Now to do things with words Oxford Barlow, J., Rada, R. and Diaper, D. (1989) ‘Interacting WiTH computers’ Interacting with Computers 1, 1, 39-42 Bench-Capon, T.J.M. and McEnery, A.M., (1989) ‘PeopIe interact through computers not with them’ ~~ferucfi~g wifh Co~~ufers 1, 1, 31-38 Diaper, D. (1988) ‘Natural language communication with computers: theory, needs and practice’ in Duffin, P. (ed.) KBS in Government 88 Blenheim Online, Pinner, UK, 19-44 Grice, H.P. (1982) ‘Meaning revisited’ in Smith, N. (ed.) Mutual knowledge Academic Press, London, UK Searle, J.R. (1969) Speech acts Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK 224 Interacting with Computers vol 1 no 2 (1989) 
work_7fd6n3h2cbhh5bqh7lhk427ysi	----	www.sciencemag.org SCIENCE VOL 301 25 JULY 2003 443 E X H I B I T S Regaining One’s Marbles The Internet has accomplished what decades of public cam- paigns and bitter squabbling haven’t: reuniting the famous mar- ble frieze from the Parthenon in Athens, a sculpture 160 meters long that wrapped the temple with religious and mythic im- agery. Although the actual frieze remains in fragments housed in Athens, London, and Paris, archaeologists and the public can now study a complete online version at this site maintained by the Greek government. Created between 447 and 432 B.C., the meter-high frieze de- picts some 360 human figures, more than 250 animals, and the 12 gods of Olympus, all in a sacred procession to the Acropolis. Two hundred years ago, the British diplomat Lord Elgin sawed off and carted away half of the frieze, and the marbles remain at the center of a heated debate over repatriation. The virtual tour brings together for the first time all the remaining stones from Elgin’s section, now in the British Museum, and the sections held by the Louvre and the Acropolis Museum. You can scrutinize dig- itized photos and stone-by-stone descriptions of the frieze, or read background information regarding its design and history. This group of horsemen (above), for instance, formerly galloped along the north side of the temple. Where stones are incomplete due to damage, drawings of the missing sections dating back to the 17th and 18th centuries supplement the photos. zeus.ekt.gr/parthenonfrieze/index.jsp?lang=en&w=1152 R E S O U R C E S Warming Up to a Frigid Sea Bering Climate, a new site from the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, offers a wealth of data for research- ers studying the ecosys- tems and climate of the Bering Sea and how they might respond to global warming. Such questions are particularly important because the sea supplies half of the seafood eaten in the United States. Visitors can trawl more than 40 data sets on ice cover, winter surface temperatures, salmon catches, and other measurements. You can download the data, plot them, or check for correlations between data sets. A photo gallery lets you meet some of the sea’s denizens, such as this puffin (above), and a plethora of links summons other sources of information. www.beringclimate.noaa.gov/index.html D A T A B A S E The Lowdown on a Killer Bug Tuberculosis, the disease that slayed John Keats, Jane Austen, and George Orwell, remains a leading killer, responsible for about 2 million deaths world- wide every year. Researchers working to foil the evasive TB bacterium can round up plen- ty of information on its genes and proteins at TubercuList, a genomic database from the Pasteur Institute in Paris. The site brims with data on some 4000 genes from Mycobac- terium tuberculosis. Pick a gene and learn the function of the protein it encodes, call up a map showing its chromoso- mal location, or pinpoint near- by genes. Each entry also lists relevant references and lets you download the gene’s DNA sequence or the amino acid sequence of its protein for fur- ther analysis. genolist.pasteur.fr/TubercuList NETWATCH edited by Mitch Leslie C R E D IT S : (T O P ) N A T IO N A L D O C U M E N T A T IO N C E N T R E O F G R E E C E ;W IL L IA M F O L S O M /N A T IO N A L M A R IN E F IS H E R IE S S E R V IC E /N O A A ; C O M P U T E R G R A P H IC S L A B /U N IV E R S IT Y O F C A L IF O R N IA , S A N F R A N C IS C O Send site suggestions to netwatch@aaas.org. Archive: www.sciencemag.org/netwatch S O F T W A R E Molecules on Parade Aimed at everyone from drug de- signers to researchers tracking the nuances of protein evolution, Chimera is a jazzy molecular model- ing package from the Computer Graphics Lab at the University of California, San Francisco. Users can import atomic coordinates from databases such as the Protein Data Bank or upload their own measure- ments, then manipulate and analyze molecular architecture. The program flags likely hydrogen bonds and pinpoints landmarks such as he- lices or sheets within messy 3D data.You can create catchy graphics—for example, the program lets you install windows in bulky molecules to expose their internal organization. What looks like a piece of chewed bubblegum in this image (above) is a molecule of the antitumor drug netropsin wedged be- tween two DNA strands. Chimera can also parse protein sequence data, aligning matching segments and illustrating the structures they encode.The package is free for researchers in academia, government, and nonprofit organizations, and its creators plan to release a revamped version every 6 months. www.cgl.ucsf.edu/chimera o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://scie n ce .scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://science.sciencemag.org/ RESOURCES: Warming Up to a Frigid Sea DOI: 10.1126/science.301.5632.443c (5632), 443.301Science ARTICLE TOOLS http://science.sciencemag.org/content/301/5632/443.3 CONTENT RELATED file:/content/sci/301/5632/netwatch.full PERMISSIONS http://www.sciencemag.org/help/reprints-and-permissions Terms of ServiceUse of this article is subject to the is a registered trademark of AAAS.ScienceScience, 1200 New York Avenue NW, Washington, DC 20005. The title (print ISSN 0036-8075; online ISSN 1095-9203) is published by the American Association for the Advancement ofScience © 2003 American Association for the Advancement of Science o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://scie n ce .scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://science.sciencemag.org/content/301/5632/443.3 http://www.sciencemag.org/help/reprints-and-permissions http://www.sciencemag.org/about/terms-service http://science.sciencemag.org/ 
work_7fw4felmcnd2jj36vqvsrys5fi	----	"Decided and Open": Structure in Emma | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 24, Issue 1 June 1969 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction   Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| June 01 1969 "Decided and Open": Structure in Emma J. S. Lawry J. S. Lawry Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1969) 24 (1): 1–15. https://doi.org/10.2307/2932348 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation J. S. Lawry; "Decided and Open": Structure in Emma. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 June 1969; 24 (1): 1–15. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2932348 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1969 By The Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to '"Decided and Open": Structure in Emma' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: "Decided and Open": Structure in Emma Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_7lgnmaqm4nafxnbodkgupzdzae	----	Marco Breschi, Lorenzo Del Panta (eds.), Carlo Corsini: saggi di vita. [Carlo Corsini:life essays], Forum:Udine, 2018, ISBN: 978-88-3283-109-2 BOOK REVIEW Open Access Marco Breschi, Lorenzo Del Panta (eds.), Carlo Corsini: saggi di vita. [Carlo Corsini:life essays], Forum:Udine, 2018, ISBN: 978-88- 3283-109-2 Alessio Fornasin1,2 Correspondence: fornasin@uniud.it 1University of Udine, Udine, Italy 2University of Trieste, Trieste, Italy The book, published in memory of Carlo Corsini (1935–2017), Professor Emeritus of Demography at the University of Florence, contains a selection of his works published over more than 40 years of activity. The studies well represent his multiform and ori- ginal personality as a researcher and retrace some of the most significant stages of his scientific career. The book collects ten papers and covers all his main areas of research. It illustrates the wide range of the author’s interests, highlights his strong inclination towards interdisciplinarity and demonstrates his ability to enhance the sources, not only with the skilful use of the technical tools of the demographer and the historian, but, above all, with an inexhaustible number of research questions. After the editors’ introduction, which traces Corsini’s scientific career and life his- tory, the collection opens with an article on infant mortality, published in 1966 on this journal, that it may be considered his first paper in historical demography. The paper compares mortality in the first year of life in three Italian regions: Liguria, Piedmont and Tuscany, during the Napoleonic period. The subsequent paper is focused on the same historical period too. It is a paper on seasonal migration in the Italian departments of the French Empire, published in 1969. In this broad essay, he makes use of documents of a Napoleonic survey on the workers’ mobility. These migrations involved tens of thousands of men who each year left their homes to work away from their families and communities. Corsini master- fully deals with the subject and studies migration, putting it in constant relation with other demographic factors. Another strand of Corsini’s studies represented in the book is the local communi- ties’ demographic history. In Ricerche di demografia storica del territorio di Firenze (Historical demography research on the territory of Florence, 1975), he investigates some aspects of marriage and fertility of three communities in the Florentine coun- tryside (Fiesole, San Godenzo and Empoli) through the family reconstitution tech- nique. Even the essay Le trasformazioni demografiche e l’assetto sociale (Demographic change and social structure, 1988) about the city of Prato belongs to this research topic. The period covered by the paper goes from the end of the Napoleonic era to the Second World War. The study is, among Corsini’s works, perhaps the one not only in which he develops with greater consistency the “classic” historical Genus © The Author(s). 2019 Open Access This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license, and indicate if changes were made. Fornasin Genus (2019) 75:1 https://doi.org/10.1186/s41118-018-0050-x http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1186/s41118-018-0050-x&domain=pdf mailto:fornasin@uniud.it http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ demography analysis, but where demographic aspects are merged into a unitary frame- work with the social characteristics of the community in its historical context. In this comprehensive study, it is a monograph for dimension, Carlo Corsini not only demon- strates his skill in describing, in an original and very lively way, the development of the various components of the city’s demographic evolution (fertility, nuptiality mortality), but also deals with more particular aspects, such as the abandoned childhood. Finally (perhaps the most stimulating part of the essay), he studies the evolution of the socio-economic structures of Prato, with particular attention to social mobility, analysed on the basis of a sample of people followed through various censuses. Two other essays give an account of the interest that Carlo Corsini has always had on the theme of marriage. In the first, Uomini saggi, femmine folli (Wise men, mad women, 1980), he focused on second weddings. The study deals with the theme of the marriage market in eighteenth-century Tuscany with continuous references to popu- lar proverbs. The work is written in a balance between demographic analysis and cul- tural history and shows Corsini’s aptitude to broaden the boundaries of demography to include other themes and other reflections. At the end of the paper, we find a sort of manifesto of his scientific thought: “Every demographic phenomenon – better said: human – has explanations that can be either purely demographic, or social or, more generally, ‘cultural’. Moreover, even phenomena that simply appear to be of a cultural nature raise demographic problems”. The paper Chi si sposa per primo? (Who gets married first?, 2003), instead, analyses and interprets in different historical and social contexts the possible link between order of birth and order of marriage. The paper contains numerous and stimulating literary references (from Shakespeare to the Bible, from Jane Austen to Italo Calvino) about rules, customs and traditions that often conditioned, within a family, the access to marriage of sons and daughters. This book could not miss some essays dedicated to the subject that, perhaps, more than any other has permeated Corsini’s activity: abandoned childhood. Two papers, respectively, of 1991 and 1998, well represent the mastery with which he has always treated the various facets of this topic. The papers are based mainly on the documen- tary collections of the Spedale degli Innocenti (the hospital for abandoned children), but as always, in Corsini, the information is crossed with other documentary collec- tions, in order to observe the phenomenon in its more general context. In a third paper on the subject, Materiali per lo studio della famiglia in Toscana (Materials for the study of the family in Tuscany, 1976), he addresses the issue from the perspective of abandoned children who are also legitimate children. The paper, from a methodo- logical point of view, anticipates those researches which, relying on large datasets, link many information from different sources collected at an individual level. The book closes with an essay in which Carlo Corsini reflects on the role of the family in society (2009). This is an essay that well represents the synthesis of his thought and his interests. In fact, he has always tried to focus on the family from vari- ous perspectives and in different contexts, treating with equal interest and attention both the aspects of the method and the problems of field research, always directing it towards the margins and the most hidden interstices of society. Finally, it can be said that the book is not just a celebration of a great scholar. Some themes, in fact, are very topical and the collected papers still represent important Fornasin Genus (2019) 75:1 Page 2 of 3 studies for the understanding of phenomena such as infant mortality, marriage choice, emigration.... The book is not only interesting for scholars of historical dem- ography, but also, and above all, it is suitable for all demographers, especially the younger ones. This is true not only for the issues covered, but for the author’s ap- proach, certainly very personal, to scientific research, made of curiosity, attention to detail and proliferation of new strands of investigation, which is one of the most im- portant legacies of Carlo Corsini, demographer and historian. Acknowledgements Not applicable Funding I did not receive any funding for this publication. Availability of data and materials Not applicable Author’s contributions The author read and approved the final manuscript. Competing interests The author declares that he has no competing interests. Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Received: 28 November 2018 Accepted: 3 December 2018 Fornasin Genus (2019) 75:1 Page 3 of 3 Acknowledgements Funding Availability of data and materials Author’s contributions Competing interests Publisher’s Note 
work_7n2tsbvfvrgdrab42tagd3cybm	----	British Medical Journal Medical teachers are understand- ably concerned to equip their stu- dents with the necessary skills, attitudes, and knowledge for work in the profession. There used to be traditional assumptions of style in appearance, clothing, and manners. This was exemplified by Trevor Howard’s character in Brief Encounter: a well-scrubbed doctor in fustian gents’ outfitting with mild manners and under- stated passion. Teachers at med- ical school said, ‘Look smart, get your hair cut, and keep your fin- ger nails short: the patients, espe- cially elderly patients, want their doctors, and therefore you stu- dents, to look like doctors.’ The message was a little spoilt by their embroidered Afghan goatskin coat and flares, but we listened in kindly disbelief. Conventional manners and style were part of civilisation, part of the contract between strangers that enabled them to interact with predictable success. Alas, the world has changed, and the question of style v quality has returned with a vengeance. British reserve is increasingly replaced by transatlantic style, pan-European chic, or Aus- tralasian informality. The world is asking for accountable standards of performance from doctors. How far should professionalism determine style and conformity in a medical career? Can medical eccentrics survive the new quality environment? Diversity Doctors are as delightfully varied as humankind. We can all bring to mind the traditional medical stereotypes: bombastic surgeons, sinister physicians, jolly general practitioners, baffled pathologists, and the rest. And we know that in most cases such types are false. In our evidence base of acquain- tances, we can perhaps find con- trary examples of baffled surgeons, jolly physicians, sinister general practitioners, and bom- bastic pathologists. Real doctors differ from typecasting by miles, and if you compute the infinite parameters of individuality you rapidly become the unique exam- ple of your kind of doctor, and number one in your class. Medical students are amazed by discordance between appear- ances and reality. Hippies of the 1970s have become professors of surgery, Gilbert and George lookalikes have turned into trendy psychiatrists, and medical directors everywhere can have beards, pony tails, sandals, and short skirts (and that’s just the men). Despite the initially normative valve of medical education, doc- tors will naturally diverge there- after along their individual career paths: into hospital or general practice, into different specialties, into rapid or postponed success, into international travel, into fam- ily commitments, into program- matic life satisfaction or mere medical existence. Individual peculiarities flourish in medicine, where most doctors are their own boss and, up to a point, have been able to run their lives as they wish. Conformity Teenagers converge towards the norm; it’s just that their parents do not like the normal teenager. Nowadays, doctors also are hav- ing to converge into conformity, but under the influence of exter- nal forces. There soon will be guidelines for everything, and a substantial degree of standardisa- tion is inevitable in all parts of practice. We may not like it, but nice men and women in suits will say what we should do and cute chimps in police helmets will check that we are doing it. Com- fortable conformity removes exploration and innovation. Con- formity is comfortable for those who make rules, enforce rules, and accept rules, but not, alas, for eccentrics. Eccentricity Eccentricity is part of the British way of life. Whether you look odd, act odd, or really are odd, you will fit in somewhere. We enjoy diversity and combine it with tolerance and ridicule, but we don’t mind at all. Mild eccen- tricity is the basis of much loved situation comedies. Mavericks, non-conformists, and the person who disagrees (there is always at least one) are secretly valued. The late Screaming Lord Such and his Monster Raving Loony Party were much admired—not much voted for—but admired and nec- essary. Eccentricity varies by degrees: you are eccentric, she is bizarre, I am creative. One person’s weird- ness is another’s weekend hobby or even way of life. There are dif- ferences between being eccentric and acting eccentrically: showing lack of insight or consciously cul- tivating behaviour. The real eccentric thinks he’s normal; he is blind to the rules and is naively surprised at the response he engenders everywhere. The nor- mal reference ranges for humans are indeed very wide. Humans are also subject to peer group pressure and fashion. Most suc- cumb to some extent. In British professional life we have had the unspoken doctrine of maximum permissible oddity: that one major oddity, or two minor oddities, as long as every- thing else is conventional, is still OK. Selection boards in the armed forces, professions, and civil service have long struggled to deal with the slightly odd chap. Pragmatically, the chap might be permitted a major oddity or two minor oddities so long as every- thing else was reassuringly con- ventional. The definitions of oddity have varied through the Career focus 2 BMJ CLASSIFIED 13 NOVEMBER 1999 Eccentricity and conformity Eccentric conformist Carl Gray analyses diversity in medical style Locating conformity and diversity Settings that deserve conformity ● Consulting room ● Operating theatre ● Laboratory ● Court of law ● Exams ● Interviews ● Media exposure ● Interprofessional liaison ● Audit Settings which encourage diversity ● Research and innovation ● Management ● Medical comedy ● Journalism ● Performing ● Politics ● Travel ● Teaching ● Learned societies and associations Table: Medical types in relation to new rules In authority Legislators Enforcers Eccentrics ConformistsSubject to authority Original thinking No original thinking o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B M J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.3 1 9 .7 2 2 0 .2 o n 1 3 N o ve m b e r 1 9 9 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ Career focus 3BMJ CLASSIFIED 13 NOVEMBER 1999 Career focus is edited by Douglas Carnall, BMJ, BMA House, Tavistock Square, London WC1H 9JR Tel: 0171 387 4499 Fax: 0171 383 6418 dcarnall@bmj.com or send the command subscribe career-f to listserv@listserv.bma.org.uk Archived at http://classified.bmj.com ages: at one time having a beard or being a female chap, a gay chap, or a foreign chap were major oddities, while wearing bow ties, being drunk, keeping newts, playing the accordion or guitar, ladies wearing trousers, and anyone discussing religion, money, sex, culture, or football were minor oddities. Alas, stan- dards have slipped: these days bearded ladies in trousers discuss whether the football culture is the sexy new religion all over the place. Modern oddities might include smoking a pipe, editing a periodical, studying chafing in cyclists, and not enjoying football. Happily, the increase in cultural diversity in Britain has led to a massive broadening of minds in recent years. Unhappily, racial and sex discrimination may not yet be completely extinct. Dislike of eccentricity is closely related to larger scale xenophobia. Slightly odd chaps everywhere are still wise to cultivate reassuring nor- mality so far as they can manage. Different settings encourage con- formity and diversity (see box), and in a working day doctors may fluctuate between convention and eccentricity. Pros and cons of being odd The value of diversity—including its extreme form, eccentricity—lies in creativity, adaptability, and the bypassing of the limits of conven- tion. Innovation springs from dissatisfied minds and strives in new directions. Many currently accepted views were once unorthodox, until they were chal- lenged, tried, and finally adopted. The people who ask “Why?” are those who find the answer. The downside of eccentricity is its potential to cover mediocrity and non-cooperation. Flamboy- ant weirdness is captivating but also confusing. How is this per- son performing behind his or her persiflage or camouflage? Strip off the make-up, the mannerisms, the body piercing devices, and the affected Viennese politesse and what is left: anything or noth- ing? If this is self expression then what is being expressed? Is the chap under the cowboy hat or the girl in the fishnet tights any bloody good? Are mere stylistic choices inappropriately obstruct- ing function? Professionalism Professionalism means delivering the same service to the patient whoever you are and however you are feeling or looking today. A paediatrician in a clown cos- tume or one in a white coat should be delivering the same paediatrics to the sick child. One should still wake up whether the anaesthetist looks funny or mere- ly peculiar, whether he has come in through the door or the win- dow. A doctor who cultivates Jane Austen mannerisms or who, like Black Adder’s King George, says “penguin” at the end of every sen- tence should be just as alert to drug interactions or the subtle downward trend in vital signs in the acutely ill. Acting the doctor We know how doctors should look and act; we’ve seen them in films and even some examples on the wards. But medicine is chang- ing, and diverse professional per- sonalities are adapting in different ways. Some retreat into traditionalism and conservatism— indeed, all those young fogeys at medical school now turn out to be perfectly equipped country general practitioners. Others leap into the new ways and language and the fashionable thing, what- ever it is this week. Many are wondering, ‘Am I good enough for these challenges?’ Which would you rather be: the mounte- bank or his zany? Trainee doctors must flourish in their chosen styles: it does not matter how you look or seem, it’s what you can do that will be evaluated. The patients must understand and value their doctors. Open com- munication must mean what it says. The days of coded messages, secret societies, and closed con- ventions are over. What is under- stood to be understood may be misleading. Spit it out, man! The answer surely lies in culti- vating diversity and doing our own thing while identifying the essentials of good practice and communication and ruthlessly proving we can do them. Confu- sions between quality, message, and style will continue until quali- ty standards are more fully assessed. This is the direction the profession is taking. Under the new rules, doctors will be legisla- tors, enforcers, conformists, or eccentrics. Politicians will set the aims on behalf of society. Clever doctors will set the rules. Enforcers will implement them gleefully. Conformists will follow them, grumbling. And eccentrics will set about ignoring them, breaking them, or looking odd. But they might at least wonder “Why?” This is the new medicine. Why not ask your consultants or colleagues for permission to change your style, or theirs? You’re looking stylish today, Doctor, but how will you fit in? Carl Gray, consultant histopatholo- gist, Harrogate District Hospital, Lancaster Park Road, Harrogate HG2 7SX carlgray@btinternet.com Briefing ● A shiver of anxiety ran through the body of employers in 1995 when the High Court awarded heavy compensation to a social worker who sustained a “psychological injury” caused by stressful conditions at work (IDS Brief 1999;648:7-8). A recent county court judgement strengthened this precedent, awarding damages equivalent to five years’ earnings to an employee who developed severe depression after being redeployed without appropriate training. The court agreed that the employer had been negligent in requiring her to undertake stressful and demanding work without assessing her ability to do it. ● Matching posts and candidates is an obvious application of electronic technologies. It’s interesting to observe how the metaphors used to describe the processes evolve. The website of the American Association of Family Physicians no longer advertises jobs: rather it offers placement opportunities. you can fill out the rather laborious online form at http://www.aafp.org/careers/ and wait to be emailed opportunities that conform to your preferred geographic, demographic, professional, and social factors. ● Annual ritual in a column is disturbing evidence of its longevity, but once again the Institute of Personnel and Development proves its capacity for zeitgeisty jargon generation. Delegates at its recent conference heard how “spiritual intelligence” is destined to be the last buzz phrase of the millennium. Individuals with high SQ (as it is known) will be needed to counter to the alarming tendency of executives to hold “fixed assumptions that stunt their ability to think laterally.” To which the appropriate response must surely be: “Amen.” o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B M J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.3 1 9 .7 2 2 0 .2 o n 1 3 N o ve m b e r 1 9 9 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
work_7na6max5ybhdva6or767ixsegi	----	The Hunting Ideal, Animal Rights, and Feminism in Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility Copyright © Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, 2004 Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d’auteur. L’utilisation des services d’Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d’utilisation que vous pouvez consulter en ligne. https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Cet article est diffusé et préservé par Érudit. Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l’Université de Montréal, l’Université Laval et l’Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. https://www.erudit.org/fr/ Document généré le 5 avr. 2021 21:53 Lumen Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies Travaux choisis de la Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle The Hunting Ideal, Animal Rights, and Feminism in Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility Barbara K. Seeber Volume 23, 2004 URI : https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012200ar DOI : https://doi.org/10.7202/1012200ar Aller au sommaire du numéro Éditeur(s) Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle ISSN 1209-3696 (imprimé) 1927-8284 (numérique) Découvrir la revue Citer cet article Seeber, B. K. (2004). The Hunting Ideal, Animal Rights, and Feminism in Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility. Lumen, 23, 295–308. https://doi.org/10.7202/1012200ar https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/ https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012200ar https://doi.org/10.7202/1012200ar https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/2004-v23-lumen0265/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/ 16. The Hunting Ideal, Animal Rights, and Feminism in Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility Women and animals are similarly positioned in a patriarchal world, as ob- jects rather than subjects. It was such a dead time of year, no wild-fowl, no game, and the Lady Frasers were not in the country.1 Hunting was as controversial a sport in the eighteenth century as it is today. While rural sports were contested and defended from a variety of perspectives, this essay focuses on the emerging discourse of animal rights in the eighteenth century and its relationship to the repre- sentations of hunting in Jane Austen. Texts by Humphrey Primatt and William Cowper emphasize the sentience of animals and charge hunters with unnecessary cruelty. Primatt argues that the 'hunting out for sport and destruction creatures of the tamer kind' cannot be 'justifi[ied]/ For Cowper, the 'detested sport / ... owes its pleasures to another's pain' and 'feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks / Of harmless nature.'2 We can be certain that Austen was aware of Cowper's views for he was her favorite poet, and while biographer Claire Tomalin claims that Austen 'kept quiet about Cowper's detestation of field sports' out of loyalty to 1 Carol J. Adams, The Sexual Politics of Meat: A Feminist-Vegetarian Critical Theory (New York: Continuum Press, 1990), p. 168. Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey, vol. 5 of The Novels of Jane Austen, ed. R.W. Chapman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), p . 209. All subsequent references are to this edition of the novel. 2 Humphrey Primatt, A Dissertation on the Duty of Mercy and Sin of Cruelty to Brute Animals, vol. 3 of Animal Rights and Souls in the Eighteenth Century, ed. Aaron Garrett (Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 2000), p. 62. William Cowper, The Task, in vol. 2 of The Poems of William Cowper, eds. John D. Baird and Charles Ryskamp (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995), 3:326-29. All subsequent references are to this edition of the poem and references are to book and line. LUMEN XXffl / 2004 1209-3696 / 2004 / 2300-0295 $10.50 / © CSECS / SCEDHS 296 Barbara K. Seeber her brothers who did hunt, the novels tell another story.3 The repre- sentations of hunting in Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility are hardly positive. Male characters who are avid hunters are satirized for their love of the sport and, by comparing their hunting of animals and their treatment of women, Austen inflects the anti-hunting argument with a feminist purpose. Indeed, as Christine Kenyon-Jones demon- strates, 'In the late eighteenth century ... the association of animals with oppressed h u m a n groups moved out of the purely symbolic realm and became much more direct' and 'the issue of animal cruelty became associated with questions of rights and citizenship.'4 Northanger Abbey and Sense and Sensibility demystify the hunting ideal and draw a parallel between the position of women and animals within patriarchy. As Stephen Deuchar explains, the hunting ideal was articulated partly as a response to critiques of hunting. Its central elements were that 'rural sport was healthy, virtuous, brought beneficial contact with nature, provided either a restorative rest from work or an admirable substitute for it, was royal, noble, manly and even patriotic/ This was especially the case at the end of the century, argues Deuchar, when the threat of the French Revolution and its jacobin politics led to a resurgence of the sporting ideal. A renewed emphasis was placed on the English 'country sportsmen's robust physical health, warlike capabilities, hospitality, national loyalty and personal generosity.' David C. Itzkowitz similarly states that hunting 'became associated with the hardy virtues' of country life, 'believed to be excellent training for war,' and seen as 'conducive to manliness.'5 Austen's depictions of hunting deviate from these idealiz- ing patterns in striking ways, and seem to have more in common with anti-hunting texts. Rural sports were attacked as leading to gambling, 3 Claire Tomalin, Jane Austen: A Life (New York: Knopf, 1997), p . 137. Also see Patricia Jo Kulisheck, 'Every Body Does Not H u n t / Persuasions 8 (1986): p . 20-24. While I agree with her general point that hunting is 'associated with characters who behave improperly' (p. 23), our approaches are very much different. Kulisheck underestimates the predominance of the hunting pattern. Many more male characters in Austen hunt besides those identified by her, nor is it confined to the seducers. Austen consistently links hunting to patriarchal privilege — which is in possession of the villains and the heroes alike. 4 Christine Kenyon-Jones, Kindred Brutes: Animals in Romantic-Period Writing (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001), p . 40. 5 Stephen Deuchar, Sporting Art in Eighteenth-Century England: A Social and Political History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988), p . 57, 155. David C. Itzkowitz, Peculiar Privilege: A Social History of English Foxhunting, 1753-1885 (Hassocks: Harvester Press, 1977), p . 20,21. The Hunting Ideal, Animal Rights, and Feminism 297 sexual vice, and moral decay in general. Certain sports such as foxhunt- ing were perceived as dangerous by blurring class distinctions, and others as causing social unrest because of their exclusive nature and the divisiveness of the Game Laws. Concern for animals and anti-cruelty arguments also were articulated, most notably by H u m p h r e y Primatt and William Cowper. Humphrey Primatt has been cited as 'one of the most important figures in the development of a notion of animal rights' and as one of the first to present an 'alternative to the concept of a merely indirect obliga- tion towards animals.'6 He is concerned with the lives of animals in their own right — not just because animal cruelty might later lead to cruelty towards humans (the well-known narrative captured in Hogarth's The Four Stages of Cruelty). In A Dissertation on the Duty of Mercy and Sin of Cruelty to Brute Animals (first published in 1776 and reprinted in the 1820s), he argues that 'a man can have no natural right to abuse and torment a beast, merely because a beast has not the mental powers of man.' He dethrones reason as the central determinant of human-animal relations, and, instead, emphasizes the commonality of sentience: 'Pain is pain, whether it be inflicted on man or on beast.' The ability to feel pain entitles animals to 'FOOD, REST, and TENDER USAGE/ but 'not only their necessary Wants, and what is absolutely their Demand on the principles of strict Justice, but also their Ease and Comfort, and what they have a reasonable and equitable Claim to, on the principles of Mercy and Compassion.' Animals, according to Primatt, have a right to 'Happi- ness.'7 While critics such as Robert Malcolmson have suggested that anti-cruelty campaigns focused on the activities of the lower classes, Primatt's text does not bear out the reading that all anti-cruelty argu- ments mask or intersect with social regulation and 'concern for effective labour discipline/ for he draws attention to cruelty across class lines:8 I am aware of the obloquy to which every man must expose himself, who presumes to encounter Prejudice and long received Customs. To make a compari- 6 Aaron Garrett, introduction to Animal Rights and Souls in the Eighteenth Century, 6 vols. (Bristol: Thoemmes, 2000), 1: p. xix. Andreas Holger Maehle, 'Cruelty and Kindness to the "Brute Creation": Stability and Change in the Ethics of the Man-Animal Relationship, 1600-1850/ in Animals and Human Society: Changing Perspectives, eds. Aubrey Manning and James Serpell (London: Routledge, 1994), p . 94. 7 Primatt, p . 12, 7,147, 202. 8 Robert W. Malcolmson, Popular Recreations in English Society, 1700-1850 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), p. 89. 298 Barbara K. Seeber son between a Man and a Brute, is abominable: To talk of a man's Duty to his Horse or his Ox, is absurd; To suppose it is a Sin to chace a Stag, to hunt a Fox, or course a Hare, is unpolite; To esteem it barbarous to throw at a Cock, to bait a Bull, to roast a Lobster, or to crimp a Fish, is ridiculous. Reflections of this kind must be expected. The specific examples cover a wide range: from the agricultural to the domestic; and from sports associated with the lower classes (bull-bait- ing) to the aristocratic stag hunt. Primatt emphasizes that he seeks to protest the activities of 'the Obstinate, the Hard-hearted, and the Igno- rant, of every class and denomination/9 Nor is he alone in his attack on hunting on the grounds of animal cruelty. In The Cry of Nature; Or, An Appeal to Mercy and to justice, on Behalf of the Persecuted Animals (1791), John Oswald argues for vegetarianism and claims that hunting 'irri- tate[s] the baneful passions of the soul; her vagabond votaries delight in blood, in rapine, and devastation/ For Primatt and Oswald, animal suffering matters in and of itself, but it is also seen as intersecting with other forms of oppression. Primatt protests h u m a n slavery alongside animal suffering: 'the white man (notwithstanding the barbarity of cus- tom and prejudice) can have no r i g h t . . . to enslave and tyrannize over a black man/ 1 0 Cowper's The Task (1785) similarly denounces hunting: animals 'suf- fer torture' (6.390) to 'make ... [man] sport, / To gratify the frenzy of his wrath, / Or his base gluttony' (6.386-88). It is the hunter's 'supreme delight / To fill with riot, and defile with blood' (3.306-07) the 'scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse / The growing seeds of wisdom' (3.301-02). Like Primatt, Cowper sees animals as capable of 'suffering] torture' (6.390), and he empathizes with their pain and pleasure: The heart is hard in nature, and unfit For human fellowship, as being void Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike To love and friendship both, that is not pleased With sight of animals enjoying life, Nor feels their happiness augment his own. (6.321-26) 9 Primatt, p. 75-76,77. 10 John Oswald, The Cry of Nature; Or, An Appeal to Mercy and to Justice, on Behalf of the Persecuted Animals (London: J. Johnson, 1791), p. 16-17. Primatt, p. 11. The Hunting Ideal, Animal Rights, and Feminism 299 The poet imagines an animal world freed from hunting and h u m a n control, where 'the bounding fawn ... darts across the glade / When none pursues, through mere delight of heart, / And spirits buoyant with excess of glee' (6.327-29) and the horse 'skims the spacious meadow at full speed, / Then stops and snorts, and, throwing high his heels, / Starts to the voluntary race again' (6.330-33). Hunting is also a concern in Cowper's prose. In an essay published in The Gentleman's Magazine, he 'describe[s]' his three pet hares, Puss, Tiney, and Bess, 'as having each a character of his own' in an attempt to represent the lives of animals otherwise treated simply as unindividuated objects: 'We know indeed that the hare is good to hunt and good to eat, but in all other respects poor Puss is a neglected subject.' After observing and recording the individual behavior patterns of the three animals, Cowper concludes, 'my intimate acquaintance with these specimens of the kind has taught me to hold the sportsman's amusement in abhorrence; he little knows what amiable creatures he persecutes, of what gratitude they are capable, how cheerful they are in their spirits, what enjoyment they have of life, and that, impressed as they seem with a peculiar dread of man, it is only because man gives them peculiar cause for it.'11 Donna Landry dismisses Cowper's view of hunting as self-serving — his 'advocacy ends with inviting the benevolent... to feel pleased with themselves' — and faults him for keeping pets. Landry's project is to uncover 'a long, if now largely forgotten, tradition linking hunting and conservation' and while she claims that 'this book is not so much a defense of modern fox-hunting as an enquiry into its history,' her bias is readily apparent: 'If hunting were more widely understood by its supporters as well as by its critics, in its full historical complexity — social, animal and ecological — I strongly suspect that most people, even if they had no wish to take part, might agree that a ban was unnecessary.'12 To maintain her argument that hunting was and continues to be good for the countryside, Landry consistently downplays the importance of anti-hunting arguments in the eighteenth century, relegating the history of radical vegetarianism to a mere footnote and trivializing Cowper. Austen, however, took Cowper very seriously. The 'Biographical Notice of the Author' states that 11 William Cowper, The Gentleman's Magazine, June 1784, in vol. 5 of The Letters and Prose Writings of William Cowper, eds. James King and Charles Ryskamp (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986), p . 42, 40, 43. For a discussion of Cowper's identification with animals, see David Perkins, 'Cowper's H a r e s / Eighteenth-Century Life 20, no. 2 (1996): p . 57-69. 12 Donna Landry, The Invention of the Countryside: Hunting, Walking and Ecology in English Literature, 1671-1831 (Houndmills: Palgrave, 2001), p. 124, xvii, xv, xviii-xx. 300 Barbara K. Seeber Austen's 'favourite moral writers were Johnson in prose, and Cowper in verse/ and in the Memoir, J. E. Austen Leigh records: 'Amongst her favourite writers, Johnson in prose, Crabbe in verse, and Cowper in both, stood high/ 1 3 Cowper's influence can be seen in Austen's charac- terization of hunters. In Northanger Abbey, Austen clearly demystifies the hunting ideal. The character of John Thorpe belies the notion that hunting 'strengthen^] the mind, intellectually and morally as well as the body' as defenders of the sport claimed it did.14 He is first introduced to us as a 'most knowing- looking coachman' driving along 'with all the vehemence that could most fitly endanger the lives of himself, his companion, and his horse' (p. 44). When he boasts to Catherine that he 'never read[s] novels; I have something else to d o ' (p. 48), that 'something else' turns out to be horse-riding and hunting: He told her of horses which he had bought for a trifle and sold for incredible sums; of racing matches ...; of shooting parties, in which he had killed more birds (though without having one good shot) than all his companions together; and described to her some famous day's sport, with the foxhounds, in which his foresight and skill in directing the dogs had repaired the mistakes of the most experienced huntsman, and in which the boldness of his riding, though it had never endangered his own life for a moment, had been constantly leading others in difficulties, which he calmly concluded had broken the necks of many. Catherine 'could not entirely repress a doubt' of John Thorpe 'being altogether completely agreeable' (p. 66). Throughout Northanger Abbey, Thorpe is the subject of satire. The physical prowess boasted by the hunting ideal is undercut: Thorpe 'was a stout young man of middling height' with 'a plain face and ungraceful form' (p. 45). The intellectual benefit of hunting also is thrown into doubt. He is fond of drinking — 'There is not the hundredth part of the wine consumed in this kingdom, that there ought to be. Our foggy climate wants help' — and his oratory skills sadly lacking, he relies on 'exclamations, amounting almost to 13 Henry Austen, 'Biographical Notice of the A u t h o r / in vol. 5 of The Novels of Jane Austen, ed. R.W. Chapman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), p . 7. James Edward Austen-Leigh, Memoir of Jane Austen (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963), p. 89. For Austen's allusions to Cowper in her letters and novels, see John Halperin's 'The Worlds of Emma: Jane Austen and Cowper/ Jane Austen: Bicentenary Essays, ed. John Halperin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), p. 197-206. 14 Itzkowitz, p . 21. The Hunting Ideal, Animal Rights, and Feminism 301 oaths' (p. 64) and frequent use of 'Oh! d ' (p. 46). And, of course, he is a prolific boaster. Catherine has to bear 'the effusions of his endless conceit' (p. 66): 'she readily echoed whatever he chose to assert, and it was finally settled between them without any difficulty, that his equi- page was altogether the most complete of its kind in England, his carriage the neatest, his horse the best goer, and himself the best coach- m a n ' (p. 65). When Thorpe boasts about his riding skill, he wishes to bolster his sense of dominance. He assures Catherine that his horse 'will soon know his master' (p. 62). It is telling that the first time that Thorpe appears on the scene, he is associated with cruelty towards animals: 'the horse was immediately checked with a violence which almost threw him on his haunches' (p. 44). Catherine appears to be more sensitive to his horse than he is. When he asks her if she 'did ... ever see an animal so made for speed/ Catherine responds dryly, 'He does look very hot to be sure' (p. 46). Perhaps Austen here drew on Cowper's portrait of the rider who 'clamorous in praise / Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose / The honours of his matchless horse his own' (6.436-38). When Thorpe promptly suggests another outing after an already extensive excursion, Catherine objects, 'but will not your horse want rest?' to which he replies, 'Rest! ... all nonsense; nothing ruins horses so much as rest; nothing knocks them u p so soon' (p. 47-48). Austen's portrait of John Thorpe suggests the parallel positioning of women and animals within patriarchal structures. Thorpe would like to master Catherine the way he does his horse. When Catherine wants to honour her engagement with the Tilneys, Thorpe deceives her, and when she wants to get out of the carriage, he 'only lashed his horse into a brisker trot' leaving Catherine with 'no power of getting away, [and] obliged to ... submit' (p. 87). At this point, both Catherine and the horse are at his mercy. That the parallel exists in John Thorpe's mind is evident when Catherine 'broke away and hurried off: '"She is as obstinate as —." Thorpe never finished the simile, for it could hardly have been a proper one' (p. 101). Thorpe views both women and animals as objects of value. His pursuit of Catherine is entirely motivated by mistaken notions of her wealth. And when he boasts about his horses, it is about the value they have, rather than any kind of affective bond he might have with them: 'Look at his forehand; look at his loins; only see how he moves; that horse cannot go less than ten miles an hour' (p. 46). General Tilney's remark that Tt was such a dead time of year, no wild-fowl, no game, and the Lady Frasers were not in the country' (p. 209) is revealing, as the grammar of the list makes an ideological point about the parallel position of women and animals. And the sentence's irony plays with the differing perspectives of hunter and prey: it may be a 'dead time' for the hunter, but surely not the animals! 302 Barbara K. Seeber In a text which vindicates the novel genre and its readers, Thorpe's preference of hunting to reading hardly recommends the sport. More- over, given that Northanger Abbey's vindication of novel reading is gen- dered, defending women writers and women readers, John Thorpe's avowed disdain for reading Burney's Camilla, for example, also reveals his misogyny. The novel's hero is delineated in sharp contrast to Thorpe. Henry Tilney confidently asserts that 'the person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid' (p. 106). When riding in a curricle under his direction, Catherine is pleasantly surprised: 'Henry drove so well, — so quietly — without making any disturbance, without parading to her, or swearing at them; so different from the only gentleman-coachman w h o m it was in her power to com- pare him with' (p. 157). The fact that he does not 'swear' at the horses distinguishes Henry from Thorpe in his treatment of animals: Henry is not associated with cruelty towards animals, while the latter is. While the text does imply that Henry hunts, he does not make it a topic of conver- sation and 'weary' (p. 76) Catherine, nor is he shown as actively engaging in it. The only textual reference to his hunting is a description of his room as 'strewed with his litter of books, guns, and great coats' (p. 183); significantly, the presence of guns is balanced by the presence of books. In Sense and Sensibility, Austen delivers another comic portrait which belies the hunting ideal. Sir John Middleton, a 'sportsman,' is charac- terized by his love for hunting, on the one hand, and, on the other, a 'shameless' and 'total want of talent and taste.'15 During Marianne's musical performance, he 'was loud in his admiration at the end of every song, and as loud in his conversation with the others while every song lasted' (p. 35). His understanding of people reveals a similar lack of refinement: Willoughby is 'as good a kind of fellow as ever lived' and 'a very decent shot' (p. 43). When prodded by the impatient Marianne — 'is that all you can say for him?' (p. 43) — he elaborates: 'he is a pleasant, good-humoured fellow, and has got the nicest little black bitch of a pointer I ever saw' (p. 44). If the hunting ideal emphasized hospitality and generosity, Sir John possesses these qualities with a vengeance. Austen makes clear that there is a self-serving motive underlying his generosity: a family party is to be avoided at all costs. And it is not long before the Dashwood women experience his hospitality as oppressive: as Marianne puts it, 'The rent of this cottage is said to be low; but we 15 Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility, vol. 1 of The Novels of Jane Austen, ed. R. W. Chapman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 32, 35, 32. All subsequent references are to this edition of the novel. The Hunting Ideal, Animal Rights, and Feminism 303 have it on very hard terms, if we are to dine at the park whenever anyone is staying with them, or with u s ' (p. 109). While he may be endlessly generous with his company, there are limits when it comes to the more material. He does charge rent to his impoverished female relatives, and is possessive of his hunting grounds: In shewing kindness to his cousins therefore he had the real satisfaction of a good heart; and in settling a family of females only in his cottage, he had all the satisfaction of a sportsman; for a sportsman, though he esteems only those of his sex who are sportsmen likewise, is not often desirous of encouraging their taste by admitting them to residence within his own manor, (p. 33) Putting the 'satisfaction of a good heart' and 'the satisfaction of a sports- man' in opposition with each other, the passage comes close to echoing Cowper's characterization of the hunter as having a 'heart ... hard in nature' (6.321). Moreover, as Margaret Anne Doody comments, Austen sets u p hunters in 'opposition' and 'antagonism' to mothers:16 Sir John Middleton 'was a sportsman, Lady Middleton a mother. He hunted and shot, and she humoured her children; and these were their only re- sources' (p. 32). Austen's characterization of Willoughby initially appears to uphold the hunting ideal. He enters the novel as 'a gentleman carrying a gun, with two pointers playing round him' (p. 42), and his identity as a hunter is stressed throughout. His 'manly beauty' is emphasized: Marianne 'soon found out that of all manly dresses a shooting-jacket was the most becoming' (p. 43). He is a man of action in his rescue of Marianne; he 'offered his services, and perceiving that her modesty declined what her situation rendered necessary, took her u p in his arms without farther delay, and carried her down the hill' and 'then departed, to make himself still more interesting, in the midst of an heavy rain' (p. 42). Margaret thinks of Willoughby as 'Marianne's preserver' but Austen is sure to undercut this glamorized view as 'more elegan[t] than precis[e]' (p. 46). And, most significantly in contrast to Thorpe and Middleton, he is eloquent and a great reader. In short, he is 'equal to w h a t . . . [Marianne's] fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite story' (p. 43). Of course, Willoughby is too good to be true. His love of books, for one, is suspect: 16 Margaret Anne Doody, introduction to Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990), p. xxix. 304 Barbara K. Seeber [Marianne] proceeded to question him on the subject of books; her favourite authors were brought forward and dwelt upon with so rapturous a delight, that any young man of five and twenty must have been insensible indeed, not to become an immediate convert to the excellence of such works, however disre- garded before. Their taste was strikingly alike. The same books, the same passages were idolized by each — or if any difference appeared, any objection arose, it lasted no longer than till the force of her arguments and the brightness of her eyes could be displayed. He acquiesced in all her decisions, caught all her enthusiasm, (p. 47) Willoughby is more sensible to female charms than literary ones. His admiration of Cowper (p. 47) particularly rings false given the poet's stance on hunting. It is interesting that in an earlier passage, Marianne Dashwood is disappointed by Edward's 'tame' and 'spiritless' (p. 17) reading: 'if he is not to be animated by Cowper!' (p. 18). Jane Austen does not specify the particular poem in question. Emma Thompson and Ang Lee's film adaptation shows Edward reading from Cowper's 'The Cast- Away,' and Doody suggests possible allusions to the 'critique of slavery/ the 'praise of liberty' or the 'sense of the divine in nature' found in The Task. Yet, it is also possible that the passage in question was anti-hunt- ing, especially since later on in the book, it is Edward Ferrars who points out that 'every body does not hunt' (p. 91). In Willoughby, Austen pre- sents and discredits the hunting ideal as a facade, a deception which seduces Marianne. Animals are not the only prey for Willoughby. His dalliance with Marianne is the most pointed example in Sense and Sensibil- ity of the parallel between the hunting of animals and hunting of wo- men.18 He pursues both for his 'own amusement' (p. 320). And while Willoughby feels 'a pang' for Marianne, 'he lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself and 'in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity' (p. 379). Mr and Mrs John Dashwood's excursion with their son Harry 'to see the wild beasts at Exeter Exchange' (p. 221) moves hunting to a global scale; during Austen's time, Exeter housed 'crocodiles, ostriches, kanga- 17 Emma Thompson, Sense and Sensibility: The Screenplay and Diaries (London: Bloomsbury, 1995), p. 50. Doody, p. xvii. 18 For a discussion of Henry Crawford in this light, see Barbara K. Seeber's 'Nature, Animals, and Gender in Mansfield Park and Emma/ LIT: Literature Interpretation Theory 13, no.4 (2002): p. 269-285. Also see Gracia Fay Ellwood's "'Such a Dead Silence": Cultural Evil, Challenge, Deliberate Evil, and Metanoia in Mansfield Park/ Persuasions On-Line 24, no. 1 (2003). The Hunting Ideal, Animal Rights, and Feminism 305 roos, elephants, rhinoceroses, toucans and birds of paradise amongst the more mundane collection of monkeys/ As Randy Malamud states, the zoo is 'fundamentally a construct of imperial culture': it 'acts as both a model of empire (where humanity holds dominion over lesser species arrayed for our pleasure, our betterment, our use) and simultaneously as a metaphor for the larger, more important imperial enterprises in the sociopolitical hierarchy amid which it flourishes/19 In the eighteenth century, zoos habitually exhibited humans from colonized parts of the world alongside animals, and, hence, in very concrete terms asserted not only human dominion over animals, but also English dominion over colonized peoples, naturalizing the latter by equating it with the former. It is telling, I think, that Austen credits Mr and Mrs John Dashwood — easily the most repellent characters in the book — with the visit to the zoo. It suggests Austen's awareness that the way we treat animals tells us a lot about other social hierarchies. Her focus is on gender relations, but the detail of the zoo draws attention to the interconnectedness of hierarchies of species, race, and class. The possession of animals marks privilege, whether it be locally (the Dashwood women must give u p their horses when expelled from Norland) or nationally. The Dashwoods are aptly named in that regard; as Doody has pointed out, they 'seem to bear an autumnal name, to be leaves dashed from the wood/ 2 0 While Ros- marie Bodenheimer considers Marianne's admiration of nature simply as a subject of Austen's parody, Marianne's emotional identification with the landscape makes a point about women and nature occupying similar ideological positions.21 Austen's novel lends itself to an ecofemin- ist perspective, such as that by Carol J. Adams, quoted in this essay's epigraph.22 And although Elinor may tease Marianne's 'passion for dead 19 John H. Plumb, "The Acceptance of Modernity,' in The Birth of a Consumer Society: The Commercialization of Eighteenth-Century England, eds. Neil McKendrick, John Brewer, and John H. Plumb (London: Hutchinson, 1982), p. 323. Randy Malamud, Reading Zoos: Representations of Animals and Captivity (New York: New York University Press, 1998), p. 59. 20 Doody, p. xl. 21 Rosmarie Bodenheimer, 'Looking at the Landscape in Jane Austen/ Studies in English Literature 21, no. 4 (1981): p. 605-23. Also see Jonathan Bate, The Song of the Earth (London: Picador, 2000). 22 Also see Animals & Women: Feminist Theoretical Explorations, eds. Carol J. Adams and Josephine Donovan (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995) and a special issue dedicated to 'Ecological Feminism/ Hypatia: A Journal of Feminist Philosophy 6, no.l (1991). 306 Barbara K. Seeber leaves' (p. 88), she, too, feels 'provocation' and 'censure' when she hears from her brother that Norland's 'old walnut trees are all come down to make room' for a hothouse (p. 226). Northanger Abbey's John Thorpe, whose character is defined by his passion for hunting and his ignorance of books, is an early example of a type present in many of Austen's novels. In Mansfield Park, Maria Ber- tram is 'doomed to the repeated details' of Mr. Rushworth's 'day [of] sport, good or bad, his boast of his d o g s , . . . and his zeal after poachers.' We can infer that Mr. Rushworth, like John Thorpe, is not a great reader: he struggles with his 'two and forty speeches' in the rehearsing of Lovers' Vows. And in Persuasion, Charles Musgrove 'did nothing with much zeal, but sport; and his time was otherwise trifled away, without benefit from books, or any thing else.'23 Captain Benwick, in contrast, is 'a reading m a n ' (p. 182): 'Give him a book, and he will read all day long' (p. 132). Consistent with Austen's opposition of reading and hunting, Benwick does not hunt. This abstinence causes considerable anxiety in his ac- quaintance. Mary Musgrove believes him to be 'a very odd young man': I do not know what he would be at. We asked him to come home with us for a day or two; Charles undertook to give him some shooting, and he seemed quite delighted, and for my part, I thought it was all settled; when behold! on Tuesday night, he made a very awkward sort of excuse; "he never shot" and he had "been quite misunderstood." (p. 130) Charles suspects he only wanted to come to Uppercross to talk to Anne of books and once he discovered she would not be there, abandoned his plan: 'His head is full of some books that he is reading upon your recommendation, and he wants to talk to you about them; he has found out something or other in one of them which he thinks — Oh! I cannot pretend to remember it, but it was something very fine' (p. 131). Admiral Croft feels that Benwick's 'soft sort of manner does not do him justice' (p. 171) and finds his manner 'rather too piano for m e ' (p. 172). At the end of the novel, we do hear of Benwick 'rat-hunting' at Uppercross with Charles, but we only have Charles's word for it that it was an enjoyable activity: 'We had a famous set-to at rat-hunting all the morning, in my father's great barns; and he played his part so well, that I have liked him 23 Jane Austen, Mansfield Park, vol. 3 of The Novels of Jane Austen, ed. R.W. Chapman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), p . 115,139. Jane Austen, Persuasion, vol. 5 of The Novels of Jane Austen, ed. R.W. Chapman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), p. 43. All subsequent references are to this edition of the novel. The Hunting Ideal, Animal Rights, and Feminism 307 the better ever since' (p. 219). The notion of 'playing his part' suggests that Benwick is merely acting a role in order to get along with his new brother-in-law; Austen underscores the role of hunting in the social construction of gender. While it is true that some women did participate in the hunt in the eighteenth century, the activity clearly divides men and women in Austen's novels.24 There are no female hunters in Austen's fiction, and only Mrs. Bennet and Lydia in Pride and Prejudice speak with enthusiasm about the sport. Lydia's boasts about her 'dear Wickham' are worthy of John Thorpe's self-promotion: 'no one was to be put in competition with him. He did every thing best in the world; and she was sure he would kill more birds on the first of September, than any body else in the country.' And Mrs. Bennet, delirious at the renewed prospect of Jane's marriage to Mr. Bingley and his 'four or five thousand a year,' enthusi- astically offers him any inducement she can think of: 'When you have killed all your own birds, Mr. Bingley [...] I beg you will come here, and shoot as many as you please, on Mr. Bennet's manor. I am sure he will be vastly happy to oblige you, and will save all the best of the covies for you.' While Mrs. Bennet and her daughter uncritically internalize the hunting ideal, Austen's letter to her sister Cassandra expresses ironic detachment: Edward and Fly [Frank] went out yesterday very early in a couple of Shooting Jackets, and came home like a couple of Bad Shots, for they killed nothing at all They are out again today, & are not yet returned — Delightful Sport! — They are just come home; Edward with his two Brace, Frank with his Two and a half. What amiable Young Men!25 The description emphasizes the separation of the gendered spheres: the men experience the outdoors; the women are confined to the indoor space of 'home.' Overall, the description rings with irony. The sport is hardly 'delightful' to her — she cannot participate in it. Nor does she employ euphemistic language — the sport's success is boldly announced 24 For discussion of women hunters, see Landry's The Invention of the Countryside: Hunting, Walking and Ecology in English Literature, 1671-1831 and Betty Rizzo's 'Equivocations of Gender and Rank: Eighteenth-Century Sporting Women/ Eighteenth-Century Life 26, no.l (2002): p. 70-93. 25 Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, vol. 2 of The Novels of Jane Austen, ed. R.W. Chapman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p.318, 4, 337. Jane Austen, Jane Austen's Letters, éd. Deirdre Le Faye (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), p. 10. 308 Barbara K. Seeber as 'killing' — hardly an attribute of 'amiable' behavior! Cowper's influ- ence on Austen is evident in her representations of hunting. Moreover, she develops his critique from a feminist perspective: women, in Austen's world, do not hunt; rather they are hunted. BARBARA K. SEEBER Brock University 
work_7ndfvynparerddrc7wjji5fghe	----	Exploring beginner teachers’ sources of knowledge for teaching Literature in ESL classrooms Nhlanhla Mpofu 1 and Lizette de Jager2 1Department Centre for Teaching, Learning and Programme Development, Sol Plaatje UniversityP/Bag x5008, Kimberley, 8300, South Africa 2 Department of Humanities Education, University of Pretoria, Groenkloof Campus, Leyds Street Pretoria, 0027, South Africa Corresponding author: Nhlanhla Mpofu, E-mail: nhlanhla.mpofu@spu.ac.za Abstract The purpose of this study was to identify beginner teachers’ sources of knowledge for teaching literature in the English Second Language (ESL) classroom. A review of the literature on ESL teachers’ knowledge indicated a paucity of studies that focus specifically on teaching knowledge for Literature as a stand-alone subject in ESL. In addition, ESL teacher training in most countries seemingly focuses on preparing pre-service teachers for language teaching rather than literature. To identify the sources of teaching knowledge for Literature teachers, this study adopted an interpretivist epistemological worldview and used a qualitative single case study design. Data were collected using non-participant observations and semi-structured interviews from four purposively selected Literature in English beginner teachers. Quality and ethical considerations were upheld in this study using a number of strategies. Inductive thematic analysis was used for data analysis. The analysis resulted in three sources of ESL Literature teaching, namely, theory of language education, the nature of the subject and problematic areas in Literature teaching. The findings may be of benefit to ESL teacher preparation programmes which could use them to provide pre-service teachers with multiple contexts as sources of teaching knowledge. Keywords: beginner teachers; Literature in English; ESL teaching knowledge; ESL teacher preparation INTRODUCTION This paper draws from a doctoral study that explored the way ESL teachers construct teaching knowledge for Literature as a stand-alone subject. The purpose of this article was to identify beginner teachers’ sources of knowledge for teaching Literature in English Second Language (ESL) classrooms. Research on teacher knowledge in ESL has tended to overlook Literature in English as a stand-alone subject. Literature in English is the name of a subject presented in the high school curriculum (Zimbabwean Ordinary Level Syllabus [ZOLLS], 2013). The focus of Literature in English is on the appreciation and interpretation of artistic and literary works from English-speaking authors such as Christopher Marlowe, Walter Raleigh, William Shakespeare, John Milton, Geoffrey Chaucer, Francis Bacon, John Donne, Alexander Pope, Jane Austen, Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde, T.S. Elliot and Maya Angelou and works of non-native English authors such as Chinua Achebe, Mariama Ba, Ngugi wa Thiong'o and Henrick Ibsen. In Zimbabwe, an Ordinary Level (O Level) beginner English teacher is regarded as being capable of teaching the linguistic and literary aspects of English. O Level is a two-year course presented in Zimbabwean high schools for learners between 15 and 17 years of age. The course was adopted from the British General Certificate in Education (GCE) Ordinary Level (Kanyongo, 2005). A beginner teacher in the context of this study refers to individuals who hold a Diploma in Education and have been in service for less than five years. During their preparation programme, these beginner English teachers undergo a curriculum that seemingly mailto:nhlanhla.mpofu@spu.ac.za 2 equips them with knowledge for teaching both the language and literature domains. However, Uzun (2016) states that most ESL teacher training programmes adequately prepare a teacher in English Language, with some appreciation of Literature teaching. In the high school curricula which the teachers eventually teach, English Language and Literature in English are taught as separate subjects. The O Level curriculum requires English teachers who possess a meta-cognitive understanding of Literature in English as a stand-alone subject, which is in contrast to the integrated form that they went through during their teacher training. Researchers such as Fleming and Strevens (2015) and Gordon (2012) confirm this inadequacy as emanating from a general fallacy that English Language knowledge preparation is the same as for Literature teaching. The perpetuation of this fallacy lies not only in teacher preparation programmes but is also evident in the teacher knowledge models suggested for ESL teaching, which fail to include teacher knowledge for Literature in English as a stand- alone subject. Studies in ESL teacher knowledge "formulate a list of should know and should do" for teachers (Gordon, 2012, p.378). Teacher knowledge in Literature in English has been characterised by what Gordon (2012, p.378) calls its “fuzzy, nebulous and difficult nature” due to a lack of research in the area. The Zimbabwean context in which this study drew from is no different from the situation described by Fleming and Strevens (2015) and Gordon (2012). In Zimbabwe, Literature in English at secondary school context focuses on the study of works by English authors from the Western tradition such as Christopher Marlowe, Walter Raleigh, William Shakespeare, John Milton, Geoffrey Chaucer, Francis Bacon, John Donne, Alexander Pope, Jane Austen, Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde, T.S. Elliot and Maya Angelou (DiYanni, 2000). Literature in English also focuses on the works of non-native English authors such as Chinua Achebe, Mariama Ba, Ngugi wa Thiong'o and Henrick Ibsen (ZOLLS 2013). The subject emphasises the study of four literary genres, namely, poetry, drama, short stories and novels. ZOLLS (2013, p. 3.0) states that the aim of teaching Literature in English is to stimulate an appreciation of the artistic and aesthetic qualities of Literature; develop learners' reading competence; stimulate analysis, comment and informed judgement on literary texts; and develop the ability to learn and develop from the experiences depicted in Literature. It is clear from the content and genre that Zimbabwean English secondary school curriculum requires of beginner teachers to be able to teach English Language and Literature in English as separate subjects (Department of Teacher Education 2012). However, the Zimbabwean English teacher training programme equips beginner teachers with an integrative form of teaching knowledge which does not distinguish between English Language and Literature in English as stand-alone subjects as required in the secondary school curriculum. From the discussion of international studies and scholarship on teaching for Literature in English beginner teachers as professionals, and emanating from the ESL tradition, are lacking. In addition, the Zimbabwean situation indicates a gap in teacher knowledge for Literature in English. Notwithstanding, the obvious lack of preparation for Literature in English, beginner teachers in Zimbabwean secondary schools are effectively teaching. Thus the question, the study answered was: What are beginner teachers’ sources of teaching knowledge for Literature in English? Olivero (2015) indicates that it is important to unlock beginner teachers' knowledge in the classroom as a way of understanding how their self- reflection influences their teaching practice this study focused on exploring beginner teachers’ sources of knowledge for teaching Literature in ESL classrooms. Against this background, this study aimed at building on cross sectional teacher knowledge research in ESL by exploring the sources of teaching knowledge for four ESL Literature in English beginner teachers. 3 ENGLISH TEACHER TRAINING IN ZIMBABWE Zimbabwean pre-service secondary school teachers are trained at college and university levels. All teacher training colleges resort under the Ministry of Higher Education (MoHE) (Zezekwa, Mudau & Nkopodi, 2013). In Zimbabwe, college-based teacher training for both primary and secondary schools is coordinated by the University of Zimbabwe's Department of Teacher Education (DTE) (Zezekwa et al., 2013). Under the Scheme of Association, the university, through its Department of Teacher Education (DTE), is the accrediting authority with a mandate of monitoring the quality of teacher education programmes throughout the country (Gondo & Gondo, 2012). The University of Zimbabwe, as the responsible authority, approves the syllabi for all colleges, examines the students and finally awards the diploma qualification. Each of the colleges is autonomous in terms of curriculum and examinations (Department of Teacher Education, 2012). Individual colleges are responsible for the administration, assessment and quality of their programmes. Before being awarded a Diploma in Education, pre-service teachers are prepared in content and methodology for the teaching of English for five terms (15 months) and one term teaching practice. The English teacher training curriculum in Zimbabwe is made up of knowledge about language and methodologies of the teaching of English. According to Nyawaranda (1999, p.9), teachers' colleges in Zimbabwe assume "… that student teachers come to the department already equipped with a knowledge of theoretical linguistics, such as grammar and other language skills such as listening, speaking, reading and writing." From this we gather that teachers' colleges equip teachers with methodological knowledge rather than subject knowledge. As Nyawaranda (1999) mentions, there is an assumption that the Advanced Level (A Level) course equips student teachers with the content they need to be subject specialists. English teacher training in Zimbabwe thus regards pre-service teachers merely as reflectors of the preparatory theoretical and subject knowledge of previous educational institutions (Gondo & Gondo, 2012). Thus, the future for Literature in English is very bleak as the teacher training curriculum focuses on linguistics rather than on literature (Ncube, 2001). Furthermore, the assumption that teachers convey their subject knowledge from O and A Levels to teacher training does not hold true for Literature in English. Literature in English is an optional subject in both O and A Levels, which means that learners may choose not to study the subject (Nyawaranda 1999). It is true then that some pre-service teachers enter preparation programmes without having taken Literature in English classes. THEORETICAL MOORINGS The theoretical orientation of this study is drawn from a review of the literature on sources of teaching knowledge for English as a First Language, English as a Second Language and English as a Foreign Language and social constructivism. From the available literature, two epistemological positions, namely, theoretical and experiential, exist to explain the sources of teaching knowledge. Theoretically inclined teacher knowledge researchers emphasise teacher training as the source of beginner teachers' knowledge (Turner-Bisset, 1999), while experiential teacher knowledge researchers motivate for classroom practice, experiences and reflective practices as the sources of beginner teacher knowledge (Cheng, Tang & Cheng, 2012; Elbaz, 1983). However, our understanding of teacher knowledge favours an integrative trajectory that emphasises an exchange between theoretical principles and teacher expertise in the way that these two types of input interact and refine each other (Grossman, Hammerness & McDonald, 2009; Lampert, 2010). In addition, Shulman (1986, p.6) notes that: … teachers must not only be capable of defining for students the accepted truths in a domain. They must also be able to explain why a particular proposition is deemed 4 unwarranted, why it is worth knowing, and how it relates to other propositions both within the discipline and without, both from theory and practice. This suggests that the interplay of teachers' theoretical knowledge and experiential practices is critical to the construction of teaching knowledge (Cheng et al., 2012; Hegarty, 2000). We concur with Connelly, Clandinin and He (1997, p.665) that: … personal practical knowledge is a term designed to capture the idea of experience in a way that allows us to talk about teachers as knowledgeable and knowing persons. Personal practical knowledge is in the teacher's past experience, in the teacher's present mind and body, and in the future plans and actions. Personal practical knowledge is found in the teacher's practice. It is, for any one teacher, a particular way of reconstructing the past and the intentions of the future to deal with the exigencies of a present situation. From the previous quote, we note that beginner teachers' knowledge has a historical quality which influences their classroom practices. The integrative nature of teacher knowledge gives it personal and social qualities. As a socially influenced phenomenon, teacher knowledge is personal, practical, contextual and unique (Connelly et al., 1997). Owing to its social nature, teacher knowledge is also conflict and dilemma oriented. Beginner teachers enter the classroom with knowledge from their teacher preparation programmes which they reshape and refine in the face of the conflict and dilemmas inherent in the social environment of the classroom. It follows then that teacher knowledge is a construct of teachers' theoretical and contextual classroom practices (Giovanelli, 2015; Grossman & McDonald, 2008). This proposition means that teachers are involved in a process of reconstructing theoretical knowledge as they reflect on the practical realities of the classroom and in the process reconstruct knowledge. The reconstructed knowledge contains education theory, which is informed by the theoretical preparation programmes as well as by knowledge gleaned from the contextual and non-generalisable practical aspects that teachers discover through experience (DeGraff, Schmidt & Waddell, 2015; Grossman et al., 2009). Thus, teacher knowledge is a link in the metacognitive processes that inform teaching and that emanate from both theoretical and experiential knowledge domains. Our understanding is supported by Calderhead (1996), who comments that teacher knowledge is constructed as a metacognitive function of the teacher's own training and the practical realities that are inherent in any classroom. From this understanding we approached teacher knowledge from a holistic orientation by acknowledging the beginner teachers' theoretical and experiential knowledge as part of their constructed classroom knowledge. Hence, in their teaching knowledge construction, we acknowledged the individual beginner teachers’ unique context in terms of their self-image, educational background, classroom practices and the school ethos. Our understanding of teacher knowledge construction is in line with the social constructivist orientation. Social constructivists believe that teaching is a complex interplay between the teacher and learners, which is based on their classroom experiences (Nagamine, 2007). Social phenomena, of which teaching is a part, must be understood from the social context in which it is produced through observing participants in the environment and how they relate to events in that environment. We bore in mind that beginner teachers' knowledge is shaped by the realities of their classroom. Thus, an appreciation of their classroom practices, which reveal their idiosyncrasies and the multiple realities which they embrace as unique individuals, was an important insight for this study. 5 RESEARCH STRATEGY Epistemological viewpoint The present study was approached from an interpretivist epistemological worldview. An interpretivist paradigm emphasises meaning and understanding in participants' activities within their contexts (Nieuwenhuis, 2007). It is concerned with a descriptive analysis of participants' understanding of their lived experiences within a historical context (Creswell, 2013). We favoured an interpretivist paradigm for this study as we aimed at exploring the sources of Literature in English beginner teachers’ knowledge from their interpretation of experiences in the context of their ESL classroom. Qualitative approach In order to explore the knowledge that Literature in English beginner teachers hold, we used a qualitative approach. Qualitative research allows for attitudes associated with a phenomenon to be understood in the context of the occurrence (Suter, 2006). We embraced this approach as it provided the participants with a voice to share their experiences as Literature in English beginner teachers (Creswell, 2013). From a qualitative trajectory, this study provided detailed experiences of the way beginner teachers’ source knowledge for teaching Literature in English. As we did not intend to prescribe the teaching knowledge that Literature in English teachers ought to have, a qualitative inquiry was, thus, important in highlighting the participants' descriptions of their world as beginner teachers (Mertens, 2014). This study used a single case study design. A case study is “an empirical enquiry to investigate a contemporary phenomenon in a real-life context, especially when the boundaries between the phenomenon and context are not clearly evident" (Yin 2014, p.13). We were cognisant of the fact that, as a bounded unit, participants shared common experiences as new subject teachers (Creswell, 2013). This particularity with beginner teachers as a bounded unit was important in our understanding of their teaching knowledge which had developed from a continuous process of dealing with the challenges inherent in the classroom. Using a single case design, we paid attention to the unique contexts which helped to explain the individual teacher's knowledge in order to produce a holistic picture of the phenomenon (Yin, 2014). Closely related to the above assertion is the notion that a phenomenon binds itself with the context, which means for this study it was important to understand beginner teachers' knowledge from the context of that particular Literature in English classroom. Purposive sampling In this study purposive sampling was used to select the participants. According to Creswell (2013), purposive sampling is employed to select participants that have defining characteristics which are crucial in answering the research questions and providing in-depth and rich data. In this study, participants with the following characteristics were selected: (i) beginner teachers; (ii) teaching in any school in Bulawayo East and (iii) teaching form three learners in Literature in English. Form three is the first academic grade in the O Level course. The learners in this academic grade are usually between the age group 15-16. From these criteria, four beginner teachers, referred to as A, B, C and D, were selected. Setting of the study The purpose of the study was to explore beginner teachers’ sources of knowledge for teaching Literature in ESL classrooms from Bulawayo East District in Zimbabwe. The schools that resort under Bulawayo East District are former group A schools. What this means is that these schools were reserved for white students prior to 1980 when Zimbabwe gained her independence and the school system was desegregated. The four sampled schools are located in residential areas that was during the pre-independent Zimbabwe reserved for white learners. 6 The area is currently occupied by middle class black people and a few white families. Thirty- six (36) years after the desegregated system, the four sampled schools still have a residual identity to the British curriculum which included the study of Literature in English. In Zimbabwe, English Language, History, Mathematics, an indigenous language and General Science are considered as core subjects which every learner in the secondary school system should study and write a national examination in, Literature in English is optional. What this means is that O Level learners may decide not to read it. In fact, in other schools especially in the resource-constrained areas, Literature in English is not studied. The participants in this study comprised four O Level Literature in English beginner teachers. We held that for us to recognise the theoretical and experiential preferences of each beginner teacher participant, there was a need to understand their autobiographical journey into teaching. Participant A was a 27-year-old woman. She had been a teacher for four years. Participant A's story into teaching was one of determination to make a difference through the classroom. Through empowering the girls in her class with the ability to think and act, Participant A believed that she was contributing to their mentorship as independent thinkers. She loved to act and participate in public speaking. Her greatest love was teaching and empowering learners, especially the girl child.. She was soft-spoken, but easily excited by a discussion about her teaching. Participant B is a 26-year-old woman who has been a teacher for four years. Participant B, found teaching Literature in English exhilarating but challenging. Interestingly, teaching was not her first love, as she dreamt of being a lawyer. Her dream was to be a lawyer but she failed to obtain the university entry requirements to study to become one. Teaching, she said, came as her third choice, but she has grown to love teaching Literature in English. She found the challenges inherent in the school system difficult to navigate. We observed that she approached teaching with a lot of frustration that she could only express in tears... Participant C was a 28-year-old woman who has been a teacher for four years. Participant C's journey into teaching was pre-determined by a religious calling. She considered teaching as a pastoral vocation. She believed that she was called into the ministry of teaching. Coming from a religious background, Participant C assigned teaching an exclusiveness that is usually associated with religious ministry – she believed she was shepherding rather than teaching the learners. She lost her mother when she was 20 years old. Since then she has been the mother figure for her siblings. She considers teaching her calling; she says God chose her to be a teacher.. Participant C's class was warm and welcoming. Participant D was a 25-year-old female teacher who has been in the service for four years. She knew she wanted to be a teacher in high school already, because of her English teacher who went out of her way to create an enabling environment in their impoverished rural school. Participant D regarded teaching as a mentorship journey. She saw herself as mentoring her learners for academic and life excellence. She radiated a charisma and individuality, which made it easy to relax in her company. We found her self-motivated, self-reliant and non- conformist. Data collection and analysis The qualitative approach favoured in this study focuses on a holistic inquiry into a phenomenon in its natural settings (Suter, 2006). Thus this study used qualitative methods of data collection to explore the sources of the beginner teachers’ knowledge for teaching Literature in English. We used two research methods as we sought for "convergence and collaboration" (Bowen 2009, p.28), and we reasoned that multiple methods provided "a confluence of evidence that breeds credibility". Data were collected semi-structured interviews. Semi-structured interviews were used because of their strength in giving 7 prominence to the participants' meaning of their lived experiences (Mertens, 2014). All the participants went through four interviews which lasted between 30 and 35 minutes. We approached the semi- interviews from an understanding that "our knowing is ordinarily tacit, implicit in our patterns of action and in our feel for the stuff with which we are dealing. It seems right to say that our knowledge is in our action" (Schön 1983, p.49). We were aware that unless the participants were questioned about their teaching practices, they would consider them as ordinary and irrelevant. In the fourth interview, we gave the participants the opportunity to reflect on their teaching practices. We asked them to discuss the teaching knowledge gaps that they encountered in teaching Literature in English and the strategies they used to minimise these gaps when they occurred. In line with the qualitative approach embraced in this study, data from the semi- structured were transcribed and analysed using inductive thematic analysis. According to Braun and Clarke (2006), inductive thematic analysis is used when the researcher intends to explore and identify the recurring themes in the data. Creswell’s (2009) framework for data analysis was applied; that is, organising and preparing the data, reading the data, coding and segmenting the data accordingly, and then interpreting the data in line with current research on teacher knowledge. QUALITY CRITERIA Quality in this study was achieved through the following strategies: triangulation, prolonged field engagement, member checks, thick descriptions and an audit trail (Marshall & Rossman, 2010; Shenton, 2004). In keeping with the selected quality strategies, we collected data using multiple research instruments so as to improve the internal consistency of the data. Furthermore, prolonged engagement was used as a way of familiarising ourselves with the participants' contexts, and was aimed at improving the emic experience we needed to understand the participants' sources of teaching knowledge. Through member checking we confirmed that we had captured the participants' voices and given prominence to their interpretation of their sources of teaching knowledge. We also provided thick and extensive descriptions of the methodology and context of the study. Using thick descriptions, we captured the cultural context in which the beginner teachers practised their profession. In addition, the trail provided by the observation video tapes, interview transcripts and field notes was audited to ensure authenticity. ETHICAL CONSIDERATIONS To safeguard the participants from any form of harm, ethical issues were taken seriously in this study. The Faculty of Education at the University of Pretoria granted us an ethical clearance certificate. Permission to engage with the beginner teachers in Bulawayo East was sought and granted by the Provincial Education Director and the individual principals in each of the four schools that participated in this study. The participants were invited to participate in the study and were assured of confidentiality, anonymity and the right to withdraw from the study at any time. Parental and guardian permission and the learners’ assent were sought to video record the learners who were not part of the study but who were present during the class observations. FINDINGS From the analysis, three themes emerged to explain the beginner teachers’ sources of teaching knowledge for Literature in English. The three themes are teaching knowledge from theory of language education; the nature of the subject; and problematic areas in Literature in English. The themes are discussed in detail below. 8 Teaching knowledge from theory of language education All the participants agreed that they possessed general knowledge of teaching from their teacher training programmes. The participants' general knowledge of language teaching was extended to the teaching of Literature in their classroom. The participants emphasised that they had personal philosophies that informed their Literature teaching. These philosophies are based on the theory of education acquired during their training. The philosophies are self-defined descriptions of what they hope learners embrace from their classroom teaching. Participant A stressed that she favoured teaching that empowered learners: I am empowering the learners. They have to learn the subject independent of my way of thinking. They must understand that the teacher only guides them. They must research and discover on their own (Participant A, Interview, 14/03/2016). During the observation in Participant A's class, we identified some of her philosophies in action. For example, she asked the group that was presenting during the second observation to speak loudly. She went on to say that the world would not have patience for women who appear apologetic about who they were. She said: When you go in front of an audience, Martha (pseudonym name given to the learner), show them you are a woman who knows her place" (Observation notes, 10/02/ 2016). Participant B, on the other hand, mentioned that her teaching was influenced by her belief that it was a partnership between the teacher and the learners: Peer teaching is a good way of teaching. The learners, in their groups or in pairs, research on specific topics and present them in class. As a teacher, I work as a guide. The students have to discover on their own. I have also realised that it is a way of boosting their confidence. I feel as if I am whispering to them that they are responsible enough to be teachers (Participant B, interviews, and 18/03/2016). Participant B teaches at a modern school with smart boards, interactive e-learning platforms and internet connectivity. However, we failed to identify how Participant B used the available resources to enhance her teaching. We sensed that there was a slight difference between what she hoped her class to be and her actual teaching. With all the interactive platforms available to her, Participant B dictated notes to learners during all of my visits to her classroom. Participant C talked about responsible teaching. She explained that she allowed her learners to be involved in making decisions about how they learn. She noted that: The pupils should be part of the lesson, this helps them retain information, and this helps boost their confidence. You realize when a pupil gives a correct answer, I affirm. I am trying to boost their confidence – help them feel good about the answer they have given so that next time they can also participate. I spoke about life skills in the previous interview. I am teaching them to talk; I do not want Literature pupils that are docile and unable to express themselves, so language skills are being developed as they participate (Participant C, interview, 06/04/2016). The learners in Participant C's class were responsible for decisions on their class attendance. Her class was interesting to observe because of the tranquil atmosphere that became immediately apparent as one entered the class. I found the learners highly motivated and focused; for a minute I forgot that I was in a class with teenagers. Participant D's teaching is based on her understanding that teaching is a partnership. She commented that she viewed teaching as a partnership between her and her learners. The participants explained that their teaching knowledge changed according to the context and the nature of the learners in the class. Both Grossman and McDonald (2008) and Hegarty (2000) note that teachers' way of teaching is influenced by their personal beliefs on how the practice of teaching should be. In agreement, Participants A, B, C and D respectively viewed teaching as empowering, interactive, a partnership and participatory. This implies that their general teaching practice is a function of their worldview. For example, Participant D, whom we surmised was a pragmatic beginner teacher, was involved in class activities such as research, presentations, peer and group work and role-plays, which had been common activities in her teaching orientation. 9 Teaching knowledge from the nature of Literature in English The participants argued that they knew that the nature of Literature in English required a certain way of thinking and involvement from learners. Participants A and B indicated that, for effective teaching to take place, Literature in English beginner teachers should know the history of literature, which informs its nature: Literature is a subject of royalty. From my reading, in England, it was a subject of the royal family, the intellectuals; people who thought deeply. Everyone who is a learner in the subject should get involved. That is how it can be interesting and meaningful. You need to be involved, think, and make your own analysis about what you are reading (Participant A, interview, 14/03/2016). In addition, having knowledge of the nature of the subject meant that the beginner teachers were aware of the skills needed for the learners to perform well in the subject. The nature of the subject requires the pupils' own analysis. It requires what they think. Even when they write examinations, they have to include first-hand information. The nature of the subject again, calls for pupil involvement. They have to be part of the lesson. They have to be involved in the learning rather than being passive. That is why they have to think and be able to analyse and go and research, present and argue. There are questions that require them to argue so if they are passive and they are used to just receiving information when the examination comes and a question requires them to present an argument, how will they be able to do it if they do not practice? (Participant A, interview, 14/03/2016). The participants commented that they knew that the history of Literature in English was important in understanding how it should be taught. Literature in English is a subject that was once reserved for royalty; its teaching ought to be approached with such seriousness. The participants knew that learners needed to think while learning Literature in English. However, when probed further, the participants failed to explain what they meant by thinking. I observed that it was a commonly used word in the Literature in English class, but was not planned for in the teachers' scheme books. The participants noted that knowledge of the nature of Literature in English motivated them to embrace specific teaching methods. Participant A commented that she assessed the classroom situation before using a particular teaching method: You have to assess the situation and use the methods which are applicable at that particular time depending on the calibre of the students that you are teaching. When we are studying plays, we normally dramatize. For example, with The Merchant of Venice we did a lot of dramatization because a play is actually meant for the stage. We also dramatized novels like A Cowrie of Hope. We would pick a few chapters that we used. Besides going to research on essay questions, the students also engage in debates on the novel's thematic issues. I can give you an example of one debate question that we once had on The Merchant of Venice. Shylock is responsible for his downfall, do you agree? They had to present a debate on that. While some are saying he is responsible others are saying no. The evidence they use is strictly from the text (Participant A, interview, 14/03/2016). Participant A's teaching methods in Literature in English included drama, essay writing and debates. She also added an interesting aspect of her pedagogical knowledge, as she included repetition as a way of improving learners' knowledge retention. She knew that through emphasis and repetition learners could master literary concepts and skills. Participant C noted that before deciding on a teaching method to be used in Literature in English, there is a need to know the learners and their weaknesses. She noted that Literature in English was learnt through interactive methods such as group work, classwork and class presentations. Participant D knows that the use of drama, discussion, role-play, code switching, inter-subject learning, and e-learning platforms such as blogs, enhance the learning experience in Literature in English. Participant B acknowledged that some methods are specific to teaching Literature such as e-learning platforms, but she was unsure how she integrated them into her teaching. She stated that learners used the internet for research; she occasionally screened Shakespearian movies but she integrated them to her teaching as a whimsical afterthought. I believe that e- learning platforms are very important in her Literature in English class. Participant B stated that “…learners are able to comprehend concepts through interactive means such as pair work, class discussion, blogs and WhatsApp” (Participant Interview, 18/03/2016). Participant B 10 might be unaware that she had formulated ways of teaching Literature in English that were not commonly used, as methods such as blogs and WhatsApp appeared to be part of her teaching methods. Participants sourced their teaching knowledge from an understanding of the nature of Literature in English and methods for teaching Literature in English. Both Turner-Bisset (1999) and Shulman (1987) conceptualise teacher knowledge as including pedagogical content knowledge (PCK). However, they define PCK differently. Shulman (1987) defines teachers' PCK as a combination of content and pedagogical aspects of a subject, while Turner-Bisset (1999) regards it as an integrative domain that includes all the knowledge that teachers have on a subject. The participants in this study seemed to be aligned with Shulman's definition, as they believed that PCK was a combination of knowledge of the nature of the subject (content) and methods of teaching (pedagogy). The participants agreed that there was a unique way of teaching Literature in English that was different from the teaching of other subjects. In line with the findings of Cheng et al. (2012), Lampert (2010) and Buitink (2009), the participants’ theoretical knowledge of teaching methods was reconstructed practically in the classroom to suit the learners’ context and the area of study in Literature in English. Thus, the teachers' classroom experiences informed the type of methods they used to teach the subject. Participants A and B noted that Literature was learnt through allowing learners to read the literary works, conduct research and give presentations in class. Participant C argued that Literature in English was easily taught by allowing for class reading, group work and class presentations. On the other hand, Participant D stated that Literature in English was learnt through other subjects like History and Geography and by using different venues to teach, such as teaching in a park or next to a dam. Every method that the participants suggested highlighted their understanding of the nature of Literature in English as a subject and their knowledge of methods that motivate their learners. In accordance with Shulman and Shulman's (2004) understanding of PCK, the participants indicated that their PCK was a result of interplay between their theoretical persuasions and their experiential orientations. From the findings, we came to the realisation that teachers' knowledge was not constructed once but was rather a function of reflection on the practice of teaching Literature in English, which is a continuous process. We understood then that teachers were in a continuous process of refining their ability to teach a subject. The key elements of this reflection on practice with regards to PCK appear to be the context, the learners and the curriculum objectives. The implication is that subject knowers, not subject teachers, create PCK. We believe that subject knowers have the ability to recognise the instruction methods that could enhance teaching. Similar to the findings of DeGraff et al. (2015) and McGlynn- Stewart (2015), the participants in this study indicated that their PCK was integrative, as it integrates the context, the learners and the curriculum objectives for effective teaching to take place. Its integrative characteristic means that if one of the aspects is omitted, PCK is rendered useless. For example, having a good method to teach Literature in English without knowledge of the curriculum and its objectives produces ineffective teaching. Teaching knowledge sourced from problematic areas in Literature in English The participants discussed their teaching knowledge as coming from the comprehension of learners’ problematic areas in learning Literature in English. These problem areas result from their academic ability and the contextual nuances in each school. Learners placed in Literature classes are usually considered by the school and their peers to be low achievers. This a far cry from the esteemed position that Literature previously held as a subject of royals (Participant A). In fact, Participant D states that in her “…school, Science, technology and mathematics are given more prominence than the arts subjects.” This point is further supported by Participant C who started that “… it is the weak students that have failed to make 11 it to the science classes that find themselves in my class”. In response to the low regard of Literature in the four sampled school, all the participants indicated that they developed scaffolded strategies of teaching Literature as a way of motivating their learners. Participant C indicated that they had knowledge of how to counsel learners as a way of boosting their self- esteem: I sometimes have counselling lessons where we do not have Literature lesson but a counselling lesson. The students state their problems and we discuss them. The first lesson I had with them was a discussion on the syllabus. I then talked to them candidly because sometimes they feel inferior as they are labelled weak students. I made them understand that they are high performers. I promised I would help them achieve their goals. Once you create that excitement and self-value, they seem to understand the subject better. As you saw them during the observations, did they appear as weak students? (Participant C, interview, 06/04/2016). This suggests that teachers' knowledge of learners' academic ability inexorably leads them to another knowledge construction, one which deals with strategies to motivate learners in a Literature in English class. The teachers' knowledge of the learners' academic ability has led them to knowledge on how to motivate learners in Literature in English. Each participant had come up with certain strategies that they believed motivated their learners to attain literary competence. Participant A used participatory class activities such as drama to motivate her learners. Participant B revealed that she at times used dictation as a teaching method because she knew her learners needed such motivation to learn. Participant C shared that she knew that her learners appreciated being loved and cared and used this as a way of motivating them. Participant D extended Literature in English learning to the pupils' own lives to create an appreciation of literature and the retention of literary knowledge. The participants indicated that their learners learn Literature in English through interaction, research, indigenous artistic techniques (song), interpretation, memorisation and e- learning platforms, as well as by using practical skills that are related to their life outside the school. The use of learner-centred methods also motivated pupils to learn Literature in English. According to Participant D, learners perform better in Literature in English if it is taught practically: I have made my HoD realize that I teach the way learners want me to. I try to run away from routine behaviourist teaching. You saw that the pupils were few in class. It is because some of them have already passed the subject in the June examinations. 11 wrote and all of them passed with seven As and four Bs and I know the remaining 24 will pass and this is a class which everyone considers as low achieving (Participant D, interview, 08/04/2016). The participants all used some form of scaffolding to nurture learners' academic growth. The scaffolding process begins with learners' involvement in class as individuals, in pairs and in groups until they grow to be researchers and presenters in Literature in English. Participant D regarded learners' academic growth as related to their ability to use skills from the classroom in their daily life, which was aligned to her pragmatic approach to teaching: They need to present ideas that are practical. I am preparing them for life. They should know that life is not a bed of roses. Literature can help them known that hard work pays like was the case with Nasula and Sula in A Cowrie of Hope. Literature should also help them to know how to fight for themselves. I do not want them to be docile recipients of everything. They need to learn that at times you have to fight in order to be recognised (Participant D, interview, 08/04/2016). The participants' knowledge of the learners included knowing their characteristics, including their cognition, learning and motivation. The participants also acknowledged that they possessed knowledge of the learners. This knowledge includes the learners' ability and the strategies that motivate them to attain Literature in English competence. The participants noted that the difficulties learners experienced with a subject could largely be traced back to their attitude towards the subject. The participants suggested that knowing learners' attitudes towards a subject was important in understanding their academic performance. They stated that learners' performance in a subject might not be an indication of their intellectual abilities, but 12 of their attitudes. In this context, the participants highlighted that they had generated strategies which comprised motivational tactics aimed at minimising negative learner attitudes towards the study of Literature in English. DISCUSSION The findings highlighted that teachers source their teaching knowledge from the theory of education, the nature of the subject and the problematic areas encountered in teaching knowledge. The literature on which this study was underpinned was drawn from cross disciplinary research on teacher knowledge. For example, literature in English as a first language, English as a second language and English as a foreign language. Hence the findings of this study might provide insights across disciplines in the construction of English teaching knowledge. The findings extend the study’s conceptual framework, which was drawn from a literature review on theoretical and experiential teacher knowledge. We conceptualised that beginner teachers construct their Literature in English teaching knowledge by integrating their theoretical and experiential knowledge. We rejected the separation of teacher knowledge domains according to the theoretical or experiential orientations, as we believe that beginner teachers use all the knowledge at their disposal to make sense of their teaching. The beginner teachers in this study held theoretical knowledge from their teacher training programmes as we conceptualised. Corresponding with the study's conceptual framework, the beginner teachers in this study were involved in a process of contextualising and personalising theoretical teaching knowledge to address their classroom needs. From this process of reordering theoretical knowledge to meet contextual needs, the beginner teachers acquired teaching knowledge that was individualistic, contextual and pragmatic. However, the beginner teachers did not explicitly separate theoretical and experiential knowledge in their teaching but rather integrated the knowledge as part of their overall professional practices. In contrast with our conceptualisation of teaching knowledge as being constructed from an amalgamation of theoretical and experiential knowledge, the beginner teachers indicated a more elaborate construction schema. Although acknowledging the theoretical and experiential knowledge as sources of their teaching practices, the beginner teachers in this study indicated that their construction developed from past, present and anticipated classroom experiences. They highlighted that teaching knowledge construction involved multiple sources that included previous educational experiences, present Literature in English experiences and anticipated classroom experiences. The beginner teachers came to possess an idiosyncratic Literature in English teaching knowledge from "an embryonic manifesto of the teacher-self that emerges during a beginning teacher’s formative experiences, both as a student at school and university, and during their initial teacher education" (Giovanelli, 2015, p.3). The embryonic nature of teacher knowledge suggests an interrelatedness of its complex conception that draws from personal, professional and contextual frameworks. This suggests that teacher knowledge results from an interplay of professional and contextual nuances that lead to a personalised way of teaching. Although the beginner teachers have some similar comprehension about teaching Literature in English, how they approach it will be determined by their experiential worldview. This means that the beginner teachers' previous educational experiences, which included their time as students in teachers' colleges and high schools, provided them with the knowledge that set them on the path to teaching. Interestingly, the classroom experiences eventually revealed to the beginner teachers that their theoretical knowledge was incomplete and, as they reflected on this, they constructed knowledge that was personal, unique, reactional, contextual and practical. The beginner teachers' present experiences in the Literature in English classroom and their further academic and professional development also combine to influence their teaching knowledge. 13 At the anticipatory level, the beginner teachers planned for the future through a dialogue with the learners, school expectations and knowledge of the syllabus. Through the anticipatory process, the teachers constructed a scaffolded classroom in which learners' weaknesses were anticipated and identified, and then possible strategies spontaneously created to minimise them. Implications for ESL teacher knowledge The strength of the single case study is its ability to provide a methodological lens to explore a phenomenon from participants' natural settings, which provides a holistic portrait. This merit was what we needed in this study for a deeper comprehension of beginner teacher knowledge. Thus, in setting out the criteria for the selection of the sample, it was not the intention to get a representative sample but to select a sample that would yield answers to the research question. For this purpose, four beginner teachers were sampled which means the findings of this study cannot be generalized to other contexts. Notwithstanding the fact that that the findings cannot be generalized beyond the context of the study, the insights derived from it can be explored for in-depth understanding of teacher knowledge across disciplines. Teacher knowledge, as suggested by the study's findings, is located in the teachers' past, present and anticipated classroom experiences. From a constructivist understanding, the study acknowledges the symbiotic relationship between theoretical knowledge in teaching and the role of teachers in the construction of their teaching knowledge from classroom-based experiences. These findings emphasise teaching knowledge as emanating from personal, practical, reactional and contextual experiences, which means teacher preparation programmes might better prepare pre-service teachers by exposing them to multiple contexts which have the potential to develop their professional practice. From the reviewed literature, and based on the findings from this study, it would seem that there is a need to carry out further studies in the area of Literature in English teacher knowledge models. As this study was a maiden voyage, and was carried out in one area of Zimbabwe, there is a need for more research in ESL and in broader contexts to further understand the multiple sources of teaching knowledge in Literature in English which different research contexts could provide. References Bowen, G, A. (2009). Document analysis as a qualitative research method. Qualitative Research Journal, 9 (2), 27–40. Braun, V. & Clarke, V. (2006). Using thematic analysis in psychology. 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Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage 14 DeGraff, T.L., Schmidt, C.M. & Waddell, J.H. (2015). Field-based teacher education in literacy: preparing teachers in real classroom contexts. Teaching Education, 26(2), 1–17. DiYanni, R. (2000). Literature: reading fiction, poetry, and drama. Columbus, OH: McGraw-Hill Education. Elbaz, F. (1983). Teacher thinking: a study of practical knowledge. London: Croom Helm. Fleming, M.P. & Strevens, D. (2015). English teaching in secondary schools: linking theory and practices. 4th ed. London: Routledge. Giovanelli, M. (2015). Becoming an English language teacher: Linguistic knowledge, anxieties and the shifting sense of identity. Language and Education, 29(5), 416-429. Gordon, J. (2012). More than canons: teacher knowledge and the literary domain of secondary English curriculum. Educational Research, 54(4), 375–390. Grossman, P., Hammerness, K. & McDonald, M. (2009). Redefining teaching, re‐imagining teacher education. 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work_7t3oqmkpgrd3vcc4v2pidsnfdq	----	Archives of Disease in Childhood, 1986, 61, 635-636 James Spence Medallist, 1986 Sir Peter Tizard The James Spence Medal was presented to Sir Peter Tizard on 16 April 1986 by Professor J 0 Forfar, President of the British Paediatric Association, who gave the following citation: The James Spence Medal is awarded for outstand- ing contributions to the advancement or clarification of paediatric knowledge and is the highest award the British Paediatric Association (BPA) can confer. The recipient in 1986 is Sir Peter Tizard. Peter Tizard was born with two advantages. Firstly, he was born into a scientific environment, the son of a distinguished scientist. Secondly, he was born on April 1, an event that doubtless stimulated him to discount the presumption that the uncharit- able might make in respect of that birth date. Sir Peter was educated at Rugby, Oriel College, Oxford, and the Middlesex Hospital: he served in the army for four years, returning to pursue a career in paediatrics that led him from Great Ormond Street to St Mary's Hospital, Queen Square, and Harvard. In 1954 he was-appointed Reader in Paediatrics to the Institute of Child Health and Honorary Consul- tant Paediatrician to Hammersmith Hospital. Ten years later, jointly within the Institute and Royal Postgraduate Medical School, he was appointed to the first Chair of Paediatrics to Hammersmith Hospital. In 1972 he was appointed to the newly created Chair of Paediatrics to the University of Oxford, retiring from that post in 1983. It would, I think, be fair to say that in this country Sir Peter is one of the outstanding paediatricians, perhaps the outstanding paediatrician, of his time. Within pa'ediatrics he has made important academic contributions to neonatology and paediatric neurol- ogy. At Hammersmith he did much to build up an academic neonatal unit that pioneered and estab- lished neonatl paediatrics in this country and exemplified the scientific basis on which such units should develop. At Oxford he further developed paediatrics in the twin disciplines of neonatology and neurology, creating a coordinated academic unit of international renown. In the wider field of child health Sir Peter has proved himself a national leader of paediatric thought and action. During his Presidency of the BPA the Association achieved an enhanced national importance and status. He set about establishing links with the many organisations with which paediatrics must relate if a truly comprehensive child health service is to be created; he played an important part in establishing the British Paediatric Surveillance Unit and he represented our Associa- tion with distinction at home and abroad. In addition to his academic and executive abilities Peter has a unique capacity for forthright expression and ability to discount cant and humbug. He is by nature a scholar, a philosopher, and a man of humour. These personal qualities are represented in his favourite authors Dr Johnson and Lord Macaulay, representing precision, authority, and men of letters, and Jane Austen and P G Wode- house, representing humour and understanding of human nature: all four masters in the use of the English language. Sir Peter's record as teacher, researcher, and 635 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://a d c.b m j.co m / A rch D is C h ild : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /a d c.6 1 .7 .6 3 5 o n 1 Ju ly 1 9 8 6 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://adc.bmj.com/ 636 James Spence Medallist, 1986 leader of paediatric thought has been widely recog- nised. He has been invited to give at least 15 named guest lectures. He is an honorary or corresponding member of at least a dozen national paediatric societies. He has been the Dawson Williams Prize- man of the British Medical Association. He is a Past Master of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. He was knighted in 1982. A previous Spence Medallist of this Association was the late Dr D W Winnicott who on account of the contribution to paediatrics that he recognised Sir Peter to be making gave his Spence Medal to Sir Peter. Sir Peter has suggested, and the Association has agreed, that that medal should have Sir Peter's name added to it and presented to him today. This must be the first occasion on which the Spence Medal and Bar has been awarded. Sir Peter, in recognition ofyourmany achievements and with a sense of great affection and respect, the Association awards you the Spence Medal. James Spence Medallists Professor A A Moncrieff Professor R A McCance Sir F Macfarlane Burnet Professor L S Penrose Dr Cicely D Williams Professor R R A Coombs Dr Mary D Sheridan Dr D W Winnicott Dr G S Dawes Professor D V Hubble Dr W W Payne Dr R C Mac Keith 1973 1974 1976 1977 1978 1979 1980 1981 1982 1983 1984 1985 Professor C A Clarke Dr J Bowlby Dr D M T Gairdner Professor R S Illingworth Dr S D M Court Professor K W Cross Professor J M Tanner Dr Elsie M Widdowson Dr D MacCarthy Professor J 0 Forfar Dr J W B Douglas Dr N S Gordon 1960 1961 1963 1964 1965 1967 1968 1969 1970 1971 1972 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://a d c.b m j.co m / A rch D is C h ild : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /a d c.6 1 .7 .6 3 5 o n 1 Ju ly 1 9 8 6 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://adc.bmj.com/ 
work_7wahytkbjrfnvcqrvnt7k46usq	----	BJPsych Bulletin | Cambridge Core Skip to main content Accessibility help We use cookies to distinguish you from other users and to provide you with a better experience on our websites. Close this message to accept cookies or find out how to manage your cookie settings. Login Alert Cancel Log in × × Home Only search content I have access to Home Log in Register Browse subjects What we publish Services About Cambridge Core Cart Cart Access provided by Carnegie Mellon University Manage institution login Logged in as: Carnegie Mellon University Manage institution login Register Register Log in Cart < Back to search results Home Journals BJPsych Bulletin English | Français BJPsych Bulletin Search within full text Search within journal Search within society Submit your article Information Submit your article You are leaving Cambridge Core and will be taken to this journal's article submission site. 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Access: Subscribed Open access On the cover Continues Bulletin of the Royal College of Psychiatrists (1977 - 1988), Psychiatric Bulletin (1988 - 2009), The Psychiatrist (2010 - 2013), The Psychiatric Bulletin (2014 - 2014) Title history ISSN: 2056-4694 (Print), 2056-4708 (Online) Editors: Norman Poole South West London and St George's Mental Health NHS Trust, UK, and Dr Richard Latham East London NHS Foundation Trust, UK Editorial board BJPsych Bulletin prioritises research, opinion and informed reflection on the state of psychiatry, management of psychiatric services, and education and training in psychiatry. It provides essential reading and practical value to psychiatrists and anyone involved in the management and provision of mental healthcare. BJPsych Bulletin is an open access, peer-reviewed journal owned by the Royal College of Psychiatrists. The journal is published bimonthly by Cambridge University Press on behalf of the College. 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work_a3s54zpzyjdprmyzj2uf5wpjuu	----	Using Aristotle’s theory of friendship to classify online friendships: a critical counterview O R I G I N A L P A P E R Using Aristotle’s theory of friendship to classify online friendships: a critical counterview Sofia Kaliarnta1 Published online: 22 January 2016 � The Author(s) 2016. This article is published with open access at Springerlink.com Abstract In a special issue of ‘‘Ethics and Information Technology’’ (September 2012), various philosophers have discussed the notion of online friendship. The preferred framework of analysis was Aristotle’s theory of friendship: it was argued that online friendships face many obstacles that hinder them from ever reaching the highest form of Aristotelian friendship. In this article I aim to offer a dif- ferent perspective by critically analyzing the arguments these philosophers use against online friendship. I begin by isolating the most common arguments these philosophers use against online friendship and proceed to debunk them one by one by pointing out inconsistencies and fallacies in their arguments and, where needed, offering empirical findings from media and communication studies that offer a more nuanced view on online friendships. I conclude my analysis by questioning the correctness of the application of the Aristotelian theory of friendship by the critics of online friendship: in my view, the critics are applying the Aristotelian theory to online friendships in a rather narrow and limited way. Finally, I conclude my thesis by proposing that in the rapidly changing online landscape, a one-size-fits-all application of the Aristotelian theory on friendship is not sufficient to accurately judge the multitude of relationships that can exist online and that the various positive and valuable elements of online friendships should also be acknowledged and analyzed. Keywords Virtue ethics � Aristotle � Online friendship � Social networking sites � Internet � Virtual friendship � Social media � Friendship Introduction The rise of the Internet and other online communication technologies has assisted the proliferation of connecting and creating relationships with people online. Various philosophers consider these friendships as a poor substi- tution of friendships in real life. In September 2012, a special issue of the journal Ethics and Information Tech- nology was devoted to online friendship. Many of the philosophers who contributed in the special issue analyzed online friendship by using Aristotle’s theory of friendship. They concluded that online friendship cannot reach the highest level of friendship according to the Aristotelian model. With this article, I aim to highlight some prob- lematic aspects of the arguments used by the philosophers who are viewing online friendships as less valuable. I will do so by first presenting the main points of the critics of online friendship as they were laid down in the special issue; I will then offer my counterpoints and objections against the arguments used by the critics of online friend- ship. In ‘‘Using the Aristotelian theory of the good life to analyze online friendships’’ section I give a short overview of Aristotle’s theory on friendship and I subsequently present the main points of the critics of online friendship. The main point of departure in their analysis is the appli- cation of the Aristotelian theory on friendship. The most common conclusion is that despite several positive aspects, friendships that exist purely online cannot achieve the highest level of Aristotelian friendship. I go on in ‘‘Identity construction online and multiple communication filters: & Sofia Kaliarnta sofia.kaliarnta@gmail.com; S.Kaliarnta@tudelft.nl 1 Philosophy Department, Faculty of Technology, Policy and Management, Delft University of Technology, Jaffalaan 5, 2628 BX Delft, The Netherlands 123 Ethics Inf Technol (2016) 18:65–79 DOI 10.1007/s10676-016-9384-2 http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s10676-016-9384-2&amp;domain=pdf http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s10676-016-9384-2&amp;domain=pdf arguments and counterarguments, Loss of the ‘shared life’ between online friends: arguments and counterarguments and ‘Settling’ for less valuable forms of friendship online: arguments and counterarguments’’ sections to counteract the previously presented arguments against online friend- ship; my point-by-point analysis concludes on ‘‘Question- ing the application of the Aristotelian framework on online friendships’’ section with questioning the correctness of the application of the Aristotelian theory of friendship by the critics of online friendship. In my view, the critics are applying the Aristotelian theory of friendship to online friendships in a rather narrow and limited way. In this way, the possible positive elements of online friendships are deemed as less significant than offline friendships. Finally, I conclude my thesis by proposing the following: the online landscape is rapidly changing, and it includes various communication mediums and platforms with differing aims and scopes. In such a landscape, a one-size-fits-all appli- cation of the Aristotelian theory on friendship is not suf- ficient to accurately judge the multitude of often deep and meaningful personal relationships that can exist online. It is thus necessary that the various positive and valuable ele- ments of online friendships are also acknowledged and analyzed. Using the Aristotelian theory of the good life to analyze online friendships Aristotle’s theory of the good life and in particular, his analysis of the role that friendships play in achieving human flourishing, has been one of the most influential and long-lasting theories on human connections and friend- ships. Aristotle considers philia (friendship) as an essential component of ‘the good life’: in friendship, friends love ‘‘the lovable, and this is good, pleasant, or useful’’ [NE VIII.2: 1155b, 19]. 1 Friends are defined as people who ‘‘must be mutually recognized as bearing goodwill and wishing well to each other’’ [NE VIII.2: 1156a, 4–5]. Friendships of utility are based on certain advantages or goods that one can attain from one’s friend; for example, having a friend who has professional connections that we can profit from, or a friend who lavishes us with expensive gifts. Friendships of pleasure are friendships where the main motivation for continuing the friendship is the plea- sure we get from our friend’s company; for example, a friendship where two friends share a love of history books or enjoy playing chess together. The third kind of friend- ship, virtue friendship, is based on mutual admiration of our friend’s character and sharing of the same values. Aristotle considers virtue friendship as the highest form of friendship between two people; unlike the first two kinds of friendships which are more based on self-interest, virtue friendship is based on ‘mutual concern of each person for the other for his own sake’ (Bowden 1997, p. 65). It is considered to be the most durable kind of friendship, since it is not affected by external and instrumental factors. For example, we might lose interest in our friend if he stops buying us expensive gifts, or the intensity of the friendship with our chess-playing friend might lessen if he becomes much more interested in solving puzzle words rather than playing chess with us. However, a virtuous friend loves us for our character and belief in similar moral values. In recent years, friendships between individuals do not only take place in the usual venues of everyday life, but have increasingly begun to be formed online. People can meet each other on the Internet in various ways: through social networking sites such as Facebook, through online games such as World of Warcraft or through online com- munities. Often, the interaction between two individuals online can become frequent and intense, with exchange of very personal details and stories, as well as a heightened sense of connection and understanding (Henderson and Gilding 2004). However, the moral value of such friendships has been called into question by some philosophers; they seem to doubt whether a friendship sustained exclusively over the Internet, with no real life interaction could be still classified as ‘real’ friendship and reach the level of virtue friendship, i.e. the highest level of friendship according to the Aris- totelian theory. While it is mostly agreed that online friendships can possibly reach the level of utility or plea- sure friendship, several philosophers argue that a true vir- tue friendship cannot be reached purely online. This has been argued by various scholars in the special issue of the journal Ethics and Information Technology on online friendship (September 2012). The Aristotelian theory of friendship is the preferred tool with which these scholars compare and contrast online friendships with real-life, offline ones. While these philosophers do recognize that certain benefits can be derived from online friendship, they nevertheless conclude that those benefits are of an instru- mental nature; they pertain much more to the lower types of Aristotelian friendship such as utility and pleasure friendships. According to their application of the Aris- totelian theory, virtue friendship, the highest form of friendship, is indeed viewed as impossible to achieve online, due to the following three reasons: (1) selected presentation of oneself online which can prevent us from truly knowing our friend’s character, (2) the multiple filters in communication online that can lead to distortion and loss of important clues, as well as the inability to engage in many different activities with our online friend, (3) 1 Translations of Aristotle’s text taken from Ross, W.D. (2009) Nicomachean ethics. 66 S. Kaliarnta 123 skepticism regarding the way that the Internet and espe- cially social networking sites tend to shape how we interact and relate to one another. It is considered troubling that young people in particular might be satisfied with the kind of fast-paced and shortened contact that is characteristic of social networking sites. Such a development is thought to lead young people away from developing friendships that correspond with the Aristotelian ideal. This could mean that young people could be missing out on the possibility of becoming fully-developed virtuous individuals. I do agree that by the very nature and characteristics of the Internet as a communication medium, friendships cre- ated and maintained online have their own special set of challenges and downsides. I understand that such chal- lenges could potentially impede the full development of a meaningful friendship online. However, the critics are decrying the possibility of a higher level of friendship existing online by using offline friendships as the ‘natural’ way of things. My own analysis of their arguments aims to highlight certain inconsistencies and fallacies. I also maintain that broad generalizations about online friendship do not necessarily apply for all the vast array of commu- nication platforms online (social networking sites, online games, online communities etc.); each communication platform offers and allows different modes of communi- cation and interaction between users. Below, I will first present and then counter-analyze the arguments offered previously against online friendship. Identity construction online and multiple communication filters: arguments and counterarguments One of the biggest points of contention for philosophers regarding online friendships is the possibility that persons online might (either intentionally or unintentionally) be less forthcoming with revealing their character, thoughts and beliefs in their entirety. In their view, people online may choose to reveal the aspects of themselves that they consider most positive (thus hiding away less positive traits and ideas). Another possibility is that, even if a person online truly believes that he is totally honest and open about presenting himself in a way that reveals his true self to others, that this might actually not be the case, due to the many filters of communication online. For example, McFall (2012) describes two different types of communi- cation filters that pervade our communication with others: there is multi-filtered communication and single-filtered communication. In multi-filtered communication, person A relays information to person B after having filtered the events through her own interpretation (which could mean that the way the information is relayed can be factually incorrect). Single filtered communication occurs when person B has direct access to person A’s experiences (perhaps because person B and person A were physically together when an experience occurred); thus, the infor- mation passes no (potentially obscuring) filter. McFall then goes on to explain the importance of single-filtered com- munication in truly getting to know our friend’s character and moral value. His conclusion is that single-filtered communication is difficult to achieve with the available technological tools online. So, by the very nature of online interactions, friendships of virtue cannot be achieved online. This view is also shared by Cocking et al. (2012), who note that the many limitations and barriers inherent to online interaction can be a hindrance in really getting to know the character of our online companion. They make the argument that ‘‘what is prone to be missed or distorted are various aspects of ourselves about which we do not approve, or we think are not notable or we simply do not notice’’ (p. 181). Cocking et al. also express concerns about the increasing prevalence of friendship online among teenagers and young people. They make the remark that the Internet gives people the opportunity to construct their image as they see fit (e.g. perhaps by portraying themselves in a very positive light). This unprecedented control of presenting oneself can be very appealing to young people, who are in the process of constructing their own identity. This feature can also give young people the idea that not only can they carefully create their (public) image and identity ‘in their own terms’, but that they can also begin to ‘‘think about these connections to others solely in terms of their choices and control.’’ (p. 183). This development is in discordance with the Aristotelian ideal of the perfect friendship, where the moral development of both friends is informed by their mutual understanding and appreciation of the other person’s virtues. Additionally, Cocking et al. note that especially for young people who use social net- working sites, it is particularly attractive to highlight their best aspects and embellish their interests while obscuring their less positive sides. Young people are already in a stage where they explore their own identity and the ways they can relate to others, and Cocking et al. claim that by using social networking sites, they can create a very ide- alized and highly fine-tuned version of themselves. However, what regularly happens in social networking sites is that social network users have people in their net- work who they also know offline. Having people present on your circle of friends on Facebook, whom you also know offline, can limit or mitigate the identity construction effect. It is quite possible that offline friends will recognize an attempt of their friend to create a more positive, or alto- gether different, image than what she really is and bring the matter to her attention. Let’s take the example of a young Using Aristotle’s theory of friendship to classify online friendships: a critical… 67 123 teenage girl who decides to present a more refined image on Facebook by claiming she is very fond of Jane Austen novels. Such a claim would not go unnoticed by her offline friends, who know that she actually has never read any of the works of Jane Austen. They could make public com- ments wondering when exactly she has started reading Jane Austen books; in this way, they could bring to everybody’s attention that their friend’s claim is in fact false. This particular characteristic of social media is also important when it comes to analyzing the way teenagers use social media. Often the profile information they pro- vide is wildly inaccurate, like stating that they live in Ulan Bator, Mongolia, when they actually live in Boston, USA. This is, however, a way for them to inject humor and wit into their online self-presentation and represents no actual effort of presenting a whole new image. Boyd, in her book ‘‘It’s complicated: the social lives on networked teens’’ (2014), has conducted an eight-year-long ethnographic research on teenagers’ internet and social media use in the United States. She mentions the example of 16-year-old Michael, who sees no reason to put up accurate information on his social media profile, since ‘‘all my [social media] friends are actually my friends; they’ll know if I’m joking around or not’’ (p. 46). Boyd goes to note that most teen- agers ‘‘aren’t enacting an imagined identity in a virtual world. Instead, they’re simply refusing to play by the rules of self-presentation as defined by these sites. They see no reason to provide accurate information, in part because they know that most people who are reading what they post already know who they are. […] Teens don’t see social media as a virtual space in which they must choose to be themselves or create an alternate ego. They see social media as a place to gather with friends while balancing privacy and safety with humor and image.’’ (pp. 46–47). It seems thus that teenagers have found ways to navigate through the (implicit or explicit) rules and behavioral expectations of social media and are appropriating them as a tool for connection and exploration. Especially nowadays, connecting to others online offers more points of reference and ways in which individuals can obtain information about their online friend. This holds true not only for those friendship which exist both online and offline, but also for the so-called ‘purely’ online friendships. For example, on Facebook it is com- mon for users to create profiles using their real name and photograph. If one makes a friend on Facebook, he can use this information in order to find out more about their new connection, i.e. by looking up their name on an online search engine. This can reveal more relevant information, such as a personal website, a LinkedIn or Twitter profile or a Skype account. This means that more aspects of a person’s life are available online: their pro- fessional career, their love of camping or even their political preferences. In this way, the previous division between purely online and offline friendships seems to fade, since in the past, we often had zero access to our online friend’s life and beliefs and had to rely exclusively on the information they provided us. Nowadays, the great amount of information that we can find about our online friends can assist in minimizing the effects of selective self-presentation. It can even be argued that social media and their use can have positive effects towards minimizing the knowledge problem as presented by Cocking et al. (2012). For example, Elder (2014) makes a good point about how the multitude of information about persons online can actually help, rather than hinder, our overall assessment of them: ‘‘online, conversations leave digital ‘‘paper trails’’, making it easier to cross-check stories and consider a person’s comments in light of the overall picture of their character presented by their online presence. For example, the person who expresses one view on social issues to you, but whose Facebook wall is full of posts and memes to the contrary, gives grounds for an overall assessment of character which takes the totality of evidence into consideration’’ (p. 292). A similar point about the possible trustworthiness of online acquaintances is made by Turilli et al. (2010); they opine that ‘‘online identity can be diachronic and the history of the performances associated with that specific online identity can be recorded and made available. In this way it is possible to establish the reputation of an online identity without the need to also associate such a reputation to a specific physical individual.’’ (p. 338) One can thus make the point that in this way, our online presence can be consistent and reliable: our online friends can see the many aspects of our personality and how these evolve through time. Returning to social media, the ‘mutual friends’’ function of Facebook can be used as an informal ‘‘reference’’ for those who wish to make online friends with people they don’t know, but wish to have an extra measure of relia- bility. Let’s assume you receive an invitation to connect on Facebook from ‘‘Peter’’. You notice that ‘‘Peter’’, whom you don’t know offline, is also Facebook friends with your offline friend ‘‘John’’. If you wonder whether you should add Peter to your Facebook friends’ list, you could ask John to give you more information about him. Since John knows Peter in real life, this can become a ‘‘stamp of approval’’; Peter can be trusted, even though you have never met him personally. This is the online equivalent of meeting someone through mutual friends: you find it easier to trust them precisely because of your mutual friends, who have the informal function of ‘‘quality assurance’’. If you are friends with someone, you usually know their positive traits and ergo, their other friends can be viewed in an equally positive way. 68 S. Kaliarnta 123 Precisely because of the proliferation of social media, it has become more commonplace to quickly exchange e-mail addresses, or send Facebook or LinkedIn invitations to connect with people we have just met offline. Quite often, we only know this new person in a superficial way and we have not had the time to get to know them in depth. For example, information about marital status, political and religious beliefs, studies and other interests are often not mentioned during the first stages of getting to know someone offline. Yet, through social media, it becomes easier to have more information about our offline acquaintances, and thus, we can obtain a more ‘‘complete’’ idea of who they are at the click of a button; their two sisters and one brother, their love for Joy Division, their exchange semester in Dublin during their Master’s studies, or their Ph.D. degree from Boston University—all these information are at our disposal. Who you are (or present yourself to be) online can have direct consequences for your offline life. This could help in the ‘‘screening’’ pro- cess, if we for example have met a new acquaintance at our painting group: he is pleasant and funny and we look for- ward to get to know him better. If however, once we add him on Facebook, we see that his wall is filled with sexist and homophobic posts, and he seems to be unapologetic about it, this might make us reconsider the option of deepening our relationship with him. In fact, it is possible that what we reveal in our online profiles can actually be used to find information that we have carefully hidden in our offline lives. This is becoming common practice for many who are dating. Often, their search in the social media profiles of their date provides them with an unpleasant surprise, such as finding out that the person they are dating is already in a relationship, as it happened to a 22-year old woman in the UK. 2 So one could potentially argue that while it is indeed an issue that our online pres- ence could have distorting effects on our offline lives, in some cases it is actually possible that our online presence is revealing information that could correct our distorted of- fline presentation. It is true that the phenomenon of refining of the self, (including selective presentation of only our best points, or a construction of a different identity altogether) still can and does happen online; especially in environments where one is completely anonymous, such as chat-rooms. How- ever, it is clear that we are moving away from the era of nicknames and avatars and the sort of ‘‘pseydonimity’’ they awarded, and towards a digital environment where all kinds of information about us are readily available. These information can offer a far more wholesome picture of our preferences, likes, dislikes and beliefs. Especially in social networking sites, the presence of offline friends and their comments or reactions can rectify the possible voluntary distortion of presenting oneself. These new developments in the online landscape present us with new opportunities. The information we can get from social media can be used to counteract the previous lack of knowledge about our online relationships. Similarly to the points made by Cocking et al. (2012), Fröding and Peterson (2012) argue that the technological features available in online communication make it very easy for online users to have a great amount of control regarding the time, frequency and duration of interactions. To them, this is a problematic point because, ‘‘they [the users] can (even unintentionally) choose to communicate only in certain situations. The price they pay is that they miss out on important, potentially problematic and com- plex, aspects of the friends’ personality. Therefore the agent ends up admiring and loving parts of the friend rather than the whole of her.’’ (p. 205). When it comes to the issue of distorted self-presentation online, they provide a con- structed example of two online friends, Alice and Betty. Alice and Betty have been interacting online for a long time and they have created a close bond. Alice would like to meet Betty in real life as well, but Betty is vague and dismissive, which hurts Alice’s feelings. When Alice goes to the local swimming pool, she happens to see Betty there as well, recognizing her from photographs they have shared. Betty is doing physiotherapy with the help of a trainer, since she has been involved in an accident and thus is now physically disabled. Alice was not aware of this fact, since Betty, not wanting to be viewed by her friend as ‘different’, chose to not disclose this fact. Fröding and Peterson conclude that the friendship between Alice and Betty cannot be a true friendship of virtue, since ‘‘complete and excellent friendship can only obtain when both agents are fine, noble and excellent in every aspect, and this is incompatible with the withholding or manipulation of rel- evant information’’ (p. 205). By using this example, Peterson and Fröding reach the conclusion that by not knowing this important fact about her friend Betty, Alice did not have all the necessary information needed in order to make a correct evaluation of her friend; her judgment of Betty’s character was thus ill-founded. Alice’s admiration and care for Betty were not based on the truth, hence, their friendship cannot attain the highest Aristotelian level. However, one could wonder whether knowing that your online friend is disabled or not has any bearing on their moral character—why finding out that your online friend is disabled should mean that the friendship has lost part of its moral significance? While one could stress the importance of honesty, especially in a relationship between friends, it is a fact that in everyday life, many factors about ourselves could affect the way others think about us. Our profession, 2 http://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/news/greater-manche ster-news/facebook-pippa-mckinney-post-girlfriend-10199577. Using Aristotle’s theory of friendship to classify online friendships: a critical… 69 123 http://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/news/greater-manchester-news/facebook-pippa-mckinney-post-girlfriend-10199577 http://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/news/greater-manchester-news/facebook-pippa-mckinney-post-girlfriend-10199577 our sex, our race, our formal education (or lack thereof), our possible disability are all factors that can define our identity and more importantly, the way others perceive us and relate to us. This aspect of human behavior is rather pervasive and it explains the huge appeal the Internet offers: online you are not defined by your appearance, your financial situation or your illness. Your contribution to discussions and interactions online is judged on merit—a surgeon can be on equal footing with a janitor. As McKenna et al. (2002) observe, ‘‘there are aspects of the Internet that enable partners to get past the usual obstacles or ‘gates’ that in traditional interaction settings often pre- vent potentially rewarding relationships from getting off the ground’’ (p. 10). Regarding people with disability, who might experience people treating them differently in real life (perhaps they feel people pity them or that they are too quick to agree with them in order to not hurt their feelings), the Internet offers them the opportunity to socialize and express themselves without being defined by their handicap, eth- nicity or social status. Coming back to the example of Alice and Betty, Bülow and Felix (2014) offer an inter- esting point of view: in the offline world, Alice and Betty are not on equal footing. Unlike Alice, who has freedom of movement and has thus many opportunities to socialize and make friends, Betty’s physical impairment makes it diffi- cult for her to visit restaurants, cinema’s etc. and meet new people. Added to this is Betty’s own embarrassment about her handicap. However, ‘‘ Betty is not hindered by her impairment when she is interacting online; here, her morally good character shines through. This allows her to communicate more openly and wholeheartedly than is possible when she is interacting physically. Her commu- nication and interaction online can go pass prejudices or assumptions about her impairment. […] Online Betty may come to foster her moral character in her interaction with Alice—only here can they mirror each other on an equal footing.’’ (p. 12) In other words, the Internet becomes a ‘‘leveling field’’ factor; it enables people who would be unequals offline to be able to interact in equal terms with each other online. This aspect of the Internet, I dare claim, is actually a positive one, since it gives people coming from less privileged positions the chance to participate equally in the online world and create connections based not on aspects of themselves they have no control about, but on the strength of their personality and character. Suler (2004) makes the point that, ‘‘the traditional Internet philosophy holds that everyone is an equal, that the pur- pose of the net is to share ideas and resources among peers. […] Even if people do know something about an authority figure’s offline status and power, that elevated position may have less of an effect on the person’s online presence and influence. In many environments on the Internet, everyone has an equal opportunity to voice him or herself.’’ (p. 324) Similarly, research conducted by Chan and Cheng (2004) on the quality of online versus offline friendships, concluded that online friendships between men and women were considered to have a higher quality than offline friendships. It can be argued that the physical distance between the two friends helps mitigate specific issues that might arise from offline cross- sex relationships, such as unwanted sexual attraction. In other words, the Internet could have a positive influence in friendship development between the sexes. Chang and Chen’s research also covers the development and the proliferation of online cross-cultural friendships. The results show that the typical cultural differences and misunderstandings present in offline settings are actually less pronounced online, making online cross-cultural friendships easier to develop. One could thus make the tentative point that the Internet, precisely because of the built-in limitations of distance and lack of physical fea- tures can foster valuable relationships of equals between people who would not as easily been able to become friends offline. Briggle (2008) makes an interesting point regarding the contrast of offline and online friendships. He claims that offline friendships too can be constrictive and limiting in their capability to allow us to fully express our self, our personality and motivations to another person. As he notes, offline friendships occur within complex webs of relations and social structures. These webs are freighted with demands of status, norms, expecta- tions, and conventions that shape the nature of friendships. Friends are more or less consciously squeezed into various compromises by the structure of this overarching social ecology. It can be hard, then, to really ‘‘be myself’’ within any space that this web affords. There may be a secret or deeper self that is unable to emerge as we must enact in our daily lives (p. 74) He uses the example of an accountant who does not feel really comfortable in any of her life-environments; under- lying currents and expectations, past events and attitudes create boundaries for her self-expression: she cannot truly ‘‘be herself’’ at her work environment and neither is that possible in her volleyball team and in her poetry club. Such embedded distortions being at play in offline relationships can be offset by the distance of online relationships, where, precisely because there is no pre-existing web of relation- ships and social obligations, an individual can feel free to openly express aspects of themselves that they ‘‘file away’’ in their offline lives and thus pursue relationships of depth and candid exchange. 70 S. Kaliarnta 123 The point that Briggle makes is a point worth pondering: many of the arguments used to explain why certain aspects of online friendships are problematic could also be said for offline friendships. Even with our closest offline friends, there are times when we choose not to share certain information about ourselves, either because we feel they do not need to know or because perhaps we are afraid of their judgment. Also, quite often, friends made in different environments get to see different aspect of our personhood, or as Cocking (2008) writes, they see these ‘‘plural aspects of self’’ (p. 127), but not a completed whole: friends from work might know us as serious and calm, while friends from our student years might know us as daring and with a peculiar sense of humor. In fact, the internet might allow us with more possibil- ities to express our ‘‘true selves’’. In research conducted by McKenna et al. (2002), it was discovered that individuals who suffer from social anxiety, shyness or a lack of social skills, reported that they felt that they could express their ‘‘true’’ selves better online, and as a result, were able to form close and meaningful relationships with people they met online. Similar results about the better expression of our ‘‘true self’’ online were also reported by Bargh et al. (2002). McKenna, Green and Gleason also measured the durability of these relationships by contacting the survey respondents 2 years after the initial data collection and asked them about the present status of their previously reported online friendships and relationships: the majority of those relationships were found to be still intact 2 years later. It is thus conceivable to argue that precisely due to the absence of common ‘‘gating’’ features that could otherwise halt the development of a relationship offline, the Internet offers individuals the possibility to express their true selves in a more wholesome way and so, they are able to create lasting relationships which may otherwise be impossible to obtain. Loss of the ‘shared life’ between online friends: arguments and counterarguments Another concern arises from the apparent absence of ‘a shared life’ between online friends. For Aristotle, sharing the same experiences, in number, kind and diversity, is an essential component for people who are friends of virtue, in order to further develop morally. This is shared by McFall (2012), who claims that friendships of virtue cannot flourish online, since character friends (as he refers to friends of virtue) need to live together. He argues that virtue friendships cannot be created and sustained entirely through technological meditation because of the lack of shared activities with our friend that would help us in truly getting to know their character and thus, to share our moral development. He quotes Aristotle in the kind of activities character friends share together: drinking, playing dice, practicing a sport or studying philosophy together—by sharing these activities, moral development between friends can occur. Although McFall does acknowledge that many of the activities Aristotle mentions can now be shared online, he maintains that even so, these online friendships with shared activities can only be utility or pleasure friendships, since ‘‘one thing that character- friends provide for each other, an opportunity for robust moral reflection and improvement of the self and other, cannot be transferred as easily through technological means’’ (p. 222). Fröding and Peterson (2012) subscribe to this view as well, by claiming that friendships of virtue cannot be sustained exclusively online and even the most intense kind of online relationship must always be paired with significant interaction offline. According to their analysis of the Aristotelian theory of the good life, a shared life between friends is superior and it is far better for the quality of the friendship if the two friends partake together in a plethora of activities. As they note, ‘‘two persons that spend time together in real life are more likely to face a wider spectrum of different situations, and consequently, encounter a larger range of topics meriting contemplation. […]. In real life we stumble on situations that are both novel and unexpected and we have to deal with them in promptu. This seldom happens on the internet.’’ (p. 204). Sharp (2012) similarly stresses the importance of pro- longed offline contact between friends as a robust way to truly become familiar with our friend’s character, while stressing that ‘‘we must be able to perceive the other person in a full, rich way, and he or she must be able to perceive us as well. This creates the necessary bond, one that will allow the fullest communication of feelings and goals, with the least ability to fool the other person or hide our vices.’’ (p. 239). Without actively sharing our lives, our sorrows and moments of triumph, our beliefs and weaknesses with our friend, our friendship cannot reach the highest Aristotelian level of friendship. However, in a case study, Munn (2012) presents the possibility of friendship in the immersive virtual worlds of Massively Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Games (MMORPGs), with the very popular online game World of Warcraft used as the prime example. Munn makes the case that such online games provide ample opportunities for players to participate together in the same activity (e.g. grouping together to fight against an enemy group or retrieving a valuable amulet). During those shared activi- ties together, people have the possibility to communicate and coordinate their actions via various channels, whether these are internal channels provided by the game, or external channels, organized by the players themselves (e.g. through external webpages where the players can Using Aristotle’s theory of friendship to classify online friendships: a critical… 71 123 communicate or by using Ventrilo, a voice-over internet program for communication of large groups online). By grouping together and sharing the same activity of pursuing a common goal, those in the group demonstrate their character, their roles and desires, and it becomes apparent to the other members of the group whether or not the prerequi- sites for friendship are present. […] Similarly, over an extended period of participation in this shared virtual activity, the group will grow closer as friends, and improve themselves in terms of in game ability, and in general skills such as coordination, co-opera- tion and patience. (p. 7). Of course, it is important to note that even the most advanced MMORPG’s cannot offer a full sensory experi- ence to their players (for example, the senses of smell and touch cannot be transmitted online), nor is it possible to experience the innumerable range of possible social situations and interactions online. Nevertheless, MMPORG’s such as Second Life offer a more compre- hensive amount of possible activities, such as going to restaurants, opening stores, driving and joining various clubs. As Bülow and Felix (2014) comment, ‘‘the more possibilities there are, the more possibilities individuals have to engage in shared activities in a wide range of areas.’’ (p. 10) In this way, friendships that occur in the space of an immersive virtual world have an increased potential to eventually satisfy the Aristotelian criterion of shared activity as a necessary condition for friendship development. Additionally, research by Cole and Griffiths (2007) has showed that MMORPG’s are in fact highly social games, with a high number of players reporting that they have made ‘‘life-long friends and even partners’’ (p. 582) through the game. These results could indicate that MMPORG’s do have the potential to offer their players opportunities for robust friendships and very important intimate relationships. It is remarkable to note that the philosophers who insist on the importance of the ‘shared life’ for the development of virtue friendship, do agree on the positive role the Internet can play in maintaining friendships that have started offline but due to various factors have to be largely conducted online. One might ask: why is there this divide in stance regarding using the Internet to maintain a (pre- viously) offline friendship and a purely online one? A possible reply to this question could be that friendships that started offline but due to time and circumstance are now taking largely place online, have nevertheless been founded on spending time offline with our friend, sharing different activities and getting to really know their character. Since the goodness of our friend’s character has been established in real life, it is not difficult for these friendships to be maintained online, if so needed. There could indeed be a distinction between simply maintaining and actually establishing a friendship through technological means. However, such an argument is again based on the pre- sumption that physical proximity is a necessary condition for the development of virtue friendship. Indeed, sharing experiences with our friends can deepen our bond and enhance our knowledge of their character. However, I would like to argue that spending time being physically together is not per se a necessary condition for the development of virtue friendships online. It is quite possible that deep and frequent exchanges of a personal nature online, with the two friends being open to honest self-disclosure about past events, present occurrences and future aspirations, coupled with shared activity online, (e.g. playing chess online, taking virtual museum tours together, listen to music together while sharing our emotional and aesthetic response to it) can still offset the lack of physical activities together in the offline world. Online friends can share their daily activities in great detail, from the mundane details of daily lunch to the special experience of becoming promoted or taking a rescue puppy home. They use tech- nological media in order to make each other witness of important events, e.g. by making a webcam connection during a friend’s graduation ceremony or birthday party. By participating in online activities together, and especially in activities with a strong element of play (such as online games), the two online friends can encounter many dif- ferent situations and gauge each other’s reactions to novel experiences. This particular view of the shared life between friends is supported by philosophers who offer an alternative inter- pretation of the Aristotelian shared life argument. Liu (2010) in her analysis of the ‘‘living together with friends’’ Aristotelian point, argues that ‘‘ Aristotle associates living together with conversing and sharing thoughts (…) he identifies it with sharing our favorite activities’’ (p. 593) In other words, one could sufficiently argue that the main characteristic of friends’ shared lives is discussion and the sharing of thoughts. This point is further expanded to the online realm by Bülow and Felix (2014), who argue that ‘‘the idea that the most excellent activity friends can engage in is theoria, i.e., pure speculation. If one wants to, one can focus on doing theoria together when online.’’ (p. 11) They go on to point out that Aristotle was not too particular about where friends share their activities, as long as it gives them the feeling that they are living together in the way they themselves find most appropriate. The amount of activities that are possible online is constantly growing and offering for many robust opportunities for friends to spend time together. Their closing argument is, ‘‘ seeing as it is possible to engage online even in theoria, the highest sense of human activity according to Aristotle, why should 72 S. Kaliarnta 123 he not have accepted such an online relation as a perfect friendship? (p. 11). Elder (2014) also makes a similar point: namely, that friends share life through discussion and rational thought. Wondering whether friends who love philosophy can dis- cuss about it in social media and whether photography lovers can share and discuss each other’s photographs online, she comes to the conclusion that this is indeed possible: ‘‘Sharing a conversation about one’s day with a friend should count as living together, for Aristotelians, if we are to take his comments on the nature of the shared life seriously. Friends need not be present for every life event in order to share in a life: they needn’t be grazing in the same field, like cattle’’. (p. 289) This is in reference to Aristotle’s claim that sharing of discussion and thought is what sharing a life together means for men, ‘‘and not, as in the case of cattle, feeding in the same place’’ [NE IX.10: 1170b, 12–13] Finally, Wittkower (2012) in his analysis of communication and friendship on Facebook, he opines that Facebook actually is ‘‘a remarkably well-suited platform for the activity of friendship ‘‘ (p. 25) due to the multitude of opportunities it offers for contact, communication, games and sharing between its members. These elements allow ‘‘the long-distance elements of friendship to become not a mere sharing of information about activities engaged in separately, but an active asynchronous sharing of activities themselves’’. (p. 25) We can thus conclude that, when it comes to the feasibility of sharing our lives with our online friends, the Internet with its various platforms and modes of communication can offer us viable alterna- tives for experiencing and sharing our lives with those we hold dear. ‘Settling’ for less valuable forms of friendship online: arguments and counterarguments The third point of philosophers that view online friendship as a lesser form of friendship, namely, that pursuing such friendships online can be detrimental to our development as virtuous individuals, is one that deserves closer inspec- tion and analysis. For the philosophers that uphold virtue friendship as the ideal form of friendship and maintain that virtue friendship is impossible to achieve online, the huge increase and development of online friendships can be seen as a disturbing trend. If people are ‘settling’’ for the lesser forms of friendship that are, according to these philoso- phers, indeed possible to achieve online (such as utility and pleasure friendship), then it is possible that they will not be motivated to make friendships of a higher value. As McFall (2012) states, ‘‘We may choose friendships as we please, but we should at least be aware of the highest form, lest we unknowingly mistake what we have for the highest’’ (p. 230). Similar warnings are given by Sharp (2012) who warns that pursuing friendship mostly or exclusively online, especially when using social networking sites, can lead to a more superficial kind of friendship. He makes the point that especially young people, who are still learning how to connect with others, seem to be taken by the many opportunities to create friendships online, citing a discus- sion with students where most of them believed they had close friends according to the Aristotelian definition. His analysis of this phenomenon is that we may ‘‘believe we have such friends, often because we conflate closeness with the sort of connection Aristotle has in mind. They are not the same, but even if they were, how would we find the time to get so close to one individual when we are moni- toring the statuses and updates of so many people?’’ (p. 236). Sharp finds this a disturbing trend, especially since young people could mistake fleeting news updates with a true sense of friendship. His observations pertain to the nature and function of many social networking sites, on which one can have hundreds of friends whose lives one can follow by checking on their status updates; however, this is not conductive to building a virtue friendship, since such a friendship needs prolonged and intense interaction in order to build up trust and a sense of connection. He concludes his argument by stating, ‘‘If, as I believe, online friendships face significant obstacles in reaching the kind of consummate friendship that Aristotle discusses, and if the possibility of such a level of friendship is an important tool for realizing virtues, then our propensity to develop our friendships largely or solely online could be damaging our ability to develop as fully virtuous members of soci- ety’’ (p. 231). Such assertions, although coming from a genuine place of concern, are still unnecessarily framing the issue in more simplistic terms. Online friendship becomes a cautionary tale, a hurdle to leading a virtuous life, an inferior replacement of tried and true friendship ‘‘in real life’’. Is online friendship really such a cause for concern? Let us provide a closer examination of such claims. Continuing with Sharp, he states that ‘‘unfortunately, our ability to empathize with other people may already be diminishing from our increased tendency to communicate with other people more indirectly’’ (p. 237). As a defense of his argument, he offers research conducted by Konrath et al. (2011), which examined dispositional empathy on a sample of 72 American college students. The results showed that the ability for feeling empathic concern has dropped in the past decade. According to Sharp this is supposed to be due to the massive use of social media since this period. However, analyzing the original study presents us with a more complex view. The study is limited to only US nationals and only people of a certain age category, namely college students, making this not the most Using Aristotle’s theory of friendship to classify online friendships: a critical… 73 123 representative sample for a presumed reduction in empathy worldwide, as alluded by Sharp. Furthermore, this decrease in empathy is potentially attributed by Konrath et al. (2011) to different factors, including a rise of narcissism in young people, a societal focus and pressure for success, changes in media and technology and changing family practices. The link between the use of internet and social media and the reduction of empathy seems to be at best speculative, since the researchers only hypothesize between the rise of online media and changes in interpersonal dynamics: no concrete data that communicating with people online does reduce empathetic disposition is offered. Poignantly, Sharp himself also acknowledges that internet use seems to be only one out of many possible factors responsible for this decline in empathy. However, he seems to not take into account that there has been empirical research examining the expression of empathy online, whose findings are not congruent with his claim that our empathetic abilities could be compromised from communicating with others online. For example, Preece and Ghozati (2001) have analyzed 100 different online communities and concluded that expression of empathy is common online, especially in communities where the focus is on patient support or emotional support. Such findings have been offered by other researchers as well, who report that especially in health communities, there is a very high level of emotional expression, empathy and understanding between the community members (Lamberg 2003; Siri- araya et al. 2011; Kaliarnta et al. 2011). Thus, empirical research does not seem to support the claim that online communication can inhibit our empathetic disposition. Sharp’s final point is that ‘‘the advent of Twitter and the desire for smaller, tighter status updates have led us to peruse the lives of others in brief snippets rather than seeking a deeper connection’’ (p. 238). However, this rather crude generalization seems to exclude the possibility that such short updates can still function as a way for people in our network to get to know more details about us, our daily life, our thoughts and ideas; thus, by knowing more information about us, they might choose to intensify their relationship with us. A recent study by Steijn and Schouten (2013) investigated the relationship between sharing personal information and relationship development in the context of social networking sites in the Netherlands. Their results indicated that sharing of personal information on social networking sites (SNSs) correlated strongly with a positive influence on our relationships with other mem- bers of one’s network. More specifically, Steijn and Schouten found that on SNS’s, relationships between friends and acquaintances (weak ties) were more likely to develop than relationship with close friends and family (strong ties) and that such a relationship development could be beneficial. They offered an explanation for this by arguing that due to lack of time and resources, maintaining many relationships through one-to-one contact is difficult and most of our news and information are shared with our closest friends and family members. When sharing our news publicly on an SNS, acquaintances and friends get more information than they normally would, which could make our relationship with these ‘weak ties’ more strong. As such, short updates on social networking sites can and do offer the possibility for a strengthening of ties between a user and his acquaintances or distant friends. Similar results were reported by Lange (2007) about a research conducted on creating, sharing and commenting of videos on YouTube videos. Lange found that ‘‘new media can function as a catalyst that helps facilitate social interaction at the local level. Specifically, it can strengthen weak ties and activate (…) social network ties that have the technical ability to interact but lie dormant prior to the introduction of new media into the social group.’’ (pp. 1–2) Going back to Steijn and Schouten (2013), they also found that those who share more information on their profile report less frequently than others that there has been a decrease in relationship trust and intimacy. Steijn and Schouten opine that this may occur since the more information someone provides about himself, the more his online connections can form a complete picture of his likes and personality and thus avoid disappointment or incidents of misinterpreta- tion. In other words, sharing more information about our- selves in social networks makes for more positive relationship development with our friends and acquaintances. Similar points as those by Sharp (2012) are raised by Cocking et al. (2012): they wonder whether the limits and distortions of online interactions are now seeping in and negatively affecting offline relationships, especially when it comes to young people who have grown up making full use of the Internet: ‘‘if, like many teenagers today we increasingly grow up online, then we will be especially vulnerable to taking on or adapting to the conception, in this case of friendship, with which we are presented by our social environment’’ (p. 183). They offer the common example of teenagers having hundreds of friends on social media and they make the assertion that it is possible that many teenagers might actually believe that they have hundreds of ‘true’ friends, or alternatively, that teenagers constantly add new people on their online social network since it is seen as ‘cool’ to have so many friends and they would not want to appear left out. It is true that the majority of young people and adoles- cents nowadays are very active online in various social networking sites and do have a great number of friends on these social media; however, this does not necessarily mean that teenagers assume that all the people in their online network are their friends. Boyd (2006) has 74 S. Kaliarnta 123 conducted ethnographic research on social networking sites. Her data suggest that social network users tend to interpret the meaning of the word ‘friend’ (as used in a social networking site to denote someone you have added on your network) in a much broader sense. A ‘friend’ on a social networking site can be anything from a family member, a close friend, a colleague, a classmate, a neighbor, or someone you do not know yet—and social media users seem to be keenly aware of the distinction between all these categories, even when they are all lumped together under the moniker of ‘friends’. One thus must take care to not confuse ‘Facebook friendships’ (a large part of which are offline relationship which just get transferred into an online environment) with purely online friendships, where people have never met in real life. Various researchers which have conducted empirical studies on the use of social networking sites (Boyd 2014; Zinoviev and Duong 2009; Lampe et al. 2006; Lenhart and Madden 2007) have come to the conclusion that social networking sites are used primarily for strengthening relationships with offline friends and/or reestablishing connections with people from our past— meeting new people online seems to be a secondary goal. Thus, one could argue that the example of friendships in social networking sites cannot be used to claim that online friendships in general are not as valuable, since in the majority of cases, friendships on social media are offline friendships with an online component, with purely online friendships (that is, friendships between people who have never met in real life) as a minority. At the very least, we can claim that this remains an open question. Returning to the point about teenagers being especially sensitive to the possible degradation of the value of friendship due to social media, Boyd’s work on the appropriation of the Internet and social media by teenagers offers some illuminating perspectives. Social media has taken the role that previously, real-life places like the mall or the neighborhood café had: they offer teenagers a place to ‘‘hang out’’ as it were—they act as a supplement of face- to-face interaction, not as a replacement. Additionally, due to the increasingly fast-paced lifestyles, social media afford teenagers with the opportunity to keep in touch with those they care about but due to time constraints cannot spend enough time physically. Boyd closes her book by opining that ‘‘ networked publics are here to stay. Rather than resisting technology or fearing what might happen if youth embrace social media, adults should help youth develop the skills and perspective to productively navigate the com- plications brought about by living in networked publics.’’ (p. 213). In a similar vein, Schols (2015) has conducted sociological research on the Internet use and social cohe- sion of adolescents in the Netherlands. She has concluded that ‘‘adolescents’ everyday Internet use does not inhibit their connectivity with others in their offline world, but instead promotes the relationships with their social ties and their social inclusion’’ (p. 158). Furthermore, Schols remarks that too much attention is given to the possible negative outcomes of teenage Internet use and calls for more research focused on the positive outcomes of teen- ager Internet use and how these positive outcomes can be brought about. These empirical research results indicate that the effect of social media in the lives of teenagers might not be as negative as previously thought. Teenagers still spend time with friends, still try to make sense of themselves and their place in the world; the factor that has changed is that these activities now also take place online—however, without displacing the offline relationships teenagers have, but complimenting them in ways. Regarding the issue of conflating online friendships with the ‘higher’ form of friendship, Fröding and Peterson (2012) take an even more radical stand by comparing online friendship with certain controversial forms of alternative medicine: just like an alternative medicine can end up poisoning instead of healing, so can a person’s online friendships lead him to disillusionment and isolation instead of providing him with robust and meaningful companionship. They compare and contrast the connec- tions one makes through an online professional networking site to the relationships formed through social networking sites. On professional networking sites, both parties have clear benefits from the relationship they develop and they are both aware that this is a professional relationship and not a friendship, thus professional networking sites do allow for mutually beneficial (albeit instrumental) rela- tionships. On social networking sites however, some users might believe that by connecting to others through these sites, they are likely to gain genuine and meaningful friendships, when that is not always the case. They offer the constructed example of two women, Alice and Daniella, who are Facebook friends and communicate often. Alice spends a lot of time gardening and posting pictures of her garden online, and is very glad to receive Daniella’s compliments about her beautiful garden. How- ever, Daniella’s sole purpose of befriending Alice is to get tips and tricks about gardening, so that she can tend better to her own garden. In this example, Alice is mistaken about the nature of her friendship with Daniella since she is not aware of Daniella’s hidden agenda, so this online friend- ship not only has no moral value but it could also be harmful to Alice. So, for Peterson and Fröding, social networking sites cannot even meet the criteria for offering the ‘lesser’ forms of friendship. They claim that, unlike the users of business networking sites who have a clear understanding about the type and benefits of the relation- ships they develop, ‘‘the promise of the social network Using Aristotle’s theory of friendship to classify online friendships: a critical… 75 123 sites rings more hollow. Here the user is made to believe that she is likely to gain genuine friends and form mean- ingful and deep social relationships with other people’’ (p. 206). However, their argument is problematic for two reasons: first, as we saw earlier, a large part of people who use online networking sites do so primarily in order to stay connected with friends they already know offline, and not so much for meeting new people online. This particular use seems to be supported by Facebook itself: in the Facebook ‘Help’ page, the question ‘How to add friends on Face- book’ is answered by offering two possibilities: searching for friends by typing their names or email addresses in the search bar, or by importing your e-mail contacts. 3 In another page of the ‘‘Help’’ section, it is emphasized that Facebook users should only send friend requests to people they know personally. 4 Also, empirical studies conducted show that only an estimated 30 % of Facebook users add people they don’t know as their friends, with the majority of users preferring to add family members, friends and acquaintances that they already know offline to their net- work of Facebook friends (Jones and Soltren, 2005). 5 Thus, taking the above evidence into account, we can see that it is clear that at least in the case of one (and arguably, currently the biggest) social networking site, which is Facebook, the emphasis falls on connecting with already existing (close) friends and the users thus are not mislead. Secondly, the example Fröding and Peterson offer is rather poorly con- structed and most definitely not limited to online friend- ships: relationships where one of the two parties has ulterior motives unbeknownst to the other person can also occur frequently offline. Yet, the possibility that we could be fooled does not stop us from connecting and creating friendships offline. As Elder (2014) observes, ‘‘If the potential for deception in real life is not sufficient to rule out the possibility of friendship, neither should it be con- sidered especially hazardous to online friendship’’(p. 292). Similarly, Bülow and Felix (2014) point out that ‘‘all kinds of direct and indirect communication between people are potentially non-genuine. That is the risk one faces when involving oneself in relationships with other people, online or offline.’’ (p. 8). In other words, although healthy caution should always be advised when entering a relationship, whether online or offline, the possibility of getting mislead online does not appear to be significantly higher than in offline settings. Questioning the application of the Aristotelian framework on online friendships As such, it is clear that the arguments of the critics of online friendship can be rebutted: often the objections presented by the critics can be overturned with providing empirical evi- dence which points to the contrary. Many of the critics are actually implying various empirical claims without making this explicit, and offer no (or only partial or erroneously interpreted) empirical data. This concerns for example, Sharp’s claims of reduced empathy online or the Fröding and Peterson claim that social networking sites can be as dam- aging as some kinds of alternative medicine. It is thus important that such claims are properly scrutinized and, where possible, empirical evidence should be presented as a way to support or counteract these claims. Of course, in the widely diverse selection of online environments and plat- forms, it is indeed possible that even empirical studies might not be in agreement with one another regarding the benefits or risks of online interactions. However, as Søraker (2012a) states, this only shows that such a question regarding online friendship is ‘‘immensely complex (…) [and] inherently context sensitive and different for each individual’’ (p. 213). Also, the different authors are unclear about defining the characteristics of online friendship and the means of com- munication between online friends are not fully specified. Are online friends completely anonymous or not? Are online friends those that have a friendship through e-mail? Or are they those who have a friendship through social networking sites or online games? Is the mode of interaction between online friends text-only or are voice and/or video online programs also used? Do they also have offline interaction or are they only discussing friendships that purely take place online? Without one clearly marked definition of online friendship, it could very well be that many of the philoso- phers are criticizing different things and their arguments possibly do not hold water for online friendships which do not fit their own particular definition. However, a bigger point of contention is the rather narrow application of the Aristotelian framework on friendship by the critics of online friendship. One could argue that Aristotle’s theory, while indeed being a bench- mark theory regarding friendship and its importance on human flourishing, is nonetheless rather arbitrarily used in order to judge a a phenomenon (online friendships) that did not exist in the era Aristotle lived; No one could ever proclaim to know for sure that Aristotle, had he be living in our time, would be against the possibility of virtue friendships online. For example, the requirement for friends to spend physically time together was an absolute necessity in Aristotle’s time, since two friends that were geographically apart could not engage in discussion with 3 https://www.facebook.com/help/146466588759199#How-do-I-add- a-friend? 4 https://www.facebook.com/help/211926158839933#Why-can’t-I- add-someone-as-a-friend? 5 More empirical information confirming this has already been cited in pages 20–21 of this article. 76 S. Kaliarnta 123 https://www.facebook.com/help/146466588759199%23How-do-I-add-a-friend? https://www.facebook.com/help/146466588759199%23How-do-I-add-a-friend? https://www.facebook.com/help/211926158839933%23Why-can't-I-add-someone-as-a-friend? https://www.facebook.com/help/211926158839933%23Why-can't-I-add-someone-as-a-friend? each other, nor could they experience new things together. Nowadays, this something that is possible, with the help of the internet and its various applications (Baym 2010; Boyd 2014; Bülow and Felix 2014; Elder 2014; Wittkower 2012). More importantly, other philosophers such as Elder (2014) have used the Aristotelian theory of friendship in order to claim the opposite: that social media actually can facilitate the development of virtue friendships online. Elder argues that social media actually preserve important human values such as playfulness, exchange of ideas and reasoning. She then engages with six objections regarding the possibility of social media to offer places where friendships can flourish: these are objections regarding superficiality, privacy, physicality, deceptiveness, com- mercialism and poverty of communication. After refuting these objections, Elder concludes that ‘‘Rather than fear social media as a threat to genuine friendship, we should consider how it can be used to foster an important good, by considering it in the context of the shared life characteristic of the best friendships.’’ (p. 292). Elder’s contribution to the debate regarding the possi- bility that virtue friendships can be realized online, signi- fies an important point: depending on its application, the Aristotelian framework can be used by some philosophers to claim that virtue friendships cannot be attained online, but other philosophers can apply it in a way that proves the opposite. In other words, one could make the argument that there is yet no definitive answer to the question whether online friendships can achieve the highest virtue level. If anything, this division of opinions could indicate that true virtue friendships are indeed possible to occur online, yet they are, just like in the offline world, rare. This possibility deserves closer examination, both philosophically and empirically. Finally, it is worthwhile to again summarize some of the features that currently dominate the online landscape. The purely online friendships, where we had no direct con- nection to our friend’s offline life, are beginning to fade. As long as we know our online friend’s name, we can find their Facebook profile, their Twitter feed, we can add them on Skype so that we can see and hear each other. We can thus have a far more complete picture of who they are, even without ever meeting them. One then has to wonder how much weight the critics’ argument about distorted presentation and lack of direct knowledge actually has under these circumstances. On the other hand, it is now commonplace to add our offline friends into our social media connections; this in turn blends our online and off- line lives in a way that was uncommon in the early days of the internet. It would be useful if the critics could explain in more detail how this mingling of the online and the offline world could have deleterious effects, as they have previously suggested. Furthermore, the lack of ‘‘gating’’ features online has the effect that people connect with each other without having external factors like their age, gender, profession, race, disability etc. raise barriers between them and their friend. So it could be argued that these ‘‘limits’’ can actually promote the development of worthy friend- ships rather than hinder them. More importantly, our increasingly mobile lifestyles present us with new friendship styles and opportunities. What about the people we meet briefly offline (say, at a conference or during holidays) and then connect and con- tinue our contact online? We can argue that these rela- tionships, even though they started in the offline world, are still extremely superficial, since the time and familiarity required for the development of friendship are absent in these cases. However, due to the possibility to deepen these relationship through contact via social media, emails or Skype, these connections could become deep and mean- ingful. Where would these friendships fall under? Are they online friendships, offline friendships that continue online (doubtful, given that due to the brevity of our offline contact, we could not speak yet of a friendship), or are they a new kind of hybrid relationship, the kind that could only exist and develop through the possibilities the Internet and social media offer? Wittkower (2012) also makes a valu- able point about how Facebook can help resurrect friend- ships that have faded due to distance and time. All these opportunities for communication and friendship are affor- ded online, and it is important that we do not diminish their value. Finally, even we were to concede to the online friend- ships critics that online friendships indeed are not virtue friendship ‘proper’, they still can be of invaluable worth for the people who have them. Søraker (2012b) mentions that there has been an ‘‘axiological turn’’ (p. 18) following the realization that technology often changes our lives radi- cally without any direct right-or wrongdoing. As a way to better consider the multiple implications of technological change, he introduces the term ‘‘prudential’’, which ‘‘refers to something that is valuable for someone, contrasted with something that may be good in itself (if there is such a thing) or something that is good for something (which would typically be an instrumental value)’’(p. 19). This is an important distinction because it moves away from the division between instrumental and intrinsic value by add- ing yet another dimension. I do believe and argue that online friendships can have great prudential value for the individuals involved. As Baym (2010) concludes, ‘‘ These relationships make important contributions to people’s lives […] pairs who do become closer interact through multiple media, eventually making the influence of the internet difficult to conceptually distinguish from the many other influences on their partnership. […] over time people Using Aristotle’s theory of friendship to classify online friendships: a critical… 77 123 can reveal themselves to one another verbally and non- verbally until they form understandings of one another as rich as, or richer than, those they hold of people they meet in any other way’’. (p. 131) Let us thus keep an open mind about the potential value and contribution of online friendships in our lives as virtual human beings. Conclusion In our current day and age, when large parts of human activity take place online, it is a natural consequence that people can and will connect with others on the Internet. In the ever- changing landscape of the Internet, there are various com- munication platforms and methods that are continuously evolving and allowing us to have more information about our friends; we can use programs that actually allow us a far more interactive mode of communication with our online friends. Such connections can be very personal, deep and meaningful for the individuals concerned, providing companionship, a listening ear in times of need, intellectual discussion and stimulation. Dismissing such friendships as ‘a lesser’ kind by rigidly applying the Aristotelian theory of friendship to a mode of interaction and connection that was simply unthinkable in Aristotle’s time is doing such friendships a disservice and tends to view technology’s contribution to human connections and flourishing in a rather negative light. I propose that it is indeed necessary that greater attention should be paid to the positive sides and benefits of online friendships in a systematic way that takes into account the unique char- acteristics that online friendships have, and what could these kinds of friendships mean for our flourishing and well-being. Open Access This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (http://crea tivecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Commons license, and indicate if changes were made. References Aristotle (2009) Nicomachean ethics (trans: Ross, W.D.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bargh, J. A., McKenna, K. Y. A., & Fitzsimons, G. M. (2002). Can you see the real me? Activation and expression of the ‘‘true self’’ on the internet. 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Ethics and Information Technology, 16, 287–297. Fröding, B., & Peterson, M. (2012). Why virtual friendship is no genuine friendship. Ethics and Information Technology, 14(3), 201–207. Henderson, S., & Gilding, M. (2004). ‘I’ve never clicked this much with anyone in my life’: Trust and hyperpersonal communication in online friendships. New media & society, 6(4), 487–506. How do I add a friend? Retrieved from, https://www.facebook.com/ help/146466588759199#How-do-I-add-a-friend? Accessed March 28th, 2015. Jones, H., & Soltren, J. H. (2005). Facebook: Threats to privacy. December 14, 2005. Retrieved from http://groups.csail.mit.edu/ mac/classes/6.805/student-papers/fall05-papers/facebook.pdf. Accessed December 5th, 2013. Kaliarnta, S., Nihlén Fahlquist, J., & Roeser, S. (2011). Emotions and ethical considerations of women undergoing IVF-treatments. HEC Forum, 23(4), 281–293. Konrath, S. H., O’Brien, E. H., & Hsing, C. (2011). Changes in dispositional empathy in american college students over time: A meta-analysis. Personality and Social Psychology Review, 15, 180. Lamberg, L. (2003). Online empathy for mood disorders. The Journal of the American Medical Association, 289(23), 3073–3077. Lampe, C., Ellison, N., & Steinfield, C. (2006). A Face (book) in the crowd: Social searching vs. social browsing. In Proceedings of CSCW-2006 (pp. 167–170). New York: ACM Press. Lange, P. G. (2007) Fostering friendship through video production: How youth use YouTube to enrich local interaction. Paper presented at the International Communication Association Conference on May 27, 2007 in San Francisco, California. Retrieved from http://www.patriciaglange.org/page4/assets/ Lange%20ICA%202007%20Paper.pdf. Accessed October 28th, 2015. Lenhart, A., & Madden, M. (2007, April 18). Teens, privacy, & online social networks. Pew Internet and American Life Project Report. 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Kaliarnta 123 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://firstmonday.org/article/view/1418/1336 http://firstmonday.org/article/view/1418/1336 http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s13347-014-0183-6 http://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/news/greater-manchester-news/facebook-pippa-mckinney-post-girlfriend-10199577 http://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/news/greater-manchester-news/facebook-pippa-mckinney-post-girlfriend-10199577 http://www.manchestereveningnews.co.uk/news/greater-manchester-news/facebook-pippa-mckinney-post-girlfriend-10199577 https://www.facebook.com/help/146466588759199%23How-do-I-add-a-friend https://www.facebook.com/help/146466588759199%23How-do-I-add-a-friend http://groups.csail.mit.edu/mac/classes/6.805/student-papers/fall05-papers/facebook.pdf http://groups.csail.mit.edu/mac/classes/6.805/student-papers/fall05-papers/facebook.pdf http://www.patriciaglange.org/page4/assets/Lange%2520ICA%25202007%2520Paper.pdf http://www.patriciaglange.org/page4/assets/Lange%2520ICA%25202007%2520Paper.pdf http://www.pewinternet.org/Reports/2007/Teens-Privacy-and-Online-Social-Networks.aspx http://www.pewinternet.org/Reports/2007/Teens-Privacy-and-Online-Social-Networks.aspx Liu, I. (2010). Love life: Aristotle on living together with friends. Inquiry: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Philosophy, 53(6), 579–601. McFall, M. T. (2012). Real character-friends: Aristotelian friendship, living together, and technology. Ethics and Information Tech- nology, 14, 221–230. McKenna, K. Y. A., Green, A. S., & Gleason, M. E. J. (2002). Relationship formation on the internet: What’s the big attrac- tion? Journal of Social Issues, 58(1), 9–31. Munn, N. J. (2012). The reality of friendship within immersive virtual worlds. Ethics and Information Technology, 14, 1–10. Preece, J., & Ghozati, K. (2001). Observations and explorations of empathy online. In R. R. Rice & J. E. Katz (Eds.), The internet and health communication: Experience and expectations (pp. 237–260). Thousand Oaks: Sage Publications Inc. Schols, M. (2015) Young, online and connected. The impact of everyday Internet use of Dutch adolescents on social cohesion. Dissertation. EUR (189 pag.) Rotterdam: ERMeCC. Sharp, R. (2012). The obstacles against reaching the highest level of Aristotelian friendship online. Ethics and Information Technol- ogy, 14, 231–239. Siriaraya, P., Tang, C., Ang, C. S., Pfeil, U., & Zaphiris, P. (2011). A comparison of empathic communication pattern for teenagers and older people in online support communities. Behaviour & Information Technology, 30(5), 617–628. Søraker, J. H. (2012a). How shall I compare thee? Comparing the prudential value of actual and virtual friendship. Ethics and Information Technology, 14, 209–219. Søraker, J. H. (2012b). Prudential-empirical ethics of technology (PEET)—An early outline. APA Newsletter on Computing and Philosophy, 12(1), 18–22. Steijn, W. M. P., & Schouten, A. P. (2013). Information sharing and relationships on social networking sites. Cyberpsychology, Behavior and Social Networking, 16(8), 582–587. Suler, J. (2004). The online disinhibition effect. CyberPsychology & Behavior, 7(3), 321–326. Turilli, M., Vaccaro, A., & Taddeosaro, M. (2010). The case of online trust. Knowledge, Technology & Policy, 23, 333–345. Wittkower, D. E. (2012). Friend is a verb. APA Newsletter on Philosophy and Computers, 12(1), 22–26. Why can’t I add someone as a friend? Retrieved March 28th, 2015, from https://www.facebook.com/help/211926158839933#Why- can’t-I-add-someone-as-a-friend. Zinoviev, D., & Duong, V. (2009). Toward understanding friendship in online social networks. The International Journal of Tech- nology, Knowledge and Society, 5(2), 1–8. Using Aristotle’s theory of friendship to classify online friendships: a critical… 79 123 https://www.facebook.com/help/211926158839933%23Why-can%e2%80%99t-I-add-someone-as-a-friend https://www.facebook.com/help/211926158839933%23Why-can%e2%80%99t-I-add-someone-as-a-friend Using Aristotle’s theory of friendship to classify online friendships: a critical counterview Abstract Introduction Using the Aristotelian theory of the good life to analyze online friendships Identity construction online and multiple communication filters: arguments and counterarguments Loss of the ‘shared life’ between online friends: arguments and counterarguments ‘Settling’ for less valuable forms of friendship online: arguments and counterarguments Questioning the application of the Aristotelian framework on online friendships Conclusion Open Access References 
work_ak5e7nnxvncgroevuhimqossoe	----	DOI 10.30687/Tol/2499-5975/2018/20/035 Submitted: 2018-04-30 © 2018 | cb Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Public License 353 Il Tolomeo e-ISSN 2499-5975 Vol. 20 – Dicembre | December | Décembre 2018 ISSN 1594-1930 Kirsch, Adam (2016). The Global Novel: Writing the World in the 21st Century. New York: Columbia Global Reports, 105 pp. Yuqian Cai (Università Ca’ Foscari Venezia, Italia) The global novel is the mirror and the lamp of the global age. As ‘globalisa- tion’ entered common parlance in the ’80s, a notion of ‘global novel’ also appeared, and writers like Ishiguro could confidently proclaim in 1987 that “I am working myself up to writing a kind of epic global novel. I suppose a lot of people are always working themselves up to writing that kind of novel”.1 But the ‘global novel’ was not and is not always desired, and the phrase did not gain currency in literary studies until the past decade. Adam Kirsch’s 2016 book,2 published by Columbia Global Reports, is the first introductory attempt to establish the global novel as a legitimate category, paradigmatic for “writing the world in the 21st century”. The legitimacy of the global novel has been contested across the At- lantic, and Kirsch writes “World Literature and Its Discontents” as the first chapter of his defence. Dissenters criticise world literature on aes- thetic and political fronts, disparaging the global novel as “diluted and deracinated”, plagued by semiotic problems of “the Untranslatable”3 and stylistic deficiencies coupled with political and economic complicities. A common charge is that this genre avoids difficult particularities to max- imise readability through simplified language and representation, making foreignness a homogenising commodity in a capitalist world, and hence mediocrity prevails with dumbing-down effects, preventing genuine en- counter with differences and challenges. Tim Parks, for instance, deplores the rise of the global novel practiced by Ishiguro and others, and feels nos- talgic for writers like Jane Austen who exemplify “culture-specific clutter and linguistic virtuosity”, not streamlined tropes or “overstated fantasy 1 Bigsby, Christopher (2008). “In Conversation with Kazuo Ishiguro”. Conversations with Kazuo Ishiguro. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. 2 Quotations retrieved from Kindle edition of the book. 3 Apter, Emily (2013). Against World Literature. New York: Verso. 354 Cai rev. Kirsch Il Tolomeo, 20, 2018, 353-358 e-ISSN 2499-5975 ISSN 1594-1930 devices of a Rushdie or a Pamuk”.4 Moreover, whereas some editors be- moan a collapse of postcolonial radicalism and anti-imperialism into such axioms as “freedom of speech” following Rushdie’s (1988) and the end of the Cold War,5 critics and writers like Minae Mizumura worry that world literature triumphs at the expense of linguistic and mental diversities, advancing rather than checking the imperialism of the English language backed by the hegemony of the United States, and making literatures in other languages provincial or peripheral to what Pascale Casanova calls “the world republic of letters”.6 But even if aesthetic-political ideals render contemporary world literature “compromised and complaisant”, Kirsch insists that the global novel can be more stimulating and enriching than impoverishing. In theory, Kirsch is largely correct to affirm the possibility and desir- ability of the global novel. Detractors have every right to remain sceptical, but writing the global novel, as Kirsch says, means “a basic affirmation of the power of literature to represent the world”. A new development of “the preeminent modern genre of exploration and explanation”, the global novel arises not from writers’ desire to gain critical or commercial rewards, but from the condition of life in a global age, and from the potential of fiction to reckon with life and “reveal humanity to itself”. Unlike the 18th century when Austen could blithely say “it is a truth universally acknowledged,” the 21st-century novelist, Kirsch argues, “must dramatize that unity [of human nature], by plotting local experience against a background that is international and even cosmic”. Thus, he suggests: A global novel can be one that sees humanity on the level of the species, so that its problems and prospects can only be dealt with on the scale of the whole planet; or it can start from the scale of a single neighborhood, showing how even the most constrained of lives are affected by world- wide movements. It can describe a way of life common to people in many places, emphasizing the interchangeability of urban life in the twenty-first century; or it can be one that emphasizes the importance of differences, and the difficulty of communicating across borders. It can deal with traditional cultural markers like appearance and behavior or with elusive cosmic intuitions that seem to transcend place. 4 Parks, Tim (2010). “The Dull New Global Novel”. The New York Review of Books, Febru- ary 9, 2010. URL https://www.nybooks.com/daily/2010/02/09/the-dull-new-global-novel/ (2018-12-13). 5 N+1 editors (2013). “World Lite”, in “The Evil Issue”. Issue 17, N+1. URL https://nplu- sonemag.com/issue-17/the-intellectual-situation/world-lite/ (2018-12-13). 6 Casanova, Pascale (1999). Republique mondiale des lettres. Paris: Editions du Seuil. Cai rev. Kirsch 355 Il Tolomeo, 20, 2018, 353-358 e-ISSN 2499-5975 ISSN 1594-1930 Given such a variety of approaches already perceivably taken by writers, the global novel seems to be “not a unitary genre”, but rather “a medium” for all sorts of stories, sharing experience and imagination of coming to grips with cosmopolitanism, and making world literature tantamount to the literary representation and construction of “a meaningfully global con- sciousness”. Kirsch’s argument by example, however, is only half-convincing, since the calibres of his chosen authors vary so much that some of them under- mine rather than underline his defence. In the next five chapters, Kirsch turns to empirical evidence provided by supposedly ‘representative’ nov- els from the “pantheon of world literature”: Pamuk’s (2002), Murakami’s (2009), Bolaño’s (2004), Adichie’s (2013), Hamid’s (2007), Atwood’s (2003), Houellebecq’s (2005), and Ferrante’s Neapolitan quartet (2011- 2014). Writing in various languages and forms, these eight novelists have merely one thing in common, that they have “reached worldwide audienc- es” and achieved their status as “leading figures” in a globalised literary market. Their novels are more or less best-sellers, but there is no critical consensus on their literary quality. Overlooking the latter and asserting that “other studies of world literature” would be incomplete without con- sidering all these writers, Kirsch seems to equate his ‘pantheon’ with the marketplace, and he overstates the importance and correctness of his list. He does address aesthetic and political questions about the novels, as he is aware of the disparities between the authors he discusses in pairs, i.e. Murakami and Bolaño, Adichie and Hamid, Atwood and Houellebecq. However, Kirsch’s indiscriminate inclusion of all them into his pantheon creates a fundamental weakness of his book, vulnerable to the criticisms it seeks to defend against, such as the judgment that world literature is a commodity lacking style or taste. To give a more adequate defence, Kirsch had better focus on the literary value of the global novel, instead of relying on some other criterion. If Kirsch’s second chapter on Pamuk and final one on Ferrante are rela- tively unproblematic, then troubles lay in the three chapters in between, which put thematically linked novels in pairs. Kirsch juxtaposes with as two novels about alternate realities, but he merely alludes to what becomes explicit when the same chapter is republished online under the title “Mu- rakami vs. Bolaño: Competing Visions of the Global Novel” (2017): treating Murakami as “a test case for the aesthetic and even moral validity of global literature”, Kirsch does not draw a clear-cut conclusion, until the new title pits Murakami against Bolaño, implying that Murakami is perhaps more of a negative example that attracts criticisms like Tim Parks’. Murakami’s prose style is simplistic, his cultural references quintessentially Western, his characters mostly urban isolates devoid of society, politics, or history, and hence his story is readily translatable and “stripped for export”. By contrast, Bolaño’s novel reflects his sensibility that “the world is divided 356 Cai rev. Kirsch Il Tolomeo, 20, 2018, 353-358 e-ISSN 2499-5975 ISSN 1594-1930 into zones of immunity and vulnerability”. On the one hand, Europe seems to be “a zone of peace, culture, and self-absorption”, where people occupy themselves “with study and with love”; but, the European “hyperciviliza- tion” can also be violently intolerant of “foreigners and immigrants who do not share it”. On the other hand, Bolaño takes readers to “the sick heart of contemporary reality”, like the fictional city of Santa Teresa on the Mex- ican-American border; by compelling readers to recognize the injustices and crimes propagated by the global economy and its moral contradictions, represents arguably a better species of world literature that undoes “the complacency of global citizenship”. In light of Kirsch’s essay “In Defence of the Global Novel” (2017), one may infer that while Murakami’s writing is stylistically “more culture-industry product than work of art”, Bolaño is intellectually “cannier, more self-reflexive and creatively resourceful”, writing the true kind of global novel “defined as a novel for which being global is itself a problem”, which stimulates “the empathetic imagination of difference a globalised world so direly needs.” If Murakami’s position in the “pantheon of world literature” ought to be shaky, the same can be said about Hamid and Houellebecq because of their stylistic or ethical deficiency. Kirsch pairs Adichie with Hamid as two migrant writers “to America and back”; however, is a lightweight novella, a dramatic monologue in which only one character (the narrator) appears real, and hence it is aesthetically substandard as a candidate for the global novel, no matter how cleverly constructed and politically provocative it is. Kirsch shrewdly points out that Hamid’s narrator is infatuated with America despite his anti-Americanism, problematizing the global order while fostering an internationalist consciousness. Still, it is unnecessary to use two novelists for making one point, that migrant literature provides a significant portrait of an age in which millions of people cross borders in both directions. Similarly, Atwood and Houellebecq are strange bedfel- lows whom Kirsch puts together for their fiction of global apocalypse; their novels share many features, but “the Canadian feminist and the French misogynist” should not be equal contenders for the authority or “the right to represent the world in fiction”, not to mention that their dystopias may well be “an imperialism of imagination” and “a kind of colonialism” that conflate the experience of modern Western societies with the essence and fate of all humanity. Kirsch cautions about both writers’ outlooks, but again, he may easily do without Houellebecq, or Hamid. By contrast, the choice of Pamuk is expected and that of Ferrante reason- able, even though none would be universally or unquestionably accepted as a representative global novelist. Despite objections from Turkey, Kirsch describes Pamuk as an ambassador to the United Nations of “the world’s literary consciousness”. Take for example, while its framework is primarily Western rather than Eastern as manifested by the literary conventions and allusions it draws on, the novel represents often repressed voices, which Cai rev. Kirsch 357 Il Tolomeo, 20, 2018, 353-358 e-ISSN 2499-5975 ISSN 1594-1930 protest the hegemony of Western narratives. Furthermore, quoting from a character – “I’d like to tell your readers not to believe anything you say about me, anything you say about any of us. No one could understand us from so far away” – Kirsch contends that the novelist acknowledges as well as negates the impossibility of “cultural translation,” which is foundational to world literature, by allowing the reader to understand and feel the character as a real human being. Although Pamuk’s position may be overdetermined when he writes about the East vis-à-vis the West, as Kirsch argues, “there remains the hope that the novel itself might be a genre that encompasses these divisions, not by transcending them in the name of a universal art, but by allowing all points of view to express themselves”. Such diversification of perspectives and voices is evident in Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels as well, which interweave the dialectic of the local and the global with other themes like “violence against women,” an issue commonly binding the global novelists. As mentioned above, there are many ways to write a global novel; by analysing the work of eight nov- elists, Kirsch offers almost a typology of what the global novel can be. It is not thorough or impeccable, and it exaggerates the representativeness of some writers, but overall, Kirsch’s book is a valuable albeit flawed effort to legitimize the global novel. Additionally, while Kirsch’s fundamental flaw comes from a neglect of literary value, to better meet the aesthetic and ethical challenges faced by writers and questioned by critics, one may think twice about “global classicism,” proposed by Michael Lind in “World Books” (2015).7 Lind may be “elitist” and “conservative”, and Kirsch is right that modernism is not necessarily the foe of classicism, since the modernism of Pound and Joyce is also “radically innovative classicism”. But Lind’s suggestion, as aptly summarised by Kirsch, is sound, that “[t]he global quality of such writing consists not in popularity across cultures, but a cosmopolitan appropria- tion of the best models of the past, regardless of their linguistic or national origin”. Such cosmopolitan classicism, if treated properly, can be rooted and balanced, and compatible with global democratization. 7 Lind, Michael (2015). “World Books”. The Smart Set, Oct. 6. URL https://thesmartset. com/world-books/ (2018-12-13). 
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work_anqnrlgunza3fhl7nbskbetaku	----	The North American Conference on British Studies The Journal of British Studies, founded in 1961, is published by the Uni- versity of Chicago Press under the auspices of the North American Conference on British Studies (NACBS). It was the result of the imaginative generosity of a Trinity College alumnus, Frederick E. Hasler (Hon. LL.D. 1957), who contributed funds to the college for the specific purpose of establishing a learned periodical in the field of British history. The North American Conference on British Studies is a scholarly society affiliated with the American Historical Association and open to anyone in the United States and Canada interested in British civilization in its several as- pects: historical, archaeological, literary, artistic, political, and sociological. Its North American constituency comprises about eight hundred members drawn from the fifty states and ten provinces. 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The Conference's newsletter, the British Studies Intelligencer also sent to members, is published at Georgetown University, and contains notices of meetings devoted to British studies, news of appointments, moves, and retirements, and notes on current publications and research in progress. Other publications appear periodically and will be noted at such times. Information about membership in the NACBS can be found on the copy- right page of this journal. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100022462 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100022462 https://www.cambridge.org/core The North American Conference on British Studies announces the winners of its 1993 prizes for scholarship. The British Council Prize in the Humanities for the best book of 1992 in any field of British Studies has been awarded to Richard Helgerson for his book Forms of Nationhood: The Elizabethan Writing of England University of Chicago Press, 1992 The John Ben Snow Prize for the best book of 1992 in History and the Social Sciences has been awarded to David Underdown for his book Fire from Heaven: The Life of an English Town in the Seventeenth Century Yale University Press, 1992 The Walter D. Love Prize for the best scholarly article of 1992 in any field of British Studies has been awarded to Judith M. Bennett for her article "Conviviality and Charity in Medieval and Early Modern England" Past and Present, no. 134 (May 1992) The NACBS Dissertation Year Fellowship for the 1993-94 aca- demic year has been awarded to Amy Froide History Department, Duke University, for dissertation research in Britain on "Single Women, Work, and Community in England, 1550-1750" terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100022462 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100022462 https://www.cambridge.org/core New from Cambridge The History of the British Petroleum Company Volume 2: The Anglo-Iranian Years, 1928-1954 J. H. 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100022462 https://www.cambridge.org/core The Reconstruction of Gender in Interwar Britain SUSAN KINGSLEY KENT Susan Kingsley Kent sees in the emergence of a powerful ideology of motherhood and a reemphasis on separate spheres for men and women a corollary to the political and economic restructuring designed to reestablish social order in Britain after World War I. Drawing on materials from posters to popular songs, from government reports to journalistic accounts, from memoirs and novels to diaries and letters, she offers a penetrating analysis of how gendered and sexualized depictions of wartime experiences compelled many Britons to seek in traditional gender arrangements the key to postwar order and security. 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100022462 https://www.cambridge.org/core N E W I N B R I T I S H S T U D I E S St. Martin's Press THE CELTIC WORLD Barry Cunliffe This history of the Celts tells the story of the ancient civilization that once ranged from central Europe to northern Scotland. Using color illustrations, photographs, and maps, Barry Cunliffe follows the Celts through their entire history, beginning in: the vague realms of European prehistory an4 continuing today in Ireland, Scotland, and America. 1993/224 pp./color & b/w illustrations throughout ISBN 0-312-09700-X $40.00 THE HUNDRED YEARS WAR Anne Curry Curry explores trends in historical opinion from the time of the wars to the present day. 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February/192 pp./175 b/w photos ISBN 1-85043-738-6 $39.95 P i n t e r P u b l i s h e r s BRITISH IMPERIAL STRATEGY AND THE ORIGINS OF THE COLD WAR John Kent Kent examines the origins of the Cold War by emphasizing the commitment of Bevin and die 1945 Labour Government to a strong imperial role based on the projection of British power on a global basis. 1993/288 pp./ISBN 0-7185-1330-4 $49.00 A Leicester University Press book • New Frontiers in History THE POLITICS OF BRITAIN 1688-1800 Jeremy Black Black provides a comprehensive analysis of both the structures and defining issues of 18th-century politics in England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. 1993/176 pp./|SBN 0-7190-3761 -1 $ 14.95 pb. St. Martin' s Press is the exclusive North American distributor of I. B.Tauris & Co., Pinter Publishers and Manchester University Press titles. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100022462 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 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work_a46tsbkdofc2rdvexsqlyse5hm	----	DANCING IN THE "EYE OF THE WORLD": VOYEURISM, PERFORMANCE, AND THE PUBLIC TEXT IN JANE AUSTEN'S SCENES OF DANCE by PALMA BJARNASON B.A., The University of British Columbia, 1997 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES (Department of English) We accept this thesis as conforming to the required standard THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA December 1999 ® Palma Bjarnason, 1999 In presenting this thesis in partial fulfilment of the requirements f o r an advanced degree at the University of British Columbia, I agree that t h e Library shall make it freely available for reference and study. I further agree that permission for extensive copying of this thesis for scholarly purposes may be granted by the head of my department or by his or her representatives. It is understood that copying or publication of this thesis for financial gain shall not be allowed w i t h o u t my written permission. Department of tjfl^h'sh The University of British Columbia Vancouver, Canada Date 1^'^ h tce/n ber 'jj DE-6 (2/88) 11 ABSTRACT Life in Jane Austen's fictional world is carried on under the constant public scrutiny of the "eye of the world." The consciousness of being watched reaches its most intense for Austen's heroines during social dances, one of the only societally sanctioned opportunities for the sexes to intermingle openly. Austen is thereby enabled to use the dance scenario for an investigation of female response to a "surveillance society." In exploring aspects of the dancing-watching relationship (voyeurism; performance; public text), I have grouped the novels into three pairs, according to the aspect which seems to predominate. In Chapter I, I look at voyeuristic acts of observing dance in Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion. Marianne Dashwood, an avid dancer, represents the passive watched object; the other, "active" alternative for women is to watch -- both Elinor Dashwood and Anne Elliot relinquish dance, and thereby preserve themselves from the threats of the performative space. In Chapter II, I focus on performance in Northanger Abbey and Emma: for both Catherine Norland and Emma Woodhouse, awareness of audience becomes a requisite feature of relation to a spectator society, as Austen illustrates the responses of the innocent and the experienced female, respectively, to a performative environment. In Chapter III, I look at Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park, where a close examination of Austen's construction of the dance scenes reveals clearly that she emphasises the powerlessness of watched females within the ballroom, and by extension within society. Austen uses the ballroom as a microcosm of a voyeuristic and performative society: the actions of her heroines during scenes of dance are therefore illustrative of the various ways in which a female may negotiate dancing -- and living -- in the eye of the world. TABLE OF CONTENTS 111 Abstract ii List of Figures iv Preface v Introduction 1 CHAPTER I Voyeurism 12 1.1 Sense and Sensibility 13 1. 2 Persuasion 23 CHAPTER II Performance 31 2.1 Northanqer Abbey 3 3 2 .2 Emma 4 0 CHAPTER III Public Text 49 3 .1 Pride and Preiudice 5 0 3 .2 Mansfield Park 61 Conclusion 70 Nomenclature 81 Works Consulted 82 IV LIST OF FIGURES 1. "Longitude and Latitude of St. Petersburgh." Caricature by George Cruikshank of Countess Lieven dancing at Almack's. (13th May, 1813) x V PREFACE: On the Treatment of Dance This paper is not a study of the dances which are done by the characters in Jane Austen's novels. There is already a significant body of scholarship on dance of the Regency period; such work is, in addition, more pertinent to the field of dance history than to literature. For these reasons I have chosen to focus instead on what transpires at dances. This approach is, I believe, in keeping with Jane Austen's own treatment of dancing, as Langdon Elsbree notes: "In none of the novels does Jane Austen devote her attention to the details of dancing per se. Rather, she is interested in the occasion for the dance, the people involved, and the events that result" (DFC 115). These will be my concerns as well. Critical work focussing on Austen's "politics" (as much of it does) has been of mixed value in contributing to this aim. To the extent that Austen's treatment of dance -- one of the most obviously "gendered" areas of Regency life -- necessarily includes commentary on the (disadvantaged) state of women, discussions of Austen as "feminist" do become relevant (for instance, Margaret Kirkham's assertion that "As a feminist moralist, Jane Austen criticises sexist pride and prejudice as embedded in the laws and customs of her age" (82)); whether or not Austen's dance scenes ought to be "politicised," however, remains problematic: One problem of the newly politicised Jane Austen is that once the field of politics has been redefined to include the subject of gender difference at its centre, then almost any item can be included in what Claudia Johnson calls 'the lexicon of politically sensitive terms,' a word such as 'sensibility' becomes inevitably loaded with controversial reference, and the thesis is self- confirming, even though nothing like an explicit political position is declared or overt allusions are made. (Wiltshire 4) VI I am therefore reluctant to take a stance that posits Jane Austen's scenes of dance as overtly "political" statements. Nonetheless, their socio-critical implications cannot be ignored: "[Austen's] heroines share with their creator the capacity to celebrate what is intrinsically fine in social dancing, despite its secondary co- option into the mercantile and patriarchal scheme of things" (Sulloway 138). Insofar as I attempt to explore Austen's acknowledgement of this "secondary co-option" -- particularly with regard to the public text -- and her concurrent investigation of the state of females under male domination, I have consulted works written from a feminist standpoint; of particular usefulness as well have been evaluations of the gender issues and definitions affecting female characters in Austen (Moreland Perkins' Reshaping the Sexes in Sense and Sensibility especially). Work done specifically on dance in Jane Austen ranges from small sections of larger studies (such as the chapter on "Dancing and Marriage" in Alison Sulloway's Jane Austen and the Province of Womanhood) and brief "asides" on relatively minor issues ("Dancing, Romeo and Juliet, and Pride and Prejudice" --a two-page article by Alan Hertz on a Shakespeare reference made at the first dance in Pride and Prejudice) to detailed discussions of dance in Austen's novels, including a dissertation and two articles by Langdon Elsbree, and articles by Timothy Dow Adams and Jacqueline Reid- Walsh. The common tendency amongst the latter three authors has been to focus primarily on the dance-marriage connection in Austen's work: Elsbree takes up the "fidelity and complaisance" theme suggested in Volume 1, Chapter 10 of Northanger Abbey, Vll investigating the "ritual" nature of dancing in its connection to the courtship-love-marriage cycle; Adams, in his own words, is "concerned with dancing as a metaphor for marriage and marriage proposals in only four novels" (65); Reid-Walsh includes details on dance conventions and rules of etiquette while analysing the entrance into society -- and onto the marriage market -- of three Austen heroines. All these authors discuss dance as a "metaphor for marriage"; a related and relatively unexplored issue is the way in which dance, the most visible of the rituals through which Austenian couples must play out their courtship, takes place so entirely in the public eye, becoming a social "performance." Recognising this feature of Austen's dance scenes allows appropriate emphasis to be placed on the fact that it is not only prospective marriage partners, but all members of society -- and, more suggestively, "society" as an undifferentiated whole, an entity in itself^ -- that are enabled to make their evaluation of various characters through the medium or forum of "the ball." Social dance as a series of codified, socially learned and transmitted symbols or acts -- including both the actual dance figures and the social "movements" that frame them -- becomes a text, one which is read simultaneously by participants and spectators. My concern is with the way in which ballroom scenes in Austen's novels are constructed around acts of performing, watching and interpreting social dance --an interplay producing a distinct and readable "public text" whose societal ramifications ultimately extend far beyond the ballroom -- and with the different ways in which Austen's heroines respond to these Vlll circumstances. In exploring aspects of the dancing-watching relationship (voyeurism;^ performance; public text), I have grouped the novels into three pairs, an early with a late, according to the aspect which seems to predominate; the issues are interrelated, however, and each is pertinent to all the novels to some degree. The very fact that the same focus and/or approach appears in early and late novels suggests that there is no coherent chronological "line" of development to be traced in Jane Austen's use or presentation of dance. I have chosen to focus on Austen's female characters for the obvious reason that she focusses on them herself; in addition, however, the female's "disempowered" status within the dance room intersects with Claudia Johnson's claim that "the device of centering her novels in the consciousness of unempowered characters -- that is, women. . .enables Austen to expose and explore those aspects of traditional institutions -- marriage, primogeniture, patriarchy -- which patently do not serve her heroines well" (xxiv). Although the Regency country dance is notable for the "equality" of its structure ("Both women and men are equal agents while dancing, their movements are largely in parallel, synchronized and in exact balance to one another" (Reid-Walsh 116)) , the fact remains that there can be no uniform experience for males and females in this setting, since outside of the actual steps the practice of the dance is still the self-expression of a male-dominated society: A culture is that which is shared by all of the members of a society. In practice, however, the possibilities of such intersubjectivity will always be limited by IX differences of gender. For this reason, it is necessary to distinguish between male and female realities within the context of any social group.... Dance -- the distillation of culture into its most metaphysical form -- always embodies and identifies this gender-generated division of cultural realities. Whenever men and women dance together, therefore, cultures collide: male culture and female culture. The men's dance style is a crystallisation of what it means to be a male member of their culture. The women's dance style is a crystallisation of what it means to be a female member of that culture. (T. Polhemus 11) Given that the experience of the dance is always gender-specific, the experience of being watched that accompanies it is also different for women, who must be "sought" by men and therefore must encode their appearances accordingly. Thus investigating the female experience of voyeurism, performance, and the public text simultaneously allows Austen to comment on the general social differences for women within her world. N.B. : All underlinings in quoted passages are my emphases; all italics are the authors'. INTRODUCTION "...she not only longed to be dancing, but was likewise aware that, as the real dignity of her situation could not be known, she was sharing with all the scores of other young ladies still sitting down all the disgrace of wanting a partner. To be disgraced in the eye of the world, to wear the appearance of infamy while her heart is all purity, her actions all innocence... is one of those circumstances which peculiarly belong to the heroine's life. II - Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey, I.VIII "The narrator describes the ignominy in hyperbolic terms but note the image of the social gaze or 'eye'...." - Jacqueline Reid-Walsh, p.119 In her book Tellincr Glances: Voyeurism in the French Novel, Dorothy Kelly refers to a voyeuristic scenario in which the female is "trapped in a structure in which gazes constantly determine her activities and limit her freedom, even in her own home" (193) --a description that could equally apply to any Jane Austen heroine. Life in Austen's fictional world is carried on under constant public scrutiny: Austenian characters have a ceaseless surveillant and critic in the "eye of the world." In the contained and conservative social sphere upon which Austen focusses her attention, the smallest visible deviation instantly produces public comment; the, greatest may result in disgrace and universal condemnation. Isobel Armstrong's diagnosis of the "world" of Sense and Sensibility is applicable to any Austen setting: Jane Austen lived through probably one of the most repressive political eras of recent history, and her texts understand the culture of espionage. ... [Sense and Sensibility] describes a world which is not open, but more important than this Mrs Jennings is part of, caught up in, a chronic structure of surveillance and concealment. Surveillance breeds concealment and concealment breeds surveillance: secrets breed gossip and gossip breeds secrecy; there is a presupposition that everyone has something to hide, whether in the domestic context or at large in the state. (87) The consciousness of being watched reaches its most intense for Austen's heroines during social dances, one of the only societally sanctioned opportunities for the sexes -- and to a limited extent the classes --to intermingle openly and with relative freedom. By this means, Austen is enabled to use the dance scenario as the locus for an investigation of female response to a "surveillance society." Social dances are the forum where evaluations of potential marriage partners may be carried out; as "it was commonly accepted during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries that ballrooms were arenas of courtship" (Reid-Walsh 115), Austen makes full use of these all-important social occasions as pivotal events in the (love-)lives of her heroines. Although dance scenes comprise a small fraction of any one of Jane Austen's novels, Elsbree notes that "in all of the novels except Persuasion, Jane Austen uses the events of the dance to complicate the actions of the plot" (DFC 115) --a plot always concerned with the marital aspirations of its central characters.^ By examining dance events, Austen is able to highlight the interdependent relationship of the two acts which concur in ballrooms: dancing and watching. Austen's heroines, whether or not they wish to dance themselves, must by their attendance at social dances participate in the rite of voyeurism which surrounds the act of dancing in public view. The emphasis placed on prestige and social acceptability -- and on the state of disgrace that is their alternative -- shows the value that is given to public approbation 3 and the fear engendered in Austen's female dancers by an everpresent and inescapable social scrutiny.* The forum of the ballroom, so often the site for important encounters, overheard discoveries, and exposures of character, is the location where the gazes of Austen's characters reach their most complex entanglement. Judith Mackrell states that "Space also connects the dancers --it is the arena into which they project emotion and movement" (172) . Thus for Austen's heroines the ballroom becomes the nexus of intersecting gazes and the desires and intentions these represent. Under an external gaze, all social acts of dancing become performances; all social acts of observing dance(rs) constitute spectatorship. This constant interplay of dancing and watching and the consequent need to interpret what is seen result in the communal creation of a "public text": a tacit consensus on the signification allotted to the social acts relating to dance. "Movement is a primary not a secondary social 'text'.... Its articulation signals group affiliation and group differences, whether consciously performed or not" (Desmond 31) ; the observation and judgment of social dance hereby becomes an act of reading and interpretation, the analysis of a text: . . .we can ask what movements are considered "appropriate" or even "necessary" within a specific historical and geographical context, and by whom and for whom such necessities obtain. We can ask who dances, when and where, in what ways, with whom, and to what end? And just as importantly, who does not dance, in what ways, under what conditions and why? By looking at dance we can see enacted on a broad scale, and in codified fashion, socially constituted and historically specific attitudes toward the body in general, toward specific social groups' usage of the body in particular, and about the relationships among variously marked bodies. . . . (Desmond 32) Taking a similar approach to Jane Austen's scenes of dance and 4 tracking the "relationships among variously marked bodies" is thus illustrative of the greater social patterns existing in her fictional world and of their implications for her main characters. Austen's female protagonists are all objects and/or perpetrators of social dance-voyeurism; they are all performers and/or spectators; all both read and write the pervasive public text, with varying levels of fluency. "Because Catherine, Emma and Fanny are competent in ballroom etiquette, to varying degrees they also understand the 'politics' of the ballroom" (Reid-Walsh 115). Given that the ballroom is a symbol of society, the ability of Austen's central characters to grasp "ballroom politics" is of far more moment than simply influencing how they will fare at dances; their adeptness in this arena also signals their maturity, independence, and world-wisdom, and is a measure of their competence in understanding the greater context of their society as the ballroom represents it. Thus the reasons for and ways in which Austen's heroines partake in, accept, defy, subvert, or excel at the social acts of spectating and performing as these occur at dances•provide an index to their position on the marriage-market and in society. Voyeurism In her essay "An-Other Voice: Young Women Dancing and Talking," Helen Thomas quotes a well-known passage from Laura Mulvey's "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema," itself "perhaps the most influential discussion on what has now come to be termed 'the male gaze'" (Thomas, AV note 22, p.91): ...a number of feminist writers have argued that the idea of the mirror, of looking at oneself as if one were being looked at, the sense of surveillance, the relationship of how one looks to one's sense of identity or self-worth, for the most part, is gender-specific. As Mulvey has argued: 'In a world ordered by sexual imbalance, pleasure in looking has been split between active/male and passive/female.... In their traditional exhibitionist role women are simultaneously looked at and displayed, with their appearance coded for strong visual and erotic impact so that they can be said to connote to-be-looked-at-ness' (Mulvey 19). (Thomas 88) It is possible (though not necessarily desirable) to take such an approach to Jane Austen's female characters, especially as these characters appear at dances. The notion of "to-be-looked-at-ness" is particularly resonant with reference to the more openly "exhibited" female characters such as Fanny Price, but is relevant to any female described by Austen as having a concern that her ballroom appearance be sufficiently "attractive" to garner the coveted (or, for such as the dowerless Bennet girls, requisite) male attention. In this aspect of dance scenes, ideas of the dominating male gaze are relevant; Roger Copeland, however, advises discretion when applying Mulvey's cinema-inspired gaze theories too freely to dance: ... I would caution against too literal a transference of Mulvey's ideas from cinema studies to dance. Mulvey for example is very quick to point out that 'This complex interaction of looks is specific to film'....More importantly, these theories of the omnipresent, inescapable male gaze proceed on the assumption that it's always the man who holds the camera (or the brush or the pen) and the woman who holds the pose....' Indeed, in dance the cinematic notion of the 'male' gaze is less relevant and useful to the theoretician than a more generalised consideration of the gaze itself, whether male or female.... (146) A different dimension is therefore opened when we consider that within the Austen dances, gazing is not the sole prerogative 6 of men: there is also the presence of the female gaze. Kelly states that "women write of woman's desire, a desire that is linked to her gaze and to her different way of looking and writing" (193). This comment is particularly relevant to Austen -- not only because she is a woman writing of women, but because she often highlights the disparity between male and female perspectives and ways of viewing. Austen investigates from various angles the situation of the female watcher, and suggests the paradox embedded in the actions of this figure: a woman who watches removes herself from the arena of physical involvement and display, and is thus excluded from the dance "action" even as she is most active as viewer (whereas the actively dancing female is nonetheless a passive object of other gazes). What can compound the difference of the female gaze is its linkage to the desire for invisibility. The exercise of the female gaze is often bound up with a wish to remain unseen; this aspect returns us once again to the active-passive dichotomy endemic to the dance and to society. For the female in a male-dominated society, generally expected to be passive and granted only the power of refusal, the gaze must remain a surreptitious one -- she should not "take the lead" in gazing, one presumes, any more than in dancing or proposing. The female gazer at dances (whose gaze may be considered the visible manifestation of her desire) must be careful not to violate societal protocol by allowing her forthrightness to be apparent to those only too vigilant social sentries surrounding her.^ In addition to the gaze of individual male or female characters, Austen's novels acknowledge the presence of a 7 generalised social or public gaze, the "eye of the world." This gaze is frequently a threat to its objects; recalling Austen's reference in Northanger Abbey to "'a country like this,...where every man is surrounded by a neighourhood of voluntary spies. . . . ' " (NA 159) , Nancy Armstrong comments that "The terrors of aristocratic power have given way to ones that are less terrible and more effective, as Austen represents a social world regulated by surveillance or, in her words, 'voluntary spies'" (206). This image of a society in which one is continually aware of being under scrutiny evokes in turn Foucault's description of "panopticism." According to Foucault, the effect of such a system is "to induce. . . a state of conscious and permanent visibility" such that "the constant pressure acts even before the offences... have been committed" (201, 206). This description is distinctly reminiscent of the state of affairs in an Austen novel -- especially in ballrooms -- where characters are deterred from "undesirable" behaviours by an awareness of watching eyes. Hence Foucault's statement that "The panoptic schema...was destined to spread throughout the social body; its vocation was to become a generalized function" (207) has most resonance with regard to Jane Austen when related to the poly-gazed ballroom assembly, where a potentially inflammatory mix of movement and desire is kept in check by a multiplicity of watchers.^ Performance A brief reference to dance in Chapter 6 of Persuasion is significant for its depiction of the feminine sphere as composed of mostly performative concerns: "...the females were fully occupied 8 in all the other common subjects of house-keeping, neighbours, dress, dancing, and music" (P 69) . In contrast to the idea of a male-public/female-private division,'' four of the five "female" concerns listed here involve other people: neighbours; dress (important only insofar as it is seen by others) ; dancing and music (which require participants and an audience). What can be concluded from this is that female concerns, as delineated here, are in a sense not at all private, since they are performative -- they involve putting on a show, impressing others with appearances. Furthermore, since within these socio-performative areas the women themselves become the "performance piece," we can conclude that women are socialised to be aware of their own visible exterior selves as a vital part of an ongoing public show. If females are on display even in their everyday lives, how much more so in the overtly performative setting of the ballroom. Terry Castle's study of the masquerade in eighteenth-century English culture and fiction contains a passage that describes Austenian balls nearly as well as it does masquerade: The masquerade had its undeniably provocative visual elements: one took one's pleasure, above all, in seeing and being seen. With universal privileges granted to voyeurism and self-display, the masquerade was from the start ideally suited to the satisfaction of scopophilic and exhibitionistic urges. (38)® Thus the performative space privileges by its own nature the acts of watching and being watched. Each character, in stepping into the ballroom, is entering a public arena where she is offered, not only to eligible men, but also to all of society, for evaluation. In a social world where privacy is impossible, the dance is one area where eligible young women may assess and be assessed. The 9 "mercantile" implications are not nonexistent for being subtle: nowhere is the marriage "market" more apparent as such than in a room where nubile young women meet virile young men in a series of requisite and highly codified performative motions, the whole having been arranged by mothers keen to "sell" prospective suitors on the charms of their daughters and by a society eager to see matches made. Within this setting, any action is a performance: just as Foucault comments that within the Panopticon the cells are "like so many small theatres" and the inmates "actors" (200), here too one becomes an actor, a performer, simply by the consciousness of being watched. That the need to put on an impressive performance in this arena should be most heavily felt by women -- a situation of which Austen seems well aware --is due to the fact that, denied the right to initial action, females must seek to attract and impress solely with their appearances. Public Text The consciousness of being continuously viewed and critiqued is responsible for the suffocating, secretive atmosphere often pervading balls. Inside the ballroom there is little certain knowledge -- only conjecture, suspicion, rumours, gossip. With open communication at a minimum, "sexual relations are declared by the slightest gesture or the briefest glance" (N. Armstrong 144); convictions are formed without any solid basis for belief; important knowledge is gained surreptitiously, without any intention of telling or being told. Direct verbal communication is noticeably absent,^ and "overhearings" are constant. This is due to the social stigma attached to speaking freely and to a general fear 10 of self-betrayal; any desire to communicate openly has habitually been neutralised by the social necessity of stringent self-control. Hence Roger Gard's description of a "typically Austenian ethos": ...a group of people with more or less private concerns who are hindered by politeness from expressing them. Really intimate and sensitive matters, especially those concerning the relations of the sexes, cannot come out at all directly. Sociability inhibits expression. The alternative of private meetings is nearly out of the question. (EP 90) Within such an ethos, evidencing a society with an aversion to the uncivilised and the unrestrained, the vagaries of attraction have been neatly codified and encapsulated in a series of social "motions" which in turn are "acted out" in the ballroom, with a series of eligible partners and for a host of observers. These in turn must be interpreted: "The procedures for reading and writing have extended beyond the page to the dance floor and parlor" (N. Armstrong 13 8) -- thus the eye of the world observes and "reads" the women who dance. The act of watching is considered the way to find "truth" within a ballroom; public judgments are formed with nothing more than observation for basis. The unreliability and bias inherent in such a process make it potentially highly detrimental to those it takes as its objects, and dissimulation and disguise become necessities as females anticipate their "reading" in the public text. A motif of concealment characterises all of Austen's ballroom scenes. The interplay of concealed and revealed marking the social relations of Austen's heroines comes to the fore in the charged atmosphere of the ballroom, where the public gaze is at its most intense. The tension between what is shown and unshown, seen and 11 unseen, known and unknown, emerges as a dominant feature of Austen's scenes of dance, and a connection is drawn between the patterns of ballroom interaction and the undercurrent of social negotiations and divisions these superficial movements represent and reinforce. Austen uses the ballroom as a microcosm of a voyeuristic and performative society: the actions of her heroines during scenes of dance are therefore illustrative of the various ways in which a female may negotiate dancing -- and living -- in the eye of the world. 12 I. VOYEURISM: Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion In both these novels, dance appears only as an incidental; while Austen makes clear that social occurrences involving dance are frequent and are attended by all the protagonists, these events are rarely described. Unlike Pride and Prejudice or Mansfield Park, where important social dances occupy entire chapters, dance in Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion is often relegated to no more than a line. This does not diminish the centrality of dance to the characters' lives, however: as a standard social activity, a location for interpersonal evaluations to be carried out, and a purveyor of "the voyeuristic and erotic pleasures that dance has traditionally offered" (Copeland 143), it is very much present. In the dance scenes of Sense and Sensibility, the focus, as in so much of the novel, is on the contrast between the two sisters. Marianne is fully in and of the dance: she participates whole- heartedly, and, in so doing, embraces the role of passive watched object endemic to the performative dance space. She virtually does not exist as watcher (and hence as active subject), since her gaze is entirely confined within the narcissistic Willoughby connection and she is completely oblivious to everyone and everything else, including social dance decorum. Elinor, on the other hand, opts out of the performance space (going so far, according to Jane Nardin, as to "ma [k] e a fetish of privacy" (41)) in favour of a removed and autonomous position as spectator. Elinor watches; Marianne is watched. Both participate, willingly or unwillingly, knowingly or unknowingly, in the voyeur dynamic of the Austenian dance, and by their actions illustrate two possibilities for females within this ethos. 13 In Persuasion, Austen does not place any significant focus on the dance participant/passive object. Such characters as do represent this option (Mary, the Musgrove sisters) are relatively unimportant and receive little attention. What is investigated in greater depth is the plight of the female character who chooses the role of spectator while accepting the exclusion from the social sphere which is necessitated by this choice. Anne's deliberate rejection of the dance is made clear in a way which Elinor's is not, as are her motivations for this choice. The desire to "remain unobserved" comes into play as a powerful motivating force; and with it, necessarily, comes an acknowledgement by the female of watching as an integral and inescapable part of the dance scenario. That is, Anne, in order to make the decision to reject dance so that she may remain unseen, has obviously recognised the watched nature of the dancer's role (as Marianne, for instance, has not) and perceives the hazards this presents. Elinor counsels Marianne against allowing all she feels to be so easily discernible to the eye of the world; Anne does not require such counsel, as she is already painfully aware of the pressure of the social eye. Withdrawing entirely from the dance arena, Anne represents the opposite end of the voyeuristic spectrum from Marianne. Being the least participatory physically (and socially), however, allows her not only to be one of Austen's most active onlookers, but also ultimately to attain a kind of victory over the public gaze. SENSE AND SENSIBILITY The first reference to dance in Sense and Sensibility comes from Sir John Middleton, who, in describing Willoughby to the 14 Dashwood girls as an eligible prospect, asserts that "at a little hop in the Park, [Willoughby] danced from eight o'clock till four, without once sitting down" (SS 38). It is significant that Sir John chooses this particular evidence to support his view of Willoughby as being "as good a sort of fellow...as ever lived"; Willoughby's tireless dancing is proof of both spiritedness and health. (In contrast, characters such as Fanny Price betray their physical frailty by their inability to dance for long periods without fatigue.) The fact that Sir John adds to his testimony Willoughby's having "risen at eight to ride to covert" is further proof that he offers this plea on Willoughby's behalf partly as evidence of physical prowess. In addition. Sir John cites Willoughby's dancing to convey a general sense of the younger man's social adeptness and pleasant demeanour. Unlike Darcy, who cannot bring himself to stand up at a common assembly, Willoughby has no aversion to participating in an event even less prestigious: the "little hop at the Park" is almost certainly one of those spontaneous revelries (elswhere referred to as "private balls" and "unpremeditated dances") in which Sir John frequently indulges. Thus Willoughby is confirmed for the Dashwoods as being very much "on the market." These opening remarks of Sir John's on the subject of dancing have a significance beyond the affirmation of Willoughby's status; they show clearly that possession of desire, willingness, and ability to dance is evidence of eligibility, whether male or female. Where, when, why, and how a man or woman in a Jane Austen novel chooses to dance and to be seen dancing is proof of his or her status in society and on the marriage market. Darcy ceases to be eligible when he will not stand up to dance (as evidenced by the 15 fact that Mrs Bennet and presumably other matrons instantly remove him from their list of possible or desirable husbands for their daughters); Bingley reaffirms his eligibility by his willingness to attend, to hold, and to participate in dances; Willoughby is established as a normal, healthy, eligible male by the fact, frequency, and manner of his dancing. In the vigilant eye of the world, evidence presented at dances is translated into an important expression of eligibility. For women a display of vigour in particular may be even more requisite: "Health, for a woman, may be in the first place a commodity, and the novels pay their due to that part of patriarchal culture in which the question of the woman's body is resolved into its appeal to the male gaze" (Wiltshire 9) . Already, then, Austen has subtly hinted at the action by which an external gaze evaluates a dancing body, to which process the Dashwood girls themselves will soon be subject. The eye of the world is personified in this novel partly by the confederacy of Sir John and Mrs Jennings. These two, while superficially benign, have a less innocuous dimension: together, they function as a kind of matchmaking unit, an amalgam of the ever-observing, gossip-mongering "madam" who often serves rather to menace than to protect her young charges (as when Elinor must censure Mrs Jennings for having indiscriminately announced Marianne's "engagement"), and the male pander: ...the spiral of secrecy, censorship, and surveillance is outrageously open and scandalously on display, an open secret of which people are curiously oblivious. Mrs Jennings is its raucous representative, with her perpetual discoveries....Her conversation is one long sexual revelation, one long consent to social spying. (I. Armstrong 85) If Mrs Jennings is the "representative" of voyeurism, imbuing 16 social interrelations with her "libidinal energies" (I. Armstrong 85), Sir John is equally active in overseeing male-female interaction, promoting relations between his younger companions by arranging events at which they may encounter each other. The "private balls" and "parties on the water" which Sir John hosts serve to further the evaluative opportunities of eligible young members of society. Specifically, such social events facilitate those acts of watching which constitute a kind of social "appraisal." In Volume 1, Chapter 11, for example, Austen states that the events organised by Sir John give Willoughby the "opportunity of witnessincr the excellencies of Marianne" and "of marking his animated admiration" (SS 45). That is, they present the opportunity of watching and being watched that is so vital in a society where private interaction is nearly impossible to achieve. While dances allow Willoughby and Marianne to be watched by each other, however, to "witness" and to "mark" their mutual interest, they also allow the voyeuristic eye of the world an unobstructed view of all that transpires between the young dancers/lovers. Marianne and Willoughby are almost never unobserved even in their "private" moments together; when they do contrive to be alone, they are chastised for their impropriety. Any interactive pleasures allotted to young people in the Austen world must always be voraciously and vicariously enjoyed by a host of onlookers; at dances the presence of an extrinsic gaze magnifies private interactions into public significance .-̂^ Marianne Dashwood is in many ways the quintessential observed object: not only does she conform to Kelly's description of the watched woman -- "trapped in a world of investigations in which she 17 fails to guard her inner self from exposure" (193) -- she wilfully lowers her guard and displays this inner self to the world, boasting to Elinor of her contempt for all concealment. Heedlessly expressive, "Marianne's inner life is communicated in instantly readable physical signs" (Wiltshire 34). Marianne's behaviour with Willoughby at dances is proof of this carelessness : the two refuse to dance with any partners but each other, even though this is contrary to convention. "Such conduct made them of course most exceedingly laughed at; but ridicule could not shame, and seemed hardly to provoke them" (SS 46) .-̂-̂ Despite Elinor's warnings, Marianne continues to invite public censure by refusing to recognise and respect the voyeuristic aspect of public dances. While preoccupied with Willoughby, Marianne Dashwood becomes the object of another gaze, in one of the most blatant acts of watching in Austen: "...one evening at the park, . .. [Colonel Brandon and Elinor] were sitting down by mutual consent, while the others were dancing. His eyes were fixed on Marianne..." (SS 47). With this image Austen presents Colonel Brandon as the determined and obsessive voyeur. Although he has had "no encouragement" to attach himself to Marianne, he watches her intently without her knowledge or consent. Notable, too, is the fact that he is watching her while she is engaged in a physical activity with another man. Colonel Brandon's having sat down with Elinor Dashwood and elected not to dance, then, is almost certainly his contrivance of an acceptable way to watch Marianne; his choice not to dance, at least, can only be deliberate, since in the case of a man -- gifted with the privilege of asking -- the act of not dancing is always a voluntary one. Brandon's gaze, while not implicated in the general public 18 one, exemplifies in its intensity the extent to which the dancing Marianne becomes the voyeurs' object -- simply by being a dancer she "connotes to-be-looked-at-ness." Marianne and Willoughby, meanwhile, are utterly absorbed in one another, and by their actions make their mutual attachment visibly clear: "Marianne abhorred all concealment where no real disgrace could attend unreserve....Willoughby thought the same, and their behaviour, at all times, was an illustration of their opinions" (SS 45) . In terms of the public text, the "instantly readable" Marianne is quite explicitly declaring herself "off the market" -- yet Colonel Brandon continues to regard her as a desirable object. In fact, throughout most of the novel Colonel Brandon's attachment to Marianne develops through observation (one- way) rather than interaction (two-way). She becomes, in her "watchedness, " entirely an object, while he -- since she steadfastly refuses to observe or even to recognise him -- remains entirely a watcher and a subject. (His likening of her to the woman in his past is proof of how much Marianne becomes to him in her objectified state a "type" -- to the point that he actually contradicts Elinor's sensible and concerned desire to see her sister's behaviour change for the better.) The nature of the general attitude toward dance facilitates and renders socially acceptable this continued surveillance. Although Brandon himself does not threaten Marianne, Austen's description of the situation serves to highlight Marianne's vulnerability to external gazes. Despite the removed and "impotent" quality of Brandon's watching, the watcher, the non-dancer, is in another sense the empowered one, with the dancer or performer as the passive object 19 of his/her gaze. This is true of female watchers as well, and is the aspect of public behaviour represented by Elinor. At the "musical party" in Volume 2, Chapter 14 (which, while not strictly a "scene of dance, " is one of the few described performative occasions in the novel), Elinor, indifferent toward the spectacle ostensibly offered by the gathering, freely turns her power of watching on those surrounding her: "Elinor...made no scruple of turning away her eyes...whenever it suited her, and unrestrained... would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the room" (SS 218) . All the phrases used by Austen in this passage serve to emphasise Elinor's bold autonomy: Elinor holds herself above the hypocrisy of petty social decorum ("made no scruple"), is free and independent of any outside control ("unrestrained"), and consults only her own inclination in determining her actions ("whenever it suited her"/"at pleasure"). This firm reliance upon her own judgment and reason is a hallmark of many of Austen's most admirable female characters: strong, decisive women like Elizabeth Bennet and Elinor Dashwood use their own minds as freely and adroitly as they do their own gazes. In contrast are those, like Fanny Price, who are perpetually indecisive and unsure of their own judgment (Fanny's greatest predicament is always to be left without outside guidance, as in her state before her debut: "young and inexperienced, with...no confidence in her own taste" (MP 210)); those who have a history of allowing themselves to be swayed by outside pressure (Anne Elliot); or those who have a misplaced belief in their own capacity which is proven wrong by time (Marianne Dashwood; Emma Woodhouse). Elinor is already beyond all these, and the power of her free, perceiving, unguarded gaze 20 becomes the metaphor for her own power as a female and as a character. The power to watch is the power to make discoveries, and Elinor, having already removed herself from the passive- participatory arena of the performative space, now declares herself the equal of the other spectators, male included, by virtue of her own watching. This forthrightness is evidenced by the way in which she encounters Edward Ferrars' brother. Austen begins by stating that Elinor, ignoring the performers, fixes her eyes randomly on "any other object in the room" (SS 218). There is a subtle irony to the fact that this statement is directly followed by Elinor's discovery of Robert Ferrars, an effete social butterfly transferred by her gaze into the passive and generally female position of watched "object": "In one of these excursive glances she perceived among a group of young men, the very he, who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cases at Gray's. She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself." This passage is significant because it is Elinor who first perceives Robert Ferrars and then becomes aware of his gaze upon her. She has, in a sense, overstepped the male-female protocol which always allocates to the male the prerogative of initial action, upon which Austen herself comments ironically in Northanger Abbey with the notion that Catherine Norland perhaps ought not to dream of Henry Tilney before he dreams of her. If it can be said -- albeit ironically -- that "it must be very improper that a young lady should dream of a gentleman before the gentleman is first known to have dreamt of her" (NA 15), then there may also be some ironic truth to the idea that a woman's gaze should not precede a man's. That Elinor is self-assured enough to 21 disregard such strictures is proof of her as "Austen's most flagrantly gender-dissonant heroine" (Perkins 40) . Elinor has already effectively "disarmed" the watching male by taking on the masculine privilege of initiative and by refusing to look submissively away once he returns her gaze.-"-̂ The freedom permitted her by Austen in this arena would therefore seem to support Moreland Perkins' view of Elinor as a female character endowed with "masculine" traits and abilities, one whose characterisation is evidence of Austen's "intention to reshape gender in this early novel" (12); certainly her behaviour at performative occasions is representative of the strongest and "safest" position for females within a watching society. Even the few references to dance which Austen provides in Sense and Sensibility confirm the voyeuristic nature of the setting within which her characters must function. "This is a novel in which everyone watches each other for good and bad reasons.... 'By indirections find directions out' {Hamlet, II i 66) is the motto of everyone in the novel except, perhaps, Marianne, whether they like it or not" (I. Armstrong 85). Marianne is a watched character, so utterly absorbed in acting, in participation, that she is all but unaware of herself as a spectacle. On the dance-voyeurism spectrum, she is at one extreme, dancing without observing, being watched without watching.-"-̂ The "over-expressiveness" implicated in her carelessness for society's regard and regulations is responsible for Marianne's vulnerability as a character, and contributes to her near-downfall.^* Marianne's passage from this unrestrained heedlessness to a greater awareness of self, sense, and society is 22 paralleled by her attitude to dance (her movement from the defiant openness of her dance-conduct with Willoughby to more circumspect behaviour and an alliance with the reserved non-dancer Colonel Brandon). She has endangered herself by being too readable, declaring herself too openly "in the language of gesture and bodily display" (Wiltshire 34) . Although her end (marriage to Brandon) has been read by some as a disappointing concession, a containment and quenching of sexual energies (Wiltshire 58-9), it is also possible to conclude that Marianne's personal transformation is indicative of the same sentiments on the part of the author as those that produced in the contemporary minuet a progression from "initial unrestrained expressiveness into the classical ideals of clarity, balance and regularity" (Katz 523). Elinor -- who personifies the latter ideals -- is never seen dancing in Sense and Sensibility. Her presentation as a non- participant in dance scenes is deliberate on Austen's part, as it enables us to see the antithesis of Marianne's choice. Elinor holds herself back from performative opportunities to a greater extent than any other Austen heroine: she neither dances, plays, nor sings. In contrast to her sister and Willoughby, both "passionately fond" of music and dancing, Elinor and her preferred partner Edward Ferrars are a thoroughly non-performative pair. While this reticence removes Elinor from the "display zone," it also permits her a freedom as watcher that is generally reserved for males, and she exhibits a perspicacity in this role that is, arguably, unexceeded by any other Austen character. Elinor's trespass on the male preserve of initiative and her refusal to become a passively watched dancing body thus allow Austen subtly to showcase more 23 radical ideas about the rights and abilities of women. PERSUASION The first reference to dancing in Persuasion appears only a few pages into Chapter 1 and immediately strikes the usual dancing/watching note: "Thirteen winters' revolving frosts had seen [Elizabeth Elliot] opening every ball of credit which a scanty neighbourhood afforded" (P 38). This statement appears as part of a delineation of the various activities which occupy Elizabeth: Thirteen years had seen her mistress of Kellynch Hall, presiding and directing. ... For thirteen years had she been doing the honours, and laying down the domestic law at home, and leading the way to the chaise and four, and walking immediately after Lady Russell out of all the drawing-rooms and dining-rooms in the country. Thirteen winters' revolving frosts had seen her opening every ball of credit which a scanty nighbourhood afforded.... (P 38) The statement about dance is in obvious counterpoint to the first sentence describing Elizabeth; in both sentences the subject of the "seeing" is left unstated -- an omission which adds to the idea that Elizabeth is observed by society at large, by everyone, by the "eye of the world." The confluence of these opening and closing statements suggests that most of what Elizabeth occupies her time with is immaterial, both to herself and to society -- the important thing is that she be seen to occupy a primary position both at her family seat and on the dance floor. The social dance is the social milieu in microcosm, concentrated and magnified, and for Elizabeth to retain her dominion over the latter she must be seen to dominate and lead in both spheres. In this way the status of the "seen" dancer mirrors her stature in society. This is the only reference in the novel to the "balls of 24 credit" which Elizabeth patronises. All other dance references in Persuasion (apart from a casual mention by Captain Wentworth of balls on board ship) are in connection with dances of a much lower calibre and prestige, those "unpremeditated little balls" which so delight the Musgrove sisters. That Anne Elliot chooses to efface herself even at these casual, impromptu festivities emphasises the extent to which her position, values, and social ambitions differ from her sister's: evidence once again of Austen using dance response to dramatise a character contrast between sisters. Far from sharing her sister's desire to be seen at dances, Anne Elliot is the Austen female most determined to avoid dancing altogether. There are two brief passages in Persuasion that actually discuss dance, and Austen emphasises Anne's voluntarily withdrawn role in both. The first passage appears in the middle of Volume 1, Chapter 6, and includes a testament to Anne's "solitude" in the exercise of her musical abilities ("In music she had been always used to feel alone in the world" (P 73)). It is not despite this habitual indifference on the part of her listeners, but rather jbecause of it, that Anne chooses to remain an accompanist instead of becoming a participant in the dance; unlike the Musgroves and their other guests, who evince a perpetual and insatiable eagerness for all kinds of revelry, Anne continues "very much preferring the office of musician to a more active post" (P 73). The language used here is telling: Anne's choice to forgo dancing for playing is not simply a preference between two equal options, but an intentional choice of the least "active" position. Anne consciously withdraws herself from the participatory, performative, and above all visible role of dancer in favour of the accompanist's "backstage" 25 invisibility. The deliberateness of this choice cannot be overstated: Austen herself emphasises it with reference to Anne's complete awareness of the indifference with which her musical efforts are always greeted ("her performance was little thought of,...as she was well aware" ; "She knew that when she played she was giving pleasure only to herself"; "In music she had been always used to feel alone in the world" (P 73)). Anne is therefore choosing to play precisely because she knows she will be largely ignored and unnoticed. Steadfast in her celibacy as she was in her attachment, Anne is definitively "off the market," and she shows this by removing herself from the game of gazes endemic to even the most casual of dances. ̂^ The end of Volume 1, Chapter 8 contains the only described dance scene in the novel; again Anne's withdrawn role is noted: The evening ended with dancing. On its being proposed, Anne offered her services, as usual, and though her eyes would sometimes fill with tears as she sat at the instrument, she was extremely glad to be employed, and desired nothing in return but to be unobserved. (P 95) Here again we are given testimony of Anne's motivations in choosing to avoid the dance floor and maintain her post at the piano: the "backgrounded" office keeps her both employed (as, were she idle, she would be more likely both to draw unwanted attention and to betray her emotional state to others) and unobserved. Still more important, however -- though not acknowledged by Anne -- is that from where she sits she may herself observe. Like another of the great fictional female recluses, Charlotte Bronte's Lucy Snowe, Anne has actively sought a post "whence unobserved [she] could 26 observe" (Bronte, 211). Thus the desire to remain unseen is in this case not only to avoid being watched but to avoid being watched watching. "It would seem that the loss of power in the self occasioned by the love one feels for the other is the reason why one feels the need to be hidden when one looks" (Kelly 108); the betrayal of her own potentially unrequited sentiments to their object or to the public eye would entail a further loss of power, and is thus the event which Anne is most eager to avoid. Anne is fairly successful in her aim of observing while unobserved, and the result of her quiet study is to discover at once the current disparity between Captain Wentworth's situation and her own: "She felt that he had everything to elevate him, which general attention and deference, and especially the attention of all the young women could do" (P 95). Wentworth is in high spirits, Anne is hiding her tears; Wentworth is "elevated," Anne is physically and spiritually abased. Most significantly, of course, Anne is -- or hopes to be -- "unobserved," while Wentworth has both "general attention" and "the attention of all the young women." The redundancy of the latter two phrases attesting to Wentworth's visible popularity is clearly evocative of Anne's own fixation and worry as she voyeuristically pins her eyes on the object of her desire now actively dancing with other partners. If Anne has withdrawn from the dancing/watching arena, Wentworth has re-entered it with all flags flying, and is now the satisfied object of "universal...eager admiration." Anne, maintaining a post outside the dance, is able to observe freely -- yet is removed from his regard. This paradox of power within powerlessness is conveyed by Austen with Anne's character more than with any other, as is the 27 renunciation demanded of a woman who wishes to watch rather than to be watched. In the paragraph which follows, Anne begins to sense herself being drawn into the voyeur-pattern, for she admits that "Once she felt that he was looking at herself" (P 96) . This statement introduces one of the most distinctive features of Austen's dances: uncertainty. Anne is not certain that Wentworth watches her; she only feels that it may be so. Looking back over the preceding paragraph, one can see, in the light of Anne's uncertainty here, that the entire passage is filled with similar indefinites: "No one seemed in higher spirits"; "She felt that he had everything to elevate him"; "The Miss Hayters...were apparently admitted to the honour of being in love with him"; "Henrietta and Louisa...both seemed so entirely occupied by him, that nothing but the continued appearance of the most perfect good-will between themselves, could have made it credible that they were not decided rivals"; "If he were a little spoilt, who could wonder?" Nothing is definite here: all is nebulous conjecture, the product of rumour, suspicion, and tacit observation. Austen's conclusion, at the commencement of the paragraph in which Anne senses Wentworth's gaze, explains the mystery: "These were some of the thoughts which occupied Anne" (P 96). It becomes obvious, then, by means of this easily overlooked comment, that the entire dance scene has been presented through Anne's eyes. This personal perspective is the reason that the scene has such a subjective, even an "internal," feel to it -- we are not receiving an objective reporting of data, the recording of which dances were done and who did them, but rather the scene as Anne's own bias 28 colours it -- the dance as it appears in her inner world, as it affects her (supporting Card's assertion that "in Jane Austen the dances are almost always psychological dramas" (JAN 152)) . There is no reason to consider Anne an even remotely impartial observer; on the contrary, she is still so involved in the unfolding drama that she sits at the piano with tears in her eyes. Nor can she conceivably be unbiased in her estimation of the other young women's regard for Captain Wentworth. Thus, while he is undoubtedly both popular and attractive, only through the magnification of Anne's tearful gaze do we receive the picture of him as sole and sanguine possessor of every other female glance in the room. "The dance... objectifies the structure of a character's inner life, the way living in the world feels to him" (Elsbree, BC 12); the watcher projects these impressions back onto the scene viewed, imbuing it with private significance. By this means, delving into the consciousness of her central female, Austen is able to explore the nature of the gaze itself, demonstrating the distorting effect of the dance-watcher's own bias on outside reality (a phenomenon that can have negative effects when the female is the object rather than the subject of the gaze -- as with Darcy's biased viewing of Jane Bennet). The last reference to dancing in Persuasion is one of the most "romantic" lines in Austen's work, and makes a final comment on the gaze-ridden nature of the author's world and the way in which dance is implicated. The reference appears in Chapter 23, after Anne and Wentworth have reconciled; their mutual bliss in the reunion is described --in unusually ecstatic terms for Austen -- with the use of a poetic dance metaphor: "There could not be an objection. There 29 could only be a most proper alacrity, a most obliging compliance for public view; and smiles reined in and spirits dancing in private rapture" (P 242) . With this phrase Austen postulates an ideal dance: one which would not involve the critical commentary of onlookers or the satisfaction of stifling social regulations, but would serve only to please its two participants. Such a dance could never take place in a ballroom, nor even a drawing-room, where the presence of spectators would mar its perfection. Throughout the novel, in fact, Anne and Wentworth have never danced together, even though dancing with one another is an experience that almost all of Austen's other couples (with the notable exception of Edward and Elinor) are permitted to enjoy. If Anne and Wentworth are denied the pleasure of dancing together in reality, however, Austen grants them the far greater privilege, in keeping with their serious and introspective love-story, of dancing together in spirit. Having been cowed and silenced time and again by various external forces, Anne is finally able to assert her own wishes in spite of outside scrutiny in this intensely personal moment with Wentworth. From the beginning more sombre and subdued than an Elizabeth Bennet or an Emma Woodhouse, Anne finds her greatest satisfaction, not in open defiance, but in this quiet subversion of the public eye (which she has all along denied the pleasure of seeing her dance). Austen's exploration of voyeurism in this novel counterposes Anne's profoundly personal gaze to the intrusive and insensitive scrutiny of the eye of the world; here we see the same dichotomy Kelly identifies in La Chartreuse de Parme: "The world of the gaze in the novel...splits up between the paranoid, aggressive 30 gaze of the political order and the gaze of the other (usually female) counterposed to that order" (106) . ̂^ This split creates a sense of a female aware of her surroundings and her potential imperilment, and able to assert herself against these. There is a sense in which Anne's response to the eye of the world is ultimately the most satisfactory of anyone's: rather than either consenting to exhibit herself, or continuing to deny herself the pleasure of dance (and by extension any other "felicities of rapid motion" denied to the confirmed celibate-̂ )̂ Anne now simply internalises her dance, while preserving outwardly "a most obliging compliance for public view." Having at last obtained the male partner of her choice, she dances and is not watched -- a quiet victory befitting her status as Austen's most "serious" and introspective heroine. Perkins contends that "of the five novels. Persuasion is the least aggressive about fictionally remodeling its protagonists' gender" (5) , and it is certainly true that Anne nowhere exhibits the kind of "unfeminine" boldness for which Elizabeth Bennet is so famous (though she perhaps does possess a measure of the "masculine" intellect with which Perkins credits Elinor). With Anne, then, Austen would seem to be illustrating the possibility for a female to "work within the system" -- Anne is a "feminine" female who nonetheless is able to achieve her own aims and thereby to defy various repressive outside forces^® --a culmination evoked by Austen's proposal in dance imagery of a positive outcome for a female in constraining circumstances. 31 11. PERFORMANCE: Northancrer Abbey and Emma In these two novels one finds not the largely informal dances of Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility, but more elaborate events. In Northancrer Abbey in particular, dances are not spontaneous drawing-room revelries but large-scale public occasions. The primary issue involved in these dance scenes is the individual's relation to society, as figured through the performer-audience relationship at balls. Elsbree refers to the society of Austen's novels as a "play community": "The relationship of the individual to his society in her novels is his relationship to a play community, and his success depends upon how faithfully he follows the rules and how skilfully he performs, whether in dancing or marriage" (PPP 3 64). As the dancer conducts this performance, he/she is watched by "the community, itself a body of spectators" (PPP 3 68) . For both Catherine Morland and Emma Woodhouse, awareness of audience becomes a requisite feature of relation to a spectator society, as Austen illustrates the responses of the innocent and the experienced female, respectively, to a performative environment. All of the dancing in Northanqer Abbey occurs during the first section of the novel, at Bath, where there are five separate ballroom scenes (in addition to numerous brief references to dancing) . Bath is itself the most artificial and "stagey" of Austen's chosen settings, and Catherine Morland's experiences there chronicle her initiation into a society obsessed with performing; at each of the balls Catherine attends is revealed to her some new facet of social performance. She herself almost immediately becomes a participant in these events; more gradually developed are her 32 awareness of the nature of the "theatre" in which she is now appearing for the first time, and her ability to discern the fundamental insincerity beneath exteriors composed of the showy and artificial -- "the dangers lying in wait beneath the graceful, savage superficiality of the courtship dance" (Hertz 207). Austen uses Catherine's response to these discoveries as a metaphor for her development as a character. Simultaneously, Austen investigates the dilemma of the naive and powerless female in isolation: "The moral and physical coercion of powerless females which figures so predominantly in gothic fiction is here transposed to the daytime world of drawing room manners" (Johnson 37) -- a world including dance. Emma Woodhouse thrives in a performative setting. Although she attends only two dances in the course of the novel, her concern with performance is in evidence throughout. Emma is the most aware of Austen's heroines of her own social appearance, and is always calculating the effect she has on those around her. For this reason, the two dance scenes in Emma show her at her most assured. Having recognised the performative nature of her society and the need to put on a memorable show, Emma is able to exploit these factors for her own benefit. That this process should be "acted out" most overtly in an environment that is literally as well as figuratively a performance space shows Austen's full awareness of the ability of a socially experienced female to utilise these best of performance opportunities to her own advantage. This results in the author's perhaps clearest display of female power, and in addition further showcases Austen's use of balls and ballrooms as symbolic of their larger communal context. 33 NORTHANGER ABBEY We are informed early in Northanqer Abbey that by the time Catherine Morland was fifteen she had already begun to "long for balls"; thus the desire to dance and to attend dances has been a natural part of her maturation process. Even more importantly, this desire is explicitly linked to her improvement: "at fifteen, appearances were mending; she began to curl her hair and long for balls" (NA 3). As Catherine's appearance -- complexion, features, figure --is becoming more pleasing, she experiences a simultaneous desire to display these newly developed visible assets in public. In fact, Catherine's "longing for balls" is the only trait mentioned as part of her improvement which does not directly involve physical attributes. Catherine is growing into "normalcy," and not only is it fully expected that she will want to dance, but she herself has a new vision of her person as now fit to attend and to be seen at public spectacles. This is proof of the link between physical appearance and being in public: Austen's suggestion that a visually attractive woman wishes to be seen at dances complements the idea that a dancing woman "connotes to-be-looked-at-ness." Attending her first ball, Catherine is anxious to see all she can (similarly, Fanny Price at her debut is occupied with observing the nature of this new environment: "She must watch the general arrangements and see how everything was done" (MP 227) ) . With effort, she and Mrs Allen succeed in attaining a position from which "Miss Morland had a comprehensive view of the company beneath her" (NA 8). The "beneath," although evoking the spectators' physical elevation, is also suggestive figuratively: Catherine, although a neophyte, becomes simply by virtue of her ability to 34 watch the superior spectator, raised above the rank-and-file into a position of (ad)vantage. Austen here portrays the inherent weakness of the watched position in which Catherine will soon be. Catherine is.quickly disenchanted with her removed situation, however. All of the terms used to describe the other people -- "mob," "throng," "crowd" -- emphasise the disturbing mass anonymity of the "general public" attending the ball: Catherine began to feel something of disappointment -- she was tired of being continually pressed against by people, the generality of whose faces possessed nothing to interest, and with all of whom she was so wholly unacquainted, that she could not relieve the irksomeness of imprisonment by the exchange of a syllable with any of her fellow captives. (NA 8) Although in constant physical contact with the people around her, Catherine is mentally and emotionally isolated (not least of all from her mindless chaperone, who can only repeat endlessly the same vain and vapid sentiments until Catherine ceases to speak to her). Catherine's attendance at the ball has become "imprisonment": not only because she is physically walled in by bodies, but also because the social etiquette forbidding her to speak to a stranger immures her in silence and solitude. Although another instance of Austen's hyperbolically "Gothic" irony, the choice of imagery is unusual and striking: here as elsewhere (notably in Harriet Smith's need to be "rescued" by Mr Knightley) Austen shows a sensitivity to the plight of a lone female in a ballroom. The woman's inability to rectify this situation on her own is one of the most obvious examples of the way in which female disempowerment within the ballroom mirrors that outside, and while Austen never openly condemns this situation, she repeatedly presents it in an unpleasant light. 35 Catherine herself is as yet aware of little of this, and if her first ball is a disappointing experience, it is because she, unlike some other Austen heroines, is completely unhappy to be a spectator. Catherine is on the cusp of life; her healthy normalcy has been emphasised; she has neither previous social disgrace nor great personal insecurities to overcome. Like Lizzy, she is lively; like Fanny, she is innocent; like Marianne, she is ardent -- yet she differs from all these in a good-humoured naivete that has been alloyed neither by recognition of societal evils nor by over- consciousness of her own deficiencies. Catherine is among the most eager of Austen's characters to participate. Watching only makes her desire involvement ("It was a splendid sight...she longed to dance" (NA 8) ) . She is not a perspicacious spectator, and the sight of other people quickly becomes wearisome to her. Her greatest satisfaction in the whole experience of the dance comes at the end of the ball, when she is finally seen: She was looked at, however, and with some admiration; for, in her own hearing, two gentlemen pronounced her to be a pretty girl....she immediately thought the evening pleasanter than she had found it before -- her humble vanity was contented -- she...went to her chair in good humour with everybody, and perfectly satisfied with her share of public attention. (NA 10) This being looked at is a far greater reward to the essentially passive Catherine than all the looking she has done throughout the evening. Thus Catherine represents a fairly conservative female, content to accept and even embrace her status as watched object; her passivity is continually emphasised by Austen to this effect. Not until the third ballroom scene at Bath does Catherine become suddenly and forcefully aware of the negative side to the social eye, when Mr Thorpe's failure to appear compels her to sit 36 out as though unsolicited: ...as the real dignity of her situation could not be known, she was sharing with the scores of other young ladies still sitting down all the discredit of wanting a partner. To be disgraced in the eye of the world, to wear the appearance of infamy while her heart is all purity, her actions all innocence, and the misconduct of another the true source of her debasement, is one of those circumstances which peculiarly belong to the heroine's life....she suffered, but no murmur passed her lips. (NA 36) Jane Austen is clearly being ironic here, and "mocks the serious agony of being without a partner" (Adams 58). The author's ironic tone does not take away, however, from the situation's continuing to be felt by Catherine herself as a "serious agony." Not only does Catherine "suffer" under the disparaging scrutiny of the rest of the company, she is also "left to the mercy of Mrs Thorpe and Mrs Allen, between whom she now remained" -- against her will, she is relegated to the ranks of spectators and chaperones. ̂^ Once again, the emphasis on the extreme unpleasantness of sitting alone or being otherwise isolated or out of place shows the stigma of solitude in a social society, and the shame attached to being insufficiently "attractive" (for which misfortune Darcy will be so scornful toward Elizabeth). Catherine's situation is not improved when John Thorpe comes to claim her, as she quickly realises that the "engagement" she thought so favourable is also an entrapment with a partner she does not want: ...nor did the particulars which [Thorpe] entered into while they were standing up...interest her so much as to prevent her looking very often towards that part of the room where she had left Mr Tilney. Of her dear Isabella, to whom she longed to point out that gentleman, she could see nothing. They were in different sets. She was separated from all her party, and away from all her acquaintance. (NA 38) 37 Here Catherine again becomes cognizant of her state of isolation. Only her gaze signals her true focus and desire, and is an expression of her interior self in an extrinsically constraining atmosphere; the futility of this visual gesture is indicative of her true state of powerlessness. Recognition of this weakness in her position teaches Catherine a new aspect of ballroom interaction: to attract Tilney, she must avoid Thorpe altogether. In order to attain this end, she is forced both to limit her own power (as represented by her gaze or "seeing") and to resort to passive and surreptitious behaviours. Because she is denied the power of openly and actively refusing Thorpe (or at any rate, to refuse him would be to deny herself the opportunity of dancing at all), she must find devious and clandestine ways of avoiding him, all of which consist in freeing herself from the "gaze-net" and pretending neither to see nor to hear. The strategies Catherine is forced to adopt prove how impossible it is for a woman to be truly empowered in a ballroom setting -- how she is compelled even against her will to be passive. Catherine has a distinct desire and plan when she enters the ballroom, but cannot actively carry it out: She entered the rooms on Thursday evening with feelings very different....She had then been exulting in her engagement to Thorpe, and was now chiefly anxious to avoid his sight, lest he should engage her again; for though she could not, dared not expect that Mr Tilney should ask her a third time to dance, her wishes, hopes and plans all centred in nothing less....As soon as they were joined by the Thorpes, Catherine's agony began; she fidgetted about if John Thorpe came towards her, hid herself as much as possible from his view, and when he spoke to her pretended not to hear.... The others walked away, John Thorpe was still in view, and she gave herself up for lost. That she might not appear, however, to observe or expect him, she kept her eyes intently fixed on her fan.... (NA 54) 38 Thus although Catherine is clear, decisive, and focussed in her own intentions, she is compelled by ballroom etiquette to behave outwardly with an almost pathetic passivity belying her true state of mind. In order to avoid Thorpe, she "fidgets," "hides herself," "pretends" not to hear him, and finally, in a truly comical action, stares fixedly at her fan to avoid telegraphing unintentional messages to him with her eyes. The gaze appears here to have become a separate entity, virtually uncontrollable. Catherine is therefore at risk not only from Thorpe's gaze (from which she is "hiding herself"), but also from her own -- since it is in order to subdue the latter that she confines her eyes to her fan. A gaze -- especially a female one -- let loose in a room is obviously a peril even to its own wielder. Hiding herself, masking her intentions, and stifling her own power of seeing, Catherine appears so utterly powerless in this scene that there is no surprise when, after finally attaining her wish of dancing with Tilney, she regards his solicitation as a chance occurrence, and cannot even conceive of his having "sought her on purpose." With Catherine Morland, Austen presents the "unspoilt" female who has yet to learn to dissimulate. The various discomforts and dissatisfactions Catherine experiences within the highly performative setting of the ballroom are evidence of how this arena is not set up to favour straightforwardness or strength of will in women, demanding instead a series of artificial and superficial behaviours. Catherine's initial entry into ballrooms as an avid, active and assured young woman is offset by the fact that, like Fanny Price, she is never in control at dances or able decisively 39 to arrange her encounters.^" Like all women, she retains the "power of refusal" (NA 57), and does attempt to exercise it -- however, "in Austen's novels...women's power of refusal is severely compromised" (Johnson 36), and, as with Elizabeth Bennet's dilemma regarding Mr Collins (refusal of whom as dance partner disallows Elizabeth to continue dancing), Austen uses Catherine's situation to express a critical attitude toward the limitations of this feminine "power." Compounding these struggles are Catherine's encounters with constant social performances on the part of those around her; Isabella Thorpe, for instance, "is continually acting out a script" (Gibson 130) . Via Henry Tilney, however, Austen introduces to Catherine and to the reader an alternate vision of the dancing f emalê -̂ : Henry Tilney's famous dance-marriage speech is notable for proposing an "exclusivity of gazing," in which there will be no performance for outside eyes ("'He has no business to withdraw the attention of my partner from me....Nobody can fasten themselves on the notice of one, without injuring the rights of the other'" (NA 56). In addition, both Henry Tilney and the author juxtapose to the sham Isabella the modest and honest Miss Tilney; in contrast to the voyeuristic commonplace -- feared by men -- that women at a ball must "'want to please all who look at them'" (Kelly 202), Miss Tilney "seemed capable of being young, attractive, and at a ball without wanting to fix the attention of every man near her" (NA 38). Thus Catherine's "education" is utilised by Austen to introduce gradually an alternative to the performer-female model exemplified by Isabella and demanded and created by the ballroom society of Bath. 40 EMMA There are two dance scenes in Emma. The first is the party at the Coles' in Volume 2, Chapter 8, where a short informal dance follows the other festivities. Here Emma, taking to the dance floor, is quick to esteem Frank Churchill an apt partner: "she found herself well matched in a partner. They were a couple worth looking at" (E 207). There is a subtle ambiguity to Emma's reason for making this claim, which is illuminated by dividing the statement into two halves: A) She found herself well matched in a partner, B) They were a couple worth looking at. There are two possible interpretations of these halves as they appear together: 1) A --> B She found herself well matched in a partner [and therefore] they were a couple worth looking at. I.e., they are a couple worth looking at because Frank is a skilful dancer and well matched to Emma. 2) B --> A She found herself well matched in a partner [because] they were a couple worth looking at. I.e., they are a couple worth looking at, and therefore, because of their aesthetic value as a performative object, Emma considers herself to have been well matched. Either interpretation shows Emma's full cognizance of the relation between dancing and watching. Moreover, both prove that she is not only fully aware of this dynamic --as characters such as Marianne Dashwood and Fanny Price are not -- she is also able to exploit i t for her own benefit. Emma, in addition to being a performer (and one who is aware of her role) is the impresario of her own performance; her approval of Frank Churchill as a partner carries the sense of a director's self-congratulation for an apropos casting choice: Although Frank and Emma seem a perfectly matched pair, Frank's impetuosity in securing Emma's hand so quickly. 41 and in most likely being the anonymous person who suggested dancing in the first place, and Emma's concern with watching Mr. Knightley suggest that they are both posing, using each other to produce 'a couple worthy of looking at.' (Adams 60) Intent upon making the most memorable stage appearance possible, Emma primes herself for the opportunity, overseeing every theatrical detail. The only other female protagonist to rival her in this respect is Elizabeth Bennet, who prepares for the Netherfield Ball with the express aim of captivating Mr Wickham by her appearance and bearing. The difference between these two, however, is that while Lizzy wishes to conquer one man, Emma, already fatuously convinced that her male prey is secure, is bent upon conquering her audience. Able to manipulate public opinion, she not only acknowledges but embraces the opportunity to perform. Thus with this character Austen offers a female who unabashedly "possesses and enjoys power" (Johnson 125) and recognises the opportunities provided by public peformance. ̂^ Austen makes Emma's desire to control the performance space clear right from the beginning of the chapter describing the Coles' party, in Emma's initial reception of Mr Knightley. Due to the latter's having arrived "like a gentleman" (i.e, in his own carriage) , Emma declares, "Now I shall really be very happy to walk into the same room with you" (E 192) . Only when he conforms to protocol and reifies in appearance and action his elevated social status can Emma approve Mr Knightley as a fit escort for her "entrance." Of the other guests, she is especially pleased with Frank Churchill's behaviour toward her, as he shows "a cheerful eagerness, which marked her as his peculiar object" (E 192) . Marked her, that is, in the eye of the world. Emma would not be content 42 with his esteeming her privately: open display at these public occasions is far more gratifying to her, since it is not really Frank's regard but that of the community at large which she covets. Such regard, she believes, will be more readily attained with this public proof of her desirability gilding her public image. "Emma divined what every body present must be thinking. She was his object, and every body must perceive it" (E 198). Emma continually gauges the wishes of her spectators, what would most impress them, and acts accordingly. The paramount importance of impressing an audience is further augmented by her running interpretation of the success of her performance. If Austen has previously shown a sensitivity to the way in which the spectatorial eye victimises the dancing female, she takes fictional revenge here by portraying a female who regards this situation as desirable rather than daunting and who makes an art of pleasing the public: "Enma recuperates a world Austen savages in novels such as Mansfield Park and Northanger Abbey in order to explore what was precluded in those novels, the place such a world can afford to women with authority..." (Johnson 127). Emma gains her power from an ability to anticipate and enact what will be most gratifying to the eye of the world. Emma's constant deference to the public eye constitutes a primary difference between Austen's "strong" heroines: Elizabeth Bennet is prepared to flout public opinion and defy the eye of the world (a recklessness she has to be talked out of by Charlotte Lucas at the Netherfield Ball), and by her willingness to "confuse rank" and openly favour Mr Wickham is even guilty of the same sentiment Emma criticises in Frank Churchill as "inelegance of 43 mind" (E 178) (when he argues for the revival of dancing at the Crown Inn without crediting Emma's caveat about "the want of proper families"). Emma herself, on the other hand, is ever-conscious of social mores and modes, and asserts her independence, not by defying these, but by upholding them and demonstrating how much better at them she is than others: "She herself obeys the conventional rules to the letter, but she does so only because she wishes to appear ladylike and elegant to herself and others" (Nardin 114) . Austen presents Emma as the consummate performer, one who has internalised the need to "appear" well under public scrutiny to such a degree that the wish is no longer separable from her own character, nor identifiable as an extrinsically generated desire. If such a presentation can be read as an exaltation of the female daring enough to take advantage of a potentially victimising situation, it is also Austen's incisive, hyperbolic, and perhaps even ironic vision of the female as society demands that she be: ever-aware of scrutiny, constantly on show, moulded by external forces into the apex of performative excellence. The response of the eye of the world is aired during the scene at the Bates' in Volume 2, Chapter 10. Miss Bates, speaking for popular opinion, observes to Mr Knightley, "Did you ever see such dancing? Was not it delightful? Miss Woodhouse and Frank Churchill; I never saw anything equal to it" (E 220). Miss Bates vocalises the reaction Emma is already sure of having inspired, proving Emma quite correct in her appraisal of the aesthetic value of partnership with Frank: the public is duly impressed and esteems her all the higher for her fine dancing. Mr Knightley, however, is a dissonant voice, refusing to concur except ironically. Holding 44 himself aloof from the performance-play enables him (and Jane Austen through him) to comment satirically upon the workings of this social "game": "Oh, very delightful, indeed! I can say nothing less, for I suppose Miss Woodhouse and Mr Frank Churchill are hearing everything that passes. And" (raising his voice still more) "I do not see why Miss Fairfax should not be mentioned too. I think Miss Fairfax dances very well; and Mrs Weston is the very best country-dance player, without exception, in England. Now, if your friends have any gratitude, they will say something pretty loud about you and me in return; but I cannot stay to hear it." (E 220) This passage is a comment simultaneously on the gossip engendered by dances, on the learning of others' opinions by overhearing, and on social hyperbole, all of which play a role in the formulation of the public text which is the response to public performance. Mr Knightley mocks the "incurable habits of flattery and deception" (Kirkham 128) of those around him, and is virtually the only character able to see past Emma's performance. The fact that "the novelist grants Knightley authority to read the human character -- authority that is nearly equal to her own" (N. Armstrong 152) argues for his having even more claim than Henry Tilney to be deemed in some measure an "authorial surrogate" (see note 21) ; neither Knightley nor Austen herself will allow Emma's performance unalloyed praise. The second dance event in Emma is the ball at the Crown, which finally occurs -- after many debates and delays -- in the second chapter of Volume 3. Emma, already contemplating this event in Volume 2, Chapter 11, is quick to identify her motivation for wishing it to take place: "But still she had inclination enough for shewing people again how delightfully Mr Frank Churchill and Miss 45 Woodhouse danced" (E 222) . The Crown ball will be a prime performance opportunity for her; the pleasure of dancing, admitted by her to be an additional incentive, takes a decided second place to the pleasure of exhibiting. Far from privileging her own private enjoyment, Emma most anticipates the gratification others will receive from the spectacle of the two most eligible young people in the community enjoying the "felicities of rapid motion" together, aware that her own stature in the public eye can only be raised by the visual delight she will present; again Austen emphasises Emma's mastery over the nuances of public appearance and performance. Mr Knightley, in contrast, responds to the prospect of a ball with stubborn taciturnity, and protests vehemently against the idea of watching dancing. The spectatorial aspect to balls in particular draws the most negative response from him as he denies all complicity in the voyeurist scenario: "Pleasure in seeing dancing! Not I, indeed -- I never look at it -- I do not know who does. Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward. Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very different" (E 231) . Mr Knightley here sounds something like Mr Tilney, and takes on a similar role: both are aware that the women they are in love with are the objects of other gazes and intentions, and therefore try to suggest to these women an alternate dance-image, in which spectatorship does not figure so prominently. Tilney does this by calling on Catherine to behave with "fidelity and complaisance" to her partner; Knightley draws a similar analogy between "fine dancing" and virtuous behaviour. The presence of this "opposition" suggests that the author herself recognises the need for balance in the performative zone. 46 Emma's privileged and empowered status at the ball is emphasised by Austen via a contrast with Harriet Smith. Unlike Emma, Harriet enters the ballroom in a state of vulnerability. Dependent, without fortune, and of dubious ancestry, she is at the mercy of the assembly in a way that her confident, wealthy, socially esteemed "sponsor" is not. This vulnerability becomes evident in the altercation between Harriet, Mrs Weston, and the Eltons, which culminates in Mr Elton's "snubbing" Harriet and leaving her without a partner. (The scene in its entirety is witnessed by Emma, who not only overhears Mr Elton's remarks but "perceives" his wife "encouraging him by significant glances" (E 2 94); the gaze pattern which develops around these characters, as so often, originates with the solitary, passive watched female (see page 57) . Being left alone in a ballroom, especially for a character who is already socially vulnerable due to her lack of family, status, and financial stability, is always a perilous situation, and there is a sense in this scene that Harriet is being actively menaced by Mr Elton's refusal to dance with her. In contrast to this position, Emma's own security and strength are clear. Emma's assurance is further displayed before her dance with Mr Knightley, which comes about through an unusual verbal exchange: "Whom are you going to dance with?" asked Mr Knightley. She hesitated a moment and then replied, "With you, if you will ask me." "Will you?" said he, offering his hand. "Indeed I will. You have shown that you can dance...." (E 298) The form of this "proposal" reveals a new dimension to the usual male-initiated overture. Assuming a familiarity few other Austen 47 females would dare, Emma has already proposed Knightley as a partner before he asks her, and thus virtually shares the initiative in taking the couple to the dance floor. In addition, her reasoning ("You have shown that you can dance") places her clearly in a position that is not only spectatorial but also "evaluative": she has observed Mr Knightley dancing and appraised his social performance, and can now condone him as an appropriate partner. The uniquely "forward" manner of Emma's behaviour with a man suggests that Austen did intend her portrayal to be one of female power -- power that is not "feminine," since Emma comes closer to usurping the male role of forthright "solicitor" than to conforming to coy female delicacy. Once again, ballroom tendencies are used by Austen to reflect and reaffirm those outside: Emma's display of dominance in her "choice" of Knightley as dance partner foretells both her success in gaining him as a husband, and his cession of power to her by moving into her house (Johnson 143). Whether or not Austen intended to present Emma the performer as a positive authority figure or as a foolish and ostentatious female with something to learn from the older, wiser, detached man, may not be conclusively determinable from the text.^^ What is clearer is that Austen uses Emma's behaviour at dances to show a female who is in command of her surroundings and of the public text while at the same time the author continues to comment ironically on performative "games" through Mr Knightley. The ideal reconciliation of these two is a situation wherein "male and female echo one another in a mutually authorizing relationship" (N. Armstrong 151) -- not unlike the evenly balanced country dance 48 itself. In a gesture that is both radical and conciliatory, Austen proposes a state of shared initiative: just as Emma and Knightley confer and agree on their dance together, so Austen displays with their union both a recognition of female performative power, and a consciousness that it must be tempered. "Emma is an authority figure responsive to the morally corrective influence of public opinion" (Johnson 130); thus one interpretation of Austen's portrayal is that Emma's very performative prowess, the awareness of audience she demonstrates clearly at dances, is intended to convey this character's willingness to improve herself and so to surpass the vanity of performing in becoming a social example. 49 III. PUBLIC TEXT: Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park Between the voyeurs and the performers at an Austenian ball subsists a tenuous pattern of interaction; public action produces public reaction, with a general interpretation given to each act. In Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park, where dances are large and significant social events, Austen's writing illuminates this public-text-creating process. The relation of dancers to watchers is emphasised, and a series of influential overhearings and conjectures reveals new dimensions to the ever-current public text and its effects on the women it judges. In Pride and Prejudice, as in Sense and Sensibility, Austen uses dance partly to illuminate a contrast between sisters, one acquiescent and one insurgent when faced with the formal occasion of dance. ̂* That we should be invited to perceive such differences partly through the medium of the dance points to the analytic progression from dance-performance to basic character which is made by the public eye: "...'reading' or rereading of behaviour and character becomes a theme within the novel" (Fergus 83), and ballroom dances are a prime opportunity for these readings to be taken. More important than the differences between females, however, are their similarities on the dance floor. The negative aspect of public judgment predominates in this novel, where one of Austen's "preoccupations" is "women's marginality within society" (Fergus 82) ; through the situation of her female characters at dances, Austen explores the powerful and potentially harmful effects of the external gaze on women, while acknowledging the mitigating effect of an alert female gaze in response. In Mansfield Park, dance is about public declaration. Those 50 who watch dancers expect and intend to find couples; Sir Thomas expressly utilises the dance to make a show of Fanny's eligible status, and "Mansfield Park is the most explicit about the dance as a ritual which celebrates a girl's desirability and marriageability" (Elsbree, DFC 122). Fanny's relationship to dance is a particularly tenuous one, fraught with all the insecurities and uncertainties bred by her growing consciousness of personal helplessness. Her powerlessness in "real life" is mirrored by her sense of her own objectification within the ballroom. The public and the domestic gazes merge to become an actively threatening force in Mansfield Park; Austen uses the introverted Fanny to display the effect concerted watching may have on the psyche. The dance in this novel represents in many ways the worst tendencies and intentions of a "marriage-market" society toward a disempowered female. PRIDE AND PREJUDICE Dance, which plays a relatively large role in Pride and Prejudice, is introduced into the novel with the assembly ball in Volume 1, Chapter 3. This scene contains Elizabeth's famous first encounter with Darcy: "turning round, he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own" (PP 59) . Darcy's behaviour in this fleeting moment is significant. He has been coaxed by his friend Bingley -- via many appeals to the eye -- into deigning to bestow a glance on Elizabeth; what he cannot countenance, however, is that she should return his gaze. This is because in such a situation, the one-way becomes two-way, and voyeurism is superseded. Voyeurism implies a one-way gaze, a one- 51 way exercise of power; there is a dominant and a submissive, a watcher and a watched. The moment the watched object gains awareness , of this disempowering gaze, however, the situation is transformed: "The voyeur's sense of power often depends upon invisibility and anonymity. Thus, to openly acknowledge the gaze of the viewer may be more disruptive than to ignore it" (Copeland 144) . Darcy is willing to take up a voyeuristic stance toward Elizabeth as a "viewable" female; not permissible is for her to reverse the process. Nancy Armstrong refers to a similar encounter in Wutherinq Heights, when Lockwood meets the young Cathy and is disconcerted by her eyes on him: "The woman does not behave like the docile object of the gaze, but returns the gaze in a manner... that displays the presence of subjectivity. Her eyes violate his aesthetically grounded notion of desire as they become the sign of an active female self" (196) (see also note 5) . Thus Darcy, having come to the dance solely to survey, is disconcerted by this proof of female subjectivity and by Elizabeth's having taken on a "masculine" forthrightness of action. Darcy himself justifies his reaction with his subsequent statement: "'She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men'" (PP 59) . Darcy here declares openly that not only the unattractiveness of Elizabeth's appearance in his own eyes dissuades him, but also the assumption that her appearance has displeased others, resulting in her inability to "attract" a partner. Thus Elizabeth's stature in the social gaze, the eye of the world, tempers her appearance in Darcy's, and the individual gaze is effectively coopted into the greater and more 52 powerful social one. The most important dance event in Pride and Prejudice is the Netherfield ball. The build-up to it begins in Volume 1, Chapter 17 and the ball itself occupies all of Chapter 18. Near the end of Chapter 17, Austen describes the Bennet family anticipating the various pleasures they are to receive from the ball: Jane looks forward to the "attentions" of Mr Bingley, and Elizabeth the pleasure of "seeing a confirmation of every thing in Mr Darcy's looks and behaviour" (PP 129) . Jane, then, anticipates being watched, while Lizzy anticipates watching -- a fitting comment on their respective levels of passivity. Elizabeth, bolder than her sister and in many ways less correctly "feminine," is not afraid to level her gaze at Mr Darcy in order to find out the truth, reversing the "traditional voyeurist scenario" as described by Kelly ("men spy on desired women in order to learn their truths" (Kelly 192)) .̂^ In addition, her intentions introduce the idea that the truth can be gained from observation -- an idea which will recur, to much more detrimental effect, in Darcy. In contrast to the bold Elizabeth, Charlotte Lucas is the voice of social prudence and feminine orthodoxy at the Netherfield ball; recognising Elizabeth's rebellious intentions, she counsels her friend against disregarding the power and presence of the eye of the world, advising Elizabeth not to "allow her fancy for Wickham to make her appear unpleasant in the eyes of a man of ten times his consequence" (PP 133). Charlotte is fully aware of the watching dynamic prevailing at dances; she is also able to read the public text, and knows the importance of Elizabeth's continuing to be visually "attractive." This means not only looking, but acting 53 appropriately. Social dances may be the only times Darcy sees Elizabeth, and therefore all his subsequent judgments will be in light of her conduct there. Elizabeth, careful as she is with her dress, is nonetheless attempting to flout convention by being careless of her greater social "appearance." In spite of this rebelliousness, Elizabeth does evince her own consciousness of the public text during her dance with Darcy. As soon as she stands up with him she is instantly aware of the general surpise, "reading in her neighbours' looks their equal amazement in beholding it" (PP 133). The reading metaphor is one that will recur in Austen with regard to the public text: Elizabeth is able to translate this text because it is made visibly manifest in the expressions of her neighbours. She has no doubt as to what their reaction signifies, because the public text is a relatively unambiguous "document." One act elicits one uniform response; each public act has its corresponding public meaning, and these acts and meanings are read visually. In some cases, as here, the chain of visual judgments and apprehensions is self-reflexive (Elizabeth watches others watching her); Elizabeth's ability to watch and analyse the social eye even as it is watching her is the factor which ameliorates her situation. If Elizabeth is the aware and watching female, Jane Bennet is the unaware and watched. Via Sir William Lucas' address to Elizabeth and Darcy as they are dancing, Austen introduces the devastating effect which the eye of the world can have on such females as Jane represents. In Sir William's words we see the rapidity with which the eye of the world draws its conclusions -- and the way in which it may not only be mistaken in these 54 judgments, but have a tangible and negative impact on the lives of those it observes: "Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza, (glancing at her sister and Bingley,) shall take place....but let me not interrupt you. Sir. -- You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are also upbraiding me." The latter part of this address was scarcely heard by Darcy; but Sir William's allusion to his friend seemed to strike him forcibly, and his eyes were directed with a very serious expression towards Bingley and Jane, who were dancing together. (PP 135) Austen shows us here the enormous influence wielded by a single glance. We are told that Sir William's "allusion" to Bingley is what strikes Darcy with such force -- yet Sir William does not ever mention Bingley by name. The allusion, then, is not a verbal but a visual one. Sir William's very visible glance awakens in Darcy's consciousness the knowledge of what may be transpiring between Bingley and Jane. Without the look, the words "a certain desirable event" would be no sure reference to Bingley; the "allusion," as such, is provided by the glance. Here we have clear proof of the way in which the pattern of gazes actually comes to constitute a visually decipherable text: looks are read and interpreted, and even have the power to dislodge or to redirect other gazes. What can be interpreted can equally well be misinterpreted, however (if Elizabeth's eyes are indeed "upbraiding" Sir William, it is for his indelicacy regarding Jane, and not for his interruption of her own converse with Darcy), and this is one of the ways in which the eye of the world ceases to be a benignly watching organ and becomes an active threat to the female objects of its insistent visual inquiry. 55 Elizabeth has cause to recognise this situation when, having ceased to dance, she retreats to the office of watcher. Her silent train of observations extends over several pages; during this time, she both "reads" the behaviour of those around her while they are watching, and employs a mute language of glances in an attempt to communicate with her family and forestall their imminent humiliation in the public eye: Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation. She could not help frequently glancing her eye at Mr Darcy, though every glance convinced her of what she dreaded; for though he was not always looking at her mother, she was convinced that his attention was invariably fixed by her. The expression of his face changed gradually from indignant contempt to a composed and steady gravity. At length however Mrs Bennet had no more to say. . . .Elizabeth now began to revive. But not long was the interval of tranquillity;... singing was talked of, and she had the mortification of seeing Mary, after very little entreaty, preparing to oblige the company. By many significant looks and silent entreaties, did she endeavour to prevent such a proof of complaisance, -- but in vain; Mary would not understand them; such an opportunity of exhibiting was delightful to her.... Elizabeth's eyes were fixed on her with most painful sensations; and she watched her progress through the several stanzas.... Elizabeth was in agonies. She looked at Jane, to see how she bore it; but Jane was very composedly talking to Bingley. She looked at his two sisters, and saw them making signs of derision at each other, and at Darcy, who continued however impenetrably grave. She looked at her father to entreat his interference....He took the hint.... (PP 141) This is hardly the fearless Elizabeth we habitually envision: instead, Austen presents her heroine in a state of complete vulnerability. The effect of this placement is to provoke a realisation that even the most powerful of females cannot escape subjection to the power of the external gaze. Out of Elizabeth's desperate series of visual appeals to those around her, she manages to communicate only with her father. She is alone, however, in 56 witnessing the import of the entire scene, and suffers acutely from her observations. Elizabeth is reminiscent in this spectatorial guise of Elinor Dashwood or Anne Elliot -- females of perceptive mind who take with them to the role of spectator all the discrimination which they possess in life. Elizabeth's observations are painfully accurate; her gaze is less successful, however, in communicating her desires or influencing her family by non-verbal means, and her awareness thus serves only to frustrate and humiliate her the more: To Elizabeth it appeared, that had her family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit, or finer success; and happy did she think it for Bingley and her sister that some of the exhibition had escaped his notice, and that his feelings were not of a sort to be much distressed by the folly which he must have witnessed. That his two sisters and Mr Darcy, however, should have had such an opportunity of ridiculincr her relations was bad enough.... (PP 143) Austen deliberately uses performative language to convey the fact that all this takes place within a public setting, a "theatre" of social appraisal. Elizabeth is left to regard her family's behaviour as an unfortunate performance, with herself, Darcy, and the Bingley sisters as the unimpressed spectators.^^ All further instances of dancing in Pride and Prejudice are recollections of or comments on the Netherfield ball. These include the references made in Darcy's letter to Elizabeth, where he mentions several details significant to our understanding of the function of balls and to the vulnerable position in which females attending them are placed. That Darcy draws such important and influential conclusions about Jane Bennet from a single dance gives evidence of the importance of balls, not only as places where young 57 men and women may have contact with and "evaluate" each other, but also as the locus for other members of the community to form their own judgments of potential relationships -- and thereafter to encourage or to thwart them. The ball provides the occasion for a reading of the public text to be taken; Darcy, preferring the role of spectator at dances, is one of the readiest interpreters of the public text, and does not hesitate to use the information he gathers against a female victim. He writes: "At that ball, while I had the honour of dancing with you, I was first made acquainted, by Sir William Lucas's accidental information, that Binqley's attentions to your sister had qiven rise to a general expectation of their marriage" (PP 227). This is the operation of the eye of the world as it acts to validate the visually received public text. Suppositions become truths because everyone has seen and believed the visual evidence. The import of the public text is absorbed indirectly or haphazardly, following a chance chain of events. The initial transactions in this chain -- which originates from Jane as an attractive watchable object -- are purely visual, not verbal: Bingley pays assiduous attention to Jane Bennet; the eye of the world watches him watching her. From this point on, however, the visual evidence is converted into verbal communication (albeit indirectly received). Thus the movement of information can more accurately be seen to proceed in two different directions, one visual (Jane Bennet <-- Bingley <-- eye of the world) and one verbal (eye of the world --> Sir William --> Darcy). When the two are taken together, we can see that all the actions, while originating in Jane's attractiveness (her "to-be-looked-at-ness"), radiate outward from the responses of the eye of the world. This 58 "entity" is the crux of the entire public text apparatus; it is the watcher and the informant. Without the eye of the world there would be only private actions and reactions, and no public text of any kind. (Again Austen highlights the contrast between the private interactions of individuals and the community's wish to see the "courtship game" being played -- see note 10) . At publicly attended venues like dances, however, the public eye is virtually unrestricted in its operations, and thus the "attentions" of Bingley to Jane -- during the course of which no intent regarding marriage is ever verbalised -- are transmuted via the collective gaze and voice of the community into "a general expectation of their marriage" that marks this dubious possibility "as a certain event." Darcy, holding himself somewhat removed from the gossip of the commonalty, is made privy to these communally drawn conclusions only by the "accidental information" provided by Sir William Lucas. This chance communication is instrumental in redirecting the full force of Darcy's gaze onto Bingley and Jane: From that moment I observed my friend's behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bingley was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. -- Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening's scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them. (PP 228) The phrase "the evening's scrutiny" suggests that Darcy spends a good portion of the ball observing Jane Bennet. This evidence in turn points to the most significant feature of Darcy's speech: the idea that observation may actually lead, without any sort of verbal confirmation, to knowledge. Darcy does not merely have notions and 59 suppositions -- he is "convinced from the evening's scrutiny." Twice more in his letter he uses this term: I shall not scruple to assert, that the serenity of your sister's countenance and air was such, as might have given the most acute observer, a conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart was not likely to be easily touched....! will venture to say that my investigations and decisions are not usually influenced by my hopes or fears. -- I did not believe her indifferent because I wished it; -- I believed it on impartial conviction. (PP 228) Even having confessed his own bias in this particular case, Darcy nonetheless insists that his silent and solitary observations alone are enough to have produced in him the complete certainty that he is correct about Jane. Although he is in fact incorrect, as Elizabeth's greater knowledge of her sister's feelings proves, he does not hesitate to act on what he calls his "impartial conviction." Having followed a series of unreliable cues (the opinion of the voyeuristic eye of the world, voiced via the gossip- mongering Sir William, as it is accidentally ascertained by Darcy), Darcy observes Jane with his friend for a single evening and then takes the actions which will be so detrimental to Jane's happiness. Precisely because the external judgments which take place at dances are so swift and their consequences so damaging, the visible female must be constantly on guard against foreign intrusion, and avoid providing any cause for censure. This necessity becomes painfully but belatedly evident to Elizabeth as Mr Darcy's criticisms of the Bennets' social conduct bring her to a full realisation of her own family's complicity in aggravating the ruthlessness of the external gaze against herself and Jane: ...the circumstances to which he particularly alluded, as having passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first disapprobation, could not have 60 made a stronger impression on his mind than on hers. The compliment to herself and her sister, was not unfelt. It soothed, but it could not console her for the contempt which had been thus self-attracted by the rest of her family; -- and as she considered that Jane's disappointment had in fact been the work of her nearest relations, and reflected how materially the credit of both must be hurt by such impropriety of conduct, she felt depressed beyond any thing she had ever known before. (PP 237) This discovery of Elizabeth's is a clear example of how victimising to the "unprotected" female (Jane, Elizabeth, Harriet Smith, and all others not protected by the mantle of independent wealth, status, et cetera) are the operations of the public eye, the public voice, and the public text. With the dances in Pride and Prejudice Austen intends to expose the way in which a female's stature in the social gaze influences her marriage (and hence life) prospects. To this end, Austen uses Elizabeth and Jane Bennet much as she used Elinor and Marianne Dashwood -- to dramatise different aspects of and responses to the same situation. The differences between Elizabeth and Jane are by no means so striking, however, and an examination of the two at dances produces a surprisingly similar picture of females under threat. The substantial difference here is Elizabeth's awareness of her circumstances -- yet even this, as we see, does little more than make her suffer. This unusual aspect of a character generally imagined as Austen's strongest, brightest, and most empowered shows how deeply ingrained in Austen's own consciousness was an awareness of the public gaze as a power to be reckoned with. This novel demonstrates that ballrooms are the location where Austen's heroines must take the greatest care to 61 ensure that no infraction of the unwritten dogma of the public text will bring down on them an external judgment possessing the power irreparably to sully their reputations and blight their prospects. MANSFIELD PARK The central dance event in Mansfield Park -- as well as one of the most important in Austen's fiction -- is Fanny's "coming-out" ball, in Volume 2, Chapter 10. If Marianne Dashwood's dancing allows her to be the object of one man's voyeurism, Fanny Price's at her "debut" will invite a much wider scrutiny. Through the end of Chapter 7 and beginning of Chapter 8 in the second volume of Mansfield Park, where this ball is first introduced, Austen provides clear evidence of the voyeuristic motives of those who hold and/or attend dances, and of the objectified position in which this places the watched female dancer. This section could logically be re-entitled "Seeing Fanny Dance," since it contains no fewer than ten variations on this phrase, all spoken by male characters who hold influence over Fanny: 1. "'I should like to go to a ball with you and see you dance'" (William) (MP 207) 2. "'I should like to see you dance'" (same) 3. "'I have never seen Fanny dance since...'" (Sir Thomas) (MP 208) 4. "'when we do see her, which perhaps we may have an opportunity of doing ere long'" (same) 5. "'I have had the pleasure of seeing your sister dance' " (Henry Crawford) (MP 208) 6. "he had once seen Fanny dance" (narrator/Henry) (MP 208) 62 7. "he passed... for an admirer of her dancincr" (same) 8. "William's desire of seeing Fanny dance" (narrator/ William) (MP 209) 9. "to gratify anybody else who might wish to see Fanny dance" (narrator/Sir Thomas) (MP 209) 10. "'It would give me great pleasure to see you both dance'" (Sir Thomas) (MP 209) The cumulative effect of all these references to seeing Fanny dance is that she, like Mulvey's film heroines, comes in her watched state virtually to "connote to-be-looked-at-ness." Having been entirely objectified, she almost ceases to exist as an autonomous individual; her only actions throughout the two-page discussion are to feel "dismay," to "not know which way to look," and to "look distressed." One is not surprised to find that the retiring Fanny experiences only dismay and distress as she is talked over by three of the four males who hold most sway over her life.^^ That she should be so entirely unconsulted on a matter which is purportedly about and for her is already proof of her objectification; but that the purpose behind the giving of the ball should be, not to allow Fanny to dance, but to allow her to be seen dancing, is perhaps the clearest instance in Austen of how the dance functions to further the watcher-watched dichotomy prevailing in this society and most intimidating for the powerless and voiceless female on display. Even the supposedly beneficent William is not exempt from collaboration here -- indeed, the unpleasantness of Fanny's situation is compounded by the fact that there is not a single character of all those surrounding her whose motives are entirely clear or who does not in some way threaten her. Chapter 8 begins 63 with the phrase "William's desire of seeing Fanny dance," and this driving male force propels forward the plans for the ball which is to be a virtual "showcase" of his sister. We are told that this desire is an "amiable" feeling on William's part (an ambiguous word in Austen, often used to whitewash other feelings), but it is Sir Thomas who says so. His motives in pursuing the idea of the ball are even more questionable than William's, since he extends his wish to "gratify" Fanny's brother to a wish to "gratify anybody else who might wish to see Fanny dance, and to give pleasure to the young people" (MP 209). This intention is an even clearer instance of the "pandering" evident in Sir John's behaviour in Sense and Sensibility. Fanny's nubility and eligibility are to be displayed openly by her male guardian, with or without her consent, and a host of onlookers to be "gratified" by the vicarious enjoyment of her charms. According to the practice of "coming out," Fanny is now viewed as "making her first appearance"; the sense that she has never been . seen before (whereas in fact she has technically already attended her first ball in Volume 1, Chapter 12) is due to the fact that she is now appearing as an available female and an economically advantageous match, her display as such sanctioned by her male guardian and "exhibitor." She herself, although anxious about public scrutiny, has little awareness of the all-important mercenary aspect to her debut: Miss Price had not been brought up to the trade of coming out; and had she known in what light this ball was in general considered respecting her, it would very much have lessened her comfort by increasing the fears she already had, of doing wrong and being looked at. (MP 220) 64 The word "trade" is crucial here, especially considering Sir Thomas' occupations outside the home. Having returned from his business dealings in Antigua (a volatile and much commented upon subtext^^), he transfers his mercantile, acquisitive influence and approach to the domestic sphere, with Fanny as one more valuable cargo to be exhibited and exported.^', In contrast to Sir Thomas' plan of making clear to all the readers of the public text the availability or "marketability" of his niece, she herself is entertaining Anne Elliot-esque hopes of being able to participate "without much observation" (MP 221). Unlike Anne, however, Fanny is completely unable to realise this ambition. Both she and Anne are quiet and passive, yet Anne is able to determine her own actions where Fanny is at the mercy of those who decide for her. Anne has removed herself from the performative arena --at the cost of renouncing participation in social events - - whereas Fanny is continually thrust into it by other hands. Fanny's inability to make any autonomous decisions regarding the ball -- or to feel confident in those she does make -- causes her repeated feelings of unhappiness and unease. Although as retiring in character as Elinor Dashwood or Anne Elliot (in some sense more so, since Fanny's desire for invisibility is a consequence of her own nature rather than of a disappointment in love), she is enabled neither by personality nor position decisively to background herself as they do, and instead is pushed inexorably forward into a position of greater and greater social visibility. The two pages detailing the arrival of guests and commencement of the ball are written almost entirely without dialogue; instead, Austen gives a description of Fanny's mobile gaze, as once again 65 Fanny becomes the focal point of a "net" of surrounding males. Called upon to greet the arriving guests, Fanny cannot perform this fearsome task "without looking at William, as he walked about at his ease in the back ground of the scene, and longing to be with him" (MP 226). As the female on display, she is not permitted the freedom of her male counterpart, and her gaze surreptitiously and fruitlessly expresses her regret that this is so. As with Catherine Morland's gaze during her dance with Thorpe or Elizabeth Bennet's toward the misdemeanours of her family, Austen uses the futile and "unreceived" female gaze to symbolise the helplessness and isolation of its wielder. The culmination of the conflict of interest between Fanny and Sir Thomas will be the revelation of his plan that she open the ball. This communication is never made straightforwardly to her, and even at the ball is put in such a way that at first she cannot credit its truth. So distressed is she by the idea that she is even momentarily empowered to challenge Sir Thomas -- the only time until Henry Crawford's proposal that she does so. The aims of Fanny and her uncle are utterly at odds here: she wishes "to dance without much observation"; her uncle wishes to ensure that she is observed by everyone.^" Austen makes clear Fanny's extreme powerlessness in this situation -- there is never a question of whose will is to prevail. The moment Fanny begins to dance before the assembly, the public text coalesces around her out of the usual blend of visual cues, established prestige, and hearsay. The result of the spectatorial inquiry is approbative: "She was attractive, she was modest, she was Sir Thomas's niece, and she was soon said to be admired by Mr Crawford. It was enough to give her general favour" (MP 228). In two sentences, Austen conveys the rapidity with which the public text is formulated, the materials of its construction, and the voyeuristic pleasure which is taken in its reception. Among those so gratified, one of the keenest and most voyeuristically and vicariously satisfied observers of Fanny's dancing is her uncle: "Sir Thomas himself was watching her progress down the dance with much complacency." Austen's image evokes Fanny's uncle as a kind of "Pygmalion," supremely pleased with his own creation. This comparison is apt as well because Sir Thomas' intentions and inclinations shape and govern this ball, and he has predetermined the public reception which will be afforded to every spectacle offered up. Thus, if Fanny's dance with Henry is intended by her uncle to show the assembled company that the two may make a match, her dance with Edmund is intended to show that these two will not: "they went down their two dances together with such sober tranquillity as might satisfy any looker-on, that Sir Thomas had been bringing up no wife for his younger son" (MP 230). Sir Thomas' will dominates every significant event in the ballroom, proving him a master manipulator of a public text Fanny has barely even begun to fathom, and yet at whose mercy she will continue to be. Jacqueline Reid-Walsh investigates the response of several Austen heroines to the "pressure of the societal gaze on their conduct," and notes that this pressure is particularly heavily felt by Fanny: She is the focus of everyone's gaze for different reasons.... Sir Thomas's benign but evaluative gaze represents the power he wields over Fanny. Sir Thomas's generalized approval of Fanny's assets as an attractive young woman is paralleled by the very specific, admiring 67 gaze of Fanny's potential suitor, Henry Crawford. There is a sense that everything Fanny does is watched with almost microscopic attention. (118) Reid-Walsh here identifies the real nature of Fanny's position: she is not only a debutante at her first official ball, enduring "the critical regard of her contemporaries and their parents" (Wood, SHD 145), but also a trapped and owned object, pinned like a microscopic specimen beneath the powerful and imprisoning gazes of those -- primarily male -- who control her and her destiny. The nature of the dance no less than of Fanny's position in her family allows male figures to determine all of her actions within the ballroom. This patriarchal control is further emphasised when, as Reid- Walsh notes. Sir Thomas "makes a spectacle" of sending Fanny to bed. The fact that Sir Thomas would include this action as part of his "show" proves that he means not only to display Fanny's docility and tractability, but simultaneously to make an exhibit of his own power. Reid-Walsh opines that by sending Fanny to bed, Sir Thomas may be "preventing further obvious attentions by Henry Crawford, or showing to Henry by her biddable behaviour that he 'might mean to recommend her as a wife by showing her persuadableness'" (123). Either way. Sir Thomas' action is evidence of his intention to retain sole control over the acts of showing and seeing within the ballroom. Having allowed Henry and the others to see Fanny dance ("gratified" them, as he himself views it), he now concludes the spectacle by removing her from their gaze. Fanny becomes the quintessential displayed object, titillatingly offered and withdrawn at will, and her participation in the dance is used by Sir Thomas to make a display of his own beneficence (in raising 68 her) , prestige (in offering her on the market) , and power (in removing her when he sees fit). Fanny's powerlessness and lack of autonomy as a character, signalled right from the beginning of the novel in her being denied her own family or place of abode, are clearly expressed by Austen through Fanny's troubled relationship with the dance. At Fanny's very first ball, she shows an unwillingness to remain among the gossiping spectators; this suggests an incipient consciousness that she herself will be similarly observed and critiqued: The feeling of shame...is based on what we believe others to think of us: it is our response to an awareness that we are or may be the object of an unfavourable judgement from outside. Thus, given the primacy of sight as the medium of perception, shame is the product of the sense of being seen, or rather of the possibility of being seen; so that, paradoxically, what deters us from being watchers is the fear of being watched. (Spearing 10) Later, at her debut, the same fear promotes a wish to participate unobserved. In neither case is Fanny successful -- undesired notice descends on her from all quarters in spite of her wishes to the contrary. Fanny's relationship with dominating males -- and especially with her "tyrant" uncle --is dramatised by Austen using the by now familiar tropes of the active male watcher and passive female dancer. Fanny represents an extreme of this dynamic, being almost totally passive at dance scenes, where she hovers fragilely within a web of male gazes and intentions. Her own gaze is feeble at best against this massed male force, and serves only to convey a sense of her isolation. What is significant in all this is that Austen so clearly indicates Fanny's lack of autonomy via a dance scenario. This 69 setting, with its built-in bias toward male leadership, provides the ideal means with which to portray Fanny's disempowerment under Sir Thomas' patriarchy. Austen's tone even becomes overtly critical when she discusses the ramifications of the "coming-out" arranged by Fanny's uncle: It is clear that the novelist sees that this ceremony simply clinches the patriarchal conception of its heroines as commodities, and of which Fanny's romanticism cannot prevent her from being a victim. This paradox is captured in the novel's shifts of tone, between the tender sympathy with which Fanny's consciousness is represented, and the surrounding narrative's worldly and astringent irony, whose harsher imperatives cannot indefinitely be refused. (Wiltshire 101) Here, more than anywhere else in her discussions of dance, Austen pays tribute to social dance's "co-option into the mercantile and patriarchal scheme of things." With Fanny Price she showcases the worst and weakest position in which the dance can place a female -- and in the process makes some of her sharpest comments against the state of females within her society. 70 CONCLUSION In Jane Austen's novels, dance is a metaphor for marriage (Elsbree, Adams passim); marriage is a "microcosm of society" (Fergus 88). Therefore dance becomes by syllogistic progression a microcosmic symbol for society. When Jane Austen investigates the position of her heroines in a dance scenario, she is simultaneously and by extension commenting on their position in society. As each main character illustrates a different facet of dance-interaction and a different place on the voyeuristic "spectrum," so she also represents a different option for women in a surveillance society. The dance space is a theatricalised representation of life -- who is watching, who is watched, and the way in which the strictly gendered, codified structure of the dance and of ballroom conventions permits and furthers this interplay of gazes all serve to reflect and reinforce gender divisions and social hierarchies within Austen's world. The disparity between having and lacking the male privilege of initiative -- common to both dance and marriage -- is central to Austen's exploration of the female experience of dance. Within a voyeuristic society, both males and females are watched; however, females are additionally disempowered because lacking the ability to choose. In the dance, in love, and in marriage, the female "must be reactionary... she can only respond to men, she cannot initiate relations with them or take the lead in showing feeling without great risk. Austen shows us assembly halls and drawing rooms that, for women, are like disguised mine fields" (R. Polhemus 48). All of Austen's heroines must at some point negotiate these dangerous arenas; the different strategies Austen allots to them allow her to 71 comment upon the various options available to women within this setting. For instance, Jan Fergus notes that in the late novels particularly, Austen is interested in exploring "the complex power relationships between women and a social world that reduces their options and makes them marginal" (146) . Austen can use dance to explore such power relations, including the one between watcher and watched, because these relations are inscribed in the dance environment; questions of disempowerment and lack of initiative may thus be subtly broached by means of dance scenarios. Voyeuristic acts of observing dance pervade all of Austen's novels, including Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion. Marianne Dashwood, one of Austen's most avid dancers, represents the passive watched object. With Marianne, Austen exposes a crucial paradox inherent in the status of women within the ballroom, which is that even as they act (dancing) they are at their most passive: ...there is a disjuncture between the active doing female body and the appearing body....The active doing female body is countered by a more passive image of the body as one which is looked at and which is surveyed and perceived in terms of its ' to-be-looked-at-ness' . . . .this asymmetrical relation between the active doing body and the passive appearing body of the women does not seem to come through in the case of men. Rather, their ideas of both the dancing body and the appearing body are located in terms of activity and strength. (Thomas, AV 89) Thus Marianne as watched female dancer is at risk in a way that the watched male dancer (Willoughby) is not; Austen uses this discrepancy to reinforce the "gendered" nature of ballroom participation. The other, "active" alternative for women is to watch -- both Elinor Dashwood and Anne Elliot relinquish dance, and thereby preserve themselves from the threats of the performative space. 72 However, they also remove themselves from involvement and display. Characters who dance and are watched (Marianne Dashwood; Fanny Price; Catherine Norland) are passive and threatened, but also nubile and on the marriage market; those who watch (Elinor Dashwood; Anne Elliot) are in the stronger active position, but are in some sense "sterile" -- Elinor, for instance, Austen's only entirely non-performative female heroine, is not coincidentally also the least pursued by men. Austen does not shy away from presenting the ballroom as what it is: a marriage market, in which the female must make an appropriate display of herself in order to be sought. This exhibitionistic, performative aspect of dances comes to the fore in Northanger Abbey and Emma. Austen uses Catherine Morland and Emma Woodhouse to illustrate two kinds of female response to performance: Catherine's is naive, Emma's experienced. Whereas Catherine is a novice at performing and not yet entirely "literate" in the public text, Emma is both a veteran performer and an accomplished reader of public opinion. Austen furnishes Emma with her most developed images of female power, presenting this character as the decisive manipulatrix of her position within the ballroom; Catherine's ballroom encounters, on the other hand, are opportunities for Austen to reemphasise -- albeit humorously -- the plight of female innocence, ignorance, and "impotence." Thus although both are characters who embrace the opportunity to perform, their characterisations are utilised by Austen toward different ends. What links the two together, however, is that in both cases Austen includes a male who represents the opposite view of the performance issue: Tilney and Knightley both oppose 73 performance and all it stands for, proposing instead an "ideal" state in which dance will no longer be for the benefit of outside spectators. Whether or not this is Austen's vision as well cannot be said for certain; however, she does seem to present it in a favourable light. Furthermore, the less savoury aspects of dancing in public view receive a thoroughly unfavourable depiction in Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park. Here, a close examination of Austen's construction of the dance scenes reveals clearly that she emphasises the powerlessness of females within the ballroom (and by extension within society). Even such a confident character as Elizabeth is forced to adopt a more realistic view of the gravity of public opinion, coming to acknowledge the onus on females themselves to see that external judgments remain favourable. In this sense, Elizabeth Bennet, Jane Bennet, and Fanny Price, despite - all their differences in character, represent facets of the same situation: pinned under the eye of the world, a female's destiny may be determined by her behaviour (or that of her family) at dances. The public gaze scrutinises and subdues, and the verdict of the public text is often final. Counterposed to the "societal" gaze (the "eye of the world") is the individual female's gaze. The threat of this gaze is that it represents her capacity to desire --an active want as opposed to passive submission -- and her wish to choose for herself rather than to be chosen for (or simply chosen). This is the reason that Austen's heroines often chafe under the restrictive decorum of the dance floor: Elizabeth can refuse Mr Collins in the dance (as well as in marriage), but ballroom etiquette then forbids her from 74 dancing further with anyone else; Catherine Morland cannot actively choose Tilney over Thorpe, but must hope that this situation arises by itself; Fanny Price cannot choose whether or not to greet guests, to lead dances, or to retire early. In addition, when characters such as Elizabeth Bennet, Elinor Dashwood, and Anne Elliot attempt to make partner choices for themselves outside the dance, they are swiftly discouraged by the "eye of the world" characters (Mrs Bennet; Fanny Dashwood; Lady Russell) who guard them and keep them under surveillance. Austen makes clear that a female's trust in her own judgment is discouraged, and men deferred to; in life as in the dance, "the heroine cannot choose her own partner but must wait passively to be chosen" (Adams 56). For this reason, the exercise of the female gaze is itself often a futile expression of frustrated power and an acknowledgement of passivity. This points to Austen's clear consciousness that, whatever the varying details of plot and differences of character, female dancers are all subject to the same forces and the same limitations. Individual choices regarding dancing and watching are therefore superseded and constrained by the constants of female ballroom experience -- which, in turn, symbolise greater societal exigencies: In Austen's novels...women simply do not have 'the advantage of choice'....They can only wait for proposals. They can scrutinize their suitors' gestures, review their every word, differentiate acts of civility from acts of particular affection, and form all manner of conjectures about the likelihood of receiving proposals. But finally they can only wait. As bold as they are in every other respect, even Emma and Elizabeth Bennet can only wait. And of course waiting is practically all that Fanny Price and Anne Elliot ever do. (Johnson 59) Thus, dancing or spectating, watcher or watched, females remain 75 dependent on male intervention to ameliorate their state of passivity and powerlessness. For this reason, Austen's most favourable dance images show a male and female acting in concert, "mutually authorizing" each other and thereby forming a defence against an intrusive public. At a dance in Sense and Sensibility, Elinor Dashwood and Colonel Brandon are described as "sitting down together by mutual consent" while the others dance: here, even though the choice has been not to dance rather than to dance, the distribution of power is even and equal, since the wording suggests that the consent of both male and female has figuratively been asked. Similarly, Emma's dancing with Knightley is determined upon by an exchange in which it is not completely clear who is doing the asking --a situation appropriate to Austen's desire to show a powerful female character while remaining deferent to societal requirements for feminine behaviour. Finally, the image of Anne and Wentworth's "spirits dancing in private rapture," away from all spectatorship or public knowledge, evokes an ideal realm wherein the question of initiative and consent is rendered irrelevant. The dance, then, ideally represents equality between the sexes: Austen's positive dance images can be seen as illustrations of what Robert Polhemus identifies in both Elizabeth Bennet and the author herself as "the wish to unite the quality of her being with male power and opportunity" (31) . Ultimately, it is only in such a union, balanced and equal like the country dance figures themselves, that a Jane Austen heroine may hope to attain in her life the even equipoise of an ideal dance partnership, screened from the hazards of living and dancing in the eye of the world. 76 NOTES 1. Foucault refers to this panoptic presence as "a faceless gaze that transformed the whole social body into a field of perception: thousands of eyes posted everywhere, mobile attentions ever on the alert..." (214). See page 7 of this paper. 2. I have chosen this term to refer to the acts of watching that occur at dances in Austen's novels because of its connotations of purposeful or obsessive watching, and of the taking of vicarious gratification from watching others, both of which I believe to be applicable to the acts of dance-spectatorship which take place in Austen's novels. In addition, I feel that the sexual implications of the term are apt, given the intrinsically sexualised nature of dancing: "dance itself is not just a means to sex (although of course it may well be such) but... it is or can be a form of sexual expression in itself. Frith understands this well: 'the most obvious feature of dancing as an activity is its sexuality -- institutionalised dancing...is redolent with sexual tensions and possibilities, as private desires get public display, as repressed needs are proudly shared. . . ' " (Ward 21) . Thus when any one character watches another two dancing together, he/she is in a sense engaging in an act of voyeurism. 3. Terry Castle includes commentary that could be applied to the Austenian ball, with the qualifications mentioned in note 8: "The masquerade episode seves as...a privileged site of plot. Above all, masquerade is the place where significant events 'take place'.... This plot-producing function follows from the nature of the diversion. . . .The eighteenth-century masquerade was a cultural locus of intimacy. There, persons otherwise rigidly segregated by class and sex distinctions might come together in unprecedented and sometimes disruptive combinations. Masquerading substituted randomness and novelty... for the highly stylized patterns of everyday public and private exchange" (120). Regency dances, of course, lacking the "licensing" effect of costume, retain "highly stylized patterns," and thus fall somewhere between masquerade and "everyday public...exchange." 4. "Their entrances are moments of scrutiny when their gestures, actions and words are studied and discussed by the company at large" (Reid-Walsh 115). 5. Nancy Armstrong raises this issue in connection with Wuthering Heights; she cites Lockwood's relation of his encounter with a young female who subsequently douses his attraction by showing signs of interest in him ("a real goddess in my eyes, as long as she took no notice of me") . Armstrong explains that "Lockwood brings to his understanding of human relations a notion of sexuality that designates the female as an object of desire. What spoils her beauty are signs of her desire for him; she does some looking of her own" (195). Such an explanation can also be applied to the response of certain Austen characters to gazing females (see Pride and Prejudice section, page 51 of this paper). 77 6. An interesting comparison is with the dance scene in Volume 1, Chapter 14 of Charlotte Bronte's Villette, where Madame Beck's enforcement of a constant state of surveillance not only controls but supplants the dangers of actual physical dance-interaction. 7. Nancy Armstrong, for instance, states that the "domestic woman" possessed "dominance over all those objects and practices we associate with private life. To her went authority over the household, leisure time, courtship procedures, and kinship relations..." (3). I would argue in contrast that dance, as one of these same activities (included with both "leisure time" and "courtship procedures") becomes in another sense, due to the presence of the evaluative external gaze, among the most public of concerns -- especially as contrasted in this passage from Persuasion with the distinctive activities of the "domestic male." It is even possible to see in such a contrast evidence of "feministic" subversiveness on Austen's part (commented on at length by Margaret Kirkham and Claudia Johnson) as she subtly redefines the nature of the female realm. 8. Castle also refers briefly to two events in Jane Austen's work - - the "Lovers' Vows" episode of Mansfield Park, and Lydia Bennet's participation in "cross-dressing" a soldier -- among incidences of masquerade in fiction. The applicability of Castle's research to my topic, however, is limited by two factors: first, her note that the era of the English masquerade was already waning by the 1780s; second, the fact that the "promiscuous freedom" (41) and "hallucinatory reversals" (6) associated with masquerade were permitted by a donning en masse of concealing disguises, masks, and personae, and are in no way characteristic of the eminently ordered and "proper" Regency dance and assembly. In addition, although Castle emphasises the mixing of classes and sexes -- which I have referred to as a characteristic of Austen's balls -- she also states that this intermingling surpassed that of other public events, and that this was due to the presence of costumes: "Individual behaviour was freer at the masquerade than at virtually any other public occasion where the classes and sexes mixed openly. The presence of masks and costumes was responsible for this collective sense of increased liberty" (34) . Hence there are few useful similarities beyond this point. 9. Alan Hertz notes that within the ballroom, communication takes place in a "language of veiled signals and enigmatic, double-edged remarks" (207). 10. "Jane Austen acknowledges a contradiction between the community view of courtship as a serious game and the individual's view of it as a matter of personal passion, and this contradiction is clearly seen in the way she handles the dance" (Elsbree, PPP 369) ; thus what Marianne assumes to belong solely to herself is vicariously and voyeuristically partaken of by all around her by virtue of her willingness to dance in public. 11. Austen refers to a similar instance in her own life, in a letter to Cassandra: "Imagine to yourself everything most 78 profligate and shocking in the way of dancing and sitting down together (L 1-2; 9 Jan. 1796)" (Fergus 76). Despite her humorous tone, the choice of terminology -- profligate, shocking -- bespeaks a developed awareness of public response to dance behaviour. 12. Notable in connection is Robert Polhemus' comment on Elizabeth's effect on Darcy in Pride and Prejudice: "'Disarming' perfectly characterizes the function and effect of love in the novel" (34). While the contexts are different, the actions of both Elinor and Elizabeth might suggest that for the most part, females can only disarm -- they themselves are weaponless and from the outset are at a disadvantage vis-a-vis male power. 13. This invites comparison with Foucault's description of the prisoner in the Panopticon ("He is seen, but he does not see; he is the object of information, never a subject in communication" (200)), and thereby points up the extent to which Marianne is representative of vulnerability within a panoptic schema. 14. Claudia Johnson suggests that Austen is not condemnatory of this trait in Marianne herself, but rather in Marianne's environment: "Sense and Sensibility, then, criticizes, not the unseemliness or the rebelliousness of Marianne's emotionality, but rather its horrifying conformity to the social context she lives within" (69) . This is not an issue I hope to resolve; in either case, Marianne's behaviours on and off the dance floor are in parallel, supporting the idea that Austen uses a female's ballroom choices and actions to evoke her condition in society. 15. The self-effacing nature of such a decision -- to accompany while others dance --is emphasised by the wording chosen by Claire Tomalin in this passage from her biography of Jane Austen: "Jane could play the piano, but at her age would not be expected to sacrifice herself when there were older fingers to work in the good cause of the young people's pleasure" (101). Unlike her creator, Anne, though still relatively young herself, does opt for "self- sacrifice," deliberately negating herself as a participant and denying herself any share in active communal enjoyments. 16. Similar is the contrast between Mrs Jennings and Elinor as watchers: Mrs Jennings "betrays her citizenship in the community of 'voluntary spies' (Henry Tilney's phrase...), which surrounds the small, civilised community of good sense, good feeling, and good manners eventually established as the emotional centre of every Austen novel.... the good community as a whole is immeasurably superior to the larger social community" (Fergus 92). 17. See Alison Sulloway, page 14 0, where she quotes Robert Polhemus' "delightfully frank gloss" on this phrase: "All dances are essentially mating dances, and the end, as well as the means, of dancing, is the felicity of rapid motion." Similarly, the coupling of the words "dancing" and "private rapture" could be seen to contain a suggestion of the long-delayed physical consummation which awaits the two lovers. 79 18. Given that these outside forces include both Sir Walter and Mr Elliot on one side, and Elizabeth Elliot and Lady Russell on the other, it seems doubtful, as Perkins suggests, that Austen's portrayal of Anne's "victory" can or should be read as a revolt against gender definition, as that of other Austen females perhaps might be. 19. This is a situation which equally nonplusses the sensitive Fanny Price: "glad would she have been not to be obliged to listen, for it was while all the other young people were dancing, and she sitting, most unwillingly, among the chaperons at the fire...." (MP 98) . In Fanny's case, I would argue, the unwillingness to spectate is due not only to a desire to dance but also to a personal rejection of subjectivity: her aversion to watching -- and to the gossiping that goes with it -- is indirectly attributable to her own fear of being watched and discussed (see quotation page 68 of this paper) . In Catherine's case, it is no more than frustrated desire to participate which occasions her dissatisfaction with being confined to the "sidelines." Catherine is altogether a simpler and more straightforward character than Fanny -- not least of all because she is part of a parody! 20. Jan Fergus, on the other hand, envisions Catherine as a strong female character who defies the restrictions imposed on her: "Catherine Morland is unique among Austen's heroines in her naive, unaffected pursuit of the hero, who learns to care for her only because he cannot help perceiving that she prefers him. In this respect, Catherine violates conventional norms for female behaviour even more radically and more successfully than Elizabeth Bennet" (95). This picture of Catherine as taking the lead or initiative does not seem equally applicable to her behaviour within the ballroom (especially with Thorpe), where she must wait passively to be sought. 21. Although Claudia Johnson states that Henry Tilney. is "too often mistaken for an authorial surrogate" (34), I must continue to regard him as at least occasionally the mouthpiece for some of Austen's own ideas -- approval of Miss Tilney, for instance, seems common to both character and author, as does disapproval of excessive artifice. 22. I am for the most part in agreement with Johnson's analysis of Emma as the novel in which Austen shows "willingness to explore positive versions of female power" (126) -- power which includes taking initiative inside and outside the ballroom. However, it seems to me that Austen's approval of Emma as performer in particular is heavily qualified. Thus I cannot concur with a passage such as the following, which implies that Emma, along with Elizabeth Bennet, is rewarded for her performative prowess and breaking of feminine norms: "Here choosy men prefer saucy women -- not women who place themselves at the margins, letting themselves be noticed only so they may show that they are not so vain as to crave attention, but women who love even the unflattering limelight" (Johnson 142) . This seems overstated -- after all, is it possible that Austen's views had changed so much since her 80 presentation of Miss Tilney as a laudable female? A woman loving "even the unflattering limelight" is rather reminiscent of Isabella Thorpe. Emma needs and is given correction, which surely includes learning to be less in love with the "spotlight." 23. I lean toward a "traditional" view of Knightley as teacher and to some extent authorial voice. Although I acknowledge that such a view is problematised by Knightley's own excesses and errors in some areas, I have found views on the opposite side to be equally problematic; I concur with Edward Neill, for instance, that "One can also see what is a 'definite false note' in a recent book by Margaret Kirkham when she congratulates 'Jane Austen' on her ability to free herself from 'that extensive class of literature which makes Gods of Baronets or Dukes', en route to the implausible conclusion that Emwa ' subverts the stereotype in which the heroine is educated by a hero-guardian'" (100). 24. "Jane falls in love conveniently, while dining or dancing. On the other hand, when Elizabeth and Darcy meet formally, they alienate even more than they attract each other" (Hertz 207). 25. The same might be said of Emma: "'Imaginism' of Emma's sort, then, is not a private matter; it refuses to rest content with placid surfaces defenders of public order call reality, and it arrogates to itself the right to penetrate...secrets some would not wish to see brought to light" (Johnson 133). 26. This passage could be one of those that inspired Robert Polhemus' assertion that in Pride and Prejudice Austen "shows an almost unmediated yearning to find means to transform feminine powerlessness to influence" (48) . 27. Similarly and symbolically, Fanny will appear at the ball with the proprietary "mark" of three males on her person, in the shape of her much discussed jewellery (William's cross; Edmund's chain; Henry's necklace). 28. See Edward Said's chapter on "Jane Austen and Empire" in Culture and Imperialism. 29. It seems likely that the terminology Austen employs to describe this "coming out" practice also "makes plain her feminist distaste for the ritual" (Wiltshire 100).) 30. Emma and Mrs Elton, in contrast, wish to begin the ball precisely because they will be seen by everyone; each covets the visible affirmation of status attained by this action (Lange 92). For these socially aggressive females, the ball becomes a battle of vanities and the dance formation itself a site of contention for social power. The less worldly Fanny, on the other hand, places little value on the status that extra visibility conveys. 81 NOMENCLATURE Austen: E = Emma MP = Mansfield Park NA = Northanqer Abbey P = Persuasion PP = Pride and Prejudice SS = Sense and Sensibility Elsbree: BC = The Breakincr Chain DFC = "Jane Austen and the Dance of Fidelity and Complaisance" PPP = "The Purest and Most Perfect Form of Play" Card: EP = Emma and Persuasion JAN = Jane Austen's Novels Thomas: AV = "An-Other Voice" Wood: SHD = Some Historical Dances 82 WORKS CONSULTED Austen, Jane. Emma. Ed. James Kinsley and David Lodge. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971. . Mansfield Park. Ed. Kathryn Sutherland. London: Penguin Books, 1996. Northanqer Abbey, "Lady Susan," "The Watsons," and "Sanditon." Ed. John Davie. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1980. . Persuasion. Ed. D.W.Harding. London: Penguin Books, 1965. . Pride and Prejudice. Ed. Tony Tanner. London: Penguin Books, 1972. . Sense and Sensibility. Ed. James Kinsley. Intro. Margaret Anne Doody. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990. Adams, Timothy Dow. "To Know the Dancer From the Dance: Dance as a Metaphor of Marriage in Four Novels of Jane Austen." Studies in the Novel 14 (1982): 55-65. Armstrong, Isobel. Jane Austen: Sense and Sensibility. London: Penguin Books, 1994. Armstrong, Nancy. Desire and Domestic Fiction: A Political History of the Novel. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987. Berger, John. Ways of Seeing. London: British Broadcasting Corporation and Penguin Books, 1972. Bronte, Charlotte. Villette. London: Penguin Books, 1979. Bryson, Norman. "Cultural Studies and Dance History." Desmond, Meaning in Motion 55-77. Butler, Marilyn. Jane Austen and the War of Ideas. Oxford: Oxford 83 University Press, 1975. Castle, Terry. Masquerade and Civilization: The Carnivalesque in Eighteenth-Century English Culture and Fiction. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1986. Copeland, Roger. "Dance, Feminism, and the Critique of the Visual." Thomas, Dance, Gender and Culture 13 9-150. Copeland, Roger, and Marshall Cohen, eds. What is Dance?: Readings in Theory and Criticism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983. Desmond, Jane C. "Embodying Difference: Issues in Dance and Cultural Studies." Desmond, Meaning in Motion 29-54. Desmond, Jane C , ed. Meaning in Motion: New Cultural Studies of Dance. Durham: Duke University Press, 1997. Elsbree, Langdon. The Breaking Chain: A Study of the Dance in the Novels of Jane Austen, George Eliot, Thomas Hardy, and D.H.Lawrence. Diss. The Claremont Graduate School, 1963. Ann Arbor: UMI, 1980. , "Jane Austen and the Dance of Fidelity and Complaisance." Nineteenth-Century Fiction 15 (1960-61): 113-136. _ "The Purest and Most Perfect Form of Play: Some Novelists and the Dance." Criticism: A Quarterly for Literature and the Arts 14 (1972): 361-372. Fergus, Jan. Jane Austen: A Literary Life. London: Macmillan Academic and Professional Ltd., 1991. Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Trans. Alan Sheridan. New York: Vintage Books, 1979. Card, Roger. Emma and Persuasion. London: Penguin Books, 1985. . Jane Austen's Novels: The Art of Clarity. New Haven: 84 Yale University Press, 1992. Gilbert, Sandra M. and Susan Gubar. The Madwoman in the Attic: the Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979. Grigsby, Joan. "Dancing, Balls, and Assemblies." The Jane Austen Handbook. Hertz, Alan. "Dancing, Romeo and Juliet, and Pride and Prejudice." Notes and Queries 227 (1982): 206-208. The Jane Austen Handbook. Eds. J. David Grey, A. Walton Litz and Brian Southam. New York: Macmillan, 1986. The Juvenilia of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte. Ed. Frances Beer. London: Penguin Books, 1986. Johnson, Claudia L. Jane Austen: Women, Politics, and the Novel. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1988. Katz, Ruth. "The Egalitarian Waltz." Copeland, What is Dance?: Readings in Theory and Criticism. Kelly, Dorothy. Telling Glances: Voyeurism in the French Novel. New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1992. Kirkham, Margaret. Jane Austen, Feminism, and Fiction. Brighton: The Harvester Press, 1983. Lane, Maggie. Jane Austen's World: The Life and Times of England's Most Popular Author. Toronto: Key Porter Books, 1996. Lange, Roderyk. The Nature of Dance: An Anthropological Perspective. London: Macdonald & Evans Ltd., 1975. McRobbie, Angela. "Dance Narratives and Fantasies of Achievement." Desmond, Meaning in Motion 207-231. Mackrell, Judith. Reading Dance. London: Michael Joseph Ltd., 1997. Mulvey, Laura. Visual and Other Pleasures. Bloomington: Indiana 85 University Press, 1989. Nardin, Jane. Those Elegant Decorums: The Concept of Propriety in Jane Austen's Novels. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1973. Neill, Edward. The Politics of Jane Austen. London: Macmillan Press Ltd., 1999. Peel, Barbara. Dancing and Social Assemblies in York in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries. Guildford, Surrey: National Resource Centre for Dance, 1986. Perkins, Moreland. Reshaping the Sexes in Sense and Sensibility. Charlottesville: The University Press of Virginia, 1998. Polhemus, Ted. "Dance, Gender and Culture." Thomas, Dance, Gender and Culture 3-15. Polhemus, Robert M. Erotic Faith: Being in Love from Jane Austen to D.H. Lawrence. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1990. Reid-Walsh, Jacqueline. "'Entering the World' of Regency Society: The Ballroom Scenes in Northanger Abbey, 'The Watsons,' and Mansfield Park." Persuasions 13-16 (1991-94): 115-124. Rust, Francis. Dance in Society. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1969. Rutter, D.R. Looking and Seeing: The Role of Visual Communication in Social Interaction. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons Ltd., 1984. Sachs, Curt. World History of the Dance. Trans. Bessie Schonberg. New York: W.W.Norton & Company Inc., 1963. Said, Edward W. Culture and Imperialism. New York: Vintage Books, 1993. Sayers, Lesley-Anne. "'She might pirouette on a daisy and it would not bend': Images of Femininity and Dance Appreciation." Thomas, Dance, Gender and Culture 164-183. Sheets, Maxine. The Phenomenology of Dance. Madison and Milwaukee: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1966. Spearing, A.C. The Medieval Poet as Voyeur: Looking and Listening in Medieval Love-Narratives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Sulloway, Alison. Jane Austen and the Province of Womanhood. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989. Tanner, Tony. Jane Austen. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1986. Thomas, Helen. "An-Other Voice: Young Women Dancing and Talking." Thomas, Dance, Gender and Culture. , ed. Dance, Gender and Culture. London: The Macmillan Press Ltd., 1993. . Dance, Modernity and Culture. London: Routledge, 1995. Thompson, Allison, comp. Dancing Through Time: Western Social Dance in Literature, 1400-1918: selections. Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 1998. Tomalin, Claire. Jane Austen: A Life. London: Penguin Books, 1997. Wallace, Robert K. Jane Austen and Mozart: Classical Equilibrium in Fiction and Music. Athens, Georgia: The University of Georgia Press, 1983. Ward, Andrew. "Dancing in the Dark: Rationalism and the Neglect of Social Dance." Dance, Gender and Culture 16-33. Wiltshire, John. Jane Austen and the Body: "The picture of health". Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1992. Wolff, Janet. "Reinstating Corporeality: Feminism and Body 87 Politics." Desmond, Meaning in Motion 81-99. Wood, Melusine. Advanced Historical Dances. London: C.W.Beaumont, 1960. Wood, Melusine. Some Historical Dances. London: C.W.Beaumont, 1952. 
work_aotovu23tnatfoa2jndtixjxcu	----	Reading Salman Rushdie's Memoir Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 92 ( 2013 ) 86 – 91 1877-0428 © 2013 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. Selection and/or peer-review under responsibility of Lumen Research Center in Social and Humanistic Sciences, Asociatia Lumen. doi: 10.1016/j.sbspro.2013.08.641 ScienceDirect Lumen International Conference Logos Universality Mentality Education Novelty (LUMEN 2013) Reading Salman Rushdie’s Memoir Dana B dulescua * aPostdoctoral researcher, “Alexandru Ioan Cuza” University of Iasi, Faculty of Philosophy and Social Political Sciences, 11 Carol I Boulevard, 700506, Romania Abstract This paper looks into Salman Rushdie’s latest book, his memoir titled Joseph Anton. Rushdie put off writing his story of the fatwa years until September, 2012, when Joseph Anton came out. The title is a conflation of the first names of two writers, Rushdie’s favourite authors: Joseph after Joseph Conrad, and Anton after Anton Chekhov. Before being a title, this used to be Rushdie’s pseudonym when he had to recede into a fictional character during the period he spent in hiding. Rushdie argues that in Joseph Anton he wrote about himself novelistically in the third person, putting a distance between his real self and himself as a character, through fiction. I purport to explore to what extent and in what sense Rushdie’s memoir is fiction, and also what distinguishes it from a novel. According to Rushdie, unlike fiction, the book’s arc was clear even before being written: the author knew its first and last scenes. Fiction shapes it in the same way as memory shapes and re-shapes life. Does that mean that literature is a form of escapism? Nothing would be more false, if we asked Rushdie, who has always considered writing a political act, because “we are radioactive with history and politics.” After its publication, a book is at the hands of readers. It is in this sense that books speak to us, being a form of communication. This study probes into how Joseph Anton has started to fare, and what it is likely to stir in readers who read about “a teller of tales, a creator of shapes, a maker of things that were not.” © 2013 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Selection and/or peer-review under responsibility of Lumen Research Center in Social and Humanistic Sciences, Asociatia Lumen. Keywords: memoir; fiction; fatwa; reading Corresponding author. Tel, 0728655064 E-mail address: dnbadulescu@yahoo.co.uk Available online at www.sciencedirect.com © 2013 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. Selection and/or peer-review under responsibility of Lumen Research Center in Social and Humanistic Sciences, Asociatia Lumen. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ 87 Dana Bădulescu / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 92 ( 2013 ) 86 – 91 1. Introduction This article sheds new light upon the relation between memoir and autobiography as stories of one’s life, on the one hand, and memoir and the novel, based on the similarity of autofiction, on the other. These associations and distinctions put the reading of Rushdie’s latest book Joseph Anton, a memoir, into perspective. Delving into these aspects, this approach also explores essential features of Rushdie’s texts, namely the complex ways in which writing absorbs history and politics, also reflecting them, looking at the same time into the dialogical nature of the text. Ultimately, I argue that what Rushdie does in Joseph Anton is to author himself, i.e. to create and project his own authorship through and into writing. From author, the approach moves to reader, who identifies with the projected author. This makes of story-telling, which is an essential activity in writing, a compelling reconfiguration for the reader. According to Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson, memoirs and autobiographies, which are called “life narratives” (2010), bear the real life name of their author as their title. Nevertheless, Salman Rushdie’s memoir Joseph Anton is titled after an invented name, and the author glosses that “now by naming himself he had turned himself into a fictional character as well.” (Rushdie, 2012) ‘Joseph Anton’ conflates the first names of two real life writers (Joseph Conrad and Anton Chekov) into a fictitious secret name for a real life writer (Salman Rushdie). Thus, the troubled “new self” (Rushdie, 2012), which is a new version of him constructed by Ayatollah Khomeini and all devout Muslims who took the fatwa for granted, takes on a name that references “Conrad, the trans-lingual creator of wanderers” and “Chekhov, the master of loneliness and melancholy, of the beauty of an old world destroyed, like the trees in the cherry orchard, by the brutality of the new.” (Rushdie, 2012) Arguing that both autobiography and memoir are forms of life narrative, Smith and Watson distinguish one term from the other. While autobiography focuses on self-study, memoir “often bracketed one moment or period of experience rather than an entire life span and offered reflections on its significance for the writer’s previous status or self-understanding.” (Smith & Watson, 2010) More often than not, as Smith and Watson show, memoirs are stories about certain aspects and periods in people’s lives that may strike readers as scandalous or titillating. Memoirs may be written by the socially marginal, which, in Rushdie’s case, is a condition of “double unbelonging” he ironically assumed as a “migrated self” when he “often felt meaningless, even absurd” as “a Bombay boy who had made his life in London among the English.” (Rushdie, 2012) 2. Autobiography, Memoir, Fact, Fiction, ‘Faction’ Like Henry Adams in The Education of Henry Adams: An Autobiography, Rushdie refers to himself in the third person. This reinforces the distance the author takes from himself in order to tell the story of himself as a fictional character. Readers are supposed to accept the convention of the self-reflexive narrative through a distance which endorses the author’s sense of his self as painfully incongruent and split in the wake of inflicted trauma. There are instances when the self reads as a palimpsested mosaic of divided selves whose fissures the life narrative both highlights and aims to make cohere into a story: He was aware that the splitting in him was getting worse, the divide between what ‘Rushdie’ needed to do and how ‘Salman’ wanted to live. He was ‘Joe’ to his protectors, an entity to be kept alive; and in his friends’ eyes, when he was able to see them, he read their alarm, their fear that ‘Salman’ might be crushed under the weight of what had happened. ‘Rushdie’ was another matter entirely. /…/ He was an effigy, an absence, something less than human. He – it – needed only to expiate. (Rushdie, 2012) As a portmanteau of ‘fact’ and ‘fiction’, ‘faction’ is a loose genre, which evokes real life figures and actual events side by side with fictitious allegations and using the techniques of fiction (plot, dialogue, setting, characterization, etc.). In a memoir, the author’s memory itself alters the ‘facts’, thus rendering the referential world of reality fictitious. In other words, ‘facts’, events and real life persons lose their recognizable contours and are re-shaped by memory in the same way as they would be by fiction. In Rushdie’s book, the pact between 88 Dana Bădulescu / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 92 ( 2013 ) 86 – 91 author and the reader of the life narrative is breached by the fictitiousness of Joseph Anton as an invented character. However, this invented name was designed to paradoxically hide and reveal at the same time the true essence of a ‘new self’ (brought about by the fatwa). Nevertheless, this new self has an old history of a hybrid man whose most intimate being has been shaped by the reading and writing of fiction. 3. The Memoir and the Novel; Politics, History and Fiction The memoir and the novel are related genres. Despite the elements they share, the memoir and the novel differ in many other respects. Smith and Watson argue that “unlike novelists, life narrators have to anchor their narratives in the world of their own temporal, geographical, and cultural milieu.” (2010) The “suspension of disbelief” which facilitates the reader’s engagement with fiction, is not a prerequisite of memoir reading. On the contrary, a memoir engages the reader in “the world beyond the text, the world that is the ground of the narrator’s lived experience, even if that ground is in part composed of cultural myths, dreams, fantasies, and subjective memories or problematized by the mode of its telling.” (Smith & Watson, 2010) There is an essential truth underlying both fiction and memoir, but it is their frames of reference that distinguish them: while the text of fiction is a narrative projection which asks its readers to suspend their ‘disbelief’ and thus find some essential truth in its invented world, the text of the memoir references a world outside the text, whose no less essential truth the reader is invited to validate. In each and every essay of Imaginary Homelands Rushdie insists upon the idea that politics, history and fiction are inescapably woven. In “Outside the Whale” the writer argues that “works of art /…/ do not come into being in a social and political vacuum; and that the way they operate in a society cannot be separated from politics, from history. For every text, a context /…/” (Rushdie, 1991); that “in our whaleless world, in this world without quiet corners, there can be no easy escape from history, from hullabaloo, from terrible, unquiet fuss.” (Rushdie, 1991) In his essay “In Good Faith”, a defense of The Satanic Verses, he declares himself “a bastard child of history.” (Rushdie, 1991) Looking at his first accomplished novel in retrospect when he writes his memoir, Rushdie accounts for its success in terms of its engagement with history: History rushed into his pages, immense and intimate, creative and destructive /…/; He was a historian by training and the great point of history, which was to understand how individual lives, communities, nations and social classes were shaped by great forces, yet retained, at times, the ability to change the direction of those forces, must also be the point of his fiction. (Rushdie, 2012) Like a lot of other contemporary writers (e. g. Philip Roth, David Lodge) or writers with whom he is affiliated (e.g. Joseph Conrad, James Joyce), Rushdie situates his narrators in a dialogical relation with the events and discourses of their context/environment. Whether he writes fiction or a memoir, Rushdie builds his books on the ‘crossroads’ of the public and the private, the political and the personal, and the language he creates engages the writing in this relation, reflecting it. Rushdie’s memoir performs the crucial role of shedding light upon the most essential aspects of his work. Tapping into the rich reservoir of memory, which helps him restore the past in writing, the author of the memoir realizes what the successful writing of Midnight’s Children taught him: The political and the personal could no longer be kept apart. This was no longer the age of Jane Austen, who could write her entire oeuvre during the Napoleonic Wars without mentioning them /…/. (Rushdie, 2012) The memoir’s narrator is also aware that, once written, “the book has gone out into the world and the world has remade it.” This suggests that: “To write a book is to make a Faustian contract in reverse /…/. To gain immortality, or at least posterity, you lose, or at least ruin, your actual daily life.” (Rushdie, 2012, p. 91) The writing of a memoir is a self-reflective act whose main objective is accounting for one’s self, and the self’s identity. Delving retrospectively into his writing and dwelling on the landmark of Midnight’s Children, whose narrator Saleem Sinai “had deliberately been created as an alter ego”, the memoir explores the writer’s own stance as hybrid, “heterogeneous, instead of homogeneous, belonging to more than one place, multiple rather than singular, responding to more than one way of being, more than averagely mixed up.” (Rushdie, 2012) 89 Dana Bădulescu / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 92 ( 2013 ) 86 – 91 According to Bakhtin’s thesis that a self is forged from outside, that it is the other(s) and the world ‘outside the whale’ that validate one’s perceptions of oneself, the narrated self of the memoir, which is the same as the narrating self, authors himself through writing. (cf. Debra Shostak quoting Bakhtin’s commentator Michael Holquist, 2004) 4. “Year Zero”: Memory, ‘Forgettery’, Writing and Reading In “Imaginary Homelands” Rushdie sees his writing as an engagement with the fragmented nature of memory, which, precisely by being partial, makes “trivial things seem like symbols,” while the mundane acquires “numinous qualities.” This suggests an analogy with archaeology, which builds the past out of “the broken pots of antiquity” (Rushdie, 1991), thus reconstituting, be it provisionally, an imaginary version of it. Writing his memoir, Rushdie brought his engagement with memory to a new stage, where he reconstitutes a past whose events gravitate around “Year Zero”: “1989, the year when the world changed” (Rushdie, 2012) For its author, writing the memoir is an act of getting to grips with his whole existence before and after ‘Year Zero’. For the readers, the book is a journey through 633 pages of Rushdie’s authoring himself around the date when he received “his unfunny Valentine” (Rushdie, 2012) Actually, the memoir, Rushdie’s latest book, is redolent not only of his own past and its context, calling to mind yet other events of a more remote past, but of his own other writings. In The Ground beneath Her Feet, a novel written during the fatwa, 1989 is a year of seismic shock in the most literal sense, the earthquake being a metaphor which translates a serious tremor in Rushdie’s own life. Joseph Anton opens with the ominous image of “the first blackbird”, and as the story makes progress, other blackbirds join it in shutting out the light of the sunny Tuesday in London. The 16 pages of Prologue strike sinister visual and musical notes, which relate the dark event of the fatwa to Hitchcock’s iconic film The Birds. The hyperbolic effect of the first blackbird is the news on the radio of the first casualties caused by the fatwa and the new word created by the media: “extraterritoriality. Also known as state-sponsored terrorism.” (Rushdie, 2012) This signals Rushdie that the event inaugurated an age when “to live in a different country from one’s persecutors was no longer to be safe. Now there was extraterritorial action. In other words, they came after you.” (Rushdie, 2012) The last note struck in the Prologue is meaninglessness; the last lines musicalise the ultimate failure of language to convey meaning, Joyce-style: Footsteps. Winter. A black wing fluttering on a climbing frame. I inform the proud Muslim people of the world, ristle-te, rostle-te, mo, mo, mo. To execute them wherever they may find them. Ristle-te, rostle-te, hey bombosity, knickety-knackety, retroquoquality, willoby-wallaby, mo, mo, mo.” (Rushdie, 2012) Smith and Watson argue that the main components of the memoir as a genre are memory, experience, identity, space, embodiment and agency. (Smith & Watson, 2010) Of all these components, memory is, of course, the one which gives a memoir its raison d’être. Driven by the same “Proustian ambition” (Rushdie, 1991) which made him write his first notably successful novel Midnight’s Children, Rushdie revisited his old memory paraphernalia in order to write his memoir. He recalls that his mother coined a word in opposition to ‘memory’, which is ‘forgettery’, a faculty he seemed to develop, too, lacking “a memory for trouble.” (Rushdie, 2012) However, besides ‘forgettery’, the memoir uses memory in order to make sense of “the unimaginable become imaginable” (Rushdie, 2012) and to account for the self’s resilience, which is raised to the status of honour: “He too, like Hawthorne’s great heroine [Hester Prynne], must wear the scarlet letter as a badge of honour, in spite of the pain.” (Rushdie, 2012) Joseph Anton is largely a book about Rushdie’s unstoppable need to transform his experience through and into writing, and about the therapeutic role of writing in his life. Thus, the memoir teems with stories of false starts, failures, and various other writing acts. This is how the de-spiriting event of the fatwa sets him in a desperate writing mood: “He found himself composing a thousand letters in his head and firing them off into the ether like Bellow’s Herzog, half-deranged, obsessive arguments with the world that he could not actually send on their way.” (Rushdie, 2012) 90 Dana Bădulescu / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 92 ( 2013 ) 86 – 91 Although the experience recorded by memoirs is largely personal, one should always bear in mind that any text is situated at the ‘crossroads’ between the private and the public. Joseph Anton, a memoir written by an author who foregrounded the intersection, compels the reader to take special heed of it. From that ‘crossroads’, readers embark on their journeys which take them to similar intersections. Thus, the border between the private and the public is blurred, and the writing itself reflects it. Reading, we look for ways of probing into our own concerns, troubles and dilemmas, which makes us identify with the experience narrated in writing. Since the main objective of writing is to ascertain meaning especially where it is contentious, the main objective of reading about one’s experience is to relate it to one’s own and also to (re)-locate the contexts they share. Celebrating the human race and “man” as “the storytelling animal” (Rushdie, 2012), the narrator of the memoir traces a space larger than the individual, in which essential truths are to be found. This space is his to inhabit, but also his father’s, his mother’s and everyone else’s. This projected world is the rich repository of collective and individual identity, the cultural DNA of the human race: “Man was the storytelling animal, the only creature on earth that told itself stories to understand what kind of creature it was. The story was his birthright, and nobody could take it away.” (Rushdie, 2012) His mother, “a gossip of world class” (Rushdie, 2012), is remembered for her efficient story spreading, which made her secrets no longer hers, but the receivers’. Thus, foregrounding the role of storytelling and the experience of writing, which also caused the fatwa, the memoir also reinforces the role and experience of reading as an essential epistemological activity. Being a key concept for some schools of phenomenology, our experience of ourselves as embodied becomes a vantage point for our theorizing about knowledge and experience. In Rushdie’s memoir, embodiment, like everything else, is problematic. Rather than “uprooted”, the narrator re-defines his condition as “multiple- rooted”, and the complicated issue of being “translated”, a migrant, a “fugitive”, a “nonbelonger” (terms he uses for his characters in fiction, which are projections of himself in various degrees) forces him to account both for his hybrid embodiment and at the same time for the embodiment of others who, unlike him, might be deeply rooted (e.g. Elizabeth West) Thus, our reading experience becomes a demanding probing into the constructedness of the self in the most diverse (albeit often scaring) forms of embodiment: On this day there were crowds marching down the streets of Tehran carrying posters of his face with the eyes poked out, making him look like one of the corpses in The Birds, with their blackened, bloodied, bird-pecked eye sockets. /…/ He [Ayatollah Khomeini] needed a way to rally the faithful and he found it in the form of a book and its author. The book was the devil’s work and the author was the devil and that gave him the enemy he needed. (Rushdie, 2012) Human agency is the capacity for human beings to make choices. Usually, it is contrasted to natural forces, which are causes involving only unthinking deterministic processes. Joseph Anton evokes a long episode of serious threat to human agency. Freedom of choice is drastically limited, protection calls choice making into question. However, the capacity to make choices is never fully suppressed despite precautions and protection measures. The memoir ends on the note of solidarity in the name of agency: He had been defended by his fellow artists when he needed it. He would try to do the same for others in need from now on, others who pushed boundaries, transgressed and, yes, blasphemed; all those artists who did not allow men of power or the cloth to draw lines in the sand and order them not to cross. (Rushdie, 2012) 5. Conclusion The title Joseph Anton is a conflation of the first names of two writers, Rushdie’s favourite authors: Joseph after Joseph Conrad, and Anton after Anton Chekhov. However, before being a title, this used to be Rushdie’s pseudonym when he had to recede into a fictional character during the period he spent in hiding in the wake of the fatwa issued by Ahatollah Khomeini. In Joseph Anton Rushdie wrote about himself novelistically in the third person, putting a distance between his real self and himself as a character, through fiction. Fiction shapes this memoir in the same way as memory shapes and re-shapes life. After its publication, a book is at the hands of readers, and it is in this sense that books speak to us, being a form of communication. 91 Dana Bădulescu / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 92 ( 2013 ) 86 – 91 Acknowledgements This work was supported by the strategic grant POSDRU/89/1.5/S/62259, Project „Applied social, human and political sciences. Postdoctoral training and postdoctoral fellowships in social, human and political sciences” cofinanced by the European Social Fund within the Sectorial Operational Program Human Resources Development 2007 – 2013”; the project is developed at the University "AL.I. Cuza" Iasi, Faculty of Philosophy and Social-Political Sciences. References Rushdie, S (1991). Imaginary Homelands: Essays and Criticism 1981-1991. London: England: Granta Books in association with Penguin Books, pp. 10-394. Rushdie, S (1995). Midnight’s Children. London, England: Vintage. Rushdie, S (2000). The Ground beneath Her Feet. London, England: Vintage. Rushdie, S (2012). Joseph Anton. A Memoir. London, England: Jonathan Cape. Shostak, D (2004). Philip Roth – Countertexts, Counterlives. U. of Carolina Press, p. 233. Smith, S. and Watson, J. (2010). Reading Autobiography. Interpreting Life Narratives, 2nd Edition, U. of Minnesota Press, pp. 3-22. 
work_apxps5ngo5fv5bfub7336lb3je	----	REVIEWS 77 history, a not unnatural reflection of the compiler's exper- tise, but also perhaps of the nature of the University of AlaskaFairbanks' collections, where scientific works tend to be found in several departmental collections rather than the main Elmer E. Rasmuson Library where Falk works. Such minor criticisms apart, this is a worthy addition to the series, with the selections well chosen and informatively annotated. With many years' experience of Alaskana, Falk clearly knows this literature well and gives the im- pression of having read a good proportion of it. Whilst Falk's volume fills an obvious gap, the Falkland Islands, South Georgia, and the South Sandwich Islands have been covered by two previous volumes in the World Bibliographical Series, The Antarctic (1994) and The Atlantic Ocean (1985), containing 69 and 142 entries, respectively, for these islands. Clearly, those specifically interested in the Falklands will appreciate the more-fo- cused coverage that a dedicated volume allows, although it is perhaps a pity that the limitation to primarily English- language works meant that the greater space available could not be utilized by including a much greater represen- tation of Argentinian, other South American, and other European non-English perspectives both on the 1982 war itself and on preceding events. That said, Day does include some of the most important non-English language works, and here, as elsewhere, his selections appear sound and his annotations informative. Returning to the question posed by this review's intro- duction. Clearly these are two highly competent bibliog- raphies. Falk's book is informed by its compiler's famili- arity with both state and literature developed during many years. The selective, annotated format of the World Bibliographical Series allows him to communicate much of this knowledge, whereas a comprehensive Alaskan bibliography would simply overwhelm. Day's book presents an interesting contrast. Whatever Day's expert knowledge of these islands — and one would guess that it was much more considerable at the conclusion of this work than at its origin — his prime qualification as its compiler is his unrivalled expertise in making use of libraries, indexes, and indeed bibliographies. The success of his book thus is itself an instructive illustration of the continu- ing need for the bibliographer's art. (William Mills, Scott Polar Research Institute, University of Cambridge, Lensfield Road, Cambridge CB2 1ER.) References Plafker, G., and H.C. Berg (eds). 1994. The geology of Alaska. Boulder: Geological Society of America. Wickersham, J. 1927. A bibliography of Alaskan literature, 1724-1924. Cordova, AK: Alaska Agricultural College and School of Mines. A DEATH ON THE BARRENS. George James Grinnell. 1996. Toronto: Northern Books, vi + 333 p, illustrated, soft cover. ISBN 0-96804040-3. $Can25.00. A death on the barrens is an interesting puzzle indeed. George James Grinnell's book is surely one of the most uneven, wandering pieces of prose ever published, post- modern experiments in end-of-the-millennium alienation and fragmentation not excepted. If a book is to be meas- ured by classical aesthetic standards alone — balance, proportion, unity of focus and action, etc—A death on the barrens can hardly be said to succeed. On the other hand, if a book's success depends on the emotional bond it establishes between author and reader, Grinnell's book accomplishes precisely what its author set out to do. It is certainly one of the most subjective human responses to an experience of wilderness travel that I have ever read. At its core, A death on the barrens is a story of a canoe trip across the barrenlands of northern Canada in the 1950s. Related in the first person by one of the canoeists, the book offers an innovative variation on the popular narrative of wilderness travel, of which there are many examples. What is unique about Grinnell' s approach — at least, initially — is his attention to group dynamics within the six-man party. For the most part, Grinnell's emphasis sheers away from the familiar celebrations of nature's beauties, the excitement of running rapids, or the challenge of difficult portages. Instead, the first three-quarters of the book explores the politics of leadership, an issue made particularly relevant by a perceived shortage of food on a journey that steadily takes the party deeper and deeper into the heart of the uninhabited barrens. As I read A death on the barrens, I was excited by Grinnell's innovative approach. Having read numerous accounts of wilderness travel, I tire rather quickly of those books that do little more than temporarily transport me from my armchair to a vicariously imagined outdoor life. Rather, travel writers who succeed in capturing my interest must offer some unique quality, whether it is the lyric of simplicity of Sigurd Olsen or the humour of R.M. Patterson. What Grinnell's narrative offers — or at least promises — is an exploration of the human response to authority and leadership within a small but highly dependent group. No doubt, I was especially alert to such matters, having recently completed a major project on John Franklin's canoe journey of 1819-1822, a project in which Franklin's style of leadership commanded significant attention. Thus, I began reading/1 death on the barrens with great interest in the group dynamics that Grinnell reveals. Roughly three-quarters of the way through the book, however, the investigation of leadership becomes lost in a maze of other themes. These other themes — wilderness travel as spiritual metaphor, the journey of personal growth, the eulogy of a great man, the corruption of human insti- tutions, the morality of a Wordsworthian natural universe — are the familiar fare of scores of wilderness travel accounts, and the uniqueness that initially made Grinnell's book attractive disappears. Having said that, all these odds and ends of theme, this helterskelter of responses, contribute to the humanity — if not to the classical aesthetics — of the book. One man's life was lost on the 'recreational' journey in the summer of 1955 (perplexingly, the death arose from drowning, not from starvation, as the earlier passages of the book fore- shadow), and sadly, decades later, Grinnell lost his sons in 78 REVIEWS a similar canoeing accident. The deaths of Grinnell's sons have no connection with the events of the 1950s barrenlands trip, but, as one might well imagine, those deaths three decades later did give Grinnell pause to rethink his own earlier experience. This much is history, one might say, and should have no bearing on our evaluation of the artistry of the book. But it is the realization of Grinnell's 40-year struggle to tell this story of growth — and the loss that always accompanies growth — that forges the undeniable emotional link be- tween author and reader. Writing the book had, no doubt, a crucial therapeutic effect on Grinnell. And while A death on the barrens adheres to few of those classical unities Aristotle lauded in Greek tragedy, the bond of humanity any reader must feel through Grinnell's troubled effort to share his loss creates a great deal of empathy in the reader. I am indeed a more complete person for having read this book, and one wonders if a book can ever achieve a higher end. (Richard C. Davis, Department of English, Univer- sity of Calgary, 2500 University Drive NW, Calgary, Alberta T2N 1N4, Canada.) THE FROZEN ECHO: GREENLAND AND THE EXPLORATION OF NORTH AMERICA, ca AD 1000-1500. Kirsten A. Seaver. 1996. Stanford: Stanford University Press, xviii + 407 p, illustrated, hard cover. ISBN 0-8047-2514-4. £40.00. It must be stated straightaway that this work is a major achievement. The author has tackled difficult questions concerning the nature of Norse settlement in Greenland. She has also examined the relationships between those settlements and the exploration and exploitation of North America and of the North Atlantic by other Europeans, most notably the English and Portuguese. A central question is, of course, what was the cause, or what were the causes, that led to the extinction of the Greenland colo- nies? The author uses a kaleidoscopic variety of sources, and approaches the questions she has set for herself from the point of view of different disciplines. The sources include historical texts, many in Scandinavian languages, and also the results of archaeological and cartographical studies. The book is divided into two parts. Firstly, there is a detailed study of North Atlantic exploration by the Norse, with an exhaustive analysis of the economic, social, and ecclesiastical conditions of the Greenland colonies. This is followed by an examination of the official and unofficial maritime efforts in the North Atlantic by, for example, the Bristol merchants and of the impact of these on Greenland. The author's central conclusion relating to the fate of the Greenland colonists is that: ...both circumstantial evidence and common sense suggest that the Greenlanders, who had so clearly taken active part in the North Atlantic economic community throughout the fifteenth century, had remained oppor- tunists to the end and joined the early-sixteenth-cen- tury European surge toward North America. As noted, the range and breadth of the author's sources are breath-taking and the sheer diligence with which she has tackled them is an example to all who undertake historical study. Each of her chapters is a comprehensive analysis of its subject, and they inter-relate well. The totality of the work is a very impressive contribution on a difficult topic. However, the book is, in some respects, poorly written. The author, in her acknowledgements, comments on the input of her editor, and one feels that the work would have had a more consistent style if the editing had been either more or less rigorous. In places, the author's approach is journalistic, and the uneasy juxtaposition of styles makes for uneven reading. Some of the writing is unfortunate. The first sentence of the acknowledgements — 'It is a truth universally acknowledged that anyone writing a book must be in need of a supportive spouse' — caused this reviewer to wince. One may wonder if the author is aware that Jane Austen was in fact single! Other examples are: 'The cresting wave of European exploration slammed onto the shores of the Americas' (page 254), and the comment that John Cabot 'would try to go Columbus one better' (page 265). A further deficiency is the illustrations. The maps are adequate as far as they go, but it seems curious that the overall map of the North Atlantic, relevant to the entire argument of the book, is less than half a page in size and is relegated to page 215. The maps of the Greenland settle- ments are excellent, but the reproductions of contempo- rary maps and charts are on so reduced a scale as to make them of little use. The photographs of areas in the Green- land settlements, in particular those on pages 10 and 20, give little useful support to the text. Those of archaelogical relics are much better and have been carefully selected. To sum up, a worthy effort, and one that will be required reading for those with specialised interests in the period and area. However, with a more even style and consistent editing, a better book could have been pro- duced, which might have served the needs both of special- ists and of the more general reader. Sadly, this is not the book to do this. (Ian R. Stone, Tartu University, Ulikooli 18, Tartu, Estonia.) TO THE ARCTIC BY CANOE 1819-1821: THE JOURNAL AND PAINTINGS OF ROBERT HOOD, MIDSHIPMAN WITH FRANKLIN. C. Stuart Houston (Editor). 1995. Montreal, Kingston, London, Buffalo: McGill-Queen's University Press, xxxvi + 217 p, illus- trated, soft cover. ISBN 0-7735-1222-5. £13.95. ARCTIC ORDEAL: THE JOURNAL OF JOHN RICHARDSON, SURGEON-NATURALIST WITH FRANKLIN, 1820-1822. C. Stuart Houston (Editor). 1995. Montreal, Kingston, London, Buffalo: McGill- Queen's University Press, xxxiv + 349 p, illustrated, soft cover. ISBN 0-7735-1223-3. £13.95. Unquestionably one of the most significant exploring efforts of the nineteenth century was the Arctic Land Expedition of 1819-1822, under the command of Lieuten- ant John Franklin. Not only was it the first expedition to 
work_aq7meiqkobeb7bjyjg2ddibd6e	----	pdfdocument.indd © 1932 Nature Publishing Group 688 NATURE [NOVEMBER 5, 1932 Obituary PROF. J. c. FIELDS, F .R.S. I N the death of Prof. John Charles Fields on August 9 the University of Toronto lost one of its most renowned members and- probaby its most gifted mathematician. Prof. Fields was born on May 14 at Hamilton, Ontario, in the year 1863. When quite young he displayed unusual skill in mathematics and in his university course at Toronto his brilliancy attracted much attention. Though his doctorate was taken at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, it was to Ger- many that he, like many another student from the American continent in the early days, turned for stimulus to mathematical research. There it was that he found his chief inspiration for his subject. He studied at Paris for a time but it was at Gottingen and Berlin, where he came under the influence of such leaders as Wierstrass, Klein, Fuchs and Schwartz. that his imagination was fired and the foundations laid for the creative side of his life's work. In 1906, Fields published his famous treatise on "Theory of the Algebraic Functions of a Complex Variable", a work which at once received world- wide acclaim and won for its author imme- diate recognition as a mathematician of the first rank. In his conversations with me he often spoke with pride and with deep affection of the friendly part played by the late Mittag-Leffler, the renowned Swedish mathematician, in the negotiations that led up to the publication of this work. Prof. Fields was called to the University of Toronto in the opening year of the present century. Since that time his researches and those of workers associated with him have been among the outstanding contributions to knowledge made by that institution. In all his academic relations Fields strenuously advocated and promoted in every way open to him the claims of research. Soon after his appoint- ment t.o Toronto he openly expressed the view that students desiring to specialise in mathe- matics came to universities in America handi- capped by defective mathematical training in the secondary schools. Another handicap to which he considered the students of a generation ago were subjected both in Canadian universities and in American universities generally was that involved in the use of defective mathematical texts, more particularly of texts on the calculus. It was his considered opinion that one would not be far wrong in attributing the almost complete sterility of the mathematicians of the last generation in America to inadequate and ineffective teaching of the calculus. But all this was gradually changed. Through the efforts of Fields and of those of other leaders holding similar opinions, new life was breathed into the teaching of mathematics in Canada and the United States, with the result that an ever-increasing stream of research No. 3288, VoL. 130] achievement is becoming so great as to tax severely the facilities available for publication. During the period of the War and for some time afterwards Prof. Fields was president of the Royal Canadian Institute of Toronto. Through- out his term of office he never ceased to advocate scientific research as the ideal of the Institute and to emphasise the opportunity its organisation afforded for the advancement of scientific thought. He initiated a movement in the direction of having research professorships attached to this institute similar to those now administered by the Royal Society, the Royal Institution and the FrankliD Institute. From the way in which he laid his plans for the success of this project and from the manner in which he was quietly working them out I believe that had he lived but a few years longer he would have achieved his aim Prof. Fields was president of the International Mathematical Congress held in Toronto in 1924. It was a very successful meeting ar.d it was largely through the financial aid personally secured by him that it and the meeting of the British Association for the Advancement of Science held at the same time were made possible. The fact that the Press of the University of Toronto was able to handle such a difficult typo- graphical task as that involved in the printing of the "Proceedings of the International Mathe- matical Congress" was somewhat of a surprise to foreign mathematicians. It was only made possible, however, through the close co-operation that was maintained between Mr. R. J. Hamilton, director of the Press, and his staff on one hand and Prof. Fields with his associate editors on the other. What I consider to be Fields's greatest achieve- ment in advancing the cause of research in Toronto was the institution of the special annual finance grant that is made by the Legislature of the Province to the University of Toronto and ear-marked for research. The first of these grants, which amounted to more than 75,000 dollars, wa8 made on the recommendation to the Government of Ontario of the Hon. Dr. H. A. Cody, then Mmister of Education and now president of the University. I do not think I am revealing any secret in stating that this grant was secured very largely as a result of the most earnest solicitation by Prof. Fields. One of Prof. Fields's last activities was the establishment of a fund with which to provide two or more gold medals, to be awarded by a Committee of the International Mathematical Congress at stated intervals for outstanding achievements in mathematical research. The initial sources of the fund were the cash balances remaining in the hands of the organisation com- mittees of the 1924 Toronto meetings of the British Association and the International Mathe- matical Congress. His great interest in this fund © 1932 Nature Publishing Group NOVEMBER 5, 1932] NATURE 689 is shown by the fact that according to the pro- visions of his will the residue of his estate after certain annuities are paid will pass to the medal fund, which it gave him such pleasure and satisfaction to inaugurate. Of late years Prof. Fields's life was more strenuous than the state of his health warranted. He frequently related with evident pleasure how he had just caught a tram, or train, and he often travelled by aeroplane in order to economise his time. Some twenty years ago an attack of rheum- atic fever left him with health impaired, and in 1924, through carrying his luggage to the station on one of the numerous journeys made in organis- ing the 1924 meetings, he overstrained his heart. In spite of this disability the last eight years of his life were crowded with activities. Two years ago he suffered a slight cerebral hremorrhage and in May of this year he had a violent heart attack. He recovered sufficiently to sit up at times in a reclining chair from which he dictated letters at intervals to some of his intimate friends. Prof. Fields was the recipient of numerous honours, but the one he valued most was his fellowship in the Royal Society of London. Quite recently the Italian Government expressed a desire to confer upon him an honour of rare distinction but this he was compelled to decline through the existence of self-denying legislation enacted in Canada at the close of the War. I should like to mention one outstanding mental gift possessed by him. It was his remarkable memory. It was my privilege to be present at a lecture given by him some years ago on "The Evaluation of 1t". To my astonishment he went to the blackboard in the course of the lecture and without hesitation wrote out the value of 1t correct to 200 decimal places. Prof. Fields's life was spent in the cause of research. He was devoted to his friends, and I never knew anyone more pure in heart and thought or more generous in his judgments of others. With the words of one of his admirers I agree : "He has, I am sure, left behind him sweet memories with people the world over, and lucky, I think, are those who passed his way." I was fortunate in being one of that happy band. J. C. McLENNAN. MRs. G. P. BIDDER THE life of Mrs. Bidder, who died on September 25 at seventy years of age, was full of bene- ficient activities--scientific, social and domestic. I am competent to touch only upon the earlier scientific period before her marriage when, as Marion Greenwood, she was well known to many scientific colleagues. She went to Girton from Bradford Girls' Grammar School with an entrance scholarship in 1879, when she was seventeen years old. She obtained a first class in both parts of the Natural Sciences Tripos for 1882 and 1883 and was at once appointed demon- No. 3288, VoL. 130] strator in physiology to the science students of Newnham. In those days there were no lecturers in science at that college. In 1888 she was awarded by Girton College the Gamble prize for a dissertation. In 1890 she was appointed the head of the Balfour Laboratory in Downing Place--a queer, ugly block of a building, once a chapel. How it came by so surprising a change I never heard. Some contraction in the spiritual life of Cambridge must have thrown it, a spiritual derelict, on to the market. At any rate it became the laboratory for women science students and, as Cambridge was still stirred by the genius and the tragic death of Francis Maitland the most brilliant of the Balfour brothers, it bore his name. There, until her marriage to Mr. George Bidder in 1899, Marion Greenwood was responsible for the teaching of the women science students, and herself taught. Her research work, however, was carried out in Foster's laboratory, where physiologists and bio- chemists, still undivorced, habited adjacent rooms to their mutual comfort and benefit. The rooms, in order, down the little dark passage, were the homes of Sheridan, Lea, Walter Gaskell, Marion Greenwood, and beyond and through her room, in a cupboard of a place, Langley. Miss Green- wood was in a small passage room, and I shared the one bench with her. No modern Ph.D. aspirant could or would compress his or her activities into the space we were contented with in those days. At that time women were rare in scientific laboratories and their presence by no means generally acceptable--indeed, that is too mild a phrase. Those whose memories go back so far will recollect how unacceptability not infrequently flamed into hostility. The woman student was rather expected to be eccentric in dress and manner ; she was still unplaced, so far as the male in possession was concerned. Miss Green- wood, it so happened, was not only a woman of quite unusual intellectual distinction but she had also great personal charm and a great gift of comradeship. Science by no means absorbed all her interest which covered a wide knowledge of literature. She worshipped Meredith, and was a. lover of Jane Austen and Peacock. She took her share, and it was a large one, in the government of Newnham and Girton, but I am inclined to think that the best she did for women was just being her gracious and kindly self in those early days of hostility, touched as it was sometimes by a spice of active persecution. Miss Greenwood made solid contributions to science. Her first scientific paper. was on the gastric glands. The amazing story of the secretory granules, which so much of the inner working of the living cell, was then being deciphered by Langley. Miss Greenwood was a. histologist, and it was natural for her to join in that quest. Her paper of 1890 on the action of nicotin upon certain invertebrates also reflected Obituary PROF. J. C. FIELDS, F .R.S. 
work_autyhznvj5b5hbajw62tqqgzqy	----	() This is an Open Access document downloaded from ORCA, Cardiff University's institutional repository: http://orca.cf.ac.uk/103069/ This is the author’s version of a work that was submitted to / accepted for publication. Citation for final published version: Edwards, Dianne 2017. Q & A Dianne Edwards. Current Biology 27 (14) , R685-R686. 10.1016/j.cub.2017.05.054 file Publishers page: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.cub.2017.05.054 <http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.cub.2017.05.054> Please note: Changes made as a result of publishing processes such as copy-editing, formatting and page numbers may not be reflected in this version. For the definitive version of this publication, please refer to the published source. You are advised to consult the publisher’s version if you wish to cite this paper. This version is being made available in accordance with publisher policies. See http://orca.cf.ac.uk/policies.html for usage policies. Copyright and moral rights for publications made available in ORCA are retained by the copyright holders. This PDF is a copy of the manuscript post-referees. There were some minor changes made prior to final publication CURRENT BIOLOGY Q&A What turned you on? I work on fossils but my first love was living plants. As a child I spent months on the Gower Peninsula where we had a bungalow. My father was a keen bird watcher and, I suppose to keep me occupied, encouraged me to collect and identify flowers. I kept notebooks with sporadic records of flowering times, drawings etc. and supplied the nature table in my primary school in Manselton, Swansea with flowers. My father was very much an amateur who had left school in his early teens – I wish he had introduced me at this age to Latin names. Incidentally my first encounter with rocks resulted in a drawing of what I thought was a fossil in the Carboniferous limestone at Pwlldu, but now suspect it was an artefact. I became more geologically informed later at secondary school when I joined the Swansea Scientific Society on Saturday mornings under the leadership of Dick Owen. Best advice When it became apparent after O levels that I had the ability to attempt Oxbridge entrance exams, my father took me to visit the mycologistt Ivor Isaac, then professor of botany at the University of Swansea for advice. They had been friends at primary school, when introduced to birdwatching and egg collecting by a ‘Mr Webb’. Both passed entrance exams to grammar school, but my grandparents could not afford the uniform. I remember Prof. Isaac asking me what newspapers I read, and on discovering that they were the Daily Express and Sunday tabloids (hidden when entertaining Baptist ministers) recommended the Guardian and the Sunday Times. In the absence of television, they did indeed widen my horizons. I don’t remember any life changing advice during my subsequent career. Early influences Relatively recently I came across the term ‘role model’. In retrospect I would have to include my secondary school teachers Elizabeth Bremner (Botany), Eluned Leyshon (Chemistry) and Eileen Jones (Maths). They were incredibly supportive in preparing for the Oxbridge exams – the first girl to do so in sciences from the school, my only reservation now being that they did not encourage me enough to question. Miss Leyshon in particular tried to make me more worldly with loans of books, both scientific and non-fiction, helped me to gain a part-time job in a market garden and much to the consternation of my parents showed me how to preserve fruit in various forms of alcohol. At University, most influential were Janet Harker my director of studies and Enid MacRobbie who as a biophysicist introduced me to the quantitative aspects of botany. I suppose now in an era of Athena Swan initiatives, then in the shelter of an all girls school and Girton College, I never realised that women were disadvantaged and more recently with one exception (from an unmarried woman who felt that a man with a family was more deserving of a job), I have never experienced prejudice. Why palaeobotany Even before University, I had a romantic idea of a research career, and later in Cambridge because this was my aim and I realised that to achieve this what I lacked in intellect I could compensate by hard work – a sort of educated parrot. In my final year, I was influenced by two external speakers – a female Prof. on carbohydraate biochemistry and then Prof. Harlan Banks from Cornell who was an inspirational, arm-waving lecturer and leader of a very active research group. This was the beginning of a major research period on early land plants led by north American palaeobotanists. Banks invited me to join his group and with a NATO studentship spent the first year of PhD research in his department learning techniques, there being no appropriate supervision in Cambridge at the time when Bill Chaloner in London led research on Palaeozoic palaeobotany. Later in the year after graduation I attended my first conference – the tenth International Botanical Congress in Edinburgh. Logistics were horrendous, I lodged in a seedy tenement and seemed to spend more time rushing between lectures than listening to them. It did, however, give an opportunity to glimpse the “big names” in contemporary palaeobotany. I still dislike large conferences with numerous parallel sessions but enjoy more intimate interdisciplinary and themed ones – those organised by the New Phytologist Trust come to mind. Who dead would I like to meet? Only in writing this did I realise that I was most influenced by female scientists and this leads me to Agnes Arber. As only the second female president of the Linnean Society, I began to look into the struggles of early female botanists in gaining recognition in the academic world. Arber was amongst them. She was a botanist as well as philosopher with wide cultural interests, who although the first female botanist to become a fellow of the Royal Society, and who lived and worked in Cambridge, never held a University appointment. At one stage she was offered accommodation in the Botany School, but she declined this as it was in the Botanic Gardens at the end of the city to her home on Hills Road and would have been logistically inconvenient as a widow with a small daughter. Instead, she worked at home where she converted a maid’s bedroom into a laboratory. Her brilliance had been recognised when she was still at school by another pioneering woman botanist fellow at Girton, Ethel Sargant. The Girton archive holds a series of fascinating letters sent by Sargant to Arber, and kept by Arber (the remainder of her archive was sadly sent to the Hunt Botanical Library in Pittsburgh). Sargant had destroyed all her replies but from the letters we get a glimpse of the struggles of a married female scientist and the hostility of the male community. This was particularly apparent when Arber was nominated as President of Section K (Botany) for the British Association for the Advancement of Sciences annual meeting in Edinburgh in 1921, when a group of male botanists (some of my botanical heroes among them!) united to oppose her. There are records of letters with comments to the effect that ‘it would be an insult to Balfour and Edinburgh to have to deal with a woman with inferior academic qualifications’, while Bower wrote of the dangers of a ‘female gynocracy’. We would have a lot to talk about not the least her interests in plant morphology and development. If I had to choose a man to meet then that would be John Lubbock, but that is another story. Is there too much emphasis on big data collaborations as opposed to hypothesis driven research? There is a need for both and in particular in this genomic phase of molecular biology big data collaborations are the obvious way forward as indeed they are in my own field where assembled data can be effectively used to answer the big ‘sexy’ questions. However in my own research funding requests are not so much via testing of hypotheses, but in the generation of data. This is where I would make a case for up front funding for fundamental discovery science per se (not dressed up as futile hypotheses) to finance the data gatherers and particularly for technical support and basic infrastructure. As an example in Devonian palaeobotany, in Munster a technician has been employed over tens of years to produce thin sections of fossiliferous chert which have led to major advances in the understanding of early terrestrial ecosystems, including the life cycles of tracheophytes, and plant symbiotic relationships with lichens, mycorrhiza as well as terrestrial and aquatic arthropods. In my own case, I cannot overestimate the SEM technical support from Lindsey Axe, a school technician available even when I had no grants, and without whom my career would not have been as productive or successful. Finally big data analyses are only as valuable as the quality of the data they rely upon. What is the use of sequencing an organism of dubious identity? Is there a need for more cross talk between biological disciplines Attitudes are changing fast. While a primary concern for me is the description of the nature of early vegetation, a major aim to reconstruct their activities as living organisms requires collaboration with neobotanists and in particular plant physiologists – this having been done at a personal level with John Raven, but attempts to seek funding from the BBSRC have been unsuccessful, because I work in fossils, which is NERC territory. The advent of genomics and its application to consideration of physiology, development and phylogeny of early land plants is already building bridges, as demonstrated, for example by Liam Dolan and his research group in Oxford. There is also the need for access to equipment for both imaging and chemical analyses. But there remain problems of attitudes within the biological community itself – particularly as biomedical disciplines merge with more traditional biological ones and organismal biologists sometimes appear to be fighting a rear-guard action against molecular colleagues. Such conflict is fuelled by the use of bibliometrics in assessment of research quality and a lack of recognition that one size does not fit all when evaluating small communities, where outputs may be better suited to low impact journals. I (perhaps naively) have been astounded when sitting on various award committees at the ignorance of some, usually younger, members who still equate excellent science with high incomes and h indices – an attitude now very much in evidence at University level as they cherry pick for REF returns – now there’s another hobby horse! What would I most want to know. Of course I want to find out if life exists elsewhere in the universe, but despair when I read time and time again in grant applications that we seem to need to justify fundamental research on life on this planet to facilitate evaluation or detection of life on Mars, which at best will be at microbial level. I want to know about the origin of life on Earth and, closer to home, the nature of land vegetation before the dominance of vascular plants (through the discovery of megafossils yielding anatomical as well as morphological information) and its impact on lithosphere and atmosphere. What advice would you give to young biologists? Keep your options open as long as possible. Never choose a pathway where you have doubts or dislikes. Keep up with the physical sciences and maths. Enjoy your PhD. Read Jane Austen for succinct prose. 
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work_b5etdplqjfhzzdb2tzbjeoi3w4	----	* ' T * t - V : Science Review DECEMBER 1996 VOLUME*) NUMBER4 , • . . v ; , V D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 17 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 00 20 81 25 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055400208125 EDITOR Ada W. Finifter Department of Political Science 303 South Kedzie Hall Michigan State University East Lansing, Ml 48824-1032 BOOK REVIEW EDITOR Mark I. Lichbach Department of Political Science Campus Box 333 University of Colorado at Boulder Boulder, CO 80309-0333 EDITORIAL BOARD Paul R. Abramson Michigan State University David Austen-Smith Northwestern University Lawrence Baum Ohio State University Nathaniel Beck University of California, San Diego Jonathan Bendor Stanford University W. James Booth Vanderbilt University Paul Brace Rice University Bruce Bueno de Mcsquita Stanford University Robert Erikson University of Houston William Galston University of Maryland Barbara Gcddes University of California at Los Angeles m EDITORIAL STAFF Harriett Posner Director of Manuscript Processing and Production Elizabeth Johnston Andrew Stephen Knoedler Copy Editors Micheal W. Giles Emory University Robert W. Jackman University of California, Davis Gary King Harvard University Richard Ned Lebow Ohio State University Robert Luskin University of Texas at Austin Paula D. McClain University of Virginia Kathleen McGraw SUNY, Stony Brook Walter Mebanc, Jr. Cornell University Karen Remmer University of New Mexico Virginia Sapiro University of Wisconsin- Madison Christopher Butler Kathleen Dowley Mark S. Hurwitz Damon Linker Scott Truelove APSR Interns Arlene Saxonhouse University of Michigan Theda Skocpol Harvard University Steven B. Smith Yale University Laura Stoker University of California at Berkeley John L. Sullivan University of Minnesota Kaare Str0m University of California at San Diego Michael Ward University of Colorado at Boulder Susan Welch Pennsylvania State University John R. Zaller University of California at Los Angeles Sarah Henderson David Lewis David van Mill Assistants to the Book Review Editor The American Political Science Review (ISSN-0003-0554) appears quarterly. It is published by the Ameriean Political Science Association, 1527 New Hampshire Ave., N.W., Washington, DC 20036, and sent to all members. Dues: Regular Members with gross calendar income: under $30,000, $65; $30,000-$39,999, $80; $40,000-$49,999, $95; $50,()00-$69,999, $110; $70,000 and over, $125; Student Members (limited to 5 years), $30; Unemployed members, $30; Retired Members (who have been members 25 years) with gross calendar income under $25,000, $25; $25,000 and over, $45; Life Members, $3,000; Institutional Members: Domestic, $200; Foreign, $220. Dues allocated for a subscription to the APSR: $17 for individual members; $128 for institutional members. Changes of address sent to Membership Services APSA. Postmaster: Send address changes to APSR, 1527 New Hampshire Ave., N.W., Washington, DC 20036. Periodicals postage paid at Washington, DC, and at additional mailing offices. D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 17 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 00 20 81 25 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055400208125 American Political Science Review Volume 90, Number 4, December 1996 Table of Contents PERTODtCAL*? DEC 0 9 1996 EDITOR'S NOTES ARTICLES Explaining Interethnic Cooperation James D. Fearon and David D. Laitin 715 The Electoral Connection in the Chinese Countryside Melanie Manion 736 Uncertainty, Shifting Power, and Appeasement Robert Powell 749 Do Bills of Rights Matter? The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms Charles R. Epp 765 Partisan Effects of Voter Turnout in Senatorial and Gubernatorial Elections Jack H. Nagel and John E. McNulty 780 Do Majority-Minority Districts Maximize Substantive Black Representation in Congress? Charles Cameron, David Epstein, and Sharyn O'Halloran 794 Voting and Vetoing Eyal Winter 813 RESEARCH NOTE Myth and Reality in Business Support for Democrats and Republicans in the 1936 Presidential Election Michael J. Webber and G. William Domhoff 824 FORUM The European Parliament as a Conditional Agenda Setter: What Are the Conditions? A Critique of Tsebelis (1994) Peter Moser 834 More on the European Parliament as a Conditional Agenda Setter: Response to Moser George Tsebelis 839 The Claim of Issue Creation on the U.S. Supreme Court Lee Epstein, Jeffrey A. Segal, and Timothy Johnson 845 Issues, Agendas, and Decision Making on the Supreme Court Kevin T. McGuire and Barbara Palmer 853 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 17 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 00 20 81 25 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055400208125 BOOK REVIEW ESSAYS Black Politics at the Crossroads? Or in the Cross-Hairs? Paula D. McClain 867 Stephen Burman. The Black Progress Question: Explaining the African American Predicament Martin Carnoy. Faded Dreams: The Politics and Economics of Race in America Desmond King. Separate and Unequal: Black Americans and the US Federal Government Christopher Silver and John V. Moeser. Separate City: Black Communities in the Urban South, 1940-1968 Michael Peter Smith and Joe R. Feagin. The Bubbling Cauldron: Race, Ethnicity, and the Urban Crisis Robert C. Smith. We Have No Leaders: African Americans in the Post-Civil Rights Era Social Movements in Contentious Politics: A Review Article Sidney Tarrow 874 Charles F. Andrain and David E. Apter. Political Protest and Social Change: Analyzing Politics J. Craig Jenkins and Bert Klandermans, eds. The Politics of Social Protest: Comparative Perspectives on States and Social Movements Hanspeter Kriesi and others, eds. New Social Movements in Western Europe: A Comparative Analysis Elizabeth J. Perry. Shanghai on Strike: The Politics of Chinese Labor Charles Tilly. Popular Contention in Great Britain, 1758-1834 James W. White. Ikki: Social Conflict and Political Protest in Early Modern Japan BOOK REVIEWS Political Theory Banning, Lance. The Sacred Fire of Liberty: James Madison and the Founding of the Federal Republic Vincent McGuire 884 Barry, Brian. Justice as Impartiality Charles Larmore 884 Benner, Erica. Really Existing Nationalisms: A Post-Communist View from Marx and Engels Viroli, Maurizio. For Love of Country: An Essay on Patriotism and Nationalism David Miller 885 Boesche, Roger. Theories of Tyranny from Plato to Arendt Larry Arnhart 887 Bubeck, Diemut. Care, Gender, and Justice Wendy Gunther-Canada 888 Conway, David. Classical Liberalism: The Unvanquished Ideal. Machan, Tibor R., and Douglas B. Rasmussen, eds. Liberty for the 21st Century: Contemporary Libertarian Thought James M. Glass 888 DeLuca, Tom. The Two Faces of Political Apathy Philip Green 890 Hindess, Barry. Discourses of Power: From Hobbes to Foucault Jacqueline Stevens 892 Honneth, Axel. The Struggle for Recognition: The Moral Grammar of Social Conflicts Horst Mewes 892 Jacobson, David. Rights Across Borders: Immigration and the Decline of Citizenship Miller, David. On Nationality Jeff Spinner-Halev 894 Kley, Roland. Hayek's Social and Political Thought Gordon Tullock 895 Machan, Tibor R., and Douglas B. Rasmussen, eds. Liberty for the 21st Century: Contemporary Libertarian Thought. See Conway, David, above. Miller, David. On Nationality. See Jacobson, David, above. Ruderman, Anne Crippen. The Pleasures of Virtue: Political Thought in the Novels of Jane Austen Ethan Fishman 896 Schluchter, Wolfgang. Paradoxes of Modernity: Culture and Conduct in the Theory of Max Weber Nancy L. Schwartz 896 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 17 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 00 20 81 25 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055400208125 Simon, Julia. Mass Enlightenment: Critical Studies in Rousseau and Diderot Wokler, Robert, ed. Rousseau and Liberty Tracy B. Strong 897 Smith, Tara. Moral Rights and Political Freedom Jack Donnelly 898 Thompson, Norma. Herodotus and the Origins of the Political Community: Arion 's Leap Clifford Orwin 899 Van Parijs, Phillipe. Real Freedom for All: What (If Anything) Can Justify Capitalism? Howard J. Sherman 900 Villa, Dana R. Arendt and Heidegger: The Fate of the Political Fred Dallmayr 901 Viroli, Maurizio. For Love of Country: An Essay on Patriotism and Nationalism. See Benner, Erica, above. Wokler, Robert, ed. Rosseau and Liberty. See Simon, Julia, above. Young, James P. Reconsidering American Liberalism: The Troubled Odyssey of the Liberal Idea Thomas L. Dumm 903 American Politics Allen, David S., and Robert Jensen, eds. Freeing the First Amendment: Critical Perspectives on Freedom of Expression Donald A. Downs 904 Cooper, Phillip J. Battles on the Bench: Conflict Inside the Supreme Court Lawrence Baum 905 de la Garza, Rodolfo O., and Louis DeSipio, eds. Ethnic Ironies: Latino Politics in the 1992 Elections Roberto E. Villarreal 906 Gedicks, Frederick Mark. The Rhetoric of Church and State Stephen V. Monsma 907 Gerhardt, Michael J. The Federal Impeachment Process: A Constitutional and Historical Analysis Mark J. Rozell 908 Gilmour, John B. Strategic Disagreement: Stalemate in American Politics Sean Q. Kelly 909 Grant, Wyn. Autos, Smog, and Pollution Control: The Politics of Air Quality Management in California John J. Kirlin 910 Himelfarb, Richard. Catastrophic Politics: The Rise and Fall of the Medicare Catastrophic Coverage Act of 1988 Christine L. Day 911 Imig, Douglas. Poverty and Power: The Political Representation of Poor Americans Kay Lehman Schlozman 912 Jelen, Ted G., and Clyde Wilcox. Public Attitudes toward Church and State J. Christopher Soper 913 Klyza, Christopher McGrory. Who Controls Public Lands?: Mining, Forestry and Grazing Policies, 1870-1990 Robert H. Nelson 914 MacManus, Susan A., with Patricia A. Turner. Young v. Old: Generational Combat in the 21st Century William G. Mayer 915 Marcus, George E., John L. Sullivan, Elizabeth Theiss-Morse, and Sandra L. Wood. With Malice toward Some: How People Make Civil Liberties Judgments James L. Gibson 916 Maynard-Moody, Steven. The Dilemma of the Fetus: Fetal Research, Medical Progress, and Moral Politics Patricia Boling 917 Mondak, Jeffery J. Nothing to Read: Newspapers and Elections in a Social Experiment Marion R. Just 918 Pagano, Michael A., and Ann O'M. Bowman. Cityscapes and Capital: The Politics of Urban Development Richard E. DeLeon 919 Pinello, Daniel R. The Impact of Judicial-Selection Method on State-Supreme-Court Policy: Innovation, Reaction, and Atrophy Henry R. Glick 920 Ramsay, Meredith. Community, Culture and Economic Development: The Social Roots of Local Action Gerry Stoker 920 Schultz, David A., and Christopher E. Smith. The Jurisprudential Vision of Justice Antonin Scalia Richard A. Brisbin, Jr. 921 Shamir, Ronen. Managing Legal Uncertainty: Elite Lawyers in the New Deal Mark Kessler 922 Sorenson, Leonard R. Madison on the "General Welfare" of America: His Consistent Constitutional Vision George W. Carey 923 Sunderland, Lane V. Popular Government and the Supreme Court: Securing the Public Good and Private Rights Gary Jeffrey Jacobsohn 924 Thurber, James A., and Roger H. Davidson, eds. Remaking Congress: Change and Stability in the 1990s Paul J. Quirk 925 Welsh, Wayne N. Counties in Court: Jail Overcrowding and Court-Ordered Reform William A. Taggart 926 Yinger, John. Closed Doors, Opportunities Lost: The Continuing Costs of Housing Discrimination Samuel L. Myers, Jr. 927 ill D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 17 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 00 20 81 25 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055400208125 Comparative Politics Agiiero, Felipe. Soldiers, Civilians, and Democracy: Post-Franco Spain in Comparative Perspective Donald Share 928 Badran, Margot. Feminists, Islam, and Nation: Gender and the Making of Modern Egypt Paidar, Parvin. Women and the Political Process in Twentieth- Century Iran Masoud Kazemzadeh 929 Bennett, Vivienne. The Politics of Water: Urban Protest, Gender and Power in Monterrey, Mexico Helen Ingram 931 Boron, Atilio A. State, Capitalism, and Democracy in Latin America Ronald H. Chilcote 932 Brynen, Rex, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds. Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World, volume 1: Theoretical Perspectives Augustus Richard Norton 933 Crewe, Ivor, and Anthony King. SDP: The Birth, Life, and Death of the Social Democratic Party David E. Butler 934 Curry, Jane Lefwich, and Luba Fajfer, eds. Poland's Permanent Revolution: People vs. Elites, 1956-1990 Robert Zuzowski 935 du Toit, Pierre. State Building and Democracy in Southern Africa: Botswana, Zimbabwe, and South Africa James R. Scarritt 936 Fulbrook, Mary. Anatomy of a Dictatorship: Inside the GDR, 1949-1989 Helga A. Welsh 936 Gilmartin, Christina Kelley. Engendering the Chinese Revolution: Radical Women, Communist Politics, and Mass Movements in the 1920s Jean C. Robinson 937 Herman, Didi. Rights of Passage: Struggles for Lesbian and Gay Legal Equality Shane Phelan 938 Kim, Hyung-Ki, Michio Muramatsu, and T. J. Pempel, eds. The Japanese Civil Service and Economic Development: Catalysts of Change Robert C. Angel 939 Loewenhardt, John. The Reincarnation of Russia: Struggling with the Legacy of Communism, 1990-1994 Nicolai N. Petro 940 Luciak, Ilja A. The Sandinista Legacy: Lessons from a Political Economy in Transition Wright, Bruce E. Theory in the Practice of the Nicaraguan Revolution Gary Prevost 941 Morris, Stephen D. Political Reformism in Mexico: An Overview of Contemporary Mexican Politics Roderic Ai Camp 942 Norden, Deborah L. Military Rebellion in Argentina: Between Coups and Consolidation Gerardo L. Munck 943 Paidar, Parvin. Women and the Political Process in Twentieth- Century Iran. See Badran, Margot, above. Shih, Chih-Yu. State and Society in China's Political Economy Yasheng Huang 944 Thain, Colin, and Maurice Wright. The Treasury and Whitehall: The Planning and Control of Public Expenditures, 1976-1993 Paul Whiteley 945 Thompson, Mark R. The Anti-Marcos Struggle: Personalistic Rule and Democratic Transition in the Philippines Gretchen Casper 946 Torpey, John C. Intellectuals, Socialism and Dissent: The East German Opposition and Its Legacy Vladimir Tismaneanu 947 Vowles, Jack, Peter Aimer, Helena Catt, Jim Lamare, and Raymond Miller. Towards Consensus? The 1993 Election in New Zealand and the Transition to Proportional Representation Stephen I. Levine 948 Walder, Andrew G., ed. The Waning of the Communist State: Economic Origins of Political Decline in China and Hungary Yu-Shan Wu 949 Woodward, Susan L. Socialist Unemployment: The Political Economy of Yugoslavia, 1945-1990 Valerie Bunce 951 Wright, Bruce E. Theory in the Practice of the Nicaraguan Revolution. See Luciak, Ilja A., above. International Relations Berger, Mark T. Under Northern Eyes: Latin American Studies and U.S. Hegemony in the Americas, 1898-1990 Eldon Kenworthy 952 Cimbala, Stephen J., ed. Clinton and Post-Cold War Defense Robert J. Lieber 953 Danforth, Loring M. The Macedonian Conflict: Ethnic Nationalism in a Transitional World Adamantia Pollis 953 Hanson, Stephen E., ed. Can Europe Work? Germany and the Reconstruction of Postcommunist Societies Daniel N. Nelson 954 IV D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 17 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 00 20 81 25 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055400208125 Landau, Jacob M. Pan-Turkism: From Irredentism to Cooperation Frank Tachau 955 Lyons, Gene M., and Michael Mastanduno, eds. Beyond Westphalia? State Sovereignty and International Intervention Daniel J. Whiteneck 956 Taylor, Bron Raymond, ed. Ecological Resistance Movements: The Global Emergence of Radical and Popular Environmentalism Robert Paehlke 957 APSR EXTERNAL REVIEWERS, 1995-96 959 INDEX TO VOLUME 90 965 FORTHCOMING ARTICLES Political Institutions and Satisfaction with Democracy, Christopher J. Anderson and Christine A. Guillory Capabilities, Perception, and Escalation, Bruce Bueno de Mesquita, James Morrow, and Ethan Zorick Legal Theory in the Collapse of Weimar: Contemporary Lessons: David Dyzenhaus Unequal Participation: Democracy's Unresolved Dilemma, Arend Lijphart Institutional Arrangements and the Creation of Social Capital: The Effects of Public School Choice, Mark Schneider, Paul Teske, Melissa Marschall, Michael Mintrom, and Christine Roch Separation of Powers Games in the Positive Theory of Congress and Courts, Jeffrey A. Segal Trends in the Partisan Composition of State Legislatures: A Response to Fiorina, Jeffrey M. Stonecash and Anna M. Agathangelou Distance Versus Direction: The Illusory Defeat of the Proximity Theory of Electoral Choice, Anders Westholm D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 17 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 00 20 81 25 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055400208125 American Political Science Association 1527 New Hampshire Avenue, Washington, D.C. 20036 PRESIDENT: Arend Lijphart University of California, San Diego PRESIDENT ELECT: Elinor Ostrom Indiana University VICE PRESIDENTS: John Fcrejohn Stanford University Dianne Pinderhughes University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Harvey Starr University of South Carolina SECRETARY: Susan Welch Pennsylvania State University TREASURER: Gary C. Jacobson University of California, San Diego EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR: Catherine Rudder PROGRAM CO-CHAIRS: Jennifer Hochschild Princeton University Ronald Rogowski University of California, Los Angeles EDITOR, APSR Ada W. Finifter Michigan State University COUNCIL, 1994-96: Timothy Cook Williams College Susan MacManus University of South Florida Helen Milner Columbia University Mary P. Nichols Fordham University David Price Duke University Theda Skocpol Harvard University Toni-Michelle C. Travis George Mason University Eddie Williams Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies COUNCIL, 1995-97: Ruth Berins Collier University of California, Berkeley Micheal W. Giles Emory University Rodney E. Hero University of Colorado, Boulder Pamela K. Jensen Kenyon College Bruce W. Jentleson University of California, Davis Richard J. Payne Illinois State University Ian Shapiro Yale University Paul Sniderman Stanford University D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 17 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 00 20 81 25 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055400208125 
work_ba5asz5uynhhll4c55dwa5cire	----	The New Demand for Heterogeneity in College Teaching 5 The New Demand for Heterogeneity in College Teaching George Keller Baltimore, Maryland The past half century has brought an astounding increase in u.s. college and university enrollments. Therapid rise of mass higher education hasforced major changes at every institution and is reshaping the U.s. higher education enter- prise. Each college needs to ask itselfwhat the huge expansion means forfuture faculty hires, programs, and modes ofteaching. Introduction Most persons in higher education are aware of the enormous enrollment growth at U.S. colleges and universities in the past half century. But relatively few have fully recognized the radical consequences of this evolution from elite higher education to mass higher education-for teaching, faculty hiring, and the structure of American higher education. Many persons, even scholars of higher learning, still write and speak of the enterprise of higher learning as if it were a unitary entity with only minor differences among the schools; or they advocate improvements in teaching or curriculum as if the improve- ments should be, or could be, fairly standardized across the nearly 4,000 non- profit institutions. But the American movement to make college available not just to a minority of the brightest, more affluent, and most ambitious youths, but to masses of youngsters-and adults-compels us to rethink some accepted postulates about tertiary education. We also need to become more knowl- edgeable about the numerous ways in which the nation's commitment to providing college education for all has been reshaping U.S. higher education. 62 The New Demandfor Heterogeneity in College Teaching 63 We cannot improve the academy wisely unless we understand the conse- quences that mass higher education has brought to the campuses. The Dimensions of Enrollment Growth It is difficult to comprehend the enormity of the growth of education in the United States during the past six decades. In 1940 only 25% of adult Ameri- cans had even a high school diploma. Twenty years later, in 1960, only 41% were high school graduates. Today 80% have completed high school. Similar- ly,in 1940 only a tiny minority went on to college, and in 1960 less than 8% of U.S. adults had college degrees. The now-huge University of California was then composed of only two major universities, a medical school and three undergraduate colleges. Today, however, America's 3,900 accredited colleges and universities enroll 15.3 million students. More than one-fourth of U.S. citizens 25 years or older now hold a college degree. The United States cur- rently has double the college and university participation of most other coun- tries, with only a few exceptions such as Norway. Moreover, the composition of the students has changed. Since 1975 the number of students older than 35 has doubled, and the number of foreign students has quadrupled to roughly 580,000. There are many more women, African-Americans, Asians, and Latinos. Three in eight students now attend two-year colleges, where the learning tends to be largely vocational. More than 450,000 students, including many adults, are now enrolled in the newer for-profit colleges (National Center for Education Statistics, 2003). The overwhelming majority of the 15.3 million students are attending universi- ties to prepare to become accountants, nurses, computer engineers, teachers, artists, technicians, and a host of other professions, semi-professions, and lines of work. Most of these persons are not bookish, deeply curious young intellectuals. A great number of undergraduates, even some without talent, discipline, or ambition, are enrolled today because they are pushed and pulled to attend college, so they tend to be time-servers. Nearly half of all undergraduates drop out before completing their work for a degree. A growing number of students see little use in the liberal arts and are hostile to required courses in these subjects. They want courses that are "relevant," not those that explore Aristotle's philosophy, Giotto's or Rembrandt's paintings, plays by Shake- speare or books by Jane Austen or Alice Munro, poems by Keats or Yeats, texts by Adam Smith, Sigmund Freud, Reinhold Niebuhr, or Isaiah Berlin. A large number do not subscribe to the traditional values and purposes of higher 64 To Improve theAcademy education and demand instead that the professors teach to meet their needs and interests rather than teaching what the scholars think is best. The first person to notice the radical implications of mass higher educa- tion was Berkeleysociologist Martin Trow.who. in two brilliant articles in the early 1970s, predicted that admitting millions of additional young persons with varying degrees of preparation and ambition would necessitate a restructuring of higher learning in America. There is a fraction of youth that can achieve its adult roles and intrinsic satisfactions through prolonged formal study. That propor- tion may be 10. 15, or even 20 percent of the age-grade. But I am sure it is not 50 or 60 or 70 percent of the age-grade. That reason is enough to believe that the future of higher education cannot be an extrapolation of past tendencies. (Trow, 1971, p. 45) The United States has proudly moved from a relatively limited and elite higher education to a hugely enlarged system which enrolls unprecedented masses of young people and a rapidly growing number of working adults. The vast and far more heterogeneous cohort of college and university stu- dents has forced dozens of changes and innovations and several major trans- formations. The New Topography of Higher Education The offerings at our colleges have had to expand in variety as the enlarged number of students come with a broader array of interests. Dozens of new majors and degrees have been added in fields as diverse as communications, physical therapy, black studies, public relations, and art therapy. Sports have ballooned on campus, along with new majors in sports administration and leisure studies. The core curriculum has eroded and been replaced usually by a Chinese-menu list of courses to fulfill a diluted set ofliberal arts requirements. Undergraduate programs have become less research oriented and study has become more experiential, with increased time away from the professors through travel abroad, internships. and cooperative programs with employers. Discourse on campus has changed and is sprinkled as never before with vilifi- cation, harassment charges, and political attacks. At some campuses, speech codes have been installed to curtail increasing obscenities and gross insults. A consensus about the values, behavior, and functions of university life has melted. A growing number of faculty are children of the rebellious 1960s, 1970s, and 1980s, and see as their primary mission the transformation of The New Demandfor Heterogeneity in College Teaching 65 society rather than the advance of knowledge and introduction of students to the complexities, tradeoffs, wonders, and mysteries of life and the physical world. So-called political correctness is reported to be rife among the faculty at numerous institutions. Like the students, the composition of professors has become more diverse. As one trio of scholars writes, "The extent to which the faculty's demographic profile has changed in very recent years is unprece- dented" (Finkelstein, Seal,& Schuster, 1998,p. xi). To accommodate the increased breadth of courses and variety of stu- dents, the structure of academic appointments is being radically altered. As one of the leading experts on America's faculty recently noted, In the year 2001, only about one-quarter of new faculty appoint- ments were to full-time tenure track positions (i.e., half were part- time and more than half of the remaining full-time positions were "off" the tenure track).... Less obvious (but no less widespread) have been attempts to re-specialize the full-time faculty role: that is, to create full-time positions that do not require the "integrated" (and costly) Humboldtian model, to a more functionally specialized model wherein full-time faculty are now hired as teaching-only or even lower division/introductory courses only; or in the natural sci- ences and the professions, research-or-clinical only ... (Finkelstein. 2003, pp. 8. 12). But perhaps the most significant result of the move into mass higher education has been the differentiation both within and among colleges and universities. Within and among the institutions, faculty and administrative leaders have introduced several structural elements to cope with the greater variety, backgrounds. levels of ability, and interests of the admitted students. Segmenting the Enterprise Within colleges and universities. the schools have had to stretch the range of their teaching and programs of learning. To cope with the less prepared and dedicated entrants. many universities have introduced front-end remedial (or developmental) programs-220/0 of all freshmen in public collegesin 1995- and ESL (English as a Second Language) courses for the tidal wave of immi- grant youths. At the other end, many colleges and universities have opened honors programs for the best prepared and more ambitious students. Most institutions have also abandoned the common core curriculum and increased the number of undergraduate semi-professional and vocational programs 66 To Improve theAcademy and the kinds of master's degrees. Such changes allow the colleges to serve the greatly expanded gamut of student abilities, interests, and needs. Among the American institutions of higher learning, the advance of mass higher education has pressed into being a new, four-tier order. There are now four basic kinds of colleges and universities, each with its own col- lection of students, faculty, curriculum, and function for society. The most frequently cited and most prestigious stratum is that of the several dozen research universities. These have become primarily research factories, the principal source of new ideas, scientific findings, and discoveries. It may be hard to believe, but in 1952 the mean SAT-Verbal score at Harvard was only 583. The so-called IvyLeague universities, Stanford, and similar schools, had enrollments only slightly above those of other good colleges in academic ability. But beginning in the late 1950s and 1960s they transformed them- selves into meritocratic institutions. By 1990 just 10 universities-the Ivies plus Stanford and Berkeley-gathered in 31% of the country's students who scored in the 700s in their SAT-Verbal test (Cook & Frank, 1993; Herrnstein & Murray, 1994). The top 50 research universities, along with a dozen or so of the finest liberal arts colleges, now attract a huge share of the nation's most gifted and studious youth. These same institutions also recruit the most diligent and creative-and expensive-research scholars, and soak up a giant proportion of the federal and corporate research grants. With only a few exceptions, such as Columbia University, the undergraduate curriculum at these places has no core of required learning; methodology and theory are central concerns. Perhaps a third of the teaching of undergraduates at these prestigious houses of intellect is left to graduate students, adjunct instruc- tors, and part-time academics. This tier often has excellent graduate pro- grams and professional schools. The second tier is that of the small liberal arts colleges, most of them pri- vate schools. These schools are often the snug "academical villages" that Thomas Jefferson envisioned, and they are the mainstays of liberal arts learn- ing, exceptional teaching, and what is left of character development. Fewhave graduate programs of renown, although most of these 100 or so institutions have recently added master's programs and professional schools (Breneman, 1994). At several of the best endowed colleges, such as Amherst, Carleton, Pomona, Swarthmore, and Williams, the quality of student preparation and SAT test scores is on a par with those of the best research universities; but oth- ers mainly attract students who are reasonably strong, talented, and moder- atelyaffluent. The third tier, and by far the largest in enrollments, prepares students largely for the world of work. In this layer is a polyglot array of state universi- TheNew Demand for Heterogeneity in College Teaching 67 ties and colleges, regional private colleges and universities, and the specialized colleges of technology, art, education, and business. This tier skillfully turns out accountants, nurses, school teachers, farm managers, electronics experts, and engineers, as well as future lawyers, business executives, and doctors. Ath- letics is a major activity at many of the larger public and private schools. The faculty is usually a mix of research scholars, good teachers, specialists in some area of work, and many part-time instructors. The fourth kind is composed of the 1,800 public and private two-year colleges and the less well endowed private four-year colleges. These schools take in more than 90% of their applicants, including some who are woefully underprepared, and they enroll a large percentage of adults in both degree programs and continuing education courses. The faculty tend to be more practically oriented and are called to be instructors that can motivate stu- dents (Grubb & Associates, 1999). At many places there is a faculty union. The curriculum is heavily vocational and frequently remedial, and many classes are held in the evenings and on Saturdays. The new for-profit colleges, which often use online delivery of courses to serve busy adults, also concen- trate on training for work rather than the education of persons. Thus, as one leading economist of higher education, Duke University's Charles Clotfelter (1999), has observed, "As in other markets where large differences of quality exist, the market for U.S. college education is segmented, with students who are seeking admission to elite institutions, for example, rarely applying simul- taneously to community colleges" (p. 5). looking at Teaching With Fresh Eyes If this brief analysis of the new world of mass higher education is close to reality, I believe that academics and administrators need to adopt a far more differentiated view of effective teaching and learning. We cannot alter the scale and breadth of America's higher education services in such a massive way without altering our outlook, structures, and modes of teaching. Effec- tive teaching at the large research universities will differ from that at the state colleges and from that of the premier liberal arts colleges with their smaller classes and seminars. their stress on the accomplishments of civilization over the centuries, and their preparation for life and leadership rather than educa- tion for academic posts or professional or career distinction. Mass higher education decreases the worth of general, across-the-field prescriptions. The variety of students attending colleges and universities is different from that of several decades ago. The faculty seem in considerable part more active and 68 To Improve theAcademy opinionated politically, and their hiring and roles on campus have changed. The curricula of yesteryear havemostly dissolved and new majors have blos- somed. The structure of higher education, with its increasingly segmented tiers, has become more hierarchical, with more distinct national missionsfor each tier.Teaching and learning should thereforebecome more clientele-spe- cific, more institution-specific. To me, a major need is for the faculty, administrators, and trusteesat each institution to undertake a deep and frank assessment of its tradition and cul- ture, the nature of its students, the quality, style, and teaching skill of the facul- ty,and the programs of learning the institution offers. They need to ask: How has the college been changing in the face of the greaterheterogeneity of today's students, the new generation of facultymembers, and the expanded range of academic fields of inquiry,from moleculargenetics and software engineering to Chicanoand Muslim studies? How should it change? Howshould your pro- fessors teach now that computers, young people from other ethnicities and cultures,and a wider range of student preparationsand ambitionsare present? I have recently written about one college that did look into its soul and transformeditselffor the comingdecades (Keller, 2004). The scrutinyseems to have paid off.In the mid-1990s, Elon University had the usual three-times-a- week meetings for courses,with instruction offered heavily through lectures and reading assignments. There were roughly 300 courses in the catalog, and the faculty memberseachtaught four or five courses a semester, which the aca- demic vicepresident keenlywished to reduce. Earlier, a faculty member,who was also the director of advising, had begun giving each entering student a Myers-Briggs Type Indicatortest. She found that most of the studentswere not heavily studious and introverted but for the most part, energetic, extroverted, and interested in learning. Elon's clientele weremiddle-of-the-graduating-class personswho loved to do thingsrather than read about what others have done. So,the academic vicepresident decidedto institute engaged learning, with students actively researching, creating,traveling, and building in their studies and extracurricular activities. He cut nearly ISO courses and stretchedthe class meetings to four times a week, with the extra hour devoted to active learning projects. The faculty's teachingload was reduced to three courses a semester, and their salaries were increased. A cocurricularprogram that encouragedstu- dents to do community service, travel and study abroad, work as interns in nationalbusinesses, run campus programs and help make policy, and conduct undergraduate research was installed. Thus, the teaching at this college became more interactive and problem oriented, and more learning was done through hands-on work outsideof classes and active engagement with real-life situations. The teaching matched the kind of students that the institution was TheNewDemandfor Heterogeneity in College Teaching 69 attracting instead of trying to force them to adhere to an older liberal arts pat- tern of instruction that is more appropriate for the elite colleges. Given the new size and scope of American higher education, the leaders of every campus really should reappraise the operation of their houses of intellect. And each college and university should tailor its strategies, admits, and hiring to the specific role it plays, or intends to play, in advanced educa- tion in America. References Breneman, D. W. (1994). Liberal arts colleges: Thriving, surviving, or endangered? Washington, DC: The Brookings Institution. Clotfelter, C. T. (1999). The familiar but curious economics of higher education. Journal of Economic Perspectives, 13(1),3-12. Cook, P.J., & Frank, R. H. (1993). The growing concentration of top students at elite schools. In C. T. Clotfelter & M. Rothschild (Eds.), Studies ofsupply anddemand in higher education (pp. 121-144). Chicago, 11: University of Chicago Press. Finkelstein, M. J. (2003). The morphing of the American academic profession. Lib- eral Education, 89(4),6-15. Finkelstein, M. J., Seal, R. K., & Schuster, J. H. (1998). The newacademic generation: A profession in transition. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Grubb, W. N., & Associates. (1999). Honored but invisible: An inside look at teaching in community colleges. New York, NY: Routledge. Herrnstein, R. J., & Murray, C. (1994). The bell curve: Intelligence and class structure in American life. New York.NY:Free Press. Keller,G. (2004). Transforming a college: The story of a little-known college's strategic climb to national distinction. Baltimore. MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. National Center for Education Statistics. (2003). Digest of education statistics, 2002. Retrieved May 13, 2005, from http://nces.ed.gov/pubsearch/pubsinfo~asp ?pubid=2003060 Trow, M. (1970). Reflections on the transition from mass to universal higher educa- tion. Daedalus, 99, 1--42. Trow, M. (l971). Admissions and the crisis in American higher education. In W. T. Furniss (Ed.), Higher education for everybody? Issues and implications (pp. 26-52). Washington, DC: American Council on Education. 
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work_bfgdfxe3rraulaiinbva54yxxe	----	LIM_14_1_Artcles 1..86 Legal Information Management, 14 (2014), pp. 15–16 © The Author(s) 2014. Published by British and Irish Association of Law Librarians doi:10.1017/S147266961400005X LEGAL BIOGRAPHY Guest Editorial: Legal Biography Biography has always been a very popular subject for aca- demic study and publication. The lives of great men and women from history and from contemporary life continue to fascinate and intrigue us, and their autobiographies and biographies often provide valuable insights into historical events and movements as well as shining a light onto their personal motivations and preoccupations. As David Sugarman explains in his keynote special issue article on alternative visions of legal biography, legal biographies have had something of a renaissance recently with a number of legal biographies being published on such diverse legal figures as Kahn-Freud, Hughes Parry and Gwyneth Bebb as well as exciting new institutional initiatives being established such as the Eminent Scholars Archive at the University of Cambridge 1 and the LSE Legal Biography Project. 2 He argues persuasively that we may be witnessing a turning point in legal scholarship at the moment with the strong possibility that legal biography writing will become an increasingly important area for legal research in the future. This interesting idea of a turning point in legal scholar- ship, the methodological considerations and problems involved in doing archival research for legal biographies and the ongoing difficulties for scholars in identifying the key sources for legal biography research, were the three main reasons why a national socio-legal training day on legal biog- raphy was organised by the Institute of Advanced Legal Studies, the British Library and the Socio-Legal Studies Association and held at IALS in May 2013. Jon Sims, Curator for law and socio-legal studies at the British Library, Professor Linda Mulcahy at the LSE and the SLSA and myself were keen to provide a national forum for inter- ested academics to discuss the recent renaissance in legal biography research and for methodological issues to be raised and discussed. We also wanted expert librarians and archivists to highlight the usefulness of their rich and diverse collections for legal biography research. The national socio- legal training day proved to be very popular and successful with much discussion between the speakers and the atten- dees throughout the programme. The articles included in this special issue of Legal Information Management derive from the inspiring presentations during that day. LEGAL BIOGRAPHY RESEARCH – METHODOLOGICAL ISSUES As well as David Sugarman’s keynote article which sum- marises the current position of legal biography in legal scholarship, several other academics have written brief articles on the methodological considerations and pro- blems of archival research for legal biographies. Rosemary Auchmuty from Reading University discusses how she diligently researched the life story of Gwyneth Bebb (the woman at the heart of the seminal Bebb v The Law Society case which concerned women’s admission to the legal profession) who sadly left so little trace of her life in his- torical records. Linda Mulcahy at LSE and Les Moran at Birkbeck both write on different legal biographical topics, but both show so well how paying closer attention to his- torical paintings and judicial portraits can assist legal bio- graphers with their research. Finally in researching the British Constitutionalist Sir Ivor Jennings (1903–1965), Mara Malagodi at LSE highlights why the collection of his private papers held at the Institute of Commonwealth Studies in London has been so under-researched. LEGAL BIOGRAPHY RESEARCH – LIBRARY AND ARCHIVE SOURCES The brief articles by academics on methodological issues, are followed by a number of longer articles by librarians and archivists highlighting how the collections of important research libraries and archive sources can be so useful for legal biography research. Jon Sims writes so well on the huge and diverse collections at the British Library, Elizabeth Dawson summarises the interesting and unique archival sources for legal biography at IALS Library, whilst Susannah Rayner introduces the rich and surprising archival collec- tions held at SOAS Library. Lesley Dingle’s article is a fascin- ating description of the setting up and development of the wonderful Eminent Scholars Archive at the Squire Law Library in the University of Cambridge. This unique digital archive provides rare insights into the careers of legal scholars, jurists and practitioners with connections to Cambridge. Finally Guy Holborn, Librarian at Lincoln’s Inn and adviser to the LSE Legal Biography Project, discusses how the rich archives at the Inns of Court can assist legal biographers with their research in so many diverse ways. CONCLUSIONS It is hoped that these special issue articles will help us to understand more the varied methodological concerns and problems of legal biography researchers, as well as helping to highlight the many research libraries and spe- cialist archives which can provide expert assistance with legal biography research. Finally I can report that the national training day on legal biography has already contributed to the debate in aca- demic circles on the apparent renaissance in legal biography research. Linda Mulcahy and David Sugarman have since gone on to co-edit a series of articles on legal biography (written mostly by the authors contained in this Legal Information Management issue) which will be published in a special issue of the Journal of Law and Society in 2015. They kindly acknowledge their debt to the joint IALS, British Library, Socio-Legal Studies Association national training day in their official proposal. This is an unexpected, but very pleasing additional outcome of a stimulating day in May 2013. David Gee Deputy Librarian Institute of Advanced Legal Studies University of London 15 Footnotes 1 Eminent Scholars Archive: http://www.squire.law.cam.ac.uk/eminent_scholars/ 2 LSE Legal Biography Project: http://www.lse.ac.uk/collections/law/projects/legalbiog/lbp.htm Legal Information Management, 14 (2014), pp. 16–18 © The Author(s) 2014. Published by British and Irish Association of Law Librarians doi:10.1017/S1472669614000061 Alternative Visions of Legal Biography: an Abstract Abstract: David Sugarman reflects briefly on developments regarding legal biography and considers the future role and value of biography within the legal community and especially in the context of socio-legal research. Keywords: biography; legal biography Biography is booming. Shakespeare, Pepys, Jane Austen and Steve Jobs for example, have all been the subject of recent biographies that have sold millions, as have celeb- rity biographies and autobiographies. While political biographies are not in the same league sales-wise, they remain popular1. Artists, philosophers, historians and even economists, from Bagehot and Beveridge to Warhol and Wittgenstein, have all attracted a steady stream of high quality biographies. At first blush, the contrast with legal biography in Britain is striking. The once popular biographies of illus- trious lawyers and judges, typified by Marjoribanks’ biog- raphy of Marshall Hall2 and Lewis’ biographies of Lords Atkin and Hailsham3, appear to be in decline. Apparently they are selling less, and certainly fewer are published today than in the previous two hundred years. Perhaps contemporary lawyers and judges are less colourful, lack the popular notoriety and have become more narrowly professional than their counterparts of yore? Perhaps they have been eclipsed by a different notion of “celeb- rity”, publication and the media? One could also point to the invidious comparison between the quantity and quality of legal biography in, say, contemporary Canada and the USA relative to Britain. While the best of legal life writing harnesses historical empathy with a commitment to the careful and conscious scrutiny of the past, the worst tends towards hagiography. However, change is in the air. High-quality British aca- demic legal biography, pioneered by Heuston and Stevens in the 1960’s and ‘70’s, has grown and established a small, marginal, but discernible niche in the world of scholar- ship, albeit, a precarious one4. Work illustrative of this biographical turn includes Auchmuty on Gwyneth Bebb, Beatson and Zimmermann on German-speaking émigré lawyers in twentieth century Britain, Dukes on Kahn- Freund, Duxbury on Pollock, Lacey on Hart, Parry on Hughes Parry and Prest on Blackstone5. Institutional initiatives at LSE6 and Cambridge7 also indicate that a struggle is under way to sustain legal biography in Britain as never before. Thus, we may be witnessing a turning point, although only time will tell. To date, the bulk of legal biographies have focused on the lives of the elite; most often white, male judges8. Court officials, women9 and other “outsiders”, litigants, the diverse audiences of the law beyond the judiciary and lawyers, legal communications and legal objects10 have tended to receive short shrift. While the history of law firms has added considerably to our understanding of legal practice, and the inter-play between the public sphere and the private sphere in legal life11, the impact of these histories has been largely confined to the realm of business history. The approaches adopted, and the source material utilised, by legal biography tend to be less diverse than the best of contemporary life writing. Important sources – such as autobiography, obituaries and eulogies, advertisements, oral history12, visual mater- ial13 and objects – are frequently neglected14. The physic- al and sensory textures of everyday legal life15 receive scant attention. Consequently, legal biography has been largely cut-off from, and seen as irrelevant to, intellectual, 16 David Sugarman http://www.squire.law.cam.ac.uk/eminent_scholars/ http://www.lse.ac.uk/collections/law/projects/legalbiog/lbp.htm 
work_bgr4zsxetrdk7eaaaxbkyef2oy	----	Minimizing Marriage: Marriage, Morality, and the Law; by Elizabeth Brake. Newcastle University ePrints - eprint.ncl.ac.uk Deckers J. Minimizing Marriage: Marriage, Morality, and the Law; by Elizabeth Brake. Journal of Applied Philosophy 2014, 31(4), 442-444 Copyright: This is the peer reviewed version of the above article, which has been published in final form at http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/japp.12086. This article may be used for non-commercial purposes in accordance with Wiley Terms and Conditions for Self-Archiving. DOI link to article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/japp.12086 Date deposited: 25/04/2018 Embargo release date: 17 October 2016 http://eprint.ncl.ac.uk/ https://myimpact.ncl.ac.uk/ViewPublication.aspx?id=207416 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/japp.12086 Minimizing Marriage: Marriage, Morality, and the Law; by Elizabeth Brake. This is the author’s version of the paper published in: Journal of Applied Philosophy 2014, 31(4), 442-444. DOI: 10.1111/japp.12086 Available at: http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/japp.12086 Jan Deckers School of Medical Education Newcastle University NE2 4HH Newcastle-upon-Tyne UK tel. 0044 1912083340 email: jan.deckers@ncl.ac.uk Minimizing Marriage. Marriage, Morality, and the Law. E. Brake, 2012 Oxford, Oxford University Press x + 256 pp, £ 64.00 (hb), £ 16.99 (pb) Brake argues that, in spite of the historical dominance of polygyny, many (Western) states legitimise and promote a different kind of relationship: marriage, conceived as an amorous, dyadic, monogamous relationship between two people of different sex. One aspect she questions about this tradition is the focus on other-sex bonds, and the alleged unification that takes place when people of different sex engage in sex. Brake argues that ‘procreative sex does not unite bodies but a sperm and an egg’ and that love does not depend on biological, but on psychological states (p. 74). In this light, Brake welcomes that some jurisdictions have opened up marriage to include same-sex partnerships, but she deplores that the legal and moral significance of marriage has remained largely unchanged, which she labels as the ‘amatonormative ideal’ (p. 81). This concept is modelled on the heteronormative ideal that normalises heterosexuality and gender differences: ‘In Hollywood romantic comedies, for example, the single heterosexual man is stereotyped as an unkempt and irresponsible man-child, waiting for marriage to make him a responsible adult, whereas the unmarried woman is stereotyped as lonely, desperately seeking love, and filling her empty life with cats’ (p. 93). The effects of the amatonormative ideal, however, extend far beyond Hollywood. Brake illustrates that US citizens receive preferential treatment in housing if they are married, and that workplace discrimination causes married men to be paid more than their unmarried male peers (p. 94). More generally, amatonormativity, and the associated ‘wedding-industrial complex’ (p. 101), undermines the development of caring relationships with those outside nuclear families, contributing to a lack of public engagement and social disconnectedness, and results in discrimination of people who (may wish but are pressurised not to) develop alternative relationships, including non-romantic friendships as well as polyamorous relationships. I am at one with Brake in adopting the view that this discrimination is wrong, but at odds with her contention that everyone would agree to this by adopting public reason, leaving behind their comprehensive views of what marriage ought to be about. Brake stands firmly in the Rawlsian tradition that drives a wedge between comprehensive worldviews and public reason, ignoring that what counts as ‘public reason’ is itself the outcome of a comprehensive, liberal worldview, rather than the outcome of ‘neutral’ decisions that could be–in John Rawls’s words in Political Liberalism (New York: University of Columbia Press, 1993, p. 193)–‘endorsed by citizens generally’. Such a neutral position does not exist. Both Brake and I may hope that anyone who is willing to wear Rawls’s veil of ignorance, thus not knowing whether or not they are male or what kinds of relationships they may prefer, would conclude that Western ideas of marriage are unjust, but this judgement may not satisfy those who adopt a different comprehensive worldview, for example those who adopt the stance that morality does not require one to wear such a veil, or those who disagree on what is reasonable even if they agree to wearing it. This does not take away that I believe that Brake is right that there is much that is wrong about marriage apart from the effects the institution has upon others. Brake analyses wedding vows (e.g. ‘I promise to love, honor, and cherish’), arguing that they cannot actually be promises at all because of a problem that Jane Austen summarised as follows: ‘We can command our actions, but not our affections.’ (p. 32; cited in John Wilson, ‘Can One Promise to Love Another?’ Philosophy, 64, 250 (1989): 557-563, p. 557). Brake comments that she is not arguing that one cannot love another forever, but that it is ‘generally impossible to control whether one does’, at least partly because ‘if love responds to qualities in the other, then it depends on the (uncontrollable) other’ (pp. 34-35). Brake then argues that marriage should rather be seen as a commitment, ‘the attempt to bind oneself against the hazards of an unforeseeable future’ (p. 43), weakening its obligations compared with the promissory account. The sheer facts that people and their values change provide good reasons not to commit blindly: ‘excepting the commitment to morality, commitments should not be unconditional’ (p. 52). Whereas strong commitments might create trust, Brake points out rightly that they may also facilitate emotional laziness: if exit options are limited, less work is required to develop one’s relationship. Limiting exit options through the provision of legal and economic incentives, as well as social pressure, also creates real risks of increased vulnerability and unhappiness. In spite of the fact that exit options are limited by the persistence of an ideology that subordinates women, reflected in gendered jobs and pay inequalities, what Susan Maushart called ‘wifework’ in her Wifework: What Marriage Really Means for Women (New York: Bloomsbury, 2001), and the fact that women carry out the bulk of unpaid work, divorces are common, suggesting the need to exercise prudence: ‘It is as important that citizens evaluate their choices as that they persist in the ones they’ve made.’(p. 63) Many people marry without knowing how this may affect them throughout their lives, and the promise to remain married ‘until death do us part’ ignores the possibility that it may not be prudent to stay with someone who either turns out to be or becomes violent or exploitative. Brake recognises that many people may wish to stay together for the sake of the children, but argues rightly that, absent financial considerations, children may not necessarily be better off in two-parent families. Rather than discard marriage altogether, Brake proposes ‘minimal marriage’ as an alternative, where individuals are granted the legal right to make marital relationships with more than one person, provided that they are caring relationships (pp. 156-188). Rather than argue that the state should legitimise particular caring relationships, Brake adopts the view that the state ought to support all caring relationships, where she regards care as a primary good. The justification for some caring relationships to be designated as minimal marriages pertains to the value in allowing individuals to determine which relevant others should be granted the specific state-sanctioned entitlements that can be justified to support some caring relationships. Where this complies with the demands of justice, minimal marriage might thus, for example, facilitate immigration, care-taking leave, and the transfer of financial benefits, for example pension funds. In the transition towards a society with no more than minimal marriages, however, greater financial and other material benefits may need to be made available to those who adopt them than would be the case in an ideal society. This is to ensure that those who are currently locked into unhappy traditional marriages through fear of increasing insecurity upon leaving are supported adequately, as well as to avoid the sudden removal of entitlements that people have come to rely on and to compensate women who have been harmed by the promotion of dependent conventional marriages. I share most of Brake’s views, but have some remaining, minor qualms, for example where she argues that ‘arguments from nature’ are irrelevant (p. 139). This could be countered, for example by pointing out that there may well be an upper limit to the number of partners one ought to be able to marry: as human beings are finite in space and time, a fact that cannot be altered by convention, we cannot care for everyone, lest to dilute the meaning of marriage. Brake is right, though, that any claim that is made about what is natural is tainted by socialisation. This applies to secular as well as religious forms of socialisation, questioning Brake’s (perhaps unintended) restriction of her discussion of the dangers of ‘closed communities’ to the latter (p. 200). I thoroughly recommend this book to anyone who is married, and particularly to those who are not. JAN DECKERS Newcastle University 
work_bh2g6mpuhvfv7ak276qkaxrhky	----	NARRATIVE WORKS: ISSUES, INVESTIGATIONS, & INTERVENTIONS 1(1), 1-3 ©William L. Randall & A. Elizabeth McKim, 2011 Editors’ Introduction William L. Randall & A. Elizabeth McKim Centre for Interdisciplinary Research on Narrative St. Thomas University An inaugural issue is, by definition, a special issue. In the case of this inaugural issue, it includes, first of all, the full texts of panel presentations on “Future Challenges for Narrative Research” made in November 2010 at the tenth anniversary celebration of the Centre for Narrative Research (CNR), based at the University of East London, UK. Among the panelists and respondents were Molly Andrews, Corinne Squire, and Maria Tamboukou (Co- Directors of CNR), Cigdem Esin (the CNR Research Fellow), and narrative scholars Jens Brockmeier, Michael Erben, Mark Freeman, Alexandra Georgakopoulou, Margareta Hydén, Matti Hyvärinen, Margaretta Jolly, Mike Rustin, and Olivia Sagan. It‟s an honour for us to incorporate these presentations into this inaugural issue. Besides identifying some of the challenges faced by narrativists amid the climate change evident nowadays in a growing number of universities—i.e., the insistence on empirical-quantitative approaches to research—including these pieces profiles the interdisciplinary reach of narrative scholarship and, with it, the rich international relationships such scholarship has been fostering. Since its establishment, CNR has played a central role in the UK- European scene in expanding awareness of narrative theory, research, and inquiry on a wide range of issues. With the aid of Narrative Works, our hope in The Centre for Interdisciplinary Research on Narrative (CIRN) is to play a parallel role within the global narrative community, especially where the links between theory and practice are concerned. Narrative Works joins a small but important circle of periodicals— including Narrative Inquiry, Storyworlds, and Curriculum Inquiry—that are serving the ever-expanding field of narrative studies. Its distinct contribution, though, is its commitment to exploring the theory-practice connection, a commitment reflected in its title and sub-title and in the exciting range of scholars and disciplines represented on its Editorial Board. A small indication of this range is represented in the rest of the essays that are included in our inaugural issue. We are delighted to include an invited paper by a pioneer in narrative psychology, Ruthellen Josselson. Along with 2 RANDALL & MCKIM: EDITORS‟ INTRODUCTION Amia Lieblich, Josselson was editor of The Narrative Study of Lives, a groundbreaking series published by Sage between 1993 and 1999. Josselson wrestles with a recurring issue faced by many narrative researchers, namely “the dilemmas . . . created by the gaps between the authority of experience . . . and the authority of expertise”—the question, that is, of “who . . . „owns‟ the narrative” in narrative research. Her paper is a revised version of the keynote speech she gave at the fifth (biennial) Narrative Matters conference in May 2010 in Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada, which is home to St. Thomas University (STU) and CIRN. Other speakers at the 2010 event were Jean Clandinin and Kenneth and Mary Gergen—like Josselson, well-known names in the narrative world. Ellen Rose writes of her experience with intercultural communication in Bhutan, and argues that such communication “should entail not merely the business-like, efficient exchange of information with different others but the crucial development of a feeling of connection and an appreciation for diverse ways of being in the world.” This development can be “enabled,” she proposes, by “the human impulse to make sense of the world through narrative.” Carmen Shields, Nancy Novak, Brenda Marshall, and John Guiney Yallop explore, in presenting their own stories, their choice to undertake self- study narrative inquiry through graduate studies in Education, and “the impact this choice has had on personal and professional directions in ways we could not have imagined when graduate studies were initially embarked upon.” Corinne McKamey presents two “exemplary narrative case studies to illustrate the multiple ways caring functioned for students in their urban high school context,” and argues that that “we should widen our conception of educational care to be inclusive of the complex and overlapping ways that students engage in processes of caring for and caring about.” From time to time, Narrative Works will include a section we call “Outside the Box,” in which we present an article that goes beyond orthodox thought, methods, or media. In this issue, we‟re happy to include the text and video of an invited lecture by German scholar Stephan Marks, given at the launch of CIRN in October 2008. Marks analyzes the findings of his History and Memory project, which uncovered the hidden and hostile stories still underlying German culture more than half a century after World War II, and the shame those stories reveal. Marks proposes that narrative can be instrumental in achieving peace and reconciliation. A final feature of this inaugural issue is the “Announcements” section, which includes a brief piece on the arrival in Canada of narrativist Clive Baldwin. Baldwin has recently come to STU from the University of Bradford, UK, as the first-ever Canada Research Chair in Narrative Studies, a five-year appointment funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC)—the same body that enabled us to found CIRN in the first place and therefore to launch Narrative Works. We wanted to give Clive this NARRATIVE WORKS 1(1) 3 opportunity to introduce himself to the narrative community and to outline the intriguing programme of research on which he‟s set to embark. Next fall, look in the second issue of Narrative Works (and on the CIRN website: http://w3.stu.ca/stu/sites/cirn/index.aspx) for the Call for Papers for Narrative Matters 2012. With assistance from CIRN, Narrative Matters is being organized by Brian Schiff, Chair of the Department of Psychology at the American University of Paris, and a member of Narrative Work‟s Editorial Board. Given the location in Paris (previous conferences were all held in Canada), we‟re excited about the widened circle of delegates that are expected to attend. We‟re also excited by the theme Brian is proposing for the conference, “Life and Narrative.” If one theme runs through this issue of Narrative Works, not to mention the issues that will follow, it is that “life” and “narrative” are intimately entwined. Compared to more conventional modes of inquiry, narrative approaches, we believe, can better reflect human life in all its complexity and subjectivity, thereby achieving a more soul-ful integration of insights from the social sciences with those from the humanities, the arts, and a broad range of professional practice. William L. Randall, EdD, Director of CIRN and Co-editor of Narrative Works, is Professor of Gerontology at St. Thomas University, where he teaches courses on aging and health, counselling older adults, older adults as learners, and narrative gerontology. Educated at Harvard, Princeton Seminary, and the University of Toronto, he first became interested in narrative during his studies in theology, then later in education. Bill has authored or co-authored various publications on narrative approaches to understanding aging. Co-organizer of the first Narrative Matters conferences, in 2002 and 2004, and often asked to speak on narrative gerontology, his research interests include narrative care with older adults, narrative foreclosure in later life, and the narrative complexity of autobiographical memory. His most recent books include Reading Our Lives: The Poetics of Growing Old (co-authored with Elizabeth McKim; Oxford, 2008), and Storying Later Life: Issues, Investigations, and Interventions in Narrative Gerontology (co-edited with Gary Kenyon and Ernst Bohlmeijer; Oxford, 2011). A. Elizabeth McKim, PhD, Associate Director of CIRN and Co-editor of Narrative Works, is Professor of English at St. Thomas University, where she teaches courses on the Romantic period, Jane Austen, literature and medicine, and literature and aging. Educated at the University of New Brunswick, Concordia University, and York University, Beth‟s early interest in narratology has broadened into an interest in the psychological and neurological aspects of narrative, and her recent publications have reflected this interdisciplinary direction. She has explored identity issues in the poetry of Elizabeth Bishop, the headache narratives of Jane Cave Winscom (a 19th century British poet), and has collaborated with Bill Randall on a variety of presentations, publications, and workshops on the poetics of aging, most recently Reading Our Lives: The Poetics of Growing Old (Oxford, 2008). http://w3.stu.ca/stu/sites/cirn/index.aspx 
work_b7uux4plcveufkridfyrfswp4y	----	THE CONCEPT AND PRESENTATION OF LOVE IN JANE AUSTEN by JUDITH ANDERSON B.A., University of B r i t i s h Columbia, 1964 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS i i n the Department of English We accept this thesis as conforming to the required standard THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA A p r i l , 1970 In p r e s e n t i n g t h i s t h e s i s i n p a r t i a l f u l f i l m e n t o f t h e r e q u i r e m e n t s f o r an a d v a n c e d d e g r e e a t t h e U n i v e r s i t y o f B r i t i s h C o l u m b i a , I a g r e e t h a t t h e L i b r a r y s h a l l make i t f r e e l y a v a i l a b l e f o r r e f e r e n c e and s t u d y . I f u r t h e r a g r e e t h a p e r m i s s i o n f o r e x t e n s i v e c o p y i n g o f t h i s t h e s i s f o r s c h o l a r l y p u r p o s e s may be g r a n t e d by t h e Head o f my D e p a r t m e n t o r by h i s r e p r e s e n t a t i v e s . I t i s u n d e r s t o o d t h a t c o p y i n g o r p u b l i c a t i o n o f t h i s t h e s i s f o r f i n a n c i a l g a i n s h a l l n o t be a l l o w e d w i t h o u t my w r i t t e n p e r m i s s i o n . D e p a r t m e n t o f i^c^^^L^ The U n i v e r s i t y o f B r i t i s h C o l u m b i a V a n c o u v e r 8, C a n a d a ABSTRACT THE CONCEPT AND PRESENTATION OF LOVE IN JANE AUSTEN C r i t i c s of Jane Austen can be divided into three groups. The f i r s t group, which includes W. H. Helm, Sheila Kaye-Smith and G. B. Stern regards Marianne Dashwood as Jane Austen's only passionate heroine. Her other heroines are condemned for their common sense by these c r i t i c s , who contend that love i s an i r r a t i o n a l phenomenon. Love and reason, they believe, are mutually exclusive. Jane Austen saw love as a marriage of these two facets of man's being. Aware of i t s duality, at once both emotional and r a t i o n a l , she saw the inadequacies (and dangers) of "love" which based i t s e l f solely on passion. Mr. Bennet i s one of Austen's examples of a man who has f a i l e d to assess his chosen mate i n t e l l i g e n t l y , and his subsequent l i f e with her demonstrates the deficiency of a concept of love which does not involve use of the mind as well as of the heart. For Jane Austen, "to f e e l " was not enough. Marianne Dashwood, her so- called "passionate" heroine, i s not meant to be admired, but i s a s a t i r i c target, for Marianne despises any use of reason i n the process of f a l l i n g i n love. For Jane Austen, she represents the antithesis of genuine love. The second group, among them Charlotte BrontM, V i r g i n i a Woolf, and Marjory Bald, sees no passion at a l l i n Jane Austen's novels. They are considered to be "dry", "dusty", and s u p e r f i c i a l , and are said to ignore " [ v ] i c e , adventure, passion." I t i s undoubtedly the subtlety of t h e i r presentation which has misled the c r i t i c s . Jane Austen's sensitive a r t i s t r y precluded a lengthy exposition of f e e l i n g . She provides us with the material necessary to complete the picture by suggesting and leading up to the direct expression of emotion, rather than expressing the emotion i t s e l f . The presentation i s i n fact an extension of her concept, for the t r u l y passionate have not the capacity for f a c i l e a r t i c u l a t i o n . Intense emotions cannot be easily expressed. The interplay of surface tensions conveys the strong undercurrents of emotion. Jane Austen's evocative technique reveals their existence, but neither she nor her best characters w i l l wallow i n the sensational slough which i s thought by many to be the proper resting place for the passionate. The t h i r d group, whose f i r s t spokesman was S i r Walter Scott, and whose current advocate i s Marvin Mudrick, views the marriages of Jane Austen's heroes and heroines as f i n a n c i a l mergers, and not as unions of love. Her recognition of the economic pressures operating on her characters i s misinterpreted, and seen as endorsement. Jane Austen was, i n f a c t , extremely concerned with the fate of women i n her society. Her concern involved a reconsideration of that society's basic values. Jane Fairfax, Miss Bates, and the Watson s i s t e r s are some of her sympathetically- treated symbols of the economic and s o c i a l v u l n e r a b i l i t y of women i n the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. Jane Austen does not believe that personal happiness should be subjected to f i n a n c i a l considerations. She does show some of her characters succumbing to economic pressures. But they are censured within the novels, and her most admirable people never capitulate. I I Common to a l l of these groups i s a misinterpretation of, or f a i l u r e to understand, Jane Austen's concept and presentation of love. Using Jane Austen's novels and l e t t e r s , this paper w i l l attempt to correct the misinterpretations. Judith Anderson 0403603 I I I TABLE OF CONTENTS page INTRODUCTION .... 1 CHAPTER I "Whoever loved that loved not at f i r s t sight?" 4 CHAPTER I I " I do not write for such d u l l elves As have not a great deal of ingenuity themselves." 30 "I love not l e s s , though less the show appear. That love i s merchandised, whose r i c h esteeming The owner's tongue doth publish every- where." 38 " . . . romantic plays l i v e i n an atmos- phere of ingenuity and make-believe" 47 CHAPTER I I I Cupid Dethroned by Mammon? 54 CONCLUSION 74 BIBLIOGRAPHY 79 INTRODUCTION The majority of Austen c r i t i c s can be divided into three groups. The f i r s t group, which includes W.H. Helm, Sheila Kaye- Smith and G. B. Stern, sees Marianne Dashwood as Jane Austen's only passionate heroine. Jane Austen's other heroines, claims Somerset Maugham, have "no passion i n their love. Their i n c l i n a t i o n s are tempered with prudence and controlled by common 1 sense. Real love has no truck with these estimable q u a l i t i e s . " This group severely l i m i t s passion by i n s i s t i n g that no r a t i o n a l 2 process can contribute to intensity of emotion. They set off passion and reason against each other, refusing to recognize any possible combination of the two, and propound an a i l - t o o prevalent theory that love i s an e n t i r e l y i r r a t i o n a l phenomenon. Love and reason, such c r i t i c s believe, are mutually exclusive. The second group of c r i t i c s , among them Charlotte Bronte',. V i r g i n i a Woolf and Marjory Bald, sees no passion at a l l i n Jane 1 W. S. Maugham, Ten Novels and Their Authors, London, W. Heinemann Ltd., 1954, p. 59. 2 Sheila Kaye-Smith^ i n comparing Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y with Persuasion, sees the emotions of the l a t t e r as " d i f f e r e n t l y pitched [ i . e . much less intense]-—they are the emotions of maturity, of i n t e l l i g e n c e . . . . Comparing the two novels i s l i k e comparing the mists of autumn [Persuasion] with an A p r i l storm [Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y ] . . . ." (from Sheila Kaye-Smith and G. B. Stern, Talking of Jane Austen, London, Cassell & Co., 1943, p. 197) 2 Austen's novels. Miss Bronte, incensed by her publisher's suggestion that i f she wanted to write w e l l , she should take Jane Austen as her model, peevishly condemned Jane Austen's work. She r u f f l e s her reader by nothing vehement, disturbs him by nothing profound. The passions are perfectly unknown to her; she rejects even a speaking acquaintance with the stormy sisterhood. Even to the feelings she vouchsafes no more than an occasional graceful but distant r e c o g n i t i o n — too frequent converse with them would r u f f l e the smooth elegance of her progress. Her business i s not half so much with the human heart as with the human eyes, mouth, hands and feet. What sees keenly, speaks aptly, moves f l e x i b l y , i t suits her to study; but what throbs fast and f u l l , though hidden, what the blood rushes through, . . . — t h i s Miss Austen ignores.^ And V i r g i n i a Woolf, r e i t e r a t i n g Charlotte BronzeVs contention, wrote: Humbly and gaily she collected the twigs and straws out of which the nest was to be made and placed them neatly together. The twigs and straws were a l i t t l e dry and a l i t t l e dusty i n themselves . . . . Vice, adventure, passion were l e f t outside. . . . She had a l l sorts of devices for evading scenes of passion.^ The t h i r d group, fathered by S i r Walter Scott and currently spearheaded by Marvin Mudrick, with support from Richard Whateley and H.W. Garrod, sees the marriages of Jane Austen's heroes and heroines as f i n a n c i a l mergers, and not as unions of love. Mammon, and not Cupid, they believe, i s Jane Austen's favourite deity. Jane Austen recognizes economics as a governing force i n her society. But recognition does not mean endorsement. These c r i t i c s , f a r more snobbish than Jane Austen, chafe at a novel which depicts a marriage 3 Charlotte Bronte i n a l e t t e r to W. S. Williams, included i n Discussions of Jane Austen, Boston, D. C. Heath & Co., 1961, p. 18. 4 V i r g i n i a Woolf, The Common Reader, London, L. & V. Woolf, 1929, p. 175 f f . 3 between a r i c h man and a comparatively poor woman. They find i t hard to believe that Darcy could be loved because he i s Darcy, and not because he has"ten thousand a year." They accept at face value Elizabeth's joking reply to the question as to when she had f i r s t begun to love Darcy. ". . .1 believe I must date i t from my f i r s t seeing his b e a u t i f u l grounds at Pemberley." 5 These c r i t i c s have overlooked Jane Austen's s a t i r i c presentation of those of her characters who seek to marry for pecuniary advantage, among them Tom Musgrove, Isabella and John Thorpe, and the Steele s i s t e r s . Common to a l l of these groups i s a misinterpretation of, or f a i l u r e to understand, Jane Austen's concept and presentation of love. Using Jane Austen's novels and l e t t e r s , this paper w i l l attempt to correct the misinterpretations. 5 Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Boston, Houghton M i f f l i n Co., 1956, p. 279. Page references for Jane Austen's other n o v e l s — Northanger Abbey, Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , Emma, Mansfield Park, P e r s u a s i o n — w i l l be to the Early Editions by R. W. Chapman, In Five Volumes, Third E d i t i o n , Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1933. CHAPTER I "WHO EVER LOVED THAT LOVED NOT AT FIRST SIGHT?" (Christopher Marlowe, Hero and Leander) In order to understand Jane Austen's concept of love, the reader must dispossess himself of any notion that f a l l i n g i n love cannot be a r a t i o n a l process. Love does not preclude reason. Jane Austen, a product of the eighteenth century and l i v i n g i n the nineteenth century, provided a bridge between these worlds. The eighteenth century established the supremacy of reason; the nineteenth century i n s i s t e d upon the power of passion i n i t s l i t e r a t u r e . To Jane Austen, no single force assumed ascendancy. Man i s not composed only of passion or reason. He i s an admixture of both parts. Jane Austen does not propound a 1 divorce between feelings and i n t e l l e c t . To her, love i s the product of the marriage of these two facets of man's being. Through use of his i n t e l l e c t , man can enjoy and i n t e n s i f y his feelings. His i n i t i a l feelings, the result of " f i r s t impressions," are replaced by emotions grounded i n a knowledge of the beloved. Passion alone Is an i n s u f f i c i e n t basis for love as Elizabeth r e a l i z e s : How Wickham and Lydia were to be supported i n tolerable independence, she could not imagine. But how l i t t l e of permanent happiness could belong to a couple who were only brought together because their passions were stronger than their v i r t u e , she could easily conjecture. (Pride and Prejudice, p. 232) 1 She writes of Edward Ferrars that when his proposal to Elinor i s accepted, and sanctioned by Mrs. Dashwood, he "was not only i n the rapturous profession of the lover, but i n the r e a l i t y of reason and truth, one of the happiest of men. (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 361) 5 What of the most romantic union i n Jane Austen's novels? We find that the participants are "gradually acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly and deeply i n love." (Persuasion, Chapter 4) Their love i s based on mutual knowledge. But knowledge does not automatically preclude passion. Love, by d e f i n i t i o n i s . . . that disposition or state of feeling with regard to a person which (arising from recognition of a t t r a c t i v e q u a l i t i e s ) manifests i t s e l f i n s o l i c i t u d e for the welfare of the object, and usually also i n delight i n his presence and desire for his approval.^ 3 Such a feeling demands some knowledge of i t s "object." This d e f i n i t i o n accords perfectly with Elinor Dashwood's love for Edward Ferrars, Knightley's for Emma Woodhouse, and Elizabeth Bennet's feeling for Darcy: She became jealous of his esteem, when she could no longer hope to be benefitted by i t . She wanted to hear of him, when there seemed the least chance of gaining i n t e l l i g e n c e , (p. 231f) New Oxford English Dictionary, Vol. VI, Oxford at the Clarendon Press, p. 463, 1933. 3 Laurence Lerner takes exception to this word i n the following passage. I f gratitude and esteem are good foundations of a f f e c t i o n , Elizabeth's change of sentiment w i l l be neither improbable nor f a u l t y . But i f . otherwise, i f the regard springing from such sources i s unreasonable or unnatural, i n comparison of what i s so often described as a r i s i n g on a f i r s t interview with i t s object. . . . (Pride and Prejudice, p. 207) He queries ". . . why did Jane Austen f e e l i t necessary to c a l l the beloved an object? I t ' s a mild joke to be sure—but why did she f e e l i t necessary to joke?" (from The Truthtellers: Jane Austen, George E l i o t , D. H. Lawrence, London, Chatto & Windus, 1967, p. 155.) To my knowledge, the New Oxford Dictionary has never been accused of jocosity. i 6 There are many who believe that a young man, at a vulnerable 4 age, who becomes enamoured of a pretty face without knowing i t s possessor, i s " i n love." Love of this sort i s nothing more than infatuation. True love does not come so readily: i t i s found when heart and mind move i n tandem. When Jane Austen described the slow, almost imperceptible growth of Emma's love for Knightley, and of Darcy's for Elizabeth, she drew wisely. Jane Austen does not depict her i d e a l marriage as a consummation of friendship; she admits the necessity of personal a t t r a c t i o n , but recognizes that personal a t t r a c t i o n i s an additional factor, and not the sole essential. A l l too often, and we have the example of Mr. Bennet before us, personal appearance i s of major consequence, and the character behind i t i s idealized. The subsequent disillusionment i s always painful. Jane Austen shows the reader several unions based on nothing stronger than physical a t t r a c t i o n . These are the "imprudent" marriages, according to Jane Austen's use of the word. Mr. Bennet, we are t o l d , captivated by youth and beauty and that appearance of good humour which youth and beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak understanding and i l l i b e r a l mind had very early i n their marriage put an end to a l l r e a l a f f e c t i o n for her. (Pride and Prejudice, p. 176) This i s a disappointment "which his own imprudence had brought on. . . . (p. 177) Mr. Palmer's temper i s recognized by Elinor as ^"Three and twenty—a period when, i f a man chooses a wife, he generally chooses i l l . " (Jane Austen, i n a l e t t e r to Cassandra.) 7 a l i t t l e soured by finding, l i k e many others of his sex, that through some unaccountable bias i n favour of beauty, he was the husband of a very s i l l y woman. . . . (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 112) Mr. Knightley disagrees with Emma i n her insistence that Harriet's "marketable"commodity—her b e a u t y — i s what men seek i n a wife. Emma asserts : . . . t i l l i t appears that men are much more philosophic on the subject of beauty than they are generally supposed, t i l l they do f a l l i n love with well-informed minds instead of handsome faces, a g i r l , with such loveliness as Harriet, has a certainty of being admired and sought a f t e r , of having the power of choosing from among many. . . . (p. 63) Jane Austen was decidedly not of the l o v e - a t - f i r s t - s i g h t school of sentimentalists. Deriving from no appreciation of the s p i r i t u a l or mental characteristics of the "beloved," i t i s based on physical a t t r a c t i o n and, as Jane Austen has shown, such a foun- dation i s shaky indeed, for Willoughby i s " r e a l l y handsome," and Wickham has " a l l the best parts of beauty, a fine countenance." Marianne "disapprove[s]" of Edward Ferrars, contending "there i s a something wanting—his figure i s not s t r i k i n g ; i t has none of that grace which I should expect. . . . His eyes want a l l that s p i r i t , that f i r e , which at once announce v i r t u e ^ and i n t e l l i g e n c e . " (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 17) Mistakes are possible, even probable, when man chooses a mate according to what his eyes reveal to him. I f there's one quality Edward has i n abundance, i t ' s v i r t u e . Am almost i n c l i n e d to agree with those c r i t i c s (among them Mudrick and Ten Harmsel) who find him unbearably good, especially i n his honourable insistence on continuing his engagement to Lucy Steele when his heart i s engaged elsewhere. 8 Mr. Bennet discovers this f a c t — u n l u c k i l y for him, too l a t e . His daughter Elizabeth i s more fortunate. An i n i t i a l d i s l i k e for Darcy i s supplanted by a love based on knowledge of his true character, which had been hidden behind a mask of shyness and pride. I f gratitude and esteem are good foundations of a f f e c t i o n , Elizabeth's change of sentiment w i l l be neither improbable nor faulty. But i f otherwise, i f the regard springing from such sources i s unreasonable or unnatural, i n comparison of what i s so often described as a r i s i n g on a f i r s t interview with i t s object, and even before two words have been exchanged, nothing can be said i n her defense, except that she had given somewhat of a t r i a l to the l a t t e r method, i n her p a r t i a l i t y for Wickham, and that i t s i l l - s u c c e s s might perhaps authorise her to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. (Pride and Prejudice, p. 207) This i s not to say that Jane Austen denies the part physical attractiveness plays i n the growth of love. Granted, Jane's "sweet face" does much to capture Bingley's heart, but i t i s interesting to note that the romance i n Pride and Prejudice which i s of the greatest intensity i s marked by Darcy's being singularly unimpressed i n i t i a l l y with Elizabeth Bennet, finding her looks only "tolerable." (p. 7) I t i s only l a t e r , when he has come to know her, that he notices her " f i n e eyes." (p. 19) Lerner finds "a resistance to emotion underlying this paragraph." (from Laurence Lerner, The T r u t h t e l l e r s : Jane Austen, U George E l i o t , D. H. Lawrence, London, Chatto & Windus, 1967, p. 155)|[ I find an amusing thrust at those who believe i n love at f i r s t sight. a 9 To me, there i s proof of far greater love i n Darcy's feeling for Elizabeth, held despite an awareness of her " i n f e r i o r connections," than i s ever to be found i n a relationship such as that which exists between Marianne and Willoughby, who examine., each other for nothing more than a mutual "passionate fondness for music and dancing." (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 46) In R. L i d d e l l ' s eyes, Marianne i s the only "character i n English prose f i c t i o n [who] may be said to be convincingly i n love. . . . Lerner i s more reasonable, and does not expand his perimeters to embrace a l l of "English prose f i c t i o n " , but confines himself to the conviction that Marianne i s the only heroine i n Jane Austen's novels who i s "convincingly i n love." He believes "Jane Austen can r i d i c u l e the excesses of g feeling because she i s not greatly attracted by the r e a l thing." Marianne's love for Willoughby i s the most h i s t r i o n i c a l l y emotional found anywhere i n Jane Austen's novels, but Marianne lacks the depth of character which true passion demands. She i s a g i r l whose heart can be broken merely upon hearing Cowper read "with so l i t t l e s e n s i b i l i t y . " (p. 18) This extreme emotional reaction was believed by the romanticists to demonstrate the depth of a hearer's s e n s i t i v i t y , but the same depths are plumbed by "landscapes, music, books, and dancing." (p. 46f) There i s no gradation of f e e l i n g . Each stimulus produces a stereotyped reaction. We are reminded of Robert L i d d e l l , The Novels of Jane Austen, London, Longmans, 1963, p. 19. 8 Op. c i t . , p. 151. 10 Pavlov's dogs. They do not stop to reason, either. They have been conditioned to respond i n a prescribed way, and at the sound of the b e l l they are off and running, salivary glands functioning furiously. Marianne displays the same basic reaction to s t i m u l i . For drawing she feels "rapturous delight" (p. 19), for music "extatic [sic] delight," (p. 35) for her favourite authors a "rapturious delight." (p. 47) Jane Austen's best characters are seen as a commingling of both reason and passion. She treats some figures as largely governed by reason or passion, but such persons are always censured within the context of her novels. Miss Austen does not recommend the coldly r a t i o n a l approach to l i f e . She shares Anne E l l i o t ' s reaction to i t . She f e l t that she could so much more depend upon the s i n c e r i t y of those who sometimes looked or said a careless or a hasty thing, than of those whose presence of mind never varied, whose tongue never slipped. (Persuasion, p.161) And Mr. Bennet, an early v i c t i m of passion i n choosing a wife, i s condemned for his subsequent misuse of reason i n attempting to adjust to his i n i t i a l mistake. Jane Austen does f e e l , however, that the passionate characters offer more of a threat to society, since they recognize no l i m i t s to behaviour. Self i s advanced, and at the expense of others i f necessary. The harm done i s , i n almost every instance, unconsciously i n f l i c t e d . Thus the ambiguity of the "sensitive" people i s revealed. The " s e n s i t i v i t y " rarely extends beyond the perimeter of s e l f . Marianne's insistence on freedom of expression, which involves flaunting of s o c i a l courtesies, i s frequently a source of pain and embarrassment for E l i n o r . On one occasion, when Mrs. Jennings i s inquiring as to the i d e n t i t y of Elinor's "particular favourite," Marianne "[does] more harm than good to the cause, by turning very red, and saying i n an angry manner to Margaret, 'Remember that whatever your conjectures may be, you have no right to repeat them.' 'I never had any conjectures about i t , ' replies Margaret; ' i t was you who told me of i t yourself.'" (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 61) And on another, when Mrs. Ferrars commends Miss Morton's landscape Marianne again indulges her emotions at her s i s t e r ' s expense. Marianne could not bear this.—She was already greatly displeased with Mrs. Ferrars; and . . . [said] with warmth, "This i s admiration of a very p a r t i c u l a r k i n d ! — what i s Miss Morton to us?—who knows, or who cares, for h e r ? — i t i s Elinor of whom we think and speak." . . Elinor was much more hurt by Marianne's warmth, than she had been by what produced i t ; but Colonel Brandon's eyes, as they were fixed on Marianne, declared that he noticed only what was amiable i n i t . . . . Laura refuses to v i s i t and succour her "beloved Augustus" i n prison because "[her] feelings are s u f f i c i e n t l y shocked by the r e c i t a l of his Distress, but to behold i t [would] overpower [her] S e n s i b i l i t y . " (from Love and Freindship and Other Early Works [Printed from the Original Ms. by Jane Austen], London, Chatto & Windus, 1922, p. 20) 12 But, we are t o l d , Marianne's feelings did not stop here. . . . She moved, after a moment, to her s i s t e r ' s chair, and . . . said "Dear, dear E l i n o r , don't mind them. Don't l e t them make you unhappy." She could say no more; her s p i r i t s were quite overcome, and hiding her face on Elinor's shoulder, she burst into tears, (pp. 235-6) This b r i e f incident also subtly reveals Marianne's unswerving f i r s t concern—that which she f e e l s - f o r h e r s e l f , — f o r her consolation of Elinor i s truncated when her mind returns to her own problems ( i . e . "you"—as w e l l as me). Only then i s she moved to tears. And, with the most d e l i g h t f u l l y i r o n i c master-stroke, we are shown Marianne and Willoughby, proponents of passion, l i v i n g by a code completely cold- blooded, ensuring their comfort by exploiting the "reasonable" f o l k , who are blinded by the sparks which f l y from them. Jane Austen i s too honest not to concede their appeal, for her "passionate" characters (among them Mary Crawford, Marianne, Willoughby, Wickham) are shown to dazzle their less flamboyant peers. This honesty has been misinterpreted by some c r i t i c s . Mudrick's conclusion from Elinor's reaction to Willoughby after his confession, when we are told that She f e l t that his influence over her mind was heightened by circumstances which ought not i n reason to have weight; by that person of uncommon a t t r a c t i o n , that open, affectionate, and l i v e l y manner. . . . But she f e l t that i t was so long, long before she could f e e l his influence less. (p. 333) i s that we are witnessing " E l i n o r — a n d presumably the author—almost i n love, and quite amorally i n love, with him. . . . Through the flagrant inconsistency of her heroine Jane Austen i s herself revealed 13 i n a posture of yearning for the impossible and l o s t , the passionate and beautiful hero, the absolute lover.""^ One presumes he would impute the same "posture" to Elizabeth Bennet, since she states, while commenting on Wickham's appalling behaviour, ". . .we a l l know that Wickham has every charm of person and address that can captivate a woman." (Pride and Prejudice, p. 210) W. H. Helm sees Elinor i n this scene as "a pioneer of that school of sociology which whitewashes the i n d i v i d u a l at the 11 expense of his early invironment and education." I doubt whether Jane Austen intended this interpretation; as when she describes Edmund's account of his f i n a l meeting with Mary Crawford, she meant.-- to suggest the magnetic a t t r a c t i o n of her " v i l l a i n s . " "I r e s i s t e d — i t was the impulse of the moment to r e s i s t — a n d s t i l l walked on. I have since, sometimes, for a moment, regretted that I did not go back; but I know I was r i g h t . " (Mansfield Park, p. 461) Edward "did not go back," but for Mary there w i l l be many other "Edwards." Her p o s s i b i l i t i e s for exploitation are almost l i m i t l e s s . To ensure personal comfort and continued self-indulgence, the passionate w i l l employ any means, from "gracefully purloining money from an unworthy father's e s c r i t o i r e " (p. 18) to marrying a man "who s t i l l sought the constitutional safeguard of a flannel waitcoat!" (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 378) Elizabeth" Jenkins, notes the a l a c r i t y Marvin Mudrick, Jane Austen: Irony as Defense and. Discovery, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1952, p. 85. W. H. Helm, Jane Austen and her Country-House Comedy, London, Fawside House, 1909, p. 147. 14 with which Marianne accepts Mrs. Jennings' i n v i t a t i o n to stay with her i n London. Marianne.' ; "thoroughly acquainted with Mrs. Jennings' manners, and thoroughly disgusted by them, [can] over- look every inconvenience of that kind. . . . " (p. 155) " I f Elinor i s frightened away by her d i s l i k e of Mrs. Jennings," said Marianne, "at least lit need not prevent my accepting her i n v i t a t i o n . I have no such scruples, and I am sure, I could put up with every unpleasantness of that kind with very l i t t l e e f f o r t . " Elinor (and Jane Austen) [can] not help smiling at this display of indifference towards the manners of a person, to whom she had often had d i f f i c u l t y i n persuading Marianne to behave with tolerable politeness, (p. 156) Since she does "not think i t proper that . . . Mrs. Jennings should be abandoned to the mercy of Marianne for a l l the comfort of her domestic hours," (p. 157) Elinor agrees to accompany her s i s t e r . Marianne w i l l use Mrs. Jennings as a means of seeing Willoughby, but w i l l not accord her even " c i v i l i t y . " (p. 160) I t i s for this reason that s e n s i b i l i t y receives 15 the treatment i t does at the hands of Jane Austen. For s e n s i b i l i t y entails self-expression. The word to note here i s " s e l f . " I t involves the assertion of "I am" at the expense of "thou a r t . " "The world" i s only recognized when i t s forces react against the impenetrable, largely impervious " s e l f . " This attitude i s treated s a t i r i c a l l y i n Jane Austen's " J u v e n i l i a , " and s p e c i f i c a l l y i n Love and Freindship. The four passionate lovers l i v e i n an i d y l l i c state on funds "gracefully purloined from an unworthy [ i . e . insensitive] father's e s c r i t o i r e . " (p. 18) They have informed a l l neighbours that "as their Happiness center[s] wholly i n themselves, they [wish] for no other Society." (p. 17) In their search for s e l f - g r a t i f i c a t i o n , the passionate cannot—or w i l l not—recognize s o c i a l forms, since these represent i n some instances a l i m i t a t i o n of the pleasure which can accrue to s e l f . In Jane Austen's novels we are made aware of the s o c i a l setting: the couple must correlate their s o c i a l r e s p o n s i b i l i t i e s with their personal desires. They cannot dash off to London when they are attracted to each other, but must come to know one another through s o c i a l intercourse, and must proceed through prescribed channels. Failure to do so results i n chaos,—witness the Lydia- Wickham, Henry Crawford-Julia Bertram episodes. Such a f f a i r s , based on f l e e t i n g emotions, are shown to be short-lived. The Lydia-Wickham union i s cemented by money, not by love between i t s members. Of Anne E l l i o t Miss Austen says, "she had been forced into prudence i n her youth, she learned romance as she grew older. . . . (Persuasion, p. 30) Love has more significance when i t i s seen 16 as an expanding process, a process which involves self-discovery i n i t s progression. A l l of Jane Austen's heroines are seen to reach self-awareness through an increasing awareness of others. They must question themselves i n order to ascertain t h e i r a b i l i t y to stand the scrutiny of the beloved. Her best characters are too honest not to admit where they f a l l short; this includes even the supremely assured Miss Emma Woodhouse. To Jane Austen, the ultimate command was "Know thyself," for only then could one hope to understand others. I t i s a code which admits no a r t i f i c e , no p a r t i a l truths, a r i g i d code. One might c a l l i t "a perpendicular, precise, . . . 12 unbending" code. According to Mr. Southam, i n the l a s t of the " J u v e n i l i a " (1792-3) Jane Austen was concerned " i n p a r t i c u l a r . . . with the 13 testing situations of love and marriage." His use of the word "testing" i s good, as i t conveys Jane Austen's conviction that love does involve an evaluation, both i n t e r n a l and external, of an individual's merits. Elizabeth Bennet speaks of love as "that pure and elevating passion." (Pride and Prejudice, p. 114) The adjective "elevating" i s s i g n i f i c a n t . When Jane Austen's heroines f a l l i n love, they are indeed "elevated"; i t i s then that they submit themselves to a thorough s e l f - s c r u t i n y , and determine to correct t h e i r f a u l t s i n order to be worthy of the men they love. Adjectives applied to Jane Austen by an anonymous friend of Miss Mitford, cited i n the l a t t e r ' s Recollections of a L i t e r a r y L i f e and quoted by Elizabeth Jenkins i n Jane Austen, New York, Farrar, Straus &. Cudahy, 1949, p. 366. B. C. Southam, Jane Austen's L i t e r a r y Manuscripts, London, Oxford University Press, 1964, p. 30. 17 Self-love was one form of love which Jane Austen despised. I t i s interesting to note that Marianne's attitude to love i s diametrically opposed to the b e l i e f i n the need for self-improvement of Jane Austen's heroines. When she thinks that Elinor w i l l soon marry Edward, she remarks that i n the interim prior to the nuptials " . . . Edward w i l l have greater opportunity of improving that natural taste for your favourite pursuit which must be so indispensably necessary for your future f e l i c i t y . Oh! i f he should be so far stimulated by your genius as to learn to draw himself, how d e l i g h t f u l i t would be!" (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 22) That i s , Edward must a l t e r himself to s u i t E l i n o r . This i s of a piece with Marianne's insistence that "I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not i n every point coincide with my own. He must enter into a l l my feelings; the same books, the same music must charm us both." (p. 17) Marianne, looking out from the unassailable fortress of " s e l f j " w i l l judge others. I t never occurs to her that there should be a reciprocal arrangement. She does not question her own worthiness as an object of love, but instead examines the worthiness of others, which to her i s ascertained only by their s e n s i t i v i t y , or lack of i t . For Marianne, s e n s i t i v i t y — o r , i n the idiom of her time, s e n s i b i l i t y — i s a large quality. . . . She i s sure that she has i t ; and her mother, and E l i n o r (probably, though Marianne has occasional sharp doubts), and Willoughby. She w i l l s e t t l e for nothing l e s s , she regards anything less with impatience and contempt."^ Mudrick, p. 75. 18 Mudrick concurs with her judgment. Willoughby, he states, "represents feeling . . . Edward Ferrars and Colonel Brandon represent the antidote to f e e l i n g , the proposition that the only cure for a passionate heart i s to remove i t . " 1 " ' And what, we may ask, constitutes "a passionate heart"? Is the man who speaks most loudly of his love to be taken at his word as feeling most? Has Willoughby given any tangible proof of love for Marianne? His "dog i n the manger" reaction to the news of Marianne's forthcoming marriage w i l l hardly s u f f i c e as a cry for l o s t love: i t i s not the loss of Marianne he i s deploring, but the fact that "she w i l l be gained by someone else." (p. 332) Is a passionate heart one which speaks with "expression"? Is inarticulateness to be taken as proof of lack of feeling? Surely i t i s an indication of more intense f e e l i n g , so intense that i t has not the power of f a c i l e speech. As to the strength of Colonel Brandon's attachment for Marianne, that of a man who "has read, and has a thinking mind, . . . a sensible man," (p. 51) i t must be very great indeed, for reason would never lead him to choose such a partner, i n view of their respective "ages, characters, or feelings." (p. 336) He remains f a i t h f u l l y i n love with Marianne through two years, years i n which he sees her love for another man, a man whom he knows to be a gross knave, and i s himself looked upon 15 Loc. c i t . He further contends that Jane Austen believes "not merely f a l s e f e e l i n g , but feeling i t s e l f i s bad. . . . because i t i s a personal commitment" (p. 90-91) Are we to assume then that Jane Austen disapproved of Darcy for his very great "personal commit- ment" to Elizabeth, which led him to involve himself i n her family's problems? 19 "occasionally" with a "pitying eye." (p. 216) He sees her j i l t e d and her' subsequent deterioration—and s t i l l he loves Marianne. Now l e t us turn to an examination of the "man of f e e l i n g " i n Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y . Confronted by Mrs. Smith with his despicable past behaviour and d i s i n h e r i t e d , the "passionate" Willoughby requires but a single night i n which to decide upon abandoning Marianne i n favour of a wealthy young woman of whom he l a t e r says, "I had no regard for her when we married." (p. 329) And why does he further torment Marianne by going himself to announce his sudden departure, as Elinor asks reproachfully, adding "a note would have answered every purpose.—Why was i t necessary to c a l l ? " Willoughby replies " I t was necessary to my own pride. I could not bear to leave the country i n a manner that might lead you, or the rest of the neighbourhood, to suspect any part of what had r e a l l y passed between Mrs. Smith and myself. . . . " (p. 324) Mudrick c a l l s Willoughby a "sensitive 1 ft young person." Sensitive to what? Only to his own feelings, we r e a l i z e . And Marianne says, " I could not be happy with a man whose tastes did not i n every point coincide with my own. He must enter into a l l my feelings. . . . " (p. 17) for Marianne expected from other people the same opinions and feelings has her own, and she judged of t h e i r motives by the immediate effect of t h e i r actions on herself. (p. 202) Willoughby i s therefore the man for Marianne. From the f i r s t meeting Mudrick, p. 79. 20 . . . t h e i r taste was s t r i k i n g l y a l i k e . The same books, the same passages were i d o l i z e d by each—or i f any difference appeared, any objection arose, i t lasted no longer than t i l l the force of her arguments and the brightness of her eyes could be displayed. He acquiesced i n a l l her decisions, caught a l l her enthusiasm; and long before his v i s i t concluded, they conversed with the f a m i l i a r i t y of a long-established acquaintance. (p. 47) "With the f a m i l i a r i t y of a long-established acquaintance"—for the simple reason that Marianne has found an echo for her own theories, and an echo may be r e l i e d upon to say only what i t s originator says. Marianne does not know Willoughby any better; she has merely had herself reaffirmed. Willoughby serves as the medium for s e l f - i d o l a t r y . Marianne i s able to worship at the a l t a r of her own s e n s i b i l i t y ; she has found a w i l l i n g novitiate. She cannot under- stand Willoughby's subsequent defection. Nor can she conceive of any flaw i n her own godhead to account for his withdrawal, and asks herself, "Whom did I ever hear him t a l k of as young and a t t r a c t i v e among his female acquaintance?—Oh! no one, no one—he talked to me only of myself." (p. 190) Loss of such a l o y a l acolyte must be painful indeed for Marianne! There has been much c r i t i c a l comment on Marianne's "conversion" .and correction. Its climax i s said to come i n the scene involving Elinor's revelation to her s i s t e r of her months of unhappiness. Marianne i s amazed when Elinor openly reveals the anguish she has endured. So might the reader be, for should not a creature of such quivering s e n s i b i l i t y as Marianne have been able to discern Elinor's torment? We are even told that Elinor "once or twice [has] attempted" (p. 262) 21 to discuss i t , but such efforts went unnoticed. Marianne, incapable of either fathoming or recognizing her s i s t e r ' s intensity of emotion, chooses to disbelieve that Elinor "ever f e l t much." (p. 263) When Elinor i s able to disabuse her of this misconception, Marianne offers a "confession," replete, one notes, with her favourite personal pronoun. "Oh! E l i n o r , " she cried, "you have made me hate myself for ever.—How barbarous have 1 been to you!—you, who have been my_ only comfort, who have borne with me i n a l l my_ misery, who have seemed to be only suffering for me!— Is this my_ g r a t i t u d e ! — I s this the only return _I can make you?—Because your merit cries out upon myself, I have been trying to do i t away." (p. 264) ^ Ten Harmsel feels that Marianne has "come of age" i n this passage. The climax i n her changing attitude comes, however, when she has heard of her s i s t e r ' s great sorrow. . . . She "perform[s] her promise of being discreet" and we are told She listened to [Mrs. Jennings'] praise of Lucy with only moving from one chair to another, and when Mrs. Jennings talked of Edward's a f f e c t i o n , i t cost her only a spasm i n her throat.—Such advances towards heroism i n her s i s t e r made Elinor f e e l equal to any thing herself, (p. 265) The wryness of the l a s t statement interferes with the theory that Jane Austen intended to show the successful conversion of Marianne. She i s seen to mellow somewhat, and comes to f e e l "earnestly g r a t e f u l " (p. 341) to Mrs. Jennings, but Elinor observes that Marianne continues ^My i t a l i c s . 18 Henrietta Ten Harmsel, Jane Austen: A Study i n F i c t i o n a l Conventions, The Hague, Mouton & Co., 1964, p. 46. 22 "introducing excess" (p. 343), a l b e i t into her resolutions for self-improvement. Jane Austen brings this characteristic to our attention at the end of the book i n observing . . . instead of remaining even for ever with her mother, and finding her only pleasures i n retirement and study, as afterwards i n her more calm and sober judgment she had determined on,—she found herself at nineteen submitting to new attachments, . . . a wife, the mistress of a family. . . . (p. 379) Marianne's resolve to be forever secluded and celibate, the result of her "more calm and sober judgement," reveals the same excessive nature she showed at the outset of the novel. In the midst of Marianne's " t r a n s i t i o n , " Jane Austen again reminds us, through Mrs. Dashwood, that Elinor has been "suffering almost as much,, 19 c e r t a i n l y with less self-provocation, and greater f o r t i t u d e . " (p. 356) The i t a l i c i z e d words are a reminder of Marianne's attempts to keep her emotions at a high pitch. When Marianne receives Willoughby's l e t t e r , Lerner concedes that here for once Elinor's g r i e f two: i t i s Marianne who uses i n the physical immediacy of But he undercuts this admission. seems the more genuine of the rhetoric, Elinor who i s presented her sorrow. . . . even this probably does her less good than i t should i n our eyes: for i t i s not her own g r i e f that i s i n question, but her sharing of Marianne's. . . .20 My i t a l i c s . ^0p. c i t . , p. 166. 23 I cannot fathom this l o g i c , for surely i f Elinor's "once- removed" g r i e f i s more deeply f e l t than Marianne's, then i t i i s Marianne's capacity for intense emotion which i s " i n question." Indeed, her "rhetoric", i s reminiscent of Laura's speeches i n Love and Freindship. " . . . leave me, leave me, i f I distress you; leave me, hate me, forget me! but do not torture me so." (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 185) Continuing to parse her sentences c o r r e c t l y , Marianne claims, "But I cannot t a l k . " (p. 186) Miraculously restored to the power of speech by the time Elinor has read her s i s t e r ' s three notes to Willoughby, Marianne goes on to give an admirably coherent account of her relationship with him. (pp. 188-9) There are some c r i t i c s (Mudrick, Ten Harmsel among them) 21 who assert that Jane Austen, despite herself, made Marianne a d e l i g h t f u l creature. Lerner contends that the character of Marianne Dashwood "threaten[s] to escape from [her] creator's r e i n . " ^ I suggest that Jane Austen's favourable descriptions of h e r — i . e . "Marianne's a b i l i t i e s were, i n many respects, quite equal to E l i n o r ' s . . . . She was generous, amiable, interesting. . . ." (p. 6 ) — were at attempt to avoid the overt s a t i r e of an e a r l i e r work, Lascelles' account of Jane Austen's painstaking revisions and reworkings of her novels surely disproves any chance of "accident" i n Austen's presentation of her characters. "Op. c i t . , p. 157. 24 Love and Freindship, which also zeroed i n on s e n s i b i l i t y as a target. We know that Elinor and Marianne, an e a r l i e r version of Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , was the f i r s t novel Jane Austen wrote after Love and Freindship. The difference i n s a t i r i c technique i n these novels shows the t r a n s i t i o n from blatant to latent irony. Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y concludes with the author's statement, Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her conduct, her most favourite maxims. She was born to overcome an a f f e c t i o n formed so l a t e i n l i f e as at seventeen, and with no sentiment superior to strong esteem and l i v e l y friendship, v o l u n t a r i l y to give her hand to another!—and that other, a man who had suffered no less than herself under the event of a former attachment, whom, two years before, she had considered too old to be married,— and who s t i l l sought the constitutional safeguard of a flannel waistcoat! (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 378) Lerner objects: The tone of t h i s , surely, i s not quite r i g h t : the tone, or i t s content. "No sentiment superior to strong esteem and l i v e l y friendship": does Jane Austen then not believe i n love? . . . And that l a s t old-maidish joke about the flannel waistcoat: can we not hear too audibly the r e l i e f that marriage i s not going to contain anything excessive, anything v i o l e n t , anything common?^ He goes on: Yet on i t s own the paragraph i s not l i k e l y to j a r ; and i t would not j a r i f we turned straight to i t after reading the f i r s t eight chapters.25 My i t a l i c s . The intensity of her l o v e — " a f f e c t i o n " — and her capacity for i t — h e r age—are challenged. ^Op. c i t . , p. 161. This i s not Lerner's f i r s t description of Jane Austen as "old-maidish." He appears to be so steeped i n "D. H. Lawrencism" that he i s convinced that an unmarried woman must either be f r i g i d or a v e r i t a b l e cauldron of bubbling repressions. Loc. c i t . 25 I would attach the adverb "closely" to the end of the above quotation. Marianne, not Jane Austen, spoke of "flannel waistcoats" i n Chapter VIII. Colonel Brandon's capacity for potency (I assume this i s what i s implied by the Lawrencian adjectives "excessive", "violent") i s not at issue: Jane Austen i s reminding the reader of Marianne's assessment of Colonel Brandon as "old enough to be [her] father" (p. 37) and incapable of i n s p i r i n g love. She i n s i s t s " . . . t h i r t y - f i v e has nothing to do with matrimony." Elinor's reply i s noteworthy. "Perhaps t h i r t y - f i v e and seventeen had better not have any thing to do with matrimony together. But i f there should by any chance happen to be a woman who i s single at seven and twenty, I should not think Colonel Brandon's being t h i r t y - f i v e any objection to his marrying her." (pp. 37-8) Marianne's opinion of such a union i s contemptuous. The reader of Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y i s inclined to be more moderate i n response to the marriage which, as described by Marianne at the beginning of the book, i s her "fate" at the end of i t . ". . . i f her home be uncomfortable, or her fortune small, I can suppose that she might bring herself to submit to the o f f i c e s of a nurse, for the sake of the provision and security of a wife. In his marrying such a woman therefore there would be nothing unsuitable. I t would be a compact of convenience, and the world would be s a t i s f i e d . In my eyes i t would be no marriage at a l l , but that would be nothing. To me i t would seem only a commercial exchange, i n which each wished to be benefitted at the expense of the other." (p. 38) The verb "submit" i s c r u c i a l , for i t connotes passivity. In turning to the account of Marianne's marriage we read: 26 Mrs. Dashwood was acting on motives of policy . . . for her wish of bringing Marianne and Colonel Brandon together was hardly less earnest, though rather more l i b e r a l than what John had expressed. . . . and to see Marianne settled at the mansion- house was equally the wish of Edward and E l i n o r . They each f e l t his sorrows, and their own obligations, and Marianne, by general consent, was to be the reward of a l l . . . . Instead of f a l l i n g a s a c r i f i c e to an i r r e s i s t i b l e passion . . . she found herself at nineteen submitting to new attachments^ entering on new duties, placed i n a new home, . . . and the patroness of a village.(pp. 378-9)26 Ten Harmsel agrees with Mudrick that "Marianne, the l i f e and 2 7 center of the novel, has been betrayed; and not by Willoughby." Ten Harmsel also notes, without understanding i t s significance, that Jane Austen "subjects none of her other heroines to such an ending— 28 each one f i n a l l y wins her f i r s t and only true love. . . . " The fact that Marianne recants her love for Willoughby, and embarks on a loveless (on her part) marriage, i s overlooked. The reader, i n assessing the character of Marianne, must ask himself—"Could Elizabeth Bennet, or Fanny P r i c e , or Anne E l l i o t (I omit Emma Woodhouse, since she has no economic pressures) have been prevailed upon to marry without love?" They could not. Mudrick has said of the central character i n Love and Freindship, The only difference between Laura before and Laura after conversion [supposedly from s e n s i b i l i t y ] . . . i s the quality of discretion. . . .29 My i t a l i c s . r Mudrick, crp_. c i t . , p. 93. S?en Harmsel, ap_. c i t . , p. 47. W d r i c k , ap_. c i t . , p. 17. 27 In view of the conclusion of Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , I suggest that the same could be said of Marianne. The recognition of s o c i a l r e s p o n s i b i l i t i e s by Jane Austen's heroes and heroines has often been misconstrued. Because their love i s not immediate, but i s a result of frequent s o c i a l intercourse, because t h e i r encounters are not t r y s t s , but take place i n drawing rooms with others present, i t i s assumed that there can be no i n t e n s i t y of emotion i n t h e i r feelings for each other. The " i s o l a t i o n policy" practiced by Marianne and Willoughby (and by the p r i n c i p a l couples i n Love and Freindship) i s assumed to be proof of this intensity. Elinor wishes "their attachment . . . were less openly shewn", but for Marianne, "to aim at the r e s t r a i n t of sentiments . . . appeared to her . . . an unnecessary e f f o r t . . . ." (p. 53) And so A'.-'-. when [Willoughby] was present she had no eyes for any one else. . . . If dancing formed the amusement of the night, they were partners for half the time; and when obliged to separate for a couple of dances, were careful to stand together and scarcely spoke a word to any one else, (pp. 53-4) ForJane Austen's opinion of this d i s i n c l i n a t i o n to observe the amenities as proof of passion we can turn to Pride and Prejudice, for Mrs. Bennet's assessment of the "violence" of Bingley's love for Jane. "He was growing quite inattentive to other people, and wholly engrossed by her. . . . At his own b a l l he offended two or three young ladies, by not asking them to dance, and I spoke to him twice myself, without receiving an answer. Could there be f i n e r symptoms? Is not general i n c i v i l i t y the very essence of love?" (p. 107) 28 Maugham appears to agree with her, for he comments i n Ten Novels and Their Authors 3 0 , I do not believe that Miss Austen was capable of being very much i n love. I f she had been, she would surely have attributed to her heroines a greater warmth of emotion than i n fact she did. There i s no passion i n t h e i r love. Their i n c l i n a t i o n s are tempered with prudence and controlled by common sense. Real love has no truck with these estimable q u a l i t i e s . I t would appear that Mr. Maugham w i l l not allow any cerebral considerations into the process of " f a l l i n g i n love." One may 31 not choose wisely and w e l l : one must simply choose. In Persuasion Jane Austen treats the c o n f l i c t between two sets of values—those of prudence and those of love—more intensively than i n any of her other novels. Anne's r e c o n c i l i a t i o n with Wentworth does not arise from a resolution of these opposites, but from a series of fortuitous occurrences which make t h e i r union possible after a l l . Not even at the end of the book does Anne abandon her commitment to the prudential values, f o r , as she and Jane Austen r e a l i z e , they cannot be ignored. Maugham feels that "one may wish that Anne were a l i t t l e less matter-of-fact, . . . a l i t t l e 32 more impulsive. . . . " Helm concurs, and faults Anne for having 33 "kept her feelings under the most perfect control. . . . " 30 ••— London, W. Heinemann Ltd., 1954, p. 59. 31 Maugham would have preferred "to see [Anne E l l i o t ] marry [Mr. E l l i o t ] rather than the stodgy Captain Wentworth." (Ibid., p. 67) 32 Ibid.j p. 63. 33 Helm, jDp_. c i t . , p. 163. 29 Marianne, who c e r t a i n l y can not be accused by Mr. Maugham as are Jane Austen's other heroines, of "prudence," i s f u l l y prepared to enter the marriage state having, as Elinor puts i t , " . . . already ascertained Mr. Willoughby's opinion i n almost every matter of importance. You know what he thinks of Cowper and Scott; you are certain of his estimating t h e i r beauties as he ought, and you have received every assurance of his admiring Pope no more than i s proper. . . . Another meeting w i l l s u f f i c e to explain his sentiments on picturesque beauty, and second- marriages, and then you can have nothing further to ask." (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 47) G. B. Stern endorses this i r o n i c a l remark i n stating that she "would rather have seen Marianne married to Willoughby (a r e j o i c i n g 34 widower) than mistress of Delaford and wife of Colonel Wet-Blanket." I submit that much of the unhappiness i n contemporary marriages arises from a refusal to view love âs Jane Austen viewed i t , a union of mind and heart. The necessity for mutual knowledge between marriage partners i s denied by Charlotte Lucas. "I wish Jane success with a l l my heart; and i f she were married to him tomorrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness, as i f she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. Happiness i n marriage i s e n t i r e l y a matter of chance. If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar before-hand, i t does not advance t h e i r f e l i c i t y i n the least. . . . I t i s better to know as l i t t l e as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your l i f e . " Elizabeth (and Jane Austen) reply: "You make me laugh, Charlotte; but i t i s not sound. You know i t i s not sound. . . . " (Pride and Prejudice, p. 16) •^Kaye-Smith and Stern, Talking of Jane Austen, p. 122, CHAPTER I I "I DO NOT WRITE FOR SUCH DULL ELVES AS HAVE NOT A GREAT DEAL OF INGENUITY THEMSELVES." (Jane Austen, from a l e t t e r to Cassandra) In discussing Jane Austen's attitude to love, i t becomes necessary to prove that there are accounts of love i n her novels. Several c r i t i c s can see no "passion" i n her books. Lionel Stevenson asserts: The absence of passion i s a . . . l i m i t a t i o n , since the dominant theme of a l l her novels i s love. She i s so suspicious of emotion that when a scene of strjng f e e l i n g i s imperative she t r i e s to avoid narrating i t . Jane Austen's finesse i n describing her heroines' love for the men of their choice perhaps accounts for many readers' f a i l u r e to recognize that love i s being described. In Emma, the heroine suddenly realizes "that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but herself!" (p. 408) The punctuation suggests Emma's intensity of emotion, as i t does again i n her miserable outburst, "Oh GodJ that I had never seen her" (p. 411), when she believes that she has l o s t Knightley to Harriet. Another subtle method of indicating emotion employed by Jane Austen i s the description of weather. When Emma fears that she can never have Knightley, Jane Austen comments, The evening of this day was very long, and melancholy, at H a r t f i e l d . The weather added what i t could of gloom. A cold stormy r a i n set i n , and nothing of July appeared but i n the trees and shrubs, which the wind was despoiling, 1 Lionel Stevenson, The English Novel: A Panorama, London, Constable & Co. Ltd., 1960, p. 189. 31 and the length of the day, which only made such cruel sights the longer v i s i b l e , (p. 421) I t i s u n l i k e l y that the r e a l i s t i c Miss Austen endorsed the "pathetic f a l l a c y , " as Reginald Farrer suggests. Her description of weather here has a function. And that function i s to mirror the heroine's state of mind. The subtle growth of Darcy's love for Elizabeth i s handled magnificently. The progress of his attachment i s revealed i n such passages as these: No sooner had he made i t clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good feature i n her face, than he began to find i t was rendered uncommonly i n t e l l i g e n t by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. (Pride and Prejudice, p. 16) We note that even this early i n the book Darcy must work to "make i t clear to himself": already he i s f i g h t i n g an a t t r a c t i o n he feels toward Elizabeth. . . . Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her. He r e a l l y believed, that were i t not for the i n f e r i o r i t y of her connections, he should be i n some danger, (p. 38) . . . they went down the other dance and parted i n silence; on each side d i s s a t i s f i e d , though not to an equal degree, for i n Darcy's breast there was a tolerable powerful f e e l i n g towards her, which soon procured her pardon, and directed a l l his anger against another, (p. 71) At times, Darcy i s even less conscious of his feelings for Elizabeth. When Elizabeth i s at Netherfield, Caroline Bingley, more aware of Darcy's interest than either Darcy or Elizabeth i s , and "desperate" (p. 41) to obtain the former's attention, asks Elizabeth to j o i n her and "take a turn about the room." 32 Elizabeth was surprised, but agreed to i t immediately. Miss Bingley succeeded no less i n the r e a l object of her c i v i l i t y ; Mr. Darcy looked up . . . and unconsciously closed his book. (p. 41) In the ensuing conversation he speaks only to Elizabeth, and appears unaware of Miss Bingley's intrusions. I t i s only "after a few moments r e c o l l e c t i o n " that he "begins to f e e l the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention." (p. 43) The signs of his growing love are clear. He and Elizabeth are unaware of them, but the omniscient reader can see them a l l . They are i m p l i c i t rather than e x p l i c i t ; unfortunately, the subtlety of t h e i r presentation has a l l too often been l o s t upon Austen c r i t i c s . The sensitive a r t i s t r y of Jane Austen forbade a lengthy exposition of f e e l i n g . Aware of the s u b j e c t i v i t y of f e e l i n g , she conveyed, rather than c r u c i f i e d , the emotions which moved her characters. Not for Jane Austen the merciless dissection of innermost thoughts. Analysis meant a n n i h i l a t i o n . For Jane Austen expected of her readers what Charlotte Bronte could never dare. She expected them to see beneath her words to the soul beneath. I do not write for such d u l l elves 2 As have not a great deal of ingenuity themselves. (Chawton: Friday [January 29, 1813]) Jane Austen suggests and leads up to the direct expression of emotion rather than express the emotion i t s e l f . The climax, the moment i n which the lovers make a mutual profession of love, i s not protracted, but rather, concentrated into "one b r i e f flash of speech 2 William and Richard A. Austen-Leigh, Jane Austen-—Her L i f e and Letters, a Family Record. London, Smith Elder, 1913, p. 261. 33 or w r i t i n g . " The participants f e e l deeply, but proffer no extensive a r t i c u l a t i o n of emotion. Intensity of f e e l i n g , Jane Austen r e a l i z e s , precludes glibness. Frank Churchill i s a great talker: Mr. Knightley, when proposing, t e l l s Emma, "I cannot make speeches, Emma. I f I loved you l e s s , I might be able to t a l k about i t more." (Emma, p. 430) The absence of lengthy love scenes, condemned as a f a u l t i n Jane Austen's novels, i s j u s t i f i e d by Knightley's statement. As Jane Austen knew, the capacity for f a c i l e a r t i c u l a t i o n of love a l l too often betokened a lack of intensity of emotion. Willoughby, Isabella Thorpe, Tom Musgrove, Mr. C o l l i n s — a l l of these characters " t a l k up a storm." But as Jane Austen reveals, their speeches are a l l F u l l of sound and fury Signifying nothing. Willoughby t e l l s Elinor that i n London, "with [his] head and heart f u l l of [Marianne, he] was forced to play the happy lover to another woman!" (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 327) In a l l seriousness, he seeks sympathy on the grounds of an overwhelming passion—a passion which i n the next breath he shows himself to have supplanted with his supreme passion, s e l f - l o v e . Willoughby parades one of the characteristics of the sentimental lover i n a further attempt to mitigate his scurrilous r e j e c t i o n of Marianne. "Her three n o t e s — u n l u c k i l y they were a l l i n my pocketbook or I should have denied their existence and hoarded them f o r e v e r . — I was forced to put them up, and could not even kiss them. And the lock of h a i r — t h a t too I had always carried about me i n the same pocketbook, . . . the dear l o c k — a l l , every memento was torn from me." (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 329) The s e l f - p i t y i n g tone i n which Willoughby recounts the loss of the F. W. Bradbrook, Jane Austen: Emma, London, Edward Arnold, 1961, p.15. 34 mementos whose possession i s supposed to establish the depth of the love he feels for Marianne grates p a i n f u l l y on the reader's ear. So this i s l o v e — a two-faced Janus, with one hand loath to part with r e l i c s while the other pens a note which w i l l cut to the heart the source of these same r e l i c s . Willoughby has won over several c r i t i c s with his confession to E l i n o r . Here he i s believed to be expressing r e a l torment and love for Marianne. For purposes of emphasis, the words referring to himself are underlined. I t w i l l be clear that Willoughby's thoughts, even i n retrospect, center on Willoughby. '"What a sweet figure I_ cut!—what an evening of agony i t was! —Marianne, beautiful as an angel on one side, c a l l i n g me Willoughby i n such a tone!—Oh! God! holding out her hand to me, asking me for an explanation with those bewitching eyes fixed i n such speaking s o l i c i t u d e on my face!—and Sophia, jealous as the d e v i l on the other hand, looking a l l that was—. . . Such an evening!—1_ ran away from you a l l as soon as I could; but not before I_ had seen Marianne's "sweet face as white as death."(p. 327) The recognition of Marianne's "sweet face as white as death," we note, does not summon an exclamation mark. Only Willoughby's account of the evening's unpleasantness for him i s crowned with superlative punctuation. Most readers appreciate a physical description of the main character placed near the beginning of a novel. We l i k e to "see" the figure before us. But to s i m i l a r l y l i m i t by description the boundaries of a character's emotions i s to l i m i t his scope. The suspense which sustains the plot i n Persuasion acts as a medium through which we share the emotional experiences of Anne E l l i o t . We have been given an account of the attachment between Anne and 35 Captain Wentworth. They were gradually acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly and deeply i n love. I t would be d i f f i c u l t to say which had seen highest perfection i n the other, or which had been the happiest,—she, i n receiving his declarations and proposals, or he i n having them accepted. A short period of exquisite f e l i c i t y followed, and but a short one. (p. 26) In these b r i e f words we can f e e l a l l the poignancy and tenderness of their mutual love. We know the pain which the termination of their "short period of exquisite f e l i c i t y " brought to both. We already are aware that Anne s t i l l loves Wentworth, for upon hearing a casual a l l u s i o n to him, Anne l e f t the room, to seek the comfort of cool a i r for her flushed cheeks; and as she walked along a favourite grove, said, with a gentle sigh, "A few months more, and he_, perhaps, may be walking here." (p. 25) "A favourite g r o v e " — i t i s easy to imagine that i t might w e l l have been the scene of former happy rendezvous between the young lovers. Now a l l that remains to be known i s the state of Captain Wentworth's present feelings. But we, and Anne, must wait u n t i l the end of the book for conclusive proof of his love. We l i v e with her, and share the agonies of enduring his "cold politeness, his ceremonious grace." (p. 72) When she i s i n the same room with him, Anne suffers "agitation, pain, pleasure, a something between delight and misery." (p. 175) When we are told that "she f e l t a hundred things i n a moment," we do not require an itemized account of each one to understand the wealth of emotion welling up i n her heart. Anne i s deeply, completely i n love. Holding no prejudice against "second attachments," her love i s nevertheless "his for ever." (p. 192) Anne's impassioned conversation with Captain H a r v i l l e ( i n 36 Chapter 33), conducted r a t i o n a l l y and i n a low voice, i s deeply emotional. There are none of the hyper-exclamatory phrases of a Marianne Dashwood, but no one could deny the intensity behind the words " A l l the p r i v i l e g e I claim for my own sex . . . i s that of loving longest, when existence or when hope i s gone." (p. 235) For those who require a resume of what "the human heart i n i t s heaving breast" i s doing i n order to understand what Anne E l l i o t i s f e e l i n g , Miss Austen gives us the statement She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was too f u l l , her breath too much oppressed, (p. 235) Here i s the "stormy Sisterhood" surely. And when Anne, upon termination of the conversation, sees Wentworth leave the room "without a word or a look" and then return almost immediately to place i n her hands a l e t t e r , and f i x upon her "eyes of glowing entreaty," we do not need to be told more than that the revolution which one instant had made i n Anne, was almost beyond expression, (p. 237) (my i t a l i c s ) I t does not require expression. We f e e l i t , as Anne feels i t . To subject such sensitive gradations of emotion to analysis would be to destroy their essence. We have been given the materials necessary to complete the pattern of feeling. When Anne and Wentworth meet i n the street i n Bath and are suddenly aware that their love i s s t i l l mutual, they keep their "smiles reined i n and s p i r i t s dancing i n private rapture." (p. 240) They do not catapult into each other's arms and shriek i n ecstasy, but their f a i l u r e to do so does not diminish the passion which they f e e l . When Elinor learns that Edward Ferrars i s , after a l l , free to 37 marry her, we are told that she "almost ran out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed, burst into tears of joy." (p. 360) Ian Watt makes the appropriate comment. The joy was not less intense because Elinor remembered that ladies do not. run, and that they always shut the door. But Elinor's sense involves much more than prudent reticence and a regard for the forms of s o c i a l decorum; these may be i t s surface expression, but i t s essence i s f i d e l i t y to^the inward discriminations of both the head and the heart. And the "exquisite happiness" shared by Anne and Wentworth i s greater, not l e s s , for being "more fixed i n a knowledge of each other's character, truth, and attachment. . . ." (p. 241) With Jane Austen, each reader can f e e l for himself (and thus f e e l with more awareness) the nature of emotion, not emotion sedulously delineated by the obtrusive, omniscient author, but emotion conveyed, suggested, frequently by a single word. Examples of this evocative technique are legion. In Persuasion, Anne E l l i o t i s confronted for the f i r s t time by the man she had been persuaded to give up eight years previously. She does not pour forth a passionate soliloquy after rushing distractedly from the room. And yet we see her suffering, we understand the fulness which wells up inside her, the sense of almost dizzy awareness of everything around her, i n the statement "The room seemed f u l l — f u l l of persons and voices." (p. 59) Short—and deceptively simple. But we can imagine, p a r t i c u l a r l y after Miss Lascelles' book, the thought which went into the composition of this p a r t i c u l a r sentence. For with nine words, Jane Austen has placed Anne before us, and made us f e e l the 4 Ian Watt, "On Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , " Jane Austen: A Collection of C r i t i c a l Essays, ed. Ian Watt, Englewood C l i f f s , Prentice-Hall, Inc. 1963, p. 49. 38 commingling of emotions, emotions which must be concealed from the rest of the room " f u l l of persons and voices." And, somehow, we f e e l more poignantly the strength of these emotions by dint of their concealment. For Anne, l i k e E l i n o r Dashwood and Jane Fairfax, must suffer i n silence. Not for her the simple expedient of release by expression. Feelings 5 which "[throb] fast and f u l l , though hidden" must be suppressed, i n order that others might not suffer. The natural confidante for Anne would seem to be Lady Russell. But she cannot be confided i n , for she was inadvertantly the source of Anne's unhappiness, and would be deeply pained by a r e a l i z a t i o n of what she had done. So the floodgates of Anne's heart must remain locked. But the force of the torrents they stem i s not assuaged by containment. " I LOVE NOT LESS, THOUGH LESS THE SHOW APPEAR. THAT LOVE IS MERCHANDISED, WHOSE RICH ESTEEMING THE OWNER'S TONGUE DOTH PUBLISH EVERYWHERE." (from Sonnet 102, William Shakespeare) I t i s the fate of the romantic heroine to suffer and endure; i t i s Emma's destiny to lose her complacency and suffer s l i g h t l y , as she learns the truth about herself and others. Mr. Bradbrook appears to be accepting the popular, misconception that only the heroine who endures "the sleepless couch, . . . a pillow strewed with thorns and wet with tears" i s "the true heroine." (Northanger Abbey, p. 90) But i f we examine Emma's, or Elizabeth's, or Anne's, or E l i n o r ' s , anguish, i t i s seen that their suffering i s very r e a l , although not vociferously manifested i n the "romantic" form Bradbrook accepts as sole proof of true suffering. 5 Charlotte Bronte asserted that Jane Austen ignored the feelings which "[tthrob] fast and f u l l , though hidden." 6 Bradbrook, op. c i t . , p. 8. 39 One wonders i f Bradbrook would r e a l i z e how deeply i n love Admiral and Mrs. Croft are, since they are not a "romantic" couple. Their i n t e n s i t y of devotion to each other, one surmises, has e n t i r e l y escaped him, since they do not profess undying love for each other verbally, and there i s not a single scene i n which we see Mrs. Croft sobbing her heart out. Her love i s evinced i n a very different way. In explaining to Mrs. Musgrove why she spent so much time on her husband's man-of-war, and i n negating the suggestion that she must have been uncomfortable and unhappy i n such a l i e n surroundings, Mrs. Croft says: " . . . the happiest part of my l i f e has been spent on board a ship. While we were together, you know, there was nothing to be feared."(Persuasion, p. 70)^ Admiral and Mrs. Croft remind one of Thackeray's couple i n Vanity F a i r , Major and Mrs. O'Dowd. The Crofts do not a r t i c u l a t e their love: they l i v e i t , as do Major and Mrs. O'Dowd. Thackeray makes the relevant comment on Mrs. O'Dowd's preparation of her husband's equipment just prior to his marching off to b a t t l e . And who i s there w i l l deny that this worthy lady's preparations betokened a f f e c t i o n as much as the f i t s of tears and hysterics by which more sensitive females exhibited their love, and that their partaking of this coffee, which they drank together while the bugles were sounding the turnout . . . was not more useful and to the purpose than the outpouring of any mere sentiment could be? ̂ This i s love which i s directed e n t i r e l y to i t s object, and i s not taken up with proud vaunting of i t s e l f . The word "exhibited" i n the above 7 My i t a l i c s . 8 W.M. Thackeray, Vanity F a i r , New York, Holt, Rinehart'. & Winston, 1955, pp. 299-300. 40 quotation i s noteworthy. Captain Wentworth does not verbalize his growing f e e l i n g for Anne, but we can see i n his thoughtful removal of young Charles from her back a motive beyond mere courtesy. He does not speak of his love; even at the end of the book he finds i t d i f f i c u l t to do so. He, l i k e Darcy, acts i t out. For love of Elizabeth, Darcy performs the unsavoury task of searching for Lydia and Wickham i n London, and "persuading" them to marry. He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself a l l the trouble and m o r t i f i c a t i o n attendant on such a research; i n which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and f i n a l l y bribe, the man whom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name i t was punishment for him to pronounce. (Pride and Prejudice, p. 243) Such lovers do not display the "romantic" manifestations of emotion, unlike "lovers" such as Marianne Dashwood, who, on the night following Willoughby's departure from Barton (to which he was expected to return almost immediately), . . . would have thought herself very inexcusable had she been able to sleep at a l l t h e - f i r s t night a f t ^ r parting with Willoughby. She would have been ashamed to look her family i n the face the next morning, had she not risen from her bed i n more need of repose than when she lay down i n i t . (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 83) And so Marianne . . . got up with a headache, . . . giving pain every moment to her mother and s i s t e r s ^ and forbidding a l l attempt at consolation from either. When breakfast was over she . . . wandered about the v i l l a g e of Allenham, indulging the r e c o l l e c t i o n of past enjoyment. . . . 9 My i t a l i c s . 10 Jane Austen remarks, "Her s e n s i b i l i t y was potent enough!" 41 The evening passed off i n the equal indulgence of f e e l i n g . She played over every favourite song that she had been used to play to Willoughby, . . . t i l l her heart was so heavy that no farther [ s i c ] sadness could be gained: and this nourishment of grief was every day applied. . . . In books too,.. . . she courted the misery which a contrast between the past and present was certain of giving. (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 83) For Marianne believes i n the importance of v i s i b l e manifestations of emotion. No one, she fears, w i l l believe she i s i n love unless he/she can see the emotion anatomized. Such preoccupation with proving emotion suggests a corresponding lessening i n intensity of the emotion i t s e l f . A.Walton L i t z paraphrases Mudrick's statement that i n Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y Jane Austen "turned from her youthful attacks on 11 false s e n s i b i l i t y to an attack on a l l f e e l i n g . " What Mudrick and L i t z miss i s that Jane Austen admires f e e l i n g , and only despises f e e l i n g which admires i t s e l f . She does not condemn emotion per se, but decries self-congratulatory emotion,.:'. . •> ;' . B.C. Southam writes: In "Love and Freindship" the motives for sentimental conduct are examined, and i t i s debunked as nothing more than an expedient code permittj^g self-indulgence, and a form of e g o t i s t i c a l snobbery. He recognizes that sentimental behaviour i s "a form of e g o t i s t i c a l snobbery," yet f a i l s to see Marianne Dashwood's self-indulgence as 13 anything but "genuine temperamental s e n s i b i l i t y . " Such a f a i l u r e 11 A. Walton L i t z , Jane Austen: A Study of her A r t i s t i c Development, New York, Oxford University Press, 1965, p. 82. .12 B. C. Southam, Jane Austen's Literary Manuscripts, London, Oxford University Press, 1964, p. 26. 13 Loc.cit. 42 indicates a very scanty perusal of Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , i n which we we frequently encounter Marianne uttering smugly self-admiring lines such as: "Happy, happy E l i n o r , you cannot have an idea of what I suffer." (p. 185) "Elinor has not my feelings, and therefore she may overlook i t . . . . But i t would have broke my heart had I loved him, to hear him read with so l i t t l e s e n s i b i l i t y . . . I require so much!" (p. 18) "Dear., dear Norland! . . .Oh! happy house, could you know what I suffer i n now viewing you from this spot, from whence perhaps I may view you no more!—And you, ye well-known trees!—but you w i l l continue the same . . . insensible of any change i n those who walk under your shade!—But who w i l l remain to enjoy you?" (p. 27 ) U His pleasure i n music, though i t amounted not to that extatic [ s i c ] delight which alone could sympathize with her own, was estimable when contrasted against the horrible i n s e n s i t i v i t y of the others; and she was reasonable enough to allow that a man of f i v e and t h i r t y might well have outlived a l l acuteness of f e e l i n g . . . . (p. 35)l-> Jane Austen describes Marianne and her mother flogging their feelings to keep them at fever pitch when they find they must leave Norland. They encouraged each other now i n the violence of their a f f l i c t i o n . The agony of grief which overpowered them at f i r s t was v o l u n t a r i l y renewed, was sought f o r , was created again and again. They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness i n every r e f l e c t i o n that could afford i t , and resolved against ever admitting consolation i n future, (p. 7) 14 Now that sensitive " I " am gone! 15 I t i s i n t e r e s t i n g to note that Jane Austen makes Anne E l l i o t 27 years o l d — e x a c t l y the age at which Marianne Dashwood i s certain no woman " . . . can [ever] hope to f e e l or inspire affection again. . . ." (p. 38) 43 C l e a r l y , the enforced maintenance of f e e l i n g at a high p i t c h outran the genuine emotion. The mania f o r s e n s i b i l i t y was c r i t i c i z e d by Hannah More i n her S t r i c t u r e s on the Modern System of Female Education w i t h a view of the p r i n c i p l e s and conduct among women of rank and fortune. In one chapter she wrote: Of t h i s extreme i r r i t a b i l i t y . . . the uneducated l e a r n to boast, as i f i t were a decided i n d i c a t i o n of s u p e r i o r i t y of s o u l , i n s t e a d of l a b o u r i n g to r e s t r a i n i t . . . i t i s too much to nourish the e v i l by u n r e s t r a i n e d i n d u l g e n c e ^ i t i s s t i l l worse to be proud, of so m i s l e a d i n g a q u a l i t y . I t i s impossible to overlook the connection between Marianne's and Sophia's ailments, both brought on by t h e i r overindulgence of s e n s i b i l i t y . At Cleveland, Marianne walks . . . where the trees were the o l d e s t , and the grass was the longest and w e t t e s t , and then commits the s t i l l greater imprudence of s i t t i n g i n her wet shoes and s t o c k i n g s , (p. 306) much l i k e Sophia, whose c o l d i s contracted due to her continued f a i n t i n g s i n • t h e open a i r as the Dew was f a l l i n g . (Love and F r e i n d s h i p , p. 33) The r a p i d l y l a n g u i s h i n g Sophia advises: " . . . take warning from my unhappy End and avoid the imprudent conduct which had [ s i c ] occasioned i t . . . . Beware of f a i n t i n g f i t s . . . . Though at the time they may be r e f r e s h i n g and agreeable yet b e l i e v e me they w i l l i n the end, i f too o f t e n repeated and at improper seasons prove d e s t r u c t i v e to your C o n s t i t u t i o n . . . . My f a t e w i l l teach you t h i s . . . . I d i e a Martyr to my g r i e f f o r the l o s s of Augustus. . . . One f a t a l swoon has cost me my l i f e . . . ."(p. 34) 16 C i t e d i n E l i z a b e t h J e n k i n s , Jane Austen, New York, F a r r a r , Straus & Cudahy, 1949, p. 69. 44 As i s apparent from the core of this speech, Sophia's " f i t " was not actually occasioned by the "loss of Augustus," but was revelled i n for i t s own sake; as was that of Laura, who, i n recounting her past l i f e , describes a f i t i n which she was, as she puts i t , "raving i n a f r a n t i c , incoherent manner," and yet miraculously i s able to recount everything she uttered while "wildly exclaiming on [her] Edward's Death." Laura adds proudly, For two Hours did I rave thus madly and should not then have l e f t o f f , as I was not i n the least fatigued, had not Sophia . . . intreated [ s i c ] me to consider that Night was now approaching and that the Damps began to f a l l . (p. 32) S i m i l a r l y , Marianne w i l f u l l y indulges her g r i e f , glorying i n i t . Her i l l n e s s , l i k e Sophia's, i s not the result of lost love, but of s e l f - 17 g r a t i f i c a t i o n . In Love and Freindship Laura confesses to "a s e n s i b i l i t y too tremblingly a l i v e to every a f f l i c t i o n of Friends, acquaintance and p a r t i c u l a r l y to every a f f l i c t i o n of my own, . . . my only f a u l t , i f a f a u l t i t could be c a l l e d . " (p. 6) But Marianne would not question, even h y p o c r i t i c a l l y , the categorization of such s e n s i b i l i t y as "a f a u l t . " To her, i t i s the cardinal v i r t u e . Each new misfortune which arises offers fresh p o s s i b i l i t i e s for the display of feelings. I t i s a point of pride to suffer excessively—and i n public! As Marianne understands i t , "those who suffer l i t t l e may be proud and independent as they like—may r e s i s t i n s u l t , . . . " but, she says, "I cannot. I must f e e l — I must be wretched—and they are welcome to enjoy the consciousness of i t that can." (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 190) 17 Marianne does come to admit, "My i l l n e s s , I w e l l knew, had been e n t i r e l y brought on by myself." (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 345) 45 Indeed, those who care for her, although they do not enjoy i t , are forced to an awareness of her wretchedness at every instant. Marianne i s "unable to t a l k , and unwilling to take any nourishment; giving pain every moment to her mother and s i s t e r s , and forbidding a l l attempt at consolation from either." (p. 83) We are reminded strongly of Sophia and her insistence upon being miserable. A l l events and topics of discussion are twisted that they might be brought within the scope of s e l f - m o r t i f i c a t i o n . Cries Sophia, "Oh! do not I beseech you ever l e t me again hear you repeat his [Aigustus'j beloved name—It affects me too d e e p l y — I cannot bear to hear him mentioned i t wounds my feelings."'.' Laura attempts to comply with this request. " . . . changing the conversation, I desired her to admire the noble Grandeur of the Elms which sheltered us. . . .11 "'Alas! my Laura (returned she) avoid so melancholy a subject, I intreat you. Do not again wound my S e n s i b i l i t y by observation on those elms. They remind me of Augustus. He was l i k e them, t a l l , m a j e s t i c — ' "I was s i l e n t , f e a r f u l l e s t I might any more unwillingly distress her by f i x i n g on any other subject of conversation which might again remind her of Augustus. "'Why do you not speak my Laura? (said she after a short pause) I cannot support this silence you must not leave me to my own r e f l e c t i o n s ; they ever recur to Augustus.' "What could I do? . . . 1 had not power to s t a r t any other topic, j u s t l y fearing that i t might . . . awaken a l l her s e n s i b i l i t y . . . . yet to be s i l e n t would be cruel; she had intreated me to t a l k . " (Love and Freindship, p. 29f) S i m i l a r l y , for Marianne, . . . the s l i g h t e s t mention of any thing r e l a t i v e to Willoughby overpowered her i n an instant; and though her family were most anxiously attentive to her comfort, it.was impossible for them, i f they spoke at a l l , to keep clear of every subject which her feelings connected with him. . . . She played over every favourite song that she had been used to play to Willoughby, . . . t i l l her heart was so heavy that no further sadness could be gained; and this nourishment of grief was every day applied. . . . In books too, as w e l l as i n music, she courted the misery which a contrast between the past and present was certain of giving. (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , pp. 82-3) 46 But are we to suppose that "such violence of a f f l i c t i o n , " whose flagging strength must be bolstered by " s o l i t a r y walks and s i l e n t meditations" i s of a greater intensity than that of the less flamboyantly suffering Miss Dashwood? E linor i s pained more deeply through her very reticence, which springs from the wish to spare her dearest friends the r e a l i z a t i o n that she i s "very unhappy." Her silence i s not the r e s u l t of not having "ever f e l t much,"—the source to which Marianne attributes i t — b u t ' i s "the effect of constant and painful exertion." (p. 264) We can imagine the d i f f i c u l t y with which Elinor controlled her emotions. Her s i t u a t i o n results i n far more pain for Elinor than Marianne, shielded on a l l sides by commiserating friends, i s ever forced to bear. Elinor describes i t : "I have known myself to be divided from Edward forever, without having one circumstance that could make me less desire the connection.—Nothing has proved him unworthy. . . . I have had to contend against the unkindness of his s i s t e r , and the insolence of his mother; and have suffered the punishment of an attachment, without enjoying i t s advantages.—And a l l this has been going on at a time, when as you too well know, i t has not been my only unhappiness." (p. 264) There has been much c r i t i c a l comment on Jane Austen's account of Mrs. Musgrove's attitude of maternal bereavement upon hearing of the death of her son, who became "poor Richard" once he died, but who had never been anything but "a thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove" (Persuasion, p. 51) when he was a l i v e . Her grief upon being reminded of his demise was greater "than what she had known on f i r s t hearing of his death." (p. 51) Jane Austen describes "the self-command with which [Captain Wentworth] listened to her large fat sighings over the destiny of a son, whom a l i v e nobody had cared f o r . " (p. 68) What reaction i s Captain Wentworth suppressing? Jane Austen has vested him 47 with her own abhorrence for the affectation of an emotion which one did not genuinely f e e l . She despised hypocrisy and deceit, and although Mrs. Musgrove i s not being charged with either, she i s being arraigned for indulging i n sentimentality disguised as a sacred f e e l i n g which she has never had for her son. She i s , i n f a c t , enjoying feeling "luxuriously low." Mrs. Musgrove i s t r u l y upset over Louisa's accident, and Jane Austen gives her credit for being so, but she w i l l not allow a character to assert feelings of love which he/she does not r e a l l y f e e l without providing omniscient comment. To Jane Austen, i t i s a s i n , a p r o s t i t u t i o n of the b e a u t i f u l , and should be condemned. Mrs. Musgrove i s supposed to f e e l g r i e f - s t r i c k e n over the death of her son—and so she pretends to. Marianne Dashwood believes she i s supposed to spend a sleepless night after Willoughby's i n i t i a l departure from Barton—and so she does. Jane Austen's attitude to mawkish sentimentality i s made clear i n the scene i n which Harriet brings the mementoes of Mr. Elton to Emma to dispose of them. Emma i s surprised and amused. "My dearest Harriet!" cried Emma, putting her hands before her f a c e , ^ a n d jumping up. . . . "And so you actually put this piece of court-plaister by for her sake, . . ." and secretly she added to herself, "Lord bless me! when should I ever have thought of putting by i n cotton a piece of court-plaister that Frank Churchill had been p u l l i n g about! I never was equal to t h i s . " (Emma, pp. 338-9) Emma's "inequality to t h i s " i s what makes her a heroine, and Harriet an object of amusement. " . . . ROMANTIC PLAYS LIVE IN AN ATMOSPHERE OF INGENUITY AND MAKE-BELIEVE." (Gilbert Murray, from the Preface to Iphigenia i n Tauris.) 18 Undoubtedly to hide a smile. 48 Fanny Burney's preface to Evelina could equally w e l l have 19 stood at the beginning of Jane Austen's novels. She exhorts: Let me . . . prepare for disappointment those who, i n the perusal of these sheets, entertain the gentle expectation of being transported to the f a n t a s t i c regions of Romance, where F i c t i o n i s coloured by a l l the gay t i n t s of luxurious Imagination, where Reason i s an outcast, and where the sublimity of the Marvellous rejects a l l aid from sober P r o b a b i l i t y . 2 0 Jane Austen's " J u v e n i l i a " was written to expose the f a l s i t y i n the popular sentimental novels of the late eighteenth century, among them Richardson's Pamela, Laurence Sterne's A Sentimental Journey, and Charlotte Smith's Emmeline. Even at fourteen Jane Austen displayed the exquisite subtlety which was to mark her l a t e r i r o n i c presentation of pretense and a r t i f i c e . There i s no direct denunciation of the sentimental novel or i t s component parts, which include "sentiment, 21 morality, manners, i n s t r u c t i o n , s e n s i b i l i t y , and adventure." Instead, Miss Austen works with these conventions, creates her own "sentimental" novel. As Richard Simpson puts i t , Jane Austen began by being an i r o n i c a l c r i t i c ; she manifested her judgment of them [Romances] not by direct censure, but 19 Perhaps i f i t had much of the irrelevant c a v i l l i n g of some Austen c r i t i c s might have been truncated. 20 Fanny Burney, Preface to Evelina, New York, W. W. Norton & Co. Ltd., 1965 (no page number given i n book). 21 Marvin Mudrick, Jane Austen: Irony as Defense and Discovery, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1952, p. 5. 49 by the i n d i r e c t method of imitating and exaggerating the faults of her models, thus clearing the fountain by f i r s t s t i r r i n g up the mud.22 23 Perhaps we can trace the popular misuse of the word "romance" back to the Gothic romances of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. These novels of extravagant emotions, with their gloomy castles, exquisitely beautiful heroines and sublimely s p i r i t e d heroes, are not woven from the fabric of everyday l i f e : they present the unusual and, supposedly, exalted aspects of l i f e . But the characters of such novels, i n t h e i r "other-worldliness," become bloodless figures. The Emily of The Mysteries of Udolpho i s the same Emily at the end of the book that she was at the beginning. She i s , we are t o l d , a g i r l of "uncommon delicacy of mind, warm affections, ready benevolence, and a 24 degree of s u s c e p t i b i l i t y too exquisite to admit of l a s t i n g peace." This degree of s u s c e p t i b i l i t y i s held by Emily magna cum laude. She f a i n t s with elegance, screams with decorum, "indulges i n melancholy reverie" (p. 381), adores sunsets. We may count upon any one or more of these reactions no matter what the s i t u a t i o n Emily i s forced into. There i s no variety i n such a character, and no interest. Emily i s s t i l l f a i n t i n g at the end of the book. Her degree of s u s c e p t i b i l i t y i s unimpaired. She i s unchanged, a lump of clay which has passed through 22 Richard Simpson viewed Jane Austen primarily as a c r i t i c of her society whose works were an expression of her i r o n i c sense. His comment cited i n Ian Watt's Introduction to Jane Austen: A Collection of C r i t i c a l Essays, ed. Ian Watt, New Jersey, Prentice-Hall Inc., 1963, pp. 5-6. 23 Whereby "romantic" = i d y l l i c . 2 ^ Ann R a d c l i f f e , The Mysteries of Udolpho, New York, Juniper Press (n.d.), p. 10. 50 a blast furnace and come out unfired. The emotions i n the Gothic novels never stem from within, but are j o l t e d into a c t i v i t y by some external force, either human or supernatural. Emily i s immediately convinced that she must abandon her s u i t o r , Valancourt, when informed of his supposed a c t i v i t i e s i n Paris. She does not know Valancourt and therefore does not question the interpretation of his character, one which has to that moment appeared to her as above suspicion. There had been an immediate bond between them when they met, but the bond i s snapped with only a breath, a word. Perhaps the story of Emily and Valancourt i s a "romance," but i t i s not a romance of any depth. Jane Austen's attitude to love i s not romantic, but r e a l i s t i c . We are told that Henry Tilney's love for Catherine grew out of "gratitude," that a persuasion of her p a r t i a l i t y for him had been the only cause of giving her a serious thought. Jane Austen comments I t i s a new circumstance i n romance, I acknowledge, and dreadfully derogatory of an heroine's dignity; but i f i t be as new i n common l i f e , the credit of a wild imagination w i l l at least be a l l my own, (Northanger Abbey, p. 243) The circumstance i s not, however, new i n common l i f e . Charlotte Lucas i s cognizant of i t s frequent occurrence. There i s so much of gratitude or vanity i n almost every attachment, that i t i s not safe to leave any to i t s e l f . We can a l l begin f r e e l y ; a s l i g h t preference i s natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be r e a l l y i n love without encouragement. (Pride and Prejudice, p. 15) 25 Marcel Proust makes a s i m i l a r statement i n Swann's Way, trans. C.K. Scott Moncrieff, New York, Modern Library, 1928, p. 281. In his younger days a man dreams of possessing the heart of the woman whom he loves; l a t e r , the f e e l i n g that he possesses the heart of a woman may be enough to make him f a l l i n love with her. 51 Nor did Jane Austen accept the w i l d l y romantic theory that one could only f a l l i n love once, that for each person there was only one soulmate, for she suggests i n regard to Anne E l l i o t that a second attach- ment, after her break with Wentworth, would have been a "thoroughly natural, happy and s u f f i c i e n t cure." (Persuasion, p. 28) This cure was not effected only due to circumstances, to the fact that the limited society i n which Anne moved did not contain anybody whom she could love. Jane Austen agreed with Elizabeth Watson's pragmatic attitude. I have l o s t Purvis, i t i s true but very few people marry their f i r s t love. I should not refuse a man because he was not Purvis. 2 6 She had patience with, but saw l i t t l e point i n , hopelessly unrequited love. Anne E l l i o t ' s cautionary advice to Benwick, encouraging "patience and resignation" (Persuasion, p. 101), i s , we may be sure, Jane's own. As Jane remarked at one point i n her correspondence with her niece Fanny, whom she was encouraging to end a romance i n which Fanny had l i t t l e emotional involvement, when Fanny feared hurting the suitor: I t i s no creed of mind, as you must be well aware, that such sorts of disappointment k i l l anybody. ̂ ' (Chawton: Friday [November 18, 1814]) Because of Jane Austen's refusal to recommend a hopeless love, or to i n s i s t that every man can only love once, i t has been said of her 28 that she did not seem to believe much i n intensity of f e e l i n g . This 26 Jane Austen, "The Watsons," Shorter Works, London, The Folio Society, 1963, p. 91. 27 Austen-Leigh, L i f e and Letters, p. 345. 28 Marjory Bald, Women-Writers of the Eighteenth Century, Cambridge at the University Press, 1923, p. 16. 52 c r i t i c i s m i s l e v e l l e d because "most of her people could change t h e i r affections without any severe s t r a i n . " We are not told who these f i c k l e people are; i n f a c t , Dr. Bald can offer only a single example, Edmund Bertram, who,she objects, "did not pay heavily for his 29 d i s i l l u s i o n s " about Miss Crawford. The c r i t i c f a i l s to see that i t i s the very attitude which she holds that i s being mocked by Jane Austen, who writes: I purposely abstain from dates on this occasion, that everyone may be at l i b e r t y to f i x t h e i r own, aware that the cure of unconquerable passions, the transfer of unchanging attachments, must vary as to time i n different people. I only entreat everybody to believe that exactly at the time when i t was quite natural that i t should be so, and not a week e a r l i e r , Edmund did cease to care about Miss Crawford, and became as anxious to marry Fanny as Fanny herself could desire. (Mansfield Park, p. 470) Jane Austen does not appear, complains Dr. Bald, "to have recognized 30 the existence of incurable g r i e f . " Such a statement seems to i n s i s t that although a man discovers that the woman he loves i s not as she appeared to b e — t h a t i s , does not r e a l l y have the q u a l i t i e s he admired— he should love what she i s revealed to be, no matter how unpleasant that a c t u a l i t y i s . 29 Loc. c i t . 30 Loc. c i t . 53 But Jane Austen was too much of a r e a l i s t to recommend such 31 stupidity. Edmund's i n i t i a l infatuation with Miss Crawford was not based on a firm knowledge of her character. As he comes to admit, ".. . . I had never understood her before . . . i t had been the creature of my own imagination, not Miss Crawford, that I had been too apt to dwell on for many months past." When he learned of her true nature, he realized that his affections were misplaced. To have continued to worship Mary Crawford would have been idiocy, not love. 31 So was Mary Wollstonecraft. As she stated i n her Thoughts on the Education of Daughters, (1787) cited i n H.R.Steeves' Before Jane Austen: The Shaping of the English Novel i n the Eighteenth Century, New'York, Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1965, p. 380 I t i s too universal a maxim with novelists that love Is f e l t but once; though i t appears to me that the heart which i s capable of receiving an impression at a l l , and can d i s t i n g u i s h , w i l l turn to a new object when the f i r s t i s found unworthy. . . . When any sudden stroke of fate deprives us of those we love, we may not readily get the better of the blow, but when we find that we have been led astray by our passions, and that i t was our own imaginations which gave the high coloring to the picture, we may be certain time w i l l drive i t out of our minds. CHAPTER I I I CUPID DETHRONED BY MAMMON? In discussing Jane Austen's concept of love, i t i s necessary to clear away the glaring misconception that the marriages between her main characters are f i n a n c i a l mergers and not unions of love. Far too many c r i t i c s , from S i r Walter Scott to Marvin Mudrick, have seen her novels as marking the "dethronement of the once powerful God of Love." Jane Austen, they complain, i s g u i l t y of "exclusively patronizing what are called prudent matches," prudence being defined 2 as "regard for pecuniary advantage." There i s a conversation i n Love and Freindship between Edward and his s i s t e r Augusta i n which the l a t t e r mentions that "Victuals and Drink" are necessary "supports" for lovers. This assertion i s hotly denied by Edward, who asks, "And did you then never f e e l the pleasing Pangs of Love, Augusta? Does i t appear impossible to your v i l e and corrupted Palate, to exist on Love? Can you not conceive the Luxury of l i v i n g i n every distress that Poverty can i n f l i c t , with the object of your tenderest affection?" Augusta's (and Jane Austen's) reply i s succinct: "You are too ridiculous to argue with. . . . " (p. 13) Richard Whately, "Modern Novels," Quarterly Review, XXIV (1821), pp. 352-76. Cited i n Discussions of Jane Austen, ed. William Heath, Boston, D.'C. Heath & Co., 1961, p. 15. Loc. ext. 55 A s i m i l a r conversation takes place between Elinor and Marianne. Marianne inquires, "What have wealth or grandeur to do with happiness?" "Grandeur has but l i t t l e , " said E l i n o r , "but wealth has much to do with i t . " " E l i n o r , for shame!" said Marianne, "money can only give happiness where there i s nothing else to give i t . Beyond a competence, i t can afford no r e a l s a t i s f a c t i o n , as far as mere s e l f i s concerned." "Perhaps," said E l i n o r , smiling, "we may come to the same point. Your competence and my_ wealth are very much a l i k e , I dare say; . . . Come, what i s your competence?" "About eighteen hundred or two thousand a year; not more than that." Elinor laughed. "Two thousand a year! One i s my wealth! I guessed how i t would end." (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 91) And the book ends, we r e c a l l , with Marianne a l l i e d to a man who has "upwards of 2000 pounds a year," a "very moderate income" says Marianne, who i s sure she i s "not extravagant i n [her] demands. A proper establishment of servants, a carriage, perhaps two, and hunters, cannot be supported on l e s s . " (p. 91) From this conversation i t becomes clear that Marianne, l i k e Willoughby and Augustus and Laura and Sophia and Edward and Henrietta Halton and Tom Musgrove, who are ostensibly out of touch with r e a l i t y due to their " s e n s i b i l i t y , " i s far more of a m a t e r i a l i s t than her r e a l i s t i c s i s t e r E l i n o r . Elinor marries on rather less than her i d e a l wealth; i t i s she and not Marianne who makes the "romantic" marriage, i f the s t i p u l a t i o n for romance i s , as S i r Walter Scott, Richard Whately;,and so many others i n s i s t , that the man one marries be poor as a churchmouse. Jane Austen's favour'i-te c°uples accept the material conditions which t h e i r society imposes upon marriage, but r e a l i z e , as so many 56 Jane Austen c r i t i c s do not, that these conditions do not l i m i t or invalidate the emotion which marriage formalizes. Unlike such hypocrites as those treated i n "A Collection of Letters," they admit the close connection between love and economics i n bourgeois society, but they never confuse one for the other. Henrietta Halton and Thomas Musgrove profess an emotional set of values while acting under an economic set. Anne and Wentworth neither ignore nor rebel against the economic base of their society. They recognize the ultimate " s o c i a l f a c t " — The economic compulsion to which they must reconcile their feeling i n order to secure the advantages of n u t r i t i o n and s o c i a l acceptance.^ Mudrick states, Their problem—and they are both wholly aware of i t — i s to determine just how far the claim of feeling can y i e l d , without effacing i t s e l f altogether, to the claim of economics. . . . In "The Three S i s t e r s , " part of Jane Austen's J u v e n i l i a , the theme i s marriage for f i n a n c i a l security, involving the c o n f l i c t between expediency and idealism. The eldest daughter, Mary Stanhope, i s fatherless and has no dowry. For her, marriage i s a negotiation, a bargaining for settlements. She determines to make a "prudential" marriage. In a conversation between two s i s t e r s , i n which one remarks that the potential husband cannot make Mary happy, the other astutely points out, "He cannot i t i s true but his fortune, his name, his house, his carriage w i l l and I have no doubt but that Mary w i l l marry him. . . . " (Shorter Works, p. 296) Marvin Mudrick, Jane Austen: Irony as Defense and Discovery,Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1952, p. 231. Loc. c i t . 57 Jane Austen recognizes Mary Stanhope's position. As she remarked to her niece, Fanny Knight, "single women have a dreadful propensity for being poor, which i s one very strong argument i n ling „6 favour of matrimony. But she also warned the g i r l that "Anything i s to be preferred or endured rather than marrying without affection. In "Catharine", Mrs. P e r c i v a l , chaperone to a young charge, i s plagued by a "jealous Caution," the "constant apprehension" that her ward might marry "imprudently." Jane Austen mocks the woman, and, by extension, we may assert that she mocks Mrs. Percival's mercenary attitude to marriage. From Jane Austen's l e t t e r s and from her novels we learn her strong reaction to marriage without love. Her aunt Philadelphia had been forced into a s i t u a t i o n very l i k e that described i n the account of C e c i l i a Wynne's marriage. The eldest daughter had been obliged to accept the offer of one of her cousins to equip her for the East Indies, and though i n f i n i t e l y against her i n c l i n a t i o n s had been necessitated to embrace the only p o s s i b i l i t y that was offered to her, of a maintenance; yet i t was one, so opposite to a l l her ideas of Propriety, so contrary to her wishes, so repugnant to her feelings, that she would almost have preferred Servitude to i t , had choice been allowed h e r — . Her personal attractions had gained her a husband as soon as she had arrived at Bengal, and she had now been married nearly a twelve-month. Splendidly, yet unhappily married. United to a man of double her own age, whose disposition was not amiable, and whose manners were unpleasing, though his character was respectable. K i t t y had heard twice from her friend since her marriage, . . . and though she did not openly avow her feelings, yet every l i n e proved her to be unhappy. (Shorter Works, p. 179) ^Austen-Leigh, L i f e and Letters, p. 351. 6 I b i d . , p. 344. 58 Elizabeth Jenkins notes the p r a c t i c a l i t y of most single women of the period. The people whom Jane Austen approved of: women l i k e Emma Watson and Elizabeth Bennet, did not regard e l i g i b l e marriage as the f i r s t object of existence, though a very desirable one; but quite pleasant, respectable g i r l s of a less disinterested and exacting nature were prepared to command their affections to a very considerable extent. The overbearing desire for romance, or sexual s a t i s f a c t i o n , or marriage, . . . irrespective of a genuine a t t r a c t i o n , i s shown constantly i n her less important female characters: i n the Steele s i s t e r s , i n Isabella Thorpe and Charlotte Lucas, . . . and Louisa Musgrove and Penelope and Margaret Watson. . . . The overbearing preoccupation of the women cited (and we might add Jane Fairfax to the l i s t ) was not with "romance, or sexual s a t i s f a c t i o n , " i t was with marriage. As Elizabeth Jenkins goes on to admit, [at that time] . . . women of the upper middle class who were single and unprovided for had no refuge open to them but a post as governess orgCompanion, or l i n g e r i n g out an existence i n genteel d i s t r e s s . Fanny Burney's understanding of the pressures exerted on her peers was voiced through Dr. Marchmont i n Camilla, " . . . the influence of friends, the prevalence of example, the early notion which every female Imbibes, that a good establishment must be her f i r s t object i n l i f e these are g motives of marriage commonly s u f f i c i e n t for the whole sex." One would perhaps expect Jane Austen to be more charitable i n her treatment of the women cited i n Elizabeth Jenkins' passage. She sympathizes with their position, but seems to side with Emma Watson i n the exchange with her s i s t e r Elizabeth. 7 Elizabeth Jenkins, Jane Austen, New York, Farrar, Straus & Cudahy, 1949, p. 159. 8 Loc. c i t . 9 Fanny Burney, Camilla, Vol. I, London, printed for T. Payne, at the Mews-Gate; and T. Cadell Jun. and W. Davies i n the Strand, 1796, p.388. 59 " To be so bent on marriage—to pursue a man merely for the sake of s i t u a t i o n — i s a sort of thing that shocks me. . . . Poverty i s a great e v i l , but to a woman of education and feeling i t ought not, i t cannot be the greatest. I would rather be a 10 teacher at a School (and I can think of nothing worse )- L U than marry a man I did not l i k e . " The pragmatic Miss Watson r e p l i e s : "i would rather do any thing than be teacher at a school. _I have been at school, Emma, and know what a l i f e they lead; you never have. I should not l i k e marry a disagreeable man any more than y o u r s e l f , — b u t I do not think there are many very disagreeable men; I think I could l i k e any good humoured man with a comfortable income." (Shorter Works, pp. 91-2) I t i s possible to view Elizabeth Watson as a younger version of Miss Bates; i n f a c t , she describes a future, should she not marry, which i s i d e n t i c a l to Miss Bates' existence i n Emma. " . . . you know we must marry. I could do very well single for my own p a r t — A l i t t l e company, and a pleasant b a l l now and then, would be enough for me, i f one could be young for ever, but my father cannot provide for us, and i t i s very bad to grow old and be poor and laughed at." (p. 91) In The Watsons Jane Austen t e l l s of four s i s t e r s , of limited means, who each regard marriage d i f f e r e n t l y . Emma's point of view i s the most i d e a l i s t i c (therefore she i s Jane Austen's heroine) and Penelope's the most feverish. But one cannot help thinking—and did Jane Austen mean us to think i t ? — t h a t i t i s easier for Emma to i n s i s t upon love as a prerequisite for marriage, and despise a l l mercenary motives, since she has been brought up apart from her s i s t e r s , i n luxurious surroundings, and has not yet f e l t the i n d i g n i t i e s Neither could Jane Fairfax. 60 and privations of limited means. Jane Austen introduces the story of the aunt who has married for love: this action i s censured by the other characters i n the novel, even, we note with some surprise, by Emma. And why i s i t censured? Because the lady has been improvident enough to marry a penniless army captain (and an I r i s h one, to boot!) Indeed, a l l of the fragmentary Watsons i s concerned with the dilemma of choice which faced genteel ladies of dependent means. In their choosing, they were often between Scylla and Charybdis. Penelope Watson i s angling for " r i c h old Dr. Harding." Margaret i s desperately trying to "hook" the rakish Tom Musgrove. The men of the Watson s i s t e r s ' "choice" do not have much to recommend them as love-objects, but they are considered to be better than the alternative to marriage with them—i.e., "to grow old and be poor and laughed at." In advising her niece Fanny about marrying a man, who was e l i g i b l e i n a l l respects and yet with whom Fanny was not sure that she was i n love, Jane Austen cautioned her ^ \ t r s . Arlbey, i n discussing a potential suitor for Camilla with S i r gedley, wishes to protect her charge from these sordid r e a l i t i e s , and asserts } "I hate him h e a r t i l y ; yet he r o l l s i n wealth, and she has nothing. I must bring them, therefore, together, p o s i t i v e l y : for though a husband such a fastidious one especially i s not what I would recommend to her for happiness, ' t i s better than poverty." (Camilla, Vol. I l l , p. 321) 'Also asthmatic old Dr. Harding. 61 not to think of accepting him unless you r e a l l y do l i k e him. Anything i s to be preferred or endured rather than marrying without a f f e c t i o n . " ^ (Chawton: Friday [November 18, 1814]) and added, . . . nothing can be compared to the misery of being ^ bound without love—bound to one,aid preferring another. (23 Hans Place: Wednesday [November 30, 1814]) Jane Fairfax could not agree. Her engagement to the unpleasant Frank C h u r c h i l l i s , i n my opinion, an "escape" on her part from the alternative to marriage, an alternative she describes with such vividness that we may be sure i t has haunted her. 'There are places i n town . . . offices for the s a l e — n o t quite of human f l e s h — b u t of human i n t e l l e c t . . . not . . . the slave-trade . . . [but the] governess-trade . . . widely different certainly as to the g u i l t of those who carry i t on; but as to the greater misery of the victims, I do not know where i t l i e s . " (Emma, pp. 300-301) Jane Austen admitted to her niece that "Single women have a dreadful propensity for being poor—which i s one very strong argument i n favor of matrimony," but urged , I s h a l l say as I have often said before, do not be i n a hurry, the r i g h t man w i l l come at l a s t ; you w i l l i n the course of the next two or three years meet with somebody more generally un- exceptionable than anyone you have yet known, . . . who w i l l so completely^attract you that you w i l l f e e l you never r e a l l y loved before. (Chawton: Thursday [March 13, 1817]) 13 Austen-Leigh, L i f e and Letters, p. 344. ^ I b i d . , p. 346. 1 5 I b i d . , p. 351. 62 But Jane Fairfax, with the frightening example of her aunt, Miss Bates, before her, did not dare wait. Should she remain unmarried the only profession for an educated woman was that of a governess. Mrs. Weston's (nee Taylor) history was an exception to the general l o t of governesses. The majority, anomalies i n another woman's home, existing i n a no man's land between the drawing room and the servants' h a l l , were at the mercy a l i k e of t h e i r superiors and their i n f e r i o r s . The degradation of t h e i r position i s alluded to i n Mansfield Park. When the parts for "Lovers' Vows" are being assigned, and i t i s suggested that J u l i a should be the cottager's wife, Mr. Yates exclaims: "Cottager's wife! what are you talking of? The most t r i v i a l , p a l t r y , i n s i g n i f i c a n t part; the merest commonplace; not a tolerable speech i n the whole. Your s i s t e r do that! I t i s an i n s u l t to propose i t . At Ecclesford the governess was to have done i t . We a l l agreed that i t could not be offered to anybody else. " (Mansfield Park, p. 134) Chapman says that "romantic convention demanded that a novel should end on a prospect of l i f e l o n g f e l i c i t y . . . "^ but adds i n a footnote^"She [Jane Austen] was not prepared to take this for granted. Jane Fairfax was too good for Frank C h u r c h i l l ; and Jane Austen told her intimates that Mrs. Frank Churchill died young." We (and Mr. Knightley) admire Jane Fairfax and censure Frank C h u r c h i l l . Charlotte Lucas i s a close friend of Elizabeth Bennet's (which i s a strong point i n her favour), and we sympathize R. W. Chapman, Jane Austen: Facts and Problems, Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1948, p. 186. 63 with Elizabeth Watson. Why does Jane Austen show these admirable and sensible women succumbing to (or w i l l i n g to succumb to) economic considerations i n deciding to marry without love? She does i t i n order to show the extent of the pressures which society imposed on women. Garrod writes that She knew, and was interested i n , not her own sex, . . . But the average feminine t r i v i a l i t y interests her immensely and entertains her adequately."^ Jane Austen had, i n fact, an extremely c r i t i c a l concern for the fate of women i n her society, a concern which involved a reconsideration of that society's basic values. Jane Fairfax i s a sympathetically- treated symbol of the economic and s o c i a l v u l n e r a b i l i t y of women i n the l a t e eighteenth century and early nineteenth century. Elizabeth's joking comment that she began to f a l l i n love with Darcy upon seeing Pemberley i s her oblique a l l u s i o n to the economic tensions which were constantly intruding into the area of personal desire. D. W. Harding speaks of the scene i n which Mr. C o l l i n s sues for Elizabeth's hand as not only comic fantasy, but . . . for Elizabeth, a taste of the f a n t a s t i c nightmare i n which economic and s o c i a l i n s t i t u t i o n s have such power over the values of personal relationships that the comic monster i s nearly able to get her.-^ l^H. W. Garrod, "Jane Austen: A Depreciation," Essays by Divers Hands: Transactions of the Royal Society of Literature, V I I I , (1928), pp. 21-40. Reprinted i n Discussions of Jane Austen, ed. William Heath, Boston, D.C. Heath & Co., 1961, p. 36. 1 0D. W. Harding, "Regulated Hatred: An Aspect of the Work of Jane Austen," Scrutiny, VIII (1940), pp. 346-62. Cited i n Discussions of Jane Austen, ed. William Heath, Boston, D.C.Heath & Co., 1961, p. 45. 64 The opening sentences i n Pride and Prejudice reveal, i n adumbrated form, the problem which beset young people of Jane Austen's era. I t i s a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man i n possession of a good fortune, must be i n want of a wife. However l i t t l e known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his f i r s t entering a neighbourhood, this truth i s so well fixed i n the minds of the surrounding f a m i l i e s , that he i s considered as the r i g h t f u l property of some one or other of t h e i r daughters, (p. 1) Immediately, the intrusion of f i n a n c i a l and material matters i n personal a f f a i r s i s apparent. Colonel F i t z w i l l i a m i s e x p l i c i t on this point. "... . i n matters of greater weight, I may suffer from the want of money. Younger sons cannot marry where they l i k e " Elizabeth teases him, "Unless where they l i k e women of fortune, which I think they very often do." and goes on to inquire "And pray, what i s the usual price of an Earl's younger son? Unless the elder brother i s very s i c k l y , I suppose you would not ask above f i f t y thousand pounds." (p. 138) The theory that personal happiness should be subjected to f i n a n c i a l considerations i s not held by Jane Austen's favourite characters, but by those of whom she does not approve. Elizabeth, believing that Bingley's s i s t e r s have persuaded him to forget Jane, conjectures: They may wish many things besides his happiness; they may wish his increase of wealth and consequence; they may wish him to marry a g i r l who has a l l the importance of money, great connections, and pride, (p. 104) This i s the "prudence" that i s attributed to Elizabeth on the strength of her teasing reply to Jane as to how long she had been 65 i n love with Darcy. " I t has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when i t began. But I believe I must date i t from my f i r s t seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley." That i t wis spoken i n j e s t i s clear from the lines following. Another intreaty that she would be serious, however, produced the desired e f f e c t , and she soon s a t i s f i e d Jane by her solemn assurances of attachment, (p. 279) I t i s impossible to equate Elizabeth Bennet with a Mr. Elton, who . . . wanted to marry w e l l , and having the arrogance to raise his eyes to her [Emma], pretended to be i n love; . . . He only wanted to aggrandize and enrich himself; and i f Miss Woodhouse df) H a r t f i e l d , the heiress of t h i r t y thousand pounds, were not quite so easily obtained as he had fancied, he would soon try for Miss Somebody else with twenty, or with ten. (Emma, p. 135) Elizabeth does not set out with a plan i n mind to "marry w e l l , " she does not "pretend to be i n love," and from her disapproval of Charlotte's marriage we see that she disapproves of those who seek to "aggrandize and enrich themselves" through marriage. She had always f e l t that Charlotte's opinion of matrimony was not exactly l i k e her own, but she could not have supposed i t possible that when called into action, she would have s a c r i f i c e d every better feeling to worldly advantage. (Pride and Prejudice, p. 95) Mr. Chapman speaks of the "quite common" interpretation of Pride . and Prejudice's Elizabeth Bennet as being " f i r s t brought round 19 by the sight of the wealth and grandeur of Pemberley." Sir Walter Scott's statement i s the one most often cited. Chapman, op_. c i t . , p. 192. 66 She accidently v i s i t s a very handsome seat and grounds belonging to her admirer. They chance to meet exactly as her prudence had begun to subdue her prejudice.^0 The l i n e which has caused such widespread condemnation of E l i z a b e t h — At that moment she f e l t , that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something! (p. 181) i s one which only a Jane Austen would dare include i n her p o r t r a i t of a woman. I t i s psychologically true, a perfectly understandable 21 reaction. Who would not have a moment of chagrin upon discovering that he/she had rejected something quite extraordinary? But I would pose the question, "Can anyone r e a l l y believe that Elizabeth Bennet's refusal of Darcy would have been couched i n terms any less angry had she seen Pemberley prior to Darcy's proposal?" I t would not. Elizabeth i s unimpressed by Darcy's having "ten thousand Ipounds] a year," and had already learned that Pemberley was a splendid estate. Further proof of the genuine quality of her feelings for him can be found when Elizabeth misinterprets Darcy's "gloomy a i r " following her revelation of Lydia's elopement. The conviction that Darcy's regard for her must now be shattered due to her family's disgrace i s exactly calculated to make her understand her own wishes; and never had she so honestly f e l t that she could have loved him, as now, when a l l love must be vain. (p. 206) Of) S i r Walter Scott, "Emma," Quarterly Review, XIV (1815), pp. 188-201. Reprinted i n Discussions of Jane Austen, ed. William Heath, Boston, D. C. Heath & Co., 1961, p. 8. 21 And note that Jane Austen says only, "at that moment." 22 I t i s amusing to note that upon Darcy's a r r i v a l i n the v i l l a g e , after the news of his having ten thousand a year i s circulated, i t i s decided that he i s "much handsomer than Mr. Bingley" (who has four thousand a year). Mr. Darcy i s , I suggest, 6000 pounds a year handsomer. 67 H. W. Garrod contends that Jane Austen "accept[s] as not only good, but natural, . . . the marriage of convenience." When Elizabeth i s leaving after a v i s i t to the now-married Charlotte C o l l i n s she muses: I t was melancholy to leave her to such society; but she had chosen i t with her eyes open; and though evidently regretting that her v i s i t o r s were to go, she did not seem to ask for compassion. Her home and her housekeeping, her parish and her poultry, and a l l their dependent concerns, had not yet l o s t their charms.2^ (p. 162) The underlined words indicate Jane Austen's opinion of the chances for continued marital " b l i s s " i n a loveless marriage. Jane Austen condemns those of her characters who demand nothing more of marriage partners than economic compatibility. When Charles and Mary Musgrove discuss Henrietta Musgrove's potential s u i t o r s , neither makes reference to any personal q u a l i t i e s ; they are never an issue for the materially-oriented minds. Any assurance that may be wanting as to Jane Austen's reaction to mariages de convenance may be found i n the conversation she describes between Elinor Dashwood and her brother. John Dashwood begins: "Who i s Colonel Brandon? Is he a man of fortune?" "Yes, he has very good property i n Dorsetshire." "I am glad of i t . . . I think, E l i n o r , I may congratulate you on the prospect of a very respectable establishment i n l i f e . " "Me, Brother! what do you mean? . . . I am very sure that Colonel Brandon has not the smallest wish of marrying me." "You are mistaken, E l i n o r . . . . A very l i t t l e trouble on your side secures him. Perhaps just at present he may be undecided; the smallness of your fortune may make him hang back; his friends may a l l advise him against i t . But 23 Garrod, 0£. c i t . , p. 35. My xtalxcs. 68 some of those l i t t l e attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give w i l l f i x him i n spite of himself. And there can be no reason why you should not try for him. I t i s not to be supposed that any prior attachment on your s i d e — i n short you know, as to an attachment of that kind i t i s quite out of the question, the objections are insur- mountable—Colonel Brandon must be the man. . . . " (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , pp. 223-24) The "prior attachment," love for Edward Ferrars, was not to be allowed to interfere with an advantageous economic union. His s i s t e r Marianne's beauty was also considered i n terms of i t s worth as a bartering factor. Her i l l n e s s , he fears, has "destroy[ed] the bloom for ever!" He calculates, " I question whether Marianne now w i l l marry a man worth more than f i v e or s i x hundred a year at the utmost, and I am very much deceived i f you do not do better." (p. 227) Jane Austen's own views of marriage were more r a d i c a l i n her own age than they are today. The concept of women as objects for barter was widespread, and considered to be perfectly acceptable. The blatant eagerness with which an heiress was pursued carried on w e l l into the nineteenth century. Thackeray alludes to i t with his account of the wealthy mulatto graduate of St. K i t t ' s marriage. 2 5 Today's heiress hunters haven't the "decency" as G. E. Mitton describes i t , but the hypocrisy, as they are at least ashamed of their motives, to pretend to be i n love. I t i s often Jane Austen's " v i l l a i n s , " i f such we may c a l l them, who are w i l l i n g to marry for money, without love—Wickham, Willoughby, Isabella and John Thorpe, G. E. Mitton, Jane Austen and Her Times, London, Methuen & Co., 1905, p. 144. Mr. William E l l i o t . "Her women were obsessed by the game of matrimony. . . ." This sweeping generalization surely cannot be meant to include Elizabeth Bennet, or Catherine Morland, or Emma Watson, or Fanny P r i c e , or Emma Woodhouse (who was only concerned with helping others to play the "game"). Jane Austen's heroines are heroines for her because they are not obsessed by the game of matrimony. Dr. Bald goes on, Their apparent artlessness was often the result of a care- f u l l y studied pose: (and produces the quotation) Where people wish to a t t r a c t they should always be ignorant. To come with a well-informed mind i s to come with an i n a b i l i t y of ministering to the vanity of others. . . . A woman, especially, i f she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal i t as w e l l as she can.^7 (Northanger Abbey, pp. 110-111) Of the heroines just mentioned, only Catherine Morland "administers to the vanity" of her lover, and does so because she t r u l y i s ingenuous. Garrod states: [The] husband-hunt . . . i s conducted with almost equal unreserve by two contrasted feminine characters (who are very often s i s t e r s ) : the G i r l of S p i r i t and the Tame G i r l , Elizabeth and Jane, Marianne and E l i n o r . . . . ̂ 8 But Elizabeth does not "hunt" Darcy, nor Elinor hunt Edward, and Jane could not hunt even i f she wanted to, for she would not know how. Only Jane Austen's unpleasant characters " s t a l k their prey": Mr. Elton, Willoughby, Miss Bingley, Margaret and Penelope Watson, 9 f\ Marjory Bald, Women-Writers of the Eighteenth Century, Cambridge at the University Press, 1923, p. 24. 27 Loc. c i t . 2 8 Garrod, op. c i t . , p. 38. 70 Tom Musgrove. Theirs i s the attitude to marriage that i s described by Thomas Gisborne, a prominent divine of the late eighteenth century. If a union about to take place, or recently contracted, between two young persons, i s mentioned i n conversation, the f i r s t question which we hear asked concerning i t i s , whether i t be a good match. The very countenance and voice of the inquirer, and of the answerer, the terms of the answer returned, and the observations, whether expressive of s a t i s f a c t i o n or of regret, which f a l l from the l i p s of the company present i n the c i r c l e , a l l concur to shew what, i n common estimation, i s meant by being w e l l married. I f a young woman be described as thus married, the terms imply, that she i s united to a man whose rank and fortune i s such, when compared with her own or those of her parents, that i n point of precedence, i n point of command of finery and of money, she i s , more or l e s s , a gainer by the bargain. They imply, that she w i l l now possess the enviable advantages of taking [the] place of other ladies i n the neighbourhood; of decking herself out with jewels and lace; of inhabiting splendid apartments; r o l l i n g i n handsome carriages; gazing on numerous servants i n gaudy l i v e r i e s ; and of going to London, and other fashionable scenes of resort, i n a degree somewhat higher than that i n which a calculating broker, after poring on her pedigree, summing up her property i n hand, and computing, at the market price, what i s contingent or i n reversion, would have pronouced her e n t i t l e d to them. But what do the terms imply as to the character of the man selected to be her husband? Probably nothing. His character i s a matter which seldom enters into the consideration of the persons who use them, unless i t , at length, appears i n the shape of an afterthought, or i s awkwardly hitched onto t h e i r remarks for the sake of decorum. I f the terms imply any thing, they mean no more than that he i s not scandalously and notoriously addicted to vice. He may be proud, he may be ambitious, he may be malignant, he may be devoid of Christian p r i n c i p l e s , practice, and b e l i e f ; or, to say the very l e a s t , i t may be t o t a l l y unknown whether he does not f a l l , i n every p a r t i c u l a r , under t h i s description; and yet, i n the language and i n the opinion of the generality of both sexes, the match i s excellent. In l i k e manner a small diminution of the supposed advantages already enumerated, though counterpoised by the acquisition of a companion eminent for his v i r t u e s , i s supposed to constitute a bad match; and i s universallylamented i n p o l i t e meetings with r e a l or affected concern. Thomas Gisborne, "Considerations Antecedent to Marriage," An Enquiry into the Duties of the Female Sex, (1797). This essay appears i n Pride and Prejudice: Text, Backgrounds, C r i t i c i s m , ed. B. A. Booth, New York, Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1963, p. 173. 71 Elizabeth Bennet's exchange with Charlotte Lucas exonerates Elizabeth and Jane from Garrod's charge of "husband-hunting." Charlotte advises that Jane should "shew more a f f e c t i o n than she feels . . . . When she i s secure of [Bingley], there w i l l be l e i s u r e for f a l l i n g i n love as much as she chooses." (Pride and Prejudice, p. 15) Elizabeth r e p l i e s , "Your plan i s a good one, where nothing i s i n question but the desire of being well married; and i f I were determined to get a r i c h husband, or any husband, I dare say I should adopt i t . But these are not Jane's feelings; she i s not act- ing by design." (p. 15) And i f Elinor viewed Edward as nothing more than her "prey," his "want of s p i r i t s , " his apparent "indifference" which made her f e e l the longer they were together the more doubtful seemed the nature of his regard (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 22) would not have caused her "pain." (p. 22) " P a i n f u l , " too, i s Elizabeth's reaction upon hearing Darcy c r i t i c i z e d . Her unhappiness i s very r e a l when her father, after hearing of her betrothal, continues to speak of Darcy as "a proud, unpleasant sort of man." (Pride and Prejudice, p. 281) "I do, I do l i k e him," she r e p l i e d , with tears i n her eyes. "I love him. Indeed he has no improper pride. He i s perfectly amiable. You do not know what he r e a l l y i s ; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him i n such terms." (p. 281) This i s hardly the behaviour of a woman who i s marrying for money. I f Garrod's contention were correct, Elizabeth, having "bagged her game," would not be upset by hearing Darcy maligned. Dorothy Van Ghent describes the marriage r i t e i n Jane Austen's world as an 'ordeal' i n that t r a d i t i o n a l sense of a moral testing . . . what w i l l be tested w i l l be . . . i n t e g r i t y of 'feeling' 72 30 under the crudely threatening s o c i a l pressures. Elizabeth i s shocked and disappointed to see Charlotte Lucas succumb to these " s o c i a l pressures," She had always f e l t that Charlotte's opinion of matrimony was not exactly l i k e her own, but she could not have supposed i t possible that when called into action, she would have s a c r i f i c e d every better feeling to worldly advantage. Charlotte the wife of Mr. C o l l i n s , was a most humiliating picture! (Pride and Prejudice, pp. 95-96) Like Thomas Gisborne, who writes i n "Consideration Antecedent to Marriage": [considering] those who contract marriages, either c h i e f l y , or i n a considerable degree, through motives of interest or of ambition, i t would be f o l l y . . . to expect that such marriages, however they may answer the purposes of interest or of ambition, should terminate otherwise than i n wretchedness. Wealth may be secured, rank may be obtained; but i f wealth and rank are to be the main ingredients i n the cup of matrimonial f e l i c i t y , the sweetness of wine w i l l be exhausted at once, and nothing remain but b i t t e r and corrosive 31 dregs. Elizabeth has the distressing conviction that i t [ w i l l be] impossible for [Charlotte] to be tolerably happy i n the l o t she [has] chosen, (p. 96) Garrod accuses Jane Austen of accepting "as not only good, but natural, . . . the marriage of convenience."^^ He gives no proof for his assertion, and I can find none i n Jane Austen's novels or Dorothy Van Ghent, "On Pride and Prejudice" (1953), from Pride and Prejudice: Text, Backgrounds, C r i t i c i s m , ed. B. A. Booth, New York, Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1963, pp. 215-16. 31 Gisborne, op_. c i t . , p. 173. 32 Garrod, o j 3 . c i t . , p. 35. 73 l e t t e r s . Perhaps Garrod i s thinking of the Lydia-Wickham menage. Here i s Elizabeth's comment on the l e g a l cementing of Lydia and Wickham's relationship: "And for this we are to be thankful. That they should marry, small as i s their chance of happiness, and wretched as i s his character, we are forced to r e j o i c e ! " (Pride and Prejudice, p. 226) I t i s rather incredible that Jane Austen did not accept "as not only good, but natural, . . . the marriage of convenience," for she paints the alternative to marriage, at least for impoverished women, v i v i d l y and sympathetically. Elizabeth Drew speaks of the world 33 Jane Austen describes as "a haven of peace . . . and simple values." But i t was not a haven for the Misses Bates and Jane Fairfaxes of the period. Miss Bates i s too simple to recognize f u l l y the precarious- ness of her position. Jane Fairfax, more astute, marries Frank C h u r c h i l l — a choice, one f e e l s , that would never have been made i f Jane had had Emma's s o c i a l advantages. But we r e c a l l that Jane Austen remarked privately that Jane Fairfax died soon after her marriage to Frank C h u r c h i l l — a very odd conclusion to what Garrod would have us believe Jane Austen views as "not only good, but natural." Elizabeth Drew, The Novel: A Modern Guide to Fifteen English Masterpieces, New York, W.W. Norton & Co.Ltd., 1963, p. 95. CONCLUSION Jane Austen's attitude toward the passion of love, most maturely expressed i n Persuasion, i s c l e a r l y adumbrated i n her less subtle treatment of the same subject i n Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y and Pride and Prejudice. Aware of i t s duality, at one moment both emotional and r a t i o n a l , she saw the inadequacies (and dangers) of "love" which based i t s e l f solely on passion. Thomas Gisborne, i n his essay "Considerations Antecedent to Marriage", poses a question about two people who may consider being "bound during t h e i r j o i n t l i v e s to the society of each other" to which Mr. Bennet stands as a symbolic answer. Unless the dispositions, the temper, the habits, the genuine character and inmost principles were mutually known; what r a t i o n a l hope, what tolerable chance of happiness could subsist? Mr. Bennet's daughter, whose attitude to love i s that of Jane Austen, came to r e a l i z e that Darcy was exactly the man, who, i n disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered a l l her wishes. I t was a union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and l i v e l i n e s s , his mind might have been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance. (Pride and Prejudice, p. 232) Gisborne, op_. c i t . , p. 171. 75 E l i z a b e t h , c e r t a i n that Darcy would "shrink" from any connection with her newly-disgraced family, as yet unaware of his voluntary involvement i n Lydia and Wickham's sordid a f f a i r , laments the f a c t that no such happy marriage [as the one she envisions above] could now teach the admiring multitude what connubial f e l i c i t y r e a l l y was. (p. 232) Fortunately, Darcy, having also ascertained Elizabeth's " d i s p o s i t i o n , temper, [and] genuine character," renews his address despite her " i n f e r i o r connections." When Elizabeth expresses her gratitude for "that generous compassion which induced [him] to take so much trouble, and bear so many m o r t i f i c a t i o n s , " he r e p l i e s , " I f you w i l l thank me, l e t i t be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you, might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I s h a l l not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe, I thought only of you." (p. 273) We may contrast Darcy with Willoughby, a character considered by many c r i t i c s to be f a r superior to Darcy as a " l o v e r . " He i s summed up accurately by E l i n o r . "The whole of his behaviour . . . has been grounded on s e l f i s h - ness. I t was s e l f i s h n e s s which f i r s t made him sport with your a f f e c t i o n s ; which afterwards, when his own were engaged, made him delay the confession of i t , and which f i n a l l y c a r r i e d him from Barton. His own enjoyment, or his own ease, was, i n every p a r t i c u l a r , his r u l i n g p r i n c i p l e . " (Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , p. 351) Marianne concurs. " I t i s very true. My_ happiness never was his object." (p. 351) 76 And yet G. B. Stern s t i l l i n s i s t s , "I would sooner have sanctioned [Marianne's] marriage to Willoughby . . . Marianne's soul would at least not have been damped and s t i f l e d . " ^ Elinor describes the " i d e a l " marriage which Stern longed to see. "Had you [Marianne and Willoughby] married, you must have been always poor. His expensiveness i s acknowledged even by him- s e l f , and his whole conduct declares that s e l f - d e n i a l i s a word hardly understood by him . . .how l i t t l e could the utmost of your single management do to stop the ruin which had begun before your marriage?-—Beyond that, had you endeavoured, however reasonably, to abridge his enjoyments, i s i t not to be feared, that instead of prevailing on feelings so s e l f i s h to consent to i t , you would have lessened your own influence on his heart, and made him regret the connection which had involved him i n such d i f f i c u l t i e s ? " (p. 351) As Gisborne warns, and as Marianne cannot see early i n the book, when she Is u t t e r l y captivated by Willoughby, despite knowing nothing of him except that "of music and dancing he [ i s ] passionately fond," [a ] woman who receives for her husband a person of whose moral character she knows no more than that i t i s outwardly decent, stakes her welfare upon a very hazardous experiment.3 Ernest Baker, not sharing, and apparently f a i l i n g to understand, Jane Austen's concept of love as a r a t i o n a l as well as emotional process, complains: . . . Jane Austen was always coy over love scenes, and so f a i l e d to make good . . . the personal fascination of Willoughby . . . Marianne's transports seem to be mere infatuation for a worthless object.4 2 Sheila Kaye-Smith and. G. B. Stern, Talking of Jane Austen, London, Cassell & Co., 1943, p. 126. 3 Gisborne, op. c i t . , p. 174. 4 Ernest Baker, The History of the English Novel, Vol. VI, New.York, Barnes & Noble, Inc., 1929, p. 76. 77 Mr. Baker.seems to think that Jane Austen was attempting to establish the v a l i d i t y of the love-relationship between Marianne and Willoughby. The fact that "Marianne's transports seem to be mere infatuation" i s to him a f a u l t i n the novel. Jane Austen i s e n t i r e l y capable of presenting love w e l l ; she i s not endeavouring to present love between Marianne and Willoughby, but i s demonstrating that what they f e e l for each other i s not love. As Jane Austen r e a l i z e s , the "passionate" never r e a l l y love at a l l . They can verbalize their emotions, unlike Elizabeth Bennet, who "not very f l u e n t l y " ^ (Pride and Prejudice, p. 273) assures Darcy of her love, but their emotions are seen to lack substance. They can be summoned i n a moment. A " p a r t i c u l a r l y picturesque" view i s s u f f i c i e n t to activate them. For Jane Austen, "to f e e l " was not enough. Her concept of love i s far more "passionate" than that of the sentimental novelists. The mind, as well as the heart, must be engaged. Perhaps much of the f a i l u r e to understand, or to recognize, Jane Austen's concept of love, i s the result of her presentation of love. The presentation i s an extension of part of her concept: that i s , Jane Austen saw love as being manifested not by words, but by deeds. The "passionate," loquacious Willoughby makes no s a c r i f i c e Subsequently, i n teasing Darcy, she remarks, "You might have talked to me more when you came to dinner." He defends himself. "A man who had f e l t l e s s , might." (p. 285) 78 for Marianne's happiness. The " r a t i o n a l , " laconic Darcy "bears . . . many mortifications" for Elizabeth's sake. Jane Austen's true "lovers" maintain a surface of composure, but "what throbs fast and f u l l , though hidden" l i e s just beneath this surface. I t i s revealed i n flashes by the exquisitely sure touch of Austen's pen. Are we to recognize only those passions which are vociferously expressed? "Vice, adventure, passion"—these are a l l to be found i n Jane Austen's novels. I t requires only "ingenuity" to discover them. The subtlety of t h e i r delineation does not invalidate their existence. The measure of perfection l i e s not i n profusion, but i n profundity. BIBLIOGRAPHY General Works A l l e n , Walter. The English Novel: A Short C r i t i c a l History. New York, E.P. Dutton & Co., 1954. A l l o t t , Miriam. Novelists on the Novel. London, Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1959. Baker, Ernest. The History of the English Novel. Vol. VI. New York, Barnes & Noble, Inc., 1929. Bald, Marjory. Women-Writers of the Nineteenth Century. Cambridge at the University Press, 19 23. 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Holloway, Laura C. An Hour with Charlotte BrontM. New York, Funk & Wagnalls, 1883. James, Henry. The House of F i c t i o n : Essays on the Novel by Henry James. Edited with an Introduction by Leon Edel. London, Rupert Hart-Davies, 1957. K a r l , Frederick. An Age of F i c t i o n : The Nineteenth Century B r i t i s h Novel. New York, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1964. K e t t l e , Arnold. An Introduction to the Novel. London, Hutchinson, 1963. Leavis, F.R. The Great Tradition. London, Chatto & Windus, 1960. L i d d e l l , Robert. Some Principles of F i c t i o n . Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1954. Lodge, David. Language of F i c t i o n : Essays i n C r i t i c i s m and Verbal Analysis of the English Novel. London, Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1966. McCullough, Bruce. Representative English Novelists: Defoe to Conrad. New York, Harper & Bros., 1946. McDowell, Arthur. Realism: A Study i n Art and Thought. London, Methuen & Co., 1918. McKillop, Alan Dugald. The Early Masters of English F i c t i o n . Lawrence, University of Kansas Press, 1956. Marshall, Percy. Masters of the English Novel. London, Dennis Dobson, 1962. Maugham, Somerset. Ten Novels and Their Authors. London, W. Heinemann Ltd., 1954. N e i l l , S. Diana. A Short History of the English Novel. London, Jarrolds, 1951. Rathburn, R.C. and Steinmann, M. From Jane Austen to Joseph Conrad. Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 1958. Shapiro, Charles" (ed.). Twelve Original Essays on Great English Novels. Detroit, Wayne State University Press, 1960. Spector, Robert Donald (ed.). Essays on the Eighteenth Century Novel. Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1965. Stang, Richard. The Theory of the Novel i n England, 1850-1870. New York, Columbia University Press, 1966. Steeves, Harrison R. Before Jane Austen. New York, Holt Rinehart & Winston, 1965. Stephen, L e s l i e . English Literature and Society i n the Eighteenth Century. London, Duckworth & Co., 1904. Stevenson, Lionel. The English Novel: A Panorama. London, Constable & Co., 1960. Summers, Montague. The Gothic Quest: A History of the Gothic Novel. New York, Russell & Russell, 1964. T i l l y a r d , E.M.W. The Epic Strain i n the English Novel. London, Chatto & Windus, 1958. Tompkins, J.M.S. The Popular Novel i n England, 1770-1800. Lincoln, University of Nebraska Press, 1961. Van Ghent, Dorothy. The English Novel: Form and Function. New York, Rinehart & Co., 1953. Wagenknecht, E.C. Cavalcade of the English Novel from Elizabeth to George VI. New York, Holt, 1943. Watt, Ian. The Novelist as Innovator. London, B r i t i s h Broadcasting Corporation, 1965. Watt, Ian. The Rise of the Novel: Studies i n Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding. London, Chatto & Windus, 1957. Willey, B a s i l . The Eighteenth Century Background. Boston, Beacon Press, 1961. Woolf, V i r g i n i a . The Common Reader. London, Leonard and V i r g i n i a Woolf, 1929. P e r i o d i c a l A r t i c l e s Becker, George G. "Realism: an Essay i n D e f i n i t i o n . " Modern Language Notes, Vol. X, 1949, pp. 184-95. Heilman, Robert B. "Fielding and the F i r s t Gothic Revival." Modern Language Notes, Vol. LVII, 1942, pp. 671-3. Jane Austen Biographies, Letters, Cricicisms Aldington, Richard. Jane Austen. Pasadena, Castle Press, 1948. Apperson, George Latimer. A Jane Austen Dictionary. London, C e c i l Palmer, 1932. Austen-Leigh, William and Richard A. Jane Austen, her L i f e and Letters: A Family Record. London, Smith Elder, 1913. Babb, Howard S. Jane Austen's Novels: The Fabric of Dialogue; . Columbus, Ohio State University Press, 1962. Bailey, John Cann. Introductions to Jane Austen. London, Oxford University Press, 1931. Becker, May. Presenting Miss Jane Austen. New York, Dodd Mead, 1952. Bonnell, Henry H. Charlotte Bronte, George E l i o t , Jane Austen: Studies i n Their Works. New York, Longmans Green, 1902. Booth, B. A. (ed.). 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work_bi6wylp2czfrnnw67dwbxgmfsy	----	Microsoft Word - z45 The Thinking Woman A Theoretical perspective of 19th century women novelists and their impact International Journal of Trend in Scientific Research and Development (IJTSRD) Volume 4 Issue 3, April 2020 Available Online: www.ijtsrd.com e-ISSN: 2456 – 6470 @ IJTSRD | Unique Paper ID – IJTSRD30382 | Volume – 4 | Issue – 3 | March-April 2020 Page 245 The Thinking Woman: A Theoretical Perspective of 19th Century Women Novelists and Their Impact Dr. Anupam R. Nagar Principal, Gurukul Mahila Arts & Commerce College, Porbandar, Gujarat, India How to cite this paper: Dr. Anupam R. Nagar "The Thinking Woman: A Theoretical Perspective of 19th Century Women Novelists and Their Impact" Published in International Journal of Trend in Scientific Research and Development (ijtsrd), ISSN: 2456-6470, Volume-4 | Issue-3, April 2020, pp.245-246, URL: www.ijtsrd.com/papers/ijtsrd30382.pdf Copyright © 2020 by author(s) and International Journal of Trend in Scientific Research and Development Journal. This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License (CC BY 4.0) (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0) In literature, all superior readers are quite familiar with the bronze sculpture called The Thinker (Le Penseur) by Auguste Rodin that shows a male figure sitting on a rock with his chin resting on one hand as though deep in thought and this image has loomed large as a myth, as an image, a symbol and an emblem suggestive of the immeasurable capacities of man. Similarly, a premise is being suggested here that with the advent of the 19th century writers a new age dawned in the domain of world literature and resulted in the birth of The Thinking Woman which obviously was consequent to a number of factors that traversed various disciplines and movements in thought. Philosophy: In philosophy Rousseau's Naturalism (who contended that all the ills and miseries of civilization are due to a departure from the Natural state of man), American Transcendentalism (that true knowledge is about the self that comes from within) and Hegel's Idealism (that stated that the finite world was a reflection of mind i.e., the rational alone is truly real) and Realism (an artistic movement) - these four among others have had a deep impact on some of the characters seen in 19th century literature by women novelists. If Heathcliff embodies Bronte's view of a primitive stage of humanity, Hareton reincarnates the wholesome state of humanity that balances human natural creativity and cravings with Victorian unrelenting reason. There is a similarity between Rousseau's depiction of the primitive savage man (Discourse on the Origin of Inequality) and Bronte's depiction of Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff's uncontrolled passions, desires and natural impulses connect him to Rousseau's savage man. In fact, the destructive forces are chiefly embodied in Catherine Earnshaw and Heathcliff and Bronte depicts their passions with extraordinary empathic power. In the novel Catharine is described thus: Her spirits were always at high-water mark, her tongue always going - singing, laughing and plaguing everybody who would not do the same....she had the bonniest eye, the sweetest smile, and lightest foot in the parish: and after all, I believe she meant no harm.... The novel's natural elements are perfect compliments to both Catherine and Heathcliff. Their tumultuous relationship parallels the weather at the heights. In fact, Catherine is as changeable as the weather on the moors, with unpredictable moods. Similarities could also be drawn to a degree with Emma (Madame Bovary) and Anna Karenina for both challenge the institution of marriage because of their impatience with domestic confinements and search for self- fulfillment. On the other hand, the main quest in Jane Eyre is Jane's search for family, for a sense of belonging and love. There is something very real in her resistance (when she is dragged by her cruel aunt towards banishment in the bedroom where her late uncle died). This serves as a catalyst for her quest of true self that amalgamates among others her morality and faith. In fact, Bronte responded to her critics' objections by declaring, Unless I have the courage to use the language of Truth in preference to the jargon of conventionality, I ought to be silent.. Here, one notices the impact of both - Realism and Transcendentalism. Scientific advancement vis-a-vis Revolution in consciousness: Mary Shelley, among the 19th century women novelists, carried into her writings the scientific change and advancements that were being made in contemporary times. From decentering God to centering man - the individual - Frankenstein demonstrated the infinite possibilities that could be achieved through science. Here the impact of Sir Issac Newton's third law of motion can be clearly discerned. The monster created becomes both a source of deep anguish and angst and at the same time is a warning about an over-reaching science that unleashes forces it cannot control. With Man (Heathcliff) at the centre, the laws of action-reaction find resonance in the Indian theory of Karma where Man is responsible for all that he does. Education: Education of the 19th century connects closely to the gender association of this period. Men from wealthy families used to be the only persons to be provided with the opportunity to be educated at the University level. Social standing was extremely important during this time. Manners, birth, money, occupation were important parameters of social standing. In addition, speech, clothing, values and education revealed a person's class. And these strict guidelines of Class structure brought about marriages IJTSRD30382 International Journal of Trend in Scientific Research and Development (IJTSRD) @ www.ijtsrd.com eISSN: 2456-6470 @ IJTSRD | Unique Paper ID – IJTSRD30382 | Volume – 4 | Issue – 3 | March-April 2020 Page 246 without love. The setting of Wuthering Heights and Thrushcross Grange provide a clear example of social contrast. Education brings about Edgar's financial stability and a spouse in Catherine. And a denial of Education costs Heathcliff his very life (Catherine). In effect, education brought about a clarity of outlook both for the Women novelist and her women characters. Education in all spheres provided answers to the dominating questions of the 18th century. If empiricism (wherein knowledge through the senses) was the question, the answer was seen in Romanticism and Transcendentalism (wherein knowledge could be attained through self-realization). If the thrust was upon following classical rules and regulations in the 18th century, 19th century laid emphasis on both emotion and intellect. Many of the novelists Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, Emily Bronte, Mary Shelley, Margaret Fuller, among others have characters that demonstrate this balance between the head and the heart. Catherine in particular displays her clarity of mind and states matter-of- factly... My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I'm well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of visible delight but necessary. This is an example of a character who understand the meaning of true education. To be able to make a rational choice keeping socio-economic considerations in mind is the sign of an educated person. Take again, Mary Shelley's character of Victor Frankenstein, his study of chemical processes into the creation of life who later regrets meddling with nature through his creature. The message was heard loud and clear. Not even man has the right to tamper with the creation of God. The Indian Impact: The translation of some of the Indian scriptural texts into English during the 19th century has had wide-spread impact all over Europe and America in particular. Questions pertaining to life and existence, quest for Truth, spiritual unity and oneness that found place in American transcendentalism was solely on account of the impact Indian thought had on the western world as a whole. Even the Romantics were quite aware of Charles Wilkins' translation of the Bhagavad Geeta and in all possibility the doctrine of Sthithapragna was no different from Keats' doctrine of negative capability. Accordingly, the impact of the 19th century women novelists on women writers has been profound to say the least. For example the character of Rosie, in Narayan's The Guide carries a streak of 'Realism' and draws parallels with Bronte's Catherine. Both are educated, both have shifted loyalties - one from Marco to Raju and the other from Linton to Heathcliff; both eventually end in a tragedy with Raju desiring to lead a selfless life as a Saint and Heathcliff desiring to spend the rest of his soul's existence with Catherine's spirit. The conclusion briefly brushes with the concept of self vis-a-vis the philosophy of transcendentalism. In effect, these few examples laid the foundation to the idea of The Thinking Woman that assimilates and accommodates the characteristic qualities of assertiveness, empathy, passion, power, faith, adaptability, courage, gratitude etc. It is poignant to note that contemporary philosophy, political- social-economic conditions, spirituality among others had a lasting impact on the Mind of the Women writer of the 19th century who translated these impressions in the form of some memorable characters in the world of literature. 
work_bjjr2nltkrdxvcbfy7t3t6mka4	----	Sighing for a Soldier: Jane Austen and Military Pride and Prejudice TIM FULFORD ~NCE the '970', critical inquiry into Jane Austen's novels has come to focus upon their relationship to the social and political issues of a na- tion that, in the years during which Austen was writing, was al- most continually at war with revolutionary France. Critics have extensively discussed Austen's attitudes toward radicalism and Jacobinism, as well as her references to West Indian slavery, the issue around which many radicals united. I Yet it is only in the last few years that they have begun a detailed scrutiny of her part in some of the most urgent debates of the period. These debates, which figure more explicitly in her books than does the abolitionist campaign, concerned the proper role and con- duct of the armed forces and of the men who served in them. In Persuasion (1818), as Anne K. MelIor and Brian Southam have demonstrated, Austen contributed to a national discus- sion about the degree of social status and political authority that might be allowed to an expanded class of professional gen- Nineteenth-Century Literature, Vo!. 57, No. 2, pp. 153-178.ISSN: 0891-9356. © 2002 by The Regents of the University of California/Society. All rights reserved. Send requests for permission to reprint to: Rights and Permissions, University of California Press. Journals Division, 2000 Center Street, Suite 303, Berkeley, CA 94704-1223. I On Jacobinism, see Warren Roberts, Jane Austen and the French Revolution (New York: SI. Martin's Press, 1979); on slavery, see Edward W. Said, Culture and Imperialism (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1993). 153 154 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE tlemen - naval officers." In Pride and Prejudice (I 8 I 3), I shall suggest, Austen entered a similar debate about the role of army (specifically militia) officers in a manner that aligned her-at least on this issue-with the public rhetoric not of her Tory neighbors but of radical Whigs." The debate about the militia grew in stridency over thirty- five years, with particular climaxes in the late 1790s, when Austen was drafting what was to become Pride and Prejudice, and again from 1811 to 1812, when she was revising it. A long and complex debate, it requires a detailed elucidation before a cri- tique of the novel's contribution to it can be made. Accordingly, I begin by focusing on the debate itself before turning, in the second half of this essay, to consider Pride and Prejudice in depth. In the British countryside of the late eigh- teenth century the most striking new thing was an officer's coat. The military was in residence for the first time, and its dress was anything but uniform. The red, blue, and green coats shone in a dazzling variety, identifying the wearers not as individuals but as members of different regiments.' What splashed regimental color into the countryside was a situation that was to last almost throughout Jane Austen's writing career-war with France. In 1757, and again in 1778 (when the French joined the Ameri- 2 See Melior, Mothers of the Nation: Womens Political Writing in England, I 780- I 830 (Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press, 2000); and Southam, Jane Austen and the Navy (London and New York: Hambledon and London, 2000). 3 InJane Austen and the War of Ideas (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), pp. 161-299, Marilyn Butler traces the continuation of 1790S anti-Jacobinism into the nineteenth century, but she does not always place sufficient emphasis on the realignment ofpoli- tics that, beginning at the outset of the Regency, was to lead to the Reform Act of 1832. Like Gary Kelly in Women, Writing, and Revolution, I790-I827 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), p. 182, I take a different view than Butler of the "war of ideas" in which Austen participated. In Jane Austen and Representations of RegencyEngland (London and New York: Routledge, 1994), Roger Sales gives a more nuanced picture of Austen's re- lationship to the shifting political positions of the Regency. 4 The older term for military dress, "regimentals" (the first OED citation is from the London Magazine in 1742), conveys this sense; the newer term "uniform" (the first OED citation is from 1748) suggests even more strongly that the new coats made the soldiers appear identical. I am grateful to Debbie Lee for her advice on terminology here and throughout this essay. .lANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 155 can colonies in war with Britain), a worried ministry began to raise a militia intended to defend the country from invasion. Landowners as great as Mr. Darcy sprang to the fore-the Duke of Devonshire, for instance, left London to organize and train the militia of his locality. So did other great aristocrats, and their brightly colored uniforms became fashion items. Despite the alarm about a possible French invasion, the militia impressed the public more as a spectacle than as a fight- ing force. According to a field officer writing to the London Chronicle, the Duke of Devonshire found himself in camp at Coxheath (Kent) together with fifteen thousand men and the "flower of the Nobility." Over three miles long, Coxheath was soon a magnet for sightseers both common and aristocratic. A coach service had to be set up to let Londoners satisfy their cu- riosity to view what the Chronicle calls "one of the most striking military spectacles ever exhibited in this country."5 The specta- tors saw brightly dressed men, commanded by dukes, exercis- ing (for some of the time), but they also saw the kind of aristo- cratic self-indulgence that was normally hidden behind the doors of the great houses. The Duke of Devonshire had several marquees pitched, one acting as his personal kitchen, another as his servants' hall, and another as his entertaining rooms." In the camp at Winchester, Oriental rugs, "festoon-curtains, ... chintz sophas," and silver candlesticks made the camp a place of opulence." Yet as the Morning Post reported, the most glam- orous spectacle was the uniforms, the "regimentals," especially when the Duchess of Devonshire redesigned them to clothe herself and the other ladies whom she formed into a female auxiliary corps: "Her Grace the Duchess of Devonshire appears every day at the head of the beauteous Amazons on Coxheath, who are all dressed en militaire; in the regimentals that distinguish the several corps in which their Lords, &c. serve, and charms 5 [Anon.], "Extract of a Letter from a Field Officer, dated Coxheath Camp, Kent, June 10," London Chronicle, 13-16June 1778, p. 570. 6 See Gillian Russell, The Theatres of War: Performance, Politics and Society I793-I8I5 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1995), p. 38. My discussion of camp culture is indebted to Russell throughout. 7 See [anon.], "Extract of a Letter from an Auctioneer, dated Winchester, July 9," Morning Chronicle, 16July 177 8, p. [4]. 156 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE every beholder with their beauty and affability."8 Not content with admiring the men's uniforms, the Duchess and other soci- ety ladies played at being soldiers, to the admiration of the sightseers. The camp seemed, as Gillian Russell has noted, a theater of "social and sexual interchange"-or, in the words of the anonymous novel Coxheath-Camp (1779), "a masquerade [that] levels all distinction."9 All this cross-dressed fashion parade was a long way re- moved from the horrors-and the glories-of battle, and it seemed still more so when it emerged that the noblemen and noblewomen at Coxheath had played at other games besides soldiering. They had undressed as well as dressed up: "the offi- cers," wrote the Morning Chronicle, "were in the practice of con- ducting their ladies, pro nocte, secretly into their marquees." 10 The Duke of Devonshire dallied with Lady Jersey while his wife paraded, Lady Melbourne became pregnant by Lord Egremont, and - in a scandal that fascinated the press-Lady Derby left her husband and children to live with the Duke of Dorset. The mili- tia was making love, not war. As the heroine in Coxheath-Camp put it, "General Officers and Cadets, Duchesses and Demoi- selles, are alike exposed to the snares of beauty, are alike sus- ceptible to the tender passion." 11 The militia's reputation, after these scandals, would be more about the risks it posed to Eng- lish ladies' virtue than the threat it made to Frenchmen's lives. By 1793 Britain was again at war with France, and in 1798, 1803, and 1809, the nation was doing badly enough to face a more severe invasion threat. As Napoleon's fleet waited across the channel, the local militias, by this time swollen to three hun- dred thousand men under training per year, marched back and forth, camped, and danced at assemblies. For the inhabitants of English villages-especially in the southeast-the militia was, if not overpaid, definitely oversexed and over here. Still, the mili- tia offered new glamour: only recently could soldiers wear their bright uniforms off duty, and only now were they spread across H "Foreign Intelligence," Morning Post, ISJuly 1778, p. [2]. 9 See Russell, Theatres of War, p. 44; and Coxheath-Camp: A Novel in a Series ofLetters by a Lady (1779), quoted in Theatres of War, p. 39. 10 "Camp at Cox-Heath Intelligence," Morning Chronicle, 18 July 1778, p. [4]. 11 Coxheath-Camp, quoted in Russell, Theatres of War, p. 39. JANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 157 the country. The traditional English fear of a standing army had dissolved in the face of the French menace, and soldiers were now visible across the land as never before. Of course, this gave them a social mobility enjoyed by very few in eighteenth- century England up to that point. Like Mr. Wickham in Pride and Prejudice, a soldier posted away from his home district was free from those who knew him and his reputation. His very identity was changed: he was now an officer by title, and his previous self and his social status were covered by his gaudy regimental dress. But his dress and rank might well have been earned not by experience on the battle- field or parade ground but by influence, and the shiny uniforms masked a variety of characters and origins. Men got commis- sions in the local militias without needing ever to have owned a residence in the area 12-thus they could acquire social status regardless of merit or their reputation among those who knew their worth. It was, perhaps, the corrupting effect of this un- earned social status that Jane Austen feared in her brother Henry. In 1796 he tried to obtain an adjutancy in the Oxford- shire regiment, and when he was unsuccessful he tried again in the 86th. In January 1796 Austen wrote to her sister Cassandra: "I heartily hope that he will, as usual, be disappointed in this scheme." 13 It was possibly the dangers that soldiering posed to the character (and the finances), rather than those it posed to the health, that she had in mind. As contemporary satires suggested, the reputation of Britain's soldiers-as Napoleon loomed and as Jane Austen sketched out the work later to be published as Pride and Preju- dice-was not high. It was the navy, not the army, that was hav- ing success in battle, despite the vast increase in the army's size (it grew from thirteen thousand men at the outbreak of war to two hundred thousand in 1807). But Britons had traditionally 12 This was true for men below the rank of captain, at least, like Wickham. Above this rank, a local property qualification was applied. 13 Jane Austen, letter to Cassandra Austen, 9.January [1796], in Jane Austen's Letters to Her Sister Cassandra and Others, ed. R. W. Chapman, zd ed. (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1952), p. 3 (hereafter cited in the text as Letters). I should point out that if the cause of Austen's concern was the fear that Henry would be corrupted, then it was not only soldiering but other professions-including his failed venture into banking-that posed a threat. 158 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE been suspicious of a large standing army: the Militia Act had provoked riots when it first passed in 1757, and in 1808 there was opposition in parliament to Castlereagh's bill, which pro- posed to conscript the militia by ballot from the population at large and to place it under martial law when on duty. To liberal and radical Members of Parliament, the militia threatened to become a means by which an unrepresentative ministry could oppress the people-a threat that was carried out in 1812, when the militia was used to quell Luddite protesters. Rather than helping to fight Napoleon, the militia seemed to many observ- ers to be turning Britain into a military state, one symbolized by the new barracks in which soldiers were kept separate from their countrymen. By the end of the Napoleonic War no less than 155 barracks had been built all over the kingdom, despite protests in press and parliament. Something of the public un- ease they engendered can be seen in Keats's 1817 letter from the Isle of Wight: "On the road from Cowes to Newport I saw some extensive Barracks which disgusted me extremely with Government for placing such a Nest of Debauchery in so beau- tiful a place-I asked a man on the Coach about this-and he said that the people had been spoiled-In the room where I slept at Newport I found this on the Window '0 Isle spoilt by the Milatary.'''14 Clearly, soldiers in uniform, whether in bar- racks or village, put many Britons in mind of the risk of sexual corruption as well as political despotism. For much of the Napoleonic period, soldiers appeared to be as incompetent in battle as they were dangerous in barracks. Corruption seemed to spread from the top down, and the army seemed dogged by aristocratic self-indulgence just when Britain wanted heroes to prove its power and manliness against the French. In the Anti-Jacobin inJuly 17g8 George Canning called for a return to "manlier virtues, such as nerv'd / Our fathers' breasts." 15 But the nation did not find a great warrior among its 14 John Keats, letter to J. H. Reynolds, 17-18 April 1817, in The Letters o[John Keats, r8I4-I82I, ed. Hyder Edward Rollins, 2 vols. (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Univ. Press, 1958), 1,131-32. I am grateful to Nicholas Roe for alerting me to these remarks. . 15 George Canning, "New Morality," in George Canning andJohn Hookham Frere, Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin (1799; rpt. Oxford and New York: Woodstock Books, 1991), p. 140; H. 454-55· JANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 159 princes. The Duke of York commanded troops in the French Netherlands in 1799, but he attracted ridicule for marching back and forth, losing soldiers without ever coming into a deci- sive battle: "0, the grand old Duke 0' York, / He had ten thou- sand men; / He marched them up the hill my boys, / Then marched them down again!" 16 This now-famous nursery rhyme was just one of the satires mocking York as an ineffectual sol- dier. In the broadside "The Duke of York's New March" he ap- peared as an absurd parody of a chivalric warrior: The gallant Duke shall go, And Carmagnals shall know What he can do He'll give them such a Fright, When clad in Armour bright, Like some brave ancient Knight, He bolts in view. 17 While the nation found knightly pretensions in the soldier princes and dukes, it also found sexual and financial corrup- tion. In 1808 a great scandal broke upon Regency Britain, and the Duke of York, by now Commander-in-Chief of the army, was at its center. York's mistress, the longtime courtesan Anna Clarke, had been accepting bribes from army officers seeking promotion: to supplement the inadequate allowance that her royal lover gave her, she accepted cash, in return for which the Duke arranged rapid advancement for the officer concerned. It was also alleged that, as well as sterling, she accepted sexual favors from the more eligible soldiers. The anonymous author of Military Promotions; or, The Duke and his Dulcinea. A Satirical Poem (1809) imagined events thus: "My Dear",-said Proserpine one day Whilst with the Duke in am'rous play, "Let me a favour ask;" "Whate'er it is," replied the Duke, Hi "Duke 0' York," in Mother Goose's Book of Nursery Rhymes and Songs, rev. ed. (Lon- don: J. M. Dent and Sons, 1931), p. 67. 17 "The Duke of York's New March," by "Peter Pension, Esq. Poet Laureat Extraor- dinary." Broadside, n.d., "sold by R. Lee, at the TREE OF LIBERTY, No. 2 St Ann's Court, Dean Street, Soho." 160 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE Charm'd with her fascinating look "To please,-be mine the task." "No,-'tis not such a mighty thing, "Tis a Commission from the King," The Du1cinea cried: "Tis only to oblige a friend, And well you know, I recommend None whom I have not tried." 18 When the scandal broke, questions in the House of Com- mons brought about a full-scale pamphlet war and press cam- paign. A motion of censure was brought against the Duke as Commander-in-Chief, and sufficient MPs-Tory as well as Whig-condemned him for his resignation to become un- avoidable. He was reappointed as early as 1811, however, scan- dalizing commentators and public alike. Journalists such as Co- leridge and Southey were most shocked by the conjunction of three things: aristocratic sexual immorality, financial corrup- tion, and the army on whose strength the fight against Napo- leon depended. The York affair reveals that the sexual mores of the nobil- ity were now a major issue in wartime politics. Many feared that their governors' "libidinous desire" (Military Promotions, p. 13) would leave the strength of the army sapped by female wiles, thus leaving the nation vulnerable to French invasion. Redcoats, it seemed, were too busy indulging their mistresses to be an ef- fective fighting force, and York's conduct suggested that the officers were more concerned with enjoying the women im- pressed by their splendid uniforms than they were with beating Napoleon. The Duke's immoral and un chivalrous behavior dis- credited the army as an institution, just when it was most neces- sary to demonstrate Britain's superiority to its republican and revolutionary enemy across the channel. Redcoats seemed vain and craven, especially since the York scandal followed a military debacle: in late 1808, at the Convention ofCintra, the generals fighting the French in Spain and Portugal surrendered their advantage and let Napoleon's army escape. rs Military Promotions; or, The Duke and his Dulcinea. A Satirical Poem (London: printed for the author, 1809 ) , p. 3. JANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 161 Austen did not comment directly on the York affair or the Convention of Cintra, but her letters indicate that she both felt horror at the killing of soldiers in battle and, at the same time, maintained an ironic distance from the war. Thus on 31 May 1811 (in the year of York's reinstatement) she wrote to Cassandra about the Battle of Albuera, in which the British took heavy casualties: "How horrible it is to have so many people killed!-And what a blessing that one cares for none of them!" (Letters, p. 286). Austen had said as much before, in 1809, when the York scandal was at its height. On 30 January 1809 she wrote to Cassandra, after General Sir John Moore and many troops had died heroically at Corunna: "I wish Sir John had united something of the Christian with the Hero in his death.- Thank Heaven! we have had no one to care for particularly among the Troops" (Letters, pp. 261-62). As Warren Roberts has shown, there is a self-protective sardonic humor in these comments that should not be equated with lack of compassion: because Austen can imagine how terrible it would be to lose a loved one, she is glad that she is not suffering personally (and of course having two brothers in the navy, she lived with that prospect constantly) .19 But there is also a hint of criticism, not unrelated to what the army, in the years of the Duke of York scandal, symbolized. Moore had died a brave death but not a Christian one-he had not prayed, or acknowledged his sins and the suffering of his men, on his deathbed. Soldiers, it seemed, displayed little humility or compassion, and the Cintra Convention-when Moore had died trying to protect his troops after his fellow generals had let Napoleon's defeated army escape to fight another day-only seemed to confirm this view. In Wordsworth's verdict, the generals had cast shame on both the army and the nation: If our Generals had been men capable of taking the measure of their real strength, either as existing in their own army, or in those principles of liberty and justice which they were commis- sioned to defend, they must of necessity [have rejected the peace terms offered by the French] ;-if they had been men of com- mon sagacity for business, they must have acted in this man- I" See Roberts,Jane Austen and the French Revolution, p. 92. 162 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE ner;-nay, ifthey had been upon a level with an ordinary bargain- maker in a fair or a market, they could not have acted otherwise.- Strange that they should so far forget the nature of their calling! They were soldiers, and their business was to fight. Sir Arthur Wellesley had fought, and gallantly; it was not becoming his high situation, or that of his successors, to treat, that is, to beat down, to chaffer, or on their part to propose: it does not become any general at the head of a victorious army to do SO.20 It is significant that in his comment Wordsworth accuses the generals not just of forgetting their duty in a cowardly way, but also of being incompetent as "men of business." Comparing them unfavorably to middle-class and laboring-class tradesmen, Wordsworth implies that their failure stems from their aristo- cratic rank. Command of the army was traditionally the prerog- ative of the nobility, but now, Wordsworth implies, the noble- men are too naive and unprofessional, too unschooled in the world of affairs, to be fit for their task. The aristocracy was com- ing to seem - to conservatives as well as radicals- too self- indulgent to be trusted to conduct the nation's interests. The Duke of York's reappointment in 181 1 reinforced this impression. Coleridge, in a piece that was suppressed from the Courier, wrote that reappointing York was "a bold indecent mea- sure" and "a national insult," timed as it was to coincide with the good news of victory at Albuera." It was an insult because it showed that the self-interest of the princes and their ministers dominated policy-they favored themselves and made others dependent on them, monopolizing patronage. The army would again be commanded by a man who had promoted officers on the basis of how much they were prepared to pay his mistress. Successful and tried generals, like Moore, would be overlooked as the Duke promoted those who favored him with money or 20 Wordsworth, "Concerning the Convention of Cintra" (1809), in The Prose Works ofWilliam Wordsworth, ed. w.]. B. Owen and Jane Worthington Smyser, 3 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974), I, 257. 21 Coleridge, "The Duke of York 1" (181 I), in Essays on His Times in "The Morning Post" and "The Courier," ed. David V. Erdman, 3 vols., vols. 1-3 of The Collected Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (London: Routledge/Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1978), Ill, 221. The essay was withdrawn from publication, supposedly for political reasons (see Erdman's headnote, "Suppressed and Rejected Essays on the Duke of York," in Es- says on His Times, Ill, 220-21). JANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 163 flattery. Thus the perverted system, which ignored professional competence and rewarded princely and noble vanity, would continue-the very system that had left the army in the hands of the incompetent generals at Cintra. There is some question of how much we can read Austen in the light of British attitudes toward the mil- itary in this period. After all, she had little to say about foreign wars and Westminster politics, of which she had no direct expe- rience. But as a number of scholars have shown, political and social debates lie just below the surface of Austen's work, and she alludes to them in brief but knowing references.F Tracing these allusions gives us a changed picture of her work: no longer does it appear cut off from the great issues of the day, but instead is seen to deal with the way these issues flew from and back to the local level. Austen, that is to say, is a historical novelist who concerns herself not with battles and bills but with the contexts of those battles and bills, away from the public arena, in the country as a whole. Austen, like Wollstonecraft and Mary Robinson, turned her acute intelligence toward understanding the social causes and effects of the decisions and deeds made by men in the the- aters of war and politics. Few men troubled to devote such in- telligent and detailed attention to this field, concerned as they were with the public affairs in which they played a direct part. Austen, however, developed a scrutiny so sensitive that it would be fair to call her work a micro-history (in lain McCalman's sense) ,23 were it not for the fact that in delineating the manners and morals of the country gentry she not only puts on record what seemed too small to include in conventional history, but does so on a macro-scale. She examines the social construction of whole strata of England-the contemporary clergy, navy, and aristocracy-and offers analyses of communities as differ- 22 In addition to the studies already cited in notes 1, 2, and 3, see also ChrisJones, "[ane Austen and Old Corruption," Literature and History, g, no. 2 (2000), 1-16. 23 See lain McCalman, Radical Underworld: Prophets, Revolutionaries, and Pornogra- phers in London, I795-I840 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1988). 164 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE ent as Portsmouth, Bath, and Pemberley. In effect she not only exhibits what Raymond Williams calls new structures of feeling (structures that are also, I would add, structures of thinking, speaking, and acting), but she also traces their generation from the inside outward. Her achievement is to transform the roman- tic story-the woman sighing for a soldier-into a discourse in which politics and history can be seen to begin at home. In Pride and Prejudice Austen brings aristocratic corruption and military immorality home to the shires in the form of sol- diers who, after the vast expansion of army and militia, were now living in villages and towns all over the country. And she did so at a time when, as ChrisJones reminds us, the York scan- dal led her friends and acquaintances to support the radicals' campaign for reform of the army and of parliament.v' The militia first appears in chapter 7 of the novel, and Austen's depiction of the officers is colored by their contempo- rary reputation for sexual dalliance. Catherine and Lydia Ben- net are obsessed with the dazzling color of the military uniforms: "They could talk of nothing but officers; and Mr. Bingley's large fortune, the mention of which gave animation to their mother, was worthless in their eyes when opposed to the regimentals of an ensign."25 And Mrs. Bennet herself says: "I remember the time when I liked a red coat myself very well" (p. 29). From the start the soldiers are seen in terms of the romantic naivete of the younger sisters and of the nostalgia of Mrs. Bennet, who has learned nothing from her greater experience. Why is the militia seen in this way? Do the Bennet women's desires simply reflect their own silliness, or do they tell us something about the contemporary reputation of the militia? Austen's narratorial irony suggests that she wishes to play upon that reputation as well as satirize the Bennets, for in chapter 12 she has this to say about the soldiers: Much had been done, and much had been said in the regi- ment since the preceding Wednesday; several of the officers had 24 SeeJones, 'lane Austen and Old Corruption," pp. 2-3. 25 Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, vo!. 2 of The Novels ofJane Austen, ed. R. w. Chap- man, 3d ed., 5 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965), p. 29. Further quotations are from this edition and are included in the text. JANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 165 dined lately with their uncle, a private had been flogged, and it had actually been hinted that Colonel Forster was going to be married. (p. 60) Here Austen's free indirect speech ironizes Catherine's and Ly- dia's indiscriminate admiration of the troops even as it narrates it. The sentence shows military life to be a routine of trivial so- cial engagements and gossip about affairs of the heart, but one in which brutal punishment seems just another amusing and ordinary event in the social round. The inclusion of the detail of the flogging shows the Bennet sisters' -and the militia's- moral sense to be sadly lacking. The sisters view the whipping of an ordinary soldier as an unremarkable detail, a scene ap- propriate to mention-so used are they to it-along with po- lite dinners and engagements. It is worth remembering that the issue of flogging was topical in the years in which Austen was rewriting her novel. In 1809 William Cobbett had seized on a newspaper report in the Courier to launch a public attack on the government. On 24June 1809 the Courier noted: "The Mutiny amongst the LOCAL MILITIA which broke out at Ely, was fortunately sup- pressed . . . by the arrival of four squadrons of the GERMAN LEGION CAVALRY. ... Five of the ring-leaders were tried by a Court Martial, and sentenced to receive 500 lashes each."26 Horrified at the punishment and resentful that hired German troops had been used against Englishmen, Cobbett went on the attack in his radical paper Cobbett's Weekly Political Register, writ- ing with heavy sarcasm: "Five hundred lashes each! Aye, that is right! Flog them; flog them; flog them! They deserve it, and a great deal more. They deserve a flogging at every meal-time. 'Lash them daily, lash them duly.' ... 0, yes; they merit a dou- ble-tailed cat. Base dogs!" He also imagined the impression that the affair made on the people of Ely: "I really should like to know how the inhabitants looked one another in the face, while this scene was exhibiting in their town." 27 For Cobbett the "6 The Courier, 24June 1809; quoted in William Cobbett:Selected Writings, ed. Leonora Nattrass, 6 vols. (London: Pickering and Chatto, 1998),11, 249. "7 Cobbett, "Summary of Politics," in Selected Writings, 11, 249-50. The article first appeared on I July 1809. 166 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE affair revealed a corrupt ministry in action: having made the militiamen pay for their own knapsacks, while their officers dined in plenty, it used foreign troops to lash protesters into submission. The floggings were symbolic of a government that was all too similar to the despotic Napoleonic regime across the channel. Cobbett's article became famous because the ministry used it to try to silence him, the radical pressman it feared most. The ministry prosecuted Cobbett for libeling the German troops, but this only protracted the publicity and gave him the chance to reiterate his charges at the trial. On I sJune 18 IO, during his trial, Cobbett used the flogging to portray the whole militia system as both dangerous to English liberties and inefficient militarily: If one of us was in a garrison town, and saw a soldier flogged to death ... would it be criminal to say any thing, or to write any thing, upon the subject? What! is every man who puts on a red coat, to be from that moment deserted by all the world; and is no tongue, or no pen, ever to stir in his defence? Who were these lo- cal militiamen? The greater part were then young fellows, proba- bly in smock frocks, just taken from the plough, and ignorant of that subordination that is practised in the army. I allow that against a serious mutiny severe measures may be necessary; but then by mutiny, I understand taking up arms, and forcibly and vi- olently resisting the officers in the execution of their military du- ties. I do not think a mere discontent and squabble in a corps ... should either receive the name or punishment of mutiny. I, and other people, told Lord Castlereagh from the beginning, that it would come to this; that these local militiamen would be made just soldiers enough to be disinclined to return to labour, and that they would be so much of labourers as never to be made ef- fective soldiers." Cobbett was imprisoned after a Special Jury of middle-class men found him guilty. But he and others kept the militia in the public eye. In I8IO Leigh Hunt responded to Cobbett's trial by publishing a critique of military flogging in The Examiner. Ti- 28 Cobbett, quoted in "Law Report. Court of King's Bench, Friday, June 15," in Se- lected Writings, II, 261. JANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 167 tled "One Thousand Lashes," the article lists horrific punish- ments for trivial offenses and reiterates Cobbett's charge that English militiamen were treated worse than Napoleon's soldiers: Bonaparte does not treat his refractory troops in this manner: there is not a man in his ranks whose back is seamed with the lac- erating cat-o'nine-tails:-his soldiers have never yet been drawn up to view one of their comrades stripped naked,- his limbs tied with ropes to a triangular machine,-his back torn to the bone by the merciless cutting whipcord.... they have never seen the blood oozing from his rent flesh.t? Publishing such inflammatory details got Hunt prosecuted too-but he was acquitted (despite the ministry packing the jury) when his defense lawyer, Henry Brougham, showed that flogging had "a direct and inevitable tendency to brutalize the people habituated to the practice of it." 30 Flogging was coming to seem not only cruel, but ineffective (as several serving gen- erals argued in pamphlet publications) Y A brutalized army was a greater threat to British civilians than to Napoleon's un- flogged troops. What made flogging impinge on Austen's consciousness was its presence in the quiet English countryside. Hunt re- corded dreadful whippings inflicted by militia officers in the Kentish towns among which Austen had lived: Canterbury, Chatham, MaIling, and Bearstead. Sir Francis Burdett publi- cized still more incidents in 1811 and 1812, demanding that flogging be abolished and attacking the barrack system and the 2'1 [Leigh Hunt], "One Thousand Lashes!!" The Examiner, 2 September 1810, p. 557. Thanks to Michael Eberle Sinatra and Morton D. Paley for information on Hunt. '" Brougham, speaking before the House of Commons, 6 March 1812, in Parlia- mentary Debates, 21 (1812),1204; quoted in]. R. Dinwiddy, "The Early Nineteenth- Century Campaign against Flogging in the Army," English Historical Review, 97 (1982), 325. As Dinwiddy shows (pp. 312-13), John Drakard, the editor who published the original story (which the Hunts reprinted), was not so fortunate: a packed jury at Lin- coln convicted him and he was imprisoned for eighteen months. "1 See, for example, Lt.-Gen. John Money, A Letter to the Right Hon. William Wind- ham, on the Defence of the Country at the Present Crisis (Norwich, 1806); Brig.-Gen. William Stewart, Outlines oJa Plan Jor the General Reform oJ the British Land Forces, sd ed. (London, 1806); Lt.-Col. R. T. Wilson, An Enquiry into the Present State oJ the Military Force oJ the British Empire (London, 1804); all cited in Dinwiddy, "Flogging in the Army," p. 310. 168 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE use of the militia against civilians. His chief opponent was the Duke of York, recently reappointed as army commander, who, as]. R. Dinwiddy reports, "complained in 1826 that since 'Lib- eralism and Philanthropy' had become the order of the day, there had been a great increase in the amount of military crime, especially insubordination" ("Flogging," p. 321). With the reinstated York determined to whip soldiers into submission, the anti-flogging agitation became one strand of a larger campaign to reform the governmental system that could impose the rule of a corrupt, arbitrary, and callous aristocracy upon parliament, army, and people. Cobbett and his fellow rad- icals went on tour, attracting support from a scandalized coun- try gentry that normally considered itself loyal to the King's ministers, of whichever party they were. At one Hampshire meeting a motion for reform proposed by Cobbett was signed by members of several families that featured in Austen's circle and that would not formerly have wished to be associated with the firebrand radical-the names included Portal, Powlett, and Mildmay" On the other side, among the Tory opponents of reform whom Cobbett attacked, were William Chute and Sir Thomas Heathcote-figures whom Austen mocked when they stood for parliament.P Austen, in her letters and social con- nections at least, was on the side of those who saw flogging as an aristocratic abuse in need of change-and thus she, like many of the country gentry, was drawn to a cause that radicals and Whigs espoused as part of their attack on the Tory ministry. In Pride and Prejudice Austen is neither Whig nor Tory.'" but she is a critic of the spread of aristocratic abuses into the gentry by means of the corrupting society of the militia. In other words, she is not a party writer- her fiction is concerned with tracing the social causes and effects of political decisions rather than with repeating the formulations of those causes and effects made in parliament. Austen is not formulaic but oblique, 32 See Jones, "[ane Austen and Old Corruption," pp. 2-3. See also Leigh Hunt's re- port of the meeting ("Hampshire Meeting," The Examiner, 30 April 1809, pp. 275-77). 33 SeeJones, "[ane Austen and Old Corruption," pp. 2-3: and Claire Tomalin,jane Austen: A Life (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1997), p. 96. 34 This is not to say, of course, that Austen was unpolitical, but rather to remind ourselves that party discipline and party affiliations at this period were not fixed. JANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 169 yet she is nevertheless incisive in her deployment of current political and social anxieties in order to organize her readers' responses. In Pride and Prejudice the details of flogging and van- ity' alluding to a contemporary public issue, have the effect of making readers wary of the militia. They anticipate Mr. Bennet's warning to Elizabeth: "Here are officers enough at Meryton to disappoint all the young ladies in the country. Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you creditably" (Pride and Prejudice, p. 138). Readers see first that militia officers are poor officers in terms of the latest military standards and are morally insensitive, and then they see that the officers are unreliable romantic partners who may exploit impression- able young women. Parliament's decision to raise ever-larger militias and station them across the countryside is registered not as a party issue but in terms of a dangerously seductive in- trusion of a foreign body, with its own vain codes and loose standards, into the shires. The details of the flogging at Meryton quietly cast doubt on Wickham's own statements because they make us suspicious of the kind of society offered by the militia-since Wickham joined up in order to enter that society. In chapter 16 he says to Elizabeth: "It was the prospect of constant society, and good so- ciety, ... which was my chief inducement to enter the --- shire. I knew it to be a most respectable, agreeable corps, and my friend Denny tempted me farther by his account of their present quarters, and the very great attentions and excellent acquaintance Meryton had procured them. Society, I own, is necessary to me" (p. 79). As readers we doubt Wickham, and the army that welcomes him, notjust because of his blithe indif- ference to the very purpose of the militia (defending the coun- try against the French), but also because of our already existing concern about the nature of the society that the militia offers. As we read between the lines and remember when (and in what national context) the novel is set, we see that Wickham and his fellow officers are characterized not by duty, discipline, or ded- ication to the country, but by social and romantic opportunism. Austen shows, in effect, that political and social circum- stances maketh the man (and woman): Wickham is not just a stereotypical romantic charmer but also, in his very desires and 170 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE fears as well as his assumed attitudes, a specimen created by the social changes that the militia exemplifies. These social changes, in turn, are furthered by men such as Wickham, who are al- ready the product of them. Austen's exact and discriminating understanding of her contemporary England amounts to more than a flair for detailing social nuances, since she constantly makes those nuances revelatory both of the interiority of indi- viduals and groups and of the processes by which those individ- uals and groups change. What is decided in cabinet, debating chamber, and battlefield, Austen reveals, is the explicit form, the obvious surface of the shifting tensions, anxieties, and ways- of-being that saturate the everyday. It is the everyday social mobility offered by the new militia, the ability to escape one's past locale and reputation, that makes Wickham dangerous. After Darcy's letter exposes Wickham, Elizabeth reflects on how easily and casually he entered the militia: "She had never heard of him before his entrance into the --shire Militia, in which he had engaged at the persua- sion of the young man, who, on meeting him accidentally in town, had there renewed a slight acquaintance" (pp. 205-6). Obscure to everyone, Wickham is all appearance; only when Elizabeth starts to get some information from Mrs. Gardiner's dim memories of his Derbyshire youth is she forced to question what lies beneath the polished manners and the sleek uniform. Elizabeth realizes that Wickham has flattered her by his polite exterior: what he comes to signify to her is her own vanity in be- ing so easily pleased by his attentions. And his social mobility makes other officers, as well as Lydia, his dupes-when he elopes, it emerges that few in the militia know anything of his past, either. Even his commanding officer appears to lack the kind of knowledge necessary to judge him until it is too late: Colonel Forster is left looking in vain for information about an officer who has absconded-hardly a reassuring picture of mili- tary efficiency or of the judgment of men that was expected of a senior officer. The narrator relates the extent of Wickham's ob- scurity: It was not known that Wickham had a single relation, with whom he kept up any connection, and it was certain that he had no near one living. His former acquaintance had been numerous; JANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 171 but since he had been in the militia, it did not appear that he was on terms of particular friendship with any of them. There was no one therefore who could be pointed out, as likely to give any news of him. And in the wretched state of his own finances, there was a very powerful motive for secrecy, in addition to his fear of dis- covery by Lydia's relations, for it had just transpired that he had left gaming debts behind him, to a very considerable amount. Colonel Forster believed that more than a thousand pounds would be necessary to clear his expences at Brighton. He owed a good deal in the town. . . . (pp. 297-98) The anonymity and prestige conferred by the regimental uni- form gave Wickham, literally and metaphorically, unwarranted credit-and his fellow soldiers and the townspeople were left to pay the price. It is Darcy who clears up the'resultant mess, stung into us- ing the connections in Derbyshire and London that give him both knowledge of Wickham's past and power with regard to the present. Darcy and-as Austen suggests-the settled net- work of information and patronage controlled by the landed classes provide a reliable social order that, if used responsibly, is also a moral order. Darcy's fault hitherto has been that he has inherited a position in that network but has not lived up to the responsibility that this position confers on him. He has not met the obligation, recognized by eighteenth-century aristocrats as a justification of their inherited power, to use that power dis- interestedly for the good. He has hoarded, but not used, the knowledge of Wickham that his position in the network pro- vided him. By the end of the novel, however, he does use this knowledge, and Austen looks to Darcy and his fellow landowner Bingley, rather than to the new social order of the army, for a model of social and national government. A landowning class reminded of its responsibilities by interrelationships with the middle classes, rather than an army mimicking aristocratic manners (an army in which gentlemanliness is often no deeper than a shiny uniform), is the institution that Austen looks to for social stability. The aristocratic vanity of the militia is symbolized through- out by its dress-sense-as a significant passage from the Mery- ton period reveals. Lydia remarks to Elizabeth: 172 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE "Dear me! we had such a good piece of fun the other day at Colonel Forster's.... We dressed up Chamberlayne 35 in woman's clothes, on purpose to pass for a lady,-only think what fun! Not a soul knew of it, but Col. and Mrs. Forster, and Kitty and me, ex- cept my aunt, for we were forced to borrow one of her gowns; and you cannot imagine how well he looked! When Denny, and Wickham, and Pratt, and two or three more of the men came in, they did not know him in the least. Lord! how I laughed! and so did Mrs. Forster. I thought I should have died. And that made the men suspect something, and then they soon found out what was the matter." (p.221) Here Austen tells readers several things at once. She shows Wickham's and his cronies' discernment to be very limited: they cannot see through the dress to the real person beneath, because they do not look with judgment or penetration. Per- haps Austen is telling us that, being as vain of their uniforms as Lydia is of her caps and gowns, the militia officers can no longer see what it is to be a man. The frivolity of the militia is on parade: Colonel Forster is playing charades rather than dis- ciplining or leading his men, and the childish Lydia imposes her desires on the older commanding officer (a reversal of au- thority that will have disastrous consequences when Lydia is left under his care in Brighton). And Forster allows a feminization of the military: dressed in women's clothes, Chamberlayne sym- bolizes a militia in which soldiers act like girls, and girls have them under their command. Forster's game shows that the militia culture of vanity and display makes gentlemen forget their authority. Playing at soldiers turns to playing at dressing up, and lost in the process is the knowledge of how to play- and be-a man.i" Austen effectively demonstrates the dangers 3', Chamberlayne, the tone suggests, may have been a servant rather than a militia officer-but the point here remains the militia's frivolity and lack of discernment. I am grateful to Jill Heydt-Stevenson for her suggestions concerning Austen's innuendos. 3/; Mary Wollstonecraft also makes this argument in A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792), where she sees the gambling and socializing of the soldiers as evidence of their corruption by the kind of vanity that, though usually associated with women, was dangerous in both sexes (see Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, ed. Miriam Brody [Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1975], pp. 256-60). JANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 173 of an aristocratic military culture of masquerade and display: in Pride and Prejudice, as in Mansfield Park (1814), dressing up and cross-dressing are signs of moral danger when the line between theater and reality is blurred (and as Roger Sales has shown, the Mansfield Park theatricals called for Henry Crawford to dress up as a soldier-performing a male part often played on the professional stage by a woman}."? The line gets further blurred at Brighton, where Forster loses command and Wickham compromises Lydia in order to get money from her relations. Wickham has tried to play this game before with Darcy's sister, but on that occasion Darcy's connections revealed the plot to him. Yet the mobility and anonymity-the alluring uniform and uniformity-offered by the militia, and by the militia as it functions in camp, let Wick- ham succeed the second time. Elizabeth greets the move to Brighton with what turns out to be unwitting prophetic irony: "Good Heaven! Brighton, and a whole campful of soldiers, to us, who have been overset already by one poor regiment of militia" (p. 220). There had actually been a camp at Brighton in 1793 and 1795, featuring the militia defending the country against a mock invasion. Like the camp at Coxheath, it attracted fasci- nated sightseers and featured in newspapers and illustrations. According to the Morning Chronicle, "the firing of cannon and musquetry, and the immense crowds of spectators, were won- derfully pleasing. Every thing had the appearance of festivity and pleasure.... and displayed as gay and festive a sight, as can possibly be imagined."38 Perhaps Austen read the newspaper reports, for Lydia looks forward to just such a party in the novel: "She saw all the glories of the camp; its tents stretched forth in beauteous uniformity of lines, crowded with the young and the gay, and dazzling with scarlet; and to complete the view, she saw herself seated beneath a tent, tenderly flirting with at least six officers at once" (Pride and Prejudice, p. 232). Like Coxheath, Brighton's bright calor conceals a camp of immorality, indisci- ,n See Sales, Austen and Representations of Regency England, pp. 118-31,222-26. 3H "Camp, near Brighton," Morning Chronicle, 26 August 1793, p. [3]. 174 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE pline, and show-one in which social and gender hierarchies are overturned and promiscuity is in the air. At the real Brighton Camp in 1795, the Times reported, the Prince of Wales patron- ized a masquerade that featured "a few lively Gentlemen in Pet- ticoats, their Wives wearing the Breeches.T'" Lydia's penchant for dressing militiamen up as women was, it seems, a trait founded on behavior at the real camp; Colonel Forster presides over the fictional one, and he fails to control either the men or the women in his charge: they are gambling and making love with- out his knowledge. Austen opposes Brighton Camp to Pember- ley, where glittering surfaces are combined with depth: as Eliz- abeth discovers at Pemberley, order and tradition turn an appealing address into a place of virtue. Brighton Camp, by contrast, is a transitory place with no foundation: while Eliza- beth is an enquiring visitor in Derbyshire, Lydia becomes a camp follower in Sussex. From there the road leads to the anonymous streets of that capital of social mobility and im- morality, east London. Yet it is clear that Lydia has learned nothing from her rash elopement to London. When she forces her sisters to hear the story of her wedding, she says of her "dear Wickham": "I longed to know whether he would be married in his blue coat" (p. 319).40 To the end she is fascinated by the glittering surface that dress represents-which reminds us, by this stage of the novel, of the hollowness within. By this point Darcy has bought Wickham a place in the regular army, having saved Wickham's honor in the militia by paying his gambling debts to other offi- cers. Darcy's actions let Wickham live a life of ease, able "to enjoy himself in London or Bath" (p. 387), but they scarcely present the regular army in a good light; instead, it seems a useful so- cial dumping ground for the plausible hypocrite who consults only his own pleasure. Once again the military gives Wickham social mobility: he goes to a regiment stationed in the north, where few people will know about the dish onor and embarrass- ment that surrounds him in Meryton and Derbyshire. And reg- 39 "Brighton, Oct. 1," London Times, 5 October 1795, p. [3]. 40 This is probably a reference to the soldier wearing a civilian gentleman's clothes, and looking fine in them. JANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 175 iments in the north, in 1811-12, were being used to crush the poverty-stricken, machine-breaking handloom weavers. Jane Austen could discern the true charac- ter beneath the uniform, but, in the figures of Lydia, Wickham, and Forster, she showed her fear that many of her compatriots could not. In other words, she criticized the militia because, as an institution, it seduced too many of her fellow Britons, blur- ring the difference between true and fake gentlemanliness and giving greater scope than ever before for local vices and weak- nesses to grow and move across the country. By spreading se- ductive surfaces across the land, the militia led many Britons to succumb to novelty and show, and to forget that the real man was known by the history of his deeds-small and large. And the militia, stationed at ease far from the action, had few chances to prove itself by deeds. The regular army, by contrast, did en- gage in battle, and it was a battle-hardened yet thoughtful reg- ular soldier who came closest to fulfilling Austen's ideal of a true military character. Charles William Pasley was a veteran of war in the Mediterranean when, in 181 1, he published his Essay on the Military Policy and Institutions of the British Empire. In this work, which achieved considerable popular success, Pasley sug- gests that the nation's moral and political health would be im- proved by imperial conquest on land and sea. Pasley argues that conquest would revive Britain's manly vigor, and that the government's initial reluctance to colonize Malta was evidence of its effeminacy: Thus, like the nursery maid, who stops the restless child in the midst of his play, by dreadful stories of some phantom that is coming to take him; we have often cramped ourselves in our op- erations, and have allowed ourselves to be terrified into inactiv- ity, by our apprehension of drawing upon us the resentment of other nations; to which we ourselves ought to have dictated in a lofty tone, if they had presumed to speak one word in disappro- bation of our measures." 41 C. W. Pasley, An Essay on the Military Policy and Institutions of the British Empire, 2d ed. (London: Edmund Lloyd, 1811), p. 176. 176 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE A more masculine policy, for Pasley, would be more like that of the ancient Romans. He argues for a more "daring spirit" in pursuit of a land empire that would undermine Napoleon and make Britain dominant across Europe, as Rome had once been. Pasley talked tough and wrote in a terse, decisive, no-nonsense style, criticizing the aristocratic politesse that he thought gov- erned the generals and politicians who made policy. For Pasley this politesse amounted to pusillanimity and effeminacy: what was needed instead was a forceful expression of what amounted to an empire of force. Britain had the men, guns, and resources to dominate Europe, and it should use them for "great conquests" rather than "paltry" gains, because the "war- like spirit, by which alone they can be effected, commands re- spect; and increasing power gradually changes the respect of other states into submission" (pp. 177-78). Pasley's stark mes- sage was conquer or be conquered, and he was sure that he had the answer for the previous "bad success of our armies": it was not from lack of valor among the men but from "want of a more daring spirit in our national councils," which preferred negotiation to aggression (p. i i q). Essentially, Pasley wanted to turn international politics into single combat, for only then would nations act like men. Chivalry and policy alike were re- duced to the image of a fighter squaring up to his opponent. It seems surprising that Pasley should have impressedJane Austen, who was normally so wittily wise about male preten- sions. But impress her he did, although there are strong ele- ments of irony in her judgment of him.v She admired the self- confident and terse masculinity of his style, preferring his compact book to the digressive travel writings that made up the stock of the neighboring subscribing library. In a 24 January 1813 letter to Cassandra, Austen declared Pasley's book "de- lightfully written & highly entertaining" and, in a wittily sexual- ized comment, called its author "the first soldier I ever sighed for" (Letters, p. 2g2). In the process she redefined gentlemanly masculinity as a matter of manners and morals tested in (mili- tary) action, rather than as an imitation of the self-indulgence and vanity of the great aristocrats. 12 On Austen and Pasley, see Roberts, Austen and the French Revolution, p. 94- JANE AUSTEN AND THE MILITARY 177 Pasley was no Wickham, and no York either, but instead a plain-writing man of action who redeemed the army from cor- ruption, self-indulgence, and effeminacy. And he was neither an aristocrat nor an arrivist hiding his inexperience behind a red coat, but instead a man who had seen action. In admiring his masculinity (even if she did not comment on his politics), Austen suggested that imperial war was the arena in which the gentleman-via service in the regular army rather than the militia-could discover the manly authority that the nobility had surrendered, the authority necessary to govern effectively. Pasley, his sphere of action outside Austen's direct experi- ence, was confined to her letters rather than her fiction. In Pride and Prejudice, observing the army at home, Austen portrays no military hero. Only Colonel Fitzwilliam resists the corrupting influence of the militia of which he is part, showing himself to be a sensitive and moral professional gentleman. Yet even he lacks scope to prove his character: it is only when Wickham brings on a crisis that he gains a field on which he carries his politeness into disinterested and effective deeds. Until then, confined to a routine of wining, dining, chit chat (and flog- ging), their previous history obscure, the militia officers face no test that will allow their mettle to be judged. As Gary Kelly has argued, through her unheroic officers Austen offered a satire on current trends within the aristocracy and gentry, a satire whose social conservatism did not prevent her from taking up issues that radical Whigs used to attack Tories.t" Like that other critic of those trends, the aristocrat and radical Whig Lord Byron, Austen looked at masculinity as it was increasingly lived out in the fashionable institutions of Regency Britain and made the "want [of] a hero" the basis of her critique of the spirit of the age. Yet in addition to that cri- tique, she also at least sketched what a proper military man might look like. While Austen finds stature and stability in the great reformed aristocrat Darcy, in Fitzwilliam she looks for- ward to the kind of professional that the lesser gentry might become in the nineteenth century, if given a field of action. She was to define that new professional gentleman fully in the "' See Kelly, Women, Writing and Revolution, p. 182. 178 NINETEENTH-CENTURY LITERATURE figure of Captain Wentworth in Persuasion-a man whose honor and self-knowledge, although once weak, become reformed and deepened by the trials and opportunities experienced during a career in the war.v' But Wentworth, like Pasley and like her own sailor brothers, is tested abroad; the militia stayed at home, an institution that in Austen's depiction epitomized the insular frivolity that threatened Britain's governors from within. In both Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion, then, Austen depicts British society as only semi-adequate to form the character of the nation's ruling class (and sex); instead, the renewal of the gentry must come from the hard school of engagement in ac- tion. In showing that such action will occur mostly on the far- flung seas and shores of Britain's empire, Austen anticipates the imperialist novel of the later nineteenth century. Nottingham Trent University 44 I argue this point more fully in my "Romanticizing the Empire: The Naval He- roes of Southey, Coleridge, Austen, and Marryat," Modern Language Quarterly, 60 (1999), 161-96. See also Roberts,Jane Austen and the French Revolution, pp. 104-5. 448 Fulford scans 0001 448 Fulford scans 0002 448 Fulford scans 0003 448 Fulford scans 0004 448 Fulford scans 0005 448 Fulford scans 0006 448 Fulford scans 0007 448 Fulford scans 0008 448 Fulford scans 0009 448 Fulford scans 0010 448 Fulford scans 0011 448 Fulford scans 0012 448 Fulford scans 0013 448 Fulford scans 0014 448 Fulford scans 0015 448 Fulford scans 0016 448 Fulford scans 0017 448 Fulford scans 0018 448 Fulford scans 0019 448 Fulford scans 0020 448 Fulford scans 0021 448 Fulford scans 0022 448 Fulford scans 0023 448 Fulford scans 0024 448 Fulford scans 0025 448 Fulford scans 0026 
work_blix7zk6hbavpppfzzfqotytzy	----	The Amazon Rainforest of Pre-Modern Literature: Ethics, Values, and Ideals from the Past for Our Future. With a Focus on Aristotle and Heinrich Kaufringer humanities Editorial The Amazon Rainforest of Pre-Modern Literature: Ethics, Values, and Ideals from the Past for Our Future. With a Focus on Aristotle and Heinrich Kaufringer Albrecht Classen Department of German Studies, University of Arizona, Tucson, AZ 85721, USA; aclassen@email.arizona.edu Received: 3 December 2019; Accepted: 18 December 2019; Published: 24 December 2019 ����������������� Abstract: The tensions between the STEM fields and the Humanities are artificial and might be the result of nothing but political and financial competition. In essence, all scholars explore their topics in a critical fashion, relying on the principles of verification and falsification. Most important proves to be the notion of the laboratory, the storehouse of experiences, ideas, imagination, experiments. For that reason, here the metaphor of the Amazon rainforest is used to illustrate where the common denominators for scientists and scholars rest. Without that vast field of experiences from the past the future cannot be built. The focus here is based on the human condition and its reliance on ethical ideals as already developed by Aristotle. In fact, neither science nor humanities-based research are possible without ethics. Moreover, as illustrated by the case of one of the stories by Heinrich Kaufringer (ca. 1400), human conditions have always been precarious, contingent, puzzling, and fragile, especially if ethics do not inform the individual’s actions. Pre-modern literature is here identified as an ‘Amazon rainforest’ that only waits to be explored for future needs. Keywords: Amazon rainforest as laboratory; pre-modern literature; Aristotle; Heinrich Kaufringer; ethics; STEM; Humanities; STEAM; STEAHM Even though research on the pre-modern world has been well established for a very long time, globally speaking there is a steady decline in interest especially in history (Brookins 2016). An entire discipline is at risk, to be a little overdramatic, of falling into extinction, and it faces serious challenges from within and without, requiring intensive efforts to reflect upon its own purposes and future function (Barros and McCrank 2004; see already Burckhardt 1982). This has severe consequences also for the study of literature, the arts, philosophy, religion, and other fields in the Humanities and Social Sciences. Industry 4.0 is the new catchword, while the relevance of our past seems to fade away both within the academy and in public, along with the vast traditions of human culture (but see Lerner 1997; Bennett 2006). STEM dominates the public discourse, whereas STEAM would be the much better response to the current challenges (Classen 2018a). However, human life is deeply determined by its culture and memory, and we develop forward not simply by searching for new methods, new strategies, and new materials without any regard of previous experiences and learning. In fact, historical knowledge, ideas, and values play a much larger role in culture, identity, value formation, and character than many stakeholders today are willing to admit. However, at first sight it costs money to preserve them (libraries), although in the long run they tend to be the decisive guidance in all of human operations, providing insights, relevance, and purpose. The STEM fields tend to be well funded from the outside, whereas the Humanities need money from the inside. However, universities across North America continue to subscribe to and be deeply engaged with General Education in which human conditions and history are of essence. Of course, modern astronomy, optics, computer sciences, medicine, microbiology, engineering, and other fields have helped us to move forward in many amazing venues, and have revolutionized Humanities 2020, 9, 4; doi:10.3390/h9010004 www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com https://orcid.org/0000-0002-3878-319X http://www.mdpi.com/2076-0787/9/1/4?type=check_update&version=1 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/h9010004 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities Humanities 2020, 9, 4 2 of 13 the way how we see and interact with our world, at least in material terms. For instance, we certainly communicate today so much faster with each other on a global scale, but this does not mean at all that the quality of communication has improved. Despite much tacit opposition, the Humanities, including the study of History, the Arts, Anthropology, and related fields continue to matter centrally and undoubtedly should occupy the center of all academic efforts because they concern human life and provide meaning and relevance. However, the challenge increasingly rests in convincing the upper administration and politicians of the fundamental need of the Humanities, including the study of foreign languages, cultures, philosophy, and religion. This paper continues numerous previous efforts to achieve just that goal, here drawing from the world of the imagery that can easily be shared by the Sciences. Joshua Davies, for instance, now explores how engagements with medieval artifacts offer “resources, templates and means of excavating our own and others’ places in the world, and the workable memory trails that constitute those places” (Davies 2018, pp. 201–2; cf. the review by Jay Paul Gates in The Medieval Review, online, 19.11.20). In fact, the past is very much with us, and it represents the memory of all human life (Carruther 1990). Remembering the past or rediscovering it constitutes one of the central strategies to provide people with identity and relevance because the retrospective offers a grounding from which the effort to aim for the future can be launched. As Jeffrey Andrew Barash now observes, all this represents the collective memory that creates the basis of our lives and makes possible the growth into the future (Barash 2016). In this paper, I make a renewed effort to defend and explain the Humanities mostly from a European medievalist point of view, which is simply my area of expertise and which has no bearing on the relevance of Asian, African, or any other literature from past and present. In particular I will draw from the metaphor of the Amazon rainforest in order to illustrate how much both scientists and humanists could agree, after all, on a common denominator, the relevance of universal resources both in physical and in metaphysical terms. STEM and the Humanities are not polarly opposed to each other; instead, they represent different facets of the same aspect, our existence here on earth. Past, present, and future talk to each other, as the metaphor of the Amazon rainforest will illustrate. What matters is not a single-minded research project, but a multifaceted approach to all life. One of the most critical issues in human existence, which seems to be increasingly ignored everywhere, consists of our ethical ideals, concepts, and standards. Many government officials in western countries have recently been charged and tried for corruption or outright crimes, and there are many ripple effects in numerous other areas, whether in the economy or in the academy, whether we think of plagiarism or obstruction of justice. Without ethical principles, we cannot hope to establish a constructive, functioning society. Absolutist monetary concepts have led to a vast imbalance in the modern world, much more than ever before, with some super-rich individuals owning over $100 billion in private funds. Hence, where is the public discourse on ethics? Does ethics constitute any significant teaching subject in our schools and universities? Technocracy must be balanced by a Humanities-based worldview, and the study of literature, past and present, offers the best opportunities for this delicate yet critically important task. The new studies by Zimmer (2020) and Kern (2020), for instance, re-emphasize the essential relevance of ethics for all human dimensions. Their suggestions, however, are implicitly based on the acknowledgment of the historical dimension of our ethical ideals. Thus, we also need a medieval and classical-ancient perspective. It does not come as a surprise that the young generation increasingly pursues careers that are determined entirely by the level of salaries, not by personal interests, abilities, or qualifications. However, in face of the imminent climate crisis, global warming, migration, and many other problems, technology and sciences have been able to provide only partial answers, or have even been the cause of catastrophic developments (nuclear power, loss of the ozone layer in the atmosphere, warming of the world oceans, environmental pollution; military aggression as a result of new weaponry). These urgent issues invite us, if not require us, to probe once again the meaning of human life and how we approach it within the academic framework, whereby we might recover the foundation of all Humanities 2020, 9, 4 3 of 13 human existence, ethics. What are the essential criteria that would allow us to declare that our lives are happy and fulfilled, that is determined by ethical thinking? How do we establish a functioning, well-balanced social framework, unless we all operate by some basic ethical standards? Moreover, as a society, we can only achieve good cooperation, a sense of community, mutual respect, tolerance, and, above all, a solid form of communication if we agree on a set of fundamental values embraced by everyone. Those are normally expressed in a Constitution, federal laws, state laws, but then also in some religious texts that provide the foundation for ethical behavior. Human beings do not possess a genetic code directing the individual to good, ethical behavior. This is a long-term learning process, and much depends not on nature, but on nurture, i.e., education. While there is no criticism against STEM as such, the essential driver in our society moving us forward into the future, technology by itself cannot be the answer for these urgent issues. Indeed, throughout time, the critical questions pertaining to human existence cannot be solved through the application of algorithms, as we would say today, or of mechanical tools with which to fix broken hearts, to overcome loneliness, desperation, sorrow, fear, or despondency. There are countless issues that we need to address on a daily basis, whether they pertain to happiness, love, and meaning altogether, but the voices supporting technology tend to be louder than those embracing literature and the arts where the true human issues are examined, negotiated, and explored, maybe as illusions, as a utopia, as dream concepts, or as a fiasco. But the fictional text serves critically as a platform to focus on the human heart and mind. Violence, for instance, threatens to destroy our social fabric on a daily basis, and crime is closely related with that. Intolerance, racism, sexism, hatred, agism, and many other phobias are, tragically, very much present everywhere. Around 40,000 people die a violent death in the United States every year, and despite countless mass shootings that are ongoing almost daily, American society has not found any significant way how to address this huge problem that threatens to destroy our social fabric and the basic bonds that hold us together as human beings (https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/ 2019/08/16/what-the-data-says-about-gun-deaths-in-the-u-s/). Anti-Semitism continues to haunt the modern world, now coupled increasingly with Islamophobia, but how do we confront those hateful attitudes, if we do not go back to our past experiences and reflect upon the way how we got here today in the first place? Science, medicine, and technology do not offer any solutions in that regard and they do not even address those problems because they are irrelevant to them. Nevertheless, we are all in an agreement that our social issues must be dealt with if we want to survive and to progress as a collective. This is where the Humanities enter the picture, even though it would be delusional to assume that the study of a literary text, a painting, a musical composition, or of a philosophical treatise might provide a magical response that would solve everything. Society does not follow a simplistic mechanical process, which is also the reason why digitization and robotization cannot assist us in this most difficult matter. Instead, we as people rely on a discourse that slowly but surely has taken us from one stage in our cultural development to another. As the current stream of contemporary literature indicates, the search for insights into the human issue and the endeavor to find useful models of human behavior continues all the time. Faith, ideology, values, ideals, but then also feelings, sentiments, and hence mentality matter deeply and are very slow-moving throughout time. Nevertheless, change takes place as we have witnessed during the last decades both in the USA and in many other countries all over the world, especially with regard to people’s interaction and mutual respect, and hence the relationship between majority and minorities (see the issues of racism, LGBTQ rights, women’s rights, etc.). This now allows us to turn to the question of what the Humanities can contribute to the well-being of our society. The study of literature, honestly, does not represent a panacea, but it always proves to be a medium to investigate human life in its infinitude of features, highlights, downfalls, losses, successes, happiness, sorrow, and so forth. Studying fictional texts makes it possible to investigate the vast range of potentialities in our existence, presenting us with endless options and models of behavior. https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2019/08/16/what-the-data-says-about-gun-deaths-in-the-u-s/ https://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2019/08/16/what-the-data-says-about-gun-deaths-in-the-u-s/ Humanities 2020, 9, 4 4 of 13 Already the ancients had to work through many if not all of the fundamental issues besetting people, whether we think of jealousy, envy, hatred, fear, pride, lust, anger, sloth, greed, and gluttony (basically the Seven Deadly Sins as formulated already by the medieval Christian Church; cf. Newhauser 2007; Langum 2016). Homer’s Iliad and his Odyssey remain as much classics and hence of timeless value as Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival, Dante’s Divina Commedia, or Johann Wolfgang Goethe’s Faust, and we could easily list works by complementary female authors since antiquity who equally contributed to the exploration of human nature and experiences, such as Sappho, Hrotsvit of Gandersheim, Marie de France, Mechthild of Magdeburg, Christine de Pizan, or Jane Austen. The literary text, in short, serves as a kind of prism, or a magnifying glass which makes it possible for the reader to perceive him/herself through a looking-glass. In most cases, fiction overdramatizes conditions, ideas, situations, figures, vices, and virtues, but this makes it possible for the modern reader/listener to study more carefully what constitutes the human conditions, attitudes, concepts, notions, or values. While students of microbiology or chemistry resort to the microscope, and while students of astronomy rely on the telescope, students of humanity draw from literary texts or visual documents to carry out an analogous investigation, looking into human life using a literary or artistic lens. Intriguingly, considering the overarching situation throughout history, there are only few fundamental aspects that determine all of human life, and they are the basic building blocks, like proteins, for example. In essence, poets and writers throughout time have addressed nothing but these central questions: death, the meaning of life, God, love, and the self versus the other (identity). Studying older works of art thus does not remove us in an old-fashioned way from the current world, but simply represents an effort to come to terms with the ‘Heisenberg principle,’ building a certain degree of objectivity into our investigations. Admittedly, we cannot expect to find immediate answers to the most current issues, such as climate change, pollution, poverty, global migration, or racism, in ancient or medieval literature. Scientists and sociologists are certainly better qualified to approach those issues. However, when it comes to ethical issues, to vices and virtues, to the quest for identity, or, even more globally, to the meaning of our existence in the here and now, the situation looks very different. Our material environment is the subject of investigation by STEM, but our spiritual environment, our own self in all of its complexity, is the subject of investigation by the Humanities. Both are hence the complementary other side of the same coin. The central icon that I want to draw from for this paper is nothing less than the Amazon rainforest, a huge habitat of a vast majority of all of global plant and animal life. As we can read online, “The Amazon represents over half of the planet’s remaining rainforests, and comprises the largest and most biodiverse tract of tropical rainforest in the world, with an estimated 390 billion individual trees divided into 16,000 species” and dating back at least 55 million years. In fact, “most of the region remained free of savanna-type biomes at least until the current ice age when the climate was drier and savanna more widespread.” In terms of biodiversity, the Amazon represents an incredible storehouse of natural resources: “As the largest tract of tropical rainforest in the Americas, the Amazonian rainforests have unparalleled biodiversity. One in ten known species in the world lives in the Amazon rainforest. This constitutes the largest collection of living plants and animal species in the world” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amazon_rainforest; cf. also Cleary 2000; Butler 2019). If we count each individual plant, reptile, spider, animal, fish, or rock in the Amazon, we are confronted with a huge number of living beings and non-living objects. Life is in full development in this vast rainforest basin, and evolution is taking place right in front of our eyes there. The point here, however, is not to study the Amazon as such, but to understand its metaphoric significance also for the Humanities. Pre-modern literature, the arts, or philosophy constitute, on the vertical vector, the human Amazon, especially when we combine the documents from the Eastern and Western world, from the Northern and the Southern Hemisphere and consider them all as being a part of the largest https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amazon_rainforest Humanities 2020, 9, 4 5 of 13 library in the world (cf. Venkat Mani 2017; Kells 2017). Human behavior and ideals are determined by many different factors, and those change, of course, in the course of time. The European Middle Ages, for instance, were much more influenced by the Catholic Church than the eighteenth or the twenty-first century. However, fundamental concerns have remained the same, even if we respond to them today somewhat differently. Murder and treason, for instance, have always been viewed most negatively. Leadership and friendship have consistently mattered deeply, and also love and sexuality. The mode of living out those concepts might be different today, and responses to murder might certainly be changed, at least within the European context (but not in the USA or in China). Eroticism and love used to be values realized mostly outside of marriage, which was reserved primarily for progeny, and yet, the fundamental issue, the emotional bonding between two people, has continued to be of central importance until today. Marriage is a social institution, often subject to political, legal, religious, and economic changes. But passion between two partners, such as Paris and Helena, Abelard and Heloise, Romeo and Juliet, often leading to their tragic ending because of external conflicts, is entirely understandable to us today as well, as the high popularity of Shakespeare’s many plays, for instance, indicates. Literature and countless other products of human activities, ideas, and concepts can thus be equated with the Amazon rainforest, a realm of infinite resources to study what matters in our lives. There is the soil and the panoply, and much in-between, all filled with life. As natural scientists have long recognized, the Amazon rainforest harbors enormous potentials for future research because of the sheer endless biodiversity. We could call that basin in South America the largest laboratory of the world (see, e.g., Rodrigues-Alcântara 2013). There is no doubt that future scientific research will have to rely on the infinite models provided by nature, whether we think of pharmacy, natural materials, fabrics, energy, etc. By the same token, every literary text can be viewed as a forest of fiction, as Umberto Eco once called it most appropriately (Eco 1994). Throughout time, there has been hatred, jealousy, love, hope, faith, rational calculation, machination, justice, cooperation, support, partnership, friendship, marriage, vision, aspiration, and faith. Each individual has to figure out for him/herself where s/he stands in regards to vices and virtues, ideals, values, selfishness, utopia, or dystopia. No one can take on that decision for the other, but the individual has a very hard time facing the various tasks, so it seems, to select or to make a choice. After all, people are constantly challenged and must make decisions, some of which are certainly correct, while others are entirely wrong. The metaphor of the Amazon illustrates all this impressively, since there is constant death and new life, growth and decline, toxicity and healing power, development of new life, material, plant matter, and the emergence of new creatures or biological entities out of the same ground and aiming for the same goal, to live most productively. Poets and artists operate in the same fashion, contributing to the ever-growing forest of human culture. One drastic example of the endless potentiality of the history of literature would be the question of what constitutes a true leader. Irrespective of the political system we live in, ultimately someone must lead society forward, under whatever circumstances (democratic elections, a coup d’etat, an aristocratic dynasty, a party leadership, dictatorship, or tribal rules). While the system by which a leader is elected has varied throughout time, the essential values associated with true leadership have always remained the same, as we can clearly observe in medieval heroic epics that continue to appeal to modern audiences (Classen 2019). The issue here is not to create an artificial parallel between a major natural habitat and the world of literature. Instead, the purpose itself rests on a higher epistemological level. If we acknowledge that the issues that we are faced with on a daily basis are difficult and challenging, to say the least, then it makes perfect sense to look for avenues to handle them more reasonably and rationally on the basis of specific models as developed in the past. We thus return to the laboratory and investigate what samples, models, concepts, or methods might be useful in human life compared to those practiced or implemented in nature. The vast store of epic poems, lyric poetry, courtly romances, didactic narratives, plays, verse narratives, treatises, and many other genres represents the infinite experimentation with Humanities 2020, 9, 4 6 of 13 what matters in people’s existence, what proved to be dangerous or threatening, and what was more insightful and perspicuous than what we practice today. Literature, hence, presents itself as a medium of epistemological investigations, and the further we go back in history, the more we are privileged to be presented with many different examples of human behavior, some good, some bad, some curious and odd, some surprisingly relevant and parallel. While modern individual cases tend to differ vastly from those presented in pre-modern narratives at first sight (the manager of a company versus the medieval knight), the ethical, moral, religious, and philosophical issues often prove to be surprisingly similar and relatable. Of course, the contemporary discourse tends to demonize the Middle Ages and to use it only as a negative foil, highlighting only some of the dramatic events and developments in the immediate post-Roman period and the profound crisis in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, but the true meaning of that era is thus mostly shut out and ignored (Tommaso di Carpegna Falconieri 2019). Most of the same fundamental quests determining human life were already carried out then, and before we embark on our own new paths, it behooves us naturally to examine the roadmaps created hundreds of years earlier, especially when we enter the metaphorical jungle of the Amazon rainforest, that is, life itself. Let us briefly pass in review many different kinds of medieval texts, for instance, where central issues are addressed that continue to concern us today. Both in Beowulf and in the Nibelungenlied, the central question concerns the issue whether and how the individual can survive in a truly threatening world without compromising his/her value system. What does honesty, honor, leadership, friendship, commitment, or community really mean? How do the specific cases or circumstances in those heroic epics help us to reflect on concrete situations today? Anger, jealousy, pride, fear, aggression, hatred, friendship, love, and spirituality are all fully present in the various Eddic texts, such as Egil’s Saga or Laxdæla Saga, which thus can serve as mirrors of human psychology. To be even more extreme, would it not be justifiable to recommend that the future president of the United Sates read Homer’s Iliad or the anonymous Old French Chanson de Roland in preparation for his/her responsibilities once serving in this high office? Could we not recommend young couples who are thinking about getting married today read some of the medieval fabliaux, mæren, or novelle to comprehend the challenges involved in gender relationships, in sexuality, and in the battle of the wits? There are profound reasons to suggest to older people who are expecting to pass away soon, or to young people as well in preparation for the future to read Johann von Tepl’s Ackermann (ca. 1400) as an astounding example of how the individual can learn how to come to terms with death? Individuals fighting for women’s rights today ought to consult Christine de Pizan’s Cité des femmes (ca. 1405), while those primarily concerned with race issues should take into consideration what Wolfram von Eschenbach (d. ca. 1220) or the anonymous author of Aucassin and Nicolette (ca. 1230) had to say about this issue. Toleration and tolerance, for instance, are not issues which scientists or medical researchers can tackle easily without the help of specific examples. Instead, researchers of medieval philosophy and religion are called upon to consider the meaning of this highly complex issue because they have been challenged with it already six hundred years before our time and developed their own ideas, such as in the famous ‘Ring Parable’ contained in the third story of the first day in Boccaccio’s Decameron (Classen 2018d). To draw from our central metaphor, the Amazon rainforest harbors countless species, samples, creatures, and hence, to return to our own field of investigation, countless ideas, models, examples, and concepts relating to fundamental human issues both in the past and in the present. We do not know what future researchers will discover, what methods of analysis they will pursue, how they will draw from the raw material, such as the Amazon forest itself, or from the vast realm of medieval and early modern literature, the arts, religion, or philosophy, in order to find productive avenues to solve issues and to establish peace. Of course, medieval medicine and philosophy invite critical and open-minded readings as well insofar as many seemingly absurd, outlandish, or bizarre models of thinking might make it possible for us to explore heretofore untouched territories of epistemology or scientific/medical investigation. While the ancient humoral teaching developed Humanities 2020, 9, 4 7 of 13 by Hippocrates and Galen profoundly dominated medieval medical teachings, in light of modern integrative medicine, we find ourselves at time invited to reconsider what the meaning of the four humors might really have entailed and to what extent we might be able to draw from it after all (Black 2020). I have investigated many of these issues already in a variety of critical studies, so I do not need to go into further details here as to pedagogical and interpretive methods and concepts (e.g., Classen 2014, 2018c). We also do not need to question further whether the past really matters for us today, but we must learn better how to explain its true relevance for the present and future generation. Differently put, how do we convince the present generation that history is of great relevance in order to find access to the future (Currie 2019)? Obviously, previous experiences serve as most valuable tools to reflect on any kind of conflicts, tensions, issues, challenges, propositions, or situations, and can serve as pilot lights. Of course, many people might argue that they could steer their metaphorical ship into the harbor of their future without any help from yesterday, but in practical terms it has always been crucial to be guided by a pilot or a light house. Or, what air plane would be able to land at an airport without the help of the airport traffic controller? Even the best radar system, mechanized control operations, or computerized guidance cannot replace human observation, so our existence is not at all simply grounded in the present. Of course, we certainly require radar and computers in our modern world, but everything else associated with them is built on a vast storehouse of personal and collective experiences. By the same token, our lives depend on the past and proceeds productively by means of keeping an eye backwards and an eye forward. Or, to use another metaphor, when climbing a ladder, we eventually reach a certain rung, or the very top of it, but the entire ladder cannot exist without the bottom structure, especially when we want to climb down again for a variety of specific needs or reasons, either spiritual, medical, cultural, or scientific. The scaffold of life consists of the vertical and the horizontal; otherwise the structure will collapse. Medieval literature certainly constitutes one of the rungs of this huge ladder. Countless other artistic expressions from East and West also need to be incorporated because the structure of human life is enormously rich. Literary texts, musical compositions, philosophical reflections, visual works, and other expressions of human creativity contribute infinitely to the constant growth of that scaffold or that enormous ladder. It is absolutely clear that pre-modern literature, including classical texts, provides a host of narrative examples reflecting human life in all of its variations, challenges, and opportunities. Those experiences are simply valuable for us and remain crucial for all our teaching of future generations. Thus, Beowulf’s struggle against the dragon as the arch evil, Roland’s ultimate fight against the Muslim forces to defend Christianity, Parzival’s efforts (Wolfram von Eschenbach) to gain access to the Grail as his ultimate goal in this life, Mechthild’s superhuman strife to reach out to or to meet the Godhead, Marie de France’s endeavors to present avenues for her literary figures to gain erotic happiness, and Dante’s ideals to find his way toward Paradiso deserve to be embraced as fundamental literary strategies to make sense out of our life. The literary Amazon rainforest is waiting for us, and it consists both of its panoply and its enormously deep soil where most of life is hidden. All this can ultimately be captured and transformed into a meaningful and practical teaching strategy by way of returning to one of the essential aspects of all of human existence, ethics, as taught and practiced a long time before us already. Without ethical ideals or standards, there cannot be true and full life. The ancient Greek philosophers Plato and Aristotle formulated very specific concepts about this aspect of existence. As Richard Kraut summarizes the Aristotelian ethics (Kraut 2001, rev. 2018), formulated in his Nicomachean Ethics, which were a later and improved version of the Eudemian Ethics: What we need, in order to live well, is a proper appreciation of the way in which such goods as friendship, pleasure, virtue, honor and wealth fit together as a whole. In order to apply that general understanding to particular cases, we must acquire, through proper upbringing and habits, the ability to see, on each occasion, which course of action is best supported Humanities 2020, 9, 4 8 of 13 by reasons. Therefore practical wisdom, as he conceives it, cannot be acquired solely by learning general rules. We must also acquire, through practice, those deliberative, emotional, and social skills that enable us to put our general understanding of well-being into practice in ways that are suitable to each occasion. The four cardinal aspects of Aristotle’s teachings can be summarized as follows: Being of “great soul” (magnanimity), the virtue where someone would be truly deserving of the highest praise and have a correct attitude towards the honor this may involve. This is the first case mentioned, and it is mentioned within the initial discussion of practical examples of virtues and vices at 1123b Book IV. The type of justice or fairness of a good ruler in a good community is then given a similar description, during the special discussion of the virtue (or virtues) of justice at 1129b in Book V. Phronesis or practical judgment as shown by good leaders is the next to be mentioned in this way at 1144b in Book VI. The virtue of being a truly good friend is the final example at 1157a in Book VIII (https: //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicomachean_Ethics). According to Burger, “The Ethics does not end at its apparent peak, identifying perfect happiness with the life devoted to theōria; instead it goes on to introduce the need for a study of legislation, on the grounds that it is not sufficient only to know about virtue, but one should try to put that knowledge to use” (Burger 2008, p. 212). Ultimately, the introspective and critical reader realizes that “the end we are seeking is what we have been doing” while engaging with the Ethics (Burger 2008, p. 215; cf. also Pakaluk 2005; Warne 2007). While it might certainly be too complex to come to terms with Aristotle’s teachings in the short space of this paper, a few quotes from his own work might highlight some of the salient features of his thoughts, at least in Book I. Even though the concept of ‘happiness’ proves to be rather debatable, Aristotle, and so many other philosophers following him (including Boethius with his famous De consolatione philosophiae, ca. 525), emphasized that “If this be so the result is that the good of man is exercise of his faculties in accordance with excellence or virtue, or, if there be more than one, in accordance with the best and most complete virtue.” Then, “the view that happiness is excellence or a kind of excellence harmonizes with our account; for ‘exercise of faculties in accordance with excellence’ belongs to excellence.” He warns us, however, “a man is not good at all unless he takes pleasure in noble deeds. No one would call a man just who did not take pleasure in doing justice, nor generous who took no pleasure in acts of generosity, and so on.” However, as Aristotle comments, “we hold happiness to be something that endures and is little liable to change, while the fortunes of one and the same man often undergo many revolutions: for, it is argued, it is plain that, if we follow the changes of fortune, we shall call the same man happy and miserable many times over, making the happy man ‘a sort of chameleon and one who rests on no sound foundation’.” This then leads to the conclusion: “The happy man, then, as we define him, will have this required property of permanence, and all through life will preserve his character; for he will be occupied continually, or with the least possible interruption, in excellent deeds and excellent speculations; and, whatever his fortune be, he will take it in the noblest fashion, and bear himself always and in all things suitably, since he is truly good and ‘foursquare without a flaw’.” Ultimately, as Aristotle concludes, “For indeed happiness does not consist in pastimes of this sort, but in the exercise of virtue, as we have already said”—certainly a concept which resonated deeply in the Middle Ages and far beyond. In fact, there is no reason to assume that this insight into the profound need for ethical behavior and thinking might have changed, shifted, or even disappeared https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicomachean_Ethics https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicomachean_Ethics Humanities 2020, 9, 4 9 of 13 (here quoted from the online edition of Aristotle’s text at: https://oll.libertyfund.org/titles/aristotle-the- nicomachean-ethics). However, this is not a paper about Aristotle and his teachings on ethics, which scholars have discussed already from countless angles. Nevertheless, we can easily agree, far beyond the usual divide between STEM and STEAM, that his insights prove to be fundamental, timeless, and critically relevant for all of us, past and present. In fact, we could go so far as to claim that the essence of life consists of this ethical principal, to pursue goodness, or happiness, in terms of virtues, for the overarching well-being of all of society. Corruption, for instance, represents utter greed, endangering the existence of the community as such. Lack of leadership, excessive pride, selfishness, sloth, lack of commitment, or failure of living up to one’s obligations, all these comprise the essential components of goodness, or virtue. There is nothing conservative, traditional, or out-of-date about this observation. Instead, here we recognize the crucial touchstone of all social life, irrespective of when it was created. Past, present, and future equally partake in this realization. The relevance of the plays by Shakespeare, the various works by Goethe, the novels by Jane Austen, or the ballads by Brecht is not in question. The ‘Classics’ assume their unquestioned role as if they were written in stone. However, when the issue turns toward the relevance of the Humanities versus the Natural Sciences, none of the well-established criteria matter because they are being subsumed under the category of financially sponsored projects. There is always the generic assumption that scientific research will lead to monetary profit, so both the government and the industry at large are always willing to invest in this field. The Humanities, by contrast, simply cost money and do not yield a tangible gain. However, this simply means that the Amazon rainforest of the various Humanities fields is profoundly misunderstood. Studying languages, literature, philosophy, history, visual arts, religion, or anthropology does not constitute a luxury, and it is not simply a fun activity. As the example of Aristotle’s Ethics have taught us, our entire life today is determined by the principles and insights developed by previous thinkers, poets, or artists. We might not know Aristotle’s texts, or the writings by Boethius, and we might ignore Kant or Burke altogether out of simple ignorance, and yet, all our own principles are determined by their insights and conclusions as they have percolated down to us through a myriad of channels (literary, essayistic, philosophical, visual, etc.). After all, our own society today is facing an onslaught of ethical, moral, and philosophical problems for which there are no easy solutions because we have neglected or ignored the teachings from the past for too long. This is not to say at all that only a conservative, backward-looking approach would solve our issues. By the same token, cutting ourselves off from our historical ideals and values, our collective memory, or our traditions simply in favor of modern technology and machinery, would be tantamount to self-abandonment and self-deprivation. We will move forward, of course, but we can only hope to achieve that goal by way of drawing from our historical sources in philosophy, religion, literature, and the arts, at least viewed through modern critical lenses. This is not meant in absolutist terms, yet without a strong sensitivity toward and responsibility for the cultural past we cannot even hope to move forward in a constructive manner, aiming to realize our own social, ethical, and moral values. All this might be tantamount to carrying the proverbial owls to Athens, or the coals to Newcastle, but we desperately need new and old pilot lights, and we must resort to the treasure trove of antiquity and the Middle Ages, for instance, in order to recognize the ethical, moral, religious, and even aesthetic map in our mind in order to discover the avenues toward our future. In essence, then, I am pleading for a return to philosophical studies, not only in modern, but also in historical and literary terms, or at least to philosophically-grounded approaches, perceiving the previous voices as landmarks of an intellectual map where ideals and values are explored. The study of pre-modern literature is not simply l’art pour l’art, or a historical investigation for its own sake, but proves to be most meaningful, relevant, and insightful, if pursued sensitively, critically, and constructively. We could easily draw from the ‘classical’ texts, such as Dante’s Divina Commedia or Chaucer ’s Canterbury https://oll.libertyfund.org/titles/aristotle-the-nicomachean-ethics https://oll.libertyfund.org/titles/aristotle-the-nicomachean-ethics Humanities 2020, 9, 4 10 of 13 Tales, or we could rely on mystical literature composed by Hildegard of Bingen or Margery Kempe. We could resort to love poetry by Guillaume le Neuf or Walther von der Vogelweide, and each time we would encounter highly meaningful efforts to come to terms with critical issues in human life which science or medicine could never handle effectively. The issues raised here pertain to the universal quest for love, for God, for meaning, for identity, and, ultimately, for happiness. The point, however, is not to assume that Dante or Walther had created literary recipes for modern-day life problems. Instead, they addressed fundamental issues and sensitized their audiences, and so us as well, how to approach the issues and how to reflect on them from various perspectives. We are confronted here by alternative concepts about the very same concerns and are provided by innovative insights, methods, at times also values and ideals. To draw on the central metaphor again, the Amazon rainforest contains an infinite amount of plants, for instance, that contain medical properties for many illnesses and sicknesses for which we have not yet any practical solutions. By the same token, medieval and early modern literature proves to be infinitely rich in its treatment of universal human conflicts, vices, or problems, whether we are thinking about ways to establish good leadership (Classen 2019), whether we struggle with the quest for meaning in our life (Frankl 1946), or whether we want to understand God and death. Scientifically, there are no answers to be expected in any one of those three areas, and in many others. But poets, philosophers, and theologians in the past have already made many suggestions and have developed concepts about true happiness and a good life that deserve to be considered today. In other words, when drawing from the ‘literary’ Amazon rainforest, we can expect many surprises, epiphanies, and discoveries. Scientists would certainly have to agree with this notion of the untapped natural laboratory as a resource for tomorrow. Let us end here with the brief analysis of just one example that might help us engage more deeply with the essential issues at stake. It is a simple verse narrative by the otherwise relatively unknown Middle High German poet Heinrich Kaufringer, active around 1400 in Landsberg near Augsburg. His so-called mæren have recently attracted considerable attention because of the poet’s emphasis on fundamental ethical concerns, gender issues, rationality, communication, and the topic of marriage (Classen 2018b). In “The Hermit and the Angel” (Kaufringer 2014, no. 1), a holy man decides to leave his isolated cell and to wander through the world to observe more of God’s workings. He is soon accompanied by a stranger who commits horrible deeds that are entirely baffling to the hermit. First he kills the infant of a friendly inn-keeper who had hosted them free of charge. Then he steals a valuable chalice of a second kind inn-keeper, and subsequently hands it over to an evil inn-keeper who charges them heftily although they did not get a real place to stay. Finally, the stranger kills a young man who comes running past them by pushing him into the river below them where he drowns. This represents the last straw for the poor hermit, and he is about to explode when the stranger reveals himself as an angel who acted on behalf of God. Each of those four people were actually guilty of sinful behavior and deserved their death or loss of child and chalice respectively, while the evil man was lost at any rate and so got a little joy here on earth before his eternal condemnation. The angel then urges the hermit to return to his cell and not to wonder any further about God’s decisions because divine justice cannot be comprehended by human beings. There are similar cases in medieval Jewish and Spanish literature (Thompson 1932, J225.0.1), and each time we are to understand that the human mind is rather limited in its efforts to come to terms with God’s working here in this world. This brings to our attention the universal problem of justice which can often not be achieved because the circumstances are beyond the individual’s control. In the Middle Ages, the legal practice of the ordeal was used at least until the early thirteenth century—banned since the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215—but it was certainly a clear expression of human helplessness in such cases where contradictory statements and inconclusive evidence made the final judgment impossible (Neumann 2010). While the classical-antique approach to such conditions was then often determined by the principle of in dubio pro reo, in the Middle Ages the help of God was sought after all. People’s secret thoughts are deeply decisive in evaluating right and wrong. However, who is truly Humanities 2020, 9, 4 11 of 13 authorized to reach a judgment? Modern conditions do not necessarily make it easier for us to achieve justice despite the availability of DNA testing. Justice, truth, fairness, validity, or veracity are esoteric, perhaps even elusive terms, and throughout antiquity and the Middle Ages writers have constantly tried to come to terms with those fundamental issues. Algorithms do not provide any answers in that regard. Engineering methods pertain only to material objects, not to human concerns. Computers can recognize dangerous situations in the most dense car traffic, but ethical concerns basically do not matter within that electronic medium, at least not for now. However, when we draw from literary examples, such as Kaufringer ’s first verse narrative, we are directly alerted to our fundamental condition as people who need and yet cannot really achieve happiness. We could also rely on the lais by Marie de France in order to explore the meaning of eroticism and love in the Middle Ages. Boccaccio’s novelle or Chaucer ’s tales are not only masterpieces of late medieval literature, but also mirrors of fourteenth-century life with all of its complexities and contradictions. Kaufringer contributed to the same discourse and deepened it even further. For him, the question loomed large of how the individual could operate in the changing world of the late Middle Ages. Considering the extent to which Boethius or Aristotle continued to influence their posterity at least until the eighteenth century, if not today, we can fathom the extent to which pre-modern intellectualism mattered deeply well into modernity. The search for truth, for the good, and for happiness continues, and it has not lost any of its relevance today. Of course, we must find our own solutions and methods, but we can draw from a huge storehouse of previous experiences, insight, visions, and learning in order to organize our own thinking and reflections, as Jürgen Habermas has famously outlined in his most recent two-volume study, Auch eine Geschichte der Philosophie (Habermas 2019; Also a History of Philosophy). While my concern here has focused on the relevance of literature vis-à-vis the STEM fields, and especially the relevance of medieval literature, Habermas questions poignantly how we can explain the importance of philosophy in our day and age, both in its historical and in its contemporary dimension. Although he is primary concerned with post-metaphysical thinking first developed by Spinoza, Hobbes, then Kant and Fichte, he leaves no doubt that philosophical approaches, grounded in the past, constitute a fundamental instrument in our efforts also today to create meaningful life: “Das philosophische Denken reagiert nicht nur auf die Herausforderungen des akkumulierten Weltwissens, sondern, wie Hegel als erster erkennt, auch auf Krisenphänomene eines Zerfalls der Solidarität, die insbesondere im Zuge des modernen Formwandels der gesellschaftlichen Integration zu Bewusstsein kommt” (Habermas 2019, vol. 1, p. 39; Philosophical thinking does not only react upon the challenges of the accumulated knowledge about the world, but also, as Hegel recognized as the first one, upon the phenomena of crisis brought about by the collapse of solidarity, which grows especially in the course of the modern change of forms in the social integration). It would go too far here to engage at length with Habermas’s concepts, but it proves to be immediately obvious that the fundamental questions concerning the human identity, the path toward and beyond death, and the meaning of life have deep roots without which the present conditions cannot be understood. As Habermas underscores unmistakably, even modern science relies heavily on the major transformations in late medieval philosophy, promoted especially by luminaries such as the English Franciscan William of Ockham (ca. 1287–1347). We live in a world of post-metaphysics, which Ockham introduced already long before our time (Habermas 2019, vol. 1, pp. 807-51). This Franciscan thus illustrated through his philosophy that we must combine history, literature, theology, and the sciences in order to make sense out of our world. STEM is not the answer; STEAM, by contrast, makes much more sense, especially if we integrate the humanities more strongly, so it would be STEAHM. Granted, my samples have all been drawn from the European context, mostly situated in the pre-modern era. If the model developed here is to make sense, however, we have to incorporate, of course, literature, the arts, and philosophy from all over the world created throughout time and we also must also be highly sensitive to the new voices today that help us gain access to the current issues in human life. The metaphorical Amazon rainforest consists of the root matter, the middle growth, Humanities 2020, 9, 4 12 of 13 and the panoply. Nothing can exist without all other parts, and the past (roots) is just as important as the future (leaves), all connected through capillary movements, breathing, so to speak, from deep down to high up, or, from the past to the future. It is the global network that we are facing here, and I am rather confident that the future will witness much closer collaboration between the Science fields and the Humanities, along with the Fine Arts, Social Sciences, and Medicine. However, deliberately removing any one of those parts will make the entire network collapse. Funding: This research received no external funding. Conflicts of Interest: The author declares no conflict of interest. References and Notes Barash, Jeffrey Andrew. 2016. Collective Memory and the Historical Past. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Barros, Carlos, and Lawrence J. McCrank, eds. 2004. History under Debate: International Reflection on the Discipline. New York, London and Oxford: The Haworth Press. Bennett, Judith M. 2006. History Matters: Patriarchy and the Challenge of Feminism. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Black, Winston, ed. 2020. Medicine and Healing in the Premodern West: A History in Documents. Peterborough: Broadview Press. Brookins, Julia. 2016. The Decline in History Majors: What is to be done? Perspectives on History. May 10. Available online: https://www.historians.org/publications-and-directories/perspectives-on-history/may- 2016/the-decline-in-history-majors (accessed on 22 December 2019). Burckhardt, Jacob. 1982. Über das Studium der Geschichte. Edited by Peter Ganz. Munich: C. H. Beck. Burger, Ronna. 2008. Aristotle’s Dialogue with Socrates: On the Nicomachean Ethics. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Butler, Rheatt A. 2019. The Amazon Rainforest: The World’s Largest Rainforest. Available online: https: //rainforests.mongabay.com/amazon/#content (accessed on 22 December 2019). Carruther, Mary. 1990. The Book of Memory: A Study of Memory in Medieval Culture. Cambridge Studies in Medieval Literature, 10. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Classen, Albrecht. 2014. The Challenges of the Humanities, Past, Present, and Future: Why the Middle Ages Mean So Much for Us Today and Tomorrow. Humanities 3: 1–18. [CrossRef] Classen, Albrecht. 2018a. STEM and Teaching German Language and Literature with an Interdisciplinary Approach: Eighteenth-Century Reports by German Jesuit Missionaries in the German Classroom. Die Unterrichtspraxis 51: 53–62. [CrossRef] Classen, Albrecht. 2018b. The Agency of Wives in High Medieval German Courtly Romances and Late Medieval Verse Narratives: From Hartmann von Aue to Heinrich Kaufringe. Quidditas 39: 25–53. Available online: https://humanities.byu.edu/rmmra/pdfs/39.pdf (accessed on 22 December 2019). Classen, Albrecht. 2018c. The Human Quest for Happiness and Meaning: Old and New Perspectives: Religious, Philosophical, and Literary Reflections from the Past as a Platform for Our Future. St. Augustine, Boethius, and Gautier de Coincy. Athens Journal of Humanities & Arts 5: 179–206. Available online: http://www.athensjournals.gr/humanities/2018-5-2-3-Classen.pdf (accessed on 22 December 2019). Classen, Albrecht. 2018d. Toleration and Tolerance in Medieval and Early Modern European Literature. Routledge Studies in Medieval Literature and Culture, 8. New York and London: Routledge. Classen, Albrecht. 2019. The Principles of Honor, Virtue, Leadership, and Ethics: Medieval Epics Speak Out against the Political Malaise in the Twenty-First Century. The Nibelungenlied and El Poema de Mío Cid. Amsterdamer Beiträge zur älteren Germanistik 79: 388–409. [CrossRef] Cleary, David. 2000. Towards an Environmental History of the Amazon: From Pre-history to the Nineteenth Century. Latin American Research Review 36: 64–96. Currie, Adrian. 2019. Scientific Knowledge and the Deep Past: History Matters. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Davies, Joshua. 2018. Visions and Ruins: Cultural Memory and the Untimely Middle Ages. Manchester: Manchester University Press. https://www.historians.org/publications-and-directories/perspectives-on-history/may-2016/the-decline-in-history-majors https://www.historians.org/publications-and-directories/perspectives-on-history/may-2016/the-decline-in-history-majors https://rainforests.mongabay.com/amazon/#content https://rainforests.mongabay.com/amazon/#content http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/h3010001 http://dx.doi.org/10.1111/tger.12054 https://humanities.byu.edu/rmmra/pdfs/39.pdf http://www.athensjournals.gr/humanities/2018-5-2-3-Classen.pdf http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/18756719-12340159 Humanities 2020, 9, 4 13 of 13 Eco, Umberto. 1994. Sei passeggiate nei boschi narrativi: Six Walks in the Fictional Woods. Harvard University, Norton Lectures, 1992–1993. Milan: Bompiani. Frankl, Viktor E. 1946. Man’ Search for Meaning. Translated by Ilse Lasch. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Habermas, Jürgen. 2019. Auch eine Geschichte der Philosophie. Berlin: Suhrkamp. Kaufringer, Heinrich. 2014. Love, Life, and Lust in Heinrich Kaufringer’s Verse Narratives. Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies, 467. MRTS Texts for Teaching, 9. Translated by Albrecht Classen. Tempe: Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies. Kells, Stuart. 2017. The Library: A Catalogue of Wonders. Berkeley: Counterpoint. Kern, Iso. 2020. Der gute Weg des Handelns: Versuch einer Ethik für die heutige Zeit. Basel and Berlin: Schwabe Verlag. Kraut, Richard. 2001. Aristotle’s Ethics. Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. rev. 2018. Available online: https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/aristotle-ethics/ (accessed on 22 December 2019). Langum, Victoria. 2016. Medicine and the Seven Deadly Sins in Late Medieval Literature and Culture. The New Middle Ages. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Lerner, Gerda. 1997. Why History Matters: Life and Thought. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. Neumann, Sarah. 2010. Der gerichtliche Zweikampf: Gottesurteil, Wettstreit, Ehrensache. Ostfildern: Thorbecke. Newhauser, Richard. 2007. The Seven Deadly Sins: From Communities to Individuals. Studies in Medieval and Reformation Traditions, 123. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Pakaluk, Michael. 2005. Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics: An Introduction. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Rodrigues-Alcântara, Clênia. 2013. Amazon: Biodiversity Conservation, Economic Development & Human Impact. New York: Nova Science Publishers. Thompson, Stith. 1932. Motif Index of Folk Literature. vol. A–L. Available online: https://books.google.com/books?id=qIJf9pCiVA8C&pg=PA29&lpg=PA29&dq=hermit+und+engel& source=bl&ots=RyHYLAPM61&sig=ACfU3U2F5tKbuHld18ViJv-gxYXToyNmog&hl=en&sa=X&ved= 2ahUKEwjQ2u7ivoHmAhWsUt8KHXiJDPcQ6AEwBXoECAcQAQ#v=onepage&q=hermit%20und% 20engel&f=false (accessed on 22 December 2019). Tommaso di Carpegna Falconieri. 2019. The Militant Middle Ages: Contemporary Politics between New Barbarians and Modern Crusaders. National Cultivation of Culture, 20. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Venkat Mani, B. 2017. Recoding World Literature: Libraries, Print Culture, and Germany’s Pact with Books. New York: Fordham University Press. Warne, Christopher. 2007. Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics: Reader’s Guide. London: Continuum. Zimmer, Robert. 2020. Weltklugheit Die Tradition der europäischen Moralistik. Schwabe reflexe, 64. Basel and Berlin: Schwabe Verlag. © 2019 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. 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References 
work_blwurw4zrfhsxdt67wfqgjhqje	----	King’s Research Portal DOI: 10.1017/s1358246117000029 Document Version Peer reviewed version Link to publication record in King's Research Portal Citation for published version (APA): Alvarez, M. (2017). ‘Are Character Traits Dispositions?’. Royal Institute of Philosophy Supplements, 80, 69-86. https://doi.org/10.1017/s1358246117000029 Citing this paper Please note that where the full-text provided on King's Research Portal is the Author Accepted Manuscript or Post-Print version this may differ from the final Published version. If citing, it is advised that you check and use the publisher's definitive version for pagination, volume/issue, and date of publication details. And where the final published version is provided on the Research Portal, if citing you are again advised to check the publisher's website for any subsequent corrections. 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Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1017/s1358246117000029 https://kclpure.kcl.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/are-character-traits-dispositions(e3e583f5-bd7e-4cd3-995d-513e26adf5b7).html https://kclpure.kcl.ac.uk/portal/en/persons/maria-alvarez(1e483d2e-ec9d-4087-8c44-439ea915945c).html https://kclpure.kcl.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/are-character-traits-dispositions(e3e583f5-bd7e-4cd3-995d-513e26adf5b7).html https://kclpure.kcl.ac.uk/portal/en/journals/royal-institute-of-philosophy-supplements(e51384b5-48e5-45ac-b622-271a1f145542).html https://doi.org/10.1017/s1358246117000029 1 This is a pre-print of a paper to appear in The Philosophy of Action. Royal Institute of Philosophy Supplements, A. O’Hear (ed.). CUP (forthcoming 2017). ‘Are Character Traits Dispositions?’ Maria Alvarez Abstract The last three decades have seen much important work on powers and dispositions: what they are, and how how they are related to the phenomena that constitute their manifestation. Contributors to these debates have tended to focus on ‘paradigmatic’ dispositions, i.e. physical dispositions such as conductivity, elasticity, radioactivity, etc.. But it is often assumed, implicitly or explicitly, that the conclusions of these debates concerning physical dispositions can be extended to psychological dispositions, such as beliefs, desires or character traits. In this paper I identify some central features of paradigmatic dispositions that concern their manifestation, stimulus conditions, and causal bases. I then focus on a specific kind of psychological disposition, namely character traits, and argue that they are importantly different from paradigmatic dispositions in relation of these features. I shall conclude that this should lead us to re-examine our assumption that character traits are dispositions and, by implication, whether we can generalize claims about how dispositions in general relate to and explain their manifestations to character traits and their manifestations. 1. Dispositions: physical and psychological Disposition terms, such as ‘cowardice’, ‘fragility’ and ‘reactivity,’ often appear in explanations. Sometimes we explain why a man ran away by saying that he was cowardly, or we explain why something broke by saying it was fragile. Scientific explanations of certain phenomena feature dispositional properties like instability, reactivity, and conductivity.1 As this quotation states, we often explain why something happened by reference to ‘dispositional properties’: the properties by virtue of which their possessors are said to have certain dispositions. For instance, we explain why the poison dissolved by reference to the fact that it is water-soluble, or why the glass shattered by reference to its fragility. And, as the quotation suggests, this is not just true of what I shall call ‘paradigmatic dispositions’, that is, physical dispositions such as fragility, solubility or conductivity. It is also true of ‘psychological’ dispositions; human actions, especially intentional actions, are often explained by citing psychological factors that are generally thought of as dispositions. Consider the following examples of psychological explanations: (a) Alison went to the Police because she thought that her car had been stolen and wanted to get a certificate for the insurance company. (b) Tom sits at the back of the classroom because he is shy. 1 Jennifer McKitrick, ‘A Defence of the Causal Efficacy of Dispositions’, Sats: Nordic Journal of Philosophy 5 (2004) 110–130, 110. 2 (c) I exercise in order to keep fit. (d) James shouted because he was angry. Statements in (a) - (c) explain by reference to psychological factors: (a) explains by reference to Alison’s beliefs and desires; (b) explains by reference to a character trait: shyness. (c) explains by giving my aim or goal in exercising: to keep fit; and (d) explains by reference to an emotion: anger. These explanations are quite different from each other. But many philosophers think that they are all explanations that cite dispositions: mental or psychological dispositions. So wanting and believing something are said to be psychological dispositional states of the person that has the relevant wants and beliefs:2 they dispose the person to act in certain ways; for instance, in our example, the belief and desire combined dispose Alison to go to the Police. Being shy is a character trait that disposes those who have it to act in certain ways, ways conducive to their not being noticed by others, etc. 3 Aims and goals are also regarded as dispositional concepts: having the aim of, say keeping fit, disposes one to do things that one thinks conducive to fitness. And anger is an emotion that disposes people to react and behave in certain ways. As the above suggests, it is generally accepted that physical and psychological dispositions feature in an explanations of inanimate phenomena and of human actions respectively. Citing the fact that an object has a disposition can explain an occurrence or an action by characterising the latter as a manifestation of the corresponding disposition.4 But what exactly is a disposition? The past few decades have seen a lot of work on the nature of dispositions or powers among philosophers. But before saying more about that, I need to put a side a possible complication. Many authors use the terms “power” and “disposition” as equivalent;5 while others restrict the use of the term ‘disposition’ on the grounds that, they say, not all powers are dispositional: one can have the ability to wash the dishes without having any disposition to do so; or the ability, but not the disposition, to murder, or to speak Russian.6 To some extent, this is a 2 C.B. Martin, for example, writes: ‘The fact that belief and desire states are dispositional is both familiar and obvious’, C.B. Martin, The Mind in Nature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 184. This is a widespread view in the literature on dispositions, see e.g. S. Mumford, Dispositions (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998). 3 See C. B. Miller, Character and Moral Psychology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), fn 41 for a representative list of philosophers who conceptualise character traits as dispositions. John Doris, in his Lack of Character (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), along with other ‘situationalists’, have expressed scepticism about character traits. I can put aside that debate because their target is ‘robust’ rather than ‘local’ character traits and my argument requires accepting merely the latter. 4 The precise character of these explanations is a controversial issue. For a discussion see McKitrick, ‘A Defence of the Causal Efficacy of Dispositions’ and her ‘Are Dispositions Causally Relevant?’, Synthese, 144 (2005), 357–371. 5 They claim that ‘we have different terms for dispositions with different features, for instance, “tendency” (for dispositions with a frequent or reliable manifestation); “ability” (dispositions that it is an advantage to have); “liabilities” (a disadvantage)’. (S. Mumford and R. Anjum Getting Causation from Powers, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011: 4). 6 See e.g. Fara, ‘Dispositions and Habituals’ and P. Hacker, Human Nature: the Categorial Framework, (Oxford: Wylie Blackwell, 201XX), esp. ch.4. Vetter says that ‘is disposed to’ is a sort of technical sense in these debates, and we should not to be misled by its ordinary connotations which is either something like ‘is willing to’ or, ‘has a passing tendency to’ with no grounding on the individual’s intrinsic features. With plural subjects, she adds, it also expresses ‘statistical correlation’ (Vetter, Potentiality. From Dispositions to Modality , Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015, 67). 3 terminological choice, although the second practice accords more with ordinary usage, while the first reflects the fact that the term ‘disposition’ has become a semi-technical term in philosophy, partly because powers are often characterised as properties of a kind (‘dispositional’) contrasted with ‘categorical’ properties. Thus, powers of any kind get to be called ‘dispositions’.7 I shall have something to say about this issue towards the end of the paper but for the moment I needn’t concern myself with this difference in use because in the immediate sections my discussion will focus on phenomena that both parties agree are powers that do not merely enable but dispose their possessors to display certain forms of behaviour. Although there is disagreement among philosophers on various issues concerning dispositions, there is also a degree of consensus about which are paradigmatic dispositions and specially about some of their defining features. I shall give a brief sketch of four such features. I start with two which I shall introduce using George Molnar’s terms and characterisations: ‘Directedness’ and ‘Independence’. A power has Directedness ‘in the sense that it must be a power for, or to, some outcome’ or ‘for some behavior, usually of their bearers’;8 the same idea roughly is sometimes expressed by saying that a power is defined by its exercise, or a disposition by its manifestation: what it is a power or disposition to do. The second feature, Independence, consists in the fact that powers are ontologically independent of their manifestations: an object can have a power that is not being manifested, has never been manifested and will never be manifested. This feature is widely accepted to be defining of dispositions in general. For instance, a recent discussion of dispositions opens as follows: ‘It’s important to note that neither the activation conditions nor the manifestation conditions need ever actually occur in order for an object to have the disposition in question’.9 And the authors of the entry on ‘Dispositions’ for the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy agree: ‘In general, it seems that nothing about the actual behavior of [the possessor of the disposition] is ever necessary for it to have the dispositions it has’.10 This seems intuitively very plausible: there are plenty of things that have the disposition to break, to dissolve, expand, to poison humans etc. that never have broken, dissolved, expanded or poisoned and never will break, dissolve, expand, or poison anyone. There are two further notions central to understanding paradigmatic dispositions, namely manifestations conditions and causal basis. Dispositions in general require conditions for their manifestation. Most current literature on dispositions characterises these in term of stimulus conditions. Stimulus conditions or triggers are generally occurrences that change the extrinsic circumstances or the intrinsic 7 As Molnar, following Elizabeth Prior (1985), says ‘“disposition” and “potential” (in Aristotle’s sense) are philosophers’ artefacts’ (Molnar, Powers, 57). 8 Molnar, Powers, 57, 60. Molnar lists five features which he says are defining of what he calls ‘the family of dispositional properties’; the remaining three being: ‘Actuality’, ‘Intrinsicality’ and ‘Objectivity’. See Molnar, Powers, chs 3–7 for further details. I shall put aside Molnar’s somewhat controversial claim that we should understand directedness as a kind of physical intentionality, i.e. that ‘something very much like intentionality is a pervasive and ineliminable feature of the physical world’ Molnar, Powers, 62. 9 Cross, ‘What is a Disposition’ Synthese 144 (2005) 321–341, 322. 10 Sungho Choi and Michael Fara, ‘Dispositions’, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2016 Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), URL = <http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2016/entries/dispositions/>. See also Mumford, Dispositions, 21; and Mumford and Anjun Getting Causes from Powers, 5: ‘a disposition or power … may nevertheless still exit unmanifested’. 4 properties of the disposition’s possessor other than those that constitute the disposition.11 Not all dispositions need have triggers: some may manifest spontaneously and/or continuously. For instance, radioactive material may start the process of decaying spontaneously, without there being an occurrence that triggers the manifestation. But we can put those possibilities aside for the moment An object may have a disposition but not manifest it because of the absence of the stimulus or trigger event. But the occurrence of the trigger is consistent with a thing’s having a disposition but not manifesting it because of the presence of ‘masks’ or ‘antidotes’ which prevent the manifestation of the disposition: 12 Consider a fragile glass cup with internal packing to stabilize it against hard knocks. Packing companies know that the breaking of fragile glass cups involves three stages: first a few bonds break, then the cup deforms and then many bonds break, thereby shattering the cup. They find a support which when placed inside the glass cup prevents deformation so that the glass would not break when struck. Even though the cup would not break if struck the cup is still fragile.13 The final concept I wish to introduce is that of a disposition’s categorial or causal basis. The categorial base of a disposition can be characterised as a property (or property complex) that is conceptually distinct from, and grounds the disposition – that is, it’s a property in virtue of which the bearer has the disposition. The concept of a categorial basis is at the heart of the Molière famous joke about opium in the Imaginary Invalid. Molière ridicules scholastic doctors who say that opium puts people to sleep because it has ‘a virtus dormitiva’, i.e. the power (in our terms disposition) to induce sleep.14 But note that the joke depends on the fact that the question presupposes that opium has that power, and so the answer that it has it because it has a ‘soporific power’, even if said in Latin, is not remotely informative. If the question had been ‘Why did the man fall asleep after taking opium?’, the answer that opium has the power to put people to sleep would be informative, at least for someone who didn’t know it.15 This is the kind of thing we discover when, for example, we discover that tobacco smoke is carcinogenic: we learn that tobacco smoke has the power to cause cancer. But of course the question in Molière’s play is about the categorial basis of opium’s power to do so: what is it in opium that gives it this power? What explains the fact that opium has this power? The beginning of an answer, which the doctors didn’t know but we do (or at least some people do) is that opium has certain chemical compounds, such as morphine and codeine. That is only the beginning of an answer because in turn we need to understand how these compounds work so that opium has the effects it does: we investigate what dispositional properties these substances have, and in virtue of what 11 Occurrences that would trigger a power but also change the intrinsic properties of a thing that constitute the power are what are called ‘finks’. There are also ‘reverse’-finks (see Martin, The Mind in Nature.) 12 For discussion see, A. Bird, ‘Dispositions and Antidotes’, The Philosophical Quarterly 48 (1998), 227–234; S. Choi, ‘Improving Bird’s Antidotes’, Australasian Journal of Philosophy 81 (2003) 573– 580 et passim; M. Johnston, ‘How to Speak of the Colours’, Philosophical Studies, (1992), 68 (3):221–263; Lewis, ‘Finkish Dispositions’; Martin, The Mind in Nature; Molnar, Powers, 83ff.; DManley, D. & R. Wasserman, ‘On Linking Dispositions and Conditionals’, Mind 117 (2008), 59– 84 and ‘Dispositions, Conditionals, and Counterexamples’, Mind 120 (2011) ,1191–1227; and Vetter, Potentiality, 35ff. – to give just a representative sample of the debate. 13 Johnston, ‘How to Speak of the Colours’: 233. 14 Quia est in eo /Vertus dormitiva,/ Cujus eat natura/ Sensus assoupire (Le Malade Imaginaire). 15 See Mumford, Dispositions, 136ff. for further discussion. 5 categorial bases, if any. And if they do, the same questions can be asked about those. And so on.16 The last two concepts introduced help explain Independence. First, we attribute dispositions to particular objects even when they’ve never manifested them because of the kind of object or stuff they are (or are made of). So it makes sense to say of this tumbler that it is fragile because it is made of glass and glass is fragile, even though the tumbler has never broken; and it makes sense to say this piece of copper wire has the property of conductivity because copper (or copper wire) has that property, even though this piece has never conducted electricity. And so on. And the reason is, partly, that things that belong to the same (relevant) kind have the same constitution, so that there is a categorial basis in virtue of which they have the disposition and, on account of that, it makes sense to attribute it to them, independently of their manifestations. Second, a thing may have a disposition but have never manifested it because it is never subject to the stimulus conditions or because the disposition is being masked. Debates about dispositions have focused on whether it is possible to provide an analysis of the concept of disposition and, in particular, whether the conditional analysis associated with Gilbert Ryle - or an improved version of it – succeeds. On this, the consensus seems to be that it isn’t possible to provide non-circular accounts of the manifestation conditions for any disposition precisely because of the myriad possibilities of masking, antidotes, finks, etc.. Philosophers have also debated the relationship between dispositions and causation and, relatedly, between dispositions and their underlying basis. Further, they have disagreed about whether dispositions have causal efficacy and whether they genuinely contribute to explaining their manifestations.17 To sum up the received view of paradigmatic dispositions I have sketched is that a disposition is a property of an object, defined by its manifestation but ontologically independent of its ever being manifested. Many, though perhaps not all, dispositions have stimulus conditions, which trigger their manifestation. And many, though perhaps not all, dispositions have a categorial base, which are properties in virtue of which the object has the disposition in question. I now turn to character traits. 2. Character traits as psychological dispositions In this section I examine how well character traits, which as we saw above are thought of as psychological dispositions, fit this received view of paradigmatic dispositions. I start with their manifestations. 16 Which raises the question whether ‘science finds dispositional properties all the way down’, Blackburn, S., ‘Filling in Space’, Analysis 50 (1990), 62–65, 63, quoted by Vetter, Potentiality 8. See also Mumford Dispositions; Molnar Powers and Bird Nature’s Metaphysics and, relatedly, whether all dispositions have categorial basis, on which, see, e.g., J. McKitrick ‘The Bare Metaphysical Possibility of Bare Dispositions’ Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 66 (2003), 349–369 and S. Mumford, ‘The Ungrounded Argument’ Synthese 149 (2006), 471–489. 17 Some of the main contributions to these debates are A. Bird, Nature’s Metaphysics: Laws and Properties (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007); M. Fara, ‘Dispositions and Habituals’, Noûs 39 (2005), 43–82; D. Lewis, ‘Finkish Dispositions’, The Philosophical Quarterly 47 (1997), 143–158; Martin, The Mind in Nature; Molnar, Powers; Mumford, Dispositions; E.W. Prior, R. Pargeter, F. Jackson, ‘Three Theses about Dispositions’, American Philosophical Quarterly 19(3) (1982), 251–57; B. Vetter, Potentiality. See also A. Marmodoro (ed.), The Metaphysics of Powers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). 6 §2.1 Character Traits and their Manifestations How is a character trait defined? What are its typical manifestations? In the Concept of Mind, Ryle distinguishes two kinds of dispositions. First, what he calls ‘single-track’ or ‘determinate’ dispositions: dispositions whose manifestation takes one form. So for example, dispositions like ‘fragile’ are manifested in the object’s breaking or shattering. Then there are ‘multi-track’ or ‘determinable’ dispositions, whose manifestation can take many forms. For example, the disposition ‘elastic’ can be manifested in the object’s expanding, contracting, etc.. Although some have questioned whether there are any single-track dispositions, the idea that psychological dispositions are multi-track seems plausible. Ryle illustrates his point about character traits as follows: When Jane Austen wished to show the specific kind of pride which characterised the heroine of ‘Pride and Prejudice’, she had to represent her actions, words, thoughts and feelings in a thousand different situations. There is no one standard type of action or reaction such that Jane Austen could say ‘My heroine’s kind of pride was just the tendency to do this, whenever a situation of that sort arose’ (ibid. My italics). So as Ryle notes, a character trait such as pride is multi-track in two important respects. First, it is a disposition to engage in a variety of ‘overt’ behaviour (including e.g. omissions and failures), such as (not) talking, (not) dancing with certain people, etc. And, second, it is also a disposition to certain ‘inner’ phenomena such as thinking, judging, reasoning, desiring and feeling in certain ways. And this complexity of possible manifestation does not seem peculiar to Elizabeth Bennet’s type of pride, nor even to pride in general, but to character traits in general. For instance, cowardice is a disposition to avoid danger or pain when it behoves the person to face the danger or pain – which will result in very different forms of behaviour (even if these forms can all be brought under the label ‘pain or risk-aversion behaviour’); but it is also a disposition to have certain thoughts, to reason in certain ways, to have emotional reactions, to feel certain sentiments, etc. which are characteristic of cowardice. 18 So characters are manifested not just in action and omission (behaviour) but also in thoughts, desires, feelings and emotions. In other words, we may say that character traits have external manifestations (i.e. manifestations that can be perceived and are typically changes, though refrainings, i.e. absence of change, should be included too), which may be behavioural, whether purposive, e.g. intentional actions, including linguistic behaviour; or merely expressive behaviour: laughing, cringing, etc.. And they also have internal manifestations (i.e. purely mental phenomena): thoughts, which may be unbidden or the result of intentional mental acts and include practical reasoning; imaginings, and also emotional reactions, feelings and sensations: sadness, joy, fear. These internal manifestations can be expressed externally by behaviour of either kind, or they may be kept private, unexpressed. But, it might be objected, is it right to think of thoughts, emotional reactions, sensations, etc. as manifestations of a psychological disposition? Aren’t manifestations things that are externally available – available to an observer, so that only overt behaviour should count as the manifestation of a psychological disposition? I cannot see why we should accept this restricted view. First, although the manifestation of physical dispositions may always be observable in principle – though perhaps not always directly – this seems no reason to apply the same restriction to the manifestation of a psychological disposition such as a character 18 For an analysis of character traits that is consistent with this view and sees them as ‘patterned dispositions distinct from garden-variety, instrumentally bundled sets of beliefs and desires’ see D. Butler, ‘Character Traits in Explanation’, Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, 49, 2 (1988), 215–238. 7 trait. It seems perfectly plausible that character traits are dispositions not just to act overtly in certain ways, but also to think, reason, feel, etc., certain things, and that all these are characteristic manifestations of a trait. Besides, as I noted above, many of the internal manifestations can be expressed, so that they are then observable: my feelings of joy, fear, compassion, etc. may be visible in my face, gestures, posture, expressive behaviour etc.. And I may speak my thoughts aloud, instead of keeping them to myself. So it is hard to see why the fact that these phenomena may be unexpressed or concealed should undermine their status as genuine manifestations of a character trait. Finally, it is true that external manifestations (i.e., overt behaviour, and in particular intentional actions) are often criteria that determine whether the inner phenomena are genuine, rather than, say, expressions of sentimentality or wishful thinking. Pious thoughts and feelings about the plight of those in need unaccompanied by deeds to provide help may be rightly judged as only bogus manifestations of compassion, pity or generosity. This, however, does not show that inner phenomena of the right kind cannot constitute genuine manifestations of a character trait. Moreover, external behaviour also counts as a manifestation of a character trait only if it is genuine: for something to be an act of kindness, or generosity it must be done for the right reason and ‘in the right spirit’.19 If I donate money to a worthy cause but do so grudgingly, or do it to further my interests, then my act of donating may still be helpful but is not a manifestation of generosity.20 Thus, there is reason to treat both the internal and external phenomena (which, for ease of exposition I shall call ‘behaviour’ or ‘behaviour broadly understood’) as potentially manifestations of character traits, even though there are constraints on when each constitutes genuine manifestations which depends, largely, on the interrelation between the two. I shall now turn to the second feature, Independence. 2.2 Character traits and Independence The first thing to note about character traits is that, in general, their attribution seems to require actual manifestation in some form: a character trait is attributed to someone only if the person to which it is attributed behaves, thinks, reacts emotionally etc. in ways that are typical of the character trait. This could be merely an epistemic point: the only way we know whether someone has a character trait is by whether they manifest it in any of the possible ways just outlined. That is right, but my contention is that the point about attribution is not merely epistemic but rather constitutive. In other words, it is not simply about how we establish whether someone is a generous, cowardly or shy person but what it is to be a generous, cowardly or shy person. 19 I should say the behaviour must be ‘permeated’ by the right inner phenomena. However, I am here trying to remain neutral on whether the interrelations between inner and outer manifestations should be understood causally: the inner causes the outer; or - as I think is right - in terms of internal, non- contingent relations. 20 On what seem very plausible conceptions of virtue, in order for someone to act virtuously, it is not just enough to do the right thing but you must to do it for the right reasons and having the appropriate desires, feelings and emotions. As Aristotle puts it, ‘moral excellence is a state concerned with choice, and choice is deliberate desire, therefore both the reasoning must be true and the desire right, if the choice is to be good, and the latter must pursue just what the former asserts’ (Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 1139a 22–25). I shall have to leave aside the complications imported by Aristotle’s highly demanding conception of virtue and of the unity of the virtues. 8 Manifesting the character trait in the relevant circumstances is constitutive of what it is to have the character trait. In order to be generous one must manifest generosity, to be punctual one must manifest punctuality, to be greedy one must manifest greed, and so on. So a person does not have a character trait unless she has manifested it in some way, at some time: someone who has never had a generous thought, feeling, reaction or action is not a generous person; and someone who has never had a malicious, courageous, or timid thought, feeling, or has acted accordingly does not have the corresponding character trait.21 If this is right, then character traits, at least some of them, seem to violate Independence; in fact they are characterised by Dependence: they are dispositions whose possession requires (ontologically) that the object display the sort of behaviour (broadly conceived) that is characteristic of the disposition.22 This may appear to be false because it may seem possible that a person should have a character trait that she has never manifested. Surely, there may be people who are malicious, or greedy, deceitful, or generous, courageous or kind but who have not manifested those character traits: perhaps they haven’t had the opportunity to manifest those traits. Indeed, Dependence is rejected on this grounds by Christian Miller, for whom ‘it seems conceivable that someone could have a trait such as heroism, but never be presented with an opportunity to actually exhibit it in either thought or action’.23 And so it might seem that someone can have a character trait even though they have never manifested it. But is this right? First, a brief clarification: of course someone may conceal the inner manifestations of their character traits, in the sense that they may repress any external expression of them. This possibility does not, however, undermine Dependence because in that case the character trait would have been manifested – albeit only internally. Indeed, it is those internal manifestations that give substance to the claim that the person is concealing the manifestation of the trait. More importantly, although Miller asserts that the possibility he describes is conceivable, it is not clear that it is. If having a trait such as heroism means that one is heroic, we can ask what it would mean to say that someone who has never displayed heroism either in thought, word or deed is heroic: what would her being heroic consist in? Unless that can be given an answer, the claim that she is heroic seems an empty claim. Perhaps the thought is that certain counterfactuals are true of this person, for instance, that were she to be faced with a situation that requires heroism, she would act heroically. Let us suppose that such a counterfactual is true of Annie. Does this mean that Annie is heroic? I do not see that it does. What it means is that, in that counterfactual situation Annie would act heroically, perhaps even that she would be heroic. It also means that Annie is now capable of being heroic. But those are different from the claim that Annie, who has not betrayed any hint of heroism to date, is heroic.24 21 This view is defended by S. Hampshire in ‘Dispositions’, Analysis, 14 (1953) 5-11, esp.6. It is also endorsed though differently articulated by Hacker, Human Nature, ch.4. 22 In my paper ‘Desires, Dispositions and the Explanation of Action’ in The Nature of Desire, J. Deonna and F. Lauria (eds.) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming 2016), I argue that desires are also manifestation-dependent dispositions. 23 Miller, Character and Moral Psychology, 19ff. Miller is criticising the so-called ‘summary view’ of character traits which shares the claim of Dependence with my view. I do not, however, endorse the reductive account that some defenders of that view seem to endorse - for details and references see Miller,18ff. In this context, if should be noted that Dependence is not the claim that you only have the trait while you manifest it; it is, rather, that you don’t have it unless you’ve manifested it in some way, which is consistent with thinking of character traits as dispositional. 24 Mumford Dispositions, 8, considers the possibility described by A Wright in ‘Dispositions, Anti- Realism and Empiricism’, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 91 (1988), of someone who has 9 Richard Brandt seems to trade on this thought in his argument against Dependence: Is it contradictory to affirm that a person is T, or, on the evidence probably T, and at the same time to say that certainly or probably he has never acted in a T-like way in the past? I fail to see that it is, at least for the traits of moral character with which we are concerned (…) take ‘courageous.’ Suppose we knew a given person had lived a very sheltered life and had never been required to act in the face of a serious threat. (..) Would we infer of such a person that he cannot be courageous? Surely not.25 Putting aside the fact that Brandt’s argument is restricted to ‘acting’, it seems to miss its target. For his opponent’s claim is the person Brandt describes cannot be courageous, if that means that she would be incapable of acting courageously if faced with a serious. The claim is, rather, that he is not courageous. Perhaps Brandt’s point depends on taking the ‘can’ of ‘he cannot be courageous’ as expressing epistemic possibility: although a person may have never displayed courage in any way, for all we know, he is courageous. 26 But if that is Brandt’s claim, then his argument also fails. For, while there is nothing wrong with the claim that a person who has never manifested courage is, for all we know, capable of acting courageously, the claim that someone who has never manifested courage in any way whatsoever is, for all we know, a courageous person is a claim that is, if not contradictory, at least in search of meaning. For if we know he’s not ever manifested any courage we know that he’s not courageous (though we don’t know that he’s not capable of being courageous, or that he won’t be when the moment comes, nor indeed do we know that he is cowardly!). A somewhat different reason why one might think that Dependence is false is the following. Surely it is possible to discover that one has a character trait. Suppose I find myself in a dangerous situation and react with great courage: I risk my life in order to save others from serious danger even though I have no duty to do so and even I am surprised at my behaviour. In such a situation it seems plausible to say that I would have discovered that I have a character trait, courage, that I’d never been manifested before. And, if this is right, it would follow that some character traits are not manifestation-dependent. But is this right? Is this a good objection to Dependence? To deal with this point we need to distinguish between acting with a motive and having a character trait. Consider the statement ‘Jim ran away because he is a coward’. This statement explains Jim’s action of running as being motivated by cowardice. But as well as saying what motivated him on that occasion, the statement attributes a character trait to Jim, namely, cowardice, and says that Jim’s action was a manifestation of that character trait. In other words, this statement says that Jim’s motive to run away on that occasion was never been in the circumstances to act bravely, or has but was ‘drunk or affected by food additives’. Mumford admits that there would be a question as to what ‘such a person’s bravery consists in’ and asks rhetorically whether there is a fact of the matter in this case. I think that the answers is that the person is not brave although it may be true that she would have been brave, had she not been incapacitated and that her lack of bravery is the result of being incapacitated to act. 25 Brandt’s target is certain related claims made by W.P. Alston in ‘Toward a Logical Geography of Personality: Traits and Deeper Lying Personality Characteristics’, in Howard Evans Kiefer & Milton Karl Munitz (eds.), Mind, Science and History (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1970) 59–92. 26 It is worth asking what evidence Brandt thinks would be relevant here. And it seems that the only relevant evidence would be manifestations of characteristics that the person has displayed whether in action or in psychological tests’, such as fearlessness, independence, integrity, etc., that are suitably related to courage, which again supports Dependence. 10 cowardice, and also that he has a disposition to be motivated by cowardice – a disposition that, on the occasion at issue, was manifested in his running away then.27 But the fact that we can distinguish between being motivated by an emotion such as cowardice or courage, and having the corresponding character trait suffices to bring out the point that it is possible to act out of a motive now and then even though one does not have the corresponding character trait. This is something that Ryle famously appears to deny in The Concept of Mind, where he says that ‘the statement that a man boasted from vanity’ should be construed as He boasted and his doing so satisfies the law-like proposition that whenever he finds a chance of securing the admiration and envy of others, he does whatever he thinks will produce the admiration and envy of others (89). Ryle has been criticized for implying that it is not possible to act out of a motive, such as vanity or greed, only once – which is clearly false: a person can act out of vanity or greed once without being a vain or greedy person:28 there’s a difference between acting once or twice in a mean or courageous way (acting with the motive), and being a mean or courageous person (having the character trait). Indeed, the possibility is logically or conceptually necessary given that having a character trait is precisely having a tendency to be motivated by the corresponding emotion. In other words, to have the character trait of, say, malice, is to often be motivated by malice. But one can act out of character: be motivated by compassion even though one’s character it malicious (and vice versa). Still, one might say that some acts are so courageous, or magnanimous, or treacherous that they suffice to attribute the corresponding trait to the person. So the fact that a particular action or thought is the first need not imply that the act so motivated is not a manifestation of a character trait.29 Perhaps so. Nonetheless, the one act of courage, however impressive, does not imply that the person had the disposition beforehand, independently of this first manifestation. For it is plausible to say that what I discover in that sort of case is that I have the disposition and not that I had it all along. It may be that particular act of courage that generates the disposition: perhaps the situation helps me to, as it were, see the point of courage, or of generosity, etc. And, similarly, with negative character traits like being treacherous or corrupt, where the one act of betrayal may be the act that sets one off on the path of treachery or corruption – the disposition is acquired through the treacherous or corrupt act. Though it is also more likely that, in these cases, what we discover is that we were capable of acting courageously, contrary to what we thought; or that we are more courageous (or generous or more treacherous or corrupt than we thought): we have already in the past manifested those character traits and we discover that we have the disposition to a higher degree than we suspected (I come back to degrees of disposition below). Thus, it seems that character traits are characterised by Dependence: behaviour (broadly conceived) within the range typical of a character trait is necessary for one to have the character trait, On the other hand, we have seen that occasional behaviour characteristic of a trait may not be enough to have the trait: it is possible to act and react meanly or generously 27 For a discussion of motives and their role in action explanation, see my Kinds of Reasons (Oxford: Oxford University press, 2009), sections 3.1.1 and 6.4. 28 For further discussion, see Alvarez ‘Ryle on Motives and Dispositions’, Ryle on Mind and Language, D. Dolby (ed.), (Basingstoke: Palgrave MacMillan, 2015) 74–96. 29 Although it is also true that if, after the incident, the person doesn’t ever again display any signs of courage, then it is doubtful that they really are courageous, rather than that they were courageously on that occasion, which reinforces dependence. For an interesting discussion of these issues see, B. Powell, ‘Uncharacteristic Actions’, Mind, 68 (1959) 492 –509, where she also endorses Dependence, 11 now and again without thereby being a generous or mean person. If this is right, there’s the question what degree or extent of manifestation is necessary and sufficient for an attribution of the trait to be meaningful. The answer is complex because, as is the case with many dispositions, having a character trait admits of degrees: that is, one may be very or a little generous, slightly or quite greedy, terribly or just a little vain, etc. Partly because of this, and partly for other complications that limitations of space prevent me from examining, there cannot be a general answer to how often or in what conditions one must manifest a disposition, or what form the manifestation must take, in order for someone to have the disposition.30 This issue is, however, consistent with Dependence, which says that total absence of manifestation implies (constitutes) absence of character trait. Still one may wonder whether Dependence, even if true, is a feature that cuts as deep as I am claiming: are character traits as different in their logical features from paradigmatic dispositions as I am claiming? After all, we could in the future discover the categorial basis of certain character traits so we might know someone has a trait because she has the basis, even though she’s never manifested it. Indeed, the absence of manifestation might be explained, as in the case of paradigmatic dispositions, by the absence of enabling conditions or stimulus for the manifestation of the dispositions. So really a person may have a trait she’s simply been unable to manifest due to lack of propitious conditions. This suggestion raises several issues that require much more careful treatment than I am able to give them here. However, I can say two things in response to it. One is that, as we saw, paradigmatic dispositions may be attributed sensibly to an individual on account of its belonging to a kind or its having certain categorical basis. But this is not so with character traits for, even if we discovered reliable correlations between certain character traits and, say, genetic make up, or neural features, or upbringing, or nationality, etc., we still could not attribute the trait to the person independently of whether she had manifested it. Note: I do not mean we could not do so with confidence or certainty; the claim is that it would not make sense to attribute it in the absence of some kind of manifestation, for the reasons given above.31 Second, character traits do not seem to need very special circumstance to be manifested, and often don’t seem to need any triggers.32 For even someone in solitary confinement can have malicious thoughts, generous intentions or mean reactions even if only to imagined scenarios; moreover, failure to have certain thoughts, images, etc. may also, given certain conditions, constitute manifestation of a character trait. It seems that being conscious and having basic mental abilities is all that is required to be able to manifest one’s character traits. §3. Conclusion: Are character traits dispositions? If character traits are, as I have argued, characterised by Dependence, should we conclude that character traits are not really dispositions? The question cannot be answered without 30 See Vetter Potentiality, §2.4 for a discussion of the issue of degrees of dispositions in general. Aristotelian ‘virtues’ may not admit of degrees as suggested here - an interesting complexity that I cannot examine here. 31 This is an important reason why relying on national, gender, racial, ethnic, etc. stereotypes concerning character traits in order to judge individuals is at best perilous. It is not just that the statistical regularities on which the stereotypes are based are often deeply flawed but also that, even if they were accurate, attribution of a trait to a particular person still requires manifestation of the trait by the person. 32 A different question is what is needed for their acquisition but I cannot discuss that here. 12 revisiting the issue about kinds of powers and terminology mentioned in section 1. As I noted above, it is widely held that Independence is defining of dispositions. If it is, then character traits are not dispositions and we would need a different term for them, one that still connotes that they are dispositional powers – that is, they are powers that their possessors have a tendency to manifest, like paradigmatic dispositions, but which cannot be attributed to their possessors merely on account to their belonging to a kind. As I said above, Dependence is consistent with thinking of character traits as dispositional: attributing a character trait is partly a record of past and present behaviour, broadly understood, but it also provides grounds (albeit defeasible ones) for predictions of future behaviour. Perhaps the term ‘tendency’ captures this feature of character traits. But we should remember that the decision to call character traits ‘tendencies’ rather than ‘dispositions’, though reflecting a real difference between them and ‘paradigmatic dispositions’, would to some extent be a terminological choice that introduces a degree of regimentation relative to our ordinary use of these words. We could, therefore, instead chose to continue to call character traits ‘dispositions’ but deny that Independence is defining of all dispositions: it would then become defining of a special kind of disposition.33 Whatever terminological choice we make, we can draw some conclusions that go beyond it. We have seen that we can explain both human action and the behaviour of inanimate things by reference to their so-called dispositions. I have argued that (at least some of) the psychological dispositions that explain human actions have quite distinctive features.34 I also have claimed that, because of Dependence, character traits cannot be attributed to particulars on the basis of their belonging to a kind, or their being (made of) a certain kind of stuff, as is the case with paradigmatic dispositions. These considerations raise many issues about what psychological dispositions are, whether they have causal bases, and if so, what these might be. And, importantly, they also suggest that we ought to re-examine whether the model of how paradigmatic dispositions explain their manifestations is the best model to understand how character traits explain their manifestations, which include intentional actions. But these are issues that are beyond the scope of this paper.35 Maria Alvarez King’s College London maria.alvarez@kcl.ac.uk 33 It is interesting to note in this context that in Hampshire takes Dependence and related features of character traits to be grounds for arguing that they are dispositions, unlike what he calls ‘descriptions of the causal properties of things - e.g. “electrically charged”, “magnetised”, “soluble in aqua regia”’ (‘Dispositions’, 7), that is, the paradigmatic dispositions of contemporary philosophers! Unfortunately, there is no space to examine his fascinating discussion here. 34 I do not mean that character traits, or psychological dispositions in general, are the only dispositions that display all or some of these features. It is clear that at least some of the dispositions applied to some artefacts, such as being unreliable or (metaphorically) ‘temperamental’, are similar in this respect but I do not have space to explore this here. 35 Versions of this paper were presented at research seminars at Edinburg, King’s College, London, Essex, the May 2016 ‘Ascription, Causation and the Mind Workshop’ at the University of Utrecht, and at the 2016 UNC/KCL Workshop on Explanation, as well as at the RIP Lecture Series on ‘Action’, 2016-17. I thank organisers and participants for their very helpful comments. Work on this paper was carried out during my tenure of a Leverhulme Trust Major Research Fellowship and I thank the Trust for the award of the Fellowship. This is a pre-print of a paper to appear in The Philosophy of Action. Royal Institute of Philosophy Supplements, A. O’Hear (ed.). CUP (forthcoming 2017). ‘Are Character Traits Dispositions?’ Maria Alvarez Abstract 1. Dispositions: physical and psychological 2. Character traits as psychological dispositions 2.2 Character traits and Independence Maria Alvarez 
work_bnf5xiplfjd3vjpmtgr57apdjm	----	27/4 spring booksSC Oxford English Dictionary Online Oxford University Press: 2000. Annual subscription £350+VAT, $550 Walter Gratzer It was said of Thomas Macaulay that he not only overflowed with learning but stood in the slop. This is precisely what happens when you first uncork the new online-only edition of the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), and allow it to spill a measure of its profligate riches over your feet. The OED, let it be said, is an incomparable monument of scholarship, one of the wonders of our age. I began my exploration of its vast territories by checking some cherished etymological beliefs, or, as I now find, misapprehensions. Look up loo for instance and you find that it is first of all a card game; the description is detailed enough for you to be able to sit down to a hand or two with the characters in works by William Wycherley or Jane Austen, who cavort in the quotations. Then again, a loo (Obs. exc. Hist.) was “a velvet mask partly covering the face, worn by females in the 17th century to pro- tect the complexion”. The third loo is “the name given in Bihar and the Punjab to a hot dust-laden wind”, and to prove it, there is a stirring passage from Kipling. And finally, a loo is indeed “a privy, a lavatory”. Here the OED is sparing of etymologies, but vouch- safes that A. S. C. Ross examined possible sources in 1974 in the October issue of Black- wood’s Magazine, wherein he concludes that it derived “in some manner that cannot be demonstrated from Waterloo”; no gardey loo, then (the cry of the Edinburgh housewives as they emptied their chamber pots into the street from the upper window)? Or even l’OO, from the two holes in a French privy door that allowed you to see whether it was occupied? Alas, it seems not. Sidling towards science, I wandered at random among the units of measurement — pascals, oersteds, newtons, Bohr magnetons, units SI and units obsolete — the OED embraces them all. But for a more stringent test I sought out the eccentric Dent Dictio- nary of Measurement and found first the unit of pain, the dol: this the OED effortlessly defined. Moving a little further from the beaten track, I challenged it with cran, the unit for the measurement of herrings, and was rewarded by the following definition: “A measure of capacity of fresh herrings as caught; fixed by the Fisheries Board at 37fi gallons (about 750 fish)”. “Up to 1815,” the dissertation continues, “the cran was mea- sured by heaping full a herring-barrel with the ends taken out, which was then lifted, leaving the heap on the ground or floor. In 1816, the Commissioners for the Herring Fishery fixed the capacity of the ‘cran’ at 42 gallons, Old Wine Measure, which in 1832 was raised to 45 gallons, 42 gallons when ‘pined’ being found insufficient to make a barrel of bung-packed herrings.” There is more, not forgetting the quotations. A cran is also a term (Obs.) for the crane and the heron. On the other hand, there is no men- tion of the cran, defined by Hobson-Jobson, the ebullient nineteenth-century dictionary of Indian and Malaysian words, as “A mod- ern Persian silver coin”. The Dent Dictionary also offers a list of collective nouns: wildfowl travel in sutes, turtles in dules and jellyfish in smucks. The OED lists none of these, but it concedes that a brood of ducks was at one time a badelyng, and of pheasants a nye. Did the editors of Dent perhaps make up the others? Or could they all be usages so far decayed as no longer to count as words? For the OED is a living organism, which not only grows, but also presumably sheds detritus. The enterprise (originally The New English Dictionary on Historical Principles) was con- ceived in this sense by a group of Victorian scholars in 1857; their plan was to engage volunteers, allocating to each one a sector of the English literary and historical landscape in which to forage. In 1878 the Oxford University Press was finally persuaded that the project had merit, and chose the redoubtable schoolmaster James Murray as editor. The task was not completed until 1928, long after Murray’s death. It was never the founding fathers’ intent to lay down rules of linguistic usage. The dictionary was to be authoritative, but not authoritarian, to observe and describe, not prescribe. Ambrose Bierce, in The Devil’s Dictionary (Wordsworth), defined a dictio- nary thus: “A malevolent literary device for cramping the growth of a language and mak- ing it hard and inelastic”. The OED has been the very antithesis. It abjured from the outset any desire to emulate the French Academy, with its Forty Immor- tals, who in the eighteenth century saddled their language with the curse of the circumflex and even in our time were prepared to instruct scientists that an enzyme was feminine, when all French biochemists knew perfectly well that it was un enzyme. The OED does not spurn those neologisms that so affront the guardians of linguistic purity. Thus, as one of the definitions of hopefully it offers: “It is hoped (that); let us hope ... orig. U.S. (Avoided by many authors)”, it cautiously observes. It is clear that the organism has been almost continuously updated, with the vari- ous additions, which followed the majestic second edition of 1985 in 12 volumes, with CD-ROM as an option. The new online dic- tionary is still undergoing revision, a labour that will take another 10 years to complete. So far, only M–MAH is finished, and the editors concede that the OED’s content of science may still be found in some degree wanting. Look up scientist, then, and you will spring books NATURE | VOL 404 | 27 APRIL 2000 | www.nature.com 925 Sir James in cyberspace Let there be public revelry — the OED takes to another dimension. D A V ID N E W T O N © 2000 Macmillan Magazines Ltd discover the history of the word from its first tentative appearance in 1834: an article in the Quarterly Review laments the fragmentation of science, as reflected in “the want of any name by which we can designate students of the knowledge of the natural world collec- tively ... some ingenious gentleman proposes that, by analogy with artist, they might form scientist ... but this was not generally palat- able”. In 1840 William Whewell (said to be the last man to know everything) re-invent- ed the word and in time it stuck. But look down the column of adjoining entries on your screen and you can find what we were spared: “Sciencer, Obs. A professor of a particular science”. And then there is the magnificent, and much-needed, conceit, “Scientaster [... after poetaster] A petty or inferior scientist”, coined by the physiologist Michael Foster in 1899; a quotation follows from Foster’s biography of Claude Bernard. The physical sciences seem to me to do better on the whole than biology, perhaps because the corpus of knowledge is less dif- fuse. Here, under flavour, are the six flavours of quarks; string theory and superstrings get crisp definitions; Higgs appears, attached to boson, field, mechanism and particle; and, going back a little in time, Debye surfaces under Debye effect, Debye–Hückel theory, Debye–Scherrer method, Debye temperature and Debye unit. Here, too, is buckminster- fullerene, complete with a quotation from Harry Kroto in Nature. The besetting fatuity, still found in many dictionaries, of recording stoichiometric rather than structural chemi- cal formulae has been largely but not entirely expunged, so the peptide melittin from bee venom comes out as C131H229N39O31 (who counted?). Sulfur — in the American and now internationally sanctioned spelling — is not in evidence. Prefixes for large units do better than those for small: we find giga- and tera-, but not atto- and zepto-. As to biochemistry, all the most familiar proteins seem to be present and quite a num- ber of others, although some definitions (actin for instance) are in sore need of revi- sion. We have transferrin, ferritin, laminin, reverse transcriptase, spectrin and ankyrin even, but no integrin, fibronectin, clathrin, cal- pain or G-protein. Oncogene and homeobox are in, but apoptosis is missing and so are T- cells or T-lymphocytes, genomics and indeed PCR. In the revised M–MAH sliver, I looked for and found magainin, first isolated from the skin of the “clawed toad” — but Xenopus, I am assured, is not a toad, but rather a clawed-toed frog. Missing is MHC (major histo- compatibility complex), ubiqui- tous enough, arguably, to qualify for inclusion. Of course, the OED does not purport to be a textbook or encyclopaedia of science and somewhere must draw an arbitrary line between the barely useful and the totally recondite, but among the lacunae are expressions that a journalist, for instance, might well want to track down. The dictionary is diverting on misuses that have become irretrievably embedded in common speech. Parameter (first spotted in a mathematical tract in Latin by one C. Mydorge in 1631) receives separate defini- tions in conic sections, crystallography, mathematics, electricity and statistics, but also “In extended use: any distinguishing or defining characteristic or feature ...”, with a quotation, fittingly enough, from New Sociology (“We would then say that a social theory has a human-nature parameter” — ah, so!). A quantum jump is not only a transition between stationary states of a quantized system, but more especially “transf., a sudden large increase or advance”, also now known to politicians and estate agents as a quantum leap. The online format of the OED is friendly and responsive. A click of the mouse will bring up or hide pronunciation, etymology, quotations (2.5 million of them and, to my mind, the greatest treasure of all) and a date chart showing the development and decline of usages. You may retrieve quotations from any one author, and relate them to particular words; you may bookmark entries and you may search for your favourite cliché (“sick as a ...”). If you are unsure of a spelling you can enter a question mark in the middle of your word or use an asterisk (wild card) to denote an undefined number of letters. This will allow you, if you are so inclined, to play word-games. So, for illustration, a reader in a newspaper recently asked whether any words existed in which a single consonant appeared three times in tandem. Well, a brief search of the OED for words of the type, ‘sss’ at once yielded bossship and one typo. Today’s science, with its headlong pace of progress and its ever-shifting frontiers, prob- ably makes impossible demands of the OED’s editors, and it will be interesting to see how they grapple with it between now and 2010. Meanwhile, we should celebrate a great and noble assertion of intellectual virtues and an inexhaustible source of pleasure, to those at least who can afford to or otherwise get at it. H. L. Mencken, journalist, lexicographer and sage, thought that the completion of the first edition of the OED in 1928 should be marked in Oxford by public revelry — “military exer- cises, boxing matches between the dons, orations in Latin, Greek, English and the Oxford dialect, yelling matches between the different colleges, and a series of mediaeval drinking bouts”. I fancy I can see the benign shade of Sir James Murray, surrounded by his team of indexers, celebrating out in cyberspace with a small dry sherry. n Walter Gratzer is at the Randall Institute, King’s College London, 26–29 Drury Lane, London WC2 5RL, UK. spring books 926 NATURE | VOL 404 | 27 APRIL 2000 | www.nature.com When silence is not a true option The Woman Who Knew Too Much: Alice Stewart and the Secrets of Radiation by Gayle Greene University of Michigan Press: 2000. 336 pp. $35, £19.95 Sunetra Gupta “Practising medicine without asking these larger questions is like selling groceries across the counter,” said Alice Stewart when asked why, at the peak of a career in clinical medi- cine, she had decided to abandon it in favour of practising epidemiology. In 1945, the importance of identifying the risk factors of infectious diseases was becom- ing obvious, and efforts had already been made to define and understand the ecologi- cal processes underlying the spread of infec- tion. The Institute for Social Medicine had been established at the University of Oxford in 1943, reflecting the recognition that it might also be worthwhile to investigate the causes of non-infectious diseases such as cancer. These diseases might have “discover- able origins in social, domestic, or industrial maladjustment”, according to the institute’s founder, John Ryle. Ryle died in 1950, and the institute was diminished to the Social Medicine Unit and its building taken away. Stewart, who had been Ryle’s assistant, was given a readership and made its head with a budget so small that there was “barely enough to light a gas fire”. It would have been perfectly possible for Stewart at this time to keep up some sem- blance of research and devote the rest of her time to her country garden, not to mention the lively intellectual circuit in which she had a singular place as the lover of the distin- guished literary critic, poet and mathemati- cian William Empson. However, according to her biographer, “epidemiological investi- gation engaged her like a piece of detective work”, and in 1950 Stewart set about organiz- ing a retrospective case control study to iden- tify risk factors for childhood cancer on a grant of £1,000 from the Lady Tata Memorial Fund for Leukaemia Research. “I spent those £1,000 on railway fares traveling the length and breadth of England, going to each public health official, saying ‘here are the questionnaires, will you help?’,” said Stewart. From this incredible effort came the startling revelation that a single obstetric exposure to X-rays significantly increases the risk of an early cancer death. The Oxford Survey of Childhood Cancer, as it came to be known, continued for 30 years, beyond Stewart’s retirement in 1974. She relocated to the University of Bir- mingham, and found “an empty corridor © 2000 Macmillan Magazines Ltd Sir James in cyberspace 
work_buvdmuhs7fa3bdvw7wusbk23m4	----	44.4rohrbach. Austen’s Later Subjects Rohrbach, Emily. SEL Studies in English Literature 1500-1900, Volume 44, Number 4, Autumn 2004, pp. 737-752 (Article) Published by The Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: 10.1353/sel.2004.0044 For additional information about this article Access Provided by University of California , Santa Barbara at 09/03/10 9:57PM GMT http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/sel/summary/v044/44.4rohrbach.html http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/sel/summary/v044/44.4rohrbach.html Emily Rohrbach 737SEL 44, 4 (Autumn 2004): 737–752 737 ISSN 0039-3657 Austen’s Later Subjects EMILY ROHRBACH In her 1925 essay on Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf spends some time discussing Austen’s early work The Watsons and suggests that it, though “in the main [an] inferior story,” contains “all the elements of Jane Austen’s greatness”: The turns and twists of the dialogue keep us on the ten- terhooks of suspense. Our attention is half upon the present moment, half upon the future. And when, in the end, Emma behaves in such a way as to vindicate our highest hopes of her, we are moved as if we had been made witnesses of a matter of the highest importance. Here, indeed, in this unfinished and in the main inferior story are all the elements of Jane Austen’s greatness. It has the permanent quality of literature. Think away the surface animation, the likeness to life, and there remains to provide a deeper pleasure, an exquisite discrimination of human values. Dismiss this too from the mind and one can dwell with extreme satisfaction upon the more ab- stract art which, in the ball-room scene, so varies the emotions and proportions the parts that it is possible to enjoy it, as one enjoys poetry, for itself.1 While the current climate of Austen criticism—with its emphasis on politics, historicism, ideology—would seem to worry about strip- ping the narrative down to this last level of “the more abstract art” in order simply “to enjoy it . . . for itself,” this essay seeks Emily Rohrbach is a doctoral candidate in the department of English at Boston University and, currently, a junior visiting research fellow at the Institut für die Wissenschaften vom Menschen in Vienna. This essay repre- sents part of her research for her doctoral dissertation on literary subjectiv- ity in early nineteenth-century British literature. Angelia Fell 738 Austen’s Later Subjects first to do precisely that with two of Austen’s later novels, but also to suggest, however briefly, that the fruits of an investiga- tion at the level of the “abstract art”—that is, the discovery of a self-reflexivity in Austen’s representations of the subjects—can, in fact, further our understanding of the representational depth of recent political reinterpretation. Of the three novels that Austen composed in the second de- cade of the nineteenth century, Mansfield Park and Persuasion posed particular demands for her narrative technique that were quite new. The heroines are neither impertinent nor remarkably self-deluded, and so Austen rejects in them, as A. Walton Litz has said of Fanny Price, “the principle of growth and change which animates most English fiction.” And he writes of Persuasion, “The drama of self-deception and self-recognition which holds our in- terest in the earlier novels is almost totally absent . . . and with- out it the field for irony is greatly reduced.”2 While Emma, the novel written in the years between these two, is of course the “drama of self-deception and self-recognition” par excellence, in Mansfield Park and Persuasion, that “surface animation”—to bor- row Woolf’s words—would seem already dismissed. Austen’s put- ting aside of “the principle of growth and change,” I suggest, facilitates her focusing, through these heroines, on the abstract stuff of her art, the very medium of narrative in its spatial and temporal capacities to represent mental life. Mansfield Park’s problems in style and structure have long been observed, often amounting to a critique of the perceived disconnect between the plot’s triumph of conventional morality over art and the style in which that triumph is rendered.3 In this discussion, however, attention to issues of subjectivity comes to rest upon a particular moment in Mansfield Park that oddly nar- rates the novel’s own representational limits, specific to spatial- ity. Austen foregrounds a spatially conceived subjectivity in Mansfield Park and then moves to a temporal subjectivity in Per- suasion—her ultimate, if not last, expression and exploration of narrative temporality.4 The “historical sequence” of the two nov- els’ composition, then, bears some significance, insofar as the discovery of a limit to the spatial representation of the earlier novel, Mansfield Park, points to a particular beyond, which is made the center of Persuasion, given full play in the temporal mode foregrounded in Anne Elliot’s subjectivity.5 This aesthetic movement from spatial subjectivity in Mansfield Park to tempo- ral subjectivity in Persuasion will be plotted—that is to say, illu- minated—through a Freudian model, while Jacques Lacan’s Emily Rohrbach 739 reading of Sigmund Freud will provide a theoretical insight to help account for the radical epistemological uncertainties inform- ing Persuasion. Each novel is aesthetically self-reflexive in that the heroine’s subjectivity appears as an expression of the novel’s favored representational mode. That the favored mode in Mansfield Park is spatial is perhaps now obvious, given Edward W. Said’s discussion of “Jane Austen and Empire” in Culture and Imperialism.6 Said finds Fanny’s spa- tial movement between Portsmouth and Mansfield Park politi- cally charged, for instance, in its correspondence with Sir Thomas’s movement between Mansfield Park and the plantations in Antigua. He claims, moreover, that “We must not admit any notion . . . that proposes to show that [William] Wordsworth, Austen, or [Samuel Taylor] Coleridge, because they wrote before 1857, actually caused the establishment of formal British gov- ernmental rule over India after 1857. We should try to discern instead a counterpoint between overt patterns in British writing about Britain and representations of the world beyond the Brit- ish Isles. The inherent mode for this counterpoint is not temporal but spatial.”7 In Mansfield Park, two distinct spatial modes work to create meaning: first, there are the movements of characters across space that most concern Said; and second, there is the use of architectural spaces. Architectural spaces particularly deliver us into issues of sub- jectivity not discussed by Said. Descriptions of rooms, for instance, point to the question of Fanny’s subject position. When Fanny first arrives at Mansfield, after some debate Mrs. Norris advises Lady Bertram to “‘put the child in the little white attic . . . Indeed, I do not see that you could possibly place her any where else.’”8 Her room in the house is not so much chosen for her clearly belonging there as for her clearly not belonging anywhere else. Fanny is neither immediate family nor servant, precisely. And the question of her room is also that of her subject position—a question literalized in the desire of various characters to locate her spatially: “Edmund, looking around, said, ‘But where is Fanny?’” (3:71); “Sir Thomas was at that moment looking round him, and saying ‘But where is Fanny?’” (3:177); and the narrator informs us, “‘where is Fanny?’ became no uncommon question” (3:205)—in fact, a question so recurrent it nearly becomes a lin- guistic tic of the novel. Rooms suggest even subtler aspects of Fanny’s subjectivity when, with Sir Thomas in Antigua and preparations for the play in progress, Fanny takes over, in addition to the little white attic, 740 Austen’s Later Subjects the separate East Room, her added occupation of which suggests not only her expanding social role in the family, but also her experience of self-division brought out by the play. From criti- cism describing a conservative Austen to that proclaiming in Fanny a revolt on the part of gender, there has been general em- phasis on the heroine’s unwavering disapproval of Lovers’ Vows, in contrast with the varying degrees of moral weakness in other characters.9 But Fanny is evidently enamored enough by the play to have memorized it. When Mary calls on Fanny to rehearse Edmund’s part with her, for instance, Fanny protests a little too much: “‘I will do my best with the greatest readiness—but I must read the part, for I can say very little of it’” (3:169). When the actors nearly bludgeon Fanny into filling the part of Cottager’s Wife, we learn that Fanny’s claim is false: “‘And I do believe she can say every word of it,’ added Maria, ‘for she could put Mrs. Grant right the other day in twenty places. Fanny, I am sure you know the part.’ Fanny could not say she did not” (3:172). And she eagerly, if also anxiously, anticipates the rehearsal that Sir Tho- mas interrupts: Fanny is “longing and dreading to see how [Edmund and Mary] would perform” (3:167).10 Her literal two- room domain taken over during this period thus figuratively co- incides with her self-division brought out by the theatrical proceedings. In Mansfield Park, these figurative architectural rep- resentations of subjectivity always function simultaneously at the level of the literal. At a certain disorienting moment in Mansfield Park, the ar- chitectural materials intersect excitingly with the spatial move- ment of the heroine; it is a moment in which the two spatial representational modes can be observed coming together, even if not to chime. But before turning to that moment, I want to recall a passage in Freud’s Civilization and Its Discontents in order to suggest, in however limited a demonstration, how this psycho- analytic narrative can provide a way of thinking about these is- sues of representation in Austen and to offer the passage as the narrative hinge upon which this essay turns from Mansfield Park to Persuasion. At the close of chapter one, Freud proposes an attempt to represent mental life in spatial terms: “Now let us, by a flight of imagination, suppose that Rome is not a human habi- tation but a psychical entity.” He soon, however, discovers the limits of this supposition in its failure to accommodate temporal aspects, what he calls “historical sequence”: “If we want to repre- sent historical sequence in spatial terms we can only do it by juxtaposition in space . . . Our attempt seems to be an idle game. Emily Rohrbach 741 It has only one justification. It shows us how far we are from mastering the characteristics of mental life by representing them in pictorial terms.”11 My idea is that Austen arrives at this same representational impasse in Mansfield Park. It is most distinctly audible when Fanny returns to Portsmouth after refusing Henry Crawford; entering the parlor of her parents’ home, she is for a moment disoriented: “She was then taken into a parlour, so small that her first conviction was of its being only a passage-room to something better, and she stood for a moment expecting to be invited on; but when she saw there was no other door, and that there were signs of habitation before her, she called back her thoughts, reproved herself, and grieved lest they should have been suspected” (3:377–8). The question “Where is Fanny?” indeed becomes an issue for the heroine herself. There is of course a perfectly commonsense explanation for Fanny’s mistake; having lived at Mansfield she has become accustomed to its larger pro- portions and returns to an unfamiliar home. The language of the narrative discourse of this expectation, however, also reads as a kind of summary of the scope of the plot: “her first conviction was of its being only a passage-room to something better.” In other words, the Portsmouth of Fanny’s youth will finally figure as merely a passage to “something better,” her installment as spiritual mistress of Mansfield. But if architectural strategies of representation elsewhere facilitate our sense of her subject posi- tion, here they fail to accommodate the “historical sequence” that we imagine would play a part in Fanny’s mental life; the “histori- cal sequence” at stake, alluded to in the language but not accom- modated by the picture of her home, is the sequence of her childhood at Portsmouth followed by life at Mansfield. (Clearly, there is no larger room, no architectural “something better,” at- tached to the small parlor at Portsmouth that would depict the “historical sequence” so powerfully suggested in the language of free indirect discourse.) Moreover, insofar as this particular “his- torical sequence” clearly includes a movement across space, the architectural exclusion of the temporal is also a jarring, an ap- parent mutual exclusiveness, of the two most prominent spatial representational modes. If plot is the design and intention of a narrative, Fanny is a less-than-active plotter of her life. Said suggestively remarks in reference to Fanny’s passivity, “one has the impression that Austen has designs for her that Fanny herself can scarcely comprehend.”12 She does not think of herself in and of time; nor is she repre- sented vividly in those terms. The Sotherton “wilderness” esca- 742 Austen’s Later Subjects pade wonderfully dramatizes the relative atemporality of Fanny in her stillness on the bench as the worldly others vigorously swirl around her. The representational jarring thus occurs be- tween the heroine’s subjectivity, which appears spatially con- ceived, represented through architectural materials on the one hand, and her history, which is necessarily to be found in the inherent temporality of a narrative structure on the other. But this would seem merely the honest consequence of rejecting for this novel an overt developmental narrative of the heroine’s con- sciousness. Claudia L. Johnson has with great subtlety illuminated the political force of Austen’s novels. Of Mansfield Park, for instance, she has shown how the narrative strategies erode the conserva- tive structure of paternal authority at its center: “if Mansfield Park appears to let conservative ideologues have it their way, it is only to give them the chance to show how little, rather than how much, they can do, and so to oblige them to discredit themselves with their own voices.”13 Thus the rather static, spatial depiction of Fanny—whose subjectivity is woven through issues of place and space, in a novel named for an aristocratic place with Sir Thomas at its head (who, as Mary Crawford tells us, “‘keeps ev- ery body in their place’” and to whom change is largely unwel- come)—appears as a symptom of her position as heroine, reverent of paternal authority, in Austen’s “bitter parody of conservative fiction.”14 On the contrary, as Johnson explains, “in Persuasion, stately houses and their proprietors are no longer formidable . . . Good characters depart from them without a breach, differ from them without defiance”; the maturer heroine of that novel, more- over, frees Austen “to explore female independence.”15 Through these distinct depictions of paternal authority—Fanny’s rever- ence, Anne’s relative independence—one might say that whereas Mansfield Park depicts the “present” sad reality, Persuasion medi- tates on the capacity of the present to contain the potentialities of the future. To that end, Roger Sales has argued that Sophia Croft’s “partnership with her husband is not so much an accu- rate account of life on the quarter-deck during the Napoleonic Wars, as a potentially radical proposal about how it ought to be organised in the future.”16 The passage of time, with its atten- dant emotional, economic, and social flux, is foregrounded in Persuasion. A far more comprehending heroine than Fanny Price, with an active temporal imagination, is Anne Elliot, heroine of Persua- sion. If Fanny’s alienated subject position is best understood as Emily Rohrbach 743 an expression of the spatial representational mode, Anne Elliot’s is an expression of temporal concerns. Issues of the “historical sequence” of consciousness, to some degree unavailable in Mansfield Park, are foregrounded in Persuasion, in the complexi- ties of narrative temporality structuring the discourse of Anne’s consciousness. Persuasion explores the shifting of meanings over time, as in the meaning of Anne’s early refusal of Wentworth by the advice of Lady Russell, advice which, while it initially seems misguided and Anne’s yielding to it a profound source of regret, Anne finally determines “is good or bad only as the event de- cides”—that is, in retrospect, she was right in yielding (5:246). The upshot of this vast swing of the evaluative pendulum is to reveal how difficult it is to know the present—how difficult to answer the question of how a present decision or event will figure into the subject’s history. Of particular interest, then, is a pattern of a strange tempo- rality in the discourse of Anne’s consciousness, a temporal struc- ture aimed at this very question; that is, her thoughts repeatedly take the shape of imagining the present as a memory from the perspective of a future self. Such a construction clearly signals the loss of a unified subject position in temporal terms. But un- like the more well-known Freudian question of how the past is playing itself out in the present, the issue here is how the present will figure into an imagined future—Anne’s is a decidedly pro- spective imagination. The circumstances eliciting this shape of thought appear to be the extremes either of intense pleasure and happiness or their op- posite. The temporal imagination serves, for instance, as a source of consolation for distressing apprehensions when Anne perceives the threat to her father’s marital status posed by the “dangerous attractions”—albeit acerbically qualified—of the widowed Mrs. Clay; she decides to warn Elizabeth, in however futile an effort: Mrs. Clay had freckles, and a projecting tooth, and a clumsy wrist, which [Sir Walter] was continually making severe remarks upon, in her absence; but she was young, and certainly altogether well-looking, and possessed, in an acute mind and assiduous pleasing manners, infinitely more dangerous attractions than any merely personal might have been. Anne was so impressed by the degree of their danger, that she could not excuse herself from try- ing to make it perceptible to her sister. She had little hope of success; but Elizabeth, who in the event of such a re- 744 Austen’s Later Subjects verse would be so much more to be pitied than herself, should never, she thought, have reason to reproach her for giving no warning. (5:34) Anne’s conception of her present effort to advise Elizabeth—if not altogether out of a generous impulse—suggests that if the future realizes her fears, she nevertheless will have been a re- sponsible sister. In the hypothetical future circumstance of Mrs. Clay’s usurping Elizabeth’s role as mistress of the house, the “warning,” Anne imagines, will figure for her as a consoling memory—and that very notion functions to console her in the present. In another instance of Anne’s distress, weary of Mary’s hypochondria and ill-mannered children at Uppercross, she finds “solicitude in anticipating her removal”: “Her usefulness to little Charles would always give some sweetness to the memory of her two months visit there, but he was gaining strength apace, and she had nothing else to stay for” (5:93). The two-month visit in Anne’s imagination figures already as a memory while she is still suffering it. But what this peculiar relation to the present does, in part, is to alleviate her suffering by dividing her consciousness from her immediate sensations into a speculative future orienta- tion. In distressing circumstances, there is some consolation avail- able in thinking that the present will become the past. Although Johnson has observed, “Here, as in no other novel, we are con- stantly being pointed backwards . . . in short, to the inconjurable difference time makes”; in light of the prospective pattern out- lined here, it would seem we are as constantly being pointed for- ward.17 This peculiar source of consolation, it would seem however, cannot be complete in that it rests upon an uncertain future state of affairs; Anne can imagine and predict how that present moment will look as a past one, but the accuracy of that perspec- tive depends very much upon the context of what unfolds—hence its hypothetical status. And neither of these hypothetical future remembrances is explicitly realized in the narrative that ensues; when Mrs. Clay’s plotting becomes apparent, no one—not even Anne—appears to remember her early warning, and Austen never shows us an Anne nourished by the specific memory of her past “usefulness” at Uppercross. These representations become sig- nificant less for proving true or untrue in relation to some actual point in the future, than for structuring Anne’s relation to the present and, in that respect, serving as consolation. Emily Rohrbach 745 More difficult to account for, perhaps, is this temporal struc- ture when it shapes moments of extreme happiness. At the cli- max of the novel, when Anne has just accepted Wentworth’s renewed proposal, the narrative discourse reveals them not em- bracing their joy straightforwardly, but instead anticipating how this “present hour” will figure into their “future lives”: “soon words enough had passed between them to decide their direction to- wards the comparatively quiet and retired gravel-walk, where the power of conversation would make the present hour a blessing indeed; and prepare for it all the immortality which the happiest recollections of their own future lives could bestow” (5:240). A “present hour” is proclaimed, but only insofar as it will figure into their imagined “future lives” as a memory. When Anne re- turns to the house, moreover, her disposition restrains her from simply soaring in this “high-wrought felicity,” for she suspects its transience: “she re-entered the house so happy as to be obliged to find an alloy in some momentary apprehensions of its being impossible to last” (5:245). An active temporal imagination alerts her to a peril in such pure, unbridled happiness, because the “high-wrought felicity” cannot be expected to last, and in Persua- sion, falls from high places, such as Louisa’s literal one, are in- deed seen to be perilous. Anne thus subdues her high felicity by hypothetically inscribing it in an imagined future retrospective context. Imagining future memories often amounts, then, to a tempo- ral strategy in Anne’s intellectual effort to avoid self-delusion. After all, the critical capacity of a temporal imagination is an aspect of human beings that potentially elevates us above, for instance, the helpless delusion of John Keats’s bees who “think warm days will never cease.”18 But the critical awareness of the present offered in Anne’s future retrospective temporality is in- herently incomplete in that it includes a future that holds certain uncertainties. The epistemological limitations for the present and for self-identity—based on the uncertainty of the future—are ex- plored psychoanalytically in Lacan’s “Function and Field of Speech and Language in Psychoanalysis.” Lacan describes this peculiar temporal structure as the “future anterior”: “What is realized in my history is not the past definite of what was, since it is no more, or even the present perfect of what has been in what I am, but the future anterior of what I shall have been for what I am in the process of becoming.”19 The present, from this divided point of view, “should be understood only as an ‘anticipated past,’ which has yet to arrive,” explains Samuel Weber in his magisterial com- 746 Austen’s Later Subjects mentary on this sentence in Lacan.20 This disjunctive temporal- ity occurs in “a subject whose self-consciousness is structured in terms of anticipated belatedness”—as is often the case with Anne; what this means is that the idea of the present includes a sense of the future, a time that will never have fully taken place and thus “will continually prevent the subject from ever becom- ing self-identical.”21 To that end, inconclusiveness becomes in- evitable in critical awareness; in light of Lacan’s reading of Freud, then, we can see in this temporal structure of self-understanding an inherent source of epistemological uncertainty in the heroine’s subject position. While Anne’s constant effort of critical awareness would seem admirable, Austen’s attitude toward it is actually somewhat diffi- cult to register, in that Anne’s attempts to know the present ap- parently lead in the opposite direction; Anne’s experience of the present, that is, largely eludes the narrative discourse, which is preoccupied instead with anticipating events, recollecting them, and anticipating recollecting them. When at Mary’s home in Uppercross, for instance, Anne and her sister receive only a few moments’ notice that Captain Wentworth will be arriving—the first time Anne will have seen him in eight years since her refusal of marriage: “a thousand feelings rushed on Anne, of which this was the most consoling, that it would soon be over. And it was soon over” (5:59). Shifting immediately from anticipation to ret- rospection, narration of significant present actions often seems to have slipped between a break in sentences and been lost. In another instance of conspicuously absent narration, Wentworth lifts Anne into the Crofts’ carriage: “Captain Wentworth, without saying a word, turned to her, and quietly obliged her to be as- sisted into the carriage. Yes,—he had done it. She was in the carriage” (5:91). Anticipation gives way directly to recollection. What this temporal structure indicates, then, is Anne’s alienated relation to experience. That in the world of Persuasion the exigencies of human life, of continuing, appear to necessitate these structures of alien- ation as the most intelligent response available, the only response with creative potentiality, is the novel’s source of its profound sadness, the heart of its narrative desire, the peculiar emotional force of its aesthetic. There is, however, an interesting exception to this slipping away of the present: it is the scene at Lyme describing the after- math of Louisa’s fall, narrating the state of emergency, and el- evating Anne in Wentworth’s estimation. It is the only scene in Emily Rohrbach 747 which the narration of events takes much longer to read than the events themselves would take to happen, as if the present has expanded in the rare urgency of these few pages. And yet, insofar as Anne’s experience here is represented, perhaps it is telling that at the center of the scene is a figure of unconsciousness. This is to read the scene as a theatrical performance of the sub- jectivity of the novel.22 To that end, a parenthetical aside, sub- stantially at odds with the narrative slowness, functions as a kind of stage note: “(it was all done [if not told] in rapid moments)” (5:110). This dramatic formalist reading of the novel would find thematic sanction in the largely nonlinguistic communication of looks and smirks constantly employed by Wentworth and Anne.23 What’s more, the theatricality entails a startling shift in the usual relationships—between characters as well as between the posi- tion of the reader and the heroine—in that Anne is suddenly ab- sorbed into the scene so that we no longer see things sifted primarily through her consciousness. Instead, and astonishingly, the narrative thrill of the crisis aligns Austen’s audience, if with anyone, with the “workmen and boatmen . . . collected near them, to be useful if wanted, at any rate, to enjoy the sight of a dead young lady, nay, two dead young ladies, for it proved twice as fine as the first report” (5:111, my emphasis). Suddenly freed from Anne’s moral point of view, rather than identifying with any of the principal characters, one becomes strangely amused by the spectacle of human circumstances that the scene lays bare. This dynamic offers a hint of what Woolf foresaw taking center stage in Austen’s writing after Persuasion, had Austen lived to write more: “She would have devised a method, clear and composed as ever, but deeper and more suggestive, for conveying not only what people say, but what they leave unsaid; not only what they are, but what life is. She would have stood farther away from her characters, and seen them more as a group, less as individu- als.”24 Not only this exceptional scene of the present, but also the dominant “future anterior” tilt of the general discourse of Persua- sion engenders a kind of staging, and does so notably in its pecu- liar engagement with the larger historical context of the novel. While Lacan’s analysis of the “future anterior” explores the limits of self-consciousness, the difficulty of knowing the present spe- cifically with respect to the individual subject, his ascribing to this temporal structure an inherent epistemological uncertainty has something to tell us about Persuasion’s larger historical present as well, in that Austen subtly inscribes the entire narra- 748 Austen’s Later Subjects tive in a similarly alienated temporality. That is, the characters in Persuasion repeatedly refer to the peace of their present times, scrupulously marked as running from late summer 1814 to 1815. “‘This peace will be turning all our rich Navy Officers ashore,’” Mr. Shepherd observes early on (5:17). However, the novel closes ominously: “[Wentworth’s] profession was all that could ever make [Anne’s] friends wish that tenderness less; the dread of a future war all that could dim her sunshine. She gloried in being a sailor’s wife, but she must pay the tax of quick alarm for belonging to that profession which is, if possible, more distinguished in its domestic virtues than in its national importance” (5:252). What Austen knew when writing the novel in 1815 and 1816, and what her readers too would have known, is that this hypothetical “fu- ture war” would almost instantly materialize in Napoleon’s re- turn from Elba—that is, in a resurgence of the wars, albeit brief, that were thought to have been quite over.25 The historical orien- tation of the novel—at once displayed and concealed—tells us that the supposed peace informing it will have been a false peace, a knowledge that is oddly suspended in the considerable gap be- tween the characters’ perceptions of their historical moment and the readers’. The force of this temporal and epistemological gap is to suggest how uncertain knowledge of the present is when it includes a future, which is always yet to come. And Austen’s suspension of that knowledge creates a theatrical effect by dis- tancing her audience from the text; that is, the “‘reader’ or ‘audi- ence,’ as the provisional ‘representative of the other,’ as Freud called Flieb, serves to delimit the borders of a stage that will al- ways have been at a remove from the place we occupy [in this case, the place in time] as self-conscious subjects.”26 This impending historical turn, effecting a theatrical remove, is obliquely registered in the novel when a painting in a Bath shop window fascinates and amuses Admiral Croft, who describes its apparent absurdity to Anne: “‘What queer fellows your fine painters must be, to think that any body would venture their lives in such a shapeless old cockleshell as that. And yet, here are two gentlemen stuck up in it mightily at their ease, and look- ing about them at the rocks and mountains, as if they were not to be upset the next moment, which they certainly must be’” (5:169). Admiral Croft’s ekphrastic discourse not only describes the imminent “upset” of the subjects in the painting, but also suggests Napoleon’s imminent threat to the “ease” of the charac- ters of Persuasion, a threat to the pervading sense of “peace” which, we imagine, will come to have been unwarranted; the implicit Emily Rohrbach 749 analogy thus implicates the perceptive Admiral Croft himself by placing him, unwittingly, inside the circumstances of the paint- ing, so that we see him, and the world of the novel generally, as he sees the “two gentlemen”—that is, unaware of their present situation insofar as the future will reveal it to have been. The effect perhaps is to extend the analogy to the readers of the novel— that is, to implicate also Austen’s audience. If self-identity and history were founded instead upon a per- fectly contained past—in other words, the present (made) per- fect—conclusiveness perhaps would not be so dubious. Characterization in Emma develops through a present-perfect conception of self. And the climactic moment of self-discovery, Emma’s perception of who she has been through her reception of the past, expands the experiential present into slowness, in the way that the scene at Lyme expands in Persuasion—even as the narrator notes the dazzling speed of perception. When Emma realizes who she has been in relation to Mr. Knightley—that is, as he is professing his love for her—the “wonderful velocity of thought” is somewhat offset by the relative plodding of the narra- tive discourse of her consciousness as it undergoes some stress, expanding to accommodate the rapid dovetailing of distinct lev- els of mental activity: While he spoke, Emma’s mind was most busy, and, with all the wonderful velocity of thought, had been able— and yet without losing a word—to catch and comprehend the exact truth of the whole; to see that Harriet’s hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion, as complete a delusion as any of her own—that Harriet was nothing; that she was every thing herself; that what she had been saying relative to Harriet had been all taken as the language of her own feelings; and that her agitation, her doubts, her reluctance, her discouragement, had been all received as discouragement from herself.—And not only was there time for these convictions, with all their glow of attendant happiness; there was time also to rejoice that Harriet’s secret had not escaped her, and to resolve that it need not and should not. (4:430–1, my emphasis) This passage, in its proliferation of present-perfect verbs, exem- plifies the discourse of Emma’s self-discoveries throughout the novel, the present-perfect conception of self that structures Emma. 750 Austen’s Later Subjects Weber describes this concept of self in contrast to the “future anterior”: it is “the self-realization of an identity that has always already been virtually present to itself.”27 Such a conception al- lows for the possibility of a self-identical subject of self-conscious- ness. When Emma finally falls for Mr. Knightley, she realizes her true self through a full reception of her past, and the novel ends in “the perfect happiness of the union” (4:484, my emphasis). In Persuasion, however, Anne’s affection for Wentworth is relatively clear throughout. Wentworth’s appreciation of Anne must ma- ture in certain respects, but from the outset, we entertain the question of whether Lady Russell may have been wrong in her persuasion of Anne, simply because Austen presents them in disposition as so well suited for one another. Rather than a final turn of plot making unequivocal what has been latent all along, therefore—as is the case in Emma—the historical orientation of the narrative enacts the structure of Anne’s consciousness by including in its conception of the present a sense of the future. Here is the third-to-last sentence of Persuasion: “Anne was tenderness itself, and she had the full worth of it in Captain Wentworth’s affection” (5:252). To have ended with that sentence would have been the rough equivalent of the narrative gesture that closes Emma: “But, in spite of these deficiencies, the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union” (4:484). In contrast, Persuasion’s closure is unsettled by its allusion to “the dread of a future war” which we know will come to be realized, however briefly. The impact of that allusion is to make the present of the novel—as the characters perceive it, in its pacific veneer—look very different from any future retrospective: that is, to leave com- prehension conspicuously incomplete. At the outset of this essay, I quoted Virginia Woolf’s sugges- tion that in reading Austen’s narrative, “Our attention is half upon the present moment, half upon the future.” Mary Lascelles has further observed the absence of “anything quite like [Austen’s] use of anticipation in previous English fiction. Now, of course, it is a commonplace.”28 To that end, in his book Reading for the Plot, Peter Brooks suggests that a sense of wonderment about the present based on an unfolding temporal context is the heart of all narrative desire: “Plot as a logic of narrative would hence seem to be analogous to the syntax of meanings that are tempo- rally unfolded and recovered, meanings that cannot otherwise be created or understood . . . Temporality is a problem, and an irre- Emily Rohrbach 751 ducible factor of any narrative statement, in a way that location is not . . . Perhaps we would do best to speak of the anticipation of retrospection as our chief tool in making sense of narrative, the master trope of its strange logic” (Brooks’s emphasis).29 The dis- course of Anne’s consciousness suggests that hers is a narrative view of life, its meanings “temporally unfolded” to her, as an ac- tive reader of its “strange logic.” And Anne’s subjectivity—closer than Fanny’s spatial subjectivity to articulating the structures of narrative understanding—facilitates Austen’s most subtle and self- reflexive exploration of the meanings available to us through nar- ratives. Anne’s subjectivity appears as an expression of narrative temporality itself, in a temporal structure that thematically serves as a regulating emotional force in the present that it attempts to know. NOTES 1 Virginia Woolf, “Jane Austen,” in The Common Reader, First and Second Series Combined in One Volume (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1948), pp. 191– 206, 197–8. 2 A. Walton Litz, Jane Austen: A Study of Her Artistic Development (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1965), pp. 129, 155. 3 See Litz, pp. 129–31; and Marilyn Butler, Jane Austen and the War of Ideas (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), pp. 246–9. 4 At the time of her death, Austen was working on a novel entitled Sanditon, a fragmentary draft of which survives. 5 Sigmund Freud, qtd. from a passage (discussed later in this essay) in Civilization and Its Discontents, ed. and trans. James Strachey (New York: W. W. Norton, 1961), p. 17. 6 Edward W. Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” in Culture and Imperial- ism (New York: Knopf, 1993), pp. 80–97. 7 Said, p. 81. 8 Austen, The Novels of Jane Austen, ed. R. W. Chapman, 3d edn., 6 vols. (1932–34; rprt. Oxford and New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1988), 3:9–10; subsequent references to Austen’s novels are to this edition and will appear parenthetically in the text by volume and page number. 9 See Leroy W. Smith, Jane Austen and the Drama of Women (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1983), p. 116; Alistair M. Duckworth, The Improvement of the Estate: A Study of Jane Austen’s Novels (Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1971), pp. 55–64; and Butler, pp. 229–36. 10 Given these instances, it would be difficult to accept without qualifica- tion Butler’s appositive of “Fanny, the detached bystander” (p. 230). 11 Freud, pp. 17–8. 12 Said, p. 85. 13 Claudia L. Johnson, “Mansfield Park: Confusions of Guilt and Revolu- tions of Mind,” in Jane Austen: Women, Politics, and the Novel (Chicago and London: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1988), pp. 94–120, 120. 752 Austen’s Later Subjects 14 Johnson, “Mansfield Park,” p. 96. 15 Johnson, “Persuasion: The ‘Unfeudal Tone of the Present Day,’” in Jane Austen, pp. 144–66, 165, 146. 16 Roger Sales, “Persuasion: The War and the Peace,” in Jane Austen and Representations of Regency England (London and New York: Routledge, 1994), pp. 171–99, 181. 17 Johnson, “Persuasion,” p. 147. 18 John Keats, “To Autumn,” in The Poems of John Keats, ed. Jack Stillinger (Cambridge MA: Belknap Press of Harvard Univ. Press, 1978), pp. 476–7, 476, line 10. 19 Jacques Lacan, “The Function and Field of Speech and Language in Psychoanalysis,” in Écrits, trans. Alan Sheridan (New York: W. W. Norton, 1977), pp. 30–113, 86. 20 Samuel Weber, Return to Freud: Jacques Lacan’s Dislocation of Psy- choanalysis, trans. Michael Levine (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1991), p. 17. 21 Weber, pp. 10, 9. 22 This dramatic formalist reading of the subjectivity of the novel owes something to David Wagenknecht’s discussion of the “window scene” in “The Turn of the Screw”; see esp. pp. 432–9 of his essay “Here’s Looking at You, Peter Quint: ‘The Turn of the Screw,’ Freud’s ‘Dora,’ and the Aesthetics of Hysteria,” AI 55, 4 (Fall 1998): 423–58. 23 See Duckworth, pp. 204–8, in which he describes “a new mode of communication . . . in Persuasion”; other commentaries on this issue in- clude Tony Tanner, Jane Austen (Cambridge MA: Harvard Univ. Press, 1986), p. 235; Janis Stout, Strategies of Reticence: Silence and Meaning in the Works of Jane Austen, Willa Cather, Katherine Anne Porter, and Joan Didion (Charlottesville and London: Univ. Press of Virginia, 1990), p. 60; and Tara Ghoshal Wallace, Jane Austen and Narrative Authority (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1995), pp. 105–6. 24 Woolf, p. 206. 25 I am indebted to Julia Brown for drawing my attention to this aspect of historical context (and doubtless for a great many other insights to Austen’s novels). 26 Weber, p. 10. 27 Weber, p. 8. 28 Mary Lascelles, Jane Austen and Her Art (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1939), p. 191. 29 Peter Brooks, Reading for the Plot: Design and Intention in Narrative (New York: Knopf, 1984), pp. 21–3. 
work_buxjveg3j5aprbdoxabdc6pgri	----	REVIEW ESSAYS Victorian Literature and Film Adaptation Antonija Primorac “The Fashions of the Current Season”: Recent Critical Work on Victorian Sensation Fiction Anne-Marie Beller https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1017/S1060150316000711&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 https://www.cambridge.org/core Victorian Literature and Culture (2017), 45, 451–459. © Cambridge University Press 2017. 1060-1503/17 doi:10.1017/S1060150316000711 VICTORIAN LITERATURE AND FILM ADAPTATION By Antonija Primorac “THE BOOK WAS NOTHING LIKE the film,” complained one of my students about a week or so after the premiere of Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland (2010). Barely able to contain his disgust, he added: “I expected it to be as exciting as the film, but it turned out to be dull – and it appeared to be written for children!” Stunned with the virulence of his reaction, I thought how much his response to the book mirrored – as if through a looking glass – that most common of complaints voiced by many reviewers and overheard in book lovers’ discussions of film adaptations: “not as good as the book.” Both views reflect the hierarchical approach to adaptations traditionally employed by film studies and literature studies respectively. While adaptations of Victorian literature have been used – with more or less enthusiasm – as teaching aides as long as user-friendly video formats were made widely available, it is only recently that film adaptation started to be considered as an object of academic study in its own right and on an equal footing with works of literature (or, for that matter, films based on original screenplays). Adaptation studies came into its own in early twenty-first century on the heels of valuable work done by scholars such as Brian McFarlane (1996), Deborah Cartmell and Imelda Whelehan (1999), James Naremore (2000), Robert Stam (2000), Sarah Cardwell (2002), and Kamilla Elliott (2003) which paved the way for a consideration of film adaptations beyond the fidelity debate. The field was solidified with the establishment in 2006 of the UK-based Association of Literature on Screen Association (called Association of Adaptation Studies from 2008) and the inception of its journal Adaptation, published by Oxford University Press, in 2008. Interdisciplinary in nature, the field primarily brought together literature and film scholars who insisted that adaptations were more than lamentably unfaithful or vulgar versions of literature mired in popular culture and market issues on the one hand, or merely derivative, impure cinema on the other. The foundational tenets of adaptation studies therefore included a non-judgemental and non-hierarchical approach to the relationship between the text and its adaptation, and a keen awareness of film production contexts. These vividly illustrate the field’s move away from discussing fidelity to the “original” which, thanks to the work of Linda Hutcheon (2006), started to be increasingly referred to simply as “adapted text.” Hutcheon’s book came out at the same time as another foundational monograph on the subject, Julie Sanders’s Adaptation and Appropriation (2005) which contributed to the debate through its focus on intertextual links and the palimpsestuous nature of adaptations, in which debate on fidelity was substituted with the analysis of the distance between the text and its adaptation(s). 451 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 https://www.cambridge.org/core 452 VICTORIAN LITERATURE AND CULTURE Hutcheon’s A Theory of Adaptation pointed out a crucial but much overlooked fact that all art was adaptive in principle, which helped to relativize the stress on fidelity issues on the one hand and, on the other, contributed to the widening of the field’s scope in terms of genre (to include graphic novel adaptations, video games, etc.). This also led to a re-evaluation of the role of the adapters, now studied as authors in their own right, as exemplified by the 2008 collection of essays Authorship in Film Adaptation edited by Jack Boozer. The other key shift, echoing a similar development in translation studies, was a related move from investigating what is lost to an examination of what might be gained in the process of adaptation. In the introduction and the first chapter of their book Screen Adaptation: Impure Cinema (2010), Deborah Cartmell and Imelda Whelehan sketch out the developments of the field in its first decade, with reference to earlier work on the subject. Subsequent chapters offer case studies centred around the issues related to particular adaptations’ contexts, such as authorship, appropriation, reception, intertextuality, genre, and “genrification,” and multiple adaptations, demonstrating the wealth of insights that can be gained from shifting the focus of the analysis from fidelity. Most notably, in chapters 6 and 7 they consider the changes imposed by film adaptations on classic literature (especially Shakespeare and the novels of the long nineteenth century) so often remarked upon by disappointed fans and literature scholars alike. By examining these alterations together, Cartmell and Whelehan identify an adaptation manoeuvre which they dub “genrification”: a simplification of complex plots and characterisations for the purpose of making the literary texts conform to the adapters’ chosen film genres. Increasingly, adaptive processes are also analysed with special attention paid to their transmedia potential and the growing role of fans as prosumers (rather than as passive consumers) in today’s “participatory culture” (Jenkins 2006).1 The latter approach, to an extent, echoes the ways in which many Victorian serial novels, especially those by Dickens, were published and the ways in which the Victorian reading public participated in the novel’s production as it was being written. Thanks to adaptation studies’ interdisciplinary engagement with media and cultural studies, attention has recently been paid to the ways in which adaptations depend not only on the social and cultural contexts in which they are produced,2 but also on the cultural legacy of the previous adaptations of the same work.3 The latter approach finds its major articulation in Christine Geraghty’s study Now a Major Motion Picture: Film Adaptations of Literature and Drama (2007). Geraghty notably theorises adaptation by attempting to break the perceived binary between an adaptation and its adapted text by focusing on film’s material characteristic as just that: a transparent film. For Geraghty adaptations can thus be compared to accretions of layered transparencies, in which “features from two or three genres layer one over another in an attempt to tell a story” and, as a consequence, haunt the final product (11). Karen E. Laird’s excellent 2015 monograph The Art of Adapting Victorian Literature, 1848–1920: Dramatizing Jane Eyre, David Copperfield, and The Woman in White adopts Geraghty’s notion of adaptive layers to show how the habitually overlooked theatre adaptations of Victorian literature in Britain and the States (sometimes, as was the case with William Thomas Moncrieff’s adaptations of The Pickwick Papers and Nicholas Nickleby, written and performed before the final instalments of the serialized novel were even written!) present the missing link between the literary works and their silent film adaptations. By analysing the ways in which melodramatic conventions employed by Victorian theatre adaptations were used by British and American silent films in order to meet their own audiences’ concerns about gender, class, and nation, Laird shows that https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 https://www.cambridge.org/core Victorian Literature and Film Adaptation 453 the early adapters were hardly ever limited by concerns over fidelity. Fidelity, she suggests, may in fact be a twentieth century obsession derived from the period’s own understanding of the author as auteur. Moreover, in her conclusion she suggests that “[o]ur current privileging of originality in film adaptation is not so much a breaking away from a twentieth-century tradition, but rather parallels a Victorian cycle of adaptation when the practice of transforming literature into drama was elevated to a highly skilled branch of creative art” (205). Laird’s valuable study recovers the story of the Victorian theatre adapters – usually dismissed by theatre historians as mere hacks (and memorably – if vengefully – immortalised by Dickens’s portrait of Moncrieff in the final instalment of Nicholas Nickleby as the despicable “literary gentleman”). Through a careful examination of the historical context and generic conventions the study reveals a dynamic relationship between the literary market and stage productions. It is not surprising, then, that the monograph ends with a call for more attention to historical specificity in adaptation studies. Laird’s plea strikes a note similar to Greg M. Colón Semenza and Bob Hasenfratz’s emphasis in their ambitious The History of British Literature on Film, 1895–2015 (2015). Colón Semenza and Hasenfratz openly reject transhistorical theorisation and argue for a “historical approach to adaptation” (9), highlighting the limitations brought to the field by a proliferation (and domination) of case studies. Furthermore, the authors point out that the idea of a “national literature” is far more stable and coherent than the idea of a “national cinema” (11) – thanks, primarily, to the ever more increasing globalisation of film production. Colón Semenza and Hasenfratz focus on the shared interest in adapting “Brit-Lit” in Britain and the US, examining these two national cinemas’ literary adaptation traditions by paying special attention to the historical contexts in which they flourished. In each chapter dedicated to a particular period, the authors supplement their comparative analyses with some select examples of other world cinemas’ adaptations of British literature, mostly from France, Germany, Italy, Scandinavian countries, and Japan. The strength of Colón Semenza and Hasenfratz’s book is in its thoughtful reconstruction and evaluation of film productions’ historical contexts in Britain and the US and their relevance for the adaptation trends identified. Their analyses of the relationship between Victorian book illustrations and the earliest theatrical and film adaptations in chapter 1 (“Attractions, tricks, and fairy tales: Visual and theatrical culture in Brit-Lit film, 1896–1907”) – especially tableaux vivants and short Victorian films that focus on chosen scenes from popular Victorian classics – are particularly valuable. Read alongside Laird’s study, this book provides a much needed and well-rounded picture of Victorian adaptation trends and their continuation in subsequent periods. Published some seven years before Colón Semenza and Hasenfratz’s book, Liora Brosh’s Screening Novel Women: From British Domestic Fiction to Film (2008) focuses on an issue somewhat side-lined in their history of “Brit-Lit’s” adaptation: gender. Brosh reminds the reader that novels “participated in nineteenth-century controversies about women, marriage, and the home in complex and contradictory ways,” which is the reason why “film adaptations were able to construct very dissimilar domestic ideals from the same group of novels” merely by highlighting or omitting certain aspects at different times, creating in turn, “comforting films that stabilize gender identities, define marriage, and fix the parameters of the domestic sphere” (4-5). Brosh focuses on three high points in the production of British nineteenth- century domestic novels on film: American adaptations of the 1930s and the 1940s and their British counterparts in the same decades, and Anglophone adaptations in the postfeminist 1990s. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 https://www.cambridge.org/core 454 VICTORIAN LITERATURE AND CULTURE Brosh’s monograph convincingly demonstrates how adaptations invariably use and high- light only those aspects of complex Victorian narratives and characterisation which conform to the ideology of their own time. This is especially the case with the adaptations made in the 1930s and 1940s, the subject of the book’s first part, when anxiety over the (re)entry of women into the labour force and the changing nature of working women’s gender roles (especially regarding their attitudes to marriage and motherhood) was prominent in public discourse both in the US and the UK. Brosh carefully unearths the ideology at work in the adaptive strategies which more often than not erase the critical nature of the Victorian novels’ depictions of women’s social roles, showing how the various “updates” in fact boil down the complex nineteenth-century musings on women’s agency and limited educational career choices to simplistic stories about women’s self-sacrifice or vanity. In the second part of the book Brosh shows how the adaptations made in the 1990s introduce a problematic equation between heroines’ liberation and sexual liberation. By and large they are shown to offer a refuge from the increasingly sexualized media by promoting images of romantic and personal fulfilment through marriage in a utopian past populated by anachronistically liberated, passionate yet respectful, heroes. The book closes with an examination of The Piano, a film that is not an adaptation of any one nineteenth-century text but is best understood as a reworking of a number of Victorian tropes. Unlike other 1990s adaptations which offer idyllic happy endings to her heroines, The Piano, in Brosh’s words, “emphasizes that within unequal power structures, art and love, free expression and romance, cannot co-exist. . . the film refuses an optimistic closure in which women can have it all” (151). Brosh therefore reads The Piano as a counter-text to 1990s adaptations that offer postfeminist narratives of having it all. Incidentally, Campion’s The Piano (1993) diachronically stands at the beginning of what is still a powerful trend in contemporary Anglophone media: neo-Victorianism, or a continuous production of adaptations and appropriations of Victorian literature and culture that is the subject of the newly established field of neo-Victorian studies reviewed by Margaret Stetz in Volume 40, Number 1 of this journal in 2012. Even though neo-Victorianism has been convincingly defined as an adaptive phenomenon in the seminal study by Ann Heilmann and Mark Llewellyn (2010), with a few notable exceptions the work of neo- Victorian studies scholars has prioritised literary re-workings of the Victorian world.4 This tendency is evident in the recent essay collection Neo-Victorian Literature and Culture: Immersions and Revisitations (2014) edited by Nadine Boehm-Schnitker and Susanne Gruss. Even though the editors, in their introduction, convincingly argue for a broader, adaptation based, definition of neo-Victorianism as a project that includes all (meaning not just self- reflexive and critical) evocations of the Victorian era across all genres, conceptualised as “immersive strategies” (7), out of the volume’s twelve essays only two deal with non-literary, screen adaptations. Sherlock Holmes and Conan Doyle: Multi-Media Afterlives, edited by Sabine Vanacker and Catherine Wynne (2013), therefore presents a welcome exception in its attention to non-literary afterlives of Victorians. Its editors introduce essays on various uses of Sherlock Holmes and A. C. Doyle in different media, such as advertising campaigns, video games, as well as TV, film, and literary adaptations. The twelve essays thus give an excellent overview of the many Anglophone afterlives of Sherlock Holmes and A. C. Doyle across media, with some hints at their global popularity thanks to the inclusion of an essay about Italian pastiches of Holmes stories. The sheer number and variety of Holmes and Doyle’s many media afterlives analysed in Vanacker and Wynne’s volume reminds the reader of the curious, Darwinian, nature of https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 https://www.cambridge.org/core Victorian Literature and Film Adaptation 455 adaptations as mutations. Robert Stam summed up this evolutionary aspect of adaptation and its relevance to adaptation studies in the following words: If mutation is the means by which the evolutionary process advances, then we can also see filmic adaptations as ‘mutations’ that help their source novel ‘survive’. Do not adaptations ‘adapt to’ changing environments and changing tastes, as well as to a new medium, with its distinct industrial demands, commercial pressures, censorship taboos, and aesthetic norms? (3) What this means is that adaptations generate other adaptations, which in turn fuel more adaptations. For this reason, in his 2011 essay on the many interconnected adaptations of Stevenson’s Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Thomas Leitch – one of the key polemical voices in adaptation theory5 – suggests that the notion of adaptation be altogether abandoned. In its stead he proposes the term generation – since “generation looks both backward, in terms of genealogy, and forward, in terms of production” (44). Leitch’s essay questions and offers revisions to the theoretical models employed in the study of adaptation, concluding that the existing ones do not adequately describe the varied relations that inhere among inter-connected adaptations and adapted texts. Leitch puts forward a strong case for a rethinking of the concept of adaptation as “generation” especially as this reconceptualization promises to open up, inter alia, productive ways of thinking about the cultural legacy of adaptations across time and across genres. The collection in which this essay features, Victorian Literature and Film Adaptation, edited by Abigail Burnham Bloom and Mary Sanders Pollock and with an introduction by Thomas Leitch himself, offers eleven essays grouped into three thematic parts. It contains a medley of approaches to nineteenth-century classics on screen, most of them rooted in literature studies. Furthermore, like many other books that deal with adaptations of Victorians, such as Dianne F. Sadoff’s Victorian Vogue: British Novels on Screen (2010),6 it includes not one but two texts that deal with Jane Austen, confirming her status as an honorary Victorian. Leitch’s theory-based text is followed by two more essays that deal with the techne of adaptation: Jean-Marie Lecomte’s analysis of Ernst Lubitch’s visual style in his silent movie adaptation of Wilde’s Lady Windermere’s Fan (1925) and Natalie Neill’s essay on the many adaptations of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. The last and the most arresting section of the collection deals with the complex issues that arise when classic novels are taught through their screen adaptations in university classrooms. The essay on teaching Persuasion (by Carroll, Palmer, Thomas, and Waese) argues for the necessity of introducing third texts into the classroom in order to, qua Andre Bazin, create a pyramidal, rather than linear, approach to adaptation as a form (228). Sarah J. Heidt’s essay describes the experience of teaching Bram Stoker’s Dracula alongside its many film adaptations and appropriations, and gives interesting insights into her students’ reactions as well as offering practical suggestions for approaches to the Victorian text, its context, and its many subsequent screen afterlives. Tamara S. Wagner’s essay deals with the ways in which teaching Sherlock Holmes stories alongside their loose screen adaptations in an undergraduate course on film and literature can also serve as a vehicle for “illuminating cultural formations” (205), helping to expose the shifting ideologies at work in the process of adaptation. Stam’s aforementioned definition of adaptation highlights a very much ignored contextual aspect to which adaptations respond: censorship taboos. Rather provocatively, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 https://www.cambridge.org/core 456 VICTORIAN LITERATURE AND CULTURE in Better Left Unsaid: Victorian Novels, Hays Code, and the Benefits of Censorship (2013) Nora Gilbert puts forward a case for the creative potential of censorship. By contrasting and comparing prominent examples of Victorian novels to notable examples of Hollywood classics made during the Hays Code era, Gilbert suggests that the shared strategies employed by the authors in order to circumvent censorship often proved not only productive, but also subversive. Like Brosh, Burnham Bloom and Sanders Pollock, Gilbert includes Jane Austen in her analysis of Victorian classics; however, Gilbert’s reason is based in Joseph Litvak’s proposition that “[i]f the history of modern sophistication in some sense begins with the Victorian novel. . . then Jane Austen is the first ‘Victorian’ novelist” (qtd. in Gilbert 50). Moreover, sophistication is one of the five strategies Gilbert rather ingeniously singles out as shared by Victorian novelists and Hays Code era directors by comparing its use in Austen’s Emma (1815) to George Cukor’s in The Philadelphia Story (1940). Gilbert notes how the infamous Production Code Administration guidelines put forward by Colonel Jason Joy in 1930 (and followed through with zeal by his more (in)famous successor, Joseph Breen, from 1934 on) demanded from the producers, writers, and directors under his domain to speak in a specific cinematic language, ‘from which’, as he himself put it, ‘conclusions might be drawn by the sophisticated mind, but which would mean nothing to the unsophisticated and inexperienced.’ In other words, Joy worked hard over the course of his SRC reign to set up a system of representation in which ambiguity and innuendo would be valorized rather than demonized – in which controversial content would be bifurcated rather than eliminated. (Gilbert 46, added emphasis). Gilbert focuses on the creative, productive nature of such a bifurcated approach to narrative development, offering an interpretation of Austen and Cukor’s works that goes against the conventional romantic comedy readings: instead of the assumption that the heroines win the love of a good man only after they had been chastened and “improved” by the men themselves in line with the contemporary ideas about moral perfection, Gilbert suggests they in fact are rewarded by the love of the men who can appreciate them as they are, moral flaws and all. A similarly bifurcated style of storytelling is analysed in the chapter that looks at William Makepeace Thackeray’s use of “the logic of scandal” (22) in Vanity Fair (1848) and compares it to Preston Sturges’s The Lady Eve (1941). Furthermore, in her analysis of Charles Dickens’s The Christmas Carol (1843) and Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), Gilbert examines the role of censorship in texts that are seemingly beyond censure, created by authors keen on popular appeal and concerned about the financial success of their work. The last chapter analyses the strategy of restraint as it is used in Charlotte Brontë’s last novel, Villette (1853) and Elia Kazan’s A Streetcar Named Desire (1951). Gilbert focuses on the parallels between repression and (self-)censorship, drawing attention to the fact that in her last novel Brontë represses the passion for which she had become known (as well as for which she was reproached) in her own time. Villette is, in many ways, about repression and restraint of the author in the face of her imagined critics and audience, similar to the way in which Streetcar is about Kazan’s restraint and suppression of the more sexually explicit lines from his own screenplay before it reached the censor’s office. As such, both works end up relying on the reader/viewer to interpret the ambiguous lines or controversial omissions that the authors refused to spell out. Finally, in her “Postscript: Oscar Wilde and Mae West,” https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 https://www.cambridge.org/core Victorian Literature and Film Adaptation 457 Gilbert reiterates her conviction “that censored works of art are better, more enjoyable works of art,” claiming that “[f]or whatever ‘moral of the story’ the censor or the artist may wish for a given text to impart, it is always the reader or viewer who takes from the story what he or she will, unpredictably and ahistorically” (145). Somewhat poignantly, Gilbert’s argument implies an unsurmountable chasm between the realities of literature and film’s production and consumption on the one hand, and scholarly work on these on the other. However, the other books on adaptations of Victorian literature under consideration in this essay – especially those informed by adaptation studies and which share its attention to historical and production contexts – suggest that instead of a chasm one finds a fairly dynamic interactive field in which adaptors increasingly find themselves in dialogue with their intended audiences as well as scholars. Furthermore, adaptation studies scholars contribute to Victorian studies not only through recoveries of forgotten Victorian adaptations and their creators but also by linking them to contemporary trends, drawing parallels between today’s prosumers, participatory culture and convergence media, and the Victorians’ voracious production and consumption of adaptations. In this way, amongst others, adaptation studies’ contribution to Victorian studies can best be tested in the university classroom where adaptations of Victorian literature are often used to stimulate debate. Namely, adaptation studies can help develop the class discussion beyond issues of fidelity towards considerations about the extent to which each adaptation is as much about the adapted text and its historical context as it is about the adaptation’s own period and its ideas about the past on the one hand, and its anxieties about class, gender, and race on the other. The very fact that adaptations inevitably reflect their own period’s concerns is the reason why they generally do not have a long shelf life and why they are continuously supplanted by ever-evolving, newer, adaptations. However, it is this continuous generation of adaptations which proves – as much as it ensures – that the Victorian texts remain relevant and alive. University of Split NOTES 1. See the 2013 special issue of Adaptation (6.2) edited by Voigts and Nicklas entitled Adaptation, Transmedia Storytelling and Participatory Culture which contains several articles on adaptations of Victorian literature. 2. See, for example, the collection of essays The Politics of Adaptation: Media Convergence and Ideology edited by Hassler-Forest and Nicklas. 3. For an example of a study that examines the complex interrelations between different adaptations of the same novel, see Shachar’s Cultural Afterlives and Screen Adaptations of Classic Literature: Wuthering Heights and Company (2012). 4. Full-length monographs that approach contemporary screen adaptations of Victorians as an aspect of neo-Victorianism are still rare, and to date include Kleinecke-Bates’s Victorians on Screen (2014) focused on British TV adaptations alone, and the forthcoming study Neo-Victorianism on Screen by the author of this article. The Journal of Neo-Victorian Studies has advertised a 2017 special issue entitled Screening the Victorians in the Twenty-First Century (guest editors: Chris Louttit and Erin Louttit), the first one to be devoted to screen adaptations alone since the journal’s inception in 2008. 5. See, e.g., his monograph Film Adaptation and Its Discontents: From Gone with the Wind to The Passion of the Christ, Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins UP, 2007. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 https://www.cambridge.org/core 458 VICTORIAN LITERATURE AND CULTURE 6. Another notable example is Kuchich and Sadoff’s collection of essays Victorian Afterlife (2000). A discussion about the tone of Jane Austen adaptations is used as the foil against which Victorian TV adaptations are discussed by Kleinecke-Bates in her monograph Victorians on Screen: The Nineteenth- Century on British Television, 1994–2005 (2014). WORKS CONSIDERED Boehm-Schnitker, Nadine, and Susanne Gruss, eds. Neo-Victorian Literature and Culture: Immersions and Revisitations. Routledge Studies in Nineteenth-Century Literature. New York: Routledge, 2014. Boozer, Jack, ed. Authorship in Film Adaptation. Austin: U of Texas P, 2008. Brosh, Liora. Screening Novel Women: From British Domestic Fiction to Film. Basingstoke, Houndsmills: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008. Burnham Bloom, Abigail, and Mary Sanders Pollock, eds. Victorian Literature and Film Adaptation. Amherst: Cambria, 2011. Cardwell, Sarah. Adaptation Revisited: Television and the Classic Novel. Manchester: Manchester UP, 2002. Cartmell, Deborah, and Imelda Whelehan, eds. Adaptations: From Text to Screen, Screen to Text. Abingdon: Routledge, 1999. ———. Screen Adaptation: Impure Cinema. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010. Colón Semenza, Greg, M., and Bob Hasenfratz. The History of British Literature on Film, 1895-2015. New York: Bloomsbury, 2015. Elliott, Kamilla. Rethinking the Novel/Film Debate. Cambridge: Cambridge U P, 2003. Geraghty, Christine. Now a Major Motion Picture: Film Adaptations of Literature and Drama. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2007. Gilbert, Nora. Better Left Unsaid: Victorian Novels, Hays Code, and the Benefits of Censorship. Stanford: Stanford Law Books/Stanford UP, 2013. Hassler-Forest, Dan and Pascal Nicklas, eds. The Politics of Adaptation: Media Convergence and Ideology. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. Heilmann, Ann, and Mark Llewellyn. Neo-Victorianism: The Victorians in the Twenty-First Century, 1999- 2009. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010. Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Adaptation. New York: Routledge, 2006. Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture: Where Old and New Media Collide. New York: New York U P, 2006. Kleinecke-Bates, Iris. Victorians on Screen: The Nineteenth-Century on British Television, 1994-2005. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014. Kuchich, John, and Dianne F. Sadoff, eds. Victorian Afterlife: Postmodern Culture Rewrites the Nineteenth Century. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2000. Laird, Karen E. The Art of Adapting Victorian Literature, 1848-1920: Dramatizing Jane Eyre, David Copperfield, and The Woman in White. New York: Routledge, 2015. McFarlane, Brian. Novel to Film: An Introduction to the Theory of Adaptation. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1996. Naremore, James, ed. Film Adaptation. New Brunswick: Rutgers UP, 2000. Ripper Street. Dir. Andy Wilson et al. Created by Richard Warlow. BBC/Amazon, 2012-present. TV Series. Sadoff, Dianne F. Victorian Vogue: British Novels on Screen. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 2010. Sanders, Julie. Adaptation and Appropriation. New York: Routledge, 2005. Shachar, Hila. Cultural Afterlives and Screen Adaptations of Classic Literature: Wuthering Heights and Company. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012. Stam, Robert. “Beyond Fidelity: The Dialogics of Adaptation.” Ed. Naremore. 54–76. ———. “Introduction: The Theory and Practice of Adaptation. Ed. Stam and Raengo. 1–52. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 https://www.cambridge.org/core Victorian Literature and Film Adaptation 459 Stam, Robert, and Alessandra Raengo, eds. Literature and Film: A Guide to the Theory and Practice of Adaptation. Oxford: Blackwell, 2005. Stetz, Margaret. “Neo-Victorian Studies.” Victorian Literature and Culture (2012) 40.1: 339–46. Web. 11 Oct. 2016. Vanacker, Sabine, and Catherine Wynne, eds. Sherlock Holmes and Conan Doyle: Multi-Media Afterlives. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013. Voigts, Eckart, and Pascal Nicklas, eds. Adaptation, Transmedia Storytelling and Participatory Culture. Special issue of Adaptation (2013) 6.2. https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150316000711 https://www.cambridge.org/core NOTES WORKS CONSIDERED 
work_bxxjca34n5bthdevhcpbiuo4m4	----	BH17244R1_Erickson_author_submitted.pdf CREATe Working Paper 2018/07 (September 2018) Can creative firms thrive without copyright? Value generation and capture from private-collective innovation Author CREATe Working Paper Series DOI: 10.5281/zenodo.1404830 This release was supported by the RCUK funded Centre for Copyright and New Business Models in the Creative Economy (CREATe), AHRC Grant Number AH/K000179/1. Published as Erickson, K. (2018) Can creative firms thrive without copyright? Value generation and capture from private-collective innovation. Business Horizons 61(5). Kristofer Erickson University of Leeds K.erickson@leeds.ac.uk CAN CREATIVE FIRMS THRIVE WITHOUT COPYRIGHT? VALUE GENERATION AND CAPTURE FROM PRIVATE-COLLECTIVE INNOVATION Kristofer Erickson School of Media and Communication, University of Leeds Leeds, United Kingdom, LS2 9JT Tel:+44(0)7462900077 email: K.erickson@leeds.ac.uk [Note: this is the author’s submitted version. Published as Erickson, K. (2018) Can creative firms thrive without copyright? Value generation and capture from private-collective innovation. Business Horizons 61(5). https://doi.org/10.1016/j.bushor.2018.04.005 ] Abstract: Accounts of the ‘copyright industries’ in national reports suggest that strong intellectual property rights support creative firms. However, mounting evidence from sectors such as video game production and 3D printing indicate that business models based on open IP can also be profitable. This study investigates the relationship between IP protection and value capture for creative industry firms engaged in collective/open innovation activities. A sample of 22 businesses interviewed in this study did not require exclusive ownership of creative materials, instead employing a range of strategies to compete and capture value. Benefits for some firms resemble those for participants in private-collective innovation (PCI), originally observed in open source software development (von Hippel, von Krogh, 2003). Advantages of PCI include the ability to commercialize user improvements and a reduction in transaction costs related to seeking and obtaining permission to innovate upon existing ideas. Some creative firms in this study were able to generate and capture value from PCI in two directions, upstream and downstream. These dynamics offer a mechanism to understand and articulate the value of openness for creative industries policy and management of creative organizations. Keywords: private-collective innovation, copyright, creative industries, appropriability, business models 2 1. INTRODUCTION Widespread practices of sharing and follow-on innovation have introduced new management concerns for creative firms (Bechtold et al, 2015; Boudreau & Lakhani, 2015). As creative firms seek to engage audiences by making it possible to digitally re-shape and share content, they risk losing control over intellectual property assets they own (Jenkins et al, 2013). An unanswered question in creative industries management research relates to the strategic conditions under which firms should adopt ‘open’ approaches to developing and marketing products. Mounting anecdotal evidence suggests that however beneficial the exclusive rights provided by intellectual property law, certain firms have found it possible to limit reliance on protections such as copyright, raising the question how such creativity is sustained: e pur si muove (Boyle, 2003). Various forms of openness include Microsoft’s ‘fan’ license for video games, which permits derivative re-use of video game content by its users and the open hardware-licensed Prusa i3 consumer 3D printer which innovates upon the collective RepRap hardware project and is fully openly licensed, including for use by commercial competitors. Since the protection offered by copyright is considered a necessary for subsequent investment – being directly implied in the policy definition of ‘copyright industries’ – the ability to sustainably generate and capture value from public domain inputs is a puzzling feature of the digital economy (Alexy & Reitzig, 2013; Raasch & Herstatt, 2011). Examples of public domain inputs include the works of Shakespeare, books published by Charles Darwin, and folk songs whose origins pre-date the modern copyright framework. Anyone may use and distribute expressions residing in the public domain, including competing firms. To understand the use of open IP by creative industry firms, this paper draws on existing research on private collective innovation (henceforth PCI), initially proposed to explain the behavior of open source software communities (Lerner & Tirole, 2000; Von Hippel & Von Krogh, 2003). The simple but profound observation from PCI research is that open sharing will 3 take place when the private benefits of doing so outweigh the costs (Dahlander & Magnusson, 2008; Lopez-Berzosa & Gawer, 2014; Stuermer et al, 2009). I analyze activities of a sample of creative industry firms that have successfully commercialized products residing in the ‘public domain’, paying attention to the costs and benefits of using freely available IP inputs for creative businesses. I adopt an activity-system perspective on firm behavior (Troxler & Wolf, 2017; Zott & Amit, 2010) which locates value generation and capture activities both within and outside of firm boundaries. I observe interesting findings on the varying impacts of absence of exclusive intellectual property rights on commercialization opportunities to creative firms under different conditions. Based on these findings I offer specific management and policy considerations, with emphasis on lessons for practitioners and avenues for future research. 2. LINK BETWEEN COPYRIGHT AND CREATIVE INDUSTRIES Creative industry firms are those which generate and capture value through activities of creative human endeavor (Oakley, 2004; Schlesinger, 2009). In major national accounting exercises, such as by the Department of Culture, Media and Sport (DCMS) in the UK, the creative industries are understood to encompass the activities of advertising and marketing, architecture, crafts, design, film, television, video, radio, photography, software, publishing, museums, music and the performing arts (DCMS, 2015: 25). In both Europe and the USA, these activities are often referred to as ‘copyright industries’ (Manfredi et al, 2016), emphasizing the perceived importance of copyright protection for their sustainability. The role of intellectual property in creative industries differs from other industries in several important ways. One important distinction is that copyright attracts automatically to a work once it is made in a fixed form. Unlike patent and trademark, no initial registration is necessary; copyright resides automatically with the person who first created the work. To further build upon a copyright work, any follow-on user needs to obtain permission from the copyright owner. This involves the cost of any license as well as search costs involved in tracking down the 4 appropriate owner(s), which can increase the cost of using copyright material (Baldia, 2013). The term of protection offered by copyright is longer than other IP rights. In Europe and the United States, copyright protection generally lasts for 70 years from the year of the creator’s death. In the case of works made for hire (e.g. within a business), copyright protection in the United States currently lasts for 120 years from creation or 95 years from first publication, whichever is shorter. At the time of copyright expiry, the work then falls into the public domain. Creative industry firms deal largely in intangible goods which may be more susceptible than physical products to information spillovers, reducing firms’ ability to profit from innovation (Teece, 2010). This problem is amplified in digital media, where it can be harder to appropriate value from creative products (Hesmondhalgh, 2007; Teece, 2010). A first wave of research on the effects of digitization on the creative industries dealt primarily with the impact of unauthorized copying (piracy) on firms’ ability to invest in new products (Landes & Posner, 1989; Watt, 2000). More recently, research has expanded to consider the role of digital inputs to the production process, the rise of audience participation, network effects arising from interactivity, cost savings in production and effects of competition from new market entrants (Aguiar & Waldfogel, 2015; Hearn et al, 2007). Much of the current research considers user and audience contributions to works in which a firm holds a copyright and can therefore control downstream use. One IP management challenge involves choosing between work-for-hire (WFH) or original creative production to generate revenue (Hotho & Champion, 2011). WFH arrangements may be attractive to small firms because they represent a more stable source of revenue and can establish a firm’s reputation. While this may bring in revenue in the short term, it may fail to provide creative incentives for workers and can inhibit long-term sustainability (Hesmondhalgh & Baker, 2010). Knight and Harvey (2015) characterize the challenge for creative firms as a tension between ‘exploration’ and ‘exploitation’ of innovative ideas. In her ethnographic account of design firms, Noren (2014) finds that creative workers view WFH commissions as ‘fine and 5 good’ projects, which, while carried out to sustain the commercial viability of the business, fall short of the ideal vision of creative work. Many firms engage in a hybrid model of in-licensing and original creative production, using the former to sustain activities while aiming to produce an original hit that will permit growth and greater autonomy. A third option, explored in this paper, is that firms adopt business models which take advantage of public domain inputs; that is, they build upon pre-existing material which is not protected by intellectual property right. 3. INNOVATION WITHOUT IP: PRIVATE-COLLECTIVES Neighboring research on open source software has called into question the role of intellectual property in firms’ ability to generate and capture value from innovation (Dahlander & Magnusson, 2009). Firms and individuals participating in open source report a range of benefits from engaging with ‘private-collective innovation’ (PCI) originating from beyond the boundaries of the firm (von Hippel & von Krogh, 2003). Incentives for engagement include cost- savings, increased speed-to-market and better information about consumers (Garriga et al, 2012). Economic theory suggests the benefits of openness could lead to a race towards openness, contradicting the traditional incentives theory of intellectual property (Harhoff et al, 2003). Since von Hippel and von Krogh’s influential (2003) paper, one focus for empirical research has been to enumerate the costs and benefits to firms when engaging in PCI. A summary of research on commercialization of private-collective innovation is presented in Figure 1. Broadly, innovation activities can occur ‘upstream’ of a commercializing firm and ‘downstream’ of a firm which openly reveals its innovation. [Figure 1 about here] 3.1 Benefits to Commercializing Upstream PCI The benefits to commercializing an existing PCI (such as open source software) include product improvements and cost savings (Harhoff et al, 2003). A manufacturer may find that a community of users have found a useful solution and may choose to incorporate that design into 6 future products. Thus, one incentive to commercialize a freely revealed innovation is the promise of selling to other similarly-situated customers (Von Hippel & Von Krogh, 2003). Market knowledge may be generated by crowd participation in development of new products. Hienerth et al (2014) identify ‘efficiencies of scope’ in the design and testing of innovative possibilities. The authors describe how kayak manufacturer Hollowform incorporated improvements from users in the design of a new type of plastic kayak hull, an idea that was initiated among the enthusiast community. Overall, the authors find that 87% of all major innovations in whitewater kayaking from 1955 to 2014 originated from user-innovators (Hienerth et al, 2014, 18). If an innovation is related to a product under development, the open inputs may increase speed-to-market by providing a head start to R&D. This has been a feature observed widely in the literature on adoption of open source software, where using open contributions can help a firm swiftly achieve the ‘credible promise’ of a prototype (Haefliger et al, 2008, 189). Even when competition is high, a firm may still be able to profit from incorporating a PCI if it enables the firm to access new markets or entice new consumers to adopt a standard (Lecocq & Demil, 2006). Finally, there may be cost savings due to the absence of licensing fees if the innovation is in the public domain. 3.2 Costs of Commercializing Upstream PCI Even though PCI collaborations are typically free and open, commercial users may still bear costs related to exploitation. First, there may be start-up costs associated with establishing and managing a new community (Dahlander & Magnusson, 2008; Stuermer et al, 2009). On the other hand, if a firm seeks to commercialize an existing innovation that they do not control, there may be search and acquisition costs. In either case, there are likely to be knowledge capacity requirements to understand how to use the information. ‘Transient incompatibility costs’ may be present for adopters of a new system or standard, even when it is freely available (Lecocq & 7 Demil, 2009). Costs may be mitigated depending on the adaptive capacity of the commercial firm and the nature of the PCI (Raasch & Herstatt, 2011). When collective innovations are non-excludable, commercial adopters may face increased competition. A major concern is the arrival of free-riders who similarly exploit the collective innovation (Stuermer et al, 2009; Von Hippel & Von Krogh, 2003). A firm may be deterred from commercial investment in a PCI, fearing that competition from subsequent entrants will result in future losses. Research with users and non-users of PCI has identified that some firms worry about differentiating their product from competitors when both are based on freely available innovations (Van de Vrande et al, 2009). The intellectual property environment may introduce management costs. For example, open source software licenses may persist down into developed products and require ‘share- back’ of proprietary improvements. Furthermore, free and open alternatives may persist alongside closed forks, as competitors (Dahlander & Magnusson, 2008). A user community may continue to improve an open source project long after it is appropriated by the commercial user, leading to a more appealing and freely available product. For firms that commercialize, there is a legal risk of infringing a copyright belonging to an upstream user/innovator. The Principal software architect at cloud company Box has stated that he would not use open source projects without an explicit license: ‘Simply saying "this is open source" doesn't make it so, nor does sharing your code publicly on GitHub or BitBucket automatically mean it can be used. Any code that doesn't explicitly have a license specified is considered "all rights reserved" by the author. […] [Inappropriate licensing] is a showstopper for businesses wishing to incorporate code from these projects.’ (Zakas, 2015) Gaining full understanding of the IP licensing environment is therefore a critically important for firms, as IP ownership can act as a source of costs as well as risk for commercial users of collective innovations. 8 3.3 Benefits to Engaging in Downstream PCI A firm may decide to open a formerly proprietary innovation and share it with downstream user-innovators. PCI research uses the term ‘revealing’ to describe this action. One explanation for revealing in open source software was ‘generalized reciprocity’ among some communities of innovators where reciprocal relationships motivated behavior (Eckh, 1974 in Harhoff et al, 2003). Subsequent research has identified further incentives to reveal to downstream PCI communities. One proposition is that revealers will obtain private benefits tied to the future development of a project (Von Hippel & Von Krogh, 2003). Certain benefits are available only to active project contributors and not to free riders who did not actively take part in the development process. These represent a form of ‘selective incentives’ for project participation that arise organically and without the need for further sources of motivation which may be present (von Hippel, 2005). One empirical basis for this claim is that many successful open source platforms (such as sourceforge.net) are thin in social networking mechanisms or reciprocal relationships between contributors, suggesting the alternative importance of individual private benefits (von Hippel & von Krogh, 2003, 215). Other incentives include reputational gains to the revealer, either within the community or the wider public. For example, a revealing firm may benefit through notoriety achieved for helping to establish a technological standard. Another motivation to contribute to PCI may include learning or knowledge acquisition through sharing of information with other contributors, a strong motivating factor observed in many open source software projects (Boudreau & Lakhani, 2009). As described by Teece (1986) a firm’s ownership of specific complementary assets can improve its ability to appropriate value from a freely shared innovation. These are assets in which increased adoption will improve the competitive position of the revealer (for example marketing or distribution channels owned by the revealer) (Harhoff et al, 2003). Network effects 9 may also be a factor, when the value enjoyed by an individual consumer is increased by the presence of additional users or products. For example, Lecocq and Demil (2006) describe how role playing board game manufacturer Wizards of the Coast opened its proprietary board game rules system to competing game creators. By placing portions of their IP into the public domain, the firm hoped to benefit from network effects, anticipating that competitors would contribute their private investments (new game content) to the overall catalogue of products, thus increasing benefits for everyone. Finally, cost savings may result simply because the cost of keeping the information proprietary exceeds the benefits of doing so. For example, while copyright protection does not require registration fees, trademark and patent do carry those direct costs. Although there is no immediate fee to secure a copyright, if a firm chooses to protect their intellectual property, they must invest in legal monitoring and enforcement. 3.4 Costs of Revealing to Downstream PCI In general, the cost of revealing an innovation is expected to be low (Von Hippel & Von Krogh, 2003). Information can usually be uploaded and shared digitally with little or no cost to the revealer. Indeed, platforms like GitHub have been established to simplify the sharing between members of open source software development projects. However, some information may be costlier to reveal. It is possible that revealed information could be in a format which is cumbersome to reproduce or transmit, such as in paper documents requiring digitization. Furthermore, proprietary information that the revealer wishes to keep secret must be disentangled from portions that are made open. Stuermer et al (2009) describe how mobile phone manufacturer Nokia incurred costs to restrict proprietary business secrets when interacting with a PCI community to develop a new Internet tablet. The company used non-disclosure agreements with key software developers to control information, but this slowed the overall development process (Stuermer et al, 2009, 182). 10 Revealing may also introduce competitive pressure. When revealers to PCI goods are also consumers (such as open-source business software), firms must consider the cost savings to competitors who adopt the improved innovation without R&D costs (Teece, 2010). The presence of a free innovation can also change the structure of a market, for example by lowering the barriers to entry for new competitors (Lecocq & Demil, 2009). Another source of potential costs when revealing an innovation is the risk of liability that revealers may assume when making information available. A freely revealed innovation may contain elements of protectable IP which belong to the innovator and are hers to freely give to the public domain. But if the revealed information includes portions of IP belonging to a third party, then the revealer may be infringing those rights. Disputes have occurred over software packages which incorporate code libraries from third-party sources. A lawsuit initiated by database software company Oracle against Google in 2010 claimed infringement of its Java Application Program Interface (API) in Google’s Android operating system, raising concerns for other commercial users of widely-used APIs (Samuelson & Asay, 2017). The expansion of criminal penalties for circumventing Digital Rights Management (DRM) systems further complicated copyright law in many jurisdictions (Favale, 2011; Samuelson, 2016). Legal uncertainty can impose costs for contributors to private-collective innovations due to the additional burden of establishing permissive licensing parameters to govern the project and its participants, and the future risk of IP disputes that may emerge if the ownership of rights is unclear. 4. RESEARCH METHOD: LOCATING CREATIVE FIRMS Creative firms’ use of open intellectual property has received limited attention within the overall body of research on open and collective innovation (Raasch & Herstatt, 2011). One methodological challenge is sampling from an unknown population (there is neither a list of all works in the public domain nor of firms exploiting them). To identify candidate firms for this 11 study, a non-random sample was constructed by searching backwards from a list of known public domain materials. The top 100 downloaded books from Project Gutenberg was used as the initial seed of public domain material. This initial list of works was augmented by consulting known works in the public collections of The Public Domain Review, an online archive in the UK supported by the Open Knowledge Foundation. The author and two research assistants searched for derivative commercial products based on the list of fiction and non-fiction books, and recorded the producing firms contact details when available. Product searches were performed on major content platforms: Google Play, the IOS App store, Kickstarter and YouTube, to locate digital adaptations based on the original public domain works. A total of 45 candidate firms with business addresses and contacts inside the UK was identified this way. A smaller number of firms were locatable and of those contacted, 22 agreed to be interviewed. Many of the firms identified in the initial sample were small or micro-sized enterprises with less than 5 employees. In these cases, the owner or senior manager was interviewed. For the handful of larger firms selected, interviews were conducted with project managers who had responsibility for product development within the business (such as senior product managers or commissioning editors). All individuals were contacted initially by telephone or email and asked to participate in semi-structured interviews lasting 50-60 minutes in length. Table 1 lists the firms interviewed and their utilization of public domain input. Interviews were conducted by the author and two research assistants who were collectively trained on the interview protocol. Following initial transcription of the interviews a two-step coding approach was used, first to identify common characteristics shared between firms (business models) and in a second stage identify specific activities undertaken by firms to confront issues arising from openness. 5. FINDINGS: CHARACTERIZING BUSINESS MODELS A firm’s business model describes how it is organized to facilitate the interrelated activities of value generation and value capture. The activity-based view of firms’ business models 12 considers activities extending beyond the walls of the organization, including among customers, suppliers and other actors (Zott & Amit, 2010). Business models are a useful analytic ‘for the possibilities they give us for not only defining but also for exploring characteristic similarities and differences and the relationships between classes, as well as for developing understanding, explanation, prediction and intervention’ (Baden-Fuller & Morgan 2010, p.161). The business models of creative firms in this study are of particular interest, because they relate to the challenge of capturing value from un-owned expressions in the public domain. Firms were characterized according to the nature of their engagement with external PCI activities as well as internal activities that contributed to value creation and value capture. Typically, activities of creative firms include procurement, ideation, product generation, marketing, distribution and sales (Raasch & Herstatt, 2011). In this study, collective innovation activities beyond the boundary of individual firms were also considered. Classification of firms in this manner led to identification of three main approaches to external PCI activities: 1) non- engaged users; 2) engagers of upstream PCI; and 3) engagers of both upstream and downstream PCI. Within these overall types, firms combined a range of other internal and external activities in their business models to generate and capture value, discussed below. 5.1 Non-engaged users Some firms used materials from the public domain but did not actively engage with outside communities when doing so. These tended to be larger, more established firms that developed products in traditional categories: animation, print publishing and theater performance. Firms often used a mixture of original, in-licensed and public domain IP depending on the specific product. Managers applied their knowledge of the market to identify opportunities and develop products to meet consumer interest. Some of these firms, such as publishing company Nosy Crow, were vertically integrated and combined activities of product development, marketing, and distribution under the same roof. Value capture focused on product sales, realized through 13 creative product differentiation, proprietary technology, and branding. Competition required firms to be innovative in product development and to invest in market knowledge. Non-engaged users reported that existing knowledge of copyright licensing enabled them to spot opportunities for exploitation. Mark Ruffle of Rufflebrothers Ltd was employed as an art buyer for Oxford University Press before starting his own animation company. The founder of MyVox was a former music industry marketing employee with IP licensing expertise. MyVox produced traditional nursery rhymes whose lyrics were out of copyright, accompanied by original music and animations. The company captured value through its advertising-supported YouTube channel and paid downloadable mobile application. Some non-engaged users bundled public domain material as a complementary good alongside proprietary technology they owned. Onilo, a manufacturer of classroom interactive whiteboards initially used public domain content as a ‘placeholder’ to develop and test its technology. The firm later commissioned copyright books, but found that public domain storybooks remained in high demand because educational consumers favored classic literary tales. Non-engaged users expressed concerns about competition but not specifically linked to the public domain status of material they used. Instead, they saw imitation as an overall feature of the market, requiring constant reinvestment in new products. One respondent characterized her product strategy in the following way: ‘When you find something in the public domain, at the time of your discovery it is less known as a public domain item. You use it creatively so that it becomes known. That’s fine because you’ve moved on by the point when everyone is catching up with you.’ (MyVox Songs). Most non-engaged users made significant alterations to the public domain material they used, such as adapting stories to new mediums, or adding elaborate new features. Mobile app developer Inkle produced a multiplayer, interactive version of Jules Verne’s Around the World in 80 Days. A lead product developer reported that ‘people compete on what 14 are essentially details of execution; we're competing on actual quality of content, which is a lot safer. […] We try to find holes in what's out there, fill them well, and then move on.’ 5.2 Upstream PCI engagers Some firms engaged actively with upstream PCI communities to generate value. These tended to be smaller, less-established firms that benefitted from the activity of PCI communities to locate, adapt and improve public domain material. Upstream PCI activities included volunteer physical and digital archives, enthusiast fan communities and initiatives such as the Wikimedia Commons. Engagement with external PCI communities at the procurement stage helped firms reduce acquisition costs, improve the quality of inputs and generate new product ideas. Some firms became involved with external PCI activities after being commissioned for a specific project (work-for-hire). For example, creator Stephanie Posavec was commissioned to create interactive visualizations based on the works of Charles Darwin. When searching for digitized versions of Darwin’s work, her team came across the Darwin Online archive, a volunteer digital database. Becoming involved with upstream PCI with the archive allowed Posavec to obtain accurate digitized text to use in her visualizations. She later contributed to the upstream PCI by sharing back her own dataset. To remain competitive over time, firms reported investing in talent acquisition, workflow efficiency, creative technology and innovation/knowledge capacity. Firms invested in their relationships with upstream PCI communities, viewing them as a valuable source of inputs to future product development. One entrepreneur (Eugene Byrne) was initially commissioned by a UK Arts Council to create a graphic novel based on the life and accomplishments of Isambard Kingdom Brunel. This success led to his firm exploring its own products based on other upstream public domain inputs. Byrne worked with local historical societies and the openly available Internet Archive to source 15 material about other historically important figures. Developing new products this way helped his firm move away from the WFH model, by reducing creative development costs and reducing risk at a point when the firm was resource constrained. Some firms combined multiple internal and external activities. Auroch Digital was commissioned to create a simulation game based on the Jack the Ripper mythos. The firm relied on volunteer public archives of newspaper materials from the 19th Century to source content for the game. Later, Auroch worked with a commercial board-game manufacturer to adapt an electronic video game. Commercial licensing, original development, and engagement with upstream PCI all became ingredients of Auroch’s business model. 5.3 Fully engaged (upstream and downstream) Certain firms were open at both ends of the value chain, using inputs from upstream PCI and revealing aspects of their own products to downstream user-innovators. These firms were both consumers and producers in a niche market, using knowledge gained from the community to improve their own product offering. Interviewees reported being ‘fans’ of the products they developed in a co-productive relationship with audiences made up of other consumer/creators. These firms reported benefits in terms of product development and marketing, from their status as community members and familiarity with the underlying social norms governing communities. For example, the founder of Three Turn Productions and creator of a computer game called Ever, Jane was a member of the Jane Austen Society and familiar with fan readings and expectations about functionality required for an interactive video game. While in open beta development her game was free to play, and she used suggestions from players to refine and improve the game before release. Initial value capture was accomplished through advance product sales on crowdfunding platform Kickstarter. These firms drew upon expertise from downstream community members to improve and refine products. Shakespeare Books was founded by a former educator who taught in the English 16 Literature curriculum and identified an opportunity to improve the appeal of Shakespeare in schools. Through knowledge acquired via consultation with other teachers, the firm developed graphic adaptations of Shakespeare and teaching aids for the educational community. Red Wasp design produced a computer game based on the public domain stories of H.P. Lovecraft, and reported benefiting from a large and passionate fan base of which the firm was also a member. Firms in this group relied heavily on volunteer communities to beta test and improve their offerings. As a result, products were released unfinished, with the expectation that developers and users would improve the product over time. While this approach appealed to some consumers who valued the experience of inclusion in product development, it limited size of the overall market. Engagers tended not to invest heavily in marketing or distribution, relying on community dynamics to attract new consumers. Respondents noted that the small size of their market likely deterred larger competitors from entering, even with superior products. The firms in this group invested heavily in communicating with communities of user-innovators, both in product development and after sale. They actively maintained blogs, Twitter feeds and product support forums to converse with users. 6. DISCUSSION: PRIVATE-COLLECTIVE INNOVATION IN CREATIVE FIRMS Interview respondents reported varying levels of benefit to using open and freely available inputs, mirroring findings from research on PCI in neighboring industries. For non-engaged users there were some cost savings from using public domain materials as inputs to product development, although these firms tended to have larger product development budgets overall. Other benefits included absence of a license payment to a preexisting rightsholder, as well as reduced transaction costs related to locating and asking permission to use a work. Cost savings and availability helped certain firms to achieve the ‘credible promise’ of a prototype and bring a new product to market (Haefliger et al, 2008). 17 Another group of firms made enhanced use of PCI in the procurement phase. These tended to be smaller firms that relied on upstream PCI communities to curate and improve the quality of inputs prior to commercialization. Using upstream PCI helped firms to further reduce acquisition costs. Firms solved the problem of acquiring high-quality inputs by tapping in to voluntary collective projects, finding that open crowdsourced data were highly accurate and useful. PCI communities themselves benefitted from contact with commercial firms. The Stephanie Posavec/Microsoft Research collaboration returned their improved data back to the volunteer Darwin archive from which it was initially obtained. Such ‘share-back’ of innovation has been observed in other PCI efforts, notably in the return of software code to an open source project by commercial users. Reasons given include bugfixing, reputation, marketing, and complementarity (Henkel, 2006). Some firms found it profitable to engage with upstream as well as downstream PCI (open at both ends). In a copyright-restricted environment, audiences are limited in their ability to quote, re-use and adapt a product outside of narrow fair dealing exceptions to copyright. However, when a product originates from the public domain, its users may contribute their own derivative adaptations more freely: fans of Jane Austen or H.P. Lovecraft can write their own fictional scenarios, teachers may improve and share lesson plans based on Shakespeare and coders may build upon and improve software under an open license. For certain engaged firms and consumers, the benefits of co-creation outweighed the costs of releasing an unfinished product lacking mainstream features. Fully-engaged firms viewed the involvement of audience members and fans as critical to improving their products and increasing the market for future releases through word-of-mouth marketing. For example, when choosing to adapt a video game based on the public domain works of H.P. Lovecraft, the creators explained the value of the preexisting fan community: 18 ‘If a public domain story has nothing interesting done to it, and people just kind of venerate it, it essentially traps it in amber. I think it is important that you’re growing something for fans, because obviously they want to see more stuff come out. When they don’t get it they’ll make it themselves, and where they do get it, they’ll make it themselves anyway, but more so.’ (Red Wasp Design). The primary dynamic described in research on PCI, that increased private benefits accrue to free revealers in a collective project, appears to hold in the case of certain creative firms. They are uniquely able to generate and capture value from openness by investing in relationships with communities who improve and circulate their products. 7. CONCLUSION The experiences related by creative industry firms in this study offer insight on the relationship between intellectual property regimes and private-collective innovation. Like the maker-entrepreneurs described by Troxler and Wolf (2017), creative firms that engage PCI communities are linked to value generation activities beyond their boundaries. Previous research on PCI has tended to overlook the importance of intellectual property licensing environments to success of collective projects. The present study illustrates that an open intellectual property environment can enable business models which rely on user co-creation. For certain PCI- engaged firms, the requirement for strict IP protection appears lower than for firms pursuing traditional product-based strategies. This is somewhat counterintuitive, because openness requires that works circulate widely beyond creators’ direct control (making them easier to copy). However, the absence of copyright protection offers opportunities for PCI by inviting audience circulation, re-use and improvement of products. Strong copyright protection has been considered necessary for creative industries to thrive, by giving firms the ability to fully control downstream uses of their intellectual property. 19 Copyright remains important for many traditional firms that rely on revenue from licensing or selling their products. 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Long range planning, 43(2), 216-226. 21 Table 1: Summary of creative firms interviewed Firm Public domain input Commercial product PCI activity Little Loud Various fairy tales Interactive software Non-engaged user Rufflebrothers Fairy tales, Charles Dickens Animations Non-engaged user Cyber Duck Bram Stoker's Dracula Graphic novels Non-engaged user Onilo Various fairy tales Interactive whiteboards Non-engaged user Inkle Jules Verne's Around the World in 80 Days Interactive software Non-engaged user Nosy Crow Books Various fairy tales Children's books Non-engaged user Mark Bruce Company Bram Stoker's Dracula Theatre performances Non-engaged user Neil Bartlett Oscar Wilde, Charles Dickens Theatre performances Non-engaged user Intelligenti Bram Stoker's Letters Interactive software Non-engaged user Auroch Digital 19th Century Newspapers Computer games Upstream Eugene Byrne 19th Century photographs and text Printed books, mobile apps Upstream Stephanie Posavec/ Microsoft Darwin's Origin of Species Interactive software Upstream People Like Us Wikimedia Commons imagery Performance Upstream MyVox Songs Various folk songs Animated nursery rhymes Upstream Laurence Anholt Various artistic works (impressionist paintings) Printed books Upstream Heuristic Media 18th-19th Century maps of London Mobile apps Upstream Abbie Stephens Darwin's Origin of Species Videography and animation Upstream I Can Make Various architectural landmarks 3D printing consulting services Upstream and Downstream Three Turn Productions Works of Jane Austen Computer games Upstream and Downstream Red Wasp Design Works of H.P. Lovecraft Computer games Upstream and Downstream Shakespeare Books Works of Shakespeare Printed books Upstream and Downstream UsTwo Creative Commons photographs Messaging apps, games Upstream and Downstream 22 Figure 1: Costs and benefits to commercial users of private-collective innovation 23 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: I am grateful to Nuran Acur, Charles Baden-Fuller, Christopher Buccafusco, Gillian Doyle, Paul Heald and Nicola Searle for valuable inputs to earlier versions of this paper. Research underlying this study was funded by the UK Economic and Social Research Council grant number ES/K008137/1. RCUK Centre for Copyright and New Business Models in the Creative Economy College of Social Sciences / School of Law University of Glasgow 10 The Square Glasgow G12 8QQ Web: www.create.ac.uk 
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work_bznl5baxhrauvcgx3hfazpthji	----	Austen's Nostalgics R e p r e s e n tat i o n s 73 · Winter 2001 q t h e r e g e n t s o f t h e u n i v e r s i t y o f c a l i f o r n i a i s s n 0734-6018 pages 117–143. All rights reserved. Send requests for permission to reprint to Rights and Permissions, University of California Press, Journals Division, 2000 Center St., Ste. 303, Berkeley, CA 94704-1223. 117 N I C H O L A S D A M E S Austen’s Nostalgics This morning we have been to see Miss Chamberlayne look hot on horseback. —Seven years & four months ago we went to the same Ridinghouse to see Miss Lefroy’s performance!—What a diVerent set are we now moving in! But seven years I suppose are enough to change every pore of one’s skin, & every feeling of one’s mind. —Jane Austen to Cassandra Austen, 8 Apri l 1805 Mémoire.—Se plaindre de la sienne, et même se vanter de n’en pas avoir. Mais rugir si on vous dit que vous n’avez pas de jugement. —Gustave Flaubert, Dictionnaire des idées reçues1 A h i s t o ry o f n o s ta l g i a : what could this history be but a chimerical one, given that nostalgia seems to denote an inauthentic longing and vague remem- brance that would be hostile to the speci� cities of historical recollection? To reclaim nostalgia as not only a mode of memory but also a mode of history would mean considering it as a strategy—as a response to social conditions and, in fact, as a form of therapy: a winnowing of the speci� city, emotional disturbance, and unpre- dictability of reminiscence into a diluted, comfortable, and serviceable retrospect.2 By understanding nostalgia strategically, or procedurally—what it does, and how it does it—history and nostalgia might again merge; where they meet is in a series of crucial shifts in the psychosocial eVects of mobility in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. They meet at a moment when a pathological relation to physical and psychic dislocation becomes depathologized, when, in other words, a speci� c form of traumatic memory is erased in favor of a curative memory that will curiously bear the identical name. The traces of this transformation can be read, and the procedure studied, not only in a set of historical instances but also in narratives that bear its imprint: Jane Austen’s � ction. ‘‘The last few hours were certainly very painful,’’ Persuasion’s Anne Elliot tells her future spouse, Captain Wentworth, ‘‘but when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure.’’3 This particular ars memorativa, which has analogues in every one of Austen’s novels, instructs both Anne’s lover, as well as Austen’s read- ers, in the very possibilities of nostalgic remembrance that by the early nineteenth century are coming to supersede an older de� nition of nostalgia. The moves and tactics that combine to make Anne’s proclamation possible might together be This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 118 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s termed a nostalgics: a strategic logic of nostalgia that Austen’s � ction works out with care. This logic, however, is far from a disembodied one. It has links to a history of displacements and disease that it carefully shrouds or forgets, making our own eVorts to recover this history more diYcult and conjectural. The task of my inquiry, then, is twofold—to analyze a nostalgic strategy integral to the � ction of Jane Aus- ten that becomes increasingly possible, and visible, in the early nineteenth century, and to trace this strategy back to the historical pathology that it so eVectively cancels. Pathologizing, Depathologizing In September of 1770, Lieutenant (later Captain) James Cook’s vessel the HMS Endeavour left the coast of New Guinea in haste, its crew having enjoyed a landing reception of � re darts. On board the Endeavour was Sir Joseph Banks, a former pupil of Linnaeus and the ship’s resident botanist, who recorded the leavetaking in his journal: As soon as ever the boat was hoisted in we made sail, and steered away from this land, to the no small satisfaction of, I believe, three-fourths of our company. The sick became well and the melancholy looked gay. The greater part of them were now pretty far gone with the longing for home, which the physicians have gone so far as to esteem a disease under the name of nostalgia. Indeed I can hardly � nd anybody in the ship clear of its eVects but the captain, Dr. Solander, and myself, and we three have ample constant employment for our minds, which I believe to be the best, if not the only remedy for it.4 Here nostalgia enters the English language— carefully distanced as a medical neolo- gism, one that the physicians have gone ‘‘so far as to esteem a disease’’ in a concep- tual leap as large as the geographical journey Cook’s crew has traveled to contract it. The most immediately curious thing about this taxonomical debut is that, as far as a history of nostalgia might go, it seems to represent a dead end. Rather than a comfortable sentimentality, the nostalgia of the eighteenth century—elaborately studied in nosologies, tracts, and case studies, particularly in the century’s conclud- ing decades—was a danger, a potentially fatal aZiction. Banks’s journal provides us with a glimpse of nostalgia in extremis: a homesickness that was powerful and real, situated � rst among travelers, among the exotic, far from ‘‘home.’’ Indeed, the eighteenth-century study of nostalgia centered on its prevalence in armies and on board ships, in precisely those places where travel, particularly enforced travel, was likely to occur. This is not quite Jane Austen’s nostalgia, nor is the semantic � eld it encapsulates very similar to contemporary usage. Something has intervened between Banks’s illness and the generalized comfort and disembodied quality of current de� nitions of the word to alter nostalgia beyond any real recognition, something more complex This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 119Austen’s Nostalgics and obscure than the fact of European medicine’s gradual relinquishment of it as a clinical entity. If during the � rst few decades of the nineteenth century this medi- calized nostalgia begins to disappear from scienti� c study, and homesickness ceases to be a pathologized concept, something has operated to reclaim nostalgia as a social process and a desirable bit of mental furniture—to depathologize and then propagate a new nostalgia. If nostalgia is transformed from a wasting illness, one with its own etiology, symptoms, and set of cures, to a regular fact of human mem- ory, the open question is: where might we locate the pivot of this transformation in time and in cultural space? The search for this answer takes me away from medicine and overseas travel and toward Austen’s novels, a corpus of work that initiates the revision of a patho- logized memory linked to the perils of dislocation. In attempting to locate the mo- ment and the site where Banks’s nostalgia becomes a contemporary, depathologized nostalgia—where, that is, the idea of a nostalgia that might be shared is born—I turn to a set of social novels from the early nineteenth century, at the very moment when the peak of an older nostalgia has passed. In this passage from a pathology to a general cultural category, medicine itself is only part of the story; what it is necessary to chart is the passage of nostalgia through literary representation, through the novel, on its path to becoming innocuous, inescapable, and normative. Telling the story of nostalgia’s transformation is remarkably similar to telling the story of remembrance in the succession of Austen’s narratives. I begin with Sense and Sensibility’s Marianne Dashwood, who courts memory, and who suVers from a wasting disease brought on by an excess of regret and reminiscence. The keynote of her character is rung at the novel’s outset precisely through her eighteenth-century version of nostalgia: she is the most reluctant of the Dashwood family to leave their former home, Norland Park, and the most consistent in her desire to remain nostal- gic; ‘‘Elinor,’’ she says to her mother, ‘‘in quitting Norland and Edward, cried not as I did’’ (SS, 39). This nostalgia is very real—its referent is a real place, not an inaccessible time—and, of course, highly dangerous, as dramatic in its eventual eVects upon Marianne’s body as any of the case studies discussed by eighteenth- century physicians. The nostalgia of Sense and Sensibility is still very much a disease; it is perhaps more a social disease than the traditional medical understanding of nostalgia, insofar as it occurs in a restricted compass of space somewhat unlike the vaster, isolated locales mentioned in eighteenth-century medical texts, but it is a disease nonetheless, a disorder with potentially drastic consequences, and a disease (although undeniably somatic) of excessive remembrance. Next to this early example of Austenian nostalgia, consider one of the � nal scenes of Pride and Prejudice, in which a newer and more recognizable nostalgia be- gins to supplant any sense of a mnemonic disease; this nostalgia is explicitly cura- tive. Elizabeth and Darcy have begun a survey of their fraught, almost accidental courtship, a review potentially laden with unhappy memories and burdensome This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 120 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s emotions. In reaction to this possibly dangerous strain of conversation, Elizabeth begins, ‘‘Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all’’ (PP, 368). When Darcy persists in remembering his earlier, explanatory, often bitter letter to Elizabeth, she responds with customary spirit: The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely diVerent from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it, ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure. (PP, 368–69) What was a troubled memory—and one with a potential to resurrect resentment and ripple the surface of this new pairing—is transformed by Elizabeth’s ‘‘philoso- phy’’ into a nostalgic pleasure. Unlike Marianne’s backward-turned pathology, Elizabeth’s therapeutic advice asserts the crucial principle of disconnection: the past, once gone, is of no further consequence, and because it is of no consequence, it can be forgotten. Of course there is an element of sophistry to this logic, one that Elizabeth’s own irony lightly registers—if the past were truly of no consequence, it would hardly be necessary to attempt to forget it; if Darcy’s current feelings are indeed ‘‘so widely diVerent from what they were,’’ then why is there a lingering unpleasantness that must be forgotten? But however much Elizabeth’s claim begs the question of how disconnected their present ‘‘really’’ is from their past, the asser- tion of discontinuity remains, and it does not depend upon any tight logic. Indeed, the nostalgic principle of ‘‘pleasure’’ neatly brushes aside any impertinent queries or lingering doubts, and it is well to remember that fantasy occupies a preeminent place in any theory of nostalgia. Elizabeth’s nostalgic fantasy—that all is diVerent in the present, and that the past can be safely, even pleasurably recalled once that disconnection is asserted—is nothing if not pragmatic. Barring any yearning for the past, or any continued cathexis to memory, her new nostalgia has cured what the older, medicalized nostalgia puts into peril. Darcy will insist upon returning to his past, a moment to which I too will return, but Elizabeth’s proclamation signals the end of an older style of nostalgia. Her ‘‘philosophy’’ is entirely in the service of the present, and so it is appropriate that this conversation should end by their � nd- ing, ‘‘on examining their watches, that it was time to be at home’’ (PP, 370), for unlike Marianne’s aZiction, the new nostalgia increasingly employed in Austen’s � ction is turned resolutely forward. It is possible to take Elizabeth’s request, to think only of the past as its remem- brance gives us pleasure, as the foundation of Austen’s new nostalgia—and as the foundation of the semantic range of nostalgia that dates from the early nineteenth century. Not surprisingly, Austen’s critics have registered the importance of nostal- gia to her work, but the critical tradition surrounding Austen has understood its importance only obliquely.5 It is as if nostalgia is an aZiction to which Austen’s readers are particularly susceptible, for which only the inoculations of a radically denostalgizing criticism are a cure. As early as 1905, in Henry James, who saw in This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 121Austen’s Nostalgics Austen what he saw with the Brontë sisters—a ‘‘case of popularity’’ that displays ‘‘a beguiled infatuation, a sentimentalized vision’’— one feels the urge to remove the nostalgic encrustations upon Austen’s image, the urge to read nostalgia as an unfortunate fact of reception-history, or of popular consumption, that is � nally de- tachable from the � ction itself.6 Yet what if the nostalgia so often associated with Austen—and so productively identi� ed and castigated by recent critics—is part of the eVect Austen creates? What if readers learn their nostalgia from her texts? What has gone unnoticed in all the recent discussions and corrections of the nostalgic Austen reader is the nostalgia that inhabits Austen’s own narratives, the nostalgia that she inherits from eighteenth-century medical diagnoses and begins to transmute into a modern sen- timentality and poignant yearning. Forgetfulness of former traumas and contesta- tions, closings of former � ssures, a sense of disconnection from the past: these are not usually considered the best analytic equipment with which to explore older texts, but they are conceptual tools that are provided by Austen herself. The very process of becoming a nostalgic reader, as well as the resultant blind spots and errors such a process implies, is dramatized in her novels, and there is no better place to locate the semantic and conceptual transformation of Banks’s pathology into a contemporary register that tends more to pleasure, or harmless regret, than bodily dissolution. Nostalgic remembrance begins in Austen, with Sense and Sensibility, as the object of representation; by the time of Persuasion it has become a principle of representation, so thoroughly embedded into her narrative practice that readers learn, perhaps, their nostalgia from these later texts—the very nostalgia that serves to mobilize the modern Austen critic. In attempting to understand the nostalgia that remains linked to Austen, however, we must return to the earlier nostalgia with which Austen begins. The Unassimilable Self The fact that the medical origins of nostalgia have been largely forgotten is itself a tribute to the success of the condition. Hiding or diluting a traumatic past into one safe for contemplation is the basic work of nostalgizing, which has ex- tended to the very concept itself—insofar as current usage forgets nostalgia’s origi- nal ties to the body and to death, it remains nostalgic, one might say, about nostal- gia. Only recently has the denostalgizing work of studying, and recovering, the origins of nostalgia been carried on.7 The word itself was still in a comparative in- fancy in Austen’s time; it is not listed in Samuel Johnson’s Dictionary, and is never used by Austen herself. As an explanation for this fact—the word’s presence in Banks’s travel journals, and its absence from most literary lexicons— one might oVer the comparatively exotic quality of nostalgia: a term coined by a foreign physi- cian, and still, by the late eighteenth century, very much a medical diagnosis, for- eign to other discourses. This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 122 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s Indeed, nostalgia begins as an explanation for the often malignant eVects of foreignness and distance. Its history begins in Basel in 1688, when the Swiss physi- cian Johannes Hofer published his ‘‘Dissertatio medica de nostalgia.’’8 Hofer’s coinage—combining the Greek nostos, or homecoming, and algos, or pain—is es- sentially a translation of preexisting terms, such as the German Heimweh and the French maladie du pays. But Hofer’s uniqueness consisted in providing the � rst ex- tended treatment of the perils of what might be more simply called homesickness. Building around homesickness a set of both psychological and physiological symp- toms, a speci� c etiology, and a series of suggested ameliorations and cures, as well as a taxonomic term from the Greek, Hofer gave the malady a new importance and thus prepared the way for its entrance into serious medical research. Indeed, in the scienti� c literature devoted to nostalgia throughout the eighteenth century, there is very little deviation from the outlines provided by Hofer’s thesis. Hofer’s malady was canonized by its inclusion in the great nosologies of the mid–eighteenth century: Francisco Boissier de Sauvages de la Croix’s Nosologia Methodica (1760), Linnaeus’s Genera Morborum (1763), Rudolf Vogel’s De�nitiones generum morborum (1764), and—most in� uential of all for British physicians—William Cullen’s 1769 Synopsis nosologiae. In the taxonomies of the 1760s, nostalgia was placed alongside melancholia, nymphomania, hypochondria, and bulimia. From here nostalgia en- tered European history at large.9 The dislocations of the last two decades of the eighteenth century—preeminently the French Revolution, the mass emigrations that it spawned, and the distant movements of armies increasingly based on con- scription—led to a rise in diagnoses of homesickness. Two separate ‘‘epidemics’’ of nostalgia swept French armies, the � rst occurring among the Army of the Rhine from 1793 to 1794, the second aZicting the Army of the Alps starting in 1799; indeed, Didier Jourdeuil, the French deputy minister of war in 1793, issued a com- mand intended to reduce desertion by suspending all convalescent leaves except those necessitated by a diagnosis of nostalgia.10 Even American soldiers � ghting for independence in the early 1780s were found to be suVering from the disease.11 What was this disease like? One of the best British accounts is from William Falconer’s 1788 tract A Dissertation on the In�uence of the Passions upon Disorders of the Body. Falconer, educated at Edinburgh and Leyden, was a physician at Bath Gen- eral Hospital from 1784 to 1819—during which time, of course, Austen lived in Bath, enduring an enforced separation from her Hampshire home. Borrowing from Hofer and succeeding writers, Falconer drew a standard picture of nostalgia’s origin and progress: This disorder is said to begin with melancholy, sadness, love of solitude, silence, loss of appe- tite for both solid and liquid food, prostration of strength, and a hectic fever in the evening; which is frequently accompanied with livid or purple spots upon the body. Sometimes a regular intermittent, and sometimes a continued fever attends this disorder; in the manage- ment of which, the greatest care is requisite not to exhaust the strength and spirits by evacua- tions of any kind. Nausea and vomiting are frequent symptoms, but emetics are of no ser- This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 123Austen’s Nostalgics vice. . . . when the disorder is violent, nothing avails but returning to their own country, which is so powerful an agent in the cure, that the very preparations for the return prove more eVectual than anything else, though the patient be debilitated and unable to bear any other motion than that of a litter.12 It was, in essence, a disease of yearning—a yearning for home so intense that the most severe pathological eVects ensued. Falconer’s general description is echoed throughout the medical literature: general listlessness and melancholy—the dan- gerous � rst signs—followed by fever and occasionally hallucinatory visions of home; then gastric distress caused by the body’s torpor, issuing in severe gastroen- teritis; � nally, the body succumbs to its weakness, a more severe fever killing the patient. This was, evidently, not merely a psychological disorder. Hofer’s thesis received further theoretical ballast from associationist theories of the mind, which claimed that the brain can be physically altered by the overuse of certain mental pathways. This sort of associationist thinking, with its physiological implications, provided nostalgia’s eighteenth-century cartographers with a key methodological tool. In 1821 the First Surgeon of Napoleon’s Grande Armée, Baron D. J. Larrey, published his extensive research on nostalgia garnered from his experience during the French westward retreat. Larrey performed a series of autopsies on patients found to have died of nostalgia, and discovered that the sutures and ridges of the brain were often obliterated, and that brain tissue tended to be in� amed. Using an associationist physiology, Larrey claimed that the increased activity of a mind turned obsessively toward home would cause ‘‘a sort of expansion in the substance of the brain, en- gorgement and torpor of the vessels of this organ, and successively, of the mem- branes which envelope it, and line its cavities.’’13 Although Larrey’s interest in brain structure is unusual among most writers on nostalgia, his insistence upon the physi- cality of the disorder is not; nostalgia was a somatic fact, a remembrance that threat- ened to break apart the normal pathways of the brain. Who was prone to this disease? Its usual haunt was the military; the ‘‘ecological niche,’’ to use Ian Hacking’s precise term, for the disease seems to have been army camps and naval vessels, where mobility of an enforced and newly vast sort was common.14 But throughout eighteenth-century writing on nostalgia a more general clinical pro� le appears. The nostalgic patient is likely to have an aversion to social intercourse and a preference for solitary meditation, as well as a vivid imagination; that the usual nostalgic suVerer has an excess of ‘‘sensibility’’ is a theme to which most medical writers recur.15 In addition to the personal characteristics mapped by physicians, there was a more vivid, and more highly contested, range of national characteristics shared by nostalgics. A fascinating linkage is made, starting with Hofer, between liberty and homesickness: the freer the nation, so the reasoning runs, the greater the danger that its citizens will miss their homes and fall into nostalgia. Hofer drew for his evidence upon Swiss nationals living in France, and thereafter Switzerland was taken as the preeminent site of nostalgia.16 The This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 124 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s Helvetian origins of nostalgia could be explained as an instance of climatic fac- tors—Larrey, for instance, claims that cold regions inspire nostalgia, and adds that French troops in Egypt were remarkably free of it—but were more usually adduced as a critique of illiberal governments. Falconer states that nostalgia ‘‘is particularly prevalent among the Swiss, and to a certain degree among all nations, those espe- cially where the government is moderate, free, and happy.’’ With a dramatic � our- ish, Falconer adds that ‘‘this is the only endemic disorder, of which we have any knowledge, that can scarcely be called with justice a national misfortune.’’17 For George Seymour, an early-nineteenth-century physician and writer on nostalgia, homesickness was virtually identical to a liberal nationalism: in his Dissertatio medica inauguralis de nostalgia Seymour cited William Wallace, John Hampden, and Admi- ral Horatio Nelson as early ‘‘nostalgics.’’18 There are implications here for a consid- eration of what might be called colonial consciousness, particularly given the fact that by the time nineteenth-century imperial projects reach fruition this disease, with its liberal and centered form (a disease that somatically registered distances from national capitals), has disappeared. Political re� ections on nostalgia are given an unexpected in� ection in the work of Thomas Arnold, the foremost British expert on insanity at the end of the eigh- teenth century. Arnold’s compendium of mental disorders, the 1782 Obser vations on the Nature, Kinds, Causes, and Prevention of Insanity, Lunacy, or Madness, contained these re� ections on the habitus of nostalgia: ‘‘This unreasonable fondness for the place of our birth, and for whatever is connected with our native soil, is the oVspring of an unpolished state of society, and not uncommonly the inhabitant of dreary and inhospitable climates, where the chief, and almost only blessings, are ignorance and liberty.’’19 Nostalgia, Arnold claims, is a rural phenomenon only, insofar as the cosmopolitan mixtures of the city break down former partialities and soften obdurate memories. It is also, and for similar reasons, a disease found among the lower orders, thus leading to the following general clinical pro� le: nostalgia � our- ishes where social discourse is limited, whether limited by geographical factors (the mountains of Switzerland, England’s water barriers), regional characteristics (the comparative isolation of rural areas), social class (the restricted opportunities for travel among lower orders), or psychological traits (the overimaginative, the solitary, the melancholic personality). Homesickness is a disease, therefore, of failed assimila- tion—of psyches whose natural, political, social, or constitutional barriers to fre- quent encounters with new stimuli create an inability to adapt to change. It was, in short, a disease of transplantation, and it is worthwhile to consider how many of Austen’s characters � t the pro� le, how many are forced to leave their home behind, how many of her heroines endure inde� nite or permanent removals from home.20 The Dashwood family in Sense and Sensibility must leave Norland Park, the Dashwood seat for several generations, permanently; Fanny Price in Mans�eld Park leaves Portsmouth, and her family, for her uncle’s distant estate, and when the novel’s main action begins she has been gone for nine years; and the Elliot family This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 125Austen’s Nostalgics in Persuasion is forced by debt to rent their estate with a seven-year lease and move to Bath. With the notable exception of Emma, the decisive actions of Austen’s plots occur away from home, on prolonged visits, on travels, or during enforced segrega- tions from what constitutes, at the novel’s outset, ‘‘home.’’ As we have seen from the eighteenth-century creation of the category of the ‘‘nostalgic,’’ in situations of transplantation memory becomes a potential danger. How, these medical texts im- plicitly ask, is memory to be managed in a situation of vastly increased mobility? How does memory function, or malfunction, when those who have never known foreignness suddenly � nd themselves sundered from the familiar? The clinical pro- � le established in medical writing de� nes nostalgia as the mind’s resistance to adap- tation, its refusal to feel at home in a larger world; at the time of Austen’s writing, therefore, sending a person from home was a test of mnemonic control, a psychic gamble. The eighteenth-century nostalgic self is unassimilable; confronted with al- tered circumstances, it begins to malfunction. It is not surprising, therefore, that with this combination of medical interest and mass diagnoses, homesickness increasingly in� ects the literary representation of personality. One might adduce the 1774 appearance of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s Das Leiden des jungen Werthers and its lavishly nostalgic account of Werther’s return to his boyhood home, including the retracing of old walks and a glimpse of Werther’s old school.21 A relevant British example is Samuel Rogers’s The Pleasure of Memory, a virtual anthology of nostalgic attitudes that is � rst published in 1792 but reprinted throughout the next two decades; shortly thereafter, the word ‘‘home- sickness’’ makes its � rst appearance in English, in Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem ‘‘Home-sick,’’ published in 1800: Home-sickness is a wasting pang This I feel hourly more and more: There’s healing only in thy wings, Thou breeze that play’st on Albion’s shore!22 The emphasis here is predictably on the virtue of return— on the moral and physical bene� ts of avoiding nostalgia’s grip; concomitantly, of course, there is a dramatiza- tion of the obstacles to returning home and the ‘‘healing’’ it might provide. Certainly by Austen’s time, literary culture was well aware of medicalized nos- talgia, and prepared to incorporate the various strands of that disease—its nation- alistic and liberalizing slant, its elucidation of a backward-turned personality, its interest in the psychic conditions of transplantation—in its own projects. Nostalgia, that is, provided writers of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries with a common narrative—the increasing fact of mobility, the necessity of returns— with which to work; but by the second decade of the nineteenth century this narra- tive would no longer have any cultural authority, and the word nostalgia itself began its long, slow shift toward its current semantic range.23 With the strangeness of over- lapping facts that is so common in cultural history, Austen’s novels stand out among This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 126 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s the early-nineteenth-century welter of homesick representations and present a new possibility: the cancellation of a pathology, and the recon� guration of the unassimi- lable self, through a set of what might be understood as modern ‘‘nostalgic’’ prac- tices, a more contemporary ‘‘nostalgics.’’ Plots of Nostalgia: Opened Possibilities In 1781 an army physician, Dr. Robert Hamilton, was stationed with his regiment at Tinmouth, in the north of England, when a recent recruit began to suVer from a mysterious ailment. The young soldier, named Edwards, seemed � t enough, but as Hamilton later recorded, ‘‘a melancholy hung over his countenance, and wanness preyed on his cheeks.’’24 Frequently dizzy, complaining of a noise in his ears and a general weakness, the soldier was taken into the regimental hospital. Hamilton at � rst suspected typhus and set about the usual methods to alleviate it, but to no avail—the recruit’s appetite had disappeared, and he slept little, spoke less, and sighed frequently. Eventually Edwards’s pulse weakened considerably, and a hectic fever set in. After three months in the hospital Edwards seemed to Hamil- ton to resemble a patient in the � nal stages of consumption, with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. ‘‘In short,’’ Hamilton relates, ‘‘I looked on him as lost’’ (216). But at this point Hamilton received some new information: On making my morning visit, and inquiring, as usual, of his rest at the nurse, she hap- pened to mention the strong notions he had got in his head, she said, of home, and of his friends. What he was able to speak was constantly on this topic. This I had never heard of before. The reason she gave for not mentioning it, was, that it appeared to her to be the common ravings of sickness and delirium. He had talked in the same style, less or more, ever since he came into the hospital. (216–17) Aware of nostalgia and its place in the current nosologies, Hamilton responded immediately to the nurse’s story. Upon being asked about his home, the young re- cruit suddenly begged to be returned there, and con� ded in Hamilton that he was Welsh. Hamilton promised—tactfully neglecting to mention that it was not in his power—that once he regained some strength, he would be granted six weeks conva- lescent leave in which to return to Wales. Soon after this oVer was made, Edwards’s illness began to disappear—an appetite returned, along with some strength, al- though disturbingly enough for Hamilton, he continued to refer to the promise of a furlough. With some trepidation, Hamilton mentioned the oVer to his command- ing oYcers, noting that it had gone some way to curing the patient’s nostalgia, and the furlough was granted. Edwards, so it seems, was allowed to return to Wales for a time, and the attack of nostalgia was averted. It is an isolated instance from the medical journals of the time, but it is an ample portrayal of what might be termed the ‘‘older’’ plot of nostalgia. This cultural This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 127Austen’s Nostalgics narrative ran as follows: an initial displacement from home, whether that home be de� ned nationally, regionally, or even more locally; a sudden appearance of morbid signs of melancholy, indeed a feminization of the patient through the familiar mark- ers of ‘‘sensibility’’ (sighing, weakness, longing); and then a rapid physical decline, beginning with the onset of fever. From here the nostalgic plot could only envision two possible outcomes: the restoration of home, or death. It is notable that this restoration must be an actual one—although Edwards improves upon having his fantasies of a return home authorized with an oYcial promise, Hamilton does not consider the cure � nal until the furlough has been granted and the trip made. Either an earlier state of being must be returned to—it cannot be merely imagined —or the patient must be consigned to the fatal eVects of nostalgia. It is an axiom of eighteenth-century nostalgia that one can go home again, and in fact must go home again.25 Here it is necessary to introduce a set of buried technical choices concerning memory and narrative form that few readers of Austen have acknowledged, a set that revises the exigency of the nostalgic plotting of Hamilton and replaces it with a series of psychic movements that permit the formation of a depathologized, in fact curative, nostalgia. I would list them schematically as follows: 1) pleasure; 2) temporal rather than spatial orientation; 3) disconnection; 4) naming or categoriz- ing; 5) communal dissemination. What this schema does not quite represent, and what a further investigation will have to illustrate, is the interdependency of these � ve strategies, which—as we will see—almost never exist in isolation in any given moment from Austen’s narratives. The simple binary of eighteenth-century nostal- gia, repatriation or death, is increasingly dispersed and opened up by Austen’s nov- els through this newer nostalgic system, in which each of the � ve elements exists both as cause and eVect of the other four.26 It is imperative to claim this at the start: that the goal of these � ve processes is as much a readerly memory as the related memories of characters; what they begin to create, I would suggest, is a nostalgic reader far from the nostalgic patients of the eighteenth century. The � rst two processes are visible in one of the more obviously ‘‘nostalgic’’ moments of Mans�eld Park. William Price, Fanny’s naval brother, has returned to England with his ship, and has obtained leave to visit Fanny at Mans� eld; with their conversation during the � rst few days of his arrival Fanny is entirely pleased. They discuss everything without reserve—William’s plans for promotion, Fanny’s adjust- ment to the ways of the Bertrams, the per� dy of Aunt Norris—and it is William ‘‘with whom (perhaps the dearest indulgence of the whole) all the evil and good of their earliest years could be gone over again, and every former united pain and pleasure retraced with the fondest recollection’’ (MP, 234). We catch the authentic accents of modern nostalgia in the phrase ‘‘fondest recollection,’’ which might bring to mind Elizabeth Bennet’s ‘‘philosophy’’ of remembrance—and which con- stitutes the � rst, and perhaps the initial, alteration to the older plot of nostalgia. An evident switch has taken place from memory as productive of trauma or sickness This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 128 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s to memory as a source of pleasure, as a poignant but harmless dip into reminiscence. Fanny and William are both as sundered from their home, Portsmouth, as any of the recruits or travelers mentioned in Hofer or Larrey’s medical texts, but their memory of this inaccessible home does not become malignant. It does not express itself as a yearning for a return or restoration, but instead as a desire for continued occasions merely to recall their childhood home, as if the iteration of memory (we did this, we saw that) was itself enough to supplant any more dangerous desires. Unlike Hamilton’s patient, Fanny and William � nd that talking is enough. The shared recollections of Fanny and William are pleasurable despite the dep- rivations of the past; we hear of ‘‘evil’’ and ‘‘pain,’’ but that is all we hear of potential trauma; the lesson of Austen’s new nostalgia is that very little psychic material is unavailable to the brighter tints of retrospective ‘‘fondness.’’ The key to this alchemy of trauma into nostalgia is, perhaps, the fact that for Austen’s readers these Price childhood memories are really not memories at all: they refer to nothing we have seen or heard in the text previously, and they do not attain enough of a level of speci� city to disturb the sentence’s happy conclusion. What ‘‘pain’’ or ‘‘evil’’ the Prices previously suVered remains persistently— one might say tactically— enig- matic. Were any of these memories of pain to burst into explicitness (and it is diY- cult enough to imagine what they might be, so heavy is the curtain hung over child- hood in Austen), the sentence’s resolution might seem like bad faith or, at best, irony, but insofar as William and Fanny’s memories are so persistently vague, the pleasure they yield does not open itself up to suspicion. What we have is the following align- ment: particularity of mnemonic detail equates to pain, whereas pleasure follows from a determined inexplicitness. If uncomfortable memories are de� ected for the reader through a strategy of vagueness, they are further de� ected for Fanny and William through the second pivotal alteration to the older plot of nostalgia: the substitution of an inaccessible time for a still-real place.27 Return is an issue for eighteenth-century nostalgics pre- cisely because it is at every moment conceptually possible, if not physically possible: Hamilton’s patient can see Wales again with the help of some oYcial wrangling; Coleridge’s ‘‘healing’’ is only as far away as the next ship leaving from Antwerp or Calais. The nostalgia of medicine is � xated on a place that does not lose but instead gains power when distant; the nostalgia of Austen, like our nostalgia, desires a time that has already disappeared—and insofar as this nostalgia knows that it desires what cannot be regained, its desire does not harden into mental disturbance, and it cannot therefore be captured in the return-or-die con� ict. When the � rst part of the older closural system—restoration—is forbidden, the second—fatal sickness— is similarly disabled. Whatever evil or pain the Prices endured cannot be restored, for it is tied to a completed childhood rather than Portsmouth itself—a fact that Fanny’s eventual return to Portsmouth, which is an inversion of the older nostalgic ‘‘return,’’ demonstrates. A tour of the newer nostalgic plot’s collision with its predecessor might continue This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 129Austen’s Nostalgics with a return to Pride and Prejudice and Elizabeth and Darcy, and with the review of the past in which they were engaged. Darcy answers Elizabeth’s ‘‘think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure’’ with a renewed allegiance to a putatively painful form of memory: Painful recollections will intrude, which cannot, which ought not to be repelled. I have been a sel� sh being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son, (for many years an only child) I was spoilt by my parents, who though good themselves, (my father particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable,) allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be sel� sh and over- bearing, to care for none beyond my own family circle, to think meanly of all the rest of the world, to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! (PP, 369) Darcy’s penitential return to the past constitutes not a refutation of Elizabeth’s ‘‘philosophy’’ of remembrance, however, nor even a correction of it, but its ful� ll- ment and ampli� cation. For if, as we have seen, pleasurable retrospect is tied to the inexplicit, Darcy’s avoidance here of particular memories—at the very moment when his remorse might be expected to issue in an apology for a speci� c action or turn of phrase—is a triumphant act of nostalgic remembrance. It is a modern nos- talgia in spite of its manifestly regretful tone, for it is not only vague but also cru- cially disconnected from the past it relates—much like Fanny and William’s musings on their childhood, but in a diVerent emotional key, what we might call Darcy’s ‘‘life-review’’ considers his past as passed. The third alteration of the old nostalgic narrative, then, is the switch from a memory that is still very much constitutive of a patient’s identity to one that is cru- cially obsolete, disconnected, and distant for a no longer pathologized subjectivity. Clearly part of the diVerence consists in the absence, in Austen, of any explicitly national dimension to this subjectivity. Hamilton’s patient is still, and continually, a Welshman; Coleridge is still and forever English, however immersed in German culture and acquaintances he may become. Medical nostalgia assumed a psyche that was not capable of periodizing life narratives, of treating development as dis- continuous, and yet was highly amenable to the more static identities of nationality. Darcy is here clearly marking a discontinuity in his own sense of himself, a disconti- nuity that is produced by the delineation of periods, eras, or epochs. What Darcy was from eight to eight and twenty is an identity unto itself, not causally related to what follows, for the very de� nition of what follows—what might be called the Era of Elizabeth—is a rejection of what had constituted, in Darcy’s mind, the previous period: pride, conceit, sel� shness, solitude. A modern nostalgic consciousness is made up of such revolutions of mind, in which the old is overthrown, barred from further import, and thereby made safe for remembrance; it should be noted that Darcy is in a position to recall his previous life only when he can consider it over, This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 130 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s only when a conceptual line can be drawn between it and the present. The newer nostalgia, that is, idealizes not only what cannot be returned to but also what is not of any more consequence—not only a lost time (as opposed to a still-real place) but also a time that is felt to be causally unrelated to the present. However phantasmatic such a belief of Darcy’s may seem—that pride and conceit will not continue to in� ect his behavior—the belief is implicit in Austen’s own closural processes, which invite us to imagine a contented marriage founded on a revolution of principle. To refuse such a belief, to doubt that an epoch has been made in Darcy’s life, is also to refuse the proVered satisfactions of the novel, so that complicity in Austen’s narra- tive logic involves a complicity in the logic of nostalgia as well. We are asked, that is, to see the past as ended: periodized, disconnected, memorable only in the nostalgic registers of Fanny and William’s fond recollections or Darcy’s relieved regret.28 Darcy’s remorse, therefore, is not the contrary of Elizabeth’s asserted pleasure in remembrance but its corollary, since the pleasure he takes from remembrance consists in � nding his memories, in themselves unpleasant, obsolete. Elizabeth’s dictum had claimed that the unpleasant should be forgotten, but Darcy’s life-review enables us to see that under the conditions of nostalgia the unpleasant can be re- membered pleasurably through the lens of disconnection. Darcy’s reappraisal, al- though newly aware of parental failings, is not, as we might expect, incompatible with nostalgia; the suddenly formed consciousness of his � awed past yields more pleasurable relief than discomfort, insofar as his description of that past is felt to put an end to its lingering eVects. It ends not in a murmur of regret but a welcome exclamation of release: ‘‘such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth!’’ What licenses this pleasure of release is not merely the grammar of self- exculpation—the replacement of active constructions (‘‘I have been’’) with passive (‘‘I was taught. . . . I was given. . . . I was spoiled’’)—but a particular closural device frequent in Austen, in which the particularized memories of the novel’s own past, of therefore our past of reading, yield to a more general and nostalgic reappraisal of a past that we have not seen. A general and unassailable past: protected from our own memories of Darcy’s within the text, of which we have perhaps formed judg- ments, we instead listen to vague ruminations upon a past that we will never know any better. It is the beginning of a nostalgic readerliness, a method in which our textual recollections in all their speci� city (and potential for reawakening, given our ability literally to ‘‘turn back the pages of the past’’) are supplanted at the text’s end by a new, rather more mysti� ed past. It is a mysti� cation all the more nebulous for the self-advertising clarity of the terms under which it is brought forth: ‘‘I have been a sel� sh being all my life,’’ ‘‘I was spoilt by my parents.’’ What we have here is the fourth alteration to eighteenth- century nostalgia: a replacement of the ineVable particularity of ‘‘home’’ with a process of naming, categorizing, or judgment that binds memory into familiar narrative patterns. The past is contained in Darcy’s phrases; it does not burst into any particu- This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 131Austen’s Nostalgics larity of detail. What Darcy does, in essence, is to provide himself with a series of explanatory terms (‘‘sel� sh being,’’ ‘‘an only son’’) that situate his past in an under- standable narrative pattern: the spoiled but nonetheless principled child brought into contact with, and humbled by, a wider world. AYxing the proper terms pro- vides the proper narrative context for the past and helps de� ect any speci� cities that might open up the past to readings other than those provided by the nostalgic narrator. In a fashion similar to the text’s tactical silence regarding Fanny and Wil- liam’s childhood pains, the terms provided by Darcy are far more authoritative than a series of examples; were we to know any instances of Darcy’s sel� sh upbring- ing, we might be inclined to quarrel with his description of his ‘‘benevolent’’ and ‘‘amiable’’ father, but lacking those instances Darcy’s own adjectives cannot be sup- planted or revised. By shaping the past through a series of stereotypical terms, Darcy can arrive at the sort of judgment—‘‘We were happier then,’’ ‘‘I was a badly taught child’’—that the newer nostalgia always produces, a sort of insight that is denied to the eighteenth-century nostalgic patient, who cannot judge the past but can only long for its return. So many of Austen’s characters are prone to this sort of nostalgic self-review, one that is implicitly pedagogical: an expropriation of an exemplary pattern from the past, a pattern that is at once disconnected from the pres- ent (insofar as the current moment of retrospect is its culmination, the sign of the past’s irrelevance) and named (in order to achieve the proper judgment, in order to prevent excessive speci� city).29 If we take trauma, in Cathy Caruth’s description, as not simply the reality of past violence but ‘‘the reality of the way that its violence has not been fully known,’’ then the function of general, categorical terms in Aus- ten’s ‘‘life-reviews’’ seems to be trauma’s opposite: a knowing of the past that would make particularized remembrance obsolete.30 And yet to what purpose is all the wrenching of an older notion of homesick- ness—the replacements of traumas with pleasures, places with times, constitutive pasts with disconnected pasts, instances with names—tending or leading? I suggest that the key lies in the vagueness of nostalgia that seems to be apparent in the work- ings of the four processes listed earlier—in that vagueness, and in the very social nature of nostalgic remembrance. Susan Stewart has written of the ‘‘social disease of nostalgia,’’ and, however interesting the curious persistence of ‘‘disease’’ is in re� ections on the subject, what is equally important in Stewart’s phrase, and per- haps more perspicuous, is her insistence that nostalgia is social.31 In Austen’s texts it is inescapably so, and a tentative explanation of the purpose of the four earlier alterations to eighteenth-century nostalgia might be the following: the dilution of the past in the service of making it available to social groups. The � fth and � nal aspect of modern nostalgia, then, is perhaps the summation of all nostalgic pro- cesses: a replacement of stubbornly individual pasts with communal pasts. Eighteenth-century homesickness is, as we have seen, a glitch in the act of as- similation. Grouped into armies, on explorers’ vessels, or in urban centers, the homesick individual fails to merge his or her own identity into a new, larger group This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 132 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s identity, because personal memory remains too clear and too pressing. Hamilton’s patient is removed into the hospital where he can only speak of former friends and locales; sequestered and ill, he is no longer a functioning part of his new identity, the army, because a preexisting identity (as a ‘‘Welshman’’) maintains its priority. Thomas Arnold understood nostalgia as a failure speci� cally in urban assimilation, asserting that homesickness ‘‘shuns the populous, wealthy, commercial city, where a free intercourse with the rest of mankind, and especially the daily resort and fre- quent society of foreigners, render the views and connections more extensive, famil- iarize distant notions with each other, rub oV the partiality of private and con� ned attachments, and while they diminish the warmth, vastly increase the extent of aVection.’’32 In Austen the emphasis is much the same—the older homesickness is allied with ‘‘private and con� ned attachments,’’ attachments that the newer nostal- gia speci� cally dissolves; with Arnold in mind, we might even see Austen’s plots tending toward the creation of more cosmopolitan psyches. Claiming a disconnection from the past, naming and judging it, taking a fond pleasure in it rather than taking it as a fount of distress, the Austenian nostalgic makes the individual past available to others. It is a process most visibly enacted in Emma, where the memory of one private and con� ned attachment—Harriet’s former attraction to Mr. Elton—is trans- muted, through a literal act of dispensing with the past, into a diluted memory that can be shared. Rather than permitting the memory of Emma’s promotion of the aVair to harden into a settled resentment or a remembrance that, by virtue of its being unmentionable, would become all the more present to them, Harriet carries to Hart� eld a box of souvenirs. The parcel, labeled ‘‘Most precious treasures,’’ con- tains a piece of court-plaster and a fragment of a pencil, both once discarded by Elton—highly eVective metonymies of the days of Harriet’s interest. Harriet begins by asserting a disconnection from this past: ‘‘It seems like madness! I can see noth- ing at all extraordinary in him now’’ (E, 337). Then she proceeds, while wishing the Eltons well, to state her purpose in visiting Emma: ‘‘No, let them be ever so happy together, it will not give me another moment’s pang: and to convince you that I have been speaking truth, I am now going to destroy—what I ought to have destroyed long ago—what I ought never to have kept—I know that very well (blush- ing as she spoke).—However, now I will destroy it all—and it is my particular wish to do it in your presence, that you may see how rational I am grown’’ (E, 337–38). The mere destruction of the souvenirs— called later ‘‘relicks’’ and ‘‘remem- brances’’—is not suYcient, for forgetting is not so much the point as is forgetting in the service of a shareable past. Harriet’s emphasis is upon the burning of the ‘‘relicks’’ taking place before Emma: ‘‘I have nothing more to show you, or to say— except that I am now going to throw them both behind the � re, and I wish you to see me do it’’ (E, 340). Of course, before the souvenirs are destroyed and the memory consigned to the � re, Harriet narrates the ambient incidents surrounding the ob- jects, small moments of furtive, imagined intimacy between her and Elton, to This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 133Austen’s Nostalgics Emma, and Emma is therefore able to revise her own memories of those incidents, so that Harriet’s ‘‘private and con� ned attachment’’ is con� ned to her no longer. By sharing her previously ineVable and appropriately boxed memories with Emma, Harriet enables their forgetting: the destruction of the souvenirs and the sharing of the memories with Emma is a single act, one that in releasing the remembered material from its individual grip annihilates it. Should there be any skepticism re- garding Harriet’s combined act of forgetting, penance, and sharing, the text does not support it—the novel proceeds to its conclusion without any further resurrec- tion of Harriet’s memories of Elton. They are common property between Harriet and Emma, and therefore forgotten, nostalgized now: ‘‘There it goes,’’ Harriet says, ‘‘and there is an end, thank Heaven! of Mr. Elton’’ (E, 340). In sharing the past, Harriet’s narration becomes simply interesting, ironic, pi- quant; it is neither traumatic nor consequential. The nostalgic processes of discon- nection, communality, and naming or judgment—Harriet calls her former infatua- tion ‘‘madness’’ and ‘‘nonsense’’—lead to a form of memory capable of making former pain, as Elizabeth Bennet had suggested, pleasurable for a social grouping, even those memories that once threatened those social groupings. Of course what Harriet tells us, just as what Darcy tells of his childhood, we have not seen; what is Austen to do with diYculty that we have seen, that must in some sense be resolved and then nostalgized? Here Emma is again instructive. Frank Churchill lets slip, during a walk to Hart� eld, that he has news of the doctor Mr. Perry’s impending use of a carriage, forgetting for the time that the means through which he has ac- quired this bit of neighborhood gossip is his secret correspondence with Jane Fair- fax. The innocuous slip causes Jane some anxious moments, and the others some seconds of suspicion, which are allayed by Frank’s claim to have dreamed the infor- mation. A series of worried glances pass between Frank and Jane, are registered by the ever-observant Mr. Knightley, and a small crisis seems to have just passed. With an economy of detail that presages the modern detective novel, Austen does not let this incident pass away; it becomes instead the object of the novel’s nostalgic close, a microcosmic example of how we are to regard all of the text’s earlier crises. Much later, the liaison between Frank and Jane having been brought to light and fully sanctioned, the chance mention of Mr. Perry’s name sparks a communalized memory: Frank Churchill caught the name. ‘‘Perry!’’ said he to Emma, and trying, as he spoke, to catch Miss Fairfax’s eye. ‘‘My friend Mr. Perry! What are they saying about Mr. Perry?—Has he been here this morn- ing?—And how does he travel now?—Has he set up his carriage?’’ Emma soon recollected, and understood him; and while she joined in the laugh, it was evident from Jane’s countenance that she too was really hearing him, though trying to seem deaf. ‘‘Such an extraordinary dream of mine!’’ he cried. ‘‘I can never think of it without laughing.—She hears us, she hears us, Miss Woodhouse. I see it in her cheek, her smile, her vain attempt to frown. Look at her. Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 134 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye—that the whole blunder is spread before her—that she can attend to nothing else, though pretending to listen to the others?’’ (E, 479–80) What was anxiety is here comedy, safely transformed into a humorous anecdote that Jane and Emma can both understand—a communality that nicely eVaces the original con� nement of Frank and Jane’s mutual secrecy by, in essence, letting Emma in on the joke. The tone is � rmly nostalgic: taking pleasure in the recollec- tion of pain when the pain ceases to tell. What had been the transgression of Frank and Jane, their asocial secrecy and longing, is metamorphosed into the very binding force of the novel’s completed community. The capacity of this community to re- member past secrecies as amusing bumps on the road to full revelation is Emma’s justi� cation for the alchemies of nostalgia. That is, the text demonstrates the neces- sity of nostalgia to the formation of new identities, for nostalgia acts as the force whereby previous con� nements are pried apart. Remembrance in Austen, particu- larly in her closural scenes, is a communal phenomenon, carried out between cou- ples and groups; Elizabeth Bennet’s or Anne Elliot’s soliloquizing is replaced by a court of mnemonic appeal. The vague, sometimes poignant, often humorous, occasionally earnest retrospects of Austen’s texts are social phenomena, enacted in order to cement new alliances and to erase old contentions. Like Thomas Arnold’s cities, Austen’s closural retrospects prefer a wide-ranging, forgiving nostalgia to any sickness for home. The � ve qualities of modern nostalgia—pleasure, temporal rather than spatial orientation, disconnection, a naming or patterning in the interests of judgment, and communality—intertwine and interact, working upon each other to insure that the physical potency and danger of eighteenth–century homesickness ceases to aZict the more mobile modern individual. That is, we might say, the purpose of the revision to nostalgic plots: to create possibilities for mobility, and to make psychic formation and physical mobility no longer an oppositional pair. Cures of return will no longer function. ‘‘Mans� eld shall cure you both,’’ Mrs. Grant tells Mary Crawford; ‘‘London would soon bring its cure,’’ Fanny Price thinks of Henry Crawford’s sudden aVection for her (MP, 47, 324). What are these oVered cures but the cure of being somewhere else? The Harmonies of Distance: Mobile Subjects ‘‘The family of Dashwood had been long settled in Sussex’’ (SS, 3). From this opening statement of a rooted existence, Sense and Sensibility, and Austen’s work as a whole, plots a rapid decline. ‘‘Settlements’’ are disrupted, and the equipoise of this summarizing sentence will yield to a particularity— of dislocation, transplanta- tion, and movement—that is only later brought back to the summaries of nostalgic This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 135Austen’s Nostalgics retrospect. The work of Austen’s plots is to convert a psychosocial resistance to mo- bility, as expressed in eighteenth-century nostalgia, to an embrace of it, by appro- priating the language of ‘‘settlement’’ for personal memory. Distance is the key: the vague distance of nostalgic memories, and the very real distances traveled by individuals seeking to escape, rather than return to, their past. The � gures of Aus- ten’s later career—Fanny Price, Anne Elliot—are mobile ones. In the nineteenth century, Richard Terdiman has claimed, ‘‘the inadequacy of available memory mechanisms to the needs of a transformed society had become critical.’’33 Here, in a history of nostalgia, we see an older ‘‘memory mechanism’’ beginning to yield to the social realities that have made it dangerously obsolete. Even moments of stasis in Austen (sitting still, soliloquizing) can register mobil- ity; it saturates the paraphernalia of her settings, notably in the form of the souve- nir.34 One might turn to Fanny Price’s retreat, in Mans�eld Park, to the East room, which is full of her collections and mementos. Here are kept old drawings of Maria and Julia Bertram’s, a sketch of William Price made in the Mediterranean, work- boxes given her by family members: a short lifetime’s worth of ‘‘memorials,’’ all stored with assiduous care. The history encoded by these souvenirs is not one of loss, it is one of loss ameliorated and overcome: Every thing was a friend, or bore her thoughts to a friend; and though there had been some- times much of suVering to her—though her motives had been often misunderstood, her feelings disregarded, and her comprehension under-valued; though she had known the pains of tyranny, of ridicule, and neglect, yet almost every recurrence of either had led to something consolatory; her aunt Bertram had spoken for her, or Miss Lee had been encour- aging, or what was yet more frequent or more dear—Edmund had been her champion and her friend—he had supported her cause, or explained her meaning, he had told her not to cry, or had given her some proof of aVection which made her tears delightful—and the whole was now so blended together, so harmonized by distance, that every former aZiction had its charm. (MP, 152) The East room objects do not tell a detailed narrative. Like any nostalgic retrospect, the past is ‘‘blended’’ and ‘‘harmonized by distance’’ into a sealed ‘‘whole,’’ a com- pleted period whose particular pains and disappointments are united into some- thing more pleasant than distressing. We are oVered a catalog of what Fanny might choose to remember—from ‘‘tyranny’’ to ‘‘neglect’’—so that the cancellations per- formed by the East room souvenirs might seem more striking by contrast. The spe- ci� cally nostalgic function of disconnection carried out by the room’s objects is mir- rored by their context-free juxtapositions: three souvenir transparencies � ll the lower panes of one window, ‘‘where Tintern Abbey held its station between a cave in Italy, and a moonlight lake in Cumberland’’ (MP, 152). Furthermore, these sou- venirs are literally contained, held in one room, not permitted to spill over into the house at large—like souvenirs in a drawer, they exist to be consulted occasionally, but not to interfere with work or plans made elsewhere, not to become, that is, living objects again. What Fanny celebrates here, what these souvenirs provide her with, This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 136 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s is not past events but the conclusion of those events, the spectacle of the past’s con- densation and conclusion. Threatened with a resurrection of old tyrannies, speci� - cally Aunt Norris’s reminder that Fanny is not in a social position to refuse to act in the theatricals, Fanny has at least the East room and its souvenirs, where all the old tyrannies are over. These souvenirs also represent physical, spatial ‘‘distance’’; for Fanny, the reader of Lord Macartney’s Chinese travel journals, movement is a curative reality, and distance from the past, from its traumas as well as from its physical places, is to be prized. The consequence of this kind of nostalgia is a plot propelled by departures, of which Persuasion stands as the preeminent example.35 Although Persuasion’s largest possible motion is a return—Anne and Wentworth’s return to each other—the return is achieved through a series of leavetakings and exits. Even that largest return is � gured as the most dramatic departure possible, the departures implied in the ‘‘tax of quick alarm’’ (P, 252) Anne must pay for being a sailor’s wife. Real restora- tions are not possible, in the fullest nostalgic sense. Anne is oVered the possibility of a ‘‘restoration’’ in the person of her cousin Mr. Elliot and is not at � rst entirely disinclined: ‘‘The idea of becoming what her mother had been; of having the pre- cious name of ‘Lady Elliot’ � rst revived in herself; of being restored to Kellynch, calling it her home again, her home for ever, was a charm which she could not immediately resist’’ (P, 160). But resist it she does, of course; the return home � ashed before her consciousness is rejected fairly quickly, far sooner than in Mans�eld Park, where Fanny Price’s return home to Portsmouth has to transpire before its impor- tance can be negated. Persuasion instead leaves the Hamilton-and-Edwards plot of restoration behind, departs from its consequences before they can become danger- ous, and chooses instead a constant mobility that leaves its traces on the memories of its characters. Anne’s modern nostalgia is most evident upon leaving a place or scene, upon considering a period of time to have concluded; thus her second depar- ture, from Uppercross to Bath, is far less diYcult than her departure from Kellynch, for this time she feels the departure to coincide with the closing of an era, with a nostalgic disconnection: Scenes had passed in Uppercross, which made it precious. It stood the record of many sensa- tions of pain, once severe, but now softened; and of some instances of relenting feeling, some breathings of friendship and reconciliation, which could never be looked for again, and which could never cease to be dear. She left it all behind her; all but the recollection that such things had been. (P, 123) What we have here is the perfect coalescence of spatial and mnemonic distances, a physical mobility that licenses nostalgic elisions, and a nostalgic memory that makes possible a continual mobility. It should be no surprise, then, that discussions of memory in Persuasion occur in the context of discussions of travel. Arguing with Captain Harville about gendered memory during the novel’s climactic scene, Anne insists that the mobility of men enables their forgetfulness—women ‘‘live at home, quiet, con� ned, and our feelings This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 137Austen’s Nostalgics prey upon us,’’ while men ‘‘have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately, and continual occupation and change soon weaken impressions’’ (P, 232). When Harville replies by depicting the homesickness of departed sailors, Anne counters by claiming for the immobile woman the power ‘‘of loving longest, when existence or when hope is gone’’ (P, 235). What is at stake in this pivotal argument is the shift from one form of selfhood— the naval memory of Banks’s homesick sailors, the unassimilable self—to another form, which � nds in mobility a rescue from the con� nements of remembrance. The terms of the argument are signi� cantly naval, and the theme of the argument is the shift, the initial phases of which are visible in Austen’s � ction, from an older medical nostalgia to the newer nostalgia that will be its cure. The lesson is voiced early in the novel: leaving Kellynch for Uppercross, we learn that ‘‘a removal from one set of people to another, though at a distance of only three miles, will often include a total change of conversation, opinion, and idea’’ (P, 42). It is only later in the novel that the lesson is implemented. Concluding her narrative as a wife prepared for sudden alarms and movements, as a wife unmoored from family locales and family examples, Anne has, one assumes, undergone a ‘‘total change’’—a sea change, per- haps—and has left behind the yearnings with which she began. This, then, is the new horizon of ‘‘nostalgia,’’ more thoroughly delineated by Austen’s last � ction than any of her previous narratives of dislocation. A leavetaki ng of home spurs a series of further leavetakings; a trauma rooted in the memory is ameliorated, judged, and left behind; former mistakes are canceled, former times periodized and then ended, stopped with a mental period; and what is left is a ca- pacity for communalized retrospect, for what, during a conversation between Anne and Mrs. Smith, is called ‘‘the interesting charm of remembering former partiali- ties and talking over old times’’ (P, 153). Matched to this new nostalgia, in fact its necessary condition, is movement—new scenes, new faces—a condition re� ected in Anne’s previously cited ars memorativa. Asked by Wentworth if ‘‘disgust’’ perme- ates her remembrance of Lyme, if memories of Louisa Musgrove’s injury eVace all else, Anne responds with a formula for a new nostalgia: ‘‘The last few hours were certainly very painful,’’ replied Anne: ‘‘but when pain is over, the remembrance of it often becomes a pleasure. One does not love a place the less for having suVered in it, unless it has been all suVering, nothing but suVering—which was by no means the case at Lyme. We were only in anxiety and distress during the last two hours; and, previously, there had been a great deal of enjoyment. So much novelty and beauty! I have travelled so little, that every fresh place would be interesting to me—but there is real beauty at Lyme: and in short’’ (with a faint blush at some recollections) ‘‘altogether my impressions of the place are very agreeable.’’ (P, 183–184) ‘‘Novelty’’ over trauma, ‘‘every fresh place’’ over regret: a vision of a mobile con- sciousness ful� lls the preference for pleasure over pain that Elizabeth Bennet had previously advised. Furthermore, what is a ‘‘philosophy’’ in Pride and Prejudice—a piece of advice, an eVort that must be undertaken—becomes a natural process in This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 138 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s Persuasion, a usual occurrence, a psychological metamorphosis that occurs in spite of the most vivid traumas. Pain is foreshortened into a ‘‘few hours,’’ and pleasure is widened to � ll the vacuum, all with an eVortlessness, an ease, that was missing from the wrenching transmutations of Sense and Sensibility. It is the new semantic range of ‘‘nostalgia’’ that Anne outlines here, and she does so by naturalizing it and by invoking a renewable mobility alongside it. There is, famously, no settlement awaiting Anne at the novel’s conclusion, ‘‘no Uppercross-hall before her, no landed estate, no headship of a family’’ (P, 250)— what has been accomplished instead is the judgment, dilution, and cancellation of a diYcult past, nowhere better exempli� ed than in the small–scale cancellation of Louisa Musgrove’s crisis at Lyme. Nostalgia is a closural process in Austen, a way of halting the reverberations of narrative—for how can a narrative end unless a � nality of consequence is asserted? It is a method whereby the traumatic disloca- tions and injuries of Austen’s openings do not obscure the happier dispositions of her plots, and whereby the reformations and assimilations that complete her narra- tives are not shadowed by earlier fractures and � ssures. Yet nostalgia is more than a narratological principle; in Austen’s � nal novel, it is a narratological principle naturalized as a psychological process, since the principle exhibited by the texts— the elision of Fanny Price’s Portsmouth upbringing, of Anne and Wentworth’s eight missed years, of Elizabeth and Darcy’s mutual woundings—must be learned by Austen’s characters themselves as a mnemonic habit. Austen’s novels, that is, instruct her characters in the form of memory that will help close her � ctions. Uncovering the ‘‘nostalgics’’ of these texts—their nostalgic logic—is not simply elucidating a technical choice, then, but is also arriving at a sense of where a more contemporary nostalgia, to use the word so often employed by Austen’s later critics, begins: where it is � rst taught, out of what situations it arises, against what it � rst reacted. In Persua- sion, nostalgia is taught as a reaction to the naval homesickness of Banks’s sailors; we are taken from ‘‘home’’ to ‘‘every fresh place,’’ to a naval memory that celebrates departures and not returns. N o t e s This essay, and the larger project of which it is a part, has pro� ted from the support and advice of several readers, including Philip Fisher, Elaine Scarry, D. A. Miller, and Ann Colley; my thanks also go to Catherine Gallagher and the Representations board for their suggestions. DiVerent versions of this work were presented at the Anonymity conference at Harvard University’s Center for Literary and Cultural Studies in 1997 and at the Frontiers of Memory conference sponsored by the University of East London in September of 1999. I am grateful for the responses I received from both audiences. My deepest thanks go to Amy Mae King, who has been this essay’s � rst and most re- sponsive reader. This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 139Austen’s Nostalgics 1. Deirdre Le Faye, ed., Jane Austen’s Letters, 3d ed. (Oxford, 1995), 99; Gustave Flaubert, Dictionnaire des idées reçues, vol. 17 of Les oeuvres de Gustave Flaubert (Lausanne, 1965), 430. Flaubert’s aphorism can be rendered as ‘‘Memory. Complain about your own, and even boast of not having any. But howl if anyone says you lack judgment.’’ Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own. 2. Frederic Jameson’s analysis of the failure of contemporary nostalgia to provide a genu- ine historical sense—as an ‘‘elaborated symptom of the waning of our historicity, of our lived possibility of experiencing history in some active way’’—is perhaps our pre- eminent example of the severance of ‘‘nostalgia’’ from a memory that might represent a full historical consciousness. But Jameson himself is aware of the history of dehistori- cizing, warning his readers that the current nostalgia he indicts is ‘‘in no way to be grasped as passionate expressions of that older longing once called nostalgia but rather quite the opposite,’’ thus hinting at the history of the supercession of trauma (or passion, or longing) that contemporary nostalgia conceals. What Jameson exhibits here is a sense of the slight catechresis in terming a contemporary forgetfulness of history nostal- gia—a catechresis that is nonetheless tellingly ironic, given the fact that what contempo- rary nostalgia most thoroughly forgets is its own history; Frederic Jameson, Postmodern- ism: Or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (Durham, N.C., 1991), 21, xvii. 3. Jane Austen, Persuasion, ed. R. W. Chapman (Oxford, 1982), 183. Hereafter, citations from Austen’s novels are given parenthetically with the following abbreviations: E : Emma, ed. R. W. Chapman (Oxford, 1982) MP : Mans�eld Park, ed. R. W. Chapman (Oxford, 1980) P : Persuasion, ed. R. W. Chapman (Oxford, 1982) PP : Pride and Prejudice, ed. R. W. Chapman (Oxford, 1982) SS : Sense and Sensibility, ed. R. W. Chapman (Oxford, 1982) 4. Sir Joseph Banks, Journal of the Right Hon. Sir Joseph Banks, ed. Joseph Hooker (London, 1896), 329. 5. Obliquely, but nonetheless insistently. Most of the � nest recent work on Austen is based on the impulse to refute, re� ne, and unsettle various explicitly ‘‘nostalgic’’ readings. ‘‘It is no accident, of course,’’ Claudia Johnson writes, ‘‘that as modern readers � nd themselves more nostalgic for the stateliness and stability Austen’s world is said to apo- theosize, Austen’s class gets higher and higher, and she herself is claimed to be more conservative’’; Claudia Johnson, Jane Austen: Women, Politics, and the Novel (Chicago, 1988), xviii. The critic with whom Johnson argues most consistently, Marilyn Butler, makes a similar move, criticizing the politically neutral tenor of earlier Austen criticism as examples of anything from ‘‘simple nostalgia to a more complex and subtle justi� ca- tion for inactivity’’; Marilyn Butler, Jane Austen and the War of Ideas (Oxford, 1987), xiv. Johnson has more recently re� ected upon the various diYculties professional readers of Austen have in relation to a dehistoricizing nostalgia in Claudia Johnson, ‘‘Austen Cults and Cultures,’’ in The Cambridge Companion to Jane Austen, ed. Edward Copeland and Juliet McMaster (Cambridge, 1997), 211–26; while Roger Sales has written perti- nently on some aspects of the Austen nostalgia industry, including the celebration of the 1975 bicentennial of her birth, in Roger Sales, Jane Austen and Representations of Regency England (New York, 1994). What has been consistently opposed to Austenian nostalgia is what might be called a dramatic historicism, an attempt to restore to cultural memory what nostalgia has elided or diluted—the most well–known example of which might be Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, ‘‘Jane Austen and the Masturbating Girl,’’ Critical Inquir y 17 (1991): 818–37. This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 140 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s 6. Henry James, ‘‘The Lesson of Balzac,’’ In Henry James: Literary Criticism: French Writers, Other European Writers, Prefaces to the New York Edition (New York, 1984), 118. 7. This denostalgizing has most notably been initiated by Michael Roth, in his work on French case histories of nostalgic suVerers, and David Lowenthal. See Michael Roth, ‘‘Dying of the Past: Medical Studies of Nostalgia in Nineteenth-Century France,’’ His- tory and Memory 3, no. 1 (1991): 5–29; David Lowenthal, The Past Is a Foreign Countr y (Cambridge, 1985), 10–13. See also G. S. Rousseau, ‘‘War and Peace: Some Represen- tations of Nostalgia and Adventure in the Eighteenth Century,’’ in Guerres et paix: La Grande-Bretagne au XVIIIe siècle I–II, ed. Paul-Gabriel Bouce (Paris, 1998), 121–40; George Rosen, ‘‘Nostalgia: A ‘Forgotten’ Psychological Disorder,’’ Clio Medica 10, no. 1 (1975): 29–52; and Jean Starobinski, ‘‘The Idea of Nostalgia,’’ Diogenes 54, no. 3 (1966): 81–103. 8. Johannes Hofer’s little-known work is picked up by two thorough German histories of nostalgia: Fritz Ernst, Vom Heimweh (Zurich, 1949); Klaus Brunnert, ‘‘Nostalgie in der Geschichte der Medizin,’’ Düsseldorfer Arbeiten zur Geschichte der Medizin 58 (1984): 1–339. 9. It has yet to depart European history: the most telling recent revision of Hofer’s coinage is Ostalgie, a persistent, regretful memory of the vanished German Democratic Repub- lic by former East Germans. In contemporary analyses of and apologias for Ostalgie, a part of the eighteenth-century structure of nostalgia—the inability or refusal to form new, assimilated social wholes—makes a ghostly reappearance. 10. Rosen, ‘‘Nostalgia,’’ 40–41. 11. James Thatcher, a physician for the colonials, made this entry in his journal during the summer of 1780, while encamped in New Jersey: ‘‘Our troops in camp are in general healthy, but we are troubled with many perplexing instances of indisposition, occa- sioned by absence from home, called by Dr. Cullen nostalgia, or home sickness. This complaint is frequent among the militia, and recruits from New England. They become dull and melancholy, with loss of appetite, restless nights, and great weakness. In some instances they become so hypochondriacal as to be proper subjects for the hospital’’; James Thatcher, A Military Journal During the American Revolutio nar y War ( Boston, 1823), 242. 12. William Falconer, A Dissertation on the In�uence of the Passions upon Disorders of the Body (London, 1788), 90–91. 13. D. J. Larrey, Surgical Essays, trans. John Revere (Baltimore, 1823), 155. 14. For Ian Hacking the ‘‘ecological niche’’ is ‘‘not just social, not just medical, not just coming from the patient, not just from the doctors, but from the concatenation of an extraordinarily large number of diverse types of elements which for a moment provide a stable home for certain types of manifestation of illness’’; See Ian Hacking, Mad Trav- elers: Re�ections on the Reality of Transient Mental Illnesses (Charlottesville, Va., 1998), 13. The concept is a highly useful one, insofar as it allows us a way out of the methodologi- cal bind of reading ‘‘nostalgia’’ as either a comically faulty diagnosis or a mask for a deeper pathology, such as clinical depression. Hacking’s study—centering on the late- nineteenth-century malady known as ‘‘fugue,’’ or the compulsion to travel—has inter- esting implications for a history of its earlier opposite, homesickness. 15. Although the bulk of clinical instances, given the usual military ‘‘niche’’ of the disease, were male, female suVerers of the malady were known. Emily Brontë seems to have been understood as one; Elizabeth Gaskell writes that her suVering when forced to leave Haworth ‘‘became at length so much an acknowledged fact, that whichever was obliged This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 141Austen’s Nostalgics to leave home, the sisters decided that Emily must remain there, where alone she could enjoy anything like good health’’; see Elizabeth Gaskell, The Life of Charlotte Brontë, ed. Alan Shelston (Harmondsworth, Eng., 1975), 158–59. Austen’s biographers have similarly attempted to read their subject as an eighteenth-century nostalgic, retailing an apocryphal tale of her fainting upon learning of the family’s relocation from Ste- venton to Bath. David Nokes in his recent biography casts needed doubt on this story, reminding us that Austen’s attitude toward the move may have been closer to that of the modern nostalgic: wistfully regretful, but by no means unwilling to move to a new locale; see David Nokes, Jane Austen: A Life (London, 1997), 220–23. 16. See, for instance, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, which as late as 1818 oVers us Victor Frankenstein’s nostalgia—poised neatly between a medical condition and a sentimen- tality—for his native Geneva: ‘‘Sometimes, indeed, I felt a wish for happiness; and thought, with melancholy delight, of my beloved cousin; or longed, with a devouring maladie du pays, to see once more the blue lake and rapid Rhone, that had been so dear to me in early childhood’’; Mary Shelley, Frankenstein: or, The Modern Prometheus (London, 1969), 182. A persistent, if persistently debunked, anecdote of the late eighteenth cen- tury described Swiss mercenaries in France as perpetually in danger of contracting nostalgia en masse were they to hear the native anthem ‘‘Ranz des vaches’’; Jean- Jacques Rousseau, in his 1768 Dictionnaire de musique, relates that French army musicians were forbidden ‘‘sous peine de mort’’ to play the tune; J.-J. Rousseau, Dictionnaire de musique, vol. 14 of Oeuvres completes de J.–J. Rousseau (Paris, 1831), 79. Sauvages de la Croix’s 1760 Nosologia Methodica seems to have been the origin of the story, but it appears in virtually every published description of nostalgia, including Falconer’s Dissertation. Samuel Rogers’s The Pleasures of Memory (1792) made the anecdote a parable for any nationalist homesickness: The intrepid Swiss, that guards a foreign shore, Condemn’d to climb his mountain-cliVs no more, If chance he hear that song so sweetly wild, His heart would spring to hear it, when a chi ld; That song, as simple as the joys he knew, When in the shepherd-dance he blithely � ew; Melts at the long-lost scenes that round him rife, And sinks a martyr to repentant sighs. See Samuel Rogers, The Pleasures of Memory (Oxford, 1989), 20–21. 17. Falconer, Dissertation, 90, 92. 18. George Seymour, Dissertatio medica inauguralis de nostalgia (Edinburgh, 1818), 6. 19. Thomas Arnold, Observations on the Nature, Kinds, Causes, and Prevention of Insanity, Lunacy, or Madness (Leicester, Eng., 1782), 1:266. 20. Dislocation, travel, relocation: categories of place that until recently have been ignored in studies of Austen; one exception, to which I owe a debt, is Edward Said’s argument, apropos of Mans�eld Park, that ‘‘we have become so accustomed to thinking of the nov- el’s plot and structure as constituted mainly by temporality that we have overlooked the function of space, geography, and location’’; Edward Said, Culture and Imperialism (New York, 1993), 84. Of particular value is Franco Moretti’s recent study of Austen’s cultural geography in his Atlas of the European Novel, 1800–1900 (London, 1998). Histo- rians, meanwhile, have not been reluctant to use Austen’s work as evidence of the grow- This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 142 R e p r e s e n tat i o n s ing importance of mobility to Regency culture; Linda Colley cites Northanger Abbey as an instance of the nascent trend of ‘‘internal tourism,’’ while Leonore DavidoV and Catherine Hall, when discussing the early-nineteenth-century intersection of mobility and gender, turn to the walks of Pride and Prejudice. See Linda Colley, Britons: Forging the Nation, 1707–1837 (New Haven, 1992), 172–74; Leonore DavidoV and Catherine Hall, Family Fortunes: Men and Women of the English Middle Class, 1780–1850 (Chicago, 1987), 404, 531. 21. One might also adduce the increasing dignity of ‘‘homesickness’’ in philosophical and literary registers, such as Novalis’s well-known proclamation: ‘‘Die Philosophie ist ei- gentlich Heimweh—Trieb überall zu Hause zu seyn’’ [Philosophy is essentially home- sickness— the impulse to be at home everywhere]; Novalis, Schriften, ed. Paul Kluck- hohn and Richard Samuel (Stuttgart, 1960), 3:434. 22. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ‘‘Home-sick,’’ in The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, ed. Ernest Hartley Coleridge (Oxford, 1912), 1:314. 23. In fact what one might call a ‘‘terminological nap’’ occurs, in which nostalgia disappears from active use until its reappearance, much later in the century, in its contemporary guise. Needless to say, my dating of this semantic shift is meant to account only for Britain; as Michael Roth has shown, the vibrancy of the pathological version of nostalgia persisted much longer in France, where it was not until the 1870s—when Jean-Martin Charcot’s hysteria took precedence—that the depathologization of nostalgia began in earnest; see Roth, ‘‘Dying of the Past,’’ 21–24. The term was still in clinical use in the United States as late as the Civil War, when casualties from nostalgia (572 cases with one death in 1862; 2,016 cases with 12 deaths in 1863) were noted by Union doctors; see Rosen, ‘‘Nostalgia,’’ 46–47. 24. Robert Hamilton, ‘‘History of a remarkable Case of Nostalgia aVecting a native of Wales, and occurring in Britain,’’ in Medical Commentaries for the Years 1786, 1787 (Phila- delphia, 1795), 216–17. Subsequent references will be given in parentheses. 25. Insofar as it was often diYcult to repatriate patients aZicted with nostalgia in distant lands, examples of the fatal option of the nostalgic plot—death from homesickness— are present in the medical literature. Larrey describes the case of a soldier in the Royal Guard, a native of the north of France, who enters a wounded ward complaining of some numbness, but who dies after a month of futile treatment; ‘‘He exhibited unequiv- ocal signs of nostalgia,’’ Larrey writes, ‘‘for during the delirium with which he was at- tacked, he spoke incessantly of his country’’; Larrey, Surgical Essays, 171–72. Honoré de Balzac’s 1840 story ‘‘Pierrette’’ oVers a � ctional instance of such a resolution; his central character dies from, among other ailments, ‘‘la nostalgie bretonne, maladie mo- rale si connue que les colonels y ont égard pour les Bretons qui se trouvent dans leurs régiments’’ [the Breton homesickness, a moral illness so well-known that colonels allow for it in the Bretons who serve in their regiments]; Honoré de Balzac, ‘‘Pierrette,’’ in La comédie humaine (Paris, 1976), 4:107. 26. Michael Schudson has provided a set of terms for understanding how collective remem- brance distorts the past that dovetail interestingly with those I have supplied to explain the workings of nostalgia; his � rst process, ‘‘distanciation,’’ mirrors what I have called disconnection, while his remaining processes (‘‘instrumentalization,’’ ‘‘narrativization,’’ ‘‘conventionalization’’) oVer alternate versions of what I term naming. With this taxo- nomic similarity in mind, it is possible to wonder if nostalgia is the central form of modern collective remembrance; see Michael Schudson, ‘‘Dynamics of Distortion in This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 143Austen’s Nostalgics Collective Memory,’’ in Memory Distortion: How Minds, Brains, and Societies Reconstruct the Past, ed. Daniel Schacter (Cambridge, Mass., 1995), 346–64. 27. What this particular alteration undoes is the ancient linkage of memory to space— architectural space, imagined interior space—that Frances Yates, in her seminal The Art of Memory (Chicago, 1966), traces back to the mnemonic loci of classical orators and rhetoricians. Perhaps part of the eVect of this undoing might be described as a shift from the arts of memory described by Yates to what might be called a nostalgic art of forgetting. 28. My description of ‘‘disconnection’’ here owes a debt to Reinhart Koselleck’s analysis of the term Neuzeit, which—in its early-nineteenth-century formation—encapsulates a world where ‘‘the diVerence between past and present increased, so that lived time was experienced as a rupture, as a period of transition in which the new and the unexpected continually happened’’; Reinhart Koselleck, Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time, trans. Keith Tribe (Cambridge, Mass., 1985), 257. 29. The nostalgic process of naming or judging the past—a sort of mnemonic taxonomiza- tion—bears a strong relation to D. A. Miller’s account of naming in Austen as a ‘‘clo- sural imposition’’ that is essentially a dilution or condensation of available fact and circumstance into a precise term; see D. A. Miller, Narrative and Its Discontents: Problems of Closure in the Traditional Novel (Princeton, 1981), 45. My analysis here is particularly indebted to Miller’s example. 30. Cathy Caruth, Unclaimed Experience: Trauma, Narrative, and History (Baltimore, 1996), 6. 31. Susan Stewart, On Longing: Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collec- tion (Durham, N.C., 1993), ix. 32. Arnold, Observations, 266. 33. Richard Terdiman, Present Past: Modernity and the Memory Crisis (Ithaca, N.Y., 1993), 20. 34. In its purest form, the souvenir produces distance; it is the dead end of the past. ‘‘We do not need or desire souvenirs of events that are repeatable,’’ Susan Stewart has written. ‘‘Rather we need and desire souvenirs of events that are reportable, events whose mate- riality has escaped us, events that thereby exist only through the invention of narrative’’; Stewart, On Longing, 135. To carry Stewart’s logic one step further, it might be said that we need and desire souvenirs in order to place the past beyond us, in order to make the past not repeatable. Such, at least, is the logic of Mans�eld Park’s objects. 35. See also Monica Cohen, Professional Domesticity in the Victorian Novel (Cambridge, 1998), for an alternate account of one form of departure, the naval, as a form of domesticity— a version of ‘‘home’’ as continual travel. This content downloaded from 128.59.62.83 on Wed, 7 Aug 2013 11:09:26 AM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 
work_cbv7z2o5enf5xazc4l5suau6ja	----	Microsoft Word - studcat.doc 1 Pre-print of article published in Journal of Librarianship and Information Science, 38(3) (Sept. 2006), 173-85 Why Appoint Professionals? A Student Cataloguing Project K.E. Attar Abstract Students have provided cheap successful labour for routine retrospective cataloguing projects. The current article examines a library project which went further, using university students with minimum training to catalogue its undergraduate stock from the book in hand to AACR2, level 2, allegedly to professional standard. The article discusses the faults made in MARC coding, descriptive cataloguing and subject cataloguing, noting the nature of the errors and their results. The investigation concludes that intelligence alone does not guarantee library ability, and that cataloguing beyond the creation of minimum records is not an intuitive task to be picked up without training. Hidden expenses are attached. A derisory attitude towards library skills is unjustified, and a place remains for qualified librarians to do qualified library work. Keywords: cataloguing; project work; student labour, retrospective conversion. Is cataloguing a professional activity? For the cataloguing of manuscripts and early printed books from the book in hand it is generally accepted to be so, as demonstrated by the qualifications required for such cataloguers and the concomitant level of their employment. For special materials, such as maps and music, cataloguing may be regarded as a professional activity. But for modern monographs? For their own prestige and salaries it is in cataloguers' interests to insist that it is so, and the perceived devaluation of cataloguing since automation, within both many library school curricula and libraries, is a current concern on both sides of the Atlantic. On the other hand, financial pressures understandably render deprofessionalisation managerially attractive. Students and other non-professionals have successfully assisted in retrospective catalogue conversion projects involving the transfer of bibliographical data from cards to electronic format. The current study examines a project which went further. Assuming cataloguing to be an unskilled task, it used students working from the book in hand to catalogue an undergraduate College library. The students were expected to apply notes, added entries and Library of Congress Subject Headings, with the intention of cataloguing books to a professional standard. The article's purpose is to investigate whether in the light of this exercise professional work can be expected from non-professionals. The lament The devaluation of cataloguing is a widespread concern in its own right, and also part of a broader issue of the deprofessionalisation of librarianship. In a special issue of the American-based Cataloging & Classification Quarterly Janet Swan Hill points to the perception that computerisation has reduced the importance of cataloguing and the fallacy of this view, for example because computers cannot practise authority control (Hill, 2002: 11). Michael Gorman, in a piece headed: 'Why teach cataloguing and classification?' observes: 'Before the great gas bubble of digitization came along, 2 the answer would have been so obvious that only a ninny would have even posed the question', before spelling out the importance of the catalogue as a retrieval tool (Gorman, 2002: 2), and Heidi Lee Hoerman states: We start to think cataloging is something than can be done by anyone. Maybe it can. To be honest, at this stage, it is in many cases being done by anyone, and that anyone has very little training. We then take the cataloging done by this untrained person and 'share' it, unexamined, into our catalogs. (Hoerman, 2002: 36-7). In Great Britain, John Bowman echoes such opinions in the introduction to his 2003 textbook Essential Cataloguing: Cataloguing has long been unpopular and nowadays is little taught. Ever since computers began to be used in cataloguing ... there has been a school of thought that in some mysterious way computers would be able to do all the cataloguing that was necessary, and that it would no longer be necessary to employ human cataloguers. ... Cataloguing is important. It is the principal means whereby library users can find the contents of the collection. Now that most cataloguing is computerized, it is even more important to avoid errors, because a simple mistake can make a catalogue record - and therefore an item - irretrievable (Bowman, 2003: 2-3). Jane Read cites Bowman and states succinctly: 'Many library administrators ... think that automation of cataloguing has made it easy enough for a trained monkey to do' (Read, 2003: 12-13). In 2004, letters and articles in the CILIP Update and Gazette have called for a reinstatement of the value of cataloguing (e.g. Trickey 2004; Ward 2004), while in Catalogue & Index Rodney M. Brunt has argued the centrality of cataloguing for librarianship and library users, and urged the continuation of training: 'Library school is the place to make bad cataloguing decisions and assign unwise subject indexing which might emerge from an incomplete understanding of principles' (Brunt, 2004: 3). The background That cataloguing is expensive has been stated frequently. Most recently, Read discusses the expense and the consequent temptation to downgrade cataloguers and cataloguing to economise (Read, 2003: 14-16). Earlier writers to have made the same point include Hoare (1986: 97), Law (1988: 81) and Quedens (1991: 15), with the reminder that a library's aim should be to gain value for money; to be cost-effective, which is not synonymous with cheap (Peters, 1984: 162). In a university context, to consider student labour is a reflex action. Students performed retrospective conversion at the University of Freiburg in Germany, the University of Basel in Switzerland, and, in America, Oregon State University, Indiana University and the University of California at Riverside. These projects had several features in common: (1) they involved retrospective conversion from cards rather than recataloguing; (2) they were simple and well controlled by professional librarians; (3) they did not expect a professional level of work from the students. The most comprehensively described project was at Freiburg, which was extremely satisfied with the results. The students employed had passed their intermediate examination, taken after two or three years, but had at least 18 months to go before their final examinations. Catalogue records were defined as 'I-Niveau' ('interim level'), which meant that any library contributing to the union catalogue which 3 catalogued with the book in hand could upgrade the record; imposing subject headings was not part of the exercise; qualified librarians supervised the work and catalogued the 2% of titles deemed difficult (Maurer, 1991). At Basel, unlike Freiburg, students keyed in records from the cards instead of importing them where possible from external databases. But here, too, students worked under the supervision of two qualified librarians who undertook the difficult cases (Wessendorf, 1991). The assessment of the results was: 'quite acceptable, although it is clearly below the level of our current cataloguing' (Wessendorf, 1991: 55). In America, students at Oregon State matched cards against records on the OCLC database (Watkins, 1985). Nancy Douglas, who stresses the financial benefit of using students at the University of California at Riverside (Douglas, 1985: 13) emphasises the elementary nature of what was expected: 'The project requires very little expertise on the part of a library's staff' (Douglas, 1985: 11). This was another retrospective conversion project, cataloguing books from cards. Records were to contain apart from the Library of Congress classmark and card number only basic descriptive elements, namely author, title, imprint, physical description and tracings. Notes and ISBN were routinely excluded, and the title field sometimes excluded sub- titles and usually the statement of responsibility. Records were then sent away to be matched. The Indiana project (Mayer, 2002) differed in having students catalogue sound recordings from the items in hand. Mayer records that the students 'strove for an aesthetically pleasing yet meaningful display of the contents of an individual sound recording', without stating the degree of success, and notes the limitations: There is no attempt at authority control, nor is there an attempt to standardize structural metadata across different representations of the same work, although we recognize the desirability of such functionality and see it as an important area for future work (Mayer, 2002: 154). Projects which did not rely on students but which did use paraprofessionals have been described for the Universities of Hull and Botswana. The University of Hull employed typists to perform its retrospective conversion from cards (Dyson, 1984; descriptive cataloguing only), while the University of Botswana used O-level school-leavers (Kgosiemang, 1999) to catalogue books in hand. Both institutions reported unsatisfactory results, with the cost of errors at Hull becoming apparent only after completion of the project. In Hull, 73.65% of records had errors; the average number of faults per record was 2.16, and the highest number of mistakes found in one record was 16. Errors included typing or spelling mistakes and incorrect spacing. Records for books in foreign languages contained a particularly high level of inaccuracies. Errors were ascribed to four causes: carelessness; poor or illegible handwriting on the cards; failure to interpret instructions correctly; unfamiliarity with library and/or cataloguing routines (Dyson, 1984: 257). The Botswana experience led to the conclusion: 'To transcribe bibliographical information accurately in accordance with the necessary standards and codes requires general knowledge of cataloguing practices ...' (Kgosiemang, 1999: 93). In summary, the survey of literature indicates that university students are capable of undertaking undemanding retrospective conversion under controlled conditions and that they can do so more competently than other non-professionals. The Cambridge background and project 4 The current article describes the result of a project at King's College Cambridge which employed students to catalogue an undergraduate library from the books in hand, allegedly to a professional standard. Cambridge University Library had been computerised since 1978 and operated a union catalogue for the College and Departmental libraries of the University. However, while Colleges could use the cataloguing module of the University's library management system, the acquisitions and circulation modules were closed to them. Several Colleges therefore purchased their own library management systems so that they could operate automated loans. This meant cataloguing in the union catalogue in the first instance, then downloading records into their own library catalogues. Both catalogues had then to be maintained with all editing after the initial download being done twice, once on each catalogue. The project at King's College was motivated by its adoption of SIRSI Unicorn. It began in September 1994 and ended as a major project in December 1995. Between these dates a total of 37 students, a mixture of undergraduates and graduates, worked in the University holidays on the catalogue. As far as possible students worked on sections of the library aligned with their own subjects of study, to enable them to understand the works they were cataloguing and impose relevant subject headings. As the work remained unfinished in December 1995, two new graduates who had been among the undergraduate participants continued full-time until the end of 1996. The library contained approximately 65,000 books and periodicals covering almost all subjects of the undergraduate curriculum in accordance with its function to support taught courses in the University; only veterinary medicine, Oriental Studies and Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic, as small subjects which were not supported at the College, were not represented. Music was a particular strength. The library further included works of local interest, books in the Modern Archives, a bibliography section, a collection of fiction written by members of the College, and a special collection of works by and about Jane Austen. All were included in the project. Cataloguing was done in UKMARC, following AACR2 and Library of Congress Subject Headings. It was done from the book in hand, with the cataloguers physically adding barcodes as they went along for circulation purposes. Students downloaded records from the section of College and Departmental libraries on the University's union catalogue where possible. For books which did not have records on the union catalogue, they downloaded records from the cataloguing database of the Consortium of University Research Libraries (CURL), or where necessary created new records (extra-MARC material, or EMMA). Statistics of the proportions were not kept. Calculations of cost were done on the basis of each student cataloguing seven books per hour. The College made a deliberate decision to have full catalogue records, for example transcribing complete title and statement of responsibility and including subject headings and notes. This meant that many records taken from the union catalogue, the first source for matching records, would require considerable upgrading, since a number of Colleges and departments had contributed short records in order to record quickly as many books as possible. The short records comprised surname and initial of author or editor; title; date and place of publication, library barcode and classmark (i.e. less than the elements required for AACR2's first level of description (AACR2 1.0D1). The librarian managing the project was unaware that the University Library's full catalogue records, available for books acquired after 1978, were available via the University's union catalogue. The students received two days of training (compared with approximately 20 hours of training per student at Freiburg and Riverside). Their work during the bulk of the project was checked by a graduate student, who was employed as Senior 5 Library Assistant and spent each morning reading the previous day's records. Having no more experience or qualifications than the rest, he could do little more than to pick up spelling mistakes. The work done in 1996 was not monitored. The notion of using student labour, as readily available and cheap, at Cambridge was not new. In at least one other College computerising its library stock, the Bursar suggested students for the task; the professional librarian successfully resisted the proposal. The desire for feasibility is clear from costings: at the equivalent pro rata of an annual salary of £7,645 and no overheads paid to the students at the commencement of the project, it was calculated that the cost per book at seven books per hour would be £0.55 (the actual cost was later revised to £0.60 per book). Junior professionals would typically be paid at the time an annual salary of £11,894 - £13,780, plus overheads. The novelty both in the Cambridge context and in comparison with the projects noted above was to expect a professional standard of work from students, including the imposition of Library of Congress Subject Headings, after two days of training, and not to build trained supervision into the project. It was argued that students were the most suitable people to catalogue the library because they were the main user group of the library. This was supposed to give them a vested interest in working well. A further assumption behind appointing students was that students were intelligent. For two years after the project ended the only quality control performed on the catalogue was unofficial, as librarians from other Colleges cataloguing their own overlapping stock viewed and compared the standards of records emanating from the respective Colleges. In 1998 the employment of an enthusiastic cataloguer at King's College led to the closer examination of the student cataloguing. It began piecemeal, as bibliographic records were examined during standard procedures, such as adding item records when purchasing second copies of popular or lost items. The systematic improvement of records escalated in autumn 1998, when the donor of the Jane Austen collection complained to the Fellow Librarian about the low standard of catalogue records for the books he had donated. Instant recataloguing was necessary to secure the receipt of remaining books in the donation. Later the music library and the German section of the main library were targeted for upgrading. Approximately 95% of the catalogue records contained errors, ranging from the insignificant (e.g. not including an illustration statement in books containing music; not including an optional note field to point out the presence of bibliography or index) to spelling mistakes which rendered books irretrievable. In the worst cases, such as the Jane Austen records, there was a mistake in every line, and up to 16 errors per record. While the project is now old, in terms of the swift progress of librarianship, the points raised remain relevant and have indeed perhaps become still more pressing in terms of the continuing debate about the importance of cataloguing. For reader-friendliness, examples in the following analysis are in display format unless MARC format makes a point more cogently. Several of the errors discussed have been corrected before the time of writing. The noting of which students used which barcodes renders catalogue records easy to trace, and examples have been taken from the work of a variety of students. General analysis showed that while one student (the initial Jane Austen cataloguer) was responsible for almost all the worst records on the system, the difference between this student and the others lay in the high quantity of errors per record across her records. The nature of errors was uniform across the students. The results: MARC coding 6 Three common errors emerged in the application of MARC: 1. In the 008 field, students often coded multi-volume works published over more than one year as 'm' (multiple date) and provided the inclusive dates of publication (US MARC practice), instead of using the code 's' with the date of the first volume published (UK MARC). The error arose from the discrepancy in practice between UK and US MARC, with records being imported which would have been created in the latter. The mistake at no time hindered retrieval. With the transition to MARC 21, the error has become correct. 2. Students exhibited lack of understanding when cataloguing multi-volume works. UK MARC allowed for several sub-level titles as in the following example from the UK MARC manual (British Library Bibliographic Services Division, 1980): 245 10 $aBritish Standard methods of analysis of fats and fatty oils 248 10 $gPart 1$hPhysical methods 248 20 $gSection 1.12$hDetermination of the dilation of fats Students sometimes instead used the various levels to list the various volumes of a multi-volume work as follows, rather than creating one catalogue record per volume or, in a single catalogue record, listing the titles of the individual volumes in a contents field: 245 10 $aTchaikovsky$ba biographical and critical study 248 10 $gVol. 1$hThe early years (1840-1874) 248 20 $gVol. 2$hThe crisis years (1874-1878) 248 30 $gVol. 3$hThe years of wandering (1878-1885) 248 40 $gVol. 4$hThe final years (1885-1893) 260 00 $aLondon$bVictor Gollancz$c1978-1991 300 00 $f4$nv$c24cm The results were confusing cataloguing records which had to be untangled when discovered. 3. There was widespread failure to comprehend the importance of non-filing characters, both in the title field and for series. Even after considerable correction, typing in 'The' in the browse section of the library still calls up 1,024 titles; 'A' calls up 181 titles, after the exclusion of correct titles beginning with French 'À'; 'An' calls up 39 titles, and 'Les', 35. Thus titles are misfiled, and some manifestations of a work are separated from others. For example, Henry James's The awkward age cannot be found by browsing the title, because it is filed under 'The', not 'Awkward'; of The collected works of John Maynard Keynes, 21 volumes can be found by browsing the title, while 12 are under 'The'. Occasionally a preposition was mistaken for an article and the MARC tag for filing characters adjusted accordingly, also resulting in the inability to retrieve records by browsing, e.g. 240 13 De aeternitate mundi contra Proclum which appears in lists as the grammatically non-sensical ‘Aeternitate mundi contra Proclum’. On the whole, however, the students coped admirably with UK MARC. Whereas they might have committed punctuation errors in MARC21, UK MARC rendered the insertion of punctuation unnecessary. Occasionally students reversed the order of the place of publication and the name of the publisher in the imprint field (e.g. 260 00 $aOxford University Press$bOxford for $aOxford$bOxford University Press), but the ability to place information in the correct fields and subfields was 7 generally excellent and compared favourably with the 95 % accuracy rates offered by retrospective conversion companies (Bridge, 2003: 2). This indicates an ease in dealing with the structure of databases. The focus of the training may have been on MARC coding, and the students would certainly not be alone in regarding the MARC manual as an easier reference tool than AACR2. The results: descriptive cataloguing While the mistakes in descriptive cataloguing resulted in unprofessional catalogue records, few affected the ability to retrieve items. They are as follows: When transcribing title pages, students frequently omitted statements of responsibility. Another common error was to omit the major statement of responsibility, while retaining subsequent ones, e.g. The monadology and other philosophical writings / Translated with introduction and notes by Robert Latta for: The monadology and other philosophical writings / Leibniz ; translated with introduction and notes by Robert Latta Often a statement of responsibility was preceded incorrectly by the word [by] in square brackets. This was a derived error, arising from the fact that MARC predates AACR2, which prescribes the transcription of a statement of responsibility exactly as it appears following a slash (1.1F1). In AACR1, a comma introduced a simple statement of responsibility and the insertion of [by] was essential for the sense, e.g. Written for children : an outline of English-language children's literature, [by] John Rowe Townsend (see AACR1, 136). Titles and statements of responsibility often contained errors of capitalisation, chiefly employing a capital letter for the verb or preposition beginning the statement of responsibility, and using a capital letter for the second word of an English title. Some spacing errors occurred. In transcribing foreign languages, students frequently ignored diacritics. Ignorance of German frequently led to the substitution of lower case letters for upper case in nouns, e.g. Leopold Mozart, 1719-1787 : portrat einer personlichkeit for: Leopold Mozart, 1719-1787 : Porträt einer Persönlichkeit. In edition statements, 'edition' was sometimes abbreviated as 'edn' (an abbreviation with which students may have been familiar from style sheets) rather than 'ed.'. Edition statements were frequently omitted for German literature, following ignorance of German publishing patterns and vocabulary, whereby the word 'Auflage' can mean either 'edition' or 'printing' and should be taken as an edition statement. 8 The worst error concerning the edition statement, and the most serious error in descriptive cataloguing, concerned the conflation of editions. An extreme example occurred for five editions of Frederick Bussby's Jane Austen in Winchester. The cataloguer created a catalogue record for the first edition of the work, including a note field: 'Copies include 2nd, 3rd, 4th and 5th editions'. These later editions, all published in different years and with different pagination, were effectively lost in a search. Typical errors in the imprint field included the inclusion of a second place of publication where irrelevant (e.g. Cambridge ; New York : Cambridge University Press), sometimes with irrelevant additions: e.g. Cambridge [Eng.] (unjustified by AACR2 abbreviations) or Cambridge [England]. This arose from using records ultimately derived from America, where the inclusion of the non-English place of publication was correct (see AACR2 1.4C5) and catalogue users might think of Cambridge as Cambridge, Mass. in the first instance. Names of publishers were sometimes given in full rather than being abbreviated to the briefest internationally recognisable form (AACR2 1.4D2), as in 'Victor Gollancz' for 'Gollancz' in the Tchaikovsky example above. The absence of publisher or place of publication was sometimes denoted by 'No pub.' and 'n.p.' respectively: abbreviations acceptable in style sheets such as the MHRA style book (Modern Humanities Research Association, 1991: 35; rule 10.2.1) and also in AACR1 (138C), but not AACR2. The possible ways to record an unknown date (AACR2 1.4F7) were ignored. Sometimes dates were recorded as 'n.d.', known from style sheets and acceptable according to AACR1 (142K), technically wrong, but clear and factually correct. Worse were wild and non-sensical estimates of publication dates, contradicting evidence elsewhere in the catalogue record, e.g.: Title: Statutes of Trinity College : translated from the original Latin statutes which were published ... 8 June, 1818 Imprint: Cambridge : n.p., 1800? Author: Bryant, Jacob, 1715-1805 Imprint: [S.l.] : [s.n.], [1700]? A common error in the statement of extent (MARC 300 field) was the omission of all pagination statements except the main one: i.e. of the frequent introductory sequences paginated in roman numerals; of leaves of plates. Note fields failed to record the presence of bibliography and index. An extension of the conflation of editions noted above was the failure to recognise discrete items bound together. These unwittingly received what were effectively misleading collection level descriptions. As not even a note denoted the contents, the discrete items were effectively lost. For example, one student record read: Author: Bentley, Richard, 1662-1742 Title: Tracts Imprint: London : Privately pub., 1710 Physical description: 1 v. ; 20 cm. (unpaged) Note: Spine reads 'Bentley Tracts' - no title page Subject: Trinity College (Cambridge) -- Source material Subject: Universities and colleges -- Source material -- Cambridge 9 Setting aside such errors as the incorrect form of the subject headings and the physical description field, the volume comprised five discrete items, all of which were paginated and had imprint statements (e.g. Printed for A. Baldwin ...; Printed for J. Morphew ...), and some of which were about rather than by Bentley; a search by author or title would fail to retrieve the items. Errors in descriptive cataloguing were exacerbated in catalogue records for the few early printed items catalogued. The mistakes were similar, including some omissions of statements of attribution; the effect was worse because the artefactual interest of books from the hand-press period renders accurate and full descriptions more important. For such materials, many libraries follow the detail presented in DCRB (Descriptive Cataloging of Rare Books), providing format in addition to size of items, accounting for unnumbered as well as numbered pages; presenting edition statements and the imprint in the exact words in which they are written; noting the presence of such features as errata and publisher's advertisements. By wanting any statement of physical description the student records fell below the minimum CURL standard even for modern monographs, e.g.: Author: Bryant, Jacob, 1715-1804. Title: Observations upon a treatise entitled 'A description of the Plain of Troy' by M. le Chevalier / Jacob Bryant. Imprint: Eton : s.n., 1795. Subject: Troy (Extinct city) -- History. for: Author: Bryant, Jacob, 1715-1804. Title: Observations upon a treatise entitled 'A description of the plain of Troy' by M. le Chevalier / by Jacob Bryant. Imprint: Eton : Printed by M. Pote ; sold by Messrs. Cadell and Davies, 1795. Physical description: [2], vi, 49, [1] p. ; 26 cm. (4to). Subject: Lechevalier, Jean-Baptiste, 1752-1836. Description of the plain of Troy. Subject: Troy (Extinct city) -- History -- Early works to 1800. In summary, students found descriptive cataloguing more difficult than MARC coding. Errors ranged from the cosmetic through the misleading to the inability to retrieve books. Subject cataloguing and access points The provision of access points, including subject headings, may on the whole be considered more difficult than descriptive cataloguing. In Germany, for example, subject headings are imposed by staff with superior qualifications and on a higher grade than those who do descriptive cataloguing ('Bibliothekare im höheren Dienst' vs 'Bibliothekare im gehobenen Dienst' respectively). In other words, this element is the more professional element of cataloguing, and therefore that in which one would expect non-professionals to have most problems. The students were expected to ensure that name headings conformed to the University Library's authority forms of names. The exception was for College members, for whom the College had developed its own style providing the fullest possible form of names, expanding all initials, providing dates of birth and, where relevant, death; and concluding with initials denoting Collegiate affiliation. 10 In fact, students did not check authorised forms, and the catalogue (no doubt like many others) abounded with multiple forms of names. The fault was worst for authors who were College members (the authors whom the College most wished to have right), as the additional local detail required entailed more scope for error, e.g.: Williams, Bernard Williams, Bernard, 1929- Williams, Bernard, 1929-, K.C.C. Williams, Bernard Arthur Owen Williams, Bernard Arthur Owen, 1929, K.C.C. Williams, Bernard Arthur Owen, K.C.C. Williams, Bernard Arthur Owen, 1929-, K.C.C. To have four forms of name for a single author was common. The maximum number of forms found was 16 for Sir Charles Bruce Locker Tennyson. This contravened a fundamental function of a library catalogue, to bring together all the works of a single author (Cutter, 1904: 12) Students frequently confused the roles of author and editor, giving the name of an editor main entry status for works without a single author, instead of using title main entry, with the name of the editor as an added entry, e.g. (for a collection of plays by four playwrights): 100 10 $aMarowitz$hCharles 245 10 $aNew American drama$ewith an introduction by Charles Marowitz for 245 30 $aNew American drama$ewith an introduction by Charles Marowitz 700 11 $aMarowitz$hCharles In this instance the student had introduced the error into a correct CURL record, as is evident from the fact that the student had imported the record twice, and a copy of the CURL record as imported, with the College's marker at the end, was still present in the interim database. The rule of three, whereby only the first of more than three authors in a single statement of responsibility receives an entry, and main entry is by title, was not always followed. The students coped well with uniform titles for single works, although they did not always apply them where relevant. They had problems with collective titles, which they devised idiosyncratically: e.g. 'Selected drama. German' for 'Plays. Selections' and 'Collected works. German' for 'Works' (in both examples the language is irrelevant, as the collective titles applied to original German works, not to translations). The collective titles thus lost their collocating functions. The library laid great emphasis on subject headings. Where possible, students catalogued books in their own subjects, in order to understand the contents and apply sensible subject headings. The theory proved well-founded, with notable errors pertaining to form rather than content. Examples of incorrect headings included corporate subject headings analogous with the lack of authority control over personal authors' names, such as: King's College, Cambridge. Chapel. King's College Chapel -- Cambridge. 11 King's College Chapel (Cambridge, England) alongside the correct form: King's College (University of Cambridge). Chapel. Sometimes inconsistencies resulted from ignorance of LCSH forms for types of works, e.g. for bilingual dictionaries: Language dictionary -- German -- English. German language -- English translations. English language -- German translations. instead of: German language -- Dictionaries -- English. English language -- Dictionaries -- German. Thus not all works on one subject were grouped under one heading, and a search by subject would not retrieve all relevant works. Students misapplied particular formulae, e.g. 'History and criticism' versus 'Criticism and interpretation' for literature. Sometimes they wrongly subordinated topics to places (e.g France -- Music). Sometimes they misunderstood the collocative purpose of subject headings to bring together works in different languages, such that for Leibniz's Fünf Schriften zur Logik und Metaphysik, a student imposed the subject headings 'Logik' and 'Metaphysik' besides, correctly, 'Logic' and 'Metaphysics'. The most prevalent errors concerned literature, which was catalogued by all the students because there was so much of it in the library and it was regarded as requiring no specialist knowledge. Works of literary criticism for which subject headings were appropriate frequently received such forms as: German literature -- Poetry -- 19th century for: German literature -- 19th century -- History and criticism. An overwhelming error was to impose subject headings upon single literary works, typically along the lines of the language and century (e.g. 'English literature -- 20th century'). This mistake arose from ignorance of the use of subject headings by the librarian training the students. Some headings were nonsensical: e.g. author: Storm, Theodore, 1817-1888. LCSH: German literature -- Prose -- 20th century. and, for a Dutch translation of one of Jane Austen's novels, Austen, Jane, 1775-1817 -- Translations into French. Some headings were correct in form, but frequent incorrect application rendered it difficult to find the works to which they applied among those to which 12 they did not: e.g. 'English literature -- 20th century' called up more novels than works of criticism. Many headings were not only incorrectly applied, but erred by addition of genre terms: e.g. English literature -- Prose -- 20th century (48 headings) English literature -- Prose fiction -- 19th century (133 headings) English literature -- 19th century -- Prose (54 headings) The above pattern was followed for other nationalities and genres of literature and was intensified when specimens of more than one genre appeared in a work, e.g. for Frank Wedekind's Prosa, Dramen, Verse: German literature -- Prose -- Drama -- Poetry -- 20th century. Errors in access points are more noticeable to users than many flaws in descriptive cataloguing and obscure the basic Cutter principle of grouping all works by a specific author and on a specific subject. Errors spanning descriptive and subject cataloguing The chief errors to span both descriptive and subject cataloguing were spelling and typographical ones. A keyword search for 'Correspondance' (conducted after several instances had been changed) resulted in 69 hits, of which 59 were spelling mistakes, a few in subject headings, the majority in titles (changed from 'Correspondence' in derived records). 'English literature' appeared in subject headings as 'English literatyre', 'English litertature' and 'English litrature'; 'Philosophy' as 'Philosopy', 'Philososphy' and 'Philosphy'. Below are two examples of catalogue records to contain multiple errors, besides the corrected form: Author: Mattingly, Garrett, 1900-1962. Title: Renaissance diplomacy. Imprint: London : Cape, 1955 (1963) Physical description: 322p[1 plate] ; 23cm. Series: The Bedfoord Historical Series Subject: Diplomacy -- History. Subject: Diplomacy -- Italy. Subject: Dimplomacy -- Sixteenth century. for: Author: Mattingly, Garrett, 1900-1962. Title: Renaissance diplomacy / by Garrett Mattingly. Imprint: London : Cape, 1962 (1963 printing) Physical description: 323p, [1] leaf of plates ; 23cm. Series: The Bedford historical series ; 18 Note: Originally published: 1955. Note: Bibliographical references: p. 299-300. - Includes index. Subject: Diplomacy -- History. 13 The two spelling errors (in a subject heading and in the series), the confusion about editions, the incorrect statement of pagination, wrong capitalisation in the series statement, and the lack of a statement of attribution from the title page are typical. The additional subject headings, although wrong in form, are not thoughtless (and are currently present on several records for the book on the relevant Union catalogue): a large proportion of the book in question concentrates on Italy and on the sixteenth century. They reflect ignorance of matters that can be known only if one is taught and if one looks things up: that 'Diplomacy' may not be subdivided geographically, and that a time division must follow either the subdivision 'History' or a subdivision considered to convey an historical concept (Chan 1995: 371). Author: Deutsch, Otto Erich. Title: Leopold Mozarts : briefe an seine Tochter / im Auftrag Gemeinde in Salzburg herausgegeben von Otto Erich Deutsch und Bernhard Paumgartner. Imprint: Salzburg-Leipzig : Verlag Anton Pustet, 1936. Physical description: 592p ; 22cm. Subject: Mozart, Leopold, 1719-1787. Subject: Composers -- Austria -- Biography. for: Author: Mozart, Leopold, 1719-1787. Title: Leopold Mozarts Briefe an seine Tochter / im Auftrag der Mozartgemeinde in Salzburg herausgegeben von Otto Erich Deutsch und Bernhard Paumgartner ; mit 32 Bildtafeln. Imprint: Salzburg : A. Pustet, 1936. Physical description: xvi, 592p, [32] leaves of plates : ill., coat of arms, facsims., ports. ; 21cm. Note: Leopold Mozart's daughter = Maria Anna Berchtold zu Sonnenburg. Note: Includes indexes. Subject: Mozart, Leopold, 1719-1787 -- Correspondence. Added author: Berchtold zu Sonnenburg, Maria Anna Mozart, Reichsfreiin von, 1751-1829. Added author: Deutsch, Otto Erich, 1883-1867. Added author: Paumgartner, Bernhard, 1887-1971. Added author: Mozartgemeinde in Salzburg. In this record the country of publication was coded as West Germany. Obvious errors are: failure to identify the author (whose name would not be found under an author search); positioning the first editor in the main entry field as the author; failure to note the second editor (which could impede retrieval); failure to check the valid form of the first editor's name; misinterpretation of the title page (even allowing for lack of knowledge of German which makes grammatical nonsense of the title, nothing in the layout of the title page justifies the interpretation Leopold Mozarts : briefe); lack of capitalisation; incorrect copying of the statement of responsibility; incorrect reproduction of the imprint (which does look like Salzburg=Leipzig, but elementary geographical knowledge should preclude such faults); incorrect statement of pagination, no reference to illustrations; an inappropriate subject heading. Most of the errors indicate carelessness. The omission of Maria Anna Mozart and of the Mozartgemeinde in Salzburg as access points require more advanced knowledge, and indeed have been omitted from catalogue 14 records of major libraries; the Mozartgemeinde in Salzburg does not appear in standard authority lists. Explanation of errors The root of problems was insufficient training and supervision. Training emphasised MARC (in which it succeeded) rather than AACR2. Moreover, students were unfamiliar with automated catalogues. They therefore were not in a position to make a connection between their work and the results for the user. The College was automating concurrently with other parts of the University. At the time, the post-1978 holdings of the University Library were catalogued electronically, but the University Library was a research library, little frequented by the undergraduates. The librarian in charge of the project considered the graduate students to be better cataloguers than the undergraduates; this could arise at least partly from the graduates' intuitive understanding through their dependence on the University Library with its partly automated catalogue. To the extent that students used catalogues, automated or otherwise, they would scarcely have analysed catalogue records, as they were usually searching known items by author and title to establish the classmark. The students did not understand the purpose of their work, nor the importance of such matters as correct spelling and non-filing characters for retrieval. They forgot instructions concerning the latter because they regarded such matters as irrelevant and petty fussing. One student cataloguer, who subsequently did a postgraduate library course, recalled that the meaning of the work she had been doing became clear only during her cataloguing option at library school. Shoddiness and indifference caused some mistakes, such as the inaccurate transcription of title pages and the ignoring of diacritics, and inadequate checking left them undetected. Frivolity inconceivable in a professional context caused others. A book published in Reinbek by Rowohlt about the Austrian poet Georg Trakl was later found to have on the catalogue record as its imprint: The Chocolate Factory : Willy Wonka; an error discovered only years later. Similar love for chocolate emerged in a subject heading for a literary work: 650 00 $aChocolate$xMars bars$xCrunchies$xBounty$xSnickers$xTwix$xKitkat$xMilky way. Well after the completion of the project, an entry for a stuffed toy was found on the catalogue. The inevitable unpredictability and sometimes inconsistency of Library of Congress Subject Headings (LCSH), reflecting their evolution over an extended period of time (e.g. Chan 1995: 51-53), exacerbated lack of training concerning LCSH. Rules are complex and are not intuitive. Furthermore, over time subject headings change, and the old, plausible form remains on many records. Wilfulness contributed to error: one student insisted on applying the subdivision 'Autobiography' rather than 'Biography', understanding neither that the former was a sub-class of the latter, nor the basic grouping function of subject headings for authority control. Significantly, the students were hardly aware of subject headings. Undergraduate reading lists supplied by lecturers eliminated the need to compile bibliographies, when subject headings become important. Catalogues throughout the University were author-title ones. To browse books by subject students went directly to the shelves, possibly asking staff for orientation first. Shelf browsing was efficacious in the College library owing to its refined classification system, the 15 second edition of the Bliss Classification (BC2). The students therefore did not rely on the intellectual collocation provided by subject headings, and had no occasion to note and unconsciously absorb them. Thus there was no familiarity with Library of Congress Subject Headings to substitute for the sound training which the students lacked. With motivation, the students could have read a manual on the topic in their own time, but they were expected to do holiday reading for academic purposes, besides which a vacation job cannot demand the commitment of a permanent post. As mentioned above, one of the most frequent errors, the application of generic headings as subject headings for single literary works, arose from the trainer's incomplete grasp of subject headings. Junior professionals might have corrected the trainer on the basis of their catalogue training at library school; students with no background in librarianship could not. An underlying flaw beneath the assumption that students were intelligent was the equation of intelligence with aptitude. Even the least intelligent of the students (whose academic capacity varied) earned respectable degrees; but a desire for pocket money through a holiday job and a leaning towards the attention to detail which marks library work are not the same. A correlation between academic subject studied and cataloguing ability reflects this. The worst of the student cataloguers read Archaeology and Anthropology, another noticeably poor cataloguer Social and Political Sciences, subjects which require broad reading, whereas the best read Classics, which, like cataloguing, demands precision. It must be emphasised that the students did not introduce all the errors found in the catalogue records. Errors in one context were not always errors in another: different libraries followed different authority forms (e.g. British Library versus Library of Congress name headings, before they merged); libraries adapted rules for the benefits of their own users; the rule about recording a second or subsequent place of publication if it is the country of the cataloguing agency renders records correct in an American context which are wrong in a British one, and vice versa; and some derived records had evidently been catalogued following AACR1 and become inaccurate with the application of AACR2 (cf Hoare, 1984: 101, 108). Furthermore, not all the records taken would have been produced by qualified cataloguers; and even the most expert professional can have an occasional memory lapse or a bad day. Some striking errors of subject headings (e.g. for dictionaries) were present in at least one other library catalogue on the system. In such cases students could not recognise and amend the mistakes as fully trained staff would have done. Consequences and analysis The relatively small size of the library, a good classification system and the modest requirements of catalogue users mitigated the results of cataloguing errors. The catalogue was used almost exclusively to perform known item searches for books on reading lists. Therefore in practice weird and wonderful subject headings caused little inconvenience, and other inconsistent or erroneous access points, as well as descriptive faults, also faded into insignificance. Subsequent discarding of stock and concomitant deletion of catalogue records further mitigated the result of the student cataloguing. The library's policy was to withdraw old editions of works as soon as a new edition appeared; thus in medicine, the natural sciences and to a lesser extent economics, the results of the students' work were soon deleted. Even without the replacement by new editions, some works were superseded and removed from the stock. Weeding of a secondary section of stock resulted in the rejection of a large number of poorly catalogued travel books. 16 However, owing to spelling mistakes in titles and/or authors' names some books were effectively lost, and duplicate copies inadvertently purchased. A higher level of staff time and expertise was necessary than should have been the case to establish whether the library possessed a book, for example when comparing possible donations against current stock. Staff needed to know that particular books should be in the library, and to have the flexibility and patience to continue searching when a correct search had failed: to look by author or title instead of both, or to try by ISBN, to circumvent the result of spelling mistakes. Poor cataloguing became a drawback when little-used or peripheral books were kept in the library but moved from open shelves so that physical browsing would no longer discover books. The library management system enabled virtual browsing, but users could not be expected to know relevant classmarks, which necessitated staff expertise to help. The removal of a section of theology books from display entailed a rapid recataloguing of the relevant books to ensure retrievability. As has been touched on, the most serious consequence of shoddy cataloguing occurred with the special collection of books by and about Jane Austen, catalogued to a standard well below that expected of junior library assistants. Faults included numerous spelling mistakes (including 'Persausion' for 'Persuasion' in 25 out of 27 titles), consistent failure to transcribe the title pages correctly, incorrect pagination, confusion between editions, and inappropriate subject headings (including the author's name for editions of her novels, thus introducing considerable 'noise' into the subject headings), description of Catalan translations of the novels as Spanish, and incorrect presentation of the imprint among other lesser errors. The donor had requested to see a copy of the catalogue records. He replied with a letter stating: 'I find it incredible to believe that a single person could make so many mistakes', and spent five pages, typed singly-spaced, listing them. Yet more disturbing were the books given which appeared to be missing (such as four of the five editions of the Bussby pamphlet noted above), implying Collegiate negligence; in fact, all books were present, but poor cataloguing, with the conflation of editions, had excluded them from the list. The donor's most valuable books, including the earliest editions, had not yet come to the College, and the student's work jeopardised the chances of their doing so. As a matter of high priority, all the student's records were deleted, and the books recatalogued, good money following bad. A second donation of Jane Austen books had been given to the College. The two collections were meant to be complementary, with approval having been given for the sale of duplicates. Reprints from different years were judged not to be duplicates for the purpose. The inaccuracy of the catalogue rendered it impossible to establish duplication from the catalogue; instead, every book had to be examined. From a financial viewpoint, the project therefore had hidden costs. The students were paid the minimum wage, at the bottom of the University's clerical scale (CS1; £7,645). Another College paid newly qualified librarians on the CS4 clerical scale (£13,504), a standard rate, for which it gained high-quality catalogue records. As long as records at King's College required no alteration, King's College gained financially. However, as soon as upgrading was required the costs mounted. The College paid a student a CS2 wage for a year manually to correct variant name forms of Collegiate authors. In large-scale correction across approximately 16 bays of the music collection, nearly every book required amendment. Recataloguing was quicker than the first cataloguing effort had been, because in the interim more records had been loaded onto both the University's union catalogue and the CURL database. The administration of two databases, however, the University's union catalogue and SIRSI Unicorn, slowed procedures, as upgrading records meant either upgrading the College 17 record on the University system or (quicker and more efficient for the poorer records) deleting them and copying another record. From there, the records on SIRSI Unicorn had either to be deleted and re-imported, or else overwritten. The money paid to the student became an additional expense to the CS4 rate paid for a record which was acceptable in the first place. Where upgrading was done by a permanent employee towards the top of the CS4 salary scale, the time required to correct student labours was time not available for other tasks. On the positive side, the recataloguing of the Jane Austen collection enabled the new cataloguer to exploit the collection more fully than would have been the case if the first attempt to catalogue the books had been satisfactory. Recataloguing led to a small exhibition of books from the collection and an article in a major bibliographical journal increasing awareness of it.1 Other Colleges in Cambridge benefited from the experience at King's College. Because College libraries were all purchasing the same books they continually borrowed each other's records and were in a position to compare the cataloguing of different libraries, readily identifiable from the record identification number imposed by the union catalogue which began with a unique code for each library. The student records functioned as a cautionary tale and rendered those funding other libraries more likely to pay to have the work done professionally. Conclusion Can students catalogue? Is cataloguing an intuitive, basic task that can be picked up with minimal training, as the project assumed? Students' general competence when imposing UK MARC codes indicates speed of learning and proficiency with computers. They can perform basic clerical tasks in libraries. At the time, several libraries were loading short records onto the Union catalogue in order to record their holdings in a basic form, to be upgraded as time permitted. Had King's College attempted this, the result would have been more accurate, with minimal scope for error, and, as records could have been created considerably more quickly, cheaper. One other library within the University used students to catalogue books in this way; the Librarian checked each record for accuracy, and found the result acceptable. The partial understanding of collective titles shows a degree of thought. Students cannot master two detailed, sometimes arcane sets of rules - AACR and LCSH - and provide library work of professional standard without concomitant training and adequate ongoing supervision. At worst their work will be inferior to that of (supervised) junior library assistants. The expense for the library, if it desires professional results, will be greater than to appoint professionals in the first instance. In this students are no worse than other non-professionals. The results at King's College resembled the experiences at Hull and at the University of Botswana described above (except for Hull's problem of poor handwriting on cards). Moreover, the variable quality of catalogue records to be found on the CURL database demonstrates that wherever cataloguing is uncontrolled and not highly regarded, quality will suffer. Results at King's College Cambridge make clear that computerisation, far from compensating for lack of accuracy and training, instead highlights it. The increasing quantity of records on CURL and other shared databases, as re-cataloguing and retrospective conversion continue and consortia grow larger, does not alter this: there is less call for original cataloguing, but at least an equal need to know rules for editing purposes and to prevent the proliferation of 1Attar, K.E. (2002) Jane Austen at King's College, Cambridge. Book Collector, 51, 197-221. 18 error. As the argument about professionalism generally and cataloguing in particular continues into the 21st century, the project results show that a derisory attitude towards library skills is unjustified. A place remains for qualified librarians to do qualified library work. Bibliography American Library Association et al. (1967) Anglo-American cataloguing rules: British text. London: Library Association. Bowman, J.H. (2003) Essential cataloguing. London: Facet. Bridge, Jeremy (2000) Retrospective conversion at the Tate Gallery library. Catalogue & Index, 136, 1-3. British Library Bibliographic Services Division (1980) UK MARC manual. 2nd edn. London: British Library Brunt, Rodney M. (2004) The education of cataloguers. Catalogue & Index, 153, 1-7. Chan, Lois Mai (1995) Library of Congress subject headings: principles and application. 3rd edn. Englewood, Col.: Libraries Unlimited. Consortium of University and Research Libraries, CURL minimum standards. Online resource at: http://www.curl.ac.uk/database/bibstandards.html. Cutter, Charles A. (1904) Rules for a dictionary catalogue. 4th edn. Washington: Government Printing Office Douglas, Nancy E. (1985) REMARC retrospective conversion: what, why and how. Technical Services Quarterly, 2 (3/4), 11-16. Dyson, Brian (1984) Data input standards and computerization at the University of Hull. Journal of Librarianship, 16, 246-61. Gorman, Michael (2002) Why teach cataloguing and classification? Cataloging & Classification Quarterly, 34(1-2), 1-13. Hill, Janet Swan (2002) Pitfalls and the pendulum: reconsidering education for cataloging and the organization of information: preface. Cataloging & Classification Quarterly, 34(1-2), xix-xxiii. Hoare, Peter A. (1986) Retrospective catalogue conversion in British university libraries: a survey and a discussion of problems. British Journal of Academic Librarianship, 1, 95-131. Hoerman, Heidi Lee (2002) Why does everybody hate cataloging? Cataloging & Classification Quarterly, 34(1-2), 31-41. Joint Steering Committee for Revision of AACR (1988). Anglo-American cataloguing rules, 2nd edn, 1988 revision. Ottawa: Canadian Library Association. 19 Kgosiemang, Rose Tiny (1999) Retrospective conversion: the experience at the University of Botswana Library. Cataloging & Classification Quarterly, 28(3), 67- 94. Law, Derek (1988) The state of retroconversion in the United Kingdom: a review. Journal of Librarianship, 20, 81-93. Maurer, Hansjürgen (1991) Retrospektive Katalogkonversion in einem Verbundsystem. Zeitschrift für Bibliotehkswesen und Bibliographie, 38, 109-28. Mayer, Constance (2002) Variations: creating a digitial music library at Indiana University. In: Cataloging the web: metadata, AACR and MARC 21, ed. by Wayne Jones, Judith R. Apronheim and Josephine Crawford. 149-154. Lanham, Md. and London: Scarecrow Press. Modern Humanities Research Assocation (1991) MHRA style book. 4th edn. London: Modern Humanities Research Assocation Peters, Stephen H. and Douglas J. Butler (1984) A cost model for retrospective conversion alternatives. Library Resources & Technical Services, 28, 149-62. Quedens, Jenny (1991) Retrospektive Konversion in den USA. Bibliothek: Forschung und Praxis, 15, 62-111. Read, Jane M. (2003) Cataloguing without tears: managing knowledge in the information society. Oxford: Chandos. Trickey, Keith. (2004) Revive the lost art - or we've only ourselves to blame. Library + Information Gazette, 26 Mar. 2004, 1-2. Ward, Ray (2004) Appalling downgrading of cat and class. Update, May 2004, 20. Watkins, Diane (1985) Record conversion at Oregon State. Wilson Library Bulletin, 60(4), 31-3. Wessendorf, Berthold (1991) Catalogue conversion in Switzerland. European Research Libraries Cooperation, 1, 55-60. 
work_cckcc7ya6vg4hgd2g6fej3lr6y	----	Voyant, Digital Humanities, General Chemistry, Scientific Papers, Undergraduate Education 2017, 7(1): 5-9 DOI: 10.5923/j.edu.20170701.02 Reading Science: Digital Humanities and General Chemistry Jennifer M. Vance Natural Sciences, LaGuardia Community College, Long Island City, United States Abstract Scientific papers often present challenges to undergraduate readers. This paper reports on research to explore whether Voyant, a digital humanities text analysis tool, might help students become more proficient and independent readers of scientific articles. Students taking Honors General Chemistry 2 were introduced to Voyant. For the study, they read, analyzed, and summarized a scientific paper without the use of Voyant to establish a baseline measure of their skills. They then read, analyzed, and summarized a second scientific paper with the aid of Voyant, and a third one without Voyant again. For the first article, the students earned an average of 7.6 points out of 10. For the second article, they gained a point, reaching an average of 8.7. For the third article, students maintained the gain with an average of 8.6 points. In addition, thematic coding of answers to open-ended survey questions posed after the second article confirmed reports by eleven out of fourteen students that Voyant had helped them; however, for the third article, only four missed the assistance of Voyant. In conclusion, Voyant was found to be a helpful temporary aid for reading scientific papers. Keywords Voyant, Digital Humanities, General Chemistry, Scientific Papers, Undergraduate 1. Introduction Scientific articles present a gateway to fascinating STEM (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) fields and allow students to gain current information about research. An emphasis on encouraging students to engage in research outside the classroom during their undergraduate education has been reported as a path to greater student persistence and retention [1]. In addition, researchers report that students who do such research have greater success in graduate school than their less experienced classmates [2]. By reading scientific articles, students engage with the background of their future fields and current projects. In addition, in the classroom, students frequently need to read some scientific articles when writing their research papers. However, reading scientific literature can be daunting to an undergraduate student, because there is usually a gap in reading level between the classroom textbook and scientific journal articles [3]. In addition, extensive scientific background and vocabulary are referenced and assumed. Finally, there is a level of uncertainty in reading current research that results from not understanding the entire article, because scientific articles frequently report on complex techniques and equipment [3]. In order to assess the grade levels of the articles that I asked my students to read for this * Corresponding author: JVance@lagcc.cuny.edu (Jennifer M. Vance) Published online at http://journal.sapub.org/edu Copyright © 2017 Scientific & Academic Publishing. All Rights Reserved study, I employed the Flesch-Kincaid Readability Grade Level test through Microsoft Word. This method considers the average sentence length and the average number of syllables per word in a calculation [4]. In an attempt to make the process reading scientific articles faster for students, I decided to apply Voyant, a tool of the digital humanities, toward the reading of scientific articles in the classroom. In 2013-2014, I had been a participant in the professional development seminar initiated by Provost Paul Arcario, the Provost‘s Learning Space, which that year focused on the digital humanities. Voyant software can be used for any text that is in digital form and, therefore, can be used across the disciplines. In the fall of 2014, I introduced the tool to my classes with the goal of promoting transferrable skills such as finding the main idea, defining vocabulary, and being comfortable with possible uncertainty. My students had a very positive response to the use of Voyant. The purpose of this article is to determine whether Voyant, a free online digital humanities tool, can serve as a sort of ―training wheels‖ to spur students into becoming effective and independent readers of scientific articles. 2. Literature Review 2.1. Reading Scientific Articles in the Science Classroom Science educators have reported including scientific journal articles in the curriculum for a variety of reasons: guiding students in summarizing; teaching scientific writing 6 Jennifer M. Vance: Reading Science: Digital Humanities and General Chemistry and enhanced problem solving; and increasing the interest level of the class. Several papers have been written about using scientific journal articles to teach writing [5-8]. Some papers offer help in reading and summarizing journal articles [9-11]. For instance, students taking a third-year Introduction to Chemical Research course at Annapolis State University in Boone, North Carolina were given excerpts from scientific articles and asked to pick a key sentence that summarized each paragraph. They then created a PowerPoint slide with a key sentence as the title. The supporting sentences were used to write bullet points. Students were surveyed and they said that this technique helped them in ―finding keywords and concepts, understanding the author‘s point, and determining how to organize and evaluate information for a presentation‖ [9]. This is a creative approach to reading papers in science, although the students were not given an entire paper and the papers were chosen so that the students did not have to deal with technical jargon [9]. Another type of summarizing method was introduced in the literature as KENSHU, the Japanese word for ―research understanding‖ [10]. This method was adapted from a top Japanese national university and involved translation of articles, summarizing, and presenting. The students worked in pairs on science articles with an experimental procedure [10]. Alternatively, students in an Analytical Chemistry class were given prescreened articles and were asked questions about them. The author specifically chose analytical science papers with experimental data. The students reported that these papers helped them with exams and gave them more exposure to scientific literature [11]. Lastly, some articles report the process and benefits of incorporating journal reading into the curriculum to increase interest in the course [12, 13]. 2.2. Reading in Other Disciplines’ Classrooms Summarization itself is a reading strategy for increasing comprehension of texts [14]. Friend presents this strategy as having ―four defining features: (a) it is short, (b) it tells what is most important to the author, (c) it is written ‗in your own words,‘ and (d) it states the informa- tion ‗you need to study‘‖ [15]. Spörer, Brunstein, and Kieschke (2008) taught readers four strategies for increased comprehension: ―summarizing, questioning, clarifying, and predicting‖ [16]. They also reflected on the positive effects of asking students to teach each other. McNamara (2009) expands on these strategies to include: ―1) comprehension monitoring, 2) paraphrasing, 3) elaboration, 4) logic or common sense, 5) predictions, and bridging [inference]‖ [17]. Finally, Liu, Chen, and Chang (2010) reported the use of computer-assisted concept mapping as a technique for increasing reading comprehension with English as a Foreign Language (EFL) students [18]. 3. Voyant Software This paper differs from the literature reviewed above in that it reports on the use of a computer program that generates in minutes a word analysis of an assigned article for students to refer to while reading the article. Voyant software, available free online, analyzes the scientific article or articles and generates a word cloud, a word frequency list, a graph of frequent words, and a presentation of keywords in sentences. Students can quickly see themes and difficult words in context. For students who speak English as a second language, seeing the words in context can be particularly helpful. Using Voyant in this way has not been reported in the literature, but it has been used to analyze medical survey responses [19]. Voyant, which is found at http://www.voyant-tools.org, is a text analysis tool used in the digital humanities. The digital humanities is a new and thriving field which looks for patterns in texts by way of what is called ―distant reading.‖ Literary scholar Franco Moretti‘s view of distant reading is described as ―understanding literature not by studying particular texts, but by aggregating and analyzing massive amounts of data‖ [20]. Voyant is a distant reading tool. There is some controversy in the Humanities with regard to this type of study of large amounts of data made available by the digitization of vast numbers of books [21, 22]. Since participants in this study also had to read the paper, the controversy is avoided. An example of work done with distant reading is Ana Mitric‘s (2007) essay on ―Jane Austen and Civility: A Distant Reading.‖ [23] In addition to reading scientific papers for research outside the classroom, students must read scientific papers as part of the general chemistry curriculum because they need to use journal articles to write their own research papers. As professional scientists, students will need to read scientific papers for a living. The present study explores whether the Voyant tool will help students become more proficient with reading and summarizing scientific papers. 4. Methods Voyant analyzes an article cut and pasted from a PDF or HTML document, generating a word cloud, a word frequency list, the printed article, a graph of word frequencies, and the words in their context sentences. The word cloud simply displays words in sizes that represent their relative frequencies within the text of the article. The graph of the word frequencies provides a picture of where the chosen words appear in the article. Finally, the words in their context sentences allow students to see how important words are used in a sentence in the article. These features potentially help students interpret the major themes more quickly based on word frequency. In a study by Dooling and Lachman, they found that students who received the theme before reading a passage had better recall and comprehension of the material [24]. Students can also look up difficult words and see how they are used in various sentences within the article, in order to gain context for the words. However, the program does not change the language Education 2017, 7(1): 5-9 7 of the sentences to make it easier to interpret. In order for the program to be most useful, it is very important to click on the gear-shaped icon to filter out repetitive words such as ―the,‖ ―a,‖ and ―and.‖ Click on the box for stopwords in English and on the box to apply a stopword list globally. I booked a computer classroom for my students when I introduced Voyant and made sure that all the students were able to get the Voyant analysis to work. In my experience with General Chemistry I and II students at LaGuardia Community College, I have found that there is a gap between reading the textbook and diving into the literature. For this exploration, fourteen students in the Honors General Chemistry II course in spring 2016 read an article without Voyant, wrote a summary, and answered some survey questions. Next, the students read an article with Voyant, wrote a summary, and answered survey questions. Finally, students read another paper without Voyant, wrote a summary, and answered survey questions. The articles were checked in Microsoft Word for grade level to make sure that they were comparable; the three articles had a Flesch-Kincaid readability grade level of 13.3, 13.4, and 13.5 respectively. Students received a rubric of expectations for each article summary assignment. The surveys were analyzed with thematic coding, that is, searching for common themes in the survey responses. 5. Results and Discussion 5.1. First Article The first article, summary, and survey were designed to get a baseline estimate of the students‘ abilities in summarizing articles. The first article was titled ―Use of Human Urine Fertilizer in Cultivation of Cabbage (Brassica olera- cea): Impacts on Chemical, Microbial, and Flavor Quality‖ [25]. This article had a reading level of grade 13.3. Of all the articles, it was probably the easiest because it had fewer unfamiliar scientific terms than the other two articles. I chose an article about cabbage because the other articles are related to cabbage. In particular, red cabbage contains anthocyanins, which are natural dyes that we discussed throughout the course in our research projects. In a survey after the first article summary assignment, I asked the students about their process of crafting the summary. I asked them if creating the summary was difficult, and why or why not. My Honors students achieved a fairly high baseline score of 7.6 points out of 10 for the first summary. Six of the students reported using highlighting as a technique for drawing out the main ideas. Two read the paper and used the Internet to help them with difficult terms. Three mentioned outlining the article. As for the question of difficulty, nine students said the article was not very difficult. One student commented, ―It was not that difficult. The article was really interesting to me and so that allowed me to engage it well. Overall thought it was a good fair article.‖ Five students said that the article was difficult. One student compared it to SAT questions: ―Yes, because the article was almost like the passages that are offered in the English section of the SATs and those long passages requires a lot of analysis in order to decipher it into one‘s own words and understanding. Especially since this article felt more longer.‖ One student used an interesting term—―filtered out‖—to describe his process of summarizing. He reported, ―It wasn‘t that very difficult. There was a lot of technical details and the important parts had to be filtered out.‖ 5.2. Second Article For the second article, which they read with Voyant, the students achieved an average of 8.7 out of 10, which reflected a gain of one point over their average score of 7.6 for the summaries they had written without Voyant. The second article was titled ―Anthocyanins Contents, Profiles, and Color Characteristics of Red Cabbage Extracts from Different Cultivars and Maturity Stages‖ [26]. This article had a reading level of 13.4. In their work with the second article, eight students improved, three students stayed the same, one student did worse, and two students did not hand in the second summary. The students were asked about their process of crafting the summary, whether the process was difficult, whether Voyant had helped in any way and, if yes, in what ways. Eleven students reported that Voyant had helped them write the summary. In general, students suggested that they could find the keywords and focus of the article more quickly: ―Voyant helped me get to details faster and easier.‖ The majority of the students found Voyant helpful for the second article, but four students felt that it had not helped them. Some of them preferred their highlighting method over using the software. Some of the students misunderstood and thought I was asking them to use Voyant as a substitute for reading the article: ―I did not like not being able to physically read the article. What usually helps me is reading and manually highlighting an article, while also being able to write and scribble notes in the margins. Voyant did help in finding sections quicker but I would not use it alone.‖ None of the students reported that they could write the summary without reading the article in detail. Voyant was not viewed as an effective substitute for reading the article. 5.3. Third Article Finally, for their summaries of the third article, read without Voyant, the students achieved an average of 8.6 points out of 10. Students gained a point with the use of Voyant, and kept that gain without Voyant for the third article. The third article was titled ―Influence of Steviol Glycosides on the Stability of Vitamin C and Anthocyanins‖ [27]. This article had a grade level of 13.5. For the third article, three students improved, four stayed the same, five did worse, and two did not hand in the summary. The most extensive number of improving students was seen after the second article, but this result could have been due partially to the students becoming more comfortable with the 8 Jennifer M. Vance: Reading Science: Digital Humanities and General Chemistry assignment. Since this was an Honors class, the students were relatively strong readers to start with, having averaged a baseline 7.6 out 10. Some of them had techniques for reading articles that they already felt comfortable with. Regarding the third article, students were asked if they missed Voyant, and four said yes, and eight said no. It was interesting that many of the same students who said that Voyant helped after the second article were convinced they did not need it for the third article. One student said, ―No, I did not [miss Voyant]. Although it may have been helpful, I can do just as good without it.‖ One student thought there were too many keywords to sift through: ―Voyant was not [used] during crafting the summary because there were too many keywords and it was necessary to read the whole text and understand.‖ Some students did not want to bother with Voyant, if it meant they still had to read the whole article. One student used Voyant for the third article despite my instructions, and said, ―Yes, I used Voyant because it gave clear idea of terms mostly used and also separates the main points.‖ Although there was not the same jump in improvement and actually five students did worse with the third article, the students maintained nearly the same average as the second article. Based on these results, we can conclude that Voyant helped some students with their summaries but was not necessary for the third article. Students made gains with Voyant and kept their gains without Voyant for the third article; by then, the majority felt comfortable without the aid of Voyant. I think that the major benefit of Voyant is that it saves time by distilling the article into keywords and placing those keywords into their context sentences. Some students who are less than experienced readers might not have the persistence to wade through the article to distill those keywords on their own. Less experienced readers might see greater gains than my Honors students. This study also revealed that some students had methods such as highlighting the article, that they felt more comfortable with and preferred. 6. Conclusions This paper explores whether utilizing Voyant can help students become more independent and proficient scientific readers. Using Voyant to read scientific papers was evaluated by compiling point totals for summaries and analyzing answers to survey questions with thematic coding. A majority of students said that Voyant was helpful for reading the second article, but a majority of students also said they did not need Voyant for the third article. In reading and summarizing the third article, students retained the gains made in reading the first and second articles. Students who are weaker readers might see greater gains than my Honors students. Whether this is so is an important question that I want to explore in future research. In conclusion, student reports found Voyant to be a helpful temporary aid for summarizing research papers. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Many thanks to Paul Arcario and Richard Dragan for organizing and presenting the digital humanities-themed Provost‘s Learning Space in 2013–2014. REFERENCES [1] Graham, M. J., Frederick, J., Byars-Winston, A., Hunter, A. B., Handelsman, J., 2013, Increasing persistence of college students in STEM., Science, 341(6153), 1455–56. [2] Gilmore, J., Vieyra, M., Timmerman, B., Feldon, D., Maher. 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N., 2003, Teaching effective communication in a writing-intensive analytical chemistry course., Journal of Chemical Education, 80(8), 904–6. [9] Bennett, N. S., and Taubman, B. F.,. 2013, Reading journal articles for comprehension using key sentences: an exercise for the novice research student., Journal of Chemical Education, 90(6), 741–44. [10] Drake, B. D., Acosta, G. M., Smith, R. L., 1997, An effective technique for reading research articles: the Japanese KENSHU Method., Journal of Chemical Education, 74(2), 186–88. [11] Roecker, L., 2007, Introducing students to the scientific literature: an integrative exercise in quantitative analysis., Journal of Chemical Education, 84(8), 1380–84. [12] Floutz, V. W., 1936, An advanced course in general chemistry based on scientific journals., Journal of Chemical Education, 13(8), 374–75. [13] Duncan, B. L., 1973, A literature program in general chemistry., Journal of Chemical Education, 50(11), 735. [14] Thiede, K. W., and Anderson, M. C. M., 2003, Summarizing can improve metacomprehension accuracy., Contemporary Educational Psychology, 28(2), 129–60. Education 2017, 7(1): 5-9 9 [15] Friend, R., 2000/2001, Teaching summarization as a content area reading strategy., Journal of Adolescent & Adult Literacy, 44(14), 320–29. [16] Spörer, N., Brunstein, J. C., Kieschke, U., 2008, Improving students‘ reading comprehension skills: effects of strategy instruction and reciprocal teaching., Learning and Instruction, 19(3), 272–86. [17] McNamara, D. S., 2009, The importance of teaching reading strategies., Perspectives on Language and Literacy, 35(2), 34–40. [18] Liu, P. L., Chen, C. J., Chang, Y. J., 2010, Effects of a computer- assisted concept mapping learning strategy on EFL college students‘ english reading comprehension., Computers and Education, 54(2), 436–45. [19] Maramba, I. D., Davey, A., Elliott, M. N., Roberts, M, Roland, M., Brown, F., Burt, J., Boiko, O., Campbell, J., 2015, Web-based textual analysis of free-text patient experience comments from a survey in primary care., JMIR Medical Informatics, 3(2), 1–12. [20] Schulz, K., 2011, ―What ss distant reading?‖ Mechanic Muse, New York Times Sunday Book Review 24 June. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/26/books/review/the-mech anic-muse-what-is-distant-reading.html. [21] Gooding, P., Terras, M., Warwick, C., 2013, The myth of the new: mass digitization, distant reading, and the future of the book., Literary and Linguistic Computing, 28(4), 629–39. [22] Serlen, R., 2010, The distant future? Reading Franco Moretti., Literature Compass, 7(3), 214–25. [23] Mitric, A., 2007, Jane Austen and civility: a distant reading., Persuasions: The Jane Austen Journal, 29, 194–207. [24] Dooling, J. D., Lachman, R., 1971, Effects of comprehension and retention of prose., Journal of Experimental Psychology, 88(2), 216-222. [25] Pradhan, S. K., Nerg, A. M., Sjöblom, A., Holopainen, J. K., Heinonen-Tanski, H., 2007, Use of human urine fertilizer in cultivation of cabbage (brassica oleracea): impacts on chemical, microbial, and flavor quality., Journal of Agricultural and Food Chemistry, 55(21), 8657–63. [26] Ahmadiani, N., Robbins, R. J., Collins, T. M., M. Giusti, M. M., 2014, Anthocyanins contents, profiles, and color characteristics of red cabbage extracts from different cultivars and maturity stages., Journal of Agricultural and Food Chemistry, 62(30), 7524–31. [27] Woźniak, K., Marszalek, K., Skąpska, S., 2014, Influence of steviol glycosides on the stability of vitamin C and anthocyanins., Journal of Agricultural and Food Chemistry, 62(46), 11264–69. 
work_cdgyfdagfrbirca4v777qwbixy	----	Miranda, 8 | 2013 Miranda Revue pluridisciplinaire du monde anglophone / Multidisciplinary peer-reviewed journal on the English- speaking world  8 | 2013 In Umbra Voluptatis : Shades, Shadows, and their Felicities /  Film Adaptations, New Interactions Goater, Thierry, Elise Ouvrard (eds.), L’Engagement dans les romans féminins de la Grande-Bretagne des XVIIIe et XIXe siècles Hélène Dachez Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/3369 DOI : 10.4000/miranda.3369 ISSN : 2108-6559 Éditeur Université Toulouse - Jean Jaurès Référence électronique Hélène Dachez, « Goater, Thierry, Elise Ouvrard (eds.), L’Engagement dans les romans féminins de la Grande-Bretagne des XVIIIe et XIXe siècles », Miranda [En ligne], 8 | 2013, mis en ligne le 28 juin 2013, consulté le 16 février 2021. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/3369 ; DOI : https://doi.org/ 10.4000/miranda.3369 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 16 février 2021. Miranda is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/3369 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Goater, Thierry, Elise Ouvrard (eds.), L’Engagement dans les romans féminins de la Grande-Bretagne des XVIIIe et XIXe siècles Hélène Dachez RÉFÉRENCE Goater, Thierry, Elise Ouvrard (eds.), L’Engagement dans les romans féminins de la Grande- Bretagne des XVIIIe et XIXe siècles (Coll. Interférences, Rennes : Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2012), 245 p, ISBN 978-2-7535-2030-1 1 Les seize articles qui forment ce recueil, rédigés par des chercheurs et de jeunes chercheurs spécialistes des XVIIIe et XIXe siècles, s’interrogent sur l’engagement dans les romans féminins publiés en Grande-Bretagne durant cette période. Dans une société patriarcale qui ne leur laisse régulièrement que peu de place et qu’une voix à peine audible, certaines femmes, connues ou moins connues, choisissent le roman, genre nouveau, en y engageant leur personne, leur réputation et leur survie sociale et économique pour se faire entendre et faire entendre leurs idées, défendre diverses causes, questionner, voire subvertir des genres a priori conservateurs (le roman sentimental ou le roman gothique), s’écrire et écrire le monde qui les entoure, et, en définitive, parvenir à un certain degré d’émancipation. 2 Suivant un avant-propos synthétique qui fournit tout le contexte nécessaire, les articles, qui proposent des analyses complémentaires, à lire en écho, sont répartis selon quatre moments. 3 La première partie est consacrée à Mary Wollstonecraft, pionnière en matière d’engagement féminin (« De la revendication politique à l’écriture fictionnelle : Mary Wollstonecraft » [15-38]). Les deux contributions qui la constituent explorent comment Goater, Thierry, Elise Ouvrard (eds.), L’Engagement dans les romans féminins ... Miranda, 8 | 2013 1 cet auteur utilise le discours non seulement philosophique et politique, mais aussi fictionnel pour proposer une transformation radicale du roman gothique et sentimental. Caroline Bertonèche, dans « Committing to Female Politics : Mary Wollstonecraft or the Voice of Romantic Emancipation » (16-25), célèbre les talents romanesques de cet auteur, d’ordinaire reconnue pour ses écrits sur les droits des femmes. En lisant les deux romans de l’auteur à l’aune de ses écrits sociaux-politiques et du romantisme, elle analyse combien la romancière a donné au roman une nouvelle identité littéraire et sociale, tout en se jouant de certains de ses codes et enjeux (notamment ceux du roman gothique), en y dénonçant tous les excès de la subordination dont la femme est victime et en y incluant une dimension de lecture inédite. Laure Blanchemain Faucon (« Imagination et engagement dans Maria, or, the Wrongs of Woman de Mary Wollstonecraft » [27-38]) examine combien la contradiction apparente entre la défense de la raison et l’appel à l’imagination (conçue notamment dans sa dimension visuelle et métaphorique) est en fait liée à l’engagement féminin dans le dernier roman de Wollstonecraft, dont les rapports au gothique sont analysés avec justesse. Cet engagement met en jeu une intersubjectivité marquée, et divers codes et conventions gothiques sont transposés dans le contexte domestique dans le but de dénoncer les effets néfastes de l’oppression patriarcale. 4 La deuxième partie de l’ouvrage (« La voix féminine dans le roman gothique » [39-77]) définit comment le féminin s’inscrit dans ce genre tout en effectuant parfois une subversion subtile de l’ordre établi. Julien Morel (« Le pittoresque comme instrument de l’engagement chez Ann Radcliffe » [41-53]) démontre de manière très probante combien l’esthétique pittoresque est « l’instrument privilégié de l’engagement » (42) de l’écriture de la romancière, dont les héroïnes, par leur résistance au pouvoir masculin, se démarquent subtilement de la jeune fille en détresse ou à la merci de ses émotions. Grâce à leur éducation et à leur expérience du pittoresque, elles parviennent à se maîtriser, à faire entendre leur voix et à établir un équilibre social et politique. Dans « Gothique féminin et engagement » (55-66), Gaëtane Plottier questionne la soumission et la persécution traditionnelles de la femme, victime du personnage masculin qui a la loi de son côté. Bien que quelques héroïnes (dans le romans d’auteurs féminins) soient des figures relativement fortes qui, jouissant parfois d’une certaine autonomie, notamment grâce à la nature et aux paysages pittoresques, sont capables de s’opposer aux hommes / tyrans, elles sont incapables d’obtenir le contrôle, si bien que l’ordre patriarcal, bien que questionné, est finalement aussi présent dans les roman d’auteurs féminins que dans ceux d’auteurs masculins. Audrey Souchet (« Quand le gage d’amour se fait engagement féministe : la représentation du baiser dans Frankenstein et The Last Man de Mary Shelley » [67-77]) étudie de façon originale, à travers le motif du baiser, les relations entre hommes et femmes : loin d’être un geste qui signe l’égalité entre les sexes dans cette société patriarcale, le baiser dit leur inégalité, montrant ainsi les dangers du désir masculin égoïste et ceux du désir féminin idéalisé. Après avoir insisté sur le thème de la vengeance, Audrey Souchet montre que Mary Shelley met en avant les « baisers de l’esprit » (74), expression de la sympathy témoignée à autrui. 5 Dans la troisième partie (« La fonction sociale du roman et ses limites » [79-162]), les auteurs se demandent dans quelle mesure le roman est doté d’une fonction sociale ou politique, qu’ils tentent de définir. Dans son article très réussi « What can I do with a girl who has been educated in Scotland» ? « ou l’art de remettre en question le modèle patriarchal anglo-centrique selon Susan Ferrier » (81-99), Benjamine Toussaint examine comment Ferrier met, à la faveur d’un discours double, l’humour et la satire Goater, Thierry, Elise Ouvrard (eds.), L’Engagement dans les romans féminins ... Miranda, 8 | 2013 2 au service d’une dénonciation des préjugés sexistes de ses contemporains et d’une attaque de leurs préjugés nationalistes à l’encontre des Ecossais, tout en proposant une union homogène et un partenariat équilibré des deux cultures. Dans cet univers andro- et anglo-centrique, le discours d’engagement, parfois ambigu, tenu par Ferrier, ne peut que s’exprimer de façon indirecte. Odile Boucher-Rivalain (« L’engagement de Harriet Martineau [1802-1876] dans sa fiction des années 1830-1840 » [101-113]) définit et analyse l’engagement économique, social et politique de l’auteur d’abord dans ses contes didactiques, puis dans deux de ses romans. A la faveur d’une analyse très précise et convaincante de The Hour and the Man, l’auteur montre combien Martineau, grâce à son traitement héroïque de Toussaint L’Ouverture (figure paradigmatique de l’engagement), s’engage en prônant la liberté en tant que droit universel, en bousculant les préjugés raciaux et en soutenant l’abolition de l’esclavage. Patrice Bouche, dans « Margracia Loudon : engagement d’avant-garde, combat d’arrière-garde ? » (115-127) relate, tout en en cherchant les raisons, le succès éphémère de l’auteur, qui s’est engagée en faveur du libre-échange et d’une théologie naturelle, et a défendu la nécessité des réformes légales et institutionnelles. La raison de ce succès de courte durée se trouve sans doute dans les choix génériques opérés par l’auteur, roman sentimental et traité non-fictionnel étant peu adaptés à l’expression de ces doctrines. Elise Ouvrard (« L’engagement moral et religieux dans l’œuvre romanesque d’Anne Brontë : le modèle évangélique » [129-141]) étudie combien l’auteur, marquée par le renouveau évangélique victorien (en faveur de toutes les formes de la tempérance et d’une meilleure éducation féminine), tout en s’inspirant de la fiction didactique de la période, se différencie, dans son engagement littéraire, d’une écriture édifiante qui ne serait qu’utilitaire et moralisatrice.1 Dans « Warring members : Varieties of commitment in the work of Elizabeth Gaskell » (143-151), Patsy Stoneman démontre, au contraire de certains critiques, notamment marxistes, que l’engagement de Gaskell, malgré son apparente diversité, trouve son unité dans son discours sur la maternité, marqué par la doctrine unitariste : privé et public / politique sont liés, car les mères éduquent les citoyen(ne)s de demain. A partir d’une étude très fine des contradictions et des ambiguïtés de George Eliot, femme à la fois indépendante et audacieuse dans sa vie privée, et caractérisée par un conservatisme politique, social et éthique très marqué, notamment dans ses romans, Stéphanie Drouet-Richet (« George Eliot : écrivain engagé ? Quelques pistes pour une réflexion » [153-162]) analyse de manière très convaincante les modalités de l’engagement problématique d’Eliot, qui préfère présenter un passé romanesque glorifié à un présent que menace le désordre, consacrant ainsi le décalage entre sa fiction et la société où elle vit, questionnant tradition et modernité, et mettant en avant la nécessité pour chacun de prendre conscience de son rôle social. 6 La quatrième et dernière partie (« L’écriture féminine comme engagement » [163-230]) montre combien le choix de l’écriture devient en soi, pour les femmes, un engagement. Dans « Stratégies auctoriales et discursives de l’engagement au féminin chez Jane Austen » (165-175) Thierry Goater examine de façon très intéressante les modalités de l’engagement de Jane Austen, qui a repris certaines idées de Wollstonecraft sur le mariage et sur l’éducation des jeunes filles. Il montre combien l’écriture lui a permis de s’engager et de faire entendre sa voix de femme dans une société qui fait la part belle au discours masculin. Cette écriture inaugurale, grâce aux stratégies auctoriales et discursives qu’Austen a adoptées (voile et anonymat, adoption du genre romanesque, parodie du discours d’autorité), a permis au roman féminin de se faire une place dans la Goater, Thierry, Elise Ouvrard (eds.), L’Engagement dans les romans féminins ... Miranda, 8 | 2013 3 littérature. Pascale Denance (« Figures archétypales de rebelle dans trois romans du XIXe siècle : Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre et Middlemarch » [177-190]) étudie avec succès ce que les héroïnes de ces trois romans doivent à trois figures archétypales de rebelles (Lilith, Antigone et la femme de Barbe Bleue), qui correspondent à différentes sortes d’engagement : la rébellion (vaine) contre le pouvoir patriarcal, la lutte contre l’injustice et la défense de la justice, et permettent l’émergence d’un nouveau paradigme potentiel, défini par l’affirmation de soi. Dans « Jane Eyre : a portrait of the artist as a young woman » (191-201), Stéphanie Bernard, après avoir très bien montré que le texte refuse toute classification générique, étudie combien, dans le roman de Charlotte Brontë, la vision artistique remplace la réalité, ce qui permet à l’héroïne, figure de la marge, d’éviter, sans se rebeller, le sort que la société patriarcale victorienne lui réserve, d’acquérir son indépendance ainsi qu’une voix, et de se créer en tant que sujet libre et qu’artiste. Gaïane Hanser, dans « Des discours politiques fantasmés aux silences expressifs : le développement d’une rhétorique de l’engagement féminin dans l’œuvre de Charlotte Brontë » (203-216), défend de façon convaincante que l’opposition entre l’engagement politique des premières œuvres fictives et le désengagement des romans adultes n’est qu’apparente. Un déplacement des signifiants (l’engagement devient religieux et social) et un contournement des interdits sont les signes d’une émancipation et d’un engagement féminin et artistique ayant lieu dans le cadre imposé par la société patriarcale victorienne. Isabelle Hervouet-Farrar, dans « Quand Charlotte Brontë s’engage dans le roman victorien : The Professor » (217-230), étudie très habilement combien le conformisme et l’adhésion apparente du héros (et du roman) aux valeurs victoriennes s’inscrivent en réalité dans un projet bien plus vaste, d’ordre ontologique : dire, au moyen de l’autobiographie fictive et de ses stratégies d’écriture, « l’exclusion, la perte, et le féminin » (217), liés à la duplicité, à la mort, à l’angoissante hypochondrie et à la nécessité du contrôle. 7 Une présentation des auteurs (233-236), un résumé de chaque article (237-242) et une table des matières viennent clore cet ouvrage, dont la portée aurait gagné à présenter une synthèse finale de l’engagement féminin. NOTES 1. On relève une erreur sur la diégèse de Clarissa de Samuel Richardson (« Clarissa a été mariée contre son gré à un homme riche … Lovelace, qui aide Clarissa à fuir son époux … » 136) : Clarissa s’enfuit avant le mariage voulu par sa famille et c’est justement parce qu’elle n’est pas mariée que Lovelace se conduit envers elle tout au long du roman comme il le fait. Ayant refusé d’épouser Lovelace, Clarissa meurt sans avoir jamais été mariée. Goater, Thierry, Elise Ouvrard (eds.), L’Engagement dans les romans féminins ... Miranda, 8 | 2013 4 INDEX Keywords : commitment, condition of women, education of women, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Enlightenment, Feminine voices, feminine writing, Gothic novel, patriarchal society, questioning society, Romance, self-assertion and self-expression, sentimental novel Mots-clés : affirmation et expression de soi, condition féminine, écriture féminine, éducation de la femme, engagement, questionnement de la société, roman gothique, roman sentimental, romance, Siècle des Lumières, société patriarcale, voix féminine, XVIIIème et XIXème siècles AUTEURS HÉLÈNE DACHEZ Université de Toulouse 2-Le Mirail Professeur des Universités Helene.dachez@univ-tlse2.fr Goater, Thierry, Elise Ouvrard (eds.), L’Engagement dans les romans féminins ... Miranda, 8 | 2013 5 mailto:Helene.dachez@univ-tlse2.fr Goater, Thierry, Elise Ouvrard (eds.), L’Engagement dans les romans féminins de la Grande-Bretagne des XVIIIe et XIXe siècles 
work_celcpoy3zvbsxknpkbumeqok7y	----	Book Reviews topically oriented chapters. Langstaff, who trained in a Toronto proprietary school that could not offer a medical degree, followed by a year at Guy's Hospital where he studied with some of the medical luminaries of his age, brought new diagnostic and therapeutic medical science to the bedside. He adopted the flexible stethoscope, thermometer, and ophthalmoscope soon after their introduction in the medical literature, and took up new drug regimens while letting the heroic measures drop away over the years. Duffin comments about how Langstaff's responses can be read in light of late- twentieth-century medical knowledge and often suggests present-day diagnostic nomenclature to illuminate the case histories. She admits that "a medically qualified person cannot read these documents without attempting to 'diagnose"' Langstaff's patients (p. 71). She does this carefully, always noting whether or not her observation would have been available to Langstaff, and she suggests that "historians are not obliged to forget what they know now" (p. 92), but must try to understand illness categories within their own historical context. Duffin's writing is evocative in small ways that readers appreciate. An example is when she describes Langstaff's speech before the city council on the bad condition of the roads, which he knew too well from personal experience, as a "cathartic opportunity" (p. 229). She relates that he fixed a patient's dislocated shoulder, "working outside, as he often did" (p. 157) providing us with a vivid glimpse into daily medical exertions. The book is rounded out with maps of the practice, family and community photographs, and numerous tables and appendices, all of which add to its fullness. This is an altogether satisfying book: it is scholarly, sound, exceedingly readable, and we come away having learned something. Judith Walzer Leavitt, University of Wisconsin-Madison Miriam Bailin, The sickroom in Victorian fiction: the art ofbeing ill, Cambridge University Press, 1994, pp. ix, 169, £30.00, $49.95 (0-521-44526-4). "The sick role"-a happy coinage of the American sociologist Talcott Parsons- provides an rich entree into the social, cultural, moral and personal functions of the sick-bed. That the sickroom was far more than an exclusively medical space was clearly recognized by the Victorians: once social pathologies had been transformed into bodily ailments, it was the task of "life in the sick room" (the title of Harriet Martineau's book on that very subject) to develop social rituals of healing that would mend hearts and relations not less than limbs-as ever, Oscar Wilde had an epigram for it: "I died and came to life again as a patient". Not surprisingly a cult of sickness developed, notoriously amongst families like the Darwins, as illness was discovered to be a source of solace no less than of suffering. For, as Miriam Bailin points out in a perceptive introductory chapter, the sickroom (like the death-bed) became a privileged space where enmities could be ended, confidences shared, and physical intimacies enjoyed free of the snares of sexuality that so often troubled Victorians. In a cruel world, the sickroom secured a rare interlude of kindness. The core of Dr Bailin's slim book, given over to case studies of the sickroom in major Victorian novels, unfortunately does not live up to the promise of her Introduction. A chapter on Charlotte Bronte hardly goes beyond paraphrase, while another devoted to George Eliot seems misplaced, since (apart from the problematic Romola) she was not a devoted "sickroom" writer, Dr Bailin fascinatingly demonstrates that many of Dickens' restless characters finally find rest in illness and experience an emancipatory and redemptive delirium. But given that Dickens provides so many powerful scenes of sickness and nursing-Eugene Wraybum and Lizzie Hexam, Arthur Clenham and Little Dorrit, Dick Swiveller with the Marchioness, Oliver 252 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060002 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060002 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Reviews Twist with Mr Brownlow and with the Maylies, and so forth-it is a pity that the chapter is rather slender. Overall this is a stimulating work, but, by contrast with such recent books as John Wiltshire's Jane Austen and the body: 'The picture of health' (Cambridge University Press, 1991), it provides less than it promises. Roy Porter, Wellcome Institute Lynn Bindman, Alison Brading, and Tilli Tansey (eds), Women physiologists: an anniversary celebration of their contributions to British physiology, London and Chapel Hill, Portland Press, 1993, pp. ix, 166, £9.99, $15.00, (1-85578-049-6). Physiology is a fascinating field for historians of gender and of women's place in science and medicine. In the United Kingdom at least, since the late nineteenth century, women's presence as undergraduate students in the field, as medical students and as subject specialists, has been relatively strong compared to their representation in science generally. A large body of public lectures and popular writing in "physiology" was produced by women for women from the 1860s onwards. Much of this would now be labelled as health education or even sex education and dissociated from the academic discipline of physiology and its inseparable partner in Britain, the Physiological Society. Victorian women's exposure to academic physiology was controversial because of the subject's association with animal experimentation. This modest volume is not directly about these broader issues although it does allude to them. Its main purpose is to celebrate the far from modest achievement of a small number of distinguished women physiologists. In the first section, E M Tansey provides a succinct overview of the history of women in the Physiological Society, noting that their admission, in 1915, was controversial, notwithstanding their publication record. Women's presence at the Society's dinners was clearly not welcome to all leading male physiologists of the time, yet they were accepted into the Physiological Society long before many other scientific societies. Section II gives brief biographies and edited extracts from published research for eight women whose contribution to science led to their becoming Dames of the British Empire or Fellows of the Royal Society. Section III provides biographical sketches of others whose distinguished scientific contribution did not attract such public honours. The Afterword raises the questions any analytic historian would ask about any patterns in background, career paths, topic research etc. but has to admit that the small sample precludes satisfying answers. It also attempts comparisons with the current situation of women physiologists. Again, the focus on a few very distinguished women is not necessarily the best foundation for such comparisons. The book achieves its main aims of documenting the achievements of the few well, although, as often seems to be the case, these successful women scientists frustrate the historian by not generally indulging in extensive reflection on their own lives. One would hope that it will encourage others to extend the study of women's place in physiology in and outside academia to answer the broader questions it poses more satisfactorily. Mary Ann Elston, Royal Holloway, University of London Lawrence C Kolb and Leon Roizin, The first psychiatric institute: how research and education changed practice, Washington, DC, and London, American Psychiatric Press, 1993, pp. xx, 258, illus., $39.00 (0-88048-544-2). This book describes the history of the New York State Psychiatric Institute from 1896 to 1971. As historical writing it is badly flawed. No reference is made to any sources in the history of psychiatry after 1968 and the repetitive ascription of talent, foresight and 253 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060002 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060002 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_ch3trgilincx5eyv4h4r6lt2ca	----	78 REVIEWS a similar canoeing accident. The deaths of Grinnell's sons have no connection with the events of the 1950s barrenlands trip, but, as one might well imagine, those deaths three decades later did give Grinnell pause to rethink his own earlier experience. This much is history, one might say, and should have no bearing on our evaluation of the artistry of the book. But it is the realization of Grinnell's 40-year struggle to tell this story of growth — and the loss that always accompanies growth — that forges the undeniable emotional link be- tween author and reader. Writing the book had, no doubt, a crucial therapeutic effect on Grinnell. And while A death on the barrens adheres to few of those classical unities Aristotle lauded in Greek tragedy, the bond of humanity any reader must feel through Grinnell's troubled effort to share his loss creates a great deal of empathy in the reader. I am indeed a more complete person for having read this book, and one wonders if a book can ever achieve a higher end. (Richard C. Davis, Department of English, Univer- sity of Calgary, 2500 University Drive NW, Calgary, Alberta T2N 1N4, Canada.) THE FROZEN ECHO: GREENLAND AND THE EXPLORATION OF NORTH AMERICA, ca AD 1000-1500. Kirsten A. Seaver. 1996. Stanford: Stanford University Press, xviii + 407 p, illustrated, hard cover. ISBN 0-8047-2514-4. £40.00. It must be stated straightaway that this work is a major achievement. The author has tackled difficult questions concerning the nature of Norse settlement in Greenland. She has also examined the relationships between those settlements and the exploration and exploitation of North America and of the North Atlantic by other Europeans, most notably the English and Portuguese. A central question is, of course, what was the cause, or what were the causes, that led to the extinction of the Greenland colo- nies? The author uses a kaleidoscopic variety of sources, and approaches the questions she has set for herself from the point of view of different disciplines. The sources include historical texts, many in Scandinavian languages, and also the results of archaeological and cartographical studies. The book is divided into two parts. Firstly, there is a detailed study of North Atlantic exploration by the Norse, with an exhaustive analysis of the economic, social, and ecclesiastical conditions of the Greenland colonies. This is followed by an examination of the official and unofficial maritime efforts in the North Atlantic by, for example, the Bristol merchants and of the impact of these on Greenland. The author's central conclusion relating to the fate of the Greenland colonists is that: ...both circumstantial evidence and common sense suggest that the Greenlanders, who had so clearly taken active part in the North Atlantic economic community throughout the fifteenth century, had remained oppor- tunists to the end and joined the early-sixteenth-cen- tury European surge toward North America. As noted, the range and breadth of the author's sources are breath-taking and the sheer diligence with which she has tackled them is an example to all who undertake historical study. Each of her chapters is a comprehensive analysis of its subject, and they inter-relate well. The totality of the work is a very impressive contribution on a difficult topic. However, the book is, in some respects, poorly written. The author, in her acknowledgements, comments on the input of her editor, and one feels that the work would have had a more consistent style if the editing had been either more or less rigorous. In places, the author's approach is journalistic, and the uneasy juxtaposition of styles makes for uneven reading. Some of the writing is unfortunate. The first sentence of the acknowledgements — 'It is a truth universally acknowledged that anyone writing a book must be in need of a supportive spouse' — caused this reviewer to wince. One may wonder if the author is aware that Jane Austen was in fact single! Other examples are: 'The cresting wave of European exploration slammed onto the shores of the Americas' (page 254), and the comment that John Cabot 'would try to go Columbus one better' (page 265). A further deficiency is the illustrations. The maps are adequate as far as they go, but it seems curious that the overall map of the North Atlantic, relevant to the entire argument of the book, is less than half a page in size and is relegated to page 215. The maps of the Greenland settle- ments are excellent, but the reproductions of contempo- rary maps and charts are on so reduced a scale as to make them of little use. The photographs of areas in the Green- land settlements, in particular those on pages 10 and 20, give little useful support to the text. Those of archaelogical relics are much better and have been carefully selected. To sum up, a worthy effort, and one that will be required reading for those with specialised interests in the period and area. However, with a more even style and consistent editing, a better book could have been pro- duced, which might have served the needs both of special- ists and of the more general reader. Sadly, this is not the book to do this. (Ian R. Stone, Tartu University, Ulikooli 18, Tartu, Estonia.) TO THE ARCTIC BY CANOE 1819-1821: THE JOURNAL AND PAINTINGS OF ROBERT HOOD, MIDSHIPMAN WITH FRANKLIN. C. Stuart Houston (Editor). 1995. Montreal, Kingston, London, Buffalo: McGill-Queen's University Press, xxxvi + 217 p, illus- trated, soft cover. ISBN 0-7735-1222-5. £13.95. ARCTIC ORDEAL: THE JOURNAL OF JOHN RICHARDSON, SURGEON-NATURALIST WITH FRANKLIN, 1820-1822. C. Stuart Houston (Editor). 1995. Montreal, Kingston, London, Buffalo: McGill- Queen's University Press, xxxiv + 349 p, illustrated, soft cover. ISBN 0-7735-1223-3. £13.95. Unquestionably one of the most significant exploring efforts of the nineteenth century was the Arctic Land Expedition of 1819-1822, under the command of Lieuten- ant John Franklin. Not only was it the first expedition to 
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work_ck33d2wckfcjnjkumde5kdbdqq	----	""And I will, henceforward, be a father to him": Fathers and Sons in Elizabeth Inchbald's A Simple Story" Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l'Université de Montréal, l'Université Laval et l'Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. Érudit offre des services d'édition numérique de documents scientifiques depuis 1998. Pour communiquer avec les responsables d'Érudit : info@erudit.org Article ""And I will, henceforward, be a father to him": Fathers and Sons in Elizabeth Inchbald's A Simple Story" Jessica Olliver Lumen: Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Lumen : travaux choisis de la Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, vol. 27, 2008, p. 99-108. Pour citer cet article, utiliser l'information suivante : URI: http://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012053ar DOI: 10.7202/1012053ar Note : les règles d'écriture des références bibliographiques peuvent varier selon les différents domaines du savoir. Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d'auteur. L'utilisation des services d'Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d'utilisation que vous pouvez consulter à l'URI https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Document téléchargé le 5 April 2021 09:53 8. "And I will, henceforward, be a father to him": Fathers and Sons in Elizabeth Inchbald's A Simple Story Critical commentary on Elizabeth Inchbald's A Simple Story has focused almost exclusively on the relationships between women in the novel, leaving largely unexplored constructions of maleness and the discourse of masculinity that sustains them. This paper argues that relationships between male characters, and particularly filial ones, deserve equal at- tention. Even though fatherhood is raised as a broad critical topic, it is most often considered only in relation to the role of the maternal.1 For example Terry Castle focuses on what she calls the novel's "incorrigibly 1 In The Politics of Motherhood: British Writing and Culture, 1680-1760, Toni Bowers sees paternity and paternal authority as bound u p with questions of motherhood (Toni Bowers, The Politics of Motherhood: British Writing and Culture, 1680-1760. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). While Ruth Perry acknowledges the motif of "fatherlessness" in Inchbald's novel, a specifically masculine dynamic remains unacknowledged (Ruth Perry, Novel Relations: The Transformation of Kin- ship in English Literature and Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). In Mothering Daughters, Susan C. Greenfield, argues that "Whether she is dead, missing, emotionally detached , or present without the daughter's realiz- ing it, the mother is conspicuous in her absence" (Susan C. Greenfield. Mothering Daughters: Novels and the Politics of Family Romance: Frances Burney to Jane Austen. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2002,18); the same could be argued for the fathers in relation to sons in A Simple Story. Although Caroline Breashears suggests that A Simple Story "illustrates how gender constructions limited men as well as women in late eighteenth-century England" (Caroline Breashears. "Defining Mas- culinity in A Simple Story." Eighteenth-Century Fiction 16.3 (2004): 453), much of her discussion of the text works in relation to the male-female dynamic, and does not take as its focus the relationships between men or the discourse of the household family that arguably structures the novel. Inchbald's novel, then, has been judged as a story primarily about relationships between women: the absence of mothers, the use of female mentors, and the mother-daughter bond. LUMEN XXVII / 2008 1209-3696 / 2008 / 2700-0099 $10.00 / © CSECS / SCEDHS 100 Jessica Olliver feminist plot/' 2 by examining the ostensible abolition of its "patriarchal injunctions." Jane Spencer also centers her discussion primarily on women, considering Lord Elmwood only in the context of the actions surrounding Miss Milner. While Spencer acknowledges that the latter half of the novel "bears witness to the difficulties of questioning mas- culine authority/7 this mode of inquiry, once again, functions only in relation to women.4 In fact, there is little in the novel's "range of female sensibility" that has been left unexplored by critics.5 By creating a space within scholarly studies for specifically feminist readings of A Simple Story, critics have simultaneously displaced narratives of masculinity and denied their centrality to Inchbald's novel. One reason for the imbalance in the criticism may be that the relation- ships among women are more easily identified with modern definitions of the family: mother, father, and children. Naomi Tadmor's important questioning of the family dynamic demonstrates the need for a more porous definition of this construct, one that allows for the exploration of a less rigid set of familial roles. Moreover, her important historiciz- ing of the early modern family helps to clarify the significance of male relationships to the novel's ultimate confirmation of a traditional hier- archy. Working, then, within the parameters of Tadmor's definition of the household-family — that is, "people living under the same roof and under the authority of a householder"6 — this paper argues that the father and son paradigm in Inchbald's novel refuses to adhere to the consanguineal bonds that conventionally link families. The father-son relationship extends beyond one's genetic markers, instead becoming a connection defined by "the boundaries of authority and household management."7 In the novel, the father-son relationship becomes syn- onymous with that of the mentor-protégé. The intimate bonds between men function on a premise of masculine power maintained through 2 Terry Castle, Masquerade and Civilization: The Carnivalesque in Eighteenth-Century English Culture and Fiction (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1986), 294. 3 Ibid, 295. 4 Jane Spencer, The Rise of the Woman Novelist: From Aphra Behn to Jane Austen (Ox- ford: Blackwell, 1986), 161. 5 Gary Kelly, The English Jacobin Novel: 1780-1805 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976), 65. 6 Naomi Tadmor, Family and Friends in Eighteenth-Century England: Household, Kin- ship, and Patronage (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 22. 7 Ibid, 24. Fathers and Sons in Elizabeth Inchbald's A Simple Story 101 respect, and these homosocial relations further demonstrate a need to disallow sexualized relationships. Moreover, exclusively male relation- ships bridge the novel's two parts, creating a patriarchical continuity and emphasizing the importance of maleness. Thus, diametrically op- posed to the incest plot and the sexualized realm of the feminine, the father-son dynamic privileges a patriarchal hierarchy that seeks to rein- force the authority that binds the traditional family together. Inchbald initially explores father-son bonds through a religious rather than secular context. Dorriforth's priestly background links him with both emanations of religious patriarch, Father and Son. His bond with the Holy Father, however, is tenuous at best after he becomes the guardian of Miss Milner, and the personification of female sexuality enters his home. Surrounded by two priests and "two such unseduc- tive females/'8 Mrs. Horton and Miss Woodley, Miss Milner as Terry Castle suggests, "embodies sexual energy in a house of celibates." Miss Milner's arrival destabilizes Dorriforth's connection with God, and also works to undermine his authority. Her refusal to conform to his household authority is obliquely sexual. Although the novel's plot is propelled by the tensions between men, Miss Milner is most often the occasion for these tensions. Her presence ruptures both Dorriforth's divine relationship with God and his paternal relationship with Sand- ford. Since he is unable to unburden his mind to his mentor and fellow priest Mr. Sandford after yet another incident with Miss Milner because he is "ashamed to tell him the cause of [his] uneasiness,"10 Dorriforth turns to God. Aware that he has "offended" divine precepts, Dorriforth prays for counsel and forgiveness: "Thou all great, all wise, and all om- nipotent being, whom I have above any other offended, to thee alone I apply in this hour of tribulation, and from thee alone I expect comfort." In this conversation with God, Dorriforth re-establishes the parameters of male authority, taking on the role of son once more. The formal in- stitutional father-son relationship between God and priest ends with the death of Lord Elm wood. Dorriforth receives not only the title and estate of Lord Elmwood, but also a "dispensation from his vows."11 As 8 Elizabeth Inchbald, A Simple Story, ed. J.M.S. Tompkins (1791; London: Oxford University Press, 98),7. 9 Castle, Masquerade and Civilization, 298. 10 Inchbald, A Simple Story, 63. 11 Ibid,104. 102 Jessica Olliver one aspect of his formal relationship with the Church ends, Elmwood's close connections to his other father-figure, Sandford, remain strong. The line of continuity that carries maleness and priestly vocation shows readers how Dorriforth's relationship with Sandford empha- sizes another version of the family within the novel. If "servants and apprentices could be members of household-families/,12 then Sandford falls within this definition of the family in his role as tutor and mentor to Dorriforth, and Elmwood. The narrator emphasizes Sandford's influ- ence upon the heart and mind of both Lord Elmwood and his cousin: This Preceptor, held with a magisterial power the government of his pupil's passions; nay, governed them so entirely, no one could perceive (nor did the young lord himself know) that he had any. This rigid monitor and friend, was a Mr. Sandford, bred a Jesuit in the same college where Dorriforth was educated, but before his time the order was com- pelled to take another name. — Sandford had been the tutor of Dorriforth as well as of his cousin Lord Elmwood, and by this double tie seemed now en- tailed upon the family.... The young earl accustomed in his infancy to fear him as his master, in his youth and manhood received every new indulgence with which his preceptor favoured him with gratitude, and became at length to love him as his father — nor had Dorriforth as yet shook off similar sensations.13 Here, Inchbald demonstrates Sandford's place within the family tra- dition, establishing a twofold mentor-protégé connection between Lord Elmwood and Dorriforth. We observe the characteristic paternal authority and respectful bonds that tie the two men to their tutor. In this passage, the narrator also informs us that Lord Elmwood's emo- tions towards Sandford are those of a son for a father. In terms of Dor- riforth and Sandford, the "as yet" in the narrator's choice of phrasing is ambiguous. I would argue that the particular phrasing foreshadows Dorriforth's eventually rejection of "similar sensations" that tie him to Sandford. Indeed, Dorriforth supplants his mentor, establishing a new power dynamic in which Sandford figures as the errant son. The change in sta- tus from Dorriforth to Elmwood alters the relationship between Elm- wood and Sandford with the younger man no longer willing to heed the advice of his long-time friend. The two men invariably disagree on 12 Tadmor, Family and Friends, 45. 13 Inchbald, A Simple Story, 38-39. Fathers and Sons in Elizabeth Inchbald's A Simple Story 103 the subject of Miss Milner, and when the female world she represents more fully undermines the bonds between father and son, their rela- tionship changes again. When Sandford presumes to speak about Miss Milner "with severity one evening while she was at the opera/' Lord Elmwood reproaches him and defends her: There is one fault, however, Mr. Sandford, I cannot lay to her charge/ 'And what is that, my lord?7 (cried Sandford, eagerly) 'What is that one fault, which Miss Milner has not?' VI never/ replied his lordship, 'heard Miss Milner, in your absence, utter a syl- lable to your disadvantage.' 'She durst not, my lord, because she is in fear of you; and she knows you would not suffer it/ 'She then/ answered his lordship, 'pays me a much higher compliment than you do; for you freely censure her, and yet imagine I will suffer it/ 'My lord/ replied Sandford, 'I am undeceived now, and shall never take that liberty again/ As his lordship always treated Sandford with the utmost respect, he began to fear he had been deficient upon this occasion.15 As Lord Elmwood assumes a position of authority in the conversation when he corrects Sandford for the liberties taken with both Miss Milner and himself, he tacitly asserts the change from his previous status as the older man's protégé. Just as Dorriforth felt the rebuke of Sandford's earlier admonishments, Sandford now takes on the role of the chastised "son," w h o must learn his place in the new household hierarchy. Al- though Lord Elmwood offends the elder man, he commences a pattern of reversal, in which he increasingly insists on his status as patriarchal authoritarian in all masculine relationships, first with Sandford and subsequently with his adopted heir. Henry Rushbrook's filial obligations to Lord Elmwood stem from the early benevolence of Miss Milner, who brings about the initial meet- ing between uncle and nephew. Rushbrook loses his father and mother 14 Ibid.,105. 15 Ibid.,105-106. 104 Jessica Olliver early in life, and he is "at the age of three years left an orphan." Miss Milner acquiesces to the pleas of young Harry w h o begs her to take him home with her. There, he meets a horrified Dorriforth who possesses "not one trait of compassion for his helpless nephew." However, af- ter having established a more intimate relationship with Miss Milner, Lord Elmwood agrees that the nephew may return, "if you desire it, this shall be his home — you shall be a mother, and I will, henceforward be a father to him." Lord Elmwood's relationship with Miss Milner facilitates his official role as father, a familial title that will be more fully realized in the latter half of A Simple Story. In the second part of the novel, the Lord Elmwood-Rushbrook fa- ther-son plot, along with the parallel narrative of Lord Elmwood and Sandford, works in opposition to the father-daughter plot, establishing respectful homosocial bonds of authority that refuse the sexuality often implicit in the heterosexual family bonds. Significantly, the father-son plot links the two narratives. We learn in the second part that the "child Rushbrook is become a man, and the apparent heir of Lord Elmwood's fortune," and despite the seventeen-year gap in the narrative, Lord Elmwood retains his position as father. Through the ensuing description of the father-son dynamic between Lord Elmwood and Mr. Rushbrook, the narrator affirms Lord Elmwood's affections for his "nephew, and his adopted child, the friendless boy w h o m poor Lady Elmwood first introduced into his uncle's house".2 Furthermore, Rushbrook "was re- ceived by his lordship with all that affectionate warmth due to the man he thought worthy to make his heir." In the last two volumes the male relationships established in the early volumes are further defined. Rushbrook, too, must learn the necessity of paternal ties, and accept his role as son to Lord Elmwood. The father and son bond between Lord Elmwood and Rushbrook in the latter half of A Simple Story can be traced through the marriage question. Lord Elmwood has chosen a wife for his nephew, and he fails to comprehend why Rushbrook will not answer him on this matter. Rushbrook, "Divided between the claims of obligation to the father, and tender attachment to the daughter,"21 16 Ibid, 34. 17 Ibid, 36. 18 Ibid, 151. 19 Ibid, 195. 20 Ibid, 230. 21 Ibid, 254. Fathers and Sons in Elizabeth Inchbald's A Simple Story 105 tries to avoid discussing the issue in order to avoid upsetting Lord Elm- wood, who would not welcome the news that his heir is in love with his estranged and outcast daughter. The marriage question becomes central to the father-son relationship, since Lord Elmwood views his adopted son's poorly constructed falsehoods as a family betrayal. He informs Rushbrook that his one untruth about the woman whom he favours will go unheeded, "but after this moment it is a lie between man and man — a lie to your friend and father, and I will not forgive it." Rushbrook manages to delay his response to his benefactor, and narrowly escapes his uncle's (father's?) wrath twice more with the aid of Sandford. What is central here is not that Rushbrook plays the role of wayward son and evades his surrogate father's demands; rather, it is that Rushbrook must realize that the will of the father reigns supreme, and the decision to marry Matilda must be one made by Lord Elm- wood. Increasingly Lord Elmwood assumes the role of paternal authority in all other male relationships. The father-son or mentor-protégé rela- tionship between Sandford and Lord Elmwood has been completely reversed in the second half of the narrative. Elmwood grows impatient with the elderly priest's persistent advice and with his ties to Matilda and he informs Sandford that "we may still be friends. — But I am not to be controlled as formerly; my temper is changed of late; changed to what it was originally; till your scholastic and religious rules reformed it."23 All of Dorriforth's earlier admiration for his tutor's advice disap- pears. Sandford exclaims, "I really believe I am more afraid of [Lord Elmwood] in my age, than he was of me when he was a boy."/4Lord Elmwood's role, however, is not to inspire fear but to re-establish the patriarchal bonds that unite the family under one roof. Indeed, under the paternal gaze of Lord Elmwood, Sandford, the subverted father, and Rushbrook, the surrogate son, compete for Lord Elmwood's approval and attention. Although Sandford claims that his distaste for the young man stems from the situation of Lady Matilda, his various comments about Rushbrook are akin to jealousy. Sandford sees this young man usurp his position and influence with Lord Elm- wood. The narrator remarks upon the old priest's feelings: "Sandford saw this young man treated in the house of Lord Elmwood with the 22 Ibid, 252. 23 Ibid, 214. 24 Ibid, 223. 106 Jessica Olliver same respect and attention as if he had been his lordship's s o n / ' and "at the name of Rushbrook [Sandford's] countenance would always change, and a sarcastic sneer, and sometimes a frown of resentment" would appear on his face.25 Most of the animosity in the relationship comes from Sandford's side, and he "seldom disguised his feelings, to Rushbrook he was always extremely severe, and sometimes unmanner- ly."26 His earlier status as mentor/father, is further undermined by his churlish attitude to Rushbrook. When Edwards, the head gardener at Elmwood House, asks Sandford for assistance in saving his job, Sand- ford declines, telling Edwards to turn to Mr. Rushbrook: 'I am afraid/ said Sandford, sitting down, 'I can do nothing for you/ 'Yes, sir, you know you have more power over my lord than any body — and perhaps you may be able to save me and all mine from misery/... 'Ask Mr. Rushbrook/ said Sandford, 'prevail on him to speak; he has more power than I have/ Sandford's unwillingness to help Edwards is arguably tinged with some jealousy of Rushbrook's position with Lord Elmwood. Moreover, Lady Matilda functions as a vehicle through which these two men can converse, since she is the subject each time they speak. At the end of one of their verbal battles, Rushbrook defends his intentions towards his cousin: 'You wrong my meaning — it is she — her merit which inspired my desire of being known to her — it is her sufferings, her innocence, her beauty' — Sandford stared — Rushbrook proceeded: 'It is her' — 'Nay stop where you are/ cried Sandford; 'you are arrived at the zenith of perfection in a woman, and to add one qualification more, would be anti-cli- 25 Ibid, 231. 26 Ibid, 258. 27 Ibid, 271. 28 Ibid, 297. Fathers and Sons in Elizabeth Inchbald's A Simple Story 107 Vying for the validity of her virtue and goodness, Sandford and Rush- brook engage in many linguistic battles to establish their positions un- der Lord Elmwood, a decision that seems largely based on who better defends Matilda. Ultimately, Sandford reestablishes himself as a father figure to Rush- brook, even though it is a submissive one to that with Lord Elmwood. Nearing the novel's conclusion, Lord Elmwood seeks Sandford's advice concerning Rushbrook because Sandford "can reason with modera- tion, "29 whereas Elmwood finds himself hastily giving in to Rushbrook's various provocations. When Sandford agrees to help, Lord Elmwood still attains his authority by coaching the elder priest in the ideas he wishes to convey to Rushbrook. This role, under the guidance of Lord Elmwood, allows for the development of a father-son relationship be- tween the formerly feuding brother figures. Thus, in advising Rush- brook, Sandford again becomes a mentor figure, and through his role as a mediator between father and son, he makes possible the reconcili- ation wherein Rushbrook becomes the son of not only Lord Elmwood, but also a new protégé to Sandford. The resolution of the marriage plot at the end of the novel finally grants Rushbrook the formal appellation of son-in-law, and the reconcil- iation of the bonds between fathers and sons, masters and protégés, fa- cilitates the novel's sentimental ending. While the relationship between father and son appears to be a tenuous one, as demonstrated through Lord Elmwood's tyrannical treatment of Rushbrook in the novel's final pages, Inchbald merely reinforces the patriarchal structures that govern the bonds of family. Although Lord Elmwood claims that Rushbrook's fate depends on Matilda's will,30 the marriage decision is ultimately one made by both father and son: Rushbrook conveys his wish to marry his cousin, and Lord Elmwood eventually consents as her father. Matilda will now accept the match in order to please both Rushbrook and Lord Elmwood. Inchbald removes the realm of the feminine from this final union, which presumes female consent and becomes more about the fa- ther-son dynamic. By governing the marriage-plot that both unites and solidifies the structure of his household-family, Lord Elmwood affirms his patriarchal authority. The novel thus affirms Naomi Tadmor's porous definition of the family as it establishes a traditional familial hierarchy. The family unit that concludes Inchbald's novel demonstrates the need for a permeable 29 Ibid, 313. 30 Ibid, 336. 108 Jessica Olliver definition of the family as the members of the household, fathers, sons, daughters, and servants alike, reside under the authority of one house- holder. Further, the father-son relationships in the novel extend beyond genetics to include close relatives and the mentor-protégé relationship that defines much of the novel's male-male dynamic. Ultimately, the definition of the family expressed Inchbald's A Simple Story is not a sub- versive one, as the paternal authority of Lord Elmwood joins the family together under one household. JESSICA OLLIVER University of Western Ontario 
work_cnqiresvvzgcvakvfq67i3dgf4	----	ANNOTATIONS ANNOTATIONS zravTa peL The medical student who is said to have translated our heading into " everyone has a discharge " would hardly have been "sent up for good " in any well regulated school, for the true meaning is that everything is in a state of flux. It offers us a suitable heading -for some reflections on the. future of the profession. Far reaching changes are being ventilated in the press and it seems to be certain that after the war things cannot go on as they have in the past. Some are wholeheartedly in favour of a state controlled medical profession, both practitioners and hospitals, while others view the prospect of state control with dismay. There are at least two sides to the question; first, the general public and secondly the profession; while the latter can be sub- divided into consultants, public health officers and general practi- tioners. From the public view-point we think that the medical services-hitherto provided have on the whole worked well, and from the practitioner's point of view, fairly well. It has often been said that no medical practitioner need starve, but most of those consul- tants who have started their careers without private means have had a very uphill struggle in the beginning. And few medical men manage to save enough to leave a fortune to their descendants. In favour of state control. at first sight there would seem to be much to be said from the view-point of the general practitioner: regular working- hours, a regular holiday, a guaranteed-income and a pension on retirement. The scheme for pooling the medical resources of any district, so that no one is out of bed at confinements every night in the week, sounds well, but it rather overlooks the wishes of the -patient, who may have asked Dr. X to attend her, and may not wish at-the last moment to be put off with the services of Dr. Y. One of the bugbears of state control is the inevitable beaurocracy and the red tape which it entails. The ophthalmologist is in rather a special position. Most of his work comes to his consulting room. As a rule he does not deal in parts of the body outside his own sphere; should he find evidence of general disease he usually communicates with the patients' medical attendant or suggests a physician or specialist as the case may be. So far we have been thinking of the more opulent types of patient. Those less well-off have also to be considered. Hitherto vast numbers of the poorer elements of the population have obtained their glasses through the sight-testing opticians. When it is a simple case of refraction or of presbyopia there is no reason to doubt that a large proportion of these are provided with suitable lenses. 51.4 co p yrig h t. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y h ttp ://b jo .b m j.co m / B r J O p h th a lm o l: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b jo .2 7 .1 1 .5 1 4 o n 1 N o ve m b e r 1 9 4 3 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://bjo.bmj.com/ ANNOTATIONS5 As ophthalmologists it is our obvious duty to press for a proper ophthalmic service for all classes of the community by qualified medical practitioners with ophthalmic training who should receive an adequate fee for their work. ,A revision and extension of the National Ophthalmic Treatment Board would seem to be the ideal solution of our part of the problem. We view with alarm the prospect of state control of the voluntary hospitals and we think that free choice of doctor must be accorded to the patient for the success of any scheme of re-organization of the health services. And, lastly, a similar freedom should be meted out to the medical practitioner. May we not agree with that great Scottish physician who, in one of his prefaces, said'he thought, with Adam Smith, that a'mediciner should be as free to exercise his gifts as an architect-or a mole catcher ? A Singular Error Madame de Stael's well known epithet vulgaire, applied to the writings of Jane Austen, was a blow which staggered lovers of the Hampshiie novelist's books until some one suggestedihat the adjective in this case meant "commonplace" rather than "low." Thence onwvards everything was comfortable. Our own comfort is often disturbed round about the beginning of each month by the fear that we have missed some dreadful howler in reading the proofs: Could a graph of our feelings be constructed it would show a regular rise and fall each month over a good many years with occasional excrescences above the common level where we have blundered more than usual. We regret to have to -record that this happened in our October number, where, on page 436, occur the words "There is little or no data." We understand that this slip- shod construction is increasingly common in physical literature. That such a monstrous error should be prevalent is indeed a flaw in a centuries-long system of classical education.' There is, however, no reason to despair, all will be well when the new Education Act is' passed'and we may look forward with confidence to the time when, in the words' of our erudite Minister of Education, the boy well grounded in Latin-will "take" (not only) "the internal combustion engine (but also the whole range of phYsics) " in his stride." t 515 co p yrig h t. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y h ttp ://b jo .b m j.co m / B r J O p h th a lm o l: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b jo .2 7 .1 1 .5 1 4 o n 1 N o ve m b e r 1 9 4 3 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://bjo.bmj.com/ 
work_cpelpjzayrdpxoltxwvxi2etqq	----	Citation for published version: Charles, A 2014, 'Book Review of “Jane Austen: Game Theorist” by Michael Suk-Young Chwe', Eastern Economic Journal, vol. 40, no. 4, pp. 611-612. https://doi.org/10.1057/eej.2014.16 DOI: 10.1057/eej.2014.16 Publication date: 2014 Document Version Peer reviewed version Link to publication “This is a post-peer-review, pre-copyedit version of an article published in Eastern Economic Journal. The definitive publisher-authenticated version Charles, A. (2014). Book Review of “Jane Austen: Game Theorist” by Michael Suk-Young Chwe. Eastern Economic Journal, 40(4), 611-612. 10.1057/eej.2014.16 is available online at: http://dx.doi.org/10.1057/eej.2014.16 University of Bath Alternative formats If you require this document in an alternative format, please contact: openaccess@bath.ac.uk General rights Copyright and moral rights for the publications made accessible in the public portal are retained by the authors and/or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy If you believe that this document breaches copyright please contact us providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1057/eej.2014.16 https://doi.org/10.1057/eej.2014.16 https://researchportal.bath.ac.uk/en/publications/book-review-of-jane-austen-game-theorist-by-michael-sukyoung-chwe(3cad43c6-e561-4912-a155-fb3190a2a9db).html Jane Austen, Game Theorist. By Michael Suk-Young Chwe. Princeton University Press, Princeton and Oxford, 2013. 272pp. $35.00. ISBN: 978-0-691-15576-0. Aurelie Charles University of Bath From the perspective of a game theorist with a romantic nature, Michael Chwe explores the six novels of Jane Austen. Chwe argues that Austen was a pioneer in the understanding of strategic thinking that shapes individual choices, and hence individual behaviour. The result is an original interpretation of Austen’s imagination whose unique critical way of thinking put her ahead of her time not only for English literature but for understanding the individual motives driving human interactions. How can individual behaviour be explained? Can 19th century marital fixtures from Austen’s lens help understand the process of individual decision-making? Similarly, how can African-American folktales and US foreign policy be explained by game theory? Perhaps more surprisingly, how can there be a common link between Austen’s romances, African-American folktales and US foreign policy? In those different historical and geographical settings, Chwe shows how “inferiors” (i.e., groups of individuals perceived to be at the bottom of the social hierarchy) develop more sophisticated and more advanced strategic skills than their “superiors”. The rationale behind is that inferiors need to adopt a survival strategy by elaborating moves that will maximize their chance of survival, or at least minimize the costs attached to any action in a social situation. Additionally, superiors tend to experience cluelessness (or the absence of strategic thinking) which is exploited by inferiors and enable them to choose the best possible strategy in any circumstances. In the instance of Austen’s writings, the distinction between superiors and inferiors is often based on class but mostly on gender, whereby women, historically inferiors, have developed more sophisticated strategic skills than men. In the instance of African-American folktales, the oppressed nature of African-Americans lead them to develop an ability to anticipate moves, as chest players would do, by being ahead of the game with superiors- i.e., whites. In the instance of US foreign policy, and referring more specifically to the Fallujah attack by US military force on 5 April 2004 in retaliation for the death of four American soldiers on 31 March 2004, the rationale is to maintain the superior status of the US which had been previously challenged by insurgents. This is despite the negative impact the attack would have on the local population and the consequent negative perception the local population would have of the US military forces. The common link in all these instances is that superiors’ cluelessness is simply the result of superiors’ obsession to maintain their status and who overlook the fact that inferiors can prove to be independent strategic thinkers. At the heart of the book is the promotion of rational choice theory (RCT) to anyone interested in understanding the mental mechanisms behind individual decision-making. To do so, the author not only explains the foundations of game theory and strategic thinking (Chapter Two), he also analyses Austen’s supposedly own vision of game theory (Chapter Six) by providing countless citations across her six novels. By doing so, the author provides evidence for the critique of RCT as being concerned with passionless atomistic individuals regardless of the specific context in which their actions take place. In effect, Austen’s novelty of presenting romances to be purely down to the interaction of calculating characters endowed with various degrees of strategic skills is extremely well documented, to the extent that Austen’s competing models (Chapter Seven) may look unreasonable. These competing models describe the factors shaping the context in which strategic thinking takes place, namely emotions, instincts, habits, rules, social factors, ideology, intoxication, and constraints, which is argued to have no place in the author’s interpretation of Austen’s imagination, or the rationale choice theorist that Austen is interpreted to be. By applying RCT concepts to the context of 19th century British traditions, to the folktales dating back to slavery days in the US, and to 21st century US foreign policy, the author proves that the context of decision-making is, in effect, not essential in explaining the virtues of strategic thinking as a means for individual actions. In his concluding remarks, the author comes back to the importance of context in determining the value of goods in market exchange, or in this instance to the value of spouses in the marriage market “the value of a good cannot be reduced to its attributes or the labor that went into making it, but depends on the entire context of how the good is exchanged…” (p.230). What does context bring to the analysis of strategic thinking? One response is that it provides some understanding of the groups historically perceived to be superiors and inferiors and therefore, once socially acknowledged, it forms a basis for change. Part of Austen’s intellectual contribution is to have described and publically acknowledged the strategic superiority of women over men, a contribution that enabled her to become financially independent and thus to break the norms of her time. Finally, it would be tempting to imagine Austen’s view of Chwe’s book, but it may be wiser to avoid a paternalistic critique and just comment on the fact that Chwe’s book is already a success among academics with a taste for RCT and among Austen fans. It is highly recommended for students of game theory who would like to place the theory within different contexts, as well as students of political economy who would like to understand the extent to which a unique context influences individual objectives in strategic thinking. 
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work_crp5ybczczcetb7mo2igbq5n3u	----	doi:10.1016/j.cub.2008.01.001 Magazine R141 theories rigorously. Here are some of my reservations. One generic problem is that Lynch’s evidence comes from broad brush comparisons of extremely disparate types of organism. It is true that, on average, bacteria have much large Ne values than most eukaryotes for which we currently have data, but they differ in numerous other respects as well, for example lack of regular sexual reproduction. As all good comparative biologists know, it is very difficult to disentangle cause and correlation from wide comparisons. Alternatives to many of Lynch’s explanations of the patterns can be envisaged, and his arguments do not seem to rule these out. For example, as he himself describes in Chapter 7, the spread of transposable elements through the genomes of a host population is dependent on some degree of sexual exchange between members of the populations, and the correlations described by Lynch could thus at least partly be explained by lack of such exchange. Furthermore, his insistence on the importance of Ne is undermined by the fact that models of the maintenance of transposable elements in intergenic regions (where insertions have little direct effects on fitness) show that there is no difficulty in their establishment in very large populations. In accordance with this, maize and its relatives are chock-a-block full of transposable elements, yet have levels of DNA sequence variability as large or larger than Drosophila species, with their relatively low levels of transposable elements. In relation to the evolution of introns, Lynch’s model of their origin looks rather strained in relation to the evidence that introns seem to have been fairly prevalent in ancestral eukaryotes, so that their rarity and small size in many unicellular eukaryotes is a result of secondary loss. It is also undermined by evidence for high levels of DNA sequence diversity in some species of multicellular organisms with introns. Could it be that the invention of regular sexual reproduction made it easier for mobile, initially self-splicing introns to invade the genome in large numbers? This possibility is not explored by Lynch, who resorts (p. 261) to the untestable hypothesis that there was a long period of reduced Ne among ancestral eukaryotes. This is getting dangerously close to the adaptationist just-so stories that he ridicules in the final chapter. There are other difficulties worth mentioning. One is that, despite his advocacy of the importance of population genetics, use is made of only a limited set of the tools available in modern population genetics. For instance, recent work using comparisons of between-species divergence and within-species variability to detect departures from neutrality increasingly suggests that much non-coding sequence is under selection, yet this is not mentioned. Of course, this is not fatal to Lynch’s general thesis, as it can always be argued that non-selective forces established the non-coding sequences in the first place, but it does make one wonder. Despite these criticisms, Lynch’s book is essential reading for anyone interested in this hugely important subject. It has provided us with a uniquely valuable overview of genome evolution, albeit heavily biased towards Lynch’s own interpretations. I am especially in sympathy with the strong statements in the final “Genomfart” chapter (the joke is explained on p. 364) that “nothing in evolution makes sense except in the light of population genetics”, and with the criticisms of dubious but fashionable concepts such as ‘evolvability’. It is too early to tell how well Lynch’s own ideas will fare in the face of the evidence, although the concept of ‘sub-functionalization’ (by mutational loss of different sequence components in different members of a set of duplicate genes) seems to be receiving significant empirical support. There are reasons to expect that rigorous comparative tests of hypotheses about genome evolution will come to be based on careful contrasts of related taxa, differing in far fewer features that those used by Lynch. At present, there are too few genome sequences of independent pairs of related species to make this feasible on a large enough scale for there to be much statistical power in such independent contrasts, but the advent of rapid sequencing methods will probably remedy this fairly soon. Institute of Evolutionary Biology, School of Biological Sciences, University of Edinburgh, Edinburgh EH9 3JT, UK. E-mail: brian.charlesworth@ed.ac.uk Alan Cowey Alan Cowey graduated in Natural Sciences from Cambridge in 1957 followed by a PhD under Larry Weiskrantz. After a post-doc with Bob Doty at the Center for Brain Research in Rochester, New York, he returned to Cambridge as Demonstrator in Experimental Psychology and fellow of Emmanuel College. After a sabbatical year as a Fulbright Fellow at Harvard with Charlie Gross, he moved to Oxford as the Henry Head Research Fellow of the Royal Society and a Fellow of Lincoln College. He remains in Oxford as Professor, Emeritus, of Physiological Psychology. He was elected to the Royal Society in 1988, to the Academy of Medical Sciences in 1998, and a member of the Academia Europaea in 1989. He was President of the European Brain and Behaviour Society from 1986–88 and of the UK Experimental Psychology Society from 1990–92. From 1991–1996, directed the MRC interdisciplinary research centre in Oxford. If asked what he is, he replies “a behavioural neuroscientist with a special interest in vision and ignorance”. What attracted you to biology in the first place? The wrong things. I attended the local grammar school in Sunderland and had a master who was not a particularly good biologist, but to an impressionable schoolboy seemed like a renaissance man: interested in sport, poetry, music, drama, art, architecture, politics and travel. He taught me how to pole vault. If biology was good enough for him, it must be fine for me. Once hooked I never regretted it. He suggested that I should apply for Cambridge because it was “the best for science” and I obtained a place in 1954, before discovering I needed school certificate (now O-level) Latin, which I obtained by the educationally dubious process of acquiring what could be described as tourist’s Italian and learning Virgil’s Aeneid Book III by heart. I particularly liked the fact that biology was so diverse and such a complex system (a term not in use then) that even a student could do an experiment and discover something interesting. It’s still true. Q & A Current Biology Vol 18 No 4 R142 What is the best advice you’ve been given? I read it rather than received it, but it is from T.H. Huxley: “Those who refuse to go beyond the truth seldom get as far as the truth”. That was when I realised everything should be questioned: God, the Zeitgeist, authority, the flavour of the month. It was liberating. It makes enemies, but no matter. What advice would you offer to someone starting a career in biology? The same advice. But with respect to an area of research, I would say choose something that is emerging rather than retracting. Don’t waste your time crossing the i’s and t’s of a supervisor who has worked on the same problem for years, unless that makes you happy. And if possible chose a supervisor who will allow you independence and even feed you his or her best ideas and let you run with them. As well, it is usually a good idea to change to another laboratory, a new set of techniques and a different scientific problem after a doctorate. Finally, very few people become wealthy as a result of their science; if it’s wealth you want, do something else. If you were starting again knowing what you now know, would you follow the same career? Definitely. Very few other careers allow and encourage such intellectual freedom. Do you have a favourite paper? Yes, but may I crave indulgence and mention two in particular. The first is one of a pair in Nature, 1953, by Watson and Crick, in which they present their ideas about the structure of DNA. It was arguably the most influential biological discovery of the twentieth century. It is just over one page long and even its companion in the same volume is just over two pages. I have recommended it to students and post-docs for decades as an example of how to communicate ideas and findings succinctly and lightly. It contrasts sharply with the regrettable and increasing modern tendency to use phrases such as “…here we show for the first time…” and “…these important results demonstrate…”, and even “…no other group has managed to…”. Authors have lost sight of the fact that it is for readers to make these judgements. The second is the brief paper in the Lancet, 1940, in which Heatley and colleagues reported that penicillin saved the lives of four mice given a lethal injection of Streptococcus, whereas four other mice, injected but untreated, swiftly died. The result ushered in the era of antibiotics yet only eight mice, the minimum for a statistically significant difference between the two groups, were used. For many years I referred to the paper as an illustration of exemplary experimental design in connection with issues of the ethical use of animals in research. Heatley knew about refinement, reduction and replacement long before the 3Rs became fashionable. Do you have a scientific hero and if so who is he/she, and why? Yes, Charles Darwin and I expect I share him with many colleagues. To my mind he was the greatest biologist of the nineteenth century. He was a colossus: totally independent, immensely perceptive and careful, in no rush to publish, staggeringly original, not afraid of opprobrium, and nearly always right. Alas, for a variety of reasons few students now read original works. All biologists know about Darwin but not many have ever read his books. It’s a shame. It’s like studying English Literature and not reading Jane Austen. What has been your biggest mistake in research? In 1962, while working in Bob Doty’s lab in Rochester New York, I plotted visual area 2 (V2) and its topographical relationship with, and dependency on, V1 in the squirrel monkey. I noticed that if the recording electrode was moved rostrally there was a prominent, short-latency, visually evoked response in the vicinity of the caudal superior temporal sulcus. My Fellowship was coming to an end and although it was extendable, I had a job to return to in England, so I did not explore it further. It was subsequently thoroughly investigated by Allman and Kaas (1971) in the Owl monkey, who called it area MT (for middle temporal). It is also known as the cortical motion area and it became, and remains, the most studied and the best understood of all extra-striate visual areas. I still have my lab books from Rochester and when I look at them I realise what an opportunity I overlooked. I should have stayed for another year. What is the next big question to be answered in your own area of research? It is the nature of consciousness. As a graduate student I was cautioned against discussing ideas such as conscious awareness, animal consciousness, covert attention, implicit knowledge, and the like. In my doctoral thesis and in one of my first papers (1963), I suggested that monkeys with visual field defects produced by removing small parts of V1 might not actually ‘see’ — in the sense of experiencing visual qualia — visual targets that they could discriminate and voluntarily respond to correctly. A referee thought that this line of argument was unsound because it was in principle untestable. But the editor allowed the speculation; what else is a discussion for? Over a decade later, the phenomenon was named ‘blindsight’ in neurological patients and, in 1995, Petra Stoerig and I demonstrated it in monkeys: we devised (oops, I nearly said ‘for the first time’) a way of asking monkeys whether a flash of light in a clinically blind field defect was perceptually like the same visual event in the normal visual field or whether it was a blank. It was the latter. Technical advances made since then in recording and localising the activity of the brain (high density EEG, MEG, fMRI) and stimulating the brain (by TMS) while subjects perform various perceptual tasks mean that what is often called the neural correlate of consciousness can be pin-pointed. But correlates do not explain anything, which has to be the next big step. Even then the so-called hard problem of consciousness — why we have consciousness at all or the related issue of why the perceptual experience of something like long-wavelength light is red rather than something else — has no satisfactory solution at present. In what ways has the electronic revolution changed your life as a scientist? In many ways, not all of them desirable. The ready access to information of all kinds is amazing, as is the rapid communication between scientists. And publishing will continue to change as open-access journals proliferate and original data can be provided for others to analyse and evaluate. Having said that, I doubt that many of us have the time or the need or the desire to rummage through the raw data from other labs. Scientists also need thinking time and there is progressively less of it. We are bombarded with electronic requests to review papers, assess grant applications, provide testimonials, Magazine R143 Tail spins Hummingbirds are not considered the most vocal of bird groups but many do make sounds; while some of these sounds are clearly vocal the source of some others has been less clear. Researchers have now found that the distinctive chirp of Anna’s hummingbird males in the American south- west, during dives at speeds of 80 km/h, arises from the wind rushing through its splayed tail feathers. The feathers quiver in the same way as a reed in a clarinet vibrates when a musician plays the instrument to produce a musical note. In this way, the bird is able to produce a noise louder than anything it might try to make using its own tiny voicebox. The feathers quiver in the same way as a reed in a clarinet The researchers said it is the first time that any bird has been shown to make a deliberate noise in this way, but they now believe that there are several other species of hummingbird that can sing through their feathers. “This is a new mechanism for sound production in birds,” said Christopher Clark at the University of California Berkeley, lead author of the study with Teresa J. Feo. “The Anna’s hummingbird is the only hummingbird for which we know all the details, but there are a number of other species with similarly shaped tail feathers that may use their tail morphology in producing sounds,” said Clark. The researchers used high- speed cameras to record a male hummingbird’s mating display as he dive-bombed a caged female or a stuffed dummy. The video showed how he unfurled his tail feathers for a split second at the bottom of his dive, which corresponded with a short ‘chirp’ lasting about 60 milliseconds. comment on essays from students in other countries, and — worst of all — provide information for incessant bureaucratic enquiries that should not be taking place at all. Non-compliance is rapidly followed by a further enquiry or a thinly veiled reprimand for being forgetful or hurtful or not attending to emails. It is madness. Is science organised effectively? Science can be pricey and the public pay for most of it. So scientists are accountable. Fortunately most of them appreciate this. Some areas of research can only be carried out in centres of excellence with shared expensive facilities, like high energy physics or high-field magnetic imaging. However, bureaucratic attempts to make diverse scientists from different laboratories and even nations collaborate in the name of efficiency and international development are often spectacular failures. Scientists usually know who best to collaborate with and usually manage to do so. And it is important that they should like each other. Friendship is the best catalyst. You study the behaviour of animals and humans: are there serious ethical issues in doing so? Yes. It is possible to exploit the good will of human subjects and even to harm them physically or mentally. Obtaining genuine informed consent from a patient is not trivially easy. Fortunately the scientific community is aware of this and local, national and international legislation at least means that research proposals are scrutinised and must be approved by knowledgeable and disinterested bodies. Investigators mutter about how long it can take to obtain permission to do certain things but I have not yet met any investigator who thinks that the legislation should be swept away. The ethical issues involving research on animals are much more controversial and depressing. Most of the ‘debates’ are little more than a heated ritualistic exchange of insults, slogans and physical threats. A proper discussion of what constitutes an animal’s rights, or the nature of pain and suffering and how they can be detected and minimised, or whether the ends ever justify the means, rarely takes place except in esoteric books that are not widely read. The public debate is intellectually impoverished and lacks a genuine meeting of minds. In this respect little has changed in a century. Are you concerned about deliberate falsification of results in science? It is difficult to say no to this question for there are now several well-known examples in biology, some of them with a high profile especially in medicine. But malpractice exists in every professional group (the police, lawyers, politicians, the military, industry, even the priesthood) and all the evidence I have is that it is relatively rare in biology. A cynic would say that it is rare because it usually brings no financial or social gain in biology, and the cynic might be right. I am more concerned with a different kind of falsification, namely that many students now use electronic data bases to plagiarise for their essays, and even for their dissertations. Incredibly, when it is spotted by sharp-eyed readers or software programmes that can now detect it, students seem genuinely surprised to learn that there is anything undesirable about plagiarism. Was it difficult to combine a career in teaching and research? It was not difficult for me, but it might be were I starting out now. I liked teaching and found that whenever I encountered trouble in explaining something it was usually because I had not understood it properly. So I learnt a great deal by teaching. Probably all teachers are constantly reminded that there are students in the audience who are smarter than they are. That way I learned much from students and post-docs, including ideas for research. I might never have embarked on transcranial magnetic stimulation were it not for two imaginative post- docs. But so much of teaching now involves non-educational administrative duties (reports, student evaluations, committees, quality assessments, measures to increase transparency, up-dating the web site) that research has suffered without any clear evidence that the education has improved. In some respects it has worsened. What is your greatest remaining ambition in research? To be the first rather than the last to recognize when mental ossification sets in and I can no longer do good research, and to stop at that point. University of Oxford, Department of Experimental Psychology, South Parks Road, Oxford OX1 3UD, UK. E-mail: alan.cowey@psy.ox.ac.uk mailto:alan.cowey@psy.ox.ac.uk 
work_csiofxorubfehk365vz2iexlcy	----	No More Lonely Londoners No More Lonely Londoners Jan Lowe Small Axe, Number 9 (Volume 5, Number 1), March 2001, pp. 166-180 (Review) Published by Duke University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/smx.2001.0008 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/31823 https://doi.org/10.1353/smx.2001.0008 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/31823 No More Lonely Londoners Jan Lowe White Teeth, Zadie Smith. London: Hamish Hamilton, 2000. ISBN 0-241-13997-X. W hite Teeth includes themes of Britain�s imperial and colonial relationships with Africa, Asia and the Caribbean, and this gives it a stake in the literatures of those countries. Enigmatically, it is also a deeply English novel, and not just because within a year of its appearance, it was thoroughly canonized in Britain and placed right at the top of the literary tree by prominent critics. From the first page, Zadie Smith�s inventiveness with language pops open like a bottle of champagne and the fizz lasts to the end, however long it takes to complete your reading of this 460-page, demanding novel. The dust jacket sports the briefest of biographical notes � where she grew up and her university. You cannot help thinking she is far too young to have written this novel (only twenty-one and still at university when she began it). The opening themes are not the ones you expect a youthful first-time female author to present � an improbable friendship between an unlikely pair of middle-aged men when they are at the most vulnerable stage of their midlife crisis; but their midlife crisis is a metaphor for Britain�s political and social crisis in the 1980s, especially the crisis of families, when unemployment and divorce were running at their highest levels. Small Axe 9, March 2001: pp. 166�180 ISSN 0799-0537 Page 166 Archibald Jones is a lower middle-class Englishman of no particular accomplishment, muddling along in his job as a printer at Morgan Hero on London�s Euston Road. Samad Iqbal is a Bangladeshi Muslim consumed with hatred of his job as a waiter in a Soho Indian restaurant. There is more to them than this. Smith focuses on the heroic in their background. Archie and Samad met during World War II, defending Britain against Hitler; at least, they were trying to. If what they actually did amounted to little, it is the genuine heart and effort they put into it that counts. It reminds us that blacks and Asians were in the armed services and played their part in the war effort. Samad�s story also reminds us that the newest immigrants to Britain are predominantly Muslims. In the 1970s, he moved to north-west London on the back of the wave of Indians fleeing discrimination in Kenya and Uganda, only to be greeted by national racial paranoia voiced by Enoch Powell in his famous �rivers of blood� speech, a paranoia given active expression in the rise of racial attacks on Indians, all of whom racists denoted as �Pakis�. The late 1970s were the �Paki-bashing� era, a time when racial killings went unnoticed, unpunished by the police and the law. Samad Iqbal�s terror about his vulnerability as an Asian Muslim is totally understandable in this context. His fears fester and rule his life and decisions. By the 1980s, when Samad has already set his life and his family�s in a direction determined by events in the 1970s, a Muslim community emerges (too late) around him, and his friendship with Archie, not another Muslim, continues to flourish. At any rate, it is a culturally and ethnically heterogeneous Muslim community that emerges. It requires more than religion for newcomers to unite. They include Ethiopians, Middle Easterners, and refugees from the Bosnian war in Europe. Listening to Samad�s idiom, you don�t have to be British to realize how, beneath his professing to be a true Muslim, Samad is a little bit of an Englishman. Hampstead is the most affluent area in north-west London. It disguises the fact that the Borough of Brent as a whole is populated almost entirely by immigrants. White Teeth opens doors to the rooms, cultural spaces, of north-west London in its presentation of four different families: 1. The family of Englishman Archie Jones and Clara (of the Jamaican Bowden family). It is a period when the English have a sense of the death of Empire; of London becoming a multicultural rather than English capital, and they can no longer rely on Rule Britannia and Empire for a secure identity. 2. The family of Darcus and Hortense Bowden. They are first-generation Jamaican migrants, commonly referred to nowadays as the Windrush generation, a reference to the arrival of the Windrush on 22 June 1948 at Tilbury Docks, with 492 -DQ /RZH ��� Caribbean passengers (many of them ex-servicemen in the British army). The Windrush marks the historical moment of this community�s entry, en masse, into Britain. Their granddaughter is Irie Jones, born in London, still facing the same relentless racism that greeted her grandparents but, unlike them, subsumed in the English class system. Nevertheless, these three generations of Jamaicans are without the illusions of belonging of some immigrants. 3. The family of Samad and Alsana Iqbal. Samad is a first-generation newcomer to London � a Bangladesh Muslim, at a time when north-west London, where he settles, is becoming a base for Muslim communities from Asia, Africa, the Middle East and Europe. His fears of immersion in a failing Christian society raises questions about where London�s new Muslim communities fit into Britain�s new multicultural equation. 4. The family of Marcus and Joyce Chalfen. Marcus is a Jewish (but atheist) scientist at Oxford University, married out, to a fellow Oxonian and Irishwoman, Joyce, who elevates motherhood, cookery and gardening to intellectual arts. They live in Hampstead, in an area where the Jewish community have a long history of settlement and assimilation. The Irish community in nearby Kilburn have an even longer history; so long that in this Jewish-Irish marriage between third-generation immigrants, their memory of their own immigrant past is so dim that they are able to view the newer immigrants as �other� and in their magnanimity deign to share out educational patronage to them. Joyce likes to acquire black and Asian children as if they are new species to add to her garden. Mediating between these families are their children, Irie Jones, Magid and Millat Iqbal, and Joshua Chalfen. Their evolving relationship to London is based on closer ties to each other, across their cultural differences, than their parents have ever experienced. It seems that, for the first time, the progeny of the immigrants may, united, look forward to acquiring the status of insiders, even if it only means they are sucked into the class system to fight a class war. There is a clear divide between the story of the young generation and that of their parents � mirroring the reality of the 1980s. The opening pages present Cricklewood Broadway as a part of London that has received successive waves of white, black and brown immigrants in the last century. The changing patterns are dramatized as we see Archie, depressed by the ending of his first marriage to an Italian, stage his suicide outside a butcher shop, the Hussein Ishmael, owned by Mo Hussein Ishmael. From above, the pigeons rain excrement upon the butcher�s shop and upon Archie�s car as he attempts to gas himself to death. VPDOO D[H ��� The image of Cricklewood bathed in excrement can be associated with popular racist language here that equates black and brown newcomers with bringing filth and disease to Britain. Certainly, an uncontrollable population of pigeons plagues London, and Londoners worry endlessly about the disease carried in the excrement they deposit daily on this once great imperial centre (the current mayor is trying to rid the capital of its pigeon population). A young boy, Varin, is sent up a ladder to kill the pigeons perched on the roof. He dispatches them and then is sent to move Archie�s car from the roadside, where it is blocking the delivery van. This thwarts Archie�s suicide bid. Symbolically, the immigrant invasion and death or disease it poses to English identity turns into a rescue mission, with the immigrants saving the native Englishman. The implication is that salt-of-the-earth Archie is the best of British and, as such, representative of what is worth saving and worth keeping about England. Far from bringing filth and disease to Britain, the immigrants clean it up and save the Archies of this world from the scrap heap of history. He lives on to marry Clara Bowden, with whom he finds contentment. Clara�s mother, Hortense, is a fanatic Jehovah�s Witness. Her adherence to her religion is as quixotic as Samad Iqbal�s to his Islamic faith. Both joust with a nationalistic right-wing British government and an insecure, fragmenting society full of broken families and promiscuous youth. They seek moral comfort and security in their religions. However, some of their children can see different options. Clara and her daughter, Irie, know that the sun has set on the British Empire and manage to muster a modicum of freedom and direction in their lives, rather like Archie, who maintains his sanity and stability through a regime of control over the tiny details and routines of the everyday. If you have not lived in London in the last two decades, you could be forgiven for thinking that the contrast between Archie and Samad, Hortense, and Clara should be more extreme, because, unlike Archie�s, their lives are so unsheltered, so unprotected from the onslaught of racism and disadvantage that it seems to storm through their doors and windows. You could be forgiven for thinking it strains credibility to think that they and the likes of Archie can ever tolerate each other, much less form friendships, marriages or raise a new generation of Londoners together. Yet, they did, in the 1980s, when the government was failing the working class and new immigrant communities, and people had to overcome their differences and form unprecedented alliances in order to survive. It was happening in popular, grass-roots politics � for example, the alliance between the National Union of Mineworkers and black and Asian activists marked the first occasion on which black and white political activists -DQ /RZH ��� had united so solidly and publicly to defend themselves against the British state. It comes as no surprise, then, that their children, the present generation of under-twenty-fives, grew up in their nurseries transcending difference more than any other British generation before. No wonder, then, that in this novel the young Irie Jones of English and Jamaican parentage, the twins Magid and Millat Iqbal of Bengali parentage, and Joshua Chalfen of Jewish and Irish parentage are able to negotiate their difference as healthy hearts are tuned to beat. Their common English idiom bespeaks their commonality. Not so their parents, whose registers clash. Zadie Smith portrays the misunderstandings, mishaps and insurmountable struggles of an older immigrant generation with Standard English; how it constantly backfires on them in their frustrated attempts to negotiate British culture. It also puts their courage and heroism in the right perspective when they do garner triumphs out of their battles with Britain. The humour is in language itself, what happens to words and meaning when they do not connect us to each other easily. While insiders can get a legitimate laugh from this, it is not funny at all. It is a very serious matter indeed when outsiders view it as an incompetence with English, even as an incompetence of race, and use it viciously as happens with the Jones and Iqbal children, when their school sends them to deliver gifts to an elderly man, J.P. Hamilton. He subjects them to cruel racism by conveying his hatred to them in the guise of telling them how to keep teeth white. The novel takes its title from this scene, and reminds us that this generation, insiders though some might have become, still has to fight racism. While White Teeth celebrates difference, particularly the overcoming of cultural differences among the children of British immigrant groups, several generations on, it would be wrong to credit English liberal culture with their ability to do so. This message is unmistakable in the novel�s criticism of an English liberalism obsessed with political correctness, typified in the Chalfens� adoption of black and Asian children in a politically correct spirit, and their attempts to treat them as if they are white, middle class and privileged like them, with disastrous consequences. Conversely, Samad Iqbal, in an effort to raise his sons as good Muslims, takes the position that the English education system has nothing to offer them. He can only afford to send one son, Magid, back to Bangladesh to be educated. He overlooks the grief this causes Millat, who rejects schooling altogether. Magid returns to Britain later, not a good Muslim but turned into a caricature-westernized man. In Bangladesh, he gravitates towards the very Western influences his father sent him there to avoid. It is one of the novel�s dramatic tropes that the father separates the twins in an effort to ensure the continuity VPDOO D[H ��� of the Islamic faith in his family, but he misreads the global current of politics that blows the winds of change and continuity in the most unpredictable directions. The son he kept in Britain, Millat, turns into a fanatic Muslim who joins in the attacks on Salman Rushdie and The Satanic Verses. Magid, the son in whom he invested his dreams of Islamic integrity, rejects Islam for Western intellectual rationalism and Enlightenment thought. In this novel, liberalism, however radical, is the immigrants� curse, not their salvation; and blacks and Asians are caught between it and Thatcher�s conservatism, as if between the devil and the deep blue sea. The only source of real resistance seems to emanate from Caribbean culture and its legacy in the melting pot of Britain�s multicultural youth culture. Although the friendship between Samad and Archie takes centre stage early in the novel, it is really Irie Jones, third-generation Jamaican with an English father, who is the common link between this racially and culturally diverse cast of characters. From the point of view of its Caribbean characters, the history of their settlement in London that the novel conjures takes its starting point with the so-called Windrush generation. The area of London associated with their settlement is Notting Hill, where they had to fight on the streets during the 1950s for their right to settle. Now, Notting Hill appears much more fashionable and affluent, popular with intellectuals and artists, but they have second homes elsewhere and are not permanent residents. It is ironic that the film Notting Hill offered the vision of the place as a location where the glamour of the United States and the United Kingdom meet in the romance between Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. This is an artificial image. The American tourists who come to look for the glamour see old and young drug addicts stumbling round in the dirty, littered streets. The white people who are permanent residents are working class, and live mainly on the council estates, and they are not a thriving working class but blighted by drugs and poverty. Notting Hill epitomizes the intersections over time between race and class. So London encourages pretensions to sophistication, glamour, wealth and success which it fails to live up to for most Londoners. Yet these pretensions are so much a part of everyday life that all Londoners, black and white, rich and poor, walk the thin line between the promise and the illusion of class mobility, even when they live in one of the London boroughs almost entirely colonized by immigrants. Irie walks this line continually. So do the young who live in other similar boroughs, including Brent, Tower Hamlets, Hackney, Ealing, Lambeth and Newham. Southall and Wembley are Indian towns, Brixton and Acton are Caribbean, the East End is Bengali, Neasden is Nigerian, Golders Green is Jewish, Kilburn is Irish. Hounslow has taken the overspill -DQ /RZH ��� of South Asians in Southall, and in the last decade the Chinese community has been growing. The Oxford Street end of Edgware Road looks like a Middle Eastern bazaar with its large Arab population and shopfronts signposted in Arabic. The novel reminds us that it is not only the adults of Britain who must find answers to where they fit into its increasingly multicultural equation but also its youth, none more so than the likes of Irie, to whom the issues are not only political but also highly personal. The degrees to which the political issues are personal vary immensely in the lives of the adults, but in the lives of the young, there is hardly a gap in between. In an interview in the Brent Magazine, Zadie Smith stated, I was actually born in the Royal Free Hospital in Camden, but was brought up on the Brent side of Kilburn and in Willesden Green. Apart from a few years when I went to Cambridge University, I am a lifelong Brent resident and have no plans to ever leave . . . I am not a very good traveller. I hate being away from home, so I suppose you could say I miss everything about this area: my family, the streets, the sound, the spirit, and the community. Brent is a major source of strength and inspiration for me, so there�s not much I�d want to change. 1 Charles Dickens grew up in Camden, too. White Teeth is partly nineteenth century in the inspiration for its form, in the grand manner in which it modulates the inner-city London milieu, and its lofty humanism. The Dickensian echoes of the architecture and atmosphere of north-west London are unmistakable. In a Dickens novel, the individual is knitted into the social fabric of family and society and has nothing of the extreme autonomy and alienation we get in modern novels. For all the pressures on them, the characters in White Teeth fall short of suffering the alienation we expect them to, though it is evident in the black and Asian mad who walk the streets of Willesden. Dickens wrote about London as a city of migrants overcrowding its hovels and streets. Zadie Smith�s London at the end of the twentieth century is still a city of migrants, not only from the British Isles and Europe but also Asia, Africa, the Caribbean and the Middle East. Like Dickens, she sometimes uses the novel in a pamphleteering way, to draw attention to the plight of a rootless and disadvantaged underclass. She also sometimes draws minor characters, like Dickens, with swift strokes and packs them in like sardines to reflect the urban overcrowding of large sections of deprived north-west London. However, a nineteenth-century literary form is appropriated minimally, only to provide the barest frame in which to insert new, VPDOO D[H ��� 1 Zadie Smith, interview, Brent Magazine, May�June 2000. popular end-of-century idioms and remind us that while the nineteenth-century Victorian architecture and streets of Dickens�s London still exist, they are peopled by new immigrants whose origins are not Anglo-Saxon or Judaeo-Christian, and they are not just passing through but are as organic to London as Dickens�s people. A recent report from the Runnymede Trust made the headlines when it indicated that by the end of the twenty-first century white people will be a minority in Britain; the majority will be �mixed�, derived of the groups that people White Teeth. 2 In the novel, they are no longer the outsiders Zadie Smith�s precursors (the first, second and third generation of Caribbean and black British writers) have portrayed them as but insiders, however embattled. If the Runnymede Trust report is to be believed, by the end of this century, this novel will be viewed like a Dickens novel, as a social and cultural map of a London past. Zadie Smith has also been compared to Jane Austen. This is because of her fine and certain touch with drawing out how deeply the English class system resides in the heart and soul and how, when it does, you know that the characters are definitively English, woven into the fabric of English society. However, it is contradicted in Zadie Smith by a brand of cynicism about class that is very different from that of Jane Austen, and this is a clear indication that Smith is coming at Britain from a very different understanding of history and from a very different Britain. While she is capable of Austen�s ironic and witty flourishes, this has a harder edge, a late twentieth-century London edge, an almost twenty-first-century London where young people lack the inhibitions of Austen�s provincial nineteenth-century characters. Martin Amis is the British writer usually credited with writing London youth cynicism best. White Teeth�s cynicism is hardly of the Martin Amis school. It is far too politically and socially responsible and lacks his nihilism, though it is what we might expect of one of �Thatcher�s children�. The phrase �Thatcher�s children� ran like an anthem through the mid and late 1980s. They were an abandoned generation that seemed to escape into US rap music with its criminal overtones, vulgar and explicit sexual body language and consumerist obsession with designer sports clothing and cultural toys. For socialism, the writing was on the wall, and the wall crashed when Margaret Thatcher sent in the riot police to hammer both the miners in the north and the most troublesome immigrants at the time � the blacks in Brixton, Bristol and Leeds. It -DQ /RZH ��� 2 Runnymede Trust, �The Future of Multi-Ethnic Britain�, 11 October 2000. would take another decade for a real rather than symbolic wall to come tumbling down, in Berlin. In the meantime, in Britain, social institutions crashed like ninepins, including schools and the family. Margaret Thatcher underfunded and plunged schools and universities into crisis, subjected teachers to unacceptable levels of scrutiny then blamed them for incompetence. The children of that decade had to cope, in a sea of defeated parents. The phrase �broken families� denoted not a subculture but a national crisis. The choices for youth seemed to be, either a road to almost certain conservatism swotting for O levels, or escape into the body and its appetite for music and apparel that bespoke sex and more sex; or born-again Christianity and fundamentalist religion and politics. Few saw anything positive for this generation. Their defenders were to be found among cutting-edge sociologists who were redefining the discipline, breaking it up into new entities � cultural studies, media studies, communication studies, women�s studies � and tuning their antennae to new signs and portents of creativity among the young. In White Teeth a literary author speaks for the first time for �Thatcher�s children� and writes their semiotics at the heart of the modern English literary canon, where its prominent spokespersons have enshrined it enthusiastically. How ironic this is, for the vocabulary of academic literary criticism, for all its movement away from F.R. Leavis and its embracing of a few black British and Asian authors, is still too conservative here to take stock properly of White Teeth, which exposes the very class war and liberal pretensions that underpin English literary culture. White Teeth, for all its pastiche of the nineteenth-century novel, has its end-of-century semiotics buried too deep in British popular and media culture and writes idioms too far to the other side of Standard English on the sliding scale of Standard and Non-Standard that young Londoners speak. We have not seen this represented so completely in a literary novel before, not in the work of Hanif Kureshi or Salman Rushdie, because they slide along the scale too but not all of it like Zadie Smith. Her proficiency includes lower middle-class and working-class Non-Standard and Standard English, British Asian Standard and Non-Standard English, black Standard and Non-Standard English, Caribbean Standard and Non-Standard, as well as African American Standard and Non-Standard. She also brings into the meld the new Estuary English that breaks down the class distinction between the BBC Received Pronunciation Standard of west and north-west London and the outcrops of Surrey and Barnet to which they extend; and the lower-class idioms of east and south-east London, and the outcrop of Essex to VPDOO D[H ��� which their locals migrate on the shifting tides of change and continuity in class demographics. In addition to their ability to adapt along the sliding scale of class, the young also practise a more dynamic cultural mobility. It is apparent not only in their linguistic range but also their music culture, especially club and dance culture with its elaborate, dense codes of clothing and sexual mores which undergo several incarnations within one decade. To decode them in this novel, you would have to read the work of cultural studies and media and communication studies academics and intellectuals, and the master�s theses and doctoral dissertations of their graduate students who were living this life when not swotting. The youth culture in White Teeth existed two decades before the date of the novel�s publication, though you would think not, from the gasps of astonishment from literary critics as they discovered it for the first time in White Teeth when the twenty-first century opened. Because it jumps across walls of race and class in a manner typical of late twentieth-century multicultural youth culture in London, this novel will not obey attempts to fit it neatly and entirely into any past or present literary tradition since one by itself would be too narrow to accommodate its author�s polymorphous talent. Neglecting one of her talents runs the risk of distorting the whole. There is also the minor problem of Britain having yet to come to terms with the still largely misunderstood young of the 1980s, who are still derided as �Thatcher�s children�. Cynicism is to be expected in a writer of this generation, but it is a new and different cynicism we get from Zadie Smith, one that is typical of the young of her culturally and ethnically diverse background. Her London brand of cynicism is softened considerably by her respect for other people�s traditions and cultures and for the humanity of people, whatever their race, class or gender. Smith possesses a timeless maturity and sensitivity that makes her an �older� writer. She is as capable of writing like an English nineteenth-century writer, or speaking the idiom of a first-generation Jamaican, Bengali, Italian, or Jewish immigrant, as she is of writing stylishly as a twenty-first century young, cynical Londoner. White Teeth has plenty of evidence of Zadie Smith�s affinity with the nineteenth-century novel in her ability to pastiche Dickens�s crowded London streets, and Jane Austen�s drawing-room rituals of love, courtship and marriage as well as George Eliot�s social and documentary panoramas, her magisterial and expansive exposition of characters governed by their deep sense of the values of wider society and a struggle to maintain a position of prestige and be knitted into the wider scheme of public life. Ultimately, this demonstrates less that she is like Austen, or Dickens or -DQ /RZH ��� Eliot and more that she can write about the English class system and how it knits the personal and political in everyone, especially immigrants, who were not the primary subject of Martin Amis or those nineteenth-century authors. There is certainly no nineteenth-century female character like Irie Jones, for whom the struggle between the personal and political is written far more deeply into her skin and body than any girl in Austen, Dickens or Eliot. It inspires Zadie Smith to write some of the novel�s most moving passages: for example, Irie�s search in the stores and hairdressers of Willesden for hair-straightening products. For Irie, what should be part of ordinary, innocent everyday ablutions (looking after your hair) turns into political crises that slap her so hard in her face, political consciousness-raising is a necessity, a question of survival, and not a choice that can wait for the next century to come around. The same is true for Neena Iqbal, Samad�s niece. Neena is a lesbian who has �come out� within the Muslim community and suffers no fate greater than having flung in her face continually the nickname �Niece of No Shame�. It takes as much courage for Neena to come out as it takes for Irie to fall in love with Samad�s son. Zadie Smith never exploits this to score points for feminist political correctness. The novel does not demonstrate the transition from race to class and to culture without interrogating the risks involved. White Teeth is equally interested in Marcus Chalfen as a third-generation Jewish immigrant as it is in him as a scientist who has achieved a secure position at Oxford University, and in knitting him back into the society of other immigrants. He desires to stay as far ahead in his profession as he can, so he breeds a new strain of a genetically advanced mouse, in the same spirit as he and his wife are raising an intellectually superior breed of Chalfen children. Their neurotic overreaching of themselves exposes how, in spite of their professional success, they are still, at heart, afraid of racism, still insecure Jewish and Irish immigrants who must ever prove their indispensability to society or face rejection. They are therefore as psychologically, if not socially and materially, insecure as the Asians and blacks in down-market Willesden who are struggling up the ladder of class and culture to join them among the successful middle class. The repressed Chalfen insecurities are buried in the deep past, in the historical experience of European Jews whose presence in Britain was recorded in the thirteenth century when in 1290 King Edward banned them from Lincoln, York and London and sent them abroad; and in the historical experience of the Irish whose relationship to British culture is still afflicted by unresolved political power struggles dating back to earlier times. Today, acceptance still eludes the Chalfens, for they can never achieve what they aspire to and are forced to mimic the culture of English liberal intellectuals VPDOO D[H ��� and become distorted by it. The liberalism of the anglicized Jew, Marcus Chalfen, and the anglicized Irishwoman, Joyce Chalfen, backfires on them and reminds them that they are still victims of racism; in the same way that Samad Iqbal�s patriarchal and dictatorial strategies to manoeuvre his sons around British racism also backfire on him. This is inevitable and drives home the fact that as long as the communities they originate from remain politically powerless, their struggles to survive and succeed are thankless. Unlike Marcus, who has given up Judaism, Samad wants Islam to guide his daily conduct but, unstable and promiscuous, individualistic London presents him with the nightmare of temptations of defilement that make it impossible for him to contain his libido, bad temper and barely controlled love of alcohol and drugs. He blames his profane appetites on British culture and sees neocolonialism everywhere, always threatening to undermine him, even in the bastion of his home, where the only authority he wields is that of father and husband. The ability of a Jewish and Muslim immigrant to adapt to London is placed under further pressure by the ripples of the political conflicts of the Middle East. North-west London became a magnet for Muslim communities only in the latter half of the twentieth century. Can Muslims and Jews there live peacefully together while in the Middle East, they are at war? The author is sceptical about the ability of the English liberal tradition to mediate between them, a scepticism obvious in her portrait of Marcus, who hides behind his English liberal�s façade a Messiah complex. He wants to change the world but cannot find potential converts among the children of those with roots in a Judaeo-Christian culture � for example, his students at Oxford � so he exerts his influence on the impressionable children of Asian Muslims and African Caribbean Jehovah�s Witnesses. Archie Jones appears to have become what Enoch Powell feared and what Margaret Thatcher and right-wing English nationalists fear most � the deculturated English person, without a tribal or group identity, mixing only with the immigrants. Is this the reality or a figment of racial paranoia? The novel teases you with this question. Smith�s portrait of an Englishman is more detailed and sustained than V.S. Naipaul�s portrait of Mr Stone in �Mr Stone and the Knight�s Companion�. Like Mr Stone, Archie�s life mirrors the end of Empire, but, unlike Mr Stone, he is not set adrift by the subsequent loss of identity, for it is so entirely dispensable to him. He certainly stands in the novel as a trope of the British national psyche. Archie has given up trying to be anything, but, ironically, it helps him avoid the hubris suffered by those who tilt at the windmills of race, class and sex. Hubris is certainly the risk immigrants run in their jousting over the politics of identity. There are voices in the novel that alert the -DQ /RZH ��� protagonists to its pitfalls. Zadie Smith pays homage to the first generation of Jamaicans in her portrait of Clarence and Denzel, two Jamaican old timers. They are so old they are almost dead, but they function like a chorus in the novel. They sit in a corner of O�Connell�s Café on the Finchley Road and comment on life as it passes by, but they are like oracles. They see all, know all and say all in Jamaican Creole. Their presence in the novel gives it an aura of myth � these ancestral archetypes, casting their vision at everyone and everything, endowing them with meaning and significance beyond this life. Unlike their parents, Irie�s generation has not grown up in the shadow of the British Empire but in a time of its ebbing that, however embattled, actually provides them breathing space to acquire a sense of the possibility of race barriers loosening, even as they meet the class barriers no one can escape, not even the culturally polymorphous young. In this lull, they get to acquire an unusual brand of confidence about negotiating race, class and culture, new in their generation both in the novel and in actuality. The novel gives the impression that they have experienced London as a genuine melting pot, however troubled. In their schools, streets and the spaces they can appropriate they do syncretize new friendships, new love affairs, new linguistic and musical idioms and are even trying to evolve a new politics, however awkwardly. Their new world is half their parents� but half entirely theirs. Their liberal, well-meaning teachers, who are busy planning for them a fictional and hypothetical multicultural future constructed from politically correct equality policies and programmes, are blissfully unaware that their charges already have it covered. It remains to be seen how far this new confidence gets them. If Zadie Smith�s confidence and authority is anything to go by, the future is promising. Like James Joyce syncretizing the Irish idiom with that of Greek mythology, and Derek Walcott the Caribbean idiom with Greek mythology and Shakespearean verse, Zadie Smith syncretizes Jamaican Creole, Bengali English, and the public school and Oxford Standard English of the Chalfens. She also mixes in the new multicultural English idiom of youth culture. There are also the idioms of religion. Hortense and Samad are frustrated preachers, quoting directly from the Koran or Jehovah�s Witness doctrines or integrating it into everyday conversations. But even the �secular� characters are influenced by religion, even if they do not know it. Marcus Chalfen�s Messiah complex makes him use science like Old Testament religion, to convert the world to the Utopia he wants to live in. For all his scientific rationalism, his voice, his dreams and plans have the urgency of Old Testament prose. Hortense Bowden, Samid Iqbal and Marcus Chalfen cast long shadows over their families and drive them to VPDOO D[H ��� justify everything they do in religious or quasi-religious terms. No wonder the English registers of their children betray roots in preaching traditions, and this is reinforced by the influence of African American and Caribbean music on them, with its roots in �truth telling� or �telling it like it is�. All this directness means that the truth is never far from the surface, especially political truth. White Teeth takes us along the Thames, on the buses, in Trafalgar Square, walking in the footprints of Dickens�s Londoners, but we hear the new voices of a new world and new Londoners in the voices of anglicized European Jews and Irish, Asian, African and Caribbean immigrants and their progeny. This is the second first novel by a writer of Caribbean origin Salman Rushdie has endorsed (Pauline Melville�s The Ventriloquist�s Tale was the first). This and White Teeth�s moving portrayal of the struggle and failure of a Bengali Muslim to raise his family in London in the Muslim faith lead commentators to compare Zadie Smith and Salman Rushdie in terms that cast her as �the next Salman Rushdie�, and to view White Teeth as a kind of Satanic Verses, Mark II, as if she were following deliberately in Rushdie�s footsteps. It is misleading because White Teeth is not strictly about Samad Iqbal and his family. It is easy to lose sight of Irie, who is actually holding the whole novel together. The novel is suffused with her stylized cynicism. It is at root the cynicism of the immigrant�s London, laced with the courage and toughness one generation passes on to another. You can laugh as much as you like at the jokes (and there�s at least a laugh a page), you can thrill to the delightfully exuberant inventiveness of its language as much as you like, and you may admire the courage and guts of its characters too, but you can never forget the bitter struggles, defeats and loss of older generations and the countries they came from, nor can you forget that racism is as bad as ever in London and the world. The memory of the third generation enshrines the bitter history of the ancestors and inherits its cynicism in spite of reaping the rewards of their struggle. It is from history that the cynicism of White Teeth emanates, from an inability to ever trust London completely, to ever really believe that its sparkling, witty surface is safe enough ground. It is a complex tale of London that Zadie Smith weaves, and to get to the complexity you have to negotiate its cynical view of how London has treated its black and Asian immigrants as well as its celebration of what they have bequeathed London � this dubious place, this half-hell, half-heaven. The key to explaining the importance of the novel and why it has made such a huge impact in Britain is found in decoding its semiotics, couched so deeply in popular language rendered in an extremely formal and sensitive literary style, of what it was for a new non-privileged generation (born in the mid 1970s) to grow up in -DQ /RZH ��� London in the fissures of the Thatcher era when an older Britain was fragmenting or cracking up but its most nationalistic patriots were pretending the opposite by taking on the Falklands War. What was it like to be so young and realize the only future for you was to take what was not tainted by Thatcherism and find out for yourself where the new Britain actually lay, then grow yourself up from the creative components to be found on the rubbish heap of British history where Thatcher disposed of everything she found unacceptable, especially immigrants and the working class? This was the challenge for Zadie Smith�s misunderstood generation, growing up in a world where the adults lost their way. VPDOO D[H ��� 
work_cszmxehhcvgitjzltbylyjgb7m	----	Rethinking (re)doing: historical re-enactment and/as historiography JOHNSON, Katherine M Available from Sheffield Hallam University Research Archive (SHURA) at: http://shura.shu.ac.uk/23413/ This document is the author deposited version. You are advised to consult the publisher's version if you wish to cite from it. Published version JOHNSON, Katherine M (2015). Rethinking (re)doing: historical re-enactment and/as historiography. Rethinking History, 19 (2), 193-206. Copyright and re-use policy See http://shura.shu.ac.uk/information.html Sheffield Hallam University Research Archive http://shura.shu.ac.uk http://shura.shu.ac.uk/ http://shura.shu.ac.uk/information.html 1 Rethinking (re)doing Historical re-enactment and/as historiography Katherine M. Johnson Despite academic protestations, re-enactment is a highly popular mode of public history, not only amongst hobbyists, but also in museums, official festivals, documentaries, movies and even school education programs. It is also, perhaps against our will, emerging in numerous academic fields as a salient (albeit problematic) topic of analysis. Particularly amongst historians, however, it remains on the fringe, held at arm’s length, the charismatic, but troubled (and troubling) distant relative. This article questions academic preconceptions regarding re-enactment, reinterpreting the participatory, performative and embodied aspects of the practice as areas of significant potential, a way of learning through doing. In what ways should/could we understand such embodied sources? How might the potential of re- enactment as a form of historiography be assessed through academic theory? What possibilities might such affective methodologies offer for learning about the past? The increasingly interdisciplinary nature of academia encourages us to utilise other theoretical and methodological approaches in this endeavour. I do so by first briefly examining the (potentially productive) tensions between archival, academic history and other modes of historical inquiry, considering what traditions of the discipline may be affecting our attitudes toward other, less “scholarly” modes. Bringing historiography, anthropology, philosophy and performance studies theory into communication, I then examine the Jane Austen Festival Australia as an ethnographic case study. Keywords: re-enactment, living history, historiography, affective history, embodied, somatic, Jane Austen. ‘Many historians recoil reflexively from the idea of reenactment as either an irretrievably comical eccentricity or ‘dangerous tosh’. Greg Dening’s oft-quoted dismissal of the entire movement […] hangs in the air like Damocles’ sword over the head of any historian willing to at least begin by taking it seriously.’ Paul Pickering (2010, 122) ‘If reenactment is to gain legitimacy as a historical genre it will thus be necessary to do for reenactment what has been done for other forms of history writing […] This will involve disambiguating experience and understanding and determining the extent to which affect can indeed be considered evidentiary.’ Vanessa Agnew (2007, 309) We can read history, watch history and even, at times, witness history unfolding, but can we experience history? Re-enactors frequently justify their claims to a unique historiography by the experiential nature of living history, a quality, they suggest, that archival study lacks. Their approach to the past has elicited mixed responses in academia, ranging from outright 2 denunciation, to cautious consideration of how we might begin to approach a form of historical enquiry that appears to diverge so markedly from our own. 1 Chief amongst the criticisms (and there have been many) are those regarding re-enactment’s most intrinsic notion – that experience can function epistemologically and that it can, in some way, connect the present with the past. How can re-enactment invoke a collective, authentic experience of the past, when we understand experience to be individual, subjective and contextually specific? How can re-enactors claim to be practicing a legitimate, educative methodology when the techniques through which they represent the past are overtly theatrical, somatic and affective? 2 These are valid, important questions, and yet we need to consider the possibility that our responses to these issues reflect as much on our own biases as they do the re- enactors’. Activities like re-enactment prompt us to consider how they reflect and effect the writing and reception of history now and in the future. This paper assesses the potential of re-enactment as an embodied, performative methodology; one that is challenging us to readdress what we consider to be history – and who we acknowledge as historians. In our dedication to the archive, historians often overlook bodily, performative traditions of history, particularly those arising within the so called Western cultures. Although various schools and movements within the discipline have introduced new approaches, history remains a relatively traditional branch of academia. As Raphael Samuel argues: History, in the hands of the professional historian, is apt to present itself as an esoteric form of knowledge. It fetishizes archive-based research, as it has done ever since the Rankean revolution – or counter-revolution – in scholarship. ([1994] 2012, 3) Post-structuralist theorists have rigorously contested von Ranke’s notion of objectivity, but, at least within Western historiography, the adherence to the archive remains, as does the tendency to concentrate on sanctioned, traditional subjects. The demarcation of what is (and is not) “real” history continues, and it is the few, rather than the majority, that break these 3 conventions. While the ethnographic turn in history facilitated the study of numerous Indigenous communities, many of which have a rich repertoire of bodily, performance-based histories, this interest rarely extends to embodied practices closer to home. Adherence to written history, to the exclusion of somatic, performative traditions, restricts the means to record (and create) history to an elite – a predominantly white, male elite (Connerton 1989; Roach 1996; Schneider 2011; Taylor 2003). This conservatism has led many researchers to ignore the potential of embodied ways of knowing. There are significant political/socio- historical issues involved in ignoring or denigrating embodied histories. Historians such as Natalie Zimmer Davis (1981) and Raphael Samuel ([1994] 2012) have criticised the tendency in traditional Western historiography to fixate on so called history making events (dominated by male agents), literally writing minorities out of history. Taylor encourages us to consider: ‘whose memories, whose trauma, “disappear” if only archival knowledge is valorised and granted permanence?’ (2003, 193). Reflecting a broader performative turn in scholarship, Greg Dening reconceptualised history not as a text to be read but rather as a performance that is created. Dening asserts that ‘History – the past transformed into words or paint or dance or play – is always a performance.’ And yet, the performative turn has not often directed us towards considering the actual performing of history in western culture, particularly within live performance practices such as recreational re-enactment. Supposedly, then, performativity is only acceptable on the page, or as a means of understanding other cultures. Although it was within a prominent school of thought within history that the ‘task of the historian’ was defined to be ‘to re-enact the past in [one’s] own mind’, it is historians who have most ardently protested (or ignored) the possibilities of recreational re-enactment as historiography (Collingwood, 1946). This reflects a broader rejection of the pedagogic possibilities of doing, stemming, perhaps, from the continued influence of the Cartesian gaze (the mind-body duality 4 perpetuated by Descartes, subordinating “doing” bodies to “thinking” minds). 3 Many amongst even the most progressive historians, who have rose from their armchairs and embraced ethnographic method and sometimes even imaginative and performative historiographies, have rigorously refuted the ability of those outside academia to do the same, particularly vilifying attempts to do so through bodily engagement [see, for example, Clendennin, 2006; Dening; 1992, Hirst 1996]. Even Dening, who embraces the theatricality of history, paints re-enactment as being overly simplistic, offensively illusionary and lacking in anything but detrimental effect in the search of what is “true” of the past: I am not much for re-enactments. Re-enactments tend to hallucinate a past as merely the present in funny dress. They give modernity and fashion a fillip by making the past look quaint. They patronise the human condition in hind-sighted superiority. They remove the responsibility of remedying the present by distracted, unreflective search for details of a past whose remedying will make no difference. (1992, 4) Of course, these critiques are in part accurate, and the problematic aspects of re-enactment must and have been discussed (see, for example: Agnew 2004, 2007; Agnew and Lamb (eds.) 2009; Brewer 2010; Cook 2004; Handler and Saxton 1988; McCalman 2004; McCalman and Pickering 2010). But such responses also reflect a patrolling of our borders and an anxiety about the rapidly shifting conception of history. Rebecca Schneider suggests that re- enactment is often dismissed as “merely theatrical” because of a prejudice against the theatrical and the bodily that continues to pervade academia (2011, 30; 213). The polarity of theatricality and truth is contested by Schneider, who perceives temporality, theatricality and authenticity as being inherently connected, with a permeability that, she believes, challenges many academics (6; 14). She critiques the notion that re-enactment is pervaded by a theatricality that overwhelms the past and detracts from its potential as a form of historiography (17-18; 30; 50), urging us to destabilise the binary between affective and analytical engagement by embracing and advancing the ‘affective turn’ in scholarship (35). Other scholars, such as Vanessa Agnew (2007, 299-300; 309) are also recognising the 5 significance of the notion of affect to understanding re-enactment and the need to evaluate its function and potential as part of re-enactment’s methodology. While the majority of writers are from disciplines other than history, there are historians (including ones who had previously disparaged re-enactment) who are now broadening their perspective. Ian McCalman and Paul Pickering, for example, assert that ‘taking reenactment seriously as a methodology is worth the risk’ and that ‘its potential is best explored through an interdisciplinary lens’ (2010, 32). While continuing to be aware of the pitfalls, we need to acknowledge and rigorously engage with the role that public histories like re-enactment are playing in prying open the determined grip academic history has had on the claim to so called authentic representations of the past. Exposed to the action of performance-based histories such as re-enactment without, and academic discourse regarding emerging epistemologies within, we need to reconsider our stance on the former so as not to be left behind in the advance of the latter. In order to move in that direction, let us turn to my fieldwork with the Jane Austen Festival Australia (JAFA). In the relative warmth of an Australian April in the “bush capital” Canberra, JAFA hosts its annual Jane Austen Festival. Held on parish grounds in buildings that would only be considered historic “down under”, the festival celebrates all things Austen, with a particular emphasis on period dance and costume. For me, donning a Georgian style gown, learning to make a bonnet, fire a bow, write a Regency style letter and dance sets rather like those in the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice was part of an ethnographic research project. For the participants and organisers, JAFA functions (as described on the Jane Austen Festival Australia website) as: an annual celebration […] where Austen and Napoleonic fans from all over Australia come and indulge themselves in everything Regency – including dancing, music, food, games, archery, fencing, theatre, promenades, grand balls, talks, workshops, costumes and books. […] Small soirees, concerts, a costumed promenade, theatre, 6 archery, period games, fashion, food, lectures and of course LOTS of dancing feature over three days and four nights, plus there is an opportunity to attend a grand Jane Austen Ball! The festival is an example of what I, and others, have referred to as romanticised, recreational re-enactment (Erisman 1998; Snow 2008). This style of re-enactment endeavours to (re)create a historical milieu, rather than re-enact specific events. The festival was initiated in 2008 by husband and wife Peter and Eliana 4 . Peter holds a PhD in History and runs a weekly historic dance group. He reconstructs, performs and teaches dance and music from the Renaissance, Baroque, Regency and Victorian eras, utilising primary source material. At the festival, Peter teaches Regency court and country dance workshops, calls the dances at the balls, and is one of the performers of the ‘period’ music, which he plays on numerous instruments. 5 Eliana works as a costumier, both professionally and as a hobby in the Australian Costumers’ Guild and runs many of the costuming workshops at the festival, ranging from quick and easy bonnets, to historically accurate period sewing techniques. Here, re-enactors and Austen enthusiasts can learn the skills to kit out their Regency wardrobe (and, of course, any other period/s of their choice). Skill acquisition – particularly through group learning and sharing of techniques – is a prominent feature of this style of re-enactment. As Eliana told us at one of the workshops, “that’s what we’re doing; we’re just trying to share what we know. Hopefully next year more people will come forward and share their skills.” It is not only practical skills that are shared, but also knowledge, via talks on numerous Regency and literary related topics. In 2014, there were three PhDs and two Professors amongst the speakers. The topics included: ‘Conservation and Storage’ (delivered by a member of staff from the National Museum of Australia); ‘Jane Austen’s Pelisse’ (presented by a former curator at the Museum of London); ‘Mansfield Park and Education’ (Dr Heather Neilson); ‘No Moral Effect on the Mind. Music and education in Mansfield Park’ (Dr Gillian Dooley); ‘The Genius of the Place: Mansfield Park and the improvement of the estate’ 7 (Professor Christine Alexander) and ‘Mansfield Park and the Navigable World’ (Professor William Christie). Framed as lectures, these talks contradict portrayals of re-enactment as a purely somatic, theatrical endeavour, suggesting participants’ interest in so called intellectual as well as experiential areas of learning (see, for example, Agnew, Cook, McCalman 2004, 484). It is not only that JAFA facilitates opportunities for attendees to enhance both their cognitive knowledge and physical skills, but also, I would suggest, that a form of historical understanding is – or can be – engendered through some of the somatic activities. And not just through the aspects specifically framed as sites of learning. Something of epistemological significance is occurring through the experiential process of this practice, in moments of apparently purely affective engagement. Consider the way the organisers described their festival, above, and the emotive language they enlisted: ‘celebration’, ‘fans’, ‘indulge’ – this self-description does suggest a practice that embraces affect, aligning with conceptions of re- enactment as an affective methodology. In contrast to the prevalent academic perspective, however, this is an affective mode of engagement that is not, at least to the re-enactors’ perspective, divorced from intellectual inquiry. Re-enactment does not polarise these two modes of inquiry, instead interconnecting the intellectual and the physical as complementary and non-stratified facets of knowing. This emphasises the relevance of Agnew’s identification of the need to elucidate the relationship between affective experience and cognitive comprehension, in order to assess re-enactment as a form of historiography. To what extent can the experiential be epistemological? Sitting in the garden around a table strewn with materials, needles, instructional pages and cups of tea, a group of ladies chat while sewing bonnets together in a workshop at JAFA. Susie (a middle aged woman wearing a Regency day dress and bonnet) and I are talking about re-enactment as a way of learning about history. Susie doesn’t miss a stitch as she tells me, “the thing is, you learn about the period just by wearing the costumes, they really shape your movement.” I am about to ask how important the historical accuracy of the garment is, when she adds, “if you make the costumes how they actually made them, they work like clothes, not like costumes.” 8 On the one hand, Susie’s comments bring to mind Greg Denning’s cutting critique of re- enactment for ‘hallucinating the past as merely the present in funny dress’ (1992, 4). Simplifying the past as something able to be encapsulated in a costume – no matter how historically accurate the garment may be – is problematic; a pretty dress does not a Regency lady make. On the other hand, while some re-enactors speak of moments of feeling as if they had been transported into the past (the research on Civil War re-enactment particularly submits this), Susie made no such claim – she suggested costumes can be worn as a learning aid, not a time travel device. Nor does she liken them to Mary Poppins' bag – Susie did not assert costumes carry links to all aspects of the past, but rather connects them specifically with clothing and movement: with material and embodied culture. The ‘material turn’ has pushed us toward considering the significance of material culture to history; the way it intersects with other cultural forms and the way it reflects and affects mores, customs and attitudes – the ‘idea of material as evidence’ (Rappaport 2008, 289; 293). This includes, of course, not only the literally material, such as costumes, but all objects – crockery, utensils, tools, jewellery, bric-a-brac etc. Similarly, the possibility of encountering the authentic through historical artefacts, and the practical insights that can be gained through these objects, have been well theorised (Deetz 1984). But these re-enactors’ costumes were not originals from the period – they were (re)creations, at best. Many of the dresses worn by the attendants did not exactly replicate a particular period garment. And yet, some of these people had conducted extensive research in creating their garments – from reading books on Regency clothing, to inspecting the material, design and stitches of original garments at organised study tables at museums. While re-enactors’ obsession with historical accuracy is often mocked in academia, something of the rigour academic historians value in our archival research reverberates in re-enactors’ attention to historical accuracy in the items they create. Their dedication is particularly apparent in their costumes, or what some circles of re- 9 enactors refer to as ‘garb’ (Erisman 1998; Sparkis 1992). The research they undertake to create these costumes is, in many ways, similar to the research process of the academic historian, utilising, as described above, both primary and secondary source material, in the form of both written documents and verified artefacts. Re-enactor and public historian Stephen Gapps describes this research to (re)production process as ‘wearing the contents of your research as costume’ (2010, 52). Re-enactors may or may not be portraying the past as ‘merely the present in funny dress’, but so called serious re-enactors are pursuing historiographic research in order to do so – and learning about material culture (and what else besides?) in the process. Living historians such as Gapps argue that authenticity is woven into the historical accuracy of objects – the garments, armour and various apparatuses they labour over. May there also be something authentic in the process of creating (and utilizing) these items? Discussing the Plimouth Plantation living history museum, Barbara Kirschenblatt-Gimblett suggests that ‘authenticity is located not in the artifacts per se or in the models on which they are based, but in the methods by which they were made.’ Kirschenblatt-Gimblett further describes the (re)creating of historic objects as a ‘way of doing, which is a way of knowing, in a performance’ (1998, 196). This resonates with Diana Taylor’s notion of performance as an episteme – as a way of knowing through performance (2003, xvi). If we apply these notions to re-enactment, performing past cultures (by which I mean both the physical performing of historical activities, and the theatrical performativity created for and by these doings) may be perceived as a way of exploring history – or at least particular aspects of it (Johnson, 2014). I would suggest that authenticity resides not only in the process of making, but also in the experience of employing these items – as an experience as a participant- observer at JAFA particularly underlined for me. 10 On the night of the festival ball, my friend and I both wear Regency dress. My hired green satin and black lace gown, despite being designed for a far more ample bosomed woman than myself, is one of the most beautiful dresses I have ever worn. As we step through the entrance, the official town crier of Canberra greets us in period dialogue, requesting our names and titles so that he may announce us. The chatter amongst the candle-lit hall hushes as his authoritative voice rings out “Lady Melissa of Avalon and Lady Katherine of Victoria Park”. Trying not to shuffle or hunch, my friend and I enter to polite applause. Much to my relief, the next dance is called, and Melissa and I hurry to avail ourselves of refreshments. Sitting down, the tightness of my corset squeezes my ribcage, digging into my shoulder blades, forbidding me to slouch. My shoulders, accustomed to hunching over a computer, are forced to mimic the metal rods of my undergarments, straight and strong. My core muscles feel tense with the effort of sucking my stomach in, flinching from the corset’s constrictive grasp. Stomach in, shoulders back, fabric and steel combine to sculpt my body into a supposedly more feminine form. My eyes roam the room, noticing that there are other ladies not dancing, and that they too, are sitting or standing near the wall. A few of them are even embroidering! I feel a little conscious of our lack of partners – something that doesn’t usually bother me – and I hope we will be asked to dance. A young Indian man I met at a dance workshop approaches, apparently at ease in his waist coat, stockings and breeches. He offers his arm to me with mock ceremony: “shall we have the next dance?” With a refined gesture quite unlike my usual way of moving, I place my arm gently on his. As I go to stand, however, I forget to hold up my floor length dress, and stumble on its length. Hiding my embarrassment, I try to glide to the dance area in what are actually shuffling, truncated steps; the length and ease of my stride restricted by my gown. My very competent dance partner guides me 11 through a whirlwind of figure eights, balances, casts and assembles, weaving our way through and with dozens of other couples to the lively accompaniment of a piano, strings and pipe. At the end of three dizzying numbers, I collapse into a chair, where the stab of wire from my corset once again jolts me into rigid posture. My field experience converges with Susie’s assertion, cited above, that ‘you learn about the period just by wearing the costumes – they really shape your movement’. By (re)doing activities from past cultures – in this case, dancing steps they danced, sewing like they sewed (by hand, without velcro!) – re-enactors might develop an experiential relation to past bodies. The restrictive clasp of the corset and the encompassing length of the gown heightened my awareness of what I was wearing, and the way I moved with/in them. They impressed upon me the way clothing shapes not only the physical appearance of our bodies, but also the ways in which we can/not move. The consciousness of my bodily posture and motion was augmented by moving in a way I am not usually accustomed – in the assemblés, dos-à-dos and rigadoons of Regency dance, for which the style of dress I wore was designed. Phenomenologists have articulated the embodied nature of perception, recognising that our relationship with the world is primarily a sensual one – mediated by our senses – what Maurice Merleau-Ponty calls the primacy of perception (1964). This suggests that our experience of the world is shaped by the specificities of our bodies – colour vision through eyes at the front (rather than side) of our head, a limited yet refined range of hearing and smell, opposable thumbs that allow us to grip objects (without which, would humans have developed a writing system?) According to this understanding of perception, there is a ‘common understanding of being, formulated through anatomical similarity between subjects, realized within a shared world’ (Card 2011, 139). Dance historian Susan Leigh Foster draws on this notion to suggest that historical research can reanimate past bodies whose traces remain in our archives, creating ‘a kind of stirring that connects past and present bodies.’ 12 Through their research, historians can, she asserts, develop ‘an affiliation, based on a kind of kinesthetic [sic] empathy between living and dead but imagined bodies’ (1995, 7). Foster emphasises that this is not a mystical experience, but rather a very bodily one. ‘Rather than a transcendence of the body, it’s an awareness of moving with as well as in and through the body as one moves alongside other bodies.’ I have suggested that a similar (perhaps even more poignant) form of kinaesthetic empathy can be developed through embodied practice – in the case of re-enactment, by (re)doing activities and (re)creating similar experiences from the period being studied (Johnson, 2014). In a very practical and tangible way, that corset – and the experience of moving with/in it – gave me a (partial) embodied sense of (a particular class of) female bodies of the Regency past; of the way they were presented, how their movement may have been shaped by their clothing and how their clothing reflected the ways in which they were expected to move. This physical experience, coupled with the sensual experience of listening to period music on period instruments, tasting Regency flavours in Regency dishes and seeing other bodies clad in period clothing, invoked for me some sense, however small, of a Regency lady’s experience of being. But perhaps there was something equally enlightening in recognising the gap between embodied experiences – the recognition that when I ripped that corset off with relief, there was no social expectation for me to return to it, that the temporary sensation of having my ribs crushed, stomach forcibly held in, back rammed into a posture that felt unnaturally straight, is not, for me, an ongoing process that would eventually alter my physiognomy – and way of breathing – permanently. Similarly, in the moment I tripped on the dress – in that moment of failure – I understood something (however incomplete) of a Regency lady’s experience of being-in-the-world, because of the very gap between my way of moving and hers, moulded by the different aspects of our different cultures – in this case the material – literally. As dance historian Amanda Card elucidates, embodied knowledge derives not only 13 from experiences we align with, but also those we cannot recognise (2011, 140). The claimed fallibility of re-enactment as a public historiography largely hinges upon the impossibility of ever completely recreating an experience from the past (Brewer 2010; Handler and Saxton 1998). Experience is, after all, individual, contextual and specific. But does difference necessarily undermine authenticity? Schneider questions the dichotomy between divergence and authenticity, and her metaphor of re-enactment as ‘misquote’ – as not the event, but something akin to it – offers a way to understand the practice as not wrong, but rather ‘live’, an embrace of the dynamic ‘againness’ of performance (2011, 42) . Art allows more ‘mistakes’ than academic history does, and, as Schneider insightfully recognises, sometimes it is in the disparity that something authentic can be found. (13). If there is knowledge to be gleaned from the gap between the (re)performance and its source, between our bodies and theirs, then those moments when re-enactment inevitably falls short of converging then and now (as it so frequently does) may offer significant moments of learning. Ian McCalman and Paul Pickering assert that if we accept ‘the fact that re-enacting can never fully capture what it might have felt like to be there’ we can ‘make a virtue of that shortcoming. The very element of unpredictability […] can become a source of creative exchange with the past, provided it is frankly acknowledged’ (2010, 13). The pull of the thread, the jab of the corset, the trip of the dance offer the (analytic) doer a way into the has-been-done. So is the knowledge acquired through re-enactment purely corporeal? According to post-phenomenological dance theory, embodied knowledge can generate cultural insight. This assertion is founded on the phenomenological notion of the interconnection between mind and body, and post-structuralist, ethnographic and performance theory on the interrelationship between body, society and culture. Norbert Elias recognised that the social value of and expectation for particular customs and behaviours are interconnected with the demonstration of these customs and behaviours through our bodies ([1939] 2000). Drawing 14 on Elias, Connerton enriched Foucault’s concept of the body politic by recognising the agency of bodies, elucidating an interrelationship between material, ideological and embodied culture. Bodies are, he argued, ‘socially constituted in the sense that [they are] culturally shaped in [their] actual practices and behaviour’ (84). He suggests that people embody history via what he terms incorporating practices – activities through which we participate in and absorb culture. These concepts pave a path towards assessing the potential of re-enactment, through its (re)doing of cultural, bodily practices, to cultivate cultural connection and through this, historical understanding. Post-phenomenological philosophy on embodiment substantiates these notions. Jaana Parviainen, drawing on Levin, asserts: the body is shaped by its society, our bodily way of being, with habits and routines, carries on the values and morality of society… We live in a social world, we inhabit this world, but the world also inhabits us. In other words, we are all, as living, doing, experiencing bodies, shaped by and shaping bodily practices, and through this, cultural practices. 6 Parviainen draws on these ideas to suggest that ‘as the gestures, postures and bodily attitudes of others gradually inhabit my own body, shaping me, I am absorbing cultural values… through my body and in my body’ (1998, 27). Perhaps, then, re-enacting such ‘gestures, postures and bodily attitudes’ may allow one to evoke and absorb the cultural values which they seem to be so inextricably linked with? For, as dance theorist Cynthia Novack, argues: ‘Culture is embodied […] movement constitutes an ever-present reality in which we constantly participate [...] In these actions we participate in and reinforce culture, and we also create it (1990, 8). If culture is embodied, the practice of bodily activities from the past could potentially function as a way of partially accessing – or approaching – these cultures (Johnson, forthcoming). Re-enactors have described intense moments of felt historical connection (what civil war re-enactors term ‘wargasm’), moments when they feel almost as if they really were in the past, that they actually were, for a moment, the historically inspired persona they perform. This can be 15 understood as the theatricality of re-enactment invoking a poignant and transitory affective response in the re-enactor, a suspension of disbelief and an embrace of the make believe of theatre. I suggest, however, that there may be a tangible, embodied empathy that is enhanced over time, through a layering of present bodies with the materials, movements and mannerisms of past bodies a lá Judith Butler’s notion of ‘sedimented acts’ (1988, 523) – the repeated, embodied enactments that create gender (and, I would argue, other cultural identities). In a similar vein, Greg Downy suggests that ‘embodied knowledge can involve forms of material change to the body, an avenue in which past training becomes corporeal condition.’ In his examination of Capoeira, Downy draws on Bourdieu’s notion of habitus to emphasise that ‘embodied knowledge shapes the subject. Practitioners repeatedly asserted that learning capoeira movements affected a person’s kinaesthetic style, social interactions, and perceptions outside of the game’ (23). Downy understands embodied knowledge as synonymous with Bourdieu’s notion of habitus, what the latter defines as ‘systems of durable, transposable dispositions, structured structures predisposed to function as structuring structures, that is, as principles which generate and organize practices and representations’ (1990, 53) and what Downey describes as ‘history made flesh, a corporeal enculturation’ (2010, S23). As Bourdieu expressed: The body believes in what it plays at: it weeps if it mimes grief. It does not represent what it performs, it does not memorize the past, it enacts the past, Bringing it back to life. What is ‘learned by body’ is not something that one has, like knowledge that can be brandished, but something that one is. (Bourdieu 1990, 73). Re-enactors are not transporting themselves into the past, nor are they becoming a civil war soldier, a medieval knight or a Regency lady. Re-enactment may, however, facilitate an ongoing development of kinaesthetic empathy that not only alters the physicality of those re- enacting bodies, but also some of the culture embodied therein. 16 There is, as I have endeavoured to demonstrate here, something of epistemological value in the experience of re-enacting itself. Re-enactment’s possibilities, however, do not dissipate its limitations, nor the problematic elements that others have noted. It is hardly surprising that re-enactors are enthusiastic about their practice, but for those who want to be “taken seriously”, it would be prudent for them to channel their excitement towards methodological rigour and self-reflexive, constructive criticality. 7 If re-enactors were to complement their embodied knowledge with hermeneutic analysis – tacking between how embodied and cultural experiences parallel and how they diverge, what works and what fails, what they can relate to, and what they cannot – they could develop a deeper understanding of both past and present. But it is also important for us not to discredit a practice because of its somatic, performative approach and consider what implications – and perhaps even areas of potential enrichment – it could have for our own disciplines. As Paul Pickering states, ‘despite its obvious pitfalls and dangers, there is much that a careful historian can learn about context, about material conditions, about possibility, from reenactment as a methodology’ (2010, 126- 7). It is pertinent for historians and scholars interested in history to analytically engage with other approaches to the past, particularly given the ever growing popularity and variety of such forms in the public sphere. Once again, a continual back and forthness – between application and reflection, theory and practice, endorsement and critique, may enable re- enactors and academic historians alike to negotiate the unstable ground of possibilities and pitfalls, to find the most solid way ahead. Notes 1 There are also a few practitioner-academics who attempt to bridge the gulf between their practice of re-enactment and their profession in academic history. Folklorist and living historian Jay Anderson, for example, is renowned for passionately advocating re-enactment as a valid and productive mode of history (1982) More recently, public historian and semi- 17 professional re-enactor Stephen Gapps has also written several pieces on re-enactment, drawing on his many years as a participant. (2007; 2010) 2 ‘Affective history’ is emerging as a banner under which scholarly discussion of re- enactment is rallying. Deriving from the ‘affective turn’ in scholarship, it is being utilised in discussions on re-enactment to refer to what I conceive as its embodied, performative methods. See, for example Agnew 2007; MacCalman and Pickering (eds.) 2010; Schneider 2011. 3 For more information on this topic, see: Okely 2007; Schneider 2011. 4 Pseudonyms have been used. 5 While I describe the dances taught as ‘Regency’, they were, of course, influenced by and sometimes borrowed from preceding periods and other countries, most prominently Scotland, France and Italy. As historian, dance reconstructionist and organiser of the festival, Peter, told us at one of the workshops: court, country and performance dances from numerous countries and decades were not isolated, self-constructed genres, but rather dynamic, interactive ensembles, skipping across the culturally porous barriers between classes, nations and temporalities. 6 And yet, as Sally Ann Ness has recognized, phenomenologists would try to bracket off these cultural aspects of bodies in order to move closer to lived bodies, to the raw bodily experience. Post-phenomenology, particularly as it has developed in dance theory, however, asserts that the primacy of perception and embodiment are not subjects that should be removed from or used to negate cultural experience, but rather to connect with it (2004). 7 Of course, for many re-enactors, their practice is primarily a hobby and/or community, and they may well suggest that academics are over-theorising it, or simply missing the point. References Agnew, Vanessa. 2007. “History's Affective Turn: Historical Reenactment and its Work in the Present.” Rethinking History 11 (3): 299-312. - - - . “Introduction: What is Reenactment?” Extreme and Sentimental History. Spec. issue of Criticism 46.3 (2004): 327-339. . Agnew, Vanessa and Lamb, Jonathan, eds. 2009. Settler and Creole Re-enactment. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Anderson, Jay. 1982. “Living History: Simulating Everyday Life in Living Museums.” American Quarterly 34 (3): 290-306. Bourdieue, Pierre. 1990. The logic of practice. Translated by R. Nice. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Butler, Judith. 1998. “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory.” Theatre Journal 40 (4): 519-531. Card, Amanda. 2011. “Feeling For Dancing Hidden in the Archives of the Dead.” In Scrapbooks, Snapshots and Memorabilia, edited by Glen McGillivray, 129-148. Bern: Peter Lang Publishing. Clendinnen, Inga. Dancing with Strangers: Europeans and Australians at First Contact. New York: Cambridge University Press (2004). . - - - . “The History Question: Who Owns the Past?” Quarterly Essay 23 (2006) : 1-72. Collingwood, R.G. The Idea of History. 1946. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994. Connerton, Paul. How Societies Remember. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1989. Connerton, Paul. 1989. How Societies Remember. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 18 Davis, Natalie Zemon. "Anthropology and History in the 1980s: the Possibilities of the Past." Journal of Interdisciplinary History 12.2 (1981) : 267–275. - - - . “On the Lame.” The American Historical Review 93.3 (1988) : 572-603. Dening, Greg. “Performing on the Beaches of the Mind: An Essay.” History and Theory 41.1 (2002) : 1-24. - - -. Mr Bligh’s Bad Language: Passion, Power and Theatre on the Bounty. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1992. Elias, Norbert. 2000. The Civilising Process. First published 1939. Translated by Edmund Jephcott. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Erisman, Wendy Elizabeth. “Forward into the past: The poetics and politics of community in two historical re-creation groups.” Diss. University of Texas, 1998. Foster, Susan Leigh. “An Introduction to Moving Bodies.” Choreographing History. Ed. Susan Foster. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1995. 3-24. Gapps, Stephen. 2007. “Adventures in The Colony: Big Brother Meets Survivor in Period Costume.” Film & History: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Film and Television Studies 37 (1): 67-72. - - -. 2009. “Black-facing for the Explorers.” In Settler and Creole Re-enactment. Edited by Vanessa Agnew and Jonathan Lamb. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. - - - . 2010. ‘Mobile Monuments: Commemoration and Historical Re-enactment’ in Historical Re-enactment: From Realism to the Affective Turn. Edited by Iain MacCalman and Paul Pickering. London: Palgrave MacMillan. Grenville, Kate. “The History Question: Response.” Quarterly Essay 25 (2007) : 66-72. . Hall, Dennis. “Civil War Reenactors and the Postmodern Sense of History.” Journal of American Culture 17 (1994) : 7-11. Handler, Richard and Saxton, William. “Reflexivity, Narrative, and the Quest for Authenticity in ‘Living History’.” Cultural Anthropology 3.3 (1988) : 242-260. Levin, David Michael. 1990. The Body's Recollection of Being: Phenomenological Psychology and the Deconstruction of Nihilism. London: Routledge. McCalman, Iain and Pickering, Paul, eds. Historical Reenactment. From Realism to the Affective Turn. Chippenham: Palgrave MacMillan. 2010. . Magelssen, Scott. “Living History Museums and the Construction of the Real Through Performance.” Theatre Survey 45.1 (2004) : 61-74. . Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception: an Introduction. 1945. Trans. Routledge & Kegan Paul. New York: Routledge, 2002. . Ness, Sally Ann. 2004. ‘Being a Body in a Cultural Way: Understanding the Cultural in the Embodiment of Dance’ in Cultural Bodies. Ethnography and Theory, edited by H. Thomas and J. Ahmed. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Novac, Cynthia. 1990. Sharing the Dance: Contact, Improvisation and American Culture. Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press. Okely, Judith. 2007. Fieldwork Embodied. The Sociological Review. 55 (1): 65–79. Parviainen, Jaana. 1998. Bodies Moving and Moved. A Phenomenological Analysis of the Dancing Subject and the Cognitive and Ethical Values of Dance Art, Tampere: Tampere University Press. Pickering, Paul. “‘No Witnesses. No Leads. No Problems’: The Reenactment of Crime and Rebellion.” Ed. Ian McCalman and Paul Pickering. Historical Reenactment: From Realism to the Affective Turn. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010. 109-133. . Roach, Joseph. Cities of the Dead: Circum-Atlantic Performance. New York: Columbia UP, 1996. 19 Samuel, Raphael. 2012. Theatres of Memory: Past and Present in Contemporary Culture. First published 1994. London: Verso. Schneider, Rebecca. Performing Remains: Art and War in Times of Theatrical Reenactment. London: Routledge, 2011. Snow, Steven. Performing the Pilgrims. A Study of Ethnohistorical Role-Playing at Plimoth Plantantion. Mississippi: University of Mississippi, 2008. Sparkis, Sylvia. “Objects and the Dream. Material Culture in the Society for Creative Anachronism.” Play and Culture 5.1 (1992) : 59-75. Taylor, Diana. The Archive and the Repertoire. Performing Cultural Memory in the Americas. United States of America: Duke University Press, 2003. 
work_cwmtckj4ivh2teeehffeyhczn4	----	The New Model Eighteenth-Century Novel The New Model Eighteenth-Century Novel Robert Folkenflik Eighteenth-Century Fiction, Volume 12, Number 2-3, January-April 2000, pp. 459-478 (Article) Published by University of Toronto Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/ecf.2000.0040 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/412309/summary https://doi.org/10.1353/ecf.2000.0040 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/412309/summary The New Model Eighteenth-Century Novel Robert Folkenflik Ibegin not with a model but an anecdote. Clifford Siskin's The Work of Writing: Literature and Social Change in Britain, 1700-1830 (1998)1 describes an overflow crowd at the 1993 American Society forEighteenth- Century Studies (ASECS) annual meeting for a session with "papers that located the English novel in America and in captivity narratives, linked it back to prose fiction from the classical past, and detailed how conflations of genre, gender, and nation produced a novel that was originally English and always on the rise. When, in the ensuing discussion, a member of the audience commented that the cumulative effect ofthis work was to remake the novel into something that it simply had not been before, heads nodded vigorously throughout the room." The audience protestor is identified as John Richetti; the authors of the papers are Nancy Armstrong, Margaret Anne Doody, and William Beatty Warner: those papers have now become books that, alongwithothers, are the subjectofmy millennial consideration of the eighteenth-century British novel. The ASECS paper-givers and a number of others have been consciously rejecting or revising the received models of the novel, especially that of Ian Watt's The Rise of the Novel. To put the response simply in the terms of Siskin's exemplum is to risk missing, as he knows well, that this is a scholarship highly aware of the choices it makes, the systematic implications of those choices and of the models rejected. These writers (and others I shall consider) tend to be very 1 Clifford Siskin, The Work of Writing: Literature and Social Change in Britain, 1700-1830 (Bal- timore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), p. 157. References to this book and to the others I quote are to the editions cited. EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION, Volume 12, Number 2-3, January-April 2000 460 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION aware also of their positions as academics in institutions that have written and rewritten the novel's history since the eighteenth century. In looking at models of the novel, I limit my attention to books of the 1990s, and I think of this piece as a complement to "The Heirs of Ian Watt," which lookedat the models ofthe eighteenth-century novel in books written in the 1980s.2 This account is necessarily highly selective. I do not, for example, discuss books that focus on novels of the 1790s or later. And manybooks that talk about the novel thematically, oronly while discussing a number of literary genres, do not provide a model or theory of the novel. To take an example, Felicity Nussbaum's Torrid Zones: Maternity, Sexuality, andEmpire in Eighteenth-CenturyEnglishNarratives (1 995)3 is wide-ranging and daring. Her ability to bring intercontinental perspectives to bear on English culture is rich and rewarding. "Polygamy, Pamela, and the Prerogative of Empire," for example, one of her fmitful triads, brings Oriental and biblical thinking on polygamy by British patriarchs into play in the domestic world ofRichardson's Pamela and MrB. in an original and convincing way. Too often practitioners ofCultural Studies make their best points through analogy and metaphor, but Felicity Nussbaum shows that the analogies and metaphors ofher book are eighteenth-century England's own. It is not a book about the "novel," but its consideration of a number ofnovels, including some rarely discussed, is welcome and contemporary. I will also give inadequate attention to the books renovating the building blocks of the novel—plot and character. In Desire and Truth: Functions of Plot in Eighteenth-Century English Novels (1990), Patricia Meyer Spacks continues the modem investigation ofplot, an aspect of the novel to some extent bypassed since the Stmcturalists and brought back into the pur- view of contemporary interest by books such as Peter Brooks's Reading for the Plot: Design and Intention in Narrative (1984). As in his book, psychology comes first, though she gives it an eighteenth-century rather than a Freudian priority. The novelists she focuses upon, Charlotte Len- nox, Samuel Richardson, Henry Fielding, Ann Radcliffe, Jane Austen, and Walter Scott, are now typical of the canon. For some of the writers under consideration here, such as Homer Brown, the inclusion of Scott is justi- fied beyond the notion of the "long eighteenth century." Deidre Lynch's The Economy of Character: Novels, Market Culture, and the Business of Inner Meaning (1998) takes a wide interdisciplinary view of charac- ter at once original and related to the work of Catherine Gallagher and 2 Robert Folkenflik, "The Heirs of Ian Watt," Eighteenth-Century Studies 25 (1991), 203-18. 3 Felicity Nussbaum, TorridZones: Maternity, Sexuality, and Empire in Eighteenth-Century English Narratives (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995). THE NEW MODEL 461 Warner discussed below. Lynch's approach, long overdue, focuses on the links between "legible faces, minted money and imprinted texts."4 Doody was one ofthose identified aspresenting anew model atASECS, but her immensely wide-ranging The True Story of the Novel (1996)5 devotes so little space to the eighteenth century (about twenty pages of the historical first three hundred, passing examples among the following two hundred pages of tropes) that it will not be considered here. The book's value comes from reminding us of the vast range of narrative fiction of which the eighteenth-century novel is only a part. Her emphasis on the persistence ofGreek andRoman romances throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries provides a useful inflection. No one writing on the eighteenth-century British novel these days can afford to forget the long history of prose fiction, the practice of other countries at the time, the participation of women novelists. The earlier work of Peter Brooks on the conventions of courtly fiction in The Novel ofWorldliness (1969) was never adequately assimilated in scholarship of the British novel; we should not similarly ignore Joan DeJean's Tender Geographies: Women and the Origins of the Novel in France (1991). Josephine Donovan's Women and the Rise ofthe Novel, 1405-1726 (1991) is a broader-ranging comparatisi study of French, Spanish, and English womennovelists. Thomas Kavanaghprovides amodelofthenovel focused on probability and employing French examples in Enlightenment and the ShadowsofChance: TheNovelandthe CultureofGambling inEighteenth- Century France (1993).6 Constructing models of the novel has become something of a scholarly industry. Robert A. Erickson even provides in The Language of the Heart, 1600-1750 (1997)—a cardiocentric study of the Bible, William Harvey's The Motion of the Heart, Paradise Lost, 4 Patricia Meyer Spacks, Desire and Truth: Functions ofPlot in Eighteenth-Century English Novels (Chicago: University ofChicago Press, 1990); Deidre Lynch, The Economy ofCharacter: Novels, Market Culture, and the Business ofInner Meaning (Chicago: University ofChicago Press, 1998). 5 Margaret Anne Doody, The True Story oftheNovel (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1996). 6 Peter Brooks, The Novel ofWorldliness: Crébillon, Marivaux, Laclos, Stendhal (Princeton: Prince- ton University Press, 1969); Joan DeJean, Tender Geographies: Women and the Origins of the Novel in France (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991); Josephine Donovan, Women and the Rise of the Novel, ¡405-1726 (New York: St Martin's Press, 1991); Thomas Kavanagh, Enlightenment and the Shadows ofChance: The Novel and the Culture ofGambling in Eighteenth- Century France (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993). Ronald Paulson's Don Quixote in England: TheAesthetics ofLaughter (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998) devotes a chapter to the single most important novelistic model for eighteenth-century novels. 462 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION Oroonoko, and Clarissa—a model of the novel based on Harvey's concept of circulation (pp. 84-88).7 I start with the earliest of these books to appear, one that will not be accused of remaking "the novel into something that it simply had not been before." J. Paul Hunter's Before Novels: The Cultural Contexts of Eighteenth-CenturyEnglish Fiction (1990) is the freshest large look at the relation of the novel to the history of reading. Hunter contends that the novel developed from a range of genres and thematic material, certainly one convincing way of approaching that amoebic form, the novel. Since an earlier generation of scholars did something like this with less con- sciousness of the implications, the question is how his consideration of these issues advances our knowledge. In some ways it does so because the inquiry into reading shows what audiences were prepared to accept. While he revisits some of the materials of his earliest work—the spir- itual autobiographies and guide literature that were the subject of The Reluctant Pilgrim (1966),8 an attempt to establish the models for Robin- son Crusoe—he brings an impressive range of reading of his own to the fore. I cannot do justice here to the learning, subtlety, and tact with which he develops his arguments, though the numbered list, accompanied by mini-paragraphs, which he gives in his opening chapter, "What Was New about the Novel," will seem familiar—"Contemporaneity," "Credibility andprobability," "Familiarity," "Rejectionoftraditionalplots," "Tradition- free language," "Individualism, subjectivity" (a glissando from Watt to the postmodem here), "Empathy and vicariousness," "Coherence and unity ofdesign" (hidden under this rubric is the claim that "Novels tend to be more ideological than most literary species"), "Inclusivity, digressivenesss, fragmentation: the ability to parenthesize," "Self-consciousness about in- novation and novelity" (pp. 23-25). These must be taken in conjunction with his awareness that the novel is a large, loose, baggy form with features that do not "fit" any simple definition ofthe novel. His openness to whatex- ceeds models ("The Critical Tyranny of Formal Definition" is the title of chapter 2) is among his major contributions to thinking about the novel. Although one could claim that the book is really after and during nov- els (certainly Doody and DeJean, among others, would), and his list often correlates strongly with Watt's account of the novel and "formal realism," 7 Robert A. Erickson, 77ze Language of the Heart. 1600-1750 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997). 8 J. Paul Hunter, Before Novels: The Cultural Contexts ofEighteenth-Century English Fiction (New York: W.W. Norton, 1990); 7"Ae Reluctant Pilgrim: Defoe's Emblematic Method and the Questfor Formin "Robinson Crusoe" (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1966). THE NEW MODEL 463 Hunter's best finds forpre-novelistic texts are JohnDunton'sAthenianMer- cury (1691-97) and RobertBoyle's OccasionalReflections (1665) with its "Discourse" on Occasional Meditation as form. Hunter's book presents not so much a new model as a compendious account of where tradi- tional thinking about the novel has takenus. The many things ofvalue here do not arise from the construction of a new model. Hunter is also the au- thor of the best single study of one model of the novel's audience, "The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Reader."9 As amodel for reading the novel,CatherineGallagher'sNobody 'sStory: The Vanishing Acts of Women Writers in the Market Place, 1670-1820 (1994) provides a brilliant and witty point ofdeparture. Appearing first as an essay, "Nobody's Story: Gender, property, and the Rise of the Novel," which may be thought a model of her book as well as the novel, "' this concept of Nobody as a bodiless image derives from one familiar dur- ing the eighteenth century and earlier. Gallagher develops the variations on her theme, and the implications are far-ranging and sometimes start- ling in their appositeness, Several of her claims are striking. She notes that if we follow the logic of Roland Barthes and see the "contingent, unmotivated detail" as "the code of the 'real' in fiction," then the "obvi- ous conclusion," unnoticed by Barthes, is that "realism was the code of the fictional" (p. 174). Moreover, she demonstrates, developing her argu- ment through an investigation ofHume on sympathy, that since in reading the novel we are sympathizing with Nobody, often to a greater extent than we sympathize with people we know, we have a sentimental relation to the novel, in the sense that I.A. Richards defines sentimentality as a "re- sponse ... too great for the occasion" (not her example).11 Her excellent insight is put to effective use in the book. At the same time it is worth no- ticing that something like this awareness was to be found in the eighteenth 9 J. Paul Hunter, "The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Reader," Genre 10 (1977), 455-84. In "Richardson's Ideology of Reading," a paper given for the Society for the History of Authorship, Reading and Publication at the University ofEdinburgh, I argued that for Richardson the preferable model of reading was social and aloud in opposition to clandestine, silent reading. This audience conception is modelled within Pamela by Mr B.'s reading Pamela's letter to a social group with her permission and Richardson's reading ofhis works in progress to his coterie. This countermovement does not contest the general applicability ofHunter's model. 10Catherine Gallagher, Nobody's Story: The Vanishing Acts ofWomen Writers in the Market Place, 1670-1820 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1994); "Nobody's Story: Gender, Property, and the Rise of the Novel," Modern Language Quarterly 53 (1992), 263-77, reprinted in Eighteenth-Century Literary History: An MLQ Reader, ed. Marshall Brown (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1999), pp. 27^12. For a book that relates property in the novel to the traditional genres of georgic and pastoral, see April London, Women and Property in the Eighteenth-Century English Novel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999) 1 1 I.A. Richards, Practical Criticism (New York: Harcourt, Brace, n.d.), p. 244. 464 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION century itself. William Craig's Lounger 77 (1786) contains an account of the fictitious Woodfort, who weeps "at the perusal of a tender novel. ... Yet in real life Woodfort's feelings and generosity unaccountably forsake him" and he is harsh to his tenants and debtors as well as to his relat- ives. The narrator finds such behaviour neither uncommon nor, despite his quiet irony, unaccountable: To account in some measure for this appearance, it may be observed, that when a representation is given of fictional distress, it is done in such a manner, and with such circumstances accompanying it, as have the mostpowerful tendency to affect the heart. ... The mind therefore may be affected with a fictitious story, or a tale, when it will not be affected with a real event occurring in common life; because that real event cannotbe perceived in all those strong colours and mingled with all those attracting circumstances with which a romantic story may be wrought up.12 I am conflating a good deal here about the difference between fiction and "real life," the way in which the production of "passive feelings of sensib- ility" militates against "active and firm exertion" (along with a reference to Bishop Butler's Analogy ofReligion), and the educational implication that there is "much danger" in "softening [children's] minds" through "affect- ing them too frequently and too deeply by fictitious tales ofwoe" (37: 171). The analysis, parts of it fairly standard, may help to establish how some of the most interesting work now being done recapitulates and theorizes eighteenth-century attacks on the novel that have not had much of a hear- ing among intellectuals or within the academy until recently.13 Gallagher recognizes the importance of such attacks. Gallagher does a good deal more, however. Her eloquent and aphoristic variations on Nobody spin out a central thematics of the novel. Nobody has no body and is therefore "the site of a material lack and an open invitation" (p. 171). Nobody is "nobody in particular" and therefore, in opposition to historical writing about nonfictional beings ("thinness of detail at the time almost always indicated specific extratextual reference"), this Nonentity needs to be described in detail, if not minutely (p. 174). Nobody exists in opposition to Somebody (as in the visual representations of the pair by Hogarth), a class difference.14 While Nobody becomes a 12The Lounger, British Essayists, ed. Lionel Thomas Berguer (London: T. and J. Allman, 1823), 37:167-68. 13In "The Heirs of Ian Watt," 1 suggest that Lennard J. Davis's Resisting Novels revives "eighteenth- century and Victorian distrust ofthe novel, but on political rather than moral and religious grounds" (p. 211). 14[Ebenezer Forrest], An Account of ... The Five Days Peregrination of... Messieurs Tothall, Scott, Hogarth, Thornhill, and Forrest (London: R. Livesay, 1782). Richard Livesay's engraving of Hogarth's original 1732 drawing Tail-Piece is plate 9. Reproduced by permission of the General Rare Book Collection, California State Library. THE NEW MODEL 465 fictional character, Somebody is the subject of a roman à clef. Nobody is apt to be a woman, a key suggestion in this book, though not entirely bome outby the figure (Hogarth's little man with extremities andno tmnk, for example) or by novels as a whole. Gallagher asserts that "Fiction ... stimulates sympathy because, with very few exceptions, it is easier to identify with nobody's story and share nobody's sentiments than to identify with anybody else's story and share anybody else's sentiments." She adds that because "the stories are nobody's, everyone can have an equal interest in them" (p. 172). The acute economic pun has its parallel in Craig's Lounger essay: "Accustomed to be affected with objects only that are removed from ourselves, and where there can be no competition with our own interests, we may be unmoved when our own interests or other inclinations interfere" (37:171). This couldbe put even more sharply in eighteenth-century terms: interesting (moving, affecting) subjects are those which do not conflict with our own interest. What Gallagher claims convincingly is that our interest in Nobody's story has a great deal to do with the making of the modem self. The reasons why this model should not appearuntil late in the book, however, require comment. What Gallagher in her original model in her essay did not consider was the implications of its subtitle, which really drives the chapter-to- chapter narrative. She says that friends advised her against the title, for hers is not the story of women excluded from the canon, ofmute, inglori- ous Judith Defoes. Her '"nobodies' ... are not ignored, silenced, erased or anonymous women. They are literal nobodies: authorial personae, printed books, scandalous allegories, intellectual property rights, literary repu- tations, incomes, debts and fictional characters" (p. xiii). She wants to tell a story of how women authors (all novelists here) "thrived" by em- 466 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION phasizing "their femininity to gain financial advantage" and how in doing so "they invented numerous ingenious similarities between their gender and their occupation" (p. xiii). And yet I wonder if through their "van- ishing acts," their literally anonymous status (typically, names male and female were not signed to works, though often known), and their inab- ility, if married, to own or have title to their productions, these women authors are not making a success of being nobodies in their own right. Gallagher says as much towards the end of her introduction when analys- ing the nature of their alienation. She notes a "rhetoric of 'dispossession' in their texts," an awareness on their parts "that copyright, their former 'property,' was no property at all but a mere ghostly possibility," the em- ployment of tropes of "their labor as the accumulation of credit," which in tum put them in debt (pp. xxi-xxii). (Being indebted was the stand- ard status in a patronage culture. It is interesting to see the survival of such a status among professional writers, some of whom had patrons.) Earlier, she had nicely analysed their "author-selves" as "partial nobod- ies" (p. xix). Marx is central to her thinking, and such recent theorists ofthe novel as Lennard J. Davis and Michael McKeon help, though she sees the first as "too censorious" offiction and the latter as too focusedon epistemo- logy to pay attention to ontology (p. xvii). Her individual chapters play out these themes in stages from Behn to Manley, Lennox, Bumey, and Edge- worth (who kept insisting that her novels were only the illustrations ofher father Richard's ideas and, as such, inferior to them). John Zomchick's focus on the "juridical subject" in his Family and the Law in Eighteenth-Century Fiction: The Public Conscience in the Private Sphere (1993), '5 linking him to Gallagher's and Nancy Armstrong's quest for the modem subject, points to the law's importance in the secularization of the modem world. His analogies are often suggestive: "Eighteenth- century juridical and fictional discourses produce a cognate subject: the private subject of ordered pleasures" (p. 10). It may seem that his dual focus is a way of bringing public and private into conjunction, but he is also concerned with family as a "threat to" as well as a "goal for the protagonists of the novel" (p. 13). Davis had also called attention to this realm of discourse when he claimed that a Foucauldian news/novel discourse was the source of the novel.16 Zomchick's novelists are well chosen. In addition to the inevitable lawyer and magistrate Fielding, it 15John Zomchick, Family and the Law in Eighteenth-Century Fiction: The Public Conscience in the Private Sphere (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). 16Lennard J, Davis, Factual Fictions: The Origins of the English Novel (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983). THE NEW MODEL 467 is good to see the sometime litigant Smollett, who too often is odd man out once Fielding appears. He discusses the inefficacy of "wild justice" (the typical Smollett revenge stmcture) in Roderick Random, though Sir Launcelot Greaves with its trials by good and badjustices, its eponymous hero, more Robin Hood than Quixote, regarding himself as a "coadjutor to the law," and his friend the clerk Tom Clarke, a walking law dictionary (specifically Giles Jacob's New Law Dictionary), would have provided more scope and has lacked sophisticated legal exposition. Neither novel focuses very strongly on family. Zomchick is at his best in his paired chapters on Clarissa. I would also have liked to see Mary Wollstonecraft's The Wrongs of Woman at the end, for many of those wrongs are legal, and the fragment ends with a remarkable statement of self-divorce in a courtroom and a range of fragments of possible conclusions. Alexander Welsh's Strong Representations: Narrative and Circumstantial Evidence in England (1992)17 appeared too late for Zomchick to take into account. While it contains relatively little on the eighteenth-century novel—only a long chapter partly on Tom Jones with sections entitled "False Testimony about Jones" and "Fielding's Management of the Evidence"—it works up to it through Burke and Bentham and away from it by looking at MauriceMorgann on the characterofFalstaff. More to thepoint, the model developedwould move, like Zomchick's, from punishment (JohnBender's model, the penitentiary) to trial.18 The Fielding chapter is excellent, but nothing quite equals Welsh's earlier discovery of a prosecutor in court who employed Robinson Cmsoe's discovery of a man's footprint as an example of the legitimate use of circumstantial evidence in his attempt to convictLizzie Borden. Welsh's central concern brilliantly links fiction and the legal establishment of "fact." In 1948 Mark Schorer spoke of "what we call Defoe's method of circumstantial realism,"19 and Ian Watt made a number of analogies between realism and the law. Welsh gives us a tightly focused, deftly historicized, and precise way to speak of "novels of circumstance," which typically establish "representations of the facts against the protagonists" before "a fuller representation exonerates them" (P- 48). 17Alexander Welsh, Strong Representations: Narrative and Circumstantial Evidence in England (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992). 18See Alexander Welsh's review of John Bender, Imagining the Penitentiary: Fiction and the Ar- chitecture ofMind in Eighteenth-Century England (Chicago: University ofChicago Press, 1 987), Eighteenth-Century Studies 21 (1988), 373-78. 19Mark Schorer, "Technique as Discovery," The World We Imagine (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1968), p. 6. 468 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION In The Boundaries ofFiction: History and the Eighteenth-Century Brit- ish Novel (1996),20 Everett Zimmerman explicitly prefers the model of the history, that is, the "information management" of historian and his- toriographer, to the legal model put forward by Welsh. Zimmerman has strong grounds for his model, both in the actual titles of novels (The His- toryofTom Jones, a Foundling) and in the response of such critics as Hugh Blair, who treated novels as "Fictitious History" in 1762. Zimmerman and Welsh share a good deal, including an awareness of how the central dis- courses that concern them secularize culture. Zimmerman foregrounds the new sceptical historiography ofHume and others, which rejects providen- tialists such as Bossuet. Leo Braudy had made Fielding rub shoulders with Gibbon and Hume three decades ago,21 but this book is not so much inter- ested in juxtaposing, as he did, the narratives of novelists and historians. Zimmerman places historiographical thinking in the larger framework of Ancients and Modems (with adebt here to Joseph Levine),22 and notes that thenovel is on the Modems' side. His shrewdchapteronSwift andRichard- son (rather than the more familiar Defoe as Swift's opponent) highlights Zimmerman's battleofthebooks. Originally thisbookwas tobe titled "His- torical Faith',' a phrase drawn from a letter of Richardson. Zimmerman recognizes himself as working within the paradigm of empirical epistem- ology, but challengingly defines the novel as "the romance as it appears in an empiricist moment" (p. 71). With attention to Mackenzie, Steme, God- win, and Scott, as well as the Watt canon, he finds his "centerofgravity" in "the already constituted novelofmidcentury" (p. 74). In doing so he differ- entiates himself from McKeon's concern for origins and Bender's for the consequences of the novel (a logical outgrowth of the idea that it is a cul- tural instrument). This is a thoughtful and mature account of the novel that should not be overlooked. In "The Heirs of Ian Watt," I observed that Warner had dubbed Mc- Keon's Origins ofthe English Novel "Das Novel." But James Thompson's Models of Value: Eighteenth-Century Political Economy and the Novel 20Everett Zimmerman, The Boundaries ofFiction: History and the Eighteenth-Century BritishNovel (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1996). See also Robert Mayer, History and the Early English Novel: Matters of Fact from Bacon to Defoe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), which focuses on Defoe with a chapter devoted to Nashe, Deloney, Behn, and Manley, and a number of others to history and historiography. 21Leo Braudy, Narrative Form in History and Fiction: Hume, Fielding, Gibbon (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970). 22Joseph Levine, The Battle ofthe Books: History andLiterature in theAugustanAge (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991). THE NEW MODEL 469 (1996)23 is the better candidate in some ways. In addition to his frequent drawingonMarx, thepages are full ofquotations fromAlthusser,Eagleton, Jameson, Williams, Mouffe, and Laclau, among others. This is a classic Marxist study, tightly focused on money (coins, banknotes, bills of ex- change), which is at the heart of the "model" of its title. It is exactly what it says, not a model of the novel, but a way to epitomize what novels value in economic terms. Thompson is valuable for his introductory considera- tions of what models are as knowledge and the implications of choosing them as ways ofknowing. Although he is explicitly aware of the novel as instrumental, I think the project commits him from time to time to a reflec- tion model of the novel that he would not comfortably accept. A concern with the "novel's cultural work" (Thompson's phrase, but equivalents pep- per these books and can be found during the last decade in McKeon and Armstrong, among others) is central to his inquiry. "Fielding and Prop- erty" provides a brief account that begins freshly with Tom Jones as the "history of a number of lost objects"—including Tom, his father, "wives, daughters, a muff and several banknotes" (p. 132). The focus on the return ofmoney and other objects to their rightful owners reveals Fielding's anxi- eties about the instability ofmoney. Raymond Williams gave us the key to such a reading in the The Country and the City: "The plot of Tom Jones is based on the desire to link by marriage the two largest estates in Somer- setshire: the proposed marriage of Sophia Western to Blifil is conceived for this end; her marriage to Tom Jones, when he is eventually revealed as Allworthy's trae heir, achieves what had formerly, for personal reas- ons, been rejected."24 Thompson's claim that from "a Lukácsian point of view ... the true protagonist of Tom Jones is Paradise Hall" (p. 155) rep- licates Williams's clear-eyed observation. Thompson argues shrewdly that the "monetary subplots in Tom Jones bespeak a conservative drive to sta- bilize cash and paper credit, to represent and contain currency within traditional patterns of property and possession, a desire which is determ- ined by a specific stage in the development of money" (p. 133). Perhaps Charles Johnston's Chrysal; or TheAdventures ofa Guinea (1760) should have made more than a cameo appearance here. One central theme of Thompson and Gallagher, as well as a number of current writers, is con- veyed by the subtitle ofCatherine Ingrassia's Authorship, Commerce, and 23James Thompson, Models ofValue: Eighteenth-Century Political Economy andthe Novel (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1996). For a close-grained, intelligent account of money that is not concerned with models or theory, see Edward Copeland, Women Writing about Money: Women 's Fiction in England. 1790-1820 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). 24Raymond Williams, The Country and the City (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973), p. 61. 470 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION Gender in Early Eighteenth-Century England: A Culture ofPaper Credit (1998), a text that sharply brings into conjunction writing and economics. It is surprising that a book such as Thompson's was so long in coming. One can look back to Schorer, who called attention to the dead metaphors embedding "one consistent set of values" in the novels of Jane Austen and listed money (with nearly three dozen terms) among his five con- trolling categories.25 The stmcturalist project with its focus on stmctures of exchange going back to those of Marcel Mauss, the teacher of Lévi- Strauss, produced at its best subtle and complex readings devoted to the economics of individual literary works, as in Jacques Ehrmann.26 In this way the whole action of giving and owing comes into play. (Gallagher notes the paradoxes arising from a language of exchange.) There are dis- tinct gains from Thompson's limiting focus, including a more clear-cut differentiation of the ideologies of the novelists considered. A fuller atten- tion to stmctures of exchange within these novels would repay the effort (to put it in his own coin). Thompson's chapter "Fanny Burney and Debt" suffers only from be- ing written in the shadow of Catherine Gallagher's chapter "Nobody's Debt: Frances Burney's Universal Obligation," which covers some of the same territory. His move to Bumey and Austen is intended to elucidate the point made earlier that "the issues under discussion—money, values, subjectivity—are implicitly and explicitly gendered" (p. 156). And fol- lowing Nancy Armstrong's lead on separate spheres, he deals with debt and inheritance as the domestic residue of the social world. He argues ef- fectively that "in the domestic novel, debt is transcoded from financial to emotional discourse" (p. 159), and the lesson is control of the emo- tions for women as it is of finances for men (p. 167). Part of the payoff here is that Thompson is able to take issue with one currently dominant model of the novel: in Camilla and Burney's novels more generally, nov- els "supposedly constructed out of courtesy literature's obsession with the finer points of female decomm, indiscretion is far and away most often financial" (p. 164). The move to genderdistinctions is typical of the books considered here, which are often wary of drawing conclusions solely on the basis of the representations of male authors. Those devoted solely to women novelists consciously draw conclusions about women and the novel. Those about male novelists tend to draw conclusions about the novel as a whole. Homer 25"Emma" in The World We Imagine, p. 62. The essay first appeared in 1959. 26Jacques Ehrmann, "Structures of Exchange in Cinna," Yale French Studies 36-37 (1966), 169-99. THE NEWMODEL 471 Brown's book, Institutions of the English Novel: From Defoe to Scott (1997),27 is one of the relatively few that devotes all of its readings to canonical males (Zomchick's and Zimmerman's are others, though they focus on a number of female central characters). A nineteenth-century woman critic plays a central role in the story of the novel that unfolds. And the canon itself is one ofhis subjects. Institutions, long-awaited, original, and influential, provides the most searching account of the idea (or more properly ideas) of institution. It has had an underground reputation, and parts have seen print in important earlier books on the novel (Nancy Armstrong's introduction to Desire and Domestic Fiction,2* for example). Brown is concerned, like a number of these scholars, to find an alternative to genre as a way of discussing the novel. His readings are greatly influenced by Derrida and deconstmction. The book as a whole can be taken as providing a history of Brown's engagement with the novel from the time of "The Displaced Self in the Novels of Daniel Defoe" (1971)29 to his very recent work on Scott and his refinement and extension of what he means by institutions. But it is not a collection of separate pieces, though some parts of the Defoe analysis sit uneasily with the more recent work. Brown's essay is one of the best on Defoe that we possess, and his "Tom Jones: The 'Bastard of History' " (chap. 3 of Institutions) is at the heart of a number of reconsiderations of that novel. For many years he has been lodging inconvenient observations in our critical consciousnesses: how Tom Jones ends up as the heir of Squire Allworthy when as a bastard he would be legally disqualified from such an inheritance is a case in point. "Sir Walter Scott and the Institution of History" focuses on Scott's rereading of Fielding as his predecessor (not in the manner of Harold Bloom, however). Although no chapter deals with a woman novelist, his work-in-progress on Jane Austen inflects the book. In a related essay that serves as prologue to an engagingcollection ofmulti-cultural essayson the novel,Brown alsoconsidered "Why the Story oftheOrigin ofthe (English) Novel is an American Romance (If Not the Great American Novel)," an account mainly of mid-twentieth-century American theorizing.30 27Homer Brown, Institutions ofthe English Novel: From Defoe to Scott (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1997). 28Nancy Armstrong, Desire and Domestic Fiction: A Political History ofthe Novel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), p. 38. 29Homer Brown, "The Displaced Self in the Novels of Daniel Defoe," ELH 38 (1971), 562-90. 30Deidre Lynch and William Beatty Warner, eds, Cultural Institutions of the Novel (Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press, 1996), pp. 11^-3. 472 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION The most provocative idea in the book is that the institution of the Englishnovel (that is, the eighteenth-centuryEnglishnovel) is anineteenth- century invention, canonized by Anna Laetitia Barbauld, Walter Scott, and John Dunlop, though Brown recognizes that canonization is a retrospect- ive activity. The canon of English fiction was of course developing and shifting throughout the eighteenth century. As an older scholarship estab- lished, there were over a hundred collections or anthologies of novels, and some of these, such as Harrison's Novelist's Library (1782-), were highly significant, though unlike later collections they were not always rational- ized through prefaces.31 Harrison, for example, published both English and foreign novels (in translation), a mode that gave way to solely English col- lections. Also, although Brown is aware of what has been called "The Scottish Invention of English Literature," neither Blair nor James Beat- tie figures in his institutions of the novel, nor for that matter does Clara Reeve, who wrote one of the few long treatises on the novel in the eight- eenth century.32 Blair, forexample, in opposition to theFrenchachievement in the novel, asserts that "we are notwithout someperformances which dis- cover the strength of the British genius. No fiction in any language was ever better supported than the Adventures ofRobinson Crusoe"^ Here in 1 762 is a superlative evaluation of Defoe in the context of nationhood of precisely the sort that interests Brown (and anumberofother current schol- ars) in the nineteenth century. The canon of the novel evolved throughout the century, though the early nineteenth-century views stuck more firmly. Brown's notion ofbastardy in Tom Jones is worth investigation. There is something sinister about the bastard (who inherits only a "bend sinister"). Ofcourse, the notion of the bastard as ill-begotten and therefore unnatural, was established long before the eighteenth century. It is most familiar in its Shakespearean form, particularly in Edmund, Gloucester's sadistic son; in the scene when Blifil plays his trump card, representing Tom as wenching and fighting while Allworthy appears to be on his deathbed, perhaps there 31John A, Clapp, "An Eighteenth-Century Attempt at a Critical View of the Novel; The Bibliothèque Universelle des Romans" PMLA 25 (1910), 60-96. 32The Scottish Invention of English Literature, ed. Robert Crawford (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni- versity Press, 1 998). Brown mentions Crawford's Devolving English Literature (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1 992) in anote. Other significant books here are Franklin E. Court, Institutionalizing English Literature: The Culture and Politics ofLiterary Study. 1750-1900 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1992) and Joseph F. Bartolomeo, A New Species ofCriticism: Eighteenth-Century Discourse on the Novel (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 1994). 33Hugh Blair, "Lecture XXXVII" ("Fictitious History"), Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Letttes (1783), originally published in Lectures on Rhetoric and Poetry (1762). I quote the sixth American edition (Morristown, NJ: Peter A. Johnson, 1814), p. 420. THE NEW MODEL 473 is a remembrance of such a figure. In King Lear the father is made to disown his true son at the bidding ofthe deceitful bastard. But here it is the nephew lawfully andnaturallybegotten (thoughconceivedoutofwedlock) who fools his uncle concerning the bastard. Allworthy is even duped into calling Tom a "monster." Brown quotes Blackstone's definitions of"bastard," drawn from the law, as "filius nullius" (son of no one) and "filius populi" (son of the people), and notes that they support "the common notion of Tom as novelized Everyman." At the same time he is aware that the presentation of the bastard as "at once the son ofno one and the son ofeveryone" is aparadox that "also makes him an appropriate emblem for Fielding's text." One could also extend Gallagher's idea: Tom is "nobody's son" and therefore Nobody himself, though he turns out to be Somebody. (Since Brown's original essay appeared a good deal earlier than Gallagher's work, one could even argue that the son of nobody as the subject of novel theory precedednobody's story—a suitably topsy-turvey genealogy forhistorians of the novel generally and Brown in particular.) The bastard's status had changed, however, and that change came about with the breakdown of the vast system of correspondences that were operative in Shakespeare's day and earlier, which would have insisted upon the unnaturalness of the bastard. Edmund's bravado in KingLear is meant tobe seen ironically (and even he savours some of the ironies), but the bravado of Richard Savage in "The Bastard" (1728) gives way to a recognition of the pathos of his situation that is meant to be taken sympathetically, a strong shift. While Tom Jones is a bastard, as all of the unsympathetic characters in the book are quick to remind him (and their propensity to do so is one measure of their unsympathetic natures), the title reminds us that the book is the history of a foundling. The difference between Tom as foundling and Tom as bastard provides much ofthe dynamics. Johnson's Dictionary, which was being composed during the years Fielding was writing Tom Jones, defines "foundling" as "a child exposed to chance; a child found without any parent or owner." The point of the interplay between Tom as bastard and as foundling seems to be that Tom is the rightful heir because he has earned his knowledge through experience and has experienced the social extremes of high and low. If he was brought up in the family of gentry, it was always with an awareness, hidden by the kind Allworthy but pushed at him by Blifil and his tutors, that he was not of the family. And as a bastard his position is anomalous. He is not, as in the case of Humphry Clinker, even the son of the man who would treat him as his heir. In so far as we have a social symbol, it seems to complicate McKeon's idea of Fielding's "conservative" ideology, for it does not simply favour the status 474 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION quo. The political implications are that the tme heirs to the throne, the Stuarts, are not worthy of reigning. These at least seem to be Fielding's revolutionary principles. Brown's American Romance argument is uncontroversial compared with Nancy Armstrong and Leonard Tennenhouse's argument about the American source of the English novel in The Imaginary Puritan: Literat- ure, Intellectual Labor, and the Origins ofPersonalLife (1992),34 perhaps the most provocative among intelligent reconfigurings of the origins of the novel and the one most likely to have led to scepticism at ASECS. Their essay "The American Origins of the Eighteenth-Century Novel," now chapter 8 in the book ("Why Categories Thrive"), is a version ofwhat that ASECS audience heard.35 Briefly put, it sets up Pamela, given prior- ity in Armstrong'sDesire andDomesticFiction (which, like this one, stalks the modern subject), as "the first domestic novel," and then discovers an unobservedur-Pamela in autobiography, more specifically in captivity nar- rative. Like Armstrong's last book, this is concerned to givebetter answers to questions originally put forth by Ian Watt: "Why [should] an assault on the body of a common Englishwoman ... carry such a political and emo- tional charge"; why should Richardson make his "entry into the history of literature by a work which gave a more detailed account of a single in- trigue than had ever been produced before?" (pp. 201, 262). The first is their recasting ofWatt; the second is a direct quotation. The answer to the former question is that the genre of the captivity narrative, identified most strongly with that ofMary Rowlandson (1682, first in America, then Eng- land), combined "a modem authorial consciousness with early modem Protestant hagiography" to produce such a female subject in Richard- son's first novel. The link is accomplished through a sleight of hand that has something in common with a magician's forcing technique: the earli- est (male) captivity narratives of the sixteenth century "never became an important genre in and of themselves," the ones that count are those with "the possibility ofgoing native." "Mary Rowlandson anticipated Cm- soe in representing the English in the New World as an abducted body"; "the bodies so endangeredwere usually—thoughnot always—female bod- ies"; "the exemplary captive existed for the early eighteenth-century reader as a kind of epistolary heroine, whose ability to read and write ... distin- guished her from her Indian captors." "The reader of captivity narratives 34Nancy Armstrong and Leonard Tennenhouse, The Imaginary Puritan: Literature, Intellectual Labor, and the Origins ofPersonal Life (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University ofCalifornia Press, 1992). 35Nancy Armstrong and Leonard Tennenhouse, "The American Origins of the English Novel," American Literary History 4 (1992), 386-410. THE NEW MODEL 475 was always aware of the story that would have to be told were the cap- tive to lose her English character, just as later readers were aware of the pornographic narrative that would at once develop were Pamela to let her guard down and fall prey to Mr. B.'s seduction" (pp. 203-4). The move from assertions of identity to the tortured analogy suggests what is hid- den. Mary Rowlandson at the end ofhernarrative makes clear the distance between Pamela's plight and hers: "not one of [the Indians] ever offered the least abuse of unchastity to me, in word or action."36 Richardson's subject is the very reverse of this situation. The Armstrong and Tennen- house account ofcaptivity narratives is compelling in its own right and the claim to generic influence, while certainly less palpable than that put for- ward by Warner, should not be dismissed. The general role of spiritual autobiography as a context for Richardson's novel has long been recog- nized. I would also place both Rowlandson and Pamela in the category of complaint, which has epistolary roots as far back as Ovid's Heroides. Warner, the last of the ASECS triumvirate, is well aware of the work of Gallagher and Brown. He wittily and accurately shifts registers on Watt in the subtitle ofhisLicensingEntertainment: TheElevationofNovelReading in Britain, 1684-1750 (1998).37 Instead of a metaphoric rise, he demon- strates the strategic raising of the tone of the novel in response to its low estate and the attacks upon it, by Defoe, Fielding, and Richardson— the Watt canon. He precedes this, however, by redefining and revaluing the amorous novels of Behn, Manley, and Haywood. In doing so, he par- ticipates in one of the most noticeable developments of recent years, the assertion of value in and celebration of women's fictions, though at the same time he moves away from "heroic" authorship (p. xiii). He also per- forms a needed reconciliation of separate male and female canons. The males following in their wake (especially Defoe and Richardson) do not ignore or reject them, as most tend to think, but rewrite of overwrite them. The strongestcasehe puts forward is Richardson'sPamela, buthis account ofDefoe's Roxana helps to clinch the general position. Warner's ownbook may be taken as a rewriting of Ian Watt, a fact of which he is cogniz- ant, and he has assimilated the work of Hunter, Gallagher, and Brown, as well as others whose books appeared earlier. His theses include the ne- cessity ofperceiving the novel as "a subset of the cultural history of print entertainments" (p. xi). 36Mary Rowlandson, A True History of the Captivity & Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson (London, 1682), p. 32. 37William Beatty Warner, Licensing Entertainment: The Elevation of Novel Reading in Britain, 1684-1750 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1998). 476 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION This is a very cleverbook—too clever by half, the English might say— and comes equipped with a warning that "The full alternative story of the novel offered in Licensing Entertainment can only be grasped if this study is read in its entirety" (p. xv). I have so read it, and will also attest that it is full of shrewd perceptions that may or may not relate directly to the thesis, and that his playfully conveyed themes, such as the "Englishing of the novel," are well worth the attention he requires. I will also attest to his love ofanachronistic (or perhaps teleological) terminology: the "Pamela Media Event," the "mediavirus" ofnovel-reading, thefourcanonizedmale authors as the '"dream team' ofeighteenth-century fiction,"Roxana is like a "print- media junkie." The book is full of "feed-back loops," "ad campaigns," "coming attractions," and "twentieth-century public relations." His aim is to make us see the books about which he speaks as at the origins of modern technology and marketing. In Richetti's phrase, these novels are "entertainment machines." Warner no longer believes that the "cultural elevation of selected novels" led to their cultural "hegemony" (p. 29On), but the nature of the mid-century consolidation is worthy of a quick look. McKeon has claimed that the novel as we now know it derives from the contestation of progressive and conservative ideologies.38 To oversim- plify, Richardson and Fielding—in the two competing tellings of Pamela (counting the double-barrelled response of Shamela and Joseph Andrews as one) and then a similar contestation between Clarissa and Tom Jones— initiated the novel as we know it. To take the last two, for example, we can transpose (to use the chess term) Tom Jones into Clarissa by put- ting Sophia at the centre of the novel instead of Tom: A young girl in her late teens finds that her wealthy father, whose favourite she has been, de- sires her marriage to a neighbour as a means ofcombining their contiguous estates and bringing more wealth into the family. She finds the chosen man repulsive morally and sexually, and, having been confined by her adam- ant father, escapes from his house in order to meet the man in whom she is strongly interested, despite his reputation as a rake. I would argue, taking McKeon's position a step farther, that the English novel achievedaformal resolution notwhenSwift andDefoe orRichardson and Fielding contested the ideology of the story the novel was telling, but when Eliza Haywood capitulated to the Richardson-Fielding definition of a novel in 1751 with Betsy Thoughtless (something Warner should notice). This was the abandonment of feminine fiction, "seductive forms" in Ros Ballaster's formulation, thatmaintained its vitality fornearly three-quarters 38 Michael McKeon, The Origins of the English Novel, 1600-1740 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987). THE NEW MODEL 477 of a century. Shortly before Betsy Thoughtless, John Cleland's Memoirs ofa Lady ofPleasure (1749) was threatened with severe punishment, and English pornography never quite repeated his example in the eighteenth century. Pornography is a significant part of this story, for if Peter Brooks is right in Body Works: Objects ofDesire in ModernNarrative (1993), that the body is the synecdoche for privacy, which is central to the novel, I would add that the private parts are the synecdoche of the body.39 Some of Warner's claims about the later eighteenth century also need qualification. In noting thatHoraceWalpole says that The CastleofOtranto can only be taken by the modem audience as "entertainment," he misses a complication. WhatWalpole claims in his preface is that the modem read- ingaudiencemust take as entertainmentwhat theputativeoriginal audience took seriously, and this rift between an audience responding to the work in the "medieval" period and a contemporary audience which is encour- aged to respond in a totally different and amused way demonstrates that "camp" has been a part of the Gothic novel from its inception. They may not have had the term in the eighteenth and early ninteenth century, but they displayed an awareness of the effects. As John Dunlop observes in The History ofFiction, "It has been much doubted, whether the Castle of Otranto was seriously or comically intended."40 Warner's scholarship is generally very good, though unfortunately he seems unaware of that im- portant early book for his subject, John Tinnon Taylor's Early Opposition to the English Novel:1760-1830,^ especially since he appropriately pays a great deal of attention to this opposition. He may have ignored it be- cause he stops, like Watt and McKeon, at mid-century. These are minor matters, however. This is a corrective to Watt of the first importance. In conclusion, I return to Siskin's original, contrarian The Work ofWrit- ing, which focuses in only a few of its chapters on what he calls "novelism ... the now habitual subordination of writing to the novel" (p. 173). He points to the paradox that the rise in the number of novels published per year does not occur until the last decades of the eighteenth century, the years when the novel is frequently written off as a form. While my de- cision not to pursue subgenres keeps me from talking about models of the 39Peter Brooks, Body Works: Objects of Desire in Modern Narrative (Cambridge: Harvard Uni- versity Press, 1993). Brooks is intelligently working the veins of Ian Watt's model—privacy and individualism—in acontemporary idiom,but he focuses largelyon post-eighteenth-centurywriting. 40John Dunlop, The History ofFiction (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme and Brown, 1814), 3:382. 41John Tinnon Taylor, Early Opposition to the English Novel: 1760-1830 (New York: King's Crown Press, 1943). 478 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION novel of sensibility and the Gothic, the number of books devoted to the novelists of the late eighteenth century in recent years has burgeoned.42 Like Brown and Warner, Siskin is wary of genre and thinks of "novel- ism" rather as a "discursive space," though he recognizes that novelism is not the novel. His five bulleted arguments would be worth comparing with Hunter's list to see how far such thinking moves us from a more tra- ditional account of the novel. To some extent this is the view from the nineteenth century, not that of Scott and Barbauld, as with Brown, but that of a scholar ofRomanticism. I think it also important to notice, given popular misconceptions and some rearguard actions in the academy, that in general the best books are well written, theoretically aware, and often focused on the political implications of the novel. By and large these newer books do not con- cern themselves with "quality" except as market concept or strategy, and a number of the writers would be content to call themselves, like Deidre Lynch, cultural historians. Her coeditor of Cultural Institutions of the Novel, Warner, calls his preface to Licensing Entertainment "From a Lit- erary to a Cultural History of the Early Novel." One may suspect that the love that dare not speak its name in recent times is the love of literat- ure. Richetti has a very funny and sly account of his own accommodation of his earlier work to our current moment in his new introduction (1992) to his Popular Fiction before Richardson: Narrative Patterns 1700-1739 (1969).43 A goodly numberof us today are finding ourselves the Messieurs and Mesdames Jourdain ofCultural Studies. University ofCalifornia, Irvine 42To take sensibility alone, recent books include Ann Jessie Van Sant, Eighteenth-Century Sensibility and the Novel: The Senses in Social Context (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993); Bar- baraM. Benedict, Framing Feeling: Sentiment andStyle in English Prose Fiction, 1745-1800 (New York: AMS Press, 1994); Claudia Johnson, Equivocal Beings: Politics, Gender, and Sentimental- ity in the 1790s: Wollstonecraft, Radcliffe, Burney, Austen (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995); and Markman Ellis, The Politics ofSensibility: Race, Gender, and Commerce in the Senti- mentalNovel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). NicolaWatson's Revolution and the Form oftheBritishNovel, 1 790-1825: InterceptedLetters, InterruptedSeductions (Oxford: Claren- don Press, 1994) looks towards the nineteenth century. Gay Studies pays closer attention to fiction aftermid-century. Characteristic is George E. Haggerty's intention to show "the ways in which these novels resist heteronormative values in general and articulate various forms of female-female de- sire." Unnatural Affections: Women and Fiction in the Later Eighteenth Century (Bloomington and Indianapolis: University of Indiana Press, 1998), p. 2. His Men in Love: Masculinity and Sexu- ality in the Eighteenth Century (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999) devotes chapters to Walpole and Beckford. See also Lisa Moore, Dangerous Intimacies: Toward a Sapphic His- tory of the British Novel (Durham and London: Duke University Press, 1997). Millenium Hall is the text common to both books on the novel, and Austen also appears in both. 43"Introduction: Twenty Years On," Popular Fiction before Richardson: Narrative Patterns 1700- 1739 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), pp. xi-xxix. Richetti's book. The English Novel in History 1700-1780 (London: Routledge, 1999), focuses on social change and social representation. 
work_cx6jq2aivbhjhlhlowlxkepyzu	----	What is data in the Humanities? Creation, discovery, and analysis Daniel Paul O’Donnell University of Lethbridge DOI: 10.5281/zenodo.1443310 Traditionally, humanists resist speaking of data ● “Primary sources” = Texts, artifacts, objects of study ● “Secondary sources” = Works of other scholars ● “Readings” (1) = Passages, extracts, quotations for interpretation or support ● “Readings” (2) = Interpretation, the end product of research (literary study) Traditionally, humanists resist speaking of data ● Our definitions are highly contingent ○ “Primary source” in one context, can be the “secondary source” in another (and vice versa) ○ Or simultaneously “Primary” and “Secondary” (e.g. a critical edition) ● Also hard to constrain “a historical text, simultaneously primary and secondary. As Christine Borgman notes, “[a]lmost any document, physical artifact, or record or human activity can be used to study culture” and arguments proposing previously unrecognised sources (“high school yearbooks, cookbooks, or wear patterns in the floors of public places”) are valued acts of scholarship” (Borgman 2007) How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? The finches? How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? The notes about the finches? How does data work in other fields? ● In fact, in the sciences, it is the notes. ● “Data” = “represent[ation of] information in a formalized manner suitable for communication, interpretation, or processing” (NASA 2012); “the facts, numbers, letters, and symbols that describe an object, idea, condition, situation, or other factors” (NRC 1999) The notes about the finches. In Humanities, “Data” is arguably mostly “Finch” ● In other humanities, “data” is both “data” and “capta” (given and taken), but more often “data” ● No protocols for preserving our notes (and in most cases nobody would be interested in them) ● Often unique and usually provisional, depend on broader understandings of purpose, context, and form that are themselves open to analysis and modification Mostly individual finches, maybe something about Darwin, maybe something from our notes In Humanities, “Data” is arguably mostly “Finch” ● Interesting proof: Humanities “data,” unlike science “data” is almost all practically and theoretically non-rivalrous. ● Humanities researchers rarely have an incentive (or capability) to prevent others from accessing their raw material. ● 200 years of Jane Austen studies based on five main pieces of data. Mostly individual finches, maybe something about Darwin, maybe something from our notes DH has the potential to bring new approach to data ● We can now have “capta” (intermediate “observations” extracted algorithmically from large data sets that are then require interpretation) ● We can now work across complete historical or geographic corpora: all known nineteenth-century English periodicals; every surviving tract from the U.S. Civil War ● Introduces the possibility of deductive work ● Makes questions such as sample bias more important than when you worked inductively from the collections you could access Does this invalidate previous work? ● New forms of data introduce new types of techniques and questions: ○ Falsification as standard of proof? ○ Questions of sampling practice and bias ○ Lab books? ○ Requirement to share data protocols? ○ Requirement to share raw data? ○ Hypotheses rather than theses? ○ Report null results? Does this invalidate previous work? Ian Watts, The Rise of the Novel (1957) ● Five novels by three novelists (Defoe, Richardson, Fielding) ● All male, all white, all eighteenth century, all English Matt Jockers (2013) What are we to do with the other three to five thousand works of fiction published in the eighteenth century? [...]Watt had no yardstick against which to make such a measurement. He had only a few hundred texts that he had read. Today things are different. The larger literary record can no longer be ignored: it is here, and much of it is now accessible. In fact, it means enrichment ● “Capta” and “Data” are different approaches that answer different questions ● But working with Capta will require us to be more careful about our Data ○ Watts’s title Rise of the Novel makes a historical claim his actual work doesn’t support: really about how Fielding, Defoe, and Richardson fit into genre ○ Access to 5k novels doesn’t invalidate his arguments; but it does call attention to overreach ○ Can’t imagine that he’d not want access to an even broader collection of work; but I’m not sure his argument would have to be much different. We now have a greater scope for work Thank you 
work_d27bkpt3ujaybls3g77qi3a6wa	----	56 4 January 1969 Correspondence MEDICAL JOURNAL Dr. Percival explained more fully what he meant by the third reason by stating that children were often asked to write essays on subjects that are not suitable for young people to write about; he therefore made the suggestion that they should be encouraged to write on more attractive subjects. He con- tinued, " The writing of tales and fables with moral reflections might perhaps be a more useful and entertaining exercise as it would afford a greater latitude for invention, would better display the powers of imagination and would produce the happy talent of relating familiar and trivial occurrences with ease and elegance." Jane Austen was given this book by her brother Edward probably when she was between 8 and 10 years of age; that it made a deep impression on her mind was shown by the fact that the name Percival at once brought back to her memory the name of the author whose work she had read more than 20 years previously. We know that she began to write short tales at a very early age, certainly from the age of 12 or 13 years, and it is possible that the words we have quoted above may have had some influence in stimulating her to begin writing. We can trace her progress in her published juvenifia. Moreover, though Jane Austen's novels are read for their intrinsic interest and masterly portrayal of character, yet behind the story there always lies an unobtrusive lesson that is concealed by her art. Dr. Percival's suggestion was realized on a larger scale.-I am, etc., ZACHARY COPE. REFERENCE 7ane Austen's Letters, 1955, p. 218, ed. R. W. Chapman. Oxford University Press, London. Bladder Distension Causing Oedema of Legs SIR,-I read with interest the case reported by Mr. Haziq-ul-Yaquin (9 November, p. 369), and thought it would be of interest to report a similar case which came to our attention. A 75-year-old male, a retired rigger with chronic bronchitis of five years' duration, was admitted on 12 October because of gross swell- ing of both of his lower limbs from the groin down. His cough and breathlessness were worse than usual as it was winter time. There was no disturbance of micturition whatsoever, neither was there pain in the abdomen. Physical exam- ination showed massive pitting oedema of both lower limbs and genitalia in rather a confused man who was looking very ill. Examination of the chest showed widespread rhoncti and nothing more. A few dilated veins were visible on the lower abdominal wall, in which the blood flow was from below upwards. As he was an obese man palpation of any organ per abdomen was difficult. A diagnosis of cor pulmonale was thought of as the cause of the oedema, even in the absence of raised jugular venous pressure and right ventricular hypertrophy in the electro- cardiogram. So he was treated with digitalis and diuretics, including antibiotics for his bron- chitis. He developed pulsus bigeminus due to digitalis toxicity, so it had to be stopped. Since he remained grossly oedematous, large doses of several diuretics like frusemide, edecrin, and spironolactone were tried in vain. During the course of the treatment he became anuric with a blood urea of 85 mg./100 ml. Rectal examina- tion showed a large prostate. Retention of urine due to prostatic obstruction was diagnosed, and a Foley's catheter was introduced with great difficulty as the prepuce also was oedematous. Four lires of urine was drained and a con- tinuous drainage was kept. The oedema slowly disappeared in a week's time. The blood urea came down to 46 mg./100 ml. Later a trans- urethral prostatectomy was performed and he was found to have benign prostatic hypertrophy. This case illustrates that bladder distension can cause massive oedema of lower limbs by pressing on the inferior vena cava or pelvic veins. Lack of response to diuretic therapy and complete disappearance of oedema after continuous bladder drainage proves that the bladder distension was the cause of the oedema. It also illustrates that the diagnosis may be masked by the presence of other diseases such as bronchitis which could be the cause of oedema as a part of the picture of cor pulmonale.-I am, etc.* B. BALAKRISHNA. Grove Park Hospital, London S.E. 12. Solvents for Ear Wax SIR,-Your correspondent Mr. R. P. Grimshaw (14 December, p. 704) implies that we claim that our cerumenolytic, Waxsol Ear Drops, is effective when used immediately before the ears are syringed. We make no such claim. The directions for use given in all our literature is that the patient should be in- structed to use Waxsol on two consecutive nights before attending for syringing, although in less severe cases the interval be- tween Waxsol and syringing can be substan- tiafly reduced. Reports from general practi- tioners suggest that in an average case six hours is the optimum interval between instil- ling Waxsol and syringing the ear.-I am, etc., HAROLD GODFREY, Marketing Manager, Norgine Limited. London W.C.1. Adversity SIR,-I read your leading article (14 December, p. 659) with much sympathy. However, there is another aspect to this matter which you do not mention, and that is to query why not all doctors make pro- vision for themselves and their dependents. Is it because of ignorance, of the belief " it cannot happen to me," or to the impression that they cannot afford it ? This last possi- bility is hardly realistic, as it is surprising how reasonably it is possible to insure for sickness of oneself and benefit for one's family in the event of one's own early death. May I be allowed to commend to your readers not alone the medical charities them- selves, but also the strong need for those who have not yet done so to make proper insur- ance provision. One would like to hope that in this way the medical charities would be able to provide a little more jam with the bread and butter to those families which are already afflicted with sufficient adversity without the additional strain of financial worries.-I am, etc., London W.5. GEORGE MOSES. Medical Immigration SIR,-A great deal of misunderstanding surrounds the question of medical immigra- tion, especially the immigration of doctors from underdeveloped countries. I would like to consider the relatively few immigrant doctors who by virtue of many years of hard work make good in another country. They are often asked why they do not return to their own land, which needs them more than the developed nations they serve. The answer to this question lies not with the doctor but with his original country. I am referring particularly to the two countries that contri- bute the largest numbers of immigrant doctors. An objective measure of how " anxious" these countries are to retrieve some of their best men, is the virtual absence of advertise- merits for appointments in the columns of the B.M.7. and Lancet-journals that are read by Asian doctors the world over. It is understandable that these countries cannot give every doctor a senior appointment, but surely a place should be found for the type of person who in the face of severe but very fair competition can become a professor or consultant in a western country. I know of at least three Asian professors of sprgery or medicine in the United States who were quite unable to find a reasonable appointment in their own country. A fourth, who is now in Singapore and possesses an M.D., Ph.D., and D.T.M. & H., was asked to reapply in four years when they " may " have a vacancy. Other difficulties include being married to a "foreign national," which is frowned on and makes finding an appointment very diffi- cult in one underdeveloped country. In another, one may be " vetted for communism," which has, on occasions, taken up to two years, during which time the applicant may be out of work. Most senior appointments are on a temporary basis for a number of years, so that, if you are not adequately servile and do not "fit in," you can be removed overnight. How secure you are depends on how influential your family or you yourself happen to be. Making " useful contacts " for the sake of security can occupy so much of a professional man's time that he has little left for work. The need for these techniques tends to favour the ambitious schemer. Unless these countries wake up to the fact that the best brains they produce are valuable and should be given every oppor- tunity to serve that the country can afford, they will continue to lose such people in numbers they can ill afford. In times when coloured immigrants, what- ever their profession, are rarely credited with doing anything useful? it is only fair to point out that many Asian doctors have not only made some contribution to the N.H.S., but also man health services in many countries worse off than their own.-I am, etc., Edinburgh. A. J. AKHTAR. o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.1 .5 6 3 5 .5 6 o n 4 Ja n u a ry 1 9 6 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
work_d2qpusq62jhqloh53einxeqkbe	----	In the Pursuit of Science 158 Personal Relationships, 17 (2010), 158–160. Printed in the United States of America. Copyright © 2010 IARR A TRIBUTE TO CARYL RUSBULT: DISTINGUISHED SCHOLAR In the Pursuit of Science Everybody reading these remembrances knows that Caryl was among the most es- teemed, most decorated, most infl uential scholars of close relationships our fi eld has known. Fewer people know that she appre- ciated philosophy of science and loved the humanities, and even fewer are aware of the myriad ways that this appreciation and love infl uenced her scholarship. This remembrance employs some of Caryl’s favorite quotations to discuss her approach to relationships sci- ence, an approach I imprinted on as a young scholar. “Whoever, in the pursuit of science, seeks after immediate practical utility, may generally rest assured that he will seek in vain. All that science can achieve is a perfect knowledge and a perfect understanding of the action of natural and moral forces.” —Hermann von Helmholtz Caryl studied topics of immense practical im- portance, and she never shied away from em- phasizing the applied value of her work. But she was, fi rst and foremost, a basic, theoreti- cally oriented scientist. She doggedly pursued truth not because of its “immediate practical utility,” but because of the inherent power, the visceral euphoria, of generating new knowl- edge. She conducted groundbreaking work on topics like relationship dissolution and do- mestic violence, and she was pleased on those frequent occasions when this work informed thinking beyond the ivory tower. However, for Caryl, discovering truth was the ultimate prize in itself. Those of us who trained under Caryl as graduate students internalized this zest for basic science. “The test of a man or woman’s breeding is how they behave in a quarrel.” —George Bernard Shaw Caryl’s groundbreaking work on close relationships started in 1980 with her articles introducing her investment model of com- mitment processes (e.g., Rusbult, 1980). Al- though few young scholars have launched their careers with such sparkling contributions, they were just the beginning; these initial fi reworks exploded into a 4th of July extravaganza as the decade progressed. In addition to fl eshing out the investment model (e.g., Rusbult, 1983), she developed her exit–voice–loyalty–neglect typology of responses to relationship dissatis- faction (Rusbult, Zembrodt, & Gunn, 1982), and she began her groundbreaking work on relationship maintenance mechanisms by demonstrating that highly committed individ- uals engage in motivated derogation of roman- tic alternatives (Johnson & Rusbult, 1989). This work set the stage for the 1990s, when Caryl published several of her most innovative and infl uential contributions to relationship science. She launched that decade by examin- ing how people “behave in a quarrel,” demon- strating the power of commitment to promote accommodating responses to potentially de- structive partner behavior (Rusbult, Verette, Whitney, Slovik, & Lipkus, 1991). I cut my teeth exploring related issues, investigating confl ict behavior in my masters and doctoral projects (Finkel & Campbell, 2001; Finkel, In the pursuit of science 159 Rusbult, Kumashiro, & Hannon, 2002), both of which benefi ted immeasurably from Caryl’s tutelage. In addition to this research on con- fl ict behavior, Caryl conducted related work in the 1990s demonstrating that strongly com- mitted people (a) are particularly willing to make personal sacrifi ces for the betterment of their relationship (Van Lange et al., 1997), (b) are particularly motivated to perceive their relationship as better than everybody else’s ( Rusbult, Van Lange, Wildschut, Yovetich, & Verette, 2000; Van Lange & Rusbult, 1995), and (c) are particularly likely to develop cogni- tive representations of their self as essentially embedded in (rather than independent from) their relationship (Agnew, Van Lange, Rusbult, & Langston, 1998). “I’m beginning to think that maybe it’s not just how much you love someone. Maybe what matters is who you are when you’re with them.” —Anne Tyler As the 1990s drew to a close, Caryl published two of her most important articles. In one, she presented a broad, sophisticated framework establishing the interpersonal processes un- derlying the mutual infl uence of commitment and trust (Wieselquist, Rusbult, Foster, & Ag- new, 1999). In the other, she ingeniously bor- rowed Michelangelo Buonarroti’s description of the sculpting process to achieve deep insight into human relationships (Drigotas, Rusbult, Wieselquist, & Whitton, 1999). Recognizing that individuals almost always have discrepan- cies between their actual self (the person they currently are) and their ideal self (the person they aspire to become), Caryl demonstrated that close relationship partners can help indi- viduals bridge that gap, promoting individu- als’ growth over time toward their ideal self. This work on the Michelangelo phenomenon has inspired me not only to work with Caryl to elaborate the model (e.g., Rusbult, Finkel, & Kumashiro, 2009; Rusbult, Kumashiro, Kubacka, & Finkel, 2009) but also to investi- gate diverse additional ways that interpersonal processes infl uence individuals’ goals pursuit (e.g., Finkel et al., 2006; Fitzsimons & Finkel, in press). “Perhaps I did not always love him so well as I do now. But in such cases as these a good memory is unpardonable.” —Jane Austen In the 2000s, Caryl’s third and fi nal decade as a relationships scholar, she continued to venture into new territory. Among other contributions, she put a relational twist on classic research domains in social cognition and cognitive psy- chology. For example, she established the role that involvement in well- adjusted relationships has on individuals’ attitudes ( Davis & Rusbult, 2001), and she demonstrated that individuals’ memories for relationship- relevant events are biased in prorelationship ways to the extent that the individuals trust their partner (Wi- eselquist et al., 2010). This benevolent memory research has inspired me to explore how di- verse relationship characteristics can bias not only memories of the past but also affective forecasts for the future (e.g., Eastwick, Finkel, Krishnamurti, & Loewenstein, 2008). “Only connect.” —E. M. Forster Caryl built a career’s worth of beautiful schol- arship around the idea that close relationships “are both the foundation and the theme of the human condition” (Berscheid, 1999, p. 261). Caryl was, for three decades, a leading inter- dependence theory scholar because she rec- ognized, as much as anybody, how essential relational processes are to the human experi- ence. She lamented what she perceived as the overemphasis on individual differences in re- lationships research (including the enormous emphasis on attachment styles), stressing in- stead the primary importance of understand- ing situation structure and dyadic processes ( Rusbult & Van Lange, 2008). Caryl has served as a role model to me in almost all ways since I started graduate school in 1997 as her pupil at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (affection- ately known as Carolina). I have sought to emulate her emphasis on basic, theoretically driven science; her investigation of interesting research topics; and her deep appreciation for the importance of close relationships. More 160 E. J. Finkel recently, I have also sought to emulate her per- sonal grace. If I ever face hardship anything like Caryl did with her cancer in the fi nal 2–3 years— especially in the fi nal 2–3 months—of her short life, I hope I face it with half as much dignity as she did. In her waning months, Caryl thought about her forthcoming memorial services. Toward her goal of making them fun, happy events, she selected the music she wanted played. I listen to that playlist all the time these days. I reminisce nostalgically about the years Caryl and I spent together when I was in graduate school, and I fi nd myself humming a line from one of the songs: “You must forgive me/If I’m up and gone to Carolina in my mind” (James Taylor). This one, too: “And I love her” (John Lennon and Paul McCartney). ELI J. FINKEL Northwestern University References Agnew, C. R., Van Lange, P. A. M., Rusbult, C. E., & Langston, C. A. (1998). Cognitive interdependence: Commitment and the mental representation of close relationships. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 74, 939–954. Berscheid, E. (1999). The greening of relationship sci- ence. American Psychologist, 54, 260–266. Davis, J. L., & Rusbult, C. E. (2001). Attitude alignment in close relationships. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 81, 65–84. Drigotas, S. M., Rusbult, C. E., Wieselquist, J., & Whitton, S. (1999). Close partner as sculptor of the ideal self: Behavioral affi rmation and the Michelangelo phenom- enon. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 77, 293–323. Eastwick, P. W., Finkel, E. J., Krishnamurti, T., & Loew- enstein, G. (2008). Mispredicting distress following romantic breakup: Revealing the time course of the affective forecasting error. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 44, 800-807. Finkel, E. J., & Campbell, W. K. (2001). Self-control and accommodation in close relationships: An interde- pendence analysis. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 81, 263–277. Finkel, E. J., Campbell, W. K., Brunell, A. B., Dalton, A. N., Scarbeck, S. J., & Chartrand, T. L. (2006). High-maintenance interaction: Ineffi cient social coordination impairs self-regulation. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 91, 456–475. Finkel, E. J., Rusbult, C. E., Kumashiro, M., & Hannon, P. A. (2002). Dealing with betrayal in close rela- tionships: Does commitment promote forgiveness? Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 82, 956–974. Fitzsimons, G. M., & Finkel, E. J. (in press). Interpersonal infl uences on self-regulation. Current Directions in Psychological Science. Johnson, D. J., & Rusbult, C. E. (1989). Resisting temp- tation: Devaluation of alternative partners as a means of maintaining commitment in close relationships. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 57, 967–980. Rusbult, C. E. (1980). Commitment and satisfaction in romantic associations: A test of the investment model. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 16, 172–186. Rusbult, C. E. (1983). A longitudinal test of the invest- ment model: The development (and deterioration) of satisfaction and commitment in heterosexual involve- ments. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 45, 101–117. Rusbult, C. E., Finkel, E. J., & Kumashiro, M. (2009). The Michelangelo phenomenon. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 18, 305–309. Rusbult, C. E., Kumashiro, M., Kubacka, K. E., & Finkel, E. J. (2009). “The part of me that you bring out”: Ideal similarity and the Michelangelo phenomenon. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 96, 61–82. Rusbult, C. E., & Van Lange, P. A. M. (2008). Why we need interdependence theory. Social and Personality Psychology Compass, 2(5), 2049–2070. Rusbult, C. E., Van Lange, P. A. M., Wildschut, T., Yovetich, N. A., & Verette, J. (2000). Perceived su- periority in close relationships: Why it exists and per- sists. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 79, 521–545. Rusbult, C. E., Verette, J., Whitney, G. A., Slovik, L. F., & Lipkus, I. (1991). Accommodation processes in close relationships: Theory and preliminary empirical evi- dence. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 60, 53–78. Rusbult, C. E., Zembrodt, I. M., & Gunn, L. K. (1982). Exit, voice, loyalty, and neglect: Responses to dissatis- faction in romantic involvements. Journal of Personal- ity and Social Psychology, 43, 1230–1242. Van Lange, P. A. M., & Rusbult, C. E. (1995). My relation- ship is better than—and not as bad as—yours is: The perception of superiority in close relationships. Per- sonality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 21, 32–44. Van Lange, P. A. M., Rusbult, C. E., Drigotas, S. M., Arriaga, X. B., Witcher, B. S., & Cox, C. L. (1997). Willingness to sacrifi ce in close relationships. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 72, 1373–1395. Wieselquist, J., Rusbult, C. E., Finkel, E. J., Kumashiro, M., Eastwick, P. W., Luchies, L. B., & Coolsen, M. K. (2010). Trust and benevolent memory. Manuscript under review. Wieselquist, J., Rusbult, C. E., Foster, C. A., & Agnew, C. R. (1999). Commitment, pro-relationship behavior, and trust in close relationships. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 77, 942–966. 
work_d3366biyuzdwzbxbkajhryexrm	----	A study of this kind, which reads a large selection of disparate works through one concept, runs the risk of streamlining the subject matter, especially when its presenta- tion is so stringent, logical, and (almost) mechanical. Smid is aware of the potential problem and the book’s relaxed philosophizing conclusion does much to eliminate such worries, though some may find it too radical in its suggestions about the imagina- tive freedom with which we might approach future historicist literary research. A more serious problem is that this book leaves the reader wanting more—which is meant both as a compliment and as a criticism. One hundred and ninety-two pages is not sufficient to address the medieval forebears of early modern imagination theory, the deeper impli- cations of the statement that “language is constituted by the imagination” (166), the role the imagination plays in esoteric world views (alchemy, cosmology), and the full impact of visual-verbal forms on the imagination, an issue too briefly outlined in chap- ter 5, on emblems. More could be said about imagination, imagery, and image. It is to be hoped these things can be addressed in a sequel. As for what this book actually does, it provides a valuable reminder that “if we are to classify a text as imaginative then the first question should be, by which historical standard?” (185). This book is an excellent introduction to one particular historical standard. Svenn-Arve Myklebost, Høgskulen i Volda doi:10.1017/rqx.2018.105 Timely Voices: Romance Writing in English Literature. Goran Stanivukovic, ed. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2017. x + 362 pp. $110. This is a welcome collection of essays, ably edited, firmly oriented toward the future of criticism on romance. Despite the superb works on romance by Patricia Parker, Barbara Fuchs, and Helen Cooper, for example, the very frequency of critical recourse today to these same few volumes indicates the need for an expanded canon of theories, approaches, explanations, and attitudes to romance. This is especially the case for undergraduate and graduate students seeking to get a handle on this notoriously mer- curial genre. Timely Voices is a worthy addition to that canon. Its fourteen essays travel across time as well as models of romance, from Old Irish literature to Jane Austen, giv- ing substance to Steve Mentz’s formulation of romance as a “polygenre.” Insisting on the transnational, transhistorical, and even interdisciplinary character of romance, the editor foregrounds romance writing and romance thinking as perhaps the most flexible form of creative process for the ages. A strong and at times provocative introduction from Goran Stanivukovic describes the collection’s interest in romance as “strategy” and “resource,” always ripe for reinven- tion. Stanivukovic presents the volume’s conceptual framework as being rooted in the idea of influence, but “where influence is seen not as imitation but as testing the limits, RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY388 VOLUME LXXII, NO. 1 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core or even the limitlessness, of the creative imagination” (5). The title of the collection comes from Spenser, though it is, sometimes counterintuitively, invoked for a sense of romance writers reaching across time to past and future. And yet the collection itself is a timely one, in the more conventional sense, as both an introduction to and overview of romance and its possibilities across the centuries (but primarily early modern), while also introducing new kinds of potential approaches. Facing in both directions so con- certedly, this book is a relatively rare creature. Adding to the volume’s usefulness, an afterword by Patricia Parker provides a generous literature review of approaches to romance from the generation of Vinaver and Frye to the most recent important mono- graphs, many by contributors to this collection. Beyond the introduction, we meet a mixture of innovative essays with richly reward- ing forays into the less traveled byways of romance (incident, domestication, the every- day) with more traditional, narratological or taxonomic approaches whose innovation lies in their westward expansion of the networks of the European romance tradition to encompass early medieval works from Wales and Ireland. Despite the emphasis on romance as “strategy” and “resource” in the introduction, there is nonetheless some divergence among authors in terms of how they discuss romance as a genre, mode, style, structure, writing strategy, or discourse. But all of them share a strong sense of romance proliferation as a defining principle both of its writing and reading, of “move- ment as a resource of romance writing” (62); romance does not simply contain but sus- tains multitudes. Highlights for me include a sophisticated essay by Colin Lahive on the continuity but variety of Milton’s uses of romance as part of his theological thinking; Nandini Das’s engagingly written essay on the uses of the everyday as part of the superstructure of wonder we commonly adduce of romance; and Helen Cooper’s lovely essay on the knight and the hermit—deceptively simple in its focus but elaborating a really useful survey of pre- and post-Reformation romance. Steve Mentz shows typical verve in pull- ing together a new theory of “polygenres” from Bruno Latour’s actor-network theory, Caribbean poet Édouard Glissant’s model of “relation,” and literary critic Caroline Levine’s affordance-based model of genre systems, together with an illustrative case study: Pericles—an “outlier” in Shakespeare’s canon since its omission from the First Folio, but in this formulation, emblematic of the plural genre systems of the entire early modern tradition. A striking feature of the collection is its willingness to analyze romance thinking into the nineteenth and twentieth century, in Marcus Waithe’s essay on the uncanny in William Morris and David Jones, and Sara Malton’s piece on the financial romance of Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey. Another useful tendency is the authors’ interest in taking stock of the reputation of romance in its own moment— for example, as a form closely associated with women, as the essay by Hero Chalmers explores, or in the “teasingly absent presence” (222) of Heliodorus’s Aethiopica in sev- enteenth-century English drama. REVIEWS 389 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core I would recommend this book as much to scholars of romance in all its guises as to students seeking ways into the scholarship of this vital, enduring literary form. Jane Grogan, University College Dublin doi:10.1017/rqx.2018.106 Lying in Early Modern English Culture: From the Oath of Supremacy to the Oath of Allegiance. Andrew Hadfield. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017. xvi + 368 pp. $80. The historical frame for Andrew Hadfield’s new book on lying is 1535, the Oath of Supremacy, to 1606, the Oath of Allegiance. The importance of oaths to early modern England makes the case for the importance of lying, as world-changing assertions of truthful language will in practice imply a proliferation of qualifications to such language. By devoting the first two chapters to each oath, respectively, Hadfield avoids a narrative of progression and instead makes space for the mapping of a wide field of cultural and literary texts, taken on as case studies. The result is an excellent, and impressively var- ious, study of the culture of lying, revealing a period in which lying became “central to the imagination” (309). A predecessor to this book, which many readers will know, is Perez Zagorin’s Ways of Lying: Dissimulation, Persecution and Conformity in Early Modern Europe. Zagorin focuses on religious controversy, and Hadfield picks up on several key ideas, overlapping in discussions of Nicodemism and equivocation, for example. But Hadfield develops a broader perspective. One chapter is on “The Religious Culture of Lying,” but subse- quent chapters are titled: “Rhetoric, Commonplacing, and Poetics”; “Courtesy, Lying, and Politics”; “Testimony”; and “Othello and the Culture of Lies between Conscience and Reputation.” Among the literary figures handled are Thomas More, William Baldwin, Erasmus, Montaigne, Spenser, Nashe, Sidney, Marlowe, Jonson, and in the final chapter devoted to Othello, Shakespeare. Early modern accounts of lying and truth can be located relative to two patristic the- ories. On one side is Augustine, who developed a taxonomy of lies but maintained that all kinds are always a sin. On the other side is Jerome, who admitted the useful lie, pos- sible in certain circumstances and to be evaluated according to the intentions of its speaker. Based on challenging stories in scripture (e.g., the Hebrew midwives in Egypt or Paul’s rebuke of Peter for not eating with the Gentiles), these two theories shape how England thinks about oaths, as well as the speaking of religious and political truth. They form poles in the confrontations between Tyndale, who takes Jerome’s position that dissembling is not always a sin, and More, who takes the Augustinian posi- tion, aligning himself with a more rigorous approach to oaths and temporal religious authority. The theoretical laxity of the useful lie, set against the imperative to swear RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY390 VOLUME LXXII, NO. 1 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
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work_dichcv2pjvcwfh63i4q3ak5n7q	----	European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 European journal of American studies Reviews 2015-2 Alistair Heys, The Anatomy of Bloom: Harold Bloom and the Study of Influence and Anxiety. William Schultz Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10840 ISSN: 1991-9336 Publisher European Association for American Studies Electronic reference William Schultz, « Alistair Heys, The Anatomy of Bloom: Harold Bloom and the Study of Influence and Anxiety. », European journal of American studies [Online], Reviews 2015-2, document 9, Online since 28 April 2015, connection on 19 April 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10840 This text was automatically generated on 19 April 2019. Creative Commons License http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10840 Alistair Heys, The Anatomy of Bloom: Harold Bloom and the Study of Influence and Anxiety. William Schultz 1 This 218-page book with additional pages of 437 notes and 3 pages of index (author and title) appears to have required a great deal of research or wealth of background knowledge, as it refers to an unusual number of authors and works on almost every page. If a reader starts to understand the book from the title, s/he expects an analysis, almost medical in tone (an ‘anatomy’) of the famous literary critic, perhaps with regard to his theory about literary influence; since Bloom did use the word ‘anatomy’ in his title The Anatomy of Influence: Literature as a Way of Life (2012), Heys’s title might claim to explain the critic and/or his work, meaning to provide a deeper understanding than the critic had. The advertising blurb on the top of the paperback’s back cover promises a survey of Harold Bloom’s “life as a literary critic, exploring all of his books in chronological order, to reveal that his work, and especially his classic The Anxiety of Influence, is best understood as an expression of reprobate American Protestantism and yet haunted by a Jewish fascination with the Holocaust. Alistair Heys traces Bloom’s intellectual development from his formative years spent as a poor second-generation immigrant in the Bronx to his later eminence as an international literary phenomenon.” Although a reader may expect the success story of a Dickens’ novel, s/he does not learn much about Bloom’s personal life, nor about his professional life in the sense of the steps taken for his quick rise to academic stardom; and the reader also does not find Heys’s study to be organized in the chronological order of Bloom’s numerous books, which would lead readers to anticipate some ideas about the career development, and the table of contents does not show such an organization either. This blurb, perhaps not written by Heys, does promise a religious explanation for Bloom’s literary views, this view being supported obliquely by the placement of the chapter “Bloom and Protestantism” as the last. The author’s work cannot be judged by its blurb, a marketing description; however, it raises the question of what Heys promises to accomplish and what he does – for the value of his Alistair Heys, The Anatomy of Bloom: Harold Bloom and the Study of Influence ... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 | 2015 1 work depends both on its design and its result. Is the project worth doing? For whom? Does he succeed? 2 This study is valuable for students, both undergraduate and graduate, and non- specialists on Bloom’s work or even in the field of literary theory and criticism; I do not think there are enough works on Bloom’s work by itself to call ‘Bloomian studies’ a separate area of research, despite the fact that he has been one of the most referred to critics in Modern Language Association statistics about articles. The following discussion explains this positive review with some limitations placed on the study’s value for specialists. 3 University students would find Heys’s Anatomy of Bloom valuable because of the unusual wealth of references to books and authors (effervescent and overflowing), the academic level of discourse, and the argumentative or more accurately ‘opinionated’ character of the discussion. It is overflowing with ideas and suggestions, and it expresses opinions. The numerous critics and topics are important in contemporary literary debate. Students would be able to find references to look up or include in their research or to find ideas to agree or disagree with. Heys’s study may not be able to explain Bloom’s theory to students who did not understand it, if indeed they would read Bloom’s most theoretical works, since Heys gives a religious explanation for a literary theory. 4 Above all, The Anatomy of Bloom seems valuable to students for its distinctive success as a ‘performance utterance’ both of academic-critical discourse in general and of scholarship on Bloom in particular. Heys’s discourse could be called ‘acadamese’ for the appropriate level of diction, the types of syntactical connections (such as many bound clauses stating with ‘that’ and subordinate clauses giving reasons), the authoritative tone, and the constant need to refer to other scholars, whether to demonstrate his own wide- reading or show origins or borrow ideas or show originality. 5 This study also performs what critics tend to do: to illustrate or even become examples of the thinking process of the figures discussed by them. Literary critics are expected to convey the true ‘spirit’ of the author. Very often, Heys sounds like Bloom, writes like Bloom, and uses similar phrases; Heys has probably not gone so far as to speak, dress, and act like Bloom in the way that followers of Jane Austen, called ‘Austenites’ do. Like Bloom, Heys writes in a flamboyant, prophetic tone. On the one hand, doing so can make the style colorful, and it can suggest the importance of being authoritative and argumentative; on the other hand, in such a tone Bloom and his performing critic/ representative (Heys) use broad generalizations to make pronouncements without a clear explanation of their meaning, understood in common with the reader, and without clear indications of the process by which they can be justified. Here is an example of Heys’ Bloomian style of ‘academese’ (when Bloom’s name is made into the adjective ‘Bloomian’, it may mean ‘something done by the person named Bloom’, or it may mean ‘something done by someone else as Bloom would have done it’): Bloom’s answer to Derrida turns on his speculation that Derridean discourse substitutes the Judaic word davhar for the Greek logos. My treatment of de Man suggests that the detergent of deconstructive irony attempts to bleach clean the sins of misspent youth by scourging the philosophical fabric of totalitarianism. Such a reading implies, but cannot be sure, that de Man experienced deep feelings of guilt with reference to the Holocaust. The ticklish subject of resentment casts Bloom as an Abdiel refusing to join what he figures as the rebel hordes of deserting angels. Here I again ponder the aftermath of Puritanism and the question of free speech: whether we are over-determined by societal energies and historical Alistair Heys, The Anatomy of Bloom: Harold Bloom and the Study of Influence ... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 | 2015 2 background, or whether it is possible to express dissent and speak one’s mind freely without fear of reprisal. All in all, Bloom’s criticism is read as a form of spiritual autobiography that I recapitulate as dialectic between Christian and Jewish civilizations. (xiv) 6 The colorful active language is the continued metaphor of cleaning, perhaps a pedagogically motivated simplification of Aristotle’s Katharsis: ‘detergent’, ‘bleach’, ‘clean’, and ‘fabric’. Heys’s writing can show students how language can become more forceful through metaphor as well as controversial even provocative, which might promote increased references to Heys’s work – this value of the quantity of references to a scholar’s work is called ‘impact’ and it is used by universities to judge the value of publications; a work is “good” if it refers to those of other scholars and if they refer to it. The Anatomy of Bloom performs some survival techniques in a very competitive academic marketplace. 7 Heys’s use of generalizations makes him sound authoritative and prophetic, like Bloom; implicitly, Heys teaches student readers to present, perhaps imitate, the intellectual style of their patron-figure. Although flamboyance can put a scholar on the stage of public discussion, it may make the performer more important than the message. The use of several broad generalizations does not allow the reader to share in the process of validating the conclusions, because it is not clear if writer and reader use the terms in the same way, nor how they can be connected. For example, Heys refers to the “subject of resentment:” would readers have read Bloom’s discussion in The Western Canon? And, even if they had, is Heys’s understanding of it the same as the readers’ understanding, or for that matter the same as Bloom’s? There are many loose, unexplained generalizations: Derrida’s whole thought as well as Bloom’s and de Man’s; Puritanism; and the Christian and Jewish civilizations. Heys’s writing (and often Bloom’s) denies the readers the common basis for judging the issues and the authors’ (Heys’s and Bloom’s) views. At some levels of understanding, this limit to the discourse as systematic thinking is not experienced as a problem or even noticed. 8 As an additional benefit to students, The Anatomy of Bloom could be used in third and fourth year undergraduate courses in literary criticism or in technical writing, to show not only positive but also negative features from which students can learn. 9 Though some of the comments so far may have seemed ironic or even cynical, they are realistic about the profession and the value for students. I do not think Heys’s study would be very helpful for scholars who have studied Bloom’s works for years or for most experts in literary theory. To return to the initial question about the design of Heys’s project, it is important to ask if literature can be “explained” by religion, if Bloom formed his views because of religious influences. Many publishing scholars would not object to the “explanation” of literature according to the principles of another field or of the society in which it is read, but the acceptance of the practice does not make it the best, as Bloom discusses in “An Elegy for the Canon,” his introduction to The Western Canon, where he laments the conversion of literary studies into cultural criticism. Despite the probably unwitting imitation of Bloom’s style, Heys’s study is a demonstration of what Bloom is strongly against and it does not permit readers to judge Bloom on his own – on literary terms. Critics who dismiss Bloom’s call for literary honesty about quality, considering it to be elitism or a denial of diversity by an esthete, might read Carl Jung’s essay “On the Relation of Analytical Psychology to Poetry,” in which the famous psychoanalyst explains Alistair Heys, The Anatomy of Bloom: Harold Bloom and the Study of Influence ... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 | 2015 3 why literature has its own principles so that it cannot become a subfield of psychology; psychology may discuss literature but in terms of its creative processes that other fields of learning would also have. Its most disconcerting feature for specialists on Bloom or literary theory, Heys’s Anatomy of Bloom does not judge the theory by evaluating it in relation to literary works, nor does he evaluate it by using its own terms to reveal their limitations, as scientists do when empirical data show limitations of theories or when the theories themselves cannot be united into a coherent whole. Heys “explains” Bloom (not his theory?) by subordinating literature to religion. 10 Heys’s Anatomy of Bloom is valuable for students, both undergraduate and graduate, and for those scholars not specializing on Bloom or literary theory, providing a wealth or references to scholars, works, and ideas, while also providing a model of academic discourse, both positive to be imitated and (equally valuable) negative to be avoided. The study would not be very valuable to specialists who believe, like Bloom and unlike Heys, that literature is a field in its own right: it raises problems and finds solutions according to its own literary principles. 11 If Heys can explain Bloom’s contribution, shouldn’t this situation mean that Heys has become a better literary critic? Does he think he has become better, or does he think explaining Bloom (or his theory) can be done in non-literary terms? AUTHOR WILLIAM SCHULTZ The National and Kapodistrian University Alistair Heys, The Anatomy of Bloom: Harold Bloom and the Study of Influence ... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2015-2 | 2015 4 Alistair Heys, The Anatomy of Bloom: Harold Bloom and the Study of Influence and Anxiety. 
work_djbb42egtvallo7mb46etkqcpe	----	Small, thick, and slow Thinking about data and research publication in the Humanities in the age of Open and FAIR Daniel Paul O’Donnell University of Lethbridge Curtin University November 25, 2019 DOI (this version): 10.5281/zenodo.3551791 DOI (latest version): 10.5281/zenodo.3551790 About this paper ● Going to be speaking of how data are used in the humanities and implications for infrastructure design ○ How infrastructure currently interacts with typical humanities research practices ○ Why humanities researchers have been slow to adopt such infrastructure ○ How this infrastructure can be adapted to support (and improve) humanities research without requiring it to abandon its primary features/strengths ■ “Small” — focussed on very small number of data points or sets ■ “Thick” — involves intense curation and analysis of these few data ■ “Slow” — the same data points can be subject to years (generations) of subsequent, alternate, and supplementary analysis About this paper ● Important to recognise that I’m dealing in generalities ○ Not all humanities data are small or “representational” in focus ○ Not all humanities work is about thick description ○ Not all humanities work is about reworking old material ● But much is and these are the ones that are least well catered to in current infrastructure About me ● Traditionally trained medieval philologist and textual critic ● Means history of “big” and small data techniques ○ Thesis (1996) was analysis of (unpublished) database of textual variation in the Old English poetic canon ■ Letter-by-letter differences in about 20 poems surviving in more than one copy from the pre-conquest period ○ Later (2005) did 100,000 word edition of 9-line Cædmon’s Hymn (s. viii) ○ Now working on 5 object “edition” of the cross in pre-conquest England ● But ○ Coming from a textual/linguistic/literary approach ○ Focus on “editing” (i.e. the development and publication of “Primary Source” material — mediated representational data) Part 1 The problem of humanities data Traditionally, humanists resist speaking of data ● “Primary sources” = Texts, artifacts, objects of study ○ Can be originals (i.e. the artifact itself) ○ More often mediated and contextualised in some way (i.e. an edition, transcription, or similar) ● “Secondary sources” = Works of other scholars (often based on “Primary sources”) ● “Readings” (1) = Passages, extracts, quotations for interpretation or support ● “Readings” (2) = Interpretation, the end product of research (literary study) Traditionally, humanists resist speaking of data ● These definitions are highly contingent ○ “Primary source” in one context, can be the “secondary source” in another (and vice versa) ○ Or simultaneously “Primary” and “Secondary” (e.g. a critical edition) ● Also hard to constrain “[a]lmost any document, physical artifact, or record or human activity can be used to study culture” and arguments proposing previously unrecognised sources (“high school yearbooks, cookbooks, or wear patterns in the floors of public places”) are valued acts of scholarship” (Borgman 2007) How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? The finches? How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? The notes about the finches? How does data work in other fields? ● In fact, in the sciences, it is the notes. ● “Data” = “represent[ation of] information in a formalized manner suitable for communication, interpretation, or processing” (NASA 2012); “the facts, numbers, letters, and symbols that describe an object, idea, condition, situation, or other factors” (NRC 1999) The notes about the finches. But in the humanities? ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data” ● Very specific and often provisional: small; ● Depends on interpretation and argument (argue whether something is data): thick; ● Frequently revisit the same datasets to see them differently, provide new contexts, reuse: slow But in the humanities? ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data” ● Very specific and often provisional: small; ● Depends on interpretation and argument (argue whether something is data): thick; ● Frequently revisit the same datasets to see them differently, provide new contexts, reuse: slow Usually the Finch. But in the humanities? ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data” ● Very specific and often provisional: small; ● Depends on interpretation and argument (argue whether something is data): thick; ● Frequently revisit the same datasets to see them differently, provide new contexts, reuse: slow Usually the Finch. Sometimes the notes. But in the humanities? ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data” ● Very specific and often provisional: small; ● Depends on interpretation and argument (argue whether something is data): thick; ● Frequently revisit the same datasets to see them differently, provide new contexts, reuse: slow Usually the Finch. Sometimes the notes. And sometimes what Darwin thought he was doing in his notes about the Finch. In Humanities, “Data” is arguably mostly “Finch” ● Interesting proof: Humanities “data,” unlike science “data” is almost all practically and theoretically non-rivalrous. ● Humanities researchers rarely have an incentive (or capability) to prevent others from accessing their raw material. ● 200 years of Jane Austen studies based on five main pieces of data. Usually the Finch. Sometimes the notes. And sometimes what Darwin thought he was doing in his notes about the Finch. The “Digital Humanities” don’t change this ● DH adds to this basic fact, but doesn’t change it: ○ We can now have “capta” (intermediate “observations” extracted algorithmically to form large data sets that then require interpretation) ○ We can now work across complete historical or geographic corpora: all known nineteenth-century English periodicals; every surviving tract from the U.S. Civil War ○ Introduces the possibility of deductive work ○ Makes method questions more important than when you worked inductively from the collections you could access The “Digital Humanities” don’t change this ● But DH is not the perfection of the Humanities ○ A lot of research continues with “data” rather than “capta” ○ This “traditional” work remains sound and important ○ The distinction between “capta” and “data” is not teleological ■ “Big data” (“big capta”) DH is not better than “small data” (traditional) Humanities ■ Not all DH is “big capta” (you can do traditional work with computers) ■ “Big capta” approaches to Humanities questions can miss the point ● Intensive curation and analysis of small data sets remains a major function of humanities research Why does this matter? ● Although much humanities research is (appropriately) “small, thick, and slow,” it is also, in theory, useful for “big capta” work ○ Collectively, traditional humanists produce a lot of very high quality data ■ Intensely curated datasets and data points; ■ Broadly compatible with each other (i.e. each generation reedits and reconsiders the canon); ● If we could find a way to capture the value of this traditional data in a way that would allow them to be reused, ○ We’d have extremely useful material to repurpose ○ We’d be maximising the benefit of the traditional work that has been done on it Why does this matter? ● But FAIR small data is by-and-large uneconomical for small data researchers ○ Their goal is to publish contextualised small-data datasets to ■ Serve as primary sources for others ● e.g. an edition of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is intended to support secondary work on that novel) ■ Support very specific arguments about the specific instance ● e.g. that there are three versions of Hamlet ○ The features that are required for reuse require (in essence) a separate, standalone, publication ■ Deposit in repository ■ Standardised metadata ■ Loss of key interpretative context and information ● Since the mid-1990s, there have been hundreds if not thousands of digital editions published of medieval and renaissance texts. ● Almost all of these contain high quality digital photographs of the original artifacts, often with very detailed, research-based expert commentary and analysis (transcriptions, bibliographic and other descriptions, etc.) ● Represents, in theory, a potentially huge, extremely rich, dataset for new cross-project work ○ Automatic scribe identification ○ Dating training sets ○ History of the Book The case of manuscript photography The case of manuscript photography ● Because the purpose of these photographs has been to support the contextual analysis and/or supply users with representations of the individual objects in question, very few are easily recovered or used by machines: ○ Few/no standards for metadata, APIs, etc ○ Very few explicitly connected to expert description ○ Relationship to other images and publication status not machine readable ● Result is a lost opportunity to create a “big capta” dataset of thickly described data from hundred of individual “small data” projects So what to do? ● The solution to this is to accept the traditional nature and use-case involved in the production and consumption of Humanities research data ○ I.e. recognise that FAIR must accommodate the small, thick, and slow as easily as it does the big stand-alone examples from STEM ● That means that we have to either ○ Work within the traditional Humanities research workflow ○ Encourage traditional Humanities researchers to work within ours ● As long as FAIR data publication means, in essence, publishing small, thick, and slow data twice (once in context and once without), we will never fully reap the benefit of these important and potentially huge cultural datasets We’ve been here before ● The New English Dictionary (later the Oxford English Dictionary) provides a non-digital model for this ○ NED was based on “historical principles” (i.e. definitions derived from and supported by historical quotations) ○ Massive crowd-sourced big-data collection effort, involving thousands of readers collecting 1.8 million quotation slips from thousands of books prepared by generations of authors, scholars, and publishers (i.e. small data datasets) ○ In essence, an analogue version of what we want to do digitally We’ve been here before ● They had the same problem ○ Discovered almost immediately after setting up the reading programme that the texts they were planning to use were unsuitable ■ Not available in modern editions ■ Poor or difficult-to-determine quality ○ In other words, they discovered that they needed to improve and standardise the small datasets from which they were going to draw their big data records. We’ve been here before ● The solution was to create a demand and platform for new editions of medieval and renaissance works ○ Established text societies and publishers to publish new editions that met the NED’s requirements but also supported traditional humanities goals ○ Encouraged leading scholars to edit (and later reedit) the texts they needed according to the format they required ○ Very symbiotic relationship between what was going on in historical textual research at the time and the needs of this big-data dictionary ● Result was an increase in high quality (from both a big and a small data perspective) editions, providing the NED with the material it needed for its own big-data work What to do ● What we need is something similar for the digital age ○ A workflow that encourages small-data researchers to prepare their datasets in a way that ■ Respects their traditional requirements for the intensive curation and analysis of individual data points or small datasets ■ Opens these small, thick, and slow datasets up to big data analysis ■ Does not increase (and preferably reduces) the cost of production, publication, and maintenance ● In other words: work with the traditional workflows and do it within our systems. What to do? ● What we need, therefore, is a similar approach for the digital age, that is comfortable dealing with the small, thick, and slow nature of the work ○ Has to accept that most Humanities research is (properly) about a small numbers of objects (small) ○ That the purpose of most Humanities research is to analyse these small number of datapoints intensely (thick) ○ That researchers are going to want to rework these individual data points as part of the natural progress of their research (slow) ● A workflow in which suitability for “big capta” research is inherent in the publication “small data” workflow rather than a separate step. Part 2 Being FAIR to the small, thick, and slow Introduction ● In the rest of this talk, I’m going to talk about the “Data-First” approach we are developing for the Visionary Cross Project 1. The project and some of our parameters 2. Background issues and models 3. The implementation 4. Further work 30 About the Visionary Cross Project ● 9 year-old SSHRC funded project to produce an “edition” and “archive” of the “Visionary Cross cultural matrix” in Anglo-Saxon England ○ “Edition” means “Scholarly mediated reproduction” ○ “Archive” means “dataset of facsimiles and transcriptions” ○ “Visionary Cross Cultural Matrix” means “Collection of individual objects that also belong together for cultural reasons” 31 ● Objects include some of the best known objects and texts from Pre-conquest England and Scotland. 32 About the Visionary Cross Project ● Objects include some of the best known objects and texts from Pre-conquest England and Scotland. 33 About the Visionary Cross Project Vercelli Book Dream of the Rood and Elene poems (s. x/xi, South) ● Objects include some of the best known objects and texts from Pre-conquest England and Scotland. 34 About the Visionary Cross Project Ruthwell Cross (s. Viii, North) ● Objects include some of the best known objects and texts from Pre-conquest England and Scotland. 35 About the Visionary Cross Project Bewcastle Cross (s. viii, North) ● Objects include some of the best known objects and texts from Pre-conquest England and Scotland. 36 About the Visionary Cross Project Brussels Cross (s. x/xi, South) About the Visionary Cross Project ● Interesting as individual objects and as a group: ○ Span period temporally, geographically, linguistically ○ (possibly) Earliest attested poetry ○ Complete runic poem ○ Include 1 of only 2~3 examples of poetic quotation ○ “Multiply attested” poetic text (>3% of the corpus) ○ Related to each other thematically (cult of the cross) and textually and/or artistically 37 About the Visionary Cross Project ● In other words we anticipate use as both ○ A traditional small-data project (as well as a not-so-traditional small-data project): ■ Individuals coming to us for limited amounts of data in the context of our thick description because they want to use our material as the primary source for subsequent work ○ A contribution to potential big-data purposes: ■ Data that can be used, reused, supplemented, and aggregated by others without negotiation Project Requirements A. Flexible: ○ Choose to view individual/group in appropriate format B. Extensible: ○ Add, rearrange, or reuse material without negotiation C. Authoritative: ○ Preserve credit/responsibility for all contributions D. Durable: ○ Permanently discoverable and available ○ Low/no maintenance 39 Different approaches over the years ● Wiki? ○ Flexible (e.g. categories/entries) (A) ○ Add and (re)connect material without negotiation (B) ○ But ■ Doesn’t preserve Authority (C) ■ Requires ongoing maintenance (D) ■ One kind of presentation (A) 40 Different approaches over the years ● Game engine ○ Provided different ways of organising material and good at object/collection (A) ○ Preserved authority (C) ○ Some engines allowed some external contributions (B) ○ But ■ Requires others to use our system (B) ■ None strong on external contributions (B) ■ Requires ongoing maintenance (D) 41 OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Repository for MS information, images, transcriptions ● Built to replace a previous “turning the pages” type interface for MS collections ○ Open the collection up to machine access (i.e. via rsync, ssh, ftp, etc) ○ Maintain human readability 42 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Essentially a lightly-skinned directory structure (i.e. a RESTful-like API) ○ Human-readable HTML pages 43 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Essentially a lightly-skinned directory structure (i.e. a RESTful-like API) ○ Human-readable HTML pages 44 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Essentially a lightly-skinned directory structure (i.e. a RESTful-like API) ○ Human-readable HTML pages 45 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Essentially a lightly-skinned directory structure (i.e. a RESTful-like API) ○ Human-readable HTML pages 46 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Essentially a lightly-skinned directory structure (i.e. a RESTful-like API) ○ Human-readable HTML pages 47 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Love approach because it touches on all parts of vision ○ Flexible (i.e. A): can skin different groupings, focus on individuals or collections ○ Extensible (i.e. B): can extract from system ○ Authoritative (i.e. C): preserves authority ○ Durable (i.e. D): requires no software maintenance 48 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● But not perfect ○ Inflexible (i.e. A): Hierarchical data structure (can’t have machine readable virtual collections) ○ Not extensible (i.e. B): ■ Additions/reorganisations require server access ■ Collections are “official” (entire libraries/fonds) ○ Not durable (i.e. D): ■ Publisher responsible for maintaining server ■ No persistent identifiers 49 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ Requirements (further points) E. Externally registered persistent identifiers F. Users need to be able to present alternatives/additions to our material inside or outside the same system G. Has to be “Publish-and-Forget”: once we are finished with it, it needs to be maintained by others. 50 Our solution ● Use Zenodo and GitHub to create an OPenn-like data repository, while answering its lacunae ● A “Data-first” approach to publication that 1. Is human and machine readable 2. Preserves attribution 3. Open to non-negotiated addition, reorganisation, reuse 4. Uses standard, third-party-maintained, persistent IDs 5. Maintained for free by others (requires no post-publication maintenance by the project) 51 Zenodo ● EU-funded OpenAire Data Repository ○ Hosted at CERN ○ Guaranteed by EU ○ Accepts “all research outputs from all fields of science” ○ Assigns DOIs to all submissions (“conceptual” and “record”) ○ Based on Invenio Digital Repository Engine ■ Excellent metadata and LOD capabilities 52 GitHub ● Code repository, version control, distribution system ● Used by millions for developing code-based projects ● Recently added ability to publish web-pages using Jekyll-based “GitHub pages” ● Based on Open Source Git ● But ○ Recently bought by Microsoft (it’s always been private) ○ Not archival (conditions of use allow for suspension of service for any reason at any time) 53 Interaction of Zenodo and GitHub ● GitHub repositories can be archived in Zenodo ○ Snapshots are deposited in Zenodo as Zipped directories ○ Given a Zenodo DOI and treated like any other record ● Means: 1. Replace GitHub’s non-guarantee with Zenodo’s permanent guarantee 2. Presentation (versions) are also citable research objects (FAIR data AND FAIR code) 54 An example: Cædmon’s Hymn ● Originally CD-ROM (2005) ● Now online (2018) ● Code published using GitHub pages ○ https://caedmon.seenet.org/ ○ https://seenet-medieval.github.i o/caedmonshymn ● Code base preserved as Zenodo object (in all versions) 55 https://caedmon.seenet.org/ https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn An example: Cædmon’s Hymn ● Originally CD-ROM (2005) ● Now online (2018) ● Code published using GitHub pages ○ https://caedmon.seenet.org/ ○ https://seenet-medieval.github.i o/caedmonshymn ● Code base preserved as Zenodo object (in all versions) 56 https://caedmon.seenet.org/ https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn An example: Cædmon’s Hymn ● Originally CD-ROM (2005) ● Now online (2018) ● Code published using GitHub pages ○ https://caedmon.seenet.org/ ○ https://seenet-medieval.github.i o/caedmonshymn ● Code base preserved as Zenodo object (in all versions) 57 https://caedmon.seenet.org/ https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn An example: Cædmon’s Hymn ● Originally CD-ROM (2005) ● Now online (2018) ● Code published using GitHub pages ○ https://caedmon.seenet.org/ ○ https://seenet-medieval.github.i o/caedmonshymn ● Code base preserved as Zenodo object (in all versions) 58 https://caedmon.seenet.org/ https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn Visionary Cross as Data ● Combining two systems allows us to publish a data-centric edition that is ○ Flexible ○ Extensible ○ Authoritative ○ Durable ○ Externally registered persistent IDs ○ Maintained by others 59 Heart is the Zenodo record ● Basic unit of edition (1 record = 1 datum) ● Provides machine readability, extensibility, persistence, and archiving ● *Also acts as document server for rest of edition 60 Zenodo record ● Human and machine readable metadata record + file(s) ● *Typed “additional identifiers” ● *Two kinds of DOIs: ○ “Conceptual” (latest) ○ “Version” (current) ● *RESTful files URLs ○ No link rot 61 Zenodo record ● Human and machine readable metadata record + file(s) ● *Typed “additional identifiers” ● *Two kinds of DOIs: ○ “Conceptual” (latest) ○ “Version” (current) ● *RESTful files URLs ○ No link rot 62 Zenodo record ● Human and machine readable metadata record + file(s) ● *Typed “additional identifiers” ● *Two kinds of DOIs: ○ “Conceptual” (latest) ○ “Version” (current) ● *RESTful files URLs ○ No link rot 63 Zenodo record ● Human and machine readable metadata record + file(s) ● *Typed “additional identifiers” ● *Two kinds of DOIs: ○ “Conceptual” (latest) ○ “Version” (current) ● *RESTful files URLs ○ No link rot 64 Edition is built around records 65 66 67 68 69 70 Advantages to this system 71 ● Like OPenn ○ Human and Machine Readable ● Improve on OPenn ○ Persistent IDs (can be used RESTful) ○ FAIR ○ Not restricted to hierarchical arrangement or read only ○ Can be exported to variety of standards ○ Can be added to or rearranged by others ○ Maintained by archival specialists (i.e. commitment to preservation) ● Supports small, thick, and slow publication in a FAIR format ● What is interesting about this approach is that it is accidental ○ While most features are supported, ■ Not all are (e.g. arbitrary ontologies) ■ Those that are are inconsistent across repositories (e.g. streaming; typed other identifiers) ■ Support is often tentative or inadvertent ● Conceptual vs Record DOIs ● Restful DOI-based API ● While the ability to support Humanities data is there, the systems have not been designed with Humanities data in mind ● Supporting small, thick, and slow data is something that can be accommodated with relatively little work Disadvantages ● Next steps are to formalise this use case and feature-set ○ Build a prototype publication system within Zenodo/Github ○ Formalise and commit to the required features where they are tentative ○ Develop the few features not found specifically in Zenodo ○ Test system out on existing publications and data ○ Disseminate the model in order to encourage other systems to adopt it ● Just put together a Partnership for a SSHRC Partnership Development Grant ○ CERN/OpenAIRE ○ Toolmakers ○ Data projects ● Goal is to start prototyping this next year. Next steps Questions 
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work_dmrl45ttdfaxvm7izucfs7w36y	----	The Rediscovery of Frances Burney's Plays All Rights Reserved © Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, 1994 Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d’auteur. L’utilisation des services d’Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d’utilisation que vous pouvez consulter en ligne. https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Cet article est diffusé et préservé par Érudit. Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l’Université de Montréal, l’Université Laval et l’Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. https://www.erudit.org/fr/ Document généré le 5 avr. 2021 21:53 Lumen Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies Travaux choisis de la Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle The Rediscovery of Frances Burney's Plays Peter Sabor Volume 13, 1994 URI : https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012530ar DOI : https://doi.org/10.7202/1012530ar Aller au sommaire du numéro Éditeur(s) Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle ISSN 1209-3696 (imprimé) 1927-8284 (numérique) Découvrir la revue Citer cet article Sabor, P. (1994). The Rediscovery of Frances Burney's Plays. Lumen, 13, 145–156. https://doi.org/10.7202/1012530ar https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/ https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012530ar https://doi.org/10.7202/1012530ar https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/1994-v13-lumen0295/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/ 13. The Rediscovery of Frances Burners Plays In October 1799, Charles Burney Jr. wrote to his sister Frances, telling her that Thomas Harris, manager of the Covent Garden Theatre, admired her comedy Love and Fashion and would p u t it on stage in March of the following year. Charles continued: 'H[arris] is surprised, that you never turned your thoughts to this kind of writing before; as you appear to have really a genius for it! — There now!'1 The exclamation serves in part to emphasize Charles's pleasure in hearing Love and Fashion praised by so important a theatrical figure as Harris. It also, however, points to Harris's ignorance of Burney's previous dramatic works: in particular a comedy, The Witlings, that she had written twenty years earlier, but that had never been printed or performed. In 1799, Burney was among the best-known novelists of the day. Her brilliant early success, Evelina (1778), had been followed by the equally popular Cecilia (1782); both novels went through many editions, were rapidly translated into several languages, and were respectfully re- viewed. Her third novel, Camilla (1796), met with more criticism, but it too sold several thousand copies and brought wealth as well as fame to its author, who could buy a cottage with the proceeds. Few of Burney's contemporaries, however, knew much about her other literary career as a dramatist. She had begun writing The Witlings in 1778, soon after the publication of Evelina, and had it ready for performance in early 1780. During her five u n h a p p y years of service at court, 1786 to 1791, she had started work on four blank-verse tragedies: Edwy and Elgiva, which she began in 1788 and was still revising in 1795; Hubert De Vere, begun in 1790 and revised until 1797; The Siege ofPevensey, also begun in 1790 and completed at an unknown date; and Elberta, begun in 1791, never completed, but revised at least as late as 1814, after the publication of her final novel The Wanderer. A third wave of play- writing started in 1798, when she began work on Love and Fashion and may have had a hand in a comedy apparently written by her brother-in- law Ralph Broome, a one-act farce, The Triumphant Toadeater.2 Finally, between 1800 and 1802, she wrote what are arguably her two finest plays, the comedies The Woman-Hater and A Busy Day. LUMEN XIII/ 1994 0824-3298 / 94 / 1300-0145 $1.50 / ©C.S.E.C.S. / S.C.E.D.S. 146 Peter Sabor Most of the debate over Burney's plays during her lifetime was conducted not in public — among theatre-goers and theatre critics or in the pages of literary magazines—but in private: in conversations among members of her family and close friends, in correspondence, and in the pages of diaries and journals. The Witlings, in particular, generated copious commentary in 1779 from her father, Charles Burney, and her adopted father-figure, Samuel Crisp, much of it directed towards telling her why the comedy should not be performed. Although she was en- couraged by two experienced dramatists, Richard Sheridan and Arthur Murphy, who read the play in progress, as well as by Samuel Johnson, Joshua Reynolds, and Hester Thrale, Charles Burney and Crisp were adamant that it should be suppressed. Their joint condemnation was conveyed in a letter no longer extant, memorably described by Burney in a letter to Crisp as 'that hissing, groaning, catcalling epistle/3 To her father she wrote, 'You have finished it now in every sense of the w o r d / 4 and although she subsequently dwelt on the possibility of revising the play, The Witlings was to remain unperformed and unpublished for over two hundred years. Dr. Burney, who felt that its satire of the bluestock- ings in general and of Elizabeth Montagu in particular would damage his daughter's reputation, declared that 'not only the Whole Piece, but the plot had best be kept secret, from every b o d y / 5 A further reason for suppression given by Samuel Crisp was the play's resemblance to Molière's Les Femmes Savantes, to which Burney later responded by denying that she had so much as read Molière's comedy.6 What is vexing for the modern reader in all this, is that the protracted debate over The Witlings took the place of a dramatic performance, by which the play's merits could have been put to the test. In a later letter, Crisp declared that 'the story and the incidents don't appear to m e interesting enough to seize and keep hold of the attention.... This, to me, is its capital defect'7 — and this at a time when Sheridan was still asking for the opportunity to produce the play at Drury Lane. Remarkably, the whole cycle of composition, would-be production, and suppression was repeated twenty years later when Burney wrote her second comedy, Love and Fashion. Thomas Harris offered Burney the considerable sum of £400 for the play — a sign of the seriousness of his intentions about producing it — and spread word of the impending performances through newspaper announcements. The Morning Chron- icle of 29 January 1800 noted that 'Madame d'Arblay, ci-devant Miss Burney, has a Comedy forthcoming at Covent-Garden Theatre,' an unfortunate notice which at once attracted Charles Burney's attention with its references to Burney's maiden and married names. Shortly after the announcement appeared, Burney wrote to her father, telling him that Harris had agreed to withdraw Love and Fashion from production and Frances Burney's Plays 147 would attempt 'to keep the news papers totally silent in future/9 The mature author of Love and Fashion, however, unlike the inexperienced would-be dramatist who wrote The Witlings, had no intention of sup- pressing the play indefinitely. The death of her sister Susanna in January 1800 accounted for her agreeing to a temporary withdrawal of the comedy, but Burney still intended to see the play on stage. Her letter to her father makes it clear that he had not read the manuscript: 'appear when it will, you will find nothing in the principles, the moral, or the language that will make you blush for m e / Her hopes for a future production, however, were not to be fulfilled. And neither of the two other comedies that she wrote in the first years of the new century — The Woman-Hater and A Busy Day — seems ever to have been shown to a theatre manager or even read by members of her family, although Burney's tentative cast-lists show that The Woman-Hater was intended for production at Drury Lane, and A Busy Day at Covent Garden. When Burney's contemporaries thought of her as a dramatist at all, it was as the author of a tragedy, Edwy and Elgiva. The play was produced for only one night at the Drury Lane Theatre on 21 March 1795, but reviews of this performance appeared in at least five Sunday and eight- een daily London newspapers, as well as in two monthly magazines.10 Most of these reviews blamed the play's failure at least partly on the remarkably poor acting, although Sarah Siddons and John Philip Kemble in the principal roles and Robert Bensley as Dunstan were spared from the general censure. Burney herself, w h o attended the performance, claimed in a letter that John Palmer, who played the part of Bishop Aldhelm, had 'but 2 lines of his part by Heart! he made all the rest at random — & such nonsence as p u t all the other actors out as much as himself.'11 Reviewers agreed; the Whitehall Evening Post and Morning Herald review, for example, declared that 'making Palmer a Bishop was an idea rather whimsical; he was extremely imperfect.' The Morning Chronicle noted that most of the actors 'either knew not a line of their parts, without the aid of the Prompter, or seemed inclined to turn the whole into ridicule.' The Morning Advertiser was still more blunt: 'The Acting was disgraceful to the Company, and shamefully injurious to the Author... the Prompter was heard unremittingly all over the House. If the Piece was accepted, it should have been played.' Combined with such criticisms of the cast were complaints about Burney's lack of theatrical experience. The reviewer for the Oracle, w h o had appreciated the 'dramatic power' of Burney's character-drawing in Cecilia, believed that 'of the Stage, this elegant writer knows nothing, and... she appears to have had no friend who knew more.' The Morning Post likewise complained that the play was 'one continued monotonous scene of whining between the two lovers, occasionally interrupted by the 148 Peter Sabor insolent Dunstan,' that 'the Author seems to have no idea of stage effect/ and that 'the entrances and exits are ill m a n a g e d / In addition, neither the prologue, written by Charles Burney, nor the epilogue, by Burney herself, met with approval. The Times described the prologue as 'a tedious descant on the Three Ages of Religion/ which 'seemed almost an age in the delivery/ while the True Briton claimed that it took 'nearly as long as the ordinary Act of a Play/ Another frequent object of criticism were various unwitting descents into bathos. 'Bring in the Bishop' was a particularly unfortunate line, the consequences of which were later described by Siddons's biographer Thomas Campbell, drawing on the newspaper accounts: 'At that time there was a liquor much in popular use, called Bishop... when jolly fellows met at a tavern, the first order to the waiter was, to bring in the Bishop/ Burney was 'unacquainted with the language of taverns/ and 'the summons filled the audience with as much hilarity as if they had drank of the exhilarating liquor/1 2 An exclamation by Dunstan — 'Will not the roof drop in?' — was also said in the Observer to have 'excited the risible faculties of the audience/ Despite these and many other caustic observations, however, the theatre reviews were not entirely negative. Two papers, the Review and the Gazeteer, commended Burney's adaptation of her source, Humes History of England, in depicting Edwy's disastrous love for Elgiva. There was praise in the Telegraph for the confrontation scenes in Acts II and III between Edwy and Dunstan, 'marked with an energy and eloquence much superior to any modern effort/ and for Burney's 'forcible and n e w ' sentiments, contrasted with the 'nauseous bombast' of other recent tragedies.13 The Gazeteer believed that once the tragedy had been short- ened 'and the action of the play thus quickened' it was sure to succeed: 'it can require only to be seen to be successful'. Similarly positive was a review in the European Magazine, declaring that 'the construction of the Play was entitled to applause, and the language was beautiful and poetical.' The reviewer suggests that Edwy and Elgiva might still 'afford much pleasure in the closet, and with a few curtailments and alterations might have claimed its place on the Theatre.'14 Revising Edwy and Elgiva as a closet drama, rather than hazarding the trials of another stage production, was an option that Burney considered. The Eondon Packet concluded its review with the suggestion that the play 'will probably read much better than ever it can be made to act,' and Burney received at least three letters urging her to publish Edwy and Elgiva by subscription.15 Her failure to do so, or to see any of her other plays into production or print, accounts for her long oblivion as a dramatist. Thomas Campbell, who devoted a page of his Eife of Mrs. Siddons (1834), published near the end of Burney's long life, to the Frances Burney's Plays 149 production of Edwy and Elgiva, was clearly writing with no personal knowledge of the play, for readers unaware that the celebrated novelist had ever written a tragedy. After Burney's death in 1840, her already little-known plays fell into still deeper obscurity. Those few critics who discussed them at all did so without what might seem to be the necessary prerequisite of having read them. Macaulay, for example, in his long and highly influential essay on Burney of 1842, asserts that T h e Witlings would have been damned, and that Murphy and Sheridan thought so, though they were too polite to say s o / He goes on to congratulate Crisp for 'manfully' counselling Burney against production of the play, thus acting as 'a judicious, faithful, and affectionate adviser/ Surprisingly, after this bravura piece of pseudo-criticism, Macaulay is more reticent about Edwy and Elgiva, admitting that 'we do not know whether it was ever printed; nor indeed have we had time to make any researches into its history or merits/1 6 Austin Dobson, writing on Burney in 1903 in the 'English Men of Letters' series, devotes four pages to The Witlings, again without the benefit of having read it, and concludes, like Macaulay, that Dr. Burney and Crisp were right to have suppressed the play. Turning to Edwy and Elgiva, Dobson declares that 'though at some points there is a certain stir and action, the plot generally lacks incident and movement'1 7 — although no copy of the play was available to him. There are, I believe, only two nineteenth- or early twentieth-century critics with first-hand knowledge of a Burney play. One, Evelyn Shuck- burgh, who possessed a manuscript of Edwy and Elgiva, discusses the tragedy in some detail in an article of 1890. He pronounces it 'ludicrously b a d / vitiated by 'absence of movement and action/ 'the incurable pov- erty of its stilted language, its commonplace sentiments, and its incorrect and inharmonious versification,' and he supports his case with textual quotations.18 Shuckburgh was not, however, aware that the pencilled 'alterations and improvements' in his manuscript were not by Burney but by her husband, Alexandre d'Arblay; nor did he know of Burney's having written any other plays.19 Although his article provided Dobson with material for his book, it made little subsequent impression. Joseph Grau, Burney's bibliographer, mistitles it and lists it as 'not seen.'20 Another exception to the rule of writing on Burney's plays without reading them is made in Constance Hill's The House in St. Martin's Street (1907). Hill transcribes part of Act IV of The Witlings from Burney's manuscript, the first printing of at least part of any Burney play, and remarks that 'we have read the play with much interest and amusement, though recognizing some of the drawbacks which struck Dr. Burney and Mr. Crisp so forcibly'. This and a reference to the comedy's 'bright dialogue/ faint praise though it is, is still exceptional; for once a critic 150 Peter Sabor had found a Burney play worthy of extensive quotation, and of at least qualified approval.21 An anonymous reviewer of Hill's book in the Times Literary Supplement, however, thought otherwise, stating that 'we had always cherished a secret hope that... Dr. Burney and Daddy Crisp were over severe when they counseled her against publication, but, from the specimen here given, it's clear that they were right.'22 The modern rediscovery of Burney's plays was made possible by the acquisition in 1941 of a huge number of her manuscripts, hitherto in a private collection, by the Berg Collection of the New York Public Library. This archive, which includes manuscripts of all of her plays, was made available to scholars in 1945.23 The first critic to take advantage of the newly available material was Joyce Hemlow, who in 1950 published an article with what then must have been a startling title, 'Fanny Burney: Playwright.' Until this piece appeared, even the existence of two of Burney's comedies, A Busy Day and The Woman-Hater, and three of her tragedies — Hubert De Vere, The Siege of Pevensey, and Elberta — was unknown. Hemlow offered, for the first time, an overview of the plays. She found The Witlings disappointing, with 'fewer comic transcripts of life than readers of Evelina might have expected,' but was more im- pressed by the later comedies, especially A Busy Day, 'with its original scenes and its realistic and satiric comedy.' The tragedies Hemlow regarded as complete failures, typifying the weaknesses of 'she-tragedy/ with its 'falling into mawkishness.'24 Hemlow expanded this criticism in her biography of Burney of 1958, in which she further argued that these 'experiments in blank verse, scarcely to be considered as poetry, had a deplorable effect on her prose style.' They gave rise, she claims, to 'a flamboyant rhetoric' and an 'empty swollen manner' that created a 'peculiarly hollow, half-romantic, half-sentimental effect' in Burney's later prose.25 A year before Hemlow's biography appeared, one of these tragedies, Edwy and Elgiva, was published for the first time. Its editor, Miriam J. Benkovitz, however, held it in no higher regard than did Burney's biographer. Her introduction constitutes a sustained attack on the play, with its 'artificial pathos' in which 'feeling degenerates into mere rheto- ric... the failure of Edwy and Elgiva is a failure in style.' Like Hemlow too, Benkovitz associates the convoluted language of Edwy and Elgiva with an ensuing deterioration in Burney's works, contending that the play 'marks the very point of decline' in her career.26 If this edition had been more widely read, it might have affected Burney's already low reputa- tion as a dramatist adversely. It was, however, ignored by reviewers, has long been out of print, and has seldom been cited by Burney's recent critics. Frances Burney's Plays 151 Among the few critics other than Hemlow to take an overview of Burney's plays is Michael Adelstein in his Twayne volume of 1968. Adelstein prizes The Witlings more highly than any previous commen- tator, contending that its suppression was 'detrimental to [Burney's] artistic development/ He regards Burney as a natural satirist, forced to abandon satire after The Witlings had been condemned. He is less im- pressed by two of Burney's later comedies, Love and Fashion and The Woman-Hater, but in a panegyric on A Busy Day, Burney's 'Unpublished Masterpiece,' he pronounces it 'worthy of being read and acted today along with such eighteenth-century favorites as Sheridan's School for Scandal and Goldsmith's She Stoops to Conquer/ It has, he believes, 'an appealing freshness and sparkle found in few other eighteenth-century comedies.' If Burney had continued to write comic dramas instead of producing her final novel, The Wanderer, she would, Adelstein contends, be more highly regarded today.27 A similar argument about the relative merits of Burney's dramas and novels is made in Ellen Moers's early feminist study, Literary Women (1976). Oddly, despite her admiration for The Witlings as 'very funny and quite stageworthy,' Moers is relieved that the play was suppressed: 'Had Dr. Burney allowed The Witlings to go on the boards, his daughter would have been convicted of a tasteless gaffe equivalent to, say, the submission by an aspiring young authoress of a nasty satire on Gloria Steinem to Ms. magazine.' Moers believes, however, that playwriting was Burney's true vocation, and despite not having read the three late comedies she specu- lates about 'what might have happened to the English theatre had Jane Austen followed in Fanny Burney's footsteps as a playwright rather than as a novelist.'28 Here we return to the kind of impressionism that char- acterizes Macaulay's essay on Burney: a critic uses unread comedies by Burney to envisage unwritten plays by Austen. Burney's final comedy, A Busy Day, received further prominence when it was edited by Tara Ghoshal Wallace in a critical edition, first as a University of Toronto doctoral dissertation and then as a book in 1984. An enthusiastic advocate for Burney as comic dramatist, Wallace ad- mires The Woman-Hater as much as A Busy Day, and believes that both had 'every chance of success on stage.'29 Reviewers, however, were unimpressed. Pat Rogers, whose Times Literary Supplement notice is entitled 'On the mild side,' terms A Busy Day 'a mild comedy of manners, its action comfortably mid-Augustan in feel,' although the language is 'recognizably more modern than anything in Fanny's novels.'30 Lillian Bloom, in her review, contends that A Busy Day does not justify its editor's labours; as a comedy of manners it is a 'tattered copy' of Sheridan and Goldsmith, marred by 'dullness and confusion.'31 152 Peter Sabor Had A Busy Day been published in the late, rather than in the mid 1980s, it might have met with a better reception. Since 1987, Burney's critical standing has risen dramatically. At least ten full-length studies of her life and writings have been published between 1987 and 1994, together with two new editions each of Evelina, Cecilia and The Wanderer, and the first three volumes of an edition of her early journals and letters. Three of the critical studies make strong claims for Burney's plays. Judy Simons, in her slim monograph of 1987, terms Burney 'an extremely talented playwright,' and believes that A Busy Day, in particular, 'com- pletely fulfils the promise of Evelina, albeit some twenty years late.'32 Katharine Rogers, in her Trances Burney (1990), echoes Ellen Moers, terming The Witlings 'a hilariously funny play,' but finding 'Burney's choice of subject... singularly perverse, since the main object of satire is intellectual women.'33 Neither Simons nor Rogers has anything positive to say about Bur- ney's tragedies, which Simons terms 'dismal exercises in heroic drama' that 'deal yet again with female victimisation.' Margaret Anne Doody, in contrast, in her Trances Burney: The Life in the Works (1988), is an advocate for Burney as both comic and tragic dramatist. In an essay of 1985, Doody had contended that Burney might 'win posthumous repu- tation as a dramatist as her previously unpublished comic plays emerge into print.'34 Her critical biography reinforces this claim with a detailed analysis of each of the plays. In The Witlings, she sees Burney as 'a predecessor of Pinero or Ayckbourn.' Writing on the tragedies, Doody, like Benkovitz and Hemlow, finds a link between their style and subject matter and those of the later novels. Unlike these earlier critics, however, Doody regards the effect of the tragedies as beneficial to Burney the novelist: the 'vision of the depths' in Camilla and The Wanderer grows out of the intense introspection of the tragic dramas. Doody also studies The Woman-Hater as a play closely related to Burney's novels; she terms it a 'nodal work,' attempting to resolve issues dealt with in Burney's fiction, tragic dramas and comedies alike.35 Doody's seminal work on Burney has paved the way for the critical rediscovery of Burney's plays, which can no longer be dismissed as a negligible part of her literary œuvre. Since the publication of Doody's biography in 1988, The Witlings has been edited as a doctoral dissertation and appeared in a collection of plays by eighteenth-century women dramatists.36 Another doctoral dissertation has furnished the first full- length critical study of Burney's plays.37 And my own collected edition of the plays makes all of Burney's comedies and tragedies readily avail- able for the first time.38 This edition will enable critics to give Burney's plays the sustained attention that her novels have lately received and to consider Burney's writings as a whole, recognizing that each of her first Frances Burney's Plays 153 three novels was followed by a play or group of plays. With the recent resurgence of interest in Gothic drama, a new context exists in which to study Burney's much disparaged tragedies. In addition, criticism of Burney's tragedies and comedies alike can profit from recent studies of eighteenth-century women dramatists; the period (1778-1802) in which Burney wrote her plays was also that in which writers such as Hannah Cowley, Hannah More, Elizabeth Inchbald, Sophia Lee, and Joanna Baillie were active. Another striking sign of the renewed interest in Burney as playwright is the success of a recent production of A Busy Day, its world premiere and only the second production of any Burney play. Directed by Alan Coveney, the play was performed by the Show of Strength company at the Hen and Chicken Theatre, Bedminster, England, for four weeks from 29 September to 23 October 1993. In a programme note, Coveney de- scribes his discovery in early 1992 of Wallace's edition of A Busy Day, remaindered in a bookshop, and his enthusiasm for 'this wonderful play,' which had l a i n dormant, waiting for a theatre to discover it and for actors to bring its marvellous characters to life.' The company won a £16,000 award from London Weekend Television, enabling it to con- struct elaborate sets, including one of Kensington Gardens, for the production, which played to a full house throughout its run. Another performance, without the sets but in period costume, took place by Burney's cenotaph at Walcot Parish Church in Bath.39 Reviews of the Show of Strength production were far more positive than those of Edzvy and Elberta nearly two hundred years earlier. Malcolm Rutherford in the Financial Times, for example, described it as 'a fizzing production of a very funny play,' while Jeremy Brien in The Stage wrote that 'on the evidence of A Busy Day, Fanny Burney's true metier was the stage. This is a portrait of English society of the late 18th Century at least as scathing as anything from Goldsmith — and considerably funnier.' A.C. Smith in the Guardian preferred the second half of the performance with its 'essence of malice' to the slower and wordier opening acts and found the plot 'as corny and confusing as most plays of the period.' Wayne Stackhouse in the Bristol Observer, however, compared A Busy Day favourably with Jane Austen's novels: it 'packs more of a satirical bite and has a bawdy feel that Jane Austen lacks; this is a bit like Austen meets Ayckbourn.... The irony, in these post-Thatcher days, of a clash between a pretentious but penniless aristocracy and an unrefined nou- veau-riche is also nicely observed/ And Helen Reid, in the Western Daily Press, declared that the play 'must not be allowed to fade into obscurity again, for with judicious editing it could become a national classic — few 18th century plays are as funny as this one.'40 154 Peter Sabor In March 1795, a journalist in The True Briton, writing before the premiere of Edwy and Elgiva, declared that 'Green-room report is not on the whole unfavourable, though it is said that some passages border too much upon the familiar/41 Much subsequent commentary on Burney's plays has been mere gossip of this kind. With the full extent of her writings for the theatre now established, with these writings available in print, and with the advent of new stage productions, critics should no longer need to discuss Burney's merits or failings as a dramatist without having read or seen performances of her plays. PETER SABOR Queen's University Notes 1 The Journals and Letters of Fanny Burney (Madame d'Arblay), 1791-1840, ed. Joyce Hemlow et al (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972-84), IV, 361. 2 Betty Rizzo has recently identified the hand in which The Triumphant Toadeater is transcribed as that of Ralph Broome, second husband of Burney's sister Charlotte (Companions Without Vows: Relationships Among Eighteenth-Century British Women [Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1994]), p . 349, n. 38. 3 Letter of c. 13 August 1779; The Early Journals and Letters of Fanny Burney, ed. Lars E. Troide et al (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988- ), III, 350. 4 Letter of c. 13 August 1779; Early Journals and Letters, III, 345. 5 Letter to Frances Burney of 29 August 1779; The Letters of Dr Charles Burney, ed. Alvaro Ribeiro (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), I, 280. 6 Burney's note on her letter to Charles Burney, c. 13 August 1779; Early Journals and Letters, III, 345. 7 Letter to Burney of 23 February 1780; Early Journals and Letters, IV, forthcoming. 8 Journals and Letters, IV, 392-93, n. 4. 9 Letter of 10 February 1800; Journals and Letters, IV, 394. 10 Twenty-two of these newspaper reviews, all from 22 and 23 March 1795, survive in the Burney Collection, British Library, and have been microfilmed. Another, in the London Chronicle, is missing from the Burney Collection but is quoted by Thomas Campbell in The Life of Mrs. Siddons (1834; rpt. New York: Blom, 1972), p . 266. Several of the newspapers print the same review in whole or in part. Excerpts from some of the reviews are printed in Journals and Letters, III, 366-67. In addition to the eleven daily newspapers with reviews listed there, the following, all in the Burney Collection, also contain reviews: St. James's Chronicle, Whitehall Evening Post, London Packet or New Lloyd's Evening Post, The Courier and Evening Gazette, The Sun, and The Star. The last two are wrongly said in Journals and Letters to be missing from the Burney Collection. Frances Burney's Plays 155 11 Letter to Georgiana Waddington of 15 April 1795; Journals and Letters, III, 100. Palmer, although a prominent actor, had a reputation for forgetting the words to some of his parts; for several examples, see Charles Beecher Hogan, éd., The London Stage, Part 5:1776-1800 (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1968), pp. cxvi-cxviii. For another instance, see Isobel Grundy, 'Sarah Gardner: "Such Trumpery" or "A Lustre to Her Sex"?,' Tulsa Studies in Women's Literature, 7, no. 1(1988), 11. 12 Life of Mrs. Siddons, p . 267. 13 In printing an excerpt from this review, the editors of Letters and Journals wrongly suggest that the phrase 'nauseous bombast' was applied to Edzvy and Elgiva itself (III, 366). 14 European Magazine, 27 (April 1795), 272. This review was reprinted in Walker's Hibernian Magazine, Part 1 (May 1795), 437. 15 See Journals and Letters, III, 110; and my article '"Altered, improved, copied, abridged": Alexandre d'Arblay's Revisions to Burney's Edwy and Elgiva, Lumen, 14 (1995), forthcoming. 16 Thomas Babington Macaulay, 'Madame D'Arblay', Edinburgh Review, 76 (1843), 539, 558. 17 Dobson, Fanny Bumey (Madame d'Arblay) (London: Macmillan, 1904), 100-5,185. 18 Shuckburgh, 'Madame d'Arblay', Macmillan s Magazine, February 1890, p. 294. Shuckburgh presented the manuscript to Emmanuel College, Cambridge, its present location. 19 For a study of these revisions, see my '"Altered, improved, copied, abridged": Alexandre d'Arblay's Revisions to Burney's Edwy and Elgiva'. 20 Grau, Fanny Bumey: An Annotated Bibliography (New York: Garland, 1981), p . 147. 21 Hill, The House in St Martin's Street (London: Bodley Head, 1907), p. 153. 22 Times Literary Supplement, 9 November 1906, p. 376; quoted in Grau, p. 188. 23 See Joyce Hemlow, A Catalogue of the Bumey Family Correspondence 1749-1878 (New York: New York Public Library, 1971), p . xiv. 24 Hemlow, 'Fanny Burney: Playwright', University of Toronto Quarterly, 19 (1949-50), 171,189,176. 25 Hemlow, The History of Fanny Burney (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1958), p p . 220-21. 26 Benkovitz, éd., Edwy and Elgiva (Hamden, Conn.: Shoestring Press, 1957), p p . xiii-xiv. 27 Adelstein, Fanny Burney (New York: Twayne, 1968), pp. 61,112,116. 28 Moers, Literary Women (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), pp. 117-18. 29 Wallace, éd., A Busy Day (New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1984), p. 160. 30 Rogers, Times Literary Supplement, 7 June 1985, p. 642. 31 Bloom, The Eighteenth Century: A Current Bibliography, n.s. 10 (New York: AMS, 1989), p. 576. 32 Simons, Fanny Burney (Totowa, New Jersey: Barnes and Noble, 1987), p. 133. 156 P e t e r S a b o r 33 Rogers, Frances Burney: The World of Female Difficulties (London: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1990), p. 19. 34 Doody, 'Fanny Burney/ in Dictionary of Literary Biography, 39, British Novelists, 1660-1800, ed. Martin C. Battestin (Detroit: Gale, 1985), p. 91. 35 Doody, Frances Burney: The Life in the Works (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 98,198, 302. Doody also draws attention to The Triumphant Toadeater, contending that the 'evidence is all against' Burney's authorship and attributing the farce tentatively to Burney's sister Charlotte (pp. 292,419). 36 The Witlings, ed. Clayton Delery, Ph.D. diss. (City University of New York, 1989); The Meridian Anthology of Restoration and Eighteenth-century Plays by Women, ed. Katharine M. Rogers (New York: Meridian, 1994). 37 Barbara Darby, 'Family and Feminism in the Plays of Frances Burney', Ph.D. diss., Queen's University, 1994. Two earlier doctoral dissertations studied Burney's plays in relation to her fiction: Marjorie Lee Morrison, 'Fanny Burney and the Theatre', University of Texas, 1957; Elizabeth Yost Mulliken, 'The Influence of the Drama on Fanny Burney's Novels', University of Wisconsin, 1969. 38 The Complete Plays of Frances Burney, ed. Peter Sabor, contributing editors Stewart Cooke and Geoffrey Sill (London: Pickering & Chatto, 1995). 39 For information about the production, including press clippings, I am indebted to Sheila Harmon, Administrator of the Show of Strength company. 40 Financial Times, 2-3 October 1993; The Stage and Television Today, 11 November 1993; The Guardian, 6 October 1993; Bristol Observer, 8 October 1993; Western Daily Press, 30 September 1993. Other reviews include those by Christopher Hansford in the Evening Chronicle (Bristol), 30 September 1993; the University of Bristol Newsletter, 14 October 1993; Chris Allen in Plays and Players, November 1993; Jonquil Panting in Venue, 15-29 October 1993; and Andrew Porton in Epigram, 7 October 1993. 41 See The Piozzi Letters, vol. 2,1792-1798, ed. Edward A. Bloom and LilHan D. Bloom (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 1991), p. 138, n. 16. 
work_dobivxe6zvdghi3a2gd7rp4d7a	----	www.sciencemag.org SCIENCE VOL 301 25 JULY 2003 443 E X H I B I T S Regaining One’s Marbles The Internet has accomplished what decades of public cam- paigns and bitter squabbling haven’t: reuniting the famous mar- ble frieze from the Parthenon in Athens, a sculpture 160 meters long that wrapped the temple with religious and mythic im- agery. Although the actual frieze remains in fragments housed in Athens, London, and Paris, archaeologists and the public can now study a complete online version at this site maintained by the Greek government. Created between 447 and 432 B.C., the meter-high frieze de- picts some 360 human figures, more than 250 animals, and the 12 gods of Olympus, all in a sacred procession to the Acropolis. Two hundred years ago, the British diplomat Lord Elgin sawed off and carted away half of the frieze, and the marbles remain at the center of a heated debate over repatriation. The virtual tour brings together for the first time all the remaining stones from Elgin’s section, now in the British Museum, and the sections held by the Louvre and the Acropolis Museum. You can scrutinize dig- itized photos and stone-by-stone descriptions of the frieze, or read background information regarding its design and history. This group of horsemen (above), for instance, formerly galloped along the north side of the temple. Where stones are incomplete due to damage, drawings of the missing sections dating back to the 17th and 18th centuries supplement the photos. zeus.ekt.gr/parthenonfrieze/index.jsp?lang=en&w=1152 R E S O U R C E S Warming Up to a Frigid Sea Bering Climate, a new site from the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, offers a wealth of data for research- ers studying the ecosys- tems and climate of the Bering Sea and how they might respond to global warming. Such questions are particularly important because the sea supplies half of the seafood eaten in the United States. Visitors can trawl more than 40 data sets on ice cover, winter surface temperatures, salmon catches, and other measurements. You can download the data, plot them, or check for correlations between data sets. A photo gallery lets you meet some of the sea’s denizens, such as this puffin (above), and a plethora of links summons other sources of information. www.beringclimate.noaa.gov/index.html D A T A B A S E The Lowdown on a Killer Bug Tuberculosis, the disease that slayed John Keats, Jane Austen, and George Orwell, remains a leading killer, responsible for about 2 million deaths world- wide every year. Researchers working to foil the evasive TB bacterium can round up plen- ty of information on its genes and proteins at TubercuList, a genomic database from the Pasteur Institute in Paris. The site brims with data on some 4000 genes from Mycobac- terium tuberculosis. Pick a gene and learn the function of the protein it encodes, call up a map showing its chromoso- mal location, or pinpoint near- by genes. Each entry also lists relevant references and lets you download the gene’s DNA sequence or the amino acid sequence of its protein for fur- ther analysis. genolist.pasteur.fr/TubercuList NETWATCH edited by Mitch Leslie C R E D IT S : (T O P ) N A T IO N A L D O C U M E N T A T IO N C E N T R E O F G R E E C E ;W IL L IA M F O L S O M /N A T IO N A L M A R IN E F IS H E R IE S S E R V IC E /N O A A ; C O M P U T E R G R A P H IC S L A B /U N IV E R S IT Y O F C A L IF O R N IA , S A N F R A N C IS C O Send site suggestions to netwatch@aaas.org. Archive: www.sciencemag.org/netwatch S O F T W A R E Molecules on Parade Aimed at everyone from drug de- signers to researchers tracking the nuances of protein evolution, Chimera is a jazzy molecular model- ing package from the Computer Graphics Lab at the University of California, San Francisco. Users can import atomic coordinates from databases such as the Protein Data Bank or upload their own measure- ments, then manipulate and analyze molecular architecture. The program flags likely hydrogen bonds and pinpoints landmarks such as he- lices or sheets within messy 3D data.You can create catchy graphics—for example, the program lets you install windows in bulky molecules to expose their internal organization. What looks like a piece of chewed bubblegum in this image (above) is a molecule of the antitumor drug netropsin wedged be- tween two DNA strands. Chimera can also parse protein sequence data, aligning matching segments and illustrating the structures they encode.The package is free for researchers in academia, government, and nonprofit organizations, and its creators plan to release a revamped version every 6 months. www.cgl.ucsf.edu/chimera o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://scie n ce .scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://science.sciencemag.org/ SOFTWARE: Molecules on Parade DOI: 10.1126/science.301.5632.443b (5632), 443.301Science ARTICLE TOOLS http://science.sciencemag.org/content/301/5632/443.2 CONTENT RELATED file:/content/sci/301/5632/netwatch.full PERMISSIONS http://www.sciencemag.org/help/reprints-and-permissions Terms of ServiceUse of this article is subject to the is a registered trademark of AAAS.ScienceScience, 1200 New York Avenue NW, Washington, DC 20005. The title (print ISSN 0036-8075; online ISSN 1095-9203) is published by the American Association for the Advancement ofScience © 2003 American Association for the Advancement of Science o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://scie n ce .scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://science.sciencemag.org/content/301/5632/443.2 http://www.sciencemag.org/help/reprints-and-permissions http://www.sciencemag.org/about/terms-service http://science.sciencemag.org/ 
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work_duhvzdnav5gedeez5zbrnfm7x4	----	[PDF] We all know what we mean by treatment-resistant depression – don't we? | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1192/bjp.2018.56 Corpus ID: 24140742We all know what we mean by treatment-resistant depression – don't we? @article{Anderson2018WeAK, title={We all know what we mean by treatment-resistant depression – don't we?}, author={I. Anderson}, journal={British Journal of Psychiatry}, year={2018}, volume={212}, pages={259 - 261} } I. Anderson Published 2018 Medicine British Journal of Psychiatry Summary Although in common use, treatment-resistant depression is unhelpful both conceptually and practically. In this issue a new term, multiple-therapy-resistant major depressive disorder, is proposed; although it may be useful in guiding treatment options for patients with persisting depression, it should not be an automatic trigger for further, more invasive treatments. Declaration of interests I.M.A. has been a consultant for pharmaceutical companies developing and marketing… Expand View on Cambridge Press cambridge.org Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 7 CitationsBackground Citations 1 View All Topics from this paper Antidepressive Agents 7 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Treatment-resistant depression: problematic illness or a problem in our approach? G. Malhi, P. Das, Z. Mannie, L. Irwin Medicine British Journal of Psychiatry 2019 24 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Challenges of Treatment-resistant Depression. J. Pandarakalam Psychology, Medicine Psychiatria Danubina 2018 16 Save Alert Research Feed Experimental Therapeutics in Treatment-Resistant Major Depressive Disorder Mandeep Kaur, M. Sanches Medicine Journal of experimental pharmacology 2021 PDF View 2 excerpts Save Alert Research Feed Effects of ketamine treatment on suicidal ideation: a qualitative study of patients’ accounts following treatment for depression in a UK ketamine clinic K. Lascelles, L. Marzano, Fiona Brand, Hayley Trueman, R. McShane, K. Hawton Medicine BMJ Open 2019 4 PDF View 2 excerpts, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Human induced pluripotent stem cells technology in treatment resistant depression: novel strategies and opportunities to unravel ketamine’s fast-acting antidepressant mechanisms M. Marcatili, Carlo Sala, +7 authors M. Clerici Medicine Therapeutic advances in psychopharmacology 2020 PDF Save Alert Research Feed The influence of cognitive distortions on decision-making capacity for physician aid in dying. J. Dembo, S. V. van Veen, G. Widdershoven Psychology, Medicine International journal of law and psychiatry 2020 Save Alert Research Feed Certain Bio-Cognitive and Quantum Views of Depression J. Pandarakalam Psychology 2018 2 PDF Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-10 OF 11 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Toward an Evidence-Based, Operational Definition of Treatment-Resistant Depression: When Enough Is Enough. C. Conway, M. George, H. Sackeim Psychology, Medicine JAMA psychiatry 2017 94 View 1 excerpt Save Alert Research Feed European Group for the Study of Resistant Depression (GSRD) — Where have we gone so far: Review of clinical and genetic findings A. Schosser, A. Serretti, D. Souery, J. Mendlewicz, S. Kasper Medicine European Neuropsychopharmacology 2012 91 View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Multiple-therapy-resistant major depressive disorder: a clinically important concept R. McAllister-Williams, D. Christmas, +11 authors A. Young Medicine British Journal of Psychiatry 2018 18 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Definition, Assessment, and Staging of Treatment—Resistant Refractory Major Depression: A Review of Current Concepts and Methods M. Berlim, G. Turecki Psychology, Medicine Canadian journal of psychiatry. Revue canadienne de psychiatrie 2007 265 Save Alert Research Feed Evidence-based guidelines for treating depressive disorders with antidepressants: A revision of the 2008 British Association for Psychopharmacology guidelines A. Cleare, C. Pariante, +16 authors R. Uher Medicine Journal of psychopharmacology 2015 299 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Initial Severity and Antidepressant Benefits: A Meta-Analysis of Data Submitted to the Food and Drug Administration I. Kirsch, Brett J. Deacon, T. Huedo-Medina, A. Scoboria, T. Moore, B. Johnson Medicine PLoS medicine 2008 2,018 Highly Influential PDF View 2 excerpts, references methods Save Alert Research Feed Staging methods for treatment resistant depression. A systematic review. H. Ruhé, G. van Rooijen, J. Spijker, F. Peeters, A. Schene Medicine Journal of affective disorders 2012 145 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Initial severity of depression and efficacy of cognitive-behavioural therapy: individual-participant data meta-analysis of pill-placebo-controlled trials. T. Furukawa, E. Weitz, +12 authors P. Cuijpers Medicine The British journal of psychiatry : the journal of mental science 2017 29 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Comparative efficacy, acceptability, and tolerability of augmentation agents in treatment-resistant depression: systematic review and network meta-analysis. X. Zhou, A. Ravindran, +10 authors P. Xie Medicine The Journal of clinical psychiatry 2015 111 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Selective publication of antidepressant trials and its influence on apparent efficacy. E. Turner, A. Matthews, E. Linardatos, Robert Tell, R. Rosenthal Medicine The New England journal of medicine 2008 1,938 PDF Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 ... Related Papers Abstract Topics 7 Citations 11 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. 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work_dvx4uj3btncuxi2slmadibjovu	----	rNew from Delaware . .. The Genres of Gulliver's Travels Edited by Erederik N. Smith Eleven new essays reevaluate Swift’s masterpiece from the perspective of genre, demonstrating its tentative affiliation with established genres, its use of the characteristics of nonliterary genres, and its relation to several newly developing genres of the early eighteenth century. Contributors include Maximillian E. Novak, Simon Varey, J. Paul Hunter, M. Sarah Smedman, John F. Sena, Frederik N. Smith, Paul K. Alkon, William Bowman Piper, Janet E. Aikens, and Louise K. Barnett. 0-87413-359-9 October $38.50 tent. “This Action of Our Death” The Performance of Death in English Renaissance Drama By Michael Cameron Andrews Andrews focuses on death speeches and the actions that accompany them in the works of Marlowe, Chapman, Webster, Beaumont, Fletcher, Middleton, Massinger, Ford, Shirley, and Shakespeare. An appendix examines speeches that describe what is happening within the bodies of the dying. 0-87413-354-8 October $35.00 University of Delaware Press 326 Hullihen Hall • Newark, DE 19716 Please address orders to 440 Forsgate Drive, Cranbury, NJ 08512 ANTOLOGIA DE LA LITERATURA ESPANOLA la edud media at siglo XIX Need Anthologies in Spanish ? FOR MORE INFORMATION WRITE OR CALL: SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY INTERNATIONAL DIVISION 1900 E. LAKE AVE. GLENVIEW, IL 60025 TEL: (312) 729-3000 EXT. 3004, FAX: (312) 729-3065 New Paperbounds from American Poetry The Rhetoric of Its Forms Mutlu Konuk Biasing “Biasing’s new study is something of an event. . . . Sometimes her observations are so pointed, exact and inevitable (after the fact) as to give a surge of real pleasure. . . . Biasing has insured that Amer- ican Poetry will be referred to and deferred to by other scholars for a long time.” —J. Nelson Hathcock, A merican Poetry “This book ranks with the best books of criticism of American poetry I have read. One often feels in the presence of quite an astonishing mind, a reader of poetry who tries to see things both in very large and very small scale.” —William H. Pritchard $10.95 W. B. Yeats and the Idea of a Theatre The Early Abbey Theatre in Theory and Practice James W. Flannery “The book is immensely learned and manages to be two books at once, one on Yeatsian dramaturgy and theatre art and the other on the early history of the Abbey Theatre, its origins, rise,and partial failure.” —Julian Moynahan, The New Tork Times Book Review “A highly distinguished piece of scholarship, and I shall refer to it constantly when checking on anything concerning Yeats and the Irish theatre in his day.” —Eric Bentley $19.95 Woman in the Crested Kimono The Life of Shibue Io and Her Family Drawn from Mori Ogai’s “Shibue Chusai” Edwin McClellan “A most engaging book. Seeing Shibue Io through the various lenses of her husband, her son . . . the novelist Ogai, and the biographer McClellan is an interesting, moving, disarming experience.” —Donald Richie, Japan Times “Together with the people she knew, Io lives on in this literary album of old family pictures. It is well worth looking at.”—Ian Buruma, The New Tork Times Book Review A New Tork Times Book Review Notable Book of 1985 $10.95 The Myth of the Modern A Study in British Literature and Criticism after 1850 Perry Meisel “An innovative, iconoclastic, permanently valu- able redirection of critical thinking about literary modernism.” —Richard Poirier, editor, Raritan Quarterly “Much of the literature now honored as modernist purports to confront the alienating complexity and spiritual deception of modern life. Perry Meisel’s new book persuasively calls this popular assump- tion into question.” —James D. Bloom, New Tork Times Book Review $12.95 Electric Language A Philosophical Study of Word Processing Michael Heim In this book Michael Heim provides the first consistent philosophical basis for critically evalu- ating how word processing can change the way we use and think about language. “Not only important but seminal, on the cutting-edge. . . . The book shows wide learning, familiarity with relevant current popular culture developments, as well as with philosophy, constructive imagination, and a fine sense of balance.” —Walter J. Ong, s.j. $11.95 Tale University Press The Failure of the Word The Protagonist as Lawyer in Modem Fiction Richard H. Weisberg with a new preface This provocative book explores the ways in which lawyers and legal argument are treated in works by Dostoevski, Flaubert, Camus, and Melville. Richard Weisberg argues that misused language— words skillfully used but detached from ethical considerations and bearing the stamp of legalistic reasoning—is a persistent theme of the modern novel. “Language, self-conscious literature, law, deca- dence: these are prime areas of contemporary concern, and they have been woven into a powerful configuration that is brought to bear on a series of representative modern narrative texts. . . . [The] final chapter is certainly a study which no Melville scholar will henceforth be able to ignore.” —W. W. Holdheim,Hr(Wz/i “Valuable and fascinating.” —A. W. B. Simpson, Times Literary Supplement $10.95 Karl Kraus: Apocalyptic Satirist Culture and Catastrophe in Habsburg Vienna Edward Timms “A major landmark in Kraus studies.” —W. E. Yeats, Times Higher Education Supplement “Timms’s lucid prose, his masterly organization of the voluminous material he treats, his excellent translations of the documents he cites and his broad, readable portrayal of Viennese fin-de- siecle culture make this study accessible to the average reader and a pleasure for the literary professional.” —James Knowlton, European Studies Journal $15.95 Out of the Woods Thomas Bolt Foreword by James Merrill The winning volume in the 1988 Yale Series of Younger Poets competition. “Bolt writes with a deadly, stiletto-sharp focus and with a passion that is not only believable, but enticing and contagious.” —Booklist New in cloth ($14.95) and paper ($7.95) Horace David Armstrong Horace has always been among the greatest names in Roman—and European—poetry. In the centu- ries since his death in 8 B.c. his superb poetic craftsmanship has remained unassailable, yet the full range and depth of his humanity continue to prove elusive. In this newest volume in the Hermes Books series, David Armstrong offers the nonspecialist an unparalleled introduction to, and appreciation of, the works of this great lyric and satiric poet. New in cloth ($27.50) andpaper ($9-95) Hermes Books John Herington, General Editor Three Medieval Views of Women La Contenance des Fames, Le Bien des Fames, Le Blasme des Fames translated and edited by Gloria K. Fiero, Wendy Pfeffer, and Mathe Allain This bilingual edition of three lively and amusing French poems dating from the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries contains two poems that assail the vices of women and a third that lists women’s virtues. The verses, translated here into English for the first time, provide significant insights into the role of women in the Middle Ages as well as into medieval social history and the history of misogyny. 14 illus. New in cloth ($30.00) andpaper ($8.95) The Desert Is No Lady Southwestern Landscapes in Women’s Writing and Art edited by Vera Norwood and Janice Monk A handsomely illustrated look at the ways in which women writers and artists of varying generations, ethnic backgrounds and classes—among them Willa Cather, Leslie Marmon Silko, Pat Mora, and Mary Austin—have found their voices and images in the landscapes of the American Southwest. “A beautifully crafted book.” —Polly Welts Kaufman, The Women’s Review of Books $19.95 Yale University Press Dept. 043 92A Yale Station New Haven, CT 06520 ■-Oxford Announcing a new edition of a classic Classical Rhetoric for the Modem Student Third Edition EDWARD P.J. CORBETT, Ohio State University Praise for the Second Edition: "By far the most valuable writing textbook I've come across in my 10 years of teaching composition. My students make contact with a long and rich tradition of rhetoric, not a passing fad."—Russel Hirst, Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. "Offers unlimited possibilities for teaching writing because it uses a variety of classical and contemporary examples to illustrate its concepts."—Lloyd Sheldon Johnson, Bunker Hill Community College. "Corbett is still the authority on Classical Rhetoric."—Francis E. Zapatka, The American University. The new Third Edition has been completely brought up to date, using inclusive language throughout and giving greater representation to women writers; offering shorter, timelier selections; and providing a useful phonetic guide to tropes and figures derived from Greek and Latin words. February 1990 672 pp. $22.00 Now in a new edition The Bible as Literature Second Edition JOHN B. GABEL, Ohio State University, and CHARLES B. WHEELER, formerly of Ohio State University Praise for the First Edition: "A resounding success."—Journal of Theological Studies. As in the widely popular First Edition, Gabel and Wheeler approach the Bible from a literary/historical perspective and study the work as a body of writing produced by real people who intended to convey messages to a real audience. Each chapter is an independent yet related essay, and the Second Edition adds an entirely new section on writing in Biblical times. In addition, the reading lists that follow the chapters have been completely updated to reflect the most recent scholarship. The result is an easy-to-use, exciting presentation of the art of the Bible that is accessible to readers of all kinds. November 1989 304 pp. paper $12.95 cloth $32.50 Holland's Guide to Psychoanalytic Psychology and Literature-and-Psychology NORMAN N. HOLLAND, University of Florida This book provides handy outlines of all types of psychoanalytic theory, discusses these theories as they apply to literary criticism, and integrates throughout the text suggestions for further, more specific readings. By integrating these suggested readings with a lively, detailed look at psychology as it relates to literature, Holland is able to direct students easily to the precise subject they wish to study, from archetypal, Jungian criticism through the applications of feminist psychoanalysis and cognitive psychology to the interpretation of texts. Unique and insightful, this is an essential guidebook for students of psychoanalytic literary theory and literary criticism. February 1990 144 pp. paper $9.95 cloth $19.95 The American Intellectual Tradition A Source Book Volume 1:1620-1865 Volume II: 1865-present Edited by DAVID A. HOLLINGER, University of Michigan, and CHARLES CAPPER, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill "An excellent collection, rarely duplicated... .Most useful."—Tara Fitzpatrick, Sarah Lawrence College. "Truly outstanding. ...A sensible balance between classic texts and lesser-known texts."—Walter A. Jackson, North Carolina State University. "Ably fills a longstanding need in this field for a selection of representative and/or seminal primary texts. Fine choices." —R.E.Curran, Georgetown University 1989 Volume I: 408 pp. paper $14.95 Volume II: 256 pp. paper $12.95 The Set: 608 pp. cloth $45.00 The Technical Writing Process MARILYN SCHAUER SAMUELS, Case Western Reserve University "Possibly the best book of its kind on the market."—M.B. Debs, University of Cincinnati. "The tripart divisions of Process should work well with students new to technical writing. I really like this clear organization and the examples used throughout.... A lean, comprehensible text, especially suitable for a greater system schedule."—Janet M. Avery, Michigan Technological University. "A beautifully-crafted approach."—Sonya H. Cashden, Eastern Tennessee State University. "A well organized introduction covering all the basics."—Linda Duttlinger, Purdue University, North Central. "An excellent source for teachers... .Consolidates the recent and relevant research on teaching writing. New insights and new procedures are exceptional."—Judith Hannemann, University of Southern Maine 1989 336 pp.; 60 illus. paper $19.95 Popular Writing in America The Interaction of Style and Audience Fourth Edition Edited by DONALD McQUADE, University of California, Berkeley, and ROBERT ATWAN, Seton Hall University "Best anthology for freshman Composition I've ever seen—appealing visually and full of possibilities for teaching, for discussion, for learning about language, rhetoric, and audience."—Gail McMurry Gibson, University of Virginia. "Original, inventive, constructive. ...an authentic standout."—Richard Walter, University of California, Los Angeles. "The usual high standard."—John M. Lee, James Madison University 1988 784 pp.; 72 illus. paper $19.95 A Rhetoric for Writing Teachers Second Edition ERIKA LINDEMANN, University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill "By far the most useful, practical and insightful work about writing and ways to teach writing that I have read... .1 am redesigning my writing courses based on her suggestions... .A must." —Vivian Thomlinson, Cameron University. "The first edition is the best methods text I've ever used. The second edition is even better."—Duane H. Roen, University of Arizona, Tucson 1987 288 pp.; 21 illus. paper $15.95 The Practical Tutor EMILY MEYER and LOUISE Z. SMITH, both of the University of Massachusetts, Boston "Unequalled... .In its scope and thoroughness, The Practical Tutor does more than provide a course in tutoring instruction; it illustrates more vividly than any text I have seen the varied work of a writing center."—College English. "There is much to be learned from Practical Tutor. .. .The intense and valuable experience that the authors have had with tutors and with tutoring resonates throughout the book."—The Writing Center Journal 1987 388 pp.; 14 tables & graphs paper $15.95 cloth $32.50 Poetry in English An Anthology Edited by M.L. ROSENTHAL, New York University "The most balanced and comprehensive single-volume anthology I have seen. An extremely valuable teaching tool."—Ashton Nichols, Auburn University. "The first poetry anthology I have seen that seriously challenges the Norton Anthology... .Its selection is good, its footnotes are useful definitions rather than intrusive interpretations, and its binding seems more durable."—R. Chris Hassel, Jr., Vanderbilt University 1987 1,234 pp. paper $21.00 Prices and publication dates are subject to change. To request an examination copy, write on school letterhead giving full course information, including course name, level, expected enrollment, and your decision deadline, to: College fiumanities & Social Sciences Marketing Department Oxford University Press ————200 Madison Avenue • New York, NY 10016 ————— a Wjrud ofIDEAS ESSENTIAL READINGS EOR COLLEGE WRITERS ELEMENTS OF ARGUMENT A Tfext and Reader ANNETTE T. ROTTENBERG CURRENT ^ISSUES and ENDURING ^Methods and Models - of Argument SYLVAN BARNET & HUGO BEDAU Sxqnd Edition A WORLD OF IDEAS: Essential Readings for College Writers, Third Edition Lee A. Jacobus, University of Connecticut Fall 1989/paper/800 pages/Instructor’s Manual Like its widely praised and widely adopted predecessors, the third edition of A World Of Ideas challenges students and their instructors in ways that no other recent composition reader does. It contains 36 substantial selections (14 of them new) from some of the world’s most important thinkers. This new edition includes 9 selections by women and, for the first time, figures from outside the Western intellectual tradition. As before, the accompanying editorial apparatus is appro- priately thorough and includes lengthy introductions to each selection providing necessary background information. ELEMENTS OF ARGUMENT: A Text and Reader, Second Edition Annette T. Rottenberg, University of Massachusetts at Amherst paper/560 pages/Instructor’s Manual Like its bestselling predecessor, the second edition of Elements of Argument is both a text and reader. The text is based on an accessible adaptation of the Toulmin model, and the reader features six clusters of conflicting opinions on AIDS Testing, Animal Rights, Choosing Parenthood, Collegiate Sports Reform, Euthanasia, and Pornography. CURRENT ISSUES AND ENDURING QUESTIONS: Methods and Models of Argument, Second Edition Sylvan Barnet, Tufts University Hugo Bedau, Tufts University Fall I989/paper/704 pages/Instructor’s Edition Like its successful predecessor, this text is two books in one. A collab- oration between an author/editor of many successful English texts and a distinguished philosopher, it (1) offers instruction on reading argu- ments critically and on writing arguments effectively; and (2) presents 93 models of argument (32 of them new) on contemporary and classic questions, arranged into short debates or longer units that treat such topics as the First Amendment, Abortion, and Creationism vs. Evolution. Parallax Re-visions of Culture and Society Stephen G. Nichols, Gerald Prince, and Wendy Steiner, Series Editors Suburban Ambush Downtown Writing and the Fiction of Insurgency Robert Siegle While Hollywood and the bestseller lists hype a fake underground, writers like Kathy Acker, Lynne Tillman, Patrick McGrath, Eric Bogosian, Ron Kolm, and others have been living and writing about the real thing—and reinventing American fiction in the process. "Suburban Ambush will take its place among the definitive literary histories of our time.” —Jerome Klinkowitz $14.95 paperback $42.50 hardcover Subversive Pleasures Bakhtin, Cultural Criticism, and Film Robert Stam The first extended application of Mikhail Bakhtin’s critical methods to film, mass-media, and cultural studies. Robert Stam explores issues from the "translinguistic” critique of Saussurean semiotics and Russian formalism to "the carnivalesque” in literature and film — from Rabelais and Jarry to Vigo, Bunuel, Mel Brooks, and Monty Python. $28.50 hardcover Fictional Truth Michael Riffaterre Michael Riffaterre identifies and discusses the features that give fictional narratives their ring of truth. He offers a semiotic revision of traditional narratology, sets forth a new theory of intertextual overdetermination, and presents an analysis of the manifestation of narrative content through the operations of an intertextual unconscious. $9.95 paperback $25.00 hardcover Critical Theory, Marxism, and Modernity Douglas Kellner The critical theory of the Frankfurt School stresses interconnections among philosophy, economics and politics, culture and society. Douglas Kellner explores the effects of historical crises of capitalism and Marxism on critical theory and reflects on its continued relevance or obsolescence. $ 14.95 paperback $36.50 hardcover Listening for the Text On the Uses of the Past Brian Stock Brian Stock ponders the creation of the past as text, considering equally the past that is written about and the writing that brings it to life. Listening for a wide range of medieval and modern texts, he shows how the growth of interest in language in the Middle Ages forms the background to the contemporary study of oral and literate culture. $24.95 hardcover Politics and Culture Working Hypotheses for a Post-Revolutionary Society Michael Ryan Drawing on cultural studies, legal theory, rhetoric, and social philosophy, Michael Ryan argues that only new formulations and new institutions can help us escape both capitalism’s ideology and socialism’s cynicism. His topics range from the rhetoric of contemporary Hollywood films to the politics of deconstruction in the New York Review of Books. $28.95 hardcover THE JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY PRESS 701 West 40th Street, Suite 275. Baltimore, Maryland 21211, or call 1-800-537-JHUP THE STORY AND ITS WRITER: An Introduction to Short Fiction, Shorter Second Edition Ann Charters, University of Connecticut Fall I989/paper/864 pages/Instructor’s Edition This shorter second edition appears in response to the requests of many instructors. It includes 55 stories by 49 major writers, 28 related critical commentaries, and all of the editorial features for which the longerversion is so noted: extensive headnotes, a history of the genre, an introduction to the elements of fiction, a chapter on writing about short stories, a glossary of literary terms, and a comprehensive instructor's manual which is bound into the Instructor’s Edition. THE BEDFORD INTRODUCTION TO DRAMA Lee A. Jacobus, University of Connecticut 1989/paper/1152 pages "An impressive book! It honors the canon at the same time that it gives ample voice to the modern and the new. The critical excerpts are also varied and provocative. The book has been planned with great intelli- gence and produced with panache'.' —Professor Robert W. Corrigan, University of Texas at Dallas The most comprehensive introductory drama text available, with 51 plays and 42 commentaries. Features in-depth treatment of five major playwrights—Sophocles, Shakespeare, Ibsen, Chekhov, and Beckett— each represented by two plays. Strong representation of women and minority playwrights and of contemporary drama. THE STORY AND ITS WRITER: An Introduction to Short Fiction, Second Edition Ann Charters paper/1414 pages/Instructor’s Manual The most comprehensive introduction to fiction available offers 107 stories (51 of them new) by 84 authors and 41 critical commentaries (16 of them new) by many of the anthology's authors discussing spe- cific stories, authors' writing processes, and the short story as a liter- ary form. Editorial apparatus includes lengthy headnotes on each author and appendices on the history of the short story, elements of fiction, writing about short stories, and a glossary of literary terms. A 200 page Instructor’s Manual includes commentaries on the stories, ques- tions for discussion, writing assignments, and suggested readings. CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS POST-STRUCTURALISM AND THE QUESTION OF HISTORY Derek Attridge, Geoff Bennington, Robert Young, Editors This collection of essays is unique in its focus on the relation between post-structuralism and historical (especially Marxist) literary theory and criticism. Many essays address particular texts, both literary and non-literary, relating history and literary theory. Hardcover 842.50 Paper 817.95 NINETEENTH-CENTURY lives : essays presented TO JEROME HAMILTON BUCKLEY Laurence S. Lockridge, John Maynard, Donald D. Stone, Editors In this unique collection of essays, ten distin- guished critics and biographers consider what it means to narrate a life. While many of these pieces are delightful, provocative biographical and autobiographical excursions in them- selves, narrative is the broader genre uniting the various inquiries. Hardcover 829.95 POETRY AND PHANTASY Antony Easthope This detailed engagement with psychoanalysis shows that poetry needs to be understood as “social phantasy” in which ideological and un- conscious needs are produced differently yet simultaneously. This book examines the rela- tion between historical materialism and psy- choanalysis in literary theory and criticism. Hardcover 839.50 READINGS IN MEDIEVAL POETRY A.C. Spearing This collection explores the seminal medieval poetic texts to expose modern readers to a vari- ety of medieval poetry. The critical approaches vary in accordance with the poetic genre, in- volving both historical as well as theoretical analysis. Paper 816.95 TROUBADORS AND IRONY Simon Gaunt Simon Gaunt argues that the courtly poetry of Southern France in the twelfth century was per- meated with irony and that many troubador songs were playful and laced with humorous sexual innuendo. New interpretations of many troubador poems suggest fresh perspectives on the tradition. Hardcover 844.50 MYTH AND HISTORY IN THE CONTEMPORARY SPANISH NOVEL Jo Labanyi This in-depth analysis of six of the most impor- tant Spanish novels written since the Spanish Civil War focuses on myth as a response to his- tory with the intention of refuting archetypal myth criticism. The study raises the general issues of how fiction as a form of mythification relates to the real world. Hardcover 854.50 TRAGICOMEDY AND NOVELISTIC DISCOURSE IN CELESTINA Dorothy Sherman Severin Professor Severin demonstrates how Fernando de Rojas’ parodistic dialogue anticipates the modern novel. Hardcover 844.50 MANNERISM IN ARABIC POETRY A Structural Analysis of Selected Texts (3rd Century AH/ 9th Century AD — 5th Century AH/ 11th Century AD) Stefan Sperl Sperl’s study questions whether mannerism and classicism can be applied to analysis of Arabic poetry. Structuralist analysis suggests a broad reevaluation of the classicist/mannerist continuum. Hardcover 844.50 At bookstores or order from CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS 40 West 20th Street, New York, NY 10011. Call toll-free: 800-872-7423, outside NY State. 800-227-0247, NY State only. MasterCard & VISA accepted. Prices subject to change. THE CRITICAL Tradition CLOSE IMAGINING: An Introduction to Literature Benjamin DeMott, Amherst College cloth/1440 pages/Instructor’s Manual "Its message for this age is no less important” than that of Brooks and Warren’s Understanding Poetry a half-century ago. English Journal, October 1988 Focusing on active reading, a famed teacher has drawn upon insights of contemporary literary theory along with 35 years of classroom experience to develop new ways for a textbook to help students learn to love reading literature and become better at it. Stresses the impor- tance of critical thinking and writing about literature as important aids to bringing literature to life. 26 stories, 194 poems, and II plays are a mixture of familiar and offbeat selections. HEART OF DARKNESS by Joseph Conrad A Case Study in Contemporary Criticism edited by Ross C Murfin 1989/paper/304 pages This new edition of Conrad s classic short novel presents the author- itative 1921 Heinemann text together with five critical essays specially commissioned to interpret it for a student audience from different critical perspectives: Psychoanalytical Criticism by Frederick R. Karl Reader-Response Criticism by Adena Rosmarin Feminist Criticism by Johanna M. Smith Deconstruction by J. Hillis Miller The New Historicism by Brook Thomas THE CRITICAL TRADITION: Classic Texts and Contemporary Trends David H. Richter, Queens College ofC.U.N.Y. I989/cloth/I488 pages The most comprehensive anthology of major documents in literary theory and criticism to be published in nearly two decades. Its two- part organization moves from classical antiquity to the present, and encompasses 109 selections by 98 important figures, plus introduc- tions, headnotes, bibliographies, and glosses—all qualifying The Critical Tradition as the ideal text for courses in literary theory and criticism and the cornerstone volume around which an English grad- uate student can build a professional library. O'Connor and the Mystery of Love Richard Qiannone “This is a wonderful book. Giannone’s study is more penetrating than any I have read in finding the theo- logical, patristic, and scriptural resources of Flannery O’Connor’s difficult art.” — Arthur F. Kinney, author of Resources of Being: Flannery O’Connor’s Library. Qoth, $24.95. Standard English and the Politics of Language Tony Crowley “Elegantly written and distinctly original, the first book to take on a variety of linguistic usage issues from the theoretical perspective of the British cul- tural studies tradition.”—Cary Nelson, editor of Theory in the Classroom. Cloth, $34.95; paper, $15.95. The Contested Castle Gothic Novels and the Sub- version of Domestic Ideology Kate Ferguson Ellis “Viewing Gothic novels by men as responses to the early nineteenth-century idealization of domesticity, Ellis argues that male novelists were struggling to develop a convincing definition of masculinity in the light of the culture’s proliferating definitions of femininity.”—Mary Poovey, author of Uneven Developments: The Ideological Work of Gender in Mid-Victorian England. Cloth, $24.95; paper, $9.95. The Art of Excess Mastery in Contemporary American Fiction Tom LeClair “This is a brilliantly argued and important work of criticism.”—Don DeLillo, author of Libra. “One of those rare studies that deserve the epithet ’seminal.’ It is clear that The Art of Excess has the potential to become one of the more widely discussed and, I believe, influential studies of post- modern literature and culture to have been published in years.” — Charles B. Harris, author of Passionate Virtuosity: The Fiction of JohnBarth. Cloth, $34.95; paper, $13.95. NEW IN PAPERBACK The Precipice Elia W. Peattie With an introduction by Sidney Bremer “The Precipice is long, and rich and challenging.... The book is strongly feminist in tone and message... a fine work of literature.”—Robert Bray, A Reader’s Guiae to Illinois Literature. $9.95. Pilgrimage Volume 1: Pointed Roofs/Backwater/Honeycomb Dorothy Richardson With an introduction by Gillian E. Hanscombe “One of the real achievements of our time.... A miracle of performance.”—Rebecca West. “She has invented... the psychological sentence of the feminine gender.” — Virginia Woolf. $9.95. Order toll free 8001666-2211, or from University of Illinois Press c/o CUP Services . P. O. Box 6525 • Ithaca, NY 14851 The Middle Ages Series Beasts and Birds of the Middle Ages The Bestiary and Its Legacy Edited by Willene B. Clark and Meradith T. McMunn 1989. 264 pp, 50 illus. Cloth, 8147-0, $29.95 Word as Bond in English Literature from the Middle Ages to the Restoration J. Douglas Canfield 1989. 352 pp. Cloth 8162-4, $36.95 The Voice of the Trobairitz Perspectives on the Women Troubadours Edited by William D. Paden 1989. 224 pp. Cloth, 8167-5, $27.95 Rereading Beowulf Edward B. Irving, Jr. 1989.185 pp. Cloth, 8155-1, $24.95 Creation and Procreation Feminist Reflections on Mythologies of Cosmogony and Parturition Marta Weigle Nov. 1989. 304 pp, 22 illus. Cloth, 8096-2, $39.95; paper, 1264-9, $18.95 Revision and Authority in Wordsworth The Interpretation of a Career William H. Galperin 1989. 272 pp. Cloth, 8140-3, $32.95 Jane Austen and the Prov- ince of Womanhood Alison G. Sulloway 1989. 252 pp. Cloth, 8171-3, $32.95 Thomas Percy A Scholar-Cleric in the Age of Johnson Bertram H. Davis Feb. 1989. 352 pp, 1 illus. Cloth, 8161-6, $39.95 The Complex Image Faith and Method in American Autobiography Joseph Fichtelberg Dec. 1989. 256 pp. Cloth, 8146- 2, $25.95 The Study of Popular Fiction A Source Book Edited by Bob Ashley 1989. 256 pp. Cloth, 8197-7, $29.95; paper, 1295-9, $12.95 American Literature and the Academy The Roots, Growth, and Maturity of a Profession Kermit Vanderbilt 1987. 632 pp. Paper, 1291-6, $19.95 Modern/Postmodern A Study in Twentieth-Century Arts and Ideas Silvio Gaggi 1989. 224 pp. Cloth, 8154-3, $27.95 Lectura Dantis Americana Inferno I Anthony K. 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And a SONY learning system representative will be glad to give you all the details. Put quite simply. . . It is the ultimate! For more information about the SONY LLC-5510MKII Complete Language Learning Center, call toll-free: 1-800-326-SONY CLASSIC COMPANIONS MiNGUIN • CRITICAL • STUDIES SHAKESPEARE THE TEMPEST I Q XjFW------------- ■^v>\ Jxx V SANDRA CLARK A/v MrA\ *y \ kX<^._ v' < x Xx T R O P U C I NG^^>-,z PENGUIN • CRITICAL • STUDIES Five outstanding volumes launch Penguin Critical Studies, a series specially developed to enhance the study of major works of English literature. Prepared by experts for students, scholars, and the critical general reader, each volume analyzes an author’s themes in a cultural and historical context and includes a wealth of biographical and background information. Sharing the Penguin tradition of scholarship and quality, inexpensively priced Penguin Critical Studies are perfect companions to the classics in every edition—including the highly acclaimed Penguin Classics. Jane Austen: EMMA and PERSUASION Roger Gard (University of London). “Delight and instruction beautifully combined.” —Richard Holmes. “Confronts boldly all the delicate Jane Austen issues.. .with a verve and wit that would surely have appealed to the subject herself.”—Simon Gray. 96 pp. Penguin 0-14-077188-3 S4.95 Charlotte Bronte: JANE EYRE Susie Campbell (North Westminster School, London). Detailed chapter-by-chapter analysis explores the links between personality and place in Bronte’s romantic, political, and remarkably feminist work. 112 pp. Penguin 0-14-077168-9 S4.95 Emily Bronte: WUTHERING HEIGHTS Rod Mengbam (Cambridge University). Probing into the forces at work in Bronte’s enigmatic novel. Mengham studies the conflict of nature and civilization, the role of the subconscious, and the power of imagery and symbolism. 128 pp. Penguin 0-14-077165-4 $4.95 Chaucer Brian Stone (Open University). “An exem- plary guide to Chaucer.'. .Not only sets The Canterbury Tales in a proper linguistic and cultural context, it also gives attention to Troilus and Criseyde and the ‘lesser’ poems.” —Times Educational Supplement (London). 240 pp. Penguin 0-14-077185-9 $5-95 Shakespeare: THE TEMPEST Sandra Clark (University of London). Dis- cussing structure, themes, and characteriza- tion, Clark suggests a variety of stimulating approaches to Shakespeare’s last play and provides useful details on sources and critic- ism. 96 pp. Penguin 0-14-077230-8 $4.95 Coming in January 1990: George Eliot: MIDDLEMARCH {Catherine Neale), Shakespeare: KING LEAR {Kenneth Muir), Shakespeare: OTHELLO {Gaminiand Fenella Salgado), Jonathan Swift: GULLIVER’S TRAVELS {Clive T. Probyn). PENGUIN USA Academic/Library Marketing, 40 West 23rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10010 Hamlet 's Choice Hamlet — A Reformation Allegory Linda Kay Hoff Although it may no longer be fashionable to view Hamlet as a "problem play," the problems of this most mysterious of plays remain. Basing her conclusions on research into the university-centered defense of sixteenth-century English translations of the Bible, Mariology and Marian propaganda, and historiographical interpretation of Revelation, Hoff offers a comprehensive answer to the questions raised by such perennial issues as the following: • why Hamlet had it in it "to please the wiser sort" at Oxford and Cambridge • the names Claudius, Polonius, Laertes, Ophelia, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Fortinbras • the relation of the Pyrrhus speech and the Gonzago playlet to the whole • the presence of a character named Polonius in a play featuring a war against "the Polack" • the "superfluous scenes" • Hamlet’s age as 30 in Q2 and F • the cause of Ophelia's insanity • the "time" that is "out of joint" • Ophelia's closet narrative • Hamlet's "Oedipus complex" • the import of her mad songs • Gertrude's carousing "health1 • the Paris-Wittenberg contrast • the undersong of original sin • the din of trumpet and cannon • Hamlet's choice of Fortinbras For those who, with Waldock, have asked themselves what Hamlet is "really about." The Edwin Mellen Press P.O. Box 450 Lewiston, NY 14092 Individuals please prepay. Phone Orders: (716) 754-2788 Ask for it at your library. Library Cloth $59.95 380 + xiv, 8 halftones Bibliography + 2 indices ISBN 0-88946-145-7 January 1989 Write or call for our special library subscription rates and special convention rates for scholars. "A SMASH HIT!" Time Magazine "SEX, DRUGS AND ROCK 'N' ROLL!" The Wall Street Journal "STEAMY SEX!" Los Angeles Times "NATALYA NEGODA IS BRILLIANT!" Roger Ebert, Siskel & Ebert DELIVERS! THE REVOLUTION THE RUSSIANS NEVER EXPECTEO. Natalya Nagoda smolders as Vera, a sullen, sultry teenager who's torn between her brooding husband and her bitter parents in a dead-end town. With her simmering sensuality and brutal candor, LITTLE VERA has been seducing big audiences and she'll deliver big soles! 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Greenwood Press. 0-313-26667-0. $39.95. Mother Puzzles Daughters and Mothers in Contemporary American Literature Edited by Mickey Pearlman Mother Puzzles is a unique collection that examines how women who write have dealt with the mother/daughter relationship. Pearlman notes that “missing mothers”— mothers who are physically present but emotionally absent- are often found in works by women. Greenwood Press. 0-313-26414-7. $36.00 est. The Devil’s Advocates Decadence in Modem Literature By Thomas Reed Whissen Whissen approaches the decadent vision as an attempt to come to terms with a world in decline, rather than as a transient literary fed. He explores the ways in which decadence functions not only in modem literature but in modem life. Greenwood Press. 0-313-26483-X. $39.95. --------Greenwood Press, Inc.-------- 88 Post Road West, Box 5007, Westport, CT 06881 (203) 226-3571 PARIS WORKSHOP • JUNE 18-JULY 4, 1990 THE LACAN SEMINAR IN ENGLISH PRESENTS A WORKSHOP ON SEMINAR 11, THE FOUR FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTS OF PSYCHO-ANALYSIS, AND OTHER TEXTS FACULTY Jacques-Alain Miller Marie-Helene Brousse Eric Laurent Colette Soler Slavoj Zizek Russell Grigg Ellie Ragland-Sullivan Richard Feldstein Dominique Miller Francois Regnault Fran^oise Gorog Pierre-Giles Guegen Bruce Fink Co-directors of the Seminar are Richard Feldstein, Bruce Fink, and Ellie Ragland-Sullivan Sponsored by "The Lacan Seminar in English" with the kind participation of French psychoanalysts and University professors. Taught in English, the Seminar will focus on specific concepts presented in Seminar 11: the gaze, anamor- phosis, the drive, transference, and others. To encourage institutional funding, we will sponsor a two-day confer- ence on Lacan (June 16-17) that will enable participants to present papers on some aspect of Lacanian psycho- analysis. Following the Seminar, participants will have the opportunity to attend the VIe Internationale Rencontre (July 6-9), which will focus on "Traits de Perversion." (Simultaneous translations will be offered in English, Spanish, French, and Portuguese.) Tuition: Students $300 (by February 1, 1990) $400 (February 2-June 1, 1990) Others $500 (by February 1, 1990) $600 (February 2-June 1, 1990) For further information and an application, contact: RICHARD FELDSTEIN DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH RHODE ISLAND COLLEGE PROVIDENCE, RI 02908 (508) 252-3688 /, Macmillan English rr AVAILABLE IN FALL ’89! / V, LITERATURE^ JAMES H. PICKERING, University of Houston JEFFREY D. HOEPER, Arkansas State University 1760 pp., hardbound, 0-02-395591-0 With Instructor’s Manual f The new edition of this widely-used introduction to literature continues to offer a generous anthology of fiction, poetry, and drama, while also providing a solid grounding in literary analysis. Each genre is preceded by a thorough, authoritative introduction, which analyzes the elements of literary structure. In addition, LITERATURE 3/e incorporates an expanded section on the writing process—with complete coverage of MLA documentation—and a new in-text "Handbookfor Literary Study" NEW! r POETRY: An Introduction JEFFREY D. HOEPER, Arkansas State University JAMES H. PICKERING, University of Houston 580 pp., hardbound, 0-02-395465-5 With Instructors Manual Extensive and flexible, POETRY: An Introduction is a chronological anthology of over 400 poems that represent the full historical and stylistic range of English and American verse. The text discusses how to read and study poetry, and then examines its formal elements. It concludes with a "Poetry Handbook,” useful either as a supplement or self-contained reference. THE LANGUAGE OF EXCELLENCE MACMILLAN PUBLISHING COMPANY COLLEGE DIVISION • 866 THIRD AVENUE • NEW YORK, NY 10022 • (800) 428-3750 Collier Macmillan Canada, Inc.: (416) 449-6030 Women writers, past & present The Princess of Cleves By Madame de Lafayette. Revised translation by Walter J. Cobb. Intro- duction by Nancy K. Miller. In this forerunner to the modern psychologi- cal novel, Madame de Lafayette simply and directly describes the lives and mores of aristocrats in the 16th-century court of Henri II. ® MERIDIAN 0-452-00986-3 $5.95. May Your Days Be Merry and Bright Christmas Stories by Women Edited by Susan Koppelman. A col- lection of 15 insightful, imaginative pieces written over the last 120 years by such leading authors as Willa Ca- ther, Pearl S. Buck, Grace Paley, and Ntozake Shange. ©PLUME 0-452-26336-0 $8.95 October. The High Road By Edna O’Brien. “O’Brien reminds us of our primal selves, our needy flesh. She is the truest keeper of our souls writing today,’ ’ said Ms. Magazine of O’Brien’s first novel in 11 years. ©PLUME 0-452-26306-9 $8.95 October. The Drowning Season By Alice Hoffman. The author of At Risk tells the story of a regally over- bearing matriarch, her bitter grand- daughter, and the weak-willed man who is both son and father, lured each summer by the ocean’s siren song. “The story is hypnotic in its telling, and the imagining astounding but true.”—New York Times ©PLUME 0-452-26302-6 $7.95 September. The Custom of the Country By Edith Wharton. Introduction by Candace Waid. Wharton’s brilliant 1913 classic of sharp cultural criticism is her most biting indictment of Ameri- can society. ® SIGNET CLASSIC 0-451-52367-9 $4.95. _______ ©PLUME_______ American Women Writers Series Series editor: Michele Slung Lummox By Fanny Hurst. Introduction by Alice Childress. Unrivaled for her depiction of lower class immigrants and first generation Americans who lived during the early 1900’s, Hurst created an un- forgettable character in her 1923 novel Lummox: Bertha—part Slavic, part Swedish, and all pov- erty—a nearly inarticulate soul with an undaunted, beautiful spirit. ©PLUME 0-452-26325-5 $8.95 December. Colcorton By Edith Pope. “One of the most completely satisfying characters this reviewer has met,’ ’ said the New York Times of Abby Clang- hearne, heroine of this 1944 novel which touches on all the great themes of Southern literature. ©PLUME 0-452-26324-7 $8.95 December. Prices subject to change. Write to the NAL Education Department at the address below for a free Literature and Language catalog. NAL NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY A Division of Penguin USA 1633 Broadway, New York, NY 10019 FMacmillan English THE TRADITION OF EXCELLENCE i.______ _____ -________-_____________________________________ :_____ ’____ _____ _ ANTHOLOGY OF AMERICAN P LITERATURE 4/e, 1989 GEORGE MCMICHAEL, California State University at Hayward EDWARD CREWS, University of r California at Berkeley j.C. LEVENSON, University of Virginia LEO MARX, Massachusetts Institute of Technology DAVID E. SMITH, Hampshire College Volume I: Colonial Through Romantic 2052 pp., paperback, 0-02-379621-9 LITERATURE AND THE WRITING PROCESS 2/e, 1989 ELIZABETH MCMAHAN, Illinois State University SUSAN DAY Illinois State University ROBERT FUNK, Eastern Illinois University I056 pp., paperback, 0-02-379740-I With Instructor's Manual Over 200 schools have adopted LIT- ERATURE AND THE WRITING PROCESS 2/e for its successful inte- gration of literary appreciation and writing instruction! It provides an ex- tended application of the writing pro- cess, combined with the close study of literary works in the three genres. As a rhetoric, the text provides a complete writing course, including the research paper Furthermore, as an introduc- tion, to literature, it offers a generous anthology of fiction, poetry, and drama. Volume II: Realism to the Present 2/50 pp., paperback, 0-02-379622-7 With Instructor's Manual This extensive two-volume survey represents our literary heritage from colonial times to the contemporary era. The content, refined in light of recommendations from more than 150 scholars, makes ANTHOLOGY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE 4/e truly reflective of today’s teaching needs! JL // / r r/ £ <z> LITERATURE OF THE WESTERN WORLD 2/e, 7988 BRIAN WILKIE, University of Arkansas JAMES HURT University of Illinois Volume I: 2300 pp., paperback, 0-02-427800-9 Volume II: 2300 pp, paperback, 0-02-4278I0-6 With Instructor’s Manual An extensive selection of the classics of western literature—accom- panied by explanations, headnotes, and footnotes—makes this the most comprehensive anthology of its kind! Divided into two volumes, LIT- ERATURE OF THE WESTERN WORLD 2/e provides many complete works by classic and contemporary authors of international renown. The texts are fully annotated with detailed historical and biographical notes and introductions to six literary periods./Jjy THE LANGUAGE OF EXCELLENCE MACMILLAN PUBLISHING COMPANY jUR COLLEGE DIVISION • 866 THIRD AVENUE • NEW YORK, NY 10022 • (800) 428-3750 HEW Collier Macmillan Canada, Inc.: (4I6) 449-6030 SUBSCRIBE TO « LE FRANCAIS DANS LE H NDE» ISSUES PER YEAR Five magazines in one. A cultural magazine which gives you up to date information on all currents events concerning the French language. Detachable cards and documents for teacher’s use with an outlook on peda- gogic experiences throughout the world. A bibliographic guide. SPECIAL ISSUES: Glossaries (August/September 89) Learning and using a foreign language. (February 90) SUPPLEMENT: «DIAGONALES» A new link for all teachers in French speaking countries The only magazine on French as a second lan- guage, including major surveys, a dossier on a specific theme, interviews and all the cultural and linguistic news related to the French speaking world. ILE FRANCAIS DANS LE MONDE I THE ACKNOWLEDGED INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE OF FRENCH TEACHERS. _______ We would be happy to mail to you a free issue of LE FRANQAIS DANS LE MONDE and DIAGONALES. Please fill out and return the coupon hereunder to: LE FRANQAIS DANS LE MONDE 26, rue des Fosses Saint-Jacques 75005 PARIS (France). To __________________________________________________________________________ Address — — — Macmillan English r New for 1990! AVAILABLE IN FALL ’89! THE MACMILLAN READER 2/e JUDITH NADELL, Glassboro State College and JOHN LANGAN, Atlantic Community College 670 pp., paperback, 0-02-385871-0 With Instructor’s Manual Widely adopted and praised for its teachability, THE MACMILLAN READER 2/e continues to be the height of excellence! Its 54 rhetorically arranged essays include many preferred classics, along with a variety of contempo- rary works. RHETORICS AVAILABLE IN FALL ’89! STUDENT’S BOOK OF COLLEGE ENGLISH Rhetoric, Readings, Handbook, 5/e DAVID SKWIRE, Cuyahoga Community College, the late FRANCES CHITWOOD BEAM, Cuyahoga Community College, and HARVEY S. WIENER, The City University of New York 640 pp, paperback, 0-02-411531-2 With Instructor's Manual WRITING TO WRITE Process, Collaboration, Communication DANA C. ELDER, Eastern Washington University 224 pp., paperback, 0-02-332210-1 With Instructor's Manual THE ELEMENTS OF INVENTION JEANNE H. SIMPSON, Eastern Illinois University 96 pp, paperback, 0-02-410621-6 r ARGUMENTATION STRATEGIES OF ARGUMENT STUART HIRSCHBERG, Rutgers University 700 pp, paperback, 0-02-354773 -1 With Instructor’s Manual READERS CASTS OF THOUGHT Writing in and Against Tradition GEORGE OTTE, Baruch College and LINDA J. PALUMBO, Cerritos College 704 pp, paperback, 0-02-389961 -1 Instructor’s Manual WRITING: The Translation of Memory EVE SHELNUTT Ohio University 576 pp, hardbound, 0-02-409820-5 Instructor’s Manual RESEARCH THE MACMILLAN GUIDE TO WRITING RESEARCH PAPERS WILLIAM COYLE, Florida Atlantic University 256 pp, paperback, 0-02-325291 -X Instructor's Manual RESEARCH The Student’s Guide to Writing Research Papers RICHARD VEIT University of North Carolina at Wilmington 288 pp., paperback, 0-02-423040-5 Instructor’s Manual WRITING, READING, AND RESEARCH 2/e RICHARD VEIT CHRISTOPHER GOULD, and JOHN CLIFFORD, all of University of North Carolina at Wilmington 544 pp., paperback, 0-02-422911 -3 Instructor's Manual ADVANCED GRAMMAR j UNDERSTANDING ENGLISH GRAMMAR s/e MARTHA KOLLN, Pennsylvania State University 480 pp, hardbound, 0-02-366061 -9 Instructor’s Manual GRAMMAR IN THE CLASSROOM MARK LESTER, Eastern Washington University 352 pp., hardbound, 0-02-370060-2 Instructor’s Manual THE LANGUAGE OF EXCELLENCE MACMILLAN PUBLISHING COMPANY COLLEGE DIVISION • 866 THIRD AVENUE • NEW YORK, NY 10022 *(800) 428-3750 Collier Macmillan Canada, Inc.: (416) 449-6030 The Department of Literature at the University of California, San Diego, announces the establishment, as of Fall Quarter, 1990, of a single Ph.D. program in Literature. Present programs in the national literatures and comparative literature are being phased out. The new program will have three stages: 1. (three years) a year-long seminar on the foundations of literary and cultural criticism, work in at least two literatures on a major-minor or balanced basis, comparative literature, and theory; 2. (one year) preparation for the qualifying examinations; 3. (two years) dissertation research and writing. Students may write dissertations in any of the fields in which members of the Department do research. These fields now include English, American, French, German, Greek, Latin, Biblical Hebrew, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, Polish, Russian, Chicano, Asian-American, and African-American Literatures; Comparative Literature; Literary Theory; Women’s Studies; and Composition Studies. Presently the Department guarantees support through fellowships and assistantships to all admitted students who request it. For further information and application forms, write: DIRECTOR OF GRADUATE STUDIES DEPARTMENT OF LITERATURE, D-007 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SAN DIEGO LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA 92093 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SAN DIEGO © Plume Brings You Superior Contemporary Literature “At age 84, Isaac Bashevis Singer continues to astonish.”—Time The King of the Fields By Isaac Bashevis Singer. Nobel laureate Singer's first novel in five years, this myth-like epic spins a tale of superstition and violence in a land that will someday become Poland, a land ruled by Cybula, king of a band of nomadic hunter- gatherers overrun by a more powerful agricultural society. Read either as a fictional exploration of primitive history or a gloss on modern civilization, The King of the Fields is “filled with themes of betrayal, suspicion, and survival, but because the voice belongs to Isaac Singer, it is also about the en- durance of love among the damned....The ugly and violent and terrible world he has made seems, all at once, our own.”- Washington Post Bookworid 0-452-26312-3 $8.95 November Also by Isaac Bashevis Singer The Death of Methuselah and Other Stories 0-452-26215-1 $8.95 Published The Drowning Season By Alice Hoffman. The author of At Risk here tells the story of a regally overbearing matriarch, her bitter granddaughter, and the weak-willed man who is both son and father, lured each summer by the ocean's siren song. Her “hallucinatory novel skims along just above the sur- face of the real like a finely wrought nightmare...haunting and wise”-Newsweek 0-452-26302-6 $7.95 September The High Road By Edna O’Brien. “O'Brien reminds us of our primal selves, our needy flesh. She is the truest keeper of our souls writing today,” said Ms. Magazine of O'Brien’s first novel in 11 years. 0-452-26306-9 $8.95 October The Man Who Knew Cary Grant By Jonathan Schwartz. “Had words worked like music, this would be Schwartz’s Rhapsody in B/ue-and I could listen to it for hours," said Jerzy Kosinski of this poignant novel about a father and son's bit- tersweet relationship, inspired by the author’s own life with his father, musical-comedy composer Arthur Schwartz. 0452-26310-7 $7.95 October Prices subject to change. Write to the NAL Education Department at the address below for a free Literature and Language catalog. NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY A Division of Penguin USA 1633 Broadway, New York, NY 10019 NAL The School of Criticism and Theory at Dartmouth College announces its FOURTEENTH SUMMER SESSION June 18-July 27, 1990 Director: Michael Riffaterre, Columbia University Faculty: Jonathan Arac, Columbia University Writing Literary History Now Frank Kermode, Cambridge University Value in Literature W.J. T. Mitchell, University o f Chicago Image and Text Sylvia Molloy, Yale University Autobiographical Writing in Spanish America Hortense Spillers, Cornell University African-American Women and the Culture Critique Helen Vendler, Harvard University Shakespeare’s Sonnets Those admitted to the School will work together as a community for six weeks to explore the most recent developments in literary and humanistic studies. Approximately sixty-five postdoctoral and graduate students of literature, the arts, the humanities, and the related social sciences will be accepted by the School. Tuition for the session is $1,575. Applicants are eligible to compete for a small number of tuition scholarships and fellowships, and are urged to seek matching funds from their home institutions. The School of Criticism and Theory and Dartmouth College are especially committed to recruiting minority and women students. Applications should be addressed to Professor Michael Riffaterre and will be judged beginning February 1, 1990. Decisions on admissions and scholarships will be announced on a rolling basis beginning in mid-February. The final roster of the School is expected to be complete by the beginning of April. For further information about the program and for application forms, write: The School of Criticism and Theory DARTMOUTH COLLEGE Wentworth Hall, Box A, Hanover, New Hampshire 03755 Telephone: (603) 646-3549 The School of Criticism and Theory is under the direction of its Board of Senior Fellows: Honorary Senior Fellows: M.H. Abrams, Hazard Adams, Northrop Frye, Geoffrey H. Hartman, Murray Krieger Senior Fellows: Stephen J. Greenblatt, Sandra Gilbert, Barbara Johnson, Julia Kristeva, Lawrence Lipking, Stephen G. Nichols, Michael Riffaterre, Richard Rorty, Edward W. Said, Helen Vendler WOMEN’S VOICES From the American Frontier With a paperback classic and the release of two brand new titles, Houghton Mifflin presents a striking historical portrait of the American West—from a woman’s perspective. A diary, a collection of personal letters, and a novel combine to form a compelling vision of the struggles and rewards of life on the American frontier. Libby: The Alaskan Diaries and Letters of Libby Beaman, 1879—1880, as presented by her Granddaughter Betty John is a new publication. A proper Victorian lady, Libby Beaman, at the age of thirty-five, became the first non-native woman to travel to the Alaskan Pribilof Islands, just outside the Arctic Circle. The story of her journey and adventures remained an untold family secret for three generations until Libby’s granddaughter Betty John discovered these pages and decided to make them public. Libby “was a woman born ahead of her time, and like many pioneer women, she had a moving and exciting story to share.” (Chicago Tribune) $8.95 Paper Letters of a Woman Homesteader by Elinore Pruitt Stewart presents a true-to-life first-person account of life as a homesteader in Burnt Fork, Wyoming circa 1909. The basis for the acclaimed movie Heartland, this paperback edition of a classic work includes the original N.C. Wyeth illustrations. The author’s love of life as well as her propensity for story- telling invigorate her accounts of the characters and action that typified pioneer life. $7.95 Paper Published now for the first time, Molly Gloss’ novel The Jump-Off Creek, set in Oregon’s Blue Mountains in the 1890s, tells the story of one woman’s courageous effort to survive the rigors of the Great Northwest and homestead a place of her own. Written with complete historical accuracy and attention to realism, this work of fiction has earned praise from William Kittredge, who called it “the best novel I know of about a woman’s experience on the Western frontier,” and from Ursula K. LeGuin, who stated, “We’ve got a classic here.” $16.95 Hardcover For more information or to order, contact your local Houghton Mifflin sales representative or write: Houghton Mifflin Paperbacks TWo Park Street Boston, MA 02108 Publishers of the American Heritage Dictionary Contents of Volume 104 (1989) I. AUTHORS AND TITLES Belanoff , Pat (State Univ. of New York, Stony Brook). The Fall (?) of the Old English Female Poetic Image......................................................................................................................... (Oct.) 822 De Maria , Robert , Jr . (Vassar Coll.). The Politics of Johnson’s Dictionary............... (Jan.) 64 Devlin , Kimberly J. (Univ. of California, Riverside). “See ourselves as others see us”: Joyce’s Look at the Eye of the Other.......................................................................................... (Oct.) 882 Dye , Robert Ellis (Macalester Coll.). “Selige Sehnsucht” and Goethean Enlightenment (Mar.) 190 Engle , Lars (Univ. of TUlsa). Afloat in Thick Deeps: Shakespeare’s Sonnets on Certainty (Oct.) 832 Friedman , Geraldine (Purdue Univ.). Baudelaire’s Theory of Practice: Ideology and Difference in “Les yeux des pauvres”.............................................................. (May) 317 Genette , Gerard . Modern Mimology: The Dream of a Poetic Language................. (Mar.) 202 Greer , Margaret Rich (Princeton Univ.). Art and Power in the Spectacle Plays of Calde- rdn de la Barca................................................................................................................................. (May) 329 Holladay , William E. (Indiana Univ., Bloomington), and Stephen Watt (Indiana Univ., Bloomington). Viewing the Elephant Man................................................................................ (Oct.) 868 Leidner , Alan C. (Univ. of Louisville). A Titan in Extenuating Circumstances: Sturm und Drang and the Kraftmensch................................................................................................... (Mar.) 178 Leonardi , Susan J. (Univ. of Maryland, College Park). Recipes for Reading: Summer Pasta, Lobster a la Riseholme, and Key Lime Pie..................................................................... (May) 340 Longenbach , James (Univ. of Rochester). Matthew Arnold and the Modern Apocalypse (Oct.) 844 Martin Gaite , Carmen (Madrid, Spain). The Virtues of Reading................................ (May) 348 Mc Mahon , Robert (Louisiana State Univ., Baton Rouge). Kenneth Burke’s Divine Comedy: The Literary Form of The Rhetoric of Religion...................................................... (Jan.) 53 Ramazani , R. Jahan (Univ. of Virginia). Yeats: Tragic Joy and the Sublime............... (Mar.) 163 Redfield , Marc W. (Univ. of Geneva). Pynchon’s Postmodern Sublime...................... (Mar.) 152 Rolleston , James L. (Duke Univ.). The Politics of Quotation: Walter Benjamin’s Arcades Project................................................................................................................................................ (Jan.) 13 Schaub , Uta Liebmann (Univ. of Toledo). Foucault’s Oriental Subtext........................ (May) 306 Seamon , Roger (Univ. of British Columbia). Poetics against Itself: On the Self- Destruction of Modern Scientific Criticism................................................................................ (May) 294 Smith , Barbara Herrnstein (Duke Univ.). Presidential Address 1988. Limelight: Reflec- tions on a Public Year...................................................................................................................... (May) 285 TUmpleton , Joan (Long Island Univ.). The Doll House Backlash: Criticism, Feminism, and Ibsen............................................................................................................................................ (Jan.) 28 Valis , Noel M. (Univ. of Michigan, Ann Arbor). The Perfect Copy: Clarin’s Su unico hijo and the Flaubertian Connection.......................................................................................... (Oct.) 856 von Buelow , Christiane (Univ. of California, Irvine). Vallejo’s Venus de Milo and the Ruins of Language........................................................................................................................... (Jan.) 41 Waller , Margaret (Pomona Coll.). Cherchez la Femme'. Male Malady and Narrative Politics in the French Romantic Novel........................................................................................ (Mar.) 141 Williams , Raymond Leslie (Univ. of Colorado, Boulder). The Visual Arts, the Poeti- zation of Space and Writing: An Interview with Gabriel Garcia Marquez........................ (Mar.) 131 II. MISCELLANEOUS Committees and Commissions of the Association .................................................................. (Dir.) 457 A Concise Guide to MLA Activities and Services ............................................................. (Dir.) 467 Constitution of the Modern Language Association ......................................................... (Dir.) 500 Departmental Administrators , 1989-90 Four -Year Colleges and Universities ............................................................................. (Dir.) 657 Two Year Colleges .................................................................................................................. (Dir.) 674 Directory of Useful Addresses , 1989-90........................................................................... (Dir.) 786 Distribution of MLA Members ............................................................................................ (Dir.) 480 Editor ’s Column ............................................................................................ (Jan.) 5, (Mar.) 125, (May) 277 Ethnic Studies Programs ....................................................................................................... (Dir.) 684 Fellowships and Grants ......................................................................................................... (Dir.) 698 Forum ..........................................................................................(Jan.) 75, (Mar.) 215, (May) 358, (Oct.) 894 Contents of Volume 104 Guest Column ..................................................................................................................................... (Oct.) Honorary Fellows of the Modern Language Association ......................................... (Dir.) Honorary Members of the Modern Language Association ....................................... (Dir.) Humanities Research Centers ............................................................................................... (Dir.) In Memorlam ................................................................................................................................. (Dir.) Language and Area Programs ............................................................................................... (Dir.) List of Members ........................................................................................................................... (Dir.) Members of the Executive Council , 1970-89................................................................... (Dir.) MLA Delegate Assembly ...................... (Dir.) MLA Divisions and Discussion Groups .............................................................................. (Dir.) MLA Headquarters Staff ..................................................................................................... (Dir.) MLA Statistics and MLA Prizes ..................................................... (Dir.) Organizations of Independent Scholars and Organizations Providing Significant Programs for Independent Scholars ......................................................................................................... (Dir.) Presidents of the Association , 1884-1989......................................................................... (Dir.) Procedures for Organizing Meetings for the MLA Convention and Policies for MLA Divisions and Discussion Groups ............................................................................................... (Dir.) Professional Notes and Comment ...............(Jan.) 90, (Mar.) 236, (May) 386, (Dir.) 740, (Oct.) Proposed Amendments to the MLA Constitution ........................................................ (Dir.) Report of the Executive Director ...................................................................................... (May) Reports of the Regional Modern Language Associations ......................................... (Dir.) Women ’s Studies Programs ..................................................................................................... (Dir.) 814 510 509 697 655 686 512 453 454 481 474 476 696 452 483 946 507 363 494 688 The Craft of Criticism THINKING IN HENRY JAMES Sharon Cameron Sharon Cameron’s book is a bold attempt to rethink the question of Henry James’s psychological realism, and, in- sofar as James’s novels are taken to be paradigmatic of the novel at a certain moment of its maturity, the question of what it is the novel aims to represent. Cloth $29.95 208 pages OF SPIRIT Heidegger and the Question Jacques Derrida Translated by Geoffrey Bennington and Rachel Bowlby Derrida exposes the political meaning of Heidegger’s avoidance and invocation of the word “spirit” and his preference, before 1933, for the term “being.” He dis- cusses in particular how “spirit” is linked to the ideol- ogy of the Nazis. Cloth $19.95 152 pages BENJAMIN Philosophy, Aesthetics, History Edited by Gary Smith A balance of original work by Walter Benjamin and im- portant commentary on his works, this volume includes Benjamin’s essays “N (Re the Theory of Knowledge/ Theory of Progress)” and “On the Program of the Com- ing Philosophy,” as well as essays by leading scholars (including Theodor W. Adorno, Leo Lowenthal, and Rolf Tiedemann). Paper $14.95 (est.) 280 pages (est.) Library cloth edition $32.95 (est.) THE MIRROR IN THE TEXT Lucien Dallenbach Translated by Jeremy Whitetey with Emma Hughes Dallenbach provides the first systematic analysis of ot /jc en ahyme and its literary and artistic applications from Van Eyck and Velasquez to Gide, Beckett, and the French nouveau roman. “A seminal work, with far-reaching implications and uses.”—Victor Brombert, Princeton University Cloth $39.95 280 pages VIRGINIA WOOLF AND THE FICTIONS OF PSYCHOANALYSIS Elizabeth Abel With a Foreword by Catharine R. Stimpson “A stunning, brilliant, absolutely compelling reading of Woolf through the lens of Kleinian and Freudian psychoanalytic debates... and of psychoanalysis through the lens of Woolf’s novels and essays.” —Nancy J. Chodorow, University of California at Berkeley Cloth $27.50 (est.) 200 pages (est.) Women in Culture and Society series THE THEATER OF DEVOTION East Anglian Drama and Society in the Late Middle Ages Gail McMurray Gibson In this provocative study of fifteenth-century English culture, Gibson examines drama, the visual arts, and lay and monastic spirituality to create a detailed portrait of a flourishing provincial center and its vernacular drama. Cloth $34.95 268 pages 52 halftones THE CRAFT OF TRANSLATION Edited by John Biguenet and Rainer Schulte Distinguished translators here describe the complexity of translating literature and suggest the implications of the act of translation for critics, scholars, teachers, and students. Paper $8.95 176 pages Library cloth edition $25.00 Chicago Guides to Writing, Editing, and Publishing new Paperbacks Critical Theory and Poststructuralism In Search of a Context By MARK POSTER. “One of our premier intellectual historians, Poster shows his sovereign command of difficult ideas and his great skill in presenting them clearly.”—Martin Jay, University of California, Berkeley In the essays collected here, Poster enacts a dialogue between the French poststruc- turalists and the tradition of critical social theory developed by the Frankfurt School. $10.95 paper, $29.95 cloth The Silence of Bartleby By DAN McCALL. McCall gives a provocative, new reading of Herman Melville’s classic short tale. “McCall’s book is alive and bright and sane ... a breath of fresh air.”—Milton R. Stern, author of The FineTlammered Steel of Herman Melville. $7.95 paper, $29.95 cloth Rhetorical Power By STEVEN MAILLOUX. Mailloux presents the case for a rhetorical hermeneutics and against foundationalist theories of interpretation. By means of a detailed analysis of reader-response criticism, he highlights the connections between institutional politics and the interpretive rhetoric of academic literary criticism. $8.95 paper, $24-95 cloth Naming the Rose Eco, Medieval Signs, and Modern Theory By THERESA COLETTE “Naming the Rose is beautiful, deep, and full of observations that have instructed me to reread what I had written.”—Umberto Eco. Anyone interested in decoding the multiple signs and symbols of Eco’s The Name of the Rose, will want to read this fascinating book. $8.95 paper Cornell University Press 124 Roberts Place Ithaca, NY 14850 Hysteria from Freud to Lacan Body and Language in Psychoanalysis By MONIQUE DAVID-MENARD. Translated from the French by Catherine Porter. With a Foreword by Ned Lukacher. “A valuable and illuminating resource. David-Menard presents an original interpretation of Woman and the Symbolic that will open new directions for feminist theory.”—Martha Noel Evans, author of Masks of Tradition. $12.95 paper, $37.50 cloth The Apprentice- ship of Beatrice Webb By DEBORAH EPSTEIN NORD. “By comparing [Webb’s] autobiogra- phy to those of other famous women and by setting her life in its social and historical context, [Nord] offers up a brave woman who defied a society that did not allow women their successes or success its women.”—New York Times Book Review $10.95 paper Soundings in Critical Theory By DOMINICK La CAPRA. In this new collection of essays, LaCapra offers a provocative assessment of the nature of historical understanding and explores how contemporary critical theories affect the ways in which historians frame their task. Among the thinkers he discusses are Jacques Derrida, Michel Foucault, Jean- Frangois Lyotard, Mikhail Bakhtin, Robert Darnton, and Roger Chartier. $10.95 paper, $29.95 cloth The Achievement of Christina Rossetti Edited by DAVID A. KENT. “In David A. Kent’s collection, historicist, decon- structive, and feminist approaches co- exist with traditional close readings, ex- aminations of literary precursors and contemporaries, and investigations into unpublished letters and little-known prose works.”—Times Higher Education Supplement. $14-95 paper, $39.50 cloth Intellectual Women and Victorian L Patriarchy A Harriet V Martineau, V Elizabeth Barrett F Browning, George Eliot By DEIRDRE DAVID. “David’s book is a major innovative study of three Victorian intellectuals at work. No one else has done so literary and so theoreti- cally and historically sophis- ticated a work as this, with results that are uniquely brilliant and informative.”—Edward W. Said, Columbia University. $9.95 paper, $27.50 cloth Building a National Literature The Case of Germany, 1830-1870 By PETER UWE HOHENDAHL. Translated by RENATE BARON FRANCISCONO. Hohendahl here uses Germany as a test case in tracing the process by which a national literature is formed. He also explores the significant role that literature played in the formation of a German identity. $14.95 paper, $39.95 cloth At bookstores, or call 1 '800-666^2211 (credit card orders only). 
work_dwsyeehvw5d7vbjbwjajyqmjpe	----	Science Magazine 6 MAY 2011 VOL 332 SCIENCE www.sciencemag.org 654 C R E D IT : M .T W O M B L Y / S C IE N C E IN THE EARLY 1990S JOSEPH CARROLL, AN English professor at the University of Mis- souri, St. Louis, presented a paper on the possibility of studying literature through the lens of Darwinian evolution. Not long afterward, he heard from a colleague that the paper had generated lots of discus- sion, though not for the most fl attering rea- son. “People didn’t think that anyone in literary studies cared about such things,” Carroll recalls. “There was an argument over whether it was a hoax.” Carroll was indeed serious. For 2 decades prior, Freudianism, Marxism, poststructur- alism, postcolonialism, and other fashion- able “isms” had dominated the academic study of literature. These schools dismissed the idea that evolutionary pressures have shaped human nature, attributing all human nature to culture instead. Frustrated by this thinking, which he has grumbled is “unable to contribute in any useful way to the serious world of adult knowledge,” Carroll rebelled. In 1994, he helped found a new f ield by publishing his self-described “big, baggy monster,” Evolution and Literary Theory, a 536-page book promoting an approach to literature based on evolution science. Carroll wasn’t alone in his despondency. Other literary scholars have described their fi eld as “a backwater” and “embarrassingly out of step” with science. Following Carroll, some began incorporating neuroscience, cognitive science, anthropology, and— most prominently and controversially— evolutionary psychology into their work. Some of that work reads like traditional, pre-1970s English scholarship: discussions of tone, style, context, and theme. But it also explores how evolution might have shaped aspects of literature. On a deeper level, writ- ers investigate the potential adaptive benefi ts of storytelling for our Pleistocene ancestors and the mystery of why humans spend so much time immersed in it. (By one measure, we spend 4 hours per day consuming, dis- cussing, and creating stories, and 4 minutes per day having sex.) Most scientif ic lit scholars incorpo- rate at least some evolution into their work because evolution provides a framework for understanding human behavior. And many focus on evolution- a r y p s y c h o l o g y because it explores the origins of men- t a l p h e n o m e n a , i n c l u d i n g n a r r a - tives and aesthetics, and can bridge evolutionary biology and the humanities. Some recent evopsychology also emphasizes the plasticity of the human mind, which helps explain how universal human behaviors (such as storytelling) can exist but can nevertheless be expressed in different ways in different cultures. Straddling multiple fi elds, this analysis has earned a mixed response. Carroll says most scientists encourage his work: Sup- porters include evolutionary psychologist Steven Pinker and biologist Edward O. Wilson of Harvard University and biologist David Sloan Wilson of Binghamton Univer- sity in New York state. In contrast, apply- ing evolutionary thought to the human mind has never been popular in the humanities, and scientifi c lit crit has met with bemuse- ment and occasional hostility. (Three scholars who used scientifi c ideas in their analyses were denounced as “protofascists” at a prominent academic meeting for liter- ary scholars in the 1990s by a critic who admitted he hadn’t read their work.) But since 2007, the number of books and articles incorporating Darwinian and other scientifi c thought into literary studies has more than doubled, Carroll says. Carroll himself released a new book in March, Read- ing Human Nature, which summarizes the accomplishments of evolutionary criticism and anticipates where it might be headed. It’s not a unifi ed fi eld; some of its members in fact distance themselves from Carroll. But these scholars are united in one sense: They’re convinced not only that evolution- NEWSFOCUS Online sciencemag.org Podcast interview with author Sam Kean. Red in Tooth and Claw Among the Literati Upset by the isolation of their fi eld, some critics are trying to bring Darwin’s ideas and recent science to the study of literature. They haven’t been popular Published by AAAS o n M a y 5 , 2 0 1 1 w w w .s ci e n ce m a g .o rg D o w n lo a d e d f ro m http://www.sciencemag.org/ www.sciencemag.org SCIENCE VOL 332 6 MAY 2011 655 NEWSFOCUS ary thought can improve literary research but also that literature can teach scientists a thing or two about human evolution. Out with Freud, in with Darwin Humanities scholars have criticized scientifi c lit crit as too general or too reductive to say anything meaningful about individual works. Pinker makes a similar argument, saying that although the approach may help us identify how our craving for fi ction evolved, he’s not convinced it will enrich our understanding of specifi c texts. In his new book, Carroll contests these claims, saying that science can offer insight into even the most pored-over works in the canon. In a chapter devoted to Hamlet, he explores the neuroscience of depression, among other topics. Carroll also cites the work of Michelle Scalise Sugiyama, a cog- nitive scientist at the University of Oregon, Eugene, who reinterpreted the Oedipus trag- edies. Standard commentary has been dom- inated by Freudian theories about people’s repressed desires to have sex with their par- ents, but she argues that, in light of wide- spread anthropological evidence of cultural taboos against incest, that reading simply isn’t tenable. Another examination of the classics is The Rape of Troy by Jonathan Gottschall, an English professor at Washington and Jefferson College in Washington, Penn- sylvania, who completed his Ph.D. thesis under the aegis of David Sloan Wilson. The book examines The Iliad and The Odyssey and employs anthropological work on war- fare and evolutionary work on polygyny to show, Gottschall argues, that “patterns of violence in Homeric society are tantaliz- ingly consistent with … acute shortages of available young women relative to young men.” In this reading, whatever reasons the Greek mythic heroes invoked for waging war—status, money, honor—they were fun- damentally fi ghting for marriages and their evolutionary legacy. Gottschall has also looked outside the Western canon, by studying hundreds of ancient fairy tales worldwide. Although the tales differed in some ways, Gottschall concluded that the same basic underlying characters—handsome young males, pretty maidens, and shrewish older women— appear pervasively in all cultures. This coun- ters, he says, the popular feminist argument that such stereotypes appear only in the fairy tales of Western societies and merely rein- force Western patriarchy. Carroll and Gottschall have examined more modern fi ction as well. In a paper they wrote with psychologists John A. Johnson and Daniel Kruger, they asked hundreds of literary experts to rate their attitudes toward antagonists and protagonists in 201 Victo- rian novels and then tabulated the numbers. They found that experts rated antagonists as overtly dominant and selfi sh, whereas pro- tagonists displayed altruistic and selfless behavior. In one sense this is trivial: Good guys are good, bad guys bad. But the authors argue that experts overwhelmingly perceived consistent “prosocial” behavior among char- acters that people root for. Carroll and his colleagues then drew on anthropologi- cal research to argue why this behavior appeals. In our fraught hunter-gatherer days, when humans roamed about in small bands, people had to sacrifi ce selfi sh interests and work together, or they’d perish. In contrast, self-aggrandizing or dominant behavior threat- ened group survival. Victorian novels, in this view, merely dress up these ancient, evolved preferences in crinolines and top hats. If f iction does reinforce cooperative and egalitarian behavior, and if that behav- ior did ensure the survival of hunter-gatherers, then per- haps the ability to create and understand literature gave our ancestors a survival advan- tage; it is what evolutionary scientists call adaptive. It’s an appealing theory—it makes literature essential to life—but it has proved contentious. First, most scholars distinguish between modern, written literature and more funda- mental forms, such as oral stories. And sto- ries can indeed be adaptive in human culture because they work “like a fl ight simulator” for social life, says Brian Boyd, a Nabokov scholar at the University of Auckland in New Zealand. His 2009 book, On the Origin of Stories, examines works as diverse as Hor- ton Hears a Who! and The Iliad. Boyd argues that animals often chase, frisk, and play- fi ght, and in a similar way, humans “refi ne their most important cognitive skills through art.” In f iction, “we learn to understand events and shift perspectives at a faster clip than usual, to enjoy simulations of a wide range of social situations, and to generate a wider range of options.” Storytelling could also have an evolu- tionary benefi t by bringing societies, espe- cially oral societies, closer together and fostering cohesion. Ellen Dissanayake, a professor of music at the University of Washington, Seattle, has argued that all the arts generally fulfi ll this purpose and are therefore adaptive. Evolutionary biologist Geoffrey Miller of the University of New Mexico, Albuquer- que, has argued instead that literature and other arts arose through sexual selection. In brief, in his view, a talent for storytelling pro- vided evidence of a big brain and language skills, which make someone a more attractive mate. Lit- erature was our peacock tail. Boyd sees some truth in both the social-cohesion and sexual-selection mod- els, though he’s less keen on the latter. Sexual selection usually results in divergent behavior between the sexes, and both males and females (despite some differences in taste) indulge just as readily in fi ction. Boyd calls sexual selection “another gear, but not the engine” that drove the evolution of storytelling. Although receptive to the idea, Boyd and other scholars don’t necessarily believe that literature itself (in contrast to simple story- telling) is adaptive. Their case is subtle. William Flesch, a pro- fessor of comparative litera- ture at Brandeis University in Waltham, Massachusetts, distances himself from “lit- erary Darwinists” like Carroll. But the fi nd- ing that self-aggrandizers are villains in Victorian fi ction meshes with Flesch’s own work on evolutionary game theory and lit- erature, in which rogues are generally pun- ished. Game theory (the prisoner’s dilemma is the classic scenario) explores how people cooperate with or screw each other over in various situations, and how they respond to later interactions with the same people. Flesch focuses on “altruistic punishment”: situations in which bystanders will punish a rogue, even if the rogue never hurt them personally. “There has to be a reward for altruistic punishment,” Flesch says; otherwise human cooperation can’t evolve. And he argues that the ability to grasp narratives and keep track of people’s reputations probably helped Most humanities scholarship today is “unable to con- tribute in any useful way to the serious world of adult knowledge.” —JOSEPH CARROLL, UNIVERSITY OF MISSOURI, ST. LOUIS Published by AAAS o n M a y 5 , 2 0 1 1 w w w .s ci e n ce m a g .o rg D o w n lo a d e d f ro m http://www.sciencemag.org/ 6 MAY 2011 VOL 332 SCIENCE www.sciencemag.org 656 NEWSFOCUS C R E D IT S ( T O P T O B O T T O M ): R O S S M A N T L E ; R E B E C C A G O L D S T E IN to distribute punishments and rewards and therefore proved adaptive. What’s more, if there were conflicting interests among people, he says, those who crafted persua- sive narratives—perhaps by fictionalizing them—would have gained advantages as well. But even if certain components of lit- erature are adaptive, Flesch says, it doesn’t follow that the ability to create or understand literature itself—the full, fl owery, emotion- ally charged production—is adaptive. Flesch instead calls literature a mental spandrel, an epiphenomenon of various evolved traits that happen to work well together. This resembles the “cheesecake” analogy put forth by Pinker in How the Mind Works. Evolution gave us cravings for the concen- trated calories in fats and sugars, and cheese- cake happens to deliver fats and sugars in concentrated doses. Similarly, we might crave ingredients of literature for sound evo- lutionary reasons, and novels might simply mainline those components to our minds. Pornography is another example. Still, arguments like that haven’t dis- suaded some literary Darwinists. Carroll still believes literature (or at least its oral predecessors) had adaptive value. So does Gottschall, although he admits he lacks suf- fi cient data to prove this: “Right now all I can do is tell a just-so story.” But instead of arguing, he wants to impor t methods from the sciences to frame this hypothesis and test it. “We need help from experi- mentalists,” he says, “exper- tise beyond what most of us [literary scholars] have.” What science can learn Pinker has criticized Dar- winian lit crit for focusing so heavily on evolutionary psy- chology and neglecting gen- eral psychology, linguistics, and other disciplines. But he says the focus makes sense. “Evolutionary psychology has concentrated on lurid and fraught aspects of human nature,” he says, including sex, beauty, jealousy, dominance, status—“all the juicy stuff that dominates people’s lives” and makes for lively fi ction. But evolutionar y liter- ary scholars have criticized evolutionary psychology as well—especially what they call “narrow” or “orthodox” evolutionary psychology. In fact, they feel their work can bend back and improve evo- lutionary psychology’s understanding of the human mind. Carroll and Gottschall point out that textbooks of evolutionary psychology often omit art and other aspects of imagi- nation. “Survival, mating, parenting, kin networks, and adaptations for social inter- actions within groups—[those books] think that that pretty much covers it” for human nature, Carroll says. “What they’re miss- ing is that art, religion, and ideology regu- late and direct behavior,” he adds. “Those imaginative features regulate people’s birthing systems and kinship networks, or whether they practice polygamy or monog- amy.” Without those nuances, “you’re just missing the subject, you’re not talking about human beings.” Blakey Vermeule, a professor of English at Stanford University in Palo Alto, Cali- fornia, approaches literature more from a cognitive science than an evolutionary per- spective, but she argues that literature can still illuminate how the mind evolved. For instance, we impose narrative patterns on the world, which reveals how our minds work. Children and Alzheimer’s victims both tend to f ind deep, ultimate causes in ran- dom events: They tend to say things like, “Clouds are really ‘for’ raining.” Stories offer an entry point for understanding how these narrative tenden- cies emerge, Vermeule says: “Literature is a massive data- base people can look at and fi gure out what questions to ask” about human cognition. Literary criticism might even inform biology gener- ally by showing how the mind can open up new avenues for evolution. For example, Flesch says studying lit- erature might help explain how altruistic behavior can develop among nonkin. “The emotions that good stories are particularly effective at elicit- ing, outrage and indignation” over unfair treatment, he says, are exactly the responses that lead to altruistic punishment and cooperation. Still, although literature might illustrate the roots of cooperation, many literary scholars themselves remain wary of cooperating with evolutionary literary critics. A few months ago, Critical Inquiry, a leading journal for literary theory, published a 33-page article with the blunt title “Against Literary Dar- winism.” And although Carroll and Gott- schall have a book-length manuscript on their Victorian novels study (titled Graphing Jane Austen), they’ve had diffi culty fi nding a publisher. Gottschall says the resistance to Darwin- ian lit crit among literary scholars reminds him of resistance among religious groups to evolution itself. “There’s the fear that if you were able to explain the arts and their power scientif ically, you’d explain them away,” he says. “Humanities are the last bastion of magic.” Yet ideas have emerged recently that might help reconcile the divergent worldviews of scientif ic and traditional literary studies. Edward O. Wilson and others now argue that human beings might have evolved not only specifi c mental skills—like language—but also a general tendency for mental fl exibil- ity. Our minds, in other words, evolved to be plastic. Carroll and others have taken up the idea and argue that literature has adap- tive value precisely because it promotes and enhances this plasticity. If that’s true, the notion may someday provide a bridge between the two cultures. “I try to stress that evolution has shaped human minds to be reshapable more than other minds,” Boyd says. “It’s really not so far from things said for a long time in some areas of the humanities.” –SAM KEAN “ We need help from experimentalists, expertise beyond what most of us [literary scholars] have.” —JONATHAN GOTTSCHALL, WASHINGTON AND JEFFERSON COLLEGE “ Evolutionary psychology has concentrated on lurid and fraught aspects of human nature … all the juicy stuff that dominates people’s lives” and makes for lively fi ction. —STEVEN PINKER, HARVARD UNIVERSITY Published by AAAS o n M a y 5 , 2 0 1 1 w w w .s ci e n ce m a g .o rg D o w n lo a d e d f ro m http://www.sciencemag.org/ 
work_dxzz7jkpevhulatcva3viuk3l4	----	272 Global history has taken many different forms since the sub-field started to expand in the 1980s, but the global turn increasingly resonates across all different branches of history since, as Lynn Hunt explained, historians are all now »writing history in the global era«.1 The defining feature of our global condition is inequality: 85.3% of the world’s wealth is owned by just 8.6% of the world’s population.2 One question to which many practitioners of global history have therefore returned is how this unequal distribution of resources came about: specifically how and why wealth and power came to accumulate in the West slowly from the sixteenth century and sharply from the nineteenth. These questions form the basis of the ›Great Divergence‹ paradigm of global history.3 Scholars have challenged the narrative of cultural superiority proposed by Max Weber in the early twentieth century, and instead have looked to various factors including the environment,4 the ideology of colonialism,5 violence,6 culture and institutions,7 and the rise of the state.8 New Institutional Economics (NIE) played an important role in shaping some of these debates, contending that Eurasian divergence was caused by the development of institutions in the west. This collection of essays offers important insights directly relevant to this debate, high- lighting the similarities of the histories of institutions across pre-modern Eurasia, question- ing the cultural boundedness of the categories we use to understand the distribution of power and resources within different societies (especially the state), and calling for methodological innovation for a more pluralist understanding of value regimes. It uses the case of religious exemption to challenge teleological narratives of the rise of the state and of secularisation by reminding us not only of the diversity of institutions across Eurasia but also of the symbiotic relationship between institutions, whose analysis calls for a more fluid and dynamic under- standing of power. Ultimately, the process of exemption is presented here as a creative force. 1 Hunt, Writing History in the Global Era. 2 Solimano, Global Capitalism in Disarray, 52. 3 The ›Great Divergence‹ was popularised by Pomeranz’s Great Divergence. The term was coined by Huntington in 1996, Clash of Civilizations. 4 For examples, McNeil, Global Condition, and Diamond, Guns, Germs and Steel. 5 Blaut, Colonizer’s Model of the World. 6 Hoffman, Why Did Europe Conquer the World. 7 Mokyr, Lever of Riches. See also North, Institutions, Institutional Change, and Economic Performance. 8 Vries, State, Economy, and the Great Divergence. Religious Exemption and Global History before 1300 – Closing Comments Julia McClure* eISSN-Nr. 2412-3196 DOI 10.1553/medievalworlds_no6_2017s272 medieval worlds • No. 6 • 2017 • 272-277 273 In approaching religious exemption from the state c. 300-1300 in pre-modern Eurasia, the special issue differs from comparisons which tend to emphasise the divergence of insti- tutional traditions.9 Under the stewardship of Charles West, the collection is self-consciously styled as a response to the model of pre-modern Eurasian history proposed by Victor Lieber- man, that of Strange Parallels.10 While Lieberman contended that the long-term develop- ments across Eurasia were driven by state formation,11 the essays in this collection focus on the simultaneous processes of the construction of exemptions from these states. The strategy has proved productive on a number of fronts. Firstly, it suggests a new methodology for approaching the history of pre-modern Eurasia. Secondly, it challenges our received cate- gories of power, and our assumptions of the impermeability of secular and religious forms of power. Thirdly, it prompts a more pluralistic understanding of value regimes. Fourthly, and to my mind perhaps most importantly, it signposts new pathways for understanding the historical origins of our current global condition of inequality. The parameters of this collection were carefully calibrated to maximise the force of the analysis. Going beyond the East-West binary that has often dominated Eurasian histories, this collection questions received geographies and incorporates neglected regions. In ad- dition to studies on Europe and China, four of the eleven case studies focus on South East Asia. Kanad Sinha’s contribution (Chapter 3) highlights not only the importance of integrat- ing studies of South East Asia into Eurasian histories, but of challenging all binaries. Sinha begins by questioning the »perceived dichotomy between the settled society (grama) and the forest (aranya) that has dominated early Indian history«. The negation of this binary in the first instance is evocative of the rejection of the cultural chauvinism typical of traditional Eurocentric thought which equated sedentary society with civilization and nomadic societies with the wilderness and barbarism. The focus on the 300-1300 period is also welcome, since many existing studies of pre- modern Eurasia have concentrated upon the early modern period. Previous studies of Eurasia in this period have followed the world-systems theory approach which stresses connectivity over correlation.12 The quest for correlations is not methodologically the same as compar- ative approaches, and only one of the essays explicitly constructs a comparative study (Do- minic Goodall and Andrew Wareham, Chapter 9), while the rest of the contributions focus on discrete examples. Exploring such examples and emphasising correlation over connectivity is not necessarily limited to painting a pointillist picture of Eurasia, but rather offers the op- portunity to highlight certain horizontal continuities. The idea of horizontal continuity has been developed to understand Eurasian history for the early modern period,13 but has not yet been explored in relation to the medieval. 9 For more on this also see Hudson and Ana Rodriguez, Diverging Paths?. 10 Lieberman, Strange Parallels Vol. 1, Lieberman, Strange Parallels Vol. 2. These volumes developed ideas from his earlier publications, Lieberman, Beyond Binaries, Re-imagining Eurasia to c. 1830, and Lieberman, Burmese Admi- nistrative Cycles. 11 For an overview of this critique see Sreenivasan, A South Asianist’s Response to Lieberman’s »Strange Parallels«. 12 This model began with Abu-Lughod, Before European Hegemony. 13 Fletcher, Integrative History. Julia McClure medieval worlds • No. 6 • 2017 • 272-277 274 Lieberman’s model of parallels stretching across Eurasia has of course been heavily con- tested, especially by early modern histories who advocate connectivity. Most notably San- jay Subrahmanyam has written that »contrary to what ›area studies‹ implicitly presumes, a good part of the dynamic in early modern history was provided by the interface between the local and regional (which we may term the ›micro‹-level) and the supra-regional, at times even global (what we may term the ›macro‹-level).«14 Subrahmanyam described the model of connected histories as ›orthogonal‹ to Lieberman’s model of parallels.15 Subrahmanyam presents two key objections to Lieberman’s model, arguing that it privileges an overly ma- terialist conception of history, and that he adopts European categories which results in a Weberian teleological narrative of the rise of the state. Both of these critiques are engaged with in this special issue. While Goodall and Wareham (Chapter 9) provide some support for Lieberman’s materialistic thesis, the other contribu- tors to this volume focus on the importance of religion and suggest a more complex rela- tionship between the material and spiritual worlds. Ulrich Pagel compares the implications and practicalities of the renunciants of the ascetic branches of Hinduism and Buddhism in Ancient India and demonstrates how Buddhist ascetic monks tried to benefit from the fiscal exemptions extended to their Hindu Brahmin counterparts for their economic gain, for ex- ample, by moving raw cloth without having to paying customs duties. Buddhist monks are presented here as spiritual/economic double agents, consciously trying to manipulate the system of exemption to move mercantile goods while also being allowed to travel between sites of religious devotion. One wonders about the relationship between these value systems, and how Buddhist monks were perceived by their Hindu counterparts. As for the Weberian narrative, such teleologies are explicitly challenged by several of the contributions, which ask us to look at polities more pluralistically. Antonello Palumbo (Chapter 8) does this by ques- tioning the word ›exemption‹ itself which, he argues, should be used »with some caution, for as soon as we refer by it to the state’s withdrawal from demands imposed on some of its subjects, we are already assuming an absolute power of that state to impose and exact tho- se demands.« Instead, Palumbo highlights the different movements and sediments of pow- er in China. In Chapter 12, Thomas Kohl problematizes normative conceptions of the state with in Europe, especially the way in which it is interpreted as »a monopoly on violence and an all-encompassing exercise of justice«. As Kohl summarises, »the ever increasing number across the world of failed states or of states with weak statehood is a very clear indicator that political entities may take on other forms than a nation state or its medieval precursors«. In Chapter 11 Rutger Kramer asks us to think not just about states but also power in a differ- ent way, surveying the ways in which religion created spaces of negotiation and how reli- gious fig ures such as saints could be powerful arbitrators. Kramer presents a world in which »power was pastoral as well as political«, and where the institutional sites of monasteries could bol ster »the spiritual foundations of the realm«. 14 Subrahmanyam, Connected Histories, 745. 15 Subrahmanyam, Connected Histories, 740. medieval worlds • No. 6 • 2017 • 272-277 275 The volume thereby deepens our understanding of the complexity and diversity of struc- tures and forms of power. As Anne J. Duggan explains in Chapter 6, religious exemption from the state was not a single event but an eco-system of processes around which institutional and legal traditions ossified. Through Duggan’s contribution we see the interplay of exemp- tion and the history of Canon Law which contributes to the Western legal tradition. In Chap- ter 12 Kohl also surveys the judicial dimension of the immunities of clerical communities and considers the practical implications of this, indicating how landscapes of power may be more differentiated than previously presumed. This call for a more a nuanced understanding of the distribution of power is echoed by Kriston Rennie, suggesting that »exemption means closeness to the centre, not distance from it«. Rennie argues that »from the origins of a west- ern monastic tradition, exemption created an administrative, spiritual, and judicial bond between a monastery and its diocesan bishop.« The impression left is that of a polycentric network shaped by a more dynamic and elastic notion of power. The volume reflects (but is not confined to) the social anthropological turn in global his- tory. It not only interrogates our historic understanding of resource distribution but also the plurality of value systems around the world. Mario Poceski evokes a sense of this plura- lity as he observes that »the central monastic ideals, especially the emphasis on detachment and transcendence, were largely inimical to the pursuit of power and the accumulation of wealth«. Rennie (Chapter 5) indicated how the meaning of values could change as they mo- ved across value regimes (to use Arjun Appadurai’s term): »the commodity on offer (i.e., protection) served to re-define the exemption’s central character and inherent use-value.« In a set of essays where religious exemption from the state ceases to seem exceptional, Sinha reminds us that entering these ascetic institutions (in this case the hermitage rather than the monastery) was itself a counter-cultural renunciation of the normative values of the society in question. Together, this special issue uses analyses of one specific issue to call on us to restructure our thinking of premodern Eurasia and the making of the modern world. It negotiates an innovative critique of secularization narratives by, as Judith Green (Chapter 13) summarises, questioning the durability of the ›two spheres‹ model, of the distinctness of the spiritual and secular worlds. This is a key theme throughout the volume. R. I. Moore sets the agenda with his essay ›Treasures in Heaven‹, which reminds us of the entanglement of the spiritual and secular worlds, of the religious dimensions of economic transactions. In Chapter 4, Poceski highlights the need to »problematize the basic religious-secular dichotomy, especially the supposed opposition that pitted the church (here represented by Buddhism) against the sec- ular state (represented by the various Chinese empires that rose and fell during the medieval period).« Significantly, Uriel Simonsohn’s (Chapter 10) contribution transcends the institu- tional level in search of individual actors. The result is a picture of individual agents driven by competing but not mutually exclusive value systems capable of manipulating the institu- tional structures with which they interact. The insight we gain from this is that just as the model of secular and religious power carved into discrete units does not hold at the institu- tional level, nor does it at the level of the individual. This highlights the fluidity between the strictly socio-religious and the strictly economic. The impression from this glance at Eurasia in the Middle Ages is that reality was far more malleable than the neat models would suggest. Yet such a conclusion also warrants caution, since the malleable material of the Middle Ages has been shaped into the foundations of many visions of the world. Julia McClure medieval worlds • No. 6 • 2017 • 272-277 276 In the opening to this volume, R. I. Moore suggests that the ›universal‹ phenomena of exemption across Eurasia, what we might think of as an example of horizontal continuity, indicates that the systematisation of the nature and use of religious exemption between the tenth and the thirteenth centuries CE were central to transformations across Eurasia in that period – the threshold that Moore has elsewhere referred to as the ›Great Diversification‹.16 Moore also contends that the demise of the system of religious exemption from the state which occurred in Britain with the dissolution of the monasteries was also transformative since it unlocked vast amounts of wealth which fuelled the rise of the gentry in Britain. To depict this story Moore uses an example from Jane Austen, a strategy also recently deployed by Thomas Piketty in his monumental study of the historical causes and trajectory of global inequality.17 Moore links his analysis to debates on the Great Divergence, observing that »in the story of ›Why Europe?‹ among the civilizations of the world that made the breakthrough to industrialism, the formation of the modern state has been seen almost unanimously as a necessary condition of economic modernisation, and the removal of religious exemption as a necessary condition of the formation of the modern state«, and contends that consequently the complex story of exemption demands more attention, not least since it is still with us today. This suggests that the vertical continuities in processes of exception and exemption may contribute to our excavation of the historical processes of our current condition of glob- al inequality. 16 Moore, Medieval Europe in World History. 17 Piketty, Capital in the Twenty First Century. medieval worlds • No. 6 • 2017 • 272-277 277 Abu-Lughod, Janet, Before European Hegemony: The World System A.D. 1250-1350 (Oxford, 1991). Blaut, James Morris, The Colonizer’s Model of the World: Geographic Diffusionism and Eurocen- tric History (New York, 1993). Diamond, Jared, Guns, Germs and Steel: A Short History of Everybody for the Last 13,000 Years (London, 1998). Fletcher, Joseph, Integrative History: Parallels, and Interconnections in the Early Modern Period, 1500-1800, Journal of Turkish Studies, 9 (1985) 37-57. Hoffman, Phillip, Why Did Europe Conquer the World (Princeton, 2016). Hudson, John, and Rodriguez, Ana, Diverging Paths? The Shape of Power and Institutions in Medieval Christendom and Islam (Leiden, 2014). Hunt, Lynn, Writing History in the Global Era (New York, 2014). Huntington, Samuel, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (London, 1996). Lieberman, Victor, Strange Parallels Vol. 1, Southeast Asia in Global Context, c.800-1830: Inte- gration on the Mainland (Cambridge, 2003). Lieberman, Victor, Strange Parallels Vol. 2, Mainland Mirrors: Europe, Japan, China, South Asia, and the Islands: Southeast Asia in Global Context, c.800–1830 (Cambridge, 2010). Lieberman, Victor, Beyond Binaries, Re-imagining Eurasia to c. 1830 (Michigan, 1999). Lieberman, Victor, Burmese Administrative Cycles (Princeton, 1984). Mokyr, Joel, The Lever of Riches: Technological Creativity and Economic Progress (Oxford, 1990). Moore, R. I., Medieval Europe in World History, in: Carol Lansing and Edward D. English (eds.), A Companion to the Medieval World (Oxford, 2012) 563-581. McNeil, William H. The Global Condition: Conquerors, Catastrophes and Community (Prince- ton, 1980). North, Douglas C., Institutions, Institutional Change, and Economic Performance (Cambridge, 1991). Piketty, Thomas, Capital in the Twenty First Century (Harvard, 2014). Pomeranz, Kenneth, Great Divergence: China, Europe, and the Making of the Modern World Economy (Princeton, 2001). Solimano, Andres, Global Capitalism in Disarray: Inequality, Debt, and Austerity (Oxford, 2016). Sreenivasan, Ramya, A South Asianist’s Response to Lieberman’s »Strange Parallels«, The Journal of Asian Studies, 70/4 (2011) 983 -993. Subrahmanyam, Sanjay, Connected Histories: Notes Towards a Reconfiguration of Early Modern Eurasia, Modern Asian Studies, 31/3 (1997) 735-762. Vries, Peer, State, Economy, and the Great Divergence (London, 2015). References Julia McClure medieval worlds • No. 6 • 2017 • 272-277 
work_dy3ctedymncwtl3xvsz6zc6zfi	----	355William GalperinELH 73 (2006) 355–382 © 2006 by The Johns Hopkins University Press “Describing WHaT never HaPPeneD”: Jane aUsTen anD THe HisTory of MisseD oPPorTUniTies by WilliaM galPerin i. Jane austen’s fictions are seemingly rife with missed opportunities. from her first published novel, Sense and Sensibility (1811), to her last completed novel, Persuasion (1817), the missed opportunity casts a shadow over austen’s world that her narratives never quite succeed in either dispelling or, even in Persuasion, fully redressing. Sense and Sensibility is forever haunted by the specter of John Willoughby, whose own reflections at the novel’s close—in particular the “pang” he experiences at the thought of Marianne Dashwood’s marriage to colonel brandon—are less a retributive instrument than a darkling echo of earlier prospects that the novel has concertedly nurtured.1 it is no accident surely that, in a typical gesture of damage control, the recent cinematic adaptation of Sense and Sensibility has no place for the most cinematic moment in the entire book: Willoughby’s tenth- hour, and largely self-exculpatory, visit in the midst of Marianne’s near- fatal illness. The movie, it is true, ends with a version of Willoughby in pang as he surveys Marianne’s and brandon’s domestic tranquility from afar. but this grandiose and contrived image of him contravenes the novel’s concluding observations (and directives), which are marked less by melodramatic longing than by a duller ache where the everyday is simply fraught and set against an horizon of plenitude from which life and its pleasures are a falling away: but that he was for ever inconsolable, that he fled from society, or contracted an habitual gloom of temper, or died of a broken heart, must not be depended on—for he did neither. He lived to exert, and frequently to enjoy himself. His wife was not always out of humour, nor his home always uncomfortable; and in his breed of horses and dogs, and in sporting of every kind, he found no inconsiderable degree of domestic felicity.2 Derek Young muse_logo 356 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities The countercurrent against which happiness must struggle for Wil- loughby, and the marital and gender division it projects, hardly requires unpacking. But what is less immediately clear is how the impedance to joy, both here and elsewhere in Austen, is as much a function of things as they are as an index of something missed or bypassed that does not belong entirely to the realm of fantasy. In addition to noting that Marianne remains Willoughby’s “secret standard of perfection in woman,” and a placeholder for the very plenitude that Willoughby had himself figured (and had figured as recently as his dramatic reentry to the narrative), the narrator projects a different sequence of events from those that have transpired. For “in the voluntary forgiveness” of his benefactor following his marriage to what the novel calls “a woman of character,” Willoughby is given “reason for believing that had he behaved with honour towards Marianne, he might at once have been happy and rich.” This is not of course how things have worked out, either for Willoughby or for Marianne, who is gloomily described as being “taken from” her family on the occasion of her marriage.3 Still, the force of any lesson derivable from these developments is mitigated not just by the imperatives of comedy, which see to it that Willoughby is left, more or less unpunished, in the company of his animals and diversions, but even more by what in the context of the novel is very nearly a historical imperative. In this respect, loss is not strictly speak- ing absence but a residue or trace of something sufficiently palpable in its lingering materiality that it literally blots both the comedic close and the sententia attached to it. Persuasion, by contrast, appears pitched in a different direction insofar as the interrupted union of Anne Elliot and Capt. Frederick Wentworth is identified at the novel’s outset as the problem or missed opportunity that the narrative must somehow redress. But even as Persuasion is given over in nearly exclusive measure to restoring what was lost in the prehistory of the narrative, when Anne initially rejected Wentworth’s proposal of marriage, it is far from clear that what Anne has missed, much less what is restored to her at the novel’s close, rises to the level of the plenitudinous. If anything, the opportunity Anne willfully forsakes in the narrative’s prehistory, or that she declines to pursue for reasons that exceed and contradict her retrospective view that she merely bowed to family pressure in rejecting Wentworth, remains an opportunity that she may be right in continuing to avoid, which she in fact does for much of the novel. And, once again, we have the cinematic adaptation of Persuasion, and the damage control 357William Galperin it compulsively exerts, to recall this particular irony. Where the novel ultimately deposits its heroine in domestic space, where she remains (in her own description) “quiet, confined” and where her “feelings prey upon [her],” especially in “the dread of a future war,” the movie finds anne happily aboard ship in contravention not just of the novel but of her husband’s own proscriptions and the gender divisions they help foster. “i hate to hear of women aboard ship, or to see them on board; and no ship, under my command, shall ever convey a family of ladies any where, if i can help it.”4 My point is not to diminish Persuasion’s knowing and therefore bittersweet pursuit of anne’s requital, however moderated. it is to stress that the missed opportunity that informs Persuasion, or just as memorably Pride and Prejudice, is primarily a symptom in austen’s writing rather than a device relating primarily to the exigencies of plot. for it is plot, after all, with its temporal momentum forward, that creates the missed opportunity, making it an historical matter in contrast to which any fulfillment in and over time, whether by mar- riage to Wentworth or even to fitzwilliam Darcy, is tantamount to letting “the real perish into art” (in Walter benjamin’s apt description) or into the particular probabilism that we call realism.5 nor is it a coincidence that at the very juncture when the missed opportunity is almost certainly within recovery, whether at elizabeth’s visit to Pem- berley or following the events at lyme in Persuasion, other prospects and opportunities emerge, contesting those whose achievement is necessarily a foregone conclusion. at Pemberley elizabeth’s gaze is suspended between the vista of Pemberley House, and the fantasies of marriage and proprietorship it provokes, and the equally delightful view, indeed prospect, from Pemberley’s windows, where the land- scape typically recedes beyond recognition or closure. so, too, anne’s seemingly inevitable procession to marriage, and to the achievement of what she had previously forsaken, struggles in Persuasion’s second volume against an ever pressing anteriority, or what amounts in the act of reading to a kind of collective memory, where anne’s earlier autonomy, underwritten in large measure by her invisibility to the male gaze, stands in critical relation to her more recent interpellation as the heroine of romance. so, in effect, the missed opportunity in austen figures an alternative history: a history that, while unfulfilled and unwritable, does not lack a material sanction, which proves the sanction, in turn, for something that lingers in the face of disappointment or even in the felicity of marital closure. This can also be put in terms relevant to at least one 358 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities recent theory of historiography. for the particular dynamic of absence and loss that, on Dominick lacapra’s view, informs a history of the traumatic, where absence gradually modulates to a sense of loss, or to something palpable that can be worked on and through, achieves a condensation in austen’s writing that works to nearly opposite ends. This is so because the loss of which lacapra speaks involves, unlike austen’s, something wholly and truly palpable. it involves something so fully lived that its absence, particularly as such absence becomes “conflated with loss,” renders mourning an “impossible, endless, quasi-transcendental grieving, scarcely distinguishable (if at all) from interminable melancholy.”6 it is lacapra’s purpose, as it was freud’s, to disentangle loss and absence, thereby liberating mourning to a purpose that is therapeutic in a psychological sense and empathic and enlightening in an epistemological register. such moves are necessary because the traumatic event, specifically the rending that must be felt as absence before the fullness of its void can be marked and understood, is indeed something that, in the words of Hayden White, “really hap- pened.”7 in austen, by contrast, we encounter a loss that often barely qualifies as such and a working through, accordingly, where prospect and retrospection are less easily parsed and even cooperative, as the following instances from Northanger Abbey and Emma jointly show. The moment in Northanger Abbey, which virtually defines the way loss becomes a site of value in austen, providing still another clue to what D. a. Miller has suggestively termed the “secret” of austen’s “style” (more on this later), is a declarative statement with appar- ently little bearing on the matters i have just raised. confronted by isabella Thorpe with the news that she had given isabella’s brother, John, “the most positive encouragement” as a potential suitor, cath- erine Morland states flatly by way of reply: “you are describing what never happened.”8 catherine’s reply seems innocent enough, all the more in that John Thorpe, as readers have already witnessed, remains fairly repellent. nevertheless, the charge of “describing what never happened,” apart from its immediate application to certain develop- ments (or non-developments) in the novel, is interesting in the way it marshals misrepresentation in the service of “what,” to quote White again, “really happened.” by its very syntax, in other words, “what never happened” looks in two directions that coalesce into something overdetermined. in a single stroke are a description of something that allegedly took place as well as a voiding of that prospect for which “never” is not just the solitary instrument in catherine’s statement but a prohibition as well that, as her sentence stands, can only embarrass but never erase “what” it is pressed to discountenance. 359William Galperin all of this may seem much ado about nothing. However, beyond the fact that the retrieval of something from nothing is precisely my point regarding the history of missed opportunities in austen, whose narra- tives are variously committed to “describing what never happened,” it has an equally specific bearing on the novel at hand. regardless of whether catherine is right in her assertion, and whether we are inclined to concur with her claim on the basis of what the novel has made avail- able, there is also a great deal about catherine that we simply don’t know and a good deal, too, about the nature of her outing, indeed her carriage ride, with John Thorpe that has gone unreported. no matter how odious Thorpe remains to the narratorial gaze, he is indisputably the most sexualized male that catherine has encountered in the novel thus far and, in the novel’s ultimately complicated engagement with the radcliffean gothic, the most sexualized man she will encounter. and so no matter how much catherine protests to isabella, her “never” carries roughly the same force of denial and the same force of prohibition as it does in a more generalized or thematic vein. “What never happened” provides an aperture, by way of both grammar and other materials, onto other possibilities for which the overdetermined “what” remains the perfect, if ineradicable, placeholder. The description of “what never happened” is a largely symptomatic event in Northanger Abbey in which the pressure of circumstance— both isabella’s wish-fulfillment and catherine’s denial—projects an alternative history that collapses immediately under the weight of sheer impossibility. However, when weighed in conjunction with an equally incidental moment in Emma, the initiative of “describing what never happened” takes on a quite specific valuation in the way the prohibi- tion signified by “never” is lifted sufficiently now to mark a different course of events that is merely foreclosed upon rather than denied. The moment to which i am referring involves Harriet smith’s four- teen-minute visit to the family of her rejected suitor robert Martin, where she encounters friends with whom she had recently lived for six weeks and is brought into proximity with a family, indeed a world, from which she has been persuaded by emma to distance herself. recounted in retrospect, which in turn gives it a distinctly historical cast, this moment proves paradigmatic for so much else in Emma and, as we shall see, in austen generally. The episode begins as Harriet is observed walking away from the Martins’ home in response to emma’s “summons,” which is relayed by the appearance of her carriage at the Martins’ gate. and it is re- counted over the better part of a long paragraph, in which Harriet’s 360 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities account of things is refracted so as to include both her perspective as well as emma’s perspective on the evidently “pain[ed]” viewpoint of her companion: she had seen only Mrs. Martin and the two girls. They had received her doubtingly, if not coolly; and nothing beyond the merest common-place had been talked almost all the time—till just at last, when Mrs. Martin’s saying, all of a sudden, that she thought Miss smith was grown, had brought on a more interesting subject, and a warmer manner. in that very room she had been measured last september, with her two friends. There were the pencilled marks and memorandums on the wainscot by the window. He had done it. They all seemed to remember the day, the hour, the party, the occasion—to feel the same consciousness, the same regrets—to be ready to return to the same good understanding; and they were just growing again like themselves, (Harriet, as emma must suspect, as ready as the best of them to be cordial and happy,) when the carriage reappeared, and all was over. The style of the visit, and the shortness of it, were then felt to be decisive. fourteen minutes to be given to those with whom she had thankfully passed six weeks not six months ago!—emma could not but picture it all, and feel how justly they might resent, how naturally Harriet must suffer. it was a bad business.9 like the more obvious missed opportunities in either Persuasion or Pride and Prejudice, this foreclosure on felicity proves only temporary. The “bad business” that emma conducts by her summons eventually goes bust and is succeeded by the more enduring enterprise of fam- ily happiness in Harriet’s eventual marriage to Mr. Martin. but that is not the point, or as much the point here as it is, say, in Pride and Prejudice, where elizabeth’s rejection of Darcy at the end of volume two, and the missed opportunity into which it quickly morphs, is plainly central to the plot and to the cultural work that plot performs.10 Here, by contrast, we have something that, like so much else in this novel, is relatively freestanding: something so palpable (even with a half life of barely seven minutes) that its cancellation is especially striking and otherwise distinct from the loss for which the longer durée of a six weeks’ visit is necessarily a precondition. Where the nonappearance of Mr. Martin marks, at least for the moment, a shift in Harriet’s life that seems irreversible, plunging her into something like the melancholy that obtains when, as lacapra notes, absence (in this case of Martin’s empenciled hand) is conflated with genuine loss, a mere fourteen minutes of same-sex conviviality propels the text, in imitation of the Martin women, in a different direction. very much 361William Galperin like the “Miss Martin,” in fact, who is glimpsed at the visit’s end (but appropriately enough at the episode’s beginning), “parting with [Har- riet] seemingly with ceremonious civility,” the text is pitched toward the expectation of more: toward a plenitude that something of a few minutes suddenly induces.11 by no means am i disputing the other—most would argue pri- mary—function of this episode, which is connected to the novel’s plot and to the developmental trajectory in which emma learns the error of her ways en route to becoming a responsible citizen. The “bad business” that emma recognizes as such, and the resentment that she understands herself to have “justly” provoked, are certainly moments of conscience that, however abbreviated, remain a resource on which the heroine will gradually draw, especially with Mr. Knightley’s assis- tance. What i am suggesting, rather, is that even as it looks forward to didactic closure, both in emma’s own reflections and in the more immediate grief that her meddling has produced, the episode stands equally as a synecdoche of austen’s altogether unique “style.” it does this in the way the everyday, as austen’s earliest readers were quick to recognize, is at variance with plot, both in its temporal movement forward and as a vehicle of both ideology and regulation. The recursive movement of the episode, both as something glimpsed in retrospect and as a goad to further regression and to the plenitude on which it verges, all seemingly provoked (but also figured) by the pencil marks “on the wainscot by the window,” is not just pitched in a direction contrary to narrative progress, which leads immediately to the sever- ance of Harriet’s relations; it also comprises a sequence of events that filters backward to a vanishing point for which utopia might just be another term. The fullness of description remains an objective cor- relative for something more again, something that “could not but” be “picture[d],” that neither emma’s progress to ostensibly responsible agency nor even Harriet’s to matrimony will ever rival, either as events in themselves or as portents. and with such weight of history, and its promise of genuine difference, shadowing any and all developments both present and future, “it was,” as emma rightly and suggestively opines, “a bad business.” There are reasons or explanations for this phenomenon in austen, which in the spirit of Miller’s recent study must be also marked as be- ing characteristically austenian.12 and while i differ with Miller about what is most pressing or characteristic of austen’s style, and about the “secret” that subtends it, i am in general agreement that this style is, first and foremost, a mark of inimitable difference, whether from con- 362 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities temporaries such as frances burney or from other discourses such as realism or history and the periodizing and explanatory initiatives they serve. in her now famous essay, “Jane austen and the Masturbating girl,” eve Kosofsky sedgwick comments usefully on the “history of im- poverished ‘Jane austen’ readings,” which she correctly assigns to a way with austen that she tartly describes as “progress[ive].”13 such readings are progressive, she argues, both for their relative contemporaneity in embracing certain heteronormative dictates and, in a movement com- mensurate with austen’s own plots, for their invariable endorsement of some moral point or closure that the spectacle of onanism, as sedgwick discovers it, for example, in Sense and Sensibility, recursively resists. “austen criticism,” she writes, “is notable not just for its timidity and banality but for its unresting exaction of the spectacle of a girl being Taught a lesson—for the vengefulness it vents on the heroines whom it purports to love, and whom, perhaps, it does.”14 We see this vengefulness, or incentives to it, in the episode just noted, where the “picture” of “it all” is clearly evidence against emma as well as a “spectacle” that emma introjects, marking herself as a po- tentially ethical, if still deficient, subject. but what we also see here is something that sedgwick, with attention again to Sense and Sensibility’s embrace of a lost (and subsequently pathologized) “sexual ecology,” calls “residual”: something fathomable but, like the pencil marks on the wainscot, as an afterimage of “what” was.15 Where for sedgwick the residual is ultimately readable in austen, and therefore retriev- able, over and against certain protocols of reading that have become entrenched in the last century and a half, what transpires in Emma is more akin to a description of what (never) happened. and “what” it signifies, both immediately and representatively, is that the very prohibitions that sedgwick attaches to certain disciplinary discourses, but which are mitigated, on her reading, by a return to history, are not easily undone. if anything, the banality and vengefulness to which austen criticism is inclined to gravitate are very much at the surface in the Emma episode and legitimated along a temporal axis that may very well move initially in two directions—in projecting a missed or foreshortened opportunity—but that is ultimately unidirectional in projecting and representing things as they are becoming. and so what sedgwick provocatively identifies in Sense and Sensibil- ity is in some ways a misrecognition that marks the faultline between austen’s achievement and an otherwise proximate achievement more stubbornly invested in an anteriority that austen, for her part, perceives as sufficiently passed or irretrievable to have (never) happened. The 363William Galperin name for this other achievement is romanticism, and it is the great virtue of sedgwick’s effort at recovery to have marked a site of both difference and similitude that exerts explanatory power. for the institu- tion of reading austen that sedgwick inveighs against is primarily (and by her own reading of the prohibitions against passional display in the medical discourse of the 1880s) a misappropriation in which austen is anachronistically cobbled either to the institution of the realistic novel that she helped found and that flourished in the nineteenth century, or to the satiric—but still regulatory—disposition of what charles lamb disparagingly called the “last century.”16 What almost no critic appreciates, save in relatively banal terms, is that austen’s achievement, marked always by her inimitable difference, is necessarily time-bound: that she is the other in a moment and to a movement to which she maintains a notably synchronic relation. This is hardly the first time that austen’s relationship to the period in which she wrote has been broached. Despite the influential arguments of historicizing critics such as Jerome Mcgann, for whom austen simply gives proof that not every literary production of the romantic period need be romantic, there is a consensus now that austen’s deployment of free indirect discourse, through the focal point of a single character’s consciousness, accords with the developing ideology of individualism of which romanticism remains the discourse par excellence.17 There are, needless to say, many readings that engage the issue of individuality in austen quite differently or as a development that—whatever her formal sanctions—austen seeks to mitigate.18 almost no one has pressed on the other aspect of romanticism in austen in which individualism figures, sometimes for the worse: namely romanticism’s investment in substantive social change. The reasons for the general reluctance to view austen in a more oppositional vein are fairly obvious. Despite their frequent disaffection with things as they are, austen’s narratives, with their remarkable attention to the vagaries of quotidian life, appear generally wedded to a probabilistic (as against a romantic or visionary) orientation in which any real apart from what has already happened is generally out of bounds. i am arguing, however, that this sense of the past is less an endorsement of precedent, or a subscription to the empirical logic of probability, than an orientation that inclines toward romanticism in the way the past, as an index of what was also pos- sible, operates alternately if all too briefly as a site of opportunity. or put somewhat differently, “what really happened” doubles alternately and retrospectively as “what never happened” or, following the gist of Harriet’s visit to the Martins, as “what . . . happened” before it was suddenly “all . . . over.” 364 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities in an argument with notable affinities to sedgwick’s, Jerome chris- tensen enlists anachronism—or an insistent anteriority—as a defining feature of romanticism, which he describes as a “movement of feel- ing that challenges the present of state of things.”19 in its vaunted primitivism and general preoccupation with things past, the romantic “inappreciation of time” in the movement toward modernity is, for christensen, a “willful commission of anachronism,” an “assertion of the historical as that which could not be over because it has not yet really happened.”20 all counterintuition aside, what christensen means to get at in romanticism, over and against the largely Marxist and judgmental shape of historicist readings of romantic discourse and ideology, is a certain intractability of which anachronism remains the vehicle and hope, however paradoxically, the tenor. “The romantic movement,” he writes, “is inescapably anachronistic because it is the politics of the future and always will be until something better comes along.”21 such efforts to filch hope from the jaws of defeat—defeat being the “end of history” in “the freshly consolidated global hege- mony of the liberal state” along with certain critical practices that read movements like romanticism as waystations in that teleology—are shrewd and honorable.22 but they comprise an argument that marks, along with sedgwick’s, austen’s proximity to—and only then her differ- ence from—the futuristic orientations of her contemporaries. Where romanticism may be recuperated, or at the very least retrieved from the usual charges of evasion or apostasy, thanks to its now-stubborn naiveté, austen’s writing, including the very attention to detail that distinguishes her “style” from that of virtually anyone else writing at this time, reveals her radically skeptical (skeptically radical?) refusal to regard history as a template for the future. for austen the historical has “really happened,” with the pencil marks to prove it and, worse, with what undoubtedly seemed the “end of history” in plain sight. ii. We need only look to Mansfield Park, which i have described re- cently as “Jane austen’s future shock,” to see austen’s difference in this regard, which can also be described as the difference between the residual, such as sedgwick and christensen construe it, and the residual at its vanishing point.23 for if it is the case that romanticism additionally marks the birth of a historical practice that, as James chandler has recently argued, may be deemed a precedent for the historical approach to romantic-period discourse in our time, such 365William Galperin practice is also emptied in austen’s novel of the assured, relatively stable, distance that enables critique, particularly as an engine of progress.24 according to chandler, the particular, indeed historical, self-reflexivity that develops at this time is effectively two-pronged and the result of two potentially cooperating discourses that he terms the “case” and “casuistry.” The case—for example “england in 1819” as it was named and understood by writers such as Percy shelley—is the “genre in which we represent situations” whereas “casuistry,” a practice recuperatively lifted from catholic theology, refers primarily to “the application of principle” to specific “circumstances” without which a case could not become one. The “case” is by definition, then, “a falling away” from “some principled notion of ‘rightness,’” making casuistry, in turn, the “science” that “deals with such cases” and in fact discovers them.25 now, in Mansfield Park, the first austen novel to be published at the time of its initial composition, this balance of case and casuistry is continually upended. Dubbed “Mansfield Park” in an arguably ironic echo of lord chief Justice Mansfield’s recourse to elizabethan precedent in describing england as having “air too pure for slaves to breathe in,” the england of austen’s novel is alternately a “falling away” from what the narrative doggedly presents as a better standard of social practice as well as a falling away from something patently residual that continually frustrates its consolidation as a case.26 in something more like a mobius strip or an endless loop, the case and the science that claims to understand it in Mansfield Park maintain a perplex- ing fluidity over the imperatives of narrative, which are didactic and unidirectional. although decadent and diminished, on the argument of newer principles, the england of Mansfield Park—or the england that is “Mansfield Park”—is marked equally by an emergent culture, whose seemingly newer principles are challenged in a myriad of ways by the culture aforementioned, which takes a different and longer view of things. Mary crawford’s riposte supporting architectural changes wrought upon a chapel—“every generation has its improvements”—is not just an exercise in unprincipled relativism (even if it appears that way from one casuistic angle) but an observation that wreaks consid- erable damage on a developmental view of history as well as on any value-system to which a notion of improvement might be tethered.27 Mary’s statement explains too, then, why “Mansfield Park,” both the site of slaveholders sans slaves and the novel so titled, is more than just a site of competing ideologies or values. for in its necessary situation along an axis of development (despite the heroine fanny Price’s ostenta- 366 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities tious traditionalism), “Mansfield Park”—the seemingly immaculate and domesticated counterweight to the imperial and military britain that cannot go by any other name—is far from evenhanded, especially in its projected teleology. commensurate instead with William or fanny or even susan Price’s upward mobility, “Mansfield Park” properly names and masks a britain very much in formation. it names a culture, in other words, whose values and whose instruments of value, including the institution of the novel itself, are transparently self-serving rather than a reliable measure of anything that, by contrast, is unambiguously “a falling away.” and, once again, we have the missed opportunity as a signifier of what has fallen away to mark and measure this critical and disturbing transformation. The missed opportunities that characteristically inform the three major set-pieces in Mansfield Park—the visit to sotherton, the private theatrical at Mansfield, and, last but not least, Henry crawford’s ef- forts to persuade fanny to become his wife—are remarkable not for their intimations of plenitude à la Harriet’s visit to the Martins, but for intimations of the very opposite: for the way that “what never” happens in these three instances is virtually unrecuperable save as the other to what the narrative aggressively promotes. The result in each instance of fanny’s opportunistic reticence, what the missed opportunity exposes is the winner-take-all logic that drives the narra- tive in the very image of the imperium it serves. on the losing side of a culture war, in other words, in which both the narrative and its heroine are impressed, are possibilities that time and progress have to a large degree vanquished. The first such opportunity, presented during the visit to sotherton, comes nicely in the form of a “prospect,” which fanny and her walk- ing companions, Maria bertram and Henry crawford, are prevented from entering by a locked “iron gate” and an adjacent ha-ha that “give” Maria in particular “a feeling of restraint and hardship.” rather than waiting for their host, Mr. rushworth, to unlock the gate with a key, Maria accepts Henry’s assistance in “pass[ing] round the edge of the gate,” leaving fanny to remonstrate by warning Maria that she will hurt herself. but Maria does not hurt herself. she negotiates the “prohibitions” with Henry’s assistance and the two are quickly out of view, leaving fanny alone “with no increase of pleasant feelings” which soon escalate to “disagreeable musings.”28 The cause of these “mus- ings” turns out to be less clear than first seems. although a feature of fanny’s prudence and seeming probity, her unhappiness is provoked as much by the bad behavior she has witnessed as by her being left 367William Galperin alone, both by her immediate companions and by edmund bertram and Mary crawford as well. The “smiling scene” before her (as Henry so describes it to Maria), and to which Maria, in turn, assigns both a “literal” and a “figurative” meaning, stands in inverse proportion to a subjectivity troubled by more than it can comprehend.29 all we know, or may surmise, is that were fanny somehow capable of entering the prospect—were she more like elizabeth bennet here and less concerned with ruining her gown—we would be contending with something other than her clear and present misery. none of this, of course, is to praise Henry or Maria or to suggest that the novel is expressly validating their dalliance. it is to observe that their very ir- retrievability on moral or ideological grounds does not work palpably to the benefit of the standards—or the standard-bearer in this case—by which they are found wanting. if anything, the self-determination that Maria displays, and to which she is provoked by certain prohibitions, propel her toward certain smiling prospects that belong “figuratively” at this point, both in time and in austen’s writing, to a world—indeed a woman’s world—that is or was a good deal less miserable, even as it is increasingly hard to discover. The other two prospects that fanny eschews, leaving her similarly ensconced in states of misery, follow the first smiling prospect. They do so in measuring by counterexample what the present and the near future hold in store, both for social practice and for aesthetic practices, like the novel, all of which are encumbered by an increasingly dogmatic investment in both britain’s and woman’s perceived sanctity. This is not the occasion, perhaps, to detail the many proscriptions against private theatricals in the conduct manuals for women at this time, including Thomas gisborne’s An Enquiry into the Duties of the Female Sex (1797), which austen was reading as she was conceiving Mansfield Park. all we need observe, again, is that fanny’s ostentatious refusal to participate in the production of Lovers’ Vows (“no, indeed, i cannot act”) is met by a concomitant misery that, while ostensibly a function of jealousy over edmund bertram, operates “figuratively” once more in projecting or in retrojecting a smiling horizon of female agency and mobility: “alas, it was all Miss crawford’s doing. she had seen her influence in every speech [of edmund’s] and was miserable.”30 it scarcely requires saying that one of the most nagging problems in this novel involves the virtual transposition of Pride and Prejudice’s elizabeth bennet into the character of Mary crawford, who, unlike her prototype, is plainly an exhibit in the case against england’s decadent or residual culture. still another instance, then, of the way detail ef- 368 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities fectively compromises narrative and temporal momentum, here and elsewhere in austen, Mary’s character, particularly as an afterimage of Pride and Prejudice’s winning heroine, performs an even more specific and historical function. as fanny both observes and demonstrates, the fundamental difference between fanny and her adversary comes down to what Mary does and is evidently happy doing versus what fanny doesn’t do and is made miserable in consequence. This is just as true of Mary’s brother, Henry, whose interest in theatricals is memorably registered in the exhortation: “let us be doing something.”31 That these doings are undone by events—be they sir Thomas’s arrival at Mans- field, which puts an end to the theatrical undertaken in his absence, or fanny’s rejection of Henry upon learning of the latter’s philander- ing—is hardly surprising. for such developments are aspects of plot, both as an apparatus of time and as a vehicle of ideology. They are developments, that is, in which the “authentically temporal destiny” (in Paul de Man’s phrase) of doing, with special attention here to female agency, is additionally demarcated by the emergent culture of female restraint and undoing, or by a culture where a woman’s only proper agency is in saying “no” again and again and again.32 all of which brings us to the third missed opportunity in Mansfield Park: the prospect of marriage to Henry. The least definitive, perhaps, of the various prospects that both fanny and the novel reject, Henry’s courtship of fanny speaks more to transformations in the novel and to the cultural work the genre performs, particularly in its development from epistolary form to the more authoritative operation of free indirect discourse. it would be preposterous to dispute austen’s investment in the new narrative technology of third-person omniscience or her un- derstanding of her instrumentality in what Walter scott, in discussing Emma, aptly described as the “[new] style of novel.”33 nevertheless it bears remembering that at least one, and perhaps both, of the novels that austen had published thus far were initially drafted in epistolary form—and that this form was characterized, in austen’s understanding, by its constitutive indeterminacy, making it the antithesis in many ways of domestic fiction in its realistic and probabilistic formation. This sense of epistolarity, and the criticism of the novel it implicitly harbors, is very much on view in Lady Susan, the one mature epistolary narrative of austen’s still remaining. in ending as it does—with an abrupt and disingenuous turn to omniscience and moral authority—Lady Susan effectively exposes its close as a damping down of the largely indeter- minate and pleasurable text that has preceded it. if lady susan vernon is not exactly a role model for a presumably female readership, there 369William Galperin are precious few alternatives to her example that readers can fall back on. instead, the challenges that the heroine poses to the culture of domesticity, chiefly the affective ties uniting husbands and wives and parents and children, go largely unmet in the narrative.34 and what of Mansfield Park in this vein? The answer in a word, or a title, is Clarissa: a text that for austen, as for many of her contem- poraries, was the sine qua non of epistolary indeterminacy. although certain aspects of Clarissa’s plot are jumbled in austen’s brief redac- tion, richardson’s novel is pretty clearly the intertext for the conclud- ing phase of Mansfield Park, which is dominated by fanny’s exile to Portsmouth as punishment for having rejected Henry and by Henry’s attempts to win her affections all the while.35 in Clarissa it is the ar- ranged marriage that makes clarissa Harlowe vulnerable to the libertine lovelace and that renders lovelace in turn (or by turns) an attractive alternative. Here, it is the mandatory exile to her parents’ slovenly home in Portsmouth rather than the mandated marriage per se—in this case to the character most resembling lovelace—that softens fanny in the face of Henry’s entreaties. it is not easy to parse or to interpret this discourse imbrication, in which the new style of the novel and its epistolary antecedent are brought into strained compliance. but we have, by Henry’s performance as fanny’s seemingly considerate and generous suitor, sufficient echo of both epistolary indeterminacy and the less constrained reading practices it helped cultivate (again by austen’s lights) to propel the novel backward in time to a provisional uncertainty that only the ham-handed disclosure of Henry’s elopement with the newly-married Maria rushworth ultimately cancels. The op- portunity missed therefore is not the felicity (much less the agency) that fanny necessarily forsakes in rejecting Henry—even as Henry, like his sister, remains a good deal more interesting at this juncture than the character summarily wrenched into villainous turpitude. The opportunity forsaken and no longer retrievable—of which fanny’s rejection is primarily a figure now—is the epistolary novel itself or a version of the novel at variance with the miserably regulatory Man- sfield Park. austen would revisit this very issue at the terminus of her career, by which point she had, for the moment, abandoned her characteristic mode of narration in favor of something more hyperbolic. in Sanditon, the novel she was working on at the time of her death, austen looks backward—and with something approaching nostalgic good humor—to the indeterminacy of epistolary form in allowing sir edward Denham to take lovelace not as a cautionary example but as a role model. in 370 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities contrast to novels that might resemble austen’s six completed works in representing what sir edward disparages as “ordinary occurrences from which no useful Deductions can be drawn,” the novels that sir edward reads are ones, apparently, from which any number of deduc- tions may emerge. Clarissa, for example, display[s] Human nature with grandeur—such as shew her in the sublimities of intense feeling—such as exhibit the progress of strong Passion from the first germ of incipient susceptibilty to the utmost energies of reason half-dethroned,—where we see the strong spark of Woman’s captivations elicit such fire in the soul of Man as leads him—(though at the risk of some aberration from the strict line of Primitive obligations)—hazard all, dare all, atchieve all, to obtain her.36 austen is being broadly satiric here and in a necessarily old-fashioned way. still, the “ineradicable ambiguity” of epistolary form to which sir edward’s literary criticism largely refers has the additional effect of recalling, or in this case underscoring, what austen recognizes or at least hopes is a gap separating the “ordinary” as such and the particular deductions that domestic fiction mobilizes it toward.37 it might be a stretch to maintain that the novels that sir edward discountenances are explicitly austen’s own novels. nevertheless, the habits of (mis)reading that he has apparently picked up from richardson are put to curiously similar effect in his failure to divine a purpose or lesson from domestic fiction. it is more that the uses of epistolary fiction, especially those forged in the crucible of what appears to be misreading, are strangely continuous (in light of who is reading and who is writing here) with the apparent inutility of at least one kind of domestic fiction in failing to provide any firm lessons or deductions, including ones that both scott and bishop Whatley after him saw austen and writers like her to be imparting. in both instances, it appears, crimes of reading are accessory to the crimes or abuses of novelistic writing, epistolary and otherwise. While the incentives to misreading that sir edward follows in richardson are plainly there in richardson’s text, they are, by sir edward’s own demonstration, prevalent in other kinds of novels as well and in the overdetermined reading practices these works encourage, if not always to sir edward’s delight. Domestic novels—or let us say certain domestic novels by a certain author—are as open apparently to readings where didacticism and deduction are consistently challenged as a work like Clarissa is able, on at least one reading, to function splendidly as a lover’s handbook. 371William Galperin one way, then, that austen challenges the didactic ends of narra- tive—or the didacticism of her plots—is through the missed opportu- nity, which marks an alterity that has been forsaken but not forgotten. and while the pathos, not to mention the status, of these opportunities resides precisely in their irretrievability, or in their unrecuperability according to the principles that the plot of Mansfield Park, for instance, both fosters and adheres to, there is in the backhanded prestige granted epistolarity, if only as that which had to be jettisoned so that austen could become “Jane austen,” something of a homology between a revi- sion in form and a revision in fact. independent of its status as a joke, the scene of misreading in Sanditon maintains a curious substantiality not just as a countermovement to time in embracing certain antecedent genres and practices but also in the way that “ordinary occurrences” constitute a reading matter for sir edward at variance with the “de- ductions” that only plot, in its momentum forward and as a vehicle of ideology in domestic fiction, can produce. in other words, the missed opportunity marks the resistant residue that time leaves behind, both in fiction and, in the peculiar constitution of austen’s novels, in “what” is ultimately fact or reality itself. iii. in his recent and provocative Jane Austen, or The Secret of Style, Miller alights upon time as something opposed to what he calls “austen style,” which is not only the sum and substance of austen’s inimitable, seemingly divine, narrative voice but also, if only temporarily, the prop- erty of certain of her characters, including elizabeth bennet, emma Woodhouse, and Mary crawford. resembling the godlike (and for Miller’s part neutered) “stylothete” in their provisional renunciation of what Miller calls personhood—the identity forged in the crucible of “social necessity”—these heroines are inevitably subordinated to the stylothete by some mortification or shame. introducing the heroine to that “state of lack,” which makes for “a well-functioning [female] subject,” such shame ultimately compels the heroine “to embark on life as a person,” placing her on a continuum with the “most dreadful features” of a character like Miss bates.38 Unlike the narrator, whose divinity consists in a freedom from “all accents that might identify it with a socially accredited broker of power/knowledge in the world under narration,” or in a remarkable exteriority to all things and persons that Miller calls “extraterritoriality,” the austen heroine is irreducibly and sadly a character in time and in space.39 “What . . . overtakes emma’s 372 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities style . . . is nothing less than a sense of its temporality measured not against the large, event-filled scale of world-historical time, but in that minor unity of social pressure within which the novel typically begins and ends: a generation from youth to eventual settlement.”40 Time, that is, has essentially one function in austen, especially when set against the narrator’s exemption from virtually all imperatives, save for those aspects of the real on which style typically exerts itself. and that function, though somewhat tautological, is as a prerequisite for a “person’s” being in time and in a world, by extension, where tempo- ralization is as closed a field as the spatial and social constraints that frame and circumscribe emma’s development. That time might conceivably exert a pressure of its own in austen as opposed to simply constituting the durée on which the social must inevitably intrude—that its very pressure on the social or material may be sufficient, if only retrospectively, to retrieve the social from its status as a theater of lack or limit—is inconceivable on Miller’s argument. and that’s because the secret of austen’s style for him, and of the particular exclusiveness of the narrator’s position, is lodged as much in what amounts to a queer exceptionalism, where the no- tion of extraterritoriality effectively spatializes the narrator’s sublime neutering, as in a subjectivity that is curiously romantic in its register of an equally sublime individuality. Miller smartly concedes that such subjectivity (as distinct now from personhood) is not without its costs in austen. Primary among these costs is the melancholy that accrues in the recognition that the social and conjugal world that the stylothete shuts out has been abandoned in a preemptive, even mimetic, maneu- ver that recapitulates society’s disavowal of the neutered non-person in turn. but none of this ultimately diminishes the fact that we are in roughly the same place vis-à-vis “austen style” as we often find ourselves in blake or in Wordsworth or in shelley or even in Keats, who wishes—as does austen apparently—to “leave the world unseen” and uninterpellated. but Keats also knows better than, or differently from, other members of the so-called “visionary company.”41 His pun on “unseen,” referring simultaneously to a visible and social materiality that he is desperate to eschew but will not or cannot in the end, has an equally useful correlative in his notion of “slow time,” whose paternity or control over people and things (beginning with the grecian Urn itself) is not absolute but provisional and a sanction for the speaker to think out loud—and in real and slow time no less—about what time has not merely “overtaken.” and austen, whose first three novels were largely 373William Galperin exercises in coordinating reality to time (and time to reality) in the nearly two decades between their initial composition and eventual publication, was provoked, i would argue, to similar conclusions, including those that take the symptomatic form of opportunities in what was the here and now. such opportunities are everywhere in austen, even and especially at the apogee of “austen style” itself, which for Miller, as for nearly all readers, finds its locus classicus in the famous first sentence to the most beloved of austen’s novels. Here is Miller on that sentence: The heady promesse du bonheur that the great first sentence of Pride and Prejudice extends to us, despite the fact that it too lends its authority to acknowledging the depressing law of universal conjugality, comes down to one thing: that no one who writes with such possession can be in want of anything. The sentence self-evidently issues from a state of already having achieved—or, at any rate, of having entirely dispensed with need to achieve—everything that, for instance, the typical nineteenth-century ambition plot seeks to obtain, and even more. but the fact of enjoying, or imagining enjoying, the happy ending of a plot that one has been spared the labor of working through, makes the sentence merely a pleasant daydream. The fact of enjoying, or imagining enjoying, the happy ending of a plot that, except in this mode of writing, one never could perform—a plot that otherwise, even within its middle-class confines, one must know only as foreclosed—this is what makes the sentence the ecstatic and strangely wrenching experience it has always been.42 “Wrenching” to be sure, but why “merely a pleasant daydream” or “only as foreclosed”? although provoked by certain qualifiers that imply or derive limits from a plot whose “happy ending” is apparently irresistible, my query is directed finally at the image of an authority so remote and self-possessed that its only conceivable desire is to imagine desire in the assurance of its “happy” requital. but the syntax of this famous sentence, notably the “must” onto which everything in it converges, projects an altogether different de- sire where time and requital are rather uncooperative, particularly in their promissory or progressive trajectory. suspended, rather, between a ventriloquized desperation, which emanates from and redounds on single women (and their families) in their needy acts of projection and introjection, and a lingering or residual exasperation over the way “the universal law of conjugality” has become a necessitarian doctrine, “must” looks as obsessively toward marital closure as it looks opposition- ally and resistively toward an emancipatory horizon that is regressive 374 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities in both origin and location. it may be “universally acknowledged,” and by that sanction a truism, that “a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” but this does not obscure the fact that this normative scenario is simply that: an imposition where the coercive weight of public opinion is echoed and authenticated in the wish-fulfilling fantasies of women, where truth is a by-product of vulnerability and subordination. Miller implicitly acknowledges all this. but what his elegant reading also sidesteps are the alternatives in time (or in what was once time) onto which the sentence opens and to which it is pried upon by the exasperated “must.” That “truth” remains inseparable from universal acknowledgment, that it requires the prop of opinion, custom, and fantasy to maintain its epistemological sovereignty, admits another possibility that impedes and sours both the “happy ending” and the detached delectation in which the narrator seemingly indulges. This other possibility, entertained for much of the novel and by the many austen heroines similarly inured to remaining unmarried, looks to a condition where women no longer need marriage and where men, ac- cordingly, are no longer obligated, much less entitled (like either Darcy or even collins), to perform as rescue lovers. such a prospect presup- poses that conventional marriage, especially in its mystified form as the telos of narrative or romance, is likely an impediment to women and on a continuum with the subordination that drives them to marriage in the first place. and it presupposes, too, that men and women are not just the objects but also (or potentially) the agents of imperatives that can theoretically change at any moment. That such changes are almost entirely a matter of abstraction, that the famous first sentence quickly modulates to the stable and detached irony of an authoritative narrator to whom the marital prospects of unattached women and the anxiety of their parents are components of the human comedy, does not dimin- ish either the alternative or its power, in retrospect, to contest what is universal and true. for however far from consensus, the prospect of things otherwise maintains an immediacy here sufficient to project, or to retroject, a very different “want” along the same temporal axis that ends, pursuant to other wants, with the flattening of woman into “wife.” sustaining the exasperated “must,” in other words, particularly amid the encroachments of universal wish-fulfillment, is the woman, again—the missing or anterior woman—whose procession to the altar is, as Miller rightly notes, only a matter of time. but this development is not the only matter of time at issue now. The transfer of woman to wife and to the increasingly straitened world 375William Galperin of domestic ideology, no matter how aligned with “the nineteenth- century ambition plot,” has a specifically historical resonance, linked no doubt to the particular and peculiar situation of this novel as a work in time, to which the exasperated (as opposed to ventriloquized) “must” refers. Where Miller’s “must” (or the “must” as he implicitly reads it) remains the universal signifier of a fantasy so pervasive that it can claim among its many adherents the very stylothete herself, whose extraterritoriality is bounded suddenly by wish-fulfillment, the exasperated “must” looks beyond and before to something else—the only trace or remnant of which is the “wrenching” that this one word administers and performs. it looks to a history—and, with respect to Pride and Prejudice, to a history of composition and revision over many years—during which the real of this and two other austen novels was plunged into a welter of temporal flux amid a number of developments, from the rise of the novel to realistic (and regulatory) form to the grow- ing entrenchment of domestic ideology with its doctrine of separate spheres, which are marked and monitored here by the compression of woman into “wife.” The ending of this famous sentence is as much a “happy ending” as it forecloses on an identity and ultimately on a world that are increasingly prehistoric and the regress, in effect, from which plot, in its momentum forward, extricates itself but not without a murmur of discontent. austen alludes to this temporalization fairly directly in the prefa- tory “advertisement” to Northanger Abbey, where she notes the “considerable changes” in “places, manners, books, and opinions” in the years separating the novel’s conception from what turned out to be its posthumous publication.43 ostensibly an apology for the novel’s satire, whose apparent object—the gothic novel—was no longer an enthusiasm or an especially timely target, the “changes” referred to in the advertisement bear equally on certain prospects to which other aspects of the novel are answerable. chief among these possibilities, as i have demonstrated elsewhere, are the practices and proclivities by which the novel’s heroine resists her disposability to a narrative where growth and capitulation are synonymous.44 such “changes” are also an issue in both Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice, where the heroine’s eventual domestication finds a correlative in specific formal transformations that, following Pride and Prejudice’s first sentence and its précis of the courtship narrative, hearken similarly in two directions: toward the rise of the novel as a realistic and regulatory instrument; and toward a past and a milieu in which the relative indeterminacy of form, and in the case of Sense and Sensibility, epistolary form, works 376 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities in consort with certain social practices in fashioning an horizon of possibility whose inevitable disappointment is a means nonetheless of its authentication. such authentication, or what is really a process of authentication, is connected to the missed opportunity as i have been describing it, which takes the symptomatic form in austen of introducing, if only as a condition of prohibiting, “what . . . happened” in effect before it didn’t. and while this striking give-and-take owes undoubtedly to the circumstances under which austen was compelled both to revisit and to revise a real during an interval of “considerable change,” the missed opportunity pertains more in the end to “what happened” over the longer durée of at least fifteen years than to the more miniscule adjust- ments to a recoverable world that any revision, certainly any revision over time, would almost certainly mandate. While it may be risky, then, to generalize about the various changes that take symptomatic form in austen’s novels of opportunities and possibilities either missed or foreclosed, it is somewhat safer to say that what counts as progress in austen, at least by the lights of narrative deliberation, is continually met by an impedance that, particularly at the level of circumstantial detail, is also a value judgment and a generally negative one. This is hardly the time to dilate again on the many developments, from the rise of the nuclear family to the rise of domestic ideology to the rise of the novel as a regulatory instrument, not to mention austen’s personal disappointments as a woman and increasingly a dependent, that made the past more cherished as a site of possibility than the pres- ent of her novels’ publication. nevertheless, the response of austen’s earliest—and in many ways most discerning—readers, for whom her works were marked primarily by the absence of plot, especially as an absorptive or interpellative device, underscores the degree to which austen’s unique style, lodged in her inimitable way with “ordinary oc- currence,” is the arguably definitive version of the missed opportunity in figuring a world that time has otherwise subsumed in cooperation with plot.45 in recommending Sense and Sensibility to a friend, lady bessborough joined with her contemporaries in finding the novel striking or “amusing” despite what she also described as its “stupid ending.”46 assuming that lady bessborough’s sense of an ending ac- cords with a sense of story that wrenches “ordinary occurrences” into putatively “useful deductions,” what she is pointing to by contrast is a style—and an unmistakably austenian style—whose “secret” is lodged in the way “what happens” in her novels somehow “never happens” or happens only in the reductive and largely “stupid” form of a story. 377William Galperin Thus while the missed opportunity makes the loss of something a condition of its having “happened” however fleetingly, the resuscitation of details and things, especially in the uncanny form they take upon rereading a mature work like Emma, has the effect—and, with all that is at stake now, the oppositional effect—of placing the “never” in “what never happened” under erasure. reginald farrer, whose unequivocal praise of Emma is regularly quoted despite its 1917 imprimatur, is only partly right in observing that the novel “is not an easy book to read” and that “its infinite delights and subtleties of workmanship” are appreciable “only when the story has been assimilated.” for “the manifold complexity of the book’s web” by which twelve readings of the novel provide “twelve periods of pleasure . . . squared and squared again with each perusal, till at every fresh reading you feel anew that you never understood anything like the widening sum of its delights” never quite succeeds in uncomplicating, much less in removing, the “dens[ity]” and “obscur[ity]” that abide “until you know the story.”47 it is the case rather that repeated readings of Emma, which the obscurity of the frank-Jane counterplot may initially invite, open onto a difficulty or infinity, to borrow farrer’s hyperbole, that is “squared and squared again” in excess of those “delights” that bear directly and explicably on what one critic nicely terms the “shadow novel-within-a-novel.”48 While all readers of Emma remember very clearly the story of the heroine’s development under Knightley’s tutelage, these same read- ers—or, following farrer’s argument, (re)readers—are likely to find themselves in his position of also forgetting, in effect, the many aspects of the novel they had previously encountered. or to put it even more strongly, any (re)reading of Emma is likely to produce a homology, however unappreciated, between austen’s real in all its “infinite” and uncanny pleasure and Miss bates’s real, which is equally forgettable for apparently different reasons. but if Miss bates is someone readers are inclined to want to forget or to gloss over, the effort involved in representing her, which is in- distinguishable from the world according to Miss bates, suggests that there is a link—and a very important one now—between the work of Miller’s so-called “stylothete” and the phenomenology of a character who, he argues, is the essence of interpellated abjection and person- hood. This homology involves the way the world according to Miss bates remains a reality that would otherwise be extinct and have gone unnoticed were it not for this character’s preternatural and curatorial ability to remember what no one else, apparently (save austen), either can or cares to. This kind of memory, or way with the world, is more 378 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities than just a synecdoche of “austen style” in its remarkable apostasis from plot and from the administration of time; it is an instantiation at the very level of style of possibilities and opportunities that, no matter how local or ephemeral or transient or bounded, are always recoverable and always lost and an index of “what never happened.” iv. There is one more point to address—inconclusive and possibly unnecessary—regarding the oft-raised and endlessly generalized rela- tionship of fiction and history writing. This is because austen’s history of missed opportunities also positions her amid a number of compet- ing theories that bring history and the novel in its realistic form into juxtaposition and, on at least one important argument, into necessary compliance. if “what” happens in austen’s novels finds an accompani- ment in what also happens only under a condition of somehow not happening or of becoming lost, her writings give a sense of what his- tory writing can and perhaps should do in its relative freedom from the imperatives of story. correspondingly, austen’s novels provide an equally important alternative to the peculiar boundedness of fiction, both as a probabilistic, regulatory instrument and even as a visionary or utopian vehicle. The debate, at least in recent years, has been between what may be termed the “utopian” approach to the novel, especially (and perhaps counterintuitively) in its realistic form, and what may reciprocally be described as the “realistic” approach to history, where “what really hap- pened” is less a matter of actual historicity than of narrative logic and plausibility. following the influential work of Paul ricoeur, proponents of this latter view, among them Hayden White, regard realistic narra- tion as “the mode of discourse in which a successful understanding of matters historical is represented” and as a paradigm, accordingly, that renders history writing “a privileged instantiation of the human capacity to endow the experience of time with meaning, because the immediate referent of this discourse is real, rather than imaginary, events.”49 The very probabilism to which fiction was increasingly urged to conform in austen’s time becomes, on White’s argument, the condition or means by which “real . . . events” effectively claim their reality in history and can be said, then, to have “really happened.” by contrast, proponents of fiction such as frederic Jameson, or more relevantly bakhtinians such as gary saul Morson, tend not only to stress the utopian or idealistic reach of narratives that are primarily 379William Galperin realistic in scope, as opposed to either fantastic or romantic; they are additionally inclined to find good news in these narratives despite the fact that it never rises to that status or even to a circumstance that a narrative can actively entertain.50 for Jameson this comes down to a politically chiasmic reading of both narrative deliberation and closure, where unity (as an armature of probability and narrative logic) necessar- ily figures certain communitarian possibilities that are somehow filched from both things as they are and from history itself. and Morson, who is similarly invested in the alternative worlds to which realistic novels ostensibly point, explores a number of techniques, most bahktinian in either origin or inspiration, where narrative coherence is continually met by “other possible presents that might have been” by which we may glimpse any number of “unrealized but realizable possibilities.” in thus restoring “the possibility of possibility,” narratives bound by form and convention to a largely deterministic worldview are, at the same time, according to Morson, the very loci of freedom itself.51 it goes without saying that austen’s fictions, as i’ve been exploring them, are effectively suspended between the freedom or possibility that both Morson and Jameson extol and the more probable world that the writing of history must necessarily embrace if such history, by the lights of ricoeur, White, (and before them) David Hume, is to make any kind of sense. but it is not merely her suspension between these orientations that describes austen’s situation or her bearing for that matter on these larger issues of representation. by the time that austen was composing her narratives, history writing, as everett Zimmerman has detailed, had gradually migrated from recounting events on the basis of their historicity, or by having actually taken place, to a more probabilistic view in which history, as Hume maintained, is primarily a task of coordinating anterior “objects of which we have no experience” to “those of which we have [experience]” in the understanding “that what we have found to be most usual is always most probable” and likely to have been that way before.52 Thus while the realistic novel is in some ways a reconstitution après la lettre of history writing in its empirical form, where the past remains a paradigm for human un- derstanding in general rather than a site of difference, the austenian novel, often deemed synonymous with realistic writing, registers an impatience with that charge by continually situating the “usual” as an empirical construction in the company of the “unusual.” now by “unusual” i mean a number of things, the most important involving a connection to the “usual” that the prefix, in its necessarily dependent relationship to what it negates, never completely severs. 380 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities Like the “never” in “what never happened,” which takes a backseat to certain prospects limned and signified by “what,” the “unusual” refers as much to some aspect of the ordinary or the everyday as it marks a divergence from a more general scheme of causality and plausibility, where “what really happens” in Austen is a foregone conclusion that simply repeats what has happened on countless occasions already. Less a signifier of the extraordinary or the improbable, what the unusual describes is the peculiarly evanescent and temporalized status of events and details in Austen that, however ordinary, are at the same time, and in the very material experience of reading her, extraneous to the narrative logic by which Mr. Martin and Harriet Smith (to cite just one example) are destined to marry, allowing history therefore to repeat itself. Such extraneousness, as registered in, say, Harriet’s fourteen-minute visit, is a far cry from the horizons of freedom that Morson extracts from plotlines in Fyodor Dostoevsky’s novels that are never followed. What gives the unusual its special value, rather, both as a feature of Austen’s unique style and as an alternative to versions of both history and literature that depart variously from the strictures of determinism and causality, is its largely noncontradictory relationship to what hap- pens again and again in Austen’s novels as single men in possession of fortunes discover themselves in want of wives. In its always differential and always dependent relationship to the usual, the Austenian unusual claims its special status both as an opportunity, whose prestige is linked to an inevitable and necessary dematerialization, and as a paradigm for “what” both history and fiction may represent in their suddenly concomitant acts of recovery and loss. It is tempting of course to view all of this as a mark of Austen’s well-earned inimitability. Yet with the focus finally on history, especially as a subset (for better or for worse) of the literary per se, Austen is more properly instructive and even representative in writing and recalling something else in all its ordinariness. Rutgers University, New Brunswick noteS 1 Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility, ed. James Kinsley (oxford: oxford Univ. Press, 1970), 334. 2 Austen, Sense and Sensibility, 334. 3 Austen, Sense and Sensibility, 334. 4 Austen, Persuasion, ed. John Davie (oxford: oxford Univ. Press, 1990), 219, 237, 68. 381William Galperin 5 Walter benjamin, “a short History of Photography,” Artforum (february 1977): 47. 6 Dominick lacapra, Writing History, Writing Trauma (baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 2001), 69. 7 Hayden White, The Content of the Form: Narrative Discourse and Historical Representation (baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1987), 20. 8 austen, Northanger Abbey, Lady Susan, The Watsons, and Sanditon, ed. Davie (oxford: oxford Univ. Press, 1980), 112, 114. all citations of these novels are to this edition. 9 austen, Emma, ed. Kinsley (oxford: oxford Univ. Press, 1971), 167. 10 i discuss the political and cultural work of the novel’s plot in my The Historical Austen (Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 134–37. 11 austen, Emma, 167. 12 D. a. Miller, Jane Austen, or The Secret of Style (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 2003). 13 eve Kosofsky sedgwick, “Jane austen and the Masturbating girl,” Critical Inquiry 17 (1991): 836, 837. 14 sedgwick, 833. 15 sedgwick, 834. 16 charles lamb, in The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb, ed. e. v. lucas, 4 vols. (london: Methuen, 1903), 2:142. 17 Jerome Mcgann, The Romantic Ideology: A Critical Investigation (chicago: Univ. of chicago Press, 1983), 18–19. on other aspects of austen’s romanticism, see nina auerbach, Romantic Imprisonment: Women and Other Glorified Outcasts (new york: columbia Univ. Press, 1985) and clara Tuite, Romantic Austen (cambridge: cambridge Univ. Press, 2002). 18 see, for example, Marilyn butler, Jane Austen and the War of Ideas (oxford: clar- endon Press, 1975) and alistair Duckworth, The Improvement of the Estate (baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 1971). 19 Jerome christensen, “The romantic Movement at the end of History,” Critical Inquiry 20 (1994): 457. 20 christensen, 469. 21 christensen, 475. 22 christensen, 453. 23 see my The Historical Austen, 154–79. 24 James chandler, England in 1819: The Politics of Literary Culture and the Case of Romantic Historicism (chicago: Univ. of chicago Press, 1998). 25 chandler, 39, 198. 26 lord chief Justice Mansfield, quoted in Margaret Kirkham, Jane Austen: Femi- nism and Fiction (Totowa: barnes and noble, 1983). i am indebted to Kirkham for this connection. 27 austen, Mansfield Park, ed. Kinsley (oxford: oxford Univ. Press, 1990), 77. 28 austen, Mansfield Park, 89, 90. 29 austen, Mansfield Park, 89. 30 austen, Mansfield Park, 131, 141. 31 austen, Mansfield Park, 111. 32 Paul de Man, “The rhetoric of Temporality,” in Blindness and Insight: Essays in the Rhetoric of Contemporary Criticism, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis: Univ. of Minnesota Press, 1983), 206. 382 Jane Austen and the History of Missed Opportunities 33 [Walter Scott], “Emma,” Quarterly Review 14 (October 1815), collected in Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage, ed. B. C. Southam, 2 vols. (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1968), 1:63. 34 This challenge is especially acute in the case of the seemingly virtuous Catherine Vernon, who, though charging her sister-in-law (Lady Susan) with having “no real Love for her daughter” and having “never done her justice, or treated her affectionately” (Austen, Lady Susan, 232), manages in the course of her twelve letters, which comprise about a quarter of the narrative, never to mention any of her own children by name. For further discussion, see my The Historical Austen, 120–24. 35 For Clarissa as the intertext of this episode in Mansfield Park, see Duckworth, 76. See also Joseph Wiesenfarth, The Errand of Form (New York: Fordham Univ. Press, 1967), 103. 36 Austen, Sanditon, 357. 37 On the ambiguity of epistolarity as Austen reflects on it through the character of Sir Edward, see Tony Tanner, Jane Austen (Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1986), 278. 38 Miller, 46, 47. 39 Miller, 32, 75. 40 Miller, 50. 41 The view of the Romantics as agnostic humanists and individualists is espoused by Harold Bloom in The Visionary Company: A Reading of English Romantic Poetry, 2nd ed. (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1971). 42 Miller, 34–35. 43 Austen, Northanger Abbey, xliii. 44 See my The Historical Austen, 138–53. 45 See my The Historical Austen, 44–81. See also my chapter “Austen’s Earliest Readers and the Rise of the Janeites,” in Janeites: Austen’s Disciples and Audiences, ed. Deidre Lynch (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 2000), 87–114. 46 Lady Bessborough, in Lord Granville Leveson Gower: Private Correspondence, 1781–1821, ed. Castalia Countess Granville, 2 vols. (London: John Murray, 1917), 2:418. 47 Reginald Farrer, “Jane Austen,” Quarterly Review 222 (July 1917) collected in Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage, 2:266. 48 W. J. Harvey, “The Plot of Emma,” in Emma, ed. Stephen M. Parrish (New York: W. W. Norton, 1972), 456. 49 White, 60, 173. See also Paul Ricoeur, Time and Narrative, trans. Kathleen McLaughlin and David Pellauer, 2 vols. (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1984– 1985). 50 See Gary Saul Morson, Narrative and Freedom: The Shadows of Time (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1994) and Frederic Jameson, The Political Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1981). 51 Morson, 118, 119. 52 David Hume, “Of Miracles,” quoted in Everett Zimmerman, The Boundaries of Fiction: History and the Eighteenth-Century British Novel (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1996), 40. 
work_e36otv7puncgvjcywa3elwumsm	----	Untitled-9 © 1993 Nature Publishing Group AUTUMN BOOKS Maynard Smith he also argues that "only the meek can inherit the earth": unless, in opposition to what game-theory tells us, we are all more selfless we shall go the way of all flesh. To impose the altruistic spirit, we must, he insists, reaffirm religious ideals and reinstate a priest class. Is the author arguing that we should all be religious or that a controlling class should manipulate the masses by encouraging religious ideals? Either way, from an understanding of the author's possible religious inclinations, many of his opin- ions start to fit into a mould. His appeal against mechanistic views of conscious- ness and of life, for instance, have a decidedly metaphysical ring to them. Although I, and I suspect many others, can concur with many aspects of the author's ethical stance, for instance his concern for a moral standard in the treatment of animals, his affirmation of religion is to me unsatisfactory. Just as science got us into this mess, is not science the best way out? But how then, one might argue, can we expect the necessary selfless acts of martyrs and saints? Do we not need a higher ideal to inform our morality? Perhaps so, but not one, I would argue, based on unquestion- ing obedience. During the siege of Lenin- grad in 1941-42, at least nine scientists, Lee reports, at the Vavilov Institute of Plant Diversity starved to death rather than eat the seeds that they had been en- trusted to preserve. Although I find this story almost too incredible (and would like to know more), I would also like to believe that they died because of their understanding of the importance of bio- diversity. If so, then it is perhaps to these few that we must look for inspiration, for, unlike any deism, their higher ideal was rooted in solid ground. 0 Laurence D. Hurst is in the Department of Genetics, University of Cambridge, Down- ing Street, Cambridge CB2 3EH, UK. Strong medicine for weak stomachs Walter Gratzer The Literary Companion to Medicine. By Richard Gordon. Sinclair-Stevenson: 1993. Pp. 431. £18. AN odd lot, doctors. To engage from choice in the exploration of other people'S bodily orifices or shoving a fist into an abdomen full of quivering offal surely betokens an unusual cast of mind. Are they perhaps seeking to exorcise the daemons of death and disease, or is there a touch of necrophilia in some dark crevice of the psyche? Richard Gordon's excellent but unsettling anthology will do nothing to allay such suspicions, for it has much of the grisly fascination of the Hunterian Museum. It progresses from Sir Thomas Browne on the disposal of the dead - death here at its most deliques- cent, all worms and snakes "out of the spin all marrow", lixivious liquors of the body and grave wax - through Pujol the Petomane, the musical virtuoso of the anal sphincter, to George Orwell, down and out among the paupers in a Paris ward of primaeval squalor, to conclude magni- ficently with Gordon's own finest cre- ation, Sir Lancelot Spratt, the imperious surgeon in Doctor in the House. Orwell's memoir is not easily eradicated from the memory. In H6pital X (which Gordon identifies as the melancholy H6pital Vaugirard) he looks on as death releases an old man from some hideous disease, only a foot or two away: a "natu- ral" death, Orwell ruminates, such as you pray for in the Litany. '''Natural' death, almost by definition, means something slow, smelly and painful. Even at that it 380 makes a difference if you can achieve it in your own home and not in a public institution. This poor old wretch who had just flickered out like a candle-end was not even important enough to have anyone watching by his deathbed. He was merely a number, then a 'subject' for the students' scalpels .... " Powerful stuff and not for weak stomachs. More Grand Guignol, this time unfamiliar, at least to me, is a description by the Hungarian humorist, Frigyes Karinthy, writing in 1935, of his operation for the removal of a brain tumour under local anaesthetic - the very stuff of night- mares. Gordon has a keen ear for com- manding prose, and his chosen passages from Melville, Trollope, Flaubert (trans- lated by himself) and Robert Louis Stevenson are guaranteed to bring up gooseflesh or make the gut heave. There are gruesome narratives from fiction and fact of the deeds of the Resur- rection Men, though Jeremiah Cruncher from The Tale of Two Cities does not appear, nor yet the reprobates who rob- bed the dead on the Napoleonic battle- fields of their teeth to grace the dentures of well-heeled parties back home ("Waterloo teeth" they were called). He includes some fragments of verse by George Crabbe, but not the poet's story of how, when he was a medical student, his landlady found a dead child in a cupboard in his room, which she conviced herself was her own recently departed William. In France there were no Resurrectionists: the bodies of those who died in hospital and were not claimed within the day were rushed to the dissecting rooms. As to these, I would have included the lurid account by Hector Berlioz of his first day as a medical student in one such charnel house. Eugene Sue was another who described these and other loathsome aspects of life in the Paris of the poor during the last century. To list omissions is too easy of course, and probably otiose, for a good anthology has to reflect the tastes, literary and historical, of its editor and nobody else. All the same, while I found it hard to relate the extracts from Brillat-Savarin, Malthus, Jane Austen and one or two others to medicine (not of course that they are any the worse for that), I did rather miss A. J. Cronin, Francis Brett Young and Axel Munthe, all celebrated for their tales of the medical life in their time. No doubt Gordon felt the style to be too faded for the robuster tastes of today. But then Gordon scores a wholly un- expected winner with a clutch of Victorian lady novelists, all of whom laid aside the stethoscope for the pen. The extracts, which could adorn a Stuffed Owl of prose writing, will leave Messrs Mills and Boon reeling. Gordon's choice of verse includes broad swathes of W. E. Henley - surprisingly affecting on his long years as a patient - and of Robert Bridges, the doctor poet laureate (the subject incidentally of one of the great newspaper headlines, which appeared after he had failed on his arrival in New York to recite for the reporters who greeted him at the dockside: "King's Canary Won't Sing", it proclaimed). Gordon does not mention Bridges' ac- count of life in the outpatient clinic at Bart's, where the average invalid received 1.28 minutes of attention, even if at death's door, and the casualty doctor 0.7 pence per examination. For my part, I think I should have included Thomas Hood ("I vowed that you should have my hand/But fate gives us denial/You'll find it there at Mr Bell's/In spirits in a phial" ... and more in this vein), and perhaps a restorative dash of Belloc? Or among more modern and substantial figures, there are William Carlos Williams and Danny Abse, who both drew inspiration from their doctoring. But perhaps more typical was Sir John Hill, MD, playwright, who lives on in Garrick's celebrated epigram: "For physic and farces his equal there scarce is/His farces are physic; his physic a farce is." You will not find the hapless Hill in Gordon's pages, but there are riches in plenty and catharsis for all; and if you are of a nervous or hypochondriacal disposition, then take comfort from Napoleon's observation at a low point in his life: "Well, at least there is always death". 0 Walter Gratzer is in the MRC Muscle and Cell Motility Unit, King's College London, 26--29 Drury Lane, London WC2B 5RL, UK. NATURE . V0L366 . 25 NOVEMBER 1993 Strong medicine for weak stomachs 
work_e3wkdft4frhwlmxn4hkxbygk34	----	JOURNAL OF ARTS E-ISSN: 2636-7718 Cilt:1, Sayı:2, 2018 Vol:1, Issue:2, 2018 http://ratingacademy.com.tr/ojs/index.php/arts/index SANAT SİYASET İLİŞKİSİ BAĞLAMINDA POLİTİK İMGE * POLITICAL IMAGE IN THE CONTEXT OF ART AND POLITICS RELATIONSHIP Doç. F. Deniz KORKMAZ Eskişehir Osmangazi Üniversitesi, Sanat ve Tasarım Fakültesi, Görsel Sanatlar Bölümü E-mail: fdenizkorkmaz@gmail.com Dr. Hakan ARIKAN E-mail: hakanarikan35arikan@gmail.com MAKALE BĠLGĠSĠ ÖZET Makale Geçmişi: Geliş: 19 Haziran 2018 Kabul: 20 Temmuz 2018 Sanat ve politika arasındaki ilişki insanlık tarihinin hemen her döneminde varlığını sürdürmüştür. Toplumların içinde bulunduğu sosyo-ekonomik, siyasal ve kültürel faktörlerin durumuna göre bu etkileşimin oranı değişkenlik göstermiştir. Özellikle toplumların değişim ve dönüşüm geçirdiği, siyasetin önemli ölçüde hissedildiği dönemlerde, sanatçılar bu süreçlerden daha fazla etkilenmişler ve yapıtlarında politik imge ve izlere daha fazla yer vermişlerdir. Bu etki kimi zaman sanatın amacını ve sanattan beklentileri değiştirmiş, kimi zaman daha da güçlenerek sanatın yapısında önemli dönüşümlere sebep olmuştur. Sanatın politikadan etkilenip dönüşmesinin yanı sıra, sanat da hareketli dönemlerde siyasetin aktörlerinden biri haline gelmiş ve toplumu şekillendiren unsurlar arasına girmiştir. Günümüze değin ulaşan sanat eserlerinin önemli bir kısmında politik etkileri izlemek bu karşılıklı etkileşimin sonucudur. Bu yönüyle sanat eseri özgün ve estetik anlatımıyla döneminin tanıklığını da yapmaktadır. Sanat ve siyaset ilişkisini inceleyen bu makalede, düşünürlerin yaklaşımları çalışmanın önemli argümanları olmuştur. Metnin düşünsel kısmı Modernizm dönemi yaklaşımları, Marksist anlayış ve Adorno Felsefesi üzerine temellendirilmiştir. Bunun yanı sıra sanat tarihine mal olmuş sanat eserleri örnek olarak sunulmuş, siyasi/politik unsurlar analiz edilmiştir. Anahtar Kelimeler: Sanat, Siyaset, Adorno, Politik İmge DOI: 10.31566/arts.2018242272 ARTICLE INFO ABSTRACT Article History: Received: 19 June 2018 Accepted: 20 July 2018 The relationship between art and politics has existed in almost every period of human history. The rate of this interaction has varied according to the socio- economic, political and cultural factors in the societies. Particularly in periods * Bu makale Hakan Arıkan‟ın Doç. Dr. F. Deniz Korkmaz‟ın danıĢmanlığında yapmıĢ olduğu “Güncel Sanatta Sanat Siyaset ĠliĢkisi ve Politik Ġmaj” adlı Sanatta Yeterlik tezinin bir kısmından üretilmiĢtir. http://ratingacademy.com.tr/ojs/index.php/arts/index mailto:fdenizkorkmaz@gmail.com mailto:hakanarikan35arikan@gmail.com KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 26 Keywords: Art, Politics, Adorno, Political Image when societies have undergone change and transformation and politics has been felt to a significant extent, artists have been more influenced by these processes and have given wide coverage more political images and traces to their work. This effect has changed the purpose and expectations of art sometimes, and sometimes it has inspired significant transformations in structure of art by growing stronger. As art transformed by the influences of politics, it has also become one of the political actors in active periods, and has become one of the elements shaping the society. This mutual interaction makes possible to observe the political influences on a significant part of the artworks reached so far. In this respect, the artist also makes a testimony to his period with his original and aesthetic expression. In this article, which examines the relationship between art and politics, different approaches of philosophers have become important arguments of study. The ideational part of the text is based on modernist approaches, Marxist understanding and Adorno philosophy. In addition to this, the artworks in the art history were examined and political elements were analyzed. DOI: 10.31566/arts.2018242272 . 1. GİRİŞ Sanat ve politikanın birbirleriyle olan iliĢkisi insanlık tarihinin ilkel dönemlerine kadar inmektedir. Buna rağmen bu iki kavramın etkileĢimi Modernizm sürecinde tartıĢılmaya baĢlanmıĢ, dönemin düĢünürlerine göre; sanat ve siyaset arasında benzer yanlar olmasına rağmen, birbirinden ayrı olması gereken ve birbirini etkilemeyecek iki farklı özerk alan olarak görülmelidir. Modernist süreçte sanat bir üst yapı kurumu olarak algılandığından onu yaĢamın içerisinde bir yerlere konumlandırmak bu düĢünce yapısına aykırı düĢmektedir. Buna göre sanat, yaĢamın dıĢında kendi varlığını sürdürmek ve yüceltmek dıĢında baĢka bir amaca sahip değildir. Sınırları keskin bir biçimde ayrı olmalıdır. Marksist anlayıĢ ise sanatın toplumsal bir unsur olarak görülmesi gerektiği üzerinde durur ve modernist yaklaĢıma karĢı çıkarak iki farklı disiplin gibi görünen bu alanların birbirinden bağımsız olmalarının zor olduğunu iddia eder. Adorno ve Horkheimer‟a eriĢtiğimizde ise sanat ve siyasetin kesinlikle birbiriyle etkileĢen, birbirini etkileyen alanlar olduğunu arada bir sınır olamayacağını savunan bir düĢünce yapısıyla karĢılaĢırız 1.1. Politik İmge Politik imgenin kavram olarak anlaĢılması politika ve ideoloji terimlerinin açıklanmasıyla güçlenecektir. Türk Dil Kurumu‟na göre politika; devletin etkinliklerini amaç, yöntem ve içerik olarak düzenleme ve gerçekleĢtirme esaslarının bütünü olarak tanımlanmıĢtır. Daha yaygın olarak kabul gören görüĢe göre; toplumsal sınıf, siyasi parti ve grupların sınıfsal çıkar ve amaçlarını belirlediği etkinliklerle devlet organlarının ya da tümden “devlet” in toplumsal ve ekonomik yapısının yansıması olan etkinliklerdir (AĢukin ve diğer. 1979:101). Ġdeoloji ise her Ģeyden önce, bir dünya görüĢüdür. Ġdeolojiler insanların ellerine tutuĢturulmuĢ yol haritalarıdır. Bu haritalar, toplumsal ve siyasal gerçekliğin ne tür iliĢkiler ve kurumlar üzerine kurulduğunu, bunların doğru mu yoksa yanlıĢ mı olduğunu, izlenmesi gereken “en iyi yol” un ne olduğunu anlatırlar. Dolayısıyla, ideoloji bir inançlar, normlar ve değerler bütünüdür (Der. Örs. 2007:1). Ġdeoloji, toplumsal bilincin, siyasal, hukuki, bilimsel, felsefi, etik, sanatsal (estetik) fikirlerin tümüdür (AĢukin ve diğer,1979:104). Cevizci‟ ye (2003: 197) göre ise ideoloji; Genel olarak, bir siyasi partinin inançlarını, değerlerini, temel ilkelerini ifade eden bir politik ideoloji de olduğu gibi, Ģu ya da bu ölçüde tutarlı inançlar kümesi; siyasi ya da toplumsal bir öğreti meydana getiren, siyasi ve toplumsal KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 27 eylemi yönlendiren düĢünce, inanç ve görüĢler sistemi; bir toplumsal durumu yadsıyan düĢünceler dizgesi; insanların kendi var oluĢ koĢulları ve iliĢkilerinden doğan yaĢam tarzlarıyla ilgili tasarımların tümüdür. Cevizci‟nin tanımından da anlaĢıldığı üzere ideolojinin geniĢ tanımı, sanat, edebiyat ve kültürü de içine alır. Sanatın ideolojik olduğu tezi ise, akademik çevrelerce yaygın olarak kabul edilen bir gerçekliktir (Wolff, 2000:51). Sanat bir duygu dıĢavurumu olarak, ideolojik bir etkinliktir. Örneğin; John Berger, resmin siyasal ve ekonomik olandan bağımsız olmadığını vurgular ve resmin ideolojik olduğunu savunur. Yine Terry Lovell, edebiyat eleĢtirmenleri tarafından yapılan Jane Austen incelemelerini ele alarak bu incelemelerin “edebiyat ve ideoloji” denemeleri olduğu yorumunu yapar. Sanat ürünü, ideolojiyi, kural ve geleneklerle uyumlu olarak estetik biçimler altında yeniden üretmektedir (Tezcan, 2011:157). Yani, genel kabul gören fikirler, hayaller ve değerler içerebilir. Ġdeoloji, sanatın malzemesidir, fakat bu malzemeyi iĢleyerek kullanır (Wolff, 2000: 67). Politik imgeleri, diplomatik iliĢkiler, savaĢlar, anlaĢmalar, ticari ve kültürel alıĢ- veriĢler meydana getireceğinden, toplumlar arasında yakınlaĢmanın veya uzaklaĢmanın nedenlerini imgeler aracılığıyla bulmak mümkündür. Aynı zamanda politik imgeler toplumun kendi içinde var olan ayrılıklarının bir ifadesi olarak yansıyabilmektedir. Sanatta kullanılan politik imgenin kullanımının ise köklü bir tarihi vardır. 2. SANAT SİYASET İLİŞKİSİ Sanat ve siyaset arasındaki iliĢki insanlık tarihinin her döneminde varlığını sürdürmüĢtür. Dönemin sosyolojik yapısına göre kimi zaman bu iliĢki artmıĢ kimi zaman da azalmıĢtır. Özellikle toplumların sıkıntılı dönemlerinde sanatçılar duruma kayıtsız kalamamıĢlar ve eserlerinde sık sık politik konulara yer vermiĢlerdir. Sancılı politik süreçler toplumsal hafızada nasıl önemli bir etki yaratıyorsa sanatın hafızasında da aynı etkileri bırakmıĢtır. Bu nedenle geçmiĢten günümüze pek çok politik imaj içeren eser kalmıĢ ve bu eserler dönemin politik buhranını sanatın özgün ve estetik anlatımıyla silinmez hale getirmiĢlerdir. Toplum üzerindeki etkisi ölçüsünde siyasetin sanatı etkileyen unsurlar arasında yer alması da kaçınılmaz bir gerçek olarak var olmuĢtur. Siyaset, yöneten ve yönetilen farklılaĢmasından doğan bir kurum olup iktidar bilimi olarak adlandırılır. Ġktidarın ortaya çıkıĢı, biçimleniĢi ile ilgilenir (Tezcan, 2011: 73-74). Siyaset insanların hayatlarını ve yaĢam biçimlerini yakından ilgilendiren bir faaliyet alanı olmuĢtur. Ġnsanlar bu siyaset eyleminin bir gayesi olması gerektiğini ve bu gayenin de kendi yaĢamlarını daha iyi Ģartlara götürmek olduğunu düĢünmüĢlerdir. Sanat ise tüm etkinliklerimiz gibi var oluĢun maddesel koĢullarından etkilenen özerk bir etkinliktir. Bir bilgi biçimi olarak kendi gerçeği ve kendi sonucu vardır. Siyasetle, dinle ve yaĢamımız içinde etki yaratan tüm öteki biçimlerle gerekli iliĢkileri vardır. Ama bir karĢı koyma Ģekli olarak ayrılır ve kültür dediğimiz Ģeyin bütünleĢme sürecine katkıda bulunur (Read, Akt: Baynes, 2008: 31). Sanat ve siyaset insanlık tarihi sürecinde büyük bir etkileĢim ve paralellik gösterse de sanatın özünde siyasetten daha birleĢtirici, yapıcı önemli bir yan bulunmaktadır. Siyaset ve sanat genel toplumsal bilincin iki farklı kategoride ve bundan dolayı da iki farklı Ģekilde ispatını meydana getirirler. Her ikisinin genel sosyolojik iĢleyiĢte farklı fonksiyonları olmasına karĢın, birbirlerini karĢılıklı besleyen ve bir bütünün farklı parçaları olmalarından dolayı, bütün aracılığıyla da birbirlerine Ģu ya da bu biçimde eklemlenen ve tamamlayan bir durumları da söz konusudur. L. Kreft‟e (2008: 188) göre sanat ve siyaset arasındaki iliĢki; farklı rejimleri ve farklı paydaları olan iki özerk alan arasında tehlikeli bir temas olarak görülen bir iliĢkidir. Ortak bir yanları olabilir, yine de bunlar, iki farklı ilke ve iki ayrı mesele üzerine kurulu iki farklı güç yapısıdır ve belirli sınırları vardır. Kurallar ihlal edilmedikçe aĢılamayacak sınırlardır bunlar. KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 28 Sanatın 19. yüzyıldaki özerkleĢme sürecinden sonra, öyle görülmektedir ki sanat ile siyaseti bir araya getirdiğimiz zaman birbirinden ayrılmıĢ ve özerk iki farklı etkinlik alanı ortaya çıkmıĢtır. Siyasetin daha sıradan ve pratik olduğu, sanatın ise ekonominin her Ģey olduğu bu dünyada daha aĢkın ve görünmez dünyaları temsil ettiği anlaĢılmaktadır. Sanatın amacı, dünyayı yorumlamak, karmaĢayı biçimlendirmek, insanlara ütopyalar ve düĢler önermek Ģeklinde iken siyasetin daha sıradan ve yüzeysel bir içeriğe sahip olduğu var olan bir gerçektir. Sanatın politikayla olan iliĢkisini en köklü biçimde irdeleyen ve temellendiren yaklaĢım Marksizm olmuĢtur. Marksist anlayıĢa göre sanatçı sanat emekçisi, bir üretici konumundadır. Sanat ise toplumun farkındalığına eriĢme enstrümanlarından birisidir. Marksistler sanatın politikadan bağımsız olması gerçeği önermesini, modernist bir tez ve burjuva ideolojisi olarak eleĢtirmiĢlerdir. Hayatın tüm alanlarında emek sömürüsünün yaĢandığı vahĢi kapitalist dönem kültür endüstrisi ile beraber her yeri iĢgal etmiĢ durumdadır. Marksizm‟e göre bu nedenle sanat, kapitalist sistem içerisinde sömürü iliĢkilerini deĢifre edecek, örtülü toplumsal gerçekleri açığa çıkaracak bir sorumluluğa sahiptir. Marksizm‟e göre sanat sadece bir zevk aracı olamayacak kadar önemli bir iletiĢim aracıdır (Fischer, 1993: 13). Diğer yandan Marksist estetik sanatın siyasetle olan iliĢkisini belirli ilkeler altında bütünleĢtiren bir sanat felsefesi anlayıĢı olarak ortaya çıkmaktadır. Marksist felsefe içinde Marksist estetik, bir karĢıtlık öğesidir. Bu nedenle Marksizm kapitalizme mutlak bir karĢı koyuĢ ise Marksist estetik de kapitalist burjuva estetiğine bir alternatif meydana getirmektedir (Özderin, 2004: 34-35). Marksizm‟e göre sanat, varlığı ile de devrimci bir yapıya sahiptir. YaĢama yeni önermeler sunmakla birlikte var olanı yıkan bir misyonu da vardır. Kapitalist sömürü düzeninde sanat piyasa koĢullarına bağımlı kalmadan, iktidar ve sermaye karĢısında sözünü söyleyebilen, tüm ezilen ve yok sayılanlar adına adaleti misyon edinen kolektif bilincin direniĢ ve dayanıĢma ruhunu dile getiren bir araç niteliğindedir. Adorno, bütünüyle yönetim altına alınmıĢ günümüz dünyasında politika, sanat ve hayat arasındaki iliĢkiden söz ederken sanatın politik bir iĢlevi olması gerektiğinin üzerinde durur. Adorno sanatın insanın dinsel ya da dinsel olmayan tahakküm ve hükmetme kurumlarına karĢı, en azından bu kurumların nesnel öz ve esaslarını yansıtmadaki etkinliği oranında, bir protesto gücü olduğunu savunur. Adorno‟ya göre araçsal aklın hayat üzerinde yaptığı tahribat ancak sanat eseri ile onarılabilir. Ona göre sanat, estetik duyarlılığı olduğu kadar politik duyarlılığı da artırmayı amaçlamalıdır. Her ne kadar kültür endüstrisi içinde manipüle edilmiĢ ve burjuvazi tarafından ideolojik olarak angaje olmuĢ olsa da, sanat modern toplumdaki son sığınak ve özgürlük alanıdır. Adorno‟ ya göre sanat salt estetik bir nesne olarak kaldığı takdirde burjuva toplumunda rahatça metaya indirgenebilir (Su, 2014: 67). Her koĢulda kapitalizmi ve bir iktidar aygıtı olarak iĢlev gören kültür endüstrisini eleĢtiren Adorno, kültür endüstrisinin gerçek olmayan hazlar sunarak insanları aldattığı üzerinde durur. Walter Benjamin‟in “aura” kavramından etkilenen Adorno, sanatın bir bölümünü oldukça etkili bulduğunu fakat sanat ve politika arasındaki iliĢkinin iktidarlar ve pazar arasında saklanarak sanat izleyicisinden uzak tutulduğunu ifade etmeye çalıĢır. Adorno‟ya göre sanat, insanların inançlarını ve özlemlerini taĢıyabilecekleri son sığınaktır. Sanat kapitalist toplum içindeki özerk konumu ile eleĢtiri ve sorgulama yapabilme olanağı sağlayan güçlü ve etkili bir alandır (Jay, 1989: 259). Adorno‟ya göre sanatın vazgeçilmez iki niteliği özerk ve toplumsal olmasından kaynaklanmaktadır. Birbirine karĢıt iki nitelik gibi görünse de, sanatın ancak bu iki nitelik ile var olabileceğini öne sürmektedir. Adorno‟nun bu yaklaĢım ve değerlendirmeleri aynı zamanda, sanat tarihi içinde sanatın toplumsallığını arka planda bırakan modernizm ve avandgard yaklaĢımlarda gördüğü bir eksiklik, sanatın özerkliğini göz aradı eden Marksizm‟e getirdiği önemli bir eleĢtiri niteliği taĢımaktadır (Yaman Kurt, 2009: 68). KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 29 Sanat ve siyaset üzerine değerlendirmelerde bulunan Ranciere ise, bu ikilinin iliĢkisinden söz ederken farklı paydaları olan iki disiplin kavramına karĢı çıkmaktadır. Ranciere politikanın ve sanatın iĢleyiĢ ilkelerini, duyulur olanı yeniden biçimlendirmek olarak tanımlayarak, ikisinin iki ayrı gerçeklik olduğu yanılsamasını çürütür. Politik sanatın ya da sanat politikasının, kendi alanı dıĢındaki gerçek dünyaya müdahalesi diye bir durum söz konusu olamaz. Çünkü sanatın dıĢında kalacak bir gerçek dünya yoktur. Gerçeğin dıĢında sadece düĢüncelerimizin ve müdahalelerimizin nesnesi olarak bize sunulmuĢ olanın yapılandırmaları vardır. YaĢamın yeniden Ģekillendirilmesinde ona yeni özne ve nesneler dâhil etmek, görünür olmayanı görünür kılmak, gürültü, ses ve söylenenlerin söz olarak dinlenebilir kılınmasından ibarettir. Ona göre, bir uzlaĢmazlık yaratmaya dönük olan siyaset faaliyeti, kendisi ile birlikte bir siyaset estetiği de meydana getirmektedir. Öyleyse siyaset ile estetik arasındaki iliĢki, siyasetin estetiği ile estetiğin siyaseti arasındaki iliĢkidir. Yani sanat pratiklerinin ve sanatın yaĢamın paylaĢım noktasında yeniden biçimlendirilmesinde devreye girme tarzıdır (Sayar, 17 Ağustos 2015). Rancire‟nin ifadesiyle sanat ve siyaset, uzlaĢmazlık içinde de olsa aynı anda, aynı ilkeyle çalıĢan bir yapıya sahiptirler. Sanat ve siyaset iliĢkisini farklı bir noktada değerlendiren Emre Zeytinoğlu ise “Özne Sanat ve Siyaset Üzerine” (2017) baĢlıklı yazısında, sanatın siyasetle iliĢkisinin, mevcut siyasi atmosfer içerisinde iĢlemekte olan bir mekanizmayı konu etmekle, onun üzerinden birtakım veriler yaymakla gerçekleĢmeyeceğinin üzerinde durur. Zeytinoğlu, sanatın ürettiği siyasetin, kanıksanmıĢ siyasi bir üslubu bazı göstergeleri kullanarak geçerli olan sisteme onay vermek ya da ona itiraz etme dili oluĢturmak olmadığından söz eder. Bir sistemin içinde yer alıp “evet” ya da “hayır” diye bağırmanın hiçbir anlamının olmadığını iddia eder. Zeytinoğlu‟na göre, mevcut siyasi ortamın tüm imkânlarından yararlanan sanatın, o siyasi ortamın kendisinden yararlanacağını da önceden onaylamıĢ olduğunu, oysaki sanat, siyaset üretmek istiyorsa, bunu karĢılıklı çıkar ilkelerinin dıĢından yaĢama geçirmek durumunda olması gerekliliği üzerinde durur. Zeytinoğlu‟nun vurguladığı nokta sanatın siyaset yapmasının en kabul edilebilir ve politikacılardan ayrılan yolunun ancak kliĢe siyaset dilinin çok uzağında yaratıcı bir dil ile mümkün olabileceğidir. 2.1. Sanatta Politik İmge Tarihte Ģehir devletleri, krallıklar ve imparatorlukların hükümdarları sanatı anıtsal olarak iktidarlarının altını çizmek, zaferlerini yüceltmek ya da düĢmanlarına gözdağı vermek amacıyla kullanmıĢtır. I. ve II. yüzyılda Roma Ġmparatorluğu‟nun her bölgesinde para ve madalyalar dağıtan, anıtsal heykeller yaptıran imparatorlar politik sembol ve törenlere oldukça yoğun olarak yer vermiĢtir. Roma‟daki mimari mekânlar; zaferi, itaati ve birliği kutsayan görkemli törenler ile yağma ve savaĢ esirlerini sergilemek için tasarlanmıĢtır (Clark, 2011: 13). Sanat tarihine bakıldığında, hükümdarların kült ikonalar ve imgeler olarak zihinlere yerleĢtirilme amacıyla giyim ve kuĢamları görkemli ve iktidar hissi oluĢturacak Ģekilde betimlendiği görülmektedir. Ortaçağ‟da ise, dinsel ve dünyasal güçler birbirinden ayrılmaz olduğundan sanat ile politika iç içe geçmiĢtir. Hristiyanlığa ait temaları anlatan Ortaçağ sanat yapıtları, çoğu zaman sanatçıları görevlendiren kilisenin veya dönemin iktidar odaklarının çıkarlarını güçlendirmiĢtir. 16. yüzyılın baĢlarından itibaren, özellikle Rönesans‟ta bazı sanatçılar kiĢisel bir üne ulaĢmıĢ olmalarına karĢın bu sanatçıların en ünlü olanları bile çoğu zaman yeteneklerini hamileri için kullanmak zorunda kalmıĢlarıdır. Dinlerin pek çoğunda kutsallık deneyiminin yaratılmasında imgeler önemli rol oynamıĢtır. Bu göstergeler farklı dönem ve kültürlerde doğaüstü güçler hakkındaki görüĢleri ifade etmiĢ, biçimlendirmiĢ ve belgelemiĢlerdir. Aynı zamanda imgeler çoğu kez birer telkin aracı, kült nesnesi, meditasyon uyarıcısı ve tartıĢma silahı olarak kullanılmıĢtır. Bu yüzden de geçmiĢin dini deneyimlerinin keĢfedilmesinde tarihçinin araçları olmuĢlardır. Resmin kendisi bağımsız bir kaynak olmaktan ziyade aktarılan mesajı hatırlatma ve güçlendirme görevi KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 30 görerek dinlerin yayılmasında da önemli katkıda bulunmuĢtur. Nüfusun okuma yazma bilmeyen ya da çok az bilen büyük çoğunluğuna ulaĢmak için bilinçli bir Ģekilde bu yola baĢvurulmuĢtur. Chevalier Jaucourt‟un Encyclopédie‟nin “resim” maddesinde yazmıĢ olduğu gibi, “her dönemde iktidarı elinde tutanlar insanlarda istedikleri hisleri uyandırmak için resim ve heykellerden faydalanmıĢlardır” (Burke, 2009: 51-65). Ancak hem devletlerin imgelerden yararlanma oranının hem de bunu yapma Ģekillerinin farklılık gösterdiğini de eklemek gerekmektedir. Tarihe damgasını vurmuĢ 1688, 1776, 1789, 1830, 1848, 1917 tarihli devrimlerde olduğu gibi baĢarıyla sonuçlandıkları sürece, devrimler sık sık imgeler aracılığıyla yüceltilmiĢlerdir (Burke, 2009: 163). (Görsel 1). Ġmgeler propaganda amacıyla kullanıldığından bu süreçlerde daha çok önem kazanmıĢtır. Görsel 1. Delacroix, “Halka Yol Gösteren Özgürlük”, 260 cm x 325 cm, tüyb, 1830 Ġmgeler çoğu kez, özellikle de okuma yazma oranlarının oldukça düĢük olduğu toplumlarda iktidarların isteklerine paralel biçimde sıradan insanları dinsel ve siyasal bilince kavuĢturulmaları amacıyla kullanılmıĢtır. Sanatsal üretimin sanatçının politik fikirlerini kaynak alabileceği düĢüncesi ise, tarihsel süreç içerisinde ancak 18. yüzyılda ortaya çıkmıĢtır. Modernizm ile birlikte gelinen süreçte özerkliğe ulaĢan sanat, politik fikir ve politika ile olan iliĢkisine son vermiĢ, sanatın kendi problemlerine yoğunlaĢtığı sanat için sanat yapma fikrine eriĢmiĢtir. Bu düĢünce özellikle Marksistler tarafından burjuva bir tavır olarak nitelendirilmiĢ ve biçimcilik adı altında sanatın toplumsal misyonunun görmezden gelindiği noktasında eleĢtirilmiĢtir. Fakat dünyada meydana gelen geliĢmelere paralel olarak ilerleyen yüzyıl içinde ortaya çıkan yaklaĢımlar ile sanatın politik anlamda iĢlevselliği tekrar gündeme gelmiĢtir. Özellikle 1.Dünya SavaĢı sürecine girildiği dönemde sanatın en güçlü propaganda araçlarından biri olarak kullanıldığı görülmektedir. Rusya‟da Lenin, Nazi Almanya‟sında Hitler bunların en öne çıkan örnekleri arasındadır. (Görsel 2). KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 31 Görsel 2. Hubert Lanzinger “Bayrak Taşıyıcısı”, tüyb, 1933 FaĢist resimlerde imgeler genellikle yurttaĢlık veya sanatçılıkla ile ilgili temalar üzerinden iĢlenmiĢ, örneğin Ġtalya‟da Mussolini, bir liderlik ikonu olarak imgeleĢtirilmiĢtir. Komünizmde ise sanatsal üretimler, daha güçlü bir etki yarattığı düĢüncesiyle propaganda amacı taĢıyan sözcük ve göstergelerin yerine kullanılmıĢtır. Devlet komünizminin sanattaki yansıması olarak nitelendirebileceğimiz Sovyetler Birliği‟nin sanat anlayıĢı olan toplumsal gerçekçilik 1934 yılında Joseph Stalin tarafından tanımlanmıĢ, sonrasında birçok komünist devlette kendini göstermiĢtir (Arıkan, 2012: 13-14). Toplumsal gerçekçilik 20. yüzyılın en yaygın ve en uzun ömürlü yaklaĢımlarından birisi olmuĢtur. Toplumcu gerçekçiliğin aslında Nazi Almanya‟sının kurumsal sanatına benzediği sıklıkla ifade edilmiĢtir. Ġkisi arasında çeĢitli benzer ve farklı noktalar bulunmaktadır. Kolaylıkla anlaĢılabilen biçimleri kullanan iki ifade biçimi de, 1930‟larda ortaya çıkmıĢ, iĢçilerle köylüleri idealize etmiĢ ve liderlerini kült kiĢilikler olarak yücelten imgeler üretmiĢlerdir (Görsel 3). Birinci ve Ġkinci Dünya SavaĢı ve Vietnam SavaĢı süresince yapılan propagandalar ise, halkın olağandıĢı durumları normal gibi kanıksaması, savaĢ koĢullarına uyum sağlaması ve önceliklerini savaĢın gerekliliklerine göre değiĢtirmesi gerektiği mesajlarını iletmektedir. KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 32 Görsel 3. Viktor Popkov “Bratsk Hidroelektirik Enerji Santrali İşçileri”, tüyb, 1.83 x 3m, 1961 Propagandacılar bu amaca ulaĢmak için savaĢı hali hazırdaki popüler kültürün içerisine yerleĢtirip geleneksel görsel Ģifreleri kullanarak tasvir etmiĢlerdir. Bu yüzden asker toplama afiĢleri sıklıkla reklâmlara veya film afiĢlerine benzer biçimde tasarlanmıĢ ve propaganda filmlerinde sinema oyuncuları, Ģarkıcılar, sporcu kiĢilikler kullanılarak savaĢ giriĢiminin resmi mesajlarının yayılmasını sağlamaya çalıĢmıĢlardır. (Görsel 4). Görsel 4. Fritz Erler “Zafer İçin Yardım Et! Savaş Harcına Bağış Yap”, 1917, AfiĢ, 56.5x41.5 cm Ġkinci Dünya SavaĢı‟ndan sonra geliĢen süreçte hızla kapitalistleĢen dünya içinde sanatçılar kendilerini kültür endüstrisi içinde bulmuĢlar ve bu duruma tepki göstererek sanat KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 33 kurumlarını reddetmiĢ ve sokağa yönelmiĢlerdir. SavaĢ sonrası katliamlar, baskılar gibi felaketlerle birlikte sindirilen politik söylemler, avangard ile tekrar gündeme gelmiĢtir. Görsel 5. Stüasyonist Enternesyonel, “Manifesto”, Fotoğraf, 1960 1968‟lerin Fransa'sının yollarını açan Situasyonist Enternasyonel yalnızca hayatın ele geçirilmesi sloganıyla değil, Dadacılar, Fluxus ve Sürrealistlerle birlikte hayatı sanatla yeniden birleĢtirmeyi hedeflemiĢlerdir (Görsel 5). Bunun sonucunda sanatçılar sokakta sanatı ve siyaseti sanat üzerinden okumaya baĢlamıĢlar ve sanatın bizzat siyasetin kendisi olduğunu öne sürmüĢlerdir (Bozdağ, 2015: 95-127). Hal Foster‟ın (2008:151) tarifiyle; siyasi sanatın söylemleri tükendiğinden, siyaseti olan sanat öne çıkmıĢtır. Bu noktada siyaseti olan sanat, düĢüncenin yapısal konumlanıĢını ve pratiğin toplumsal bütün içindeki etkinliğini dert edinen, günümüzle ilgili anlamlı bir siyasal kavramı oluĢturmaya çalıĢan bir sanattır. Bunların neticesinde yirminci yüzyıl, sanatın siyaset olarak anlaĢıldığı yeni bir sürecin baĢlangıcı olmuĢtur. Görsel 6. Soğuk Savaşın Sonu, “Berlin Duvarı’nın Yıkılması”, Fotoğraf, 1992 KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 34 Soğuk savaĢın ilerleyen yıllarında Berlin Duvarı‟nın yıkılması ile birlikte (Görsel 6) gelinen süreçte, Amerikan gizli servisleri tarafından Amerikan demokrasisinin Sovyet komünizmine karĢı üstünlük yaratmak için bir dizi çağdaĢ Amerikan sanatçıyı destekleyerek dünyaya tanıttığı da bilinmektedir. Tarihçi Frances Stonar Saunders‟ın bu konu hakkında yapmıĢ olduğu kapsamlı araĢtırmasına göre; soğuk savaĢ döneminin en mühim propaganda aracı “Amerikan Soyut DıĢavurumcular” ekolüdür (Görsel 7). Saunders‟in iddiasına göre, bu hareketin temsilcileri bu propagandanın aracı olduklarının farkında olmadan, bu sayede dünya çapında büyük bir üne sahip olmuĢlardır. Saunders “The Culturel Cold War: The CIA and The World of Arts and Letters” isimli kitabında CIA‟nın soğuk savaĢ döneminde sanatsal bir gruplaĢmayla birçok yazar, akademisyen ve sanatçıyı Sovyet aleyhine yönlendirdiğini belirtmiĢtir. CIA, Rocfeller ve Ford vakıfları gibi kurumlar, yayınevleri ve medya ile yapılan bu çalıĢmaya büyük destek ve güç vermiĢtir (Gürkan, 14 Ocak 2015). Görsel 7. Jackson Pollock, White Lıgt, 1954 ABD, kültür/sanat politikalarıyla siyasal bir sanat programı inĢa etmeye çalıĢmıĢ ve söylemde sanat için sanat politikası ile siyasette tarafsız olduklarını dile getirirken, pratikte sanatın siyasete araç olduğunu göstermiĢtir. Sanatın direk ya da dolaylı olarak siyasi içeriğinin devam ettiğini gözlemlediğimiz 20. yüzyılda feminizm, sol hareketler, yeni ulus devletler, azınlıklar gibi kimliği ve bağımsızlığı öne çıkaran pek çok siyasi içeriklerin ve olguların ortaya çıkmasıyla sanatın siyasi bir araç olarak algılandığı bir yüzyıl olmuĢtur (Üner, 25 Temmuz 2017). 1989 Berlin Duvarının yıkılması ile birlikte kültürün özelleĢtirildiği Postmodern zamanlara gelindiğinde ise, sanat korporasyonların, büyük ulus ötesi Ģirketlerin kurdukları küresel ekonomideki siyasal ve kültürel ağların denetimine girmeye baĢlamıĢtır. Müzeler, bienaller ve sanatın temsil edildiği diğer mecralar sanatın, yeni hamilerinin armalarıyla donatılmıĢtır (Bozdağ, 2015: 95-127). Demokrasilerde, hatta sanatı beğeni farklılıklarına dayanan özgür seçimlerin damgasını vurduğu bir alan olarak gören ABD‟deki gibi rejimlerde bile, sanat kamusal önemi haiz bir alan haline gelir ve doğrudan siyasi mekanizmalarla yönetilip manipüle edilmeye KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 35 baĢlar. Film sektöründe ya da yeni bir kimlik ulus inĢası sürecinde olduğu gibi. 20. yüzyılda sanat siyasi açıdan son derece önemli, dolayısıyla hayli tehlikeli bir alana dönüĢür (Kreft, 2008: 38). Bu yeni geliĢen süreçle birlikte neyin nasıl ifade edileceği dâhil tüm yönetimin iktidarın kurumları adına temsil eden küratörlere devrolması ile birlikte sanatın özerkliğinin de tekrar tartıĢılmaya baĢlandığı bir zamanın baĢlangıcı olmuĢtur. Tüm bu veriler dâhilinde Wolff‟un (2000: 51-67) da belirttiği gibi sanat, ideolojik bir etkinliktir (Tezcan, 2011: 157). GeçmiĢten günümüze güç odaklarının iktidarlarını güçlendirip sürekliliğini sağlayacak ideolojik olarak yönlendirilen bir güç. KüreselleĢen dünyada, sanatın siyaset ile olan tarihsel geliĢimine yeni bir bakıĢ getiren Lev Kreft, artık günümüzde iki farklı disiplinin eski ölçütlere göre değerlendirilmesinin eskidiğine dikkat çekmektedir. Bu iki kavramın içerik ve biçimleri değiĢmiĢ, en azından birbiri içine girmiĢtir. Sanat geçmiĢte gerçeğin bilgisine direkt katkı sağlamaktan ziyade mutluluk vadeden güzel bir Ģey iken, Ģimdilerde bu bakıĢ açısı değiĢmiĢ, sanatın güzel olma zorunluluğu ortadan kalkmıĢtır. Ayrıca, siyaset de artık uluslararası arenada birer „kiĢi‟ gibi davranan ulus devletler arasındaki iliĢki ya da belli bir toprak parçasında yaĢayan insanlar arasındaki iliĢkilerden ibaret değildir. Siyaset artık, büyük medya Ģirketlerinin iĢbirliği ile düzenledikleri eğlenceli gösterilerden, tartıĢma programları ve reality showlardan ayırt edilemeyecek derecede estetikleĢmiĢ durumdadır. Kreft‟e (2008: 9- 12) göre, bütün gösterilerin, nesne ve araçların çok iyi tasarlanmalarından dolayı, sanat kendini bunlardan ayırt edebilmek için, “güzel” ile arasına bir mesafe koymak zorundadır. Ne var ki, sanatsal ürünler de tıpkı sıradan ürünler gibi piyasa nesneleri haline gelmiĢ; bu da değerlendirme konusunda sağlam bir ölçüt ortaya koymayı olanaksız kılmıĢtır. GeçmiĢte sanatın sınırlarının belli ve daha özerk bir yapıya sahip olduğunu dile getiren Kreft, Ģimdi ise hiçbir Ģey kendi halinde değildir görüĢünü ifade etmektedir. Tarihsel geliĢmelerin bizim üzerimizde yarattığı sonuca göre sanat ve siyaset, insan hayatına dair bilgi veren iki önemli olgudur. Ġlerleyen zaman, geliĢen ve dönüĢen dünya bu iki olguyu değiĢtirmiĢ olsa da sanat ve siyaset arasındaki iliĢkinin günümüzde daha karmaĢık bir yapı haline geldiği ve ortak bir paydada var olmaya devam ettiğini göstermektedir. 3. SONUÇ Bu araĢtırmanın verileri, sanatın toplumu oluĢturan unsurları ile sıkı bir iliĢkisinin olduğunu özellikle politika ile sanatın tarihsel süreç içerisinde iç içe ilerlediğini göstermektedir. ÇalıĢmanın dayanak noktalarından birini oluĢturan, temelde sanatçı ve toplum iliĢkisinden doğan yapıtlarda sanatın toplumsal unsurlarından bağımsız düĢünülemeyeceğinin altı çizilmektedir. Bu noktada, sanatın toplumu yönlendirme, bilinçlendirme ve özgürleĢtirme anlamında pek çok iĢlevinin olduğu açıkça görülmektedir. Özellikle toplumların buhran dönemlerinde sanatın bu iĢlevleriyle toplumsal psikolojiyi büyük ölçüde etkilediği de bilinmektedir. Bu anlamda çalıĢmada siyaset biliminin sıklıkla baĢvurduğu bir kaynak olarak sanatın ne kadar önemli olduğu sonucuna da varılabilir. Sanat ve siyaset arasındaki iliĢki tarihsel süreçleriyle incelediğinde sanatın kitleler üzerindeki etkisi yapıcı olabildiği kadar yıkıcı olabildiği de görülmektedir. Aynı zamanda teknolojik geliĢmelerle birlikte sanatçının etki alanın geliĢtiği, böylelikle kitleleri etkileyen sanatın her dönemde iktidarların dikkatini çektiği ve sanat ile politikanın sürekli iletiĢimde olması gerektiği bilinci öne çıkmaktadır. Diğer yandan araĢtırma, sanatın toplumsal değiĢmedeki rolünün azımsanmayacak derecede önemli olduğunu göstermektedir. KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 36 KAYNAKÇA ARIKAN, H. (2012). Politik Ġmgeden Hareketle Türkiye'deki Kitle Hareketlerinin Resimsel ÇözümleniĢi, YayınlanmamıĢ yüksek lisans tezi, Süleyman Demirel Üniversitesi Güzel Sanatlar Enstitüsü, Isparta. AġUKĠN, B. VEBER, D. Ġlina., 1979, Politika Sözlüğü. Çev: Mazlum Beyhan, Ġstanbul: Sosyal Yayınlar. BAYNES, K., 2008, Toplumda Sanat, Çev: Yusuf Atılgan, Ġstanbul: Yapı Kredi Yayınları. BOZDAĞ, L., 2015, ÇağdaĢ Sanat ve Siyaset DönüĢümüne Yeniden Bakmak “Politikanın Estetize Hali”, (http://Egitimsen.Org.Tr/Wp-Content/Uploads/2015/12/ÇağdaĢ-Sanat- ve-siyaset), Ġstanbul Kemer Burgaz Üniversitesi, Güzel Sanatlar ve Tasarım Fakültesi, Eğitim Bili Toplu Dergisi, Cilt 13 Sayı 52, Sayfa 94-127 (12. 07. 2015) BURKE, P., 2009, AfiĢten Heykele Minyatürden Fotoğrafa Tarihin Görgü Tanıkları, Çev: Zeynep Yelçe, Ġstanbul: Kitap Yayınevi. CEVĠZCĠ, A., 2003., Felsefe Terimleri Sözlüğü, Ġstanbul: Paradigma Yayınları. CLARK, T., 2011, Sanat ve Propaganda, Çev: Esin HoĢsucu, Ġstanbul: Ayrıntı Yayınları. FĠSCHER, E., 1993, Sanatın Gerekliliği, Çev: Cevat Çapan, Ġstanbul: Verso Yayınları. FOSTER, H., 2008, Sanat/Siyaset, ĠletiĢim Yayınları (Editör: Ali Artun), ÇağdaĢ Sanatta Siyasal Kavramı (s. 131-154). Ġstanbul. GÜRKAN, N, https://sanatkaravani.com/amerikan-soyut-disavurumcular-ekolu/ , (14 Ocak 2015) JAY, M., 1989, Diyalektik Ġmgelem, Çev: Sevgi Doğan, Ġstanbul: Ayrıntı Yayınları. KAHRAMAN, H, B., 2016, Sanatsal Gerçeklikler, Olgular ve Öteleri, Ġstanbul: Kapı Yayınları. KREFT, L., 2008, Sanatın Siyaseti ve Siyasetin Sanatı, Sanat ve Siyaset: Kültür Çağında Sanat ve Politika, ĠletiĢim Yayınları (Editörler: Ali Artun, Nursu Örge), (s.9-39), Ġstanbul ÖRS, H. B., 2007, 19. Yüzyıldan 20. y.y Modern Siyasal Ġdeolojiler, Ġstanbul: Ġstanbul Bilgi Üniversitesi Yayınları. ÖZDERĠN, S., 2014, ÇağdaĢ Sanatta Küresel Bir Faktör Küratör, Ulak Bilge Sosyal Bilimler Dergisi, Sayı 2, s 35. SAYAR, M., www.E-skop.Com/Skopbulten/Jacques-Rancièrede-Politik-Sanat-Ve-Temsil- Sorunu/257 ), (17 Ağustos 2015) SU, S. 2014, ÇağdaĢ Sanatın Felsefi Söylemi, Ġstanbul: Profil Yayınları. TEZCAN, M., 2011, Sanat Sosyolojisi, Ankara: Anı Yayınları. ULAĞLI, S., 2006, Ġmgebilim, Ankara: Sinemis Yayınları. ÜNER, Ö., 2017, ve Siyaset ĠliĢkisi, Sanat ve Siyaset Sempozyumu, (www.Academia.edu- Özlem) Sanat, (25 Temmuz 2017) WOLFF, J., 2000, Sanatın Toplumsal Üretimi, Çev: AyĢegül Demir, Ġstanbul: Özne Yayınları http://egitimsen.org.tr/Wp-Content/Uploads/2015/12/Çağdaş-Sanat-ve-siyaset http://egitimsen.org.tr/Wp-Content/Uploads/2015/12/Çağdaş-Sanat-ve-siyaset https://sanatkaravani.com/amerikan-soyut-disavurumcular-ekolu/ http://www.e-skop.com/Skopbulten/Jacques-Rancièrede-Politik-Sanat-Ve-Temsil-Sorunu/257 http://www.e-skop.com/Skopbulten/Jacques-Rancièrede-Politik-Sanat-Ve-Temsil-Sorunu/257 http://www.academia.edu-özlem/ http://www.academia.edu-özlem/ KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 37 YAMAN KURT, A. (2009). Adorno ve Horkheimer‟in Kültür Endüstrisi Üzerine Bir Ġnceleme. YayınlanmamıĢ yüksek lisans tezi, Ġstanbul Üniversitesi, Sosyal Bilimler Enstitüsü. ZEYTĠNOĞLU, E., 2017, Özne Sanat ve Siyaset Üzerine, http://Ġzlekler.Com/Ozne-Sanat- Ve-Siyaset-Uzerine-Emre-Zeytinoglu/), (1 Ekim 2017). http://izlekler.com/author/emrezeytinoglu/ http://i̇zlekler.com/Ozne-Sanat-Ve-Siyaset-Uzerine-Emre-Zeytinoglu/ http://i̇zlekler.com/Ozne-Sanat-Ve-Siyaset-Uzerine-Emre-Zeytinoglu/ KORKMAZ, ARIKAN/ Sanat Siyaset İlişkisi Bağlamında Politik İmge Journal of Arts, Cilt / Volume:1, Sayı / Issue:2, 2018, 25-38 38 
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work_e65mofuhbrgrzct2rm6cgfe6ii	----	Angelo FABRIZI, Cultura degli scrittori. Da Petrarca a Montale. Lectura crítica de libros Cuadernos de Filología Italiana 2010, vol. 17, 179-205 182 Angelo FABRIZI, Cultura degli scrittori. Da Petrarca a Montale. Firenze, Società Editrice Fiorentina, 2009, 208 pp. «[…] l’inventio assoluta e senza una tradizione culturale dietro non esiste, se non prima di Omero, e forse nemmeno allora» (p. 114). Di questa affermazione, per altro del tutto condivisibile, Fabrizi rende ragione in questa raccolta di indagini e saggi inter- intratestuali, scritti e pubblicati in diverse riviste italiane tra il 2001 e il 2007, nei quali indaga la “cultura” degli autori, i modelli o gli antimodelli di riferimento, la loro formazione, le loro letture, le fonti di ispirazione, il dialogo che intrattengono con il passato e con il loro presente. Il metodo scelto da Fabrizi è quello di una “critica grammaticale”, alla maniera di Gianfranco Contini, che l’autore cita esplicitamente come fonte d’ispirazione metodologica. Una critica, cioè, basata su “fatti” linguistici, lontana da quei valori sentimentali propri della critica letterario-artistica tradizionale di stampo longhiano. Come già Contini, anche Fabrizi attua «uno spostamento dell’asse della storia e critica letteraria dai contenuti psicologici e ideologici alla lingua: alla lingua non soltanto testuata ma contestuata di tutta la sua memoria e di tutti i valori ad essa connessi…». Valori di qualità, di evocatività, di tono, non semantici nel senso noetico di quella critica, ma pertinenti a quel tutto significativo che è il testo», come Giovanni Nencioni dice di Contini. («Ricordo di Gianfranco Contini», in Filologia e Critica, XV, 1990, 2-3: 197). Fabrizi divide questa raccolta in due parti: la prima è costituita da veri e propri saggi; la seconda, come lui stesso dice, da studi di intento documentaristico. L’autore inizia esplorando il mondo culturale di Alfieri («Vittorio Alfieri. Le radici», pp. 5-36); il ripensamento foscoliano di testi e temi di altri autori («Ugo Foscolo. Il punto sui Sepolcri», pp. 37-48); le contraddizioni tra il giovane Leopardi delle Dissertazioni filosofiche e il Leopardi adulto dello Zibaldone («Giacomo Leopardi. Le Dissertazioni filosofiche», pp. 49-57); i riferimenti letterari di Tomasi di Lampedusa che tralucono nelle pagine de Il Gattopardo («Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa. Trame romanzesche», pp. 59-69); alcuni temi cruciali della poesia montaliana che emergono anche negli scritti giornalistici di viaggio del poeta e la prossimità dello stesso con altri autori («Eugenio Montale. Fuori di casa», pp.71-83). Nella seconda parte della raccolta l’intento documentaristico è dichiarato. Qui emerge in maniera ancor più evidente la natura erudita e, come lui stesso riconosce, “grammaticale” del suo lavoro critico. Dalla ricerca delle origini delle citazioni latine del Caffè («Il Caffè. Citazioni svelate», pp. 99-114) ad un possibile antecedente liviano nella canzone all’Italia di Petrarca («Francesco Petrarca. Nota a R.V.F. CXXVIII, 28», pp. 87-90); dai precedenti di parole e versi di Alfieri («Vittorio Alfieri. Note a Vita, IV 2, e a Rime, Parte Prima, 208 (xiii) », pp. 119-125) alla fonte cinquecentesca di un passo delle Novelle di Carlo Gozzi («Carlo Gozzi, Postilla alle Novelle», pp. 115-118); dalle relazioni letterarie di Mario Pieri («Mario Pieri. Memorie, 1», pp. 169-180) al modello di un epigramma di Foscolo («Francesco Zacchiroli. Di un epigramma e d’altro », pp.127-167); da una probabile memoria ciceroniana del Marino («Gianbattista Marino. Due rilevazioni», pp. 91-97) ad un profilo complessivo di Tomasi di Lampedusa («Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa. «Il Lectura crítica de libros Cuadernos de Filología Italiana 2010, vol. 17, 179-205 183 mostro»», pp.181-190), si snoda la ricerca filologica minuziosamente e “fattualmente” argomentata (nell’accezione che egli stesso conferisce al termine) in dialogo continuo con la critica parallela e precedente. Di fronte alla densità, alla ricchezza e diversità di tanti contributi, varrà la pena soffermarsi sul saggio intorno alla cultura di Alfieri e sui due intorno alla figura di Tomasi di Lampedusa, che costituiscono esempi particolarmente stimolanti dell’efficacia dello scavo in profondità del critico. Il saggio su Alfieri («Vittorio Alfieri. Le radici») ripercorre la formazione culturale e la dialettica del poeta astense con gli autori del passato e del presente con i quali si è confrontato e da cui ha preso ispirazione. La cultura di Alfieri – fa notare Fabrizi – si forma prima su autori francesi e italiani e solo più tardi su autori latini e greci. Racine e Metastasio, da cui Alfieri prende le mosse per la scrittura delle sue prime tragedie, diventano presto degli antimodelli di scrittura poetica, cui si opporranno risolutamente la concisione e l’energia del verso tragico alfieriano. Nella formazione del pensiero politico di Alfieri si sottolinea l’importanza di Voltaire e dei Caractères di La Bruyère. Di quest’ultima opera, presente nella biblioteca del poeta, Fabrizi trova traccia nell’Esquisse du jugement universel, anche se Alfieri non lo ricorda mai. La sensibilità preromantica alfieriana, più volte sottolineata dalla critica, il gusto per il romanzesco, il tema della forza delle passioni, la celebrazione della libertà individuale e tutto il corredo del pensiero romantico, devono molto, secondo Fabrizi, a Prévost e ai suoi Memoires et aventures d’un homme de qualité qui s’est retiré du monde, che costituiscono il modello narrativo della Vita. La conferma viene da alcuni passi di quest’opera che rimandano al La Bruyère. Gli Essais di Montaigne, altro fondamentale autore francese, vengono letti da Alfieri all’età di 19 anni e da essi, a parere di Fabrizi, il poeta impara l’insanabile contradditorietà dell’anima umana che proietterà nei maggiori personaggi delle sue tragedie. In quanto ai “padri” italiani di Alfieri, è soprattutto la ricerca di uno stile tragico efficace che lo induce, secondo il critico, a cercare nella letteratura italiana dei modelli. Così si spiega lo studio di Dante, di Ariosto, di Tasso, di Petrarca, ma anche di Stazio e dei Poems of Ossian, «fatti italiani» (p.12). Alfieri petrarchista? Sì – riconosce Fabrizi – ma solo nell’uso del lessico e degli stilemi petrarcheschi, nell’accoglimento della lezione di stile e di equilibrio espressivo; antipetrarchista però nel tono appassionato, nella tensione e nei conflitti che animano le tragedie. Nella ricostruzione del percorso culturale di Alfieri, Fabrizi rileva che gli autori latini fanno parte della sua seconda formazione, e quelli greci dell’ultima. Infatti solo nel ’95 inizia lo studio, la lettura e la traduzione degli scrittori greci. Di Virgilio Alfieri traduce l’Eneide, e di Virgilio ammira l’altezza poetica, anche se esprime un giudizio morale severissimo sul poeta che accusa di servilismo nei confronti di Augusto. Mentre traduce Virgilio, Alfieri comincia a scrivere la Vita. Fabrizi vede un rispecchiamento della coppia Enea- Acate (padrone e servo fidus) in Alfieri e il suo «fidatissimo» accompagnatore Elia, così come il poeta stesso ne parla nella sua autobiografía. Lectura crítica de libros Cuadernos de Filología Italiana 2010, vol. 17, 179-205 184 Gli autori latini e greci costituiscono altresí, a parere di Fabrizi, il riferimento principale delle commedie alfieriane. In particolare Terenzio e l’Aristofane delle Rane nella Finestrina. Il pessimismo aristofanico riecheggia in questa commedia: come nelle Rane, anche nella Finestrina ci si dovrà accontentare di una moralità legata alle apparenze. Molti altri sono gli autori latini e greci rinvenuti da Fabrizi (e da tutta la critica da lui citata nell’esauriente ed eruditissimo apparato di note e nella relativa bibliografia) nella cultura di Alfieri. Ci siamo limitati a nominare i più importanti. In quanto ai saggi su Tomasi di Lampedusa, nel primo («Giuseppe Tomasi Di Lampedusa. Trame romanzesche»), tre sono gli autori che Fabrizi individua come sottesi al romanzo: Montale, Jane Austen e Manzoni, ma dedica particolare attenzione alla Austen. Ed è attraverso l’analisi di una sola parola (dear- caro) e dell’uso che ne fanno i due autori, Austen e Tomasi, che Fabrizi interpreta il pensiero di entrambi come consonante, parallelo, concorde. È nel ripetersi di questa parola «caro» per nove volte nella Parte ottava de Il Gattopardo, densa di numerosi significati e sfumature psicologiche, nell’apostrofe affettuosa con cui Tomasi si rivolge idealmente a Jane Austen (Dear Jane!), da lui considerata la più grande scrittrice inglese di tutti i tempi, nell’analisi dello stesso termine nella sua prosa, che il critico vede accolta la lezione di controllo e discrezione, di garbatezza e contegno della Austen nella prosa de Il Gattopardo, lontana, come quella della scrittrice inglese, dai toni melodrammatici e retorici che Tomasi detestava tanto nella cultura e nella letteratura italiana. Il secondo saggio su Tomasi Di Lampedusa («Giuseppe Tomasi Di Lampedusa. Il «mostro»») traccia un profilo complessivo dello scrittore siciliano. Ora che tutte le opere di Tomasi sono pubblicate è possibile seguirne la traiettoria letteraria ed umana, e Fabrizi ci guida sapientemente e piacevolmente in questo percorso. In nota ci fa sapere perché titola Il mostro: questo era il termine con cui i cugini Piccolo apostrofavano Tomasi a causa delle sue sterminate conoscenze letterarie. Fabrizi definisce “ciclopica” l’impresa, condotta a termine da Tomasi, di ripercorrere nelle Lezioni tutta la letteratura inglese, avendone letto tutti i testi. Non possiamo che essere d’accordo con lui. Mette in rilievo il valore anche letterario delle Lezioni, che costituiscono esse stesse un romanzo, forse ancor piú interessante – suggerisce – dello stesso Gattopardo. Delle lezioni di Letteratura francese mette in risalto la teoria tomasiana degli scrittori “magri”, cioè a dire asciutti ma ricchi di idee, come Stendhal, e degli scrittori “grassi”, ovvero estroversi, barocchi. Il critico ripercorre la storia dei Racconti, pubblicati postumi (come tutte le opere di Tomasi) da Bassani e redatti sotto dettatura della vedova. Infine ricostruisce la storia editoriale del Gattopardo, rifiutato da Vittorini per Einaudi e poi fatto pubblicare da Bassani presso Feltrinelli. Ci racconta il romanzo dall’interno, seguendone le linee ispiratrici, i temi più significativi ed evidenziandone l’inesauribilità letteraria che offre ulteriori stimoli di indagine al lavoro critico del futuro. Per ragioni di spazio abbiamo commentato solo tre dei tredici saggi presenti nel volume, ma non cessa di colpire la vastità dell’orizzonte letterario che Fabrizi abbraccia. Nelle sue indagini emerge non solo la frequentazione degli autori presi in esame, ma anche una approfondita conoscenza di tutta la critica relativa a ciascuno di essi, che si Lectura crítica de libros Cuadernos de Filología Italiana 2010, vol. 17, 179-205 185 manifesta, da una parte, nella partecipazione dell’autore al dibattito critico e, dall’altra, nella vasta bibliografia che ne correda i saggi e le indagini filologiche. Quest’ultima riteniamo possa essere di grande utilità ai ricercatori che specialisticamente si dedicano ai singoli autori oggetto dell’attenzione dell’insigne studioso in questo esaustivo percorso critico. Annalisa PIUBELLO 
work_ealfme5qavavbidhzxzw3qa5le	----	El cine como instrumento para una mejor comprensión humana El cine representa una forma muy importan- te de transmisión de la cultura universal en los tiempos actuales. Nuestra sociedad se va formando e infor- mando a través del cine y la televisión, películas de fic- ción, reportajes o documentales, que permiten otro tipo de acercamiento al complejo mundo del ser humano. Una película intenta documentar, dar testi- monio de una realidad, en algún caso retratar y relatar una historia para transmitir a través de ella un mensa- je. Emplea con este motivo espacio y tiempo, imagen y palabra, realidad y ficción, conocimientos y senti- mientos con los que trata de influir sobre la vista, el oído y otros sentidos generando empatía en los obser- vadores sobre la situación que viven los actores. El cine es un “auténtico imperio de los sentidos”, donde se ve y se oye y su capacidad de rememoración hace además que se huela, se deguste, se palpe y, en definitiva se sienta1. La expresión cinematográfica construye un relato más completo y perfecto que reúne el arte de la reproducción y el arte de la encantación, es decir por expresar la realidad mediante la figuración2. La magia del cine ha creado otro método para capturar la reali- dad que organiza y otorga significados a los objetos y prácticas de la vida cotidiana (ayuda a establecer reglas o convenciones útiles para el desarrollo de nuestra vida social), que estimulan nuevas formas de pensar sobre los roles sociales, sexo, concepciones del honor, del patriotismo, a la vez que sirve para proclamar injusti- cias, la explotación, los problemas que afectan a un determinado lugar del mundo, riesgos laborales, etc3. Al contrario que en la literatura, lo que pien- sa un personaje no es expresable ni sustituible por los conceptos-imagen del cine, ni siquiera cuando se transforma en sonoro. La dificultad no tiene que ver con la presencia o ausencia de la palabra. El cine es exterioridad, aspecto, evidencia. Mucho de lo interior puede transparentarse, salir hacia fuera, pero nunca con el increíble detallismo descriptivo de la literatura4. El cine es una experiencia abierta, siempre redescubriéndose a sí misma, huyendo permanentemente de las reglas que tratan de aprisionarla en algún código bien establecido. La película es un tiempo real con el ritmo que el director impone (Jean Claude Carrière citado por 2). El poder reproductivo y productivo de la imagen en movimiento marca el carácter emergente del cine, y lo distintivo del mismo, algo sólo posible gracias a la fotogra- fía en movimiento4. La particular temporalidad y especia- lidad del cine, su capacidad casi infinita de montaje y remontaje, de inversión y de colocación de elementos, El cine como instrumento para una mejor comprensión humana Wilson Astudillo Alarcón1, Carmen Mendinueta Aguirre2 1Centro de Salud de Bidebieta-La Paz. San Sebastián y 2Centro de Salud de Astigarraga. Gipuzkoa (España). Correspondencia: Wilson Astudillo Alarcón. Bera Bera 31, 1º Izda. 29009, San Sebastián (España). e-mail: wastu@euskalnet.net Recibido el 14 de marzo de 2007; aceptado el 25 de junio de 2007 Resumen El cine es una poderosa herramienta cultural que permite conocer algunos elementos de la condición humana a través de la ima- gen y del sonido enriquecido con todas las bellas artes para tratar de impactar al intelecto y a la emoción. Procura llegar al espectador a través de la empatía por los personajes y la proyección de las experiencias propias con lo que se ve en la pantalla. Se revisa en este artículo la impor- tancia de las neuronas espejo y de la empatía para que los espectadores se sientan cercanos a la situación que se vive en el cine y la necesidad de una buena formación para comprenderlo mejor. Palabras clave: literatura, filosofía de la imagen, lenguaje cinematográfico, empatía y proyección. 131 © Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca RMC Wilson Astudillo Alarcón, Carmen Mendinueta Aguirre Rev Med Cine 4 (2008): 131-136 la estructura de sus recortes, etc., es lo que marca la diferencia. La imagen digital de reciente aparición ha propiciado un gran cambio en el campo audiovisual que afecta de forma muy directa al documento y per- mite entrar en regiones de privacidad que antes eran inaccesibles. Con la digitalización, el cine se ha abierto a un nuevo tipo de realismo, más revelador de la con- dición humana y no es sólo una forma muy directa de abaratar costos y de crear mundos virtuales. Importancia del cine Todos los pueblos tienen unas historias que cuidan con esmero porque les permiten identificarse a sí mismos y otras que comparten con el resto de la humanidad. Las narrativas tradicionales tratan por lo general de conocimientos sobre la vida, la cultura y la moral, que han tenido una gran influencia en los indi- viduos, sociedades y culturas. La literatura y cine son artes narrativas y, en consecuencia, un pretexto para contar historias ya desde las primeras transmisiones orales o fílmicas. La primera utiliza palabras y el segundo imágenes, pero la meta es la misma: la histo- ria contada que trasciende al lenguaje para convertirse en fuente de emociones y de sentimientos. Se dice que en el cine las historias se ven con los ojos abiertos y en la literatura con los ojos cerrados. No hay una contra- posición obligada entre el arte de la imagen, de la luz, de la plástica y el arte de la palabra1. El cine interpreta la historia, traslada la esencia del texto literario a la narración fílmica, pero dejando que la película adquie- ra su propia vida. El mismo guión cinematográfico es literatura, una literatura “especial”, pensada en imáge- nes y, en este sentido, en toda película las palabras son la piedra angular de la imagen. El cine hace con la literatura un ejercicio de síntesis porque la imagen es incapaz de absorber la riqueza de la vida y matices que el narrador ha puesto en el libro, pero a su vez, la historia original puede mejorar en manos de un buen director hasta llegar a ser una obra maestra1. Lo que el cine proporciona es una especie de “superpotenciación” de las posibilidades conceptuales de la Literatura, al conseguir aumentar colosalmente la “impre- sión de realidad” y, por lo tanto, la instauración de la experien- cia indispensable al desarrollo del concepto imagen, con el consi- guiente aumento del impacto emocional que lo caracteriza4. El cine como forma de preservación cultural, complementa el papel llevado a cabo por las tradicio- nes narrativas, (bíblicas, evangélicas, homéricas -La Ilíada y La Odisea-, de cantares de gesta -Cantar de Mío Cid-), que han sido un elemento clave para la transmi- sión de actitudes morales2. Existen numerosas pelícu- las que se han convertido para el público anónimo en un paradigma de moralidad y ética. El cine es un ins- trumento para preguntarse sobre los porqués del vivir y del morir e incluso sobre las respuestas a estas inquie- tudes4 y es capaz de despertar distintas sensaciones según los ambientes culturales donde se proyecte lo que revela que las actitudes de la gente cambian con el curso de los años. Conseguida la imagen en movimiento devie- ne este itinerario: De la imagen al sentimiento y del sentimien- to a la idea, es decir, desde el arte cinematográfico llegar a la emo- ción y a través de ésta acceder al juicio crítico (según Sergei Eisenstein, citado por2). Las imágenes del cine entran por la vista y de ahí van al cerebro, y por eso tienen más oportunidades de llegar rápidamente al punto princi- pal, más de lo que podría hacerlo una sobria escritura filosófica o sociológica. Tal vez la mayoría de (o todas) las verdades expuestas cinematográficamente ya han sido dichas o escritas por otros medios, pero cierta- mente quien las capta por medio del cine es interpela- do por ellas de una manera completamente diferente. De esta forma los cineastas de todos los tiempos nos han demostrado que es la captación de lo real, aunque sea mediante la ficción, lo que nos hace sentir y razo- nar, que la esencia del cine es la idea del mundo, la vida como un todo, el hombre2. 132 © Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca Wilson Astudillo Alarcón, Carmen Mendinueta Aguirre Rev Med Cine 4 (2008): 131-136 El cine moviliza no sólo al intelecto y al afec- to, sino a varios sentidos a la vez porque el sentido del mundo sólo es captable a través de una combinación- estratégica y amorosa –de sense y sensibility– (sentido y sensibilidad) como diría Jane Austen y es que la racio- nalidad4, no está excluida, sino mediada por el impac- to emocional. En el componente afectivo, se incluye la racionalidad como un elemento esencial de acceso al mundo y así, para apropiarse de un problema filosófi- co, no es suficiente con entenderlo; también hace falta vivirlo, sentirlo en la piel, dramatizarlo, sufrirlo, pade- cerlo, sentirse amenazado por él, y experimentar que nuestras bases habituales de sustentación son afecta- das radicalmente. Si no es así, aun cuando “entendamos” plenamente el enunciado objetivo del problema, no nos habremos apropiado de él, y no lo habremos real- mente entendido4. Debemos emocionarnos para enten- der, no necesariamente para aceptar. Por esta razón es necesario redefinir la razón y hacerlo de modo más amplio, de forma que incluya los afectos, los sentimientos, los valores, las preferencias, las creencias. Y es que cuando la razón se entiende así deja inmediatamente de ser abstracta, se hace concreta. Esa concreción, en toda su complejidad, es la que tiene que expresar- se necesariamente en forma narrativa2. Los filósofos cinematográficos consideran que esa representación sensible debe producir “algún tipo de impacto” en quien establece un contacto con ella y finalmente que, a través de esa “presentación sensible impactante”, se alcanzan ciertas realidades que pueden ser defendidas “con pre- tensiones de verdad universal”, no tratándose por tanto, de meras impresiones psicológicas, sino de experiencias fundamen- tales vinculadas con la condición humana, o sea, “con toda la humanidad”, y que poseen por tanto, un sentido cognitivo4. No es igual que le digan que la guerra es absurda, que ver Johnny cogió su fusil/ Johnny Got His Gun (1971) de Dalton Trumbo, o Nacido el 4 de Julio/ Born on the Fourth of July (1989) de Oliver Stone. No es lo mismo que le digan a uno que la drogadicción es terrible, que mos- trarle Pink Floyd: El muro/ Pink Floyd The Wall (1982) de Alan Parker. No es lo mismo decir que la injusticia es intolerable, que mostrar Sacco y Vanzetti/Saccoe Vanretti (1971) de Giuliano Montaldo4. Lo que penetra a través de los ojos, produce un gran impacto en muchos nive- les sensoriales. Es a través del efecto de choque, de la violencia sensible, de franca agresividad mostrativa, que es posible que el espectador cobre una aguda con- ciencia del problema o más claro,- que se sensibilice-. La emoción que sentimos no se queda en lo particu- lar, sino sirve para hacer que las personas lleguen a la idea universal de una manera más contundente. Es esta mediación emocional tal vez, indispensable para entender problemas como los de la guerra, y no tan sólo para “emocionarse” con ellos. Como los seres huma- nos somos estructuralmente morales y la ética es la columna vertebral de nuestros actos, una película se convierte en paradigma de moralidad. El cine o la vida como un todo se funde con la ética como razón práctica de la vida y de los hábitos humanos. El lenguaje del cine El espectador que se sienta ante la pantalla, casi sin observar planos, escenas y secuencias, capta diversos mensajes de los modelos humanos y la plura- lidad de comportamientos, etc., lo que hace del cine, la forma de transmisión intergeneracional más com- pleta dentro de los medios que se han empleado hasta ahora, que nos permite reconocer parte de nuestra naturaleza y la carga de sentimientos y problemas comunes que afectan a las relaciones humanas y que seguirán siendo tan importantes ahora y siempre. Las películas tienen normalmente un signifi- cado que va más allá del argumento, que es posible explorar en algunos de sus niveles más profundos, integrar y expresarlo de otras formas. El cineasta esco- ge un trozo de la realidad y con el montaje trastoca esa realidad que ha recogido en la objetividad, para des- pués componer de acuerdo con su fantasía y genialidad 133 © Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca Wilson Astudillo Alarcón, Carmen Mendinueta Aguirre Rev Med Cine 4 (2008): 131-136 su obra. A través de la acción fragmenta y reconstruye el espacio y el tiempo, si lo considera conveniente trae cosas del pasado o el futuro que imagina. Como bien dice Carl T. Dreyer lo importante para mí no es sólo captar las palabras. Lo que busco en mis películas, lo que quiero obte- ner, es penetrar hasta en los pensamientos más profundos de mis actores, a través de sus expresiones más sutiles. Porque esas expresiones desvelan el parecer del personaje, sus sentimientos inconscientes, los secretos que reposan en las profundidades de su alma6 y es que lo que le interesa al cine es el drama humano, el adentrarse en la vida y sus conflictos, con- tribuyendo así al conocimiento de las personas. Los rápidos cambios de escena, esa mezcla de emo- ción y sensaciones es mucho mejor que los compactos y prolonga- dos párrafos literarios a los que estamos acostumbrados. Hacen que el cine esté más cerca de la vida. También en la vida los cam- bios y transiciones centellean ante nuestros ojos y las emociones del alma son como huracanes. El cinematógrafo ha adivinado el misterio del movimiento. Y ahí reside su grandeza7. El Cine de esta manera, ofrecería un lenguaje que, entre otras cosas, proporcionaría un vehículo “puramente emo- cional” (equivalente a un grito), otro tipo de articula- ción racional, que incluye un componente emocional. Lo emocional no desaloja lo racional: lo redefine. La música, la comunicación gestual, los ángulos de cámara o los silencios, que forman parte del lenguaje cinematográfico pueden describir con más precisión las experiencias cuando las palabras resultan inadecuadas o insuficientes. Las palabras se relacionan con el tiempo y las imágenes con el espacio, pero con la invención de la cámara cinematográfica el concepto del tiempo que pasa es ya inseparable de la experiencia visual y se cambia el modo de ver del ser humano; la perspectiva deja de ser una sola8,9. Dziga Vertor, director de cine soviético, dijo en 1923: Soy un ojo. Un ojo mecánico. Yo, la máquina, os muestro un mundo del único modo que puedo verlo. Me libero hoy y para siempre de la inmovilidad humana. Estoy en constante movimiento. Libre de las fronteras del tiempo y del espacio, coordino cualquiera y todos los puntos del universo, allí donde yo quiera que estén. Mi cami- no lleva a la creación de una nueva percepción del mundo. Por eso explico de un modo nuevo desconocido para vosotros (citado por 10). El terreno simbólico es un elemento clave de la vida social3 y se utiliza mucho en el cine porque todo lengua- je contiene un contenido simbólico que se debe cono- cer para comprenderlo, más aún porque en él figuran sobre todo muchos elementos de la comunicación no verbal. Hay personajes más interesantes cuando callan que cuando hablan porque con sus silencios lo dicen todo. Saber dar espacio apropiado al silencio y trabajar con él, requiere mucho talento. Los directores de cine tratan de dar testimonio de la realidad social que les rodea. Las películas son también una obra colectiva por lo que reflejan el momento y la realidad social y polí- tica de los años en que fueron filmadas. El acto de comunicar exige que los interlocu- tores, compartan al menos parcialmente el mismo len- guaje, el mismo sistema de representaciones, pero a diferencia de otros lenguajes como el oral o el corpo- ral, la capacidad de los individuos para emplear (deco- dificar) el lenguaje audiovisual es muy limitada: la inmensa mayoría de los destinatarios de ese lenguaje podríamos ser claramente disléxicos y casi totalmente “disgráficos” en su manejo2,3. A mayor educación fíl- mica más veremos y oiremos en una película y más sig- nificados encontraremos por lo que es necesario adqui- rir una formación en torno al mundo de la imagen. Si hacemos películas es para que todos podamos ver algo que no habíamos visto hasta entonces, que no sabíamos ver, que no sabí- amos leer. Es para que las cosas se nos revelen en nosotros mis- mos (Nicolás Philibert, citado por2). Por la influencia del cine en la formación de las masas, aunque muchas veces el cine trabaje en lo que le gusta al público, es necesario que los espectadores aprendan a distinguir lo real de lo accesorio, lo que es una puesta en escena y lo que no lo es. Enseñar/ aprender a mirar esa ima- gen, a descodificar lo que expresa, es tan importante como saber leer y entender un texto escrito. Para ello está la hermenéutica o el arte de la interpretación del sentido, de los hechos, de los textos, de las narrativas. Es la ciencia y el arte de la “comprensión”2. La com- prensión se diferencia de la explicación en que los hechos naturales se explican; los sucesos o aconteci- mientos culturales e históricos se comprenden. La comprensión es un fenómeno complejo, basado en la interpretación de los datos en sus conexiones de senti- do. Las palabras y las imágenes son estructuras que vin- culan o transmiten sentidos. Pero el “sentido”, no se identifica nunca con el “signo”, sea lingüístico, pictóri- co o de cualquier tipo. El signo no se identifica sin más con el significado. El cine nos lleva algo más allá en la comprensión. La Pragmática es la disciplina que estu- dia el lenguaje, pero se preocupa de las relaciones de las palabras con las personas, las palabras en cuanto pronunciadas y recibidas por personas3. El cine es un arte que, mediante imágenes en movi- miento y sonido pretende reflejar la vida del hombre en sus más diversos aspectos y todo lo que le afecta e interesa, eso sí bajo la perspectiva del director e interpretada por actores11. Una buena película sería la que consigue sacar el mejor partido 134 © Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca Wilson Astudillo Alarcón, Carmen Mendinueta Aguirre Rev Med Cine 4 (2008): 131-136 posible de las posibilidades expresivas del dispositivo cinematográfico. Con relación a la selección de pelícu- las, Francois Truffaut12 dijo una vez que toda buena película debería poder resumirse en una sola palabra, y como ejemplo de eso afirmó que El año pasado en Marienbad/ L’ année dernière à Marienbad (1961) de Alain Resnais era, simplemente, “la persuasión”. La empatía y el cine El ser humano puede obtener placer -más o menos- de cualquier cosa. Edgar Morín (citado por13) considera que los espectadores de cine que son capa- ces de cooperar con las películas que ven combinan intrayección (empatía por los personajes) y proyección (experiencias más o menos vividas, transplantadas en la historia que se desarrolla ante ello). El cine, como tecnología visual, ofrece la posibilidad de explorar la experiencia de acercamiento al “otro”, gracias al pro- ceso de identificaciones que todo espectador ha de realizar frente al film14. Un elemento que va a ser de significativa ayuda para comprender la influencia del cine en los seres humanos es la existencia de las neu- ronas de espejo, con las que estamos biológicamente equipados para la empatía y la compasión, para rom- per las barreras que nos separan de los otros y sentir como ellos. Este grupo neuronal identificado en los años 90 por Giacomo Rizzolatti15 de la Universidad de Parma en una zona cercana al área de Broca, es un sis- tema que podría considerarse clave para nuestra con- dición como seres sociales, en los procesos de apren- dizaje, la comprensión de trastornos tan complejos como el autismo e incluso en la evolución del lengua- je16. El sistema de neuronas de espejo, se pone en fun- cionamiento cuando ejecutamos una acción cuando vemos que alguien realiza el mismo movimiento. Su actividad, implica el reconocimiento de la intenciona- lidad de otros individuos. Forman la base de la comu- nicación intencional17. Permiten imitar las acciones y entenderlas y proveen una manera de hacer esta distin- ción y reaccionar de manera apropiada15,17. Se piensa que estas células nerviosas podrían albergar una íntima relación con la empatía, con la capacidad para imitar al prójimo y con la habilidad de nuestra mente para fis- gonear en la mente de los demás18. Así, cuando un indi- viduo ve a alguien coger una pelota, su cerebro la coge también y vive todo el proceso de lanzarla como si realmente lo estuviera haciendo. Ahora bien, el sistema del espejo no se detie- ne en los movimientos, sino que también refleja aspec- tos más sutiles del comportamiento, como son las emociones y demuestra que verdaderamente somos seres sociales16. Sobrevivir socialmente supone saber ponerse en el lugar del otro, competencia de la que carecen los autistas15. Nos ponen en el lugar del otro, pero no de forma abstracta, dice Rizzolatti, sino sin- tiendo como él, lo que explica nuestra fácil identifica- ción con las grandes historias de amor, como Casablanca (1942) de Michael Curtiz16. Mirar un film no es tanto descubrir los significados que el director ofreció a través de la película, como la producción de “sentido” por los espectadores3. Numerosos experimentos han demostrado que la gente tiene tendencia a imitar de forma inconsciente los movimientos de los desconocidos porque esta espe- cie de empatía motora facilita las relaciones y la aceptación mutua. Las emociones sociales como la culpa, la vergüenza, el orgullo e incluso la humillación se reflejan en las neuronas espe- jo. Tenemos un sistema que resuena porque el ser humano está concebido para reaccionar ante los otros. Sin embargo, eso precisa de la conciencia15. Sin la consciencia de uno mismo y del otro no es posible ponerse en el lugar del otro. Al igual que ocurre con la empatía, también en este caso hay personas con mejores antenas que otras para captar a los demás, siendo pre- sumiblemente su sistema de espejo más activo16. Lo esencial en toda representación realista es que el espectador tenga la sensación de que si fuese él situado en las mis- mas circunstancias, actuaría exactamente igual, sea en bien o en mal. Las debilidades del personaje deben ser humanas porque así los espectadores pueden recono- cer las suyas propias en ellas de modo que cuando el 135 © Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca Wilson Astudillo Alarcón, Carmen Mendinueta Aguirre Rev Med Cine 4 (2008): 131-136 personaje actué heroicamente, se sientan también capaces de identificarse con él. El cine es universal no en el sentido del “ocurre necesariamente a todos”, sino en el de “podría ocurrirle a cualquiera”. Conclusiones El cine es un elemento muy importante para la difusión actual de la cultura, la creación de actitu- des públicas y de ideas sobre la ciencia y sociedad en general. Permite observar la vida como un todo. Moviliza al intelecto, al afecto y a varios sentidos a la vez, y a través de la empatía que se construye entre el espectador y las vivencias de los actores, es capaz de facilitar una mejor comprensión del ser humano. Para aprovecharlo en plenitud, sin embargo, es necesario adquirir una buena formación para aprender a ver y distinguir lo real de lo accesorio y a descodificar el sig- nificado que tienen las imágenes. El esfuerzo por la búsqueda de la verdad y la universalidad no claudica con la llegada del cine, sino que, por el contrario, se refuerza a través de éste y de otros lenguajes y mani- festaciones de la expresión humana. El cine nos per- mite conocer mejor el mundo. Referencias 1.- Fresnadillo Martínez MJ. Literatura y Cine. Historia de una fascinación. Rev Med Cine [serie en Internet]. 2005 [citado 5 octubre 2006]; 1(3): 57- 59: [3 p.]. Disponible en: http://www.usal.es/~revistamedicinacine/ numero_3/esp_3_pdf/editorial_esp.pdf 2.- Muñoz Calvo S, Gracia, D. Médicos en el cine. Dilemas bioéticos: sen- timientos, razones y deberes. Editorial Complutense. S.A., Madrid; 2006 3.- Menéndez A, Medina RM. Cine, Historia y Medicina. Seminario de la asignatura de Historia de la Medicina. Conecta [serie en internet]. 1999 [citado 5 octubre 2006]; Suplemento nº 1[26 p.] Disponible en: http://www.dsp.umh.es/conecta/cmh/Cine.pdf 4.- Cabrera J. Cine: 100 años de filosofía. Barcelona: Gedisa Editorial; 1999. 5.- Monge Sánchez MA. Sin miedo: cómo afrontar la enfermedad y el final de la vida. Navarra: EUNSA; 2006. 6.- Dreyer CY. Reflexiones sobre mi oficio. Barcelona: Paidós; 1999. 7.- Geduld H. Los escritores frente al cine. Madrid: Editorial Fundamento; 1999. 8.- Blanco A, Bioética clínica y narrativa cinematográfica. Rev Med Cine [serie en internet]. 2005 [citado 5 octubre 2006];1(3):77-81:[5 p.] Disponible en: http://www.usal.es/~revistamedicinacine/Indice_2005/ Revista/numero_3/esp_3_pdf/bioetica_esp.pdf 9.- Berger J. Modos de ver. Barcelona: Gustavo Pili; 2000. 10.- Costa A. Saber ver el cine. Barcelona: Paidos; 1988. 11.- García-Sánchez JE, Fresnadillo MJ, García-Sánchez E. El cine en la docencia de las enfermedades infecciosas y la microbiología clínica. Enferm Infecc Microbiol Clin. 2002;20(8):403-406. 12.- Truffaut, F. El placer de la mirada. Barcelona: Paidós; 1999. 13.- Jullier L. ¿Qué es una buena película? Madrid: Paidós; 2006. 14.- Dobson R. Can medical students learn empathy at the movies? BMJ. 2004:329:1363-a 15. Rizzolatti G. Cortical motor control. En: Goodale MA, editor. Vision and action: The control of grasping. Norwood, NJ: Ablex; 1990. p. 147-162. 16.- Boto A. Un Dalai Lama en la cabeza. El Pais on line [serie en Internet]. 25 de junio de 2006 [citado 5 octubre 2006]; [alrededor de 6 p.]. Disponible en: http://www.elpais.com/articulo/portada/Dalai/Lama/ cabeza/elpepspor/20060625elpepspor_16/Tes/ 17.- O´Rourke LeBlanc P. Las neuronas de espejo y el origen del lenguaje: No representan la solución. Divergencias. Revista de estudios lingüísticos y literarios. 2004;2(1):27-41. 18.- Rizzolati G, Arbib MA. Lenguage within our grasp. Trends Neurosci. 1998;21(5):188-194. Wilson Astudillo Alarcón, Carmen Mendinueta Aguirre Rev Med Cine 4 (2008): 131-136 136 © Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca 
work_e67zygzkazbapihtm5pf7riyqu	----	教育資料與圖書館學 Journal of Educational Media & Library Sciences http://joemls.tku.edu.tw Vol. 57 , no. 1 (2020) : 35-72 MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 A Study on MARC21 Transformation and Application for Linked Data 陳 亞 寧* Ya-Ning Chen* Associate Professor E-mail：arthur@gms.tku.edu.tw 温 達 茂 Dar-maw Wen Chief Knowledge Officer English Abstract & Summary see link at the end of this article http://joemls.tku.edu.tw mailto:arthur@gms.tku.edu.tw 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) : 35-72 DOI:10.6120/JoEMLS.202003_57(1).0045.RS.AM 研 究 論 文 MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 陳亞寧 a* 温達茂 b 摘要 MARC一直是圖資界重要的資訊交換標準，由於格式的過時，且 不被圖資界以外的領域熟知與使用，反而阻礙MARC的應用。隨 著語意網的推展，鏈結資料技術已被圖資界視為解構書目資訊的 一項新方法。有鑑於此，重新檢視MARC採取何種方式展延至鏈 結資料與其效益是值得探討的研究議題。首先，本文以鏈結資料 提出的2006年為基準，分析相關MARC提案與討論文件的內容及 相關的鏈結資料因應方式。再者，本文選取兩筆MARC書目記錄 與一份MARC提案文件範例作為八個使用個案，導入BIBFRAME 與RDA兩項書目本體至使用個案，以實證與解說MARC展延為鏈 結資料的方式。結果證明MARC已成功融合資源描述框架與結構 外，也是圖資界的鏈結資料交換標準。最後，討論MARC提案文 件中所定義的書目實體等相關議題。 關鍵詞： 機讀編目格式，鏈結資料，書目框架，資源描述與檢索本 體，資源描述框架化 前 言 長久以來，圖書資訊（以下簡稱「圖資」）界採取機讀編目格式（MAchine- Readable Catalog，簡稱MARC）作為資訊組織的國際標準，利於在不同的圖書 館自動化系統間交換資訊，達成資訊共享的目的。然而，隨著資訊的網路化 與數位化，網路搜尋引擎已成為全球資訊網路的重要數位資訊查找工具。由於 MARC格式的過時（outdated format），只能存在於圖書館導向型系統，對非圖資 界而言，MARC既陌生又不被使用，格式就顯得十分特殊（uniqueness）。即使 少數圖書館自動化系統能提供MARC資訊給網路搜尋引擎擷取，多數以MARC 管理書目資訊的圖書館自動化系統仍獨立於全球資訊網路及網路搜尋引擎範圍 a 淡江大學資訊與圖書館學系副教授 b 飛資得系統科技股份有限公司知識長 * 本文主要作者兼通訊作者：arthur@gms.tku.edu.tw 本文作者同意本刊讀者採用CC創用4.0國際 CC BY-NC 4.0（姓名標示-非商業性）模式使用 此篇論文 2019/08/24投稿；2020/01/14修訂；2020/01/15接受 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 36 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) 之外，已形成所謂的資訊孤島（information silo; Lagace, 2014）。另一方面，自 2006年起，Berners-Lee（2006）提出鏈結資料（Linked Data，簡稱LD）概念及 其設計原則，係將現有文件網（web of document）轉變為資料網（web of data）， 提供一個開放型網路空間，以統一資源識別碼（Uniform Resource Identifier，簡 稱URI）命名每一項資料，且經由相同URI的識別以鏈結不同來源的資料。隨 著LD的興起，已吸引各界投入LD的相關研究與應用。依據2019年3月鏈結 開放資料雲（Linked Open Data Cloud）將LD共分為跨領域（cross domain）等九 類，其中在出版品（publications）一類之下又區分為書目（bibliographic; McCrae, 2019），這意謂出版品書目相關資訊已在現有的LD領域佔有一席之地，也更加 引起圖資界思索如何採用LD概念與相關技術，將現有的MARC21資訊轉變為 LD，進而成為語意網（semantic web）的一部分，擴展既有圖資界相關資訊的應 用發展。 以資料設計觀點而言，LD有別於MARC是以資料為中心（data centric）的 主要設計理念（Di Noia et al., 2016），而且以資源描述框架（Resource Description Framework，簡稱RDF）作為資料模式（data model）。依據全球資訊網（World- Wide Web，簡稱W3C）協會發布的官方文件內容，LD主要關鍵之一在於採 用特定本體（ontology）作為資料模式化（data modeling）的基礎，以建立不同 資料或資訊物件間之相互關係（Hyland et al., 2014; Hyland & Villazón-Terrazas, 2011），且盡量使用既有本體的概念及其詞彙與關係為原則，以呈現資料模式 化的結果（Villazón-Terrazas et al., 2011）。在語意網中，Berners-Lee等（2001） 將本體視為語意網中的重要組成元件之一，用來正確定義詞彙間關係的文 件或檔案。目前圖資界已有所謂的書目記錄需求（Functional Requirements for Bibliographic Records，簡稱FRBR）、圖書館參考模式（Library Reference Model，簡稱LRM）與書目框架（Bibliographic Framework，簡稱BIBFRAME） 等不同概念模式（conceptual model）。雖然FRBR只是一種概念模式，在實作方 面，FRBR早已被視為一種書目本體且應用在LD的資料模式化工作，包括伊朗 國家圖書館暨檔案館（National Library and Archive of IRAN，簡稱NLAI；Eslami & Vaghefzadeh, 2013）、西班牙國家圖書館（Biblioteca Nacional de España，簡 稱BNE；Vila-Suero & Gómez-Pérez, 2013; Vila-Suero et al., 2012）與法國國家 圖書館（Bibliothèque nationale de France [BNF], 2018）等個案，皆採用FRBR 三個群組為書目本體。早期RDA本體（RDA ontology）已納入FRBR與權威資 料功能需求（Functional Requirements for Authority Data，簡稱FRAD）兩項概 念模式，同時配合RDA註冊中心（RDA Registry，簡稱RDAR）的發展，已依 前述Berners-Lee等（2001）本體的定義要求，將FRBR與FRAD轉換為符合本 體要求的類別與屬性關係外，並使用URI予以命名。隨著RDA 3R計畫（RDA Toolkit Restructure and Redesign Project）的啟動，目前RDAR已逐漸將LRM納 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 37陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 入（RDA Steering Committee, 2019）。另一方面，美國國會圖書館（Library of Congress，簡稱LC）所發展的BIBFRAME，已在LC鏈結資料服務（Linked Data Service，簡稱LDS，http://id.loc.gov/）官方網站上正式公告BIBFRAME本體的 類別與關係及所屬的URI外，Linked Data for Production（LD4P）各項計畫皆視 BIBFRAME為書目本體，以探討圖書館資源轉換為LD時的相關議題（Linked Data for Production [LD4P], 2017）。例如，在LD4P計畫之一的共享虛擬發掘環 境（SHARE Virtual Discovery Environment，簡稱SHARE-VDE）計畫所推出的 LD平台，係以BIBFRAME本體為LD資料模式（Casalini, 2017），提供LD驅動 式（LD driven）目錄，以及相關視覺化呈現與查詢等功能。 在圖資界中，有些實際案例已大量批次將MARC資訊LD化，包括大英圖 書館（British Library，簡稱BL；Deliot, 2014; Deliot et al., 2016）、瑞典國家聯合 目錄（LIBrary Information System，簡稱LIBRIS；Malmsten, 2008, 2009）、BNE （Santos et al., 2015; Vila-Suero & Gómez-Pérez, 2013; Vila-Suero et al., 2012）、 BNF（Simon et al., 2013; Wenz, 2013）、美國內華達大學圖書館（University Libraries, University of Nevada; Lampert & Southwick, 2013; Southwick, 2015）與 伊利諾香檳分校（University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign; Cole et al., 2013）等。 然而，以BL、BNE、BNF、德國國家圖書館（Deutsche National Bibliothek， 簡稱DNB）等16個案例為個案研究分析中，Chen（2017）發現15個研究個案 同時採取2個以上本體進行LD資料模式化作業外，也各自發展所屬的LD資 料模式。誠如Suominen與Hyvönen（2017）的研究結果指出，由於每一圖資界 LD個案的資料模式不同，除了產生不一致的問題外，更重要的是陷入另外一 種LD資訊孤島的現象，反而阻礙圖資界彼此間LD的再利用（reuse）、相容性 （compatibility）與互操作性（interoperability）。 就實際作業現況而言，MARC仍是現今多數圖書館自動化系統的主要處理 對象，藉以組織各式資訊。現今圖資界正處於OCLC Research Library Partnership 所稱的「MARC與LD的複合式環境」（a hybrid MARC-linked data environment; Smith-Yoshimura, 2018b），亦即同時面對LD與既有MARC記錄（legacy MARC records）共同存在的事實。如同參與Linked Data for Libraries（LD4L）計畫的史丹 福大學圖書館（Stanford University Libraries）一份簡報內容指出： ⋯ o Almost all of our processing systems are rooted in MARC o Our ILS is rooted in MARC o Any change to that basic environment will be very expensive o And we probably don’t want to change the entire environment, some things are probably done fine in a MARC based relational database, so we will need some sort of hybrid http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 38 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) [圖書館自動化系統仍根植於MARC，改變此種環境的代價極高，我 們不可能改變整個環境，有些事務仍然可以在關聯資料庫的MARC順 利運作，因此我們需要某種複合式作業]。（Schreur, 2015, Slide 19） 另外，一如Cole等（2013, p. 172）所言：「All of these libraries have one thing in common: they publish their catalog records as LOD and use them in discovery services」[對所有圖書館而言，除了以LD方式發布目錄資訊外，同時也導入 LD作為探索服務之用]。這也與OCLC兩次的LD調查報告結果相符，就是多數 機構實施LD的主要目的之一在於引入外部LD資源（resources）提供機構本身的 使用者利用（Smith-Yoshimura, 2016, 2018a）。換言之，圖資界導入LD的主要目 的除了將MARC轉成LD予以對外發布成為語意網的一部分外，更重要的是導 入LD的聚合功能（aggregation），引入外部LD資源，提供使用者的LD驅動式 資源探索服務。綜合上述探討，MARC除了在原有圖書館自動化系統中滿足各 類文獻的資訊組織作業需求外，能否因應LD時勢需求而有所適當調整，同時 容許採用圖資界現有的書目本體（如前述BIBFRAME與RDA本體）及其詞彙， 達成一致性的LD資料模式，促成圖資界彼此間的LD共享與再利用外，也能提 供使用者LD驅動式資源探索服務等目的，則是現今圖資界在邁向LD前，必須 對MARC的轉變有所了解，更是值得深入探討的一項研究議題。 二、文獻探討 有關 MARC 的調整事宜，係由 MARC 諮詢委員會（MARC Advisory Committee，簡稱MAC）向MARC指導委員會（MARC Steering Group）1提出所 謂的MARC提案（MARC proposal）或討論文件（discussion paper），作為修訂 MARC的主要審查文件（Library of Congress [LC], 2019a）。一旦審核通過後， 依據MARC提案文件內容正式調整MARC的相關結構與內容。由於LD於2006 年提出，本文以2006年為起始點，回溯有關LD議題的MARC提案與討論文件 為範圍，探討MARC因應LD所調整的相關結構與內容之用，除非2006年以後 的MARC文件提及2006年前的相關文獻，則不在此限，亦即編號MARC 98-10 提案文件（詳表1至表2及相關內容說明）。此外，由於MARC提案與討論文件 皆以某一議題為主要討論重點，通常最新文件且獲通過者作為修訂MARC的主 要依據，以整體考量MARC的調整需求。2 因而，本文採取主題方式，整合相 關文件一起探討，而不依據每一文件逐一討論，避免以偏概全。 1 目前MARC指導委員會由LC、加拿大國家圖書館暨檔案館（Library and Archives Canada）、 BL與DNB共同組成（LC, 2019a）。 2 事實上，LC所公告的MARC相關文件僅標示出相關文件的編號，並未明確標示取代哪些文件。http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 39陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 ㈠ 標示FRBR第一群組內及第二群組內之兩兩關係 在編號MARC 2009-06/1提案（MARC Proposal 2009-06/1: Accommodating Relationship Designators for RDA Appendix J and K in MARC 21 Bibliographic and Authority Formats）文件（LC, 2009）中，主要目的在於MARC21書目資料與權 威資料格式中標示RDA附錄J與K，亦即FRBR第一群組內及第二群組內之兩 兩關係，且獲通過。主要調整內容如下： l 增加$4與$i至MARC21書目資料格式的欄號76X-78X，及增加$i至 MARC21書目資料格式的欄號X00、X10、X11與X30-78X，說明FRBR 第一群組內之兩兩相互關係。 l 增加$i至MARC21權威資料格式的欄號5XX，以說明FRBR第二群組內 之兩兩相互關係。 l 更改 MARC21 書目資料格式欄號 787 名稱為「其他關係」（Other Relationship Entry）。 ㈡ 增加國際標準名稱識別碼（International Standard Name Identifier, ISNI）的標示 在編號MARC 2010-06提案（Proposal No. 2010-06: Encoding the International Standard Name Identifier (ISNI) in the MARC 21 Bibliographic and Authority Formats）文件（LC, 2010）中，主要目的在於$0可以著錄ISNI，且該文件已通 過。增加ISNI至MARC21的主要涵蓋範圍如下： l MARC21書目資料格式：100、110、111、600、610、611、700、710與 711。 l MARC21權威資料格式：024、100、110、111、150、151、500、510、 511、550、551、700、710、711、750與751。 ㈢ $0權威記錄控制號或標準號（Authority Record Control Number Or Standard Number）與$1實際的世界物件（Real World Object, RWO）URI（RWO URI） 有關LD的URI方面，共有八份文件探討此一議題（請詳表1）。原始$0 在編號MARC 98-10提案文件（LC, 1998）中，定義為「記錄控制號」（record control number），至編號MARC 2015-07提案文件中，名稱則更改為「權威記錄 控制號或標準號」，同時可以用URI方式標示外，也以圓括弧方式帶出URI類 型的前導用語，如URI與ISNI（LC, 2015）。至編號MARC2016-DP18討論文件 中，則擴大應用至MARC館藏資料格式（holdings format），以及去除圓括弧與 前導用語兩項建議列入提案作為進一步評估審核（LC, 2016b）。直至編號MARC 2017-08提案文件審核公告後，除了通過去除圓括弧與前導用語的建議內容， 還包括新增$1，以標示LD的RWO URI外，應用範圍也擴展至五種MARC格式 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 40 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) （LC, 2017e）。在使用方式上，$0與$1可擇一使用，或同時使用。若以LD觀 點而言，$0與$1等同於RDF資料模中三位元的「物件」（object），可直接使用 URI進行標示，其中$0用於描述LD權威記錄的URI（如LC提供各項的LD資源）， 而$1則是用於標示真實世界存在物件的URI。換言之，經由$0與$1著錄URI， 將原有MARC記錄鏈結至現有的LD資源。若依據編號MARC 2017-06提案、 編號MARC 2017-08提案與編號MARC 2019-03提案文件內容，$0與$1可應用 在MARC21書目、權威、館藏、分類（classification）與社群資訊（community information）格式的相關欄號如下： l MARC21書目資料格式：033、034、043、100、110、111、130、240、 257、336、337、338、340、344、345、346、347、348、370、377、 380、381、382、385、386、388、518、567、600、610、611、630、 647、648、650、651、654、655、656、657、662、700、710、711、 751、752、753、754、800、810、811、830、880、883、885 l MARC21權威資料格式：024、034、043、336、348、260、360、368、 370、372、373、374、376、377、380、381、382、385、386、388、 500、510、511、530、548、550、551、555、562、580、581、582、 585、672、673、682、700、710、711、730、747、748、750、751、 755、762、780、781、782、785、880、883、885 l MARC21館藏資料格式：337、338、347、561、883 l MARC21分類資料格式：034、043、700、710、711、730、748、750、 751、754、880、883 表1 有關$0與$1的MARC21文件與狀態 文件編號 文件名稱 狀態 Proposal No. 98-10 Definition of Subfield $0 for Record Control Number in the 7XX Fields in the USMARC Classification and Community Information Formats (LC, 1998). 通過 Proposal No. 2015-07 Extending the Use of Subfield $0 (Authority record control number or standard number) to Encompass Content, Media and Carrier Type (LC, 2015). 通過 Discussion Paper No. 2016-06 Define Subfield $2 and Subfield $0 in Field 753 of the MARC 21 Bibliographic Format (LC, 2016a). 轉為 提案 Discussion Paper No. 2016-18 Redefining Subfield $0 to Remove the Use of Parenthetical Prefix “(uri)” in the MARC 21 Authority, Bibliographic, and Holdings Formats (LC, 2016b). 轉為 提案 Discussion Paper No. 2016-19 Adding Subfield $0 to Fields 257 and 377 in the MARC 21 Bibliographic Format and Field 377 in the MARC 21 Authority Format (LC, 2016c). 轉為 提案 Proposal No. 2017-06 Adding Subfields $b, $2, and $0 to Field 567 in the MARC 21 Bibliographic Format (LC, 2017d). 通過 Proposal No. 2017-08 Use of Subfields $0 and $1 to Capture Uniform Resource Identifiers (URIs) in the MARC 21 Formats (LC, 2017e). 通過 Proposal No. 2019-03 Defining Subfields $0 and $1 to Capture URIs in Field 024 of the MARC 21 Authority Format (LC, 2019c). 通過 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 41陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 l MARC21社群資訊格式：043、100、110、111、600、610、611、630、 648、650、651、654、656、657、700、710、711、730、880、883 ㈣ $4關係（Relationship） 有關LD的語意關係方面，共有五份文件探討此一議題（請詳表2）。雖然 MARC21已新增了$0與$1作為著錄URI之用，促成原有MARC記錄與某一外 部LD 資源的URI鏈結，但是MARC記錄與特定LD URI兩者之間的語意關係 仍未予以標示清楚。原來$4在MARC21書目資料格式的名稱為「著作職責或著 作方式」（relator code），可與$e（relator term）同時著錄或擇一著錄，主要用於 標示FRBR第一群組與第二群組間的資源責任關係。自2017年3月21日的編號 MARC 2017-01提案文件公告後，$4同時可應用在MARC21書目資料與權威資 料格式的相關欄號外，且名稱更改為「關係」。在使用方式上，有時$4與$e可 相互搭配使用，有時$4也可與$i（relationship information）一起使用，而$e與 $i則分別以文字說明$4所標示的關係資訊，$4則可直接以URI方式標示（LC, 2017a）。因此，自2017年3月以後，$4的語意與功能作用已明顯改變，等同於 RDF三位元的「述語」（predicate），作為鏈結主詞（subject）與物件兩者間關係 及其關係意義之用。以編號MARC 2017-01提案文件的範例為例，245$a的題名 視為RDF主詞，經由視為RDF述語的$4直接著錄LC LDS的URI（http://id.loc. gov/vocabulary/relators/edt），同時也使用$e著錄文字內容為編輯者（editor），補 充說明$4的URI語意識別碼意義為編輯者，而$0則視為RDF物件，可使用LC LDS URI（http://id.loc.gov/authorities/names/n80145489）代表原來$a的作者名稱。 原編號MARC 2017-01提案文件內的列舉範例如下所示（LC, 2017a）： 245 00 $aReligion, learning and science in the ‘Abbasid period / $cedited by M. J. L. Young. 700 1# $aYoung, M. J. L. $0http://id.loc.gov/authorities/names/n80145489 $eeditor $4http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/edt 就LD化程度而言，$4補足了原有$0與$1只標示URI，但缺乏兩個LD物 件或URI之間的語意關係，或缺乏此筆MARC記錄與外部LD物件或URI之間 的語意關係。在MARC相關提案文件內容中（如編號MARC 2018-FT01提案）， 列舉RDAR內RDA本體的屬性關係（property）作為$4的範例，而SHARE- VDE平台中，則著錄BIBFRAME的屬性關係在$4。換言之，圖資界現有 BIBFRAME與RDA書目本體所定義類別（class）間的屬性關係，皆可著錄在 $4，以標示書目本體不同類別兩兩之間的關係。以MARC21書目資料而言， 欄號245$a被視為RDF三位元的主詞，含有某一$4的欄號為RDF三位元的物 件，再以$4建立LD主詞與物件間的關係。依據編號MARC 2017-01提案、編號 MARC 2017-02提案、編號MARC 2017-03提案與編號MARC 2018-FT01提案文http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 42 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) 件公告內容，$4可應用在MARC21書目資料與權威資料格式的相關欄號如下： l MARC21 書目資料格式：100、110、111、370、386、600、610、611、 630、650、651、654、662、700、710、711、720、730、751、760、762、 765、767、770、772、773、774、775、776、777、780、785、786、787 l MARC21權威資料格式：370、371、386、400、410、411、430、448、 450、451、455、462、480、481、482、485、500、510、511、530、 548、550、551、555、562、580、581、582、585、700、710、711、 730、748、750、751、755、762、780、781、782、785、788 表2 $4的MARC21文件與狀態 文件編號 文件名稱 狀態 Discussion Paper No. 2016-DP21 Defining Subfields $e and $4 in Field 752 of the MARC 21 Bibliographic Format (LC, 2016d). 轉為 提案 Proposal No. 2017-01 Redefining Subfield $4 to Encompass URIs for R e l a t i o n s h i p s i n t h e M A R C 21 A u t h o r i t y a n d Bibliographic Formats (LC, 2017a). 通過 Proposal No. 2017-02 Defining New Subfields $i, $3, and $4 in Field 370 of the MARC 21 Bibliographic and Authority Formats (LC, 2017b). 通過 Proposal No. 2017-03 Defining New Subfields $i and $4 in Field 386 of the MARC 21 Bibliographic and Authority Formats (LC, 2017c). 通過 Proposal No. 2018-FT01 Adding Subfield $4 to Field 730 in the MARC 21 Bibliographic Format (LC, 2018b). 通過 ㈤ $2名稱（Name）與題名（Title）的來源標示 MARC21除了通過採用$0、$1與$4著錄或標示LD的URI外，也曾在 編號MARC 2018-DP07討論（Designating Sources for Names in the MARC 21 Bibliographic Format; LC, 2018a）文件提出增加$2標示URI的來源名稱，當時 未獲通過，但改為列入提案文件，作為進一步評估。直至編號MARC 2019-02 提案（Defining Source for Names and Titles in the MARC 21 Bibliographic Format; LC, 2019b）文件提出且獲過後，$2可用來清楚標示URI的來源名稱，如ISNI、 VIAF與Wikidata等，也取代前述編號MARC 2015-07提案文件以圓括弧方式 帶出URI類型前導用語的著錄方式建議。$2著錄範圍僅限於書目記錄格式的 100、110、111、130、240、700、710、711、730、758、800、810、811與830 （LC, 2019b）。 ㈥ 定義MARC21書目資料格式的欄號758資源識別碼（Resource Identifier） 編號MARC 2017-09提案文件已獲通過，文件建議新增欄號758用以記載書 目記錄所描述的資源對象或相關資源，不限於FRBR第一群組的作品、內容版 本、載體版本或單件，但不用於特定的內容標準或資料模式（LC, 2017f）。http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 43陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 綜合上述討論，可明顯發現MARC21為了因應LD的趨勢發展，已在結構 與內容方面作了調整，主要包括六個分欄（即$0、$1、$2、$4、$e與$i）與一 個欄號（即758），而包含前述六個分欄的MARC21書目資料與權威資料格式等 欄位請參照附錄一與附錄二。 3 儘管MARC21已調整相關措施以反映LD需求， 然而如何應用上述MARC21的LD策略化結構與內容，且實際導入BIBFRAME 或RDA書目本體至現有的MARC記錄，以及可能產生的效益，則是本文所擬 探究的研究議題。 三、研究範圍與研究方法 為了實證前述MARC21的LD化策略與相關結構內容應用，首先本文將上 一節文獻探討所歸納的MARC21相關結構與內容進行RDF化（RDFization），亦 即所謂RDF三位元化（RDF’s triplification）。由於MARC21的LD化範圍以書目 資料與權威資料居多數，同時此兩種格式也是圖資界最常使用的標準格式。因 此，本文僅以MARC21書目資料與權威資料兩種格式為研究範圍。依照前述 RDF的主詞、述語與物件三位元的結構，分別將LD化的MARC21書目資料與 權威資料兩種格式相關欄號與分欄予以RDF化，以符合RDF的主詞、述語與 物件三位元。在MARC21書目資料格式方面，欄號245分欄a（Tag 245 $a）視為 RDF三位元的主詞，$4視為RDF三位元的述語，而包含前述$4的某一欄號視 為RDF三位元的物件（請詳圖1a上方所示）。在MARC21權威資料格式方面， 欄號1XX分欄a視為RDF三位元的主詞，$4視為RDF三位元的述語，包含$4 的某一欄號視為RDF三位元的物件（請詳圖1a下方所示）。反之，若書目資料 格式欄號245或權威資料格式欄號1XX分欄a視為RDF三位元的物件，$4仍視 為RDF三位元的述語，包含$4的某一欄號視為RDF三位元的主詞（請詳圖1b 所示）。再者，本文選擇BIBFRAME及RDA本體等兩種書目本體為實作對象， 採用前述MARC為LD新增的欄號758與六個分欄著錄BIBFRAME與RDA書 目本體型的LD實例，而MARC記錄則分別取自密西根大學圖書館（University of Michigan Ann Arbor Library）與賓州大學圖書館（University of Pennsylvania Libraries）共2筆書目記錄（請詳附錄三），以及MARC提案文件內的實例，且 採取使用個案（use case）方式解說與驗證MARC21的LD化實際情形。最後， 為能呈現MARC記錄轉變為LD後的結果，除了使用個案三外，本文的每一使 用個案皆提供表格，說明導入BIBFRAME與RDA書目本體後的調整內容及所 屬RDF示意圖（請參見表3）。 3 依據上述MARC有關LD欄號與分析，本文在2019年11月18日上網逐一查核現有MARC21書 目資料與權威資料格式及其LD相關欄號與分欄（https://www.loc.gov/marc/bibliographic/與 https://www.loc.gov/marc/authority/），結果請詳附錄一與附錄二。http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 44 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) 四、研究結果： MARC的LD使用個案分析與實徵證明 本節內容以前述MARC提案與討論文件所歸納的結果（包括可以應用$0、 $1、$2、$4、$e與$i的欄號及欄號758），同時導入BIBFRAME與RDA等兩種 書目本體的URI與相關LD URI資源，採取八個使用個案實徵證明MARC的LD 策略化結構與內容的應用方式，並以使用個案一、個案二與個案五說明LD聚 合效益等項目為主要探討重點。 ㈠ 使用個案一：書目實體與作者關係 以原始MARC記錄而言，著錄範圍限於中文版傲慢與偏見（Pride and prejudice）此小說的書目相關資訊為主。若採取所謂的LD豐富化（enrichment）4 4 所謂的豐富化作業係指現有記錄經由鏈結至權威檔或外部L D資源，增加原有記錄的功能， 以促進使用者發現新的資訊與資源（Possemato, 2018）。 圖1 MARC21書目資料與權威資料兩種格式相關 LD化欄號與分欄的RDF三位元轉換概念圖 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 45陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 作業程序，且以BIBFRAME本體為依據，增加使用$4，以標示欄號100與 245$a書目實體（bibliographic entity）之間的資源責任關係為「代理者」（即 agent，http://id.loc.gov/ontologies/bibframe/agent），且主要作者為「Austen, Jane, 1775-1817」，並在欄號100的$0與$1分別著錄虛擬國際權威檔（Virtual International Authority File, VIAF）與DBpedia提供的URI，作為LD外部資源 鏈結之用，且以$2標示URI的來源。再者，從RDA書目本體觀點而言，仍 可沿用$4，但資源責任關係改換為「作者代理者」（即has author agent，http:// rdaregistry.info/Elements/w/P10061），且沿用VIAF與DBpedia提供的URI作為 LD的外部資源鏈結（請參見表4）。 表4 書目實體與作者關係 MARC案例 MARAC21的RDF三位元標示方式：書目實體與作者 原始MARC記錄 100 1 # $aAusten, Jane,$d1775-1817. 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. BIBFRAME的資 料模式個案 100 1 # $aAusten, Jane,$d1775-1817. $4http://id.loc.gov/ontologies/bibframe/agent (bf:agent) $1http://dbpedia.org/page/Jane_Austen $2DBpedia $0http://viaf.org/viaf/102333412 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 表3 使用個案表格的欄位說明 MARC案例 MARAC21的RDF三位元標示方式：書目實體與作者 原始MARC記錄 依本文附錄三研究樣本MARC書目資料格式欄號245，或權 威資料格式欄號110為列舉範例，再依使用個案性質選擇相 關欄號作為基礎範例。如劃一題名，包括原始MARC書目 記錄欄號240與245等兩項資料。 BIBFRAME的資 料模式個案 以上述原始MARC記錄範例為基礎，採用$0、$1著錄URI 外，並在$4加入BIBFRAME本體屬性關係的URI，以建立 MARC記錄中之RDF主詞與物件的鏈結關係。 應用的 BIBFRAME類別 與屬性關係 以BIBFRAME本體為依據，呈現上述「BIBFRAME的資料 模式個案」結果的RDF三位元（RDF triple statement），格 式為「主詞→述語→物件」，其中主詞與物件皆英文首字大 寫，述語則英文首字小寫，且述語以單向箭號代表主詞與 物件間的語意關係與方向。 BIBFRAME實例 的RDF示意圖 以RDF三位元方式呈現上述「BIBFRAME的資料模式個案」 結果的示意圖。 RDA本體的資料 模式個案 以上述原始MARC記錄範例為基礎，採用$0、$1著錄URI 外，並在$4加入RDA本體屬性關係的URI，以建立MARC 記錄中之RDF主詞與物件的鏈結關係。 應用的RDA本體 類別與屬性關係 以RDA本體為依據，呈現上述「RDA本體的資料模式個案」 結果的RDF三位元陳述，格式為「主詞→述語→物件」，其 中主詞與物件皆英文首字大寫，述語則英文首字小寫，且 述語以單向箭號代表主詞與物件間的語意關係與方向。 RDA本體實例的 RDF示意圖 以RDF三位元方式呈現上述「RDA本體的資料模式個案」結 果的示意圖。 DBpedia與VIAF 的LD聚合示意圖 只應用在使用個案一，說明使用個案一在鏈結外部URI資 源後，所產生的LD聚合效益。 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 46 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) MARC案例 MARAC21的RDF三位元標示方式：書目實體與作者 應用的BIBFRAME 類別與屬性關係 Work→agent→Person BIBFRAME實例 的RDF示意圖 http://viaf.org/viaf/ 102333412 bf:agent http://dbpedia.org/page/ Jane_Austen bf:agent Tag245$a RDA本體的資料 模式個案 100 1 # $aAusten, Jane,$d1775-1817. $4http://rdaregistry.info/Elements/w/#P10061 (rdaw:P10061，has author agent) $1http://dbpedia.org/page/Jane_Austen $2DBpedia $0http://viaf.org/viaf/102333412 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 應用的RDA本體 類別與屬性關係 Work→has author agent→Person RDA本體實例的 RDF示意圖 Tag245$a rdaw:P10061 http://dbpedia.org/page/ Jane_Austen http://viaf.org/viaf/ 102333412 rdaw:P10061 DBpedia與VIAF 的LD聚合示意圖5 http://dbpedia.org/page/ Jane_Austen Tag245$a bf:agent http://viaf.org/viaf/ 102333412 bf:agent http://viaf.org/viaf/ 4220155466472402160005 http://d-nb.info/standards/elementset/ gnd#familialRelationship Variants of ʻ Jane Austenʼ in Dbpedia 1…N Works of Jane Austen in Dbpedia 1…M owl:sameAs is dbo:author of 5另一方面，經過豐富化作業後，除了原來MARC記錄中的「珍．奧斯汀」 （Jane Austen）主要著者款目已鏈結至DBpedia與VIAF的URI外，也代表此筆 MARC記錄經由上述兩個URI達成某種程度上的資料聚合。具體而言，經由 DBpedia的URI（http://dbpedia.org/page/Jane_Austen）鏈結，已聚合了「珍．奧 斯汀」不同語文的著者名稱外，也包括了「珍．奧斯汀」的不同英文作品。若從 5 本文僅以B I B F R A M E為範例說明，而R D A本體則可依此類推。另外，限於篇幅，本文在 R D F示意圖中，解說經由D B p e d i a的L D聚合效益時，僅以概念式圖解示例（即1⋯N與1⋯ M），而非逐一圖解說明。 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 47陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 VIAF的（http://viaf.org/viaf/102333412）URI鏈結，除了各國語文的著者名稱外， 還可經由下列DNB提供的URI鏈結至「珍．奧斯汀」的家族成員，亦即「珍． 奧斯汀」的第五位姪女「Caroline Jane Knight」。VIAF的「Austen, Jane, 1775- 1817.」的記錄如下所示： Austen, Jane, 1775-1817. Permalink: http://viaf.org/viaf/102333412 500 1 _ $aKnight, Caroline Jane (http://viaf.org/viaf/4220155466472402160005) $4bezf $4http://d-nb.info/standards/elementset/gnd#familialRelationship $eBeziehung familiaer ㈡ 使用個案二：書目實體與作品關係 在此一使用個案中，主要是針對書目實體與作品間關係進行標示，亦 即劃一題名的作品關係。在原始MARC記錄中，並未標示任何關係。若改採 BIBFRAME與RDA書目本體，本文除了使用$4分別標引作品關係外，另外選 擇了SHARE-VDE與OCLC作品識別碼（Work ID）作為外部LD資源鏈結（請 參見表5）。以SHARE-VDE的作品識別碼為例，此一識別碼聚合了美國杜克 大學圖書館（Duke University Libraries）、紐約大學圖書館（New York University Libraries）、史丹佛大學圖書館、芝加哥大學圖書館（University of Chicago Library）、密西根大學圖書館、賓州大學圖書館、耶魯大學圖書館（Yale University Library），及加拿大亞伯達大學（University of Alberta Libraries）等有 關英文版傲慢與偏見（Pride and prejudice）作品館藏（請詳圖2）。換言之，經由 SHARE-VDE的作品URI達成虛擬式聯合目錄的功能。相同地，OCLC作品識 別碼提供WorldCat相關作品與人名（如作品的編輯者）。 ㈢ 使用個案三：書目實體與出版者關係 以MARC21現況而言，$0、$1與$4並未定義在欄號260之內。以SHARE- VDE實例而言，採用了$9標示大陸拼音的「志文出版社」（Zhi wen chu ban she）。就MARC21而言，仍然是有效的，因為屬於所謂的「自由使用型的分欄」 （local subfield）。相對而言，在MARC21尚未將$0、$1與$4加入欄號260內之 前，上述SHARE-VDE是一種折衷方式，利用$9達成外部鏈結資源的鏈結。原 則上，BIBFRAME與RDA仍無法經由MARC21欄號260的$1與$4分別合法建 立所屬的「出版者」（Publisher）6與「出版社代理者」（has publisher agent），以標 6 在BIBFRAME中，類別名稱為「出版」（Publication），標籤名稱（label）則為「出版者」 （Publisher），本文在此處使用後者以利說明屬性關係，請詳http://id.loc.gov/ontologies/ bibframe/Publication。 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 48 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) 示欄號245與260之間的出版關係。上述SHARE-VDE個案提供欄號260自由使 用型分欄相關資料如下： 245 10$601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 260 $603$aTaibei Shi :$bZhi wen chu ban she,$c1992. $9http://share-vde.org/sharevde/rdfBibframe/Publisher/269614 ㈣ 使用個案四：書目實體與內容、媒體與載體關係 相同的，原始MARC記錄中，分別採取$2加以說明關係類型，$a以文字 說明關係類型的意義，$b以代碼標示關係類型的意義。若改採MARC21的$0 與$4兩個分欄，除了上述$2、$a與$b作法外，額外以$4與$0方式加入符合 表5 書目實體與作品關係 MARC案例 MARAC21的RDF三位元標示方式：書目實體與作品 原始MARC記錄 240 1 0 $aPride and prejudice.$lChinese 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. BIBFRAME的資 料模式個案 240 1 0 $aPride and prejudice.$lChinese $4http://id.loc.gov/ontologies/bibframe/instanceOf (bf:instanceOf) $0http://share-vde.org/sharevde/docBibframe/Work/139617-12 $2share-vde $0http://worldcat.org/entity/work/id/1881837462 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 應用的BIBFRAME 類別與屬性關係 Instance→instanceOf→Work BIBFRAME實例 的RDF示意圖 http://worldcat.org/ entity/work/id/ 1881837462 bf:instanceOf http://share-vde.org/ sharevde/docBibframe/ Work/139617-12 bf:instanceOf Tag245$a RDA本體的資料 模式個案 240 1 0 $aPride and prejudice.$lChinese $4http://rdaregistry.info/Elements/m/P30135 (rdam: P30135，has work manifested) $0http://share-vde.org/sharevde/docBibframe/Work/139617-12 $2share-vde $0http://worldcat.org/entity/work/id/1881837462 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 應用的RDA本體 類別與屬性關係 Manifestation→has work manifested→Work RDA本體實例的 RDF示意圖 http://worldcat.org/ entity/work/id/ 1881837462 rdam:P30135 http://share-vde.org/ sharevde/docBibframe/ Work/139617-12 rdam:P30135 Tag245$a http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 49陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 RDF語法的述語與物件，明確建立書目實體（即245$a）有關內容（content）、媒 體（media）與載體（carrier）等關係及其意義外，並以外部鏈結資源的方式標示 關係類型；而RDA 本體依此類推，分別在$4標示內容、媒體與載體等關係及 其意義（請參見表6）。 表6 書目實體與內容、媒體與載體關係 MARC案例 MARAC21的RDF三位元標示方式：內容、媒體與載體 原始MARC記錄 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 245 1 0 $601$a傲慢與偏見 /$c 珍・奧斯汀著 ; [夏穎慧譯]. 336 # # $atext$btxt$2rdacontent 337 # # $aunmediated$bn$2rdamedia 338 # # $avolume$bnc$2rdacarrier BIBFRAME的資 料模式個案 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 336 # # $atext$btxt$2rdacontent $4http://id.loc.gov/ontologies/bibframe/content (bf: content) $0http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/contentTypes/txt 337 # # $aunmediated$bn$2rdamedia $4http://id.loc.gov/ontologies/bibframe/media (bf: media) $0http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/mediaTypes/n 338 # # $avolume$bnc$2rdacarrier $4http://id.loc.gov/ontologies/bibframe/carrier (bf: carrier) $0http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/carriers/nc 應用的BIBFRAME 類別與屬性關係 Work→content→Content Instance→media→Media Instance→carrier→Carrier 圖2 經由SHARE-VDE作品URI提供虛擬式聯合目錄 資料來源： 畫面擷取自SHARE-VDE. (n.d.). http://share-vde.org/sharevde/docBibframe/Work/139617-12。 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 50 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) MARC案例 MARAC21的RDF三位元標示方式：內容、媒體與載體 BIBFRAME實例 的RDF示意圖 http://id.loc.gov/ vocabulary/carriers/nc bf:carrier http://id.loc.gov/ vocabulary/contentTypes/ txt bf:content Tag245$a http://id.loc.gov/ vocabulary/mediaTypes/n bf:media RDA本體的資料 模式個案 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 336 # # $atext$btxt$2rdacontent $4https://www.rdaregistry.info/Elements/e/P20001 (rdae: P20001，has content type) $0http://rdaregistry.info/termList/RDAContentType/1020 337 # # $aunmediated$bn$2rdamedia $4https://www.rdaregistry.info/Elements/m/P30002 (rdam: P30002，has media type) $0http://rdaregistry.info/termList/RDAMediaType/1007 338 # # $avolume$bnc$2rdacarrier $4https://www.rdaregistry.info/Elements/m/P30001 (radm: P30001，has carrier type) $0http://rdaregistry.info/termList/RDACarrierType/1049 應用的RDA本體 類別與屬性關係 Expression→has content type→literal or URI Instance→has media type→literal or URI Instance→has carrier type→literal or URI RDA本體實例的 RDF示意圖 http://rdaregistry.info/ termList/ RDACarrierType/1049 rdam:P30001 http://rdaregistry.info/ termList/ RDAContentType/1020 rdae:P20001 Tag245$a http://rdaregistry.info/ termList/ RDAMediaType/1007 rdam:P30002 ㈤ 使用個案五：書目實體與譯者關係 在原始MARC記錄中，係為「Pride and prejudice」的傳統中文版（traditional Chinese）譯本，譯者為「夏穎慧」（Xia, Yinghui）。由於在SHARE-VDE、ISNI、 VIAF與LC LDS皆無上述譯者的URI，反而在OCLC WorldCat Identities與國家 圖書館鏈結資源平台能查得上述譯者所屬URI。依循MARC21的$4與$0的作 法，本文額外以$e加註文字說明譯者的身份別，同時建立關係與外部鏈結資源 的物件，並以BIBFRAME與RDA兩種書目本體方式標示，結果如表7所示。 其中在OCLC WorldCat Identities的「夏穎慧」所屬URI資訊下，已聚合上述譯者http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 51陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 有關「珍．奧斯汀」（Jane Austen）的中譯作品等相關資訊。 ㈥ 使用個案六：書目實體與主題關係 在附錄三的第二筆原始MARC記錄中，皆有兩個以上的主題，本文只以一 個主題為例說明。在採用BIBFRAME時，除了以$4標示主題關係外，同時也 以$0加註外部鏈結資源的URI，達成符合RDF三位元的語法結構，而RDA本 體亦依此類推予以標註（請參見表8）。 表7 書目實體與譯者關係 MARC案例 MARAC21的RDF三位元標示方式：書目實體與譯者 原始MARC記錄 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 245 1 0 10$601$a傲慢與偏見 /$c 珍・奧斯汀著 ; [夏穎慧譯]. 700 1 # $605$aXia, Yinghui. BIBFRAME的資 料模式個案 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 245 1 0 $601$a傲慢與偏見 /$c 珍・奧斯汀著 ; [夏穎慧譯]. 700 1 # $605$aXia, Yinghui.$etranslator $4http://id.loc.gov/ontologies/bibframe/agent (bf:agent) $0http://worldcat.org/identities/np-xia,%20yinghui/ $2worldcatidentities $0http://catld.ncl.edu.tw/authority/AC000064697 應用的BIBFRAME 類別與屬性關係 Work→agent→Agent BIBFRAME實例 的RDF示意圖 http://catld.ncl.edu.tw/ authority/AC000064697 bf:agent http://worldcat.org/ identities/np- xia,%20yinghui/ bf:agent Tag245$a RDA本體的資料 模式個案 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 245 1 0 $601$a傲慢與偏見 /$c 珍・奧斯汀著 ; [夏穎慧譯]. 700 1 # $605$aXia, Yinghui.$etranslator $4https://www.rdaregistry.info/Elements/e/P20037 (rdae:P20037，has translator agent) $0http://worldcat.org/identities/np-xia,%20yinghui/ $2worldcatidentities $0http://catld.ncl.edu.tw/authority/AC000064697 應用的RDA本體 類別與屬性關係 Expression→has translator agent→Person RDA本體實例的 RDF示意圖 http://catld.ncl.edu.tw/ authority/AC000064697 rdae:P20037 http://worldcat.org/ identities/np- xia,%20yinghui/ rdae:P20037 Tag245$a http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 52 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) 表8 書目實體與主題關係 MARC案例 MARAC21的RDF三位元標示方式：書目實體與主題 原始MARC記錄 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 650 # 0 $aSocial classes$vFiction. BIBFRAME的資 料模式個案 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 650 # 0 $aSocial classes$vFiction. $4http://id.loc.gov/ontologies/bibframe/subject (bf:subject) $0http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh2008111427 $2lcnaf 應用的BIBFRAME 類別與屬性關係 Work→subject→Subject BIBFRAME實例 的RDF示意圖 http://id.loc.gov/ authorities/subjects/ sh2008111427 Tag245$a bf:subject RDA本體的資料 模式個案 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 650 # 0 $aSocial classes$vFiction. $4https://www.rdaregistry.info/Elements/w/P10256 (rdaw: P10256，has subject) $0http://id.loc.gov/authorities/subjects/sh2008111427 $2lcnaf 應用的RDA本體 類別與屬性關係 Work→has subject→Subject RDA本體實例的 RDF示意圖 http://id.loc.gov/ authorities/subjects/ sh2008111427 Tag245$a rdaw: P10256 ㈦ 使用個案七：書目實體與實例（instance）／載體版本關係 依據MARC21對欄號758的定義，主要在記載書目實體所描述的資源或相 關資源，可將OCLC WorldCat的書目記錄視為相關資源，並以BIBFRAME的 「有實例」（hasInstance）標示兩者關係，而RDA本體則以「相關載體版本」（has related manifestation of manifestation）標示兩者關係（請參見表9）。 表9 書目實體與實例/載體版本關係 MARC案例 MARAC21的RDF三位元標示方式：書目實體與實例 原始MARC記錄 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. BIBFRAME的資 料模式個案 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 758 # # $1http://worldcat.org/oclc/213888776 應用的BIBFRAME 類別與屬性關係 Instance→hasInstance→Instance BIBFRAME實例 的RDF示意圖 Tag245$a http://worldcat.org/oclc/ 213888776 bf:hasInstance RDA本體的資料 模式個案 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 758 # # $4http://www.rdaregistry.info/Elements/m/P30048 (rdam:P30048，has related manifestation of manifestation) $1http://worldcat.org/oclc/213888776 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 53陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 MARC案例 MARAC21的RDF三位元標示方式：書目實體與實例 應用的RDA本體 類別與屬性關係 Manifestation→has related manifestation of manifestation→Manifestation RDA本體實例的 RDF示意圖 Tag245$a http://worldcat.org/oclc/ 213888776 rdam:P30048 ㈧ 使用個案八：個人與機構間關係 依據MARC提案2017-01編號的實例中（LC, 2017a），$0、$1、$4與$i亦可 使用在MARC權威資料格式，藉以標引個人、家族與機構等兩兩之間的關係。 在表10案例中，則是先使用$i以文字說明「貝聿銘」（Pei, I.M., 1917-）此作者 係為「貝聿銘建築師事務所」（I.M. Pei Associates）的創辦人（founder）關係後， 再利用$4導入RDA本體的屬性關係URI，以標示個人與機構之間的關係，同時 以$0著錄LCLDS的URI，以串連至「貝聿銘」LD化個人權威記錄。 表10 個人與機構間關係 MARC案例 MARAC21的RDF三位元標示方式：個人與機構 Proposal No. 2017-01 110 2 # $a I.M. Pei Associates 500 1 # $wr $ifounder: $4http://www.rdaregistry.info/Elements/a/P50029 (rdaa: P50029，has founding person of corporate body) $aPei, I. M. $d1917- $0http://id.loc.gov/authorities/names/n79065003 應用的RDA本體 類別與屬性關係 Corporate Body→has founding person of corporate body→Person RDA本體實例的 RDF示意圖 Tag110$a http://id.loc.gov/ authorities/names/ n79065003 rdaw:P50029 五、討 論 ㈠ MARC記錄的LD內增豐富化與LD外部資源聚合 經由$0、$1與$4的豐富化作業程序，MARC記錄已增加了LD資源（即$0 或$1）與語意關係（即$4）等URI，藉以將既有MARC記錄等不同類型的資訊 與現有LD網路空間建立鏈結，使得MARC達成兩種具體效益。首先，將外部 LD資源導入現有MARC記錄之內，使LD成為MARC記錄內部書目資訊的一部 分，豐富了原有MARC記錄內容。再者，更重要的是，這些豐富化後的URI將 MARC展延至現有LD網路空間，且經由相同的外部LD資源URI，無形地聚合 相同URI不同來源的LD外部資源（如前述使用個案一、個案二與個案五）。除 了可自動形成聯合目錄與類似Google知識圖譜（knowledge graph）功能外，經 由LD關係提供脈絡化資訊及其功能導航（contextual information and navigation functionality），也可促進LRM之探索型（explore）使用者任務的達成。另外， http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 54 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) 只要$0或$1使用到鏈結資料中心（linked data hub）的URI（如VIAF或ISNI）， 則有助於圖資界MARC資訊被其他領域應用的機會。 ㈡ MARC21既是圖資界傳統目錄資訊的交換標準，也是圖資 LD交換標準 經由上述使用個案的實證後，發現MARC21的$0與$1可直接著錄URI， 達成LD外部資源的鏈結。然而，隨著MARC21增加$4的前提下，LD鏈結關 係的意義是可被明確著錄的。因而從前述使用個案可發現一筆記錄（書目或權 威）能著錄平台內外的URI，換言之，亦即同一資訊平台內部LD資源相互鏈結 外，也可與外部LD資源建立鏈結關係。MARC21此種LD策略性調整，有助於 內外部LD資源的鏈結外，可更加明確標示鏈結關係的意義。除了有利於LD圖 書館自動化系統開發外，更有利於使用者界面的脈絡化資訊導引與呈現。另一 方面，從前述使用個案也可發現MARC21已融合了符合RDF三位元化的要求。 因而，MARC21除了可持續作為圖資界以記錄為單位的資訊交換標準外，亦可 作為以LD資料為單位的LD化圖書資訊的交換標準與著錄格式。 ㈢ MARC21已成為書目本體的資料容器（data container），也 是具體落實書目本體的載體 經由上述使用個案的探討，可以發現本文已採用MARC21的$0標示書目 實體與劃一題名作品關係 （即前述Pride and prejudice用SHARE-VDE與WolrdCat 作品URI標示），採用$0與$1標示作者（即前述Austen, Jane, 1775-1817用 DBpedia與VIAF的URI標示），及採用$4著錄BIBFRAME與RDA書目本體的 屬性關係，以標示RDF主詞與物件間的述語關係與意義等，皆完全符合RDF三 位元物件的LD資源鏈結，以及採用欄號758鏈結OCLC WorldCat書目記錄URI 達成建立書目實體與實例/載體版本間關係。換言之，MARC21透過$0、$1、$4 與欄號758的方式，已能將BIBFRAME與RDA書目本體之資料模式化所定義的 類別與屬性關係予以著錄與標示。從此觀點而言，MARC21經過LD策略化調 整的功能結構與內容後，已可完全容納BIBFRAME與RDA書目本體內容外， 更是不同圖書館自動化系統間的LD交換共享載體。如果未來RDAR內容能順利 完全轉變成LRM，MARC21仍然可無礙地著錄、標示與承載LRM此一書目本 體的內容。另外，由於MARC21的LD化，屆時亦有利於後設資料（metadata） 型的數據分析與探勘。此外，採取此種方式也有別於前述採取大量批次的圖資 LD個案（如BL、BNE、BNE與DNB等），主要差異有二：首先，圖書館可選擇 使用BIBFRAME或RDA本體，再搭配應用MARC21為LD增加的分欄與欄號達 成LD化，而不是採取兩種以上的本體，達成資料模式與屬性關係的一致化， 避免陷入前述Suominen與Hyvönen（2017）指出的LD孤島。第二，轉化MARC 為LD的方式相形簡單，只須熟悉一種書目本體，而無須熟悉兩種以上的本體。 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 55陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 以BL的英國國家書目（British National Bibliography，簡稱BNB）為例，依據 Chen（2017）的分析，BNB至少採用了Bibliographic Ontology、DC、FOAF、Event Ontology、ISBD、OWL與SKOS等本體。雖然MARC此種方式有其優點，但也 有缺點，即是未完全遵循原有BIBFRAME與RDA本體有關類別與屬性關係的 使用原則（請詳㈤MARC21 LD化書目實體與書目本體應用方式之書目本體應用 方式相關探討）。 ㈣ MARC21的RDF化結構的應用方式：單向或雙向 在MARC書目資料格式中，可發現MARC21對於RDF三位元的應用方式 採取圖1a的方式，亦即以欄號245為RDF主詞，其他欄號為RDF物件，採用$4 作為RDF述語以建立鏈結關係。同樣地，在MARC權威資料格式中，可發現 MARC21對於RDF三位元的應用方式也是採取圖1a的方式，亦即以欄號1XX 為RDF主詞，欄號5XX為RDF物件，兩者間以欄號5XX的$4為RDF述語加 以鏈結關係化。未來圖1b是否可應用於書目資料格式與權威資料格式中，促使 MARC21的LD策略化成為雙向式應用方法，則有待觀察。 ㈤ MARC21的LD化書目實體與書目本體的應用方式 由前述使用個案，可得知目前有關LD的MARC21文件皆將欄號245 的$a視為書目實體。如果依照LC公告的MARC21轉換至BIBFRAME文件 （MARC 21 to BIBFRAME 2.0 conversion specifications; LC, 2019d）與MARC轉換 至FRBR文件中（Mapping of MARC data elements to FRBR and AACR; Network Development and MARC Standards Office, 2006）等兩份文件，分別將欄號245 的$a視為BIBFRAME的實例與RDA本體（或FRBR）的載體版本。然而，從前 述使用個案可發現書目實體有時是作品（例如使用個案六的主題關係），有時 是內容版本（例如使用個案五的譯者關係），有時是實例或載體版本（例如使用 個案四的媒體與載體關係）。換言之，MARC21對於書目實體給予相當高度的 彈性化，對欄號245的$a並未有一致與明確的定義。再者，從前述使用個案可 發現MARC21採取最終端的單一化RDF三位元方式標示主詞、物件及其關係 的述語，亦即只採用一組RDF三位元陳述。然而，無論BIBFRAME或RDA書 目本體皆有一定的應用原則，所有個案不可能只採用一組RDF三位元陳述。 以前述個案三的出版者關係為例，如果是BIBFRAME，RDF的三位元陳述如 右所示—「Instace（即欄號245$a題名） – provisionActivity – ProvisionActivity – agent – http://share-vde.org/sharevde/rdfBibframe/Publisher/269614」。如果改以 RDA本體，由於欄號245$a的中譯題名是屬於內容版本，所以RDF的三位元陳 述如右所示—「Expression（即欄號245$a題名） – has manifestation of expression – Manifestation（即欄號245$a題名） – has publisher agent – http://share-vde.org/http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 56 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) sharevde/rdfBibframe/Publisher/269614」。由前述討論，意謂著LC必須提出 MARC的LD化最佳範例（best practices）的使用指引文件，引導圖資界使用 MARC21的處理方式，才能與現有書目本論的語意關係與知識邏輯相互調和， 否則就各行其事，最後仍會形成不一致的現象。一旦不一致情形出現，有可能 減損原來本體達成知識結構的展現與關係推理等功能，乃至於降低本體型後設 資料的數據分析。 六、結 語 從MARC的討論與提案文件的探討，已可明顯發現MARC已將LD的RDF 三位元陳述語法融入。MARC可經由豐富化作業程序增加相關外部LD資源URI 的鏈結後，亦達成了LD化的資料聚合，擴展MARC記錄成為現有LD網路空間 的一部分。另外，經由本文導入BIBFRAME與RDA書目本體及其相關使用個 案實徵研究後，MARC的LD策略化結構與內容調整，已將MARC提升兼具國 際化目錄資訊交換標準格式外，也可作為圖資界LD交換標準，除了同時可容 納BIBFRAME與RDA書目本體外，未來是否可擴展至不同學科領域LD本體的 標示與著錄，則待進一步研究。 誌 謝 本文部分成果係由科技部105年度專題研究計畫經費補助（計畫編號MOST 105-2410-H-032-057），在此一併致謝。 參考文獻 Berners-Lee, T. 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Publishing bibliographic records on the web of data: Opportunities for the BnF (French National Library). In P. Cimiano, O. Corcho, V. Presutti, L. Hollink, & S. Rudolph (Eds.), The Semantic Web: Semantics and Big Data. ESWC 2013: 10th International Conference, ESWC 2013, Montpellier, France, May 26-30, 2013. Proceedings (pp. 563-577). Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3- 642-38288-8_38 Smith-Yoshimura, K. (2016). Analysis of international linked data survey for implementers. D-Lib Magazine, 22(7-8). https://doi.org/10.1045/july2016-smith-yoshimura Smith-Yoshimura, K. (2018a). Analysis of 2018 international linked data survey for implementer. Code4lib Journal, 42. https://journal.code4lib.org/articles/13867 Smith-Yoshimura, K. (2018b). What metadata managers expect from and value about the research library partnership. Hanging Together. http://hangingtogether.org/?p=6683 Southwick, S. B. (2015). A guide for transforming digital collections metadata into linked data using open source technologies. Journal of Library Metadata, 15(1), 1-35. https://doi.org /10.1080/19386389.2015.1007009 Suominen, O., & Hyvönen, N. (2017). From MARC silos to linked data silos? O-Bib. Das Offene Bibliotheksjournal, 4(2), 1-13. https://doi.org/10.5282/o-bib/2017H2S1-13 University of Michigan Library. (2018). Ao man yu pian jian / Zhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi].傲慢與偏見 / 珍．奧斯汀著 ; [夏穎慧譯]. https://search.lib.umich.edu/ catalog/record/014616392?query=Ao+man+yu+pian+jian+Xia+Yinghui+yi&library=U- M+Ann+Arbor+Libraries Vila-Suero, D., & Gómez-Pérez, A. (2013). datos.bne.es and MARiMbA: An insight into library linked data. Library Hi Tech, 31(4), 575-601. https://doi.org/10.1108/LHT-03-2013-0031 Vila-Suero, D., Villazón-Terrazas, B., & Gómez-Pérez, A. (2012). datos.bne.es: A library linked data dataset. Semantic Web, 4(3), 307-313. https://doi.org/10.3233/SW-120094 Villazón-Terrazas, Vilches-Blázquez, L. M., C orcho, O ., & G ómez-Pérez. (2011). Methodological guidelines for publishing government linked data. In D. Wood (Ed.), Linking government data (pp. 27-49). Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4614-1767-5_2 Wenz, R. (2013). Linked open data for new library services: The example of data.bnf.fr. JLIS.it, 4(1), 403-415. https://doi.org/10.4403/jlis.it-5509 陳亞寧 0000-0001-7598-1139 温達茂 0000-0003-1525-4815http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 60 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) 附錄一 MARC21書目資料格式有關LD的 相關欄號、欄位名稱與分欄對照表 欄號 欄 位 名 稱 分 欄 $0 $1 $2 $4 $e $i 033 Date/Time and Place of an Event ◎ ◎ 034 Coded Cartographic Mathematical Data ◎ ◎ 043 Geographic Area Code ◎ ◎ 050 Library of Congress Call Number ◎ ◎ 052 Geographic Classification ◎ ◎ 055 Classification Numbers Assigned in Canada ◎ ◎ 060 National Library of Medicine Call Number ◎ ◎ 070 National Agricultural Library Call Number ◎ ◎ 080 Universal Decimal Classification Number ◎ ◎ 084 Other Classification Number ◎ ◎ 085 Synthesized Classification Number Components ◎ ◎ 086 Government Document Classification Number ◎ ◎ 100 Main Entry-Personal Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 110 Main Entry-Corporate Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 111 Main Entry-Meeting Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 130 Main Entry-Uniform Title ◎ ◎ ◎ 240 Uniform Title ◎ ◎ ◎ 251 Version Information ◎ ◎ 257 Country of Producing Entity ◎ ◎ 336 Content Type ◎ ◎ 337 Media Type ◎ ◎ 338 Carrier Type ◎ ◎ 340 Physical Medium ◎ ◎ 344 Sound Characteristics ◎ ◎ 345 Projection Characteristics of Moving Image ◎ ◎ 346 Video Characteristics ◎ ◎ 347 Digital File Characteristics ◎ ◎ 348 Format of Notated Music ◎ ◎ 370 Associated Place ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 377 Associated Language ◎ ◎ 380 Form of Work ◎ ◎ 381 Other Distinguishing Characteristics of Work or Expression ◎ ◎ 382 Number of ensembles of the same type ◎ ◎ 385 Audience Characteristics ◎ ◎ 386 Creator/Contributor Characteristics ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 388 Time Period of Creation ◎ ◎ 518 Date/Time and Place of an Event Note ◎ ◎ 567 Methodology Note ◎ ◎ 600 Subject Added Entry-Personal Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 610 Subject Added Entry-Corporate Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 611 Subject Added Entry-Meeting Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 630 Subject Added Entry-Uniform Title ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 647 Subject Added Entry-Named Event ◎ ◎ ◎ http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 61陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 欄號 欄 位 名 稱 分 欄 $0 $1 $2 $4 $e $i 648 Subject Added Entry-Chronological Term ◎ ◎ ◎ 650 Subject Added Entry-Topical Term ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 651 Subject Added Entry-Geographic Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 654 Subject Added Entry-Faceted Topical Terms ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 655 Index Term-Genre/Form ◎ ◎ ◎ 656 Index Term-Occupation ◎ ◎ ◎ 657 Index Term-Function ◎ ◎ ◎ 662 Subject Added Entry-Hierarchical Place Nam ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 700 Added Entry-Personal Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 710 Added Entry-Corporate Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 711 Added Entry-Meeting Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 720 Added Entry-Uncontrolled Name ◎ ◎ 730 Added Entry-Uniform Title ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 751 Added Entry-Geographic Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 752 Added Entry-Hierarchical Place Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 753 System Details Access to Computer File ◎ ◎ 754 Added Entry-Taxonomic Identification ◎ ◎ 758 Resource Identifie ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 760 Main Series Entry ◎ ◎ 762 Subseries Entry ◎ ◎ 765 Original Language Entry ◎ ◎ 767 Translation Entry ◎ ◎ 770 Supplement/Special Issue Entry ◎ ◎ 772 Supplement Parent Entry ◎ ◎ 773 Host Item Entry ◎ ◎ 774 Constituent Unit Entry ◎ ◎ 775 Other Edition Entr ◎ ◎ 776 Additional Physical Form Entry ◎ ◎ 777 Issued With Entry ◎ ◎ 780 Preceding Entry ◎ ◎ 785 Succeeding Entry ◎ ◎ 786 Data Source Entry ◎ ◎ 787 Other Relationship Entry ◎ ◎ 800 Series Added Entry-Personal Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 810 Series Added Entry-Corporate Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 811 Series Added Entry-Meeting Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 830 Series Added Entry-Uniform Title ◎ ◎ ◎ 883 Machine-generated Metadata Provenance ◎ ◎ 885 Matching Information ◎ ◎ 註： 本文最後上網查證日期為2019年11月18日。分欄名稱分別是$0-權威記錄控制號或 標準號（authority record control number or standard number）、$1-實際的世界物件（Real World Object，RWO）URI（RWO URI）、$2-標目或用語來源（source of heading or term）、$4-關係（relationship）、$e-著作職責用語（relator term）與$i-關係資訊 （relationship information）。 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 62 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) 附錄二 MARC21權威資料格式有關LD的 相關欄號、欄位名稱與分欄對照表 欄號 欄 位 名 稱 分 欄 $0 $1 $2 $4 $e $i 024 Other Standard Identifier (R) ◎ ◎ ◎ 034 Coded Cartographic Mathematical Data (R) ◎ ◎ 043 Geographic Area Code ◎ ◎ 050 Library of Congress Call Number ◎ ◎ 052 Geographic Classification ◎ ◎ 055 Library and Archives Canada Call Number ◎ ◎ 060 National Library of Medicine Call Number ◎ ◎ 065 Other Classification Number ◎ ◎ 070 National Agricultural Library Call Number ◎ ◎ 075 Type of Entity ◎ ◎ 080 Universal Decimal Classification Number ◎ ◎ 087 Government Document Classification Number ◎ ◎ 260 Complex See Reference-Subject ◎ ◎ 336 Content Type ◎ ◎ 348 Format of Notated Music ◎ ◎ 360 Complex See Also Reference-Subject ◎ ◎ 368 Other Attributes of Person or Corporate Body ◎ ◎ 370 Associated Place ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 372 Field of Activity ◎ ◎ 373 Associated Group ◎ ◎ 374 Occupation ◎ ◎ 376 Family Information ◎ ◎ 377 Associated Language ◎ ◎ 380 Form of Work ◎ ◎ 381 Other Distinguishing Characteristics of Work or Expression ◎ ◎ 382 Medium of Performance ◎ ◎ 385 Audience Characteristics ◎ ◎ 386 Creator/Contributor Characteristics ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 388 Time Period of Creation ◎ ◎ 400 See From Tracing-Personal Name ◎ ◎ ◎ 410 See From Tracing-Corporate Name ◎ ◎ ◎ 411 See From Tracing-Meeting Name ◎ ◎ 430 See From Tracing-Uniform Title ◎ ◎ 448 See From Tracing-Chronological Term ◎ ◎ 450 See From Tracing-Topical Term ◎ ◎ 451 See From Tracing-Geographic Name ◎ ◎ 455 See From Tracing-Genre/Form Term ◎ ◎ 462 See From Tracing-Medium of Performance Term ◎ ◎ 480 See From Tracing-General Subdivision ◎ ◎ 481 See From Tracing-Geographic Subdivision ◎ ◎ 482 See From Tracing-Chronological Subdivision ◎ ◎ 485 See From Tracing-Form Subdivision ◎ ◎ 500 See Also From Tracing-Personal Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 63陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 欄號 欄 位 名 稱 分 欄 $0 $1 $2 $4 $e $i 510 See Also From Tracing-Corporate Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 511 See Also From Tracing-Meeting Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 530 See Also From Tracing-Uniform Title ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 547 See Also From Tracing-Named Event ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 548 See Also From Tracing-Chronological Term ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 550 See Also From Tracing-Topical Term ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 551 See Also From Tracing-Geographic Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 555 See Also From Tracing-Genre/Form Term ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 562 See Also From Tracing-Medium of Performance Term ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 580 See Also From Tracing-General Subdivision ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 581 See Also From Tracing-Geographic Subdivision ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 582 S e e A l s o F r o m T r a c i n g - C h r o n o l o g i c a l Subdivision ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 585 See Also From Tracing-Form Subdivision ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 672 Title Related to the Entity ◎ ◎ 673 Title Not Related to the Entity ◎ ◎ 700 Established Heading Linking Entry-Personal Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 710 Added Entry-Corporate Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 711 Established Heading Linking Entry-Corporate Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 730 Established Heading Linking Entry-Uniform Title ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 747 Established Heading Linking Entry-Named Even ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 748 Established Heading Linking Entry-Chronological Term ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 750 Established Heading Linking Entry-Topical Term ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 751 Established Heading Linking Entry-Geographic Name ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 755 Established Heading Linking Entry-Genre/Form Term ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 762 Established Heading Linking Entry-Medium of Performance Term ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 780 Subdivision Linking Entry-General Subdivision ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 781 S u b d i v i s i o n L i n k i n g E n t r y - G e o g r a p h i c Subdivision ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 782 S u b d i v i s i o n L i n k i n g E n t r y - C h r o n o l o g i c a l Subdivision ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 785 Subdivision Linking Entry-Form Subdivisio ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ ◎ 788 Complex Linking Entry Data ◎ ◎ 883 Machine-generated Metadata Provenance ◎ ◎ 885 Matching Information ◎ ◎ 註： 本文最後上網查證日期為2019年11月18日。分欄名稱分別是$0-權威記錄控制號或 標準號（authority record control number or standard number）、$1-實際的世界物件（Real World Object，RWO）URI（RWO URI）、$2-標目或用語來源（source of heading or term）、$4-關係（relationship）、$e-著作職責用語（relator term）與$i-關係資訊 （relationship information）。 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 64 教育資料與圖書館學 57 : 1 (2020) 附錄三 2筆MARC記錄 記錄範例1 LEADER 01330cam^a22003977a^4500 001 014616392 005 20160519094310.0 008 981203s1992^^^^ch^af^^^^^^^^^000^1^chi^d 020 $a9575453395 020 $a9789575453398 035 $a(OCoLC)213888776 035 $a(OCoLC)ocn213888776 040 $aCUT$beng$cCUT$dOCLCG$dOCLCO$dOCLCQ 041 1 $achi$heng 049 $aEYMG 066 $c$1 099 $aPR 4034 .P75 C5 1992 100 1 $aAusten, Jane,$d1775-1817. 240 1 0 $aPride and prejudice.$lChinese 245 1 0 $601$aAo man yu pian jian /$cZhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi]. 245 1 0 $601$a 傲慢與偏見 /$c 珍・奧斯汀著 ; [ 夏穎慧譯 ]. 250 $602$aZai ban. 250 $602$a 再版 . 260 $603$aTaibei Shi :$bZhi wen chu ban she,$c1992. 260 $603$a 台北市 :$b 志文出版社 ,$c 1992. 300 $a2, 428 pages, [4] pages of plates :$billustrations, portraits ;$c20 cm. 336 $atext$btxt$2rdacontent 337 $aunmediated$bn$2rdamedia 338 $avolume$bnc$2rdacarrier 490 0 $604$aXin chao shi jie ming zhu ;$v7 490 0 $604$a 新潮世界名著 ;|v 7 700 1 $605$aXia, Yinghui. 700 1 $605|a 夏穎慧 . 資料來源：University of Michigan Library. (2018). Ao man yu pian jian / Zhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi].傲慢與偏見 / 珍・奧斯汀 著 ; [夏穎慧譯]. https://search.lib.umich.edu/catalog/record/0146 16392?query=Ao+man+yu+pian+jian+Xia+Yinghui+yi&library=U- M+Ann+Arbor+Libraries。 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 65陳亞寧、温達茂：MARC21鏈結資料化的轉變與應用 記錄範例2 LEADER 01368cam a2200421 a 4500 001 9939511983503681 005 20180817000027.0 008 020813s2003 nyuab b 000 1 eng 010 $a 2002030162 020 $a0321105079 (pbk.) 035 $a(OCoLC)ocm50477169 035 $a(OCoLC)50477169 035 $a3951198 035 $a(PU)3951198-penndb-Voyager 040 $aDLC$cDLC$dC#P$dBAKER 043 $ae-uk-en$0http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/geographicAreas/e-uk- en$2marcgac 049 $aPAUU 050 0 0 $aPR4034$b.P7 2003 082 0 0 $a823/.7$221 100 1 $aAusten, Jane,$d1775-1817. 240 1 0 $aPride and prejudice 245 1 0 $aJane Austen’s Pride and prejudice /$cedited by Claudia L. Johnson, Susan J. Wolfson. 260 $aNew York :$bLongman,$cc2003. 300 $axxxv, 459 p. :$bill., map ;$c21 cm. 440 2 $aA Longman cultural edition 504 $aIncludes bibliographical references (p. 455-459). 600 1 0 $aAusten, Jane,$d1775-1817.$tPride and prejudice. 650 0 $aSocial classes$vFiction. 650 0 $aYoung women$vFiction. 650 0 $aCourtship$vFiction. 650 0 $aSisters$vFiction. 651 0 $aEngland$vFiction. 655 7 $aDomestic fiction.$2lcsh 655 7 $aLove stories.$2gsafd 700 1 $aJohnson, Claudia L. 700 1 $aWolfson, Susan J.,$d1948- 938 $aBaker & Taylor$bBKTY$c8.60$d8.60$i0321105079$n0004069995 $sactive 994 $aC0$bPAU 資料來源：Penn Libraries. (n.d.). Jane Austen’s Pride and prejudice / edited by Claudia L. Johnson, Susan J. Wolfson. https://franklin.library.upenn. edu/catalog/FRANKLIN_9939511983503681。 http://joemls.tku.edu.tw Journal of Educational Media & Library Sciences 57 : 1 (2020) : 35-72 DOI:10.6120/JoEMLS.202003_57(1).0045.RS.AM R es ea rc h A rt ic le A Study on MARC21 Transformation and Application for Linked Data Ya-Ning Chena* Dar-maw Wenb Abstract MARC has been accepted as a standard format for information interchange in libraries for decades. Owing to the outdated format, MARC is unknown and unused outside of libraries. Moving to the era of semantic web, the technology of linked data (LD) is regarded as a new approach to deconstruct library bibliographic data (LBD) into LD for libraries. It is deserved to examine what approach has been adopted to extend MARC into LD and its potential benefits. This study has analyzed MARC proposals and discussion papers related to LD as a basis to investigate what changes have been approved for MARC since 2006 of the LD initiative. Furthermore, eight use cases selected from two MARC records and an instance of one MARC proposal respectively were employed to address how MARC changes have been transformed MARC-based LBD into LD in practice by combining classes and properties of BIBFRAME a n d R DA bibliographic ontology. Consequently, it reveals th at R DF ’s triplification has been integrated as part of MARC successfully. Therefore, M A RC is not only a standard for communication and representation of bibliographic and related information, but also one for LD in libraries. Related issues to fundamental definition of bibliographic entity defined in MARC proposals for LD have also discussed. Keywords: MARC, Linked data, BIBFRAME, RDA ontology, RDFization SUMMARY Introduction M A c h i n e R e a d a b l e C a t a l o g i n g ( M A R C ) h a s b e e n a d o p t e d a s a n international standard for information organization, especially for exchanging and sharing information between library automated systems. As information heads increasingly towards cyberization and digitization, search engines have become an essential tool for finding networked information resources on the Internet. Owing to an outdated format, MARC is not known in non-library domains and sectors. Most MARC-based information are embedded in proprietary library automated systems exists as an information silo owing to the isolation from coverage of a Associate Professor, Department of Information and Library Science, Tamkang University, New Taipei City, Taiwan b Chief Knowledge Officer, Flysheet Technologies Co., Ltd., Taipei, Taiwan * To whom all correspondence should be addressed. E-mail: arthur@gms.tku.edu.tw The Author acknowledges that the Article is distributed under a Creative Commons CC BY-NC 4.0. http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 67Chen & Wen: A Study on MARC21 Transformation and Application for Linked Data search engines (Lagace, 2014). On the other hand, Linked Data (LD), initiated by Tim Berners-Lee (2006), has been used as an approach to transform a web of documents into a web of data through URI naming and linking with related resources in an open networked environment. According to the investigation of Linked Open Data Cloud, “bibliography of publications” is one of the categories and shows the significance of library bibliographic information in the domain of LD. However, LD has gained attention from libraries to transform legacy library data into LD and explore its potential applications through the adoption of LD related technologies and tools. Basically LD is data centric for data design (Di Noia et al., 2016). One of the key points of LD is to employ ontology as a basis for data modeling to delineate the relationships between individual LD (Hyland et al., 2014; Hyland & Villazón-Terrazas, 2011). It is encouraged to reuse existing authoritative vocabularies that are in widespread usage to describe common types of data (Villazón-Terrazas et al., 2011). Although the Functional Requirements for Bibliographic Records (FRBR) and the Bibliographic Framework (BIBFRAME) are conceptual models, actually they are regarded as ontologies for libraries in practice. For example, the National Library and Archive of IRAN (NLAI; Eslami & Vaghefzadeh, 2013), Biblioteca Nacional de España (BNE; Vila-Suero & Gómez-Pérez, 2013; Vila-Suero et al., 2012) and Bibliothèque nationale de France (2018) have used FRBR as an ontology for LD transformation, whereas cases of Linked Data for Production (LD4P) have employed BIBFRAME as an ontology to address issues related to LD transformation. Furthermore, vocabularies and their relationships of BIBFRAME and RDA ontology have been assigned URI maintained by the LC and RDA Registry, respectively. Therefore, these two bibliographic ontologies FRBR and BIBFRAME both have conformed to the requirements of ontology defined by Berners-Lee et al. (2001) for the semantic web. There is no doubt that MARC is still employed to organize information by many library automated systems around the world. As a matter of fact, libraries have encountered the hybrid requirements for MARC and LD at the same time. Meaning that libraries must not only to transform MARC into LD, but also include external LD resources into library automated systems to migrate user’s information navigation into LD driven resource discovery. It is of interest to know what changes have made to MARC and their applications in practice in accordance with the aforementioned hybrid requirements for inclusion of LD. Literature Review Totally 18 MARC documents (14 proposals and four discussion papers) published since the term LD was coined in 2006 were selected to investigate the revisions of MARC for LD implemented applications, including subfields $0, http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 68 Journal of Educational Media & Library Sciences 57 : 1 (2020) $1, $2, $4, $e, $i, and tag 758. Furthermore, in this study, we checked against two online documents (MARC21 Format for Bibliographic Data (MFBD) and MARC21 Format for Authority Data (MFAD) to collate related MARC subfields and tags for LD applications. Methodology First, MFBD and MFAD were selected as target subjects to examine how MARC implements related LD subfields and tags in practice. Then RDF triplification was performed for MARC. In other words, subfield a of tag 245 in MFBD and subfield a of tag 110 in MFAD were regarded as the subject of RDF, $4 was regarded as the predicate of RDF, and $0 or $1 both of MFBD and MFAD were regarded as the object of RDF. Conversely, $0 or $1 both of MFBD and MFAD were regarded as the subject of RDF, subfield a of tag 245 in MFBD and subfield a of tag 110 in MFAD as the object of RDF, and $4 still as the predicate of RDF. Third, vocabularies defined by BIBFRAME and RDA ontology were used as the predicate of RDF during transforming MARC to LD. Eight use cases derived from two MFBD records offered by the University of Michigan Ann Arbor Library and the University of Pennsylvania Libraries WebPACs, as well as instances of the aforementioned MARC documents addressed in the literature review section were employed to investigate how $0, $1, $2, $4, $e, $i and tag 758 were used to extend MARC to LD in detail. The eight use cases included the following relationships: authorship, work’s uniform title, publisher, content/media/ carrier, translator, subject, instance/manifestation, and organization and individual person. Lastly, each use case was provided with a summarized table to illustrate the distinction between the original MARC and RDFized MARC instance with vocabularies of selected bibliographic ontology (i.e., BIBFRAME and RDA ontology) in accordance with RDF’s triple statement and their RDF graphs respectively. Discussion MARC is addressed from the following perspectives: • In terms of LD linkage, MARC can be enriched through by internal enrichment to aggregate external LD resources. • In terms of information exchange, MARC21 is not only a format for information interchange and sharing, but also an exchange format for sharing MARC-based LD information between library automated systems. • In terms of application of ontology, MARC21 has become a data container of bibliographic ontology (such as BIBFRAME and RDA ontology), and is also a carrier to reify bibliographic ontology into practice. • In terms of use cases, one of RDF’s triplification approaches was used by MARC, that is, subfield a of tag 245 in MFBD and subfield a of tag http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 69Chen & Wen: A Study on MARC21 Transformation and Application for Linked Data 110 in MFAD are regarded as the subject of RDF, and $0 or $1 both of MFBD and MFAD as the object of RDF. On the contrary, it will be worth knowing whether the opposite RDF’ triplification approach and syntax (i.e., $0 or $1 both of MFBD and MFAD are regarded as RDF’s subject, and subfield a of tag 245 in MFBD and subfield a of tag 110 in MFAD as RDF’s object) is a workable approach for MARC in the future. • According to examination of eight use cases in this study, the ‘bibliographic entity’ of subfield a of tag 245 in MFBD has stood for various entities including work and instance in BIBFRAME, or work, expression and manifestation in RDA ontology. It has revealed there is a need for a reasonable definition for subfield a of tag 245 in MFBD when libraries adopt LD related MARC subfields and tags. In terms of structure of BIBFRAME and RDA ontology, it often needs more than two RDF triples statements to complete the semantic relationships between two individual LD resources. According to the illustration of eight use cases, one may find that MARC has employed one RDF triple statement to delineate the semantic relationships rather than a complete set of RDF triples, for example the relationships between BIBFRAME’s instance/RDA’s manifestation and publisher. Indeed a practical guideline is needed to direct libraries about how to select the appropriate BIBFRAME or RDA vocabularies to build up the semantic relationships between LD resources. Conclusion According to an analysis of MARC proposals and discussion papers focused on LD and eight use cases, it can be seen that related MARC subfields and tags have been revised to integrate the RDF data model and syntax. Thus external LD resources can be aggregated into part of MARC by enrichment. Furthermore, MARC is not only an international format for sharing bibliographic information, but also a container for exchanging MARC-based LD information in libraries. It would be interesting to know whether RDF-based MARC subfields and tags will be applied to other ontologies in addition to BIBFRAME and RDA ontology. ROMANIZED & TRANSLATED REFERENCE FOR ORIGINAL TEXT Berners-Lee, T. (2006). Linked data: Design issue. https://www.w3.org/DesignIssues/ LinkedData.html Berners-Lee, T., Hendler, J., & Lassila, O. (2001). The semantic web. Scientific American, 284(5), 35-43. Bibliothèque Nationale de France. (2018). Open data. data.bnf.fr. https://data.bnf.fr/en/opendata Casalini, M. (2017, August 15-17). BIBFRAME and Linked Data practices for the stewardship of research knowledge [Paper presentation]. IFLA Satellite Meeting 2017: Digital http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 70 Journal of Educational Media & Library Sciences 57 : 1 (2020) Humanities, Berlin, Germany. https://dh-libraries.sciencesconf.org/132918/document Chen, Y.-N. (2017). A review of practices for transforming library legacy records into linked open data. In E. Garoufallou, S. Virkus, R. Siatri, & D. Koutsomiha (Eds.), Metadata and semantic research: 11th International Conference, MTSR 2017 Tallinn, Estonia, November 28 – December 1, 2017 Proceedings (pp. 123-133). Springer. https://doi. org/10.1007/978-3-319-70863-8_12 Cole, T. W., Han, M.-J., Weathers, W. F., & Joyner, E. (2013). Library marc records into linked open data: Challenges and opportunities. Journal of Library Metadata, 13(2-3), 163-196. https://doi.org/10.1080/19386389.2013.826074 Deliot, C. (2014). Publishing the British National Bibliography as linked open data. Catalogue & Index 174, 13-18. http://www.bl.uk/bibliographic/pdfs/publishing_bnb_as_lod.pdf Deliot, C., Wilson, N., Costabello, L., & Vandenbussche, P.-Y. (2016, October 13-16). The British National Bibliography: Who uses our linked data? [Paper presentation]. 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W3C. https://dvcs.w3.org/hg/gld/raw-file/cb6dde2928e7/bp/index.html Hyland, B., & Villazón-Terrazas, B. (2011, 15 March). Linked data cookbook. W3C. https:// www.w3.org/2011/gld/wiki/Linked_Data_Cookbook Lagace, N. (2014). Pre-standards initiatives: Bibliographic roadmap and altmetrics. Information Standard Quarterly, 26(3), 23-26. https://doi.org/10.3789/isqv26no3.2014.06 Lampert, C. K., & Southwick, S. B. (2013). Leading to linking: Introducing linked data to academic library digital collections. Journal of Library Metadata, 13(2-3), 230-253. https://doi.org/10.1080/19386389.2013.826095 Library of Congress. (1998). MARC proposal no. 1998-10. Library of Congress. https://www. loc.gov/marc/marbi/1998/98-10.html Library of Congress. (2009). MARC proposal no. 2009-06/1. https://www.loc.gov/marc/ marbi/2009/2009-06-1.html Library of Congress. (2010). MARC proposal no. 2010-06. https://www.loc.gov/marc/ marbi/2010/2010-06.html Library of Congress. (2015). 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LD4P grant proposal. https://wiki.duraspace.org/display/ LD4P/LD4P+Grant+Proposal Malmsten, M. (2008, September 22-26). Making a library catalogue part of the semantic web [Paper presentation]. International Conference on Dublin Core and Metadata Applications 2008, Berlin, Germany. http://dcpapers.dublincore.org/pubs/article/view/927/923 Malmsten, M. (2009). Exposing library data as linked data. In Proceedings of IFLA WLIC 2009. http://disi.unitn.it/~bernardi/Courses/DL/Slides_10_11/linked_data_libraries.pdf McCrae, J. P. (2019). The linked open data cloud: Subclouds by domain. https://lod-cloud. net/#about Network Development and MARC Standards Office. (2006). Mapping of MARC data elements to FRBR and AACR. In Functional Analysis of the MARC 21 Bibliographic and Holdings Formats (Rev. ed.). http://www.loc.gov/marc/marc-functional-analysis/source/table3.pdf Penn Libraries. (n.d.). Jane Austen’s Pride and prejudice / edited by Claudia L. Johnson, Susan J. Wolfson. https://franklin.library.upenn.edu/catalog/FRANKLIN_9939511983503681http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 72 Journal of Educational Media & Library Sciences 57 : 1 (2020) Possemato, T. (2018). How RDA is essential in the reconciliation and conversion processes for quality Linked Data. JLIS.it, 9(1), 48-60. https://doi.org/10.4403/jlis.it-12447 RDA Steering Committee. (2019). Frequently Asked Questions. RDA Registry. https://www. rdaregistry.info/rgFAQ Santos, R., Manchado, A., & Vila-Suero, D. (2015, August 15-21). Datos.bne.es: A LOD service and a FRBR-modelled access into the library collections [Paper presentation]. IFLA World Library and Information Congress: 81st IFLA General Conference and Assembly. Cape Town, South Africa. http://library.ifla.org/1085/1/207-santos-en.pdf Schreur, P. (2015). Implications of a linked data transition: Stanford University’s projects and plans. http://www.lib.berkeley.edu/catalog_dept/sites/drupal7.lib.berkeley.edu.catalog_ dept/files/Implications%20of%20a%20Linked%20Data%20Transition.docx SHARE-VDE. (n.d.). http://share-vde.org/sharevde/docBibframe/Work/139617-12 Simon, A., Wenz, R., Michel, V., & Di Mascio, A. (2013). Publishing bibliographic records on the web of data: Opportunities for the BnF (French National Library). In P. Cimiano, O. Corcho, V. Presutti, L. Hollink, & S. Rudolph (Eds.), The Semantic Web: Semantics and Big Data. ESWC 2013: 10th International Conference, ESWC 2013, Montpellier, France, May 26- 30, 2013. Proceedings (pp. 563-577). Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-642-38288-8_38 Smith-Yoshimura, K. (2016). Analysis of international linked data survey for implementers. D-Lib Magazine, 22(7-8). https://doi.org/10.1045/july2016-smith-yoshimura Smith-Yoshimura, K. (2018a). Analysis of 2018 international linked data survey for implementer. Code4lib Journal, 42. https://journal.code4lib.org/articles/13867 Smith-Yoshimura, K. (2018b). What metadata managers expect from and value about the research library partnership. Hanging Together. http://hangingtogether.org/?p=6683 Southwick, S. B. (2015). A guide for transforming digital collections metadata into linked data using open source technologies. Journal of Library Metadata, 15(1), 1-35. https://doi.org /10.1080/19386389.2015.1007009 Suominen, O., & Hyvönen, N. (2017). From MARC silos to linked data silos? O-Bib. Das Offene Bibliotheksjournal, 4(2), 1-13. https://doi.org/10.5282/o-bib/2017H2S1-13 University of Michigan Library. (2018). Ao man yu pian jian / Zhen, Aositing zhu ; [Xia Yinghui yi].傲慢與偏見 / 珍．奧斯汀著 ; [夏穎慧譯]. https://search.lib.umich.edu/ catalog/record/014616392?query=Ao+man+yu+pian+jian+Xia+Yinghui+yi&library=U- M+Ann+Arbor+Libraries Vila-Suero, D., & Gómez-Pérez, A. (2013). datos.bne.es and MARiMbA: An insight into library linked data. Library Hi Tech, 31(4), 575-601. https://doi.org/10.1108/LHT-03-2013-0031 Vila-Suero, D., Villazón-Terrazas, B., & Gómez-Pérez, A. (2012). datos.bne.es: A library linked data dataset. Semantic Web, 4(3), 307-313. https://doi.org/10.3233/SW-120094 Villazón-Terrazas, Vilches-Blázquez, L. M., Corcho, O., & Gómez-Pérez. (2011). Methodological guidelines for publishing government linked data. In D. Wood (Ed.), Linking government data (pp. 27-49). Springer. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4614-1767-5_2 Wenz, R. (2013). Linked open data for new library services: The example of data.bnf.fr. JLIS.it, 4(1), 403-415. https://doi.org/10.4403/jlis.it-5509 Ya-Ning Chen 0000-0001-7598-1139 Dar-maw Wen 0000-0003-1525-4815http://joemls.tku.edu.tw 35-72.pdf Journal of Educational Media & Library Sciences http://joemls.tku.edu.tw Vol. 57 , no. 1 (2020) : 35-72 
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work_edufvcpngjcr5o7kdvcszxk2xe	----	78 REVIEWS a similar canoeing accident. The deaths of Grinnell's sons have no connection with the events of the 1950s barrenlands trip, but, as one might well imagine, those deaths three decades later did give Grinnell pause to rethink his own earlier experience. This much is history, one might say, and should have no bearing on our evaluation of the artistry of the book. But it is the realization of Grinnell's 40-year struggle to tell this story of growth — and the loss that always accompanies growth — that forges the undeniable emotional link be- tween author and reader. Writing the book had, no doubt, a crucial therapeutic effect on Grinnell. And while A death on the barrens adheres to few of those classical unities Aristotle lauded in Greek tragedy, the bond of humanity any reader must feel through Grinnell's troubled effort to share his loss creates a great deal of empathy in the reader. I am indeed a more complete person for having read this book, and one wonders if a book can ever achieve a higher end. (Richard C. Davis, Department of English, Univer- sity of Calgary, 2500 University Drive NW, Calgary, Alberta T2N 1N4, Canada.) THE FROZEN ECHO: GREENLAND AND THE EXPLORATION OF NORTH AMERICA, ca AD 1000-1500. Kirsten A. Seaver. 1996. Stanford: Stanford University Press, xviii + 407 p, illustrated, hard cover. ISBN 0-8047-2514-4. £40.00. It must be stated straightaway that this work is a major achievement. The author has tackled difficult questions concerning the nature of Norse settlement in Greenland. She has also examined the relationships between those settlements and the exploration and exploitation of North America and of the North Atlantic by other Europeans, most notably the English and Portuguese. A central question is, of course, what was the cause, or what were the causes, that led to the extinction of the Greenland colo- nies? The author uses a kaleidoscopic variety of sources, and approaches the questions she has set for herself from the point of view of different disciplines. The sources include historical texts, many in Scandinavian languages, and also the results of archaeological and cartographical studies. The book is divided into two parts. Firstly, there is a detailed study of North Atlantic exploration by the Norse, with an exhaustive analysis of the economic, social, and ecclesiastical conditions of the Greenland colonies. This is followed by an examination of the official and unofficial maritime efforts in the North Atlantic by, for example, the Bristol merchants and of the impact of these on Greenland. The author's central conclusion relating to the fate of the Greenland colonists is that: ...both circumstantial evidence and common sense suggest that the Greenlanders, who had so clearly taken active part in the North Atlantic economic community throughout the fifteenth century, had remained oppor- tunists to the end and joined the early-sixteenth-cen- tury European surge toward North America. As noted, the range and breadth of the author's sources are breath-taking and the sheer diligence with which she has tackled them is an example to all who undertake historical study. Each of her chapters is a comprehensive analysis of its subject, and they inter-relate well. The totality of the work is a very impressive contribution on a difficult topic. However, the book is, in some respects, poorly written. The author, in her acknowledgements, comments on the input of her editor, and one feels that the work would have had a more consistent style if the editing had been either more or less rigorous. In places, the author's approach is journalistic, and the uneasy juxtaposition of styles makes for uneven reading. Some of the writing is unfortunate. The first sentence of the acknowledgements — 'It is a truth universally acknowledged that anyone writing a book must be in need of a supportive spouse' — caused this reviewer to wince. One may wonder if the author is aware that Jane Austen was in fact single! Other examples are: 'The cresting wave of European exploration slammed onto the shores of the Americas' (page 254), and the comment that John Cabot 'would try to go Columbus one better' (page 265). A further deficiency is the illustrations. The maps are adequate as far as they go, but it seems curious that the overall map of the North Atlantic, relevant to the entire argument of the book, is less than half a page in size and is relegated to page 215. The maps of the Greenland settle- ments are excellent, but the reproductions of contempo- rary maps and charts are on so reduced a scale as to make them of little use. The photographs of areas in the Green- land settlements, in particular those on pages 10 and 20, give little useful support to the text. Those of archaelogical relics are much better and have been carefully selected. To sum up, a worthy effort, and one that will be required reading for those with specialised interests in the period and area. However, with a more even style and consistent editing, a better book could have been pro- duced, which might have served the needs both of special- ists and of the more general reader. Sadly, this is not the book to do this. (Ian R. Stone, Tartu University, Ulikooli 18, Tartu, Estonia.) TO THE ARCTIC BY CANOE 1819-1821: THE JOURNAL AND PAINTINGS OF ROBERT HOOD, MIDSHIPMAN WITH FRANKLIN. C. Stuart Houston (Editor). 1995. Montreal, Kingston, London, Buffalo: McGill-Queen's University Press, xxxvi + 217 p, illus- trated, soft cover. ISBN 0-7735-1222-5. £13.95. ARCTIC ORDEAL: THE JOURNAL OF JOHN RICHARDSON, SURGEON-NATURALIST WITH FRANKLIN, 1820-1822. C. Stuart Houston (Editor). 1995. Montreal, Kingston, London, Buffalo: McGill- Queen's University Press, xxxiv + 349 p, illustrated, soft cover. ISBN 0-7735-1223-3. £13.95. Unquestionably one of the most significant exploring efforts of the nineteenth century was the Arctic Land Expedition of 1819-1822, under the command of Lieuten- ant John Franklin. Not only was it the first expedition to REVIEWS 79 explore large parts of the north coast of the North Ameri- can mainland, its members also made detailed scientific observations and recordings and compiled extensive col- lections of botanical, zoological, and geological interest. The expedition also launched the career of three of the most famous and influential polar explorers of the first half of the century: Franklin, John Richardson, and George Back. And, perhaps most importantly, the extreme hard- ships of the journey led to tragedy and the deaths of 11 of its 20 members. These calamities were, in turn, so well- publicised that they became major factors in developing the popular images of the Arctic that flourished throughout the western world for much of the rest of the century. This despite the fact that the only first-hand published account of the expedition for a century and a half was Franklin's long and tedious Narrative of a journey to the shores of the Polar Sea (Franklin 1823). Several years ago, Stuart Houston of the University of Saskatchewan completed a remarkable academic labour that had taken him more than two decades: editing, annotating, and introducing the journals and other expedi- tion materials of the three naval officers serving under Franklin. As opposed to Franklin's book, which had been designed for reading by the British lay public, each of these journals was an official document, written without the concern of what the public might think. Thus, each of the three volumes that Houston edited opened up new vistas in understanding the expedition, not only because the use of the journals allowed differing, more personal perspectives on previously recorded events, as well as insights into the specific individuals recording those events, but because the men were at times separated and therefore were writing about different occurrences in different times. This trilogy was further increased in significance with the recent pub- lication of Franklin's own official journals and corre- spondence (Davis 1995), an effort that expanded and deepened the understanding of both the expedition and its leader's perceptions. These two volumes are the initial paperback editions of the first two volumes of Houston's masterly trio, both of which have long been out of print and have become hard- to-find and very expensive commodities. Released fol- lowing the publication of Houston's volume on the expe- dition materials of George Back (Houston 1994), and almost in sync with Davis' Franklin opus, these two books allow polar scholars who were not on the scene a decade or two ago to complete the cycle of primary publications about the Arctic Land Expedition. To the Arctic by canoe records the journal entries of Midshipman Robert Hood, an astute observer of both nature and mankind, and a very talented artist as well. Unfortunately, Hood's writings — which showed an im- pressive understanding not only of his naval colleagues but of North American native peoples and their relationships to both their environment and the steadily encroaching onslaught of men of European descent — ended prema- turely, because he was killed by a voyageur on the return south from the Arctic coast. Houston has combined Hood's journals with extensive background information, annotation, and commentary on Hood's paintings, a number of which are reproduced in the book. Arctic ordeal — presenting the journal of Richardson, the expedition naturalist — is a more involved work, as it required not only a detailed introduction and careful com- mentary on the journal, but extensive annotation about Richardson's many and varied scientific observations, including those on geology, botany, birds, and land and water wildlife. However, by carefully editing together Richardson's journals and his official report, Houston has managed, despite his attention to historical accuracy and the presentation of a mass of scientific detail, to make the book flow with the excitement usually reserved for a less scholarly publication. These two books legitimately received extensive praise when they were first published. Now that the final of the three works has also made a positive impact on polar community, those who value polar scholarship should be grateful to McGill-Queen's for making the first two acces- sible again. (Beau Riffenburgh, Scott Polar Research Institute, University of Cambridge, Lensfield Road, Cam- bridge CB2 1ER.) References Davis, R.C. (editor). 1995. Sir John Franklin's journals and correspondence: the first Arctic Land Expedition, 1819- 1822. Toronto: The Champlain Society. Franklin, J. 1823. Narrative of ajourney to the shores of the Polar Sea in the years 1819, 20, 21, and 22. London: John Murray. Houston, C.S. (editor). 1994. Arctic artist: the journal and paintings of George Back, midshipman with Franklin. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen's University Press. PAST GLACIAL ENVIRONMENTS: SEDIMENTS, FORMS AND TECHNIQUES. John Menzies (Editor). 1996. Oxford: Butterworth Heinemann. xxiv + 598 p, illustrated, soft cover. ISBN 0-7506-2352-7. £40.00. Past glacial environments represents an attempt to sum- marise what is currently understood about the various aspects of glacial geology with respect to the Pleistocene and pre-Pleistocene glaciations. The book consists of 17 chapters that have been written (and co-written) by 18 contributors. Subject matter varies widely, from sedimen- tary analysis of glacigenic geology, to descriptions of laboratory techniques used to make such analysis possible. The volume is edited by John Menzies and is intended for use as an undergraduate-level text book. It is therefore assumed that the reader possesses some previous knowl- edge about glaciology and glacial-geology. This text book claims to offer a great deal. There is certainly a place in the market for an all-encompassing undergraduate text relating to the glacial-geology of ice- age activity. However, after initial examination of the book, one becomes quickly disappointed with it. The main reason for this is that it has no obvious structure. Certainly the book has an 'aims and objectives' section at the start, 
work_efzexg6qxzdk3pqto7xibbq4ri	----	Review: Still Hungry in America, by Thomas J. Ward, Jr. | Gastronomica | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Gastronomica Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Advertisers Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 20, Issue 1 Spring 2020 Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Book Review| February 01 2020 Review: Still Hungry in America, by Thomas J. Ward, Jr. Still Hungry in America Photographs by Al Clayton, Text by Robert Coles, Introduction by Edward M. Kennedy, New Foreword by Thomas J. Ward, Jr.Athens :  University of Georgia Press ,  2018 136 pp. 101 photographs. $32.95 (paper) Shannon Thomas Perich Shannon Thomas Perich National Museum of American History, Washington, DC Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Gastronomica (2020) 20 (1): 95–96. https://doi.org/10.1525/gfc.2020.20.1.95 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Shannon Thomas Perich; Review: Still Hungry in America, by Thomas J. Ward, Jr.. Gastronomica 1 February 2020; 20 (1): 95–96. doi: https://doi.org/10.1525/gfc.2020.20.1.95 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Gastronomica Search This content is only available via PDF. © 2020 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Please direct all requests for permission to photocopy or reproduce article content through the University of California Press's Reprints and Permissions web page, https://www.ucpress.edu/journals/reprints-permissions. 2020 Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Review: Still Hungry in America, by Thomas J. Ward, Jr.' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Review: Still Hungry in America, by Thomas J. Ward, Jr. Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Lunch Interrupted! COVID-19 and Japan’s School Meals “If you haven’t shaoguo’ed, you haven’t eaten”: Sensorial Landscapes of Belonging in the Kitchens of Rural China “Muita Galinha, Pouco Ovo”: Food, COVID-19, and the Screen That Separates Us Editorial Letter Contributors Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians Info for Advertisers About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1533-8622 Print ISSN 1529-3262 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
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work_eivylmgy4nattj3heys43mbn3e	----	Journal ofMedical Ethics 1999;25:47-50 Teaching medical ethics Do studies of the nature of cases mislead about the reality of cases? A response to Pattison et al Roger Higgs King's College, London Abstract This article questions whether many are misled by current case studies. Three broad types of style of case study are described. A stark style, based on medical case studies, a fictionalised style in reaction, and a personal statement made in discussion groups by an original protagonist. Only the second type fits Pattison's category.' Language remains an important issue, but to be examined as the case is lived in discussion rather than as a potentially reductionist study of the case as text. (journal ofMedical Ethics 1999;25:47-50) Keywords: Case ethics; methods in ethics education; problem-based learning; literature; narrative Discussion of cases is a key part of teaching and learning in medical ethics. So questions raised about the nature of cases (in the sense of the form in which they are presented) and about how this nature may alter learning or analytic outcome are important to answer. Since the educational process in applied ethics is usually at one remove from the real-life problem area it examines, an element of unreality is inevitable. But how great an element is acceptable or desirable? Pattison et al believe they see in the format of ethics cases a deliberate artifice which may mislead, and per- haps at some level is intended to do so. If this is true, not only should discussants be alert to it, they should also be able to make allowances for it and correct for it, like riding a bicycle with the handlebars askew: they might even ask about the morality of it. Pattison's article suggests the back- ground to such bias, and offers a way to approach such cases, which is drawn from literary criticism. The discussant, it seems, is no longer dealing with simply reported fact, but a subtle combination of fact and fiction. "Faction", as this is sometimes called, already suggests the purposive and poten- tially polemical nature Caveat lector. of such constructions. Cases in reality What is the reality of this assertion? How often do we find this happening, and in what sorts of ways or situations? The authors suggest that such cases should be seen as literary text, a "woven" form of words which goes beyond mere statement or report. We assume, given the plethora of examples available, that they would show how this happens; even if not, in limited space, how often. That they do not should not put us offbut as they themselves suggest should alert us to what has been left out. The answer is of course available elsewhere. Most textbooks of medical ethics quote cases to illustrate the moral points made in the book,2 and some do so as the main way of driving the argument forward.3 Some books have been created almost entirely out of case material.4 The Journal of Medical Ethics has published cases as Case conferences and At the coalface: medical ethics in practice. Case material in teaching projects may be more difficult to reference, but a similar pattern is found, as is suggested: some cases may be offered to capture the attention, but some are the direct substrate of the teaching. But when teaching follows the format of small group learning, case discussion is almost inevitable and the cases then presented are probably the "originals" of much of the printed material. So we see there is probably a spectrum of case types. Some cases are offered in dry medical fash- ion, or in harmony with cases from legal text: "JR was a 54-year-old male, presenting to the doctor with chest pain". Some are set out in much more of a readable and interactive format: "John R was very anxious when he first got chest pain, as his Dad had died when he was about that age; so he wasted no time in going down to see his doctor to get it sorted out". The third type, usually o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jm e .b m j.co m / J M e d E th ics: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm e .2 5 .1 .4 7 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jme.bmj.com/ 48 Teaching medical ethics: Do studies of the nature of cases mislead about the reality of cases? A response to Pattison et al presented personally in case discussions by a par- ticipant asked to offer material for discussion, would go differently: "Yes, I'd like to present a case from yesterday's clinic. Mr R is a middle-aged man-just about the same age as me, actually- who came in with what seemed to be a minor epi- sode of an ache in the chest but which he presented with such great agitation that he made me feel anxious too." Three basic types may be too few. No doubt different sorts of examples could be presented with almost infinite variation. But this triptych serves its primitive purpose in giving some real text for us to work on. (Readers who are looking for the ethical content will have to read on in their imagination.) The case accusative? In the first example ("JR"), we do seem a long way from literature, even if it is undeniably read as text in its sense of written material. But what this thin sort of piece does, by revealing its underlying skel- etal structure, as it were, is to recall its origins. These lie not in literature but in medicine, or perhaps in law. Health care ethics achieved its cur- rent effective position in professional education by starting where professionals were; that is, thinking about real cases. Although much medical progress is now made in the laboratory and a long way from the sick, this has only relatively recently been so. For years advances in medicine and nursing were made by describing how patients suffered as a rationale for treatment (however misguided). The realities of the categories thus created-illnesses, diseases, syndromes-can be challenged, and there is a whole literature on "disease as social construct". But constructed they were (and are) as cases, in a formalised (or even formalinised) fashion, to test whether they fitted in allopathic medicine a gener- alisable and therefore a potentially diagnosable and even treatable shape. "Caseness" has re-emerged in areas like psychiatry to determine, for instance the difference between someone depressed and some- one sad (or in love). This process creates something stark and cold: it is hard to recognise the person in it. "Am I really like that?" said one of my patients reading his hospital discharge summary. The young Wilfred Owen spelt it out in a letter home to his mother from the parish near Reading two years before the outbreak of war: " . . . a gentle little girl of five, fast sinking under Consumption- contracted after chicken pox. Isn't it pitiable ... This, I suppose is only a typical case: one of so many Cases! 0 hard word! How it savours of rigid frigid professionalism! How it suggests smooth and polished, formal, labelled, mechanical callousness!"' Owen may have been privately cre- ating literature, but what he described was an affront, an injustice, possibly even in his eyes an evil, not just in the reality of the death of the child but the way in which doctors would (and probably did) describe her. Yes, from the Pattison checklist in the medical case something has been left out, for sure, but it is actually the range and wealth of emotional responses and relationships which we should want there in normal descriptive speech. If a mother described her child in the manner of Owen's doctor, we should worry about her psychological state. So perhaps we are right to worry about medical ethics cases presented like this: but not because they are full of literary arti- fice. The case evocative? The second type of presentation ("John R") may be in reaction to just this type of presentation. In the stark "JR" type we see professional simplifica- tion at work, and we are familiar with it. As patients we describe what bothers us to our general practitioner (GP), and if a referral is needed she frames it in a certain way for the spe- cialist to read. We may have tested our story with a friend before we even got to the GP, and had it subtly altered. Symptoms could likewise be seen as language either understood or misinterpreted by their "owner" (interestingly, this is a concept which seems to have been adopted by literary criticism in phrases like "symptomatic places"6). At each stage someone takes a view. There is no "view from nowhere".7 In this sense, health care reality is reality; but it bothers us. No one who thinks for more than a second is deceived. The case diminishes the person, as indeed it is intended to, just as the green towels on the oper- ating table hide the human figure. Here is a time for objectivity and a focus on the body alone. But without being able subsequently to change our distance and involvement, to move the power of the microscope, as it were, in our way of relating, thinking and describing, we are stuck in a distant and uninvolved view of other people which medi- cal ethics can hardly condone. Something has to be done to remind professionals about the person beyond the case. There are all sorts of techniques. One of them is to "write up" the style and create the "thick" case. There are dangers here too. We release more highly charged words and suggest feelings which may muddy or stir up the water. It may be like dangerous rafting. So we avoid the Charybdis of callousness only to get sucked into the Scylla of false artifice. Or do we? Some authors of case books acknowledge that a fictional process has gone on. "Story" is a word often used in describing this sort of style.8 "However fictional they may be in their o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jm e .b m j.co m / J M e d E th ics: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm e .2 5 .1 .4 7 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jme.bmj.com/ Higgs 49 particulars, these cases are intended to raise the kinds of ethical dilemmas we confront in the real world of medical practice and research" reads the introduction to one of the best known series of case studies.9 Why should this change of style be necessary? We may acknowledge one reason, the attempt to engage our "limited sympathies", which Geoffrey Warnock so aptly described as "the object of morality".'0 Another reason is "the familiar issue of confidentiality" which perhaps should not be dismissed so lightly. There are many players in the drama, but it is clear that many of the important issues arise from lack of sympathy between them, especially a misunderstanding between professional and patient. A counsel of perfection here would certainly be to engage the patient or relative in constructing the story. We did this in the case of the elderly cricketer who preferred death to losing his leg." His brave rela- tives in their bereavement were so struck by what they had seen happening that they were prepared to debate with a (surrogate) surgeon in front of a hundred or so medical students. Apart from excellent debate and interesting ethics, it was moving and apparently extraordinarily therapeu- tic: from being angry and distressed the relatives changed, within the framework of the teaching session, to being close to understanding what the surgeon was trying to achieve and why he acted as he did. It was a powerful and empowering experi- ence for all present: but one that sadly did not include the actual surgeon. We have to accept that real-life ethical conflicts are very hard, in our present Western society, to debate or thrash out in person. There is too much of the adversarial, the political, the defensive in the conduct of Western health care to allow it. "I'm sorry, I made a mistake" is hard enough to say across a pillow in bed, let alone across a consulting room. Certainly it requires special people and special structures to spell out and then discuss in modern health care. We know that we need to move towards open and personal debate, for all the arguments advanced in Pattison, and more. But meanwhile, in order to allow cases to come to light and be discussed, we do still need the protection of a fictionalising process which prevents a person saying: (as one reader angrily proclaimed to Louis de Berniere after reading Captain Corelli's Mandolin) "You have written my life story here". Case conferences The method used in case conferences in this jour- nal in the past is simple to explain. A real case was "passed across" a similar family, group or situation (also from real life) and the details were merged or exchanged. The family was real, the case real, but not in that family, for instance. On one occasion when this was not done, the result was dramatic. I looked after a woman who was dying of breast cancer and wanted me to take her life. It was deeply disturbing to both of us, not least because we had been patient and doctor for a long time and we were also friends. I wore the sweaters she knitted me. My initial refusal to help cut her to the quick. I then offered to maintain supplies of analgesic so that she could take her own life. She did not need them in the end. I wrote up the case anonymously but just as it felt and seemed to me.'2 I was contacted at once because a specialist advisor to the journal had challenged the reality of the case. It was pure fiction, he said: "No one writes up medical cases like that". (Interest- ingly enough, he also wrote and published novels in his spare time.) Why did I write anonymously, and change my elderly friend's name? Perhaps a little to protect her memory. To protect myself from the forces of the law, certainly. As one commentator said, I had, by offering to assist her suicide, risked committing a crime, "albeit an unusual one". I wrote partly to celebrate her challenge and her courage. I knew all too well what some of her perceptions were. But also I wrote because I was still distressed and at the time confused about whether what I had done was right. That one of the commentators "foregrounded" the sweaters revealed much that at that time was not well known to me. One issue was that discussions about euthanasia occur clini- cally between friends, and usually old friends. However poorly written, I suspect (not very herme- neutically) that this case would be seen as a literary one in the Pattison format. But I doubt that most true authors write even autobiographically out of perplexity, to try to work it out. Some may, like Brian Keenan quoting DH Lawrence, write to "throw up their sickness in books""'- but not in order to examine their reasoning. The author present and the case tense? So we return to the third type ("Mr R") offered by a group member in an ethics session. I am no group analyst, but I attend groups in an educational or support framework almost every week. In medical ethics groups, participants do not usually present cases because they want to show off. Even if they think they were right (as we all tend to do) they want to test out why. They are offering their experience (it seems to me to be often quite bravely) because they didn't know what to do, or still feel unresolved about what they did. Just as in therapeutic groups we forget the moral at our peril, so in ethics discussion groups we should not entirely forget the therapeutic. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jm e .b m j.co m / J M e d E th ics: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm e .2 5 .1 .4 7 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jme.bmj.com/ 50 Teaching medical ethics: Do studies of the nature of cases mislead about the reality of cases? A response to Pattison et al Language: cherchez M Chauvin In the discussion that follows the presentation, there is always challenge. Often it is about the words used, both by the "author" and by others. What sorts of language are being used and what are the implications? This is an important question to ask at any time, but especially in eth- ics work. We should also ask it of any ethics article. What sort of descriptions of participants' motiva- tions do we find in Pattison? In contrast to the above (admittedly partisan but perhaps more sympathetically edged) approach, we read that practitioners use cases to "demonstrate their own ethical bravado and skill . . . it was hell!" Sensationalist presentations render "the client or service user passive, evil or both while the 'brave, conscientious health workers' make difficult deci- sions". Disregard of the agents' perceptions is "cavalier". Purposes may be "professional pugi- lism, voyeurism" and so on. The warnings seem unbalanced. It's not that we haven't all come across awful colleagues, in medicine as well as philosophy and literary criticism, it's just that we have been enjoined to look for the authors' own "biases and prejudices . . . and blind spots". So what about cases that they actually refer to? There are none, as we have seen, but the one piece of text that is quoted stops us in our tracks at the second word of the main piece. Alastair MacIntyre is honoured at the head: "man (sic) . . ." (We have immediate views about the genre: we are going to analyse the quote. We don't). Never mind, but here is enough suspicion to start our herme- neutics. What does this "sic" mean? That the reader won't have noticed the slanted language, in 1999? We don't all live in Lambeth, I suppose. That women can't tell stories? Stand up on the other one. That Professor Maclntyre is a flawed thinker? I think Jane Austen should be told. In context, MacIntyre is writing with Aristotle at his elbow, reminding him that "man is a political ani- mal". So the "sic" has at least allowed me to see the wit, even if it spoils the cadence and distracts from the almost psalm-like beauty of the antithesis between " a story telling animal" and "a teller of stories that aspire to truth". I dreamt that night of reading Hamlet: "To be (sic) or not (sich) to be (sick)". Then I knew after looking at the article I had really got into "symptomatic places". Of course both MacIntyre and Pattison et al are right. If the task of anthropology is to "make the famil- iar strange", we know that we should proceed in ethics by making the accepted questionable. But should we focus on text, or what is (haltingly and imperfectly) trying to be described? Implications If ethics discussion, rather than falling into the (medical) trap of reductionism, is to do its job really well, we need, first and foremost, a discussion process that is good, and second, an opportunity to be both iterative and imaginative. Technical criticism and point-scoring could be just another way of not coming to the moral point, that of engaging our limited sympathies as part of the object of our moral endeavour. Discussants, readers or analysers have to approach a moral question, placed in the context of a case, not only from every available direction (in terms of charac- ters and content) but also with constantly chang- ing moral and personal "distance". On the one hand, we need to be able to stand back; in order to make policy decisions, act for an institution, see the principles clearly or do something that requires courage or fixed purpose. On the other, we need to be able to get closer; to understand feelings perspectives and values, to feel the real heat of the dilemma, to use our imagination to get ourselves right to the core of the conflict. In all this a criticism of the literary form of the case may help. But this is knowledge to which we may (and usually do) come by other means, in a well run discussion, by engaging our imaginations. In spite of what they say at Heathrow, I don't think it mat- ters much who packs the case, and how: but how it's unpacked and used, that gets us close to real- ity, and to good ethics. Roger Higgs, MBE, FRCP, FRCGPI is a General Practitioner and Professor of General Practice at King's College, London References 1 Pattison S, Dickenson D, Parker M and Heller T Do case studies mislead about the nature of reality? J7ournal of Medical Ethics 1998;24:42-46. 2 Beauchamp TL, Childress JF. Principles of biomedical ethics [4th ed]. New York: Oxford University Press, 1994. 3 Higgs R, Campbell A. In that case: medical ethics in everyday practice. London: Darton Longman & Todd, 1982. 4 Aickernan TF, Strong C. A casebook ofmedical ethics. New York: Oxford University Press, 1989. 5 Day Lewis C. The collected poems of Wilfred Owen. London: Chatto & Windus, 1977: 16. 6 Cuddon JA. Dictionary of literary terms and literary learning. London: Penguin, 1992: 404. 7 Nagel T. The view from nowhere. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986. 8 See reference 3: 3. 9 Crigger BJ. Cases in bioethics: selections from the Hastings Center Report. New York: St Martin's Press, 1998: xvi. 10 Warnock GJ. The object of morality. In: Ayer AJ, O'Grady J, eds. A dictionary ofphilosophical quotations. Oxford: Blackwell, 1994. 11 Higgs R, Livesley B, Rennie J. Earning his heroin but seeking release while the surgeon advises amputation. Journal ofMedi- cal Ethics 1987;13:43-8. 12 Higgs R. Cutting the thread and pulling the wool: a request for euthanasia in general practice. Journal of Medical Ethics 1983; 9:45-9. 13 Keenan B. An evil cradling. London: Vantage, 1992: xiii. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jm e .b m j.co m / J M e d E th ics: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm e .2 5 .1 .4 7 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 9 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jme.bmj.com/ 
work_er4ovarhubg53cs4qn2gbkx4eq	----	The Journal of Academic Social Science Studies International Journal of Social Science Doi number:http://dx.doi.org/10.9761/JASSS7524 Number: 65 , p. 221-224, Spring I 2018 Kitap Değerlendirme / Book Review Yayın Süreci / Publication Process Yayın Geliş Tarihi / Article Arrival Date - Yayınlanma Tarihi / The Published Date 13.02.2018 15.03.2018 Palimpsest: Edebiyat, Eleştiri, Kuram, Sarah Dillon, Çeviren: Ferit Burak Aydar, İstanbul: Koç Üniversitesi Yayınları, 2017, 224 s. Arş. Gör. Bülent Sayak ORCID ID: https://orcid.org/0000-0002-0293-5462 Erciyes Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi Türk Dili ve Edebiyatı Bölümü Cambridge Üniversitesi bünyesinde araştır- malarını sürdüren Sarah Dillon; edebiyat, sinema, toplumsal cinsiyet, eleştiri, dilbilim, göstergebilim başta olmak üzere farklı alanla- rın imkân ve sınırlarını yoklayan bir akade- misyen. Palimpsest, Dillon'un disiplinlerarası düşünme pratiğinin karşılığı olarak temelle- nen, yazarın doktora çalışmasından kitaplaştı- rılmış bir metin. İngilizce ilk baskısı 2007'de yayımlanan eser, Ferit Burak Aydar'ın yetkin çevirisiyle 2017'de Türkçeye kazandırıldı. Palimpsest; "Giriş: Palimpsest", "Palimpsestle- rin Bir Tarihçesi", "Zihnin Palimpsesti", "Şiir Sanatı ve Metafor Üzerine", "Riskli Okuma", "Metinlerarasılığı Yeniden Düşünmek", "Pa- limpsestin Queer'leştirilmesi : H. D." adlı ken- di içlerinde ara başlıklara sahip yedi ana bö- lüm, metin içindeki konu ve kavramları açık- layan kapsamlı notlar, kaynakça ve dizinden oluşmaktadır. "Giriş: Palimpsest" bölümünde Dillon palimpsest kelimesinin kavramsal çerçevesini, disiplinlerarası dolaşımını ele alarak araştır- masının metoduna izah getirir. Sözlük karşılı- https://orcid.org/0000-0002-0293-5462 222 Bülent Sayak ğıyla "üstündeki elyazmasından temizlenerek tekrar tekrar kullanılmış parşömen parçası" (s.25) anlamına gelen palimpsest, Dillon'a göre Thomas De Quincey'in kelimeyi anlam- landırma süreciyle 1845 sonrası metaforlaş- mıştır (s.14). Kalıplaşmış biçimiyle katmanlı metinleri sıralamak; metinlerin fark(lılık)larını ve birbirlerinden kopukluklarını ortaya koy- mak, 'asıl/öncül metni' görünür kılmak çaba- larını karşılayan palimpsest, yazarın yaklaşı- mıyla yerleşik bağlamından koparılır. Kavra- mın özünde barındırdığı 'kıvrımlılık', 'çok katmanlılık' ve 'iç içe oluş' çağrışımları kitap- taki incelemelerin hareket noktasını oluşturur. Dillon, Nietzsche'nin özcü/evrimci anlatıyı reddeden 'soykütüğü' sorgulamasını, metafo- rik eşleştirmeyi ve kuramsal eleştiriyi yöntem olarak benimsediğini dile getirir. Palimpsest, sürekliliği kesintiye uğratır, homojenliği sor- gular. Bu sayede kavram Foucault'un 'şey'le- rin özü olduğu varsayımını tartışmaya açan eleştirel bakış paralelinde merkezsiz okuma biçimlerinin sembolü olarak değerlendirilir: "Bu çalışmada geleneksel olarak an- laşıldığı şekliyle palimpsestin "köken"ini açığa çıkarmaya ya da "kesin öz"ünü, "kimlik"ini ya da "hakikat"ini tanımlamaya çalışmıyor. Daha ziyade, palimpsest kavramının bu mefhumları kendi palimpsestvari mantığına göre nasıl yeniden tanımladığını, şeylerin "kalp"inde "diğer şeylerin uyumsuzluğu"nun, "uyumsuz olan"ı ortaya serdiğini gösteriyor" (s. 22). "Palimpsestlerin Bir Tarihçesi"nde palimpsest tekniğinin kronolojisi ve kelimenin tarihi seyir içinde kullanılışının ana çizgileri üzerinde durulmaktadır. Milattan önceki yüzyıllardan başlayarak Mısırlılara kadar uzanan bu teknik, basım yöntem ve materyal- lerinin işleklik kazandığı Aydınlanma Döne- mine dek devam etmiştir. Katmanlaştırma ve silme ile farklı zamanlara ait metinlerin üst üste yazıya aktarılmasının papirüs sıkıntısı ve eski alfabenin/dilin kullanımdan düşmesi nedenleriyle zorunlu, değişen düşünce sis- temlerini silme/unutturma isteğiyle ideolojik gerekçelerle ortaya çıktığı vurgulanır. Elyaz- ması bir dua kitabının içinde keşfedilen bin yıllık 'Arşimed Palimpsesti', ortadan kaldırıl- mak istenen metnin; bu niyetin tam tersine muhafaza edilmesini sağlaması bakımından yazar tarafından dikkat çekici bir örnek olarak ele alınır. Dillon, palimpsest keşifleri- nin/okumalarının 19. yüzyıldan sonra fotoğ- rafçılığın icadı, kimyevî maddeler ve ultravi- yole ışıkların kullanımıyla zirve dönemini yaşadığını belirtir. "Zihnin Palimpsesti" zihinle parşö- men arasındaki analoji üzerine kuruludur. İnsan beyni de tıpkı palimpsest deşifresi gibi 'belirli ışıkta' derine gömülmüş ya da silinmiş görülen izleri/yaşantıları yeniden aydınlığa çıkarır. Dillon, De Quincey vasıtasıyla teorisi- ni örnekler. "Baharın hemen başında çiğdem- lerin yeniden ortaya çıkışını derin bir ıstırap hissiyle ilişkilendiriyor olma" (s.42) cümlesi rehberliğinde, kız kardeşi Elizabeth'in ölü- münün tesiri altındaki De Quincey'in biyogra- fisi ve eserleri arasındaki bağlantıyı inceler. De Quincey'deki 'uyanış' halinin, Hristiyan diriliş fantezisiyle birleştiğini belirtir. Yazarın "ölüleri çağırmak" diye nitelediği bu süreç hem kaybın yasını hem de kaybın reddini aynı anda içermesiyle trajediye zemin hazır- lar. Dillon bu trajik durumu Derrida'nın özne tanımıyla birlikte değerlendirerek "şimdi- geçmiş-gelecek zamanları", yaşanan/tek 'ân'da birleştiren 'hayaletimsi özne' ve bu özneye bağlı zamansallık kavramlarını gündeme getirir: "Palimpsestin "şimdi"si ancak "geç- miş"ten metinlerin "mevcudiyet"inde ve mev- cudiyeti tarafından oluşturulur ve "gelecek"in metinleri tarafından başka şeylerin yazılması- na da açıktır. Geçmişten, şimdiden (ve muh- temelen gelecekten) metinlerin palimpsestteki mevcudiyeti zamansallıktan kaçmaz, bilakis içinde zaten "geçmiş", "şimdi" ve "gelecek" hareketleri barındıran herhangi bir "şimdiki" anın hayaletliğini kanıtlar" (s.57). "Şiir Sanatı ve Metafor Üzerine" adlı incelemede Amerikalı şair D. H. Lawrence'nin "Alacakaranlığın Palimpsesti" şiiri merkezin- de bir okuma yapılır. İsmi geçen şiir daha önce "Hafta İçinde Bir Günün Akşamı" adıyla Palimpsest: Edebiyat, Eleştiri, Kuram, Sarah Dillon, Çeviren: Ferit Burak Aydar, İstanbul: Koç Üniversitesi… 223 düşünülmüş ilk metnin gözden geçirilip ya- yımlanan/tamamlanan son şeklidir. Taslak metin üzerindeki temrinler (silmeler,/üste yazmalar, yeni kelime tasarrufları) palimp- sestin geleneksel çağrışımı dairesinde düşü- nülür. Şiirin yorumundaysa Davidson'un düşünceleri Dillon'a metin eleştirisiyle ilgili açılım olanağı kazandırır. Dillon, Davidson'un dilin sabit göstergeleri işaret etmedeki yeter- sizliğini gördüğünü bu nedenle metin kavra- mı yerine 'palimtekst' terimini teklif ettiğini dile getirir. Metnin tanımlanma biçiminin değişimi, geleneksel metin eleştirisini de sor- guya açmıştır. Geleneksel eleştiri, metnin dokusuna işlenen katmanlar arasındaki 'altta yatan/öz' anlamı bulmaya çalışırken, palim- tekst olarak tanımlanan metin eleştirisinde 'asıl/temel katman' anlayışı terk edilir. Dil- lon'un terimleştirmesiyle 'palimtekstüel ya da palimpsestvari eleştiri' adıyla kullanılan bu yeni eleştiri, 'mutlak anlamı' dışlayarak met- nin organik unsurları arasında hiyerarşi gö- zetmeden katmanlar arasındaki ilişkiyi an- lamlandırmayı esas alır. Metni tamamlanma- mış bir yapı olarak görerek çoğul okumalara kapı aralar. Dillon, Heidegger ve Derrida'nın zıtlıkları aynı kelimede bir arada düşünmele- rinin altını çizer. Buradan hareketle palimp- sestle 'metafor' kavramının benzerliğine deği- nir. "Alacakaranlığın Palimpsesti"ni "Alacaka- ranlığın Metaforu" biçiminde yorumlamaya girişir. Geceyle gündüzün(zıtlıkların) birlikte- liğini, giriftliğini, iç içeliğini ifade eden 'alaca- karanlık' imgesi merkezinde metindeki meta- forları çözümler. Şiirin dönemi içinde yenilik arzusunu vurgulamasını, poetik tutumunu Lawrence'nin estetik düşüncesindeki bir kı- rılma olarak değerlendirir (s.86). "Riskli Okuma"da, Arthur Conan Doyle'nin Sherlock Holmes'undan alıntılanan bir pasajla geleneksel dedektif hikâyelerinin kurgu ve çözümlenmesi ile palimpsest deşif- resi arasındaki ilişki irdelenir. Dedektif hikâyesinde okurun/dedektifin ulaşmak iste- diği, olayların gerçek vuku biçimini içeren asıl katman ve suçun failinin vakanın gerçeğini gizlemeye çalışan kurgusunu içeren yüzeyde- ki öykü olmak üzere iki ana çerçeve bulunur. Ortak noktası bulunmayan bu iki hikâyeyi takip eden okur, metindeki ipuçlarından ha- reketle orijinal anlatıyı zihninde inşa eder. Okurun bu süreçteki yöntemi Dillon'a göre 'tümdengelim'e (kesin hükümlere/analitik yargılara) değil 'abdüksiyon'a (tah- min/buluş/varsayım) dayanır. Dillon, palimp- sest editörlerinin metin edisyonlarındaki müphem kısımları tamamlama biçimini diğer bir deyişle 'metin tamiri' yaratıcılığını, okurun bahsedilen okuma tutumuyla eş tutar. Bu koşutluk düzleminde Homeros, Virgilius metinlerindeki saklı kelimeleri açığa çıkarma- ya çalışan yapısalcı Ferdinand de Saussure'nin de abdüktif okuma yapan bir dedektif gibi çalıştığını belirtir. Dillon, Saussure yorumunu Starobinski ve Riffaterre gibi kuramcılara dayandırır. Saussure, yazarı metinden soyut- layan kapalı devre dil dizgesi/metinsellik yapısını gündeme getirir. Gösteren-gösterilen arasındaki ilişkisinin nedensiz olduğunu sa- vunur. Göstergelerin birbirlerinden farklılık- larıyla tanımlandıklarını, dolayısıyla bir gös- tergenin ayrımı/tanımlanması için başka bir göstergenin varlığına ihtiyaç duyulduğunu belirtir. Saussure sonrası dil, metin eleştirisi- ne bakıştaki mutlak metin/anlam/yorum yar- gılarının aşındığını, Roland Barthes ve Um- berto Eco'nun eserlerinden örneklerle palimp- sest metaforlarıyla izah eder. "Metinlerarasılığı Yeniden Düşün- mek"te Julia Kristeva'nın yaklaşımı çıkış nok- tasıdır. Her metni öncüllerinin üstüne inşa edilen etkileşimli bir yapı ve öncülleriyle alış- veriş içinde bir söylem mozaiği olarak gören Kristeva, metinlerarasılık kavramını gündeme getirir. Dillon, kavramın Gerard Genette'nin Palimpsestes ve Ian McEwan'ın Kefaret adlı eserlerindeki izdüşümüne palimpsestvari okuma esasıyla yaklaşır. Genette'nin "üstme- tinsellik, yanmetinsellik, üstmetinsellik, hi- permetinsellik" (s. 119) kategorileriyle sınıf- 224 Bülent Sayak landırdığı metinlerarasılık, başka metinlerle yorum, alıntı, anıştırma, parodi gibi ilişkilerle kurulan bağlantıyı ifade eder. McEwan'ın Kefaret adlı romanı Jane Austen, Wirginia Woolf, Elizabeth Bowen gibi gibi yazarların metinlerine göndermeler barındırır. Dillon'a göre her metnin "kazınması ya da ışığa tutul- masıyla" altından/içinden başka bir metin görünür. Bu sonsuz döngü Genette'de anlatı kuramı, McEwan'da roman kurgusu biçimin- de palimpsestin çoğulcu ve zaman ötesi bağ- lamıyla karşılık bulmaktadır. "Palimpsestin Queer'leştirilmesi: H. D." incelemesinde yazar, toplumsal cinsiyet inşasının edebiyat eleştirisindeki görünümü- nü ele alır. Ataerkil düzen kabul ve refleksiy- le; kadının bastırılmışlığını, erkeğin tahakkü- münü gün yüzüne çıkarma esasıyla temelle- nen feminist eleştiri Dillon tarafından indir- gemeci ve dolayısıyla eksik bulunur. Sözlük karşılığıyla 'tuhaf' anlamına gelen 'queer'; yerleşik anlayışla kadın-erkek ikiliğine, cinsi- yet kategorilerinin ilişki ve konumları üzerine düşünmek yerine bizzat bu cinsiyet kimlikle- rini aşındırmak, sorgulamak amacıyla ele alınır. Dillon, Amerikalı biseksüel şair H.D.'nin eserlerini biyografisi paralelinde queer karşılığı kullandığı palimpsestvari okumayla değerlendirir: "Queer ile palimpsestin palimpsest- vari eşleşmesi hem palimpsestin queer'liğine hem de queer'in palimpsestvariliğine dikkat çeker, üstelik iki terim de kimlik tarifleri için uygulanabilir olduğu için değil, aynı zaman- da bu çalışmada yapıldığı gibi tarih, kimlik, zamansallık, metafor, okuma, yazma, cinsellik ve metinsellikle ilgili geleneksel anlatıları queer'leştirecek şekilde genişletilebilecekleri için de" (s. 162). Palimpsest sosyal bilimler okumaları için gerek yöntem üzerine düşünme gerek literatür konusunda fikir edinme gerekse di- siplinlerarası fikir yürütme bakımlarından ufuk açıcı bir inceleme. Batı dil ve edebiyatla- rı, edebî eleştiri ve postmodernizm alanların- da çalışanlar içinse hassaten istifade edilmesi gereken özgün bir kaynak. Palimpsest kavra- mı etrafında Türkçede ilk müstakil kitap ol- ması da bir boşluğu doldurmak hasebiyle eserin değerini arttırıyor. Citation Information/Kaynakça Bilgisi Sayak, B. (2018). Palimpsest: Edebiyat, Eleştiri, Kuram, Sarah Dillon, Çeviren: Ferit Burak Ay- dar, İstanbul: Koç Üniversitesi Yayınları, 2017, 224 s., Jass Studies-The Journal of Academic Social Science Studies, Doi number:http://dx.doi.org/10.9761/JASSS7524, Number: 65, Spring I 2018, p. 221-224. 
work_exkwxragibeclmechsjofrvq6m	----	JBR_57_1_Pre_1800_BookReviews 138..176 that there was no set body of aristocratic suppliers in London as in Paris, and two houses less than twenty miles apart (Arbury and Stoneleigh) could have barely any suppliers in common, metropolitan or local. The chapter “Consumption and the Household” contains the most valuable insights of the book. Stobart and Rothery point up the sometimes persistent power and influence of dowa- gers; they highlight the role of trustees and guardians in the shaping and success of an estate; and they provide a particularly fascinating account of stewards, who are surely worth more sustained historical attention. As in so many places in this book, the most striking point here is the sheer variety of possible scenarios: from William Peacock at Canons Ashby, who managed the estate in Lady Dryden’s absence, following her orders closely; through Richard Jee, near redundant on the estate of the micromanaging Sir Roger Newdigate; to Samuel Butler at Stoneleigh, a compelling figure, who not only evoked his master’s authority in his dealings with retailers and craftsmen, but also his own. This chapter opens up valuable territory ripe for future research and, like the book as a whole, provides a valuable building block in the ongoing, increasingly interesting and rich field of country house studies. Kate Retford Birkbeck College, University of London k.retford@bbk.ac.uk HELEN THOMPSON. Fictional Matter: Empiricism, Corpuscles, and the Novel. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017. Pp. 359. $59.95 (cloth). doi: 10.1017/jbr.2017.204 Displaying an impressive command of early modern science in her engaging and highly inter- disciplinary Fictional Matter: Empiricism, Corpuscles, and the Novel, Helen Thompson strives to (re)assert the central place of “Corpuscularian Philosophy” (1) in the history of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century British culture. In Thompson’s compelling account, the corpuscle hypothesized by Robert Boyle and variously deployed by Isaac Newton, John Locke, and some of the period’s novelists postulates that all matter is made up of miniscule parts that cannot be sensed directly. Instead, the corpuscle’s existence can only be established relationally; consequently, it produces knowledge in the perceiving subject despite—or, more accurately, because of—its evasion of the viewer’s senses. One of Thompson’s many examples is illustra- tive here: that a chemical process such as sublimation can make a substance such as sulfur dis- appear from the bottom of a flask only to reappear on the flask’s sides shortly after establishes that sulfur is composed of minute particles precisely because it disappears for a time (3–4). Modern accounts of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century science and the novel, Thompson argues, have elided the period’s indebtedness to corpuscularian philosophy, with its attendant interest in “imperceptible causes” and “sensed qualities” such as “sourness or acidity” (1). As a result, empiricism is often presented as a mimetic mode of knowing that relies exclusively on a direct, one-to-one transposition of the external world to sensory perception. For Thompson, however, such an understanding neglects the period’s interest in “corpuscular matter’s power to stimulate empirical knowledge” (69). In Fictional Matter, histories of early science by critics such as Ian Hacking, Karen Barad, Steven Shapin, and Simon Schaffer as well as literary histories of the novel by Michael McKeon and Ian Watt are equally implicated in this construc- tion of a “‘realist’ regime of transparently apprehended and transparently rendered facts” (1) that Thompson seeks to refute. Thompson convincingly demonstrates that, in failing to 170 ▪ Book Reviews at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2017.204 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:13, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available mailto:k.retford@bbk.ac.uk http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1017/jbr.2017.204&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2017.204 https://www.cambridge.org/core acknowledge seventeenth- and eighteenth-century British culture’s indebtedness to the corpus- cle, such studies have obscured how empiricism accommodates knowledge acquired relation- ally. It is this relational way of “knowing,” Thompson argues, that seventeenth- and eighteenth-century science and the novel engage or activate, in a variety of ways. As Thompson stresses, Fictional Matter is not in any straightforward way a study of the eighteenth-century novel against the “factual backdrop” early modern science (3). Instead, she organizes the chapters according to topics that develop readings of the works of early sci- entists and empiricists such as Boyle, Locke, and Newton alongside those of the novelists it studies. In chapter 2 she illustrates how a “Boylean” (68) Locke presents identity as something “approximated from the outside” (69) rather than a matter of essence before demonstrating how Eliza Haywood activates that radically contingent notion of identity in Fantomina (1725) and Love in Excess (1719). In chapter 3 she explores how George Thomson’s and George Starkey’s scientific writings in the wake of the Great Plague are grounded in the cor- puscular understanding that all things are composed of miniscule parts to posit an impercep- tibly “porous” or “pervious” person (113); that concept of personhood, Thompson argues, directly informs the presentation of character in Daniel Defoe’s A Journal of the Plague Year (1722), a text in which interiority or “innerness” remains inaccessible and unknowable. In chapter 4 she turns her attention to the subject of race, moving from Boyle’s and Newton’s competing accounts of color to John Arbuthnot’s and John Mitchell’s anti-essentialist justifi- cations of slavery to, finally, Penelope Aubin’s and William Chetwood’s vexed engagements with these corpuscularian accounts of color and race. As the book unfolds, Thompson moves the novel to the center stage, although the thematic organizational scheme continues. In chapters 5 and 6 she examines Henry Fielding’s and Samuel Richardson’s corpuscularian considerations of class and gender, respectively, and Thompson’s accounts here are especially illuminating. Much as in the earlier chapters’ accounts of identity and race, the author’s engagements with corpuscularian philosophy that Thompson examines in the final two chapters destabilize essentialist accounts of class and gender. In a text such as Shamela (1741), for instance, Fielding stages “readable” selves who lay claim to virtues they lack, and he deploys “the sensible qualities of print” (194), Thompson argues, as the marker of character that otherwise troublingly eludes direct sensory observation. Meanwhile, in chapter 6 Thompson examines Richardson’s fractious attempts to separate Clarissa from the prostitutes among whom she is forced to live and breathe the same air, arguing that “Clarissa’s failure to isolate the source of Clarissa’s sexed virtue reflects the novel’s engagement with a metaphysics and an ontology engendered by corpuscles” (234). While she succeeds in confirming the surprisingly widespread influence and implications of corpuscularian philosophy, Thompson provides no clear rationale as to why she selects for study the texts that she does. Consequently, and with some notable exceptions such as Haywood, Aubin, and Chetwood, she largely ends up replicating the canon of novelists studied in Watt’s Rise of the Novel (1957), moving from extended considerations of Defoe, Fiel- ding, and Richardson to Jane Austen (in the epilogue), while the fiction of the latter half of the eighteenth century remains on the periphery. One wonders how the introduction of the writ- ings of Laurence Sterne, Henry Mackenzie, Fanny Burney, or—perhaps more interestingly, given his peculiar aesthetic—Tobias Smollett might complicate or augment Thompson’s find- ings. Nor does Fictional Matter offer an easy reading experience: the writing is at times dense, and the interdisciplinarity of the material is simultaneously a source of the argument’s strength and an occasionally challenging hurdle for the reader to overcome. Rigorously argued and consistently insightful, Fictional Matter demands a rethinking of the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century understanding of empiricism and its role in early modern science as well as the novel’s development. In particular, and despite the occasional opacity of her claims, Thompson persuasively demonstrates that our too-literalist construction of an empiricism that relies exclusively on direct sensory observation both misrepresents the Book Reviews ▪ 171 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2017.204 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:13, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2017.204 https://www.cambridge.org/core period’s scientific and “chymical” (10) investigations while at the same time it hinders our familiar, prevailing narratives of the eighteenth-century novel. Morgan Rooney Carleton University morgan.rooney@carleton.ca THEA TOMAINI. The Corpse as Text: Disinterment and Antiquarian Enquiry, 1700–1900. Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2017. Pp. 241. $99.00 (cloth). doi: 10.1017/jbr.2017.205 In 2012, the remains of King Richard III were discovered under a parking lot in the city of Leicester. Thanks to Richard’s distinctive physiognomy, they were swiftly identified, and a decision was made to reinter the bones in Leicester Cathedral, in keeping with standard British archaeological practice that human remains discovered in excavations should be rebur- ied in the nearest consecrated ground. In this case, however, the choice of reburial site proved controversial: some people wanted to see Richard’s remains interred in Westminster Abbey alongside over a dozen other British monarchs, while others argued that his purported wish to be buried in York Minster should be honored. Under the name “Plantagenet Alliance,” a group claiming to be Richard’s descendants brought a legal action demanding that York be his ultimate resting place, but the judges found no evidence that he had ever expressed such a desire, and so Leicester got his bones—and 100,000 annual visitors eager to see their final resting place—after all. As Thea Tomaini makes clear in The Corpse as Text: Disinterment and Antiquarian Enquiry, 1700–1900, this was far from the first time that a royal disinterment has caused controversy and debate. Tomaini tackles the delightfully macabre subject of the disinterment of the corpses of prominent, mostly royal Britons between the early eighteenth and late nineteenth centuries. Rather than being treated with reverence, the remains of John I, Henry VIII, Charles I, and others were seen as objects of antiquarian interest, as curious investigators sought to resolve various mysteries about their lives and deaths by inspecting the contents of their coffins. Questions such as whether the corpse of Henry VIII had literally exploded —either due to an incompetent embalmer or the effects of a moral corruption that had lingered after the king’s death—became the foci of examinations with major significance for present- day debates about important political, social, and religious questions. This was in part because these morbid investigations took place in the context of the emergence of a new sense of the English past that relied upon key moments from the medieval and early modern eras to establish a broadly accepted conception of national history and heritage. Their conclusions were thus heavily influenced by present-day concerns. But at the same time, the dead rarely yielded incontrovertible evidence, as their remains almost never allowed clear conclusions to be drawn. (It could not be definitively determined, for example, whether a skeleton with a smashed skull that was unearthed in the crypt of Canter- bury Cathedral in 1888 really was that of Henry II’s “troublesome priest” Thomas Becket.) This is ultimately the key point that emerges from Tomaini’s work: disinterment, which ignored scruples about the potential desecration of the dead in order to obtain what was sup- posed to be uncontestable empirical evidence, almost always led instead to the production of “a complicated narrative of the corpse” (132). Tomaini organizes her argument into discrete chapters focusing on individual cases. This biographical structure makes for more compelling reading than a thematic approach might 172 ▪ Book Reviews at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2017.204 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:13, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available mailto:morgan.rooney@carleton.ca https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2017.204 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_eyld4s4wlncknpzfy2xdwikie4	----	THOMAS PIKETTY. Capital in the Twenty-First Century. Translated by ARTHUR GOLDHAMMER. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2014. Pp. viii, 685. $39.95. It is difficult to think of a recent book by a social sci- entist, and impossible to think of one by an economist, that is of as much potential interest to historians as Tho- mas Piketty’s Capital in the Twenty-First Century. Its central question is an inherently historical one about the relationship between capital accumulation and in- equality in the very long run. And the theory that Piketty proposes by way of an answer—that rising in- equality is inherent to the dynamics of capitalism—de- pends for its persuasiveness on the historical analysis he draws on to substantiate it. The book also deserves his- torians’ attention for Piketty’s admonishment of econ- omists for “their absurd claim to greater scientific le- gitimacy, despite the fact that they know almost nothing about anything” (p. 32), and his enthusiasm for the study of history as an antidote. Indeed, in Piketty’s mind, his book is “as much a work of history as of eco- nomics” (p. 33). Certainly historians will learn a great deal from the impressive research program that Thomas Piketty, Em- manuel Saez, Anthony Atkinson, and others have un- dertaken on the history of inequality. Yet if Piketty had wanted to write a book that was just about inequality, he would not have called it “Capital.” He has bigger fish to fry—no less than the relationship between economic growth, capital accumulation, and inequality—but the book disappoints when it comes to linking its larger claims to historical analysis. The crucial question that Piketty addresses is whether, in the process of economic development, the convergence or divergence of incomes and wealth dom- inates. Piketty argues that the “lessons of history” re- veal capitalism’s structural tendency to generate higher levels of inequality over time, belying the claims of op- timists embodied in the so-called Kuznets curve, that inequality increases during the early stage of economic growth but declines later on. Instead, what Piketty de- scribes as “the fundamental force for divergence” kicks in when the economy grows slowly—when the growth rate (g) is lower than the return on capital (r)—which he claims is the rule in capitalism. That means that over time the capital stock takes on “disproportionate im- portance” relative to economic output and returns to capitalists increase relative to returns to labor. Most of Capital in the Twenty-First Century is taken up with an analysis of historical trends to support the book’s controversial claim that capitalism breeds in- equality. Piketty begins with economic growth, claiming that, despite “the spectacular increase in standards of living since the Industrial Revolution” (p. 87), growth rates will decline in the future. He contends that pop- ulation growth “explains” half of the economic growth that has occurred in the world since the beginning of the nineteenth century, and suggests the implausibility of equally high rates of population growth in the future. Yet his analysis elides the complexity of the historical relationship between population and economic growth; as Piketty’s nemesis, Simon Kuznets, pointed out many years ago, the historical association between population growth and economic growth is loose over time and across countries and, even when it exists, does not nec- essarily imply causation (Kuznets, “Population and Economic Growth,” Proceedings of the American Phil- osophical Society 111, no. 3 [1967]: 170–193). It is for this reason that historians tend to look to growth in out- put per head, rather than the number of heads, for ex- planations of economic growth. When Piketty turns to productivity growth, he is also confident that it will be lower in the future than the past but, in historical terms, he is on still thinner ice. He never actually offers any explanation of “the spectac- ular increase in per capita output” (p. 93) in the nine- teenth and twentieth centuries, so it is unclear what ba- sis he has for concluding that the forces that drove economic growth in the past will no longer operate in the future. Strikingly, when Piketty alludes to the dy- namics that foster economic growth—technology, in- novation, knowledge diffusion—there is one word that he never uses: capital. There have been serious debates in economic history about the importance of capital formation in the pro- cess of economic development, with the Industrial Rev- olution being an especially striking case in point. Yet Piketty omits any historical analysis of the productive role of capital—capital to buy machines or to hold in- ventories—capital, that is, in the most prosaic sense of the term. The omission puts him on an entirely different wavelength than historians who study the role of capital in the economies of the past, and surely explains why he relies so little on their work. The modest attention that Piketty pays to the role that capital plays in the process of economic develop- ment stems from his definition of capital as “the sum total of nonhuman assets that can be owned and ex- changed on some market” (p. 46). Thus, capital can in- clude machines and inventories but it can also include residential property and financial assets. Indeed, Piket- ty’s capital is so encompassing as to be amorphous, which explains why in part II, on the historical dynamics of capital, we experience a growing sense of abstraction. As a historian of capital, Piketty is a “lumper” not a “splitter” with his sights set on measuring the historical relationship between aggregate capital and national in- come. Prior to World War I, what Piketty emphasizes is the overall stability of the capital-income ratio. Then history changes radically with the shocks of World War I and the Depression and we witness a collapse in the capital-income ratio in Europe—where “[b]y the mid- 564 Featured Reviews AMERICAN HISTORICAL REVIEW APRIL 2015 dle of the twentieth century, capital had largely disap- peared” (p. 118)—and in the U.S. Then, in the after- math of World War II, we observe a resurgence of the capital-income ratio to levels that were close to those recorded in the late nineteenth and early twentieth cen- turies. For explaining these “metamorphoses of capital,” Piketty highlights the importance of both contingency and structure. It is contingency—the “shocks to capital” from war and depression—that accounts for the “diz- zying fall” in the capital-income ratio in the interwar period in Europe. And it is structure, expressed in a simple accounting identity that links the capital-income ratio to growth and savings, � � s/g, that explains nor- malcy (p. 183). But Piketty provides little help in ac- counting for how shocks to capital feed into a decline in his capital-income ratios. His text is confined to gen- eral statements that apply to all of interwar Europe and do little to illuminate some of the startling declines his data suggest (p. 116). The reader is left to guess what is going on in the big swirling bucket of “other domestic capital” that lumps together blast furnaces, jewelry, bank accounts, and schools. When Piketty moves from contingency to structure, from chaos to normalcy, it initially seems easier to fol- low changes in the capital-income ratio. He claims that “capital’s comeback” since the 1970s can be explained by “slower growth coupled with continued high savings” consistent with the simple formula above. However, we soon realize that � � s/g is not a straightforward ac- counting identity since Piketty’s capital-income ratio is influenced by the valuations assigned to capital. And so, since the 1970s, the rising market valuations of corpo- rate stocks and housing contribute to the rising capital- income ratios that Piketty’s graphs show (pp. 187–191). Piketty recognizes that estimating all forms of capital at market prices at a given point in time “introduces an element of arbitrariness (markets are often capri- cious)” but, he asks, “how else could one possibly add up hectares of farmland, square meters of real estate, and blast furnaces?” (p. 149). Yet, by lumping so much together, and measuring it at market value, he obscures as much as he reveals about the dynamics of capital. In particular, it is hard to know what variations in Piketty’s capital-income ratio imply for the economy’s capacity to produce goods and services. In principle, an increase in the capital-income ratio could be a positive sign, an indication that the economy is moving to a more pro- ductive phase, characterized by higher capital intensity. Piketty recognizes this possibility when he says that “capital is potentially useful to everyone, and provided that things are properly organized, everyone can benefit from it” (p. 167) but he provides no help in determining when “things” might be “properly organized.” We are left with a substantial ambiguity: an increase in Piketty’s capital-income ratio might result from more assets be- ing put to work to produce greater output or from higher valuations being assigned to existing assets. Unfortunately, which scenario we are in makes a ma- jor difference to how we perceive the rate of return paid to capitalists. Is it the cost to society of moving to a higher level of economic development, as apologists of capital claim, or a measure of rentiers’ gains on every- one else’s backs, as critics of capitalism contend? Piketty cannot seem to make up his mind which sce- nario he believes more plausible—he pulls back from the brink of heterodoxy several times to emphasize the risk-bearing and entrepreneurial role of capital—but, in the end, it is the lack of clarity in his analysis, rather than his ideology, that weighs on his book on capital. Talk of the rewards to capital brings me to the final step in Piketty’s analysis, where he moves from capital to inequality. He does so based on an analysis of the rate of return on capital, r, which, when multiplied by the capital-income ratio, gives us �, the share of na- tional income that goes to capital. Thus we have the final link in his logical chain—� � r x �—which links growth to development to inequality. Consistent with his broad definition of capital, the rate of return thereon is equally encompassing (p. 54), and he esti- mates it over a long period of time based on French and British data. On the face of it, the main conclusion he draws from this exercise is a striking one: the “pure return on cap- ital” is extremely stable over time, oscillating “around a central value of 4 –5 percent a year for more than two centuries” (p. 202). However, when one remembers that he is using market valuations of capital, the result is less surprising. If Jane Austen and Honoré de Balzac were right that the capital value of an asset bears some consistent relationship to the income it generates (p. 53), then the income that an asset generates should bear some consistent relationship to its capital value (Irving Fisher, The Rate of Interest: Its Nature, Deter- mination and Relation to Economic Phenomena [1907], p. 13). If, in Piketty’s Capital, the value of capital and the return on capital are two sides of the same coin, the need for a theory of the rate of return on capital is not clear. Nevertheless, having characterized historical trends in the return on capital, Piketty seeks to explain them. It is at this late stage that the question of “What is capital used for?” becomes central, since Piketty con- siders it crucial for determining the rate of return on capital. Yet here he confronts the handicap of having written a book in which the main references to “factory” are to Père Goriot’s pasta making, quite an accomplish- ment for a book that takes us from pre-industrial to post-industrial economies! Having said so little about the productive role of capital, Piketty flails about, now that he needs it, asking us to imagine all kinds of dif- ferent societies, in the abstract, in which capital could or would be used in one way or another as a factor of production to earn a return (pp. 212–215). Yet, what about the returns in actual economies in which capital has been used, perhaps in the past? Since Piketty’s discussion of the determinants of the rate of return on capital is so inconclusive, we do not know if we should be concerned if returns to capital are falling or rising. As he shows, the significant diminution Featured Reviews 565 AMERICAN HISTORICAL REVIEW APRIL 2015 of income inequality over the twentieth century largely reflects a decrease in top incomes from capital. He claims there was nothing natural about the decline; it was caused above all else by political change and, spe- cifically, by “new public policies enacted in this period (from rent control to nationalizations and the inflation- induced euthanasia of the rentier class that lived on government debt)” (p. 275). So much for the causes of the decline in the return to capital, but when it comes to its economic implications Piketty’s analysis leaves us in the dark. And what of the recent resurgence of income in- equality? If this book has sold like hot cakes, it is be- cause so many people, especially Americans, want to understand why inequality has increased lately. How- ever, in a surprising and ironic denouement worthy of the great novels that Piketty is fond of citing, we learn that a rising share of income going to capital is not the primary explanation of growing income inequality in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. In- stead, he suggests we look to the massive growth in the inequality of labor income in Anglophone countries driven by an explosion of rewards to executives of their largest firms. Perhaps most surprisingly of all, Piketty portrays the rise of the “supermanager” as having little to do with the dynamics of capital. One wonders, how- ever, about a theory of capital that cannot explain how senior corporate executives have used their control of America’s so-called capitalist corporations to system- atically enrich themselves. Perhaps it is missing a fun- damental law or two. What then should we make of Piketty’s study? It is a stimulating book: Piketty deals with big questions, he has thought deeply about them, and writes about them in an engaging way. He is articulate about the limita- tions of data and the way they are constructed. When it comes to historical phenomena, there is no question that what he says about inequality is of much interest to historians. If I have been critical of Piketty’s book, it is because I have read it as a book about capital, which is what the author intended it to be. And, from that perspective, the book seems to abstract from, rather than resolve, important questions for the history of cap- italism. Piketty believes that to address fundamental ques- tions about capitalism, one needs to be a historian as well as an economist. What he does not acknowledge is that some of what he has learned as an economist is an obstacle to learning from history and nowhere is con- ventional economics weaker than when it comes to cap- ital. Irving Fisher tried to cover up this weakness with fables of orchards and the fruits of a bounteous nature for explaining the productivity of capital. Still, he never overcame it and neither does Piketty. No matter how much data you marshal, they are only interesting if you make sense of them, and the lumbering, amorphous concept of capital that pervades Piketty’s book is just not up to the task. And so, notwithstanding this book, capital remains the blind spot of capitalism. So it will remain until economists prove willing not only to do the laborious work of creating vast historical datasets, but also to reconsider the suitability of their existing eco- nomic concepts and tools for learning about the past. MARY O’SULLIVAN University of Geneva 566 Featured Reviews AMERICAN HISTORICAL REVIEW APRIL 2015 
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work_f7q5xalu7rc27eyfky4bn6a65u	----	"Flayed and then Hanged": Samuel Clemens Reads Pearl Island "Flayed and then Hanged": Samuel Clemens Reads Pearl Island Mark Woodhouse American Literary Realism, Volume 42, Number 1, Fall 2009, pp. 72-78 (Article) Published by University of Illinois Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/alr.0.0038 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/271010 https://doi.org/10.1353/alr.0.0038 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/271010 American Literary Realism  Fall 2009, Vol. 42, No. 1 © 2009 by the Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois Notes and Documents j MARK WOODHOUSE “Flayed and then Hanged”: Samuel Clemens Reads Pearl Island In the collections of the Mark Twain Archive at Elmira College is a group of ninety volumes donated in 1994 by Katherine Leary Antenne and her husband Robert. They had been passed down to the Antennes from Kath- erine’s great aunt Katy Leary, the longtime servant of the Clemens family. After the death of Samuel Clemens in 1910, his surviving daughter Clara allowed Katy Leary to choose these books from Clemens’ personal library. Alan Gribben’s Mark Twain’s Library: A Reconstruction lists the Antenne books and notes the presence of marginalia in many of them. For one, Andrew Caster’s Pearl Island, he notes that “Clemens penciled comments and mark- ings throughout the book”1 and quotes a few illustrative remarks. In a 1976 essay, Gribben also notes that Pearl Island was a likely candidate for inclusion in Clemens’ library of “literary hogwash,”2 those works that exemplified the sort of bad writing he took pleasure in reading. Pearl Island provides evidence that Clemens found such reading not sim- ply diverting but engaging. His copy of this 267-page adventure novel for boys contains his markings on 116 pages plus the flyleaf and title page. Taking into account the numerous pages with multiple comments, cor- rections, and underlining there are some 263 markings—nearly as many marks as there are pages in the book. Published in 1903, Pearl Island is the first person narrative of Frank Mayne, a young man who finds himself stranded with his traveling companion Harry Eppington on an island in the Indian Ocean after a shipwreck. The story follows their somewhat predict- able adventures with wild animals, hostile natives, volcanic eruptions, and the like. They run across Jack the sailor, another survivor of the shipwreck, and with his aid they finish a half-built abandoned boat and sail off to be 73 rescued at sea along with a fortune in pearls they have harvested from the oyster beds on the island—Pearl Island, as they decide to name it. As Gribben notes, Clemens’ focus when reading literature often had to do with a search for “precision in style”3 and that observation holds true for most of the marginal comments found in Pearl Island. His concerns are largely stylistic and range from the purely technical to matters of content and presentation, many showing a disdain for what he perceives as a laziness and lack of attention to detail on the part of the author. For instance, after one of the characters has expounded on the habits of an island animal, Clemens writes: “His natural history is scissored out of the text-books”4 and again when Frank, the narrator, describes finding gold Clemens remarks “Cyclopedia” (119). An unconvincing description of searching for gold and washing it out elicits skeptical comment from Clemens as does the mention of other areas in which he could claim some expertise. When the castaways propose to enlarge their cave shelter by use of explosives the comment is: “Have they drills and fuse?” (38); and again as the project progresses a little further is “Non-committal. They don’t know the game” (43). In Chapter VI, Frank and Harry begin chopping down trees for a raft. At the top of the first page Clemens, the experienced raftsman, comments “Green lumber for a raft?” (40); and again when they build the third of their rafts “Wouldn’t it sink? Green again?” (56). When the young men find yet another occasion to build a raft Clemens simply notes “Raft no. 4” (91). When the castaways find a chasm in a cave and drop in a stone to gauge the depth they judge it to be “a mile deep at the least calculation,” Clemens comments that “If he had dropped a church in he couldn’t have heard it strike!” (62). These repre- sent a large number—57 or more—of the observations in which Clemens objects to the stilted “textbook” facts, inaccuracies, and lazy or unbelievable descriptions in the text. He also devotes a great deal of attention to those places that display a conspicuous absence of fact or attention to detail. When the narrator says “one afternoon” Clemens asks “Which one?” (3). When Frank says he ate a nut from a cocoa-palm Clemens asks “How did he get it?” (21). When Frank and Harry rig a sail of “great size” he asks “How large?” (40); and concerning the dog which the young men discover on the island which is never adequately described, Clemens asks “What kind of a dog was it?” (58). When descriptions are suspect, Clemens takes the time to make calculations that challenge the ability of the text to mirror the demands of reality. When Frank rescues Harry from a ledge Clemens calculates that he must have lugged “150 feet of rope” into the jungle. When, further down the page, he lowers a second rope, Clemens notes “300 feet of rope!” (18). Later, woodhouse  Notes and Documents a m e r ic a n l i t e r a ry r e a l ism  42, 174 when they are hauling supplies up from the shore to the cave, he remarks “Did they use 400 feet of rope this time?” (44). Such comments are scattered throughout the book but the passages to which Clemens devotes the closest analysis of this type are those which de- scribe pearl diving. First Frank and Harry, joined by the newly discovered Jack, discuss how they are going to retrieve oysters from the beds in the bay and Clemens analyzes the plans as they have described them: “Heavily weighted he can sink the 40 or 50 feet in 10 seconds: it will take 44 seconds to haul him up again—he must grab quick if he gets an oyster, he has but a second” (81). Later, Frank describes the apparatus they propose to use, a basket on a weighted rope with a loop for the diver’s foot and Clemens notes: “He’s going to grab for 20 in a second. Good—he’s going to come up without being hauled” (84). When the diving finally commences one page contains four separate marginal comments. The first refers to the diver: “He is drawn up. No occasion for it” (87). Then, based on the narrator’s descriptions: The two boys hauled up 335 pounds! Could they do it in 50 seconds? “Did the basket hold 26 of those. No–only 6. 6,000 pounds (3 tons) in a forenoon: 200 trips? (87) At the end of the chapter, after they’ve finished, Clemens notes: “3600 ten pound oysters in 2 days. A most capable liar—17 tons” (97). He was no stranger to exaggeration, but in Caster’s writing he correctly detects simple carelessness with no hint of the sort of playful truth stretching that his own writing so skillfully exploits. In addition to these sorts of comments about content, Clemens also makes editorial changes, such as grammatical corrections and word substitutions, and pays particular attention to the elimination of excess verbiage and redun- dancies. For example, Frank describes working on the abandoned boat and says, “each plank and beam, cut from the trees hereabouts, was but following out minutely the instructions contained in the specifications” (122). Clemens strikes out everything between the commas as obvious and unnecessary and underlines “each plank and beam,” “following out,” and “the instruction,” point- ing to the fact that the sentence is nonsensical. The author seems to have endowed the beams and planks with intelligence. In another instance, Frank describes the time leading up to the shipwreck, noting that “the barometer began to drop rapidly one afternoon, indicating a coming great change in the weather” (3). In the following paragraph Frank notes that “the barom- eter began to rise, betokening the end of disagreeable weather” (3). In both instances Clemens strikes out the second half of the sentence as redundant. Later, Frank once again tells us that “the barometer began to fall rapidly 75 indicating a coming sudden change in the weather” (163). Clemens once again carefully strikes out the second half of the sentence. These examples give some sense of the concentration Clemens devoted to reading this book, but perhaps the most interesting set of markings, and easily the most numerous, are those best characterized as running com- mentary. Clemens begins on the flyleaf: “The conversations in this book are incomparably idiotic,” followed closely by an observation at the top of the title page: “Containing many interesting facts plundered from the cyclopedia.” These comments predispose subsequent readers of the book to engage it from Clemens’ point of view. The narration begins in the first chapter. Frank is describing lying in bed as he feels the ship coming apart. Clemens remarks: “And you lay still?” (3). A few pages later Frank concludes that they are somewhere in the tropics and Clemens asks “He didn’t know it?” (8). Another few pages and Frank, after hearing a crazy person rattling around in the night, mentions he won’t be around early in the morning. Clemens asks, “Why won’t he?” (15). In a number of places Clemens’ voice interjects as if he were sitting at the reader’s elbow. Frank says he pities any ship that was in the neigh- borhood during a storm they have just experienced. Harry asks him why. Clemens writes: “Now we shall learn why he pities such ship” (65). Turning the page, we see that Frank replies “Because these terrible storms do not extend over any great area and there are few that are so destructive to forests.” Clemens underlines “because” and everything after the “and” and notes “There’s your reason!” (66). When Frank and Harry see a large beast approaching and can’t make out what it is Clemens comments “Elephant is my guess” (107). When they find Jack in the jungle they take him for dead but rather than bury him they decide to carry him back to the cave, a two-hour journey, after which they revive him with some liquor. “He beats Lazarus” (71), Clemens remarks. These running comments and asides seem to be the points where Clemens is amusing himself the most. After the boys find the dog he notes: “Unhappy dog: cast away with idiots on an island” (57). When Jack gives the boys a bit of clichéd and flowery advice meant to demonstrate his greater experi- ence and wisdom Clemens notes “Wise sailor-man. Good boy” (76). When Jack makes a comment intended to be humorous, “Ah we have a wit in the combine” (109) is penciled beneath. Later, when Jack and Harry engage in some light banter the comment is “Humor—at last?” (122). Harry falls 35 feet through a rotten tree and hits his head. Jack says that Harry is lucky because he has seen “a sailor killed by a fall of 30 feet.” Clemens notes that “It has been done at 29” but in a further comment along the margin writes “these people are not to be damaged by falling on their heads” (141). woodhouse  Notes and Documents a m e r ic a n l i t e r a ry r e a l ism  42, 176 Clemens tires of the game, however, and at the end of chapter XVII his tone changes and the marginal comment “How artificial all these adventures sound” (144) seems weary. During the description of a volcanic upheaval as the castaways scurry for shelter he observes: “As fools these cads are re- ally outdoing themselves now” (152) and after this the frequency of his comments trails off until following an entry on page 166—“Information” (166) written next to a strange passage concerning island birds being used as lamps—there is essentially nothing until page 258. The illustration facing it shows the castaways on board their boat ready to fight off a band of “sav- ages.” Clemens has written above the picture “Spinning along and nobody steering.” And while the picture at first glance suggests that the boat is in motion, the text makes it clear that they were at anchor during the episode being illustrated. Clemens’ attention and interest seem to have wandered. Clemens continues with some sparse glosses and strikes for the last few pages and at the very end returns to form. In the final paragraph, Frank tells the reader “Startling, indeed, have been our adventures, some of which we may relate in another volume,” below which Clemens glosses, “If you do, you ought to be flayed & then hanged” (267). We can take at face value the fact that Clemens found exercises such as this entertaining—it seems clear that he was amused by the unintentional humor of this clumsy narrative— but some interesting questions also arise. The book was published in 1903 and it was in the Stormfield library at the time of Clemens’ death in 1910. While we don’t know precisely when he read Pearl Island, we can say with certainty that it was during a seven-year period in his life often characterized as tragic, dark, and emotionally tumultuous, when he produced a group of manuscripts still sometimes considered displays of bitter “rage at the obscen- ity of life.”5 This is not the Clemens evident in the Pearl Island annotations. Instead, we find a careful (if occasionally severe) editor and a comic narrator, someone with an acute critical eye and undiminished wit. Not that there is no evidence of the concerns Clemens addressed in his last years in his Pearl Island comments. In chapter VII, for example, when the castaways find the dog, Harry comments that “Until he becomes thoroughly attached and recognizes our authority, we must treat him with the greatest kindness” (54). It is easy for a reader to skip over the innocuous sentence, but Clemens has underlined “Until ” and “kindness,” the former receiving a doubly thick black line. Clemens was not about to miss a comment that corresponded, however inadvertently, to his own sense of the ignominious in human nature. In other instances the characters express humanitarian sentiments Clem- ens regarded as hollow, once noting “His occasional humanities are merely for show” (117). At another point when “savages” are being devoured by 77 a babirussa—a crocodile-like creature—Frank says, “Gladly would we have saved them, if it had been possible,” to which Clemens merely notes “Lie” (258). Such examples of his cold-eyed belief that all human action is fun- damentally self-interested contributed to his image as an embittered mis- anthrope. As the Old Man in “What is Man?” remarks, “Men make daily sacrifices for others, but it is for their own sake first. The act must content their own spirit first.”6 The Pearl Island marginalia also illustrate a close reading that betrays no loss of acuity on Clemens’ part. It seems he often invested more thought and energy in reading the text than Caster put into writing it. This raises the question of what drew Clemens to the book. The New York Times re- marked in its review that it was “a tale intended for boys, but it will doubt- less prove of equal interest and in many cases equally instructive to their fathers and grandfathers.”7 The boys in the book are older, more wealthy, better-educated, and -experienced travelers than Huck and Tom, but the basic premise of two young comrades engaged in a series of adventures in a “boy’s book” suggests some parallel to Clemens’ most familiar works. That it came to his attention is not surprising. In his essay “A Cure for the Blues” (1897), Clemens admitted the glee- ful delight he took in exposing the deficiencies of the egregiously bad The Enemy Conquered or Love Triumphant by G. Ragsdale McClintock. “No one can take up this book, and lay it down again unread,” he claims. “He will read and read, devour and devour, and will not let it go out of his hand till it is finished to the last line.”8 If such diversions really were cures for the blues, then his engagement with Pearl Island during a famously difficult period in his life makes some kind of sense. Clemens, in his diligent reading of the first two-thirds of the book, displays a level of interest in this bland material that most discriminating readers would find impossible to sustain. Predictably, Caster’s flat prose soon earned him deserved literary obliv- ion. A search of his name in Worldcat returns only Pearl Island, held by one library. As with other volumes marked by Clemens, the marginalia often reads as if he were writing with a sense of audience; but to whom are the comments addressed? He presumed that there would be continued interest in his markings. In a few places he has crossed out comments, a practice evinced in other books with his marginal notations. There is also the sense that Clemens was reading this as one professional looking at another or sizing up the competition. Ultimately he was kinder to Caster than he might have been. The “flayed and then hanged” remark is directed at the narrator, and Clemens’ marginal comments are always directed at the characters. While Clemens clearly believes the book badly done, Caster is never dragged into woodhouse  Notes and Documents a m e r ic a n l i t e r a ry r e a l ism  42, 178 Clemens’ critical glare like James Fenimore Cooper or Jane Austen, of whom he famously remarked that he wanted to “dig her up and beat her over the skull with her own shin bone.”9 Cooper and Austen were big game and their writing incensed Clemens. Caster was small game and Clemens by his own admission “loved small game.”10 Even with so undistinguished a story as Pearl Island, he noted those places where the narrative failed and how it might have been better. He was essentially concerned with the craft of writing. —Elmira College Notes 1. Alan Gribben, Mark Twain’s Library: A Reconstruction (Boston: Hall, 1980), p. 132. 2. Gribben, “‘I Kind of Love Small Game’: Mark Twain’s Library of Literary Hogwash,” American Literary Realism, 9 (1976), 67. 3. Gribben, p. 65 4. Samuel Clemens, marginal note in Andrew Caster, Pearl Island (New York: Harper & Bros., 1903), p. 116. Subsequent citations indicated parenthetically. 5. Hamlin Hill, Mark Twain: God’s Fool (New York: Harper & Row, 1973), p. 274. 6. What is Man? and Other Philosophical Writings, ed. Paul Baender (Berkeley: Univ. of California Press, 1973), p. 194. 7. “Wonderful Adventures,” New York Times Saturday Review of Books, 23 May 1903, p. 361. 8. Mark Twain, The Million Pound Bank Note (New York: Webster & Co., 1893), p. 77. 9. Clemens to Joseph H. Twichell, 13 September 1898, transcription by Albert Bigelow Paine, Mark Twain Papers, Bancroft Library, Univ. of California, Berkeley. 10. Gribben, p. 65. 
work_f7xlfjykwbhffhkjjfa2a57hya	----	"'Do you understand muslins, Sir?': the Circulation of Ball Dresses in Evelina and Northanger Abbey" Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l'Université de Montréal, l'Université Laval et l'Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. Érudit offre des services d'édition numérique de documents scientifiques depuis 1998. Pour communiquer avec les responsables d'Érudit : info@erudit.org Article "'Do you understand muslins, Sir?': the Circulation of Ball Dresses in Evelina and Northanger Abbey" Jackie Reid-Walsh Lumen: Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Lumen : travaux choisis de la Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, vol. 19, 2000, p. 215-223. Pour citer cet article, utiliser l'information suivante : URI: http://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012326ar DOI: 10.7202/1012326ar Note : les règles d'écriture des références bibliographiques peuvent varier selon les différents domaines du savoir. Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d'auteur. L'utilisation des services d'Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d'utilisation que vous pouvez consulter à l'URI https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Document téléchargé le 5 April 2021 09:53 15. 'Do you understand muslins, Sir?': the Circulation of Ball Dresses in Evelina and Northanger Abbey. Evelina and Northanger Abbey relate histories of young women entering society. Since Evelina and Catherine both arrive in fashionable centres from the country, some of the action in the novels concerns the outfitting of the heroines and their chaperons in appropriate apparel, and then their appearing at assemblies, private balls, and other social events. Accordingly — unlike other fiction by Frances Burney and Jane Austen — these novels contain descriptions of women shopping for clothes and selecting specific clothes to wear to certain functions, as well as of their attending these events. When the dates of the novels' composition are considered,1 a comparative study of the attention to fashion and the consumption of fashion becomes possible since the period between the mid-1770s and 1803 has been documented by historians as one in which a reversal of style and materials occurred, especially in ball gowns. In the earlier years, ball gowns were tight in the bodice, had full skirts, and were elaborate and extravagant in relying on sumptuous silks and satins; by 1803, high waisted, narrow dresses were simple in style, their fabrics light-weight muslins and gauzes (Bradfield 86). This paper combines research in social history with a theoretical approach derived from studies in material culture. Since ball dresses as material artifacts are ' m u t e / the texts of Burney and Austen are not read in terms of literary explication but as fictive ethnographies of behaviour (Miller 12), providing accounts of women as consumers and wearers of fashionable evening clothes. I focus on the circulation of women's fash- ion with special reference to ball dresses of the 1770s and 1800s, employ- ing the term 'circulation' in a double sense. On one hand, I study ball dresses in the two periods as commodities or 'circulating objects' which women purchase for themselves and thereby circulate within a market economy. On the other, I am interested in the ball dresses of the two periods as representing a circulation of fashion from one style to another. This fashion shift has been well documented by contemporary onlookers who saw ball dresses as 'public objects' that reveal attributes of the society.2 Specifically, I am interested in the significance of shifts in fabric LUMEN XIX / 2000 1209-3696 / 2000 / 1900-0215 $9.00 / ©C.S.E.C.S. / S.C.E.D.S. 216 Jackie Reid-Walsh and style during the period. Ultimately, I explore connections between ball dresses as 'circulating objects' and 'interpreted objects' (Corrigon 441-42,436) and whether women's roles in the former offer insights into the latter. Particularly relevant here is who is considered a 'competent' observer of fashion in society (Corrigon 440, n447). The Circulation of Silk in the 1770s We have been a shopping as Mrs. Mirvan calls it, all this morning, to buy silks, caps, gauzes, and so forth. The shops are really entertaining, especially the mercers; there seem to be six or seven men belonging to each shop; and every one took care by bowing and smirking, to be noticed. We were conducted from one to the other, and carried from room to room with so much ceremony, that at first I was almost afraid to go on. I thought I should never have chosen a silk; for they produced so many, I knew not which to fix upon; and they recommended them all so strongly, that I fancy they thought I only wanted persuasion to buy every thing they showed me. And, indeed, they took so much trouble, that I was almost ashamed I could not. (Evelina, vol 1,21) Here Evelina describes and dissects the new culture of 'a shopping.' Like an anthropologist visiting unfamiliar territory and people, she is a participant-observer giving us a brief but incisive description of people in the London shops. She describes the absurd ceremony of visiting mercers for silks, then milliners for caps and ribands. In each shop she observes with dry humour the affected behaviour of the male sales clerks, who seem 'to understand every part of a woman's dress better than we do ourselves, ... they recommended caps and ribands with an air of so much importance' that she 'wished to ask them how long they had left off wearing them.' For their part, the women shoppers are so highly dressed that they appear to be visiting, not making purchases. Moreover, the women are treated as if royalty, the fabrics and trimmings being feasts for their consumption. Evelina notes as well how the clerks try to persuade women to buy more than they need. She observes the tremendous speed with which the clothes are made, commenting that the shopkeepers promise a fully made set of garments or 'suit of linen' for the same evening (vol 1,22). Evelina's comments about the London shops and the prevalence of women customers from the middling classes accord with the research of economic historian Neil McKendrick, who, with John Brewer and J.H. Plumb in The Birth of a Consumer Society (1982), draws upon numerous first-hand accounts by shoppers and travellers. Evelina's comments Circulation of Ball Dresses 217 confirm this research. What I find unusual in Evelina's description is the women-centred view of her account which places the shopping excur- sion squarely into gender (and class) power relations; the middle class women through their purchasing power appear powerful figures over against the fawning lower class male clerks. Moreover, some women, if Evelina is typical, recognize the persuasive hyperbole of sales clerks and resist their blandishments, thereby demonstrating a healthy scepticism to sales techniques. This 'first h a n d ' account of face-to-face sales tech- nique complements what McKendrick observes about the lack of scru- ples in print advertising of the period. Evelina's keen eye records no prices of materials but stresses the multitude of choices offered. In The Art of Dress: Clothes and Society 1500-1914 (1996), Jane Ashelford, a dress historian for the British Na- tional Trust, describes how, during the Eighteenth Century, shopping in London became an elegant leisure activity. In good establishments, price was not fixed but established by negotiation. Prices for silk fluctuated but were consistently high whether it was imported or made in England. One reason for the high price was the intensive labour needed to produce raw silk: silk-throwers had to spin and wind it, and weavers had to make the fabric.3 Ashelford calculates that sack gowns popular in the mid-Eighteenth Century required between 20 and 22 yards of mate- rial, making the price of a silk gown between £10 to £70. Because of such high costs, whenever possible silk gowns from the mid-century were re-made in the 1770s when fashion changed. Milliner prices were also high, their role becoming important when emphasis in fashion shifted to trimmings in the last quarter of the Eighteenth Century. Milliners also made aprons, handkerchiefs, ruffles, caps and head-dresses. Ashelford cites from the letters of Marchioness Grey who purchased 'a suit of point,' a set of lace, from Mrs. Beavois, a milliner, in 1780, for £56. The price was similarly high at a lace shop, for in 1775 James Boswell bought a set of lace for his wife at a Mrs. Chancel- lor's in Duke Street for 30 guineas. The trimming could thereby cost more than the material (160-61). The Circulation of Muslin c.1800 "[D]o take this pin out of my sleeve; I am afraid it has torn a hole already; I shall be quite sorry it if has, for this is a favourite gown, though it cost but nine shillings a yard." 'That is exactly what I should have guessed it, madam/' said Mr. Tilney, looking at the muslin. "Do you understand muslins, sir?" 218 Jackie Reid-Walsh "Particularly well; I always buy my own cravats, and am trusted to be an excellent judge; and my sister has often trusted me in the choice of a gown. I bought one for her the other day, and it was pronounced to be a prodigious bargain by every lady who saw it. I gave but five shillings a yard for it, and a true Indian muslin/' (Northanger Abbey vol 1,28) Although Northanger Abbey does not contain descriptions of the shop- ping excursions Catherine and Mrs. Allen undertake as part of the Bath morning ritual, shopping and prices of material are reiterated through- out the Bath sequence by Mrs. Allen. Since 'Dress was her passion' (vol 1, 20), every aspect of the experience was of interest: the latest styles as well as the variety and quality of the various materials. This passion translates into a welter of information about price and properties of muslin which are validated by the sarcastic wit of the sartorially keen but financially limited Henry Tilney. It is he who notices whether a muslin will wash and sententiously mouths the statement that 'muslin always turns to some account or other' and 'can never be said to be wasted' (vol 1, 28). This emphasis on price and the variable quality of muslin is reinforced by Austen in her Letters. Indeed, her letters provide a wealth of factual detail about everyday consumption practices of the period. As Ashelford notes, regarding shopping for clothes, with a dress income of 20 pounds a year Austen had to be economical (170). Thus, on Thursday April 18, 1811, she records how she bought checked muslin for seven shillings a yard, and also that she brought ten yards of a pretty coloured muslin for Cassandra at 3s. 6d. per yard (268). Ten years earlier, Austen notes how expensive (and impractical) muslin dresses may be. Her sardonic eye observes the fashion of 'sheer undressing' (Lady's Monthly Museum June 1802, qtd. in Bradfield 86) which was in vogue. Thus on a cold January night, she notes that 'Mrs. Powlett was at once expensively & nakedly dress'd; we have had the satisfaction of estimating her Lace & her Muslin; & she said too little to afford us much other amusement' (Letters, Jan. 8 1801,105). This documentary evidence supports fashion researchers who hold that muslin, while thin, light-weight, and significantly washable, was perhaps deceptively uniform in appearance and price. There was a wide range of muslin fabrics: it could be either bought quite inexpensively when produced from English mills (often in Lancashire), or it could be imported, the finest coming from I n d i a — a s Henry Tilney is well aware! Circulation of Ball Dresses 219 The Circulation of Fashion: the Social Economics of Muslin versus Silk Information about the price range of muslin from the viewpoint primar- ily of female consumers contradicts statements by the moralists of the early Nineteenth Century. If their statements are accepted at face value, it would appear that all muslin was the same, that it was uniformly cheap, and that women from all strata of society dressed alike. Consider this retrospective critique in The Picture of the Change of Fashion by D.S.M. (1818): While expensive silks were worn, they could not be attained by persons of small fortune, nor could mantua-makers and Milliners walk about the streets and carry their parcels in such a dress, but, when a few shillings could purchase a Muslin gown quite in the fashion, every woman could command one. Bare necks and arms cost nothing. (40) It would appear that at the turn of the century a levelling effect was operating that was the mirror image of the situation in the 1770s. In Evelina's period, women of higher and lower ranks are similarly criti- cized for dressing alike but the social order is disturbed in a different way. Since women of different ranks may wear silk dresses, high-heeled buckled shoes and elaborate headdresses, they appear equally well-off to the onlooker, thereby erasing visible social distinctions (McKendrick, Brewer, and Plumb 59). Thus, the German traveller J.W. von Archenholz writes in 1787: T h e appearance of the female domestics will perhaps astonish a foreign visitor more than anything in London/ Not only were they 'well' and 'tastefully' dressed, 'clad in gowns well adjusted to their s h a p e s / b u t they 'even wear silk and satin' dresses (McKendrick, Brewer, and Plumb 58). In Evelina there is evidence of confusion of rank due to dress: on one occasion, at Marylebone Gardens, Evelina mistakes prostitutes for ladies (vol 2, 194-95). On a previous occasion, she herself is mistaken for an actress at Vauxhall (vol 2,163). Indeed, part of Evelina's harsh criticism of her cousins, the Branghtons, is that they are tradesmen's children trying to dress like the middle class, and thereby falsely aspiring to be members of a higher class. This is clear when the Branghton girls attend the opera dressed improperly (vol 1, 71) and display themselves in the shop when they are well-dressed (vol 2,142).5 The critique of dressing ' u p ' and emulating the class above was commonly made by commentators in the period (Campbell 40, in Brewer and Porter). Historians such as McKendrick accept this theory of emu- lation. But Colin Campbell and Amanda Vickery in Consumption and the 220 Jackie Reid-Walsh World of Goods critique its unitary assumptions and develop more nu- anced ideas based on character types, gender and class to account for the phenomenon of dress imitation. Another historian of the clothing trade, Beverly Lemire in Dress, Culture, and Commerce: The English Clothing Trade before the factory 1660-1800, maintains that dressing above one's station was an major strategy for tradespeople in pursuit of customers. Since most interactions were based on face-to-face contact, appearing prosper- ous and genteel was essential. This extended to the women of the family as well (8).6 As already mentioned, the situation of fashion erasing class distinc- tions seems to work in the opposite direction in Austen's period: in the citation from The Picture of the Change of Fashion, 'mistress and maid' are still criticized for being dressed alike, but now both are dressed in an apparently inexpensive fashion. It would appear that a levelling of fashion has occurred which disturbed the class hierarchy in a different way — a kind of democratization of dress. Austen's limited personal resources evidence this, as does Catherine's in Northanger Abbey when she is given only ten guineas to spend (1,19). Yet each was fashionably enough dressed at balls to be complimented by male onlookers. Austen makes this observation through a sardonic aside in Northanger Abbey while couching her economic point in mock moralistic language: Dress is at all times a frivolous distinction, and excessive solicitude about it often destroys its own aim. Catherine knew all this very well; her great aunt had read her a lecture on the subject only the Christmas before;.... It would be mortifying to the feelings of many ladies could they be made to understand how little the heart of man is affected by what is costly or new in their attire; how little it is biased by the texture of their muslin, and how unsusceptible of peculiar tender- ness towards the spotted, the sprigged, the mull or the jackonet.... No man will admire her the more... Neatness and fashion are enough .... (Vol 1, 74) This appearance of uniformity in fabric quality would be belied to knowledgeable 'insiders' — perceptive and knowledgeable shoppers such as Mrs. Allen and Henry Tilney. As Mckendrick observes, in a society where the pursuit of fashion is fuelled by class emulation, fine distinctions in dress survive to distinguish the higher priced from the lower priced garments, although they may appear less obvious to con- temporary observers than to modern eyes (56-57). Yet contemporary shoppers (mainly women) would be experts in noting fine distinctions that would not be apparent to others — either the male moralist and traveller, or the typical male onlooker at a ball. As McKendrick takes the words of poets and wits belittling women and fashion, not as indexes of consumer behaviour, but as expressions Circulation of Ball Dresses 221 of the attitudes of their period (39), so I read the descriptions of moralists, and travellers similarly. Writings by moralists are not de facto descrip- tions of reality but attitude and description combined. Their writings may also contain an element of Utopian thinking that desires gender and class distinctions to be demarcated by dress, as noted by Peter Corrigon in his discussion of representative historical texts interpreting clothing (436-40). Such onlookers decry the status quo according to an idealized vision. Yet anthropological 'outsiders' in terms of knowledge, such onlookers are usually considered socially 'competent' members of soci- ety w h o are qualified to pronounce on the interpretation of dress (Cor- rigon 440, n447). On the contrary, the truly 'competent' interpreter is the woman consumer who knows fabrics and styles through purchasing and wearing garments. In this paper I have combined a theoretical perspective derived from material culture studies with social history. By using literary texts as my primary source of information, I have employed Evelina and Northanger Abbey to provide glimpses into the behaviour of women from the mid- dling classes in the later 1770s and early 1800s when shopping for fabrics and wearing fashionable garments to various events. My focus has been primarily on ball dresses because the shift in fashion was most evident in terms of their appearance and fabric. I interpret information in the novels about female consumption to indicate that the women in this span of years were knowledgable consumers. I argue that this insight, while not recognized as important knowledge, gives them a form of 'expert' or 'inside' knowledge about the social implications of dress in the period. From examining the shifts in materials and style, I detect a 'circula- tion' from a fashion-levelling based on appearance of wealth through wearing silks and expensive materials in the 1770s, to one based on the wearing of relatively inexpensive muslin in the early 1800s. Ultimately, I suggest that this trajectory towards an apparent democratization of fashion fabric is not as direct a line as it first appears, but that fine distinctions in dress remained to mark class and wealth. As Austen ironically notes, it was a commonplace among moralists to preach that 'dress is a frivolous distinction' (vol 1, 74). Nevertheless, significant distinctions remained which were noticed by the mainly female expert consumers — and Henry Tilney, of course! JACKIE REID-WALSH McGill University 222 Jackie Reid-Walsh Notes 1 According to Dr. Burney's diaries Evelina was written during 1775-1776 (qtd. in Evelina 345ff). According to Austen's 'Advertisement,' Northanger Abbey was revised and completed in 1803. She ends her note with an entreaty to the public to be lenient to the changes in 'places, manners, books, and opinions' that have occurred between completion and publication, as well as the interval from the original conception ([11]). The details of ball dresses that are given, such as high feathers and trains, are consistent with the fashion of 1803. 2 Here I adapt the ideas of Peter Corrigon in 'Interpreted, circulating, interpreting: The Three dimensions of the clothing object' in The Socialness of Things: Essays on the Socio-Semiotics of Objects, ed. Stephen Riggins (1994), 435-50. Corrigon discusses three dimensions of the clothing object. The first is the public object revealing various social and cultural attributes. The second dimension concerns the piece of clothing as an object to which things happen within a political economy. The third dimension is how clothing can provoke things to happen, and is a kind of interpreter. 3 According to Ashelford, an embargo had been placed on the importing of French silk fabric in 1766, although there was considerable traffic in illicit goods. It took between three to six weeks to prepare the looms, and the mercers restricted the weavers to making a small number of pieces of a pattern in order to ensure the exclusiveness of the pattern. At this stage, a single length of silk, which was 1/2 ell wide, or between 19 1/2 and 21 inches, would take 3 1 / 2 days to produce a dress length of 14 yards. To place these prices in perspective, Ashelford cites from the Mémoires and Letters of Lady Louisa Stuart; she calculated the income required to live in fashionable society and make appearances at court was at least 1500 to 1600 pounds a year, as opposed to a middle-class annual income of the 1780s reported in the London Advertiser as 400 pounds, with 40 pounds being delegated to the husband's and wife's clothes (154-55). 4 The circulation of raw cotton ultimately depended on the three-way trade of manufactured goods for slaves and slaves for rum, sugar, indigo and cotton (Ashelford 172-73). Technology for manufacturing cotton in Britain developed considerably in the late Eighteenth Century. Inventions include Arkwright's spinning frame (1767), Hargreaves' spinning jenny (1770), and Crompton's spinning mule (1779). While printing on cotton had developed in Britain in the early Eighteenth Century, new technology later made beautiful prints available at a reasonable price to a broad range of consumers. In 1774 the Imported Cottons Act was passed to protect Lancashire and Scottish industries (Ashelford 168-72; see Breward and Lemire). 5 The Branghton girls would have been able to display themselves as easily as the products in the silversmith shop if their father had adapted the fashion in London shops of having wide windows to display wares to passers-by (McKendrick, Brewer, and Plumb 85; cf. Ashelford). 6 For a discussion of recent modifications of Veblen, see also Jean-Christophe Agnew in Consumption and the World of Goods edited by Brewer and Porter and the introduction by Ann Bermingham in The Consumption of Culture edited by herself and Brewer. For a feminist reading of female consumption in Bumey's later novel Camilla (1796), see Elizabeth Kowaleski-Wallace, Consuming Subjects: Women, Shopping, and Business in the Eighteenth Century. Circulation of Ball Dresses 223 Works Cited Ashelford, Jane. The Art of Dress: Clothes and Society 1500-1914. London: National Trust, 1996. Austen, Jane. Northanger Abbey. Ed. R. W. Chapman. Oxford: Clarendon, 1948. . Letters to her sister Cassandra and others. Ed. R.W. Chapman. London: Oxford UP, 1952. Bermingham, Ann and John Brewer (eds.). The Consumption of Culture 1600-1800: Image, Object, Text. London: Routledge, 1995. Bradfield, Nancy. Costume in Detail: 1730-1930. London: Harrap, 1968. Breward, Christopher. The Culture of Fashion. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1995. Brewer, John and Roy Porter (eds.). Consumption and the World of Goods. London: Rout- ledge, 1993. Burney, Frances. Evelina. Ed. Stewart J. Cooke. New York: Norton, 1998. Corrigon, Peter. Interpreted, circulating, interpreting: The Three dimensions of the clothing object/ in The Socialness of Things: Essays on the Socio-Semiotics of Objects. Ed. Stephen Riggins. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter, 1994. 435-50. Kowaleski-Wallace, Elizabeth. Consuming Subjects: Women, Shopping and Business in the Eighteenth Century. New York: Columbia UP: 1997. Lemire, Beverly. Dress, Culture and Commerce: The English Clothing Trade before the Factory 1660-1800. Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997. M., S.D. A Picture of the Changes of Fashion. NP: 1818. . The Mirror of the Graces, or The English Lady's Costume. By a Lady of Distinction. New York: Wiley for Riley, 1818. McKendrick, Neil, John Brewer, and J.H.Plumb. The Birth of a Consumer Society: The Com- mercialization of Eighteenth-Century England. Bloomington: Indiana UP, 1982. Miller, Daniel. Material Cultures: Why some things matter. London: UCL Press, 1998. 
work_fdhrudsb7fhlhh4vg4qzjncyoy	----	"Reading Austen’s Lady Susan as Tory Secret History" Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l'Université de Montréal, l'Université Laval et l'Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. Érudit offre des services d'édition numérique de documents scientifiques depuis 1998. Pour communiquer avec les responsables d'Érudit : info@erudit.org Article "Reading Austen’s Lady Susan as Tory Secret History" Rachel Carnell Lumen: Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Lumen : travaux choisis de la Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, vol. 32, 2013, p. 1-16. Pour citer cet article, utiliser l'information suivante : URI: http://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1015480ar DOI: 10.7202/1015480ar Note : les règles d'écriture des références bibliographiques peuvent varier selon les différents domaines du savoir. Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d'auteur. L'utilisation des services d'Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d'utilisation que vous pouvez consulter à l'URI https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Document téléchargé le 5 April 2021 09:53 lumen xxxii, 2013 • 1-16 Reading Austen’s Lad y Susan as Tor y Secret Histor y Rachel Carnell Cleveland State University Anne Elliot famously observes to Captain Harville in Jane Austen’s Persuasion that men have the advantage over women in having written the literature that depicts women as fickle. Austen was also critical of male-authored national history, including Oliver Goldsmith’s Whiggish History of England, which she mocked in notes scribbled in the margin of the family’s copy and satirized in her own unabashedly Tory “History of England,” which she wrote when she was sixteen.1 While most histories of England available in Austen’s time were written by men, two prominent eighteenth-century women wrote widely read histories of the “Glorious” Revolution of 1688, an event central to Whig historiography. Delarivier Manley’s best-selling Tory secret history Secret Memoirs and Manners of . . . the New Atalantis (1709) retells the political events of 1688–89 as the work of ungrateful courtiers, including John Churchill, subsequently the Duke of Marlborough, who put their own ambition above the binding bonds of chivalry that should have prevented them from deserting James II. Manley’s work, which satirizes the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough at the height of their power, may be read against the Duchess’s subse- quent Whiggish version of the same events in her An Account of the Conduct of the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough (1742). Although we do not know whether Austen had read Manley’s and Marlborough’s narratives, she would have been familiar with the partisan political 1. This essay was adapted from my 2011 CSECS presentation, “The Politics of Friendship: Manley, Marlborough, and Austen as Partial and Prejudiced Historians.” Lumen 32.corr.indd 1 13-04-22 12:08 PM 2 1 Rachel Carnell discourses that they depicted. Moreover, her depiction of false friend- ship in Lady Susan, a novel that hearkens back to the eighteenth century through its epistolary structure, offers an echo of the compet- ing Tory and Whig discourses of friendship and political loyalty first articulated by her equally biased and partisan female predecessors in historiography. What is immediately striking about Austen’s Lady Susan is how much it feels like an eighteenth-century text, both because it is episto- lary and because it has a devious and fully unrepentant heroine who recalls, for example, the heroines of Eliza Haywood’s Fantomina (1725) or Anti-Pamela (1740). Most biographers have assumed that Austen wrote Lady Susan during the mid 1790s although the extant fair copy is on paper some of whose leaves have a watermark of 1805. Whether or not Austen first drafted the novel in the late eighteenth or the early nineteenth century, she was clearly still interested in the project at a time when she had already drafted several other novels that, at least in their final published form, have a much more nineteenth-century feel to them, with morally upright heroines and sophisticated third-person narrators. Many critics have responded to Lady Susan as a depiction of female power, and some have considered it in light of the politics of the French Revolution. Other scholars have considered the novel’s stylistic debt to earlier eighteenth-century genres; however, no one has yet suggested that Austen may have chosen to hearken back stylistically to the eighteenth century in order to comment on early eighteenth- century politics.2 Nevertheless, several names in the novel allude to 2. Janet Todd and Linda Bree summarize over two centuries of criticism in their introduction to Lady Susan in Later Manuscripts, ed. Janet Todd and Linda Bree, The Cambridge Works of Jane Austen, ed. Janet Todd, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005-08), lv-lxiii. Marilyn Butler aligns the heroine with the male seducers of the anti-Jacobin period in Jane Austen and the War of Ideas (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), 122. In his preface to Jane Austen’s Lady Susan (New York: Garland Publishing, 1989), A. Walton Litz sees the novel as “a move back into the more familiar world of eighteenth-century satire and comedy,” concluding that Austen was drawing from literature, rather than personal experience. Mary Favret analyzes the novel in terms of Pitt’s national surveillance policies in Romantic Correspondence: Women, Politics, and the Fiction of Letters (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 142. In Rethinking Jane Austen’s Lady Susan: The Case for Her ‘Failed’ Epistolary Novella (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 2010), David Owen argues that Austen faced a challenge in articulating her anti-Jacobinism through an epistolary format that was deployed to good effect by both Jacobin and anti-Jacobin writers (98). Lumen 32.corr.indd 2 13-04-22 12:08 PM Reading Austen’s Lady Susan as Tory Secret History 1 3 important figures from the reign of Queen Anne, and Austen herself, as is indicated in her marginal notes to Goldsmith, was perfectly familiar with a standard Tory critique of that era. One significant thread in Lady Susan is the theme of women deceiving other women. In Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth Bennet is almost entirely honest with her sister Jane, and in Sense and Sensibility, Elinor largely tells Marianne the truth, although the heroines of both novels do withhold information at key points in order to protect their sisters from an emotional shock. By contrast, in Lady Susan, the hero- ine glibly deceives almost everyone around her, including her own daughter, her suitors, her sister- and brother-in-law, and the husband of her best friend. She was also, it is rumored, unfaithful to her own husband, and is still, after his death, pursuing a flirtation with the married Mr. Manwaring. As far as we can gather, however, Lady Susan does not deceive her close friend Mrs. Johnson in their correspondence; certainly the letters written to Alicia show a mercenary and unrepentant side to Susan’s personality that the heroine eloquently disguises from the rest of her correspondents. However, by the end of the novel, Susan expresses little regret when Alicia explains that unless she breaks off her corre- spondence with Susan, her husband would never again take her to London, a pleasure she would not live without. Lady Susan’s response is simply: “I yeild to the necessity which parts us. Under such circum- stances you could not act otherwise.” She adds, “[o]ur friendship can- not be impaired by it,” suggesting that when Alicia becomes (through the death of her husband) as “independent” as she herself is, they will be united in the “same Intimacy as ever.” 3 However, in expressing no regret at the temporary loss of intimacy, Susan stands in stark contrast to Elizabeth Bennet, who confesses to her sister Jane after three month’s apart: “Oh how I wanted you!”4 Rather than needing the comfort of a friend and confidant, Lady Susan takes comfort in her own self-love: “meanwhile, [I] can safely assure you that I never was more at ease, or better satisfied with myself & everything about me, than at the present hour” (72). 3. Jane Austen, Lady Susan, The Cambridge Works of Jane Austen, 71–72. 4. Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, ed. Pat Rogers, The Cambridge Works of Jane Austen, 250. Lumen 32.corr.indd 3 13-04-22 12:08 PM 4 1 Rachel Carnell Austen has created a portrait of a woman for whom female friend- ship is as unnecessary as any feeling of love for her husband, a heroine who values her independence above her sentimental attachments, who manipulates others at will for her own financial necessity or comfort, a lady, in other words, who hearkens back to the portraits of the staunchly Whig, Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough, quondam friend and confidant of Queen Anne and focal point of much anti- Whig satire, wherein she was often referred to as a certain “Great Lady.” Is it possible that Jane Austen, who was born over three decades after the death of the Duchess of Marlborough (1744) and six decades after the death of Queen Anne (1714), could have had any thought of this venerable Whig courtier while she was writing Lady Susan? Austen’s decision to name the Vernon’s family seat “Churchill,” the family name of the Duke of Marlborough, would not in itself be con- vincing evidence. However, Austen also possibly alludes to another significant name in the life of the Duchess of Marlborough: Arthur Maynwaring, the Whig M.P., political pamphleteer and satirist. Is it mere coincidence that Lady Susan’s rumored lover, Mr. Manwaring, has a name strikingly similar to that of the Duchess of Marlborough’s close friend, confidant and self-styled political secretary, whom the Duchess nursed in his final fatal illness? We will never know for certain whether or not Austen was thinking of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough while she was writing Lady Susan. However, reading the novel against the political backdrop of early eighteenth-century British politics is justified when we consider Austen’s own response to the Revolution of 1688–89 and its aftermath. Jane Austen’s Tory ideology has been rightly linked by Marilyn Butler and others to the anti-Jacobinism of her era. In a recent mono- graph on Lady Susan, David Owen follows standard critical tradition in interpreting the text as anti-Jacobin, even as he acknowledges the ideological conundrum Austen faced in working in an epistolary structure that “appealed to writers, particularly women, on either side of the Jacobin/anti-Jacobin divide.”5 Yet even before the French Revolution had begun, the Austen family’s long tradition of Toryism would have shaped the discourses of Austen’s childhood. We see these 5. David Owen, Rethinking Jane Austen’s Lady Susan, 98. Lumen 32.corr.indd 4 13-04-22 12:08 PM Reading Austen’s Lady Susan as Tory Secret History 1 5 discourses at play in her delightfully satirical “The History of England, By a partial, prejudiced, & ignorant Historian,” which gleefully articu- lates a youthful and unapologetic pro-Stuart stance. Austen sides with Mary, Queen of Scots, matriarch of future Stuart monarchs of England, and disparages Elizabeth I, loved by Protestant Whig historiographers. The young Jane Austen ends her brief satirical history with the execu- tion of Charles I, gesturing to her own openly partisan bias: I shall satisfy myself with vindicating him from the Reproach of Arbitrary and tyrannical Government with which he has often been Charged. This, I feel, is not difficult to be done, for with one argument I am cer- tain of satisfying every sensible and well-disposed person whose opinions have been properly guided by a good Education—and this argument is that he was a Stuart.6 While Austen is certainly mocking with her glib Tory tone the glib Whiggism of Oliver Goldsmith’s six-volume History of England, she nevertheless still suggests that in families in which the young are “properly guided by a good Education” a Tory (pro-Stuart) bias is inevitable. This family discourse of Toryism is equally evident in the marginal notes Jane Austen added to the family copy of Goldsmith’s History. Although Austen herself was born almost a century after the Revolution of 1688–89, she expresses strong and decided opinions about that political coup (an event she certainly does not term “Glorious”) as well as about the reign of Queen Anne. In her marginal annotations to Goldsmith, Austen refers to William of Orange as “a Villain” and the Earl of Sunderland, who turned against James II as a “Bad Breed.”7 Austen makes a snide comment about the behavior of Lord Delamere, the first of the nobility to embrace William’s cause after the latter’s landing at Torbay, in comparison to the calmer Toryism of Lord Godolphin. Interestingly, Austen connects these noblemen from history to the characters of Delamere and Godolphin in Charlotte Smith’s novel Emmeline (1788). Smith’s calmer, more reflective suitor, Godolphin, 6. Jane Austen, “The History of England from the reign of Henry the 4th to the death of Charles the 1st” in Juvenilia, ed. Peter Sabor, The Cambridge Works of Jane Austen, 188–89. The bold typeface used in Sabor’s edition reflects the thick, dark ink lines on this word in Austen’s handwriting, as is evident in a facsimile edition. 7. Marginal note to Goldsmith, 4:32, reprinted in Juvenilia, ed. Sabor, 332. Lumen 32.corr.indd 5 13-04-22 12:08 PM 6 1 Rachel Carnell ref lects the cautious Toryism of his real-life namesake, Sidney Godolphin, while Delamere sounds like a disloyal Whig. Austen scribbles in the margin: “I should have expected Delamere to have done so, for it was an action unsuited to Godolphin.”8 In this allegorical reading, Austen inverts the usual terms of a secret history in which fiction incorporates recognizable characters from real political history: here, she reads Goldsmith’s History as the fiction into which Smith’s characters define the actual historical personages. In her marginal glosses on Goldsmith’s History, Austen makes clear that she admires Queen Anne as a Stuart but not as a defector to William and Mary in 1688. Goldsmith describes how Princess Anne and her husband, George of Denmark, “had followed the rest of [James II’s] favourites” to “take part with the prevailing side.” The young Austen responds in the margin: “Anne should not have done so— indeed I do not believe she did.”9 The only way by which one might argue that Princess Anne did not defect from James II is to blame the influence of Lady Churchill (subsequently Duchess of Marlborough), who was well known to have accompanied Anne in her flight from Whitehall Palace, shortly after her husband and Anne’s husband, Prince George of Denmark (usually believed to be following Churchill’s strategic advice), had defected from James II’s military encampment. Judging from her marginal glossing of Goldsmith, Austen approved of Anne’s behavior as monarch only after she, as Queen, broke with the Marlboroughs, who had been promoting Whig military policy in the War of Spanish Succession. In her marginal commentary, Austen interrogates the Whigs’ instinctual distrust of the French during this period, answering Goldsmith’s acknowledgement of France as the “peculiar object of the hatred of the Whigs” by describing the Whigs’ hatred of France as being “without any reason.”10 Austen also dispar- ages Richard Steele’s Whig pamphleteering during Anne’s reign. Goldsmith describes Steele’s pamphlet The Crisis, in which “he bitterly exclaimed against the ministry” (i.e. Anne’s Tory ministry of 1713), because of what he felt was the “danger of their bringing in the pre- 8. Marginal note to Goldsmith, 4:39, Juvenilia, 334. 9. Marginal note to Goldsmith, 4:41, Juvenilia, 334. 10. Marginal note to Goldsmith, 4:49, Juvenilia, 335. Lumen 32.corr.indd 6 13-04-22 12:08 PM Reading Austen’s Lady Susan as Tory Secret History 1 7 tender.” Austen responds in her marginal scrawl: “It is a pity that he had not been better employed.”11 We may conclude, in other words, that Jane Austen was perfectly aware of the discourses of Tory propaganda written during the early eighteenth century. Her reading of historical personages in Goldsmith against the fictitious characters in Charlotte Smith’s Emmeline also suggests that she was practiced in the eighteenth-century habit of read- ing allegorically. In expressing her distrust of Steele’s Whig pamphle- teering, moreover, Austen is aligning herself, with Steele’s quondam friend but public opponent in the propaganda wars of Queen Anne’s reign, Delarivier Manley, who mocked Steele mercilessly in her polit- ical secret histories, then joined with Jonathan Swift in the virulent propaganda battles between The Gazeteer, penned by Richard Steele, and The Examiner, begun by Jonathan Swift and continued briefly by Manley. In her Secret Memoirs and Manners of . . . the New Atalantis, Manley invents a scene in which John and Sarah Churchill anticipate the need for Lady Churchill to “carry Lady Olympia”—i.e. Princess Anne—away with her in her flight from court, in order to use her influ- ence on Anne subsequently as the “Rock” she would “build” upon “for Fame, for Grandeur.”12 In Manley’s retelling of the events of the Revolution of 1688–89 as a Tory secret history, it is only because of Lady Churchill’s—Madam de Caria’s—“good Management” (2:230) of Princess Anne, that the latter defects from her father. For Tory propa- ganda writers, Anne was kind, generous, and loyal to her friends. These friends, including the Marlboroughs, in turn, were selfish and ungrate- ful and merely using their friendship with Anne in order to influence her politically for their own personal gain. In Lady Susan, Austen’s eponymous heroine and her friend Mrs. Johnson are equally ambitious (i.e. “Whiggish”—in the discourses of Toryism), equally self-centered, and equally indifferent to the feelings of others. Most readers of Lady Susan probably feel little concern at Susan and Alicia’s renunciation of their friendship, since each is selfish enough to put personal convenience and ambition above the demands 11. Marginal note to Goldsmith, 4:185, Juvenilia, 336. 12. Delarivier Manley, Secret Memoirs and Manners . . . of the New Atalantis, ed. Rachel Carnell, in The Selected Works of Delarivier Manley, 5 vols., ed. Rachel Carnell and Ruth Herman (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2005), 2:230. Lumen 32.corr.indd 7 13-04-22 12:08 PM 8 1 Rachel Carnell of sentimental attachment. However, we worry about Lady Susan’s influence on those around her who are less ruthless and self-serving, particularly her own daughter, whom she tries to marry to a wealthy but insipid baronet while she herself tries to ensnare the man Frederica actually loves. Whether or not Jane Austen had Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, in mind when she created Lady Susan, another echo appears here to that “Great Lady” of Tory propaganda from the age of Anne. The Duchess of Marlborough was known for marrying her daughters into the families of other powerful Whigs, at ages when the girls themselves would have been too young to have been able to object. Sarah Churchill herself had married the man she loved—against family objections—and Sarah and John rose together through her friendship with Princess Anne and his military skill and to the rank of Duke and Duchess of Marlborough. Once elevated to this rank, how- ever, the Duchess did not allow her own daughters the same level of independence she herself had achieved; instead, with little regard for their own feelings, she married every one of them, as teenagers, into prominent Whig families. She arranged a marriage for her eldest daughter, Henrietta, to Francis Godolphin, the son of Sarah and John’s close friend and political ally, Sidney Godolphin, Lord Treasurer to Queen Anne. Henrietta’s subsequent love affair with the playwright William Congreve infuriated her mother, who nevertheless seems not to have regretted having arranged the marriage. Her second daughter, Anne, was married to Robert, third Earl Sunderland, whose abrasive- ness was well known and who was not trusted by either Anne or Sarah to have custody of the children following Anne’s untimely death. The Marlboroughs engaged their fourth daughter, at age fourteen, to John, son of the powerful Whig politician Ralph Montagu, who was given a dukedom by Queen Anne as part of the political and monetary nego- tiations for that marriage. In later life the Duchess of Marlborough herself would observe of her middle-aged son-in-law: “All his talents lie in things only natural in boys of fifteen years old . . . to get people into his garden and wet them with squirts, and to invite people to his country houses and put things in their beds to make them itch.”13 The 13. Cited in Bonamy Dobrée, Three Eighteenth-Century Figures: Sarah Churchill, John Wesley, Giacomo Casanova (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1962), 61. Lumen 32.corr.indd 8 13-04-22 12:08 PM Reading Austen’s Lady Susan as Tory Secret History 1 9 Duchess, in other words, was cynically aware of the shortcomings of her sons-in-law, but like Austen’s Lady Susan, the Duchess had put ambition over the happiness of her own children. The Duchess of Marlborough, who quarreled continuously with all of her married daughters except Anne, clearly had a difficult time sus- taining friendships with women. Like Austen’s Lady Susan, she seems to have been on more comfortable footing in her close friendships with men, especially her confidants and political allies Sidney Godolphin and Arthur Maynwaring. However, in her published Account of her own conduct, the Duchess Dowager of Marlborough contrasts the younger Princess Anne’s earlier professions of love and devotion to her to the older Queen Anne’s colder and more indifferent treatment of her. She begins her Account with an analysis of friendship in which she observes that Kings and princes, for the most part, imagine they have a dignity pecu- liar to their birth and station, which ought to raise them above all con- nexion of friendship with an inferior. Their passion is to be admired and feared, to have subjects awfully obedient, and servants blindly obsequi- ous to their pleasure. Friendship is an offensive word; it imports a kind of equality between the parties;14 In distinguishing Anne from the usual sort of prince in that she was happy to make herself, as “Mrs. Morley,” the equal of her epistolary correspondent “Mrs. Freeman” (pseudonyms Anne had desired to reduce the formality of their correspondence), the Duchess casts Anne’s initial notion of friendship in Whig terms. Subsequently in her Account, Marlborough critiques Anne’s eventual loss of regard for her as a disloyalty inconsistent with her earlier affection, unfairly judging Anne, whom she knew to be a staunch Tory, guilty of not maintaining a Whiggishly equalizing ideal of friendship. The vehemently partisan and self-interested “Great Lady” of anti- Whig propaganda, who, in her support of the Whigs and the War of Spanish Succession considered herself greatly the intellectual and political superior of the Queen, seems not to have listened to her monarch’s occasionally well-turned satirical quips, couched as they 14. Churchill, Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, An Account of the Conduct of the Dowager Duchess of Marlborough (London: printed by James Bettenham for George Hawkins, 1742), 13. Lumen 32.corr.indd 9 13-04-22 12:08 PM 10 1 Rachel Carnell were in the humble discursive cloak of Tory love and devotion. Very early in her reign, for example, Queen Anne counseled the then Countess of Marlborough that she was “mightily mistaken in [her] notion of a true whig”; in the Queen’s view, the fine qualities that Sarah ascribed to the Whigs rightly belonged to the “church” or Tory “party.”15 About a year later, Anne reiterated that “when Sarah came to know the Whigs better, she would find they were not all they professed to be.”16 But the Duchess of Marlborough, who could not tolerate a differ- ence of opinion between herself and her intimate friends, continued to let the Queen know that she felt she was putting the nation and the Protestant religion in danger by taking advice from the Tories. Gradually, as the two women grew more estranged and the Duchess of Marlborough continued to send the Queen almost daily harangues of Whiggish propaganda, Queen Anne stopped responding to the Duchess’s diatribes. When Sarah finally begged for what would be a final, tearful interview in April 1710, the Queen’s only response to her impassioned and defensive pleadings was to repeat, over and over again, “you may put it in writing.”17 Anne, who had an excellent memory, was not adept at putting her thoughts together quickly, unlike the Duchess who formed her thoughts rapidly and spoke her mind without hesitation, priding herself on her frankness. However, by the spring of 1710, Queen Anne had seen the power of Delarivier Manley’s best-selling secret histories in mocking the Whigs, the Marlboroughs, and their allies. She had seen the Earl of Sunderland, the Marlboroughs’ abrasive and staunchly Whig son-in-law, overreach himself in his prosecution of Manley and the Tory divine Henry Sacheverell, and she had dismissed him from office without offering any explanation or justification. Queen Anne had finally realized that all she needed to do was to refuse to say anything directly to the Marlborough clan and that Manley, Swift and the rest of the Tory propaganda writers would articulate her complaints for her. Almost a century after her death, Queen Anne’s Whig opponents appear to have been attacked once 15. Marlborough, Account of the Conduct, 128. 16. BL Add. MS 6416, fo. 95: Anne to SM [?16 June 1703], paraphrased by Frances Harris in A Passion for Government: The Life of Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991), 91. 17. Marlborough, Account of the Conduct, 239. Lumen 32.corr.indd 10 13-04-22 12:08 PM Reading Austen’s Lady Susan as Tory Secret History 1 11 more in an epistolary novel by a young Tory satirist, as yet unknown to the public. * * * We do not know whether or not Austen had read Manley’s New Atalantis, nor how much thought she might have given to the Duchess of Marlborough’s role during the reign of Queen Anne. However, Austen might have remembered Samuel Johnson’s reference to the Duchess of Marlborough as “a late female minister of state,” in an issue of The Rambler on the topic of friendship. In this essay, Johnson faults the Duchess for manipulating Queen Anne into revealing her secrets by citing Montaigne’s assertion that divulging a secret to a friend is not really a breach of trust, since “a man and his friend” are “virtually the same” person. Johnson further condemns Marlborough for being “shameless enough to inform the world,” in her published Account, of having done this.18 In other words, whatever else Austen knew about the first Duchess of Marlborough, she probably knew of her as a shame- lessly manipulative and false friend to Queen Anne. Whether or not Austen had Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough in mind when she was writing Lady Susan, we are invited to read Austen’s Lady Susan as a secret history in part because Austen’s juvenilia often included identifiable references to specific persons. As Brigid Brophy has pointed out, the “Mr. Johnson” who appears on the first page of “Jack and Alice” may be read as the clergyman granted a Leigh family living that many of the Austen and Leigh families probably thought ought to have been given to a member of the extended family.19 The character of Lady Susan, of course, was probably based in part on Austen’s cousin Eliza de Feuillide, who was flirting simultaneously with two of Austen’s older brothers in the winter of 1794–95.20 However, eighteenth-century fiction that Austen knew well, by Samuel Richardson 18. Samuel Johnson, The Rambler No. 13, May 1, 1750, The Yale Edition of the Works of Samuel Johnson, vol. 3, ed. W. J. Bate and Albrecht B. Strauss (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1969), 71. 19. Brigid Brophy “Jane Austen and the Stuarts” in Critical Essays on Jane Austen, ed. B. C. Southam (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1968), 22–24. 20. Janet Todd and Linda Bree, introduction to Lady Susan, Later Manuscripts, lii. Lumen 32.corr.indd 11 13-04-22 12:08 PM 12 1 Rachel Carnell and others, “assumed and enacted allegorical ways of knowing” with- out necessarily insisting on a single set of referents, as Toni Bowers has pointed out.21 Bowers does not refer specifically to the category of the secret history in her analysis of the politics of seduction narratives. Never theless, in reference books that would have been found on library shelves in Austen’s time, the term “anecdote” was still described as synonymous with the political secret history. In his Cyclopedia (1728), Ephraim Chambers defines “anecdotes,” or “anecdota,” as the term used by “some authors” to denote “secret history”; he specifically refers to Procopius’s Anecdota, which he “published against Justinian and his wife Theodora.”22 This definition is echoed in abbreviated form in Samuel Johnson’s Dictionary, with the emphasis on something as yet unpublished—as Austen’s Lady Susan would remain for a century after it was written. As is suggested by her reading of several figures in Goldsmith’s History as characters in a novel by Charlotte Smith, Austen was prepared to read both fiction and history in simultaneously personal and allegorical terms. Late seventeenth- and eighteenth-century secret histories and memoirs followed the tradition of Procopius in political secret histo- ries modeled on the idea of the anecdote, or “la petite histoire,” that recounted court gossip, usually sexual in nature, so as to tarnish the reputations of those who planned the events that shaped the grand nar- ratives of history. As Lionel Gossman has demonstrated, the structure of many political secret histories was intentionally anecdotal: the power of the anecdote or the “little history,” was that it often contradicted the other side’s grand historical narrative.23 Annabel Patterson explains that, as the readers and writers of these anecdotal secret histories well understood, “sexuality is merely one of the tools of political strategy,” and can represent monarchical tendencies that, at least in the minds of Whig writers, “directly interfere with parliamentary government.”24 21. Toni Bowers, Force or Fraud: British Seduction Stories and the Problems of Resistance, 1660–1760 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 293–94. 22. Ephraim Chambers, Cyclopædia, or, An Universal Dictionary of Arts and Sciences (London: Printed for J. and J. Knapton et al., 1728), 2 vols., 1:87. 23. Lionel Gossman, “Anecdote and History,” History and Theory 42 (May 2003): 143. 24. Annabel Patterson, Early Modern Liberalism (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni- versity Press, 1997), 194–95. Lumen 32.corr.indd 12 13-04-22 12:08 PM Reading Austen’s Lady Susan as Tory Secret History 1 13 Whig secret histories written during the reign of Charles II often deployed salacious anecdotes about either the Duchess of Cleveland or the Duchess of Portsmouth to indicate these powerful women’s influence over Charles II, an influence emblematic of the influence of the French Catholic monarch over that English sovereign. Such secret histories proliferated during the years leading up to the Revolution of 1688–89 and continued in popularity, justifying that Revolution, over the next few decades. Although the genre is best known for its contri- butions to Whig historiography, as Patterson suggests, Delarivier Manley was clearly inverting standard Whig stories about the Duchess of Cleveland in her Tory Secret Memoirs of . . . the New Atalantis. Rather than using a sensuous scene with Cleveland to tarnish the image of Charles II, she deploys such scenes to highlight the ingrati- tude and disloyalty of the Duke of Marlborough, who not only betrayed the monarch who “tenderly lov’d him” but who continued, through the reign of Anne, to turn his back on his own party by pursuing a “perpetual Foreign War.”25 Manley’s critique of the Whig-Marlborough foreign policy under Anne’s reign is echoed in Austen’s defense of Queen Anne’s resistance to Whigs in the last years of Anne’s reign in her marginal comments in Goldsmith’s History.26 As Michael McKeon has observed, the secret history began a decline in importance following the death of Queen Anne in 1714, a decline he attributes to a gradual cultural “shift of normative weight from the public referent to the private reference—more precisely, the gradual absorption of the public realm’s traditional priority and privi- lege by the realm of private experience.”27 Moreover, as we can see in the mixed use of “secret memoir” or “novel” in title pages of Eliza Haywood’s works from the 1720s through the 1750s, the genre gradually blurred into the more fluid category of the novel, which itself was still being read allegorically in the eighteenth century. Modern editors of Austen’s Lady Susan liken the text to other first-person or epistolary novelistic “memoirs” from the mid to late eighteenth century, includ- ing Frances Sheridan’s Memoirs of Miss Sidney Bidulph (1761), The Histories of Lady Frances S----, and Lady Caroline S---- (1763), and 25. The New Atalantis, 2: 31–32. 26. Marginal note to Goldsmith, 4:172–74, Juvenilia, 336. 27. Michael McKeon, The Secret History of Domesticity: Public, Private, and the Division of Knowledge (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2005), 621. Lumen 32.corr.indd 13 13-04-22 12:08 PM 14 1 Rachel Carnell Memoirs of Mary: A Novel (1794), the titles of which suggest a nod to earlier, more overtly political, secret histories.28 In 1735, two and a half decades after its first appearance, Manley’s Secret Memoirs . . . of The New Atalantis was serialized in The Weekly Novellist, a publication described as “Containing a select Collection of the best Novels, Moral, Political, &c. with other Pieces of Love and Gallantry.”29 If Jane Austen had read Manley’s best-selling work, it is possible that she discovered it in such a collection of “novels” in a circulating library. It is also conceivable that an earlier edition of Manley’s secret history (there were numerous printings between 1709 and 1720), which had found an appreciative audience with Jacobite families such as the Dukes of Beaufort, was on the shelf at the home of one of Austen’s pro-Stuart relations: the Leighs had sheltered Charles I at Stoneleigh Abbey and had offered it as a refuge to Charles Edward Stuart in 1745.30 Whether or not Austen had ever encountered Manley’s New Atalantis (either as a “novel” or a “secret history”), she would not have needed any instruction to read it allegorically. Despite its decline in importance, the genre of the secret history still interested certain readers and writers in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century because of the rich particularity of its narra- tion. As April London has pointed out, the literary historian Isaac D’Israeli, although put off by the sexual scandal in works such as Manley’s New Atalantis, found value in the anecdotal quality of secret histories. In Despotism; or, The Fall of the Jesuits: A Political Romance, Illustrated by Historical Anecdotes (1811), he envisions a new (old) way of writing history, by not describing “events and characters in the forms they now appear” and through which “we mistake the nature of things.” For D’Israeli, in the new mode of history that he envisions, “Secret History is often a treasure under ground.”31 28. Todd and Bree, introduction to Lady Susan, lv. 29. This information is taken from an advertisement in the London Evening Post for Thursday 18 September 1735, cited in Rachel Carnell, A Political Biography of Delarivier Manley (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2008), 237. 30. On Manley and the Beaufort family, see Carnell, A Political Biography of Delarivier Manley, 170. For Austen’s and her family’s support of the Stuarts, see Brigid Brophy “Jane Austen and the Stuarts,” 21–38; for the reference to Stoneleigh Abbey, see M. A. Austen-Leigh, Personal Aspects of Jane Austen (London: J. Murray, 1920), 15–16. 31. Cited in April London, “Isaac D’Israeli and Literary History: Opinion, Anecdote, and Secret History in the Early Nineteenth Century” Poetics Today, 2005 Lumen 32.corr.indd 14 13-04-22 12:08 PM Reading Austen’s Lady Susan as Tory Secret History 1 15 D’Israeli, who had watched the start of the French Revolution with sympathy for the revolutionaries, subsequently turned against it, and his taste for anecdotal historiography helped him articulate what April London describes as an “iconoclastic conservatism.” His preference for the essay over the grand narrative of classical history allowed him to resist “hierarchies of knowledge” even as he chose to conserve classi- cism’s “residual values” (358). In “Various Anecdotes Illustrating the History of Manners,” D’Israeli incorporates an anecdote about a ninth- century instance of anti-Semitic bigotry in order to shed light on nineteenth-century Britain’s own anti-Semitism. As April London explains, The closing paragraph, whose present tense, brevity, and aphoristic tone offer many signs of oblique reference (including one to continuing pogroms), smudges the boundary between the ninth century “age of bigotry” and the present moment. By directing our attention to this likeness, he makes the anecdote serve functions beyond the writing of the anti-institutional “counter histories” that Annabel Patterson describes as the genre’s central contribution to early modern culture.32 For D’Israeli, then, the secret history offered a means of adding a counterpoint to the standard anti-Semitism of nineteenth-century British historiography. Jane Austen, who might likewise be considered a conservative iconoclast—not as a Jewish intellectual in an anti-Semitic culture but as a young female writer without a classical education, working in a male world of letters—seems also to have gestured towards the genre of secret history in Lady Susan. Echoing the narcissism and disloyalty of a Whig courtier from the court of Queen Anne in her epistolary por- trait, Austen gives a first-person voice to her boldly unrepentant hero- ine. Yet, this first-person voicing—typical in the genre of secret history, which was often cast as a packet of private letters intercepted and opened—paradoxically gives very little sense of the heroine’s actual self. As Austen acknowledges when she shifts into her own narrator’s voice at the end of her novel, her heroine will remains unknowable to her Fall; 26 (3): 372. I was first introduced to April London’s fascinating work on the his- tory of anecdote in her presentation at the 2011 CSECS conference: “‘Unaccountable obliquity’: Sterne’s Tristram Shandy and Anecdote.” 32. April London (374–75) is citing Patterson’s Early Modern Liberalism (160). Lumen 32.corr.indd 15 13-04-22 12:08 PM 16 1 Rachel Carnell readers as long as they are required to rely on her own account of herself: “Whether Lady Susan was, or was not happy in her second Choice—I do not see how it can ever be ascertained—for who would take her assurance of it, on either side of the question?” (77). Austen continues, “The World must judge from Probability.—She had noth- ing against her, but her Husband & her Conscience” (77). We might view Lady Susan, in which Austen’s narrator seems to acknowledge the limits of first-person narration (ironically doing so in the voice of her own first-person authorial narrator), as a stylistic pre- cursor to her subsequent development of free indirect discourse.33 As Michael McKeon explains, Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, which is full of letters, depicts interiority partly through the scenes of awakening that occur as a character reads and responds, often in free indirect discourse, to another character’s letters. For McKeon, Austen’s achieve- ment in Pride and Prejudice signals a cultural shift accomplished across the previous century towards a new conception of interiority (717). Given that such a shift had been gradually emerging since about 1714, however, it is significant that in the first decade of the nineteenth century Austen was still interested in crafting a heroine whose “true” self is difficult to discern. Rather than assuming that she had not yet mastered the expression of “interiority” that she demonstrated in her later fiction, and rather than concluding that “Jane Austen clearly needed to move on,”34 we might instead understand Lady Susan as expressing Austen’s continued interest in a style of political satire that resisted a novelistic expression of interiority. Austen’s refusal to narrate any marks of Lady Susan’s “Conscience” (which she mentions and therefore assumes must have existed) reveals the same taste for partisan caricature evident in her snide marginal comments in Goldsmith about Whig courtiers from earlier centuries. For those with a continued interest in Austen’s iconoclastic version of Tory historiography, it is worth considering her interest—still largely secret to modern readers—in the anecdotal genre of secret history. 33. David Owen finds further evidence of Austen’s move towards free indirect discourse in the moralizing “authorial narrative voice” of Catherine Vernon” (Rethink- ing Lady Susan, 35). 34. Todd and Bree, introduction to Lady Susan, lxiii. Lumen 32.corr.indd 16 13-04-22 12:08 PM 
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work_fntqp7576bb65dannk5e5zsnhu	----	Mary Evans The universities and the challenge of realism Article (Accepted version) (Refereed) Original citation: Evans, M. (2010) The universities and the challenge of realism. Arts and Humanities in Higher Education, 9, pp. 13-21. ISSN 1474-0222 DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/1474022209350092 © 2010 SAGE Publications This version available at: http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/29384/ Available in LSE Research Online: April 2012 LSE has developed LSE Research Online so that users may access research output of the School. Copyright © and Moral Rights for the papers on this site are retained by the individual authors and/or other copyright owners. Users may download and/or print one copy of any article(s) in LSE Research Online to facilitate their private study or for non-commercial research. You may not engage in further distribution of the material or use it for any profit-making activities or any commercial gain. 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CORE Metadata, citation and similar papers at core.ac.uk Provided by LSE Research Online https://core.ac.uk/display/215560?utm_source=pdf&utm_medium=banner&utm_campaign=pdf-decoration-v1 http://www2.lse.ac.uk/researchAndExpertise/Experts/profile.aspx?KeyValue=m.s.evans@lse.ac.uk http://ahh.sagepub.com/ http://ahh.sagepub.com/ http://dx.doi.org/10.1177/1474022209350092 http://www.sagepub.com/home.nav http://eprints.lse.ac.uk/29384/ Paper for Arts and Humanities in Higher Education The Universities and the Challenge of Realism Mary Evans Gender Institute London School of Economics January 2009 This paper was partly inspired by a place : the place being Galway and the reason for my being there a conference at the National University of Ireland’s Galway campus on the subject of Critical Thinking. A subject close, we might hope, to the hearts and minds of all academics. Both place and conference were inspirational, a hugely interesting and well attended conference and a place which had once been a home to James Joyce’s muse, Nora Barnacle, a person to whom I will return later. The title of this paper includes the word ‘realism’ and it is this word which I wish , initially, to try and define. For students of literature and visual representation the word has long had the meaning of that movement in fiction and art which turned to the everyday, quotidian world for its subject matter. In literature we can recognise this very clearly in what has long been described as the ‘rise’ of the novel, the emergence in the eighteenth century of the fiction which examined the careers of both societies and individuals in ways specific to defined contexts and characteristics. No longer were heroines and heroes to be mythical figures, they were now to be those ‘ordinary’ characters with names such as Tom Jones or Fanny Price who have become commonplace figures of western culture. This ‘realistic’ fiction tells us stories about various kinds of relationships ( for example, marriage, courtship or motherhood ) which we can all identify with. George Eliot, Elizabeth Gaskell, Charles Dickens and Leo Tolstoy, just a few of the great narrative realists of the nineteenth century, told us about worlds we either know or with which we could establish imaginative connections. The work of all these novelists told us tales with inherent possibilities about what might happen to their characters : in War and Peace we wonder if Natasha is going to marry Pierre, we conjecture about the possible endurance , in Middlemarch, of the marriage of Dorothea to Casaubon. Thus I would suggest, initially, that whilst the much used term ‘realism’ always has connections with the various domestic and social worlds which we know it also has, and would hardly be fiction or a work of the imagination if it did not, a degree of uncertainty and openness in its passage towards a conclusion . Indeed, part of the measure of the quality of fiction is the degree to which we are convinced that the conclusion has been reached through the created agency of the characters rather than the explicit authority and control of the author. In this , realist fiction is both clearly’realistic’ in the sense that it can tell us , for example,about the ways in which people organised and conducted their daily lives , and un-realistic in the way in which it can introduce elements of chance or coincidence. The less that the’unlikely’ occurs in fiction the more we are inclined to accept the questions which the novelist is asking us to consider. Jane Austen, for example, knew and demonstrated the temptations of the bizarre in Northanger Abbey ; generally read as a satire on the gothic novel and the over-abundance of the imagination in real life , the novel is also a demonstration of the part that the imagination should play in everyday life. If we cannot see, like Catherine Moreland, that a wooden chest might contain something more than old laundry lists then we do not have the imagination either to see ourselves in different kinds of human relationships or make the kind of imaginative leaps that make possible art, science and the construction of the material world. The ‘realism’ associated with late eighteenth and nineteenth century European fiction thus allowed both the recognisably realistic and a degree of imagination . The superb balance achieved in Austen, Eliot et al gave us the canonical fiction which is such a rich part of European culture. Yet in the twentieth century various kinds of challenges to realism occurred. In the old Soviet Union the early intellectual experimentation of the Revolution gave way to what the critic Georg Lukacs was to describe ( with a considerable absence of enthusiasm ) as ‘socialist realism’. This movement, in both literature and the visual arts, he contrasted to ‘critical realism’ ( the great works of the nineteenth century ) and to the work of writers such as Virginia Woolf and James Joyce, whose concern was to illuminate individual subjectivity. There is a place ( as the art critic Andrew Hemingway has pointed out ) for re-thinking the art of socialist realism, not least because it gave a place in representational art to those millions of people who had seldom previously achieved, as either individuals or as metaphors for particular kinds of work , any form of recognition. (1) But this re-thinking was decades away from the assumptions of Lukacs and other, western, critics. Whilst Lukacs was as unenthusiastic about Joyce as he was about socialist realism, western critics hailed the work of Woolf, Joyce and Marcel Proust as ground-breaking work in the history of literature. What literary modernism did was to re-situate the realism of the nineteenth century in terms of a negotiation with the achievements of Woolf and her contemporaries . It also introduced into discussions of the novel diverse traditions of the ‘realistic’ and the meaning of realism. In many ways a curious process of cultural osmosis took place in the west in which the Soviet meaning of realism often became part of the meaning of ‘realism’; to be ‘realistic came to mean both an acceptance of the imagination and a determination to discuss those aspects of the social world ( class, sex and money ) which was often resisted. In the history of the theatre in England this particular construction of the ‘realistic’ was often met with a considerable degree of antipathy; the ‘new’ English drama of John Osborne and Shelagh Delaney was described with the perjorative title ‘kitchen sink drama’ . Yet the dramatists themselves surely saw their work as ‘realistic’ in the more positive, nineteenth century sense; it might have been heretical in the 1950s to consider the links of sympathy between George Eliot and John Osborne but with hindsight we might consider that these two authors ( and others across the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries ) shared the same assumptions about the necessary centrality of the idea of realism to works of the imagination. It might therefore seem, in the light of this abbreviated account of the idea of realism , that realism is a very complex idea and one which can bring together authors across time,place, class, race and gender. Realism, and the realistic, are not, therefore, ideas or sets of possibilities which we should necessarily reject or locate in terms of a tedious, mechanistic reproduction of the social and personal world. But unfortunately for many in contemporary universities a new meaning of ‘realism’ has come to hold sway, a meaning which limits inquiry and is , in many ways, hostile to debate and discussion. This form of realism I would describe as ‘coercive realism’, the form of realism which insists that we can describe, absolutely and finally the social world and that the world in which we live is not merely ‘real’ but is also both constant and fixed. This view, like all views of the world, has intellectual parents and it is useful to define certain aspects of that parentage. The first and most obvious form of the new account of realism is derived from the ideas surrounding the ‘fall’ of the Berlin Wall in 1989 and the end of the old Soviet Union. One of the many implications of this dramatic event was the global normalisation of the market economy and the apparent naturalisation of views about the nature of the relationship of the individual to property and to the state. The ‘naturalisation’ of the market economy suggested that the given order of the social world, and that of the social relationships within it, was that of capitalism, a free market and the legitimacy of the pursuit of profit. It was not that these ideas had not been espoused before 1989, in various versions they had been part of many parts of the world for centuries. But post 1989, voices in neo-liberal societies across the globe spoke of certain forms of economic relations in terms which increasingly naturalised them. The impact of this on the universities was that the Thatcher and Major governments in Great Britain faced little confrontation when suggesting that it was entirely appropriate that universities should engage in ‘enterprise’ and ‘entrepreneurship’. Accordingly, from the 1980s onwards, universities ( and academics ) have increasingly been asked to provide evidence of their contribution to the economic market-place. The justification for this is that it would be wrong to allow universities, largely supported as they are by tax payers’ money, to fail to contribute to the national economy. The argument is sometimes difficult to resist: few people wish to be seen to be a-social ( in the sense of refusing to contribute to a wider society ) but at the same time questions about , let us say, the distribution of wealth go unanswered. A curiously ‘a -social’ thesis operates in these ideas : we are all expected to contribute to society but definitions of the meaning of that society are not welcomed. A second, and rather more diffuse, parentage of ‘coercive realism’ is the use of the term ‘natural’ in various social contexts. Any observer of the market place of the twenty first century will be familiar with the advertising claim that ‘we are all worth it’ ( a claim that on humanistic grounds few of us would refute ) and since we are all ‘worth it’ it is ‘natural’ that we should want , let us say , expensive handbags or a re- decoration of our home or whatever else are the consumer goods on display and for sale. This naturalisation of the desire for consumer goods has become so closely associated with constructs of ‘human nature’ that it is seldom remarked upon, but with it comes assumptions about the essential maintenance of economic growth and the entrepreneurial spirit. This spirit, which Max Weber described as part of the ‘spirit of capitalism’ was crucially recognised by him as an emergent property of sixteenth century Calvinism. In this, Weber offered what was a social , rather than a natural, understanding of a view of the world. The irony is that in the twenty first century , as our relationship with the actual ‘natural’ world becomes increasingly problematic so we turn to it as the derivation of our social beliefs. The process of the naturalisation of consumer desire and the material order of the market economy is to be found throughout both social and intellectual life. There are numerous ways in which this might be demonstrated but two examples suggest something of the changes in understanding that are being produced. The first is that once we see the market economy as the norm in social life and as the ‘normal’ in human aspiration we implicitly make dissent from this view abnormal. Thus long, and diverse, traditions about, for example, trade union rights become by their very content oppositional. The second is that the appetite of desire for consumption is limitless : like a child fed only on sweets , what emerges are monsters in which desire is never satiated. If we put together these two examples, of what Lisa Rofel has described as the ‘desiring subjects’ of the market economy with the marginalisation of alternative normative traditions , what we confront , in terms of the students in universities , are people who have become used to certain kinds of largely unchallenged assumptions about the social world. (2) The homogeneity of much western political discourse makes it often difficult to suggest that the cultural and intellectual histories of the world are not about a seamless progression towards a global market economy but about diverse and often contradictory attitudes and values. Whilst much effort has been devoted to the discussion, and representation of cultural difference, there remains a sense in which political difference has become increasingly obscured . In this context it is often difficult to see the way , as T.S.Eliot wrote : ‘…to show you something different from either, Your shadow at morning striding behind you or your shadow at evening rising to meet you.’ (3) The question with which we are then faced, as academics, is how to show that something’different’ in universities. Aspects of that difference are not necessarily always contested ; a considerable amount of academic work in the past twenty years has actively re-written the curricula of many university departments : what was once the ‘canon’ , in disciplines across the humanities and the social sciences, has been disputed and found wanting. A new ‘canon’ has been instrumental in bringing to the academic world the study of women, of non-white people and of cultures outside the previous gaze of western eyes.’Difference’ has become, in many ways, an established part of the university curriculum. Yet for all that, and despite the manifest and remarkable changes in what is now studied at universities throughout the west there is an accompanying normalisation of other aspects of the ‘real’ world. Of this, ideas about the ‘real ‘ world and ‘being realistic’ are of central importance. This has led, I would suggest, to the ‘management’ of knowledge in ways which are deemed appropriate in terms of the ‘real’ world. The idea of the ‘real’ world of course constructs a binary division, in which we are asked to accept that the world of the universities, and the goals which we might pursue within them, are in some sense ‘unreal’. There has been for decades a view of the universities which argues that they are the ivory towers of the social world, places in which people with little understanding of the everyday produce work which only deepens that divide between the academy and the general population. That view never had any real substance. In various ways, not all of them necessarily positive, British universities always had close connections with the ‘real’ world . They produced , for example, almost all the country’s research in the natural sciences and at the same time they produced generations of young people ( largely, it has to be said, young male people ) who were trained and educated in ways deemed appropriate for the administration of various sectors of both the domestic and the overseas state. To argue , in the light of this evidence, that universities constituted ‘ivory towers’ was to ignore the many crucial interventions which universities made in British social and political life. But the idea of the distinction between the ‘real’ and the ‘unreal’ world has built on the very flimsy sands of the idea of the ‘ivory tower’ to produce an even more rigid , and arguably more damaging, view of the relationship between universities and the wider world. In this more contemporary view, universities are asked to ‘get real’ and told that ‘we have to live in the real world’. This endless re-iteration of the apparent, and clearly firmly internalised , account of the real and the unreal ignores many of the empirical links that exist ( and have always existed ) between the academic world and the world outside. At the same time, the coercive assumption that the ‘real’ world is the world which should dictate the conduct of university life becomes the principle around which universities are increasingly organised. Thus it is all too easy for universities to assume ( or to be encouraged to assume ) that their priorities should include teaching ‘work related skills’ and assessing students in terms of their ability to present ideas. In these novel pedagogic agendas there exists a curious mix of both valuable and less valuable innovations. For example, offering various forms of teaching guides to students and emphasising the importance of communication is to provide significant assistance for many students. At the same time, an emphasis on ‘presentation’ can over-shadow content. As many people who have attended ‘presentations’ will know, it may very well be the case that the content of what is being said has little or no importance. To offer students prepared packs of reading may appear to be helpful, but at the same time it might carry a message that the pack contains all that there is to know. The question of the subliminal message of contemporary aids to teaching demands a greater degree of attention than it usually receives. The pressures, throughout Europe, to extend recruitment in higher education has inevitably led to a degree of inconsistent standards throughout the sector. Differences in funding, and the ‘cultural capital’ not just of individuals, but also of institutions, can ( and does) make a significant difference to the quality of higher education. But here a second aspect of the question of the ‘real world’ intrudes, in that the universities where the ‘real’ world is likely to be the most visible are generally those universities with the least in the way of resources. For ancient and long established universities ( in Britain Oxbridge and the old civic universities ) the ‘real’ world, of economic scarcity, a student body with various forms of social disadvantage and the pressure to accord with government demands can be resisted through various ways, not least the degrees of financial independence and significant social status which those institutions possess. Hence the ‘real’ world, of the constant need to accord with government strictures makes less impact in these institutions. The inevitable paradox is that the very democratisation of higher education which its expansion was designed to ensure is lessened by the impact of academically detrimental policies which can be more easily resisted by the privileged than by others. For example, in England there has been a pattern in which higher status universities or university colleges ( for example Oxbridge and the London School of Economics ) have been able to resist the most obvious interventions by the QAA in the pattern of teaching and the explicit collusion with the demands of the labour market. A further paradox which is also apparent here is that these very higher status universities are those institutions whose graduates are more widely welcomed in the labour market. It would appear that the ‘real’ world does not extend a particularly warm hand of welcome to those educated in terms of the ‘real’ world. Collusion with the apparent aspirations of the ‘real’ world does not, it would seem, always reward those who most energetically pursue that path. In this we come to another aspect of the question of the ‘real’ and the ‘unreal’ worlds. It is that this distinction fails to recognise the great complexity of the process of learning and the idea of ‘knowledge’ which underpins it. By its very nature academic teaching and research is open-ended and always , and certainly at its very best, a way of looking at and studying the world which allows as much for what we do not know as we do. Ambiguity, doubt, dissent, disorder are valuable and central tenets of the academic process: how else, we might ask rhetorically, should we ever learn to question and to think critically about what we know. To abandon this account of ‘the getting of wisdom’ in favour of a template which speaks of ‘learning objectives ‘ is to endorse a form of inquiry which has all the hallmarks of those authoritarian regimes ( whether of the past or the present ) when there was only one way to ‘know’. The case of science in the old Soviet Union is the dramatic example of this kind of approach to knowledge : the refusal to allow scepticism made it very difficult, if not impossible, for advances to be made. The over-management of knowledge, and an over-management which is legitimated in terms of its value for the ‘real’ world, thus fails to do two things . First of all it entirely fails to distinguish between information, knowledge and wisdom. The world of the twenty first century is one which for many people is information rich : the inter- net gives many of us rapid access to enormous amounts of material. But we have to continue to recognise the distinctions between information and knowledge. We do not have to disallow information but what is essential is learning , and being taught, that what we have to take to this information is the ability to consider and assess it. The second issue about the over-management of knowledge is that it refuses the contradictions and the ambiguities , the incoherence and the chaos of both the social and the intellectual world. In ‘managing’ knowledge, and formatting it in ways which make it easy to assimilate and process, we can often avoid the recognition of the ways in which ideas are not always part of ordered patterns or those binary forms of ‘for’ and ‘against’. In narrative fiction in the nineteenth century bourgeois realism opened the eyes of many to the cruelties and injustices of the social world. The bourgeois ‘realism’ of the twenty first century is often more inclined to secure agreement and the authority of the conventional than it is to consider what might be difficult or uncomfortable. The present seizing of the idea of ‘realism ‘ for purposes that many of us might question should not, however, encourage us to abandon the term. There is , notwithstanding the best efforts of various state agencies to persuade us that the ‘real’ can be easily defined, what might be described as a ‘real’ realism. This realism , rather than engaging with some of the fanciful aspects of constructions of the world, recognises some of the ‘real’ realities of the world, a world in which , for example, access to clean water constitutes a major source of global inequality. Other ‘real’ aspects of the world which we might consider include the capacity of the employment market to absorb large numbers of graduates or the relationship between the financial cost of higher education with individual financial gains from it. Even more ‘real’, in 2009, is the question , and the implications, of the health of consumer spending in relation to general social prosperity. All these three questions constitute ‘real’ questions and they can be substantiated in terms of evidence and the experience of everyday lives. The answers to these questions suggests that one of the great challenges which we face in the twenty first century is learning to distinguish between various forms of ‘realism’, the one which offers a constructed and questionable account of the purposes of education and the other which defines precisely those conditions of ‘reality’ which are too often over- looked. In the early years of the twentieth century James Joyce was inspired to write his great novel Ulysses by the presence of his muse, Nora Barnacle, a woman who lived an ‘ordinary’, otherwise unexceptional life in Galway. Joyce did not , therefore, look to a fantasy version of womanhood, or fictional women, for his inspiration. This example, of the meeting of the everyday and the extraordinary ,offers us important ways of defining our relationship with the ‘real’. Joyce did not look at , or think about Nora Barnacle in terms of attempting to render a precise picture of a human being. On the contrary, he looked at the ‘real’ in order to find ways of thinking about what might be, what could be, and what was possible. Rather than turning to the existent social world in order to curtail the imagination he used it as a place from which to construct possibility. In this we can see something of the way in which we might both resist homogenising versions of the ‘real’ and turn instead to those accounts which allow us to develop the visions and the varieties of human intelligence. References 1. Andrew Hemingway, The Social and the Real , New Haven, Yale University Press, 2002. 2. Lisa Rofel, Desiring China : Experiments in Neo-liberalism,Sexuality and Popular Culture , Duke University Press, 2007 3.T.S.Eliot, The Waste Land , London, Faber and Faber, 1922 The universities and the challenge of realism (Cover) The universities and the challenge of realism (author) 
work_fpj6tlkmjrf5plxuatjjlb5umy	----	Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=gerr20 Download by: [Bibliothèques de l'Université de Montréal] Date: 05 February 2016, At: 17:36 European Romantic Review ISSN: 1050-9585 (Print) 1740-4657 (Online) Journal homepage: http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/gerr20 Introduction: Deviance and Defiance Joel Faflak & Michael Eberle‐Sinatra To cite this article: Joel Faflak & Michael Eberle‐Sinatra (2006) Introduction: Deviance and Defiance, European Romantic Review, 17:2, 133-138, DOI: 10.1080/10509580600687442 To link to this article: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10509580600687442 Published online: 19 Aug 2006. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 60 View related articles http://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=gerr20 http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/gerr20 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/10509580600687442 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10509580600687442 http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=gerr20&page=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=gerr20&page=instructions http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/10509580600687442 http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/10509580600687442 European Romantic Review, Vol. 17, No. 2, April 2006, pp. 133–138 ISSN 1050–9585 (print)/ISSN 1740–4657 (online) © 2006 Taylor & Francis DOI: 10.1080/10509580600687442 Introduction: Deviance and Defiance Joel Faflak & Michael Eberle-Sinatra Taylor and Francis LtdGERR_A_168714.sgm10.1080/10509580600687442European Romantic Review1050-9585 (print)/1740-4657 (online)Original Article2006Taylor & Francis172000000April 2006DavidLamkindavid.lamkin@tandf.co.uk The thirteenth annual meeting of the North American Society for the Study of Romanticism took place August 13–16, 2005 in Montreal, Canada, sponsored by Université de Montréal. The conference was held in conjunction with the seventh bien- nial meeting of the International Gothic Association (August 11–14) and was the first major collaborative effort between NASSR and IGA. The theme for both conferences was “Deviance and Defiance,” to underscore the fact that in recent years the interrela- tion of Gothic and Romantic studies has emerged as a central topic of scholarly study. This interest reflects both fields’ reclamation of the often transgressive texts and authors who articulate the epoch-making intersection of Gothic and Romantic litera- tures in the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. “Deviance and Defiance” was thus the first major international and interdisciplinary meeting to assess how the convergence of the Gothic and the Romantic produced historical forces whose cultural resonance persists to the present and, by the evidence of the presentations at both conferences, survives in ways that make our critical practice more than just a theoreti- cal exercise. Joel Faflak is Assistant Professor in the Department of English at the University of Western Ontario. He has edited Sanity, Madness, Transformation: The Psyche of Romanticism (2005), a special issue of European Romantic Review on Romanticism and History (2003), and co-edited Nervous Reactions: Victorian Recollections of Romanticism (2004) and Cultural Subjects: A Popular Culture Reader (2005). He has published numerous articles on the rela- tionship between Romantic and post-Romantic literature and culture and psychoanalysis, and has forthcoming an edition of Thomas De Quincey’s Confessions of an English Opium-Eater and a book-length study entitled Romantic Psychoanalysis and the Burden of the Mystery. He can be contacted at UC 60, Department of English, University of Western Ontario, London, Ontario N6A 3K7, Canada. Michael Eberle-Sinatra is Assistant Professor of Nineteenth-Century British Literature. His publications include a dozen articles on Romantic authors in such journals as European Romantic Review, Byron Journal, Keats–Shelley Journal, and Keats–Shelley Review. Routledge published his monograph, Leigh Hunt and the London Literary Scene, in 2005. He is the editor of Mary Shelley’s Fictions: From Frankenstein to Falkner (Macmillan, 2000), the general editor, with Thomas Crochunis, of the forth- coming Broadview Anthology of British Women Playwrights, 1777–1843 (Broadview Press, 2007), and one of the general editors of the six-volume edition of The Selected Writings of Leigh Hunt (Pickering & Chatto, 2003). He has recently been contracted by Longman to prepare a critical edition of Matthew Lewis’s Gothic novel, The Monk, to be published in 2007. He is also founding editor of the electronic peer-reviewed journal, Romanticism on the Net. He can be contacted at Departement d’études anglaises, Universite de Montreal CP 6128, Station Centre-ville, Montreal, Quebec H3C3J7, Canada. D ow nl oa de d by [ B ib li ot hè qu es d e l'U ni ve rs it é de M on tr éa l] a t 17 :3 6 05 F eb ru ar y 20 16 134 J. Faflak & M. Eberle-Sinatra The joint theme capitalized on two salient phenomena in recent scholarship: the study of the Gothic’s influence on the cultural imaginary has grown exponentially, and Romantic studies has enlarged its critical and disciplinary boundaries by re-internaliz- ing the gothic as one of its most significant origins. Both fields have been engaged in re- assessing how the Gothic and Romanticism establish and challenge norms that exist as remains in our own day. Gothic and Romantic discourses have profoundly shaped historical, political, and cultural issues, such as the emergence of resistance groups and suffrage movements in the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries; explora- tion, colonialism, postcolonialism, and the rise of the imperialist imagination and its frequently monstrous aftermaths; the romance of scientific revolutions and their often Gothic progeny; the War on Terror. The Gothic and the Romantic both defy and rein- force norms, re-trench common wisdom while defying its codes of conduct. They write these issues large on the literary, cultural, and political stages, in the classroom and in society. Romanticism and the Gothic continue to haunt our political unconscious and to mold historical and cultural consciousness in ways that we are just beginning to understand, and that will affect how we imagine, create, and teach cultural texts and artefacts long into the twenty-first century. The topic thus engaged deviance and defiance from multiple perspectives, and invited a profound attention to historical context, while encouraging innovative comparative analyses that reorder our sense of history and how that history informs the critical practice of our everyday lives. For NASSR participants in particular, the Gothic comprised a semi-autonomous field for historical and cultural inquiry within Roman- tic Studies. By now, one could argue, study of the Gothic in the Romantic period is an institution unto itself, whereas before it had been the criticism’s marginal or, worse, occult concern. Yet it is precisely this slippage between center and periphery that the conference sought to interrogate in order to ascertain how and why subjects get located in the (Romantic) public sphere the ways they do. In this way the idea of the Gothic functioned most profoundly for participants as a metonymy for all that the period and its criticisms did not and could not leave behind, for its penchant for shifting para- digms and smashing shibboleths while remaining deeply ambivalent about history’s advance. We need look no further than the paradigmatic example of Wordsworth’s indictment of sickly German tragedies or his attempts to minimize the ghastly horrors of Coleridge’s frequently supernatural achievement to know that the Gothic was, at least by the time Wordsworth wrote his Preface, a force to be reckoned with, one that affected how individuals thought and felt. As Michael Gamer, the joint NASSR/IGA plenary speaker, reminds us in a recent article on pornography and the Gothic in PMLA, the Gothic was enlisted in the name of making pornography an indictable cate- gory because it offered a way of designating in human nature and in an increasingly unwieldly public and imperial sphere transgressive thoughts and acts that, by virtue of being marked transgressive, required legislation and containment. That is, the center- ing impetus of the Romantic public sphere, its desire to conserve itself—politically, culturally, economically, sexually, nationally, racially—depended on the naming and maintenance of its margins as differences that kept its identity intact. NASSR 2005 addressed itself to this unstable hegemony, to a literature and culture whose deviances D ow nl oa de d by [ B ib li ot hè qu es d e l'U ni ve rs it é de M on tr éa l] a t 17 :3 6 05 F eb ru ar y 20 16 European Romantic Review 135 and defiances become spectres of the period’s productive desire for and troubling addiction to revolution and radicalism, progress and change. From the conference’s heterogeneous field of inquiry we have chosen what we hope is a varied yet exemplary sampling of NASSR 2005’s excellent and timely presentations. We include, for instance, one of the four stellar plenary presentations, Tim Fulford’s “Romantic Indians and their Inventors.” Fulford looks at the figure of the British born and educated Captain John Norton, who also happened to be Teyoninhokarawen, a Mohawk chief who lead British and Indian soldiers against the US in the war of 1812. Divided between two solitudes, one North American, the other European, Norton reminds us of how culture trains its subjects according to its own receptivity toward them, in this case toward a man who they presumed had the “body and mind of a ‘savage’—a man of nature, untouched, for good and ill, by civilization.” Teyonin- hokarawen needed to be “native” in ways of which his own community, with its own cultural constructions, would have been suspicious; yet his “adopted” community was equally suspicious that, as a proper British gentleman, he was not “savage enough.” Such a figure of cultural hybridity does and does not conform to British self-assess- ments, a transatlantic trickster whose mobile identities confronted the Empire with its own foreignness, its own deviation from itself, one who consequently played into stereotypes and defied their prejudices. A different negotiation across the pond informs Cole Heinowitz’s “‘Thy World, Columbus, Shall Be Free’: British Romantic Deviance and Latin American Revolution.” Heinowitz’s essay traces a cultural kinship between British liberal dissent (in Barbauld’s poetry) and Latin American patriotism (in Simón Bólivar’s political writing), the former displacing the afflatus of Romantic vision from an Alpine to an Andean locus that reproduces consciousness as political revolution and reminds a hegemonic British Romanticism of its complicity with its own suppressed resistances. For Heinowitz, the moral economies of economic and political liberalism, and their presumption of benevolence, circulate between Britain and Spanish America through a mobile cultural commerce that, far from shoring up the Empire’s selfhood, writes back to the Empire a rather unexpected account of its own benevolent ideals. Thus Fulford’s and Heinowitz’s essays contest what the “North American” in NASSR might possibly mean, and demonstrate that we are only beginning to bring some insight to bear on such blindnesses. Both essays also point to a concern with ethical practice in recent Romantic criticism (and thus with the spectres of ethical critical practice), following upon a turn to an analysis of Romanticism’s political unconscious (and this after the ongoing re-turn to history). Such a concern is ostensible, if not overt, in many of NASSR 2005’s papers. Arnold Markley and Laura Mandell read this ethics through two countervalent portraits of the Romantic public sphere’s deviating practices. Markley’s focus is gambling and duelling in the 1790s novel of reform. Here upper-class gaming and swordsmanship are re-signified as bad behaviours, deviating practices in which the allure of chivalry and the ability to transcend the whims of fortune become tradition’s desperate last stand against the inevitability of historical and political change. At work in the genre’s re-formation is the spirit of a middle-class industriousness that could not broach such resistances to transformation, especially as middle-class concern about D ow nl oa de d by [ B ib li ot hè qu es d e l'U ni ve rs it é de M on tr éa l] a t 17 :3 6 05 F eb ru ar y 20 16 136 J. Faflak & M. Eberle-Sinatra addictive and dangerous practices rose commensurate with its anxiety toward the working classes. For Mandell the site of ambivalent transaction is letters (between Horace Walpole and Mme. du Deffand and between Mary Hays and William Godwin). Here the anxieties negotiating between subjects are aggression and hatred. Such writ- ten, transcribed, edited and re-edited exchanges comprise for Mandell a scene of narcissistic psychoanalysis that demystifies a later classical psychoanalysis’ production of normal and normative selves. In the case of Hays and Godwin the interchange reveals a Romantic identity absent to itself because of gender tensions it misses; in the case of Walpole and Deffand, the scene folds in upon itself to reveal an identity lost, if not absent altogether. Both options offer a kind of primal scene of conversation—the driving force sustaining Godwinian political justice—wherein the merger of the private and public points to this merger’s less-than-transformative capacities. A similar merger appears in Emily Rohrbach’s essay on Barbauld’s Eighteen Hundred and Eleven and the way the poem addresses a new kind of historicized identity and transatlantic issues. Exploring the blurriness between philosophies of historical progress and the culture of dissent, Rohrbach analyzes Barbauld’s deviancy from contemporary settings and national perspectives, while reasserting that the poem “presents itself as a medium for British nationalism.” It seems an uncanny anomaly that, in a conference devoted to the theme of deviance and defiance, there were such a large number of papers devoted to some of the period’s more “conservative” figures such as William Wordsworth and Jane Austen, just as Godwin recurs as one of Romanticism’s more distinctly ambivalent writers. Yet one of NASSR 2005’s most productive and, indeed transgressive, aspects was to look for crit- ical deviations in the least obviously, as well the more characteristically, defiant places. Three papers we have included here, for instance, remind us how we can still be startled by Wordsworthian errancy (to borrow David Collings’s phrase). For Peter J. Manning, the case for Wordsworth is a case for revisiting the historical and political valences of his late poetry, still much overlooked in the criticism. Relocating Persepolis as a figure of timeless utterance to one of topical iteration in Yarrow Revisited, Manning explores a later, supposedly disinterested Wordsworth who seems to be well aware of Britian’s “global entanglements.” Persia, signalling both the Empire’s cultural survival and its hegemony over the past, also signals in Wordsworth’s texts ambivalent feelings about both and thus about foreign aspects of and intrusions within its own apparently homo- geneous space. Cara Norris reads an earlier Wordsworth rather less ambivalent about politics, particularly those of the 1790s in The Borderers, which speaks to an absent center of justice (the 1794 suspension of habeus corpus) propelling a series of narrative deviations from that center, narratives that simulate rather than effect justice as simu- lation. In the play we thus find Wordsworth casting futurity’s shadows upon his own present in the form of a political system that trades in spectacular narratives and narra- tive speculation in the name of protecting a civil society. Most frightening in this process is the simulation of an “independent intellect” for the sake of then manipulat- ing that independence’s ethical autonomy. For Nancy Yousef, such an autonomy raises ethical concerns in Wordsworth’s “The Discharged Soldier.” Wordsworth’s text demonstrates the epistemological tensions inherent in an eighteenth-century concern D ow nl oa de d by [ B ib li ot hè qu es d e l'U ni ve rs it é de M on tr éa l] a t 17 :3 6 05 F eb ru ar y 20 16 European Romantic Review 137 with moral sentiment that Wordsworth inherits. Sympathy galvanizes subjects into a community of feeling, but does not necessarily make this feeling commensurate with justice. Put another way, the self-love that is supposed to be sympathy’s prelude to moral action does not always equate with a concern for the greater good, a sympathetic disappointment whose paradox Wordsworth’s text rather too keenly feels itself. The case for Austenian defiance is equally telling. Terry F. Robinson’s essay, winner of this year’s prize for Best Graduate Student Essay at the NASSR conference, explores how Austen’s Northanger Abbey, through its apparently conservative turn to the past, is in fact a return back to the future of a Romantic historiography that deviates from the time’s overtly Protestant ethic about this historiography’s work. The writing of individual fancy in Austen’s ‘romantic’ heroine Catherine, informed by a Catholicized historiography in which relics of the past maintain a potent signifying fascination, frees subjects from the ideological tyranny of a presentist, masculinist, Protestant concern with the skeletal anatomy of facts and the truth, exemplified by Henry Tilney’s world view. In fact, such a notion of “fancy’s history,” to borrow Julie Carlson’s phrase, at once predicates history upon the abyss and allows subjects closer access to history’s real; it thus also offers a degree of future autonomy that submits the Enlightenment’s rationalist promise to a psychoanalysis of its common sense assumptions. Robinson’s paper thus also offers a critique of our present critical historiographies and their some- times profound attachment to historical reality. As in Godwin’s ambivalent historiog- raphy, so crucial to Austen’s championing of the novel, to her re-visioning of British history, and to Robinson’s argument about the Romanticism’s attachment to history’s romance, Robinson reminds us how history is written by the movement of its own desire. Joanna Aroutian then takes up this desire as family romance in Mansfield Park. Aroutian reads the novel as the tension between an adherence to the inertness of family alliances and kinships and a dangerously mobile sexuality—both, because of their excessive deployment, threatening to unravel the ties that bind. Such a tension is made dialectically productive and thus socially progressive in the figure of Fanny Price, who manages to negotiate the powerful matrices of sexuality within the family system with- out making one succumb to the other. Such a gesture in some ways signals the novel’s social compromise. For Aroutian it suggests instead a subtly deviant Austen whose apparent sexual and gender conservatism can be powerfully forward-thinking. Such progress turns not-so-subtly traumatic in Daniela Garofalo’s essay on Caleb Williams, which owes much to the recent focus on Godwin’s historiography and its traumatic ambivalence toward both the real and the possibility of political justice (as in the recent work of Tilottama Rajan). Garofalo reads the narrative of the law, as explored in Norris’s account of The Borderers, as Godwin’s cynical simulation of its fictive authority. The novel’s most modern turn, she argues, is not to unmask this authority’s absolute power, but rather the effective economizing of its own failure, figured in Falkland’s fallible patriarchy: “in Godwin’s world what stimulates a lasting belief in the coherence of the law is not the tyrant [Tyrell] but the vulnerable, victim father who gives evidence of the law’s omnipotence. Paternal weakness is not the occa- sion for revolution but for a more thorough submission to the powers that be,” figured by the survivor guilt of Caleb’s sympathy for Falkland. Godwin’s novel thus not only D ow nl oa de d by [ B ib li ot hè qu es d e l'U ni ve rs it é de M on tr éa l] a t 17 :3 6 05 F eb ru ar y 20 16 138 J. Faflak & M. Eberle-Sinatra anticipates, but fully manifests the ideological implications of the psychoanalytic narrative of how Symbolic power exploits the very fact of its instantiation in the absent Father. Matthew Scott’s paper returns us to the source of this power in a primal scene of our critical confrontation with Romanticism’s texts, an encounter less missed than productively unsettling. The “unfamiliarity of aesthetic experience,” Scott suggests, overturns the critical anticipation of Romantic novelty (itself a Romantic expectation) and thus breaks down critical authority by making us confront this experience as “both embodied and cognitive affect,” a “sense of wonder [that] leads us to think ourselves out of a state of uncertain emotion.” Scott’s questions, like the object of his inquiry (Keats’s sonnets on the Elgin marbles) are obvious ones, which is his point because he means to remind us that Romanticism repeatedly returns us to the moment of our encounter with it. At what peril do we forget how Romanticism’s “generation of an autonomous aesthetic space,” of the creation of Art as a commodity through its atten- dant criticism, proceeds precisely by provoking “productive confusion and palpable emotional confusion,” fundamentals of an aesthetic encounter which place its conse- quent strategies of containment immediately under erasure? The above papers, either overtly or intrinsically invoke Romanticism’s unceasing Gothic power to arrest and haunt our critical imaginations. In them we can read the still-profound critical and academic influence of Romantic and Gothic Studies in the twenty-first century, and can read them as telling indices of how Romanticism comprises a potently Gothic mode of subverting, re-thinking, and re-writing contem- porary history. These essay’s critical romance of and with transgression, like that of Romanticism itself, points to what is perhaps one of the period’s most lasting legacies: its ability never to trust entirely the myth of its own deviations and defiances, restlessly to seek out within one’s romance with transgression a seductive desire for its effectivity, itself a dangerously conservative impulse that threatens to enslave us to the past as lessons already learned. D ow nl oa de d by [ B ib li ot hè qu es d e l'U ni ve rs it é de M on tr éa l] a t 17 :3 6 05 F eb ru ar y 20 16 
work_fqr4sa5ldjacza4kd4qcwuz244	----	Rivista semestrale online / Biannual online journal http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 6 / Issue no. 6 Dicembre 2012 / December 2012 Direttore / Editor Rinaldo Rinaldi (Università di Parma) Comitato scientifico / Research Committee Mariolina Bongiovanni Bertini (Università di Parma) Dominique Budor (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle – Paris III) Roberto Greci (Università di Parma) Heinz Hofmann (Universität Tübingen) Bert W. Meijer (Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Instituut Firenze / Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht) María de las Nieves Muñiz Muñiz (Universitat de Barcelona) Diego Saglia (Università di Parma) Francesco Spera (Università di Milano) Segreteria di redazione / Editorial Staff Maria Elena Capitani (Università di Parma) Nicola Catelli (Università di Parma) Chiara Rolli (Università di Parma) Esperti esterni (fascicolo n. 6) / External referees (issue no. 6) Beatrice Alfonzetti (Università di Roma La Sapienza) Laura Bandiera (Università di Parma) Francesco Bausi (Università della Calabria) Elisabetta Menetti (Università di Bologna) Rocco Mario Morano (University of Toronto Mississauga) Pasquale Voza (Università di Bari Aldo Moro) Progetto grafico / Graphic design Jelena Radojev (Università di Parma) Direttore responsabile: Rinaldo Rinaldi Autorizzazione Tribunale di Parma n. 14 del 27 maggio 2010 © Copyright 2012 – ISSN: 2039-0114 INDEX / CONTENTS PALINSESTI / PALIMPSESTS Un libello di citazioni. I “Frammenti morali, scientifici, eruditi e poetici” e la polemica fra Pietro Verri e l’abate Chiari VALERIA TAVAZZI (Università di Roma La Sapienza) 3-29 “Quashed Quotatoes”. Per qualche citazione irregolare (prima parte) RINALDO RINALDI (Università di Parma) 31-52 Incesto travestito. “Sei personaggi.com” di Edoardo Sanguineti JOLE SILVIA IMBORNONE (Università di Bari Aldo Moro) 53-74 “Civis romana sum”. La Londra intertestuale di Bernardine Evaristo SAMANTA TRIVELLINI (Università di Parma) 75-91 MATERIALI / MATERIALS Echoes of Hylas and the Poetics of Allusion in Propertius MARIAPIA PIETROPAOLO (University of Toronto) 95-107 I “gravissimi autori” del “Fuggilozio” SANDRA CARAPEZZA (Università Statale di Milano) 109-122 Le parole degli altri. Due libri religiosi nella biblioteca di Guido Morselli FABIO PIERANGELI (Università di Roma “Tor Vergata”) 123-135 Stupr e pré. Giovanni Testori riscrive Iacopone da Todi DANIELA IUPPA (Università di Roma “Tor Vergata”) 137-148 LIBRI DI LIBRI / BOOKS OF BOOKS [recensione/review] “A Myriad of Literary Impressions”. L’intertextualité dans le roman anglophone contemporain, Sous la direction de E. Walezak & J. Dupont, Saint-Estève, Presses Universitaires de Perpignan, 2010 MARIA ELENA CAPITANI 151-158 [recensione/review] Citation, Intertextuality and Memory in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, edited by Y. Plumley, G. Di Bacco and S. Jossa, Volume One: Text, Music and Image from Machaut to Ariosto, Exeter, University of Exeter Press, 2011 LUCA MANINI 159-164 Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 6 / Issue no. 6 – Dicembre 2012 / December 2012 Recensione / Review “A Myriad of Literary Impressions”. L’intertextualité dans le roman anglophone contemporain, sous la direction de E. Walezak & J. Dupont, Saint-Estève, Presses Universitaires de Perpignan, 2010, pp. 203, € 18,00 Il volume pubblica il risultato di una giornata di studi organizzata dal CARMA (Centre d’Analyses et de Recherches sur le Monde Anglophone) il 19 giugno 2009, presso l’Université Lumière Lyon 2. L’introduzione dei curatori, facendo appello al concetto di intertestualità che è “d’origine française” ma ha avuto “un retentissement important dans la critique anglo- saxonne”,1 evoca i nomi di Virginia Woolf e Gérard Genette per presentare una serie di saggi dedicati alla recente “production romanesque”2 in lingua inglese: “Si, selon la formule célèbre de Virginia Woolf, la réalité se compose d’une ‘myriad of impressions’, alors le monde des textes n’est-il pas précisément le lieu où cette foule d’impressions se fait littéraire? Qu’elle soit ludique, éthique, refonctionnalisante, gourmande, bruyante, subversive ou révérencieuse, l’intertextualité 1 Cfr. J. Dupont et E. Walezak, Introduction, in “A Myriad of Literary Impressions”. L’intertextualité dans le roman anglophone contemporain, sous la direction de E. Walezak & J. Dupont, Saint-Estève, Presses Universitaires de Perpignan, 2010, p. 12. 2 Cfr. ivi, p. 11. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 152 dotta in difficile equilibrio: n’a donc de cesse qu’elle nous renvoie à ‘l’incessante circulation des textes sans laquelle la littérature ne vaudrait pas une heure de perdue’”.3 Come suggerisce il titolo Intertextualité et épistémé contemporaine, la prima sezione del volume riunisce interventi che sondano “le rôle de la reprise intertextuelle de topoi modernistes et réalistes ou de textes du canon anglo-saxon dans une visée constructrice ou déconstructrice”.4 Nel saggio di apertura Béatrice Berna offre un’efficace disamina della dialettica intertestuale fra il celeberrimo one-day novel woolfiano Mrs Dalloway e il romanzo di Swift The Light of Day pubblicato nel 2003, anch’esso ambientato a Londra nell’arco di una sola giornata. Secondo la studiosa, l’incipit del capolavoro del 1925 riecheggia in una citazione metonimica swiftiana, che strategicamente “révèle un protocole de lecture moderniste”.5 I fiori, l’unità di tempo, lo stream of consciousness, la flânerie di Clarissa nella capitale inglese dei primi anni Venti e la sua versione postmoderna in automobile, le epifanie che concludono i due romanzi, sono alcuni elementi intertestuali esaminati nel saggio. E l’analisi bene illumina un’operazione letteraria con “Il n’y a donc ni imitation de l’esthétique moderniste, ni rupture avec elle ; s’il y a subversion, ou plutôt radicalisation de ses codes, l’opération s’effectue de l’intérieur, en lien avec elle.”6 Mélanie Heydari studia i rapporti fra il romanzo postcoloniale dell’indiano Vikram Seth A Suitable Boy (1993) e il canone britannico (Middlemarch ma soprattutto il novel of manners di Jane Austen). Secondo 3 Ivi, p. 15. La citazione di Genette rinvia a Palimpsestes. La littérature au second degré, Paris, Seuil, 1982, p. 482. 4 Cfr. J. Dupont et E. Walezak, Introduction, cit., p. 12. 5 Cfr. B. Berna, Du protocole de lecture à la relation dialogique : le modernisme revisité dans “The Light of Day” de Graham Swift, in “A Myriad of Literary Impressions”. L’intertextualité dans le roman anglophone contemporain, cit., p. 22. 6 Ivi, p. 26. Maria Elena Capitani – Recensione / Review 153 l’autrice l’opera di Seth è diametralmente opposta alla “pratique neutre du mimétisme” preconizzata da Jameson7 e si presenta invece come una “réflexion métafictionnelle”8 sul genere del pastiche: lungi dall’essere riconducibile a una pratica stilistica meramente ludica, il romanzo si trasforma in “un lieu de résistance explicite à l’emprise de la norme, et acquiert ainsi une dimension critique et proprement politique”.9 Claude Maisonnat, dal canto suo, dedica il proprio intervento all’analisi di un’intrigante novella di Louise Welsh Tamburlaine Must Die, uscita nel 2004 e ambientata nella torbida Inghilterra elisabettiana, in cui l’autrice “ventriloquise”10 la voce del drammaturgo Christopher Marlowe e ne ripercorre gli ultimi giorni di vita. Il saggio è arricchito di considerazioni teoriche più generali, definendo l’intertestualità come una condizione fantasmatica intrinseca alla letteratura (“si elle est partout elle n’est en fait nulle part, omniprésente et invisible à la fois”),11 realizzata da una “voix textuelle” che agisce “non comme une mosaïque, mais comme l’opérateur qui agence les composants de l’intertextualité, à quelque niveau que ce soit”.12 La prima parte del volume si conclude con un saggio di Françoise Sammarcelli, che trasporta il lettore al di là dell’Atlantico analizzando due romanzi: Carpenter’s Gothic (1985) dello scrittore newyorkese William Gaddis e Erasure (2001) dell’afro-americano Percival Everett. Pur ambientati in due momenti storici differenti, i due testi condividono un recupero intertestuale di tipo 7 Cfr. M. Heydari, Entre raillerie et révérence, “A Suitable Boy” ou le pastiche renouvelé, ivi, p. 29. Il riferimento è a F. Jameson, Postmodernism, or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism, Durham, Duke University Press, 1991, p. 15. 8 Cfr. M. Heydari, Entre raillerie et révérence, “A Suitable Boy” ou le pastiche renouvelé, cit., p. 31. 9 Cfr. ivi, p. 37. 10 Cfr. C. Maisonnat, La mort de l’intertexte ou les voies tortueuses de la voix textuelle dans “Tamburlaine Must Die” de Louise Welsh, ivi, p. 43. 11 Cfr. ivi, p. 40. 12 Cfr. ivi, p. 42. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 154 “ […] éminemment réflexif, servant à la fois à construire le portrait satirique de l’Amérique contemporaine et à problématiser le statut des codes du discours et de la relation littéraire. On assiste par ce biais dans les deux romans à une crise des ‘valeurs’ autant éthiques qu’esthétiques”.13 Come sottolineano i curatori del volume, la seconda parte Intertextes et grands récits “s’inscrit dans le sillage des constatations de Jean-François Lyotard sur la fin des méta-récits et poursuit les réflexions entamées dans la première partie en interrogeant les réécritures de l’épopée et de la Passion”.14 La sezione si apre con un intervento di Marilyne Brun che esplora la polifonia intertestuale dell’“autobiographie fictionnelle”15 Shanghai Dancing, un romanzo pubblicato nel 2003 dall’australiano Brian Castro. Nell’opera si intrecciano svariati generi e diverse tradizioni (epica, mitologica, biblica), mentre personaggi, registri e voci narranti compongono un variegato mosaico all’insegna della plurivocità intertestuale. L’autore, sottolinea Brun, si oppone così alla paradossale uniformità culturale e letteraria australiana, che è in netto contrasto con una ibridazione identitaria di marca postcoloniale: “Le fait qu’il combine l’épopée avec d’autres intertextes relève du jeu littéraire, mais souligne aussi le fait que l’homogénéité nationale que représente le récit épique est trop restrictive dans le contexte postcolonial”16. Anche il contributo di Emilie Walezak, dedicato a The Passion (1987) dell’inglese Jeanette Winterson, si riferisce alla tradizione biblico- 13 F. Sammarcelli, “People tried to figure if they were offended and why”: l’intertextualité dans le roman américain contemporain ou la lecture en procès, ivi, p. 54. 14 Cfr. J. Dupont et E. Walezak, Introduction, cit., p. 13. 15 Cfr. M. Brun, Épopée et intertextualité dans “Shanghai Dancing” de Brian Castro, in “A Myriad of Literary Impressions”. L’intertextualité dans le roman anglophone contemporain, cit., p. 67. 16 Ivi, p. 77. Maria Elena Capitani – Recensione / Review 155 mitologica. La drammatica vicenda del protagonista Henri, che lo conduce dalle gloriose imprese napoleoniche al manicomio veneziano di San Servolo, è infatti una ripetizione e insieme una parodia della Passione di Cristo, vero e proprio “archétype culturel”17 dell’opera. Il tema del sacrificio è tuttavia declinato negativamente e le “nombreuses citations non marquées”18 dei Four Quartets sottolineano la clamorosa distanza fra una redenzione ancora possibile nei componimenti eliotiani e l’assenza di redenzione nel romanzo della Winterson. L’illusorietà del gesto sacrificale è anche al centro del contributo che conclude la seconda sezione del volume, firmato da Maxime Decout e dedicato a Waiting for the Barbarians di John Maxwell Coetzee (1980). Illustrando la “lecture moderne et pessimiste de la Passion”19 proposta dallo scrittore sudafricano, il saggio descrive un mondo scevro di trascendenza e pervaso dal male, in cui l’immolazione (costantemente vana) è ben lungi dal rappresentare un’ascesa dello spirito. La terza parte del volume, intitolata Intertextualité et interdiscursivité : la littérature en dialogue avec la science, esplora l’intreccio problematico fra discorso letterario e discorso scientifico. Allo scrittore statunitense Paul Di Filippo è dedicato uno studio di Jérôme Dutel, che esamina il secondo racconto di The Steampunk Trilogy (1995) intitolato Hottentots e insiste sulla “volonté parodique”20 di questa ricchissima ripresa intertestuale in chiave decostruzionista. Il principale bersaglio dell’operazione (ma ci sono anche allusioni a Verne, Poe, Melville) è uno 17 Cfr. E. Walezak, “The Passion” de Jeanette Winterson : de l’idéal à l’abjection, ivi, p. 79. 18 Cfr. ivi, p. 89. 19 Cfr. M. Decout, “Waiting for the Barbarians” de Coetzee : réécrire la mort du Christ, refuser la Croix, ivi, p. 106. 20 Cfr. J. Dutel, Proche de l’indigestion intertextuelle : “Hottentots” de Paul Di Filippo, ivi, p. 115. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 156 dei più noti esponenti della horror fiction americana e autentico precursore della fantascienza: lo scrittore Howard Phillips Lovecraft. È proprio la “xénophobie profonde”21 di Lovecraft a offrire lo spunto per l’esperimento di Hottentots, come spiega Dutel: “ […] le texte de Di Filippo pourrait […] se lire comme une tentative pour mettre en lumière les liens psychologiques ténus mais persistants entre l’imagination monstrueuse du récit d’horreur fantastique des siècles derniers et les penchants xénophobes.”22 L’interferenza fra scienza e letteratura è inoltre oggetto della relazione di Jean-Michel Ganteau, che studia i rapporti fra un romanzo dell’inglese Martin Amis (Time’s Arrow, or, The Nature of the Offence, 1991) e un saggio pubblicato nel 1986 dallo psichiatra statunitense Robert Jay Lifton (The Nazi Doctors: Medical Killing and the Psychology of Genocide), esplicitamente citato fra le fonti del romanziere. Ganteau definisce questa esplicita appropriazione “un cas d’intertextualité signalée et massive”,23 particolarmente interessante poiché originata dall’inusuale incontro tra due generi molto lontani. Nell’opera di Amis la pratica intertestuale è uno strumento per “interpréter les découvertes de Lifton en termes d’inversion et de dédoublement”, proponendo “un récit défamiliarisant qui fait de la présentation de l’histoire un de ses outils d’investigation éthique majeurs”.24 Time’s Arrow è dunque un romanzo in cui l’atto citazionistico e la virtuosa sperimentazione formale concorrono a delineare l’impegno di una testimonianza. 21 Cfr. ivi, p. 119. 22 Ibidem. 23 Cfr. J.-M. Ganteau, De l’allusion au commentaire : le travail de la citation (“Time’s Arrow” et “The Nazi Doctors”), ivi, p. 125. 24 Cfr. ivi, p. 126. Maria Elena Capitani – Recensione / Review 157 La sezione conclusiva della raccolta, Poe, pastiches et parodies, riunisce tre saggi dedicati alle tecniche del pastiche e della parodia, i quali (in modi diversi) “tissent une relation intertextuelle avec l’écrivain américain qui mérite peut-être plus qu’aucun autre d’être considéré comme la figure la plus ‘autoritaire’ de l’écriture au second degré: Edgar Allan Poe”.25 François Gallix parte dal “greedy rewriting” di Antonia Susan Byatt, “réécriture gourmande des textes canoniques qui fait littéralement revivre les récits des écrivains du passé”,26 esponendo alcune considerazioni teoriche sul pastiche. Il critico sceglie poi tre autori inglesi contemporanei (Peter Ackroyd, David Lodge e Mark Crick) che scoprono il piacere di mettersi “dans la peau d’un autre”27 e di instaurare un rapporto di complicità con lettori muniti di elevate competenze intertestuali. Le riscritture di Poe realizzate da Patrick McGrath, un narratore neo-gotico, sono studiate da Jocelyn Dupont in un saggio diacronico: la sua evoluzione dal breve The Smell del 1991 al racconto lungo The Year of the Gibbet del 2005 è infatti quella da un “mimotexte rigoureux” a un “retour ironique sur le ton et les thèmes poesques d’autrefois”.28 McGrath, dapprima imitatore acritico del maestro, trova insomma una sua voce “libérée de l’angoisse de l’influence”.29 È infine allo stesso Poe che Rédouane Abouddahab dedica l’ultimo contributo della miscellanea, una lunga analisi del racconto The Thousand-and-Second Tale of Scheherazade del 1845 che si presenta propriamente come una ripresa parodica della classica raccolta di novelle 25 Cfr. J. Dupont et E. Walezak, Introduction, cit., p. 14. 26 Cfr. F. Gallix, Une réécriture gourmande du roman de langue anglaise : celle du pasticheur, in “A Myriad of Literary Impressions”. L’intertextualité dans le roman anglophone contemporain, cit., p. 141. 27 Cfr. ivi, p. 149. 28 Cfr. J. Dupont, Du pastiche idéal à la parodie du pastiche : Patrick McGrath et la fin de l’angoisse de l’influence, ivi, p. 165 e p. 167. 29 Cfr. ivi, p. 168. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 158 orientali.30 Come osservano i curatori, non si tratta solo di una semplice variazione testuale bensì di un problematico “‘mé-tissage’, où convergent intertextualité et interculturalité et où s’agitent les pulsions les plus sombres du sujet écrivain”.31 Accompagnando il lettore in un viaggio fra numerosi romanzi che provengono da ogni parte del mondo anglofono (Gran Bretagna, India, Stati Uniti, Australia, Sud Africa), la raccolta saggistica curata da Walezak e Dupont ha indubbiamente il pregio della polifonia. Gli orizzonti eterogenei di questa narrativa si fondono in una riflessione sul ruolo dell’intertestualità nella letteratura contemporanea e il mosaico di impressioni evocato da Virginia Woolf si trasforma davvero in“A Myriad of Literary Impressions”, un fluire di percezioni e associazioni che si cristallizza ogni volta in un testo, dentro il quale risuonano gli echi di innumerevoli altri testi. MARIA ELENA CAPITANI 30 Si veda R. Abouddahab,“The Thousand-and-Second Tale of Scheherazade” de Poe : Intertextualité, interculturalité, intersubjectivité, ivi, pp. 171 ss. 31 Cfr. J. Dupont et E. Walezak, Introduction, cit., p. 15. Copyright © 2012 Parole rubate. Rivista internazionale di studi sulla citazione / Purloined Letters. An International Journal of Quotation Studies F6_9_capitani_recensione1 indice_Fascicolo_6.pdf Blank Page Template Copyright breve 
work_fthw6s4h2vau5hcrrtrplu6qdq	----	4 January 1969 Correspondence MBuRf 55 Hospital (U.C.H.), Ibadan, on 23 April 1968, from the psychiatric unit on account of increas- ing drowsiness and the finding on physical examination of bilateral papilloedema and left hemiparesis. She had been under treatment for paranoid schizophrenia since September 1967. She was first seen in this hospital in April 1961 after miscarrying a 10-week pregnancy, her second within two years. Her outside doctor attributed these to inadequate rest in the early months of pregnancy, "due to her high sense of duty." Her first child was delivered normally at home in 1959. There was no record of her postnatal state. She delivered her second child normally in April 1964 five weeks premature. Six weeks later she reluctantly resumed duty, and for the first time in her life suffered "a terrible headache." Since then she has had recurrent attacks of frontal headaches weekly. She was treated for migraine and obtained minimal relief for four weeks. In January 1965, on account of the increasing severity of headaches and the occa- sional association of vomiting, she attended the medical outpatient department of U.C.H., Ibadan. She was found to be bradykinetic (due to repeated sedation), otherwise there was no abnormality on physical examination. A diag- nosis of depression was made. Two days later she asked for her discharge and she was sent home on meprobamate. In September 1967 she was admitted into the psychiatric unit on account of headaches, loss of memory, and talkativeness. Her usual frontal headaches became obstinate, and at their severest she vomited easily. Early in the year she had lost her job as secretary when the decay in her memory became manifest, a feature which later became progressive. She slept a lot, and, when not sleeping, talked a lot. She was admitted, and treatment was instituted for paranoid schizophrenia. There were frequent reports of her suddenly and spontaneously becoming stuporose and dribbling saliva. It became obvious that an organic lesion was probably responsible for her strange be- haviour. Radiography of skull showed some erosion of her dorsum sella. On the carotid angiograms the right middle cerebral artery was displaced medially and upwards by a mass in the middle-third of the sphenoidal wing. The vascular flush suggested a meningioma. A right temporal osteoplastic craniotomy was performed and a large dis- crete meningioma, about 5 cm. by 4 cm. by 6 cm., was removed from the sphenoidal wing. It was highly cellular and relatively vascular and histological sections later showed it to be angioblastic in nature. The patient made a satisfactory recovery and was discharged home from hospital 18 days after her opera- tion. Her headaches ceased, she became mentally clear, and talked freely without lack of wit. Her memory improved significantly, and an intelligence test performed on her while on holiday in England placed her Wechsler scale at 130. Of particular interest was the onset of the patient's symptoms six weeks after the delivery of her second child. Examples have been described of meningioma which showed accelerated development during pregnancy, and in each case the meningioma has been suprasellar, parasellar, or at the sphenoidal wing in location. Sensitivity to hormonal effects and increase in physical size of the tumour as part of the generalized water retention are reasons adduced for changes in pregnancy. What bearing the histological nature of the meningioma has on its bio- logical behaviour during pregnancy remains a subject for speculation. Any increase in size in the angioblastic meningioma of our patient during her pregnancy was probably due to engorgement of the vascular elements within the neoplasm. One of us (E. L. 0.) has witnessed enlargement of intracranial aneurysms during pregnancy.-We are, etc., ADELOLA ADELOYE. B. 0. OSUNTOKUN. E. LATUNDE ODEKU. University College Hospital, Ibadan, Nigeria. Bilateral Parietal Thinning in Bronze Age Skull SIR,-Bilateral parietal thinning or bi- parietal resorption was noted on a female cranium recovered from Harappa (in West Punjab), which is the type-site of the Indus civilization belonging to the Bronze Age cultures and dated 2300 B.C. The age at death appeared to be about 45 years. This is probably the only reported palaeo-patho- logical case from the Indo-Pakistan sub- continent. The cranium, which was unearthed from a regularly disposed burial at cemetery " R 37," is otherwise normal and well pre- served. It has two irregular large holes in each parietal bone. Examination has revealed that these holes are artificial and post-mortem breaks occurring at the sites of lesions causing depressions. These depres- sions are situated bilaterally and almost symmetrically. The thickness of the vault bones at different places beyond the margin of the lesions is on an average 6 mm. From the outer margin of the lesions, where the normal bone thickness is retained, to the margin of the breakages, there is a decreasing gradient in thickness of the bone. This thinning was due to the migration of the outer table at the area of involvement, and the gradient was formed by gradual dis- appearance of the diploic surface before finally exposing the inner table just near the margin of the holes. It thus involved a resorption of bone and a deposition of com- pact bony tissue along the surface. This condition of thinning is. by itself indicative that the woman had suffered from a lesion of a severe nature. This evidence and the specific localization suggest that it was a typical case of thinning of the parietals, which is not to be confused with other con- genital anomalies located very near to the parietal foraminae.' This condition was recognized on some ancient Egyptian crania by Smith.! He found those skulls having " strange, large symmetrical depressions of the parietal bones."' Rowling' also noted this in the mummies of Thutmosis III and Meritamon of the New Empire period, and also in Khety from the middle kingdom. This abnormality has interested pathologists as a contemporary disease involving an atrophy of the parietals, usually accompanying old age. It has been concluded that it is a congenital dysplasia of the diploe of non-progressive type and a static nature of abnormality.`' Camp and Nash' reported 119 cases (80 males and 39 females), of which 10 were 30 years or less, one was a 4-year-old child, and another one was a 9-week-old infant. Examining 26 cases (19 females ranging from 54 to 86 years), Epstein' concluded that this change is associated with post-menopausal and senile osteoporosis. A further attempt was made to reveal the cause of the disease, its peculiarity of localized susceptibility, and the role of osteoporosis and ageing in the thinning.9 Investigating only two patients, one a female of 85 years and another a male of 28 years, it was postulated that the thinning may be an acquired and progressive disease (progression was diagnosed in the female), and the localized thinning is explained in terms of decreased osteoblastic activity resulted from gonadal insufficiency, senility, or other causes of osteoporosis in a region where there is a little stress or strain.' It is apparent that this pathological change, the origin of which has been traced back to ancient civilizations, is not dependent on age or sex, but the exact cause is as yet not understood.-I am, etc., PRATAP C. DUTTA. Anthropological Survey of India, Indian Museum, Calcutta 13, India. REFERENCES I Goldsmith, W. M., 7. Hered., 1941, 32, 301. 2 Smith, G. E., Bull. archaeol. Surv. Nubia, 1908, I. 3 Sigerist, H. E., A History of Medicine, 1951, Vol. I, p. 46. New York. Rowling, J. T., Proc. roy. soc. Med., 1961, 54, 409. 5Greig, D. M., Edinb. med. 7., 1926, 33, 645. Wilson, A. K., Amer. 7. Roentgenol., 1944, 51, 685. Camp, J. D., and Nash, L. A., Radiology, 1944, 42, 42. Epstein, B. S., Radiology, 1953, 60, 29. 9Steinbach, H. L., and Obata, W. G., Amer. 7. Roentgenol., 1957, 78, 39. Dr. Thomas Percival and Jane Austen SIR,-When living in Southampton in 1808 Jane Austen sent a letter to her sister Cassandra in which she mentioned the arrival in the town of a new doctor-" We have got a new physician, a Dr. Percival, the son of a famous Dr. Percival of Manchester, who wrote moral tales for Edward to give to me."' This reference is of particular interest. Dr. Edward Percival was the eldest surviving son of Dr. Thomas Percival, whose book on medical ethics is a classic known to every doctor. Jane Austen was, however, referring to another of Dr. Percival's writings intended for young children. He married in 1767 and as his children were growing up he wrote a series of short tales, each illustrative of one of the moral virtues, so that the series demon- strated the harm produced by selfishness, untruthfulness, and the like. The first part was published in 1775, and later a second and third part were added to it. The Dictionary of National Biography states that this book " achieved great popularity," and we gather from Jane Austen's statement that her brother Edward gave her a copy when she was a little girl. The full title of the book was A Father's Instruction to his Children. Though we have no doubt that as a child Jane enjoyed reading the tales, we believe that the preface may have had more influence on her precocious mind, for in it are given the reasons why Dr. Percival wrote the book. They were three in number. Firstly, to inspire the young with a love of moral excel- lence; secondly, to awaken curiosity and to convey in a lively manner knowledge of the works of God; and, thirdly, to promote more early acquaintance with the use of words and ideas. o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.1 .5 6 3 5 .5 5 o n 4 Ja n u a ry 1 9 6 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
work_ftz47zmjnjbinkkledl65idbdu	----	Book Reviews in England, and his book will become a classic of its kind. Moreover, he indicates that material for similar studies is available, and it is to be hoped that others will continue this area of research. Meantime, both general and medical historians, as well as social and economic historians, and historical demographers, will wish to examine Dr. Gottfried's work closely. CHARLES DE MERTENS, An account of the plague which raged at Moscow 1771, [facsimile of 1799 ed., with introduction by John Alexander], Newtonviile, Mass., Oriental Research Partners, 1977, 8vo, pp. 39, v, 127, [no price stated]. Plague disappeared from the British Isles in the seventeenth century, but its ap- pearance as close as Marseilles in 1720, and its constant presence in Asia throughout the eighteenth century, guaranteed British interest in the disease. The present volume is a facsimile reprint of a vivid, first-hand description of a devastating epidemic which occurred in Moscow in 1771. The author, a Belgian physician named Charles de Mertens (1737-1788), originally published his account in Latin in 1778, but transla- tions into several European languages during the succeeding twenty years attest to the continued topicality of plague in Western Europe. The English version was first published in 1799. Mertens' English translator abridged the work somewhat, though retaining Mertens' account of the civic and medical measures taken to combat the Russian epidemic, and many of Mertens' shrewd observations on the treatment and prevention of plague. Mertens placed great stock in cleanliness, particularly in fre- quent sponging with vinegar and water. He was convinced that plague hospitals were the most effective way to contain the spread of the disease, and he decried the practice of quarantining both sick and well members of a family together. In addition to Mertens' text, this edition contains an excellent, fully-documented introduction by Professor John Alexander of the University of Kansas. Alexander describes the original British response to the Russian plague epidemic of 1770-72 and places Mertens' little book in its historical setting. COLIN McEVEDY and RICHARD JONES, Atlas of world population history, Harmondsworth, Middx., Penguin Books, 1978, 8vo, pp. 368, illus., £1.75 (paper- back). The authors aim to provide figures for the population of each country at regular intervals through historical time. There are six parts: Europe, Asia, Africa, the Americas, Oceania, and a global overview. Each of the first five sections has a general review, and then its countries are taken in turn, with a general account of demographic progress illustrated with graphs and maps, a discussion of primary sources for population data, and a bibliography. As can be imagined, this is a remarkably useful and accurate work of reference, and it will continue to be so for some time. It is also cheap, and will deservedly find a wide audience of students and scholars. G. MELVYN HOWE (editor), A world geography of hunan diseases, London and New York, Academic Press, 1977, 8vo, pp. xxviii, 621, illus., £24.00. Although this book is dealing primarily with the modern position concerning the 242 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002572730005153X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002572730005153X https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Reviews global incidence of diseases and the geographical and social environmental factors influencing each of them, there is a small amount of historical data in some of the sections. Tropical and infectious diseases, industrial lung disease, drug abuse, cardio- vascular disease, mental disorders and mental subnormality, malignant and deficiency diseases are discussed in twenty chapters, but there are no sections on neurological or rheumatic disorders. Thus, although intended for those concerned with present-day medical problems, it will be of value to the historian who wishes to read an authorita- tive review of the geography of a specific disease. For this it can be strongly recom- mended. DAVID GRYLLS, Guardians and angels. Parents and children in nineteenth-century literature, London, Faber & Faber, 1978, 8vo, pp. 211, £6.50. The author explores the relations between parent and child in the nineteenth century and their origins, by examining the literature of the period. He shows that everyday thought about children consisted eventually of a "Romantic" perspective, detectable in adult and children's books. By "Romantic" he means the attitude that romanti- cized the child as incapable of doing evil. Gradually the child was able to emancipate itself with the decline in parental control, despite the traditional view of the dictatorial Victorian father still held today. Dr. Grylls deals mainly with Jane Austen, Dickens, Butler, and Gosse, and no doubt critics will contest this selection and the other authors he draws upon, or does not. He cites extensively, but unfortunately does not document his quotations. Nevertheless, his book can be recommended as another useful contribution to Victorian life, against which the history of medicine must be cast. BRYAN GANDEVIA, Tears often shed: child health and welfare in Australia from 1788, Rushcutters Bay, Australia, and Oxford, Pergamon Press, 1978, 8vo, pp. 151, illus., [no price stated]. Dr Bryan Gandevia's contributions to the history of Australian medicine will be known to readers of this journal, since his articles have sometimes appeared in Medical History. Many of his publications, however, have come out in various Australian medical journals not routinely read by medical historians, so this present monograph will be particularly welcome. Most of Gandevia's historical work has been concerned with health and disease in their broadest manifestations, and the same generous approach characterizes this history of child health and welfare in Australia from the landing of the First Fleet in Botany Bay, January 1788, until the very recent past. Although Australia was primarily a convict colony until the middle of the nineteenth century, from the very beginning there were both convict children and the offspring of deported adults. During this period Australia acquired a reputa- tion as a healthy place for children. Statistics are not completely reliable, but some figures for settlements in the western part of the colony suggest that, between 1842 and 1848, infant mortality ranged between four and ten per cent, roughly one-third the comparable rate in England. Gandevia analyses this phenomenon and points out that the major factor was the virtual absence of epidemic viral diseases such as measles and influenza. These viruses were generally unable to survive the long voyages from England, or if they did, were unable to remain endemic in the sparsely-populated 243 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S002572730005153X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S002572730005153X https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_fuitteiujbc3vdqzp6qhrwmxui	----	PII: 0024-3841(86)90073-2 Reviws 291 Morley, M. and J. Fox, 1969. Disorders of articulation: theory and therapy. British Journal of Disorders of Communication 4, 15 1-165. Van Riper, C. and J.V. Irwin, 1958. Voice and articulation. London: Pitman Medical. (2nd edition.) K.C. Phillipps, Language and class in Victorian England. (The Languages Library.) Basil Blackwood, Oxford, 1984. x + 190 pp. Reviewed by: Martha Vicinus, Dept. of English, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, MI 48109, USA. This book gathers together quotations from a wide range of Victorian realistic fiction (and a few diaries and autobiographies) illustrating the acute sense of social class found among middle-class novelists. Phillipps uses as his theoretical basis the famous work of A.S.C. Ross on linguistic indicators of social class during the mid-1950s in England. (Ross is best known for having coined the phrases U and non-U English to indicate acceptable upper-class usage.) Phillipps specifically focuses upon the subtle distinctions in speech which indicate whether a character in a novel is defined by other characters as U or non-U. In an age marked by considerable social climbing and consequent social insecurity, Phillipps is able to mine a rich horde of examples of the endemic snobbery and minute social distinctions of the English. Phillipps is concerned with both changing social mores and the accompanying linguistic changes. For example, he includes a most interesting section on the shifting time of the dinner hour. In the early nineteenth century, as Jane Austen indicates, the gentry followed the workday of the farmer, eating a large breakfast at around 10.00 a.m., after several hours of work. Lunch (or luncheon, as it was then more correctly called) was a stand-up meal taken during work. Dinner was then at four or five, at the close of a winter working day, or before the final farm chores. Supper followed at 9.00, when all work ceased. Working people, including shopkeepers, %te their main meal at mid-day. When the upper classes began to dine in the evening, a late dinner hour came to symbolized gentility. As late as 1865 Mrs. Gaskell could mock the social pretensions of a doctor’s wife, when invited for lunch by Lord and Lady Cummor: ‘In vain she piped out in her soft, high voice, “Oh, my lord! I never eat meat in the middle of the day; I can hardly eat anything at lunch!” Her voice was lost, and the duchess might go away with the idea that the Hollingford doctor’s wife dined early.’ (p. 26). Phillipps traces the subtle linguistic evolution of meals, forms,of address, slang and sport as increasing numbers of the upper middle-class mixed with the aristocracy. That billiant observer of upper-class life, Anthony Trollope, provides an especially rich source for Phillipps. For example, Trollope captures the linguistic freedom permitted very wealthy women in contrast to those who were less secure in their social position and wealth. Miss Dunstable, in Doctor Thorne, ‘was a little too fond of slang; but then, a lady with her fortune, and of her age, may be fond of almost whatever she pleases’ (p. 49). Men, of course, were expected to use slang among their friends, but writers such as Trollope showed how the excessive use of slang or its use in front of the ladies was a sure indication of low-breeding. Phillipps’ remarks about generational differences within the upper classes are particu- larly instructive. A close look at the older characters in Victorian novels reveals many linguistic carry-overs from the Regency period. The picture that emerges is one of Victorian dismay at both the looseness of manners and narrowness of behavior that seemed to characterize their parents and grandparents. The Victorians did not simply see their forebears as sexually profligate (after all, Bowdler first published his expur- gated version of Shakespeare during the Regency period). Rather, they also could see them as excessively pious and unable to deal with the growing wealth and social complexity of modern times. Phillipps is less interesting in his discussion of ‘the lower orders’, perhaps because Victorian middle-class novelists are themselves less reliable about the language of the working class. He is forced to turn rather too often to that notorious misanthrope, George Gissing. Perhaps the mixture of genres in Dickens’s novels has made Phillipps’ wary of quoting excessively from him. Certainly Dickens often uses linguistic quirks to place a character (we all remember Uriah Heep’s continual plea of being ‘umble), but he has as keen a sense of class distinctions among the lower middle class as Trollope had for the upper-classes. Phillipps appears to miss numerous opportunities to develop his argument more fully. For example, he does not mention that peculiarly upper-class idiom, ‘my people’. Just as upper-class English to this day often substitute the impersonal use of ‘one’ for ‘I’ when speaking, so too do they refer to their families as ‘my people’, an expression dating back to the nineteenth century. Its use indicates a peculiar form of self- protection, of distancing outsiders, when speaking in public that is well worth exploring further. Equally, Phillipps mentions only briefly the lower-class habit of referring to family members with a first-person plural pronoun, such as ‘Our Bob’. The intimacy this implies contrasts sharply with the language of the upper-classes and is well worth investigating. People from northern England have always used this expression; they are also noted for their hospitality and warmth in contrast to the south. Phillipps has, unfortunately, ignored entirely the regional nature of language and manners. Perhaps he did not want to enter into the vexed area of dialect, but surely more could have been made of the differences between urban and rural, northern and southern speech. Language and class in Victorian England is a highly readable survey of well-known Victorian novels, but the author is hampered, I believe, by a rather limited and familiar theory. Most close readers of Victorian fiction will find little that is new here, while surely linguists do not need to be reminded that language reflects social class. I longed for the development of Phillipps’ own argument, moving beyond Ross’s insights of some twenty-five years ago. I am not surprised that novelists were especially acute observers of social nuance, and that they captured the inumerable ways in which the Resiews 293 wealthy could snub those with pretensions beyond their God-given social place. But I suspect other issues are equally worth addressing in regard to the uses of language in fiction. For example, how is the language of women and men gendered? What differences do we see regionally, and what do they tell us about regional, as well as class, expectations? How does conversation differ from indirect discourse? When and how are women and men permitted to use metaphors? Do these differ according to class? What about the well-known device of addressing the reader? What kind of language does an author use in conversation with his or her readers? What are the class implications of this? These unanswered questions perhaps indicate the ways in which Phillipps has not made the most of his subject. There is certainly room for a book considering the language of Victorian fiction, but I would hope for one based upon a more complex theory about the relationship between language and society. 
work_fvbcuqfjq5ez5kl7uknxhm2esi	----	Microsoft Word - F16_14_salarelli_recensione Rivista semestrale online / Biannual online journal http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 16 / Issue no. 16 Dicembre 2017 / December 2017       Direttore / Editor Rinaldo Rinaldi (Università di Parma)     Comitato scientifico / Research Committee Mariolina Bongiovanni Bertini (Università di Parma) Dominique Budor (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle – Paris III) Roberto Greci (Università di Parma) Heinz Hofmann (Universität Tübingen) Bert W. Meijer (Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Instituut Firenze / Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht) María de las Nieves Muñiz Muñiz (Universitat de Barcelona) Diego Saglia (Università di Parma) Francesco Spera (Università Statale di Milano)     Segreteria di redazione / Editorial Staff Maria Elena Capitani (Università di Parma) Nicola Catelli (Università di Parma) Chiara Rolli (Università di Parma)     Esperti esterni (fascicolo n. 16) / External referees (issue no. 16) Gioia Angeletti (Università di Parma) Franca Dellarosa (Università di Bari Aldo Moro) Gillian Dow (University of Southampton) Michael C. Gamer (University of Pennsylvania) Michele Guerra (Università di Parma) Francesco Marroni (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) Liana Nissim (Università Statale di Milano) Francesca Saggini (Università della Tuscia – Viterbo) Anna Enrichetta Soccio (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) Enrica Villari (Università Ca’ Foscari, Venezia) Angela Wright (University of Sheffield)     Progetto grafico / Graphic design Jelena Radojev (Università di Parma) †                                 Direttore responsabile: Rinaldo Rinaldi Autorizzazione Tribunale di Parma n. 14 del 27 maggio 2010 © Copyright 2017 – ISSN: 2039-0114 INDEX / CONTENTS       Special Jane Austen AUSTEN RE-MAKING AND RE-MADE. QUOTATION, INTERTEXTUALITY AND REWRITING   Editors Eleonora Capra and Diego Saglia               Austen in the Second Degree: Questions and Challenges DIEGO SAGLIA (Università di Parma) 3-11   The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons EDWARD COPELAND (Pomona College – Claremont) 13-39   “Comedy in its Worst Form”? Seduced and Seductive Heroines in “A Simple Story”, “Lover’s Vows”, and “Mansfield Park” CARLOTTA FARESE (Università di Bologna) 41-56   Bits of Ivory on the Silver Screen: Austen in Multimodal Quotation and Translation MASSIMILIANO MORINI (Università di Urbino Carlo Bo) 57-81   Remediating Jane Austen through the Gothic: “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” SERENA BAIESI (Università di Bologna) 83-99   Revisiting “Pride and Prejudice”: P. D. James’s “Death Comes to Pemberley” PAOLA PARTENZA (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) 101-122   P. R. Moore-Dewey’s “Pregiudizio e Orgoglio”: An Italian Remake of Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” ELEONORA CAPRA (Università di Parma) 123-142   Recreating Jane: “Austenland” and the Regency Theme Park MADDALENA PENNACCHIA (Università di Roma Tre) 143-154   Writing in the Shadow of “Pride and Prejudice”: Jo Baker’s “Longbourn” OLIVIA MURPHY (Murdoch University – Perth) 155-169   Reading the Austen Project PENNY GAY (University of Sydney) 171-193 MATERIALI / MATERIALS       James Frazer, il cinema e “The Most Dangerous Game” DOMITILLA CAMPANILE (Università di Pisa) 197-208   Jeux et enjeux intertextuels dans “Le Soleil ni la mort ne peuvent se regarder en face” de Wajdi Mouawad SIMONETTA VALENTI (Università di Parma) 209-233   Re-membering the Bard : David Greig’s and Liz Lochhead’s Re-visionary Reminiscences of “The Tempest” MARIA ELENA CAPITANI (Università di Parma) 235-250       LIBRI DI LIBRI / BOOKS OF BOOKS       [recensione – review]‘Open access’ e scienze umane. Note su diffusione e percezione delle riviste in area umanistica, a cura di Luca Scalco, Milano, Ledizioni, 2016 ALBERTO SALARELLI 253-257 Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 16 / Issue no. 16 – Dicembre 2017 / December 2017 RECENSIONE / REVIEW ‘Open Access’ e scienze umane. Note su diffusione e percezione delle riviste di area umanistica, a cura di Luca Scalco, Milano, Ledizioni, 2016, pp. 109, € 18 Se volessimo, in due parole, individuare l’obiettivo più nobile del movimento Open Access, potremmo prendere a prestito da Giacomo Leopardi una battuta del Dialogo di Tristano e di un amico: “Le cognizioni non sono come le ricchezze, che si dividono e si adunano, e sempre fanno la stessa somma. Dove tutti sanno poco, e’ si sa poco; perché la scienza va dietro la scienza, e non si sparpaglia”.1 Questa idea di privilegiare la più ampia diffusione dei risultati della ricerca nella convinzione che tale disseminazione sia volano di un aumento delle conoscenze (perché è indubbiamente vero che la scienza va dietro la scienza) si è, tuttavia, scontrata storicamente con i legittimi interessi degli editori, cioè dei titolari dei mezzi di diffusione del sapere. La possibilità di contemperare i diritti di accesso dei cittadini alle conoscenze con le esigenze di tutela dell’iniziativa economica di natura privatistica, si è posta come un banco di prova significativo per le democrazie liberali dell’Occidente. In tal senso si può affermare che l’istituto della biblioteca pubblica rappresenta una risposta 1 Cfr. G. Leopardi, Dialogo di Tristano e di un amico, in Id., Operette morali, introduzione e cura di A. Prete, Milano, Feltrinelli, 2006, p. 230. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 254 senza dubbio significativa ancorché insufficiente, soprattutto in relazione alle specifiche esigenze della comunicazione scientifica e al mutato contesto tecnologico che caratterizza l’ultimo quarto di secolo. Questo per dire che non si può derubricare l’Open Access come una mera soluzione editoriale alternativa alla prassi vigente nel contesto accademico: se ha senso parlare di ‘movimento’ è perché i termini della questione vanno a toccare nel vivo il rapporto tra società e mondo della ricerca e, ancora oltre, le stesse libertà dell’uomo laddove, nell’articolo 19 della Dichiarazione universale dei diritti umani (1948), si afferma che ogni individuo ha diritto a “ricevere e diffondere informazioni e idee attraverso ogni mezzo e senza riguardo a frontiere”.2 Ciò premesso, è noto come il casus belli in grado di accendere le polveri e quindi di portare alla formulazione dei principi contenuti nella Budapest Open Access Initiative del 2002,3 sia stato l’aumento esorbitante dei costi di abbonamento alle riviste scientifiche dovuto al regime, di fatto monopolistico, dei grandi gruppi editoriali operanti nell’ambito delle scienze. È per sfuggire a questa forca caudina e, insieme, per alzare la testa di fronte a una gestione del processo editoriale del tutto indifferente al ruolo della sfera pubblica nei confronti della ricerca, e particolarmente restrittivo nei confronti dei diritti esclusivi degli autori, che il movimento Open Access ha proposto quelle forme alternative di pubblicazione che denominiamo come archivi istituzionali e riviste ad accesso aperto. Sono forme alternative non prive di criticità sia sul piano del processo di validazione dei prodotti della ricerca sia su quello gestionale, ma che hanno 2 La Dichiarazione, firmata a Parigi il 10 dicembre 1948, si può consultare in versione italiana all'indirizzo elettronico www.ohchr.org/EN/UDHR/Documents/ UDHR_Translations/itn.pdf. 3 Si veda il testo all’indirizzo elettronico www.budapestopenaccessinitiative.org/ read. Alberto Salarelli, Recensione / Review 255 avuto il merito di aprire più di una breccia in un castello, quello dell’editoria scientifica commerciale, che sembrava inespugnabile. Naturalmente anche il mondo degli studi umanistici è stato coinvolto nel dibattito sul tema, seppur con qualche esitazione dovuta, fra l’altro, al maggior peso riservato alle monografie nei confronti degli articoli su rivista, al contrario di quanto avviene nell’ambito delle scienze. Malgrado ciò, come testimonianza del fatto che la discussione sull’Open Access è viva anche nel contesto umanistico italiano e come strumento per misurare le opinioni di differenti attori che si muovono attorno ad un argomento così complesso, si può sfogliare questo volumetto curato da Luca Scalco che raccoglie i contributi di una tavola rotonda dal titolo Quale futuro per le riviste accademiche? Valutazione, ‘Open Access’, distribuzione tenutasi a Padova, presso l’Aula Magna del Collegio Morgagni, nel novembre del 2014. I due interventi iniziali mirano a definire il quadro di riferimento dell’Open Access in ambito umanistico e, in particolare, il ruolo delle riviste ad accesso aperto. Il contributo di Antonella De Robbio, studiosa proveniente da un ambito – quello della biblioteconomia – particolarmente sensibile al tema, ripercorre la storia del movimento e si sofferma sul ruolo della politica nei confronti dell’apertura dei risultati della ricerca. L’autrice sottolinea, in tal senso, il ruolo strategico svolto dall’Unione Europea come propugnatrice del principio fondamentale dell’accesso libero alle pubblicazioni derivanti da ricerche finanziate con il denaro pubblico. De Robbio esamina poi l’aspetto importante delle licenze aperte, strumento giuridico essenziale per rendere disponibili su archivi o riviste i lavori dei ricercatori, salvaguardandone i diritti morali e garantendo al contempo la massima circolazione delle idee. Nell’articolo successivo firmato da Paola Galimberti, responsabile dell’archivio istituzionale dell’Università di Milano, vengono toccati i punti più critici del rapporto tra Open Access e Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 256 scienze umane: innanzitutto il rapporto controverso che le pratiche bibliometriche, e il loro impiego nei procedimenti di valutazione, instaurano con un panorama di pubblicazioni estremamente eterogeneo, difficile da standardizzare e analizzare con indicatori quantitativi; in secondo luogo la mancanza di un’evidenza certa dei requisiti di qualità e trasparenza delle riviste aperte rispetto a testate caratterizzate da una lunga e consolidata tradizione in tal senso. Ciò non toglie che il movimento Open Access “rappresenta per le scienze umane l’occasione di essere veramente visibili e di esercitare un impatto nelle comunità scientifiche e sulla società intera”,4 a patto che si adottino criteri di valutazione meno tetragoni e più aderenti alle nuove forme di pubblicazione caratteristiche della comunicazione scientifica contemporanea. A questo punto il volume dà voce a due rappresentanti del mondo editoriale. Alberto Zigoni presenta il punto di vista di una multinazionale dell’editoria scientifica, Elsevier: pur asserendo che “ad oggi non esiste ancora un’evidenza empirica inequivocabile a sostegno dell’ipotesi del vantaggio citazionale tout court delle pubblicazioni Open Access”,5 l’autore riconosce l’interesse che questa forma editoriale riveste nelle comunità scientifiche; proprio per questo Elsevier propone sia servizi di partnership (a pagamento) a sostegno delle pratiche di pubblicazione degli editori di riviste Open Access, sia la possibilità per gli autori di depositare il pre-print dei loro articoli nei rispettivi depositi istituzionali. Fulvio Guatelli, direttore della Firenze University Press, si sofferma invece su un punto nodale del dibattito, ovvero la sostenibilità economica dei processi di pubblicazione 4 Cfr. P. Galimberti, Fra comunicazione digitale e valutazione. Quale ruolo per l'Open Access nelle scienze umane?, in ‘Open Access’ e scienze umane. Note su diffusione e percezione delle riviste di area umanistica, a cura di L. Scalco, Milano, Ledizioni, 2016, p. 32. 5 Cfr. A. Zigoni, Open Access, distribuzione e valutazione: la prospettiva di un editore, ivi, p. 34. Alberto Salarelli, Recensione / Review 257 aperti: il tema è trascurato dalle carte fondamentali del movimento, che definiscono l’Open Access come un mero modello di fruizione e lasciano campo aperto alle soluzioni che garantiscano una copertura dei costi. Gli interventi successivi si presentano come una rassegna di casi di studio: si va dalla presentazione della piattaforma OJS (Open Journal Systems) (una delle più diffuse a livello internazionale per la gestione dei periodici Open Access) e al suo impiego nell’Università di Torino, fino alla descrizione delle esperienze di alcune testate on line, nella fattispecie “Between Journal”, “AvtobiografiЯ”, “Lanx”. L’ultima parte del volume si apre con un articolo di Luca Scalco che presenta i risultati di un’indagine condotta sui periodici Open Access dell’Area 10: complessivamente numerosi, anche se alcune aree disciplinari sono ancora coperte dai soli periodici tradizionali. In ogni caso, ribadisce l’autore, “l’accesso aperto non è indizio di scarso valore, e pertanto può essere una buona scelta editoriale a fianco delle riviste cartacee di più lunga tradizione”.6 Enrico Zucchi, infine, illustra gli esiti di un questionario proposto agli studiosi di italianistica per rilevare le loro opinioni in merito alle riviste Open Access: ancora una volta il problema dei costi e i parametri di valutazione qualitativa risultano emergere come i temi centrali del dibattito. Concludono il volume una postfazione di Paolo Bettiolo, l’indice dei temi principali e l’indice degli autori con un breve profilo biografico di ciascuno. Alberto Salarelli 6 Cfr. L. Scalco, Criteri per una scelta? Open Access di qualità in Area 10, ivi, p. 90. Copyright © 2017 Parole rubate. Rivista internazionale di studi sulla citazione / Purloined Letters. An International Journal of Quotation Studies Blank Page copyright breve.pdf F16_1_saglia_presentazione Blank Page Template Copyright breve 
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This is the first volume of a two- or possibly three-volume series which will deal compre- hensively and in detail for the first time with the history of the University Press from its origin up to the present. This book provides a unique contribution to the history of publishing and printing. 1975 672 pp.; 73 illus. $48.00 The House of Lords and the Labour Government 1964-1970 JANET P. MORGAN. This book offers a descriptive analysis of the overwhelmingly conservative House of Lords during the years of Labour government between 1964 and 1970. The author examines the deliberative and legislative role of Lords in a period of constitutional change. 1975 270 pp. $25.75 The Compact Edition of the Dictionary of National Biography The Complete Text Reproduced Micrographically 1975 3,000 pp. in two vols., cased $125.00 the set A Bibliography of British History to 1485 Based on The Sources and Literature of English History from the earliest times to about 1485 Edited by EDGAR B. 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Y. 10022 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100028057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:12, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100028057 https://www.cambridge.org/core THE ANCIENT STATE Authoritie and Proceedings of the Court of Requests by Sir Julius Caesar L. M. HILL, Editor The judicial world as observed by Sir Julius, Judge of the High Court of Admiralty, Master of Requests, Chancellor of the Exchequer, Master of the Rolls and Privy Councillor. $25.00 THE REPRESENTATIVE OF THE PEOPLE? Votes and Voting in England Under the Early Stuarts DEREK HIRST An assessment of the extent to which there was a representative democracy in England before the Civil War. 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Y. 10022 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100028057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:12, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100028057 https://www.cambridge.org/core EIRE-IRELAND A QUARTERLY JOURNAL OF IRISH STUDIES Published by the Irish American Cultural Institute — circulation in more than 20 countries — An interdisciplinary journal with articles on Irish art, folklore, history, literature, politics, etc. Book reviews, notes and queries, special departments. $10.00 a year EIRE-IRELAND, Box 5026, College of St. Thomas, St. Paul, Minn. 55105 THE NEW ZEALAND JOURNAL OF HISTORY Editor: KEITH SINCLAIR RECENT AND FORTHCOMING ARTICLES: KEITH PETER MILES JUDITH P. H. SINCLAIR O'CONNOR FAIRBURN ELPHICK ROUSSEAU Published The Lee-Sutch Syndrome. Conscientious Objectors 1916-18. New Zealand Society: an interpretation. What's Wrong with Emma ? The Feminist Debate in Colonial Auckland. Structure and Event in Anthropology and History. Annual subscription $NZ6.00 twice yearly by the University of Auckland Private Bag AUCKLAND, NEW ZEALAND terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100028057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:12, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100028057 https://www.cambridge.org/core The Rise and Fall of British Documentary The Story of the Film Movement Founded by John Grierson Elizabeth Sussex Sussex has talked with all the important living figures of the film movement about its complex conflicts, frustrations, and missed chances. Her account is tem- pered, critical, and knowledgeable. The book puts all previous studies of documentary into a new per- spective, and will be required reading for anyone con- cerned with the subject. o c c dunnnJ 256 pages, $10.00 The Environment of Early Man in the British Isles John G. Evans This work describes the development of prehistoric en- vironment in Britain in all its aspects — climate, flora and fauna, icesheets and glaciers, soil and sediment types, coastal and river changes, forest clearance, farm- ing, and setdement patterns. 256 pages, 8 pages photos, 60 pages line drawings, $12.95 The Norman Fate, 1100-1154 David C. Douglas Douglas assesses the part played by the Normans in promoting die preeminence of Western Europe. He also considers the effects Norman policy may have had on the relations between the temporal and spiritual powers of Europe during the Middle Ages and of the Norman share in the initial success and final failure of the Crusades. 3 5 0 p a g e s $ l g 5 Q At bookstores UniVERSITV OP CAIIPORMA PRC15 BERKStEV 9472O terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100028057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:12, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100028057 https://www.cambridge.org/core The William and Mary Quarterly A Magazine of Early American History Published in January, April, July, and October by the Institute of Early American History and Culture Yearly subscription, $8.00; student subscription, $5.00, with student verification; Armed Forces subscription, $5.00; single copies, Vols. 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Editorial correspondence should be addressed to Jeffrey Smitten and Joel Weinsheimer, Editors, Studies in Burke and His Time, P.O. BOX 4530, Texas Tech University, Lubbock, Texas 79409. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100028057 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:12, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100028057 https://www.cambridge.org/core THE JOURNAL OF BRITISH STUDIES TRINITY COLLEGE HARTFORD, CONNECTICUT The Journal of British Studies, founded in 1961, is published at Trinity College under the auspices of the Conference on British Studies. It was the result of the imaginative generosity of a Trinity alumnus, Frederick E. Hasler (Hon. LL.D. 1957) who contributed funds to the College for the specific purpose of estab- lishing a learned periodical in the field of British history. Several Trinity alumni subsequently contributed to the fund and Trinity College now supports the publication of the Journal. The Conference on British Studies is the official organization in the United States and Canada of scholars working in the field of British history and culture; its status as such is recognized by the American Historical Association of which it is an affiliate. Its nearly eight hundred members are drawn from fifty states and five provinces. It convenes twice each year, usually at New York University. The Conference awards a prize every five years for the best first book by an American or Canadian scholar. The Conference sponsors a considerable publications program. It publishes the Journal of British Studies at Trinity College; the British Studies Intelligencer, a newsletter, at Western Washington State College, Bellingham, Washington; and Archives in British History and Culture, a series devoted to the publication of documents, at West Virginia University, Morgantown; and Current Research in British Studies, a quadrennial survey of research in progress in the United States and Canada, published at Kansas State University, Manhattan, Kansas and edited at Western Washington State College. The Conference also sponsors a series of short monographs, Studies in British History and Culture, edited at Wittenberg University, Springfield, Ohio and published by the Shoe-String Press, Hamden, Connecticut. Under the aegis of the Conference, Cambridge University Press publishes a bibliographical and biographical series. 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work_g2zh4lvsjfeyzcy2ah2kegcnz4	----	Library Trends, v.55, no.4 Spring 2007 Resource Discovery: Catalogs, Cataloging, and the User Ann Chapman Abstract This article considers resource discovery from the viewpoint of visu- ally impaired people. Starting with the tasks of find, identify, select, and obtain, it examines how catalogs can be enhanced to assist visu- ally impaired users. It then looks at the inclusion of specific data within catalog records and how they help the user. This is followed by some reflections on display issues and a reference to the need for accessibility in catalog systems. It concludes that improvements for visually impaired people provide features that sighted people will appreciate as well. Introduction In 1999, when I first started working with visually impaired library us- ers, I discovered some disturbing facts about the challenges this sector faces to identify, locate, and obtain resources. Of the current UK pub- lishing output of around 100,000 titles per year, less than 5 percent will be put into an accessible format. In many cases the title will only be put into one accessible format, which the user may not be able to read. While there are some UK commercial publishers of accessible formats (for au- dio, large print, and e-books), many transcriptions are created, lent, and sold by small voluntary bodies. Public libraries do provide some accessible formats, predominantly large print and audio books, but collections are often small. It was difficult for people to find what was available. The Royal Na- tional Institute of the Blind (RNIB) had created the National Union Cata- logue of Alternative Formats (NUCAF), but it had insufficient resources to maintain it. This meant that the catalog became increasingly inaccu- LIBRARY TRENDS, Vol. 55, No. 4, Spring 2007 (“Library and Information Services for Visu- ally Impaired People,” edited by Helen Brazier and David Owen), pp. 917–931 © 2007 The Board of Trustees, University of Illinois 918 library trends/spring 2007 rate regarding holdings; in addition, people could only consult it through RNIB Customer Services and not directly. Other accessible format collec- tions maintained their own catalogs; a few used a MARC format, but many did not because organizations in this field tended not to employ people with either library qualifications or even experience and were often reliant on a small volunteer workforce. Although databases were used, one small producer at that time relied on a Word document with authors’ names arranged alphabetically by their first name for its “catalog.” Collection holders were not unaware of the problems, but they had neither the fund- ing nor the expertise to change things. The result was that to find out if an item they wanted was available, users had to (a) know about all producers (113 UK producers identified in 2005), (b) approach them individually either for catalogs (which might or might not be in their preferred acces- sible format) or to request customer services help to search databases on their behalf, and (c) attempt to search public library catalogs that were not specifically designed for visually impaired users. The launch of Revealweb1 in 2003 has helped by providing a Web-based union catalog that can replace NUCAF in the UK (Chapman, 2004, 2005). Users are now able to search the catalog for titles held by all known UK producers and to initiate a request for an item. However, working on the design for the Revealweb catalog required the project team to consider how catalogs support visually impaired people (VIP) in their searches for resources and information. Designing a catalog with visually impaired people in mind requires considering several aspects. The content of the bibliographic records must contain appropriate information to support both filtered and un- filtered searching and record display at different levels. Record displays must contain sufficient information to enable the user to decide whether an item is suitable for her purpose. Access points must enable the user to search from a variety of starting points. Finally, the catalog itself must be accessible and have easy navigation. Resource Discovery Resource discovery is the process by which users (whether sighted or visually impaired) find the items they want in a format they can use. A study on the Functional Requirements for Bibliographic Records (FRBR) (IFLA Study Group, 1998) identified the four functions of bibliographic records as find resources corresponding to stated search criteria; identify a resource as the document sought, or distinguish between one or more items with the same title; select a resource appropriate to the user’s needs; and obtain access to the resource. Visually impaired users have the same resource discovery requirements as sighted users, since the visually impaired population in any developed country usually mirrors the overall population of that country in terms of 919 gender, numbers in education, and proportions of ethnic communities. The one area of difference is that of age groups—the visually impaired population has a higher than average proportion of elderly people. Therefore, just like sighted people, VIPs want to find study materials, works on hobbies and interests, use reference materials, and read for lei- sure. But they cannot do this in precisely the same way that a sighted per- son does. A sighted person using a catalog can scan long lists of results and visually move around a bibliographic record; they can also browse the shelves in physical collections and sample the text to get an idea of its content. In contrast, VIPs get catalog information in a linear fashion, are hindered by long lists they must remember, and have few collections they can visit physically; in addition, many accessible formats do not lend them- selves to sampling the contents. So the catalog has to offer alternatives to the visually impaired user to replace approaches that sighted people can use. Using Searches to Find Resources A visually impaired user will try the same routes as a sighted user to find resources. Author/title searches are used for known items, and subject searching is used for particular topics. These searches then provide lists of records that match the search criteria. At this point, both users need to be shown sufficient information for them to evaluate the relevance of an item. But visually impaired users crucially also need to know the format. If the only version of a physics textbook is in standard print, just a few visually impaired people may be able to use some form of magnification (other than reading spectacles) to read it; most will need to use an acces- sible version. Interestingly, while this has always been the case for visually impaired people, it now applies increasingly to sighted users. If the only copy available of a work is in a format requiring a specific playback device, the user is unable to access the content unless they have (or have access to) that playback device. Using Records to Identify Resources Again, sighted and visually impaired users have the same task. They need the answers to one or more of the following questions: Is this the latest edition? Which is the “right” work of two items with identical titles but different authors? Is this the work with a commentary by a particular person? Is this work an abridged version? Once again visually impaired and sometimes also sighted people need to know the format. Identifying the work alone may not be enough. Using Records to Select Resources Both sighted and visually impaired users want to select the resource appropriate to their needs. All users will have occasions when they want to access particular content; they may want a score of a Mozart symphony chapman/resource discovery and the user 920 library trends/spring 2007 and not a recording of the piece, or a map of a place and not a travel guide. Once again, the visually impaired user will also need to know the format: Is the music score available in Braille or talking score format? Is the map a tactile map? And again, sighted people may need to know the format. At this point, users may need more information in order to select one or more resources from a number retrieved. If the resource sought is known (Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen) author/title searching with for- mat information displayed in the results list is enough. But where the user has a less well-defined objective, more information is required. A keyword search on “blind” may retrieve The Blind Watchmaker by Richard Dawkins; this is not about a visually impaired craftsman but about evolution and existence. And a title search on “mother nature” might retrieve both a novel by Margaret Bacon and an academic text on evolution by Sarah Blaffer Hrdy. The user will need to move into a fuller record, in which subject indexing terms may assist the user to distinguish between items. In some cases, however, records cataloged in a traditional fashion may not provide enough information. For example, the user might read the novel if it is a romance but not want a detective story; not all records will contain this information. So additional information needs to be provided in bibliographic records. Using Records to Obtain Resources All users need to know how to obtain an item. Visually impaired us- ers do not usually visit collections of accessible materials; searches and requests are handled through phone calls, mail, email, and the Internet, and items are mailed to users. So users need to know contact details for the holding organization. If it is a collection they have not previously used, they will need to know if they are eligible to use the collection and whether there are any charges. Where digital resources are concerned, sighted and visually impaired users have the same needs. If a resource is accessible over the Internet, then a URL is required, while in the case of a digital file, access and eligible user information is needed. Solving the Problems Resource discovery is what the user wants to achieve, and find, identify, select and obtain are the processes they use. For each process certain data needs to be included in bibliographic records; catalog systems use the data to provide access to the records. So what needs to be in bibliographic records, and how do catalogs need to operate to support the visually im- paired community? Finding the answers for VIPs is not simply a quest for catalogs con- fined to accessible resources. Users may wish to search “ordinary” catalogs for certain materials (large print, audio, and, increasingly, electronic re- 921 sources), so the answers need implementing in all catalogs. And by imple- menting them in all catalogs, all users—whatever their level of sight—will be helped. Does this require a lot of modification of bibliographic formats and systems? In the case of formats, probably not. Revealweb used the MARC 21 Bibliographic Format,2 and although some modification was required, it was not substantial. (Examples below refer to the MARC 21 Biblio- graphic Format; other formats may be equally hospitable to the informa- tion required.) In the case of library management systems and catalog- ing modules, more modification might be required. Online public access catalogs (OPACs) are not routinely designed to filter searches by format, even where the supporting data is included in the records. But such modi- fications are likely to be welcomed by users because they are increasingly encountered in commercial databases. Search Results Visually impaired people will be searching in the same ways as sighted people, and searches may return few or many items in results listings. Where a search query returns many items, this will be daunting to a sighted person but a real challenge for the visually impaired, forcing them to rely on remembering the early entries since quickly scanning the list is not an option. This is more likely to happen with subject searching, or with resources that have many versions, as in the case of works of popular and prolific authors. Catalogs can help users by implementing additional filters on searches and through the format used to display the results listings. Filtering This is a useful way of reducing the number of results from a search. Where the target resource is a music score of a particular piece, it would help the user to be able to either request scores only or to exclude any sound recordings of the piece. In order for this to be possible, content and carrier information must be held in the record and used as parameters for filtering. Bibliographic record formats may already hold appropriate data that could be used to support filtering. For example, MARC 21 Bib- liographic Format 007 Physical Description field coding, as well as GMD and SMD data in fields 245 and 300, could be used. Results Displays Even with filtering, results displays may still be lengthy. Users will be helped by inclusion of content and carrier information in the citation type displays used in results listings. For example, Prokofiev’s musical composition “Romeo and Juliet” is available in many versions. Fil- tering can screen out the sound recordings, but the user may still require certain formats so it is useful if the display at this level can show whether an item is a standard print score, a large print score, a Braille music score, or a Talking Score. Again, MARC 21 Bibliographic Format has fields where chapman/resource discovery and the user 922 library trends/spring 2007 this data can be held; cataloging systems need to link this information with the style sheets or “fields to be shown” lists for results displays. Multi-Stage Searching If the user has a simple requirement (for example, any version of the text of Emma by Jane Austen), brief author/title details will be sufficient to identify matching works. Where the user requirement is for a specific version of the text (for example, Emma with a commentary by a particular expert), the user must access a fuller (but not necessarily the fullest) form of the re- cord to identify the particular version needed. Once this primary selection has been made, the visually impaired user may also need details about for- mats. If the only accessible version of this text is Braille and the user is not a Braille reader, then there is effectively no accessible version available. Since visually impaired users have information presented in a linear fashion and must remember earlier entries and information in order to backtrack in searching, it is useful if the catalog can be structured to assist them. Although the MARC formats are not currently designed to support FRBR specifically, there are ways of using MARC records in a more FRBR compliant way. Using a combination of MARC 21 Bibliographic Format and Holdings Format can be useful. In the UK accessible versions of works are not allo- cated their own ISBN, so the ISBN of the original source text can be used as a collocation device. Revealweb has taken advantage of this. By creating a record for the source text in the Bibliographic Format and attaching to it a number of Holdings records, each for a specific transcription, a more hierarchical approach to searching can be constructed. The 007 Physical Description coding and publication details of the specific transcription are held in the Holdings record. This approach enables users to find the “right” text first, and then see whether there is a format they can use. Thus, for Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J. K. Rowling three source texts have been used. The Bloomsbury hardback edition of 1999 was used to produce Braille grade 2 by both RNIB and the Scottish Braille Press and a giant print transcription by NLB; it was also the source text for National Blind Children’s Society (NBCS) digital transcriptions, which can be produced in various print sizes. The third source text is an audio recording by Cover2Cover in 2000, which has been used to produce a digital audio DAISY file. It is not always possible to use ISBNs as not all works have them. For works without an ISBN, catalogs need to check the publication details of works so that they add holdings to the appropriate bibliographic record. This can be a problem with older texts because in the past transcription agencies kept few details about the source text, often only the date of publication. Because of copyright issues in the UK, transcribing agencies often made use of out of copyright editions as sources. So bibliographic 923 data for source texts of Emma by Jane Austen only indicate publication dates, for example, 1816 edition and 1900 edition. There is a cautionary tale to this, however, as this situation may change since RNIB is considering allocating ISBNs to all its accessible format ma- terials; if this were to happen, Revealweb would need to revise its catalog- ing guidelines. One option would be to put the accessible format–specific ISBN in the Holdings Format record field 020 ISBN; in order for this to still work in the way it does now, an ISBN search would have to search on field 020 in both the Bibliographic and Holdings Formats. A potentially useful new tool here is the proposed International Standard Text Code (ISTC);3 this is a project of the International Stan- dards Organisation (ISO) Working Group ISO/TC SC 9 Working Group 3 and would enable collocation of works at a higher level. A novel would have an ISTC, which would apply to all editions of that work. A translation of the novel would have a separate ISTC, as would a screenplay based on the novel. It is proposed that the three ISTCs could be linked as related works. Selection The precise nature of a user’s requirement will govern which informa- tion is needed to select the most appropriate resource. With regard to content it may be as little as author plus title, though edition and publica- tion data may also be required; these are all standard data elements for bibliographic records. Subject indexing can also help selection for nonfic- tion works. But this may not be enough, and where possible other infor- mation about the content should be included in a record. A plot summary or abstract of content, table of contents, genre and form indexing, indica- tions of reading age levels, or target audience can all be used to provide the user with information to aid selection while still consulting the cata- log. A sighted person could access much of this information by handling the item; the visually impaired user usually cannot do this because they do not visit the collections and because accessible formats often do not offer the same ease of assessment. Trends in Leisure Reading In the past libraries relied on author and title entries in catalogs as the only access to fiction. But libraries are becoming more aware of how users choose recreational literature, and the catalog needs to provide ad- ditional ways to support users in their preferred methods of access. Fiction Series There is an increasing trend for fiction works to appear in series, either linked by a continuing plot (as in the Harry Potter series), theme (such as Discworld) or by one or more characters (often detective stories and crime thrillers or children’s series). Users reading one work from the series often chapman/resource discovery and the user 924 library trends/spring 2007 decide to go on to read all titles in the series, and they will therefore want information that identifies the series and the position of the work in hand within the sequence. While it is accepted practice to include series details in records for academic works, it has been less usual to include this information for fic- tion. This is especially so because many of these series are not initially designated as series, or are only series by virtue of the fact that users refer to them as series (for example, the Barchester novels of Trollope). Fields are already available in MARC 21 Bibliographic Format for series infor- mation, so this information can be included. New options in Web-based catalog systems mean that series information can potentially be hypertext linked, allowing the user to find one title, establish where it is in the series, and follow links from the earliest title to the latest one held. Genre Public libraries have been aware for some time that many people have preferred genres of fiction. Users of collections have been assisted by shelving genre items in separate sequences—westerns, science fiction, love stories. However, the visually impaired user does not choose from the shelves (unless they are choosing large print or audio books from a public library) so the catalog needs to provide them with equivalent access. Genre information can be included in records in MARC 21 Bibliographic Format field 655 Form and Genre. A useful set of genre terms can be found in The Guidelines for Subject Access to Individual Works of Fiction, Drama, Etc. (GSAFD) (American Library Association, 2000), although it includes a few specialist terms from literature analysis (for example, Bildungsromans, Robinsonades, and Picaresque Novels), which may confuse users thinking more in terms of adventure stories and science fiction. Including this information would help a user viewing a record, and the data could also be used to filter searches for genre, which could be achieved by setting a filter parameter to this field. Creating Catalog Records So we know the problems for visually impaired users, and we know that there are solutions. But the solutions rely on having appropriate informa- tion in the bibliographic records. Visually impaired users benefit from full catalog records; this enables catalogs to offer filtered searching and dis- play complete content, carrier information, and additional information appropriate to the resource in question. Early computer catalogs were limited in capacity, leading to a trend for brief bibliographic records. With increases in system capacity, this is no longer a problem, and the trend now is for more and more content—ta- bles of content, links to images, etc., in records. However, while records are capable of containing much information, few are constructed specifi- cally with the visually impaired user in mind. 925 It is also important that this information is not limited to catalogs, such as Revealweb, that are specifically created for visually impaired people. Depending on their particular needs, visually impaired users may be able to use some materials held in public libraries: large print, audio books, and e-books and other digital resources. They therefore need adequate information in the catalogs of these collections. Interestingly, much of the additional information required by visually impaired people would also be appreciated by the sighted community. So let us look at what this ad- ditional information is and the situations in which it would be appropriate to include it. Added Entries Catalogers are used to including appropriate added entries for second and third authors, alternative titles, and uniform titles. This is all useful information for any user, so what more might a visually impaired person need? For study purposes, there are several situations that require extra information. Users may be referred to specific versions of a work, perhaps a novel with a substantial prefatory section setting the novel in context, an assessment of the work, and/or biographical details of the author. In this case an added entry for the editor or commentator is required. Or the user has been referred to specific section(s) of a work (the chapters by Jones, Black and Green, and Smith). Here there would be a case for added entries for all contributors or a table of contents. Summaries and Abstracts The basic details may not be sufficient to enable users to decide if a particular work is the one they want. The sighted user can pick up the book and read the blurb on the book cover; the visually impaired person (or the catalog user not at the shelves) relies on the catalog to do this. Searching on “punctuation” might show two works: Eats, Shoots and Leaves by Lynne Truss and The Complete Plain Words by Sir Ernest Gowers. A summary or abstract can succinctly give the user an idea of the level and type of content. For example, contrast the following statement—“Lynne Truss argues that, with our system of punctuation patently endangered, it is time to look at our commas and semicolons and see them for the wonderful and necessary things they are”—with a summary for Gowers’s work: “This reference work will lead you through the intricacies of the English lan- guage with wit, common sense and authority. The book discusses the dan- gers of jargon, cliche and superfluous words, lays out the ground rules of grammar and punctuation and shows how to avoid the pitfalls, gives sug- gestions for drafting letters and provides a check-list of words to use with care.” The user gets a reasonable idea of the type of work in each case. Summaries are also useful for fiction, allowing the user to sample the work without having to go to the shelves and dip into it. The following three examples all fall into the crime and detection category but are in dif- chapman/resource discovery and the user 926 library trends/spring 2007 fering styles: (1) “Sergeant Cribb finds himself immersed in the world of nineteenth-century pugilism, investigating illegal bare-knuckle boxing” (The Detective Wore Silk Drawers by Peter Lovesey); (2) “Villagers in Tilling Green receive anonymous letters and three deaths follow. The detective is an elderly lady who gathers clues as she sits knitting and listening” (Poison in the Pen by Patricia Wentworth); (3) “Cody is a freelance agent, recruited by the SIS, trained by the CIA, living and working in Paris. Hired to find those who killed the wife and kidnapped the recently adopted Romanian daughter of a Nimes businessman, she runs into an old enemy; she is into some- thing much larger than anticipated” (Death and Co by David Brierley).4 Target Audiences Because visually impaired people often cannot judge the level of a work by glancing through it, information about the intended audience and educational or reading levels is also important. A UK user would find it clear from the title that Biology for Advanced Level by Glenn and Susan Toole is a textbook for General Certificate of Education (GCE) A-level examinations; however, the work is also suitable for Scottish Certificate of Education (SCE) Higher examinations.. Living with Uncertainty is a math- ematics textbook, but the title indicates neither the subject nor the level; the user needs target audience information that the work is intended for mathematics National Curriculum Key Stage 4 and General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE) examinations. In MARC 21 Bibliographic Format this information can be entered in field 521 Target Audience. Missing Sections Where works have been transcribed into accessible formats such as Braille or audio, it may not be possible to transcribe the entire work, ei- ther because there is some nontextual information in the work (images or music notation examples) or because specific sections are omitted. Missing Images Resources that include diagrams or illustrations may have tactile versions that are issued alongside the text, or the images may be available as a separate resource, or the images may simply not be available. Missing illustrations to a children’s novel will not hinder the user much, but a missing diagram in a textbook is another matter. So it is important to include in the records information about whether diagrams or images have been omitted. Where, for example, the diagrams are known to be available separately, enough information should be included for the user to search for that resource. Indexes and Tables of Content Another type of incomplete accessible ver- sion arises from the fact that it is usually not possible to transcribe the index as it stands in the original work. The pagination will be different and the index would need to be recompiled; the cost of doing this usually prohibits 927 re-indexing. Transcription of chapter headings is possible, but page refer- ences to the chapters would again be difficult. The record should therefore contain information about the missing text. Partial Works This is not quite the same issue as that of missing sections. Because Braille works are very bulky, there is a tradition of creating the accessible versions of large works and collected works in separate sections. For ex- ample, individual books of the Bible are transcribed separately, as are col- lections of short stories. On occasion, individual journal articles are tran- scribed. Music notation transcriptions are typically issued in parts, even in standard print; thus, a song for four-part choir might have separate parts for sopranos, altos, tenors, and basses, perhaps with a piano part. Another type of part work arises from the effort required to create ac- cessible versions. In the past, if students required a text, but only certain chapters had to be studied, and it was not already available, they would request a transcription of specified chapters only. The transcribing agency might then retain a copy of the work for future use by others, but it would remain an incomplete transcription. Because new methods of transcrip- tion have reduced the effort required, agencies more often transcribe the whole item even when only part is requested, so this last type of part work is now less often produced. Identifying and Linking Partial Works It is important with both missing sections and partial work items that the user is informed that the item described is not complete in some way. Revealweb uses MARC 21 Bibliographic Format field 245 subfield b to hold “[part work]” at the end of whatever text is contained in that sub- field. Subfields n and p identify the actual parts in the transcription. It is also important to be able to link the different parts with one another. MARC 21 field 773 Host Item Entry can be used for the details of the jour- nal issue in which an individual item appeared or the title of a collection of short stories. Using this field as a link (in systems that can support this) can enable the user to see if other articles in that journal or that collection were also transcribed. Series As has been noted above, users often need to know which items in a series are held and where a specific work fits in a series. Revealweb policy is to index all series, whether nonfiction or fiction (both numbered and unnumbered on publication). Thus, the Harry Potter novels, the Barchester novels of Trol- lope, and Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels will all get a series entry, even though these are series in general usage rather than the publisher’s des- ignation. In MARC 21 Bibliographic Format the use of fields 780 Preced- ing Entry and 785 Succeeding Entry show the user where an item fits with chapman/resource discovery and the user 928 library trends/spring 2007 other titles in the series and can also enable the user to move from the record for one title in the series to that for another, if the system supports this. Genres Many people read preferred genres of fiction. Public libraries and bookshops shelve some genres in separate sequences. The visually im- paired person may browse the large print section in the library, but many are choosing reading matter at a distance. Genre indexing can be used to enable filtered searching. But there are also authors who write in more than one genre; including and displaying genre information in records can help the user by identifying one work as a thriller and another as a romance or a historical novel. Subject Indexing Series information for fiction can help a user find all titles featuring a character when the character’s name is part of the (constructed) series title, for example, the Poirot mysteries of Agatha Christie. But there are occasions when a character appears in a number of works that have a more tenuous relationship. And there are always the users who remember the character name but not the title of a work. In these cases it can be helpful to make subject entries for the character. MARC 21 Bibliographic Format field 650 can hold entries such as “Holmes, Sherlock (fictitious character)” or “Hardy Boys (fictitious characters).” Content Warnings Accessible formats such as audio recordings have one potential embar- rassment factor. These may be played on equipment that broadcasts to the room and not through headphones to a single person. In this situation, it may be that the visually impaired person would wish to know in advance that the work had certain characteristics. For example, they might not wish to listen to a work containing a lot of violence and swear words when young children could also hear the recording. Often users are aware of problematic content, as when choosing a work that is known to them. But when choosing an unknown title from a catalog, they require some indication of potentially difficult content. A convention has arisen in the UK visual impairment sector, therefore, whereby audio and video works are occasionally given a content warning. This is a factual statement of the content and is intended only to give the user choice in selection of an item and information relevant to playback decisions they might make. Carrier Information For visually impaired people the specific accessible format is often cru- cial to whether they can use the resource. Someone who does not read Braille at all does not need to know more than that an item is in Braille. But the Braille reader needs to know more; someone who can only read 929 grade 1 will struggle with a grade 2 or 3 text, which includes special charac- ters for contractions of words. The need to distinguish between versions is even more crucial with Braille music, as there are a number of ways in which the content is laid out (Tucker, 1999). Knowing the specific carrier form is also important when equipment is required; the user who has a CD player but not an audio cassette player needs to know the carrier of audio books. The MARC 21 Bibliographic Format provides for much of this infor- mation to be held in coded form in the 007 Physical Description fields, in addition to including some information in fields such as 300 Physical De- scription, 306 Playing Time, and 340 Physical Medium. This information can also be held in Holdings Format records. The Geac Advance system used by Revealweb allows specific 007 coding combinations to be used to generate text strings that appear in a record. Since the 007 coding was not sufficient for Revealweb requirements, this has been extended in some areas to enable text strings to be generated for a range of carriers, includ- ing DAISY files, talking scores, and audio-described videos. Text strings generated include “audio cassette two track,” “Braille grade 2,” “video with audio description,” “digital audio DAISY 2.02,” “giant print,” and “print various sizes.” Display Issues Much of this article has necessarily concentrated on the information that needs to be held in a catalog record. However, the user sees the displays that are constructed from the record. They may be able to see the full re- cord presented in format field order, but there are other views that can be presented. Therefore, displays need to be designed to help the end user. A search will produce a list of records that appear to match the search query: a citation display. From the citation display, the user either is taken straight to the full record or in some cases is offered the choice of brief or full records to view. At each stage it is important to identify the appropriate information to be displayed and then decide how to present it. For example, format fields may have new labels for public display. MARC 21 Bibliographic For- mat field 100 is Main Entry—Personal Name, but OPACs typically display the information held in the field under the label Author. Citation Displays Citation displays need to be brief but have sufficient information to enable the user to quickly determine whether to pursue that item or re- ject it. Author and title are typically the only fields given, but users need more. An indication of the type of content will enable them to distinguish between the book and the film of Pride and Prejudice. At this point, visually impaired users are likely to also want information on the carrier type. A statement such as “Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. [text : large print]” provides users with information enabling them to choose or reject items. chapman/resource discovery and the user 930 library trends/spring 2007 Brief Record Displays From the results display list, users may be offered the choice of brief or full records. Brief records contain more information than citation records but less than full records. Content and carrier information and summaries should be included in brief records to assist visually impaired people. Full Record Displays In one sense this is the simplest form of display as all information in the record is shown. However, displays of full records do not necessarily need to display fields in bibliographic format order; it is useful to consider user requirements here. For example, the carrier type information needs to be toward the top of the record. A further display type of the full record in (MARC 21) format display could be offered when another version of a full record is created. Catalog Accessibility and Navigation This article has concentrated on the information held in catalog records and how it can be used to assist visually impaired people. Another side of catalog accessibility is that of how the user interacts with and navigates the system—support for keystroke combinations instead of mouse clicks, hierar- chical structuring with choices at each level limited to avoid lengthy lists, provision of suitable alternative text for images and icons, etc. This is out- side the scope of the present work but has been treated by other authors (for example, Brazier & Jennings, 1999; Brophy & Craven, 1999; Palfrey, 2005). It is an important factor, and systems designers should ensure that OPACS are designed according to relevant accessibility standards. Conclusion Catalogs are vital tools for resource discovery for visually impaired people. While catalogs restricted to accessible materials are valuable, the impor- tance of catalogs of general collections should not be underestimated; visually impaired people increasingly use them for certain materials. The quality of catalog records is important. Techniques such as filter- ing and hypertext linking between records requires appropriate data to be held. But simply adding the data is not enough; libraries need to work with system suppliers to ensure that these techniques are routinely built into library catalogs. Additional data such as summaries, genre indexing, and target audi- ence information are important because they provide equivalents to ac- tivities used by sighted people, such as shelf browsing and sample reading of items. It will, of course, take more time to create a fuller record, but the library community has a long history of re-use of records; twenty or thirty libraries do not necessarily all have to extend a record. And it does not all have to be done at once. It is not an impossible task, but policies and practice do need to be reviewed and changed. And this is a win-win 931 situation. Improving catalogs for use by visually impaired people has the added benefit of improved catalog quality for sighted users as well. So, what are you waiting for? Notes 1. See http://www.revealweb.org.uk/. 2. See http://www.loc.gov/marc/. 3. See http://www.collectionscanada.ca/iso/tc46sc9/wg3.htm. 4. The example summaries in the above paragraphs were taken from either Revealweb records or entries on the Amazon UK Web site. References American Library Association. (2000). Guidelines on subject access to individual works of fiction, drama, etc. (2nd ed.). Chicago: American Library Association. Brazier, H., & Jennings, S. (1999). Accessible Web site design: How not to make a meal of it. Library Technology, 4(1), 10–11. Brophy, P., & Craven, J. (1999). The integrated accessible librar y: A model of service development for the 21st century (British Library Research and Innovation Report 168). Manchester, England: Manchester Metropolitan University, Centre for Research in Library and In- formation Management. Chapman, A. (2004). Accessible formats revealed. CILIP Update, 3(6), 41–43. Chapman, A. (2005). Revealing all. Ariadne, 44. Retrieved December 14, 2005, from http:// www.ariadne.ac.uk/issue44/chapman/. International Federation of Library Associations and Institutions (IFLA) Study Group. (1998). Functional requirements for bibliographic records. Retrieved December 14, 2005, from http:// www.ifla.org/VII/s13/frbr/frbr.htm. Palfrey, R. (2005). Access denied. CILIP Update, 4(3), 32–33. Tucker, R. N. (1999). The MIRACLE and the blind musician. Exploit Interactive, 3. Retrieved December 14, 2005, from http://www.exploit-lib.org/issue3/miracle/. Ann Chapman is part of the Policy and Advice Team at UKOLN and her work focuses primarily on collection description and bibliographic management metadata. Her research interests cover the quality, standards, and format of bibliographic records for all types of materials in both current and retrospective cataloging, as well as perfor- mance measurement for bibliographic databases. She has worked on the UK national retrospective conversion strategy “Full Disclosure” and the Revealweb union database of accessible formats. She is a member of the BIC Bibliographic Standards Technical Sub-group (whose role includes UK responses to proposed changes in MARC 21), the CILIP/BL Committee on AACR, and the Revealweb Policy Advisory Group. chapman/resource discovery and the user 
work_g47c7pzuqnhr7ljf6kdzgzwqo4	----	[PDF] Digital archives as Big data | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1080/08898480.2017.1418116 Corpus ID: 3544327Digital archives as Big data @article{MartinezUribe2018DigitalAA, title={Digital archives as Big data}, author={L. Martinez-Uribe}, journal={Mathematical Population Studies}, year={2018}, volume={26}, pages={69 - 79} } L. Martinez-Uribe Published 2018 History, Computer Science Mathematical Population Studies ABSTRACT Digital archives contribute to Big data. Combining social network analysis, coincidence analysis, data reduction, and visual analytics leads to better characterize topics over time, publishers’ main themes and best authors of all times, according to the British newspaper The Guardian and from the 3 million records of the British National Bibliography.  View on Taylor & Francis arxiv.org Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 2 Citations View All Topics from this paper Big data Social network analysis Visual analytics Archive Library (computing) Paper Mentions Blog Post "Digital Archives as Big Data" DigitalKoans 27 February 2018 Blog Post New Journal Article: “Digital Archives as Big Data” LJ INFOdocket 27 February 2018 2 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Critical Questions for Archives as (Big) Data Devon Mordell Engineering 2019 2 Save Alert Research Feed Belge ve Arşiv Yönetimi Süreçlerinde Büyük Veri Analitiği ve Yapay Zeka Uygulamaları Mehmet Oytun Cibaroğlu, B. Yalçınkaya Art 2019 1 Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-10 OF 36 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Data Visualization and Statistical Graphics in Big Data Analysis D. Cook, E. Lee, M. Majumder Computer Science 2016 14 View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Library Catalogue Records as a Research Resource: Introducing ‘A Big Data History of Music’ Sandra Tuppen, Sandra Rose, Sandra Stephen Loukia Drosopoulou Art 2016 4 View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Data Visualization in Sociology. Kieran Healy, J. Moody Sociology, Medicine Annual review of sociology 2014 67 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Social network analysis - methods and applications S. Wasserman, Katherine Faust Mathematics, Computer Science Structural analysis in the social sciences 2007 13,899 View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Studying Coincidences with Network Analysis and Other Multivariate Tools Modesto Escobar Computer Science 2015 3 View 1 excerpt, references methods Save Alert Research Feed Graphs, Maps, Trees: Abstract Models for a Literary History F. Moretti Art 2005 649 View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Visual Analytics: Definition, Process, and Challenges D. Keim, G. Andrienko, Jean-Daniel Fekete, C. Görg, J. Kohlhammer, G. Melançon Computer Science Information Visualization 2008 881 PDF View 1 excerpt, references background Save Alert Research Feed Network Analysis of Works on Clustering and Classification from Web of Science N. Kejzar, Simona Korenjak Černe, V. Batagelj Computer Science 2010 23 PDF View 1 excerpt, references methods Save Alert Research Feed BIBLIOGRAPHIC DATA: A DIFFERENT ANALYSIS PERSPECTIVE F. Battisti, S. Salini Computer Science 2012 1 Save Alert Research Feed Ten challenges in modeling bibliographic data for bibliometric analysis A. Ferrara, S. Salini Computer Science Scientometrics 2012 25 PDF View 1 excerpt, references methods Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 3 4 ... Related Papers Abstract Topics Paper Mentions 2 Citations 36 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_gcvyo5jubngizpvlxg4f5q3lkm	----	The Imagination in Early Modern English Literature. Deanna Smid. Costerus New Series 221. Leiden: Brill | Rodopi, 2017. viii + 210 pp. $127. Oftentimes, definitions of the pre-Romantic imagination are negative: we only learn that it is not characterized by inspiration, originality, individual genius, and so on. By contrast, in The Imagination in Early Modern English Literature, Deanna Smid inves- tigates how early modern thinkers actually defined the imagination and how ideas about it were treated in plays, poems, and emblem books of the period. The early modern imagination was both concrete and abstract. There was a widely held belief that it was physically present in the brain as a central cognitive function com- mon to animals and humans. While it might seem counterintuitive that animals should have an imagination—surely a uniquely human property—at the time it was seen as a processing unit for sensory impressions, memory, and (for humans) reason, and as a central hub connecting these faculties. As such, the imagination had multiple functions, including imagining the outcome of an action, registering the appearance of an object, or recalling that appearance after the fact. Moreover, the imagination was inextricably connected to the body. The imagination interpreted and transformed external sensory stimuli—to the extent that it could cause or cure illnesses or shape the appearance of an unborn child. Consequently, with its powers, the imagination could be construed as a benign source of creativity or as a dangerous incentive to sinfulness. Smid’s admirably jargon-free and lucid monograph addresses the relationship between the body and the brain; the role of imagination, pregnancy, gender, and cre- ativity; the dangers of an imagination running free; and the relationship between nov- elty, recombination, and religious devotion. Bookended by a tidy introduction/ definition and a contemplative conclusion, each of the main chapters is introduced by a survey of what the most important theorists of the imagination (including Francis Bacon, Thomas Hobbes, Robert Burton, and the frequently contrary and sub- versive Margaret Cavendish) had to say about each particular theme, before embarking on an analysis of a literary approach to the same issue. In a largely convincing reading of Thomas Nashe’s The Unfortunate Traveller (chapter 2), Smid sees “pestilence as a met- aphor for his stylistic representations of the imagination and its contagious influence” on the bodies and minds of its characters and readers (63), reminding us of how ideas “go viral” nowadays. The analysis of Richard Brome’s The Antipodes, meanwhile (chap- ter 4), says something about the influence of theatrical illusion on characters and audi- ences alike, amid layers of deftly handled dramatic irony. The reading of Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale (chapter 3) also convinces in its arguments about two different types of imagination: that which is female, sound, healthy, and life-giving (the pregnant Hermione), against that which is male, baseless, paranoid, and deadly (the jealous Leontes). This ultimately evenhanded discussion concludes with a demonstration of how imagination as art also possesses the power to heal, through the play’s statue scene. REVIEWS 387 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core A study of this kind, which reads a large selection of disparate works through one concept, runs the risk of streamlining the subject matter, especially when its presenta- tion is so stringent, logical, and (almost) mechanical. Smid is aware of the potential problem and the book’s relaxed philosophizing conclusion does much to eliminate such worries, though some may find it too radical in its suggestions about the imagina- tive freedom with which we might approach future historicist literary research. A more serious problem is that this book leaves the reader wanting more—which is meant both as a compliment and as a criticism. One hundred and ninety-two pages is not sufficient to address the medieval forebears of early modern imagination theory, the deeper impli- cations of the statement that “language is constituted by the imagination” (166), the role the imagination plays in esoteric world views (alchemy, cosmology), and the full impact of visual-verbal forms on the imagination, an issue too briefly outlined in chap- ter 5, on emblems. More could be said about imagination, imagery, and image. It is to be hoped these things can be addressed in a sequel. As for what this book actually does, it provides a valuable reminder that “if we are to classify a text as imaginative then the first question should be, by which historical standard?” (185). This book is an excellent introduction to one particular historical standard. Svenn-Arve Myklebost, Høgskulen i Volda doi:10.1017/rqx.2018.105 Timely Voices: Romance Writing in English Literature. Goran Stanivukovic, ed. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2017. x + 362 pp. $110. This is a welcome collection of essays, ably edited, firmly oriented toward the future of criticism on romance. Despite the superb works on romance by Patricia Parker, Barbara Fuchs, and Helen Cooper, for example, the very frequency of critical recourse today to these same few volumes indicates the need for an expanded canon of theories, approaches, explanations, and attitudes to romance. This is especially the case for undergraduate and graduate students seeking to get a handle on this notoriously mer- curial genre. Timely Voices is a worthy addition to that canon. Its fourteen essays travel across time as well as models of romance, from Old Irish literature to Jane Austen, giv- ing substance to Steve Mentz’s formulation of romance as a “polygenre.” Insisting on the transnational, transhistorical, and even interdisciplinary character of romance, the editor foregrounds romance writing and romance thinking as perhaps the most flexible form of creative process for the ages. A strong and at times provocative introduction from Goran Stanivukovic describes the collection’s interest in romance as “strategy” and “resource,” always ripe for reinven- tion. Stanivukovic presents the volume’s conceptual framework as being rooted in the idea of influence, but “where influence is seen not as imitation but as testing the limits, RENAISSANCE QUARTERLY388 VOLUME LXXII, NO. 1 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
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work_gfobygmmxjdrfmfx6z2lfipxhm	----	Emma as Sequel | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 40, Issue 2 September 1985 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| September 01 1985 Emma as Sequel Paul Pickrel Paul Pickrel Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1985) 40 (2): 135–153. https://doi.org/10.2307/3044587 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Paul Pickrel; Emma as Sequel. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 September 1985; 40 (2): 135–153. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/3044587 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1985 The Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Emma as Sequel' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Emma as Sequel Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_gmji6zlegvewfku4mwjakruaou	----	SJIF Impact Factor: 7.001| ISI I.F.Value:1.241| Journal DOI: 10.36713/epra2016 ISSN: 2455-7838(Online) EPRA International Journal of Research and Development (IJRD) Volume: 5 | Issue: 5 | May 2020 - Peer Reviewed Journal 2020 EPRA IJRD | Journal DOI: https://doi.org/10.36713/epra2016 | www.eprajournals.com |421 | INVESTIGATING COMMUNICATIVE- PRAGMATIC FUNCTIONS OF GRADATION Makhmudova Nilufarkhon Ravshanovna Senior teacher of Andizhan State University, Andizhan, Republic Uzbekistan Article DOI: https://doi.org/10.36713/epra1469 ABSTRACT In this article has been illuminated the communicative-pragmatic functions of gradation in English and Uzbek languages. In the scientific literature, cognitive linguistics is also described as “connected semantics” because it deals mainly with semantics. While linguistic units serve to express objects that exist in the world and the actions that take place, semantics connect the interactions between linguistic units in a real or imaginary world. These relations are studied by linguistic semantics as a separate object of study. One of the important features of cognitive linguistics is that it allows us to see the language in relation to a person, that is, his consciousness, knowledge, processes of thinking and understanding, paying particular attention to how language forms and any language phenomena are associated with human knowledge and experience and how they relate to the human mind how to describe. KEY WORDS: English language, Uzbek language, gradation, communicative-pragmatic functions, structural linguistics, cognitive linguistics, semantics, pragmatic influence. INTRODUCTION The object of linguistics is language, which has been studied in different periods, that is, the nature and functions of language from different perspectives. In the last decade, as a result of a new methodological direction of cognition, ie the expansion of research based on the cognitive approach, cognitive linguistics has become one of the fastest growing areas of linguistics. The emergence of cognitive linguistics is related to the work of American scholars who existed in the second half of the 1970s (Lakoff; Paivio; Taylor et al.). Russian linguists are also successfully working in this field and make a significant contribution to the development of some of his theories (E. Kubryakova; O. Kolosova; A. Baranov; R. Frumkina and others). METHODS Numerous works on the interdependence of language and cognition are finding their place in Uzbek linguistics as a new field (D.U. Ashurova, Sh. Safarov, O. Yusupov). Indeed, cognitive linguistics has justified itself as a science. It is well known that cognitive linguistics deals mainly with semantics, so it is probably also described as “coherent semantics”. While language units serve to express the objects that exist in the world and the actions that take place, semantics connects the interactions between language units in the real or imaginary world. These relationships are studied by linguistic semantics. As a branch of semantics, the answer to the question of how an individual can convey a variety of information using words and grammatical rules, the focus of cognitive linguistics is not only the "unity of language form and substance" but more importantly the "unity of language and man" [4, p.35], this is also its difference from structural linguistics. Accordingly, cognitive linguistics is closely related to communicative pragmatics and discourse theory. RESULTS AND DISCUSSIONS Cognitive science is also described as a science that studies the processes of consciousness and higher cognition based on the application of theoretical information models [3, p.264]. One of the important features of cognitive linguistics is that it allows us to see language in relation to man, i.e. his https://doi.org/10.36713/epra2016 https://doi.org/10.36713/epra1469 SJIF Impact Factor: 7.001| ISI I.F.Value:1.241| Journal DOI: 10.36713/epra2016 ISSN: 2455-7838(Online) EPRA International Journal of Research and Development (IJRD) Volume: 5 | Issue: 5 | May 2020 - Peer Reviewed Journal 2020 EPRA IJRD | Journal DOI: https://doi.org/10.36713/epra2016 | www.eprajournals.com |422 | consciousness, knowledge, thinking and comprehension processes [1, p.81], where the main focus is on language forms and any linguistic phenomena human knowledge and experience focuses on how they are associated with and how they are portrayed in the human mind. Accordingly, it is no exaggeration to say that cognitive linguistics continues the history of the relationship between the science of language and the science of the human psyche (A.A. Potebnya, G. Steinthal, V. Vundt). Because although the sciences of linguistics and psychology are two different social sciences that differ drastically in their methodology, the formation of language is based on certain psychological mechanisms. While the cognitive approach is one way of interpreting language events using the theory of cognition, it can be said that cognitive linguistics is closely related to psycholinguistics. Because “psycholinguistics as a science is a psychological substantiation of linguistic hypotheses (or in other words, the application of psychological methodology to linguistic theory), while cognitive linguistics is a linguistic substantiation of psychological hypotheses” [5, p. 7]. U.Yusupov defines the tasks of cognitive linguistics as follows: 1) to determine the role of language in the emergence of human knowledge; 2) to understand the processes of categorization of the universe and its objects (forming concepts and dividing them into species), conceptualization (creation of concepts) and naming (nomination); 3) determine the relationship between the conceptual system and the language system; 4) to solve problems related to linguistic and cognitive (conceptual) images of the world. Communicative linguistics is a generalized, infinite science, one of the main tasks of which is to fully describe all the systems of language in the communicative aspect, ie its sound system, grammatical structure [3, p.51-62]. This description is also pragmatic, since the speaker, as the subject who creates the text, conveys to the listener that he understands the world, objects and events, their essence and interaction, in order to achieve the expected pragmatic effect (ie, speech or action by the listener). works. “Pragmatic meaning is not only a description of the subject and its properties, but also a means of expressing the feelings and thoughts that take place in the inner and outer world of the speaker (aimed at the listener). In other words, pragmatic meaning is a set of speech and language units that deliver emotional and intellectual capabilities to the listener, depending on the social and psychological state of the speaker. Pragmatic meaning is always focused on the listener and has a positive or negative effect on the listener's behavior and personality. ” Accordingly, A.M. Emirova describes the pragmatic meaning as a "speaker-listener" relationship. As S. Levinson describes: “Pragmatics is a field that looks at the linguistic structure and studies the grammatical (coded) interactions between language and context, ... pragmatics is the study of all hidden aspects of meaning that semantic theory does not cover, ... analyzes the ability to select sentences appropriately to form a context ”[6, P.9-24]. It is clear from these definitions that pragmatics is a broad field; this field includes the analysis of concepts such as dexterity, communicative explicaturia and implicature, proposition, intention, presupposition, infertility, speech act, discourse. Zero “Linguopragmatics (or pragmatics) is a branch of linguistics and semiotics that studies the situations and ways in which context influences meaning. Pragmatics includes the theory of speech act, the process of engaging in communication, interaction in conversation, and other features related to language in speech mode. In addition to linguistics and semiotics, this field is also related to philosophy, sociology and anthropology ”[3, P.148]. Sh.Safarov clearly showed the role of pragmatics in linguistics and described the field of pragmatics as follows: “Pragmatism is a separate branch of linguistics, the study of the selection of linguistic units, their use and the impact of these units on the participants of communication. ... The main idea of linguistic analysis is also to determine the nature of language in relation to its application in practical activities, or in other words, in the context of the function it performs. The concept of task (function) is the basis of a pragmalinguistic approach to language analysis ... ”[4, P.78]. Thus, the context in the process of communication, such as discourse, speech act theory, deixis, which is defined as the activation of language in a specific time (time interval), can be justified in the study of pragmalinguistics. According to D. Kim, “It is linguistic pragmatics that solves the problem of hesitation of the speaker in the choice of language units in his speech and shows the semantic effect of state, place, time and other factors in the context” [5, P.328-332]. At the heart of linguopragmatics lies the concept of speech act. This notion is primarily related to the speaker‟s specific intention (goal) that arises in the speech process. In any communication process, linguistic units have a tag meaning in addition to their lexical meaning, i.e., linguistic units represent the ability to express meanings in speech such as please, command, confirm, report, mention, warn, promise. “A speech act is a linguistic appeal of a speaker to a listener in a certain environment, for a specific purpose, the pronunciation of a certain https://doi.org/10.36713/epra2016 SJIF Impact Factor: 7.001| ISI I.F.Value:1.241| Journal DOI: 10.36713/epra2016 ISSN: 2455-7838(Online) EPRA International Journal of Research and Development (IJRD) Volume: 5 | Issue: 5 | May 2020 - Peer Reviewed Journal 2020 EPRA IJRD | Journal DOI: https://doi.org/10.36713/epra2016 | www.eprajournals.com |423 | sentence in a specific communication environment” [6, p.80-81]. The term pragmatics was introduced to linguistics in the 60s and 70s of the twentieth century by linguists such as Ch. Pierce, R. Carnap, Ch. Morris, L. Wittgenstein, and was interpreted as a specific branch of linguistics. Any communication (verbal communication) sent by the subject of speech always assumes a certain effect on the addressee, his consciousness and behavior. The effectiveness and degree of speech effect largely depends on the choice of linguistic means by which the speaker exerts this effect. Such tools include graduality indicators. Accordingly, it is necessary to determine the impact of linguistic gradation and to determine the indicators of graduality that perform this communicative- pragmatic function. The following types of speech effects using gradality indicators were identified: influencing the addressee in order to form a figurative image of a particular event, object, sign, etc., persuading the addressee (accuracy of information, in performing a particular action, etc.). As noted above, persuasion of the addressee can be accomplished by presenting a rational assessment or reasoning through a direct appeal to the mind (reason). Here is an example of the authenticity of the reported information: 1. I wouldn‟t stay with you, though, if you didn‟t marry me,” Carrie added reflectively. “I don‟t want you to,” he said tenderly, taking her hand. She was extremely happy now that she understood. She loved him the more for thinking that he would rescue her so. As for him, the marriage clause did not dwell in his mind. He was thinking that with such affection there could be no bar to his eventual happiness. (Theodore Dreiser, Sister Carrie) 2. How could she deny that credit to his assertions in one instance, which she had been obliged to give in the other? He declared himself to be totally unsuspicious of her sister‟s attachment; and she could not help remembering what Charlotte‟s opinion had always been. (Jane Austen, Pride and prejudice) „There is no giving any more.‟ In some bedrooms where intercourse had not been wholly discontinued prophylactics had appeared for the first time, variously explained by a trivial infection or a sudden sensitivity, but in all cases made out to the unknowing partner as just a minor precaution not the membrane between life and death. (Bennet Alan, The laying on of hands) CONCLUSION For comparison, we give an example in which the level of the sign represented by the revolutionary lexeme is increased. Here, too, persuasion is intended, but the means is different - the highest level of the character is realized by means of an expressive indicator, by acting on the emotional sphere of the addressee (forming awe). REFERENCES 1. Kartushina E.A. Scenario as a method of comparative phraseology / Ed. A.A. Aminova, S.G. Vasilyeva. Comparative philology and polilingualism - Kazan: RIC "School", 2002. - 145 p. 2. Kim D. et al. The Role of an Interactive Book Reading Program in the Development of Second Language Pragmatic Competence // The Modern Language Journal. Vol. 86, № 3, 2002. – P. 328- 332. 3. Kolshansky G.V. The logic and structure of the language. - M .: Nauka, 1965. –162 p. 4. Kubryakova E.S. The initial stages of the formation of cognitivism // Linguistics - Psychology - cognitive science. - M., 1994. VY No. 4. - p. 35-36. 5. Kubryakova E.S. On cognitive linguistics and semantics of the term “cognitive”. Bulletin of Voronezh. Gos. Univ., Series: Linguistics and Intercultural Communication. - Voronezh, 2001.- p. 7. 6. Levinson S.C. Pragmatics. – Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. –210 p. https://doi.org/10.36713/epra2016 
work_gnmffdhcu5acbf5kh747e2pkle	----	Microsoft Word - n. 16 Pennacchia.doc AlmaTourism  Special  Issue  N.  4,  2015:  Pennacchia  M.,  Adaptation-­‐induced  Tourism  for  Consumers  of   Literature  on  Screen:  the  Experience  of  Jane  Austen  Fans             almatourism.unibo.it  ISSN  2036-­‐5195     This  article  is  released  under  a  Creative  Commons  -­‐  Attribution  3.0  license.     261     ABSTRACT     My   aim   in   this   article   is   that   of   starting   to   relate   the   expanding   research   field   of   adaptation   studies   to   the   subject   area   of   film-­‐induced   tourism.   Adaptations   are   a   specific  typology  of  films:  that  is,  films  whose  story  was  not  originally  intended  for  the   screen   but,   more   often   than   not,   for   the   written   page,   and   has,   therefore,   been   ‘translated’  into  a  new  medium.  The  phenomenon  of  adaptation  has  been  at  the  center   of  a  heated  debate  for  a  few  years  now,  but  the  specific  link  between  adaptation  and   tourism  has  not  yet  been  studied  in  its  own  right.  In  my  article  I  question  why  and  how   adaptations  of  literary  texts  for  the  screen  can  induce  a  desire  to  visit  film  locations   (actual  geographical  places)  in  readers  who  are  also  inclined  to  enjoy  the  experience  of   “literature  on  screen”.  In  order  to  do  this,  I  focus  on  the  case  study  of  adaptations  from   Jane   Austen’s   novels   and   on   a   specific   kind   of   tourists,   the   so   called   ‘Janeites’,   or   Austen  fans.     _________________________________________________________   Keywords:   Adaptation,   Heritage,   Participatory   Mode,   Literary   Tourism,   Pleasure   of   Repetition.                   *  Email  address:  maddalena.pennacchia@uniroma3.it         AlmaTourism      Journal  of  Tourism,  Culture  and  Territorial  Development Adaptation-­‐induced  Tourism  for  Consumers  of  Literature  on   Screen:  the  Experience  of  Jane  Austen  Fans     Pennacchia,  M.*   Roma  Tre  University  (Italy)           AlmaTourism  Special  Issue  N.  4,  2015:  Pennacchia  M.,  Adaptation-­‐induced  Tourism  for  Consumers  of   Literature  on  Screen:  the  Experience  of  Jane  Austen  Fans             almatourism.unibo.it  ISSN  2036-­‐5195     This  article  is  released  under  a  Creative  Commons  -­‐  Attribution  3.0  license.     262 In  her  “Introduction”  to  The  Advance  of  Film  Tourism,  a  special  issue  of  Tourism  and   Hospitality  Planning  &  Development,  Sue  Beeton  calls  repeatedly  for  “incorporation  of   multiple  disciplines  and  perspectives  into  the  study  of  film  and  tourism”  (2010,  p.  3).   My   aim   in   this   article   is   that   of   trying   to   answer   the   call   by   starting   to   relate   the   expanding   research   field   of   adaptation   studies   to   the   subject   area   of   film-­‐induced   tourism.   The  term  “Film-­‐Induced  Tourism”,  as  is  well  known,  was  introduced  for  the  first  time  by   Beeton  in  her  seminal  book  of  2005,  which  bears  the  same  title.  She  proposed  to  use  it   instead  of  “Movie-­‐Induced  Tourism”,  a  label  which  was  already  well-­‐established  at  the   time  of  her  writing,  because  she  aimed  at  enlarging  the  scope  of  the  field  by  including   “both  […]  movies  and  […]  television  films  such  as  mini-­‐series  and  even  soap-­‐operas”   (2005,  p.  8).  Such  a  shift  of  the  critical  focus,  therefore,  paved  the  way  to  scholars  who   were  interested  not  only  in  cinema,  but  in  television,  and  in  any  audiovisual  experience   that  could  prompt  and  shape  tourism  practices.  Hudson,  Wang  and  Gil,  for  instance,   highlight  the  results  of  a  recent  analysis  stating  that  “after  family  and  friends  and  the   Internet,  television  shows  and  films  were  the  next  key  influencer  on  the  decision  to   travel  to  a  particular  country”  (2011,  p.  178),  and  yet  they  also  admit  that  “we  do  not   have  a  clear  understanding  of  why  and  how”  this  happens,  “and  very  few  researchers   have   explored   the   phenomenon   in   any   detail”   (ibid.).   Enrico   Nicosia   is   among   them   (2012),   and   his   convening   of   this   special   issue   on   “The   Experiences   of   Film-­‐Induced   Tourism”  is  a  welcome  and  long  awaited  opportunity  for  scholars  to  tackle  the  impact   that  different  films  can  have  on  different  categories  of  tourists.     Taking  my  cue  from  these  premises,  I  would  like  to  contribute  to  this  special  issue  by   focusing  on  a  specific  typology  of  films:  that  is,  adaptations,  or  films  whose  story  was   not  originally  intended  for  the  screen  but,  more  often  than  not,  for  the  written  page,   and   has,   therefore,   been   ‘translated’   into   a   new   medium.   The   phenomenon   of   adaptation  is,  of  course,  very  complex  as  witnessed  by  an  articulate  debate  that  has   been   constantly   evolving   and   expanding   for   the   last   twenty   years   (see   Leitch   for   a   summary   of   different   critical   stands,   2008)   to   include   theoretical   concepts   such   as   intermediality   and   remediation   (see   Bruhn   et   al.   2013,   and   Pennacchia   2015);   the   specific  link  between  adaptation  and  tourism,  however,  has  not  been  studied  yet  in  its   own  right,  even  though  it  has,  of  course,  been  noticed  in  passing  by  some  scholars  (for   instance,   Higson,   2003,   p.   62);   it   is   to   this   relation   that   I   would   like,   therefore,   to   address  my  investigation.  More  to  the  point,  the  question  I  would  like  to  address  in  this   article  is  why  and  how  adaptations  of  literary  texts  for  the  big  and  small  screen  can   induce  a  desire  to  visit  film  locations  (actual  geographical  places)  in  readers  who  tend   to   enjoy   the   experience   of   “literature   on   screen”,   as   Deborah   Cartmell   and   Imelda   Whelehan  defined  the  phenomenon  of  film  adaptations  from  literary  texts  few  years   ago  (2007).  In  order  to  do  this,  I  will  focus  on  the  case  study  of  adaptations  from  Jane   Austen’s   novels   and   on   a   specific   kind   of   tourists,   the   so   called   ‘Janeites’,   or   the   community  of  Austen  fans.     It  is  a  truth  universally  acknowledged  among  commentators  today  that  the  high  tide  of   what   has   been   called   “Austenmania”   (Woods,   2007)   took   place   between   1995   and   AlmaTourism  Special  Issue  N.  4,  2015:  Pennacchia  M.,  Adaptation-­‐induced  Tourism  for  Consumers  of   Literature  on  Screen:  the  Experience  of  Jane  Austen  Fans             almatourism.unibo.it  ISSN  2036-­‐5195     This  article  is  released  under  a  Creative  Commons  -­‐  Attribution  3.0  license.     263 2005.  These  two  dates  mark  the  release  of  two  immensely  successful  adaptations  of   Pride  and  Prejudice,  probably  the  most  beloved  among  Austen’s  novels:  the  BBC  mini-­‐ series  starring  Colin  Firth  as  the  perfect  Mr  Darcy  (1995),  and  Joe  Wright’s  feature  film   where  the  British  celebrity,  Keira  Knightley,  played  a  restless  Elizabeth  Bennett  (2005).   It   is   important   to   notice   that   both   adaptations   were   filmed   according   to   the   conventions   of   costume   drama,   with   great   care   for   historical   details   in   setting   and   clothing,  and  an  artful  choice  of  English  locations,  showcasing  charming  landscapes  of   green  pastures  and  ivy-­‐covered  old  buildings.     The   allure   of   traditional   images   of   Britain,   like   those   used   in   Pride   and   Prejudice   adaptations,  made  of  spectacular  country  views,  magnificent  National  Trust  properties   and  exclusive  tea-­‐time  manners,  has  been  the  object  of  study  analysis  and  marketing   campaigns  by  the  British  tourist  industry  for  decades,  and  have  been  part  of  the  larger   and  much  controversial  debate  concerning  the  so  called  “heritage  industry”  (Hewison,   1987).  I  agree  with  Amy  Sargeant  that  “heritage  is  vital  to  the  appeal  of  Britain  as  a   tourist   destination”   (Sargeant   2000:   308);   however   if   heritage   is   not   only   what   has   been  objectively  inherited  from  the  past,  but  also  a  specific  attitude  towards  it,  then,  as   Andrew  Higson  puts  it,  “heritage  is  a  selective  preoccupation  with  the  past”  (Higson,  p.   50),  and  accordingly  “is  as  often  invented  or  revised  as  it  is  conserved”  (ibid.).  Heritage,   therefore,   is   not   only   a   shifting   notion,   but   a   political   approach   to   the   past   that   depends   very   much   on   the   attitude   that   each   Government,   be   it   Conservative   or   Labour,  decides  to  adopt  towards  it.  Historically  speaking,  this  has  meant  passing  from   Margaret   Thatcher’s   (nostalgic)   ideals   of   tradition   and   continuity   (that   led   to   the   institution  of  the  “Department  of  National  Heritage”  in  1992),  to  Tony  Blair’s  rejection   of  those  ideals  (and  Department,  quickly  renamed  “Department  of  Culture,  Media  and   Sport”  in  1997)  in  favor  of  an  entrepreneurial  image  of  ‘cool  Britannia’,  with  its  drive   towards  a  new  global  economy  (see  Higson,  pp.  48-­‐56).     However,  it  is  fair  to  say  that  all  Governments,  be  they  Conservative  or  Labour,  have   always   been   strategically   aware   of   the   inspirational   power   of   British   heritage   on   screen,  that  is  of  the  strong  connection  between  film  and  tourism.  It  will  suffice  here  to   say   that   The   British   Tourist   Authority,   the   tourist   board   of   Great   Britain,   issued   a   “Movie   Map”   of   the   UK,   the   first   of   the   kind   and   soon   to   be   imitated   by   other   countries,  as  early  as  1998.  Andrew  Higson  acutely  reminds  us  that  this  was  a  huge   marketing   campaign   to   sell   British   tourism   overseas,   with   “[m]ore   than   250,000   of   these  maps  were  sent  to  travel  agencies  in  North  America,  the  Far  East,  Australia,  and   Europe”  (Higson,  p.  59);  Higson  also  highlights  not  only  that  many  films  on  the  map   were  costume  dramas,  but  that  many  of  them  also  happened  to  be  adaptations  from   British   literary   classics,   including   Ang   Lee’s   Sense   and   Sensibility,   starring   Emma   Thompson  and  Kate  Winslet,  released  three  years  before  (1995).     Although  a  traditional  image  of  England  is  skillfully  packaged  in  Austen’s  adaptations  to   attract  general  viewers,  I  think  that  its  impact  can  be  particularly  effective  on  readers   of  Austen’s  novels,  and  this  for  reasons  that  have  to  do  with  her  style  of  writing.  To   start  with,  Austen  is  interested,  as  a  writer,  in  developing  socially  and  psychologically   intriguing   situations   as   they   are   revealed   through   a   subtle   use   of   language   in   AlmaTourism  Special  Issue  N.  4,  2015:  Pennacchia  M.,  Adaptation-­‐induced  Tourism  for  Consumers  of   Literature  on  Screen:  the  Experience  of  Jane  Austen  Fans             almatourism.unibo.it  ISSN  2036-­‐5195     This  article  is  released  under  a  Creative  Commons  -­‐  Attribution  3.0  license.     264 conversations,  but  descriptions  are  not  her  main  concern;  consequently,  they  are  very   scanty  or  given  with  few  strokes  of  the  pen  when  absolutely  needed.    Adaptations  for   the  screen  of  her  novels,  therefore,  do  help  the  reader  to  visualize  a  world  that  she   makes  ‘speak’  but  upon  which  she  looks  only  by  side-­‐glances,  leaving  to  others  the  task   of   fully   imagining   it.   In   other   words,   the   actual   locations   chosen   in   adaptations   as   setting  for  Austen’s  verbal  “conversation  pieces”,  can  strongly  appeal  to  the  desire  of   ‘seeing’  and  therefore  ‘possessing’  Jane’s  elusive  world.     The  actual  visualization  of  an  already  known  fictional  world  is,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,   also  part  of  the  specific  impact  of  adaptations  on  tourism,  an  impact  that  is  based,  I   think,   on   the   pleasure   of   repetition.   When   Sue   Beeton,   for   instance,   describes   the   motivations  for  tourists  to  visit  film  locations,  she  writes  that  they  do  so  in  order  “to  re-­‐ live   an   experience   (or   even   emotion)   encountered   in   the   film,   reinforce   myth,   storytelling  or  fantasies,  or  for  reason  of  status  (or  celebrity)”  (2010,  p.  2).  Glen  Croy   and   Sie   Heitmann,   on   the   other   hand,   in   their   overview   of   the   main   themes   in   the   current   debate   on   film   tourism,   maintain   that   the   film’s   role   in   tourist   pre-­‐visit   experiences   is   that   of   informing   viewers   about   places   and   bringing   new   potential   destinations  in  mind,  either  showing  that  these  places  existed  or  adding  to  pre-­‐existing   images  of  places:  “increased  exposure,  via  viewing  the  film  again  or  viewing  other  films   produced   (or   set)   in   the   area,   allows   even   greater   levels   of   image   familiarity   and   complexity”   (p.   191).   Film-­‐induced   motivations,   therefore,   appear   to   me   very   much   alike  those  that  prompt  people  who  are  particularly  fond  of  a  specific  work  of  literature   to  re-­‐live  the  experience  of  it  over  and  over  again,   in  different  media,  thus  enjoying   what  Linda  Hutcheon  –  in  her  seminal  book,  A  Theory  of  Adaptation  (2006)  –  calls  a   “mixture  of  repetition  and  difference,  of  familiarity  and  novelty”  (Hutcheon,  p.  114).   The   enjoyment   of   adaptations   as   adaptations,   she   writes,   “comes   simply   from   repetition   with   variation,   from   the   comfort   of   ritual   combined   with   the   piquancy   of   surprise.   Recognition   and   remembrance   are   part   of   the   pleasure   (and   risk)   of   experiencing  an  adaptation”  (4).  Those  who  love  to  watch  their  favorite  stories  adapted   for  the  screen  (or  for  the  stage,  or,   lately,  even  as  graphic  novels)  are  probably  also   inclined  to  visit  the  locations  where  adaptations  were  shot  in  order  to  re-­‐live,  in  one   more  different  way,  similar  emotions,  thus  reinforcing  myth  and  storytelling.   To   better   understand   the   process,   we   may   recall   what   Linda   Hutcheon   usefully   describes   as   the   three   modes   through   which   people   can   engage   to   stories:   telling,   showing,  interacting.  In  the  “telling  mode”,  that  of  literature,  “our  engagement  [with  a   story]  begins   in  the  realm  of   imagination,  which   is  simultaneously  controlled  by  the   selected,  directing  words  of  the  text  and  liberated”  (p.  23);  in  the  “showing  mode”,  as   in  film  adaptations,  “we  are  caught  in  an  unrelenting,  forward-­‐driving  story.  And  we   have  moved  from  the  imagination  to  the  realm  of  direct  perception  –  with  its  mix  of   both   detail   and   broad   focus”   (ibid.).   The   third   mode   is   the   participatory   mode   that   happens  when  we  become  agents  and  engage  with  a  story  in  an  interactive  way,  either   rewriting  it,  for  example  in  fan  fiction,  or  plunging  into  it,  as  in  videogames  or  theme   parks,   “where   we   can   walk   right   into   the   world   of   a   Disney   film,   and   virtual   reality   AlmaTourism  Special  Issue  N.  4,  2015:  Pennacchia  M.,  Adaptation-­‐induced  Tourism  for  Consumers  of   Literature  on  Screen:  the  Experience  of  Jane  Austen  Fans             almatourism.unibo.it  ISSN  2036-­‐5195     This  article  is  released  under  a  Creative  Commons  -­‐  Attribution  3.0  license.     265 experience,  where  our  own  bodies  are  made  to  feel  as  if  they  are  entering  an  adapted   heterocosm”  (p.  51).     Many  readers  love  to  further  expand  the  ‘pleasure  of  the  text’  by  actually  engaging  the   text   not   only   in   the   telling   mode,   but   also   in   the   showing   mode,   through   film   adaptations,  and  finally  in  the  participatory  mode,  choosing  an  ‘immersive  experience’   that   means   entering   the   location   of   the   story   in   order   to   become   part   of   it.   More   importantly,  visiting  the  place  where  a  story  is  set,  and  its  adaptation  has  been  located,   can   transform   a   solitary   pleasure   into   a   sociable   experience   to   be   shared   with   a   ‘community’  of  people  with  similar   interests,  as   is  the  case  with  Janeites  (or  fans   in   general).  Choosing  film  locations  as  tourist  destinations  is,  in  this  case,  just  the  last  step   of  a  progressively  increasing  involvement  of  the  consumers’  bodies  into  the  storyline,   from  telling  to  showing  to  interacting.     Out  of  the  many  examples  that  can  be  brought  as  evidence  to  this  hypothesis,  I  have   chosen  the  advertisement  of  a  “Jane  Austen  Walking  Tour”  called  “Jaunt  with  Jane”  in   the  small  and  picturesque  sea-­‐town  of  Lyme  Regis,  on  the  Dorset  coast,  where  part  of   the  story  of  Persuasion,  Austen’s  last  novel,  is  set.  The  offer  is  advertised  on  the  page   of   “Jane   Austen   Related   Events”   in   “The   Republic   of   Pemberly”,   a   famous   website   devoted  to  “Jane  Austen  addicts”  (http://www.pemberley.com/),  and  visited  by  those   who  share  interest  in  all  things  Jane.  The  advertisement  poster  shows  a  frame  from  the   last  adaptation  of  Persuasion  (2007),  starring  Sally  Hawkins  and  Rupert  Penry-­‐Jones  as   Anne  Elliot  and  Captain  Wentworth  in  full  Regency  costume;  a  drawing  of  the  Cobb   Harbour,  Lyme’s  main  landmark,  is  also  displayed.  The  tour  organizer,  Natalie  Manifold,   who,  after  reading  English  at  the  University  of  Birmingham,  founded  a  company  called   “Literary  Lyme  Walking  Tours”  (http://www.literarylyme.co.uk/),  entices  the  followers   of  the  Republic  of  Pemberly  to  join  the  “Jaunt  with  Jane”  week-­‐end  with  these  words   (http://jauntwithjane.com/about/):             “If  you’re  feeling  like  a  break  then  this  is  the  perfect  restorative  tonic  for   you!   When   Captain   Wentworth   first   sees   Anne   Elliot   after   8   years’   absence,  he  believes  that  she  has  lost  her  bloom,  but  a  few  days  in  Lyme   Regis  restores  Anne’s  colour  &  they  are  once  again  together.     Let  the  restorative  tonic  of  re-­‐enacting  Regency  Lyme  give  you  a  bloom.   Whether  watching  the  wondrous  crashing  waves,  or  watching  the  pattern   of   the   seabirds.   […]   For   your   own   restorative   &   a   fine   time   in   Regency   Lyme,  book  your  Jaunt  with  Jane  ticket  now.”     According   to   the   advertisement,   therefore,   the   potential   (female)   tourist   will   very   much  benefit  from  the  “restorative  tonic”  of  “re-­‐enacting  Regency  Lyme”;  the  novel   and  adaptation’s  storyline,  whose  gist  is  the  protagonist’s  recovery  of  vitality  (plus  love   and  wealth),  is  therefore  used  as  a  hook  to  bring  visitors  to  this  small  English  seaside   resort.   As   Mike   Crang,   who   writes   about   the   popularization   of   Jane   Austen   and   tourism,   states:   “[f]aced   with   overseas   competition   and   changing   tastes,   the   English   tourist  industry  has  turned  to  specialist  tourism  as  a  means  of  selling  places”  (Crang  ,  p.   AlmaTourism  Special  Issue  N.  4,  2015:  Pennacchia  M.,  Adaptation-­‐induced  Tourism  for  Consumers  of   Literature  on  Screen:  the  Experience  of  Jane  Austen  Fans             almatourism.unibo.it  ISSN  2036-­‐5195     This  article  is  released  under  a  Creative  Commons  -­‐  Attribution  3.0  license.     266 117);   a   literary   tourism   offer   like   that   of   “Jaunt   with   Jane”   is   precisely   the   kind   of   specialist   tourism   Crang   has   in   mind   (even   though   the   examples   he   makes   are,   of   course,  different);  these  offers  are  addressed  mostly  to  overseas  tourists,  according  to   Crang,  and  consist  of  “touring  sacred  sites  of  secular  saints  in  a  modern-­‐day  reverential   ritual  that  shares  features  of  pilgrimage”  (ibid.).     In  the  case  of  “Jaunt  with  Jane”,  participants  will  literally  follow  in  the  footsteps  both  of   Anne   Elliot,   the   main   character   of   Persuasion,   and   Jane   Austen   herself,   who   visited   Lyme  Regis  on  two  separate  occasions  in  1803  and  1804;  her  decision  to  set  the  turning   point  of  Persuasion  in  Lymes  may  even  have  been  taken  after  walking  along  the  awe   inspiring  Cobb  Harbour,  where  she  has  the  character  of  Louisa  Musgrove  fall  from  the   steps  and  injure  herself  (tourists  pose  for  pictures  on  the  spot  that,  after  having  been   chosen  by  1990  and  2007  BBC  productions,  has  become  the  ‘authentic’  place).  In  his   article,  and  much  to  my  surprise,  Crang  never  mentions  Austen  adaptations,  let  alone   their  possible  influence  on  tourism.  In  this  respect,  he  seems  adamant  in  separating   reading   (literary   texts)   from   viewing   (films).   It   is,   apparently,   the   same   approach   embraced  by  Sue  Beeton  when  she  writes:       “[t]he  main  difference  between  literary  and  film  tourism  is  that,  in  relation   to  the  former,  visitors  often  go  to  the  regions  that  relate  personally  to  the   writer  (such  as  place  of  birth  and  death),  whereas  film  tourists  visit  the  sites   portrayed  or  places  of  the  stars  […]  by  the  beginning  of  the  21st  century   film  has  become  so  pervasive  that  its  influence  and  effect  outstrips  that  of   literature.   Film   is   to   literary   tourism   what   the   Boeing   747   was   to   mainstream  tourism  –  a  major  booster  for  mass  tourism.  We  have  moved   from  small,  niche-­‐based  personal  pilgrimage  literary  tours  to  the  mass  (and   at  times  over-­‐full)  visitation  of  film  sites”  (Beeton,  2005,  pp.  52-­‐3).       With   her   words   Beeton   seems   to   endorse   the   idea   of   a   gap   dividing   elite   literary   tourism  from  popular  film  tourism;  but  divisions  are  not  so  neat  when  adaptations  of   literary  texts  for  the  screen  are  at  stake;  in  Adaptation-­‐Induced  tourism  high  art  and   popular  culture,  elite  tourism  and  mass  tourism,  start  to  blur.     Adaptation-­‐Induced  tourists  rely,  in  fact,  both  on  the  book  and  the  film  to  make  sense   of  their  visiting  experience,  they  are  readers  as  well  as  viewers  (and  not  necessarily  in   this   order),   as   may   be   inferred   by   a   couple   of   “Testimonials”   of   “Jaunt   with   Jane”   (http://jauntwithjane.com/testimonials/):     “Thoroughly   enjoyed   this   walk.   Our   guide   (Natalie)   had   a   wealth   of   information  about  Jane  Austen’s  stay  in  Lyme  Regis,  as  well  as  the  various   ‘Persuasion’  locations.  It  brought  the  Musgrove’s  visit  to  Lyme  very  much  to   life”   And:   “We   went   on   the   Jane   Austen   tour   on   a   Sunday   lunchtime   –   this   is   not   usually  the  sort  of  thing  I  would  do  but  I  very  much  recommend  it.  Natalie   AlmaTourism  Special  Issue  N.  4,  2015:  Pennacchia  M.,  Adaptation-­‐induced  Tourism  for  Consumers  of   Literature  on  Screen:  the  Experience  of  Jane  Austen  Fans             almatourism.unibo.it  ISSN  2036-­‐5195     This  article  is  released  under  a  Creative  Commons  -­‐  Attribution  3.0  license.     267 certainly  knows  her  stuff  and  the  tour  was  really  interesting  and  enjoyable,   full  of  historical  insights.  I  hurried  home  to  watch  my  Persuasion  DVD!”     Through   Austen’s   novels   and   their   adaptations,   an   imaginary   Regency   England   is   “brought  back  to  life”,  right  on  the  sites  where  Austen’s  stories  unfold.  The  experience   of   Adaptation-­‐Induced   tourism   is,   therefore,   not   only   intermedial,   but   also   one   of   “interactive   storytelling”   (Hutcheon,   p.   51),   with   consumers   turning   into   agents   through  their  desire  of  repeating  the  story  on  location  and  re-­‐enacting  it  by  means  of   their  own  power  of  imagination.                                                                       AlmaTourism  Special  Issue  N.  4,  2015:  Pennacchia  M.,  Adaptation-­‐induced  Tourism  for  Consumers  of   Literature  on  Screen:  the  Experience  of  Jane  Austen  Fans             almatourism.unibo.it  ISSN  2036-­‐5195     This  article  is  released  under  a  Creative  Commons  -­‐  Attribution  3.0  license.     268 References   BEETON,   S.   (2005).   Film-­‐Induced   Tourism,   Clevedon,   Buffalo,   Toronto:   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work_ftjw4eypdbfb7e534xhf5y2nae	----	THE ROLE OF THE COMIC HEROINE: A STUDY OF THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN SUBJECT MATTER AND THE COMIC FORM IN THE NOVELS OF JANE AUSTEN by Margaret Anne Parker B.A., The University of B r i t i s h Columbia, 1964 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF Master of Arts i n the Department of English We accept t h i s thesis as conforming to the required standard. THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA A p r i l , 1967 In presenting t h i s thesis i n p a r t i a l f u l f i l m e n t of the requirements f o r an advanced degree at the U n i v e r s i t y of B r i t i s h Columbia, I agree that r..he L i b r a r y s h a l l make i t f r e e l y a v a i l a b l e f o r reference and study. I f u r t h e r agree that permission f o r extensive copying of t h i s t h e s i s f o r s c h o l a r l y purposes may be granted by the Head of my Department or by his representatives. I t i s understood that copying or p u b l i c a t i o n of t h i s t h e s i s f o r f i n a n c i a l gain s h a l l not be allowed without my w r i t t e n permission„ Department of The U n i v e r s i t y of B r i t i s h Columbia Vancouver 89 Canada i i ABSTRACT Throughout her novels, Jane Austen exhibits an acute awareness of the problems facing the sensitive, i n t e l l i g e n t women of her day i n a society which e f f e c t i v e l y keeps them i n a position of i n f e r i o r i t y . She exposes t h e i r f a u l t y moral training, their inadequate education, t h e i r lack of opportunity for independence or any gainful employment, t h e i r s o c i a l and economic dependence on the male and the r e s u l t i n g , inevitable and often defective preparation for marriage around which t h e i r youth i s centered. Despite her concern for the i n d i v i d u a l woman, from which tragic implications occasionally emerge, her focus remains on society as a whole, and e s p e c i a l l y on the problems of male egoism and sentimentalism which block, by the subjugation of women, the evolution of a freer and possibly more creative society. A l l these s o c i a l manifestations seem to be manifestations of the comic form as defined by such c r i t i c s as George Meredith, Henri Bergson, Susanne Langer and p a r t i c u l a r l y Northrop Frye, who s p e c i f i c - a l l y outlines the archetypal pattern of comic action. The subjection of women can be seen as the "absurd or i r r a t i o n a l law" which Frye con- tends the action of comedy moves toward breaking; i n Bergson's terms, i t i s an example of something mechanical, automatic and r i g i d super- imposed on l i v i n g society, which only laughter can remove; i n Meredith's, the cause of "the basic i n s i n c e r i t y of the r e l a t i o n s between the sexes," and a demonstration of the vanity, self-deception and lack of consideration for others, which he considers legitimate targets for the Comic S p i r i t ; i n Langer's, a grave threat to "the continuous balance of sheer v i t a l i t y that belongs to society" and which i t i s the function of comedy to maintain. Parents and a l l other i i i members of the society, whether young or old, male or female, who consciously or unconsciously endorse the concept of female i n f e r i o r - i t y , are i d e n t i f i a b l e as the obstructing, usurping characters who, i n Frye's terms, are i n control at the beginning of a comedy. The comic heroine's struggle for s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n against the obstacles they place i n her p a t h — p a r t i c u l a r l y her defective and misdirected education and the t r a d i t i o n a l pattern of courtship to which they try to force her to conform—constitutes the comic action. The comic r e s o l u t i o n i s , of course, her eventual victory which enables her to f i n d s e l f - f u l f i l m e n t i n the marriage of her choice. Ever since i t s emergence as a form from the ancient Greek death-and-resurrection r i t e s , comedy has been a celebration of l i f e , of the absolute value of the group and of the forces through which society i s perpetually regenerated. As the comic form has evolved, however, i t s s o c i a l and moral implications have widened. Bergson and Meredith believe that comedy, because i t works toward removing the a n t i - s o c i a l , i s "a premise to c i v i l i z a t i o n . " Jane Austen's novels r e f l e c t this view and demonstrate Frye's p a r a l l e l contention that the movement of comedy i s toward a more i d e a l society which forms around the redemptive marriage of the hero and heroine and which tends to include rather than reject the obstructing characters. Based on the p o t e n t i a l equality of men and women, the new society envisioned at the conclusion of Jane Austen's novels replaces the old, a n t i - s o c i a l i s o l a t i o n with a new and v i t a l communication among the members, and thus provides a framework within which men and women can work together, each contributing his s p e c i a l talents toward the public i n t e r e s t . Since t h i s new, i d e a l society i s not only the goal of the comic action but iv also the only area in which the heroine can find self-realization, i t represents the ultimate conjunction of the comic form and the role of the comic heroine to be found in Jane Austen's work. I CONTENTS Chapter Page I. THE SOCIAL BASIS OF COMEDY 1 I I . PARENTS AS OBSTRUCTING INFLUENCES: MORAL EDUCATION OF WOMEN . . 17 I I I . FORMAL EDUCATION: A FURTHER COMPLICATION . . . . . . . . kZ IV. EMERGENCE OF THE SELF-CONCEPT 65 V. THE ILLUSION OF INDEPENDENCE 83 VI. THE CHALLENGE OF COURTSHIP 97 VII. MARRIAGE: THE COMIC RESOLUTION 124 WORKS CITED . ihO 1 CHAPTER I THE SOCIAL. BASIS OF COMEDY What justifies the term "Comedy" i s not that the ancient r i t u a l procession, the Comus, . . . was the source of this great art form . . . but that the Comu6 was a f e r t i l i t y r i t e , and the god i t celebrated a f e r t i l i t y god, a symbol of perpetual rebirth, eternal l i f e . —S. K. Langer, Feeling and Forms A Theory of Art Developed from "Philosophy in a New Key" Any attempt to discuss the origin of comedy as a form must take into consideration the generally accepted hypothesis that both tragedy and comedy are rooted in the ancient Greek death-and-resurrection r i t e s . As F. M. Cornford points out: A l l the varieties £of the rudimentary drama of the f e r t i l i t y ritual] symbolise the same natural fact, which, in their primitive magical intention, they were designed to bring about and further by the familiar means of sympathetic or mimetic representation—the death of the old year and the birth or accession of the new, the decay and sus- pension of l i f e in the frosts of winter and i t s release and renouveau i n the spring. Hence, in their essential core, they involve^the twin factors of the expulsion of death and the induction of l i f e . "The expulsion of death" involved the sacrifice of the old king, which symbolically released both him and his people from old age and s t e r i l i t y , and the discharging from the community of a scapegoat on 2 whom were symbolically loaded a l l the evils of the past year. "The induction of l i f e , " on the other hand, was characterized by a festival to celebrate the tribe's redemption, symbolized by the resurrection of 3 the slain king. Other elements of the festival—which, significantly, involved riotous merry-making and much sexual licence—were an agon 2 or contest between the old and new kings, a marriage in commemoration of the resurrection of the dead king and, f i n a l l y , the Comus, or triumphal procession. The sacrifice and the festival, then, can be seen as two distinct but mutually inclusive parts of the same r i t u a l . And, depending on where the stress was allowed to f a l l , the major incidents of the ceremony could be either sad or happy.^ The placing of this stress was the f i r s t indication of the emergence of comedy : and tragedy as separate forms, for i f the death, instead of dominating the story, had dwindled, as i t has i n the Thracian folk-drama and the Mummers* Play, to a piece of frivolous pantomime, while the marriage and the triumphal Komos . . . had become the prominent feature, we should then have the basis for Comedy of the Aristophanic type, with i t s strongly marked sexual element and i t s riotous conclusion, drowning any serious note that i s s t i l l to be heard in the Agon. But, whereas comedy was to r e t a i n — i n the humility and self-awareness which precede the happy ending—at least a trace of the s a c r i f i c i a l r i t u a l , tragedy came to exclude any element whatever of the f i n a l f e s t i v a l : " . . . the dramatic form known as tragedy eventually sup- pressed the sexual magic dn this canonical plot, leaving only the 7 portrayal of the suffering and death of the hero, king or god." (At this point, we are concerned with the ending of the drama which does, to a great extent, determine i t s form. Comedy and tragedy are by no means mutually exclusive—the comic grave-digging scene in Hamlet and the tragic implications of Shylock's plight i n The Merchant of Venice immediately spring to mind: we must remember that "the matrix of the work i s always either tragic or comic, but within i t s g frame the two often interplay." ) Tragedy, then, "performs the s a c r i f i c i a l r i t e without the f e s t i v a l , " whereas comedy retains " i t s o double action of penance and revel." And so, although both forms 3 spring from the same ancient r i t u a l , the movement of tragedy stops short of that of comedy: " . . . for the entire ceremonial cycle i s birth: struggle: death: resurrection. The tragic arc i s only birth: struggle: death."^ Tragedy has, therefore, come to be a closed form, a one-way movement toward death, while comedy has remained an open form, the cyclical movement of l i f e i t s e l f : The pure sense of l i f e i s the underlying feeling of comedy . . . . i t expresses the continuous balance of sheer v i t a l i t y that belongs to society and i s exemplified briefly in each Individual; tragedy i s a fulfillment, and i t s form therefore i s closed, f i n a l and passional.H And, as each form comes into focus, i t s social implications begin to emerge: ' . . . while the curve of tragedy i s spun, like the spider's thread, from within the tragic protagonist, produced out of his own passions and f r a i l t i e s , the curve of comedy i s spun socially and gregariously, as the common product of men in society.^ In tragedy, the emphasis i s on the isolated individual, the protagon- i s t whose "entire being i s concentrated in one aim, one passion, one conflict and ultimate defeat" in what i s , in effect, "a tremendous foreshortening of l i f e . " ^ In comedy, the emphasis i s on the social group whose common aim i s successful survival as a unit and in which the individual i s important only insofar as he contributes to the v i t a l continuity. It i s not surprising, therefore, that "comedy i s an art form that arises naturally whenever people are gathered to celebrate l i f e , i n spring festivals, triumphs, birthdays, weddings, Ik or i n i t i a t i o n s . " For whereas "the tragic writer has generally been concerned with last things, with death, with the meaning of l i f e as a whole.. . . comedy on the other hand has dealt more with the social, 15 the historical, the temporal." y While tragedy, then, i s a celebra- tion of death and of the absolute value of the individual who refuses to compromise with the group, comedy i s a celebration of l i f e , of the absolute value of the group, and of the forces through which i t i s perpetually regenerated. While we are attempting to establish the social basis of comedy, however, we must not overlook i t s implicit social aim. For comedy i s concerned not only with the survival of society as a biological organism but also with the progress toward a more ideal society: There i s a comic road to wisdom, as well as a tragic road. There i s a comic as well as a tragic control of l i f e . And the comic control may be more usable, more relevant to the human condition in a l l i t s normalcy and confusion, i t s many unreconciled directions. Comedy as well as tragedy can t e l l us that the vanity of the world i s foolish- ness before the gods. By definition, comedy i s not hilariously irresponsible: i t s true test 17 i s that " i t shall awaken thoughtful laughter" and i t s subjects may be as serious as those of tragedy. Furthermore, although Susanne 18 Langer deplores the attaching of moral connotations to comedy, i t would seem virtually impossible to separate the social from the moral—the moral, that i s , in i t s most comprehensive sense. (Northrop Frye suggests the converse when he contends that the moral judgment implicit in the happy ending of comedy "is not moral in the restricted 19 sense, but social.") For how can morality be defined, i f not in terms of the welfare of the group? And, since comedy consistently attacks the forces which threaten this welfare, i t cannot be free from moral implicationsi- As George Meredith b r i l l i a n t l y affirms: 5 I f you b e l i e v e t h a t our c i v i l i z a t i o n i s founded i n common sense . . . you w i l l , when contemplating men, d i s c e r n a S p i r i t overhead . . . . Men's f u t u r e upon e a r t h does not a t t r a c t i t ; t h e i r honesty and s h a p e l i n e s s i n the present does; and whenever they wax out of propor- t i o n , overblown, a f f e c t e d , p r e t e n t i o u s , b o m b a s t i c a l , h y p o c r i t i c a l , p e d a n t i c , f a n t a s t i c a l l y d e l i c a t e ; whenever i t sees them s e l f - d e c e i v e d or hoodwinked, g i v e n to run r i o t i n i d o l a t r i e s , d r i f t i n g i n t o v a n i t i e s , c o n g r e g a t i n g i n a b s u r d i t i e s , p l a n n i n g s h o r t - s i g h t e d l y , p l o t t i n g dementedly; whenever they . . . v i o l a t e the u n w r i t t e n but p e r c e p t i b l e laws b i n d i n g them i n c o n s i d e r a t i o n one to another; when- ever they o f f e n d sound reason, f a i r j u s t i c e ; are f a l s e i n h u m i l i t y or mined w i t h c o n c e i t , i n d i v i d u a l l y or i n the bulk; the S p i r i t overhead w i l l l o o k humanely malign, and c a s t an o b l i q u e l i g h t on them, f o l l o w e d by v o l l e y s o f s i l v e r y l a u g h t e r . That i s the Comic S p i r i t . 0 The s o c i a l (or moral) aim of comedy i s no l e s s apparent to H e n r i Bergson, who b e l i e v e s t h a t any mechanical, r e p e t i t i v e p a t t e r n which i s superimposed on s o c i e t y and thus impedes the n a t u r a l rhythm and f l e x i b i l i t y of l i f e belongs to the realm of the comic, and that the more c l o s e l y a person or a s o c i e t y resembles a machine, the g r e a t e r 21 the comic p o t e n t i a l . To him, one of the g r a v e s t dangers c o n f r o n t - i n g s o c i e t y i s t h a t , i n i t s p r e o c c u p a t i o n with those e s s e n t i a l s which enable men not o n l y to l i v e but to l i y e w e l l , i t i s i n c l i n e d to over- l o o k the other areas o f l i f e , r e l e g a t i n g them to the c o n t r o l o f 22 automatic h a b i t s . And y e t , s i n c e t h i s tendency toward c a r e l e s s n e s s does not c o n s t i t u t e a crime, . . . s o c i e t y cannot i n t e r v e n e at t h i s stage by m a t e r i a l r e p r e s - s i o n . . . . A g e s t u r e , t h e r e f o r e , w i l l be i t s r e p l y . Laughter must be something of t h i s k i n d , a s o r t of s o c i a l g e s t u r e . . . . Laughter, then, does not b e l o n g to the p r o v i n c e of e s t h e t i c s alone, s i n c e u n c o n s c i o u s l y . . . i t pursues a u t i l i t a r i a n aim of g e n e r a l improvement.3 While Meredith, then, b e l i e v e s t h a t comedy can prevent our becoming v i c t i m s o f p r i d e and complacency, Bergson b e l i e v e s that comedy works toward p r e s e r v i n g the a l l - i m p o r t a n t n a t u r a l and human element i n s o c i e t i e s which tend to become mechanized: "both, i n sum, b e l i e v e t h a t 2k comedy i s a premise to c i v i l i z a t i o n . " Since the concept of comedy is inextricably intertwined with the concept of a better society, i t i s not surprising that most comedies tend to follow an archetypal pattern: whenever "the continuous 25 balance of sheer v i t a l i t y that belongs to society" i s threatened, the comic action i s set in motion and does not cease u n t i l the equilibrium has been restored. At the beginning of a comedy, the 26 society i s controlled by obstructing, usurping characters who are usually members of the older generation with enough power to frustrate the desires of the young hero. (As in the ancient r i t u a l drama, the clash i s between the old and the young.) During the course of the action, the hero i s able to overcome these blocking characters who, i n turn, are often forced to undergo a humiliating experience (sug- gesting the scapegoat ritual) which strips them of their anti-social attitudes. Since, however, "the tendency of comedy i s to include as many people as possible in i t s f i n a l society," the obstructing 27 characters are more l i k e l y to be admitted than excluded. The comic resolution culminates in the wedding of the hero and the heroine and 28 also, since comedy implies "a social judgment against the absurd," i n the movement from one society to anotheri the old, sterile society dominated by the obstructing characters i s superseded by the new, PQ v i t a l society which forms around the newly-married pair, and which constitutes the ultimate goal of the comic action. It i s highly significant that the emergence of this new society i s coincident with a marriage. By providing a socially acceptable framework within which the group can be perpetuated through sexual love, marriage i s , of course, the cornerstone of any society. (Even in the ancient r i t u a l drama, a wedding was the central symbolic 7 act of the festival which celebrated the revitalized community.) It would seem to follow, then, that the role of women in marriage, or in society generally, i s almost of necessity a comic theme. But a qualification must be made: we must return to our earlier distinc- t i o n — i n tragedy, the emphasis i s on the individual; in comedy, on the group. When, therefore, the emphasis i s on the individual woman in conflict with her society, as in Clarissa and, to a lesser extent, in Moll Flanders, the theme i s certainly tragic; when the emphasis i s on the group and i t s joyful perpetuation, as in Tom Jones, the theme i s essentially comic. And so, depending on the emphasis, a woman's struggle for survival and a measure of equality may be seen as either tragic or comic. An interesting corollary, however, i s that the implications of this very struggle are closely a l l i e d with the development of comedy as a form: There has been fun in Bagdad. But there never w i l l be c i v i l i z a t i o n where comedy is not possible; and that comes of some degree of social equality between the sexes. . . . where they [women!] have no social freedom, comedy i s absent; where they are household drudges, the form of comedy i s primitive; where they are tolerably independent, but uncultivated, exciting melodrama takes i t s place, and a sentimental version of them. . . . But where women are on the road to an equal footing with men, in attainments and in liberty . . . there, and only waiting to be transplanted from l i f e to the stage, or the novel, or the poem, pure comedy flourishes Tragedy, on the other hand, i s neither dependent upon the presence of women nor adversely affected by their occupying a subordinate posi- tion. Indeed, the tendency of the tragic hero to alienate himself from women would seem to be, to some extent at least, a factor in the precipitation of the tragic sequence, for "where the sexes are separated, men and women grow, as the Portuguese c a l l i t , afaimados of one another, famine-stricken; and a l l the tragic elements are on 8 the stage. " ^ And so the d i s t i n c t i o n between the i n d i v i d u a l basis of tragedy and the s o c i a l basis of comedy i s again evident: i n order to f u l f i l his tragic destiny, the tragic hero does not need women either b i o l o g i c a l l y or s o c i a l l y ; i n order to f u l f i l his comic destiny, how- ever, the comic hero needs women on both l e v e l s : There i t i s i n a n u t s h e l l : the contest of men and women—the most universal contest, humanized, i n fact c i v i l i z e d , yet s t i l l the primi- t i v e j o y f u l challenge, the self-preservation and s e l f - a s s e r t i o n whose progress i s the comic rhythm.^2 But we must not be misled into the assumption that, even i n a c i v i l i z e d society, the contest i s waged on equal footing: i t i s fought on a man's terms, within a man's value system and i n a man's world, i n which women are s t i l l , to a greater extent than i s generally r e a l i z e d , "society's h a r d - d r i l l e d soldiery,., Prussians that must both 33 march and think i n step." Throughout recorded history t h i s con- s c r i p t i o n , based on nothing l e s s tenuous than the a p r i o r i assumption that superior physical strength presupposes superior mental strength, has been enforced. Mary Wollstonecraft indicates the o r i g i n of this assumption and, at the same time, points out both i t s f a l l a c y and the reason for i t s continued acceptance: Probably the p r e v a i l i n g opinion, that woman was created for man, may have taken i t s r i s e from Moses's p o e t i c a l story; yet, as very few, i t i s presumed, who have bestowed any serious thought on the subject, ever supposed that Eve was, l i t e r a l l y speaking, one of Adam's r i b s , the deduction must be allowed to f a l l to the ground; or, only be so f a r admitted as i t proves that man, from the remotest antiquity, found i t convenient to exert his strength to subjugate his companion . . . .-̂ The myth has, of course, been constantly reinforced by the Church, which, viewing the subordination of women to men as part of the C h r i s t i a n hierarchy as ordained by God, provides a most e f f e c t i v e and comfortable guarantee for the preservation of the status quo. Despite the Church's sanction, however, there i s no evidence that the i n f e r i o r status relegated to women stems from any regard for the common good: . . . the adoption of t h i s system of inequality never was the r e s u l t of deliberation, or forethought, or any s o c i a l ideas, or any notion whatever of what conduced to the benefit of humanity or the good order of society. It arose simply from the fact that from the very e a r l i e s t t w i l i g h t of human society, every woman . . . was found i n a state of bondage to some man.-'-' (My i t a l i c s ) Plato, always concerned with the welfare of the group, i n s i s t e d that i n a l l but physical strength women were equal to men, and saw no reason why they should not q u a l i f y as guardians of his i d e a l republic. But few voices agreed and fewer took up the cry. We know of the d i f - f i c u l t i e s which confronted Mary Wollstonecraft and her p r a c t i c a l suggestions for the f u l l integration of women into her society; we know of the scorn and derision which surrounded the nineteenth-century suffragettes, and we also know of the prejudice which, even i n our own society, s t i l l faces the single woman or the woman who t r i e s to l i v e a l i f e of her own apart from that of her family. Here, then, l i e s one of those serious threats to "the continuous balance of sheer v i t a l i t y "56 that belongs to society" — t h e subjection of women and the r e s u l t i n g t a c i t decree which c a t e g o r i c a l l y condemns a l l of them to the same r o l e . Here indeed i s the disproportionate society which exists whenever men "violate the unwritten but perceptible laws binding them i n consideration one to another; whenever they offend sound reason, 37 f a i r j u s t i c e . " Here i s an example of the "absurd or i r r a t i o n a l law" which the comic action moves toward breaking. And here i s the r i g i d i t y r e s u l t i n g from "something mechanical encrusted on the 39 l i v i n g , " which it:.,is the function of laughter to remove. It i s not coincidence, then, that the great majority of comedies deal with the relationship between the sexes; on the contrary, i t i s an implicit admission that this relationship, which l i e s at the heart of any c i v i l i z e d society, i s more in need of improvement than any other. For "the high comic vision of l i f e i s humane, an achieve- ment of man as a social being," and the vision cannot be realized i f one-half of the members of a society are forbidden independent status as individuals. A reciprocal relationship, therefore, exists between the position of women and the operation of comedy. For not only does comedy require, as i t s premise, a good measure of social equality for women; once established, i t can counteract those forces which s t i l l resist their liberation and thus work toward the achieve- ment of an even more satisfying role for them. Meredith suggests this v i t a l connection and, in fact, goes far beyond Langer's notion of the f a i r l y simple, elemental contest between the sexes when he maintains: Comedy i s an exhibition of their [women's] battle with men, and that of men with them; and as the two, however divergent, both look on one object, namely, l i f e , the gradual similarity of their impressions must bring them to some resemblance. The comic poet dares to show us men and women coming to this mutual likeness; he i s for saying that ^ when they draw together in social l i f e their minds grow liker . . . . As Meredith indicates, the comic poet takes a risk. By definition, of course, he i s prepared to attack private interest when- ever It interfetres with public good. But the private interest vested i n the concept of female inferiority is so powerful and so well- established that any attempt to release the trapped woman must be, in effect, an attack on the status quo. It becomes obvious, then, that "by temperament, the comedian i s often a f i f t h columnist in social l i f e . " "A f i f t h columnist i n s o c i a l l i f e . " In spite of, or perhaps because of, her apparent preoccupation with s o c i a l events, the description p e r f e c t l y f i t s Jane Austen. It i s a commonplace, of course, that there i s a direct r e l a t i o n between an author's experience and the kind of f i c t i o n he writes. Like a l l other women novelists of the nineteenth century, Jane Austen " l i v e d almost s o l e l y i n her home and her emotions"; she simply was not exposed to and, indeed, was l i t e r a l l y excluded from " a l l experience save that which could be met with i n a middle-class drawing room." And yet, i h spite of these obvious l i m i t a t i o n s , i n her own quiet way £she] devastates our compromises and complacen- c i e s — e s p e c i a l l y male complacency. . . . Cshe] p l a c i d l y undermines the bastions of middle-class propriety. . . . She i s not the less dangerous because she operates inconspicuously.^ It i s t h i s inconspicuous operation which i s deceptive and which leads the u n i n i t i a t e d to c r i t i c i z e Jane Austen's novels as t r i v i a l . For, although the incidents of which she writes may be i n themselves t r i v i a l , their implications are highly s i g n i f i c a n t . The crux of the problem l i e s i n the e s s e n t i a l difference between the values of a man and those of a woman: Thus, when a woman comes to write a novel, she w i l l f i n d that she i s perpetually wishing to a l t e r the established v a l u e s — t o make serious what appears i n s i g n i f i c a n t to a man, and t r i v i a l what i s to him important. And for that, of course, she w i l l be c r i t i c i z e d ; for the c r i t i c of the opposite sex w i l l be genuinely puzzled and sur- prised by an attempt to a l t e r the current scale of values, and w i l l see i n i t not merely a difference of view, but a view that i s weak, or t r i v i a l , or sentimental, because i t d i f f e r s from his own. 5 And so Jane Austen b l i t h e l y ignored such contemporary events as the Napoleonic Wars and chose instead to write about " a l l those l i t t l e 12 46 matters on which the d a i l y happiness of private l i f e depends," and which seem i n s i g n i f i c a n t enough but i n fact provide the framework within which the relationships of men and women i n society can be microscopically examined and questioned. Like most comic writers, she "sets up an a r b i t r a r y law and then organizes the action to break or evade i t . " The a r b i t r a r y law i n her case i s , of course, that which decrees the subjugation of women i n her society. By subtly re- vealing i t s operation, she delineates the d i f f i c u l t i e s confronting the s e n s i t i v e , i n t e l l i g e n t women of the day. (It should be pointed out that, because of the interdependence of these d i f f i c u l t i e s — l a c k of education, for instance, cannot be completely separated from any of the other problems which must be faced—the chapter divisions i n t h i s thesis have been made not on a chronological basis, but on a basis convenient for discussion.) And, by tracing the progress of her comic heroines' struggle for s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n , which constitutes the comic action, she r e l e n t l e s s l y exposes a l l the forces which, con- sciously or unconsciously, by endorsing the subordination of women, obstruct the evolution of a freer and more creative society. "What more natural, then, with t h i s insight into their profundity, than that [she} should have chosen to write of the t r i v i a l i t i e s of day to 48 day existence, of parties, picnics and country dances?" In dealing with the role of women i n society, the woman novel- i s t has a peculiar advantage. She can see the problem from the inside. Indeed, " . . . the e s s e n t i a l difference [between men and women writers*) l i e s i n the fact not that men describe battles and women the b i r t h of children, but that each sex describes i t s e l f . G. K. Chesterton goes even further by maintaining that women's experience i s e s s e n t i a l l y 13 the f i e l d of the novel, and suggests that this genre, in turn, lends i t s e l f particularly well to the comic form; for the hovel, he claims, . . . i s a;.hearty and exhaustive overhauling of that part of human existence which has always been the woman's province, or rather king- dom; the play of personalities in private, the real difference between Tommy and Joe. . . . What the novel deals with i s what women have to deal with; the differentiations, the twists and turns of this eternal river £human nature]. The key . . . i s sympathy. And sympathy does not mean so much feeling with a l l who feel, but rather suffering with a l l who suffer. And i t was inevitable, under such an inspiration, that more attention should be given to the awkward corners of l i f e than to i t s even flow.5° "The awkward corners of life"are the very stuff of comedy. They are the corners i n which arbitrary laws obstruct the happiness which should be forthcoming from a l l the small events which make up daily l i v i n g ; those which, because of the great and painstaking effort neces- sary to smooth them out, society tends to ignore, but which Jane Susten carefully illuminates in the"oblique light"of the comic s p i r i t . It i s a l l very well to speak of the sheltered atmosphere i n which Jane Austen grew up, lived and wrote, but we must remember that she inherited none of the illusions common to such an existence. As we examine her treatment, within the comic form, of the problems of women in her society, we realize that, although she "may have been protected from truth . . . i t was precious l i t t l e of truth that was 51 protected from her." And so, although at f i r s t i t may seem that any connection between Jane Austen's comedies and the f e r t i l i t y rites of Ancient Greece i s extremely tenuous i f not downright absurd, the relationship i s by no means remote. For, within both value systems, . . . the movement from . . . a society controlled by habit, r i t u a l bondage, arbitrary law and the older characters to a society con- trolled by youth and pragmatic freedom i s , fundamentally . . . a movement from i l l u s i o n to reality.^2 14 NOTES •̂ The Origin of A t t i c Comedy (New York: Doubleday, 1 9 6 l ) , p. 9« p Wylie Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy: An Essay on Comedy by George Meredith and Laughter by Henry Bergson, Introduction and Appendix: "The Meanings of Comedy" by Wylie Sypher (New York: Doubleday, 1956), p. 216. 3 I b i d . , p. 217. S b i d . ^Cornford, A t t i c Comedy, p. 185. 6 I b i d . n Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 218. o S. K. Langer, Feeling and Form: A Theory of Art Developed from "Philosophy i n a New Key" (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1953), p. 334. 9 'Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 219. 1 0 I b i d . , p. 220. 11 Langer, pp. 327, 333. 12 Dorothy Van Ghent, The English Novel: Form and Function (New York: Rinehart, 1953), p. 67. ^Langer, p. 357. l i f I b i d . , p. 331- 15 E r i c Bentley, The Playwright as Thinker: A Study of Drama i n Modern Times (Cleveland & New York: World Publishing Co., 1955), p. 128. "^Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 25^. 17 George Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," i n Comedy: An Essay on Comedy by George Meredith and Laughter by Henri Bergson, Introduction and Appendix: "The Meanings of Comedy" by Wylie Sypher (New York: Doubleday, 1956), p. 47. 18 Feeling and Form, p. 3^5 • 19 Anatomy of C r i t i c i s m (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 19571, p. I 6 7 . 15 20 "An Essay an Comedy," pp. 47-48. 21 "Laughter," i n Comedy: An Essay on Comedy by George Meredith and Laughter by Henri Bergson, Introduction and Appendix: "The Meanings of Comedy" by Wylie Sypher (New York: Doubleday, 1956), pp. 8 0 - 8 l . 2 2 I b i d . , p. 72. 2 5 I b i d . , p. 73. 24 Wylie Sypher, "Introduction" to Comedy: An Essay on Comedy by George Meredith and Laughter by Henri Bergson, Introduction and Appendix: "The Meanings of Comedy"" by Wylie Sypher (New York: Doubleday, 1956), p. x v i . 25 Langer, Feeling and Form, p. 333• 26 Frye, Anatomy of C r i t i c i s m , p. 163. 2 7 I b i d . , p. I 6 5 . 2 8 I b i d . , p. 168. 2 9 I b i d . , p. I 6 3 . ^ G Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 32. 3 1 I b i d . , p. 30. 32 Langer, p. 345• ^George Meredith, The Egoist: A Comedy i n Narrative (Boston: Houghton M i f f l i n , 1958), p. 66. ^ A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, new ed. (London: T. Fisher Unwin, I 8 9 D , p. 59. ^ J o h n Stuart M i l l , The Sub.jection of Women, new ed. (London: Longman^ Green & Co., 1909T, p. 33. 5 6 Langer, p. 333• Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 48. ^ 8 Frye, p. I69. •^Bergson, "Laughter," pp. 74, 84. 40 Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 252. 41 "An Essay on Comedy," p. 15• 42 Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 24?. 43 V i r g i n i a Woolf, Granite and Rainbow (London: Hogarth Press, 1958), p. 79. kk Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy,, p. 2kn* k5 'woolf, Granite and Rainbow, p. 8 l . 46 Jane Austen, Emma, i n The Complete Novels of Jane Austen, The Modern Library Edition (New York: Random House, £n.d. givenlj), pp. 833-834. A l l subsequent references i n my text to the novels of Jane Austen, with the exception of those to "Love and Freindship," are to this e d i t i o n , and have been checked against Works, ed. R. W. Chapman, 6 vols. (London: Oxford Univ. Press, 1958). 47 'Frye, p. 212. 48 V i r g i n i a Woolf, The Common Reader, 2nd ed. (London: L. & V. Woolf, 1925), p. 178. 49 V i r g i n i a Woolf, Contemporary Writers (London: Hogarth Press, 1965), p. 26. 50 The V i c t o r i a n Age i n Literature (London: Williams & Norgate, 1913), PP. 9 3 - 9 4 . 5 1 I b i d . , p. 109. ^ 2 Frye, p. 169. 17 CHAPTER II PARENTS AS OBSTRUCTING INFLUENCES: MORAL EDUCATION OF WOMEN The humor [the blocking character^ in comedy i s usually someone with a good deal of social prestige and power, who is able to force much of the play's society into line with his obses- sion. Thus the humor i s intimately connected with the theme of the absurd or irrational law that the action of comedy moves toward breaking. —Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism Because of their vested interest in the preservation of the status quo, members of the older generation are very often the block- ing characters who obstruct the movement toward the freer and more creative society which i s the ultimate goal of comedy. Nevertheless, any members of a society, whether young or old, male or female, who consciously or unconsciously uphold without question the inflexible, arbitrary laws of that society are, by definition, also blocking characters. For i t i s in the "absurd or irrational" laws themselves that the real danger, the real obstructive power, l i e s . Since the members of the older generation, however, usually have enough power and prestige virtually to control the society in question, their influence as obstructing agents i s inevitably the strongest and most far-reaching—particularly i f they happen to be parents. For parents, as the f i r s t and probably most decisive single influence on children, are to a great extent responsible for the direction which the younger generation takes. The parental figures whom Jane Austen attacks in her novels are those who frustrate the evolution of a more ideal society by 18 r e i n f o r c i n g t h e i r society's concept of female i n f e r i o r i t y , p a r t i c u l a r - l y as i t i s manifested i n the view of women as objects. With the possible exception of Colonel Tilney, however, these parents do not overtly regard t h e i r daughters with a m a t e r i a l i s t i c eye. They would never consider the imposition of the physical r e s t r i c t i o n s deemed f i t , for instance, by the tyrannical Squire Western on his unfortunate Sophia i n Tom Jones. In f a c t , t h e i r sins--except, perhaps, those of Lady R u s s e l l — a r e of omission rather than commission. They are simply negligent. And yet t h e i r negligence stems from the same a r b i t r a r y convention that l i e s at the root of outright tyranny. Both the tyran- n i c a l parent, by his a n t i - s o c i a l actions, and the negligent parent, by his a n t i - s o c i a l lack of action, are equally g u i l t y i n t h e i r t a c i t endorsement of society's subjugation of women. That t h i s attitude i s bound to be r e f l e c t e d i n the moral t r a i n i n g of children i s s e l f - evident. And, although i t might be possible to forgive parents for a c e r t a i n remissness i n the formal education of their children, they must—insofar as the two may be separated—accept f u l l r e s p o n s i b i l i t y for t h e i r moral education. Their f a i l u r e to do so prevents them from seeing they are " d r i f t i n g into v a n i t i e s , congregating i n absurdities, planning short-sightedly, p l o t t i n g dementedly, ""*" and thus exposes them to the "oblique l i g h t " of the comic s p i r i t and the "thoughtful laughter" i t awakens. Predicting that Edmund as a curate w i l l never merely "'do the duty of Thornton'" on Sundays (MP, 619), S i r Thomas Bertram declares: "He knows that human nature needs more lessons than a. weekly sermon can convey, and that i f he does not l i v e among his parishioners, and prove himself, by_ constant attention, t h e i r well-wisher and friend, he does very l i t t l e either for t h e i r good or his own." (MP, 619» My i t a l i c s ) It i s i r o n i c that S i r Thomas, who understands parental obligation so well i n theory, should i n practice contribute so l i t t l e toward the moral t r a i n i n g of his daughters. No doubt he i s their well-wisher, but he gives them only passing attention; and, as a stern and remote figure of authority he i s never, i n any r e a l sense, t h e i r f r i e n d . Indeed, because of his neglect, the parental influences i n Mansfield Park are more obstructive than i n any other of Jane Austen's novels. How unfortunate for Maria and J u l i a that S i r Thomas undertakes nothing beyond "the duty"' of a parent! S i r Thomas leaves his daughters almost e n t i r e l y to the passive indulgence of Lady Bertram and the active indulgence of Mrs. Norris. Although the two women could not be more d i f f e r e n t i n d i s p o s i t i o n , t h e i r values are the same: " . . . beauty and wealth were a l l that excited her respect" (MP, 670). The pronoun reference ("her") could be to Mrs. Norris just as well as to Lady Bertram. Their sole concern f o r M a r i a and J u l i a i s that, l i k e two b e a u t i f u l objects, they be trained i n the accomplishments and groomed to the elegance which w i l l guarantee a high price i n the marriage market. Lady Bertram, the female counterpart of Mr. Woodhouse i n her s t u p i d i t y and her all-consuming concern for her own comfort, comes under f i r e of Jane Austen's comic irony as the epitome of the i n d i f - ferent parent: To the education of her daughters, Lady Bertram paid not the smallest attention. She had not time for such cares. She was a woman who spent her days i n s i t t i n g n i c e l y dressed on a sofa, doing some long piece of needlework, of l i t t l e use and no b e a u t y t h i n k i n g more of her pug than her children, but very indulgent to the l a t t e r , when i t did not put herself to inconvenience . . . . Had she possessed greater l e i s u r e for the service of her g i r l s , she would probably have supposed i t unnecessary, for they were under the care of a governess, with proper masters, and could want nothing more. (MP, 479» My i t a l i c s ) To her, any moral d i r e c t i o n seems unnecessary, i f not i r r e l e v a n t ; the outward gloss i s all-important. Impressed by Henry Crawford's proposal of marriage to Fanny, she offers her advice: '" • . . you must be aware, Fanny, that i t i s every young woman's duty to accept such a very unexceptionable o f f e r as this'" (MP, 6?1). Her words, although s t r i c t l y i n accordance with her values, must indeed surprise Fanny, f o r " t h i s was almost the only rule of conduct, the only piece of ad- v i c e , which Fanny had ever received from her aunt i n the course of eight years and a h a l f " (MP, 6 7 D . And, since Fanny i s closer to and spends much more time with her aunt than either Maria or J u l i a , i t seems hardly l i k e l y that they have received more extensive or better counsel. Mrs. Norris, of course, i s only too w i l l i n g to step into the r o l e of mother, advisor and f r i e n d t a c i t l y abdicated by Lady Bertram. Unduly impressed by the g i r l s ' beauty and s o c i a l position, she con- t i n u a l l y reinforces with her excessive f l a t t e r y t h e i r high opinion of themselves. And, although "there was no positive i l l - n a t u r e i n Maria or J u l i a . . . ." (MP, 4 7 9 ) she teaches them, by p r a i s i n g t h e i r achievements and b e l i t t l i n g Fanny's, to be contemptuous of t h e i r less fortunate cousin and to treat her with that lack of consideration which i s to characterize a l l t h e i r adult r e l a t i o n s h i p s . She deplores Fanny's apparent s t u p i d i t y — h e r slowness to learn, her lack of memory, her d i s i n t e r e s t i n music and drawing, her o v e r - a l l ignorance—at the same time conceding that, because of her i n f e r i o r s o c i a l status, i t i s just as well that her cousins' accomplishments are so much superior (MP, 4 7 8 - 4 7 9 ) . Such were the counsels by which Mrs. Norris assisted to form her nieces' minds; and i t i s not very wonderful that, with a l l t h e i r 21 promising talents and early information, they should be e n t i r e l y d e f i c i e n t i n the less common acquirements of self-knowledge, generosity and humility. (MP, 479) With a shrewd eye on Mr. Rushworth's twelve thousand a year, Mrs. Norris i s , of course, "most zealous i n promoting the match" (MP, 491) between him and Maria; and i t i s highly i r o n i c that t h i s a l l i a n c e , of which she i s so proud, has such a catastrophic r e s u l t for her favour- i t e niece. In f a c t , the ultimate happiness of a l l three g i r l s varies i n inverse proportion to the extent of Mrs. N o r r i s 1 a f f e c t i o n for them: That J u l i a escaped better than Maria was owing, i n some measure, to a favourable difference of d i s p o s i t i o n and circumstance, but i n a greater to her having been less the darling of that very aunt, less f l a t t e r e d and l e s s s p o i l t . Her beauty and acquirements had held but a second place . . . . and education had not given her so very h u r t f u l a degree of self-consequence. (MP, 755) Fanny, of course, whom Mrs. Norris consistently treats with contempt, fares by f a r the best of the three. Although S i r Thomas may f e e l he i s counteracting his wife's and Mrs. Norris' indulgence of his daughters by some measure of severity, he does l i t t l e to discourage t h e i r vanity, or to encourage i n them any r e a l consideration for others. Even before Fanny arrives, he makes clear to Mrs. Norris what her relationship with his daughters should be: "I should wish to see them very good friends, and would, on no account, authorise i n my g i r l s the smallest degree of arrogance toward their r e l a t i o n ; but s t i l l they cannot be equals. Their rank, fortune, r i g h t s , and expectations w i l l always be d i f f e r e n t . " (MP, 474) It would seem that "rank, fortune, r i g h t s , and expectations'" are as important to him as to Mrs. Norris and his wife. If so, and his emphasis i s also on material assets at the expense of inner q u a l i t i e s , his daughters are unlikely to escape the arrogance he claims to deplore As long as they treat Fanny reasonably well in his presence, i t does not occur to him to question their actual feelings about her. He, too, i s concerned with the facade of a l l objects—and the Bertram g i r l s clearly give the appearance of politeness, amiability and modesty: they are trained to do so, for these are valuable assets in the busi- ness of attracting a wealthy suitor. The limitations of such training are evident, however, in Julia's reaction on being l e f t alone with Mrs. Rushworth at Sotherton while Henry Crawford devotes his attention to Maria: The politeness which she had been brought up to practise as a duty made i t impossible for her to escape; while the want of that higher species of self-command, that just consideration of others, that know- ledge of her own heart, that principle of right, which had not formed any essential part of her education, made her miserable under i t . (MP, 524) Although Sir Thomas does not subscribe to the idea that a woman should marry for wealth alone, his dominating concern forchis daughters i s , like that of his wife and Mrs. Norris, that they make a prosperous marriage. Nevertheless, noticing Maria's obvious indiffer- ence to Rushworth, whom he considers "an inferior young man, as ignorant in business as in books, with opinions in general unfixed, and without seeming much aware of i t himself" (MP, 589), he makes a tentative offer to arrange her release from the engagement i f she so desires. Easily deceived by her statement to the contrary, however, and considering the obvious advantages of the match—not the least of which would be the "addition of respectability and influence" to himself (MP, 590)—he rationalizes his doubts and does not press her further. 23 The importance he attaches to wealth and status i s again under- l i n e d by the force with which he attacks Fanny on her r e f u s a l to accept Henry Crawford as a s u i t o r : ". . . you have disappointed every expectation I had formed, and proved yourself of a character the very reverse of what I had supposed. . . . I had thought you p e c u l i a r l y free from the wilfulness of temper, s e l f - conceit, and every tendency to that independence of s p i r i t which p r e v a i l s so much i n modern days . . . . But you have now shown me that you can be w i l f u l and perverse . . . . throwing away from you such an opportunity of being s e t t l e d i n l i f e , e l i g i b l y , honourably, nobly s e t t l e d , as w i l l , probably, never occur to you again." (MP, 661-662) He disregards Fanny's plea that she has not and never could have any a f f e c t i o n for Crawford: he stresses the e l i g i b i l i t y of the a l l i a n c e , her duty to him and the advantages to her own family. But Fanny, l e s s under the influence of Mrs. Norris and more dependent upon Edmund "to d i r e c t her thoughts" and " f i x her p r i n c i p l e s " (MP, 712), has not the same values as Maria and J u l i a : she has not been "brought up to the trade of coming ont" (MP, 631). She i s only distressed at the reaction of the man she has thought "so discerning, so honourable, so good" (MP, 661). Honourable and good S i r Thomas may be, but c e r t a i n l y not d i s - cerning. Not discerning enough to see the irony i n his proud state- ment that "'Maria i s nobly married . . . .'" (MP, 662); to perceive that the '"wilfulness of temper1" and '"self-conceit 1 " of which he accuses Fanny are operating not i n her but i n his own daughters, p r e c i p i t a t i n g them into unhappy marriages; or to see that only Fanny's '"independence of s p i r i t ! " i s saving her from a s i m i l a r f a t e . S i r Thomas i s unable to make an accurate assessment of Maria's chance for happiness with Eushworth or of Fanny's with Crawford; to r e a l i z e that the mutual a f f e c t i o n which Fanny considers e s s e n t i a l for marriage i s c e r t a i n l y not "'what a young heated fancy imagines to be necessary for happi- ness"' (MP, 662), and that such "'a young heated fancy'" almost undoubtedly produced the i l l u s o r y emotion which motivated his own far-from-satisfactory marriage to a handsome but stupid woman. In f a c t , i n these interchanges with Fanny, Jane Austen most c l e a r l y illuminates with her comic irony S i r Thomas' mistaken attitudes as to the moral q u a l i t i e s of the women with whom he comes i n contact. . . . a comic character i s generally comic i n proportion to his ignorance of himself. The comic person i s unconscious. As though wearing the r i n g of Gyges with reverse e f f e c t , he becomes i n v i s i b l e to himself while remaining v i s i b l e to a l l the world. Unlike Mrs. Norris and Lady Bertram who belong with those e s s e n t i a l l y comic characters who remain i n v i s i b l e to themselves, who never lose that "perpetual possession of being well-deceived i n which their comic essence consists" and "whose s u f f i c i e n t destiny i s simply to go on revealing themselves to us,"^ S i r Thomas does come to see him- s e l f with a c e r t a i n degree of c l a r i t y — a much greater degree, i n f a c t , than i s reached by any of the other parents Jane Austen presents. And, i n tracing the progress of his self-awareness, she also indicates the kind of moral t r a i n i n g she f e e l s i s central to any con- cept of parental r e s p o n s i b i l i t y i n an i d e a l society. It takes the disastrous consequences of Maria's marriage, of course, to trigger S i r Thomas' reformation: B i t t e r l y did he deplore a deficiency which now he could scarcely comprehend to have been possible. . . . with a l l the cost and care of an anxious and expensive education, he had brought up his daughters, without t h e i r understanding t h e i r f i r s t duties, or his being acquainted with their character and temper. (MP, 753) 25 As he reproaches himself for acting against his better judgment, r e a l i z i n g that "he had s a c r i f i c e d the r i g h t to the expedient, and been governed by motives of selfishness and worldly wisdom" (MP, 752), he i s forced to investigate his own p o s i t i o n . He has to admit that, by counteracting Mrs. Norris* indulgence with his own severity, he only made himself more unapproachable and thus encouraged his daughters "to repress t h e i r s p i r i t s i n his presence, as to make their r e a l d i s p o s i t i o n unknown to him" (MP, 753)• Indeed, Maria and J u l i a have always been caught between two extremes. But f i n a l l y S i r Thomas perceives that the fundamental mistake i n his plan of education l i e s f a r deeper: Something must have been wanting within . . . . He feared that p r i n c i p l e , active p r i n c i p l e , had been wanting, that they had never been properly taught to govern t h e i r i n c l i n a t i o n s and tempers, by that sense of duty which can alone s u f f i c e . They had been i n s t r u c t - ed t h e o r e t i c a l l y i n t h e i r r e l i g i o n , but never required to bring i t into d a i l y p r a c t i c e . To be distinguished for elegance and accom- plishments—the authorized object of t h e i r youth—could have had no useful influence that way, no moral e f f e c t on the mind. (Iff, 753• My i t a l i c s ) Something wanting within. Elegance and accomplishments valued more than moral v i r t u e . The outward appearance stressed and the inner r e a l i t y ignored. A l l t h i s S i r Thomas eventually r e a l i z e s and, to do him j u s t i c e , he never does completely recover from "the anguish a r i s i n g from the conviction of his own errors i n the education of his daughters" (MP, 753). On the other hand, he does not penetrate deeply enough to discover the reason for his neglect: i t does not occur to him that he has simply upheld society's view of women and has, therefore, treated both his daughters and Fanny primarily as exploitable possessions and not as unique human beings. 26 D i f f i c u l t as i t may be to separate the s o c i a l from the moral implications of comedy, we must remember that " . . . whether a char- acter i s good or bad i s of l i t t l e moment; granted he i s unsociable, if he i s capable of becoming comic." As a parent whose lack of s o c i a l awareness makes him regard his daughters and Fanny as objects of value to be put up for auction i n the marriage market, S i r Thomas i s c l e a r l y i d e n t i f i a b l e as the blocking character i n an e s s e n t i a l l y comic s i t u - a t i o n : he i s able temporarily to frustrate the desires of Fanny, the comic heroine; i n the end, however, he i s defeated as, "sick of ambitious and mercenary connections, p r i z i n g more and more the s t e r - l i n g good of p r i n c i p l e and temper" (MP, 7 5 8 ) , he j o y f u l l y gives his consent to her marriage with Edmund and thus clears the way for her s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n . The p a r t i a l self-awareness reached by S i r Thomas i s , of course, i n no way inconsistent with a certain species of comic character; indeed, i t i s experienced by no less an archetypal comic figure than, Tom Jones himself, who shares with S i r Thomas (and p a r t i c u l a r l y with Emma Woodhouse) that humiliating exposure of the old and inadequate s e l f which precedes reformation and the ultimate assertion of a new because more s o c i a l l y aware s e l f . (This discovery of s o c i a l self-awareness i s , of course, d i f f e r e n t i n kind from the complete self-discovery, of the tragic hero.) While some of Jane Austen's obstructing parents eventually achieve a measure of s e l f - awareness, at the outset they a l l exhibit that lack of concern for e f f e c t i v e s o c i a l relationships which i s e s s e n t i a l not only to the comic character but to the comic s i t u a t i o n . We laugh at them because comedy can only begin at the point where our neighbor's personality ceases to a f f e c t us. It begins, i n fact, with what might be c a l l e d a growing callousness to s o c i a l l i f e . Any i n d i v i d u a l i s comic who 27 automatically goes his own way without troubling himself about getting into touch with the rest of his fellow-beings.5 In Pride and Prejudice, as in Mansfield Park, a great discrep- ancy exists between the respective treatment of the daughters by their mother and by their father. The tension between the parents, however, i s more obvious in Pride and Prejudice. "A woman of mean understanding, l i t t l e information, and uncertain temper" (PP, 232), Mrs. Bennet i s very much like Mrs. Norris, except that her disposition i s slightly better and her ideas much more frivolous. One of the most obstructive parents Jane Austen presents, she entertains very simple and com- pletely materialistic values: "the business of her l i f e was to get her daughters married . . . ." (PP, 232); she has no regard for the circumstances except, of course, that the richer the husband, the greater her own gratification. Her utter lack of moral sense i s evident in her characteristic reaction to Lydia's elopement—she blames "everybody but the person [herself! to whose ill-judging indulgence the errors of her daughter must be principally owing" (PP, 402)—and in the unmitigated joy with which she receives the news of Lydia's rather tardy and most unpropitious marriage: "'This i s delightful indeed! . . . She w i l l be married at sixteen! . . . How I long to see her! and to see dear Wickham too!"1 (PP, 413) That Jane i s to be the mistress of Netherfield and thus share with Bingley an income of "four or five thousand a-year, and very likely more'" (PP, 440), constitutes her chief satisfaction in her eldest daughter's marriage. And on hearing that Elizabeth, never a favour- i t e with her and for whom she once thought Mr. Collins quite good enough (PP, 294), i s to become the mistress of Pemberley, she i s ecstatic to the point of speechlessness, but f i n a l l y exclaims: 28 "Oh, my sweetest Lizzy! How rich and how great you w i l l bei What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you w i l l have! Jane's i s nothing to it—nothing at a l l . . . . A house i n town! . . . Ten thousand a year!" (PP, 459) Obviously, Mrs. Bennet has no concern whatever for the moral welfare and l i t t l e more, except in the most incidental way, for the happiness of her daughters. Mr. Bennet has nothing but contempt for the cheap values of his wife to whom, i t would seem, he i s diametrically opposed in every way. With his intelligence and perspicacity, he could provide an effective antidote to his wife's deleterious influence on his daughters; yet. he chooses to evade his responsibility by an escape into cynicism and mockery. Because he i s so much closer to the lives of his daughters and, therefore, so much more keenly aware of what i s happening to them, he is in one sense more guilty of obstruction than Sir Thomas. In another sense, however, because he i s less con- cerned with their financial prospects than with their happiness- par ticularly that of Elizabeth and Jane—he i s more to be commended. Indeed, he feels great affection for his two elder daughters who, for some unaccountable reason, are blessed with good sense—perhaps the only women so endowed he has ever come in contact with! For the three younger g i r l s he shows nothing but active dislike. Jane and Elizabeth show real concern for "the wild giddiness" (PP, 359) of Lydia and Catherine, but their attempts at correction are frustrated as much by their father's neglect as their mother's indulgence. Obviously Mr. Bennet does not consider Lydia and Catherine perfectible even to the slightest degree. In reply to Elizabeth's plea that he forbid Lydia's trip to Brighton, for instance, he argues, '"Lydia w i l l never be easy t i l l she has exposed herself in some public place or 29 other . . . ."' (PP, 369)» and he does nothing to prevent her going. At this point, Elizabeth tries to point out to her father the far- reaching effects of her sisters' inadequate moral training: "It i s not of peculiar, but of general evils, which I am now complain- ing. . . . If you, my dear father, w i l l not take the trouble of checking her exuberant s p i r i t s , and of teaching her that her present pursuits are not to be the business of her l i f e , she w i l l soon be b e - yond the reach of amendment. Her character w i l l be fixed, and she w i l l , at sixteen, be the most determined f l i r t , that ever made herself and her family ridiculous . . . . In this danger Kitty i s also com- prehended. She w i l l follow wherever Lydia l e a d 6 . Vain, ignorant, i d l e , and absolutely uncontrolled!" (PP, 369-370) Although he f a i l s to comprehend the seriousness of Elizabeth's warn- ing, Mr. Bennet does accept the blame for Lydia's downfall: "It has been my own doing, and I ought to feel i f " (PP, 409). He does not, however, experience the same self-searching as Sir Thomas, and is quite aware that his contrition w i l l not last: , MI am not afraid of being overpowered by the impression. It w i l l pass away soon enough1" (PP, 409). To his credit, his delight in the marriages of Jane and Elizabeth i s rooted in his concern for and conviction of their happi- ness: to Jane, he says, "'. . .1 have great pleasure in thinking you w i l l be so happily settled. I have not a doubt of your doing very well together"' (PP, 440); and to Elizabeth, his favourite, after she has convinced him of Darcy's good qualities, "If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to any one less worthy'" (PP, 458). Not one word, to either g i r l , about the annual income of her future husband! It i s obvious that his attitude to his family i s remarkably ambivalent: Jane and Elizabeth he treats like rational human beings; Lydia and Catherine, who closely resemble his wife (for he, like Sir Thomas, married a pretty, stupid woman) he treats as objects incapable of responding to training and worthy only of ridicule. And so, although he i s i n f i n i t e l y superior to his wife i n both intelligence and discernment, he is almost as guilty as she of upholding the values condoned by society and thus impeding the moral development of h i 6 daughters. The parental influences in Persuasion are more ambiguous than those in either ManBfield Park or Pride and Prejudice. Sir Walter E l l i o t t s , attitudes are, of course, entirely materialistic: "he considered the blessing of beauty as inferior only to the blessing of a baronetcy . . . ." (P, 1212) He is not, however, preoccupied with marrying his daughters to the highest bidder; he i s more con- cerned with the lustre they may add to his own image. Elizabeth, the eldest, "being very handsome, and very much like himself" (P, 1212), he loves as he would love a mirror. Although he f u l l y expects that she w i l l "one day or other, marry suitably" (P, 1213), he i s in no hurry to lose her for " . . . they had gone on together most happily" (P, 1212). The two younger g i r l s , because they can add nothing to his own self-concept, he discounts almost completely. By marrying Charles Musgrove, of a wealthy old country family, Mary "had acquired a l i t t l e a r t i f i c i a l importance" (P, 1212), but Anne he has never ad- mired, even in her youthful bloom, "so totally different were her delicate features and mild dark eyes from his own" (P, 1213). How, her bloom faded, but "with an elegance of mind and sweetness of character which must have placed her high with any people of real understanding, she was nobody to either father or sister; . . . she was only Anne'" (P, 1212-13). Never, Sir Walter i s quite sure, w i l l he be able to enter her name, as partner to an unexceptionable alliance, in his favourite book, the Baronetage. 31 Sir Walter's neglect and indifference are, of course the reason for Anne's turning for guidance, on her mother's death, to Lady Russell. And i t i s ironic that this woman, to whom Anne i s "a most dear and highly valued god-daughter, favourite, and friend" (P, 1213), i s the direct cause of her unhappiness. For although Anne at nineteen could have withstood her father's disapproval of Frederick Wentworth— aware, as she was, of his mercenary values—she could not but follow Lady Russell's advice against marrying "a young man who had nothing but himself to recommend him, and no hopes of attaining affluence, but in the chances of a most uncertain profession" (P, 1225). That the counsel was wrong i s clear from i t s immediate effect on Anne: "her attachment and regrets had, for a long time, clouded every enjoy- ment of youth, and an early loss of bloom and spirits had been their lasting effect" (P, 1226). Although she does not blame Lady Russell for her unhappiness, she knows she would herself never give the same counsel, based as i t was on "that over-anxious caution which seems to insult exertion and distrust Providence" (P, 1227). And the absolute necessity that parental advice should be sound i s emphasized i n Anne's admission that, since she was so young and inexperienced at the time, i t would have been wrong for her not to heed Lady Russell who, after a l l , '"was in the place of a parent"' (P, 1361). Unfortun- ately, however, in spite of her genuine devotion to Anne, Lady Russell's values are highly questionable: material advantages, though not so all-important to her as to Sir Walter, do in the last analysis outweigh a l l others. She does, for instance, have "a value for rank and consequence, which blinded her a l i t t l e to the faults of those who possessed them" (E, 1216). With not enough real concern for Anne's own feelings, she would have liked to see her marry 32 Charles Musgrove because she would have then been "so respectably re- moved from the p a r t i a l i t i e s and i n j u s t i c e of her father's house, and s e t t l e d so permanently near h e r s e l f " (P, 1226). Furthermore, she i s no wiser, i n her recommendation of Mr. E l l i o t as a suitor than i n her denunciation of Frederick Wentworth; although she feels Anne would be happy with Mr. E l l i o t , her emphasis i s c l e a r l y on the "'most suitable connection [which] everybody must consider i t , " ' and on Anne's pro- spects of being "'the future mistress of Kellynch, the future Lady E l l i o t " 1 (P, 1306)—the same powerful arguments that some well-meaning f r i e n d or r e l a t i v e could once conceivably have put forth to Anne's misguided mother. It must not be forgotten, however, that Lady Russell "was a very good woman, and i f her second object was to be sensible and well-judging, her f i r s t was to see Anne happy" (P, 1362)— her error l i e s i n her assumption that Anne's happiness depends on wealth and status. And so we begin to be aware of the insidiousness with which the m a t e r i a l i s t i c view of women d i s t o r t s the concepts of even the most discerning i n d i v i d u a l s . For, i n the l a s t analysis, S i r Walter, motivated by vanity and acting through ignorance, and Lady Russell, motivated by love and acting through i n t e l l i g e n c e , both re- f l e c t the view of a society which considers women as marketable merchandise. Free from the misdirected parental pressures operating i n Mansfield Park, Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion, the parent-child r e l a t i o n s h i p s i n Emma would seem to be a complete:,' r e v e r s a l . After a l l , Emma, economically independent and universally admired, f u l l y en- joying her status as the acknowledged mistress of H a r t f l e l d , seems to possess a l l the prerequisites for a happy l i f e . No one i s trying to force her into marriage; Mr. Woodhouse, i n fact, i s very opposed to 33 people, especially women, relinquishing their single state because "matrimony, as the origin of change, was always disagreeable . . . . (E, ?64) The truth i s , of course, that "the kind-hearted, polite old man" (E, ,942) sees women, not as individuals in their own right, but only in their relationship to him. Because of "his habits of gentle selfishness, and of being never able to suppose that other people could feel differently from himself" (E, 765), he cannot conceive, v for instance, that Miss Taylor might be happier married to the excel- lent Mr. Weston i n a home of her own than remaining at Hartfield where the house i s "'three times as large'" (E, 765) and laments, '••Poor Miss Taylor! I wish she were here again. What a pity i t i s that Mr. Weston ever thought of her!'" (E, 765) Whenever he thinks of his elder daughter, Isabella, who i s happily married in London, he i s just as miserable: '"Poor Isabella! she i s sadly taken away from us a l l . . . .'" (E, 810) And, of course, when Emma and Mr. Knightley approach him in an effort to fix a date for their own wed- ding, " . . . he was so miserable that they were almost hopeless" (E, 1059). Indeed, his unhappiness i s so acute that, u n t i l the p i l - fering episode indicates the advantages to him of a protective son-in-law, Emma feels she cannot proceed with her plans. Mr. Wood- house i s , of course, reflecting society's view that i f a woman does not marry, her duty i s to take care of her parents. Gentle and good- natured though he may be, he too values women as objects—not for their beauty or their wealth, but because they are comfortable and useful to have around. It i s no wonder that Emma, in turn, tends to regard the people of Highbury not as individuals with lives of their own to l i v e , but as puppets whom she can manoeuvre as her fancy dictates* In contrast to the parents already discussed, i t would seem that Mrs. Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility, far from seeing her daughters as a kind of material investment, the interest on which w i l l inevitably accscue to herself:, does nothing whatever to impede the moral development of her daughters. Happily married before the untimely death of her hus&and with whom she shared an unqualified "goodness of heart" (SS, 1), she entertains a "tender love for a l l her three children" (SS, 3). By no means possessive—she permits Elinor and Marianne, for instance, to go to London for a holiday of unspecified duration—she i s primarily concerned with her daughters * welfare and seems to do everything she can to promote their happiness. Edward Ferrars' unpredictable financial future does not influence her i n the least: " i t was contrary to every doctrine of hers, that d i f - ference of fortune should keep any couple asunder who were attracted by resemblance of disposition . . . ." (SS, 8) Almost immediately, however, as she is compared to her eldest daughter, Elinor, her weakness becomes apparent: Elinor, we are told, knows how to govern her strong feelings, but this i s "a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn" (SS, 3)» For Mrs. Dashwood's fault l i e s in the exces- sive sensibility she shares with Marianne; and, instead of trying to curb her daughter's emotionalism, she values and cherishes i t (SS, 3)« After Mr. Dashwood's death, for instance, she and Marianne "gave them- selves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford i t , and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future" (SS, 3)« As easily as Marianne, she i s deluded by Willoughby's apparent faultlessness: she does not see in him what i s clear to E l i n o r — " a propensity . . . of saying too much what he thought on every occasion, without attention to persons or circumstances" (SS, 29). When Willoughby suddenly and mysteriously leaves Barton, Elinor realizes that, i f Marianne i s to be helped, the actual status of her relationship with him must be known; on her sug- gestion that her mother simply a6k Marianne whether an engagement exists, however, Mrs. Dashwood replies, '"I would not ask such a ques- tion for the world. Supposing i t possible that they are not engaged, what distress would not such an enquiry i n f l i c t ! ' " (SS, 50) Any ten- dency we may have to commend this apparent thoughtfulness i s deflected by Elinor who . . . thought this generosity overstrained, considering her sister's youth, and urged the matter farther, but in vain; common sense, com- mon care, common prudence were a l l sunk i n Mrs* Dashwood's romantic delicacy. (SS, 51) For "common sense, common care, common prudence"—the lack of which i s just as obvious in the considerate Mrs* Dashwood as in the well- meaning Sir Thomas Bertram and in the cynical Mr. Bennet—could pre- vent much of Marianne's subsequent distress. With her "romantic delicacy" Mrs. Dashwood reinforces society's view of women as weak, irrational, dependent creatures governed by uncontrollable emotion— which i s , in effect, only another facet of the view of women as objects. This sentimental concept of women i s investigated more f u l l y in a subsequent chapter; let i t suffice at this point, there- fore, to say that Mrs. Dashwood, as a g i r l , was no doubt very much like Marianne; she married a good man who almost certainly idealized her as a delicate, sensitive creature; she was never forced to face facts, to grow up enough to attain any real moral strength. And she does not actually mature u n t i l she sees the havoc her illusions have wrought in another's l i f e ; for when Marianne has acquired the wisdom 36 to regret her own f o l l y , her mother corrects her: "'Rather say your mother's imprudence, my c h i l d . . . she must be answerable'" (SS, 2 1 0 ) . By bringing up Marianne i n her own romantic and sentimental image, by refusing to appeal to her on r a t i o n a l grounds, she i s indeed responsible for strengthening the concept of the i n f e r i o r i t y of women held by her society. To offset a l l these parents who, because of their adherence to society's f a u l t y concept of women, impede the progress of the comic rhythm, Jane Austen does present a few parents whom she con- siders unobstructive. In Northanger Abbey, for instance, Mrs. Morland i s "a woman of useful p l a i n sense, with a good temper" who "did not i n s i s t on her daughters being accomplished i n spite of incapacity or d i s t a s t e " (M, 1 0 6 3 ) . She and her husband send Catherine o f f to Bath "with a degree of moderation and composure, which seemed rather consistent with the common feelings of common l i f e , than with the r e f i n e d s u s c e p t i b i l i t i e s " (HA, 1 0 6 6 ) . They make no attempt to engender vanity i n her, nor do they suggest that she be on the a l e r t for a wealthy s u i t o r : they have not, i n e f f e c t , prepared her for the marriage market. Since most of the story takes place at Bath and at Horthanger, we do not see much of the Morlands i n action; we do, how- ever, perceive the e f f e c t s of t h e i r moral t r a i n i n g on Catherine: ". . . her heart was affectionate, her d i s p o s i t i o n cheerful and open, without conceit or a f f e c t a t i o n of any kind . . . ." (HA, 1 0 6 6 ) Because of her inexperience with people, she i s naive at f i r s t : a l i t t l e blinded by her a f f e c t i o n for Isabella, she does not quite know how to take the older g i r l ' s exaggerated compliments, such as, '". . . you are just the kind of g i r l to be a great favourite with the men!" (NA, 1 0 8 0 ) . But, when Isabella offends her sense of moral 37 propriety by demanding that she break an engagement with the Tilneys merely to please her, she i s surprisingly quick to see through Isabella's machinations: "Isabella appeared to her ungenerous and selfish, re- gardless of everything but her own gratification" (NA, 1116). Indeed, Isabella's vanity, pride and ambition are contrasted throughout with Catherine's simple goodness and belief in right conduct. But then, Isabella has "a very indulgent mother" (NA, I O 7 6 ) , whose f i r s t words to Mrs. Allen and Catherine about her daughters indicate the kind of training they have received: ""Here come my dear g i r l s . . . . the tallest i s Isabella, my eldest; i s not she a fine young woman? The others are very much admired too, but I believe Isabella i s the hand- somest" (NA, 1074-75). When Catherine returns home from Northanger, Mrs. Morland ignores her melancholy for two days but then, unlike Mrs. Dashwood, determines "to lose no time in attacking so dreadful a malady" (N&, 1201), reproves her for not being more useful, and goes i n search of some instructive literature. Moreover, on Henry Tilney's applying for their consent to marry Catherine, the Morlands are not impressed by his background or his expectations, but by "his pleasing manners and good sense" (NA, 1205). To the extent that Catherine i n - dulges in romantic fantasies, she i s unconsciously a victim of her society's view of women as objects—but this indulgence i s a defect of her formal, not her moral education. And the success with which she i s eventually able to overcome this defect i s no doubt due to the excellent moral training she has received from her parents. The Musgroves in Persuasion are also presented as parents who do not constitute an obstacle to the moral development of their children. People of considerable wealth, they might be expected to regard their daughters as investments to aggrandize the family estate. On the contrary, however, they exhibit a genuine and sensible concern for the g i r l s ' happiness. Indeed, their treatment of their children would seem to indicate that simple moral, goodness, with i t s implicit sense of responsibility and propriety, i s a much more valuable parent- a l asset than either intelligence or the education of the day. Lady Russell and Mr. Bennet, for instance, are Jane Austen's best educated and most intelligent parent figures, yet they f a i l dismally in com- parison with the Musgroves who are "friendly and hospitable, not much educated, and not at a l l elegant" (P, 1233), but whose daughters "Anne always contemplated . . . as some of the happiest creatures of her acquaintance . . . ." (P, 123*0 For the relationship between Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove i s based on "that seemingly perfect good understanding and agreement together, that good-humoured mutuall affec- tion, of which she [Anne] had known so l i t t l e herself with either of her sisters" (P, 123 )̂. And how different i s their relationship from that of Maria and Julia Bertram (the daughters of materialistically- minded parents) who regard each other with envy and even hatred as each strives to be the more attractive object of the two. Part of the key to the Musgroves' success as parents i s to be found in Anne's praise of them to their son Charles—which could, incidentally, apply with equal accuracy to the Morlands: USuch excellent parents . . . should be happy in their children's marriages. They do everything to confer happiness, I am sure. What a blessing to young people to be in such hands! Your father and mother seem totally free from a l l those ambitious feelings which have led to so much misconduct and misery, both in young and old." (P, 1342-̂ 3) It may be argued, of course, that parental influence i s not all-important; and Jane Austen i s not so na'ive as to imply that environment is the sole determining factor. Many of her comic heroines 39 escape relatively unscathed. Jane and Elizabeth Bennet transcend the imperfections of both their foolish mother and irresponsible father. Elinor Dashwood i s singularly unaffected by her mother's romanticism. Fanny Price, many of whose formative years were spent with a mother who was "a partial, ill-judging parent, a dawdle, a slattern, who neither taught nor restrained her children" (MP, 707), does not capitulate to the false values surrounding hep at Mansfield Park. But Jane Austen's real concern would seem to be that these admirable g i r l s , so wise, so free in s p i r i t , so eager to realize themselves as unique individuals, are forced to litfe in and—if they are not fortunate enough to marry a man who encourages their self-realization-- perhaps compromise with the . L society the false, mercenary values of X which are tacitly endorsed by their parents. Furthermore, i f parents, as spokesmen for the older, the control- l i n g generation, do nothing to counteract the attitude of a sterile society which regards women as objects—accomplished and elegant, but objects nevertheless—the error is likely to be perpetuated and social progress impeded, as generation follows generation. For the conditioning process begins the moment a child i s born, and the values of the parent almost inevitably become the values of the child. Indeed, despite the greatest independence of mind—which, incidentally, i s extremely rare in a rigidly controlled s o c i e t y — i t i s only with the utmost d i f f i c u l t y that a child can ever free himself completely from the effects of a parental attitude, even when he comes to realize that the attitude i t s e l f i s totally wrong. And so, i f daughters are treated as objects, no matter how kind or how disguised the treatment, and i f sons are taught to accept this materialistic view of their sisters, they w i l l both tend not only to conform to i t for the rest of 40 t h e i r l i v e s — t h e sons t r e a t i n g t h e i r wives as objects as well--but a l s o , f o l l o w i n g the example set by t h e i r parents, transmit i t i n turn to t h e i r own c h i l d r e n . And so, o b s t r u c t i n g parents who block the s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n of t h e i r daughters by t h e i r unquestioning acceptance of the "absurd or i r r a t i o n a l law" which decrees the subjugation of women, become part of a c o n t i n u i n g , almost automatic process. Con- s c i o u s l y or unconsciously, they are r e f u s i n g to accept "the fundamental law of l i f e , which i s the complete negation of r e p e t i t i o n . By so doing, they expose themselves to the r e l e n t l e s s attack of the comic s p i r i t , f o r the comic i s . . . that aspect of human events which, through i t s p e c u l i a r i n e l a s t i c i t y , conveys the impression of pure mechanism, of automatism, of movement without l i f e . Consequently, i t expresses an i n d i v i d u a l or c o l l e c t i v e imperfection which c a l l s f o r an immediate c o r r e c t i v e . This c o r r e c t i v e i s laughter, a s o c i a l gesture that s i n g l e s out and represses a s p e c i a l k i n d of absentmindedness i n men and i n e v e n t s . 7 (My i t a l i c s ) 41 NOTES Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 48. p Bergson, "Laughter," p. 7 1 . ^Maynard Mack, " I n t r o d u c t i o n to Joseph Andrews," The H i s t o r y of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and of His F r i e n d Mr. Abraham Adams by Henry F i e l d i n g (New York and Toronto: R i n e h a r t , 1948) p. x i v . Bergson, p. 154. 5 I b i d . , p. 147- ^ I b i d . , p. 8 l . I b i d . , p. 117. CHAPTER III FORMAL EDUCATION: A FURTHER COMPLICATION . . . though, to the larger and more t r i f l i n g part of the [male} sex, i m b e c i l i t y i n females i s a great enhancement of their personal charms, there i s a portion of them too reason- able, and too well-informed themselves, to desire anything more i n woman than ignorance. —Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey As indicated i n the previous chapter, i t i s d i f f i c u l t to sep- arate moral from formal education; the same forces i n Jane Austen's society which relegated a woman to the status of an object, also decreed thpt she must be an uninformed object, and for the same reason. Preparation for the marriage-market, then, not only i n h i b i t - ed her moral development but also prohibited her i n t e l l e c t u a l growth. And so again we see the r i g i d ideas of the older generation at work: a woman's education must bear no r e l a t i o n to her i n t e l l e c t u a l poten- t i a l (the existence of such a potential was, of course, denied by the greater part of society) but must be automatically r e s t r i c t e d to mak- ing her more desirable to the male. And what i s less desirable to the average male than the threat to his vanity constituted by an educated woman? Society demanded, therefore, that a woman direct her a b i l i t i e s toward the a c q u i s i t i o n of the so-called "feminine" accom- plishments—penmanship, needlework, drawing, music, dancing and l a n g u a g e — a l l of which enhanced her attractiveness as an object. Read- ing was an acceptable occupation up to a point: an acquaintance with the popular novels and poems of the day could be quite charming, but any attempt by a woman to extend her knowledge beyond these to, say, a 43 specialized f i e l d like science or mathematics was bound to be censured, because to come with a well-informed mind, i s to come with an inability of ad- ministering to the vanity of others, which a sensible person would always wish to avoid. A woman, especially, i f she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal i t as well as she can. (NA, 1124) For this clear-sighted comprehension of the prevailing attitude toward female enlightenment and of the quality of the male intellect which endorsed i t , Jane Austen i s partly indebted to Fanny Burney, one of her predecessors; in Evelina, Miss Burney presents a discussion of women by three utterly stupid men, together with the astute comment of a b r i l l i a n t woman: " . . . I have an insuperable aversion to strength, either of body or mind, in a female." fMr. Lovel] "•Faith, and so have I," said Mr. Coverley; "for egad I'd as soon see a woman chop wood, as hear her chop logic." "So would every man in his senses," said Lord Merton; "for a woman wants nothing to recommend her but beauty and good nature; i n every thing else she i s either impertinent or unnatural. For my part, deuce take me i f ever I wish to hear a word of sense from a woman as long as I l i v e ! " "It has always been agreed," said Mrs. Selwyn, looking round her with the utmost contempt, "that no man ought to be connected with a woman whose understanding i s superior to his own. Now I very much fear, that to accommodate a l l this good company, according to such a rule, would be utterly impracticable, unless we should chuse subjects from Swift's hospital of i d i o t s . " 1 (My i t a l i c s ) Society's discriminatory attitude i s , of course, based on the ad hoc argument that women do not deserve an education because they are naturally stupid and incompetent. (That this type of argument i s an effective weapon against any minority group is evident in the suc- cess with which i t i s s t i l l being used to prohibit the education of kk the negro in the southern United States.) Although the fallacy has not gone unperceived—Plato, for instance, maintained that boys and g i r l s have the same natural aptitudes--the attitude has persisted: i t con- stitutes an integral part of the whole concept of women's inferiority and has just as long a history. Indeed, in Jane Austen's society, the education of g i r l s was not much different from that in Anciant Greece (or in any intervening society, for that matter). In both s o c i e t i e s — although Jane Austen gives us a few instances in her work of g i r l s who attend boarding-schools (which never claim a status corresponding to that of a boy's "prep" schoolK-boys are sent away to school while g i r l s remain at home with their mothers, to be instructed in household duties, the bare essentials of literacy and the fine art of capturing a husband. In fact, we may infer from H. D. F. Kitto that a more l i b e r a l attitude toward the educated woman existed in Ancient Greece than in Jane Austen's society: not only books but a completely uncensored theatre were open to her; furthermore, the hetaerae, a class of highly-educated Ionian women who did not want the responsibilities of marriage, were 2 not only permitted to exist but were given a great deal of freedom. Despite the assumptions any historian may make about the position or education of women in a given society, however—and these assumptions are based mainly on the lack of positive evidence to the contrary—we cannot ignore the phenomenon, carefully noted by Virginia Woolf, that virtually nothing whatever i s known about women before the eighteenth century: we do not know how many children they had, how they spent their time, whether they could read or write, or whether they had any privacy; a l l we know i s that they had no money, no legal status and no choice as to a husband.^ That they certainly were not educated can be inferred from this very paucity of information which in i t s e l f 45 i s evidence that, throughout most of recorded history, one-half of the population has been mute. It i s curious that, in both her f i r s t and her last novel, Jane Austen refers to this strange fact which, even today, evokes l i t t l e surprise: in Northanger Abbey, Catherine Morland complains, "'. . . i t [history} t e l l s me nothing that does not either ve$ or weary me. . . . the men a l l so good for nothing, and hardly any women at a l l . . . . (NA, 1122-23); in Persuasion, Anne Elliot-: re- fuses to accept much of what Captain Harville claims to be evidence of wome n's fickle ne s s: . . i f you please, no reference to examples in books. Men have had every advantage of us in t e l l i n g their own story. Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands. I w i l l not allow books to prove anything. (P, 1353. My i t a l i c s ) Jane Austen, i t would seem, i s f u l l y aware of the implications of a further and closely-related point made by Virginia Woolf: . . . a l l the great women of fiction were, u n t i l Jane Austen's day, not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other sex. And how small a part of a woman's l i f e i s that; and how l i t t l e can a man know even of that when he observes i t through the black or rosy spectacles which sex puts upon his nose.-' It i s l i t t l e wonder that the circular argument has persisted. In the previous chapter i t was mentioned that a certain i n - attention in parents to the formal education of their daughters i s more forgiveable than a corresponding inattention to their moral educa- tion. The reason for this charity (which Jane Austen would seem to condone) i s that the obstructing forces which l i e behind both branches of training operate, with regard to formal education, in a much more subtle and insidious manner. For, while the,imposition of false, ° materialistic moral values on g i r l s shows f a i r l y rapid and quite obvious results in loss of happiness and peace of mind to nearly a l l k6 concerned—the Bertram family, for instance—the consequences of educa- tional restrictions accumulate much more slowly and are far more d i f f i c u l t to assess. Rarely do such limitations result in disastrous marriages, disgrace, or outright despair; i f they do, there i s l i t t l e evidence of a connection between cause and effect. The results are less l i k e l y to be positive than negative; less l i k e l y to be active unhappiness than an indefinable sense of dissatisfaction, of which the parent may never become aware and the reason for which the g i r l herself may, i f anything, only vaguely suspect, for they (young women} are trained to please man's taste, for which pur- pose they soon learn to live out of themselves, and look on themselves as he looks, almost as l i t t l e disturbed as he by the undiscovered." (My i t a l i c s ) And so i t i s understandable why parents such as the Morlands and the Musgroves, who give their daughters excellent moral training and who live to see them happily settled, tend to accept without question society's arbitrary law that g i r l s must not be educated beyond the well-defined limits i t has set. For, after a l l , i f a woman i s moderately happy and content, i f she i s given freedom (and a good deal of luck!) in the choice of a husband, i f "the continuous balance of sheer v i t a l i t y that belongs to n society" i s not threatened, why should the society which endorses her lack of education be a target for the comic spirit? Simply because the goal of comedy i s a free, creative society which can never be realized i f the arbitrary laws of the older generation are allowed to keep one-half of the population in ignorance. Once again, we must remember that the purpose of comedy i s not merely to provide unquali- g fied mirth, but that i t s real test i s to "awaken thoughtful laughter." 47 Jane Austen does not s i n g l e out s p e c i f i c people i n her novels as t a r g e t s f o r her a t t a c k on the q u a l i t y and q u a n t i t y o f women's educa- t i o n ; she does not even r e p r o a c h such parents as the Bertrams and the Bennets, much l e s s the Musgroves and the Morlands, who unknowingly condone the e v i l . She i s content to set f o r t h the f a c t s which, i n themselves, are an i n d i c t m e n t o f s o c i e t y ' s a t t i t u d e . And the f a c t s i n - d i c a t e t h a t , whether a g i r l i s educated by her p a r e n t s , by masters or governesses or both, or whether she i s sent away to s c h o o l , her educa- t i o n — d e s p i t e the competence of those who i n s t r u c t her and d e s p i t e her own a b i l i t i e s — i s d e p l o r a b l y inadequate and c o n s t i t u t e s a major o b s t a c l e to her s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n . While the obvious and immediate i m p l i c a t i o n s to be drawn from these f a c t s w i l l be i n d i c a t e d here, t h e i r f u l l r a m i - f i c a t i o n s w i l l be r e s e r v e d f o r d i s c u s s i o n i n subsequent c h a p t e r s . I t i s i r o n i c a l , and perhaps i n t e n t i o n a l l y so, t h a t Northanger Abbey, which c o n t a i n s the best example of an i d e a l moral e d u c a t i o n f o r a g i r l , p r o v i d e s an e q u a l l y good example of a lamentable n e g l e c t o f her f o r m a l e d u c a t i o n . C a t h e r i n e Morland i s taught w r i t i n g and accounts by her f a t h e r , French (and presumably r e a d i n g ) by her mother, n e i t h e r o f whom seems concerned by her l a c k o f p r o f i c i e n c y (NA, 1 0 6 4 ) . And s i n c e , w i t h the e x c e p t i o n o f her a b o r t i v e attempt t o l e a r n music, no other source o f i n s t r u c t i o n i s mentioned, we may i n f e r t h a t these bare fundamentals of l i t e r a c y are the extent of her f o r m a l e d u c a t i o n . ( L a t e r i n the n o v e l , Henry T i l n e y makes an a s t u t e comment on the q u a l i t y o f t h i s k i n d of b a s i c t r a i n i n g : women's l e t t e r s , he says, show "'a g e n e r a l d e f i c i e n c y of s u b j e c t , a t o t a l i n a t t e n t i o n to s t o p s , and a very frequent ignorance o f grammar"• fNA, 1072J.). She has no n a t u r a l i n c l i n a t i o n f o r books o f i n s t r u c t i o n , and no one takes the t r o u b l e to p r o v i d e her w i t h any guidance as to the k i n d of r e a d i n g to which she should devote at least part of her time. And so, at f i f - teen, having outgrown the physical activities she has shared with her brothers—and simply because her occupations have no supervision what- ever—we find her in training for a heroine; she read a l l such works as heroines must read to supply their memories with those quotations which are so serviceable and so soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful l i v e s . (NA, 1064) It i s , therefore, not at a l l strange that when, at seventeen, she i s about to leave for her adventures in Bath, her mind i s "about as ignorant and uninformed as the female mind at seventeen usually i s " (NA, 1066). Although Northanger Abbey i s a parody and Jane Austen i s , at least part of the time, writing tongue-in-cheek, her description of the desultory kind of education a g i r l i s l i k e l y to receive i s not exaggerated. Catherine Morland, as we shall see later, i s not natur- a l l y stupid but, like a l l the other girls in Jane Austen's novels who suffer in varying degrees from the same discrimination, she i s doomed to a high degree of ignorance by her society. The voice of this society can be clearly heard i n Pride and Prejudice when Mr. Bennet says of his daughters, "'They have none of them much to recommend them . . . they are a l l s i l l y and ignorant, like other g i r l s ; but Lizzy has something more of quickness than her sisters'" (PP, 232). Scholarly though he may be, Mr. Bennet cannot so far perceive the fallacy in the argument against the education of women as to give his daughters anything but an almost totally unsuper- vised education. Elizabeth must, therefore, agree partly with Lady Catherine that her family has suffered through want of a governess (PP. 330). For, although a comparatively good education was available 49 to the Bennet g i r l s , not a l l of them took advantage of i t : as Eliza- beth t e l l s Lady Catherine, " . . such of us as wished to learn never wanted the means* We were always encouraged to read, and had a l l the masters that were necessary. Those who chose to be idle, certainly might'" (PP, 330). Lydia and Catherine, for instance, who needed the supervision of a s t r i c t boarding-school! Our real sympathy, however, l i e s with Elizabeth. Because of her intelligence and quick wit, we tend to think her a better educated g i r l than she actually i s ; we never do, however, see her engaged in any intellectual activity except, perhaps, the rather perfunctory interest she displays i n books at Netherfield. She has, indeed, suffered more than her sisters from the hit-and-miss type of education her father considers sufficient for g i r l s . Since:' .r there is no evidence in Sense and Sensibility of the Dashwood g i r l s ' having been away at school, i t may be assumed that they, too, have received their education at home. Whether i t was supervised by their parents, visiting masters or a governess, we do not know. Because of Eleanor's predilection for drawing and Marianne's for music, however, i t would seem that the emphasis has been on the acquisition of "feminine" accomplishments. But not entire- l y . That their education has been more consistent and, therefore, better than that of the Bennet g i r l s can be inferred from the respect they both have for studious occupations. On their arrival at Barton, for instance, Sir John Middleton i s surprised to find them constantly employed (SS, 23); and that this employment by no means precludes intellectual effort, abortive though i t may be, i s evident in that, after Marianne's restoration to health later in the novel, the g i r l s " . . . i f not pursuing their usual studies with quite so much vigour 50 as when they f i r s t came to Barton, [they were] at least planning a vigorous prosecution of them in future" (SS, 211). The accuracy with which Elinor, perceives wherein l i e Lucy Steele's deficiencies i s a revealing comment on both her own respect for education and i t s limita- tions within her society: Lucy was naturally clever; . . . but her powers had received no aid from education, she was ignorant and i l l i t e r a t e , and her deficiency of a l l mental improvement, her want of information in the most common particulars could not be concealed from MissDashwood . . . . Elinor saw, and pitied her for the neglect of a b i l i t i e s which education might have rendered so respectable . . . . (SS, 76) We, in turn, pity Elinor for her own restricted education, which led her no further than her drawing-board. In Mansfield Park, Jane Austen presents a different method of education in that the Bertram g i r l s are i n the care of a governess. (This novel, incidentally, i s diametrically opposed to Northanger Abbey, in that, while i t illustrates most clearly the neglect of moral training for g i r l s , i t also provides the best example of a super- vised education at home—at the same time exposing the limitations of such an education.) At f i r s t , i t would seem that the Bertram g i r l s , with their governess (Miss Lee) and their masters, are receiving f a i r l y good instruction; they boast that, when they were quite young, they were able to "repeat the chronological order of the kings of England, with the dates of their accession, and most of the principal events of their reigns! . . . and of the Roman emperors as low as Severus; besides a great deal of the heathen mythology, and a l l the metals, semi-metals, planets, and distinguished philosophers." (MP, 478) For a moment, before the heterogeneity of this information strikes us, we may wonder whether Jane Austen really i s mocking Lady Catherine 51 when, in Pride and Prejudice, she has that lady assert, 11'I always say that nothing i s to be done in education without steady and regular instruction, and nobody but a governess can give i t ' " (PP, 331). We should know better, of course. The superficiality and ineffectiveness of learning by rote—which would seem to constitute the instruction given by most governesses—is f u l l y exposed when, on Mrs. Norris' t e l l i n g Maria and Julia that there i s much more for them to learn, one of them replies, "'Yes, I know there i s , t i l l I am seventeen'" (MP, 479). This illuminating remark gives rise to the suspicion that a good deal of irony probably underlies Jane Austen's comment that "in everything but disposition, they were admirably taught" (MP, 479). Because of "their promising talents and early information" (MP, 479), and more particularly because of their pride and arrogance which go far to offset native a b i l i t y , they should be away at boarding-school— preferably the kind of establishment in which one of Jane Austen's con- temporaries, Eliza Fletcher, found herself and where " . . . the spoilt g i r l found that her recitations and erudition counted for noth- Q ing, and that she was a totally inelegant female child." For a governess i n a household such as the Bertrams' has l i t t l e more status or authority than a poorly-paid servant and, no matter how competent she may be, could hardly have i t within her power to convince the headstrong Bertram g i r l s that education i s a life-long activity and must continue far beyond the great day of "coming out." The inadequacies of the governess system are even more evident in Emma. Unlike Miss Lee in Mansfield Park, Miss Taylor has for six- teen years been more like a sister than a governess to Emma, with the result that her pupil's education, completely permissive, has l e f t much to be desired: 52 Even before Miss Taylor had ceased to hold the nominal office of governess, the mildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose any restraint; and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had been l i v i n g together as friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emma doing just what she liked; highly esteeming Miss Taylor's judgment, but directed chiefly by her own. (E, ?63. My i t a l i c s ) Emma has sincere intentions for self-improvement, of course, but they do not materialize. As Mr. Knightley points out, she has conscien- tiously drawn up highly commendable reading l i s t s since the age of twelve, but has never pursued them (E, 783). In fact, the only l i t e r - ary activity in which we see her engaged i s the collection of riddles with Harriet Smith! At times, she i s forced to admit her deficiencies: after the Coles' dinner party, for instance, at which she realizes the i n f e r i o r i t y of her musical accomplishments to those of Jane Fairfax, "she did most heartily grieve over the idleness of her childhood; and sat down and practised vigorously an hour and a half" (E, 903). And, we must assume, such was her atonement for years of neglect! Indeed, with no real direction, her cleverness has been a detriment to her; as Mr. Knightley points out, "Emma i s spoiled by being the cleverest of her family. At ten years old, she had the misfortune of being able to answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen. She was always quick and assured; Isabella slow and diffident." (E, 783) "The shadow of authority" which M i s s Taylor at one time represented could never be enough for Emma; like Maria and Julia Bertram, she needs the solid substance of authority, a rigidly-enforced program of studies and the keen competition of minds better than her own. Of a l l the g i r l s in Jane Austen's novels with any appreciable degree of a b i l i t y , surely Emma seems to be the most short-changed with regard 53 to education* Even the Bertram g i r l s have fared better: whereas t h e i r t r a i n i n g persisted u n t i l they were seventeen, Emma's apparently ceased when she was much younger. There i s , however, no evidence i n Jane Austen's novels that, by exposing the unsatisfactory r e s u l t s of t r y i n g to educate g i r l s at home, she i s advocating boarding-schools. (It i s i n t e r e s t i n g to note, just the same, that none of the g i r l s who go away to school—Anne E l l i o t , Louisa and Henrietta Musgrove, Harriet Smith and Charlotte Palmer—are so s e l f i s h , vain and i l l - d i s p o s e d as, for instance, the Bertram g i r l s who have been confined to the four walls of the school- room at home.) On the contrary, she consistently takes the position that such schools, although they might i n some instances serve a use- f u l purpose, leave much to be desired. Her strongest single indictment of them i s to be found i n Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y ; describing the apart- ment which the Dashwood g i r l s are to occupy i n Mrs. Jennings' London home, she remarks, i t had formerly been Charlotte's [Charlotte Palmer], and over the mantelpiece s t i l l hung a landscape i n coloured s i l k s of her perform- ance, i n proof of her having spent seven years at a great school i n town to some e f f e c t . (SS, 94) She indicates l i t t l e more respect for the school i n Exeter from which Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove have brought " a l l the usual stock of accomplishments, and were now, l i k e thousands of other young ladies, l i v i n g to be fashionable, happy, and merry" (SS, 1 2 3 3 ) — t h e i r educa- t i o n safely over! Nothing i s s a i d of the quality of the education Anne E l l i o t received during her three years at school i n Bath; we know of her unhappiness there, but t h i s was presumably attributable to the recent death of her mother (P, 1 2 1 8 ) ; that her "elegance of mind" (P, 1212) has resulted from her association with her mother and Lady Russell rather than from her t r a i n i n g at school i s , however, i n f i n i t e l y more probable. The only school which receives the s l i g h t - est positive endorsement from Jane Austen i s that which Harriet Smith attends i n Emma; not an elaborate " f i n i s h i n g sohool"which encourages vanity by s t r e s s i n g elegance of manners and appearance, Mrs. Goddard's establishment i s a r e a l , honest, old-fashioned boarding-school, where a reasonable quantity of accomplishments were sold at a reasonable p r i c e , and where g i r l s might be sent to be out of the way, and scramble them- selves into a l i t t l e education, without any danger of coming back prodigies. (E, 773) It would seem that the best Jane Austen can do for g i r l s ' boarding- schools i s to damn them with f a i n t praise! I f education at home—with the usual run of parents, masters and governesses—and at boarding-school i s inadequate, how i s i t pos- s i b l e i n Jane Austen's society for a woman even p a r t i a l l y to evade the obstacle of ignorance which society places squarely i n the path of her s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n ? For Jane Austen, there i s only one answer: by reading—not at random but with great discrimination. She makes her point b r i l l i a n t l y i n her f i r s t novel and she reinforces i t again and again. jjorthanger Abbey, with i t s juxtaposition of the na'ive Catherine Morland and the sophisticated Eleanor Tilney, c l e a r l y i l l u s t r a t e s that reading must be a c a r e f u l l y directed a c t i v i t y . Of Catherine's i l l - c h o s e n reading material, i n which she indulged between the ages of f i f t e e n and seventeen, we have already made mention; under the influence of Isabella Thorpe at Bath, however, her tastes are led even further astray. When the weather i s miserable, the two g i r l s 55 "shut themselves up to read novels together" (NA, 1077)—not in i t s e l f an entirely uninstructive pastime, but extremely dangerous to an unin- formed g i r l like Catherine when the l i s t i s composed exclusively of Gothic horrors such as Castle of Wolfenbach, Mysterious Warnings, Necromancers of the Black Forest and Horrid Mysteries (NA, 1079)* Catherine, in fact, has no taste for other than "horrid" books: as she asks Isabella, 11' . . . are they a l l horrid? Are you sure they are a l l horrid?'" (NA, 1079) Eventually, of course, she admits that the unfortunate predicaments in which she finds herself "might be traced to the influence of that sort of reading which she had there [at Bath] indulged" (NA, 1176)—and, we might add, to the lack of dis- crimination which had directed her reading while "in training for a heroine." Eleanor Tilney, on the other hand, has profited immensely from the informal tutoring of her well-educated brother; when, for instance, Catherine admits that she cares l i t t l e for any other kind of reading than the Gothic novel and that she finds history, even with the inventions that are ideant to enliven i t , extremely wearisome and dull, Eleanor states her own position: "I am fond of history, and am very well contented to take the false with the true. In the principal facts they [the historians] have sources of intelligence in former histories and records, which may be as much depended on, I conclude, as anything that does not actually pass under one's own observation; and as for the l i t t l e embellish- ments you speak of, they are embellishments, and I like them as such. If a speech be well drawn up, I read i t with pleasure, by whomsoever i t may be made; and probably with much greater, i f the production of Mr. Hume or Mr. Robertson, than i f the genuine words of Caractacus, £gricola, or Alfred the Great." (NA, 1123) When we consider the quality of his sister's mind, we realize that Henry Tilney's comments on women's mental deficiencies—"'Perhaps the a b i l i t i e s of women are neither sound nor acute, neither vigorous nor 56 keen. Perhaps they may want o b s e r v a t i o n , discernment, judgment, f i r e , genius and w i t ' " (NA, 1125)—are meant to be n o t h i n g more than w i t t y g e n e r a l i z a t i o n s . C e r t a i n l y he i s speaking i n good f a i t h when he t e a s i n g l y says o f her, "'. . . she i s by no means a s i m p l e t o n i n g e n e r a l ' " (NA, 1125). But C a t h e r i n e i s a s i m p l e t o n at t h i s p o i n t — and the d i f f e r e n c e s u r e l y l i e s i n t h e i r r e s p e c t i v e r e a d i n g h a b i t s . When, i n P r i d e and P r e j u d i c e , E l i z a b e t h i s spending a few days at N e t h e r f i e l d d u r i n g Jane's i l l n e s s t h e r e , the importance of r e a d i n g i s emphasized i n a s l i g h t l y d i f f e r e n t way. B i n g l e y has expressed amazement t h a t a l l young women are so a c c o m p l i s h e d — " ' T h e y a l l p a i n t t a b l e s , cover s c r e e n s , and net p u r s e s ' " (PP, 253). When Darcy i n s i s t s t h a t "accomplished" presupposes much g r e a t e r t a l e n t , Miss B i n g l e y — always eager to p l e a s e h i m — s u b m i t s t h a t "'a woman must have a t h o r - ough knowledge o f music, s i n g i n g , drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word . . . .'" t o g e t h e r w i t h a great d e a l o f s t y l e and elegance (PP, 253)» Much to everyone's s u r p r i s e , Darcy goes even f u r t h e r : " ' A l l t h i s she must possess . . . and to a l l t h i s she must yet add something more s u b s t a n t i a l , i n the improvement of her mind by e x t e n s i v e r e a d i n g ' " (PP, 253• My i t a l i c s ) . Immediately we f e e l h a p p i e r about E l i z a b e t h ; she i s bound to p r o f i t immeasurably from her coming acquaintance w i t h the f i n e l i b r a r y at Pemberley. In M a n s f i e l d Park, Jane Austen r e t u r n s to her p o i n t by emphasizing the t r a i n i n g p r o c e s s i t s e l f . Indeed, Fanny P r i c e i s p r o - b a b l y the most f o r t u n a t e g i r l i n any of the n o v e l s , i n t h a t she has Edmund, who i s aware of both her a p t i t u d e and the i n e s t i m a b l e value o f r e a d i n g , as her w i l l i n g guide: He knew her to be c l e v e r , to have a q u i c k apprehension as w e l l as good sense and a fondness f o r r e a d i n g , which, p r o p e r l y d i r e c t e d , must be an 57 education i n i t s e l f . . . . he recommended the books which charmed her l e i s u r e hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected her judgment; he made reading useful by t a l k i n g to her of what she read and heighten- ed i t s a t t r a c t i o n by judicious praise. (MP, 48l. My i t a l i c s ) We cannot f a i l to perceive the contrast between the Bertram g i r l s , destined to remain i n i n t e l l e c t u a l poverty because they assume their education w i l l terminate at seventeen, and Fanny, to whom reading w i l l furnish a l i f e - l o n g source of i n s t r u c t i o n and pleasure. Henry Tilney, then, by guiding his s i s t e r into other f i e l d s than the novel, Darcy by i n s i s t i n g on extensive reading as the main prerequisite of a woman's education, Edmund by c u l t i v a t i n g Fanny's taste for books, and even Mr. Knightley who deplores Emma's neglect of her reading l i s t s , are a l l , to varying degrees, opposing the attitudes of t h e i r society. There i s no doubt that they consider women to be educable. Mona Wilson speaks the truth when she says, "Miss Austen i s , indeed, far from regarding education as a mere matter of s u p e r f i c i a l accomplishments designed to snare husbands . . . . W e cannot agree so r e a d i l y , however, with her contention that Jane Austen "found a home education with encouragement to read quite s a t i s f a c t o r y for a woman of native wit and i n t e l l i g e n c e . " ^ " That she considers i t the best compromise a woman can make with her society i s probably true* But, l i k e a l l comic writers, Jane Austen envisions an i d e a l society, i n which a l l members must be able to r e a l i z e their p o t e n t i a l . And, as early as Northanger Abbey, she presents an almost pathetic l i t t l e incident which indicates the l i m i t a t i o n s imposed upon even the most i n t e l l i g e n t women of her day. Henry Tilney, discussing with Catherine and Eleanor such topics as forests and crown lands, "shortly found himself arrived at p o l i t i c s ; and from p o l i t i c s i t was an easy step to 58 s i l e n c e " and "the general pause which succeeded his short d i s q u i s i t i o n on the state of the nation" (NA, 1124). It i s understandable that, at t h i s point, Catherine has nothing to contribute to the conversation— but Eleanor? Her silence speaks for i t s e l f . In Emma, as we become aware of Jane Fairfax's predicament, the obstacle assumes much greater proportions. For Jane has received what was considered an outstanding education for her day: She had f a l l e n into good hands, known nothing but kindness from the Campbells, and been given an excellent education. L i v i n g constantly with right-minded and well-informed people, her heart and understand- i n g had received every advantage of d i s c i p l i n e and culture; and Colonel Campbell's residence being i n London, every higher talent had been done f u l l j u s t i c e to by the attendance of f i r s t - r a t e masters. (E, 8 6 0 - 8 6 1 ) And for what do her superior i n t e l l i g e n c e and admirable education q u a l i f y her? For eventual admission to the bar? For l e c t u r i n g i n a university? For the pursuit of medicine which, i n those days, was not a highly prestigious profession? Hardly—women were not allowed to 12 s i t f o r matriculation u n t i l 1868. For any position whatever through which her talents might benefit society?. No. She i s equipped for one thing only—"'the governess-trade'" (E, 946). And the despair and f r u s t r a t i o n with which she contemplates a l i f e confined to the nursery (of an acquaintance of Mrs. Elton!) constitute the strongest and most e x p l i c i t indictment of a r e s t r i c t e d education to be found i n Jane Austen's work. And so, while inadequacies i n the t r a i n i n g of g i r l s l i k e Emma Woodhouse, Elizabeth Bennet, Eleanor Tilney and Anne E l l i o t ! go almost unnoticed, they show up i n unrelieved starkness i n Jane Fairfax, the only one faced with having to earn her own l i v i n g . The extent to which g i r l s l i k e Eleanor Tilney and Fanny Price benefit from guidance i n t h e i r reading has already been pointed out. It may not, therefore, be unreasonable to suspect that Jane Austen i s implying that g i r l s like these—and particularly g i r l s like Jane Fair- fax—might profit even more from a higher education, through which proportionately more able and specialized guidance would be available; that she i s , in fact, suggesting they should have the same educational opportunities as boys. Indeed, i t would seem that, allowing for dif- ferences in the studies of the respective periods, she would be among the f i r s t to accept the fact, based on the evidence of reputable aptitude tests given in the 1950's and 1960*8, that . . . most of those who should have been studying physics, advanced algebra, analytic geometry, four years of language—and were not— were g i r l s . They had the intelligence, the special g i f t which was not sex-directed, but they also had the sex-directed attitude that such studies were "unfeminine. f,13 And so Henry Tilney, after t e l l i n g Catherine that he has read much more widely than she, qualifies what might seem to her a criticism by adding, "'Consider how many years I have had the start of you. I had entered on my studies at Oxford, while you were a good l i t t l e g i r l working your sampler at home J *" (NA, 1122) Although he i s directly referring to the eight years' difference i n their respective ages, he may also be suggesting that, instead of spending her time on useless embroidery, Catherine, like her brothers, should have been pursuing a course of studies. Indeed, the similarity of Catherine's temperament and a b i l i t i e s (to say nothing of lack of a b i l i t i e s ! ) to those of her brothers—a similarity not obliterated by the conditioning process to which most l i t t l e g i r l s are subjected from the moment of birth, but which Catherine as a child escapes—brings the discrepancies between the education of a g i r l and that of a boy into much sharper focus than i s to be found elsewhere i n Jane Austen's novels. Very unlike society's i d e a l l i t t l e g i r l , Catherine i s "fond of a l l boys' play and greatly preferred c r i c k e t , not merely to d o l l s , but to the more heroic enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, feeding a canary- b i r d , or watering a rose-bush" (NA, 1063). She has no talent for music or drawing, no proficiency i n writing or French; displaying an even more unfeminine t r a i t i ". . . she shirked her lessons . . . whenever she could" (NA, 1064). A l l of these f a i l i n g s are, of course, "natural" i n a boy, but "what a strange unaccountable character," what "symptoms of p r o f l i g a c y " i n a g i r l ! (NA, 1064) By the age of ten, Catherine has even fewer claims to femininity: "she was . . . noisy and wild, hated confinement and cleanliness, and loved nothing so well i n the world as r o l l i n g down the green slope at the back of the house" (NA, 1064). ' Even at fourteen, she i s s t i l l a t y p i c a l tomboy, p r e f e r r i n g — l i k e her b r o t h e r s — " c r i c k e t , baseball, r i d i n g on horseback, and running about the country" to reading i n s t r u c t i v e books (NA, 1064). The reason for her non-conformity i s simple: her mother i s so busy with confinements and the younger children that the elder are l e f t to t h e i r own devices (NA, 1064). Yet i t does not occur to her parents that, once the young-animal enjoyments of c h i l d - hood s t a r t to give way to the consideration of more serious pursuits, Catherine might be just as capable of sharing her brothers' i n t e l - l e c t u a l a c t i v i t i e s as she has been of sharing t h e i r physical adventures. On the contrary, while the boys presumably go o f f to school (James' education, we know, eventually leads him to Oxford) where t h e i r energies and talents w i l l be channelled and d i s c i p l i n e d , Catherine at f i f t e e n — s i m p l y because she has nothing else to d o — s t a r t s her " t r a i n i n g for a heroine" (NA, 1064). The conditioning process has at l a s t caught up with her. And yet Catherine, although denied the education which could conceivably save her from much future embarrassment, indicates that she i s , i f anything, p o t e n t i a l l y brighter than at least two of the men with whom she comes i n contact. She has only to meet John Thorpe once, for instance, to perceive his outright boorishness (NA, 1086); yet her brother James claims him for a f r i e n d whose only f a u l t l i e s i n his being "a l i t t l e of a r a t t l e " (NA, 1086). Moreover, she i s better informed than Thorpe on at least one subject, i n spite of his attendance (we hesitate to say "education") at Oxford: he professes to admire Mrs. Radcliffe's novels yet i s unaware that she i s the author of Udolpho (NA, 1085). It i s indeed i r o n i c that Catherine, perhaps the least i n t e l l i g e n t of Jane Austen's comic heroines, best demonstrates the common p o t e n t i a l of boys and g i r l s , , the f u l l implica- tions of which are not evident u n t i l we are confronted with Jane Fairfax's predicament i n Emma. Jane Austen never, of course, implies that a l l women would benefit from a higher education—but then, neither would a l l men. The advantages of Oxford have obviously been wasted on John Thorpe, whereas they could conceivably have done much for Catherine Morland. Surely E l i n o r Dashwood would have p r o f i t e d more from a university education than Edward Ferrars; Fanny Price, more than Tom Bertram and perhaps as much as Edmund; Emma, more than Frank C h u r c h i l l or Mr. Elton; Jane F a i r f a x probably as much as Mr. Knightley; Anne Elliot', . much more than S i r Walter; Elizabeth Bennet, almost as much as Darcy, and Charlotte Lucas, i n c r e d i b l y more than Mr. C o l l i n s . (For the Harriet Smiths, the Mrs. Eltons, the Isabella Thorpes, the Lydia Bennets, the Mrs. John Dashwoods, the Lady Middletons, the Charlotte Palmers and even the Bertram g i r l s , we hesitate to make any claims.) What Jane Austen seems to be suggesting i s , simply, that i f i n t e l - ligence and a b i l i t y are equal, i t follows that p o t e n t i a l i s also equal. A l l that i s needed—and i t i s a very big " a l l " — i s the recog- n i t i o n of t h i s truth by society, which alone could give the g i r l s the educational opportunities they should have. Certainly, by i n d i c a t i n g that i n t e l l i g e n c e and s t u p i d i t y are f a i r l y equally divided between men and women, Jane Austen makes her point that any discrimination i n education on the basis of sex i s ipso facto i n v a l i d . You must, as I have said, believe that our state .pf society i s founded i n common sense, otherwise you w i l l not be struck by the contrasts the Comic S p i r i t perceives . . . . You w i l l , i n f a c t , be standing i n that peculiar oblique beam of l i g h t , yourself illuminated to the general eye as the very object of chase and doomed quarry of the thing obscure to you.-"' (My i t a l i c s ) "The contrasts the Comic S p i r i t perceives": the difference between the education offered to a boy and that available to a g i r l ; the d i s - p a r i t y between a g i r l ' s p o t e n t i a l and the t r a i n i n g deemed f i t for her by society. "For centuries s t u p i d i t y has kept i t s e l f stupid by t e l l i n g g i r l s , 'If you know too much you w i l l never get a husband.'"^ C l e a r l y t h i s i s the voice of the obstructing characters of the older generation who block the progress of the comic rhythm toward a more v i t a l society; and behind the voice i s the t a c i t admission that "a 16 woman cannot know too much unless she knows more than you do." And so, i n order to protect the status quo from the very tangible threat of the educated woman, i n order to keep i n t a c t the a r b i t r a r y law which decrees her subjugation, "the object of being a t t r a c t i v e to men" has become "the polar star of feminine education and formation o f c h a r a c t e r . 1 1 (My i t a l i c s ) Here indeed i s an example of what Bergson c a l l s "any s u b s t i t u t i o n whatsoever of the a r t i f i c i a l f o r the 18 n a t u r a l , " which l a u g h t e r must t r y to remove. And t h i s i s the " i d e a l , " s e t b e f o r e the comic heroine by the o b s t r u c t i n g f o r c e s , on which Jane Austen c o n s i s t e n t l y f o c u s s e s " t h a t p e c u l i a r o b l i q u e beam o f l i g h t " u n t i l i t i s unmistakably " i l l u m i n a t e d to the g e n e r a l eye" as n o t h i n g but a tour de f o r c e to perpetuate the i l l u s i o n o f female i n f e r i o r i t y and to mask the r e a l i t y of the p o t e n t i a l e q u a l i t y of the sexes* By so emphasizing the d i s c r e p a n c y between what a woman i s and what a male-dominated s o c i e t y f o r c e s her to be, Jane Austen a l i g n s h e r s e l f w i t h the p h i l o s o p h e r who d i s c e r n s the s i m i l a r i t y of boy and g i r l , u n t i l the g i r l i s marched away to the n u r s e r y . P h i l o s o p h e r and comic poet are o f a c o u s i n s h i p i n the eye they c a s t on l i f e ; and they are e q u a l l y unpopular w i t h our w i l f u l E n g l i s h o f the hazy r e g i o n and the i d e a l t h a t i s not to be d i s t u r b e d . 9 (My i t a l i c s ) NOTES "^Evelina or A Young Lady 's Entrance into the World (London: Dent, 1964), p. 336. The Greeks (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin, 1958), pp. 219-236. ^A Room of One's Own, p. 6 9 . Defoe's Moll Flanders might be an exception. ^A Room of One's Own, p. 124. 6. Meredith, The Egoist, p. 202. ? 8 7 'Langer, Feeling and Form, p. 333• Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 4 7 . ^Mona Wilson, Jane Austen and Some Contemporaries (London: Cresset Press, 1938), p. 46. 10 -T-l . , O Ibxd., p. o. i : L I b i d . , p. 9 . 1 2 I b i d . , p. 282. ^ B e t t y Friedan, The Feminine Mystique (New York: W. W. Norton, 1 9 6 3 ) , p. 161. l i f Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 48. 1 5 G. B. Needham and R. P. Utter, Pamela's Daughters (New York: Macmillan, 1936), p. 225- l 6 I b i d . , p. 22*f. 1 7 M i l l , The Subjection of Women, p. 4 3 . •j o Bergson, "Laughter," p. 91. 1 9 Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 15* 65 CHAPTER IV EMERGENCE OF THE SELF-CONCEPT Emotion uncontrolled by reason leads you into ludicrous mistakes . . . . I do not believe the v i t a l issue between Elinor and Marianne—nor be- tween the wise and foolish virgins in any other of Jane Austen's novels—to be the issue between head and heart, old-fashioned rationalist and new-fashioned romanticist. I have tried to show i t rather as (in part) an expression of her con- stant tranquil preference for a true over a false vision of l i f e , particularly with regard to ideas of happiness. —Mary Lascelles, Jane Austen and Her Art In order for the comic heroine to have "a true vision of l i f e , " she must have a true vision of herself. The development of a reasonably accurate self-concept, then, i s often a very important part of the comic action which, of course, comprises the heroine's struggle for self-realization. That her f i r s t steps towards an adequate self-concept are made extremely d i f f i c u l t by the obstructing forces which try to bar her from any appreciable moral or intellectual development has already become obvious. Indeed, we can never escape from the fact that the many obstacles with which she has to cope throughout the entire comic action are closely related to, i f not part of that one great obstacle, her severely limited education. It would, of course, be d i f f i c u l t to argue that there i s a direct relationship between the quantity and quality of education the comic heroine receives and the degree of self-deception in which she indulges. That there i s some relationship between these f a c t o r s — i f only to the extent that the amount of time she can devote to day- dreaming is of necessity much shorter when she has a schedule of 66 studies on which she must c o n c e n t r a t e — i s almost indisputable. When she has no i n t e l l e c t u a l i n t e r e s t s whatever, when she has to submit to no s e l f - d i s c i p l i n e , when there i s nothing, as i t were, to take her mind o f f her mind, she i s completely free to give f u l l reign to her imagination and thus indulge her wildest fancies. I n t e l l e c t u a l l y i n a state of arrested development, she i s unable to exercise either her c r i t i c a l faculty or her r a t i o n a l powers. And, i f her moral t r a i n i n g has also been defective, her v i s i o n may be even more f a u l t y i n that she w i l l tend to l e t her emotions, as well as her imagination, go unchecked by reason. Although not a l l of Jane Austen's comic heroines have to struggle for an adequate self-concept—some are able to s t a r t their climb towards s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n r e l a t i v e l y unimpeded by s e l f - d e c e p t i o n — i n each case the truth or f a l s i t y of the self-concept i s c l o s e l y linked with the kind of education received. The obstacle Catherine Morland has to overcome before she a r r i v e s at an accurate self-concept i s c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of those facing the comic heroine who, even though she has no exalted view of herself and has, a c t u a l l y , a f a i r degree of common sense for her age, has received almost no formal education. Her self-deception begins, i n f a c t , at the precise moment she enters her " t r a i n i n g for a heroine" (NA, 1064), and i s nothing more than a rather pathetic attempt to escape from the empty existence i n which an uneducated g i r l of f i f - teen often finds herself. Since she has nothing else to think about, she begins to l i v e i n her imagination, p i c t u r i n g herself as a f i c t i o n - a l heroine. And, i f Isabella Thorpe had not introduced her to "horrid books," her fancy might have led her no further than "those quotations which are so serviceable and so soothing i n the v i c i s s i t u d e s of their ^heroines V, eventful l i v e s " (NA, 1064). The Gothic novel, however 67 rooted as i t i s i n the whole realm of imagination, emotion and super- s t i t i o n , has a direct appeal to and a t e r r i f i c impact on a mind l i k e Catherine's which has not been trained to an objective, r a t i o n a l approach to l i t e r a t u r e . She i s , consequently, disproportionately affected by what she reads to the point at which "the luxury of a raised, r e s t l e s s , and frightened imagination over the pages of Udolpho" (NA, 1087) i s one of her greatest delights. When the Tilneys i n v i t e her to Northanger, then, i t i s not surprising that she immedi- ately invests the Abbey with a l l the c h a r a c t e r i s t i c s of Udolpho: Its long, damp passages, i t s narrow c e l l s and ruined chapel, were to be within her d a i l y reach, and she could not e n t i r e l y subdue the hope of some t r a d i t i o n a l legends, some awful memorials of an injured and i l l - f a t e d nun. (NA, 1140) The comic implications and consequences are, of course, h i l a r i o u s . When Henry Tilney teases her about the horrors she w i l l encounter at Northanger, she i s alternately credulous and ashamed of her credulity, yet she remains credulous. That the Abbey i s so e a s i l y accessible s t r i k e s her as "odd and inconsistent" (NA, 1152). She i s keenly d i s - appointed to f i n d the i n t e r i o r handsome, elegantly furnished, clean and w e l l - l i t — " t o an imagination which had hoped for . . . painted glass, d i r t , and cobwebs, the difference was very d i s t r e s s i n g " (NA, 1153). To f i n d some marked resemblance to Udolpho, however, i s v i t a l : there must be a mystery somewhere and she must be the one to solve i t . The f i r s t p o s s i b i l i t y i s the large old chest i n her room, which she regards with " f e a r f u l c u r i o s i t y " (NA, 1154); when a l l her e f f o r t s to open i t are rewarded by the sight of a neatly folded white cotton counterpane, she r e a l i z e s 6he has been "a great simpleton" and immediately forms "wise resolutions with the most violent despatch" 68 (NA, 11155). But she has not yet learned her lesson. Preparing for bed, with a storm raging outside, she notices a high old black cabinet and cannot rest u n t i l , after considerable e f f o r t , she extricates a r o l l of paper from i t s recesses. Unfortunately, just as she i s about to examine i t , she a c c i d e n t a l l y — a n d to her utmost horror—extinguishes her candle. A night of mental agony follows: "hollow murmurs seemed to creep along the g a l l e r y , and more than once her blood was c h i l l e d by the sound of distant moans" (NA, I I 5 9 ) . In her imagination, Catherine i s indeed at Udolpho: she i s l i v i n g , not her own l i f e , but that of a character i n a Gothic novel. When, the next morning, the seemingly mysterious old manuscript turns out to be a recent inventory of l i n e n , she i s u t t e r l y ashamed of her f o l l y : "nothing could now be clearer than the absurdity of her recent fancies" (NA, I I 5 9 ) . And yet, on such s l i g h t evidence as Colonel Tilney's d i s l i k e of the walk h i s deceased wife once enjoyed and his indifference toward her por- t r a i t , coupled with the fact that her i l l n e s s was sudden and short, Catherine's imagination i s soon again at work. She f e e l s her sus- picions are e n t i r e l y j u s t i f i e d when she sees the Colonel thoughtfully and q u i e t l y pacing the drawing room: " i t was the a i r and attitude of a Montoni!" (NA, 1168) Her imagination delves further: perhaps he didn't murder his wife, perhaps she s t i l l l i v e s , imprisoned i n a c e l l somewhere i n the AbbeyI It i s not u n t i l she f i n a l l y has an opportun- i t y to examine the neat, sunny, handsome room which Mrs. Tilney had occupied, and which could not possibly hold any mystery, that she r e a l i z e s the f u l l extent of her foolishness. And when Henry, accident- a l l y meeting her on her way to her room and suspecting what she has been doing, gives her the facts of his mother's i l l n e s s and of his father's attachment to her, "the visions of romance were over. . . . Most grievously was she humbled" (NA, 1175). Her next step i s to understand the cause of her f o l l y : It had been a l l a voluntary, self-created delusion, each t r i f l i n g circumstance receiving importance from an imagination resolved on alarm, and every thing forced to bend to one purpose by a mind which, before she entered the Abbey, had been craving to be frightened. (NA, 1175. My i t a l i c s ) When Henry asks her, "'Does our education prepare us for such a t r o c i t i e s ? ' " (NA, 1175) he i s unwittingly posing a r h e t o r i c a l ques- t i o n . Catherine's education, or lack of i t , has p e r f e c t l y prepared her to blur the d i s t i n c t i o n between l i t e r a t u r e and l i f e . But now, f u l l y aware of her mistake, she makes rapid progress toward a truer v i s i o n of the world around her and also toward a greater s o c i a l awareness. She i s prepared to admit that "some s l i g h t imperfection" (NA, 1176) might conceivably exist even i n Henry and Eleanor, and that Coloney Tilney may be somewhat disagreeable without being an u t t e r v i l l a i n . More important, when the Colonel so unreasonably orders her to leave Northanger, "her anxiety had foundation i n f a c t , her fears i n p r o b a b i l i t y . . . ." (NA, 1192) and the dark room, the high wind and the strange noises a l l go unnoticed. Catherine i s no longer a Gothic heroine. By f i n a l l y seeing herself c l e a r l y i n r e l a - t i o n to her experience, she has overcome a major obstacle. The d i f f i c u l t i e s facing Emma before she can know the truth about herself are, l i k e those of Catherine, the r e s u l t of an over- active imagination and an underactive i n t e l l e c t . Miss Taylor, as we have already seen ( i n Chapter III) has allowed her to do exactly as she pleased, with the r e s u l t that, as Mr. Knightley observes, "'She w i l l never submit to anything requiring industry and patience, and a subjection of the fancy to the understanding'" (E, 783. My i t a l i c s ) . 70. Even Emma's own decision to improve Harriet Smith's mind by reading and discussion r e s u l t s only i n good intentions, for " i t was much easier to chat than to study; much pleasanter to l e t her imagination range and work at Harriet's fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge her comprehension, or exercise i t on sober facts . . . . (E, 803) Unlike Catherine, whose extremely limited s o c i a l c i r c l e (we hear only of Mrs. Allen) may have influenced her to indulge i n romantic f i c t i o n , Emma as mistress of H a r t f i e l d has a comparatively wide acquaintance. ; She i s not, therefore, tempted to direct her imagination toward l i t e r - ature ( p a r t i c u l a r l y since her only interest i n books i s t h e i r appearance on a reading l i s t ) but chooses instead to l e t i t play with the l i v e s of those around her. With "a d i s p o s i t i o n to think a l i t t l e too well of h e r s e l f " (E, 763), she l i k e s to manoeuvre people and to f e e l she i s c o n t r o l l i n g their destinies; she considers herself e s p e c i a l l y adept i n the f i e l d of matchmaking which i s , to her, "'the greatest amusement i n the world!'" (£, 767) Even when she i s only a spectator, she t r i e s to take credit for influence; she boasts, for instance, of her success i n promoting the match betwen Miss Taylor and Mr. Weston, i n spite of Mr. Knightley's contention that "'success supposes endeavour. . . . You made a lucky guess;.and that i s a l l that can be s a i d ' " (E, 768). At t h e i r f i r s t meeting, she engages to manage Harriet's future—and Harriet herself: She would notice her; she would improve her; she would detach her from her bad acquaintances, and introduce her into good society; she would form her opinions and her manners. It would be an interesting, and c e r t a i n l y a very kind undertaking; highly becoming her own s i t u - ation i n l i f e , her l e i s u r e , and powers. (E, 775) When her plans for Harriet and Mr. Elton miscarry (because Mr. Elton i s a c t u a l l y courting her!) she i s deeply humiliated and " . . . the 71 sight of Harriet's tears made her think that she should never be i n charity with herself again" (E, 848). Frank Churchill's rescue of Harriet from the gypsies, however, immediately sets her imagination working on another match for her protegee: Such an adventure as t h i s . . . could hardly f a i l of suggesting cer- t a i n ideas to the coldest heart and the steadiest brain. So Emma thought, at l e a s t . Could a l i n g u i s t , could a grammarian, could even a mathematician have seen what she did . . . without f e e l i n g that circumstances had been at work to make them p e c u l i a r l y i n t e r e s t i n g to each other? How much more must an imaginist, l i k e herself, be on f i r e with speculation and foresight? (E, 966-967. My i t a l i c s ) And so the comedy i s enriched: because, l i k e Catherine Morland, although she r e a l i z e s her errors each step of the way, she learns nothing from them. She does decide not to interfere with Harriet and Frank, but f e e l s "there could be no harm i n a scheme, a mere passive scheme" (E, 967). While taking the precaution of not mentioning names and of warning Harriet of a l l the d i f f i c u l t i e s , however, she cannot r e f r a i n from encouraging her by adding, *". . . but yet, Harriet, more wonderful things have taken place: there have been matches of greater d i s p a r i t y ' " (E, 971). Much as Emma would l i k e to manage Jane Fairfax's l i f e , she can only "lament that Highbury afforded no young man worthy of giving her independence—nobody that she could wish to scheme about for her" (E, 863). But her imagination i s not so e a s i l y subdued. With no evidence whatever except the a r r i v a l of a piano for Jane, she conjures up an attachment between Jane and Mr. Dixon*-and incautiously confides her assumption to Frank C h u r c h i l l . Naturally she i s distressed when she hears of Frank's long-standing engagement with Jane, but she blames them for their secrecy rather than herself for her imprudence. It i s not u n t i l she learns that Harriet's sights are set not on Frank but on Mr. Knightley—not, i n f a c t , u n t i l she r e a l i z e s the match she has always, unconsciously, wanted for herself i s threatened ("How l i t t l e do we know our thoughts—our r e f l e x actions indeed, yes; but our r e f l e x r e f l e c t i o n s ! " ) - - t h a t she f i n a l l y sees herself i n her true l i g h t and, at the same time, exhibits the s o c i a l awareness which she has always lacked: With insufferable vanity had she believed herself i n the secret of everybody's feelings; with unpardonable arrogance proposed _to arrange everybody's destiny. She was proved to have been universally mis- taken; and she had not quite done n o t h i n g — f o r she had done mischief. (E, 1016. My i t a l i c s ) Like Catherine, after undergoing the f u l l humiliation she has brought upon herself, she relinquishes her world of fancy for a world of f a c t . As she forces herself to face a lonely, dismal f u t u r e — a v i r t u - a l l y deserted H a r t f i e l d , the Westons occupied with t h e i r baby, Frank and Jane gone and, worst of a l l , Mr. Knightley married to H a r r i e t — she does not allow her imagination to r e l i e v e the darkness of the prospect. The only comfort she permits herself i s to be found i n the resolution of her own better conduct, and the hope that, however i n f e r i o r i n s p i r i t and gaiety might be the following and every future winter of her l i f e to the past, i t would yet f i n d her more r a t i o n a l , more acquainted with herself, and leave her less to regret when i t were gone. "717 1022. My i t a l i c s ) Emma no longer sees herself as a kind of dea ex machina. She has triumphed over her impediment to an accurate self-concept and i s well on her way to a true v i s i o n of l i f e . The self-concepts of Catherine and Emma, f a u l t y as they are, do not constitute nearly so great an obstacle to s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n as does the concept of s e l f as a romantic heroine. For one thing, 73 although t h e i r imaginations are out of hand, t h e i r emotions are i n - volved to a comparatively l i m i t e d degree: Catherine exhibits mainly self-induced fear while Emma*s feelings are almost e n t i r e l y vicarious. On the other hand, the g i r l who thinks of herself as a romantic heroine i s a creature of emotion; she, too, has an exaggerated imagination, but she uses i t almost exclusively to reinforce the ex- cessive s e n s i b i l i t i e s which she prides herself on possessing to an i n f i n i t e degree. Since her emotions dominate every area of her l i f e , the operation of her c r i t i c a l faculty remains at an absolute minimum. Unfortunately, her romantic fantasies center around love and mar- r i a g e — t h e sine qua non of her existence—and she thus becomes the " i d e a l woman" of the old society: Men, for whom we are t o l d women were made, haye too much occupied the thoughts of women; and t h i s association has so entangled love with a l l t h e i r motives of action; and . . . having been s o l e l y employed either to prepare themselves to excite love, or actually putting t h e i r lessons i n practice, they cannot l i v e without love.^ Although she thinks of herself as a highly complex, sensitive creature, she i s — i n her emotionalism, p a s s i v i t y and dependence on the male— just the kind of malleable object her society wishes her to be. The obstructing characters, of course, try to impose t h i s self-concept on a l l women and go out of t h e i r way to reinforce i t during courtship because, as we s h a l l see i n a subsequent chapter, the entanglement of such a self-concept with the d i f f i c u l t i e s surrounding courtship r e - s u l t s i n an almost insurmountable obstacle to the establishment of a new and i d e a l society which i s the goal of the comic action. I f a character i s comic i n proportion to his lack of s e l f - knowledge, then "the romantic heroine" i s the most comic of a l l . Her uninhibited view of h e r s e l f — a n d we can be sure Marianne Dashwood 7k holds such a view, although she does not admit i t so f r a n k l y — i s expressed by Laura i n Love and Freindship: In my Mind, every Virtue that could adorn i t was centered; i t was the Rendez-vous of every good Quality and of every noble sentiment. A s e n s i b i l i t y too tremblingly a l i v e to every a f f l i c t i o n of my Freinds, my Acquaintance and p a r t i c u l a r l y to every a f f l i c t i o n of my own, was my only f a u l t , i f a f a u l t i t could be called.3 Isabella, i n Northanger Abbey, adds a further dimension to the con- cept : "When once my affections are placed, i t i s not i n the power of any- thing to change them. But I believe my feelings are stronger than anybody's; I am sure they are too strong for my own peace . . . ." (NA, 1116) And Lady Catherine de Bourgh suggests a superannuated romantic hero- ine when she contends, "'I believe nobody feels the loss of friends so much as I do'" (PP, 357). It i s obvious that the vanity (always a prime target of the comic s p i r i t ) inherent i n t h i s kind of s e l f - deception heightens the comedy by increasing the size of the .obstacle to be overcome. In Sense and S e n s i b i l i t y , Colonel Brandon remarks to E l i n o r , "'Your s i s t e r , I understand, does not approve of second attachments,'" to which E l i n o r r e p l i e s , "'No . . . her opinions are a l l romantic'" (SS, 33). We know very l i t t l e of Marianne's formal education, except that she:, has become fond of Cowper and Scott and plays the piano rather well; c e r t a i n l y i t has not been demanding enough to absorb her best q u a l i t i e s — h e r cleverness, eagerness and enthusiasm—and r e d i r e c t them to some constructive a c t i v i t y . They are, instead, driven inward and transmuted into that inordinate s e n s i b i l i t y which, as we have seen ( i n Chapter I I ) , her mother values, cherishes and encourages. The extent to which the r a t i o n a l processes of these two women are 75 s h o r t - c i r c u i t e d by t h e i r emotions i s revealed by E l i n o r who "knew that what Marianne and her mother conjectured one moment, they believed the next--that with them, to wish was to hope, and to hope was to expect" (SS, 1 2 ) . To Marianne, the romantic heroine par excellence, her ex- treme s e n s i b i l i t y i s her most precious possession and she constantly underlines i t s r a r i t y with great pride. She remarks that E l i n o r , on q u i t t i n g Norland, " ' c r i e d not as I did'" (SS, 23) and, l a t e r , as she grieves for.the dead leaves at her former home, declares, "'. . . my feelings are not often shared, not often understood. But sometimes [ r e f e r r i n g to Willoughby] they are'" (SS, 5 3 ) . To her, the strength of an emotion may be measured by the i n t e n s i t y of i t s outward expres- sion: "the business of self-command she s e t t l e d very e a s i l y ; with strong affections i t was impossible, with calm ones i t could have no merit" (SS, 6 2 ) . Her "romantic opinions" also place an undue stress on appearance. Because Edward Ferrars i s not handsome, she i s con- vinced he must lack the inner q u a l i t i e s necessary to attract E l i n o r : '*His eyes want a l l that s p i r i t , that f i r e , which at once announce v i r t u e and i n t e l l i g e n c e ' " (SS, 1 0 ) . Referring to Colonel Brandon, she asserts, "'•• . . t h i r t y - f i v e has nothing to do with matrimony'" (SS, 2 2 ) . And, on E l i n o r ' s suggestion that a more mature woman might not agree, she exclaims, "'A woman of seven-and-twenty . . . can never hope to f e e l or i n s p i r e a f f e c t i o n again . . . .*" (SS, 22) She subscribes unconditionally to the romantic i d e a l of "togetherness": '"I could not be happy with a man whose taste did not i n every point coincide with my own. He must enter into a l l my feelings; the same books, the same music must charm us both'" (SS, 1 0 ) . She deplores the calmness with which Edward reads Cowper, "'those b e a u t i f u l l i n e s which have frequently almost driven me w i l d " 1 (SS, 1 0 )~a revealing comment, i n c i d e n t a l l y , on the q u a l i t y of her formal education! In the best romantic t r a d i t i o n , she discounts E l i n o r ' s contention that wealth i s a contributing factor to happiness; she i s quite w i l l i n g to s e t t l e for a mere "competence" and yet i t turns out that her "competence" i s twice the sum of E l i n o r ' s "wealth" (SS, 54). Marianne's interaction with Willoughby—a man who endorses society's concept of the " i d e a l woman"—will be discussed i n a subsequent chapter. For present pur- poses i t w i l l s u f f i c e to say that t h e i r association at Barton only increases her lack of s o c i a l awareness; i n t h e i r complete preoccupa- t i o n with each other, she i s as g u i l t y as he of " s l i g h t i n g too e a s i l y the forms of worldly propriety" (SS, 29). After Willoughby leaves, she thinks of no one but herself. Her indulgence of her sorrow be- comes emotional exhibitionism: She was without any power, because she was without any desire of command over herself. . . . giving pain every moment to her mother and s i s t e r s , and forbidding a l l attempt at consolation from either, (ss;, 49) Even a f t e r the storm has subsided and she i s temporarily refreshed by Edward's v i s i t , her lack of "general c i v i l i t y " and her r e f u s a l to be more attentive to their acquaintance are s t i l l deeply disturbing to E l i n o r (SS, 56). En route to London, with prospects of happiness ahead, she ignores both E l i n o r and Mrs. Jennings and "sat i n silence almost a l l the way, wrapt i n her own meditations, and scarcely ever v o l u n t a r i l y speaking" (SS, 94). U n t i l she reaches London she i s a t r u l y comic figure, not only because of her grossly inaccurate s e l f - concept, but also because of the vanity she exhibits i n her self-conscious flaunting of her s e n s i b i l i t i e s . When she begins her long process of disillusionment, however, tragic implications begin to emerge: our sympathy i s evoked and we become more involved with 77 her than with the group around her. We cannot laugh at her anguish when she f i r s t confronts Willoughby or when, later, she receives his letter. (At this point we must remind ourselves that comedy and tragedy are permitted to interplay within the comic form and admit that here, for a while, tragedy i s predominant.) Unlike Catherine and Emma, Marianne has such a long way to go: because of her complete emotional involvement she has cut herself off from any rational con- tact; she has no previous experience of insight by the light of which she can retrace her steps. And Willoughby's outright rejection of her serves only to reinforce her ideal of " f a l l i n g a sacrifice to an i r - resistible passion" (SS, 227). It is not until Elinor t e l l s her of Edward's forthcoming marriage and of the distress she herself has suffered for many months that Marianne takes her f i r s t halting step toward self-knowledge: "*0h! Elinor . . . you have made me hate myself for ever. How barbarous have I been to you!" (SS, 157) But, as she admits later, feeling she i s the greater sufferer of the two, she s t i l l leaves to Elinor the discharge of a l l their social obligations. Only when she faces death during her illness does she become aware of the f u l l extent of her self-deception: ". . . I saw in my own behaviour . . • nothing but a series of imprud- ence toward myself, and want of kindness to others. I saw that my own feelings had prepared my sufferings. . . . I cannot express my own abhorrence of myself. Whenever I looked towards the past, I saw some duty neglected, or some f a i l i n g indulged . . . . I nave laid down my plan . . . my feelings shall be governed and my temper improved." U3S, 206-207. My i t a l i c s ) Despite the near-tragedy which befalls Marianne, however, the comic i s triumphant: "Marianne Dashwood was born to an extraordinary fate. She was born to discover the falsehood of her own opinions, and to counteract, by her conduct, her most favourite maxims"(SS, 227). 78 Marianne i s no longer a romantic heroine. After a p a r t i c u l a r l y ardu- ous struggle, she i s able to abandon that self-concept which i s the greatest impediment to a woman's s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n . , As indicated e a r l i e r i n t h i s chapter, some of Jane Austen's comic heroines are not hindered by a f a l s e view of themselves. E l i n o r Dashwood, whose behaviour i s consistently contrasted with that of Marianne, possesses from the s t a r t "a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment" (SS, 3) which never forsake her and which permit her, even i n the midst of her distress over Edward, to f u l f i l her s o c i a l commitments. Because Fanny Price i s so meek, she may seem to conform to the t r a d i t i o n a l concept of the i d e a l woman—until we remember the quiet strength of mind with which she r e s i s t s pressure to act against her better judgment, either by taking part i n the t h e a t r i c a l s at Mansfield Park or by consenting to accept Henry Crawford's attentions; i n direct contrast to J u l i a and Maria Bertram who, i n spite of t h e i r apparent self-assurance, are a v a r i a t i o n of the romantic heroine type, she i s never mistaken, never deceived. Anne E l l i o t s , who, "at seven-and-twenty, thought very d i f f e r e n t l y from what she had been made to think at nineteen" (P, 1226), could very e a s i l y — r e g r e t t i n g her l o s t youth—indulge i n the s e l f - p i t y of the romantic heroine, yet shows not the s l i g h t e s t i n c l i n a t i o n to do so. Among the lesser comic heroines we cannot overlook Eleanor Tilney who, confined to Northanger with her tyrannical father most of the time, might be expected to resort to Cinderella-type fantasies: that she does not, i s indicated by the singular lack of s e l f - consciousness with which she i s able to engage i n the s o c i a l functions at Bath. Jane Fairfax, whose straitened circumstances might have led her to escape into the realm of imagination, r e l i e s firmly on her 79 reason: parrying Frank Churchill's hints about the o r i g i n of her piano, she says~and her words are an unconscious c r i t i c i s m of Emma— ' " T i l l I have a l e t t e r from Colonel Campbell . . . I can imagine nothing, with any confidence. It must be a l l conjecture'" E, 909- 910. My i t a l i c s ) . That the more accurate self-concepts of a l l these g i r l s i s due to their better education i s highly probable. Somewhere between the self-deceived and the enlightened comic heroines l i e s Elizabeth Bennet. Her only error seems to be an over- confidence i n f i r s t impressions: she i s r i g h t about almost everyone but she i s t o t a l l y wrong about Wickham and Darcy. That she considers t h i s error to be of no inconsiderable magnitude i s obvious from her thoughts as she reads and re-reads Darcy's l e t t e r of explanation: "How humiliating i s t h i s discovery! . . . Had I been i n love, I could not have been more wretchedly b l i n d . But vanity, not love, has been my f o l l y . Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. T i l l this moment I never knew myself." (PP, 356. My i t a l i c s ) Certainly Elizabeth f e e l s she has entertained a false self-concept I Perhaps we tend to see her as more discerning than she r e a l l y i s be- cause of the quickness with which she overcomes t h i s obstacle and the s k i l l with which she avoids any further error. Moreover, anyone with such a d e l i g h t f u l sense of humour (a t r a i t unknown to the roman- t i c heroine) cannot labour under a false self-concept for long. When, f o r instance, she overhears Darcy say of her, "'She i s tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me'" (PP, 236), she i s not crushed but, on the contrary, " t o l d the story . . . with great s p i r i t among her friends; for she had a l i v e l y , p l a y f u l d i s p o s i t i o n , which delighted i n anything r i d i c u l o u s " (PP, 236). Even Jane i s closer to the p e r i - phery of the realm of romance than Elizabeth; her sadness over 80 Bingley's departure induces her aunt to say to Elizabeth, " ' I t had better have happened to you, Lizzy; you would have laughed yourself out of i t sooner"' (PP, 316). Although Mr. Bennet, as a father, leaves much to be desired, his influence on Elizabeth, i n which both his strengths and his weaknesses are revealed, has enabled her to overcome any obstacle with comparative ease. It should be pointed out that the comic heroine, i n her quest for s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n , must face a problem hardly ever encountered by the comic hero. Although he too must fight the a r b i t r a r y laws of an i n f l e x i b l e society and, i n the process, may have to reach a greater degree of self-awareness, he i s at least able to s t a r t out equipped with that society's own weapons of education and enlighten- ment: from the outset, he can be himself. On the other hand, the comic heroine, even i f she has an adequate self-concept, i s always one step removed from r e a l i t y because almost nothing i s known about her r e a l , her e s s e n t i a l nature: "what i s now c a l l e d the nature of women i s an eminently a r t i f i c i a l t h i n g — t h e r e s u l t of forced repres- sion i n some directions, unnatural stimulation i n others." Because t h e i r i n t e l l e c t has been repressed and their emotions stimulated, a l l women—not only the Mariannes but also the E l i n o r s - — l i v e more i n t h e i r emotions than do men. As Anne E l l i o t , claiming that an unhappy love a f f a i r has a more l a s t i n g e f f e c t on a woman than on a man, points out to Captain H a r v i l l e : "We l i v e at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us. You are forced on exertion. You have always a profession, pursuits, business of some sort or other, to take you back into the world immediately . . . ." (P, 1352) 81 That any of the comic heroines can, under the circumstances, attain and then preserve "a true over a false vision of l i f e " i s indeed remarkable. And i f we tend to feel that some of them seem to overcom- pensate for the pull of their emotions by displaying an inordinate amount of self-control and sometimes acting more rationally than the situation warrants, i t could be that we are reflecting the prejudices of a society which s t i l l looks askance at the rational woman. Perhaps we too must learn that the heroines of comedy are like women of the world, not necessarily heartless from being clear-sighted; they seem so to the sentimentally reared, only for the reason that they use their wits, and are not wandering vessels crying for a captain or a pilot.6 82 NOTES Samuel Butler, The Way of A l l Flesh (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, I960), p. 22. Wollstonecraft, Rights of Woman, p. 183. 3 Jane Austen, "Love and Freindship," i n Minor Works, Vol. VI of Works, ed. R. W. Chapman (London: Oxford Univ. Press, 1958) p. 78. A l l subsequent references to "Love and Freindship" w i l l be to t h i s e d i t i o n . if Langer, Feeling and Form, p. 334. ^ M i l l , The Subjection of Women, p. kS. ^Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy, p. 15* 83 CHAPTER V THE ILLUSION OF INDEPENDENCE The general opinion of men i s supposed to be, that the natural vocation of a woman i s that of a wife and mother. I say, i s supposed to be, because, judging from a c t s — f r o m the whole of the present constitution of society—one might i n f e r that t h e i r opinion was the direct contrary. — J . S. M i l l , The Subjection of Women Armed with a reasonably accurate self-concept and the happy confidence which often accompanies i t , the comic heroine might be tempted to think that she can f u l f i l her destiny i n whatever way she chooses. But, with the exception of Emma Woodhouse, there i s no posi- t i v e evidence that she i s so tempted. M l her l i f e , the obstructing characters have been d i r e c t i n g t h e i r entire e f f o r t s towards convincing her that she can f i n d fulfilment i n one role o n l y — t h e role for which God and nature intended h e r — t h a t of wife and mother. They would seem to protest too much. By refusing to prepare women for any other way of l i f e , they give r i s e to the suspicion that they are consciously or unconsciously a f r a i d that, i f given any choice whatsoever, many women would express their deep d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n with t h e i r l o t by open r e b e l l i o n against or r e f u s a l to enter into the married state. As M i l l points out, the exertion of.such tremendous pressures to keep women i n a state of bondage i s a t a c i t admission that men do not be- l i e v e the vocation of wife and mother i s "natural" to a woman but do i n fact believe the exact opposite; and the doctrine to which they a c t u a l l y subscribe i s , " " I t i s necessary to society that women should marry and produce children. They w i l l not do so unless they are 84 compelled. Therefore i t i s necessary to compel them.1""'' The same kind of argument was used, M i l l adds, to defend the practice of slav- ery i n the American cotton f i e l d s and impressment into the B r i t i s h 2 navy. And i f we think that the pressures to which women have been subjected were a phenomenon peculiar only to Jane Austen's and e a r l i e r s o c i e t i e s , we should look to our own mass media and t h e i r c o n s i s t e n t — and, i n c i d e n t a l l y , increasingly s u c c e s s f u l — e f f o r t s to persuade women to return to t h e i r "natural" role by keeping up the pretense that a c e r t a i n , very s p e c i a l talent, a very s p e c i a l and wholly feminine t a l e n t , i s required to make f l o o r s shine and to keep laundry white. Even today, "the feminine mystique says that the highest value and the only commitment for women i s the f u l f i l l m e n t of their own feminin- 3 i t y . " —which, of course, means giving up any claim for recognition as an i n d i v i d u a l and l i v i n g only through t h e i r husbands and children. But whereas the women of today have the weapons, i f they choose to use them, to combat t h i s kind of propaganda, to the women of Jane Austen's day i t represented a v i r t u a l l y insurmountable obstacle, with deep s o c i a l , economic and i n t e l l e c t u a l implications. Although Jane Austen's comic heroines are allowed to engage i n r e l a t i v e l y free s o c i a l intercourse with other young people, their movements are almost completely r e s t r i c t e d td the narrow, d u l l routine of home and neighborhood. The l i m i t e d view of the world which they are bound to acquire i s parodied as early as Love and Freindship: "Isabel had seen the World. She had passed 2 Years a t one of the f i r s t Boarding-schools i n London; had spent a fortnight i n Bath and had supped one night i n Southampton" (LF, 78). The same tone i s maintained i n Northanger Abbey when Catherine, supervised by the Aliens, i s "about to be launched into a l l the d i f f i c u l t i e s and 85 dangers of a s i x weeks* residence i n Bath" (NA, 1066). But parody gives way to realism when Catherine, i n Bath, unwittingly reveals to Henry Tilney the emptiness of her existence at home: "'I walk about here, and so I do there; but here I see a variety of people i n every s t r e e t , and there I can only go and c a l l on Mr6. A l l e n * " (NA, 1104). In reply, Henry s u c c i n c t l y sums up the l i m i t a t i o n s imposed on most women of the day: "'What a picture of i n t e l l e c t u a l poverty! However, when you sink: into t h i s abyss again, you w i l l have more to say. You w i l l be able to t a l k of Bath, and of a l l that you did here'" (NA.1103). She w i l l indeed but, i r o n i c a l l y , the abyss to which she returns w i l l be even deeper because by then she w i l l have relinquished the f i c t i o n - a l world which has formerly r e l i e v e d her boredom. Eleanor Tilney's l i f e , i f anything, i s more confined; apart from her occasional v i s i t s to Bath, i t consists of the "hours of companionship, u t i l i t y , and patient endurance" (NA, 1206) she must devote to her capricious father. Fanny Price's v i s i t to Portsmouth, the Dashwood g i r l s * sojourn i n London with Mrs. Jennings, Elizabeth Bennet's holiday with the G a r d i n e r s — a l l are considered major and almost unprecedented events i n the l i v e s of the comic heroines. Persuading her husband that his mother and s i s t e r s need no f i n a n c i a l assistance, Mrs. John Dashwood represents the attitude of her society towards the s o c i a l a c t i v i t i e s of the single woman: "They w i l l l i v e so cheap! Their housekeeping w i l l be nothing at a l l . They w i l l have no carriage, no horses, and hardly any servants; they w i l l keep no company, and can have no expenses of any kind!'" (SS, 7) (Substantially the same argument i s used today to j u s t i f y lower s a l a r i e s for women than for men.) And we must always remember that 86 Emma Woodhouse, "the heiress of t h i r t y thousand pounds" (E, 845), i s "'very, very seldom . . . ever two hours from H a r t f i e l d ' " (E, 954). Since s o c i a l r e s t r i c t i o n s i n themselves are r a r e l y stringent enough to force women into marriage, the obstructing influences are always ready with their b i g guns—economic pressures. In Jane Austen's society, there was simply no way i n which a young woman could achieve economic independence on her own. By t h i s time, the r i s e of i n d u s t r i - alism had gradually abolished the economic niche of the single woman i n the household just as, two hundred and f i f t y years e a r l i e r , the d i s s o l u t i o n of the monasteries had closed the door to the sanctuary 5 she had once been able to f i n d i n r e l i g i o u s orders. With no useful purpose to f u l f i l , with only a s u p e r f i c i a l education, and neither the t r a i n i n g nor the opportunity for lucrative employment, the unmarried gentlewoman had now to choose between working for a pittance as a governess or accepting the status of a family dependent. Because of her almost inevitable poverty, she soon became a much-maligned figure: "the Puritan-commercial organization of society deprived her of every opportunity for productive a c t i v i t y , and then found f a u l t with her because she was unproductive."^ And so, i n the .eighteenth century, "the old maid" became a r i d i c u l o u s i f not frankly odious l i t e r a r y 7 caricature: Moll Flanders, r e f l e c t i n g Defoe's attitude, speaks of g "that f r i g h t f u l state of l i f e c a l l e d an old maid"; F i e l d i n g , as evidenced i n his treatment of Bridget Allworthy and Mrs. Western, saw the single woman as a f a r c i c a l and completely unsympathetic figure. And the general attitude of Jane Austen's day i s voiced by Harriet Smith as she says to Emma, who has just assured her she w i l l never be l i k e Miss Bates, "'But s t i l l , you w i l l be an old maid—and that's so dreadful!'" (E, 8l4) While most of her society shared t h i s view, Jane Austen was the f i r s t writer to break t r a d i t i o n by presenting an.' 9 old maid without r i d i c u l e and with compassion. Miss Bates "enjoyed a most uncommon degree of popularity for a woman neither young, hand- some, r i c h , nor married" (E, 773). L i v i n g i n very reduced circumstances, devoting herself almost e n t i r e l y to the care of her aged mother, yet never indulging i n s e l f - p i t y , . . . she was a happy woman, and a woman whom no one named without good-will.. . . [she] thought herself a most fortunate creature, and surrounded with blessings i n such an excellent mother, and so many good neighbors and friends, and a home that wanted for nothing. (E, 773) The underlying pathos of her s i t u a t i o n , however, and that of a l l old maids l i k e her, i s evident i n her gratitude to friends for their s o c i a l and economic favours—and p a r t i c u l a r l y i n her v u l n e r a b i l i t y , because she i s poor and harmless, to i n s u l t s such as Emma's i n the Box H i l l incident. No one but Miss Bates herself, i t would seem, could regard her s i t u a t i o n with anything but p i t y . And yet, compared to most middle-aged single women, she i s fortunate. As Emma points out, "'. . . a very narrow income has a tendency to contract the mind, and sour the temper*"(E, 8 l 4 ) . But, because of her "universal good- w i l l and contented temper" (E, 773), t h i s tendency i s unknown to Miss Bates. And so, i f our comic heroines do not capitulate to marriage, and i f they become p o o r — a very r e a l p o s s i b i l i t y for a l l of them ex- cept Emma—a l i f e l i k e that of Miss Bates i s the best they can a n t i c i p a t e . Of t h i s the obstructing influences make very sure. It i s extraordinary that, with the exception of Emma, Jane Austen's comic heroines do not seem to consider, much less worry about, the alternatives to t h e i r not marrying. That their conditioning has been so successful as to convince them that they w i l l "just naturally marry" i s hardly conceivable—particularly in the case of those who are emotionally committed to men who seem unavailable. The answer must be that their common possession of three inestimable q u a l i t i e s — youth and beauty and hope—has given them the i l l u s i o n of freedom from a state which i s too far in the future to constitute a tangible threat. We must except, of course, two of the minor comic heroines: Jane Fairfax who has to relinquish hope because she must start to earn her l i v i n g now, and Charlotte Lucas who i s twenty-seven and plain. These two g i r l s realize early what the major comic heroines w i l l , theoretically at least, have to recognize sooner or later—that the obstacles to their achieving the status of independent human beings are irremovable. Although "brought up for educating others" (E, 860), Jane Fairfax, as we have already seen (in Chapter III) i s restricted to earning her l i v i n g as a governess. A l l she can hope for i s a mere subsistence. And she i s quite aware that her social and intellectual deprivations w i l l be no less than her economic: With the fortitude of a devoted novitiate, she had resolved at one- and-twenty to complete the sacrifice, and retire from a l l the pleasures of l i f e , of rational intercourse, equal society, peace and hope, to penance and mortification for ever. (E, 861) Obviously, Jane has no illusions whatever about the "'governess- trade,*" which she compares with the slave-trade—"'widely different, certainly, as to the guilt of those who carry i t on; but as to the greater misery of the victims, I do not know where i t l i e s ' " (E, 9^6). When Mrs. Elton assures her that she w i l l be "'delightfully, honour- ably, and comfortably settled,'" Jane, far from deceived, replies, "'You may well class the delight, the honour, and the comfort of such 89 a situation together . . . they are pretty sure to be equal . . . .'" (E, 946-9^7) B r i l l i a n t , clear-sighted, capable, yet condemned to a l i f e of frustration, f u t i l i t y and waste by a society which prohibits her realizing her truly great potential, she i s the only comic hero- ine actively to seek independence; at the same time, before she takes her f i r s t steps toward i t , she knows that any real independence for her i s quite impossible. It i s understandable how economic pressures such as this could force a g i r l like Charlotte Lucas, for instance, into marriage. Per- haps, as the daughter of Sir William Lucas, she could not with propriety accept a position as a governess; or perhaps, and much more l i k e l y , she i s unwilling to face the miseries involved, especially when she i s pretty well assured they would eventually end in a depend- ent spinsterhood. In any event, she feels she i s choosing the least of several evils in her decision to marry Mr. Collins: Without thinking highly either of men or of matrimony, marriage had always been her object; i t was the only honourable provision for well- educated young women of small fortune, and however uncertain of giving happiness, must be their pleasantest preservative from want. This preservative she had now obtained; and at the age of twenty-seven, without having ever been handsome, she f e l t a l l the good luck of i t . (PP, 306. My i t a l i c s ) 'All the good luck of i t ! " That Charlotte can actually believe this, knowing f u l l well that Mr. Collins "was neither sensible nor agree- able; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary" (PP, 3 0 6 ) , testifies to her extreme aversion to the alter- natives. To condemn Charlotte, as we shall do in the next chapter, for compromising her sex by playing into the hands of a male egoist, i s one thing; to understand her problem and that of thousands of women like her who feel they must conform in order to survive, i s another. And, i n t h i s sense, Charlotte i s a r e a l i s t : 90 "I am not romantic, you know; I never was. I ask only a comfortable home; and considering Mr. C o l l i n s ' s character, connections, and s i t u - ation i n l i f e , I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him i s as f a i r as most people can boast on entering the marriage state." (PP, 307) She knows the s l i g h t degree of autonomy she w i l l a t t a i n i n a home with Mr. C o l l i n s i s b e t t e r — a t least., better for her--than eventual dependence on r e l a t i v e s and no autonomy at a l l . Free from the pressures which might force her into the "'governess-trade,'" an unwelcome marriage or dependence on others, Emma i s the only major comic heroine who does-not face a gigantic obstacle to independence. That she, who should have nothing to fear from spinsterhood, i s the only one to t a l k about i t , i s rather singular. She i s quite confident, of course, that a r i c h , f u l l l i f e awaits her as a single woman. As she reassures Harriet, ". . . 1 s h a l l not be a poor old maid; and i t i s poverty only which makes celibacy contemptible to a generous public ! A single woman with a very narrow income must be a r i d i c u l o u s , disagreeable old maid! . . . but a single woman of good fortune i s always respectable, and may be as sensible and pleasant as anybody else!" (E, 8l4) Up to a point she i s r i g h t : because of her wealth, the pejorative connotations of spinsterhood w i l l not attach to her. She does not r e a l i z e , however, that she i s doomed to s o c i a l , emotional and i n t e l - l e c t u a l poverty, i f she pursues a single course. Early i n the novel, the barrenness of the existence which conceivably awaits her i s indicated: . . . with a l l her advantages, natural and domestic, she was now [ a f t e r Miss Taylor's marriage] i n great danger of s u f f e r i n g from i n t e l l e c t u a l s o l i t u d e . She dearly loved her father, but he was no 9 1 companion for her. He could not meet her i n conversation, r a t i o n a l or p l a y f u l . (E, 764) While Mr. Woodhouse l i v e s , the conditioning of society--which decrees that the place of a single daughter i s with an aged p a r e n t — w i l l con- demn her to the multiple role of nurse, guardian and companion (the same r e l a t i o n s h i p , i r o n i c a l l y , i n which M - ± B S Bates stands to her mother) and hence to the inevitable and perpetual tediousness of "many a long October and November evening" (E, 764). After his death, she w i l l be emotionally l i m i t e d to her s i s t e r ' s family: "'l?here w i l l be enough of them, i n a l l p r o b a b i l i t y , to supply every sort of sensa- t i o n that declining l i f e can need. . . . My nephews and n i e c e s — I s h a l l often have a niece with me'" (E, 8l4). And, making no allowance for the tendency toward g a r r u l i t y which i s common among the middle- aged, she i s sure that she w i l l never "'bore people half so much about a l l the Knightleys together as she [ M i s e Bates} does about Jane F a i r f a x ' " (E, 815). Worst of a l l , however, w i l l be her i n t e l l e c t u a l l i m i t a t i o n s , of which she i s quite unaware: " ' I f I know myself, Harriet, mine i s an active, busy mind, with a great many independent resources; and I do not perceive why I should be more i n want of employment at f o r t y or f i f t y than one-and-twenty'" (E, 8l4). But we know she does not know h e r s e l f . She has no' ''independent resources': she has nothing with which to amuse herself but her imagination. With the f u l l con- fidence of youth, she asserts, "'Woman's usual occupations of eye, and hand, and mind, w i l l be as open to me then as they are now . . . . I f I draw l e s s , I s h a l l read more; i f I give up music, I s h a l l take to carpet-work 1" (E, 8l4). Unlike E l i n o r Dashwood, however, she has never taken her drawing seriously: she has a p o r t f o l i o of p o r t r a i t s but " . . . not one of them had ever been finished . . . ." (E, 787) . And, unlike Jane Fairfax, Anne E l l i o t and even Marianne Dashwood, she does not play the piano for her own amusement. That reading has never been one of her occupations we have already established. She i s faced, l i t e r a l l y , with the cramped world of Miss Bates which she deplores so vehemently, a world i n which neighborhood v i s i t s and l o c a l gossip comprise the main i n t e r e s t s . Her wealth w i l l ensure material comfort but i t w i l l not provide an escape from the mass of t r i v i a l i t i e s which constitute the narrow province assigned to women. And so, even to Emma, the v i s i o n of an i n t e r e s t i n g , challenging and s a t i s f y i n g independence i s only an i l l u s i o n . None of Jane Austen's comic heroines, then, can hope for the status of independent i n d i v i d u a l s , unhampered by the r e s t r i c t i o n s and pressures of a marriage-oriented society which scorns the "old maid" and which considers any marriage, no matter how bad, better than no marriage at a l l . Moreover, i f they were to remain single, t h e i r fate would be worse than that of Miss Bates other than economically because most of them are i n t e l l i g e n t enough to recognize and resent the denial of s e l f (which Miss Bates pleasantly accepts) i n their con- t i n u a l adaptation to the needs of o t h e r s — a denial, by the way, they would have to accept i n a conventional marriage. Their i n t e l l i g e n c e , then, i s a p o t e n t i a l handicap. In e f f e c t , the only type of woman who f i t s naturally into such a society i s the pretty, limited Harriet Smith, with her great s o c i a l and emotional f l e x i b i l i t y . Unlike most of our comic heroines who, we f e e l , would choose to remain single i f unable to marry the men of t h e i r choice, Harriet i s i n love with three d i f f e r e n t men i n the course of a few months; as Mr. Knightley remarks, "'. . . Harriet Smith i s a g i r l who w i l l marry somebody or other . . . .'" (E, 800) For the b r i l l i a n t , capable, emotionally mature woman, there seems to be no place at a l l . The inevitable con- c l u s i o n i s that the degree of adjustment a single woman can expect to make to such a society i s i n inverse r a t i o to her a b i l i t i e s and i n t e l l i g e n c e . Here, again, we have something "inert or stereotyped . . . on the surface of l i v i n g society . . . r i g i d i t y . . . clashing with the inner suppleness of l i f e , " 3 ' 0 which, i n spite of the tragic implications, must depend on "thoughtful laughter" for i t s removal. The contrast between Mrs. Churchill's importance i n the world and Jane Fairfax's struck her; one was everything, the other n o t h i n g — and she sat musing on the difference of woman's destiny . . . . (E, 997) Despite her seemingly flippant attitude toward her own future, Emma does speak with genuine concern i n the cause of unmarried women, e s p e c i a l l y i f they happen to be poor. And, through Emma, Jane Austen would seem to imply that i t ought to be possible for a woman to be h e r s e l f , whether married or not; i t ought to be possible for her to take a productive place i n society and thus contribute to i t s regen- eration other than only b i o l o g i c a l l y . Miss Bates, for instance, leads a far more useful l i f e i n terms of the general good than does Mrs. Elton. I f i t were feasible for Charlotte Lucas, who quite frankly does not think very highly "either of men or of matrimony" (PP, 306), to obtain a "'comfortable home'" without the burdensome appendage of Mr. C o l l i n s or any other man, she could conceivably lead an immensely s a t i s f y i n g single l i f e . (Lady Russell, a r i c h widow with no desire to remarry, could be an adumbration of the i n - dependent single woman Jane Austen seems to suggest; but, because Lady'Russell's character i s by no means f u l l y developed, this thought 94 cannot be pushed too far.) By implying that the unmarried woman i s not of necessity a burden on the community, Jane Austen i s moving counter to the usual comic hypothesis that an "old maid" i s a s o c i a l outcast because she i s incapable of furthering the physical regenera- t i o n of society. It i s the obstructing characters themselves, she would seem to say, who are g u i l t y of impeding the progress of society because of t h e i r denying a productive role to the single woman. For, although most women f i n d happiness and fulfilment i n t h e i r t r a d i t i o n - a l r o l e of wife and mother, many do not; many need a separate i d e n t i t y , and these represent an immense potential contribution to the community. Plato himself, from his usual highly tenable position, steadfastly maintained that a society which does not u t i l i z e the talents and a b i l i t i e s of i t s women i s l o s i n g half i t s manpower. By r e f u s i n g to recognize that a woman's freedom to be herself i s not only i n her own but also i n the public i n t e r e s t , the obstructing characters are indeed "congregating i n absurdities, planning short- sightedly, p l o t t i n g dementedly . . . [and v i o l a t i n g ^ the unwritten but perceptible laws binding them i n consideration one to another.^ To force a l l women into the same r o l e , whether they are suited for i t or not, constitutes not only a categorical denial of human rights but also a grave danger to the equilibrium of the group—an equilibrium which the comic s p i r i t must always s t r i v e to maintain. It i s maintained, of course, by permitting the comic heroine to f i n d s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n within the framework of an i d e a l marriage. Fortunately, she i s rescued from spinsterhood before she i s con- fronted with the deprivations of the single existence which otherwise would await her, before her d a i l y p u r s u i t s lose t h e i r importance and savor and become i r k s o m e — b e f o r e , i n e f f e c t , she i s r e a l l y conscious of the s i z e of the obstacle she can n e i t h e r overcome nor circumvent. Otherwise, she would be so i l l - e q u i p p e d to meet the f u r t h e r obstacles inherent i n c o u r t s h i p that she might enter i n t o a marriage of expedi- ence through sheer d e s p e r a t i o n — a n d thus, by her own hand, f r u s t r a t e the purpose of the comic a c t i o n . I t i s w e l l indeed that she s t i l l has her i l l u s i o n of independence, f o r 11. . . i t i s only on the standing-ground of a happy and independent c e l i b a c y that a woman can r e a l l y make a free choice i n marriage. To secure t h i s standing-ground, a p u r s u i t i s more needful than a pecuniary competence, f o r a l i f e without aim or object i s one which more than a l l others, goads a woman i n t o accepting any chance of a change."1 2 96 NOTES "̂The Subjection of Women, pp. 54-55. 2 Ibid., p. 55« ^Friedan, Mystique, p. 4 3 . Ian Watt, The Rise of the Novel: Studies i n Defoe, Richardson and F i e l d i n g (Berkeley & Los Angeles: Univ. of C a l i f o r n i a Press, 1 9 6 2 ) , p. 145. 5 Needham and Utter, Pamela's Daughters, pp. 222-223- Ibid., p. 223* 7Watt, p. 144. g Daniel Defoe, The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders (New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 19^9), p. 72. Q Needham and Utter, p. 241. "^Bergson, "Laughter, " p. 8 9 . ^Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 48. 12 Fraser's Magazine, 1862, as quoted i n Needham and Utter, Pamela's Daughters, p. 253- 97 CHAPTER VI THE CHALLENGE OF COURTSHIP But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine gentleman, and as i f women were a l l fine ladies, instead of rational creatures. [Mrs. Croft to Frederick Wentworth] —Jane Austen, Persuasion In the comic heroine's struggle for self-realization which, in Jane Austen's society, can be found only in the right kind of marriage, the period of courtship i s obviously crucial. The obstacles she must face, of course, are not new: they have shaped her education, in- fluenced her self-concept and closed a l l the avenues to independence. But in the area of courtship, where men and women meet as potential marriage partners, she is no longer a passive victim. She becomes an active participant in a social r i t e . She i s f i n a l l y confronted with a choice; and on her choice depends the direction the coming genera- tion w i l l take, whether toward the old bondage or a new freedom. As might be expected, the obstructing influences converge in this v i t a l area and bring to bear the f u l l weight of their combined power. In the interests of the old, established society, they must try to force her into the traditional pattern of courtship. This she must avoid at a l l costs: by so doing she w i l l not only open the way to a more ideal society but she w i l l also expose the driving forces behind the arbitrary laws which have decreed her subjugation—male egoism and sentimentality. Since the concept of male superiority has prevailed throughout countless generations, i t i s not surprising that most men remain egoists. But egoism i s , of course, just another form of self-deception 98 which must be constantly reinforced, particularly when i t i s based on the fallacious assumption that physical strength presupposes mental strength. And so the energies and talents of half the human race have been diverted to this tasks Women have served a l l these centuries as looking-glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice i t s natural size. • • • That serves to explain in part the necessity that women so often are to men. And i t serves to explain how restless they are under her criticism. . . . For i f she begins to t e l l the truth, the figure in the looking-glass shrinks; his fitness for l i f e i s diminished.1 Since the rational woman poses such a threat to the confidence of an egoist, i t i s in his own interest to prevent her evolution. He does not want a real woman but aspires to "the common male Egoist ideal of 2 a waxwork sex" —someone, something he can mould into whatever form pleases him most. (Pygmalion, as he appears in the Greek legend, could be seen as the archetypal egoist who, disliking ordinary women, sculptures out of ivory what to him i s the perfect woman, and then f a l l s in love with the a r t i f i c i a l creature he has created. In the Shavian version, a further dimension is given to the story in that "Pygmalion" rejects the woman he has formed when she tries to assume an identity of her own.) The qualities the egoist finds especially attractive are those ascribed to the romantic heroine, particularly "naivete, dependence, and meek adoration for the 'stronger sex.'"^ Not only has male egoism, then, prevented the development of women as individuals, but i t has also "led men to form a sentimental image of [them] that i s totally divorced from reality."^ Since these qualities which are so appealing to the egoist are not part of the natural character of a woman, she tends consciously or unconsciously to assume them. And, unfortunately, " . . . when women 99 5 conform to t h i s stereotype they become sentimentalists too." With no opportunity for a l i f e of her own and with complete s o c i a l and economic dependence on the male, however, i t i s extremely d i f f i c u l t for a woman not to adhere to the pattern which delights the source of a l l her amenities. Moreover, she has been conditioned since b i r t h to make herself a t t r a c t i v e to the male and now, when "meekness, submis- siveness, and resignation of a l l i n d i v i d u a l w i l l into the hands of a man [are represented] as an e s s e n t i a l part of sexual attractiveness," she w i l l not wish to r e l i n q u i s h her gains: Women are t o l d from their infancy, and taught by the example of t h e i r mothers, that a l i t t l e knowledge of human weakness, j u s t l y termed cunning, softness of temper, outward obedience, and a scrupulous atten- t i o n to a puerile kind of propriety, w i l l obtain for them the protection of man; and should they be b e a u t i f u l , everything else i s needless, for, at least, twenty years of t h e i r l i v e s . ' To warn them that they are s a c r i f i c i n g long-term freedom for short- term favours would indeed seem f u t i l e . And so, at t h i s point, a common f a l l a c y should be exposed. It i s too often assumed that, since a society which i s based on the sub- ordination of women i s always male-dominated, men alone are the obstructing characters who uphold the "absurd or i r r a t i o n a l law" which denies women's claim for recognition. On the contrary, those women who foster male egoism and sentimentalism by conforming to the unreal- i s t i c image men have prescribed for them are equally g u i l t y : they too are accepting and perpetuating the myth of female i n f e r i o r i t y . And "they are b l i n d to t h e i r i n t e r e s t s i n swelling the ranks of the g sentimentalists" , because they thus become obstacles to their own s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n . 100 Closely connected with male egoism and male and female s e n t i - mentalism i s the subtle r e v e r s a l of male and female r o l e s which l i e s at the heart of the t r a d i t i o n a l pattern of courtship. This shrewd sleight-of-hand i s , of course, a derivative of the old courtly love convention to which, i n c i d e n t a l l y , most of the a r t i f i c i a l i t y which per- vades the r e l a t i o n s between the sexes may be traced. In r e a l i t y , i t i s a concerted e f f o r t on the part of the obstructing characters to keep a woman permanently i n f e r i o r by placing her on a pedestal during court- ship, thus making her f e e l temporarily superior. And so another reason why the obstacle of inadequate education i s placed so f i r m l y i n the path of the comic heroine becomes apparent: unenlightened, she i s much more l i k e l y to f a l l victim to the hoax; to welcome naively the gallan- t r y i n the male which gives her a f a l s e , i d e a l i z e d picture of herself and, consequently, makes her less l i k e l y to rebel against the passive, i n f e r i o r role to which, as an object, she i s being condemned for l i f e . Even today, i t takes a remarkably discerning g i r l to r e a l i z e that a woman placed on a pedestal i s , for a l l p r a c t i c a l purposes, a woman treated as an i n f e r i o r ; that a woman's actual status varies i n inverse r a t i o to the degree of i d e a l i z a t i o n she has attained, and that the con- ventions of courtly love are possible only i n a man's world. That Jane Austen considers t r a d i t i o n a l courtship, with a l l i t s implications of egoism and sentimentalism, a grave threat to society and thus a legitimate target for her comic irony i s obvious throughout her work. Nowhere i s her awareness so succinctly exhibited, however, than i n the courtship she parodies i n Pride and Prejudice as Mr. C o l l i n s i n his " w i l f u l self-deception" (PP, 297) pursues f i r s t Elizabeth Bennet and then Charlotte Lucas. With no sublety whatever with which to cloak his egoism, Mr. C o l l i n s i s only too happy to 101 express his sentimental view of women and the combination of meekness and cunning he thinks i t only correct to expect of them. After E l i z a - beth has unconditionally refused him three times, he smugly asserts, ". . . I know i t to be the established custom of your sex to r e j e c t a man on the f i r s t application, and perhaps you have even now said as much to encourage my s u i t as would be consistent with the true delicacy of the female character." (PP, 297. My i t a l i c s ) Nonplussed, Elizabeth can only repeat her r e f u s a l , which he knowingly translates into an e f f o r t to increase his ardor by keeping him i n sus- pense, "'according to the practice of elegant females'" (PP, 297). Elizabeth then makes the straightforward plea of the anti-sentimental, clear-sighted heroine: "I do assure you, s i r , that I have no pretensions whatever to that kind of elegance which consists i n tormenting a respectable man. I would rather be paid the compliment of being believed sincere. . . . Do not consider me now as an elegant female, intending to plague you, but as a r a t i o n a l creature, speaking the truth from her heart." (PP, 297• My i t a l i c s ) A few days l a t e r , f i n a l l y convinced of her r e f u s a l and encouraged by Charlotte's attention, he p e r s i s t s i n following the time-honoured cus- tom of courtship and "hasten[s] to Lucas Lodge to throw himself at her f e e t " (PP, 305). With only her material comfort i n mind, Charlotte i s only too w i l l i n g to accept the rules of the game. She makes sure his reception "was of the most f l a t t e r i n g k i n d " — s e e i n g him approach, she " i n s t a n t l y set out to meet him accidentally i n the lane" where "so much love and eloquence awaited her" (PP, 305). Since a prolonged exposure to Mr. C o l l i n s ' brand o£ gallantry could only be irksome, she accepts him immediately, and " s o l e l y from the pure and d i s i n t e r e s t - ed desire of an establishment" (PP, 305). (Charlotte's position as a r e a l i s t can be appreciated, as indicated i n Chapter V, but i t cannot 102 d i s p e l the d i s s a t i s f a c t i o n evoked by her deliberate f o s t e r i n g of male egoism.) In what i s l i t t l e more than a vignette, Jane Austen has out- l i n e d and exposed to the l i g h t of the comic s p i r i t "the basic i n s i n - 9 c e r i t y i n the r e l a t i o n s between the sexes-' which underlies the t r a d i t i o n a l pattern of courtship and which i s endlessly perpetuated by the male egoist and the female conformist. Consistently throughout her novels she emphasizes the many facets of t h i s enormous obstacle which must be recognized, understood and eventually overcome by the comic heroine. According to established standards, courtship usually begins with love at f i r s t sight on the part of one or both of the persons concerned. Assuming, as i t does, instantaneous and complete knowledge of the other person, the idea has generally been considered e x c i t i n g and romantic. In fact, however, since such knowledge- can be based only on appearance, and unless a rather shaky case for i n t u i t i o n can be admitted, such "love" can exist only between people who are attracted to each other as objects. Jane Austen parodies t h i s s e n t i - mental aspect of courtship as early as Love and Freindship i n which Laura, immediately after meeting a young man who has merely l o s t his way, exclaims, My natural s e n s i b i l i t y had already been greatly affected by the suf- ferings of the unfortunate stranger and no sooner did I f i r s t behold him, than I f e l t that on him the happiness or Misery of my future L i f e must depend. (LF, 80) In Northanger Abbey, Isabella Thorpe confides to Catherine, "'The very f i r s t day that Morland came to us l a s t Christmas, the very f i r s t moment I beheld him, my heart was irrevocably gone'" (NA, 1129). The depth of her emotion i s placed i n i t s proper perspective by her next 103 statement: " ' I remember I wore my yellow gown, with my hair done up i n braids . . . . •" (NA, 1129) That her "love" i s only a mask for her i n t e r e s t i n h i 6 supposed wealth i s obvious when she declares, "'Had I the command of m i l l i o n s , were I mistress of the whole world, your brother would be my only choice'" (NA, 1129). A woman's beauty evokes much the same immediate response from a man: "Mr. Rushworth was from the f i r s t struck with the beauty of Miss Bertram, and, being i n c l i n e d to marry, soon fancied himself i n love" (MP, 4-91). Even Mr. C o l l i n s , seeking the status symbol of marriage which he can humbly present to Lady Catherine, assures Elizabeth, "'Almost as soon as I entered the house, I singled you out as the companion of my future l i f e ' " (PP, 295). Jane Austen makes i t evident that people thus chosen are not loved for what they are but for what they can give. Love at f i r s t sight i s , of course, often followed by the w h i r l - wind courtship so dear to the heart of l o y a l romanticists. With d e l i c i o u s irony, Jane Austen exposes the motives which t h i s supposedly i n t o x i c a t i n g r e l a t i o n s h i p may disguise as, i n Emma, she reveals the stages of Mr. Elton's courtship of Miss Augusta Hawkins5 The story t o l d well: he had not thrown himself away—he had gained a woman of ten thousand pounds . . . with such d e l i g h t f u l r a p i d i t y ; the f i r s t hour of introduction had been so very soon followed by d i s - tinguishing notice; the history . . . of the r i s e and progress of the a f f a i r was so glorious; the steps so quick, from the accidental rencontre, to the dinner at Mr. Green's, and the party at Mrs. Brown's— smiles and blushes r i s i n g i n importance—with consciousness and a g i t a t i o n r i c h l y scattered; the lady had been so e a s i l y impressed—so sweetly disposed; had, i n short, to use a most i n t e l l i g e n t phrase, been so very ready to have him, that vanity and prudence were equally contented. (JH 872. My i t a l i c s ) The Eltons are, perhaps, Jane Austen's best example of a pair of shrewd bargaining agents operating under the cloak of f e v e r i s h romance. 104 With the exception of Catherine Morland who, because she i s preoccupied with f i c t i o n a l heroines at the time, i s deeply impressed by what she considers the power of Isabella's love for her brother, Jane Austen's comic heroines are perceptive enough to laugh at such t r a v e s t i e s of courtship. But the obstacles are not always so e a s i l y recognizable. The remarkably clear-sighted Jane Fairfax, for instance, has been persuaded by Frank C h u r c h i l l to consent to a secret engage- ment. P a r t i c u l a r l y a t t r a c t i v e to the t r a d i t i o n a l i s t s , the element of secrecy i s generally thought to heighten a romance; for one thing, i t provides a direct l i n k with the courtly love " i d e a l " and, for another, i t creates a private, exclusive world into which lovers can escape from the demands of society. But Jane Austen exposes the secret engagement for what i t r e a l l y i s — a s e l f i s h , h y p o c r i t i c a l and a n t i - s o c i a l r e l a t i o n s h i p which brings l i t t l e joy and much pain, distress and misunderstanding to the partners. Revealing the truth which underlies the romantic i l l u s i o n , Jane Fairfax admits, "'I w i l l not say that since I entered into the engagement I have not had some happy moments; but I can say, that I have never known the blessing of one t r a n q u i l hour" 1 (E, 1 0 1 9 ) . Even when emotions are not seriously involved, i t i s extremely d i f f i c u l t for a woman not to be influenced to some extent by the g a l l a n t r i e s of a conventional courtship. Because women have been made to think that t h e i r success as individuals can be rated by the degree to which men f i n d them a t t r a c t i v e , t h e i r vanity i s bound to be vulnerable. I f an engaging young man i s attentive, they are f l a t t e r - ed; i f not, they are disappointed, perhaps hurt. Moreover, they tend to respond too quickly: as Jane Bennet wisely observes, " ' I t i s very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us. Women fancy 105 admiration means more than i t does'" (PP, 3 1 3)• A l l things considered, i t i s not s u r p r i s i n g that two of the comic heroines, Elizabeth Bennet and Emma Woodhouse, are at one point tempted to mount the pedestal. From the moment of their introduction, Elizabeth i s favourably impressed with Wickham. And since, the f i r s t time they are i n the same company, she i s "the happy woman by whom he f i n a l l y seated him- s e l f " (PP, 2 7 6 ) , she soon has the opportunity of assessing and admiring the conversational s k i l l and charming manner which captivate a l l who meet him. To do j u s t i c e to Wickham, there i s no evidence that he pursues Elizabeth as deliberately as, for instance, Henry Crawford pursues Maria Bertram i n Mansfield Park; a l l we can lay to his debit are his s i n g l i n g her out a few times i n company and his conscious use of his charm to prejudice her against Darcy. Preparing for the b a l l at Netherfield, however, Elizabeth "had dressed with more than usual care, and prepared i n the highest s p i r i t s for the conquest of a l l that remained unsubdued of his heart" (PP, 2 8 4 - 2 8 5 ) . And her disappoint- ment, on finding him absent, i s so acute that " . . . every prospect of her own was ruined for the evening . . . ." (PP, 2 8 5 ) Elizabeth, i t would seem, i s more interested i n Wickham than his actions toward her warrant but, when her aunt reveals her anxieties about t h e i r obvious preference for each other, Elizabeth assures her that she i s not i n love with Wickham, at least not at the moment—"'I see the imprudence of i t ' " (PP, 3 1 8 ) . When he transfers his attentions to Miss King, she can see him go "without material pain" for "her heart had been but s l i g h t l y touched and her vanity ^my i t a l i c s ] was s a t i s f i e d with b e l i e v i n g that she would have been his only choice, had fortune per- mitted i t " (PP, 3 2 1 ) . Elizabeth has a d r o i t l y jumped from the pedestal 106 before i t could constitute a real obstacle to her. Long before Frank Churchill's arrival in Highbury, Emma i s pre- disposed in his favour. And, since there are so few attractive young men in the neighborhood, i t i s remarkable that she i s not even more flattered by the unqualified attention he shows in his frequent Visits to Hartfield and his eagerness in marking her "as his peculiar object" (E, 892) at such social functions as the Coles* dinner party. On his leaving for Enscombe just before the Crown Inn Ball, she feels he stops just short of making a serious declaration of love. She i s sure, at least, of "his having a decidedly warm admiration, a conscious prefer- ence of herself" which, with a l l that had gone before, "made her think that she must be a l i t t l e in love with him" (E, 922). The strength of her feeling lessens, however, as the length of his absence increases: "Emma continued to entertain no doubt of her being in love. Her ideas only varied as to the how much. At f i r s t , she thought i t was a good deal; and afterwards but l i t t l e " (E, 923). By the time he returns to Highbury, "her own attachment had really subsided into a mere nothing . . . ." (E, 954). And soon she i s busy scheming to unite him with Harriet. She i s not, however, above giving him "the admis- sion to be gallant" (E, 987) and happily accepting the flattery he showers upon her during the Box H i l l party—although she i s well aware i t means nothing to her. At this point she seems both pleased and amused briefly to play the role of an idealized heroine. As she up- holds her side of a very obvious f l i r t a t i o n which, incidentally, sets her and Frank apart from the group (Emma herself remarks, "*. . . no- body speaks but ourselves . . . .'" ^E, 988]} she i s carried away by her flippancy almost to the point of the pertness and familiarity of which she once accused Mrs. Elton (E, 928), and quite to the point of 107 her unforgiveable rudeness to Miss Bates. Mr. Knightley's sharp re- buke quickly brings her to her senses, however, and much l a t e r she frankly admits to him the reason for any interest she has ever d i s - played i n Frank C h u r c h i l l : "I was tempted by his attentions, and allowed myself to appear pleased. . . . l e t me swell out the causes, ever so ingeniously, they a l l center i n t h i s at last—my_ vanity was f l a t t e r e d , and I allowed h i s attentions." (EJ 1024. My i t a l i c s ! Like Elizabeth, Emma i s rnuch^: too clear-sighted ever to be taken i n completely or for long by outward gallantry. Only once does Jane Austen l e t a comic heroine seriously stumble over the obstacle of a t r a d i t i o n a l courtship. According to conventional standards, the s i t u a t i o n i s perfect. Marianne Dashwood i s the lady on the pedestal, the epitome of everything a young man could possibly desire i n a woman. Willoughby i s the gallant lover, the kind of s u i t o r every young g i r l - presumably dreams of one day f i n d i n g . The circumstances under which they meet—her f a l l , the co- incidence of his passing just at that time, his insistence on carrying her home—could not be more "romantic." Immediately she i s aware that "his person and a i r were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite story . . . ." (SS, 25) A few days l a t e r she confides to E l i n o r , " ' I t i s not time or opportunity that i s to deter- mine intimacy: i t i s d i s p o s i t i o n alone. . . . of Willoughby, my judgment has long been formed'" (SS, 3^-35)• That Willoughby shares a l l her tastes and feelings she has no doubt; not only does he admire the same books, but even the same passages! But then, she i s so charming and so lovely that " . . . any young man of five-and-twenty must have been insensible indeed, not to become an immediate convert 108 to the excellence of such works, however disregarded before" (SS, 28. My i t a l i c s ) . In every way he appears to be " a l l that her fancy had delineated . . . as capable of attaching her; and- his behaviour de- clared his wishes to be i n that respect as earnest as his a b i l i t i e s were strong" (SS, 29). There seems to be no doubt that he loves her with an a f f e c t i o n as deep as her own. Apart from t h e i r obvious de- l i g h t i n each other, whenever they are i n company they have no thought or consideration for anyone e l s e . And, as-Elizabeth Bennet at one point i r o n i c a l l y inquires, "'Is not general i n c i v i l i t y the very essence of love?*" (PE, 316) Their lack of s o c i a l awareness i s disturbing to E l i n o r who "could not be surprised at t h e i r attachment" but "only wished that i t were less openly shown" (SS., 31). Her mother, however, who i s "romantic," thinks t h e i r display of feelings i s "the natural consequence of a strong a f f e c t i o n " (SS, 32). For once, i t would seem, Jane Austen has given us a pair of young lovers i n an i d e a l l y roman- t i c r e l a t i o n s h i p . It i s not u n t i l much l a t e r , u n t i l after Marianne has nearly died through her love of Willoughby, that the i r o n i c r e a l i t y beneath the charming i l l u s i o n comes to l i g h t . From the beginning, Willoughby confesses to E l i n o r , he had only his own s e l f i s h amusement i n mind: "*. . . I endeavoured by every means i n my power, to make myself pleasing to her, without any design of returning her a f f e c t i o n " 1 (SS, 191). Since even at that time he was planning to marry a woman of fortune, he admits, "'To attach myself to your s i s t e r . . . was not a thing to be thought of . . . .*" (SS, 191) The crowning irony i s , of course, that he never did come to love Marianne: explaining that he was unaware of the injury he was i n f l i c t i n g on her because he did not know the meaning of love, he adds, 109 "But have I ever known i t ? Well may i t be doubted; for, had I r e a l l y loved, could I have s a c r i f i c e d my feelings to vanity, to avarice? or, what i s more, could I have s a c r i f i c e d hers? But I have done i t . " (SS, 1 9 1 . My i t a l i c s ) A l l he admits to i s that he found himself, , M b y insensible degrees, s i n c e r e l y fond of her'" (SS, 1 9 1 ) . For Willoughby i s an egoist a nd, therefore, capable only of s e l f - l o v e ; Marianne's "'lovely person and i n t e r e s t i n g manners'" (SS_, 191) which so elevate his vanity are the egoist's i d e a l . And by her behaviour, she j o i n s — a l t h o u g h perhaps unconsciously-?--t-he ranks of the female sentimentalists: "when he was present, she had no eyes for anyone e l s e . Everything he did was r i g h t . Everything he said was clever" (SS, 3 2 ) . Shockingly apparent i s the discrepancy between the i d e a l i z e d status he gives her at Barton and the actual status he assigns to her i n London. His l e t t e r of explanation, for instance, even when the pressures to which he was subjected when writing i t are given f u l l consideration, exhibits less kindness for her than he would show to an object, p a r t i c u l a r l y such a valuable object as money. E l i n o r , never blinded by emotion, cannot understand how Willoughby could be capable of departing so far from the appearance of every honourable and delicate f e e l i n g — s o far from the common decorum of a gentleman, as to send a l e t t e r so impudently cruel . . . a l e t t e r of which every l i n e was an i n s u l t . . . . (SS, 1 0 8 . My i t a l i c s ) As Marianne's pedestal crumbles beneath her, she i s indeed crushed by the forces of male egoism and sentimentality. But not forever. Within two years, "and with no sentiment superior to strong esteem and l i v e l y friendship" (SS, 227. My i t a l i c s ) , Marianne weds Colonel Brandon. No t r a d i t i o n a l courtship precedes t h e i r marriage; no games are played between them. She simply and 110 quite suddenly becomes f u l l y aware of his long and deep attachment to her. Even more remarkable, she "found her own happiness i n forming his . . . and her whole heart became i n time, as much devoted to her husband, as i t had once been to Willoughby" (SS, 227). In Marianne's t r a n s i t i o n from misery to happiness, Jane Austen c l a r i f i e s the r e l a t i o n s h i p which she seems to believe should precede marriage. It should not be t r a d i t i o n a l courtship, which, she consist- ently r i d i c u l e s (because i t frustrates the goal which underlies the comic action) and which she invariably shows as ending either unsatis- f a c t o r i l y or unhappily. Too often this kind of relationship i s but a disguise for' questionable motives; i f not, i t i s based on an i n f a t u - ation which has only the appearance of genuine a f f e c t i o n . The so- c a l l e d romantic love i t pretends to exalt i s at best only a g l o r i f i e d self-deception and, at worst, a highly destructive force, making of i t s victims, " . . . a pipe for fortune's finger/To sound what stop she p l e a s e . " ^ As an alternative, she offers a relationship based primarily on friendship and respect which gradually grows into genu- ine a f f e c t i o n and eventually culminates i n deep and l a s t i n g love. ( I r o n i c a l l y , Marianne—formerly so "romantic"—is the only comic hero- ine who marries before the friendship and esteem she f e e l s for her s u i t o r have ripened into love.) Because such an honest and sincere r e l a t i o n s h i p could only be degraded by a r t i f i c i a l trappings and con- ventional g a l l a n t r i e s , the actual "courtship" of the lovers consists of a simple and mutual declaration of a love which has become appar- ent to both, and i s t e l e s c o p e d — l i k e that of Colonel Brandon and Marianne—into a paragraph or two at the end of the novel. In order to participate i n such a r e l a t i o n s h i p , the comic heroine must, above a l l , i n s i s t upon being herself and not the unreal I l l because i d e a l i z e d image of lady-love to be found i n a romance. This i s the reason i t i s so important that she achieve an accurate s e l f - concept before she enters the period of courtship for, as Marianne would r e a d i l y vouch, ". . . i t must be an i l l - c o n s t r u c t e d tumbling world where the hour of ignorance i s made the creator of our destiny by being forced to the decisive elections upon which l i f e ' s main issues hang."^ But to be herself i s no easy task i n a society which almost unanimously regards her as a puppet i t has conditioned to react according to plan. Consequently—and t h i s i s perhaps why heroines such as Fanny Price, E l i n o r Dashwood and, at times, even Anne E l l i o t — appear somewhat drab—her virtues tend to consist more of what she does not do than of what she does: she must not conform to the s e n t i - mental, " i d e a l " image the obstructing characters have placed before her and she must never resort to "feminine" guile or t r i c k e r y to gain her ends. Above a l l , since i t i s v i r t u a l l y impossible for her to be h e r s e l f unless she i s seen as herself, she must not l e t herself be attracted to an egoist but must, instead, choose a man who i s w i l l i n g to treat her as a r a t i o n a l creature and a p o t e n t i a l equal. She must, i n e f f e c t , refuse to be everything that the society which has perpetu- ated her subjection has decreed she should be. Otherwise, she w i l l never clear the obstacle of t r a d i t i o n a l courtship and enter into what, So Jane Austen, seems the i d e a l r e l a t i o n s h i p which i s the goal of the comic action and the cause for the f i n a l celebrations. '"Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be r a t i o n a l again" 1 (NA, 1071). Thus Henry Tilney concludes a set of questions he has p l a y f u l l y asked Catherine Morland4-fordinary questions such as, "'Have you been long i n Bath, madam?'" (NA, 1070) which, exchanged by two young people on holiday, are too often charged with the counterfeit 112 emotion which precedes a sudden attachment. And so the quality of the r e l a t i o n s h i p between Henry and Catherine i s established at their f i r s t meeting. It i s only f i t t i n g , of course, that the tone of a work which parodies the sentimental novel should be l i g h t ; neverthe- l e s s , i t i s i n t e r e s t i n g that Catherine's delusions of romance never s p i l l over into the area of courtship. Although she i s immediately and favourably impressed by Henry, she i s happy to l e t t h e i r acquaint- ance grow along natural l i n e s . Unlike Isabella Thorpe, she resorts to no cunning: i t does not occur to her, for instance, to try to arouse Henry's jealousy by playing o f f John Thorpe against him. Instead, she i s miserable u n t i l she can explain to Henry the misunderstandings which have arisen through Thorpe's interest i n her. During her stay at Northanger with "her two young f r i e n d s" (NA, l l f i O . My i t a l i c s ) , t h e i r mutual fondness increases, but never to the point of any a n t i - s o c i a l action such as excluding Eleanor from any of their a c t i v i t i e s . Although, by t h i s time, Catherine i s i n love with Henry, she t r i e s her best not to show i t ; and, since Henry never indulges i n conventional gallantry, she has no evidence of his a t t r a c t i o n to her u n t i l he follows her to F u l l e r t o n . Their entire "courtship," then, takes place on a subsequent walk to the Aliens', during which "she was assured of his a f f e c t i o n ; and that heart i n return was s o l i c i t e d which, perhaps, they pretty equally knew was already his own . . . ." (NA,1202) At one point, Charlotte Lucas says to Elizabeth Bennet, "'. . . there are very few of us who have heart enough to be r e a l l y i n love without encouragement"1 (PP, 242). Indeed, i t takes a p a r t i c u l a r kind of comic heroine to appreciate the worth of the man she loves enough to r e s i s t the temptation to b e l i t t l e i t because he does not seem to return to her a f f e c t i o n . Early i n t h e i r friendship, E l i n o r Dashwood i s convinced of 11 'the excellence of his [Edward Ferrars'} understanding, and his p r i n c i p l e s * " (SS, 11). She cannot help but notice, however, "a want of s p i r i t s about him, which, i f i t did not denote indifference, spoke a something almost as unpromising" (SS, 12- 1 3 ) . When he v i s i t s Barton, she i s hurt by his "coldness and reserve" but, refusing to capitulate to vanity, "avoided every appearance of resentment or displeasure" (SS, 5 3 ) . Edward's actions do seem p e c u l i - ar, even discourteous, yet any other behaviour would amount to deception, i n the l i g h t of his secret engagement to Lucy Steele. And so, when E l i n o r learns of t h i s previous commitment, she i s "consoled by the b e l i e f that Edward had done nothing to f o r f e i t her esteem" (SS, 8 2 ) . (It may be worth noting that a secret engagement, the r e s u l t of "the youthful infatuation of nineteen" [SS, 82. My i t a l i c s ] , stands between E l i n o r and Edward, and that another "romantic" attachment be- tween Lucy and Edward's brother, based on "an earnest, an unceasing attention to s e l f - i n t e r e s t " [SS, 225j on Lucy's part, eventually re- moves the b a r r i e r between them.) E l i n o r respects his position; she does not try to make him suffer by encouraging his jealousy of Colonel Brandon; and eventually she instruments Colonel Brandon's giving him the l i v i n g at Delaford so that he and Lucy may be comfortably s e t t l e d . During what each thinks i s t h e i r l a s t meeting before his marriage, they both exhibit admirable s e l f - c o n t r o l by o f f e r i n g each other good wishes instead of uttering the one careless word which could e a s i l y p r e c i p i t a t e a "romantic" parting. When eventually he i s free to de- clare himself, his "courtship" i s capsuled into one sentence 5 . . . about three hours after his a r r i v a l , he had secured his lady, engaged her mother's consent, and was not only i n the rapturous pro- fession of the lover, but i n the r e a l i t y of reason and truth, one of the happiest of men.'' (SS, 216. My i t a l i c s ) Ilk Fanny Price, i n Mansfield Park, loves with even less encourage- ment than E l i n o r because, although E l i n o r knows Edward i s not i n love with Lucy, Fanny must a c t u a l l y watch the progress of Edmund's attach- ment to Mary Crawford. That he has only brotherly feelings toward her (Fanny) i s further evidenced by his confiding to her a l l the problems of h i s courtship. Fanny's clear-sightedness i s , of course, exhibited i n her adamant r e f u s a l to be affected by the g a l l a n t r i e s of Henry Crawford: she has witnessed his pseudo-courtship of Maria Bertram and recognizes him for the supreme egoist he i s . Considering her naivete^ and inexperience, however, i t i s surprising that she i s not taken i n to some e x t e n t — p a r t i c u l a r l y when she feels her love for Edmund i s hopeless—by his sincere o f f e r s of marriage, and tempted to think, "This time i t w i l l be d i f f e r e n t . " Although she cannot be praised for not attempting to make Edmund jealous, since he favours the match with Henry, she can be commended for withstanding the heavy pressures which are exerted on her from a l l sides and for continuing to keep her r e l a t i o n s h i p with Edmund on the same f r i e n d l y basis. And so, after his break with Mary, "Fanny's friendship was a l l t h a t he had to c l i n g to" (MP, 751. My i t a l i c s ) . His "courtship"of her i s nominal: very soon he began "to prefer soft l i g h t eyes to sparkling dark ones" (MP, 758) and, because he and Fanny have known each other so long and so well as friends, . . . there was nothing on the side of prudence to stop him or make h i s progress slow; . . . her mind, d i s p o s i t i o n , opinions, and habits wanted no half concealment, no self-deception on the present, no reliance on future improvement. Even i n the midst of his late infatuation, he had acknowledged Fanny's mental s u p e r i o r i t y . What must be his sense of i t now, therefore! (MP, 758) 115 Insofar as she continues to love with no encouragement, Anne E l l i o t i n Persuasion may be grouped with E l i n o r and Fanny. In the back- ground, of course, i s her youthful association with Frederick Wentworth: He was, at that time, a remarkably fine young man, with a great deal of i n t e l l i g e n c e , s p i r i t , and b r i l l i a n c y ; and Anne an extremely pretty g i r l , with gentleness, modesty, taste, and f e e l i n g . . . . They were gradually acquainted, and when acquainted, r a p i d l y and deeply i n love. (P, 1225. My i t a l i c s ) When she hears he w i l l v i s i t the Crofts at Kellynch, she i s too c l e a r - sighted to p a l l i a t e the " r e v i v a l of former pain" (P, 1227) by i d l y dreaming that he s t i l l loves her; she faces squarely the knowledge that, since he has long ago made his fortune and could have returned to her at any time, he must have been either " i n d i f f e r e n t or unwilling" (P, 1244) to do so. At t h e i r f i r s t meeting she r e a l i z e s "that to retentive feelings eight years may be l i t t l e more than nothing" (P, 1245) but Frederick i s sure that "her power with him was gone for ever" (P, 1246). Although they are frequently i n the same s o c i a l group, since Frederick i s ostensibly but not too seriously courting the Musgrove g i r l s , they meet only on the most formal footing; they are "worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement" (P, 1247). Anne has no hope whatever. Deeply disturbed by the s l i g h t e s t word or gesture of acknowledgment on his part, she t r i e s to s t e e l herself to his indifference but "his cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything" (P, 1253). Her f i r s t breakthrough comes at Lyme, after she has demon- strated her c a p a b i l i t y at the time of Louisa's accident; as Frederick asks her to stay with Louisa, he speaks "with a glow, and yet a gentle- ness, which seemed almost r e s t o r i n g the past" (P, 1279). With t h i s 116 s l i g h t encouragement, Anne might conceivably be tempted to hone her own weapons of elegance and charm with which to combat the youth and v i t a l - i t y of the Musgrove g i r l s . But she does not. On t h e i r a r r i v a l at Uppercross, he asks her advice about the means of breaking the news of Louisa's accident to her parents and ". . . the remembrance of the appeal remained a pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship, and of deference for her judgment, a great pleasure . . . ." (P, 1281. My i t a l i c s ) When theynext meet, i n Bath, she i s " f u l l y sensible of his being less at ease than formerly" (P, 1316), but she refuses to l e t h e r s e l f be heartened by what perhaps means nothing. Later, his com- ments about Louisa Musgrove's engagement to Captain Benwick, p a r t i c u l a r l y his emphasis on there being '"too great a d i s p a r i t y , and i n a point no less e s s e n t i a l than mind'" (P, 1320), coupled with his surprise that Benwick could have recovered so quickly from his love f o r Fanny H a r v i l l e , make her supremely happy: . . . a l l declared that he had a heart returning to her at least; that anger, resentment, avoidance, were no more; and that they were succeeded, not merely by friendship and regard, but by the tenderness of the past. . . . She could not contemplate the change as implying l e s s . He must love her. (P, 1322. My i t a l i c s ) Instead of encouraging Mr. E l l i o t ' s attentions (of whom she i s aware that Frederick i s very jealous) further to stimulate Frederick's love, or to punish him for his former neglect, she i s concerned only that he know the truth. And, a few days l a t e r , discussing constancy with Captain H a r v i l l e i n his presence, she makes sure he knows her r e a l f e e l i n g s by avowing, " ' A l l the p r i v i l e g e I claim for my own sex . . . i s that of loving longest, when existence or when hope i s gone'" (P, 1353-54). Her s i n c e r i t y prompts his l e t t e r , which constitutes h i s "courtship." During t h e i r subsequent conversation, he reveals the reason,, which had become apparent to him at Lyme, why he regards 117 her as so superior to other women: "Her character was now fixed on his mind as perfection i t s e l f , maintaining the l o v e l i e s t medium of f o r t i - tude and gentleness . . . ." (P, 1358. My i t a l i c s ) With their common "maturity of mind" and "consciousness of r i g h t " (P, 1362), there i s no need for courtship, only for a c l a r i f i c a t i o n of past events. Perhaps the reason we tend to see Emma Woodhouse and Elizabeth Bennet as the greatest of the comic heroines i s that, unlike Catherine, E l i n o r , Fanny and Anne, they are not p a r t i a l l y protected from the obstacle of t r a d i t i o n a l courtship by an emotional commitment to a man who i s not an egoist, find, unlike Marianne, although each has been tempted to capitulate, she has recovered from her temporary aberration before she i s faced with her great moment of decision. Considering how wrong she i s about so many things, Emma i s for the most part very perceptive inlher view of men. She i s not at a l l f l a t t e r e d , for instance, by Mr. Elton's attentions: Contrary to the usual course of things, Mr. Elton's wanting to pay h i s addresses to her had sunk him i n her opinion. . . . Sighs and f i n e words had been given i n abundance; but she could hardly devise any set of expressions, or fancy any tone of voice, less a l l i e d with r e a l love. (E, 845. My i t a l i c s ) And, even when she i s playing with the idea of being i n love with Frank C h u r c h i l l , she i s r a t i o n a l enough to r e f l e c t , "'. . . I do not look upon him to be quite the sort of man—I do not altogether b u i l d upon his steadiness or constancy'" (E, 923-924). It never occurs to her to be coquettish with Mr. Knightley and, of course, she i s com- p l e t e l y unaware of his attachment to her. "One of the few people who could see f a u l t s i n Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever t o l d her of them" (E, 766-777), he i s so far from gallantry that he seems to be 118 exactly what he professes to be—'"a p a r t i a l old f r i e n d 1 ' 1 (E, 784). Emma does not for a moment attribute his d i s l i k e of Frank C h u r c h i l l to jealousy. And she herself i s not jealous when Mrs. Weston suspects Mr. Knightley i s interested i n Jane Fairfax. In f a c t , there i s no i n d i c a t i o n of anything but friendship on either side u n t i l the Grown Inn B a l l ; when Emma remarks that they are not quite so much brother and s i s t e r as to make i t improper for them to dance together, Mr. Knightley gives but the s l i g h t e s t hint of his f e e l i n g for when he r e p l i e s , '"Brother and s i s t e r ! no, indeed*" (E, 964). The hint makes no impression on Emma, however, and even i f i t had, his severe remon- strance for her c r u e l behaviour to Miss Bates on Box H i l l would have u t t e r l y negated i t . When, however, she fears Harriet Smith may have won Mr. Knightley, "a few minutes were s u f f i c i e n t for making her ac- quainted with her own heart. . . . It darted through her with the speed of an arrow that Mr. Knightley must marry no one but h e r s e l f ! " (E, 1012) She r e a l i z e s , for the f i r s t time, her great need of him and the extent of her debt to him: She had herself been f i r s t with him for many years past. She had not deserved i t . . . but s t i l l , from family attachment and habit, and thorough excellence of mind, he had loved her, and watched over her from a g i r l , with an endeavour to improve her, and an anxiety for her doing r i g h t , which no other creature had at a l l shared. (E, 1017. My i t a l i c s ) Overwhelmed by her own unworthiness, she has not to suffer long. On her assuring him, the next day, that she has never loved Frank Church- i l l , his declaration of love i s both sincere and a r t l e s s and, i n c i d e n t a l l y , gives us a glimpse of an Emma we have never seen before: ".I cannot make speeches, Emma . . . . I f I loved you l e s s , I might be able to t a l k about i t more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you, and lectured you, and 119 you have borne i t as no other woman i n England would have borne i t . . . . God knows, I have been a very i n d i f f e r e n t lover. But you understand me." (E, 1026. My i t a l i c s ) And she does. With no wish for gallantry, with no desire to be arch or to f l a t t e r him, or to keep him i n suspense, "she was his own Emma, by hand and word, when they returned into the; house . . . ." (E, 1028) Without doubt, Elizabeth Bennet has a greater temptation to y i e l d to the obstacle of t r a d i t i o n a l courtship than any of the other comic heroines: without fortune, without expectation, she i s sought by a wealthy, prominent man. His wooing, however, does not follow the t r a d i t i o n a l pattern. Far from i d e a l i z i n g Elizabeth, he follows his declaration of love by dwelling on "his sense of her i n f e r i o r i t y — o f i t s being a degradation" (PP, 3^5). Her r e f u s a l i s based, of course, on her genuine and long-standing d i s l i k e of him: she taxes him with undue c r i t i c i s m of her family, with ruining Wickham and with harming Jane by persuading Bingley to leave Netherfield. And he attributes her attack to hurt pride: "These b i t t e r accusations might have been suppressed, had I, with greater p o l i c y , concealed my struggles, and f l a t t e r e d you into the b e l i e f of my being impelled by unqualified, unalloyed i n c l i n a t i o n ; by reason, by r e f l e c t i o n , by everything. But disguise of every sort i s my_ abhorrence." (PP, 3^7 • My i t a l i c s ) While Darcy thus abnegates any claim to the status of a courtly lover, we are more interested i n E l i z a b e t h ^ reaction. With everything to be gained by accepting his love and overlooking his reservations—by, i n f a c t , nothing more than a l i t t l e well-directed f l a t t e r y and well- disguised h u m i l i t y — E l i z a b e t h s t i l l disdains to j o i n the ranks of the female conformists. Tempted by neither his wealth nor his status, she does not equivocate i n her r e f u s a l : "*. . . I had not known you a 120 month before I f e l t that you were the l a s t man i n the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry 1" (PP, 34-7). Furthermore, she quite frankly and j u s t i f i a b l y c r i t i c i z e s him for not behaving " ' i n a more gentlemanlike manner'" (PP, 3̂ 7)• On receiving his l e t t e r the next morning, she f e e l s genuinely ashamed of those reproaches which were unjust; she undergoes no sudden reversal of f e e l i n g , however, but decides that, i f they should meet again, she w i l l not be so blinded by prejudice as to continue to misjudge him. Their accidental meeting at Pemberley i s characterized by a d i f f e r e n t kind of r e l a t i o n - ship between them—a kind of f r i e n d l i n e s s which quickly takes root. To her, as well as to her aunt and uncle, he i s consistently kind and gracious. Although she i s eventually convinced he s t i l l loves her, she i s not yet sure of her own f e e l i n g . Certainly, she no longer hates him: The respect created by the conviction of his valuable q u a l i t i e s . . . was now heightened into somewhat of a f r i e n d l i e r nature, by the testimony so highly i n his favour . . . . She respected, she esteemed, she was g r a t e f u l to him, she f e l t a r e a l i n t e r e s t i n his welfare; and she only wanted to know how far she wished that welfare to depend upon herself, and how far i t would be for the happiness of both that she should employ the power, which her fancy t o l d her she s t i l l possessed, of bringing on the renewal of his addresses. (PP, 388-389. My i t a l i c s ) Only when t h i s happy interlude i s ended by the news of Lydia's elope- ment with Wickham (which Elizabeth frankly relates to Darcy), and i n the f u l l consciousness of the i n f e r i o r i t y of her family which must be even more clear to him than to her, does she r e a l i z e her true f e e l i n g : ". . . never had she so honestly f e l t that she could have loved him, a6 now, when a l l love must be vain" (PP, 396). Elizabeth's change of heart i s the culmination of a long, slow process. Commenting on i t , Jane Austen makes her most e x p l i c i t statement on the respective worth 121 of "romantic" and "real" love! If gratitude and esteem are good foundations of affection, Elizabeth's change of sentiment w i l l be neither improbable nor faulty. But i f otherwise—if the regard springing from such sources i s unreasonable or unnatural, in comparison of what i s so often described as arising on a f i r s t interview with i t s ob.ject, and even before two words have been exchanged, nothing can be said in her defence, except that she had given somewhat of a t r i a l to the latter method in her partiality for Wickham, and that i t s i l l success might, perhaps, authorise her to seek the other less interesting mode of attachment. (PP, 397* My i t a l i c s ) Later, when everything i s c l a r i f i e d , Jane asks Elizabeth how long she has loved Darcy, to which Elizabeth replies, "'It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when i t began'" (PP, 4 5 6 ) . Elizabeth, although often mistaken about him, has always been herself with Darcy: even in her distress over Lydia, she does not resort to "feminine" wiles to engage his sympathy. And i t is well for her that she does remain herself because Darcy, although by no means faultless, is one of the few men who do not share society's sentimental view of women. As Elizabeth points out, in what i s an accurate description of the effect of the female conformist on the male who i s not an egoist: "The fact i s , that you were sick of c i v i l i t y , of deference, of o f f i c i - ous attention. You were disgusted with the women who were always speaking and looking and thinking for your approbation alone. I roused and interested you, because I was so unlike them. Had you not been really amiable, you would have hated me for i t ; but, in spite of the pains you took to disguise yourself, your feelings were always noble and just; and, in your heart, you thoroughly despised the per- sons who so assiduously courted you." (PP, 4-60) Their essential "courtship" consists simply of Darcy's asking Eliza- beth whether her feelings have undergone any change since he last approached her, and her honest and frank reply that they have altered to such an extent that she i s now only too happy to accept the assurance of his love. And so, i n spite of the concerted e f f o r t s of the obstructing characters who control the old, r i g i d society, Jane Austen's comic heroines overcome the major obstacle to t h e i r s e l f - r e a l i z a t i o n and look forward to a marriage i n which they can f i n d fulfilment as i n d i v i d u a l s . That t h e i r success l i e s i n t h e i r behaving as " ' r a t i o n a l creatures'" instead of "'elegant females'" and i n t h e i r being so regarded by t h e i r s u i t o r s , t e s t i f i e s to the wisdom of Mr. Knightley's contention: '"Mystery—finesse—how they pervert the understanding! My Emma, does not everything serve to prove more and more the beauty of truth and s i n c e r i t y i n a l l our dealings with each other?'" (E, IO36 My i t a l i c s ) There i s no evidence that Jane Austen ever a l l i e d herself with 12 the cause of Feminism. Apparently uninterested i n p o l i t i c a l move- ments, "here was a woman about the year 1800 writing without hate, without bitterness, without fear, without protest, without preaching." And yet, by r i d i c u l i n g the t r a d i t i o n a l concept of courtship and by exposing i t i n the l i g h t of the comic s p i r i t for what i t r e a l l y i s — a framework within which egoism and sentimentalism, disguised by the myth of "romantic" love, can take advantage of women's ignorance and dependence and thus perpetuate the whole vicious c i r c l e of female subjugation—she exhibits ideals very close to those of the Feminists. Her methods are d i f f e r e n t but her goal i s the same: . . . her name should be linked with that of the great Vindicator of the Rights of Women, Mary Wollstonecraft . . . the v i s comica of the one has been as powerful an agency i n t h e i r vindication as the saeva indignatio of the other. . . . Jane Austen and Mary Wollstonecraft were bent on the destruction of the f a i r sex . . . and the evolution of the r a t i o n a l woman.^ 123 NOTES "Htfoolf, A Room of One's Own, pp. 53-54. 2 Meredith, The Egoist, p. 123. ^Lionel Stevenson, "Introduction 1 1 to The Egoist, p. i x . S b i d . 5 I b i d . ^ M i l l , The Subjection of Women, p. 4-3. n Wollstonecraft, Rights of Woman, pp. 49-50. 8 Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 32. 9 Stevenson, p. i x . 1 0 Hamlet, I I I , i i , 75-76. 11 Meredith, The Egoist, p. 78. 12 A. S. Kumar, "Jane Austen—The Feminist S e n s i b i l i t y , " Indian Journal of English Studies, III (196l), 135» 13 ^Woolf, Room, p. 101. 14 Wilson, Jane Austen, p. i x . 12k CHAPTER VII MARRIAGE: THE COMIC RESOLUTION . . . the movement of comedy i s usually a move- ment from one kind of society to another. At the beginning of the play the obstructing characters are i n charge of the play's society. . . . The society emerging at the con- clusion . . . represents, by contrast, a kind of moral norm, or pragmatically free society. —Northrop Frye, Anatomy of C r i t i c i s m Since comedy i s concerned with society and celebrates the forces of love through which i t i s regenerated, i t i s only to be ex- pected that most comedies end with the marriage of the hero and the heroine. Jane Austen's comedies are no exception. Having overcome her obstacles, the comic heroine i s free to make the marriage of her choice. That t h i s marriage constitutes both the resolution of the comic action and the turning point i n the fortunes of the heroine i s not coincidence; for the "pragmatically free society" which w i l l form around the newly married couple i s not only the goal of the comic action but also the one area i n which the comic heroine can f u l l y r e a l i z e h e r s e l f . In a sense, then, the society which emerges at the end of Jane Austen's comedies i s d i f f e r e n t from that which takes shape at the end of most comedies—Fielding's Tom Jones and Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, for instance—the ideals of which "are seldom defined or formulated."^ Far from being vaguely and amorphously i d e a l i s t i c , Jane Austen's new society, l i k e that glimpsed at the conclusion of Meredith's The Egoist and Congreve's The Way of the World, i s based f i r m l y on the p r i n c i p l e of the p o t e n t i a l equality of the sexes. It i s obvious that the marriage which establishes t h i s r a d i c a l l y d i f f e r e n t 125 s o c i e t y must indeed be remarkable. In order t h a t the q u a l i t y and i m p l i c a t i o n s of t h i s redemptive, p i v o t a l marriage may be a c c u r a t e l y assessed, i t must be compared w i t h the marriages e n t e r e d i n t o or approved by the members of the o b s t r u c t - i n g group which has endorsed the concept of female i n f e r i o r i t y . As R. W. Chapman s t a t e s : . . . the c o n t r a s t between the two g e n e r a t i o n s , between the i l l - a s s o r t e d matches c o n t r a c t e d b e f o r e the a c t i o n o f the n o v e l s begins and the marriage of true minds, a harmony i n d i v e r s i t y , t h a t s h ^ [Jane Austen] p l a n s f o r her heroes and h e r o i n e s , i s very marked. We must c o n d i t i o n a l l y except, of course, the Morlands and the e l d e r Dashwoods who, though.they have u n c o n s c i o u s l y a c t e d on the assumption o f female i n f e r i o r i t y , have n e v e r t h e l e s s enjoyed c o n g e n i a l — a n d t h e r e - f o r e f a i r l y e q u a l — m a r r i a g e s . Of the a c t u a l r e l a t i o n s h i p o f the Woodhouses we know n o t h i n g , but can surmise much from the f a c t t h a t Mr. Woodhouse i s a man "whose t a l e n t s c o u l d not have recommended him at any time" (E, 764); very wealthy, he must have m a r r i e d a woman con- s i d e r a b l y s u p e r i o r to him i n t e l l e c t u a l l y s i n c e , as Mr. K n i g h t l e y t e l l s us (E, 7 8 3 ) , it i s from her t h a t Emma has i n h e r i t e d a l l her a b i l i t i e s . We have more d e f i n i t e i n f o r m a t i o n on the S i r Walter E l l i o t s : S i r Walter's "good l o o k s and h i s rank had one f a i r c l a i m on h i s a t t a c h - ment, s i n c e to them he must have owed a wife of very s u p e r i o r c h a r a c t e r to a n y t h i n g deserved by h i s own" (P, 1212. My i t a l i c s ) . In M a n s f i e l d Park, "the greatness o f the match" between the wealthy S i r Thomas Bertram and the c o m p a r a t i v e l y poor but very b e a u t i f u l Miss Maria Ward astounded the whole county (MP, * f 6 9 )—and S i r Thomas has the r e s t o f h i s l i f e to contemplate w i t h perhaps even g r e a t e r astonishment the i n f i n i t e s t u p i d i t y and u s e l e s s n e s s of h i s handsome w i f e . The d i s p a r i t y 126 between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet i s equally obvious, and unnecessarily ag- gravated by Mr. Bennet's lack of tolerance and exhibition of active d i s l i k e for the woman who precipitated his youthful error: . . . captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good humour which youth and beauty generally give, [hej had married a woman whose weak understanding and i l l i b e r a l mind had very early i n their marriage put an end to a l l r e a l a f f e c t i o n for her. (PP, 372. My i t a l i c s ) These " i l l - a s s o r t e d matches" r e s u l t , of course, from the tendency of the older generation to regard women as objects to be bargained for i n a market where beauty, wealth and status are prime assets. Speaking of Colonel Brandon's preference for Marianne Dashwood, Mrs. Jennings happily speculates that " i t would be an excellent match f o r he was r i c h and she was handsome" (SS_, 21). Mrs. Jennings speaks from first-hand knowledge. Her own daughter's marriage was apparently based on the same premise, as evidenced by Elinor's r e f l e c t i o n s on the i l l - n a t u r e of Charlotte's husband: His temper might perhaps be a l i t t l e soured by finding, l i k e many others of his sex, that through some unaccountable bias i n favour of beauty, he was the husband of a very s i l l y woman—but she knew that t h i s kind of blunder was too common for any sensible man to be l a s t i n g l y hurt by i t . (SS, 67) Wickham i s attracted to Lydia Bennet by the i d e n t i c a l q u a l i t i e s which attracted her father to her mother. Mr. Rushworth marries Maria Bertram for her beauty, which she trades for "the enjoyment of a larger income than her father's, as well as . . . the house i n town" (MP, 491). Mr. C o l l i n s ' unrelieved unattractiveness Charlotte Lucas i s w i l l i n g to accept i n return for the p r i v i l e g e of having her own home. Mr. Elton marries Miss Hawkins for her money, which she i s only 127 too happy to exchange for status. None of these marriages, although contracted between members of the younger generation, can i n s t i t u t e a new society. Based not on equality but on a commercial r e l a t i o n - ship between the sexes which Defoe deplores as "the disaster of the times,"^ they do but perpetuate the old, s t e r i l e society. And i f by any chance we entertain the delusion that the old society has long vanished, we should remember that even today the r e a l reasons for which people marry do not bear too close a scrutiny, for "according to the standards of our society, a man makes a successful marriage when he hooks a pretty g i r l . And a woman has made a good match i f she k marries a successful man." The old society i s s t i l l very much with us. Mary Crawford, discussing marriage with Mrs. Grant, remarks: ". . . there i s not one i n a hundred of either sex who i s not taken i n when they m a r r y . . . . i t i s , of all„transactions, the one i n which people expect most from others, and are least honest themselves. . . . I know so many who have married i n the f u l l expectation and confidence of some one p a r t i c u l a r advantage i n the connection, or accomplishment, or good quality i n the person, who have found themselves e n t i r e l y deceived, and been obliged to put up with exactly the reverse. What i s t h i s but a take i n ? " (MP, 4-95-̂ 96) In case we may be s l i g h t l y misled by the i n c l u s i o n of one "'good q u a l i t y i n the person,'" we must remember that Mary says elsewhere, "'A large income i s the best recipe for happiness I ever heard o f " (MP, 598). When marriage i s the r e s u l t of a bartering process based on appearances, i t i s not s u r p r i s i n g that the participants are hood- winked. It would be strange i f they were not. For each seeks i n the other only what i t i s to his material advantage to f i n d , and shows only what i t p r o f i t s him to disclose, disguising a l l the r e s t . Only when the choice of both partners i s determined by "that higher species of self-command, that just consideration of others, that knowledge of 128 [ t h e i r j own heart [s], that p r i n c i p l e of r i g h t " (MP, 524) which consti- tute the e s s e n t i a l core of Jane Austen's value system, can i t be said that happiness i n marriage does not depend e n t i r e l y on chance. In the marriages which herald, the new society, i t i s the i n t r i n - s i c worth of the partners which i s all-important. Wealth and status, for instance, are never decisive factors i n the choice of the comic heroines. Catherine Morland gives no thought to money. Elinor Dash- wood marries Edward Ferrars i n the f u l l knowledge of his disinheritance. Although Elizabeth Bennet p l a y f u l l y t e l l s Jane that her love for Darcy began when she f i r s t saw Pemberley, we know that his wealth and p o s i - t i o n could not even s l i g h t l y modify her o r i g i n a l d i s l i k e of him. For Emma Woodhouse, who i s wealthy i n her own r i g h t , the question of money does not a r i s e . Anne E l l i o t might come under f i r e because of her re- f u s a l , as a young g i r l , to marry Frederick Wentworth, but we already know her reasons and we must remember that she l a t e r disclaims vehem- ently against the sort of prudence which sets f i n a n c i a l security at too high a premium. Indeed, a l l the comic heroines would seem to agree with Fanny Price who—not i n the least tempted by Henry Craw- ford's wealth and p o s i t i o n — n e v e r sways from her conviction as to "how wretched, and how unpardonable, how hopeless, and how wicked i t was, to marry without a f f e c t i o n " (MP, 665). Even more s i g n i f i c a n t , perhaps, the heroes are not unduly at- tracted by the beauty of the heroines—only one of whom, Marianne Dashwood, seems to have a legitimate claim to great beauty. Catherine Morland, E l i n o r Dashwood and Fanny Price are pretty g i r l s but do not evoke any memorable comment on their appearance from t h e i r respective s u i t o r s . At f i r s t , Darcy finds Elizabeth only " ' t o l e r a b l e ' " and not u n t i l he begins to admire her as a person does he notice her "'fine 129 eyes.'" Mr. Knightley r e a d i l y admits that Emma i s handsome—"'. . . I confess that I have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers*" (E, 784)—but i s interested i n her primarily because she promises r a t i o n a l companionship. At the time of Frederick Went- worth's return, Anne i s "faded and t h i n " (P, 1213), to such an extent that he remarks upon her changed appearance to her s i s t e r Mary; not u n t i l he r e a l i z e s that he s t i l l loves her can he say, "*. . . to my eye you could never a l t e r ' " (P, 1359). In marriages based on such values as these, i t would be highly improbable i f happiness were only a matter of chance. . . . there i s a spot the size of a s h i l l i n g at the back of the head which one can never see for oneself. It i s one of the good o f f i c e s that sex can discharge for s e x — t o describe that spot the s i z e of a s h i l l i n g at the back of the head. . . . Be t r u t h f u l , one would say, and the r e s u l t i s bound to be amazingly i n t e r e s t i n g . Comedy i s bound to be enriched.5 Such "good o f f i c e s " are not performed i n the " i l l - a s s o r t e d matches" of the old, r i g i d society. S i r Thomas, for instance, might have r e - directed some of Lady Bertram's attitudes; released from i t s bonds of selfishness, her e s s e n t i a l l y gentle nature might have softened his own harsh manners. Mr. Bennet, by strengthening his wife's weak understanding and correcting her i l l i b e r a l views, might have trans- muted some of her undeniable s o c i a b i l i t y into a measure of s o c i a l awareness. Both women, perhaps, had they been treated more l i k e people, could have become l e s s l i k e objects. According to M i l l , t h i s neglect on the part of husbands i s deliberate: I believe that t h e i r C w o m e n's} d i s a b i l i t i e s elsewhere are only clung to i n order to maintain t h e i r subordination i n domestic l i f e ; because the generality of the male sex cannot yet tolerate the idea of l i v i n g with an equal.6 130 Charlotte Lucas makes no attempt to modify but chooses to ignore Mr. C o l l i n s 1 s t u p i d i t y . The Eltons, by r e i n f o r c i n g each other's snobbery and egoism, only enlarge the size of their respective s h i l l i n g - s p o t s . On the other hand, the partners i n the marriages based on "harmony i n d i v e r s i t y " do much to help and complement each other. Through Henry Tilney*s understanding and sophistication, Catherine loses much of her naivete. Fanny Price's clear-sightedness helps r i d Edmund of his i l l u s i o n s . Anne E l l i o t i s the cause of Frederick Wentworth's r e l i n - quishing his pride. Mr. Knightley redeems Emma from her over-active fancy and her dangerous flippancy; i n turn, her playfulness w i l l modify his seriousness. When Elizabeth f e e l s she has l o s t Darcy, she r e f l e c t s : It was an union that must have been to the advantage of both: by her ease and l i v e l i n e s s , his mind might have been softened, his manners improved; and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance. (PP, 4l?) Darcy admits, "'You taught me a lesson . . . . by you I was properly humbled*" (PP, ^53). That t h i s mutual give-and-take w i l l continue i s suggested by Elizabeth's checking her temptation to tease Darcy about Bingley's p l i a b i l i t y because "she remembered that he had yet to learn to be laughed at, and i t was rather too early to begin'" (PP, 455), and evidenced by his becoming, a f t e r their marriage, "the object of open pleasantry" (PP, 465). And so the v i r t u a l i s o l a t i o n i n which the partners i n the marriages condoned by the old society exist i s superseded by "the perfect union, the perfect communication,"'' between the marriage partners who meet each other on terms of equality i n the new society: 131 What marriage may be i n the case of two persons of c u l t i v a t e d f a c u l - t i e s , i d e n t i c a l i n opinions and purposes, between whom there exists that best kind of equality, s i m i l a r i t y of powers and capacities with r e c i p r o c a l s u p e r i o r i t y i n them—so that each can enjoy the luxury of looking up to the other, and can have alternately the pleasure of lead- ing and of being led i n the path of development—I w i l l not attempt to describe. . . . But I maintain, with the profoundest^conviction, that t h i s , and t h i s only, i s the i d e a l of marriage . . . . Comedy, always concerned with what benefits society, i s indeed enrich- ed, because the a n t i - s o c i a l has been supplanted by the t r u l y s o c i a l . By now i t must be obvious that the most remarkable phenomenon i n the marriage around which the new society forms i s the quality of the husband chosen by the comic heroine. Too l i t t l e has been said about him: his r e a l worth must be assessed. That Jane Austen's men are usually seen only i n r e l a t i o n to her women9is generally true, but t h i s does not i n any way diminish t h e i r status. Neither i s i t strange or unusual. In many comic novels, the heroine i s seen only i n r e l a - t i o n to the male protagonist: she waits passively, symbolizing a l l the virtues of hearth and home, while he overcomes the impediments to t h e i r union. In Jane Austen's novels, i n which the protagonist i s a woman, the hero must stand by u n t i l she overcomes her obstacles. But he i s r a r e l y passive; on the contrary, by consistently aligning him- s e l f with her cause, he helps to lead her out of her impasse. In i t s e l f , his assistance i s not unusual but, under the circumstances, i t becomes highly s i g n i f i c a n t because i t places him, too, i n opposition to the obstructing characters. Unlike most of his sex, he i s neither an egoist nor a sentimentalist; he prefers a r a t i o n a l woman to a d o l l on a pedestal, and he pays a l l women the compliment of refusing to i d e a l i z e them. Consequently, he w i l l see his wife not as an object, a puppet who continues to play her mechanical role i n a d i f f e r e n t 132 environment, but as an i n d i v i d u a l i n her own right whose claim for recognition i s v a l i d and whose opportunity to r e a l i z e herself f u l l y i s long overdue. Furthermore, he has helped to prepare her for that opportunity. Henry Tilney, for instance, commends Catherine's "teach- ableness of d i s p o s i t i o n " (NA, 1160). Edmund Bertram, "loving, guiding, protecting" Fanny since she was ten years old (MP, 757), and always eager "to direct her thoughts or f i x her p r i n c i p l e s " (MP, 712) i s responsible for the taste and c u l t i v a t i o n of her adult mind. Mr. Knightley has "watched over her [Emma} from a g i r l , with an endeavour to improve her, and an anxiety for her doing r i g h t , which no other creature had at a l l shared" (E, 1017). That Darcy w i l l perform the same service for Elizabeth at a more advanced l e v e l i s almost certain; as Mr. Bennet remarks: "I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable unless you t r u l y esteemed your husband—unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your l i v e l y talents would place you i n the greatest danger i n an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape d i s c r e d i t and misery." (PP, 458. My i t a l i c s ) These men are, of course, i n t e l l e c t u a l l y superior to the women they marry. And perhaps t h i s i s why they are so often considered father f i g u r e s — a s indeed they are. Edward Ferrars and Frederick Wentworth, who marry i n t e l l e c t u a l equals, are not father figures i n t h i s p a r t i c - ular sense, although they are i n another and equally important sense. For a l l the comic heroines—and we must include even E l i n o r Dashwood and Anne E l l i o t — h a v e been relegated by their society to a position of i n f e r i o r i t y ; they are not yet ready to assume the r e s p o n s i b i l i t y inherent i n f u l l equality with the male. E s s e n t i a l l y , they are i n the same p o s i t i o n as subjects i n a former dictatorship who must be care- f u l l y prepared to undertake the obligations central to democratic 133 freedom. And so the comic heroine must be trained for her new posi- t i o n , and by a man who treats her as a unique, r a t i o n a l human being with a very r e a l potential of her own—by a man who, i n e f f e c t , abjures the whole concept of female i n f e r i o r i t y . By so doing, these men are acting against what the old society would consider t h e i r own i n t e r e s t s for, i f their actions were to become a universal law, the r e s u l t i n g equality of the sexes would destroy the whole myth of male s u p e r i o r i t y . It i s p l a i n , therefore, why we must never underestimate Jane Austen's heroes. Above a l l , as co-founders of the new, free society, they serve as the c r i t e r i o n for i d e a l c i t i z e n s h i p i n that they are prepared to s a c r i f i c e private interest for the common good. Since "the tendency of comedy i s to include as many people as possible i n i t s f i n a l society; the blocking characters are more often reconciled or converted than simply repudiated,""^ the s o c i a l expan- siveness of Jane Austen's new society i s not l i m i t e d to the r e l a t i o n - ship between husband and wife. Most of the obstructing characters who have, i n one way or another, denied the comic heroines' claim for recognition, are reconciled and admitted. Although people l i k e the Eltons, S i r Walter E l l i o t and Colonel Tilney are permitted to exist only on the periphery of the new society, none but Mrs. Norris and Mr. Wickham are c a t e g o r i c a l l y repudiated. S i r Thomas Bertram, Mrs. Dashwood and Lady Hussell, eager to renounce the old society, are welcomed into the new. With i t s e x p l i c i t promise of a better l i f e for the children of the coming generation, Jane Austen's new society i s even more s o c i - a l l y i n c l u s i v e than the comic pattern demands. Not only are the heroes shown as i d e a l father figures; the major comic heroines (with the exception of Catherine M o r iand and Marianne Dashwood) are also 134 c a r e f u l l y displayed as p o t e n t i a l l y i d e a l parents at some point of the action. As Mr. Knightley watches Emma play with her s i s t e r ' s children, he remarks on her a b i l i t y to handle them: " I f you were as much guided by nature i n your estimate of men and women, and as l i t t l e under the power of fancy and whim i n your dealings with them, as you are where these children are concerned, we might always think a l i k e . " (E, 822) "New as anything l i k e an o f f i c e of authority was to Fanny, new as i t was to imagine herself capable of guiding or informing anyone" (MP, 711), she i s , while i n Portsmouth, a tremendous influence for good on her s i s t e r Susan: She gave advice, advice too sound to be r e s i s t e d by a good understand- ing, and given so mildly and considerately as not to i r r i t a t e an imperfect temper, and she had the happiness of observing i t s good e f f e c t s not unfrequently. (MP, 712) Anne E l l i o t i s very attached to her s i s t e r ' s children, "who loved her nearly as well, and respected her a great deal more than t h e i r mother" (P, 1 2 3 5 ) ; as Mary herself indicates, Anne can control them much more e f f e c t i v e l y than she: "'You can make l i t t l e Charles do anything; he always minds you at a word'" (P, 1 2 4 4 ) . E l i n o r Dashwood's "strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment, which q u a l i f i e d her, though only nineteen, to be the counsellor of her mother" (SS, 3 ) , and the "'common sense, common care, common prudence'" (SS, 51) which are native to her a nd which she t r i e s to persuade her mother to exer- cise on Marianne's behalf, unquestionably give her the stature of an i d e a l parent f i g u r e . I f anything, Elizabeth Bennet q u a l i f i e s for an even more impressive stature. Not only does she frequently j o i n with Jane " i n an endeavour to check the imprudence of Catherine and Lydia" (PP, 3 5 9 ) i n her attempt to compensate for the d e f i c i e n c i e s of her 135 parents; as we have already seen (in Chapter II) she openly c r i t i c i z e s her father for his neglect and implores him to accept his responsibil- i t y . Furthermore, she i s deeply conscious of the unfortunate effects of mismatched parents on their children: . . . she had never f e l t so strongly as now [after her parents have permitted Lydia to go to Brighton] the disadvantages which must attend the children of so unsuitable a marriage, nor ever been so f u l l y aware of the evils arising from so ill-judged a direction of talents . . . . (PP, 373) And eventually she i s able to help right the wrong of which she i s so keenly aware; Catherine, who shares many of the faults common to her mother and Lydia, divides most of her time between Elizabeth and Jane after they are married, and "in society so superior to what she had generally known, her improvement was great. . . . she became, by proper attention and management, less i r r i t a b l e , less ignorant, and less insipid" (PP, 463). It becomes obvious that, while Jane Austen's heroes are already father figures in a very special sense, her comic heroines, far from child-like themselves, are potentially ideal mothers who w i l l gain in stature as their independence as individuals i s increased and encouraged by their husbands: To be a good mother—a woman must haye sense, and that independence of mind which few women possess who are taught to depend entirely on their husbands. Meek wives are, in general, foolish mothers . . . (my i t a l i c s ) We cannot help but contrast the fate of the "young olive-branch" expected by the Collinses (PP, 4-50) and who w i l l have to face a l l the prejudices and problems of the old society which checkmated his mother, with that of the child of the new society, the ideals of which both his parents are capable of upholding. 136 As the social and moral significance of Jane Austen's comedy- becomes increasingly manifest, i t would seem that her work l i e s even further beyond the charge of t r i v i a l i t y than previously indicated (in Chapter I), particularly that implicit in such a criticism as levelled by Mr. E. N. Hayes: . . . the objection i s not to her having confined her attention to the nineteenth century gentry of England and the problems of court- ship, but to her having neither the depth of mind nor the fullness of passion to extend these subjects beyond the particulars of her time to the eternal problems of mankind. By illuminating the many facets of the age-old problem of the subjuga- tion of women, Jane Austen has certainly extended her subject to "the eternal problems" of at least one-half of mankind. And by focussing the light of the comic s p i r i t on the resulting "basic insincerity of the relations between the sexes" which could indeed by "the canker at the very heart of our c i v i l i z a t i o n . . . . . spreading] a blight of frustration and distrust through a l l human a c t i v i t i e s , " ^ she would seem not only to deal with timeless problems of great importance to a l l men but also to demonstrate the very "depth of mind" and "fullness of passion" which Mr. Hayes accuses her of lacking. He would seem, in the f i r s t place, to be deceived by her lack of didacticism, by the Ik "charming display of good manners" with which she conducts her comic attack; and, in the second place, to so underestimate the power and the purpose of the comic form that he does not realize that "the eternal problems of mankind" are the very substance of comedy. In his rather half-hearted rebuttal, Mr. William Frost suggests this oversight: What her best works . . . deal with i s humanity in i t s domestic r e l a t i o n s — a topic l i k e l y to be of continuing interest and importance 137 at least as long as human beings go on l i v i n g together i n s o c i a l con- texts of one sort or another • . . .^5 His r e l a t i v e l y weak defence of the comic form, however, suggests that he too tends to undervalue i t s s i g n i f i c a n c e . The e s s e n t i a l d i s t i n c - tions between comedy and tragedy have already been discussed (in Chapter I ) , but i t i s well to remember the existence of "a comic road to wisdom" and a comic control of l i f e which "may be more usable, more relevant ^than the tragic control] to the human condition i n a l l i t s normalcy and confusion, i t s many unreconciled d i r e c t i o n s . " " ^ That "the comic action touches experience at more points than the tragic 17 action" would seem to be true almost by d e f i n i t i o n , yet we tend to ignore the implications as to the r e l a t i v e importance of the two art forms: . . . which of Shakespeare's plays r e a l l y shows a more profound know- ledge of the hearts of fathers and children: Lear, or Henry IV, 1 and 2, and Henry V? Is not the c r i s i s l u r i d l y overstated i n Lear and met with greater insight i n the figures of Henry IV, Hal, Hotspur, and F a l s t a f f ? Can we honestly claim that Shakespeare reveals more about l i f e i n the tragedy of Lear than i n the c o n f l i c t s between Henry and h i s wild son? Are not many of the problems raised i n the great tragedies solved i n the great comedies? With i t s concentration on "one aim, one passion, one c o n f l i c t and 19 ultimate defeat," tragedy has nothing whatever to do with the wel- 2< fare of the group. On the other hand, "the idea of good c i t i z e n s h i p " consistently underlies the great comedies—those of Jane Austen no l e s s than those of Aristophanes. To Jane Austen, "the idea of good c i t i z e n s h i p " i s i n e x t r i c a b l y intertwined with the p r i n c i p l e of the p o t e n t i a l equality of men and women which, i f generally accepted, would replace the old estrangement with a new freedom of communication between husband and wife, between parent and c h i l d — a freedom which 138 would gradually extend to a l l members of the community, supplanting the old a n t i - s o c i a l i s o l a t i o n with a new s o c i a l inclusiveness. And so, because of her deep concern with the establishment of a "moral norm," a "pragmatically free society,"—which, she suggests, can only r e s u l t when the cornerstone of the group i s a marriage i n which both partners meet on equal footing—she aligns herself with such figures o as Meredith and Bergson who firmly believe that "comedy i s a premise 21 to c i v i l i z a t i o n . " Consequently, i n the l i g h t of her undeniable mastery of the comic form and the high purpose to which she directs i t , any a l l e g a t i o n of t r i v i a l i t y would indeed seem myopic i f not e n t i r e l y i n v a l i d . For, by following the "movement from i l l u s i o n to 22 r e a l i t y , " the e s s e n t i a l movement of comedy, the "thoughtful laughter" Jane Austen evokes i n e v i t a b l y leads to the recognition of a universal truth: The moral regeneration of mankind w i l l only r e a l l y commence, when the most fundamental of the s o c i a l r e l a t i o n s i s placed under the rule of equal j u s t i c e , and when human beings learn to c u l t i v a t e their strongest sympathy with an equal i n r i g h t s and i n c u l t i v a t i o n . ^ * 139 NOTES ''"Frye, Anatomy of C r i t i c i s m , p. I 6 9 . 2 Jane Austen: F a c t s and Problems (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 194.9), ?. lBir; ^ M o l l F l a n d e r s , p. 65. John A r n e t t , D i s c u s s i o n of a Paper, " C l a s s M o b i l i t y and Emotional H e a l t h i n Some Canadian F a m i l i e s , " r e a d to the Canadian P o l i t i c a l Science A s s o c i a t i o n , June, 1965, by W i l l i a m A. Morley, Vancouver Sun, June 12, 1965, p. 5, c o l . 3 . 5 -n/foolf, A Room of One's Own, p. 136. The S u b j e c t i o n of Women, p. 77. 7 'S. C. B u r c h e l l , "Jane Austen: The Theme o f I s o l a t i o n , " NCF, X (1954), 148. g M i l l , The S u b j e c t i o n of Women, p. 123. g 'Kumar, "Jane A u s t e n — T h e F e m i n i s t S e n s i b i l i t y , " 135-136. 1 0 F r y e , p. I65• 1 X W c "Emma: A D i s s e n t i n g O p i n i o n , " NCF, IV (1949), 8 - 9 . follstonecraft, R i g h t s of Woman, p. 227. 12 "^Stevenson, " I n t r o d u c t i o n " to The E g o i s t , p. i x . 14 Kumar, 139. 15"Emma: A Defense," NCF, IV (1949), 325-328. "^Sypher, "Appendix" to Comedy, p. 254. 1 7 I b i d . , p. 206. -1 o I b i d . , p. 207. 19 'Langer, F e e l i n g a n d Form, p. 357. 20 Meredith, "An Essay on Comedy," p. 3 8 . 21 Sypher, " I n t r o d u c t i o n " to Comedy, p. x v i . 22 Frye, p. 169. 2 3 M i l l , p. 123. i4o WORKS CITED Arnett, John. Discussion of a Paper, "Class Mobility and Emotional Health i n Some Canadian Families," read to the Canadian P o l i t i c a l Science Association, June, 1965, by William A. Morley. Vancouver Sun, June 12, 1965, p. 5, c o l . 3. Austen, Jane. The Complete Novels of Jane Austen. The Modern Library E d i t i o n . New York: Random House (n.d. given). . The Works of Jane Austen, ed. R. W. Chapman. 6 vols. London: Oxford Univ. Press, 1958. Bentley, E r i c . The Playwright as Thinker: A Study of Drama i n Modern Times. Cleveland & New York: World Publishing Co., 1955' Bergson, Henri. "Laughter," i n Comedy. See entry under "Sypher, Wylie. " Burchell, Samuel C. "Jane Austen: The Theme of I s o l a t i o n . " Nineteenth Century F i c t i o n , X (195*0, 146-150. Burney, Fanny. Evelina or A Young Lady's Entrance into the World. London: Dent, 1964. Chapman, R, W. Jane Austen: Facts and Problems. The Clark Lectures, T r i n i t y College, Cambridge, 1948. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1949. Chesterton, G. K. The V i c t o r i a n Age i n Literature. London: Williams & Norgate, 1913* Cornford, F. M. The Origin of A t t i c Comedy. Anchor Book E d i t i o n . New York: Doubleday, 1961. Defoe, Daniel. The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1949• Friedan, Betty. The Feminine Mystique. New York: W. W. Norton, 1963- Frost, William. "Emma: A Defense." Nineteenth Century F i c t i o n , IV (1949), 325-328. Frye, Northrop. Anatomy of C r i t i c i s m . Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1957. 141 Hayes, E. N. "Emma: A Dissenting Opinion." Nineteenth Century F i c t i o n , IV (194-9), 1 - 2 0 . K i t t o , H. D. F. The Greeks. Pelican Book E d i t i o n . Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin, 1 9 5 8 . Kumar, A. S. "Jane Austen—The Feminist S e n s i b i l i t y . " Indian Journal of English Studies, III ( 1 9 6 1 ) , 1 3 5 - 1 3 9 . Langer, S. K. Feeling and Form: A Theory of Art Developed from "Philosophy i n a New Key." London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1 9 5 3 . Lascelles, Mary. Jane Austen and Her Art. London: Oxford Univ. Press, 1 9 3 9 . Mack, Maynard. "Introduction to Joseph Andrews," The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and of His Friend Mr. Abraham Adams, by Henry F i e l d i n g . New York & Toronto: Rinehart, 1 9 4 8 . Meredith, George. The Egoist: A Comedy i n Narrative• Riverside E d i t i o n . Boston: Houghton M i f f l i n , 193o\ . "An Essay on Comedy," i n Comedy. See entry under "Sypher, Wylie." M i l l , John Stuart. The Subjection of Women. New ed. London: Longmans, Green & Co., 1 9 0 9 . Needham, G. B. and R. P. Utter. Pamela's Daughters. New York: Macmillan, 1 9 3 6 . 0 Stevenson, L i o n e l . "Introduction," The Egoist: A Comedy i n Narrative, by George Meredith. Riverside E d i t i o n . Boston: Houghton M i f f l i n , 1 9 5 8 . Sypher, Wylie, cdmp. Comedy: Laughter by Henri Bergson and An Essay on Comedy by George Meredith, Introduction and Appendix: "The Meanings of Comedy" by Wylie Sypher. Anchor Book E d i t i o n . New York: Doubleday, 1 9 5 6 . Van Ghent, Dorothy. The English Novel: Form and Function. New York: Rinehart, 1 9 5 3 . Watt, Ian. The Rise of the Novel: Studies i n Defoe, Richardson and F i e l d i n g . Berkeley & Los Angeles: Univ. of C a l i f o r n i a Press, 1 9 6 2 . Wilson, Mona. Jane Austen and Some Contemporaries. London: Cresset Press, 193%. Wollstonecraft, Mary. A Vindication of the Rights of Woman. New ed. London: T. Fisher Unwin, I 8 9 I . 142 Woolf, V i r g i n i a . The Common Reader. 2nd Ed. London: L. & V. Woolf, 1925. . Contemporary Writers. London: Hogarth Press, 1965. . Granite and Rainbow. London: Hogarth Press, 1958. . A Room of One's Own. London: Hogarth Press, 1931. 
work_gpcy5x7s6zfflkruth3vo6lyse	----	untitled 362 The Cambridge Journal of Postcolonial Literary Inquiry, 4(3), pp 362–381 September 2017. © Cambridge University Press, 2017 doi:10.1017/pli.2017.26 Revisiting Mansfield Park: The Critical and Literary Legacies of Edward W. Said’s Essay “Jane Austen and Empire” in Culture and Imperialism (1993) Corinne Fowler Edward W. Said’s seminal essay “Jane Austen and Empire” exhorts critics to attend to novels’ “historical valances.” Yet advances in British imperial history show that Said underestimated the extent of country houses’ Caribbean and East India Company links. Historians of British imperial history have yet to reflect directly on the implications of these discoveries for the critical legacy of Said’s essay. Informed by twenty years of critical debate, I explain why research into country houses’ colonial connections warrants a definitive modification of Said’s view on Austen. Correspondingly, the article considers the literary legacy of Said’s essay on Austen in three texts: John Agard’s poem “Mansfield Park Revisited” (2006), Jo Baker’s novel Longbourn (2013), and Catherine Johnson’s novel The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo (2015). Agard, Baker, and Johnson are heirs of both Austen and Said, whose writings continue to shape postcolonial renderings of the English countryside. Keywords: Edward W. Said, Jane Austen, black British history, country houses, postcolonial ruralities In Slavery and the British Country House, Madge Dresser and Andrew Hann observe that country houses are potent “symbol[s] of refinement, connoisseurship and civility … and iconic signifier[s] of national identity.”1 Yet, as they argue, this high-flown rhetoric is undermined by such houses’ colonial connections. In recent years a wealth of Caribbean and East India Company links have been recovered from the historical record.2 In the light of these discoveries, Edward W. Said’s exhortation to attend to novels’ “historical valences” remains crucial.3 The exhortation appears in Corinne Fowler is an associate professor of Postcolonial Literature. She directs the Centre for New Writing at the University of Leicester and has authored books and articles on Afghanistan, postcolonial travel writing, black British writers and rural racism. (Email: csf11@le.ac.uk) 1 Madge Dresser and Andrew Hann, Slavery and the British Country House (London: English Heritage, 2013), xiii. 2 See Stephanie Barczewski, Country Houses and the British Empire, 1700–1930 (Manchester, England: Manchester University Press, 2014); Paula Byrne, Belle (London: William Collins, 2014); Catherine Hall, Keith MacClelland, Nick Draper, and Katie Donington, Legacies of British Slave Ownership (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2014); Margot Finn and Kate Smith, eds., New Pathways to Public History (London: Palgrave, 2015); Miranda Kaufmann, “Thoughts on Belle.” Blog entry June 26, 2015, www. mirandakaufmann.com/blog/thoughts-on-belle. 3 Edward Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” Culture and Imperialism (London: Vintage, 1993), 107. at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available mailto:csf11@le.ac.uk http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1017/pli.2017.26&domain=pdf https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core Said’s seminal essay on Mansfield Park, “Jane Austen and Empire,” first published in Culture and Imperialism in 1993. However, advances in the field of British imperial history reveal that “Jane Austen and Empire” has proved an inexact historical guide: Said considerably underestimated country houses’ ties to empire. Historians have yet to reflect directly on the implications of their discoveries for Said’s reading of Mansfield Park. Accordingly, the first half of my article undertakes this task. Informed by some twenty years of critical debate, this essay explains why current research into country houses’ colonial connections warrants a definitive modification of his view on Austen. From here, I consider the legacy of “Jane Austen and Empire” to contemporary writers, a task that reaffirms Said’s principle of attending closely to “historical valances.” This is not merely due to new historical knowledge, but because contemporary British authors are actively rewriting English rurality in the light of such knowledge. Examined in the second part of the essay are three literary works that demonstrate the ongoing relevance of “Jane Austen and Empire” to contemporary British writing about the countryside. They are John Agard’s poem “Mansfield Park Revisited” (2006), Jo Baker’s novel Longbourn (2013), and Catherine Johnson’s novel The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo (2015).4 In their own ways, Agard, Baker, and Johnson are heirs of both Austen (in modified view) and Said, whose writings continue to shape literary re-conceptions of the English countryside. Before considering the contemporary literary legacy of “Jane Austen and Empire,” this article critically examines the historical foundations of Said’s essay. This endeavor inexorably leads to a reading of Mansfield Park—and indeed of colonial Britain itself— that is apiece with today’s historical thinking on Britain’s imperial past. Historians increasingly see colonialism’s cultural, economic, and material legacies as more formative of modern Britain than even Said suggested. Contemporary writing increasingly registers this perspective. There is a proliferation of responses to new evidence of rural England’s eighteenth- and nineteenth-century black presence. Besides the primary texts examined by this article, many other relevant plays, poems, and films are identified in my conclusion: these collectively represent historically informed new visions of black English rurality. My article confines itself to three distinct iterations of the literary response to Said’s thoughts on Austen. Taking a chronological approach to the works by Agard, Baker, and Johnson, I suggest that Said’s reading of Mansfield Park has yielded to increasingly complex and geographically wide-ranging literary understandings of country houses’ material and cultural connection to empire. In “Jane Austen and Empire,” Said argues that novels by Austen and her con- temporaries are wilfully silent about colonial cruelty and indifferent to enslaved people’s resistance to their oppression. Colonial writers like Kipling and Conrad, he contends, “are prepared for by Austen and Thackeray, Defoe, Scott and Dickens.”5 Among the essay’s most widely quoted declarations is that “it is genuinely troubling to see how little Britain’s great humanistic ideas … stand in the way of the accelerating imperial process.”6 4 John Agard, We Brits (Tarset, England: Bloodaxe, 2006); Jo Baker, Longbourn (London: Black Swan, 2013); Catherine Johnson, The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo (London: Penguin, 2015). 5 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 114. 6 Ibid., 97. REVISITING MANSFIELD PARK: THE CRITICAL AND LITERARY LEGACIES 363 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core Said argues that Mansfield Park promotes “a domestic imperialist culture without which Britain’s subsequent acquisition of territory would not have been possible.”7 He believes that Austen’s novel is agnostic about the extent to which slave-produced wealth funded luxurious lifestyles.8 His view is that Mansfield Park highlights Sir Thomas Bertram’s plantation wealth, which “mak[es] possible his values to which Fanny Price (and Austen herself) finally subscribes.”9 In the light of new country house research, I ask why, and in what ways, Said’s reading of Mansfield Park can be authoritatively challenged from a historical perspective. More than two decades have passed since “Jane Austen and Empire” was published. Said’s pioneering essay has rightly retained its critical currency for contemporary scholars working across multiple fields of enquiry, due to Said’s innovation of contrapuntal reading and, crucially, the principle of linking literary works with cultural imperialism in the first place. My article considers the implications the essay’s historical oversights in the light of what we now know. Country houses have complex, multiple connections to slave-derived wealth.10 From the 1670s to the early twentieth century, as many as one in six country houses were purchased by merchants whose fortunes depended on colonial trade.11 After 1700, many newly acquired estates were developed in the countryside surrounding the major slaving ports of Bristol, Liverpool, London, and Glasgow.12 Country houses were owned by men who insured slave ships or plantations, or who participated in parliamentary debates on issues that affected their own financial interests, such as abolition or East India Company trade.13 As Margot Finn explains, historians are overturning the conventional academic view that “the British empire made few material demands and had little … material impact on eighteenth- and nineteenth- century British society and culture.”14 A striking example of this phenomenon is the case of the Hibbert family, which—over three generations—progressed from merchants to planters, eventually financing London docks with sugar money, lobbying Parliament against abolition and establishing themselves in country houses, where the origins of their wealth were gradually forgotten.15 British commemorations of slavery tend to focus on abolition,16 but a range of scholars—including Finn, Catherine Hall, and David Olusoga—are instead empha- sising the ways in which slave-related profiteering shaped Britain’s architectural, 7 Ibid., 114. 8 Ibid., 78. 9 Ibid., 73. 10 The “Legacies of British Slave Ownership” project has investigated the importance of compensation to slave owners for lost profits following slavery’s abolition. As Sanchez Manning observes, 3,000 wealthy British families received the modern equivalent of £16.5 billion in compensation from the British government in 1833, representing 40 percent of the Treasury’s annual budget (8). 11 Barczewski, Country Houses and the British Empire, 1700–1930, 122. 12 Ibid., 123. 13 Kaufmann blog, 1. 14 Finn and Smith, New Paths to Public History, 5. 15 “Transforming Capital: Slavery, Family, Commerce and the Making of the Hibbert Family” in Hall et al., Legacies of British Slave Ownership, 203. 16 Janet Todd, Jane Austen in Context (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 11; Kowaleski- Wallace Elizabeth, The British Slave Trade and Public Memory (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 111. 364 CORINNE FOWLER at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core cultural, rural, and economic life.17 Their insights invite some reassessment of Said’s major source, The Country and the City. Said inherits his tendency to understate country houses’ colonial ties from Williams’s own incomplete commentary on these links. Some passages in Williams’s book recognize colonialism’s relationship to country estates, but this relationship is articulated in very general terms. Williams writes: “[i]mportant parts of the country house system, from the sixteenth to the eighteenth centuries, were built upon the profits of [imperial] trade.”18 Williams knows that rural society is structured by colonial earnings: “[s]pices, sugar, tea, coffee, tobacco, gold and silver,” he writes, “fed as mercantile profits, into an English social order.”19 Many of the countryside’s colonial connections, however, remained undiscovered in Williams’s day. Although his 1979 documentary20 rightly suggests that Tatton Hall was “refurbished with colonial wealth,” for example, the film’s director recalls that insufficient evidence was then available to substantiate the claim.21 Since the publication of both The Country and the City and Culture and Imperialism, researchers’ focus has extended beyond slavery alone. Research into the East India Company,22 particularly, has detailed very precisely how colonialism shaped country house architecture, domestic arrangements, and material culture.23 In the spirit of attending to texts’ “worldliness,” Austen scholars have since conducted exhaustive research into the colonial dimensions of Mansfield Park.24 Many critics challenge Said’s reading of Mansfield Park on the grounds that it under- estimates the strength of Austen’s pro-abolitionist feeling.25 In The Postcolonial Jane Austen, Moira Ferguson and Elaine Jordon argue that Said overlooks the gender dimensions of abolitionist campaigns,26 for which support was almost standard among women of Austen’s generation.27 Moreover, Doody and Paula Byrne have each 17 Hall et al., Legacies of British Slave Ownership; Finn and Smith, New Pathways to Public History; David Olusoga, Black and British: A Forgotten History (London: Macmillan, 2016), xxi. 18 Raymond Williams, The Country and the City (London: Chatto and Windus, 1973), 279–80. 19 Williams, The Country and the City, 280. 20 This documentary is not in general circulation. It is directed by Mike Dibb and called The Country and the City (after the book). It was first broadcast on BBC1 in 1979. Mike Dibb, “Introduction to Raymond Williams’s 1979 film The Country and the City,” conference paper given at “Re-Imagining Rurality” Conference, University of Westminster (February 27–28, 2015). 21 Corinne Fowler, “The Rural Turn in Contemporary Writing by Black and Asian Britons,” Inter- ventions 19.3 (2016): 395–415, 1. 22 See also Leverhulme’s “East India Company at Home, 1757–1857” project based at UCL in London: http://blogs.ucl.ac.uk/eicah/. This project generated a number of detailed case studies of individual houses’ relationship to East India Company trade. A large number of voluntary associate researchers joined this co-production project and considerably expanded the historical knowledge-base in a relatively short period of three years. 23 Finn and Smith, New Paths to Public History, 5. 24 You-Mee Park and Raja Rajan, The Postcolonial Austen (Oxon, England: Routledge, 2000), 3. 25 Park and Rajan, The Postcolonial Austen, 8; Marcus Wood, Slavery, Empathy and Pornography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002); Margaret Doody, Jane Austen’s Names: Riddles, Persons, Places (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2015). 26 Moira Ferguson and Elaine Jordon in The Postcolonial Austen, 7. For more information about the pressure that women abolitionist campaigners placed upon William Wilberforce to call for an immediate end to abolition, see the AHRC project, Women’s Writing in the Midlands, 1750–1850, based at the University of Leicester and led by Dr. Felicity James. See www2.le.ac.uk/departments/english/research/ womens-writing-in-the-midlands-1750-1850. 27 Park and Rajan, The Postcolonial Austen, 9. REVISITING MANSFIELD PARK: THE CRITICAL AND LITERARY LEGACIES 365 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available http://blogs.ucl.ac.uk/eicah/ www2.le.ac.uk/departments/english/research/womens-writing-in-the-midlands-1750-1850 www2.le.ac.uk/departments/english/research/womens-writing-in-the-midlands-1750-1850 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core comprehensively demonstrated that close attention to character and place names rewards the active reader.28 They both argue that “Mansfield” references Lord Chief Justice Mansfield, who ruled in 1772 that slavery on English soil was unsupported by common law.29 Byrne also points out that Hawkins (after the slaver John Hawkins) is the maiden name of Mrs. Elton in Emma, and her father—the novel hints—was himself a slave trader.30 Norris (given to the spiteful Mrs. Norris) almost certainly alludes to the brutal slave captain John Norris, who is condemned by an abolitionist historian, Thomas Clarkson, whom Austen admired.31 Having referenced the names of major players on both sides of the slavery debate, Austen accordingly aligns her characters with mean-spiritedness and ill-feeling. Mrs. Elton—nee Hawkins—is a dislikeable snob. Maria Bertram, who moves into the slave-owning Lascelles’ former residence, is fickle. Mrs. Norris is petty and interfering. This last point undermines Said’s perspective on Sir Thomas’s final judgement about Mrs. Norris, who is happily “dislodged” from his family affairs.32 If Mrs. Norris was named after a slave-trader, and Mansfield Park was named after a man who prevented slavery on British soil, then Sir Thomas’s reflections acquire a political dimension. Not only is he anxious for his wealth to be disassociated with its point of origin, but his self-seeking relatives begin to look like the morally bankrupt offspring of an economic system that relies on colonial cruelty. It is necessary to the purpose of assessing Said’s legacy to briefly consider how critics have contested his reading of the “dead silence,” which follows Fanny’s question about slavery to Sir Thomas.33 Interpretations of this scene are multiple and conflicting. While Said sees this “dead silence” as indicating the novel’s suppression of discussions about slavery and enslaved people’s resistance to slavery,34 subsequent criticism has variously construed it as hinting at Sir Thomas’s guilty conscience35 or else his children’s indifference, which the reader is invited to condemn.36 Marcus Wood compellingly argues that Austen did not detail slaves’ suffering because it was well worn and an emotionally charged topic to which Austen’s readers had, by then, been exposed for some decades.37 Wood conjectures that the infamous silence is explained by Austen’s consciousness that polemical writing about slavery was by then “passé.”38 Although Said takes the novel’s lack of detailed reference to Antigua as evidence of British double standards, whereby humanist values are not considered relevant to colonized people,39 Wood proposes that “Austen is more profoundly, and 28 The phrase “active reader” refers back to John Wiltshire’s observation that Austen invites “an active reading” of her work. See John Wiltshire, “Exploring Mansfield Park. In the Footsteps of Fanny Price,” Persuasions 28 (2006): 69–99. 29 Byrne, Belle, 249; Doody, Jane Austen’s Names: Riddles, Persons, Places, 336. 30 Byrne, Belle, 245. 31 Byrne, Belle, 249. 32 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 110. 33 Park and Rajan, The Postcolonial Austen, 9; Todd, Jane Austen in Context, 105. 34 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 101. 35 Park and Rajan, The Postcolonial Austen, 9. 36 Bartine and McGuire, “Contrapuntal Critical Readings of Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park: Resolving the Paradox,” Interdisciplinary Literary Studies 1.1 (2009): 32–56, esp. 40. 37 Wood, Slavery, Empathy and Pornography, 300. 38 Ibid., 300. 39 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 97. 366 CORINNE FOWLER at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core more ingeniously, critical of slavery than has so far been assumed.”40 Wood finds fault in Said’s repeated declaration that Austen does not question the ethics of sugar wealth.41 On the contrary, Wood argues, “[f]or those with eyes to see,” Mansfield Park “contains a caustic assault on the moral basis of British colonial slavery.”42 As I argue, work on country houses’ Caribbean and East India connections confirms the insights of Wood in Slavery, Empathy and Pornography, and Margaret Doody in Jane Austen’s Names: Riddles, Persons, Places. These historical findings suggest far more elaborate, widespread, and complex links between country houses and empire than either Williams or Said were aware. These discoveries merit renewed critical alertness to the historical sensibility of Mansfield Park (1814) before turning to the related question of how contemporary writers have responded to this sensibility. Said’s essay “Jane Austen and Empire” persuasively and influentially extends Williams’s reflections on country houses. Scholars have, however, consistently criticized Said’s treatment of textual evidence from Mansfield Park. I want to extend these insights by demonstrating precisely how new historical insights further lend further support to earlier critics’ claims that Said overlooks the nuances of character in Austen’s work. Like any novel, Mansfield Park both promotes and discourages sympathy with its various protagonists. Said substantiates his claim that the novel supports, or is indifferent toward, colonial profiteering by alluding to the following request by Lady Bertram: “William must not forget my shawl if he goes to the East Indies.”43 Yet the novel depicts Lady Bertram as lazy, self-centered, and lacking in moral judgment. She is troubled neither by the source of Sir Thomas’s wealth nor the moral corruption that his involvement with slavery engenders.44 Nonetheless, Said sees Lady Bertram’s materialistic request for a shawl as evidence of the novel’s tendency to “repress … a rich and complex history, which has since achieved a status that the Bertrams, the Prices and Austen herself would not, could not, recognise.”45 Said conflates Austen’s own views with a character whose personality Austen makes ridiculous. He reads Austen in isolation:46 Lady Bertram’s representation is consistent with novelistic portrayals of the period. As Sara Salih suggests, characters associated with Caribbean plantations are routinely aligned with “indolence … luxury … [and] feebleness of constitution.”47 If anything, Lady Bertram’s shawl episode parodies the tastes of the newly rich, who crave expensive goods from British colonies. It is the laughable Lady Bertram who entreats Williams to bring back “anything else that is worth having.”48 The nature of her request exposes her to further ridicule, since she muddles the East Indies with the West Indies, a muddle which readers are likely to realize49 and which Said explains away as “a fit of 40 Wood, Slavery, Empathy and Pornography, 296. 41 Ibid. 42 Ibid., 298. 43 Jane Austen, Mansfield Park (London: Penguin, 2006 [1814]), 296. 44 Wood, Slavery, Empathy and Pornography, 311. 45 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 111. 46 Said refers to other canonical works in the essay, including Thackeray and Kipling. 47 Sara Salih, “The Silence of Miss Lambe: Sanditon and Contextual Fictions of ‘Race’ in the Abolition Era,” Eighteenth Century Fiction 18.3 (2006): 329–53, esp. 335. 48 Austen, Mansfield Park, 252. 49 Wood, Slavery, Empathy and Pornography, 303. REVISITING MANSFIELD PARK: THE CRITICAL AND LITERARY LEGACIES 367 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core distracted impatience.”50 So far, I have summarized critical objections to Said’s reading of Lady Bertram by Wood and Salih. Yet there are further indications that Austen’s subtlety may have eluded Said due to a deficit in historical knowledge at the time. Indications of Austen’s distaste for the upper-class consumption of empire is not restricted to Lady Bertram’s unsympathetic character alone. It is also suggested by a link that Austen draws between the Bertrams and the real-life Lascelles family. The Lascelles are mentioned when Maria Bertram takes over their family residence in London following her marriage to Mr. Rushworth. This allusion to the Lascelles is telling, although Said does not comment on it. Yet, as Doody argues: “[n]ames of places and persons in Austen’s novels are chosen with … care”: a name “is never insignificant.”51 Doody points out that the Lascelles’ fortune came from the noto- riously irresponsible Henry Lascelles of Yorkshire, who enriched himself with the Barbados slave trade and who was a central figure in the South Sea bubble disaster.52 Of dubious origin, this wealth was used to build Harwood House in Yorkshire. The name Lascelles could scarcely be more symbolically freighted, and it is hard to see Austen’s reference to the family as coincidental. John Wiltshire argues that “Austen’s narrative art … is to keep historical material recessed … [as] an invitation to active reading.”53 Here, I wish to amplify Doody’s reading of the Austen reference to the Lascelles family by attending to recent research into the origins of Harewood House. The Lascelles built Harewood House with Caribbean sugar money, but the real-life household also cherished items that were transported to Britain by the East India Company. The case of Lady Bertram’s shawl highlights the relevance of recent work on the East India Company’s impact on upper-class domesticity, historical research that further challenges Said’s understanding of Austen’s perspective on the colonial geographies of country estates. Here again, it is necessary to return to a connection that Austen makes between the real-life Lascelles and the fictional Bertrams. Life imitates art: one of these items is a valuable cashmere shawl from India, belonging to the Countess of Harewood. The shawl can be seen in her portrait,54 painted four decades after the publication of Austen’s novel. The art historian, Jennifer van Schoor, observes that the Countess’s shawl is critical to her self-fashioning. In keeping with elaborate imperialist codes of the time, the shawl represents an attempt to obscure the unsavory origins of the Lascelles’ wealth by symbolizing pedigree and respectability.55 This cultural encodement explains its desirability to women like Lady Bertram, who are anxious to establish their respectability and to secure their place in the local aristocracy. Like the Lascelles, the Bertrams are newly enriched by slave-produced sugar. The tacit association between the Bertrams and the Lascelles makes it doubtful that Austen wishes to “repress … a rich and complex history” as Said suggests.56 50 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 111. 51 Doody, Jane Austen’s Names: Riddles, Persons, Places, 4. 52 Ibid., 126. 53 Wiltshire, “Exploring Mansfield Park. In the Footsteps of Fanny Price,” 99–100. 54 The portrait was completed in 1856. 55 Jennifer van Schoor, “The Indian Folds at Harwood House.” Conference paper given at “The East India Company at Home, 1757–1857 at UCL in London, July 11–12, 2014. 56 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 111. 368 CORINNE FOWLER at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core Not only does Lady Bertram’s request testify to the demand for luxury colonial items, but it casts this demand in a negative light: the shawl is required to cover up her husband’s dubious dealings abroad. As I have argued, Said does not read Mansfield Park in conjunction with Austen’s other novels. Her unfinished novel, Sanditon (1817), further complicates his position because it contains a mixed-race character, Miss Lambe.57 As a wealthy heiress brought from the Caribbean to receive an English education, Miss Lambe resembles Dido Belle, the adopted daughter and blood relation of Lord Mansfield, who lived at Kenwood House.58 Austen knew Dido’s cousin and possibly met Dido herself.59 Like Dido, Miss Lambe is freeborn, with an income of her own. Like Dido, Miss Lambe is “half mulatto.”60 Said is right to encourage close attention to the novel’s “historical valences,”61 but post-millennial discoveries about Dido, and Austen’s personal association with her, suggest that Austen and her readers were familiar with an aspect of British history that Said leaves untouched: the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century black presence in British cities and country estates. The critical work on Sanditon demonstrates the value of placing canonical writers’ work in the context of middlebrow writing from the period, especially when it comes to assessing Said’s reading of Austen. Although Miss Lambe signals a new direction in Austen’s fiction, “mulatto” characters appear in earlier novels by Elizabeth Helme, Helena Wells, and Amelia Opie.62 Elaine Jordon observes that Charlotte Bronte and William Makepeace Thackeray also wrote about “mulatto” schoolgirls and heiresses, suggesting that, though Miss Lambe is a minor character, such figures were far from “minor to Austen’s concerns, and to English literature [and] identity.”63 Had Sanditon been completed, the figure of Miss Lambe64 seems unlikely to have surprised its first readers. The issue of Sanditon confirms the wisdom of Said’s exhortation to explore the “historical valences” of Austen’s work,65 even if new evidence leads us to qualify Said’s own conclusions. How, then, can historically informed rereadings of novels like Mansfield Park assist in the task of determining material culture’s relationship to empire? Historians have written at length about the popularity of wood that was imported from British 57 Jane Austen, Lady Susan, The Watsons and Sanditon (London: Penguin, 2003 [1817]). 58 Byrne, Belle, 9; Doody, Jane Austen’s Names: Riddles, Persons, Places, 336. 59 Byrne, Belle, 105; Doody, Jane Austen’s Names: Riddles, Persons, Places, 337. 60 Austen, Lady Susan, The Watsons and Sanditon, 206. 61 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 107. 62 Salih, “The Silence of Miss Lambe: Sanditon and Contextual Fictions of ‘Race’ in the Abolition Era,” 332–40. 63 Elaine Jordon in Park and Rajan, The Postcolonial Austen, 32. Jordon suggests that “Miss Fitzgibbon,” in Bronte’s unfinished novel Emma, appears to be the model for Miss Lambe. She also believes that “Miss Fitzgibbon could have been Jane [Eyre] the suffering schoolgirl and Bertha the tormented creole, in one person.” Like Miss Lambe, she is left at a school by a “West Indian” guardian or parent and is the wealthiest pupil. When her fees are unpaid, the schoolmistress’s neighbor suggests that she is sold as a slave to pay for her fees. Jordon also notes that Thackeray’s Vanity Fair has a Miss Swartz (black) who is initially a schoolgirl (Jordon in Park and Rajan, The Postcolonial Austen, 31–32). 64 Postcolonial critics argue that Miss Lambe is denied a voice in Sanditon (Salih; Jordon in Park and Rajan). Doody believes that this silence has been overplayed, however, because Austen put down her pen just as Miss Lambe arrives in Sanditon (211). 65 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 107. REVISITING MANSFIELD PARK: THE CRITICAL AND LITERARY LEGACIES 369 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core colonies, such as mahogany and rosewood. Mansfield Park’s omniscient narrator observes that a “profusion of mahogany” was installed at Sotherton Court “fifty years back,” in about 1757.66 Literary editors of Mansfield Park have suggested that such details are an “historical anachronism.”67 Relying on the Oxford English Dictionary as their source, M. P. Chapman and Kathryn Sutherland both conclude that Austen made a mistake. Yet Austen’s reference to mahogany is strikingly accurate. The country house historian Barczewski states that “[a]mong the upper classes, mahogany from the West Indies as the most popular; by 1750 nearly £30,000 worth was being imported every year,”68 the decade in which the mahogany is installed at Sotherton Court. Not only does this detail provide further evidence that Austen provides an oblique commentary on the consumption of colonial goods by wealthy Britons, but it also supports historians’ broader observation that these goods were a familiar feature of upper-class domesticity, as illustrated by Lady Bertram’s shawl and the mahogany floor at Sotherton.69 Other historical work helps to enhance the insights of The Country and the City, on which Said so depends. Williams’s book recognizes that colonial wealth initiated important shifts in rural social organization.70 Said’s essay likewise addresses the issue of new money, but restricts its observations to the source of Sir Thomas’s wealth in Antigua. Historians have since addressed these questions in greater detail. Families that were enriched by colonial profiteering frequently removed themselves from British centers of trade and set up house in the countryside.71 Dresser observes that, around Bristol alone, the owners of at least forty-two rural properties had West Indian or African business associations.72 These incoming families habitually procured their entry into rural upper-class society by donating benevolent funds to local colleges, schools, and hospitals. In this way, they became progressively associated with their chosen places of settlement and appearing correspondingly remote from the foreign sources of their wealth.73 Mansfield Park is depicted as a recently built house, suggesting that the Bertrams are relative newcomers. The need to establish local influence further explains the need for symbolic mantles of respectability, such as Lady Bertram’s shawl, as well as highlighting Austen’s subtle engagement with the desire to obscure the colonial origins of new money. Year by year, it is becoming increasingly evident how unreliable plantation wealth really was.74 While Said suggests that Sir Thomas’s plantations “guarantee” Mansfield Park’s stability, historical hindsight makes it likely that Sir Thomas’s income will 66 Austen, Mansfield Park, 71. 67 Katherine Sutherland, ed., “Introduction to Austen,” Mansfield Park, xi. 68 Barczewski, Country Houses and the British Empire, 1700–1930, 122. David Selwyn notes that Georgian families preferred exotic woods to oak. Austen herself had a mahogany writing desk bought in 1794. See Todd, Jane Austen in Context, 221. 69 There is a gendered aspect to the nature of empire’s domestic commodification. Kathryn Sutherland observes that Fanny’s role is to translate foreign paintings into the domestic realm, “to bring things home, to commodify goodness” (xxv). 70 Williams, The Country and the City, 280. 71 Donington, Legacies of British Slave Ownership, 214. 72 Dresser and Hann, Slavery and the British Country House, Introduction and 14. 73 Donington, Legacies of British Slave Ownership, 204. 74 Dresser and Hann, Slavery and the British Country House, 5. 370 CORINNE FOWLER at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core remain insecure and potentially ruinous. Whichever the precipitating event that sends Sir Thomas to Antigua,75 and though he regains control over his plantations, history shows that this control will almost certainly be temporary. Said’s own acknowl- edgment of this forthcoming decline undermines his statement that sugar wealth “guarantee[s]” the estate’s stability. Said does not connect this instability with the novel’s plot. In the world of Mansfield Park, sugar wealth is less sustainable than the honest, frugal income earned by clergymen like Edmund, in parsonages with modest gardens like Thornton Lacey. Fanny’s husband earns his money at home, not abroad. The novel’s historically charged challenge to the wisdom of relying on colonial profits makes it doubtful that it straightforwardly complies with the practice of “assum[ing] and enjoy[ing] the experience of empire,”76 as Said asserts. In “Jane Austen and Empire,” Said asks “why [… Austen] gave [… Sir Thomas’s plantation wealth] the importance she did, and why indeed she made the choice, for she might have done something different to establish Sir Thomas’s wealth.”77 The clear answer to this question is that Austen’s novel was published at a time when the slave trade was visibly evident. Liverpool alone was responsible for 84 percent of Britain’s transatlantic trade in slaves and nearly 55 percent of trade worldwide.78 The 1887 letters of historian Gomer Williams record that the city’s town hall displayed “busts of blackamoors and elephants, emblematical of the African trade.”79 The Brontё critic Humphrey Gawthrop also records that Austen’s favorite historian, “Thomas Clarkson … saw in the windows of a Liverpool shop leg-shackles, hand- cuffs, thumb-screws, and mouth-openers for force-feeding used on board the slavers.”80 Given this visibility, it would seem strange for Austen to have made any other “choice.” As a writer interested in the impact of newfound wealth on rural life, Austen gave Sir Thomas’s sugar wealth “importance” because such wealth was of obvious significance to her generation.81 Said departs from The Country and the City, which was limited by the approach of Williams’s contemporaries to imperial history, which, Margot Finn observes, minimizes the extent to which imperial wealth—as much as agrarian and industrial profits—admitted people (such as the Hibberts) into the landed gentry and aristocracy.82 Said’s essay partially addresses this shortcoming in Williams’s work. In “Jane Austen and Empire,” he argues that “while he does address the export of England to the colonies, Williams does so … in a less focused way and less expansively 75 Said suggests that the precipitating event is the 1807 abolition bill, but there is no firm critical agreement about this (111). 76 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 96. 77 Ibid., 107. 78 Maria-Lisa Von Sneidern, “Wuthering Heights and the Liverpool Slave Trade,” English Literary History 62.1 (1995): 171–96, esp. 171. 79 Ibid. 80 Humphrey Gawthrop, “Slavery: Idee Fixe of Emily and Charlotte Bronte,” Bronte Studies 38.4 (2015): 281–89, esp. 287. 81 See Todd, Jane Austen in Context, 332: biographical information supports this: Austen’s brother Francis expressed strongly abolitionist views. Francis participated in the battle over Haiti (then St Domingo) in 1806 and was aware of the revolution’s impact on European perceptions of slave- produced wealth. 82 Finn and Smith, New Paths to Public History, 5. REVISITING MANSFIELD PARK: THE CRITICAL AND LITERARY LEGACIES 371 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core than the practice actually warrants.”83 One of Said’s innovations was to turn the literary clock back to the period between 1800 and 1870.84 His claim that Austen paved the way for more overtly colonial writing by authors like Kipling and Conrad is still frequently cited, sometimes uncritically so. Historians, though, have revealed the extent to which colonial wealth, particularly of returnee nabobs and West Indies planters, was familiar, and often distasteful, to Austen’s generation.85 So far, then, I have explored the utility of country house research for revisiting Said’s reading of Mansfield Park. I have argued that new historical knowledge largely justifies rereading Austen as having consciously—and often critically—depicted Britain as (to borrow Finn’s words) “an imperial formation.” I move on now to consider how Said—and subsequent modifications of his reading of Austen—have increasingly shaped contemporary British writing. With the exception of Loh’s study, The Postcolonial Country in Contemporary Literature,86 literary criticism has confined its understanding of Said’s legacy to academic writing.87 Nonetheless, postcolonial rereadings of canonical novels have clearly influenced contemporary British literature, not least because the act of “writing back” to canonical works has been central to the politics of resisting cultural imperialism. What I want to trace, therefore, is the ways in which British writers have acquired, and promoted, increasingly nuanced under- standings of country houses’ colonial dimensions and—often by extension—of English rurality itself. The remainder of this article traces a trajectory from Naipaul’s pre-Saidian novel The Enigma of Arrival (1987)88 to Johnson’s The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo (2015)89 to suggest that these explorations increasingly reflect, and reflect upon, historical advances, particularly new research into the East India Company’s impact on upper-class domestic interiors. I allude to Naipaul to illustrate the extent to which Said’s essay has shaped and informed subsequent literary depictions of country houses’ link to empire. Published while “Jane Austen and Empire” was in gestation, V. S. Naipaul’s novel The Enigma of Arrival (1987) is a key link in the chain: it inaugurated a tradition of rural writing by black and Asian Britons,90 who often experience the countryside as a fiercely guarded site of national belonging.91 It is uncertain what Naipaul’s novel might have looked like had the author been privy to Said’s exploration of the literary implications of country houses’ material connection to empire. Nonetheless, it is beneficial to examine a novel that inaugurated a series of literary forays into country house settings. 83 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 98. 84 Ibid., 99. 85 See Helen Clifford and Emile De Bruijin, “Past, Present and Future: The Chinese Wallpaper Project,” paper at “The East India Company at Home Conference,” July 11–12, 2015; Finn and Smith, New Paths to Public History; Donington, Legacies of British Slave Ownership. 86 Lucienne Loh, The Postcolonial Country in Contemporary Literature (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013). 87 Wood, Slavery, Empathy and Pornography, 295. 88 V. S. Naipaul, The Enigma of Arrival (London: Picador, 2002 [1987]). 89 Johnson, The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo. 90 Fowler, “The Rural Turn in Contemporary Writing by Black and Asian Britons,” 33. 91 See Ingrid Pollard, Postcards Home (London: Autograph, 2004); Neil Chakraborti and Jon Garland. eds., Rural Racism (Cullompton, England: Willan, 2007); Sarah Neal and Julian Agyeman, The New Countryside? Ethnicity, Nation and Exclusion in Contemporary Rural Britain Bristol, England: Policy Press, 2006). 372 CORINNE FOWLER at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core The Enigma of Arrival captures the moment before conversations about country houses’ colonial dimensions intensified, were disseminated, and began to have precise literary impacts. Based on an eleven-year stay in Wiltshire between 1970 and 1981, the novel is set on the grounds of a country estate in which Naipaul’s cottage is situated. Daily rambles allow Naipaul to acquire intimate knowledge of rural Wiltshire, which gives rise to a growing sense of attachment to it: [The] landscape by which I was surrounded was in fact benign, the first landscape to have that quality for me … after 20 years in England, I was to learn about the seasons here at last… .That in the most unlikely way, at an advanced age in a foreign country, I was to find myself in tune with the landscape in a way I had never been in Trinidad or India.92 Naipaul breaks new literary ground by making rurality his central theme. As he later writes: “through a longing for metropolitan material, the writer or narrator misses his big subject.”93 He shifts his literary gaze from the obvious context of urban post-immigration Britain and instead ventures into pastoral territory. Naipaul’s sense of rural England’s global connections reflects the historical knowledge of his day. He relies on etymology to substantiate his sense of the countryside’s global dimensions, dwelling on the “duplicate name of the hamlet … Waldenshaw—the same word (for forest or wood) in two tribal languages, both long since absorbed into other languages—the very name spoke of invaders from across the sea and of ancient wars and dispossessions here, along the picturesque river and the wet meadows.”94 This focus on antiquity emphasizes the deep history of Britain’s global connections. Yet Naipaul’s sense of the countryside’s Caribbean connections is relatively imprecise. He substantiates them autobiographically. Of his landlord, and owner of the country estate on which he lives, Naipaul writes: “an empire lay between us [even while …] it linked us.”95 He states that his own “presence there in the valley” is explained by “empire,” but concentrates on the generalized fact that he speaks and writes in English despite being born in another continent.96 The novel does make some direct links between Caribbean and English estates. These links, however, are established in broad historical and personal terms. Naipaul’s sense of affinity with the manor is described as “ancestral,” “something that came with the history that had made me … the colonial plantations of estates of Trinidad, to which my impoverished Indian ancestors had been transported in the last century—estates of which this Wiltshire estate, where I now lived, had been the apotheosis.”97 Here Naipaul raises the topic of colonialism and connects it with his own consciousness (“the [colonial] history that made me”), emphasizing probable but unspecified historical encounters between his relatives and those of his Wiltshire landlord. In this respect, Naipaul’s commentary resembles that of Williams in The Country and the City, which states that, “[i]mportant parts of the country house system, from the sixteenth to the 92 Naipaul, The Enigma of Arrival, 189. 93 Ibid., vi. 94 Ibid., 98. 95 Ibid., 208. 96 Ibid., 208. 97 Ibid., 55. REVISITING MANSFIELD PARK: THE CRITICAL AND LITERARY LEGACIES 373 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core eighteenth centuries, were built upon the profits of [imperial] trade.”98 Naipaul explains country estates’ transcontinental connections in terms of Britons’ general accumulation of sugar wealth rather than detailing any direct links between slavery and country houses. As a consequence, his novel gives broad-brush treatment to country houses’ material relationship with empire. Nonetheless—despite Ian Baucom’s assertion that The Enigma of Arrival reproduces the imperial nostalgia that country houses traditionally inspire99—Rob Nixon rightly observes that Naipaul “invents [a] postcolonial pastoral.”100 This has been succeeded by a series of literary engagements with black British rurality.101 There can be few clearer indications of the synthesis between academic and creative writing than John Agard’s poem “Mansfield Park Revisited,” which appears in his collection102 We Brits (2006). The title references Said’s rereading of Austen’s novel and presents Agard’s poem as a creative accompaniment to “Jane Austen and Empire.” The poem is dedicated to Said, and the “Acknowledgements” section of We Brits lists Culture and Imperialism alongside several other “eye-opening books.”103 “Jane Austen and Empire” establishes the discursive parameters of “Mansfield Park Revisited”: Agard’s poem endorses Said’s contention that, although Austen’s novel raises the subject of country houses’ links to colonial capital, it fails to count the human cost. The poem ventriloquizes Said’s view that Austen provides a sanitized sense of country houses’ hidden colonial geographies: “overseas possessions/are best kept overseas.”104 Agard also inherits Said’s sense that Mansfield Park is unconcerned with anti-colonial resistance to enslavement: “no uprising ruffles/the hair under parasols.”105 Agard’s corresponding assault on cocooned upper-class sensibilities is expressed by the lines: “slave revolts [are] not/right for polite conversation.”106 Agard’s poem does not advance new historical knowledge about country houses’ colonial connections. Rather, it promotes Said’s belief in the indifference of Austen (and her readers) to slaves’ plight. Working with the grain of Said’s essay, Agard’s poem seeks to break the notorious silence of Mansfield Park, a silence that Said and Agard both interpret as a “humanistic”107 failure to address the house’s material link to empire. Nonetheless, the poem makes more exact links between country houses and slavery than Naipaul. Because Agard concentrates on Mansfield Park, his poem identifies a particular slavery site108 and corresponding English locale: “Antigua’s 98 Williams, The Country and the City, 279–80. 99 Ian Baucom, “Narratives of Postimperial Memory.” Modern Fiction Studies 42.2 (1996): 259–83, 283. 100 Rob Nixon, London Calling (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 276. 101 Fowler, “The Rural Turn in Contemporary Writing by Black and Asian Britons,” 37. 102 We Brits explores Britain’s centuries-old black presence. The poems range over iconic rural sites including Mansfield Park and Sunderland Point. The collection also deconstructs country rituals, such as Morris dancing, which Agard accurately attributes to Moors. 103 Agard, We Brits, 6. 104 Ibid., “Mansfield Park Revisited,” lines 16–17, 46. 105 Ibid., lines 12–13. 106 Ibid., lines 18–1. 107 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 97. 108 Although Mansfield Park provides the setting for Agard’s poem, the accusations of historical amnesia may well be aimed at today’s curators of country houses. There is, however, insufficient textual evidence to substantiate such a reading. 374 CORINNE FOWLER at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core bitter sugar … melts in Northampton’s throat.”109 The “uprising” to which he refers in line 12 is termed “[A]tlantic unrest”110—meaning the Haitian Revolution—which so preoccupied Austen’s generation. Subsequent critical modifications of Said’s essay partially supplant the vision of Austen’s world that “Mansfield Park Revisited” upholds. Nonetheless, Agard’s poem signals an important development in literary explorations of the topic. Thanks to Said’s essay, Agard presents a more lucid and precise exploration of country houses’ links to empire than Naipaul. Because Agard references Said’s essay, the “bleeding canefields”111 of which he writes mark out Antiguan plantations specifically. “Mansfield Park Revisited” anticipates future literary explorations of the topic by suggesting that Said’s challenge to country houses’ iconic heritage status has opened Pandora’s box. Like The Enigma of Arrival, “Revisiting Mansfield Park” should be read as a form of postcolonial pastoral, and one that is nuanced by Said’s seminal intervention into discussions about country houses’ colonial histories.112 Naipaul establishes only temporal and speculative circumstantial links between his landlord and colonial wealth. Agard emphasizes Mansfield Park’s direct material connection with sugar wealth and country house ownership, also condemning historical amnesia about such riches’ unsavory origin. Accordingly, the poem’s final lines disrupt country estates’ deceptive air of tranquility: “hear dat whip crack —no turning back.”113 There has indeed been “no turning back.” As Agard anticipates, Said’s essay on Austen continues to make its presence felt in contemporary writing. Jo Baker’s bestselling novel Longbourn (2013) is written in the Austen tradition but ranges beyond the territory of Mansfield Park and “Mansfield Park Revisited” to expand the horizons of another Austen novel. Baker retells Pride and Prejudice from the perspective of servants, one of whom is a black footman, based at Netherfield Hall. The footman, Ptolemy Bingley, is named so as to foreground a slavery connection. Ptolemy confirms this link when he explains plantation-naming practices to a fellow servant: “If you are off his estate, that’s your name, that’s how it works.”114 Ptolemy’s physical blackness visibly attests to the unseen links between slave-produced wealth and the British economy. By bringing the Caribbean to British shores, Longbourn answers Said’s criticism by resuming Austen’s unfinished train of thought in Sanditon because Ptolemy’s appearance follows and extends Austen’s logic in introducing Miss Lambe. Baker is well versed in Austen criticism, and her invention of Ptolemy reflects particular developments in the field, particularly the recent insight that Austen was alert to the countryside’s colonial geographies and interested in the black presence on British soil. In line with Austen scholars’ responses to Said, Baker reports that she “just knew that the background would not be as uniformly white as [… represented in Austen film] adaptations, and that Austen and her readers would have known this 109 Agard, We Brits, “Mansfield Park Revisited,” lines 28–29, 46. 110 Ibid., line 10. 111 Ibid., line 33. 112 Fowler, “The Rural Turn in Contemporary Writing by Black and Asian Britons,” 133. 113 Agard, We Brits, “Mansfield Park Revisited, lines 30–31, 46. 114 Baker, Longbourn, 103. REVISITING MANSFIELD PARK: THE CRITICAL AND LITERARY LEGACIES 375 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core too—whereas modern readers might need it noticing for them.”115 Baker’s own meticulous research further justified her creation of Ptolemy; she discovered a reference to a neighbor’s black footman in Austen’s letters. This discovery augments what is already known about Austen’s personal acquaintance with, or at least proximity to, black people such as Dido Belle. Baker was also inspired by Ben Wilson’s popular history book, Decency and Disorder (2008),116 which discusses vernacular culture in Austen’s day and contains several paragraphs about the historical black presence. Baker saw a television documentary about a white Scottish family who traced their ancestry to a black servant in Paisley. This source of inspiration is entirely in keeping with a major driver of recent advances in black British history, namely the surge of popular interest tracing family ancestry.117 Armed with this information, and following the logic of Austen’s plot, Baker deduced that the Bingley family might easily have made their money from sugar and were correspondingly likely to have had a black servant. Local history also played its part. As part of her undergraduate history degree, Baker learned that Lancaster, where she lives, was once a slave port and sugar depot. Baker’s bestselling novel represents a literary milestone in high-profile118 re-conceptualizations of country houses. Ptolemy’s first appearance in Longbourn is imbued with a suitable sense of occasion by being announced in an epigraph: “… the entrance of the footman …”119 This epigraph is a direct quotation from Pride and Prejudice itself. Given the blackness of Baker’s footman, the epigraph draws out a colonial context that Austen leaves implicit. Epigraphs have a particular function in a literary work, summarizing and encapsulating significant concepts. The significance of Ptolemy’s arrival is heightened by the use of ellipses at either end of the phrase, inviting a pause to consider the arrival of black presence in mainstream writing set in Austen’s milieu. Said’s perspective on country houses’ colonial aspects is further developed in Catherine Johnson’s young adult novel, The Curious Tale of Lady Caraboo (2015). Johnson’s novel fosters the idea that British country houses are fertile sites of black history.120 In a recent paper at the bi-annual conference “What’s Happening in Black British History,” she states that it is her central aim “to remind readers of all back- grounds that … black British history is everyone’s history.”121 These words echo those of the social geographer Caroline Bressey, a prominent critic of country houses’ curation practices, who states that black histories should be “embedded components of English history.”122 115 Email from Jo Baker, November 18, 2015. 116 Ben Wilson, Decency and Disorder: The Age of Cant, 1789–1837 (London: Faber and Faber, 2008). 117 During “What’s Happening in Black British History,” it was noted that widespread interest in ancestry has led to important new recoveries of figures from forgotten historical archives (October 11, 2014). 118 Longbourn was broadcast on The Book at Bedtime on BBC R4 in May 2014 and has been made into a feature film. 119 Baker, Longbourn, Ibid., 37. 120 Catherine Johnson, “Engaging Young Readers with Black British History,” unpublished paper given at What’s Happening in Black British History III conference, University of London, 2016. 121 Ibid. 122 Caroline Bressey, “Cultural Archaeology and Historical Geographies of the Black Presence in Rural England,” Rural Studies 2 (2009): 386–95, p. 393. 376 CORINNE FOWLER at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core Johnson’s plot involves the actual case of Mary Willcox, daughter of a Devonshire cobbler, who presented herself as “Princess Caraboo” to Mrs. Worrall of Glouces- tershire’s Knole Park. The Worralls took Willcox into their home, where a family friend purported to recognize the young woman’s invented language as originating from the East Indies. Willcox’s deception was discovered in 1817 and was widely reported by the press. Rather than condemning Mary Willcox, however, Johnson’s novel depicts her lies as symptomatic of colonial myth-making at the time, not least because “Princess Caraboo” appeals to Mrs. Worrall’s obsession with “noble savages.” The novel is set just after the 1814 publication of Mansfield Park, further indicating the importance of Austen’s period for shaping cultural responses to country estates. Johnson connects country house grandeur to sugar wealth, as Austen, Said, Agard, and Baker have done before her. Like Longbourn, in which Netherfield is imagined to have “sugar columns,”123 Knole Park “glitter[s] like a … sugar palace.”124 Johnson, however, introduces an East India Company element to her country house setting. This allows her to place rural estates yet more robustly in the context of the further reaches of empire. Extending the more Caribbean-British narrative to incorporate colonial activity in the Asian subcontinent signals Johnson’s awareness of new country house research. Her novel maintains a relentless focus on empire’s material culture, a hallmark of research by leading historians of British imperial history.125 The novel contains frequent casual allusions to colonial commodities, emphasizing how thoroughly these defined British life in the early nineteenth century. A naval captain drinks Jamaican rum, which is said to be “straight off the boat.”126 A barman jokes that the captain will “drink the West Indies dry.”127 In keeping with upper-class love of chinoiserie, Mrs. Worrall creates a “dainty Chinese drawing room.”128 Mr. Worrall resents paying “a sultan’s ransom” to decorate it,129 and his wife fetishizes the room, inviting friends to dress in Chinese clothes to celebrate its completion.130 Such details echo the “domestic turn” in British imperial history131 and recent historical findings that, at the height of empire, upper-class households enhanced their social status by embracing a cosmopolitan aesthetic.132 The daughter, Cassandra Worrall, has a “new Indian print” dress and gives “Princess Caraboo” one of her “cast-off Indian muslins.”133 Adding to the house’s colonial atmosphere, the Worrall family employs a steward, who they believe speaks Persian, though his roots are actually in Turkey and Alexandria.134 Such inaccuracies are consistent with 123 Baker, Longbourn, 72. 124 Johnson, The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo, 134. 125 Margot Finn, “Thinkpiece,” http://blogs.ucl.ac.uk/eicah/home/. 2013, accessed October 1, 2015; Barczewski, Country Houses and the British Empire, 1700–1930; Donington, Legacies of British Slave Ownership; Finn and Smith, New Paths to Public History. 126 Johnson, The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo, 87. 127 Ibid., 239. 128 Ibid., 11. 129 Ibid., 43. 130 Ibid., 30. 131 Finn and Smith, New Paths to Public History, 12. 132 Ibid.; Barczewski, Country Houses and the British Empire, 1700–1930. 133 Johnson, The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo, 53. 134 Ibid., 83. REVISITING MANSFIELD PARK: THE CRITICAL AND LITERARY LEGACIES 377 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available http://blogs.ucl.ac.uk/eicah/home/ https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core historians’ findings that nineteenth-century Britons consumed empire by creating bizarre and eclectic amalgamations of colonial artifacts, fashions, and figures.135 This trend can be seen in other writing, notably Rita Dove’s poetry collection Sonata Mulattica (2010), which explores the material cultures of empire in “The Dressing,” “The Undressing,” “Ode on a Negree Head Clock, With Eight Tunes,” and “Staf- fordshire figurine, 1825.”136 Johnson’s novel sharpens and broadens the postcolonial perspective on country houses, which has been emerging in academic work over the past decades. Perspective an apt word: her characters’ major realizations take place on the rooftop of Knole Park House, where “Caraboo” regularly sits. This elevated view provides a clear under- standing of country houses’ relationship with the outside world. When the Worralls’ son, Fred, sits beside “Caraboo,” the vantage point allows him to glimpse an alter- native global geography: “There was a … view all the way down to the Bristol Channel, and even the docks—he could just see a small forest of masts, so far away they could have been toothpicks—and the blue of the water stretching away to the west.”137 This expansive vista encompasses Bristol’s slave port and its visiting vessels, connecting Knole Park to colonial maritime history and commercial trade. A second element of Johnson’s “manifesto” is to show readers that black people have been in England for centuries.138 This aspect of the novel touches intimately on questions of English rurality and the politics of rural entitlement. By conveying a substantial nineteenth-century black presence, Johnson is able to challenge the idea that black people have no historical connection to the English countryside. Johnson’s early nineteenth- century world is populated with people from elsewhere. “Caraboo” sees “lascars … Turks [and] Africans”139 in the docks. There are passing references to Romany camps,140 “Negro beggars,”141 “octaroons,”142 praying “Mussulmen,”143 maharajah’s sons,144 and “dar[k]-skinned girls two a penny.”145 As the phrase “two a penny” suggests, such presences are presented as commonplace and unsurprising to characters who are depicted as Austen’s contemporaries. The novel, however, avoids being naively cele- bratory. Racism is shown to be rife; Fred Worrall himself comes to regret having made “a misery” of an Indian schoolboy’s life because he worships Ganesh.146 “Caraboo” is subjected to gruelling “cranial exploration[s]” by phrenologists to determine her ethni- city,147 a reminder of the pseudo-scientific racism that was later to inspire eugenics in the Nazi era. As Robert Young once wrote: “theories of race are also theories of desire.”148 135 Peter Fryer, Staying Power: The History of Black People in Britain (London: Pluto, 1984); Barc- zewski, Country Houses and the British Empire, 1700–1930. 136 Rita Dove, Sonata Mulattica (New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2010), 72, 80, 81, and 187. 137 Johnson, The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo, 67. 138 Ibid. 139 Ibid., 178. 140 Ibid., 47. 141 Ibid., 46. 142 Ibid., 67. 143 Ibid., 70. 144 Ibid., 244. 145 Ibid., 89. 146 Ibid., 244. 147 Ibid., 79. 148 Robert Young, Colonial Desire: Hybridity in Theory, Culture and Race (London: Routledge, 1995), 9. 378 CORINNE FOWLER at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core Colonial desire149 looms large in Johnson’s novel, which reminds readers that the English country house has been a key site of this desire. Both Baker and Johnson show a concern with communicating the idea of Britain’s historical black presence in the countryside. This concern both pre- and post- dates the novels of Baker and Johnson. David Dabydeen’s novel A Harlot’s Progress (1999)150 depicts a black presence in Lord Montagu’s country house, while Tanika Gupta’s play The Empress (2013)151 draws on historical research to explore Abdul Karim’s presence at Osborne House during the final years of Queen Victoria’s reign. Novelistic explorations of black people’s place in rural England have shifted from the etymological and biographical approach of The Enigma of Arrival to a progressively more detailed sense of the countryside’s connection to empire. Said’s essay on Austen has played a crucial role in this process by alerting writers to the countryside’s relationship with colonial profiteering. Although Agard’s poem represents wholesale acceptance of Said’s reading of Austen, Longbourn is informed by the counter-assertion that Austen’s novels subtly comment both on rurality’s colonial dimension and the related presence of black people on British shores.152 Johnson’s novel represents an emerging trend in literary representations of country houses, which shows particular responsiveness to advances in historical understanding of the ways in which empire shaped domestic culture. Austen’s writing has been, and remains, a battlefield for competing visions of British history, literature, and rurality. As Agard prophesied, “them bleeding cane- fields/refuse to stay remote.”153 Many other writers have since joined the fray, drawing on country houses’ black histories to challenge their heritage status. Other notable contributions have come from Seni Seneviratne (“Sitting for the Mistress,” 2010)154 and Tyrone Huggins (The Honey Man, 2015),155 both of whom look to the work of art historians on the black presence in nineteenth-century paintings.156 Film-makers have also made their mark. A striking intervention is the feature film, Belle (2014). The film was inspired by the 1770 painting, which first alerted local historians to the presence of Lord Mansfield’s black niece, Dido Belle. The film has a lavish Kenwood House setting and a romanticized version of the protagonist’s eventual marriage and financial circumstances. Belle thus references yet unsettles conservative heritage dramas157 by 149 Mrs. Worrall and her associates wish to study “Caraboo” “at close quarters.” (Johnson, “Engaging Young Readers with Black British History,” 45). This fascination combines with the phrenological incident to suggest, as Young does, that colonial desire is masochistic (Young, Colonial Desire: Hybridity in Theory, Culture and Race, 108). 150 David Dabydeen, A Harlot’s Progress (London: Vintage, 2000). See also David Dabydeen, The Black Presence in English Literature (Manchester, England: Manchester University Press, 1984). 151 Tanika Gupta, The Empress (London: Oberon, 2013). 152 Wood, Slavery, Empathy and Pornography; Byrne, Belle; Doody, Jane Austen’s Names: Riddles, Persons, Places. 153 Agard, We Brits, “Mansfield Park Revisited,” 46. 154 Sene Seneviratne, “Sitting for the Mistress,” Ten New Poets, eds. Bernardine Evaristo and Daljit Nagra (Tarset, England: Bloodaxe, 2010). 155 Tyrone Huggins, The Honey Man. Unpublished play performed at the Birmingham Repertory Theatre and directed by Emma Bernard with Tyrone Huggins, February 16–21, 2015. 156 See Corinne Fowler, Green Unpleasant Land: Creative Responses to the Historical Black Presence in Britain’s Countryside (Leeds, England: Peepal Tree Press, forthcoming). 157 Adaptations of Austen are an important explanatory factor in Austen’s popularity today. Catherine Johnson even jokes that she wrote The Curious Tale of the Lady Caraboo because she “loved Sunday REVISITING MANSFIELD PARK: THE CRITICAL AND LITERARY LEGACIES 379 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core contesting sanitized representations of country houses in Austen’s era.158 Yet the film’s critical reception suggests that there are vast tracts of British consciousness that even Said has yet to penetrate. Reviews of Belle construct black people’s association with country houses as anomalous. Charlotte O’Sullivan presents Dido as a “one- of-a-kind woman” whose life has been rendered “fit for audiences reared on Jane Austen adaptations.”159 Variety magazine suggests that Dido was “an exceedingly rare member of eighteenth-century high society,” a one-off,160 and there is not a single reference to country houses’ colonial connections in any review published by Film Journal International, the Daily Mail, the London Evening Standard, The Guardian, or Variety. One reviewer even writes that black people are “incongruous” with Austen’s world.161 Bloom was wrong to claim that “increased consciousness of the relation between culture and imperialism is of no use to interpreters of Mansfield Park.”162 Said’s essay on Mansfield Park opened up a rich seam of discussion. His contrapuntal reading has been a cornerstone of postcolonial studies, and scholars from the fields of literary studies, cultural studies, history, film studies, and sociology have all engaged with it. Nonetheless, new research in the field of British imperial history means that critics can gain a great deal from modifying Said’s grasp of the novel’s “historical valences.” Said’s reading of Mansfield Park underestimates the clamor of public objections to slave-produced wealth (Wood) and overlooks Mansfield Park’s suggestive allusions to landscape gardening, new money, and the colonial gaze. Said never comments on the fact that Austen’s characters share the names of key figures in the national abolition debate. Biographical work on Austen reveals ever more personal connections to empire, highlighting the influence of pro-abolition figures in Austen’s family, while studies of her reading reveal her approval of pro-abolitionist writers like Cowper, Thomas Clarkson, and Helen Maria Williams.163 Austen had an active interest in the politics of empire and her marginalia suggests that it pleased her to contradict official versions of history.164 Said asks “why she [Austen] gave it [Sir Thomas’s plantation wealth] the importance she did, and why indeed she made the choice” to create an Antiguan connection.165 Now that historians are beginning to glean the myriad ways in which colonial profiteering shaped imperial Britain’s cultural and economic life, it is becoming increasingly apparent that Mansfield Park offers a series of oblique commentaries of this wealth. In fact, Austen’s depiction of country houses’ connections resembles Olusoga’s recent afternoon costume dramas” and has “always wanted to write a novel with empire line frocks” (“What’s Happening in Black British History III,” University of London 2016. 158 The film takes historical liberties, emphasizing the case of the Zong drownings rather than Mansfield’s Somerset ruling. See Kaufmann blog. 159 Charlotte O’Sullivan, “Bonnets, Bosoms and Race Relations,” The London Evening Standard, June 13, 2014. 160 Justin Chan, “Belle Rings Chimes of Freedom,” Variety, September 17, 2014, 34. 161 Ibid. 162 Harold Bloom in Todd, Jane Austen in Context, 106. 163 Gillian Dow and Kathie Halsey, “Jane Austen’s Readying, The Chawton Years,” Persuasions Online (Jane Austen Society of North America) 30.2 (2010). 164 Katie Halsey, Jane Austen and Her Readers (London: Anthem, 2013), 18. 165 Said, “Jane Austen and Empire,” 97. 380 CORINNE FOWLER at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core articulation of black British history as “a global history … [and] a history of more than just the black experience itself.”166 The last major interventions into the Austen-Said debate were made by Wood’s Slavery, Empathy and Pornography and Doody’s Jane Austen’s Place Names: Riddles, Persons, Places. In the field of British imperial history, country houses have once again become a focus for investigating cultural imperialism and its economic base. It is evident that country houses’ architecture and landscapes, as well as British visual culture,167 are even more closely connected to empire than Williams and Said knew. Country houses remain symbolic custodians of English culture and heritage despite the insights offered by Williams and Said. Austen, too, is a towering literary figure to whom writers obsessively return. As her image on the banknote reminds us, she is frequently associated with a persistently amnesiac brand of English rurality. Contemporary writers are mounting a challenge to the idea that English country houses are spaces of whiteness. In so doing, many writers depart from “Jane Austen and Empire” in both senses of the word: their work is founded on Said’s spatial re- conception of country houses and yet it increasingly exceeds and even contradicts Said’s conclusions. Agard endorses Said’s thesis. “Mansfield Park Revisited” establishes an important critical foundation for later literary representations of country houses. Baker’s novel reflects Austen scholars’ critical riposte to Said. Her black footman represents a response to the emerging consensus that Austen was interested in Britain’s black presence and was uneasy about Britain as a colonial formation. Johnson expands country houses’ colonial geographies by availing herself of recent advances in black British history and British imperial history. Resourced by the growing number of case studies about the transcontinental histories of England’s great estates, contemporary writers are producing progressively more vivid and variegated pictures of their links with colonialism. They are Austen’s true inheritors. 166 Olusoga, Black and British: A Forgotten History, xxi. 167 Barczewski, Country Houses and the British Empire, 1700–1930, 166. REVISITING MANSFIELD PARK: THE CRITICAL AND LITERARY LEGACIES 381 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/pli.2017.26 https://www.cambridge.org/core Revisiting Mansfield Park: The Critical and Literary Legacies of Edward W. Said&#x2019;s Essay &#x201C;Jane Austen and Empire&#x201D; in Culture and Imperialism�(1993) 
work_gsjotpuvfja4jof3ud27p4eod4	----	Gooddy Indeed, we shall be considering ourselves as well. We shall then preserve, for everyone, the highest qualities of social existence, at a time when we sometimes appear to be crushed beneath the weight of the so-called "advances" which our brains have helped us to design. Though inevitably we face what Don Francisco has described as "dying in life", the neurologist might humbly add a fourth sen- tence to his three: And what you call dying is finally dying, And what you call birth is beginning to die, And what you call living is dying in life, And whatyou call death is a lasting memorial. Fanny Burney on Samuel Johnson's tics and mannerisms The following are some further contemporaneous observations of the tics, mannerisms, postures, and verbal repetitions displayed by Samuel Johnson which support the notion'-3 that he was a victim of Gilles de la Tourette syndrome (see J Neurol Neurosurg Psychiatry 56:131 1). Fanny (Frances) Burney (1752-1840) was daughter of the musicologist Charles Burney. She enjoyed a considerable reputation as a novelist and diarist, and as portrayer of the domestic scene she was the fore- runner of Jane Austen. She became second keeper of the robes to Queen Charlotte in 1786 and married the French emigre, General d'Arblay. She was a favoured friend in Johnson's household. Fanny Bumey (Mme D'Arblay)4: He is, indeed, very ill-favoured! Yet he has naturally a noble figure; tall, stout, grand and authoritative: but he stoops horribly; his back is quite round: his mouth is continually opening and shutting, as if he were chewing something; he has a singular method of twirling his fingers, and twisting his hands: his vast body is in constant agitation, see-sawing back- wards and forwards: his feet never a moment quiet; and his whole great person looked often as if it were going to roll itself, quite voluntarily, from his chair to the floor. And in her Early diaries': "The careless old ejacula- tions have, in almost every case been modified or effaced in the manuscripts of the diaries.... These almost unmeaning expletives seem to have passed unrebuked by Dr Johnson." His repetitive utterances were often of a religious nature (frequent recitations of the Lord's Prayer) but coprolalia and scatological comments are very proba- ble, although doubtless the loyalties and social niceties of his friends inhibited their histories. JMS PEARCE 304 Beverley Road, Anlaby, Hull HU10 7BG 1 McHenry L. Samuel Johnson's tics and gesticulations. J7 Hist Med 1967;22: 152-68. 2 Murray TJ. Dr Samuel Johnson's movement disorder. BMJ 1979;1:1610-4. 3 Pearce JMS. Doctor Samuel Johnson: "the Great Convulsionary" a victim of Gilles de la Tourette's syndrome. J R Soc Med 1994 (in press). 4 Burney F. Letters and diaries. London: G Bell. 1846. 5 Burney F. Early diary of F Burney. 1846;2:234. Cited by George Birkbeck Hill. In: Johnsonian MisceUanies II London: Constable and Co. 1897, reprinted 1966: 274-5. 380 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 7 .3 .3 8 0 o n 1 M a rch 1 9 9 4 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ 
work_gtk2rkhdxzhxpgnvhj74stzwqq	----	1 Theophilus Savvas, American Postmodern Fiction and the Past, Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), pp. Ix + 213, £50 One of the hazards that any writer on the postmodernism of Coover, DeLillo, Pynchon, Vollman and Doctorow must circumnavigate is the wrecking of his or her scholarship on the iceberg of existing meta-fictional historiographic commentary, of which there is a vast body. It is to this challenge that Theophilus Savvas rises in American Postmodernist Fiction and The Past, a work that sets out to undo the epistemic confusion between an autotelic, formalist postmodern art and those works that present determined historical targets while treading the tightrope between plurality and moral relativism. Savvas undertakes this feat through five serial close readings of these authors in an attempt to rethink Jamesons' critique of a generalised vague “sense of 'pastness'” (p. 2). Savvas' initial excursion, to Coover's The Public Burning, sets in motion the first of several cyclical structures in his work in which the Rosenbergs' echo will be heard again later, rebounding off the back wall of Doctorow's The Book of Daniel. Focusing upon Coover's conflation of novelistic and performance modes, Savvas foregrounds these as synchronic and diachronic representations of the past respectively, without resorting to a crude objective/subjective split. This is achieved, Savvas argues, through a satirical undermining of the chronicler's impartiality, revealing this speaker not as “a surrogate for the voice of a writer in the 1970s, but as a carefully crafted voice of 1950s America” (p. 19), a polyphonic melting pot that is, none the less, constructed. Against this critique of the synchronic relation Savvas juxtaposes the alternating, diachronic, emplotted Nixon narrative. Through the Nixonian subjective reconstruction of the back-story, Savvas argues that the relation between synchronic and diachronic narrative is actually bi-directional and symbiotic (p. 25). In illustrating this reconstruction, Savvas elegantly weaves the historical and theoretical contexts into the fictional, eschewing the dangerous stylistic separation that such interdisciplinary work so often entails. 2 Amid his closing remarks on Coover's mythopoesis and performance excess, in which he begins his later-revived Pynchonian thematic work on subjunctivity, Savvas remarks on the ways in which “a myth may be distended into history” (p. 31), a crossover that seems pertinent to DeLillo's Libra and the Warren Report. This is, however, a route approached obliquely by Savvas who opts instead to root this analysis of a “latent history” in DeLillo's earlier Great Jones Street and Ratner's Star. In light of this backdrop, the emergence here of a paranoid “they” system against which historical counternarratives can emerge seems a trifle too predictable (pp. 43–46). Perhaps, though, this is a necessary setup for a reading of Libra that foregoes easy-win rebuttals, exploring head on the interplay, enrichment and redemption of the Report and providing a novel take on an otherwise tired subject. The only critique worth mentioning here is that this convincing unpicking of the “monological view of history” (p. 49) is supported by a sometimes overwhelming whirlwind of Foucault, Derrida, Lacan, Whitehead, Deleuze, von Bertalanffy, Kant, Lévi-Strauss, Butler, Burke, Spivak, Jung, Freud, White, Sontag and Adorno in a utilitarian Theory tornado. Further critique could extend into Savvas' treatment of Pynchon's Mason & Dixon, where the assessment of Pynchon's novel as “wresting the narrative away from those in power” seems old hat, especially when metaphorically mediated through quantum mechanics. Consider, for instance, that Shawn Smith has pointed out that it is “no longer new or revolutionary” to state that “history is a field of competing rhetorical or narrative strategies”.i However, despite a move away from such areas in much critical discourse, Savvas brings these themes up to speed with contemporary thinking; indeed, Simon de Bourcier's forthcoming Continuum volume on Pynchon and relativity is indicative of renewed interest in this schema. Furthermore, the reading against James Wood of a dialectical enlightenment, of a Line of both positive and negative liberties that spreads rhizomically, will be of interest to all Pynchon scholars. Finally of note as a refreshing rethinking, is the re-situation of Pynchon's hidden pockets of subjunctive hope not, as is usually the case with Mason 3 & Dixon, in conspiracy – that is left to DeLillo – but rather in a heretical gnostic history, a strain that has lain critically dormant, or at least under-appreciated, since Dwight Eddin's work on Gravity's Rainbow. Moving towards the next generation of American novelists, parallel to Franzen, DFW and Powers, and Savvas considers marginalization in the novels of William T. Vollman. In situating this author as not-quite post-postmodern, Savvas magnifies those aspects shared in the postmodern lineage in order to excavate a “symbolic history” of the deeper, sincere truth of untrue origins (pp. 98–99); a syncretic truth (p. 101). The evaluation of Vollman here is not wholly positive as, in Savvas' consideration, the author fails to achieve the moment of determined collapse that would present the synthesis of artistic and historical truth. That is not to say that the lead up to this failure is not enlightening, revealing as it does that alterity can be seen as the central tenet of Vollman's canon, often through temporal collapse, unveiling a transformative between-ness, a metaxis or third way. It is to the final, tripartite section on E.L. Doctorow that Savvas' volume finally turns, investigating the affiliation between postmodern historigraphic emplotment and autocritical discourse on that very phenomenon. In this cycle, Savvas begins by exploring the dilemma of the American Left in The Book of Daniel, thereby cycling back to the Rosenbergs. It is interesting to note the political implications of this choice; as civil liberties are eroded from US law, can America claim to be so very far from its Cold War witch hunts? This aside, Savvas also uses this chapter to conclude a long-brewing refutation of Jameson's “didactic Marxis[t]” (p. 146) response to Ragtime through an assertion of an “organic use of history and fiction conducive of a greater unity of form” (p. 145). Finally, Savvas ends with The March and remarks upon the end of the postmodernist era, claiming that as the works of this genre become “less 'transgressive'” (p. 155), it reaches its own, natural conclusion and closure. 4 Reading American Postmodernist Fiction and the Past, one does not get the overwhelming sense of a theoretical revolution but, rather, a carefully-charted, precise evaluation of concrete texts from which a solid and thoughtful analysis emerges. As Savvas remarks, the benefit of hindsight here produces a reading that seems more nuanced than earlier appraisals as it is distanced from the object of its study. Although aspects of interpretation in this volume are questionable, the intricacies of the squabble illustrate, more than flaws in Savvas' book, the nature of engagement in ongoing debate. Martin Paul Eve Department of English University of Sussex, Brighton, UK m.eve@sussex.ac.uk i Shawn Smith, Pynchon and History: Metahistorical Rhetoric and Postmodern Narrative Form in the Novels of Thomas Pynchon (London: Routledge, 2005), p. 2. 
work_h5pjr7grjzhejnag7tvg3vsih4	----	Microsoft Word - Slutuppsats.doc 1 Introduction “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.” (Pride and Prejudice,359) This quotation is from a well-known book by Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice. It appears at the end of the book, where Elizabeth Bennet wants Mr. Darcy to describe how he fell in love with her. The sentence singled out here does not only fit into the story but it also fits in with how many readers feel after reading Pride and Prejudice. Several readers fall in love with the book and the characters, and some even feel it hard to let go of the book and the story. Why this should be is difficult to explain and it is also difficult to explain why Jane Austen’s books have become so admired among women today. All we know is that her books speak to us even though they were written two hundred years ago. I think Jane Austen speaks to women in a way that perhaps men will never understand fully, and this is why this essay will focus on how women feel about this renowned story. Pride and Prejudice may be Jane Austen’s most popular work. She has described this novel as “her own darling child” in a letter to her sister Cassandra.1 Jane Austen also writes about Elizabeth Bennet, the main character of Pride and Prejudice and one of the most well- known female characters in English literature, saying that “I must confess that I think her as delightful a creature as ever appeared in print, and how shall I be able to tolerate those who do not like her at least I do not know”. 2Elizabeth is the one character of Pride and Prejudice who has captured most of the readers’ attention, not just because she is the main character, but also because of what she stands for and what she is going through in the book. Elizabeth is described as having a critical intelligence and a liveliness of mind. (Viviene Jones, 2003, xiii). She is lovely, clever, and, in a novel defined by dialogue, she converses as brilliantly as anyone.3 Jane Austen was proud of this special character. 1 http://www.geocities.com/Athens/8563/books/index.html, 2006-11-28, 12:11 2 Andrew H Wright: Heroines, Heroes, and Villains in Pride and Prejudice, 1.Elizabeth Bennet, in E. Rubinstein, Twentieth Century Interpretations of Pride and Prejudice (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1969) 97. 3 http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/pride/terms/charanal_1.html, 2006-11-28, 11:50 2 Jane Austen did not write for any ‘worthy’ reason, she wrote because she wanted to and because she wanted to entertain people, and that is, I believe, the whole point about her books. She did not write sermons to make people live better lives, she wrote to give the readers fulfilment, happiness, and pleasure. Many books in the 18th and the 19th century were written for the purpose of telling people what to do and how they should live their lives. An example of that is the book entitled “Advice to Young Ladies on the Improvement of the Mind and Conduct of Life”; it was published only three years before Pride and Prejudice.4 One of the reasons for Jane Austen’s enduring success, as Paul Webster points out, could be that she wrote about a world she knew and thoroughly understood.5 She only wrote of her direct experience, and because she used comic observation, to a large degree, she is more accessible than many classic writers. Despite the fact that the story was set in the early 19th century’s environment it suits today’s environment well. The aim of this essay is to get some more answers why Pride and Prejudice still affects some of its female readers and what it is in the character of Elizabeth Bennet that makes some of them want to be her. Schweickart and Flynn say that ". . . identification should be considered a significant part of the emotional appeal of any text, involving as it generally does 'experiencing the text fully, living through the events of the text as they are encountered.'"6 I will focus on how women interpret this story and identify with the character of Elizabeth Bennet. Jane Austen Jane Austen was born on December 16, 1775 in the village of Steventon in Hampshire, England. She was the seventh of the eight children of Reverend George Austen and his wife Cassandra.7 Jane did a lot of her early writing at Steventon until she was twenty-five, when her father retired and the whole family moved with him to Bath.8 In 1805 her father died and 4 http://www.geocities.com/Athens/8563/books/index.html, 2006-11-28, 12:11 5 Paul Webster, publisher, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 6 Patricinio P. Schweickart and Elizabeth A. Flynn, eds., Gender and Reading: Essays on Readers, Texts, and Contexts , 39, quoted in Hildebrand, The Female Reader at the Round Table: Women and Religion in Three Contemporary Arthurian Texts, doct. diss, Uppsala, 2001. 7 Rubinstein 1. 8 Vivien Jones, Introduction, 2003, Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, (1813; Harmondsworth: Penguin Classics, 1996) ix. 3 the family left again for Southampton, but three years later Jane, her mother, her sister and their friend Martha Lloyd moved back to Steventon. From the year they left Steventon until they moved back Austen’s writing went through a very arid period and she did not do any of her ‘major’ writing during that period. Steventon was the place where she would do her famous writing. The Village of Steventon also came to be the place where Jane remained until shortly before her death on July 18, 1817. She reached the age of forty-one. Jane Austen had no formal literary training and she enjoyed no connections with the literary society of her time.9 The only school mentioned in her life is the Abbey school, which she and her sister attended.10 She liked to read a lot of literature, and her favourite authors were Ann Radcliffe, Henry Fielding, Laurence Sterne, Samuel Richardson, Fanny Burney and Maria Edgeworth.11 Her life was not a large one; she did not live a life in the public eye. She used her unofficial life to make observations of human behaviour that are as true today as they were then. 12 She was an observer of the nature of man in society.13 An ordinary day in Jane Austen’s’ life could look like this: in the morning she would get up early and she would go and practise the piano. Then she would probably be writing after breakfast, writing secretly at her tiny little table in the dining room. To get into the room there was a door you had to pass, and it was a door that used to creak, so Austen was then able to hear if anyone came in. She did not want anyone to know that she was writing. It was not that she thought it was a disgrace to be writing. It was because she valued her privacy and did not want people to interrupt her, saying “Why don’t you do this?” which would be so tedious. Even though she wrote in secrecy she has refered to her own fiction as “the little bit (two inches wide) of ivory on which I work with so fine a brush, as produces little effect after much labour.”14 Jane Austen was certainly, like almost every girl, looking for love, but according to the norms of society she had to be in love with somebody in her own social sphere. In the late 18th century you could not choose to marry someone just like that, if you were going to have a comfortable life and not have to worry about food, clothes, and somewhere to live. Jane Austen fell in love with a man named Tom Lefroy when she was twenty. They were both very 9 Rubinstein 1. 10 Jones ix. 11 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A847505, 2006-11-28, 12:00 12 Louise West, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 13 http://www.123helpme.com/assets/16770.html ,2006-11-28, 11:55 14 http://geocities.com/Athens/8563/essays/essay5.html, 2006-11-28, 12:10 4 respectable people from the same social class, but because he did not have any money, and still had his way to make in the world, his family soon put a stop to it. He was taken back to Ireland whence he came.15 When Jane was twenty-seven she accepted a proposal of marriage from Harris Bigg-Wither, but the following day she changed her mind.16 Jane Austen never married anyone and that was not because she had experienced disappointments in love, she just did not get married. Also her beloved sister Cassandra remained unmarried. Austen gave most of her life to her family and she was said to have inspired warm affection in those who knew her the best.17 To our generation Jane Austen’s work is known as famous and well-written. In her time they were not only praising her work, there were also complaints about it, ...the accusation most regularly brought against her work is that its concerns are relatively trivial. From the earliest reviewers to very recent critics, one complaint - and a complaint it remains, however richly framed by words of the highest praise – is heard again and again: “What she does, she does well, perhaps better than anyone – though of course we all know that there is so much more to life and to literature than this.”18 The liberals of Jane Austen’s’ time considered her a “humble chronicler of her society’s customs”19 and they neglected her artistic development as well as her social criticism. Ralph Waldo Emerson said; “I am at a loss to understand why people hold Miss Austen’s novels at so high a rate, which seem to me vulgar in tone, sterile in artistic invention, imprisoned in their wretched conventions of English society, without genius, wit, or knowledge of the world. Never was life so pinched and 15 Louise West, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 16 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A1171595, 2006-11-28, 11:59 17 Rubinstein 1. 18 Rubinstein 5-6. 19 Philip Goldstein, Communities of cultural value (Lanham, MD : Lexington Books, 2001) 88. 5 narrow...all that interests in any character [is this]: has he or she the money to marry with? Suicide is more respectable.20 In 1821, when Jane Austen was still alive, Richard Whately said that “certainly no author has ever conformed more closely to real life, as well as the incidents, as in the characters and descriptions”, Whately also said that “her fables appear to us to be in their own way, nearly faultless”.21 Sir Walter Scott said “That young lady had a talent for describing the involvement and feelings and characters of ordinary life which is to me the most wonderful I have ever met with.” 22 Many voices were raised to praise Jane Austen and her works or to bring them down. Unfortunately Jane Austen did not live long enough to experience the success her work achieved later and still maintain today. Only four of her novels got published while she was alive; these were Sense and Sensibility (1811), Pride and Prejudice (1813), Mansfield Park (1814) and Emma (1815). They did not give much money or much acclaim, not as much as the novels of Fanny Burney or Maria Edgeworth, her more or less forgotten contemporaries.23 Jane Austen has described her own work Pride and Prejudice as “rather too light and bright and sparkling”.24 It might have been that she did not believe in herself and her capability. Joe Wright, the director of the latest film version of Pride and Prejudice, say’s that there is no doubt that Jane Austen changed the face of the novel. He also says that her characterisation is much deeper than in earlier writing and that the psychology of the characters is something that you do not really get in literature beforehand. As readers we feel that she was honest and wrote completely from her heart. It is said that the modern novel owes more to Austen in terms of structure than for example Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones or Samuel Richardsson’s Clarissa. When Jane Austen was writing, the novel was in its infancy and many 18th century novels were sprawling, often epistolary affairs, long-winded and melodramatic.25 Jane Austen was the first English writer to confront the real challenges of the form in which she operated. The technical challenge was that of focusing on the mind of at least one 20 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A1171595, 2006-11-28, 11:59 21 Goldstein 88. 22 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A1171595, 2006-11-28, 11:59 23 Goldstein 89. 24 Jones, 2003, xi 25 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A1171595, 2006-11-28, 11:59 6 central character while at the same time allowing that character’s world and its many inhabitants to impose themselves independently upon the reader’s attention. In Pride and Prejudice Jane Austen chooses to focus on the consciousness of one central figure, Elizabeth Bennet, from whose point of view the narrative is for the most part experienced.26 Lady Victoria Leatham, also working with the production of the film Pride and Prejudice, points out that Austen’s books allow us to see behind the scenes and see the domestic trivia, “She really manages to put us in the actual scene of everyday life from breakfast through to tea. We can see how the families had these pointless lives, and yet there were all sorts of undercurrents going on at the same time. Their days must have been so dull and so boring, especially if a girl had a good brain. To spend your life sewing and tittle-tattle, and wandering between coffee mornings, with your mother clucking over you like an old hen”.27 We do not realise how lucky we are today. An example of this from the book really points out how uneventful their lives might have been. When tea was over...Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the sophas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the same; and Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings, joined now and then in her brother’s conversation with Miss Bennet. (P&P, 53-54) Pride and Prejudice is not only a romantic love story where boy meets girl, its undertones strongly satirise contemporary society: Pride and Prejudice is written as a romantic comedy whose depiction of the characters’ confusions and difficulties forcefully satirises middle-class ideals of romance and marriage. Pride and Prejudice also criticizes the social life of its time. 26 Rubinstein 11. 27 Lady Victoria Leatham, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 7 It satirises the middle class vulgarity of Mrs. Bennet, the childish frivolity of Lydia and Kitty, the aristocratic snobbery and arrogance of Darcy, Miss Bingley, and Lady Catherine, and the servile pomposity of clergymen like Mr Collins, the novel also exposes the self-indulgent sarcasm, permissiveness, or dependence of middle-class gentlemen like Mr Bennet and Mr Bingley and the cynical conformity or complacent indifference of middle-class women like Jane Bennet and Charlotte Lucas.28 When we look deep into the text and analyse it, there are more things being criticized. The story develops less familiar but more subversive notions of reading and interpretation this means that the novel assumes, in other words, that serious public reading ends up boring and pretentious, while sceptical private reading can demonstrate genuine intelligence.29 Trevor Ross said that “...true pleasures of reading could only come in relation to texts of an intellectually demanding nature”30 His educators feared that novels, which could be consumed “too easily and too rapidly”, had “injurious effects”. In that time the Victorian liberals expected reading to improve the reader and to improve their intellect.31 The life of the character Elizabeth Bennet Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, is the main character of Pride and Prejudice. She lives at Longbourn in Hertfordshire with her parents and four sisters, Jane, Mary, Kitty/Catherine, and Lydia. Elizabeth is a young woman of twenty who, like other girls, dreams of marriage and love. The depiction of her is as by nature capable of much happiness and enjoyment in life, she is a woman of deep feeling and strong convictions, and she is very protective of her sisters and capable of righteous anger.32 “She is honest, outspoken, and uncompromising and seems very much at home with herself. Lizzy does not care what people whom she does not like think of her and readily speaks her mind.”33 An example of this is when Elizabeth talks to her 28 Goldstein 83. 29 Goldstein 85. 30 Goldstein 90. 31 Goldstein 90. 32 Mary Riso, Heroines the Lives of Great Literary Characters and What They Have to Teach Us, (Grand Rapids, Mich. : Baker Books, 2003) 88. 33 Riso 88. 8 sister after finding out that the assembly containing the beloved Mr. Bingley is leaving Netherfield, which is assumed to be a trick by Bingley’s sisters who do not think Jane a suitable wife for their brother. “There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense. I have met with two instances lately; one I will not mention; the other is Charlotte’s marriage. It is unaccountable! In every view it is unaccountable!” (P&P, 133) Here she unreservedly speaks her mind to her sister as so often before. But her sister has not got the power or will to think ill of any one. They are in some aspects opposites of each other. Her elder sister Jane is the beauty while Elizabeth is described as ordinary, attractive but not beautiful. Elizabeth is an independent woman who goes her own ways, which in her case has two distinct meanings; she is not moved by everything she hears and she decides for herself what to think and how to act; she also does a lot of walking in the surrounding landscape. She likes the freedom the out-of-doors gives, and the fresh air that makes it easier to think, she also likes to read and dance. Elizabeth has similarities with Jane Austen, who, as a young woman, enjoyed long country walks, she attended balls in many of the great houses of the neighbourhood because she took great pleasure in dancing and we also know that reading was a thing she liked to do.34 That Elizabeth likes to walk was seen as odd and different. In the beginning of the book she walks the three miles over to Netherfield to take care of her sister who has caught a cold riding horseback to the same place. And the Bingley sisters are upset about her behaviour. “Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!” “ To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, an alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to shew an abominable 34 http://www.jasa.net.au/jabiog.htm, 2006-11-28, 12:18 9 sort of conceited independence, a most country town indifference to decorum.” (P&P, 36) Instead of walking she could have taken a carriage or been ridden a horse, but Elizabeth liked to walk and so she does, not to upset anyone, just because she wants to. She is different from the other women of her time but at the same time she is very much like them. Elizabeth realises that she must take responsibility for her own education because she cannot look to either of her parents for advice, and she must ultimately depend on her own experiences, instincts, and judgements.35 This might have led to her pride, from which she unconsciously suffers. One could argue that she in some aspects was born in the wrong family, with her hopeless mother who only has marriage in mind and the lack of guidance and strength from her father.36 One should not forget that her mother, apart from talking very much and very loudly, also is obsessed with getting her daughters married, which could be seen as a considerate quality but in her case it is exaggerated. Elizabeth’s behaviour as it is described in Pride and Prejudice was not very common in the 18th century but in the story there are few objections to it: she is supported, in almost every move she makes, by her father who loves her very much. Elizabeth and her father have a very warm and respectful relationship. She often speaks her mind to him in his library where he hides from the rest of the family. He cares more about her than his wife and he thanks God for his beautiful and intelligent daughter. An example from the book clearly shows his care for her and her life when Mr. Darcy of whom she has not spoken so well, proposes to her. She tells her father that she actually loves him now, more than ever, and regrets what she has said before. “I know your disposition Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband; unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life”...”Well, my dear,” said he, when she ceased speaking, 35 http://www.123helpme.com/assets/16770.html 20061128 11:55 36 Riso 86-87. 10 “I have no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to any one less worthy.” (P&P, 356) Her father’s opinions are important to her even though she usually does not let anyone affect her thoughts and emotions, but subconsciously we all know that she is being affected by whatever Mr. Darcy says. Auerbach points out the following; ”the absurd authority of a Lady Catherine or a Mrs. Bennet implies that what Elizabeth chooses or what she learns does not matter because Austen shows that only the male authority of a Darcy or a Mr. Bennet can effectively legitimate a woman’s claims.”37 Courtship and Marriage As shown in Pride and Prejudice, one of the dominant features of social life in Austen’s time was courtship and marriage. In the 18th and 19th century the subject of courtship was absolutely central in life and it remained so because it involved both with the social perpetuation of the family line through inherited property and, with that, larger interpenetration of social classes. The social scene was very busy; people would go around and stay with their relations a lot. Pride and Prejudice points that out very well through all the trips to different families and relatives. In this time you did not just stay for the weekend like we do today, usually they stayed for weeks: trying to get their children married, trying to make the most of the lives they had. Courtship and marriage was important for a woman to make her way in life. At the end of the 18th century, women’s position in society had not progressed much since the 16th century. Women were not allowed to vote and their purpose in life was to take care of the children and the household. The only way a woman could advance on the social ladder were to have good connections and to marry into the rich and wealthy families. Proposals was nothing thrown over you now and then so you had to find your partner or likely partner and be together with that person as much as possible. Unlike the situation we are living in today, dating was not a simple thing. In our modern society we go around dating like we want, whenever we want. We meet our partner at a disco or a bar, some meet at work, school, or other places. Some people meet each other through friends or over the internet, some of these decide together where they are to meet, some meet at a cinema, which is rather strange because you cannot talk to each other during a movie. It 37 Goldstein 102-103. 11 can be romantic and cosy in the dark but you do not get much information from the other one. Some people meet at a café, where it is easier to talk, and you can sit there as long as you like. To talk with another person makes it also a lot easier to get to know the person you might be in love with. In our time there are many alternatives of how to do it when it comes to dating. But the life of the 18th century had another way of handling this subject. There were certain rules to follow when it came to courtship, which might have made it all easier compared to the ways we use today. Let us compare briefly on how we greet each other today and then. The most common way we use today is to shake hands, if we are more friendly we kiss each others’ cheeks, embrace each other and so on, there are so many ways of greeting another person which makes it more difficult to tell from situation to situation of how we are to greet a person. How many of us have not stretched out our hand to shake hands when the other person starts to embrace us. In the Austen period women simply did not shake hands with men. Courtship, too, was different from today’s dating. The most acceptable way to behave for a woman looking for a husband was to look like you did not want any husband.38 You should not make a fool of yourself or be too open with your feelings. So how they did manage to find each other then, was through their balls and their dance floors. It was on the dance floor you would find a good husband and a good wife. Men and women were able to be together without a chaperone and were able to talk to each other. You could dance with someone that you on a normal day would not approach and talk to. But if and when you went to a dance, or if there were a dance at the end of a party, your parents would probably always be present and you would have your mother and father watching every move you make.39 Behaviour was very important to show who you were. Elizabeth’s mother was not the best representative of behaviour but she seems to know, anyway, how to behave when she exhorts Elizabeth in the following lines. “Lizzy,” cried her mother, “remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.” (P&P,42) Mrs. Bennet is known to speak much and loudly and so does Elizabeth too, not loudly but she speaks her mind. Mrs. Bennet is afraid Elizabeth will make a fool of herself, and what is 38 Louise West, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 39 Louise West, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 12 funny about that is that she admonishes Elizabeth when she should take a look at herself and her own behaviour instead. Elizabeth has no problems when it comes to the social matter of conversations, but general knowledge confirms that it is difficult to talk to someone who you are in love with. In the time of Jane Austen you were not allowed to talk to someone of the other sex alone, except for when dancing. It was difficult, then, if you could not come up with a subject to discuss. In the following quotation Elizabeth is looking for information from Mr. Darcy and she is very upset with him when he does not give her the answers she wants. “It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy.-I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”(P&P, 90) She is pushing him to speak. If you could not come up with a subject to talk about, you could always talk about the dance, one could compare it with our way of talking about the weather when we run out of interesting topics. During a dance was the only time the couples were alone, so to be able to use those dances in that way was a great way of forming creating contact between the lovers. Dancing with somebody was the only way allowed to have physical contact with another man or woman outside of marriage.40 That also made the whole thing very exciting. There were of course many more rules to follow which will not be mentioned in this essay. Courtship often led to marriage, and marriage was then, unlike today, of primary importance to the whole family. When it comes to marriage we are free to marry who we like, in today’s Western society that is. Today you are also assumed to marry for love. In the society of Austen’s period you were not that free, as mentioned above, to choose whom you wanted to marry. In some cases your parents already had chosen from your birth whom you were to marry. This is a little bit like parts of the Eastern society of today, where in some cases your parents chose your partner. It was also important that you married well so that you could help support you family. Especially the oldest girl in a family was under pressure to find a rich man and marry. In Pride and Prejudice this takes another turn when Lydia puts her sisters into danger of not getting married when she runs off with Mr. Wickham. Living with a 40 Joe Wright, Pride and Prejudice, 2006, Universal, DVD, bonus material 13 man before marriage in that period would ruin not only Lydia’s reputation but also her sisters’ and perhaps destroy their prospects of marrying into a respectable family. Of course every girl wanted to marry into riches and into respectable families. But in Lydia’s case she just wanted to get married before her sisters, even though that was not the intention of Mr. Wickham running off with her. Lydia really enjoys getting married before her sisters and seems not to notice that her husband finds no interest in her. “Ah! Jane, I take your place now, and you must go lower, because I am a married woman.” She longed to see Mrs. Phillips, the Lucasses, and all their other neighbours, and to hear herself called “Mrs. Wickham”, by each of them; and in mean time, she went after dinner to shew her ring and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids.…”I am sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my good luck”. (P&P, 300) Lydia is a very frolicsome and silly girl not older than sixteen and all she cares about is love from a handsome man. It is well described in the quotation above that she is not very mature. Today we connect marriage mostly with love and not convenience but in Austen’s time it was different. Marriage was and still is something that almost every girl dreams of. Who is going to be their prince and what will the actual wedding be like? As one can see in Pride and Prejudice, girls’ heads were filled with marriage and dresses and balls. They wanted to be secure, they wanted to have a good time, and they wanted to find a likeable person to be with, which was not always possible in that day and time. People sometimes married for convenience.41 The novel makes clear, in the figure of Charlotte Lucas, that to give oneself to a man without desire, to accede to a polite form of prostitution, is to sacrifice what is most valuable in the self, and in the figure of Mr. Bennet, that to submit to lust, or even a giddy impulse (why else would Mr. Bennet have selected the bride he did?) is to forego the possibility of rational happiness.42 41 Joe Wright, Pride and Prejudice, 2006, Universal, DVD, bonus material 42 Rubinstein 7. 14 It is a very good point and it is also very easy to trace in this story. Jane Austen was well aware of the subject - marrying for convenience - when she included the part where Charlotte Lucas marries Mr. Collins. And at the same time she satirizes people who marry out of attraction. The following text in her Pride and Prejudice is to me both comic and tragic. Her father captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good humour, which youth and beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind, had very early in their marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect, esteem, and confidence, had vanished for ever; and all his views of domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own prudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice... To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted, than as her ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement. This is not the sort of happiness which a man would in general wish to owe to his wife... (P&P, 229) As mentioned above you sometimes married for convenience, so it was not recommended to refuse a proposal as Elizabeth actually does twice in the story. Marriage proposals might just come once in a lifetime. But Elizabeth is a strong minded woman and certainly knows that she can neither love nor respect Mr. Collins, who proposes to her in a laughable way; “Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from doing any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness; but allow me to assure you that I have your respected mother’s permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying…” (P&P, 103) 15 After this Mr. Collins continues to talk about how Lady Catherine has suggested a marriage for him. Elizabeth explains to him that she cannot agree to this proposal and Mr. Collins begins to tell Elizabeth that she might never get married if she does not accept this proposal. This has no impact on Elizabeth who continues her life as usual. Then Mr. Darcy proposes to her but Elizabeth can not accept this proposal made by Mr. Darcy, which actually starts out very well, “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” (P&P, 185) But Mr. Darcy continues in a very annoying fashion. He is criticising her family and their behaviour while proposing to her and I believe we all would have said no to such a proposal. Pride and Prejudice presents different kinds of marriage. We know that Elizabeth refuses two proposals. Elizabeth does not believe in marrying for convenience and that is why she so arrogantly refuses Mr. Collins proposal. Instead Elizabeth’s best friend Charlotte Lucas accepts a proposal from Mr. Collins. The marriage is based on economics rather than on love. This was, as mentioned before, common during Jane Austen’s time; women married for convenience to save themselves from spinsterhood or to gain financial security. Another kind of marriage is the hasty marriage between Mr. Wickham and Elizabeth’s sister Lydia. It was seen as a bad marriage and Austen shows here that these marriages, acting on impulse, based on superficial qualities, quickly cool and lead to unhappiness. A happy and strong marriage takes time to build and must be based on mutual feeling, understanding, and respect. It is clearly shown in the relationship between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. This couple takes their time and they allow themselves to get to know each other before an engagement. We know that their road to an engagement is long and filled with meetings and quarrels before they decide for love and marriage. Pride and Prejudice today When searching the Internet for information about Jane Austen, and Pride and Prejudice, many sites will be found, but what is most surprising are all the webpages about Elizabeth Bennet that also are to be found. Fan listing pages are very common today. You make these pages about your favourite actor or actress and so on, but pages dedicated to a character of a 16 story are not that common. In Elizabeth Bennet’s case, there are several pages dedicated to her; even at the famous Wikipedia page, the free encyclopaedia, there is a whole chapter simply about Elizabeth. This page relates, among other things, which actresses have portrayed Elizabeth.43 Other pages that are devoted to the character are very well made, you can find all the different dresses that Elizabeth wore in the miniseries from 1995 made by BBC.44 You can download several pictures of Elizabeth but I would say that they are pictures of the actresses playing Elizabeth. There are even ‘icons’ to download so that you can use them on your own webpage. The icons are pictures of Elizabeth with small notes on saying things like “I’ll just smile” or “lovely”, commenting on the way she looks in the picture. On one of these webpages, there is a competition where the challengers are given themes and are then to create pictures from the movie with the theme. These challenges are made repeatedly on this page and you can look at the winning picture of the various themes.45 Pride and Prejudice quizzes can also be found, they tell you if you are a real Pride and Prejudice expert, which one of the characters you would be, and which of the male characters would suit you the best.46 On another page there are something called codes, which are also small pictures of Elizabeth with just her name on them in different types of writing, and the webmaster asks the members to upload more of those codes.47 On most of the pages you can read the story, too, and make comments on almost everything concerning Pride and Prejudice. There are also quotations of Elizabeth, to read if you do not want to read the whole book. There is so much to be found on the Internet when it comes to Elizabeth Bennet. A search on her name at a community page, containing online diaries, gave three hundred and eighty two matches: all of them webpages with “Lizzy stuff”. For just a character in a very well written book from the early 19th century, she is very popular. Identifying with Elizabeth today Elizabeth’s life is not as predictable and dreamlike as the life of other characters in some of the 18th and 19th century fiction. Her life is not a rosegarden, she has been through both luck and misfortunes, but in the end she gets married to the prince and receives the castle. Her life 43 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Bennet 2006-11-15, 15.15 44 http://www.austen.com/costumes/ 2006-11-15, 15.00 45 http://community.livejournal.com/austen_stills, 2006-11-15, 15.30 46 http://www.strangegirl.org/austenquiz/ 2006-11-28, 11:55 47 http://www.mourning-love.net/elizabeth/ 2006-11-15, 15.10 17 looks a lot more like our lives today: a constant search for love and respect, except that she has no career or work taking up her time. Her days are filled with what she wants to do or what she has to do about the household. Elizabeth is a free woman in our eyes; she speaks her thoughts and her mind, which might be equal to our time’s expression of girl power48. She refuses two proposals, as have been mentioned before, but she also accepts the third and last one from Mr. Darcy. That she actually gets the wealthy man in the end, as in every fairy tale, is something people still dream of. Elizabeth has the things we long for. She has a family that she loves and a home. In today’s society these things, mentioned above, can be very fairy-like for some people, it is not to be taken for granted to have a home and certainly not to have a family who loves you. Too many families today are parted or split up because of small trivial things or by larger conflicts that never get solved and remain unresolved because they never reach the surface. Parents divorce, wars in different parts of our world separate families daily, and money is another factor which often leads to conflicts, which often leads to separation. In our society today we choose to spend our time mostly hunting money because some of us still believe that happiness only can come out of a large amount of money. We spend our time working, doing our duties, and less with our families and friends, the people whom we love. This as well might lead to separations inside families. Words can be heard from disappointed children; ‘I do not know my father because he always works but my mother I love, her I see everyday’. Everything is connected, we need money to keep a home and bring food on the table, to earn money most of us have to work. More work brings more money but it takes our time instead, we get less time with our nearest and dearest which makes us unhappy and we seek happiness in material things instead, like a book that could be Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. We escape into a fantasy world where it is comfortable to be, and that is why I think Elizabeth becomes our heroine. She is living her life in a way we would like to live our lives, free and loving. She thinks like we do or might do in the same situation. The following quotation from the book seems like a very normal way to reason. “A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish enough to expect a renewal of his love? Is there one among the sex, who would not 48 “A self-reliant attitude among girls and young women manifested in ambition, assertiveness and individualism.” Oxford English Dictionary, 2001 18 protest against such a weakness as a second proposal to the same woman? There is no indignity so abhorrent to their feelings!”(P&P, 322) Elizabeth is here reflecting over her situation and her relation to Mr. Darcy. With these words Elizabeth could be a woman of today, if we just give her the time and let her live through us. As said before some of us want to be like Elizabeth, independent, speak our minds openly, and walk our own ways without being afraid of what others might say. Human beings want to be free and also free from the things that bind them in their everyday life, things like school, work, and duties at home. Society forms us no matter what we say and think about it. We are moved by things that happen in the world and we do get affected by what the neighbours tell us or what we hear about on TV. In Austen’s time people were affected by what they read and we still get affected, as we can see, by reading her Pride and Prejudice. It still has its influence on us today, two hundred years after it was written. This story, two hundred years old, still affects some people so much that they come to feel like they own Elizabeth - or some other character in the book - and believe they have a right to decide over the character. When a play is to be performed, some people have to know who is going to play what character. And when they find out they might argue that some actor or actress is absolutely wrong for that role and he or she cannot do justice to that character. This happened when the latest film version was to be recorded. The actors and actresses got questions from their friends and surroundings, “Which actor was going to play that character?” and “How could they chose that actor to that role, that is totally wrong”, and so on.49 Looking at Elizabeth, then, she becomes alive through reading, through the text. The reader becomes Elizabeth by connecting herself to the character, feeling what Elizabeth feels and taking her side. The character of Elizabeth Bennet could be in any story today where women are supposed to stand up for themselves and take an equal part in society. She is out of her time and could be a woman of today, with her manners and ways of looking at life, and yet she lives in her time the time of the 19th century, the Napoleonic era. She is a heroine and that could be one of the reasons why people love her as much as they do. Elizabeth Bennet “seems to connect most directly with the active, visible, independent identity of modern femininity”.50 Jones also says that “The qualities which distinguished 49 Tom Hollander, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 50 Jones xiii. 19 Elizabeth from the ‘common heroines’ familiar to contemporary audiences continue to endear her to modern readers. Elizabeth embodies a different kind of femininity from the stereotypical one that is passive, vulnerable and a child-like romantic heroine”. She is the woman some of us want to be. She does not save lives or conquer beasts but her manners are heroic in the way they are described in Pride and Prejudice. We need female heroes that are much like ourselves so that we can relate to them. It is difficult to tell why Elizabeth Bennet is a heroine for many women today but I think it has to do with her qualities, as Viviene Jones points out, “Maybe it is her liveliness and ‘active sensibility’ that secures our sympathy evens more.”51 Jones also says that; “Elizabeth’s sense and conduct are of superior order to those of the common heroines of novels.”52 In each of Jane Austen’s six novels she provides her heroine with a good marriage, but that of Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice is the most dazzling of all. Pride and Prejudice is the one love story which most comfortably fits the patterns of popular romantic fiction, according to Viviene Jones.53 Romance makes connections across history: it helps us identify and understand the continuities-and the differences-between the novel’s significance at the same time it was written and published and the appeal it still has for modern readers.54 However, Elizabeth is also an ordinary girl who makes mistakes, mistakes that people do today too, like judging too quickly. “Pride and prejudice are faults; but they are also the necessary defects of desirable merits: self-respect and intelligence.”55 She admits to herself that she regrets her refusal of the proposal from Mr. Darcy, but in the same breath she does not feel remorse at all. “And of this place,” thought she, “I might have been mistress! With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed 51 Jones xxiv. 52 Jones xii. 53 Jones xi. 54 Jones xii. 55 Wright, Heroines, 97. 20 to them as visitors my uncle and aunt.-But no,”-recollecting herself,-“that could never be: my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me: I should not have been allowed to invite them.” This was a lucky recollection-it saved her from something like regret. (P&P, 236) That mistake could have given her access to Pemberley and all the riches, but she acts just like I think anyone would have done. Of course we want riches and if we are close to get it but fail we will regret it. Her acting and thinking is so natural that we take her for a real person. In Pride and Prejudice Elizabeth is prejudiced against Mr. Darcy who first attracted her and she, naturally, takes an interest in another man who seems nicer and certainly has the ‘looks’. She falls for a man in uniform, a soldier, and who has not fallen for a soldier who looks handsome? Just look at the way Mr. Wickham is described in the book. His appearance was greatly in his favour; he had all the best party of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation-a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming. (P&P,71) The officers of the-shire were in general a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of the present party; but Mr. Wickham was far beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and walk, as they were superior to the broad-faced stuffy Uncle Philips, breathing port wine, who followed them into the room. (P&P, 75) In these two quotations Mr. Wickham is described as the best looking man of his time, today we look at other things but the feelings are the same. Men or women in suits or uniforms have always attracted the opposite sex. Maybe men in uniforms attract women more than the other way around. What it is that makes people more attractive when they are dressed as soldiers, police officers or fire fighters is difficult to tell by just looking at what they are wearing. I do not think it is the colours of their clothes or how they are designed or how they actually fit the person wearing them that matters. I believe it is what their uniforms stand for, they stand for the things that we search for: security and protection, for some people they might stand for 21 danger, and in some cases they might stand for wild things. What the uniforms symbolize is what we want or would like to have in our partner. Looking at it from that point of view it is not so extraordinary to be attracted by a soldier or someone else in a uniform. Elizabeth and her sisters are attracted by these sorts of men. Women through all time have been attracted to these men. Then one could argue that Mr. Darcy, who is not a soldier, is still very attractive. His way of behaving and having a very gentlemanlike nature are also very attractive. We do not know much about the way he looks like but he attracts us through his way of being. He is well articulated in speech, he is wealthy, and he is a very sophisticated man. Mr. Darcy is a calm man and he thinks before he speaks, this to me brings associations with security. He has what Elizabeth wants and what some of the women of today still search for in a man. These things are in his favour and they make us like him even though he proposes to Elizabeth in a very impolite way the first time. Mr. Darcy is the romantic gentleman some women want and Elizabeth is the woman who dares to put herself up against patriarchal society, the woman some want to be, they are our heroes in the daily life. Conclusion My thoughts after reading and analysing this book is that Pride and Prejudice is written so well and that it is written in a way that still catches our attention. The people Jane Austen was writing about were real people, and they were put in real situations that we can identify easily with today. She deals with very simple “boy-meets-girl” set-ups, despite the entire social decor around it; the stories are universal and speak very much to us down the generations. The narrative method that Jane Austen herself arrived at in the final version of Pride and Prejudice will probably seem so familiar and so natural to the modern reader that they may need to be reminded that it was, if not invented, at least perfected by her, before being absorbed into the mainstream of English fiction. It gives the reader a sense of involvement and makes it uncomplicated for the reader to become the character while reading. Further more, “it puts the reader in a moral position at once committed and disengaged with respect to the difficulties and weaknesses of the heroine-bound to Elizabeth in her confusions and errors, yet amused and fascinated by the stubborn fidelity to her own original opinions which so complicates her struggles.”56 56 Rubinstein 12. 22 None of Austen’s novels are so immediately and directly accessible as Pride and Prejudice, oddly enough it may be these qualities that the modern reader particularly admirers and what kept it from pleasing some of the readers of its own century. P. Goldstein argues that what definitely affects us while reading Pride and Prejudice is that it is simple and realistic and we value it for its good plot, effective irony, not for its moral truth, liberal values, realistic depiction’s, feminist beliefs or social criticism.57 I think that we as readers interpret what we want to read and ignore political values if we are not interested in them. We read what we want to read, no matter what the book is criticising or not criticising and if there is any irony or none. Pride and Prejudice is relevant to society today. The reason for this is many of the themes are still being debated today, for instance feminism. The book reaches out to us two hundred years later with its characters and their lives, and this makes Pride and Prejudice special. If it did not get the attention it was worthy of when it was written, it certainly has got that now and will be given many more years, I think. Pride and Prejudice is important in today’s society; we need these kinds of stories where we can easily identify with a character. Jane Austen certainly knew what she wanted and wrote about it. That this book speaks to women in a way that men will perhaps never understand fully is wonderful in the sense of the enjoyment it gives to its readers. Women get their own fantasy place to creep into, where men cannot be in the way, the women can escape the stressful world their living in. People need to escape real life a little bit now and then, and run away in to the world where they want to be: a world that is not uncomplicated but less demanding. A world with pride and prejudice; but also a world with love, beauty, family, balls, and warm affection, things which we sometimes find it hard to find in our own world. Everything we want in our lives is to be found if we know where to look, sometimes all we need is to open up a book, and fly away. “You yearn for beauty and goodness, love and mercy-rare qualities in today’s world. Still, they can be found if you know where to look.”58 57 Goldstein 96. 58 Riso, cover. 23 Bibliography Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. 1813; Harmondsworth: Penguin Classics, 1996. Goldstein, Philip. Communities of cultural value. Lanham, MD : Lexington Books, 2001. Jones, Vivien. “Introduction.” 2003. In Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. Riso, Mary. Heroines: the Lives of Great Literary Characters and What They Have to Teach Us. Grand Rapids, Mich. : Baker Books, 2003. Rubinstein, E. Twentieth Century Interpretations of Pride and Prejudice. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1969. Schweickart Patricinio P. and Elizabeth A. Flynn, eds., Gender and Reading: Essays on Readers, Texts, and Contexts . Quoted in Hildebrand, The Female Reader at the Round Table: Women and Religion in Three Contemporary Arthurian Texts. Doct. diss, Uppsala, 2001. Wright, Andrew H. “Heroines, Heroes, and Villains in Pride and Prejudice, 1.Elizabeth Bennet,” in E. Rubinstein. Twentieth Century Interpretations of Pride and Prejudice. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1969. Joe Wright, Pride and Prejudice, 2006, Universal, DVD, bonus material Internet resources http://community.livejournal.com/austen_stills, 2006-11-15, 15.30 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Bennet 2006-11-15, 15.15 http://geocities.com/Athens/8563/essays/essay5.html, 2006-11-28, 12:10 http://www.austen.com/costumes/ 2006-11-15, 15.00 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A1171595, 2006-11-28, 11:59 24 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A847505, 2006-11-28, 12:00 http://www.geocities.com/Athens/8563/books/index.html, 2006-11-28, 12:11 http://www.jasa.net.au/jabiog.htm, 2006-11-28, 12:18 http://www.mourning-love.net/elizabeth/ 2006-11-15, 15.10 http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/pride/terms/charanal_1.html, 2006-11-28, 11:50 http://www.strangegirl.org/austenquiz/ 2006-11-28, 11:55 http://www.123helpme.com/assets/16770.html 20061128 11:55 
work_hazh523tbfch5ktchr65kfwi5u	----	art01Duncan Romanticism and Victorianism on the Net #64 (October 2013) http://ravonjournal.org Realism / romance, Romantic / Victorian Ian Duncan, University of California, Berkeley Realism / romance, Romantic / Victorian: the dyads don’t quite line up. It is easier to parse the difference between romance and realism as an opposition, sometimes dialectical, sometimes not; but the difference between Romantic and Victorian is scandalous, and not just because it renders a historical relation as a rhetorical relation, an antithesis. As titles of successive periods they are incoherent, incommensurate. One designates an aesthetic ideology (intrinsic to the literary work), the other a monarch’s reign (external and adventitious). Their sets of associations predict approaches and methodologies as well as what gets included and how it is valued. “Victorian,” at least, is so clearly contingent and arbitrary that it can work as a synecdoche for “history,” making historicism a default setting for Victorian studies; while Romanticism has traditionally named a resistance to history – history as “normal change” (in Jerome Christensen’s formulation, after Immanuel Wallerstein [11-13]), silting up the revolutionary opening of the 1790s, paving it over with that quintessentially Victorian technology, realism.1 Romanticism, rhetoricity, lyric, versus history, realism and (to use Clifford Siskin’s term) “novelism”: these oppositions return with an impressive tenacity to inflect our thinking across the nineteenth century. In my own career I have found “Romanticism” especially constraining, at least until quite recently (for a long time you weren’t allowed to be a Romanticist if you worked on Scott, or for that matter on the novel, always excepting Frankenstein): but also—therefore—stimulating, intellectually productive, a point of resistance. So yes, let us by all means be “one people,” if that brings a salutary alienation from these categories, whether we work within a particular period or 1 Exemplary here is William Galperin’s recuperation of Jane Austen for Romanticism from nineteenth-century realism and historicism. 2 across both of them. Having said which, I feel bound to admit my own perverse attachment to the categories (even Romanticism), and not just because they have generated extraordinary scholarship. Ostensibly neutral terms like the “Long Nineteenth Century” tend to be more insidious than blatantly factitious ones; they do their naturalizing, normalizing work more blandly, digesting “history,” for example, into an even, inexorable chronological flow (into “normal change”). The arbitrariness, the absurdity, of “Romantic” and “Victorian” can keep us thinking about the relations between form and history – the forms through which history is mediated, as well as the forms that history shapes – so long as we don’t forget their arbitrariness and absurdity. Here I think “romance,” notoriously intractable to critical taxonomies, can help. For of course the romance-realism opposition is incoherent too. Realism foregrounds its mimetic function, while romance foregrounds its fictionality or rhetoricity; we can grasp realism as a repertoire of techniques (descriptive metonymy, free indirect discourse, and so on), while romance eludes that sort of technical or topical accounting. (Attempts thus to define it, e.g. as structured around a quest, leave out more instances than they include.) Romance has a different categorical consistency, one that inheres in the relation between work and reader (as the prototypical exploration of the romance-realism dialectic, Don Quixote, predicts). In her forthcoming book At Home in English Deidre Lynch clarifies the late eighteenth- century “romance revival” – the modern inauguration of romance as a critical and aesthetic category – in these terms. Thomas Warton and others cast “romantic poetry” (Warton’s phrase) as an affective relation between work and reader, a newly charged possessive intimacy, which generates the modern aura of “the literary.” Lynch offers a sentimental genesis of the aesthetic complex that Jean-Luc Nancy and Philippe Lacoue-Labarthe have called “the literary absolute.” Writing with reference to German Romantic theory, Lacoue-Labarthe and Nancy analyse the 3 literary absolute as a structural rather than an affective relation (“literature producing itself as it produces its own theory” [12]), emphasizing its ironical, reflexive modality. Lynch’s focus on romance shows us how the literary absolute is produced as a relation between work and reader, rather than as a property intrinsic to the work itself. This relation includes but is not limited to reading; indeed, it was sometimes taken to preclude reading for more perverse modes of interaction, such as the acquisition of old black-letter books that were, strictly speaking, unreadable. Alongside the romantic aura of the literary, then, this affective complex precipitates the book itself as an object of value, in the early nineteenth-century collecting craze nicknamed “the Bibliomania.”2 Romance, to paraphrase and condense drastically, thus plays its indispensable role as realism’s excess, at once the transcendental surplus (“the literary absolute”) and material residue (books, the machinery of production, mediation and possession) of the mimetic act. “It is from the great book of Nature, the same through a thousand editions, whether of black letter or wire-wove or hot-pressed, that I have venturously essayed to read a chapter to the public” (3), Walter Scott announces in the first chapter of Waverley – recasting authorship as an act not of writing (or invention) but of reading: an act that mediates, equivocally, between contingent historical objects (editions, printed paper) and a universal code (human nature). Famously, Waverley reconceives romance for the nineteenth century by making it – set in a dialectical relation with “real history” – the instrument of an enhanced realism. Scott’s novel supplies what is still, today, the most fertile thinking-through of the terms, for Romanticists and Victorianists alike. 2 See Jack Lynch’s “Wedded to Books: Bibliomania and the Romantic Essayists”, and Ina Ferris’ “Bibliographic Romance: Bibliophilia and the Book-Object”. 4 Biographical notice Ian Duncan is Florence Green Bixby Professor of English at the University of California, Berkeley. His books include Scott’s Shadow: The Novel in Romantic Edinburgh (Princeton, 2007), Modern Romance and Transformations of the Novel: The Gothic, Scott, Dickens (Cambridge, 1992), and Scotland and the Borders of Romanticism (co-editor: Cambridge, 2004). He is currently writing a book about the novel and the ‘science of man,’ from Buffon to Darwin. Works Cited Christensen, Jerome. Romanticism at the End of History. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2000. Ferris, Ina. “Bibliographic Romance: Bibliophilia and the Book-Object.” in “Romantic Libraries.” Ed. Ina Ferris. Romantic Circles Praxis Series (February 2004) http://www.rc.umd.edu/praxis/libraries. Galperin, William. The Historical Austen. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003. Lacoue-Labarthe, Philippe and Jean-Luc Nancy. The Literary Absolute: The Theory of Literature in German Romanticism. Trans. Philip Barnard and Cheryl Lester. Albany: SUNY Press, 1988. Lynch, Jack. “Wedded to Books: Bibliomania and the Romantic Essayists.” in “Romantic Libraries.” Ed. Ina Ferris. Romantic Circles Praxis Series (February 2004) http://www.rc.umd.edu/praxis/libraries. Scott, Walter. Waverley. Ed. Peter Garside. London: Penguin Classics, 2011. Siskin, Clifford. The Work of Writing: Literature and Social Change 1700-1830. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998. 
work_hcp4ebkfpnanhn2cnzfdkm3tyi	----	pnas201010868_108_S3 15565..15571 Searching for simplicity in the analysis of neurons and behavior Greg J. Stephensa,1, Leslie C. Osborneb, and William Bialeka aJoseph Henry Laboratories of Physics, Lewis–Sigler Institute for Integrative Genomics and Princeton Center for Theoretical Sciences, Princeton University, Princeton, NJ 08544; and bDepartment of Neurobiology, University of Chicago, Chicago, IL 60637 Edited by Donald W. Pfaff, The Rockefeller University, New York, NY, and approved January 20, 2011 (received for review October 21, 2010) What fascinates us about animal behavior is its richness and complexity, but understanding behavior and its neural basis requires a simpler description. Traditionally, simplification has been imposed by training animals to engage in a limited set of behaviors, by hand scoring behaviors into discrete classes, or by limiting the sensory experience of the organism. An alternative is to ask whether we can search through the dynamics of natural behaviors to find explicit evidence that these behaviors are simpler than they might have been. We review two mathematical approaches to simplification, dimensionality reduction and the maximum entropy method, and we draw on examples from different levels of biological organiza- tion, from the crawling behavior of Caenorhabditis elegans to the control of smooth pursuit eye movements in primates, and from the coding of natural scenes by networks of neurons in the retina to the rules of English spelling. In each case, we argue that the explicit search for simplicity uncovers new and unexpected features of the biological system and that the evidence for simplification gives us a language with which to phrase new questions for the next gener- ation of experiments. The fact that similar mathematical structures succeed in taming the complexity of very different biological sys- tems hints that there is something more general to be discovered. maximum entropy models | stochastic dynamical systems The last decades have seen an explosion in our ability to char-acterize the microscopic mechanisms—the molecules, cells, and circuits—that generate the behavior of biological systems. In contrast, our characterization of behavior itself has advanced much more slowly. Starting in the late 19th century, attempts to quantify behavior focused on experiments in which the behavior itself was restricted, for example by forcing an observer to choose among a limited set of alternatives. In the mid-20th century, ethologists emphasized the importance of observing behavior in its natural context, but here, too, the analysis most often focused on the counting of discrete actions. Parallel to these efforts, neurophysiologists were making progress on how the brain rep- resents the sensory world by presenting simplified stimuli and labeling cells by preference for stimulus features. Here we outline an approach in which living systems naturally explore a relatively unrestricted space of motor outputs or neural representations, and we search directly for simplification within the data. Although there is often suspicion of attempts to reduce the evident complexity of the brain, it is unlikely that under- standing will be achieved without some sort of compression. Rather than restricting behavior (or our description of behavior) from the outset, we will let the system “tell us” whether our fa- vorite simplifications are successful. Furthermore, we start with high spatial and temporal resolution data because we do not know the simple representation ahead of time. This approach is made possible only by the combination of experimental methods that generate larger, higher-quality data sets with the application of mathematical ideas that have a chance of discovering unexpected simplicity in these complex systems. We present four very differ- ent examples in which finding such simplicity informs our under- standing of biological function. Dimensionality Reduction In the human body there are ≈100 joint angles and substantially more muscles. Even if each muscle has just two states (rest or tension), the number of possible postures is enormous, 2Nmuscles ∼1030: If our bodies moved aimlessly among these states, char- acterizing our motor behavior would be hopeless—no experi- ment could sample even a tiny fraction of all of the possible trajectories. Moreover, wandering in a high dimensional space is unlikely to generate functional actions that make sense in a re- alistic context. Indeed, it is doubtful that a plausible neural sys- tem would independently control all of the muscles and joint angles without some coordinating patterns or “movement pri- matives” from which to build a repertoire of actions. There have been several motor systems in which just such a reduction in dimensionality has been found (1–5). Here we present two ex- amples of behavioral dimensionality reduction that represent very different levels of system complexity: smooth pursuit eye movements in monkeys and the free wiggling of worm-like nematodes. These examples are especially compelling because so few dimensions are required for a complete description of nat- ural behavior. Smooth Pursuit Eye Movements. Movements are variable even if conditions are carefully repeated, but the origin of that vari- ability is poorly understood. Variation might arise from noise in sensory processing to identify goals for movement, in planning or generating movement commands, or in the mechanical response of the muscles. The structure of behavioral variation can inform our understanding of the underlying system if we can connect the dimensions of variation to a particular stage of neural processing. Like other types of movement, eye movements are potentially high dimensional if eye position and velocity vary independently from moment to moment. However, an analysis of the natural variation in smooth pursuit eye movement behavior reveals a sim- ple structure whose form suggests a neural origin for the noise that gives rise to behavioral variation. Pursuit is a tracking eye move- ment, triggered by image motion on the retina, which serves to stabilize a target’s retinal image and thus to prevent motion blur (6). When a target begins to move relative to the eye, the pursuit system interprets the resulting image motion on the retina to es- timate the target’s trajectory and then to accelerate the eye to match the target’s motion direction and speed. Although tracking on longer time scales is driven by both retinal inputs and by extraretinal feedback signals, the initial ≈125 ms of the movement is generated purely from sensory estimates of the target’s motion, This paper results from the Arthur M. Sackler Colloquium of the National Academy of Sciences, “Quantification of Behavior” held June 11–13, 2010, at the AAAS Building in Washington, DC. The complete program and audio files of most presentations are available on the NAS Web site at www.nasonline.org/quantification. Author contributions: G.J.S., L.C.O., and W.B. designed research; G.J.S., L.C.O., and W.B. performed research; G.J.S., L.C.O., and W.B. contributed new reagents/analytic tools; G.J.S., L.C.O., and W.B. analyzed data; and G.J.S., L.C.O., and W.B. wrote the paper. The authors declare no conflict of interest. This article is a PNAS Direct Submission. 1To whom correspondence should be addressed. E-mail: gstephen@princeton.edu. www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1010868108 PNAS | September 13, 2011 | vol. 108 | suppl. 3 | 15565–15571 http://www.nasonline.org/quantification mailto:gstephen@princeton.edu www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1010868108 using visual inputs present before the onset of the response. Fo- cusing on just this initial portion of the pursuit movement, we can express the eye velocity in response to steps in target motion as a vector, vðtÞ ¼ vHðtÞbi þ vV ðtÞbj;where vH(t) and vV(t) are the hor- izontal and vertical components of the velocity, respectively. In Fig. 1A we show a single trial velocity trajectory (horizontal and vertical components, dashed black and gray lines) and the trial-averaged velocity trajectory (solid black and gray lines). Because the initial 125 ms of eye movement is sampled every millisecond, the pursuit trajectories have 250 dimensions. We compute the covariance of fluctuations about the mean trajectory and display the results in Fig. 1B. Focusing on a 125-ms window at the start of the pursuit response (green box), we com- pute the eigenvalues of the covariance matrix and find that only the three largest are statistically different from zero according to the SD within datasets (7). This low dimensional structure is not a limitation of the motor system, because during fixation (yellow box) there are 80 significant eigenvalues. Indeed, the small am- plitude, high dimensional variation visible during fixation seems to be an ever-present background noise that is swamped by the larger fluctuations in movement specific to pursuit. If the covariance of this background noise is subtracted from the covariance during pursuit, the 3D structure accounts for ∼94% of the variation in the pursuit trajectories (Fig. 1C). How does low dimensionality in eye movement arise? The goal of the movement is to match the eye to the target’s velocity, which is constant in these experiments. The brain must therefore interpret the activity of sensory neurons that represent its visual inputs, detecting that the target has begun to move (at time t0) and estimating the direction θ and speed v of motion. At best, the brain estimates these quantities and transforms these esti- mates into some desired trajectory of eye movements, which we can write as vðt;bt0;bθ;bvÞ; where ·̂ denotes an estimate of the quantity ·. However, estimates are never perfect, so we should imagine thatbt0 ¼ t0 þ δt0; and so on, where δt0 is the small error in the sensory estimate of target motion onset on a single trial. If these errors are small, we can write vðtÞ ¼ vðt; t0; v; θÞ þ δt0 ∂vðt; t0; v; θÞ ∂t0 þ δθ ∂vðt; t0; v; θÞ ∂θ þ δv∂vðt; t0; v; θÞ ∂v þ δvbackðtÞ; [1] where the first term is the average eye movement made in re- sponse to many repetitions of the target motion, the next three terms describe the effects of the sensory errors, and the final term is the background noise. Thus, if we can separate out the effects of the background noise, the fluctuations in v (t) from trial to trial should be described by just three random numbers, δt0, δθ, and δv: the variations should be 3D, as observed. The partial derivatives in Eq. 1 can be measured as the dif- ference between the trial-averaged pursuit trajectories in re- sponse to slightly different target motions. In fact the average trajectories vary in a simple way, shifting along the t axis as we change t0, rotating in space as we change θ, and scaling uniformly faster or slower as we change v (7), so that the relevant derivatives can be estimated just from one average trajectory. We identify these derivatives as sensory error modes and show the results in Fig. 1D, where we have abbreviated the partial derivative expressions for the modes of variation as vdir ≡ ∂v/(t; t0, v, θ)/∂θ, vspeed ≡ ∂v/(t; t0, v, θ)/∂v, and vtime ≡ ∂v/(t; t0, v, θ)/∂t0. We note that each sensory error mode has a vertical and horizontal com- ponent, although some make little contribution. We recover the sensory errors (δθ, δv, δt0) by projecting the pursuit trajectory on each trial onto the corresponding sensory error mode. We can write the covariance of fluctuations around the mean pursuit trajectory in terms of these error modes as Cijðt; t′Þ ¼ 2 64 v ðiÞ dirðtÞ vðiÞspeedðtÞ vðiÞtimeðtÞ 3 75 T264 hδθδθi hδθδvi hδθδt0ihδvδθi hδvδvi hδvδt0i hδt0δθi hδt0δvi hδt0δt0i 3 75 2 64 v ðjÞ dirðt′Þ vðjÞspeedðt′Þ vðjÞtimeðt′Þ 3 75 þCðbackÞij � t; t′ � ; [2] where the terms {〈δθδθ〉, 〈δθδv〉,. . .} are the covariances of the sensory errors. The fact that C can be written in this form implies not only that the variations in pursuit will be 3D but that we can predict in advance what these dimensions should be. Indeed, we find experimentally that the three significant dimensions of C have 96% overlap, with axes corresponding to vdir, vspeed, and vtime. These results strongly support the hypothesis that the ob- servable variations in motor output are dominated by the errors that the brain makes in estimating the parameters of its sensory -100 0 100 200 300 time (ms) 300 200 100 0 -100 tim e ( m s) 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 DC 1 10 100 Rank order e ig e n va lu e 1 0 BA 100 150 200 time (ms) 0 5 10 15 e ye v e lo ci ty ( d e g /s ) 100 150 200 time (ms) -0.3 0.3 0 e ye v e lo ci ty ( d e g /s ) direction speed time Fig. 1. Low-dimensional dynamics of pursuit eye velocity trajectories (7). (A) Eye movements were recorded from male rhesus monkeys (Macaca mulatta) that had been trained to fixate and track visual targets. Thin black and gray lines represent horizontal (H) and vertical (V) eye velocity in response to a step in target motion on a single trial; dashed lines represent the corre- sponding trial-averaged means. Red and blue lines represent the model prediction. (B) Covariance matrix of the horizontal eye velocity trajectories. The yellow square marks 125 ms during the fixation period before target motion onset, the green square the first 125 ms of pursuit. The color scale is in deg/s2. (C) Eigenvalue spectrum of the difference matrix ΔC(t, t′) = Cpursuit(t, t′) (green square) − Cbackground(t, t′) (yellow square). (D) Time courses of the sensory error modes (vdir, vspeed, vtime). The sensory error modes are calculated from derivatives of the mean trajectory, as in Eq. 1, and linear combinations of these modes can be used to reconstruct trajectories on single trials as shown in A. These modes have 96% overlap with the significant dimensions that emerge from the covariance analysis in B and C and thus provide a nearly complete description of the behavioral variation. Black and gray curves correspond to H and V components. 15566 | www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1010868108 Stephens et al. www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1010868108 inputs, as if the rest of the processing and motor control circuitry were effectively noiseless, or more precisely that they contribute only at the level of background variation in the movement. Further, the magnitude and time course of noise in sensory es- timation are comparable to the noise sources that limit percep- tual discrimination (7, 8). This unexpected result challenges our intuition that noise in the execution of movement creates be- havioral variation, and it forces us to consider that errors in sensory estimation may set the limit to behavioral precision. Our findings are consistent with the idea that the brain can minimize the impact of noise in motor execution in a task-specific manner (9, 10), although it suggests a unique origin for that noise in the sensory system. The precision of smooth pursuit fits well with the broader view that the nervous system can approach optimal performance at critical tasks (11–14). How the Worm Wiggles. The free motion of the nematode Cae- norhabditis elegans on a flat agar plate provides an ideal oppor- tunity to quantify the (reasonably) natural behavior of an entire organism (15). Under such conditions, changes in the worm’s sinuous body shape support a variety of motor behaviors, in- cluding forward and backward crawling and large body bends known as Ω-turns (16). Tracking microscopy provides high spatial and temporal resolution images of the worm over long periods of time, and from these images we can see that fluctuations in the thickness of the worm are small, so most variations in the shape are captured by the curve that passes through the center of the body. We measure position along this curve (arc length) by the variable s, normalized so that s = 0 is the head and s = 1 is the tail. The position of the body element at s is denoted by x(s), but it is more natural to give an “intrinsic” description of this curve in terms of the tangent angle θ(s), removing our choice of coor- dinates by rotating each image so that the mean value of θ along the body always is zero. Sampling at n = 100 equally spaced points along the body, each shape is described completely by a 100- dimensional vector (Fig. 2 A and B). As we did with smooth pursuit eye movements, we seek a low dimensional space that underlies the shapes we observe. In the simplest case, this space is a Euclidean projection of the original high dimensional space so that the covariance matrix of angles, C(s, s’) = 〈(θ(s) − 〈θ〉) (θ(s’) − 〈θ〉)〉, will have only a small number of significant eigenvalues. For C. elegans this is exactly what we find, as shown in Fig. 2 C and D: more than 95% of the variance in body shape is accounted for by projections along just four dimensions (“eigenworms,” red curves in Fig. 2C). Further, the trajectory in this low dimensional space of shapes predicts the motion of the worm over the agar surface (17). Importantly, the simplicity that we find depends on our choice of initial repre- sentation. For example, if we take raw images of the worm’s body, cropped to a minimum size (300 × 160 pixels) and aligned to remove rigid translations and rotations, the variance across images is spread over hundreds of dimensions. The tangent angle representation and projections along the eigenworms provide a compact yet substantially complete de- scription of worm behavior. In distinction to previous work (see, e.g., refs. 16, 18, and 19), this description is naturally aligned to the organism, fully computable from the video images with no human intervention, and also simple. In the next section we show how these coordinates can be also used to explore dynamical questions posed by the behavior of C. elegans. A B C D Fig. 2. Low-dimensional space of worm postures (15). (A) We use tracking video microscopy to record images of the worm’s body at high spatiotem- poral resolution as it crawls along a flat agar surface. Dotted lines trace the worm’s centroid trajectory, and the body outline and centerline skeleton are extracted from the microscope image on a single frame. (B) We characterize worm shape by the tangent angle θ vs. arc length s of the centerline skeleton. (C) We decompose each shape into four dominant modes by projecting θ (s) along the eigenvectors of the shape covariance matrix (eigenworms). (D, black circles) Fraction of total variance captured by each projection. The four eigenworms account for ≈95% of the variance within the space of shapes. (D, red diamonds) Fraction of total variance captured when worm shapes are represented by images of the worm’s body; the low dimensionality is hidden in this pixel representation. 0 0.3 a1 2 2 -2 a 2 A -1 1 -1 1 φ 0 0 π −π φ (r ad ) 0-6 t (s) -4 -2 B φ (rad) -1 1 (c yc le s/ s) d φ/ d t −π π 0 -3 D .. t (s) -2 0 4 P p au se (t ) 0.1 0.55 C 2 Fig. 3. Worm behavior in the eigenworm coordinates. (A) Amplitudes along the first two eigenworms oscillate, with nearly constant amplitude but time-varying phase ϕ = tan−1(a2/a1). The shape coordinate ϕ(t) captures the phase of the locomotory wave moving along the worm’s body. (B) Phase dynamics from Eq. 3 reveals attracting trajectories in worm motion: forward and backward limit cycles (white lines) and two instantaneous pause states (white circles). Colors denote the basins of attraction for each attracting trajectory. (C) In an experiment in which the worm receives a weak thermal impulse at time t = 0, we use the basins of attraction of B to label the in- stantaneous state of the worm’s behavior and compute the time-dependent probability that a worm is in either of the two pause states. The pause states uncover an early-time stereotyped response to the thermal impulse. (D) Probability density of the phase [plotted as log P(ϕ|t)], illustrating stereo- typed reversal trajectories consistent with a noise-induced transition from the forward state. Trajectories were generated using Eq. 3 and aligned to the moment of a spontaneous reversal at t = 0. Stephens et al. PNAS | September 13, 2011 | vol. 108 | suppl. 3 | 15567 Dynamics of Worm Behavior. We have found low dimensional structure in the smooth pursuit eye movements of monkeys and in the free wiggling of nematodes. Can this simplification inform our understanding of behavioral dynamics—the emergence of discrete behavioral states, and the transitions between them? Here we use the trajectories of C. elegans in the low dimensional space to construct an explicit stochastic model of crawling be- havior and then show how long-lived states and transitions be- tween them emerge naturally from this model. Of the four dimensions in shape space that characterize the crawling of C. elegans, motions along the first two combine to form an oscillation, corresponding to the wave that passes along the worm’s body and drives it forward or backward. Here, we focus on the phase of this oscillation, ϕ = tan−1 (a2/a1) (Fig. 3A), and construct, from the observed trajectories, a stochastic dynamical system, analogous to the Langevin equation for a Brownian par- ticle. Because the worm can crawl both forward and backward, the phase dynamics is minimally a second-order system, dϕ dt ¼ ω; dω dt ¼ Fðω; ϕÞ þ σðω; ϕÞηðtÞ; [3] where ω is the phase velocity and η(t) is the noise—a random component of the phase acceleration not related to the current state of the worm—normalized so that 〈η(t)η(t’)〉 = δ(t − t’). As explained in ref. 15, we can recover the “force” F(ω, ϕ) and the local noise strength σ(ω, ϕ) from the raw data, so no further “modeling” is required. Leaving aside the noise, Eq. 3 describes a dynamical system in which there are multiple attracting trajectories (Fig. 3B): two limit cycle attractors corresponding to forward and backward crawling (white lines) and two pause states (white circles) corresponding to an instantaneous freeze in the posture of the worm. Thus, un- derneath the continuous, stochastic dynamics we find four dis- crete states that correspond to well-defined classes of behavior. We emphasize that these behavioral classes are emergent—there is nothing discrete about the phase time series ϕ(t), nor have we labeled the worm’s motion by subjective criteria. Whereas for- ward and backward crawling are obvious behavioral states, the pauses are more subtle. Exploring the worm’s response to gentle thermal stimuli, one can see that there is a relatively high prob- ability of a brief sojourn in one of the pause states (Fig. 3C). Thus, by identifying the attractors—and the natural time scales of transitions between them—we uncover a more reliable compo- nent of the worm’s response to sensory stimuli (15). The noise term generates small fluctuations around the attract- ing trajectories but more dramatically drives transitions among the attractors, and these transitions are predicted to occur with ste- reotyped trajectories (20). In particular, the Langevin dynamics in Eq. 3 predict spontaneous transitions between the attractors that correspond to forward and backward motion. To quantify this prediction, we run long simulations of the dynamics, choose moments in time when the system is near the forward attractor (0.1 < dϕ/dt < 0.6 cycles/s), and then compute the probability that the trajectory has not reversed (dϕ/dt < 0) after a time τ following this moment. If reversals are rare, this survival probability should decay exponentially, P(τ) = exp(−τ/〈τ〉), and this is what we see, with the predicted mean time to reverse 〈τ〉 = 15.7 ± 2.1 s, where the error reflects variations across an ensemble of worms. We next examine the real trajectories of the worms, performing the same analysis of reversals by measuring the survival probability in the forward crawling state. We find that the data obey an expo- nentialdistribution,aspredictedbythemodel,andtheexperimental mean time to reversal is 〈τdata〉 = 16.3± 0.3s.Thisobserved reversal rate agrees with the model predictions within error bars, and this corresponds to a precision of ∼4%, which is quite surprising. It should be remembered that we make our model of the dynamics by analyzing how the phase and phase velocity at the time t evolve into phase and phase velocity at time t + dt, where the data determine dt = 1/32 s. Once we have the stochastic dynamics, we can use them to predict the behavior on longtime time scales. Although we define our model on the time scale of a single video frame (dt), behavioral dynamics emerge that are nearly three orders of magnitude longer (〈τ〉/dt ≈ 500), with no adjustable parameters (20). In this model, reversals are noise-driven transitions between attractors, in much the same way that chemical reactions are thermally driven transitions between attractors in the space of molecular structures (21). In the low noise limit, the trajectories that carry the system from one attractor to another become stereotyped (22). Thus, the trajectories that allow the worm to escape from the forward crawling attractor are clustered around prototypical trajectories, and this is seen both in the simulations (Fig. 3D) and in the data (20). In fact, many organisms, from bacteria to humans, exhibit dis- crete, stereotyped motor behaviors. A common view is that these behaviors are stereotyped because they are triggered by specific commands, and in some cases we can even identify “command neurons” whose activity provides the trigger (23). In the extreme, discreteness and stereotypy of the behavior reduces to the dis- creteness and stereotypy of the action potentials generated by the command neurons, as with the escape behaviors in fish triggered by spiking of the Mauthner cell (24). However, the stereotypy of spikes itself emerges from the continuous dynamics of currents, voltages, and ion channel populations (25, 26). The success here of the stochastic phase model in predicting the observed reversal characteristics of C. elegans demonstrates that stereotypy can also emerge directly from the dynamics of the behavior itself. Maximum Entropy Models of Natural Networks Much of what happens in living systems is the result of inter- actions among large networks of elements—many amino acids interact to determine the structure and function of proteins, many genes interact to define the fates and states of cells, many neurons interact to represent our perceptions and memories, and so on. Even if each element in a network achieves only two values, the number of possible states in a network of N elements is 2N, which easily becomes larger than any realistic experiment (or lifetime!) can sample, the same dimensionality problem that we encountered in movement behavior. Indeed, a lookup table for the probability of finding a network in any one state has ≈2N parameters, and this is a disaster. To make progress we search for a simpler class of models with many fewer parameters. We seek an analysis of living networks that leverages in- creasingly high-throughput experimental methods, such as the recording from large numbers of neurons simultaneously. These experiments provide, for example, reliable information about the correlations between the action potentials generated by pairs of neurons. In a similar spirit, we can measure the correlations be- tween amino acid substitutions at different sites across large families of proteins. Can we use these pairwise correlations to say anything about the network as a whole? Although there are an infinite number of models that can generate a given pattern of pairwise correlations, there is a unique model that reproduces the measured correlations and adds no additional structure. This minimally structured model is the one that maximizes the entropy of the system (27), in the same way that the thermal equilibrium (Boltzmann) distribution maximizes the entropy of a physical system given that we know its average energy. Letters in Words. To see how the maximum entropy idea works, we examine an example in which we have some intuition for the states of the network. Consider the spelling of four-letter English words (28), whereby at positions i = 1, 2, 3, 4 in the word we can chose a variable xi from 26 possible values. A word is then represented by the combination x ≡ {x1, x2, x3, x4}, and we can sample the distri- bution of words, P(x), by looking through a large corpus of writings, 15568 | www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1010868108 Stephens et al. www.pnas.org/cgi/doi/10.1073/pnas.1010868108 for example the collected novels of Jane Austen [the Austen word corpus was created via Project Gutenberg (www.gutenberg.org), combining text from Emma, Lady Susan, Love and Friendship, Mansfield Park, Northhanger Abbey, Persuassion, Pride and Preju- dice, and Sense and Sensibility]. If we do not know anything about the distribution of states in this network, we can maximize the entropy of the distribution P(x) by having all possible combina- tions of letters be equally likely, and then the entropy is S0 ¼ − P P0log2P0 ¼ 4 × log2ð26Þ ¼ 18:8bits: However, in actual English words, not all letters occur equally often, and this bias in the use of letters is different at different positions in the word. If we take these “one letter” statistics into account, the maximum en- tropy distribution is the independent model, Pð1ÞðxÞ ¼ P1ðx1Þ P2ðx2Þ P3ðx3Þ P4ðx4Þ; [4] where Pi(x) is the easily measured probability of finding letter x in position i. Taking account of actual letter frequencies lowers the entropy to S1 = 14.083 ± 0.001 bits, where the small error bar is derived from sampling across the ∼106 word corpus. The independent letter model defined by P(1) is clearly wrong: the most likely words are “thae,” “thee,” and “teae.” Can we build a better approximation to the distribution of words by in- cluding correlations between pairs of letters? The difficulty is that now there is no simple formula like Eq. 4 that connects the maximum entropy distribution for x to the measured dis- tributions of letter pairs (xi, xj). Instead, we know analytically the form of the distribution, Pð2ÞðxÞ ¼ 1 Z exp " − X i > j Vij � xi; xj �# ; [5] where all of the coefficients Vij (x, x’) have to be chosen to re- produce the observed correlations between pairs of letters. This is complicated but much less complicated than it could be—by matching all of the pairwise correlations we are fixing ∼6 × (26)2 parameters, which is vastly smaller than the (26)4 possible com- binations of letters. The model in Eq. 5 has exactly the form of the Boltzmann distribution for a physical system in thermal equilibrium, whereby the letters “interact” through a potential energy Vij (x, x’). The essential simplification is that there are no explicit interactions among triplets or quadruplets—all of the higher-order correla- tions must be consequences of the pairwise interactions. We know that in many physical systems this is a good approximation, that is P ≈ P(2). However, the rules of spelling (e.g., i before e except after c) seem to be in explicit conflict with such a simplification. Nonetheless, when we apply the model in Eq. 5 to English words, we find reasonable phonetic constructions. Here we leave aside the problem of how one finds the potentials Vij from the measured correlations among pairs of letters (see refs. 29–35) and discuss the results. Once we construct a maximum entropy model of words using Eq. 5, we find that the entropy of the pairwise model is S2 = 7.471 ± 0.006 bits, approximately half the entropy of independent let- ters S1. A rough way to think about this result is that if letters were chosen independently, there would be 2S1∼17; 350 possible four- letter words. Taking account of the pairwise correlations reduces this vocabulary by a factor of 2S1 − S2∼100; down to effectively ≈178 words. In fact, the Jane Austen corpus is large enough that we can estimate the true entropy of the distribution of four-letter words, and this is Sfull = 6.92 ± 0.003 bits. Thus, the pairwise model captures ∼92% of the entropy reduction relative to choosing letters independently and hence accounts for almost all of the restriction in vocabulary provided by the spelling rules and the varying frequencies of word use. The same result is obtained with other corpora, so this is not a peculiarity of an author’s style. We can look more closely at the predictions of the maximum entropy model in a “Zipf plot,” ranking the words by their prob- ability of occurrence and plotting probability vs. rank, as in Fig. 4. The predicted Zipf plot almost perfectly overlays what we obtain by sampling the corpus, although some weight is predicted to occur in words that do not appear in Austen’s writing. Many of these are real words that she happened not to use, and others are perfectly pronounceable English even if they are not actually words. Thus, despite the complexity of spelling rules, the pairwise model captures a very large fraction of the structure in the net- work of letters. Spiking and Silence in Neural Networks. Maximum entropy models also provide a good approximation to the patterns of spiking in the neural network of the retina. In a network of neurons where the variable xi marks the presence (xi = +1) or absence (xi = −1) of an action potential from neuron i in a small window of time, the state of the whole network is given by the pattern of spiking and silence across the entire population of neurons, x ≡ {x1, x2,. . ., xN}. In the original example of these ideas, Schneidman et al. (36) looked at groups of n = 10 nearby neurons in the vertebrate retina as it responded to naturalistic stimuli, with the mast tome log(rank) mast whem hove mady tome tike mide mone sime liss lave bady hame mike dore sere sade welt wert gove `Non-Words´ 0 1 2 3 -1 -4 all words 4−letter words 4−letter maxS non−words BA 0 1 2 3 −6 −4 −2 0 log(rank) 10−neuron maxS 10−neuron words lo g (P ) 0 Sfull 6.9 Sind 14.1 Srand 18.8 S2 7.5 S (bits) 1.817 1.917 S full Sind S2 1.820 2 1 10Srand S -3 -2 (bits) Fig. 4. For networks of neurons and letters, the pairwise maximum entropy model provides an excellent approximation to the probability of network states. In each case, we show the Zipf plot for real data (blue) compared with the pairwise maximum entropy approximation (red). Scale bars to the right of each plot indicate the entropy captured by the pairwise model. (A) Letters within four-letter English words (28). The maximum entropy model also produces “nonwords” (Inset, green circles) that never appeared in the full corpus but nonetheless contain realistic phonetic structure. (B) Ten neuron patterns of spiking and silence in the vertebrate retina (36). with that from this they have were said when been Basin 0 8 1 10 than then them here8 10 12 0 0.1 0.2 0.3 0.4 0.5 time (s) α P (G | t im e ) α=2 α=3 α=4 α=5 Stimulus Trial 20 6040 N e u ro n # 40 30 20 10 1 1 A B Fig. 5. Metastable states in the energy landscape of networks of neurons and letters. (A) Probability that the 40-neuron system is found within the basin of attraction of each nontrivial locally stable state Gα as a function of time during the 145 repetitions of the stimulus movie. Inset: State of the entire network at the moment it enters the basin of G5, on 60 successive trials. (B) Energy landscape (ε = −In P) in the maximum entropy model of letters in words. We order the basins in the landscape by decreasing probability of their ground states and show the low energy excitations in each basin. Stephens et al. PNAS | September 13, 2011 | vol. 108 | suppl. 3 | 15569 http://www.gutenberg.org results shown in Fig. 4. Again we see that the pairwise model does an excellent job, capturing ≈90% or more of the reduc- tion in entropy, reproducing the Zipf plot and even predicting the wildly varying probabilities of the particular patterns of spiking and silence (see Fig. 2a in ref. 36). The maximum entropy models discussed here are important because they often capture a large fraction of the interactions present in natural networks while simultaneously avoiding a com- binatorial explosion in the number of parameters. This is true even in cases in which interactions are strong enough so that in- dependent (i.e., zero neuron–neuron correlation) models fail dra- matically. Such an approach has also recently been used to show how network functions such as stimulus decorrelation and error correction reflect a tradeoff between efficient consumption of finite neural bandwidth and the use of redundancy to mitigate noise (37). As we look at larger networks, we can no longer compute the full distribution, and thus we cannot directly compare the full entropy with its pairwise approximation. We can, however, check many other predictions, and the maximum entropy model works well, at least to n = 40 (30, 38). Related ideas have also been applied to a variety of neural networks with similar findings (39– 42) (however, also see ref. 43 for differences), which suggest that the networks in the retina are typical of a larger class of natural ensembles. Metastable States. As we have emphasized in discussing Eq. 5, maximum entropy models are exactly equivalent to Boltzmann distributions and thus define an effective “energy” for each pos- sible configuration of the network. States of high probability correspond to low energy, and we can think of an “energy land- scape” over the space of possible states, in the spirit of the Hop- field model for neural networks (44). Once we construct this landscape, it is clear that some states are special because they sit at the bottom of a valley—at local minima of the energy. For net- works of neurons, these special states are such that flipping any single bit in the pattern of spiking and silence across the pop- ulation generates a state with lower probability. For words, a local minimum of the energy means that changing any one letter pro- duces a word of lower probability. The picture of an energy landscape on the states of a network may seem abstract, but the local minima can (sometimes sur- prisingly) have functional meaning, as shown in Fig. 5. In the case of the retina, a maximum entropy model was constructed to de- scribe the states of spiking and silence in a population of n = 40 neurons as they respond to naturalistic inputs, and this model predicts the existence of several nontrivial local minima (30, 38). Importantly, this analysis does not make any reference to the vi- sual stimulus. However, if we play the same stimulus movie many times, we see that the system returns to the same valleys or basins surrounding these special states, even though the precise pattern of spiking and silence is not reproduced from trial to trial (Fig. 5A). This suggests that the response of the population can be summarized by which valley the system is in, with the detailed spiking pattern being akin to variations in spelling. To reinforce this analogy, we can look at the local minima of the energy landscape for four-letter words. In the maximum entropy model for letters, we find 136 of local minima, of which the 10 most likely are shown in Fig. 5B. More than two thirds of the entropy in the full distribution of words is contained in the distribution over these valleys, and in most of these valleys there is a large gap between the bottom of the basin (the most likely word) and the next most likely word. Thus, the entropy of the letter distribution is dominated by states that are not connected to each other by single letter substitutions, per- haps reflecting a pressure within language to communicate with- out confusion. Discussion Understanding a complex system necessarily involves some sort of simplification. We have emphasized that, with the right data, there are mathematical methods that allow a system to “tell us” what sort of simplification is likely to be useful. Dimensionality reduction is perhaps the most obvious method of simplification—a direct reduction in the number of variables that we need to describe the system. The examples of C. elegans crawling and smooth pursuit eye movements are compelling be- cause the reduction is so complete, with just three or four coor- dinates capturing ≈95% of all of the variance in behavior. In each case, the low dimensionality of our description provides func- tional insight, whether into origins of stereotypy or the possibility of optimal performance. The idea of dimensionality reduction in fact has a long history in neuroscience, because receptive fields and feature selectivity are naturally formalized by saying that neurons are sensitive only to a limited number of dimensions in stimulus space (45–48). More recently it has been emphasized that quantitative models of protein/DNA interactions are equiv- alent to the hypothesis that proteins are sensitive only to limited number of dimensions in sequence space (49, 50). The maximum entropy approach achieves a similar simplifica- tion for networks; it searches for simplification not in the number of variables but in the number of possible interactions among these variables. The example of letters in words shows how this simpli- fication retains the power to describe seemingly combinatorial patterns. For both neurons and letters, the mapping of the maxi- mum entropy model onto an energy landscape points to special states of the system that seem to have functional significance. There is an independent stream of work that emphasizes the suf- ficiency of pairwise correlations among amino acid substitutions in defining functional families of proteins (51–53), and this is equiv- alent to the maximum entropy approach (53); explicit construction of the maximum entropy models for antibody diversity again points to the functional importance of the metastable states (54). Although we have phrased the ideas of this article essentially as methods of data analysis, the repeated successes of mathe- matically equivalent models (dimensionality reduction in move- ment and maximum entropy in networks) encourages us to seek unifying theoretical principles that give rise to behavioral sim- plicity. Finding such a theory, however, will only be possible if we observe behavior in sufficiently unconstrained contexts so that simplicity is something we discover rather than impose. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. We thank D. W. 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work_hgdm2y4q7vfedfdhw65nfatn4e	----	Equivocationary Horseshit: Post-Correlationist Aesthetics and Post-Critical Ethics in the Works of David Foster Wallace ARTICLE How to Cite: Eve, M P 2020 Equivocationary Horseshit: Post-Correlationist Aesthetics and Post-Critical Ethics in the Works of David Foster Wallace. Open Library of Humanities, 6(1): 8, pp. 1–29. DOI: https://doi.org/10.16995/ olh.538 Published: 24 March 2020 Peer Review: This article has been peer reviewed through the double-blind process of Open Library of Humanities, which is a journal published by the Open Library of Humanities. Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Open Access: Open Library of Humanities is a peer-reviewed open access journal. Digital Preservation: The Open Library of Humanities and all its journals are digitally preserved in the CLOCKSS scholarly archive service. https://doi.org/10.16995/olh.538 https://doi.org/10.16995/olh.538 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Martin Paul Eve, ‘Equivocationary Horseshit: Post-Correlationist Aesthetics and Post-Critical Ethics in the Works of David Foster Wallace’ (2020) 6(1): 8 Open Library of Humanities. DOI: https://doi.org/10.16995/olh.538 ARTICLE Equivocationary Horseshit: Post-Correlationist Aesthetics and Post-Critical Ethics in the Works of David Foster Wallace Martin Paul Eve Birkbeck, University of London, UK martin.eve@bbk.ac.uk This article argues that David Foster Wallace’s writing can profitably be understood within paradigms of post-critique that show critical thought to be a form of forever-deferred inaction. Beginning with an examination of the histories of critique and post-critique, this article unearths the extent to which a post-correlationist aesthetics appears in Infinite Jest, before turning to the ways in which philosophical and literary representations collide in a selection of Wallace’s short fiction and essays. In sum, this article seeks to show how reflexive critical approaches to novels allow us to interrogate that very reading model itself while also spotlighting the problematic ethics of Wallace’s writing. https://doi.org/10.16995/olh.538 mailto:martin.eve@bbk.ac.uk Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit2 I. What is Critique? Critics have frequently considered David Foster Wallace (1962–2008) to be a novelist with philosophical interests.1 Stemming, at least in part, from the author’s own philosophical writings and educational background, one recent work has noted that the reception of Wallace is no less than that of a “philosopher-novelist” with a “philosophically educated imagination”.2 Clare Hayes-Brady, as a second example, has called Wallace “a writer who balanced philosophy and literature in unusual and self-conscious ways, using both disciplines in concert to investigate the questions that preoccupied him”.3 There has even been, in the near past, a collection on ‘David Foster Wallace and Philosophy’ that seeks to explore the intersections between philosophical thought and his fiction.4 Painting Wallace as the writer of philosophical novels is now a routine manoeuvre, even when this is not the main point of the critics in question. Wallace himself was more sceptical of such appraisals. In an oft-quoted 2006 interview he disarmingly wrote that “If some people read my fiction and see it as fundamentally about philosophical ideas, what it probably means is that these are pieces where the characters are not as alive and interesting as I meant them to be”.5 Such a statement constitutes an assault on particular reading methods, while masking 1 See, for instance, Allard den Dulk and Preben Jordal, ‘Subjectivity and Faith in Updike and Wallace: A Comparison of the Interpretation of Kierkegaard in Rabbit, Run and Infinite Jest’, The Journal of David Foster Wallace Studies, 1.1 (2018), 17–54 and also the 2017 call for papers for a conference entitled ‘David Foster Wallace: Between Philosophy and Literature’ at <https://www.dfwsociety. org/2017/12/08/call-for-papers-david-foster-wallace-between-philosophy-and-literature- department-of-philosophical-pedagogical-and-economic-quantitative-sciences-g-dannunzio- university-of-chieti-pescara/> [accessed 10 March 2020]. 2 Jeffrey Severs, David Foster Wallace’s Balancing Books: Fictions of Value (New York: Columbia University Press, 2017), p. 3. 3 Clare Hayes-Brady, The Unspeakable Failures of David Foster Wallace (New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2017), p. 9. 4 Gesturing toward Reality. David Foster Wallace and Philosophy, ed. by Robert K. Bolger and Scott Korb (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2014). 5 Ostap Karmodi, ‘“A Frightening Time in America”: An Interview with David Foster Wallace’, The New York Review of Books, 2011 <http://www.nybooks.com/daily/2011/06/13/david-foster-wallace- russia-interview/> [accessed 9 April 2018]. https://www.dfwsociety.org/2017/12/08/call-for-papers-david-foster-wallace-between-philosophy-and-literature-department-of-philosophical-pedagogical-and-economic-quantitative-sciences-g-dannunzio-university-of-chieti-pescara/ https://www.dfwsociety.org/2017/12/08/call-for-papers-david-foster-wallace-between-philosophy-and-literature-department-of-philosophical-pedagogical-and-economic-quantitative-sciences-g-dannunzio-university-of-chieti-pescara/ https://www.dfwsociety.org/2017/12/08/call-for-papers-david-foster-wallace-between-philosophy-and-literature-department-of-philosophical-pedagogical-and-economic-quantitative-sciences-g-dannunzio-university-of-chieti-pescara/ https://www.dfwsociety.org/2017/12/08/call-for-papers-david-foster-wallace-between-philosophy-and-literature-department-of-philosophical-pedagogical-and-economic-quantitative-sciences-g-dannunzio-university-of-chieti-pescara/ http://www.nybooks.com/daily/2011/06/13/david-foster-wallace-russia-interview/ http://www.nybooks.com/daily/2011/06/13/david-foster-wallace-russia-interview/ Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 3 itself as modesty. By claiming that philosophical readings demonstrate a failure of a realist lineage that he (somewhat bizarrely, given the many surreal scenarios of his novels) claims for himself, Wallace issues a pre-joinder to those who would attempt to read his novels philosophically. Specifically, though, this statement takes aim at a particular literary-critical approach that formed over the course of Wallace’s life and that, some argue, is now in decline: literary theory and critique. A key touchstone for Wallace and his contemporaries was the introduction of literary theory, and with it philosophical reading methods, into the mainstream curricula of English degrees in the USA in the 1970s and 1980s. While plenty of work has already highlighted the role that the academy played with respect to creative writing and the MFA programs for an entire generation of writers, including Wallace, less has been written about the tectonic shift that literary theory represented.6 Indeed, retrospective studies of events such as the “MacCabe Affair” in the UK – in which Colin MacCabe was denied tenure at Cambridge for his advocacy of theoretical approaches, making front-page news in the Guardian – show us the level of disruption that such paradigms brought to previously formalist departments.7 As much as the emergence of creative writing programs, the theoretical transformation of the critical scene of literary studies, just as he graduated summa cum laude in English from Amherst in 1985, cannot but have been an influence on Wallace’s approach to literature. Key to many strains of theory in literary studies has been the notion of “critique”. However, in recent years there has been a prominent thrust in literary theory towards a project that calls itself “post-critical”. This heterogeneous movement, spearheaded by Rita Felski, asks probing questions of the general interpretative paradigms that have arisen in literary studies over the past half century but also attempts to displace 6 Mark McGurl, The Program Era: Postwar Fiction and the Rise of Creative Writing (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2009); although see Martin Paul Eve, Literature Against Criticism: University English and Contemporary Fiction in Conflict (Cambridge: Open Book Publishers, 2016) for some work on this. 7 Francis Mulhern, ‘The Cambridge Affair’, Marxism Today (March 1981), pp. 27–28; Marcus Morgan and Patrick Baert, Conflict in the Academy a Study in the Sociology of Intellectuals (London: Palgrave, 2015). Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit4 a strain of ethical and political philosophy that underpinned much of the discipline for most of the twentieth century: Marxism, in its various forms.8 The surge in this post-critical movement led Lucas Thompson in 2018 to ask the very question that this article answers: “How, for instance, might the claims of post-critique scholars alter our approach to Wallace’s work?”9 Critique, though, comes in several guises that must first be understood. In what must be its most famous incarnation, critique is used in the philosophy of Immanuel Kant to denote “conditions of possibility”. Hence, Kant’s 1781 Critique of Pure Reason, for instance, attempts to schematize the conditions under which knowledge and reason are made possible and the conditions by which they are limited. For example, in the “transcendental aesthetic” portion of his first critique (1781), Kant asks whether it is possible for humans to conceive of any object without time or space. He concludes that it is not.10 Yet from this Kant reasons that sensory perception is ideational, grafting atop objective realities the preconditions of human experience. In other words, for Kant, time and space are not necessarily properties of reality and objects but are, rather, the conditions of their comprehension by humans. This leads to the famous divide in his work between the thing-in-itself (the noumenon) and the way it is presented to us (the phenomenon). This Kantian lineage of critique is exemplified in the work of Michel Foucault, whose famous innovation was to examine not the perceptual conditions of possibility that structure knowledge and reason, but rather the historically discrete epistemes that perform the same function. That is, the transcendental critique of Kant is transformed, in Foucault, into historical critique of thought possibility.11 For discrete 8 Rita Felski, The Limits of Critique (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2015). 9 Lucas Thompson, ‘Why a Wallace Studies Journal Now?’, The Journal of David Foster Wallace Studies, 1.1 (2018), pp. 7–10 (p. 9). 10 Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, trans. by Paul Guyer and Allen W. Wood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), pp. 155–200. 11 See Colin Koopman, ‘Historical Critique or Transcendental Critique in Foucault: Two Kantian Lineages’, Foucault Studies, 8 (2010) <https://doi.org/10.22439/fs.v0i8.2934> [accessed 22 July 2010]; and Colin Koopman, Genealogy as Critique: Foucault and the Problems of Modernity (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2013). https://doi.org/10.22439/fs.v0i8.2934 Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 5 environmental and historical conditions are the object of Foucault’s famous citation of Borges in the epigraph to The Order of Things: the impossibility, within an epoch, of thinking that.12 In the literary space, however, it is the Althusserian strain of critique that has most strongly inflected contemporary “critical reading” and “literary critique”.13 Since 1965, most politico-thematic approaches to the study of literature take a historicist perspective that understands literary objects as ideological by-products of their time. In a similar anti-humanist vein to Foucault’s epistemic project, textual presuppositions reveal, Althusser claims, what a text cannot say as a result of its ideological positioning within its own time. In this way, and although only an explicit articulation of a set of practices that had been building for some time, “symptomatic reading” was born: a model of reading that conceives of texts as ideological creations with spoken and unspoken components – “sights and oversights” – that can be read critically and reflexively.14 That is, texts exhibit symptoms – usually contradictions or conceptual difficulties – of the unspoken ideological environment in which they were written. These symptoms are the “absence of a concept behind a word” and they become the excavation site of most methodologies in literary studies.15 As these two metaphors of space put it – a concept behind a word and a site of buried interpretative treasure to be dug up – symptomatic reading poses a text-behind-the- text, a presupposition of “the existence of two texts” with a “different text present as a necessary absence in the first”.16 This epistemology, in other words, is one in which the effect of producing knowledge is conditioned by structures of ideology and empiricism, which can be detected below the surface of any writing.17 12 Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences (London: Routledge, 2007). 13 The account in this paragraph is derived from the author’s book: Martin Paul Eve, Close Reading With Computers: Textual Scholarship, Computational Formalism, and David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2019). 14 Louis Althusser and others, Reading Capital: The Complete Edition, trans. by Ben Brewster and David Fernbach (London: Verso, 2015), p. 17. 15 Althusser and others, p. 32. 16 Althusser and others, p. 27. 17 Althusser and others, p. 69. Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit6 Although Althusser cites Hegel, Engels and Marx, Spinoza, and even Foucault and Canguilhem as his diverse sources for this method, there is also a sense in which symptomatic reading has a root in Kantian critique.18 For the model of symptomatic reading is itself an analysis of the possibilities for writing and its reception under ideology. It is a quest to examine the way in which knowledge effects and aesthetic effects produce secondary, mediated, and structured outcomes of readerly and writerly processes. It is also built upon a type of (post-)structuralist linguistics in which chains of signification extend indefinitely from one surface to another depth, which is in itself always another surface. As Althusser puts it, though, this is about the “cognitive appropriation of the real object by the object of knowledge”; the noumenon and the phenomenon.19 It is about the structuring effects of scientific discourse and form on the production of knowledge. It is a form of critique. In literary studies, this Althusserian project of critique becomes an ethical and political reading project. Althusser et al. turn to Marx as a genetic source of symptomatic reading. This had the effect of providing literary studies with a reading method rooted in the social justice of communism, a justification and rationale for reading literature as an ethical and political activity. The ongoing professionalisation of literary studies sought such an ethical epistemic foundation in order to ground the discipline in legitimacy and political efficacy. As such, symptomatic reading became the bedrock for most of contemporary literary criticism’s hermeneutic methods, particularly when seeking politicised readings. Hence, when we read politics and ethics out of texts in the early twenty-first century, it is often within the Althusserian lineage of symptomatic reading that we work, in turn itself a mode rooted in critique.20 From such methods it becomes possible to see new and powerful interpretative possibilities – say, for instance, postcolonial approaches – in the texts-behind-the-text.21 18 Althusser and others, pp. 14–15, 25, 45. 19 Althusser and others, p. 69. 20 An interesting question to which I do not know the answer is the extent to which Roland Barthes was influenced by Reading Capital (1965), which pre-dates his S/Z (1970) by several years. 21 One might only consider, for instance, the ways in which critique underpins a set of postcolonial Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 7 Despite the widespread proliferation and success of critique, there have also been longstanding calls for its abandonment over a thirty-year period, most recently led by Felski.22 As I have already noted, this has not gone unremarked upon in the field of Wallace studies. Such a move represents a turn away from what we traditionally consider “political” or “ethical” reading within literary studies. For it is the claimed predictability of such critical against-the-grain interpretative paradigms and politicized unveilings that has provoked the ire of the anti-critique brigade; it seems to be the routinization of critique to which they object. There are also, though, accusations that the critical reading method is paranoid and Felski’s work places Althusserian symptomatic reading under the primacy of Ricœur’s phrase, the “hermeneutics of suspicion”. This is, for Felski, an attitude that combines “vigilance, detachment, and wariness (suspicion) with identifiable conventions of commentary (hermeneutics)—allowing us to see that critique is as much a matter of affect and rhetoric as of philosophy or politics”.23 The term is profitable, for Felski, rather as “a stimulus to thought” than as a closely historicised phase within Ricœur’s phenomenology.24 Felski’s text was met with significant attention, both positive and negative, upon its publication and now forms an oft-cited touchstone for contemporary literary studies.25 It is, though, only the latest in a long line of thought that has considered the place of structuring possibilities, unearthed shadow-texts, and ideas of what it means to think “critically” about literary works. Indeed, the space of the “post-critical” readings, such as Spivak’s widely celebrated essay on Jane Eyre: Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, ‘Three Women’s Texts and a Critique of Imperialism’, Critical Inquiry, 12.1 (1985), pp. 243–61. 22 See David Stewart, ‘The Hermeneutics of Suspicion’, Literature and Theology, 3.3 (1989), pp. 296–307 (p. 303); Cathy N. Davidson and David Theo Goldberg, ‘Engaging the Humanities’, Profession, 2004, pp. 42–62 (p. 45); Stephen Best and Sharon Marcus, ‘Surface Reading: An Introduction’, Representations, 108.1 (2009), pp. 1–21 <https://doi.org/10.1525/rep.2009.108.1.1>; N. Katherine Hayles, How We Think: Digital Media and Contemporary Technogenesis (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2012), p. 59. 23 Felski, p. 3. 24 Felski, p. 30. 25 Bruce Robbins, ‘Not So Well Attached’, PMLA, 132.2 (2017), pp. 371–76 <https://doi.org/10.1632/ pmla.2017.132.2.371>. https://doi.org/10.1525/rep.2009.108.1.1 https://doi.org/10.1632/pmla.2017.132.2.371 https://doi.org/10.1632/pmla.2017.132.2.371 Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit8 is large and diverse. How, then, can one deal with this heterogeneous proliferation of what is meant by “post-criticality”? How can one get to grips with the breadth of recent thought that has appropriated such terminology? In the first instance, I would suggest – and in order to now broach some of these contexts with reference to Wallace – we must turn back to Kant, speculatively. To begin the literary investigation of this specific post-critical stance, I would note that I am not searching for characters discussing Kant, or sly theoretical side-swipes. For instance, that Schtitt, in Infinite Jest (1996), “was educated in pre- Unification Gymnasium under the rather Kanto-Hegelian idea that jr. athletics was basically just training for citizenship” yields to us but few insights into how epistemic philosophies of critique operate within Wallace’s fictional worlds.26 Likewise, that Schtitt “was pushing hard for some mix of theology and the very grim ethics of Kant” in his youth-tennis training programme may provoke a laugh, but the line does little more than to flaunt a supposed erudition without ever really showing us anything about the ethical philosophy of Kant.27 Kant has certainly also featured elsewhere in the scholarship on Wallace. As one example, Jeffrey Severs turns to the ways in which, in “The Suffering Channel” (2004), Wallace presents a romanticized Kantian mythology of “the effortless modern artist”, rooted in the Critique of Judgment (1790).28 This, also though, is not the route that I will here take. Instead, I will next turn to issues of ontology and epistemology in Infinite Jest’s fêted game of Eschaton. II. Infinite Jest, Playing Games, and Kantian Aesthetics What if philosophy has got almost everything wrong for the past 240 years? One might think that such a broad and generalised proposition would be unlikely to feature in a work of contemporary philosophy.29 Yet, as a succinct summary of Quentin Meillassoux’s After Finitude: An Essay on the Necessity of Contingency (2008), 26 David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1996), p. 82. 27 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 188. 28 Severs, p. 193. 29 Although it is notable that the early Ludwig Wittgenstein also held such radical revisionist views. Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 9 one could do worse. It is also impossible to speak of Wallace within a contemporary anti-Kantian turn – a post-critical turn, that is – without reference to this work. At the risk of more extended and dense background philosophy, Meillassoux seeks to defend the twofold thesis that “the sensible only exists as a subject’s relation to the world” but that, at the same time, “the mathematicizable properties of the object are exempt from the constraint of such a relation”.30 The reason this is such a difficult task is that, as Meillassoux himself notes, “this thesis is almost certain to appear insupportable to a contemporary philosopher […] because it is resolutely pre- critical”; a thesis that claims to discriminate between the innate properties of the world and those that come about in our relation to the world has seemed indefensible “not only since Kant, but even since Berkeley”.31 It is not possible, this classical critical reasoning would go, for us to think a relationship of the world to thought because, the second it is thought, the relation of thought to the world comes into play. For Meillassoux, this reveals that “the central notion of modern philosophy since Kant seems to be that of correlation”, by which he means “the idea according to which we only ever have access to the correlation between thinking and being, and never to either term considered apart from the other”.32 This correlation also has other forms of linkage, one of which, significantly for literary studies (and previous forms of language philosophy), is the “language-referent” correlation.33 Let us take the post-critical stance here (note that Meillassoux uses the phrase “post-critical” to mean everything after Kant, not everything after Kant that disregards Kant). Imagine that we do not believe that thought can comprehend objects without the presence of thought; the logical consequence of Kantian critique – correlationism. What then do we make of the fact that “empirical science is capable of producing [credible] statements about events anterior to the advent of life as 30 Quentin Meillassoux, After Finitude: An Essay on the Necessity of Contingency, trans. by Ray Brassier (London: Continuum, 2009), p. 3. 31 Meillassoux, p. 3. 32 Meillassoux, p. 5. 33 Meillassoux, p. 6. Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit10 well as consciousness”?34 This pre-conscious epoch, described by empirical science, is what Meillassoux calls “the ancestral” and the described objects that indicate ancestrality are called “arche-fossils”. Such objects are, under post-critical thought, literally unthinkable without the “codicil of modernity” that “event Y occurred X number of years before the emergence of humans – for humans”.35 Meillassoux’s argument to refute correlationism is complex and not wholly accepted. Suffice it to say, though, that it consists in asserting that the only thing that can be totally necessary is contingency (non-necessity). For Slavoj Žižek, “what this means is that, if a being is necessary, then it can always not exist. If, however, a being is radically contingent, then something (contingent) has to exist”, a point that he calls “wonderful”.36 Yet, in his view, Meillassoux also misses the key point: “the true problem of correlationism”, Žižek asserts, “is not whether we can reach the In-itself the way it is outside of any correlation to the subject (or the way the Old is outside its perception from the standpoint of the New); but the true problem is to think the New itself ‘in becoming’”.37 In a sense, this is a retrospectively historicized future; the question becomes, from the position of ancestrality, how do we project the future birth of subjectivity? Mark Currie has also worked on Meillassoux’s challenge of contingency, even as he manages to translate this philosophy into terms that can work for literature – relevant for my reading of Wallace. For Currie, the question that Meillassoux surfaces is the difference between an aleatory variability (when a die has not yet been rolled) and epistemic uncertainty (when the die has been rolled but one does not know the outcome), encapsulated in ontological uncertainty (“a condition of absolute unpredictability, in which events are not only unforeseen, but are in principle unforeseeable”, such as throwing a seven on a six-sided die).38 For, if one 34 Meillassoux, p. 9. 35 Meillassoux, p. 13. 36 Slavoj Žižek, Less than Nothing: Hegel and the Shadow of Dialectical Materialism (London: Verso, 2012), p. 628. 37 Žižek, p. 644. 38 Mark Currie, ‘Anticipation/Unexpected’, in Time: A Vocabulary of the Present, ed. by Joel Burges and Amy J. Elias (New York: New York University Press, 2016), pp. 97–110 (p. 106). Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 11 takes Currie’s reading of Meillassoux’s line that “events always, necessarily, could have happened otherwise”, then the totally unexpected, in narratological thinking, is the perfect example of a speculatively realist philosophy that is, in this sense, nonetheless post-critical.39 Translating such matters into narrative terms is complex, for when the reader usually approaches a book, uncertainty is epistemic, rather than aleatory, let alone ontological. These two takes on Meillassoux nonetheless give us a route to the first post- critical approach in terms of Kantian thought that I wish to broach with respect to Wallace. For the question here is: how does Wallace represent our relationship to objects? Are his worlds places in which the supposed overwhelming solipsisms of his characters betray a correlationism that depends on the necessary presence of the subject (and thus are post-critical in Meillassoux’s sense)? Or do ontological uncertainties erupt ex nihilo in Wallace’s writings, events that truly place him within a speculative frame (and, thus, are almost pre-critical, or post-speculative)? In Infinite Jest, Eschaton is the geopolitical, tennis-derivative game played by the denizens of the Enfield Tennis Academy.40 The specific game that is shown to the reader takes place on November 8, Year of the Depend Adult Undergarment.41 The game consists of players stationed on a fictional “map” of several geographical regions with suggestive names spread over four tennis courts – AMNAT (Todd Possalthwaite, Kieran McKenna, LaMont Chu), SOVWAR (Tim Peterson, Ann Kittenplan), REDCHI (unknown players), INDPAK (J. J. Penn), SOUTHAF (Josh Gopnik), and IRLIBSYR (Evan Ingersoll) – while Michael Pemulis, Hal Incandenza, Trevor Axford, Jim Troeltsch, and Jim Struck watch. The “Game Master” is Otis P. Lord, who calculates initial “megatonnage” distribution using the “mean-value theorem for integrals” via 39 Currie, p. 107. 40 There are some existing commentaries on Eschaton that are worth citing but that take a different tack to the approach here. See, for instance, Daniel Grausam, On Endings: American Postmodern Fiction and the Cold War (Charlottesville, VA: University of Virginia Press, 2011); and Iain Williams, ‘“Something Real American”: David Foster Wallace and Authenticity’ (unpublished Ph.D., The University of Edinburgh, 2016) <https://www.era.lib.ed.ac.uk/handle/1842/31007> [accessed 23 September 2018]. 41 Wallace, Infinite Jest, pp. 321–42. https://www.era.lib.ed.ac.uk/handle/1842/31007 Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit12 “Mathpak Unltd.’s Endstat software”, and the derivative formulas known as “Peemster” and “Halsadick”. Predictably, given the complexity of its setup and the breadth of its imaginative range, the game rapidly descends into chaos. Eschaton is a humorous set piece. The bathetic plunge from its deadly serious subject matter (nuclear annihilation) to its actuality (young men and boys hitting tennis balls at one another), all situated within an earnest rule-based framework, itself undercut by the propeller-head beanies worn by the Game Master, mean that the Eschaton oscillates between the sublime and the ridiculous. Yet, it is precisely these two poles, overlaid atop one another – the map and the territory, the game and the world, geopolitics and the tennis court, the serious and the amusing – that makes Eschaton a good subject for an investigation of a post-critical aesthetic in the novel. For when we are presented with such overlaid and layered modalities, we can investigate whether the text vies for a correlation of the two, a metaphorical representation of Meillassoux’s argument. The above may be a broad description of Eschaton, but some close attention to the way it is presented can also prove instructive. Eschaton is, in fact, a game that draws in “children in the very earliest stages of puberty and really abstract-capable thought, when one’s allergy to the confining realities of the present is just starting to emerge as weird kind of nostalgia for stuff you never even knew”, an aspect that Wallace glosses with an endnote reading: “This basic phenomenon being what more abstraction-capable post-Hegelian adults call ‘Historical Consciousness.’”.42 That is, Eschaton draws in those who seek an a-historicizing fantasy game that offers “a complete disassociation from the realities of the present”, all couched in terms of an idealist history: the precise opposite of critique as presented in literary studies environments. This challenging tension on “reality” vs. “game world” recurs throughout the Eschaton. For instance, REDCHI attempts some INDDIR (Infliction of Death, Destruction, and Incapacitation of Response) on INDPAK, the latter of whom 42 Wallace, Infinite Jest, pp. 321–22. Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 13 disputes the hit. This results in “an uneasy moment” since “a dispute such as this would never occur in the real God’s real world”.43 This separation of one diegetic world from another is framed in the terms of Alfred Korzybski. When J.J. Penn, playing as INDPAK, decides that the falling snow should affect blast area calculations in the game, Pemulis snaps at him that “It’s snowing on the goddamn map, not the territory, you dick!”.44 Indeed, Axford decides, in the game, to take further advantage of Pemulis’s bad mood by asking: “Except is the territory the real world, quote unquote, though!” The back-and forth with Pemulis continues (“The real world’s what the map here stands for!”/“Real-world snow isn’t a factor if it’s falling on the fucking map!”) and so far this appears as just the well- known metafictional game-playing for which much American fiction of Wallace’s predecessors was known.45 However, given Wallace’s situation of Eschaton within a post-Hegelian philosophy of history, there is more at stake than a puncturing of the text’s own diegetic layers. This is, instead, the very language-referent relation to which Meillassoux gestured; a question of the interdependence of two or more referential systems and our ability to distinguish between these layers, or otherwise. In one sense, then, Eschaton metonymically represents a world and its subjects in a “post-critical” (that is: Kantian) frame. For the subjects of the world of Eschaton cannot find consensus on whether phenomena belong to the intra-diegetic world of the game or to the “extra-diegetic” (but intra-diegetic for the reader) world of the tennis academy. Indeed, the snow and the players’ arguments around it constitute a philosophical discourse about idealism, perception, and the inter-relatedness of objects and experience; what Wallace calls, “metatheoretical fuss”. The fact that this is the narratological purpose of the Eschaton game is framed by Wallace through the text’s narrative bias towards Hal, who starts and ends the entire novel and therefore has a type of narrative priority.46 For Hal finds “the real-snow/unreal-snow snag 43 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 333. 44 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 333. 45 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 334. 46 Giuliana Adamo, ‘Twentieth-Century Recent Theories on Beginnings and Endings of Novels’, Annali d’Italianistica, 18 (2000), pp. 49–76. Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit14 in the Eschaton extremely abstract but somehow way more interesting than the Eschaton itself” and this is, of course, the point.47 Indeed this narrative slippage from Hal’s perspective to the general-narrated position becomes clear when the narrator’s own voice tells the reader, after Kittenplan is hit in the head by a tennis ball, that “No Eschaton Combatant has ever intentionally struck another Combatant’s physical person with a 5-megaton thermonuclear weapon”.48 Here there is a direct metaleptic violation, straight from the narrator, of the two senses of Eschaton. For players’ “physical person[s]” do not actually exist within the in-game frame to which the “5-megaton thermonuclear weapon” (a tennis ball, in reality) refers. In one sense, this is just another example of a metafictive practice that Wallace inherited from his near-term forebears, Pynchon, DeLillo, and others.49 Metaleptic slippage is one of the alienation techniques that a generation of postmodern writers used to “disturb, to say the least, the distinction between levels” within a narrative.50 For instance, in Pynchon’s Mason & Dixon, released almost contemporaneously with Infinite Jest, a sub-narrative of the “ghastly fop” initially appears as a nested story told by a character in the main level of the text. Mid-way through the tale, however, the main characters re-appear within the mise en abyme and the narrative continues, presenting textual slippage.51 Marie-Laure Ryan separates such metalepsis into two discrete categories: rhetorical (via Genette) and ontological (via Brian McHale), of which it would seem that Wallace would here fall into the former category and Pynchon’s example into the latter.52 However, Wallace’s particular violation of the diegetic levels performs both rhetorical and ontological functions. 47 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 335. 48 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 336. 49 For more on this, see Graham Foster, ‘A Deep Insider’s Elegiac Tribute: The Work of Don DeLillo in David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest’, Orbit: A Journal of American Literature, 4.2 (2016) <https://doi. org/10.16995/orbit.127>. 50 Gerard Genette, Narrative Discourse Revisited (Ithaca, N.Y: Cornell University Press, 1983), p. 88. 51 Thomas Pynchon, Mason & Dixon (London: Jonathan Cape, 1997), pp. 511–41. 52 Marie-Laure Ryan, Avatars of Story, Electronic Mediations, v. 17 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2006), pp. 246–48. https://doi.org/10.16995/orbit.127 https://doi.org/10.16995/orbit.127 Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 15 This dual function occurs because Eschaton can, in fact, be read as a philosophical discourse on the ability of thought to think reality discretely from thought. The set piece fields two opposing camps against one another: the naïve, pre-critical realists who claim, perhaps in an antagonistic spirit that it “kind of looks like real-world- type snow from here” while Pemulis, the critical voice, notes that “[i]t’s only real- world snow if it’s already in the scenario!”53 In this case, the “scenario” is the interlink between the real world and its representation within game space; it is the cognitive, shaping bridge of thought that makes possible the manifold of the game. For it is the inviolable “delimiting boundaries” that function as “Eschaton’s very life-blood”; the separation of spaces into representation and represented that constitutes the core of the critical spirit.54 The violation of the delimitation as a type of post-critical, speculative realism (as in Meillassoux) is viewed by Hal – who nonetheless professes an interest in the critical “map-not-territory equivocationary horseshit”, as Pemulis terms it – as a more interesting line of debate. Otis P. Lord, in his role as game master finally enacts the destruction of Eschaton’s critical possibility. Indeed, Pemulis is the critical (as in post-Kantian) figure par excellence. He speaks of the axiomatic and even “preaxiomatic” elements of Eschaton that render its existence possible. Pemulis even worries that Lord’s interventions into the conditions of possibility of the game could “very possibly compromise Eschaton’s map for all time”.55 Pemulis is also perceived to have a “power of correction over Lord’s calculations and mandate”, presumably to ensure, as it does, that no instances of naive, pre-critical realism re-seep into the game. After all, as we are told, the degree of “feel for realism var[ies] from kid to kid”.56 The philosophical debates that puncture the critical spirit of the game are not meaningless, though. For, Wallace writes, “it is not a matter of the principle of thing, 53 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 334. 54 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 335. 55 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 338. 56 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 327. Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit16 ever, in Eschaton”.57 It is the “animating realism” here that is crucial to mapping Eschaton’s relationship to a critical spirit.58 The “realism” here “depends on buying the artifice of 1300 m.2 of composition tennis court representing the whole rectangular projection of the planet earth”.59 Yet, what is meant by the term “realism” in this context? It is clearly supposed to refer to the ability of the game’s participants to envisage themselves within the game world. That is, “realism” in this context – which is also a literary context – consists of the mind’s ability to structure a space into its own referential coordinates; realism is a critical, not pre-critical, realism.60 The philosophical debate in Eschaton is about the ability of a world beyond this mind- construct to penetrate such a realism; the conditions of imaginative (substituting for sensory) possibility. While this only goes one level deep – there is no question, at least not here, of whether the map is also a territory that can be burst – the possibility of recursion is embedded in Infinite Jest, seen most clearly in none other than the Eschaton guru, Mike Pemulis’s, answering machine: “This is Mike Pemulis’s answering machine’s answering machine; Mike Pemulis’s answering machine regrets being unavailable to take a first-order message for Mike Pemulis”.61 In this way, the game of Eschaton at once signals its enclosure within a world shaped by Kantian (transcendental) aesthetics but also rehearses the philosophical debates that have accompanied such thinking and its potential undoing. 57 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 328. 58 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 333. 59 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 333. 60 Of course, there is a lengthy debate around Wallace and realism, sparked by James Wood’s controversial labelling of Wallace and others as a ‘hysterical realism’. See James Wood, ‘Human, All Too Inhuman’, The New Republic, 24 July 2000 <https://newrepublic.com/article/61361/human-inhuman> [accessed 23 September 2018]; Jeffrey Staiger, ‘James Wood’s Case Against “Hysterical Realism” and Thomas Pynchon’, Antioch Review, 66.4 (2008), pp. 634–54. 61 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 854. For more on recursion in the novel, see Eva Dolo, ‘Too Much Fun – Endnotes in Infinite Jest’, in Symbolism 15, ed. by Rüdiger Ahrens and Klaus Stierstorfer (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2015), pp. 75–100 (p. 86) <https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110449075-006>; D. T. Max, Every Love Story Is a Ghost Story: A Life of David Foster Wallace, First Edition (New York: Viking Adult, 2012), p. 183. https://newrepublic.com/article/61361/human-inhuman https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110449075-006 Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 17 Eschaton is, further, a perfect metafictional representation of Infinite Jest as a novel within a critical reading paradigm. Composed of multiple layers of reality, the game-within-a-novel complicates our ability to read the “physical instantiations of metaphysical states” towards which Severs gestures.62 The critical reader might here retort, for instance, that the “physical” states that Severs mentions are not actually physical, but literal; they are a representation within an aesthetic form – a well- known existing argument to which I cannot fully do justice here but that might bear additional exploration elsewhere. While this is in some ways an already over- rehearsed point, the critical question is shown by Wallace to be one of infinite regress. However, is Eschaton post-critical in the sense laid out by Meillassoux? Are there objects that are really known within the world of the novel? Certainly, there is a mathematical basis for Wallace’s tennis game (remember: certain mathematical coordinates are the only things that Meillassoux proposes can escape the correlationist circle). Otis P. Lord – the character whom Pemulis accuses of potentially destroying the map-world boundaries – is described as a “calculus phenom”.63 Further, elements of the game are defined with mathematical precision, such as the distribution of “megatonnage” using a “continuous non-negative function on the interval [a,b]”.64 It is also the case that, when Possalthwaite bewails the fact that “nothing’s true”, Pemulis comforts him with the advice that “you can trust math”.65 These instances within Eschaton, though, do not describe any reality outside of the map. For it is not just any mathematics to which Meillassoux turns, but those that can produce meaningful statements on real-world objects – even those outside of correlationist possibility – and thereby invalidate the arche-fossil argument. Wallace’s mathematics are the opposite of the speculative realist mathematical reality descriptions; they describe the fictional (that is, post-critical, non-realist) world. For Wallace, mathematics here describe an ideational reality, not a realist environment. Furthermore, even working 62 Severs, p. 16. 63 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 322. 64 Wallace, Infinite Jest, n. 122. 65 Wallace, Infinite Jest, n. 324. Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit18 within the diegetic “reality” of the novel, the types of description are not usually dimensional coordinates, but rather game rules and variables that are calculated. Certainly, Wallace’s mathematics and their relationship to post-critical philosophies deserve further exploration, but they are not, in Eschaton, abundant. Instead, if we are to find elements of a speculative realist philosophy in Eschaton, we need a metaphorical literary analogy that could identify such a stance: that which Andrew Gibson calls a “post-correlationist aesthetics”.66 This aesthetic is not concerned, as one might suppose, with undoing the correlationist principles of linguistic and subjective referentiality that have dominated the history of the novel (it is neither Jane Austen quoting Cowper’s “myself creating what I saw” nor Thomas Pynchon questioning whether one should “project a world”).67 For Gibson, instead, this aesthetic would privilege object relations within various types of formalism (which Gibson takes to mean networks, patterns, arrangements, repetitions, etc. rather than any reference to Russian Formalism and other extant formalist schools).68 There is also, for Gibson’s reading of Tom McCarthy, a type of “mortalism” in this new aesthetic that registers a post-anthropocentric world through a focus on death, even when that world is represented through that most-anthropocentric of media, the novel. There is a case to be made that Wallace’s Eschaton game could fit within such a post-correlationist aesthetic. It is, after all, named for the end of the world; at least as far as humans are concerned. The possibility of nuclear warfare that the game-world depicts is the clearest event-point after which the world might become permanently post-anthropocentric. Certainly, also, with its imagined-community nation state abbreviations and their interrelations, one could make a claim that Eschaton embodies the type of formalism to which Gibson gestures. 66 Andrew Gibson, ‘New Inhumanisms: Tom McCarthy and Speculative Realism’, in Tom McCarthy: Critical Essays, ed. by Dennis Duncan (Canterbury: Gylphi, 2016), pp. 227–46 (p. 234). 67 Gibson, p. 238; Jane Austen, Emma (London: Richard Bentley & Sons, 1882), p. 295; Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49 (London: Vintage, 1996), p. 56. 68 See also Caroline Levine, Forms: Whole, Rhythm, Hierarchy, Network (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2015). Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 19 Ultimately, though, there is a difficult question at work here when we speak of the representation of complex philosophical arguments within literary works. With Kantian correlationism, it seems clear that Eschaton can be made to fit; the relationship of one level of reality to another via an intermediating scenario is consistent. With arguments about time, the arche fossil, and post-anthropocentrism, though, it seems a push to find Wallace’s work moving in this direction, despite its mathematicization. The conversion to narrative seems too “lossy” to accurately reflect the underlying philosophical claim. There is also a historicist challenge here, since the speculative turn had not really reached any prominence at the time of Infinite Jest’s publication. This is not to say that such ideas were not already circulating in philosophical circles, it is rather to note that if one sought any historicist basis for finding speculative realism within Wallace’s work, one is faced with a timeline problem. As might be expected when grafting this philosophical stance on top of a novel, then, Wallace’s congruence with speculative realist philosophies is patchy, but nonetheless present. There is, particularly in the Eschaton game, a sense in which a transcendence of the self – core to critical philosophies – is key: “You seek”, Wallace writes, in tennis, “to vanquish and transcend the limited self whose limits make the game possible”.69 The scenario, for Wallace, is at once one in which games – as maps or synecdoches of the world – are defined by limits or conditions of possibility (whether rules or anthropocentric bodily constraints) but in which we seek to violate those constraints, much as various modes of post-critical thought have striven to transcend the correlationist circle through speculative materialist approaches. It is this struggle to transcend the self that leads to a post-critical modality – in the sense of surpassing Kant’s critical thought – within Wallace’s fiction. III. From Philosophy to Politics and Ethics Supposing that we can detect, in Wallace’s metaphors, a hint of a post-critical (as in speculative realist) sensibility in the philosophical sense, how far does this correlate with the post-critical mode as it is used in contemporary literary studies? 69 Wallace, Infinite Jest, p. 84. Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit20 Certainly, the two spaces are connected by their shared underpinning: “conditions of possibility” and a turn away from examining their buried presence. Yet, Felski’s broadside is aimed more squarely at political and ethical readings within literary studies. In particular, as just one example, Felski tells us, “the Marxist critic warms to the utopian yearnings and subversive stirrings in the depths of bourgeois novels”.70 Such a method, for Felski – but also as Adorno put it – reads “out of works that it has invested with an air of concretion nothing but its own theses”. 71 In the final part of this article I turn to the problems of paralysis and (non-) decision-making in Wallace’s non-fiction writing, a core political and ethical concern of the post-critical movement. How might we read critically the instances of literary- political post-critique in Wallace? To put this otherwise: what are the conditions of possibility for political action in Wallace’s texts? (And how do we reconcile Wallace’s own potential personal-political hideousness, particularly with regard to misogyny and sexuality, with such a stance?72) Wallace’s novels are saturated with characters who are unable to act; they think, critically, often, to the point of non-action, such as in Infinite Jest’s “analysis-paralysis” or in The Pale King’s (2011) “kind of paralysis that resulted from Sylvanshine’s reflecting on the logistics of getting to the Peoria 047 REC”.73 The latter of these examples even sits within a sentence that runs to approximately 1,200 words, an aesthetic structure of deferral and near irresolution. Counter-intuitively in Wallace then, given that critical thought is so often branded as political and ethical, such critical thought results in an inability to translate that meta-ethical thought into action. This stance of inaction can be seen, though, as standing in line with the formal aesthetic of much of Wallace’s oeuvre, which tends towards an overloading and 70 Felski, p. 27. 71 Theodor W. Adorno, Aesthetic Theory, ed. by Gretel Adorno and Rolf Tiedemann, trans. by Robert Hullot-Kentor (London: Continuum, 2004), p. 447. 72 For more on this, see Hayes-Brady; the forthcoming Edward Jackson, David Foster Wallace’s Toxic Sexuality: Hideousness, Neoliberalism, Spermatics (London: Bloomsbury, 2020); and the chapter in Amy Hungerford, Making Literature Now, Post 45 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2016) on Wallace. 73 David Foster Wallace, The Pale King: An Unfinished Novel (London: Penguin, 2012). Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 21 accumulation; that is, a temporal structure of deferral, rather than decision-making. Indeed, confirming the arguments made by others in the aesthetic realm, I argue that it seems clear that Wallace’s writing project is also one of procrastination against political and ethical decision, a cumulative temporal unfolding that pushes all final decision making beyond the formal bounds of Wallace’s novelistic frames. In a sense, this infinite deferral has been well noted by other critics. Most significantly, Clare Hayes-Brady has made a protracted study of the fact that Wallace’s novels all feel, in one way or another, unfinished.74 That is, in their very authorship, Wallace’s texts have been said to exhibit a “resistance to closure” that, for Hayes-Brady, actually presents an instance of generative failure.75 This is the “inevitable continuation” of Infinite Jest, in which the reader must speculate on the action that takes place after the final pages.76 Yet, in another sense, the aleatory variability to which Currie referred, there is no action after the final pages of a book. As with the die that has not been rolled, these are the pages that have not – and will not ever have – been written, barring the launch of a Wallace fanfiction community. The action within the non-pages beyond the end of Infinite Jest is purely speculative from the readerly perspective, as is the hanging closing non-“word” of The Broom of the System.77 At the same time, however, this non-space of writing is a structured non-space. It is not a space of ontological uncertainty, because the preceding novel determines particular possibilities of its outcome. This is a way of saying that Wallace’s novels provide a critical frame of possibility for imagined future projections beyond their book-space. The clearest instance, for me, of Wallace’s problematic political and ethical deferrals, though, can be found in the unlikely space of his non-fiction review of Bryan A. Garner’s A Dictionary of Modern American Usage.78 Certainly, Wallace deals 74 Hayes-Brady. 75 Hayes-Brady, p. 22. 76 Hayes-Brady, p. 39. 77 David Foster Wallace, The Broom of the System, Contemporary American Fiction (New York, N.Y.: Penguin, 1987), p. 467. 78 In this article, I refer throughout to the version of this essay that was published as David Foster Wallace, ‘Authority and American Usage’, in Consider the Lobster (London: Abacus, 2007), pp. 66–127. Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit22 explicitly with the complex and cyclical politics of language in this essay, examining variously the prescriptivist and descriptivist perspectives on definition and linguistic evolution, even if critics have found his summary of this aspect lacking.79 It is not, though, this matter to which I finally here wish to turn. It is, rather, Wallace’s remarks on abortion within this piece that are the most politically problematic. Wallace’s personal politics are tricky to define but recent essays have identified a political conservatism within his life.80 Further, D.T. Max has claimed that Wallace voted for Ronald Reagan and supported the independent candidate, Ross Perot, against Bill Clinton and George Bush Sr. in 1992.81 Yet, the debate rages. Some critics, such as Jeffrey Severs, have sought to salvage Wallace’s oeuvre from neoliberal tarnish, while others, such as Edward Jackson, argue that Wallace’s political colours were more nailed to the mast in his work than was previously thought.82 Wallace’s own political orientation is relevant to a discussion of his treatment of abortion in “Authority and American Usage” since he explicitly states, in that essay, “that [he] has encountered only one serious objection to this Pro Life + Pro Choice position”, which concerns “certain facts about [Wallace], the person who’s developed and maintained it”.83 Notwithstanding, then, the difficult positionality of Wallace, the argument presented in the essay is that a form of simultaneous doublethink is required wherein “the only really coherent” position is to be both “Pro Life” and “Pro Choice”, at the same time.84 Wallace hinges this thesis on the vitalist tenet that “the question of defining human life in utero is hopelessly vexed” and that, under this situation of “irresolvable doubt”, “it is better not to kill”. At the same time, Wallace resorts to an individualist (or even, one might posit, neoliberal-esque) screed that, 79 See Alexis Burgess, ‘How We Ought to Do Things with Words’, in Gesturing toward Reality. David Foster Wallace and Philosophy, ed. by Robert K. Bolger and Scott Korb (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2014), pp. 5–18. 80 James Santel, ‘On David Foster Wallace’s Conservatism’, The Hudson Review, 2014 <http:// hudsonreview.com/2014/02/on-david-foster-wallaces-conservatism/> [accessed 14 August 2015]. 81 Max, passim. 82 Severs; Jackson. 83 Wallace, ‘Authority and American Usage’, p. 83. 84 Wallace, ‘Authority and American Usage’, p. 82. http://hudsonreview.com/2014/02/on-david-foster-wallaces-conservatism/ http://hudsonreview.com/2014/02/on-david-foster-wallaces-conservatism/ Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 23 under the same situation of doubt, he has “neither the legal nor the moral right to tell another person what to do”. The paragraph ends with one of several of Wallace’s indirect stereotyped attacks on feminisms, in which he interpellates a fictional man- eater who brands him “Just Another Shithead Male”.85 There is, of course, a long school of post-structuralist thought from the 1960s onwards that argues against reductivist binary thinking on ethical and political grounds, most notably stemming from Jacques Derrida’s influential work on presence. The holding of two beliefs simultaneously that are opposed to one another indeed seems based on such a premise. Yet, is this not, to some extent, the very “equivocationary horseshit” to which Pemulis referred in the Eschaton game? For, as Derrida claimed, it was his belief that “deconstruction loses nothing from admitting that it is impossible”.86 This is not just an excuse to throw stones at deconstruction from an ethical glass house. Such ideas of non-contradiction run to the core of a post-critical philosophy. Meillassoux notes, for instance, that contemporary correlationist philosophers must take care not to justify “the universality of non-contradiction”.87 Yet, this is precisely what Meillassoux goes on to do, arguing that “a contradictory entity is absolutely impossible, because if an entity was contradictory, it would be necessary. But a necessary entity is absolutely impossible; consequently, so too is contradiction”.88 Whether a “belief” can be construed as an “entity” in an analogous sense to Meillassoux’s is another matter. However, it remains of interest that both Kantian and speculative realist philosophies adhere to the principle of non-contradiction, which Wallace’s essay violates. 85 Contrast this with the more neutral invented slander of the Pro Lifers – “Satan’s Minion” – and the gendered aspect of Wallace’s critique becomes clear. 86 Jacques Derrida, ‘Psyche: Inventions of the Other’, in Reading De Man Reading, ed. by Lindsay Waters and Wlad Godzich (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 1989), lix, 25–65 (p. 36) <https:// www.jstor.org/stable/10.5749/j.ctttt3t9> [accessed 23 September 2018]. 87 Meillassoux, p. 72. 88 Meillassoux, p. 110. https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5749/j.ctttt3t9 https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.5749/j.ctttt3t9 Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit24 It is also clear, though, that Wallace’s argument is an indefinite deferral of ethical decision making on his part, since the doubt he has is branded as “irresolvable”, even while he timestamps this doubt to “[a]s of 4 March 1999”. And, indeed, it is “irresolvable doubt” on which Wallace’s argument for ethical inaction stands. For, notably, Wallace displaces ethical decision making onto others, “especially if that person feels s/he is not in doubt”. Doubt, then, but also affect; “feels”. Despite the rigorously logical nature of Wallace’s argument, non-intervention turns on structures of feeling and the belief, or otherwise, in a vitalist notion of sanctity of life. Yet, there are also some extremely questionable comparisons made around this affective structure of belief in Wallace’s essay. For instance, religious belief is held by Wallace to be as strong a belief as a woman’s own belief about her bodily autonomy, the “ideological or religious convictions” that Wallace says “override reason” and lead to a “wacko dogmatic position”. Knowing the mind of God here is equated with the embodied (“ideological”) knowledge that women might have of their own bodies. In actual fact, though, if Wallace followed his own logic more thoroughly, he might see that his argument for non-intervention on the Pro-Choice side is stronger. For when the argument is reduced to participation within a liberal spirit of “democratic tolerance”, the 1973 Roe vs. Wade decision gave the outcome of the US’s constitutional stance on abortion (which is not to say, of course, that ethics and the law equate to one another).89 Since Wallace couches his argument in terms of a democratic spirit, though – and since he also notes that he has not the “legal” authority to override the Pro Choicer’s stance (but he does not note that the Pro Lifers’ stance has already been democratically, legally denied) – Wallace’s argument is, ironically, more in favour of the Pro Life stance, even while it purports a balanced neutrality. To conclude this article and to move beyond ideas of post-critique in Wallace, in such an argumentative setup, one that attempts forever to defer and displace ethical action, we can see how Wallace has provided only a partial set of the conditions 89 For more on the literary contexts of abortion with respect to Roe vs. Wade, see the recent Melanie McGovern and Martin Paul Eve article, ‘Information Labour and Shame in Farmer and Chevli’s Abortion Eve’, The Comics Grid: Journal of Comics Scholarship, 9.1 (2019), 6 <https://doi.org/10.16995/cg.158>. https://doi.org/10.16995/cg.158 Eve: Equivocationary Horseshit 25 of possibility for decision making within his philosophical and novelistic worlds. Wallace’s argumentative frame is only partially critical, non-exhaustively framing the off-the-page conclusion that it is supposed to inspire. This is the same problem, though, that could be seen in the depiction of the Eschaton game in Infinite Jest. Wallace’s environment never gets beyond the ideational; his critique always remains partial in its deferred framing. And while, in both these cases, there is no real outcome of nuclear war, no true eschaton, David Foster Wallace remains a doubtful moral guide – one I have not here sought to redeem – who structures his advice through conditions of impossibility, through partial critique. Acknowledgements The work on this article was made possible by a Philip Leverhulme Prize from the Leverhulme Trust, grant number PLP-2019-023. Competing Interests The author is an editor and CEO at the Open Library of Humanities. As such, the peer-review process on this article has been handled independently by the OLH’s Editorial Officer. References Adamo, Giuliana, ‘Twentieth-Century Recent Theories on Beginnings and Endings of Novels’, Annali d’Italianistica, 18 (2000), pp. 49–76. 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How to cite this article: Eve, M P 2020 Equivocationary Horseshit: Post-Correlationist Aesthetics and Post-Critical Ethics in the Works of David Foster Wallace. Open Library of Humanities, 6(1): 8, pp. 1–29. DOI: https://doi.org/10.16995/olh.538 Published: 24 March 2020 Copyright: © 2020 The Author(s). This is an open-access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License (CC-BY 4.0), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original author and source are credited. See http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. OPEN ACCESS Open Library of Humanities is a peer-reviewed open access journal published by Open Library of Humanities. https://doi.org/10.1086/448328 https://doi.org/10.1093/litthe/3.3.296 https://www.era.lib.ed.ac.uk/handle/1842/31007 https://www.era.lib.ed.ac.uk/handle/1842/31007 https://newrepublic.com/article/61361/human-inhuman https://newrepublic.com/article/61361/human-inhuman https://doi.org/10.16995/olh.538 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ I. What is Critique? II. Infinite Jest, Playing Games, and Kantian Aesthetics III. From Philosophy to Politics and Ethics Acknowledgements Competing Interests References 
work_hgt4azpmw5dndhilm4zebv26wy	----	untitled Thorax: the Cappuccino years Andrew Bush,1 Ian D Pavord2 We are now about half way through our term of office (unless we are prematurely fired for terminal misbehaviour); here we review where we are, and where we are going, and have the first instalment of the showcase of some of our best articles from last year. We have maintained our second position with an improved impact factor (6.84) over 2011, we continue to attract very high quality manuscripts, and handling times have come down (all good news). We owe these achievements to our associate editors and editorial board, the reviewers, and especially those who have submitted such great manuscripts. An especially large bouquet to the editorial staff, in particular Renuka Patel for her work on Hot Topics and marketing, Bryony Skinner, who has stepped mag- nificently into the breach, Allison Lang and our unsung heroine Sarah Szatkowski, who keeps us sane when ScholarOne is driving us to Prozac or haloperidol or both. Don’t leave us! We acknowledge we need to speed up further, and get the impact factor higher —both are a work in progress. However, average time from submission to first decision for all manuscripts is less than 30 days, and accepted manuscripts appear on-line in an average of 25 days. We have had out first randomised controlled trial protocol to review for consideration for fast-track publication when the study is completed—an offer which does not depend on the result being positive— investigators please note. Hot off the Breath continues to generate controversy —totally drug resistant tuberculosis (TB) and the roaring PANTHER being cases in point. We have had two themed issues (North American, to coincide with American Thoracic Society and cystic fibrosis (CF), to coincide with the US CF Foundation annual meeting). In 2013, we will have a Tuberculosis themed issue for World TB day (March 24th) and plan a Pneumonia themed issue for World Pneumonia day (November 12th). We are continuing to use Podcasts and are keen to explore better use of electronic media —suggestions (and help for the terminally e-illiterate) are welcome. We would also welcome ideas for further themed issues. We have been fortunate in publishing some great manuscripts in 2012. We have chosen four areas to highlight, and, in the Olympic Year, we have awarded gold, silver and bronze in each category. There is no overall winner; can you compare Michelangelo’s David with Beethoven’s ninth symphony? Apologies if your manu- script is missed or you think you should have won the prize; the rules were that the editors’ own manuscripts were auto- matically disqualified, and the umpires’ verdict is both final and arbitrary. Better luck next year, keep the great manuscripts coming. This month we showcase Paediatric and Adult Thoracic Medicine; next month, epidemiology and basic science. PAEDIATRIC LUNG DISEASE The main themes have been asthma and CF, respectively the most common problem in childhood and the area where there is the most game-changing research going on. Asthma is much more than reaching for the prescription pad. We can and should do our best to improve the environment. Tobacco (again!) is the lead culprit, with paternal as well as maternal tobacco abuse being shown to be import- ant by the ISAAC programme.1 We need to look beyond the home; the COPSAC group reported the association between short-term exposure to air pollution and hospital admissions for asthma.2 The strong relationship in infants is a puzzle, given one would expect them to be outside the home less than older children, but maybe this reflects the extreme vulner- ability of the developing lung. School air quality was also highlighted as an area for improvement.3 Allergens are another per- ennial theme, and a long-term prospective study from the Isle of Wight demonstrated that an intensive allergen avoidance pro- gramme starting from birth reduced the risk of asthma onset in genetically predis- posed individuals4; this is the Bronze medal manuscript, a whisker behind the silver medal position, for a superb, long- haul effort. A randomised, double-blind, placebo controlled trial of allergen reduction using a commercially available device aiming to reduce allergen exposure to producing nocturnal, temperature con- trolled laminar airflow during sleep showed improved quality of life and reduced systemic inflammation, but unfor- tunately no effect on exacerbations.5 Of course pharmacotherapy is important, and we debated the hot topic of whether con- tinuous or intermittent inhaled corticos- teroids were correct for children with mild asthma.6 7 However, whatever the outcome of the debate in the rarefied atmosphere of the hospital clinic, it is likely in practice that families will do their own thing in real life! One issue is that you cannot treat that which is not per- ceived, and we also published a great manuscript showing that, in inner city asthmatic children, perception of asthma is poor but can be improved by appropriate feedback, at least in the short-term8; this is accompanied by improved adherence to therapy. This manuscript wins the Silver medal in recognition of the difficulty of doing research in such a challenging envir- onment. Finally, for connoisseurs of public fist-fights, two papers about monitoring severe asthma9 10 triggered Leicester- London internecine warfare in the editor- ial columns11 12 and correspondence.13 14 Judge between the editors: is induced sputum useful in childhood severe, therapy-resistant asthma, and if not, why not? CF was the second major topic. Three manuscripts covered CF new-born screen- ing (NBS) and outcomes.15–17 Strategies of NBS were compared in a prospective study,15 especially to inform countries where DNA screening may not be accept- able, and reassuringly, all strategies per- formed well. Australian-UK controversy is heating up nicely ahead of the Ashes series, in terms of outcomes; the Australian group reported deterioration in structural lung disease with worsening infection and inflammation in their NBS group16; the UK London collaboration resolved the controversy about whether CF NBS babies have impaired lung func- tion shortly after diagnosis (they do),17 but their follow-up data, so far only pre- sented in abstract, may tell a different story. Don your helmet, watch this space and be ready for the sledging and short- pitched bowling! Space precludes review- ing a number of excellent CF randomised controlled trials, but we highlight two areas where what was thought to be simple has become complex. The first is diagnosis—as medical students we were taught that the sweat test was the be-all and end-all of diagnosis, but we are now 1Department of Paediatric Respiratory Medicine, Imperial College & Royal Brompton & Harefield NHS Foundation Trust, London, UK; 2Department of Respiratory Medicine, Allergy and Thoracic Surgery, Institute for Lung Health, Glenfield Hospital, University Hospitals of Leicester NHS Trust, Leicester, UK Correspondence to Professor Andrew Bush, Department of Paediatric Respiratory Medicine, Imperial College & Royal Brompton & Harefield NHS Q6 Foundation Trust, London, UK; A.Bush@rbht.nhs.uk Thorax January 2013 Vol 68 No 1 1 Editorial o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://th o ra x.b m j.co m / T h o ra x: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /th o ra xjn l-2 0 1 2 -2 0 2 9 7 0 o n 1 0 D e ce m b e r 2 0 1 2 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://thorax.bmj.com/ finding that it may be normal in milder or single-organ atypical cases; however, pace Oscar Wilde, in this case the UK and North America have the same language in common, and largely agree on diagnostic criteria.18 19 Second, we were taught that CF was a polymicrobial disease; now molecular techniques have taught us that the CF airway is teeming with multiple organisms, and the community stays largely stable in a given individual, despite antibiotic therapy.20 In an accompanying editorial, LiPuma charts a path for the confused, as well as re-assuringly demon- strating to the intellectually challenged that even the serious scientists are strug- gling with the implications of these novel data.21 Finally, Thorax was not a two horse show in 2012. Important manuscripts included guidelines on the management of neuromuscular disease in children,22 23 which gives a comprehensive overview of how to look after a group of conditions which are becoming of increasing import- ance in adult practice; a randomised con- trolled trial of oral antibiotics in chronic wet cough24 (showing our forebears were not as stupid as we thought! Keep doing the same thing long enough and you will be back in fashion); and a further testing of the special relationship in a USA-UK debate about what makes a diagnosis of primary ciliary dyskinesia25–28—genes versus not the environment but function —decide for yourself. The gold medal winner is in this category; we all know (or should know) that survivors of very preterm birth and intensive neonatal inter- ventions have long term respiratory mor- bidity and premature airflow obstruction. This manuscript, based on the Avon Longitudinal Study of Parents and Children (ALSPAC) cohort showed that late pre-term (33–34 weeks gestation) infants have just as severe lung function decrements as 25 week gestation babies,29 and there are a whole lot more pre- termers. For sure there was some improvement by the late teenage years in the late pre-term group, but this has con- siderable importance for adult practice; do not be complacent just because the baby was ‘a bit early’! ADULT LUNG DISEASE There have been strong contributions in lung cancer, idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis (IPF) and obstructive lung disease. Screening for lung cancer was very much the topic of the year. We are more scep- tical of the benefits of this approach than many and are keen that we do not commit ourselves to an expensive screening protocol without being abso- lutely sure that it is efficacious, feasible and acceptable to participants. Saghir et al30 raised some concerns about effi- cacy in a preliminary report from the Danish Lung Cancer Screening Trial, sug- gesting that the main impact of screening was bringing forward early disease rather than a reduction in mortality. The concept that some cancers may be innocent bystanders rather than active players in the development of morbidity and death is important, and when Thoracic Surgeons start talking about it,31 32 we should take note. Attitudes to participa- tion in lung cancer screening clearly depend on the likely benefits but under- standing other factors is important in a population who might be nihilistic about health promotion initiatives. Patel et al33 found that the screening tests were accept- able to most but that the factors contrib- uting to the decision to participate were complex and probably difficult to modify. Might it be better to focus more on increasing public awareness of symptoms and promoting earlier diagnosis? Some progress is being made as resection rates are increasing in the UK34 but there is still along way to go. Simon et al35 assessed public awareness of symptoms using a new assessment tool and found that it was low, particularly in the most high risk groups. Athey et al36 recognised that increasing awareness of lung cancer might be a way of tackling the high lung cancer mortality in Doncaster and developed a multi-faceted intervention to improve public awareness of symptoms. The initia- tive was informed by local qualitative research and was highly imaginative, including coughing phone boxes, bill- boards and illustrated beer mats. It appeared to be effective, increasing chest X-ray referrals and lung cancer diagnoses. This is an excellent example of identifying and responding to local health concerns in an innovative and effective way; it is a richly deserved winner of the Silver medal in the adult category. The IPF field was rocked by the findings of the PANTHER trial, highlighted first in a Hot off the Breath article in Thorax.37 How could our treatment approach have been so spectacularly wrong for so long? We must ensure that this never happens again. To paraphrase St Paul, if I speak with the words of the wise, but have not solid evidence, I am a noisy gong or a clan- ging cymbal. However, the study does provide us with an opportunity to begin exploring other, potentially more fruitful treatment strategies. Proteasomal inhib- ition with Bortezomib38 and promotion of the effects of the death receptor ligand tumour necrosis factor-related apoptosis- inducing ligand39 both look like promising approaches. Before embarking on clinical trials in IPF we need to be sure we use the most appropriate outcome measures. We agree with Athol Wells and colleagues40 that mortality should not be the be all and end all of these trials and that other patient centred and physiological end- points still have a role. The King’s brief interstitial lung disease health status ques- tionnaire41 and sarcoidosis questionnaire42 look potentially useful and the good old forced vital capacity holds up well as a marker of disease progression, whether expressed as a relative or absolute percent- age change.43 New and existing measures of obstruct- ive lung disease have been discussed in a number of papers. The use of the acute bronchodilator response has had a serious mauling in two studies evaluating this measure cross-sectionally and longitudin- ally in big populations.44 45 When some- thing can neither be measured repeatedly nor shown to relate to any important patient event, it’s time to abandon it. There remains controversy about the best criteria for diagnosing chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD),46–48 a debate that we suspect will never be resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. Potentially new CT based measures49 might provide a fresh and important perspective as might novel blood and urine biomarkers.50 51 Previously promising markers of disease have had a bad year: Rinaldi et al52 failed to confirm a previous finding of anti- elastin antibodies in COPD although blood and urine desmosine, an elastin deg- radation product, has emerged as a prom- ising biomarker.51 We suspect that the future is to view these measures as risk factors rather than arbitrary defining char- acteristics, as has been cogently pointed out by Guy Marks in a ‘must read’ opinion article.48 COPD lung attacks have been the focus of a number of excellent papers in 2012. Aaron et al53 suggested that attacks could be classified by their temporal pattern. Could these patterns be associated with different causes and treatment responses? Better risk stratification of patients presenting with an attack is an important priority, particularly if the current trend for devolving management to less specialised settings continues. We liked the Dyspnoea, Eosinopenia, Consolidation, Acidaemia and atrial Fibrillation score,54 developed after a real- isation that existing scoring systems were inadequate,55 as it looks feasible, has good performance characteristics and benefits 2 Thorax January 2013 Vol 68 No 1 Editorial o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://th o ra x.b m j.co m / T h o ra x: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /th o ra xjn l-2 0 1 2 -2 0 2 9 7 0 o n 1 0 D e ce m b e r 2 0 1 2 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://thorax.bmj.com/ from a very catchy title (although to be critical, the editors at least maintain that coffee without caffeine is like a honey- moon without sex). The use of beta- blockers by patients with COPD was sur- prisingly shown to be associated with a trend to a better outcome in patients pre- senting with an attack56 supporting the truth universally acknowledged (pace Jane Austen) that interventions that reduce heart rate improve life expectancy (and vice-versa; more on this in 2013). Otherwise it has been a quiet year for new treatments for obstructive lung disease with only small advances in prospect.57 58 A notable exception is the use of polymer sealant for lung volume reduction as, unlike endobronchial valves, efficacy appears to be independent of fissure integ- rity.59 Fissure integrity can be assessed dir- ectly by hyperpolarised gas MRI60 so potentially patients best suited for these different techniques can be identified. Our highlight, and the overwhelming winner of the gold medal in the adult category (and this award is not driven by pity at the dis- appointing medal haul of the Canadian Olympic team), is the paper by Suissa and colleagues61 on the natural history of severe COPD lung attacks and mortality in a large community population. This team strike us as being the best sort of epide- miologists. They are not content with iden- tifying marginal ORs of nebulous risk factors in poorly defined populations in studies with a high potential for confound- ing and, we suspect, have no desire to see their work featured in the Daily Mail. They ask important and highly clinically relevant question and provide answers that change the way we think about disease. Figure 3 of their paper should be seen and digested by all clinicians and health econo- mists interested in chronic lung disease. There have been a number of notable contributions in the sleep field. Whether obstructive sleep apnoea (OSA) is an inde- pendent risk factor for cardiovascular disease, insulin resistance and obesity have been hot questions for some time. In 2012 we learnt that, compared with controls, patients with OSA find it harder to lose weight and had a less complete metabolic response to a healthy eating and living ini- tiative.62 OSA was associated with increased levels of several coagulation factors,63 and an increased incidence of ‘wake-up stroke’64 (a condition whose existence was news to us). On the other hand, two blinded appropriately con- trolled studies showed no evidence that treatment of OSA with continuous positive airway pressure (CPAP) improved markers of vascular risk.65 66 We liked particularly the Multicentre Obstructive Sleep Apnoea Interventional Cardiovascular Trial (MOSAIC) study65 and commend the study team for a sustained and impressive contribution to research in this area, which includes pioneering the use of sham CPAP treatment. They are our unanimous choice for the bronze medal. CPAP remains an effective treatment for sleepiness in OSA and other sleep related breathing disor- ders67 even if some of the effects can be explained by an expectation of benefit.68 We have quoted Hilaire Belloc before: ‘Oh! Let no-one ever, ever doubt, What nobody is sure about’ and 2012 has been a good year for doing just that. In our 2014 editorial address to the society, we will have a prize for the authors who have suc- cessfully toppled the most entrenched dogma, and also a WS Gilbert prize: ‘On fire that glows With heat Intense I turn the hoe Of common sense And out it goes At small expense’. Finally, we will have a prize for the most ridiculous acronym smuggled into a serious article, following on from ‘REPRINTED’ and ‘SCRAPPED’.69 Competing interests None. Provenance and peer review Not commissioned; internally peer reviewed. To cite Bush A, Pavord ID. Thorax 2013, 68, 1–4. Accepted 5 November 2012 Thorax 2013;68:1–4. doi:10.1136/thoraxjnl-2012-202970 REFERENCES 1 Mitchell EA, Beasley R, Keil U, et al. the ISAAC Phase Three Study Group. The association between tobacco and the risk of asthma, rhinoconjunctivitis and eczema in children and adolescents: analyses from Phase Three of the ISAAC programme. Thorax 2012;67:941–9. 2 Iskandar A, Andersen ZJ, Bønnelykke K, et al. Coarse and fine particles but not ultrafine particles in urban air trigger hospital admission for asthma in children. Thorax 2012;67:252–7. 3 Annesi-Maesano I, Hulin M, Lavaud F, et al. Poor air quality in classrooms related to asthma and rhinitis in primary schoolchildren of the French 6 Cities Study. Thorax 2012;67:682–8. 4 Scott M, Roberts G, Kurukulaaratchy RJ, et al. Multifaceted allergen avoidance during infancy reduces asthma during childhood with the effect persisting until age 18 years. Thorax 2012;67:1046–51. 5 Boyle RJ, Pedroletti C, Wickman M, et al., for the 4A Study Group. 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Sputum inflammatory phenotypes are not stable in children with asthma. Thorax 2012;67:675–81. 11 Pavord ID, Gibson PG. Inflammometry: the current state of play. Thorax 2012;67:191–2. 12 Green RH, Pavord I. Stability of inflammatory phenotypes in asthma. Thorax 2012;67:665–7. 13 Fleming L, Bush A. Use of sputum eosinophil counts to guide management in children with severe asthma. Thorax 2012;67:1015–16. 14 Pavord I, Gibson PG. Authors’ response. Thorax 2012;67:1016. 15 Vernooij-van Langen AMM, Loeber JG, Elvers B, et al. Novel strategies in newborn screening for cystic fibrosis: a prospective controlled study. Thorax 2012;67:289–95. 16 Mott LS, Park J, Murray CP, et al. on behalf of AREST CF. Progression of early structural lung disease in young children with cystic fibrosis assessed using CT. Thorax 2012;67:509–16. 17 Hoo A-H, Thia LP, Nguyen TTD, et al., on behalf of the London Cystic Fibrosis Collaboration (LCFC). Lung function is abnormal in 3-month-old infants with cystic fibrosis diagnosed by newborn screening. Thorax 2012;67:874–81. 18 Ooi CY, Dupuis A, Ellis L, et al. Original article: comparing the American and European diagnostic guidelines for cystic fibrosis: same disease, different language? Thorax 2012;67:618–24. 19 Simmonds NJ, Bush A. Diagnosing cystic fibrosis: what are we sweating about? Thorax 2012;67: 571–3. 20 Stressmann FA, Rogers GB, van der Gast CJ, et al. Long-term cultivation-independent microbial diversity analysis demonstrates that bacterial communities infecting the adult cystic fibrosis lung show stability and resilience. Thorax 2012;67:867–73. 21 LiPuma J. The new microbiology of cystic fibrosis: it takes a community. Thorax 2012;67:851–2. 22 Hull J, Aniapravan R, Chan E, et al. British Thoracic Society guideline for respiratory management of children with neuromuscular weakness. Thorax 2012;67:i1–i40. 23 Hull J. Audit, research and guideline update: British Thoracic Society guideline for respiratory management of children with neuromuscular weakness: commentary. Thorax 2012;67:654–5. 24 Marchant J, Masters IB, Champion A, et al. Original article: randomised controlled trial of amoxycillinclavulanate in children with chronic wet cough. Thorax 2012;67:689–93. 25 Knowles MR, Leigh ML, Carson JL, et al., for the Genetic Disorders of Mucociliary Clearance Consortium. Mutations of DNAH11 in patients with primary ciliary dyskinesia with normal ciliary ultrastructure. Thorax 2012;67:433–41. 26 Knowles MR, Leigh MW, Zariwala MA. Cutting edge genetic studies in primary ciliary dyskinesia. Thorax 2012;67:464. 27 Hogg C, Bush A. Genotyping in primary ciliary dyskinesia: ready for prime time, or a fringe benefit? Thorax 2012;67:377–8. 28 Bush A, Hogg C. Authors’ response. Thorax 2012;67:464. 29 Kotecha SJ, Watkins WJ, Paranjothy S, et al. Effect of late preterm birth on longitudinal lung spirometry in school age children and adolescents. Thorax 2012;67:54–61. 30 Saghir Z, Dirksen A, Ashraf H, et al. CT screening for lung cancer brings forward early disease. The randomised Danish Lung Cancer Screening Trial: status after five annual screening rounds with low-dose CT. Thorax 2012;67:296–301. Thorax January 2013 Vol 68 No 1 3 Editorial o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://th o ra x.b m j.co m / T h o ra x: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /th o ra xjn l-2 0 1 2 -2 0 2 9 7 0 o n 1 0 D e ce m b e r 2 0 1 2 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://thorax.bmj.com/ 31 Treasure T, Russell C, Morton D, et al. Surgical resection of lung cancer England: more operations but no trials to test their effectiveness. Thorax 2012;67:759–61. 32 Detterbeck FC. Cancer, concepts, cohorts and complexity: avoiding oversimplification of overdiagnosis. Thorax 2012;67:842–5. 33 Patel D, Akporobaro A, Chinyanganya N, et al. Attitudes to participation in a lung cancer screening trial: a qualitative study. Thorax 2012;67:418–25. 34 Riaz SP, Linklater KM, Page R, et al. Recent trends in resection rates among non-small cell lung cancer patients in England. Thorax 2012;67:811–14. 35 Simon AE, Juszczyk D, Smyth N, et al. Knowledge of lung cancer symptoms and risk factors in the U.K.: development of a measure and results from a population-based survey. Thorax 2012;67:426–32. 36 Athey VL, Suckling RJ, Tod AM, et al. Early diagnosis of lung cancer: evaluation of a community-based social marketing intervention. Thorax 2012;67: 412–17. 37 McGrath EE, Millar AB. Hot off the breath: triple therapy for idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis–hear the PANTHER roar. Thorax 2012;67:97–8. 38 Mutlu GM, Budinger GR, Wu M, et al. Proteasomal inhibition after injury prevents fibrosis by modulating TGF-beta(1) signalling. Thorax 2012;67:139–46. 39 McGrath EE, Lawrie A, Marriott HM, et al. Deficiency of tumour necrosis factor-related apoptosis-inducing ligand exacerbates lung injury and fibrosis. Thorax 2012;67:796–803. 40 Wells AU, Behr J, Costabel U, et al. Hot of the breath: mortality as a primary end-point in IPF treatment trials: the best is the enemy of the good. Thorax 2012;67:938–40. 41 Patel AS, Siegert RJ, Brignall K, et al. The development and validation of the King’s Brief Interstitial Lung Disease (K-BILD) health status questionnaire. Thorax 2012;67:804–10. 42 Patel AS, Siegert RJ, Creamer D, et al. The development and validation of the King’s Sarcoidosis Questionnaire for the assessment of health status. Thorax Published Online First: 12 October 2012. doi:10.1136/thoraxjnl-2012-201962. 43 Richeldi L, Ryerson CJ, Lee JS, et al. Relative versus absolute change in forced vital capacity in idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. Thorax 2012;67:407–11. 44 Albert P, Agusti A, Edwards L, et al. Bronchodilator responsiveness as a phenotypic characteristic of established chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Thorax 2012;67:701–8. 45 Tan WC, Vollmer WM, Lamprecht B, et al. Worldwide patterns of bronchodilator responsiveness: results from the Burden of Obstructive Lung Disease study. Thorax 2012;67:718–26. 46 Jordan RE, Miller MR, Lam KB, et al. Sex, susceptibility to smoking and chronic obstructive pulmonary disease: the effect of different diagnostic criteria. Analysis of the Health Survey for England. Thorax 2012;67:600–5. 47 Brusasco V. Spirometric definition of COPD: exercise in futility or factual debate? Thorax 2012;67:569–70. 48 Marks GB. Are reference equations for spirometry an appropriate criterion for diagnosing disease and predicting prognosis? Thorax 2012;67:85–7. 49 Martinez CH, Chen YH, Westgate PM, et al. Relationship between quantitative CT metrics and health status and BODE in chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Thorax 2012;67:399–406. 50 Takahashi T, Kobayashi S, Fujino N, et al. Increased circulating endothelial microparticles in COPD patients: a potential biomarker for COPD exacerbation susceptibility. Thorax 2012;67:1067–74. 51 Huang JT, Chaudhuri R, Albarbarawi O, et al. Clinical validity of plasma and urinary desmosine as biomarkers for chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Thorax 2012;67:502–8. 52 Rinaldi M, Lehouck A, Heulens N, et al. Antielastin B-cell and T-cell immunity in patients with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Thorax 2012;67:694–700. 53 Aaron SD, Donaldson GC, Whitmore GA, et al. Time course and pattern of COPD exacerbation onset. Thorax 2012;67:238–43. 54 Steer J, Gibson J, Bourke SC. The DECAF Score: predicting hospital mortality in exacerbations of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. Thorax 2012;67:970–6. 55 Steer J, Norman EM, Afolabi OA, et al. Dyspnoea severity and pneumonia as predictors of in-hospital mortality and early readmission in acute exacerbations of COPD. Thorax 2012;67:117–21. 56 Stefan MS, Rothberg MB, Priya A, et al. Association between beta-blocker therapy and outcomes in patients hospitalised with acute exacerbations of chronic obstructive lung disease with underlying ischaemic heart disease, heart failure or hypertension. Thorax 2012;67:977–84. 57 Mahler DA, D’Urzo A, Bateman ED, et al. Concurrent use of indacaterol plus tiotropium in patients with COPD provides superior bronchodilation compared with tiotropium alone: a randomised, double-blind comparison. Thorax 2012;67:781–8. 58 Busse WW, Bleecker ER, Bateman ED, et al. Fluticasone furoate demonstrates efficacy in patients with asthma symptomatic on medium doses of inhaled corticosteroid therapy: an 8-week, randomised, placebo-controlled trial. Thorax 2012;67:35–41. 59 Magnussen H, Kramer MR, Kirsten AM, et al. Effect of fissure integrity on lung volume reduction using a polymer sealant in advanced emphysema. Thorax 2012;67:302–8. 60 Marshall H, Deppe MH, Parra-Robles J, et al. Direct visualisation of collateral ventilation in COPD with hyperpolarised gas MRI. Thorax 2012;67:613–17. 61 Suissa S, Dell’aniello S, Ernst P. Long-term natural history of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease: severe exacerbations and mortality. Thorax 2012;67:957–63. 62 Borel AL, Leblanc X, Almeras N, et al. Sleep apnoea attenuates the effects of a lifestyle intervention programme in men with visceral obesity. Thorax 2012;67:735–41. 63 Phillips CL, McEwen BJ, Morel-Kopp MC, et al. Effects of continuous positive airway pressure on coagulability in obstructive sleep apnoea: a randomised, placebo-controlled crossover study. Thorax 2012;67:639–44. 64 Ciccone A, Proserpio P, Roccatagliata DV, et al. Wake-up stroke and TIA due to paradoxical embolism during long obstructive sleep apnoeas: a cross-sectional study. Thorax 2012;67:1067–74. 65 Craig SE, Kohler M, Nicoll D, et al. Continuous positive airway pressure improves sleepiness but not calculated vascular risk in patients with minimally symptomatic obstructive sleep apnoea: the MOSAIC randomised controlled trial. Thorax 2012;67:1090–6. 66 Hoyos CM, Killick R, Yee BJ, et al. Cardiometabolic changes after continuous positive airway pressure for obstructive sleep apnoea: a randomised sham-controlled study. Thorax 2012;67:1081–9. 67 Ward NR, Cowie MR, Rosen SD, et al. Utility of overnight pulse oximetry and heart rate variability analysis to screen for sleep-disordered breathing in chronic heart failure. Thorax 2012;67:1000–5. 68 Crawford MR, Bartlett DJ, Coughlin SR, et al. The effect of continuous positive airway pressure usage on sleepiness in obstructive sleep apnoea: real effects or expectation of benefit? Thorax 2012;67: 920–4. 69 Furness JC. Correspondence: acronyms, pneumothoraces and the impact of international health on the NHS. Thorax 2012;67:833. 4 Thorax January 2013 Vol 68 No 1 Editorial o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://th o ra x.b m j.co m / T h o ra x: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /th o ra xjn l-2 0 1 2 -2 0 2 9 7 0 o n 1 0 D e ce m b e r 2 0 1 2 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://thorax.bmj.com/ 
work_hminmhyh6zd5xjyoabf7yelp74	----	bourrier_thelwall_social_lives_2 Journal of Cultural Analytics February 7, 2020 The Social Lives of Books: Reading Victorian Literature on Goodreads Karen Bourrier, Mike Thelwall aUniversity of Calgary, Alberta bUniversity of Wolverhampton, England A R T I C L E I N F O Peer-Reviewed By: Katherine Bode, Leah Price Article DOI: 10.22148/001c.12049 Dataverse DOI: 10.7910/DVN/ZMVANC Journal ISSN: 2371-4549 A B S T R A C T This paper compares social media traces from Goodreads to data from the MLA International Bibliography and the Open Syllabus Project, in order to better understand the preferences of readers of Victorian literature from different but overlapping communities. We find that the majority of works of Victorian literature that are indicated as being read on Goodreads occur about as often as they are taught or written about in the academy, although books aimed at an adult audience are written about more frequently in peer- reviewed venues. Interestingly, those works that are statistical outliers in terms of their greater popularity with a general audience than an academic audience tend to feature women authors, children’s literature, and works with a strong female protagonist. Turning to an analysis of the written reviews on Goodreads of three outliers that were more popular with a general audience--A Tale of Two Cities, Jane Eyre, and The Secret Garden--we find that readers tend to comment on plot (especially in Dickens), feminist themes (in Jane Eyre), and the importance of characters (in all three works). In conclusion, we suggest ways in which postsecondary teachers might draw on these results to inform their syllabi and formulate strategies for teaching Victorian literature. We argue that in terms of outliers, popular taste in Victorian literature among Goodreads users reflects more general reading preferences among this user group, as readers turn to the Victorian era to read children’s literature and books featuring strong female characters. Much of what we know about how twenty-first century readers engage with Victorian literature outside of the academy tends to come from personal essays and memoirs. Recently, we might think of Rebecca Mead’s My Life in Middlemarch (2014) or Nell Stevens’s Mrs. Gaskell and Me (published in the U.S. as The Romantic and the Victorian 2018) as examples of memoirs that interweave the experience of reading (and rereading) George Eliot or Elizabeth Gaskell alongside intimate events from the authors’ lives, showing what these nineteenth-century authors continue to mean for twenty-first century readers.1 Scaling up from the level of the individual in order to understand the larger patterns that govern contemporary reading preferences has proven more difficult. Yet, as scholars turn to the digital sphere, and to online platforms including but not limited to Amazon book reviews T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 2 and Goodreads, recovering these reading patterns is becoming more possible as digitization makes these reading traces increasingly accessible. As Simone Murray points out, perhaps the most significant aspect of these online reviewing platforms is “its greatly broadened base of participation.”2 The large scale of online reviews also requires new methods. As Tatlock et al have argued in an article analysing data on library patrons in Muncie, Indiana, from 1891 to 1902, computational methods may be especially suited to “investigations of reader agency”; such “quantitative analyses of reader behavior” may allow us “to enhance our understanding of how meaning is co-constructed.”3 In this paper, following scholarship in the reception history of literature, we compare social media traces from Goodreads to data from the MLA International Bibliography and the Open Syllabus Project, in order to better understand the preferences of readers of Victorian literature from different but overlapping communities. We find that the majority of works of Victorian literature that are indicated as being read on Goodreads occur about as often as they are taught or written about in the academy, although books aimed at an adult audience are written about more frequently in peer-reviewed venues. Interestingly, those works that are statistical outliers in terms of their greater popularity with a general audience than an academic audience are dominated by women authors, children’s literature, and works with a strong female protagonist. We argue that in terms of outliers, popular taste in Victorian literature among Goodreads users reflects more general reading preferences among this user group, as readers turn to the Victorian era to read children’s literature and books featuring strong female characters. This could be the case because 76% of Goodreads users are women, and that the books that they are likely to have read are in the majority by women authors, from Jane Austen to J. K. Rowling, many of whom are writing in the young adult genre.4 In contrast to the outliers on Goodreads, syllabi in English literature courses and works in the MLA bibliographyata continue to focus on male authors.5 In the second part of the paper, we move to an analysis of the written reviews on Goodreads of three books—A Tale of Two Cities, Jane Eyre, and The Secret Garden—which are all outliers in terms of being more popular with a general audience than we would predict given how often they are taught and written about in the academy. Character was the most commonly commented-upon category in the J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 3 written reviews of all the novels, but readers of A Tale of Two Cities were likely to frame the characters using E. M. Forester’s terms of flatness versus roundness, to comment on the character development of the children in The Secret Garden (without reference to flatness or roundness), and to sympathize with Jane Eyre’s feminism, without focusing on her childhood. This list of outliers is augmented by works that would traditionally be considered minor by authors like Charlotte Brontë and Oscar Wilde, who would traditionally be considered major authors, which suggests that readers pick their next book by author. Data set In quantifying the twenty-first century reader response to Victorian literature, we follow the example of works like Janice Radway’s Reading the Romance, which, as Ted Underwood observes, relies on an “experimental method drawn from the social sciences,” and relies largely on “questionnaires, interviews and numbers” to analyze the type of romances that readers found satisfying.6 We too rely on written reviews and numbers, drawing on publicly available information on Goodreads, the MLA bibliography and the Open Syllabus Project to analyze reader preferences. Although part of our methodology is computational, we would stress that this is not a distant reading of literature, but rather a type that Alison Booth has characterised as “midrange reading,” in which we use computational data to shed new light on a medium-sized corpus of works of literature we know well as scholars of Victorian literature.7 To begin our analysis, we compiled a list of every author who published a book during Queen Victoria’s reign (1837 to 1901) that was included in the Chadwyck- Healey database of nineteenth-century fiction.8 The Chadwyck-Healey database casts a wide net, including canonical as well as popular authors, from Charlotte Brontë to Charlotte Yonge. Searching by author stretched our results beyond the boundaries of the Victorian period, since many authors, including Frances Hodgson Burnett and H. G. Wells, continued publishing after Queen Victoria’s death in 1901. It also stretched our results beyond fiction, since many Victorian authors wrote in multiple genres. For example, Oscar Wilde’s plays and children’s literature as well T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 4 as his fiction for adults continue to be widely read. We then scraped the rating count and the average rating for all of the books on Goodreads associated with these individual authors, as well as a few canonical Victorian sage writers and Victorian poets for comparison.9 This resulted in 203 books, when conditioning on only those books with more than 1,000 ratings on Goodreads at the time of analysis. 79.8% of the books in our study of Victorian works of literature were written by a male author and 20.2% were written by a female author, 63% had a male protagonist and 31% had a female protagonist (in 6% of cases the gender of the protagonist was undetermined or not applicable). 87% of books in our study were aimed at an adult audience (we counted a book as a work of children’s literature if one of the top ten user-defined tags on Goodreads was for children’s literature). For each of these books, we added the number of peer-reviewed articles in the MLA bibliography, and the number of times the book has been taught in the syllabi aggregated on the Open Syllabus Project, to our data set. Our final step was to calculate the statistical outliers using linear regression in order to find out which books are more often read by Goodreads users than we would predict given how often they are taught or written about in the academy, and which books are less frequently read by Goodreads users than we would predict given how often they are taught or written about. We also considered whether authors and main protagonists were male or female, and whether the main audience for the book was children or adults, as a dimension of the analysis.10 Some background on the sources of our data may be helpful to contextualize our findings. Most familiar to literary scholars will be the MLA bibliography, which aggregates information on works published in literary studies from 1926 to the present. In order to determine how many articles were published on a given book, we searched the MLA bibliography with the text in question listed as the “subject work” (e.g. Jane Eyre), and filtered the results by those articles and books marked as peer-reviewed. Our second source of data, focusing on which works we teach, is the Open Syllabus Project, an outgrowth of Dan Cohen’s Million Syllabus Project, which scrapes syllabi from the web (though users can also contribute their syllabi directly) and aggregates the data to show the number of times different works are taught. The current database contains approximately 1.1 million syllabi from disciplines including history, English and biology.11 It is possible to filter the syllabi by discipline (i.e. just those books taught on English courses), but for the purposes J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 5 of this paper we counted books as taught at the university level regardless of discipline; in other words, we counted Jane Eyre regardless of whether it appeared on a history syllabus or an English literature syllabus.12 This data set is limited in terms of geographic and temporal scope; the vast majority of syllabi are from universities in the U.S., U.K., Canada, and Australia in the past fifteen years. The data set also favours those syllabi that have been posted online for public consumption. Our final source of data, Goodreads, currently the 99th most trafficked website in the US (Quantcast Sept 28, 2018), is a social cataloguing site which allows readers to list books that they “want-to-read” are “currently-reading” and have “read,” to review these books and rank them on a five-star scale, and to share what they are reading with their friends and followers.13 Launched in 2007 and acquired by Amazon in 2013, Goodreads is by far the most popular social media site devoted to books, with 65 million users and counting. Research in both English literature and computer science has found in Goodreads a rich source of knowledge about the way that people read now. In Lisa Nakamura’s words, Goodreads offers an embarrassment of riches for scholars looking to track reading habits “in the wild,”14 although, of course, like any source of information about readers, there are demographic biases inherent in Goodreads that limit how far we can generalize about all readers from Goodreads data (see below). Scholarship on Goodreads so far has investigated topics ranging from which genres men and women readers tend to favour (Thelwall), the differences between written reviews on Goodreads and Amazon (Dimitrov et al), and Flannery O’Connor’s reception amongst twenty-first century readers (Moran).15 There is significant overlap between Goodreads, Open Syllabus, and the MLA bibliography. For example, Victorianists may teach some of the same things that they publish on, and some members of Goodreads are academics.16 Because there is overlap between these domains, there is potential for the lack of differences between these groups to be explained in part because the groups are populated by some of the same people, who have similar reading preferences inside and outside the classroom. Nonetheless, the similarities and differences among what we teach and write about in the university, and what Goodreads users report reading, deserve further exploration. T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 6 Some demographic information on Goodreads users sheds light on who holds the reading preferences we explore in the rest of the paper. Approximately 76% of Goodreads users are women.17 Women read almost twice as many books as men, though they are more willing to read books by authors of either gender.18 Goodreads users are educated: 47% have some college, and 26% have been to graduate school. In terms of race, 79% of Goodreads users are white, 9% Hispanic, 7% African American, 4% Asian, and 1% other. In terms of age, an estimated 88% are under age 54.19 These readers participate in a variety of book-based and social activities within the site, which allows users to form book clubs.20 In order to take a closer look at the habits of those Goodreads users whose lists revealed a preference for Victorian novels, we scraped the virtual bookshelves of readers who belonged to two popular groups mainly dedicated to nineteenth-century literature: The Readers Review: Literature from 1714 to 1910, and Victorians! Members of Victorians! who had read Jane Eyre were 89% female (as opposed to the 76% female users of Goodreads overall), which suggests that women may be particularly interested in Victorian literature. (This claim may not surprise those who have taught Jane Eyre recently and observed the warm reception many female students give the novel, but it is worthwhile to have data beyond anecdotal evidence to back up the claim.) This finding suggests that women readers on Goodreads may prefer works by women and works with female protagonists. However, since we sampled the reading habits of book club members, it may also be that a preponderance of women are likely to join virtual book clubs and that the men who read Jane Eyre are less likely to be members of such a group. Looking at the general preferences of readers who joined the Victorians! book club can help us better understand their cultural context. The top five books read by this group, which were not exclusively Victorian, were: Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, The Great Gatsby, To Kill a Mockingbird and Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. As this list indicates, in general, members of these two groups read a combination of classic literature and contemporary bestsellers. In a separate study of the fifty books read by the fifty most popular English-language reading groups on Goodreads, we found that while 91% of people who were members of one of the fifty largest reading groups on Goodreads had read Suzanne Collins’s popular YA dystopian novel, The Hunger Games. This novel was less popular among those who J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 7 self-selected into a group focusing on nineteenth-century literature. Only 49% of the members of The Reader’s Review had read The Hunger Games, which indicates those readers who join an online forum dedicated to nineteenth-century literature may be less likely to keep up with contemporary young adult fiction than the average book club member on Goodreads. To give another example, of the fifty books most commonly read by book club members, Pride and Prejudice was the most commonly read book in The Reader’s Review, while Insurgent was the least commonly read; Jane Austen was the most commonly read author, while young adult author Rainbow Rowell was the least read.21 Findings Top Victorian authors on Goodreads In absolute terms, the top ten most-read works by Victorian authors on Goodreads at the time of writing are Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Dracula, The Secret Garden, The Picture of Dorian Gray, A Tale of Two Cities, Alice in Wonderland, Great Expectations, A Christmas Carol and Treasure Island. We extrapolate this information from the number of individual ratings for each book (on a one to five- star scale). We rely on user rating for a book having been read at least in part. (Goodreads allows readers to catalogue books they would like to read with a “to- read” tag). On the page for each author, Goodreads keeps an updated list of that author’s average rating, total ratings, and total number of written reviews. A bar chart shows us the twenty-two most commonly read Victorian authors, colour-coded by overall rating (see figure three). The most-read Victorian author is Charles Dickens, whose books have been rated 2,661,330 times at the time of data collection (May 2018). Following Dickens, Arthur Conan Doyle, Charlotte Brontë, Oscar Wilde, Emily Brontë, Lewis Carroll, and Frances Hodgson Burnett all boast more than a million ratings on Goodreads. Victorian writers of adventure, horror and fantasy, R. L Stevenson, H. G. Wells and Bram Stoker make up the rest of the top ten most-read Victorian authors. It is significant that with the exception of Dickens, Wilde, and the Brontës, the top ten writers are primarily known as either children’s authors (Carroll and Burnett) or as what we would now call genre authors, working in horror or fantasy. The most highly rated Victorian authors included in this study T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 8 on Goodreads’ five-star scale are Arthur Conan Doyle (4.21), John Henry Newman (4.16, not shown), and Frances Hodgson Burnett (4.13). Figure 1. The twenty-one most read Victorian authors included in our study, as of May 18, 2018, colour-coded according to average rating, with the most highly rated authors in dark blue and the least highly rated authors in dark orange Reading patterns on Goodreads vs Open Syllabus vs the MLA bibliography While the raw numbers of ratings of Victorian literature on Goodreads are interesting in themselves, comparing what is read by a general audience to what we teach in the college classroom and write about in peer-reviewed journals can give us a more nuanced picture of reader preferences. In order to compare data from Goodreads, the MLA bibliography, and the Open Syllabus Project we used multiple linear regression.22 In the case of comparing what works of Victorian literature are J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 9 read by a general audience, taught in the college classroom, or written about in peer- reviewed venues by academics, we would predict that the more often university professors teach a book, or the more they write about it, the more social media users would report reading it on Goodreads. In some cases, as we will see below in the cases of William Morris and George Meredith, this is wishful thinking. However, for the most part, the books readers report reading on Goodreads are the same books we teach and publish on; only 27 out of 203 titles, or 13% of the books included in our study were outliers in the statistical sense of having standardised residuals with magnitude above 1.96 or below -1.96. The gender of the author or the protagonist was not a factor overall in determining which books were read, taught or studied (see Appendix for regression results). In most cases, regardless of the gender of the author or the book’s protagonist, a book was read about as often as it was taught or studied. However, the main audience of the book did have some influence, with books with a mainly adult audience being written about more often in peer-reviewed venues. Simple multiple linear regression identifies which books are outliers in terms of being read much more often than we would predict for how often they are taught, or read much more often than we would predict given how often they are the subject of peer-reviewed articles (as an approximate guide, the points representing these books on the scatterplot fall far outside the line, although they were detected from their scores as residuals from the regression equations). It also allows us to determine which books are taught or written about in the academy more often than we would predict given how often they are read by general readers. In order to determine the relationship between what academics write about in peer- reviewed articles and what a more general audience reads, we conducted an ordinary least squares regression of (log) Goodreads readers against (log) MLA subject tags, with audience (adult/children), main character (female/male) and author (female/male) as additional independent variables. In this particular dataset the gender of the authors was relatively straightforward. We marked a book as a work of children’s literature if one of the top ten user-determined tags on Goodreads put the work in this category. The gender of the protagonist was more ambiguous, and we omitted works in which it was unclear whether a male or female character was the protagonist. The purpose of this regression was to assess whether these factors systematically influenced the relationship between the number of Goodreads readers T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 10 and the MLA citations. The residuals were close to normal, there was evidence of only minor heteroscedasticity and negligible collinearity, so the results are reasonably statistically robust, except that some of the books are related (they have the same author) and their residuals may therefore not be independent. Our results showed that books had relatively few Goodreads readers given the number of articles published on them in the MLA if the audience was adult and the author was female, but more Goodreads readers if the main character was female. Only the first (adult audience) achieved statistical significance (p=0.05), however, so it is reasonably likely that the character (p=0.91) and author (p=0.89) gender associations in the data are due to chance factors. In order to determine the relationship between what we teach and what a general audience reads, we also conducted an ordinary least squares multiple linear regression conducted of (log) Goodreads readers against (log) Open Syllabus citations, with audience (adult/children), main character (female/male) and author (female/male) as additional independent variables. Books when one of these factors was unclear (e.g., multi-gender main characters or none) were omitted. The purpose of this regression was to assess whether these factors systematically influenced the relationship between the number of Goodreads readers and the Open Syllabus mentions. The residuals were reasonably close to normal, there was evidence of very minor heteroscedasticity and negligible collinearity, so the results are reasonably statistically robust, except that some of the books are related (same author) and their residuals may therefore not be independent. None of the gender and audience variables came close to achieving statistical significance (p>0.2 in all cases) and so there may well not be a general trend for any of these factors to lead to relatively many or few Open Syllabus mentions compared to Goodreads readers. The chart below compares the number of times the books in our study have been read on Goodreads (y-axis, running vertically), to the number of times they have been taught (x-axis, running horizontally). Those books that are read corresponding to how much we would predict given how often they are taught follow the line through the centre of the graph. Good examples of books that follow the predicted trajectory, being read commensurate to how often they are taught include Edward J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 11 Lear’s “The Owl and the Pussycat” and Trollope’s Can You Forgive Her? To give an intuitive visual impression of the outliers, those that are read less often than we would predict given how often they are taught tend to occur towards the top left of the graph, and those that are taught less often than we would predict given how often they are read tend to occur towards the bottom right of the graph, although they were identified as outliers from their regression residuals rather than their position on the graph. Figure 2. Works of Victorian literature that are read by a general audience (y-axis) versus those that are taught (x- axis). Log-log analysis. Graphs converted to a log-log scale, with works mentioned in the text of the article labelled. See Appendix for regression statistics. The orange regression line predictions ignore audience age, author gender and main character gender. Outliers are in yellow. Those outliers that are read less often than we would predict given how often they are taught appear towards the top left of the graph, and those that are taught less often than we would predict given how often they are read appear towards the bottom right of the graph. T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 12 Although, overall, the works of literature are read by a general audience about as often as they are taught, a few key patterns emerge from the top outliers, which are read more by a popular audience. The works that are outliers are represented by yellow points in the graph: Oscar Wilde, “The Canterville Ghost,” Wuthering Heights, The Secret Garden, A Little Princess, Alice in Wonderland, A Tale of Two Cities, Jane Eyre, The Professor, and Tess of the D’Urbervilles. This small sample is used here to draw qualitative insights and the conclusions are limited in generalisability from a quantitative perspective as a result. First, all of these works, with the exception of “The Canterville Ghost,” are novels. Second, children’s literature (three out of nine, compared to 12% of the overall list) and novels with a strong female protagonist are strong presences on the list (six out of nine, 66.7%, compared to 31% of the overall list), and five out of nine books (55.6%) are by women writers (55.6% compared to 20% of the overall list). Third, the inclusion of “The Canterville Ghost” and The Professor, which academics would traditionally consider minor works by Charlotte Brontë and Oscar Wilde, suggests that readers may be beginning with well-known works by these authors (for example, Jane Eyre and The Picture of Dorian Gray) and working their way through an author’s corpus. In the initial stages of this work, we had hoped to be able to test this hypothesis using reading patterns among Goodreads users who have joined a group devoted to Victorian literature, but not enough readers included the date read for each book marked as read for us to be able to determine whether they started with Jane Eyre and then moved on to Villette and The Professor, for example. This may change in the future as Goodreads accrues more data on reading habits. However, the sheer numbers of readers attracted by certain authors are suggestive. Indeed, the 203 Victorian works with more than 1,000 ratings on Goodreads included 19 works by Dickens, 16 by Wilde, 15 by Trollope, 14 by Arthur Conan Doyle, 14 by Hardy, 13 by H. G. Wells, and 10 by George MacDonald, suggesting that readers went deep into the catalogues of certain authors. Taken together, these seven (male) authors wrote 49% of books in our study. In contrast to the books which are outliers with a general audience, which are dominated by children’s literature and novels by women writers or with strong female protagonists, those that are statistical outliers in terms of being taught more often than they are read include poetry and non-fiction prose. These works are: J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 13 Matthew Arnold, “Dover Beach”, William Morris, News from Nowhere, John Henry Newman, Apologia Pro Vita Sua, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh. Looking at the scatterplot (figure 2), although they are not technically statistical outliers, Hard Times, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and The Importance of Being Earnest are also favourite works inside the classroom but less so with a general audience given how often they are taught. We might suspect that relatively short length of these works—Hard Times is Dickens’s shortest novel— combined with important themes in Victorian studies, including the Industrial Revolution, degeneration theory, and decadence, accounts for their popularity in the classroom. A second chart compares how many general readers a book attracts on Goodreads (y-axis running vertically) to how often these works are written about in the MLA bibliography (x-axis running horizontally). This model fits slightly better than the previous one, explaining 47.8% of the variance in the data compared to 46.9% for the syllabus mode (see Appendix A), although the difference is too small to draw conclusions from. Here again, we would emphasize that most works are read in proportion with how often they are written about; good examples of books that closely follow the regression line include Anthony Trollope’s Doctor Thorne and Thomas Hardy’s Under the Greenwood Tree. There is a strong overlap between those works of literature that are outliers in terms of being written about in peer- reviewed venues less than they are read by a general audience and those that are taught but not read, with the exception that George Meredith’s The Egoist replaces Cardinal Newman’s Apologia Pro Vita Sua on the list of what academics write about. T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 14 Figure 3. Books that are read by a general audience according to Goodreads (y-axis) versus those that are written about in peer-reviewed work indexed by the MLA bibliography (x-axis). Graph converted to a log-log scale with works mentioned in the text of the article labelled. See Appendix for regression statistics. The orange regression line predictions account for audience age (statistically significant) but ignores author gender and main character gender. Outliers are in yellow. Those outliers that are read more often than we would predict given how often they written about in the MLA bibliography appear towards the top left of the graph, and those that are read less often than we would predict given how often they are written about in the MLA bibliography appear towards the bottom right of the graph. It is worth noting, as well, that although they are not statistical outliers in our model, Tennyson’s In Memoriam, Olive Schreiner’s Story of an African Farm, and William Makepeace Thackeray’s Barry Lyndon all appear in the top ten books that are not frequently read by a general audience given how often they are studied or taught. A Venn diagram demonstrates the strong overlap between these two lists of the top ten works that are written about by academics and the top ten works that are taught more J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 15 in the college classroom often than we would predict given how much they are read. On the right are the books that are taught more than read, on the left are books that are written about more than read, and in the middle are those that appear on both lists. Figure 4. Books that are more popular in the academy. The left-hand circle shows those books that are read less often than we would predict given how often than they are taught, the right-hand circle shows those books that are read less often than we would predict given how often they are the subject of peer-reviewed work. The overlap between the two circles shows those books that fall on both lists. Looking above the regression line on figure 3 (MLA subject tags versus Goodreads ratings) tells us which works of Victorian literature are read more often than we would predict given how often academics write about them in peer-reviewed journals. These works are: The Secret Garden, A Little Princess, Black Beauty, A Tale of Two Cities, A Christmas Carol, Treasure Island, The Lost World. These outliers are mainly works of children’s literature or works that have a strong history of being adapted for children and young adults. The popularity of children’s literature with a general audience is the flipside of our finding that an academic audience is more likely to write about adult literature. Indeed, for many Victorian authors, their work for children is the most popular on Goodreads; Charles T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 16 Kingsley’s most read work is The Water-Babies, John Ruskin’s is The King of the Golden River, and Ouida’s is A Dog of Flanders. Just as there is a strong overlap between which books are popular inside the academy (those that are more often written about and taught than read); there is a strong overlap between the top ten outliers of books that are read more often by a general audience than we would predict given how often they are taught and written about. A Venn diagram shows the overlap between the top ten works that are more popular with general readers than they are in the college classroom and the top ten works that are more popular with general readers than they are in peer-reviewed scholarship. Figure 5. Books that are more popular with a general audience. The left hand circle shows those books that are read more often than we would predict given how often they are the subject of peer-reviewed work, the right hand circle shows those books that are read more often than we would predict given how often they are taught, the center shows the overlap between the two (works that are more popular on Goodreads than they are in the classroom or in peer-reviewed publications). Three patterns emerge from these two lists of books that are more popular outside of the academy than they are inside it: first, Victorian children’s literature remains popular; second, books with a strong female protagonist are popular; and third, J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 17 Goodreads readers seem to choose their reading according to author to some extent, with even minor works by Oscar Wilde and Charlotte Brontë being read more often than we would predict given how often they are taught or written about. The Secret Garden, A Little Princess, Alice in Wonderland, Black Beauty and Treasure Island are all readily classified as works from the Golden Age of children’s literature, which roughly coincides with the Victorian era. The two works by Dickens, in particular A Christmas Carol, have a strong history of adaptation for children; in her work on crossover fiction, Sandra Beckett suggests that Charles Dickens’s most famous novels “were written for adults, but were popular with readers of all ages.”23 Beckett also suggests that Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre have “long been among the first adult novels to be read by adolescents.”24 This long history of novels by Dickens and the Brontë sisters as works for children and young adults bolsters our sense that children’s literature is an important category for works of Victorian literature that continue to be popular. Written reviews on Goodreads In the second part of this essay, we turn to an analysis of the top 100 written reviews of Jane Eyre, A Tale of Two Cities, and The Secret Garden—all works that were top outliers in terms of being more popular than we would predict with a general audience given how often they are taught or written about—in order to glean further insight into what continues to attract general readers to these books.25 Overall, we find that characters are the most important attraction for Goodreads users in any book; we also find that pre-existing expectations about a book’s genre may be important in determining reader responses, with readers commenting extensively on the romance plot in Jane Eyre (but not the protagonist’s childhood) and on the children’s moral growth in The Secret Garden. We used the qualitative analysis software NVivo, which offers a free educational license, to facilitate our reading of the reviews. NVivo offered us two main advantages over pen and paper: first, it allowed us to automatically code for word frequency, which was useful, for example, when we wanted to see how many readers of The Professor mentioned Jane Eyre or Villette in their reviews, in order to determine whether the decision to read Brontë’s least-known novel was influenced T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 18 by having read her more well-known works.26 Second, when we read through and coded by hand for concepts and themes that are not easily captured by word frequency, for example, the idea that The Professor was a practice novel for Villette or Jane Eyre, NVivo kept an automatic tally for us of the number of times that we encoded this concept and allowed us to pull up these quotations again instantly, which helped us to ensure consistency in the kinds of quotations we coded under different themes.27 That said, despite our reliance on software and numbers, this close reading is still an interpretative act based on the model we have constructed: not everyone will agree, for example, that a reference to Dickens’s “masterful storytelling” in A Tale of Two Cities should be encoded as a positive reference to the way the novel is plotted, to take one of our more ambiguous examples. We readily acknowledge that written reviews of literature can be ambiguous, but methodologically speaking, we hope that attempting to quantify mentions of certain themes across 100 reviews can help us move beyond an impressionistic reading to a more systematized one. For example, one theme that we had expected (or hoped?) would come up in written reviews was the continued relevance of Victorian literature in the twenty-first century. This theme did crop up, but only in 17/85 reviews of A Secret Garden, 12/92 in Jane Eyre, and 1/80 in A Tale of Two Cities.28 Had we not been keeping tally, we might have been tempted to overemphasize the significance of these responses. As the word frequency across written reviews indicated, “character” emerged as the central way that readers engaged with Victorian literature.29 This result dovetails with Deidre Lynch’s argument that “In the late twentieth-century, after all, it is (still) the time that we spend with characters that matters the most to many readers.”30 Data from Goodreads indicates that this continues to be the case in the twenty-first century. However, readers used different frameworks to interpret characters depending on the author. Readers of A Tale of Two Cities (1859) framed their experience of Dickens’s historical novel in terms of how much they liked the characters and how real or well- rounded the characters felt to the reader (40/80 mentions), the dark themes raised by the historical setting of the French revolution (36/80 mentions), and the novel’s plot (30/80 mentions). Although many reviews mentioned the names of various characters in Dickens’s novel, we only encoded a reference to the importance of J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 19 Dickens’s characters when the reviewer included a meta-reflection on the characters in general, e.g. The novel has “a cast of quirky characters only Dickens could create.”31 Comments on Goodreads reveal the persistent influence of E. M. Forster’s distinction between flat characters, or those “constructed round a single idea or quality,” and round characters, who “cannot be summed up in a single phrase” and are capable of surprising us.32 While Forster argues that flat characters are useful, for most contemporary readers the term flat character is negative and the term round character is positive. Readers who commented on Dickens’s characters for the most part enjoyed them (25/40 comments were positive). The positive comments referred to characters as “memorable,” “exceptional,” “vivid,” and “amazingly life-like”; these readers noted that they came to care deeply for the characters and that they felt real.33 The influence of Forster becomes especially evident in the negative assessments of Dickens’s characters, which reviewers refer to as “not fully developed,” lacking in “depth” or “roundness” “two-dimensional” “one- dimensional” or “superficially-drawn.” More mixed or neutral reviewers noted that they didn’t feel an “emotional tug” toward any character until the end, or that “resplendent” female characters like Madame Defarge made up for “insipid” ones like Lucie Mannette.34 Readers’ pleasure in the roundedness, or mixed nature of the characters was echoed in their taking pleasure in the mixed nature of the themes that Dickens deals with in A Tale of Two Cities. Thirty-six of eighty reviews in English mentioned the dark themes that Dickens explores in the novel; more than a third of the reviewers (16/36) who mentioned the novel’s dark themes mentioned that Dickens juxtaposes these dark themes with uplifting themes in the same breath. As one reviewer put it: Dickens “crafts a tale of sacrifice and redemption set against the bleak background of the French Revolution”; another rather pithily wrote: “It's got love, sacrifice, revenge, revolt and other exciting verbs!” Finally, readers of A Tale of Two Cities were likely to comment on the plot of the novel (30/80 mentions).35 While many reviewers offered some plot summary as part of their review, we only encoded a review as mentioning plot if it was referenced on a meta-level, e.g. the book was “tightly-plotted.” Reviewers were mainly positive about the plot of A Tale of Two Cities, with 83% (25/30) of those who mentioned it commending Dickens’s storyline. As one reviewer put it: “One thing I love is T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 20 [Dickens’s] ability to create a perfect storyline. Everything in this book fits together in the end like a perfect, intricate puzzle.” Of all the books we analyzed written reviews of in detail, reviewers of A Tale of Two Cities were most likely to comment on whether they found the book challenging to read; as one reviewer commented, “It was as if the book was a thick piece of fabric, and I was a needle that was trying to break through to the other side.”36 At this time, no concrete data is available on how often A Tale of Two Cities is assigned in the high school classroom, but we might suspect that how often it is taught in secondary school accounts for the novel’s popularity with a general audience. Indeed, Goodreads users were likely to tag it as required-reading for school, with “school” as the thirteenth most popular tag for the book (608 tags).37 Character continued to be a salient theme for readers of Jane Eyre, although instead of thinking of Brontë’s characters in terms of flat and round characters, the top 100 written reviews emphasize Jane’s love story and its attendant passionate emotions (47/92 reviews written in English), as well as her role as a strong female heroine (40/92 reviews). These were usually but not always positive elements of the novel for readers. Typical positive comments about the courtship plot include: “I will return to this book if I ever become doubtful of true romantic love” and “I ended up being a sucker for the romantic subplot in this book, too, even though I can see how many terrible, wrong, bad choices the love interest made”; a more negative reviewer noted: “I never bought the romance between Jane and Mr. Rochester.” A much more universally appreciated theme than the romance plot was Jane Eyre’s role as a strong female heroine. As one reviewer put it: “Once you get to make the acquaintance of courageous, zealous, outspoken, energetic, intelligent, principled, respectable Jane, you are bound to remember her forever.” For almost all of the forty reviewers who mentioned Jane as a strong female heroine, the protagonist was a proto-feminist, though two readers expressed some reservation at this idea. One reviewer questioned: “What is it about Jane Eyre that seems to be an educated female rite of passage? I was somewhat looking forward to this book as it's an example of a strong woman who knows herself, but no.”38 More than a quarter of reviews (24/92) mentioned that Jane Eyre was a novel they had or would reread. One element that readers did not focus on was Jane’s childhood, J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 21 which takes up the whole first volume of the three-volume novel, but received only 12 mentions in 92 reviews. To put this another way, “Rochester” was mentioned more than ten times as often in written reviews (429 times in 300 reviews) as “Reed” (42 times in 300 reviews). It is interesting to note that childhood was not a theme readers chose to comment on given the general popularity of children’s literature on Goodreads. Reviewers of A Secret Garden were also most likely to mention characters as a major element in their reading of the novel, but they framed this discussion in terms of character development and childhood rather than love, feminism, or flatness and roundness. Goodreads reviewers were just as likely to comment on the character development of the two child protagonists, Mary and Colin (36 mentions), as they were on whether or not they had read the novel in their own childhood. For readers, this character development was tied to the theme of nature in the book (25 mentions), with many reviewers (though not all) explicitly connecting the growth of Mary and Collin to the growth of the secret garden. As one reviewer commented, “In contrast to the traditional Victorian literary trope of angelic children, the two main protagonists in The Secret Garden are extremely unlikable; yet despite, or even because of their flaws, they are able to heal others--and themselves”. Some reviewers expressed skepticism about the transformative power of the garden; as one reviewer noted: “If you are ugly, sick, bad-tempered, and nasty, you can become beautiful, healthy, happy, and nice, and all it takes is the fresh clean air of the Yorkshire moors and the companionship of people of an inferior class (as long as they are white and very, very clean)”. Twenty-first century readers were not enamoured of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s racism, with nine reviewers mentioning it explicitly. Some readers were forgiving. As one reviewer from India put it: “Except for the persistent India bashing, I loved this book. In fact Mistress Mary, I loved the ending so much that I forgive your English superiority complex. Next time you visit here though, allow me to take you on the ride across India, I hope your impression will change.” Others were less forgiving, as one reviewer noted of her poor impression of the book: “the casual racism didn't make things much better. like I GET IT this is an old book but that doesn't mean I have to like it.”39 T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 22 The popularity of The Secret Garden with a general audience suggests the continued importance of the Golden Age of children’s literature in determining which works of long nineteenth-century literature readers turn to. One of the most remarked-on themes in Goodreads reviews of The Secret Garden was whether or not the user had read the book as a child, with 36/87 reviews alluding to the book’s status as beloved childhood reading, whether they had read it during their childhood or not. Indeed, of the reviewers that remarked on the books status as childhood reading, almost a third (11/36) explicitly stated that they had not read the book in their childhood; as one reviewer noted: “I seem to be the only woman I know who didn't read and cherish this book as a child. So I decided to see what all the fuss was about.” More than one reviewer mentioned owning and rereading the same copy since childhood; one reviewer mentioned his delight at regaining a copy that he had given away to his cousins in Singapore, another wrote of her childhood copy “I read the book to bits (I still have a copy held together with brown tape)”. Some readers who had not read The Secret Garden as children mentioned being familiar with the story through having seen the film as children. For the most part, these reviewers seemed to be referencing the 1993 film directed by Agnieszka Holland. Indeed, the two film versions of books by Frances Hodgson Burnett released in the 1990s, Holland’s The Secret Garden and A Little Princess (1995, directed by Alfonso Cuarón) may be a large part of what is attracting general readers to her work. Frances Hodgson Burnett is not alone in being adapted for film and television. With the exception of The Professor, all of the works of literature that are more popular with a general audience than they are in the classroom or in peer-reviewed articles have been adapted for a visual medium. But, perhaps surprisingly, in a search for the words “movie,” film,” “DVD,” “TV,” and “television” across 300 written reviews for the twelve outliers that are popular with a general audience, these words showed up most frequently in A Little Princess (140 times). A Little Princess outpaced even A Christmas Carol (126 mentions) for mentions of words related to adaptation. Treasure Island (113 mentions) also had significant mentions of these words; after Treasure Island there is a steep drop-off to The Lost World (71 mentions) and Jane Eyre (55 mentions). Black Beauty (19 mentions) and “The Canterville Ghost” (15 mentions) have the fewest mentions of film or television of those works that have been adapted.40 Frances Hodgson Burnett’s continued J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 23 popularity in particular seems traceable to film adaptations from the 1990s rather than the classroom.41 Limitations Perhaps the largest limitation of this study is that data from Goodreads cannot tell us much about the way that people read Victorian poetry, essays, short stories or other commonly anthologized pieces now. We have not excluded sage writing, plays, and poems from our data as the results may still be of interest; nor did including them change which novels were statistical outliers. However, we would need a different model to study these works in-depth. The affordances of Goodreads—including the ability to add books to the database by barcode and ISBN—encourage users to rate single works by a single author that fall between two covers. Leah Price’s work on the novel and the anthology suggests that general readers know most of their Victorian poetry through anthologies. Price writes that in Britain “anthologies count among the only volumes of poetry that even stand a chance at mass-market success” while in North America “the economics of college survey courses have made ‘poem’ nearly synonymous with ‘anthology-piece.’”42 Furthermore, it is difficult to compare numbers on poems across our data sources. For example, the anthology Love Poems: A Collection of Heart-Felt Verses (68,647 ratings on Goodreads), which includes poetry by Tennyson as well as Byron, Shelley, Shakespeare and Blake, is popular, but the total number of ratings on Goodreads does not tell us how many people were reading Tennyson’s “Mariana” in particular. Similarly, Christina Rossetti’s Complete Poems is the furthest outlier in terms of books that are taught but not written about, likely because we teach by anthology. Browning’s “My Last Duchess” is the sixteenth most taught work on English syllabi on Open Syllabus, but the 297 ratings for the individual poem on Goodreads likely underestimates the total number of general readers. A different model—perhaps looking at the number of hits that a poem gets on Poetry.org—could give us a much better idea of which Victorian poems continue to be read today. As well, given that we only scraped data on a handful of Victorian poets and sage writers for this study and mainly focused on authors of fiction in Chadwyck-Healey (some of whom, like Charlotte and Emily Brontë also wrote poetry), a more extensive study T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 24 of these writers would take a different starting point for authors considered—perhaps those poets commonly anthologized. A second limitation of this study is that although the authors that we scraped data on were all from the Chadwyck-Healey database of Victorian fiction, the results do not exclusively focus on what is being taught in the Victorian studies classroom or written about by Victorianists. Because we scraped data by author (as opposed to date), the works we collected include Edwardian works by those whose lives and careers spanned the early twentieth century, including Frances Hodgson Burnett and H. G. Wells. Thus, some works studied more properly belong to the long nineteenth century, though the Victorian era was our starting point. Open Syllabus and the MLA bibliography do not parse their data by subfield. In other words, while we can filter the results from Open Syllabus to show only works taught on English literature syllabi, we cannot filter to what is being taught on Victorian studies syllabi. Edwin A. Abbot’s Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions (1884) has 27 citations on the MLA bibliography and 42,000 ratings on Goodreads. It is viewed as an early masterpiece of speculative fiction, but it is also a Wildean satire of Victorian society. At least some, if not the majority, of the 59 results for Flatland on Open Syllabus are likely to be from speculative fiction classes, but at this point we cannot determine how many. Similarly, we looked at all peer-reviewed works in our study, not just those in Victorian studies journals. Eight of 12 peer-reviewed articles on George MacDonald’s best-known work, The Princess and the Goblin appeared in the George MacDonald journal, The Northwind, three appeared in children’s literature journals, and one in The Journal of English Language and Literature. No peer- reviewed articles listing The Princess and the Goblin as a keyword subject appeared in a general Victorian studies journal. Although George MacDonald (1824-1905) is a Victorian author, and one who is still widely read, he is not in the mainstream of Victorian studies. A third limitation of this study is that although we may have suspicions about why Victorianists write about authors like William Morris more than the general public reads them, or why books like Aurora Leigh and Apologia Pro Vita Sua are more often taught than read, this particular data set tells us little about why academics favour the books they do. (To answer that question, we might perform a text analysis of articles written by academics.) While, in order to further explore the reasons J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 25 behind the preferences of general readers, we were able to look at written reviews of books on Goodreads, to analyze the preferences of academic readers, we would need to undertake a different strategy, such as analyzing co-taught works on syllabi or surveying Victorianists. In other words, although our model does offer us glimpses of the specialist in Victorian literature and those works she writes about and teaches, this particular study does not offer us concrete data as to why certain works are favoured.43 A fourth and final limitation of our dataset is that it cannot tell us how reading, teaching, and writing about Victorian literature have changed over time. While dates of publication are available for works catalogued in the MLA bibliography, the dates that books were taught are not available on the Open Syllabus Project, and, as discussed above, data on the dates that social media users read books is currently too incomplete on Goodreads to make meaningful conclusions.44 While we may have a hunch about why academics cherish works like News from Nowhere and Apologia Pro Vita Sua, which fail to catch on with a general audience, we do not at this point have any concrete data that could tell us why this is so. Conclusion While there has been influential work on the Victorian common reader (Altick, Flint), there has been surprisingly little work on the preferences of the late twentieth and twenty-first century common reader who continues to enjoy nineteenth-century literature.45 For the most part, the academic studies that venture explanations for the continued popularity of certain Victorian novels are on heritage film adaptations of novels by the Brontës, Dickens, and Austen, rather than on how contemporary readers consume the books themselves.46 This study offers a data-rich analysis of reader preferences inside and outside of the academy. In an era of declining enrollments in historical English courses, it is important for those of us who teach and research these subjects to understand the way we read Victorian literature now.47 The foremost finding of our study is that there is a strong correlation between what works of Victorian literature we teach and write about in the academy and what works are still read by a popular audience. We might find this correlation worrying, T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 26 suggesting as it does that a relatively small number of Victorian authors and books are read at all. In his work on canon formation, John Guillory argues that the "social function and institutional protocols of the school" helps us to understand how works of literature "are preserved, reproduced, and disseminated over successive generations and centuries."48 While our data set only shows that there is a correlation between reader preferences inside and outside of the academy, and not that the academy determines reader preferences, we might take the 203 books that were widely read, taught and written about to be a contemporary canon. Looking at Romantic and World literature, David Damrosch suggests that there is a hypercanon, (those authors like William Wordsworth who have been popular since literary study was established as a discipline and by the numbers are only getting more so), a countercanon (authors like Felicia Hemans who have been brought in to diversify the white, male hypercanon), and a shadow canon (authors like William Hazlitt who were once considered “minor” authors and are increasingly fading from view).49 The strong correlation between what we read, teach, and write about suggests that such a hypercanon, half of which is populated by seven male authors on Goodreads, may also define Victorian literature across three different spheres. If our goal in researching and teaching Victorian literature and culture is to gain and impart a broad understanding of the era and its continued relevance, the hypercanon, which focuses our attention on a select few authors and texts, is certainly limiting. However, looking at those works which were outliers in terms of being read more by a general audience, which tended to be works featuring a strong female protagonist and works of children’s literature, as well as “minor” works by major authors, may offer us a way of diversifying our syllabi and attracting more students. For example, we might capitalize on the continued popularity of Jane Eyre by offering a course that compares Brontë’s novel to other countercanonical novels with strong female heroines and love plots, such as Margaret Oliphant’s Phoebe Junior (1876) or Dinah Craik’s Olive (1850). Our results also suggest that Victorian children’s literature has an outsized popularity with a general audience, and that we might incorporate more children’s literature into standard Victorian studies syllabi both in order to draw students and to enrich our understanding of the time period. There is no reason that children’s literature needs to be relegated to special courses on that topic: reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland alongside Oliver Twist or Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s “The Cry of the Children” would certainly help J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 27 students gain a broader appreciation of Victorian childhood than reading only books meant for “grownups.” Like single-author dissertations, single-author courses are not seen as cutting edge, but general readers’ appetites for works like The Professor or “The Canterville Ghost” might lead us to believe that there would be an audience for these minor works by major authors, which could be taught alongside or instead of Jane Eyre or The Picture of Dorian Gray. Taking the written reviews of popular novels on Goodreads seriously may also lead us to different teaching strategies once the syllabus is set. Contemporary reviewers on Goodreads have much in common with Merve Emre’s “bad readers,” that is, postwar American readers “socialized into the practices of readerly identification, emotion, action, and interaction.”50 Readerly identification, reading for character, and reading for plot have all been dismissed as unacademic forms of reading (see Brooks, Green, and Lynch), but as our analysis of the written reviews shows, these forms of reading clearly persist among general readers.51 When we assign long novels, we might consider having students follow a minor character as a way of formalizing the investment that many readers already have in them, as Joyce Huff does when she asks students to create a digital commonplace book for one of the characters in David Copperfield.52 It might be particularly important for us focus on plot in teaching Dickens, who was the author Goodreads reviewers most appreciated for his ingenious storylines. We might also consider allowing space for a discussion of whether students identify with a character like Jane Eyre, contextualizing this discussion with theoretical work on the history of readerly identification (Green) and the psychology of reading (Auyoung). Finally, our study suggests that the taste of twenty-first century readers in Victorian literature may broadly reflect taste in literature more generally, as readers (who read almost exclusively novels) are attracted to literature for young adults and children. In another study, we found that novels written by women authors in the YA and classic genre dominated the books that the members of the fifty most popular book clubs on Goodreads were likely to have read. The top fourteen authors—in order of popularity: JK Rowling, Suzanne Collins, Stephanie Meyer, George Orwell, Harper Lee, Stephen King, John Green, JRR Tolkien, Jane Austen, Dan Brown, F Scott Fitzgerald, Shakespeare, Neil Gaiman, and Veronica Roth—included eight women. While this is still only 57% of authors, it is a world away from university English T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 28 literature syllabi where only 27% of writers assigned are women.53 Of the top nineteen novels—all seven books in the Harry Potter series, the three books in The Hunger Games series, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, The Fault in Our Stars, Pride and Prejudice, 1984, The Hobbit, Animal Farm, and The Catcher in The Rye—thirteen were written by women and another thirteen have a young adult or child protagonist, in large part due to the popularity of series of young adult fiction written by women. In this study of the habits of book club readers, the only popular work of literature that was not a novel was The Diary of Anne Frank. With its focus on a teenage girl in Nazi-occupied Holland, Frank’s diary has thematic similarities with the dystopia of The Hunger Games, despite its very different origins. By the same token, although members of groups on Goodreads dedicated to reading nineteenth-century literature were less likely to have read The Hunger Games than the average reader, we can certainly trace thematic similarities between dystopian young adult fiction and Tess of the D’Urbervilles or Wuthering Heights. It may also be that the rise of young adult fiction is part of the same zeitgeist that draws general readers to Treasure Island, Black Beauty, or A Little Princess. As we move consider the place of Victorian literature in the twenty-first century, looking at the habits of general readers may lead us to reconsider the place of these popular works in our syllabi and our research. Acknowledgments Thanks to John Brosz, Kelly Hager, Sonia Jarmula, Christopher Keep, Paul Pival, and the editor and peer reviewers at Cultural Analytics. J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 29 Appendix: Regression results Regression 1 An ordinary least squares multiple linear regression was conducted (in SPSS) of (log) Goodreads readers against (log) MLA subject tags with audience (adults/children), main character (female/male) and author (female/male) as additional independent variables. Books in which one of these factors was unclear (e.g., multi-gender main characters or none) were omitted. This regression assessed whether these factors systematically influenced the relationship between the number of Goodreads readers and the MLA citations. The residuals were close to normal, there was evidence of only minor heteroscedasticity and negligible collinearity, so the results are reasonably statistically robust, except that some of the books are related (same author) and their residuals may therefore not be independent. From the results, books attracted relatively few Goodreads readers for their MLA subject tags if the audience was adult or the author was female, but relatively many if the main character was female. Only the first (adult audience) achieved statistically significance (p=0.05), however, so it is reasonably likely that the character (p=0.91) and author (p=0.89) gender associations in the data are due to chance factors. Table A1 Regression 1 results (1=adult, 0=children; or 1=Female, 0=male). Dependent variable: Ln(Goodreads readers +1). Effect Estimate SE 95% CI p Collinearity statistics LL UL Tolerance VIF Intercept 7.573 .327 6.932 8.214 .000 Ln(MLA tags +1) .763 .062 0.641 0.885 .000 .916 1.092 Audience age -.781 .304 -1.377 -0.185 .011 .994 1.006 Main character gender .026 .232 -0.429 0.481 .912 .756 1.323 Author gender -.037 .269 -0.564 0.490 .890 .779 1.284 Note. Number of studies = 203. CI = confidence interval; LL = lower limit; UL = upper limit. Fit statistic: R2=0.478. T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 30 Regression 2 An ordinary least squares multiple linear regression was conducted of (log) Goodreads readers against(log) Open Syllabus mentions, with audience (adults/children), main character (female/male) and author (female/male) as additional independent variables. Books in which one of these factors was unclear (e.g., multi-gender main characters or none) were omitted. The regression assessed whether these factors systematically influenced the relationship between the number of Goodreads readers and the Open Syllabus mentions. As for regression 1, the residuals were reasonably close to normal, there was evidence of very minor heteroscedasticity and negligible collinearity, so the results are reasonably statistically robust, except that some of the books are related (same author) and their residuals may therefore not be independent. None of the gender and audience variables came close to achieving statistical significance (p>0.2 in all cases) and so there may well not be a general trend for any of these factors to lead to relatively many or few Open Syllabus mentions compared to Goodreads readers. Table A2 Regression 2 results (1=adult, 0=children; or 1=female, 0=male). Dependent variable: Ln(Goodreads readers +1). Effect Estimate SE 95% CI p Collinearity statistics LL UL Tolerance VIF Intercept 7.048 .353 6.356 7.740 .000 Ln(Syllabus citations +1) .639 .053 0.535 0.743 .000 .974 1.026 Audience age -.386 .307 -0.988 0.216 .210 .989 1.011 Main character gender .280 .231 -0.173 0.733 .227 .776 1.289 Author gender .198 .270 -0.331 0.727 .463 .787 1.270 Note. Number of studies = 203. CI = confidence interval; LL = lower limit; UL = upper limit. Fit statistic: R2=0.469. J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 31 Notes 1 See Rebecca Mead, My Life in Middlemarch (Toronto: Random House Canada, 2018) and Nell Stevens, Mrs. Gaskell and Me (London: Pan Macmillan UK, 2018). 2 Simone Murray, The Digital Literary Sphere: Reading, Writing and Selling Books in the Internet Era (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2018), 118. 3 Lynne Tatlock, Matt Erlin, Stephen Pentecost, and Douglas Knox, "Crossing Over: Gendered Reading Formations at the Muncie Public Library, 1891-1902," Journal of Cultural Analytics. March 22, 2018. DOI: 10.31235/osf.io/k29bw 4 For information on the habits of Goodreads book club members, see Mike Thelwall and Karen Bourrier, “The Reading Background of Goodreads Book Club Members: A Female Fiction Canon?” Journal of Documentation 75, no. 5 (2019): 1139-1161. 5 For example, a study recently found that at McGill, English literature syllabi were 73% male authors and 27% female. See “Investigating Topic Bias and Gender Representation in Syllabi,” Txtlab.org, ed. Andrew Piper. Last modified January 12, 2018. https://txtlab.org/2018/01/investigating-topic-bias-and-gender-representation-in-syllabi/. Piper also finds that 33 authors are the topic of more than twenty percent of articles and book chapters listed in the MLA bibliography. Only four of these authors are women, and only one (W.E.B DuBois) was not white. See Piper, “Think Small: On Literary Modeling.” PMLA 132, no. 3 (May 2017): 651. 6 Ted Underwood, “A Genealogy of Distant Reading,” Digital Humanities Quarterly 11, no. 2 (June 2017): para. 13,15. 7 Alison Booth, “Mid-Range Reading: Not a Manifesto.” PMLA 132, no. 3 (May 2017): 620–27. 8 “Nineteenth-Century Fiction,” Chadwyck-Healey. Accessed March 22, 2018. http:collections.chadwyck.com. 9 We extracted this data in May 2018 using the free Webometric Analyst (lexiurl.wlv.ac.uk) software crawling Goodreads, with a maximum of one page per second to avoid overloading the servers. Authors in addition to Chadwyck-Healey were: Matthew Arnold, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Robert Browning, Thomas Carlyle, Dinah Craik, Christina Rossetti and John Ruskin. We excluded multi-author anthologies from our results, for example, collections of Christmas Tales or ghost stories by several Victorian authors. 10 In this particular dataset the gender of the authors was relatively straightforward. The gender of the protagonist was more ambiguous, but did not turn out to have a statistically significant effect overall. 11 Open Syllabus Project. The American Assembly at Columbia University, accessed June 3, 2018, http://opensyllabusproject.org/. 12 These numbers were current as of June 3, 2018, when we manually looked up each individual work of literature in these two databases. In doing so we combined titles of different editions, so that Vanity Fair and Vanity Fair: A Novel without a Hero, were both counted as the same novel. 13 “Goodreads Traffic Card,” Quantcast, accessed September 28, 2018, https://www.quantcast.com/goodreads.com#trafficCard. 14 Lisa Nakamura, “‘Words with Friends’: Socially Networked Reading on Goodreads,” PMLA 128, no. 1 (January 2013): 241. T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 32 15 See Stefan Dimitrov, Faiyaz Zamal, Andrew Piper, and Derek Ruths. “Goodreads vs Amazon: The Effect of Decoupling Book Reviewing and Book Selling,” Proceedings of the Ninth International AAAI Conference on Web and Social Media (2015): 602-605, Daniel Moran, “O’Connor and the Common (Online) Reader,” Creating Flannery O'Connor: Her Critics, Her Publishers, Her Readers (Athens: The University of Georgia Press, 2016), Mike Thelwall, “Reader and Author Gender and Genre in Goodreads.” Journal of Librarianship and Information Science (2017): 1-28, and Mike Thelwall and Kayvan Kousha. “Goodreads: A Social Network Site for Book Readers.” Journal of the Association for Information Science and Technology 68, no. 4 (2017): 972-83. 16 For a history of the lay reader and the scholarly reader, see John Guillory, “How Scholars Read,” ADE Bulletin 146 (Fall 2008): 8-17. 17 Mike Thelwall, “Reader and Author Gender and Genre in Goodreads,” Journal of Librarianship and Information Science (2017): 5. 18 Elizabeth Khuri Chandler, “Sex and Reading: A Look at Who’s Reading Whom,” Goodreads, last modified November 19, 2014, https://www.goodreads.com/blog/show/475-sex-and-reading-a-look-at-who-s-reading-whom. 19 Quantcast, “Goodreads Traffic Card.” 20 Thelwall, “Reader and Author Gender,” 5. 21 See Thelwall and Bourrier, “The Reading Background of Goodreads Book Club Members: A Female Fiction Canon?” Insurgent (2012) is the second book in Veronica Roth’s enormously popular young adult science fiction trilogy, Divergent. Rainbow Rowell is the author of the popular young adult novel, Eleanor and Park (2013). 22 We used a log-transformation first because the data was highly skewed. 23 Sandra Beckett, Crossover Fictions: Global and Historical Perspectives (New York: Routledge, 2008), 18. 24 Beckett, Crossover Fictions, 18. 25 Goodreads uses a proprietary algorithm to determine the top written reviews of each work of literature; it seems to be based on the number likes each review receives, with the most liked reviews appearing at the top of the page. 26 The answer: in 300 reviews, Jane Eyre was mentioned 390 times, and Villette 97 times. 27 Thirty-four of sixty-two reviews in English mentioned the notion that The Professor, Brontë’s first novel and one that remained unpublished in her lifetime, is a minor work, with many noting that it seemed to serve as a form of practice for Charlotte Brontë’s greater novels, Jane Eyre and Villette. 28 Readers of A Tale of Two Cities were more likely to comment on the novel’s engagement with the French Revolution as a form of social criticism of that time (18/80 mentions), rather than our own time. 29 In a corpus of 3,600 reviews (the top three hundred reviews for Black Beauty, “The Canterville Ghost,” A Christmas Carol, Jane Eyre, A Little Princess, The Lost World, The Professor, A Tale of Two Cities, Tess of the D’Urbervilles, Treasure Island, The Secret Garden, and Wuthering Heights) the most frequent recurring words , excluding common stop words in English, were: “story” (854), “book” (753), and “character” (734). 30 Deidre Shauna Lynch, The Economy of Character: Novels, Market Culture, and the Business of Inner Meaning (Chicago: University of Chicago Press), 1. 31 Following advice from the University of Calgary ethics committee, although Goodreads is a public site and users post their reviews for public consumption, we have anonymized quotations from reviews. 32 E.M. Forster, Aspects of the Novel (New York: Harcourt, 1927), 103-4, 106. We would note that no reviewer mentioned Forster directly, and it is likely that the terms “flat” and “round” have entered vernacular literary J O U R N A L O F C U L T U R A L A N A L Y T I C S 33 criticism without being tied to the critic directly. Nonetheless, the sheer frequency with which general readers describe Dickens’s characters as flat or round in their reviews seems a testament to Forster’s continuing influence. 33 For a recuperation of this response to fiction, which has often been dismissed as naïve, see Elaine Auyoung, When Fiction Feels Real: Representation and the Reading Mind (New York: Oxford, 2018). 34 Across 300 reviews, the characters that received the most mention were “Carton” (128), “Lucie” (116), “DeFarge” (105, could refer to Citizen or Madame) “Manette” (79, could refer to Lucy or her father), “Madame DeFarge” (59), “Pross” (33) and “Cruncher” (20). 35 Of all twelve works that we scraped 300 reviews for, the word “plot” showed up by far the most often in reviews of A Tale of Two Cities (103 mentions, followed by 61 in Tess of the D’Ubervilles and 59 in The Professor and 53 in Jane Eyre, with only 18 mentions in A Christmas Carol. “The Canterville Ghost” had the fewest mentions of “plot” at 11 across 300 reviews.) 36 Of the top 100 reviews, 80 were written in English, with an additional six in Arabic, four in Persian, three in Turkish two each in Portuguese, Spanish and Greek, and one in Vietnamese. (Two of the reviews were in both Persian and English and Arabic and English.) It is tempting to see the reviews in Arabic, Persian and Turkish as evidence of a renewed interest in Dickens’s tale of democracy and revolution in light of the Arab Spring; indeed, BBC Radio 4 recently adapted Dickens’s novel into a three-episode show entitled A Tale of Two Cities: Aleppo and London. Further research into Goodreads reviews of Dickens written in Arabic and Persian, conducted by those with expertise in those languages, could yield new insight into the kinds of political conditions that make Dickens relevant in the twenty-first century to readers beyond English speaking countries. 37 Goodreads allows users to invent their own tags, and similar tags for A Tale of Two Cities included “high-school” (287), “read-for-school” (285), “school-books” (232), “for-school” (232), “read-in-school” (98). 38 Following research that demonstrates a dip in the proportion of fiction written by women and representing female characters from 1850 to 1950, we might speculate that part of the continued popularity of works like Jane Eyre is that female characters were allocated less space as the nineteenth century wore on. See Ted Underwood, David Bamman, and Sabrina Lee, "The Transformation of Gender in English-Language Fiction," Journal of Cultural Analytics, Feb. 13, 2018. DOI: 10.31235/osf.io/fr9bk 39 The experience of reading The Professor was also marred by xenophobia for many readers: another quarter of reviewers (17/62) mentioned that Brontë’s belief in English racial superiority and Anglican religious superiority detracted from the novel for them. 40 The Professor has the fewest mentions of words related to adaptation of all (2); one reader found the depiction of a respectful romance more satisfying than those of contemporary books or films, and another hoped to see the novel adapted for film. 41 Space prevents us from exploring the issue of how adaptation for film and television influences readership here, but as more data continues to accrue on Goodreads, it would be interesting to see the extent to which adaptations provoke a spike in readership. 42 Leah Price, The Anthology and the Rise of the Novel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 2. 43 The works in our study which were statistical outliers in terms of being taught more often than we would predict given how often they are studied (Open Syllabus versus MLA) were: 1) Christina Rossetti, Complete Poems, 2) Edward Lear, “The Owl and the Pussycat,” 3) Frederick Marryat, The Children of the New Forest, 4) Anthony Trollope, Can You Forgive Her?, 5) Robert Louis Stevenson, The Black Arrow, 6) George and Weedon Grossmith, The Diary of a Nobody, 7) H. G. Wells, “The Food of the Gods” and 8) Thomas Hardy, Wessex Tales. Those works that are studied more often than we would predict given how often they are taught (MLA versus Open Syllabus): 1) Charlotte Brontë, The Professor, 2) George MacDonald, Phantastes 3) Charles Dickens, The Signalman. T H E S O C I A L L I V E S O F B O O K S : R E A D I N G V I C T O R I A N L I T E R A T U R E O N G O O D R E A D S 34 44 We would also note that the MLA bibliography covers a much longer time span, from 1926 to 2018 at the time of writing, than Goodreads or Open Syllabus which focus on the last ten to fifteen years. Due to the slowness of academic publishing, we included the fullest possible dataset from the MLA bibliography, but acknowledge that this does not take into account how we what have written about in peer-reviewed venues has changed from the twentieth to the twenty-first centuries. 45 See Richard Altick, The English Common Reader: A Social History of the Mass Reading Public, 1800-1900, second edition. (Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press, 1998 [1957]) and Kate Flint, The Woman Reader: 1837 to 1914 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995). 46 See John Glavin, ed, Dickens on Screen (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003) and Diane Sadoff, Victorian Vogue: British Novels on Screen (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2009). 47 “A Changing Major: The Report of the 2016–17 ADE Ad Hoc Committee on the English Major” New York: The Association of Departments of English, 2018. https://www.ade.mla.org/content/download/98513/2276619/A- Changing-Major.pdf 48 John Guillory, Cultural Capital: The Problem of Literary Canon Formation. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993), vii. 49 David Damrosch, “World Literature in a Postcanonical, Hypercanonical Age,” in Haun Saussy, ed., Comparative Literature in an Age of Globalization (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press., 2006), 45. 50 Merve Emre, Paraliterary: The Making of Bad Readers in Postwar America. (Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 2017): 3. 51 See Peter Brooks, Reading for the Plot: Design and Intention in Narrative. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1984), Laura Green, Literary Identification: from Charlotte Brontë to Tsitsi Dangarembga. (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2012), and Deidre Shauna Lynch, Loving Literature: A Cultural History (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015). 52 Joyce Huff. “Dickens Remediated: The Victorian Character Commonplace Project and the Teaching of Victorian Literature.” (Conference Presentation, North American Victorian Studies Association, Columbus, Ohio, October 18, 2019). 53 Txtlab.org. “Investigating Topic Bias and Gender Representation in Syllabi.” 
work_hughqwttfbesbhsmumc7grgb2a	----	Transatlantica, 1 | 2008 Transatlantica Revue d’études américaines. American Studies Journal  1 | 2008 Amérique militante Leonard Tennenhouse, The Importance of Feeling English. American Literature and the British Diaspora. 1750-1850 Princeton : Princeton University Press, 2007. Marc Amfreville Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/4093 DOI : 10.4000/transatlantica.4093 ISSN : 1765-2766 Éditeur AFEA Référence électronique Marc Amfreville, « Leonard Tennenhouse, The Importance of Feeling English. American Literature and the British Diaspora. 1750-1850 », Transatlantica [En ligne], 1 | 2008, mis en ligne le 28 juillet 2008, consulté le 25 septembre 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/4093 ; DOI : https:// doi.org/10.4000/transatlantica.4093 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 25 septembre 2020. Transatlantica – Revue d'études américaines est mis à disposition selon les termes de la licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d'Utilisation Commerciale - Pas de Modification 4.0 International. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/4093 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Leonard Tennenhouse, The Importance of Feeling English. American Literature and the British Diaspora. 1750-1850 Princeton : Princeton University Press, 2007. Marc Amfreville 1 Avec son titre et son sous-titre, Leonard Tennenhouse annonce clairement son propos : il s’agit pour lui de réfléchir aux liens entre identité anglaise et littérature américaine, en examinant un siècle de production littéraire de part et d’autre de l’Atlantique. Toutefois, il fait plus que cela : il affirme de façon sous-jacente la thèse inattendue, et donc stimulante, que la naissance de la littérature américaine, contrairement aux idées reçues, serait davantage ancrée dans la perduration du sentiment d’une identité anglaise que dans un geste de rupture. Il est certain que la question de la spécificité de la littérature américaine à ses débuts au-delà des évidentes divergences de contenu liées à l’histoire et à la topographie, a maintes fois été posée, souvent en termes de thématique, plus récemment, et notamment dans la critique française, sous l’aspect d’interrogations plus formelles, voire narratologiques. Toutes ces approches, y compris celle de l’auteur du présent ouvrage, ont en commun de refuser de considérer le caractère américain de la littérature des États-Unis comme allant de soi, comme découlant spontanément de l’indépendance arrachée à la mère patrie dans les circonstances que l’on sait à la fin du 18e siècle. 2 S’écartant résolument du concept de nation comme moteur d’explication des différences qu’il faut bien constater entre les deux littératures, Tennenhouse fait donc ici preuve d’audace, et son ouvrage ne peut à certain égards qu’emporter l’adhésion. Quelles que soient les objections que sa familiarité avec l’un des textes ou des aspects de la question abordés par Tennenhouse puisse faire naître en lui, le lecteur ne saura que se réjouir de la présence sur la scène critique d’une pensée authentiquement personnelle et argumentée. C’est en effet, en marge de connaissances abondantes Leonard Tennenhouse, The Importance of Feeling English. American Literature a... Transatlantica, 1 | 2008 1 mobilisées avec discernement dans un ouvrage de moins de cent soixante pages, l’une des principales qualités de cet essai que de ne jamais formuler une théorie ou un concept sans en éprouver immédiatement la validité en envisageant son antithèse ou à tout le moins, les limites de ses applications. 3 Sans entrer complètement dans le détail de la thèse défendue et des différentes étapes de son argumentation, il apparaît utile de rappeler qu’en son premier chapitre — que ne vient curieusement précéder aucune introduction — l’auteur annonce son projet : « I plan to look at a wide body of Anglophone literature from the late seventeenth, eighteenth, and early nineteenth century for the purpose of discovering when it began to divide internally into recognizable British and American traditions » (1). Il part de l’idée que les Américains, contrairement au mythe d’émancipation imaginé et célébré dans la suite de leur histoire, auraient, durant la période considérée, avant tout préféré produire et consommer de la littérature anglaise plutôt qu’inventer la leur. Toujours selon lui, les colons, puis les citoyens du nouvel État auraient surtout eu à cœur de se démarquer de la « sauvagerie » ambiante, et pour ce faire, auraient privilégié leur identité de citoyens britanniques, puis leur héritage culturel anglais. Il applique ainsi, non sans témérité intellectuelle, le terme de « diaspora » — tout en prenant soin de souligner avec respect les différences que cet exil présente avec ceux des peuples juif, noir ou arménien — à la communauté anglophone établie sur les rives du Nouveau Monde. Il insiste sur la force centripète de retour intellectuel et créatif vers le pays des origines à mesure que se confirme la dispersion géopolitique et que s’amenuisent les espoirs de revenir au pays, en s’intéressant d’abord à l’exemple difficilement réfutable des « captivity narratives » qui tous témoignent effectivement d’un attachement et d’une nostalgie indélébiles. Là où les choses deviennent plus intéressantes, c’est lorsque Tennenhouse avance son paradoxe central : le fait que les Américains (désignons ainsi successivement colons et premiers citoyens) aient pu adapter les modèles anglais témoigne de la labilité, et donc de la force de l’anglicité qu’ils choisissent de véhiculer et de reproduire. « What makes our literature distinctly and indelibly American is our literature’s insistence on reproducing those aspects of Englishness that do not require one to be in England so much as among English people ». (9). Le deuxième chapitre (« Writing English in America ») rappelle les conditions d’émergence de la langue américaine, avec les différents traités de prononciation et de lexicologie qui les accompagnent, s’attardant en particulier sur le travail de Webster et sur l’influence décisive des Connecticut Wits. Une bonne surprise dans ce chapitre essentiellement informatif : une réflexion avancée sur la place de Locke et de son épistémologie au Nouveau Monde. L’auteur nous rappelle l’opposition du philosophe à toute forme de rhétorique, et réfléchit à la façon dont la production littéraire américaine, où se lit la trace de toute l’éloquence persuasive des sermons, intègre et dépasse cet anathème, notamment sous la plume de Hutchinson et de Witherspoon. On en arrive rapidement à une des conceptions maîtresses de l’essai : l’importance capitale de la tradition sentimentale, et plus précisément du personnage du libertin, dans l’élaboration de la littérature américaine. Là où on s’apprêterait à reprocher à l’auteur d’enfoncer ainsi une porte maintes fois ouverte, voici qu’il avance le corollaire novateur de cette idée reçue pour insister sur sa réciproque. La littérature sentimentale américaine adopte une forme particulière qui, en retour, va modifier la tradition qui lui a donné naissance (voir chapitre 3). Ainsi Pamela et Clarissa de Richardson — dont l’auteur prend la peine de vérifier les dates de mise à disposition puis de republication en Amérique — sont analysés à la lumière rétrospective de The Power of Sympathy de William Hill Brown, sans doute le premier roman américain, et de Leonard Tennenhouse, The Importance of Feeling English. American Literature a... Transatlantica, 1 | 2008 2 Charlotte Temple de Susannah Rowson, dont la réception est comparée dans les deux pays. C’est également dans le contexte de cette tradition richardsonienne que sont brièvement étudiés Uncle Tom’s Cabin et The House of the Seven Gables. Centrale dans la branche américaine de la tradition sentimentale, la figure de « l’homme de sentiments » est présentée au chapitre 4 comme ayant rencontré au Nouveau Monde davantage de succès que dans son pays d’origine, au moins pour ce qui concerne les exemples choisis de Jane Austen et de William Godwin. À propos de ce dernier, en un exemple de la circulation des ascendants dont il entend démontrer la pertinence, Tennenhouse souligne l’influence exercée sur lui par Charles Brockden Brown qui avait auparavant reconnu sa dette envers son contemporain anglais. De même et à l’inverse, l’essayiste retrace les éléments sentimentaux anglais qui continuent de colorer l’œuvre de F. Cooper, et notamment The Pathfinder. Le chapitre 5, « The Gothic in Diaspora » fait subir le même genre d’analyse à la tradition du roman noir. S’inscrivant en faux contre l’idée généralement reçue par la critique depuis Leslie Fiedler, que le Gothique, dans sa version d’outre-Atlantique, exprimerait la culpabilité refoulée de l’Américain pour son massacre de l’Indien et l’esclavage de l’homme noir, Tennenhouse interprète le goût de ses compatriotes pour l’esthétique de la terreur par un désir, voire un besoin, de s’approprier une tradition européenne. Après un retour bien informé sur deux ou trois œuvres capitales du Gothique anglais, et non sans avoir cité Charles Brockden Brown dont les déclarations moqueuses à l’égard des productions puériles et chimériques de ses pairs anglais sont célèbres, Tennenhouse entreprend, comme précédemment, de réfléchir à la circulation des influences à travers les exemples successifs de The Asylum d’Isaac Mitchell (1804), de Poe, et surtout de Hawthorne (« My Kinsman, Major Molineux », 1832). Le dernier chapitre, qui sans doute tient lieu de conclusion, est consacré à l’étude de Benito Cereno, longue nouvelle à la croisée des diverses traditions littéraires évoquées, dans laquelle l’auteur voit la confirmation de toutes les idées précédemment avancées et qu’il interprète comme le produit d’un conflit entre différentes cultures diasporiques, achevant de donner à la littérature américaine son identité. 4 Le lecteur sagace du présent compte rendu l’aura deviné : pour séduisante que soit la théorie de Tennenhouse, elle se heurte à deux écueils, ou plutôt une opposition et un défaut. La première est celle de la voix des auteurs, le second, l’absence de véritable analyse textuelle pour étayer ses propos. Pour reprendre l’exemple de Charles Brockden Brown, on ne peut s’empêcher de trouver légère la façon dont l’essayiste fait feu du bois de la déclaration d’indépendance d’un romancier qui, précisément, voulait donner naissance à une littérature américaine émancipée. Brown savait qu’aucune autonomie institutionnelle ne serait complète sans une production authentiquement originale. Il ne s’agit à l’évidence pas de dire que l’intention d’un auteur, particulièrement telle qu’elle s’exprime dans des préfaces, toujours soupçonnables de coupables intentions promotionnelles, serait prépondérante, ni qu’on pourrait imaginer une littérature nationale brusquement affranchie de ses modèles. Mais tout de même ! Ne faudrait-il pas réfléchir à la mise en œuvre de cette politique annoncée quand Brown choisit effectivement un cadre local à ses intrigues, ce qui va bien plus loin qu’un opportuniste changement de décor ? Ne conviendrait-il pas à un moment ou un autre, en marge des brillants exposés qui presque tous relèvent de l’histoire des idées, de plonger un peu plus avant dans les textes eux-mêmes, ne serait-ce, dans le cas du Gothique, que pour relever l’importance décisive, entre Walpole et Radcliffe d’une part, Brown de l’autre, d’un changement majeur dans le mode narratif. Le doute Leonard Tennenhouse, The Importance of Feeling English. American Literature a... Transatlantica, 1 | 2008 3 installé par l’introduction de narrateurs non fiables sur les témoignages et partant, sur toute entreprise de fiction, ne constituerait-il pas un divorce plus radical que ne semble le croire Tennenhouse d’avec la tradition gothique anglaise antérieure ou contemporaine ? L’identité même de la littérature américaine ne serait-elle pas marquée, au fer d’une lettre écarlate, par l’ambivalence que suscite en l’auteur sa propre production ? 5 Pour conclure, on ne saurait que le répéter : l’ouvrage de Tennenhouse est précieux. Il apportera au lecteur français une mine d’informations claires et directement réutilisables. Il a le mérite de reposer de façon originale la question fondamentale de ce que H. Bloom appelait « the anxiety of influence » et d’y apporter des réponses personnelles séduisantes. On ne peut néanmoins s’empêcher, mû peut-être par « l’importance de se sentir français », c’est-à-dire, ici, formé à une tradition d’écoute des textes peut-être plus attentive, de regretter la portion congrue dévolue à l’écriture. INDEX Thèmes : Recensions AUTEUR MARC AMFREVILLE Université Paris 12 Leonard Tennenhouse, The Importance of Feeling English. American Literature a... Transatlantica, 1 | 2008 4 Leonard Tennenhouse, The Importance of Feeling English. American Literature and the British Diaspora. 1750-1850 
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work_hycxgktvrvenvcfgptzsudhvpa	----	Communicating through scents: an interview with Jane Hurst Hurst BMC Biology (2018) 16:126 https://doi.org/10.1186/s12915-018-0596-2 INTERVIEW Open Access Communicating through scents: an interview with Jane Hurst Jane Hurst Abstract Jane Hurst is a William Prescott Professor of Animal Science at the University of Liverpool, UK, studying scent communication in mammals and its role in behaviours. In this interview, Jane discusses how scents encode complex information in rodents, driving behaviours such as kinship interactions and choosing a mate, how understanding natural behaviours of animals can inform experimental designs, and what is the connection between Jane Austen and pheromones. Keywords: Behaviours, Scents, Olfactory communication, MUPs, Darcin particularly for more effective pest control? What are the questions driving your research? I am interested in the social organization of animals and in the communication that mediates their inter- actions. Much of my research has focused on scent communication among mammals, which can be extremely complex, with hundreds of component molecules. The complexity of this system and behaviours raises many questions. For instance, what is the information communicated through these complex scents? Ani- mals can discriminate between individuals based on scent, and recognize similarity in the scents of closely related individuals. Is this based simply on the overall similarity of body odours correlating with genetic similarity, or have animals evolved specific scent com- ponents that signal individual identity and kinship? Does this differ between social and non-social spe- cies? Do mammals use simple pheromone signals to stimulate specific responses in conspecifics—like Correspondence: jane.hurst@liverpool.ac.uk Mammalian Behaviour & Evolution Group, Institute of Integrative Biology, University of Liverpool, Liverpool, UK © The Author(s). 2018 Open Access This artic International License (http://creativecommons reproduction in any medium, provided you g the Creative Commons license, and indicate if (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/ze invertebrate pheromones—or do they use the infor- mation gained through scents in a more sophisticated way that allows them to modify their responses ac- cording to individual experience and learning? Indi- viduals often differ in the investment that they make in particular components of scents—what information does this signal? Studies so far have focused largely on males—are there major differences between males and females in scent use, and how does this differ between social systems? Also, most studies have focused on the volatile compo- nents of scents, but we now understand that involatile proteins and peptides play a wide variety of roles as well. What are the selection processes determining the evolu- tion of scent components, and how do these different components interact? Finally, can we exploit the scent signals that mammals use to improve their management, le is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 .org/licenses/by/4.0/), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and ive appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to changes were made. The Creative Commons Public Domain Dedication waiver ro/1.0/) applies to the data made available in this article, unless otherwise stated. http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1186/s12915-018-0596-2&domain=pdf http://orcid.org/0000-0002-3728-9624 mailto:jane.hurst@liverpool.ac.uk http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/ Hurst BMC Biology (2018) 16:126 Page 2 of 3 You published several papers in BMC Biology, including one that brought us a protein named darcin, after a Jane Austen hero. Can you tell us a little bit about these studies? We wanted to understand signals in scent that underpin mate choice: how animals assess potential mates, and how they communicate that information. We use wild house mice as an experimental model to ensure normal genetic variation, as genetic compatibility, heterozygosity and the ability to discriminate between individuals are all important components of mate choice. Wild house mice also appear to be a lot choosier when selecting a mate than domesticated laboratory mice, which is per- haps not surprising as laboratory strains have been artifi- cially selected to breed easily. Several androgen-dependent volatile pheromones had been identified in male mouse urine and it was generally assumed that females were attracted by these odours. However, we were surprised to find that females were no more attracted to male airborne odour than to equiva- lent odour from another female, unless they had direct contact with a male’s urine. This suggested that some- thing involatile present in the male urine is essential for the sexual attraction. But we also discovered that just a few seconds of contact with a male’s urine stimulated fe- males to learn a strong attraction to airborne odour from that particular male. That led us to the hypothesis that there is an involatile pheromone in male urine that females find highly attractive. And, through a process of rapid associative learning (similar to learning by Pavlov’s dogs but much quicker), this pheromone also stimulates subsequent attraction to the airborne odour signature of that individual male [1]. Through subsequent analyses we found that this involatile signal belonged to a family of major urinary proteins (MUPs). Because of its key importance in determining female attraction to a male’s odour, we named the pheromone darcin (a more memorable name than its official MGI nomenclature as MUP20). While Jane Austen percep- tively recognised that “it is a truth universally acknowl- edged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife” [2], as far as male mice are concerned, it seems that a single mouse in possession of darcin must be in want of a mate. Our darcin studies revealed a new mechanism of pheromone-induced learning that modifies responses to different individuals. Later on, we found that contact with darcin stimulates not only short- but also long term-learning [3] and leads to changes in the brain, in- creasing neurogenesis in both a female’s hippocampus and olfactory bulbs [4]. Most recently, we’ve shown that darcin, combined with other MUPs in mouse urine, shapes the individual odour signature that females learn when they contact a male’s scent [5]. Looking back, is there a project that your lab pursued that stands out for you as particularly inspiring, tough or simply memorable? Our darcin studies have been particularly inspiring from a personal perspective because they have changed my thinking about the contribution of pheromones to learned behaviour and show how pheromones and signa- tures of identity in scents work in concert. But one of our most memorable studies was when we first tried to use laboratory mice—in this case inbred MHC-congenic strains—as a model for wild mice, in order to identify the genetic basis of scents that underlie the recognition of individual competitors. After years of working with genetically heterogeneous wild rodents, which can be difficult to handle unless approached very carefully, I thought that working with domesticated la- boratory strains would be a piece of cake. How wrong I was! The caged laboratory mice would not reliably show the normal competitive scent marking behaviour typical of our captive wild house mice, so we decided to set them up in floor enclosures like our wild mice to promote more natural behaviour. As they seemed very timid, we put their home cages in the enclosures and opened the cage lids, leaving them to explore the enclosures at their own pace. Wild mice normally take a few minutes to settle down and start to explore, but the laboratory mice were reluc- tant to leave their cages and we had to put in ladders to encourage them to climb down and explore! After a few weeks in the enclosures, we eventually got the competitive scent marking that we were looking for but, even then, needed sample sizes that were much greater than we ever needed for wild mice, despite their genetic homogeneity. The unexpected discovery from these studies was that la- boratory mice can be far more anxious than I expected to see from domesticated animals. I wanted to understand why they were so anxious and, much to my surprise, I dis- covered that it is because of the standard way that labora- tory mice are handled. Almost universally, they are picked up by the tail, but it turns out that this is strongly aversive to mice and stimulates high anxiety. In a series of studies, we have shown that using non-aversive handling methods to pick up mice stimulates much less anxiety [6, 7] and that mice handled that way can be significantly more reli- able in behavioural testing [8]. Picking up mice using a handling tunnel—a method we developed to handle wild rodents with minimal stress so that they will show natur- alistic behaviour in captivity—works particularly well. Scooping up laboratory mice on the open hand is also less aversive. Studies in other laboratories have confirmed our findings and have also shown that using our non-aversive handling methods improves reward-based learning [9] and physiological responses such as glucose tolerance [10]. Because picking mice up by the tail has such a strong negative impact on mice and is likely to be a significant Hurst BMC Biology (2018) 16:126 Page 3 of 3 confounding factor in studies, we have made a freely avail- able tutorial and other resources for implementing non-aversive handling methods for normal mouse hus- bandry and during experiments (see https://www.nc3rs.or- g.uk/how-to-pick-up-a-mouse). Is there a paper or a scientist that inspired you, or was seminal for your research? The inspiration for my research comes first and fore- most from watching animals, a fascination I developed from a very early age. But the inspiration to study the behavioural ecology of wild house mice for my PhD came from reading a book called ‘Mice All Over’ by Peter Crowcroft (published in 1966 by Foulis, London). After the Second World War, large grain stores were used to stockpile food reserves. These were a magnet to house mice, which were causing substantial spoilage. So Peter Crowcroft and Fred Rowe, working on behalf of the UK Government, set about trying to understand their behaviour to be able to control these problems more effectively. Crowcroft wrote not only about their findings but also about how they went about their stud- ies, and I was hooked by the idea that my fascination with animal behaviour could contribute to research and also have a useful purpose. I was particularly intrigued by his accounts of a species so flexible and successful in exploiting human resources, outwitting our attempts to control them. So I chose to spend many hours during my PhD watching wild house mice in agricultural build- ings such as poultry houses, trying to understand their social organization and how they were able to sustain much higher population densities than other mammal species. While poultry houses did not strike me as a great environment from my own personal perspective, these were clearly great for mice. It was during these studies that I became interested in scent communication. While watching the animals through infrared cameras, it became clear that they were gaining a considerable amount of information through their noses, both from the numerous scent marks that they were depositing around their territories and when they interacted with each other. I realized that I would have to understand these scent signals to understand their behaviour. However, scent communication was a very under-researched area despite scents providing per- haps the most widespread means of communication be- tween animals. This lack of knowledge, particularly in mammals, inspired me to start my research in this area. Website: https://www.liverpool.ac.uk/mbe/members/Hurst/ Hurst.html Acknowledgements Not applicable. Funding Not applicable. Availability of data and materials Not applicable. Authors’ contributions JH read and approved the final manuscript. Competing interests The author declares that she has no competing interests. Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Received: 12 October 2018 Accepted: 12 October 2018 References 1. Roberts SA, Simpson DM, Armstrong SD, Davidson AJ, Robertson DH, McLean L, Beynon RJ, Hurst JL. Darcin: a male pheromone that stimulates female memory and sexual attraction to an individual male's odour. BMC Biol. 2010;8:75. 2. Austen J. Pride and prejudice. Whitehall: T Egerton; 1813. 3. Roberts SA, Davidson AJ, McLean L, Beynon RJ, Hurst JL. Pheromonal induction of spatial learning in mice. Science. 2012;338:1462–5. 4. Hoffman E, Pickavance L, Thippeswamy T, Beynon RJ, Hurst JL. The male sex pheromone darcin stimulates hippocampal neurogenesis and cell proliferation in the sub ventricular zone in female mice. Front Behav Neurosci. 2015;9:106. 5. Roberts SA, Prescott MC, Davidson AJ, McLean L, Beynon RJ, Hurst JL. Individual odour signatures that mice learn are shaped by involatile major urinary proteins (MUPs). BMC Biol. 2018;16:48. https://doi.org/10.1186/s12915-018-0512-9. 6. Hurst JL, West RS. Taming anxiety in laboratory mice. Nat Methods. 2010;7: 825–6. 7. Gouveia K, Hurst JL. Reducing mouse anxiety during handling. PLoS One. 2013;8(6):e66401. 8. Gouveia K, Hurst JL. Optimising reliability of mouse performance in behavioural testing: the major role of non-aversive handling. Sci Rep. 2017; 7:44999. 9. Clarkson JM, Dwyer DM, Flecknell PA, Leach MC, Rowe C. Handling method alters the hedonic value of reward in laboratory mice. Sci Rep. 2018;8:2448. 10. Ghosal S, Nunley A, Mahbod P, Lewis AG, Smith EP, Tong J, D’Alessio DA, Herman JP. Mouse handling limits the impact of stress on metabolic endpoints. Physiol Behav. 2015;150:31–7. https://www.nc3rs.org.uk/how-to-pick-up-a-mouse https://www.nc3rs.org.uk/how-to-pick-up-a-mouse https://www.liverpool.ac.uk/mbe/members/Hurst/Hurst.html https://www.liverpool.ac.uk/mbe/members/Hurst/Hurst.html https://doi.org/10.1186/s12915-018-0512-9 Abstract What are the questions driving your research? You published several papers in BMC Biology, including one that brought us a protein named darcin, after a Jane Austen hero. Can you tell us a little bit about these studies? Looking back, is there a project that your lab pursued that stands out for you as particularly inspiring, tough or simply memorable? Is there a paper or a scientist that inspired you, or was seminal for your research? Acknowledgements Funding Availability of data and materials Authors’ contributions Competing interests Publisher’s Note References 
work_hytpkncyjfen3oi5ugma7b7ory	----	Sense and Sensibility and Science Tate 1 Austen’s Literary Alembic: Sanditon, Medicine, and the Science of the Novel Gregory Tate As Charlotte Heywood, the heroine of Jane Austen’s unfinished novel Sanditon, promenades along the terrace of the eponymous seaside resort, she meets Sir Edward Denham coming out of the local library. In an effort to impress her, Sir Edward boasts of his credentials as a discerning reader of novels: “The mere trash of the common circulating library, I hold in the highest contempt. You will never hear me advocating those puerile emanations which detail nothing but discordant principles incapable of amalgamation, or those vapid tissues of ordinary occurrences from which no useful deductions can be drawn.—In vain may we put them into a literary alembic;—we distil nothing which can add to science.—You understand me I am sure?” “‘I am not quite certain that I do’”, replies Charlotte.1 Her hesitant response is unsurprising, because Sir Edward’s account of his tastes is bafflingly inconsistent. Despite borrowing several novels from the circulating library, he dismisses such novels as trash, contributing nothing to “science”. He uses this word in its traditional sense, meaning general “knowledge or understanding acquired by study”, but his identification of the novel as a “literary alembic”, an instrument of experimentation, also points to a newer definition of science as a methodology, concerned “with a connected body of demonstrated truths or with observed facts systematically classified and more or less comprehended by general laws, and incorporating trustworthy methods” of verification.2 Yet although Sir Edward implies that the novel should be capable of reaching conclusions through experimental methods, he 1 Jane Austen, Sanditon, in Later Manuscripts, ed. Janet Todd and Linda Bree (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), pp. 181-82. 2 Oxford English Dictionary, “science”, definitions 2 and 4b. Tate 2 contradicts himself by casually dismissing the relevance of “ordinary occurrences”, the observable and repeatable events on which scientific knowledge depends. Sir Edward is an object of ridicule in Sanditon: here, Austen’s satire is targeted not at his use of the alembic metaphor but at his failure to grasp its significance for the novel as a form. The language and practices of science are present throughout Sanditon, and, perhaps more in this fragment than in Austen’s other novels, everyday occurrences, and the “discordant principles” of the characters involved in them, constitute the raw materials of a kind of literary experimentation. This essay examines the representation of science in Sanditon, and it argues that this text, written during Austen’s months of illness before her death in July 1817, points to a new conception of the novel, one which associates the form with the emerging scientific disciplines of the early nineteenth century through its emphasis on empirical objectivity and professional expertise. These traits are exemplified in the medical profession, which is central to Sanditon’s plot. After meeting the financial speculator Mr Parker, Charlotte Heywood travels with him and his family to his home village of Sanditon, which is also his pet project. Trading on the supposed curative properties of sea-bathing and the sea air, Parker plans to turn Sanditon into a destination for tourists and convalescents, but by the time the fragment ends almost the only visitors are his hypochondriac siblings, whose amateur self-diagnoses offer further material for Austen’s satire. The text also critiques the meretricious quackery that exploits hypochondria for profit, and it presents professional medical advice as a safe middle ground between this commercial exploitation and the uninformed subjectivism of the Parker siblings. As Sir Edward’s disquisition on novels suggests, similar issues are at stake in the text’s considerations of the literary marketplace: while acknowledging some of the problems involved in the growing commodification of the novel, Sanditon also satirizes the undisciplined reading habits of careless readers such as Sir Edward, and it promotes a view of the novel as an objective and professional articulation of knowledge. Sanditon offers Tate 3 evidence for the close connections between the developing categories of “literature” and “science” in the early nineteenth century, and it suggests that the concept of science played a significant part in Austen’s understanding of the profession of writing in 1817. Sanditon’s preoccupation with the methodologies of science is conveyed in its narrative stance as well as its in plot. Its protagonist endures no psychological strain and suffers no economic or social hardship, and there is only the smallest hint of the beginning of a courtship narrative. Instead, the text focuses on presenting detailed and precise descriptions of the village of Sanditon and of the interactions between the characters who inhabit it. This may be interpreted as a consequence of Sanditon’s textual status as the opening chapters of an unfinished manuscript. Discussing the manuscript of The Watsons, abandoned by Austen in 1805, Virginia Woolf observed that its “stiffness and bareness” proved that Austen “was one of those writers who lay their facts out rather baldly in the first version and then go back and back and back and cover them with flesh and atmosphere.”3 A textual analysis of Sanditon and its concern with “facts” might yield a similar conclusion, and Kathryn Sutherland has warned readers that “the accidental identity of the Sanditon text with its manuscript state” makes it difficult “to distinguish usual physical disorder from those other elements that point to a new expressive energy and stylistic difference.”4 A formalist reading of Sanditon, however, suggests that the fragment’s structural and “stylistic difference” from Austen’s other novels is not accidental but emblematic of its key concerns. The formalism that this essay aims to practise addresses what John Richetti describes as “a version of form in fictional narrative that necessarily relates it to the various socio- historical circumstances that surround the emergence of the novel as a genre and that in many 3 Virginia Woolf, “Jane Austen” (1923), in The Common Reader, ed. Andrew McNeillie (London: Vintage, 2003), pp. 137-38. 4 Kathryn Sutherland, Jane Austen’s Textual Lives: From Aeschylus to Bollywood (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), pp. 172-73. Tate 4 cases are its overt subject matter.”5 This historicizing approach to form indicates that, in Sanditon, subject matter and social circumstances are inseparably connected: just as the text examines an economic model new to Austen’s writing—the capitalist exchanges of land speculation, tourism, and commodity culture rather than the fixed property-based economy of the gentry—so it employs a new narrative stance, focusing not on the subjectivity of a protagonist but on the broad and objective observation of the interactions between a number of characters and between those characters and their environment. Sanditon’s form, then, enacts the text’s historical conditions and concerns, specifically the emergence of modern systems of economic exchange and scientific knowledge. These systems are not, however, simply aligned with each other: Parker’s capitalism is by no means a rational, evidence-based enterprise. When Parker first meets the Heywoods he presents them with “the facts” about himself: “he was of a respectable family, and easy though not large fortune;—no profession”. Other truths about his character are conveyed not through his conscious communication but through his auditors’ interpretation: “where he might be himself in the dark, his conversation was still giving information, to such of the Heywoods as could observe.—By such he was perceived to be an enthusiast;—on the subject of Sanditon, a complete enthusiast” (Sanditon, pp. 146-47). This exchange, in which the observational acuity of the Heywoods is contrasted with Parker’s unselfconscious enthusiasm, presents in microcosm the structural concerns of Sanditon. Throughout the novel, the empirical observation of “the facts” of character is used to check misguided, even deluded, subjective feeling.6 This is arguably a satire of Romanticism: certainly the hypochondria of the Parker siblings represents a conventional form of Romantic subjectivism, promoting an 5 John Richetti, “Formalism and Eighteenth-Century English Fiction”, Eighteenth-Century Fiction 24 (2012), 159. 6 Sanditon’s elaboration of a rationalist critique of “enthusiasm” supports Jon Mee’s contention that this term, which signified a cognitive stance “that was taken to transgress the boundaries of the emergent bourgeois public sphere,” was understood as “less something to be prohibited and excluded than regulated and brought inside the conversation of culture.” Mee, Romanticism, Enthusiasm, and Regulation: Poetics and the Policing of Culture in the Romantic Period (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), p. 3. Tate 5 epistemology of individual sensation rather than objective judgment. But Mr Parker’s enthusiasm is of a different kind: his blind faith in Sanditon, despite the resort’s limited success, stems not primarily from an over-reliance on feeling but from a misreading of the world around him. It is significant that he has “no profession”: despite his zeal for acting in and on the world, he lacks the objective stance and professional expertise necessary to do so profitably. Sanditon presents medicine and the novel as professional forms of knowledge production that can correct the mistakes of enthusiasm.7 However, the text’s commitment to objectivity means that its opposition between enthusiasm and professionalism is not dogmatic; it acknowledges the ways in which medicine and literature may be implicated in, even as they seek to counter, the dangerous excesses of epistemological and financial speculation. The text’s narrative voice aims to develop an accurate account of Sanditon as a community and of its inhabitants, and this stance broadly aligns Austen’s narrator with the novel’s heroine. Following a conversation with the grasping Lady Denham, Parker’s co- investor in Sanditon, Charlotte “allowed her thoughts to form themselves into such a meditation as this:—‘She is thoroughly mean. I had not expected any thing so bad.—Mr. Parker spoke too mildly of her. His judgement is evidently not to be trusted.—His own good nature misleads him. He is too kind hearted to see clearly.—I must judge for myself’” (Sanditon, p. 181). To some extent, Charlotte’s determination to draw conclusions based on direct experience is a reiteration of a recurring trope in Austen’s work: the development of what Hina Nazar has called “cultivated impartiality” in her maturing protagonists.8 Yet this passage is distinctive in its clear separation of narrator and character: the text describes Charlotte’s psychological process rather than enacting it in or incorporating it with the 7 William H. Galperin puts forward a different reading of the same opposition, identifying the Parker siblings as “vital and dynamic characters” who subvert, and so embody a conservative critique of, “the discourses of professionalization and medicine.” Galperin, The Historical Austen (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), p. 243. 8 Hina Nazar, Enlightened Sentiments: Judgment and Autonomy in the Age of Sensibility (New York: Fordham University Press, 2012), p. 136 Tate 6 narrative voice through free indirect discourse. Although Sanditon as a whole endorses Charlotte’s preference for careful scrutiny and informed opinion, her perspective is not consistently privileged. Clara Tuite points out that Sanditon “dispenses with Austen’s carefully cultivated protocols of free-indirect narrative witnessing in favor of a comparatively deracinated and disembodied third-person narrator, and one furthermore that shares the stage with a noisy and unruly cast of caricatures”.9 The novel’s characters, however, are not simply caricatures: when Sanditon does employ free indirect discourse, it is as likely to focalize the thoughts of Parker or even Sir Edward as it is those of Charlotte, and other characters, at times, share in the novel’s promotion of empirical observation and rational judgment. Parker, for instance, pre-empts Charlotte’s skepticism when he describes his relationship with Lady Denham early in the novel: “‘Those who tell their own story you know must be listened to with caution.—When you see us in contact, you will judge for yourself’” (Sanditon, p. 152). Parker’s statement is significant for two reasons: first, because it shows that the recognition of the importance of evidence-based interpretation is not limited to any one character; and second, because it suggests that such interpretation must be founded on the observation not of individuals but of characters “in contact” with each other. James Chandler has argued that characterization in Maria Edgeworth’s novels can be read as a scientific process, structured on the methodological model “that forms the basis of all experimental knowledge: the capacity to compare observations across a range of similar scenarios or objects, where the registered difference among isolated variables enables a causal analysis that facilitates discovery”.10 A similar argument can be made about Sanditon: narrative and characterization depend in this text not just on observation but on a form of active experimentation, which brings characters into contact in order to compare their differing perspectives. Throughout Sanditon, this contact is staged through dialogue: direct 9 Clara Tuite, “Sanditon: Austen’s pre-post Waterloo”, Textual Practice 26 (2012), 621. 10 James Chandler, “Edgeworth and the Lunar Enlightenment”, Eighteenth-Century Studies 45 (2011), 98. Tate 7 speech, rather than free indirect discourse, is the formal device that the text uses to enable its readers to analyze the reactions between its various characters. Sanditon aims to establish an impartiality of form instead of character: it is the novel itself, rather than a privileged protagonist, that secures unbiased knowledge through observation and experimental comparison. This formal impartiality can be understood as a kind of objectivity, the epistemological stance defined by Lorraine Daston and Peter Galison as “knowledge that bears no trace of the knower”.11 While Daston and Galison argue that objectivity did not fully establish itself as the ideal of scientific practice until the mid-nineteenth century, the concept played an important part in the formation of scientific disciplines in the century’s early decades. The association of science with an objective and systematic methodology was one of the key steps in its separation from other forms of knowledge, but, as Sanditon attests, several aspects of scientific method were also central to understandings of the novel. Empirical observation, systematic analysis, and the verification of the trustworthiness of data were preoccupations shared by scientific practice and nineteenth-century realist fiction. John Bender traces the formulation of these shared concerns to the mid-eighteenth century, “when the guarantee of factuality in science increasingly required the presence of its opposite, a manifest yet verisimilar fictionality in the novel.”12 The imaginative and therefore non- empirical basis of literary texts was classified in opposition to science, even as those texts appropriated the epistemological precision of scientific methods. The key development in the early nineteenth century, as Jon Klancher has shown, was that this methodological connection became institutionalized: in the Romantic period, “science” and “literature” were defined as 11 Lorraine Daston and Peter Galison, Objectivity (New York: Zone, 2007), p. 17. 12 John Bender, Ends of Enlightenment (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2012), p. 38. Tate 8 cultural categories and as professions through a “mutual co-production” that simultaneously emphasized their similarities and their opposition to each other.13 Medicine was at the forefront of the professionalization of science at this time. Although already privileged as one of the established professions, alongside the clergy and the law, it was reshaped in the early nineteenth century into a more recognizably modern professional structure based on standardized training and accreditation, a process exemplified by the 1815 Apothecaries’ Act, which for the first time regulated the licensing of the least socially respectable and least organized arm of the profession.14 Adherence to scientific method was a key element of nineteenth-century models of medical professionalism, something emphasized in the opening item of the first issue of the Lancet (1823). This transcription of a lecture given by the surgeon Sir Astley Cooper to medical students at St Thomas’s Hospital explains that “surgery is usually divided into the Principles and Practice. The first are learned from observations on the living when diseased, by dissection of the dead, and by experiments made on living animals.” The principles of surgery, according to Cooper, are themselves rigorously practical, founded on observation and experimentation. He goes on to assert that “in the surgical science hypothesis should be entirely discarded, and sound theory, derived from actual observations and experience, alone encouraged.”15 This is a dogmatically Baconian model of “surgical science”, rejecting hypothesis and speculation in favor of empirical accuracy and inductive reasoning. The placing of this lecture as the inaugural piece in the reformed medicine’s flagship journal demonstrates how central the criterion of scientific objectivity was to the profession. 13 Jon Klancher, Transfiguring the Arts and Sciences: Knowledge and Cultural Institutions in the Romantic Age (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), p. 128. 14 For a discussion of the Apothecaries’ Act, and of its effect on the professional self-definitions of medicine and of writing, see Nicholas Roe, John Keats and the Culture of Dissent (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), pp. 160- 81. 15 Astley Cooper, “Surgical Lectures” (1 October 1823), Lancet 1 (1823), 3. Tate 9 As Michel Foucault has shown, however, there was a tension between scientific objectivity and professional expertise. In The Birth of the Clinic Foucault argues that the growing epistemological authority, social status, and political influence of medical professionals “were at the same time the privileges of a pure gaze, prior to all intervention and faithful to the immediate, which it took up without modifying it, and those of a gaze equipped with a whole logical armature, which exorcised from the outset the naivety of an unprepared empiricism.”16 The empirical purity of medical observation, unambiguously endorsed by Cooper in his lecture, was guaranteed but also compromised by the framework of institutional, methodological, and philosophical norms that constituted professional medicine and shaped the perspectives of individual doctors. Magali S. Larson identifies another, equally important, tension in the development of the medical profession and of nineteenth-century professionalism more generally. While maintaining that “the application of science to industry and to practically every other area of life gradually and constantly changed the cognitive bases of the social division of labor”, Larson notes that the professional and scientific process of “appropriating and standardizing new bodies of knowledge” was simultaneously a commercial enterprise involving “the creation of a distinctive ‘commodity’” and a “monopoly of competence.”17 In Sanditon, I suggest, Austen’s representations of medicine point to similar strains in the developing profession of novel-writing. Through its recurring episodes of medical diagnosis and literary interpretation, the text addresses some of the key questions raised by professionalization. Was it possible to construct a body of knowledge that was both objectively accurate and validated by exclusive professional expertise? And how could this epistemological goal be reconciled with the drive to fashion a saleable commodity? 16 Michel Foucault, The Birth of the Clinic: An Archaeology of Medical Perception (1963), trans. A. M. Sheridan Smith (London: Tavistock, 1973), p. 107. 17 Magali S. Larson, The Rise of Professionalism: A Sociological Analysis (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977), p. 17; author’s italics. Tate 10 The professionalization of literature and science, and the general exclusion of women from this process, was an important factor in nineteenth-century assessments of Austen as a writer. Austen herself addressed the gendered assumptions surrounding science, literature, and female authorship in an 1815 letter to James Stanier Clarke, chaplain and librarian to the prince regent. While corresponding about the prince’s wish to have one of her books dedicated to him, Austen was forced to deflect persistent suggestions that she should write a novel about a clergyman, a thinly veiled portrait of Clarke: Such a Man’s Conversation must at times be on subjects of Science & Philosophy of which I know nothing—or at least be occasionally abundant in quotations & allusions which a Woman, who like me, knows only her own Mother-tongue & has read very little in that, would be totally without the power of giving.—A Classical Education, or at any rate, a very extensive acquaintance with English Literature, Ancient & Modern, appears to me quite Indispensable for the person who wd do any justice to your Clergyman—And I think I may boast myself to be, with all possible Vanity, the most unlearned, & uninformed Female who ever dared to be an Authoress.18 Austen here disavows any learning, even in “English Literature”, but it is science and philosophy which are presented as being most remote from the novelist’s expertise. This separation of science and literature is less significant, however, than their grouping together as branches of knowledge utterly beyond the grasp of the “uninformed Female” author. Austen is making fun of Clarke through her ironic observations of the gulf between the educated clergyman and the authoress, but this account of her work as a model of “unlearned” female authorship was repeated, without irony, in her nephew’s Memoir of Jane Austen. Looking back on the early decades of the nineteenth century, James Edward Austen- Leigh asserts that “it must be borne in mind how many sources of interest enjoyed by this 18 Jane Austen’s Letters, ed. Deirdre Le Faye, 4th edn (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), p. 319. Tate 11 generation were then closed, or very scantily opened to ladies. A very small minority of them”, not including, he implies, his aunt, “cared much for literature or science.”19 Nineteenth-century science, however, cared something for Austen: the Memoir notes that the philosopher of science William Whewell was an admirer of her novels (Memoir, p. 112), and Peter Knox-Shaw has pointed out “how often”, in nineteenth-century considerations of Austen’s writing, “her work is approached in idiom borrowed from the sciences.”20 An 1821 notice by the theologian, logician, and political economist Richard Whately, for example, argues that Austen’s fictions record the general, instead of the particular,—the probable, instead of the true; and, by leaving out those accidental irregularities, and exceptions to general rules, which constitute the many improbabilities of real narrative, present us with a clear and abstracted view of the general rules themselves; and thus concentrate, as it were, into a small compass, the net result of wide experience.21 Whately identifies novel-writing (and, by extension, reading) as a deductive rather than an inductive process of knowledge production. The writer having already synthesized the empirical evidence acquired through “wide experience”, the novel itself sets out a narrative that demonstrates the “rules” or laws of conduct which follow from that evidence, and it presents those laws in a probabilistic and generalized form, shorn of misleading “improbabilities” and “accidental irregularities”. Contradicting Sir Edward Denham, Whately’s view of the novel is based on the conviction that useful deductions can be drawn from ordinary occurrences. But Sanditon, a text which was unpublished until 1871 and so unknown to Whately, complicates his account of the form’s abstract and theoretical relation to experience. The irregularities of hypochondria and enthusiasm are central to Sanditon’s 19 James Edward Austen-Leigh, A Memoir of Jane Austen (1871), ed. Kathryn Sutherland (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), p. 34. 20 Peter Knox-Shaw, Jane Austen and the Enlightenment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 21. 21 Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage, ed. B. C. Southam (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1968), p. 93; author’s italics. Tate 12 narrative, and the work of this novel is more inductive than deductive, focusing on the observation of particularities over the demonstration of general social rules. The particulars that are best left out of fictional narrative include, for Whately, the details of science: he warns that “any attempt whatever to give scientific information” will “interfere with what, after all, is the immediate and peculiar object of the novelist, as of the poet, to please” (Critical Heritage, p. 94; author’s italics). This admonition contributes to the Romantic period’s separation of imaginative literature from scientific writing, and it is a view repeated by Austen-Leigh in the 1860s, when such disciplinary demarcations had become more entrenched. He praises Austen’s refusal “to meddle with matters which she did not thoroughly understand. She never touched upon politics, law, or medicine, subjects which some novel writers have ventured on rather too boldly” (Memoir, p. 18). Sanditon, though, meddles with medicine boldly and extensively, examining both amateur self-diagnosis and the professional use of scientific information, and indicating a decided preference for the latter. The same preference is evident in Austen’s letters during the final months of her life, shortly after she stopped writing Sanditon. It determined her decision to move to Winchester to receive treatment for her illness: “as our Alton Apoth[ecar]y did not pretend to be able to cope with it, better advice was called in” (Letters, p. 356). Her belief in the efficacy of such advice also informed her approval of the news that her niece Harriet’s headaches were being treated by the prominent surgeon Sir Everard Home: “The Complaint I find is not considered Incurable nowadays, provided the Patient be young enough not to have the Head hardened. The Water in that case may be drawn off by Mercury” (Letters, p. 351). Austen here defers to the scientific knowledge of the professional doctor while also appropriating the medical discourse of diagnosis and prognosis for her writing. In Sanditon, this professional discourse is unequivocally rejected by several characters. Mr Parker first meets the Heywoods after injuring his leg in a carriage accident, Tate 13 while searching for a surgeon to employ at Sanditon. On returning home, he finds a letter from his sister Diana telling him that, in her opinion, he has wasted his time: “pray: never run into peril again, in looking for an apothecary on our account, for had you the most experienced man in his line settled at Sanditon, it would be no recommendation to us. We have entirely done with the whole medical tribe. We have consulted physician after physician in vain, till we are quite convinced that they can do nothing for us and that we must trust to our own knowledge of our own wretched constitutions for any relief.” (Sanditon, p. 163) Parker’s reading aloud of Diana’s letter constitutes another instance of dialogic speech that sets up a comparison between different characters’ perspectives. Diana’s hostility towards professional medicine, contrasted with her brother’s enthusiasm for it, is perhaps reflected in her failure to distinguish between the different orders of medical practitioner: apothecaries, surgeons, and university-educated physicians. It is most evident, though, in her practice of self-diagnosis and her preference for subjective knowledge over trained expertise, which she shares with her sister Susan and her younger brother Arthur. Mr Parker subsequently describes Arthur as “‘too sickly for any profession’” (Sanditon, p. 165), suggesting that Arthur, like Parker himself, has no employment, but also that he and his sisters are too enmeshed in their hypochondria to benefit from professional medical advice. Austen’s satire of the Parkers’ amateur medicine forms part of that strand of her writing which celebrates masculine bourgeois professionalism and which is exemplified, as Tuite points out, in her celebration of the naval profession in Persuasion.22 Uninformed or selfish suspicion of professional medicine is a target for satire throughout Sanditon. Lady Denham, echoing Diana, advises Mr Parker: “pray, let us have none of the tribe at Sanditon. We go on very well as we are. There is the sea and the Downs and my milch-asses’” (Sanditon, p. 171). Her 22 Clara Tuite, Romantic Austen: Sexual Politics and the Literary Canon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 169. Tate 14 resistance stems not from a distrust of professional medical expertise but from a fear of commercial rivalry: she worries that the services of a doctor might represent dangerous competition for the supposed curative properties of Sanditon’s location and for the medicinal milk that she hopes to sell. The Parkers and Lady Denham reject professional medicine in favor of diagnostic approaches based either on intuitive self-knowledge or on folk remedies validated by tradition. Charlotte, conversely, is skeptical of self-diagnosis, and she voices her doubts after hearing Mr Parker read Diana’s letter: “‘Your sisters know what they are about, I dare say, but their measures seem to touch on extremes.—I feel that in any illness, I should be so anxious for professional advice, so very little venturesome for myself, or any body I loved!— But then, we have been so healthy a family, that I can be no judge of what the habit of self- doctoring may do’” (Sanditon, p. 165; author’s italics). Sanditon’s commitment to impartial interpretation is conveyed by Charlotte’s recognition that she cannot judge with any certainty of the siblings’ circumstances, but her opinion is clear: she would rather trust to “professional advice” than to speculative “self-doctoring”. The eccentric complaints and violent remedies (blood-letting, teeth-pulling) of the Parkers are extreme both in themselves and because they are not supported by any informed or objective assessment of the case. As Knox-Shaw suggests, Charlotte’s disagreement with the siblings primarily hinges not on their Romantic subjectivism but on their disregard for evidence-based knowledge: “the quackery of the Parkers is made to seem backward-looking, and Charlotte’s breezy dismissal of it is not so much moral as empirical” (Jane Austen and the Enlightenment, p. 247). She prefers professional diagnosis over old-fashioned folk remedies because her judgments about medicine are based on relatively new standards of empirical rigor and objective knowledge. This is evident in her subsequent conversation with Arthur, who describes his “‘almost incredible’” reaction to the consumption of green tea: the drink would “‘entirely Tate 15 take away the use of my right side’”. Charlotte, unsurprisingly, is skeptical: “‘It sounds rather odd to be sure’”, she says, “‘but I dare say it would be proved to be the simplest thing in the world, by those who have studied right sides and green tea scientifically and thoroughly understand all the possibilities of their action on each other’” (Sanditon, p. 199). This ironic rejoinder dismisses Arthur’s subjective account, suggesting instead that personal pathologies can only be understood in the context of wide experience, verifiable evidence, and scientific analysis. Charlotte transfers epistemological authority over the body from the patient to the skilled practitioner, advocating a form of experimental knowledge which involves testing and documenting the reciprocal actions and interactions of different variables. This experimental method is similar in its principles to the comparative approach of Sanditon’s narrative, and Charlotte’s skepticism here is not simply medical: her questioning of Arthur’s hypochondria is also a critique of the absurdity of his speech and behavior. April Alliston has argued that the novel form developed as a response to “the empirical unknowability of the interiorized self,” especially the female self: the “private truths” of character proved “inaccessible to empirical observation, thus requiring the calculus of probability that, at the same time, came to define the novel.”23 Yet while Charlotte’s dialogue with Arthur indicates that medicine and the plausible representation of character are both dependent on probabilistic judgments, it also suggests that those judgments are informed by empirical observation. Sanditon’s female protagonist demonstrates the knowability of the male self: using the data of observation, Charlotte analyzes the probability of Arthur’s self-diagnosis and dismisses it as unscientific. Medicine, then, represents for Charlotte a model of scientific knowledge production that can also be applied to the assessment of other characters’ accounts of themselves. Sanditon as a text broadly supports this view, but, in keeping with its commitment to objectivity, its endorsement of medical practice is not uncritical. In an example of Sanditon’s 23 April Alliston, “Female Quixotism and the Novel: Character and Plausibility, Honesty and Fidelity”, The Eighteenth Century, 52 (2011), 257. Tate 16 impartial distribution of free indirect discourse, the narrative voice joins in with Parker’s exuberant enumeration of the medical benefits of the village’s geography: “The sea air and sea bathing together were nearly infallible, one or the other of them being a match for every disorder, of the stomach, the lungs or the blood; they were anti-spasmodic, anti-pulmonary, anti-sceptic, anti-bilious and anti-rheumatic” (Sanditon, p. 148). The spelling of “antiseptic” as “anti-sceptic” nicely demonstrates the way in which the terminology of scientific medicine, rather than acting as a check on enthusiasm, can instead contribute to the mystification of medical discourse and the subversion of rational thinking. Joseph Murtagh has suggested that the non-satirical use of professional jargon in novels only became common in the later nineteenth century. In the eighteenth century and the Romantic period, conversely, the “conservative”, satirical deployment of such jargon articulated a widespread skepticism towards professional specialization, “ridiculing discourses that in another context might prove alienating or threatening”.24 Sanditon enacts a more nuanced stance, which satirizes the potentially ridiculous and estranging terminology of medicine while simultaneously praising the epistemological efficacy of professional practice. Linguistic extravagance is primarily attributed in Sanditon to uninformed amateurs rather than professional practitioners, as is the commercial exploitation of illness. Mrs Griffiths, a visitor who arrives with her sickly pupil Miss Lambe near the end of the fragment, declines to purchase any of Lady Denham’s asses’ milk: “‘Miss Lambe was under the constant care of an experienced physician;—and his prescriptions must be their rule’—and except in favour of some tonic pills, which a cousin of her own had a property in, Mrs. Griffiths did never deviate from the strict medicinal page” (Sanditon, p. 203). The juxtaposition of direct speech and third-person narratorial commentary highlights the contrast between the prescriptions of the physician and the profit-driven and probably fraudulent 24 Joseph Murtagh, “George Eliot and the Rise of the Language of Expertise”, Novel 44 (2011), 91. Tate 17 quackery of Mrs Griffiths’s cousin, about which she remains silent. Yet Sanditon also acknowledges professional medicine’s dependence on commercial imperatives, particularly the need to establish a market. Larson notes that professional legitimacy depended not only on “the competence and probity of the producers: it involved shaping the need of the consumers” to meet “the conception of service advocated by the regular profession” (The Rise of Professionalism, p. 58). One of the mistakes into which Parker is led by his enthusiasm is his belief that Sanditon needs a resident doctor, when in reality there is little demand for professional medical services: “a medical man at hand would very materially promote the rise and prosperity of the place—would in fact tend to bring a prodigious influx” (Sanditon, p. 147). His siblings and Lady Denham contradict this view, and even the novel’s more rational characters argue that most ailments can be treated with amateur remedies: Charlotte, for example, contradicting her own insistence on the value of professional advice, prescribes “‘daily, regular exercise’” for Arthur’s “‘nervous complaints’” (Sanditon, p. 196). Parker, conversely, is resolute in his preference for professional medicine, commenting after his accident that “‘the injury to my leg is I dare say very trifling, but it is always best in these cases to have a surgeon’s opinion without loss of time’” (Sanditon, pp. 138-39). Yet despite his advocacy of objective assessment in medical matters, Parker himself commits numerous errors of interpretation. He is convinced that a surgeon lives in the Heywoods’ village of Willingden, and refuses to be swayed by Mr Heywood’s insistence to the contrary. On being told that he is indeed in Willingden he asserts: “‘Then Sir, I can bring proof of your having a surgeon in the parish—whether you may know it or not’” (Sanditon, p. 139). However, the newspaper advertisements that constitute his “proof” refer, as Mr Heywood explains after examining them, to another Willingden seven miles away: in a dialogic exchange of views, Mr Heywood offers a skeptical and impartial review of Parker’s evidence. Parker’s misinterpretation of that evidence contributes to what Tuite identifies as Tate 18 Sanditon’s pervasive concern with “the emphatic unreliability” of its “characterological, somatic and narrative witnesses” (“Austen’s pre-post Waterloo”, p. 622). The novel suggests that the scientific method exemplified by professional medicine is perhaps the most secure means of countering such unreliability, but Parker’s support of this method does not guarantee the accuracy of his own observations. As his mistake about the surgeon indicates, Sanditon’s preoccupation with ways of seeing is also a concern with ways of reading. While his siblings, Lady Denham, and Mrs Griffiths misinterpret medical symptoms and so diagnose imaginary ailments and promote untested remedies, Parker misreads the advertisements and sets off in search of a surgeon who is not there. The link between Parker’s uncritical enthusiasm and his careless reading habits is reinforced, during this same conversation with Mr Heywood, by his quotation of the poetry of William Cowper. Deriding the obscurity of Sanditon’s rival resort Brinshore, Parker concludes: “‘Why, in truth Sir, I fancy we may apply to Brinshore, that line of the poet Cowper in his description of the religious cottager, as opposed to Voltaire—“She, never heard of half a mile from home”’” (Sanditon, p. 145; author’s italics). Cowper’s 1782 poem “Truth”, however, praises the cottager’s pious anonymity in contrast to the notoriety of what it presents as Voltaire’s atheistic and immoral ideas, and so Parker’s quotation of this line in support of his attack on Brinshore represents a basic misreading not dissimilar to his inaccurate interpretation of the newspaper advertisements. Like many instances of literary quotation in Austen’s work, Parker’s mistake says more about the reader than about the writer; it suggests that the problem of incompetent or undiscriminating readers, which was central to Austen’s early novel Northanger Abbey, is also a key concern in Sanditon. This particular instance of misreading points to a connection between Sanditon’s representations of medicine and its self-conscious interest in the profession of writing. Just as Sanditon’s various characters question each other’s perspectives through spoken dialogue, so Tate 19 Cowper’s poetic voice is used here to critique Parker’s enthusiasm, and the extent of the misinterpretation becomes clear when the line is reread in its original context of the comparison between Voltaire and the peasant: Oh happy peasant! Oh unhappy bard! His the mere tinsel, her’s the rich reward; He prais’d perhaps for ages yet to come, She never heard of half a mile from home; He lost in errors his vain heart prefers, She safe in the simplicity of hers. Not many wise, rich, noble, or profound In science, win one inch of heav’nly ground: And is it not a mortifying thought The poor should gain it, and the rich should not?25 Cowper’s lines articulate a type of sentimental pre-Romanticism that celebrates tradition, the contemplative and retired life, and the “simplicity” of the poor. In other words, Parker could hardly have chosen a less suitable poem to validate his self-consciously modern passions for self-promotion, laissez-faire economics, and the rationalist knowledge or “science” produced by the medical profession. Despite Austen’s admiration for Cowper’s poetry, Sanditon as a whole does not necessarily endorse his stance over that of Parker. The key issue here, however, is not the relative merit of these competing sets of social norms, but rather Parker’s utter failure to grasp the (straightforward enough) meaning of Cowper’s lines. When considered in relation to the other examples of literary misinterpretation in the novel (mostly involving Sir Edward Denham), Parker’s quotation illuminates Sanditon’s concern with the question of how writers should communicate their ideas to their readership. This is a question 25 William Cowper, “Truth” (1782), ll. 331-40, in The Poems of William Cowper, ed. John D. Baird and Charles Ryskamp, 3 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980-95), 1:289. Tate 20 of professionalism; although none of the characters in Sanditon are writers, just as no doctors ever appear in the text, it is as preoccupied with examining the professionalization of writing as it is with reflecting on the rise of the medical profession. Pierre Bourdieu argues that an “autonomous field of artistic production” is one “capable of imposing its own norms on both the production and the consumption of its products.”26 Sanditon, in its representations of “artistic production” and of medical science, focuses on consumption, on demand rather than supply: by privileging certain kinds of reader and certain kinds of patient over others, the text articulates its support for modern, professionalized forms of literary and medical practice. Sir Edward is Sanditon’s most consistently inept reader. While Parker’s mistaken interpretations are based on careless and perfunctory readings, Sir Edward’s errors develop from his overemphasis on certain aspects of his preferred books and his disregard of others. His enthusiasm for literature is founded on a selective and biased interpretation of textual evidence. In one of his first conversations with Charlotte, for example, he talks at length about his passion for modern poetry: “Do you remember,” said he, “Scott’s beautiful lines on the sea?—Oh! what a description they convey!—They are never out of my thoughts when I walk here.— That man who can read them unmoved must have the nerves of an assassin!—Heaven defend me from meeting such a man un-armed.”—“What description do you mean?”—said Charlotte. “I remember none at this moment, of the sea, in either of Scott’s poems.”—“Do not you indeed?—Nor can I exactly recall the beginning at this moment.” (Sanditon, pp. 174-75) Dialogue is again used here to critique the claims of one character through the observations of another. Charlotte’s straightforward questioning of the factual accuracy of Sir Edward’s exclamations, and his unconvincing response, shows that he is far more interested in 26 Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste (1979), trans. Richard Nice (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1984), p. 3. Tate 21 promoting his self-conception as a man of feeling than he is in bringing any critical attention or sustained thought to his reading of poems. In the ensuing discussion of poetry, in which Sir Edward announces his devotion to the work of Scott, Burns, Wordsworth, James Montgomery, and Thomas Campbell, he fails to quote more than two lines of any poem. His approach to reading poetry is shaped by sentimental and Romantic notions of readership which, in promoting affective identification, offer a striking contrast to the processes of empirical observation and analysis privileged in Sanditon. Austen’s satirizing of him concentrates on his failure to think or speak with any degree of skepticism or critical acuity; Charlotte concludes that he “had not a very clear brain” and “talked a good deal by rote” (Sanditon, pp. 176-77). His expression of his admiration for Burns is indeed a rote recycling of the conventions of sensibility: “‘If ever there was a man who felt, it was Burns.’” He goes on to dismiss any accusations of immorality directed against the poet’s life or work, arguing that “‘it were hyper-criticism, it were pseudo-philosophy to expect from the soul of high toned genius, the grovellings of a common mind’” (Sanditon, pp. 175-76; author’s italics). Sir Edward’s championing of poetic feeling, and his refusal to judge it against prevailing moral or social standards, demonstrates his adherence to a model of literature in which value is determined by the sensations of the writer and the reader rather than the representational accuracy or heuristic rigor of the text. As John Wiltshire notes, this points to “a definite thematic link between Sir Edward and the Parkers, between their hypochondria and his own brand of hyperbole”, in that both rely on a subjectivist stance that resists the epistemological claims of objectivity.27 Sanditon’s satire is directed towards patients and readers who personalize rather than professionalize, whose approaches to medicine and literature are based not on trained skill or scientific impartiality but on subjective feeling. 27 John Wiltshire, Jane Austen and the Body (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 212. Tate 22 Charlotte’s opinion of Burns, despite being the opposite of Sir Edward’s, is founded on the same mistaken privileging of the emotions of writer and reader: “‘I have read several of Burns’s poems with great delight,’ said Charlotte as soon as she had time to speak, ‘but I am not poetic enough to separate a man’s poetry entirely from his character;—and poor Burns’s known irregularities greatly interrupt my enjoyment of his lines’” (Sanditon, pp. 175- 76). Like Sir Edward, Charlotte bases her view here not on a close reading of Burns’s poetry but on the poet’s “character” and her own response to it. The problem is perhaps one of genre: sentimental poetry, in its focus on the lyric expression of personal feeling, arguably invites partial and subjective readings that downplay the writer’s professional expertise. In contrast, novelistic writing, as practised by Austen in Sanditon, seeks to enact and promote empirical precision and skeptical judgment. Yet while Sir Edward denigrates novels that focus on the observation and experimental analysis of ordinary occurrences, his reading preferences nonetheless extend to other novelistic genres. When asked by Charlotte to “‘describe the sort of novels which you do approve,’” he is unsurprisingly happy to oblige her: “The novels which I approve are such as display human nature with grandeur—such as shew her in the sublimities of intense feeling—such as exhibit the progress of strong passion from the first germ of incipient susceptibility to the utmost energies of reason half-dethroned,—where we see the strong spark of woman’s captivations elicit such fire in the soul of man as leads him—(though at the risk of some aberration from the strict line of primitive obligations)—to hazard all, dare all, achieve all, to obtain her.” (Sanditon, p. 182; author’s italics) His taste, then, is for sentimental novels, such as Samuel Richardson’s Clarissa, which recount the exploits of rakish seducers. As with his response to Scott and Burns, his preference for these novels is expressed in an exaggerated and formulaic vocabulary of Tate 23 feeling, and it is shaped by his failure to read impartially or critically. He does not recognize the moral censure that such novels often direct at the seducer, recycling his comments on poetry in insisting that “‘’Twere pseudo-philosophy to assert that we do not feel more enwrapped by the brilliancy of his career, than by the tranquil and morbid virtues of any opposing character’” (Sanditon, p. 182). His enthusiasm for his preferred characters is so unquestioning that it has “formed his character”, and he plans to emulate them by seducing Lady Denham’s young cousin Clara Brereton (Sanditon, p. 183). Sir Edward’s mistaken rejection of what he terms “pseudo-philosophy”, his refusal to impose a critical distance between himself and the novels he reads, leads to an overidentification with literary characters, and this error is exacerbated by his failure to interpret his reading accurately in the first place. These misreadings of poems and novels are the most prominent examples of a more comprehensive habit of misinterpretation that emerges as one of Sir Edward’s defining characteristics. His literary conversations with Charlotte are followed by a third-person narrative commentary which re-emphasizes his excessive admiration for the questionable conduct of “the villain of the story”: he was always more anxious for its success and mourned over its discomfitures with more tenderness than could ever have been contemplated by the authors.—Though he owed many of his ideas to this sort of reading, it were unjust to say he read nothing else, or that his language were not formed on a more general knowledge of modern literature.—He read all the essays, letters, tours and criticisms of the day—and with the same ill-luck which made him derive only false principles from lessons of morality, and incentives to vice from the history of its overthrow, he gathered only hard words and involved sentences from the style of our most approved writers. (Sanditon, p. 183) Tate 24 The contrast between Sir Edward’s unthinking tenderness and the authors’ intentions promotes a model of literary interpretation in which knowledge is derived not from the personal character of the writer or the subjective response of the reader but from the author’s professional skill in constructing and communicating the meaning of a text. Sanditon’s satire of inept readership is similar to that of Northanger Abbey, but it is more prescriptive in its conclusions. As Claudia L. Johnson notes, the mock-gothic register of Northanger Abbey “‘makes strange’ a fictional style in order better to determine what it really accomplishes, and in the process it does not ridicule gothic novels nearly as much as their readers.”28 In Sanditon, conversely, there is no need to defamiliarize the style of sentimental novels in order to reveal the flaws in Sir Edward’s interpretation of them; he is demonstrably ridiculous, and his intended victim Clara “saw through him” immediately (Sanditon, p. 184). Rather than functioning satirically, the style of Sanditon prescribes a generic approach and an authorial stance which, the text suggests, can better resist the egregious misreadings to which other genres often succumb. This stance grounds its authority in empirical accuracy and impartial narrative attention, and it asks that the judgment of the reader be subordinated to the observational precision of the skilled author, just as the medical patient submits to the expertise of the doctor. While professional medical practice in the early nineteenth century excluded women, the professional and scientific approach to literature in Sanditon is primarily gendered female: in contrast to Parker and Sir Edward, female characters are typically, if not universally, more accurate observers of literary texts and of other characters. This gendering of interpretation suggests that the novel as a form enables female participation in the professionalization of literature and science. Austen’s professionalized genre of the novel is, like medical practice, bound up with the systems of commercial exchange represented by Sanditon’s tourist economy. The 28 Claudia L. Johnson, Jane Austen: Women, Politics, and the Novel (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988), p. 34. Tate 25 commodification of the novel, and the text’s ambivalent response to it, is evident in the description of the circulating library that supplies Sir Edward’s books: The library of course, afforded every thing; all the useless things in the world that could not be done without, and among so many pretty temptations, and with so much good will for Mr. Parker to encourage expenditure, Charlotte began to feel that she must check herself—or rather she reflected that at two and twenty there could be no excuse for her doing otherwise—and that it would not do for her to be spending all her money the very first evening. She took up a book; it happened to be a volume of Camilla. She had not Camilla’s youth, and had no intention of having her distress,— so, she turned from the drawers of rings and brooches, repressed farther solicitation and paid for what she bought. (Sanditon, p. 167) There is clearly a satirical element to this account: the commodified novel is presented as just one (and not even the most prominent) of the many “useless things” and “pretty temptations” offered by the library. At the same time, however, Austen makes a case here for the utility of the professionalized and female-gendered novel in a market economy, although it is a strikingly instrumentalist case: seeing Frances Burney’s novel Camilla, Charlotte recalls her reading of it, and the debts and financial distress suffered by its heroine, and promptly resolves to check her own expenditure. This practical concern with financial conduct may also be a rejoinder to criticisms levelled at the kind of novel written by Burney and by Austen. Walter Scott, in his 1816 review of Emma, lamented the “calculating prudence” of Austen’s empirical and pragmatic fiction, warning modern novelists that they risked “lend[ing] their aid to substitute more mean, more sordid, and more selfish motives of conduct, for the romantic feelings” advocated by their sentimental predecessors (Critical Heritage, p. 68). Sanditon, conversely, suggests that, as a state of mind and as a novelistic concern, Tate 26 “calculating prudence” may be preferable to the imprudent enthusiasm of a Parker or a Sir Edward, or of the hypochondria that blindly falls victim to fraudulent quackery. Charlotte’s visit to the library dramatizes the view, expressed throughout Sanditon, that the novel form should promote sound methods of judgment. The manuscript of Sanditon shows that Austen first wrote “Charlotte began to feel that she must check herself—or rather began to feel”, before replacing the repetition with “or rather she reflected”.29 This emendation reinforces the text’s commitment to an epistemology of critical thought founded on the examination of evidence. Tony Tanner connects the commodification of the novel in Sanditon to Sir Edward’s habits of misreading, arguing that the commercial “library encourages a manner of ‘rote’ reading which loses the meaning of the original text”.30 In Charlotte’s case, though, the circulating library, and the professionalized novel for which it supplies a market, encourages accurate interpretation and skeptical reflection. The aim of the novelist is still, as Whately stated, to please, but it is also to disseminate verifiable knowledge, or science; the professionalization of writing in Sanditon incorporates the novel into rationalist systems of knowledge exchange that marginalize Sir Edward’s sentimentalism as outmoded and ridiculous. His approach to literature is rejected by Charlotte, who, after visiting the library, finds herself tempted to imagine Clara as the “heroine” of a gothic fiction, “ill-used” by her relative Lady Denham: These feelings were not the result of any spirit of romance in Charlotte herself. No, she was a very sober-minded young lady, sufficiently well-read in novels to supply her imagination with amusement, but not at all unreasonably influenced by them; and while she pleased herself the first five minutes with fancying the persecutions which ought to be the lot of the interesting Clara, especially in the form of the most barbarous conduct on Lady Denham’s side, she found no reluctance to admit, from 29 A facsimile and transcription of the Sanditon manuscript can be viewed at www.janeausten.ac.uk (accessed 31 July 2014). 30 Tony Tanner, Jane Austen (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007), p. 273. http://www.janeausten.ac.uk/ Tate 27 subsequent observation, that they appeared to be on very comfortable terms. (Sanditon, p. 169; author’s italics) Charlotte’s practice of reading novels, and of reading the people around her, is one in which the exercise of the imagination is checked by empirical observation. She is Sanditon’s most reliable reader, but, even in this account of her clarity of vision, there remains a degree of distance between her perspective and that of the third-person narrative voice describing her thoughts. Later in the fragment, moreover, Charlotte again corrects her stance, concluding after more extensive observation that Lady Denham is indeed “barbarous” and callous. It is Sanditon as a text, rather than Charlotte as a character, which offers an exemplary model of how to analyze evidence: by combining experimental comparison and observational accuracy with narrative impartiality, Sanditon’s style sets out a methodology of interpretation and reading that is the foundation of a professionalized and scientific form of novelistic practice. 
work_i6yrsggtxvb3xm42fltabiftay	----	La Canadian Association for Publishing in Philosophy annonce qu'elle a entrepris la publication, en plus du Canadian Journal of Philosophy, d'une serie de monog- F LA PHILOSOPHIE A U CANADA H ^ Q PHILOSOPHY IN CANADA £ La serie comprendra des oeuvres dans tous les domaines de la philosophie, en anglais ou en frangais. Elle donnera la preference a des oeuvres canadiennes, et, au moins au commencement, aux monographies d'une longueur de 15,000 a 35,000 mots —trop longues pour etre des articles de revue, trop courtes pour etre des livres de tattle normale. Les manuscrits, une fois rediges, doivent presenter les qualites requises pour obtenir une subvention du Conseil Canadien de Re- cherche sur les Humanites. Ms devront premierement etre envoyes a: David Braybrooke Department of Philosophy Dalhousie University Halifax, Nouvelle-Ecosse, qui aura qualite de directeur de la serie pour la C.A.P.P., avec la collaboration d'autres membres de son department. Les premieres monographies a etre publiees seront (1) Charles B. Daniels et (2) George Englebretsen (University of Victoria), (Bishop's University) The Evaluation of Ethical Theories Speaking of Persons, suivies de pres — nous I'esperons — de deux monographies ecrites par des auteurs francophones. TheCanadian Association for Publishing in Philosophy wishes to announce that it is undertaking to publish, in addition to the Canadian Journal of Philosophy, a monograph series, F PHILOSOPHY IN CANADA T Q Q LA PHILOSOPHIE A U CANADA y ^ O O which will include works in any field of philosophy, in French or English. Priority will be given to Canadian material, all else being equal; and at least initially to monographs of between 15,000 words and 35,000 —too long for journal articles, too short to be books of ordinary size. Manuscripts will have to qualify after editing for subventions from the Humanities Research Council of Canada. They should be submitted in the first instance t o : David Braybrooke Department of Philosophy Dalhousie University Halifax, Nova Scotia, who with the collaboration of other members of his department will edit the series on behalf of the C.A.P.P. The first monographs to be published will be (1) Charles B. Daniels and (2) George Englebretsen (University of Victoria), (Bishop's University), The Evaluation of Ethical Theories Speaking of Persons, to be followed shortly, it is hoped, by two monographs by francophone authors. March 1975 Volume 1, number 3 Jacques Barzun Quentin Bell John C. Cawelti Frederick Crews E. D . 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work_i7ueyjq25nelfi5cdfnaztn22q	----	The language of portraiture in the early nineteenth century novel: a study in Opie and Austen This is a repository copy of The language of portraiture in the early nineteenth century novel: a study in Opie and Austen. White Rose Research Online URL for this paper: http://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/98476/ Version: Accepted Version Article: Bray, J. (2016) The language of portraiture in the early nineteenth century novel: a study in Opie and Austen. Women's Writing, 23 (1). pp. 53-67. ISSN 0969-9082 https://doi.org/10.1080/09699082.2015.1103989 eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ Reuse Unless indicated otherwise, fulltext items are protected by copyright with all rights reserved. The copyright exception in section 29 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 allows the making of a single copy solely for the purpose of non-commercial research or private study within the limits of fair dealing. The publisher or other rights-holder may allow further reproduction and re-use of this version - refer to the White Rose Research Online record for this item. Where records identify the publisher as the copyright holder, users can verify any specific terms of use on the publisher’s website. Takedown If you consider content in White Rose Research Online to be in breach of UK law, please notify us by emailing eprints@whiterose.ac.uk including the URL of the record and the reason for the withdrawal request. mailto:eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ 1 Joe Bray The Language of Portraiture in the Early Nineteenth-Century Novel: A Study in Opie and Austen This article examines how two female writers of the early nineteenth century, Amelia Opie and Jane Austen, employ the language of portraiture in their fiction to illustrate the difficulties inherent in the assessment of character, especially for the female heroine. The representation of actual portraits in their work is discussed, along with the use of language associated with the form. Both writers, it is suggested, are awa re of important changes within the theory and practice of portraiture in the period, and explore these in their fiction to draw attention to the instability and subjectivity of interpretation. Keywords: the nineteenth-century novel, portraiture, likeness, Amelia Opie, Jane Austen. Introduction This essay demonstrates how two female authors of the early nineteenth century, Amelia Opie and Jane Austen, incorporate and adapt the language of portraiture, as well as discussion of actual portraits, in their fiction, and examines the effects created. One particular term frequently associated with portraiture comes under detailed scrutiny: likeness. The essay argues that this is a key concept for both writers as they illustrate the similarities and differences between characters. Yet as their works show, it was also a hotly-contested, slippery term which was constantly being re-negotiated in this period, as a result of wider changes surrounding the theory and practice of portraiture itself. Both authors, it is suggested, exploit the tensions within the term to indicate the difficulties involved in assessing character, and to highlight the complexities of both visual and verbal representation. “Likeness” and the Portrait The late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries witnessed a growing uncertainty over the form and function of the portrait. As Shearer West observes, between 1790 and 1815 “portraiture began to be a less defined art, as it took on the qualities of history or genre painting.”i Many critics have traced the blurring of portrait and history-painting in the late eighteenth century to the theory and practice of one of the leading portrait-painters in the period, Sir Joshua Reynolds. In his fifteen lectures given to students of the Royal Academy between 1769 and 1790, which were known collectively as Discourses on Art, Reynolds urges his audience to aspire to what he calls the “grand” or “great” style of history-painting, which he feels has fallen into decline since the golden age of Michelangelo and Raphael. At times he can seem almost dismissive of the “lower” genres such as portrait, landscape and comic painting, all of which, in comparison with history-painting, do not come near to “the greatest style.” “None of them are without their merit,” he announces, “though none enter into comparison with this universal presiding idea of the art.”ii He declares that 2 “an History-Painter paints man in general; a Portrait-Painter, a particular man, and consequently a defective model” (70). Yet on other occasions in the Discourses Reynolds suggests that the boundary between the portrait and the history-painting is not so clear-cut. He claims that the portrait can also “express the general effect of the whole which alone can give to objects their true and touching character” (193), and “confer on the Artist the character of Genius” (192). In the eleventh Discourse, for example, he praises Titian, claiming that “by a few strokes he knew how to mark the general image and character of whatever object he attempted; and produced, by this alone, a truer representation than his master Giovanni Bellino, or any of his predecessors, who finished every hair” (195). He judges that Titian’s portraits, as well as his history-paintings and landscapes, display an “excellence of manner” since “whatever he touched, however naturally mean, and habitually familiar, by a kind of magick he invested with grandeur and importance” (197). Even in this “contracted subject,” Reynolds asserts, “there are therefore large ideas to be found” (200). In his own portraits too, Reynolds sought to incorporate the excellencies of the “grand style.” Nicholas Penny argues that “a good many of Reynolds’s portraits were almost as heroic, divine, splendid – and as fictional – as the history paintings in the grand manner,”iii while Shelley Bennett and Mark Leonard point out that he not only “emulated the composition and technique of Old Master paintings in devising his portraits,” but also “hung some of his own portraits among the famous collection of Old Master paintings that he exhibited in the gallery of his studio.”iv The consequence of Reynolds’s blurring of the distinction between the portrait and the history-painting was that the traditional association of the portrait with producing an accurate representation of its subject began to be questioned, or, as West puts it, “likeness was no longer the primary concern of the portraitist.”v For Reynolds in the Discourses, the most important feature of “grand style” is that it “does not consist in mere imitation”: “I will now add that Nature herself is not to be too closely copied. There are excellencies in the art of painting beyond what is commonly called the imitation of nature: and these excellencies I wish to point out.”vi In Reynolds’s view, “a mere copier of nature can never produce any thing great; can never raise and enlarge the conceptions, or warm the heart of the spectator” (41). Instead of an individual likeness, the genuine painter should strive for what Reynolds calls “the idea of central form,” or “a just idea of beautiful forms,” which is “more perfect than any one original” (44-5). Such comments are evidence, for John Barrell, of “an insistence that portraiture should aim, as far as possible, at the excellencies of the grand style, and so at a clarity of marking though not at a laboured fidelity.”vii Reynolds is not the only writer on portraiture in the period to insist that great art involves more than simply “copying” nature. In his Lectures on Painting, which, like the Discourses, were delivered at the Royal Academy (in February and March 1807), Amelia Opie’s husband, the painter John Opie repeatedly emphasises that the “soul of the art” lies in “invention and expression.”viii Though he admits that “perfection” in these skills “presupposes perfection in the humbler and more mechanic parts, which are the instruments, the language of the art” (11), Opie stresses the importance of “deviating from real fact and individual forms in search of higher excellence” (69). In the first lecture he sets out “three distinct principles or modes of seeing nature,” which for him are “indicative of three distinct ages, or stages of refinement, in the progress 3 of painting” (12). In the first authors confined themselves to “an exact copy or transcript of their originals, as they happened to present themselves, without choice or selection of any kind as to the manner of their being” (12). Practitioners of the second stage “have endeavoured to choose the most perfect models, and render them in the best point of view” (13). The third stage is, however, the one towards which painting should aspire in Opie’s view. It includes works which “have looked upon nature as meaning the general principles of things themselves, […] have made the imitation of real objects give way to the imitation of an idea of them in their utmost perfection, and […] represented [them] not as they actually are, but as they ought to be” (13). According to Opie, “this last stage of refinement, to which no modern has yet completely arrived, has been called the ideal, the beautiful, or the sublime style of art” (13). For Opie, then, as for Reynolds, “getting above individual imitation, rising from the species to the genus, and uniting, in every subject, all the perfection of which it is capable in it’s kind, is the highest and ultimate exertion of human genius” (15). Unlike Reynolds, however, he does not seem to believe that this “sublime style” can be achieved through the portrait. He vehemently decries “the inordinate rage for portrait painting (a more respectable kind of caricature),” by which the English artist is “condemned for ever to study and copy the wretched defects, and conform to the still more wretched prejudices, of every tasteless and ignorant individual, however in form, features and mind utterly hostile to all ideas of character, expression, and sentiment” (34). Opie is clearly speaking from experience here; as his wife’s memoir of him after his death confirms for much of his career portrait-painting provided his only guaranteed source of income.ix His distaste for the form becomes most apparent when he describes the remarks he has overheard at exhibitions, perhaps in response to his own portraits: “one’s ear is pained, one’s very soul is sick with hearing crowd after crowd, sweeping round and, instead of discussing the merits of the different works on view (as to conception, composition and execution), all reiterating the same dull and tasteless question, Who is that? and Is it like?” (77). The writings of Reynolds and Opie thus suggest that although this was a “portrait- painting age,” the association of the portrait with producing a “likeness” was controversial and much debated. The term itself in fact has continued to provoke discussion in theoretical treatments of portraiture. Introducing a special issue of Art Journal on the topic in 1987, the editor Richard Brilliant notes that “even the notion of likeness itself presupposes some degree of difference between the things compared, otherwise they would be identical and no question of likeness would arise.”x He argues that “falsity – as a failure of the complete correspondence – is itself an essential ingredient in the concept of likeness,” and thus “it would seem that all portraits have to be false, and consciously so, in respect to their Subjects, if they are to have validity as works of art” (171). In Brilliant’s view, “likeness is never more than a represented approximation that operates conceptually to fix transiency in an inclusive image, when change in spirit and body is the essential characteristic of the human Subject” (172), and “the degree of likeness, comprehended historically as some requisite quotient of resemblance, may vary almost without limit, effected more by changing views about personal identity and the function of artistic representation than by the peculiar physiognomy or appearance of the Subject” (171-2).xi From a different theoretical viewpoint, Marcia Pointon has also emphasised this approximate and ever- changing quality of “likeness.” In drawing attention to the fact that the eighteenth- 4 century portrait is “material property” and that its meanings are “to be produced contextually,” she argues that the accurate representation of the subject, or “likeness,” is “a shifting commodity, not an absolute point of reference; it is an idea to be annexed, rather than a standard by which to measure reality.”xii Amelia Opie As the wife of a leading, if somewhat reluctant portrait painter in the period, it is not surprising that language associated with portraiture is found frequently in Amelia Opie’s fiction. It is used especially to indicate contrasts between characters. For example in “The Revenge”, from her collection Simple Tales (1806), the heroine Sophia, irked by Augustus’s unfavourable comparison of her with her rival Lavinia Warldorf, does everything possible to denigrate the latter, claiming to her aunt that “‘madame Waldorf’s charms, which Augustus sees so plainly, are now only a face in the fire, which is visible only to one person.’”xiii Under her influence Augustus feels Lavinia’s “glowing image replaced in his fancy by a faded miniature”, while “present in reality to his view was a lovely, animated, warm-hearted girl, in all the bloom and untamed vivacity of early youth” (III, 294). He declares finally: “‘But Lavinia! oh, my Sophia! she is no more to be compared to you, now! – no, nor do I believe that she ever was worthy of the slightest comparison in beauty to you!’” (III, 308-9). Lavina’s gradual replacement by Sophia in Augustus’s affections is thus indicated by the contrast between the former’s transformation into “a faded miniature” and the latter’s immediate animated vivacity. Similarly in “Happy Faces; or, Benevolence and Selfishness”, from Tales of the Heart (1820), the contrast between Sir Edward Meredith and Mr. Fergusson is described by the narrator as follows: “Fergusson was a large coarse picture, painted for effect, and scarcely to be endured but at a distance; Sir Edward was a highly-finished cabinet picture, which charmed the more the nearer it was approached.”xiv Through her marriage Opie would also have been well aware of contemporary debates surrounding portraiture. Shelley King has discussed how their “companionate marriage” led to “reciprocal professional benefits,” describing it as “as much a marriage of the arts as of individuals.”xv She demonstrates how paintings and especially portraits become a feature of Opie’s poetry after her marriage, claiming that “in uniting literature and painting, she articulates a perspective she shared with her husband” (47-8).xvi After John’s untimely death shortly following his lectures to the Royal Academy it was Amelia who prepared them for publication, along with a memoir of husband through which much of our knowledge of their marriage is derived. This work confirms that, in King’s words, “in the Opie household the portrait as a genre was the subject of conflicted responses.”xvii On the one hand Opie confirms her husband’s frustration with this branch of his art, observing that “of all employments, portrait-painting is, perhaps, the most painful and trying to a man of pride and sensibility, and the most irritating to an irritable man,” yet on the other she reports him being quite happy to acknowledge to his fellow academicians that his wife influenced his increased output of female portraits in the early years of their marriage.xviii Opie herself, in anticipating the charge that she has ameliorated her husband’s character, uses language which indicates her familiarity with the practice of portrait-painting, and contemporary questions concerning its representational accuracy: 5 Whatever were the faults of Mr. Opie, admitting that I was aware of them, it was not for me to bring them forward to public view; and the real worth of his character in domestic life, I only can be supposed to know with accuracy and precision: and I most solemnly aver, that I have not said in his praise a single word that I do not believe to be strictly true; - but it was my business to copy the art of the portrait-painter, who endeavours to give a general rather than a detailed likeness of a face, and, while he throws its trivial defects into shadow, brings forward its perfections in the strongest point of view. (53) The frustrations and complexity of the portrait-painter’s art, as well as the potential benefits of rendering “a general rather than a detailed likeness” are felt throughout Opie’s fiction. In her most well-known novel Adeline Mowbray (1804) a contrast is drawn between the brilliant, dying writer Glenmurray and his more worldly cousin Charles Berrendale. Though the facial resemblance between them is such that “they were, at first, mistaken for brothers,”xix there are important physical differences too, which point to their dissimilar characters: “Glenmurray was remarkable for the character and expression of his countenance, and Berrendale for the extreme beauty of his features and complexion. Glenmurray was pale and thin, and his eyes and hair dark. Berrendale’s eyes were of a light blue; and though his eye-lashes were black, his hair was of a rich auburn: Glenmurray was thin and muscular; Berrendale, round and corpulent” (II, 169-170). Glenmurray recommends to Adeline that she marries his cousin after his death, reasoning that “‘he is reckoned like me, and I thought that likeness might make him more agreeable to you,’” only for Adeline to reject the prospect as “odious”: “‘To look like you, and not be you, Oh! insupportable idea!’” (II, 199). Yet after Glenmurray has died, Adeline begins to “look on Berrendale and his attentions not with anger, but gratitude and complacency; she had even pleasure in observing the likeness he bore Glenmurray; she felt that it endeared him to her” (II, 228). However once they are married the selfishness of Berrendale’s character soon becomes apparent, and Adeline is continually haunted by her awareness of how much better she would have been treated by her previous lover: “‘How different,’ thought Adeline, ‘would have been HIS feelings and HIS expressions of them at such a time! Oh! – ’ but the name of Glenmurray died away on her lips” (III, 53). In Adeline Mowbray then “likeness” is a complex and potentially deceptive quality. After Glenmurray’s death the heroine at first discerns a “likeness” between him and cousin, apparently disregarding their physical differences under the influence of her deceased lover’s wishes. The details of their appearance seem less important than Glenmurray’s rather vague “‘he is reckoned like me’”. Yet this general kind of “likeness” soon proves misleading, as the true nature of Berrendale’s character, and its contrast with Glenmurray’s, emerges. Opie’s later novel Temper (1812), in which portraits are a particularly frequent topic for discussion and debate, takes this potential unreliability of “likeness” further, suggesting it involves an inevitable subjectivity of interpretation, and highlighting the confusions that can result. The novel concerns a girl with an ungovernable temper, Agatha, who after the death of her father becomes increasingly hard to control. She defies her mother and elopes with the dashing Mr. Danvers, only to discover that he is already married, and disposed to treat her very badly. She has a child, Emma, but dies in poverty shortly 6 afterwards, still separated from her family. Eventually Emma is reunited with her grandmother, Mrs. Castlemain, and though she too has a temper which at times seems to be leading her into danger, she is finally brought under the control of her grandmother and her friends and makes a happy marriage with the good-natured hero Henry St. Aubyn. As Emma and Agatha are frequently compared, the novel abounds in language connected with portraiture, especially the term “likeness.” When Agatha’s mother Mrs. Castlemain first sees her grand-daughter she is “so powerfully” reminded of her lost daughter that “with a heart oppressed almost to bursting she rushed out of the room, and walked on the lawn to recover herself. But then she recollected how foolish she was to allow herself to be so painfully overcome by a resemblance which must endear Emma to her, and she resolved to re-enter the parlour, to contemplate the likeness from which she had before fled.”xx Soon “the lapse of years” is “entirely forgotten, and the illusion complete,” and Mrs. Castlemain even addresses Emma as “‘My dear dear child!’” (I, 146). Her friend Mr. Egerton is also struck by the resemblance: “The likeness strikes even me,” replied Mr. Egerton, “who saw your daughter only when pale and faded by uneasiness of mind. – And I fear,” added Mr. Egerton, “that the likeness in one respect extends still further; and that in the ungovernableness of her temper she also resembles her mother.” “Perhaps she does,’ said Mrs. Castlemain; ‘but so as she be but like her, I care not, however dear the complete resemblance may cost me!” (I, 147) Mr. Egerton’s college friend Mr. Vincent has a similar reaction on first meeting Emma: At this moment Mr. Vincent was announced, and received by Mrs. Castlemain with marked cordiality. When she presented him to Mr. Egerton, he too seemed glad to see him as an old College acquaintance; but Mr. Vincent was so struck with the strong likeness that Emma bore her mother, who has really captivated his young heart the first time he beheld her, that he could scarcely speak the welcomes which he felt; and Emma, blushing at his earnest yet melancholy gaze, turned to the window. (II, 239) All three characters are strongly affected then by the “likeness” which Emma bears to her mother, and extend the physical resemblance to draw comparisons between the two characters. For Mrs. Castlemain and Mr. Vincent in particular, Emma’s “likeness” to Agatha triggers a powerful set of memories and feelings that they had, and indeed still have, for the latter. Emma’s “likeness” to her mother is made more complicated, however, when Mr. Egerton shows her a veiled portrait of Agatha in Mrs. Castlemain’s dressing-room and promises “‘to relate the history of that dear unhappy woman.”’ Emma at first cannot believe it is a portrait of her mother, mournfully exclaiming ‘“O sir, is it possible that my mother could ever have looked so young, so happy, so beautiful?’” (I, 310). Mr. Egerton confirms that it represents Agatha before “‘she became the slave of an 7 imperious temper and ungovernable passions, and by an act of disobedience paved the way to her own misery and early death,’” which prompts Emma to reflect further: Emma blushed, looked down, and remained silent for a moment; but looking again at the picture, she suddenly observed, “Surely I have seen a face like that, for the features seem quite familiar to me!” “You have,” said Mr. Egerton with a significant look, which, as Emma’s eyes involuntarily turned towards a pier glass opposite to her, she was at no difficulty to explain, and she blushed again; (but from emotions of a mixed nature, for pleasure was one of them,) as “the consciousness of self-approving beauty stole across her busy thought.” (I, 311-2) Emma is thus only persuaded of the “likeness” of the portrait when she looks at the glass and sees her own reflection. Its “likeness” to her own face is confirmed, and by extension to that of her mother at the same age. There is thus a complex process of recognition and self-recognition at work here; Emma herself stands as an intermediary between the portrait and her mother, without whom, in her own perception at least, there can be no resemblance. The interpretation of “likeness” is thus a three-way process, involving the portrait, the subject it is supposedly “like” and the viewer herself, supporting Brilliant’s emphasis on portraiture’s “necessary incorporation” of “a viewer not privy to the intimate psychological exchange between the artist and the person portrayed but whose view often determines the significance of the work, or of the subject.”xxi There is a more instantaneous, less mediated operation of “likeness” shortly afterwards however. The portrait represents Agatha at the age of sixteen. In order to show Emma the effects of “passion and temper” on the countenance and to try and dissuade her from following in her mother’s footsteps, Mr. Egerton then shows her a “large miniature” of her mother at twenty-four: Emma, surprised and affected, took the picture with a trembling hand, but had no sooner beheld it, than she exclaimed in a voice inarticulate from emotion, “This is indeed my mother!” and sunk back in her chair almost choked with the violence of her feelings. (I, 313) These examples suggest then that “likeness” can be a complex, mediated process, capable of having a powerful, violent effect, yet open to, indeed even dependent on, a subjective point of view. Elsewhere in the novel this complexity is explored further, and “likeness” shown to be even more susceptible to interpretation and disagreement. Mrs. Orwell (who looked after Agatha when she was a single parent) presents a portrait of Agatha and her child, which shows her “awaiting with clasped hands and a look of wild anguish the effect of the nutriment which Mrs. Orwell was going to convey into the infant’s mouth”: “It is very like her,” said Mr. Egerton with a quivering lip. “It is like, indeed!” said Emma, gazing wistfully on the beloved face of her unhappy mother. “It is not like my child as I knew her!” exclaimed Mrs. Castlemain wildly, and falling back on the sofa in an agony almost too great to bear. (II, 389) 8 “Likeness” can also be the cause of misunderstanding. Mrs. St Aubyn hopes that Mr. Egerton’s enthusiastic praise of her son Henry’s appearance could translate to an admiration for herself, whereas in fact he has reminded him of someone else completely: “What a countenance that young man has!” cried Mr. Egerton, as Henry bounded past, and smiled on them as he went. “He has indeed,” simpered Mrs. St. Aubyn; adding, with affected and hesitating timidity, “Do you see any likeness? Some people say that – ” “A likeness! O yes, I do indeed see his likeness to one very dear to me;” – for he concluded she alluded to her husband’s cousin, Clara Ainslie, whose image was always present to his mind, and whose name he thought Mrs. St. Aubyn from delicacy forbore to mention. “Do you not see the likeness yourself, dear madam?” asked he, pressing her arm gently as she spoke. “Why – yes,” replied the lady, “I believe I do; but I must be a bad judge, you know – ” “You are too modest,” rejoined Mr. Egerton, again pressing her arm kindly […] (I, 252-3) “Likeness” then is not a fixed, determinate constant in this novel, but rather perpetually in flux, and open to subjective interpretation. In Brilliant’s terms it may “vary almost without limit.”xxii The narrator comments at the start of volume III that “I am well convinced that no two persons can receive exactly the same impressions from any one object or scene, but that, however like the impressions might be in the aggregate, they would be different in the detail” (III, 1). For Opie, throughout her fiction, “likeness” is a powerful, yet complex quality, which, like the portrait with which it is often associated, illustrates the potentially hazardous nature of interpretation. The final part of this article turns to another early nineteenth-century novel in which the notion of “likeness” is again prominent, and the cause of even greater confusion. Jane Austen’s Emma Portraits feature heavily throughout Jane Austen’s writing career; from the illustrations by Cassandra which accompany her sister’s pithy descriptions of the monarchs of Volume the Second’s “The History of England,” through Elizabeth’s decisive appraisal of Darcy’s portrait at Pemberley, to Charlotte’s comparison of the miniature of Mr. Hollis with the large-scale portrait of Sir Harry Denham in Sanditon. It is however in the last novel published in her lifetime that Austen investigates most fully the complexities of the portrait, and the uncertainties concerning the interpretation of character that it can raise. Emma’s proposal to attempt the “likeness” of her friend Harriet Smith earns Mr. Elton’s instant enthusiasm. Believing that he is in love with Harriet, Emma is confused by his praise for her drawing: “Yes, good man! – thought Emma – but what has all that to do with taking likenesses? You know nothing of drawing. Don’t pretend to be in raptures about mine. Keep your raptures for Harriet’s face.”xxiii As the 9 drawing of the portrait progresses, Emma fails to see that it is her supposed skill at “taking likenesses” rather than Harriet’s “likeness” that Mr. Elton admires. She is forced to admit that “there was no being displeased with such an encourager, for his admiration made him discern a likeness almost before it was possible. She could not respect his eye, but his love and his complaisance were unexceptionable” (41). When the portrait is finished Elton is in “continual raptures” and defends it “through every criticism” (41). He is particularly insistent on its “likeness”. To Mrs. Weston’s observations that “‘Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty she wanted’” and “‘The expression of the eye is most correct, but Miss Smith has not those eye-brows and eye-lashes. It is the fault of her face that she has them not,’” he replies “‘I cannot agree with you. It appears to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature. I never saw such a likeness in my life. We must allow for the effect of shade, you know’” (41). Similarly, when Mr. Woodhouse expresses his anxiety that Harriet appears to be sitting out of doors, Mr. Elton is fervent in his praise: “You, sir, may say any thing,” cried Mr. Elton; “but I must confess that I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of Miss Smith out of doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable spirit! Any other situation would have been much less in character. The naïveté of Miss Smith’s manners – and altogether – Oh, it is most admirable! I cannot keep my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness.” (42) Mr. Elton’s repeated praise for the “likeness” of the drawing is further evidence of the fact that, in Pointon’s words, this is “a shifting commodity, not an absolute point of reference; it is an idea to be annexed, rather than a standard by which to measure reality.”xxiv It is his partiality which makes him see “likeness” where others, even the artist herself, do not. After the first day’s sketch Emma judges that although there is “no want of likeness,” “she meant to throw in a little improvement to the figure, to give a little more height, and considerably more elegance” (41), and she later acknowledges to herself the truth of Mr. Knightley’s criticism that she has made Harriet “too tall”: “Emma knew that she had, but would not own it” (41). While Mr. Elton obsessively insists on the “likeness” of Emma’s drawing in this episode, his wife is if anything even fonder of discerning resemblances, especially between Hartfield and Maple Grove. On her first visit to the former she cannot resist comparing every aspect to her rich brother-in-law’s home: Mrs. Elton seemed most favourably impressed by the size of the room, the entrance, and all that she could see or imagine. “Very like Maple Grove! – She was quite struck by the likeness! – That room was the very shape and size of the morning-room at Maple Grove; her sister’s favourite room.” – Mr. Elton was appealed to. – “Was not it astonishingly like? – She could really almost fancy herself at Maple Grove.” “And the staircase – You know, as I came in, I observed how very like the staircase was; placed exactly in the same part of the house. I really could not help exclaiming! I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, it is delightful to me, to be reminded of a place I am so extremely partial to as Maple Grove.” (224) 10 The Eltons’ insistence on seeing “likeness” everywhere, whether in a drawing or house design, acts as a caution to the reader. It is a reminder that behind the term lurks a subjective partiality, that can be exploited by the self-serving and vulgar. Emma is concerned throughout with the possible deceptiveness of “likeness,” and the ways it can mislead, and cause misunderstanding. The word usually occurs in the novel in the context of a comparison of two characters. Thus when Harriet suggests to Emma that she will be “‘an old maid at last, like Miss Bates!’” after her friend has told her that she has “‘very little intention of every marrying at all,’” Emma’s characterisation of Miss Bates is withering: “That is as formidable an image as you could present, Harriet; and if I thought I should ever be like Miss Bates! so silly – so satisfied – so smiling – so prosing – so undistinguishing and fastidious – and so apt to tell every thing relative to every body about me, I would marry tomorrow. But between us, I am convinced there never can be any likeness, except in being unmarried.” (73) The reader is perhaps less likely to dismiss this “likeness” given Emma’s self- satisfied behaviour towards Harriet early in the novel. Indeed the way that she talks about Miss Bates here, with the dashes and repetition, ironically mimics the patterns of Miss Bates’s own speech throughout the novel, suggesting that the resemblance between the two is less improbable than Emma would wish. Emma is keener to embrace “likeness” in a conversation with Frank Churchill as the two of them consider what they have in common, after Frank’s engagement to Jane Fairfax has come to light. Though he at first rebuffs her suggestion that “‘in the midst of your perplexities at that time, you had very great amusement in tricking us all,’” she persists with her interpretation: “I am sure it was a source of high entertainment to you, to feel that you were taking us all in. – Perhaps I am readier to suspect, because, to tell you the truth, I think it might have been some amusement to myself in the same situation. I think there is a little likeness between us.” He bowed. “If not in our disposition,” she presently added, with a look of true sensibility, “there is a likeness in our destiny; the destiny which bids fair to connect us with two characters so much superior to our own.” (391-2) Just as Emma is eager to repudiate Harriet’s suggestion of a “likeness” between her and Miss Bates then, so she is determined to see one between her and Frank. Yet Frank’s silent bow, coupled with Emma’s over-dramatised “look of true sensibility” again invite the reader to question this comparison. “Likeness” is again a slippery, shifting concept, as the similitude it suggests is shown to be subjective and partial; the result of interpretation. This article has demonstrated then that both Amelia Opie and Jane Austen were very familiar with contemporary debates surrounding portraiture, especially the hotly- contested concept of “likeness,” and that this awareness finds its way into their fiction in various ways. For both authors, “likeness” is a powerful, yet complex quality, which rarely leads to clarity and transparency. Rather, both employ it to suggest the 11 hazardous opacity of interpretation, and the inevitable subjectivity involved in assessing character. For both these writers immersed in the artistic and cultural theories of their age, the portrait, and the language associated with it, is a way of raising the uncertainties of representation, and the potential chaos and confusion that it can generate. Dr Joe Bray School of English University of Sheffield Jessop West 1 Upper Hanover Street Sheffield S3 7RA j.bray@shef.ac.uk 12 Notes i Shearer West, Portraiture (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), 76. ii Joshua Reynolds, Discourses on Art, edited by Robert R. Wark (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1975), 51. iii Nicholas Penny, “An Ambitious Man: The Career and Achievement of Sir Joshua Reynolds.” In Nicholas Penny (ed.) Reynolds (London: Royal Academy of Arts, 1986), pp. 17-42, 17. iv Shelley Bennett and Mark Leonard, “‘A Sublime and Masterly Performance’: The Making of Sir Joshua Reynolds’s Sarah Siddons as the Tragic Muse.” In Robyn Asleson (ed.) A Passion for Performance: Sarah Siddons and Her Portraitists (Los Angeles: J. Paul Getty Museum, 1999), pp. 97-140, 109. See also Heather McPherson, “Picturing Tragedy: Mrs Siddons as the Tragic Muse Revisited.” Eighteenth-Century Studies 33: 3 (2000): 401-430. v West 2004, 76. vi Reynolds 1975, 41. vii John Barrell, The Political Theory of Painting from Reynolds to Hazlitt: ‘The Body of the Public’ (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1986), 123. viii John Opie, Lectures on Painting, delivered at The Royal Academy of Arts (London: Longman, Hurst, Rees and Orme, 1809), 11. ix A Memoir by Mrs Opie, and Other Accounts of Mr. Opie’s Talents and Character (London: Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees and Orme, Paternoster-Row, 1809). x Richard Brilliant, “Editor’s Statement: Portraits: The Limitations of Likeness.” Art Journal 46: 3 (1987): 171-2, 171. xi See also Richard Brilliant, Portraiture (London: Reaktion Books, 1991), 25-6. xii Marcia Pointon, Hanging the Head: Portraiture and Social Formation in Eighteenth-Century England (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1993), 176, 9. For another discussion of the complex relationship between likeness and identity, see John Gage, “Photographic likeness.” In Joanna Woodall (ed.), Portraiture: Facing the subject (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1997), pp. 119-130. Highlighting the eighteenth century’s “idealising conception of likeness”, Gage observes that “Portrait painting worked by an additive method in which features were progressively painted into the image until it was agreed that a satisfactory likeness had been created, and, as the case of Reynolds and Gainsborough has suggested, the concept of ‘satisfactory’ was a very fluid one” (123). xiii Amelia Opie, Simple Tales (London: Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, Paternoster Row, 1806), III, 291-2. xiv Amelia Opie, Tales of the Heart (London: Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Paternoster Row, 1820), IV, 110. xv Shelley King “Portrait of a Marriage: John and Amelia Opie and the Sister Arts.” Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture 40 (2011): 27-62, 28, 40. xvi See also Shelley King “‘So soon the lone survivor of you all’: Representation, Memory, and Mourning in Amelia Opie’s ‘On the Portraits Of Deceased Relatives and Friends, which Hang Around Me.’” In Alden Cavanaugh (ed.) Performing the “Everyday”: The Culture of Genre in the Eighteenth Century (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2007), pp. 120-9. xvii King 2007, 122. 13 xviii A Memoir by Mrs Opie 1809, 42-3, 17-18. xix Amelia Opie, Adeline Mowbray, or The Mother and Daughter: A Tale (London: Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, & Orme, Paternoster Row and A. Constable and Co. Edinburgh, 1805), II, 169. xx Amelia Opie, Temper, or Domestic Scenes: A Tale (London: Printed for Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Paternoster Row, 1813), I, 145-6. xxi Brilliant 1991, 8, 31. xxii Brilliant 1987, 171-2. xxiii Jane Austen, Emma, edited by Fiona Stafford (London: Penguin, 1996 [1816]), 38. xxiv Pointon 1993, 9. Dr Joe Bray is a Reader in Language and Literature in the School of English at the University of Sheffield. He is the author of The Epistolary Novel: Representations of Consciousness (2003), and The Female Reader in the English Novel: From Burney to Austen (2009), and the editor of, amongst others, The Routledge Companion to Experimental Literature (2012). He is currently working on a monograph entitled The Portrait in Fiction of the Romantic Period. 
work_idbo4upnb5aafb2hmocc4nmk4i	----	06=(120221-001)김효영.hwp http://dx.doi.org/10.5392/JKCA.2012.12.05.052 장르 판별 알고리즘을 이용한 책 장르 시각화 Book Genre Visualization based on Genre Identification Algorithm 김효영, 박진완 앙 학교 첨단 상 학원 Hyoyoung Kim(greatinno@naver.com), Jin Wan Park(jinpark@cau.ac.kr) 요약 텍스트 시각화는 데이터 시각화의 한 분야로, 방 한 텍스트 데이터에 한 다양한 분석 기법을 바탕으 로 텍스트의 내용 측면은 물론 구조 , 형식 측면을 시각 으로 재 (represent)해내는 방법에 한 연구이다. 본 연구에서는 이러한 텍스트 시각화 연구의 일환으로, 서 이 갖는 장르 특성을 서 본문에 직 사용된 단어들을 바탕으로 악해낼 수 있는 방법에 해 고찰하고, 실험을 통한 검증을 바탕으로 서 장르 시각화의 요소를 도출한 후, 이를 직 이고 효율 으로 시각화하는 방법에 해 서술하 다. 본 연구에서 제안하는 시각화는 첫째, 책에 직 사용된 단어를 토 로 책의 실질 장르를 악할 수 있으 며, 둘째, 시각화 결과 이미지를 통해 해당 서 이 어떤 장르와 가장 가까운지 한 에 악할 수 있을 뿐 아니라, 한 책이 갖는 복합 장르 특성을 알 수 있도록 해주고, 이미지 내의 (dot)의 개수와 곡선의 곡률, 밝기 등을 통해 표 장르로 악된 장르의 근 도(유사도)를 짐작할 수 있다는 에서 그 의의를 갖는다. 나아가 개별 소비자 자신이 선호하는 서 들에 한 용을 통해 개인별 선호 서 ( 는 장르) 이미지를 제공하는 등 서 추천 시스템과 같은 북 커스터마이징(book customizing)과 같은 분야에도 다양하게 활 용될 수 있다. ■ 중심어 :∣텍스트 시각화∣데이터 시각화∣ Abstract Text visualization is one of sectors in data visualization. This study is on methods to visually represent text's contents, structure, and form aspects based on various analytic techniques about wide range of text data. In this study -as a text visualization study-, 1) a method to find out the characteristics of a book's genre using words in the text of the book was looked into, 2) elements of visualization of a book's genre based on verification through an experiment were drew, and 3) the ways to intuitionally and efficiently visualize this were explained. According to visualization suggested by this study, first, actual genre of a book can be understood based on words used in the book. Second, with which genre is closed to the book can be found out with one glance through images of visualization. Moreover, the characteristics of complicated genres included in a book can be understood. Furthermore, the level of closeness (similarity) of a genre -which is found to be a representative genre using the number of dots, curvature of a curve, and brightness in the image- can be assumed. Finally, the outcome of this study can be used for a variety of fields including book customizing service such as a book recommendation system that provides images of personal preference books or genres through application of books favored by individual customers. ■ keyword :∣Text Visualization∣Data Visualization∣ * 본 연구는 한국연구재단의 지원을 받아 수행되었음(No. 2011-0018616). 수번호 : #120221-001 수일자 : 2012년 02월 21일 심사완료일 : 2012년 04월 26일 교신 자 : 박진완, e-mail : jinpark@cau.ac.kr 장르 판별 알고리즘을 이용한 책 장르 시각화 53 I. 서 론 1. 연구 목적 텍스트 시각화는 데이터 시각화의 한 분야로, 방 한 텍스트 데이터에 한 다양한 분석 기법을 바탕으로 텍 스트의 내용 측면은 물론 구조 , 형식 측면을 시 각 으로 재 (represent)해내는 방법에 한 연구이다 [1]. 텍스트 시각화에 한 연구는 텍스트의 내용을 다 양한 시각 요소로 표 하는 기본 인 근부터, 텍스트 의 내용 는 그 안에 숨어있는 스토리텔링을 새로운 으로 재조명 하거나, 보이지 않는 계 측면을 시각 재 을 통해 드러내는 등의 다양한 근 방식을 갖는다. 텍스트 시각화의 재료 데이터가 되는 텍스트의 경우, 그 양이 방 해질 경우 체 인 주제와 내용 그 데 이터가 갖는 계 등을 악하기가 매우 어렵게 된다 [2]. 이러한 맥락에서 텍스트 데이터를 분석하여, 시각 으로 표 하고자 하는 요소를 도출한 뒤 이를 효과 인 시각 요소로 매핑하여 하나의 이미지의 형태로 표 하고자 하는 텍스트 시각화에 한 연구는, 방 한 데이터에서 악하기 불가능한 복잡, 다양한 정보를 직 으로 나타낼 수 있다는 에서 정보 달의 독창성 효율성을 갖는다. 본 연구에서는 이러한 텍스트 시 각화 연구의 일환으로, 다양한 서 이 갖는 장르 특 성을 텍스트 데이터에 한 분석을 토 로 도출한 후 이를 직 인 하나의 이미지 포맷으로 표 하기 한 방법론을 제시하고자 하 다. 이를 해 서 의 장르 성격을 나타내는 요인 도출을 한 디지털 서 데이터 의 분석 처리 차에 한 연구와, 도출된 요인을 시 각 요소로 치환하는 방법에 한 미학 , 디자인 근에 따른 구체 내용을 기술한다. 2. 연구 방법 책의 장르는 부분의 경우 출 사나 자에 의해 분 류되는데, 이는 주 인 것으로 실제 책의 텍스트가 갖는 성격과는 다소 차이가 있을 수 있다. 본 연구에서 는 이러한 에 착안하여 서 텍스트에 사용된 단어 데이터를 분석하여 서 의 장르를 별할 수 있는 방법 론에 하여 기술하고, 이러한 방법론의 타당성을 검증 하며, 이를 통하여 도출된 각 서 텍스트의 장르 정보 를 시각 요소로 매핑하여 한 장의 직 인 이미지의 형태로 시각화하는 방법을 제안한다. 이를 해 먼 최 한 많은 디지털 서 데이터를 수집하여 분석한 후, 이들 서 에 사용된 단어로 ‘보편 빈도사 ’을 제작한다. 다음으로 각 장르별로 표 서 을 선정하여 이들을 장르 표 서 으로 할당하고, 이 들 표 서 에서 사용된 단어들을 빈도수로 정리한 ‘장르빈도사 ’을 제작한다. 그리고 이들 ‘장르빈도사 ’ 에 등장하는 단어 , 특정 장르의 성격을 갖기 보다는 보편 으로 많이 사용되는 단어를 제외하고, 실제로 특 정 장르에서의 출 빈도가 높은 단어를 별하기 해, ‘보편빈도사 ’과 각 ‘장르빈도사 ’의 빈도수를 비 교, 분석하는 과정을 거쳐 ‘장르독자성사 ’을 제작한 다. 이 게 제작된 ‘장르독자성사 ’을 바탕으로 임의의 책을 알고리즘에 입하여 각 장르독자성사 과 비교 하는 과정을 거쳐 사용 단어의 장르 근 도를 도출한 다. 이러한 일련의 과정을 통해 도출된 장르 근 도를 하나의 이미지로서 표 하기 해 각 장르의 근 도에 해당하는 속성을 시각 요소와 매핑하여 하나의 직 이미지로 시각화하는 방법을 제안하고, 결과 이미지 분석을 통해 제안된 시각화 방법론의 타당성을 검증한다. Ⅱ. 텍스트 시각화 사례 연구 1. Visualizing "His Dark Materials" 그림 1. "His Dark Materials"의 시각화 일부 한국콘텐츠학회논문지 '12 Vol. 12 No. 554 T. Legan과 L. Becker(2010)[3]는 그들의 논문에서 Pullman의 3부작 소설인 “His Dark Material"을 시각화 하는 방법론을 제안하 다. [그림 1]과 같이, 세 권의 텍스트 체를 펼쳐놓고 남 녀 주인공 이름인 ‘Lyra'와 'Will'이라는 단어를 으로 은 후 연결한 시각화 결과물을 통해 1권에서는 남자 주인공이 등장하지 않은 채 여자 주인공만으로 이야기 가 개된다는 내용의 흐름을 짐작할 수 있고, 두 주인 공의 이름이 모두 존재하지 않는 공백 부분에서는 기타 등장인물(Mary Malone, Lord Asreil, Mrs. Coulter 등) 에 한 묘사가 주로 나타남을 알 수 있는 등 문학 작품 의 시각화를 통해 그 속에 드러나는 이야기의 흐름 계를 시각화한 연구이다. 2. BibleViz BibleViz[4]는 Chris Harrison과 Christoph Romhild 가 성경의 텍스트를 데이터로 여러 가지 정보를 시각화 한 일련의 작업이다. 이 작업은 총 3종류의 시각화 작업 으로 이루어져있으며, 이 가장 표 인 것이 성경 텍스트 내의 교차 언 을 시각화한 ‘Bible Cross-References’이다. 성경 내에 교차 으로 언 되 는 63,000여 개의 교차 언 을 막 (bar)와 호(arc)를 이 용하여 시각 으로 표 하 다[그림 2]. 방 한 데이터 를 인터랙션이 없는 하나의 이미지 형태로 시각화하기 해 정보 달이라는 기능 측면보다는 심미 측면 에 을 둔 작업으로 볼 수 있다. 그림 2. Bible Cross-References [그림 2]의 아래쪽에 나열된 막 그래 (bar graph) 는 성경의 각 장(chapter)을 나타낸다. 성경의 각 권 (book)은 흰색과 밝은 회색으로 번갈아가며 구분하여 표 하 고, 각 장에 있는 (verse)의 수가 많을수록 막 의 길이가 길어진다. 총 63,779개의 교차 언 은 하 나의 호(arc)의 형태로 나타내었고, 교차 언 된 두 개 의 각 장(chapter)의 거리에 따라 색상을 다르게 입 마치 무지개와 같은 시각 효과를 갖도록 하 다. 3. Writing without Words Writing without Words[5]는 텍스트를 시각 으로 재 하는 방법에 해 연구하고 다양한 작가들의 쓰 기 스타일 특성과 그 차이 을 시각화하고자 하는 로 젝트이다. 이 로젝트에서는 소설이 갖는 텍스트 데이 터를 ‘문학 유기체(The Literary Organism)'로서 표 하여 개별 소설 고유의 문학 , 시각 정체성을 나 타내고자 하 다. 이와 함께 문장과 문장 길이의 시각 화, 운율의 질감 시각화 등의 일련의 시각화 과정을 아 우르는 매우 흥미로운 작업이다. 그림 3. Stephanie Posavec의 ‘문학적 유기체’(The Literary Organism) - Jack Kerouac의 소설 ‘On the Road' [그림 3]은 Jack Kerouac의 소설 ‘On the Road’를 유 기체 으로 시각화한 이미지이다. 단순한 트리구조로 표 하면서, 그 유기체 느낌을 잘 살리기 해 수작 장르 판별 알고리즘을 이용한 책 장르 시각화 55 업으로 제작하 다. ‘On the Road'의 첫 번째 트를 장 (chapter)으로 분리하고, 각 장은 (paragraph)로, 은 문장으로, 문장은 단어들로 분리한 후, 각 문장에 따른 단어의 수에 따라 조직화하여 표 하 다. 여기에 11가 지의 주제별 색상을 할당하여 용함으로써 각 시각화 결과 이미지가 임의의 소설에 한 주제와 내용을 시각 으로 나타내도록 하 다. 이에 따라 여러 문학 작품 에 한 주제와 성격 , 작가에 따른 문장과 문체의 차 이 등을 느낄 수 있도록 했다는 에서 그 의의를 갖 는다. 4. TextArc TextArc[6]는 책의 텍스트를 추상 으로 표 한 Brad Paley의 시각화 작품이다. 이 시각화 결과물은 컴 퓨터 화면 상에서 두 번에 걸쳐 나타나게 되는데, 먼 거 한 타원의 가장자리에 매우 작은 폰트로 이루어진 선들이 나타나고, 그 후에는 보이지 않는 스 링으로 연결된 단어들이 나열된다. 책에 많이 등장하는 단어는 크게 표 이 되고, 드물게 사용되는 단어들은 같은 공 간을 공유하여 나열된다. 그림 4. Brad Paley의 TextArc - 'Alice's Adventure in Wonderland' [그림 4]는 타지의 고 인 ‘이상한 나라의 앨리스 (Alice's Adventure in Wonderland)’를 TextArc로 시 각화한 것이다. 이미지를 보면 'Alice'라는 단어가 화면 앙에 큰 폰트로 자리잡고 있다. 이는 'Alice'는 주인 공의 이름으로 책 반에 걸쳐 계속하여 등장하기 때문 이다. 한 책 속에 등장하는 다양한 캐릭터들은 치 와 색깔을 달리하며 각각의 특성과 계들을 시각 으 로 표출해낸다. 를 들면 해터(Hatter)와 도어마우스 (Dormouse), 3월의 토끼(March Hare)는 비슷한 자 체로 가까이 치하고 있어 주로 함께 등장함을 짐작할 수 있다. 본 시각화 작품을 통해 비록 소설의 내용을 데 이터로 사용하 지만, 수학자이자 논리학자인 원작자 Lewis Carroll이 숨겨둔 치 한 논리들이 시각화를 통 해 재탄생될 수 있음을 알 수 있다. Ⅲ. 사용 단어 기반 장르 판별 알고리즘 설계 1. 개념 및 절차 보통 책의 장르는 자나 출 사의 임의 로 시장 상 황에 따라 구분된다. 따라서 독자가 직 책을 읽고 느 끼게 되는 책의 장르와 상이한 경우가 발생하게 마련이 다. 이를 해 본 논문에서는 일반 인 장르 분류 기 으로 구분되는 특정 장르들의 고유의 단어 사 을 만들 어 임의의 책을 이들 각각의 장르 사 들과 비교하는 과정을 거쳐 책의 단어 사용을 바탕으로 한 실질 장 르를 별해 내는 것이다. 이는 구체 으로 다음과 같 은 과정을 거친다. 1) 충분히 많은 책을 분석하여(본 연구에서는 총 4천 권의 책을 분석하 다) 평균 인 단어의 빈도수를 측정하여 ‘보편빈도사 ’을 만든다. 2) 각 장르에 해당하는 표 서 을 골라 이 책들에 있는 단어의 빈도수를 바탕으로 각각의 ‘장르빈도 사 ’을 만든다. 3) 보편빈도사 과 장르빈도사 의 단어의 빈도를 비교하여 장르빈도사 에서 나타나는 특이 단어, 즉 특정 장리에 보다 빈번히 쓰이는 단어를 바탕 으로 ‘장르독자성사 ’을 만든다. 4) 이 게 만들어진 장르독자성사 을 기 으로 별을 해 입력된 책에 사용된 단어들과의 유사도 를 분석하여 각 장르와 입력 책과의 근 도 (closeness)를 악한다. 한국콘텐츠학회논문지 '12 Vol. 12 No. 556 단어 빈도 순 the 11583621 1 and 5586383 2 to 5320279 3 of 4923275 4 a 4669669 5 i 3328795 6 he 3046996 7 in 2942094 8 …… 표 1. 보편빈도사전 내부 구조 zhark 18 98765 zina 18 98766 zinnia 18 98767 zinzu 18 98768 zog 18 98769 zombielike 18 98770 zulfi 18 98771 zw 18 98772 의 장르 별 과정 각각에 한 세부 로세스를 살펴보도록 하자. 2. 보편빈도사전 제작 부분의 서 에서 보편 으로 많이 사용되는 단어 를 빈도순으로 정리하기 해 다양한 장르로 이루어진 4,000권의 디지털 서 을 데이터 일 형태로 수집하 다. 본 연구에서는 데이터 수집의 용이성을 해 문 서 데이터를 상으로 하 다. 이 게 수집된 책들에 서 사용된 단어들을 추출해낸 데이터를 바탕으로 ‘보편 빈도사 ’을 제작하 다. 이를 해 Java 기반 언어인 processing을 이용하여 로그램을 개발하 고, 형 인 string operation과 token 알고리즘, 그리고 binary search 알고리즘, quick sort 알고리즘 등 데이터베이스 구성을 한 기능을 할당하 다. 이 사 은 단어 빈도 (frequency)와 그에 따른 순 (rank)를 보 한다. 분석 결과 4,000권의 책 속에는 총 약 50만 개의 단어 가 등장하는데, 이를 빈도수로 나열한 단어 순 의 상 20%를 차지하는 약 10만개의 단어가 체 사용 단 어의 98% 이상의 비율을 차지하고 있었다. 특히 1-2회 정도만 등장하는 단어가 많은데 이들은 보통 의성어, 의태어, 고유명사 혹은 오타에 기인한 것이다. 데이터베 이스의 총량에 따라 본 사 의 제작기간이 크게 늘어나 고, 빈도 수 하 2%의 단어는 큰 의미가 없으므로 이 들을 제외하고, 상 20%에 속하는 10만 단어를 바탕으 로 보편빈도사 을 제작하 다. [표 1]는 보편빈도사 에 포함된 단어들을 빈도수 순으로 나열한 것이다. 3. 장르빈도사전 제작 앞서 제작한 보편빈도사 이 부분의 서 에서 공 통 으로 사용되는 단어를 정리한 것이라면, 다음으로 는 각 장르별로 많이 쓰이는 단어를 정리한 ‘장르빈도 사 ’을 제작하는 단계가 필요하다. 그러나 서 의 장르 는 매우 다양하여 모든 장르에 한 정의 구분은 쉽 지 않다. 본 연구는 단어로 장르의 특성을 악하는 방 법론 기 연구이므로 연구를 한 실험 검증의 편의를 해 보편 서 분류체계로 구분되고 있는 장 르 4가지를 선정하여 실험을 진행하고자 하 다. 서 장르 구분의 기 으로서, 세계 으로 리 이용 되고 있는 인터넷 서 인 아마존닷컴(amzon.com)[7]의 서 카테고리의 분류 - 분류 카테고리를 참고로 하 고, 결과 으로 선정된 4가지 장르는 각각 ‘ 타지 (Fantasy)’, ‘철학(Philosophy)’, ‘S. F(Science Fiction)’, ‘여성소설(Women's Fiction)’이다[표 2]. 분류 분류 Science Fiction & Fantasy Fantasy Science Fiction Politics & Social Sciences Philosophy Literature & Fiction Women's Fiction 표 2. 선정된 네 장르의 대분류-중분류 카테고리(출처-아 마존닷컴) 다음으로 의 네 가지 장르 각각을 표할 수 있는 표 서 을 선별하여 각 장르별 표 서 들에서 사용 된 단어들의 출 빈도수를 바탕으로 ‘장르빈도사 ’을 제작한다. 네 가지 장르의 표서 으로, 먼 타지 장르의 경우 과거 타지 소설의 양 산맥인 J. R. R. 장르 판별 알고리즘을 이용한 책 장르 시각화 57 Tolkien과 C. S. Lewis의 표 작품인 ‘반지의 제왕’과 ‘나니아 연 기’와 함께, 마법 타지의 베스트셀 러인 ‘해리포터와 마법사의 돌(1권)’을 추가로 선정하 고, 철학 장르의 경우 철학서의 고 인 라톤의 서 와 칸트, 스피노자의 표 서를 선택하 다. 한 여 성소설 장르의 표작으로 표 여류 작가인 Jordi Picoult의 표 여성 소설로 알려진 ’House Rules'와 함께 고 여성소설의 명사인 Jane Austin 의 ’오만과 편견(Pride and Prejudice)'과 ‘Sense and Sensibility)'를 선정하 고, S. F 장르의 표 서 으로 는 S. F 소설의 아버지로 불리우는 표 세 자인 Arthur C. Clarke와 Robert A. Heinlein, 그리고 Isaac Asimov의 표작을 각각 1-2권 선정하 다. 선정된 각 장르별 표 서 은 [표 3]과 같다. 장르 선정된 각 장르별 표 서 판타지 (Fantasy) Lord of The Ring / by J.R.R. Tolkien Narnia - The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe / C. S. Lewis Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone / J.K. Rowling 철학 (Philosophy) Apology, Crito and Phaedo / Plato Critique of Pure Reason / Immanuel Kant The Ethics / Benedict de Spinoza 여성소설 (Women's Fiction) Pride & Prejudice / Jane Austen Sense and Sensibility / Jane Austen House Rules / Jodi Picoult S. F (Science Fiction) 2001 - A Space Odyssey / Arthur C. Clarke Childhood's End / Arthur C. Clarke Double Star / Robert A. Heinlein Starship Troopers / Robert A. Heinlein The Currents of Space / Isaac Asimov The Naked Sun / Isaac Asimov 표 3. 각 장르별 대표 책 선정 4가지 장르빈도사 을 만든 결과, [표 4]와 같이 문장 을 구성하는 필수 인 요소로서의 기본 단어( 명사, 치사, 속사 등)가 자연스럽게 높은 순 를 차지하 고 있음을 알 수 있다. 따라서 이것만으로는 각 장르별 단어의 독자성을 단하기에는 무리가 있기 때문에, 이 러한 보편 단어들을 제외한 장르 특유의 독자성을 강 하게 띄는 단어들을 별해내는 과정을 거쳐야 한다. 순 타지 철학 여성소설 S. F 1 the 17529 the 23407 the 14587 the 21024 2 and 11165 of 18009 to 10886 to 10193 3 of 7202 to 10544 i 10791 of 10032 4 to 6673 and 8859 and 10332 and 9822 5 a 6243 in 8842 of 8486 a 9472 6 he 5078 is 8097 a 7915 i 7102 7 in 4437 a 6965 her 5432 it 6997 8 it 4380 that 5919 in 5070 was 6784 9 was 4154 it 5133 you 4975 he 6632 10 i 3795 as 4953 it 4839 that 6108 … …… 표 4. 장르별 단어 빈도 순위 4. 장르독자성사전 제작 앞서 제작한 장르빈도사 에서 보편 단어를 제외한 각 장르 특성을 갖는 단어를 빈도순으로 간추려 ‘장 르독자성사 ’을 제작한다. 각 장르빈도사 과 보편빈 도사 의 데이터베이스를 비교하여 특정 장르 사 에 서만 등장하는 특이 단어를 골라내어 장르만의 독자성 을 보여주는 단어를 추출한다. 이는 체 사 에 비해 장르 사 에서 격히 순 가 올라가는 단어, 즉 빈도 순 상승의 거리 값(distance)으로 순 를 정한 단어들 의 집합이 된다. [그림 5]와 같이, 보편빈도사 에서 하 빈도수로 랭크되었던 ‘wizard’나 ‘wand’같은 단어가 타지 장르빈도사 에서는 높은 순 에 자리 잡고 있 다. 이와 같은 경우, 해당 단어는 상승분(두 사 비교 순 가 상승된 정도)에 따라 장르독자성사 에 순차 으로 기록된다. 한국콘텐츠학회논문지 '12 Vol. 12 No. 558 그림 5. 보편빈도사전과 장르빈도사전의 단어 순위 비교 과정 [표 5]는 각 장르별로 각각의 특이 단어를 모은 장르 독자성사 의 일부이다. 각 장르독자성사 을 살펴보 면 각 장르별로 각각의 특이 단어가 에 띈다. 기 상 빈도를 가진 단어는 선정된 장르별 표 책들에서 사용되는 고유 명사가 부분이지만(철학 장르는 외), 이후로는 각 장르별로 특화된 단어들이 지속 으 로 등장하는 것을 볼 수 있다. 순 타지 철학 여성소설 S. F 1 harry therefore kate baley 2 frodo conception elinor daneel 3 gandalf object anna rik 4 ron experience marianne terens 5 sam existence edward bonforte 6 hagrid pure rochester karellen … … … … … 41 wizard necessarily behaviour trantor 42 journey regard obliged bugs 43 legolas proposition engagement discovery … … … … … 표 5. 장르별 특이 단어를 모은‘장르독자성사전’의 일부 5. 장르근접도 추출 이제 4개의 장르별로 각 장르의 특성을 강하게 갖는 단어들로 이루어진 장르독자성사 을 기 으로 임의의 책을 입력하여 그 책에 사용된 단어들과 각 장르독자성 사 을 비교하는 과정을 통하여 그 책이 어떤 장르에 가까운지를 도출하고자 한다. 이를 해 앞서 언 한 단어 빈도수 추출 로그램을 통하여 입력 책의 단어를 빈도순으로 정리한 단어 사 을 만들고, 이를 각 장르독자성사 에 등재된 단어들과 비교하는 로세스를 행하도록 알고리즘을 설계하 다. 임의의 입력 서 에 있는 단어가 각 장르독자성사 에서 발견될 경우, 이를 ‘Word-Hit’이라 칭하고, 각 동일 단어 사이의 순 의 차이를 구하여 그 값의 평균 을 ‘Average Word Distance’라 명명하 다. 결국 특정 장르와 입력 책 간의 ‘Average Word Distance’ 값이 작 을수록, 그리고 Word-Hit이 높을수록 입력 서 이 해 당 장르와 유사한 단어의 쓰임을 갖는다고 측할 수 있다. [표 6]은 임의의 7권의 서 들에 해 장르 근 도를 계산한 결과이다. 실험을 해 선정된 책은 각각 가족 이면서도 타지 성격을 보이는 Lewis Carroll의 ‘Alice's Adventures in Wonderland(이상한 나라의 앨 리스)’와 S. F 서 이면서도 철학 인 사고가 돋보이는 Stanislaw Lem의 ‘Solaris(솔라리스)’, 그리고 타지 소설의 표작인 J. K. Rowling의 ‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban(해리포터와 아즈카반의 죄 수)’, 표 여류소설 작가인 Jodi Picoult의 소설 ‘Nineteen Minutes’, Bertrand Russell의 철학책인 ‘The Analysis of Mind(정신분석)’, 그리고 Adam Smith의 ‘An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations(국부론)’, 가족 소설의 고 으로 자매들 간 의 이야기를 다루고 있는 Louisa May Alcott의 ‘Little Women(작은 아씨들)’이다. 입력된 7권의 책들에 한 장르 근도 추출 결과 7 권 모두 외 없이 우리가 일반 으로 인식하고 있는 장르와 일치하는 결과를 보이고 있을 뿐 아니라, ‘Solaris’와 같이 S. F이면서도 철학 인 내용을 동시에 갖는 책의 경우 철학 장르와 S. F 장르 모두 연 성이 있는 것으로 나타나, 한 책에 한 복합 장르 성격까 지 유추할 수 있었다. 이러한 실험 결과를 바탕으로, 4장에서는 본 장에서 언 한 일련의 과정을 통해 결과 으로 도출된 각 장르 별 근 도를 데이터로 하여 이를 시각 요소로 치환시 켜 책의 장르를 직 으로 나타낼 수 있는 시각화 기 법에 해 제안한다. 장르 판별 알고리즘을 이용한 책 장르 시각화 59 장르 제목 Word - Hit Word Average Distance 타지 철학 여성소설 S. F 타지 철학 여성소설 S. F 판타지 Alice's Adventures in Wonderland 274** 188 229* 108 116.03* 116.34* 117.45 118.13 Harry Potter (book 3) 350** 128 208* 120 115.06** 121.31 120.74 119.28 S. F Solaris 127 374** 243 307* 119.55 119.14* 119.51 118.05** 철학 The Analysis of Mind 82 880** 467 355 116.82 90.79** 113.36 114.30 Inquiry into the Naturea 125 687** 600 288 116.41 103.88** 110.85 114.06 여성소설 Nineteen Minutes 86 145 270** 115 119.41 121.50 118.46* 120.17 Little Women 190 267 525** 153 119.07 118.66* 118.54* 119.74 표 6. 각 입력 책에 대한 Word-Hit과 Average Word Distance 추출 결과 Ⅳ. 장르 시각화 및 분석 1. 장르 시각화 설계 본 연구에서는 임의의 서 텍스트가 갖는 장르 특 성을 시각화하는 방법으로서 앞서 도출된 각 장르독자 성 사 에 포함된 단어의 수와 함께 앞서 도출된 Average Word Distance를 통해 알 수 있는 4가지 장르 에 한 각 장르별 근 도를 요소로 하여 서 텍스트 사용 단어 기반의 장르 정보를 직 으로 표 하는 것 을 최종 목표로 하 다. 따라서 이를 해 시각 으로 표 되어야 할 필수 속성은 다음과 같다. 1) 장르독자성사 에 포함된 단어 2) Average Word Distance를 통해 알 수 있는 4가지 장르에 한 각 장르별 근 도 본 시각화의 독창성 차별 은, 한 권의 책이 갖는 4가지 장르별 독자 단어와 그 장르 근 도가 하나의 이미지로 표 함으로써, 더 높은 장르 근 도를 갖는 장르 속성이 시각 으로 비되어 드러나도록 설계 하고자 하 다는 이다. 따라서 각 장르별로 임의의 색상을 할당하여 각 장르의 장르독자성 사 에 포함된 단어들과 각 장르별 근 도를 시각 으로 표 하고자 하 다. 색상의 할당은 [표 7]과 같다. 각 장르별 색상을 [표 7]과 같이 할당한 후, 각 장르별 독자성사 에 있는 단어들과, 그 단어들의 장르 근 도 를 시각 으로 표 하기 해서 임의의 한 책에서 각 장르독자성사 에 포함된 단어가 나타날 경우 그 단어 를 하나의 (dot)으로 표 하되, 발견된 장르독자성사 에 해당하는 장르의 할당 색상을 갖도록 설계하 다. 그리고 각 단어에 해 각 장르독자성사 에서 높은 순 에 치할수록 의 크기가 미세하게 커지면서 명도 가 높아지도록 조정하 다. 이 게 분산된 으로만 표 할 경우 체 으로 각 장르별 근 도를 명확하게 구 분하기 어렵게 될 수 있으므로, 같은 색상을 갖는 두 들을 하나의 선으로 연결하되 상 으로 더 많은 Word-Hit을 갖는 장르일수록 시각 으로 더 두드러지 게 표 될 수 있도록 [그림 6]과 같이 베지어 곡선 (Bezier Curve)1)으로 표 하 고, 그 곡률을 상 으 로 더 크게 할당하 다. 한 도출된 Word-Hit과 Average Word Distance로 별된 각 장르별 근 도가 낮을수록 더욱 흐릿하게 표 하여(blur effect) 그 시각 감도가 낮아지도록 함으로써, 결국 최종 이미지에서 가장 높은 근 도를 갖는 장르의 과 라인의 색상이 상 으로 더욱 에 띌 수 있도록 설계하 다. 장르 색상 판타지 주황 철학 보라 S. F 파랑 여성소설 노랑 표 7. 각 장르별 색상 할당 1) n개의 으로부터 얻어지는 n − 1차 곡선 한국콘텐츠학회논문지 '12 Vol. 12 No. 560 책 시각화 이미지 Harry Potter (book 3) by J. K. Rowlling The Analysis of Mind by Bertrand Russell Solaris by Stanislaw Lem 표 8. 임의의 책 4권에 대한 시각화 결과 이미지그림 6. 같은 색상의 점(dot)을 장르별 근접도에 따라 각 기 다른 곡률의 베지어 곡선(Bezier Curve)으로 연결한 모습 2. 시각화 결과 및 분석 앞서 설계한 장르 근 도 표 을 한 시각화 방법론 의 타당성 효율성 단을 해 의 3장에서 장르 근 도 계산을 해 임의로 선정된 각 장르 서 들 각각 한 권 씩을 선정한 후, 제안된 시각화 방법을 용 한 각각의 결과 이미지를 도출하 다. 실험을 한 각 장르별 표 서 으로는 타지의 경우 ‘해리포터 3권’, 철학서 으로는 B. Russeell의 ‘마음의 분석(The Analysis of Mind), S. F 장르로서 Stanislaw Lem의 ’ 솔라리스(Solaris)', 여성소설로는 Luisa May Alcott의 ‘작은 아씨들(Little Women)'을 각각 선정하 다. [표 8]은 선정된 각 장르 서 에 한 시각화 결과 이 미지를 책의 제목과 함께 정리한 것이다. 각각의 시각 화 이미지를 살펴보면, 먼 ‘Harry Potter 3권(해리포 터와 아즈카반의 죄수)’의 경우 반 으로 붉은 계열 로 나타나 타지 소설의 성격을 강하게 나타내고 있음 을 알 수 있다. 그리고 Russell의 표 인 철학 서인 ‘Analysis of Mind(마음의 분석)’의 경우 체 으로 푸 른색을 갖는데, 다른 결과 이미지들과 비교해 볼 때 표색(가장 두드러지는 색상)을 갖는 의 개수가 상 으로 많은 것을 볼 수 있다. 이는 철학 장르의 독자성 사 에 포함된 단어들을 다른 책들의 표 장르독자 성사 의 일치 단어들보다 훨씬 그 빈도가 높다는 것을 의미하며, 이는 매우 일반 인 철학 서의 성격을 갖 고 있음을 내포한다. ‘Solaris(솔라리스)’는 일반 장르 분류상 S. F임에도 불구하고 철학 내용을 함께 갖는 책으로, 그 시각화 결과물 한 보라색과 란색이 거 의 비슷하게 나타나, 복합 장르 성격을 알 수 있다. 마지막으로 ‘Little Women(작은 아씨들)’의 경우, 여성 소설 장르의 표색인 노란색이 다른 장르 색상에 비해 상 으로 많이 나타나고 있지만, 그 량은 매우 다는 것으로 미루어볼 때, 해당 장르와 가장 하 지만 그 특성은 강하게 두드러지지는 않는다는 정보까 지도 함께 악할 수 있다. 장르 판별 알고리즘을 이용한 책 장르 시각화 61 Little Women by Louisa May Alcott Ⅴ. 결론 본 연구에서는 서 이 갖는 장르 특성을 서 본문 에 직 사용된 단어들을 바탕으로 악해낼 수 있는 방법에 해 고찰하고, 실험을 통한 검증을 토 로 서 장르 시각화의 요소를 도출한 후, 이를 직 이고 효율 으로 시각화하는 방법에 해 서술하 다. 본 서 장르 시각화 연구가 갖는 의의는 다음과 같다. 첫째, 일반 으로 자나 출 사에 의해 주 으로 분류되는 책의 장르를 책에 직 사용된 단어 데이터의 분석을 바탕으로 해당 서 의 실질 장르를 단하는 방법론에 하여 제안하고, 이를 검증하 다. 둘째, 도출된 장르 근 도를 바탕으로 제안된 시각화 결과 이미지를 통해 해당 서 이 갖는 장르 근 도 정 보를 한 에 직 으로 악할 수 있다. 셋째, 시각화 결과 이미지를 통해 한 책이 갖는 복합 장르 특성을 알 수 있음과 동시에, 이미지 내의 (dot)의 개수와 곡선의 곡률, 밝기 등을 통해 표 장르 로 악된 장르의 근 도(유사도)를 짐작할 수 있다. 나아가 본 연구에서 제안된 시각화 연구 로세스는 개별 소비자 자신이 선호하는 서 들에 한 개인별 선 호 서 ( 는 장르) 이미지를 제공하는 등 서 추천 시 스템 등의 북 커스터마이징(book customizing) 서비스 분야에도 다양하게 활용될 수 있다는 에서 연구의 가 치를 갖는다. 참 고 문 헌 [1] H. Kim and J. W. Park, "Textual Visualization based on Readability," Proceeding of ACM SIGGRAPH Asia 2011, 2011. [2] 김효 , 박진완, “텍스트의 난이도 악을 한 가 독성 정보의 시각화”, 한국디지털디자인학회, Vol.12, No.2, 2012. [3] T. Legan and L. Becker, "Visualizing the Text of Philip Pullman's Trilogy "His Dark Materials," Proceeding of NordiCHI 2010, 2010. [4] http://chrisharrison.net/index.php/Visualizations/ BibleViz [5] http://itsbeenreal.co.uk/index.php?/wwwords/ about-this-project/ [6] http://textarc.org/ [7] www.amazon.com 저 자 소 개 김 효 영(Hyoyoung Kim) 정회원 ▪2006년 8월 : 성신여자 학교 미 디어정보학부(공학사) ▪2010년 8월 : 앙 학교 첨단 상 학원 상학과( 상학석사) ▪2010년 9월 ～ 재 : 앙 학교 첨 단 상 학원 상학과 박사과정 < 심분야> : 데이터 시각화, 정보 시각화 박 진 완(Jin Wan Park) 정회원 ▪1995년 2월 : 앙 학교 컴퓨터 공학과(공학사) ▪1998년 : Pratt CGIM Computer Media(MFA) ▪2003년 3월 ～ 재 : 앙 학 교 첨단 상 학원 교수 < 심분야> : Art&Technology, Procedural Animation << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles true /AutoRotatePages /All /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile (Dot Gain 20%) /CalRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CalCMYKProfile (U.S. Web Coated \050SWOP\051 v2) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Warning /CompatibilityLevel 1.4 /CompressObjects /Tags /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages true /CreateJDFFile false /CreateJobTicket false /DefaultRenderingIntent /Default /DetectBlends true /ColorConversionStrategy /LeaveColorUnchanged /DoThumbnails false /EmbedAllFonts true /EmbedJobOptions true /DSCReportingLevel 0 /EmitDSCWarnings false /EndPage -1 /ImageMemory 1048576 /LockDistillerParams false /MaxSubsetPct 100 /Optimize true /OPM 1 /ParseDSCComments true /ParseDSCCommentsForDocInfo true /PreserveCopyPage true /PreserveEPSInfo true /PreserveHalftoneInfo false /PreserveOPIComments false /PreserveOverprintSettings true /StartPage 1 /SubsetFonts true /TransferFunctionInfo /Apply /UCRandBGInfo /Preserve /UsePrologue false /ColorSettingsFile () /AlwaysEmbed [ true ] /NeverEmbed [ true ] /AntiAliasColorImages false /DownsampleColorImages true /ColorImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /ColorImageResolution 300 /ColorImageDepth -1 /ColorImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeColorImages true /ColorImageFilter /DCTEncode /AutoFilterColorImages true /ColorImageAutoFilterStrategy /JPEG /ColorACSImageDict << /QFactor 0.15 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /ColorImageDict << /QFactor 0.15 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /JPEG2000ColorACSImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /JPEG2000ColorImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /AntiAliasGrayImages false /DownsampleGrayImages true /GrayImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /GrayImageResolution 300 /GrayImageDepth -1 /GrayImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeGrayImages true /GrayImageFilter /DCTEncode /AutoFilterGrayImages true /GrayImageAutoFilterStrategy /JPEG /GrayACSImageDict << /QFactor 0.15 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /GrayImageDict << /QFactor 0.15 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /JPEG2000GrayACSImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /JPEG2000GrayImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 30 >> /AntiAliasMonoImages false /DownsampleMonoImages true /MonoImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /MonoImageResolution 1200 /MonoImageDepth -1 /MonoImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeMonoImages true /MonoImageFilter /CCITTFaxEncode /MonoImageDict << /K -1 >> /AllowPSXObjects false /PDFX1aCheck false /PDFX3Check false /PDFXCompliantPDFOnly false /PDFXNoTrimBoxError true /PDFXTrimBoxToMediaBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXSetBleedBoxToMediaBox true /PDFXBleedBoxToTrimBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXOutputIntentProfile () /PDFXOutputCondition () /PDFXRegistryName (http://www.color.org) /PDFXTrapped /Unknown /Description << /FRA <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> /ENU (Use these settings to create PDF documents with higher image resolution for improved printing quality. 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work_ieeubskgiza3jpqq23mginctbu	----	StroutProof Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology www.jsecjournal.com - 2010, 4(4), 317-331. Proceedings of the 4th Annual Meeting of the NorthEastern Evolutionary Psychology Society 2010 Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology 317 Original Article PRIDE AND PREJUDICE OR CHILDREN AND CHEATING? JANE AUSTEN’S REPRESENTATIONS OF FEMALE MATING STRATEGIES Sarah L. Strout Department of Psychology, Dominican College Maryanne L. Fisher Department of Psychology, St. Mary’s University Daniel J. Kruger* Institute for Social Research and School of Public Health, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor Lesley-Anne Steeleworthy Department of Psychology, St. Mary’s University Abstract Empirical Literary Darwinists investigate how themes and patterns predicted by human evolutionary theory are evident in fictive works. The current study fills an important gap in this emerging literature, and provides additional information in an area currently underrepresented in human evolutionary research in general. Previous research demonstrated how proper and dark male heroes in British Romantic literature represent high paternal investment and high mating effort strategies, respectively. This past work showed that people infer reproductively relevant behaviors from brief character depictions, and report preferring interactions with these characters in ways that would enhance their own reproductive success. We conducted a similar experiment investigating variation in female reproductive strategies depicted by six female characters in novels written by Jane Austen. Three women were described as loyal, quiet, “mother” figures, while three were described as active, boisterous and untamed “lover” figures. Results show that men recognize the distinct strategies, expressing a preference to marry the “mother” and realizing that the “lover” would be more likely to cheat on them. Women recognize that men would prefer the “lover” for sexual relations, and believe that the “mother” would be better with children and a better mother. Once again, people intuitively recognized reproductively relevant behavior from brief character sketches. Austen’s intuitive evolutionary psychology may be one reason why her works remain so popular and well respected nearly 200 years after their publications. Keywords: Darwinian literary studies, mating strategies, sex differences, sexual behavior AUTHOR NOTE: Please direct correspondence to: Sarah L. Strout, Department of Psychology, Dominican College, 470 Western Highway, Orangeburg, NY 10962. Email: sarah.strout@dc.edu Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 318 Introduction Literary Darwinism Recently, a new paradigm has emerged to revive the humanities from moribund post-structuralist petrification. Literary Darwinism has rapidly gained interest and influence in the roughly two decades of its existence (Carroll, 2008). The proliferation of these works, which includes over a hundred articles and at least a dozen books, demonstrates a fertile niche for promoting the understanding of cultural works with the most powerful theory of the life sciences, evolution by natural and sexual selection. With influential works ranging from Joseph Carroll's (1995) theoretical foundations to Jon Gottschall’s (2008) brilliant evolutionary reconstruction of Aegean life at the end of the Greek Dark Age, scholars in future generations will wonder why contemporary humanists did not immediately discard the discredited theories of human nature from the likes of Marx and Freud. Many works in Literary Darwinism follow the humanist tradition of descriptive analysis. However, inter-disciplinary collaborations have given rise to empirical and quantitative studies of content and reader’s perceptions (e.g., Carroll, Gottschall, Johnson, & Kruger, 2009). One line of this empirical work examines the depiction of male reproductive strategies in British Romantic literature of the late 18th and early 19th Centuries (Kruger, Fisher & Jobling, 2003; Kruger & Fisher, 2005a; Kruger & Fisher, 2005b; Kruger & Fisher, 2008). The proper and dark heroes in British Romantic literature respectively represent long-term and short-term male mating strategies (Kruger, Fisher & Jobling, 2003). Participants associated the proper hero dad with a cluster of characteristics indicative of a successful long-term, low risk and high parental investment male mating strategy and the dark hero cad with a high-risk, high mating effort reproductive strategy (Kruger & Fisher, 2005a; Kruger & Fisher, 2005b). Both female and male readers readily identify distinct male mating strategies and respond to these characters in ways that would benefit their own reproductive success. For long-term relationships, women seek partners with the ability and willingness to sustain paternal investment in extended relationships (e.g., Buss & Schmitt, 1993). In contrast, for short-term relationships, women choose partners whose features indicate high genetic quality. With respect to characters, women preferred proper heroes when they were asked to imagine forming a long-term relationships, and the shorter the relationship, the more likely women were to choose dark heroes as imagined partners (Kruger, Fisher & Jobling, 2003; Kruger & Fisher, 2005a). Further, men saw the proper hero dad as more trustworthy than the dark hero cad, for example preferring them as a business partner, son-in-law, and companion for their girlfriends on a weekend trip out of town (Kruger & Fisher, 2008). To date, there has been no parallel investigation of the portrayal of variation in women’s mating strategies in works of fiction, and how readers identify and relate to characters displaying different strategies. We propose that similar to a “dad” versus “cad” distinction, women might display a “mother” versus “lover” distinction. We chose to use the mother/lover distinction rather than the Madonna/whore distinction (see Wright, 1994) due to the negative connotations of those traditional labels. We do not argue that these strategies precisely mirror those of the “dad” vs “cad” because of the sex differential in the costs and benefits of reproductive activities (e.g., Gangestad & Simpson, 1990). Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 319 A second important consideration is that past research has tended to focus on the works of male authors. For example, Kruger, Fisher and Jobling (2003) used the characters Waverley, George Staunton, and Clement Cleveland by Sir Walter Scott (but also one character, Valancourt, by Ann Radcliffe). Authors may be most adept at accurately depicting the strategies of their own sex. For example, Ann Radcliffe’s portrayal of proper hero Valancourt may have been overly-idealized, as he described as being much more physically attractive overall than other male characters (Kruger, Fisher & Jobling, 2003). Thus, female authors may provide the best depiction of variation in female reproductive strategies (see Ingalls, 2010, for an examination of sex differences in the writing style of men and women). One of the most popular female authors from the Romance period is Jane Austen. Although there have been many passing references to the work of Jane Austen in various evolutionary papers and books (e.g., Barash & Barash, 2005), there has not been empirical exploration of her work from a Darwinian perspective. Jane Austen It is universally acknowledged that Jane Austen is one of the premier romance writers of the early 19th Century. Austen (1775-1817) was a popular English novelist known for her satirical work on the English gentry (Harman, 2009). Her work is immensely popular even today, having been translated into more than 30 languages including Japanese, Hebrew, Icelandic and Bengali, as well as minor languages such as Tamil, and Telugu. Her six complete novels are among the most read and most loved books in the English language. In addition, her novels have been made into numerous big screen and made for television movies (Harman, 2009) Austen’s work revolves around a love story, which makes her well known in the romance genre. Unlike modern romance novels, though, her novels did not contain mentions of touching or kissing, and certainly no sexual intercourse (Harman, 2009). Her plots were rather simple, in that they maintained the theme of boy and girl meet, face the obstacles that prevent them from pursuing a relationship, experience the removal of said obstacles, and then live happily-ever-after. Romantic tales containing this pattern have an incredibly long history; the known origin dates back to Greek and medieval tales, to Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind and contemporary fiction (Camp, 1997). For example, the popular Bridget Jones’ Diary by Helen Fielding (1996) is a modern day Jane Austenesque novel (Harman, 2009). The widespread appeal and popularity of Austen’s novels shows that her work, although written in a different era, addresses issues that are timeless, and therefore, potentially evolutionarily relevant. Female Mating Strategies Mating strategies help solve the adaptive problem of finding and keeping a mate. One can pursue a short-term mating strategy, investing little time, energy and resources in the relationship and mate, or utilize a long-term mating strategy, involving high levels of commitment and investment. Research has shown that both women and men pursue long-term and short-term relationships (e.g., Gangestad & Simpson, 1990). For either strategy, there are costs and benefits, and these costs and benefits differ for women and men. Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 320 For women, the benefits of a long-term strategy include continual protection and resource provisioning, as well as parental investment from her partner. One of the most important considerations is that raising a child is difficult, and protection, resources and parental investment from a long-term partner will increase the likelihood that an offspring will live to reproductive age (Buss & Schmitt, 1993). One challenge of pursuing a long- term strategy is that the provisioning of resources and protection may not be immediate: a woman would need to wait for the right partner to be available and interested in a long- term relationship. The benefits of a short-term mating strategy for women include immediate resources in exchange for sex, to test potential mates for a long-term relationship, and to gain protection (Buss & Schmitt, 1993). In addition, women may be able to engage a mate with high genetic quality for a short-term relationship, ensuring her future children also have high genetic quality (Gangestad & Simpson, 2000). The costs include a potential lowering of her mate-value and potentially having to raise a child on her own (Buss & Schmitt, 1993). The benefits of a long-term mating strategy for men include access to high genetic quality mates, as well as not having to worry about which females are fertile. The costs include the paternal investment necessary to raise a child and losing the ability to mate with multiple females (Buss & Schmitt, 1993). In contrast, the benefits of a short- term strategy include the possibility of reproducing with several women at the same time, while the costs are that he might gain a reputation as a ‘womanizer’ or face injury or death at the hands of a jealous rival. For the reasons outlined above, men are more likely than women to pursue short-term strategies, as the costs associated with short-term strategies are higher for women and the benefits are lower (Buss & Schmitt, 1993). Because women and men have a choice in when to use these mating strategies, it is important that they are able to identify whether a potential mate is using a short-term or long-term mating strategy. Although little research has been conducted on what behavioral characteristics actually signal a female’s interest in mating (Ahmad & Fisher, 2010; Grammer, Kruck, Juette, & Fink, 2000), a few characteristics have emerged. For example, in a study using a target and a confederate, Stilman and Maner (2009) found that participants accurately identified an opposite sex person’s sociosexuality (i.e., how comfortable one is in engaging in short-term mating, see Simpson & Gangestad, 1991) by how often the target engaged in certain behaviors. For example, they found that people were able to determine the target’s sociosexuality by attending to how often the individual gazed at a confederate, how much time they spent trying to solve a puzzle (as opposed to looking at the confederate), and the number of eyebrow flashes the target displayed. They also found, however, that a few behaviors led participants to misidentify sociosexuality. These behaviors included smiling, laughing, closeness to the confederate, and the confederate’s attractiveness and provocativeness of dress (Stilman & Maner, 2009). In relation to personality, Schmitt and Shackleford (2008) found that the Big Five traits of extraversion, neuroticism, and openness to experience were positively correlated with short-term mating, while agreeableness and conscientiousness were negatively correlated with short-term mating. They suggest that one can accurately determine an individual’s sociosexuality based on the personality characteristics they display. In our study, we ask participants to predict behaviors implying mating strategy or sociosexuality based on passages that describe the personality characteristics of the character. Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 321 Finally, orientation towards sexual relations has been found to relate to self- monitoring. Individuals with high self-monitoring tend to not establish committed relationships and maintain an unrestrictive sexual orientation (Snyder & Simpson, 1984; Snyder, Simpson, & Gangestad, 1986). In contrast, individuals with low self-monitoring tend to establish committed relationships and maintain a restrictive sexual orientation. Additionally, self-monitoring has been documented to influence individuals’ mate preferences. High self-monitors seek to obtain mates who can provide rewarding outcomes such as social approval, status, or new opportunities. In contrast, low self- monitors, seek mates for mutual satisfaction, and aim to derive pleasure from simply being with their partners (Jones, 1993; Rempel, Holmes, & Zanna, 1985). According to Jones (1993), this correlation leads high self-monitors to prefer partners with high social status, physical attractiveness, financial resources, and sex appeal, and low self-monitors to prefer partners with loyalty, honesty, kindness, and similar beliefs and education. Therefore, in the current study, we also examine self-monitoring in relation to character preference. Current Study We propose that men will readily identify which mating strategy women are pursuing, given that correctly doing so will prevent them from misallocating energy, time, and resources. Thus, we hypothesize that men will know that “lover” characters are those who would be interested in short-term matings, whereas “mother” characters would be more appropriate choices for long-term relationships. Furthermore, given that women compete with other women for potential mates, they should also assess and comprehend the mating strategies of their rivals. Therefore, we hypothesize that women will be able to correctly identify that “lover” characters are pursuing a short-term strategy, and “mother” characters are pursuing a long-term strategy. In addition, we were curious about whether participants would be able to identify personality characteristics related to sociosexuality, such as how much men and women would like the various characters, and their views about their ability to be good friends (agreeableness) or to maintain stable careers (conscientiousness). We expect that ‘mothers’ would score higher on measures that suggest agreeableness and conscientiousness, which would suggest a lower SOI. Finally, given that participants’ SOI and self-monitoring relate to relationship preference, as reviewed above, we examine these interpersonal characteristics in conjunction with character identification (i.e., selecting whether a “mother” vs a “lover” would be most interesting in a short-term relationship) and preference. Methods Participants A total of 36 men (age in years M = 19.33, SD = 1.01) and 51 women (age M = 20.12, SD = 2.30), recruited from psychology courses at a private New England university, participated in this study. The vast majority of the participants (92%) considered themselves to be Caucasian. All participants reported that they were heterosexual. Approximately 67% of men stated that they were currently single, 25% were dating one person exclusively, and 8% were dating one or more people casually. For Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 322 women, 43% were single, 45% were dating one person exclusively, and 12% were dating one or more people casually. This research was approved by the University’s Institutional Review Board. Materials Responses to Female Literary Characters Survey. This survey contained descriptions of characters from Jane Austen novels and asked participants to answer questions about the characters. We compiled three character descriptions that encompass the long-term “mother” mating strategy: Jane Bennett (Pride and Prejudice), Mary Crawford (Mansfield Park), and Fanny Price (Mansfield Park). We also included three characters to represent the short-term “lover” mating strategy: Lydia Bennett (Pride and Prejudice), Emma Woodhouse (Emma), and Maria Bertram (Mansfield Park). The writing style of Austen was such that she would describe characters incrementally, and thus, to obtain sufficient content, we assembled these brief expressions into a longer descriptive portrayal. This method was used for some of the character depictions in previous studies (e.g., Kruger, Fisher & Jobling, 2003). Below are examples of the passages. “She was a most beloved sister and a willing listener. Her feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and there was a constant complacency in her angelic air and manner. Her look and manner were open, cheerful and engaging, an undiminished beauty with good sense and disposition. She would willingly have gone throughout the world without believing that wickedness existed. Her delicate sense of honour, was matched with the most generous and forgiving heart in the world.” -- Jane Bennett (mother) “She was always unguarded and often uncivil. She had an imprudent, wild giddiness and although self-willed and careless, she would scarcely give them a hearing. She was ignorant, idle, vain, and absolutely uncontrolled. While there was an officer in town, she would flirt with him. She would flirt, in the worse and meanest degree of flirtation, and be the most determined flirt. She saw herself as the object of attention. She seldom listened to anybody for more than half a minute, and never intended to marry at all.” -- Lydia Bennett (lover) The descriptions were presented such that participants were presented with three sets (counterbalanced): Jane vs Lydia, Emma vs Mary, and Fanny vs Maria. The participants answered, using a seven-point bipolar scale (1 = not at all and 7 = completely) the questions: to what extent do you think you would like this person, to what extent would this person like you, and how well would you get along with this person. Male participants, only, were also asked: how likely do you think you would be to hook-up (sexually) with this person for a one-night stand, to what extent would you like to form a short-term relationship with this person, to what extent would you like to form a long-term committed relationship with this person, and how well do the personality characteristics described in this passage describe a woman you would be Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 323 attracted to? Female participants, only, were asked: how comfortable would you be with this person accompanying your boyfriend on a three-week trip to another city, how likely is this person to form and maintain a good career, to what extent could this person form a long-term committed relationship, and how well do the personality characteristics describe in this passage describe you? Participants then completed a series of forced-choice items: with which person would you prefer to attend a party, which person would make a better mother, which person would be better with children, and which person would you prefer to see engaged to your hypothetical 25-year-old son? Male participants, only, were additionally asked: which person would you prefer to go with on a formal date, to have sexual relations with, to marry, which person would your parent(s) prefer you to marry, with whom would a romantic relationship last longer, which person would be more likely to have an affair (cheat on you), and assuming you are already in a romantic relationship, with which person would you prefer to have an affair (cheat on your mate with)? Female participants, only, were additionally asked: which person do you think men would prefer to go with on a formal date, to have sexual relations, to have an affair (cheat on mate with), which person would be more likely to have an affair (cheat on her mate), and which person would have sex with more individuals over her lifetime Self-Monitoring Scale (SM; Synder, 1974). The Self-Monitoring Scale consists of 25 items for which the participant responds true or false with respect to his or her self- perceived behavior and attitudes. This survey measures one’s ability to change his or her behavior depending on the particular situation; thus, it refers to responsiveness to social and interpersonal cues of situations. A high self-monitor would be a person who easily changes with the situation, while a low-self monitor tends to be very consistent across situations. Sociosexual Orientation Inventory (SOI; Simpson & Gangestad, 1991). The SOI is a 7-item questionnaire measuring an individual’s willingness to engage in casual sex. Items include number of sexual partners in the past year, number of sexual partners forecasted in the next five years, number of “one-night stands,” how frequently the participant fantasizes about sexual relations with someone other than his or her current partner, and three items, scored on a 9-point scale (1= I strongly disagree, 9= I strongly agree) concerning the appropriateness of sex without love, imagined comfort towards “casual” sex, and necessity of close attachment prior to sexual intercourse. Higher scores reflect an unrestrictive sociosexual orientation, (i.e., openness to “casual” sex) while lower scores reflect a restrictive sociosexual orientation. Procedure Participants were recruited from psychology courses at a small private university in New England. They received extra credit in their psychology course for participation. Participants were brought in groups into a large classroom and spaced around the room to ensure privacy. Each participant was given a packet of questionnaires including the consent form, the demographic questionnaire and the materials described above. After the participants were finished, they were given a debriefing statement and were thanked for their time. Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 324 Results Scale Questions In order to analyze how men and women each perceived the mating strategy of the character, multivariate analyses of covariance (MANCOVA) were performed. We conducted separate analyses for men and women, and for each of the character comparisons. Thus, six MANCOVA models were created; three (Jane vs Lydia, Emma vs Mary, and Fanny vs Maria) for men and three for women. For these analyses, the dependent variables were the difference scores calculated for each question, by passage comparison. Scores for SOI (mean) and SM (sum) were used as covariates. For the male participants, the comparison of Jane vs Lydia revealed SOI was a significant covariate, F (7,24) = 3.86, p = .006, as was SM, F (7,24) = 3.45, p = .01. As can be seen in Table 1, men liked and wanted to form relationships with the “mother” character. Men’s SOI interacted with many of the questions, however, such that men who were low in SOI were more likely to choose the “mother” character. Self-monitoring interacted with one question regarding whether the participant would want to form a short-term relationship; men with high SM were more likely to choose the “lover” character. For women, the comparison of Jane vs Lydia yielded very similar findings to the men’s responses. Women generally liked and thought more positively of the “mother” character. For women, SM (F (7,38) = 1.10, p = .39) and SOI (F (7,38) = 2.05, p = .07) did not significantly interact (see Table 2) with any of the items. For the comparison of Maria vs Fanny, we found mixed results. Self-monitoring was a significant covariate for the overall model, F (7,23) = 2.58, p = .04. In general, men liked the “mother” character more than the “lover” character, and expressed a preference to sexually hook-up with the “lover” character (see Table 1). Men who had low SM were more prone to like the “mother” character, while those with high SM were more prone to report wanting to sexually hook-up with the “lover” character. There was no significant interaction between SOI and any item, F (7,23) = 1.73, p = .15. For women, we found no differences in how participants perceived the “mother” vs “lover” character (see Table 2). In addition, for this comparison, women’s self-monitoring was not a significant covariate, F (7,36) = .74, p = .64, nor was their SOI, F (7,36) = 1.21, p = .32. Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 325 Table 1. Male Responses to Scale Questions Jane vs Lydia Dif. Emma vs Mary Dif. Maria vs Fanny Dif. To what extent do you think you would like this person? M# 2.42 DRAW -0.28 DRAW -1.39 To what extent do you think this person would like you? M# 0.81 DRAW* -1.2 M* -2.12 How well do you think you would get along well with this person? M# 2.84 DRAW 0.84 DRAW -0.88 How likely do you think you would be to hook-up (sexually) with this person for a one-night stand? DRAW 0.42 DRAW -0.56 L* 0.45 To what extent would like to form a short-term relationship with this person? M* 1.21 DRAW -0.56 DRAW -0.12 To what extent would you like to form a long-term committed relationship with this person? M# 2.03 DRAW 0 DRAW* -1.85 How well do the personality characteristics described in this passage describe a woman you would be attracted to? M# 2.58 DRAW -0.59 DRAW* -1.45 Note: Difference in scale ratings for mother versus lover character. M indicates that the mother character was significantly favored, p<.05; L indicates that the lover character was significantly favored, p<.05. * indicates an interaction with SM, # indicates an interaction with SOI. Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 326 Table 2. Female Responses to Scale Questions Jane vs Lydia Dif. Emma vs Mary Dif. Maria vs Fanny Dif. To what extent do you think you would like this person? M 3.66 DRAW -0.36 DRAW -0.33 To what extent do you think this person would like you? M 2.81 DRAW -0.04 DRAW -0.24 How well do you think you would get along well with this person? M 3.55 DRAW -0.64 DRAW -0.26 How comfortable would you be with this person accompanying your boyfriend on a three-week trip to another city? DRAW 2.02 DRAW -0.13 DRAW -0.98 How likely is this person to form and maintain a good career? M 3.66 DRAW -0.27 DRAW -0.1 To what extent would this person be able to form a long- term committed relationship? M 3.72 DRAW -0.96 DRAW -0.17 How well do the personality characteristics described in this passage describe you? M 2.77 DRAW -0.47 DRAW -0.69 Note: Difference in scale ratings for mother versus lover character. M indicates that the mother character was significantly favored, p<.05; L indicates that the lover character was significantly favored, p<.05. Forced Choice Questions In addition to the scale questions, we analyzed the forced choice questions using binomial probability testing to determine whether the proportion of responses were significantly different from equivalency. Thus, we examined the total number of men and women who chose each character for each of the forced-choice items. For the comparison of Jane vs Lydia, for men, the results were as expected: men indicated they were more likely to go out with, marry and have their parents choose the “mother” character for them to marry, while they preferred sexual relations with the “lover” character and believed the “lover” character would be more likely to cheat on them (see Table 3; note that we present the proportions such that it is those favoring the mother). Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 327 Table 3. Proportion of Male Forced Choice Responses Favoring the Mother Comparison Jane vs Lydia Emma vs Mary Maria vs Fanny With which person would you prefer to attend a party? 0.53 0.76 0.50 Which person would you prefer to go with on a formal date? 0.97 M 0.96 M 0.72 M With which person would you prefer to have sexual relations? 0.42 L 0.42 L 0.28 L Assuming you are already in a romantic relationship, with which person would you prefer to have an affair (cheat on your mate with)? 0.50 0.5 0.53 Which person would be more likely to have an affair (cheat on you)? 0.06 L 0.06 L 0.53 Which person would you prefer to marry? 0.89 M 0.89 M 0.5 Which person would your parent(s) prefer you to marry? 0.92 M 0.92 M 0.5 With whom would a romantic relationship last longer? 0.92 M 0.92 M 0.36 Which person would make a better mother? 0.75 M 0.75 M 0.50 Which person would you prefer to see engaged to your imaginary 25-year-old son? 0.86 M 0.86 M 0.64 Note: For the significant findings, M indicates that the mother character was favored; L indicates that the lover character was favored. For this comparison, women also responded as expected, choosing the “lover” character as most likely to cheat on her partner and have more sexual partners. The women chose the “mother” character as being a better mother and being better with children (see Table 4; again note that we present the proportions favoring the mother). For the comparison of Emma vs Mary, we found that men were more likely to choose the “mother” character to go on a date with and to marry, they believed she would make a better mother, and that she would make a relationship last longer. They chose the “lover” character as the one they would like to have sex with and would be more likely to cheat on them (see Table 3). Women, however, did not exhibit any significant differences in their choice of Emma vs Mary (see Table 4). Finally, for the Maria vs Fanny comparison, men were more likely to choose the “mother” character for a formal date and the “lover” character to have a sexual relationship. For the remaining items, there was no difference between the “mother” character and “lover” character (see Table 3). Women chose the “lover” character as more likely to cheat on her partner, and as the character with whom men would rather have sex. They chose the “mother” character as being more likely to be the better mother, and better with children. In addition, they chose the “mother” character as the preferable wife to their imaginary 25-year-old son (see Table 4). Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 328 Table 4. Proportion of Female Forced Choice Responses Favoring the Mother Comparison Jane vs Lydia Emma vs Mary Maria vs Fanny With which person would you prefer to attend a party? 0.61 0.41 0.52 Which person do you think men would prefer to go with on a formal date? 0.86M 0.46 0.42 With which person would you think men would prefer to have sexual relations with? 0.26L 0.38 0.3 L With which person would men prefer to have an affair with (cheat on mate with)? 0.08L 0.44 0.44 Which person would be more likely to have an affair (cheat on her mate)? 0.06L 0.6 0.34 L Which person would have sex with more individuals over her lifetime? 0.16L 0.44 0.4 Which person would be better with children? 0.94M 0.36 0.74 M Which person would make a better mother? 0.92M 0.39 0.7 M Which person would you prefer to see engaged to your imaginary 25-year old son? 0.06L 0.47 0.71 M Note: For the significant findings, M indicates that the mother character was favored; L indicates that the lover character was favored. Discussion The current study expands upon previous research that showed that college students are able to differentiate mating strategies of male characters in British Romantic literature (e.g., Kruger, Fisher & Jobling, 2003). Most of our analyses supported the hypothesis that both male and female college students are able to identify and distinguish between short and long-term mating strategies depicted by characters within the fictional works of Jane Austen. Thus, we also demonstrated that college students are able to differentiate between mating strategies of female characters, in texts written by women. Both men and women generally chose the “mother” character as the better mother, the character they would like their imaginary 25-year-old son to marry, and the character that would strive to maintain a long-term romantic relationship. Men were more likely to choose the “lover” character as the character they would be interested in sexually ‘hooking-up’ with, and both men and women chose the “lover” character as being more likely to cheat on her partner. It seems that the “mother/lover” distinction is intuitive to both men and women, as evidenced by the responses given by participants. None of the descriptions used as stimuli mentioned motherhood or the character’s interest or dealings with children, yet participants consistently chose the “mother” character as being the best in this regard. A few of our analyses showed inconsistent results. It seems that the Jane/Lydia dichotomy was the most obvious and easy for participants to identify, as they were able Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 329 to differentiate between the “mother” character and the “lover” character in the predicted manner. In the other two comparisons (Maria/Fanny and Emma/Mary) the lack of differentiation between the “mother” character and ”lover” character may be due to the conflicting descriptions in the compiled passages. For example one passage reads: “She was indeed the pride and delight of them all, a perfectly flawless angel. She was the finest young woman in the country, with high spirit and strong passion, but wanted neither pride nor resolutions. Her behavior to her prospective husband was careless and cold, she could not, did not, like him. She was preparing for matrimony with the misery of disappointed affection and contempt of the man she was to marry; she despised him, and loved another.” As seen in this passage, the ambiguity comes not from conflicting information about the type of mating strategy used, but that the author describes the character with positive adjectives in the first section and with negative adjectives in the second (italicized) section. This inconsistency may have made it difficult for students to differentiate between information regarding the mating strategy and information regarding the character’s disposition. Future studies should consider using further truncated passages that do not confound the disposition of the character with the mating strategy used by the character. Because we used a counter-balanced design in order to compare the mother/lover characters, there is the possibility that this design encouraged a comparison on questions that did not ask the participant to compare the two characters. For example, the question asking how much the participant likes the character could be influenced by the previous questions asking participants to compare the two characters. One aspect of our results that deserve mention is how individual differences with respect to sociosexuality and self-monitoring influence perceptions of women’s mating strategies. Women’s sociosexuality and self-monitoring did not have a significant influence, whereas these measures did prove significant for men, for some of the comparisons. Men with low SOI, and those with high SM, were more likely to favor the mother, while men with higher SOI, and those with low SM, were more likely to favor the lover. Although these results were not seen in all comparisons, it is interesting that this pattern was evidenced for at least the Jane/Lydia contrast. It is sensible that men with high SOI were more interested in the lover, given that these individuals presumably focus on sexuality, rather than paternal skills, due to their unrestrictive nature. As for self- monitoring, the items that revealed an effect were those directly pertaining to a relationship (whether it be short or long term), and how much they thought a character would like them. Perhaps those men with high self-monitoring identified in some manner with the “lover” character, which impacted on their preference. Or, perhaps due to the relationship between self-monitoring and sociosexuality, these men, due to their sexual unrestrictiveness, they did in fact more readily comprehend the two mating strategies of the characters. Although the work of Jane Austen is, of course fictional, it is intriguing that she managed to represent two common mating strategies used by women in her writing during the Georgian era. Without even mentioning sex, Austen depicts characters representative of women’s short-term mating strategies. Even more interesting is the fact that college students are able to extrapolate this information from British Romantic Variation in Reproductive Strategies Journal of Social, Evolutionary, and Cultural Psychology – ISSN 1933-5377 – Volume 4(4). 2010. 330 Literature, written in a different style of English, and interpret and use the information for their own imaginary mating efforts. In addition to refining passages, future work may develop more items specific to female reproductive strategies. As aforementioned, female strategies are not presumably the mirror image of male strategies, because the sexes face distinct costs and benefits stemming from short versus long-term relationships. It may be worthwhile to include additional items that are designed to assess behaviors that are more closely related to variation in female reproductive strategies than male reproductive strategies. The results of this study generally support our hypotheses and our project contributes to the field of Literary Darwinism. Although most scholars within Literary Darwinism merely use evolutionary theory as a basis for standard qualitative literary interpretations, this project goes further in that it subjects a literary interpretation to the empirical testing of the sciences. Received July 15, 2010; Revision received December 10, 2010; Accepted December 12, 2010 References Ahmad, M. & Fisher, M. (2010). Men’s perspectives on women’s nonverbal cues of sexual interest. EvoS Journal: The Journal of the Evolutionary Studies Consortium, 2, 72-80. Austen, J. (1813). Pride and prejudice. London: Thomas Egerton. Austen, J. (1814). Mansfield park: London: Thomas Egerton Austen, J. (1815). Emma. London: John Murray Barash, D. P & Barash, N. R. (2005). Madame Bovary's ovaries: A Darwinian look at literature. New York: Delacorte. Buss, D. M., & Schmitt, D. P. (1993). 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work_ikgdewjkvzeh5div47xu3jzlva	----	MEDICINA - Volumen 71 - Nº 1, 201194 EDITORIAL MEDICINA (Buenos Aires) 2011; 71: 94-98 ISSN 0025-7680 La gran tradición HOUSSAY, BRAUN MENENDEZ, LELOIR, DE ROBERTIS, MILSTEIN A los hombres de mi generación les tocó vivir una época de transición. Los primeros, Houssay, Lorenzo Parodi, Sordelli, etc., tienen el mérito de haber abierto caminos, pues aunque hubo antes que ellos personalidades que se destacaron en la ciencia, fueron sobre todo inventores o autodidactas que no sistematizaron los conocimientos. Nosotros encontramos un panorama muy diferente y desde 1955 tanto en las Universidades Nacionales como en el CONICET, hombres de distintas tendencias políticas nos encontramos unidos en un propósito común que era mejorar la enseñanza en las universidades y hacer progresar la investigación. Alfredo Lanari (1910-1985) Discurso pronunciado en ocasión de la entrega del Premio Bunge y Born, 1971 Hay libros que entusiasman mucho más que otros, y tal fue para mí el de Miguel de Asúa titulado Una gloria silenciosa. Dos siglos de ciencia en Argentina recientemente editado por Libros del Zorzal1 bajo los auspicios de la Fundación Carolina Argentina y con un Prólogo de su Presidente, Guillermo Jaim Etcheverry. Allí destaca la importancia de esta “reafirmación de nuestra capacidad de contribuir a la gran corriente de la historia de la ciencia moderna, pues siempre ha existido entre nosotros el ´ansia de investigar y descubrir´ una tarea que el autor describe con acierto como ´un juego exigente y duro´. El libro consta de treinta cortos capítulos ingeniosamente separados en Episodios, Ciencia e historia y Box, y muchas fotografías, que abarcan desde la Ciencia jesuita en el Río de La Plata hasta Los úl- timos treinta años: el giro hacia los desarrollos tecnológicos - todo lo cual proporciona una lectura fácil y amena. El propósito de este Editorial es concentrarse en lo que el autor llama La gran tradición inspirado en el libro The Great Tradition publicado en 1948 por F.R. Leavis2 quien formulaba un Parnaso mínimo y riguroso de la prosa inglesa moderna: Jane Austen, George Eliot, Henry James, Joseph Conrad y D. H. Lawrence. En este caso, Miguel de Asúa señala que igualmente La Gran tradición biomédica argentina puede ser sintetizada en cinco nombres –Houssay, Braun Menéndez, Leloir, De Robertis y Milstein– de- jando de lado muchos nombres significativos –como en el caso de los novelistas ingleses– y omitiendo personas vivas. Es indudable que la dimensión del tiempo es imprescindible para hablar de historia, pero al llegar a los 90 años –como es mi caso– uno empieza a reconstruir el pasado, como hice en mi autobiografía, Quise lo que hice3. Allí describo mi relación personal con cuatro de estas cinco renombradas personas, EDITORIALES 95 alguna más estrecha que otra como en el caso de Houssay con quien trabajé un año. En consecuencia, mi propósito es aportar anécdotas con el fin de humanizar en lo posible la imagen necesariamente aus- tera que proyecta la historia e inclusive este libro. Mi primera impresión de Houssay como persona me la proporcionó una carta que me mandó Lewis Dexter, un joven cardiólogo de Boston que había pasado el año 1941 como becario en el Instituto de Fisiología. Poco antes de embarcarme para la Argentina desde el Canadá, él me escribía: El Instituto de Fisiología es parte de la Escuela de Medicina de la Universidad de Buenos Aires. Consiste en un viejo edificio de cuatro pisos y con techos altos. El equipamiento es bueno, la actividad intensa y el espíritu excelente. El Dr. Houssay es el director y la única crítica que podría hacerle es que supervisa a cada uno tan de cerca que ello podría ir en detrimento de la propia iniciativa. Presumo que lo hace porque si bien los niveles científicos son en general bajos en el resto de Sudamérica, él exige un nivel de excelencia. Además, le interesa intensamente todo lo que ocurre. Es un trabajador infatigable. Más aún, tiene una mente brillante y una memoria impresionante, es ingenioso y meticuloso al enfrentar un problema, muy imaginativo aunque mantiene los pies en la tierra, es muy obstinado y persistente frente a los obstáculos y, en una palabra, es uno de los hombres más sobresalientes que he conocido. Fue casi paternal conmigo frente a muchos problemas, tanto científicos como personales. Estoy seguro que Ud. llegará a admirarlo tanto como yo. También antes de embarcarme, concurrí a un Internal Secretion Meeting en Atlantic City donde en un cóctel, reencontré a Herbert M. Evans, el descubridor de la hormona de crecimiento. Al enterarse que me iba a trabajar con Houssay, me llevó aparte y con el vaso en la mano y literalmente de rodillas me imploró: “Prométame que me escribirá todos los días contándome detalles de las actividades de Houssay porque lo admiro mucho y tengo sumo interés en escribir su biografía”. Ojala hubiera logrado ayudarlo, porque emprendió una biografía que, con alguna colaboración, podría haberse completado con más éxito; por desgracia, aún no disponemos de una buena biografía de Houssay. Al llegar a Buenos Aires en 1942 –a los 22 años– con una Beca, Canadian Federation of University Women Traveling Fellowship, le escribía a mi madre sobre mi primera impresión de Houssay: “... es un hombre mucho más joven de lo que esperaba, a quien le gustan las cosas hechas en forma rápida y bien”. A lo largo del año, comentaba: La verdad era que trabajaba mucho en el laboratorio, al que llegaba a las ocho de la mañana y rara vez me iba antes de las siete de la tarde. Con Houssay hacía el tan comentado full-time que él pregoni- zaba y cumplía religiosamente. Eramos pocos los que estábamos tantas horas. Yo me había adaptado fácilmente a esa rutina porque se parecía mucho a la de McGill y porque Houssay cada día me hacía recordar más a Hans Selye. Aunque éste tenía entonces treinta y cinco años y Houssay cincuenta y cinco, ambos compartían el fuego sagrado del investigador. Eran devotos y dedicados tanto a la ense- ñanza como a la investigación y, del mismo modo, atraían a gente joven y formaban escuela, los dos en endocrinología experimental. Todos estos experimentos que hacía con Houssay eran parte de un proyecto muy bien diseñado so- bre la relación entre la hipófisis y la diabetes que, eventualmente, contribuyó a la obtención de su Premio Nobel en 1947: “por el descubrimiento del papel que juega la hormona del lóbulo anterior de la hipófisis sobre el metabolismo de los hidratos de carbono”. Considero que el año (julio 1942 – junio 1943) que trabajé con Houssay coincidió con su mayor rendimiento experimental y con el apogeo del Instituto de Fisiología, del cual fue alejado pocos meses después debido a lamentables acontecimientos políticos. Durante ese período concurrían al Instituto muchos investigadores, médicos y técnicos, con un promedio de edad de no más de treinta años. En- contré allí el ambiente latino de mi casa paterna junto con una alegría de vivir que no existía en el an- glosajón de la Universidad de McGill. Houssay era especialmente cordial con todos los investigadores, y hasta paternal conmigo, tan es así que a menudo me decía “... et dire que j´aurais pu avoir une fille MEDICINA - Volumen 71 - Nº 1, 201196 comme vous”. (... y decir que hubiera podido haber tenido una hija como Ud.) –siempre me hablaba en francés. Houssay tenía un entusiasmo desbordante y contagioso por todos los temas que dirigía. Siempre parecía tener tiempo para explicar lo que fuera y para operar (en especial perros y sapos), tarea de la que le gustaba encargarse en persona. Houssay seguía el curso de los experimentos de cada uno de sus colaboradores y solía dejarles a diario un papelito con alguna sugerencia, alguna ficha, una idea, o, simplemente “véame - BAH “ siglas que compartía con el Bufo arenarum Hensel y que se referían al sapo vernacular que era el modelo animal más estudiado en su laboratorio. Otros, tal vez, recordarán a Houssay como una persona más severa y hasta austera. De hecho, Sordelli hablando de él mencionaba “su optimismo glacial, expresión de su voluntad inconmovible…” En la década del 40, los trabajos de Houssay eran ya conocidos a nivel internacional. Carlson, el eminente fisiólogo norteamericano, lo expresó en una frase que se hizo clásica: “Puso a la Argentina en el mapa mundial de la Fisiología”. Houssay hacía la investigación típica de la época, el modelo “ex- tirpación-extracto” en el animal entero, es decir, la extracción de una glándula y el reemplazarla con su hormona. Esto lo aplicaba a perros, sapos y ratas y era muy similar a lo que yo había realizado ante- riormente con Hans Selye en Montreal. Como ya hice referencia, en ambos laboratorios era llamativa la dedicación, la sistematización y la constancia con que todo se hacía, se escribía y se publicaba. Se ha calculado que en el Instituto de Fisiología, en aquella época, trabajaban unas ciento veinte personas y se publicaba un promedio de 250 trabajos por año. Para concluir, es necesario decir que la investigación biomédica houssayana no solamente condujo al Premio Nobel sino que fue la vía seguida por tantos in- vestigadores argentinos que a su vez formaron las nuevas generaciones de fisiólogos y endocrinólogos que actualmente se destacan a nivel nacional e internacional. En octubre de 1943, Houssay fue declarado cesante de su cátedra y de la dirección del Instituto de Fisiología. Esta noticia que me llegó por los diarios a Santiago de Chile –donde trabajaba con Alejandro Lipschütz con una Beca Rockefeller– me indignó profundamente. Entonces pensé en Herbert M. Evans que tanto se interesaba en Houssay y le mandé una larga carta pidiéndole ayuda. Años después compré la biografía de Walter B. Cannon4 donde descubrí la reproducción de un fragmento de mi carta. Al reci- birla, Evans se había puesto en contacto con Cannon, C. J. Wiggers, y J. F. Fulton, quienes fundaron el Houssay Journal Fund con el objeto de crear la biblioteca de su nuevo Instituto. Pasaron muchos años hasta que en 1962, al incorporarme en la Carrera del Investigador del CONI- CET (Consejo Nacional de Investigaciones Científicas y Técnicas), al firmar el contrato, Houssay me dijo “Vous allez gagner una fortune” (Ud. va ganar una fortuna) y es cierto que inicialmente los sueldos eran muy buenos. Reconozco que, desde mi torre de marfil de investigadora, admiraba a Houssay por sus descubri- mientos reconocidos en el Premio Nobel, pero al pasar de los años y al leer el libro de Harold Varmus5 (Premio Nobel 1969 y Director de NIH durante la década del 90) y el de Buch6 con enfoques tan dife- rentes al mío, me llevan a darle a Houssay (y a Varmus) tanta o más importancia por sus logros como político de la ciencia que como investigador7. Como tal se destaca la creación del CONICET (Consejo Nacional de Investigaciones Científicas y Técnicas), como coronación de tanta lucha para asegurar la profesionalización de la ciencia, como lo ilustran sus Escritos y Discursos compilados por Ariel Barrios Medina y Paladini8. Mi último recuerdo de Houssay es una visita al Hospital Italiano donde estaba internado y donde lo encontré mirando una revista con detalles del Premio Nobel de Química 1970 recientemente otorgado a Luis F. Leloir. Según Alfredo Lanari, quien lo atendía, Houssay sin su laboratorio no tenía más ganas de vivir; falleció el 21 de setiembre de 1971. Eduardo Braun Menéndez, cuando lo conocí en 1942, era un hombre de 39 años, carismático y en- teramente dedicado al Instituto de Fisiología. Se interesaba mucho en saber lo que yo estaba haciendo EDITORIALES 97 y me insistía en concurrir más a la biblioteca del entrepiso, donde por otro parte se lo encontraba muy a menudo. En el laboratorio empezaba a emplear ratas para sus investigaciones en hipertensión arterial. Ese era mi terreno y recuerdo que le enseñé a Braun a inocular en la yugular, sin anestesia, y a sacar sangre del corazón además de extirpar el 95% del hígado. Recuerdo también que, con él y con Virgilio Foglia, fuimos a la Exposición de la Sociedad Rural en Palermo donde me quedé asombrada con los animales de todo tipo -le escribía a mi madre que ese año el toro Shorthorn premiado se había remata- do por setenta y dos mil pesos, unos dieciocho mil dólares, -estaba impresionada con los quioscos de carne y me parecían una delicia los sandwiches de lomo. A través de los años, con Braun siempre nos re-encontrábamos con placer y poco antes de su muerte en 1959 me había visitado en mi laboratorio de la Academia Nacional de Medicina para charlar largamente sobre sus proyectos para el futuro de la investigación con un optimismo que yo compartía. ¡Qué perdida tan lamentable fue su desaparición! De Luis F. Leloir tengo dos anécdotas en mi autobiografía. El 23 de diciembre de 1942, Leloir, que también trabajaba en el Instituto, nos invitó a pasar el día en su estancia. Éramos dieciocho entre los que se encontraba Houssay y yo era la única mujer. El lugar era de ensueño, con una amplia casa central de una sola planta. La piscina tenía el agua de un azul tan intenso que pregunté a qué se debía esa tona- lidad. Me explicaron que se lograba agregando sulfato de cobre. Comimos bajo los árboles empanadas y asado, y después montamos a caballo. Era la primera vez que subía a un caballo y logré galopar, lo que me gustó mucho. .. En 1970 Leloir había ganado el Premio Nobel de Química. Era un gran acontecimiento para los inves- tigadores. César Bergadá, que era Presidente de la Sociedad Argentina de Investigación Clínica, lo ha- bía invitado a dar la Conferencia Patalano. Concurrió a la reunión a pesar de que salía para Estocolmo a los pocos días, y fue muy festejado, sin que ello llegara a alterar su conocida modestia. En el banquete final estaba sentado a mi lado, y en medio de la animación y el baile, se me ocurrió preguntarle: “¿Qué siente uno al ganar el Premio Nobel?”. Me miró y respondió: “No es tanta la alegría como cuando uno iba a bailar al Tabaris”. Nos quedamos pensativos los dos. A De Robertis lo ví muchas veces y charlamos amigablemente pero no tengo anécdotas específicas. En cuanto a César Milstein lo recuerdo en una de sus visitas al país en 1994, cuando ambos parti- cipamos de un Comité Asesor Científico del Instituto Malbrán que dirigía Moisés Spitz, un investigador que había trabajado con él en Cambridge. Durante el almuerzo, Milstein nos contaba que ni él ni el Me- dical Researh Council habían patentado el descubrimiento ni cobrado un centavo –y hacía el cero entre pulgar e índice– de su método de producción de anticuerpos monoclonales, mientras que las casas farmacéuticas estaban ganando miles de millones de dólares. Años después la Editorial Birkhäuser de Basilea me mandó un libro titulado Köhler´s Invention9 –título que me asombró–. El autor, Klaus Eichmann, es un renombrado inmunólogo, director del Max-Planck- Institut für Immunobiologie de Friburgo, Alemania, quien compartió la dirección de dicho Instituto con Georges Köhler después de que hubiera ganado el Premio Nobel en 1984 junto con César Milstein y Niels Jerne. El mismo título del libro sugiere complejos entretelones que van develándose a lo largo de sus 224 páginas, entrelazados con una minuciosa descripción del escenario de la inmunología del momento. Desde ya, hay que reconocer que Eichmann hizo un gran esfuerzo para ser equitativo en su apreciación de la relación entre Köhler el becario, y Milstein, su director. Comenté dicho libro en un Editorial10 haciendo especial énfasis en la relación entre el becario y su director en el conflictivo “mundo del investigador”. El ejemplo Milstein-Köhler hace resaltar: 1) una estre- cha colaboración durante los experimentos y formación de una firme amistad; 2) el disgregante efecto de todo lo relacionado con el dinero asociado a patentes en manos de otros; 3) el otorgamiento de premios a uno y no al otro; 4) la insistencia de los periodistas en pormenores innecesarios; 5) el lobby para el Premio Nobel. MEDICINA - Volumen 71 - Nº 1, 201198 En todo momento resalta el reconocimiento del autor por el sereno comportamiento de Milstein. Es entendible la angustia de Köhler al no verse incluido en premios importantes, y también lo es la defensa de sus superiores para un eventual Premio Nobel para un compatriota. ¡Como tantas relaciones huma- nas, las de los investigadores distan de ser fáciles! Volviendo al libro de Miguel de Asúa, encontramos un final llamado Los últimos treinta años: el giro hacia los desarrollos tecnológicos quitándole importancia al “investigar por el puro deseo de conocer”, y sin embargo vale más que nunca la pertinente cita de Luis F. Leloir que el autor ha seleccionado: “Resulta muy difícil convencer a los gobernantes de que la investigación científica básica merece apoyo. Ellos preferirían lograr el desarrollo de la investigación aplicada sin necesidad de invertir en la básica. Para un científico, esto sería como edificar los pisos altos de un edificio sin construir los de abajo”. Christiane Dosne Pasqualini e-mail: chdosne@hotmail.com 1. Asúa M de. Una gloria silenciosa. Dos siglos de ciencia en la Argentina. Buenos Aires: Libros del Zorzal, 2010 2. Leavis FR. The Great Tradition. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1948. 3. Pasqualini CD, Quise lo que hice. Buenos Aires: Leviatán, 2007. 4. Wolfe EL, Barger AC, Benison S. Walter B. Cannon. Science and Society. Cambridge MA: Harvard Universityce and Society. Cambridge MA: Harvard University Press, 2000 . 5. Varmus H. The Art and Politics of Science. New York: Norton, 2009. 6. Buch A. Forma y función de un sujeto moderno: Bernardo Houssay y la fisiología argentina (1900-1943). Bernal: Universidad Nacional de Quilmes Editorial, 2006. 7. Pasqualini CD. Arte y Política de la Ciencia. Bernardo A. Houssay y Harold. Varmus. Medicina (Buenos Aires) 2009; 69:685-7. 8. Barrios Medina A, Paladini AC. Escritos y discursos del Dr. Bernardo A. Houssay. Buenos Aires: Eudeba, 1989 9. Eichmann K. Köhler´s Invention. Basel: Birkhäuser Verlag, 2005. 10. Pasqualini CD. Entretelones del invento de los anticuer- pos monoclonales. Medicina (Buenos Aires) 2008; 68: 475-7. - - - - El investigador necesita libertad, no sólo para elegir su tema de trabajo, sino también para seguir, de los caminos que sus investigaciones le van señalando o abriendo, aquel que considera más importante o más interesante. El acierto en la elección del camino a seguir, es lo que distingue, a mi modo de ver, al investigador de primera clase de los de segunda o tercera clase. Eduardo Braun Menéndez (1903-1959) 
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work_iubihzsdwvfvfiwnxacpwjfbke	----	Polar Record 52 (265): 499–506 (2016). c© Cambridge University Press 2015. 499 Book Reviews Travels into print. Exploration, writing, and pub- lishing with John Murray, 1773–1859. Innes M. Keighren, Charles W.J. Withers and Bill Bell. 2015. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. xiii + 364 p, illustrated, hardcover. ISBN 978-0-226-42953-3. £31.50; US$45.00. doi:10.1017/S0032247415000881 Antiquarian books have long been big business in the polar world, as first editions of expedition accounts from the ‘Heroic Age’ of Antarctic exploration and the nineteenth-century Arctic can sell for very high prices. Few are as dear as the deluxe three- volume edition of Ernest Shackleton’s The heart of the Antarc- tic, which was bound in vellum and signed by the members of the shore party of the Nimrod Expedition (Shackleton 1909). It sells (when it sells) for around £30,000. Expedition accounts from other parts of the world can be pricy as well, with, for example, James Cook’s A voyage towards the South Pole and round the world performed in His Majesty’s ships the Resolution and Adventure (Cook 1777) being priced regularly between £4000 and £5000. Frequently lost in the economics of such books is how they actually came into being. From the late-eighteenth century through the opening decades of the twentieth century, explor- ation thrilled the western public. The opening of new lands and discovery of unknown peoples, the gains made in scientific knowledge, the elimination of the white spaces on the map, and the demonstration that man could conquer nature at her most extreme were all reasons that not only drove explorers themselves but kept the public fascinated by what these brave men and women did far from the comforts of home. In a time before radio, television, or the internet, written expedition accounts were – along with newspapers and magazines, grand paintings, children’s books, and music hall performances – one of the key elements in popularising explorers and their achievements. No publishing house was more renowned and respec- ted for its books about exploration than John Murray, foun- ded in 1768 and guided for seven generations by successive men of that same name. John Murray did not just concen- trate on exploration, as it was also the publisher for many great British writers and scientists, including Lord Byron, Jane Austen, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Sir Walter Scott, Charles Darwin, Charles Lyell, and John Betjeman. How- ever, the list of explorers whose accounts it brought out was unmatched. Travels into print is a scholarly examination of the relation- ship between the house of Murray – during the period of the first three John Murrays – and the world of travel and exploration. It shows how the company began to produce expedition accounts and then became progressively more involved in exploration as, from 1813, it served as the official publisher to the Admiralty – and thus brought out most of the official Arctic and African accounts. Then in 1831, John Murray took over the publication of The Journal of the Royal Geographical Society of London, making it even more closely involved in exploration. Further, the book illustrates how, over a period of decades, John Murray not only helped create a broad public interest in exploration, but gave explorers themselves the chance to gain celebrity, social standing, and scientific credibility. The launching point for the study is 1773, with John Murray’s first venture into exploration: Sydney Parkinson’s A journal of a voyage to the South Seas, in His Majesty’s ship, the Endeavour. It concludes in 1859 – after John Murray had published 239 works of travel or exploration – when Sir Francis Leopold McClintock’s The voyage of the Fox in the Arctic seas gave some initial answers to the mysteries surrounding the disappearance of Sir John Franklin’s Northwest Passage expedition. Travels into print examines the relationships between ex- plorers, publishers, editors, and printers throughout this period. It does so primarily by following three themes. First, why, how, and for whom did explorers write? That is, what were their motivations for exploring, what kinds of written records did they keep, and how much of their writing was based on assessments of the moment and how much upon later reflection? And how precisely were their personal writings transferred to the submitted manuscript? Second, how did explorers convince first their publisher and then the general public of the truth behind their stories about their actions and events in strange places? Unlike the sceptical reception to the tales and writings of James ‘Abyssinian’ Bruce – whose account was published in this same period (Bruce 1790) – how could Murray’s authors persuade readers that what they wrote was an honest image of faraway lands? And third, in what ways and for what purposes did the various John Murrays or their editors amend an author’s specific words and general tales? The result of this in-depth investigation is a significant interdisciplinary study that makes contributions not just to the history of geographical exploration and of the book trade, but also to the history of science, art, and cartography, as well as to popular culture, literary studies, and theories of the meaning and reception of ideas. From the standpoint of readers of Polar Record, the time period of the book is, sadly, rather short. Works by John Barrow, John Ross, James Clark Ross, William Edward Parry, John Franklin, and George Back are all included in the study, but the post-Franklin-search polar explorers are all excluded. It would have been nice to have expanded the time frame to include the many Arctic and Antarctic expeditions that were conducted up through the Great War. Then again, some of the major accounts would not have been included regardless, since, for example, Robert Falcon Scott’s works were published by Smith, Elder, and those of Ernest Shackleton and Douglas Mawson by William Heinemann. Thus, this is a small niggle, as the major conclusions and contributions would have been virtually the same even with a larger set of accounts upon to which to draw. In summary, this is a well-researched, in-depth analysis of a relevant and interesting subject. It is recommended for those interested in historical geography, the history of books, or the relation between popular culture and exploration, http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/S0032247415000881 500 BOOK REVIEWS (Beau Riffenburgh, Hafod Newydd, Llanarthne, Carmarthen SA32 8LG (bar10@cam.ac.uk)). References Bruce, J. 1790. Travels to discover the source of the Nile, in the years 1768, 1769, 1770, 1771, 1772 and 1773. 5 vols. London: C.G.J. and J. Robinson. Cook, J. 1777. A voyage towards the South Pole and round the world performed in His Majesty’s ships the Resolution and Adventure, in the years 1772, 1773, 1774 and 1775. 2 vols. London: Strahan and Cadell. McClintock, F. 1859. The voyage of the ‘Fox’ in the Arctic seas. London: John Murray. Parkinson, S. 1773. A journal of a voyage to the South Seas, in His Majesty’s ship, the Endeavour. London: John Murray. Shackleton, E. 1909. The heart of the Antarctic. 3 vols. London: William Heinemann. Rethinking Greenland and the Arctic in the era of cli- mate change. New northern horizons. Frank Sejersen. 2015. London & New York: Routledge. xii + 235 p, hardcover. ISBN 978-1-13-884515-2. 90.00£. doi:10.1017/S0032247415000893 Climate change – probably the very core issue of the various disciplines of Arctic and polar research. Apart from environ- mental changes, climate change is also what is perceived as one of the core drivers of socio-economic change in the Arctic (ACIA 2004), contributing to a discourse which victimises es- pecially the Arctic’s indigenous peoples. The present volume by renowned anthropologist and Greenland-expert Frank Sejersen aims to go beyond this narrative and already in the opening pages of this book notes that ‘we have to rethink how we approach and understand the Arctic [ . . . ]’ as ‘Arctic peoples are actively changing, creating and anticipating the very world they perceive to be their homeland’ (page 3). As a consequence, these societal actions, Sejersen asserts, ‘cannot be understood purely as adaptation or simply in terms of coping with climate change’ since they are active players in ‘reorganising and transforming their societies’ (ibid.). With these words in mind, the author engages into a truly thought-provoking and somewhat provocative discussion on the public discourse on the Arctic and the Arctic’s indigenous peoples. He stipulates that the Arctic is a region of flow, integrated into the world’s shifting system, and should thus not be considered an isolated region. Similarly, using Greenland as his case study, Sejersen shows how perceptions on the Arctic’s indigenous peoples in light of climate change consider them primary as vulnerable stakeholders, while they themselves are indeed ‘future makers’, as Sejersen calls them, and rights holders. The Greenlandic debates concerning large-scale in- dustrialisation and their recognition as a distinct people under international law as stipulated in the 2009 Self-government Act (Greenland 2009) underlines this. Sejersen thus moves on to discuss the role of indigenous peoples in the decision-making processes and the need not only to consider them as stakeholders, but as fully integrated rights holders into larger legal and political framework, especially with regard to adaptation strategies, which are often barred by legal or political acts, preventing them from fully unfolding. By establishing the term ‘double agency’, the author high- lights that it is participation in combination with right-holder possibilities/self-determination that would enable full adaptive capacities within already exiting legal frameworks, such as land claims agreements, in the Arctic. All existing agree- ments, however, show shortcomings in fully enabling ‘double agency’. The somewhat contradictory roles Greenland plays within the discourse of climate change are elaborated upon by the author when he discusses Greenland’s dual position as a symbol of climate change on the one hand, and on the other as an (emerging) independent economy establishing industrial mega- projects and thus contributing to greenhouse gas emissions. Sejersen skilfully links the different narratives that he discussed in the previous chapters into his discussion on the long-term transformation of the Greenlandic society, also touching upon the role of technology as a contributor to societal and cultural change. The direct implications of societal change are presented by the author by depicting the shifts of consciousness about the community, the environment and identity of the community of Maniitsoq in south-western Greenland where an aluminium smelter is planned to be built. Contrary to large-scale industrial projects in other indigenous areas that are mostly faced with op- position (see for example Bush 2013), the citizens of Maniitsoq by and large welcome the smelter to contribute to the town’s future development and sustainability (page 141). And what this implies for the identity of the town’s inhabitants and their understanding, interpretation and utilisation of place and places in and around Maniitsoq is impressively analysed by Sejersen. The transformation of the socio-economic and cultural fabric become understandable and the chapter provides a bottom-up insight into the local consciousness regarding industrialisation, place and development. Here must be mentioned that very short and summarised versions of the chapters 3, 4, and 5, Mega- industrialising Greenland, Reforming a society by means of society and Place consciousness and the renewal of Maniitsoq can also be found in Sejersen’s contributions, albeit in very shortened and summarised form, to the outstanding volume Living with environmental change - Waterworlds (Hastrup and Rubow 2014). This inevitably leads to the question of scaling: is climate change a locally or a globally perceived and acted-upon phe- nomenon? Sejersen shows different approaches to this question and highlights throughout the need for a local or ‘extra-local’ understanding of adaptation. He consequently explicates that scaling ‘is more than a question of size and extent but just as much a matter of perspective and room for social agency’ (page 184). He shows that by applying different scales, significant differences in analytical results are yielded, ‘allowing distinct- ive voices and forms of agency to emerge while other can be left in the analytical shadows’ (page 187). The importance of this finding cannot be stressed enough. Especially the chapter The social life of globalisation and scale-makers provides thus an important theoretical and methodological discussion relevant for social and political scientists. In the last chapter of this thought-provoking and deeply insightful book leaves on an equally thought-provoking note: the disempowerment of indigenous peoples by including in- digenous knowledge into the discourse on climate change adaptation and mitigation as well as community development. mailto:bar10@cam.ac.uk http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/S0032247415000893 References References References References References 
work_iwukqlvlbfdzpgxkhxiycdnwey	----	New from C H I C A G O The Acoustic World of Early Modern England Attending to the O-Factor Bruce R. Smith This ear-opening journey into the acoustic world of Shakespeare's contemporaries uncovers the sounds that would have filled the air in early modern England, and explores what they might have meant to people living in that largely oral culture. Paper $21.00 Victorian Sexual Dissidence Edited by Richard Dellamora "Richard Dellamora has brought together interesting and challenging essays that begin to outline a new shape for studies of 'sexual dissidence' in the Victorian period. By using this term, Dellamora is signaling his shift away from earlier gay critics and toward an understanding that is not based on sexual identity especially when it is conceived as binary. This strikingly innovative collection will make a clear mark for itself in Victorian studies."—Robert K. Martin, coeditor of Queer Forster Paper $20.00 Smile of Discontent Humor, Gender, and Nineteenth-Century British Fiction Eileen Gillooly "Smile of Discontent is a searching and persuasive account of humor and gender in nineteenth-century fiction, every bit as mordant, unnerving, and funny as the texts it illuminates. A splendid book." —Claudia L. Johnson, Princeton University Paper $20.00 Women in Culture and Society Series The Trials of Masculinity Policing Sexual Boundaries, 1870-1930 Angus McLaren Paper $16.00 The Chicago Series on Sexuality, History, and Society Mapping an Empire The Geographical Construction of British India, 1765-1843 Matthew H. Edney Paper $25.00 The University of Chicago Press 5801 South Ellis Avenue, Chicago, IL 60637 www.presj.uchicago.edu terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100020827 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100020827 https://www.cambridge.org/core THE BEST IN BRITISH STUDIES Now in paperback... Henry VI and the Politics of Kingship John Watts "Watts' book offers a great deal, not least in terms of his clarification of the values, norms, and expectations of politics in late medieval England..." — Albion Henry VI (1422—61) was one of the most spectacularly inadequate kings of England, and his reign dissolved into the conflict known as the Wars of the Roses. Yet he held on to his throne for thirty-nine years and, for almost thirty of them, without much difficulty. What was the nature of Henrys inadequacy, and why did it have such ambivalent and complicated results? 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Britain and the United States, and their intertwined fates, were fundamental to the course of interna- tional history in these years. 0-521-44090-4 Hardback $64.95 British Identities before Nationalism Ethnicity and Nationhood in the Atlantic World, 1600-1800 Colin Kidd This book examines the status and uses of ethnicity in political debate during the seven- teenth and eighteenth centuries. Ranging widely across the political cultures of England, Scotland, Ireland and revolutionary America, it also considers European influences and comparisons as well as engaging historically with current debates over nationalism and identity. 0-521-62403-7 Hardback $59.95 Colonisation and Conquest in Medieval Ireland The English in Louth, 1170-1330 Brendan Smith The history of English rule in Ireland stretches back to the twelfth century. This book exam- ines the actions of the earliest English settlers in Ireland and asks a number of questions about the society they developed there. This was also a time of English expansion in Wales and Scotland, and the book suggests compari- sons and contrasts with the Irish experience in this broader setting. Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought: Fourth Series 42 0-521-57320-3 Hardback $54.95 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100020827 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100020827 https://www.cambridge.org/core Education and Economic Decline in Britain, 1870 to the 1990s Michael Sanderson For many years, British scientific and technical education has been regarded as inadequate and poor in comparison to competing countries. The deficiencies of the British education system and its failure to support and promote vocational education and training to create "human capital" in the labor force have been seen as a large factor in Britain's economic decline since the 1870s. Michael Sanderson examines education's supposed part—or not—in this decline and focuses on those issues where education has been seen to fail the needs of the economy. New Studies in Economic and Social History 37 0-521-58170-2 Hardback $39.95 0-521-58842-1 Paperback $11.95 Christianity Under the Ancien Regime W. R. Ward, Emeritus This book offers a brief, but comprehensive, account of religious belief and experience in Europe between the Westphalia settlements in 1648 and the French Revolution. The book is organized around large European regions such as Central and Northwestern Europe (including Britain), Southern Europe and North and Eastern Europe. Within each chapter Professor Ward discusses the churches in their political, social and intellectual con- text. With its maps, glossary and guide to further reading, this promises to be a major aid to students of Christianity under the ancien regime. New Approaches to European History 14 0-521-55361-X Hardback $54.95 0-521-55672-4 Paperback $19.95 Available in bookstores or from FROM CAMBRIDGE The Intellectual Foundations of the English Benedictine Reform Mechthild Gretsch This book explores the foundations of the intellectual renaissance in late-tenth-century England, including both the English Bene- dictine reform and the establishment by iEthelwold, Bishop of Winchester, of his influential school. The early stages of vEthelwold's scholarly career are explored and new light is shed on the role which King jEthelstan's cosmopolitan court played. 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Jacqueline Pearson examines both historical women readers, including Laetitia Pilkington, Elizabeth Carter, Frances Burney and Jane Austen, and a wide range of texts in which the figure of the woman reader is important. 0-521-58439-6 Hardback $59.95 CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS 40 West 20th Street, N.Y., NY 10011-4211 Call toll-free 800-872-7423. Web site: http://www.cup.org MasterCard/VISA accepted. Prices subject to change. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100020827 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100020827 https://www.cambridge.org/core Published quarterly by The University of Chicago Press The Journal of Modern History For seventy years the leading North American forum for scholars of European history. Edited by John W. Boyer Sheila Fitzpatrick Jan E. 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Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0021937100020827 https://www.cambridge.org/core For a quarter century, Critical Inquiry has served as a haven (though not always a safe haven) for the development of new critical thought. Critical Inquiry is a place where new ideas about criticism and culture — literature, art, architecture, film, history, philosophy, music, science — are defined and debated. Devoted to publishing the best critical thought in the arts and humanities, Critical Inquiry combines a commitment to outstanding scholarship with a concern for dynamic dialogue. Where new ideas are forged... Today, Critical Inquiry is informing a new generation of readers who want to be challenged with fresh approaches from a wide range of disciplines. 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work_ixelwyqqsfhdti3nhm62bbxtku	----	İçerik Mobil Cihazınız İçin Uygun Değil Mobil cihazlarda, tarayıcı içinde dokümanınızı görütüleyemiyoruz. Bunun yerine dosyayı cihazınıza indirerek görüntülemeyi deneyebilirsiniz. İNDİR & GÖRÜNTÜLE 
work_ixvauytlgvettfi3slvyqdhnne	----	CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 107 Stylometry with R: A Package for Computational Text Analysis by Maciej Eder, Jan Rybicki and Mike Kestemont Abstract This software paper describes ‘Stylometry with R’ (stylo), a flexible R package for the high- level analysis of writing style in stylometry. Stylometry (computational stylistics) is concerned with the quantitative study of writing style, e.g. authorship verification, an application which has considerable potential in forensic contexts, as well as historical research. In this paper we introduce the possibilities of stylo for computational text analysis, via a number of dummy case studies from English and French literature. We demonstrate how the package is particularly useful in the exploratory statistical analysis of texts, e.g. with respect to authorial writing style. Because stylo provides an attractive graphical user interface for high-level exploratory analyses, it is especially suited for an audience of novices, without programming skills (e.g. from the Digital Humanities). More experienced users can benefit from our implementation of a series of standard pipelines for text processing, as well as a number of similarity metrics. Introduction Authorship is a topic which continues to attract considerable attention with the larger public. This claim is well illustrated by a number of high-profile case studies that have recently made headlines across the popular media, such as the attribution of a pseudonymously published work to acclaimed Harry Potter novelist, J. K. Rowling (Juola, 2013), or the debate surrounding the publication of Harper Lee’s original version of To Kill a Mocking Bird and the dominant role which her editor might have played therein (Gamerman, 2015). The authorship of texts clearly matters to readers across the globe (Love, 2002) and therefore it does not come as a surprise that computational authorship attribution increasingly attracts attention in science, because of its valuable real-world applications, for instance, related to forensics topics such as plagiarism detection, unmasking the author of harassment messages or even determining the provenance of bomb letters in counter-terrorism research. Interestingly, the methods of stylometry are also actively applied in the Humanities, where multiple historic authorship problems in literary studies still seek a definitive solution – the notorious Shakespeare-Marlowe controversy is perhaps the best example in this respect. Authorship attribution plays a prominent role in the nascent field of stylometry, or the computa- tional analysis of writing style (Juola, 2006; Stamatatos et al., 2000; Stamatatos, 2009; Koppel et al., 2009; Van Halteren et al., 2005). While this field has important historical precursors (Holmes, 1994, 1998), recent decades have witnessed a clear increase in the scientific attention for this problem. Because of its emergent nature, replicability and benchmarking still pose significant challenges in the field (Stamatatos, 2009). Publicly available benchmark data sets are hard to come across, mainly because of copyright and privacy issues, and there are only a few stable, cross-platform software packages out there which are widely used in the community. Fortunately, a number of recent initiatives lead the way in this respect, such as the recent authorship tracks in the PAN competition (http://pan.webis.de), where e.g. relevant data sets are efficiently interchanged. In this paper we introduce ‘Stylometry with R’ (stylo), a flexible R package for the high-level stylistic analysis of text collections. This package explicitly seeks to further contribute to the recent development in the field towards a more advanced level of replicability and benchmarking in the field. Stylometry is a multidisciplinary research endeavor, attracting contributions from divergent scientific domains, which include researchers from Computer Science – with a fairly technical background – as well as experts from the Humanities – who might lack the computational skills which would allow them easy access to the state-of-the-art methods in the field (Schreibman et al., 2004). Importantly, this package has the potential to help bridge the methodological gap luring between these two communities of practice: on the one hand, stylo’s API allows to set up a complete processing pipeline using traditional R scripting; on the other hand, stylo also offers a rich graphical user interface which allows non-technical, even novice practitioners to interface with state-of-the-art methods without the need for any programming experience. Overview of stylometry Stylometry deals with the relationship between the writing style in texts and meta-data about those texts (such as date, genre, gender, authorship). Researchers in ‘stylochronometry’, for instance, are interested in inferring the date of composition of texts on the basis of stylistic aspects (Stamou, 2008; The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 http://pan.webis.de http://CRAN.R-project.org/package=stylo CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 108 Juola, 2007). Authorship studies are currently the most popular application of stylometry. From the point of view of literary studies, stylometry is typically concerned with a number of recent techniques from computational text analysis that are sometimes termed ‘distant reading’, ‘not reading’ or ‘macroanalysis’ (Jockers, 2013). Instead of the traditional practice of ‘close reading’ in literary analysis, stylometry does not set out from a single direct reading; instead, it attempts to explore large text collections using computational techniques (and often visualization). Thus, stylometry tries to expand the scope of inquiry in the humanities by scaling up research resources to large text collections in order to find relationships and patterns of similarity and difference invisible to the eye of the human reader. Usually, stylometric analyses involve a complex, multi-stage pipeline of (i) preprocessing, (ii) feature extraction, (iii) statistical analysis, and finally, (iv) presentation of results, e.g. via visualization. To this end, researchers presently have to resort to an ad hoc combination of proprietary, language- dependent tools that cannot easily be ported across different platforms. Such solutions are difficult to maintain and exchange across (groups of) individual researchers, preventing straightforward replication of research results and reuse of existing code. stylo, the package presented, offers a rich, user-friendly suite of functionality that is ideally suited for fast exploratory analysis of textual corpora as well as classification tasks such as are needed in authorship attribution. The package offers an implementation of the main methods currently dominant in the field. Its main advantage therefore lies in the integration of typical (e.g. preprocessing) procedures from stylometry and statistical functionality by other, external libraries. Written in the R language, the source code and binaries for the package are freely available from the Comprehensive R Archive Network, guaranteeing a straightforward installation process across different platforms (both Unix- and Windows-based operating systems). The code is easily adaptable and extensible: the developers therefore continue to welcome user contributions, feedback and feature requests. Our code is open source and GPL-licensed: it is being actively developed on GitHub.1 In the rest of this paper, we will first illustrate the functionality of the package for unsupervised multivariate analysis through the high-level function stylo(). Secondly, we will discuss a number of graphical user interfaces which we provide for quick exploration of corpora, in particular by novice users or students in an educational setting, as well as for scholars in the Humanities without programming experience. Next, we move on to the function classify(), implementing a number of supervised classification procedures from the field of Machine Learning. Finally, we concisely discuss the oppose(), rolling.delta() and rolling.classify() functionality which allow, respectively, to inspect differences in word usage between two subsets of a corpus, and to study the evolution of the writing style in a text. Overview of the package Downloading, installing and loading stylo is straightforward. The package is available at CRAN and at GitHub repository. The main advantages and innovative features of stylo include: Feature extraction Crucial in stylometry is the extraction of quantifiable features related to the writing style of texts (Sebastiani, 2002). A wide range of features have been proposed in the literature, considerably varying in complexity (Stamatatos, 2009). ‘Stylometry with R’ focuses on features that can be automatically extracted from texts, i.e. without having to resort to language-dependent preprocessing tools. The features that the package allows to extract are n-grams on token- and character level (Houvardas and Stamatatos, 2006; Kjell, 1994). Apart from the fact that this makes the package considerably language-independent, such shallow features have been shown to work well for a variety of tasks in stylometry (Daelemans, 2013; Kestemont, 2014). Moreover, users need not annotate their text materials using domain-specific tools before analyzing them with ‘Stylometry with R’. Apart from the standard usage, however, the package does allow the users to load their own annotated corpora, provided that this is preceded by some text pre-processing tasks. An example of such a non-standard procedure will be shown below. Thus, stylo does not aim to supplant existing, more targeted tools and packages from Natural Language Processing (Feinerer et al., 2008) but it can easily accommodate the output of such tools as a part of its processing pipeline. 1https://github.com/computationalstylistics/stylo The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 https://github.com/computationalstylistics/stylo CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 109 Metrics A unique feature of stylo is that it offers reference implementations for a number of established distance metrics from multivariate statistical analysis, which are popular in stylometry, but uncommon outside the field. Burrows’s Delta is the best example here (Burrows, 2002); it is an intuitive distance metric which has attracted a good share of attention in the community, also from a theoretical point of view (Hoover, 2004a,b; Argamon, 2011). Graphical user interface The high-level functions of the package provide a number of Graphical User Interfaces (GUIs) which can be used to intuitively set up a number of established experimental workflows with a few clicks (e.g. unsupervised visualization of texts based on word frequencies). These interfaces can be easily invoked from the command line in R and provide an attractive overview of the various experimental parameters available, allowing users to quickly explore the main stylistic structure of corpora. This feature is especially useful in an educational setting, allowing (e.g. undergraduate) students from different fields, typically without any programming experience, to engage in stylometric experimentation. The said high-level functions keep the analytic procedure from corpus pre-processing to final results presentation manageable from within a single GUI. More flexibility, however, can be achieved when the workflow is split into particular steps, each controlled by a dedicated lower-level function from the package, as will be showcased below. Example workflow An experiment in stylometry usually involves a workflow whereby, subsequently, (i) textual data is acquired, (ii) the texts are preprocessed, (iii) stylistic features are extracted, (iv) a statistical analysis is performed, and finally, (v) the results are outputted (e.g. visualized). We will now illustrate how such a workflow can be performed using the package. Corpus preparation One of the most important features of stylo is that it allows loading textual data either from R objects, or directly from corpus files stored in a dedicated folder. Metadata of the input texts are expected to be included in the file names. The file name convention assumes that any string of characters followed by an underscore becomes a class identifier (case sensitive). In final scatterplots and dendrograms, colors of the samples are assigned according to this convention; common file extensions are dropped. E.g. to make the samples colored according to authorial classes, files might be named as follows: ABronte_Agnes.txt ABronte_Tenant.txt Austen_Pride.txt Austen_Sense.txt Austen_Emma.txt CBronte_Professor.txt CBronte_Jane.txt CBronte_Villette.txt EBronte_Wuthering.txt All examples below can be reproduced by the user on data sets which can be downloaded from the authors’ project website.2 For the sake of convenience, however, we will use the datasets that come with the package itself: data(novels) data(galbraith) data(lee) Our first example uses nine prose novels by Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters, provided by the dataset novels. Preprocessing stylo offers a rich set of options to load texts in various formats from a file system (preferably encoded in UTF-8 Unicode, but it also supports other encodings, e.g. under Windows). Apart from raw text, stylo allows to load texts encoded according to the guidelines of the Text Encoding Initiative, which is relatively prominent in the community of text analysis researchers.3 To load all the files saved in a directory (e.g. ‘corpus_files’), users can use the following command: 2https://sites.google.com/site/computationalstylistics/corpora 3http://www.tei-c.org/index.xml The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 https://sites.google.com/site/computationalstylistics/corpora http://www.tei-c.org/index.xml CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 110 raw.corpus <- load.corpus(files = "all", corpus.dir = "corpus_files", encoding = "UTF-8") If the texts are annotated in e.g. XML, an additional pre-processing procedure might be needed: corpus.no.markup <- delete.markup(raw.corpus, markup.type = "xml") Since the dataset that we will use has no annotation, the markup deletion can be omitted. We start the procedure with making the data visible for the user: data(novels) summary(novels) To preprocess the data, stylo offers a number of tokenizers that support a representative set of European languages, including English, Latin, German, French, Spanish, Dutch, Polish, Hungarian, as well as basic support for non-Latin alphabets such as Korean, Chinese, Japanese, Hebrew, Arabic, Coptic and Greek. Tokenization refers to the process of dividing a string of input texts into countable units, such as word tokens. To tokenize the English texts, e.g. splitting items as ‘don’t’ into ‘do’ and ‘n’t’ and lowercasing all words, the next command is available: tokenized.corpus <- txt.to.words.ext(novels, language = "English.all", preserve.case = FALSE) The famous first sentence of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, for instance, looks like this in its tokenized version (the 8th to the 30th element of the corresponding vector): tokenized.corpus$Austen_Pride[8:30] [1] "it" "is" "a" "truth" "universally" [6] "acknowledged" "that" "a" "single" "man" [11] "in" "possession" "of" "a" "good" [16] "fortune" "must" "be" "in" "want" [21] "of" "a" "wife" To see basic statistics of the tokenized corpus (number of texts/samples, number of tokens in particular texts, etc.), one might type: summary(tokenized.corpus) For complex scripts, such as Hebrew, custom splitting rules could easily be applied: tokenized.corpus.custom.split <- txt.to.words(tokenized.corpus, splitting.rule = "[^A-Za-z\U05C6\U05D0-\U05EA\U05F0-\U05F2]+", preserve.case = TRUE) A next step might involve ‘pronoun deletion’. Personal pronouns are often removed in stylometric studies because they tend to be too strongly correlated with the specific topic or genre of a text (Pennebaker, 2011), which is an unwanted artefact in e.g. authorship studies (Hoover, 2004a,b). Lists of pronouns are available in stylo for a series of languages supported. They can be accessed via for example: stylo.pronouns(language = "English") [1] "he" "her" "hers" "herself" "him" [6] "himself" "his" "i" "me" "mine" [11] "my" "myself" "our" "ours" "ourselves" [16] "she" "thee" "their" "them" "themselves" [21] "they" "thou" "thy" "thyself" "us" [26] "we" "ye" "you" "your" "yours" [31] "yourself" Removing pronouns from the analyses (much like stopwords are removed in Information Retrieval analyses) is easy in stylo, using the delete.stop.words() function: corpus.no.pronouns <- delete.stop.words(tokenized.corpus, stop.words = stylo.pronouns(language = "English")) The above procedure can also be used to exclude any set of words from the input corpus. The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 111 Features After these preprocessing steps, users will want to extract gaugeable features from the corpus. In a vast majority of approaches, stylometrists rely on high-frequency items. Such features are typically extracted in the level of (groups of) words or characters, called n-grams (Kjell, 1994). Both word- token and character n-grams are common textual features in present-day authorship studies. Stylo allows users to specify the size of the n-grams which they want to use. For third order character trigrams (n = 3), for instance, an appropriate function of stylo will select partially overlapping series of character groups of length 3 from a string of words (e.g. ‘tri’, ‘rig’, ‘igr’, ‘gra’, ‘ram’, ‘ams’). Whereas token level features have a longer tradition in the field, character n-grams have been fairly recently borrowed from the field of language identification in Computer Science (Stamatatos, 2009; Eder, 2011). Both n-grams at the level of characters and words have been listed among the most effective stylistic features in survey studies in the field. For n = 1, such text representations model texts under the so-called ‘bag-of-words’ assumption that the order and position of items in a text is negligible stylistic information. To convert single words into third order character chains, or trigrams: corpus.char.3.grams <- txt.to.features(corpus.no.pronouns, ngram.size = 3, features = "c") Sampling Users can study texts in their entirety, but also draw consecutive samples from texts in order to effectively assess the internal stylistic coherence of works. The sampling settings will affect how the relative frequencies are calculated and allow users to normalize text length in the data set. Users can specify a sampling size (expressed in current units, e.g. words) to divide texts into consecutive slices. The samples can partially overlap and they can be also be extracted randomly. As with all functions, the available options are well-documented: help(make.samples) To split the current corpus into non-overlapping samples of 20,000 words each, one might type: sliced.corpus <- make.samples(tokenized.corpus, sampling = "normal.sampling", sample.size = 20000) Counting frequent features A crucial point of the dataset preparation is building a frequency table. In stylometry, analyses are typically restricted to a feature space containing the n most frequent items. It is relatively easy to extract e.g. the 3,000 most frequent features from the corpus using the following function: frequent.features <- make.frequency.list(sliced.corpus, head = 3000) After the relevant features have been harvested, users have to extract a vector for each text or sample, containing the relative frequencies of these features, and combine them into a frequency table for the corpus. Using an appropriate function from stylo, these vectors are combined in a feature frequency table which can be fed into a statistical analysis (external tables of frequencies can be loaded as well): freqs <- make.table.of.frequencies(sliced.corpus, features = frequent.features) Feature selection and sampling settings might interact: an attractive unique feature of stylo is that it allows users to specify different ‘culling’ settings. Via culling, users can specify the percentage of samples in which a feature should be present in the corpus in order to be included in the analysis. Words that do not occur in at least the specified proportion of the samples in the corpus will be ignored. For an 80% culling rate, for instance: culled.freqs <- perform.culling(freqs, culling.level = 80) Analysis Stylo offers a seamless wrapper for a variety of established statistical routines available from R’s core library or contributed by third-party developers; these include t-Distributed Stochastic Neighbor Em- bedding (van der Maaten and Hinton, 2008), Principal Components Analysis, Hierarchical Clustering and Bootstrap Consensus Trees (a method which will be discussed below). An experiment can be initiated with a pre-existing frequency table with the following command: The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 112 stylo(frequencies = culled.freqs, gui = FALSE) When the input documents are loaded directly from text files, the default features are most frequent words (MFWs), i.e. 1-grams of frequent word forms turned into lowercase. Also, by default, a standard cluster analysis of the 100 most frequent features will be performed. To perform e.g. a Principal Components Analysis (with correlation matrix) of the 200 most frequent words, and visualize the samples position in the space defined by the first two principal components, users can issue the following commands: stylo(corpus.dir = "directory_containing_the_files", mfw.min = 200, mfw.max = 200, analysis.type = "PCR", sampling = "normal.sampling", sample.size = 10000, gui = FALSE) In Fig. 1, we give an example of how Principal Components Analysis (the first two dimensions) can be used to visualize texts in different ways, e.g. with and without feature loadings. Because researchers are often interested in inspecting the loadings of features in the first two components resulting from such an analysis, stylo provides a rich variety of flavours in PCA visualizations. For an experiment in the domain of authorship studies, for instance, researchers will typically find it useful to plot all texts/samples from the same author in the same color. The coloring of the items in plots can be easily controlled via the titles of the texts analyzed across the different R methods that are used for visualization – a commodity which is normally rather painful to implement across different packages in R. Apart from exploratory, unsupervised analyses, stylo offers a number of classification routines that will be discussed below. The examples shown in Fig. 1 were produced using the following functions: stylo(frequencies = culled.freqs, analysis.type = "PCR", custom.graph.title = "Austen vs. the Bronte sisters", pca.visual.flavour = "technical", write.png.file = TRUE, gui = FALSE) stylo(frequencies = culled.freqs, analysis.type = "PCR", custom.graph.title = "Austen vs. the Bronte sisters", write.png.file = TRUE, gui = FALSE) stylo(frequencies = culled.freqs, analysis.type = "PCR", custom.graph.title = "Austen vs. the Bronte sisters", pca.visual.flavour = "symbols", colors.on.graphs = "black", write.png.file = TRUE, gui = FALSE) stylo(frequencies = culled.freqs, analysis.type = "PCR", custom.graph.title = "Austen vs. the Bronte sisters", pca.visual.flavour = "loadings", write.png.file = TRUE, gui = FALSE) Return value Stylo makes it easy to further process the objects returned by an analysis. To cater for the needs of less technical users, the results returned by an analysis are saved by default to a number of standard files and outputted on screen. Advanced users can easily use the returned objects in subsequent processing: stylo.results = stylo() # optional arguments might be passed print(stylo.results) summary(stylo.results) The list of features created, for instance, can be easily accessed (and manipulated) subsequently, and the same applies to tables of frequencies or other results: stylo.results$features stylo.results$table.with.all.freqs stylo.results$distance.table stylo.results$pca.coordinates The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 113 Figure 1: Illustration of different visualization options for the first two dimensions outputted by a Principal Components Analysis (applied to 9 novels by 4 authors from our dummy corpus). Four different visualization flavours are presented: ‘Technical’ (Fig. 1a), ‘Classic’ (Fig. 1b), ‘Symbols’ (Fig. 1c) and ‘Loadings’ (Fig. 1d). Users whose file names follow stylo’s naming conventions can easily exploit different coloring options. GUI mode Apart from the various functions to perform actual stylometric tasks, the package comes with a series of GUIs that can be used to set up typical experimental workflows in a quick and intuitive fashion. This unique feature renders stylo especially useful in educational settings involving students and scholars without programming experience. The cross-platform graphical user interface (automatically installed along with the rest of the package) has been written for Tcl/Tk and can be easily invoked from the command line. Four GUIs are currently available, which all come with extensive tooltips to help users navigate the different options. In this section, we will illustrate the use of these GUIs via an unsupervised stylometric experiment involving Bootstrap Consensus Trees. The currently most widely used GUI component of ‘Stylometry with R’ is the eponymous GUI for stylo(), which is useful for the unsupervised stylistic exploration of textual corpora. It can be easily invoked using a single intuitive command (without the need to specify additional arguments): stylo() The various tabs of the stylo GUI (see Figure 2) present in a clear fashion the various parameters which can be specified before running the analysis by clicking the OK button. Users can freely switch between tabs and revisit them before running an experiment. Moreover, stylo will remember the experimental settings last used, and automatically default to these when users re-launch the GUI (which is useful for authors running a series of consecutive experiments with only small changes in parameters). To illustrate the GUI mode, we will now concisely discuss a sample experiment involving Bootstrap Consensus Trees (BCT, selectable under the STATISTICS tab in the GUI). In stylometry, BCT exploits the The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 114 Figure 2: The Graphical User Interface for stylo (FEATURES tab). The high-level functions of stylo provide Graphical User Interfaces (GUIs) to intuitively set up experimental workflows. This feature is especially useful in an educational setting, allowing students without programming experience to engage in stylometric exploration and experimentation. idea that the results become stable when one divides the list of MFW in non-identical, yet potentially overlapping frequency bands and analyzes these independently from each other (Eder, 2012). BCT were originally borrowed by Eder from the field of Language Evolution and Genetics; since a number of successful applications of the technique have been reported in the literature (Rybicki and Heydel, 2013; van Dalen-Oskam, 2014; Stover et al., 2016). If the user specifies that different frequency bands should be used on the FEATURES tab, the bootstrap procedure will run different (virtual) cluster analyses and aggregate the results into a single (unrooted) consensus tree. This visualization will only consider nodes for which there exists a sufficiently large consensus among the individual cluster analyses. The user in the corresponding text field (e.g. 0.5, which comes down to a majority vote for the cluster nodes). As such, users can assess the similarities between texts across different frequency bands. Under the FEATURES tab, users can define the minutes of the MFW division and sampling procedure, using the increment, the minimum and maximum parameters. For minimum = 100, maximum = 3000, and increment = 50, stylo will run subsequent analyses for the following frequency bands: 100 MFW, 50–150 MFW, 100–200 MFW, ..., 2900–2950 MFW, 2950–3000 MFW. This is an attractive feature because it enables the assessment of similarities between texts across different bands in the frequency spectrum. A parallel logic underpins the CULLING text fields, where experiments will be carried out iteratively for different culling rates. We illustrate the working of the BCT procedure in stylo using the recently covered case study on Go Set a Watchman, the second novel by Harper Lee, written before To Kill a Mockingbird. The novel itself attracted a reasonable attention worldwide, also because of its alleged authorship issues. Suspicion resurfaced about the strange fact that one of the greatest bestsellers in American history was its author’s only completed work; Lee’s childhood friendship with Truman Capote (portrayed as Dill in To Kill A Mockingbird) and their later association on the occasion of In Cold Blood fueled more speculations on the two Southern writers’ possible, or even just plausible, collaboration; finally, the role of Tay Hohoff, Lee’s editor on her bestseller, was discussed. The stylometric study on this novel, featured in Wall Street Journal (Gamerman, 2015), revealed that the truth proved to be at once much less sensational than most of the rumors. Very strong stylometric evidence shows clearly that Harper Lee is the author of both To Kill A Mockingbird and Go Set A Watchman. In our replication of the experiment, the following code was used to produce the plots: data(lee) stylo(frequencies = lee, analysis.type = "CA", write.png.file = TRUE, custom.graph.title = "Harper Lee", gui = FALSE) stylo(frequencies = lee, analysis.type = "CA", mfw.min = 1500, mfw.max = 1500, custom.graph.title = "Harper Lee", write.png.file = TRUE, gui = FALSE) stylo(frequencies = lee, analysis.type = "BCT", mfw.min = 100, mfw.max = 3000, custom.graph.title = "Harper Lee", write.png.file = TRUE, gui = FALSE) The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 115 Figure 3: Analysis of the corpus of 28 novels by Harper Lee, Truman Capote as well as a number of comparable control authors writing in the American South. A frequency table of this corpus is provided by the package stylo, so that all our experiments can be replicated. In all plots, Lee’s writing style is clearly very consistent, even if for some input parameters Lee’s novels are close to Capote’s. Figure panel 3a-3b: Traditional dendrograms outputted by cluster analyses with Burrows’s Classic Delta Metric for 100 MFW and 1,500 MFW respectively (default settings; entire novels). Figure panel 3c: Bootstrap consensus tree for 100 MFW to 3,000 MFW (with an incremental step size of 50 words). Unrooted tree which combines clade information from analyses such as the ones presented in Fig. 1a-1b. The tree collapses nodes which were observed in at least 50% of the underlying trees (majority vote). Classify Apart from the already-discussed explanatory multivariate tests and the associated visualizations, stylometry has borrowed a number of advanced classification methods from the domain of Machine Learning. Some of them have simply been transferred to stylometry (e.g. Support Vector Machines or Naïve Bayes Classifier); others have been tailored to the needs of humanities researchers. The best example in this respect is Delta, a so-called ‘lazy’ learner developed by Burrows (Burrows, 2002). The stylo package offers an interface to a selection of established classifiers: including Burrows’s original Delta and other distance-based classifiers, Nearest Shrunken Centroids, Support Vector Machines and Naïve Bayes Classifier. These are available through a single function: classify() # optional arguments might be passed If any non-standard text preprocessing procedures are involved, the above function can be fed with the result of a multi-stage custom pipeline. Combining the function classify() with spreadsheet tables of frequencies is also possible. In a typical classification experiment, the analysis is divided in two stages. In the first stage, representative text samples for each target category (e.g. authorial group) are collected in a training corpus. The remaining samples form the test corpus. The first set, being a collection of texts, e.g. written by known authors (‘candidates’), serves as a sub-corpus for fine-tuning the hyperparameters of a classifier and model architecture selection. The second set is a pool that consists of test texts of known The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 116 authorship and anonymous texts of disputed authorial provenance. The classifier’s performance can be measured by applying a standard evaluation metric to the classifier ’s output on the test set (e.g. the number of correct attributions to authors in the the training set). In stylo, users can divide their data over two subdirectories (or input custom-created R objects using the low-level functions discussed above); one directory should contain the training samples, the other the test samples. Other options can be specified via the parameters that run parallel to those of the stylo() function, such as the desired feature type or culling rate. Function-specific parameters for classify() include the number of cross-validation folds or the type of classifier (e.g. Support Vector Machine). We illustrate the performance of classification methods in stylo using the well-known case study of the pseudonymous author Galbraith/Rowling, which recently attracted a good deal of press attention. In July 2013, the Sunday Times (UK) revealed that J. K. Rowling, the successful author behind the bestselling series of Harry Potter novels, had published a new detective novel (The Cuckoo’s Calling) under the pseudonym of ‘Robert Galbraith’. (The paper had received an anonymous tip with respect to this pen name over Twitter). For covering this case study, the Sunday Times has collaborated with Patrick Juola, an authority in the field of authorship attribution, and Peter Millican (Juola, 2013). They reported in a blog post on the Language Log that their stylometric analysis showed the writing style (e.g. on the level of function words) found in The Cuckoo’s Calling to be broadly consistent with Rowling’s writing in other works. Below, we report on a dummy attribution experiment which illustrates a supervised procedure. In this experiment we will confront Galbraith’s The Cuckoo’s Calling with 25 other fantasy novels and thrillers by 4 famous novelists: H. Coben (e.g. Tell No One), C. S. Lewis (e.g. The Chronicles of Narnia), J. R. R. Tolkien (e.g. the Lord of the Rings trilogy) and J. K. Rowling (e.g. the Harry Potter series). Our replication experiments indeed confirm that Galbraith’s writing style is more consistent with that of Rowling than that of any other author included. Instead of loading particular text files, we will use a computed table of frequencies provided by the package; the table has to be split into two tables (training set and test set). As an illustration, we specify the training set manually (with two training texts per class): # specify a table with frequencies: data(galbraith) freqs <- galbraith # specify class labels: training.texts <- c("coben_breaker", "coben_dropshot", "lewis_battle", "lewis_caspian", "rowling_casual", "rowling_chamber", "tolkien_lord1", "tolkien_lord2") # select the training samples: training.set <- freqs[(rownames(freqs) %in% training.texts),] # select remaining rows as test samples: test.set <- freqs[!(rownames(freqs) %in% training.texts),] To perform Delta on the Rowling corpus (50 MFWs, no sampling), we type: classify(training.frequencies = training.set, test.frequencies = test.set, mfw.min = 50, mfw.max = 50, classification.method = "delta", gui = FALSE) The results are automatically outputted to a log file ‘final_results.txt’: galbraith_cuckoos --> rowling rowling coben 50 MFW, culled @ 0%, 17 of 17 (100%) General attributive success: 17 of 17 (100%) MFWs from 50 to 50 @ increment 100 Culling from 0 to 0 @ increment 20 Pronouns deleted: FALSE; standard classification The overall performance of the classifier for our dummy corpus is optimal, since 100% of the test samples were correctly attributed to the correct authors. The experiment adds support to the identification of the author of The Cuckoo’s Calling as Rowling. To combat model overfitting, cross- validation on the training data can be applied. It has been shown that for linguistic datasets a standard The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 117 10-fold cross validation might overestimate the performance of models, especially if languages other than English are assessed (Eder and Rybicki, 2013). To neutralize class imbalance, stylo therefore provides stratified cross-validation protocols for stylometric experiments. To perform a classification with a ‘plain vanilla’ 20-fold CV, using Nearest Shrunken Centroids classification and a series of tests for 50, 100, 150, 200, . . . , 500 MFWs, one might type: results <- classify(training.frequencies = training.set, test.frequencies = test.set, mfw.min = 50, mfw.max = 500, mfw.incr = 50, classification.method = "nsc", cv.folds = 20, gui = FALSE) To inspect the classification accuracy for particular cross-validation folds, the user can type: results$cross.validation.summary Average scores of the cross-validation outcome (note that the overall performance is now slightly worse, ca. 95%) can be accessed via: colMeans(results$cross.validation.summary) Miscellaneous other functions Apart from the above discussed functions, the package offers miscellaneous other, less established functions to stylometrically analyze documents. With the oppose() function, users can contrast two sets of documents and extract the most characteristic features in both sets of texts. The most discriminative features can be visualized and fed into other components of the package as part of a pipeline. Several metrics are implemented that can select features which display a statistically significant difference in distributions between both sets. Craig’s Zeta, for instance, is an extension of the Zeta metric originally proposed by Burrows (Burrows, 2007), which remains a popular choice in the stylometric community to select discriminative stylometric features in binary classification settings (Craig and Kinney, 2009). An example of another more widely used metric for feature selection in corpus linguistics is the Mann-Whitney ranks test (Kilgariff, 2001). As a dummy example, we can confront the above mentioned texts; be it the novels by Jane Austen and Anne Brontë: data(novels) corpus.all <- txt.to.words.ext(novels, language = "English.all", preserve.case = TRUE) corpus.austen <- corpus.all[grep("Austen", names(corpus.all))] corpus.abronte <- corpus.all[grep("ABronte", names(corpus.all))] zeta.results <- oppose(primary.corpus = corpus.austen, secondary.corpus = corpus.abronte, gui = FALSE) As can be seen in the results (first 20 most discriminating words), Jane Austen is an enthusiast user of terms related to socio-cultural phenomena (e.g. situation, opinion, party, engaged, ...), whereas Anne Brontë’s vocabulary can be characterized by a variety of auxiliary verbs with contractions, as well as religious and light-related vocabulary (e.g. bright, dark). zeta.results$words.preferred[1:20] [1] "Her" "farther" "behaviour" "opinion" "party" [6] "point" "perfectly" "afterwards" "Colonel" "directly" [11] "spirits" "situation" "settled" "hardly" "Jane" [16] "Emma" "equal" "family" "engaged" "They" zeta.results$words.avoided[1:20] [1] "don^t" "I^m" "I^ll" "beside" "Arthur" [6] "can^t" "I^ve" "it^s" "won^t" "Huntingdon" [11] "presence" "Helen" "face" "bright" "God" [16] "mamma" "further" "heaven" "dark" "feet" Of course, the above results of this simple feature selection tool can be fed into one of the package’s classification routines: The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 118 Figure 4: The Rolling Stylometry visualization. The medieval French allegoric story Roman de la Rose assessed using Rolling SVM and 100 MFWs; window size: 5,000 words, sample overlap: 4,500 words. Sections attributed to Guillaume de Lorris are marked red, those attributed to Jean de Meun are green. The level of certainty of the classification is indicated by the thickness of the bottom stripe. The commonly-accepted division into two authorial parts is marked with a vertical dashed line ‘b’. combined.features <- c(zeta.results$words.preferred[1:20], zeta.results$words.avoided[1:20]) stylo(parsed.corpus = corpus.all, features = combined.features, gui = FALSE) Other functionality worth mentioning are rolling.delta() and rolling.classify(). These functions implement a procedure meant to progressively analyze the development of a style in a text, using e.g. one of the stylometric distance metrics discussed (Rybicki et al., 2014; Eder, 2016). In many works, specific parts of the text are conjectured to have been plagiarized or contributed by other authors: rolling.delta() and rolling.classify() offer an easy way to visualize local stylistic idiosyncrasies in texts. In Fig. 4 we have plotted a rolling.classify() analysis of the well-known French allegorical romance Roman de la Rose from the Middle Ages. It has been written by two authors: Guillaume de Lorris is the author of the opening 4,058 lines (ca. 50,000 words), and the second part by Jean de Meun consists of 17,724 lines (ca. 218,000 words). This knowledge is supported by the text itself, since Jean de Meun explicitly points out the takeover point (it is marked with a dashed vertical line ‘b’ in Fig. 4). In this example, the aim is to verify whether two authorial styles can indeed be discerned in the text, that is, before and after the authorial takeover. First a Support Vector Machine classifier is trained on four 5,000-word samples: two extracted from the beginning of the text and two near the middle of the text (yet well beyond the hypothesized takeover: they are marked with the dashed line ‘a’ and ‘c–d’, respectively). Next, we apply a windowing procedure and we extract consecutive and partially overlapping samples from the entire text. Finally, the trained classifier is applied to each of these ’windows.’ In Fig. 4 we plot the respective classification scores for both authors in each sample: in this case, these scores represent the probability, estimated by a Support Vector Machine, that a particular sample should be attributed to one of the two authors involved. Although the result is not flawless, a clear shift in authorial style can be discerned around the position of the takeover, as indicated verbatimly in the text by one the authors. The dataset to replicate the test can be downloaded from this page: https://sites.google. com/site/computationalstylistics/corpora/Roman_de_la_Rose.zip. The following code should be typed to perform the classification: # unzipping the dataset unzip("Roman_de_la_Rose.zip") # changing working directory setwd("Roman_de_la_Rose") rolling.classify(write.png.file = TRUE, classification.method = "svm", mfw = 100, training.set.sampling = "normal.sampling", slice.size = 5000, slice.overlap = 4500) The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 https://sites.google.com/site/computationalstylistics/corpora/Roman_de_la_Rose.zip https://sites.google.com/site/computationalstylistics/corpora/Roman_de_la_Rose.zip CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 119 Conclusion ‘Stylometry with R’ targets two distinct groups of users: experienced coders and beginners. Novice users have found it useful to work with the intuitive Graphical User Interface (GUI), which makes it easy to set and explore different parameters without programming experience. We wish to emphasize, however, that stylo is useful beyond these high-level functions and GUIs: it also offers experienced users a general framework that can be used to design custom processing pipelines in R, e.g. in other text-oriented research efforts. The current version of stylo (version number 0.6.3) is available from GitHub under a GPL 3.0 open-source licence; binary installation files are available from CRAN. stylo has been used in a number of innovative studies in the field of computational stylistics (Kestemont et al., 2013; van Dalen-Oskam, 2014; Lauer and Jannidis, 2014; Anand et al., 2014; Oakes and Pichler, 2013; Boot, 2013), and we encourage the future application of stylo to challenging new problems and languages in stylometry. Acknowledgments We would like to thank the users of stylo for the valuable feedback and feature requests which we have received over the past years. MK was partially founded for this research as a postdoctoral fellow by The Research Foundation of Flanders (FWO). ME was partially supported by Poland’s National Science Centre (grant number 2014/12/W/ST5/00592). Bibliography S. Anand, A. K. Dawn, and S. K. Saha. A statistical analysis approach to author identification using latent semantic analysis. notebook for PAN at CLEF 2014. In CLEF2014 Working Notes, pages 1143–1147, Sheffield, UK, 2014. CLEF. [p119] S. Argamon. Interpreting Burrows’s Delta: Geometric and probabilistic foundations. Literary and Linguistic Computing, 23(2):131–147, 2011. [p109] P. Boot. Online boekdiscussie van een afstand gelezen. TNTL. Journal of Dutch Linguistics and Literature, 129(4):215–232, 2013. [p119] J. Burrows. ‘Delta’: A measure of stylistic difference and a guide to likely authorship. Literary and Linguistic Computing, 17(3):267–287, 2002. [p109, 115] J. Burrows. All the way through: testing for authorship in different frequency strata. Literary and Linguistic Computing, 22(1):27–48, 2007. [p117] H. Craig and A. Kinney, editors. Shakespeare, Computers, and the Mystery of Authorship. Cambridge University Press, 2009. [p117] W. Daelemans. Explanation in computational stylometry. In Proceedings of the 14th International Conference on Computational Linguistics and Intelligent Text Processing – Volume 2, CICLing’13, pages 451–462, Berlin, Heidelberg, 2013. Springer-Verlag. ISBN 978-3-642-37255-1. [p108] M. Eder. Style-markers in authorship attribution: a cross-language study of the authorial fingerprint. Studies in Polish Linguistics, 6:99–114, 2011. URL http://www.wuj.pl/page,art,artid,1923.html. [p111] M. Eder. Computational stylistics and biblical translation: how reliable can a dendrogram be? In T. Piotrowski and Ł. Grabowski, editors, The Translator and the Computer, pages 155–170. WSF Press, Wrocław, 2012. [p114] M. Eder. Rolling stylometry. Digital Scholarship in the Humanities, 31(3):457–469, 2016. [p118] M. Eder and J. Rybicki. Do birds of a feather really flock together, or how to choose training samples for authorship attribution. Literary and Linguistic Computing, 28(2):229–236, 2013. [p117] I. Feinerer, K. Hornik, and D. Meyer. Text mining infrastructure in R. Journal of Statistical Software, 25 (5):1–54, 3 2008. ISSN 1548-7660. URL http://www.jstatsoft.org/v25/i05. [p108] E. Gamerman. Data miners dig into ‘Watchman’. Wall Street Journal, page D5, July 2015. [p107, 114] D. Holmes. Authorship attribution. Computers and the Humanities, 28(2):87–106, 1994. [p107] The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 http://www.wuj.pl/page,art,artid,1923.html http://www.jstatsoft.org/v25/i05 CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 120 D. Holmes. The evolution of stylometry in Humanities scholarship. 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[p107, 116] M. Kestemont. Function words in authorship attribution: From black magic to theory? In Proceedings of the 3rd Workshop on Computational Linguistics for Literature (CLFL), pages 59–66, Gothenburg, Sweden, April 2014. Association for Computational Linguistics. URL http://www.aclweb.org/anthology/ W14-0908. [p108] M. Kestemont, S. Moens, and J. Deploige. Collaborative authorship in the twelfth century: A stylomet- ric study of Hildegard of Bingen and Guibert of Gembloux. Literary and Linguistic Computing, 28: 1–15, 2013. doi: doi:10.1093/llc/fqt063. [p119] A. Kilgariff. Comparing corpora. International Journal of Corpus Linguistics, 6(1):97–133, 2001. [p117] B. Kjell. Discrimination of authorship using visualization. Information Processing and Management, 30 (1):141–50, 1994. [p108, 111] M. Koppel, J. Schler, and S. Argamon. Computational methods in authorship attribution. Journal of the American Society for Information Science and Technology, 60(1):9–26, 2009. [p107] G. Lauer and F. Jannidis. Burrows’s delta and its use in German literary history. In M. Erlin and L. Tatlock, editors, Distant Readings. Topologies of German Culture in the Long Nineteenth Century, pages 29–54. Rochester, New York, 2014. [p119] H. Love. Attributing authorship. An introduction. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2002. [p107] M. Oakes and A. Pichler. Computational stylometry of Wittgenstein’s ‘Diktat für Schlick’. Bergen Language and Linguistics Studies, 3(1):221–240, 2013. [p119] J. Pennebaker. The Secret Life of Pronouns: What our Words Say about Us. Bloomsbury Press, New York, 2011. [p110] J. Rybicki and M. Heydel. The stylistics and stylometry of collaborative translation: Woolf’s ‘Night and Day’ in Polish. Literary and Linguistic Computing, 28(4):708–717, 2013. [p114] J. Rybicki, D. Hoover, and M. Kestemont. Collaborative authorship: Conrad, Ford and rolling delta. Literary and Linguistic Computing, 29(3):422–431, 2014. [p118] S. Schreibman, R. Siemens, and J. Unsworth, editors. A companion to Digital Humanities. Blackwell, 2004. URL http://www.digitalhumanities.org/companion/. [p107] F. Sebastiani. Machine Learning in automated text categorization. ACM Computing Surveys, 34(1):1–47, 2002. [p108] E. Stamatatos. A survey of modern authorship attribution methods. Journal of the American Society for Information Science and Technology, 60(3):538–556, 2009. [p107, 108, 111] E. Stamatatos, N. Fakotakis, and G. Kokkinakis. Automatic text categorization in terms of genre and author. Computational Linguistics, 26(4):471–495, 2000. [p107] The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 http://languagelog.ldc.upenn.edu/nll/?p=5315 http://languagelog.ldc.upenn.edu/nll/?p=5315 http://www.aclweb.org/anthology/W14-0908 http://www.aclweb.org/anthology/W14-0908 http://www.digitalhumanities.org/companion/ CONTRIBUTED RESEARCH ARTICLES 121 C. Stamou. Stylochronometry: stylistic development, sequence of composition, and relative dating. Literary and Linguistic Computing, 23(2):181–199, 2008. [p107] J. Stover, Y. Winter, M. Koppel, and M. Kestemont. Computational authorship verification method at- tributes new work to major 2nd century African author. Journal of the American Society for Information Science and Technology, 67(1):239–242, 2016. [p114] K. van Dalen-Oskam. Epistolary voices: The case of Elisabeth Wolff and Agatha Deken. Literary and Linguistic Computing, 29(3):443–451, 2014. [p114, 119] L. van der Maaten and G. Hinton. Visualizing data using t-SNE. The Journal of Machine Learning Research, 9(2579–2605):85, 2008. [p111] H. Van Halteren, H. Baayen, F. Tweedie, M. Haverkort, and A. Neijt. New machine learning methods demonstrate the existence of a human stylome. Journal of Quantitative Linguistics, 12(1):65–77, 2005. [p107] Maciej Eder Institute of Polish Language Polish Academy of Sciences al. Mickiewicza 31, 31-120 Kraków Poland maciejeder@gmail.com Jan Rybicki Institute of English Studies Jagiellonian University al. Mickiewicza 9A, 31-120 Kraków Poland jkrybicki@gmail.com Mike Kestemont Department of Literature University of Antwerp Prinsstraat 13, B-2000 Antwerp Belgium mike.kestemont@uantwerp.be The R Journal Vol. 8/1, Aug. 2016 ISSN 2073-4859 mailto:maciejeder@gmail.com mailto:jkrybicki@gmail.com mailto:mike.kestemont@uantwerp.be 
work_ixyc2yc2orfntj4zyagrgmhidu	----	Journal ofNeurology, Neurosurgery, and Psychiatry 1995;59:629-632 SHORT REPORT Eyelid "apraxia" in patients with motor neuron disease Kazuo Abe, Harutoshi Fujimura, Chikao Tatsumi, Keiko Toyooka, Shiro Yorifuji, Takehiko Yanagihara Abstract Three patients with motor neuron dis- ease had eyelid "apraxia" with impaired voluntary but preserved involuntary eye- lid movements. Attempts were made to localise the lesions responsible with neu- roimaging and neuropathological exami- nation. (_7NeurolNeurosurg Psychiatry 1995;59:629-632) Keywords: motor neuron disease; eyelid apraxia; motor impersistence; ophthalmoparesis Department of Neurology, Osaka University Medical School, Osaka, Japan K Abe H Fujimura K Toyooka S Yorifuji T Yanagihara Department of Internal Medicine, Toyonaka Municipal Hospital, Toyonaka, Japan C Tatsumi Correspondence to: Dr Kazuo Abe, Department of Neurology, Osaka University Medical School 2-2 Yamadaoka, Suita, Osaka 565, Japan. Recieved 3 January 1995 and in final revised form 2 June 1995 Accepted 7 July 1995 Oculomotor function is believed to be only marginally affected in patients with motor neuron disease.' Increasing evidence, how- ever, suggests that oculomotor dysfunction may actually occur more often than previ- ously thought.2- Eyelid movement has drawn little attention, even though damage to the cortico-oculomotor pathways or oculomotor nuclei may cause abnormal eyelid move- ments.5-9 We report three patients with motor neuron disease who had difficulty in volun- tary opening or closing of their eyelids and our attempts to localise the responsible lesions by neuroimaging and neuropathalogi- cal examination. All three patients were seen in our depart- ment at Osaka University between 1989 and 1994, and clinically had both upper and lower motor neuron signs with bulbar involvement as well as neurogenic motor unit potentials on EMG.10 All three underwent MRI and single photon emission computed tomography (SPECT) using technetium-99m hexamethyl propylene amine oxime (99mTc HMPAO). Neuropathological examination was subsequently carried out in two patients (1 and 2). Case reports PATIENT 1 In 1991 a 69 year old right handed woman noted an increasing difficulty in closing her eyes and it required a conscious and sus- tained effort. She developed a habit of closing the eyelids gently with her fingers, after which the eyes would remain shut. Her eyelids remained closed normally during sleep. At about the same time, she developed slurred speech and difficulty in swallowing. On examination in 1991, she was alert and co- operative. Pupils were 3-5 mm and reacted to light with normal convergence. She could open her eyes widely, and her voluntary ocu- lar movement and oculocephalic reflexes were not impaired. Reflex blinking to bright light, visual threat, sudden noise, and corneal stim- ulation was normal. Spontaneous blinking was also present. She was unable to initiate closure of her eyes voluntarily or on verbal command, although she comprehended what was requested. She could not improve her performance by attempting to imitate the examiner. Other commands, including open- ing or closing her mouth, protruding her tongue in any specific direction, and moving or turning her head, were carried out flaw- lessly. Her jaw jerk was brisk. There was mild weakness in the facial and tongue muscles. She had muscle atrophy, weakness, and fasci- culation in the upper limbs and shoulders. Deep tendon reflexes were slightly increased in all extremities and Babinski's sign was bilaterally positive. She had no extrapyrami- dal signs. Cognitive dysfunction was moder- ate on the mini mental state examination (MMSE) with a total score of 24; her failure was in attention and recall, with preserved recognition. She achieved only two categories on the Wisconsin card sorting test (WCST). She had a normal score of 28 on Raven's coloured progressive matrices (RCPM). An ECG was normal. An EMG showed motor unit potentials with high amplitude and long duration in the examined muscles including the facial and tongue muscles. Brain MRI disclosed mild cerebral atrophy in the frontal lobes and in the anterior part of the temporal lobes (fig 1); SPECT showed reduced isotope uptake in the frontal lobes and in the anterior part of the temporal lobes (fig 2). Her condi- tion steadily deteriorated with worsening of dysarthria and dysphagia. She became bedridden and died in 1993. At necropsy, general pathology was unre- markable except for a lung abscess. The brain weighed 1100 g and showed diffuse cortical atrophy, more in the frontal lobes (fig 3). Microscopically, there were neuronal losses and disarrangement of neuronal layers with corticosubcortical astrocytosis which were 629 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 9 .6 .6 2 9 o n 1 D e ce m b e r 1 9 9 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ Abe, Fujimura, Tatsumi, Toyooka, Yorfuji, Yanagihara Figure 1 MRI with a 1 5 Tesla superconducting system using a spin echo method. T2 weighted image (right), TR = 3000 ms, TE = 120 ms, showing mild atrophy in the frontal lobes and in the anterior part of the temporal lobes in patient 1. -i most severe in the precentral gyrus and mod- erate in the frontal region. There were no spongiform changes, neurofibrillary tangles, or senile plaques in the cortex. The deep white matter showed rarefaction of myelin sheaths with some periventricular collection of lipid laden macrophages. The entire area of the tegmentum of the pons and midbrain relevant to oculomotor function was normal. Moderate neuronal loss with astrocytosis was evident in the motor nuclei of the medulla oblongata and the anterior horn of the entire spinal cord. Degeneration of the pyramidal tract was traced from the spinal cord up to the internal capsule and the corona radiata. There was no relevant lesion in other parts of the brain-including the basal ganglia and cerebellum-except for neuronal loss in the substantia nigra. PATIENT 2 A 64 year old right handed man noted Figure 3 Coronal section of the left cerebral hemisphere through the head of the caudate nucleus in patient 1. Cortical atrophy in the frontal lobe and diffuse pale staining of the deep white matter are evident (Kluver- Barrera stain). dysarthria and muscle weakness in his right upper arm and dysarthria in 1988. His weak- ness gradually worsened and spread to the left upper arm and then to both lower limbs. In 1989, he began to be euphoric but, and at the same time, began to have difficulty in opening his eyes after they were closed invol- untarily. At times, he could open his eyes only by prising the lids apart with his fingers. On examination in 1989, he was alert and cooperative but laughed inappropriately. Pupils were 3 0 mm and reacted to light. He had full visual fields and full voluntary ocular movements. Reflex blinking to bright light, visual threat, sudden noise, or corneal stimu- lation was normal. He had a blank facial expression but spontaneous blinking was pre- sent. After closing his eyes he could not open them for 20 to 30 seconds. Despite pro- nounced contraction of the frontal muscles with the eyebrows well above the superior orbital rims, his eyes would remain closed until the upper lids were manually raised. At times, the patient opened his mouth to facili- tate eye opening. He had forced grasp and increased jaw jerk. He had mild weakness in the facial and tongue muscles. There was muscle atrophy in all extremities with fascicu- lation. Deep tendon reflexes were increased in all extremities and Babinski's sign was bilaterally positive. He had no extrapyramidal signs. Cognitive dysfunction on MMSE was severe, with a total score of 18; his failure was in orientation, attention, and recall with pre- served recognition. He achieved only one cat- Figure 2 SPECT with 93-Tc HMPAO showing reduced isotope intake in the frontal lobes in patient 1. 630 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 9 .6 .6 2 9 o n 1 D e ce m b e r 1 9 9 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ Eyelid "apraxia" in patients with motor neuron disease egory on WCST. He had a mildly impaired score of 26 on RCPM, but he could fully understand verbal commands. An EMG showed motor unit potentials with high amplitude and long duration in the examined muscles including the facial and tongue mus- cles. Brain MRI disclosed mild cerebral atro- phy in the frontal lobes and the anterior part of the temporal lobes; SPECT showed reduced isotope uptake in the frontal lobes and the anterior part of the temporal lobes. His muscle weakness progressed further and he died of bronchopneumonia in 1991. At necropsy, general pathology was unre- markable except for the presence of broncho- pneumonia. The brain weighed 1030 g and showed diffuse cortical atrophy, maximally in the frontal lobes. Microscopically, cortical atrophy was the result of neuronal loss and disarrangement of neuronal layers with cor- tico-subcortical astrocytosis, which were most severe in the precentral gyrus and moderate in the frontal region. There were no spongi- form changes, neurofibrillary tangles, or senile plaques. The deep white matter showed rarefaction of myelin sheaths with some periventricular collection of lipid laden macrophages. The entire area of the tegmen- tum of the pons and midbrain relevant to oculomotor function was normal. In the motor nuclei of the medulla oblongata and the anterior horn of the entire spinal cord, moderate neuronal loss with astrocytosis was evident. Degeneration of the pyramidal tract was traced from the spinal cord up to the internal capsule and the corona radiata. There were no relevant lesions in other parts of the brain including the basal ganglia, sub- stantia nigra, and cerebellum. PATIENT 3 In 1993 a 68 year old right handed woman began to notice occasional difficulty in open- ing her eyes after they were closed involuntar- ily at bright light or visual threat. Subsequently, she noted dysarthria and dys- phagia. She also complained that she could not easily change her gaze from one object to another. On examination in 1994, she was alert and cooperative, but she laughed inap- propriately. Saccadic pursuit movements and slowing of ocular movement were present to all directions. She had normal primary eye position without limitation of involuntary eye movements. She had no limitation in vertical oculocephalic reflex but Bell's phenomenon was absent. After closing her eyes she could not open them for 20 to 30 seconds. Despite contraction of the frontal muscles with eye- brows well above the superior orbital rims, the eyes would remain closed until the upper lids were manually raised. At times, the patient opened her mouth to facilitate eye opening. Reflex blinking to bright light, visual threat, sudden noise, or corneal stimulation was normal. She had forced grasp and increased jaw jerk. She had mild weakness in the facial and tongue muscles. Muscle atro- phy and fasciculation were present in all limbs. Deep tendon reflexes were increased in all limbs and Babinski's sign was bilaterally positive. She had no extrapyramidal signs. Cognitive dysfunction on MMSE was moder- ate, with a total score of 23; her failure was in attention and recall and recognition was pre- served. She achieved only two categories on WCST. She had a normal score of 29 on RCPM. An EMG showed motor unit poten- tials with high amplitude and long duration in the examined muscles including those of the face and tongue. A surface EMG showed contraction in the frontal muscles but without contraction of the orbicularis oculi muscles when she was ordered to open her eyes. An electrooculogram disclosed fixation instability accompanied by square jerks, saccadic pur- suit movements, and slowing of occular movement to all directions. Brain MRI dis- closed mild cerebral atrophy in the frontal lobes and in the anterior part of the temporal lobes. Reduced isotope uptake in the frontal lobes and the anterior part of the temporal lobes was shown by SPECT. Discussion "Apraxia" of eyelid opening or closing has been referred to as an inability to open or close the eyes voluntarily despite normal orbicularis oculi muscles, preserved involun- tary opening or closing of eyes, alertness, and language comprehension.7 All our patients could keep their eyes open or closed once they could initiate eyelid movement. This suggests that eyelid apraxia may be a type of an initiation failure of eyelid movements. Although we have used the term "apraxia" of eyelid opening or closing in this report in the conventional way, the term "inability of initi- ating eyelid movement" may be more appro- priate. Reported cases of "apraxia" of eyelid open- ing have been associated with extrapyramidal diseases.578 On the other hand, apraxia of eyelid closing has been discussed in relation to frontal lobe damage.6 Given these findings, most authors have distinguished "apraxia" of eyelid opening from "apraxia" of eyelid clos- ing, but some have reported that both apraxia of eyelid opening and apraxia of eyelid closing are caused by frontal lobe damage.56 It is noteworthy that all our patients had an impairment in attention and executive func- tion, the second of which is processed in the frontal lobe.'1 The possibility of frontal lobe involvement was also supported by neu- roimaging and neuropathological examina- tion. Thus a selective loss of voluntary eyelid movements with retention of the reflex activ- ity in our patients may derive from disease in the frontal lobe or the frontopontine fibres.6 Lapresle et al reported a patient with motor neuron disease with inability of voluntary facial movement including eyelid closing and suggested dysfunction of the pyramidal tract as the cause of dissociation of voluntary con- trol and reflex ability.4 This is consistent with our findings. Increasing evidence supports the fact that patients with motor neuron disease may 631 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 9 .6 .6 2 9 o n 1 D e ce m b e r 1 9 9 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ Abe, Fujimura, Tatsumi, Toyooka, Yorzfuji, Yanagihara develop frontal lobe dysfunction'2 13 and that damage to the frontal lobe caused by various diseases can affect eyelid movements.7-9 Therefore, eyelid apraxia may occur in patients with motor neuron disease, if the dis- ease process involves the frontal lobe. 1 Iwata M, Hirano A. Current problem in the pathology of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. In: Zimmermann H, ed. Progress in neurology. New York: Raven Press, 1979. 2 Lessell S. Supranuclear paralysis of voluntary lid closure. Arch Opthalmol 1972;88:241-4. 3 Harvey DG, Torack RM, Rosenbaum HE. Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis with ophthalmoplegia. A clinicopatho- logic study. Arch Neurol 1979;36:615-7. 4 Lapresle J, Salisachs P. Phenomenes de dissociation volontaire et automatico-reflexe au niveau de certains muscles innerves par les paires craniennes dans deux observations de sclerose laterale amyotrophique. Revue Neurologique 1976;132:157-61. 5 Goldstein JE, Cogan DG. Apraxia of lid-opening. Arch Ophthalmol 1965;3: 155-9. 6 Nutt JG. Lid abnormalities secondary to cerebral hemi- sphere lesions. Ann Neurol 1977;1:149-51. 7 Dehaene I. Apraxia of eyelid opening in progressive supranuclear palsy. Ann Neurol 1984;15:115-6. 8 Lepore FE, Duvoisin RC. "Apraxia" of eyelid opening: an involuntary levator inhibition. Neurology 1985;35:423-7. 9 Johnston JC, Rosenbaum DM, Picone CM, Grotta JC. Apraxia of eyelid opening secondary to right hemisphere infarction. Ann Neurol 1989 25:622-4. 10 Li TM, Swash M, Alberman E, Day SJ. Diagnosis of motor neuron disease by neurologists: a study in three countries. J Neurol Neurosurg Psychiatry 1991;54:980-4. 11 Heilman KM, Rothi LJG. Apraxia. In: Heilman KM, Valenstein E, eds. Clinical neuropsychology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993:141-63. 12 Abe K, Fujimura H, Toyooka K, Hazama T, et al. Single- photon computed tomographic investigation of patients with motor neuron disease. Neurology 1993;43:1569-73. 13 Kiernan JA, Hudson AJ. Frontal lobe atrophy in motor neuron diseases. Brain 1994;117:747-57. Headache Headaches seem to be an almost female prerogative in the nineteenth century novel. None of Jane Austen's men, not even the awful Mr Woodhouse, experience them. The symptom is often used by the sufferer, whether consciously or unconsciously, as a means of avoiding a difficult social situation and afflicts, in Jane Austen's works, perhaps only the more fragile of her creations. The robust Emma Woodhouse can hardly be imagined falling back on such an expedient. Dickens, incidentally, hardly refers to any headache sufferers in his novels despite his experience of attacks of facial pain.' Jane Austen, 1811, Sense and sensibility My sister will be equally sorry to miss the pleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with nervous head-aches, which make her unfit for company or conversation. J7ane Austen, 1813, Pride and prejudice The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned, brought on a headache; and it grew so much worse towards the evening that, added to her unwillingness to see Mr Darcy, it determined her not to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. Jane Austen, 1814, Mansfield Park "Fanny," said Edmund after looking at her attentively; "I am sure you have the headache?" She could not deny it, but said it was not very bad "There was no help for it certainly," rejoined Mrs Norris, in a rather softened voice; "but I question whether her headache might not be caught then, sis- ter. There is nothing so likely to give it as standing and stooping in a hot sun. But I dare say it will be well tomorrow. Suppose you let her have your aromatic vinegar; I always forget to have mine filled." Jane Austen, 1816, Emma "Miss Fairfax was not well enough to write;" and when Mr Perry called at Hartfield, the same morning, it appeared that she was so much indisposed as to have been visited, though against her own consent, by himself, and that she was suffering under severe headaches, and a nervous fever to a degree, which made him doubt the possibility of her going to Mrs Smallridge's at the time proposed. Charlotte Bronte, 1839, Caroline Vernon "I've got a head-ache, Mary." This was a lie-told to awaken sympathy and elude further cross-examina- tion. "Have you, Adrian, where?" "I think I said a head-ache, of course it would not be in my great toe." Victor Hugo, 1862, Les Miserables This done, and saying that she had a headache, Cosette bade her father good night and went back to her bedroom ... Not that he was troubled by her headache, which he regarded as nothing but a trifling crise de nerfs, a girlish sulk that would wear off in a day or two. G D PERKIN Regional Neurosciences Centre, Charing Cross Hospital, Fulham Palace Road, London W6 8RF, UK 1 House M, Storey G, eds. The letters of Charles Dickens. Vol 2. 1840-41. Oxford: The Clarenden Press, 1969. NEUROLOGY IN LITERATURE 632 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 9 .6 .6 2 9 o n 1 D e ce m b e r 1 9 9 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ 
work_j2xr6yuo3vffbedptwzxoensv4	----	Jane Austen's Vehicular Means of Motion, Exchange and Transmission Copyright © Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, 2004 Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d’auteur. L’utilisation des services d’Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d’utilisation que vous pouvez consulter en ligne. https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Cet article est diffusé et préservé par Érudit. Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l’Université de Montréal, l’Université Laval et l’Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. https://www.erudit.org/fr/ Document généré le 5 avr. 2021 21:53 Lumen Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies Travaux choisis de la Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle Jane Austen's Vehicular Means of Motion, Exchange and Transmission Claire Grogan Volume 23, 2004 URI : https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012194ar DOI : https://doi.org/10.7202/1012194ar Aller au sommaire du numéro Éditeur(s) Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle ISSN 1209-3696 (imprimé) 1927-8284 (numérique) Découvrir la revue Citer cet article Grogan, C. (2004). Jane Austen's Vehicular Means of Motion, Exchange and Transmission. Lumen, 23, 189–203. https://doi.org/10.7202/1012194ar https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/ https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012194ar https://doi.org/10.7202/1012194ar https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/2004-v23-lumen0265/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/lumen/ 10. Jane Austen's Vehicular Means of Motion, Exchange and Transmission I do not write for such dull elves as have not a good deal of ingenuity themselves (Austen to her sister Cassandra, Letters 79). Reading was a challenge posed by Austen for her readers, both familial and other. Studies of Austen have clearly and repeatedly shown that greater familiarity with the social and historical context of her works deepens our appreciation of her characterization, her political and social commentary.2 Furthermore, it is evident that Austen herself expects her readers (at least some of them) to use such knowledge to judge and assess character accordingly. This paper arises from work for my second edi- tion of Northanger Abbey for Broadview Press during which time I became increasingly aware that carriages and modes of transportation were carrying significance that I did not fully understand. Was I, as a twenty-first century reader, becoming one of those 'dull elves'? What kinds of judgements about character and place would a broader knowl- edge of horse-drawn transportation allow? En route I discovered exactly how carriages work as external indicators of wealth or social standing but also, and more surprisingly, as indicators of the driver or passenger's 1 Jane Austen, Jane Austen's Letters, éd. Deidre Le Faye (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995). All subsequent references are to this collection of the letters and references are to the letter number. 2 See for example Maggie Lane, Jane Austen and Food (London: Hambledon Press, 1995); Irene Collins, Jane Austen and the Clergy (London: Hambledon Press, 1993); Francis Roberts, Jane Austen and the French Revolution (London: MacMillan, 1979); Mary Waldron, Jane Austen and the Fiction of her Times (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Jacqueline Reid-Walsh, 'Entering the World of Regency Society: The Ballroom Scenes in Northanger Abbey, The Watsons and Mansfield Park,' Persuasions 16 (Dec. 1994), p. 115-24; and John Breihan and Clive Caplan, ' J a n e Austen and the Militia/ Persuasions 14 (Dec. 1992), p. 16-26. LUMEN XXIII / 2004 1209-3696 / 2004 / 2300-0189 $12.00 / © CSECS / SCEDHS 190 Claire Grogan emotional state and even sexual satisfaction. Facts allow for the interest- ing discovery that horse-drawn carriages are much more than a means of motion. Austen lived during the great age of coach travel — a period in which combined improvements in road building, carriage design and horse breeding meant travel on land was increasingly a pleasure rather than just a necessity. The inception of the Tollbooth system meant roads were better managed and financed since travelers were obliged to contribute to an independent Turnpike Trust for the upkeep of the road. Another breakthrough came when the engineer John Loudon McAdam invented macadamized roads. Appointed surveyor for the Bristol Turnpike Trust in 1816, his use of successive layers of compacted broken stone bound with gravel created a well drained, raised carriageway. His transforma- tion of road surfaces allowed smoother, safer and speedier travel. John Hatchett of Long Acre's dramatic improvements in basic carriage design 'greatly contributed to the increase in their numbers, and enhancement of their value' (Felton, Treatise on Carriages, p . v).3 Such improvements were both a response to the burgeoning horse-drawn traffic and a reason for its increase. People traveled for pleasure as well as business between town homes and countryseats, to seaside resorts, to spas, or on tours of the picturesque. The Royal Mail — the brainchild of Mr. Palmer — allowed both postal communication and also speedy safe travel for paying passengers. The Royal Mail had priority on the road, traveled with armed guards and was not obliged to stop for tolls. Thomas De Quincey jokes that individu- als in fear of their lives from assassins or being pursued by debt collectors could find no safer refuge than on the Royal Mail coach thundering u p and down the nation! Austen's familiarity with such developments is evident in both her Collected Letters (at least seventy of one hundred and sixty five mention carriage travel of one kind or another) and her fiction (in which she mentions all available forms of horse-drawn transportation). Despite all these advances however, horse-drawn transportation posed various risks to the traveler. A close Austen family member was actually killed in a carriage incident and her brother Edward Austen- Knight was badly injured when his horse bolted 'upsetting his carriage in the midst of Canterbury traffic'. Austen describes a frightening inci- dent with her cousin Eliza when their horses 'gibed' near Hyde Park Gate 3 William Felton, Treatise on Carriages (London, 1794). Vehicular Means of Motion 191 when a 'load of fresh gravel made it a formidable hill' (Letters 184). Her fictional work Sanditon opens with the 'overturning' of a Gentleman and Lady's carriage I n toiling u p ... [a] long ascent half rock, half sand' on a poorly maintained road on the south coast of England (p. 321 ).4 While not always perilous, carriage travel was inevitably exhausting and frus- trating — especially when using the stagecoach. Austen jokes resignedly and repeatedly about the adventures of her trunk which 'once nearly slipt off (Letters 10), another time was mislaid for days and on other occasions trailed far behind on the slower wagon (Letters 19, 97). More common were complaints about delays for changing horses (Letters 35, 87,97), greasing wheels (Letters 10), uncomfortable lodgings (Letters 52), inclement weather and poor road conditions (Letters 9,97,98). Crowding could further add to one's discomfort as Austen notes to her sister Cassandra in 1814: 'I had a very good Journey, not crouded, two of the three taken u p at Bentley being Children, the others of a reasonable size; & they were very quiet and civil' (Letters 105). Her letter of September 1813 provides a representative summary of the coach journey: We had a very good journey—Weather and roads excellent-the three first stages for ls-6d-& our only misadventure the being delayed about a qr of an hour at Kingston for Horses, & being obliged to put up with a pr belonging to a Hackney Coach and their Coachman, which left no room on the Barouche Box for Lizzy, who was to have gone her last stage there as she did the first; — consequently we were all 4 within, which was a little crowd. (Letters 87) Since carriages were not heated, they could be bitterly cold in winter, hot and sweaty in summer. Austen suffers both temperature extremes, noting in Letter 98 how 'Fanny was miserably cold at first' while the uncomfortable heat of '[o]ur first eight miles' marked their journey in June 1808 (Letters 52). Emma's Mr Woodhouse is clearly not alone in his concerns about chills caught from carriage travel since Austen describes her own disappointment when her brother is advised by his doctor Mr. H. 'not venturing ... in the Carriage tomorrow; — if it were Spring, he says, it wd be a different thing' (Letters 127). This information confirms the reader's suspicion that Lady Catherine De Bourgh's offer of a lift to only 'one of the young ladies (Elizabeth and Maria) 'as far as London' is only extended to include both 'if the weather should happen to be cool' 4 Jane Austen, Sanditon, ed. John Davie (Oxford: Oxford World's Classics, 1971). 192 Claire Grogan as 'neither ... are ... large' (Pride and Prejudice, p . 229).5 This supposedly generous offer of course masks her desire to accommodate her own comfort above everyone else's since numbers generate heat. William Felton's Treatise on Carriages (1794) and Supplement of all the Necessary Repairs (1796)6 were prodigious best sellers in their time and it is easy to picture the quintessential consumer General Tilney delightedly perusing the two volumes. The works testify to coach production as a profitable branch of British commerce well into the nineteenth century as numbers and types of carriages increased. Felton notes the art of coach making has been in a gradual state of improvement for half a century past, and has now attained to a very high degree of perfection, with respect both to the beauty, strength and elegance of the machine: the conse- quence has been, an increasing demand for that comfortable conveyance, which, besides its common utility, has now, in the higher circles of life, become a distinguishing mark of the taste and rank of the proprietor, (p. i) In the Treatise, which reads as an early Lemon-Aid Guide to carriages, Felton declares his 'professed aim is to enable the proprietor effectually to guard against imposition' (p. vii). He boasts that his Treatise will be of equal advantage to the Gentleman who builds a carriage, as the House-builder's Price-book has, by experience, proved to be to him who builds a house; and as there are many more Gentlemen who amuse themselves in getting carriages built than in building houses, the utility of this Treatise will be more general, (p. vii) Carriages have an obvious and immediate role as status symbols much like cars today. One recalls how '[t]he word curricle made Charles Musgrove jump u p , that he might compare it to his own' (Persuasion, p . 133)7 Horse-drawn vehicles are easy markers of wealth and standing, an ostentatious public display of wealth — in the case of Northanger's 5 Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, ed. Robert Irvine (Peterborough: Broadview Press, 2002). All subsequent references are to this edition. 6 William Felton, Treatise on Carriages (London, 1794), and Supplement Comprehending all the Necessary Repairs; with Instructions How to Preserve and Purchase all Kinds of Carriages and Harness, with the Price Annexed (London, 1796). 7 Jane Austen, Persuasion, ed. Linda Bree (Peterborough: Broadview Press, 1998). Vehicular Means of Motion 193 General Tilney conspicuous consumption — or one of marked restraint in the case of Emma's Mr Knightley. As early as the mid-1700s The Tatler bemoaned the dangerous increase in coaches amongst the middle classes citing a loss of social distinction. However it appears that by 1800 these very distinctions were being reinscribed by the wide range of carriages and seemingly endless assort- ment of possible accessories, which pushed the basic model price u p - wards. Felton spends some twenty pages to describe a myriad of possible accoutrements: Coach boxes, cushions and standards, blocks, platforms, wheels, boots or budg- ets, springs, trimmings — lace, fringe, holders and strings, linings, hammer cloths — metal and plated furniture, lamps, steps, chaise heads, wings, dashing leathers, travel conveniences, paints and varnishes, (p. 199) The carriage itself could of course indicate the occupant's status through display of the family coat of arms while liveried postillions and outriders conveyed further information about rank and wealth. Felton warns his readers away from tawdry, overly elaborate decals and designs (invari- ably denoting new money) and suggests that 'panels had better be entirely plain, than daubed as many of them are, in imitation of painting: and in particular that of Heraldry, which requires some merit to execute properly' (p. 207). Felton warns that a common trick to sell secondhand carriages is to impose upon the would-be purchaser with the appearance 'on the panels of fictitious arms, crests, or coronets' (Supplement, p . 106). He goes on to familiarize, and thus educate, the reader in the correct traditional heraldic emblems. Emblems could indicate whether the owner was a 'bachelor' (shield and crest) or a maiden lady (lozenge), and further what each partner brought to the marriage. The married couple's emblems combined family and individual designs and information denoting an heiress (a separate shield within the husband's shield) or indeed a widow (the widow's lozenge). Amusingly (since one recalls Persuasion's Sir Walter Elliot of Kellynch Hall) the only rank he notes is the bloody hand which signifies a Baron. One wishes Austen had made General Tilney a Baron to fuel Catherine's suspicions of Gothic misdo- ings! The temptation to over accessorize to impress is evident in De Quincey's The English Mail Coach:8 8 Thomas De Quincey, The English Mail Coach and Kindred Papers, (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1876). 194 Claire Grogan Once I remember being on the box of the Holyhead mail, between Shrewsbury and Oswestry, when a tawdry thing from Birmingham, some "Tallyho" or //Highflyer,/, all flaunting with green and gold, came up alongside of us. What a contrast to our royal simplicity of form and colour in this plebeian wretch! The single ornament on our dark ground of chocolate colour was the mighty shield of the imperial arms, but emblazoned in proportions as modest as a signet-ring bears to a seal of office. Even this was displayed only on a single panel, whispering, rather than proclaiming, our relations to the mighty state; whilst the beast from Birmingham, our green-and-gold friend from false, fleeting, perjured Brummagem, had as much writing and painting on its sprawling flanks as would have puzzled a decipherer from the tombs of Luxor. For some time this Birming- ham machine ran along our side — a piece of familiarity that already of itself seemed to me sufficiently Jacobinical. In the ensuing race for supremacy the Birmingham carriage is soundly defeated by the Royal Mail: Passing them without an effort, as it seemed, we threw them into the rear with so lengthening an interval between us, as proved in itself the bitterest mockery of their presumption; whilst our guard blew back a shattering blast of triumph, that was really too painfully full of derision, (p. 300) The importance of heraldic designs is evident in Pride and Prejudice when Elizabeth 'immediately recognize [es] the livery' (p. 272) of Darcy and his sister Georgiana when they visit the Derbyshire inn where she and the Gardiners are staying. However, she is quite at a loss to identify 'the chaise and four' which draws u p at the Bennet household unf ashionably early some chapters later: It was too early in the morning for visitors, and besides, the equipage did not answer to that of any of their neighbours. The horses were post; and neither the carriage, nor the livery of the servant who preceded it, were familiar to them. (p. 352) In her desperate bid to prevent any further talk of marriage between Darcy and Elizabeth, Lady Catherine has hired horses to replace her tired beasts and race across the country to Longbourn. While General Tilney never moves at indecorous speeds, Lady Catherine's determination to secure Elizabeth's compliance prompts her to hire horses rather than wait to bait her own. One also recalls Mary Musgrove's lament in Persuasion that despite her party's curiosity about a visiting gentleman's carriage in Lyme, she failed to recognize her own cousin in Lyme (ironically this cousin is Vehicular Means of Motion 195 estranged and therefore should or could not be comfortably acknow- ledged should he have been recognized): I wonder the arms did not strike me! Oh! — the great-coat was hanging over the pannel, and hid the arms; so it did, otherwise, I am sure, I should have observed them, and the livery too; if the servant had not been in mourning, one should have known him by the livery, (p. 134) All of the possible ways to accessorize should not make us forget that running even the most basic of carriages was an expensive proposition. One recalls the short-lived consternation of the Highbury community in Emma when it is rumoured that Dr. Perry is about to establish his own carriage rather than hire. The response is mixed since it suggests his professional success — that he could contemplate such an expense — but also the impertinence of rising above his allotted social station. Austen's immediate family was forced to lay down their own carriage in 1798 when it proved too great an expense (Letters 11). Alongside the initial cost and subsequent upkeep of the carriage, one had to budget for the annual taxes. When Felton complains of a 'new tax' — twenty shillings for four-wheeled carriages and ten shillings for two-wheeled carriages, he reminds us that these vehicles are luxury items. A common alternative to owning was that of hiring or leasing by the year, month or day, although this clearly connoted a commensurate lack of status. Thorpe accuses Mr. Allen of niggardliness since James cannot afford his own wheels and must hire a 'tittuppy thing' and a 'cursed broken-winded jade' (Northanger Abbey, p. 105)9 to court Isabella. The gossiping Mrs Bennet's speculates that Darcy resented talking with the various Netherfield community members because he is so 'ate u p with pride' and had 'heard somehow that Mrs. Long does not keep a carriage, and had to come to the ball in a hack chaise' (Pride and Prejudice, p . 57). Horses were yet another expense, so again many hired or borrowed them as the need arose. Mrs Bennet's courtship machinations for her daughter Jane work on the prior knowledge that the Hursts keep a carriage but no horses, while Mr Bennet's horses also work the land and are not readily available for outings. Austen's brother Edward's pur- chase of horses is accorded due notice in her letter of June 1799: 9 Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey, ed. Claire Grogan (Peterborough: Broadview Press, 2002). All subsequent references are to this edition. 196 Claire Grogan He made an important purchase Yesterday; no less so than a pair of Coach Horses; his friend Mr Evelyn found them out & recommended them, & if the judgement of a Yahoo can ever be depended on, I suppose it may now, for I beleive Mr Evelyn has all his life thought more of Horses than of anything else. — Their Colour is black & their size not large — their price sixty Guineas, of which the Chair Mare was taken as fifteen — but this is of course to be a secret. (Letters 22) The absence of either a private carriage or money at one's disposal for hire meant total reliance on friends, neighbours and distant family — whether to attend social gatherings or to move between family proper- ties. Austen clearly chafes but is begrudgingly resigned to her depend- ence on others, noting 'until I have a traveling purse of my own, I must submit to such things' (Letter 54). Many of her letters testify to her brother's largesse (p. 159, 95, 98) such that she can jokingly exclaim in November 1813, 'What a convenient Carriage Henry's is, to his friends in general! — W h o has it next?' (Letters 95). This dependence reflects both economic standing and gender since we read of male relatives unham- pered by such constraints and recall many of her fictional men who dart around for haircuts, on unplanned shopping trips or to view neighbour's hounds and horses at the drop of a hat. When money was available, paid passage on the Royal Mail, stage- coaches or about town in Hackney coaches or even Sedan chairs was possible. But these conveyances were neither very comfortable, safe nor clean. Austen describes several rides with her brother James through London in a 'nice, cool, dirty Hackney coach' (Letters 105, 70). Social propriety required women traveling on public transport to be chaper- oned (Letters 34), and this neglect by General Tilney when he summarily expels Catherine from Northanger Abbey is perhaps his most egregious crime. Austen complains to Cassandra in September 1796, T want to go in a Stage Coach, but Frank will not let me' (Letters 6). This concern is echoed by Lady Catherine De Bourgh when she insists that Maria Lucas and Elizabeth Bennet must [have] a servant with them. You know I always speak my mind, and I cannot bear the idea of two young women traveling post by themselves. It is highly improper....Young women should always be properly guarded and attended, according to their situation in life. (Pride and Prejudice, p. 230) Austen's ironic comment on the necessity of such protection arises from the juxtaposing of Lady Catherine's detail that her niece, Georgiana Darcy, was accompanied 'by two men servants' when 'she went to Ramsgate last summer' and the knowledge that such precautions failed Vehicular Means of Motion 197 to protect her from the machinations of the governess and Wickham. Dangers lie closer to home although they are perceived to be on the road. Even within the hired coach there was a definite hierarchy of places (amongst the seats inside, those u p front and those behind). De Quincey writes up to this time, say 1804, or 1805 (the year of Trafalgar) it had been a fixed assumption of the four inside people ... that they the illustrious quaternion, constituted a porcelain variety of the human race, whose dignity would have been compromised by exchanging one word of civility with the three miserable delf-wares outside. (The English Mail Coach, p. 290) Traveling outside was cold and clearly more dangerous. Austen de- scribes how her nephews recklessly traveled 'on the outside, and with no great coat' and would have completely frozen if 'the coachman, [had not] good-naturedly spared them of his as they sat by his side' (Letters 60). In her fiction one recalls how often the maids are relegated to the box when space is required with no thought of their comfort. Dawson, the maid, is peremptorily relegated to sit with the driver in the 'Barouche box' to accommodate Lady Catherine's offer of a lift in Pride and Prejudice (p. 229). A clear hierarchy of carriages and modes of transport existed — one more apparent to the eighteenth than the twenty-first century reader. Near the bottom appears the wagon used for supplies, cheap, slow passage and bringing on luggage behind. Slightly above is the 'tax-cart', a springless vehicle, which Austen embarrassedly recalls she was obliged to accept a lift in with her neighbours Mr. and Mrs. Clement — T would rather have walked' (Letters 78). Next are the various means of paid carriage (Sedan, Hackney and Post) which are all inferior to the private means of transportation. Amongst privately owned carriages there was a wide assortment to choose from according to need and finances. The two-wheeled carriages, chosen 'for the advantage of ... simplicity and lightness ... but more risk' (Felton, p . 75), were the 'single-horse' Gig and the two-horse Curricle. A variety of open car- riages such as the Phaeton, landau and landaulette were available, but these were not only small but expensive vehicles definitely marked as luxury items since they were only practicable to drive six months of the year. Larger, steadier and thus safer choices were the various four-horse vehicles such as the Barouche, Chaise and four and the Traveling Coach. Each year it seemed new models or modifications appeared. Mrs. Elton of Emma is as anxious to be seen in her brother Mr Sucklings' new Barouche-Landau (a rare four-wheeled carriage built between 1804 and 1811 by Barker and Co of London) visiting the busy town of Kingsweston 198 Claire Grogan as Catherine Morland is mortified and anxious not to be seen returning in a stage coach to Fullerton. The crassness of Elton's ostentatious parading can be contrasted with the assembled Elliot / Musgrove / Harville party in Persuasion who visit 'the no thorough-fare of Lyme ... entirely out of season' with 'no expectation of company' (p. 128) or ogling crowds. This clearly marks Lyme as a resort for an entirely different clientele since in the absence of a stagecoach, it is only accessible by private vehicle. So when we reread Northanger Abbey's John Thorpe boasting about his knowledge of carriages and horses ('horses which he had bought for a trifle and sold for incredible sums' p . 86), we know for specific reasons w h y his comments are as misplaced and as shallow as his reading and courtship skills. Setting the comments in Felton's 1796 Supplement on second-hand purchases ('in which impositions practiced are not inferior to those used by horse dealers' p . 102) alongside Thorpe's verbosity on the subject, reveals the latter's boorish ignorance. Felton warns it is usual in order to promote the sale of a carriage, to pretend it belonged to some person of credit, who has parted with it only because one of another kind was more convenient; or that the parties are dead, gone abroad, &c. (p. 106) Thorpe boasts to a largely uncomprehending Catherine (but a cognizant reader): Well hung; town built; I have not had it a month. It was built for a Christchurch man, a friend of mine, a very good sort of fellow; he ran it a few weeks, till, I believe, it was convenient to have done with it.... "Ah! Thorpe" says he "do you happen to want such a little thing as this? it is a capital one of the kind, but I am cursed tired of it." (p. 69) Felton warns that such imposters often Ornament them, in particular with plated work, new painting, putting in a new lining, with some showey lace, new wheels, or ringing them with new iron, to give them the appearance of new, adding new lamps &c. (p. 103) Thorpe cannot afford more than a gig but boasts it is Curricle-hung you see; seat, trunk, sword-case, splashing boards, lamps, silver moulding, all you see complete; the iron-work as good as new, or better, (p. 69) Presumably he will impose u p o n certain observers w h o will mistake it for the genuine article. According to Felton, a new gig fetches fifty-seven Vehicular Means of Motion 199 pounds, so Thorpe acquiring his second-hand for fifty guineas indicates it was not the prodigious bargain he professes. When he continues, 'I might have sold it for ten guineas more the next day; Jackson of Oriel, bid me sixty at once/ James' quick interjection 'but you forget that your horse was included' (p. 69-70) adds to the reader's amusement. Likewise, since Austen provides accurate information about distances and traveling time in Northanger Abbey, the various day trips reveal further insights into character. The astute reader understands that the Tilneys' projected day trip from Bath to Wick Rocks (twelve miles) or Claverton Downs (six miles) are far more practical and sensible than Thorpe's overly long trip to Blaise Castle and Kingsweston conserva- tively estimated at thirty-five miles. Thorpe not only exaggerates his horse's physical capabilities but also misjudges the time required to complete the trip such that the desired destination is never reached. General Tilney, on the other hand, micromanages both the journey from Bath to Northanger Abbey and also the day trip in a chaise and four to Woodston. On the former twenty-nine mile journey Catherine chafes at the two-hour refreshment break at Petty France just fourteen miles north of Bath, despite a substantial meal before leaving Bath. While the day trip to Woodston necessitates Henry's leaving Northanger Abbey days earlier to prepare an adequate lunch. One cannot fault Thorpe however, on his familiarity with the respec- tive prestige of carriage types, when he lies to Catherine about having seen Henry depart in a 'Phaeton with bright chestnuts' (p. 102). He not only selects a suitable carriage for Tilney but then proceeds to employ his own carriage in a manner typical of many eighteenth-century senti- mental novels — as a vehicle for abduction.10 Austen's parodying of such fiction sees the protesting Catherine driven away by the boisterous and rude John 'who only laughed, smacked his whip, encouraged his horse, made odd noises, and drove on' (p. 104). Although the worst to befall Catherine is a disagreeable outing, we see the carriage as a site for intimate exchanges — whether welcome (James and Isabella) or not (John and Catherine) — in a public setting. Thorpe's refusal on a later trip to take his sister Anne 'because she had such thick ankles' (p. 130) makes explicit the carriage's role in the public display of what should remain private — the female body. It is, after all in the carriage returning from the Weston's Christmas party that Mr Elton summons u p courage 10 See Amy Smith, 'Julia's and Louisa's: Austen's Northanger Abbey and the Sentimental Novel/ English Language Notes 30 (Sept. 1992): p. 33-43. 200 Claire Grogan to propose to Emma, while Lydia and Wickham begin their life together by escaping first in a carriage and then by hack chaise. In Northanger Abbey Catherine's comparison between the horseman- ship of Thorpe and Tilney clearly favours the latter. In so doing Austen uses the carriage to not only signify material wealth, but also to deploy a new consciousness of space, time and motion. Carriages are invested with emotional and psychological significance. John Dussinger notes how for Austen 'vehicles as objects' become 'vehicles as state of con- sciousness' (p. 122).n This is most evident in Austen's later fiction. In the much anticipated journey from Bath to Northanger Abbey the various carriages mirror Catherine's emotional state: 'An abbey before, a curricle behind ... she meets every mile stone before she expected it'. [Milestones had been reintroduced in 1793 from Roman times] Her admiration of the style in which they travel, of the fashionable chaise and four postillions handsomely liveried, rising so regularly in their stirrups and numerous outriders properly mounted, sunk a little under [the] inconvenience [of the two-hour bait at Petty France]. Her subsequent movement to Henry's curricle (which parallels the earlier excursions in Thorpe's gig 'curricle- hung') carries obvious sexual connotations, which make even Catherine blush in remembrance of Mr Allen's opinion respecting young men's open carriages (p. 160). However, a very short trial convinced her that a curricle was the prettiest equipage in the world ... but the merit of the curricle did not all belong to the horses. — Henry drove so well, — so quietly — without making any disturbance, without parad- ing to her, or swearing at them; so different from the only gentleman-coachman whom it was in her power to compare him with! (Northanger Abbey, p. 160) There is transference of her emotions for Henry to his carriage and back again. Man becomes his carriage and his management — in the case of John Thorpe mismanagement, in the case of General Tilney microman- agement, or the Croft's hilarious shared management — is inextricably part of the person. The Admiral and his wife are steadier at sea than on land, although they love to travel in their gig. Wentworth good-humouredly wonders 'whereabouts they will upset today' (Persuasion, p . 114). When Anne is given a lift, we discover their unique driving style: 11 John Dussinger, "'The glory of motion": Carriages and Consciousness in the early novel/ Studies On Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century 263 (1989): p . 122-24. Vehicular Means of Motion 201 "My dear Admiral, that post! — we shall certainly take that post." But by coolly giving the reigns a better direction herself, they happily passed the danger; and by once afterwards judiciously putting out her hand, they neither fell into a rut, nor ran foul of a dung-cart; and Anne, with some amusement at their style of driving, which she imagined no bad representation of the general guidance of their affairs, found herself safely deposited by them at the cottage. (Persuasion, p. 121) The lift, we note, reveals Captain Wentworth's returning considerate awareness of Anne's person. Not only can we estimate Anne's hip size ('If we were all like you, I believe we might sit four' [Persuasion, p. 120]) from this exchange but we can gauge Anne's emotional response to this considerate gesture: Yes, — he had done it. She was in the carriage, and felt that he had placed her there, that his will and his hands had done it, that she owed it to his perception of her fatigue, and his resolution to give her rest. (Persuasion, p. 120) Thus Catherine's untimely expulsion from Northanger Abbey in a stage coach, for an eleven-hour journey unchaperoned, on a Sunday is not only an egregious act of impropriety by General Tilney, but also articulates eloquently the depths of despondency and degradation Catherine feels as she returns to Fullerton. When Catherine retraces her steps, firstly from Northanger Abbey to the Woodston turning and later from Fuller- ton to the neighbouring Aliens, she notes, 'how altered a being did she return!' (p. 228). 'Every mile, as it brought her nearer Woodston, added to her sufferings, and when within the distance of five, she passed the turning which led to it, and thought of Henry, so near, yet so uncon- scious, her grief and agitation were excessive' (p. 222). Lest we overlook this Austen reminds us that A heroine returning ... to her native village, in all the triumph of recovered reputation, and all the dignity of a countess, with a long train of noble relations in their several phaetons, and three waiting-maids in a traveling chaise and four, behind her, is an event on which the pen of the contriver may well delight to dwell while a heroine in a post-chaise, is such a blow upon sentiment, as no attempt at grandeur or pathos can withstand, (p. 224) 202 Claire Grogan The implication that fine carriages and a successful marriage can regain reputation is ironically contrasted to Catherine's innocent but ignomini- ous return to Fullerton. Appearances weigh against her having kept her reputation. Carriages have become outward indicators not only of social standing and wealth but also of emotional states and even sexual satisfaction. At the conclusion of Persuasion Anne Eliot is 'restored to the rights of seniority and the mistress of a very pretty landaulette' (p. 256), while in Pride and Prejudice Elizabeth Bennet is imagined by Mrs Gardiner as the 'owner of a low phaeton with a nice pair of ponies' (p. 330). One can only hope that Catherine got the carriage she so deserved and drove off happily into the sunset! A codicil to this essay arises from the light that Austen's Letters shed upon her own social position. As previously mentioned since her father laid u p the family carriage in 1798 when it proved too costly her imme- diate family was dependant upon various relatives and neighbours for lifts. A mode of transport that only appears in the final pages of her correspondence is that of the donkey. As her health failed she was encouraged, in the absence of a carriage, to take regular outings for fresh air on a donkey. However, this downgrading of her means of transpor- tation further restricted outings since they were so weather dependant. She writes to James Edward in December 1816 that 'the walk is beyond my strength (although I am otherwise well) & this is not a Season for Donkey Carriages' {Letters 146). A month later Austen intimates the recalcitrant and stubborn nature of the donkey to Althea Bigg. She writes 'I can only see her at Chawton as this is not a time of year for Donkey- carriages, & our Donkeys are necessarily having so long a run of luxuri- ous idleness that I suppose we shall find that they have forgotten much of their Education when we use them again' (Letters 150). Despite her declining health she still protests in March 1817 that she 'meanfs] to take to riding the Donkey.... I shall be able to go about with A* Cassandra in her walks to Alton & Wynards' (Letters 153). It is poignant, if not pathetic, that a writer, who so astutely observed the status of vehicles in her fiction, should find herself reduced to a donkey. Even on what was her final journey to Winchester she was dependant upon her brother's largesse to provide a carriage. We learn from her letter to Anne Sharp that '[t]he journey is only 16 miles ... and [we] are to have the accommodation of my elder brother's Carriage which will be sent over from Steventon on purpose' (Letters 159). However, since there is not room for everyone to travel inside the reader is left with the striking image from her final letter to her nephew James Edward Austen: Vehicular Means of Motion 203 Thanks to the kindness of your Father & Mother in sending me their Carriage, my Journey hither on Saturday was performed with very little fatigue, & had it been a fine day I think I sh have felt none, but it distressed me to see Uncle Henry & Wm K- who kindly attended us on horseback, riding in rain almost all the way. (Letters 160) Clearly, both her fiction and her correspondence reveal new depths when contextualized by detailed information about horse-drawn trans- portation as a signifier of socio-economic standing and emotional wel- fare. CLAIRE GROGAN Bishop's University 
work_j3czw6qrnjhf5ebzlztazkqqhe	----	within the academy. As currently practiced, much of cul­ tural studies is Marxism of an unfortunately vulgar kind. Insofar as cultural studies represents a reaction against the mandarin machismo of theory in the 1980s, trying to replace the disembodiedness of many theoretical discus­ sions with an emphasis on the social functions of litera­ ture and with attention to a much broader range of material, it has genuine claims to inaugurate a more pop­ ulist and progressive critical practice. But it has also ex­ tended and confirmed the de facto eclipse of literature already evident fifteen years ago, as theory took prece­ dence over primary works. Although all cultural forms are now supposed to be of equal interest, there is an implicit bias in favor of the pro­ ductions of international mass media and against a liter­ ary tradition seen as hopelessly elitist and retrograde. (Film studies suffers from a similar blindness; despite its roots in the cinephile culture of the 1960s, it is increas­ ingly uninterested in either art film or experimental film.) Yet literature is obviously a central cultural form, which it would be disastrous to forget or to dismiss. To take culture seriously is to take it whole and to be interested in the connections among all its parts. Demystifying a cultural phenomenon or discovering that it was invented does not mean that it disappears or becomes insignifi­ cant. In Saussurean structuralism, the arbitrary does not become senseless simply because we understand it to be arbitrary; within the system, it is powerful despite or even in its arbitrariness. For Levi-Strauss, too, individual cultural forms assume a kind of inevitability, because they lock into the whole matrix of culture, but his project is in the end thoroughly relativist. Barthes takes apart mythologies, yet he also acknowledges the centrality of mythmaking—and the literary—for all cultures. Ironically, as the possibilities for interdisciplinary in­ vestigation and the number of interesting texts available for study have expanded, the range of discussion has nar­ rowed drastically. This need not be. Recent work in the emerging field of publishing history provides fresh ways of thinking about literary institutions, from academies and cliques to newspapers and magazines; the ground has now been laid for a rethinking of the sociology of literary form. And there should be better ways now to capitalize on the wonderful republishing programs of small inde­ pendent and university presses (the efforts of Virago and Pandora; the reprinting of American radical novels by the University of Illinois Press; the translation of key forgotten works of central and eastern European litera­ ture by Northwestern University Press, Quartet, Sun and Moon, and Overlook; and so on). Cultural critics like C. L. R. James, W. E. B. Du Bois, Frantz Fanon, and Siegried Kracauer are now being rediscovered, but this is just the tip of the iceberg, given the number of half- forgotten thinkers, programmatic and otherwise, whose work defines a larger cultural field. Leroi Jones’s Blues People and Hans Richter’s Struggle for the Film, the work of Aby Warburg and of the Annales school, the Lynds’ Middletown and Arnold Hauser’s Social History of Art, British Mass Observation studies and Yury Lotman’s semiotic analyses of Russian cultural history all deserve new readers. There is no need to mourn literary education as it used to be. The most devastating condemnation of the old dis­ pensation is that, far from creating lifetime readers of difficult works, it seems to have engendered hatred, am­ bivalence, or indifference toward literature in so many of those who now teach it. But there is also no need for the historical amnesia that now, despite the new emphasis on disciplinary history, dominates the profession. KATIE TRUMPENER University of Chicago RICHARD MAXWELL Valparaiso University From my perspective outside the United States, I under­ stand cultural studies to encompass two possibilities. On the one hand, it might involve the study of artistic forms besides those whose medium is language and of exploi­ tations of language beyond the imaginative or narrowly textual. On the other hand, cultural studies might provide the opportunity for a serious investigation of the work­ ings of specific contemporary cultures. Cultural studies may be responsible for a subtle shift of interest from canonical subjects, but its overall emphasis remains con­ servative and domestic. The radical reorganization of lit­ erary curricula ascribed to cultural activists seems vastly exaggerated. While I recognize that the wide-ranging conclusions of some branches of cultural studies become a pretext and an alibi for ignoring individual cases, I disagree with the critics of cultural studies who aim to contract the compass of the literary field. Studies of texts and of the conditions of their emergence belong first in the literary department rather than the cultural. All foreign litera­ tures should be studied as literature, not as ethnic fixtures in the vast wilderness of cultural studies. To relegate post­ colonial literatures, for example, to cultural studies can only comfort defenders of the canon. Literary studies ought to keep pace with every kind of literary production. The confusion between the literary and the cultural is not only an American disorder. Some books cited in contemporary literary journals are housed in the sociology section of my university’s library and are never checked out, except by the intrepid literary scholar. Conversely, the works quoted in “cultural” journals line the literature sections of the library and enjoy occasional outings. I be­ lieve that cultural studies should be viewed as an area of interest separate from but cognate with literary studies. If literary studies should motivate interest in the factors in­ fluencing the constitution of texts, cultural studies should yield an even larger picture, which exposes the agencies affecting the emergence of other art forms and reveals the connections between these forms. The indistinct in­ termingling of the cultural and the literary may be very “cultural,” but it is not particularly helpful for achieving the aims of either cultural or literary studies. MORADEWUN ADEJUNM0B1 University of Botswana There is evidence for the old idea that some literature transcends culture: works have been read with delight in different periods. Shakespeare was warmly received in a nineteenth-century America that hated kings, although there are few “Americans” in Shakespeare, few characters below the aristocracy, almost none with ideals of social mobility. And what of the reception here of Jane Austen, whose novels include almost no characters below the landed gentry? Perhaps the nineteenth-century Americans who enjoyed Shakespeare and Austen were ignorant of cultural studies and thus could encounter European class assumptions without disgust. The bliss of reading in­ volves a good deal of ignorance—or of imagination, of suspension of disbelief. The teacher of literature, as a teacher of pleasure, can set the weight of the world aside. Literature that does not transcend culture may benefit greatly from cultural studies. The appreciation of satires, epigrams, and sermons from earlier periods depends on historical notes, a kind of attenuated cultural studies. One might argue that cultural studies tends to turn all literature into satire or sermon. Measure for Measure, which does not transcend its context, can be read as satire or as com­ mentary on the spousal Canons of 1604 or on the change of reign. The issues in the play—handfast marriage, sex­ ual passes or harassment, and the change of political authority—make Measure for Measure teachable. My freshman students delight to recognize some of their concerns in it. But Othello is not on my freshman read­ ing list, because in transcending culture the work forgoes this appeal. Literature that transcends culture may be damaged or undermined by cultural studies. I think this has happened to Austen, whose early admission to the canon made aca­ demic rediscovery impossible. And it has not helped her recent fortunes that Austen’s main, almost her only, sub­ ject is the marriage of true minds. 1 believe that Austen now is less assigned (in high school and college), though more read, than ever; film has "taught” her works in a way that our classrooms cannot. One could argue that lilm and TV set the curriculum now. No wonder cultural stud­ ies seems important: it shows how culture dominated lit­ erary production and reception in the past, just as media culture controls us. ALAN POWERS Bristol Coniitutnilv College, MA I have a career in English largely because 1 serendipi- tously mentioned my interest in British cultural studies when I went on the job market in the mid-1980s. The lit­ erary academy was just discovering the work of the Birm­ ingham Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies, as the sessions on cultural studies organized by the Sociologi­ cal Approaches to Literature group for the 1988 MLA meeting signaled. 1 had been drawing on Birmingham cultural studies since I read a review of Dick Hebdige’s Subculture: The Meaning of Style in Trouser Press in 1979, and the appearance in PMLA of my article featur­ ing the Sex Pistols, in 1991, might have seemed a sign that cultural studies had influenced literary studies. In fact, I was realizing that cultural studies was dead on ar­ rival in the United States. The effort to relate cultural studies and the literary, which has largely been futile, started at least with Ray­ mond Williams’s The Long Revolution, in which Williams held that “it is with the discovery of patterns” running through a variety of texts “that any useful cultural analy­ sis begins.” The goal of reconstructing these patterns should be to “reveal unexpected identities and corre­ spondences in hitherto separately considered activities” ([Penguin, 1965] 63). The subsequent effort of British cultural studies to enlarge the range of cultural forms that counted was a political intervention, intended to counteract the views of other leftists—including, ironi­ cally, the founder of the Birmingham center, Richard Hoggart—that youth culture was worthless. In Hiding in the Light, Dick Hebdige describes a general “cartogra­ phy of taste,” in which “by pursuing a limited number of themes . . . across a fairly wide range of discourses it may be possible ... to modify the received wisdom,” both within the academy and outside it ([Routledge, 1988] 48). When confronting the literary, cultural studies ought to reveal “the extent to which one of the major functions of literary criticism as an institution” is to cor­ don off “those cultural forms based on mechanical and electronic reproduction” (Colin MacCabe, The Linguis­ 
work_j5suyirjgngtrezh3okf6i6nki	----	Paul Elie reveres the music of J. S. Bach and loves some recordings in par-ticular, such as Glenn Gould’s 1955 rendition of the Goldberg Variations. In Reinventing Bach Elie sets out to show how technologies — especially developments in recording — have been central to the twen- tieth century’s experience of “the Master’s” music. The book’s conceit is that the composer of the Two- and Three-Part Inventions was in some sense an inventor, and so peculiarly attuned to being reinvented — through the recording technologies of the past 100 years or so. And, as Elie shows, the power that recording offered, of enabling repeated lis- tening, also accelerated the rediscovery of Bach by generations of musicians. Each chapter takes a key recording, dwell- ing to different degrees on the technology used — disc, tape or digital. The chapters are arranged in roughly chronological order and range from takes by Albert Schweitzer and Leopold Stokowski on the famous Toccata and Fugue in D Minor to Gould’s two recordings of the Goldberg Variations and beyond. Along- side this, Elie threads a biography of Bach, period-setting snap- s h o t s o f c u l t u r a l events and an accu- mulating cast of Bach performers and recording artistes. Throughout, Elie describes the music, not with the technical terminology of the conservatoire, but with metaphor and sim- ile. His characterization of the Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, for instance, reads: “the pipes ring out once, twice, a third time. Then with a long, low swallow the organ fills with sound, which spreads toward the ends of the instrument and settles, pooling there.” What he doesn’t do, however, is meet the promise in the publisher’s blurb to give us “a nuanced and intelligent examination of the technol- ogy” that has made the reinvention of Bach possible. E l i e d r aw s on a wide range of pub- lished literature, and T E C H N O L O G Y Baroque geekery Tim Boon assesses a take on the evolving technology behind recordings of J. S. Bach. NATURE.COM For more on recording music, see: go.nature.com/xx3x22 She ignored the contemporary craze for the Gothic, opting instead for a style modelled on the Romanesque: a simple rectangular building with a semicircular apse, and doors and windows topped with round arches. She made the building entirely her own by adding decorative carvings that combined rich pre-Christian symbolism with natural forms recently brought to light by fossil-hunters and naturalists. Executed by local craftsmen (and some- times Losh herself ) working mostly in local stone and wood, these anticipated the artistic and architectural ideals set out by John Ruskin a decade after the church was completed. Lotus flowers, ammonites and butterflies embellished windows, doorways and capitals; Losh filled the high windows of the apse with the delicate forms of local fossil ferns cut from translucent sheets of alabaster. More than 30 years after she completed her church, and on a much grander scale, Alfred Waterhouse adopted a Roman- esque design decorated with flora and fauna for the Natural History Museum in London. Like Losh, he was inspired by visiting Italy and studying natural history, but Uglow cites no evidence that he knew of Losh’s work. Losh’s carvings often feature a pine- cone, an ancient symbol of regenera- tion and enlightenment. Uglow points out that the number of spirals winding up from the base of a pinecone always belongs to the Fibonacci series (run- ning 1, 2, 3, 5, 8 and so on, without end). James Hutton memorably concluded that he could find “no vestige of a beginning, no prospect of an end” in his studies of geological strata. Uglow helps us to see how Losh combined the architectural evidence of past human societies with contemporary invention and discov- ery, and how she conveyed, through her buildings, a sense of the eternal. Most of Losh’s personal papers and journals, like those of Jane Austen, were lost or destroyed, leaving the biographer to piece together her life from fragments gleaned elsewhere. Sarah Losh remains something of an enigma: a deeply reli- gious woman who built a church that contained no overtly Christian symbols; a devotee of ancient structures and a daughter of the Industrial Revolution; a fashionable beauty and an unmarried scholar and craftswoman. Sarah Losh chose to express herself in stone, rather than words. In Jenny Uglow, she has found a fine interpreter. ■ Georgina Ferry is a science writer and author living in Oxford, UK. e-mail: mgf@georginaferry.com Reinventing Bach PAUL ELIE Farrar, Straus and Giroux: 2012 496 pp. £19.99, $30 Canadian pianist Glenn Gould recorded Bach’s Goldberg Variations twice, in 1955 and 1981. G . P A R K S // T IM E L IF E P IC T U R E S /G E T T Y 3 0 | N A T U R E | V O L 4 8 9 | 6 S E P T E M B E R 2 0 1 2 BOOKS & ARTSCOMMENT © 2012 Macmillan Publishers Limited. All rights reserved is insightful about the interplay between technological change and the development of both individual technique and the market for classical music. For example, he describes how Gould’s recordings of the Goldberg Vari- ations were polished as the pianist, holed up at a country retreat, repeatedly recorded and listened back to his own performances of the 30 variations on the recently invented tape recorder. Elie also nicely depicts how the his- torically informed performance scene was stimulated by the arrival of the CD: the clar- ity of digital recording gave period-music specialists an opportunity to provide newly ‘authentic’ performances. But the descriptions of technologies are less sure. Magnetic recording tape does not use silver oxides, as the book has it, but iron oxides. Elie also writes that Schweitzer recorded on cylinders, yet EMI always used discs. His description of a 1905 Victrola gramophone as having a needle convert- ing movements to electrical impulses reads oddly. This is an entirely acoustic device in which even the motor is clockwork; there were no electrical gramophones before the 1920s. The book would also be stronger for a deeper and more integrated account of musical instruments. The hybrid instru- ment given to Schweitzer by the Paris Bach Society when he went as a missionary to Africa — enabling him to play in tropical conditions — is described merely as hav- ing “the features of a piano and an organ: two manuals, strings and hammers, ped- als. The inside of it was lined with zinc to ward off moisture in the tropics”. (This amazing-sounding machine can be seen in the Maison Albert Schweitzer, the organ- ist’s former home, in Alsace, France.) Sim- ilarly, Bach’s possible involvement in the development of a new instrument called the Lautenwerck, a kind of keyboard-actuated lute, is glossed over in two brief paragraphs — a loss, given the emphasis on Bach as inventor. In the end, Reinventing Bach reads best as a sincere and compelling account of the author’s love of Bach’s recorded oeuvre. The passion shines through even though the technology is more marginal than prom- ised. And you may find yourself compelled to rummage through your CD shelves for the works — as I did — revisiting Bach in his multifarious reinventions. ■ Tim Boon is head of research and public history at the Science Museum in London, UK. e-mail: tim.boon@sciencemuseum.ac.uk On the Edge: Mapping North America’s Coasts Roger M. McCoy OxfOrd University Press 256 pp. £18.99 (2012) Some 500 years ago, the edges of North America were as mysterious to Europe’s explorers as the Moon. Geographer Roger McCoy recounts their voyages and cartographic efforts, starting with John Cabot and Martin Frobisher, and ending with Otto Sverdrup and Vilhjalmur Stefansson in the early twentieth century. The tales of derring-do, brushes with death and brutal behaviour towards native Americans are interspersed with clear explanations of how, over time, this multitude of mariners redrew the New World map. Why Geography Matters, More Than Ever Harm de Blij OxfOrd University Press 320 pp. £10.99 (2012) Where geopolitics is concerned, Harm de Blij says, it’s easy to hit a plus ça change moment. This revised edition of his influential 2007 book includes the rapid shifts and upheavals of the past five years, from the Arab Spring to the European Union’s economic wobbles. But de Blij’s original premise — that the geographical illiteracy prevalent in the United States seriously impedes coherent policy — is more relevant than ever. With power comes responsibility, and Americans, he says, have an obligation to develop the geographer’s perspective on culture, politics, economics and the environment. Unaccountable: What Hospitals Won’t Tell You and How Transparency Can Revolutionize Health Care Martin Makary BlOOmsBUry 256 pp. £19.99 (2012) Surgeon and health-policy specialist Martin Makary reveals US hospitals as battlegrounds between competence and chaos. Serious blunders — such as surgical tools being left in body cavities — are so common that a 2010 study reported that one-quarter of patients are harmed by medical mistakes. Among Makary’s mind-bending observations is how two doctors approached the removal of benign colonic polyps. One neatly excised the growth; the other removed half the colon. A powerful plea for openness in US health care. Discord: The Story of Noise Mike Goldsmith OxfOrd University Press 336 pp. £16.99 (2012) You might pay to hear a jazz saxophonist let rip in a club, but go crazy if they practised next door. Sound in the wrong place is noise, points out science writer and former head of acoustics at the UK National Physical Laboratory Mike Goldsmith in this chronicle of cacophony and our attempts to control it. Starting with the nature of sound and its birth in the infant Universe, he runs through prehistoric noise, the beginnings of acoustical science in the Renaissance, the machine-led din of the Industrial Revolution, the clamorous twentieth century and today’s aural pollution from wind farms, underwater sonar and more. The Science of Human Perfection: How Genes Became the Heart of American Medicine Nathaniel Comfort yale University Press 336 pp. £25 (2012) In this provocative look at genetic medicine in the United States, medical historian Nathaniel Comfort argues that eugenics casts a long shadow over the field. He has researched records spanning a century, following the ever-evolving group of geneticists, eugenicists, psychologists, medics, public-health workers, zoologists and statisticians intent on using heredity to improve human life. Today’s hybridized discipline, he says, is noble in intent but rife with social and ethical questions centred on the ‘illusion of perfectibility’. “The pipes ring out once, twice, a third time. Then, with a long, low swallow the organ fills with sound.” 6 S E P T E M B E R 2 0 1 2 | V O L 4 8 9 | N A T U R E | 3 1 BOOKS & ARTS COMMENT Books in brief © 2012 Macmillan Publishers Limited. All rights reserved Technology: Baroque geekery 
work_j7xz7rcedvaftmunuytqe5a2ya	----	Boyd McCulloch Berry, Virginia Commonwealth University, 25 March 2014 Phillip Boxer, Metropolitan State University, 13 January 2014 Raymonde Albertine Bulger, Graceland University, 3 February 2014 Brian J. Dendle, University of Kentucky, 3 September 2013 Henry James Donaghy, Mississippi State University, 14 January 2014 Carol Downey, University of California, Riverside, 18 March 2014 Seymour Eichel, New Jersey City University, 13 October 2013 Gabriel García Márquez, Mexico City, Mexico, 17 April 2014 Joseph John Kelly, Pennsylvania Humanities Council, 26 April 2013 Merritt Eugene Lawlis, Indiana University, Bloomington, 9 March 2014 Henry A. Lea, University of Massachusetts, Amherst, 4 April 2013 Doris Lessing, London, England, 17 November 2013 Edward Nagy, Rutgers University, New Brunswick, 13 January 2014 José Emilio Pacheco, Mexico City, Mexico, 26 January 2014 Donald A. Ringe, University of Kentucky, 7 March 2014 Martin de Riquer, Barcelona, Spain, 17 September 2013 David Scott Sanders, Harvey Mudd College, 23 February 2014 Chae-Pyong Song, Marygrove College, 12 February 2013 Arvid F. Sponberg, Valparaiso University, 7 August 2013 Johnye Cannon Sturcken, Texas A&M University, Commerce, 24 April 2014 Daniel Philip Testa, Syracuse University, 3 February 2014 John M. Wasson, Washington State University, Pullman, 20 October 2013 This listing contains names received by the membership office since the March 2014 issue. A cumulative list for the aca- demic year 2013–14 appears at the MLA Web site (www .mla .org/in_memoriam). In Memoriam [ P M L A 590 PMLA 129.3 (2014), published by the Modern Language Association of America 591 THE SCHOOL OF CRITICISM & THEORY at Cornell University An international program of study with leading figures in critical theory invites you to apply for its 2014 Summer Session, June 15 - July 25 IN NEW YORK STATE’S FINGER LAKES REGION The Program In an intensive six-week course of study, participants from around the world, across disciplines in the humanities and social sciences, explore recent developments in critical theory. Tuition The fee for the session is $2700. Applicants are eligible to compete for partial tuition scholarships and are urged to seek funding from their home institutions. Admission We welcome applications from faculty members and advanced graduate students at universities worldwide. Applications must be submitted online by February 1, and admissions decisions are announced in March. For online application and program information: website: http://sct.arts.cornell.edu/ email: sctcornell-mailbox@cornell.edu telephone: 607-255-9276 THE SCHOOL OF CRITICISM ANd THEORY Cornell University A. d. White House 27 East Avenue Ithaca, NY 14853 Amanda Anderson, Director Andrew W. Mellon Professor of Humanities and English, Brown University 2014 Six-Week Seminars Simon Critchley Hans Jonas Professor in Philosophy, New School for Social Research “Tragedy as Philosophy” Mark B. N. Hansen Professor, Program in Literature, Program in Media Arts and Sciences, Department of Art, Art History and Visual Studies, Duke University “Media Between data and Experience” Sianne Ngai Professor of English, Stanford University “The Contemporary” Annelise Riles Jack G. Clarke ’52 Professor of Law in Far East Legal Studies, Professor of Anthropology, and Director, Clarke Program in East Asian Law and Culture, Cornell University “Theorizing the Gift: Law, Markets, Love” 2014 Mini-Seminars Leela Gandhi Professor of English, University of Chicago “Moral Imperfection: An Ethics for democracy” Ursula K. Heise Professor, Department of English/ Institute of the Environment and Sustainability, University of California, Los Angeles “BioCities: Urban Ecology and the Cultural Imagination” Christopher Newfield Professor of Literature and American Studies, English Department, University of California, Santa Barbara “Critical Theory and the Post-Capitalist University” Tricia Rose Director, Center for the Study of Race and Ethnicity in America, and Professor of Africana Studies, Brown University “Black Popular Culture in the Age of Color-Blindness and Mass Cultural Commodification” “One of the most enriching intellectual experiences of my academic life.” Karine Côté-Boucher, York University “This summer odyssey transformed not only many ideas I previously had about theory and criticism, but also the very experience of being an academic.” Katarzyna Bojarska, Polish Academy of Sciences “In this community of critics, away from the familiar ecology of one’s home institution, one is offered new ways of seeing, new questions, new connections.” David Russell, Princeton University “At SCT the exposure to learning is absolutely open and continuous.” Stefano Selenu, Brown University “At SCT there is a spirit of lively, respectful exchange, serious commitment to critical dialogue, and actual interest in listening to others.” Lynda Paul, Yale University “Our classroom was a rich mosaic of heterogeneous disciplinary backgrounds and interests.” Alicia Garcia, Johns Hopkins University 593 To order, visit our website at www.saacrossdisciplines.org South Asia Across the Disciplines Edited by MUZAFFAR ALAM, ROBERT GOLDMAN, and GAURI VISWANATHAN PU B L I S H E D J O I N T LY B Y T H E UN I V E R S I T Y O F CA L I F O R N I A PR E S S, T H E UN I V E R S I T Y O F CH I C AG O PR E S S, A N D CO L U M B I A UN I V E R S I T Y PR E S S Into the Twilight of Sanskrit Court Poetry The Sena Salon of Bengal and Beyond JESSE ROSS KNUTSON “In this wonderfully erudite and engaging study, hermeneutics and philology serve historical analysis while historical understandings inform genuinely sophisticated literary criticism. Jesse Knutson’s original insights are consistently articulated with energy, wit, and intellectual daring.” —Lee Siegel, author of Love in a Dead Language The Yogin and the Madman Reading the Biographical Corpus of Tibet’s Great Saint Milarepa ANDREW QUINTMAN “The most important study yet published about the literary tra- dition surrounding the greatest single work in Tibetan literature. It does more than any previous study to give historical access to the life (and lives) of Tibet’s most revered and influential yogin and poet.”—Roger R. Jackson, Carleton College Text to Tradition The Naisadhı̄yacarita and Literary Community in South Asia DEVEN M.PATEL “Deven M. Patel builds a nu- anced, complex, and compelling picture of the cultural roles the Naisadhı̄yacarita fulfilled over a period of some 700 years. The result is a fascinating case study of the ways the Sanskrit tradition sought to come to grips with a major work.”—David Shulman, Hebrew University of Jerusalem Writing Resistance The Rhetorical Imagination of Hindi Dalit Literature LAURA R. BRUECK “Writing Resistance is an original and timely contribution to scholar- ship on Hindi literature, modern Indian literature and Dalit studies. The work is well researched, using a judicious combination of Hindi and English sources and provides, an overview of the central concerns of Hindi Dalit literature as both a political and aesthetic movement.” —Allison Busch, Columbia University 594 N E W L I T E R AT U R E T I T L E S f r o m The Graphic Novel An Introduction Jan Baetens and Hugo Frey $90.00: Hb: 978-1-107-02523-3: 280 pp. $27.99: Pb: 978-1-107-65576-8 The Cambridge Introduction to Literature and Psychoanalysis Jean-Michel Rabaté Cambridge Introductions to Literature $90.00: Hb: 978-1-107-02758-9: 250 pp. $27.99: Pb: 978-1-107-42391-6 Beckett, Modernism and the Material Imagination Steven Connor $80.00: Hb: 978-1-107-05922-1: 240 pp. $27.99: Pb: 978-1-107-62911-0 Shakespeare and the Digital World Redefining Scholarship and Practice Edited by Christie Carson and Peter Kirwan $80.00: Hb: 978-1-107-06436-2: 280 pp. $29.99: Pb: 978-1-107-66078-6 The Hidden Jane Austen John Wiltshire $80.00: Hb: 978-1-107-06187-3: 240 pp. $27.99: Pb: 978-1-107-64364-2 Tales from Shakespeare Creative Collisions Graham Holderness $44.99: Hb: 978-1-107-07129-2: 240 pp. Trinity College Library Dublin A History Peter Fox $45.00: Hb: 978-1-107-01120-5: 400 pp. The Cambridge History of American Poetry Edited by Alfred Bendixen and Stephen Burt $165.00: Hb: 978-1-107-00336-1: 750 pp. Mrs Dalloway Virginia Woolf Edited by Anne Fernald The Cambridge Edition of the Works of Virginia Woolf $140.00: Hb: 978-1-107-02878-4: 500 pp. Taps at Reveille F. 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Worthen $95.00: Hb: 978-1-107-05595-7: 280 pp. Prices subject to change. www.cambridge.org/literature @CambUP_LitNY 595 Victorian Literature, Energy, and the Ecological Imagination Allen MacDuffie Cambridge Studies in Nineteenth-Century Literature and Culture $95.00: Hb: 978-1-107-06437-9: 320 pp. Virginia Woolf and the Professions Evelyn Chan $90.00: Hb: 978-1-107-07024-0: 256 pp. Staging Conventions in Medieval English Theatre Philip Butterworth $99.00: Hb: 978-1-107-01548-7: 250 pp. The Theatrical Public Sphere Christopher B. Balme $95.00: Hb: 978-1-107-00683-6: 225 pp. The Shakespearean Archive Experiments in New Media from the Renaissance to Postmodernity Alan Galey $95.00: Hb: 978-1-107-04064-9: 260 pp. British Writers and the Approach of World War II Steven Ellis $99.00: Hb: 978-1-107-05458-5: 200 pp. Modernism and Autobiography Edited by Maria DiBattista and Emily Wittman $99.00: Hb: 978-1-107-02522-6: 250 pp. Masculinity and the New Imperialism Rewriting Manhood in British Popular Literature, 1870–1914 Bradley Deane Cambridge Studies in Nineteenth- Century Literature and Culture $95.00: Hb: 978-1-107-06607-6: 310 pp. Evolution and Victorian Culture Edited by Bernard V. Lightman and Bennett Zon Cambridge Studies in Nineteenth- Century Literature and Culture $95.00: Hb: 978-1-107-02842-5: 344 pp. Mortality and Form in Late Modernist Literature John Whittier-Ferguson $90.00: Hb: 978-1-107-06001-2: 240 pp. C A M B R I D G E U N I V E R S I T Y P R E S S Prices subject to change. The Cambridge Companion to Autobiography Edited by Maria DiBattista and Emily Wittman $85.00: Hb: 978-1-107-02810-4: 260 pp. $29.99: Pb: 978-1-107-60918-1 The Cambridge Companion to the City in Literature Edited by Kevin R. McNamara $90.00: Hb: 978-1-107-02803-6: 539 pp. $29.99: Pb: 978-1-107-60915-0 The Cambridge Companion to the Italian Renaissance Edited by Michael Wyatt $85.00: Hb: 978-0-521-87606-3: 424 pp. $29.99: Pb: 978-0-521-69946-4 The Cambridge Companion to Irish Modernism Edited by Joe Cleary $90.00: Hb: 978-1-107-03141-8: 280 pp. $29.99: Pb: 978-1-107-65581-2 CAMBRIDGE COMPANIONS www.cambridge.org/literature @CambUP_LitNY 596 Philology The Forgotten Origins of the Modern Humanities James Turner “This fascinating book makes a powerful argument: that the modern humanities derived in large part from the broad tradition of philology. This genealogy, Turner shows, clarifies the origins of both the modern research university and its disciplines, and explains similarities between such apparently diverse fields as history and comparative religion. This is a gripping intellectual detective story.” —Anthony Grafton, Princeton University Cloth $35.00 978-0-691-14564-8 Lucky Hans and Other Merz Fairy Tales Kurt Schwitters Translated and introduced by Jack Zipes Illustrated by Irvine Peacock “Among the few wonderful and imperishable things of the twentieth century.” —Michael Hofmann, New York Review of Books “A handy anthology. . . . Schwitters’s Merz fairy tales are lies that speak the truth.” —Peter Read, Times Literary Supplement Paper $16.95 978-0-691-16099-3 Slavery and the Culture of Taste Simon Gikandi “This is an absorbing and . . . well-executed study. It is nuanced, erudite and wide- ranging, shedding much valuable new light on the vexed relationships between eighteenth-century aesthetic culture and the outrageous history that shadows it.” —Carl Plasa, Review of English Studies Paper $29.95 978-0-691-16097-9 Faust I & II Goethe’s Collected Works, Volume 2 Johann Wolfgang von Goethe Edited and translated by Stuart Atkins With a new introduction by David E. Wellbery One of the great classics of European literature, Faust is Goethe’s most complex and profound work. To tell the dramatic and tragic story of one man’s pact with the Devil in exchange for knowledge and power, Goethe drew from an immense variety of cultural and historical material, and a wealth of poetic and theatrical traditions. Princeton Classics Paper $16.95 978-0-691-16229-4 See our E-Books at press.princeton.edu 597 From Owlworks An Essay on the Original of Literature Daniel Defoe The Seven Deadly Sins of Legal Writing Theodore L. Blumberg To order, call : 1- 800 - 9 7 9 -16 9 8 The young Daniel Defoe thought he was destined to become a Presbyterian minister. Instead, he became a man of letters: poet, political journalist, economic essayist, nov- elist. His Essay on the Original of Literature is a writer’s glorification of the invention and craft of literature, radically understood. A supremely cogent guide to good legal writing. Blumberg not only provides a sleek typology of the profession’s most common literary sins; he explores the motivations be- hind them. At once witty and exhilarating, The Seven Deadly Sins of Legal Writing will change the way lawyers and scholars do business. O W L W O R K S OW An Essay on the Original of Literature DANIEL DEFOE __________ α� ω T h e S e v e n D e a d l y S i n s o f L e g a l W r i t i n g Theodore L. Blumberg � � pmla12:Layout 1 8/12/12 12:34 PM Page 1 598 Far from My Father Véronique Tadjo Translated by Amy Baram Reid $22.50 | PAPER | CARAF BOOKS: CARIBBEAN AND AFRICAN LITERATURE TRANSLATED FROM FRENCH � is novel by the poet and writer, public intellectual and critic, Véronique Tadjo, from the Ivory Coast, illuminates both the civil strife in that country and the tension between traditional mores and modern lifestyles. The Fury and Cries of Women Angèle Rawiri Translated by Sara Hanaburgh $24.50 | PAPER | CARAF BOOKS: CARIBBEAN AND AFRICAN LITERATURE TRANSLATED FROM FRENCH In this � rst of her work to appear in English, Angèle Rawiri o� ers a gripping account of a modern woman whose search for feminism on her own terms exposes contemporary issues for women worldwide. Between the Novel and the News The Emergence of American Women’s Writing Sari Edelstein $29.50 | PAPER | AMERICAN LITERATURES INITIATIVE By drawing attention to American women’s writing as both a commitment to and a critique of print culture, Sari Edelstein shows how this relationship between journalism and � ction manifested a female literary tradition. The Ghost behind the Masks The Victorian Poets and Shakespeare W. David Shaw $39.50 | CLOTH | VICTORIAN LITERATURE AND CULTURE SERIES Tracing Shakespeare’s in� uence on selected Victorian poets, David Shaw argues that literary in� uence involves an embrace of rhetoric and style. The Life and Undeath of Autonomy in American Literature Geoff Hamilton $24.50 | PAPER | AMERICAN LITERATURES INITIATIVE Taking autonomy as a fundamental concept of the American imagination, Geo� Hamilton traces its origin back to classical Greek thought and its evolution from a nourishing liberty to a sterile isolation. Bodies and Bones Feminist Rehearsal and Imagining Caribbean Belonging Tanya L. Shields $24.50 | PAPER | NEW WORLD STUDIES | MODERN LANGUAGE INITIATIVE Applying an original methodology she calls “feminist rehearsal” to Caribbean history, Tanya Shields draws on genres ranging from literature to art and public statuary to highlight the gendered connections between them. Writing through Jane Crow Race and Gender Politics in African American Literature Ayesha K. Hardison $29.50 | PAPER | AMERICAN LITERATURES INITIATIVE Ayesha Hardison examines African American literature and its representation of black women during the pivotal decades of the 1940s and 1950s. WWW.UPRESS.VIRGINIA.EDU VIRGINIA.EDU VIRGINIA Bodies and Bones Tanya L. Shields MODERN LANGUAGE INITIATIVE Applying an original methodology she calls “feminist rehearsal” to Caribbean history, Tanya Shields draws on genres ranging from literature to art and public statuary to highlight the gendered connections between them. $29.50 By drawing attention to American women’s writing as both a commitment to and a critique of print culture, Sari Edelstein shows how this relationship between journalism and � ction manifested a female literary tradition. The Life and Undeath of Autonomy $24.50 Taking autonomy as a fundamental concept of the American imagination, Geo� Hamilton traces its origin back to classical Greek thought and its evolution from a nourishing liberty to a sterile isolation. The Ghost behind the Masks The Victorian Poets and Shakespeare W. David Shaw VICTORIAN LITERATURE AND CULTURE SERIES Tracing Shakespeare’s in� uence on selected Victorian poets, David Shaw argues that literary in� uence involves an embrace of rhetoric and style. The Fury and Cries of Women CARAF BOOKS: CARIBBEAN AND AFRICAN LITERATURE TRANSLATED FROM FRENCH In this � rst of her work to appear in English, Angèle Rawiri o� ers a gripping account of a modern woman whose search for feminism on her own terms exposes contemporary issues for women worldwide. 599 utppublishing.com New from University of Toronto Press Modern Italian Poets Translators of the Impossible by Jacob S.D. Blakesley This book shows how an entirely new Italian genre created by Eugenio Montale’s Quaderno di traduzioni, shaped the poetic practice of the poet-translators who worked within it. Body of Vision Northrop Frye and the Poetics of Mind by Michael Sinding This book connects Northrop Frye’s groundbreaking contributions to our understanding of the human imagination with cognitive poetics through detailed studies of major texts including Dante’s Divine Comedy and Milton’s “Lycidas.” Eugenio Montale, The Fascist Storm and the Jewish Sunflower by David M. Hertz Eugenio Montale, winner of the 1975 Nobel Prize in Literature, was one of the greatest modern poets. In this book, Hertz vividly shows how Montale’s works abound with secret codes that speak to a lost lover and muse. Inspiring Fellini Literary Collaborations Behind the Scenes by Federico Pacchioni Inspiring Fellini explores the dynamics of Fellini’s cinematic collaborations with some of the greatest scriptwriters of twentieth- century Italy including Pier Paolo Pasolini, Ennio Flaiano, Tullio Pinelli, and Andrea Zanzotto. Available from all fi ne bookstores • 1-888-330-8477 • www.bloomsbury.com NEW TITLES FROM BLOOMSBURY Bloomsbury Andrea Levy Contemporary Critical Perspectives Edited by Jeannette Baxter and David James May 2014 | 176pp PB 9781441113603 | $29.95 HB 9781441160454 | $100.00 Barbara Kingsolver’s World Nature, Art, and the Twenty-First Century Linda Wagner-Martin May 2014 | 232pp PB 9781623564469 | $29.95 HB 9781623566289 | $100.00 Crimes of the Future Theory and its Global Reproduction Jean-Michel Rabaté April 2014 | 280pp PB 9781441172877 | $29.95 HB 9781441146342 | $120.00 Perspectives on World War I Poetry Robert C. Evans May 2014 | 240pp PB 9781472513106 | $27.95 HB 9781472510211 | $90.00 Science Fiction A Guide for the Perplexed Sherryl Vint May 2014 | 208pp PB 9781441194602 | $24.95 HB 9781441118745 | $80.00 The Lost Frontier Reading Annie Proulx’s Wyoming Stories Mark Asquith June 2014 | 240pp PB 9781623568191 | $29.95 HB 9781623561475 | $100.00 600 BOOK FROM THE GROUND from point to point Xu Bing A day in the life of an offi ce worker, told completely in the symbols, icons, and logos of modern life. 120 pp., $24.95 cloth THE BOOK ABOUT XU BING’S BOOK FROM THE GROUND Mathieu Borysevicz The creation of Xu Bing’s Book from the Ground documented and described in text, images, and photographs. 160 pp., 100 color illus., 16 b&w illus., $24.95 cloth ŽIŽEK’S JOKES (Did you hear the one about Hegel and negation?) Slavoj Žižek Žižek as comedian: jokes in the service of philosophy. 160 pp., $17.95 cloth LITERARY GAMING Astrid Ensslin A new analytical framework for un- derstanding literary videogames, the literary-ludic spectrum, illustrated by close readings of selected works. 216 pp., 21 illus., $30 cloth THE RETURN OF COMRADE RICARDO FLORES MAGÓN Claudio Lomnitz A tale, never before told, of anarchy, cooperation, and betrayal at the margins of the Mexican revolution. Distributed for Zone Books 608 pp., 97 illus., $34.95 cloth THE CULTURE OF THE COPY Striking Likenesses, Unreasonable Facsimiles Revised and updated Hillel Schwartz A novel attempt to make sense of our preoccupation with copies of all kinds—from counterfeits to instant replay, from parrots to photocopies. Distributed for Zone Books 480 pp., 24 illus., $28.95 paper RECOLLECTION Art, New Media, and Social Memory Richard Rinehart and Jon Ippolito The fi rst book on the philosophy and aesthetics of digital preserva- tion examines the challenge posed by new media to our long-term social memory. A Leonardo Book • 296 pp., 88 illus., $35 cloth The MIT Press mitpress.mit.edu The MIT Press 601 M c G I L L - Q U E E N ’ S U N I V E R S I T Y P R E S S m q u p . c a Follow us on Facebook.com/McGillQueens and Twitter.com/Scholarmqup Adam Buenosayres A Novel L E O P O L D O M A R E C H A L Translated by Norman Cheadle and Sheila Ethier Introduction and Notes by Norman Cheadle 978-0-7735-4309-6 $29.95 paperback “Adam Buenosayres is one of the most outstanding anomalies of Argentinian literature and Norman Cheadle’s translation is excellent and faithful. It should be in any library with an important Latin American collection.” David William Foster, School of International Letters and Cultures, Arizona State University The first-ever English translation of “Argentina’s Ulysses.” The Ohio State University Press www.ohiostatepress.org 800-621-2736 Imperial Media $49.95 cloth 978-0-8142-1251-6 $14.95 CD 978-0-8142-9355-3 Aaron Worth Colonial Networks and Information Technologies in the British Literary Imagination, 1857–1918 Odyssean Identities in Modern Cultures Edited by Hunter Gardner and Sheila Murnaghan $79.95 cloth 978-0-8142-1248-6 $14.95 CD 978-0-8142-9350-8 The Journey Home Cheikh Thiam Return to the Kingdom of Childhood $49.95 cloth 978-0-8142-1250-9 $14.95 CD 978-0-8142-9354-6 Re-envisioning the Legacy and Philosophical Relevance of Negritude Thomas Hardy’s Brains Suzanne Keen $64.95 cloth 978-0-8142-1249-3 $14.95 CD 978-0-8142-9352-2 Psychology, Neurology, and Hardy’s Imagination 602 603 604 “[Byrne] breathes yet more life into Austen and her works by considering the objects that populated her days…. [� e] thematic approach o� ers a revealing picture of Austen and a lively social history….paints a fresh and vivid picture of an inimitable woman.” — � e Economist Available in Paperback Literary Lives “Winder has painstakingly sketched a fully � eshed out portrait of Plath’s life during that hot, seminal summer, o� ering a glimpse into the raison d’etre behind Plath’s revered 1963 roman a clef, � e Bell Jar. . . . Winder goes into the dizzying, delightful detail.” — USA Today Available in Paperback “Adam Begley’s Updike is a model of what a literary biography should be: rich with penetrating insights not only about the life but also about the work. It will enthrall long-time Updike fans and help create generations of new ones.” — Francine Prose Available in Hardcover HarperAcademic.com 605 The MLA International Bibliography is pleased to announce the launch of a video tutorial series on searching the bibliography. New tutorials will be released every few months. If you have a suggestion for a topic that you’d like to see covered in a tutorial, write to bibliography@mla.org. Please feel free to link to our tutorials, embed them in your syllabus or LibGuides, and share them with anyone who might find them useful. Currently available: “What Is the MLA International Bibliography?” “Searching the MLA International Bibliography versus Using the Library’s Home Page Search Function” “Names as Subjects in the MLA International Bibliography on EBSCO” “Names as Subjects in the MLA International Bibliography on ProQuest” “Keyword Search vs. Subject Search in the MLA International Bibliography on EBSCO” “Keyword Search vs. Subject Search in the MLA International Bibliography on ProQuest” Find the tutorials at www.mla.org/bibtutorials and on the MLA’s YouTube channel (www.youtube.com/user/ModernLanguageAssoc). THE ONLINE DATABASE FOR LANGUAGE, LITERATURE, AND MORE 2015/2016 Fellowships The Society for the Humanities at Cornell University seeks interdisciplinary research projects that investigate the cul- tural, social, artistic, philosophical, and political implications of TIME as a concept and experience that lies at the heart of the humanities and the arts. Cornell’s David R. Atkinson Center for a Sustainable Future co-sponsors one fellowship to support scholarly work addressing the theme as it relates to energy, the environment or economic development. Six to eight Fellows will be appointed. Each Society Fellow will receive $45,000. Application materials, including letters of recommendation, must be submitted on or before October 1, 2014. Applicants must have received the Ph.D. degree before January 1, 2014. For additional information and application link, visit: w w w. a rt s . c o r n e l l . e d u / s o c h u m Director: Timothy Murray Senior Scholars in Residence Cathy N. Davidson Director, Futures Initiative, Graduate Center, CUNY and CoFounder HASTAC Tejumola Olaniyan Louise Durham Mead Professor of English, University of Wisconsin, Madison Elizabeth A. Povinelli Franz Boas Professor of Anthropology, Columbia University THE SOCIETY FOR THE HUMANITIES, CORNELL UNIVERSITY time M ar ia M ir an d a, im ag e f ro m S h o ck in t h e E ar (1 99 7) 606 NEW in the MLA Approaches to Teaching World Literature Series Approaches to Teaching Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales SECOND EDITION Peter W. Travis and Frank Grady, eds. “A worthy and needed successor to the 1980 edition, this volume charts in comprehensive fashion the goals that Chaucerians now have when they teach The Canterbury Tales and the methods they have devised to achieve them.” —Warren Ginsberg Knight Professor of Humanities, University of Oregon xii & 243 pp. Cloth ISBN: 978-1-60329-140-8 [AP131C] $40.00 (MLA members $32.00) Paper ISBN: 978-1-60329-141-5 [AP131P] $24.00 (MLA members $19.20) Approaches to Teaching Coetzee’s Disgrace and Other Works Laura Wright, Jane Poyner, and Elleke Boehmer, eds. “The sheer range of critical and pedagogical approaches canvased is little short of astonishing, and the ingenuity and effort that these teachers of Coetzee put into preparing their courses should be a source of real inspiration to their readers.” —Gareth Cornwell Rhodes University, South Africa xii & 248 pp. Cloth ISBN: 978-1-60329-138-5 [AP130C] $40.00 (MLA members $32.00) Paper ISBN: 978-1-60329-139-2 [AP130P] $24.00 (MLA members $19.20) Approaches to Teaching Petrarch’s Canzoniere and the Petrarchan Tradition Christopher Kleinhenz and Andrea Dini, eds. “A solid and much-needed volume. There is a nice balance between established scholars and younger ones, as well as between essays that range over Petrarch’s entire career and those that focus on individual themes or poems.” —Jane Tylus New York University xii & 300 pp. Cloth ISBN: 978-1-60329-137-8 [AP129C] $40.00 (MLA members $32.00) Paper ISBN: 978-1-60329-136-1 [AP129P] $24.00 (MLA members $19.20) Phone orders 646 576-5161 • bookorders@mla.org • www.mla.org E-books are available from Apple, Kindle, Kobo, and Nook. Binder2.pdf 591 593 594 595 596 597 598 599 600 601 602 603 604 605 606 
work_jbi72nvtxfhfzgftrzwg4emkpq	----	JLIS.it Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015) DOI: 10.4403/jlis.it-10908 Sapere digitale e pensiero critico. Intorno al convegno “Noetica versus Informatica: le nuove strutture della comunicazione scientifica” (Roma, 19-20 novembre 2013) Luigi Catalani Merito di Alfredo Serrai, direttore scientifico del convegno internazionale “Noetica versus Informatica: le nuove strutture della comunicazione scientifica”, non è stato soltanto quello di aver riunito venti rinomati docenti ed esperti, tra filosofi, docum entalisti, scienziati e tecnologi per discutere intorno alle questioni più attuali relative alla gestione della conoscenza e alla trasmissione del sapere scientifico, ma anche quello di aver offerto, fin dall’enunciazione del titolo del convegno, una chiav e di lettura funzionale ad una riflessione interdisciplinare sulle profonde trasformazioni che la cultura digitale sta generando non solo nelle pratiche dei professionisti del settore ma, ad un livello filosoficamente più pregnante, nei processi cognitivi dei fruitori della conoscenza 1. 1 Il conve gno, promosso e orga nizza to da P romoroma, si è svolto il 19 e il 20 nove mbre 2013 a Roma , ne lla splendida cornice de l T e mpio di Adria no. Ringra zio Fia mme tta L. Ca ta la ni, Sapere d igitale e pensiero critico. JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 208 1 Il conflitto epistemico Ponendo con la sua consueta nitidezza intellettuale la questione del conflitto epistemico in atto fra noetica e informatica, Serrai (L’informazione può essere indipendente dalla Noesi? ) ha posto all’ordine del giorno di tutti gli addetti ai lavori l’urgenza di un approfondimento teorico dell’impatto delle nuove tecnologie dell’informazione sull’insieme delle scienze della documentazione, che sono chiamate ad elaborare in tempi brevi strategie effica ci non solo di ‘resistenza’ ma anche di rilancio del proprio ruolo in un contesto culturale, professionale e informazionale che negli ultimi due decenni è radicalmente cambiato. Il riconoscimento della contrapposizione, forse inevitabile, tra l’impianto noetico tradizionale e le regole delle reti informatiche, non è dunque una distaccata presa d’atto di uno stato delle cose neutrale, bensì una chiave di lettura critica, ossia epistemicamente problematica, che l’intensa due giorni romana ha non solo legittimato ma rinforzato nelle sue ragioni speculative e nei suoi presupposti concettuali di fondo. Come sfruttare gli indiscutibili vantaggi derivanti dalle nuove tecnologie informatiche senza abdicare alla propria funzione culturale e alla propria autorevolez za sociale? Mediatori dell’informazione, data scientists e gestori della conoscenza condividono un misto di entusiasmo e disagio, ma è solo da una riflessione comune provocata da un malcelato senso di inquietudine che può nascere una nuova consapevolezza e un rafforzamento delle proprie prerogative professionali. Se è vero che l’informazione non può considerarsi indipendente dalla noesi, in quanto i dati si fanno informazione solo a fronte di un sistema cognitivo e ricettivo, è altrettanto vero che l’evoluz ione Sa bba , coordina trice scie ntifica de l conve gno, e Fiore lla Ca rne va le , se gre ta ria orga nizza tiva , pe r a ve rmi a ge vola to ne lla ra ccolta de i ma te ria li de l conve gno. JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015) JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 209 informatica non dovrebbe trascurare il plurisecolare contributo teorico proveniente dalla «scienza delle scienze», la bibliografia, da intendersi, come avvertì già Gabriel Naudé nel 1633, non come un mero elenco alfabetico di autori e opere, bensì com e la loro «disposizione ordinata e sistematica» (oeconomia), come metastruttura logico-noetica, ossia come la disciplina che presiede all’organizzazione scientifico-teoretica delle conoscenze (Serrai 1973). Serrai auspica dunque che informatici e bibliogra fi cooperino per l’allestimento di strutture informazionali universali, facendo tesoro dell’inadeguatezza dei sistemi classificatori tradizionali, e delle potenzialità cognitive legate alla prospettiva di una mente allargata. La predisposizione di un’enciclopedia informatica del sapere universale è in fondo un’impresa essenzialmente bibliografica e non meramente elettronica, giacché presuppone l’individuazione e la classificazione del corpus testuale esistente. 2 Quale intelligenza? In gioco non c’è soltanto il destino della nostra tradizione bibliografica bensì, come ha mostrato con grande efficacia Luciano Floridi (Presente e futuro prossimo dell’intelligenza artificiale), la centralità stessa dell’uomo nel processo di gestione dell’informazione, che la rivoluzione informatica (battezzata dal filosofo la «quarta rivoluzione») ha definitivamente ridimensionato, in seguito alla diffusione esponenziale di macchine che processano e manipolano informazioni in modo autonomo (Floridi 2012). In un mondo avvolto da tecnologie, alle quali affidiamo settori sempre più consistenti e sensibili della nostra esistenza, Floridi avverte che occorre ed occorrerà sempre più intelligenza, intesa come la capacità di interrogare l’enorme mole di dati (dai quali rischiamo a ltrimenti di essere travolti senza riuscire ad estrarne informazioni L. Ca ta la ni, Sapere d igitale e pensiero critico. JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 210 epistemologicamente produttive) che nella maggior parte sono prodotti, elaborati e comprensibili soltanto dalle macchine. Se dunque la rivoluzione dell’informazione ci consente di comprendere meglio non tanto il futuro prossimo delle presunte macchine intelligenti, quanto alcuni aspetti rilevanti del nostro stare nel mondo, la metafora della «mente estesa», ripresa da Alberto Oliverio (Cervello, tecnologie e mente estesa), serve a ricordar ci che la nostra produzione intellettuale dipenderà in misura sempre maggiore dall’apporto di tecnologie capaci di aumentare le potenzialità della mente umana. È la prospettiva del filosofo della mente Daniel Dennett, che ha definito gli esseri umani «macc hine cognitive», e del filosofo cognitivo Andy Clark, che ha utilizzato il termine «wideware» per indicare la struttura allargata della mente intesa come frutto dell’incontro di cervello, corpo e realtà esterna. Una prospettiva che lo stesso Floridi giudica interessante (prima che lo dimostrassero i neuroscienziati, già Platone – come ha ricordato Flavia Cristiano – riflettendo nel Fedro sul passaggio dall’oralità alla scrittura, aveva intuito che gli strumenti di cui si serve la mente umana producono inevitabilmente effetti sulla mente stessa), ma sulla quale lo stesso filosofo esprime qualche riserva, motivata da due considerazioni: i filosofi della mente non hanno finora elaborato una definizione concorde della mente; la teoria della mente estesa è basata sulla centralità della mente, che in realtà oggi, come si è visto, appare ampiamente compromessa. 3 Quale informatica? D’altro canto la rivoluzione informatica è un fenomeno tutt’altro che neutrale e monolitico: anche la sua manifestazione più recente, ossia il w orld w ide w eb, capace di modificare radicalmente in appena vent’anni le strutture della conoscenza scientifica, ha già alle sue spalle una storia piuttosto sfaccettata (Castellucci 2009), nella quale JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015) JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 211 la biblioteconomia si è inizialmente riconosci uta, per poi ritrarsi dinanzi alle recenti derive di massificazione e commercializzazione. Alberto Petrucciani (Convergenza o divaricazione? La crisi dei paradigmi di organizzazione dell’informazione) ha mostrato come il passaggio dal primo w eb, inteso principalmente come strumento di documentazione, al secondo w eb, inteso come strumento di comunicazione, abbia comportato il progressivo, netto allontanamento dalle funzioni bibliografiche cui spontaneamente veniva accostato dagli addetti ai lavori. E così qu ella che inizialmente appariva come una possibile convergenza tra l’elaborazione concettuale della scienza bibliografica e la realizzazione di infrastrutture tecnologiche per la gestione dell’informazione, si è poi rivelata come una divaricazione sempre più ampia tra un paradigma volto a favorire lo sviluppo di conoscenza ed un altro orientato al business. Una critica agli sviluppi recenti della net society che nel contributo di Osvaldo Duilio Rossi e Gabriele Alese (Rete, cultura e dissenso. L’autorete della Net Society) appare ancora più circostanziata, corroborata da modelli di pensiero critico (Adorno, Debord, Baudrillard, Foucault, Heidegger) che appaiono particolarmente appropriati alla denuncia dei social network come nuova industria di un sapere pragmatico, conformista e omologante, che nulla a che fare con il sapere scientifico. Il w eb 2.0 è una rete opaca e pervasiva, che si piega alle istanze di profitto dell’industria culturale attraverso un sofisticato controllo sociale e una sistematica espulsio ne del dissenso (Metitieri 2009). L’ambiguità epistemica dei social netw ork in quanto collettori decentralizzati di informazioni e di preferenze provoca un’asimmetria informativa, laddove gli utenti devono invece rassegnarsi a perdere le tracce dei propri comportamenti online. Le conseguenze delle ultime tendenze della rete si estendono a vari livelli: il deprezzamento della merce intellettuale, la disgregazione della paternità e dell’autorevolezza del pensiero , la messa in L. Ca ta la ni, Sapere d igitale e pensiero critico. JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 212 discussione dell’attendibilità delle informazioni – su cui si è soffermata Judith Simon (Trust, knowledge and technologies of information, communication and computation) – infine la necessità di nuove specializzazioni professionali e la produzione di un nuovo sapere, il know ledge management, per la gestione dell’enorme patrimonio di dati e di informazioni posseduto dalle organizzazioni. Come ha sottolineato Domenico Bogliolo (Lo Zen e l’arte della manutenzione del Knowledge Management), nell’ambito del know ledge management, la produzione di conoscenza è l’esito di un processo fluido, caotico (quindi non replicabile da un calcolatore), per cui ne deriva una concezione dell’informazione intesa come potenziale epistemologico in divenire piuttosto che come dato codificato, ordinato e cristallizzato in un database. Non meno riuscito è risultato il tentativo di Paola Castellucci (S ense AND Sensibility: l’algoritmo di Google) di svelare alcuni meccanismi tutt’altro che trascurabili di Google, analizzato come fenomeno insieme tecnologico e culturale, ossia come macchina narrativa e interfaccia cognitiva capace di stimolare, attraverso strumenti simbolici (che la Castellucci decodifica mediante il confronto con le questioni epistemologiche che emergono dalla lettura del celebre romanzo Sense and Sensibility), tanto gli umanisti quanto i tecnologi. Come nel romanzo di Jane Austen, le nuove modalità di conoscenza rendono inadeguati gli strumenti interpretativi tradizionali e richiedono l’utilizzo combinato di codici cognitivi diversi, capaci di cogliere nuove chiavi di lettura e di produrre altri strumenti di conoscenza. 4 Biblioteche, trasparenza, condivisione Per quanto riguarda gli aspetti più legati alla pratica professionale, le nuove tecniche di memorizzazione e comunicazione informatica hanno provocato un ripensamento e una ridefinizione dei servizi bibliotecari, costretti a confrontarsi con l’offerta della rete e a JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015) JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 213 ripensarsi per continuare a offrire, in un contesto informazionale profondamente rinnovato, la garanzia della conservazione dei documenti e del rinvenimento dei corrispondenti nuclei semantici, favorendo così la generazione di nuova conoscenza. Come ha messo in evidenza Giovanni Solimine (La comunicazione scientifica, le promesse dell’informatica e la funzione formativa delle biblioteche), gli utenti della rete, inebriati da un senso di ‘onnipotenza informazionale’, tendono a perdere di vista il contesto nel quale vengono prodotti i contenuti, rinunciando a quelle operazioni di analisi, selezione e validazione delle informazioni , tipiche di ogni agenzia di intermediazione culturale, che agli addetti ai lavori appaiono invece come attività indispensabili per chiunque voglia districarsi nel mare magnum del docuverso o dell’infosfera, per usare i due efficaci concetti teorizzati ris pettivamente da Ted Nelson e Luciano Floridi. Per far sì che i raffinati servizi messi a punto dalla comunità bibliotecaria non restino sottoutilizzati, penalizzati paradossalmente proprio dalla loro ‘trasparenza’, Solimine suggerisce di accentuare la funz ione formativa delle biblioteche incoraggiando le attività di information literacy (Solimine 2010). D’altro canto, Alberto Petrucciani ha ricordato che il mondo delle biblioteche, mosso da sincero interesse verso le nuove tecnologie informatiche, ha saputo cogliere con grande rapidità le opportunità messe a disposizione dalla rete. Emblematico il caso delle biblioteche digitali – che Anna Maria Tammaro (Biblioteche digitali come strumento per gli studi filologici) ha descritto con particolare riferimento a lla filologia computazionale inaugurata intorno alla metà del secolo scorso da padre Roberto Busa (Tammaro e Salarelli 2006) – ossia collezioni che prendono le mosse da un’inevitabile selezione dei contenuti (operazione sempre rischiosa o discutibile, come avverte Serrai), ma che si basano su un’attività realmente collaborativa e capace di coinvolgere gli stessi utenti secondo modalità di interazione ben diverse da quelle consentite dai sistemi di condivisione delle informazioni tipici del w eb 2.0, nei qual i Osvaldo L. Ca ta la ni, Sapere d igitale e pensiero critico. JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 214 Duilio Rossi e Gabriele Alese hanno riconosciuto, come detto, una nuova, subdola modalità di esercizio del controllo (e del potere). Un’altra buona pratica è rappresentata dalla strategia dell’accesso aperto alla conoscenza scientifica, ossia del la libera circolazione dei risultati della ricerca, in merito alla quale Paola Gargiulo (L’accesso aperto alla conoscenza tra opportunità e barriere) ha evidenziato opportunità e possibili sviluppi: il modo stesso di fare ricerca può avvantaggiarsi delle potenzialità delle nuove piattaforme di condivisione di contenuti nella misura in cui sposa con convinzione il concetto di trasparenza. Un concetto che invece Google, come è emerso dalla relazione di Paola Castellucci, esalta mimando in realtà l’etica dell’open access, giacché custodisce le sue infrastrutture tecnologiche con rigidi brevetti. 5 Semantica, ontologie, metadati Un punto irrisolto, su cui informatici, bibliografi e bibliotecari dovranno impegnarsi ancora a lungo in un lavoro auspicabilmente sinergico, è quello relativo alla traduzione semantica della conoscenza, ossia ad una mappatura della noesi concettuale. Se è vero, come ha ricordato Alfredo Serrai, che la conoscenza è formalizzabile (e quindi informatizzabile) soltanto per segmenti limitati e che i metodi tradizionali di indicizzazione bibliografica e documentaria appaiono oggi ancora più inadeguati di fronte all’impetuoso incremento dell’informazione scientifica, è altrettanto vero, come ha fatto notare Luciano Floridi, che i computer sono a semantica zero, o quasi. C’è da chiedersi allora, come ha invitato a fare Flavia Cristiano, se l’evoluzione del w eb semantico potrà restituire una centralità al ruolo delle biblioteche, rinnovando magari l’ideale della biblioteca come luogo di conservazi one del sapere universale preconizzato nel 1715 da Leibniz nel frammento Apokatastasis panton (Givone 2005). JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015) JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 215 Il passaggio dal web di documenti (i cui dati sono fusi con il testo), al w eb semantico o w eb di dati, inteso come un contenitore di cose reali e di concetti astratti (ontologie) nel quale i collegamenti hanno un loro specifico significato formalizzato in una struttura interpretabile e utilizzabile da una macchina (la grammatica delle triple RDF), può rappresentare, come ha spiegato Mauro Guerrini (Classificazioni del sapere e ontologie nel web semantico), una straordinaria occasione per favorire l’integrazione dell’enorme mole di dati contenuta nei cataloghi delle biblioteche con il vastissimo contesto informativo del w eb (Di Noia et al. 2013) La strada indicata da Guerrini, che riprende le raccomandazioni sull’argomento della Library of Congress, è l’adozione della tecnologia dei linked data, che consente anche ai bibliotecari di pubblicare i propri dati sul w eb in una modalità leggibile, interpretabile e utilizzabile da una macchina (Guerrini e Possemato 2012, Iacono 2014). Se i dati bibliografici non diventeranno aperti, granulari e linkabili, ammonisce Guerrini, le risorse bibliografiche a cui i dati bibliografici si riferiscono e le stesse biblioteche saranno destinate a un rapido declino e ad un futuro di marginalità. Tuttavia, ha avvertito Aldo Gangemi (La semantica del Web: tecnologia, fatti e narrazioni), la semantica del w eb appare ancora oggi decisamente inadeguata rispetto alla semantica della realtà (diremmo all’ontologia in senso forte). Nonostante i linked data siano capaci si sviluppare nuova conoscenza attraverso modalità grafiche di esplorazione anche molto accattivanti, le triple RDF da sole non bastano a spiegare i fatti. Ciò che manca, secondo Gangemi, è una capacità semantica più complessa di aggregare queste triple, ovvero una semantic data science che consenta alle macchine di leggere dati strutturati e di percepire i contesti dei termini. Giovanna Granata (A cavallo della tigre? Il catalogo tra web 2.0 e semantic web) ha espresso nel suo intervento una posizione particolarmente critica, e non priva di motivi di vero interesse, mettendo in guardia dai rischi derivanti dall’eventuale confluenza L. Ca ta la ni, Sapere d igitale e pensiero critico. JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 216 dei metadati bibliografici nel mare magnum dei dati del w eb semantico, che potrebbe configurarsi nella sua visione come un abbraccio mortale. I sempre più diffusi discovery tools testimoniano come la logica del w eb 2.0 stia snaturando gli Opac, allontanandoli dalla logica dei database e della metadatazione strutturata, e assimilandoli progressivamente ai sistemi di information retrieval che semplificano, impoverendola, la possibilità di ricerca. Per cui l a liberazione dei metadati nel web semantico potrà servire a collegare dati provenienti da ambiti diversi, ma non dovrà incidere sul modello biblioteconomico di conoscenza, a meno che non si voglia abdicare alla propria specificità in cambio di una maggior e accessibilità e popolarità, che però comporta, avverte la Granata, una perdita di efficacia, un aumento di rumore e un incremento di quell’ambiguità semantica che tutti dicono di voler ridurre. Nel momento in cui il w eb ha scoperto i metadati (che nel web semantico sono comunque pensati come dati) e quindi i limiti dell’information retrieval classico, sarebbe paradossale, se non addirittura masochistico, se i bibliotecari pensassero di entrare in competizione con il w eb agevolando la fuoriuscita dei dati bibliografici dal loro contenitore naturale (il catalogo) e la diluizione informativa delle miniere di metadati strutturati e vocabolari controllati nel grande mare della rete. 6 Bibliografia e organizzazione della conoscenza Dovrebbe apparire chiaro, a questo punto, che per affrontare e provare a risolvere nel modo più indolore possibile le sfide lanciate dalla rivoluzione informatica, occorre considerare, come suggerisce Fiammetta Sabba (La Biblioteca digitale tra risorsa e aspirazione del bibliografo), il futuro della comunicazione scientifica non tanto in relazione a problemi di natura materiale, quanto a questioni inerenti l’ordinamento e la ricerca delle testimonianze culturali. L’avvento delle nuove tecnologie non ha fatto altro che amplificare i nod i JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015) JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 217 problematici dell’organizzazione scientifica, che tuttavia restano – come ha ricordato Serrai – di competenza bibliografica e non di pertinenza informatica. Lungi dall’essere relegata ad occuparsi dei soli testi a stampa, la bibliografia – il cui esercizio come prassi di esplorazione e di conoscenza è stato oggetto della relazione di Raphaële Mouren (e- bibliographie: le bibliographe peut-il abandonner le papier?) – dovrebbe riaffermare il suo impegno e la sua vocazione a garantire la reperibilità delle testimonianze documentarie, a prescindere dalla diversità dei supporti e delle tecniche di registrazione dei testi. Se pertanto l’oggetto di interesse della bibliografia è la bibliotheca nel duplice senso di elenco segnaletico ma soprattutto di collezione, i l bibliografo può proporsi, dinanzi al moltiplicarsi dei progetti di biblioteche digitali, come l’architetto dell’infrastruttura cognitiva del sapere scientifico, colui che è in grado di offrire, secondo la Sabba, quel coordinamento teorico e progettuale di cui si avverte la mancanza e che le biblioteche hanno creduto di poter trovare nel w eb. A chi, come David W einberger (2011), crede che la conoscenza non risieda nelle biblioteche ma nella rete, andrebbe ricordato che l’accesso aperto alla conoscenza rich iede una capacità di critica, valutazione e contestualizzazione delle fonti anche maggiore che in passato, per cui, avverte ancora Serrai, se da un lato le nuove tecniche di memorizzazione e comunicazione informatica sembrano poter fare a meno delle tradiz ionali impalcature semantiche e cognitive, dall’altro le mappe dell’universo bibliografico restano strumenti irrinunciabili per chiunque voglia attingere la sostanza noetica, testuale e scientifica dei libri. La ‘bibliografia indicale’, come la battezzò Serrai nella sua Storia della bibliografia, ossia l’insieme delle strutture indicali allestite dai bibliografi (dai loci di Conrad Gessner in avanti) può esser fatto confluire, se si segue l’indicazione fornita da Maria Teresa Biagetti (L’organizzazione della conoscenza, tra le esigenze della ricerca semantica e L. Ca ta la ni, Sapere d igitale e pensiero critico. JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 218 le soluzioni offerte dall’Informatica), nel vasto campo della know ledge organization, intesa come teoria generale dell’organizzazione del sapere, che si fa carico delle problematiche legate all’organizzazione della conoscenza registrata in qualsiasi tipo di documento (Gnoli 2006). L’organizzazione della conoscenza può esser fatta rientrare a sua volta nella scienza dell’informazione, che studia più in generale gli aspetti relativi alla raccolta, all’organizzazione, all’interpretazione e alla disseminazione della conoscenza registrata, e che contempla anche i sistemi di information retrieval e multimedia information retrieval (come lo strumento per la ricerca della musica digitale SoundHound, analizzato da Alberto Salarelli (Il Multimedia Information Retrieval in ambito musicale: alcune considerazioni sul caso SoundHound), la bibliometria e le ontologie (Salarelli 2012). Per esprimere il potenziale epistemologico dei documenti, in particolare nel campo delle humanities, si rivela ancora oggi fondamentale l’operazione dell’indicizzazione semantica, che allo stato attuale non può fare a meno del lavoro intellettuale dell’essere umano, l’unico che può garantire una pluralità di approcci interpretativi e di prospettive di ricerca (Gnoli 2008). Per non perdere la connessione intellettuale dell’uomo con la sostanza noetica dei libri, cui fa riferimen to nel 1492 Giovanni Tritemio nel suo Elogio degli amanuensi, occorre ripulire il granaio della mente dalle cose inutili (seguendo la metafora dello stesso Tritemio, evocata nella relazione di Giorgio Montecchi Scrivere e leggere con la mente: la voce, la pagina e il testo dal manoscritto al libro tipografico) per riempirlo di contenuti ricchi di potenziale epistemologico, stabili, accurati e durevoli, che il bibliografo benedettino, il quale pure ammetteva i vantaggi della stampa tipografica, riconosceva s oltanto nel libro manoscritto (Tritemio 1997). Apparirà allora meno azzardato, in un’epoca caratterizzata anch’essa, cinque secoli dopo, da profonde trasformazioni delle strutture e delle forme della comunicazione scientifica (alcune delle quali sono appena agli albori, come ha mostrato la relazione di Fabio JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015) JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 219 Venuda (Testi, Rete e modalità di lettura) sull’attuale fase ‘incunabolistica’ della diffusione del libro digitale, il richiamo dello stesso Montecchi al modello degli enciclopedisti altomedievali (Cassiodoro, Beda il Venerabile, Ugo di san Vittore), la cui sensibilità intellettuale si è tradotta in una mirabile opera di categorizzazione del reale e di organizzazione logica del sapere2. Bibliografia Castellucci, Paola. 2009. Dall’ipertesto al web. Storia culturale dell’informatica. Roma: Laterza. Di Noia, Tommaso, Roberto De Virgilio, Eugenio Di Sciascio, e Francesco Maria Donini. 2013. Semantic web. Tra ontologie e Open Data. Milano: Apogeo. Floridi, Luciano. 2012. La rivoluzione dell’informazione. Torino: Codice. Givone, Sergio. 2005. Il bibliotecario di Leibniz. Torino: Einaudi. Gnoli, Claudio, Vittorio Marino, e Luca Rosati. 2006. Organizzare la conoscenza. Dalle biblioteche all’architettura dell’informazione per il Web . Milano: Hops Tecniche Nuove. Gnoli, Claudio, e Carlo Scognamiglio. 2008. Ontologia e organizzazione della conoscenza. Introduzione ai fondamenti teorici dell’indicizzazione semantica. Lecce: Pensa multimedia. Guerrini, Mauro, e Tiziana Possemato. 2012. "Linked data: un nuovo alfabeto del W eb semantico.", Biblioteche oggi 30 (3): 7-15. Iacono, Antonella. 2014. Linked data. Roma: Associazione Italiana Biblioteche. Metitieri, Fabio. 2009. Il grande inganno del web 2.0. Roma: Laterza. 2 Gli a tti de l conve gno, a cura di Fiammetta Sa bba, sono in corso di sta mpa pre sso la ca sa e ditice Olschki. L. Ca ta la ni, Sapere d igitale e pensiero critico. JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 220 Salarelli, Alberto. 2012. Introduzione alla scienza dell’informazione. Milano: Bibliografica. Serrai, Alfredo. 1973. Biblioteconomia come scienza: introduzione ai problemi e alla metodologia. Firenze: Olschki. Solimine, Giovanni. 2010. La biblioteca. Scenari, culture, pratiche di servizio. 5th ed. Roma: Laterza. Tammaro, Anna Maria, e Alberto Salarelli. 2006. La biblioteca digitale. 6th ed. Milano: Bibliografica. Tritemio, Giovanni. 1997. Elogio degli amanuensi. Palermo: Sellerio. W einberger, David. 2011. Too Big to Know. Rethinking Knowledge Now That the Facts Aren’t the Facts, Experts Are Everywhere, and the Smartest Person in the Room. New York: Basic Books. (W einberger, David. 2012. La stanza intelligente. La conoscenza come proprietà della rete. Torino: Codice.). LUIGI CATALANI, Biblioteca Provinciale di Potenza. lcatalani@unisa.it Catalani, Luigi. "Sapere digitale e pensiero critico. Intorno al convegno “Noetica versus In formatica: le nuove strutture della comunicazione scientifica" (Roma, 19-20 novembre 2013)”. JLIS.it 6, 1 (January 2015): Art. #10908. doi: 10.4403/jlis.it -10908. ABSTRACT: Scopo di questo contributo è quello di esporre le risultanze del convegno internazionale "Noetica versus Informatica: le nuove strutture della comunicazione scientifica", svoltosi a Roma dal 19 al 20 novembre 2013. Alla luce del conflitto epistemico enunciato nel titolo, si è cercato di evidenziare i principali nodi concettuali emersi durante le quattro sessioni di lavoro, che invitano ad un'attenta riconsiderazione del ruolo della bibliografia, dei servizi bibliotecari e dei paradigmi tradizionali dell'organizzazione http://dx.medra.org/10.4403/jlis.it-10908 JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015) JLIS.it. Vol. 6, n. 1 (Ja nua ry 2015). Art. #10908 p. 221 dell'informazione, soprattutto alla luce delle tendenze più recenti legate allo sviluppo del web semantico, dei discovery tool, dei social netw ork, dell'open access e delle biblioteche digitali. Vengono sottolineati in particolare i contributi capaci di stimolare una riflessione in merito allo stato attuale e alle prospettive della conoscenza nell'ecosistema digitale, considerato che appare imprescindibile l'adozione di ontologie semantiche, mappe cognitive e infrastrutture indicali capaci di far ‘esplodere' il potenziale epistemologico dei documenti registrati. KEYW ORDS: noetica; ecosistema della conoscenza digitale; ontologie semantiche; mappe cognitive; infra strutture indessicali; conoscenza registrata. Submitte d: 2014-04-15 Acce pte d: 2014-05-18 P ublished: 2015-01-15 Sapere digitale e pensiero critico. Intorno al convegno “Noetica versus Informatica: le nuove strutture della comunicazione scientifica” (Roma, 19-20 novembre 2013) 1 Il conflitto epistemico 2 Quale intelligenza? 3 Quale informatica? 4 Biblioteche, trasparenza, condivisione 5 Semantica, ontologie, metadati 6 Bibliografia e organizzazione della conoscenza Bibliografia 
work_jbj6lvvjcrbsfbkixdkr43kuca	----	Education in Nineteenth-Century British Literature: Exclusion as Innovation by Sheila Cordner (review) Education in Nineteenth-Century British Literature: Exclusion as Innovation by Sheila Cordner (review) Ryan Stephenson Victorian Review, Volume 43, Number 1, Spring 2017, pp. 154-157 (Review) Published by Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:53 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/vcr.2017.0019 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/685914 https://doi.org/10.1353/vcr.2017.0019 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/685914 victorian review • Volume 43 Number 1 154 family resemblance, to be sure, but they were not identical, and their differ- ences were driven less by medical ideas than by the need to protect property” (63). Notwithstanding the historiographical discussion in chapter 1, the lack of linkage with apposite or overlapping sociomedical histories in the rest of the book may isolate an otherwise strong body of research. Throughout the middle to the later part of Hanley’s periodization (1815–72), health, poor law, and medicine were frequently different faces of the same die. Hanley claims that “health was a pivotal arena for resetting boundaries between central and local governments” (113), but this resetting was also reflected in the overlap between health, welfare (poor law), and state medicine. That said, this is a compact book—five chapters—and Hanley has inten- tionally enmeshed his scholarship within the sociopolitical ramifications of legal precedent. There are clear dividends from focusing in this way. For example, framing the curious but “meaningless” distinction between sewers and drains was a part of the legal wrangles and legalese of public health leg- islation (115). Valuable space is thus given over to pulling apart the minutiae of legal debate and judicial decisions, such as Masters v. Scroggs, whereby Hanley demonstrates the centrality of “liability” and derived personal “benefit” to sanitary works in the nineteenth century (48). Scholars of public health will need to engage with Healthy Boundaries. Its deliberations, though tightly focused, have repercussions beyond public health. Defining boundaries between the private and public spheres and overcoming the sociolegal challenges of redistributive taxation remain at the core of modern dilemmas across the political spectrum. K i m p r i c e University of Liverpool • Education in Nineteenth-Century British Literature: Exclusion as Innovation by Sheila Cordner; pp. 160. New York: Routledge, 2016. $167.97 cloth. Scholars who study the history of Victorian education often note the importance of three key years: 1833, when the British government began funding church schools that provided basic education to the working classes; 1862, when the Committee of Council on Education passed the Revised Code, which ensured reading, writing, and arithmetic as the core components of mass education and set a new funding model based on student results; and 1870, when the passing of Forster’s Education Act reaffirmed the British gov- ernment’s commitment to popular education by creating a greater opportu- nity for working-class children to attend state-funded schools. In many ways, Bo ok Reviews 155 the events of these years constitute a revolution in education, the end point of which was a populace with near-universal literacy, a burgeoning market for reading material, and a highly developed national school system. Sheila Cordner’s recent book, Education in Nineteenth-Century British Literature: Exclusion as Innovation, investigates another, quieter revolution in nineteenth-century education, however, one based on questioning and sometimes refuting the value of the machinery of learning established by those in positions of power within the education system since the beginning of the century. Examining the work of Jane Austen, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Thomas Hardy, George Gissing, and Virginia Woolf, Cordner identifies in their work the presence of what she calls “educational outliers” (1) who “critique institutional learning” by envisioning “going outside of institutions” (1) to meet their intellectual needs. Her research finds in all of these fictional outliers representations of “unteaching”: that is, the creation of deliberate breaks with the methods and habits encouraged by official schooling (1). Cordner argues that, while Austen and Barrett Browning use the style of their writing to enable attuned readers to let go of their learned attachment to conventional models of reading, Hardy and Gissing present readers with characters who choose, under the strains imposed by the inequities of the education system, to destroy what they have previously been taught in favour of an intellectual education that will actually benefit them (2). Throughout, Cordner docu- ments the imagined innovations and inventions of those still left behind, merely because of gender or class, by the nineteenth-century push toward universal education. Cordner’s major focus is on authors whose explicit critiques are aimed at “elite secondary and university education” (2), a focus that makes the book a welcome addition to the study of nineteenth-century education. Elementary education in the period is already well-covered ground, a fact made evident by the sometimes repetitive quality of Cordner’s introduc- tion, which refers predictably to Hard Times (1854) and Matthew Arnold in its survey of nineteenth-century “education machinery” (7). The value of the book becomes obvious, however, when Cordner traces the mechanical prac- tices of elementary pedagogy—principally rote learning and cramming—to “Oxbridge,” the imagined amalgamation of Oxford and Cambridge that came to stand for a unique and elite university education (2). Cordner’s analysis of her chosen authors therefore places their fiction, poetry, and prose in the shadow of Oxbridge, studying the innovations necessary for those forced to remain in this shadow. The chapter on Austen, for instance, analyzes the pedagogical meth- ods from which characters draw success in the novels (with an emphasis on Emma [1815] and Mansfield Park [1814]), but it does so after establishing Austen’s own connection to Oxbridge through her brothers and the satirical periodical The Loiterer, which they published from 1789–90 while at Oxford. The chief value of this chapter is in Cordner’s identification throughout victorian review • Volume 43 Number 1 156 Austen’s fiction of “scrambling” (23), a “self-directed process of learning resulting in the development of one’s own judgment” (23), in contrast to the mechanical process of cramming and rote learning satirized in The Loiterer. What Cordner finds through the contrast between the stereotyped Oxbridge pedagogies and the seemingly more haphazard methods of Austen’s hero- ines is that her novels put a high value on the development of “judgment” (41), a quality often lacking in those who do not have the benefit of learn- ing outside of elite schools. These benefits are revisited in Cordner’s analy- sis of radical education in Aurora Leigh (1856), in which Aurora’s “headlong” (45) reading practices, like Fanny Price’s scrambling in Mansfield Park, serve her better than the dominant, Oxbridge-approved models of reading and learning her cousin Romney suffers through, despite his obvious privilege. While the analysis of this chapter—the shortest of the volume—is sound and its claims well-supported, its statements about women’s education and working-class education will be familiar to any reader of previous scholar- ship on the topic by Kate Flint, Jennifer Phegley, or Jonathan Rose, sources she cites in the chapter’s notes. The element of real interest here is not the marginalized individuals striving for learning but Cordner’s work on “head- long reading,” a model of experiential reading that she distills from Barrett Browning’s verse (50). Cordner’s chapter on Thomas Hardy examines attempts at education made by characters kept outside of elite institutions. As the chapter notes, Hardy’s studies of autodidacticism in A Pair of Blue Eyes (1873), Jude the Obscure (1895), and Tess of the d’Urbervilles (1892) occur in the late-century context of expanded elementary education and the advent of the Working Men’s College and university extension courses for women and members of the working class. Cordner’s analysis here makes a persuasive case for her claim that “much educational reform served to reinforce class distinctions instead of allowing students to climb the social ladder” (59). As in her chapters on Austen and Barrett Browning, Cordner shows here that the pedagogical methods of the elite institutions to which Hardy’s characters aspire are not desirable in themselves; in many ways, the methods of learning practised by the autodidact outsiders are more profound and efficacious than those of the elite insiders. In her remaining chapters, however, Cordner shows how these categories are exploded and at times disregarded around the turn of the cen- tury in the writing of George Gissing and Virginia Woolf. Cordner’s examina- tion of Gissing’s ideas on education from the perspective of Thyrza (1887) is refreshing, given that so much of the scholarship on Gissing’s educational views focuses on New Grub Street (1891), The Odd Women (1893), and other more widely read novels, and her extension of these debates into the next century through Woolf ’s unpublished experiment The Pargiters is a useful and important conclusion because it shows so clearly that, despite their literary work and proposed innovations, nineteenth-century authors could do little to solve the problems inherent in institutional education. Bo ok Reviews 157 Ultimately, Cordner’s research excels in showing the critical perspec- tive on education and educational reform offered by nineteenth-century authors and the potential for innovations that existed despite the restrictive systems put in place by educational institutions. While the context for the arguments of each chapter is sometimes thin—exploring the debate on these pedagogical ideas in educational texts and journalism might enhance or alter our understanding of their role and meaning in the literary ones— the literary analysis itself supports Cordner’s claims and makes the book a valuable contribution to the study of nineteenth-century education, reform, and the responses of marginalized individuals to institutions that would exclude them. r y a n s t e p h e n s o n Douglas College • 
work_jenead5qk5bb5gvizng2dknwpe	----	Información Bibliográfica R I S REVISTA INTERNACIONAL DE SOCIOLOGÍA r 38. MAYO-AGOSTO, 2004 INFORMACIÓN BIBLIOGRÁFICA ADELL, R. y M. MARTÍNEZ LÓPEZ (coords.) (2004), ¿Dónde están las llaves? El movimiento okupa: prác- ticas y contextos sociales, Madrid, Catarata. En las dos últimas décadas se puede apreciar en nuestro país un creciente interés hacia el movimiento okupa, tanto por parte de los ciudadanos como de los medios de comunica- ción. Sus prácticas de intervención urbana, sus formas de vida alternativa y su cuestionamiento de la propiedad privada le confieren un carácter de "novísimo" movimiento contestatario e, incluso, antisistema. Sin embargo, la bibliografía en tomo a este tema es prácticamente inexistente, y este es uno de los motivos que ha llevado a los autores de este libro a reflexionar sobre la evolución y realidad actual del movimiento. CAMERER, C. F. (2003), Behavioural Game Theory, Nueva York, Russell Sage Foundation y Princeton Univer- sity Press. La teoría de juegos, entendida ésta como el estudio formal de la estrate- gia, comenzó en los años cuarenta preguntándose acerca de cómo per- sonas con capacidad de raciocinio excepcional, dejando al margen sus emociones, deberían resolver un juego, pero ha ignorado hasta tiempos recientes cómo la gente normal, con sus emociones y con una capacidad de raciocinio limitada, realmente juega estos juegos. Este libro supone el primer esfuerzo sustantivo de reducir la distancia entre los componentes normativos de la teoría de juegos (cómo se debería jugar un juego) y los descriptivos (cómo realmente se juega). Colin Camerer, una de los principales exponentes en este campo, utiliza principios psicológicos y cientos de experimentos para desarrollar teorías matemáticas sobre la reciprocidad y sobre la limitada capacidad para desarrollar estrategias y el aprendizaje, lo que resulta especialmente útil para predecir cómo las personas y organiza- ciones reales se comportan en entornos estratégicos. COLLER, X. (2003), Canon socio- lógico, Madrid, Tecnos. En esta obra se analizan las aporta- ciones que han delimitado la frontera intelectual de la disciplina. Se tratan los autores, las obras y las ideas más relevantes desde los orígenes de la sociología hasta la actualidad. Se presentan de forma clara y accesible dejando que los autores "hablen" entre ellos a través de sus obras. Se destacan las influencias, el contexto histórico en que aparecen las obras básicas, las 230 (c) Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Licencia Creative Commons 3.0 España (by-nc) http://revintsociologia.revistas.csic.es UBROS R I S REVISTA INTERNACIONAL DE S O O O L O G Í A N" 38, MAYO-AGOSTO, 2004 críticas que han suscitado y las escue- las sociológicas que han generado. Se hace hincapié en el papel relevante que tienen las aportaciones de los clásicos en el presente y futuro de la disciplina. Se presentan los textos y las ideas clave de Saint-Simon, Comte, Spencer, Toc- queville, Marx, Pareto, Durkheim, Toennies, Weber y Simmel. Se analiza el traslado del centro de gravedad sociológico de Europa a los Estados Unidos. Se estudian con detenimiento las siguientes escuelas y sus desarrollos recientes: funcionalismo, interaccion- ismo simbólico, intercambio social, fenomenología sociológica, etnome- todología... ELSTER, J. (2002), Alquimias de la mente, Barcelona, Paidós. Este libro de Jon Elster es un amplio y exhaustivo tratado acerca de las emo- ciones en el que se tienen en cuenta una gran variedad de enfoques teóricos. Recurriendo a la historia, la literatura, la filosofía y la psicología, Elster nos presenta una expHcación completa del papel de las emociones en la conducta humana. Aun reconociendo la impor- tancia de la neurofísiología y de la experimentación para el estudio de las emociones, Elster sostiene que quien quiera acercarse a éstas puede aprender más de los grandes pensa- dores y escritores del pasado, desde Aristóteles hasta Jane Austen, que de los científicos actuales. Así, atribuye especial importancia a la obra de los moraUstas franceses, y sobre todo de La Rochefoucauld, que demostró el modo en el que la necesidad de estima y de autoestima condicionan la motivación humana. El libro, en fin, mantiene tam- bién un amplio diálogo con economis- tas y teóricos de la elección racional. GIL CALVO, E. (2003), El poder gris. Una nueva forma de entender la vejez, Barcelona, Mondadori. Una de las mayores paradojas que carac- terizan a la sociedad contemporánea estriba en que la gran conquista de la longevidad, por fin consumada tras siglos de infructuosos intentos, también trae consigo la abdicación del poder de los ancianos, antes depositarios titulares de la autoridad moral y ahora prácticamente desechos sociales, trastos viejos, restos humanos, mera carga estatal y familiar. Cuanto más vive la gente —y mayor edad alcanza—, más poder e influencia pierden las personas mayores, lle- gando a convertirse en seres necesi- tados, desatendidos y dependientes. HEIDENHEIMER, A. J. y M. JOHN- STON (2002), Political Corruption. Concepts and Contexts, New Bruns- wick, Transaction. La corrupción ocupa, una vez más, un lugar central en la agenda política internacional como resultado de la globalización, la expansión de la democracia y la irrupción de nuevos escándalos de gran repercusión púbUca, así como de las iniciativas legislativas para intentar acabar con ella. Por otro lado, este concepto ha sido objeto de las investigaciones de numerosos científi- cos sociales durante muchos años. 231 (c) Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Licencia Creative Commons 3.0 España (by-nc) http://revintsociologia.revistas.csic.es R I S REVISTA INTERNACIONAL DE SOCIOLOGÍA N ' 3 8 . MAYO-AGOSTO, 2 0 0 4 UfiROS Este compendio, una versión bastante enriquecida de un trabajo que se ha convertido en una referencia inelud- ible en este terreno desde 1970, ofrece conceptos, casos y nuevas evidencias que seguro ayudarán a realizar análisis comparativos. OVEJERO, F. y R. GARGARELLA (2003), Nuevas ideas republicanas, Barcelona, Paidós. Este libro recoge textos de: Michael Sandel, Quentin Skinner, Philip Pettit, Cass R. Sunstein, Jürgen Habermas, Will Kymlicka, Alan Patten y Arme Phillips. Quizá la definición más cono- cida de democracia sea la que Lincoln contribuyó a popularizar: el gobierno del pueblo, por el pueblo y para el pueblo. Sin embargo, esa idea apenas se corresponde con nuestra experiencia. El periódico acto de votación tiene muy poco que ver con cualquier forma de autogobiemo colectivo, y las decisiones básicas sobre la organización de la vida compartida están lejos de quedar bajo el control de la ciudadanía. PICÓ, J. (2003), Los años dorados de la sociología (1945-1975), Madrid, Alianza Editorial. Esta obra presenta una visión gene- ral de la sociología a lo largo de tres décadas fundamentales en su desa- rrollo, que interrelaciona el contexto histórico-social con la reconstrucción institucional de la disciplina. Sirvién- dose de fuentes heterogéneas —^biogra- fías, teorías, controversias, trabajos de crítica e investigación—, d*a una imagen coherente de la evolución de la teoría social y del diálogo entre sus principales protagonistas, así como de la expansión durante esos años de las técnicas de investigación social y los debates sobre el método. Configura de esta forma una panorámica de las prin- cipales secuencias de la sociología, que asienta sus categorías y delimita sus fronteras en el ámbito de las ciencias sociales, al tiempo que se constituye como respuesta a las exigencias del cambio social. 232 (c) Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Licencia Creative Commons 3.0 España (by-nc) http://revintsociologia.revistas.csic.es 
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work_jhoga6h6zzgi3m26436di7davi	----	Rivista semestrale online / Biannual online journal http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 16 / Issue no. 16 Dicembre 2017 / December 2017       Direttore / Editor Rinaldo Rinaldi (Università di Parma)     Comitato scientifico / Research Committee Mariolina Bongiovanni Bertini (Università di Parma) Dominique Budor (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle – Paris III) Roberto Greci (Università di Parma) Heinz Hofmann (Universität Tübingen) Bert W. Meijer (Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Instituut Firenze / Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht) María de las Nieves Muñiz Muñiz (Universitat de Barcelona) Diego Saglia (Università di Parma) Francesco Spera (Università Statale di Milano)     Segreteria di redazione / Editorial Staff Maria Elena Capitani (Università di Parma) Nicola Catelli (Università di Parma) Chiara Rolli (Università di Parma)     Esperti esterni (fascicolo n. 16) / External referees (issue no. 16) Gioia Angeletti (Università di Parma) Franca Dellarosa (Università di Bari Aldo Moro) Gillian Dow (University of Southampton) Michael C. Gamer (University of Pennsylvania) Michele Guerra (Università di Parma) Francesco Marroni (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) Liana Nissim (Università Statale di Milano) Francesca Saggini (Università della Tuscia – Viterbo) Anna Enrichetta Soccio (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) Enrica Villari (Università Ca’ Foscari, Venezia) Angela Wright (University of Sheffield)     Progetto grafico / Graphic design Jelena Radojev (Università di Parma) †                                 Direttore responsabile: Rinaldo Rinaldi Autorizzazione Tribunale di Parma n. 14 del 27 maggio 2010 © Copyright 2017 – ISSN: 2039-0114 INDEX / CONTENTS       Special Jane Austen AUSTEN RE-MAKING AND RE-MADE. QUOTATION, INTERTEXTUALITY AND REWRITING   Editors Eleonora Capra and Diego Saglia               Austen in the Second Degree: Questions and Challenges DIEGO SAGLIA (Università di Parma) 3-11   The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons EDWARD COPELAND (Pomona College – Claremont) 13-39   “Comedy in its Worst Form”? Seduced and Seductive Heroines in “A Simple Story”, “Lover’s Vows”, and “Mansfield Park” CARLOTTA FARESE (Università di Bologna) 41-56   Bits of Ivory on the Silver Screen: Austen in Multimodal Quotation and Translation MASSIMILIANO MORINI (Università di Urbino Carlo Bo) 57-81   Remediating Jane Austen through the Gothic: “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” SERENA BAIESI (Università di Bologna) 83-99   Revisiting “Pride and Prejudice”: P. D. James’s “Death Comes to Pemberley” PAOLA PARTENZA (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) 101-122   P. R. Moore-Dewey’s “Pregiudizio e Orgoglio”: An Italian Remake of Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” ELEONORA CAPRA (Università di Parma) 123-142   Recreating Jane: “Austenland” and the Regency Theme Park MADDALENA PENNACCHIA (Università di Roma Tre) 143-154   Writing in the Shadow of “Pride and Prejudice”: Jo Baker’s “Longbourn” OLIVIA MURPHY (Murdoch University – Perth) 155-169   Reading the Austen Project PENNY GAY (University of Sydney) 171-193 MATERIALI / MATERIALS       James Frazer, il cinema e “The Most Dangerous Game” DOMITILLA CAMPANILE (Università di Pisa) 197-208   Jeux et enjeux intertextuels dans “Le Soleil ni la mort ne peuvent se regarder en face” de Wajdi Mouawad SIMONETTA VALENTI (Università di Parma) 209-233   Re-membering the Bard : David Greig’s and Liz Lochhead’s Re-visionary Reminiscences of “The Tempest” MARIA ELENA CAPITANI (Università di Parma) 235-250       LIBRI DI LIBRI / BOOKS OF BOOKS       [recensione – review]‘Open access’ e scienze umane. Note su diffusione e percezione delle riviste in area umanistica, a cura di Luca Scalco, Milano, Ledizioni, 2016 ALBERTO SALARELLI 253-257 Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 16 / Issue no. 16 – Dicembre 2017 / December 2017 DIEGO SAGLIA AUSTEN IN THE SECOND DEGREE: QUESTIONS AND CHALLENGES The three categories in the subtitle of this special issue hold an undeniably central place in present-day Austen studies. Quotation, intertextuality and rewriting – deeply rooted in Austen’s fiction – also characterize the relentless proliferation of offshoots and by-products which her writings and persona continue to generate. ‘Purloined words’ are indeed intrinsic to the texture of Austen’s novels and a familiar field of analysis for critics who have traditionally busied themselves with chasing allusions and references, throwing into relief the various kinds of intertextual relations within her output. In addition, quotation, intertextuality and rewriting have become unprecedentedly visible as part of the panoply of strategies available to contemporary rewritings and reinventions of Austen. In other words, a solid, if problematic, line connects Austen’s practices of re-making other authors with those of contemporary authors and other cultural producers, such as script-writers and directors, re-making Austen. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 4 Though nothing new in itself, the current phenomenon of reinventing the novelist and her works stands out for its ceaseless pace, cultural pervasiveness and sheer volume. Such features can make contemporary Austenmania more than occasionally irksome, as well as inspiring dismissals of its products as opportunistic and superficial; and yet, many of its manifestations present fascinatingly self-conscious and self-critical facets which cast them as intriguing objects for cultural consumption and analysis. Take, for instance, the TV series Lost in Austen (2008) or the novel-film Austenland.1 These reinterpretations blur the boundary between fiction and reality in order to bring the more alert readers and viewers to ponder the constructedness of the work they are experiencing, of Austen’s narrative universe and, more broadly, of the ever expanding dimension of ‘all things Austen’. Contemporary Austenland is located at the meeting point of originality and derivation, authenticity and fabrication. On the one hand, it implies a desire to identify and own the real Austen; on the other, an unstoppable production and consumption of more or less convincing and satisfying Austens ‘in the second degree’.2 And, while this issue generally addresses Austen’s ambivalent positioning in contemporary culture, the question of authenticity is specifically explored in Maddalena Pennacchia’s contribution on Austenland, where she considers the real and symbolic locus of the theme park in order to show how the novel and film promote a critical reflection on the fabricated nature of contemporary Austen universes and their power of seduction over readers and fans. Current reprises of Austen seem to have reached a peak of postmodern self-consciousness and transnational success thanks to the 1 See D. Zeff, Lost in Austen, Mammoth Screen, UK, 2008; S. Hale, Austenland, London and New York, Bloomsbury, 2007 and J. Hess, Austenland, Fickle Fish Films – Moxie Pictures, UK - USA, 2013. 2 See G. Genette, Palimpsests. La littérature au second degré, Paris, Seuil, 1982. Diego Saglia, Austen in the Second Degree: Questions and Challenges 5 mash-up phenomenon. The film adaptation of Seth Grahame-Smith’s novel Pride and Prejudice and Zombies was released in 2016, spreading further the popularity of one of the most viscerally adored but also denigrated Austen offshoots of recent years.3 Associated with fiction thanks to Grahame-Smith’s novel and Ben H. Winter’s Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters,4 the Austen mash-up has now taken global screens by storm. Though it remains to be seen if the film directed by Burr Steers will eventually become an influential reinvention of Austen, the amount of attention it has received confirms that, now more than ever, Austenland is teeming with constantly mutating forms of second degree derivations. Indeed, we could almost say that we are in the presence of an unstoppably mutant Austen. And yet, this novel-film pairing also demonstrates how, as Serena Baiesi contends in her essay, even the most seemingly unpromising derivations never completely sever the link to Austen’s text. As Baiesi suggests, Grahame-Smith’s work is indebted to Pride and Prejudice not merely because it replicates its narrative arc and reproduces entire portions of it, but also, and much more interestingly, because it reworks and updates problems and addresses questions of economy, race, class and gender that are both central to Austen’s canon and relevant to the anxieties and concerns of a twenty-first century reader. As to quotation, intertextuality and rewriting within Austen’s work, we need look no further than Pride and Prejudice itself, the title of which re-echoes the final chapter of Frances Burney’s Cecilia (1782). Entitled A Termination, this chapter repeatedly conjoins the two terms to provide a concluding moral to Burney’s cautionary tale. As one of the characters 3 See J. Austen and S. Grahame-Smith, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Philadelphia, Quirk Books 2009 and B. Steers, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, Cross Creek Pictures – Sierra Pictures, USA – UK, 2016. 4 See J. Austen and B. H. Winter, Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters, Philadelphia, Quirk Books, 2009. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 6 declares: “The whole unfortunate business […] has been the result of PRIDE and PREJUDICE”.5 Borrowing this conceptual pairing, in Pride and Prejudice Austen switches its position from Burney’s finale to the starting point of her own narrative, making it the cornerstone of her finely nuanced study of the complexities of human relationships. Moreover, instead of narrating an “unfortunate business”, Austen develops her work through comic and comedic registers that have ensured its status as one of the most beloved classics of English-language as well as world literature. To be sure, critics tend to disagree over whether Austen successfully managed to rewrite and “subvert” Burney.6 However, even such interpretative disputes serve to confirm the significance of Austen’s borrowings and reinventions together with the mirror games they play with specific works and narrative modes such as the contrast novel, the moral- domestic tale, the regional or the national tale, to name but a few. Quotation, intertextuality and rewriting are another crucial facet of Austen as a “determined author”.7 If intertextual moments in Pride and Prejudice are fairly well known, the opening essays in this issue address less familiar forms of citation in Austen’s fiction. Edward Copeland offers an exploration of Austen’s practice of appropriation and strategic deployment of contemporary popular fiction, before assessing similar appropriations of Austen by ‘silver fork’ novelists of the 1820s and 1830s. Carlotta Farese, in turn, expands the connection between Mansfield Park and Elizabeth 5 F. Burney, Cecilia, or Memoirs of an Heiress, Edited by P. Sabor and M. A. Doody, With an Introduction by M. A. Doody, Oxford – New York, Oxford University Press, 1999, p. 930. 6 M. Waldron, Jane Austen and the Fiction of Her Time, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999, p. 37. 7 A. Mandal, Jane Austen and the Popular Novel: The Determined Author, Basingstoke – New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2007. Diego Saglia, Austen in the Second Degree: Questions and Challenges 7 Inchbald’s Lovers’ Vows as well as including the latter’s novel A Simple Story, in order to reconstruct a triangular relationship that illuminates Austen’s engagement with her sources as a way of questioning and revising the aesthetic features and ideological import of different genres. Perhaps inevitably, a significant number of essays focuses on Pride and Prejudice. As Austen’s most celebrated and best-known novel, it is still the main point of access to her production for many readers and the most frequently reworked and adapted text in her canon. If its constantly multiplying reprises defy any attempt at critical mapping,8 a significant portion of this issue addresses a selection of the most compelling among the latest productions in this fertile region of Austenland. Massimiliano Morini analyzes Ang Lee’s 1995 Sense and Sensibility and Joe Wright’s 2005 Pride and Prejudice, parsing their opening scenes in order to focus on the mechanisms of selection and exclusion of narrative-dialogic elements in the transition from novel to film, as well as the textual organization of these sequences and their (re)creation of meaning in collaboration, as well as in competition, with the source text. As indicated above, Serena Baiesi examines Seth Grahame-Smith’s Pride Prejudice and Zombies and its reworking of some of the distinctive themes and ideological concerns in Austen’s fiction. Looking at another prominent rewriting of recent years, Paola Partenza offers a detailed analysis of P. D. James’s Death Comes to Pemberley (2011), a combination of the novel of manners and sentiment, the psychological tale and detective fiction that, focusing on a murder in the woods near Darcy’s and Elizabeth’s home, reinterprets the significance of the enigmas and mysteries in Austen’s narrative universe. Eleonora Capra, instead, considers the textual peculiarities of an Italian rewriting of 8 See J. Todd, Preface, in The Cambridge Companion to “Pride and Prejudice”, edited by J. Todd, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2013, p. XV. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 8 Pride and Prejudice, P. R. Moore-Dewey’s Pregiudizio e orgoglio (2012), which include its adoption of Darcy’s viewpoint and an intricate intertextual web combining Austen with a variety of nineteenth- and twentieth-century English-language novelists. Finally, Olivia Murphy examines Jo Baker’s Longbourn (2014) as exemplifying a postmodern reinvention of a familiar work from a perspective that was either sidelined or absent in the original, in this case that of the Bennets’ servants and Elizabeth’s maid in particular. For Murphy, Baker’s engagement with Pride and Prejudice constitutes a powerful way of rethinking and problematizing Austen’s much-loved (and, for this critic, also much abused) “darling child”.9 Put succinctly, a major portion of this issue explores contemporary manifestations of Austen’s “textual lives”,10 a phrase that is particularly relevant because it stresses the textual component underlying the countless artefacts and products that make up contemporary Austenland. On the one hand, it is undeniable that “Austen’s success as an infinitely exploitable global brand, or conceptual product, is everything to do with recognition and little to do with reading”.11 And yet, it is crucial not to lose sight of the fact that Austen’s writing lies at the basis of this process of infinite exploitation and we must always return to it when examining its products, offshoots and effects. A particularly multifaceted phenomenon when envisaged from the standpoint of remediation, Austen ‘in the second degree’ may be seen to comprise the two principal meanings assigned to this term – the 9 J. Austen, Letters, Collected and Edited by D. Le Faye, Oxford – New York, Oxford University Press, 20114, p. 201 (letter to Cassandra Austen, 29 January 1813). 10 K. Sutherland, Jane Austen’s Textual Lives: From Aeschylus to Bollywood, Oxford – New York, Oxford University Press, 2005. 11 C. Harman, Jane’s Fame: How Jane Austen Conquered the World, Edinburgh – London – New York – Melbourne, Canongate, 2009, p. 3. Diego Saglia, Austen in the Second Degree: Questions and Challenges 9 transposition and re-making of a text from one medium to another, and the translation of a text from a less to a more technologically advanced medium according to a mechanism of supersession and improvement.12 Moreover, because of its complexity and scope, the phenomenon of Austen ‘in the second degree’ also requires us to ask why Austen of all writers; why now, at the turn of the twenty-first century; and why in so many different forms and repeatedly remediated formats. Indeed, it is evident that the current burgeoning of quotation, intertextuality and rewriting of Austen is as much to do with her output as with ourselves, so that another central question might be: what is there in our culture, intended as a simultaneously local and global construct, that urges us to produce and consume Austen ‘in the second degree’? A provocatively straightforward answer is that “the main reason for Austen’s mass popularity is the one from which critics tend to avert their eyes: the love stories”.13 This is also the reason why so many Austen by-products tend to be disappointingly repetitive. Yet, in order to account for more challenging and groundbreaking reinventions and remediations, we may perhaps take a different approach: a possible answer may lie in the fact that, in novel after novel, Jane Austen “elaborated, explored, and riffed on the play of opposites, generating variations”.14 If Austen’s narratives are grounded in a clash of contrasting views, concepts and identities, this may be precisely where their capacity to “generate variation” resides. In this fashion, we return once again to the crucial point that, even when it seems most unlikely, Austenland is still centred in and draws upon Austen’s texts. In the final analysis, we may have to resign ourselves to the 12 See J. D. Bolter and R. Grusin, Remediation: Understanding New Media, Cambridge (Mass.) – London, MIT Press, 1999, pp. 44-50. 13 C. Harman, Jane’s Fame: How Jane Austen Conquered the World, cit., p. 246. 14 R. M. Brownstein, Why Jane Austen?, New York, Columbia University Press, 2011, p. 9. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 10 impossibility of finding any satisfactory and definitive answers to these questions. Just as we will presumably continue to read and re-read Austen, so the question ‘why Austen?’ is destined to re-emerge endlessly, together with its corollary: why has Austen ended up joining Shakespeare as co- tutelary godhead of English-language literature worldwide? The best proof of what still vaguely feels like canonical sacrilege is that both authors are currently caught up in processes of rewriting as updating occasioned by their respective anniversaries. Austen’s novels are being recast as part of The Austen Project: Jane Austen Re-imagined, in which six modern authors rewrite her six complete works by transposing period details and language to a contemporary context. In her essay for this issue, Penny Gay examines this series (currently including Joanna Trollope’s Sense and Sensibility, 2013; Val McDermid’s Northanger Abbey, 2014; and Alexander McCall Smith’s Emma, 2015) in order to identify its position and impact in the current panorama of Austen derivations and, more specifically, to evaluate the technical challenges posed by creating an adaptation in the same genre as its source. Significantly, something similar is happening to Shakespeare thanks to the Hogarth Shakespeare project that, as its official website announces, “sees Shakespeare’s works retold by acclaimed and bestselling novelists of today”,15 starting from Jeanette Winterson’s rewriting of The Winter’s Tale as The Gap of Time (2015).16 This mutable and expanding panorama confirms that Austen has achieved the status of free-floating global cultural currency; and, for better or worse, scholars and critics have come to confront this process and to accept that no one has a monopoly over the author, her output, their aura 15 Hogarth Shakespeare, web address www.crownpublishing.com/hogarth- shakespeare. 16 See J. Winterson, The Gap of Time, London – New York, Hogarth Shakespeare, 2015. Diego Saglia, Austen in the Second Degree: Questions and Challenges 11 and resonance: “If Dr. Johnson […] was correct in opining that the purpose of literature was to help us better to enjoy or endure life, then we must be glad […] that ‘Jane’ is ‘theirs’, ‘yours’, and ‘ours, after all.”17 The essays that follow consider this intricate phenomenon by looking at forms of intertextuality, quotation, rewriting and remediation within Austen’s works, as well as in subsequent reformulations and reinventions, the latter roughly comprised between the epoch-making BBC Pride and Prejudice (1995) and the present. The international cast of authors ensures a broader focus than one exclusively centred in the Anglo-American academic tradition or merely concerned with English-language literary and filmic works, thus probing further into the current status of Austen as “part of today’s multinational, multilingual, multicultural single currency”.18 Fully aware of the daunting scale of Austenland, these essays are representative of the degree of attention currently given by critics to Austen’s pervasiveness on the page, on various types of screen, and on the shelves of souvenir and gadget shops. Ultimately, this issue of “Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters” contends that it is this attention that enables us to discover new cultural artefacts such as novels, films and digital objects, which may prove just as challenging, enriching and entertaining as Austen’s works. As we continue to confront the multiple mutations of Austen’s cults and cultures and metamorphoses of Austenland, these artefacts are the best evidence of an ongoing, genuinely productive and transformative legacy. 17 C. L. Johnson, Austen Cults and Cultures, in The Cambridge Companion to Jane Austen, Edited by E. Copeland and J. McMaster, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, p. 224. 18 C. Harman, Jane’s Fame: How Jane Austen Conquered the World, cit., p. 2. Copyright © 2017 Parole rubate. Rivista internazionale di studi sulla citazione / Purloined Letters. An International Journal of Quotation Studies F16_1_saglia_presentazione Blank Page Template Copyright breve 
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work_jkxdhaibibfedjuxezhsj4gesq	----	ryVV/ !;l... _ A Quarterly Journal Devoted to the History of Medicine and Related Sciences Y Volume 39 * Number 1 * January 1995 THE WELLCOME INSTITUTE FOR THE HISTORY OF MEDICINE M--- available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059433 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059433 https://www.cambridge.org/core Medica/History CONTENTS Articles The Politics and Ideology of Non-Restraint: the Case of the Hanwell Asylum AKIHITO SUZUKI 1 The Influence of the Roman Catholic Church on Midwifery Practice in Malta C SAVONA-VENTURA 18 Listerism, its Decline and its Persistence: the Introduction of aseptic surgical Techniques in three British Teaching Hospitals, 1890-99 T H PENNINGTON 35 Beriberi, Vitamin BI and World Food Policy, 1925-1970 ANNE HARDY 61 The Reception of Paracelsianism in early modem Lutheran Denmark: from Peter Severinus, the Dane, to Ole Worm OLE PETER GRELL 78 News, Notes, and Queries 95 Essay Review Sander L Gilman, Freud, race, and gender, and The case of Sigmund Freud: medicine and identity at the fin de sie'cle JOHN FORRESTER 97 Cover: Method of changing a dressing using the Lister spray, from W. Watson Cheyne, Antiseptic surgerv, London, Smith, Elder, 1882 (Wellcome Institute Library, London). available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059433 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059433 https://www.cambridge.org/core Contents Book Reviews Nicolaas Rupke, Richard Owen: Victorian naturalist DAVID OLDROYD 101 Mark S Micale (ed.), Beyond the unconscious: essays ofHenri F Ellenberger in the history ofpsychiatry ROY PORTER 102 John S Haller, JR, Medical protestants: the eclectics in American medicine, 1925-1939 WILLIAM G ROTHSTEIN 103 Khaled J Bloom, The Mississippi Valley 's great yellow fever epidemic of 1878 ANNE HARDY 104 William H Brock, The Fontana history of chemistry DAVID KNIGHT 105 Jutta Kollesch and Diethard Nickel (eds), Galen und das hellenistische Erbe P N SINGER 106 Gerhard Endress and Dimitri Gutas (eds), A Greek and Arabic lexicon (GALex): materials for a dictionary of the mediaeval translations from Greek into Arabic LAWRENCE I CONRAD 107 Andrew Wear, Johanna Geyer-Kordesch, and Roger French (eds), Doctors and ethics: the earlier historical setting ofprofessional ethics RUSSELL G SMITH 108 John Wiltshire, Jane Austen and the body: 'the picture of health' G S ROUSSEAU 109 Teresa Santander, El Hospital del Estudio (asistencia y hospitalidad de la Universidad de Salamanca), 1413-1810 KATHERINA ROWOLD 110 Michael R McVaugh, Medicine before the plague: practitioners and their patients in the crown ofAragon 1285-1345 CORNELIUS O'BOYLE 111 Hilary Marland (ed.), The art of midwifery: early modern midwives in Europe ANDREW WEAR 113 Michael Hunter (ed.), Robert Boyle reconsidered WILLIAM H BROCK 114 Jean E Ward and Joan Yell (eds and trans.), The medical casebook of William Brownrigg, M.D., FR.S., (1712-1800) of the town of Whitehaven in Cumberland J G L BURNBY 115 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059433 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059433 https://www.cambridge.org/core Contents Jean-Claude Beaune (ed.), La Philosophie du remede MICHAEL SHEPHERD 117 Peter Keating, La Science du mal: l'institution de la psychiatrie au Quebec, 1800-1914 IAN DOWBIGGIN 117 Hasso Spode, Die Macht der Trunkenheit: Kultur- und Sozialgeschichte des Alkohols in Deutschland ANDREAS-HOLGER MAEHLE 118 Veronique Dasen, Dwarfs in ancient Egypt and Greece NICHOLAS VLAHOGIANNIS 119 M Stol, Epilepsy in Babylonia LAWRENCE I CONRAD 120 Andrew Scull, The most solitary of afflictions: madness and society in Britain, 1700-1900 TREVOR TURNER 121 James W Trent, JR, Inventing the feeble mind: a history ofmental retardation in the United States MATHEW THOMSON 122 Leonie de Goei and Joost Vijselaar (eds), Proceedings of the Ist European Congress on the History of Psychiatry and Mental Health Care AKIHITO SUZUKI 123 J Stuart Moore, Chiropractic in America: the history of a medical alternative JAMES WHORTON 124 David Arnold, Colonizing the body: state medicine and epidemic disease in nineteenth-century India PHILIP D CURTIN 125 Kenneth L Caneva, Robert Mayer and the conservation of energy R STEVEN TURNER 126 Book Notices 128 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059433 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059433 https://www.cambridge.org/core i Ma4ca/History C 0 N T E N T S Volume 39 * Number I * January 1995 Articles The Politics and Ideology of Non-Restraint: the Case of the Hanwell Asylum AKIHITO SUZUKI I The Influence of the Roman Catholic Church on Midwifery Practice in Malta C SAVONA-VENTURA 18 Listerism, its Decline and its Persistence: the Introduction of aseptic surgical Techniques in three British Teaching Hospitals, 1890-99 T H PENNINGTON 35 Beriberi, Vitamin B I and World Food Policy, 1925-1970 ANNE HARDY 61 The Reception of Paracelsianism in early modem Lutheran Denmark: from Peter Severinus, the Dane, to Ole Worm OLE PETER GRELL 78 News, Notes, and Queries 95 Essay Review JOHN FORRESTER 97 Book Reviews 101 Book Notices 128 Derry and Sons Limited, St Ervan Road, Wilford, Nottinghamavailable at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059433 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059433 https://www.cambridge.org/core ISSN 0025-7273 MedicalHkstory EDITORS: W F Bynum, MD, PhD, MRCP and Vivian Nutton, MA, PhD ASSISTANT EDITOR: Caroline Tonson-Rye, MA EDITORIAL BOARD Prof. G Brieger Prof. W H Brock Dr R K French Dr J Geyer-Kordesch Dr S Lock Dr I S L Loudon Medical History is devoted to all aspects of the history of medicine, but is concerned primarily with the evolution of scientific and social concepts in medicine, as well as with the many disciplines such as economics, ethnology, literature, philosophy, politics, theology, science, technology, etc., that impinge upon it. It is published quarterly in January, April, July, and October. 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work_jlm7lv6pkjbuvb47uvcun7j7wm	----	Journal ofNeurology, Neurosurgery, and Psychiatry 1994;57:377-380 Special lecture Brain failure in private and public life: a review William Gooddy May I open my remarks with a quotation, dated 1796, translated from the Spanish of Don Francisco de Quevedo ("The Visions"): And what you call dying is finally dying, and what you call birth is beginning to die, and what you call living is dying in life. Consulting Physician, University College Hospital; The National Hospital, Queen Square, London; King Edward VII Hospital, Midhurst; Fellow of University College, London W Gooddy An Address at the Meeting of the Neurological Associations of Great Britain and Spain at University College, London on 30 September 1993. The subject was suggested by the President of the Association of British Neurologists, Gerald M Stern, MD, FRCP. The text is a modernised version of part of the 17th Victor Horsley Memorial Lecture, first published in part in the British Medical Journal, 3 March 1979;1:591-3. We may suspect that one of the few mat- ters upon which all human beings would agree, whatever their racial, religious, or political beliefs, is that, so long as life is desir- able, we must strive and succeed in keeping our brains at a high level of excellence of per- formance. In our present-day world, so obvi- ously disturbed by wars, famines, retreating and advancing ideologies, guerrilla warfare in the European Commission, party skirmishes, and rebellions in the Houses of Parliament, we are often reminded how precarious is this achievement. Especially in the forms of work which the neurologist believes are his special province, we study the brain damaged in their amazing variety of manifestations: the comatose (perhaps for ever, until our machin- ery for preserving the brain-stem is discon- nected, or clinical starvation puts an end to our duties); the demented, the mentally defective, the cerebral withering due to a mis- placed, deformed, or absent gene; the psy- chotic, the depressed, the hallucinated, the addict, the hemiplegic, perhaps with a lan- guage disturbance or space-time disorienta- tion, in our organically or psychiatrically ill patients. It is difficult to know into which or how many of these diagnostic possibilities we should classify the politician who regularly shows defective judgement, sometimes com- bined with heart failure, alcoholism, stroke, or even brain tumour or epilepsy; the political or religious fanatic who may also be a head of state; the public figure in business enterprises who had furthered his ends (and possibly those of others) by corruption; the war lord whose ambitions ignore millions of starving people; the maintainers of outmoded dogmas who have the power to inflict misery on countless millions of life-hours. Socially we may be aware of the trouble maker, the neurotically indecisive personality, the aggres- sive psychopath, again the alcoholic, the unscrupulous, the "drop out". The situation is clearest of all, most con- vincing, in ourselves, when we are at a loss for an idea, for a word, especially for a name. How easy it is for us to remind ourselves of the failure of whatever it is that we need for a correct answer from those times (recent for some, remote for others) of taking exams; or from those occasions of stress, fatigue, or indisposition-especially after a drink or two-when the names of even our closest friends may momentarily escape us. There are several reasons for concentrating on the subject of brain failure, the first being the most delicate one, the personal reason. If we succeed in giving up drinking, smoking, eating butter and the margarines which were supposed to be beneficial (but are not, appar- ently), keeping slim, avoiding a sluggish bowel, wearing a seat belt, taking a little aspirin; and perhaps being persuaded that a little alcohol-after a certain age, of course- may do us a little good; and then reacting homeostatically to news of plutonium in the laundry, unmentionable substances in the sea on our visits to the beach at Sellafield or cer- tain parts of the Mediterranean, the alpha- betic caprices of the distinction awards committee, finding a locked car on your park- ing space, worrying about the cerebral tumour your car phone may be installing, the loss of ozone between the top of your head and the sun, the impossibility of producing an addressed envelope on your computer-if we thereby avoid cancer, coronaries, strokes, traffic accidents, long-term, possibly lifelong treatment with antidepressants and neurolep- tics (a euphemism for aids against madness and suicide); we are all, all of us, bound to decline into one of the most terrible of all medical fates, brain failure. Some of us may already be there. Who knows? Which of you, like me, has had, fairly recently, as far as he or she can remember, a normal brain scan of one form or another? The second reason stems from the first one. As wealth, knowledge, techniques, and therapies increase, so the span of life increases: and populations freed from small- pox, yellow fever, malaria, schistosomiasis, leprosy, kwashiorkor, starvation, and so on, also increase. Since it may be within the capa- bilities of world policies (if not already devised, but already assisted by AIDS, war- ring factions, the IRA and ETA, and Bosnia Hercegovina), to ensure enough food for all (although curbing of the birthrate has to be the starting point of all policies), the medical profession, we ourselves, are already ensuring the production of greater and greater numbers of instances of brain failure. The third point stems from the general 377 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 7 .3 .3 7 7 o n 1 M a rch 1 9 9 4 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ Gooddy principle that men and women become more powerful in human affairs as they grow older; and although they may grow wiser with expe- rience up to a great age, the time must inex- orably come when powers of intellect, and especially of insight, fail; and then these peo- ple are positively dangerous in proportion to the powers they wield and to the rate of pro- gression and degree of cerebral damage before the problem is detected. The most frightening state of all occurs when high-level brain failure is detected but is concealed (usually not by the individual affected but by those who are dependent on the great one's favours) for reasons of policy, power, and profit. Such behaviour was clearly seen and well documented in the later days of Sir Winston Churchill. It is perhaps to curb powers which may be impaired by the failing judgement or techni- cal skills of later life that certain professions and trades have a statutory retiring age. Of recent years there has been much debate about what the retiring age really means. An "age of retirement", of becoming an "OAP" (old age pensioner), of getting a free bus pass and (sometimes) a cheaper seat on British Rail, free eyesight testing (alas, no more), must be related in the (possibly demented) corporate mind of some governmental com- mittee to concepts partly social, partly med- ical, partly actuarial, derived from many complex features of daily life. One of the most obvious anomalies has been that, although women live longer than men, they could officially retire at 60, whereas men still have to soldier on until 65. Even though an equal age for retirement for men and women (it should be later for women) has been pro- posed, the idea was, in May 1993, shelved by the Prime Minister on the grounds of expense (or was it expediency?) The privilege of never having to retire (and, perhaps, never to work either) can be seen in the 1922 Order of Precedence. After immediate members of the Royal Family we have a small group including the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, the Lord High Chancellor, the Prime Minister, the Lord President of the Council, the Speaker of the House of Commons, the Lord- Privy Seal, Foreign Ambassadors, and then a group of the five Great Officers, one of whom is "Master of the Horse". The Dukes follow, and so on ... I thought I had discovered, lower down in this table, one category to which a retiring age would apply-"Master in Lunacy"-but research at the Law Society has revealed that such people (now part of the Court of Protection) are legal, not medical, officers, so, presumably they escape the NHS age limit of 65. The Latin tag "Quis custodiet ipsos cus- todes?" must now be amplified to "Quis sanus custodiet ipsos insanos custodes?". A rough translation might be "Is there anyone still in his or her right mind who may be responsible for detecting our demented pro- tectors?" If you are still with me, you will realise that a Master in Lunacy with brain failure would pose a problem of transcendental technique for the neuropsychiatrist. What is so special about the royal, reli- gious, martial, judicial, or political mind and/or the brains of Princes of the Realm, great Officers of State (including the Master of the Horse), senior Officers of the Law, Admirals of the Fleet, Field Marshals, Marshals of the Royal Air Force, hereditary peers, statesmen, politicians, tycoons (some of them also peers) that those whose heads contain such remarkable organs should either never have to retire or else have a retiring age of 70, 75, or even older? At the time of com- posing this address (February 1993) the head of "Lonrho" stated that, at 75, he was carry- ing on for a further three years "at least". Why should it be different for neuro- surgeons and senior airline captains, for neu- rologists and locomotive drivers and tax inspectors? Is the choice of 65 made, presum- ably by some government Department of Senility, under a Minister of Decrepitude, for the reason that by that age the last drop of juice has been squeezed from his employee's husk; or, more kindly, that after some 30 to 35 years as a hospital consultant, say, a man or woman has earned some happy, diverting, and even useful time to himself among those people, animals, places, and things he or she loves? It is some 30 years since I first contem- plated this subject. Although there have been a few small buds on some branches on the tree of emergent public concern, I have still not found any satisfactory answers. On the matter of categories of brain failure, this is not the time to produce a list of the problems. You are all experts on the subject. But I would like to mention a relevant exam- ple. In 1969 I produced a paper with Peter Gautier-Smith which mentioned 72 cases of neurosyphilis in my observation ward practice at St Pancras Hospital (UCH); but since then my own experience of neurosyphilis has greatly diminished. Instead we must be facing immense problems from HIV and AID-S. The rate of increase of these two disorders is indi- cated by the fact that in that doubly noble textbook, Lord Walton's Lord Brain's diseases of the nervous system 8th edition of 1977 (and 9th edition of 1988), AIDS is not in the index. But in Neurology in clinical practice of 1988, of which Professor Marsden is one of the three principal authors, these disease problems are interestingly covered. I also believe that an interest in the chem- istry of the elements, mainly in relation to the essential 14 elements (fluorine, silicon, vana- dium, chromium, manganese, iron, cobalt, nickel, copper, zinc, selenium, molybdenum, tin, iodine), is likely to give astonishing results. Again, there is no time for detailed discus- sion of diagnosis and management of brain failure; although these topics are immensely interesting. The range of possibilities is exemplified by knowing that the tpr chart still has something 378 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 7 .3 .3 7 7 o n 1 M a rch 1 9 9 4 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ Brain failure in private and public life: a review to tell us, and so has the plain skull and/or chest x ray film, and so may the discovery of a bottle of pills on top of the lavatory cistern, or gin in the hot water bottle; not to mention the dry facts of the pathology laboratory from where a low serum B-12, abnormal thyroid findings, or a low serum immunoglobulin (indicating Madame Louis-Bar's syndrome (ataxia-telangiectasia) may refresh our memo- ries. May I briefly remind you, on the matter of techniques, how far we have advanced from unanaesthetised lumbar and cisternal air encephalography and angiography, through technetium and gallium scanning, into com- puted tomography (CT) and magnetic reso- nance imaging (MRI), where gadolinium may be added. We can now look at almost any aspect of brain dysfunction (even without positron emission tomography (PET), still of limited availability). MRI strikes me as pos- sibly the greatest diagnostic advance for the clinical neurologist since I became house physician to Sir Francis Walshe 52 years ago this December. These remarks bring me towards my chief point, about the neurologist's relation to brain failure in high places, in public rather than private life. All about us we have seen, and still see, examples of inadequate brain function in public ways of life, both of men and of women. Such power seekers, often more stridently ambitious than genuinely tal- ented, seem to feel driven to regard them- selves, in their body images and lifestyles, as specially equipped to assume responsibilities over other "ordinary" men and women and children, over you, and over me, as individu- als. Much of the time they are quite wrong in their self assessments; and several of them seem mad. Only last week the Prime Minister is reported (The Times, 22 September 1993) as saying, in reference to some colleagues, that he "could name eight people-half of those eight are barmy". Many politicians have been promoted beyond their intelligence and capabilities. Their inadequate responses to high level decision making are bound to be barely disguised guesswork, in Ministries of U Turns. Whereas medical diagnosis gets more accurate, political diagnosis still resembles a mediaeval search for the transmutation of base metals into gold, a form of ineffective alchemy. As a professional body, we must find some means of making known a set of rules about ages of retirement. Shall we continue to accept as reasonable a general retiring age of 65, even though we may be aware of much longer durations of individual brain excellence; and also brain failure at 50? Do we accept that it is wise that neurological physicians and sur- geons, secretaries of state, Anglican archbish- ops and bishops, Roman Catholic cardinals, for example, lay down their expertise at 65 in order that a single weakening performer may be prevented from causing harm to the body, or to the soul, or, even more importantly, to the property of a single citizen? We should be aiming for a set of adjustable rules to cope with the varieties of occupa- tions. We may then aim for a general applica- tion of these rules, with one vital stipulation. We do not need to make rules for people who have only themselves and a few close associ- ates to look after; nor, perhaps, for those who are responsible for 10 others, or even 100 others. But when you get people responsible for 200, 1000, millions of people, then our rules have to become progressively more stringent. We must go further than setting suitable retirement ages. We need to suggest a detailed medical surveillance for all those who take upon themselves the tasks, opportunities, powers, and especially the rewards from directing the lives of hundreds, thousands, millions. We already know, for example, that our legislators keep ridiculous hours for important decision making, frequently jet lagged, about national and international affairs, hours which are unacceptable for any other profession or trade. If the least lapse of a main line locomotive driver results in his being relegated to office work, or, at best, shunting duties, how much more important is the medical scrutiny for, say, members of the Cabinet, of both Houses of Parliament, board members of great corporations, highly placed legal officers, presidents of royal colleges, and other trades unions-not to mention mem- bers of the Arts Council. It is a matter for our decision. It must be the medical profession which has to organise a campaign, preferably headed by the neurol- ogists, towards these ends along the same lines which have already been used in the campaigns against smoking or the enforced use of safety belts for drivers and passengers, and crash helmets for cyclists, all over the country. Such work, always, in the early stages, of conflict and persuasion, would his- torically be seen as similar to that which ended slavery and transportation; ensured for the public clean water and adequate drainage; brought women the vote and seats in parlia- ment and among the judiciary-even to hos- pital consultant status; and retirement pensions for the elderly (1906 in this country, 56 years earlier in France). If we see the dangers of brain failure lurk- ing, in a hundred different causes, behind almost any illness, at almost any age, shall we not, with our special talents and facilities, bring that recognition to wider notice? (The Labour Party already has a neurosurgeon among its members.) If we agree that brain failure is the more disastrous in relation to the number of people that the damaged person is responsible for, then the more stringent must our neurological supervision be. The purpose of such scrutiny would be preventative, advisory; and not punitive: for many of the causes of brain failure are treat- able, even curable, in the early stages. If we accept some part of this theme, we shall be more positive in our clinical methods, and in our teaching, both inside and beyond our profession. We shall be more sympathetic to the problems of those liable to breakdown. 379 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 7 .3 .3 7 7 o n 1 M a rch 1 9 9 4 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ Gooddy Indeed, we shall be considering ourselves as well. We shall then preserve, for everyone, the highest qualities of social existence, at a time when we sometimes appear to be crushed beneath the weight of the so-called "advances" which our brains have helped us to design. Though inevitably we face what Don Francisco has described as "dying in life", the neurologist might humbly add a fourth sen- tence to his three: And what you call dying is finally dying, And what you call birth is beginning to die, And what you call living is dying in life, And whatyou call death is a lasting memorial. Fanny Burney on Samuel Johnson's tics and mannerisms The following are some further contemporaneous observations of the tics, mannerisms, postures, and verbal repetitions displayed by Samuel Johnson which support the notion'-3 that he was a victim of Gilles de la Tourette syndrome (see J Neurol Neurosurg Psychiatry 56:131 1). Fanny (Frances) Burney (1752-1840) was daughter of the musicologist Charles Burney. She enjoyed a considerable reputation as a novelist and diarist, and as portrayer of the domestic scene she was the fore- runner of Jane Austen. She became second keeper of the robes to Queen Charlotte in 1786 and married the French emigre, General d'Arblay. She was a favoured friend in Johnson's household. Fanny Bumey (Mme D'Arblay)4: He is, indeed, very ill-favoured! Yet he has naturally a noble figure; tall, stout, grand and authoritative: but he stoops horribly; his back is quite round: his mouth is continually opening and shutting, as if he were chewing something; he has a singular method of twirling his fingers, and twisting his hands: his vast body is in constant agitation, see-sawing back- wards and forwards: his feet never a moment quiet; and his whole great person looked often as if it were going to roll itself, quite voluntarily, from his chair to the floor. And in her Early diaries': "The careless old ejacula- tions have, in almost every case been modified or effaced in the manuscripts of the diaries.... These almost unmeaning expletives seem to have passed unrebuked by Dr Johnson." His repetitive utterances were often of a religious nature (frequent recitations of the Lord's Prayer) but coprolalia and scatological comments are very proba- ble, although doubtless the loyalties and social niceties of his friends inhibited their histories. JMS PEARCE 304 Beverley Road, Anlaby, Hull HU10 7BG 1 McHenry L. Samuel Johnson's tics and gesticulations. J7 Hist Med 1967;22: 152-68. 2 Murray TJ. Dr Samuel Johnson's movement disorder. BMJ 1979;1:1610-4. 3 Pearce JMS. Doctor Samuel Johnson: "the Great Convulsionary" a victim of Gilles de la Tourette's syndrome. J R Soc Med 1994 (in press). 4 Burney F. Letters and diaries. London: G Bell. 1846. 5 Burney F. Early diary of F Burney. 1846;2:234. Cited by George Birkbeck Hill. In: Johnsonian MisceUanies II London: Constable and Co. 1897, reprinted 1966: 274-5. 380 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 7 .3 .3 7 7 o n 1 M a rch 1 9 9 4 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ 
work_jzn7kslrivfuromhidww3ouome	----	Essay Reviews Sensibility Reconsidered G S ROUSSEAU* G J Barker-Benfield, The culture of sensibility: sex and society in eighteenth- century Britain, Chicago and London, University of Chicago Press, 1992, pp. xxxiv, 520, illus., $49.95 (0-226-03713-4). To medical historians, even of the new historical contextual school, sensibility remains a word conjuring associations with things sensory: the senses, sensation, the body, the brain; and then higher developed nervous systems, nervous diseases, nervous ailments, especially in psychiatry and the psychobiological sciences. But sensibility also has another profile extending back to the Greeks, transcending these local medical usages, even if it is in medical theory that the transformations of sensibility are most evident. Down through the seventeenth century, in controversial theoretical leaps taken by Descartes, Thomas Willis, his assumed students Sydenham and John Locke, their students Bernard Mandeville (another doctor) and the Earl of Shaftesbury (Locke's tutee), and Willis's intellectual descendants David Hartley, George Cheyne, Robert Whytt, William Cullen, as well as dozens of prominent Scots, the theory of nervous sensibility was necessarily paramount in any notion of an evolving medical Enlightenment or broader and progressive "pan-European Enlightenment". Now G J Barker-Benfield has written a very long, heavily annotated, ponderous, seemingly exhaustive, and unsurprisingly "feminist" reconsideration of the subject; feminist perhaps on the assumption that feminism is too important an ideology to be left solely to women. The culture of sensibility seems to cover the whole map: religious, philosophical *Prof. G S Rousseau, University of Aberdeen psychological, social, domestic, medical, scientific, treating of matters as diverse as sensibility and the nervous system, the reformation of male manners, the emergence of masculinity and effeminacy, women as economic consumers, the eighteenth century as a culture of reform, women as individuals with minds newly determined by the forces of sentiment and sensibility, and-in the concluding chapter-"the crisis of sensibility in the 1790s" presided over by the book's First Lady, its heroic, sweeping protagonist, Mary Wollstonecraft. In my reading of The culture of sensibility, the "feminist approach" to these topics is less significant than the author's reliance on the research of others: not merely for their conclusions, which he takes second hand, but for the strength of their ideologies. Perhaps this is why two outside readers are acknowledged as strong "feminist" influences on the author's conception of the subject's ideological status. Thoroughness and Exhaustibility Barker-Benfield'sforte is his thoroughness in dealing with every aspect of this immensely complex phenomenon cultural historians of the early modern period have come to call, for lack of a better term, the sensibility movement; his weakness, that such exhaustibility will compel students of the subject to ask what is new here. And he certainly has not demonstrated how medical theory and cultural history interact. For sensibility is one of those immensely problematic labels, more often than not empty words unless meticulously defined. It is inherently unstable, usually ambiguous, and, unless the historian works slowly and carefully in demonstrating its precise cultural gestures and social resonances, there is the risk of 375 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060154 https://www.cambridge.org/core Essay Reviews superficial description. It is the way sensibility's ambivalence and ambiguity are construed that counts for much in a general book about the "culture of sensibility". The encouraging feature is that Barker- Benfield comes to this eighteenth-century culture as an outsider. The jacket says he works primarily in nineteenth-century American history and women's studies, whereas by any definition sensibility's transformative curve occurred before 1800, and at the end of the day both its clearest medical theory (Willis, Cheyne, Haller, Whytt, the Scottish doctors) and social history (the philosophers and social critics) are essentially an Enlightenment phenomenon. But if the author naturally thinks as "a feminist", one nevertheless asks why anyone writes a book about sensibility that is five times longer than Sterne's Sentimental journey and three times the size of Austen's Sense and sensibility. The difference between a book as long as this one and, for example, Michael McKeon's equally long The origins of the English novel (1987) is that McKeon has a revisionist thesis that genuinely challenges literary history. Barker-Benfield has no such clear thesis-indeed it is hard to tell what the main point is-although he has accumulated a great deal of interesting material and learned that word processors are marvellous technologies for accumulation. Wollstonecraft, the Helpless Victim The best one can do is praise the book's ideology. In any feminist approach to sensibility Wollstonecraft should be the queen pin, as she is here: all female sensibility leads to her, medical theories as well as social cults. Here she is represented as heroine and exemplar of sensibility at its best, leading a life carved on the rock bed of hardship, the helpless victim of cruel society's ills, the unfortunate daughter-wife-mother stranded in an anti-feminist Anglo-European culture presided over by uncaring men, writing deathless prose whenever she can. No matter that Jane Austen did not think so, or that other women before 1800 had other views of the female plight or of the history of sensibility in their own time. Barker-Benfield's agenda carries all, and what matters to him is seeing these developments from the woman's point of view, as in chapter five ('A culture of reform') where he taps into the campaign on behalf of female victims. And to give him his due, he is especially persuasive when commenting on specific texts and for this reason alone should be on every reading list pertaining to Mary Wollstonecraft. The Gender of Sensibility But Barker-Benfield's paradigm not only dictates that sensibility must be genderized (sensibility=female, anti-sensibility=male, etc.), but also that all approaches to sensibility must be made subservient to this larger ideology. Everywhere are binaries that lie unchallenged, including the above set that is also genderized. The paradigm excavates rationalism from sensibility, overlooking the blends, and renders sensibility something aiming to demonstrate that women are fundamentally different from men. Sensibility is their daily textuality; they live to write their emotions. Yet the consequences of this radically gendered thesis are not explored. A few case studies from selected texts might have made the point more succinctly than in this sweeping holistic treatment. Never mind, furthermore, that some of the fiercest attacks on sensibility came from women 1750-1830, or that men, however diverse their backgrounds, were often its staunchest champions: Richardson, Sterne, Smollett, Godwin, the Scots. Never mind that the subtleties of medical and non-medical sensibility are not distinguished, and that the penumbra between sensibility (of whatever version) and sentimentalism remains beclouded. Even Wollstonecraft, about whom Barker-Benfield writes so well, is more problematic than he gives out. The female anti- sensibility campaign is muted to make the case look more convincing than it historically was, while figures such as Hannah More are not well dealt with in all their anti-sensibility modalities. Nothing new is revealed about 376 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060154 https://www.cambridge.org/core Essay Reviews Richardson or Steme or Smollett; Coleridge, often astute on the subject, receives bare treatment; and a bewildering figure such as George Cheyne-the English physician-author who wrote a bestseller called The English malady (1733) at whose base lies a theory of medical sensibility-is treated in a derivative and almost potted way. The chief difficulty is methodological, not ideological: how medical theory gets translated into social practice, or is it the other way round? Sensibility versus Sensibilities Barker-Benfield is most persuasive when interpreting texts broadly and when aiming to provide them with social significance. But he does not know the eighteenth century well enough to shed new light on its many, intricate sensibilities, and this may be why he has relied almost exclusively on secondary sources. A review is no place to be mean-spirited and I certainly do not suggest there is no accomplishment here-there is a surfeit, especially in the discussions of male barbarity and Mary Wollstonecraft, and the author's feminist approach deserves applause. But it is hard to tell what Barker-Benfield's own contribution to the debate is. The book's success is its comprehensiveness, and Barker-Benfield is certainly spot on when claiming that sensibility is more important than its twentieth-century scholarship suggests. But lines of emphasis are lost when everything equals everything else or when represented on a canvas as large as this, and when the author has not immersed himself in the primary sources. Despite its size this is not the book about sensibility, and no one should think it closes further exploration. 377 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060154 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
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work_kerlmoweyndxvaiwwa5wc6aw7u	----	Res-60.247.reviews 801..841 Zurich Open Repository and Archive University of Zurich Main Library Strickhofstrasse 39 CH-8057 Zurich www.zora.uzh.ch Year: 2009 Review of: Balladeering, minstrelsy, and the making of British romantic poetry, by Maureen M. McLane Esterhammer, Angela DOI: https://doi.org/10.1093/res/hgp067 Posted at the Zurich Open Repository and Archive, University of Zurich ZORA URL: https://doi.org/10.5167/uzh-24644 Journal Article Published Version Originally published at: Esterhammer, Angela (2009). Review of: Balladeering, minstrelsy, and the making of British romantic poetry, by Maureen M. McLane. Review of English Studies, 60:825-827. DOI: https://doi.org/10.1093/res/hgp067 of geography and history’ and ‘introduces discontinuities into the national contours of Britain’ (p. 186). Fielding’s insistence that the ideological projects or tendencies of ‘Enlightenment’ and ‘Romanticism’ are dialectically linked in Scottish writing makes for a suggestive contrast with another striking recent account of the field, Murray Pittock’s in Scottish and Irish Romanticism (2008); by defining Romanticism in terms of a nationalist cultural politics, Pittock casts the Scottish Enlightenment as its antithesis. The strength of Fielding’s argument lies in the success with which it comes to bear on her case studies. These are as impressive for the diversity of literary strategies they elucidate as for the range of intellectual contexts invoked around them; Scotland and the Fictions of Geography is very far from being the sort of study that, having established its theoretical problematic, puts all its cases through the same set of moves. The intellectual contexts include (besides climate theory) cartography and road-building, the origins and history of poetry and languages, antiquarian discourse on medals and currency, and arctic exploration. The case studies range from canonical authors (Burns and Scott) to figures that are unfa- miliar even to specialists in the field (the early nineteenth-century Shetland poet Margaret Chalmers), as well as philosophers and antiquarians (John Pinkerton, George Chalmers). The discussion of Scott illuminates major novels (The Antiquary and Rob Roy) as well as less visited byways (Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Scott’s journal of his 1814 lighthouse tour). While the chapters are consistently strong, I found the last two – on Margaret Chalmers and James Hogg—especially compelling. ‘Chalmers’s sense of spatiality is perhaps the most complex and radical of any in this study’, Fielding writes (p. 160): the precision and subtlety of her close readings justify the claim, and indeed this chapter is a model of criticism in the ‘recovery’ mode. Hogg plays the part of wild man of Scottish Romanticism, closing the book with his over-the-top performance of a ‘radical dissolution of the premises of Enlightenment spatiality altogether’ (p. 129). If this is the part in which recent studies in the field tend to cast him, never has it been rendered more vividly, or its logic traced more cunningly, than in Fielding’s account of the late tale ‘The Surpassing Adventures of Allan Gordon’, with its bizarre idyll among polar bears. Scotland and the Fictions of Geography succeeds brilliantly in reimagining a (North) British Romanticism with Scottish writing at its centre. Scholars and students of the period, not just of Scottish literature, will learn a great deal from it, as will anyone interested in the conjunctions of geography and literary representation. IAN DUNCAN University of California, Berkeley doi:10.1093/res/hgp069 Advance Access published on 11 September 2009 MAUREEN N. MCLANE. Balladeering, Minstrelsy, and the Making of British Romantic Poetry. Pp. xiv + 296 (Cambridge Studies in Romanticism, 76). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Cloth, £55. Of the trio of topics named in the title of this book—balladeering, minstrelsy, and the making of poetry—the third quickly assumes pride of place. For Maureen N. McLane, the ‘making of poetry’ becomes a far-reaching and multivalent concept. It describes her literary- historical investigation into the background and development of Romantic poetics, but also references the Romantic era’s own obsession with origins and its self-conscious activity of ‘making’ literature. Cleverly echoing the genre of the ‘making-of’ documentary, the phrase signals another of the book’s major concerns: the obsession with documentation and author- isation amongst those who work with ballads and minstrelsy. Above all, the ‘making’ REVIEWS 825 Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/res/article-abstract/60/247/825/1584883 by University of Zurich user on 06 August 2018 referred to in the title designates a process of poiesis that quickly emerges as a central concern of McLane’s study. By contrast, ‘balladeering’ and ‘minstrelsy’ often seem to function as means to an end. Early in McLane’s Introduction, a telling thesis statement re-orders the nouns of the title: ‘This study takes the broader (or perhaps looser) rubric of poiesis to be its remit, though I will often have occasion to discuss balladry and ballad scholarship, as well as the phenom- enon of minstrelsy’ (p. 5). Balladeering and minstrelsy increasingly become subsumed into the variously inflected processes circumscribed by the phrase ‘(the) making (of).’ Halfway through the book, we read that ‘minstrelsy’ can be regarded as ‘another name for poiesis in [the Romantic] period’ (p. 141) and that ‘Romantic minstrelsy’ is ‘poiesis itself’ (p. 144). The word oddly absent from the book’s title is ‘media.’ McLane’s theoretical framework draws on literary history, ethnography and ethnomusicology, folklore, Romanticist scholar- ship, and cultural theory, but above all on various international inflections of media studies: Friedrich Kittler’s ‘mediality,’ Jay David Bolter’s and Richard Grusin’s ‘remediation,’ and the more general contexts for media studies provided by (among others) Foucault, de Certeau, and Habermas. ‘This book,’ writes McLane, ‘argues that the situation of British poetry, 1760–1830, offers us a window onto the transhistorical condition of poetic ‘‘mediality’’—the condition of existing in media, whether oral, manuscript, print, or digital’ (p. 6). The metaphor of the window is indicative—as is McLane’s claim that her study pursues an ‘archaeology of the humanities’ ‘via balladeering’ (p. 11, italics added): through- out the book, McLane works through balladry and minstrelsy in order to pursue conclu- sions about mediality. The book’s seven chapters constitute interwoven studies of transhistorical mediality, focusing on the period 1770–1830 but including earlier materials incorporated and imitated by the Romantics and frequently proposing parallels between the medial conditions of Romantic poetry around 1800 and contemporary poetry around 2000. The major figures and issues of the late-eighteenth-century ballad revival—Macpherson and Ossian, Beattie, Percy, Scott, antiquarians, ballad-collectors and performers—come in for discussion, often in unusual conjunctions and from interesting new angles. In studying these texts and the controversies that often surrounded them, McLane focuses on the process by which anti- quarians and ballad-collectors went about their work, highlighting their self-conscious concern with authority, authenticity, and protocol. This perspective contributes to an argument that, during the long Romantic period, poetry began to emerge as ‘an object of medial and cultural theory’ (p. 6)—or, more polemically, that late-eighteenth-century bal- ladeers were ‘media theorists in their own right’ (p. 45). McLane’s pervasive self-awareness about her own participation in protocols of authentication and authorisation extends to an apparatus of chapter epigraphs, appendices, facsimiles, illustrations, charts and heavy anno- tation (mercifully printed at the foot of the page and not as endnotes). In chapter 3, McLane adopts a transmedial focus by considering the musical dimension of ballads. She approaches the relation of music and text from revealing angles, for instance by considering how the technology used for printing sheet music changed during the Romantic period. Like most of the chapters in the book, this one ends by opening a window onto contemporary parallels, in this case via the popularity of ‘world music’ and the possibility of following Kittler’s lead toward a more generalised critical history of ‘world media.’ Chapter 4 approaches questions of transmediality and remediation by way of a focus on minstrel figures (who ‘may be seen as the first performance poets’ [p. 132]) from mid- eighteenth-century British discourses to nineteenth-century American publications on ‘Negro Minstrelsy.’ The provocatively totalising title of chapter 5—‘Minstrelsy, or Romantic poetry’—introduces a productive inquiry into the Romantic topos of the ‘last 826 REVIEWS Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/res/article-abstract/60/247/825/1584883 by University of Zurich user on 06 August 2018 minstrel.’ McLane ends this chapter with an especially good excursus on the modern critique of Romantic minstrelsy by Wallace Stevens. The second half of the book often illustrates its arguments by way of extended contrasts between Scott and Wordsworth, counterpointed by examples from the poetic practice of Byron, Clare and other contemporaries. McLane asks what these Romantic poets are doing with ballads and minstrels on the border between orality and print. Chapter 6 announces a more heuristic survey of the ‘zone of poiesis’ (p. 181) created by practices of balladeering and minstrelsy around 1800. After listing the ‘seven types of poetic authority’ that emerge from the ‘mediated orality’ (p. 183) of Romantic poiesis, McLane applies these terms to a cogent reading of Wordsworth’s Prelude as a hybrid of lyric-subjective and sociological- ethnological types of authority. Chapter 7 develops a number of close readings of Blake’s Songs, Byron’s Childe Harold, several more lyrics by Wordsworth, and the contemporary performance poet David Antin from perspectives that highlight mediality and remediation. In a Conclusion sub-titled ‘Thirteen (or more) ways of looking at a black bird: or, Poiesis unbound’, McLane performs a medley on crows in ballads and blackbirds in poetry that illustrates in delightful fashion what the book has been seeking to explore: the diversity of transmedial and transhistorical crossings. This extended illustration is particularly welcome since the first half of the book, in its eagerness to expose Romantic balladeers as media theorists and minstrels as agents of identity politics, sometimes seems (at least rhetorically) to bypass its central phenomena as means to an end. But with their increasing attention to important differences in the ways Romantic poets use ballad materials and minstrel figures, later chapters reveal some of the original interpretations and insightful conclusions that can emerge from these medial and historicist perspectives. From beginning to end, Balladeering, Minstrelsy, and the Making of British Romantic Poetry offers pithy, witty, and productively thought-provoking formulations, along with novel perspectives and unexpected conjunc- tions of material. ‘The vitality of poetry will surely continue to depend on this ongoing negotiation between a history of linguistically based traditions—whether ‘‘oral’’ or not—and an embrace of new media’ McLane concludes (p. 252). Similarly, her study illustrates the stimulating effect that an embrace of media studies can have on the vitality of Romantic scholarship. ANGELA ESTERHAMMER University of Zurich doi:10.1093/res/hgp067 Advance Access published on 10 September 2009 MARY JEAN CORBETT. Family Likeness: Sex, Marriage, and Incest from Jane Austen to Virginia Woolf. Pp. xiv + 264. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2008. Cloth, $39.95/£20.50. In historically inflected studies of British literature published over the last decade or so a current has developed whose drift carries us into yet another re-examination of the emer- gence and formulation of bourgeois kinship relations. This current’s wellspring is a close examination of incest taboos and their significance to modern structures of family, marriage and lineage. Key among these recent studies is Ellen Pollak’s Incest and the English Novel (2003), which covers the period 1684–1814 and could thus fit neatly as a companion volume to Corbett’s. Pollak notes that structuralist and post-structuralist theory has placed incest prohibition at the center of some crucial accounts of origins, particularly Claude Levi- Strauss’ postulate that an incest taboo is the universal condition for the constitution of culture and Freud’s Oedipal framing of the development of subjectivity (p. 6). More recently, feminist critics have argued that such accounts necessarily presuppose gender REVIEWS 827 Downloaded from https://academic.oup.com/res/article-abstract/60/247/825/1584883 by University of Zurich user on 06 August 2018 
work_kmubz3mkkfcefmrnyotsqs55sy	----	Mainland China undergraduate learners’ experiences in the Malaysian tertiary context Available online at www.sciencedirect.com 1877–0428 © 2011 Published by Elsevier Ltd. doi:10.1016/j.sbspro.2011.04.276 Procedia Social and Behavioral Sciences 15 (2011) 3227–3231 WCES-2011 Mainland China undergraduate learners’ experiences in the Malaysian tertiary context Radha M.K. Nambiar a *, Noraini Ibrahim a aUniversiti Kebangsaan Malaysia,Bangi,Selangor D.E. 43600, Malaysia Abstract This paper explores how mainland China undergraduates navigate the academic literacy experiences they encounter in the Malaysian classroom. Data was collected using background and literacy experience interviews, literacy logs and analytical field notes over a period of 14 weeks. The interview transcripts were analyzed to identify instances of literacy difficulties and practices to cope with the difficulties. The literacy logs and field notes were used to inform the transcriptions for accuracy purposes. This paper will provide insights into the difficulties the learners faced and how they overcome these challenges and look at measures lecturers can take to help the learners in their academic socialization practices. © 2011 Published by Elsevier Ltd. Keywords: academic literacy,academic socialization, tertiary classrooms,literacy practices,international students 1. Introduction The last two decades has witnessed a sharp increase in undergraduate student demographics in institutions of higher learning in Malaysia with many study abroad programmes as a result of student mobility and short term exchange programmes. This ‘demographic revolution’ (Friedlander 1991) is also visible in Unversiti Kebangsaan Malaysia which has especially seen a rising international student intake for postgraduate study and more recently for undergraduate study. The increasing emphasis on internationalization in higher education has resulted in more students participating in study abroad programmes to broaden their educational and life experiences. These students naturally arrive with preconceived beliefs and expectations about their academic sojourn. This paper is premised on the fact that success in tertiary learning depends on having appropriate and suitable literacy practices as these are the core of academic activity in institutions of learning (Nambiar 2005). However, it is acknowledged that this is a challenging and complex process for many learners who find this process of academic socialization challenging and complex. Morita (2009) studied the academic socialization experiences of a Japanese student in a Canadian university and found that differences encountered in language, culture and gender impacted academic experience. The new identities he had to deal with and the ensuing roles he had to play limited his participation in academic socialization practices. Duff (2007) worked with Korean students in a Canadian university and found that these students chose to deal with the different discourses and practices of the host institution by connecting with Korean and other Asian students thereby minimizing their opportunity to work * Radha M.K Nambiar. Tel.: +603-89216538; fax: +603-89254577 E-mail address: .rads@ukm.my Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. Open access under CC BY-NC-ND license. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/ 3228 Radha M.K. Nambiar and Noraini Ibrahim / Procedia Social and Behavioral Sciences 15 (2011) 3227–3231 with native speakers. Zamel and Spack (2004) also found that many students found the transition from their L1 to English difficult when their values and expectations were in conflict with the host country’s academic culture. Leibowitz (2005) study on black isiXhosa speaking students in an English medium South African university found that students from minority languages and backgrounds within a country are challenged in their academic socialization. This is because they are uncomfortably aware of the differences in the two worlds – theirs and the institution. The use of English as a lingua franca in the Southeast Asian region has also propelled students to think they can participate in exchange programmes within the region without much linguistic difficulty (Duff 2010). For many Asian learners who come from countries where English is a foreign language, reading in English is a formidable task especially if they have had minimal exposure to the language in their home countries. In an earlier paper that looked at how Korean undergraduates were coping with their study abroad experience in Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia (UKM), Nambiar (2010) found that these students adopted different strategies to help them cope with the new demands of the host institution in their language classes. Coming from environments that emphasized the grammar translation method these students had great difficulty adapting to the new learning environment which necessitated critical thinking and independent thought. How then do students socialize into the new academic culture and learn to become effective and successful participants of the literacy practices of the new environment? 2. The Study 2.1. Context of study Malaysian students of Malay, Chinese and Indian origin dominate language classrooms in the university and these students share similar academic backgrounds as they have been educated in the L1, Bahasa Melayu and learn English as a second language from Year one in primary or elementary school. Mainland China undergraduates come from varied academic backgrounds and experiences depending on the academic culture of their institution of higher learning in China. English for many of them is a foreign language as their education was in their L1. While the learning of English is seen as important in China there are limited opportunities to practice the language. This is unlike the situation in Malaysia where the use of English is widespread and ample opportunities are available to practice the language. The literacy practices that were explored in this study were centered on two courses – Academic Reading and Selected Literary Works. For the former the students had to read journal articles, the recommended course textbook and the lecture notes. The latter course involved the students reading poems and short stories In essence they were required to read and express their understanding of what they had understood from the readings in both an oral and written form - the thrust of academic literacy. 2.2. Aim of study This study investigates the academic literacy experiences of 2 mainland China undergraduates enrolled in a reading program at UKM to understand what difficulties they face in their new environments and what literacy practices they employed in coping with these difficulties. 2.3. The Method Using a qualitative approach that spanned 14 weeks data was obtained from interviews, literacy logs, and analytical field notes. A total of five interviews were conducted with the first interview to help create a literacy profile while the subsequent interviews focused on the students’ literacy logs. The students were asked to talk about the tasks they encountered, any difficulties they faced and how they overcame these difficulties. The students (henceforth S1 & S2) were asked to keep a reflective literacy log in which they recorded their literacy encounters throughout the semester and these were used to elicit questions for the interviews. The logs were used to also raise Radha M.K. Nambiar and Noraini Ibrahim / Procedia Social and Behavioral Sciences 15 (2011) 3227–3231 3229 awareness among the students on the current literacy practices and evaluate these against their own practices. The researcher’s field notes were also used to identify issues and questions that could be dealt with during the interviews. 2.4. Data Analysis The recorded one hour long interviews were transcribed and examined closely for difficulties in literacy practices. These were highlighted and marks made in the margin of the transcripts to quantify the numbers of instances when the learners found a particular practice difficult. At the same time the literacy practices they engaged in to cope with the difficulties were noted. The literacy logs and field notes were used to inform the transcriptions for accuracy purposes. 3. Findings 3.1. Literacy Profile of learners Both students (S1 and S2) are very proficient in Mandarin, their L1 and fairly proficient in English. They received their primary, middle and high school education in China and came to Malaysia to pursue a Bachelor of Education in the Teaching of English as a Second Language (TESL). English was taught formally when they were in upper middle school around the age of 12 but they acknowledge that in China today English is learnt “as a subject from the primary school”. Much of the focus on English was on grammar and oral communication. Their teachers were native speakers of English and S2 describes “their English as awesome” The schools produced their own textbooks with the help of native speakers who usually taught English in the schools. . The syllabus was very grammar centric and this was the focus of the exams as well. S2 claims in his school they had 45 minute English classes daily and sometimes they would have more than one class if a subject teacher failed to turn up. Language learning was the priority so any free period was divided between the Mandarin and English subject teachers. While the focus of learning English was oral competency in schools the students are quick to point out that “English in China is a foreign language” and “we don’t use English to communicate with friends” Interestingly while they learnt English orally they did not really practice it and this was largely due to the fact that Mandarin was more commonly spoken and because they did not want to stick out by speaking in a foreign language. “You speak English instead of Mandarin somebody may think you are afraid” There was this stigma associated with speaking in English. While they are aware of the importance of English they only see it as a means to an end. S2 talks about a special school for English learning in China. “This school has people who come from English speaking countries. I mean this kind of people may come to China to travel or something, they will stay here for awhile so they are looking for a part time job so they working here to teach the Chinese people.” S2 knew he was coming to study in UKM so this motivated him to go for extra classes. He went to this special school and did oral skills and reading courses. In the oral skills course students were given topics to discuss in groups under the guidance of a teacher who helped structure their sentences and provide help with vocabulary. In the reading course they were required to read short articles and identify the main points in them. S1 did not go for any extra classes although she found English very difficult. She says ‘In China we learn English just as the subject, however when we come here we learn English as a tool. A tool, a language tool to learn other subjects.” Both learners only spoke Mandarin at home and admitted their parents did not speak English at all. According to S2 there was no need to speak in English because everyone understood Mandarin so they could speak to each other and still get their message across. He cited himself as an example of someone in UKM who only spoke English when he needed to and only with people who could not speak Mandarin. S2 also admits to having mainly Mandarin books at home and the few English books he has are in the form of short stories, novels and magazines. Although there are foreign language bookstores he says the books are very expensive. S1 on the other hand does have books in 3230 Radha M.K. Nambiar and Noraini Ibrahim / Procedia Social and Behavioral Sciences 15 (2011) 3227–3231 English but does not enjoy reading them “because it is not easy to understand the real meaning in the novel” She has novels by Jane Austen and finds reading literary texts so difficult. 3.2. Difficulties encountered in academic reading Both learners indicated almost similar difficulties with the academic literacy practices they encountered. Reading was undoubtedly viewed as taxing and overwhelming in the beginning. The marked difference between the practice in China where they were guided by the teacher and in Malaysia where they were left to read and understand texts independently overwhelmed the learners. In both courses they were taking they were assigned different texts or short stories to read and then they had to discuss in groups what they had understood from the texts before they presented their understanding in the form of oral presentations or written work. Coming from a grammar translation environment they struggled to cope with the reading tasks thrust upon them. The task of reading to comprehend itself was such a chore for them and they sometimes took a few hours to process a text. When they also had to present their understanding of the text they found it too burdensome. A major difficulty for the learners was the lexicon in the reading textbook and in the poems and short stories. The learners found it difficult to read the book as after reading one or two paragraphs they came across many words they were unfamiliar with. This inability to understand the words also meant they spent a long time on the texts and this made the process long and tiresome. Having to constantly look up meanings of unfamiliar words and having to reread parts of the text were cognitively demanding for these learners as they were reading in English. As S1 claims, “in reading the most challenging is the vocabulary”. For S2 problems with the lexicon together with difficulty with sentence structure, grammar and spelling proved to be a main hurdle. S2 states “We can speak, know the meaning but we cannot spell... vocabulary.. weak to follow” S1 found reading more tedious and the unfamiliar vocabulary and having to read in English made comprehension more cumbersome especially for the literary texts. To quote him “Vocabulary is the most difficult thing for us because the words we know is not enough ( to understand the text)” Both learners in their interviews repeatedly lamented how busy they were and how they had so many tasks to complete and had to work during the weekends and holidays. It is apparent they were taking a long time to read and comprehend the texts and this limitation affected their ability to complete their tasks efficiently. These learners like the Korean learners in an earlier study (Nambiar 2010) also preferred to work with other learners from China as they claimed they could have discussions in Mandarin and this facilitated their understanding of the task. They felt trying to have discussions in English with other Malaysian students took up too much time and effort. In their view as long as they could understand and were able to complete the task the language they used should not be a concern. Duff (2006) also posits the students in her study were quite content to practice their language ability with each other. 3.3. Literacy practices Both the students found the translator a useful tool to deal with unfamiliar lexicon. S1 for instance uses the translator and writes the meaning in Chinese beside the problematic word to enable her to read without stopping to understand the word in English. S1also uses the online help to search for meanings, “Most of the time, use the dictionary and some of the time I go searching online. Online explanation is very simple. Use small words, to explain”. S2 states when he needs help with unfamiliar words he also gets help from friends and the teacher as he feels it is not good to rely too much on the dictionary. He claims “… its better don’t keep looking words in the dictionary, it will interrupt the process of reading”. In a way they have got a good approach as they recognize the fastest way to comprehend a text is to just continue reading it and by understanding difficult words in a simple form she is able to do just that. S2 admitted he found it easier to ask for help from his Malaysian friends as “they were more qualified (meaning more competent)”. Both Kobayashi (2003) and Morita (2000) found that seeking help from more experienced classmates and peers was conducive to academic socialization. Radha M.K. Nambiar and Noraini Ibrahim / Procedia Social and Behavioral Sciences 15 (2011) 3227–3231 3231 S1 also had a very interesting literacy practice which she engaged in after reading texts – she made notes based on what she had understood from the text. She said ….sometimes you can know the ideas but sometimes you cannot understand or you cannot remember it. You cannot transfer their ideas to yours. But when you write again what you have read, that is the way to learn”. This a good strategy as by putting into her own words her understanding she was able to display her ability to comprehend the text. The students found that over the course of the semester they were able to read the texts without stumbling over unfamiliar vocabulary as they were able to simply guess meaning in context. One of them even said she was now quite good at reading newspapers online something she never could do in the beginning of the semester. Both learners claimed their vocabulary had expanded with more reading and they were able to understand more words which made their reading more fluent. 4. Conclusion The findings provide valuable insights into the pedagogical practices in Malaysian classrooms to help international students negotiate their academic socialization practices. By exploring the various facets of their literacy experiences the study has revealed that knowing about the process of socialization helps us to understand these learners better. Instructors must examine their own instructional practices to see if they are accommodating these learners. For instance since the lexicon is a major difficulty measures must be taken to ensure lexicon development is included in the courses. It is important to be cognizant of the fact that reading is a primary form of academic literacy and learners must have effective instruction in it to enable them to be successful in tertiary education (Nambar 2005). Learners who are unfamiliar with the importance of being able to read effectively and efficiently need to be taught how to approach texts to maximize their literacy experiences. These learners should be encouraged to seek opportunities to practice their literacy practices with learners from the host country (Duff 2007) so as to minimize conflict with the prevailing literacy practices ( Morita 2009, Leibowitz 2005, Zamel & Spack 2004 ). Acknowledgements The authors would like to thank the University for providing the strategic research grant PTS-053-2009 for this study. References Duff, P.A. (2007). Second language socialization as sociocultural theory: Insights and issues. Language Teaching, 40, 309-319 doi:10.1017/S0261444807004508 Duff, P.A. (2010). Language Socialization into academic discourse communities. Annual Review of Applied Linguistics, 30, 169-172. Friedlander, M. (1991). The Newcomer Programme: Helping Immigrant students succeed in U.S. Schools. NCELA Programme information Guide Series. No 8. Retrieved from http://www.ncela.gwu.edu/files/rcd/BE018149/The_Newcomer_Program.pdf Kobayashi, M. (2003). The role of peer support in students’ accomplishment of oral academic tasks. The Canadian Modern Language Review, 59, 337-368. Leibowitz, B. (2005). Learning in an additional language in a multilingual society: A South African case study on university-level writing. TESOL Quarterly, 39, 661–681. Morita, N. (2000). Discourse socialization through oral classroom activities in a TESL graduate programme, TESOL Quarterly 34, 279-310. Morita, N. (2009). Language, culture, gender, and academic socialization. Language and Education, 23(5), 4 43–460. Nambiar, R. (2005). Enhancing academic literacy among tertiary learners: A Malaysian experience. 3L Journal of Language Teaching, Linguistics and Literature, 13, 77-94. Nambiar, R. Noraini Ibrahim. Nor Fariza Mohd Nor & Subahan, T.M. (2010). Academic literacy experiences of Korean undergraduates in Malaysia. In T.S. Mohamed Meerah, Fauziah Ahmad and Nabishah Mohamad. (Eds.), Striving for excellence: Governing practice through action research (pp. 221-230). Bangi: Penerbit UKM. Zamel, V. & Spack, R. (Eds.). (2004). Crossing the curriculum: Multilingual learners in college classrooms. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. 
work_kna3elxpprhdjfc527qitqs2ye	----	IV CLAP AND THE POX IN ENGLISH LITERATURE By SIR D'ARCY POWER, K.B.E., F.R.C.S., Honorary Librarian, The Royal College of Surgeons of England GENTLEMEN,-I make no apology for the title of this paper. " Clap" and " the pox " are words of ancient lineage and were in common use, even in polite society, until they were replaced by gonorrhoea and syphilis. Gonorrhoea was used in its etymological sense from quite early times. It meant any genito-urinary discharge, from pus due to an abscess in the kidney to a leucorrhcea. Our early ancestors had not much trouble in naming the venereal diseases from which some of them suffered Syphilis was not yet introduced and they had only to consider gonorrhoea and soft sores. " Chaudepisse " was the name given for many years to inflammation caused by the gonococcus, for it was well known to the upper classes who spoke Norman French, whilst their English servants called it the Brenning (burning). John Arderne, an Eng- lish surgeon, writing about I376, devotes a chapter to the treatment of an " Evil that is called chaudepisse" and advises injections of lead lotion. He also tells in another place of " brenning of the urine in the yard withinforth for which oil of almonds put in with a syringe availeth much." He describes, too, how " the yard of a man or the wicket of a woman should be treated if they be brent with heat and great swelling, sometimes with huge sorrow and pricking and in other patients with fever and unrest." He gives the case history of a patient with soft sores ending in a sloughing phagedaena. " The man's yard began to swell, after coit due," says Arderne, " to the falling of his own sperm whereof he suffered great griev- ousness of burning and acheing as men do that be so hurt. He was told by a lady to apply a plaster of boiled leeks and grease. This made him worse." John Arderne was called in " and the next day put the patient on a I05 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / B r J V e n e r D is: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.1 4 .2 .1 0 5 o n 1 A p ril 1 9 3 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ BRITISH JOURNAL OF VENEREAL DISEASES table and with a razor cut away all the dead and stinking flesh," applied quick-lime and the patient got well. The words " chaudepisse " and " brenning " lingered on into the seventeenth century. Shakespeare says in " King Lear ": " No heretic burned but wenches' suitors." Dromio, in the " Comedy of Errors " (iv. 3), concludes that because " Courtesans appear to men like angels of light and light is an effect of fire and fire will burn ergo light wenches will burn. Come not near her." Gonorrhoea was employed occasionally at this time in its specific sense, but still with some confused memory of its etymology. Andrew Boorde, in his " Breviary of Health," writes in the i66th chapter (ed. I575) of the Gomory passio with a side heading, " The Gomer passio." " Gontorhea is the Greek word. In Latin it is named Profluvio somnis. The barbarous worde is named Gomerra passio, it is named so because Gomer and Sodome did sinke for such lyke matter, but this matter is not voluntary and they did it voluntarily." Boorde is using the term, therefore, to mean masturbation and nocturnal pollution. He recommends for treatment camphor, and opium and henbane in conserve of roses as medicine; lettuce, melon and purslane as diet. It is clear, therefore, that Andrew Boorde attached no definite significance to gonorrhoea as he used the word. " Clap " replaced " chaudepisse " late in the sixteenth century, and the earliest quotation given in the " New English Dictionary" is dated i587. It is of obscure origin, but was found to be convenient and soon came into common use. Howell speaks of it in his letters " Ho-Elianae " in i650, and Samuel Butler, thirteen years later, says of Hudibras: He had such plenty as sufficed To make some think him circumcised. And truly so he was perhaps Not as a proselyte but for claps (i. 64). And in another place, detailing the power of love, he writes: 'Tis this that proudest Dame enamours To spite the world and to disparage Claps, issues, infancy and marriage (ii. 241). There are many passing references to the clap in English literature, but the condition was not thought io6 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / B r J V e n e r D is: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.1 4 .2 .1 0 5 o n 1 A p ril 1 9 3 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ CLAP AND THE POX IN ENGLISH LITERATURE worthy of any lengthy consideration, for the disease was looked upon as a trivial complaint incidental to youth, and it was a common saying that A clap in Spring Is physic for a King. Dr. John Rolleston, in a paper on the " Medical Interest of Casanova's Memoirs," published in Janus for the year I9I7, pointed out that between the ages of four- teen and forty-one Casanova acknowledges to eleven attacks of venereal disease, and that very likely he had many more. Four of the recorded attacks were probably gonorrhcea only, one of which was complicated by orchitis; five were soft chancres; one was syphilis and one' was possibly herpes preputialis. The treatment of venereal disease was lucrative. Ouacks treated the acute and uncomplicated cases; surgeons dealt with the subsequent gleets and strictures, making large incomes even in our own times from the passing of catheters. The subsequent sterility must have had an effect on the social history of the nation. Many of the older and better class families died out as a result of the indiscretion of boys who were said euphemistically to be sowing their wild oats. It Nas far otherwise with the pox, which, coming as a new disease at the end of the sixteenth century, was looked upon as a serious and deadly affection to be treated and if possible cured. But the treatment was often more deadly than the disease itself. A certain amount of moral reprobation attached to it which, curi- ously enough, does not seem to have been the case with clap. It had therefore considerable difficulty in securing a name. For many years it was disguised in England as MHorbus Gallicus, or simply as Morbus, interchangeably with Lues or Lues Venerea, but ordinary persons spoke of it as "the pox," using the word just as the present generation uses " bloody," a mere interjection or an intensive adjective. The Concordance shows that Shakespeare employs the word " pox " nineteen times, but only twice formally. In " Love's Labour's Lost," Rosaline, in a chaffing match, says: "0, that your face were not so full of O's! I07 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / B r J V e n e r D is: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.1 4 .2 .1 0 5 o n 1 A p ril 1 9 3 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ BRITISH JOURNAL OF VENEREAL DISEASES And Katherine replies: " A pox of that jest " (v. ii. 46). And again in " Pericles," where Pander, speaking of Marina, says: " Now the pox upon her green sickness for me!" And the Bawd answers: "Faith, there's no way to be rid of it but by the way of the pox" (iv. X. I4). The two diseases had become hopelessly confused with each other in the minds of the public by i63I, and so remained for more than 200 years. Philip Massinger, in "The Emperor of the East," which was licensed on March iith, 1631, makes the Empiric say (Act IV, Scene 4) of a conjuring Balsam in which the Emperor had faith: "An excellent receipt, but does your Lordship know what 'tis good for ? PALEL: I would be instructed." SURGEON: " For the gonorrhoea or, if you would hear it in plain phrase, the Pox." EMPIRIC: " If it cure his Lordship of that by the way, I hope, Sir, 'tis the better. My medicine serves for all things and the pox, Sir, though falsely named the sciatica or gout, is the more catholic sick- ness." The Restoration dramatists made many of their plots turn upon venereal disease. Wycherley, in " The Country Wife," represents Horner as pretending to be impotent from the pox and enables him thereby to seduce the wives of his friends. Shadwell, in " The Humourist," assumes that the pox is a humour, not a disease. But I need not dwell upon the plays of this period. They have been considered recently and exhaustively by Dr. Herbert Silvette, of the Medical School of the University of Virginia (The Annals of Medical History, I937, Vol. 9, New Series, pp. 37I-394). What strikes one in reading them is the light-hearted manner in which the subject of venereal disease is approached. It is taken as a matter of course and implies no moral turpitude or social handi- cap. It was widely spread and was looked upon as an unlucky or foolish mischance. Mr. Pepys (September 2nd, i66i) writes in his Diary: " Mr. Pickering though he be a fool yet he keeps much company and will tell all he io8 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / B r J V e n e r D is: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.1 4 .2 .1 0 5 o n 1 A p ril 1 9 3 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ CLAP AND THE POX IN ENGLISH LITERATITRE knows and hears. . . . He tells me plainly of the vices of the Court and how the pox is so common there, and, as I hear on all hands, that it is as common as eating and drinking." But we cannot afford to throw stones. The newspapers at the present time are full of divorce news. It may be that as we think there were few virtuous people in Stuart days, so our successors may equally think that there must have been few undivorced couples in this generation, and that the marriage vows were more honoured in the breach than in the observance by the majority of those nowv living, which is manifestly untrue. Dryden, in his bitter attack upon Shaftesbury and on the dissenting and fanatical clergy of his day, says in "The Medal," published in I682: Religion thou hast none; thy mercury Has past through every sect, or theirs through thee, But what thou givest that venom still remains And the poxed nation feels thee in their brains, What else inspires the tongue and swells the breasts Of all thy bellowing renegado priests. Things began to mend at the beginning of the eigh- teenth century. English writers took a more serious view of venereal disease, pointing to the physical rather than to the moral disabilities of the clap and pox, which by this time had become identical in the mind of the public. The Tatler ends an amusing paper on Artificial Noses, written jointly by Addison and Steele and dated Decem- ber 7th, I7Io (No. I60), with the advice: " I shall close this Paper with an admonition to young men of the Town which I think the more necessary because I see several new fresh-coloured faces that have made their first appearance in it this winter. I must therefore assure them that the art of making noses is entirely lost, and, in the next place, beg them not to follow the example of our town-rakes who live as if there were a Taliacotius to be met with at the corner of every street. Whatever young men may think, the nose is a very becoming part of the face; and a man makes a silly figure without it. But it is the nature of youth not to know the value of anything until they have lost it. The general precept, therefore, I would leave with them is to regard every town-woman as a particular kind of Syren that has a design upon their noses, and that amidst her I09 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / B r J V e n e r D is: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.1 4 .2 .1 0 5 o n 1 A p ril 1 9 3 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ BRITISH JOURNAL OF VENEREAL DISEASES flatteries and allurements they will fancy she speaks to them in that humourous phrase of Old Plautus, Ego tibi faciem denasabo mordicus, ' Keep your face out of my way, or I will bite off your nose.' " Daniel Defoe took up the story a few years later, applying it to women instead of men. He published in I722 " The Fortunes of Moll Flanders," who was bom in Newgate, was twelve years a whore, five times a wife, twelve years a thief, and eight years a transported felon in Virginia." She was a queen of rogues, but it is impos- sible not to like her. She escaped both the clap and the pox, grew rich, lived honestly, and died a penitent at the age of sixty. Defoe takes occasion to point out the danger of promiscuous intercourse when he makes Moll Flanders say: " There is nothing so absurd, so surfeiting, so ridi- culous, as a man heated by wine in his head and a wicked lust in his inclination together; he is in the possession of two devils at once and can no more govern himself by his reason than a mill can grind without water. Vice tramples upon all that was in him that had any good in it; nay, his very sense is blinded by its own rage and he acts absurdities even in his own view, such as drinking more when he is drunk already, picking up a common woman without any regard to what she is or who she is; whether sound or rotten, clean or unclean ; whether ugly or handsome, old or young. Such a man is worse than a lunatic. " These are the men of whom Solomon says, 'They go like an ox to the slaughter, till a dart strikes through their liver'; an admirable description, by the way, of the foul disease which is a poisonous deadly contagion mingling with the blood whose centre or fountain is the liver; from whence by the swift circulation of the whole mass that dreadful nauseous plague strikes immediately through his liver and his spirits are infected, his vitals stabbed through as with a dart." Defoe continues his homily and Moll says: "As for me I would have sent him safe home to his house and to his family, for 'twas ten to one but he had an honest virtuous wife and tender innocent children that were anxious for his safety and would have been glad to have gotten him back home and taken care of him, till he was restored to himself and then with what shame and regret IIO o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / B r J V e n e r D is: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.1 4 .2 .1 0 5 o n 1 A p ril 1 9 3 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ CLAP AND THE POX IN ENGLISH LITERATURE woiild he look back upon himself! How would he reproach himself with associating himself with a whore! picked up in the worst of all holes, the cloister [of the Priory church during St. Bartholomew's Fair in Smith- field], among the dirt and filth of the town! how would he be trembling for fear he had got the pox, for fear a dart had struck through his liver and hating himself every time he looked back upon the madness and brutality of his debauch! how would he, if he had any principles of honour, abhor the thought of giving any ill-distemper, if he had it, as for aught he knew he might, to his modest and virtuous wife and thereby sowing the contagion in the life-blood of his posterity." Smollett published " Roderick Random " in I748, and as an episode gives the history of Miss Williams (Chapters XXI and XXII). He tells that when his hero first met the lady " she found herself dangerously infected with a dis- temper to which all women of the town are particularly subject; that her malady gaining ground every day she became loathsome to herself and offensive to others ; that she had accordingly put herself into the hands of an advertising doctor, who, having fleeced her of all the money she had or could procure, left her in a worse con- dition than that in which he had found her." Smollett, too, points a moral to adorn this tale, but it is from the harlot's point of view. He says: " Of all professions I pronounce that of the courtesan the most deplorable but, Miss Williams affirmed, that not- withstanding the disgrace which had fallen to her share, she had not been so unlucky in the condition of the prosti- tute as many others of the same community. I have often seen, said she, whilst I strolled about the streets at mid- night, a number of naked wretches reduced to rags and filth, huddled together like swine, in the corner of a dark alley; some of whom, but eighteen months before, I had known the favourites of the town, rolling in affluence and glittering in all the pomp of equipage and dress. And indeed the gradation is easily conceived; the most fashionable woman of the town is as liable to contagion as one in a much humbler sphere; she infects her admirers; her situation is public; she is avoided, neglected, unable to support her usual appearance, which, however, she strives to maintain as long as possible; her credit fails, she is obliged to retrench and become a night- "II o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / B r J V e n e r D is: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.1 4 .2 .1 0 5 o n 1 A p ril 1 9 3 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ BRITISH JOURNAL OF VENEREAL DISEASES walker; her malady gains ground; she tampers with her constitution and ruins it; her complexion fades; she grows nauseous to everybody; finds herself reduced to a starving condition; is tempted to pick pockets; is detected, committed to Newgate, where she remains in a miserable condition till she is discharged. Nobody will afford her lodging; the symptoms of her distemper have grown outrageous; she sues to be admitted into an hospital, where she is cured at the expense of her nose; she is turned out naked into the streets, depends upon the addresses of the lowest class, is feign to allay the rage of hunger and cold with gin.; degenerates into a brutal insensibility, rots and dies upon a dunghill." Lord Chesterfield looks at the matter from the point of view of a man of the world without regard to any moral question. He writes a letter to his natural son, Philip Stanhope, which is dated November 8th (O.S.), I750, saying: " You will easily perceive, that I mean to allow you whatever is necessary not only for the figure but for the pleasures of a gentleman and not to supply the profusion of a rake. This you must confess does not savour of either the severity or parcimony of old age. . . . Having men- tioned the word Rake I must say a word or two more upon that subject because young people too frequently, and always fatally, are apt to mistake that character for that of a man of pleasure; whereas there are not in the world two characters more different. A rake is the com- position of all the lowest, most ignoble, degrading, and shameful vices ; they all conspire to degrade his character and to ruin his fortune ; while wine and the pox contend which shall soonest and most effectually ruin his consti- tution. A dissolute flagitious footman or porter makes full as good a rake as a man of the first quality. By the bye, let me tell you, that in the wildest part of my youth, I never was a rake, but on the contrary, always detested and despised the character. " A man of pleasure, though not always so scrupulous as he should be, and, as one day he will wish to have been, refines at least his pleasures by taste, accompanies them with decency, and enjoys them with dignity. Few men can be men of pleasure; every man may be a rake." This, I think, is the end of venereal disease in litera- II2 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / B r J V e n e r D is: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.1 4 .2 .1 0 5 o n 1 A p ril 1 9 3 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ CLAP AND THE POX IN ENGLISH LITERATURE ture for many years. A new school of novelists came in with Fielding and Richardson. The lady novelists of the half century following them very properly ignored the subject; what the present generation writes about I do not know, for I have not read them. I am, however, quite sure that there is no allusion to venereal disease in the writings of Jane Austen, Miss Burney, or the Brontes. Clap and pox had become vulgar words and were replaced by gonorrhoea and syphilis. The whole subject of venereal disease had become tabu during the Victorian period, and for many years there was a conspiracy of silence. The disease was looked upon as a divine punish- ment for sexual immorality, and it is not mentioned either by Thackeray or Dickens. Better counsels prevailed in our times. Ibsen wrote of it in " Ghosts," published in i88i, and ten years later Brieux in " Les Avaries," known to us as " Damaged Goods." They called attention in all seriousness to the disastrous effects of syphilis and thereby began to educate the public upon right lines. But this dragging venereal disease back into the light met with considerable opposi- tion, and it was not until a still later period that its divine origin was abandoned. The discovery of the gonococcus and of the Sfirochate pallidum ended the myth once and for all. The Government took the matter in hand in I9I4 and taught that prevention was better than cure. The cost of treatment was subsidised, and the walls of the public urinals are now placarded with directions about " Clap and the Pox," so that the old words have come back into common use. But these placards are in no sense literature, and the subject of my address is Venereal D.isease in English Literature. II3 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://sti.b m j.co m / B r J V e n e r D is: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /sti.1 4 .2 .1 0 5 o n 1 A p ril 1 9 3 8 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://sti.bmj.com/ 
work_ko5esbfjj5aw3g25jhefy62c3i	----	200_1.tif Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=rjve20 The Vocational Aspect of Secondary and Further Education ISSN: 0305-7879 (Print) (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rjve19 The cultural background of prospective teachers in further education Ann R. Dryland & L.R. Halliday To cite this article: Ann R. Dryland & L.R. Halliday (1963) The cultural background of prospective teachers in further education, The Vocational Aspect of Secondary and Further Education, 15:32, 200-205, DOI: 10.1080/03057876380000231 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/03057876380000231 Published online: 30 Jul 2007. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 43 View related articles https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=rjve20 https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/rjve19 https://www.tandfonline.com/action/showCitFormats?doi=10.1080/03057876380000231 https://doi.org/10.1080/03057876380000231 https://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=rjve20&show=instructions https://www.tandfonline.com/action/authorSubmission?journalCode=rjve20&show=instructions https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/03057876380000231 https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/mlt/10.1080/03057876380000231 T H E C U L T U R A L B A C K G R O U N D O F P R O S P E C T I V E T E A C H E R S I N F U R T H E R E D U C A T I O N By ANN R. DRYLAND and L. R. HALLIDAY Lecturer and Principal Lecturer, Garnett College MUCH CONCERN has been expressed recently about the narrowing effects o f specialisation and about the need for every teacher in further education, what- ever his discipline, to contribute, both directly through his subject-matter and indirectly by his attitude and choice o f instances, to the liberal education o f his students. In December, 1962, a survey was conducted at Garnett College among students on the one-year full-time course, virtually all of whom would be serving in further education from the beginning o f the 1963-4 session, with the aim of acquiring a general impression of the breadth o f their interests. The Test The test was based in design and technique on the general information test which forms part of the battery devised in 1950 by W. A. Skinner, the Deputy Principal of Garnett College, for selection for admittance to the course. Skinner's cultural test, like G. W. H. Leytham's Arts and Science Information Test at Liverpool, 1 derives from the General Information Test introduced by E. Anstey, R. F. Dowse, and M. Duguid, 2 in which the subject, when presented with the names o f 120 famous persons and fourteen professions, has to ' m a t c h ' each name with that profession in connection with which its owner is well- known. Skinner's profile considerably modified this, reducing the names to 100 and increasing the professions to twenty, viz: Actors (and actresses) on the stage, Actors (and actresses) on the films, Chefs, Composers, Dress Designers, Economists, Educators, Engineers, Historians, Mathematicians, Novelists, Painters, Philosophers, Playwrights, Poets, Scientists, Sculptors, Singers, States- men, Travellers. Chefs and Dress Designers were deliberately included since both needle and food subjects are important elements in further education. The writers further modified Skinner's test by combining actors (stage) with actors (film) and introducing a new category, Instrumentalists. This, it was felt, elimi- nated one source of ambiguity and gave a fairer balance between literature and music in that each was now represented by three categories (novelists, play- wrights, poets; composers, instrumentalists, singers, respectively). An arbitrary number o f names (in fact 209) was given and each subject required to indicate the profession or occupation with which he associated each name. The test was given in three stages, each lasting roughly half-an-hour, in three successive weeks. In the first week the first seven categories were tested, with A N N R . D R Y L A N D A N D L . R . H A L L I D A Y 201 sixty-nine names to be classified; in the second the second seven, with seventy- four names; in the third the remaining six, with sixty-six names. The sample For the first test the sample comprised 164 students, for the second 162, for the third 158. These students came from homes all over Great Britain, with those in Southern England predominating. Some thirty men and women from the Commonwealth and other countries of non-British cultural background took the test, but their answers have not been included in the findings. With the exception o f teachers o f building, all the major subject groups in further educa- tion were represented in the sample, in the following proportions: engineering 33 per cent, business studies (professional and secretarial) 29 per cent, general subjects (prospective teachers of English, social studies, mathematics and four future tutor-librarians) 15 per cent, food subjects (cookery, catering, baking) 6 per cent, science 5 per cent, nautical subjects, needle subjects and printing groups 4 per cent each. The average age was 33 years. Presentation As in Anstey, Dowse and Duguid's test, scoring was objective, but a discrimin- ation factor over and above chance was present (e.g. David Ricardo, the economist, and H. R. Ricardo, the engineer, appeared in the same test; Lord Acton, the historian, figured in the second test, Lord Anson, the traveller, in the third, a week later). Names were presented with or without Christian name or initials according to normal usage (e.g. Sibelius--surname only, but Benjamin Britten in full; Givinchy--but Hardy Amies; Pestalozzi--but A. S. Neill) except where, whatever the usual practice, a prefix was essential for clarity (e.g. the Ricardos; Graham and Joan Sutherland; Brook and A. J. P. Taylor; Roger Bacon; T. H. Huxley). The results The order o f 'popularity' of the twenty categories proved to be as shown in Table 1. The predominant interest in music shown by a sample which was weighted on the scientific, but not specifically on the mathematical, side would appear to be significant, and that ' Scientists' came in the lower half o f the table is a little surprising. O f all names in the 209 proffered only two, Louis Armstrong and Sophia Loren, were correctly identified by 100 per cent of the sample. All the following, however, were correctly labelled by over 90 per cent of the sample: Terence Rattigan, Chaucer, Caruso, Ella Fitzgerald, Maria Callas, U Thant, Charles de Gaulle, Captain Cook, Cole Porter, Dior, Marconi, Yehudi Menuhin, Eileen Joyce, Jane Austen, Pythagoras; and over 80 per cent were right on Naunton Wayne, R o d Steiger, Sarah Bernhardt, Stravinsky, Elgar, Benjamin Britten, Vaughan Williams, Sibelius, Sir Percy Nunn, Pestalozzi (both these last had been recently mentioned in lectures on the course, though not as yet studied in any depth), George Stephenson, Fritz Kreisler, Dave Brubeck, Leon Goossens, 202 The Cultural Background of Prospective Teachers in Further Education TABLE 1 The percentage of each category correctly identified Category Instrumentalists Composers Singers Actors Playwrights Statesmen Poets Engineers Novelists ) Painters Scientists Educators Travellers ) Mathematicians Dress Designers Economists Historians Philosophers Sculptors Chefs The number of names correctly identified in each category (expressed as percentage) 67 64.5 63.5 60 54 53 51.5 49 46 45 44 43 41 32 31 25 21 17 Euclid, Cdzanne, D y l a n Thomas, A r t h u r Miller (association with p o o r Marilyn ?), Brendan Behan, J o h n Osborne, Darwin, Faraday, J o a n Sutherland, W o o d r o w Wilson, Marco Polo and Sir Ernest Shackleton. Again the prevailing musical interest will be observed. The names receiving the lowest correct scores are given in Table 2. T A B L E 2 Names receiving least identification Percentage of Name sample correctly identifying } Ella Maillart (traveller) Brook Taylor (mathematician) Elizabeth Frink (sculptress) Edward Alleyn (actor) A. S. Makarenko (educator) Jean Froissart (historian) Eugene Ysaye (instrumentalis0 Zeno (philosopher) William Wycherley (playwright) 1 A N N R . D R Y L A N D A N D L . R . H A L L I D A Y 203 As well as Eugene Ysaye's poor showing in the category which on average was the most successfully answered, Jacqueline du Pr6 collected a mere 21 per cent, and in the second most highly scored classification, Composers, only 23 per cent were right on William Byrd and 26 per cent on Michael Tippett. Among the names in the third highest, Singers, that of Richard Lewis was correctly identified by only 14 per cent. At the other end o f the scale, while it is hardly surprising that the Chefs category finished last in 'popularity', a remarkably high proportion (viz. 49 per cent) of all subjects identified Auguste Escoffier. The frequent use of his name in connection with culinary products may have helped here. He was muddled by only 3 out of the total of 164; these labelled him a composer, a dress designer and an'economist respectively--verdicts that would seem to suggest bad guessing rather than real confusion. Among the sculptors Henry Moore was an easy winner with 77 per cent but his runner-up, Reg Butler, received a score of only 20 per cent, and, although the average for the category o f Philosophers was higher than those of the last two, only one name, that of Hegel, was correctly classified by more than 40 per cent of the sample. It was a slightly saddening reflection on the course at Garnett to date that while A. S. Makarenko (7 per cent) might understandably have been compara- tively unknown, Rudolf Steiner received a score of only 12 per cent. That R. M. Rilke was correctly identified by only 15 per cent is hardly odd, but Wilfred Owen's 18 per cent seemed a meagre response when one recalls that the General Subjects group alone constituted 15 per cent of the sample. Can some schools still be classing him as a Georgian and therefore someone to be dismissed ? Certainly few anthologies below sixth form level carry much of his work. The champions of television as a source of popular culture might be dismayed not only at the poor performance already mentioned on Elizabeth Frink, who had a ' M o n i t o r ' spot not very long before the test, but also at the mere 25 per cent collected by A. J. Ayer. Conversely, it might be argued that the familiarity of his fellow panel-personalities A. J. P. Taylor and Alan Bullock might well have contributed to their scores of 58 per cent and 48 per cent respectively, and that the big response to the name of Elgar might have been influenced by the B.B.C. programme devoted to him only a fortnight before the first test. Names most frequently muddled Twenty-one names were more wrongly than correctly identified. These are given in Table 3 with relevant percentage figures. It will be seen that no fewer than five out of the twenty-one were travellers, although on average (see Table 1) this category came only 12th in order o f ' p o p u - larity.' An unforeseen ambiguity was manifest in the name o f the composer Bartok. Although 63 per cent o f the sample put him in the intended category, those who did not totalled 23 per cent and the vast majority of these classified him u n d e r ' Actors/Actresses', presumably taking us to mean his more publicised 13 204 The Cultural Background of Prospective Teachers in Further Education T A B L E 3 Names most frequently muddled Name Roger Bacon Thucydides Marino Marini Apollonius Peter Fleming Reg Butler Sir John Franklin Franz K a f k a Gorki Rudolf Steiner Lord Anson H. R. Ricardo Pirandello Edward Alleyn D. H. Robertson William Wycherley Sholokhov Elizabeth Frink Sidney Nolan Ella MaiUart C. M. Doughty Percentage of sample giving correct a n s w e r 16 12 5 31 25 20 21 20 25 12 21 18 15 6 11 9 12 4 13 3 4 Percentage of sample allocating name to wrong category 44 40 36 35 35 32 29 29 28 27 23 23 21 19 17 17 16 16 15 10 9 n a m e s a k e Eva. W e were also s o m e w h a t c h a s t e n e d b y the revelation o f o u r o w n ' s q u a r e n e s s ' in never h a v i n g h e a r d o f a f r e q u e n t T o p T e n t e n a n t with the s a m e n a m e as t h a t o f the s c u l p t o r M a r i n o Marini. O f the 36 p e r cent w h o g o t h i m (in o u r view) wrong, o n l y a h a n d f u l classified h i m as a n y t h i n g b u t a singer. Thucydides a n d A p o l l o n i u s b o t h drew a high poll as p h i l o s o p h e r s , p r o b a b l y o n the score o f their classical n a m e s , while R o g e r Bacon, the m o s t f r e q u e n t l y m i s p l a c e d p e r s o n a l i t y o f the lot, was labelled b y a l m o s t all the 44 p e r cent in T a b l e 3 as a poet. T h e c o n f u s i o n with F r a n c i s was n o t unexpected b u t w h e t h e r this designation was the nearest they c o u l d find t o essayists o r reflects a high p r o p o r t i o n o f Baconians in the s a m p l e r e m a i n s obscure. Conclusion W e h a v e already referred t o the conflicting evidence a b o u t the influence o f television. I t would be interesting to k n o w w h y a p p e a r a n c e o n the T.V. screen seems t o lead t o greater r e c o g n i t i o n o f s o m e n a m e s b u t n o t t o affect others. Since the profile was n o t conceived as a Science versus A r t s test we were n o t c o n c e r n e d when, in its final f o r m , eleven o f the twenty categories could b e labelled ' A r t s ' , three ' S c i e n c e ' a n d six, we t h o u g h t , did n o t fit into the A r t s / ANN R. DRYLAND AND L. R. HALLIDAY 205 Science categories, h o w e v e r b r o a d l y based. These six ' g e n e r a l ' categories were: chefs, dress designers, economists, educators, s t a t e s m e n a n d travellers. O f these six, e c o n o m i s t s a n d chefs scored low a n d c a m e sixteenth a n d twentieth on the list setting o u t the a v e r a g e correct in e a c h category. T h e o t h e r f o u r scored in the middle ranges with scores between 41 a n d 53 p e r cent. Finally, o n e f a c t d i d emerge, which, t h o u g h n o t new, was o f interest t o us at G a r n e t t College. I n spite o f the f a c t t h a t 46 p e r cent o f the students were n o t ' A r t s ' p e o p l e the first o f the three categories with a scientific slant did not a p p e a r until the eighth place, with a score o f 49 p e r cent. o n the list showing the average c o r r e c t in e a c h category. T h e o t h e r t w o c a m e eleventh a n d thirteenth on the list with scores o f 45 a n d 43 per cent. T h e s e figures seem to b e a r o u t the widely held s u p p o s i t i o n t h a t ' scientists' k n o w m o r e o f the arts side o f the two cultures t h a n d o ' A r t s ' students o f the science, even t h o u g h the test did n o t involve the u n d e r s t a n d i n g o f theories b u t m e r e l y the recognition o f names. R E F E R E N C E S 1. LEYTHAM, G. W. H. (1960). 'An Arts and Science Information Test', The Vocational Aspect, Vo|. XII, No. 24, pp. 3-15. 2. AI'4STEY, E., DOWSE, R. F., and DUGUID, M. (1948). ' A New Genera[ Information Test', B. J. Ed. Psy., Vol. XVIII, Pt. lII, pp. 156-160. (Script received: May 8, 1963) 
work_kpz2nl6fy5gapoqbyeoi5ota5e	----	Microsoft Word - F10_9_gautheron_recensione1.doc Rivista semestrale online / Biannual online journal http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 10 / Issue no. 10 Dicembre 2014 / December 2014 Direttore / Editor Rinaldo Rinaldi (Università di Parma) Comitato scientifico / Research Committee Mariolina Bongiovanni Bertini (Università di Parma) Dominique Budor (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle – Paris III) Roberto Greci (Università di Parma) Heinz Hofmann (Universität Tübingen) Bert W. Meijer (Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Instituut Firenze / Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht) María de las Nieves Muñiz Muñiz (Universitat de Barcelona) Diego Saglia (Università di Parma) Francesco Spera (Università di Milano) Segreteria di redazione / Editorial Staff Maria Elena Capitani (Università di Parma) Nicola Catelli (Università di Parma) Chiara Rolli (Università di Parma) Esperti esterni (fascicolo n. 10) / External referees (issue no. 10) Patrick Barbier (Université Catholique de l’Ouest, Angers) Guglielmo Barucci (Università Statale di Milano) Laura Carrara (Eberhard Karls Universität, Tübingen) Daniele Mazza (Università di Roma La Sapienza) Giovanna Silvani (Università di Parma) Progetto grafico / Graphic design Jelena Radojev (Università di Parma) Direttore responsabile: Rinaldo Rinaldi Autorizzazione Tribunale di Parma n. 14 del 27 maggio 2010 © Copyright 2014 – ISSN: 2039-0114 INDEX / CONTENTS PALINSESTI / PALIMPSESTS Citazioni nel proemio dell’“Alessiade” di Anna Comnena: tra ideologia e metodologia storiografica LIA RAFFAELLA CRESCI (Università di Genova) 3-20 Intention de l’auteur ou volonté du texte ? Pétrarque et Boccace sur la poésie : vols de mots et mots attrapés au vol PHILIPPE GUERIN (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle – Paris III) 21-51 Autocitarsi in musica. Bach e l’arte della parodia RAFFAELE MELLACE (Università di Genova) 53-75 Le “Décaméron” de Dario Fo MARCO GALIERO (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle – Paris III) 77-121 MATERIALI / MATERIALS Il paradosso di Epimenide: come una citazione può creare un falso originale NICOLA REGGIANI (Università di Parma) 125-132 Da Oretta a Griselda: Boccaccio nella trattatistica cinquecentesca sulla novella SANDRA CARAPEZZA (Università Statale di Milano) 133-156 “Elementary, my dear Watson”. Per una falsa citazione IRENE MINELLA (Università della Tuscia) 157-166 Dovuto a… Parole altrui nel “Tempo che non muore” di Stefano Carrai FABIO BARRICALLA (Università di Genova) 167-180 LIBRI DI LIBRI / BOOKS OF BOOKS [recensione / review] Lynn Shepherd, Tom-All-Alone’s / The Solitary House, London, Corsair Books, 2012 SYLVIE GAUTHERON 183-188 [recensione / review] Sergio Audano, Classici lettori di classici. Da Virgilio a Marguerite Yourcenar, Foggia, Il Castello Edizioni, 2012 GIUSEPPINA ALLEGRI 189-199 Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 10 / Issue no. 10 – Dicembre 2014 / December 2014 RECENSIONE / REVIEW Lynn Shepherd, Tom-All-Alone’s / The Solitary House, London, Corsair Books, pp. 320, £ 5,59 Tom-All-Alone’s, the title of Lynn Shepherd’s detective novel, was one of the titles that Charles Dickens considered giving to the novel that is known as Bleak House. It is the name of a derelict tenement, the breeding ground of disease and corruption that plays a central role in the novel. Bleak House is used as the backdrop to Shepherd’s work and Dickens’s own beginning is celebrated in her prologue. Following on from Jane Austen in Murder at Mansfield Park (2010) Dickens takes pride of place this time. The main thread of the novel is based on a lesson derived from Dickens, which consists of an investigation conducted within a world in which sin and contagion do not observe the boundaries forged by class and nationality. One of the main aims of the novel is to depict the grim underworld of Victorian London as revealed in the investigation conducted by Charles Maddox, a free-lance detective who is described as having self- reliance and sang-froid. For him, there can be no higher cause than the truth, and he repeatedly comes face to face with the destructiveness of a brutal society. The novel opens with Charles investigating one of the cases he has taken on and inspecting the graves of unwanted newborn babies in a Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 184 graveyard, which suggests routine infanticide. Children bear the brunt of a brutal existence, and even Charles feels guilty for the disappearance of his younger sister who was mysteriously taken away. In the Chadwick case which he investigates, he must look for a child who was taken to an orphanage sixteen years before. She was cast out because she was ‘with child’ at a time when God was regarded as watchful and avenging rather than forgiving. The progress of the Chadwick case gives the reader an insight into the treatment of unwanted babies who were removed to baby farms and whose death was so common that there was not even the slightest concern. This opening sets the tone for Shepherd’s depiction of Victorian London. The reality of life in the 1850s is further supported by a reference to Dickens’s popularity when Charles reads an extract from David Copperfield to his great-uncle or when we get a vignette of the journalist Henry Mayhew. The novel also makes reference to the interest in Africa or in natural history during the period. The lawyer Tulkinghorn and Charles share an interest in curios, and Tulkinghorn allows Charles to visit his collection which is reminiscent of Soane Museum in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. We get references to the science of the day and to Erasmus Darwin who is, ironically, seen to be superior to his grandson. Charles, our protagonist, also collects scientific specimens and curios, and is a lover of the British Museum and the Royal Geographical Society. The main plot of the novel is underway when Charles is commissioned by the lawyer Mr Tulkinghorn to conduct an investigation on behalf of his client Sir Julius Cremorne, a high-ranking man of finance and prime enabler of imperial trade. He must find the author of the anonymous blackmail letters which Sir Julius has been receiving. We understand that this case requires utter discretion. However, Tulkinghorn’s client has a secret and Mr Tulkinghorn is prepared to protect his client at all Sylvie Gautheron – Recensione / Review 185 costs. They would connive to prevent Charles from discovering the full extent of the affair. Charles’s investigation leads him down to the Thames waterfront area and its warehouses, to the red-light district Seven Dials, and to the densely populated areas which were once cholera-infected. In his investigation around the city, which takes him to pubs, rat-catching pits, rancid slums or Mayfair, Charles gets beaten up and smeared with muck and filth more than once. He gets help from his great-uncle Maddox, the celebrated thief-taker, who had been his teacher and mentor ever since he was a boy, but now suffers from dementia. Running parallel with the narrative of Charles’s investigation is Hester’s narrative, reminiscent of Esther’s narrative in Dickens’s Bleak House. Like Esther, Hester knows that she is not clever. Like her, she is presented in scenes from her girlhood, with a gullible sentimentality which she seems unable to overcome. Dickens’s Mr Jarndyce becomes Mr Jarvis in Shepherd’s novel, the guardian who takes Hester in as a boarder at the Solitary House, another title Dickens had considered for his novel. Hester’s voice is managed in a way that makes her appear as an unreliable narrator who is remarkably unable to decipher the signs around her. For instance, she is unable to identify the role of the “gentlemen who visited [her] mother”. 1 She is also unable to explain what happens when one of the women attending her mother “took something away wrapped in a coverlet that [she] never saw again”. 2 She is an impressionable character who is committed to doing good deeds and self-sacrifice, duty and diligence, but her self-righteous tone and sentimentality are dealt with ironically. Hester’s narrative is rife with indecipherable signs which put the reader on the alert. A number of undefined illnesses affect the young women at the Solitary 1 Cf. L. Shepherd, Tom-All-Alone’s / The Solitary House, London, Corsair Books, p. 34. 2 Cf. ibidem, p. 35. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 186 House, whose idyllic setting is enigmatic. Suspicion is raised about an unexplained deed committed by Mr Jarvis. The novel includes ghastly descriptions of murdered people and the reader is not spared the gory details. Charles realises that Tulkinghorn has employed him to find the writer of the anonymous letters solely for the purpose of having him killed. Charles decides to find out exactly what Tulkinghorn does not want him to know. He endeavours to track down Sir Julius Cremorne, a regular visitor to the whores of the Argyll rooms. The murders are obviously connected, and Charles manages to link them to similar occurrences of gratuitous cruelty. Charles finally comes face to face with the murderer and Shepherd creates a spectacular scene in which they fight in Tulkinghorn’s gallery. The connection between the two narratives finally falls into place through the discovery of a so-called ‘lunatic asylum’ in which young women are incarcerated for the sordid convenience of men like Sir Julius, a discovery which reveals Hester’s narrative. The novel comes full circle when the reader is explained how unwanted babies were disposed of and when Charles discovers Hester’s true identity. In her carefully plotted novel, the narrative voice adopts god’s eye point of view and, coming to the fore, even tells the reader what Charles misses. The closeness of the narrative voice spans the gap from 1850s’ London and gives the book an immediate feel. As the author puts it, she looks at the 19 th century from a 21 st century perspective. The novel has two narratives which end up feeding into each other, and combines themes from two Victorian novels which the novelist admires. In her acknowledgments, the author expresses her admiration for Dickens’s Bleak House and indicates that she has “interleaved [her] own mystery with the characters and episodes of his novel”. 3 Her novel includes a number of characters – 3 Cf. ibidem, p. 355. Sylvie Gautheron – Recensione / Review 187 whether central or peripheral – from Dickens’s novel, such as the lawyer Tulkinghorn, the policeman Inspector Bucket, a Miss Flint who mirrors Dickens’s Miss Flite, or Clara, who reminds the reader of Ada. The protagonist Charles practices firing his pistol at a shooting gallery which, as in Dickens, is run by a trooper. Lady Dedlock gets a mention: she has some knowledge that may allow her to discover Tulkinghorn’s secret, but she has a dire and shameful secret of her own. There is a clear intersection between Shepherd’s novel and Dickens’s in the scene where the crossing sweep Jo is questioned by Charles after being brought to the shooting gallery by a compassionate surgeon. Jo saw the murderer whom Charles is trying to track down, and this would explain why Jo was told by Inspector Bucket, in both novels, to ‘move on’. With the mention of Anne Catherick and the Baronet Sir Percival Glyde who married a young girl for her fortune, Shepherd also gives a nod at Wilkie Collins’s The Woman in White. In fact, Shepherd explains that her own novel is located in a ‘space between’ these two novels whose time frames run parallel to each other. Material from both novels is woven into her book which never becomes close to a pastiche because her plot and characters have a distinctness of their own. Finally, she has used John Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor as a basis for her own immediate London scenes. The book has been carefully researched and contains mentions of real historical figures. Shepherd also acknowledges John Fowles’s The French Lieutenant’s Woman as a reference point for her work. While not indispensable to an understanding of Shepherd’s novel, knowledge of Dickens’s Bleak House provides moments of recognition for the reader who is engaged to participate in a process in which one book inspires the other. The characters are given distinctive voices, and Charles’s domestic life is developed through his connection with his great- uncle Maddox and his relationship with the black servant Molly. The novel Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 188 successfully fuses old-fashioned slang in some of the dialogues with a modern narratorial voice, and uses a quickening pace to deal with a wide range of themes such as blackmail, murder, corruption, prostitution, mutilation and madness. Shepherd brings the reality of Victorian London revealed by Dickens into the cold light of day. SYLVIE GAUTHERON Copyright © 2014 Parole rubate. Rivista internazionale di studi sulla citazione / Purloined Letters. An International Journal of Quotation Studies Blank Page 
work_kqovswh7obeoxci26ankh3kvim	----	Shared humanity: a Jane Austen bicentenary British Journal of General Practice, April 2013 207 Memories of Holland From the Dutch of Hendrik Marsman Thinking of Holland I see broad rivers slowly chuntering through endless lowlands, rows of implausibly airy poplars standing like tall plumes against the horizon; and sunk in the unbounded vastness of space homesteads and boweries dotted across the land, copses, villages, couchant towers, churches and elm-trees, bound in one great unity. There the sky hangs low, and steadily the sun is smothered in a greyly iridescent smirr, and in every province the voice of water with its lapping disasters is feared and hearkened. This is my translation of the work which was voted by Dutch readers as their favourite poem of the century. Four years after publishing it, Hendrik Marsman drowned in the English Channel in 1940 on the way to Britain when his ship was torpedoed by a German submarine. The translation of Herinnering aan Holland was commissioned by the Written World Project and broadcast on BBC Radio Scotland in 2012. Iain Bamforth, GP, Independent Scholar, Freelance Public Health Consultant, Strasbourg, France. For more details of the book please visit www.carcanet.co.uk DOI: 10.3399/bjgp13X665332 ADDRESS FOR CORRESPONDENCE Iain Bamforth 86 Rue Kempf, 67000 Strasbourg, France. E-mail: iainbamforth@orange.fr The most important thing about ‘Classics’ is that they are shared. They are experiences we all have in common. Or at least things that we can refer to in common. As such they are links between us which form the very substance of our culture. And they do this, it seems to me, whether or not they are particularly great art. But when they are great art, and we recognise in the shared experience they afford truths about our own humanity, exquisitely expressed, that is something special indeed. Three-quarters of a mile to the south west and almost within sight of our bedroom window is the room where Jane Austen wrote or completed all of her six novels. It was in that room, exactly 200 years ago this 28 January, that she took delivery of her own copy of the newly published Pride and Prejudice. And on the celebration day itself a family of our friends who had been involved in the preparation arrived there at 5 am to find the BBC already installed. The father is a trustee of the museum; the daughter was to play the contemporary piano for the broadcasts throughout the day; the mother had arranged the cake, with its facsimile of the title page, to be cut on the evening news. Albeit by proxy, we too felt involved. Like many who went straight into medicine from a narrow education in science I came late to the classics. I could easily have never come at all. I grew up thinking that Jane Austen was one of those stuffy writers you were supposed to read but never did. It was that word ‘supposed’ that turned you off. Nothing could be more calculated to make you read something else. The urge to read for pleasure must surely come from inside, and that ‘supposed’ is not a good way to start. For some reason I gradually did get involved. My closest encounter with our own legend down the road was a few years ago when I was allowed access to her personal collection of musical scores, three volumes of which are written in her hand, (that was how you got your music in those days: you borrowed it and copied it.) I had just been trying my own hand at writing music, as part of a year of music with the Open University, and I knew how impossible it seemed to be to avoid mistakes. But one of the wonders of those precious, densely-written pages, as I turned them with my white-gloved hands, was the total absence of corrections. Subsequently, with two friends, I performed a few of the songs there in the museum. One of the friends, a soprano, had been a patient, with the special bond of having been one of my ‘mums’. The other friend accompanied on the box piano straight from the figured bass in (photocopies of) Jane Austen’s handwritten manuscripts. And so it goes on. I studied Northanger Abbey, the first of Jane’s completed books, in another part of my Open University course. And with another friend, a historian, I devised an entertainment based on it for our little drama group. And so it goes on. A wonderful and ever- growing enrichment to our lives. Jane Austen’s House Museum has averaged 35 000 visitors in recent years, from 136 different countries in the last two. That is the measure of the human bond that the sharing of great art can bring. And that is the measure of how deeply human experience is shared. The RCGP is one of many organisations to have chosen the wonderful motto Cum Scientia Caritas. In recent decades the College, and this Journal, have been big on the science part. But the humanity, which is at least as big a part of medicine, and the very heart of general practice, has retreated into second place. Alec Logan, over many years, has made a huge contribution to redressing that imbalance with his gloriously eclectic Back Pages section of this journal. His best legacy, as he leaves us, would be for the College to reassert the centrality of the humanities, and the great shared heritage of art itself, in our unique, all-inclusive generalism. James Willis, GP (retired), Author. http://www.friendsinlowplaces.co.uk/ DOI: 10.3399/bjgp13X665341 Shared humanity: a Jane Austen bicentenary The Review ADDRESS FOR CORRESPONDENCE James Willis 28 Borovere Lane, Alton, Hants, GU34 1PB, UK. E-mail: jarwillis@gmail.com 
work_kt2gy3u6lrcd3ld5rttd4rffeu	----	1648 BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL 22-29 DECEMBER 1979 @Winei The Whipsnade lion -~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ R I~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The white garden, Sissinghurst Scotney Castle woodcuts and no doubt the result will be just as good. His craft is that of a "relief printer"-a gross understatement of the careful and beautifully coloured pictures that he produces. He does one picture at a time but has half-a-dozen ideas in his head about others simultaneously. His next project, he hopes, will be a series about mazes-he has already seen the plans of most mazes in Britain-and he is looking forward to trying out other techniques such as etching. Perhaps Owen Legg was fated to fail his primary fellowship: as it is, he enjoys general practice and his patients, and the art world would have been the loser had he taken up surgery. He has little time for anything else now except for keeping his house, car, and garden reasonably well maintained, but he is a contented "well-rounded" man who makes the best of both worlds. Reading for Pleasure A little of what you fancy RUTH HOLLAND I don't very often. Read for pleasure, that is. Not any longer. In my prime (very many years ago-I peaked, as they say, a lot younger than Miss Brodie) I could polish off books with the insouciance of the Red Bud Borer chewing up your floribunda. Not now though. I still like the idea. Oh yes, I'll open a book all right. But it's no use-the eyes glaze over, the brain stirs, shudders, then coughs and lies still. I'd put it down to the stress of modern life, but what about all the people who've written for this series ? They're doing far more demanding things than I am. How can they read so much, and such up-market stuff? Then a thought comes like a full-blown rose, flushing the brow: they're nearly all men. That's it. While they're off paddling on the further shores of literature wives, girlfriends, cohabitees, mothers even the occasional long- suffering sister or grandma-are peppering the ratatouille, fixing the shelf that's been hanging by one nail for weeks, fetching the children from school, and remembering his secretary's birthday. The Y chrornosome strikes again. That can't be true, though, can it, in these days of equal opportunity ? No. It isn't. Every woman I know has got her eyes British Medical Journal RUTH HOLLAND, BA, editorial assistant down, not for a full house but scanning Herman Hesse, Dickens, Paul Scott, Beryl Bainbridge and all those other people I ought to have read. So why am I a slob ? I suppose I'm like Eartha Kitt's Englishman who-for a different kind of pleasure-needs time. I need it for reading. Also comfort. And silence. These desirables seldom all occur at once. And for another thing, bookshops aren't what they were. They used to be places of scholarship and imagination, staffed by ladies and gentlemen both civil and knowledgeable. Nowadays they sell sociology textbooks and postcards and funny badges, and the "salespersons"-if they can break off from telling each other who they were with last night long enough to think about it-would look for Crime and Punishment under Thrillers and Fanny Hill under Geography. Second-hand shops, traditional havens for the poor and the chronic browser, have been taken over by loud-voiced young men out to make a quick buck. It's driven me to newspapers. Public prints and private eyefuls No, to be honest: bits of newspapers. It takes some skill to skim through the everyday stories of carnage, rape, theft and famine and find the diverting reading matter. So I tend to start late, with the Evening Standard. Beating a tourist to the last seat o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.2 .6 2 0 5 .1 6 4 8 o n 2 2 D e ce m b e r 1 9 7 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL 22-29 DECEMBER 1979 1649 on the tube and settling down in it to read the Standard is one of the few pleasures left to Londoners. I buy it for its arts reporting; for Maureen Cleave's interviews with interesting rather than merely famous people, which are models of their kind: sympa- thetic, informative, and putting over the personality of the subject rather than the writer (a recent one with a Steinway piano expert was a delight); and for "Augusta"-a strip cartoon about a child which is funny, unusual and, rarely for such a subject, unsentimental: plaguing her parents, her brother and her gin-soaked grandmother, and getting her own nose put out of joint by Frou-Frou Watkins ("a natural blonde"), Augusta is endearing, but she is not sweet. Nor, one imagines, is Bert Brecht Che Odinga, the 4-year-old bearded activist grandson of Mrs Dutt-Pauker, the Hampstead thinker, in the Daily Telegraph's Peter Simple column. Long before the art world was on to Lionel Constable, Peter Simple had discovered the unknown sibling in a famous literary family: Doreen Bronte. Michael Wharton, who writes the column, has the gift of creating memorable people in a few words-characters like J Bonnington Jagworth, toasting the success of the Motorists' Liberation Front in champagne from a silver hub-cap; Dr Heinz "We are all guilty" Kiosk, the psychiatrist; and what must be the most successful pressure group ever, the Friends of Noise. How gloriously and horribly likely they are-indeed, the trendy cleric Dr Spaceley-Trellis, Bishop of Bevindon, was once seriously quoted with approval in another paper (which shall be Words COCKS and TAPS. A cock is a male domestic fowl and, by extension, the male of other bird species. The aggressively self-confident attitude of a fighting- cock gives us "cocky." Over-confident is "cock-sure." "Cock of the walk" is one who will not tolerate a challenge to his supremacy. Hence, "Cock!" is a familiar greeting between men implying recognition of machismo. A cock is a short spout or pipe serving as a channel for passing liquids and having a device for regulating or stopping the '~ ~~~~~ I~~~~~P Der Mannerbad (The Men's Bath)-detail. Albrecht Durer, 1498. flow. The derivation of this sense is obscure. The Oxford English Dictionary says "the resemblance of some stop-cocks to a cock's head with its comb readily suggests itself" (see figure). A coxcomb-like structure is sometimes found on spouts to hold the handle of a pail. A cock in fire-arms is a spring-loaded lever holding match, flint, or hammer and capable of being raised and then brought down by the trigger, thus igniting the powder, and is so called because approp- riately zoomorphic in its original form. A cock, in vulgar usage, is a penis. The term in this sense derives from the pipe, as described above. Although the OED gives 1730 as its first recorded usage, oblique earlier reference to the ithyphallic state suggests an earlier date, possibly in unrecorded speech. Shake- speare surelv intended a double entendre (as in the later tradition of Restoration plays and music-hall) when he wrote (1598) .. . and Pistol's cock is up and flashing fire will follow." Henry V, II, i, 55.) Furthermore, the ithyphallic principle seems to underlie the verb "to cock." Although the OED, in defining it "to stick stiffly up or out," likens this posture to a cock's neck in crowing, this suggestion would appear to come from a lexicographer with a Freudian scotoma. "Cock up" is applied to appropriately shaped articles, as, for example, the plaster of Paris cock-up splint. The use of "dicky" for penis in children's language derives from rhyming slang for cock, and is the first moiety of Dickory Dock.' Genital terms are vulgarly used as vehicles for insult. "Cock" is thus used to describe sqmething nonsensical, though it is probably of respectable provenance ( ?poppy- cock, ? cock-and-bull story). In slang a cock-up is an action that has ended disastrously. It is surprising that in German the word Hahn has all the same meanings as in English: male bird, tap, fire-arm component, and penis (also the diminutive Hahnchen). This parallelism of meanings is quite remarkable and would seem to be beyond mere coincidence. Albrecht Durer's pictorial pun in the woodcut of 1498, Der Manner- bad (The Men's Bath), contrives to show three of these meanings in one small area (see figure). The male bird is represented on the tap- handle. The spout of the stop-cock is so placed as to hide discreetly the man's genital area, though in position, size, and shape it well represents the penis. As Diirer is reported to have said, "Det voss my liddel dschoke."2 A TAP on the other hand was originally a peg, plug, or bung for opening and closing a hole in a cask or similar vessel, and later a hollow plug in a containing pipe for regulating or stopping the flow. To tap is to pierce the wall of a vessel to draw off the liquid contents, as in tapping ascites or a pleural effusion. The corresponding German word for bung is Zapf(German Zs often became English Ts on crossing the North Sea). The original meaning of Zapf as peg-shaped has been retained in German; its diminutive ZAPFCHEN means both suppository and uvula. In English we liken the latter to a small grape. Tattoo (the sort that is beaten on a drum) is from "tap-too" (tap shut); Dutch, taptoe; German, Zapfenstreich. Thomas the Earl of Surrey, and himself, Much about cock-shut time, from troop to troop Went through the army, cheering up the soldiers (Richard III, V, iii, 70.) The other TATTOO, a mark or design on the skin made by insertion of pigment, is a Polynesian word. Strictly speaking, then, a cock was the pipe and a tap was the bung. The cock's crow has traditionally been a wakener for early risers. As the Hungarian diplomat is reported to have said at an embassy dinner, "My speech will not be long. As you English say: Early to bed and up with the cock !"3 BERNARD FREEDMAN. Franklyn, L, A Dictionary of Rhyming Slang, 2nd edn. London, Routledge and Kegan Paul. 1961. 2Durer, A, Zeitschr f Kunst u Wissenschaftl. Unsinn, 1498. Blake, G F, Book ofBricks, ed R Morley, p 123. London, Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1978. o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.2 .6 2 0 5 .1 6 4 8 o n 2 2 D e ce m b e r 1 9 7 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 1650 nameless), and I am myself more than half convinced that there really is such a place as the Stretchford conurbation, with its "lovely, sex maniac-haunted Sadcake Park." Reading newspapers means you can't avoid politics, and one of the advantages of being a don't-know-apart from gumming up the works of the opinion polls-is not minding which way the news gets slanted. People with strong political convictions, on the other hand, would rather be caught without their teeth in than reading a paper that toes the wrong party line. But still- as that character says in Some Like It Hot when he finds the girl he's run off with is a man-nobody's perfect. I'd rather read a flog-'em-all reactionary or a workers' revolutionary who writes well than someone, of whatever persuasion, who thinks "presently" means "now" and can't write a sentence without using the word "just" ("this is just one of many cases ... ... it is just six weeks since . . ." ". . . just half a mile away . .. And before most other things I'd rather read Private Eye. There is obviously something special about a publication which Sir James Goldsmith sees as a hot-bed of lunatic left plotters and which Vanessa Redgrave described at an Equity meeting as "that fascist rag." The Eye is rude and funny, prints what other papers daren't, uncovers scandals, makes the powerful and the pretentious sweat and shows, in Mr Thatcher's letters- as in Mrs Wilson's diary before-truly inspired satire. I wish it was a daily, but it only comes out once a fortnight. There's nothing for it but books, after all. Rags to riches From a diet of newsprint it's a treat to turn to writers like Jane Austen or Samuel Johnson who use language with grace and precision. This sort of sentence clears the mind like a glass of cold water: "The task of an author is either to teach what is not known or to recommend known truths by his manner of adorning them; either to let new light in upon the mind and open new scenes to the prospect, or to vary the dress and situation of common objects so as to give them fresh grace and more powerful attractions; spread such flowers over the regions through which the intellect has already made its progress, as may tempt it to return and take a second view of things hastily passed over or negligently regarded." (The Rambler) Finding favourite authors is like choosing friends-you can see that many are admirable, but they aren't necessarily the ones you're fond of. Take George Eliot, for instance, or the Brontes (without Doreen); or Lawrence or Joyce: I can see that they're some of the big shots of Eng Lit, but I couldn't settle happily down with them any old time. I could with the writer of this, though: "It is curious how you can be intimate with a fellow from early boyhood and yet remain unacquainted with one side of him. Mixing constantly with Gussie through the years, I had come to know him as a newt-fancier, a lover, and a fat-head, but I had never suspected him of possessing outstanding qualities as a sprinter on the flat. . . He was coming along like a jack- rabbit out of the western prairie, his head back and his green beard floating in the breeze. I liked his ankle work." The unmistakable P G Wodehouse touch. You can't describe him, just read and rejoice, like me and the new Archbishop of Canterbury. Nor can I convey the effect of reading Kipling's short stories without breaking out in a rash of hackneyed phrases like "spell-binding" and "riveting"-but it's too bad, because that's what they are. When I first read them I couldn't under- stand why people weren't rushing round the streets shouting "Kipling's a genius !" At last I met two Americans in an Indian restaurant who felt the same way and we grabbed each other's hands with cries of delight, saying "Have you read the one about . . ." "Do you know that one where...." They are unforgettably rich in character and atmosphere (Kipling's stories, I mean, not Americans-though some of them are too, come to think of it) and as varied as the plays Polonius offers to Hamlet-realistic, fanciful, exciting, grim, sardonic, farcical, BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL 22-29 DECEMBER 1979 sentimental. One volume, Limits and Renewals (1932), deals with: a long-planned revenge through a complicated academic forgery; shell-shock; tourism; Saint Paul; a surgeon who waits to opcrate until a suitable moment in his patient's body rhythms; and in a delightful and touching story-"The Miracle of Saint Jubanus" -with the curative power of laughter (Saint Jubanus was a Roman soldier whose only previously recorded miracle was to bring a dying man back to life by telling him a joke that made him sit up and laugh). Another story, "The Tender Achilles," concerns a bacteriologist whose scientific perfectionism drives him to a breakdown; he is saved by more down-to-earth practitioners, one of whom remarks: "It's the same between Doctor and Patient as between Man and Woman. Do you want to prove things to her or do you want to keep her ?" Much of Kipling's work seems, unfortunately, to be out of print. So, for a long time, were the poems of Louis MacNeice and through most of my adult life I have been trying unsuc- cessfully to persuade a friend to part with her copy. Luckily Fabers have now taken pity and republished the Collected Poems in paperback. I'm not a great one for the flashing eye/floating hair school of poetry, nor for rock-age monosyllabics, and I like MacNeice's combination of deep feelings urbanely expressed and his metrical ingenuity. He was an Ulsterman who loved all Ireland, and what he wrote about it is still sadly to the point. These lines from Autunmn Journal were written in 1938: Kathaleen ni Houlihan! Why Must a country, like a ship or a car, be always female, Mother or sweetheart ? A woman passing by, We did but see her passing. Passing like a patch of sun on the rainy hill And yet we love her for ever and hate our neighbour And each one in his will Binds his heirs to continuance of hatred. Ancient lights Sometimes I resort to the relics of a misspent youth and pick up Old English poetry or the Ancrene Rizvle-there is nothing more soothing than reading something you only understand about one-third of: the effect is misty and soft-focused like a shampoo advertisement-or to something completely unfamiliar, like Penguin's Six YiUan Play,s. These were written during the Mongol occupation of China, and show how the native Chinese managed, through the theatre, to lament their fate, make fun of their oppressors and entertain them at the same time. Doctor- baiting was a popular blood-sport even in thirteenth-century China. This is Dr Best Physician Lu from The Injitstice Done to Tou Ngo: In medicine there's room to change one's mind, For prescriptions there's always the standard text; There's no way of bringing the dead to life, The living can always be doctored to death. Dr Lu then tries to strangle one of his patients, fails, repents, and decides to give up killing people and sell rat poison-a sort of antique oriental conversion to community medicine. OLD STUDENTS' DINNERS Sir,-I recently undertook a railway journey of some hundreds of miles for the purpose of enjoying the society of old friends at an annual hospital dinner. It appeared, however, in the light of subsequent events, that certain gentlemen in authority who were present considered the occasion to be more favourable to an exercise of what thev were doubtless pleased to consider their oratorical pow%vers than to the pleasures of social intercourse. Conversation was almost a matter of impossibility. I would not venture to bring these remarks to notice if I were not aware that they admit of a fairly general application, and that the old student is apt to regard the inevitable presence of the postprandial orator as a sufficient reason for remaining absent from what should be one of the pleasantest of social functions.-I am, etc., OLD STUDENT. (From the British Medical Jouriial, 1900.) o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.2 .6 2 0 5 .1 6 4 8 o n 2 2 D e ce m b e r 1 9 7 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
work_ktgsn5n2bnhlvdccyzqppgi3k4	----	DOI 10.30687/EL/2420-823X/2018/05/010 Submitted: 2018-11-07 | Accepted: 2018-12-01 © 2018 | cb Creative Commons Attribution BY-NC-ND 4.0 163 English Literature e-ISSN 2420-823X Vol. 5 – December 2018 ISSN 2385-1635 Passionate Educations John Locke, Aphra Behn, and Jane Austen Aleksondra Hultquist (Stockton University, US) Abstract This article connects John Locke’s concept of uneasiness to Aphra Behn’s poem “On Desire: A Pindarick” and Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park. Behn and Austen offer a corrected reading of Locke’s overtly rationalist ideas. This comparison suggests the importance of passionate engagement as related to knowledge. This article uses a contemporary understanding of the long eighteenth- century passions to argue for how passionate experience and knowing might have occurred through the literary examples of Aphra Behn and Jane Austen. Summary 1 Introduction. – 2 Locke and Passionate Education: An Essay (1690). – 3 Behn and Passionate Knowing: On Desire: A Pindarick” (1688). – 4 Austen and Passionate Unknowing: Mansfield Park (1815). – 5 Conclusion. Keywords Passions. Experience. Knowing. Desire. Uneasiness. Emotion. Feeling. Affect. 1 Introduction In his recently published book Knowing Emotions, philosopher Rick An- thony Furtak states that “affective experience provides a distinct mode of perceptual knowledge and recognition – one that is unavailable to us except through our emotions” (2018, 1-2). His monograph is built upon the concept that, through affective experiences, we come to recognise truth, i.e. we come to know. As a professor of moral psychology in the tradition of existential thought, Furtak leaps between ancient theories of emotional integrity (Aristotle) and the morality of emotions in the nineteenth-century philosopher, Søren Kierkegaard. Yet his statement that emotions are a way of knowing was part of a crucial discussion that emerged in the long-eight- eenth century. John Locke (1632-1704) was perhaps the most significant philosopher in the seventeenth century for theorising how we know what we know. In short, primary and secondary qualities create accrued experi- ence and the “white paper void of all characters” fills with knowledge and results in action (Locke 1824, 2.1.§2). When this theory manifests in the works of Aphra Behn (1640?-1689) and Jane Austen (1775-1817), the two 164 Hultquist. Passionate Educations English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 writers emphasise that experience cannot be divorced from affect: a mind feels as much as it perceives. In other words, affective experience creates a distinct way of knowing; the passions provide the potential for an educa- tion. The truth of any resultant action, Furtak’s “perceptual knowledge and recognition” (2018, 1-2) is in the knowing. What Behn and Austen point out is that a passionate education does not always manifest in right action if it is ignored. The passions were the system of emotional, physical, and moral well- being that explained how people respond to outward phenomena. Rather than a simple analogy to our current understanding of feelings or affect, the passions encompassed all of these concepts, and also described any kind of feeling, whether it was strictly emotional or not. One could feel the passion of joy or hunger. One could experience hate or curiosity. All of these were operations of the passions. At the turn of the seventeenth cen- tury in Britain, the passions were undergoing a change. They were moving from the body to the mind; from public to private. Slowly, and with digres- sions, the passions were becoming personal: they were becoming emotions (see Elster 1999; Gross 2006; Rorty 1982). Nevertheless, when scholars try to articulate feeling in the eighteenth century, as critics we are more likely to turn to the unhistorical vocabulary of emotions or affects. This article uses a contemporary understanding of the long eighteenth-century passions to argue for how passionate experience and knowing might have occurred through the literary examples of John Locke, Aphra Behn, and Jane Austen. When I use the terms ‘passions’ or ‘passionate’ I am refer- ring to this system of feeling rather than the emotion of sexual longing; my terminology alternates between emotions, feelings, and sometimes affect to denote internal feeling. There have been few sustained inquiries into the connections between Locke and Behn or Locke and Austen or Behn and Austen, and none of all three in conversation. This is curious because all three were interested in how the accrual of passionate experience was a method of education – of knowing more than one did previous to the passionate experience. It is important to examine Locke, Behn, and Austen as they mark the begin- ning and end point of the change from passions to emotions. Despite that transformation they are all grounded in similar ideas, which ideas are very different from our own concepts of emotion. It is important to compare them precisely because they are nearly one hundred fifty years apart: Behn may have drunk the philosophy that was in the air in the 1680s; Austen did so after digesting Locke, whose theories were popularized from The Spec- tator through Rasselas. In the end, I think all would agree that knowledge and ethics benefit from passionate learning, and there are detriments to ignoring feelings which prevent knowing and right action. Hultquist. Passionate Educations 165 English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 2 Locke and Passionate Education: An Essay (1690) As early modern philosophers go, John Locke does not immediately come to mind when theorising the passions – we are more likely to consider René Descartes or David Hume first. However, there has been critical energy between Locke’s theories and the passions in eighteenth-century literary criticism. For instance, Joeseph Drury, Jonathan Kramnick, Helen Thompson, and Rebecca Tierney-Hynes are interested in the ways in which novelists and Locke can be used to understand one another in terms of action, will, and to a lesser extent, passionate language. But these theo- ries relate predominantly to divesting the characters of their emotions and instead focusing on the importance of ideas and tacit consent (Drury 2008-09; Kramnick 2010; Thompson 2005; Teirney-Hynes 2012). All of these scholars focus on Lockean ‘ideas’ to articulate eighteenth-century subjectivities as opposed to formations of the passions. My addition to their work is that a contemporary view of the emotions helps us to better consider the ways in which Behn and Austen were representing the pas- sions and their educational value, that experience gives rise to knowing. To say that Locke was concerned with how we know what we feel, or how we learned about our emotions would be to wilfully misinterpret An Es- say Concerning Human Understanding (1689-90) (henceforth An Essay).1 While Locke is not a theorizer of the passions per se, he does dedicate part of An Essay to how the passions give rise to experience. Primarily, crit- ics have discussed this causation in terms of action – that Locke ‘moved’ the passions from passive/bodily to active/mindful. The relocation of the passions into the mind means that they are no longer unthinking and automatic, no longer subject to public/group/social stimuli and shared ex- perience. Passions become active, something that the mind works upon or actively stimulates, and so get reassigned a position in the bodily economy as being subject to the will.2 Nancy Armstrong and Leonard Tennenhouse for instance argue that Locke enabled a vocabulary for the passions, and opened a category that not only gave rise to a debate about the rational operations of the mind, but also encouraged a sustained discussion of what we now call emotions (Armstrong, Tennenhouse 2006, 131). They note how Locke conspicuously removes the passions from the body and relocates their source in the ideas of pleasure and pain that we formulate on the basis of our sensations. (137) 1 An Essay contains the title page date of 1690, but was published in 1689. 2 For discussion on the relationship between passions and actions, please see James 1997. 166 Hultquist. Passionate Educations English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 Consequently, when Locke enables the passions to become an aspect of the will, they shift to how the mind translates the experience of pleasure or pain. More recently, Joel Sodano added that the passions’ move from the body to the mind is subtler. Locke moves the passions from the body (where there is a bodily disease) to the mind, where it becomes uneasiness: when Locke introduces a metaphorical ‘uneasiness’ to replace ‘disease’ as the fundamental component of emotional experience, the tension be- tween passivity and activity still remains even as the balance of power shifts to the active processes of rational thought. (Sodano 2017, 452) According to Sodano, what is active or passive about the passions is never quite resolved, even as the mind becomes the centre of the emotions, even as passionate dis-ease becomes passionate un-ease. All three critics acknowledge Locke’s contributions to how the experience of feeling spurs knowing. Chapter XX “Of Modes of Pleasure and Pain”, in Book II “Of Ideas,” is a small section of Locke’s Essay, but crucial in thinking about the relation- ship between Locke, Behn, Austen, and the conversation of the passions. For Locke, our passions can be either positive or negative depending on how they provide pleasure or pain. Additionally, Locke claims that pleasure or pain, delight or trouble [...are] simple ideas, [and] cannot be described, nor their names defined; the way of knowing them is, as of the simple ideas of the senses, only by experience. (Locke 1824, 2.20.§1) As in his epistemology of ideas, he maintains that only through accrued sensation can we know what we feel, and only through experience can knowing occur. Like ideas, then, pleasure and pain (the main categories under which all passions fall) can only be known through the accumu- lation of passionate experience, because “[p]leasure and pain, and that which causes them, good and evil, are the hinges on which our passions turn” (2.20.§3). Moreover, Locke says that “[t]he uneasiness a man finds in himself upon the absence of any thing, whose present enjoyment carries the idea of delight with it, is that we call desire” (2.20.§6). The passion of desire is marked by dis-ease, or uneasiness, and Locke claims “the chief, if not only spur to human industry and action, is uneasiness” (2.20.§6) – we feel, therefore we act. Jonathan Kramnick has explained this in terms of action: “In order to do something, Locke argues, one must not only have a desire to achieve some end, one must feel uneasy in the absence of this end”; Locke emphasises “the experience with which [actions] are accompanied” (Kramnick 2010, Hultquist. Passionate Educations 167 English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 141).3 Action therefore comes from experience, or knowing, and that know- ing arises when the passions are not at ease: we feel, we know, we act to resolve unease. I posit that the special kind of knowledge that comes from this process is emotional understanding, what in current parlance is known as emotional intelligence. The slow accumulation of passionate understanding and the uneasiness of feeling then lead to knowledge – the actions that result from that knowledge, however, are contested in Behn and Austen. This process is passionate education and it recurs in the writ- ing of the long eighteenth century. 3 Behn and Passionate Knowing: “On Desire: A Pindarick” (1688) Behn and Locke were contemporaries on opposing sides of the politi- cal spectrum in the 1680s. Private secretary to Anthony Ashley Cooper, 1st Earl of Shaftesbury, tutor to the 3rd Earl of Shaftesbury, and fellow traveller on the ship that brought William and Mary from the Netherlands to London in the wake of the Glorious Revolution (1688), Locke was firmly (and visibly) in the Whig camp. Behn was deeply loyal to the Stuarts and is nearly always connected with a Stuart-Tory mindset; her dedications are written to Jacobite nobles and her Pindaric odes on the Stuarts are profuse (see Todd 1996; Spencer 2000; and Markley 1988). Behn’s and Locke’s writing temporally coincided. Behn’s Love-Letters Between a Nobleman and His Sister (1684-1687) reimagine Monmouth’s rebellion, which many believed Shaftesbury to have orchestrated; Locke fled to Holland with Shaftesbury shortly after. Lycidas, the collection of poetry in which “On Desire: A Pindarick” (hereafter “On Desire”) was published, and An Essay were published one year apart: 1688 and 1689, respectively. An Essay had been in draft form for many years before its publication, and it is likely that “On Desire” had as well.4 However, both Locke and Behn share an even deeper, and insufficiently appreciated symmetry in the way that they theorise desire: what it is and how it accrues and thus, how experience is necessary to the passions, especially in terms of passionate knowing. The experience of Locke’s uneasiness is extended in Behn – those who have not experienced desire are devoid of passionate knowing, in Behn’s eyes. For her, as well as for Locke, the accrual of the simple experiences 3 According to Kramnick, the latter concept is prevalent in the second edition of An Essay (1694), written after extensive correspondence with the Irish philosopher William Molyneux. 4 Todd notes that “On Desire” was a very different kind of poem than the rest in Lycidas (1996, 397); I believe it is similar in theme and heightened passions to the 1684 Poems Upon Several Occasions, and that it may have been in draft form prior to 1684. 168 Hultquist. Passionate Educations English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 creates complex ideas, generates the passions, and thus enables knowing. For Locke, these are necessarily and easily cordoned off in terms of good and evil. But Behn is wiser about how knowledge actually works, that the uneasiness created by desire is precisely what is needed to actually experi- ence and learn. For Locke, the uneasiness that creates desire is important because that lack of equilibrium makes one act to restore balance. For Behn, the actions create desire which in turn creates knowledge; desire causes knowing rather than being a spur to action. Thus, the paradoxi- cal nature of desire is both what makes it delightful and an impetus for experience. She investigates this paradox in “On Desire”, which certainly encap- sulates the notion of uneasiness, both dis-ease and disease-as-desire is a plague for Behn. The difference is that for Behn the accrual of the simple ideas that create experience is greater than Locke’s uneasiness; it is a form of emotional knowing. She paints the creation of desire as paradoxi- cal pleasure and pain, as in Locke. But for Behn the coexistence of both creates a pleasurably painful experience – there is no action to be taken, only information to be known. The uneasiness of the speaker demonstrates the delightful torture of desire and similar depictions that are extremities of uneasiness. Behn’s uneasiness is a form of the passions that cannot spur on action – or rather it is a state on which to reflect. Behn’s uneasi- ness results in frustration, for sure, but also encourages a contemplation on what that dis-ease can mean and what can be learned from it. The dif- ference between Behn and Locke, then, is that, for the latter, the unease of desire is a temporary inessential mental state that, when it appears, works to stimulate action to remove that unease and return to a settled mental state. However, for Behn desire is fundamental. The passions figure in all experience and learning, and, when one is dis-eased by the passion of desire, this does not easily lead to an action that relieves it. Instead it creates a space of intense reflection, or passionate experience. The poem holds a strange place in Behn’s oeuvre, itself a seemingly disparate collection of plays, poems, fiction, letters, and translations. This irregular Pindaric follows the interior musings of a speaker who is caught in the web of desire and is trying to understand what has happened to her. She remembers that she never felt desire before, even when the object of that desire was worth desiring. She tries to understand what provoked the change and discovers that it is not so much the object of her love, Lysander, that she desires, but rather the experience of desire itself. As “On Desire” is not a pastoral (indeed the metaphors are particularly courtly), nor po- litical (the subject matter is decidedly on love), it has slipped through the critical cracks of poetic analytical scholarship of her work. While much has Hultquist. Passionate Educations 169 English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 been said about her political poetry5 and while her pastoral tradition has been appropriately addressed (see Gardiner 1993; Markley, Rothenberg 1993; Munns 2006), “On Desire” does not entirely belong to either of these analytical categories, and may be the reason that it is rarely published upon.6 Because of this dearth of critical discourse, I would place the poem in the Pindaric tradition of the seventeenth century, which demonstrates how the paradoxical nature of the form is the perfect vehicle for the pas- sion of uneasiness that leads to knowing. The Pindaric style, imitated throughout the early modern period in Eng- land and Europe, maintained the stricter form of the ancient Pindaric, based upon the tri-part structure of a Greek chorus (strophe, antistrophe, epode). It was a celebratory communal form and used specifically for ex- pressing high-wrought emotion. By the seventeenth century the Pindaric ode was still a genre of public encomium, but the form underwent a shift with the publication of Abraham Cowley’s Pindarique Odes (1656). Cowley is generally thought responsible for creating and popularising the irregu- lar ode, what Christopher Loar has referred to as the neo-Pindaric, which became the standard in public poetry through the mid-eighteenth century (2015, 128).7 Joshua Scodel has said that the Pindaric ode was “the major later-seventeenth-century innovation in English lyric poetry” (Scodel 2001, 183). The most central interpretation of the neo-Pindaric, and particularly John Dryden’s and Behn’s odes, was that they were a vehicle for political propaganda that encode both acquiescence to, and criticism of, its sub- ject, a kind of writing known for “grandiloquent obscurity, which makes interpretation difficult and licenses ambiguity” (Scodel, 2001, 184). Recent criticism also notes the satiric and paradoxical forms of the neo-Pindaric, especially in Behn’s writing. Stella P. Revard, for instance, argues that Behn uses sexual politics ironically in her Pindarics when it serves her purposes. When asked to write a Pindaric ode by Burnet on the ascension of William III, as loyal Jacobite she would not comply, but as an English subject she could not refuse: So she overpraises Burnet and underpraises herself as a poor weak female, thus neatly sidestepping Burnet’s request and exposing his less than honorable purpose. (Revard 1997, 237) 5 See especially Revard (2009, chapters 4 and 5). See also, Zook who argues that Behn’s poetry “is particularly useful at illuminating her political vision” (Zook 2006, 48). 6 Todd (1996, xxx) refers to it as one of many of Behn’s competent, energetic works of the first order, and notes that its topic of fiery illness was an outlier from the rest of the poems in Lycidas, which tend toward playful friendliness (1996, 397). 7 The introduction of the neo-Pindaric grieved Congreve (1706), who claimed in A Discourse on the Pindarique Ode that the worst of these odes are “the most confus’d Structures in Na- ture” (italics in the original). 170 Hultquist. Passionate Educations English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 For many Restoration writers, when the neo-Pindaric praises, it performs a sleight of hand. Revard and Loar demonstrate how the genre employs ironic modes that both compliment and take away the compliment at the same time, thus finding space between the “real and ideal” (Loar 2015, 130). That Behn’s description of desire takes place within the Pindaric form is a bit of a mystery until these ironic and paradoxical structures are un- derstood. While the ‘public’ Pindaric ode was generally comprehended in contrast to the more personal Horatian ode, Revard notes that the Pindaric ode was perceived as a heterogeneous medium, a poetic catch-all which could be used to address persons great and small and which was equally adaptable for subjects high and low. (Revard 2009, 257) Behn’s deliberate titling of her ode as a ‘Pindarick’ emphasises a universal recognition of desire. It is a subject that could be high or low, personal or public. In other words, the title makes desire a public subject through neo- Pindaric constructions. “On Desire” makes use of the structure to overtly praise and to avert praise, so the addressee is personal and abstract, desire is real and ideal, and the irregularity and paradoxical praise of the form emphasise the uneasy aspects of experiencing desire. The poem opens in this oxymoronic form, immediately addressing desire as a “new-found pain” (l. 1) and expressing it as an “inchanting” “infec- tion” (ll. 3, 2) that contaminates the speaker’s “unguarded Heart” (l. 8). The poem continues in the same way, praising desire in the high-wrought emotional form that is so fundamental in the Pindaric encomium. As the poem goes on, it demonstrates how the experience of the passion of love is the basis for knowing. First, the speaker explains the extent of the do- minion that desire has over her heart in terms of how much it has taught her – she figures herself as the best experiencer of desire; she is more knowing than those who simply pretend to understand what desire is. The poem addresses a personified Desire, and the speaker chastises him8 for being impetuous, for causing her uneasiness. He will not come when called and he will not come when the opportunity best presents itself: Where wert thou, oh, malicious spright, When shining Honour did invite? When interest call’d, then thou wert shy, Nor to my aid one kind propension brought, 8 I gender desire here as male because Behn connects the personified desire with Lysander, a typically masculine pastoral name. But it is important to acknowledge that, for Behn, love and desire are fluid, not bound by heterosexual boundaries. Lycidas is filled with poems praising female cabals, for instance. Hultquist. Passionate Educations 171 English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 Nor wou’d’st inspire one tender thought, When Princes at my feet did lye. (ll. 24-9) Desire is not present when an object worthy of the speaker’s desire ap- pears, such as when the beloved is honorable, rich, or high-ranked. The sleight of hand demonstrates desire as welcome as well as impetuous, un- forgiving, and dishonorable. The speaker then points out that neither will desire come when the object is young, powerful, well-spoken, nor beauti- ful. Her engagement in trying to understand desire forces the speaker to better know what she feels and what she thinks. The most important lesson that the speaker comes to know through her conflicted feelings is that she is in love with Desire rather than the man who inspires her desire: Yes, yes, tormenter, I have found thee now; And found to whom thou dost thy being owe, ‘Tis thou the blushes dost impart, For thee this languishment I wear, ‘Tis thou that tremblest in my heart When the dear Shepherd do’s appear. (ll. 67-72) In these lines, Behn demonstrates her knowing through her feelings; that is, her experience of uneasiness at the dear shepherd’s (Lysander’s) arrival. Desire itself trembles in her heart, but the object of desire is less impor- tant than the all-encompassing experience of it: desire, now internalised, torments her, makes her blush, languish, and tremble. In other words, the fact of knowing desire is more significant than the object of desire. And her description of the experience of desire is described as internal suffering set off by the dear Lysander, but experienced in the speaker’s body as the lover itself: I faint, I dye with pleasing pain, My words intruding sighing break When e’re I touch the charming swain When e’re I gaze, when er’e I speak. (ll. 73-6) Ecstatic, erotic pain is caused by the physical effects of desire, rather than by Lysander. Her experience of desire is tactile as well as internally moving. The passion floods, invades, and makes her physically burn with discomfort, a discomfort so intense that she cannot understand how those who claim to have known love can conceal their experience. 172 Hultquist. Passionate Educations English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 Like Locke, then, Behn’s discourse of the passions results in uneasiness, though her description points to something far more intense that mere unease: it is a welcome plague, a pleasing pain, a wanted torture. The experience of a passion (here desire) is painful, as Locke would say. But it does not function as a kind of temporary or inessential emotional response that must be resolved by action. Instead, the passionate experience that generates desire is a prompt for more passionate experience, more learn- ing. In this case it comes from a second-order experience of reflecting on the passion itself and coming to know more about the passion and the real-world experience that generated the passion. So there is knowledge gained about the nature of desire as passion, as well as knowledge about what is and is not Lysander’s role. By these lights, desire is a welcome plague because it generates a deeper knowledge as well as a richer, more passionate experience. Physical descriptions of the consuming nature of desire are explained as a disease, arising from the dis-ease of her soul, causing “burning feaverish fits” (l. 86), a “fierce Calenture [to] remove” (l. 88). The calenture is a pur- poseful choice that connects physical passion and illness. Originally it was a disease that sailors got, which made them burn with fever, see mirages of land on the sea, and then drown themselves when they attempted to walk on the non-existent land. Eventually, it came to refer to the physical effects of any hallucinatory illness; to remove a calenture was to end burn- ing, fever, and glowing heat. Finally, by means of these kinds of figurative usage, the word also came to refer to passion, ardour, or zeal – the sorts of emotion that could cause intense feelings of dis-ease and which one must remove from the soul in order to be cured of them.9 The triple meaning of calenture expresses the speaker’s painful struggles with desire: madness, illness, ardor, unease, disease. Like an illness, desire is experienced and cured, and leaves the sufferer with knowledge of the thing itself. Rather than spurring action, the uneasiness of the passion spurs knowledge. The importance of the experience of desire as knowledge is heightened in the final third of the poem in which the focus shifts from the speaker’s feelings to the actions of those around her. The speaker questions those who do not show the effects of desire. She asks those who have experi- enced desire: “How tis you hid the kindling fire?” (l. 90). For the speaker, desire causes fever, fire “rising sighs” (l. 99), and manifests physically in parts of the body that can be seen, like the eyes (l. 100). In the 1697 publication of the poem, two extra lines are interpolated that underscore the question of the speaker’s confusion over how lovers can hide desire. She asks how “not the Passion to the throng make known, | Which Cupid 9 See “calenture, n.” and “calenture, v.”. OED Online (2018). URL http://www.oed.com/se arch?searchType=dictionary&q=calenture&_searchBtn=Search (2019-02-26). Hultquist. Passionate Educations 173 English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 in revenge has now confin’d to one” (Behn in Todd 1992, 472; italic in the original); in other words, how can those hit by desire hide it effectively? The speaker lights on what she sees as the only answer: one cannot pre- vent desire from manifesting physically – it must mean that those who do not display the feverish symptoms of desire have never had that disease in the first place. Those who claim to control the manifestation of desire in their bodies are liars: Oh! wou’d you but confess the truth, It is not real virtue makes you nice: But when you do resist the pressing youth, ‘Tis want of dear desire, to thaw the Virgin Ice. (ll. 91-4) The modesty, the very virtue, of the women who will not bow to desire is false modesty: they do not bow because they have not actually known what it is to desire so intensely. Therefore their ‘want’ of, their lack of (and perhaps their craving for), desire makes them virtuous, not their heroic resistance. Their “virtu’s but a cheat, | And Honour but a false disguise” (ll. 103-4). They can remain as cool as ice because they are not fired. They can remain virtuous and healthy because they have not been fully tempted by the illness of passion. In short, they have never had the uneasiness that desire requires to understand or know; thus, their actions are false. And their lack of passionate experience has limited their stock of knowledge and circumscribed the scope of their understanding. In short, they have not had the opportunity for a passionate education. The speaker finishes the poem by praising experience. She better knows herself now that she has had practice with arbitrary, all-encompassing, pressing desire. She tells those unaffected by desire to Deceive the foolish World– deceive it on, And veil your passions in your pride; But now I’ve found your feebles by my own, From me the needful fraud you cannot hide. (ll. 107-10) Because the speaker has experienced desire, she knows what it is, what it can do, and that it cannot truly be hidden. Those who can “veil [their] pas- sions in [their] pride” have a weakness, but their weakness is not that of succumbing to desire, but rather having had no experience of it in the first place – therefore acting a lie. Early in the poem, the speaker has fashioned herself as resistant to all forms of desire: money, rank, cleverness, beauty. She invokes this resistance in the last lines and acknowledges that her guard has come down, that Lysander has found the weakness of her sex, though 174 Hultquist. Passionate Educations English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 the rest of the world is perplexed by her previous virtue. The mighty power of desire educates her through experience. The affective experience of a passion like desire creates a paradoxical knowledge, an uneasiness that provokes learning. The actions are false in those who are not educated in the passions. And the entire system of the passions is engaged in this discovery: the speaker’s mind, heart, body, personal ideas, and public engagement. Behn claims that to know a passion is to be educated. The experience, the acknowledgement, and the understanding of a passion is crucial: it creates knowledge about personal feelings and the feelings of others. This experience creates a clear path to knowing; it is a passionate education. Similarly, Austen underscores the passions’ ability to create knowledge in Mansfield Park. Yet Austen argues that if passions are disregarded, that ignorance has the potential to create disastrous consequences. If Behn argues that those who deny their feelings are liars, Austen takes it a step further, and calls them adulterers. 4 Austen and Passionate Unknowing: Mansfield Park (1815) We have no evidence that Austen read Locke directly, though she would have been familiar with his concepts through popular works, such as Samuel Johnson’s Lockean gestures in The History of Rasselas (1759) or the Idler (1758-1760), both of which are alluded to in Mansfield Park (see Halsey 2005; De Rose 1983). Likewise, there is no direct evidence that Austen read Behn, though the two are sometimes set together as links in a feminised genealogy of literature (Spencer 1986; Todd 2012). However, all three are connected in their understanding of how the passions give rise to knowl- edge, especially in terms of the experience of desire. As it is for Behn so it is for Austen: passionate experience is crucial to one’s education. But while for Behn there is a pleasurable pain in the uneasiness of the passions, Aus- ten demonstrates that once uneasiness is ascertained, if it is not properly grappled with, it can have disastrous effects. In both authors’ work the im- portance of the passions is in knowing them; and both of them believe that the action that comes from not acknowledging that knowing is false action. The scholarship on Mansfield Park is copious, but in terms of critical readings it grows out of three classic critical examinations: Marilyn But- ler’s, who argues for the theme of mis-education and thus the defunct morality of Mansfield Park’s inhabitants; Claudia Johnson’s, who reads the domestic space of the novel as political, especially in terms of gender’s constitutive aspects of politics; and Edward Said’s orientalist argument, which has in turn made Fanny a moral keeper of the Empire (Butler 1975; Johnson 1998, 95; Said 1993). Some aspects of the criticism have touched on Austen’s relationship to Lockean empiricism and some on the passions. Hultquist. Passionate Educations 175 English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 Very few scholars have examined the Austen-Locke connection, espe- cially in terms of the vocabulary of the passions. Those that echo the vocabulary of Locke do so through the concept of ideas or actions rather than the experience of passionate knowing. For instance, Peter L. De Rose (1983) argues that Austen was likely most familiar with Locke through Johnson’s writing – while we cannot be sure she read the former, we know she read the latter. He claims that a close reading of Locke clarifies the no- tion of imagination in Northanger Abbey, that one cannot truly understand “imagination” until one understands the “direct experience of sensory reality” (Johnson’s Rasselas quoted in De Rose 1983, 63). Only then can Northanger Abbey be properly understood as a parody of the dangerous- ness of imagination or a comedy of moral lessons. Claudia J. Martin (2008) argues that Austen makes more sense when compared directly to Locke than through the intermediary of Johnson. She makes use of Locke’s term ‘happiness’ to articulate the significance of emotion in character develop- ment in the Chawton novels: Locke, like Austen, is quick to distinguish between temporary or expedi- ent pleasures and real happiness; […] those characters who achieve the happiness of a suitable marital union in Austen’s novels follow a course of consideration, evaluation, and restraint as predicate to their making those morally correct choices that will further their pursuit–a plot that suggests Austen’s familiarity with Locke’s theoretical constructions re- garding happiness. Martin’s connection between Austen’s happily married characters and the Lockean concepts of consideration, evaluation, and restraint echo the vo- cabulary of Locke on ideas, rather than Locke on feeling. Neither scholar deals directly with Locke, Austen, and the passions. Additionally, Austen is rarely associated with the passions. Until recently, the concepts for passion (as in Maria Bertram Rushworth’s sexual desire for Henry Crawford) and the passions (an emotional system with which Austen and her readers were familiar) have been conflated in modern criticism.10 This is intriguing as a number of the articles on Mansfield Park use feelings as a method of analysis, though rarely making them the centre of the conver- sation, or taking the historical viewpoint of the passions into consideration.11 10 See for instance Grandi 2008; Sandock 1988; Raw, Dryden 2013. There are exceptions that use the term ‘passions’ in its eighteenth-century contexts, as for instance Nagle 2005. 11 See for instance Judith Burden (2002), who reads the moral failings of the characters as evidence of the inherent irony in Mansfield Park. Similarly, a crucial part of Jacquelin M. Erwin’s (1995) argument depends on the Ward sisters’ ignorance of their emotions, but her analysis settles on the kinds of domestic space that lead to moral erosion rather than emotional ignorance. 176 Hultquist. Passionate Educations English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 Exceptions exist; both Summer J. Star and Stephanie M. Eddleman make eloquent arguments regarding Fanny’s repressed anger (Star 2008; Eddle- man 2008).12 Nevertheless the discourse of emotions in Austen’s critical reception is often limited to Fanny’s sensibility and morality, the two most notable being Butler (1975), who reads Fanny’s sentimentalism against Ma- ria’s self-indulgence, and Johnson (1998), who claims that Mansfield Park is in fact an ironic reading of the conservative ideas of Edmund Burke, of emotion, and women. Read through Locke’s and Behn’s importance of ex- perience and uneasiness, Maria’s passionate education is more at fault than her moral one. The actions she takes to marry Rushworth and elope with Crawford are poor choices because she fails to acknowledge her passionate knowing. Sir Thomas realises, much too late, that he has not understood his daughters’ “inclinations and tempers” and blames himself for failing to provide “active principle” in their moral education (Austen 2003, 430); he never understands that he has neglected their passionate education as well. Maria’s falling in love with Henry Crawford offers an opportunity for both father and daughter to be educated through the uneasiness of their passions. Her feelings for Crawford when her father returns from Antigua are “in a good deal of agitation” (178), her uneasiness abounds. When Sir Thomas and Crawford first meet, “Maria saw with delight and agitation the introduction of the man she loved to her father. Her sensations were indefin- able” (179). Maria’s uneasiness about Crawford is set against her clearer feelings on the departure of her fiancé; she reflects that if Crawford will now speak up, he might “save [Mr. Rushworth] the trouble of ever coming back again” (178). For Crawford she is all agitated feeling; for Rushworth she is indifferent. The acuity of this uneasiness peaks when she finds Craw- ford will not speak, that “[h]e was going” despite “[t]he hand which had so pressed hers to his heart!” (179-80). Her pleasure in her recollection of her love for him and the realisation that his love will not be returned create an unease described by Austen as acute distress. Austen tells us that Maria’s “spirit supported her, but the agony of her mind was severe” (180). Her conflicting passions – love for Crawford, disappointment in his not returning her love, and pride – create the agony of Lockean uneasiness rather than Behn’s paradoxical pleasurable pain. As in Behn, uneasiness does not at first create action. She sits still as her passions become clear in their conflict, but “she had not long […] to bury the tumult of her feelings;” for “[h]e was gone”, leaving her in a Lockean condition of uneasiness (180). The accrual of passionate experience should educate her to her feelings, but it does not. Maria’s uneasy passions are so strong that even the staid and stoic Sir Thomas picks up on them, although he too fails to learn – to know – about 12 See also Trigg 2015 on the importance of emotional communication through facial expres- sions in all of Austen’s novels. Hultquist. Passionate Educations 177 English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 the significance of her feelings. He recognises Maria’s hostility towards Mr. Rushworth and “trie[s] to understand her feelings” (186; italic in the original). When he says he will act to release her from the engagement, “Maria ha[s] a moment’s struggle as she listened, and only a moment’s”; she is soon able to give her answer “immediately, decidedly, and with no ap- parent agitation” (186). She will marry Mr. Rushworth. This meeting results in her pledging “herself anew to Sotherton” (187). She realises that both her dislike for Mr. Rushworth and her disappointed feelings about Craw- ford’s love must better be concealed – a conclusion that denies her (and Sir Thomas’s) uneasiness and prevents the chance for emotional knowing. Austen implies that paying closer attention to their passionate uneasiness might have saved the family from the devastation of her eventual adultery: Had Sir Thomas applied to his daughter within the first three or four days after Henry Crawford’s leaving Mansfield, before her feelings were at all tranquillized, before she had given up every hope of him […] her answer might have been different. (187) This “different” answer would have been based on her ‘un-tranquillized’ feelings for Crawford and provided the passionate experience that could lead to a better marriage choice – or no marriage at all. Austen uses dra- matic irony to explain that Sir Thomas is “too glad to be satisfied perhaps”, deciding that “[Maria’s] feelings probably were not acute; he had never supposed them to be so” (186). Despite the uneasiness that prompts him to talk with her on this important decision, despite an uneasiness that should lead to right action, despite saying earlier in the scene that he will “act for her and release her” (186), Sir Thomas ignores his feelings and decides that Maria probably is not upset by hers – a dire misreading in the world of the novel. In the end, he acts by not acting to end a marriage he knows will be emotionally mismanaged. According to Austen, “[i]n all the important preparations of the mind [Maria] was complete; being prepared for matrimony by an hatred of home, restraint, and tranquillity; by the misery of disappointed affection and contempt of the man she was to marry. The rest might wait. (188) Austen highlights the emotional aspects of Maria’s miseducation, not the moral ones: “hatred of home”, “misery of disappointed affection”, “contempt of the man she is to marry” (188; emphasis added). In this reading, Maria’s denying her passions is the destructive beginning of her doomed marriage. Crucially, Maria ignores the potential of self-knowledge because of her mis- management of passionate experience. Sir Thomas misses an educational opportunity because he is blinded by his wish to expand the family’s wealth 178 Hultquist. Passionate Educations English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 and social status. Yet, had Maria considered her passions, acknowledged un- easiness, harmonised the resulting action with those passions, the tale must have ended differently, Austen implies. This episode is a strong example of how unacknowledged uneasiness causes problems. Maria feels the Lockean desire in her intense feelings for Crawford but, unlike Behn’s speaker, does not learn from her uneasiness. Sir Thomas also feels Lockean unease but does not act on the feeling in a profitable way. Both characters do not do what they are supposed to do when desire arises; they neither act, nor learn. Nearly all of the characters involved in the adultery are unable to be educated through their passions, especially Crawford’s self-centred pas- sions: pride, curiosity, and vanity. When Crawford again meets Maria and flirts with her – trying to make “Mrs. Rushworth, Maria Bertram again” (434) – he does not value the negative effects of indulging in uneasy pas- sions. Austen specifically notes that had he been able to acknowledge his anger at Fanny, he “might have saved them both” (434). Crawford’s in- ability to read both Fanny’s and Maria’s feelings places him and Maria in a condition of social danger that upsets both families. He is tripped up by his own vanity and “he had put himself in the power of feelings on [Ma- ria’s] side, more strong than he had supposed. – She loved him; there was no withdrawing attentions, avowedly dear to her” (434). His inability to properly understand strong emotion prevents passionate knowing, and he is compelled to commit adultery with Maria through emotional ignorance: “he [goes] off with her at last because he [can]not help it” (434-5). Craw- ford does not acknowledge Locke’s uneasiness until he cannot save them both. Austen presumes to understand Crawford’s unease after the fact: “vexation […] must rise sometimes to self-reproach, and regret to wretch- edness”. Yet his unease comes too late (435) – he misses his lesson and the resulting action is a product of not attending to the potential of passionate knowledge. Without the ability to recognise his own unease, or the unease that he creates in others, he loses respectability, friends, and Fanny, “the woman whom he had rationally, as well as passionately loved” (435). Austen’s narrator accords all of this disruption to a lack of a moral compass in Maria and Crawford. The latter’s education is “ruined by early independence and bad domestic example” (433); his money and his uncle, who lives openly with his mistress, are the root of his lack of principle. However, the text also underscores that his ignorance of his own feel- ings, and the fact that he toys with the feelings of others, is also at fault. Throughout the novel Crawford is aloof and careless of others’ emotions. When he arrives at Mansfield, early in the book, he decides to please the Miss Bertrams by “making them like him. He did not want them to die of love; but...he allowed himself great latitude on such points” (43). Careless at best and viciously selfish at worst, he misses the potential education he could get out of recognising his negative passions. Hultquist. Passionate Educations 179 English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 Maria’s moral compass, too, is faulted. Fixed in the mismanagement of her “anxious and expensive education” (430), effected by the opposing rationales of Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris, her learning is defective. Sir Thomas certainly repines at his method of educating his daughter – her accrued knowledge has not had the moral effect he thought it would. Yet he misses the fact that he should have never allowed her to marry a man that she does not love. Underlying all of this is the fact that the passions – the conflicting feelings, the uneasiness inspired by love and pride – have not been fully experienced or understood by Maria, her father, and her lover. Maria Rushworth is not a victim of her immorality, but rather a poor stu- dent of her own emotional intelligence; she fails in her passionate educa- tion. The novel may therefore be as much a demonstration of the dangers of denying the passions as it is a triumph of morals. 5 Conclusion Locke argues that passionate uneasiness leads to action, and Behn and Austen sophisticatedly re-deploy Locke’s uneasiness. Where Locke talks about passion as pleasure or pain, which then is a prompt to action, Behn and Austen argue that emotional knowing must come first and right ac- tion can only be taken if affective knowing is acknowledged. For the lat- ter authors, the importance of emotional experience is not necessarily action, but learning. Behn’s speaker is able to recognise that the uneasy experience of desire provides an education about her passions; she knows more than those who pretend to have desire. Austen’s characters experi- ence emotional sensations, have the potential to acknowledge the lessons of those passions but fail to know – or at least fail to act rightly on that passionate knowledge. The attendant misunderstanding manifests itself in chaos rather than equilibrium. Such characters, while often read as passionately impetuous and morally corrupt, are also ignorant of what their passions can teach. Their passionate education is as much at fault as their moral one. The affective experience of Behn’s speaker and Aus- ten’s characters provide them with knowledge and recognition. But while “On Desire” demonstrates the possible success of passionate education, Mansfield Park demonstrates its failure. I began this article with Furtak’s statement that affective experience provides a knowledge only available through our emotions. This twenty-first century statement is possible be- cause it is at the receiving end of 300 years of literary exploration of the passions. Locke, Behn, and Austen all demonstrate that we need passions to know. All three describe the necessity of a passionate education. 180 Hultquist. Passionate Educations English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 Bibliography Armstrong, Nancy; Tennenhouse, Leonard (2006). “A Mind for Pas- sion: Locke and Hutcheson on Desire”. Kahn, Victoria; Saccamano, Neil; Coli, Daniela (eds), Politics and the Passions, 1500-1850. Prince- ton (NJ): Princeton University Press, 131-50. DOI https://doi. org/10.1515/9781400827152.131. Austen, Jane [1814] (2003). Mansfield Park. Edited by Kathryn Sutherland. New York: Penguin. Behn, Aphra [1689] (1992). “On Desire: A Pindarick”. Todd, Janet (ed.), Po- etry. Vol. 2 of The Works of Aphra Behn. Columbus: Ohio State Universi- ty Press, 281-4. DOI https://doi.org/10.1093/oseo/instance.00212585. Burden, Judith (2002). “Mansfield Park and the Question of Irony”. Persua- sions: Journal of the Jane Austen Society of North America, 23, 197-204. Butler, Marilyn (1975). Jane Austen and the War of Ideas. Oxford: Clarendon. DOI https://doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780198129684.003.0001. Congreve, William (1706). A Discourse on the Pindarique Ode in Lyrik- theorie. URL https://www.uni-due.de/lyriktheorie/texte/1706_con- greve.html (2019-02-26). De Rose, Peter L. (1983). “Imagination in Northanger Abbey”. University of Mississippi Studies in English, 4, 62-76. Drury, Joseph (2008-09). “Haywood’s Thinking Machines”. Eighteenth-Cen- tury Fiction, 21(2), 201-28. DOI https://doi.org/10.3138/ecf.21.2.201. Eddleman, Stephanie M. (2008). “‘If our Right Hand Offends You…’: An- ger and the Principle of Moral Regeneration in Mansfield Park”. Per- suasions: The Jane Austen Journal On-Line, 29. URL https://login. ezproxy.stockton.edu/login?URL=http://search.ebscohost.com. ezproxy.stockton.edu/login.aspx?direct=true&db=mzh&AN=2009581 035&site=ehost-live (2019-02-26). Elster, Jon (1999). Alchemies of the Mind: Rationality and the Emotions. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. DOI https://doi.org/10.1017/ cbo9781139173308. Erwin, Jacqueline M. (1995). “Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris and Mrs. Price: Place and Identity on Mansfield Park”. Persuasions: Journal of the Jane Austen Society of North America, 17, 144-51. Furtak, Rick Anthony (2018). Knowing Emotions: Truthfulness and Rec- ognition in Affective Experience. Oxford: Oxford University Press. DOI https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780190492045.001.0001. Gardiner, Judith Kegan (1993). “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity: Utopian Longings in Behn’s Lyric Poetry”. Hutner, Heidi (ed.), Rereading Aphra Behn. Charlottesville (VA): University Press of Virginia, 273-300. Grandi, Roberta (2008). “The Passion Translated: Literary and Cinematic Rhetoric in Pride and Prejudice (2005)”. Literature/Film Quarterly, 36(1), 45-51. Hultquist. Passionate Educations 181 English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 Gross, Daniel M. (2006). The Secret History of Emotion: From Aristotle’s “Rhetoric” to Modern Brain Science. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. DOI https://doi.org/10.7208/chicago/9780226309934.001.0001. Halsey, Katie (2005). “Spectral Texts in Mansfield Park”. Batchelor, Jen- nie; Kaplan, Cora (eds), British Women’s Writing in the Long Eighteenth Century: Authorship, Politics, and History. Basingstoke: Palgrave Mac- millan, 48-61. DOI https://doi.org/10.1057/9780230595972_4. James, Susan (1997). Passion and Action: The Emotions in Seventeenth- Century Philosophy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. DOI https://doi. org/10.1093/0198250134.001.0001. Johnson, Claudia L. (1988). Jane Austen: Women Politics and the Novel. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kramnick, Jonathan (2010). Actions and Objects from Hobbes to Richard- son. Stanford (CA): Stanford University Press. Loar, Christopher F. (2015). “Exclusion and Desecration: Aphra Behn, Liberalism, and Pindaric Ode”. Restoration: Studies in English Liter- ary Culture, 1660-1700, 39(1-2), 125-36. DOI https://doi.org/10.1353/ rst.2015.0001. Locke, John [1689] (1824). An Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Vol. 1 of The Works of John Locke in Nine Volumes. London: Rivington. URL http://oll.libertyfund.org/titles/761 (2019-02-26). Markley, Robert; Rothenberg, Molly (1993). “Contestations of Nature: Aphra Behn’s ‘The Golden Age’ and the Sexualizing of Politics”. Hut- ner, Heide (ed.), Rereading Aphra Behn. Charlottesville (VA): University Press of Virginia, 301-21. Martin, Claudia J. (2008). “Austen’s Assimilation of Lockean Ideals: The Appeal of Pursuing Happiness”. Persuasions: Austen Journal Online, 28. URL https://login.ezproxy.stockton.edu/login?URL=http://search. ebscohost.com.ezproxy.stockton.edu/login.aspx?direct=true&db=mz h&AN=2008581104&site=ehost-live (2019-02-26). Munns, Jessica (2006). “Pastoral and Lyric: Astrea in Arcadia”. Hughes, Derek; Todd, Janet (eds), The Cambridge Companion to Aphra Behn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 46-67. DOI https://doi. org/10.1017/ccol0521820197.013. Nagle, Christopher (2005). “The Epistolary Passions of Sympathy: Feeling Letters in Persuasion and Burney’s The Wanderer”. Persuasions: The Jane Austen Journal, 27, 88-98. Raw, Laurence; Dryden, Robert G. (2013). Global Jane Austen: Pleasure, Passion, and Possessiveness in the Jane Austen Community. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillian. DOI https://doi.org/10.1057/9781137270764. Revard, Stella P. (1997). “Katherine Phillips, Aphra Behn, and the Female Pindaric”. Summers, Claude J.; Pebworth, Ted-Larry (eds), Representing Women in Renaissance England. Columbia (MO): University of Missouri Press, 27-41. 182 Hultquist. Passionate Educations English Literature, 5, 2018, 163-182 e-ISSN 2420-823X ISSN 2385-1635 Revard, Stella P. (2009). Politics, Poetics, and the Pindaric Ode: 1450-1700. Tempe (AZ): Arizona Center for Medieval and Renaissance Studies Ari- zona Studies in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Rorty, Amelie Oksenberg (1982). “From Passions to Emotions to Sentiments”. Philosophy, 57, 159-72. DOI https://doi.org/10.1017/s0031819100050749. Said, Edward (1993). Culture and Imperialism. New York: Knopf. Sandock, Mollie (1988). “Jane Austen and the Political Passions”. Persua- sions: Journal of the Jane Austen Society of North America, 10, 83-9. Scodel, Joshua (2001). “The Cowleyan Pindaric Ode and Sublime Diver- sions”. Houston, Alan; Pincus, Steve (eds), A Nation Transformed: Eng- land After the Restoration. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 180-210. Sodano, Joel P. (2017). “Uneasy Passions: The Spectator’s Divergent In- terpretations of Locke’s Theory of Emotion”. Eighteenth Century: The- ory and Interpretation, 58(4), 449-67. DOI https://doi.org/10.1353/ ecy.2017.0036. Spencer, Jane (1986). The Rise of the Woman Novelist: From Aphra Behn to Jane Austen. New York: Blackwell. Star, Summer J. (2008). “Mad as the Devil but Smiling Sweetly: Repressed Female Anger in Mansfield Park”. Persuasions: The Jane Austen Journal, 28, 41-51. Thompson, Helen (2005). Ingenuous Subjection: Compliance and Power in the Eighteenth-Century Domestic Novel. Philadelphia (PA): University of Pennsylvania Press. DOI https://doi.org/10.9783/9780812203776. Tierney-Hynes, Rebecca (2012). Novel Minds: Philosophers and Ro- mance Readers, 1680-1740. Basingstoke: Palgrave. DOI https://doi. org/10.1057/9781137033291. Todd, Janet (1996). Aphra Behn: A Secret Life. London: Fentum. Todd, Janet (2012). “‘I do Not See How It Can Ever Be Ascertained’: Aphra Behn and Jane Austen”. Women’s Writing, 19(2), 192-203. DOI https:// doi.org/10.1080/09699082.2011.646863. Trigg, Stephanie (2015). “Faces That Speak: A Little Emotion Machine in in the Novels of Jane Austen”. Broomall, Susan (ed.), Spaces for Feeling: Emo- tions and Sociabilities in Britain, 1650-1850. London: Routledge, 185-201. Zook, Melinda S. (2006). “The Political Poetry and Aphra Behn”. Hughes, Derek; Todd, Janet (eds), The Cambridge Companion to Aphra Behn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 46-67. DOI https://doi. org/10.1017/ccol0521820197.004. 
work_kvmjmi76hjh4jiakauatpg4gf4	----	None 
work_kzluvn7yxneatow25almgmc4fa	----	Información Bibliográfica R I S REVISTA INTERNACIONAL DE SOCIOLDGIA N* 2 7 , S e p t i e m b r e - Diciembre, 2 0 0 0 LIBROS INFORMACIÓN BIBLIOGRÁFICA CALLEJO, Javier (2001), El grupo de dis- cusión, Barcelona, Ariel. En esta obra se resaltan las capacidades y límites de los grupos de discusión, una técnica que se emplea cada vez más en la investigación social. Su implantación cada vez mayor en el mercado de la investigación ha hecho pasar su concepción desde una especie de oráculo o espejo mágico, en el que el investigador podía "ver" la totalidad social, hasta un instrumento que, concretado con mínimos rigores metodológicos, parece servir para todo, de cualquier manera, como si un único modo de observación pudiera contestar a todo tipo de preguntas. Consciente de su subordinación a la propia práctica de los grupos, este texto se constituye como fuente de respuestas y reflexiones conjuntas para quienes pudieran encontrarse en similares circunstancia empíricas. ELSTER, Jon (1999), Alchemies ofthe Mind Rationality and the Emotions, Cam- bridge, Cambridge University Press. Basándose en la historia, la literatura, la filosofía y la psicología, Elster analiza el papel de las emociones en el comportamiento humano. Aunque reconoce la importancia de la neurofisiología y los experimentos de laboratorio en el estudio de las emociones, Elster afirma que un estudio riguroso de las emociones puede enriquecerse también de lo que sobre este tema han escrito los grandes escritores y filósofos del pasado, desde Aristóteles a Jane Austen. Este autor otorga especial importancia a los trabajos de los moralistas franceses, sobre todo La Rochefocault, quien demostró la manera en la cual la estima y la auto-estima configuran la motivación humana. El libro, como toda la obra de Elster, está permeado de los conceptos económicos y de elección racional. MORTON, Rebecca (1999), Methods and Models. A Guide to Empirical Analysis of Formal Models in Political Science, Cam- bridge, Cambridge University Press. En este libro, Rebecca Morton analiza varias cuestiones de sumo interés. La primera de ellas es la explicación de las características que debe cumplir cualquier modelo formal de ciencia política. La segunda de las cuestiones que aborda es la explicación de los principios metodológicos que deben regir los modelos empíricos que contrasten a los modelos formales. Tradicionalmente la teoría formal y los análisis cuantitativos han sido áreas de estudio separadas en la ciencia política. Por este motivo, la obra de Rebecca Morton supone un gran avance al conectar ambas cuestiones. Con ello, tanto la teoría formal como los análisis más empíricos se ven claramente enriquecidos. PUTNAM, R.D. (2000), Bowling Alone. The Collapse and Revival of American Com- munity, Nueva York, Simón & Schuster. En este trabajo, Putnam desarrolla su conocido argumento acerca del declive del capital social en Estados Unidos. Basándose en datos de encuestas de cultura política y estilos de vida de las últimas cinco décadas, Putnam diagnostica el declive del capital social en áreas diversas, como la participación política, la vida asociativa, la participación religiosa, las relaciones informales en el trabajo, las relaciones con amigos, familia y 214 Equipo Editorial Revista Internacional de Sociologia, Vol 58 Num 27 (2000) (c) Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Licencia Creative Commons Reconocimiento 4.0 Internacional (CC BY 4.0) http://revintsociologia.revistas.csic.es/index.php/revintsociologia LIBROS R I S REVISTA INTERNACIONAL DE SÜCIÜLÜCIA N' 2 7 , S e p t i e m b r e - DicieHibrts 2 0 0 0 vecinos, y la confianza social. Seguidamente, propone un conjunto de "sospechosos habi- tuales" como posibles explicaciones de este declive: desde la menor disponibilidad de tiempo, hasta la inupción de la televisión en el tiempo de ocio, pasando por los efectos del cambio generacional. Su conclusión es que el cambio generacional, a partir de la 'iarga generación cívica" que alcanzó su punto culminante en los años cuarenta y cincuenta, junto con los efectos de la televisión sobre las generaciones sucesoras, son los principales culpables del declive del capital social. Finalmente, Putnam ofrece buenas razones para lamentar esta pérdida de capital social, analizando los efectos de este recurso ahora menguante sobre la salud de los ciudadanos, la educación de los niños, la prosperidad económica o la democracia. ROBERT, G. y I. ROBERT (ed., 2000), Patterns of Social Capital. Stability and Change in Historical Perspective, Cam- bridge, Cambridge University Press. Este volumen recoge una serie de trabajos que analizan el capital social en distintos períodos de tiempo y en distintos países. Una conclusión de la mayor parte de las contribuciones es que el capital social no tiene por qué durar, y que, incluso, la acumulación y disminución del capital social puede ser cíclica. Un primer conjunto de capítulos se refieren al desarrollo del capital social en sociedades preindustriales. Gene Brucker analiza en su capítulo las tradiciones cívicas en la Italia del Antiguo Régimen (respon- diendo en parte a las tesis de Putnam en Making Democracy Work sobre el capital social en Italia desde el siglo XII), Raymond Grew analiza los efectos sobre el capital social de la Revolución Francesa, y Leonard N. Rosenband, los de la revolución industrial. La mayoría de los restantes capítulos se ocupan de la evolución del capital social, sobre todo en forma de asociaciones y redes de compromiso cívico, en los Estados Unidos. Jack P. Green se centra en el período colonial. Robert Putnam y Gerarld Gamm analizan el desarrollo de asociaciones voluntarias en América entre 1840 y 1940, mientras que Maiy Ryan hace lo propio, pero centrándose exclusivamente en el siglo XIX. La transi- ción desde la América agraria del XIX a la industrializada de la "Era Progresista" de principios del siglo XX y su impacto sobre el capital social es analizado por Elisabeth Clemens desde el punto de vista de las asociaciones de mujeres, y por Reed Ueda desde el punto de vista de los inmigrantes. Otros capítulos, finalmente, analizan pautas de desarrollo del capital social en Asia (Lucían Pye) y Nigeria (Marjorie Mclntosh). SAWARD, Michael (ed., 2000), Democmtic Innovation. Deliheration, Representaíion and Association, Londres, Routledge. En este trabajo se intentan reflejar algunas de las innovaciones más recientes en el campo de la teoría democrática. El análisis de la "democracia deliberativa", probablemente la idea que más debates ha generado en la teoría democrática en los últimos diez años, es el argumento central del libro. Este es el foco de atención de las contribuciones de James Fishkin y Robert Luskin, que presentan sus experimentos de deliberación entre ciudadanos escogidos de forma aleatoria, Graham Smith, que examina la deliberación en los jurados, y Eriksen, que relaciona la propuesta de la democracia deliberativa con el problema de la legitimidad democrática de la Unión Europea. Críticas a la democracia deliberativa se encuentran en los capítulos de Tuna Rattila y Michael Saward, así como en el de John Dryzek. Otros temas tratados en el libro son los referidos a la relación entre la democracia deliberativa y los problemas de género (capítulos de Judith Squires y Petra Meier), el análisis de las últimas propuestas 215 (c) Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Licencia Creative Commons Reconocimiento 4.0 Internacional (CC BY 4.0) http://revintsociologia.revistas.csic.es/index.php/revintsociologia R I S REVISTA INTERNACIONAL l)E SÜCIÜLÜCIA iN' 2 7 , Septittinlire - ü l c i e i n b r e , 2 0 0 0 LIBROS de democracia asociativa (Perczynski y Rossteutscher), la relación entre capital social y republicanismo cívico (Francisco Herreros), y la relación entre democracia deliberativa y democracia directa (lan Budge). QUADRADO, Lucia (1999), Welfare Ine- qiiality, Regionalisation and Welfare Policy: Measiirement and Analysis for Spain, La Haya, Wageningen Univer- siteit. En esta obra, Lucía Quadrado analiza las políticas de bienestar en la Unión Europea y en España. Tras estudiar la evolución del Estado del bienestar en España y de la política regional en España y la Unión Europea, su investigación se centra en la medición de desigualdades regionales de bienestar, en sus diferentes ámbitos: salud, educación, vivienda. El estudio es especialmente inte- resante por lo riguroso de la metodología realizada y por sus conclusiones sobre la variación de las prestaciones de bienestar entre regiones españolas desde los años sesenta. VILACAÑAS, José Luís (1999), Res Publica. Los fundamentos normativos de la polí- tica, Madrid, Akal. Para el autor de este libro, sin una vuelta a los fundamentos y a la concepción del hombre que se adecué a la vida democrática, se corre el peligro de que no se esté en condiciones de trascender las imperfecciones de la política realmente existente. Por ello el presente libro pasa revista a todos los tópicos de la democracia, de la teoría del hombre como ser social y activo dotado de conciencia histórica hasta la teoría de la felicidad como fin de la política, pasando por una teoría del derecho, del Estado, de la soberanía y de la representación, de la división de poderes y del sentido prudencial de la política en cada uno de sus sujetos. MORENO, Luis (2000), Ciudadanos preca- rios. La "última red" de protección social, Barcelona, Ariel. En esta obra Luis Moreno centra su atención en aquellos ciudadanos que se ven fuera de las redes de protección formal del Estado del Bienestar. Pobres, excluidos, desvinculados o dependientes son ciudada- nos precarios de las sociedades europeas expuestos a procesos de marginación social. Así pues, en el inicio del tercer milenio queda por consolidar las redes de seguridad más próximas al ciudadano. La cobertura de sus riesgos vitales constituye un desafío socioeco-nómico del que depende la viabili- dad del proyecto de la Unión Europea. 216 (c) Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Licencia Creative Commons Reconocimiento 4.0 Internacional (CC BY 4.0) http://revintsociologia.revistas.csic.es/index.php/revintsociologia SbctlSmb Revista cuatrimestral de Ciencias Sociales Facultad de Ciencias Políticas y Sociología. Universidad Complutense Presidenta: Rosario Otegui Pascual, Decana Director: Ramón Ramos Torre Consejo de Redacción: Celestino del Arenal Moyúa, Rafael Bañón Martínez, Mercedes Cabrera Calvo-Sotelo Cecilia Castaño Collado, Juan José Castillo Alonso, María Cátedra Tomás, Rafael Díaz Salazar, María González Encinar, Jesús Leal Maldonado, Lorenzo Navarrete Moreno, Juan L. Panlagua Soto, Laureano Pérez Latorre, Bernabé Sarabia Heydrich, Femando Valdés dal Re Secretaría: Carmen Pérez Hernando CONTENroO N,° 35 María Ángeles Duran La nueva división del trabajo en el cuidado de la salud Josep Lluís Harona Vilar Globalización y desigualdades en salud. Sobre la pretendida crisis del Estado de Bienestar Josep Bemabeu Mestre y Elena Robles Demografía y problemas de salud. Unas reflexiones críticas sobre los conceptos de transición demográfica y sanitaria Andreu Segura Benedicto La salud pública y las políticas de salud Vicente Ortún Rubio Desigualdad y salud Soledad Murillo de la Vega La invisibilización del cuidado en la familia y los sistemas sanitarios Filar España Saz La medicina y el enfermo oncológico Jon Arrízabalaga IMS «enfermedades emergentes» en las postrimerías del siglo XX: El sida María Cátedra El enfermo ante la enfermedad y la muerte Marga Marí-Klose y Jesús M. de Miguel El canon de la muerte Juan Barja La enfermedad mortal VARIOS José M. Fernández Sobrado y José E. Antolín Iría Estructura organizativa de los «nuevos» movimientos sociales en el País Vasco: claves para su comprensión Enríque Luque Incursión etnográfica en territorio forense SUSCRIPCIONES Número suelto: L500 ptas. Suscripción anual: individual, 3.200 ptas.; institucional, 4.000 ptas. Para el extranjero: 40 $ USA las individualizadas, y 50 $ USA las institucionales. Ver Boletín de Suscripción en páginas finales de cada revista. (c) Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Licencia Creative Commons Reconocimiento 4.0 Internacional (CC BY 4.0) http://revintsociologia.revistas.csic.es/index.php/revintsociologia ISEGORIA F I L O S O F Í A M O R A L Y P T Í T U L O S A P A R E C I D O S A La Teoría Crítica, hoy lá Moralidad y Legitimidad •5 Derroteros de la Filosofía Postanalítica 4 Ética y filosofía de la historia 5 De la Fenomenología a la Hermenéutica U Feminismo y ética / Primeras Conferencias Aranguren O El nuevo pragmatismo 5r Los rostros del liberalismo 10 Etica y filosofía de la religión 11 Filosofía y literatura 12 La filosofía de la ciencia como filosofía práctica 13 Sociedad civil y Estado 14 Multiculturalismo: Justicia y Tolerancia 15 Adiós a Aranguren 16 lus Gentium: ética, política y relaciones internacionales 17 Acción, ética y verdad 18 Etica y economía política 19 La filosofía iberoamericana en el cambio de siglo 20 Sujeto y comunidad 21 Argumentación jurídica 22 Derechos humanos y globalización 23 La Filosofía después del Holocausto Los sumarios completos de los números se pueden consultar en la página web del Instituto de Filosofía, donde también se encuentra el boletín de suscripción y pedido de libros: www.ifsxsic.es/ifs.htm. ISEGORÍA Revista de Fllosoña Moral y Política España . . Extranjero España . . Extranjero Precios para el año 2001 (*) Suscripción 3.600 ptas. 4.700 ptas. 21,64 € (euros) (*) 28,25 € (euros) Precio por ejemplar 2.600 ptas. 3.100 ptas. (*) Precios sin IVA leuro (€) 15,63 € (euros) (*) 18,63 € (euros) = 166,386 ptas. Correspondencia: Secretaría de Redación de Isegoría Instituto de Filosofía (CSIC) Pinar, 25. 28006 Madrid (España) Tels.: 91 411 70 05/411 70 60. Fax: 91 564 52 52 E-mail: Isegoria@ifs.csic.es http://www.ifs.csic.es/ifs.htm Distribución, suscripciones y publicidad: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, CSIC Servicio de Publicaciones Viturvio, 8. 28006 Madrid (España) Tel: 91 561 28 33. Fax: 91 562 96 34 E-mail: publ@orgc.csic.es (c) Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Licencia Creative Commons Reconocimiento 4.0 Internacional (CC BY 4.0) http://revintsociologia.revistas.csic.es/index.php/revintsociologia http://www.ifsxsic.es/ifs.htm mailto:Isegoria@ifs.csic.es http://www.ifs.csic.es/ifs.htm mailto:publ@orgc.csic.es Por haber observado algunos errores en el número anterior (correspondiente al if 26- Mayo-Agosto-2000), se incluye esta fe de erratas con las correcciones: FE DE ERRATAS Correspondientes al artículo de J.A. Noguera, "Renta básica y estado bienestar en España", pp. 65-95: La nota c, correspondiente a la tabla 1 (parte 3), termina así: Según cálculos de CC.OO. (en el documento interno Cuantificación de las medidas del Pacto de Toledo, 1995), en 1999 la unificación de los topes de cotización supondría un incremento de ingresos del 0,17%, mientras que el acercamiento de las bases de cotización a los salarios reales supondría un aumento del 0,41%, lo que resulta en un 0,58% de ingresos adicionales respecto de 1998, esto es, unos 58.000 millones de pesetas. Tabla 1. (continuación) rj, . I ... . 5) Financiación potencial de la Renta Básica en España (supuesto I). Pág. 76: [ Concepto ^jr. A^/retm" M^ifar/ea- \ liifiucstu del V/r sobre 1 u°ui«üicckii)cs en kis 1 mercados liuuicicnis ' 1 lii3|iix:slo,s cc»>kígi:tw mrios IVA: siáiida de u> piatío ' liiipucsio ilcl yk sobre IÍLS griUKles Ibrtiauís lii|HJeK(o del \'/< sobre heiicJicios cin>n;s:u"iales y plusvaléiN variiLs'' liifiucslo del Y/i s»>brc liiiklos de pciiskiiies priwidas liiipucsu» del WU sobre gasto en prcii*>ilacioncs de gnuKics eiiiprcsas con ¡ienclk:ios ' lii)|)ucslo st>brc empresas prir,ili/adas {,ii/>/rj!r////M.rA liiipueslo del 10% s»»bre coasiniíj de alcul«>l y tabaco liiipucstif del Wk sobre gasto en juego itii|iuesto lO'/í sobre gasto cu prostkuck'm Total 4 bis TOTAL Cuairtú (iiiiU(itit:!> lie l o s e t a s ) % i i e i n B 1999 Riente fiíKMKK) 435.x If) 677.940 mxm 273.S.30 3ñ.>.(H)0 98.925 HKMHX) 167.795 359,923 lOO.O(K) 3.247.229 35.K57.042 0.70 0.53 0.79 0,05 0.31 0,42 O.ll 0,11 0.19 0.42 O.íl 3,74 4I,X7 Estitiüickiii a partir tle liiverco y Amuuiís de Él País y La V;uiguardia(l999) luilnuKlcra(l99X) EsliiiMckHi a partir de Iiiliiriic a»«K>iiá.o del BBV (I99X) EstdiGickni EslBitick'»» a partir de IUJÍHHC a-oismaco del BBV (1998) INVERCO EslñiiackHi a partir tic Noguera (2(KX)a) Estiiiiack'in (El PaK. lft-2-00) AiWiirk» El País 1999 EPF, 1995 Aiwark» El País 1999 El Vfc>i Topo,»" 124 ' El volumen «.'l»>bal de coniniiación en las bolsas cspailolas en 1998 iuc de 33,4 billotics de pesetas, en 1999 puede haber .subido a casi (>() billones, y se esiinta que para el ;üío 2000 podría superar lo.s HK) bilhHics (Invcrco / Anuario de Econinnía y Finanziis de El País. 1999). f Calculado sobre el consumo naci»»nal (público y privado) para 1999, y haciendo la siiiipltllcación de que tmlos los tipos de IVA suban un punto. •̂ Calculadt) a partir del excedente neii>dc explotación antes de iiiipucslos. estimado para 1999. * Se calcula que para el ailo 2(XK) Tclerónica destinará 4.19..*5(X) millones de pesetas a prcjubilacioncs y el BSCH unos I (X).(XM). Si csiiiiiamos en otros |{K).{XX) millones los destinados p»)r todas las demás grandes empresas y bancos conjuniatiiente (una estimación más que prudente), la base sobre la que aplicar la tasa sería de <í.S9..5{X) tiiillones. ' El niiulfalÍMxcn un impuesto sobn: los beneficios de las empresas de .servicios públicos (energías, telecomunicaciones, etc.) privaiizadas introducido pi)r el Gobierno laborista inglés en 1997, por el cual cada empresa abona un l^'Á sobre la dilcrcncia entre su val»>r al .salir a bolsa y el valor calculado durante los años siguientes a la privatización. (c) Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Licencia Creative Commons Reconocimiento 4.0 Internacional (CC BY 4.0) http://revintsociologia.revistas.csic.es/index.php/revintsociologia 50 100 50 100 100 100 50 50 100 100 50 100 100 3.872.827 229.745 307.703 287.917 128.961 32.179 269.720 247.877 127.998 115.670 477.625 50.000 61.000 6.209.222 4,52 0.26 0,36 0,33 0,15 0,03 0.31 0,30 0.14 0,13 0.56 0.05 0.07 7.21 Pan. 79: Tabla 2. Financiación potencial de la Renta Básica en España (supuesto II). Cuantía % del Concepto % amortizado (millones de pesetas) PIB 1999 1. Prestaciones públicas en dinero Pensiones contributivas Pensiones no contributivas y asistenciales Prestaciones de desempleo contributivas Subsidio de desempleo Subsidio agrario del PER Rentas mínimas de inserción CC.AA. Incapacidad laboral transitoria (ILT) Indemnizaciones por despido (SEEPROS) (FGS y otras) Asignaciones familiares Becas MEC Clases pasivas (pensiones funcionarios) Renta activa parados larga duración Subida pensiones mínimas Total I Correcciones correspondientes al artículo de M.J. Criado "Vieja y nueva migración", pp. 159-183. Pág. 160: En la línea 22, el número de nota a pié que aparece en la frase "...hablan inglés en su casa" debe ser el n" 1 y no el 2. Pág. 163: En la línea 25, el comienzo del párrafo corresponde al inicio del apartado e), y debe decir: "e) Carácter "espontáneo", "social" y "estructural", lo que se refleja en la estabilidad de las corrientes migratorias y en su independencia de los determinantes iniciales. Es patente que los desplazamientos actuales no son " En la línea 37, el comienzo del párrafo corresponde al inicio del apartado f)i y debe decir: "O Creciente incorporación de la mujer como migrante autónomo...". En la línea 4 1 , el comienzo del párrafo corresponde al inicio del apartado g), y debe decir: "g) Rechazo de la asimilación como vía de integración...". Pág. 164: En la línea I, el comienzo del párrafo corresponde al inicio del apartado h), y debe decir: "h) Importancia tácita de los factores culturales...". En la línea 6, el comienzo del párrafo corresponde al inicio del apartado i), y debe decir: "i) Su visibilidad..,". Páü. 165: El texto de la nota 8 está repetido y suplanta al que figuraba en la nota 9. En ésta debe sustituirse por el siguiente: "Massey y García España (1987); Portes y Rumbaut (1990); Portes y Borozc (1992); Saskia Sassen (1994); Castles y Miller (1993); Abad Márquez (1993); Izquierdo (1998), e t c " Pág. 182: Añadir a la bibliografía la referencia de la obra de Simmel, que se cita en la página 179: SIMMEL, G. (1977), Sociología, Vol. II. Madrid, Revista de Occidente. Pág. 183: En la bibliografía, el artículo (1987) "International Emigration and the Third World", publicado en W. Alonso (ed.), Population in an ínteracting World, Harvard University, no corresponde a M. WEBER, sino a M. WEINER. (c) Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas Licencia Creative Commons Reconocimiento 4.0 Internacional (CC BY 4.0) http://revintsociologia.revistas.csic.es/index.php/revintsociologia 
work_le5xp333tjccxabbzgf7mwen7m	----	REVIEW OF PAUL HAMILTON, METAROMANTICISM | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 59, Issue 2 September 2004 Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Review Article| September 01 2004 REVIEW OF PAUL HAMILTON, METAROMANTICISM TILOTTAMA RAJAN TILOTTAMA RAJAN University of Western Ontario Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Literature (2004) 59 (2): 249–254. https://doi.org/10.1525/ncl.2004.59.2.249 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation TILOTTAMA RAJAN; REVIEW OF PAUL HAMILTON, METAROMANTICISM. Nineteenth-Century Literature 1 September 2004; 59 (2): 249–254. doi: https://doi.org/10.1525/ncl.2004.59.2.249 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. 2004 by The Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'REVIEW OF PAUL HAMILTON, METAROMANTICISM' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: REVIEW OF PAUL HAMILTON, METAROMANTICISM Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_leuzziagefbnpnkrs6c4i2s6va	----	Graphing Jane Austen : Agonistic structure in British novels of the nineteenth century This is a contribution from Scientific Study of Literature 2:1 © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company This electronic file may not be altered in any way. The author(s) of this article is/are permitted to use this PDF file to generate printed copies to be used by way of offprints, for their personal use only. Permission is granted by the publishers to post this file on a closed server which is accessible to members (students and staff ) only of the author’s/s’ institute, it is not permitted to post this PDF on the open internet. For any other use of this material prior written permission should be obtained from the publishers or through the Copyright Clearance Center (for USA: www.copyright.com). Please contact rights@benjamins.nl or consult our website: www.benjamins.com Tables of Contents, abstracts and guidelines are available at www.benjamins.com John Benjamins Publishing Company Scientific Study of Literature 2:1 (2012), 1–24. doi 10.1075/ssol.2.1.01car issn 2210–4372 / e-issn 2210–4380 © John Benjamins Publishing Company Graphing Jane Austen Agonistic structure in British novels of the nineteenth century Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger University of Missouri, St. Louis / Pennsylvania State University, DuBois / Washington & Jefferson College / University of Michigan Building on findings in evolutionary psychology, we constructed a model of human nature and used it to illuminate the evolved psychology that shapes the organization of characters in nineteenth-century British novels. Characters were rated on the web by 519 scholars and students of Victorian literature. Rated cat- egories include motives, criteria for selecting marital partners, personality traits, and the emotional responses of readers. Respondents assigned characters to roles as protagonists, antagonists, or associates of protagonists or antagonists. We conclude that protagonists and their associates form communities of cooperative endeavor. Antagonists exemplify dominance behavior that threatens community cohesion. We summarize results from the whole body of novels and use them to identify distinctive features in the novels of Jane Austen. The research described in this study is designed to help bridge the gap between science and literary scholarship. Building on findings in evolutionary psychology, we constructed a model of human nature and used it to illuminate the evolved psy- chology that shapes the organization of characters in nineteenth-century British novels (Austen to Forster). Using categories from the model, we created a web- based survey and induced hundreds of readers to give numerical ratings to the attributes of hundreds of characters. Participants also rated their own emotional responses to the characters. Our broadest goal was to bring the analysis of char- acter and emotional response within the range of quantifiable information from psychological concepts rooted in an evolutionary understanding of human nature. A more specific goal was to identify the values implicit in the “agonistic struc- ture” of the novels. By comparing features that distinguish protagonists and their © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved 2 Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger associates from antagonists and their associates, and especially protagonists from antagonists, we sought to infer the values that authors invested in their characters and anticipated that their readers would share. We hypothesized that on the aver- age protagonists, in their motives and personality traits, would reflect values the authors approve and that they expect their readers to approve. Antagonists would reflect values authors and their readers do not approve. Approval and disapproval would be registered in the emotional responses of our respondents. This study produced an especially large abundance of data on characters in the novels of Jane Austen. The averages produced by characters in the study as a whole provide a base line against which we can identify the distinctive features of characters in Austen’s novels. In this article, we first describe the study as a whole and then turn our attention to Austen. Method Procedures The questionnaire contained an average of ten characters each from 202 novels. We have placed a copy of the questionnaire on a single page so that our readers can see what the questionnaire looked like: http://www-personal.umich.edu/~kruger/ carroll-survey.html. (The form is no longer active and will not be used to collect data.) The questionnaire contains a link to a page in which we explain our ratio- nale for the selection of novels: http://www-personal.umich.edu/~kruger/carroll- principles.html. In brief, the 202 novels in this study were selected on the basis of three criteria: contemporary popularity and esteem, influence on other writers, and lasting critical reputation. Respondents were asked to select specific characters and to give numerical rat- ings to characters on motives, criteria for selecting mates, personality factors, and their own emotional responses. (On the sample copy available through the web address given in the previous paragraph, in order to provide a character thread for the questions, we selected a character, Emma from Jane Austen’s Emma, from the list of possible selections.) Categories receiving numerical ratings included twelve motives, seven criteria for selecting mates, five personality factors, and eleven emotional responses. Respondents also assigned characters to one of four pos- sible roles: protagonist, friend or associate of a protagonist, antagonist, or friend and associate of an antagonist. (Alternatively, respondents could check “other” and thus decline to assign characters to roles.) And finally respondents were asked to say whether they wished the character to succeed in his or her hopes and efforts, whether the character had in fact succeeded, and whether the character’s success © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved Graphing Jane Austen 3 was or was not a main feature in the outcome of the story. Respondents were so- licited by direct mail to faculty in English departments world-wide and through listservs dedicated to Victorian novels. Respondents selected a character from the list and answered a series of questions about that character. Approximately 519 respondents completed a total of 1,470 protocols on 435 separate characters from 144 novels. (Further details on the demographics of the respondents and on our statistical methods can be found in two peviously published articles: Johnson, Carroll, Gottschall, & Kruger, 2008, 2011). For characters who received multiple codings, the averaged scores for each such character are counted only once in the total set of scores. For instance, Elizabeth Bennett from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was coded by 81 re- spondents. On each category, the scores of all respondents were averaged, and that average score is counted only once in the total data set. When multiple readers did not agree on role assignments, we assigned characters to the role designated by the majority of the respondents The scores on motives, the criteria for selecting mates, and emotional respons- es produced data that we condensed into smaller sets of categories through factor analysis. The five personality domains represent a condensation of traits from six decades of factor analytic studies (Barenbaum & Winter, 2008; John & Srivastava, 1999). In this article, further condensing the results, we compare only protagonists and antagonists, and we display the results only for motives, long-term mating, personality, and emotional responses. These results bring out the main tendencies in the data. (A recently published book Graphing Jane Austen: The Evolutionary Basis of Literary Meaning, contains details omitted here.) Main categories on which characters were rated Motives. Life history theory provides a framework for the goals that characterize human nature (H. Kaplan, Gurven, & Winking, 2009; H. S. Kaplan & Gangestad, 2005; Low, 2000; K. MacDonald, 1997). All species have a “life history,” a species- typical pattern for birth, growth, reproduction, social relations (if the species is social), and death. For each species, the pattern of life history forms a reproductive cycle. In the case of humans, that cycle centers on parents, children, and the social group. Successful parental care produces children capable, when grown, of form- ing adult pair bonds, becoming functioning members of a community, and caring for children of their own. “Human nature” is the set of species-typical characteris- tics regulated by the human reproductive cycle. For the purposes of this study, we divided human life history into a set of 12 basic motives — that is, goal-oriented behaviors regulated by the reproduc- tive cycle. For survival, we included two motives — survival itself (fending off © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved 4 Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger immediate threats to life), and performing routine work to earn a living. We also asked about the importance of acquiring wealth, power, and prestige, and about the importance of acquiring a mate in both the short term and the long term. In the context of these novels, short-term mate selection would mean flirtation or illicit sexual activity; long-term mate selection would mean seeking a marital partner. Taking account of “reproduction” in its wider significance of replicating genes one shares with kin (“inclusive fitness”), we asked about the importance of helping offspring and other kin. For motives oriented to positive social relations beyond one’s own kin, we included a question on “acquiring friends and making alliances” and another on “helping non-kin.” And finally, to capture the uniquely human dispositions for acquiring complex forms of culture, we included “seeking education or culture” and “building, creating, or discovering something.” We predicted that protagonists would be more affiliative and interested in ed- ucation and culture. We believed that antagonists would be chiefly concerned with acquiring wealth, power, and prestige. Preferred characteristics in a mate. Evolutionary psychologists have identified mating preferences that males and females share and also preferences that differ by sex. Males and females both value kindness, intelligence, and reliability in mates. Males preferentially value physical attractiveness, and females preferentially value wealth, prestige, and power. These sex-specific preferences are rooted in the logic of reproduction and have become part of human nature because they had adap- tive value in ancestral environments. Physical attractiveness in females correlates with youth and health — hence with reproductive potential. Wealth, power, and prestige enable a male to provide for a mate and her offspring (D. M. Buss, 2003; Gangestad, 2007; Geary, 1998; Kruger, Fisher, & Jobling, 2003). We anticipated that scores for mate selection would correspond to the differences between males and females found in studies of mate selection in the real world. Since protagonists typically evoke admiration and liking in readers, we anticipated that protagonists would give stronger preference than antagonists to intelligence, kindness, and re- liability. We reasoned that a preference for admirable qualities in a mate would evoke admiration in readers. Personality. The standard model for personality is the five-factor or “big five” model. Extraversion signals assertive, exuberant activity in the social world versus a tendency to be quiet, withdrawn and disengaged. Agreeableness signals a pleas- ant, friendly disposition and tendency to cooperate and compromise, versus a ten- dency to be self-centered and inconsiderate. Conscientiousness refers to an inclina- tion toward purposeful planning, organization, persistence, and reliability, versus impulsivity, aimlessness, laziness, and undependability. Emotional Stability reflects a temperament that is calm and relatively free from negative feelings, versus a tem- perament marked by extreme emotional reactivity and persistent anxiety, anger, or © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved Graphing Jane Austen 5 depression. Openness to Experience describes a dimension of personality that dis- tinguishes open (imaginative, intellectual, creative, complex) people from closed (down-to-earth, uncouth, conventional, simple) people (Costa & McCrae, 1997; Gosling, Rentfrow, & Swann, 2003; John, Angleitner, & Ostendorf, 1988; Johnson & Ostendorf, 1993; Nettle, 2007; Saucier, Georgiades, Tsaousis, & Goldberg, 2005). We predicted that (a) protagonists and their friends would on average score higher on the personality factor Agreeableness, a measure of warmth and affilia- tion; and (b) that protagonists would score higher than antagonists on Openness to Experience, a measure of intellectual vivacity. Emotions evoked in the reader. One of our working assumptions is that when readers respond to characters in novels, they respond in much the same way, emotionally, as they respond to people in everyday life (Bower & Morrow, 1990; Grabes, 2004; Oatley, 1999; Tan, 2000). They like or dislike them, admire them or despise them, fear them, feel sorry for them, or are amused by them. In writing fabricated accounts of human behavior, novelists select and organize their mate- rial for the purpose of generating such responses, and readers willingly cooperate with this purpose. They participate vicariously in the experiences depicted and form personal opinions about the qualities of the characters. Authors and readers thus collaborate in producing a simulated experience of emotionally responsive evaluative judgment (N. Carroll, 1997; Hogan, 2003; McEwan, 2005; Oatley & Gholamain, 1997; Storey, 1996; Van Peer, 1997). If agonistic structure in the novels reflects the evolved dispositions for forming cooperative social groups, the novels would provide a medium of shared imaginative experience through which authors and readers affirm and reinforce coalitional dispositions on a large cultural scale. We sought to identify emotions that are universal and that are thus likely to be grounded in universal, evolved features of human psychology. The solution was to use Paul Ekman’s influential set of seven basic or universal emotions: anger, fear, disgust, contempt, sadness, joy, and surprise (Ekman, 1999, 2007; Plutchik, 2003). These terms were adapted for the purpose of registering graded responses specifi- cally to persons or characters. Four of the seven terms were used unaltered: anger, disgust, contempt, and sadness. Fear was divided into two distinct items: fear of a character, and fear for a character. “Joy” or “enjoyment” was adapted both to make it idiomatically appropriate as a response to a person and also to have it register some distinct qualitative differences. Two terms, “liking” and “admiration,” served these purposes. “Surprise,” like “joy,” seems more appropriate as a descriptor for a response to a situation than as a descriptor for a response to a person or character. Consequently, we did not use the word “surprise.” We did wish to have readers reg- ister a sense of oddity in characters, and we also wanted a wider array of positive responses to characters. We settled on the word “amusement,” which combines the idea of oddity in characters with an idea of positive emotion. Using this term, © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved 6 Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger we aimed at capturing the kind of sensation Elizabeth Bennet describes, in Pride and Prejudice, when she is discussing the limits of satire with Darcy. “Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, do divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can” (Austen, 2001, p. 39). One further term was included in the list of possible emotional responses: indifference. Indifference is the flip side of “inter- est,” the otherwise undifferentiated sense that something matters, that it is impor- tant and worthy of attention.8 We predicted (a) that protagonists would receive high scores on the positive emotional responses “liking” and “admiration”; (b) that antagonists would receive high scores on the negative emotions “anger,” “disgust,” “contempt,” and “fear-of ” the character; (c) that protagonists would score higher on “sadness” and “fear-for” the character than antagonists; and (d) that major characters (protagonists and antagonists) would score lower on “indifference” than minor characters. Summary of predictions We anticipated that protagonists would (a) score higher than antagonists in proso- cial motives and in creativity and culture; (b) value kindness, intelligence, and reli- ability in mates; (c) score higher than antagonists in Agreeableness and Openness to Experience; and (d) evoke positive feelings in the reader. We predicted that antagonists would (a) score higher in a desire for wealth, power, and prestige; (b) place less emphasis on kindness, intelligence, and reliability in a mate; and (c) evoke negative feelings in the reader. Results for the whole body of novels in the study Motives From 12 motives, factor analysis produced five motive factors: Social Dominance, Constructive Effort, Romance, Subsistence, and Nurture. Seeking wealth, power, and prestige all have strong positive loadings on Social Dominance, and helping non-kin has a moderate negative loading. (That is, helping non-kin correlates negatively with seeking wealth, power, and prestige.) Constructive Effort was de- fined most strongly by loadings from the two cultural motives, seeking education or culture, and creating, discovering, or building something, and also by load- ings from two pro-social or affiliative motives: making friends and alliances and helping non-kin. Romance is a mating motive, chiefly loading on short-term and long-term mating. Subsistence combines two motives: survival, and performing routine tasks to gain a livelihood. Nurture is defined most heavily by loadings © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved Graphing Jane Austen 7 from nurturing/fostering offspring or other kin, and that motive correlates nega- tively with short-term mating. Helping non-kin also contributes moderately to this factor, bringing affiliative kin-related behavior into association with generally affiliative social behavior. Male and female protagonists both score higher than any other character set on Constructive Effort (see Figure 1). Male protagonist also score above average on Subsistence. Female protagonists score above average on Romance and Nurture. Male and female antagonists are characterized by an exclusive preoccupation with Social Dominance. Preferred characteristics in a mate A factor analysis produced three distinct factors: Extrinsic Attributes (a desire for wealth, power, and prestige in a mate), Intrinsic Qualities (a desire for kindness, reliability, and intelligence in a mate), and Physical Attractiveness (that one crite- rion by itself ). As predicted by evolutionary theory, female characters in general give a stron- ger preference to Extrinsic Attributes — wealth, power, and prestige — than male characters in general, but female antagonists exaggerate the female tendency to- ward preferring Extrinsic Attributes (see Figure 2). The emphasis female antago- nists give to Extrinsic Attributes parallels their single-minded pursuit of Social 1.20 1.00 0.80 0.60 0.40 0.20 0.00 –0.20 –0.40 –0.60 –0.80 Male protags St an d ar d iz ed s co re s –0.03 0.59 –0.2 0.34 –0.11 –0.26 0.41 0.4 –0.08 0.34 0.87 –0.64 –0.05 0.04 –0.61 0.97 –0.5 –0.26 –0.46 –0.14 Dominance Constructive effort Romance Subsistence Nurture Female protags Male antags Female antags Figure 1. Motive factors in protagonists and antagonists © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved 8 Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger Dominance. Female protagonists give a more marked preference than male pro- tagonists to Intrinsic Qualities — intelligence, kindness, and reliability. We did not anticipate that male protagonists would be so strongly preoccupied with Physical Attractiveness relative to other qualities, nor did we anticipate that male antagonists would be so relatively indifferent to Physical Attractiveness. The inference we draw from these findings is that the male desire for physical beauty in mates is part of the ethos the novels. It is part of the charm and romance of the novels, part of the glamor. Male antagonists’ relative indifference to Physical Attractiveness seems part of their general indifference to affiliative relationships. Personality Male and female protagonists are both somewhat introverted, agreeable, conscien- tious, emotionally stable, and open to experience (see Figure 3). Female protago- nists score higher than any other set on Agreeableness, Conscientiousness, and Openness, and they score in the positive range on Stability. In personality, male protagonists look like slightly muted or moderated versions of female protago- nists. Male and female antagonists are both relatively extraverted, highly disagree- able, and low in Stability and Openness. On each of the five factors, the protago- nists and antagonists pair off and stand in contrast to one another. The total profile for protagonists is that of quiet, steady people, curious and alert but not aggressive, friendly but not particularly outgoing. The antagonists, in contrast, are assertive, volatile, and unreliable, but also dull and conventional. Openness to Experience captures the intellectual and imaginative aspects of this 0.8 0.6 0.4 0.2 0 –0.2 –0.4 –0.6 –0.8 –1 –1.2 Males Protagonists Antagonists St an d ar d iz ed s co re s –0.1 0.57 0.07 0.29 –0.16 0.53 –0.15 –0.05 –0.94 0.64 0.1 –1.01 Extrinsic Intrinsic Attractiveness Females Males Females Figure 2. Criteria used by protagonists and antagonists in selecting marital partners © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved Graphing Jane Austen 9 profile. Openness is associated with the desire for education or culture and with the desire to build, discover, or create, and that whole complex of cognitive fea- tures is one of the two basic elements in Constructive Effort. Emotions evoked in the reader Factor analysis produced three clearly defined emotional response factors: (a) Dislike, which includes anger, disgust, contempt, and fear of the character, and which also in- cludes negative correlations with admiration and liking; (b) Sorrow, which includes sadness and fear for the character and a negative correlation with amusement; and (c) Interest, which consists chiefly in a negative correlation with indifference. Male and female protagonists both score relatively low on Dislike and relative- ly high on Sorrow (see Figure 4). Male and female antagonists score very high on Dislike — higher than any other set — low on Sorrow, and somewhat above aver- age on Interest. Female protagonists score high on Interest, but male protagonists score below average on Interest. They score lower even than good minor males, though not lower than the other minor characters. The relatively low score received by male protagonists on Interest ran contrary to our expectation that protagonists, both male and female, would score lower on indifference than any other character set. We think this finding can be explained by the way agonistic polarization feeds into the psychology of cooperation. Male protagonists in our data set are relatively moderate, mild characters. They are in- troverted and agreeable, and they do not seek to dominate others socially. They are 0.8 0.6 0.4 0.2 0 –0.2 –0.4 –0.6 –0.8 –1 –1.2 –1.4 Male protags St an d ar d iz ed s co re s –0.34 0.25 0.3 0.2 0.25 –0.17 0.52 0.35 0.21 0.5 0.38 –1.13 –0.47 –0.34 –0.42 0.52 –1.19 0.04 –0.55 –0.24 Extraversion Agreeableness Conscientiousness Stability Openness Female protags Male antags Female antags Figure 3. Personality factors in protagonists and antagonists © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved 10 Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger pleasant and conscientious, and they are also curious and alert. They are attractive, but they are not very assertive or aggressive. They excite very little Dislike at least in part because they do not excite much competitive antagonism. They are not in- tent on acquiring wealth and power, and they are thoroughly domesticated within the forms of conventional propriety. They serve admirably to exemplify normative values of cooperative behavior, but in serving this function they seem to be dimin- ished in some vital component of fascination, some element of charisma. They lack power, and in lacking power, they seem also to lack some quality that excites intensity of interest in emotional response. Discussion of results in the whole body of novels Motives are the basis for action in human life. Selecting a sexual or marital partner drives reproductive success and evokes, accordingly, exceptionally strong feelings. Personality traits are dispositions to act on motives. Emotions are the proximal mechanisms that activate motives and guide our social judgments, including our judgments of imaginary people. These four categories take in a very broad swath of human experience, the depiction of characters in novels, and readers’ responses to those depictions. If the agonistic patterns produced by the categories had been dim, feeble, and muddled, vague in outline and inconsistent in their relations to one another, that result would have strongly suggested that polarized relations between protagonists and antagonists does not account for much in the novels. As it turns out, though, the patterns are not vague and inconsistent. They are clear and robust. 1.5 1 0.5 0 –0.5 –1 Male protags St an d ar d iz ed s co re s –0.37 0.33 –0.15 –0.47 0.41 0.36 1.38 –0.48 0.12 1.21 –0.26 0.25 Dislike Sorrow Interest Female protags Male antags Female antags Figure 4. Emotional response factors for protagonists and antagonists © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved Graphing Jane Austen 11 A few characters are agonistically ambiguous. When multiple readers did not agree on role assignments, we assigned characters to the role designated by the ma- jority of the respondents. Agonistically ambiguous characters like Catherine and Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights or Becky Sharp in Vanity Fair tend to be disagree- able or dangerous but adventurous and open minded, and readers tend to respond to them with antipathy but also with pity or grudging admiration. Agonistically ambiguous characters are extremely interesting, but their deviation from the norm does not subvert the larger pattern of agonistic structure. The larger pattern stands out clearly despite the blurring produced by the exceptions. Borderline characters can be contrasted with characters who are clearly central or modal in their agonistic role assignments. For instance, the three most frequent- ly coded characters are Elizabeth Bennet of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, Emma Woodhouse of Austen’s Emma, and Jane Eyre of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. Eighty of 81 respondents identified Elizabeth as a protagonist; 72 of 74 identified Emma as a protagonist; and 66 of 68 identified Jane as a protagonist. (Simple clicking mis- takes might account for the absence of complete unanimity in these assignments.) Agonistic structure in these novels clearly serves as a central organizing prin- ciple. The characters display an integrated array of agonistically polarized attri- butes, and readers respond to those attributes in emotionally polarized ways. The antagonists display a single-minded preoccupation with wealth, prestige, and power — egoistic striving wholly segregated from social affiliations. That motive profile extends itself into their criteria for choosing mates. Male antagonists have no particular preferences in mates, and female antagonists seek only to marry for wealth and status. The sociopathic dispositions revealed in motives and mating correspond to low scores on the personality factor Agreeableness. Antagonists are both emotionally isolated and also incurious. They are in- terested in nothing except enhancing their power and prestige. The protagonists, in contrast, care about friends and family, respond to romantic attractions, and become readily absorbed in cultural pursuits. They are affectionate, reliable, and open to experience. They are also on average younger and more physically attrac- tive than antagonists. Agonistic structure thus presents a sharply etched picture — youth, beauty, and positive emotional energy meeting resistance and opposition from malevolent forces seeking only personal domination for its own sake. The polarized emotional responses of readers correlate strongly with this integrated array of attributes. Readers respond with aversion and disapproval to antagonists and with admiration and sympathy to protagonists. Humans share with amoebas a fundamentally dichotomized orientation to the world. “Approach” and “avoidance” are the two mechanisms that govern an amoe- ba’s activity (A. Buss, 1997; Haidt, 2006; Kevin MacDonald, 1998; Nettle, 2007; Plutchik, 2003). Chemical signals direct it to approach nutrients and to retreat © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved 12 Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger from toxins. People do the same thing. They approach those things — food, sex, warmth, friends, status — that make them feel good, and they turn away with aver- sion from those things that make them feel bad. Egoistic displays of dominance evidently have a toxic impact on the nervous system of our respondents. Humans react and judge. As the scores on emotional responses indicate, judg- ments can be complex, nuanced, ambivalent. Even so, those complications are only that, complications. They work variations on a basic theme, and that theme is polarized evaluative response. As a team of personality psychologists led by Gerard Saucier explains, in many contexts, across a diverse array of concerns, psy- chologists identify “a global evaluation factor (good vs. bad).” When personality psychologists use statistical techniques to reduce multiple personality attributions to superordinate factors, they can choose the number of factors to extract. If only one factor is extracted, that factor constitutes a “contrast between desirable and undesirable qualities” (Saucier & Goldberg, 2001, pp. 857, 854). Scores on motives, mating, and personality reveal in detail what counts as desirable and undesirable qualities in characters. Scores on emotional responses lock down these evaluative judgments by placing them in the court of first and last appeal — the court of actual feeling. Most of the novels included in this study are “classics.” Classics gain access to the deepest levels of human nature. They evoke universal passions and fulfill deep psychological needs, but they do not always produce mimetically accurate representations of human nature. They hold a mirror up to nature, but this mirror, unlike that in Snow White, is under no obligation to tell the simple, unvarnished truth. The images produced are filtered through an imaginative lens that adds its own twist to the images it reflects. In the novels in this study, agonistic structure creates a virtual imaginative world designed to give concentrated emotional force to the clash between dominance and affiliation. That imaginative virtual world provides a medium in which readers participate in a shared social ethos. The so- cial ethos shapes agonistic structure, and agonistic structure in turn feeds back into the social ethos, affirming it, reinforcing it, integrating it with the changing circumstances of material and social life, and illuminating it with the aesthetic, intellectual, and moral powers of individual artists. Protagonists and their associates would form communities of cooperative en- deavor. Antagonists exemplify dominance behavior that threatens community co- hesion. The organization of characters in the novels thus reflects a basic dynamic in human social interaction. Christopher Boehm argues that hunter-gatherers add a distinctively human level of social organization to the dominance hierarchies that characterize the social organization of chimpanzee bands. Hunter-gatherers are universally egalitarian. They stigmatize and suppress status-seeking in poten- tially dominant individuals (Boehm, 1999). For individuals, egalitarianism is a © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved Graphing Jane Austen 13 trade-off. No one individual gets all the dominance he would like, but he does not have to submit to the dominance of others. Egalitarianism has an adaptive func- tion in fostering cooperative endeavor, which enhances resource acquisition and the exchange of services and also enhances the power of the group in competition with other human groups (Boehm, 1999; Darwin, 1981; Flinn, Geary, & Ward, 2005; Sober & Wilson, 1998; Turchin, 2006; D. S. Wilson, 2007). Taking into account not just the representation of characters but the emo- tional responses of readers, we can identify agonistic structure in the novels as a simulated experience of emotionally responsive social interaction (see Oatley, 1999). That experience has a clearly defined moral dimension. Agonistic structure precisely mirrors the kind of egalitarian social dynamic documented by Boehm in hunter-gatherers — our closest contemporary proxy to ancestral humans. Agonistic structure in these novels seems to serve as a medium for readers to par- ticipate vicariously in an egalitarian social ethos. If that is the case, the novels can be described as prosthetic extensions of social interactions that in non-literate cultures require face-to-face interaction. The organizing force of an egalitarian ethos in the novels has an implication for a basic question widely discussed among evolutionary literary scholars: whether literature and the other arts fulfill one or more adaptive functions, and if so, what those functions might be (Boyd, 2005; J. Carroll, 2011, pp. 20–29). Various theo- rists have proposed possible adaptive functions, for instance, reinforcing the sense of a common social identity (Boyd, 2009; Dissanayake, 2000), fostering creativity and cognitive flexibility (Boyd, 2009), serving as a form of sexual display (G. F. Miller, 2000), providing information about the physical and social environment (Scalise Sugiyama, 2001), offering game-plan scenarios to prepare for future prob- lem-solving (Dutton, 2009; Pinker, 1997; Scalise Sugiyama, 2005; Swirski, 2006), focusing the mind on adaptively relevant problems (Dissanayake, 2000; Salmon & Symons, 2004; Tooby & Cosmides, 2001), and providing a virtual imaginative world through which people make emotional sense of their experience (J. Carroll, 2011; Deacon, 1997; Dissanayake, 2000; Dutton, 2009; E. O. Wilson, 1998). One chief alternative to the idea that the arts provide some adaptive function is that literature and the other arts are like the color of blood or the gurgling noise of digestion — a functionless side-effect of adaptive processes (Pinker, 1997). Empirical evidence supporting the idea that literature can fulfill even one adap- tive function would undermine the general claim that the arts are functionless side-effects. If dispositions for suppressing dominance fulfill an adaptive social function, and if agonistic structure in the novels fosters dispositions for suppress- ing dominance, our study would lend support to the hypothesis that literature can fulfill at least one adaptive social function. © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved 14 Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger Results for characters in the novels of Jane Austen Overview of results on Austen’s novels Out of the total of 435 characters in the data set, 56, or about 13%, are from Austen novels. All of her characters together received 423 codings, or about 29% of the 1,470 codings for the whole data set. Since we have averaged the ratings for char- acters who receive more than one coding, each Austen character, no matter how many codings he or she receives, counts only once in the total set of scores for all 435 characters. Our data indicate that Austen mutes male sexuality, feminizes male motives, and uses an emotional palette largely devoid of Sorrow. Her novels thus embody a female domestic ethos with a positive emotional tone. In the social vision implicit in her fiction, the primary function of the larger social order is to protect and nurture this female domestic ethos. The muting of Sorrow and the correlation be- tween Main Feature and Achieves Goals give evidence that in her imagined world society largely succeeds in fulfilling this function. In Austen’s novels, the desexualized resolutions of domestic romance converge with the depoliticized resolutions of an elite social class isolated from the larger soci- ety . By reducing her imagined world to a single social class, she eliminates any seri- ous consideration of class conflict. Within that one class, though, she makes a strong appeal to evolved dispositions for suppressing dominance in individuals. By inviting readers to participate vicariously in an elite social class, she satisfies their impulse to- ward Social Dominance; by stigmatizing individual assertions of dominance within the elite class, she also fulfills readers’ needs for communitarian cooperation. Motives in Austen’s novels Austen uses motives to diminish differences between the sexes. The unisex char- acter of her imagined world enters fundamentally into the ethos and emotional tenor of the novels, shifting the balance of interest away from sexual romance and toward companionship. Unisexuality reduces conflicts of reproductive interest be- tween males and females, thereby reducing also the struggle for power between them. It brings males and females into closer convergence than they are in the actual world or in the world depicted in the novels of the period as a whole. All these effects contribute to the completeness of the tonal resolutions in the novels — hence to the unusually high level of positive emotionality in readers’ experience of Austen. A few critics have intuitively recognized some aspects of unisexuality in Austen’s novels — particularly the diminution of specifically sexual romance (D. A. Miller, 2003, p. 4; Tanner, 1986, pp. 130–135). No critic, to our knowledge, has © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved Graphing Jane Austen 15 combined all the aspects of Austen’s unisexuality to form part of a comprehensive interpretive argument. In contrast to male protagonists in the larger data set, Austen’s male consorts score unusually high on Romance (Figure 5). Even more importantly, they stand far apart from the average male protagonist on Nurture. They score higher on Nurture than both major female sets. They are kinder, gentler males, not so sexu- ally exciting as males in “romance novels” — the pulp fiction genre — but good for the long haul in domestic life. The erotic moment is never a culminating moment for Austen. She glosses over the passionate kiss that seals the deal, and dwells on the terms of the deal. Those terms are the terms of “domestic” romance. The males suitable for this sort of romance are socially decorous, responsible, steady, and companionable. Above all, they are good family men. Virtually all the characters in Austen’s novels, good and bad alike, are overtly committed to seeking or sustaining high social rank and material prosperity. Now, high social rank and material prosperity are of course the chief constituents of Social Dominance. The difference is that the good characters, and especially the protagonists and their consorts, make fine discriminations of personal and moral value. Antagonists, in contrast, place rank and wealth above all other consider- ations, or leave other considerations out altogether. Antagonists either recognize better things but sacrifice them to social and material advantage, or they simply fail, out of stupidity or bad nature, to recognize any forms of value except rank and fortune. Instances of antagonistic characters who see the better and follow the worse include Wickham in Pride and Prejudice, Willoughby in Sense and 1.50 1.00 0.50 0.00 –0.50 –1.00 St an d ar d iz ed s co re s Dominance 1.29 0.92 –0.42 –0.36 Fem antags Male antags Fem protags Male consorts –0.65 –0.86 0.32 0.40 Constructive efforts 0.35 0.55 0.71 0.44 Romance –0.49 –0.10 –0.71 –0.51 Subsistence 0.12 –0.63 0.52 0.71 Nurture Figure 5. Motive factors in Austen’s antagonists, female protagonists, and male consorts © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved 16 Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger Sensibility, Henry Crawford in Mansfield Park, and William Elliot in Persuasion. Instances of antagonistic characters who follow the worse because that is all they see include Isabella Thorpe and Captain Frederick Tilney in Northanger Abbey, Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Pride and Prejudice, the Reverend Philip Elton and his wife in Emma, John Dashwood and Robert Ferrars in Sense and Sensibility, Anne Elliot’s father and sister in Persuasion, and Mrs. Norris in Mansfield Park. Since Austen restricts all her major characters to the members of the leisure class, they receive uniformly low scores on Subsistence as a motive. Jane Fairfax’s anguish at the prospect of becoming a governess, in Emma, suggests the intensity of the selective pressure for remaining within the leisure class. By restricting her major characters to a single social class, Austen restricts the conflict between com- munitarian motives and Social Dominance to interpersonal relations within that class. She thus derogates Social Dominance as an individual motive but also tacitly affirms the social legitimacy of the dominant class. Each of her protagonists wins a secure position within that class. Criteria for selecting marital partners in Austen The feminizing of Austen’s male consorts extends into their criteria for selecting mates (Figure 6). In this category, the male consorts are much more like Austen’s female protagonists than like male protagonists in the whole set of novels in this 1.50 1.00 0.50 0.00 –0.50 –1.00 –1.50 –2.00 –2.50 St an d ar d iz ed s co re s Extrinsic 0.75 0.11 0.32 –0.03 Female antags Male antags Female protags Male consorts –1.23 –1.95 0.97 0.85 Intrinsic 0.10 0.27 0.13 0.14 Attractiveness Figure 6. Criteria for selecting marital partners in Austen’s antagonists, female protago- nists, and male consorts © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved Graphing Jane Austen 17 study. With a minor qualification for Catherine Morland of Northanger Abbey, Austen’s female protagonists are all attractive; there are no plain Jane Eyres. But physical attractiveness is not the main thing that attracts the males to them. Austen’s male consorts select marital partners not on the basis of sexual passion but on the basis of their admiration and respect for qualities of character and mind. Emotional responses to Austen’s characters Our data indicate that the emotional tone of Austen’s novels is considerably more positive than the emotional tone in the average novel of the period. Across the whole body of novels, antagonists score below average in eliciting sorrow, and pro- tagonists score above average. In Austen’s novels, in contrast, protagonists and their consorts, along with antagonists, score below average in eliciting Sorrow (Figure 7). This feature of Austen’s imagined world probably accounts for a good deal of her extraordinary popularity. Everybody likes to be cheerful. But good cheer alone is not enough; we readily detect false cheer and find it jarring. Feminizing her male consorts makes it easier for Austen to maintain a positive emotional tone. Achieving a companionable marital bond is as much a need for the males as it is for the females. We have already observed that feminizing males reduces the ten- sion of conflicting male/female reproductive interests. Male characters are also ex- ceptionally well integrated into the emotional fulfillment the readers derive from the resolutions of the plot. That is, the emotional fulfillment of a stable domestic bond includes the male as well as female characters. In contrast to the pattern in 1.50 1.00 0.50 0.00 –0.50 –1.00 –1.50 –2.00 Dislike St an d ar d iz ed s co re s 1.21 –1.45 –1.20 0.56 0.50 –0.82 –0.84 –0.21 –0.53 –0.31 –0.88 0.39 0.22 0.83 –0.45 –0.39 Female antags Male antags Female protags Root for Sorrow Interest Male consorts Figure 7. Emotional responses to Austen’s antagonists, female protagonists, and male consorts © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved 18 Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger the larger data set, Austen’s male consorts score higher on Interest than either antagonistic set, though still not so high as female protagonists. Discussion of the results for Austen’s novels Austen’s novels are all love stories, but love stories of a peculiar kind. They are romances devoid of sex. The scenes in which female protagonists and their male consorts achieve intimacy are not scenes of passion. They are conversations, civil, lucid, poised, even when heated by underlying indignation or transient distress. The male consorts are less motivated by erotic passion than by the need for com- panionable society and family partnership. In this crucial respect, they are scarcely distinguishable from the female protagonists. By muting sexual passion while also eliminating Sorrow from her emotional register, Austen runs a serious risk of being bland. By so successfully evading this danger, she demonstrates how much dramatic interest can be vested in agonistic structure even when it is isolated from other sources of emotional power. Sex and death, it would seem, are unnecessary. In all of Austen’s novels, antagonists who value only Social Dominance are placed in conflict with protagonists who value the qualities of mind and char- acter that evoke admiration and liking in readers. In Northanger Abbey, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, and Mansfield Park, protagonists who em- body personal merit are set at a disadvantage in relation to antagonists who pos- sess greater wealth and power. In Emma, this basic conflict is displaced onto Jane Fairfax, who is in important ways more like a standard protagonist than is Emma herself. The central problem situation in Persuasion is that Anne Elliot is pressing toward the end of the nubile age range, but she finds herself in this precarious position precisely because early in life she had rejected a suitor who was not suf- ficiently wealthy. In all the novels, merit and privilege are set in tension with one another, and in all the novels, the resolutions of the plot resolve this tension. If the political views of our respondents are at all representative of contempo- rary students and teachers of literature — and we have no reason to suppose they are not — many of them are probably to the left of the center point in the political spectrum. Nonetheless, when the respondents read Jane Austen, they slip easily and comfortably into the ideological norms that characterize the stance of a privi- leged elite. Whatever political theses our respondents might formulate about the novels, their scores on Root For and Dislike reveal that they participate vicariously in the emotional resolutions Austen provides for her characters. The ease with which most readers accept social privilege in Austen’s novels can be explained, we think, by the closed social circle in which her characters live. © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved Graphing Jane Austen 19 In the novels of Dickens and Eliot, the egalitarian ethos manifests itself in a scath- ing critique of class differences. In Austen’s novels, the same ethos operates by suppressing dominance within the single class to which she devotes her attention. Austen defines that class primarily through “manners,” a word that denotes a per- sonal style distinguished by intelligence, poise, cultivation, and a courteous regard for the feelings of others. People who exemplify that style belong to the “gentry.” Whether or not they possess a country estate, they are “ladies” and “gentlemen.” When Lady Catherine de Bourgh is trying to persuade Elizabeth not to marry Darcy, she says, “If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere, in which you have been brought up.” Elizabeth responds, “In marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentle- man; I am a gentleman’s daughter; so far we are equal” (Austen, 2001, p. 232). In Austen’s world, possessing gentle manners depends heavily on birth and wealth, but Austen discriminates sharply between two possible attitudes toward birth and wealth. Her antagonists typically regard birth and wealth as necessary, sufficient, and exclusive criteria for status as gentlefolk. Her protagonists and their consorts, in contrast, regard manners as the decisive criterion. One crucial test for Darcy is whether he can make that distinction. Austen’s uncle and aunt Gardiner live on Mr. Gardiner’s income as a merchant. Their class identity is thus borderline. They nonetheless pass the test of manners. By recognizing that the Gardiners pass this test, Darcy himself passes a crucial test. He moves decisively into the protago- nistic field. Lady Catherine, of course, despite her birth and wealth, fails the test of manners. The climactic scene in which Elizabeth trounces Lady Catherine in debate provides readers the kind of pleasure that is specific to suppressing domi- nance. By identifying with Elizabeth, modern readers participate vicariously in a world of high social rank while nonetheless remaining true to the egalitarian ethos. It is little wonder, then, that Austen is so perennial a favorite. She is a shrewd, penetrating psychologist, and she is caustic enough to gratify malice, but her tonal trajectory remains resolutely focused on an ultimate felicity. She invites her read- ers to participate vicariously in the satisfactions of a companionable pair bond un- troubled by conflicting male and female sexual needs. If they follow her prompts, Austen’s readers also join a fictional community populated exclusively by members of a privileged elite but governed internally by an egalitarian ethos. With sexual and social conflict thus contained, readers need fear no distressing appeals to their compassion, their tolerance, or their powers of endurance. They need only luxuri- ate in an imaginary world regulated by high qualities of character, illuminated by wit, graced by elegance of style, and blessed by good fortune. © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved 20 Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger Conclusion: Quantitative literary hermeneutics Research that uses a purely discursive methodology for evolutionary literary study remains passively dependent on the knowledge generated within an adja- cent field. The methodological barrier that separates discursive literary study from the evolutionary program in the social sciences limits the scope and significance of both literary study and the evolutionary human sciences. The production and consumption of literature and its oral antecedents is a large and vitally important part of our specifically human nature. An artificial barrier that leaves evolutionary literary scholars as passive consumers of knowledge also leaves evolutionary social scientists cut off from any primary understanding of one of the most important and revealing aspects of human nature. Literature and its oral antecedents derive from a uniquely human, species-typical disposition for producing and consum- ing imaginative verbal constructs. Removing the methodological barrier between humanistic expertise and the expertise of the social sciences can produce results valuable to both fields. In the statement of purpose that we included on our website, along with the questionnaire, we listed a set of questions we hoped our research would help us to address, and the final question we posed was this: “can literary works be mined as rich sources of data for formal psychological studies?” In our view, the answer is unequivocally yes. For instance, in analyzing the different ways in which male and female authors construct male and female characters, we are conducting a formal psychological study. That study operates in a field similar to that occupied by Ellis and Symons in their study of pornography and romance novels (1990), though we are using dead people (nineteenth-century authors) as our subject pool. As it happens, dead people serve very well as subjects of research, so long as they leave records behind them. They work just as well as the authors of romance novels, even if the authors are still living. The people who make up our respondent pool were all live subjects (and we sincerely hope they all still are — our warmest thanks to them for their participation). We conducted formal psychological studies on them, too. To what do they respond emotionally? Which personality factors and motives excite which specific basic emotions in them? Does the sex of a respon- dent significantly influence responses? (The answer, rather surprisingly, was no.) All questions that bear on the model of literature as a medium of social interac- tion are questions simultaneously of literary study and of research in the social sciences. In that sense, every analysis we have conducted in this study is a “formal psychological study.” We do not envision a form of research in which men and women in white lab coats produce nothing, with respect to literary texts, except tables of numbers and mathematical equations. In this current study, we have ourselves sought to © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved Graphing Jane Austen 21 integrate the forms of expertise that are particular to a humanistic training with the forms of expertise that are particular to a training in the social sciences. We constructed our questionnaire on the basis of our models of human nature and of literature as a mimetic and communicative medium, and we also drew freely on our knowledge of how fictional prose narratives tend to work. On the basis of re- search into both human nature and the novels in this period, we made predictions about the scoring patterns in the character sets. The responses to the questionnaire produced data from which we drew inferences about the population of the novels. Some of the most important and far-reaching of the generalizations thus produced were ideas we had not ourselves foreseen. In reflecting on our findings, we drew connections among seemingly disparate concepts in different disciplinary fields — in the study of emotions, personality, motives, mate selection, literary history, and literary theory. This analytic and reflective process broadened and deepened our understanding of the novels. We make no claim that the results reported here exhaust the possibilities of meaning in these texts, or that they exemplify a com- prehensively adequate design of research. Our central purpose has been to con- tribute to a body of knowledge that can be, and should be, empirical, cumulative, and progressive. References Austen, J. (2001). Pride and prejudice: an authoritative text (3rd ed.). New York: Norton. Barenbaum, N. B., & Winter, D. G. (2008). History of modern personality theory and research. In O. P. John, R. W. Robins & L. A. Pervin (Eds.), Handbook of personality: Theory and re- search (3rd ed., pp. 3–28). New York: Guilford. Boehm, C. (1999). 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A., Carroll, J., Gottschall, J., & Kruger, D. (2008). Hierarchy in the library: Egalitarian dynamics in Victorian novels. Evolutionary Psychology, 6(4), 715–738. Johnson, J. A., Carroll, J., Gottschall, J., & Kruger, D. (2011). Portrayal of personality in Victorian novels reflects modern research findings but amplifies the significance of agreeableness. Journal of Research in Personality, 45(1), 50–58. doi: 10.1016/j.jrp.2010.11.011 Johnson, J. A., & Ostendorf, F. (1993). Clarification of the five-factor model with the Abridged Big Five Dimensional Circumplex. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 65(3), 563– 576. © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved Graphing Jane Austen 23 Kaplan, H., Gurven, M., & Winking, J. (2009). An evolutionary theory of human life span: Embodied capital and the human adaptive complex. In V. L. Bengston, D. Gans, N. M. Pulney & M. Silverstein (Eds.), Handbook of theories of aging (2nd ed., pp. 39–60). New York: Springer Publishing Co. Kaplan, H. S., & Gangestad, S. W. (2005). Life History Theory and Evolutionary Psychology. In D. M. Buss (Ed.), The handbook of evolutionary psychology (pp. 68–95). Hoboken, NJ: Wiley. Kruger, D., Fisher, M., & Jobling, I. (2003). Proper and Dark Heroes as Dads and Cads: Alternative Mating Strategies in British and Romantic Literature. Human Nature, 14(3), 305–317. Low, B. S. (2000). Why sex matters: a Darwinian look at human behavior. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. MacDonald, K. (1997). Life history theory and human reproductive behavior. Human Nature, 8(4), 327–359. MacDonald, K. (1998). Evolution, culture, and the five-factor model. Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology, 29(1), 119–149. doi: 10.1177/0022022198291007 McEwan, I. (2005). Literature, science, and human nature. In J. Gottschall & D. S. Wilson (Eds.), The literary animal: Evolution and the nature of narrative (pp. 5–19). Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Miller, D. A. (2003). Jane Austen, or The secret of style. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Miller, G. F. (2000). The mating mind: how sexual choice shaped the evolution of human nature. New York: Doubleday. Nettle, D. (2007). Personality: what makes you the way you are. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Oatley, K. (1999). Why fiction may be twice as true as fact: Fiction as cognitive and emotional simulation. Review of General Psychology, 3(2), 101. Oatley, K., & Gholamain, M. (1997). Emotions and identification: Connections between readers and fiction. In M. Hjort & S. Laver (Eds.), Emotion and the arts (pp. 263–281). New York: Oxford University Press. Pinker, S. (1997). How the mind works. New York: Norton. Plutchik, R. (2003). Emotions and life: perspectives from psychology, biology, and evolution. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Salmon, C., & Symons, D. (2004). Slash Fiction and Human Mating Psychology. [Article]. Journal of Sex Research, 41(1), 94–100. Saucier, G., Georgiades, S., Tsaousis, I., & Goldberg, L. R. (2005). The factor structure of Greek personality adjectives. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 88(5), 856–875. Saucier, G., & Goldberg, L. R. (2001). Lexical studies of indigenous personality factors: Premises, products, and prospects. Journal of Personality, 69(6), 847–879. Scalise Sugiyama, M. (2001). Food, foragers, and folklore: The role of narrative in human subsis- tence. Evolution and Human Behavior, 22(4), 221–240. Scalise Sugiyama, M. (2005). Reverse-Engineering Narrative: Evidence of Special Design. In J. Gottschall & D. S. Wilson (Eds.), The literary animal: Evolution and the nature of narrative (pp. 177–196). Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Sober, E., & Wilson, D. S. (1998). Unto others: the evolution and psychology of unselfish behavior. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Storey, R. F. (1996). Mimesis and the human animal: on the biogenetic foundations of literary representation. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Swirski, P. (2006). Of literature and knowledge: explorations in narrative thought experiments, evolution, and game theory. Abingdon, England: Routledge. © 2012. John Benjamins Publishing Company All rights reserved 24 Joseph Carroll, John A. Johnson, Jonathan Gottschall and Daniel Kruger Tan, E. S. (2000). Emotion, art, and the humanities. In M. Lewis & J. M. Haviland-Jones (Eds.), Handbook of emotions (2nd ed., pp. 116–135). New York: Guilford Press. Tanner, T. (1986). Jane Austen. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tooby, J., & Cosmides, L. (2001). Does beauty build adapted minds? Toward an evolutionary theory of aesthetics, fiction and the arts. [Article]. Substance: A Review of Theory & Literary Criticism, 30(1/2), 6–27. Turchin, P. (2006). War and peace and war: the life cycles of imperial nations. New York: Pi Press. Van Peer, W. (1997). Toward a poetics of emotion. In M. Hjort & S. Laver (Eds.), Emotion and the arts (pp. 215–224). New York: Oxford University Press. Wilson, D. S. (2007). Group-level evolutionary processes. In R. I. M. Dunbar & L. Barrett (Eds.), Oxford handbook of evolutionary psychology (pp. 49–55). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wilson, E. O. (1998). Consilience: the unity of knowledge. New York: Knopf. Author’s address Joseph Carroll English Department University of Missouri, St. Louis St. Louis, Missouri, 63121 jcarroll@umsl.edu Graphing Jane Austen Method Procedures Main categories on which characters were rated Summary of predictions Results for the whole body of novels in the study Motives Preferred characteristics in a mate Personality Emotions evoked in the reader Discussion of results in the whole body of novels Results for characters in the novels of Jane Austen Overview of results on Austen’s novels Motives in Austen’s novels Criteria for selecting marital partners in Austen Emotional responses to Austen’s characters Discussion of the results for Austen’s novels Conclusion: Quantitative literary hermeneutics References Author’s address 
work_lfmig3bghrgltlfcprit5thaii	----	Of Heartache and Head Injury: Reading Minds in Persuasion Alan Richardson English, Boston College Abstract Thenew intellectual climate inaugurated by the cognitive revolution can help elicit neglected contexts for literary historical study, to pose new questions for analysis and reopen old ones. The current challenge to social constructionist ac- counts of subjectivity, for example, can lead toa fundamentallynewreadingof Jane Austen’s last novel, Persuasion (!"!"). Austen’s was a period when a dominant con- structionist psychology—associationism—vied with emergent brain-based, organi- cist, and nativist theories of mind. Austen pointedly contrasts a heroine seemingly formedbyahistoryof eroticdisappointmentwithanantiheroine,whosecharacter is transformedinsteadbyasevereblowtothehead,atatimewhenbraininjuryfeatured centrally indebatesonthematerialityofmind.Moreover, thenovel’s innovativenar- rative style and approach to characterization take up and extend the embodied ap- proach to subjectivity beingworkedout contemporaneously byRomantic poets and brain scientists alike. How might the study of literary history change in the wake of the ‘‘cog- nitive revolution’’ (Gardner !#"$)? A few literary scholars, most notably MaryCraneandF.ElizabethHart, havebegun toexplore the tensionsbe- tween relatively stable patterns of cognition and linguistic categorization on the one hand and the specific cultural and ideological milieus within which they develop and gain expression on the other (Crane !##"; Hart !##"). Suchwork illustratesMarkTurner’s contention (posed elsewhere in this issue) that cognitive theory can inspire a ‘‘more sophisticated’’ notion of human history by supplementing the prevailing emphasis on cultural Poetics Today %&:! (Spring %''%). Copyright © %''% by the Porter Institute for Poetics and Semiotics. 142 Poetics Today 23:1 historywithan increasedattention to the claimsofphylogenetic andonto- genetic history. Even within the current parameters of literary historical studies, however, an awareness of recent developments in cognitive theory andneuroscience can significantly a(ect critical practice by shifting atten- tion to previously unexamined issues, providing new terms for the critical lexicon,andreopeningquestionsforeclosedore(ectivelyabandonedbythe reigning consensus. TheBritishRomanticperiod,tociteaparticularlyrichexample,haslong beenviewedasdominatedbyanassociationistaccountofmind,reliedupon by writers as diverse asWilliamWordsworth and Jane Austen, and chal- lenged primarily by the transcendental idealism best represented by S.T. Coleridge (Caldwell !#)$). However, as cognitive psychology and neuro- sciencehave returnedfigures likeF. J.Gall,withhis brain-based,modular accountofmind, toacentralplace in thehistoryofpsychology,anewview ofBritishRomanticismhasbecomeavailable, one thatplaces it in relation to the contemporary development ofmany basic neuroscientific concepts in thework ofGall andother early brain scientists (Marshall !#"';Clarke and Jacyna !#"*).The new interest in the brain and nervous system,me- diated by prominent writers like the poet-physician-psychologist Erasmus Darwin, regularly reported in the leading reviews, andgivenwide cultural circulationbythephrenologymovementandthematerialist-vitalistcontro- versy,providedastrikingalternativetomechanistic, tabularasapsychology exemplifiedbytheassociationismofDavidHartley(Reed!##*).EvenCole- ridge’s seeminglyoriginalemphasisonanactivemind,creatingtheworld it perceives, canbe viewedas formed in reaction to (while incorporating key elements of) thepioneeringbrain scienceof theday (Richardson !###).At the same time, poets and novelists made contributions of their own to an activeandembodiedconceptionofmind,emphasizingtheemotive,uncon- scious, and intuitive aspects of mental life that have long been associated with literary Romanticism but that are equally salient for Romantic-era brain science aswell. Austen is often thought of as a novelist working primarily from the em- piriciststandpointofanexperientiallyconstructedsubject,andasuccession ofcriticshavepaiddueattention to theeducation, socialization,andencul- turation of her heroines (for example, Devlin !#*$; Poovey !#"); Johnson !#"";HandlerandSegal!##').InPersuasion (!"!"),herfinalcompletenovel, however, Austen turns to biological and innate aspects ofmind and char- acter in anunusuallydeftmanner, in tunewithand in someways aheadof the brain science of the era.Moreover, Austen’s famously innovative style for conveying the heroine’s impressions in Persuasion speaks as much to a Richardson • Of Heartache and Head Injury: Reading Minds in Persuasion 143 newappreciationof unconsciousmental life andembodied cognitionas to a newmode for representing the flux of conscious experience. The shift within Romantic-era discourses onmind and character from environmental tobiologicalapproaches topsychologicalbehaviorandsub- ject formation emerges most starkly, perhaps, in the changing views of William Godwin. In the !*#'s Godwin presents a rigorous and influen- tial social constructivist account ofmind, one obviously indebted to John Locke.The ‘‘actions and dispositions ofmankind,’’ hewrites, are the ‘‘o(- spring of circumstances and events, andnot of any original determination that they bring into the world’’; ‘‘innate principles’’ and ‘‘original di(er- ences’’ ofphysiological ‘‘structure’’ havenorole in shapingmindorcharac- ter (Godwin !#*+ [!*#&]:#*–#").Education inparticular, and thee(ectsof social and political life—institutions and ideologies—in general, become all important in shaping and imprinting the mind’s initially ‘‘ductile and yielding substance’’ for good or ill (!!!–!%). By !"&!, however, in Thoughts on Man, His Nature, Productions, and Discoveries,Godwin (!"&!:%#–&') hasbe- come convinced that ‘‘human creatures are born into theworldwith vari- ous dispositions’’ most likely rooted in the ‘‘subtle network of the brain.’’ Contrary to the claimofClaude-AdrienHelvétius (andby implication his ownearlierview) that thehumancharacter ‘‘dependsuponeducationonly, in the largest sense of that word,’’ Godwin ()!) nowmaintains that innate ‘‘temper’’ significantly shapes psychological development. ‘‘Hemust have beenavery inattentiveobserverof the indicationsof temper inan infant in the firstmonths of his existence, who does not confess that there are vari- ous peculiarities in that respectwhich the child brings into theworldwith him’’ (&%). Godwin’snewemphasis on individuality, human ‘‘peculiarities,’’ and in- nate predispositions reflects the considerable influence of the new brain- based psychologies of theRomantic era, particularlyGall’s ‘‘organology.’’ A later essay in Thoughts is devoted to the ‘‘extraordinaryvogue’’ forphren- ology, dismissing its precise division of themind into ‘‘twenty-seven com- partments’’butacceptingsomeof itsbasicpremises:thatthe‘‘thinkingprin- ciple’’ is located in the brain, the ‘‘great ligament which binds together’’ body andmind; that the sensory ‘‘nerves all lead up to the brain’’ and acts of volition initiate ‘‘in thebrain itself ’’; and that thebrain ismodular,with ‘‘one structure of the brain better adapted’’ for a given discrete ‘‘intellec- tual purpose’’ than another (&+&–+$).A third essay in the collection shows anewappreciation, alsocognatewith ‘‘organology’’ andotherbrain-based psychologies, for thepervasive roleof unconscious cognitionorwhatGod- win (!$#) quaintly terms ‘‘human vegetation.’’ As biological approaches to 144 Poetics Today 23:1 physiologycametodisplacemechanisticones,brain-basedmodelsofmind took notice, in Johann Gottfried von Herder’s (!#++ [!"'']: !*#) phrase, of the ‘‘innate, organical, genetic’’ aspects of mind. Herder, Pierre-Jean- GeorgeCabanis,andGallalldepart from‘‘tabularasa’’ accountsofmental development to argue that innatemental characters are ‘‘transmitted from family to family’’bymeansofaheritableneural ‘‘organization’’ shapingex- perience evenwhile beingmodified by various experiences (Cabanis !#"! [!"'%–!"'$], %:$+#; Gall !"&$, !:!&$, !"$). Because, however, the brain is inseparable for these writers from the entire nervous system with its inti- mate links to the circulatoryand respiratory systems, thenewpsychologies that relocated themind in thebrain also emphasized adense and intricate networkof linksbetweenmentaleventsandthebodilyeconomyasawhole. The novel of the Romantic era made its own contribution to this pro- founddiscursiveshift regardingcharacter, individuality,andtemperament. The radical or ‘‘Jacobin’’ novel of the !*#'s o(ers a fleshed out version of theLockeanconstructionistapproach,showinginvividdetailhow,asMary Hays (!#*) [!*#+], !: )) writes in Memoirs of Emma Courtney, ‘‘We are all the creatures of education.’’ In place of the anecdotal childhood episode or two revealing innate bias of character supplied by earlier eighteenth- century novelists such as Henry Fielding, detailed accounts of childhood andearlyeducationbecamethenorm.Novelists learned toelaboratebasic fairy-tale plots to display the ‘‘advantages of education,’’ contrasting the fortunes of one of three daughters (or cousins) inCinderella fashion (as in Austen’s Mansfield Park [!"!)]) or one of two sisters (or friends) in the tradi- tion of the ‘‘kind and unkind’’ tale type (as in Austen’s Sense and Sensibility [!"!!]).Needless toadd, theheroinewith thebest education—theonewho hasmost thoroughly internalizedmoralprinciples anddevelopedhabits of self-regulation—wins out (Richardson !##): !"$–%'%). AstheexampleofSusanFerrier’s Marriage (!"!") shows,however,notions of innate bias, if they ever disappeared entirely, were returning to at least complicate fictional representations of character by the time of the materialist-vitalist controversy in the late !"!'s. Anticipating the later use of twin studies to explore issues of nature andnurture, Ferrier invents twin sisters,Mary andAdelaide, raised in di(erent families according tomark- edly di(erent principles. Mary, the sister whose more careful education hasproduceda ‘‘well-regulatedmind,’’ endsup (predictablyenough) rising from her Cinderella status to marry happily and well, while her vacuous twinAdelaide (likeMaria in Mansfield Park)marries awealthy ‘‘fool’’ before ruining her reputationwith an adulterous elopement (Ferrier !#"+ [!"!"]: %##,)*$).Complicatinganotherwise schematicplot,however, is the twins’ cousin Emily, who is raised in the same fashion and environment as Ade- Richardson • Of Heartache and Head Injury: Reading Minds in Persuasion 145 laide but whose native intelligence and generosity assert themselves in a ‘‘noble’’ though ‘‘wild’’ character, lackingMary’s exemplary self-control to be sure but also remarkably free ofAdelaide’smeretriciousness and short- sightedegotism()))).Withinanotherdecade,novelistsbegintotake innate biasesof characterexplicitly intoaccount,using themtobalanceorat least qualify environmental influences on development. AsMary Shelley (!#"$ [!"%+]: )*) puts it in The Last Man (!"%+), ‘‘Weare born;we chooseneither our parents, nor our station; we are educated by others, or by theworld’s circumstances, and this cultivation, mingling with our innate disposition, is the soil in which our desires, passions, and motives grow’’ (emphasis added). Whereas Shelley’s Frankenstein (!"!")might be seen as the extreme expres- sionofa socially constructedmind, featuringamonstrous characterwho is ‘‘‘made’ not born’’ (Poovey !#"): !%"), Shelley’s later work anticipates the growing influenceof phrenological andotherphysiological conceptions of mind on the nineteenth-century novel fromCharlotte Brontë on (Oppen- heim !##!; Shuttleworth !##+). Austen’s portrayal of character in relation to experience has been seen as thoroughlyLockean in spirit thoughunusuallydeft in execution (Devlin !#*$). Her novels include some of the most inventive and subtle rework- ings of traditional tale types to display the e(ects of contrasting upbring- ings and thehabits of self-scrutiny anddiscipline they instill—or fail to in- still, as Sir Thomas finds to his grief in contrasting Fanny to her favored but miseducated elder cousins at the end of Mansfield Park. In Persua- sion, Austen again deploys a Cinderella plot to set o( the virtues of an undervaluedheroine,AnneElliot, to thedetriment of her spoiled siblings, the status-conscious, superficial Elizabeth and the plaintive, self-involved Mary.Austenvaries this traditionalplotbymakingAnnethemiddle rather than the youngest sister aswell as by introducing still another folk charac- ter type, the ‘‘falseheroine,’’ in thepersonofLouisaMusgrove (Propp !#+": +').As inmanya folktale, the false heroine in Persuasion functions todelay the eventual union of the true heroinewith her ‘‘object’’ (FrederickWent- worth) by temporarily displacingAnne and claimingFrederick for herself. As in many a domestic novel, Anne and Louisa are contrasted in terms of the quality of their upbringing and the degree of their self-discipline. Louisa ismore ‘‘fashionable’’ and adept at superficial ‘‘accomplishments,’’ while Anne is ‘‘more elegant and cultivated,’’ showing modesty and self- restraint where Louisa appears willful and flirtatious, a combination that proves nearly fatal at the novel’s crisis point (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]:+*). That crisis—Louisa’s mistimed leap toward Frederick’s arms and her headfirst fallonto thepavingstonesofamassive seawall—introducesa fur- ther and more surprising contrast, this time one without precedent. For 146 Poetics Today 23:1 whileAnne’scharacterhasbeenshapedoverhertwenty-sevenyearsofoften painful experience, most notably hermother’s death (whenAnne is four- teen)andheryouthfulbreakwithFrederick (fiveyears later),Louisa’s char- acter is ‘‘altered,’’ remarkablyandapparently for life,byasingle incident,a severeblowon thehead (%%&).Once ‘‘happy, andmerry’’ and rather giddy, Louisa is, asaconsequenceof head injury, ‘‘turned intoapersonof literary taste,andsentimental reflection,’’ sedentaryandneurasthenic. ‘‘Thedayat Lyme, the fall from theCobb,might influence her health, her nerves, her courage, her character to the end of her life, as thoroughly as it appeared to have influencedher fate’’ (+*, !*"). CriticsofPersuasionhavenotknownquitewhattomakeof theconnection Austenposes herebetweennerves and character, head traumaandmental alteration, and sometimes they have simplymade fun of it. ‘‘True, she has fallenonherhead,’’writes one, ‘‘but it hadneverbeenagoodone, and the blow seems to have cleared it’’ (Lascelles !#&#: *").To readwhat another calls the ‘‘zany incident at Lyme’’ (Gross !##&: !#$) as slapstick, however, fails todo justice towhathasbeenaptlydescribedas the ‘‘most sensational momentofphysical violence inAusten’swork’’ (Sokolsky !##): !&+). It also fails to bring out the truly remarkable implications of Louisa’s character change.At thevery least, the fall and its consequences serve, in JohnWilt- shire’s (!##%: !"*) phrase, as a ‘‘graphic reminder that human beings are bodies as well as minds.’’ In the context of Romantic-era speculation on the brain and nerves, however, it also suggests that the relation between bodies andminds is ofmore consequence, at least in Persuasion, thancritics ofAusten havewanted to acknowledge. Wiltshireo(ershisaccountof thebody’s salience inPersuasion tocounter- balancereadingsthat,hefeels,mayhaveexaggeratedits ‘‘historicistdimen- sion’’ (!#+).ButAusten’sportrayalofanembodiedmind—mostremarkably inrelationtoLouisa’s fallbut inquieterways throughout thenovel—hasan important historicist dimension of its own.Head injury, strange as itmay seem in retrospect, was a politically loaded topic at the very timeAusten was writing Persuasion, when to question the immateriality of mind could meantoquestionthephilosophicalunderpinningsoforthodoxreligiousbe- lief (Reed !##*: !)). FromDavidHartley toWilliamLawrence,proponents ofphysiologicalaccountsofmindcite thee(ectsof ‘‘BlowsupontheHead’’ amongotherreasons to locate themindinthebrain—anotionthatwasstill considered unproven,materialistic, and potentially subversive inAusten’s time (Hartley !#+* [!*)#], !: !#).Concussions serve, alongwith visual illu- sions, somnambulism,andintoxication,as favoriteexamplesofwhatmight be called in retrospect the neuropathology of everyday life. Particularly loadedare instances inwhich, asAndrewCombe (!")! [!"%$]: )*&)writes, Richardson • Of Heartache and Head Injury: Reading Minds in Persuasion 147 the ‘‘temper andmoral sentiments have . . . beenentirely changed, in con- sequenceofcertain injuries to thebrain,while the intellect remainedunim- paired,’’ suggesting thatnot only cognitionbut character is physiologically based. Some of these instances are evocative of Louisa’s transformation, includingHartley’s claim that ‘‘concussions’’ have sometimes resulted in a ‘‘Melancholy’’ temperament (Hartley !#+* [!*)#], !, &##), or Gall’s (!"&$, %: !!#) ‘‘lady of fine talents’’ who falls, striking the ‘‘back part of her head against themantel-piece,’’ and comes to lose ‘‘all of her brilliant qualities’’ as a result. The ideological threat that such accounts represented is clear from the response they generated in establishment journals, conservative and lib- eral alike. A few months before Austen began work on Persuasion (in Au- gust !"!$), in fact, the Edinburgh Review devoteda longarticle to countering the implications of an essay on localized brain injury published the year before in Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London.The author, Sir Everard Home, was not the ready object of ridicule presented by the phrenologistsandmostof theirallies,whomreviewerscoulddismiss for the outlandishness of their science aswell as for thematerialismand ‘‘French- inspired’’ radicalism it implied (Lawrence !##': %%&). In contrast, Home could be seen as something of amedical icon: fellowof theRoyal Society, sergeant-surgeon to theking,professor at theCollegeofSurgeons, protégé and executor of the celebrated physiologist JohnHunter, and baronet. In his ‘‘Observationson theFunctionsof theBrain’’ (!"!))Homeavoids ‘‘gen- eral deductions,’’ instead cataloging all of the cases of brain injury he has encounteredtohelp‘‘procureaccurateinformationrespectingthefunctions that belong to individual portions of the human brain.’’ Nevertheless, the implicationsofHome’sattempttoconnect ‘‘stillmorecloselythepursuitsof anatomywith those of philosophy’’werehard tomiss: an intimate relation (if not identity) betweenmind and brain, a physiological account ofmen- tal function, and a brain-based, modular conception of mental behavior distinctly related toGall’s organology if farmore scientifically respectable (Home !"!): )+#). Rather than attackHome directly, the reviewer in the Edinburgh Review insteadcompilesanimposinglistofcounterexamplesintendedtoprovethat brain injuryneednotdisruptmental functioningandultimately thatmen- tal life can go on in the entire absence of a brain. Some of the examples approachsurrealisminthenonchalancewithwhichtheytreatheadwounds andotherneural insults. ‘‘VESLINGIUS found the endof a stilletto in the brain of awoman,whohadbeenwoundedby it five years before, butwho had complained of nothing in the mean while but occasional head-ach; and . . .LACUTUSmentions a case, inwhich thehalf of a knife remained 148 Poetics Today 23:1 in thebrainofaman foreightyears,withouthisbeingatall incommoded’’ (‘‘ReviewofSirEverardHome’’ !"!$:))&).Fivepagesof suchexamplesare givennotasevidenceofneuralplasticity,whichCabanis (!#"! [!"'%–!"'$], !: !)') discusses fromaneuropsychological perspective in the Rapports, but rather to dismiss altogether anynecessary connection between themental actof ‘‘Sensation’’and‘‘particular’’partsof thebrain(‘‘ReviewofSirEverard Home’’ !"!$:))$).Thereviewerthengoesontoproduceexamples inwhich ‘‘the whole brain has been destroyedwithout loss of sensibility,’’ though as onemight imagine these are not very satisfying ())+). ‘‘Wehave found in- deed, several instances of children born without a brain who lived for a short time; but the state of the sensibility in these, is not quite unequivo- callyascertained’’ ())*–)").Nevertheless, theessayconcludes that,despite thecasesevidencedbya‘‘personofSIREVERARDHOME’Sreputation,’’ thereare ‘‘very stronggrounds forbelieving, that thebrain isnotatall con- cerned in the changes which precede Sensation,’’ and if not in sensation, then not, ‘‘mutatis mutandis,’’ in the ‘‘phenomena of Thought andVolition’’ ())", ))'). Home’spaperonbrain functionandtheresponse in the Edinburgh Review areworthnoting in this context not of course as possible ‘‘sources’’ for Per- suasion.They are valuable, rather, for underscoring the tense coexistence in Austen’s day of two diametrically opposed yet equally credible notions ofmind-body relations, one unabashedly dualistic and in linewith ortho- dox notions of the soul, the other aligningmental acts with discrete brain functions andopen toamaterialist interpretation.These rival conceptions seem initially to correspond, in an oddway, to the contrasting subjectivi- tiesof the rivalheroinesof Persuasion: one shapedbymental andemotional experience, able to transcend bodily discomfort, and exemplifying Fred- erick’s idealofa ‘‘strongmind’’; theother ‘‘altered’’byaninjurytothebrain andevenbefore thatdeficient (againaccording toFrederick) ‘‘inapointno less essential thanmind’’ (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]: "*, !#%). One is living with the pangs of a broken heart, the otherwith the lasting e(ects of a cracked head.ThoughtheepisodeontheCobbisnotmeant toelicit laughter, these rival systems for representing subjectivity do collide comically later in the novel.WhenAnne, overwhelmedwith emotion, struggles to composeher- selfafterreadingapassionateletterfromFrederick,Louisa’smother,appar- ently converted toabrain-basedpsychology,needs reassurance that ‘‘there hadbeenno fall in the case; thatAnnehadnot, at any time lately, slipped down, and got a blow on her head; that she was perfectly convinced of havinghadno fall’’ (%)!). ButAnne’s very confusionhere andelsewhere in thenovelsuggeststhatthecomicdisparityinthispassagebetweenmindand brain, heart andhead, is something of a redherring. For the characteriza- Richardson • Of Heartache and Head Injury: Reading Minds in Persuasion 149 tionofAnne touches, in its ownway, on the embodiednotionofmind, the fragmentation of the subject, and the greater appreciation of unconscious mental life, all characteristic of the newRomantic psychologies. Mrs. Musgrove’s comic mistake, that is, reasserts the contrast between Anne and Louisa while also emphasizing that this is a moment when, as Wiltshire (!##%: !#$) puts it, Anne’s ‘‘body takes over.’’ Not that Anne be- comesevenremotelycomatoseat suchtimes; rather,herperiodsofdisloca- tionmark the collision of conscious awareness with unconscious thoughts andfeelingsandtheintensephysiological sensationsthataccompanythem. Annemaybeprized forher ‘‘rational’’demeanor,yet shealsoproveshighly susceptibleto ‘‘inneragitation’’ fromsourcesnotalwaysconsciouslypresent toAnneherself, registered instead in thebody inways thatat timesbecome so pressing as to overwhelm the conscious subject (!**). ‘‘The absolute ne- cessity of seeming like herself produced then an immediate struggle, but afterawhileshecoulddonomore.Shebegannottounderstandawordthey said’’ (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]:%)'–)!).The ‘‘struggle’’betweenrationalcontrol andpassionate feeling, conscious volition and thephysiological rushof in- tense inner emotionsmanifests not a split betweenmind andbodybut the impossibilityofever teasing themapart.The illusoryunityof theconscious subject ispuncturedbytheactionsofanembodiedmindthatoftenfindsun- conscious action and expressionmore expedient,working indespite of the conscious subject ifneedbe. ‘‘Mary talked,but [Anne]couldnotattend . . . she began to reasonwith herself, and try to be feeling less. . . . Alas! with all her reasonings, she found, that to retentive feelings eight yearsmay be littlemore thannothing’’ ("$). Underlyingsuchpassages isaviewofmindassensibility, lessreminiscent ofLockethanofHerder (!#++ [!"'']: !'')—‘‘Itsvibratingfibres, its sympa- thizingnerves, neednot the call ofReason: they runbeforeher, theyoften disobediently and forcibly oppose her’’—or of Darwin, Gall, or Cabanis. Austen grants the ‘‘inward’’ senses (never discussed by Locke) the central rolegiventhembybrain-basedRomanticpsychologies,necessarilybroach- ing the subject’s fragmentation in the process. ‘‘For a fewminutes she saw nothing before her. It was all confusion. She was lost; and when she had scoldedbackher senses, she found theothers stillwaiting for the carriage’’ (Austen!#+$[!"!"]:!"$).Theintimationofadividedsubject (‘‘scoldedback her senses’’) builds to the acknowledgment of a fundamental split between a superintending conscious self and a potentially unruly, desiring, uncon- scious other: ‘‘Whywas she to suspect herself of anothermotive? . . .One half of her shouldnot alwaysbe somuchwiser than theotherhalf ’’ (ibid.). In related passages, equally in keepingwith the emphasis on unconscious mental life foundthroughoutRomanticbrainscience,Anneperformscom- 150 Poetics Today 23:1 plex behaviors in an explicitly ‘‘unconscious’’ manner, playing at the key- board (a prominent example of nonconscious cognition in Darwin’s Zoo- nomia !*#)–!*#+, !: !#'–#)) and even conversing ‘‘unconsciously’’ (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]:#+, !!&).Anne canmakemusic andmake conversational sense equallywellwithout thebenefitofconsciousawareness, thoughheruncon- scious life emergesmore spectacularly in thosemomentswhen she seems, for a time, altogether senseless. Anne’s periods of ‘‘confusion,’’ episodes lasting up to ‘‘severalminutes’’ when internal sensations crowdout external ones, rendering her unseeing and inattentive, bear an uncanny resemblance (seen from the outside) to Louisa’s deeper passage into unconsciousness after her fall. Louisa’s head injurycallsattention,insensationalisticfashion,tothemind’sembodiment, a condition that is shown inmore subtleways to be shared by the charac- ters around her.The chapter that recounts the accident is generally seen as the novel’s dramatic hinge, limning the contrast between the two rivals by juxtaposing Louisa’s ‘‘heedlessness’’ withAnne’s display of the ‘‘resolu- tion of a collectedmind’’ (%))).Yet the scene at theCobb also softens that very contrast as one character after another succumbs to emotional and cognitive overload, lapsing into various mental states that appear not so very di(erent fromLouisa’s. Frederick looks at the ‘‘corpse-like figure’’ of Louisa ‘‘with a face as pallid as her own’’; Charles is rendered ‘‘immove- able’’; Henrietta, ‘‘sinking under the conviction, lost her senses too, and would have fallen on the steps’’ (!%#–&'). Overcome with genuine shock and horror, one character after another becomes, like Louisa, a prone or otherwise inert body. Austenunderscores theparallel invariouswaysas theepisodecontinues to unfold.WhenAnne proposes to sendBenwick for a doctor, ‘‘Every one capableofthinkingfelttheadvantageoftheidea,’’aformulathatgroupsthe faintingHenrietta and the ‘‘hysterical’’Marywith theunconsciousLouisa. Harville’s arrival is described in terms that in context seem to reduce him toaphysiological specimen: ‘‘ShockedasCaptainHarvillewas,hebrought senses andnerves that couldbe instantlyuseful’’ (!&'–&!).Even the ‘‘think- ing’’ characters, that is, are portrayed as organic assemblages of nerves and senses under duress. Frederick, though remaining sentient, becomes automaton-like, responding asmechanically as anyHartleyan association networkwhenAnnementions a surgeon. ‘‘He caught theword; it seemed to rouse himat once, and sayingonly, ‘True, true, a surgeon this instant,’’’ hebegins rushingawaywhenAnneremindshimthatonlyBenwick ‘‘knows where a surgeon is tobe found’’ (!&'). EvenAnne, foremost among themi- nority who remain ‘‘rational,’’ rises to the occasion through the ‘‘strength and zeal, and thought, which instinct supplied’’ (ibid.). Appearing just at Richardson • Of Heartache and Head Injury: Reading Minds in Persuasion 151 thispoint in theepisode,Austen’schoiceof ‘‘instinct’’doesnotseemcasual. At a time when writers like Coleridge adamantly distinguished between the ‘‘instinct’’ of beasts and the ‘‘higher’’ intuitionsof humanbeings, coun- tering ‘‘materialists’’ like Darwin, who view instinctive human responses as a crucial animal inheritance and a key manifestation of the adaptive ‘‘inner’’ senses, ‘‘instinct’’was a loaded term,one that earlybrain scientists likeCabanis andGall had only recently reasserted in the teeth of Locke’s dismissal (Coleridge !##$, %:!&#'). In this context Anne’smost heroically ‘‘rational’’ episode could be placed on a continuum with, rather than di- rectly opposed to, her automatic, nonrational, but quite natural responses elsewhere inthenovelat timesofheightenedemotion.Markedbya ‘‘strong sensibility’’ from her adolescence, Anne is represented not as some evis- cerated or denervated rational agent but as an emotive, embodied sub- ject,uncommonly reasonableandalsouncommonly sensitive (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]: !+$). Anne’sblendofexemplaryrationalityandheightenedsensibility,hersus- ceptibility to surgesofemotionwith theirmarkedcognitiveandphysiologi- cal e(ects, and themental splittingor fragmenting she regularlymanifests together find voice in the stylistic innovation critics have noted in Persua- sion. A.WaltonLitz (!#*$: %%"–%#) first called attention toAusten’s ‘‘move awayfromtheJohnsoniannorm’’ inthesentencestructureofher lastnovel, with its ‘‘rapidandnervous syntaxdesigned to imitate thebombardmentof impressionsupon themind.’’MarilynButler (!#"*:%**) similarlydescribes Austen’s ‘‘experiment with a new kind of subjective writing,’’ marked by a ‘‘high-wrought nervous tension’’ in conveying a particular consciousness (Anne’s), for which ‘‘the senses have a distinct advantage over reason and fact.’’ It is appropriate thatbothcritics use the term ‘‘nervous’’ to evoke the qualityofAnne’s subjectivityand theprose that conveys it, for in thisnovel mind cannot be disentangled from the central nervous system that enacts it. Austen’s new subjective style is all themore innovative for prominently including thegapsanddisruptions in therepresentedfluxofconsciousness, what Wiltshire (!##%: !**) calls ‘‘invasions of feeling.’’ Unconscious men- tal events are shown in a complex and frequently adversarial relationwith conscious ones, and feeling is often known through its mark on the body before it can be registered in conscious awareness. ‘‘No, it was not regret whichmadeAnne’s heart beat in spite of itself, andbrought the color into her cheeks when she thought of CaptainWentworth unshackled and free. Shehad some feelingswhich shewasashamed to investigate’’ (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]: !*").Anne’s shamehereremindsus that thedomesticnovel, consid- ered as an extension of the literature of female conduct, implicitly enjoins such inner splitting by insisting that ‘‘proper’’ youngwomen feel desire for 152 Poetics Today 23:1 their futurehusbands—marry for love—without acknowledging suchdesire too soon, even to themselves (Richardson !##): !#!–#%).Yet the deft inter- play inpassages likethisbetweenthoughtandfeeling,physiologicalexpres- sionandconscious introspectionsignalsnot justanotherelaborationonthe modest blush but a new,Romantic sense ofmind-body relations. Terms like ‘‘flowof consciousness’’ (Butler !#"*:%#') or ‘‘interiormono- logue’’ (Litz !#*$: %%") cannot entirely do this new style justice. Even if they allow for some shading from unconscious impulses or bodily intru- sions upon introspective awareness, they tend to evoke a conscious, in- tegral Cartesian subject, the central self that oversees the conscious flow or articulates the internal monologue. As represented through the ‘‘ner- vous’’ sentences of Persuasion, however, subjectivity seems corporate rather than monologic, unconscious feelings and ideas become as important as conscious ones, and the division between interior and exterior is regularly breached. Anne’s ‘‘shudder,’’ for example, should be read as a simulta- neously physical and psychological reaction in the passage that describes Anne’s semiconscious acknowledgment of her temporary interest in her wealthycousinWilliamWalterElliot. ‘‘Annecould justacknowledgewithin herself such a possibility of having been induced to marry him, as made her shudder at the idea of themisery whichmust have followed’’ (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]: %!+).The tentative, dim character ofAnne’s acknowledgment (‘‘just . . . such a possibility’’) suggests that the psychic region ‘‘within her- self ’’ remains only flittingly and uncertainly available to conscious aware- ness.The ‘‘shudder’’ represents both an aversive reaction to the disturbing ‘‘idea’’—one that seems to have emerged full-blown intoAnne’s conscious mind—as well as an important physiological cue that conveys not only to the reader but to Anne herself the emotional intensity of that reaction and the unforeseen danger it forestalls, not amoment too soon.The plot owesmuchof its tension, in fact, to the ongoing threat that feelingswhich canbe readonlyhaphazardly, throughmomentaryglimpses, or indirectly, through their bodilymanifestations, can always bemisread. Frederickwill continuetoovervaluehis feelings forLouisa,Annewillbe ‘‘induced’’ todis- play feelings forMr.Elliot,neitherFredericknorAnnewill correctlygauge the strengthorvalidityof their renewed feelings foroneanother.Frederick makesthisdilemmaexplicit inanacknowledgmentofhisown: ‘‘Thusmuch indeedhewasobliged toacknowledge—thathehadbeenconstant uncon- sciously,nay,unintentionally; thathehadmeant to forgether,andbelieved it to be done’’ (%))). In a novel of the !*#'’s generation, the claim to have been constant ‘‘unintentionally’’ would be transparently absurd, the state- ment of a cad, the sort of thing that Darnford, in MaryWollstonecraft’s Maria (!*#"),mightbeexpectedtocomeupwith.InPersuasion,however, the Richardson • Of Heartache and Head Injury: Reading Minds in Persuasion 153 claim,self-servingas itobviously is, canneverthelessbeconsideredsincere. Unconsciousmotives cancontradict andevencome tooutweighconscious ones, feelings that are ‘‘believed’’ to be forgotten canhavebeenpresent, in retrospect, all along. It is aRomantic novel indeed, one that takes up and extends, in its innovatory syntax, characterization, andnarrative style, the embodied approach to human subjectivity beingworked out concurrently byRomanticpoets likeColeridgeandKeats andRomanticbrain scientists likeGall andBell. The concurrence between Austen’s late style and emergent biological notionsofthesubjectwouldnotcommithernecessarilyofcoursetoviewing character or temperament as even partly shaped by heredity. Even if one believesthatasignificantchangeinbrainphysiology(suchastheneurologi- cal e(ects of a particularly severe head injury) could bring about a change in temperament,oneneednotagreewithGall orCabanis that certainpat- terns of neurophysiological organization associatedwith specific tempera- ments or character traits can be passed down within families like a snub noseor apredisposition tohemophilia. Physiological psychologyanda re- newed interest in the hereditary transmission of character traits, however, dogenerallygotogether inRomantic-erabrainscience,and it is significant that, in Persuasion, Austen seems to pose a similar connection. Again, the most overt example in the book concerns a relativelyminor female char- acter who functions as yet another foil to Anne, her former school friend Mrs. Smith. Smith’s experience has beenmuch harsher still thanAnne’s: marriagetoaspendthrifthusband,earlywidowhood,relativepoverty (‘‘un- ableeventoa(ordherself thecomfortofaservant’’),andillness (!+$).Yetas Annewonderinglyobserves: ‘‘Inspiteofall this . . . shehadmomentsonlyof langouranddepression, tohoursofoccupationandenjoyment.Howcould it be?’’ (!+*).Howcould temperament so thoroughlybelie the e(ects of ex- perience?Mrs. Smith exemplifies, Anne decides, that ‘‘elasticity of mind, that disposition tobe comforted, that powerof turning readily fromevil to good, and of finding employment which carried her out of herself, which was fromNaturealone’’ (ibid.).Hereat least isonecharacternotaltogether shapedbyexperiencebutwithapronounced (andonecouldaddadaptive) native ‘‘disposition.’’ Anne herself initially seems another case altogether. Psychoanalytical critics of Persuasion argue that Anne’s particular temperament is precisely whatonewouldexpectofagirle(ectivelyabandonedbyhermotheratfour- teen, a traumatic and formative experience thatmakes a history of heart- break andmelancholy seem to follow as amatter of course (Dalton !##$: $!). As Anita Sokolsky (!##): !&&) writes, ‘‘Anne’s tendency tomelancholy emerges inreactiontothedeathofamotherwhoseattachmenttoherhome 154 Poetics Today 23:1 anddaughtershad, terribly,made it ‘no smallmatterof indi(erence toher to leave this life.’’’Austen,however,does suggest thatAnne’s temperament mayoweasmuchtoabiologicalastoapsychologicalrelationtothemother. Later in the same chapter inwhichAnne speculates onMrs. Smith’s elas- tic ‘‘disposition’’ (a key term forGall and his sympathizers), LadyRussell remarks thatAnne is ‘‘hermother’s self in countenanceanddisposition’’— that she has inherited hermother’s temperament alongwith her physical features (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]: !*%).LadyRussell’s judgment is evidentlyone of long standing: in thenovel’s first chapter, her early preference forAnne reflectsher sense that ‘‘itwasonly inAnne that she could fancy themother to revive again’’ (&*). Aparagraphabove, SirWalter’s contrary preference for his eldest daughter, Elizabeth, is similarly explained on the basis of physical and temperamental resemblance to a parent: ‘‘being very hand- some, and very like himself, her influence had always been great’’ (ibid.). Few readers would disagree with SirWalter’s assessment; throughout the novel Elizabeth reacts and behaves in a manner all too like her father’s. Physiologymay not be destiny in Persuasion, but it seems to play no small role in character formation. The links implied here between character and physique, heredity and fate, raise the issue of how sexual di(erences are perceived to shapedi(er- ences in mind, an issue Austen raises herself toward the end of the book (%&*). In a novel that in various ways works to ‘‘upset conventional con- junctions of ideas about gender,’’ it might seem that appeals to physio- logical notions ofmind andhereditary notions of ‘‘disposition’’ could only servetoreassertthosesameconjunctions(Johnson!#"":!$!–$%).BothSally Shuttleworth and Janet Oppenheim have demonstrated how in the Vic- torian era the new biological psychologies were invoked to ‘‘bear witness againstwomen’s brains’’ and to reassert conventional oppositions between male self-controland femalehelplessness,male rationalityand female sen- sibility (Oppenheim !##!: !"$).As JohnElliotson, a radicalmaterialist and earlyproponentofphrenology,puts it in Human Physiolo! (!"&$), the ‘‘male is formed for corporeal and intellectual power; the female for gentleness, a(ections,anddelicacyof feeling’’ (quotedinShuttleworth!##+:"%).These tendencies, though much exaggerated over the course of the nineteenth century, are certainly present already in thework of pioneers likeCabanis and Gall. Cabanis (!#"! [!"'%–!"'$], !: !"&, %%*) holds that women have ‘‘softer’’ brains than men and remain in some respects ‘‘children all their lives.’’Gall (!"&$, &: %*%) illustrates the power of instinct by observing that the ‘‘little girl reaches out her hand for the doll, as the boy, for a drumor sword.’’ ‘‘Thewhole physical constitutionofwoman,’’ he continues, ‘‘com- bineswithhermoralandintellectualcharacter,toprovethatsheisdestined, Richardson • Of Heartache and Head Injury: Reading Minds in Persuasion 155 more particularly thanman, to take care of children’’ (ibid.). ForWilliam Lawrence (!"%%: #)) the mind is ‘‘male or female, according to the sex of the body.’’ Yet as readily as the new physiological psychologies lent themselves to supporting the receiveddichotomies of the gender system, they could also serve to unsettle those sameoppositions and, at least in principle, destabi- lize the traditional system of evaluations. William Hazlitt (!#&'–!#&) [!"%#]), inacritiqueofphrenology,complainsthatGall’sorganologyweak- ens the distinction between men and women by localizing it, limiting it to relative di(erences between only several among the numerous brain ‘‘organs.’’ ‘‘Women in general,’’ Hazlitt (!#&'–!#&) [!"%#], %': %$&) coun- ters, ‘‘havemore softness and flexibility both ofmind and body thanmen —they have not the same strength and perseverance, but they take their revenge in tact and delicacy: Shall we suppose this marked and universal di(erencewhich runs through thewhole frameand throughevery thought and action of life, to proceed from a particular bump or excrescence of the skull, and not to be inherent in the principle (whatever that may be) whichfeels,andthinks,atall times,andinallcircumstances?’’Byfragment- ing themind anddisrupting the continuity of the thinking ‘‘principle,’’ the new physiological psychologies not only threaten orthodox notions of the soul but throw the system of absolute gender di(erences into question. If gender-specificmental di(erences can be localized,moreover, those local di(erences canbe further erodedby thee(ectsof accidentandexperience. Men, for example, come equipped with the same mental predisposition (andaccompanyingbrainorgan) for child-rearingaswomenbut inamuch lesspronouncedmanner; throughexercise, however, that organcanbede- veloped and the original di(erence can be ‘‘repressed’’ (Gall !"&$, &:%+&, %*$).A thoroughly ‘‘domestic’’man likeCaptainHarvillewouldfit readily intoGall’s system but would seem aberrant withinHazlitt’s (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]: !%').Thepropensity for sexualbehavioron theotherhand isgener- ally stronger inmenbutbynomeansalways.ForGall, despitehis commit- ment to pervasive gender di(erences, there are no absolute or unalterable distinctions. Intermsof their larger implications, theemergentbrain-basedpsycholo- gies of the era threatened todestabilize receivednotionsof gender inmore pervasiveways.Discussingtheambivalentrelationofwomenwriters tosci- entific discourse in the Romantic era,Marina Benjamin (!##!: %*–%") re- marks on the ‘‘masculine character of scientific epistemologies’’ that align the opposition of masculine to feminine with ‘‘dichotomies like rational/ emotional, deductive/intuitive, objective/subjective.’’ But the biological psychologiesofDarwin,Cabanis, andGallwereengaged inundoing those 156 Poetics Today 23:1 very dichotomies at a timewhen, according to Benjamin (%"), the ‘‘cogni- tiveroleof thepassions, imagination,sensation,andindividualexperience’’ wasbeing fundamentally rethought. Ingivinganexpandedandoften lead- ing role to unconscious cognition, instinctive behaviors, ‘‘inward’’ sensa- tions,emotionalreactions,andbodilysensationwithinmental life,Roman- tic brain science threw traditional valuations of reason over passion and mind over body into crisis. Moreover, although women still were seen as more emotional and ‘‘softer’’ thanmen,menwerenevertheless fully impli- catedwithin a changing vision of the human, one that displaced the ratio- nal, disembodied, male-coded ideal subject with an embodied model of humansubjectivity, forcingarevaluationof traditionally femininepreroga- tives like sensibility and intuition. Here too one finds unexpected convergence between Austen’s experi- ments with representing character and subjective life in Persuasion and the physiological psychologies of her time.Another of the features supporting a ‘‘Romantic’’ readingof thenovel is its revaluationof rationalityandemo- tion, one that cuts across gender lines (Litz !#*$: %%*).The heroine after all is onewho famously ‘‘hadbeen forced into prudence in her youth’’ and ‘‘learned romance as she grew older,’’ while Frederick too must learn to respect the wisdom of his ‘‘unconscious’’ and even ‘‘involuntary’’ feelings by the novel’s close (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]: $").The novel’s most systemati- cally ‘‘rational’’ characters,LadyRussell andWilliamWalterElliot, are the very ones who cause the most pain and give the worst counsel ()%, !*&). Frederick’s great advantage overMr.Elliot in fact resides in his character- istic ‘‘ardour,’’ a trait that is at once psychological and physical, described elsewhere as ‘‘glowing’’ ($", "+). All of the sympathetic naval characters share this quality of ‘‘warmth,’’ one singularly lacking in Frederick’s rival (!%'). ‘‘Mr Elliot was rational, discreet, polished,—but he was not open. Therewasneveranyburstof feeling,anywarmthof indignationordelight’’ (!*&). Or, inMrs. Smith’s harsher terms, Elliot is a ‘‘cold-blooded being,’’ a ‘‘man without heart’’ (%'+).This last phrase relies on the most conven- tional of figures, but in a novel that so insistently reevaluates the claims of the body, metaphors like heart ask to be taken quite seriously. In con- junctionwith terms like warmth and ardour, heart functionsmetaphorically preciselyat theuncertainbordersbetweenpsycheandsoma,wherecharac- ter traits are indistinguishable from the ‘‘glowing’’ physical sensations that make themknown—totheself aswell as toothers. (Theverynotionof tem- perament, a termobviouslyallied to temperature,ultimatelyreliesonthesame basicmetaphorical pattern [Kagan !##):&)–&$; Sweetser !##':%"]).Har- ville is ‘‘warm-hearted’’ not justmetaphorically but in the concretewayhe experiences his own body and thus knows his ownmind; after expressing Richardson • Of Heartache and Head Injury: Reading Minds in Persuasion 157 his love for hiswife and children ‘‘in a tone of strong feeling,’’ he adds, ‘‘‘I speak, you know, only of suchmen as have hearts!’ pressing his ownwith emotion’’ (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]: !!#,%&").Menwhofail to speak fromfeeling and to feel from the body are not to be trusted in Persuasion. Not that feelings, sensations, vocal tones, andphysiological displays can be trusted in any simple way either. Austen’s turn to an embodied episte- mology in Persuasion introduces new complications of its own, such as the di,culties bothAnneandFrederick encounterfirst in consciouslyperceiv- ing,theninfullyacknowledging,their ‘‘unconscious’’desireforoneanother. Sensations can bemisinterpreted and feelings under- or overvalued, as in thecaseofBenwick,whosebrokenheartheals sooner thananyone, leastof all himself, could reasonably suppose.Mrs.Musgrove,who rekindles feel- ings for a son’s death that she seemsnot really tohave felt at the time, and whose ‘‘substantial’’ physical bulk is said to belie her feelings of ‘‘tender- ness,’’ functionsas an iconof suchmisprision (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]:#%).This is still aJaneAustennovel. It is,however,aJaneAustennovel likenoother, and its di(erence owes a great deal to its a,nitieswith the biological psy- chologies just thenbecomingnotorious throughthedebatesonphrenology and thematerialist-vitalist controversy.Although it has been claimed that Austen ‘‘allbuterases’’ thebodyinhernovelsandthatabodyreconstructed fromher lexiconwould have no thighs, no ‘‘intestines, wombs, or navels,’’ not evenfingers or toes (Shields !##!: !&%), thebody is crucial to character, plot, and subjective life in Persuasion.The skin thatglowsorgoespallid, the heart that swellsorgoes ‘‘cold,’’ the ‘‘susceptible’’ nervesandthebrain that, once injured,mustbe ‘‘set torights’’ all speakofamindthathasno location ormeaning apart from the body (Austen !#+$ [!"!"]: !)), !"!). It could be objected that this new view of Persuasion, relying as it does primarilyonRomantic-eradocuments, couldhavebeenproducedwithout the inspiration of recent neuroscience and cognitive theory, which collec- tivelyhavedonesomuchtorevive interest in theembodiment,modularity, andnonconscious aspects ofmind.Perhaps, inprinciple, a literary scholar could have interpreted and contextualized Persuasion somewhat along the linesabovewithout such inspiration,but inpracticeAusten’s evident inter- est inquestionsofmind-body interactionand theirfictional representation hasbeenalmostentirelyoverlooked.Formost literaryhistoriansandcritics of theperiod,howeverelaborate theirattention to themind, thebrainmay aswellnothaveexisted—not justRomantic-eraworkonanddebatesabout the brain but the brain itself.One recent psychoanalytic reader of Persua- sion, forexample, remarks (ofLouisa’s fall) that ‘‘Louisa’s ‘lifeless’-ness is,of course, onlya concussion—‘therewasno injurybut to thehead’—suggest- ing that the significanceof the episode ismainlypsychological: everything 158 Poetics Today 23:1 has taken place in the head’’ (Dalton !##$: $)). Novelists, of course, are entirely at liberty to construct characters who, like this version of Louisa, do not have brains and therefore cannot su(er neurological injury. But as shouldbe clearbynow, that is bynomeanshowAusten chose to construct thecharactersof Persuasion.Evenareader likeWiltshire (!##%:), !+$),how- ever, with a focus on the body, tends to emphasize ‘‘psychological’’ phe- nomena like ‘‘hypochondria’’ and ‘‘hysteria’’ in his reading of Austen and, thoughveryperceptive regarding the contrast betweenLouisa’s ‘‘physical’’ and Anne’s ‘‘mental’’ pain, fails to note how thoroughly this dichotomy breaksdown in thenovel.Wehavehardlybegun tounderstandhowperva- sivelyandcentrally the literatureof theRomanticera is caughtup inemer- gent notions of an embodiedmind becausewe have ourselves, up to now, shown almost no interest in the brain or in the remarkable developments in brain science of our own era. References Austen, Jane !#+$ [!"!"] Persuasion, edited byD.W.Harding (London: Penguin). Benjamin,Marina !##! ‘‘ElbowRoom:WomenWritersonScience,!*#'–!")',’’ inScience and Sensibility: Gender and Scientific Inquiry, edited byMarinaBenjamin, %*–$# (Oxford: Blackwell). Butler,Marilyn !#"* Jane Austen and the War of Ideas (NewYork:OxfordUniversity Press). Cabanis, Pierre-Jean-George !#"! [!"'%–!"'$] On the Relations between the Physical and Moral Aspects of Man, edited by George Mora, translated by Margaret Duggan Saidi, % vols. (Baltimore, MD: Johns HopkinsUniversity Press). Caldwell, JamesRalston !#)$ John Keats’ Fancy: The E"ect on Keats of the Psycholo! of His Day (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press). Clarke, Edwin, andL. S. Jacyna !#"* Nineteenth-Century Origins of Neuroscientific Concepts (Berkeley:University of California Press). Coleridge, S.T. !##$ Shorter Works and Fragments, edited byH. J. Jackson and J. R. de J. Jackson, % vols. (London andPrinceton,NJ:Routledge andPrincetonUniversity Press). Combe,Andrew !")! [!"%$] ‘‘On theE(ects of Injuries of theBrainupon theManifestationsof theMind,’’ in A System of Phrenolo!, edited by George Combe, )+'–*& (NewYork: Colyer). First published in Transactions of the Phrenological Society !: !"&–%'". Crane,MaryThomas !##" ‘‘Male Pregnancy and Cognitive Permeability in Measure for Measure,’’ Shakespeare Quarterly )#(&): %+#–#%. Dalton,Elizabeth !##$ ‘‘Mourning andMelancholia in Persuasion,’’ Partisan Review +%(!): )#–$#. Darwin, Erasmus !*#)–!*#+ Zoonomia; or, The Laws of Organic Life, % vols. (London: J. Johnson). Richardson • Of Heartache and Head Injury: Reading Minds in Persuasion 159 Devlin,D.D. !#*$ Jane Austen and Education (London:Macmillan). Ferrier, Susan !#"+ [!"!"] Marriage, edited byRosemaryAshton (Harmondsworth,U.K.: Penguin). Gall, François Joseph !"&$ On the Functions of the Brain and of Each of Its Parts: With Observations on the Possibility of De- termining the Instincts, Propensities, and Talents, or the Moral and Intellectual Dispositions of Men and Animals by the Configuration of the Brain and Head, translatedbyWinslowLewis,+vols. (Boston:Marsh,Capen, andLyon). Gardner,Howard !#"$ The Mind’s New Science: A History of the Cognitive Revolution (NewYork: BasicBooks). Godwin,William !"&! Thoughts on Man, His Nature, Productions, and Discoveries (London:E,nghamWilson). !#*+ [!*#&] Enquiry concerning Political Justice and Its Influence on Modern Morals and Happiness, edited by IsaacKramnick (Harmondsworth,U.K.: Penguin). Gross,Gloria Sybil !##& ‘‘Flights intoIllness:SomeCharacters inJaneAusten,’’ inLiterature and Medicine during the Eighteenth Century, editedbyMarieMulveyRobertsandRoyPorter, !""–## (London: Routledge). Handler,Richard, andDaniel Segal !##' Jane Austen and the Fiction of Culture: An Essay on the Narration of Social Realities (Tucson: University ofArizonaPress). Hart, F. Elizabeth !##" ‘‘Matter, System, andEarlyModernStudies:Outlines for aMaterialist Linguistics,’’ Configurations +(&): &!!–)&. Hartley,David !#+*[!*)#]Observations on Man, His Frame, His Duty, and His Expectations,%vols. (Hildesheim: GeorgOlms). Hays,Mary !#*) [!*#+] Memoirs of Emma Courtney, editedbyGinaLuria, % vols. (NewYork:Garland). Hazlitt,William !#&'–!#&) [!"%#] ‘‘PhrenologicalFallacies,’’ in The Complete Works of William Hazlitt, edited byP. P.Howe, %! vols. (London:Dent). First published in Atlas, July $ and !%. Herder, JohannGottfried von !#++ [!"''] Outlines of the Philosophy of the History of Man, translated byT.Churchill (New York: Bergman). Home, Sir Everard !"!) ‘‘Observations on the Functions of the Brain,’’ Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London !'): )+#–"+. Johnson,ClaudiaL. !#"" Jane Austen: Women, Politics, and the Novel (Chicago:University ofChicagoPress). Kagan, Jerome !##) Galen’s Prophecy: Temperament in Human Nature (NewYork: BasicBooks). Lascelles,Mary !#&# Jane Austen and Her Art (Oxford:Clarendon). Lawrence,Christopher !##' ‘‘The Power and theGlory:HumphryDavy andRomanticism,’’ in Romanticism and the Sciences, edited byAndrewCunninghamandNicholas Jardine, %!&–%* (Cambridge: CambridgeUniversity Press). Lawrence,William !"%% Lectures on Physiolo!, Zoolo!, and the Natural History of Man, Delivered to the Royal College of Surgeons (London:Benbow). 160 Poetics Today 23:1 Litz,A.Walton !#*$ ‘‘Persuasion: FormsofEstrangement,’’ in Jane Austen: Bicentenary Essays, editedbyJohn Halperin, %%!–&% (Cambridge:CambridgeUniversity Press). Marshall, JohnC. !#"' ‘‘TheNewOrganology,’’ Behaviorial and Brain Sciences &: %&–%$. Oppenheim, Janet !##! ‘‘Shattered Nerves’’: Doctors, Patients, and Depression in Victorian England (NewYork:Oxford University Press). Poovey,Mary !#") The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer: Ideolo! as Style in the Works of Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelley, and Jane Austen (Chicago:University ofChicagoPress). Propp,Vladimir !#+" Morpholo! of the Folktale, %d ed., translated byLaurence Scott andLouis A.Wagner, edited byAlanDundes (Austin:University of Texas Press). Reed,EdwardS. !##* From Soul to Mind: The Emergence of Psycholo! from Erasmus Darwin to William James (New Haven,CT:YaleUniversity Press). Reviewof Sir EverardHome !"!$ ‘‘Observations on theFunctions of theBrain,’’ Edinburgh Review %)()"): )&#–$%. Richardson,Alan !##) Literature, Education, and Romanticism: Reading as Social Practice, #$%&–#%'( (Cambridge: CambridgeUniversity Press). !### ‘‘Coleridge and theDreamof anEmbodiedMind,’’ Romanticism $: !–%$. Shelley,Mary !#"$ [!"%+] The Last Man, edited byBrianAldiss (London:HogarthPress). Shields,Carol !##! ‘‘JaneAusten Images of theBody:NoFingers,NoToes,’’ Persuasions !&: !&%–&*. Shuttleworth, Sally !##+ Charlotte Brontë and Victorian Psycholo! (Cambridge:CambridgeUniversity Press). Sokolsky,Anita !##) ‘‘The Melancholy Persuasion,’’ in Psychoanalytic Literary Criticism, edited by Maud Ellman, !%"–)% (London:Longman). Sweetser, Eve !##' From Etymolo! to Pragmatics: Metaphorical and Cultural Aspects of Semantic Structure (Cam- bridge:CambridgeUniversity Press). Wiltshire, John !##% Jane Austen and the Body (Cambridge:CambridgeUniversity Press). 
work_lfravptibngxjmcssmmasi7emy	----	Edinburgh Research Explorer Beyond Theologies of Resentment: An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout's "Democracy and Tradition" Citation for published version: Fergusson, D 2006, 'Beyond Theologies of Resentment: An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout's "Democracy and Tradition"', Scottish Journal of Theology, vol. 59, no. 02, pp. 183-197. https://doi.org/10.1017/S003693060600216X Digital Object Identifier (DOI): 10.1017/S003693060600216X Link: Link to publication record in Edinburgh Research Explorer Document Version: Publisher's PDF, also known as Version of record Published In: Scottish Journal of Theology Publisher Rights Statement: ©Fergusson, D. (2006). Beyond Theologies of Resentment: An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout's "Democracy and Tradition". Scottish Journal of Theology, 183-193doi: 10.1017/S003693060600216X General rights Copyright for the publications made accessible via the Edinburgh Research Explorer is retained by the author(s) and / or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing these publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy The University of Edinburgh has made every reasonable effort to ensure that Edinburgh Research Explorer content complies with UK legislation. If you believe that the public display of this file breaches copyright please contact openaccess@ed.ac.uk providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1017/S003693060600216X https://doi.org/10.1017/S003693060600216X https://www.research.ed.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/beyond-theologies-of-resentment-an-appreciation-of-jeffrey-stouts-democracy-and-tradition(733ddd6b-cdad-41c1-9a04-752fa6a727c1).html Scottish Journal of Theology http://journals.cambridge.org/SJT Additional services for Scottish Journal of Theology: Email alerts: Click here Subscriptions: Click here Commercial reprints: Click here Terms of use : Click here Beyond Theologies of Resentment: An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout's Democracy and Tradition David Fergusson Scottish Journal of Theology / Volume 59 / Issue 02 / May 2006, pp 183 - 197 DOI: 10.1017/S003693060600216X, Published online: 17 May 2006 Link to this article: http://journals.cambridge.org/abstract_S003693060600216X How to cite this article: David Fergusson (2006). Beyond Theologies of Resentment: An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout's Democracy and Tradition. Scottish Journal of Theology, 59, pp 183-197 doi:10.1017/S003693060600216X Request Permissions : Click here Downloaded from http://journals.cambridge.org/SJT, IP address: 129.215.19.188 on 13 Dec 2013 SJT 59(2): 183–197 (2006) Printed in the United Kingdom C© 2006 Scottish Journal of Theology Ltd doi:10.1017/S003693060600216X Article review Beyond Theologies of Resentment: An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout’s Democracy and Tradition Abstract Jeffrey Stout’s latest book1 is likely to command even wider attention amongst theologians than Ethics after Babel (1988). Written in three parts and comprising material some of which has already appeared in other contexts, the book argues several theses. The modern democratic tradition is richer and more complex than exponents and critics of Rawlsian liberalism tend to recognise. This tradition should continue to accommodate religious voices, although these need to be more patient of democratic politics than recent theologies of ‘resentment’. A moral pragmatism provides the best philosophical framework for promoting the discourse and practices of democracy. Each of these claims merits further elaboration before some critical remarks are ventured. In extolling democracy as a tradition, Stout argues against defining it in terms of state neutrality, public reason or procedural processes. It represents a commitment to particular attitudes, a love of specific goods and virtues, an account of political authority and a holding of one another responsible for our beliefs and actions. Ethical reasoning is central to this tradition. ‘Protestors rarely just march. They also carry signs that say something. They chant slogans that mean something. They sing songs that convey a message. And they march to or from a place where speeches are given.’2 On account of a suspicion of deference and authority, those inculcated in the democratic process are prone to neglect its status as a tradition with a particular history. This is one of its endemic weaknesses. Democratic habits do not derive from self-evident moral propositions. Like any other tradition, democracy has its own history and context, requiring a particular training and orientation of its participants. (Stout’s pragmatism generally displays an overt preference for Hegel over Kant.) To illustrate this, Stout turns his attention to a group of writers who do not often feature in the canons of secular liberalism. These include three public intellectuals – Emerson, Whitman and Dewey – who, as essayists, contributed to the development of a political culture that was 1 Jeffrey Stout, Democracy and Tradition (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003), pp. xv + 348. £22.99. 2 Ibid., p. 6. 183 scottish journal of theology rooted in convictions about character, the formative role of religion, family and local community. While this tradition came frequently to adopt a critical stance towards earlier pieties, it remained indebted to these. Thus it sought their repair rather than their abolition. The culture of democracy, according to Stout, is one that has always remained hopeful about the outcomes of politics. Through retaining an urbane and modest optimism, it is at odds with at least one brand of Augustinianism. Yet this does not prevent Stout from offering a sombre diagnosis of the present state of the democratic tradition. Its symptoms include an ignoring of the plight of the poor, the absence of an ethical foreign policy, voter apathy and the accompanying tendency to fragment the political process by retreating into enclaves defined by race and lifestyle. This critical reading of the dysfunctions of modern politics might lead in either of two possible directions, both well travelled in modern academic life. Yet neither a reinvigoration of earlier forms of traditionalism, nor a comprehensive deconstruction of everything in sight is attempted by Stout. He quotes Emerson. ‘I do not wish to push my criticism on the state of things around me to that extravagant mark, that shall compel me to suicide, or to an absolute isolation from the advantages of civil society.’3 Alongside his fear of a return to an implausible traditionalism, Stout’s commitment to the role of religion in democratic society leads to a careful though critical reading of three recent influential writers, MacIntyre, Hauerwas and Milbank. It is this second division of his study that is likely to attract the most interest amongst theologians. In part, he sees their work as a legitimate reaction against the dominant, though seriously mistaken, Rawlsian characterisation of liberalism in which religious considerations become either bracketed out or marginalised in public debate. ‘The more thoroughly Rawlsian our law schools and ethics centres become, the more radically Hauerwasian the theological schools become.’4 Roughly speaking, Stout’s claim is that since the Rawlsian version of liberalism is misguided in its attempt to strip theological reasoning out of political argument (here Rorty features as a contemporary representative of hard secularism), the counter- action it has provoked is both unnecessary and skewed. The thick, positive accounts of freedom and justice proclaimed by key figures in the democratic tradition are often religiously situated. That is why Rawls has difficulty citing a sufficiently broad range of historical examples to confirm his thesis. Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King and Dorothy Day did not confine their political arguments to those terms and conditions subscribed to by secular 3 Ibid., p. 60. 4 Ibid., p. 75. 184 An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout’s ‘Democracy and Tradition’ liberals. Nor do contemporary participants. It is possible to understand, discuss and disagree with those who appeal to religious considerations in political argument. These need not be ‘conversation stoppers’. Moral debate does not take place on the basis of determining ethical positions by their deductive relationship to a handful of agreed first principles. The give-and- take of conversation, the range of reasons offered, the capacity to engage in ‘immanent criticism’ of positions not wholly shared – all enable political conversation in a society of divergent religious commitments. Stout cites the experience during the Vietnam war years of building coalitions with dissenting Protestants, secular Jews and the radical Catholic underground. This was achieved without loss of intellectual integrity. The proposals of radical orthodoxy are rejected on the ground that they do not take with sufficient seriousness the religious diversity of modern democratic societies. And since this diversity is inevitable for the foreseeable future, these proposals remain unrealistic. (Diversity could be curtailed by coercion, but no one seems to advocate this.) Ethical discourse is ‘secularised’ in modern culture in so far as it cannot take for granted shared assumptions about God, Christ and the church. To make this claim does not to commit one to regarding such claims as irrelevant or lacking in public significance. But the fact of religious plurality must alter the ways in which these are deployed rhetorically. In this restricted sense, ‘secularisation’, according to Stout, is an ineluctable feature of modern plural societies. Attempts to check or reverse this by lamenting the disenchanted turn that Scotus took in the early fourteenth century or the mistaken rejection of a Platonic–Augustinian orthodoxy are dismissed as ‘extremely implausible’.5 Short shrift is given to testimonials for a medieval worldview that imagined an organic unity of church and state under a single theological vision. In attacking radical orthodoxy, Stout complains both of an over-intel- lectualised explanation of modern trends and also of a related suppression of some basic theological questions. Exponents get away with this largely through operating at a highly abstract level. These questions revolve around the issue of whether modern democratic aspirations can in any sense be perceived as providential. Have they generated any benefits for citizens that might be perceived as blessed by God and therefore worthy of preserv- ation? Stout detects an ambivalence in Milbank’s work on this issue. For example, in forming coalitions with other groups and individuals, Christians may participate in political actions that ameliorate the condition of the unemployed. Yet how is this to be explained theologically? If those outside the church are adjudged unwitting collaborators in the reign of God, then 5 Ibid., p. 101. 185 scottish journal of theology the secular is affirmed in ways that appear inconsistent with the party line. If not, then we seem to offer little more than ‘nostalgia, utopian fantasy, and withdrawal into a strongly bounded enclave’.6 Attempts to eulogise thinkers such as John Ruskin and Samuel Taylor Coleridge ignore much of their context, especially the connections with a broader democratic stream of social criticism, thus misrepresenting them as offering a kind of counter-modernity. ‘If one tugs a little on Milbank’s references to Ruskin and Coleridge, the whole tale begins to unravel. The democratic vitality of the modern period has been eclipsed by “the secular” writ large.’7 The current flourishing of interest in counter-cultural theologies, at least of the type espoused by Milbank and Hauerwas, is explained sociologically. These are the understandable reactions of a ‘school of resentment’ that reacts against an (illegitimate) limning of secular space by liberal thinkers. Yet their analysis is mistaken, as also is the prescription. In eschewing secular liberalism, they are merely contributing further to the atomisation of modern societies that increasingly lack the capacity to conduct those moral and political conversations on which democracy depends. Theologies designed to articulate, defend, and reinforce resentment of the secular are symptoms of the disease they are meant to cure. They are the ideological expression of the enclave society. Their social function is to legitimate identification with the enclave as the primary social unit. The main means they employ to generate solidarity within the small group is the bashing of liberals, practiced as a form of ritual sacrifice.8 The criticism of MacIntyre continues along lines already marked out in Stout’s earlier work. Against the charge that liberalism is a self-defeating project in which a tradition of enquiry attempts to attain a transcendent position of universal reason, Stout contends that it can recognise its character as a tradition without self-referential contradiction. Rather than expressing a single project, liberalism comes instead to denote a set of social practices and institutions that emerge, initially in western Europe and the USA, to accommodate modern societies to the facts of pluralism. Indeed, the term ‘liberalism’ is now generally avoided by Stout, his preference being for the more open-textured and pragmatic notion of ‘democracy’ or ‘democratic modernity’. This generates the further criticism that MacIntyre’s analysis of the liberalism in Three Rival Versions is too narrowly focused on the contributors to the ninth edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. By extending the canon 6 Ibid., p. 105. 7 Ibid., p. 107. 8 Ibid., p. 115. 186 An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout’s ‘Democracy and Tradition’ of democratic writers to include the likes of Whitman, Dewey and T. H. Green, a stronger sense of the richness and variety of this tradition emerges, as well as an awareness of its indebtedness to older classical, romantic and Christian antecedents. Cobbett and Jane Austen are presented by MacIntyre as amongst the last great representatives of virtue ethics. Yet, as Stout shows, Cobbett can equally well be perceived as a forerunner of forms of radical social criticism leading to Orwell, Agee and Wendell Berry. Similar remarks could equally well have been made of Jane Austen as a transitional figure. The emphasis upon marriage for love rather than money, the prioritising of accomplishment above social rank, and the adumbration of later feminism in characters such as Jane Fairfax, provide signs of a shifting social order, albeit one in which much of the past is commended in the face of change. In offering his prognosis, Stout is of course less pessimistic than MacIntyre. Today we have an ‘eclectic diversity of tradition-generated resources of thought and action’9 (the bricolage of Ethics after Babel), yet this is not equivalent to the irreversible fragmentation and incoherence discerned by MacIntyre. Some resolution of seemingly interminable moral conflict appears possible. [W]e have had great debates over whether women should be permitted to vote, whether alcoholic beverages should be banned in a society that cares about the virtue of temperance, and whether blacks should be allowed to sit in the front of the bus. Each of these more recent debates, so far as I can tell, is now over.10 Moreover, in presenting his case, MacIntyre reveals a tendency to employ argument and rhetorical techniques (the idiom of ‘ruin and fragmentation’) that are themselves readily identifiable as borrowing from the setting against which they are directed. One rejoinder, in part anticipated by Stout, runs like this. In MacIntyre’s tradition-centred account of rationality, conversation and argument across traditions can take place. It is possible to understand more than one tradition, just as one can speak more than one language. In this engagement of rival versions of enquiry, it may happen that in the long run one tradition will overcome another, partly by absorbing its best features and partly by proving itself to be more adequate to the resolution of particular problems. To facilitate this process we require institutions and practices that will promote a civil encounter of rival traditions. Hence the university is recommended as a place of ‘constrained disagreement’. In this respect, one can argue for some 9 Ibid., p. 132. 10 Ibid., p. 123. 187 scottish journal of theology standard features of a liberal society on a MacIntyrean basis.11 An account of his philosophy can then be offered that softens its apparent rejection of the ‘liberal’ project. The project may be a failure, but various liberal aspirations are still accommodated within MacIntyre’s programme for a non-violent clash of traditions. In response to this counter-objection, Stout offers something like the following rejoinder. To understand a tradition other than one’s own requires an unusual degree of empathy and imagination, as well as intellectual insight. Aquinas may have displayed a gift for philosophical multi-lingualism, yet it remains lacking in MacIntyre’s caricatures of liberalism as a tradition. Even the complaint that our modern societies have failed to produce ‘institutionalised forums’ is hard to square, argues Stout, with the professional distinction MacIntyre has attained, together with the journals and publishing houses that have enabled both of them to pursue their disagreements in the public domain.12 Nevertheless, this does not quite clinch the case against MacIntyre. What if our problems today, as already registered by Stout, result from the erosion of those earlier moral traditions that initially provided much of the energy and resources for democratic progress? In response to this, as we shall see, Stout has a different narrative to offer, that of ethical pragmatism. The critique of Hauerwas’s work is the most intense within the volume. Revealing a careful study of his writings over a thirty-year period, Stout acknowledges him as the most influential American theologian writing today. Perhaps because Hauerwas’s work resembles, in some of its intentions and outcomes, positions shared by Stout himself, we are offered a sustained engagement with his theology. At its best, his work offers illuminating insights on a range of topics (disability, medicine, suffering) yet its unrelenting assault on liberalism remains deeply frustrating for Stout. The fundamental charge seems to be that the bolting of MacIntyre’s anti- liberalism to Yoder’s dualist ecclesiology leaves the world in a doubly darkened condition. Outside the ark of salvation, the world of political liberalism is also ‘after virtue’.13 While Stout is too good a reader of Hauerwas to waste time on the tiresome charge of ‘sectarianism’, nevertheless he finds his analysis neither philosophically nor theologically plausible. On the philosophical front, criticisms already levelled at MacIntyre apply, mutatis mutandis, to Hauerwas. His account of ‘liberalism’ verges on caricature. Many 11 This is argued, for example, by Jean Porter, ‘Openness and Constraints: Moral Reflection as Tradition-guided Inquiry in Alastair MacIntyre’, Journal of Religion 73 (1993), pp. 514–36. 12 Stout, Democracy and Tradition, p. 139. 13 Ibid., p. 154. 188 An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout’s ‘Democracy and Tradition’ of the novels and essays he draws upon so richly in his writings belong to that wider democratic culture that is otherwise despised. The necessary language of ‘justice’ becomes occluded through its association with a political ethos that is rejected wholesale. The prioritising of the church and the bestowal of epistemological authority upon its moral exemplars runs the risk of an authoritarianism that is profoundly undemocratic in its exclusion of voices that demand a hearing. Say, if you like, that these exemplars constitute an aristocracy. But surely Hauerwas does not suppose that they are to be found in a particular social class or that their spiritual gifts can be correlated with the titles, ranks, or offices of some existing institution, ecclesial or secular.14 The demand for communities of non-violent ethical discipleship is not matched by any obvious manifestation within the empirical church. (MacIntyre’s preference for traditional Thomism scores more highly, at least on this index.) Greater attention to the example of Dorothy Day would pull Hauerwas in a different direction, it is argued, in gauging the respective capacities of church and world for virtuous living.15 Stout reaches the ironic conclusion that the success of Hauerwas’s work is that it is readily assimilated by Christians for whom its implications seem relatively undemanding. It was tempting to infer, half-consciously, that following Jesus involves little more than hating the liberal secularists who supposedly run the country, pitying poor people from a distance, and donating a portion of one’s income to the church. Hauerwas has not done much to guard his readers against this temptation.16 In contrast, a preference is displayed for the theology of Barth, especially as it appears in the recent work of George Hunsinger. Here one finds a ready acknowledgement that the grace of God is neither confined to the church nor exhausted by the ethical endeavour of Christians. Divine action takes place elsewhere, thus creating the possibility of making common cause with other political actors and movements. This banishes the spectre of a strict (Yoderian) dualism between church and world, thus facilitating (contra MacIntyre) a more positive reading of aspects of modern democratic culture. A doubly darkened world now becomes twice brighter. 14 Ibid., p. 167. 15 Ibid., p. 161. 16 Ibid., p. 158. 189 scottish journal of theology The third part of the study leads into rather different territory that may be neglected by those who mine Stout’s work for his criticisms of Hauerwas and radical orthodoxy. This would be a pity since Stout’s defence of ethical pragmatism deserves careful consideration, not least because it is the closest we come here to anything resembling a detailed account of the democratic tradition. Moreover, in providing a counter-narrative to that of MacIntyre, this material is crucial to the earlier argument of the book. The tradition of democracy is depicted as a set of social practices that promote particular habits and attitudes amongst their participants. Given its resources, exponents, genres and typical claims, it merits classification as a ‘tradition’. Yet democracy also involves a resistance to more deferential notions of authority, and a willingness to test and criticise these on occasion. Its commitment to a collegial exercising of authority and its readiness to grant a hearing to everyone who satisfies minimal conditions of civility also mark out some of the more anti-hierarchical features of the democratic tradition. Hence American pragmatism is understood as advocating ‘an anti- traditionalist conception of modern democracy as a tradition’.17 We are dependent upon moral assumptions and patterns of reasoning that have come down to us, and they are inescapable. However, they are also defeasible, for we can test and revise them, although not all at once. Here the pragmatist epistemologies of Sellars, and especially Brandom, are used to illustrate this notion of a defeasible moral authority. ‘Observational social criticism’ is a key feature of the democratic tradition. Critics such as Cobbett, Orwell and Agee did not make it up as they went along. They drew upon a moral vocabulary and a set of images identifiable to their readers, yet in doing so they interrogated and reshaped that same tradition in some of its manifestations. So a critical conversation took place that led to some genuine advances. We need to allow that conversation to continue. What emerges in Stout’s account of ethical pragmatism is a richer understanding of how moral communities actually function. Rather than drawing down a set of universally agreed moral principles and working through their deductive implications for practice, an ethical community uses stories, rituals, advisers, exemplars and patterns of training. The dispositions of the reliable moral observer are not acquired mainly through highly specialized, professional forms of training. They belong to the ethical life of the people as a whole, and are acquired through the same process of moral acculturation that nearly everyone in the 17 Ibid., p. 204. 190 An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout’s ‘Democracy and Tradition’ community undergoes – in the nursery, around the dining room table, in the classroom, on the playing field, and so on.18 The ideal of a common morality should be resisted as a single, comprehensive scheme. Nevertheless, this does not exclude the possibility of moral understanding across shifting contexts and cultures. This will work, provided we adopt an attitude of humility towards ourselves and charity towards others. Such duality seems to exclude both the relativism of anything goes and the absolutism that we may already know every moral truth. Meanwhile, amidst this argument, there is also resistance to patterns of postmodernism that attempt a relentless deconstruction of every positive position, often in tones of moral outrage. The self-defeating, even dishonest, nature of this sort of project is recognised by Stout. Moral outrage requires respect for its own presuppositions and standards, yet once the deconstruction is underway it must turn with a serpentine inevitability upon the hand that feeds it. Postmodernism of this sort often begins with a high quotient of moral seriousness. Its political instinct is to align itself with ordinary people against the systems of power relations that surround them. But the narcissistic and self-refuting implications of the antirealist metaphysics it adopts eventually reduce the critical enterprise to a somewhat farcical academic melodrama.19 A further claim made for moral pragmatism is that it will give us ethics without metaphysics. The concept of ‘truth’ can function ethically in ways analogous to its use in other cognitive contexts, yet this does not require us to offer some moral theory explaining how this is so. In this respect, moral theorists who have had recourse to the notion of divine command (Robert Adams) or natural law (Finnis and Grisez) are mistaken. No such account is necessary to democratic culture. Indeed such accounts may actually threaten this culture when they start to break down. Children can acquire a robust moral vocabulary, including the notion of moral truth, without being offered a metaphysical theory of what makes this possible. In attacking theories of moral realism, Stout is not seeking to exclude the possibility of a theological interpretation of ethics. His quarrel is with those who regard the objectivity of ethics as resting upon the faith of a minority group. Pragmatism attempts to maintain important features of moral objectivity while disengaging these 18 Ibid., p. 222. 19 Ibid., p. 256. 191 scottish journal of theology from metaphysical explanation. The requirement for some transcendental condition of moral excellence becomes otiose. The purpose served by pragmatic ethical theory is rather to make clear that a society divided over the nature and existence of God is not thereby condemned to view its ethical discourse as an unconstrained endeavor. If the God of the philosophers is dead, not everything is permitted. There can still be morally valid obligations to constrain us, as well as many forms of excellence in which to rejoice.20 Insisting that pragmatism does not reduce truth to warranted assertibility, Stout appeals to an argument he locates in Wittgenstein as read by Sabina Lovibond.21 Our notion of truth in ethical discourse is not constituted by social consensus, principally because we have agreed not to treat truth in this way. Therefore, it may be possible for one person to be sincerely and coherently in ethical dispute with the rest of his or her community. Moral discourse can function without shared metaphysical commitments. Theology can subscribe to this sanitised construction of pragmatism through annexing its particular theological claims. In this respect, it is a house with many rooms for quite different inhabitants. With its array of contemporary allusions and historical observations, Stout’s work is rich, subtle yet highly readable. In future, it will be difficult to address these problems without reference to his arguments, insights and criticisms. The serious and careful consideration of recent theological literature in such a high-level philosophical work will give encouragement to those who labour on the interface of church and political society. As a sympathetic though critical outsider, Stout has surely provoked further self- reflection amongst theologians. This applies most obviously to the tradition of democracy. While theology has joined in much of the recent assault on political liberalism, it has had too little to say about its commitment to tolerance, diversity and pluralism. On what basis can these be affirmed, if Rawlsian and other variants of liberalism are antithetical? If Stout does not attempt a full frontal defence of democracy as a moral tradition (the closest he comes to this is in chapter 9), at least he suggests ways in which its historical antecedents offer the beginnings of a theological rationale. The conciliarist traditions of the fourteenth century, the emphasis upon popular consent as legitimising political rule, the demand of Puritans for greater social egalitarianism and the early modern drive towards religious 20 Ibid., p. 268. 21 Ibid., p. 276. 192 An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout’s ‘Democracy and Tradition’ toleration – these point to ways in which theology retains a stake in the democratic process that Stout espouses. Yet his sense of hope in the ‘civic nation’ and its democratic traditions is tempered by the recognition that these are now in serious trouble. Internal pressures within Western societies have created social fragmentation. In America, society has three constituencies each contending for the upper hand; a business elite that controls many of the transnational corporations, those who identify with one or more diasporas and have little sense of national affiliation, and a third group comprising a variety of middle Americans who share a commitment to evangelical Christianity and a construction of national identity in related terms.22 By his reckoning, external pressures have also intensified this sense of crisis. In the war against terror, there has been a neglect of international law, a readiness to abandon the ethical constraints of the just war tradition, and a failure to make the ideological case for democracy. While these particular criticisms will probably provoke more ire from American reviewers than from others, they also indicate some tensions in Stout’s position. Given the critical reading of contemporary democracy shared by Stout, can an account that is more hopeful for its future than that of MacIntyre et al. be sustained? Here Stout can draw upon two valid types of argument. One is merely to point to the ways in which alternative social forms (whether by historical or geographical comparison) may actually be worse. And if neither secular liberalism nor nostalgic traditionalism are viable alternatives, then we appear to be stuck with something like modern democratic culture as the best possible option. This consideration is reinforced by those observations of Stout that reveal much anti-liberalism to participate quite positively in the expressivist, democratic culture that it appears to be attacking. A second type of argument, and one already rehearsed in his previous work, is to offer a modest sociological account of moral reasoning that suggests ways in which, across competing religious convictions, citizens of democratic societies do actually get along and make common cause on a wide range of ethical issues. Hence there remains something like a civic nation. This is reinforced by the capacity of art, sport and other leisure pursuits to unite citizens and draw them into a range of further social networks that need not be defined by ethnic, religious or racial differences. I suspect that Stout could make more of this. The frequent allusions to his experience as a soccer coach point in this direction. Despite these rejoinders, one is left with a suspicion that the problem of contemporary moral fragmentation may require more to be conceded to 22 Here Stout is following the analysis of David Hollinger, ibid., pp. 291ff. 193 scottish journal of theology MacIntyre’s analysis than Stout allows. His ethical pragmatism attempts to show how standard patterns of moral reasoning and an attendant vocabulary with its concepts of moral vision, discovery, seriousness and truth can be maintained in the absence of a single theory that undergirds these. Thus many of the standard disputes of modern moral philosophy are not so much resolved as dissolved. These are beset by pseudo-problems, no single theory of moral objectivity (or subjectivity) being either necessary or plausible. While Stout shows instructively how moral discourse can get along well for much of the time without explicit reference to metaphysical theories, it is not clear that such theory can altogether be dispensed with. His attempt to deal with moral diversity without recourse to subjectivism is more plausible than some, for example John Gray’s defence of moral irrealism when confronted by ‘the ordeal of value pluralism’. But it remains problematic in the face of, say, a Humean pragmatism that, shorn of religious and metaphysical commitments, reduces social morality to a useful contrivance for coping with the exigencies of the human condition. Here the vocabulary of the realist becomes illusory, a means of staining and gilding the world with the colours of our inner sentiments. It was anxieties about the practical effect of such (non)metaphysical commitments that led Thomas Reid to seek an explanation of moral and aesthetic value as proceeding ultimately from the being of God, even if this proved an elusive and quite mysterious notion. Reid’s conviction arose not from an unduly speculative mind or an inflated ontology, but merely from the conviction that without some such account our practical notions of honour, duty and obligation could not be sustained indefinitely. It was our ordinary use of language together with the ways in which children were introduced to moral truths that compelled Reid to realism. Practice demanded an account of moral objectivity that could not be assimilated to notions of warranted assertibility. If our community had resolved not to use the concept of moral truth in a particular way this was the result not of convention but of constraint. Stout’s moral pragmatism seems to make light of these fundamental meta-ethical contests, as if nothing much was at stake. Yet the disorder in our present situation that both he and MacIntyre discern (albeit with different emphases) may be not altogether disconnected from the relative demise under the conditions of modernity of those ethical traditions that reposed upon strong metaphysical commitments about God, scripture, church and human nature. To put the same point rather differently, can the older pieties of family, virtue and religious community, for which Stout wishes to reserve a vital place in modern democratic culture, function without some allegiance to their standard meta-ethical claims? Can citizens maintain their deepest moral convictions indefinitely in the 194 An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout’s ‘Democracy and Tradition’ absence of a worldview that offers an account of human nature and the cosmos? This leads to a further query regarding the extended criticism of Stanley Hauerwas, who is castigated at some length for his rabid and interminable attack on liberalism. While the liberal tradition can be described in terms much broader and richer than he appears to concede (here Stout’s case is persuasive), the force of Hauerwas’s work derives primarily from its conviction of the theological and ethical determination of the church. On one reading of his work, I take him to be quite sanguine about the secular. The impossibility of a return to Christendom enables the church to be more humble, and thus to learn that its identity derives neither from power nor from social status, but from a relationship established by God. Only when the secular state either seeks to deny the public significance of the church or itself to function as a pseudo-religious entity (which happens often enough) is it to be denounced. Furthermore, the greatest contribution Christians can make to the secular world is to live as the church. To do this does not commit us to the claim that we have nothing to learn from those outside the church, or that the action of God is limited to the ecclesial domain. In this regard, Hauerwas’s theology resonates with the approach of Barth that receives repeated support throughout Stout’s book. Extolled for his criticism of the German state in 1934 and a willingness to make common cause with other foci of opposition to the Hitler regime, Barth reveals some leanings that are strikingly similar to those of Hauerwas in our own day. The principal target of Barth’s theological criticism was that fusion of civil and ecclesial communities that had blighted much of German cultural Protestantism. Indeed Barth was accused by some Lutheran critics of advocating a liberal doctrine of the state in so far as his theology seemed to promote a greater dissociation of secular from ecclesial spheres. In criticising forms of civil religion, Hauerwas may be read as likewise suspicious of a fusion of the church and contemporary culture. This must set him against either an integration of church and civil society or a dominance of the latter by the Christian community. What remains is something akin to a secular model in which the church maintains a critical distance from the ‘civic nation’. It is a condition of this relocation of the church that it can exist in both positive and negative relation to its host society, a point recognised by Yoder in his critique of H. R. Niebuhr’s typology.23 This is the neighbourhood within which Hauerwas’s doctrine of the church seems to be situated and 23 See John Howard Yoder, ‘How H. Richard Niebuhr Reasoned: A Critique of Christ and Culture’, in Glen H. Stassen, D. M. Yeager amd John Howard Yoder, Authentic Transformation: A New Vision of Christ and Culture (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996) pp. 31–90. 195 scottish journal of theology is thus closer to Barth (and Stout) than is recognised here. Where Barth does diverge from Hauerwas (and the radically orthodox) is in his greater stress upon the perfections of Christ that must relativise and subordinate the church in ways that prevent an over-determination, inter alia, of its sacramental actions. Nevertheless, it is not clear to me that Hauerwas’s prioritising of the church over the civic nation is misplaced. Where do moral exemplars, such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Martin Luther King and Dorothy Day, emerge if not through communities of worship, education and pastoral care?24 If the ‘civic nation’ requires models of virtue, where will these be found except in sub- groups that nurture their members according to the practices, beliefs and rituals of their faith traditions? These are not sequestered in ways that prevent the secular world acting positively upon the community. I can find nothing much in the Christian tradition or in Hauerwas’s writings to controvert this. His work is a reminder of the indispensability of the gathered congregation as the primary form of the ecclesial body of Christ where the Word of God is heard and the sacraments are celebrated. As such, it is an attempt to think ethically and politically about the ways in which baptism demands an allegiance of us above that of family, civic community and state. For Protestant theology this represents a recovery of some Catholic themes that can be discerned in the writings of the magisterial Reformers,25 while also offering a fairer hearing to those on the radical and free church wing of the Reformation whose theological voices were too often silenced or ignored by the mainstream. And, from Stout’s perspective, the health of such groups is surely vital to a democratic culture that seeks to inculcate virtue in its citizens. A further issue that has troubled me in reading this important study is how well its conclusions can be translated into the very different cultural and political contexts where today most of the church lives. It is written largely for an American audience and most of its illustration and argumentation reflects this setting. Yet in one respect, the role assigned by Stout to religion in the political realm may actually work quite well in settings that have very different religious histories from those of Western countries. Here the aspiration towards a renewed Christendom is almost entirely absent. It is 24 David Chappell’s recent study strikes me as significant in this context. He argues that within the civil rights movement the most effective grouping on the religious left were those with strong theological roots in the black churches. A Stone of Hope: Prophetic Religion and the Death of Jim Crow (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2004). 25 ‘For there is no other way to enter into life except this mother conceive us in her womb, give us birth, nourish us at her breast, and lastly, unless she keep us under her care and guidance until, putting off mortal flesh, we become like the angels’. John Calvin, Institutes IV.i.4. 196 An Appreciation of Jeffrey Stout’s ‘Democracy and Tradition’ remote and irrelevant, for example, to many Asian contexts in which the church is and always has been a minority body. At the same time, a blanket condemnation of liberal society with an accompanying retreat of the church is similarly out of the question. The political and economic turmoil in which many non-Western churches find themselves makes this impossible. While continuing to prioritise their worship, fellowship and mission, churches seek to engage in critical but positive ways with the wider socio-political realities that confront them. It seems to me that Stout’s thesis may translate quite well in such settings. As far as Europe is concerned, however, the situation looks rather different. The standard secularisation thesis that Stout dismisses so quickly looks more plausible as a restricted account of what has happened in western Europe, where many church buildings are now doing time as night clubs, carpet warehouses and residential flats. The current rapidity of church decline should not be underestimated. Those that do survive are attended and supported by an ageing membership. In part, this may explain the attraction of Hauerwas’s writings to those younger Christians, especially clergy, who find themselves in diminishing, beleaguered groups. The prominent public position of William Temple, Reinhold Niebuhr or John Baillie cannot be theirs for the foreseeable future, but they can turn their attention to the formation of congregations as moral communities of worship, witness and discipleship. The validity of this ecclesiological model may be greater than is recognised by Stout in situations where church and parish are now becoming increasingly dissociated. Yet where Stout’s voice might profitably be heard by this constituency is in the reminder that dissociation need not entail hostility or estrangement. For this and much else, we should be grateful to him. David Fergusson New College, University of Edinburgh, Mound Place, Edinburgh EH1 2LX, Scotland d.a.fergusson@ed.ac.uk 197 
work_lhzjqmenafhehmdtygjevdjkwi	----	19: Interdisciplinary Studies in the Long Nineteenth Century Login | Register Home About 19 Live Articles Issues Contact Start Submission Account Login Register Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 This issue of 19 explores the contribution of women as collectors from the mid-nineteenth century to the aftermath of the First World War, paying particular attention to the cosmopolitan transfer of artworks, ideas, and expertise between Britain, France, and the United States. The authors reflect on women’s role in acquiring, displaying, and donating works of art, often in ways that crossed national borders or that subvert gendered assumptions about taste. Beyond its value as a form of personal expression, the articles reflect on how far collecting provided women with a public platform in the late nineteenth century, enabling them to shape the contents of cultural institutions and promote new types of inquiry. But the articles also cast light on the archival and methodological reasons why women’s crucial contributions in this domain have so often been obscured. The idea for this issue originated with the study days organized in 2019 to celebrate the philanthropy of Lady Wallace, who gifted the collections of the Hertford family to the nation. Cover image: Detail of William Rothenstein, The Browning Readers, 1900, oil on canvas, 76 × 96.5 cm, Cartwright Hall Art Gallery, Bradford. Editors: Tom Stammers (Guest Editor) Introduction Women Collectors and Cultural Philanthropy, c. 1850–1920 Tom Stammers 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Article ‘Life was a spectacle for her’: Lady Dorothy Nevill as Art Collector, Political Hostess, and Cultural Philanthropist Caroline McCaffrey-Howarth 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Beyond the Bowes Museum: The Social and Material Worlds of Alphonsine Bowes de Saint-Amand Lindsay Macnaughton 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 French Taste in Victorian England: The Collection of Yolande Lyne-Stephens Laure-Aline Griffith-Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Unmasking an Enigma: Who Was Lady Wallace and What Did She Achieve? Suzanne Higgott 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 More than Mere Ornaments: Female Visitors to Sir Richard Wallace’s Art Collection Helen C. Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 New Collections for New Women: Collecting and Commissioning Portraits at the Early Women’s University Colleges Imogen Tedbury 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Ellen Tanner’s Persia: A Museum Legacy Rediscovered Catrin Jones 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 The Artistic Patronage and Transatlantic Connections of Florence Blumenthal Rebecca Tilles 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 A Woman of No Importance?: Elizabeth Workman’s Collection of Impressionist and Post-Impressionist Art in Context Frances Fowle 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Afterword Afterword Kate Hill 2021-01-05 Issue 31 • 2021 • Women Collectors: Taste, Legacy, and Cultural Philanthropy c. 1850–1920 Created by potrace 1.14, written by Peter Selinger 2001-2017 | 1755-1560 | Published by Open Library of Humanities | Privacy Policy Sitemap Contact Login 
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work_ljnirxuenvfhdgyxppsrm6wweq	----	CONTRIBUTORS Eighteenth-Century Music 2/1, 1–2 © 2005 Cambridge University Press DOI: 10.1017/S1478570605000217 Printed in the United Kingdom c o n t r i b u t o r s Melania Bucciarelli received her PhD in 1998 from King’s College London, with a dissertation on eighteenth-century opera and theatre, and was Lecturer in Music at Oxford Brookes University until 2004. She is author of Italian Opera and European Theatre, 1680–1720: Plots, Performers, Dramaturgies (Turnhout: Brepols, 2000) and co-editor of Italian Opera in Central Europe: Institutions and Ceremonies (forthcoming for Berlin-Verlag). She currently holds a fellowship from the Gladys Krieble Delmas Foundation to carry out research on opera in Venice (forthcoming for Leo S. Olschki). David J. Buch is Professor of Music History at the University of Northern Iowa. His most recent book is Schikaneders heroisch-komische Oper Der Stein der Weisen – Modell für Mozarts Zauberflöte: Kritische Ausgabe des Textbuchs, written with Manuela Jahrmärker (Göttingen: Hainholz, 2002); currently he is writing ‘Magic Flutes and Enchanted Forests: Music and the Supernatural in the Eighteenth-Century Theatre’ and is working on a critical edition of the opera Der Stein der Weisen (Vienna, 1790). William E. Caplin, James McGill Professor of Music Theory at McGill University, specializes in the theory of musical form and the history of harmonic and rhythmic theories of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. His book Classical Form: A Theory of Formal Functions for the Instrumental Music of Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998) won the 1999 Wallace Berry Award from the Society for Music Theory. Thomas Christensen is Professor of Music and the Humanities at the University of Chicago. A former president of the Society for Music Theory (1999–2001), his research has centred on the intersections of music theory and intellectual history in the eighteenth century. John Collins, organist at St George’s, Worthing, has been researching Iberian and English keyboard music for over twenty years. He has published articles and reviews in the Yearbook of the Royal College of Organists, The Diapason and Clavichord International and lectured at the Royal College of Music and FIMTE in Mojácar, as well as assisting Professor Urioal from Zaragoza in introducing the Iberian repertory to the RCO Cambridge Spring School and at the British Clavichord Society’s Iberian Day. He has also translated texts for English and Iberian universities and publishers. Barry Cooper is a Professor of Music at the University of Manchester. He has written or edited six books on Beethoven, the most recent being Beethoven in the Master Musicians series (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), and is currently working on a new edition of the piano sonatas. Guy Dammann is currently completing his PhD dissertation at King’s College London on ‘The Morality of Musical Imitation in Jean-Jacques Rousseau’. In general his research is concerned with the aesthetics and philosophy of music, and besides his thesis he is working on projects dealing with the relationship between philosophical aesthetics and arts criticism, and between music and emotion. Drew Edward Davies is a PhD candidate in Musicology at the University of Chicago, where he is completing a dissertation entitled ‘The Italianized Frontier: Music at Durango Cathedral, Español Culture, and the Aesthetics of Devotion in Eighteenth-Century New Spain’. His work approaches European and New World musical sources surviving in Mexico from the perspective of globalizing tendencies in eighteenth-century musical style and devotional practice. Beverly Jerold’s articles have been published in BACH: Journal of the Riemenschneider Bach Institute, The Instrumentalist, College Music Symposium, Early Music, The American Organist, American String Teacher and Choral Journal. Others are forthcoming in The Strad, Recherches sur la musique française classique and The American Organist. Berta Joncus is a British Academy Postdoctoral Fellow at St Catherine’s College, Oxford. She recently completed her DPhil degree at Oxford University, after taking a masters degree at the University of Bonn and working as an editor for The New Grove Dictionary of Music. She is currently preparing a book on ballad opera and the popular music industry of eighteenth-century London. David Wyn Jones is a Reader in Music at Cardiff University. His published work includes studies of Haydn and Beethoven, and of the practices of music dissemination in the eighteenth century. He is currently working on a book entitled ‘The Symphony in Beethoven’s Vienna’. Elisabeth LeGuin is a respected Baroque cellist, with numerous recordings to her credit, and Associate Professor of Musicology at UCLA; her book ‘Boccherini’s Body: An Essay in Carnal Musicology’ will appear in May 2005 from University of California Press. Sarah McCleave, a Lecturer in Music at the Queen’s University of Belfast, is a founding member of that institution’s Centre for Eighteenth-Century Studies. Her research on theatrical dance (particularly in the operas of Handel) has featured in American, British and European publications. Marita Petzoldt McClymonds is Professor Emeritus of Music at the University of Virginia. She lectures and writes on seventeenth- and eighteenth-century music and on opera in general. She is especially interested in innovation and reform in Italian opera seria. Thomas McGeary has taught music history at the University of Illinois and North Texas University and published widely on a range of topics concerned with the music and culture of eighteenth-century Britain. He is 1https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570605000217 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570605000217 https://www.cambridge.org/core completing a book on opera, satire and politics in the era of Handel, Pope and Walpole. Mary Sue Morrow is a Professor of Musicology at the College-Conservatory of Music, University of Cincinnati. She has written on various aspects of eighteenth-century music, including concert life and instrumental music aesthetics, and is currently working with Bathia Churgin on a volume about the symphony in the eighteenth century. Sterling E. Murray is Chair and Professor of Music History in the School of Music at West Chester University and current president of the Society for Eighteenth-Century Music. He is co-editor with Sonja Gerlach of Sinfonien 1782–1784, volume 11 of series 1 in the Joseph Haydn Werke published by the Joseph Haydn Institute in Cologne (Henle, 2003). His thematic catalogue of the music of Antonio Rosetti (Anton Rösler , c1750–1792) was published in 1996 by Harmonie Park Press; he is currently working on a biography of Rosetti and a stylistic study of his music. Suzana Ograjenšek has been a PhD student at Selwyn College, Cambridge, and is now a Research Fellow at Clare Hall, Cambridge. She is currently finishing her dissertation on Handel’s final operas for the Royal Academy in London and planning a monograph on the intellectual history of opera seria in early eighteenth-century Britain. She is the editor of Il pastor fido for the Hallische Händel-Ausgabe. Linton Powell is Professor of Organ, Harpsichord and Musicology at the University of Texas at Arlington. He has written numerous articles on Spanish keyboard music and is a noted performer of same. John A. Rice has published books on Mozart’s La clemenza di Tito, the operas of Antonio Salieri and Empress Marie Therese (reigned 1792–1807) as musician and patron. He has also edited a collection of articles by Daniel Heartz, From Garrick to Gluck: Essays on Opera in the Age of Enlightenment (Hillsdale, NY: Pendragon, 2004). Matthew Riley is a Lecturer in Music at the University of Birmingham. He is author of Musical Listening in the German Enlightenment: Attention, Wonder and Astonishment (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004). David Schulenberg is author of The Keyboard Music of J. S. Bach (London: Gollancz, 1993), The Instrumental Music of C. P. E. Bach (Ann Arbor: UMI, 1984) and Music of the Baroque (New York: Oxford University Press, 2001). He is a Professor of Music at Wagner College in New York and has recorded as harpsichordist and fortepianist on the Naxos and Hungaroton labels. Julia Simon is a Professor of French at the University of California, Davis. She is the author of Beyond Contractual Morality: Ethics, Law, and Literature in Eighteenth- Century France (Rochester: University of Rochester Press 2001). She is currently working on a book-length study of the dissemination of musical knowledge. Ruth Smith read English at Cambridge and received her Cambridge PhD for her book Handel’s Oratorios and Eighteenth-Century Thought (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). Having worked initially in publishing (including New Grove), for the last twenty years she has combined writing and lecturing on Handel with her position as a Careers Adviser at the Cambridge University Careers Service. W. Dean Sutcliffe is a Reader in Music at the University of Cambridge and a Fellow of St Catharine’s College. His recent publications include The Keyboard Sonatas of Domenico Scarlatti and Eighteenth-Century Musical Style (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003) and Adalbert Gyrowetz: Three String Quartets, Op. 44 (Ann Arbor: Steglein, 2004), the first modern edition of this music originally published by Artaria in Vienna in 1804. An edition of the Op. 42 quartets of Gyrowetz is forthcoming. Linda V. Troost is a Professor of English at Washington and Jefferson College in Washington, PA. She has published on English comic opera in Eighteenth-Century Studies, New Grove and New Grove Dictionary of Opera and has two essays in print on eighteenth-century Robin Hood comic operas (in Robin Hood in Popular Culture (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2000) and Robin Hood: Medieval and Post Medieval (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2005)). In addition, she edited Jane Austen in Hollywood (second edition, Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2001) with Sayre Greenfield and is the founding editor of Eighteenth-Century Women, an annual publication of AMS Press. Susan Wollenberg is a Reader in Music at the University of Oxford and Fellow and Tutor of Lady Margaret Hall, as well as Lecturer in Music at Brasenose College. Her recent publications include Concert Life in Eighteenth-Century Britain, co-edited with Simon McVeigh (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004). 2 C O N T R I B U T O R S � https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570605000217 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1478570605000217 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_lqbihtcu4favlbdwon7p5asqum	----	195Ana Claudia Pinheiro Dias NOGUEIRA Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 O erotismo e o desejo na obra Salomé, de Oscar Wilde Ana Claudia Pinheiro Dias NOGUEIRA1 Resumo: Oscar Wilde traz à tona uma nova mulher em sua versão de Salomé, peça teatral com foco central na personagem bíblica Salomé, que, aos olhos do autor, se mostra conduzida pelos seus desejos e pelo erotismo, que a embriaga e a leva as últimas consequências: beijar os lábios do profeta Iokanaan a qualquer preço. Para isso, a jovem princesa faz a dança dos setes véus para o rei Herodes e comprova que pode ter tudo com sua beleza e sensualidade, mesmo que isso possa lhe valer a vida. Esse artigo pretende mostrar de que forma o erotismo, o desejo, a morte e o corpo conduzem os rumos da versão de Wilde, baseado em obras teóricas como O erotismo, de George Bataille (1987), A dupla chama, de Octavio Paz (1994), O corpo perigoso de Linda Hutcheon. Pode-se perceber, que muitas vezes, para que o desejo possa ser correspondido são necessários grandes sacrifícios, mesmo que isso leve a morte, como consequência e consumação. Palavra-chaves: erotismo; análise literária; feminilidade; obra clássica. Abstract: Oscar Wilde brings out a new woman in his Salome version, theatrical piece with a central focus on the biblical character Salome, the author’s eyes shows performed by its desires and its eroticism, that intoxicates and brings the ultimate consequences : kiss the lips of the prophet Iokanaan at any price. For this, the young princess is the dance of the seven veils for King Herod and proves that you can have it all with her beauty and sensuality , even if it might be worth his life. This article aims to show how eroticism , desire, death and the body lead the direction of Wilde’s version , based on the works as Eroticism , George Bataille (1987 ) , The double flame, Octavio Paz (1994) , The dangerous body of Linda Hutcheon . Therefore, it can be seen that often , that desire can be matched is required great sacrifices , even if it takes death as a result and consummation. Keywords: eroticism; literary analysis; femininity; classic. “Não há melhor meio para se familiarizar com a morte do que associá-la a uma idéia libertina”.2 Marquês de Sade Wilde e Salomé: o início Oscar Wilde inicia sua carreira literária em Londres em 1879 após terminar os estudos na Universidade de Oxford. Inicia-se na poesia e no romance e sai do anonimato, alcançando enorme reconhecimento. Apesar de seu sucesso com a obra O retrato de Dorian Gray em 1890, Wilde não consegue ocultar seu interesse pela dramaturgia. Embora 1 Doutoranda da Pós-Graduação de Estudo da Linguagem, Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Norte (UFRN). João Pessoa-PB. Correio eletrônico: anaclaudia.pinheirodias@gmail.com. 2 Citação mencionada no livro O erotismo, de George Bataille, 1987, p. 10. 196 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 tenha tentado – em vão – duas vezes escrever peças que não foram aceitas pela crítica e pelo público -, o escritor posicionou-se novamente como dramaturgo e se dedica ao ofício que tanto lhe causava fascínio. Ilustração de Aubrey Beardsley para a obra Salomé de Oscar Wilde, em 1892.3 Em Paris, Wilde concebe sua obra teatral intitulada Salomé. Baseado na história contada nas passagens bíblicas Mateus 14:1-11 e Marcos 6:17-28, o autor inspirou-se na figura emblemática da princesa que, ao dançar para o rei Herodes, pede em troca a cabeça do profeta João Batista em uma bandeja de prata. Tal personagem lhe despertou tamanho interesse, que o leva a fazer o seguinte comentário: “Estou a escrever uma peça acerca de uma mulher que dança descalça sobre o sangue de um homem que ela desejara e mandara matar. Quero que toque algo de acordo com os meus pensamentos” (BARBUDO, 2000, p.09). Seria uma afronta ao sagrado, uma reformulação para o profano, com ares de pureza juvenil? Publicada primeiramente em francês, em 1892, e posteriormente 3 Todas as ilustrações presentes no artigo pertencem ao ilustrador inglês Aubrey Beardsley para obra Salomé. Fonte: http://www.bl.uk/collection-items/aubrey-beardsley-illustrations- for-salome-by-oscar-wilde. Acesso em: 20 mar. de 2015. 197Ana Claudia Pinheiro Dias NOGUEIRA Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 em inglês (versão ilustrada belamente por Aubrey Beardsley), em 1893, Salomé chegou a ser encenada em Paris, porém não durou muito tempo. Considerada pela crítica como uma obra subversiva, Wilde foi impedido de difundir a história de sua heroína na época. Umas das críticas tecidas à obra naquela ocasião: “É uma combinação de sangue e ferocidade mórbida, bizarra, repulsiva e profundamente ofensiva, na sua adaptação de uma linguagem bíblica a situações que são o inverso do sagrado” (BARBUDO, 2000, p.10) Oscar Wilde expande suas concepções sobre a jovem personagem que lhe inspira escrever Salomé. Pretendia que sua personagem fosse ao mesmo tempo a incorporação da sensualidade e uma virgem casta. Linda Hutcheon descreve a moça como “A beleza demoníaca que poderia atrair os homens para a perdição e que, por isso, provocava naquele que a contemplava medo e atração, terror e desejo” (HUTCHEON, 2003, p.29) Diferente da personagem bíblica, que pede a cabeça do profeta João Batista para agradar a mãe Herodias, Salomé também pede a cabeça do profeta (por quem se apaixona) — que, na história wildeana, 198 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 chama-se Iokannan —, pela paixão e pelo prazer de possuir o seu amado a qualquer custo. É a representação feminina como figura que possui poder de sedução, dotada de seus próprios desejos e paixões, e que usa de seus atributos físicos para consegui-los. Não só a Wilde, a figura da princesa Salomé trouxe fascínio e inquietações. Outros escritores e artistas da época retrataram seus interesses e olhares particulares sobre a misteriosa moça: Flaubert escrevera Sallambô (1862) e Hérodias (1877) e Mallarmé publicaria, em 1898, o poema dramático Herodiade. O pintor simbolista Gustave Moreau tornara-se, entretanto, famoso pelo cunho simultaneamente místico e erótico conferido a Salomé, que pintara dançando ou admirando a cabeça decepada de S. João Baptista. Um dos seus quadros, Salomé dansant, exibido em 1876, inspirara nomeadamente Huysmans, autor do romance decadentista À Rebours. Des Esseintes, herói deste romance, ao descrever Salomé como uma deusa de perversa luxúria, afasta-se, tanto como Moreau, da imagem traçada no Novo Testamento (BARBUDO, 2000, p.11). Salomé, na visão de Wilde e de outros artistas mencionados acima, é a incorporação do desejo, do erotismo, da sensualidade. Nasce uma nova mulher, uma nova Salomé em plena era Vitoriana. Isso pode ser justificado na fala de Gelson Peres da Silva, em seu artigo “Salomé e Oscar Wilde: Questionamentos”: Rodeados por uma sociedade na qual a mulher buscava acima de tudo casar-se para ser considerada honrada e bem vista por seus pares, Jane Austen ironiza o casamento e Oscar Wilde evoca, assim como outros autores do Realismo inglês, o desejo feminino tão ensurdecido e proibido, levando indubitavelmente a platéia e o leitor a questionamentos que o mundo do final do século XIX soava (SILVA, 2001, p.54). Baseados nesses levantamentos, veremos o percurso que o autor construiu para mostrar a personalidade perspicaz e determinada de sua personagem Salomé. Durante a peça, constrói-se uma figura erótica feminina, que movida pelo desejo, usa sua dança considerada dionisíaca e de seu corpo para conseguir o que quer, mesmo que isso acarrete um fim trágico. O Enredo: Salomé de Wilde Recorrente na Era cristã, a história relata uma situação festiva 199Ana Claudia Pinheiro Dias NOGUEIRA Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 do tetrarca Herodes e sua família, constituída por sua esposa Herodias (vale ressaltar que Herodias era esposa do irmão de Herodes) e Salomé, filha de Herodias, sobrinha de Herodes. Herodes mantém em cativeiro o profeta Iokanaan (que na Bíblia é conhecido como João Batista), perante o qual Herodias alimenta pavor e ódio pelo fato de o profeta acusá-la como adultera, indigna de respeito e fadada à maldição. Durante uma festa, em noite enluarada no palácio do rei Herodes, Salomé vai ao terraço do castelo e questiona o jovem sírio (soldado da confiança do rei, que admira a beleza de Salomé e que está de sentinela na ocasião) sobre o homem que está em cativeiro na cisterna do castelo, que se põe a gritar. Ela exige conhecê-lo, porém o profeta recusa-se a ver sua face e o jovem sírio julga a vontade da moça inapropriada. Iokanaan a vê como outra mulher indigna de respeito e detentora da destruição moral. O profeta se posiciona da seguinte maneira diante da situação: Para trás! Filha da Babilônia! Não vos aproximeis do eleito do Senhor. A tua mãe encheu a terra com o vinho das suas iniquidades, e o clamor dos seus pecados chegou aos ouvidos de Deus. [...] Para trás, filha da Babilônia! Foi através da mulher que o mal entrou no mundo. Não faleis comigo. Não te quero ouvir. Eu só ouço as palavras do Senhor (WILDE, 2000, p.45-46). Com muita insistência, o jovem sírio se rende aos pedidos da princesa e a leva a cisterna do profeta. Salomé consegue ver brevemente a figura do homem encarcerado, que lhe desperta assombro, porém encantamento: Iokanaan! Estou enamorada do teu corpo. O teu corpo é branco como os lírios de um campo que nunca foi ceifado por um ceifeiro. O teu corpo é branco como as neves que cobrem as montanhas da Judéia e descem para os vales. As rosas do jardim da Rainha da Arábia não são tão brancas como o teu corpo. Nem as rosas do jardim da Rainha da Arábia, nem os pés da aurora que pisam as folhas, nem o seio da lua quando se reclina sobre o seio do mar... Não há nada no mundo tão branco como o teu corpo. Deixa-me tocar o teu corpo! (WILDE, 2000, p.47,). Ao invés de se chocar com as palavras de homem ditas anteriormente, quer a todo custo beijar seus lábios; apaixona-se pelo inatingível, diz “Hei de beijar a tua boca, Iokanaan. Hei de beijar a tua boca” (WILDE, 2000, p.49). 200 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 O profeta a amaldiçoa como amaldiçoa Herodias, e nega-se a beijá-la, dizendo “Não quero olhar para ti. Não olharei para ti. Tu estás amaldiçoada, Salomé, tu estás amaldiçoada”! (WILDE, 2000, p.53) Começa assim o desejo intenso de Salomé pelo profeta. Tudo que a jovem deseja, consegue com seus atributos femininos e delicados, porém, nesse caso, não conseguiu atrair sua atenção. Assim, ela se torna obstinada a conseguir um beijo de Iokanaan, mesmo que isso custe a vida do tão desejado homem de palavras ferinas e irredutível aos seus encantos femininos. Para ilustrar tal reação, Linda Hutcheon faz o seguinte comentário sobre a cena mencionada: Mas a Salomé da abertura é bela e jovem; é uma criança impulsiva e mimada que quer tudo a seu modo, uma princesa paparicada que vive em seu próprio mundo, como convém ao narcisismo dos jovens. [...] A resposta de Iokanaan a Salomé é um ataque (implicitamente sexuado) a todas as mulheres, por terem primeiro trazido a maldade ao mundo. A rejeição as suas investidas faz Salomé responder, desta vez, com uma série de imagens hediondas do corpo dele, que ela agora diz que odeia. (HUTCHEON, 2003, p.30) Para que isso fique esclarecido e justificado, em uma de suas falas, Iokanaan agride verbalmente Herodias, mãe de Salomé, e mostra sua posição em relação ao desejo e à figura feminina: “É assim que abolirei os crimes da face da terra, e as mulheres aprenderão a não imitar as suas abominações” (WILDE, 2000, p.74). 201Ana Claudia Pinheiro Dias NOGUEIRA Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 Durante a festa, Herodes pede para Salomé dançar para ele. No primeiro momento, a princesa se nega a dançar. Porém, Salomé vê a oportunidade de conseguir o que mais quer: beijar Iokanaan. Para isso, a jovem, tomada pelo desejo, pelo fascínio erótico, faz seu pedido insólito: em troca da dança, quer a cabeça de Iokanaan em uma bandeja de prata, o que se assemelha ao relato bíblico. A Dança dos Sete Véus é a parte mais conhecida da peça. O texto de Wilde, como a Bíblia, não descreve a dança, embora Wilde a nomeie. Vale ressaltar que Herodes promete tudo o que a jovem quiser em troca da dança, porém Salomé só faz o pedido depois de realizá- la. O rei não consegue conceber tal atrocidade e lhe oferece todo o bem material que possui; não consegue acreditar no pedido feito pela enteada; afinal a cabeça que lhe é pedida é considerada por ele de um homem santo. Herodes, a contragosto e se sentindo muito culpado, corresponde ao desejo de Salomé por se considerar um homem que cumpre com sua palavra. Mas ele tenta mudar a idéia da jovem, argumentando: No fundo, não acredito que estejais a falar a sério. A cabeça de um homem decapitado é algo muito feio, não é? Não é uma coisa que deva ser vista por uma virgem. Que prazer é que isso vos poderia dar? Nenhum (WILDE, 2000, p.93). Nada a convence e Salomé segue com seu pedido. A princesa, quando recebe a bandeja de prata com a cabeça de seu amado profeta, profere a seguinte fala: [...] Oh , como te amei! E ainda de amo, Iokanaan. Só te amo a ti... Tenho sede de sua beleza. Tenho fome do teu corpo. E nem o vinho nem a fruta podem apaziguar o meu desejo. Que hei de fazer agora, Iokanaan? Não há cheias nem chuvas que possam apagar a minha paixão. Eu era uma princesa, e tu desprezaste-me. Eu era virgem, e tu desfloraste-me. Eu era casta, e tu encheste-me as veias de fogo... Ah! Ah! Por que é que não olhaste para mim, Iokanaan? Se tivesses olhando para mim, ter-me-ias amado. Sei muito bem que me terias amado, e o mistério do amor é maior do que o mistério da morte. Só devíamos pensar no amor (WILDE, 2000, p.103). Após essa declaração, Salomé consume o desejo e o prometido, com tom caprichoso e demoníaco: Ah! Beijei a tua boca, Iokanaan, beijei a tua boca. Havia um sabor amargo nos teus lábios. Seria o sabor do sangue?... Mas talvez seja o sabor do amor... Dizem que o amor tem um sabor 202 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 amargo... Mas que importa? Eu beijei a tua boca, Iokanaan, eu beijei a tua boca. (WILDE, 2000, , p.103-104). O rei Herodes, ao presenciar Salomé com a cabeça de Iokanaan nas mãos e fazendo-lhe juras de amor e beijando-a, sente- se aterrorizado com a ação da princesa, e ordena que os soldados a matem também. Sela-se o final da versão da figura bíblica de Oscar Wilde, mostrando o poder repressor do homem diante dos desejos femininos. O erótico, a morte, a dança, o desejo, o corpo: a composição de Salomé O que leva uma mulher fazer tamanha atrocidade em nome da correspondência de um desejo altamente movido pelo erótico e pelo capricho de não ser admirada? Ao nos depararmos com o final da história, é possível questionar se há limites concretos e racionais quando se trata do ato de sentir e se envolver passionalmente com uma situação que lhe sai do controle. Quando estamos diante de uma obra erótica, é difícil não nos sentirmos perturbados. Afinal, o erotismo aciona outros temas, como violência, perda de si, animalidade, dor com prazer. Algo nele vai contra o pacto social. Como já sugeria Bataille (1987), o erotismo mexe com 203Ana Claudia Pinheiro Dias NOGUEIRA Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 o ser. Nas suas palavras: “O erotismo do homem difere da sexualidade animal justamente no ponto em que ele põe a vida interior em questão. O erotismo é na consciência do homem aquilo que, nele, põe o ser em questão” (BATAILLE, 1987, p.21). Mas como é composta essa eroticidade em Salomé? Segundo George Bataille. “Essencialmente, o domínio do erotismo é o domínio da violência, o domínio da violação” (BATAILLE, 1987, p.13). E mais adiante: “O erotismo é, de forma geral, infração à regra dos interditos: é uma atividade humana. Mas, ainda que ele comece onde termina o animal, a animalidade não deixa de ser o seu fundamento” (BATAILLE, 1987, p.21). Para Octavio Paz, o ato erótico, se desprende do ato sexual. Nas palavras do autor, ele “é sexo e é outra coisa” (PAZ, 1994, p.14). Assim, “o erotismo é invenção, variação incessante; enquanto que o sexo é sempre o mesmo” (PAZ, 1994, p.16). Em todo encontro erótico, há um personagem invisível e sempre ativo: a imaginação, o desejo. Segundo Paz, existe uma ambiguidade no erotismo: é repressão e permissão, sublimação e perversão. “O erotismo é a sexualidade transfigurada pela imaginação humana” (PAZ, 1994, p.24). Salomé foi tomada pela sua imaginação e pelo seu lado animalesco e instintivo. Não sabendo o que fazer para se satisfazer, ter acesso ao “corpo” do amado, viu na dança pedida, sua arma, seu poder manifestado. A jovem utiliza seu corpo dançante tanto sensualmente de forma dionisíaca quanto como um meio para um fim: a satisfação de seu obsessivo desejo e sua forte vontade infantil (HUTCHEON, 2003, p.39). O poder da dança traz a Salomé o controle que almeja para consumar seu desejo por Iokanaan. Hutcheon menciona essa perigosa relação dionisíaca entre a dança e o corpo, como uma ameaça: Relacionada, portanto, ao irracional assim como ao corpóreo, a dança é tida como algo que se apodera do dançarino, geralmente sem o consentimento da mente racional. Portanto, a dança era freqüentemente proibida porque tanto a religião quanto as autoridades profanas reconheciam e temiam seu poder (HUTCHEON, 2003, p. 23). A partir da dança, pode-se dizer que a peça discorre para o trágico. É a “moeda de troca” para consumação do desejo. Ao terminar 204 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 sua dança para o rei Herode, Salomé enuncia: “É para meu próprio prazer que peço a cabeça de Iokanaan numa bandeja de prata. Vós jurastes, Herodes. Não esqueçais que fizestes um juramento” (WILDE, 2000, p. 93). É uma figura feminina que se apresenta como ser com direito de expressar sua sexualidade. “Salomé viria a representar, mesmo em sua juventude, todas as mulheres” (HUTCHEON, 2003, p.31). A jovem princesa mostrou-se disposta a tudo, até matar a pessoa amada, como pagar com sua própria vida seu desejo erótico não consumado. Mas, na paixão, a imagem dessa fusão toma corpo, às vezes de maneira diferente para cada um dos amantes. “Para além de sua imagem, de seu projeto, a fusão precária que reserva a sobrevivência do egoísmo individual pode, por seu lado, entrar na realidade” (BATAILLE, 1987, p.16). Bataille defende que a posse do ser amado não significa a morte; ao contrário, a sua busca implica a morte. Se o amante não pode possuir o ser amado, algumas vezes pensa em matá-lo: muitas vezes ele preferiria matar a perdê-lo. Ele deseja em outros casos sua própria morte. O que está em jogo nessa fúria é o sentimento de uma continuidade possível percebida no ser amado. (BATAILLE, 1987, p.15). O erotismo abre para a morte. A morte abre para a negação da duração individual. Poderíamos, sem violência interior, assumir uma negação que nos leva ao limite de todo o possível? (BATAILLE, 1987, p. 18). O Erotismo vai provocar o campo do sagrado e das interdições, onde o lícito e o ilícito tornam-se a maneira dos sujeitos enquadrarem suas sexualidades. No final da peça, quando Salomé beija a boca de Iokanaan, [...] a violência, a morte e o desejo se reúnem e contrastam com a ênfase do texto na teimosia da virgem casta que aprendeu o significado do poder. Mesmo antes de sua famosa Dança dos Sete Véus, Salomé usou o conhecimento que tinha de seu poder, um poder inseparável de seu corpo físico. Aquela dança é parte do calculado jogo de trocas com Herodes – no qual ela oferece seu corpo como espetáculo sensual, sexual aos olhos dele, em troca da promessa de que vai satisfazer tanto sua teimosia letal quanto sua destrutiva obsessão sexual por beijar a boca do resistente profeta (HUTCHEON, 2003, p.36). Neste sentido, compreendemos o Erotismo, também, como uma forma de resistência do sujeito, por delinear caminhos transgressores, 205Ana Claudia Pinheiro Dias NOGUEIRA Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 escapando da vigilância e do poder disciplinador (no caso Herodes) que regulam os comportamentos dentro de uma moral, estabelecendo o permitido e o proibido (BARROS, 2007, p. 8). O corpo perde voz, porque está morto, porém seus atos continuam repercutindo na memória coletiva. Considerações finais Salomé de Oscar Wilde mostra a face oblíqua feminina. Silenciada pela morte, esse poder feminino suscita reflexão. Qual é o limite do corpo e do prazer? Sabendo de seus artifícios, a expressão do erótico e do desejo traz conflitos e pudores que ainda são mantidos trancados a sete chaves na sociedade. Salomé consegue construir uma figura de ternura e assombro, de inocência e dissimulação. Como a Lua, que tem suas fases — o que não a deixa menos bela e hipnotizante —, a jovem princesa transmuta para expressar suas intenções. Usa seu corpo, sua beleza e encantos para seduzir quem a contempla. Injuria-se por não ter a admiração de Iokanaan, o único homem que se nega a olhá-la. De fato, pode ser a reversão do poder do olhar que contribui para a ansiedade que Salomé consegue inspirar em que a vê. Sua paixão assassina nos leva a refletir sobre os limites do desejo: será que há algum? Na formulação de Susan McClary “a monstruosidade das transgressões sexuais e cromáticas de Salomé é tanta que a extrema violência parece justificada — até mesmo exigida — para salvar a ordem social e tonal” (apud HUTCHEON, 2003, p. 42). A morte de Salomé foi o preço pago por saciar o desejo da moça e de todos que a contemplavam. Salomé sacrificou seu próprio corpo. O mal foi eliminado pela raiz; o erotismo levou as últimas consequências e o poder maior (masculino, representado por Herodes) tomou posto, de forma passional também. A feminilidade foi castrada mais uma vez, porém nunca silenciada, o que perpassa e que nos atrai o olhar e causa incômodo até hoje. Pode-se dizer que Wilde consolidou o que pretendia: construir uma figura feminina que causasse repulsa e admiração; que causasse reflexões intimistas nos leitores/espectadores mais desavisados: o poder do corpo erótico que consuma e sacia o desejo. 206 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.esp., p. 195-206, ago/dez 2015 Referências BARBUDO, Isabel. Prefácio. In: Salomé. Trad. Isabel Barbudo. Lisboa: Ed. Estampa, 2000. BARROS, Lindinês Gomes de. Erotismo: uma resistência do sujeito às proibições. Revista Inter-legere. Rio Grande do Norte. Ano 1, n. 1, jan/jul de 2007, p. 1-8. BATAILLES, Georges. O Erotismo. tradução de Antonio Carlos Viana. Porto Alegre : L&PM, 1987. HUTCHEON, Linda; HUTCHEON, Michael. O corpo perigoso. Revista Estudos Femininos. Florianópolis, v. 11, n. 1, jan.-jun. 2003. Disponível em: < http://www.scielo.br/scielo.php?script=sci_ arttext&pid=S0104026X2003000100003&lng=&nrm=iso&tlng >. Acesso em 20 mar.2015. PAZ, Octavio. (1994). A dupla chama. São Paulo: Siciliano, 1994. SILVA, Gelson Peres da. Salomé de Oscar Wilde: Questionamentos. Revista Textura, nº 4, 1º semestre de 2001, p. 53-57. WILDE, Oscar. Salomé. Trad. Isabel Barbudo. Lisboa : Ed. Estampa, 2000. Recebido em: 19 de set. de 2015. Aceito em: 26 de jun. de 2016. 
work_ltaxg7rysbgh3ehy5yxj2v34ym	----	Review: Victorian Skin: Surface, Self, History, by Pamela K. Gilbert | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 74, Issue 4 March 2020 Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Book Review| March 31 2020 Review: Victorian Skin: Surface, Self, History, by Pamela K. Gilbert Pamela K. Gilbert, Victorian Skin: Surface, Self, History . Ithaca :  Cornell University Press ,  2019 . Pp. xiv + 434. $49.95. Irene Tucker Irene Tucker University Of California, Irvine Irene Tucker is Professor of English at University of California, Irvine, and a member of the Advisory Board of Nineteenth-Century Literature. Her publications include A Probable State: The Novel, the Contract and the Jews (2000), The Moment of Racial Sight: A History (2012), and A Brief Genealogy of Jewish Republicanism: Parting Ways with Judith Butler (2016). She is currently at work on a collection of essays exploring ambivalences about state sovereignty in modern Jewish and Israeli political, cultural, and literary writing. Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Literature (2020) 74 (4): 539–543. https://doi.org/10.1525/ncl.2020.74.4.539 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Irene Tucker; Review: Victorian Skin: Surface, Self, History, by Pamela K. Gilbert. Nineteenth-Century Literature 31 March 2020; 74 (4): 539–543. doi: https://doi.org/10.1525/ncl.2020.74.4.539 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. © 2020 by The Regents of the University of California 2020 Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Review: Victorian Skin: Surface, Self, History, by Pamela K. Gilbert' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Review: Victorian Skin: Surface, Self, History, by Pamela K. Gilbert Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_lyfpcwmfgndj7hhmhnxmg3hs5e	----	VIRGINIA WOOLF'S CRITICISM: TOWARDS THEORETICAL ASSUMPTIONS ON THE ART OF FICTION RITA TEREZINHA SCHMIDT If in her practice as a fiction writer Virginia Woolf wrested the novel form from the prison-house of prevailing rules and conventions, as a literary critic she placed herself in a position that can be defined today as revolutionary. Revolutionary in the sense that her essays, for all their courage and daring, expressed a wilful break from the dominant critical discourse of her time as far as her views on the novel were concerned. In numerous reviews and essays in which she examined either individual authors or particular literary works, Woolf revealed a deep concern with fiction and rendered her thoughts about what she conceived as being its relation to life, its scope, its form as well as about her notions of character and perspective, notions that obviously grew out of her very own fictional practice. It is important to point out that Woolf, in no instance, attempted to inscribe her assumptions into a clear-cut set of definitions or conceptual categories. Rather, her assumptions emerge throughout her essays in a very unsystematic and, at times, imprecise form, what may disarm one seeking for a logical development, objectivity or even consistency on her part. Difficult as it may be, I will trace some of her views which, seen as integrated parts of a whole, make up what could be called WoolPs 'theory of fiction'. It is a well-known fact that Woolf abhorred any sharp category or dogmatic approach of the novel. She herself acknowledged the danger that lay behind any theory of fiction. Her attitude towards labels and categorizations was skeptical, to say the least: they might reveal knowledge about fiction but not intimacy with it. And by 94 Ilha do Desterro intimacy she meant not so much a pervasive analytical knowledge of its system but a deep understanding of its processes vis-à-vis what she considered its proper stuff: life. As she once wrote, "to speak of knowledge is futile. All is experiment and adventure.° By not considering the novel as a framework imposed on life, Woolf moved away from the traditional concept of her day, that is, a coherent, finished and unified representation of life, a concept clearly founded on the formal assumptions of modern realism. She strongly believed that the writer should be in a continuous search for new ways with which to give shape to his/her imagination, should be aware of the necessity for discovering new possibilities for the exploration of his/her territory so that his/her work would be constantly renewing itself as part of life's dynamic process. Hence, her obstinate refusal to say anything complete or that would sound as a final statement about the novel. The novel, which Woolf considered the youngest and the most vigorous of the arts, underwent drastic changes during her lifetime, not only in terms of form and composition but also in terms of the theoretical assumptions that were raised in discussions about the genre. As a rebel against the dominant conventions of fiction writing, Woolf endeavored to stretch the concept of fiction beyond that which had been accepted by her predecessors, from Defoe to Galsworthy and Wells, for she understood that the novel could not keep on being limited and contained, any longer, in those "ill-fitting vestments" that tradition had provided it. These "vestments" included a method based on static descriptions of 'milieu' and objetive registering of neatly, clear-cut visible actions. According to her, this was a fundamental failure of fiction in relation to life. She wanted to evolve a definition of fiction that would account for a reality beyond the surface of facts and events, a reality that would bring together the solid fact and its spiritual reality — in her artistic terms, granite and rainbow. When she said, in "Modern Fiction", "we are not pleading merely for courage and sincerity; we are suggesting that the proper stuff of fiction is a little other than custom would have us believe it,' 2 she was really claiming for new assumptions that would definitely change the outlook of the novel and its tradition in the context of English literature and criticism. In "Phases of Fiction", Woolf was explicit about what she viewed as some weaknesses in the tradition of fiction writing in England, though she gave credits to the accomplishments of Sterne and Henry James, for their psychological explorations, and of Jane Austen for the articulated consistency of the world of fiction and the world of human values. With a half-serious, witty, sometimes ironic tone, Woolf detected the so-called truth-tellers' proneness to degenerating into Rita Terezinha Schmidt / Virginia Woolf's Criticism: ... 95 mere fact-recorders; the romantics' refinement that emptied the novel's power of suggestion; the comedians' failure to convey intimacy due to their large-scale figures; the satirists' tendency to confine fiction within the scope of the writer's personality and the psychologists' mysticism whose concern with the intellect overpowered the capacity for feelings.3 For Woolf, these weaknesses revealed that the sense of life had escaped from fiction reducing it to an apparatus that caught life only an inch or two wide. And it was precisely this narrowness that Woolf addressed over and over in her essays. In "Phases of Fiction" she pointed out that the novel was the only form of art which sought to make us believe that it was giving a full and truthful account of life. In a way, she was not saying something completely new. In fact, Henry James in a much earlier essay, "The Art of Fiction", had affirmed that the only reason for the existence of the novel was because it tried to represent life, life without rearrangement nor compromise so that it achieved a kind of revelation, it touched truth. Yet, he never came to define what he understood by life or truth. Woolf, on the contrary, never missed the opportunity to dwell on these categories. For her, life was not only the concrete, the visible, the audible and the credible; it was both the inner and the outer, the objective and the subjective, the conscious and the unconscious, fact and vision, experience and what lay beyond experience. As she beautifully tried to capture it in the metaphor in "Modern Fiction," "life is not a series of gig-lamps symmetrically arranged; life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end."4 Woolf's claim for life, spirit, truth, reality in fiction, meant a claim for an all-encompassing realism, not just the realism of presentation practiced by her contemporaries. At the center of this claim lay what she herself described as the struggle and tension between two powers: life and art. If, on the one hand, she asserted that fiction drew its sustenance from life, on the other she was inclined to affirm that fiction competed with life. Such is the notion put forth in "Phases of Fiction": life and art ran so close to each other they often collided. Here, no doubt, Woolf displayed a very complex position in relation to the status of fiction, a position that partakes of an elusive, almost impalpable dimension. She seems to be saying that the nature of fiction is incompatible with design and order, yet its very existence demands some distance from life, and this means certain kind of ordering and design. In a sense, Woolf shared with E. M. Forster, her contemporary, some of his views presented in Aspects of the Novel. 5 Forster stated 96 Ilha do Desterro that the novel was a work of art with its own laws which were not those of daily life. Without being a formalist in the strictest sense of the word, Forster was advocating for the novel some basic principles of composition that would enhance its aesthetic qualities. Basically, he was addressing the old dialectic of form x content, whereas Woolf had in mind something larger, the very dialectic between art and life. How to balance between these two forces was what she tried to conceptualize at another moment in "Phases of Fiction": It is the gift of style, arrangement, construction, to put us at a distance from the special life and to obliterate its features; while it is the gift of the novel to bring us into close touch with life. The two powers fight if they are brought into combination. The most complete novelist must be the novelist who can balance the two powers, so that the one enhances the other.6 On this account, one might understand the reasons for her dissatisfaction with Henry James' novels and, particularly, with Joyce's Ulysses, in "Phases of Fiction" and "Modern Fiction". In her point of view, both were unable to attain a balance between style and arrangement, and the content they intended to convey. James was too rigid in design and wearing in detail while ordering human experience, whereas Joyce was too disordered in his lifelike imitation of thought's processes. In "The Novels of E.M. Forster", Woolf developed further the notion of balance into what she called "single vision", much like Lily Briscoe's vision in To the Lighthouse, which crystallizes part of Woolf's implied theory of art. Surprisingly, in this essay, WoolPs attention shifted to the pair content + craft, especially when she argued that there had to be a balance between what was objectively portrayed and what was abstractly implied. On these grounds she criticized Forster's novels, for he had not succeeded in achieving balance between a photographic picture of reality and its transformation into a transcendental image, the result of which was an elusive and confusing kind of revelation in the end. For Woolf, the singleness of vision bore the quality of making the high moment of revelation unmistakable, and this was made possible not only by contriving a conjuring trick at the critical moment of the narrative but also by choosing carefully a few facts of high relevance from the very beginning. Such is the point of view that underscored her criticism of D.H. Lawrence in "Notes on D.H. Lawrence." She detected in Lawrence's novels a continuous process of cohesion and dissolution, the result of his incapacity of bringing distinct parts/ideas into equilibrium. Rita Terezinha Schmidt / Virginia Woolf's Criticism: ... 97 In "Life and the Novelist", Woolf returned to the relationship between life and fiction, asserting that in order to turn life's raw material into fiction, the writer's task was "to take one thing and let it stand for twenty.' ? Her position here points to the notion of selection which would be (at least this is what it seems to be implied here) at the basis of symbolism. It is important to observe, at this point, that no matter how much the notions of selection and arrangement were emphasized by Woolf, the insistency of her urge to convey "this varying, this unknown and uncircunscribed spirit", to record "the atoms as they fall upon the mind, in the order in which they fall" and "to trace the pattern however disconnected and incoherent in appearance which each sight or incident scores upon the consciousness," 8 opens up the possibility of disorder and fragmentation in the fictional world. This contradiction was summed up in "Phases of Fiction", where she stated that the novel could amass data and could select, it could record life and could synthesize it. The tension that informs such statement is itself present in Woolf's own fictional practice. Another recurrent notion that permeates Woolf's essays is the notion of perspective, which she conceived as a crucial element for the artist to control experience. From her point of view, object and subject have onlx a relative importance since "it's all a question of one's point of view." On this account, she praised Sterne whom she considered the forerunner of the moderns exactly because his angle of vision dared innovation. It enabled him to avoid the weight of exterior facts, bridging thus the gulf between outer and inner realities. She explained: It is no use going to the guide book; we must consult our own minds; only they can tell us what is the comparative importance of a cathedral, of a donkey, and of a girl with a green satin purse.1° For Woolf, the correct perspective would avoid "the egotism of subjectivity and the dehumanization of objectivity,"" according to WoolPs critic Jane Novack. She considered the ego aggressive and domineering whereas objectivity, a disease that eventually could lead to the worshipping of solid objects in detriment of their spirituality. Basically, perspective meant adjustment to a proper scale of human values. In "Letters of Henry James", Woolf criticized sharply his point of view. His obsession with old houses and with the glamour of great names stemmed from his warped human values. The ideal perspective implied thus a moral, social, psychological, and probably rhetorical balance. WoolPs idea of a perspective imbued with human values takes us to what she considered to be the foundation of fiction, that is, 98 Ilha do Desterro character. Her definition of character, illustrated through an imaginary Mrs Brown in the essay "Mr Bennet and Mrs Brown", reached far greater depth than the current concept which defined character in terms of 'milieu', the material circumstances in which it was placed. The main target of her criticism was the practice of her contemporaries, Galsworthy, Bennett and Wells, who sacrificed the individual for the sake of 'reality', that is, their characters were virtually overburdened with a mass of details and grasped vis-à-vis no other world than the objective, material one. Not that the material world should be discarded altogether but that subjectivity, the character's inner life, should be presented as its counterpoint. Thus, she declared: I believe that all novels begin with an old lady in the corner opposite. I believe that all novels, that is to say, deal with character, and that is to express character... not to preach doctrine, sing songs or celebrate the glories of the British Empire.12 Mrs Brown, the lady in the corner, embodies Woolf's ideal of character in its totality, meaning character apprehended at a moment when individual life and common life are intersected, when human nature and exterior reality partake of a self-contained whole which does not bear the weight of the authorial voice nor is subjected to the author's person lity. Such ideal, in Woolf's point of view, had been attained only by Sterne and Austen whose detachment and somewhat impersonality of narration had allowed them to show an interest in character in itself, in things in themselves and, consequently, in the books themselves, the reason why their novels produce such a thorough sense of satisfaction on the readers, in the end. Woolf's concept of character demanded a revision of the concept of fictional form. As Jean Alexander points out in The Venture of Form in the Novels of Virginia Woolf, 13 the inherited forms of fiction writing could only suggest the conflicts between reality and the conventions of form, could only suggest the complexity of character and life without really raising the problematic issue of which form would be more adequate for the novelist who wanted to capture and explore, in depth, life beyond the surface, as Woolf would have it. Woolf rejected the traditional notion of form as the visual structure through which content was organized because this notion was incompatible with the vision of life the novel was supposed to convey. Though sometimes Woolf may not sound altogether consistent on this point, she was well aware of the difficulties in conceiving form without allowing for some kind of artificial framework. Only on theoretical grounds was she able Rita Terezinha Schmidt / Virginia Wooifs Criticism: ... 99 to solve these difficulties by arguing that form was the embodiment of the simplest of devices through which all novels come into existence, that is, it was a shape made out of emotions. In fact, in A Room of One's Own (1929), she came to be very explicit about what she had meant in her essays. When she asserted that the novel was a structure leaving a shape on the mind's eye, a shape that first started with some kind of emotion, she was defining form not as something interposed between the reader and the book itself, but as the primary impulse of emotion underlying both the writing and the reading processes. Reading back her essay "On re-reading novels", we come near to understanding Woolf's uneasiness with the very word 'form', especially on discussing Percy Lubbock's definition in his book The Craft of Fiction, first published in 1921. Woolf claimed that the word 'form' belonged to the visual arts and that fiction derived from a different process which had nothing to do with "seeing" but with "reading". According to her point of view, any text acquired meaning only through "moments of understanding", which allowed the reader to grasp the text's insights and to realize why the story had been written. Here, she was, in fact, addressing the moment of empathy that regulates the reader's relationship with the text, with the story and feelings conveyed. It is in this context that the novel "is not form which you see, but emotion which you feel, and the more intense the writer's feelings the more exact without slip or chink its expression."14 It becomes clear that in Woolf's mind there was no room for the classical dichotomy of content and form, or even a gap between feeling and reason that her concept of fiction would not be able to come to terms with. In these seeming oppositions she saw the possibility of a continuous dialectical movement that would bring about, in the end, fusion and wholeness. Thus, she stated: There is vision and there is expression. The two blend so perfectly that when Mr Lubbock asks us to test the form with our eyes we see nothing at all. But we feel with singular satisfaction, and since all our feelings are in keeping, the form a whole which remains in our minds as the book itself.1 While Woolf dismissed Lubbock's "visual form" and posed it in terms of an impressionistic design stemming from the writer's emotions reaching the reader's, she also acknowledged the intellectual necessity of form, something like craft or method that would enable the artist to control and order experience into the complete expression of an idea that would, ultimately, encompass a "vision of life". She put it in these terms: 100 Ilha do Desterro . . . when we speak of form we mean that certain emotions have been placed in the right relations to each other; that the novelist is able to dispose these emotions and make them tell by methods which he inherits, bends to his purpose, models anew, or even invents for himself.16 In the light of this statement, we have reasons to agree with Reuben Brower in his essay "Something central which permeated: Virginia Woolf and Mrs. Dalloway." 17 He argued that for Woolf the novel has a unique closeness of structure only slightly dependent on the story and its development. Structure is actually what is there between the lines and is only perceived by the reader in a moment of empathy. She herself asserted that "between the sentences, apart from the story, a little shape of some kind builds itself up." 18 This "shape" represents WoolPs only concession to the notion of an objective pattern which controls, orders and constitutes what she called "fictional art". Much of what we have said in relation to Woolf's assumptions on the art of fiction may have sounded repetitive. Actually, her views are so much interrelated that it is almost impossible to distinguish and isolate the terms she used to define one thing or another, though we can definitely identify certain differences and coherence of argument when she deals either with point of view, character or form. It is relevant to point out that Woolf's basic concern centered, all the way, upon the principle of balance, which should guide the artist's task of selecting and arranging the relations between the objective and the subjective, the physical and the spiritual, the outer and the inner in his/her representation or reality. In a sense, her concern expressed a kind of dissatisfaction with the materialism that permeated the practice of fiction writing as well as the assumptions that informed the concepts of reality and character of her day. By writing about fiction, she tried to imbue it with a little more of the human spirit, tried to develop an idea of fiction as a dynamic artistic medium which, unlike any other, would capture and transfigure the totality of life. In "Phases of Fiction", one of her most insightful and suggestive essays, Woolf sensed the changes that the novel was about to undergo in relation to the novel of the past. She welcomed these changes with optimism and regarded fiction as still in its infancy. That was probably the reason why she did not bother with encapsulating it within any theoretical formulation that would sound as such. Her assumptions transcend the boundaries of mere formalization to reach out to her Rita Terezinha Schmidt / Virginia Woolf's Criticism: ... 101 own experience as a writer who conspired against the powerful crystallizations of her culture. NOTES 1 The Waves (New York, Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1931) p.256. 2 "Modern Fiction". In: Collected Essays, vol II (New York, Harcourt, Brace & World, Inc., 1931), p.106. 3 The truth-tellers included Defoe, Swift, Trollope, Borrow, and W.E. Norris. The romantics were Walter Scott, Robert Louis Stevenson and Mrs Radcliffe. The character-mongers and comedians were Dickens, Jane Austen and George Eliot. The psychologists were Henry James, in relation to whom Woolf considered Proust and Dostoevsky. The satirists included, above all, Sterne. 4 "Modern Fiction". In: Collected Essays, vol II, p.106. 5 England, Middlesex, 1963. 6 "Phases of Fiction". In: Collected Essays, vol II, p.101. 7 "Life and the Novelist". In: Collected Essays, vol II, p.135. 8 "Modern Fiction". In: Collected Essays, vol II, p.106. 9 "Sterne". In: Collected Essays, vol II, p.97. 10 Ibid., p.97. 11 The Razor Edge of Balance (Florida, University of Miami Press, 1975), p.63. 12 "Mr Bennett and Mrs Brown". In: Collected Essays, vol I, p.324. 13 London. Kennekat Press, 1974. 14 "On Re-Reading Novels". In: Collected Essays, vol 11, p.126. 15 Ibid. 16 Ibid. 17 In: Virginia Woolf A Collection of Critical Essays, Claire Sprague, ed. (New Jersey, Prentice Hall Inc., 1971). 18 "The Anatomy of Fiction". In: Collected Essays, vol II, p.137. Page 1 Page 2 Page 3 Page 4 Page 5 Page 6 Page 7 Page 8 Page 9 Page 10 
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work_m353lnhpdnbifnmgbwsdbygbhe	----	Journal of Epidemiology and Global Health Vol. 11(1); March (2021), pp. 15–19 DOI: https://doi.org/10.2991/jegh.k.200729.001; ISSN 2210-6006; eISSN 2210-6014 https://www.atlantis-press.com/journals/jegh Review Pride and Prejudice during the COVID-19 Pandemic: The Misfortune of Inappropriate Clinical Trial Design Shahrukh K. Hashmi1,2,*,†, Edward De Vol3, Fazal Hussain4,† 1Clinical Trials Unit, King Faisal Specialist Hospital & Research Centre, Riyadh, KSA 2Division of Hematology, Dept. of Internal Medicine, Mayo Clinic, Rochester, MN, USA 3Dept. of Biostatistics & Epidemiology, King Faisal Specialist Hospital & Research Centre, Riyadh, KSA 4College of Medicine, Alfaisal University, Riyadh, KSA 1. INTRODUCTION Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome Coronavirus 2 (SARS-CoV-2), causing the disease Coronavirus Disease 2019 (COVID-19), is a rapidly evolving global pandemic for which a significant number of clinical trials are ongoing. As of May 16th, 2020, there have been more than 4.6 million confirmed cases of COVID-19 worldwide and >3000 deaths [1]. As per the 2016 guidance of the World Health Organization (WHO) on ethical issues in infectious diseases, research is pivotal in find- ing innovative modalities for prevention, diagnosis, and treatment, during an epidemic [2]. During COVID-19 pandemic, novel, safe, and effective therapeutics, which include treatment drugs and vac- cines are emergently needed. 2. CLINICAL TRIALS FOR COVID-19 TREATMENT Five months into the pandemic, as of May 16th, 2020, more than a thousand clinical trials related to COVID-19 have been registered, the majority of whom are single-center, non-randomized studies [3,4]. There are large numbers of therapeutic and vaccine trials ongoing to find the best possible prevention and treatment for com- bating this pandemic, which may take 12–18 months. The majority of the clinical trials for COVID-19 are centered on those countries which have been affected the most over the last 4 months encom- passing North America, Europe, Iran, South Korea, and China. Comparatively, a very low number of clinical trials have been pro- posed in the Middle East, Africa, Central, and South America. Although, the low- and middle-income countries had initially reported a relatively small number of confirmed cases COVID-19 perhaps due to the non-availability of diagnostic kits, decreased capacity, and weak health care infrastructure, these numbers have escalated exponentially over the past few weeks. Many develop- ing countries are already challenged by the rising incidence of COVID-19 pneumonia, inadequate response capabilities, and protective gears for health care workers leading to significantly increased mortality. At present, there is no known effective treatment for COVID-19 and thereby none of the drugs have regulatory approval for the treatment of this disease. However, two drugs have received an emergency use authorization for its management, which include tocilizumab (approved by China’s National Medical Product Administration) [5], and remdesivir [approved by the United States Food and Drug Administration] [6]. It must be noted that as of the A R T I C L E I N F O Article History Received 17 May 2020 Accepted 12 June 2020 Keywords Clinical trials single-arm COVID-19 multi-center primary endpoint A B S T R A C T Coronavirus Disease 2019 (COVID-19) is a rapidly evolving global pandemic for which more than a thousand clinical trials have been registered to secure therapeutic effectiveness, expeditiously. Most of these are single-center non-randomized studies rather than multi-center, randomized controlled trials. Single-arm trials have several limitations and may be conducted when spontaneous improvement is not anticipated, small placebo effect exists, and randomization to a placebo is not ethical. In an emergency where saving lives takes precedence, it is ethical to conduct trials with any scientifically proven design, however, safety must not be compromised. A phase II or III trial can be conducted directly in a pandemic with appropriate checkpoints and stopping rules. COVID-19 has two management paradigms- antivirals, or treatment of its complications. Simultaneous assessment of two different treatments can be done using 2 × 2 factorial schema. World Health Organization’s SOLIDARITY trial is a classic example of the global research protocol which can evaluate the preferred treatment to combat COVID-19 pandemic. Short of that, a trial design must incorporate the practicality of the intervention used, and an appropriate primary endpoint which should ideally be a clinical outcome. Collaboration between institutions is needed more than ever to successfully execute and accrue in randomized trials. © 2020 The Authors. Published by Atlantis Press International B.V. This is an open access article distributed under the CC BY-NC 4.0 license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/). *Corresponding author. Email: hashmi.shahrukh@mayo.edu †FH and SKH contributed equally to this work. https://doi.org/10.2991/jegh.k.200729.001 https://www.atlantis-press.com/journals/jegh http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/ mailto: hashmi.shahrukh@mayo.edu 16 S.K. Hashmi et al. / Journal of Epidemiology and Global Health 11(1) 15–19 writing of this manuscript, the randomized trials on whose basis these two drugs were approved have not been published in peer- reviewed journals. 3. OPTIMUM METHODOLOGY FOR CLINICAL TRIALS The best course of action to combat this rapidly rising pandemic is to design and execute well thought, innovative, and well- powered clinical trials that are universally accessible beyond political and geographical boundaries. Global, multi-center, Randomized Controlled Trials (RCTs) with clear objectives and endpoints are urgently needed to avoid the collapse of health care infrastructure and prevent a global recession. Though in principle this could be achieved by multi-center collaboration and most investigators agree with this, real-world data has shown that assimilating and execut- ing clinical trials efficiently during an epidemic or pandemic is a very complex phenomenon. A lesson from recent history concern- ing clinical trials is the use of ZMapp during the Ebola virus epi- demic, in which political and media-related factors played a major role in the initial failures of executing and completing clinical trials in Africa [7]. Unfortunately, during the COVID-19 pandemic, many issues due to political, psychological, and social reasons have arisen, and premature results from some clinical trials have stirred enormous controversies. Not only people (by themselves) have over-utilized and misused the drugs projected to “cure” or “prevent” COVID-19, the hype and prejudice originating from immature trial results (and propagation by celebrities, physician-scientists, and politicians), has even led to an unaccepted death due to toxicities of drugs (currently in trials) for COVID-19 [8]. Some facts must be considered to decipher the applicability of clini- cal trials being conducted currently for COVID-19. Investigators in most of the countries (both developed and developing) are conduct- ing predominantly single center and single-arm trials. For example, more than 200 centers are currently engaged in hydroxychloroquine or chloroquine trials. Single-arm trials have several limitations, including complicated interpretation of trial results that would not yield quantifiable and measurable outcomes (particularly efficacy and safety), and are incapable of differentiating the impact of thera- peutic intervention, placebo-effect, and natural history. Additionally, construing the response without a frame of reference for comparison has been a constant challenge. Such trials are most suited for diseases with well understood natural history, non-existent or minimal pla- cebo effects, and in a situation where placebo control is not an ethi- cal requirement. Single-arm trials may be conducted in cases where spontaneous improvement is not anticipated, small placebo effects exist, and the randomization to a placebo is not ethical [9]. However, there has been a flurry of single-arm trials for COVID-19 since many investigators are trying to conduct trials at their institution which has obvious advantages such as having control over the trial design and operations, rapid pace of execution, and authorship recognition in publications. However, sub-consciously, this psychology of “me too” or preference of “my institution” can sometimes create a false sense of pride which, unfortunately, can lead to confusion in the applicability of scientific literature as well as an inefficient use of resources (due to duplication of efforts). Such small scale, single-center trials are certainly not conducive to fill the knowledge gap to find the best possible remedies in combating the COVID-19 pandemic when multiple novel drugs are on the horizon for treatment. Currently, the results from single- arm trials (or retrospective studies) for many drugs being used off-label currently for the treatment of COVID-19 have been published [10–20]. Instead of single-arm, single-center trials, there is an urgent need to conduct large, multicenter, and multi-arm, randomized controlled trials to support prevention and clinical management guidelines and to find solutions for many unanswered questions. Expeditious remote initiation and monitoring of such ethically sound RCTs, without overburdening already overstretched health care systems could help minimize morbidity and mortality due to COVID-19. The best practices and lessons learned from the landmark clinical trials done in West Africa, during the 2013 Ebola outbreak could be applied to COVID-19 trials to expedite the headway [21–24] with the caveat of the real-world issues mentioned above. In an emergency where saving lives takes priority over executing a “perfect” trial, we believe that it is ethical to rapidly conduct a trial with any scientifically proven design as long as safety checks are in place. A classic 3 + 3 + 3 phase I design execution is not necessary if initial reports from different groups have established the safety of a drug that has some efficacy in vitro or in vivo. A phase II or III trial can be conducted with appropriate checkpoints and stopping rules directly in cases of a pandemic like COVID-19. COVID-19 has two management paradigms – treatment for the disease itself (i.e. with antivirals, e.g. remdesivir, oseltamivir, favi- piravir, etc.), or treatment of its complications which include acute respiratory distress syndrome, macrophage activation syndrome, pneumonia, or hemophagocytic lymphohistiocytosis thus multi- ple hypotheses can be tested concurrently for the sake of urgency to prevent mortality. Simultaneous assessment of two different treatments can be done using 2 × 2 factorial schema by randomly assigning each patient to intervention arm 1, to intervention arm 2, to both intervention arms, or neither intervention arms. This design allows for comparing each intervention with the control, comparing each intervention with the other, and possible interac- tions between them. The efficiency of the large-scale clinical trials is enhanced by such trials by measuring an effect that otherwise might not be apparent. However, the loss of power is possible in case of sufficiently severe interaction [25]. Multiplicity adversely affects the trial outcome in cases where investigators are inclined to test myriads of hypotheses simulta- neously. In such cases (comparing investigational drug versus. placebo; primary and secondary outcomes; sub-stratification by age, race, gender, baseline characteristics, etc.), the probability of false-positive error is higher than 5%. As the best practice, testing the single important hypotheses at a given time reduces the prob- ability of false results. Significant results obtained through multi- plicity require proper adjustment (e.g. Bonferroni or Scheffe), and validation with independent data. The results of non-significant tests should also be reported for the statistically significant out- comes to be construed in the framework of multiplicity to control false-positive error [26]. Keeping in view wide variation in commitments, provisions, equitable and affordable access among developed and a devel- oping country, a worldwide research consortium is warranted to conduct cutting edge multi-center clinical trials involving multi- disciplinary subject matter expertise. Such a consolidated effort S.K. Hashmi et al. / Journal of Epidemiology and Global Health 11(1) 15–19 17 would synergize ongoing initiatives. The WHO’s SOLIDARITY trial is a perfect example of the global research protocol which was launched on March 18, 2020, a global study of highly effec- tive and probable management options for the definitive treat- ment of COVID-19 in the Middle East, Africa, Asia, Europe, and the Americas [27]. The WHO coordinates this trial through measures of performance and effectiveness. The guidance to ensure critical coordination and information sharing are pro- vided by the WHO COVID-19 Scientific Advisory Group. The WHO plays a pivotal role in assessment, monitoring, evaluation of the new scientific information generated by the trials, and in producing new guidelines [28]. It must be noted, however, that the SOLIDARITY trial does not include an arm with hydroxy- chloroquine and azithromycin combination, which is currently being used in clinical trials as well as for off-trial management in some centers. A common mistake by investigators is to repeat single-arm trials without realizing that single-arm trials are happening globally with the same agent for the same disease (in this case for COVID-19). Thus before establishing a clinical protocol, the investigators must gather adequate information to prevent duplication of efforts. To pursue this, continuously updated databases that have information on the trials being conducted globally are needed. clinicaltrials. gov is only one of many databases containing this information and is inadequate for investigators who are contemplating embark- ing upon clinical trials for a pandemic of this scale. An artificial- intelligence-powered, multi-domain, and real-time dashboard of COVID-19 clinical trials has been established to collate live infor- mation from all possible COVID-19 trials, encompassing global COVID-19 research registries and initiatives [29]. The current pandemic has revealed another real-world issue in the clinical trial domain which is the definition of the primary end- point. The primary outcome variable needs to be selected very carefully to promote and accelerate any clinical trial for the desired end states (safety, efficacy, risk communication) of new modalities against SARS-CoV-2, globally. For management, research should focus primarily on minimizing mortality rather than response rates or laboratory factors. The primary endpoint should ideally be a clinical outcome and can be achieved by expedited approval by Table 1 | Primary endpoints used in selected trials for COVID-19 Primary endpoint Trial drugs Time to clinical improvement, two steps in a Six-category ordinal scale:1 (discharged) to 6 (death), censoring at day 28. Remdesivir To evaluate the antiviral efficiency of five FDA-approved drugs including ribavirin, penciclovir, nitazoxanide, nafamostat, chloroquine, and two well-known broad-spectrum antiviral drugs remdesivir and favipiravir against a clinical isolate of 2019-nCoV in vitro. Ribavirin, penciclovir, nitazoxanide, nafamostat, chloroquine and remdesivir and favipiravir Time to clinical improvement, defined as the time from randomization to either an improvement of two points on a seven-category ordinal scale or discharge from the hospital, whichever came first Lopinavir–Ritonavir To describe the epidemiological and clinical characteristics of Novel COVID-19 infected pneumonia Oseltamivir Time of viral clearance Favipiravir versus Lopinavir/ritonavir Treatment response Tocilizumab To assess the safety of baricitinib combined with antiviral (lopinavirritonavir) in terms of serious or nonserious adverse events incidence rate Baricitinib Clinical recovery rate of day 7 Favipiravir versus Arbidol To evaluate the role of hydroxychloroquine on respiratory viral loads Chloroquine and hydroxychloroquine Azithromycin To assess virologic and clinical outcomes of COVID-19 patients Hydroxychloroquine and azithromycin Assess outcome improvement in COVID-19 pneumonia (various outcome measures) Mesenchymal stromal cells the Institutional Review Board (IRBs), agile importation of inves- tigational drugs, standardized data management, and data sharing. Unfortunately, the scientific community is currently dealing with multiple variables as primary endpoints in various clinical trials being conducted for COVID-19 (Table 1). These endpoints range from COVID-19 disease severity scales, to test parameter negativity [e.g. rates of reverse transcription polymerase chain reaction (RT- PCR) negativity concerning the number of days]. This is most unfor- tunate since the results from clinical trials with hugely disparate endpoints cannot be interpretable for choosing the most optimal strategy for treatment. Master protocols that have predefined rules for the structure of the trial and the release of data can be utilized for the sake of conducting urgent clinical trials. Such protocols have been developed by various agencies or investigators for various dis- eases, and we endorse the “core protocol” formulated by the R&D Blueprint (sponsored by the WHO) [30]. Lastly, as soon as a clinical trial on the treatment of a pandemic is complete or prematurely terminated (by data monitoring committee/ data safety monitoring board), the results should be published in an expedited fashion, so that investigators contemplating studies using the same drugs can potentially benefit. An example is the evalua- tion of the lopinavir–ritonavir combination for severe COVID-19 patients in a randomized placebo- controlled 1:1 trial, the results of which (negative trial) were published promptly [31]. 4. CONCLUSION Ideally, one trial for the whole world can be accomplished by bringing together the expertise of the clinicians, scientists, regu- latory authorities, and policymakers to augment WHO’s initiatives to combat the COVID-19 pandemic, but in the real world, it may not always be possible; nonetheless, an effort to acquire a WHO initiated trial should be made. Seeking collaborations to establish randomized trials would require a sacrifice of both the institutional and the identity pride which is currently needed more than ever, at least during this pandemic! “It is very often nothing but our own vanity that deceives us.” – Jane Austen 18 S.K. Hashmi et al. / Journal of Epidemiology and Global Health 11(1) 15–19 CONFLICTS OF INTEREST None of the authors declare any relevant conflicts of interest. SKH has received honoraria from Novartis, Pfizer, Janssen, and Mallinckrodt. SKH has received travel grants from Sanofi, Gilead, and Takeda. AUTHORS’ CONTRIBUTION FH and SKH wrote the first draft. All authors contributed substan- tially to the conception, acquisition, analysis, and interpretation of the data for the work and approved the final approval of the version to be published. REFERENCES [1] Coronavirus Worldometer. Available from: www.worldometers. info/coronavirus (accessed May 16, 2020). [2] World Health Organization. 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work_m4qqwahghja7fcwn4uudrnmdti	----	ISSN 1050-9585 print/ISSN 1740-4657 online © 2003 Taylor & Francis Ltd DOI: 10.1080/1050958032000075555 European Romantic Review, 2003, Vol. 14, pp. 225–231 THE USES AND ABUSES OF AUSTEN’S “ABSOLUTE HISTORICAL PICTURES” William Galperin IN 1833, in response to the reissue of Austen’s fictions in Richard Bentley’s series The Standard Novels, the Literary Gazette recommended Austen’s fictions to the “rising generation.” Noting that “one” particular “merit . . . of these delightful works is every hour increasing,” the Gazette continues somewhat ruefully that Austen’s novels are fast “becoming absolute historical pictures.” Were it not for these works, in other words, younger readers “would have no idea of the animation of going down a country dance, or the delights of a tea-table.” The Gazette’s view of history is both quaint and condescending. Implying that Austen’s writings are a repository not just of information but of values that are fast diminishing, the Gazette projects a new readership, whose ignorance of ephemera bespeaks other deficiencies that reading Austen will not remedy so much as underscore. Reading Austen is not simply educative on this view; it is, in its new capacity as popular history, a steady reminder of how far the “rising generation” has already fallen. The Gazette, it turns out, was not very far off base in its assessment. In fact, it is characteristic of the popular pedagogy in which Austen’s fictions were enlisted throughout much of the nineteenth century (and of her fictions’ ability to enshrine an historical moment or heritage) that their most succinct manifestation may be found among a group of readers who, suffice it to say, are as removed from that historical world as one could possibly be. I’m referring, then, to “the Janeites” memorialized by Rudyard Kipling in his fictional vignette bearing that same title.1 To those for whom the term “Janeite” is a shorthand for the amateur (and sometimes professional) enthusiast who knows Austen’s novels (and their cinematic adaptations) seemingly by heart, not to mention the various sequels to works such as Pride and Prejudice that have been essayed over the years, the “Janeite” enthusiasm that Kipling explores may prove something of a puzzle. For unlike the members of the Jane Austen Society, who are nothing if not blessed with a fair measure of cultural capital, the visibly traumatized veterans of the World War I artillery unit, to whom the sobriquet was first applied, would seem to be the last readers—if indeed they are readers at all—in whom Austen might strike a responsive chord. This is most evident perhaps in the Janeites’ mode of speaking, where cockneyisms and colloquialisms abound to a degree that is not only at odds with the otherwise normative discourse that we associate with Austen’s writing, but at odds to a 226 W. GALPERIN degree that even characters such as Lucy Steele and Lydia Bennet look Austenian, as it were, by comparison. The real problem with Kipling’s Janeites, however, has little to do with the dramatic (and for Kipling’s part often comical) slippage between their world, specifically the battlefield and its aftermath, and the insular, generally privileged, world of Austen’s fictions, where catastrophe of the sort these men have witnessed is literally out of bounds. The problem rather involves what the Janeites have apparently derived from Austen’s writings, which turns out to be nothing less—and nothing more—than the prerogative of judging and, more often than not, blaming others. Although Kipling’s veterans do not scruple in reiterating certain commonplaces regarding Austen, from the fact “Enery James” may be deemed the novelist’s “lawful” son, to the sense, shared by no less a reader than Maria Edgeworth, that there is “nothin’ to . . . nor in” Austen’s novels (159), they also differ from many of Austen’s own contemporaries (including Edgeworth) in extruding “meanin” (159) from the novels as opposed to either pleasure or, as was frequently the case, appreciative surprise.2 And the “meaning” they derive is almost always marked by a level of hostility for which the narratives have evidently been a goad. To the Janeites, then, Miss Bates is “just an old maid runnin’ about like a hen with ‘er ‘ead cut off, an’ her tongue loose at both ends,” in the same way that General Tilney (mispronounced “Tilniz”) is “a swine . . . and on the make” or that “they’re all on the make, in a quiet way, in Jane” (159). This adversarial tendency is recapitulated in the Janeites’ signature gesture in combat: the naming of their artillery pieces for certain of Austen’s characters including Elizabeth Bennet (“Bloody Eliza”), Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Reverend Collins. That Austen’s writings are rife with judgment or even skepticism has long been a commonplace, from D. W. Harding’s notion of the novels’ “regulated hatred” to Marvin Mudrick’s sense of the way irony in the novels remains a steady register of the author’s disappointment.3 But what has been insufficiently appreciated is the degree to which such hatred, and the authority that subtends it, find issue in a developmental, or more precisely a pedagogical, trajectory to which not only Austen’s heroines but also her readers in the nineteenth century—readers, it is worth emphasizing, who made Austen into the popular writer that she has remained ever since—were variously conscripted. The first fully articulated claim for Austen’s pedagogy is probably Bishop Richard Whatley’s review of the posthumously published Northanger Abbey and Persuasion some three years after their initial appearance.4 Although Whatley’s judgments explicitly echo those of his predecessor in the Quarterly Review, Walter Scott, in heralding Austen’s realism and what Scott termed the “narrative of all her novels” (64), Whatley also differs from Scott in explicitly lauding the novels’ “moral lessons.” Scott of course recognized the regulatory bent of Austen’s writing, beginning with plot, where the heroine is typically “turned wise by precept, example, and experience” (64), and extending to the novels’ probabilistic constitution, where “characters and incidents [are] introduced more immediately from the current of real life than was permitted by the formal rules of the novel” (59). But Scott also resembles Austen’s other contemporaries in being primarily interested in the novels’ striking fidelity to real life than with always marshaling that fidelity to some moral, or again disciplinary, purpose. Any argument for probability, which is another term for “things as they are,” is far from neutral where politics or ideology are concerned. But even if we allow AUSTEN’S “ABSOLUTE HISTORICAL PICTURES” 227 that by “keeping close to common incidents, and to such characters as occupy the ordinary walks of life,” Austen, as Scott saw her, was simply urging readers to read about themselves rather than about characters whom they could only imagine emulating, it does not automatically follow that, by living within their means in the act of reading, Austen’s readers were additionally bereft of any sense that they mattered as individuals. It is more that in producing “sketches of such spirit and originality, that we never miss the excitation which depends upon a narrative of uncommon events” (63), Austen was able to reconcile her readers to the seemingly ordinary lives they lived simply by underscoring their inherent dynamism and interest. To the extent, in other words, that a reader can traverse the world of Austen’s novels “without any chance of having his head turned,” it is because such a “promenade” (68), as Scott conceives it, already presupposes that there is little that the hypothetical reader of Austen necessarily needs to feel good about herself and her milieu. If anything, Austen’s reader is equivalent to what she reads and what she may read now with considerable interest. It is this aspect of the ordinary, and the peculiar entitlements it presupposes, that seems to have troubled Whatley, forcing him to modify the claims of his predecessor and guide. Where for Scott the probabilistic dimension to Austen’s writings is remarkable in being at once absorbing and true to life, it remains, as Whatley sees it, merely adjunct to the regulatory work of Austen’s fiction and to modern fictions generally, which (as he approvingly notes) are finally providing the kind of “instruction” previously “available “to the world in the shape of formal dissertations, or shorter and more desultory moral essays” (92). Where Scott regards reality and Austen’s reality as largely synonymous and indicative of a dynamism to quotidian life that fiction has only recently begun to appreciate, what Whatley calls the novels’ “perfect appearance of reality” (96) is, as his terminology implies, a device or technique by which their “lessons” are more easily conveyed. “When the purpose,” he writes, “of inculcating a religious principle is made too palpably prominent, many readers, if they do not throw aside the book with disgust, are apt to fortify themselves as they do to swallow a dose of medicine, endeavouring to get it down in large gulps, without tasting it more than is necessary” (95). This last, suffice it to say, is not the case in Austen, whose “lessons . . . though clearly and impressively conveyed are not offensively put forward, but spring incidentally from the circumstances of the story” (95). Still, in stressing both the didactic aspects of Austen’s novels and their ability to naturalize, thereby masking, a largely educative function, Whatley also differs from Scott in implying that Austen’s readership was, as she construed it, in need of moral instruction. Where Scott’s Austen is largely on the reader’s side, attending to and appreciating the particular milieu to which her audience already belongs, Whatley’s Austen is addressing a differently conceived public that she is attracting in order to educate or correct. From here, it would appear to be but a short leap from the purport of Austen’s writings, as Whatley conceives it, to the audience that, as Kipling imagines it, has already derived palpable benefits from the writer over whom they enthuse. But there is also a problem with this transmission. Despite their unabashed enthusiasm, Kipling’s Janeites appear to have derived little from Austen’s novels beyond a generalized contempt—and I would further argue a self-legitimating contempt—for Austen’s less attractive characters. This points to one of the central ironies regarding Austen’s popularity in the decades following her death. In contrast to the novelist’s immediate contemporaries, the burgeoning readership that 228 W. GALPERIN Austen’s works enjoyed during the Victorian period stands, as the Literary Gazette virtually prophesied, in nearly inverse proportion to what this same readership would seem to have gotten out of Austen’s novels. The more widely Austen was read, that is, the less—or so it seems—was made of what was read. Earlier readers, as I have argued elsewhere, were frequently struck by the novels’ lack of a moral purpose, which was (in their view) subordinated, along with plot, to the kind of liveliness of description that Scott makes a special point of emphasizing and praising.5 By contrast, later or Victorian readers tend to make the novels reducible to plot and to the ideology enforced by a narrative where virtue is rewarded, no matter how perfunctorily. Thus Mansfield Park, which was unnoticed by reviewers at the time of its publication, and proved generally inscrutable to those contemporaries who were disposed to comment on it, turns out to be a representative text for Whatley, deflecting him from his nominal task, which was to review the posthumously published Northanger Abbey and Persuasion. Beginning by noting that “Mansfield Park contains some of Miss Austin’s [sic] best moral lessons,” Whatley proceeds to a description of the novel’s pedagogy of which the following extracts are typical: [Sir Thomas] is one of those men who always judge rightly, and act wisely, when a case is fairly put before them; but who are quite destitute of acuteness of discernment and adroitness of conduct. The Miss Bertrams, without any peculiarly bad natural disposition, and merely with that selfishness, self-importance, and want of moral training, which are the natural result of their education, are conducted, by a train of probable circumstances, to a catastrophe which involves their father in the deepest affliction. It is melancholy to reflect how many young ladies in the same sphere, with what is ordinarily called every advantage in point of education, are so precisely in the same situation, that if they avoid a similar fate, it must be rather from good luck than anything else. . . . [Fanny Price] presents a useful model to a good many modern females, whose apparent regard for religion in themselves and indifference about it in their partners for life, make one sometimes inclined to think that they hold the opposite extreme to the Turk’s opinion, and believe men to have no souls. (99–100) Whatley does go on to speak briefly of the two novels that it was his task to evaluate. But the point to stress about his review, apart from the fact that he joins subsequent readers in seeing Mansfield Park as being typical of Austen’s writing generally, is that the education that Austen transmits in Whatley’s analysis, turns out to be no education at all. Rather, the critique of education in Mansfield Park virtually presupposes that the reader has already been educated to different (and better) effect—so that like the novel’s heroine, who has already learned all that she needs to learn6 (and whose signature action is simply to say “no” again and again), the reader can easily recognize what is obvious (and obviously wrong) in the world of the novel. Thus a work, and in Austen’s case a body of writing, whose principal function is to give “instruction” previously available in forms that were strident and difficult to assimilate, performs its pedagogy not by merely sugarcoating it (as Whatley argues), but by also crediting the reader with a level of understanding that is largely unearned or earned only in contrast to certain characters to whom it is impossible not to condescend. The very notion of Austen’s writing as a pedagogical instrument is concerned less in the end with matters of instruction than with matters of legitimation in which the reader’s education is presupposed simply as a condition of reading. This may appear to accord with Scott’s view of Austen’s readership as an already-privileged entity, whose everyday world bears testimony, in Austen’s hands, to the range and reach of the lives of those reading her. But it is the case now that the reader of Austen, particularly as AUSTEN’S “ABSOLUTE HISTORICAL PICTURES” 229 Whatley imagines her, derives her status from what amounts in the end to an affiliation with the narrator, or with narrative authority, in which “instruction” is not only the presumptive means to such filiation, but an event or development that, in additionally transporting the reader to an increasingly lost or anterior world, is largely static and non- existent. The “successive generation of readers who,” as Gary Kelly notes, “saw themselves in [Austen’s] version of the novel as moral art” (19–20), did so, then, through a kind of fantasy or projective identification in which, by nearly-automatic concurrence with the narrator (or, in the case of Mansfield Park, the narrative), they were suddenly different and empowered thereby to pass judgment. The reasons for this shift in reading protocols, which Whatley’s essay both outlines and anticipates, are undoubtedly manifold. But the key one, as the Literary Gazette plainly intuited, involves the sheer size and disposition of the “new linguistic community” that came to embrace Austen in the nineteenth century. The instability of this constituency, or what Nancy Armstrong in calling it a “middle-class aristocracy” suggests was its fundamental delegitimation (160), made the ends of education and historical knowledge, a more urgent teleology than the kind of development in which knowledge—beyond mere literacy—might conceivably play a role. Such a trajectory, indeed a reverse trajectory, where moral judgment stands in place of any knowledge or understanding—or, as it turns out, legitimation—is put to comical, if exaggerated, effect in Kipling’s vignette. But it is just as evident in the more measured and at times sophisticated assessments of Austen’s writing in the half century preceding Kipling. One such example is the 1852 essay on Austen that inaugurated the New Monthly Magazine’s series on female novelists. Although B. C. Southam dubs this “the first considerable ‘middle-brow’ piece on Jane Austen” (131) on the evidence of what appears to be its introductory bent, the essay’s “middle-brow” aspects are equally germane in understanding the more informed judgments of literary professionals like George Henry Lewes and Thomas Macauley for whom Austen’s characters are “similarly” real and thus actual people from whom lessons about the conduct of life can be derived. The fascination with Austenian verisimilitude is scarcely a Victorian invention. But where mid-century readers depart from their earlier counterparts, and even from a reader like Whatley who anticipates them, is in the tendency to transform a reality-effect, which Whatley saw largely as a rhetorical tool, into a real world shorn of all naturalizing props or techniques. When the New Monthly observes that the “figures and scenes pictured on Miss Austen’s canvas” are “exquisitely real” so that what is “flat” and “insipid [in other hands]” is, “at her bidding, a sprightly, versatile, never-flagging chapter of realities” (134), and proceeds to assemble among its list of “lifelike” characters the figures in her novels who are often closest to caricature and most vulnerable to judgment, the “everyday” has moved from both Whatley’s rhetorical apparatus and Scott’s locus of appreciation to an aspect of the novels immaculately folded into an operation where regulation is no longer administered to the reader so much as by the reader. The normative operation of Austen’s fictions that Whatley urged in emending Scott is by mid-century lodged entirely in a disposition to judgment, where, as Whatley’s essay anticipates, character, especially blamable character, is sufficiently coextensive with the everyday that the novels’ “perfect appearance of reality” is suddenly the means by which the reality of those under judgment, along with the judgments upon them in which readers are privileged to indulge, are reciprocally validated. 230 W. GALPERIN To be sure, the cautionary characters in Austen are invariably compared in these assessments with heroes and heroines who (like Fanny according to Whatley) are meant to serve as role models—so that the New Monthly’s adduction of characters, ranging from General Tilney and Walter Elliot to Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine, is typically counterpointed by observations of Anne Elliot as “self-sacrificing and noble- hearted” or of Captain Wentworth as “intelligent, spirited, and generously high-minded” (138). But this does not diminish the fact that the authority of Austen’s fictions and the values they putatively uphold derive their sanction from a “reality”—the real people whom the reader can look down upon now in the act of blaming—which is rarely appealed to with the same urgency or enthusiasm with respect to characters who are merely praiseworthy. Lewes, arguably the most erudite and prolific defender of Austen’s fiction at this time, and best known for having provoked Charlotte Bronte into her infamous critique of Austen as a writer lacking passion, sentiment and poetry, is also typical in his tendency both to locate and defend Austen’s “fidelity” (130) to real life in her “truthful representation of character” (153). Although such observations bear more than a trace of Scott’s way with Austen in appreciating the degree to which Austen’s characters are “at once life-like and interesting” so that the “good people” in her fictions “are . . . good, without being goody,” this sense of Austenian verisimilitude inevitably gives way to an appreciation of Austen’s “noodles” as so “accurately real” that “[t]hey become equal to actual experiences” (153). To show this, Lewes summons the examples of Mrs. Elton in Emma and Mrs. Norris in Mansfield Park: “We have so personal a dislike to Mrs. Elton and Mrs. Norris, that it would gratify our savage feeling to hear of some calamity befalling them” (153). Lewes is being hyperbolic, both in the fantasies he admits to harboring and in the reality-effect whose force has presumably provoked them. Nevertheless, the keyword in his assessment is not “character” or “truth” or “fidelity,” but “personal.” This is so because the extension of Austen’s fiction into actual experience is for Lewes, no less than for Kipling’s veterans, a seduction whose interpellative reach is keyed directly to the status conferred in the ability to judge and ultimately to hate. The pedagogical uses to which Austen’s fictions were put by readers such as Whatley were quickly assimilated to the uses that such education, or projective identification with the narrator, could be put in turn. These last conferred on the nineteenth-century, or again popular, reader of Austen a status that was not just unearned but, on the testimony of earlier readers such as Scott, largely misappropriated. Rutgers University, New Brunswick, NJ NOTES 1 References to Kipling’s “The Janeities” are to the text in Debits and Credits 147–176. 2 For Edgeworth’s response to Austen, in this case Emma, see Butler, 445. 3 See Harding and Mudrick. 4 Unless otherwise indicated, all references to the nineteenth-century response to Austen are to the texts in Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage, ed. B. C. Southam. 5 “Austen’s Earliest Readers and the Rise of the Janeites,” in Janeites: Austen’s Disciples and Devotees. 6 David Nokes observes this of Fanny in Jane Austen: A Life 413. AUSTEN’S “ABSOLUTE HISTORICAL PICTURES” 231 Works Cited Armstrong, Nancy. Desire and Domestic Fiction: A Political History of the Novel. New York: Oxford UP, 1987. Butler, Marilyn. Maria Edgeworth: A Literary Biography. Oxford: Clarendon P, 1972. Galperin, William. “Austen’s Earliest Readers and the Rise of the Janeites.” Janeites: Austen’s Disciples and Devotees. Ed. Deidre Lynch. Princeton: Princeton UP, 2000. 87–114. Harding, D.W. “Regulated Hatred: An Aspect of the Work of Jane Austen.” Scrutiny 8 (1940): 346–362. Kelly, Gary. English Fiction of the Romantic Period 1789–1830. London: Longman, 1989. Kipling, Rudyard. Debits and Credits. London: Macmillan, 1926. Literary Gazette 30 (March 1833): 199. Mudrick, Marvin. Jane Austen: Irony as Defense and Discovery. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1952. Nokes, David. Jane Austen: A Life. Berkeley: U of California P, 1998. Southam, B. C., ed. Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1968. 
work_m56ln653wjeolhqmxhhat7vhd4	----	"Editing Jane: Austen's Juvenilia in the Classroom" Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l'Université de Montréal, l'Université Laval et l'Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. Érudit offre des services d'édition numérique de documents scientifiques depuis 1998. Pour communiquer avec les responsables d'Érudit : info@erudit.org Article "Editing Jane: Austen's Juvenilia in the Classroom" Tobi Kozakewich, Kirsten Macleod et Juliet Mcmaster Lumen: Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Lumen : travaux choisis de la Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, vol. 19, 2000, p. 187-201. Pour citer cet article, utiliser l'information suivante : URI: http://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012324ar DOI: 10.7202/1012324ar Note : les règles d'écriture des références bibliographiques peuvent varier selon les différents domaines du savoir. Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d'auteur. L'utilisation des services d'Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d'utilisation que vous pouvez consulter à l'URI https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Document téléchargé le 5 April 2021 09:53 13. Editing Jane: Austen's Juvenilia in the Classroom Treasured objects in the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford and the British Library, materials that have been carefully preserved from that century to this, are the manuscripts from the hand of the teenage Jane Austen, written during the 1790s: she called them, in humorous imitation of the three-decker novels she was used to reading, Volume the First, Volume the Second, and Volume the Third. Austen is an author so sought after that even established scholars are not customarily permitted to lay hands on these pages, but must look at them through glass or in microfilm. And yet since no manuscript survives of the novels she published in her lifetime (except for the cancelled chapter of Persuasion), these three volumes of juvenilia, like those of the unfinished fragments The Watsons and Sanditon, are particularly valuable for offering insights into her creative process. Students as well as scholars, I suggest, should have access to what the manuscripts can reveal. The process of editing from manuscript, or indeed of any editing whatsoever, is usually left in the hands of professional scholars; and students of literature receive their texts ready-made, as from the hand of God. Lists of textual variants which they may find in some editions are cheerfully overlooked, as is the 'Note on the Text' which the editor has painstakingly prepared. And yet these same students are very well trained in critical interpretation, and some can readily cook u p plausible arguments on the signification of an upper case here or some possible word-play there, when these may be the choices or errors of a modern editor rather than a product of authorial intention. To restore some balance in this training, so that students of literature become conscious that the text to which they bring their interpretive skills is the product not only of an author but also of a multiplicity of editorial decisions, it has been my project to get students editing a text themselves, from manuscript if possible. And if they cannot lay their hands on Austen's holograph, they can work from reproductions, and pass on their find- ings, and something of their experience, to other students. LUMEN XIX / 2000 1209-3696 / 2000 / 1900-0187 $9.00 / © C.S.E.C.S. / S.C.E.D.S. 188 Tobi Kozakewich, Kirsten Macleod, Juliet Mcmaster At the CSECS conference where we first gave a version of this paper, every delegate received a copy of Jane Austen's A Collection of Letters, in a scholarly edition prepared largely by students, and published by the Juvenilia Press (see Figure l).1 This is the first time that this work — written at about sixteen — has received separate publication; and our edition comes with its own critical introduction, full annotation, and text edited from the manuscript (or rather, a photocopy thereof, which was the best we could do; and the British Library has proved very accommo- dating to our enterprise). The Introduction by Heather Harper was an exercise in critical inter- pretation and contextualising; the annotations were a team effort, in which we divided among us such topics as dress, topography, coaches and travel, literary allusion, and connections with Austen's other works; the illustration — always an enjoyable part of our volumes — was by Laura Nielson; she worked with our designer, Winston Pei (also a student), who brings professional expertise, and who has given our books their distinctive look. Textual editing, which is the focus of this paper, was by Tobi Kozakewich, Kelly Laycock, and Kirsten MacLeod. The whole was a special project in a graduate course on the Romantic novel, in which Austen was one author among several others. While some of the work on the edition could be done for credit among the assignments for the course, our team-edited volume called for extra research, and a number of meetings and consultations outside of class time; and it was not actually published until well after the course was over. But we had created a book, after all (the secret ambition of many a student of literature). And in the process the students had gathered experience not only in textual editing, annotating, and introducing, but also in such matters as permissions, acknowledgements, quotation- checking, proof-reading, design, and all the other nitty-gritty of scholarly production. The creative beginnings of a youthful author offer an appropriate training space for the tyro scholar; and the Juvenilia Press, an enterprise in research and pedagogy, is designed to acquaint students with the basics of scholarly editing, as they work alongside more experienced scholars. The mission of the Press is to present scholarly editions of the early writings of major authors, with student involvement in the editing process. Our authors so far include Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, the Brontes, George Eliot, Louisa May Alcott, and even Margaret Atwood, who generously allowed us to publish some early work of hers without royalty. But Jane Austen has been our major standby, and her jubilant juvenilia fortunately have market appeal. Since its beginnings in the early 1990s,2 the Juvenilia Press has pub- lished some twenty-one volumes, and more are in the pipeline. They Editing Jane: Austen's Juvenilia in the Classroom Figure 1 Cover of the Juvenilia Press edition of A Collection of Letters 190 Tobi Kozakewich, Kirsten Macleod, Juliet Monaster have been created by undergraduate as well as graduate students; and they are not necessarily part of a course, but represent different kinds of collaboration between scholars and students. The Press is fortunate that major scholars from widely-spread universities have contributed their expertise and developed their students' skills: Isobel Grundy in Canada, author of the biography of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu that has re- cently emerged from Oxford University Press, brought us Lady Mary's mini-romance Indamora to Lindamira, written at fourteen in 1704; and since that had not been published before, it provided an impulse for the founding of the Press; Christine Alexander of the University of New South Wales, the major scholar of Charlotte Bronte's juvenilia, has produced a Brontë volume, and plans others; and the American Austen scholars Jan Fergus and Rachel Brownstein have collaborated with their students in editing the young Jane's The History of England, Lesley Castle, and Henry and Eliza. Thus our little Press is making its mark in different countries and on different continents. Moreover, since some of our editions have become texts in other courses, the work of the student editors goes on to enlighten other students. The editing process is an activity unusual enough in the classroom that some student editors have chosen to write about their experience, in various venues academic, electronic and otherwise.3 The present paper is an example. In her adulatory dedications, which addressed her 'patrons' — usu- ally members of her family — young Jane mimicked the publication conventions of her day. She also jokingly claimed that The History of England and The Beautifull Cassandra had 'attained a place in every library in the Kingdom, and run through threescore Editions': that is, this young author, however playfully, envisaged herself as a professional, partici- pating in the hurly-burly of the publishing world. The Juvenilia Press editions, by presenting these juvenile works as separate volumes rather than in a homogenized collection à la Chapman or Doody and Murray, go some way towards fulfilling that child author's professional ambi- tions. I hope that the Juvenilia Press does the same for today's student, too. Our Juvenilia Press editions are the product of team work, and so is this paper. I pass the pen to Kirsten MacLeod, w h o in turn passes it to Tobi Kozakewich. J.M. Editing Jane: Austen's Juvenilia in the Classroom 191 A Collection of Letters, the volume of Austen's juvenilia that we chose to edit, is not, as the title might lead one to believe, composed of real-life letters. Nor is it a series of letters forming a continuous narrative as in the epistolary novels that were so popular in the Eighteenth Century. The letters that make u p this manuscript are fictional, with each letter introducing a new narrative situation and a new set of characters, as though young Jane were launching a series of experiments. Perhaps because of its eclectic form, A Collection of Letters has received scant critical attention in comparison with Austen's other juvenile works.4 But A Collection of Letters is an important transitional work, containing fine examples of both the parodie burlesque found in earlier juvenilia like Love and Freindship and the more serious concerns of her adult fiction. Thus, on the one hand, Letter the Fifth depicts the ludicrous protestations of a sentimental young suitor w h o plans to die for love. Reaching the heady heights of sensibility as he imagines that his beloved might actually shed a tear over his corpse, he rapturously declares, 'Ah! ... imagine what my transports will be when I feel the dear precious drops trickle on my face! Who would not die to taste such ecstacy!' (CL 27).5 On the other hand, A Collection of Letters contrasts these moments of sheer travesty with a more nuanced approach to characters and themes that contain the seeds of her mature work. Letter the Third, for example, 'from a young Lady in distress'd circumstances,' shows the humiliations suffered by the disadvantaged protagonist from the patronage of the domineering Lady Greville, a woman who sounds and behaves very much like Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Pride and Prejudice: 'Pray Miss Maria,' she asks the 'young Lady' pointedly (and in company too), 'in what way of business was your Grandfather? for Miss Mason & I cannot agree whether he was a Grocer or a Bookbinder.... I knew he was in some such low way' (CL 12). The co-existence of Austen's juvenile and adult themes suggested a variety of critical approaches to members of our editing team. As gradu- ate students well trained in critical analysis, we all recognized the interpretive advantages of working on a critically overlooked text. But the tasks called for from the textual editing team were entirely new to us. Because our experience had, u p to this point, been only with ready- printed books, we had never thought about the editing process itself. If at first we were undaunted by our task, it was only because we had a rather naive view of what editing entailed. We assumed that editing was simply a matter of transcribing a text and that, at the very worst, it might involve some deciphering of illegible handwriting. While we considered such matters as the standardization of spelling and punctuation and how much to preserve of the manuscript's style, these issues too, at first, seemed unproblematic. 192 Tobi Kozakewich, Kirsten Macleod, Juliet Mcmaster Our troubles began almost as soon as we laid our hands on the manuscript (or rather the photocopy of the microfilm of the manuscript). The editorial tasks we had been assigned completely changed the nature of our relationship to the text in front of us. Suddenly it was as though our responsibility to the author was much greater than it ever seemed to be in critical analysis. The handwriting of the teenage Austen repre- sented a much more personal contact than we had ever experienced with printed texts, and somehow it humanized her. Rather than seeing her as Austen, the canonical writer of English classics, we began to see her as Jane, a young girl writing fictional letters for the amusement of her family and friends. Inexplicably, we felt a greater sense of responsibility to this girl who was at once Jane and Austen than we did when envision- ing her simply as Austen. Our editorial decisions no longer seemed as straightforward, guided as we were by the desire to 'get it right,' in an effort not only to honour the ambitions of the teenage Jane, but also to validate an early production of the great author, Austen. This new-found sense of responsibility made us suddenly highly conscious of those editors who had preceded us. How did we presume to improve upon the other extant editions of A Collection of Letters contained in R. W. Chapman's Minor Works volume in The Works of Jane Austen (1954), B. C. Southam's revision of Chapman (1964), and Mar- garet Anne Doody's and Douglas Murray's more recent Catharine and Other Writings (1993)? For a start, our edition would present A Collection of Letters as an independent work, distinct from Austen's other juvenilia, something which had not previously been done. The opportunity to publish A Collection of Letters as an independent volume, an act that we felt reflected the responsibilities we felt towards Jane, the fledgling author, was one of the advantages of editing for a small press. Most large publishing houses would not undertake the publication of a work like A Collection of Letters, simply because the cost of production would be too high, and the sales potential risky at best. Another way in which editing for a small press enabled us to act on our sense of responsibility — this time to our twentieth-century readers — w a s the freedom we were given to establish our own stylistic protocol. Unhindered by 'house style,' our stylistic practices were based on our desire to convey the sense of intimacy and immediacy that we had experienced while working with the manuscript. While the most obvi- ous way of achieving this effect is to reproduce the manuscript in facsimile, such texts are often discouraging to those who have little patience for deciphering handwriting. We compromised on this matter by using facsimiles of Austen's headings for the individual letters (see Figure 2). Other decisions we made in an effort to retain the flavour of the original included: reproducing Austen's use of the ampersand rather Editing Jane: Austen's Juvenilia in the Classroom 193 Indeed they are. sweet Girls—. Sensible yet unaffected- Accomplished yet Easy—. Lively yet Gentle—. To Miss Cooper—' Cousin Conscious of the Charming Character which in every Country, & every Clime in Christendom is Cried, Concerning you, with Caution & Care I Com- mend to your Charitable Criticism this Clever Collection of Curious Comments, which have been Carefully Culled, Collected & Classed by your Comi- cal Cousin The Author. From a Mother to her freind.2 My Children3 begin now to claim all my attention in a different Manner from that in which they have been used to receive it, as they are now arrived at that age when it is necessary for them in some measure to become conversant with the World. My Augusta is 17 & her Sister4 scarcely a twelvemonth younger. I flatter myself that their education has been such as will not disgrace their appearance in the World,5 & that they will not disgrace their Edu- cation6 I have every reason to beleive. Indeed they are sweet Girls—. Sensible yet unaffected7— Accom- plished yet Easy—. Lively yet Gentle—. As their progress in every thing they have learnt has been always the same, I am willing to forget the differ- ence of age.8 and to introduce them together into Public, This very Evening is fixed on as their first entrée into life, as we are to drink tea9 with Mra Cope Figure 2 The first opening of the Juvenilia Press edition, showing the facsimile of Austen's manuscript headings to the letters. than changing it to ' a n d / using two different dash lengths to reflect Austen's own variation, preserving the underlining rather than using italics to indicate emphasis, and maintaining Austen's idiosyncratic spelling errors. Perhaps one of the most difficult decisions we faced as textual editors was whether to include deleted matter and to signal revisions and additions occurring in the manuscript. There are, of course, compelling reasons for including this sort of material, the foremost being that it enhances the reader's sense of direct contact with the author's process of creation. In this respect we concur with Jan Fergus, who notes in her Juvenilia Press edition of Austen's Lesley Castle, 'We have preserved as many of [Austen's deletions and insertions] as possible in our printed 194 Tobi Kozakewich, Kirsten Macleod, Juliet Mcmaster version, to allow readers the pleasure of following Austen's mind at work.... Looking at Austen's revisions makes her more familiar, more human. It gives us a chance to enter her mind — otherwise she is always way ahead or above, unpredictable and indescribable in her brilliant use of language, even as a teenager' (viii-ix). While we considered this argument in our own decision-making process, ultimately we chose not to incorporate these manuscript variants for a number of reasons: first, since the manuscript is a fairly clean copy, most of the recoverable deletions were minor, either handwriting errors or word changes. To record such minor changes, we felt, would unnecessarily interrupt the flow of reading. Moreover, Doody and Murray's 1993 edition of Austen's juvenilia provides full coverage of all the textual variants in the manu- scripts. They after all had access to the original manuscript and could make plausible guesses on deletions that were illegible on our photo- copy. For consistency's sake, we felt that if we could not fully recover the deletions with our manuscript, then we would not include any at all. Having decided upon this all-or-nothing approach in the matter of deletions, we overlooked the valuable insight that these deletions can sometimes provide. While for most readers, the fact of an author having changed 'a' to 'the' is of little interest, significant changes like those in Letter the Fifth, 'From a young lady very much in love to her friend' (see Figure 3) can provide interesting insight into the creative process. While we did not include these deletions in our edition, Doody and Murray offer the following readings of the deletions, though the second one, as they point out, is 'partial and highly conjectural' (264), given Austen's heavy overscoring of the text: 1st deletion: "May I hope to receive an answer to this e'er many days have tortured me with Suspence! Any letter (post paid) will be most welcome/' 2nd deletion: "T[ire]d [tho'] we shall be of one another when we are m[arrie]d [illegible] do not you long for the spring?" (264; their insertions). In both instances, Austen's omission of the deleted material indicates a movement away from burlesque satire towards the more subtle style of her later work. In the first case (Figure 3), Austen deletes an explicit reference to Musgrove's cheapness. This stinginess and his decided interest in the fortune of his beloved is hinted at more subtly in the narrative situation and in the references to Musgrove's Improvable estate,' without the more crude reference in the lines that Austen has crossed out. Similarly, in the second instance, the deleted matter lacks subtlety in its portrayal of the shallowness of 'the young lady.' While Austen wants us to understand that the 'young lady' is fairly shallow, we are also to understand that the young lady believes herself to be in Editing Jane: Austen's Juvenilia in the Classroom 195 Figure 3 Page 222 of Austen's manuscript of A Collection of Letters, showing deletions. (British Library MS of Volume the Second, Add 59874) earnest, and it is precisely this earnestness that makes her ludicrous. The deleted material suggests a worldliness in the young woman's character that somewhat undermines Austen's attempts to render this character silly. Having examined these two significant deletions for the prepara- tion of this paper, our initial all-or-nothing approach, which at the time was guided by our desire for consistency, seems now to have been 196 Tobi Kozakewich, Kirsten Macleod, Juliet Mcmaster somewhat misguided. At the same time, however, this experience dem- onstrated to us that the learning process can continue even after the actual 'hands-on' part of the project is completed. K.M. If a desire for consistency motivated our decision regarding deletions, a respect for Austen's artistic style motivated our decision to honour, as much as possible, the different dash lengths Austen employed.6 In the manuscript, there are three basic dash lengths. The shortest dash appears most frequently; the longest dash, only a few times, and the mid-length dash, fewer still. After considering the rare occurrence of the mid-length dash as well as the possibility that at least some of the variations in dash length could have resulted not from authorial intention, but from the necessary inconsistencies of a young girl writing, by hand, with a quill pen, we decided to standardize Jane Austen's dashes to two lengths: short and long. Our recognition of the tonal significance of the dash was intuitive. But when we delivered this paper, questions from Peter Sabor and Gary Kelly alerted us to useful scholarship on the issue. In discussing Sarah Fielding's use of dashes in David Simple (1744), Janine Barchas demon- strates how her use of the dash 'serves a vital interpretive function ... [and] conveys information through graphic rather than verbal means' (333). Henry Fielding revised his sister's punctuation, changing her dashes to more formal pointing. (He was apparently like another linguis- tically pedantic male, Austen's own Henry Tilney in Northanger Abbey, who castigates women's letters for their 'total inattention to stops' [Northanger Abbey 27]). In his recent edition of David Simple, Peter Sabor records 'nine different lengths of dashes, both broken and unbroken,' which he takes pains to restore (Sabor, xlii). Another woman writer closer to Austen's time who employed differ- ent dash lengths was Eliza Fenwick. In her edition of Secresy (1795), Isobel Grundy notes that Fenwick 'apparently sought to distinguish three lengths of dash: short, to replace or reinforce a period in the manner of Sterne's Tristram Shandy; medium, to indicate material absent from the text; and very long for the inarticulacy of intense emotion' (Grundy 36). Young Jane's practice, then, is part of a tradition particularly congen- ial to women writers, though shared by Tristram Shandy, who is simi- larly a connoisseur of graphically expressive punctuation. So much we have learned in the on-going process not only of editing but also of engaging in scholarly discourse on editing, as our paper has allowed us to do. Editing Jane: Austen's Juvenilia in the Classroom 197 Austen, too, uses the short dash to reinforce other punctuation marks. In Letter the First, for example, within a few lines, Austen uses this dash to emphasize a comma and a period: 'In a few Moments we were in Mrs Cope's parlour — , where with her daughter she sate ready to receive us. I observed with delight the impression my Children made on them — ' (CL 3-4). In Letter the Fourth, even an exclamation point receives addi- tional emphasis from a short dash when Miss Grenville responds to the letter-writer's inquiry about from whence she travelled with a surprised 'No Ma'am — !'(CL 16). Not only does the short dash emphasize extant punctuation, it fre- quently replaces other punctuation marks as well. Most commonly, such use appears within or around quotation marks. In the following ex- change between Lady Greville and Maria, for example, the short dash replaces commas and periods, in addition to being used in its more conventional manner: Why I think Miss Maria you are not quite so smart as you were last night — But I did not come to examine your dress, but to tell you that you may dine with us the day after tomorrow — Not tomorrow, remember, do not come tomorrow, for we expect Lord and Lady Clermont & Sir Thomas Stanley's family — There will be no occasion for your being very fine for I shant send the Carriage — If it rains you may take an umbrella — ... — And pray remember to be on time, for I shant wait — I hate my victuals over-done — But you need not come before the time — How does your Mother do — ? She is at dinner is not she? (CL 13-14) The informality of the dash is appropriate to the unconsidered spurts of Lady Greville's speech. Perhaps the most interesting use of the dash is as a means of charac- terization. In Letter the Second, the short dashes convey Sophia's breath- lessness and fluster as well as the rush of thoughts and emotions which she cannot ever clearly express. When describing Miss Jane to the 'f reind' to whom she writes, Sophia recalls that There is something so sweet, so mild in her Countenance, that she seems more than Mortal. Her Conversation is as bewitching as her appearance — ; I could not help telling her how much she engaged my Admiration — . Oh! Miss Jane (said I) — and stopped from an inability of the moment of expressing myself as I could wish — "Oh! Miss Jane" — (I repeated) — I could not think of words to suit my feelings. She seemed waiting for my Speech — . I was confused — distressed — My thoughts were bewildered — and I could only add — "How do you do?" (CL 5-7) 198 Tobi Kozakewich, Kirsten Macleod, Juliet Mcmaster It is in this arena of characterization and emphasis on the unspeakable that longer dash lengths come into play. In Letter the First, the letter- writing mother warns her daughters 'against suffering yourselves to be meanly swayed by the Follies & Vices of others, for beleive me my beloved Children that if you do 1 shall be very sorry for it' (CL 3). The long dash here not only represents the pause in the mother's speech, it also articulates the unspeakable possibility of the girls' being led astray. Likewise, at the close of the conversation Maria Williams has with her mother in Letter the Third, the long dash represents a pause in the dialogue as well as an (in)audible expression of Maria's protest: '"Go Maria — " replied She Accordingly I went & was obliged to stand there at her Ladyships pleasure' (CL 13). If we had not differentiated the few long dashes from the plethora of short ones, we might have obliter- ated the ways in which young Jane Austen's use of the dash invested in that symbol a significance and a currency which professional women writers like Fielding, Inchbald, and Fenwick were also discovering and employing. Questions about leaving out deletions and maintaining (although standardizing) different dash lengths we answered democratically. So, too, did we decide upon whether a 'c' or an 'a' was a capital or lower case letter and whether a mark on a page was a comma, a period, or a blot. The ultimate arbitrariness of some of our decision-making made us suspect that even more experienced manuscript editors at times work through a similarly subjective process. This realization was a comfort to us tyros, who felt daunted by the previous editions of A Collection of Letters in the volumes by Doody and Murray and by Chapman. Our confidence in our ability as editors increased greatly and naively when we discovered an error in the edition by Chapman as revised by Southam which was repeated in that by Doody and Murray. In 'Letter the First,' where these editions read 'When we arrived at Warleigh, poor Augusta could hardly breathe' (Southam 151, Doody and Murray 147), the manuscript itself reads 'could scarcely breathe' (Austen MS 92, our emphasis; see Figure 4). While allowing us to believe ourselves capable of engaging with contemporary Austen scholarship, the fact that we were able to correct the two most recent (and authoritative) editors, even in this small way, simultaneously reminded us of the subjectivity of textual editing (including the deciphering of handwriting) and of the fallibility of even professional editors. Our own fallibility came to the fore in circumstances surrounding another of our corrections. At the very end of the manuscript, in Southam's Chapman, the emphasis of the T am' on page 169 is reversed: rather than saying T am very Charitable every now and then,' in Southam's Chapman, Henrietta Halton says 7 a m ' so. We gleefully Editing Jane: Austen's Juvenilia in the Classroom 199 Figure 4 Page 192 of the manuscript, showing "could scarcely breathe" where some other editions read "could hardly breathe." (British Library MS of Volume the Second, Add 59874) pounced on the error, and congratulated ourselves on the correction in a note. Only subsequently did we discover that Doody and Murray had got there before us. Thus, not only was our second correction less exciting because not as far-reaching, it was humbling as well. Working on a piece of fiction by a canonical author on whom we were not experts was an intimidating and fascinating experience. During moments of uncertainty and self-doubt, we questioned our endeavour. In the face of the previous professional editors and their authoritative editions, who were we? what did we have to offer? In the height of our enthusiasm, the questions changed: what did we not have to offer? From the deciphering of handwriting, the deciding upon our own stylistic practices, and the comparison of our copy text with previous editions to the arguments we had over the incorporation of deletions, the rendering of two dash lengths, and the painstakingly-produced Note on the Text, our work as textual editors provided us with an invaluable experience. Perhaps most importantly, the practical experience of working on this Juvenilia Press volume catalyzed a critical re-evaluation of our primary tool as literary scholars — the printed text — in illuminating and disil- lusioning ways. Now, inevitably, we question the authenticity of all books, including our own, for we can no longer view printed texts as unadulterated reproductions of authors' original drafts. Regarding our own volume, in particular, we realize that although there are things in which we still delight, there are also things we would like to change. Yet at the very least, with our Juvenilia Press edition of Jane Austen's A 200 Tobi Kozakewich, Kirsten Macleod, Juliet Mcmaster Collection of Letters, we have found a way to engage in a new kind of scholarly dialogue, and we have opened u p additional space for future editors of Jane Austen's juvenilia — not a giant feat, perhaps, but certainly a worthwhile one. T.K. TOBI KOZAKEWICH KIRSTEN MACLEOD JULIET MCMASTER University of Alberta Notes 1 We are grateful to Robert and Kathryn Merrett for their generosity in making the volume of a Collection of Letters a part of the registration package. 2 For an account of the early history of the Juvenilia Press, see Juliet McMaster, 'Apprentice Scholar, Apprentice Writer.' 3 See, for example, 'Juvenile Writings: Theoretical and Practical Approaches/ by Kathy Chung, Juliet McMaster and Leslie Robertson. 4 See J. David Grey's Jane Austen's Beginnings for a collection of critical essays on the juvenilia. A Collection of Letters, however, receives only passing reference in this volume. 5 For our own edition of A Collection of Letters we use the abbreviation CL. 6 In the version of this essay which we read at the CSECS conference, there was scarcely a passing reference to the different dash lengths in the manuscript; however, in the question period following our panel, the comments of Gary Kelly and Peter Sabor showed us how useful further elaboration on this subject could be. Works Cited Alexander, Christine, and others, eds. BranwelVs Blackwood's Magazine. By Branwell and Charlotte Bronte. Edmonton: Juvenilia P, 1995. Austen, Jane. Northanger Abbey and Persuasion. Vol 5. The Novels of Jane Austen. 5 vols. Ed. R. W. Chapman. 3rd. ed. London: Oxford UP, 1954. . Volume the Second. Ms. Add 59874. British Library, London. Barchas, Janine. 'Sarah Fielding's Dashing Style and Eighteenth-Century Print Culture.' ELH 63 (1996): 633-56. Chapman, R. W., ed. Minor Works. Vol 6. The Works of Jane Austen. 6 vols. Oxford: Ox- ford UP, 1954. E d i t i n g J a n e : A u s t e n ' s J u v e n i l i a i n t h e C l a s s r o o m 2 0 1 Chung, Kathy, Juliet McMaster, and Leslie Robertson. 'Juvenile Writings: Theoretical and Practical Approaches.' English Studies in Canada 24.3 (1998): 289-320. Doody, Margaret Anne, and Douglas Murray. Catharine and Other Writings. By Jane Austen. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1993. Fergus, Jan, and others, eds. The History of England. By Jane Austen. Edmonton: Juvenilia P,1995. . Lesley Castle. By Jane Austen. Edmonton: Juvenilia P, 1998. Grey, J. David, ed. Jane Austen's Beginnings: The Juvenilia and Lady Susan. Ann Arbor: UMI Research P, 1989. Grundy, Isobel. Note on the text. Secresy. 1795. By Eliza Fenwick. Peterborough, Ont.: Broadview, 1994. 36. and Susan Hillabold, eds. Indamora to Lindamira. By Lady Mary Pierrepont (Wortley Montagu). Edmonton: Juvenilia P, 1994. Hartnick, Karen L., Rachel Brownstein, and others, eds. Henry and Eliza. By Jane Austen. Edmonton: Juvenilia P, 1996. McMaster, Juliet. 'Apprentice Scholar, Apprentice Writer.' English Studies in Canada 22.1 (1996): 1-15. , and others, eds. A Collection of Letters. By Jane Austen. Edmonton: Juvenilia P, 1998. Sabor, Peter. Note on the text. The Adventures of David Simple and Volume the Last. 1744 and 1753. By Sarah Fielding. Lexington, Kentucky: UP of Kentucky, 1998. Southam, B.C., rev. Minor Works. Vol 6. The Works of Jane Austen. Ed. R. W. Chapman. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1963. 
work_mdj3at6wbbdazmyfe6fzmhws6q	----	sandra vasconcelos Literature and cinema: images of... 317 Ilha do Desterro Florianópolis nº 42 p.317-336 jan./jun. 2002 LITERATURE AND CINEMA: IMAGES OF FEMININITY IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE S a n d r a G u a rS a n d r a G u a rS a n d r a G u a rS a n d r a G u a rS a n d r a G u a r d i n i Td i n i Td i n i Td i n i Td i n i T. V. V. V. V. Va s c o n c e l o sa s c o n c e l o sa s c o n c e l o sa s c o n c e l o sa s c o n c e l o s A b s t r a c tA b s t r a c tA b s t r a c tA b s t r a c tA b s t r a c t By comparing the novel Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen with an American filmic version from 1940, the article draws attention to the shift in the focus of the two narratives. While the novel provides alternative possibilities for the stories of the female characters, the filmic version chooses to reinforce an idealized image of social harmony. Keywords: Keywords: Keywords: Keywords: Keywords: literature and cinema – marriage – Jane Austen R e s u m oR e s u m oR e s u m oR e s u m oR e s u m o Ao comparar o romance Pride and Prejudice de Jane Austen com uma versão fílmica americana de 1940, o artigo chama atenção para a mudança de enfoque das duas narrativas. Enquanto o romance fornece possibilidades alternativas para as estórias das personagens femininas, a versão fílmica opta por reforçar uma imagem idealizada de harmonia social. In 1712, Lady Mary, daughter of the Marquis of Dorchester, surprised her family by eloping with Edward Wortley Montagu, a Whig MP for Huntingdon. Resolved not to marry against her own inclinations, she was thus putting an end to a long family crisis throughout which 318 Sandra Guardini T. Vasconcelos she had tried to avoid an arranged marriage. In a letter to Montagu, written about 4 July 1712, she tells him about her endeavours to convince her father: I see all the misfortune of marrying where it is impossible to love; (...) I wanted courage to resist at first the will of my relations; but, as every day added to my fears, those, at last, grew strong enough to make me venture the disobliging them. (...) I knew the folly of my own temper, and took the method of writing to the disposer of me. I said every thing in this letter I thought proper to move him, and proffered, in atonement for not marrying whom he would, never to marry at all. He did not think fit to answer this letter, but sent for me to him. He told me he was very much surprised that I did not depend on his judgment for my future happiness; that he knew nothing I had to complain of, &c.; that he did not doubt I had some other fancy in my head, which encouraged me to this disobedience; but he assured me, if I refused a settlement that he had provided for me, he gave me his word, whatever proposals were made him, he would never so much as enter into a treaty with any other; that, if I founded any hopes upon his death, I should find myself mistaken, he never intended to leave me any thing but an annuity of £400 per annum; (...)1 Lady Mary Montagu’s predicament was not at all uncommon in eighteenth-century England and it clearly illustrates one of the “awkward, unresolved issues” or “faultline stories”, in Alan Sinfield’s words,2 which were so central to the period – the incompatible demands for obedience to parental wishes and expectations of affection in marriage. Carried away by her own fantasies of romantic love, Lady Montagu chose to defy her family interests and her father’s authority and make a move which did not meet with unequivocal social approval. Hers, certainly, was the plight with which many a young lady was confronted. Indeed, personal choice versus family ambitions Literature and cinema: images of... 319 determined the two patterns of marriage which predominated in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. With the rise of the bourgeoisie, it was necessary to redefine the role of the family in society, and also women’s place in it, and a whole line of argument was developed to defend the principle of personal autonomy and the importance of strong affective ties in familial relationships. Not everybody agreed, though, that love should have pride of place in a woman’s choice of husband. There were still those who argued hotly in favour of the family’s knowing best what was an appropriate match for their children. If marriage of convenience versus marriage for love became a subject of discussion in treatises, sermons, conduct books and the like, it was only too natural that it should also become a recurring theme in the novels of the period. Stock-in-trade of much of the popular sentimental fiction published throughout the eighteenth century, the myth of romantic love found a lot of opposition among those who believed that novel-reading could fill young women’s heads with all sorts of silly ideas about love and marriage. The more “serious” novelists, however, intent on instructing their readers, set out to discuss those issues they thought were of general social interest, and to collaborate in the task of helping people with those aspects of their lives which they found difficult. With the more widespread possibility of marrying someone of one’s choice, it became even more fundamental to learn how to find an appropriate partner and make an appropriate match. Marriageability depended no longer simply or exclusively on one’s dowry but also on a set of personal qualities which were demanded both of men and women; but, whereas learning, decision and authority were male prerogatives, modesty, grace, deference, self- restraint, delicacy and virtue were some of the “feminine” qualities, expected of every woman both before and after marriage. The centrality of marriage in bourgeois England, and particularly in women’s lives, determined the place and role assigned to women and dictated a whole set of rules and a code of behaviour which helped forge a new paradigm of femininity, disseminated in conduct books, educational treatises, sermons, and, of course, in novels. Excluded from 320 Sandra Guardini T. Vasconcelos the world of labour, women had very little possibility of getting themselves a real occupation and the answer society found for them was marriage, childbearing and domesticity. Sir John Fielding, the novelist’s half-brother, was simply giving voice to a widespread point of view when he saw women as an appendix of men and argued that: The utmost of a woman’s character is contained in domestic life, and she is praise- or blameworthy, according as her carriage affects her father’s or her husband’s house; all she has to do in this world, is contained in the duties of a daughter, sister, wife and mother... Modesty, meekness, compassion, affability, and piety, are the feminine virtues.3 The ideal of womanhood dictated that women should be contained in the realm of the home, and socializing for them was limited to visiting and letter-writing. The “public sphere”, that is, the world of politics, of the coffee-houses and streets was not meant for them. This dominant ideology, however, was challenged by some dissident voices which were raised in defense of an alternative view of women’s possibilities. Charlotte Smith interrogates the common reader in the preface to her novel Desmond, published in 1792: Women, it is said, have no business with politics. Why not? Have they no interest in the scenes that are acting around them, in which they have fathers, brothers, husbands, sons, or friends, engaged? Even in the commonest course of female education, they are expected to acquire some knowledge of history; and yet, if they are to have no opinion of what is passing, it avails little that they should be informed of what has passed, in a world where they are subject to such mental degradation; where they are censured as affecting masculine knowledge if they happen to have any understanding; or despised as insignificant triflers if they have none. Literature and cinema: images of... 321 Charlotte Smith raised her voice to defend the woman’s right to intervene in what Thomas Gisborne believed to be “departments which belong not to her jurisdiction.”4 In the same year, her more famous contemporary, Mary Wollstonecraft, also joined forces to vindicate woman’s right to an education and to economic independence, in her “feminist manifesto”, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792). These cries for emancipation, however, were not exempt from contradiction. At the same time as they criticized the social strictures and the deficient educational system which was responsible for women’s weaknesses and failings, they were also contained by the bourgeois ideology of femininity, however unconventional they may have been in their private lives. In comparison with these two of her contemporaries, Jane Austen (1775-1817) led a less public and more constricted life, which Henry James described as “front parlour existence.”5 Born and brought up in an age of ferment, which witnessed the American and French Revolutions, wars, and domestic social and political unrest, Austen moved in the small circle of middle-class provincial society and, as a woman of her time, was constrained by the same restrictions which governed women’s lives in late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Living in the same class-bound and male-dominated society, Austen presents in her work the same conflicting views on marriage and on the nature and place of women which were so characteristic of fellow novelists and women writers. But rather than emulating the more passionate tones of Wollstonecraft or questioning her readers directly, like Charlotte Smith, Austen dramatizes women’s plight and, by giving us a very comprehensive picture of female identity, maps out different forms of female conduct in her characters’ struggle for the right kind of marriage. Interestingly enough, in spite of the very important differences between them, neither Wollstonecraft nor Austen subscribed to the Enlightenment discourses which argued the rationality of men against the irrational nature of women, thus attributing love madness to women and femininity. Without going so far as to defend a reformed society in 322 Sandra Guardini T. Vasconcelos which men and women would have equal rights, as Wollstonecraft did, Austen presents her own version of the rational woman in the figure of Elizabeth Bennet, the heroine of Pride and Prejudice. That marriage was still an “unresolved issue” in Jane Austen’s time becomes evident in the novel, originally called First Impressions, which she began in 1796 but only published in 1813, after it had been refused by a publisher and revised. A young lady in search of a proper match: this is how we could summarize the plot of this courtship novel, which explores the social appropriateness of different sorts of matches. In this respect, were it not for its irony, the famous proposition that opens the novel – “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife” – could actually be rephrased to be truer to the spirit of the time: single women were those looking for husbands. It was not that single men did not worry, in those times, about the need to find an adequate woman, preferably one who possessed all the personal qualities determined by the ideology of femininity. However, as the story is told from a feminine point of view, it is the plight of single women the novel is interested in. Mrs. Bennet’s excitement at the news of the arrival of two very eligible single men in the neighbourhood is very telling and is a clear sign of the issues the novel thematizes. It is on the circle of single young women that the narrator focuses and, in order to discuss love and marriage as it affects their lives, the small social and geographical milieu in which they circulate is made to comprise women with differing chances on the marriage market, and families with various levels of income and property. Much as Jane Austen’s work helps narrate the “social history of the landed families at that time in England” and discusses personal conduct, as Raymond Williams has argued,6 it is particularly female conduct which stands out in the novel as determinant of a woman’s destiny in life. Her cast of female characters beautifully illustrates alternative possibilities of female conduct in a society which saw women as passive objects of the male gaze. Her women are always Literature and cinema: images of... 323 under scrutiny and if propriety and morals are not demanded exclusively of them, they must behave properly if they are to stand a chance of making a good match. In this sense, there is a certain scale which is indirectly established in Pride and Prejudice. There are four matches in the novel, ranging from the most to the least socially appropriate and personally fulfilling: from the marriage of convenience which Charlotte Lucas accepts unquestioningly to the reckless union of Lydia and Wickham, to the more balanced and affectionate relationship between Jane and Bingley, to the perfect match between Elizabeth and Darcy. If for both Lady Catherine and Mrs. Bennet marriage is little more than a transaction, involving money and status, for the young women concerned it is a crucial move. For disenchanted Charlotte, a Mr. Collins is better than the prospect of spinsterhood; for thoughtless Lydia, being married is what counts even at the cost of her reputation and her family’s shame; for amiable and passive Jane, marriage represents an expectation of affection but also a rise in status; and finally, for Elizabeth, it means a strong bond based on love and mutual respect which is also socially appropriate. Of course, in order to be brought to this happy end, Elizabeth has to be educated (just like Darcy, we could add). She is the closest the narrator gets to the idea of the adequate type of woman with the best possibility of the right kind of marriage – one which will combine social and personal demands. But she has to conquer her shortcomings, and change. For this reason, the narrator concentrates on Elizabeth’s process of self-knowledge. She has to be cured of her myopia, by learning that she can be fallible in her judgment and prone to errors of pride and prejudice. However, her failures are by far outweighed by her personal qualities: her character, charm, lively spirit and intelligence seem to be enough to abolish social barriers and win her the most eligible and wealthy man in the neighbourhood. Conflicts of interests are swiftly resolved so that Elizabeth can finally become the new member of Darcy’s honourable family. 324 Sandra Guardini T. Vasconcelos Not surprisingly, the contemporary ideology of marriage is inscribed in Jane Austen’s novel, thus helping consolidate the dominant social order. The only attempt to subvert this order, represented by Lydia’s elopement and inadequate choice of partner is subsequently contained and reinscribed to fit prevailing patterns. While her marrying without her parents’ permission implies a slight disturbance of the system, all contradictions are resolved with Mr. and Mrs. Bennet’s reconciliation with Lydia’s wish. As I have been trying to argue, Pride and Prejudice addresses the issue of marriage as a site of contest among alternative possibilities for women in a given moment in history. But while socially distressing alternatives like Lydia’s or personally self-sacrificing ones like Charlotte’s are subtly critiqued, everything is finally negotiated and a happy end for all concerned harmonizes conflicts and effaces social contradictions, as social comedies generally do. In a way, for better or for worse, all the young women in the novel are shown to be entrapped in the institution of marriage, just as they are constrained by the dominant ideology of femininity. In her depiction of the female characters in Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen creates a gallery of portraits of women which seems to cover a whole range of possibilities. There is bookish Mary, who can only utter platitudes or parrot her reading; there is silly and empty-headed Mrs. Bennet, whom Lydia and Kitty take after; there is haughty and authoritarian Lady Catherine De Bourgh with her sickly and weak-minded daughter; there is snobbish Miss Bingley. If none of the latter escape the narrator’s ironical tone, the others receive a more positive treatment. Even passive Jane and insipid Charlotte are never criticized, for they possess qualities which outweigh possible shortcomings and realistically portray women as they were expected to behave in Austen’s day. Jane’s passivity, meekness and deference were part of the ideal of womanhood and Charlotte’s quiet acceptance of a marriage of convenience was a sad reality for many young women. The prevailing feminine ideal dictated that women should please men. Humour, mirth, rage and lack of self-restraint were socially condemned. Control yourself was an imperative urged in conduct books Literature and cinema: images of... 325 again and again. This culture’s feminine ideal also included restrictions on self-expression. It is easy to understand why Lady Catherine, an old-fashioned and very conservative woman, finds Elizabeth’s outspokenness and assertiveness so unbearable. After all, Elizabeth is always ready to express her points of view and shows very little concern for the aunt’s opposition to her marriage to Darcy. It is not only conflict of interests which dictates Lady Catherine’s uncivil treatment of Elizabeth but also her own notions of what propriety and delicacy were all about. For sure, Elizabeth does not entirely fit the prescribed ideal of femininity. Nor should she, from Austen’s point of view. For the novelist seems to be interested in drawing an alternative version of woman which, though not completely free from the ideology of femininity, is not unquestioningly submitted to it. In fact, Elizabeth seems to strike a delicate balance between rebelliousness against and conformity to the conduct expected of women. Irreprehensible in her moral conduct, Elizabeth is free to display all her best qualities, which include an independent spirit, intelligence and quickness of mind. Not qualities that were generally accepted as belonging to women. Elizabeth, and behind her Jane Austen, go beyond the parameters of their time and resist the generalized ideal of womanhood. Never transgressing what was considered to be proper feminine behaviour, Elizabeth challenges traditional views of woman. In a culture where men have the prerogative to address women first, ask them to dance and propose marriage, Austen creates an unconventionally assertive female identity in the person of Elizabeth. Even though she needs a little adjustment in order to learn not to trust her first impressions, it becomes clear that due to all her personal qualities she is the only character in the novel who has the tools to resist the ideology of domestic femininity and not accept a submissive role, and her establishing a relationship with Darcy on equal terms allows us to imagine a brighter future for her in married life, if compared to all the other single young women in the novel. In any case, women are shown in all the limiting and restrictive situations which their role and position in society determined for them. 326 Sandra Guardini T. Vasconcelos Though, as genteel women, they need not concern themselves with domestic labour, they were constrained to a domestic life, only interrupted by the social occasions on which they were allowed to make their appearances at the ballroom or dinner table. Social gatherings were a change from their routine domestic life and a precious opportunity to meet eligible men. Only at balls or visiting, which also sometimes included travelling, and always escorted by older people, could these young women find an escape from dreary domesticity. Another way of getting round the dullness of confinement was to form a female circle, a small community of women bound together by ties of friendship and common interests. Possibly, the more subversive content of the novel is its emphasis on women’s culture and female bonding. Not exactly having in Mrs. Bennet a model to follow, Jane and Elizabeth have to turn to each other and to their aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, for comfort and sound advice. In Mrs. Bennet’s case, lack of restraint borders on silliness and very frequently on rudeness. Considering that she is more a source of embarrassment than a mentor, it is a wonder that both elder sisters should present themselves as such fine specimens of desirable feminine behaviour, the only ones in the Bennet household. Without their mother to look up to, Jane and Elizabeth have to find guidance somewhere else and it is in female friendships, which play an important role in the novel, that they will look for support. The sense of intimacy that we witness between Jane and Elizabeth and also between Elizabeth and Charlotte (in spite of Elizabeth’s disappointment in her), their frequent meeting and talking, function as an alternative means of confronting an all-male society which assigns women a subordinate role and place in it. In this community of women, Elizabeth stands out as Jane Austen’s construction of an unconventionally assertive female identity. As the novelist has no intention of drawing “pictures of perfection,”7 as her predecessors had done in the eighteenth-century novel, she gives us a very good example of plausible femininity. Nevertheless, her attempt to construct an alternative female identity is circumscribed by the dominant culture and rather than giving her heroine an alternative fate, she endorses the centrality of marriage. Literature and cinema: images of... 327 If, as Alan Sinfield argues, “all stories comprise within themselves the ghosts of the alternative stories”8 of their culture, Pride and Prejudice is no different. But again, as in the case of social conflicts, Austen’s allegiance to the prevailing values of her time leads to a conciliation of contradictions at the end. Subversion of the dominant order is contained by the effacement of social contradictions as well as of alternative versions of womanhood. With all these issues in mind, I would now like to move on to the discussion of the film version of Pride and Prejudice, which Robert Z. Leonard9 directed in 1940 and about which a critic has said: A delightful example of Hollywood’s ‘Englishness’. Though Aldous Huxley’s script was a simplification of Jane Austen and advanced the period 40 years to take advantage of the fuller fashion, this remains a splendid romantic comedy of a more polite age, full of richly satisfying performances.10 Indeed, the film does reproduce current stereotypes of “Englishness” – the stiff upper lip, accent as a mark of class difference, restraint, politeness, etc. –, thereby reaffirming some of the characteristics which have popularly been associated with being English. However, this very positive opinion about the film fails to pay due attention to its most relevant features. Evaluating the film from a more informed point of view, George Bluestone points out its faithful embodiment of “the dialectics of Jane Austen’s central ironies”11 and goes on to show how, from the point of view of its adaptational process, the filmic version has skillfully translated onto the screen the “ballet movement” (the phrase is David Daiches’) which seems to characterise the structural pattern of the novel. With Elizabeth and Darcy in mind, whose interaction is marked by a movement of attraction and hostility, Bluestone sees the ballroom scene in the film as paradigmatic of the whole novel and emblematic of all of its personal and social relationships: 328 Sandra Guardini T. Vasconcelos There is hardly a dramatic and psychological relationship in either the film or novel’s opening events which is not realized here in terms of a dance relationship. Jane and Bingley’s meeting and coming together; Kitty and Lydia’s preference for handsome soldiers; Mrs. Bennet’s nervous grooming of the girls for the marriage block; Charlotte’s feeling of inadequacy in the social game; maternal competition for the eligible males; Elizabeth’s hostility to Darcy’s snobbishness; her consequent willingness to become blinded by Wickham’s prevarication; her retaliatory snub in declining Darcy’s first offer – all these are carried out in terms of dance ritual – the taking, refusing, and searching out of partners, the ceremonial rhythms which join couples and cast them assunder. (...) choreography becomes an exact analogue of the social game.12 But I would argue that this is not all there is to the film. It is at least intriguing why Leonard picked up such a novel for adaptation and why, being a Hollywood commercial director, he chose to film it right after the outbreak of the war which would devastate Europe. It is true that Pride and Prejudice contains “the essential ingredients of a movie script”13 and that in the late thirties Hollywood producers had started encouraging projects which adapted novels, preferably best-sellers, to the big screen. Coincidentally, the 1940 Academy Award for best film went to Hitchcock’s version of Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca, and the best director Award went to John Ford for his version of Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck. Gone with the Wind (1939) and How Green was my Valley were also made in this period.14 Knowing Hollywood’s talent for investing in what is profitable, it would be all too easy to argue that this policy simply gave the public what the public wanted. For one Grapes of Wrath, or The Great Dictator, or Citizen Kane, there were countless productions whose sole objective seemed to be to gratify the audience. The cinema’s power of manipulation over the cinemagoer and its wish-fulfilling function will not be discussed here, but I would like to suggest that, very possibly, the adaptation of novels Literature and cinema: images of... 329 might be part of a strategy that some studios had adopted to take people out of the depressing social and political realities of their time. However, just as it facilitates symbolic satisfaction, mass culture, as Fredric Jameson argues, also “entertain[s] relations of repression with the fundamental social anxieties and concerns, hopes and blind spots, ideological antinomies and fantasies of disaster, which are [its] raw material.”15 And, Jameson goes on to say, it “represses [compensatory structures] by the narrative construction of imaginary resolutions and by the projection of an optical illusion of social harmony.”16 What I would like to argue, in relation to the film version of Pride and Prejudice, is that the film director deepens this “optical illusion of social harmony” not only by emptying Austen’s work of any suggestion of conflict of interests within the same class but also by presenting an image of femininity which does not do justice to the novel. The first significant move the director makes has to do with his treatment of the historical context in (and of) the film. Although the US were not yet taking part in the conflict, there was a war in Europe and the Americans would not be able to keep their neutrality much longer. Interestingly enough, both novel and film version, though produced in a period of domestic and international unrest, chose to ignore the great historical events of their time. But, whereas the novel writes the social history of the English landed gentry, the film does not seem particularly interested in the social context. Some of Austen’s concern about property and income is voiced in the film but only in relation to the eligibility of certain young men as prospective husbands. We can see none of her interest in what Raymond Williams describes as “the changes of fortune – the facts of general change and of a certain mobility – which were affecting the landed families at this time.”17 As for the broader historical context, not one reference, even indirect or disguised, do we find in the film to any of what is going on in Europe. Except for the very brief comment Mrs. Bennet makes at the news of the arrival of Bingley and Darcy in the neighbourhood, at the beginning of the film – “This is the most heartening piece of news since the Battle of Waterloo!” –, nothing else is heard which might help the audience associate the 1815 war 330 Sandra Guardini T. Vasconcelos between France and England with the war in Europe. Quite the contrary: by situating the events in the aftermath of Waterloo and by glossing over the changes Williams talks about, the film presents itself as a much more conservative version of the novel. In fact, Leonard’s reading of Pride and Prejudice sides with the more conventional critical interpretations which see it as nothing more than a study in manners. Not surprisingly, the conflicts arise more from stereotyped opinions as to what polite, or good manners are than from insurmountable obstacles determined by conflicts of interest. Miss Bingley is especially patronizing in the way she puts up with what she calls “the lack of refinement of these rustics”. More than money and property, the film suggests that it is Elizabeth’s family’s manners which are an impediment to her union with Darcy. It is true that Elizabeth’s family are a constant source of embarrassment to her; there are several embarrassing, and comic, situations which involve the Bennets and the pride and prejudice motto often comes to mind even if it is not frequently verbalised. But as all comes down to a question of romantic love, even the haughty Lady Catherine is ready to recognise that Elizabeth is the right woman for Darcy and willingly assumes the role of ambassador to impart the news of Darcy’s help to Lydia and Wickham, and to pave the way for Darcy’s second and now successful marriage proposal. The socially resonant conflict between these two female characters in the novel is transformed into a personal question of pride and prejudice which can be harmoniously resolved. Rather than a social comedy, this is by right a romantic comedy, as it has accurately been described, where the conflicts of interest which surface so clearly in Jane Austen’s work are skillfully glossed over in order to give place to a light and pleasant love story. Far from a serious study in love and marriage, it is much more a delightful rendering of the age-old Hollywood formula “boy meets girl”. Elizabeth is still the focus here and it is her relationship with Darcy that structures the film narrative. All the other relationships, which function as a counterpoint to Elizabeth and Darcy’s in the novel, are left in the shade and are not fully developed. The film does not seem to be seriously interested in Literature and cinema: images of... 331 discussing all the personal and social implications of marriage and treats the whole issue very superficially. The obstacles to Jane’s marriage to Bingley, Charlotte’s disillusioned choice of partner and the social consequences of Lydia’s elopement are not given due prominence and the more dramatic moments in the novel are either attenuated or flippantly dismissed. The comedy, on the other hand, is reinforced by the deepening of the comic traits of characters like Mr. Collins, Mrs. Bennet or Lady Catherine De Bourgh, made even more foolish or ridiculous than in the novel. Austen’s cool irony is obviously lost in the film and a third-person, omniscient camera, though almost exclusively focused on Elizabeth, sometimes distances itself from its main focus to explore other spaces and viewpoints. Because of the formal difficulties involved in probing the territory of the heroine’s consciousness, the feminine point of view is only barely maintained. In this sense, even though Elizabeth is the most consistently sustained female character, much of her complexity is lost in her rendering in the film. Conventional Hollywood codes of representation seem to get the better of it and if male characters, with the exception of Mr. Collins, present a dignified and serene behaviour, female characters are shown to be foolish creatures, all too ready to flutter and fidget. Gossipy, garrulous, lacking in seriousness, women are represented as having husband-hunting as their sole business. Even Jane and Elizabeth, who get the better treatment, do not escape a certain stereotype of femininity which sees women as silly, empty-headed creatures. No relevance is given to Elizabeth’s process of self-discovery or to her recognition of her own failings and the result is a much shallower heroine, though still as adorable as her creator thought her to be. Elizabeth’s most striking qualities – her liveliness, quick intelligence, her independence of mind and outspokenness – are accounted for as simply a question of personality rather than a challenge to the ideal of passive womanhood. The film does not make much of the fact that she is empowered with the possibility of saying yes or no to Darcy on her own terms and all the tensions which were part and parcel of the dominant ideology of marriage are dismissed as 332 Sandra Guardini T. Vasconcelos irrelevant in the face of love. The film reinforces established positions, demarcated sex differences and loses much of the subtleties of the novel in its representation of femininity. “I am a rational creature, speaking the truth of her heart”, Elizabeth says, but her construction as a rational woman is full of gaps and blind spots. The suppression of such a central episode as Elizabeth’s visit to Pemberley, in which she is confronted with an alternative version of Darcy and therefore with her own partiality and myopia, flattens her characterization, reducing her complexity to a more conventional, and Hollywoodian, construction of woman. Her gradual process of self- knowledge and of recognition of her own pride and prejudice is explained away and substituted by a sudden admission of her true feelings for Darcy, which lays an emphasis on romantic love and thus distorts the meaning of the novel. The precipitation and rearrangement of events, the toning down of conflict of interests, the glossing over – with the icing of love – of the allegory of alliance between different social ranks are all of them moves made in order to adapt Austen’s work to conventional Hollywood codes of representation. The result is a film narrative that loses much in tension, complexity, subtlety and dilutes the dramatic possibilities of the novel. Similarly, while the reinforcement of the “marriage for love” narrative suggests that there are no real obstacles to its fulfillment, the idealized screen heroine gives back to the female spectator a more subdued, passive image of herself. Little room is opened up for dissidence and alternative ways of living and even the community of women, which plays a central role in the novel, is written off as a collection of silly and garrulous creatures. Aldous Huxley’s script advancing the action in 40 years, on the other hand, simply points to a period in England (1840s) in which women’s mothering role was being emphasised, as Françoise Basch notes: Any activity deriving from woman’s specific role of mother, exercising an ennobling and purifying influence in the Literature and cinema: images of... 333 natural framework of her family, alleviating suffering and sacrificing herself to others, was recognized as legitimate.18 If we agree with Jameson’s argument that social reality is the raw material of commercial films, we have to return to those two questions I posed above. I would like to offer two working hypotheses rather than definitive answers to them. At this point, it might be helpful to bring in some of the comments and arguments that David R. Shumway19 offers about Hollywood’s “screwball comedies” as a film genre whose major cultural work “is not the stimulation of thought about marriage, but the affirmation of marriage in the face of the threat of a growing divorce rate and liberalized divorce laws.”20 Indeed, the United States seemed to be experiencing a major crisis of marriage, clearly visible in the figures presented by Elaine Tyler May: During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, American marriages began to collapse at an unprecedented rate. Between 1867 and 1929, the population of the United States grew 300 percent, the number of marriages increased 400 percent, and the divorce rate rose 2000 percent. By the end of the 1920s, more than one in six marriages terminated in court.21 Divorce rates are reckoned to have doubled between 1910 and 1940, and there was general concern, among scholars and moralists, as to the causes of this crisis. It does not seem surprising, therefore, that Hollywood should reinforce a romantic view of marriage and “take up this cultural work not only out of patriarchal interest and ideology, but for the coincident reason that films that participated in this ideology were popular.”22 A romance that ends in marriage, like many other films made in this decade and the following, Pride and Prejudice contains some of the ingredients that Shumway suggests are inherent to the genre. The first 334 Sandra Guardini T. Vasconcelos is casting: from the moment they meet for the first time, it becomes obvious to the viewer that Greer Garson must fall in love with Lawrence Olivier. In addition to the attraction they exert on each other and on us, there is also the element of the verbal relationship established between the two. The exchanges between Elizabeth and Darcy are meant, from the beginning, to suggest a certain “electricity”, a mutual teasing frequently involving double entendre and repartee. Dialogues full of innuendoes become almost a verbal equivalent of or substitute for the game of seduction consciously or unconsciously played by both parties. The third component is class difference, which, Shumway argues, screwball comedies depend on “to create, on the one hand, comedy in the form of jokes at inappropriate behavior and, on the other hand, romance by enhancing the appeal of the hero and heroine.”23 One has only to remember how Mrs. Bennet or Mr. Collins, just to mention two examples, are characterised to realise how much Leonard’s film shares, in content and in form, with other productions of the same period. Whether to ease off actual anxieties about divorce, whether to reaffirm patriarchal ideology, the filmic version of Pride and Prejudice reinforces romance and its generic conventions and offers the American public a reassuring view of love and marriage in the face of a disturbing state of affairs both at home and abroad. After all, if in the private sphere there was the unavoidable reality of growing divorce rates, on the public arena, at international level, there was the inescapable reality of World War II and all the anxieties produced by it. The choice of a very competent Anglo-American cast, led by Greer Garson starring as Elizabeth and Laurence Olivier24 as Darcy, may have served the purpose of pleasing both English and American audiences, giving them a pleasant picture of English life and simultaneously suggesting an alliance between the two countries which would come to exist in politics as well. Anxieties about the political order were thus dealt with and subdued by suggesting that the integration of British and Americans could work both on the screen and in reality. Literature and cinema: images of... 335 This delicate historical moment, which threatened to plunge the US into the war, was also pregnant with social anxieties about the possible destiny of the population and, within it, the role women might come to play in, and after, wartime. With men going to fight in the war, American women would have to face new situations, new challenges and possibly would have to be integrated in the labour market as substitutes for the workers needed in the industries to sustain warfare. Divorce and the world of labour were two new possibilities open to women and, most certainly, it would not be excessive or out of place to remind them that marriage was the foundation of society and they should content themselves with being wives and mothers. Notes 1 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. Letters. London, Everyman’s Library, 1992, p. 29. 2 Alan Sinfield. “Shakespeare and Dissident Reading”. In: Cultural Politics – Queer Reading. London, Routledge, 1994, p.4. 3 Alan Sinfield. “Shakespeare and Dissident Reading”. In: Cultural Politics – Queer Reading. London, Routledge, 1994, p.4. 4 Thomas Gisborne. An Enquiry into the Duties of the Female Sex, 1797, p. 11. 5 Henry James in a letter to George Pellew, 1883. 6 Henry James in a letter to George Pellew, 1883. 7 The expression is Jane Austen’s, in a letter to her niece Fanny Knight, dated 23 March 1817. 8 Alan Sinfield. Cultural Materialism, Othello, and the Politics of Plausibility. In: Faultlines: Cultural Materialism and the Politics of Dissident Reading. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1993, p. 47. 9 American director (1889-1968) who became well-known for his light films and musical comedies. A prolific and commercial director, he was one of the most prestigious at MGM in the years immediately before the war. 336 Sandra Guardini T. Vasconcelos 10 Leslie Halliwell. The Filmgoer’s Companion. 3.ed. New York, Hill and Wang, 1970. 11 George Bluestone. Pride and Prejudice. In: Novels into Film. Berkeley, University of California Press, 1961, p. 117. 12 Ibid., p. 131-2. 13 Ibid., p. 117. 14 It is interesting to note that Charles Chaplin’s The Great Dictator, in which he makes a clear reference to Hitler and Nazism, also reached the screen in 1940. 15 Fredric Jameson. Reification and Utopia in Mass Culture. In: Signatures of the Visible. New York, Routledge, 1992, p. 25. 16 Ibid, pp. 25-26. 17 Raymond Williams. op. cit., p. 19. 18 Raymond Williams. op. cit., p. 19 19 David R. Shumway. Screwball Comedies: Constructing Romance, Mystifying Marriage. In: Grant, Barry Keith (ed.). Film Genre Reader II. Austin, University of Texas Press, 1995, p. 381-401. Referring to the difficulty scholars have had defining screwball comedy, Shumway points out that he tends to agree with James Harvey, who “identifies screwball comedy as romantic comedy during Hollywood’s classic period” (cf. endnote 1, p. 399). 20 Ibid., p. 381. 21 Apud Shumway, p. 382. 22 Ibid., p. 383. 23 Ibid., p. 390. 24 Greer Garson was born in Northern Ireland in 1906. Her success in Goodbye, Mr. Chips in 1938 won her an invitation to work in Hollywood. She won Academy Award for best actress in 1942. Laurence Olivier, the famous English stage actor, became known internationally with the film version of Wuthering Heights, of 1939. 
work_mdqot5kqfjcyhaukptecuhjksu	----	Natural Language Engineering 1 (1): 1–23. Printed in the United Kingdom c© 2008 Cambridge University Press 1 Designing an Interactive Open-Domain Question Answering System S. Q U A R T E R O N I The University of York, York, YO10 5DD, United Kingdom S. M A N A N D H A R The University of York, York, YO10 5DD, United Kingdom ( Received 20 September 2007) Abstract Interactive question answering (QA), where a dialogue interface enables follow-up and clarification questions, is a recent although long-advocated field of research. We report on the design and implementation of YourQA, our open-domain, interactive QA system. YourQA relies on a Web search engine to obtain answers to both fact-based and complex questions, such as descriptions and definitions. We describe the dialogue moves and management model making YourQA interactive, and discuss the architecture, implementation and evaluation of its chat-based dialogue interface. Our Wizard-of-Oz study and final evaluation results show how the designed architecture can effectively achieve open-domain, interactive QA. 1 Introduction Question answering (QA) systems can be seen as information retrieval systems that aim to respond to queries in natural language by returning concise answers rather than informative documents. State-of-the-art QA systems often compete in the annual TREC-QA evaluation campaigns, where participating systems must find concise answers to a benchmark of test questions within a document collection compiled by NIST (http://trec.nist.gov). A commonly observed behaviour is that users of information retrieval systems often issue queries not as standalone questions but in the context of a wider infor- mation need, for instance when researching a specific topic (e.g. "William Shake- speare"). In this case, efficient ways for entering successive related queries have been advocated to avoid users having to enter contextually independent queries (Hobbs 2002). Efforts have been carried out in recent TREC-QA in order to approach the issue of context management by the introduction of "targets" in the question sets from TREC 2004. Here, questions are grouped according to a common topic, 2 S. Quarteroni and S. Manandhar upon which different queries (that require factoid, list, or "other" answer types) are formulated. Since TREC-QA 2004, queries can contain references (such as pronominal anaphora) to their targets without such targets being explicitly mentioned in the query texts. However, the current TREC requirements only address one aspect of the complex issue of context management: the problem of detecting that one query is related to a topic introduced by a previous one is artificially solved by the presence of an explicit target, which would not be specified in a real interaction context. It has been argued that providing a Question Answering system with a dialogue interface would encourage and accommodate the submission of multiple related questions and handle the user’s requests for clarification: the 2006 Interactive QA workshop aimed to set a roadmap for information-seeking dialogue applications of Question Answering (Webb and Strzalkowski 2006). Indeed, Interactive QA systems are often reported at an early stage, such as Wizard-of-Oz studies, or applied to closed domains (Bertomeu et al. 2006; Jönsson and Merkel 2003; Kato et al. 2006). In this paper, we report on the design, implementation and evaluation of the dia- logue interface for our open-domain, personalized QA system, YourQA (Quarteroni and Manandhar 2007). The core QA component in YourQA is organized according to the three-tier partition underlying most state-of-the-art QA systems (Kwok et al. 2001): question processing, document retrieval and answer extraction. An addi- tional component in YourQA is the User Modelling (UM) component, introduced to overcome the traditional inability of standard QA systems to accommodate the users’ individual needs (Voorhees 2003). This article is structured as follows: Sections 2 – 3 focus on the two main com- ponents of the system, i.e. a User Modelling component to provide personalized answers and the core QA module which is able to provide both factoid and com- plex answers. Sections 4 – 7 discuss a dialogue model and dialogue manager suitable for interactive QA and Section 8 describes an exploratory study conducted to con- firm our design assumptions. The implementation and evaluation of the dialogue model are reported in Sections 9 – 10. Section 11 briefly concludes on our experience with open-domain QA dialogue. 2 User Modelling Component A distinguishing feature of our model of QA is the presence of a User Modelling component. User Modelling consists in creating a model of some of the target users’ characteristics (e.g. preferences or level of expertise in a subject), and is commonly deployed in information retrieval applications to adapt the presentation of results to the user characteristics (Teevan et al. 2005). It seemed natural to adapt User Modelling within QA, with the purpose of fil- tering the documents from which to search for answers and for reranking candidate answers based on the degree of match with the user’s profile. Since the current application scenario of YourQA is a system to help students find information on the Web, we designed the following User Model (UM) parameters: Designing an Interactive QA system 3 • Age range, a ∈ {7-11, 11-16, adult}; this matches the partition between pri- mary school, secondary school and higher education age in Britain; • Reading level, r ∈ {basic, medium, good}; its values ideally (but not neces- sarily) correspond to the three age ranges and may be further refined; • Interests, i: a set of topic key-phrases extracted from webpages, bookmarks and text documents of interest to the user. A detailed account on how the UM parameters are applied during answer pre- sentation has been reported in (Quarteroni and Manandhar 2006; Quarteroni and Manandhar 2007). As the focus of this paper is on the dialogue management com- ponent of YourQA, the contribution of the UM to the core QA component is only briefly mentioned in this paper. Within this paper, we assume an adult user able to read any document and an empty set of interests, hence no UM-based answer filtering or re-ranking is performed in the experiments reported in this paper. 3 Core Question Answering Component The core QA component, illustrated in Figure 1, carries on three Question Answer- ing phases: question processing, document retrieval and answer extraction. Question Question Classification Web Retrieval Question Processing Document Retrieval Answer Extraction Web Documents Answers Factoid Answer Extraction Non-Factoid Answer Extraction Factoid Question? Document Processing Fig. 1. Core QA architecture: question processing, retrieval, answer extraction 3.1 Question Processing and Document Retrieval Question processing is centered on question classification (QC), the task that maps a question into one of k expected answer classes in order to constrain the search space of possible answers and contribute towards selecting specific answer extraction strategies for each answer class. Answer classes generally belong to two types: factoid ones – seeking short fact- based answers (e.g. names, dates), and non-factoid, seeking descriptions or defi- nitions. An ad hoc question taxonomy has been constructed for YourQA with a particular attention to questions that require non-factoid answers, such as lists, de- scriptions and explanations. To compile it, we studied the questions in the TREC-8 4 S. Quarteroni and S. Manandhar to TREC-12 testsets1. Based on these, we designed a coarse-grained question tax- onomy, which consists of the eleven question types described in Table 1. While the six classes in Column 1 can be considered of the factoid type, the five in Column 2 are non-factoid; depending on such type, the answer extraction process is different, as described in Section 3.2. Table 1. YourQA’s eleven class expected answer taxonomy Question class Expected answer Question class Expected answer PERS human LIST list of items LOC geographical expression DEF definition, description ORG collective, group HOW procedure, manner QTY numerical expression WHY cause TIME temporal expression WHY-F salient facts OBJ generic entity (e.g. “famous for . . . ”) Most QC systems apply supervised machine learning, e.g. Support Vector Ma- chines (SVMs) (Zhang and Lee 2003) or the SNoW model (Li and Roth 2005), where questions are represented using lexical, syntactic and semantic features. (Moschitti et al. 2007) extensively studied a QC model based on SVMs: the learning algorithm combined tree kernel functions to compute the number of com- mon subtrees between two syntactic parse trees. As benchmark data, the question training and test set available at: l2r.cs.uiuc.edu/~cogcomp/Data/QA/QC/, were used, where the test set are the TREC 2001 test questions. Based on such experiments, which reached a state of the art accuracy (i.e. 86.1% in 10-fold cross-validation) using the the question’s bag-of-words and parse tree, we applied the same features to learn multiclassifiers for the 11-class YourQA taxon- omy. The overall SVM accuracy using the dataset of 3204 TREC 8 – TREC 12 test questions and obtained using five-fold cross-validation was 82.9%. We also tested the SNoW algorithm for YourQA, following (Li and Roth 2005). We found the most effective question features to be: 1) bag-of-words, bigrams and trigrams; 2) bag-of-Named Entities2; 3) Part-Of-Speech unigrams, bigrams and trigrams. In the YourQA task, we achieved an accuracy of 79.3%3. The second phase carried out by the core QA module is document retrieval, where relevant documents to the query are obtained via an information retrieval engine, 1 publicly available at http://trec.nist.gov 2 extracted using Lingpipe, http://www.alias-i.com/lingpipe/ 3 The lower result when compared to SVMs is confirmed by the experiment with the same features and the previous task, where the accuracy reached 84.1%. Designing an Interactive QA system 5 then downloaded and analyzed. YourQA uses Google (http://www.google.com) to retrieve the top 20 Web documents for the query. 3.2 Answer Extraction Answer extraction takes as input the expected answer type, estimated during ques- tion classification, and the set of documents retrieved for the question during doc- ument retrieval. In this process, the similarity between the question and the docu- ment passages is computed in order to return the best passages in a ranked list. Each remaining retrieved document D is then split into sentences, which are compared one by one to the question; the most similar sentence to the question is selected as the most likely sentence from document D to answer the question. For factoid answers – i.e. PERS, ORG, LOC, QTY, TIME, MONEY – the re- quired factoid can be pinpointed down to the phrase/word level in each candidate answer sentence. For non-factoids, other criteria are adopted to compute the simi- larity between the original question and each candidate answer, as explained below. In both cases, the bag-of-word similarity bw(q,a) is computed between the ques- tion q and a candidate answer a. This is the number of matches between the key- words in q and a divided by |q|, the number of keywords in q: bw(q,a) = ∑|q| i<|q|,j<|a| match(qi,aj ) |q| , where match(qi,aj ) = 1 if qi = aj, 0 otherwise. 3.2.1 Factoid answers Our primary focus is on non-factoid QA and the criteria we apply for factoids are simple. We distinguish between two cases: a) the expected type is a person (PERS), organization (ORG) or location (LOC), which correspond to the types of Named Entities (NEs) recognized by the NE recognizer (Lingpipe in our case); b) the ex- pected answer type is QTY, TIME, MONEY. PERS, ORG, LOC – In this case, NE recognition is performed on each can- didate answer a. If a phrase p labelled with the required NE class is found, wpk, i.e. the minimal distance d (in terms of number of words) between p and each of the question keywords k found in a, is computed: wpk = mink∈ad(p,k). In turn, ne(a) = minp∈aw p k, i.e. the minimal w p k among all the NE phrases of the required class found in a, is used as a secondary ranking criterion for a (after the bag-of- words criterion). QTY, TIME, MONEY – In this case, class-specific rules are applied to find fac- toids of the required class in each candidate answer a. These are manually written based on regular expressions and the candidate answer’s POS tags (e.g. the ordinal number tag). The presence of a substring of a matching such rules is the second similarity criterion between the question q and a after the bag-of-words criterion. 3.2.2 Non-factoid answers We assign to the non-factoid group the WHY, HOW, WHY-F, DEF and LIST types, as well as the OBJ type which is too generic to be seized using a factoid 6 S. Quarteroni and S. Manandhar answer approach. In these cases, we aim at more sophisticated sentence similarity metrics than the ones applied for factoids. We compute a number of normalized similarity measures each measuring the degree of match between sentences and the question. The final similarity is a weighted sum of all such measures. Beyond the bag-of-word similarity, we compute the metrics below. Bigram similarity – N-gram similarity is a function of the number of common keyword n-grams between q and a: ng(q,a) = commonN(q,a)|ngrams(q)| , where commonN is the number of shared n-grams between q and a and ngrams(q) is the set of question n-grams. We adopt bigrams (n = 2) as Web data is very noisy and allows for differ- ent formulations using the same words, making it unlikely that matches of longer keyword sequences be found. Chunk similarity – Sentence chunks can be defined as groups of consecutive, se- mantically connected words in one sentence, which can be obtained using a shallow parser (in our case, the OpenNLP chunker). Compared to bigrams, chunks encode a more semantic type of information. Chunk similarity, ck(q,a), is defined as the number of common chunks between q and a divided by the total number of chunks in q: ck(q,a) = commonC(q,a)|chunks(q)| , where commonC is the number of shared chunks between q and a and chunks(q) is the set of question chunks. Head NP-VP-PP similarity – The idea behind this metric is to find matching groups consisting of a noun phrase (NP), verb phrase (VP) and prepositional phrase (PP) chunk in q and a. Head NP-VP-PP similarity is defined as: hd(q,a) = µ×HNPmatch(q,a) + ν ×V Pmatch(q,a) + ξ ×PPmatch(q,a). For generalization, VPs are lemmatized and the semantically most important word in the NP (called “head NP”) is used instead of the NP. In case q contains several VPs, we choose the VP for which hd(q,a) is maximal. Based on empirical observa- tion of YourQA’s results, we are currently using µ = ν = .4, ξ = .2. WordNet similarity – This semantic metric is based on the WordNet lex- ical database (http://wordnet.princeton.edu) and the Jiang-Conrath word- level distance (Jiang and Conrath 1997). WordNet similarity is: wn(q,a) = 1 −∑ i<|q|,j<|a| jc(qi,aj ) |q| , jc(qi,aj ) being the J.-C. distance between qi and aj. Combined similarity –The similarity formula combining the above metrics is: sim(q,a) = α× bw(q,a) + β ×ng(q,a) + γ × ck(q,a) + δ ×hd(q,a) + �×wn(q,a). For efficiency reasons, we do not compute wn(q,a) at the moment. We have esti- mated α = .6,β = .2,γ = δ = .1 as suitable coefficients. The bag-of-word criterion has a higher impact than metrics which rely on word structures (i.e. bigrams or chunks) because of the noisy Web data we are processing. (Moschitti et al. 2007) took the above criteria for non-factoid QA as a baseline and applied various combinations of features to learn SVM answer re-rankers. The experiments on 1309 YourQA answers to the TREC 2001 non-factoid questions, showed that the baseline MRR of 56.21±3.18 was greatly improved by adding a combination of lexical, deep syntactic and shallow semantic features, reaching 81.12±2.12. Designing an Interactive QA system 7 3.3 Answer presentation From the preceding steps, YourQA obtains a list of answer sentences ranked by decreasing distance to the query. Windows of up to 5 sentences centered around these sentences are then produced to be returned as answer passages. To present answers, we fix a threshold th for the maximal number of passages to be returned (currently th=5); these are ordered following the ranking exposed above. In case of a tie between two candidate answers, the Google ranks of their respective documents are compared and the answer with the highest Google rank index obtains a higher position in the list. The answer passages are listed in an HTML page where each list item consists of a document title and result passage obtained as described above. In the passages, the sentence which best answers the query according to the similarity metric described above is highlighted. In case the expected answer is a factoid, the recognized factoids are highlighted in different colors based on their type. A link to the URL of the original document is also available if the user wants to read more (see Figure 2). Fig. 2. YourQA: sample result (from http://www.cs.york.ac.uk/aig/aqua/). Section 4 discusses the issues and design of a dialogue interface for YourQA to achieve interactive QA. 4 Modelling Interactive Question Answering Interactive QA dialogue can be considered as a form of information-seeking dialogue where two roles are modelled: inquirer (the user), looking for information on a given topic, and expert (the system), interpreting the inquirer’s needs and providing the required information. We agree with (Dahlbaeck et al. 1993) that attempting to perfectly emulate hu- man dialogue using a machine is an unrealistic and perhaps unimportant goal. On the other hand, we believe that an understanding of human dialogues can greatly fa- cilitate building human-machine information-seeking dialogue systems. Hence, the design of task-oriented dialogue systems cannot happen without an accurate anal- ysis of the conversational phenomena observed in human-human dialogue. 4.1 Salient Features of Human Information-seeking Dialogue For the purpose of describing information-seeking dialogue, we focussed on the following aspects: 8 S. Quarteroni and S. Manandhar • Overall structure: as observed by (Sinclair and Coulthard 1975), human di- alogues usually have an opening, a body and a closing. Based on actual hu- man conversations, the authors elaborate a hierarchical discourse grammar representing dialogue as a set of transactions, composed by exchanges, in turn made of moves, whose elementary components are speech acts. In this framework, which has dominated computational approaches to dialogue to the present day, utterances are therefore considered as dialogue acts as they aim at achieving an effect (obtaining information, planning a trip, etc.). • Mixed initiative: initiative refers to who is taking control of the interaction. When one of the interlocutors is a computer system, the literature typically distinguishes between mixed-, user-, and system-initiative (Kitano and Ess- Dykema 1991). In mixed-initiative dialogue, the system must be able to take control in order to confirm given information, clarify the situation, or con- strain user responses. The user may take the initiative for most of the dia- logue, for instance by introducing information that has not been specifically asked or by changing the subject and therefore the focus of the conversation, as it often happens in human interaction (Hearst et al. 1999). • Over-informativeness: dialogue participants often contribute more informa- tion than required by their interlocutors (Churcher et al. 1997). This usually enables dialogue to be more pleasant and time-efficient as the latter do not need to explicitly ask for all the desired information. • Contextual interpretation: human interaction relies on the conversation partic- ipants sharing common notion of context and topic (Grosz and Sidner 1986). Such common context is used by participants to issue and correctly interpret rhetorical phenomena such as ellipsis, anaphora and more complex phenom- ena such as reprise and sluice (see Section 4.2). • Grounding: it has been observed that to prevent or recover from possible misunderstandings, speakers engage in a collaborative, coordinated series of exchanges, instantiating new mutual beliefs and making contributions to the common ground of a conversation. This process is known as grounding (Cahn and Brennan 1999). Section 4.2 underlines the fundamental issues implied by accounting for such phenomena when modelling information-seeking human-computer dialogue. 4.2 Issues in Modelling Information-Seeking Dialogue Based on the observed features of human information-seeking dialogue, we summa- rize the main issues in modelling task-oriented human-computer dialogue, with an eye on the relevance of such issues to Interactive Question Answering. Ellipsis Ellipsis is an omission of part of the sentence, resulting in a sentence with no verbal phrase. Consider the exchange: User: “When was Shakespeare born?” , System: “In 1564.”, User: “Where?”. The interpretation and resolution of ellipsis requires an efficient modelling of the conversational context to complete the infor- mation missing from the text. Designing an Interactive QA system 9 Anaphoric references An anaphora is a linguistic form whose full meaning can only be recovered by reference to the context; the entity to which anaphora refers is called the antecedent. The following exchange contains an example of anaphoric reference: User: “When was Shakespeare born?”, System: “In 1564.”, User: “Whom did he marry?”, where "he" is the anaphora and "Shakespeare" is the antecedent. A common form of anaphora is third person pronoun/adjective anaphora, where pro- nouns such as “he/she/it/they” or possessive adjectives such as “his/her/its/their” are used in place of the entities they refer to: the latter can be single or com- pound nouns (such as William Shakespeare), or even phrases ("The Taming of the Shrew"). Solving an anaphora, i.e. finding its most likely referent, is a critical prob- lem in QA as it directly affects the creation of a meaningful query. However, in information-seeking dialogue, resolution is simpler than in tasks such as document summarization (Steinberger et al. 2005) as the exchanged utterances are generally brief and contain fewer cases of anaphora. Grounding and Clarification While in formal theories of dialogue complete and flawless understanding between speakers is assumed, there exists a practical need for grounding (Cahn and Brennan 1999). A typical Question Answering scenario where requests for confirmation should be modelled is upon resolution of anaphora: User: “When did Bill Clinton meet Yasser Arafat in Camp David?”, “ System: In 2000.”, “User: How old was he?”. The user’s question contains two named enti- ties of type “person”: hence, he can yield two candidate referents, i.e. Bill Clinton and Yasser Arafat. Having resolved the anaphoric reference, the system should de- cide whether to continue the interaction by tacitly assuming that the user agrees with the replacement it has opted for (possibly “he = Bill Clinton”) or to issue a grounding utterance (“Do you mean how old was Bill Clinton?”) as a confirmation. Turn-taking According to conversation analysis, the nature by which a conversation is done in and through turns or pairs of utterances, often called adjacency pairs (Schegloff and Sacks 1973). Our dialogue management system encodes adjacency pairs, where participants speak in turns so that dialogue can be modelled as a sequence of 〈request, response〉 pairs. In natural dialogue, there is very little overlap between when one participant speaks and when the other does, resulting in a fluid discourse. To ensure such fluidity, the computer’s turn and the human’s turn must be clearly determined in a dialogue system. While this is an important issue in spoken dialogue, where a synthesizer must output a reply to the user’s utterance, it does not appear to be very relevant to textual dialogue, where system replies are instantaneous and system/user overlap is virtually impossible. 4.3 Summary of Desiderata for Interactive Question Answering Based on the phenomena and issues observed in Section 4.2, we summarize the desiderata for Interactive Question Answering in the following list: • context maintenance: maintaining the conversation context and topic to allow 10 S. Quarteroni and S. Manandhar the correct interpretation of the user’s utterances (in particular of follow-up questions requests for clarification); • utterance understanding in the context of the previous dialogue; this includes follow-up/clarification detection and the solution of issues like ellipsis and anaphoric expressions; • mixed initiative: users should be able to take the initiative during the conver- sation, for example to issue clarification requests and to quit the conversation when they desire to do so; • follow-up proposal: an IQA system should be able to encourage the user to provide feedback about satisfaction with the answers received and also to keep the conversation with the user active until he/she has fulfilled their information needs; • natural interaction: wide coverage of the user utterances to enable smooth conversation; generation of a wide range of utterances to encourage users to keep the conversation active. 5 A Dialogue Model for Interactive Question Answering Several theories of discourse structure exist in the literature and have led to dif- ferent models of dialogue. Among these, a widely used representation of dialogue consists in the speech act theory, introduced by (Austin 1962), which focuses on the communicative actions (or speech acts) performed when a participant speaks. Based on speech act theory, several annotation schemes of speech acts – also called dialogue moves have been developed for task-oriented dialogues. While the level of granularity of such schemes as well as the range of moves of most of the schemes were determined by the application of the dialogue system, as pointed out in (Larsson 1998) there are a number of generic common dialogue moves, which include: • Core speech acts (e.g. TRAINS (Traum 1996)) such as “inform”/“request”; • Conventional (e.g. DAMSL (Core and Allen 1997)) or discourse management (e.g. LINLIN (Dahlbaeck and Jonsson 1998)) moves: opening, continuation, closing, apologizing; • Feedback (e.g. VERBMOBIL (Alexandersson et al. 1997)) or grounding (e.g. TRAINS) moves: to elicit and provide feedback; • Turn-taking moves (e.g. TRAINS), relating to sub-utterance level (e.g. “take- turn”, “release-turn”). Taking into account such general observations, we developed the set of user and system dialogue moves given in Table 2. In our annotation, the core speech acts are represented by the ask and answer moves. Amongst discourse management moves, we find greet, quit in both the user and system moves, and followup poposal from the system. The user feedback move is usrReqClarif, mirrored by the system’s sysReqClarif move. A common feedback move to both user and system is ack, while the ground and clarify moves are only in the system’s range. We do not annotate the scenario above with turn-taking moves as these are at a sub-utterance level. The above moves are used in the following dialogue management algorithm: Designing an Interactive QA system 11 Table 2. User and System dialogue moves User move Description System move Description greet conversation opening greet conversation opening ack acknowledge system ack acknowledge user ask(q) ask (q=question) answer(a) answer (a=answer) usrReqClarif clarification request sysReqClarif clarification request quit conversation closing quit conversation closing followup proposal to continue clarify(q) clarify (q=question) ground(q) ground (q=question) 1. An initial greeting (greet move), or a direct question q from the user (ask(q) move); 2. q is analyzed to detect whether it is related to previous questions (clarify(q) move) or not; 3. (a) If q is unrelated to the preceding questions, it is submitted to the QA component; (b) If q is related to the preceding questions (i.e. follow-up question), and is elliptic (e.g. “Why?”), the system uses the previous questions to complete q with the missing keywords and submits a revised question q’ to the QA component (notice that no dialogue move occurs here as the system does not produce any utterance); (c) If q is a follow-up question and is anaphoric, i.e. contains references to enti- ties in the previous questions, the system tries to create a revised question q” where such references are replaced by their corresponding entities, then checks whether the user actually means q” (move ground(q”)); If the user agrees, query q” is issued to the QA component. Otherwise, the system asks the user to reformulate his/her utterance (move sysReqClarif ) until finding a question which can be submitted to the QA component; 4. Once the QA component results are available, an answer a is provided (an- swer(a) move); 5. The system enquires whether the user is interested in a follow-up session; if this is the case, the user can enter a query (ask move) again. Else, the system acknowledges (ack); 6. Whenever the user wants to terminate the interaction, a final greeting is exchanged (quit move). At any time the user can issue a request for clarification (usrReqClarif ) in case the system’s utterance is not understood. We now discuss the choice of a dialogue management model to implement such moves. 12 S. Quarteroni and S. Manandhar 6 Previous Work on Dialogue Management Broadly speaking, dialogue management models fall into two categories: pattern- based approaches or plan-based approaches (Cohen1996; Xu et al. 2002). The fol- lowing sections provide a brief critical overview of these, underlining their issues and advantages when addressing interactive QA. 6.1 Pattern Based Approaches: Grammars and Finite-State When designing information-seeking dialogue managers, Finite-State (FS) ap- proaches provide the simplest methods for implementing dialogue management. Here, the dialogue manager is represented as a Finite-State machine, where each state models a separate phase of the conversation, and each dialogue move encodes a transition to a subsequent state (Sutton 1998); hence, from the perspective of a state machine, speech acts become state transition labels. When state machines are used, the system first recognizes the user’s speech act from the utterance, makes the appropriate transition, and then chooses one of the outgoing arcs to determine the appropriate response to supply. The advantage of state-transition graphs is mainly that users respond in a pre- dictable way, as the system has the initiative for most of the time. However, an issue with FS models is that they allow very limited freedom in the range of user utterances. Since each dialogue move must be pre-encoded in the models, there is a scalability issue when addressing open domain dialogue. Moreover, the model typically assumes that only one state results from a tran- sition; however, in some cases utterances are multifunctional, e.g. both a rejection and an assertion, and a speaker may expect the response to address more than one interpretation. 6.2 Information State and Plan Based Approaches Plan-based theories of communicative action and dialogue (Traum 1996) assume that the speaker’s speech acts are part of a plan, and the listener’s job is to uncover and respond appropriately to the underlying plan, rather than just to the utterance. Within plan-based approaches, one approach to dialogue management is the In- formation State (IS) approach (Larsson and Traum 2000). Here the conversation is centered on the notion of information state (IS), which comprises the topics under discussion and common ground in the conversation and is continually queried and updated by rules triggered by participants’ dialogue moves. The IS theory has been applied to a range of closed-domain dialogue systems, such as travel information and route planning (Bos et al. 2003). 6.3 Discussion Although it provides a powerful formalism, the IS infrastructure was too complex for our Interactive QA application. We believe that the IS approach is primarily Designing an Interactive QA system 13 suited to applications requiring a planning component such as in closed-domain dialogue systems and to a lesser extent in an open-domain QA dialogue system. Also, as pointed out in (Allen et al. 2000), there are a number of problems in using plan-based approaches in actual systems, including knowledge representation and engineering, computational complexity and noisy input. Moreoever, the In- teractive QA task is an information-seeking one where transactions are generally well-structured and not too complex to detect (see also (Jönsson 1993)). Hence, this shortcoming of pattern-based dialogue models does not appear to greatly impact on the type of dialogue we are addressing. The ideal dialogue management module for Interactive QA seems to lie some- where in between the FS and IS models. This is what we propose below. 7 Chatbot-based Interactive Question Answering As an alternative to the FS and IS models, we studied conversational agents based on AIML (Artificial Intelligence Markup Language). AIML was designed for the creation of conversational robots (“chatbots”) such as ALICE4. It is based on pattern matching, which consists in matching the last user utterance against a range of dialogue patterns known to the system and producing a coherent answer following a range of “template” responses associated to such patterns. Pattern/template pairs form “categories”, an example of which is the following greeting category: <pattern>WHO ARE YOU</pattern> <template>I am ALICE, nice to meet you!</template> Designed for chatting, chatbot dialogue appears more natural than in FS and IS systems. Moreover, since chatbots support a limited notion of context, they offer the means to handle follow-up recognition and other dialogue phenomena not easily covered using standard FS models. Chatbot dialogue seems particularly well suited to handle the the dialogue phe- nomena introduced in Section 4.1; in particular, the way in which such phenomena can be handled by a chatbot dialogue management model is discussed in detail below: • mixed initiative: as mentioned earlier, the system must be able to take control in order to confirm given information, clarify the situation, or constrain user responses. In the designed dialogue move set, the ground move is used to con- firm that the system has correctly interpreted elliptic or anaphoric requests, while the sysReqClarif move is used to verify that the current user’s utterance is an information request in ambiguous cases (see Section 9). The patterns used by the system are oriented towards QA conversation so that the user is encouraged to formulate information requests rather than engage in smalltalk. For instance, the pattern: <pattern>HELLO *</pattern> triggers: <template>Hello, what is your question?</template>. On the other hand, the user may take the initiative for most of the dialogue, 4 http://www.alicebot.org/ 14 S. Quarteroni and S. Manandhar for instance by ignoring the system’s requests for feedback and directly for- mulating a follow-up question (e.g. User: “What is a thermometer?”, System: “The answers are . . . Are you happy with these answers?”, User: “How does it measure the temperature?”), triggering a new ask/answer adjacency pair with a new conversation focus. Moreover, the user can formulate a request for clarification at any time during the interaction. • over-informativeness: Providing more information than required is useful both from the system’s viewpoint and from the user’s viewpoint: this usually en- ables dialogue to be more pleasant as there is no need to ask for all desired pieces of information. In the current approach, the user can respond to the system by providing more than a simple acknowledgement. For instance, the following exchange is possible: User: “How does it measure the temperature?”, System: “Do you mean how does a thermometer measure the temperature?”, User: “No, how does a candy thermometer measure the temperature?”. • contextual interpretation: Contextual interpretation of the user’s utterances is handled by a clarification resolution module designed to take care of ellipsis and anaphoric references, as described in Section 5. • error recovery: The management of misunderstandings is possible due to the usrReqClarif and sysReqClarif moves. The sysReqClarif move is fired when the current user utterance is not recognized as a question according to the set of question patterns known to the system. For example, the pattern: <pattern>I NEED *</pattern> (e.g. “I need information about Shakespeare”) would trigger the template: <template>Is that a question you want me to look up? </template>. If the user confirms that his/her utterance is a question, the system will pro- ceed to clarify it and answer it; otherwise, it will acknowledge the utterance. Symmetrically, the user can enter a request for clarification of the system’s latest utterance at any time should he/she find the latter unclear. It must be pointed out that chatbots have rarely been used for task-oriented dialogue in the literature. An example is Ritel (Galibert et al. 2005), a spoken chat-based dialogue system integrated with an open-domain QA system. However, the project seems at an early stage and no thorough description is available about its dialogue management model. 8 A Wizard-of-Oz Experiment for the Dialogue Component To assess the feasibility of chatbot-based QA dialogue, we conducted an exploratory Wizard of Oz experiment Wizard-of-Oz (WOz) experiment, a procedure usually deployed for natural language systems to obtain initial data when a full-fledged prototype is not yet available (Dahlbaeck et al. 1993; Bertomeu et al. 2006). A human operator (or “Wizard”) emulates the behavior of the computer system by carrying on a conversation with the user; the latter believes to be interacting with a fully automated prototype. Designing an Interactive QA system 15 Design– We designed six tasks, to be issued in pairs to six or more subjects so that each would be performed by at least two different users. The tasks reflected the intended typical usage of the system, e.g. : “Find out who painted Guernica and ask the system for more information about the artist”, “Find out when Jane Austen was born”, “Ask about the price of the iPod Shuffle and then about the PowerBook G4”. Users were invited to test the supposedly completed prototype by interacting with an instant messaging platform, which they were told to be the system interface. Since our hypothesis was that a conversational agent is sufficient to handle ques- tion answering, a set of AIML categories was created to represent the range of utterances and conversational situations handled by a chatbot. The role of the Wizard was to choose the appropriate category and utterance within the available set, and type it into the chat interface; if none of these appeared appropriate to handle the situation at hand, he would create one to keep the conversation alive. The Wizard would ask if the user had any follow-up questions after each answer (e.g. “Can I help you further?”). To collect user feedback, we used two sources: chat logs and a post-hoc ques- tionnaire. Chat logs provide objective information such as the average duration of the dialogues, the situations that fell above the assumed requirements of the chat bot interface, how frequent were the requests for repetition, etc. The questionnaire, submitted to the user immediately after the WOz experiment, enquires about the user’s experience. Inspired by the WOz experiment in (Munteanu and Boldea 2000), it consists of the questions numbered Q1 to Q6 in Table 3. Questions Q1 and Q2 assess the performance of the system and were ranked on a scale from 1= “Not at all” to 5=“Yes, Absolutely”. Questions Q3 and Q4 focus on interaction difficulties, especially relating to the system’s requests to reformulate the user’s question. Ques- tions Q5 and Q6 relate to the overall satisfaction of the user. The questionnaire also contained a text area for optional comments. 8.1 Results The WOz experiment was run over one week and involved one Wizard and seven users. These were three women and four men of different ages who came from different backgrounds and occupations and were regular users of search engines. The users interacted with the Wizard via a popular, free chat interface which all of them had used before. All but one believed that the actual system’s output was plugged into the interface. The average dialogue duration was 11 minutes, with a maximum of 15 (2 cases) and a minimum of 5 (1 case). From the chat logs, we observed that users preferred not to “play” with the sys- tem’s chat abilities but rather to issue information-seeking questions. Users often asked two things at the same time (e.g. “Who was Jane Austen and when was she born?”): to account for this in the final prototype, we decided to handle double questions, as described in Section 9. The sysReqClarif dialogue move proved very useful, with “system” clarification re- quests such as “Can you please reformulate your question?”. Users seemed to enjoy 16 S. Quarteroni and S. Manandhar “testing” the system and accepted the invitation to produce a followup question (“Can I help you further?”) around 50% of the time. The values obtained for the user satisfaction questionnaire show that users were generally satisfied with the system’s performances (see Table 3, column WOz). None of them had difficulties in reformulating their questions when this was requested and for the remaining questions, satisfaction levels were high. Users seemed to receive system grounding and clarification requests well, e.g. “ ... on references to “him/it”, pretty natural clarifying questions were asked.” Question WOz Init. Stand. Inter. Q1 Did you get all the information you wanted using the system? 4.3±.5 3.8±.8 4.1±1 4.3±.7 Q2 Do you think the system understood what you asked? 4 3.8±.4 3.4±1.3 3.8±1.1 Q3 How easy was it to obtain the infor- mation you wanted? 4±.8 3.7±.8 3.9±1.1 3.7±1 Q4 Was it easy to reformulate your questions when you were invited to? 3.8±.5 3.8±.8 N/A 3.9±.6 Q5 Overall, are you satisfied with the system? 4.5±.5 4.3±.5 3.7±1.2 3.8±1.2 Q6 Do you think you would use this sys- tem again? 4.1±.6 4±.9 3.3±1.6 3.1±1.4 Q7 Was the pace of interaction with the system appropriate? N/A 3.5±.5 3.2±1.2 3.3±1.2 Q8 How often was the system slow in re- plying? (1= “always” to 5= “never”) N/A 2.3±1.2 2.7±1.1 2.5±1.2 Table 3. Questionnaire results for the Wizard-of-Oz experiment (WOz), the ini- tial experiment (Init.) and the final experiment (standard and interactive version). Result format: average ± standard deviation 9 Resulting Dialogue Component Architecture The dialogue manager and interface were implemented based on the scenario in Section 4 and the outcome of the Wizard-of-Oz experiment. 9.1 Dialogue Manager Chatbot dialogue follows a pattern-matching approach, and is therefore not con- strained by a notion of “state”. When a user utterance is issued, the chatbot’s Designing an Interactive QA system 17 strategy is to look for a pattern matching it and fire the corresponding template response. Our main focus of attention in terms of dialogue manager design was therefore directed to the dialogue tasks invoking external resources, such as han- dling double and follow-up questions, and tasks involving the QA component. Handling double questions As soon as the dialogue manager identifies a user utter- ance as a question (using the question recognition categories), it tests whether it is a double question. Since the core QA component in YourQA is not able to handle multiple questions, these need to be broken into simple questions. For this, the system uses the OpenNLP chunker5 to look for the presence of “and” which does not occur within a noun phrase. For instance, while in the sentence: “When was Barnes and Noble founded?” the full noun phrase Barnes and Noble is recognized as a chunk, in: “When and where was Jane Austen born?” the conjunction “and” forms a standalone chunk. If a standalone “and” is found, the system splits the double question in order to obtain the single questions composing it, then proposes to the user to begin answering the on containing more words (as this is more likely to be fully specified). Handling follow-up questions In handling QA dialogue, it is vital to apply an effec- tive algorithm for the recognition of follow-up requests (De Boni and Manandhar 2005; Yang et al. 2006). Hence, the following task accomplished by the DM is the detection of follow-up questions. The types of follow-up questions which the system is able to handle are el- liptic questions, questions containing third person pronoun/possessive adjective anaphora, or questions containing noun phrase (NP) anaphora (e.g. “the river” instead of “the word’s longest river”). For the detection of follow-up questions, the algorithm in (De Boni and Manand- har 2005) is used, which achieved an 81% accuracy on TREC-10 data. The algo- rithm is based on the following features: presence of pronouns, absence of verbs, word repetitions and similarity between the current and the 8 preceding questions6. If no follow-up is detected in the question q, it is submitted to the QA component; otherwise the following reference resolution strategy is applied: 1. If q is elliptic, its keywords are completed with the keywords extracted by the QA component from the previous question for which there exists an answer. The completed query is submitted to the QA component. 2. If q contains pronoun/adjective anaphora, the chunker is used to find the first compatible antecedent in the previous questions in order of recency. The latter must be a NP compatible in number with the referent. 3. If q contains NP anaphora, the first NP in the stack of preceding questions which contains all of the words in the referent is used in place of the latter. 5 http://opennlp.sourceforge.net/ 6 At the moment the condition on semantic distance is not included for the sake of speed. 18 S. Quarteroni and S. Manandhar In cases 2 and 3, when no antecedent can be found, a clarification request is issued by the system until a resolved query can be submitted to the QA component. Finally, when the QA process is terminated, a message directing the user to the HTML answer page is returned and the follow-up proposal is issued (see Figure 3). 9.2 Implementation Following the typical design of an AIML-based conversational agent, we created a set of categories to fit the dialogue scenarios elaborated during dialogue design (Section 5) and enriched with the WOz experience (Section 8). We used the Java-based AIML interpreter Chatterbean7 and extended its original set of AIML tags (e.g. <pattern>, <template>) with two new ones: 1. <query>, which invokes the core Question Answering module; 2. <clarify>, which invokes the follow-up detection and resolution module (this follows the strategy in Section 5). The conversation context is represented as a stack of recent user questions, which is used to perform follow-up resolution as explained in Section 9.1. Moreover, the Chatterbean framework allows to instantiate and update a set of variables, visible during the whole dialogue session. We defined several variables, including: • the conversation topic, i.e. the keywords of the last question in the session which received an answer. These keywords are added to the set of keywords extracted from elliptic questions to clarify them. • the current user’s name, used as a key to access the corresponding user model in case the personalization module is activated. This allows the integration of personalized and interactive QA. To illustrate the dynamics of AIML and the use of tags and variables we take the category used by the system to clarify the nature of requests introduced by the cue words “Do you know”: <pattern>DO YOU KNOW *</pattern> <template><srai>CLARIFY *</srai></template> The pattern: CLARIFY * below triggers a template calling the AIML tag <clarify>, which invokes the follow-up detection and resolution module on the text matching the “*” expression. The module returns a judgment (e.g. “ELLIPTIC”) which is assigned to the context variable clarif (using the <set> tag). Finally, a conditional branch invoked by the <condition> tag on the clarif variable determines the appropriate QA routine based on the value of clarif. <pattern>CLARIFY *</pattern> <template> <set name=“clarif”><clarify></star><clarify></set> <condition name=“clarif” value=“ELLIPTIC”>...</condition> <condition name=“clarif” value=“DOUBLE”> ...</condition> </template> 7 http://chatterbean.bitoflife.cjb.net/ Designing an Interactive QA system 19 Fig. 3. YourQA’s chat interface Dialogue Interface – The layout of the YourQA interactive interface consists of a left panel where the chat takes place and a right panel where results are visualized (see Figure 3). As in a normal chat application, users write in a text field and the current session history and the interlocutor replies are visualized in an adjacent text area. 10 Evaluation While the accuracy of standard QA systems can be evaluated and compared using quantitative information retrieval metrics (Voorhees 2003), dialogue interfaces pose complex evaluation challenges as they differ in appearance, intended application and target users. Indeed, these are often evaluated using qualitative metrics such as user satisfaction and perceived time of usage (Walker et al. 2000). Similarly, user satisfaction questionnaires and interaction logs appear to be effective tools to evaluate interactive QA systems (Kelly et al. 2006). 10.1 Initial Evaluation To conduct a preliminary evaluation of our prototype, we designed three scenarios where users had to look for two different items of infomation relating to the same topic (e.g. Shakespeare’s date of birth and when he wrote Hamlet). Users had to choose one or more topics and use first the non-interactive Web interface of the QA prototype (handling questions in a similar way to a search engine) and then the interactive version depicted in Figure 3 to find answers. After using both versions of the prototype, users filled in a questionnaire about their experience with the chat version which comprised the same questions as the WOz questionnaire and the following additional questions: Q7 Was the pace of interaction with the system appropriate? Q8 How often was the system slow in replying to you? Q9 Which version of the system did you prefer and why? 20 S. Quarteroni and S. Manandhar Questions Q7 and Q8 could be answered using a scale from 1 to 5 and were taken from the PARADISE evaluation questions (Walker et al. 2000). Q9 was chosen to assess if and in what terms users perceived a difference between the two prototypes. Results – From the initial evaluation, which involved eight volunteers, we gathered the following salient results. In the chat logs, we observed that the system was able to correctly resolve pronominal anaphora in 9 out of the 11 cases when it occurred. No elliptic queries were issued, although in two cases verbs were not spotted by the system causing queries to be erroneously completed with previous query keywords. Users tended not to reply explicitly to the chatbot offers to carry on the interaction, directly entering a follow-up question instead. Due to the limited amount of AIML categories, the system’s requests for reformulation occurred more frequently than expected: we successively added new categories to account for this shortcoming. From the questionnaire (Table 3, column Init.), user satisfaction levels (Q1 to Q6) are sightly lower than in the WOz experiment (col. WOz). Users felt the system slow in replying to the questions, mainly because the system performs document retrieval in real time, hence heavily depends on the network download speed. However, all but one user (87.5%) said they preferred the chat interface of the system (Q9), because of its liveliness and ability to understand when questions were related. 10.2 Final Evaluation Building on the results of the initial evaluation and after drawing additional AIML patterns from the analysis of over 100 chat logs collected since then, we designed a further experiment. For this purpose, we chose 9 question series from the TREC-QA 2007 campaign (i.e. series 224, 239, 242, 244, 264, 266, 270, 272 and 278) so that the first question in each series could be understood by a QA system without the need of explicitly mentioning the series target. Moreover, questions should contain anaphoric and/or elliptic references and three questions were retained per series to make each evaluation balanced. For instance, the following questions from series 266 were used to form one task: 266.1: “When was Rafik Hariri born?” 266.2: “To what religion did he belong (including sect)?” 266.4: “At what time in the day was he assassinated?” Twelve users were invited to find answers to the questions in two different series from the nine collected, so that the first series was to be addressed using the stan- dard version of YourQA, the second one using the interactive version. Each series was evaluated at least once using both versions of the system. At the end of the experiment, the users had to fill the same user satisfaction questionnaire as in the first evaluation, but this time they had to give feedback about both versions. Results – The second evaluation was more accurate and challenging than the first one in two respects: first, comparative feedback was collected from the standard and interactive versions of the system; second, question series contained more questions and came from TREC-QA, making them hard to answer using the Web. Designing an Interactive QA system 21 The results obtained from the questionnaire for the standard and interactive versions are reported in columns “Stand.” and “Inter.” of Table 3, respectively. Although the paired t-test conducted on such results did not register statistical significance, we believe that the evidence we collected is quite interesting. This shows a good overall satisfaction with both versions of the system (Q8), with a slight difference in favor of the interactive version. The standard and interactive versions of the system seem to offer different advan- tages: while the ease of use of the standard version was rated higher (Q5), users felt that they obtained more information using the interactive version (Q1). Concerning interaction comfort, users felt that the interactive version understood better their requests than the standard one (Q2); they also found it easy to reformulate ques- tions when the former asked to (Q6). These findings show that even a simple chat interface like ours is very useful in terms of user satisfaction. However, while the pace of interaction was judged slightly more appropriate in the interactive case (Q3), interaction was considered faster with the standard version (Q4); unfortunately, in both cases the interaction speed rarely appears adequate, as also registered from user comments. This probably motivated the fact that users seemed more ready to use again the standard version of the system (Q7). An interesting difference with respect to the first evaluation was the preference question Q9: 7 out of 12 users (58.3%) said that they preferred the interactive version, hence a smaller ratio of the users than in the first evaluation. The reasons given by users in their comments were mixed: while some of them were enthusiastic about the chatbot’s smalltalk features and felt that the interface interacted very naturally, others clearly said that they felt more comfortable with a search engine- like interface and that the design of the interactive prototype was inadequate. 10.3 Discussion From these results, we gather the following remarks: first, the major weakness of our system remains speed, which must be greatly optimized. As supporting the interactive features of YourQA requires more processing time, we believe that this is one of the main reasons for which in our second evaluation, where tasks required an intensive use of followup detection and resolution, the interactive model was penalized with respect to the standard version. Moreover, although the interactive version of the system was well received, some users seem to prefer more traditional information retrieval paradigms and fail to appreciate the advantages of interactivity. We believe that this is due partly to cultural reasons (the search engine-like non-interactive model of IR biasing users), partly to the fact that the follow-up resolution mechanism of the interactive version is not always accurate, generating errors and delaying the delivery of results. Finally, the chat interface raises expectations concerning what the system can understand; when these are not met (i.e. the system misunderstands or asks for reformulation), this lowers user satisfaction. However, most of the critical aspects emerging from our overall satisfactory eval- uation depend on the specific system we have tested rather than on the nature of 22 S. Quarteroni and S. Manandhar interactive QA, to which none of such results appear to be detrimental. We believe that the search-engine-style use and interpretation of QA systems are due to the fact that QA is still a very little known technology the potential of which must still be fully grasped by the larger public. 11 Conclusions We describe YourQA, an open domain, interactive Question Answering system with a chatbot-based dialogue interface. First, we identify the dialogue model and dialogue manager required to implement open-domain, interactive QA. 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Eric Schmidt and Jared Cohen offer a rigorous approach to decoding what the future holds in a story that is as well written and entertaining as it is important.” —General Brent Scowcroft, former National Security Advisor “[A] brilliant book that should be required reading for anyone who wishes to understand the huge ramifications of the Age of Google not only for our lifestyles but, more importantly, for our privacy, our democracy and our security.” —Niall Ferguson, author of Civilization Knopf | Cloth | 336 pages | $26.95 www.randomhouse.com/academic • acmart@randomhouse.com Knopf Doubleday Academic Marketing • 1745 Broadway, 12th Floor, New York, NY 10019 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 15 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 13 00 01 30 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055413000130 University of Minnesota Press www.upress.umn.edu 800-621-2736 FROM THE ECONOMY TO FOOD POLITICS Take Back the Economy An Ethical Guide for Transforming Our Communities J. K. Gibson-Graham, Jenny Cameron, and Stephen Healy Dismantles the idea that the economy is separate from us and best comprehended by experts, demonstrating that the economy is the outcome of the decisions and efforts we make every day. $19.95 paper | $60.00 cloth | 248 page Hot Spotter’s Report Military Fables of Toxic Waste Shiloh R. Krupar satire, Hot Spotter’s Report examines how the biopolitics of war promotes the idea of a postmilitary and postnuclear world, naturalizing toxicity and limiting human relations with the past and the land. $25.00 paper | $75.00 cloth | 376 pages | June 2013 A Quadrant Book The Seeds We Planted Portraits of a Native Hawaiian Charter School Noelani Goodyear-Ka‘opua Against the backdrop of the Hawaiian struggle for self-de- termination and the U.S. charter school movement, Noelani Goodyear-Ka‘opua reveals a critical tension: the successes of a school celebrating indigenous culture are measured by the standards of settler colonialism. $25.00 paper | $75.00 cloth | 376 pages First Peoples: New Directions in Indigenous Studies Series The Idea of Haiti Rethinking Crisis and Development Millery Polyné, editor An investigation of the notion of newness through the lenses of history and literature, urban planning, religion, and governance, The Idea of Haiti illuminates the politics and the narratives of Haiti’s past and present. $25.00 paper | $75.00 cloth | 320 pages | June 2013 Eating Anxiety The Perils of Food Politics Chad Lavin Exploring discourses of food politics, Chad Lavin links the concerns of food—especially issues of sustainability, public health, and inequality—to the evolution of the world order and the possibilities for democratic rule. $22.50 paper | $67.50 cloth | 248 pages Off the Network Disrupting the Digital World Ulises Ali Mejias A fresh and authoritative examination of how the hidden logic of the Internet, social media, and the digital network is chang- ing users’ understanding of the world—and why that should worry us. $22.50 paper | $67.50 cloth | 224 pages | June 2013 Electronic Mediations Series, volume 41 The Marrying Kind? Debating Same-Sex Marriage within the Lesbian and Gay Movement Mary Bernstein and Verta Taylor, editors The Marrying Kind? draws on empirical research to examine same-sex marriage debates within the LGBT movement and how they are affecting marriage equality campaigns. $25.00 paper | $75.00 cloth | 432 pages | June 2013 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 15 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 13 00 01 30 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055413000130 Winner of two of the annual Best Book Awards presented by the Association of American Publishers Best Book in the Government & Politics category as well as Best Book among the broad range of books in the Social Sciences category The Unheavenly Chorus Unequal Political Voice and the Broken Promise of American Democracy Kay Lehman Schlozman, Sidney Verba & Henry E. 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C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 15 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 13 00 01 30 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055413000130 A m erican Political Science R eview M AY 2013, V O L. 107, N O . 2, 207–396 A M E R I C A N P O L I T I C A L S C I E N C E A S S O C I A T I O N American Political Science Review MAY 2013 VOLUME 107 NUMBER 2 326 How Censorship in China Allows Government Criticism but Silences Collective Expression Gary King, Jennifer Pan, and Margaret E. Roberts 344 Crossing the Line: Local Ethnic Geography and Voting in Ghana Nahomi Ichino and Noah L. Nathan FORUMFORUM: THE DEBATE OVER GENOPOLITICS: THE DEBATE OVER GENOPOLITICS 362 In Defense of Genopolitics James H. Fowler and Christopher T. 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Madison Karen Orren and Christopher Walker 259 Representation and Rights: The Impact of LGBT Legislators in Comparative Perspective Andrew Reynolds 275 Politics in the Mind’s Eye: Imagination as a Link between Social and Political Cognition Michael Bang Peterson and Lene Aarøe 294 Social Identifi cation and Ethnic Confl ict Nicholas Sambanis and Moses Shayo 00030554_107-2.indd 100030554_107-2.indd 1 5/9/13 7:25 PM5/9/13 7:25 PM D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 15 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 13 00 01 30 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055413000130 
work_mot2csdjevh6pfr2qiinzbk6bq	----	Prior and prejudice NATURE NEUROSCIENCE VOLUME 14 | NUMBER 8 | AUGUST 2011 9 4 3 N E W S A N D V I E W S question is how to relate it to a prior distri- bution: how do those sensory neurons take into account the fact that some values of x are more likely than others? There are two basic ways. One is to allocate more preferred values xj to the values of x that occur more frequently (Fig. 1b) and the other is to vary the width of the tuning curves as a function of xj (Fig. 1c). Both strategies encode some values of x with higher variability than others (high variability meaning high spread, low precision) and also create biases (high bias meaning high systematic deviation, low accu- racy) with respect to the true values (Fig. 1b,c). The studies by Girshick et al.1 and Fischer and Peña2 dissect two examples in which these two strategies are combined (Fig. 1d). Although the neural circuits in each case are very different, the resulting computations are extremely similar. In the study by Girshick et al.1, the goal was to explain two sets of observations indicating that there is an asymmetry in the representation of orientation (x in this case) in the visual systems of mammals. First, performance in orientation discrimination tasks is consistently better at the cardinal orientations (horizontal and vertical), a phenomenon known as the oblique effect. Second, neurophysiological measurements indicate that the preferred orientations of neu- rons in the primary visual cortex (V1) are not distributed uniformly; rather, the cardinals are over-represented (as in Fig. 1b). From optimal- ity arguments, a reasonable explanation for both phenomena is that visual scenes naturally contain more edges that are oriented vertically or horizontally. These ideas were not new, but Girshick et al.1 tested them rigorously. First, the authors carefully measured the actual distribution of orientations in a large collection of photographs, thus determining the prior for orientation from natural scenes. Horizontal and vertical indeed proved to be N E W S A N D V I E W S Emilio Salinas is in the Department of Neurobiology and Anatomy, Wake Forest School of Medicine, Winston-Salem, North Carolina, USA. e-mail: esalinas@wakehealth.edu Prior and prejudice Emilio Salinas To best interpret new sensory information, populations of sensory neurons must represent the lessons of past experience. How do they do this? The same solution to this problem is now reported in two very different sensory systems, providing a classic example of computational convergence. A young woman rebuffs a lad. She probably does not like him—or perhaps she likes him too much. Jane Austen exploits this ambigu- ity between interpreting words and actions according to past experiences—prejudice—or to their literal meaning. But the tug-of-war between expectations and evidence is a fun- damental problem that our brain encounters at all levels, from social interactions to the most basic perceptual judgments. Two stud- ies in Nature Neuroscience now investigate how neural circuits combine the knowledge accumulated from previous encounters with sensory scenes, technically known as a prior distribution, with new stimuli. Although they analyze very different sensory computations, the determination of visual edge orientation in primates1 and the localization of sounds in owls2, they reach an identical conclusion about how populations of neurons may adapt their response properties to incorporate knowledge about the statistics of the world, and the solu- tion is elegant. The problem of how to combine prior expectations and current sensory informa- tion in an optimal way is addressed through the principles of Bayesian inference, which provide a mathematical recipe for evaluating their relative importance. The generality of this problem may be illustrated by sports in which players continuously update the prior describ- ing what the opponent is likely to do. In ten- nis, for example, the server can direct his serve either to the middle or to the side of the court, and typically chooses whichever is hardest for the opponent to return. However, if the serve becomes predictable, then the returner can prepare accordingly and produce a win- ning shot. For the returner the key trade-off is this: if the serves are slow enough (low noise in the sensory input), then he can simply see where the ball is going and choose without any bias whether to hit a forehand or a backhand, but if the serves are fast (high noise), then he must guess and commit to a particular motion early, else he has little chance of returning the serve. The Bayesian recipe finds the best prob- abilistic strategy between these two extremes, one that is biased toward the prior and another that is not. A growing body of evidence indicates that human subjects often behave in such a statistically optimal way in a wide array of perceptual and motor tasks3–5, and that those probabilistic calculations may also determine fundamental properties of single neurons6. Many such studies have specifically shown that, in making perceptual judgments, indi- viduals indeed take into account prior dis- tributions, whether they arise naturally7,8 or are artificially imposed by the experimental design4,5,8,9. How then are such prior distribu- tions represented by neural circuits, and how are they accessed? Consider how populations of sensory neurons encode a given stimulus feature x. Typically, neuron j becomes maximally acti- vated when x takes a particular value xj, and the response decreases as x differs from this preferred xj (Fig. 1a). Neurons across the population have different preferences, and their response curves as functions of x, or ‘tuning curves’, overlap to cover the full range of x. Although this type of representation has been studied thoroughly6,10–15, a lingering It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first. —Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice © 2 01 1 N at u re A m er ic a, In c. A ll ri g h ts r es er ve d . © 2 01 1 N at u re A m er ic a, In c. A ll ri g h ts r es er ve d . 9 4 4 VOLUME 14 | NUMBER 8 | AUGUST 2011 NATURE NEUROSCIENCE N E W S A N D V I E W SN E W S A N D V I E W SN E W S A N D V I E W S of computations that can be easily performed by neurons (for example, weighted sums of inputs). To infer the stimulus angle encoded by the model responses at any given time, they used a simple readout scheme known as the vector method13. Neuron j casts a vote in favor of a vector pointing at the angle xj such that the strength of the vote is equal to the response of the cell rj. Then all the weighted vectors are added and the angle of the resulting vector is considered to be the angle encoded by the population. This way, the most active neurons contribute more to the final answer. With this readout or decoding method, the performance of the model population in the orientation dis- crimination task was indistinguishable from that of human subjects. The asymmetry in the neuronal representation fully accounted for the bias in behavior. Fischer and Peña2 studied the auditory system of owls, so the details are very differ- ent, but they adopted a remarkably similar approach and conceptual framework. Their starting point was also a notorious asym- metry in behavior. Owls can locate sounds along the horizontal plane accurately near the center of gaze, but they typically underestimate those originating further into the periphery. This central bias is substantial: on average, stimuli at ±45° elicit responses to ±33° or less2. Fischer and Peña2 accounted for these behav- ioral results with a Bayesian model with two more common. Second, they tested the dis- crimination capacity of people in a new task that allowed them to parametrically vary the noise or uncertainty of each oriented stimulus. This was crucial because perceived orientation varies with the amount of noise in the stimu- lus (that is, with its visibility): noisy stimuli appear more horizontal or more vertical. This is exactly as expected: the larger the uncer- tainty in the evidence, the stronger the reliance on the prior. Third, using a Bayesian model of the task applied to these psychophysical data, the authors inferred the internal prior used by the subjects and found that, on aver- age, this prior was nearly identical to the prior obtained from natural images. This means that the neural representation of orientation in the brain is biased in a way that precisely matches the actual asymmetry found in nature. This match is a strong indicator of computational efficiency in the visual system. Finally, Girshick et al.1 simulated the responses of a population of orientation- sensitive neurons with distributions of widths and preferred orientations based on reported data from neurophysiological experiments. Their model essentially applied the depen- dencies shown in Figure 1b,c simultaneously to the same population. The objective was to investigate whether the Bayesian operations needed to combine the sensory evidence and the prior could be implemented with the types elements: a prior that favored sound sources near the center of gaze and a function that generated a noisy estimate of interaural time difference (ITD) for any given stimulus direction. The ITD, which is the difference in the time of arrival of a sound to the two ears, is a crucial intermediate variable here because early audi- tory neurons are tuned for ITD and the hori- zontal angle of a sound is actually computed from it by specialized circuitry downstream. Thus, any uncertainty in ITD is carried over as uncertainty in source direction. Now, because for any sound direction the ITD that reaches the tympanic membrane is known from exper- imental measurements, the Bayesian model had only two free parameters: the amount of noise in the ITD estimation and the width of the prior. By adjusting these two parameters, the model accounted for the original behav- ioral data and for the behavior observed under two additional experimental conditions, one that altered the relationship between ITD and sound direction and another that increased the amount of noise in the owl’s perception of ITD. Next, Fischer and Peña2 developed a popu- lation model describing the encoding of hori- zontal sound direction in the optic tectum of the owl. Again, the objective was to figure out how the neurons could implement the proba- bilistic operations of the Bayesian model. For this, they generated arrays of neuronal tuning a b c d 0 8 M e a n r e sp o n se ( sp ik e s) 0 8 0 8 Non-uniform widths, uniform preferences 0 8 Non-uniform widths, non-uniform preferences 0 5 10 15 V a ri a b ili ty ( d e g ) 0 5 10 15 0 5 10 15 0 20 40 60 !180 !90 0 90 180 !10 0 10 B ia s (d e g ) Stimulus angle (deg) !180 !90 0 90 180 !10 0 10 Stimulus angle (deg) !180 !90 0 90 180 !10 0 10 Stimulus angle (deg) !180 !90 0 90 180 !30 0 30 Stimulus angle (deg) Uniform widths, uniform preferences Uniform widths, non-uniform preferences Figure 1 Encoding of a stimulus by a neuronal population. The angle on the x axis represents either the horizontal direction of a sound or the orientation of a visual stimulus (with the range of x rescaled by a factor of 2). (a) Top, a standard array of tuning curves with identical tuning width and uniformly distributed preferred angles. Bottom, variability (s.d.) and bias (mean) of the angle decoded over multiple trials from the responses of the population in a. Black circles (diameter, 10°) and orange spots depict variability (spot size) and bias (spot offset) at three stimulus angles. (b) Data presented as in a, but with variable density of preferred angles, highest at 0° and ±180° and lowest at ±90°. (c) Data presented as in a, but with variable tuning-curve widths. Narrowest curves peak at 0° and ±180° and widest ones at ±90°. (d) An array of tuning curves that approximates those found in the optic tectum of owls. All populations consisted of 50 model neurons with Poisson responses and had the same mean tuning-curve width. Encoded angles were found using the vector method. © 2 01 1 N at u re A m er ic a, In c. A ll ri g h ts r es er ve d . © 2 01 1 N at u re A m er ic a, In c. A ll ri g h ts r es er ve d . NATURE NEUROSCIENCE VOLUME 14 | NUMBER 8 | AUGUST 2011 9 4 5 N E W S A N D V I E W S neuronal population, but also to understand why different neurons have tuning curves of different shapes14,15. What makes a ‘good’ shape? What makes an optimal mixture of shapes for a population encoding a par- ticular sensory feature? The answers will certainly depend on the organism’s lifestyle and its interactions with the environment, but there is hope that general principles will emerge12,14,15. The new studies have peeled a layer of mystery from this fundamental issue in computational neuroscience. COMPETING FINANCIAL INTERESTS The author declares no competing financial interests. 1. Girshick, A.R., Landy, M.S. & Simoncelli, E.P. Nat. Neurosci. 14, 926–932 (2011). 2. Fischer, B. & Peña, J.L. Nat. Neurosci. 14, 1061–1066 (2011). 3. Ernst, M.O. & Banks, M.S. Nature 415, 429–433 (2002). 4. Körding, K.P. & Wolpert, D.M. Nature 427, 244–247 (2004). 5. Trommershäuser, J., Maloney, L.T. & Landy, M.S. Trends Cogn. Sci. 12, 291–297 (2008). 6. Ma, W.J., Beck, J.M., Latham, P.E. & Pouget, A. Nat. Neurosci. 9, 1432–1438 (2006). 7. Weiss, Y., Simoncelli, E.P. & Adelson, E.H. Nat. Neurosci. 5, 598–604 (2002). 8. Ashourian, P. & Loewenstein, Y. PLoS ONE 6, e19551 (2011). 9. Miyazaki, M., Yamamoto, S., Uchida, S. & Kitazawa, S. Nat. Neurosci. 9, 875–877 (2006). 10. Pouget, A., Dayan, P. & Zemel, R. Nat. Rev. Neurosci. 1, 125–132 (2000). 11. Paradiso, M.A. Biol. Cybern. 58, 35–49 (1988). 12. Berens, P., Ecker, A.S., Gerwinn, S., Tolias, A.S. & Bethge, M. Proc. Natl. Acad. Sci. USA 108, 4423–4428 (2011). 13. Salinas, E. & Abbott, L.F. J. Comput. Neurosci. 1, 89–107 (1994). 14. Salinas, E. PLoS Biol. 4, e387 (2006). 15. Bonnasse-Gahot, L. & Nadal, J.P. J. Comput. Neurosci. 25, 169–187 (2008). presumably, sounds in a forest may come from any direction. Rather, the prior function rep- resents the relevance of the various sound directions. Such an ‘importance coefficient’ of each direction may depend on many factors besides the associated frequency of occurrence. For instance, sounds coming from the back of the owl may be irrelevant because large orienting movements may alert the potential prey or require too much time or energy. In fact, the underestimation of sound directions has been reported in many species2. If, for whatever rea- son, there is no point in responding to a par- ticular direction, then detecting sounds from it is unnecessary; it just wastes resources14. In general, asymmetries in the distribu- tions of preferences and widths in a popula- tion can be used to assign different weights to different stimulus values because of their frequency, their potential for higher reward, motor constraints14, and so on. In the tennis analogy, a player may ignore balls coming to his backhand side either because they are too infrequent, because he cannot see well in that direction, or because he is hurt and cannot hit backhands. As a consequence, behavioral asymmetries may have multiple causes, and resolving them may require careful analyses such as those in carried out by Girshick et al.1 and Fischer et al.2, and behavioral or neuronal responses that appear suboptimal under one prior may be optimal under another. In a wider context, the goal is not just to identify the factors that determine the distri- butions of widths and preferred values of a curves as functions of sound direction and compared the model responses to the behavioral data. This required two ingredi- ents. First, they needed a read-out to infer the source angle encoded by the population’s responses, and they used the very same vector method as Girshick et al.2 Furthermore, they obtained an important theoretical result describing the mathematical conditions under which the vector method is equivalent to the Bayesian model2. Second, to fit the behavioral data, they had to adjust the distribution of pre- ferred locations across the population. Their resulting model is qualitatively similar to that shown in Figure 1c, except that the owl’s tun- ing curves are not perfectly symmetric. Finally, they showed that the distribution of preferred locations in the best-fitting model matched the actual distribution measured experimen- tally, providing further proof of consistency between the behavioral, computational and neuro physiological results. Both these studies create convincing links between psychophysical performance and neuronal representations using the formalism of Bayesian inference. There is a noteworthy difference between them, though. For edge orientation, the prior corresponds exactly to the frequencies with which horizontal, verti- cal or other orientations are encountered in a visual scene. Thus, the statistics of natural images can fully account for the asymmetries in width and density in the V1 orientation tuning curves (Fig. 1b,c). For the owl, in con- trast, the prior does not represent the distri- bution of sound sources in the environment; of neuroectodermal origin, and involves a downstream molecule called -catenin. In the absence of Wnt, Axin1 cooperates with glycogen synthase kinase 3 (GSK3) and phos- phorylates -catenin, thereby signaling its degradation. In the presence of Wnt, -catenin is not phosphorylated and accumulates in the cell and modulates gene expression. Active Wnt has been shown to impair oligodendro- cyte progenitor differentiation and repair of demyelination2–5. Fancy and colleagues1 identified the pro- tein Axin2, also known as Axil (in rat) and Conductin (in mouse), as a negative regulator of -catenin stability (Fig.1), even in the Patrizia Casaccia is in the Department of Neuroscience and Friedman Brain Institute, Mount Sinai School of Medicine, New York, New York, USA. e-mail: patrizia.casaccia@mssm.edu Anti-TANKyrase weapons promote myelination Patrizia Casaccia A study identifies mechanisms responsible for the inability to form new myelin after neonatal hypoxia. It identifies Axin2 as a potential therapeutic target for reversing the ‘differentiation block’ of oligodendrocyte-lineage cells. Cerebral palsy and cognitive deficits repre- sent the devastating consequences of preterm births and of perinatal hypoxic or ischemic injury of full-term infants. At a cellular level, disease severity correlates with the degree of white matter injury and is characterized by the inability of cells in the oligodendrocyte lineage to differentiate into myelin-forming cells. There are no therapies to overcome this differentiation block. A similar deficit in the ability to form new myelin can be detected in the adult brain after demyelination in people with multiple sclerosis and is associ- ated with lack of repair. In this issue of Nature Neuroscience, Fancy and colleagues1 identify Axin2, an inhibitor of the Wnt pathway, as a promising new therapeutic target for drug development directed at favoring new myelin formation in the neonatal and adult brain. Wnt proteins comprise a family of secreted ligands crucial for stem cell biology and embryonic development. Inappropriate regula- tion of Wnt signaling occurs in several types of cancer, including colon, liver and brain tumors © 2 01 1 N at u re A m er ic a, In c. A ll ri g h ts r es er ve d . © 2 01 1 N at u re A m er ic a, In c. A ll ri g h ts r es er ve d . 
work_mp5yw5kbtjhandu2l7777p3gze	----	Microsoft Word - 3.A Study of Hedges in Pride and Prejudice Sino-US English Teaching, August 2019, Vol. 16, No. 8, 336-341 doi:10.17265/1539-8072/2019.08.003   A Study of Hedges in Pride and Prejudice LU Yuwen, GAO Wencheng University of Shanghai for Science and Technology, Shanghai, China Human language is fuzzy, which can be reflected by hedges. Prince has divided hedges into adaptor, rounder, plausibility shields, and attribution shields. In a dialogue, hedges can protect face of the speakers and relieve some of the speaker’s responsibilities as well as make linguistic expressions more implicit, polite, and flexible. Based on this classification, the paper analyzes some typical hedges and their functions used in the dialogues of the novel Pride and Prejudice, so as to have a deeper understanding of the major characters and the theme of the novel. Keywords: fuzzy language, Pride and Prejudice, hedges Introduction In 1965, Zadeh, an expert in cybernetics at the University of California, published his paper “Fuzzy Sets” in the magazine Information and Control and put forward the famous Fuzzy Theory, marking an epoch-making revolution in modern mathematics science. In 1979, Wu Tieping of Beijing Normal University published the article “A Preliminary Study of Fuzzy Language” in the fourth issue of Journal of Foreign Languages. He introduces the fuzzy theory, unveiling the study of fuzzy linguistics in China. The term “hedges” first appeared in Lakoff’s pioneering monograph: A Study in Meaning Criteria and the Logic of Fuzziness (Lakoff, 1973). He points out that hedges are the words whose job is to make things fuzzier or less fuzzy. As an indispensable part of fuzzy linguistics, hedges are the most common and typical fuzzy language. This paper attempts to explore the types and functions of hedges used in dialogues in the novel of Pride and Prejudice. Classification of Hedges Since Zadeh put forward linguistic hedges in 1971, many scholars began to study hedges and dive deep into it. The past over 40 years witnessed various views on hedges from different ages and schools. In the process of the studies, hedges are grouped into different categories. The following are three classifications. First, in 1971, Zadeh divides linguistic hedges into two categories based on its function. One kind of function is to directly modify fuzzy words. For example, “very”, “more or less”, “slightly”, and “highly” are all hedges which can modify fuzzy words. The other kind of function is to explain in which way they act on fuzzy words, for example, “Strictly speaking, he is a racist/A whale is technically a mammal”. Second, in 1972, Zadeh reclassifies hedges into four categories. The first category is some adjectives and adverbs, such as “maybe”, “often”, “some”, “somewhere”, “recently”, “somewhat”, “usually”, “always”, “very”, “almost”, etc. Take a sentence for example: “We’ve seldom met him recently”. The second category is suffixes, like “-ish” and “-ly”, for example, “greenish”, “sweetish”, “childish”, “friendly”, “manly”, etc. LU Yuwen, bachelor, College of Foreign Languages, University of Shanghai for Science and Technology, Shanghai, China. GAO Wencheng, Ph.D., professor, College of Foreign Languages, University of Shanghai for Science and Technology, Shanghai, China. DAVID PUBLISHING D A STUDY OF HEDGES IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE   337 Another instance: “Sarah has reddish hair”. The third category is those words that indicate the speaker is hesitant or uncertain about something, acting as adverbial of manner or degree, for instance, “as if”, “as though”, “so...that”, “so...as to”, etc. Take a sentence for example: “His works was so great as to make him internationally famous”. The fourth category is the sentence structures used by the speaker in order to appear more polite when expressing opinions, such as “I think”, “I guess”, “I wonder”, “I believe”, “it seems to me”, “as far as I can tell”, “if I understand it right”, etc. for example, “I believe what he said is true” (Feng, 2006). Third, in 1982, Prince and his colleges Frader and Bosk divide hedges into two categories based on whether the truth value conditions of a proposition has changed: approximator and shield. Approximator can be further divided into adaptor and rounder. Adaptors are hedges that modify the meaning of the original discourse to some extent according to the actual situation. Adaptors ensure statements which are close to the fact to be expressed more in line with the fact and avoid arbitrariness, for example, “kind of”, “sort of”, “a little bit”, “some,” “somewhat”, “very”, “almost” “in a sense”, etc. Rounders refer to hedges that limit the topic to a certain extent, frequently used in measuring things, for example, “about”, “approximately”, “essentially”, “in most respects”, “loosely/strictly speaking”, “roughly”, “around”, “or so”, “at least”, “less than”, “more than”, etc. Shield can be further divided into plausibility shields and attribution shields. Plausibility shields do not change truth value conditions of a proposition and they tend to soften the manner of speaking. It directly expresses the speaker’s own speculation, for example, “I think”, “I guess”, “I wonder”, “I suspect”, “hard to say”, “as far as I can tell”, “probably”, “seem”, etc. Attribution shields indicate that the speaker merely cites the others’ views instead of expressing his or her own opinions or speculations, for example, “sb. says that...”, “according to sb.”, “the probability would be...”, “it is said that…”, “it is assumed that…”, etc. (Dong, 2003). Prince’s theory is relatively comprehensive at that time. His classification has provided a theoretical basis and a clear framework for later scholars to study hedges. Therefore, the authors choose to analyze the hedges in dialogues in the novel of Pride and Prejudice based on his classification of hedges. Analysis of Hedges in Pride and Prejudice The novel of Pride and Prejudice is the representative work of Jane Austen (1775-1817). Hedges play an essential role in the dialogues of Pride and Prejudice, which have different functions and serve the theme in various ways. Although Pride and Prejudice is a literary work with artistic means, it is composed of various social strata in Britain at the end of the 18th century and the beginning of the 19th century. Daily life as the theme truly reflects the life and human relationships of British townships in a conservative and closed society. Therefore, the analysis of functions of the hedges in Pride and Prejudice cannot only further explore the pragmatic functions of hedges in literary works, but also help readers understand the characters and society at that time from another perspective. In the following sections, the authors will analyze the hedges in Pride and Prejudice based on the classification proposed by Prince. Analysis of Adaptors Adaptors are hedges that modify the meaning of the original discourse to some extent according to the actual situation. Adaptors are frequently used in Pride and Prejudice in order to depict the characters more vividly. For example: A STUDY OF HEDGES IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE   338 (1) Oh!―you mean Jane, I suppose―because he danced with her twice. To be sure that did seem as if he admired her―indeed I rather believe he did―I heard something about it―but I hardly know what―something about Mr. Robinson. Upon my word!―Well, that was very decided indeed―that does seem as if―but, however, it may all come to nothing, you know. (Austen, 2008, p. 22) When Miss Lucas mentions that Mr. Bennet seems to prefer Jane, Mrs. Bennet shows feigned modesty, but the adaptor “rather” emphasizes her proudness. Then, she uses the adaptor “something” to pretend to know little about what Robinson said. Thus, she can enjoy the compliments―the prettiest women is the eldest Miss Bennet again. The two adaptors “very” and “may” present Mrs. Bennet’s hypocrisy of both arrogance and modesty. These adaptors are the evidence that although Mrs. Bennet is not sure whether Mr. Binley really falls in love with Jane, she is anxious to show off and simultaneously shows feigned modesty. It reveals a common phenomenon that middle bourgeoisie was full of vanity at that time. Consider another example: (2) I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. (Austen, 2008, p. 103) Wickham had cheated Elizabeth the “relationship” between Darcy and him and fabricated the so-called shameful behavior conducted by Darcy. Wickham used several hedges: “may”, “perhaps”, “sometimes”, and “too” to show that his behavior of speaking his opinion of Darcy was unintentional and he was innocent. The cunning and shameless of image of Wickham fleshed. For instance: (3) Thank God! I have not that pain. A little time therefore―I shall certainly try to get the better. (Austen, 2008, p. 176) When Jane received the letter from Miss Bingley, which described that Mr. Bingley had been partial to Miss Darcy, she was painful and concealed her love for Bingley. These three adaptors show that actually Jane also did not know how much time she needed to recover from the wounded and what she would become in the future life. Jane shows her determination by using the word “certainly”. She is such a nice and considerate girl that she would like to ease Elizabeth and encourage herself. These three adaptors manifest that although Jane is in an overwhelming situation, she still tries to be positive and accept it. It also implies that most women in the beginning of the 19th century could only be chosen in terms of marriage. Most of them lacked the right of choosing and what they could do is to accept. Such revelation contributes to the theme of the novel. Analysis of Rounders Rounders limit the topic to a certain extent and render the speaker’s speculation less absolute. The authors will take rounders in Pride and Prejudice for examples to indicate the functions. For instance: (4) It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. (Austen, 2008, p. 2) Although the hedge universally seems to limit the range of this truth recognized, the range of the truth recognized is not clear for the readers. The sentence “However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighborhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families” points out the range is surrounding families, narrowing down to a few middle class families in English towns, which is a sharp contrast to the hedge universally. The use of the hedge satirizes not only Mr. Bennet’s behavior of marrying daughters into a wealthy family at all costs but also the atmosphere of the whole society at the end of 18th century. Let us consider another instance: A STUDY OF HEDGES IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE   339 (5) “I have no reason, I assure you,” said he, “to be dissatisfied with my reception. Mr. Darcy seemed much pleased with the attention. He answered me with the utmost civility, and even paid me the compliment of saying that he was so well convinced of Lady Catherine’s discernment as to be certain she could never bestow a favor unworthily. It was really a very handsome thought. Upon the whole, I am much pleased with him.” (Austen, 2008, p. 127) Collins says that he is satisfied with Mr. Darcy’s reception. He claims that Darcy answered him with the utmost civility and even paid him compliments. However, Elizabeth, as a spectator, witnesses that during their conversation, “Darcy was eyeing Collins with unrestrained wonder”, “replied with an air of distant civility”, and “made him a slight bow”. These sharp differences indicate that one of them has lied, and it is probable that Mr. Collins has. In order to show his former opinion is right and preserve his façade, he pretends to be treated warmly by Mr. Darcy and uses the Rounder “upon the whole” to show he is also satisfied with Mr. Darcy because He cannot point out specific satisfying points. Therefore, the hedge used here helps him to disguise his thought and it also reflects the vanity and hypocrisy of Mr. Collins. Another example: (6) A great deal more passed at the other table, Lady Catherine was generally speaking―stating the mistakes of the three others, or relating some anecdote of herself. (Austen, 2008, p. 216) The rounder “generally speaking” here limits the range or the frequency of Lady Catherine’s actions. It indicates that Lady Catherine is either criticizing others or showing off her own achievements almost all the time. The proudness permeates the whole process of playing quadrille with the help of the flattery from Mr. Collins. It is also an epitome of the society that wealthy people always have a bigger voice in any discourses. Arrogance and conceitedness are common to the whole London in the late eighteenth century. This revelation is helpful to deepen the theme of the novel. Analysis of Plausibility Shields Plausibility shields indicate the speaker directly expresses his own speculation instead of expounding truth. Plausibility shields soften the manner of speaking. The authors will take three character’s remarks in Pride and Prejudice to analyze the function of plausibility shields specifically. For example: (7) “I admire the activity of your benevolence,” observed Mary, “but every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my opinion, exertion should always be in proportion to what is required.” (Austen, 2008, p. 40) Mary, a plain girl with neither talent nor taste, always seeks for sense of existence and shows off her knowledge. When Elizabeth hears Jane’s illness, she feels so anxious that she wants to walk three miles to see Jane. At this time, Mary expresses that every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason and she uses the plausibility shields “in my opinion” to indicate that the following is her own thought. She intends to express her opinion on Elizabeth’s action to show off her reason and thoughtfulness. But after she expresses her view, no one agrees at all. Mary’s behavior reflects her anxiety to become the focus. However, a sad consensus exists in that society that only woman with beautiful appearance and good manner can be paid more attention to. For example: (8) “You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley, “and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.” I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it. (Austen, 2008, p. 44) A STUDY OF HEDGES IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE   340 As soon as Elizabeth is out of the room and returns to look after Jane, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst begin to deride Elizabeth’s muddy petticoat, untidy, and blowsy hair. When Mr. Bingley says that Elizabeth’s dirty petticoat escapes his notice, Miss Bingley turns to Mr. Darcy to seek support and consensus. The plausibility shield “I am sure” shows that although she has no proof, Miss Bingley keeps an uncompromising attitude that Darcy must have observed it. Then, by contrast, when it comes to Darcy’s sister, she uses hedges because she knows that he regards his sister as important. The plausibility shield “I am inclined to think” shows that Miss Bingley is not quite certain about Mr. Darcy’s thought. Thus, in case of any offense, she takes advantage of this plausibility shield. Mrs. Hurst judges Jane’s family background with contempt and relates it to Jane’s marriage. The plausibility shield “I am afraid” not only shows her regret but also implies that she deems Jane is not qualified to marry Bingley in a relatively polite way. All these plausibility shields help to embody that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst disdain people who are under their status, which is a common marriage concept prevalent in the 18th century. For example: (9) She is a very fine-looking woman! And her calling here was prodigiously civil! For she only came, I suppose, to tell us the Collinses were well. She is on her road somewhere, I dare say, and so, passing through Meryton, thought she might as well call on you. I suppose she had nothing particular to say to you, Lizzy? (Austen, 2008, p. 462) Mrs. Bennet admires and respects Lady Catherine because of her wealth and status. When Elizabeth tells Mrs. Bennet that Lady Catherine would go without sending compliments to her, she makes no complaints at all. These plausibility shields “I suppose”, “somewhere”, and “I dare say” show that Mrs. Bennet is not sure why Lady Catherine does not come in again, so she uses these hedges to make a speculation and console herself that it is for some other reason. Although Lady Catherine’s behavior is insolent and disagreeable, Mrs. Bennet still makes excuses for her and praises her with great compliments. It reflects that Mrs. Bennet as well as the whole society at that time is snobbish. Such revelations can help to express the theme of the novel from different perspectives. Analysis of Attribution Shields Attribution shields can restore the speaker’s reputation. In Pride and Prejudice, attribution shields play the role of coordinating communication conflicts and making expression more euphemistic, implicit, and polite. We will illustrate the function of attribution shields by using the following example. (10) And what am I to do on the occasion?―It seems a hopeless business. (Austen, 2008, p. 145) When Mrs. Bennet persuades Mr. Bennet to make Elizabeth marry Mr. Collins, Mr. Bennet answers with an attribution shield “It seems” in order to put forward his opinion indirectly. If he does not use any hedges or uses the plausibility shield “I think”, then Mrs. Bennet must quarrel with him immediately. The hedge “It seems” indicates that this hopeless occasion is decided by Elizabeth and Mr. Collins instead of him. It reflects Mr. Bennet’s wisdom and his relatively open-minded attitude towards marriage. For example: (11) I must confess that he did not speak so well of Wickham as he formerly did. He believed him to be imprudent and extravagant. And since this sad affair has taken place, it is said that he left Meryton greatly in debt; but I hope this may be false. (Austen, 2008, p. 372) After Lydia and Wickham go off, sorts of Wickham’s wickedness are gradually exposed. The attribution shield “it is said that” indicates that Jane does not know whether the following sentence is true or not. It is also A STUDY OF HEDGES IN PRIDE AND PREJUDICE   341 reflected that Jane does not believe what others said yet, corresponding to the following sentence “I hope this may be false”. For instance: (12) I was told that not only your sister was on the point of being most advantageously married, but that you, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet, would, in all likelihood, be soon afterwards united to my nephew, my own nephew, Mr. Darcy. (Austen, 2008, p. 455) Lady Catherine demands Elizabeth angrily when she hears a report of a most alarming nature. At the beginning of their conversation, Lady Catherine keeps a relatively calm attitude. She uses an attribution shield “I was told that” to query Elizabeth. The hedge indicates that she is uncertain about what she heard. She creates such an advantageous position in their communication that even if what she heard is false, she can still restore her reputation. This usage reflects that Lady Catherine is very sophisticated and sly. Hedges can help depict the personalities of the characters of the novel, and they can also contribute to express the theme of the novel from inner perspectives. The images are portrayed by their own words and the theme is conveyed by what the characters say and do rather than the writer, which is more effective. Conclusion Language is characterized with fuzziness. Fuzzy constructions, for example, hedges, are common practice in communication. Hedges are also widely used in literary works, in particular, in the dialogues of a novel. So, the authors analyze the hedges used in Pride and Prejudice based on the classification proposed by Prince, namely, adapters, rounders, plausibility shields, and attribution shields. It is concluded that the hedges in dialogues can help depict the personalities of the characters and express the theme from inner perspectives. The inner perspectives are more effective than other outer perspectives. References Austen, J. (2008). Pride and prejudice. Beijing: Central Compilation & Translation Press. Channell, J. (2006.). Vague language. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Dong, N. (2003). Definition and classification of hedges. Journal of Beijing International Studies University, (4). Retrieved from https://wenku.baidu.com/view/6d9d6e05ff4733687e21af45b307e87101f6f89c.html Feng, L. (2006). On the classification and pragmatic functions of hedges (Master’s thesis, Shanghai International Studies University). Lakoff, G. (1973). Hedges: A study in meaning criteria and the logic of fuzzy concepts. Journal of Philosophical Logic, 2(4), 458-508. Wei, L. (2008). On the pragmatic function by the use of fuzziness in Pride and Prejudice. Journal of Wanxi University, 24(6), 114-116. Wu, T. P. (1979). Preliminary study of fuzzy language. Journal of Foreign Languages, (4). Retrieved from https://wenku.baidu.com/view/40ca691aa66e58fafab069dc5022aaea998f4166.html?re=view Wu, T. P. (2002). Fuzzy language. Shanghai: Shanghai Foreign Language Education Press. 
work_mpgodfpoyba2nbpxnqp3ejgziq	----	[PDF] Toward a statistical mechanics of four letter words | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1103/PhysRevE.81.066119 Corpus ID: 13216093Toward a statistical mechanics of four letter words @article{Stephens2007TowardAS, title={Toward a statistical mechanics of four letter words}, author={G. Stephens and W. Bialek}, journal={ArXiv}, year={2007}, volume={abs/0801.0253} } G. Stephens, W. Bialek Published 2007 Biology, Computer Science, Physics ArXiv We consider words as a network of interacting letters, and approximate the probability distribution of states taken on by this network. Despite the intuition that the rules of English spelling are highly combinatorial (and arbitrary), we find that maximum entropy models consistent with pairwise correlations among letters provide a surprisingly good approximation to the full statistics of four letter words, capturing ∼ 92% of the multi–information among letters and even ‘discovering’ real words… Expand View PDF on arXiv Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 6 CitationsBackground Citations 2 View All Figures, Tables, and Topics from this paper figure 1 figure 2 figure 3 table I Principle of maximum entropy Maxima and minima Interaction Approximation algorithm 6 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Keyword Detection in Natural Language Based on Statistical Mechanics of Words in Written Texts K. 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(Exploratory applications of spin models in Natural Language Processing) Silvia Fernandez Sabido Computer Science, Physics 2009 2 PDF Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-10 OF 19 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Rediscovering the power of pairwise interactions W. Bialek, R. Ranganathan Biology, Mathematics 2007 52 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background and methods Save Alert Research Feed Ising models for networks of real neurons G. Tkačik, Elad Schneidman, Michael J. Berry, W. Bialek Mathematics, Biology 2006 127 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Weak pairwise correlations imply strongly correlated network states in a neural population Elad Schneidman, Michael J. Berry, R. Segev, W. 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Series A: Mathematical, Physical and Engineering Sciences 2000 129 PDF View 3 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Faster solutions of the inverse pairwise Ising problem T. Broderick, M. Dudík, G. Tkačik, R. Schapire, W. Bialek Computer Science, Biology 2008 83 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Three Models for the Description of Language Alaa Kharbouch, Z. Karam 2006 1,330 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed Information Theory and Statistical Mechanics E. Jaynes Mathematics 1957 10,096 PDF View 2 excerpts, references background Save Alert Research Feed ... 1 2 ... Related Papers Abstract Figures, Tables, and Topics 6 Citations 19 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. 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work_mrr7htttebbsjgxre544okindq	----	546 546..546 GIVING VOICE TO CONTRARYGIVING VOICE TO CONTRARY OPINIONSOPINIONS We, like all learned journals, are de-We, like all learned journals, are de- termined to be as objective as possible intermined to be as objective as possible in selecting articles that rely on data insteadselecting articles that rely on data instead of opinion. But data are only part of theof opinion. But data are only part of the story; it is how they are interpreted thatstory; it is how they are interpreted that leads to argument and controversy, andleads to argument and controversy, and we must make sure we cover all this debatewe must make sure we cover all this debate in an appropriate manner. I have had toin an appropriate manner. I have had to learn this since a school report at the agelearn this since a school report at the age of 11 commented on my debating skills:of 11 commented on my debating skills: ‘at present he interrupts rudely without‘at present he interrupts rudely without giving others the chance to speak and,giving others the chance to speak and, when admonished, spends his time mutter-when admonished, spends his time mutter- ing at the back of the class’. A better methoding at the back of the class’. A better method of expressing contrary opinion is shown byof expressing contrary opinion is shown by our supplement (no. 49) this month, whichour supplement (no. 49) this month, which examines the subject of dangerous and severeexamines the subject of dangerous and severe personality disorder from many differentpersonality disorder from many different angles, and which is relevant to much ofangles, and which is relevant to much of the debate that is going on at present in thethe debate that is going on at present in the UK parliament over a new Mental HealthUK parliament over a new Mental Health Act. There is much else to stimulate contraryAct. There is much else to stimulate contrary opinions in this issue. Depression knocksopinions in this issue. Depression knocks hard on the morbidity door after physical ill-hard on the morbidity door after physical ill- ness, particularly after myocardial infarctionness, particularly after myocardial infarction (Mayou(Mayou et alet al, 2000) and it might be expected, 2000) and it might be expected that its removal might reduce prematurethat its removal might reduce premature death too. Van Melledeath too. Van Melle et alet al (pp. 460–466)(pp. 460–466) finds it does not and, while this finding isfinds it does not and, while this finding is in general supported by Carney & Freedlandin general supported by Carney & Freedland (pp. 467–468) they point out that the sample(pp. 467–468) they point out that the sample size needed to demonstrate such an effectsize needed to demonstrate such an effect would be impossibly large unless a high-riskwould be impossibly large unless a high-risk group were selected.group were selected. There continues to be controversy overThere continues to be controversy over the long-term effects of trauma and its mea-the long-term effects of trauma and its mea- surement (Fruehsurement (Frueh et alet al, 2005) and Ikin, 2005) and Ikin et alet al (pp. 475–483) set a benchmark for good(pp. 475–483) set a benchmark for good methodology in their 50-year follow-upmethodology in their 50-year follow-up study; it will be interesting to see whetherstudy; it will be interesting to see whether modern ways of preventing post-traumaticmodern ways of preventing post-traumatic stress lead to better results in more recentstress lead to better results in more recent conflicts. Browneconflicts. Browne et alet al (pp. 484–489) add(pp. 484–489) add to the debate by their findings suggestingto the debate by their findings suggesting that post-traumatic stress in reservists isthat post-traumatic stress in reservists is created not by problems of war but thosecreated not by problems of war but those at home, which yet again makes me shakeat home, which yet again makes me shake my head sadly when I turn to ruminatingmy head sadly when I turn to ruminating about the value of the post-traumatic stressabout the value of the post-traumatic stress disorder construct (Moldisorder construct (Mol et alet al, 2005; Tyrer,, 2005; Tyrer, 2005). Depression at least seems a more2005). Depression at least seems a more stable condition, but now we are seeing dif-stable condition, but now we are seeing dif- ferential responses to treatment in those offerential responses to treatment in those of different personality adjustment (Newton-different personality adjustment (Newton- HowesHowes et alet al, 2006; Joyce, 2006; Joyce et alet al, pp. 503–, pp. 503– 508) and different levels of depression508) and different levels of depression (Luty(Luty et alet al, pp. 496–502); it is clear that, pp. 496–502); it is clear that the recognition of additional pathology isthe recognition of additional pathology is important in choosing treatment. Whereimportant in choosing treatment. Where transcranial magnetic stimulation willtranscranial magnetic stimulation will finish in the treatment stakes is far fromfinish in the treatment stakes is far from clear (Andersonclear (Anderson et alet al, pp. 533–534) but it, pp. 533–534) but it is unlikely to be for simple depressionis unlikely to be for simple depression alone. But perhaps I ought to be thinkingalone. But perhaps I ought to be thinking more about my choice of treatment any-more about my choice of treatment any- way, for as a predictably premature mono-way, for as a predictably premature mono- zygotic twin I am clearly at greater risk ofzygotic twin I am clearly at greater risk of depression if Raikkonendepression if Räikkönen et alet al’s findings’s findings (pp. 469–474) are correct.(pp. 469–474) are correct. With all this controversy about, weWith all this controversy about, we would like to see a little more of it gettingwould like to see a little more of it getting into our correspondence columns. Pleaseinto our correspondence columns. Please do not be put off by the need to submitdo not be put off by the need to submit all letters as eLetters in the first instance.all letters as eLetters in the first instance. Those that are going to spark good debateThose that are going to spark good debate will get into the main journal readily andwill get into the main journal readily and we hope will develop Samuel Johnson’swe hope will develop Samuel Johnson’s ‘agitation of contrary opinions’ rather‘agitation of contrary opinions’ rather better than his crushing ‘Sir, I have foundbetter than his crushing ‘Sir, I have found you an argument; but I am not obliged toyou an argument; but I am not obliged to find you an understanding’.find you an understanding’. AVE GASKELLAVE GASKELL No, this is not a Lancastrian support ofNo, this is not a Lancastrian support of Samuel Gaskell’s legacy to the College withSamuel Gaskell’s legacy to the College with the ‘h’ suppressed, but a more sombrethe ‘h’ suppressed, but a more sombre goodbye. Samuel Gaskell of Warrington,goodbye. Samuel Gaskell of Warrington, despite his impressive legacy of removingdespite his impressive legacy of removing the handcuffs and leg-locks of patients atthe handcuffs and leg-locks of patients at Lancaster County Lunatic Asylum and re-Lancaster County Lunatic Asylum and re- placing them with dances with one of theplacing them with dances with one of the patients accompanying on the violin (Free-patients accompanying on the violin (Free- man & Tantam, 1991), is best known forman & Tantam, 1991), is best known for giving his name to the Gaskell series ofgiving his name to the Gaskell series of books published by the Royal College ofbooks published by the Royal College of Psychiatrists and for the gold and bronzePsychiatrists and for the gold and bronze medals that bear his name (even though itmedals that bear his name (even though it was his sister, Elizabeth, who made thewas his sister, Elizabeth, who made the benefaction to the Royal Medico-Psycholo-benefaction to the Royal Medico-Psycholo- gical Association after Samuel died ingical Association after Samuel died in 1886). One of Samuel’s other relatives, Eli-1886). One of Samuel’s other relatives, Eli- zabeth Gaskell, the novelist who broughtzabeth Gaskell, the novelist who brought the city of Manchester to the attention ofthe city of Manchester to the attention of the literary world in much the same waythe literary world in much the same way as Jane Austen did the city of Bath, con-as Jane Austen did the city of Bath, con- tinues to have considerable impact. Buttinues to have considerable impact. But the Gaskell imprint has now drawn to athe Gaskell imprint has now drawn to a close and the new title RCPsych Publica-close and the new title RCPsych Publica- tions has replaced it. This was not an easytions has replaced it. This was not an easy decision, but we are in a world in whichdecision, but we are in a world in which the internet is king and RCPsych, despitethe internet is king and RCPsych, despite its intrinsic lack of euphony, is a title thatits intrinsic lack of euphony, is a title that is instantly recognisable. So as we bid a col-is instantly recognisable. So as we bid a col- loquial farewell to Samuel – ‘time to cumloquial farewell to Samuel – ‘time to cum in, lad, tha’s ’ad a good innings’ – we hopein, lad, tha’s ’ad a good innings’ – we hope for an equally successful career for the newfor an equally successful career for the new bright kid on the block.bright kid on the block. Freeman, H. & Tantam, D. (1991)Freeman, H. & Tantam, D. (1991) Samuel Gaskell.Samuel Gaskell. InIn 150 Years of British Psychiatry: 1841^1991150 Years of British Psychiatry: 1841^1991 (eds(eds G. E.Berrios & H. Freeman), pp. 445^451.Gaskell.G. E.Berrios & H. Freeman), pp. 445^451.Gaskell. Frueh, B.C., Elhai, J. D.,Grubaugh, A. L.,Frueh, B.C., Elhai, J. D.,Grubaugh, A. L., et alet al (2005)(2005) Documented combat exposure of US veterans seekingDocumented combat exposure of US veterans seeking treatment for combat-related post-traumatic stresstreatment for combat-related post-traumatic stress disorder.disorder. British Journal of PsychiatryBritish Journal of Psychiatry,, 186186, 467^472., 467^472. Mayou, R. A., Gill, D.,Thompson, D. R.,Mayou, R. A., Gill, D.,Thompson, D. R., et alet al (2000)(2000) Depression and anxiety as predictors of outcome afterDepression and anxiety as predictors of outcome after myocardial infarction.myocardial infarction. Psychosomatic MedicinePsychosomatic Medicine,, 6262,, 212^219.212^219. Mol, S. S. L., Arntz, A., Metsemakers, J. F. M.,Mol, S. S. L., Arntz, A., Metsemakers, J. F. M., et alet al (2005)(2005) Symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder afterSymptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder after non-traumatic events: evidence from an opennon-traumatic events: evidence from an open population study.population study. British Journal of PsychiatryBritish Journal of Psychiatry,, 186186,, 494^499.494^499. Newton-Howes, G.,Tyrer, P. & Johnson,T. (2006)Newton-Howes, G.,Tyrer, P. & Johnson,T. (2006) Personality disorder and the outcome of depression:Personality disorder and the outcome of depression: meta-analysis of published studies.meta-analysis of published studies. British Journal ofBritish Journal of PsychiatryPsychiatry,, 188188,13^20.,13^20. Tyrer, P. (2005)Tyrer, P. (2005) From the Editor’s desk.From the Editor’s desk. British Journal ofBritish Journal of PsychiatryPsychiatry,, 186186, 552., 552. B R I T IS H J O UR N AL O F P SYC HI AT RYBR I T IS H J O URN A L O F P SYC HIAT RY ( 2 0 0 7 ) , 1 9 0 , 5 4 6 . d o i : 1 0 .11 9 2 / b j p .1 9 0 . 6 . 5 4 6( 2 0 0 7 ) , 1 9 0 , 5 4 6 . d o i : 1 0 .11 9 2 / b j p .1 9 0 . 6 . 5 4 6 From the Editor’s deskFrom the Editor’s desk PETER TYRERPETER TYRER 5 4 65 4 6 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:12, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_mxd43tbobnhhtbvfhhc6syty7e	----	Microsoft Word - PostWar Novel.doc 1 Gillian Dooley. ‘The Post-War Novel in Crisis: Three Perspectives.’ AUMLA No 104, November 2005, p103-119. (This is the author’s preprint version.) The Post-War Novel in Crisis: Three Perspectives. Gillian Dooley, Flinders University The most obvious difference between nineteenth-century novels and twentieth-century novels is that the nineteenth-century ones are better. Iris Murdoch, ‘Existentialists and Mystics,’ 19701 … the warmth, the compassion, the humanity, the love of people which illuminates the literature of the nineteenth century and which makes all these old novels a statement of faith in man himself … are qualities which I believe are lacking from literature now. Doris Lessing, ‘The Small Personal Voice,’ 19572 The great societies that produced the great novels of the past have cracked. Writing has become more private and more privately glamorous. The novel as a form no longer carries conviction. V.S. Naipaul, ‘Conrad’s Darkness,’ 19743 What changes led to this perceived crisis in the novel? What causes a literary journalist like D.J. Taylor to declare that ‘we read Dickens and George Eliot at school and we know, we just know, that no modern writer – certainly no modern English writer – can hold a candle to them’?4 Three major novelists of the period following the second world war, Iris Murdoch, Doris Lessing and V.S. 2 Naipaul, have pondered these questions, as have many twentieth-century writers. Each of these three writers has suggested remedies, to which they have aspired with varying degrees of success. And each of them offers, implicitly or explicitly, different reasons for the change. In this essay I will evaluate their arguments and attempt to account for some of the factors which give rise to the consciousness that they are different in some qualitative way from their predecessors. I will also discuss the effect such attitudes may have on their own work. Of the three, Murdoch has examined the question most systematically. It is one she often addressed in philosophical essays and interviews. In her 1960 essay ‘The Sublime and the Beautiful Revisited’ she discussed Romanticism in relation to the history of the novel. ‘[I]t is remarkable,’ she wrote, and in ways entirely relevant to its characteristic and pre-eminent merits, how very un-Romantic the great nineteenth-century novel is.… There is in these novels a plurality of real persons more or less naturalistically presented in a large social scene, and representing mutually independent centres of significance which are those of real individuals.… Here one may see the Liberal spirit at its best and richest, disporting itself in literature, and not yet menaced by those elements of Romanticism which later proved, if I am right, so dangerous.5 Romanticism in the modern novel, she claims, has developed into neurosis and produces ‘tightly conceived thing-like books.’6 At the other extreme, there is ‘a loose journalistic epic, documentary or possibly even didactic in inspiration, offering a commentary on current institutions or on some matter out of history.’7 3 Different views of a similar polarisation in the novel were also offered at about the same time by Lessing, and by Raymond Williams in The Long Revolution. While what Murdoch missed in the modern novel was the individual character who is distinct from the author, Williams saw the twentieth-century problem as a matter of imbalance. In the great realist novels, he says, we attend with our whole senses to every aspect of the general life, yet the centre of value is always in the individual human person – not any one isolated person, but the many persons who are the reality of the general life.8 Since 1900, realist fiction styles, he believed, had divided into the social novel and the personal novel. Lessing’s view added another dimension: her reading habits were clearly different: If the typical product of communist literature during the last two decades is the cheerful little tract about economic advance, then the type of Western literature is the novel or play which one sees or reads with a shudder of horrified pity for all of humanity. If writers like Camus, Sartre, Genet, Beckett, feel anything but a tired pity for human beings, then it is not evident from their work. I believe that the pleasurable luxury of despair, the acceptance of disgust, is as much a betrayal of what a writer should be as the acceptance of the simple economic view of man; both are aspects of cowardice.9 In spite of their differences, these views have in common the assumption that the twentieth century novel is an inferior product because it is not able, for some reason, to represent human life as well as the nineteenth century novel does. It is 4 also notable that they all share an ethical dimension: it is the morality of fiction, especially in relation to its representation of characters, that is emphasised rather than its aesthetic qualities. Richard Clark Sterne believes that ‘the idea of ethical natural law has faded in the modern mind,’10 the result being ‘the depiction of existence, in much of the best imaginative writing of our age, as absurd.’11 However, the same impulse to write truthfully but enjoyably about the world still animates novelists. Contemporary English novelist Jane Gardam, echoing many of her nineteenth-century predecessors, believes that the most important thing about [fiction] is to entertain, but … ‘entertaining’ [is] a much more serious thing, an ‘entertaining novel’ is much more fluid, healthier and wiser than the novel with a purpose, the novel that sets out to instruct.12 Compare this with Thomas Hardy: ‘novels which most conduce to moral profit are likely to be among those written without a moral purpose,’13 or Nathaniel Hawthorne: ‘when romances do really teach anything, … it is usually through a far more subtile process than the ostensible one.’14 That fiction is still believed to contain moral values is clear from the publication of such books as Colin McGinn’s Ethics, Evil, and Fiction (1997). McGinn observes that ‘our moral understanding and the story form seem fitted for one another.’15 He says that it is so obvious that I am almost embarrassed to state [that] reading novels (or watching plays and films, or reading poetry and short stories) … is … for most people … the primary way in which 5 they acquire ethical attitudes, especially in contemporary culture.16 D.J. Taylor, in spite of his belief that morality has been eroded in the post-war world, in a discussion of novels which criticize imperialism (in itself a moral activity) says that ‘it is easy … to talk of the subversion of agreeable but unsustainable myths, but equally easy to argue that the truly agreeable myth of the post-war era is that of the wicked colonial oppressor’17 – a myth which has become widely adopted in the post-colonial world. Moral values have not disappeared: they have merely shifted their emphasis. Twentieth-century novelists’ nostalgia for an earlier age of greatness is described by Salman Rushdie as ‘culturally endemic golden-ageism; that recurring, bilious nostalgia for a literary past that at the time didn’t seem much better than the present does now.’18 David Lodge points out that ‘the English Victorian novel … is represented by the work of perhaps a dozen novelists, out of the thousand or more who actually wrote novels in this period.’19 Often the differences in our lives from theirs are emphasized and the homogeneity of experience within their time is assumed: Margaret Anne Doody in The True Story of the Novel has noted how ‘untidiness on the part of the zeitgeist distresses world-pictures involved in some critical claims’;20 we might contemplate an entity we call ‘the nineteenth-century novel,’ but find on examining examples that they deviate in important ways from the norm. Taylor admits that ‘one talks confidently about “the novelist.” In fact there are only novelists,’21 but still makes large claims such as ‘the great Victorian fictional beings seem to bestride their world; its concerns are theirs; they invariably dominate it.’22 He also claims that 6 we live in a highly sophisticated, technological world governed by huge, distantly glimpsed and apparently impersonal forces, in which communications as much as morals have tended to invalidate the traditional novel of character. The whole plot of a novel like Trollope’s The Last Chronicle of Barset, which hinges on the absence overseas of a crucial witness, could not take place in a world with telephones.23 But plots can still hinge on communication failures even in a world supplied with telephones, as Murdoch’s A Fairly Honourable Defeat shows. Major technological innovations which significantly affected everyday life, like the railways and the telegraph, were, in any event, a common feature of the nineteenth century, and did not prevent the ‘traditional novel of character’ from flourishing. Reasons given for the changes in the novel, by writers and critics, are multifarious. They include historical events, such as the world wars and the break-up of the European empires; the erosion of the unquestioned status of organized religions in western societies; a growing popular awareness of psychological theory which makes writers (and readers) unprecedentedly self- conscious; the rapid pace of technological change and scientific discovery; political and social changes attributable to these factors, as well as socialism and other movements – feminism, postcolonialism, multiculturalism; and linguistic and aesthetic theories which, along with the development of psychology, have made unself-conscious writing increasingly difficult. These factors, however, have differing effects on the practice of individual writers. As Andrzej Gasiorek says in his study of the post-war British novel, 7 postmodernism is so often invoked as a cultural dominant that a diverse range of literary forms come to be seen in a homogeneous fashion as part of a general ‘crisis of representation.’… To read authors who engage in quite different ways with the epistemological and aesthetic difficulties entailed by representation as though they are all participating in the same pursuit is to ‘flatten out’ the post-war period in a way that can only contribute to the very dehistoricization that critics of postmodernism lament.24 None of the three authors included in my study has resorted to what is usually regarded as postmodernism, but they have certainly ‘engaged in quite different ways’ with the problems of writing in this period. They have also defined their difficulties in quite different ways. Born in 1919 and brought up in Southern Rhodesia by her English settler parents, Doris Lessing regards the two world wars as ‘the two influences in my life – these wars. The older I get, the more I realize just what an influence they have been.’25 She suspects that they have left a ‘pattern of disaster’26 in her mind which exerts a powerful but unconscious force on her creative work, citing as an example a story which had formed in her mind in which the simplest task becomes virtually impossible because of obstacles which would appear in the path of her character. Stories of this type, however, are not new. A narrative that does not contain some sort of struggle against unusual odds, some kind of testing of the mettle of its protagonist, would be, indeed, out of the ordinary. Whilst the wars undoubtedly influenced her, the pattern in her mind might have been there without them. 8 In her Afterword to Olive Schreiner’s The Story of an African Farm Lessing describes the novel as ‘that hybrid, the mixture of journalism and the Zeitgeist and autobiography that comes out of a part of the human consciousness which is always trying to understand itself, to come into the light.’27 But in spite of her opinion, quoted above, that ‘all those old novels’ were ‘a statement of faith in man himself,’28 she does not admire them unreservedly. ‘Wuthering Heights is an appalling novel … but it doesn’t really matter’;29 she admires George Eliot enormously, but there is ‘a kind of womanly certitude … something too cushioned in her judgments’;30 and ‘Anna Karenina. What a marvelous book! … is a story about nothing, about a local society, a very local, temporary set of social circumstances.’ She goes on, in fact, a good deal of Victorian fiction can be classified like that.… These tragedies are mini-tragedies because they derive from fairly arbitrary social conditions; they are not rooted in any human nature.… We now live with our heads in the middle of exploding galaxies and thinking about quasars and quarks and black holes and alternative universes and so on, so that you cannot any more get comfort from old moral certainties because something new is happening. All our standards of values have been turned upside down.31 To condemn Tolstoy to obsolescence because society has changed, and the problems his characters faced no longer exist, is an extraordinary statement for any novelist to make. The novel deals in such particularities – as Williams says, ‘a particular apprehension of a relation between individuals and society.’32 Historiography or journalism can show the big picture, but the novel can show 9 the consequences of wars, laws, social attitudes, and political and moral creeds, at the personal level. John Updike says, ‘a writer’s witness, surely, is of value in its circumstantiality.’33 If authors believed that individuals no longer mattered – as E.L. Doctorow says he was beginning to feel, ‘that the story of any given individual … may not be able to sustain an implication for the collective fate’34 – then the novel would very quickly die. And of course Lessing knows this, at the level at which she actually creates her fiction, rather than that at which she expounds her beliefs in essays and interviews. Another odd aspect of her statement is the notion that nineteenth-century society was not rooted in human nature. Surely all human societies are necessarily expressions of human nature, and the behaviour of individuals is a result of their various human natures reacting to their circumstances. All of Lessing’s main characters – Martha Quest, Anna Wulf, Jane Somers, Ambien II, Mara – are individuals struggling in the world as it is, on a personal level, without understanding the causes of their troubles, however much their creator purports to know. And if they matter at all, they matter because they are unique individuals (which is what they have in common with real people), not because they are especially representative and belong to a society more quintessential than that portrayed in nineteenth-century fiction. This is an example of the type of illogical thinking that often mars Lessing’s novels. She has certainly experimented with new forms to suit the ethical problems she has discovered for herself, but a little more rational analysis of exorbitant claims like these might have prevented her work from exhibiting determinism, didacticism and what Jeannette King calls ‘a potentially authoritarian dimension.’35 10 Iris Murdoch, born in Ireland in 1919 and educated at Oxford, is more modest than Lessing about the claims of modern novelists to have improved on the nineteenth-century tradition. She writes in ‘The Sublime and the Beautiful Revisited,’ Many reasons might be given for the particular qualities of the nineteenth-century novel: reasons which might connect it with particular, now-vanished historical and social conditions.… Whereas society in the nineteenth century was either a reassuring place where one lived, or else an exciting, rewarding, interesting place where one struggled, society today tends to appear, by contrast, as menacing, puzzling, uncontrollable, or else confining, and boring.36 This is a fair description, perhaps, of the impression given by reading some of the fiction of the respective periods, but for most women of the nineteenth century, social acceptance and material security were gained only by submitting to an existence which was very ‘confining and boring.’ A recurrent theme in Jane Austen is the infinite patience the female characters need to get through their days, with little scope for action beyond a walk to the drapers, and the Victorian era was hardly an improvement in that respect. And for Dickens’ characters, society is often not reassuring; it can seem very ‘menacing, puzzling and uncontrollable.’ They did not have the particular menace of the nuclear holocaust in view, but they might have found the prospect of the workhouse or death in childbirth similarly threatening. The bizarre juxtaposition, in the developed societies of the twentieth century, of increasing material security and improvements in medical science, especially in the fifties and sixties, with the 11 threat of complete destruction of human society posed by the cold war, may have given rise to the postmodern fragmentation of modern literature, but that may also indicate, paradoxically, a greater feeling of security. Literary critic Philip Stevick pointed out in 1973 that ‘new fiction … elevates play to the very centre of the complex of apparent motives that animate the work.’37 The kind of playfulness of a novel like Murdoch’s A Fairly Honourable Defeat is not a symptom of insecurity, but its opposite, in spite of its serious underlying myth. Murdoch fights against and to some extent sloughs off what Murdoch scholar Elizabeth Dipple calls entrapment ‘by the theories and preoccupations of a milieu which encourages self-concentration from both writer and reader,’38 but she still regrets she cannot write in the same way as the novelists of the past whom she admires so much. She notes that the modern novelist ‘would find it difficult to write as they did without an element of pastiche,’ that the typical writer of the twentieth century ‘won’t … describe his characters from the outside; he will describe them from consciousness, or if he suddenly describes them from the outside, this will be an obvious literary device’39 (a technique which, incidentally, Jane Austen sometimes used, most notably in Persuasion). Nevertheless, Murdoch’s preoccupation with aiming for what she suspects is impossible, but believes is a moral imperative for the novelist – the high standards of the novel as it was written in the nineteenth century – has, by turning her attention away from what she might have achieved if she rethought the form on her own terms, restricted her development as an artist. James Wood comments that it is ‘frustrating … to see a novelist so well-equipped artistically, skidding about on this hard philosophical ice.’40 12 V.S. Naipaul was born in colonial Trinidad in 1932 of a Hindu Indian family. He was brought up on Dickens and other classic English novelists, making what sense he could of an alien society in his tropical home. In later life, however, he has claimed to find the novelists of the nineteenth century less interesting than essayists of the period like William Hazlitt and Charles Lamb, who ‘would have had their gifts diluted or corrupted by the novel form as it existed in their time,’ and who, ‘novelistic as they are in the pleasures they offer, found their own forms.’ Of novelists like Anthony Trollope and William Makepeace Thackeray, great as they are as observers of society, he feels ‘the need for narrative and plot sat on [their] shoulders like a burden.’ He insists that ‘every serious writer has to be original,’ and ‘the other man’s forms served the other man’s thoughts.’41 He may, however, be projecting his own difficulties with what he sees as the conventional novel form onto these writers. Trollope did not regard plot highly, but he was quite happy to use it as ‘the vehicle [for] a picture of common life enlivened by humour and sweetened by pathos,’42 and in any event he, as well as his major contemporaries, did adapt the novel to his own devices. The major novelists of the nineteenth century may have much in common, but they are also each unique in the uses they made of the form as it existed at their time. Consider the vast differences between Wuthering Heights, Middlemarch, The Way We Live Now, and Oliver Twist. All these novels are of their time, but they describe quite different worlds and reveal great differences in sensibility while still falling solidly within the definition of the novel. Naipaul feels the inadequacy of the current form to his content because his experience is further from the mainstream of the tradition than that of someone like Murdoch; and although his deployment of the form, which is of its very 13 nature protean anyway, worked brilliantly with little overt experimentation in A House for Mr Biswas, since then his most successful works, like In a Free State and The Enigma of Arrival, have moved beyond the conventional novel form, if considered as a chronological narrative unified by characters and plot. He says, You might go on endlessly writing ‘creative’ novels, if you believed that the framework of an ordered society exists, so that after a disturbance there is calm, and all crises fall back into that great underlying calm. But that no longer exists for most people.43 It is one of Naipaul’s strengths as a writer that he does not participate in this illusion of security. Because he has been forced to define his own individual problems with the form, rather than identifying a set of general standards, he has developed a series of ethical strategies uniquely suited to his personal needs. One reason for the obvious differences in novels written since the second world war is that we know more about the natural world, and about the human mind, and about what human beings are capable of under extreme circumstances. Gasiorek says of the immediate post-war period, ‘the horrors of the war seemed to outstrip the literary imagination.’44 There are, also, standards of decorum which have vanished, so that there is now, it seems, nothing that cannot be written about. Miriam Allott claimed in her introduction to Novelists on the Novel (1959) that ‘nineteenth-century social conventions are partly responsible for hindering the development of the English novelist’s understanding of his moral responsibilities as an artist’;45 but Taylor points out that 14 the post-Chatterley trial relaxation gave writers a hitherto unthought-of degree of freedom, but it also presented them with an obligation – to find an appropriate language in which descriptions of sexual activity could be conveyed. With very few exceptions this obligation has been ignored, and the freedom to write about sex in whatever way you choose is generally agreed to have been an aesthetic disaster.46 On the other hand, he says, in the case of a nineteenth-century character such as Becky Sharp, her charm ‘is all done by hints and allusions, a code of occlusion which demands the reader’s participation and has the effect of increasing, rather than diminishing, Becky’s appeal.’47 Naipaul has remarked that if I were an English person trying to be a writer, I wouldn’t know how to start. I don’t see how you can write about England without falling into parody, without competing with what you’ve read, without wishing to show that you know it too – class, sex, and so on.48 Besides feeling compelled to mention the previously unmentionable, writers are constrained by advances in psychological knowledge. Not only do the popular versions of Freudian theories make it impossible to portray the kind of uncomplicated affection between family members which is common in Austen and Dickens, but new discoveries about the physical nature of the human brain and its role in the perception of reality were becoming widely known in the post-war period. Raymond Williams wrote in 1961, the new facts about perception make it impossible for us to assume that there is any reality experienced by man into which 15 man’s own observations and interpretations do not enter. Thus the assumptions of naïve realism – seeing things as they really are, quite apart from our reactions to them – become impossible.49 Gasiorek finds that in post-war British fiction ‘attention to language’s constitutive role, the doubleness inherent in fictional representation, and the impossibility of unmediated access to the real, are everywhere apparent.’50 Framed narratives, magical realism and metafiction have become common. These techniques are, of course, not new to the twentieth century. The classic example is Tristram Shandy, but there is a great deal of self-consciousness in Tom Jones, and English writers in the nineteenth century did not shed this tendency entirely, however much they professed realism as their aim. The narrative framework of many of the great novels is deliberately put on view, and first-person novels, which arguably carry within themselves the seeds of indeterminacy, were common in the nineteenth century. On the whole, however, as Taylor points out, ‘Victorian displays of self-consciousness were never allowed to penetrate the carapace of personality.’51 The stability usually assumed to be characteristic of Victorian England was as much of an illusion, and recognized as such, as it is in any western society today. Peter Keating, in his 1989 book The Haunted Study, observes that that there are relatively few complete or harmonious families to be found in Victorian fiction is not a repudiation of the importance attached to the idea. The broken family units – widows and sons, widowers and daughters, guardians and wards, 16 aunts and nephews, lonely and endangered orphans – all serve to emphasise the precariousness of the social fabric and point forward to the stable unity that only marriage and children can convincingly represent. It often reads like the impossible dream it was.52 Happy endings do not obscure what Williams called ‘the intensity of the central experience [of] those lonely exposed figures’:53 as Peter Brooks says in Reading for the Plot, if at the end of a narrative we can suspend time in a moment when past and present hold together in a metaphor … that moment does not abolish the movement, the slidings, the mistakes, and partial recognitions of the middle.54 Keating believes that ‘the omniscience of the novelist, and therefore the characteristically Victorian form of realism, was only possible because the existence was assumed of a higher form of omniscience.’55 And it may be true that, for many Victorians, their religious belief meant that death held fewer terrors. A virtuous, long-suffering character in Dickens, like Stephen Blackpool in Hard Times, going uncomplainingly to his death, is confidently assumed by Dickens’ implied reader to be spending eternity among the celestial hosts. No such fate would be predicted for Jenkin Riderhood in Murdoch’s The Book and the Brotherhood when he is killed by a stray bullet in a duel in which he had no part. But even this difference may be over-emphasized. Doody remarks that ‘some twentieth-century novels of repute have been written – and read – by theists and Scripture readers,’56 and Charles Taylor, in an analysis of Murdoch’s moral philosophy, notes that ‘even the grossest superstitions survive in 17 advanced societies, and these were on the other hand always condemned by minorities.’57 Furthermore, as D.J. Taylor notes, ‘novels about religious doubt were a staple of the Victorian best-seller lists.’58 John Fowles, in his ‘Notes on an Unfinished Novel,’ refers to Robbe- Grillet’s question, ‘Why bother to write in a form whose great masters cannot be surpassed?’ and provides his own response: The fallacy of one of his conclusions – we must discover a new form to write in if the novel is to survive – is obvious. It reduces the purpose of the novel to the discovery of new forms: whereas its other purposes – to entertain, to satirize, to describe new sensibilities, to record life, to improve life, and so on – are clearly just as viable and important. But his obsessive pleading for new form places a kind of stress on every passage one writes today. To what extent am I being a coward by writing inside the old tradition? To what extent am I being panicked into avant- gardism?59 The novel is a flexible form and it is capacious and adaptable enough to suit a multitude of purposes. Rushdie asserts that ‘there is no crisis in the art of the novel,’ and following an enumeration of some recent innovations in this ‘hybrid form,’ concludes, ‘the novel can welcome these developments without feeling threatened. There’s room for all of us in here.’60 It might certainly be said that novels of a particular period share characteristics, but, as Susan Sontag says, ‘seen from the outside, that is, historically, stylistic decisions can always be correlated with some historical development.… But this approach, however sound and valuable, of necessity sees matters grossly.’61 Historical context is 18 important, but it is only one of the factors that affect the choices authors need to make about form and content in their fiction. To ignore it altogether would be foolish, but simply to believe, like Murdoch, that nineteenth-century writers are intrinsically greater, or like Lessing that they are intrinsically more trivial, than contemporary writers, can lead to writers’ failing to examine critically the nature of their own personal artistic impulses and circumstances; and it is this process which is crucial to the success of their work in both ethical and aesthetic terms. Naipaul is the most successful of the three in translating his beliefs about the form into practice, since it has led to constant but disciplined experimentation directed towards finding the form most suited to his unique material. Notes N.B. Dates in brackets indicate original date of publication if applicable. Published interviews with Murdoch, Lessing and Naipaul are a major source of information for this article. Accordingly, to avoid confusion, bibliographical style has been adapted to the extent that the interviewer is treated as the author of each interview, rather than the interviewee. 1 Iris Murdoch, ‘Existentialists and Mystics: A Note on the Novel in the New Utilitarian Age,’ Existentialists and Mystics: Writings on Philosophy and Literature, ed. Peter Conradi (London: Chatto & Windus, 1997) 221. 2 Doris Lessing, ‘The Small Personal Voice,’ A Small Personal Voice: Essays Reviews, Interviews, ed. Paul Schlueter (London: HarperCollins, 1994) 15. 3 V.S. Naipaul, ‘Conrad’s Darkness,’ The Return of Eva Peron with the Killings in Trinidad (New York: Vintage, 1981) 244. 4 D.J. Taylor, After the War: The Novel and English Society since 1945 (London: Chatto & Windus, 1993) xiv. 5 Iris Murdoch, ‘The Sublime and the Beautiful Revisited,’ Existentialists and Mystics: Writings on Philosophy and Literature, ed. Peter Conradi (London: Chatto & Windus, 1997) 271. 6 Murdoch, ‘Sublime’ 279. 7 Murdoch, ‘Sublime’ 278. 8 Raymond Williams, The Long Revolution, (London: Chatto & Windus, 1961) 279. 9 Lessing, ‘Small’ 15. 10 Richard Clark Sterne, Dark Mirror: The Sense of Injustice in Modern European and American Literature (New York: Fordham University Press, 1994) xxi. 11 Sterne xx. 12 Jane Gardam, ‘Angels and Daemons: The Anatomy of a Novel,’ The Agony and the Ego: The Art and Strategy of Fiction Writing Explored, ed. Clare Boylan (London: Penguin, 1993) 16. 19 13 Miriam Allott, ed., Novelists on the Novel (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1959) 98. 14 Allott 93. 15 Colin McGinn, Ethics, Evil, and Fiction (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997) 174. 16 McGinn 174-5. 17 D.J. Taylor 56. 18 Salman Rushdie, ‘In Defense of the Novel, Yet Again,’ New Yorker 24 June and 1 July 1996: 49. 19 David Lodge, ‘The Novel Now: Theories and Practices,’ After Bakhtin: Essays on Fiction and Criticism (London: Routledge, 1990) 11 20 Margaret Anne Doody, The True Story of the Novel (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1996) 3. 21 D.J. Taylor xxiv. 22 D.J. Taylor 174. 23 D.J. Taylor 123. 24 Andrzej Gasiorek, Post-War British Fiction: Realism and After (London: Edward Arnold, 1995) vi. 25Sedge Thomson, ‘Drawn to a Type of Landscape,’ [1989] Doris Lessing: Conversations, ed. Earl G. Ingersoll (Princeton: Ontario Review Press, 1994) 179. 26 Nigel Forde, ‘Reporting from the Terrain of the Mind,’ [1992] Doris Lessing: Conversations, ed. Earl G. Ingersoll (Princeton: Ontario Review Press, 1994) 218. 27Doris Lessing, ‘Afterword to The Story of an African Farm by Olive Schreiner,’ [1968] A Small Personal Voice: Essays Reviews, Interviews, ed. Paul Schlueter (London: HarperCollins, 1994) 163. 28 Lessing, ‘Small’ 15. 29 Michael Thorpe, ‘Running Stories Through My Mind,’ [1982] Doris Lessing: Conversations, ed. Earl G. Ingersoll (Princeton: Ontario Review Press, 1994) 98. 30 Christopher Bigsby, ‘The Need to Tell Stories,’ [1980] Doris Lessing: Conversations, ed. Earl G. Ingersoll (Princeton: Ontario Review Press, 1994) 71. 31 Bigsby 72. 32 Williams 279. 33 John Updike, ‘Why Write?’ [1974] First Person Singular: Writers on their Craft, ed. Joyce Carol Oates (Princeton: Ontario Review Press, 1983) 3. 34 E.L. Doctorow, ‘Politics and the Mode of Fiction: a Conversation with E.L. Doctorow,’ First Person Singular: Writers On Their Craft, comp. Joyce Carol Oates (Princeton: Ontario Review Press, 1983) 240. 35 Jeannette King, Doris Lessing (London: Edward Arnold, 1989) 92. 36 Murdoch, ‘Sublime’ 272, 279. 37 Philip Stevick, ‘Scheherezade Runs out of Plots, Goes on Talking; the King, Puzzled, Listens: an Essay on New Fiction,’ [1973] The Novel Today, ed. Malcolm Bradbury (Glasgow: Fontana, 1977) 215. 38 Elizabeth Dipple, Iris Murdoch: Work for the Spirit (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982) 4. 39 Bryan Magee, ‘Iris Murdoch on Natural Novelists and Unnatural Philosophers,’ The Listener 27 April 1978: 535. 40 James Wood, ‘Iris Murdoch’s Philosophy of Fiction,’ The Broken Estate: Essays on Literature and Belief (London: Jonathan Cape, 1999) 184. 41V.S. Naipaul, ‘On Being a Writer,’ New York Review of Books 24 April 1987: 7. 42 Allott 247. 43 Adrian Rowe-Evans, ‘V.S. Naipaul: A Transition Interview,’ [1971] Conversations with V.S. Naipaul, ed. Feroza Jussawalla (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1997) 36. 44 Gasiorek 2. 45 Allott 33. 46 D.J. Taylor 233. 47 D.J. Taylor 221. 48 Aamer Hussein, ‘Delivering the Truth: An Interview with V.S. Naipaul,’ [1994] Conversations with V.S. Naipaul, ed. Feroza Jussawalla (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1997) 155. 49 Williams 20. 50 Gasiorek 19. 20 51 D.J. Taylor 292. 52 Peter Keating, The Haunted Study: a Social History of the English Novel 1875-1914 (London: Secker and Warburg, 1989) 161. 53 Williams 68. 54 Peter Brooks, Reading for the Plot: Design and Intention in Narrative (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1984) 92. 55 Keating 160. 56 Doody 3. 57 Charles Taylor, ‘Iris Murdoch and Moral Philosophy,’ Iris Murdoch and the Search for Human Goodness, ed. Maria Antonaccio and William Schweiker (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996) 25. 58 D.J. Taylor 169. 59 John Fowles, ‘Notes on an Unfinished Novel,’ [1969] The Novel Today, ed. Malcolm Bradbury (Glasgow: Fontana, 1977) 139-140. 60 Rushdie 50. 61 Susan Sontag, ‘On Style,’ Against Interpretation and Other Essays (New York: Dell Publishing Co., 1966) 32. Gillian Dooley is Special Collections Librarian at Flinders University Library. Her Ph.D. thesis, completed at Flinders University English Department in 2000, was on the novels of Iris Murdoch, Doris Lessing and V.S. Naipaul. She has presented papers at a number of conferences in Australia, has published articles in journals in India, USA, UK and Australia, and reviews books regularly for Australian Book Review and Writer's Radio. She is a co-editor of Alas, for the Pelicans: Flinders, Baudin and Beyond (Wakefield Press, 2002) and compiler and editor of From a Tiny Corner in the House of Fiction: Conversations with Iris Murdoch (University of South Carolina Press 2003). She is working on an book on V.S. Naipaul for the same publisher in their series 'Understanding Modern British Literature', and is also editing, in collaboration with Anthony J. Brown, Matthew Flinders' private journal 1803-1814. 
work_mxjwdqqvujhwpgszdt73zgepxm	----	Book Reviews psychoanalytic and psycho-historical approaches so assiduously. This is an author inherently offended by realms psychiatric. Nevertheless, the book is useful, well written, always intelligent, and engages a number of areas, not least demonstrations of the developing discourse sometimes called "literature and medicine". Wiltshire shows that all six major Austen novels concern themselves with the body in its normal and pathological states, and speculates about the conditions and circumstances under which this can occur for a novelist who never attended university, let alone was medically trained. He is thoroughly familiar with the novels and their interpretations, and writes lucidly and often persuasively about their characters and plots. If the reader happens already to be an aficionado of Austen's fiction, this is the book to read about her treatment of illness and the body. I doubt its task will be repeated; if it is, it will have been because another approach was preferred: more theoretical, philosophical, and medically informed. Medical historians who happen not to be interested in literary analysis may not be as persuaded as I have been, or as enthusiastic. They will be unable to deny Wiltshire's command of his texts and facility with words but will wonder how he proceeds from symptom to organ to organic body to diagnosis and, finally, to the interpretation of complex characters and the conditions of their minds and bodies. For example, consider Marianne Dashwood's "illness" in Sense and sensibility. She is clearly love-sick and many critics, long before Wiltshire, have noted her malaise; but it has been less than clear what specifically afflicts her, how the condition develops, and what Austen's background (reading, knowledge, symptomatic analysis) was in relation to the condition described. Wiltshire makes some fine observations about the details of Marianne's "illness", but does not answer crucial questions about background with any degree of historical rigour. It is, perhaps again, a tendency not to want to address specific questions, as in the matter about the choice of author (Jane Austen). Missing from this discussion is the precious author herself-even herfemale body-and a firm sense of her anatomical and medical mindset when pinpointed in a firmly medical- historical context. Wiltshire may respond that authors cannot be known: after all, "what is an author?" as Foucault asked. Besides, Austen's life remains shrouded in uncertainty: all we can do is surmise that she must have known about this or that medical theory or diagnosis-the rest, especially Austen's personal psychology, is prodigiously unclear. It is possible that Austen may have absorbed a great deal about these matters, but much more about the medical milieu of her day is known than Wiltshire expounds here, and if one proceeds on the premise that "we can assume Jane Austen knew everything", then why not assume she was in touch with the best anatomical and medical ideas of the time? More medicine rather than less, I am suggesting, if one adopts this approach for a writer of the English Regency whose intellectual mindset and daily rituals are not recorded in the depth they are for other great novelists. Still, the book is excellent and forces readers to consider the possibility that the Austen we have known was too narrowly construed in our mindsets. G S Rousseau, Aberdeen and Oxford Teresa Santander, El Hospital del Estudio (asistencia y hospitalidad de la Universidad de Salamanca), 1413-1810, Salamanca, Centro de Estudios Salmantinos, 1993, pp. 280, illus., no price given (84-86820-16-2). The city of Salamanca, located geographically and ideologically in the heartland of Old Castile, has an exceptionally rich history. An important part of this history is linked to its university. Founded in 1218 by Alfonso IX, it soon turned Salamanca into one of the medieval centres of learning. The long history of the university, in which names such as those of the theologian and poet Fray Luis 110 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059615 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059615 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Reviews de Le6n and the Basque novelist and philosopher Miguel de Unamuno figure prominently, and a fondness in Spanish historiography for local studies have led to the production of a number of works on Salamanca and its university. None of these has dealt in any detail with the hospital attached to the university, a void which Teresa Santander has sought to fill. The result is mainly a compilation of archival material relating to the hospital. Santander points out at the beginning of her monograph that her interest in the subject is not primarily that of an historian, but rather derives from her concern with the documents preserved in the University library and archives of Salamanca. Reflecting this orientation, El Hospital is organized as an overview of four centuries in the history of the hospital presented by way of lists of data, generally devoid of historical analysis. On the basis of numerous documents, Santander outlines the foundation of the hospital at the beginning of the fifteenth century as a charitable lodging for needy and infirm students, its architectural structure, and its sources of income. Subsequently, the functional side of the establishment is explained, including its administration, its role in providing religious and medical assistance, and the occasional use of it for a variety of special purposes, such as quarters for French troops from 1801 to 1802. Short biographical sketches of the physicians, surgeons, barbers and apothecaries associated with the hospital follow. The last section deals with the decline of the hospital, culminating in its closure at the beginning of the nineteenth century. To the historian of medicine, it might seem rather unfortunate that Santander has contented herself with collecting information and has stayed clear of historical interpretation and contextualization. The place of the hospital within the medical school and the university at large is never really discussed, and there is only minimal reference made to changes in the role of the establishment over the centuries. Broader political, social and cultural frameworks and developments are by and large absent. Hence, by choosing not to go beyond the walls of the hospital, the book will be of only limited appeal to those interested in the general history of medicine in Spain. However, El Hospital, with its wealth of primary material (enhanced by an extensive appendix of documents), will provide for the specialist an indication of the range of documents available in the Salamanca archives and it will prove useful as a source of information on which to base further research. Katharina Rowold, Wellcome Institute Michael R McVaugh, Medicine before the plague: practitioners and their patients in the crown ofAragon 1285-1345, Cambridge History of Medicine, Cambridge University Press, 1993, pp. xvi, 280, £35.00 (0-521-41235-8). Little did anybody suspect the debt historians owed to the paper mills of Xativa in Muslim Valencia, at least until this book appeared for, as Michael McVaugh explains in his introduction, it was their output that made possible the remarkable series of royal and municipal records the preservation of which makes the Crown of Aragon one of the most historically accessible of all late-medieval societies. Previously, however, these archives had not received much attention from medical historians. But now, partly in collaboration with Luis Garcia-Ballester, McVaugh has systematically worked his way through the surviving royal, ecclesiastical, notarial and municipal archives of the Kingdom of Valencia, the Kingdom of Aragon and the Principality of Catalonia (which together formed the Crown of Aragon) for the period covering the reigns of Alfons II (1285-91), Jaume II (1291-1327) and Pere III (1336-87). Drawing upon these extensive sources, McVaugh characterizes medicine and its social relations in the Crown of Aragon between 1285 and 1345. The result is a work of immense scholarship that presents in 111 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059615 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059615 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_myfomrpabnam7f4o57fxudm5bi	----	The Rise and Fall of Tuberculosis and Atherosclerosis: First There Is a Mountain&hellip; Editorial The Rise and Fall of Tuberculosis and Atherosclerosis: First There Is a Mountain. David D. Waters, MD Division of Cardiology, San Francisco General Hospital, and the Department of Medicine, University of California, San Francisco, San Francisco, California, USA See article by Tu et al., pages 378e384 of this issue. First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is. eZen proverb and song by Donavan, British singer (1968) By the beginning of the 19th century, tuberculosis had killed 1 in 7 of all individuals who had ever lived. In Europe, rates of tuberculosis began to rise in the early 17th century to a peak level in the 19th century, when it caused nearly 25% of all deaths. Among writers, Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, John Keats, Elizabeth Browning, Anton Chekhov, Albert Camus, Franz Kafka, Henry David Thoreau, and George Orwell all succumbed. Urban poverty and overcrowding were strong risk factors for tuberculosis, but its reach extended to all levels of society. In what is generally considered to be the first randomized controlled clinical trial in medicine, streptomycin was shown to reduce mortality in a series of young patients with active pulmonary tuberculosis.1 However, by the time this study was published in 1948, the threat from tuberculosis had largely receded in Europe and North America. A better under- standing of the pathophysiology of the disease, improved living conditions, better diagnosis, isolation of active cases, and better treatment all are assumed to have contributed to the decline in tuberculosis incidence and mortality. Myocardial infarction was first clearly described in 1912.2 The incidence of coronary heart disease (CHD) increased rapidly over the ensuing decades, peaking in the mid-1960s in North America and about a decade later in Western Europe. In 1977, it was belatedly recognized that CHD mortality had been falling in the United States for more than a decade, with an age-adjusted decline of approximately 25% across all age groups.3 Since then, both the incidence and the case fatality rate of CHD have steadily decreased in the United States, with reductions in age-adjusted CHD mortality between 1980 and 2009 of 66% in men and 67% in women.4 The incidence of stroke peaked earlier and has shown similar declines. In this issue of the Canadian Journal of Cardiology, Tu et al.5 describe the changes between 1994 and 2014 in hos- pitalization rates in Ontario for 6 major atherosclerotic car- diovascular disease (ASCVD) conditions and trends in mortality rates for ischemic heart disease, cerebrovascular disease, and noncirculatory disease. This information is derived mainly from the Canadian Institute for Health In- formation Hospital Discharge Abstract Database and serial Canadian Community Health Surveys. The changes over these 2 decades are breathtaking. Age- standardized hospitalizations for the 6 ASCVD conditions decreased by 54% in both men and women. Ischemic heart disease and cerebrovascular disease mortality decreased by 53% in both sexes, whereas noncardiovascular mortality declined by “only” 22%. During this period, age-standardized rates of percutaneous coronary intervention (PCI) increased from approximately 100 to > 300 per 100,000 population in men and from approximately 40 to 110 per 100,000 popu- lation in women, whereas the rates or coronary bypass surgery fell to a lesser extent. How Do We Explain These Improvements? Tu et al.5 attribute the fall in ASCVD hospitalizations and mortality to better control of risk factorsdspecifically, smoking, hypertension, and greater use of cholesterol- lowering therapydalong with increasing rates of PCI. As they point out, similar improvements have been described over this period in the United States and Western Europe, although not simultaneously for all 6 of the ASCVD condi- tions tracked in this study. Several investigators have provided precise estimates of the contributions of different factors to the fall in CHD mortality. For example, 1 group stated that 25% of the decline in CHD mortality from 1980-1990 could be attributed to primary prevention, whereas 29% was explained by a secondary reduction in risk factors in patients with CHD and 43% by other improvements in the treatment of patients with CHD.6 In serial population surveys from Norway, the incidence of CHD decreased by 3% per year between 1994 and 2008.7 Canadian Journal of Cardiology 33 (2017) 295e297 Received for publication November 15, 2016. Accepted November 17, 2016. Corresponding author: David D. Waters, MD, Division of Cardiology, Rm 5G1, San Francisco General Hospital, 1001 Potrero Ave, San Francisco, California 94114, USA. Tel.: þ1-415-420-6646. E-mail: david.waters@ucsf.edu See page 296 for disclosure information. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.cjca.2016.11.012 0828-282X/! 2016 Canadian Cardiovascular Society. Published by Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.cjca.2016.11.012 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.cjca.2016.11.012 mailto:david.waters@ucsf.edu http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.cjca.2016.11.012&domain=pdf http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.cjca.2016.11.012 Changes in coronary risk factors accounted for 66% of the decline, with improvements in cholesterol levels contributing 32%, whereas reduced blood pressure, giving up smoking, and physical activity contributed 14%, 13%, and 9%, respectively. Although studies such as these appear highly credible, in part because they provide a high degree of precision, they in fact describe associations and do not prove causality. Never- theless, plans to reduce ACSVD usually revolve around risk factor reduction strategies. In the United States, eg, Healthy People 2020 aims to reduce fatal ASCVD by 20% by 2020, with a strategy based mainly on risk factor reduction.8 The New Mountain Although tuberculosis was conquered in the first half of the 20th century, it did not vanish but only retreated to niches where it could thrive, such as disadvantaged inner cities, Canadian aboriginal communities, and developing countries. The spread of HIV has led to a resurgence of tuberculosis. In 1997 worldwide, new cases of tuberculosis totaled almost 8 million, with 1.87 million deaths and a global case fatality rate of 23%.9 Latent tuberculosis is present in approximately 2 billion individuals across the globe. There are ominous signs to suggest that ASCVD is not about to fade from view either. Tu et al.5 note that the rates of decline in ASCVD “were least evident among those aged 20-49 for both sexes.” Reports from the United States, the United Kingdom, and Australia also indicate that ASCVD rates are not decreasing and indeed in some instances appear to be increasing slightly in younger age strata, particularly in women.10-13 A change in the case fatality rate does not appear to account for the flattening or increased CHD mortality curve in younger groups; rather, this more likely results from an increase in risk factors,13 specifically surging rates of obesity and diabetes. More than 80% of deaths from ASCVD now occur in low- and middle-income countries, where the incidence continues to rise.14,15 Rates of ASCVD and ASCVD mortality are higher in low- and middle-income countries compared with high-income countries, despite a lower risk factor burden.15 The obvious reason for this disparity is the very low rates of treatment of risk factors in low- and middle-income countries and lower rates of coronary revascularization compared with high-income countries.15 Furthermore, risk factors are becoming more prevalent in low- and middle-income coun- tries, presaging a worsening of their ASCVD epidemics.16 Social Deprivation The relationship between childhood deprivation and life expectancy is most colorfully depicted in a map of the London Underground created by the geographer James Cheshire in 2012, with life expectancy shown at each Underground stop.17 Going east on the Central Line for 8 stops, between Oxford Circus and Mile End, life expectancy decreases by 18 years, and crossing the Thames between the Pimlico and Vauxhall stations sees life expectancy drop by 6 years. Social deprivation, both on a country level and for disad- vantaged groups within a country, has long been linked to an increased risk of ACSVD. However, higher risk is not limited to just the lowest stratum of deprivation. In the influential Whitehall study of 17,530 British civil servants, all of whom were employed and none of whom were considered to be socially deprived, 10-year CHD mortality was 2.2%, 3.6%, 4.9%, and 6.7% across job grade from the highest to the lowest, a difference that remained statistically significant even after controlling for risk factors.18 Lack of access to affordable effective health care contributes to social deprivation. Living in a disadvantaged neighborhood compared with an advantaged one increases the risk of a coronary event, even after adjustment for personal socioeco- nomic status.19 Social support and social networks are often deficient for individuals experiencing social deprivation. In a study of 32,624 male health care professionals, those in the lowest stratum of social support had a relative risk of 1.9 for cardiovascular mortality and 2.2 for incident stroke compared with those in the highest stratum.20 Social deprivation may increase cardiovascular risk by increasing depression and anxiety.21 Depression and depres- sive symptoms have been linked to increased cardiovascular morbidity and mortality in many studies, and the effect per- sists after adjustment for other risk factors.21 In patients with cardiovascular disease (CVD), depression is associated with higher levels of inflammatory markers and other biomarkers of risk, greater platelet reactivity, reduced heart rate variability, and impaired vascular function.21 Future Directions Further reductions in ASCVD incidence and mortality should not be taken for granted. We must apply secondary prevention more comprehensively. Among patients with established ASCVD in the United States, statin drug use was at 49.8% in 2002-2003 and despite a decrease in cost, increased to only 58.1% in 2012-2013, with less than one- third of patients prescribed a high-intensity statin drug.22 We must pay attention not just to primary prevention but to primordial preventiondthe prevention of the appearance of risk factors. This leads us to focus on young adults and children. Although we treat individuals, we must also engage in population-based initiatives to improve community health and reduce socioeconomic disparities. The prevalence of both tuberculosis and atherosclerosis are strongly influenced by social determinants of health. The World Health Organization broadly defines the social de- terminants of health as the circumstances in which people are born, grow, live, work, and age and the systems put in place to deal with illness.23 We need to see ASCVD in this larger context, just as we have with tuberculosis. We must shrink the mountain and not just have it move somewhere else. Disclosures The author has no conflicts of interest to disclose. References 1. Crofton J, Mitchison DA. Streptomycin treatment of pulmonary tuber- culosis. Br Med J 1948;2:769-82. 2. Herrick JB. Clinical features of sudden obstruction of coronary arteries. JAMA 1912;59:2015-20. 296 Canadian Journal of Cardiology Volume 33 2017 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0828-282X(16)31114-X/sref1 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0828-282X(16)31114-X/sref1 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0828-282X(16)31114-X/sref2 http://refhub.elsevier.com/S0828-282X(16)31114-X/sref2 3. Walker WJ. Changing United States life-style and declining vascular mortality: cause or coincidence? N Engl J Med 1977;297:163-5. 4. Ford ES, Roger VL, Dunlay SM, et al. Challenges of ascertaining national trends in the incidence of coronary heart disease in the United States. J Am Heart Assoc 2014;3:e001097. 5. Tu JV, Khan AM, Ng K, Chu A. Recent temporal changes in athero- sclerotic cardiovascular diseases in Ontario: clinical and health systems impact. Can J Cardiol 2017;33:378-84. 6. Hunink MG, Goldman L, Tosteson AN, et al. The recent decline in mortality from coronary heart disease, 1980-1990: the effect of secular trends in risk factors and treatment. JAMA 1997;277:535-42. 7. Mannsverk J, Wilsgaard T, Mathiesen EB, et al. Trends in modifiable risk factors are associated with declining incidence of hospitalized and nonhospitalized acute coronary heart disease in a population. Circulation 2016;133:74-81. 8. Egan BM, Li J, White K, et al. 2013 ACC/AHA cholesterol guideline and implications for Healthy People 2020 cardiovascular disease pre- vention goals. J Am Heart Assoc 2016;5:8. 9. Dye C, Scheele S, Dolin P, et al. Consensus statement. Global burden of tuberculosis: estimated incidence, prevalence, and mortality by country. WHO Global Surveillance and Monitoring Project. JAMA 1999;282: 677-86. 10. Ford ES, Capewell S. Coronary heart disease mortality among young adults in the U.S. from 1980 through 2002: concealed leveling of mortality rates. J Am Coll Cardiol 2007;50:2128-32. 11. O’Flaherty M, Ford E, Allender S, et al. Coronary heart disease trends in England and Wales from 1984 to 2004: concealed levelling of mortality rates among young adults. Heart 2008;94:178-81. 12. Nedkoff LJ, Briffa TG, Preen DB, et al. Age- and sex-specific trends in the incidence of hospitalized acute coronary syndromes in Western Australia. Circ Cardiovasc Qual Outcomes 2011;4:557-64. 13. Wilmot KA, O’Flaherty M, Capewell S, et al. Coronary heart disease mortality declines in the United States from 1979 through 2011: evidence for stagnation in young adults, especially women. Circulation 2015;132:997-1002. 14. Murray CJL, Vos T, Lozano R, et al. Disability-adjusted life years (DALYs) for 291 diseases and injuries in 21 regions, 1990-2010: a sys- tematic analysis for the Global Burden of Disease Study 2010. Lancet 2012;380:2197-223. 15. Yusuf S, Rangarajan S, Teo K, et al. Cardiovascular risk and events in 17 low-, middle-, and high-income countries. N Engl J Med 2014;371: 818-27. 16. Wu Y, Benjamin EJ, MacMahon S, et al. Prevention and control of cardiovascular disease in the rapidly changing economy of China. Cir- culation 2016;133:2545-60. 17. Cheshire JA. Lives on the line: mapping life expectancy along the London tube network. Environment Planning A 2012;44:7. 18. Marmot MG, Shipley MJ, Rose G, et al. Inequalities in death: specific explanations of a general pattern? Lancet 1984;1:1003-6. 19. Diez Roux AV, Merkin SS, Arnett D, et al. Neighborhood of residence and incidence of coronary heart disease. N Engl J Med 2001;345:99-106. 20. Kawachi I, Colditz GA, Ascherio A, et al. A prospective study of social networks in relation to total mortality and cardiovascular disease in men in the USA. J Epidemiol Community Health 1996;50:245-51. 21. Havranek EP, Mujahid MS, Barr DA, et al. Social determinants of risk and outcomes for cardiovascular disease. A scientific statement from the American Heart Association. Circulation 2015;132:873-98. 22. Salami JA, Warraich H, Valero-Elizondo J, et al. National trends in statin use and expenditures in the US adult population from 2002 to 2013: insights from the Medical Expenditure Panel Survey. JAMA Cardiol 2017;2:56-65. 23. Marmot M, Friel S, Bell R, et al. Commission on Social Determinants of Health. Closing the gap in a generation: health equity through action on the social determinants of health. Lancet 2008;372:1661-9. David D. 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The New Mountain Social Deprivation Future Directions Disclosures References 
work_mz2opd7byrcqnnt2kooroptc64	----	In Memoriam A. Lynn Altenbernd, University of Illinois, Urbana, 17 February 2005 Hans Bänziger, Bryn Mawr College, 8 March 2005 J. Robert Barth, SJ, Boston College, 21 September 2005 Saul Bellow, Boston University, 5 April 2005 Wayne C. Booth, University of Chicago, 10 October 2005 Morton W. Briggs, Wesleyan University, 25 September 2005 David Daiches, Edinburgh, Scotland, 15 July 2005 Charles W. Dewees, Jr., Philadelphia University, 22 February 2005 Carolyn Duncan, University of Toledo, 17 August 2005 James Early, Southern Methodist University, 20 June 2005 Norbert J. Geier, University of Wisconsin, La Crosse, 8 September 2005 Paul Gloeckner, Newark, Delaware, 5 August 2005 Quentin Manning Hope, Indiana University, Bloomington, 27 February 2005 Wolfgang Leiner, University of Washington and University of Tübingen, Germany, 8 February 2005 Ilse Hempel Lipschutz, Vassar College, 22 June 2005 Kathryn R. 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For more information: bedfordstmartins.com The Bedford Anthology of American Literature Susan Belasco, University of Nebraska, Lincoln Linck Johnson, Colgate University This innovative new anthology of American literature is designed to meet the challenges of teaching and taking today’s survey course — presenting literature in context with a balance of classic works by well-known authors and compelling works by recently recovered writers in a conveniently concise and teachable format. Combined Volume: August 2006/paper/2500 pages Volume 1: August 2006/paper/1250 pages Volume 2: August 2006/paper/1250 pages bedfordstmartins.com/americanlit NEW! “I can see myself teaching almost everything included here. 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Malamud, Series Editor $25.00 paperback 324� � NYU in Madrid–Department of Spanish and Portuguese Faculty of Arts and Science, New York University 19 University Place, 4th Floor, New York, NY 10003-4556 Telephone: 212-998-7576; Fax: 212-995-4149; E-mail: nyu-in-madrid@nyu.edu Drawing on the resources of NYU, the city of Madrid, and professors from both Spanish universities and the NYU Department of Spanish and Portuguese in New York, we offer a newly redesigned M.A. program that is both intellectually stimulating and academically rigorous. M.A. candidates study at El Viso, a residential area of Madrid very close to the center of the city, as well as at the historic Instituto Internacional.The new site boasts state-of-the-art classrooms and computer facilities. Upon approval, students may also choose to take courses at the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. Course offerings include The yearlong course, A Cultural History of Spain and Latin America, is taught by faculty from leading Spanish universities and from the NYU Department of Spanish and Portuguese in New York. Courses in the Literatures and Cultures Concentration range from Jews in Medieval Spain, Cervantes, Pictorial Traditions in Spain and Its Latin American Colonies—16th-18th Centuries to electives on 20th-century Spanish and Latin American literatures. Offerings for the Language and Translation Concentration include The Theory and Practice of Translation, Problems in Spanish Syntax for Bilingual Communication, and The Teaching of Spanish as a Foreign Language. All courses are taught in Spanish. NYU in Madrid also offers an undergraduate program for the academic year, fall, spring, or summer. Courses are taught in Spanish and English. New York University in Madrid A One-Year M.A. Program in Spanish and Latin American Languages and Culture with a Concentration in Either Spanish and Latin American Literatures and Cultures or Spanish Language and Translation NYU in Paris–Department of French Faculty of Arts and Science, New York University 19 University Place, 6th Floor, New York, NY 10003-4556 Telephone: 212-998-7625; Fax: 212-995-4667; E-mail: nyuparis@nyu.edu Drawing on the resources of NYU and the city of Paris, our M.A. programs are small, personalized, and of a very high degree of quality. M.A. candidates study at the NYU in Paris Center, located in a charming town house in a quiet garden setting in the 16th arrondissement. Courses at the University of Paris, weekly workshops, and guest lecturers, plus our own computer facilities and research library complement the programs. Course offerings include History of French Colonialism; French Classical Tragedy; Autobiography and Autofiction;The Age of Enlightenment; Civilization of Contemporary France;Textual Analysis; Parole, Nation, Ecriture:The Novel in Francophone Caribbean and Africa;Women Writers in French Literature; Contemporary French Theatre; French Cultural History Since 1870. All graduate courses are conducted in French. NYU in Paris also offers an undergraduate program for the academic year, a semester, or summer. Courses are taught in French and English. New York University in Paris M.A. Programs in French Literature (completed in one academic year) and in French Language and Civilization (completed in one academic year or three to four consecutive summers) 0506_a049a-a5R2_StudyAbroad FAS PMLA 6" x 8.75" pdf email: pdfads@mla.org Issue Date: 01.01.06; 03.01.06; 05.01.06; 09.01.06 Closing Date: 08.03.05; 08.03.05; 08.03.05; 08.03.05 proof: finalR 11.22.05 gd New York University is an affirmative action/equal opportunity institution. 325 Rome and the Mysterious Orient Three Plays by Plautus Translated with Introductions and Notes by Amy Richlin “Rome and the Mysterious Orient brings three remarkable and rarely performed comedies to life on the page and—one hopes, often—the stage.” —James Tatum, author of Plautus $45.00 cloth $12.95 paper The Copyeditor’s Handbook A Guide for Book Publishing and Corporate Communications AMY EINSOHN With Exercises and Answer Keys SECOND EDITION “An indispensable reference tool.” —Kim Hawley, President, The Chicago Book Clinic $19.95 paper World Literature At bookstores or order (800) 822-6657 • www.ucpress.edu Six Acres and a Third The Classic Nineteenth-Century Novel about Colonial India FAKIR MOHAN SENAPATI Translated from Oriya by Rabi Shankar Mishra, Satya P. 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Exam & desk copy requests, or other inquiries: 212-308-3360; bmccarthy@loa.org; or write: The Library of America 14 E. 60th Street, NY, NY 10022 www.loa.org James Agee: Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, A Death in the Family, Shorter Fiction Michael Sragow, editor This authoritative collection of James Agee’s finest work features Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, with a 64-page insert of Walker Evans’s fully restored photos, the Pulitzer Prize-winning A Death in the Family in a newly corrected text, the novella The Morning Watch, and a selection of short stories including “A Mother’s Tale.” isbn 1-931082-81-2 • 864 pages • $35.00 Louisa May Alcott: Little Women, Little Men, Jo’s Boys Elaine Showalter, editor Here, in an authoritative single-volume edition, are all three Little Women books as Alcott wrote them, with original illustrations from the 19th-century first editions, a newly researched chronology of Alcott’s life, and explanatory notes. isbn 1-931082-73-1 • 1045 pages • $40.00 coming in february Arthur Miller: Collected Plays 1944–1961 Tony Kushner, editor Including Death of a Salesman, All My Sons, The Crucible, and several other plays, this is the first volume in the most complete collection of Miller’s plays ever published. isbn 1-931082-91-x • 864 pages • $35.00 Henry James: Novels 1901-1902 Leo Bersani, editor The definitve James edition continues with a volume gathering The Wings of the Dove and The Sacred Fount. isbn 1-931082-88-x • 736 pages • $35.00 coming in april William Faulkner: Novels 1926–1929 Noel Polk & Joseph Blotner, editors This fifth and final volume in The Library of America’s edition of Faulkner’s complete novels includes newly restored and unexpurgated editions of The Sound and the Fury and Flags in the Dust, and two other early novels. isbn 1-931082-89-8 • 1170pages • $40.00 Classics for the classroom from The Library of America American Poetry: The 19th Century John Hollander, editor isbn 1-883011-36-1 $14.95 Cather: Novels and Stories 1905–1918 Sharon O’Brien, editor isbn 1-883011-74-4 $13.95 Crane: Prose and Poetry J.C. 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Berg Publishers THE HISTORY OF SCIENCE FICTION Adam Roberts Palgrave Histories of Literature Feb 2006 / 392 pp. 0-333-97022-5 / $74.95 cl. 328� � C 329 From Harold Bloom’s now-canonical Shakespeare: The Invention of the Human come the meditations plus edited texts of the individual plays the harold bloom Shakespeare editions Riverhead is a member of P E N G U I N G R O U P ( U S A ) Academic Marketing Department, 375 Hudson Street NY, NY 10014 www.penguin.com/academic 320 pp. 1-59448-089-3 320 pp. 1-59448-090-7 320 pp. 1-59448-091-5 F R O M R I V E R H E A D “The indispensable critic on the indispensable writer.” —The New York Review of Books “Not perhaps since Samuel Johnson in the mid-eighteenth century has a critic explained to a general audi- ence as ably as Mr. Bloom does how much of Shakespeare matters to our sense of who we are.” —The New York Times “Will probably prove most useful as a companion to the plays.” —The Boston Globe “No critic writes as well for actors and directors, or understands as clearly the performability of the plays.” —Publishers Weekly also available: A Midsummer Night’s Dream 1-59448-009-5 Henry IV 1-59448-010-9 Julius Caesar 1-59448-078-8 Othello 1-59448-076-1 The Tempest 1-59448-077-X Macbeth 1-59448-008-7 All books: $10.00  u n i v e r s i t y o f t o r o n t o p r e s s available in better bookstores or visit www.utppublishing.com Aretino’s Dialogues Lorenzo Da Ponte Italian Library Pietro Aretino. Translated by Raymond Rosenthal with a new introduction by Margaret Rosenthal Dialogues centres around a conversation between two rather frank, experienced, and sharp-tongued women on the topic of women’s occupations. We learn that at the time there were only three: wife, whore, or nun. Their discussion is a rollicking account of the advantages, perils, and pleasures each profession offers. Cloth 0802090044 $60.00 / Paper 0802048900 $29.95 October 2005 Migration Italy: The Art of Talking Back in a Destination Culture Toronto Italian Studies Graziella Parati Working from a cultural studies viewpoint, Parati constructs a theoretical framework for discussing Italy as a country of immigration. She gives special attention to immigrant literature, positing that it functions as an act of resistance, a means to talk back to the laws that regulate the lives of migrants. Cloth 0802039243 $58.00 / December 2005 Marian Devotion in Thirteenth-Century French Lyric Daniel E. O’Sullivan Texts centred on the mother of Jesus abound in religious traditions the world over, but thirteenth-century Old French lyric stands apart, both because of the enormous size of the Marian cult in thirteenth-century France and the lack of critical attention the genre has garnered from scholars. With an extensive index of musical and textual editions of dozens of songs, this book brings a heretofore neglected genre to light. Cloth 0802038859 $60.00 / December 2005 Culture and Authority in the Baroque UCLA Clark Memorial Library Series Edited by Massimo Ciavolella and Patrick Coleman Culture and Authority in the Baroque explores the baroque across a wide range of disciplines, from poetics to politics, to the rituals of musical, dramatic, and religious performance. The editors investigate baroque modes of persuasion with careful attention to the complexity of particu- lar cultural phenomena and their political and aesthetic implications. Cloth 0802038387 $65.00 / December 2005 331 u n i v e r s i t y o f t o r o n t o p r e s s available in better bookstores or visit www.utppublishing.com HISTORY OF THE BOOK IN CANADA VOLUME 2: 1840 -1918 Edited by Yvan Lamonde, Patricia Lockhart Fleming, and Fiona A. Black Vast in its scope and depth of scholarship, this second volume of the History of the Book in Canada extends the landmark research on Canadian book and print culture from 1840 to the end of the First World War. During this time, the lives of Canadians were shaped by technological innovation, political change, and settlement of the West by immigrants from Europe and migrants from eastern and central Canada and the United States. The development of steam power, telegraphy, photogra- phy, electricity, and the railroads transformed the book trades. Cloth 080208012X $85.00 / Available HISTORY OF THE BOOK IN CANADA VOLUME 1: Beginnings to 1840 Edited by Patricia Lockhart Fleming, Gilles Gallichan, and Yvan Lamonde In 1997, a team of historians, librarians, and literary schol- ars from across the country joined the growing number of researchers around the world studying print culture on a national scale and took up the task of producing a history for Canada. Volume one of the History of the Book in Canada – the first of three volumes in this collaborative project – examines the role of print in the political, religious, intellec- tual, and cultural life of the colonies that eventually became Canada. Cloth 0802089437 $75.00 / Available When Canadian Literature Moved to New York Studies in Book and Print Culture Nick Mount Canadian literature was born in New York City. It began not in the backwoods of Ontario or the salt flats of New Brunswick, but in the cafés, publishing offices, and boarding houses of late nineteenth-century New York, where writing developed as a profession and where the groundwork for the Canadian canon was laid. So argues Nick Mount in When Canadian Literature Moved to New York. Cloth 080203828X $45.00 / Available 332� � 384 pages, 86 b&w photos, paper $23.95 Perverse Modernities 333 334� � BEYOND THE GIBSON GIRL Reimagining the American New Woman, 1895–1915 Martha H. Patterson Focuses on important regional, ethnic, and sociopolitical differences in writers’ use of the New Woman trope at the turn of the twentieth century. Illus. Cloth, $35.00 FRANK NORRIS: A Life Joseph R. McElrath Jr. and Jesse S. Crisler The fi rst biography in over seventy years to offer a full-scale portrait of the author whose novels The Octopus and The Pit portrayed the coming of age of the United States. Illus. 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Cloth, $34.95 CARIBBEAN CRUSADERS and the HARLEM RENAISSANCE Joyce Moore Turner with the assistance of W. Burghardt Turner; Introduction by Franklin W. Knight Ranges beyond Harlem to Europe, Africa, and the Soviet Union to reveal the global reach of the Afro-Caribbean activists. Illus. Cloth, $55.00; Paper, $25.00 335 Alphaville CHRIS DARKE This defi nitive guide to Jean-Luc Godard’s most famous fi lm explores how this auteur director’s experi- mental approach to fi lmmaking revolutionized the genre of fi lm noir. Cloth, $40.00; Paper, $15.00 U N I V E R S I T Y O F I L L I N O I S P R E S S La Haine GINETTE VINCENDEAU Analyzes the fi lm’s place within the fi lm industry and French society; it's narrative tension, stylistic sophistica- tion and ideological ambiguity; and answers why, out of so many fi lms about disaffected youth, La Haine caught the audience’s imagination and became an instant classic. Cloth, $40.00; Paper, $15.00 To order, call 800-537-5487, or visit www.press.uillinois.edu La Reine Margot JULIANNE PIDDUCK This illuminating critique explores the artistic, historical, and political infl uences that inspired Patrice Chéreau’s infamous epic fi lm of a monstrous murderous family set against the violent backdrop of 16th century France. Cloth, $40.00; Paper, $15.00 Les Diaboliques SUSAN HAYWARD In this informative and accessible guide to the fi lm, Hayward presents a illuminating look at the production of Les Diaboliques, its reception by critics, its cast and its crew, and the many attempts to remake the fi lm. Cloth, $35.00; Paper, $15.00 French Film Guides 336� � For more information, please visit us at www.cambridge.org/us or call toll-free at 1-800-872-7423 A LANDMARK IN AMERICAN LITERATURE Prices subject to change. THE CAMBRIDGE HISTORY OF AMERICAN LITERATURE Edited by Sacvan Bercovitch “…a bold enterprise. 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MARTIN’S For more information: bedfordstmartins.com Literature The Human Experience Ninth Edition Richard Abcarian Marvin Klotz both of California State University, Northridge A proven classroom favorite for more than three decades, this anthology continues to appeal to students and instructors with its broad range of enticing stories, poems, plays, and essays and its flexible structure. The arrangement by both theme and genre encourages students to think deeply about crucial topics while instructing them in the four main genres of literature. The new edition provides a broader selection of works — including many from non-Western traditions — and more help for reading literature. 2006/paper/1680 pages bedfordstmartins.com/ experience_literature Available now! 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NEW! 340� � Religion and Cultural Memory Ten Studies J A N A S S M A N N Through a commanding view extending over five thousand years, Jan Assmann explores the connec- tions between religion, culture, and memory, in ten brilliant essays. $22.95 paper $60.00 cloth Aesthetic Democracy T H O M A S D O C H E R T Y Aesthetic Democracy argues that the possibility of social and political democracy depends primarily upon art and aesthetics, and that it is art which determines the possibilities of human freedom. $19.95 paper $50.00 cloth Being For Myself Alone Origins of Jewish Autobiography M A R C U S M O S E L E Y This is a work of unprecedented scope that traces the origins of Jewish autobiographical writing from the early-modern period to the early twentieth century. $70.00 cloth Perversity and Ethics W I L L I A M E G G I N T O N Perversity and Ethics argues that a psychoanalytic reading of the phenomenon of perversity is crucial to understanding contemporary philosophical ethics. $24.95 paper $60.00 cloth U n i v e r s i t y P r e s s8 0 0 . 6 2 1 . 2 7 3 6 w w w. s u p . o r g Stanford NEW FROM STANFORD 341 Handbook of Middle English - Grammar and Texts LUIS IGLESIAS-RABADE Universidade de Santiago de Compostela This volume is intended to provide undergraduate and postgraduate students with a comprehensive handbook of Middle English. The book begins with a sociolinguistic study of post-Conquest England. Then the volume presents a detailed description of Middle English grammar divided into four parts. The first part is dedicated to morphology, providing students with forms and uses of the traditional parts of speech. The second part of the volume is devoted to a description of the phonology, proposing a historical development of the OE phonemes (and graphemes) until Present Day English. Students will find the basic rules of the phonological developments accompanied by the most common spellings for the four periods (Old English, Middle English, Early Modern English and Present Day English) and subperiods of the history of the English language. In the third part the volume presents a description of the grammatical categories and functions on Middle English syntactic units. All parts and sections of the book are provided with a wide range of examples, with modern English translations to facilitate a better understanding of Middle English grammar. The fourth part of the volume includes some extracts of early Middle English texts. Each of them is provided with its own glossary. It is particularly easy for students to identify the meaning of a word, because not only are all words included in the glossary, but also a specific meaning is provided for each word in each of its occurrences. ISBN 3 89586 580 X. 630pp. USD 93.00. 2004. Nivel avanzado) LINCOM Studies in English Linguistics 05. Relational Structures in Wyndham Lewis's Fiction: Fundamentos de fonología y fonética española para hablantes de inglés Complexity and Value MELANIE TERRAZAS Universidad de la Rioja Portland State University In this book Melania Terrazas analyses Wyndham Lewis's novels of the 1920s, 1930s, 1940s and 1950s, tracking their depictions of the idiosyncratic relationship between interpersonal behaviour and social interactions. Resource Theory of social exchange is the introductory sociological framework proposed for exploring this relationship and for structuring Lewis's vast critical oeuvre. However, due to its numerous limitations in undertaking the discussion of economic questions and matters like intellectual integrity and love, the theories of more flexible and more radical thinkers like Arnold, Berman, Blau, Durkheim, Gergen, Giddens, Goldmann and Simmel, among others, are used. Terrazas excavates the incorrect ways in which economic and non-economic resources intertwine in Lewis's portraits of modern Western society; reflects upon the radical ways in which he recreates how technological, scientific, political, economic and social doctrines dehumanised the rules of practice that governed interpersonal behaviour and relations in intimate and large institutions; clarifies the patterns of conduct and interpersonal relationships whose peculiar appearance and outcome respond to his view of the world and of human relationships. Terrazas' readings of Lewis's reveal that he is a fascinating writer and a perceptive social critic. ISBN 3 89586 807 8. 248pp. USD 66.00. 2005. El objetivo principal de este volumen consiste en ayudar a los estudiantes anglohablantes con la pronunciación del español en todas sus variedades dialectales. Secundariamente, se pretende que el lector aprenda rasgos fundamentales de la fonética y la fonología española y pueda reconocer, identificar y reproducir sonidos propios del español. Este libro puede utilizarse en cursos avanzados de fonética y fonología de la lengua española, organizados tanto en trimestres como en cuatrimestres. Se intentará reducir las explicaciones teóricas, dando preponderancia a la parte práctica de la fonética y la fonología desde un punto de vista estructuralista, siguiendo un estudio lineal y secuencial de la producción de los sonidos en el discurso. Aunque en la sección de Comparaciones se establecen las diferencias entre el español y el inglés, este texto no se enfoca en la fonética inglesa ni tampoco en la teoría lingüística general. Todo el manual está escrito en español para fomentar la adquisición del vocabulario lingüístico en la lengua meta y para evitar los cambios de código, contraproducentes a la hora de comprender y asimilar la práctica. ( ISBN 3 89586 958 9. 150pp. USD54.00. 2005. Course discounts available ! LINCOM Studies in Language & Literature 01. LINCOM Coursebooks in Linguistics 13. Manual práctico de español como lengua extranjera EVA NÚÑEZ MÉNDEZ LINCOM EUROPA academic publications webshop: www.lincom-europa.com LINCOM GmbH Gmunder Str. 35, D-81379 Muenchen FAX +49 89 6226 94 04 LINCOM.EUROPA@t-online.deLE 342� � Classic Works and the Characters Who Wrote Them “�[Harman’s] complex portrait paints a man whom she finds both admirable and infuriating. Ms. Harman’s kaleidoscopic light suits a man whose personality seemed in a state of constant flux.” —The Economist ISBN 0-06-620984-6 • 528 pages • hardcover • $29.95 (NCR) “��Meticulously researched and very well written . . . full of riches . . . A book steeped in the love of its subject and of the countryside that [Wordsworth] commemorated so lastingly in his poetry.” —Literary Review ISBN 0-06-078731-7 • 576 pages • hardcover • $29.95 (NCR) Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors. HarperCollinsPublishers Imprints of HarperCollinsPublisherswww.HarperAcademic.com ISBN 0-06-059323-7 • 384 pages • hardcover • $29.95 ($39.95 Can.) “Nicholas Basbanes has become the leading authority of books about books” (David McCullough), and in this new hardcover he explores what books have most influenced our culture, through interviews with several accomplished bibliophiles—including Harold Bloom, Robert Fagles, Robert Coles, Helen Vendler, Elaine Pagels, Daniel Aaron, Christopher Ricks and Perri Klass. 343 THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF NEW ENGLAND Edited by Burt Feintuch and David H. Watters Foreword by Donald Hall “Enduring as New England's culture most certainly is, it has never been easily defined. But now, at long last, through the pages of this massive, beautifully-created work, New England emerges clearly as both vivid and distinct.”—Judson D. Hale, Sr. “A great resource. Delightful.”—Tracy Kidder 515 illus. $65.00 SELECTED WRITINGS OF GIROLAMO SAVONAROLA Religion and Politics, 1490–1498 Translated and edited by Anne Borelli and Maria Pastore Passaro Donald Beebe, Executive Editor Introduction by Alison Brown Foreword by Giuseppe Mazzotta This volume is the first comprehensive collection of Savonarola’s works in English. Winner of the 2004 Scaglione Publication Award for a manuscript in Italian literary studies awarded by the MLA $60.00 HISTORY OF THE YIDDISH LANGUAGE Volumes 1 and 2 Max Weinreich “Over the course of time Weinreich’s work has gained in significance and prestige as the greatest contribution to Yiddish linguistics and as a milestone in the study of the history of the Yiddish language and of Jewish culture.”—Edward Stankiewicz $300.00 2 volume set SCIENCE FICTION QUOTATIONS From the Inner Mind to the Outer Limits Edited by Gary Westfahl Foreword by Arthur C. Clarke With more than 2,900 quotations from science fiction and fantasy lit- erature, films, and TV shows, this book is, “a massive undertaking that would have daunted all but the most indefatigable of researchers— and one for which generations of science fiction writers and enthusiasts will be extremely grateful.”—Sir Arthur C. Clarke, from the foreword $25.00 paperback THE GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE OF JAMES BOSWELL, 1757–1763 James Boswell, David Hankins, James Caudle Copublished with Edinburgh University Press $75.00 yalebooks.com•U n i v e r s i t y P r e s sY A L E New books from YALE— IMAGINED CITIES Urban Experience and the Language of the Novel Robert Alter “[Alter] brings an easygoing feeling for the quickening importance of the metropolitan pageant. . . . His approach to great literary works [including those by Flaubert, Dickens, Bely, Woolf, Joyce, and Kafka] is pleasurably familiar. . . . 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Readings of Charles Dickens and George Eliot explore realism and turn-of- the-century literary modernism. Cloth $29.95 Due January FASCINATING RHYTHM Reading Jazz in American Writing David Yaffe David Yaffe explores the looks at jazz musicians and the themes literature has garnered from them by appropriating the style, tones, and innovations of jazz, and demonstrating that the poetics of jazz has both been assimilated into, and deeply affected, the development of twentieth-century American literature. Cloth $29.95 Due January CALL IT ENGLISH The Languages of Jewish American Literature Hana Wirth-Nesher Hana Wirth-Nesher traces the evolution of Yiddish and Hebrew in modern Jewish American prose writing. Call It English is a profound and eloquently written exploration of bilingual aesthetics and cross- cultural translation that resounds also with pertinence to other minority and ethnic literatures in the United States. Cloth $39.50 Due January Reading Allowed DO NOT PRINT THIS INFORMATION PMLA 1/06 Q09 06-165 100PRINCETONUniversit y Press 800-777-4726Read excerpts onlinewww.pup.princeton.edu Celebrating 100 Years of Excellence GURU ENGLISH South Asian Religion in a Cosmopolitan Language Srinivas Aravamudan Guru English is a bold reconceptualization of the scope and meaning of cosmopolitanism. It traces the diffusion and transformation of the discourses of South Asian religiousity as they are shuttled between East and West through English- language use. Paper $22.95 Cloth $60.00 Due December THE TRANSLATION ZONE A New Comparative Literature Emily Apter The Translation Zone asserts that a new comparative literature must take stock of the political impact of translation technologies on the definition of foreign or symbolic languages in the human- ities, while recognizing the complexity of language politics. Paper $19.95 Cloth $49.50 Due January Translation/Transnation Series: Emily Apter, series editor 345 Cornell University Press hiding from hi st or y Hiding from History Politics and Public Imagination Meili Steele “Steele shows how contemporary political thought and action have been handcuffed by the persistent attempt to transcend historical and cultural specifi city. His compelling alternative of ‘public imagination’ avoids multiculturalism’s identity fetishism by understanding culture as a process through which selves can refl ect upon, reason about, and revise their lives with others.” —John McGowan, author of Democracy’s Children $36.00 cloth Allegoresis Reading Canonical Literature East and West Zhang Longxi “By re-placing the question of allegory in relation to its political, social, and ethical implications, and moving effortlessly between early Christian, classical Chinese, and contemporary theory, Zhang compels his reader into recognizing the profound commonalities and diffi cult differences between Western and Chinese literary culture.” —David Stern, University of Pennsylvania $39.95 cloth Subterranean Cities The World beneath Paris and London, 1800–1945 David L. Pike “In a beautifully written, deeply informed, critically engaging, and theoretically astute book, David L. Pike focuses attention on a highly original area of inquiry—the metropolitan underworld. Pike provides excellent insights into the cultural energies and material fl ows of the sewers, tunnels, and drains of London and Paris.” —Joseph Bristow, University of California, Los Angeles $65.00 cloth, $24.95 paper Paranoia and Modernity Cervantes to Rousseau John Farrell “With shrewd discernment and understated wit, John Farrell shows how misanthropic distrust, once an object of general satire, became the received wisdom of intellectuals. His book is itself a satire, though a very learned and scrupulous one, on the folly of religious and philosophical systems that pay no heed to our common humanity.” —Frederick Crews $35.00 cloth Creole Crossings Domestic Fiction and the Reform of Colonial Slavery Carolyn Vellenga Berman “Berman asserts that so-called public issues of race and slavery permeate eighteenth- and nineteenth-century French, British, and American domestic fi ction. She illustrates her point by analyzing the ways in which the Creole woman born in the ‘periphery’ troubles plots conceived at the ‘center.’” —Carla L. Peterson, University of Maryland $39.95 cloth Orientalism and the Hebrew Imagination Yaron Peleg “Orientalism and the Hebrew Imagination brings a voice of moderation, subtlety, and analytical sharpness to an area of academic discourse that too often is strident, infl amed, or dogmatic. Yaron Peleg explains how literature was a powerful force in creating a new Jewish culture at the turn of the twentieth century.” —Naomi Sokoloff, University of Washington $35.00 cloth The Hummingbird Cabinet A Rare and Curious History of Romantic Collectors Judith Pascoe “With wit and gravitas, Pascoe reveals how objects both defeat time and remind us of its passing. Telling the story of a unique moment in the history of collecting, Pascoe rewrites history in miniature, bringing alive the secret life of highly charged objects including Napoleon’s chocolate pot and Shelley’s guitar.” —Marina van Zuylen, author of Monomania $35.00 cloth www.cornellpress.cornell.edu 1-800-666-2211 Curious? 346� � 1-800-627-7377 WWW.VANDERBILTUNIVERSITYPRESS.COM Parenting and Professing Balancing Family Work with an Academic Career Edited by Rachel Hile Bassett Vivid personal reflections on the problems and rewards of combining academic work and parenting. Includes ideas for change at the individual, interpersonal, policy, and system levels. Paper $24.95 A Garland of Many Years Donald Davie “. . . these poems distill what is most moving and sustaining in [Davie's] life's work.”—Albert Gelpi Like Shakespeare’s sonnets, complex poems of mature love for our era, in a beautiful facsimile edition. Cloth $24.95 Offensive Films Mikita Brottman “. . . for those called to be diag- nostic morticians of a sick culture. Not recommended for the faint.” —Choice What even the most repulsive of movies has to say about us as a society. Now in paperback! $24.95 Books to Capture the Imagination Parents, Pictures, & Poetry 347 Transatlantic Cooperation in Research (TransCoop) One Goal: Collaborative research Two Partners: Scholars in the Humanities, Social Sciences, Economics and Law Three Countries: Canada, Germany, and the United States The Facts: Through its TransCoop Program, the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation provides one half of the funding—up to EUR 45,000 over three years—for a proposed research collaboration. U.S. and/or Canadian funds must cover the balance of the cost of the project. TransCoop funds may be used by all partners for short-term research stays at the partners’ institutions, travel expenses, conference organization, material and equipment, printing costs, and research assistants. Applications should be submitted jointly by at least one German and one U.S. or Canadian scholar. Ph.D. required. Deadlines: April 30 and October 31. For information about this and other opportunities, go to www.humboldt-foundation.de or contact the Foundation’s U.S. Liaison office at avh@verizon.net. NEW in the MLA’s A P P R O A C H E S T O T E A C H I N G Approaches to Teaching the Novels of Samuel Richardson LISA ZUNSHINE AND JOCELYN HARRIS, EDS. AVAILABLE FEBRUARY 2006 xiii & 219 pp. Cloth ISBN 0-87352-922-7 $37.50 (MLA members $30.00) Paper ISBN 0-87352-923-5 $19.75 (MLA members $15.80) “The editors have done a superb job of bringing together a distinguished but fresh group of contributors and opinions. . . . a thoughtful total volume.” — J. Paul Hunter University of Virginia M o d e r n L a n g u a g e A s s o c i a t i o n 26 Broadway, 3rd fl oor, New York, NY 10004-1789 phone 646 576-5161 fax 646 576-5160 www.mla.org NEW W O R L D L I T E R AT U R E S E R I E S a.pdf 313 315 317 319 321 b.pdf 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 
work_n2qu27spa5cctg2622swvd4gfq	----	Palgrave Macmillan Journals is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve, and extend access to Feminist Review. www.jstor.org ® EDITORIAL Our first discussion about the questions raised by a special issue of Feminist Review on cultural politics highlighted the different meaning the idea of' culture' has for different people. For some, culture means the myriad specific forms of art practice that exist, and for others it means the experience of everyday life in a much more general sense. Immediately we were confronted by the problem of what to include in an issue that potentially covered everything, and naturally individual commitments and enthusiasms quickly became clear. We agreed that the many products of past and more recent work by women in the arts-novels, poetry, theatre, music, photography, film, fine art, craft and design-were an important part of feminist definitions of culture in the broader sense of the word. But we recognized, too, that choice of dress, attitudes to living arrangements, childcare, friendship and sexuality, along with broad commitments to egalitarian, anti-racist and pro-peace politics, were also part of a shared feminist identity and way of life. Was it right, we asked ourselves, to discuss feminist intervention in the arts and media without including these day-to-day meanings of feminism? They were, we knew, closely connected to each other and together they provided, in moments of political pessimism, a continuing sense of feminism's creativity and dynamism. After considerable debate we agreed that while both aspects of 'culture' were of equal importance, we would in this issue focus on what contemporary feminism had done to transform the arts and the media. Everyday feminist culture-culture with a small c-has played an enormous part in changing the model of artistic production from an isolated activity of individual genius to something more participant and social. Not only do the objects, texts and events produced by individual feminists and groups within the women's movement over the last fifteen years offer major critiques of the dominant views of women-and men-they also often come into being in new ways and are heard, read, and seen differently by their audience. So in concentrating on these visual, verbal and aural forms of representation we have emphasized the ways in which the daily context of our lives as women, as feminists, has changed the ways in which such work is made and consumed. Women writers today often develop their skills in writing collectives; their work in turn is read and discussed in feminist reading groups. Feminist artists organize shows together. Feminists in those already collective practices of theatre, music, cinema and television 4 Feminist Review try more self-consciously to democratize their forms of group work. None of these projects to transform the conditions and modes of artistic production has been accomplished without great difficulty, for the economic structure on which most practi«;:es depend still favour individual competitive and heirarchical models. Changing the structures through which feminist art is produced and consumed has been in some ways the most daunting and politically educative part of the feminist project. It is painful too, because as producers we still have strong if ambivalent feelings about our stake in traditional notions of individual work. For most of us who have been involved in trying to make such changes the process has stripped away any lingering illusion that Culture with a big Cis above economics and politics, or that the meanings advanced by its products are universal ones that transcend race, class, sex and time. While it is extremely difficult and possibly unprofitable to define a 'feminist' work of art simply by looking at the content and form of a given cultural artifact-for there are many feminisms and many conflicting notions of what makes a novel, poem, painting or film 'feminist' -it is possible to see a radical process of transformation in the many arenas of representation in which feminists now participate. That process itself, often frustrated and incomplete in any one event or project has been, nevertheless, an important aspect of all of them. It is when feminism 'touches' each stage of the production and consumption of new work, or when it informs both there-interpretation of past writing or art and the way in which that re-reading is developed and shared that we can begin to think of a feminist cultural politics as actually taking place. Western feminism today, all the many western feminisms, take almost as a given that ideas and images in general circulation are of crucial importance. While sections of the male left still argue that the politics of culture are marginal or irrelevant to socialism, feminism has been much more prepared to see cultural issues as central, for culture has long been a privileged place for the discussion of sex and gender differences. In the poetry, fiction and fine art of the nineteenth century, in its popular melodrama and penny-dreadful illustrated tales, feminity and masculinity as well as relations between men and women were constructed. The various strata of art and literature imagined and embodied the class and gender divisions elsewhere elaborated in economic, political and legal terms. These pleasurable representations were often both prescriptive and critical of dominant gender relations. When women began to write in significant numbers, towards the end of the eighteenth century, the texts that they wrote, largely for an expanding middle class audience, intervened signi- ficantly in more general social debates about the role and nature of women in contemporary society. Re-reading those novels and poems today we can hear them as future readers will no doubt hear our own 'feminist art'-as a complex mixture of support and critique of existing institutions and ideologies. The development, in the early nineteenth century, of a species of literature written and read by middle class women was one of the important preliminary steps towards the creation of a 'modern' feminist discourse. Class-conscious Feminist Review 5 and class bound as it was, it offered one secular model of a public dialogue between women. We are reminded of its usefulness today when we see how frequently marginalized and relatively powerless groups of women-black women and lesbian women, for example- turn to poetry, fiction, drama and the new media technologies to get their messages across. Writing and reading which in traditional liberal Culture are assumed to be private experiences are, in the hands of these writers, a way of expressing cultural meaning that has been suppressed and ignored both in male-orientated literature and in middle-class white women's writing, and a way of reaching out and organizing new constituencies of women. If we substitute the term 'cultural production' for traditional notions of Culture with a big C we can put some distance between received ideas about the arts, as they come to us through education or the arts establishment, and the various critiques and transformations that feminism has set in motion. 'Cultural production' would include all kinds of representation from sonnets to soap opera, from the films of Chantal Akerman to the videos of Karen Alexander and the photographs of the Format group. It would include new collective projects and the critical project of re-reading film melodrama, Jane Austen or James Baldwin through a feminist lens. 'Cultural pro- duction' implies an activity and a relationship between practice and audience, while Culture tends to lie there inert at the bottom of the pool, weighed down by the aesthetic value attached to it. Feminism's approach to cultural production has usually been more concerned with meaning in a particular practice than in ordering works of art in an aesthetic hierarchy. For example, feminists will argue fiercely with each other about how, precisely, visual representation works to denigrate and objectify women, and how best to produce alternative representations of gender and sexuality. Traditional criticism is more concerned with defining formal excellence and ranking past and present producers. The boundaries between art and criticism are strictly patrolled. Feminism tends to blur the distinction between practice and critique-seeing both, and sometimes the two together, as creative and productive of new meaning. The questions generated by feminist debate around a controversial film like A Question of Silence are therefore integral to the cultural production of the film itself. Yet feminism's approach to self-defined feminist cultural pro- duction is surprisingly contradictory. It sometimes seems as if we are happier to search out the feminist implications of old films and women's 'classics' than we are to give new work feminist credentials. Often it seems that we want novels or films made from a feminist perspective to answer questions that are not by any means resolved in our practice or theory. There is a demand, sometimes sublimal, sometimes overt, that self-declared feminist cultural practice should be extra-correct politically as well as offering the conventional pleasure that we have traditionally come to expect from cultural forms. Yet pleasure, as so many feminist practitioners and critics have pointed out, is not a gender neutral sensation. The pleasure that we have learnt to take from particular kinds of representation is highly 6 Feminist Review dependent on existing social and sexual structures. In the area of cinema some feminists have argued that the pleasure of looking at a film is structured around certain male sexual obsessions: they have suggested that feminist film makers be wary of reinvoking these dubious pleasures. While many of us accept all or part of this theoretical analysis, our desire for a pleasurable experience as viewers and audience is not easily quenched. In film in particular the disruption of traditional narration and imagery, in the name of progressive feminist practice, often evokes angry response from feminists. Interestingly, experiment with 'avant garde' form and narration are better tolerated in literature and in fine art than in the cinema. Some 'pleasures' are easier to relinquish than others. These problems are particularly acute for feminists working in the mass media, where there is a straightforward demand that presen- tations be accessible and entertaining in a familiar way. The problems of reaching beyond an already constituted audience of feminists with strategies of presentation that seem, on the surface, unpleasurable, strange and 'difficult' have never really been resolved -and the debate around these issues goes on. One response from practitioners is to disclaim the label feminist as too constraining, too oppressive. If traditional liberal aesthetics demands that art be universal (which it never is), feminism's attempt to construct a too rigid alternative aesthetic has also run into problems. Our collective probing of these questions suggests that they are still all wide open. Another issue that surfaced in our discussions had to do with the supposed elitism of certain kinds of feminist critical practices that borrow heavily from Marxist, structuralist and psychoanalytic the- ories. If there was some anxiety in the group about artistic practices that were difficult, obscure and inaccessible, there was much greater concern about the inaccessibility of feminist commentary and critique about cultural production. Debating the pros and cons of 'difficult' cultural commentary raised once again the question of whether and how traditional languages can be used by feminists. Of course this problem is wider than the use of theoretical languages-popular discourse is saturated with non- or anti-feminist idiom. But many feminists have been particularly concerned about how already existing theoretical vocabularies, loaded and gender-biased as they are, could be made useful for us. These questions arise equally in considering feminist cultural practice, feminist critical work and feminist theory, and show that these distinctions, which we often fall back on, cannot really be maintained. In the end it is clear that the major theoretical debates in feminism and cultural politics are addressed in all the different types of writing we have included. The photo-essays and poetry, as well as the discussion of specific practices such as film, television and theatre, address questions of theory just as much as the more obviously 'theoretical' articles, such as the review of Julia Kristeva's work. The issue contains three photo-essays and three groups of poems. Our view is that feminist art comes in a wide variety of forms and styles. Some poems or photographs are easily interpreted. But part of the satisfaction of much feminist writing, new women's music and visual art comes out of the effort that goes into understanding them. A Feminist Review 7 case in point is Lindsay Cooper's song on our flexidisc. Seeing Red is the song which opens Sally Potter's film The Gold Diggers, discussed in this issue by Sarah Montgomery. The song's lyrics raise the question of a woman's pleasure in a patriarchal 'leisure time' which excludes her. Lindsay Cooper's music echoes a twentieth-century radical European tradition which draws on and reworks urbanized forms of popular music developed in cabaret and in some types of music hall. Music, poetry and visual art can contain highly concentrated complex meaning which the consumer must unravel slowly like a knotted piece of string. The poets included here, Gloria Evans Davies, Karen Whiteson and Denise Riley have all written on aspects of femininity. Evans Davies's work uses highly pictorial imagery, evoking domestic scenarios. Karen Whiteson's poems frame their narrative in classical myth and the female gothic. Denise Riley's work moves through a range of forms, offering a tragi-comic view of the dilemmas of contemporary feminism. The three photo-essays are all quite different. Yve Lomax's essay poses a lyrical relationship between image and text, juxtaposing prose-poem and an assembly of fragmented photo-images. The work of Format, a collective of photographers, is in the agitprop traditions developed on the left. Their work reveals the activities and identities of women suppressed in the presentation of popular media, and raises socialist feminist issues by re-presenting dominant images. Format's captions illumin- ate the processes involved in selecting and producing their material. Mitra Tabrizian's work draws on semiotic and psychoanalytic theory to challenge the conventional notion that images of women are reflections rather than constructions of meaning. Her carefully composed and lit studies echo film imagery and play with psycho- analytic narratives. In the issue as a whole we have tried to present a wide variety of approaches to the question of cultural politics for feminism. There are, as there must be, significant gaps-no piece on feminist music, nothing on feminist publishing, not enough on the specific contri- butions of black feminists and lesbian feminists to cultural pro- duction. We hope that the issue will inspire further contributions on cultural politics from our readers. Throughout our emphasis has been on the process of making and receiving these cultural products, as much as on the products themselves. If there is any didactic thread running through the issue, it is an attempt on our part to displace the notion of individual genius and perfect, complete art which transcends its context and historical moment, and to substitute a notion of cultural production as an ongoing unfinished engagement of producers and consumers with issues central to feminism. We cannot-and ought not-be trying to determine the form of feminist art for the future. What we can hope for is to alter its conditions of production and reception. In doing so we may permanently transform the traditional, and oppressive mean- ings of Culture. 
work_n2tbv2dp4zes3krpijo2u6ho3q	----	No More Lonely Londoners No More Lonely Londoners Jan Lowe Small Axe, Number 9 (Volume 5, Number 1), March 2001, pp. 166-180 (Review) Published by Duke University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/smx.2001.0008 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/31823 https://doi.org/10.1353/smx.2001.0008 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/31823 No More Lonely Londoners Jan Lowe White Teeth, Zadie Smith. London: Hamish Hamilton, 2000. ISBN 0-241-13997-X. W hite Teeth includes themes of Britain�s imperial and colonial relationships with Africa, Asia and the Caribbean, and this gives it a stake in the literatures of those countries. Enigmatically, it is also a deeply English novel, and not just because within a year of its appearance, it was thoroughly canonized in Britain and placed right at the top of the literary tree by prominent critics. From the first page, Zadie Smith�s inventiveness with language pops open like a bottle of champagne and the fizz lasts to the end, however long it takes to complete your reading of this 460-page, demanding novel. The dust jacket sports the briefest of biographical notes � where she grew up and her university. You cannot help thinking she is far too young to have written this novel (only twenty-one and still at university when she began it). The opening themes are not the ones you expect a youthful first-time female author to present � an improbable friendship between an unlikely pair of middle-aged men when they are at the most vulnerable stage of their midlife crisis; but their midlife crisis is a metaphor for Britain�s political and social crisis in the 1980s, especially the crisis of families, when unemployment and divorce were running at their highest levels. Small Axe 9, March 2001: pp. 166�180 ISSN 0799-0537 Page 166 Archibald Jones is a lower middle-class Englishman of no particular accomplishment, muddling along in his job as a printer at Morgan Hero on London�s Euston Road. Samad Iqbal is a Bangladeshi Muslim consumed with hatred of his job as a waiter in a Soho Indian restaurant. There is more to them than this. Smith focuses on the heroic in their background. Archie and Samad met during World War II, defending Britain against Hitler; at least, they were trying to. If what they actually did amounted to little, it is the genuine heart and effort they put into it that counts. It reminds us that blacks and Asians were in the armed services and played their part in the war effort. Samad�s story also reminds us that the newest immigrants to Britain are predominantly Muslims. In the 1970s, he moved to north-west London on the back of the wave of Indians fleeing discrimination in Kenya and Uganda, only to be greeted by national racial paranoia voiced by Enoch Powell in his famous �rivers of blood� speech, a paranoia given active expression in the rise of racial attacks on Indians, all of whom racists denoted as �Pakis�. The late 1970s were the �Paki-bashing� era, a time when racial killings went unnoticed, unpunished by the police and the law. Samad Iqbal�s terror about his vulnerability as an Asian Muslim is totally understandable in this context. His fears fester and rule his life and decisions. By the 1980s, when Samad has already set his life and his family�s in a direction determined by events in the 1970s, a Muslim community emerges (too late) around him, and his friendship with Archie, not another Muslim, continues to flourish. At any rate, it is a culturally and ethnically heterogeneous Muslim community that emerges. It requires more than religion for newcomers to unite. They include Ethiopians, Middle Easterners, and refugees from the Bosnian war in Europe. Listening to Samad�s idiom, you don�t have to be British to realize how, beneath his professing to be a true Muslim, Samad is a little bit of an Englishman. Hampstead is the most affluent area in north-west London. It disguises the fact that the Borough of Brent as a whole is populated almost entirely by immigrants. White Teeth opens doors to the rooms, cultural spaces, of north-west London in its presentation of four different families: 1. The family of Englishman Archie Jones and Clara (of the Jamaican Bowden family). It is a period when the English have a sense of the death of Empire; of London becoming a multicultural rather than English capital, and they can no longer rely on Rule Britannia and Empire for a secure identity. 2. The family of Darcus and Hortense Bowden. They are first-generation Jamaican migrants, commonly referred to nowadays as the Windrush generation, a reference to the arrival of the Windrush on 22 June 1948 at Tilbury Docks, with 492 -DQ /RZH ��� Caribbean passengers (many of them ex-servicemen in the British army). The Windrush marks the historical moment of this community�s entry, en masse, into Britain. Their granddaughter is Irie Jones, born in London, still facing the same relentless racism that greeted her grandparents but, unlike them, subsumed in the English class system. Nevertheless, these three generations of Jamaicans are without the illusions of belonging of some immigrants. 3. The family of Samad and Alsana Iqbal. Samad is a first-generation newcomer to London � a Bangladesh Muslim, at a time when north-west London, where he settles, is becoming a base for Muslim communities from Asia, Africa, the Middle East and Europe. His fears of immersion in a failing Christian society raises questions about where London�s new Muslim communities fit into Britain�s new multicultural equation. 4. The family of Marcus and Joyce Chalfen. Marcus is a Jewish (but atheist) scientist at Oxford University, married out, to a fellow Oxonian and Irishwoman, Joyce, who elevates motherhood, cookery and gardening to intellectual arts. They live in Hampstead, in an area where the Jewish community have a long history of settlement and assimilation. The Irish community in nearby Kilburn have an even longer history; so long that in this Jewish-Irish marriage between third-generation immigrants, their memory of their own immigrant past is so dim that they are able to view the newer immigrants as �other� and in their magnanimity deign to share out educational patronage to them. Joyce likes to acquire black and Asian children as if they are new species to add to her garden. Mediating between these families are their children, Irie Jones, Magid and Millat Iqbal, and Joshua Chalfen. Their evolving relationship to London is based on closer ties to each other, across their cultural differences, than their parents have ever experienced. It seems that, for the first time, the progeny of the immigrants may, united, look forward to acquiring the status of insiders, even if it only means they are sucked into the class system to fight a class war. There is a clear divide between the story of the young generation and that of their parents � mirroring the reality of the 1980s. The opening pages present Cricklewood Broadway as a part of London that has received successive waves of white, black and brown immigrants in the last century. The changing patterns are dramatized as we see Archie, depressed by the ending of his first marriage to an Italian, stage his suicide outside a butcher shop, the Hussein Ishmael, owned by Mo Hussein Ishmael. From above, the pigeons rain excrement upon the butcher�s shop and upon Archie�s car as he attempts to gas himself to death. VPDOO D[H ��� The image of Cricklewood bathed in excrement can be associated with popular racist language here that equates black and brown newcomers with bringing filth and disease to Britain. Certainly, an uncontrollable population of pigeons plagues London, and Londoners worry endlessly about the disease carried in the excrement they deposit daily on this once great imperial centre (the current mayor is trying to rid the capital of its pigeon population). A young boy, Varin, is sent up a ladder to kill the pigeons perched on the roof. He dispatches them and then is sent to move Archie�s car from the roadside, where it is blocking the delivery van. This thwarts Archie�s suicide bid. Symbolically, the immigrant invasion and death or disease it poses to English identity turns into a rescue mission, with the immigrants saving the native Englishman. The implication is that salt-of-the-earth Archie is the best of British and, as such, representative of what is worth saving and worth keeping about England. Far from bringing filth and disease to Britain, the immigrants clean it up and save the Archies of this world from the scrap heap of history. He lives on to marry Clara Bowden, with whom he finds contentment. Clara�s mother, Hortense, is a fanatic Jehovah�s Witness. Her adherence to her religion is as quixotic as Samad Iqbal�s to his Islamic faith. Both joust with a nationalistic right-wing British government and an insecure, fragmenting society full of broken families and promiscuous youth. They seek moral comfort and security in their religions. However, some of their children can see different options. Clara and her daughter, Irie, know that the sun has set on the British Empire and manage to muster a modicum of freedom and direction in their lives, rather like Archie, who maintains his sanity and stability through a regime of control over the tiny details and routines of the everyday. If you have not lived in London in the last two decades, you could be forgiven for thinking that the contrast between Archie and Samad, Hortense, and Clara should be more extreme, because, unlike Archie�s, their lives are so unsheltered, so unprotected from the onslaught of racism and disadvantage that it seems to storm through their doors and windows. You could be forgiven for thinking it strains credibility to think that they and the likes of Archie can ever tolerate each other, much less form friendships, marriages or raise a new generation of Londoners together. Yet, they did, in the 1980s, when the government was failing the working class and new immigrant communities, and people had to overcome their differences and form unprecedented alliances in order to survive. It was happening in popular, grass-roots politics � for example, the alliance between the National Union of Mineworkers and black and Asian activists marked the first occasion on which black and white political activists -DQ /RZH ��� had united so solidly and publicly to defend themselves against the British state. It comes as no surprise, then, that their children, the present generation of under-twenty-fives, grew up in their nurseries transcending difference more than any other British generation before. No wonder, then, that in this novel the young Irie Jones of English and Jamaican parentage, the twins Magid and Millat Iqbal of Bengali parentage, and Joshua Chalfen of Jewish and Irish parentage are able to negotiate their difference as healthy hearts are tuned to beat. Their common English idiom bespeaks their commonality. Not so their parents, whose registers clash. Zadie Smith portrays the misunderstandings, mishaps and insurmountable struggles of an older immigrant generation with Standard English; how it constantly backfires on them in their frustrated attempts to negotiate British culture. It also puts their courage and heroism in the right perspective when they do garner triumphs out of their battles with Britain. The humour is in language itself, what happens to words and meaning when they do not connect us to each other easily. While insiders can get a legitimate laugh from this, it is not funny at all. It is a very serious matter indeed when outsiders view it as an incompetence with English, even as an incompetence of race, and use it viciously as happens with the Jones and Iqbal children, when their school sends them to deliver gifts to an elderly man, J.P. Hamilton. He subjects them to cruel racism by conveying his hatred to them in the guise of telling them how to keep teeth white. The novel takes its title from this scene, and reminds us that this generation, insiders though some might have become, still has to fight racism. While White Teeth celebrates difference, particularly the overcoming of cultural differences among the children of British immigrant groups, several generations on, it would be wrong to credit English liberal culture with their ability to do so. This message is unmistakable in the novel�s criticism of an English liberalism obsessed with political correctness, typified in the Chalfens� adoption of black and Asian children in a politically correct spirit, and their attempts to treat them as if they are white, middle class and privileged like them, with disastrous consequences. Conversely, Samad Iqbal, in an effort to raise his sons as good Muslims, takes the position that the English education system has nothing to offer them. He can only afford to send one son, Magid, back to Bangladesh to be educated. He overlooks the grief this causes Millat, who rejects schooling altogether. Magid returns to Britain later, not a good Muslim but turned into a caricature-westernized man. In Bangladesh, he gravitates towards the very Western influences his father sent him there to avoid. It is one of the novel�s dramatic tropes that the father separates the twins in an effort to ensure the continuity VPDOO D[H ��� of the Islamic faith in his family, but he misreads the global current of politics that blows the winds of change and continuity in the most unpredictable directions. The son he kept in Britain, Millat, turns into a fanatic Muslim who joins in the attacks on Salman Rushdie and The Satanic Verses. Magid, the son in whom he invested his dreams of Islamic integrity, rejects Islam for Western intellectual rationalism and Enlightenment thought. In this novel, liberalism, however radical, is the immigrants� curse, not their salvation; and blacks and Asians are caught between it and Thatcher�s conservatism, as if between the devil and the deep blue sea. The only source of real resistance seems to emanate from Caribbean culture and its legacy in the melting pot of Britain�s multicultural youth culture. Although the friendship between Samad and Archie takes centre stage early in the novel, it is really Irie Jones, third-generation Jamaican with an English father, who is the common link between this racially and culturally diverse cast of characters. From the point of view of its Caribbean characters, the history of their settlement in London that the novel conjures takes its starting point with the so-called Windrush generation. The area of London associated with their settlement is Notting Hill, where they had to fight on the streets during the 1950s for their right to settle. Now, Notting Hill appears much more fashionable and affluent, popular with intellectuals and artists, but they have second homes elsewhere and are not permanent residents. It is ironic that the film Notting Hill offered the vision of the place as a location where the glamour of the United States and the United Kingdom meet in the romance between Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. This is an artificial image. The American tourists who come to look for the glamour see old and young drug addicts stumbling round in the dirty, littered streets. The white people who are permanent residents are working class, and live mainly on the council estates, and they are not a thriving working class but blighted by drugs and poverty. Notting Hill epitomizes the intersections over time between race and class. So London encourages pretensions to sophistication, glamour, wealth and success which it fails to live up to for most Londoners. Yet these pretensions are so much a part of everyday life that all Londoners, black and white, rich and poor, walk the thin line between the promise and the illusion of class mobility, even when they live in one of the London boroughs almost entirely colonized by immigrants. Irie walks this line continually. So do the young who live in other similar boroughs, including Brent, Tower Hamlets, Hackney, Ealing, Lambeth and Newham. Southall and Wembley are Indian towns, Brixton and Acton are Caribbean, the East End is Bengali, Neasden is Nigerian, Golders Green is Jewish, Kilburn is Irish. Hounslow has taken the overspill -DQ /RZH ��� of South Asians in Southall, and in the last decade the Chinese community has been growing. The Oxford Street end of Edgware Road looks like a Middle Eastern bazaar with its large Arab population and shopfronts signposted in Arabic. The novel reminds us that it is not only the adults of Britain who must find answers to where they fit into its increasingly multicultural equation but also its youth, none more so than the likes of Irie, to whom the issues are not only political but also highly personal. The degrees to which the political issues are personal vary immensely in the lives of the adults, but in the lives of the young, there is hardly a gap in between. In an interview in the Brent Magazine, Zadie Smith stated, I was actually born in the Royal Free Hospital in Camden, but was brought up on the Brent side of Kilburn and in Willesden Green. Apart from a few years when I went to Cambridge University, I am a lifelong Brent resident and have no plans to ever leave . . . I am not a very good traveller. I hate being away from home, so I suppose you could say I miss everything about this area: my family, the streets, the sound, the spirit, and the community. Brent is a major source of strength and inspiration for me, so there�s not much I�d want to change. 1 Charles Dickens grew up in Camden, too. White Teeth is partly nineteenth century in the inspiration for its form, in the grand manner in which it modulates the inner-city London milieu, and its lofty humanism. The Dickensian echoes of the architecture and atmosphere of north-west London are unmistakable. In a Dickens novel, the individual is knitted into the social fabric of family and society and has nothing of the extreme autonomy and alienation we get in modern novels. For all the pressures on them, the characters in White Teeth fall short of suffering the alienation we expect them to, though it is evident in the black and Asian mad who walk the streets of Willesden. Dickens wrote about London as a city of migrants overcrowding its hovels and streets. Zadie Smith�s London at the end of the twentieth century is still a city of migrants, not only from the British Isles and Europe but also Asia, Africa, the Caribbean and the Middle East. Like Dickens, she sometimes uses the novel in a pamphleteering way, to draw attention to the plight of a rootless and disadvantaged underclass. She also sometimes draws minor characters, like Dickens, with swift strokes and packs them in like sardines to reflect the urban overcrowding of large sections of deprived north-west London. However, a nineteenth-century literary form is appropriated minimally, only to provide the barest frame in which to insert new, VPDOO D[H ��� 1 Zadie Smith, interview, Brent Magazine, May�June 2000. popular end-of-century idioms and remind us that while the nineteenth-century Victorian architecture and streets of Dickens�s London still exist, they are peopled by new immigrants whose origins are not Anglo-Saxon or Judaeo-Christian, and they are not just passing through but are as organic to London as Dickens�s people. A recent report from the Runnymede Trust made the headlines when it indicated that by the end of the twenty-first century white people will be a minority in Britain; the majority will be �mixed�, derived of the groups that people White Teeth. 2 In the novel, they are no longer the outsiders Zadie Smith�s precursors (the first, second and third generation of Caribbean and black British writers) have portrayed them as but insiders, however embattled. If the Runnymede Trust report is to be believed, by the end of this century, this novel will be viewed like a Dickens novel, as a social and cultural map of a London past. Zadie Smith has also been compared to Jane Austen. This is because of her fine and certain touch with drawing out how deeply the English class system resides in the heart and soul and how, when it does, you know that the characters are definitively English, woven into the fabric of English society. However, it is contradicted in Zadie Smith by a brand of cynicism about class that is very different from that of Jane Austen, and this is a clear indication that Smith is coming at Britain from a very different understanding of history and from a very different Britain. While she is capable of Austen�s ironic and witty flourishes, this has a harder edge, a late twentieth-century London edge, an almost twenty-first-century London where young people lack the inhibitions of Austen�s provincial nineteenth-century characters. Martin Amis is the British writer usually credited with writing London youth cynicism best. White Teeth�s cynicism is hardly of the Martin Amis school. It is far too politically and socially responsible and lacks his nihilism, though it is what we might expect of one of �Thatcher�s children�. The phrase �Thatcher�s children� ran like an anthem through the mid and late 1980s. They were an abandoned generation that seemed to escape into US rap music with its criminal overtones, vulgar and explicit sexual body language and consumerist obsession with designer sports clothing and cultural toys. For socialism, the writing was on the wall, and the wall crashed when Margaret Thatcher sent in the riot police to hammer both the miners in the north and the most troublesome immigrants at the time � the blacks in Brixton, Bristol and Leeds. It -DQ /RZH ��� 2 Runnymede Trust, �The Future of Multi-Ethnic Britain�, 11 October 2000. would take another decade for a real rather than symbolic wall to come tumbling down, in Berlin. In the meantime, in Britain, social institutions crashed like ninepins, including schools and the family. Margaret Thatcher underfunded and plunged schools and universities into crisis, subjected teachers to unacceptable levels of scrutiny then blamed them for incompetence. The children of that decade had to cope, in a sea of defeated parents. The phrase �broken families� denoted not a subculture but a national crisis. The choices for youth seemed to be, either a road to almost certain conservatism swotting for O levels, or escape into the body and its appetite for music and apparel that bespoke sex and more sex; or born-again Christianity and fundamentalist religion and politics. Few saw anything positive for this generation. Their defenders were to be found among cutting-edge sociologists who were redefining the discipline, breaking it up into new entities � cultural studies, media studies, communication studies, women�s studies � and tuning their antennae to new signs and portents of creativity among the young. In White Teeth a literary author speaks for the first time for �Thatcher�s children� and writes their semiotics at the heart of the modern English literary canon, where its prominent spokespersons have enshrined it enthusiastically. How ironic this is, for the vocabulary of academic literary criticism, for all its movement away from F.R. Leavis and its embracing of a few black British and Asian authors, is still too conservative here to take stock properly of White Teeth, which exposes the very class war and liberal pretensions that underpin English literary culture. White Teeth, for all its pastiche of the nineteenth-century novel, has its end-of-century semiotics buried too deep in British popular and media culture and writes idioms too far to the other side of Standard English on the sliding scale of Standard and Non-Standard that young Londoners speak. We have not seen this represented so completely in a literary novel before, not in the work of Hanif Kureshi or Salman Rushdie, because they slide along the scale too but not all of it like Zadie Smith. Her proficiency includes lower middle-class and working-class Non-Standard and Standard English, British Asian Standard and Non-Standard English, black Standard and Non-Standard English, Caribbean Standard and Non-Standard, as well as African American Standard and Non-Standard. She also brings into the meld the new Estuary English that breaks down the class distinction between the BBC Received Pronunciation Standard of west and north-west London and the outcrops of Surrey and Barnet to which they extend; and the lower-class idioms of east and south-east London, and the outcrop of Essex to VPDOO D[H ��� which their locals migrate on the shifting tides of change and continuity in class demographics. In addition to their ability to adapt along the sliding scale of class, the young also practise a more dynamic cultural mobility. It is apparent not only in their linguistic range but also their music culture, especially club and dance culture with its elaborate, dense codes of clothing and sexual mores which undergo several incarnations within one decade. To decode them in this novel, you would have to read the work of cultural studies and media and communication studies academics and intellectuals, and the master�s theses and doctoral dissertations of their graduate students who were living this life when not swotting. The youth culture in White Teeth existed two decades before the date of the novel�s publication, though you would think not, from the gasps of astonishment from literary critics as they discovered it for the first time in White Teeth when the twenty-first century opened. Because it jumps across walls of race and class in a manner typical of late twentieth-century multicultural youth culture in London, this novel will not obey attempts to fit it neatly and entirely into any past or present literary tradition since one by itself would be too narrow to accommodate its author�s polymorphous talent. Neglecting one of her talents runs the risk of distorting the whole. There is also the minor problem of Britain having yet to come to terms with the still largely misunderstood young of the 1980s, who are still derided as �Thatcher�s children�. Cynicism is to be expected in a writer of this generation, but it is a new and different cynicism we get from Zadie Smith, one that is typical of the young of her culturally and ethnically diverse background. Her London brand of cynicism is softened considerably by her respect for other people�s traditions and cultures and for the humanity of people, whatever their race, class or gender. Smith possesses a timeless maturity and sensitivity that makes her an �older� writer. She is as capable of writing like an English nineteenth-century writer, or speaking the idiom of a first-generation Jamaican, Bengali, Italian, or Jewish immigrant, as she is of writing stylishly as a twenty-first century young, cynical Londoner. White Teeth has plenty of evidence of Zadie Smith�s affinity with the nineteenth-century novel in her ability to pastiche Dickens�s crowded London streets, and Jane Austen�s drawing-room rituals of love, courtship and marriage as well as George Eliot�s social and documentary panoramas, her magisterial and expansive exposition of characters governed by their deep sense of the values of wider society and a struggle to maintain a position of prestige and be knitted into the wider scheme of public life. Ultimately, this demonstrates less that she is like Austen, or Dickens or -DQ /RZH ��� Eliot and more that she can write about the English class system and how it knits the personal and political in everyone, especially immigrants, who were not the primary subject of Martin Amis or those nineteenth-century authors. There is certainly no nineteenth-century female character like Irie Jones, for whom the struggle between the personal and political is written far more deeply into her skin and body than any girl in Austen, Dickens or Eliot. It inspires Zadie Smith to write some of the novel�s most moving passages: for example, Irie�s search in the stores and hairdressers of Willesden for hair-straightening products. For Irie, what should be part of ordinary, innocent everyday ablutions (looking after your hair) turns into political crises that slap her so hard in her face, political consciousness-raising is a necessity, a question of survival, and not a choice that can wait for the next century to come around. The same is true for Neena Iqbal, Samad�s niece. Neena is a lesbian who has �come out� within the Muslim community and suffers no fate greater than having flung in her face continually the nickname �Niece of No Shame�. It takes as much courage for Neena to come out as it takes for Irie to fall in love with Samad�s son. Zadie Smith never exploits this to score points for feminist political correctness. The novel does not demonstrate the transition from race to class and to culture without interrogating the risks involved. White Teeth is equally interested in Marcus Chalfen as a third-generation Jewish immigrant as it is in him as a scientist who has achieved a secure position at Oxford University, and in knitting him back into the society of other immigrants. He desires to stay as far ahead in his profession as he can, so he breeds a new strain of a genetically advanced mouse, in the same spirit as he and his wife are raising an intellectually superior breed of Chalfen children. Their neurotic overreaching of themselves exposes how, in spite of their professional success, they are still, at heart, afraid of racism, still insecure Jewish and Irish immigrants who must ever prove their indispensability to society or face rejection. They are therefore as psychologically, if not socially and materially, insecure as the Asians and blacks in down-market Willesden who are struggling up the ladder of class and culture to join them among the successful middle class. The repressed Chalfen insecurities are buried in the deep past, in the historical experience of European Jews whose presence in Britain was recorded in the thirteenth century when in 1290 King Edward banned them from Lincoln, York and London and sent them abroad; and in the historical experience of the Irish whose relationship to British culture is still afflicted by unresolved political power struggles dating back to earlier times. Today, acceptance still eludes the Chalfens, for they can never achieve what they aspire to and are forced to mimic the culture of English liberal intellectuals VPDOO D[H ��� and become distorted by it. The liberalism of the anglicized Jew, Marcus Chalfen, and the anglicized Irishwoman, Joyce Chalfen, backfires on them and reminds them that they are still victims of racism; in the same way that Samad Iqbal�s patriarchal and dictatorial strategies to manoeuvre his sons around British racism also backfire on him. This is inevitable and drives home the fact that as long as the communities they originate from remain politically powerless, their struggles to survive and succeed are thankless. Unlike Marcus, who has given up Judaism, Samad wants Islam to guide his daily conduct but, unstable and promiscuous, individualistic London presents him with the nightmare of temptations of defilement that make it impossible for him to contain his libido, bad temper and barely controlled love of alcohol and drugs. He blames his profane appetites on British culture and sees neocolonialism everywhere, always threatening to undermine him, even in the bastion of his home, where the only authority he wields is that of father and husband. The ability of a Jewish and Muslim immigrant to adapt to London is placed under further pressure by the ripples of the political conflicts of the Middle East. North-west London became a magnet for Muslim communities only in the latter half of the twentieth century. Can Muslims and Jews there live peacefully together while in the Middle East, they are at war? The author is sceptical about the ability of the English liberal tradition to mediate between them, a scepticism obvious in her portrait of Marcus, who hides behind his English liberal�s façade a Messiah complex. He wants to change the world but cannot find potential converts among the children of those with roots in a Judaeo-Christian culture � for example, his students at Oxford � so he exerts his influence on the impressionable children of Asian Muslims and African Caribbean Jehovah�s Witnesses. Archie Jones appears to have become what Enoch Powell feared and what Margaret Thatcher and right-wing English nationalists fear most � the deculturated English person, without a tribal or group identity, mixing only with the immigrants. Is this the reality or a figment of racial paranoia? The novel teases you with this question. Smith�s portrait of an Englishman is more detailed and sustained than V.S. Naipaul�s portrait of Mr Stone in �Mr Stone and the Knight�s Companion�. Like Mr Stone, Archie�s life mirrors the end of Empire, but, unlike Mr Stone, he is not set adrift by the subsequent loss of identity, for it is so entirely dispensable to him. He certainly stands in the novel as a trope of the British national psyche. Archie has given up trying to be anything, but, ironically, it helps him avoid the hubris suffered by those who tilt at the windmills of race, class and sex. Hubris is certainly the risk immigrants run in their jousting over the politics of identity. There are voices in the novel that alert the -DQ /RZH ��� protagonists to its pitfalls. Zadie Smith pays homage to the first generation of Jamaicans in her portrait of Clarence and Denzel, two Jamaican old timers. They are so old they are almost dead, but they function like a chorus in the novel. They sit in a corner of O�Connell�s Café on the Finchley Road and comment on life as it passes by, but they are like oracles. They see all, know all and say all in Jamaican Creole. Their presence in the novel gives it an aura of myth � these ancestral archetypes, casting their vision at everyone and everything, endowing them with meaning and significance beyond this life. Unlike their parents, Irie�s generation has not grown up in the shadow of the British Empire but in a time of its ebbing that, however embattled, actually provides them breathing space to acquire a sense of the possibility of race barriers loosening, even as they meet the class barriers no one can escape, not even the culturally polymorphous young. In this lull, they get to acquire an unusual brand of confidence about negotiating race, class and culture, new in their generation both in the novel and in actuality. The novel gives the impression that they have experienced London as a genuine melting pot, however troubled. In their schools, streets and the spaces they can appropriate they do syncretize new friendships, new love affairs, new linguistic and musical idioms and are even trying to evolve a new politics, however awkwardly. Their new world is half their parents� but half entirely theirs. Their liberal, well-meaning teachers, who are busy planning for them a fictional and hypothetical multicultural future constructed from politically correct equality policies and programmes, are blissfully unaware that their charges already have it covered. It remains to be seen how far this new confidence gets them. If Zadie Smith�s confidence and authority is anything to go by, the future is promising. Like James Joyce syncretizing the Irish idiom with that of Greek mythology, and Derek Walcott the Caribbean idiom with Greek mythology and Shakespearean verse, Zadie Smith syncretizes Jamaican Creole, Bengali English, and the public school and Oxford Standard English of the Chalfens. She also mixes in the new multicultural English idiom of youth culture. There are also the idioms of religion. Hortense and Samad are frustrated preachers, quoting directly from the Koran or Jehovah�s Witness doctrines or integrating it into everyday conversations. But even the �secular� characters are influenced by religion, even if they do not know it. Marcus Chalfen�s Messiah complex makes him use science like Old Testament religion, to convert the world to the Utopia he wants to live in. For all his scientific rationalism, his voice, his dreams and plans have the urgency of Old Testament prose. Hortense Bowden, Samid Iqbal and Marcus Chalfen cast long shadows over their families and drive them to VPDOO D[H ��� justify everything they do in religious or quasi-religious terms. No wonder the English registers of their children betray roots in preaching traditions, and this is reinforced by the influence of African American and Caribbean music on them, with its roots in �truth telling� or �telling it like it is�. All this directness means that the truth is never far from the surface, especially political truth. White Teeth takes us along the Thames, on the buses, in Trafalgar Square, walking in the footprints of Dickens�s Londoners, but we hear the new voices of a new world and new Londoners in the voices of anglicized European Jews and Irish, Asian, African and Caribbean immigrants and their progeny. This is the second first novel by a writer of Caribbean origin Salman Rushdie has endorsed (Pauline Melville�s The Ventriloquist�s Tale was the first). This and White Teeth�s moving portrayal of the struggle and failure of a Bengali Muslim to raise his family in London in the Muslim faith lead commentators to compare Zadie Smith and Salman Rushdie in terms that cast her as �the next Salman Rushdie�, and to view White Teeth as a kind of Satanic Verses, Mark II, as if she were following deliberately in Rushdie�s footsteps. It is misleading because White Teeth is not strictly about Samad Iqbal and his family. It is easy to lose sight of Irie, who is actually holding the whole novel together. The novel is suffused with her stylized cynicism. It is at root the cynicism of the immigrant�s London, laced with the courage and toughness one generation passes on to another. You can laugh as much as you like at the jokes (and there�s at least a laugh a page), you can thrill to the delightfully exuberant inventiveness of its language as much as you like, and you may admire the courage and guts of its characters too, but you can never forget the bitter struggles, defeats and loss of older generations and the countries they came from, nor can you forget that racism is as bad as ever in London and the world. The memory of the third generation enshrines the bitter history of the ancestors and inherits its cynicism in spite of reaping the rewards of their struggle. It is from history that the cynicism of White Teeth emanates, from an inability to ever trust London completely, to ever really believe that its sparkling, witty surface is safe enough ground. It is a complex tale of London that Zadie Smith weaves, and to get to the complexity you have to negotiate its cynical view of how London has treated its black and Asian immigrants as well as its celebration of what they have bequeathed London � this dubious place, this half-hell, half-heaven. The key to explaining the importance of the novel and why it has made such a huge impact in Britain is found in decoding its semiotics, couched so deeply in popular language rendered in an extremely formal and sensitive literary style, of what it was for a new non-privileged generation (born in the mid 1970s) to grow up in -DQ /RZH ��� London in the fissures of the Thatcher era when an older Britain was fragmenting or cracking up but its most nationalistic patriots were pretending the opposite by taking on the Falklands War. What was it like to be so young and realize the only future for you was to take what was not tainted by Thatcherism and find out for yourself where the new Britain actually lay, then grow yourself up from the creative components to be found on the rubbish heap of British history where Thatcher disposed of everything she found unacceptable, especially immigrants and the working class? This was the challenge for Zadie Smith�s misunderstood generation, growing up in a world where the adults lost their way. VPDOO D[H ��� 
work_n7mkbm26tzd5pbibkg546fp5yu	----	Beyond Romance: Re-reading the “Lives” of Lady Anne Halkett (1621/2-1699) Edinburgh Research Explorer Beyond Romance? Citation for published version: Trill, S 2009, 'Beyond Romance? Re-Reading the ‘Lives’ of Anne, Lady Halkett (1621/2?-1699)', Literature Compass, vol. 6, no. 2, pp. 446-459. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1741-4113.2008.00605.x Digital Object Identifier (DOI): 10.1111/j.1741-4113.2008.00605.x Link: Link to publication record in Edinburgh Research Explorer Document Version: Peer reviewed version Published In: Literature Compass Publisher Rights Statement: © Trill, S. (2009). Beyond Romance?: Re-Reading the ‘Lives’ of Anne, Lady Halkett (1621/2?-1699). Literature Compass, 6(2), 446-459 doi: 10.1111/j.1741-4113.2008.00605.x General rights Copyright for the publications made accessible via the Edinburgh Research Explorer is retained by the author(s) and / or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing these publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy The University of Edinburgh has made every reasonable effort to ensure that Edinburgh Research Explorer content complies with UK legislation. If you believe that the public display of this file breaches copyright please contact openaccess@ed.ac.uk providing details, and we will remove access to the work immediately and investigate your claim. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1741-4113.2008.00605.x https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1741-4113.2008.00605.x https://www.research.ed.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/beyond-romance(e18e6bf8-cd3c-4e45-b78a-6a1717ddd8ee).html © Trill, S. (2009). Beyond Romance?: Re-Reading the ‘Lives’ of Anne, Lady Halkett (1621/2?- 1699). Literature Compass, 6(2), 446-459 doi: 10.1111/j.1741-4113.2008.00605.x Beyond Romance? Re-reading the ‘Lives’ of Anne, Lady Halkett (1621/2?-1699) Suzanne Trill, University of Edinburgh If you are not among the somewhat select group of ‘devoted Halkettites’, it is quite possible that Anne, Lady Halkett is totally unknown to you.1 If, however, you are familiar with her name it is most likely to be because of her connection with Colonel Joseph Bampfield.2 Famously, Halkett assisted Bampfield in his daring plan to rescue the Duke of York (later James II & VII) from his imprisonment in St James’s Palace in 1648 by procuring female clothing to disguise him for his journey to the Continent. One reason that Halkett’s association with Bampfield has come to dominate critical responses to her life is that it is her own narration of this event which has been included in the canon-making Norton Anthology of English Literature.3 While Halkett does describe this event in great detail, it represents a tiny fraction of the text from which it is selected: that is, Halkett’s own autobiographical narrative, which is variously referred to as her Autobiography or Memoirs.4 Even when commentators have read the full narrative, however, it is usually described as being divided into three sections, each of which are defined by Halkett’s relationship with her suitors (respectively, Thomas Howard, Colonel Joseph Bampfield, and Sir James Halkett). The prevailing critical practice, therefore, is to privilege ‘romance’ as the key to understanding Halkett’s life and writing. Of these three relationships, most critical attention has focused on Halkett’s liaison with Bampfield. Unfortunately, although the exact nature of their relationship has not been definitively established this association placed Halkett in a precarious position. For ‘despite his proposal of marriage and his repeated reassurances that his first wife was dead, it became apparent that he was not telling the truth … [and] Halkett thus inadvertently found herself in 2 a potentially adulterous relationship’.5 Furthermore, as I discuss below, the mystery surrounding this relationship is further compounded by an apparently crucial missing page in Halkett’s extant narrative. Intriguing as this may be, a disproportionate amount of critical ink has been spent on this issue. This focus is particularly curious when it is contrasted with the current lack of reference to the other twenty-one manuscript volumes Halkett produced during her lifetime.6 In her groundbreaking article, ‘Ann Halkett’s Morning Devotions: Posthumous Publication and the Culture of Writing in late Seventeenth-Century Britain,’ Margaret J. M. Ezell cogently reminded the critical community that Halkett was a prolific, almost daily, writer from 1648-1699. Ezell rightly argued that the existence of these volumes provides ‘a completely different profile of Anne Halkett as a writer’ than that which dominates modern criticism, as ‘instead of being a single, fragmentary text, the Civil War memoirs in fact are a small part of a lifelong literary career’ (2000, 216). Despite this, with the notable exceptions of Ezell, Mary Ellen Lamb, Susan Wiseman, and I the overwhelming majority of current published criticism remains curiously resistant to extending Halkett’s ‘canon’. Consequently, the image of Halkett which dominates current criticism is of ‘a spirited, if somewhat misguided, royalist heroine whose main aim in life was to find fulfillment in romantic love’ (Trill, ed. Lady xvii). In contrast, my edition reveals that ‘Halkett sought to (re)construct herself in accordance with the rather more solemn, biblical example of “a Widow Indeed”’ (Trill, ed. Lady, xviii). At first glance this might seem to suggest that I endorse the more pious image of Halkett established in the Life of the Lady Halket, which has been dismissed as ‘hagiographic’.7 Rather I seek to nuance our understanding of Halkett’s life and writing by re-inscribing an awareness of the political implications of her religious identifications. That this is perhaps a new trend in Halkett studies is suggested by the simultaneous publication of an important, revisionary, essay by 3 Lamb.8 In what follows, I aim to trace the way in which critical paradigms – past and present – have limited our understanding of both Halkett’s life and writing. This essay seeks to explain why the romance paradigm is so dominant in Halkett studies and to indicate areas of further research which might enable critics to move beyond it. In the process, I hope to provide a fuller answer to Wiseman’s question: ‘which of Halkett’s texts have been circulated and what has that circulation emphasized, what effaced?’9 1. The ‘Romance’ Paradigm. In modern terms, circulation is usually associated with publication.10 Although the Life included an abbreviated version of Halkett’s narrative and, at times, cites it verbatim, the first published edition of the full text was John Gough Nichols’s The Autobiography of Anne, Lady Halkett (1875). Significantly, Nichols died before completing that volume. In that (doubly posthumous) edition, a selection of Halkett’s other writings were included but Nichols’s extensive notes suggest he may have intended to make them a more prominent part of it.11 The title of this edition is undoubtedly important, as Halkett first received critical attention by early twentieth-century scholars trying to trace the emergence of autobiography as a genre.12 While not the only early modern woman to be discussed in these critical tomes, Halkett is frequently singled out and unanimously applauded for her psychological perceptiveness and her narrative skills which are, almost universally, acclaimed for their stylistic anticipation of a surprising range of eighteenth- and nineteenth-century novelists.13 Despite comparison with Richardson, Scott and Defoe, some early commentators also observe that her narrative was imbued with ‘femininity’:14 of these, Margaret Bottrall accords her most space but values the narrative because what Halkett chose to record ‘was just the 4 sort of thing that lingers in the mind of the average woman’ (152). In this context, it is, I think, admonitory to note that it was Bottrall who began the trend for associating Halkett’s text with specific characters and events in the novels of Jane Austen.15 These early studies also established the prevailing predilection for dividing Halkett’s narrative into three sections. In 1930, Donald A. Stauffer declared that it is ‘a relation of the important incidents in her life, principally of her three love affairs, with Thomas Howard, Colonel Bampfield, and Sir James Halkett’ (212). The majority of succeeding critics still invoke this convenient tri-partite division, which inevitably implies that it is her romantic attachments which constitute the organizing principle of Halkett’s narrative; hence, David Stevenson’s essay is entitled ‘A Lady and Her Lovers: Anne, Lady Halkett’ (1996) and Sharon Cadman Seelig comments that ‘the narrative might be marketed as “The Life and Loves of the Lady Anne Halkett”’ (2006, 113).16 The persistence of this perspective is partially attributable to the publication of John Loftis’s influential edition, The Memoirs of Anne, Lady Halkett and Ann, Lady Fanshawe (1979).17 For while he notes that Halkett ‘wrote with intense piety and with a troubled conscience’ Loftis maintains that her narrative is ‘above all a study in personal relationships’ (ix, x). Although he recognizes an ‘occasional’ reference to the wider world, Loftis concentrates on Halkett’s relationship with Bampfield (which, for him, ‘dominates the surviving portion of her Memoirs’ (xi)). Crucially, he also posed a question which remains a bone of considerable contention: ‘Was Anne Murray the mistress of Colonel Bampfield?’18 In seeking to answer this question, Loftis is the first to make explicit reference to the fragmentary nature of the manuscript and posed another question which remains the subject of intense scholarly speculation: what might have been contained in the missing pages, who removed them, and why? (xiii-xiv). Unfortunately, in connecting the missing pages with the question of the exact nature of Bampfield and 5 Halkett’s relationship, one of Loftis’s main legacies is to encourage a reading of Halkett’s narrative as a (potentially) scandalous memoir.19 From Bottrall’s suggestion that Bampfield was ‘the love of her life’ (154), through Loftis’s edition of Bampfield’s Apology, to Ottway’s comparative analysis of the two texts and Judith Kearns’s ‘Fashioning Innocence’, Halkett’s life is, it seems, inextricably connected to her relationship with Colonel Joseph Bampfield. While this incident is undoubtedly significant, it is regrettable that it has been allowed to epitomize Halkett’s ‘life’: for, as Wiseman notes, her narrative ‘has to negotiate the fact that the incident on which her personal and political credit is founded, Halkett’s aid to the Stuarts was bound up with the very circumstance which threatened to undermine it – her involvement with Bampfield’ (‘Most considerable’, 33). Wiseman has convincingly argued that Halkett’s ‘narrative implicitly answers sexual slurs on political, rather than sexual, terrain’ and has done much to assist in the re-politicization of Halkett’s life and writing. However, by focusing on the broader contemporary inter-connections between royalism and romance, Wiseman is unable to exorcise the spectre of Bampfield which haunts nearly all modern critical engagement with Halkett’s narrative.20 The speculation about the nature of Halkett’s romantic attachments has encouraged some critics to try and establish how her narrative style and structure relates to contemporary generic conventions of romance. As Halkett is often identified as an embryonic novelist, most criticism in this area examines how she deploys the specific conventions of contemporary prose romances. Given the implicit association of Halkett’s narrative with scandal, it is interesting to note that Rippl suggests it ‘resembles a French “nouvelle” more than contemporary romances’(13). Nevertheless, Kearns makes the most comprehensive case for reading the narrative with reference to the classic definition of 6 romance articulated by Northrop Frye (346). While Kearns emphasizes prose romances, she later asserts that in ‘authorizing female self-reliance and ingenuity, Halkett may well be drawing on conventions of romantic comedy of the period’ (350). This argument is extended by Kim Walker who was convinced that Halkett’s sense of self was ‘defined by relationship with the romantic drama of her youth’.21 Importantly, underlying these attempts at generic classification is the desire to discover what motivated Halkett to write her narrative in the first place. Whereas the earliest commentators are not that concerned with this question, it is addressed at great length in nearly every essay or article published after 1980. The ‘mystery’ of Halkett’s motivations is usually coupled with speculation about her intended audience. The key question here is whether or not Halkett intended her narrative for publication. The earliest commentators tended to assume that, because it remained in manuscript, it was a private document which would only have circulated amongst family and friends. Although this position is reiterated in some recent criticism, it is far more frequent for them to note the extent to which the narrative seems to anticipate a wider audience. 22 Significantly, a number of critics emphasize that whatever the intended audience, the narrative’s ‘dominant ideological motif is the protagonist’s integrity, her attempt to evaluate and ultimately justify her own actions’ (Seelig, 113). The degree of Halkett’s success in achieving this objective is another matter of debate. In part, critical opinion on this point rests on how the reader responds to Halkett’s ingenuity in two frequently cited episodes: Thomas Howard and the blindfold incident and Halkett’s final conversation with Bampfield.23 More often, however, this issue arises with reference to the fragmentary nature of the extant narrative. While many critics have commented its abrupt ending, rather less has been said about the missing page at the 7 opening of her text.24 Subject to far greater scholarly speculation are the other pages missing from the extant manuscript: according to Halkett’s own pagination two pages are missing between the end of the Howard and the beginning of the Bampfield narratives, and two further pages are missing after Sir James Halkett informs his future wife that Mrs Bampfield is definitely still alive. Admittedly, it is tantalizing that these pages should be missing at potentially crucial places, especially for those critics intent on discovering the specific nature of Halkett’s relationship with Bampfield. However, it is rather unnecessary to ‘try to make a whole of what is left, filling in the gaps with our imagination’ (Seelig 130), particularly when the imaginative leaps concerned are often unsubstantiated flights of fancy.25 More importantly, as a number of critics including Seelig have suggested, the missing pages raise the question of why – and by whom – the narrative appears to have been censored? While some critics have suggested these missing pages indicate Halkett’s own self- censorship, others put the case for external censorship.26 Wherever responsibility may lie, the general critical consensus for the reasons for the internal omissions is that ‘someone – perhaps one of Halkett’s heirs – thought she had been a little too frank on the subject of her relations with Bampfield’ (Seelig, 130). Seelig continues by asserting that whoever was responsible, s/he removed ‘what are arguably the most interesting pages of the manuscript’. Thus, even the discussion of the text’s materiality is informed by the desire to know the ‘true’ nature of Halkett’s relationship with Bampfield, again reinforcing the notion that Halkett’s narrative is primarily concerned with her romantic attachments. This assumption is also apparent in the critical insistence that the ‘narrative breaks off abruptly in 1656, the year of her marriage’ which is interpreted as demonstrating that Halkett ‘recognizes that, with the achievement of a peacetime marriage, her active heroism ends’.27 8 2. Beyond ‘Romance’: Royalism and Religion. However, strictly speaking the ‘memoirs’ do not end with the curtain of marriage but with Halkett acting as intercessor between her new husband and the Cromwellian rulers of Edinburgh, in attempt to prevent him from being imprisoned for refusing to act as a Justice of the Peace.28 It is, therefore, more accurate to claim that Halkett’s narrative ends on a political note; thus, while she is now a wife rather than a ‘maid’, Halkett manifestly does not desist from engagement with the wider world or cease to view herself as an active agent in contemporary affairs.29 As Wiseman has noted, the focus on romance has occluded Halkett’s active political identification as a royalist. One reason for this is that readers such as Seelig find ‘the latter section of the autobiography’ to be ‘generally less consistent, less focused, and less highly patterned than the earlier part of the narrative’ (123). It is my contention that it is not that Halkett’s narrative becomes ‘less highly patterned’ but rather that the text refuses the romantic paradigm which has wrongly been imposed upon it.30 Halkett’s royalism is not the only aspect of her text which remains unrecognized: for, in common with her contemporaries, Halkett’s political beliefs are founded on her religious affiliation. While the devotional nature of the surviving first sentence has been noted, this is usually accompanied by a sigh of relief and contented exclamations that fortunately such pious concerns do not impinge on the narrative under discussion.31 For the overwhelming majority of critics, therefore, Halkett’s writing is unproblematically defined as secular. This assumption leads to some curious critical contortions as scholars struggle to accommodate the fact that Halkett ‘speaks again and again of guilt, sin, damnation and divine providence’ (Rippl, 10). Thankfully, Lamb has recently demonstrated that it is ‘not necessary to choose between the sacred and the secular’ (‘Merging,’ 82). Furthermore, she eloquently argues that 9 ‘with its coexisting secular and devotional versions of selfhood, Halkett’s Memoirs provide ideal material for a study of the entanglements possible between subject positions’ (83). Crucially, Lamb concludes that when ‘approach[ing] a work such as Halkett’s Memoirs, it is important to consider religion as a productive rather than a repressive force’ (94). Unfortunately, despite extensive research which has firmly established this possibility, many modern scholars do not share this point of view. Resistance to ‘religion’ has played a major part in establishing ‘romance’ as the key to Halkett’s narrative. Such resistance is clearly visible in Walker’s article comparing Halkett’s narrative with Simon Couper’s Life of the Lady Halket.32 Walker objects to his emphasis upon Halkett’s ‘religious “Piety and Vertue”” and asserts that it is ‘clearly a hagiographical text concerned to mark out an exemplary (gendered) subject whose religious devotion may be imitated’ (133- 4). As Wiseman and I have demonstrated, the Life is undoubtedly marked by Couper’s own religious affiliation and contemporary political exigencies.33 However, unpalatable as this may be to modern critics, his account of her life is closer to Halkett’s own self-conception than their cherished image of the romantic heroine. Importantly, Halkett gave all of her manuscripts to Couper, and two other Episcopalian ministers, with the express intention that ‘if they thought fitt’ they would posthumously publish her writing.34 This means that when writing his biography Couper had access to all of the volumes indexed at the end of the Life. Others have noted that he cites directly from the ‘Memoirs’; importantly, however, he also paraphrases liberally from the fourteen extant manuscripts currently deposited at the National Library of Scotland.35 Arguably even more significantly, this decision on Halkett’s part makes it absolutely clear that she intended her writing to circulate publically after her death. 10 3. Re-reading the ‘lives’ of Lady Anne Halkett: Beyond ‘Romance’. As Ezell, Lamb, Wiseman and I have demonstrated, in order to deepen our understanding of Halkett’s life and writing it is crucial to relocate Halkett’s ‘autobiography’ or ‘memoir’ in the context of her devotional writing. Given the extent of her corpus, this will take time and extensive scholarship, but reading this material has already enabled me to pose solutions to questions which have so far been the matter of speculation. Not only did Halkett definitely envisage a broader circulation of her texts than has so far been suggested, but she also comments on her motivation for writing in the first place and, perhaps more importantly, provides us with her intended title for her best known text. While modern editors and critics have variously referred to her text as an ‘autobiography’ or a ‘memoir’, my recent edition reveals that Halkett herself defines it as ‘a True accountt of my life’ (xxxvi). Therefore, like many other contemporary female writers (including those as socially diverse as Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle and Anna Trapnel) Halkett self-consciously writes to set the record straight. While the textual impulse toward self-justification has not gone unnoticed, critics have frequently found it difficult to explain. Furthermore, this title suggests that, despite the modern critical desire to focus on her romantic intrigues, Halkett herself saw herself as involved in the practice of self-accounting, more usually associated with the spiritual autobiography or conversion narrative.36 Other factors have also influenced the reception and transmission of Halkett’s writing. The text which has received most attention is deposited at the British Library, London; the ‘Religious Meditations’ at the National Library of Scotland, Edinburgh. The bias toward the former text is indicative of a broader Anglo-centrism which underlies most accounts of Halkett’s life and writing. A glance at the title of the books in which Halkett’s 11 writing has been discussed demonstrates that she is predominantly identified as ‘English’.37 However, the Scottish dimensions of her textual production require further attention. Scottish by ancestry, Halkett’s initially arrived in Scotland as a political exile in 1650. As a result of her marriage to Sir James Halkett, Laird of Pitfirrane and her extensive widowhood (spent predominantly in Dunfermline, Fyfe) Halkett ended up spending approximately two- thirds of her life in Scotland. With the exception of one small octavo volume, all of Halkett’s extant manuscripts – including the ‘True accountt’ - were written while she lived in Scotland. Nevertheless, Halkett continued to identify herself as English. Indeed, even her choice of name, poses problems. In seventeenth-century Scotland it was not common for married women to adopt their husband’s surnames; in choosing to do so, therefore, Halkett effectively reinforces her English cultural identity.38 Finally, her Church of England upbringing made her an ally of the Episcopalians, in a county (and country) which was predominantly Presbyterian. Halkett’s life and writing does not, it seems, fit easily into many of our pre-existing critical categories. With the majority of her texts deposited in a Scottish library, most English researchers have not seen the need to make a trip to the NLS to consult them. And, because Halkett is usually identified as English, her texts have been largely ignored by those interested in Scottish history and Literature. The focus on her involvement in the escape of the Duke of York means that Halkett is most commonly discussed within the context of the wars of the Three Kingdoms. However, as has been widely noted her ‘True accountt’ was actually written in 1677-8, so it might more readily be understood within a Restoration context. Add to this Couper’s Life and his posthumous publication of a selection of her writings and, in terms of publication history, Halkett’s writing is arguably more properly located in the ‘eighteenth century’. 12 The general resistance to ‘religion’ may also partially explain why Halkett’s devotional writing has received little critical attention so far. Nestled within the extensive Pitfirrane Papers, Halkett’s NLS volumes are succinctly defined as ‘Religious Meditations’. However, my edition provides some indication of the breadth of material which is actually covered under this umbrella classification. I argue that these volumes are ‘stylistically sophisticated’, provide ‘detailed insights into Halkett’s life and experiences as a wife, mother and widow from 1659-1699’, and demonstrate her ongoing engagement with political and religious debates (xviii). According to Halkett’s own classification, her other extant writings are divided into ‘Select’ and ‘Occasional’ Meditations. Ezell’s discussion of Halkett’s own indexing processes is instructive in its exploration of the inter-relationship of manuscript and print practices in the late seventeenth century. However, more work remains to be done on this topic, especially in relation to Couper’s listing of Halkett’s ‘Books’. Given that all critics agree that Couper had access to the ‘True accountt’ when he wrote the Life, it is curious that only I have commented on the fact that it does not appear in that listing. Couper’s descriptions of the extant volumes are generally highly accurate but his list also includes extensive descriptions of volumes which are now missing. More so than the missing pages in the ‘True accountt’, these missing volumes raise ‘perplexing questions about censorship and self-censorship’.39 Whereas Seelig claims that our ‘utter lack of knowledge’ (130) means that we have either to accept the ‘gaps’ in Halkett’s ‘True accountt’ or fill them by an act of critical imagination, this is manifestly not the case. There are extensive, material resources which can help us to understand Halkett’s ‘lives’ and her writing, if we take the time to examine the available records.40 Inevitably, they will not provide answers to all the existing ‘perplexing questions’ posited by Seelig and others; indeed, it is likely that they will instead provoke 13 others. In contrast to the current tendency to focus on Halkett’s ‘life’ as articulated in the singular (and with reference to a single text), it is vital that we pay more attention to the plurality of Halkett’s ‘lives’.41 Together these texts clearly demonstrate that while modern critics have been obsessed with romance, Halkett herself was far more preoccupied with royalism and religion. Works Cited Botonaki, Effie. 1999. Seventeenth-Century Englishwomen's Spiritual Diaries: Self- Examination,Covenanting, and Account Keeping. Sixteenth Century Journal 30 (1):3-21. ———. 2004. Seventeenth-Century English Women’s Autobiographical Writings: Disclosing Enclosures, Studies in British Literature. USA: Edwin Mellen Press. Bottrall, Margaret. 1958. Every Man a Phoenix. London: John Murray. Breashears, Caroline. 2003. Scandalous Categories: Classifying the Memoirs of Unconventional Women. Philological Quarterly 82:187-2000. C[ouper], S[imon]. 1701. Life of the Lady Halket. Edinburgh. Delany, Paul. 1969. British Autobiography in the Seventeenth Century. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Ebner, Dean. 1971. Autobiography in Seventeenth-Century England: Theology and the Self. The Hague, Paris: Mouton. Ezell, Margaret J. M. 1993. Writing Women's Literary History. Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press. ———. 2000. Ann Halkett's Morning Devotions: Posthumous Publication and the Culture of Writing in Late Seventeenth-Century Britain. In Print, Manuscript, Performance: The Changing Relations of the Media in Early Modern England, edited by A. F. Marotti and M. D. Bristol. Columbus: Ohio State University Press. ———. 2002. The Posthumous Publication of Women's Manuscripts and the History of Authorship. In Women's Writing and the Circulation of Ideas: Manuscript Publication in England, 1550-1800, edited by G. L. Justice and N. Tinker. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Findley, Sandra, and Elaine Hobby. 1981. Seventeenth-Century Women's Autobiography. In Literature and Power in the Seventeenth Century, edited by F. Barker. Essex: University of Essex. Halkett, Anne. 1986. Springing the Duke. In Norton Anthology of English Literature. New York & London: Norton. Kearns, Judith. 2004. Fashioning Innocence: Rhetorical Construction of Character in the Memoirs of Anne, Lady Halkett. Texas Studies in Literature and Language 46 (3):340-62. Keeble, Neil H. 1995. Obedient Subjects? The Loyal Self in some later Seventeenth- Century Royalist Women's Memoirs. In Culture and Society in the Stuart 14 Restoration: Literature, Drama, History, edited by G. Maclean. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lamb, Mary Ellen. 2007. Merging the Secular and the Spiritual in Lady Anne Halkett's Memoirs. In Genre and Women's Life Writing in Early Modern England, edited by M. M. Dowd and J. A. Eckerle. Aldershot: Ashgate. Landry, Donna. 1996. Eroticizing the Subject, or Royals in Drag: Reading the Memoirs of Anne, Lady Halkett. In The Intersections of the Public and Private Spheres in Early Modern England, edited by P. Backsheider and T. Dystal. London: Frank Cass. Loftis, John. 1993. Bampfield's Later Career: A Biographical Supplement. Lewisburg: Bucknell University Press. Loftis, John C, ed. 1979. The Memoirs of Anne, Lady Halkett and Ann. Lady Fanshawe. Oxford: Clarendon. Moody, Ellen. 2006a. 'Cast out from respectability a while:' Anne Murray Halkett's Life in the Manuscripts. Review of Reviewed Item., http://www.jimandellen.org/halkett/CastOut.html. ———. 2006b. 'A Hole in the Manuscript big enough to put your finger through:' the misframing of Anne Murray Halkett's autobiography. Review of Reviewed Item., http://www.jimandellen.org/halkett/AHole.html. Nichols, John G., ed. 1875. The Autobiography of Anne Lady Halkett. London: Camden Society. Ottway, Sheila. 1998. Desiring Disencumbrance. Gronigen. ———. 2000. 'They Only Lived Twice': Public and Private Selfhood in the Autobiographies of Anne, Lady Halkett and Colonel Joseph Bampfield. In Betraying Our Selves: Forms of Self-Representation in Early Modern English Texts, edited by H. Dragtstra. Basingstoke: Macmillan. Potter, Lois. 1989. Secret Rites and Secret Writing: Royalist literature, 1641-1660 Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rippl, Gabriele. 1997. 'The Conflict Betwixt Love and Honor': The Autobiography of Anne, Lady Halkett. In Feminist Contributions to the Literary Canon: Setting Standards of Taste, edited by S. Fendler. Rose, Mary Beth. 2002. Gender and Heroism in Early Modern English Literature. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Seelig, Sharon. 2006. Autobiography and Gender in Early Modern Literature: Reading Women's Lives, 1600-1680. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shumaker, Wayne. 1954. English Autobiography: Its Emergence, Materials, and Forms. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of Califonia Press. Stauffer, D. A. 1930. English Biography before 1700. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Unversity Press. Stevenson, David. 1996. A Lady and her Lovers: Anne, Lady Halkett. In King or Covenant? Voices from the Civil War, edited by D. Stevenson. East Linton: Tuckwell. Stone, Lawrence. 1977. The Family, Sex and Marriage in England 1500-1800. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Sutherland, James. 1969. English Literature of the Late Seventeenth Century. Oxford: Clarendon. http://www.jimandellen.org/halkett/CastOut.html http://www.jimandellen.org/halkett/AHole.html 15 Trill, Suzanne. 2004. Lady Anne Halkett (1621 (?) - 1699). In The Literary Encyclopedia. ———. 2006, 2007. Murray, Anne, Lady Halkett. In The Biographical Dictionary of Scottish Women: From the earliest times to the present, edited by E. Ewan, S. Innes, S. Reynolds and R. Pipes. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. ———. 2007. Lady Anne Halkett: 'Meditations' Overview. In The Literary Encyclopedia. ———. 2008?, forthcoming. Private Devotion and Political Discourse: Lady Anne Halkett's Meditation on the Twentieth and Fifth Psalm (1651/2, 1701). In The Psalms in the Early Modern World, edited by K. McBride. Aldershot: Ashgate. ———. 2009, forthcoming. Life-Writing and the Self. In Palgrave Advances in the Study of Early Modern Women's Writing, edited by S. Trill. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. ———, ed. 2007. Lady Anne Halkett: Selected Self-Writings. Aldershot: Ashgate. Walker, Kim. 2001. 'Divine Chymistry' and Dramatic Character: The Lives of Lady Anne Halkett. In Women Writing, 1550-1750, edited by J. Wallwork and P. Salzman. Bundoora: Meridian. Webster, Tom. 1996. Writing to redundancy: approaches to spiritual journals and early modern spirituality. Historical Journal 39:33-56. Weintraub, Karl J. 1975. Autobiography and Historical Consciousness. Critical Inquiry 1 (4):821-48. Wilcox, Helen. 1992. Private Writing and Public Function: Autobiographical Texts by Renaissance Englishwomen. In Gloriana's Face: Women, Public and Private, in the English Renaissance, edited by S. P. Cersano and M. Wynne-Davies. New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Wiseman, Susan. 2001. 'The Most Considerable of My Troubles': Anne Halkett and the Writing of Civil War Conspiracy. In Women Writing, 1550-1750, edited by J. Wallwork and P. Salzman. Bundoora: Meridian. ———. 2006. Conspiracy and Virtue: Women, Writing, and Politics in Seventeenth- Century England. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1 (Ezell 2000) 218. Halkett, née Murray, is usually referred to as either ‘Anne, Lady Halkett’ or ‘Lady Anne Halkett’. I am grateful to Alan Sykes for pointing out that, according to Debrett’s, the correct formulation is either ‘Lady Halkett’ or ‘Anne, Lady Halkett’. 2 (Findley and Hobby 1981) 14-16. See also (Stone 1977) 3 (Halkett 1986) 4 These alternative titles relate to the different editions of Halkett’s narrative; (Nichols 1875) And (Loftis 1979) 5 (Trill 2007) 6 A list of Halkett’s ‘books’ is appended to (C[ouper] 1701) For further discussion of these volumes see Ezell ‘Morning Devotions’(2000), (Ezell 2002; Trill 2004, 2007, 2007, 2008?, forthcoming; Wiseman 2001, 2006) 7 (Walker 2001) 139. See also the conclusion of (Ottway 2000) 8 (Lamb 2007) 81-96. 9 Wiseman, ‘Most Considerable’, 36. Wiseman seeks ‘to track the ways in which politics has, in process of transmission, circulation and reading been written out of such texts’ (25); see also Wiseman Conspiracy and Trill, Ed. Lady 2007. For a more detailed discussion of how the treatment of Halkett’s life writing compares with that of her contemporaries, see Trill “Life Writing and Self” in Trill, Ed. Palgrave Advances in the Study of Early Modern Women (forthcoming 2009). 10This assumption can itself distort our understanding of early modern women’s writing, see (Ezell 1993) 11 Nichols’s notes are also deposited at the NLS amongst the Pitfirrane Papers, see NLS Ms. 6503, ff. 98-139. 16 12 (Stauffer 1930; Shumaker 1954; Bottrall 1958; Delany 1969; Sutherland 1969; Ebner 1971) 13 Those who associate Halkett with Richardson are Delany, 162; Sutherland, 263, (Rippl 1997) Rippl (23) and Seelig (124) also make reference to Defoe ( (Seelig 2006)). Delany also compares her to Sir Walter Scott (162), Stauffer mentions Charlotte Brontë (214), and Ottway adds the spy novel to this list (137). 14 Stauffer suggests the narrative ‘is tinged with some piety and with very much more femininity’ (213); Bottrall describes this ‘little known’ narrative as a ‘remarkably interesting … [and] thoroughly feminine document’ (149). 15 Discussing Howard’s return from France, Bottrall cites a scene from Sense and Sensibility (which is re-iterated by Rippl (191)); (Stevenson 1996) Ponders whether ‘can one say Anne halkett is a distant … forerunner of Jane Austen in some respects?’ (206). (Rose 2002)defines ‘C.B. [as] a dashing, handsome cad, a nonfictional predecessor of Jane Austen’s Willoughby and Wickham’ (80); Seelig notes that ‘Howard comes to resemble the too easily gallant young men of Jane Austen: the man who promises never to marry marries first’ (117). Curiously, Seelig earlier associates Howard with ‘Austen’s Mr Knightley’ (115) and remarks in a note ‘could Austen have read Halkett?’ (184 fn.10). 16 Stevenson (205). See also Shumaker (20); Bottrall (152); Rippl (17); Ottway, ‘They Only’ (137-8); and (Kearns 2004), 347. 17 Loftis provides no rationale for calling Halkett’s narrative her ‘memoirs’ and seems unaware of the potential, aesthetic ‘downgrading’ this could suggest. For a discussion of the relative merits of generic classifications of ‘autobiography’, see (Weintraub 1975) 18 Loftis, Ed. Memoirs xii. In this edition, Loftis states ‘we cannot know’ whether or not there had been a secret marriage ceremony (xiv); however, his later ‘hypothesis’ that they did so, probably in Holland, has encouraged others to endorse this possibility ((Loftis 1993) 248-9. See (Ottway 1998) 272 and Ottway, ‘They Only’ 145. Despite citing Loftis on this point (188, fn. 29)., Seelig offers a more nuanced approach to the question by paying particular attention to Halkett’s conversations with Mr. Dickson (126). Findley and Hobby suggest that ‘Halkett’s engagement was probably a spousal de futuro’ (15); according to Stevenson although the then Anne Murray accepted Bampfield’s proposal ‘it was decided to delay the marriage until the political situation clarified itself’ (194). Rather curiously Ellen Moody confidently asserts that after agreeing to marry Bampfield in 1648 ‘until 1653 Anne Murray lived with and behaved towards Joseph Bampfield as his spouse’ ( ‘“A Hole in the Manuscript’ (Moody 2006b), 3. 19 See Moody ‘A Hole’ who discusses Halkett’s narrative in the context of contemporary, published texts by French women and speculates that ‘Halkett wrote her book in 1677/78, prompted perhaps by the Mancini memoirs’ (‘A Hole’, 5). On the broader definition of the ‘scandal memoir’, see (Breashears 2003) 20 Wiseman, ‘Most Considerable’, 34; see also broader discussion of the connection between royalism and romantic conventions in Conspiracy. The only critic to separate Halkett from Bampfield is Margaret J. M. Ezell, ‘Morning Devotions’ and ‘Posthumous Publication’. 21 Walker, 143. On this point, a number of critics also cite Lois Potter’s reference to the dramatic precedence for Halkett’s blindfolding herself to converse with Howard. (Potter 1989) 22 Those who suggest Halkett wrote for herself alone include Bottrall, Delany, and Stevenson; Ottway suggests ‘that she wrote the story of her life for the exclusive readership of her own immediate family’ (‘They Only,’ 138). Findley and Hobby note that ‘although Halkett apparently made no attempt to have her autobiography published, it is constantly addressed to an assumed reader’ (18); this position is reiterated by Rippl, Kearns, Wiseman and (Wilcox 1992) 23 These incidents are often cited as examples of Halkett’s heroic ingenuity see, for example, (Keeble 1995) However, they are also noted as points at which the narrative potentially undermines itself, see (Botonaki 2004), 178. 24 The extant BL manuscript both begins and ends in mid-sentence. See Trill. Ed. Lady , 2007. 51-2. See Delany, Stevenson, Ottway ‘They Only’, Rippl, Walker, Wiseman ‘Most Considerable’, Kearns, and (Landry 1996) 140. The only critics to make detailed reference to the fragmentary opening of Halkett’s narrative are Lamb, Seelig and Trill, Lady 2007. 25 In ‘They Only’, Ottway, for example, suggests that ‘it is surely because of the details of this intimate affair that two leaves of the manuscript of Halkett’s autobiography were intentionally torn out by some unknown person, presumably in order to protect the author’s reputation’ (139). However, she proceeds to speculate: ‘Had she lost her virginity, or had she perhaps been married bigamously, though unwittingly, to Joseph Bampfield?’ (139). Stevenson speculates on the motivation for all the missing pages but is particularly ‘infuriated’ by the abrupt end of the narrative and asks ‘Did she for some reason become unhappy at her description of her married life?’ (202). 17 26 See Landry, 140; Walker, 133, 138; Wiseman, ‘Considerable’, 31; Kearns, 343; and (Moody 2006a) 27 (Rose 2002) Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2002. 83, 80. 28 This is also noted by Ellen Moody who argues that ‘an anachronistic and sexist failure of imagination is responsible for the insistent reading of Halkett’s story as a confessional romance with a happy ending’ (2006b, 4). 29 Wiseman claims that ‘her marriage, from 1656 to 1670, divides two periods of political activity: in the first she aided the Duke of York’s escape and acted as a royalist agent and in the second she wrote her memoir’ (‘Most Considerable’, 29). 30 Rippl suggests that ‘Anne Halkett cannot use the love story pattern of the romance for self-stylization any more after her marriage, because a continuation of this pattern would have been a severe breach of the dominant social code for a married woman. This is perhaps a reason why her text abruptly breaks off after her wedding’ (Rippl 22, fn. 32). However, Trill suggests that Wiseman is right to argue that ‘Halkett is not writing solely a confessional memoir but … a political life’ (2000 34-5), see (Trill 2009, forthcoming). I am grateful to the anonymous reader who reminded me that Halkett makes reference to the 1660 Act of Indemnity and indicates she will discuss it further later. This, plus the fact that she recorded the grant of £500 awarded her in 1662, suggests that she intended to continue her narrative until at least the Restoration (see Trill, ed. Lady, 2007. 140; 140, fn. 220). 31 See, for example, Walker who argues that Couper’s depiction of Halkett as pious ‘may come as a surprise to anyone who has read the autobiography, since despite a brief devotional introduction, the manuscript is relatively free of pious observation’ (134). 32 See also Ottway ‘They Only,’ 46-7. 33 Trill 2007, xxxiii; Trill ‘Private devotions’ (forthcoming); see also Wiseman Conspiracy. 34 Trill 2007, xxxiii; the entry discussing this decision is reproduced in full in that edition, 188-90. 35 While many of the episodes Couper includes in his biography are recorded in volumes which are now missing, some of them are traceable in extant manuscripts. For example, Couper’s summary ‘When she heard of her Sonnes being a Prisoner at London, (who was taken in his return from Irela nd to Fra nce) she thanked God that he was alive, and prayed that his present circumstances might have the same effect on him, and find the same Mercy, which Solomon prayes for to such in his case; I. Kings: 8, 46. &c.’ (1701, 49), relates to a series of entries in NLS. Ms. 6499. The specific citation of I Kings can be found an entry dated Monday 11th August (pp. 10-11). I am currently researching the textual connections between Couper’s biography and Halkett’s manuscripts. 36 For further discussion of this type of life-writing, see (Botonaki 1999) and (Webster 1996) 37 Stevenson locates her within a Scottish context; Ottway makes reference to his essay and queries whether Halkett should be seen as ‘English’ or ‘Scottish’ (Desiring 253); Ezell ‘Morning’ pays attention to the specific issues relating to the Scottish publication of the Life and Halkett’s meditations. 38 Given the practices outlined above,my brief biography of her can be found under ‘Murray, Anne, Lady Halkett’ ((Trill 2006, 2007)) It is, however, worth noting that, in accordance with local pronunciation, their surname was pronounced ‘Hacket’. For evidence of contemporary English usage of this pronunciation, see Trill. Ed. 125, fn 189; 140, fn 220. 39 While Halkett did give her manuscripts to Couper, the fact that they – and her correspondence – is part of the larger Pitfirrane papers suggests that they retrieved them from at some (currently unknown) point. 40 For example, in addition to the NLS volumes, which are now remotely accessible (if your institution invests in The Perdita Project materials available from Adam Matthews), there are a number of extant letters both there and in the National Archives of Scotland. 41 Wiseman also notes that Halkett’s life is represented by ‘a complicated web of texts, available to different readers at different moments’ (‘Most Considerable’ 29). 
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work_nfe556jokrgzfcb66tmv2dvwfu	----	IDENTIFIERS FOR DIGITAL HERITAGE Преглед НЦД 22 (2013), 40–46  Danijela Getliher, Jasenka Zajec National and University Library in Zagreb IDENTIFIERS FOR DIGITAL HERITAGE Abstract: The increasing number of digitised publications published by national libraries and other heritage institutions stresses the importance of identification and moves the development of traditional identification systems to the next level. An overview of identifiers used for digitised heritage is given. The development, usage and benefits of the use of identification systems like DOI (Digital Object Identifier), ISBN (International Standard Book Number), ISSN (International Standard Serial Number), ISTC (International Standard Text Code), NBN (National Bibliography Number), SICI (Serial Item and Contribution Identifier), URN (Uniform Resource Number) are presented in more detail. Possible levels of identification i.e. different levels of granularity that can be used in identification of digitised publications are presented. Keywords: digital heritage, digitised publications, identifiers, DOI, ISBN, ISSN, ISTC, NBN, SICI, URN. 1. Introduction In an effort to open up and increase access to their collections, heritage institutions have been increasingly digitising their materials (books, newspapers, journals, maps, printed music and so on) and making them available on the Web for browsing and downloading by researchers and other users. Digitisation and all subsequent activities, up to the actual publishing of the material on the Web, influenced in a lot of ways the traditional workflows in libraries and other heritage institutions. New rules and standards had to be observed in abiding by the basic principles: protection of rare and valuable originals and production of important and enduring resources that are easily and infallibly identifiable and accompanied by high quality metadata. The need to identify different content and objects is becoming more and more important, especially since digitisation produces the constantly growing number of digital objects that can be slightly different, similar or completely identical. The use of persistent identifiers, many of which have been well established in the library world for decades, facilitates organisation of digitised objects and their reliable retrieval. But digitisation has also expanded the scope of the already existing identifiers. In this paper we shall try to address the basic issues of identification of digitised objects, give an overview of identifiers for digitised heritage and present the development, usage and benefits of their use. The most often used identifiers will be presented in more detail: DOI (Digital Object Identifier), ISBN (International Standard Book Number), ISSN (International Standard Serial Number), ISTC (International Standard Text Code), NBN (National Bibliography Number), SICI (Serial Item and Contribution Identifier) and URN (Uniform Resource Number). 2. What is an identifier? An identifier is a name that serves to identify either a unique object or a unique class of objects, where the "object" or class may be an idea, physical or virtual object or substance. Identifier may be a word, number, letter, symbol, or any combination of these [10]. Identifiers must be linked to metadata 41 describing the identified digitised object to enable precise identification, access, transfer of metadata, distinguishing between different objects and reliable retrieval, but also to facilitate the transmission of data, citations, and links to other systems, increase availability and awareness of an object’s existence. Identifiers bring stability and standardisation in digitisation processes and thereby can be used to reduce duplication. Given their importance, there are a great number of different identifiers and new ones are being developed all the time so the following list is by no means exhaustive: DOI (Digital Object Identifier) ISAN (International Standard Audio-visual Number) ISBN (International Standard Book Number) ISCI (International Standard Collection Identifier) ISIL (International Standard Identifier for Libraries and Related Organizations) ISMN (International Standard Music Number) ISNI (International Standard Name Identifier) ISRC (International Standard Recording Code) ISSN (International Standard Serial Number) ISTC (International Standard Text Code) ISWC (International Standard Musical Work Code) NBN (National Bibliography Number) SICI (International Standard Collection Identifier) URN (Uniform Resource Name) The identifiers are unique, i.e. they refer only to the object to which they were assigned, they are persistent in the sense that they refer to the object permanently. Identifiers can be dumb i.e. they have no meaning (like for instance ISSN that is made of eight digits) or intelligent (like ISBN that includes information about identified object: country, publisher, publication). Some identifiers were developed for printed resources but have been adapted to electronic and digital resources (ISBN and ISSN for instance) and some were developed as the result of intensively growing number of digital resources (like URN). However, they are not competitors but compatible, and some identifiers are interoperable like for instance embedding of ISSN or ISBN in URN [8] or in DOI. Actually, the first attempt of URN-ISSN interoperability was done in 2001 [9]. Identification is possible at different levels of granularity and identifiers can be assigned to different resources (e.g. books, articles, journals). Identifiers are assigned by different actors in the digitisation chain (by authorised agencies or by users themselves - like authors, publishers, libraries, and so on). The assignment and use of the majority of identifiers is based on international standards and many of them especially the traditional ones like ISBN, ISSN are linked to ISO (International Standardisation Organisation) and those that are actionable on the Internet, like URN to the IETF (Internet Engineering Task Force). One of the differences is that the Internet standards are changed more easily, while ISO procedures are slightly more formal and complex. 3. Identifiers for Digitised Resources The majority of identifiers that have been used in bibliographic communities for decades are well adapted to digitised resources. The following identifiers that are used for digitised materials will be presented in more detail: DOI (Digital Object Identifier), ISBN (International Standard Book Number), ISSN (International Standard Serial Number), ISTC (International Standard Text Code), 42 NBN (National Bibliography Number), SICI (Serial Item and Contribution Identifier), URN (Uniform Resource Number). Some of their basic characteristics are listed in Table 1. Table 1: Identifiers and their characteristics Identifier Scope Establish ed Published standard Maintenance web address U* P*¹ R*² M*³ Structure/Syntax, example DOI (Digital Object Identifier) objects of any material form 1997 ISO 26324:2012 International DOI Foundation http://www.d oi.org + + + + prefix (directory, registrant) and suffix element, no limit on length doi:10.1006/jmbi.1998.2354 ISBN (Internation al Standard Book Number monograp hic publicatio ns 1967 ISO 2108: 2005 International ISBN Agency http://isbn- international. org/ + + + + prefix, registration group, registrant, publication, check digit 13 digits ISBN 978-953-304-412-5 ISSN (Internation al Standard Serial Number) serials and other continuing resources 1970 ISO 3297:2007 ISSN International centre http://www.is sn.org/ + + + + eight digits ISSN 1330-7371 ISTC (Internation al Standard Text Code) textual work 2008 ISO 21047:2011 The International ISTC Agency http://www.is tc- international. org + + + + registration agency, year, textual work, check digit. 16 digits ISTC 0A9-2002-12B4A105-7 NBN (National Bibliograph y Number) publicatio ns deposited and catalogued in national bibliograp hies which do not already have a publisher- assigned identifier 2001 NO NO + + + + country-specific NBN:fi-fe201003181510 SICI (Serial Item and Contributio n Identifier) parts of a serial 1991 ANSI/NIS O Z39.56- 1996 NO + + + + Item, contribution, control segment variable length SICI 0015- 6914(19960101)157:1<62:KTSW> 2.0.TX;2-F URN (Uniform Resource Name) resource 1994 RFC 1737 RFC 2141 NO + + + - namespace identifier, namespace specific string URN http://www.nsk.hr/ * Unique; *¹ Persistent; *² Resolution; *³ Metadata 43 DOI (Digital Object Identifier) is based on the international standard ISO 26324:2012 [3]. A DOI name can be used to identify objects of any material form (digital or physical) where these objects are content-related entities, as well as abstractions (such as textual works) [3]. DOI is made up of a prefix and suffix elements separated by a forward slash. There is no limit to the length of DOI. The prefix identifies the DOI registry and registrant, and the suffix can be a sequential number or can be based on another system used by the registrant. An example is doi:10.1006/jmbi.1998.2354 for Brian G. Turner, Michael F. Summers. “Structural Biology of HIV.” Journal of Molecular Biology, 285(1), pp. 1–32. doi:10.1006/jmbi.1998.2354. ISBN (International Standard Book Number) is based on the international standard ISO 2108:2005 [4]. ISBN is a unique international identification system for each product form or edition of a monographic publication published or produced by a specific publisher [4]. ISBN consists of 13 digits comprising five elements: prefix element, registration group element, registrant element, publication element and check digit. ISBN 978-953-304-412-5 identifies a book (978) by a Croatian (953) publisher VBZ (304) by Krizmanić, Mirjana: A što sad (412, check digit 5) published in 2012. ISSN (International Standard Serial Number) is based on the international standard ISO 3297:2007 [5]. ISSN is a unique identifier for a specific serial or other continuing resource in a defined medium [5]. Examples of serials include resources like journals, magazines, newspapers, updating web sites, and so on. ISSN is an eight digit number, including a check digit, for instance 1331-1182 identifies a journal Croatian international relations review. ISTC [6] (The International Standard Text Code) is applicable to any textual work, whenever there is an intention to produce such a textual work in the form of one or more manifestations. It identifies content that can be published in many forms, languages, scripts, on a number of media, by numerous publishers anywhere in the world. ISTC consists of 16 numbers and/or letters with the following elements: registration element, year element, work element and check digit. ISTC is based on the international standard ISO 21047:2011. For example 42010111177788$2 is ISTC for George Orwell’s Animal farm. NBN [2] (National Bibliography Number) is a generic name for a group of publication identifier systems used by national libraries in some European countries (Finland, Germany, etc.). NBN is used to identify publications deposited and catalogued in national bibliographies which do not already have a publisher-assigned identifier. NBN consists of a combination of letters and digits. Each national library uses its own strings, and decides about the syntax and scope of NBN application independently of other national libraries and there in no international control or standard. NBN has a controlled prefix, a country code that makes each NBN unique. An example is NBN:SI:DOC- Q39YPQCQ for digitised issue of the newspaper Clevelandska Amerika Digital library of Slovenia (http://www.dlib.si/?URN=URN:NBN:SI:DOC-Q39YPQCQ). URN (Uniform Resource Name) is intended to serve as a persistent, location-independent, resource identifier [7]. It is developed by IETF. The URN syntax is : <URN> ::= "urn:" <NID> ":" <NSS>. <NID> stands for the Namespace Identifier, and <NSS> for the Namespace Specific String. For example urn:www.agxml.org:schemas:all:2:0 identifies Agricultural Markup Language 2.0 for Grain and Oilseed Business. SICI [1] (Serial Item and Contribution Identifier) uniquely identifies parts of a serial publication (volume, article, etc.) in all formats. It is based on the ANSI/NISO Z39.561 (1996) standard. SICI has variable length and is composed of three segments (control, item and contribution segment). This is an example of SICI for an abstract from Lynch, Clifford A. The Integrity of Digital Information; Mechanics and Definitional Issues. JASIS 45:10 (Dec. 1994) p. 737-44: SICI 0002-8231(199412)45:10<737:TIODIM>2.3.TX;2-M 44 4. How to identify digitised objects Besides the imperative to identify digitised objects, there are no universal rules and the choice of identifiers will depend on the needs of users. As it was stressed earlier, identification is possible at different layers of granularity. This is illustrated by Picture 1. Picture 1: Possible levels of identification ISIL can be used to identify a library (or other heritage institution) that digitises. Each digitised collection can have an ISCI. Works (ISTC) and their individual manifestations (for instance ISBN for books or ISSN for serials) can be identified. Links between the work level and different manifestations are possible. Additionally, component parts of serials can be identified by SICI. It must be stressed that the traditional identifiers ISSN and ISBN that were initially designed only for printed works have well adapted to digital environment as well. Each new edition of these ISO standards follows the development of resources and their different forms and manifestations. DOI and URN, however can be used on every level of identification and they can embed in their syntax any of the above listed identifiers. This can be illustrated with the example of Jane Austen’s famous novel Pride and prejudice. (see Picture 2) 45 Picture 2: Jane Austen: Pride and prejudice The work level gets an ISTC. Different manifestations include different print editions, e-book on tablets or iPhones, audio book on a CD-ROM, but also digitised copies of early and old printed editions on different portals. Each manifestation gets its own ISBN, URN (for online editions) or NBN (in the unlikely case that no other identifier was assigned). Identification of serials at different levels is somewhat different. The work level of the Croatian newspaper Narodne novine can be identified with ISSN-L, and each manifestation - print, CD-ROM, and online has its own ISSN. ISSN-L is an ISSN designated by the ISSN Network to group different media versions of the same serial. Online manifestations on the web, digitised editions and editions on mobile devices have one ISSN. The component parts, like a volume, issue or chapter can be identified by SICI, identifier for component parts of serials. (see Picture 3) Picture 3: Narodne novine, work and manifestation levels 46 5. Conclusion Precise and unique identification of digitised objects has become increasingly important. Identifiers can increase access, inform users, distinguish between different or similar objects, reduce duplication, link different manifestations, facilitate metadata transfer and links to other systems. That is why it is necessary to identify digitised objects at as many levels as possible because this will facilitate the future use of these objects and management of digital libraries. More importantly, there is no need to invent new identifiers; the existing ones already fulfil all identification goals, and their further promotion and enhancement is recommended. This is especially true for traditional identifiers like ISBN or ISSN that have worked well for the last 40-50 years and have also proved their viability for digitised objects. References [1] ANSI/NISO Z39.56 - 1996 (R2002) Serial Item and Contribution Identifier (SICI), http://www.niso.org/apps/group_public/project/details.php?project_id=75 (2012-08-28) [2] Hakala, Juha. Using National Bibliography Numbers as Uniform Resource Names, http://tools.ietf.org/html/draft-hakala-rfc3188bis-nbn-urn-00 (2012-08-28) [3] ISO 26324:2012 Information and documentation -- Digital Object Identifier system (DOI) [4] ISO 2108:2005 Information and documentation -- International Standard Book Number (ISBN) [5] ISO 3297:2007 Information and documentation -- International Standard Serial Number (ISSN) [6] ISTC (The International Standard Text Code) home page, http://www.istc-international.org/html/about.aspx (2012-08-28) [7] URN Syntax, http://www.ietf.org/rfc/rfc2141.txt (2012-08-28) [8] Lynch, C., C. Preston, R. Daniel. Using Existing Bibliographic Identifiers as Uniform Resource Names, http://www.ietf.org/rfc/rfc2288.txt (2012-07-07) [9] Using The ISSN (International Serial Standard Number) as URN (Uniform Resource Names) within an ISSN-URN Namespace, http://tools.ietf.org/html/rfc3044 (2012-07-07) [10] Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Identifier (2012-07-07) dgetliher@nsk.hr jzajec@nsk.hr mailto:dgetliher@nsk.hr mailto:jzajec@nsk.hr 
work_nmu2oz7cojc4jlztxc5gn44vbu	----	http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk Original citation: Wright, David, 1972- (2011) Review of Bring on the books for everybody : how literary culture became popular culture, by Collins, J. Cultural Trends, Volume 20 (Number 2). pp. 215-217. ISSN 0954-8963 Permanent WRAP url: http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/56489 Copyright and reuse: The Warwick Research Archive Portal (WRAP) makes this work by researchers of the University of Warwick available open access under the following conditions. Copyright © and all moral rights to the version of the paper presented here belong to the individual author(s) and/or other copyright owners. To the extent reasonable and practicable the material made available in WRAP has been checked for eligibility before being made available. Copies of full items can be used for personal research or study, educational, or not-for- profit purposes without prior permission or charge. Provided that the authors, title and full bibliographic details are credited, a hyperlink and/or URL is given for the original metadata page and the content is not changed in any way. Publisher’s statement: "This is an Author's Accepted Manuscript of an article published in the Cultural Trends, Volume 20 (Number 2). pp. 215-217. ISSN 0954-8963. 1 st June 2011, © Taylor & Francis, available online at: http://www.tandfonline.com/10.1080/09548963.2011.563922 ” A note on versions: The version presented here may differ from the published version or, version of record, if you wish to cite this item you are advised to consult the publisher’s version. Please see the ‘permanent WRAP url’ above for details on accessing the published version and note that access may require a subscription. For more information, please contact the WRAP Team at: publications@warwick.ac.uk http://wrap.warwick.ac.uk/56489 http://www.tandfonline.com/10.1080/09548963.2011.563922 mailto:publications@warwick.ac.uk Wright, D. (2011) review of Collins, J. (2010) Bring on the books for everybody: How literary culture became popular culture, Cultural Trends 20(2): 211-213. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09548963.2011.563922 Collins, Jim (2010) Bring on the books for everybody: How literary culture became popular culture, Durham & London: Duke University Press The book industry shares with the arts sector a feeling of perpetual siege and decline. On the evidence of this book, for the former, this narrative contrasts with a reality of commercial boom-times enabled by an expanding and inclusive popular literary culture. Building on foundations laid in his earlier works on the commercial successes of ‘high’ culture, Jim Collins here skilfully outlines a new ‘ecology’ of the literary field which takes full account of emerging ways in which literary works are circulated and read. The book is focussed on the US but many of the transformations will be familiar to British and European readers. The rise of chain book stores, television book clubs, the digitalising of reading and recommendations, via the e-Reader and Amazon and the re-emergence of the literary adaptation on film and TV are all, according to Collins, contributing to significant changes to the ‘infrastructure’ of contemporary reading. These changes, he argues, require the re-thinking of enduring assumptions about the relative status and site of literary culture. The book locates the changing interactions between old and new forms of cultural technology in the context of debates about ‘convergence culture’ following Jenkins (2006). This approach reveals some telling manifestations of the relationships between literature, film, new media and commerce –such as Nobel laureate Tony Morrison advertising Kindles or Jane Austen’s appearance on a Hollywood ‘power list’. The occasionally playful and ironic analysis, interspersed with some revealing reflections on the author’s own practices as a teacher, researcher and reader, makes for a lively and thought-provoking read. Collins’ location within academic film studies comes through in three central chapters which explore the historical relationship between literature and film. These outline the rejection of a patrician (British) literary culture by early US film producers –and latterly cinephiles- in the formation of taste cultures for film. An equal and opposite reaction to this rejection is subsequently found in the ‘Miramaxization’ of the movies, which has led to an increasingly symbiotic contemporary relationship between film producers and literary publishers. The result is a hybrid cine-literary culture in which adaptations of complex literary works (No Country for Old Men, Atonement) can appeal across traditionally antagonistic taste cultures, allowing them to be, at the same time, art films, popular genre films, prize-winners and, importantly, literary texts. Collins also reveals, through analysis of Shakespeare in Love, The English Patient and The Hours that processes of adaptation do not simplify literary texts as critics might have claimed in the past. Instead, the inter-relationships between books and films suggest that these media are partners in the processes by which ‘the literary’ as a taste formation is circulated. The literary is visualised – but also literature, literary production and ‘the life of books’ are, in films like The Hours, The Reader, Capote, in various ways dramatised. There is some rhetorical gloss given to this argument – if this book was a film one might find some audience members screaming at the screen at the suggestion of Shakespeare in Love as ‘literary’ - but the broader point, that visual media and literary taste cultures need now to be thought of as mutually reinforcing forces in the literary infrastructure, is convincing. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/09548963.2011.563922 This challenge to the myth that literary, visual and commercial cultures are somehow separate and pure also allows the book to contribute to on-going debates about the place of the literary in policy narratives. A recurring motif of the book is a critique of the simplicity of the NEA’s Reading at Risk evidence for literary decline which had been co-opted by recent policy bodies and initiatives, including the UK’s National Year of Reading in 2008. Collins importantly points out that the identification of reading – and, in the case of the NEA, literary reading in particular as one element of an educative project (along with going to the museum or classical music concert) belies the extent to which contemporary literary readers also associate their tastes with watching television, shopping, lifestyle magazines etc. Collins argues that ‘the relationship between reading literary fiction and this particular range of associated tastes needs to be explored more fully, because both are predicated on the search for self-defining aesthetic pleasures that are themselves dependent on quality consumerism, outside the sanctified spaces of the academy and the museum’(236). A policy imperative which encourages people to engage with literary culture because it is, in some way, good for them, doesn’t quite capture that more nuanced reality. In two closing chapters Collins presents an intriguing account of the contemporary ‘post- literary’ culture revealed through the analysis of highly visible writers and books - the ‘devoutly literary bestsellers’ in which a love of books and literature becomes the subjects of the narratives. Such texts (e.g. Shadow of the Wind, Saturday) contribute to a re-imagining of literariness as a consumable lifestyle accoutrement. ‘Post-literary writers’ (Collins identifies Candice Bushell, Nick Hornby, Tom Perrota amongst others) associate themselves with the writers of the past (Henry James, Edith Wharton, Jane Austen) and their characters often face dilemmas which are somehow solved through the reading of, and learning the lessons from, the great books of the past. The author becomes a kind of curator or guide, in this conception, and literary reading becomes a kind of therapy or self-help. The recognition of books as special resources in this process, though, goes alongside marketing and promotion strategies which place books alongside other kinds of lifestyle commodities, ripe for use in the crafting of a contemporary aesthetic identity and a tastefully appointed ‘room of one’s own’. This is an extension, drawing on Colin Campbell’s (1987) work, of the often ignored historical inter- relations between the historical development of literary reading as a past-time and the development of consumerism itself. The nostalgia for a pure literary past becomes a means for contemporary readers to distinguish themselves from an apparently less literary present – even as the evidence of the success of literary culture in terms of book sales and media visibility – suggests that the literary is very firmly embedded in contemporary consumer culture. This is the kind of analysis with which to ruin dinner parties – and is none the worse for that. At the same time, though, just because books, DVDs, designer furniture and fashion coalesce in the imagination of literary marketeers, it does not necessarily follow that readers, viewers and consumers buy into a taste culture entire – or that new cultural taste formations have entirely replaced or usurped established ones. A general criticism of the book might be that, aside from some revealing speculation that emerges from debate with his students and an ‘ethnography’ of Amazon reviews, much of the argument rests on Collins’ interpretation of the semiotic universes in which specific books, writers or films are located. Whilst the arguments are compelling, we might need more evidence about actual readers and their practices to be wholly convinced that these cultural and technological developments do anything more than enable the increased participation of the already participating, - of what Wendy Griswold(2008) has identified as the ‘reading class’. As a timely starting point for a conversation about a changing literary landscape and as a challenge to the priorities and assumptions of literary/literacy policy makers, though, this book is a valuable resource. Campbell, C. (1987) The romantic ethic and the spirit of modern consumerism, Oxford: Blackwell. Griswold, Wendy (2008) Regionalism and the reading class, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Jenkins, Henry (2006) Convergence culture: where old and new media collide, New York: New York University Press. David Wright teaches in the Centre for Cultural Policy Studies at the University of Warwick. He has research interests in the sociology of taste, popular culture and cultural policy and is a co- author of Culture, Class, Distinction, a study of contemporary British tastes published by Routledge in 2009. 
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work_o2c4ytbcvngttntgha4bnrfmna	----	Microsoft Word - 63 Women^J History and Faith - Ghulam Murtaza.docx Vol. V, No. I (Winter 2020) Global Social Sciences Review (GSSR) p- ISSN: 2520-0348 URL: http://dx.doi.org/10.31703/gssr.2020(V-I).63 e-ISSN: 2616-793X DOI: 10.31703/gssr.2020(V-I).63 ISSN-L: 2520-0348 Pages: 633 ‒ 641 Citation: Murtaza, G., Hayat, M., & Hashmi, S. A. W. (2020). Women, History And Faith: Suleri’s Critique Of Pakistan’s National Culture In Meatless Days And Boys Will Be Boys. Global Social Sciences Review, V(I), 633-641. doi:10.31703/gssr.2020(V-I).63 Ghulam Murtaza * Mazhar Hayat † Syed Ali Waqar Hashmi‡ Women, History And Faith: Suleri’s Critique Of Pakistan’s National Culture In Meatless Days And Boys Will Be Boys Sara Suleri is divided between her fascination for her father’s strong character and her repulsion for the consequent effect on woman’s space in family life, connoting a critique of Pakistani patriarchal society in which women, irrespective of their social status, suffer from marginalization. Although Suleri’s Boys Will Be Boys is an elegy for her father, as she announces in the sub-title of the work, she manages her tilt toward her father despite her advocacy of the woman’s space miserably shrunk to domestic life in Pakistani society. Besides women’s position, she questions the dominant version of history and the state’s political manipulation of religion for ulterior motives. She is close to Boehmer’s theorization of the elitist continuities and intimacies with a view that develops from geographically and historically multiple contexts and histories. Her role as a native intellectual is two-pronged: her view is colored by western discourse, but her status as a ‘representative’ Pakistani voice is also significant. This article analyzes how far Suleri’s representation of women, religion and history of Pakistani society is colored by western context. Key Words: Pakistani Literature in English, Nation, Representation, Feminism, Patriarchy, Gender, Sara Suleri Introduction Pakistani writers of literature in English have used Western literary modes and strategies for the expression of their sense of national belonging and have brought forth a strong representative voice for Pakistani culture. Their perspective may be western; their focus is Pakistan. As a result literary contribution of Pakistani writers, including Sara Suleri from the first generation of Pakistani writers and Nadeem Aslam, Muhammad Hanif, Mohsin Hamid and Kamila Shamsie from recent writers, Pakistanis have come up with strong Pakistani literary discourse. George Lamming’s observation on postcolonial writers is valid for Pakistani writers who are divided between the desire for representation of the margin and fascination for the centre (cited in Ashcroft et al. 1995). Pakistani writers being published and critiqued in the west, and almost all of them completely or partially educated and trained in the west, are bound to think about Pakistan through their western glasses. This context sometimes makes their presentation of Pakistani culture questionable for the natives and the traditionalists. Sara Suleri’s Meatless Days is a polyphonous pastiche that questions the ‘Islamic’ and patriarchal values of Pakistani society. It has been written in memoir form with no single clear line of thought and development of the story. Every chapter is a separate story, and almost ten-odd essays-cum-stories have loosely been put together to give the semblance of a single work, but Pakistani culture and history make a unifying factor of all of them. Sara is a professor of women’s literature at Yale University, and her view of Pakistani culture is visibly colored with the western approach to existence and reality. The mode of a life lived by the previous two generations, of her parents and grandparents, becomes questionable in the hands of Sara. Mr. Z.A. Suleri, for instance, proudly narrated to Sara the story of his father that he was a devout * Associate Professor, Department of English, GC University Faisalabad, Faisalabad, Punjab, Pakistan. Email: gmaatir@gmail.com †Professor, Department of English, GC University Faisalabad, Faisalabad, Punjab, Pakistan. ‡ Research Assistant, Department of English, GC University Faisalabad, Faisalabad, Punjab, Pakistan. Abstract Ghulam Murtaza, Mazhar Hayat and Syed Ali Waqar Hashmi 634 Global Social Sciences Review (GSSR) Muslim, got a mosque constructed, went to pilgrimage on foot, and married Sara’s Dadi when he was 50, and she was 16, “that slip of thing” (1989, p. 110). Sara could not digest this anomaly, but her father felt it to be an absolutely normal social occurrence. Spivak rightly observes living a narrative affects one way of thinking so deeply that one forgets that it is a narrative; one begins to feel that it is the only true version of reality (Harasym, 1990, p. 19). The demands of culture are so overwhelming that Sara’s mother, an English lady, native speaker of English, taught Jane Austen at Punjab University Lahore, went through conception after conception unmurmuring, though she was exhausted and fatigued. One reason for Sara’s looking at Pakistani culture that way is her being removed from Pakistani culture like W. B. Yeats alienates himself from the world of flux but then sings of “past, present and to come”. Had Sara been part of this culture like her sisters, Tillat and Ifat, she would have interacted with and thought of it differently. The anthropological definition of culture is ‘what people do, think and have’ (Ferraro, 2001). In literary representation, what a community has – the cultural artefacts, the geographical features, physical objects, environment, mountain, rivers, jungles etc. – is less important; it is what we think and do is more important, and this is Sara’s focus in Meatless Days with an ultimate focus on what/how Pakistani people think about situations, attitudes, people, men and women. To demonstrate the complex case of Pakistani Muslim nationhood, Suleri’s memoirs, Meatless Days and Boys Will Be Boys, cover history from the traumatic birth of the nation in 1947 up to the 1970s when she left for the US. What complicates her approach is that she views her pre-diasporic life in Pakistan from a diasporic perspective. Theoretical Framework On the construction of self in a woman’s memoir, Gusdorf observes that “the individual does not feel herself to exist outside of interdependent existence that asserts its rhythms everywhere in the community … The important unit is thus never the isolated being” (cited in Lovesey, 1997, p. 36). Gusdorf makes this observation because he rightly feels that the lives of the characters in the life narratives are “thoroughly entangled” (p. 36). But the case of Suleri is different in that she – even when she was in Pakistan – did not share with her father his sense of pride and satisfaction with Pakistan’s history. When she goes to America, she is further alienated from her ‘homeland culture’ and writes less as “interdependent existence” and more as an “isolated being”. Vikko (1997) considers autobiography a “context-dependent […] storage of themes and narratives that organize our lives [and are] our common property, our culture” (p. 92). Making “the personal political” (Roberts, 2002, p. 77), Suleri poses a feminist challenge to Pakistan’s grand narrative of patriarchy, but the national culture gets serious blows by her memoir. Jalinek (1998) is right to observe that women’s autobiographies focus on their family issues, personal experiences and interactions with intimate friends (p. xiii). But this observation to fails to cope with the amplitude of Suleri’s work because she had been deciphering “the undecipherable hand” (1989) of her father, Z.A. Suleri, who was at the helm of the affairs of Pakistani politics for a long. Resultantly, Suleri’s work includes but is not limited to subjective experiences; it reverberates in the family-nation circumference. Boehmer (2002) observes that postcolonial critics following a Subaltern school of Indian historiography have recently focused on “continuities and intimacies” (p. 2). Boehmer’s own intention is to evaluate “the ways in which such continuities were manifested between colonial (and proto- national spaces), especially between the native elites, during the decades of formal or high empire, 1890-1920” (p. 2). Boehmer opines that national consciousness draws its strength from its own “internal political and cultural resources or the political culture of [its] oppressors” (p. 3). As a self-conscious writer embedded in colonial and postcolonial history, Sara (1992) says that post/colonial stories are bound to be ambivalent in consequence of “the greater mobility of disempowerment. To tell the history of another is to be pressed against the limits of one’s own” (p. 2). This critical observation is relevant to this article as her own placement is complicated with a Pakistani father, British mother, American husband, and friends across the globe. Women, History And Faith: Suleri’s Critique Of Pakistan’s National Culture In Meatless Days And Boys Will Be Boys Vol. V, No. I (Winter 2020) 635 Literature Review One major focus of Sara’s work is woman’s position in Pakistan, the aspect that has got critical attention. Dalal considers the colonial history of Pakistan and patriarchy embedded in Pakistani culture responsible for her Welsh mother’s marginalization in this society (2007, p. 3). Tallat and Ghani (2004) have analyzed the style of Suleri’s Meatless Days with their focus on her metaphors. Murtaza (2011) also studied Sara Suleri’s metaphorical language in Meatless Days in his M. Phil thesis Analysis of Metaphorical Language in Meatless Days: An Arraignment of Pakistan’s Socio-Cultural Set-Up, later on, published as Metaphor and Patriarchy: A Linguistic Analysis of Metaphors in Sara Suleri’s Meatless Days (2011). As the title sums up, the work analyzes Suleri’s metaphors that focus on Pakistani patriarchy and its destructive impact on women. But this is only one dimension of the work, of course. Ray’s (1993) observation rightly sees it balanced between personal and political: “Suleri’s memoir constantly imbricates her family in the reconstruction of the nation of Pakistan so that the gap between the micro-political and the macro-political is continuously collapsed” (p. 49). Linda Warley (1992) observes the complex configuration of the identity of the postcolonial subject in the memoir: the problematic notion of identity is the obsession of all postcolonial autobiographers because of “the postcolonial subject's double-interpellation by competing for indigenous and colonial discourses, "identity" can never be entirely located within a single, coherent subjective space” (p. 107). This article endorses Warley and offers textual evidence for multiple-interpretation of the subject in Sara’s works. Mara Scanlon rightly views Meatless Days as “the chronicle of an Asian American woman's coming to terms with Pakistan, the politically turbulent nation of her birth and young adulthood, from the relative geographical safety of New Haven, Connecticut” (p. 411). “Mairi tries to erase markers of her difference to be part of Pakistan but can never fully meld” into postcolonial Pakistan, whereas Sara’s father was one of the seminal figures in the making and evolution of Pakistan as a nation and a state. This dichotomy of lineages complicates Sara’s position in the Pakistani nation: her view is colored by these two lenses, and like her mother, she could never leave Pakistan though she leaves for America for good and for Goodyear. Shazia Rahman (2004) refers to this complexity of Suleri’s narrative when she suggests that it “make[s] incursions against orientalist ideology by deconstructing terms such as women, native, and a third world without completely dismissing them” (p. 347). “Suleri’s memoir,” Rahman continues, “fights orientalism by critiquing categories as diverse as women and nation while simultaneously creating a relational subjectivity at the intersections of the categories it deconstructs” (p. 348). Ali Usman Saleem interprets Suleri’s memoir as a “protest against female subjugation and suppression through false, misconstrued and wrong interpretation of Islamic laws in the Pakistani society” (p.1). “Female identity in Pakistan,” continues Saleem, “is … interlinked with the place of Islam in the socio-political structures of the country” (p.2). Spivak’s theorization of the position of the postcolonial critic/creative writer is aptly relevant: “there are no literal referents, there are no ‘true’ examples of the ‘true worker’’’ (1990, p. 104). To get rid of this monolithic of ‘truth’, she observes, a nuanced deconstructive understanding helps. Representation of Pakistani Culture Sara, like most of the Pakistani writers of English, has an ambivalent attitude towards Pakistani culture. She is far from taking pride in this culture, but she is sure of her belonging to this culture. Her work bears witness to this belonging. When she settles in America, she looks back with pain and pleasure: living in Pakistan, she wanted to be away from here because it was always too heavy and harsh on her soft palate (1989); only far away from here she could find the lightness of burden of the responsibility of living. But she also missed the company of women: “Now I live in New Heaven and feel quite happy with my life. I miss, of course, the absence of women and grow increasingly nostalgic” (Suleri, p. 19). Sara’s Meatless Days are a very significant document on the representation of Pakistani culture. Sara takes her home as a microcosm of Pakistani society and proves an apt technique to look at history from the perspective of the marginalized segments of women and children in society. Meatless Days are not free from Sara’s own prejudices, but they are prejudices of mini-narrative to counter-balance Ghulam Murtaza, Mazhar Hayat and Syed Ali Waqar Hashmi 636 Global Social Sciences Review (GSSR) the prejudices of the grand narrative of history. A rich, heavy layer of the political scenario of Pakistani history makes the upper plot of the text. The main plot revolves around the domestic life of an elite class family: Mr. Suleri was once the chief of ISI, the antagonist of Bhutto and an established writer. But Sara manages well not to let the text be a voice of the patriarchal centre of life in Pakistan. Dadi, her sisters, younger brother Shahid, her foreigner mother Mare Jones (renamed Surraya Suleri after marriage) and most importantly, their maidservant Halima serves well to represent the position of the marginalized groups in Pakistani society. This document is further validated by the description of cultural events of Eid and Ramazan and sehri and aftari, which provide rich occasions to see the position of various segments of society. Politics and Domesticity Politics is a major issue dealt with by Sara with informed consciousness of Pakistani context; this makes her more explicit than fictional literature can afford. The wars of 1965 and 1971 are significant events in Pakistani history. Both sides of the borders keep trumpeting their claims of great victory of their own and severe hypocrisy and cunningness and cowardliness of the enemy. Meatless Days unfolds a common person’s view of these mega-events. Sara says that they remember only songs of Noor Jehan because people sitting in their homes got only this much of this mega event. The war of 1971 resulted in the disintegration of Pakistan. Sara says that they were in London when they got the news that Decca had fallen, that we had fallen. This fall was the interpretation of the consequences given by the metanarrative of history. Sara wonders whether they had really fallen and in what sense they had fallen. Then she goes on to explore the effects and consequences of the war on the life of her sister Ifat whose husband was arrested, and when he came back from India, he was a broken man. Ifat had to build him up again brick by brick (1989, p. 144). She went through this ordeal with tight lips like a Hemingway code hero. She was a lady who liked to keep her head erect and back straight; she never lost her leopard like a way of facing the situation, whatever it might be. The point is that ultimately the burden of the big events falls upon the shoulders of women whosoever celebrates or bemoans the victory/defeat. To have a look at history from the common people’s point of view, Sara places the historical events and situations in a routine and homely day-to-day context. For example, Mr. Jinnah is a key figure in the history of Pakistan. Mr. Suleri idealizes him so devotedly that it becomes impossible to question the Father of the Nation; he becomes a homely god. But the result of this excessive veneration is that Mr. Suleri himself likes to be the Father at home instead of a father. As Mr. Jinnah says Sara mishandled Pakistan into being (p. 120), Papa too never took his children as flesh and blood human beings with their own psychological needs and desires. He kept juggling with them as he played with facts. In Boys Will Be Boys, Sara refers to his father as Quaidy-Daddy, a phrase that satirically refers to the confusion of identity between the father of the family and the father of the nation in Papa’s mind, the confusion that made him Pip with two p’s, for pompous and preposterous. And when Sara has established Papa’s desire to be placed so highly, she brings a moment of anticlimax: when Sara comes back from America to see her father, she congratulates him on the birth of a brand new baby. He answers that he has his needs. Sara admits it to be all right, but the very next moment, he adds that it was an act of frustration, exhaustion and shamelessness. Sara does not like the romance between her father and the Father of the nation because it destroyed the loving atmosphere of the house. In the backdrop of the Fall of Decca and then hanging of Bhutto, martial law government and the fuss over the political tumult, Sara tells what happened to two ladies at her home, Mamma and Dadi: the former became speechless and the latter prayerless. When big men were doing a lot of work in terms of making history, what was happening with homes in Pakistan? The answer is that they were wronged and ignored. Festivals in Meatless Days Sara discusses the festival of Eid-ul-Azha, the Eid of sacrifice, in the first chapter of Meatless Days. Sara’s style is that she chooses a ritual, and looks at it from different angles, places it in relation to Women, History And Faith: Suleri’s Critique Of Pakistan’s National Culture In Meatless Days And Boys Will Be Boys Vol. V, No. I (Winter 2020) 637 different members of her home, who stand for different segments of society. At Eid, a goat is brought home, and Dadi serves it with peas and butter. The children get an activity; they have no sense of religiosity. Dadi feeds it to fatten it and sacrifice it on the specified day. Sara raises the meaning of the sacrifice for Dadi, who takes vicarious pleasure in the sacrifice. She associates herself with Abraham and assures God that as the prophet sacrificed his son for Him, she too can do so, and the sacrifice of the goat is proof. Ironically, Mr. Z. A. Suleri is not mentioned in this regard though it is the most important festival in Pakistani Muslim culture. The suggestion is that he has got many important things of higher significance than this festival. Dadi and children need this festivity because they have got nothing to do with their life. They are marginalized members of family life, and this festival is important because it gives them centrality, though only for a brief span of time, which proves an oasis for them. Papa does not need this kind of pseudo activity because he has the proud assurance of being at the centre of the history of Pakistan: he was the chief of ISI of Pakistan; he was in direct antagonism with Z. A. Bhutto; he was editor of Pakistan Times and so on and so forth. Mare Jones, Sara’s mother, Mr. Suleri’s second wife. Through her, Sara presents another approach towards this festival: she could never understand how slaughtering animals could please God after all. But Sara says that she could not locate the metaphor. Actually, when Dadi ate the meat of the goat, she was also eating something else with it, and she cut the very tissues of festivity. Dadi’s purpose is to find a centre for herself that otherwise cannot be available to her. Ramazan, the month of fasting, provides another occasion to Dadi to assert her centrality. Fasting actually was significant for feasting because Dadi was concerned with the variety and quantity of food available at sehri and aftari rather than any serious relationship with God. The real importance of the occasion for her was that she presided over it. Sara’s indirect criticism is that religion in Pakistan is a matter of the invalid and marginalized sections and communities who observe it more for their catharsis and festivity rather than in the strictly religious sense of the festivals. Those who carry real power in society are indifferent to them. Sara presents Dadi’s eccentricities with tongue-in- cheek metaphors. In winter, she sees her Dadi “alone, painstakingly dragging her straw mat out to the courtyard of the house … with her would her Quran. None of us was pure enough to carry these items” (1989, p. 6). This sense of religious purity of herself and impurity of the children gives her self-satisfying status that her patriarchal surroundings deny her. Sara is a critical observer of the maneuvering of the nation as well as family life through religion. Attitude towards Partition and Pakistan Movement Sara’s attitude towards the partition of India does not suit the traditional sentimental history. For her, it was a panorama of death and panic. She mourns the extravagant and wrenching price of history: … farmers, villagers, living in some other world, one day awoke to find they no longer inhabited the familiar homes but a most modern thing, a Muslim or Hindu nation. There was death and panic in the cities when they rose up to flee, the Muslims travelling in one direction, the Hindus in the other. I wish, today, that Pip had been a witness of it all: surely that would have given him a pause and conferred the blessing of doubt. (Suleri, 1989, p. 116, emphasis added) She questions her father’s emotional attachment to the idea of Pakistan. He was fighting manfully single-handed against the sweeping Indian press in England. And then he came across Mare Jones, who, with her white legs, to use Dadi’s derogatory phrase, was too powerful to be resisted, and Papa was carried away by her leaving behind the ideology of Pakistan. The man who idealized Mr. Jinnah, and who wanted to write a book on Pakistan with the title of Whither the Lost Years of Pakistan?, was so hollow in his domestic life that he took ten years of Baji’s life without any compunction of conscience and no question arose in his mind because it was pre-occupied with Pakistan. She comments that Papa’s dedication to Pakistan’s cause was not meant for religion: “The genesis of Pakistan was not religion … it was Muslim nationhood” (p. 127). Suleri, with postmodern temper, “blessed with doubt”, deviates from her father’s narrative of Muslim nationhood and treats it from the perspective of more literal losses. After the establishment of Bangla Desh in 1971, she met her father and wept. This simple emotional outpouring of a daughter to her father is stretched in implications to the deconstruction of Ghulam Murtaza, Mazhar Hayat and Syed Ali Waqar Hashmi 638 Global Social Sciences Review (GSSR) the narrative of Pakistan’s history, ideology and culture: “I am not talking about two-nation theory … I am talking about blood! He would not reply, and so we went our separate ways: he mourning for a theory, and I – more literal – for a limb, or a child or a voice” (p. 122). Her separate way of mourning for a limb, or a child or a voice is her difference and deviation from the dominant narrative of history rooted in two-nation theory. Sara is also sarcastically critical of religious nationalism characteristics of Pakistani history, especially the politicization of religion. Pakistan, with its colonial history, has manipulated religion to make its tradition more authentic and inviolable. Governments have, therefore, been exploiting religion for political purposes. Suleri views the presence of her Welsh mother in Pakistan as a critical issue of Pakistani history and identity: “I am curious to locate whether she knew of the niceties that living in someone else’s history must entail, of how she managed to dismantle that other history she was supposed to represent” (p. 164). Walder is right “the real human dimension can only be read through a sense of history, which is a form of collective memory, continually revised” (2005, p. 190). But Suleri’s simultaneous presence in multiple histories is responsible for her approach to Pakistani nationhood and secondly, her acquisition of American nationality and marriage with Mr. Goodyear, an American, leaves her only dimly related to Pakistani history and identity. If history is collective memory, Suleri observes it from an outsider’s position, not as a cherisher of this collective memory. When she and her father mourn after the Fall of Decca, he mourns from within the collective memory and she from outside: she weeps for the literal: “for a limb, or a child or a voice” (p. 122). But in the case of Muharram, she cannot weep even literally “for a limb, or a child or a voice”. It suggests that perhaps her point of view is determined by postmodern deconstruction rather than by the people and their collective communal passion and compassion. Otherwise, Pakistanis with the overwhelming majority “mourn” and nationally “share” the grief of Muharram that she dismisses humorously (2003). Z.A Suleri is also critical of the manipulation of religion in Pakistani history, but he himself was never cynical towards religion as Sara is: this is the difference between looking at a national discursivity from within and from outside it. He observed in Lost Years of Pakistan (1962): Three factors bedevilled Pakistan’s national life: continued preoccupation with constitution-making and the suspense caused thereby; stalemate and stagnation in the political process and lastly, confusion and uncertainty in assigning the place of Islam in the country’s polity. Islam was involved both in constitution-making and party politics. (p. 3) But his case is different from Sara’s. He is a devotee of Quaid-e-Azam and regularly recites the Holy Quran, which gets a satirical response from Sara. Both these aspects of his character emerge from the collective communal sense of Pakistan, but Sara does not feel from within this fold. When she leaves for America, her father hands over to her a copy of the Quran, which she does not endorse. She observes that her religion is ‘quest’ (1989). Tillat is ‘illa’ in the child’s expression, and this distorted word in the girls’ naughty expression becomes ‘illa Billa hoo’ (2003). She adds that it was not a joke on religion, but it cannot be taken as respect for religion, either. Sara has taken her home as a microcosm of the nation, but how many homes in Pakistan have a father who is Editor of English newspapers, director of ISI and internationally fighting for Pakistan’s cause and ideology, and the most important, how many houses in Pakistan have an English lady as a mother with such conflicting consciousness of history and religion? Sara uses this rarity as a representative of ‘Pakistan’s anomalous nationhood’, stylistic maneuvering that is ideologically questionable. Islam has, of course, been differently at the centre of the affairs in the Pakistan movement and later on in Pakistan’s political history. Suleri dimly foresees the possibility of “Islam’s departure from the land of Pakistan. The men would take it to the streets and make it vociferate, but the great romance between religion and the populace, the embrace that engendered Pakistan, was done. (1989, p., 15). This observation is valid in that during the Pakistan movement, Islam worked as a genuine push and cementing force – although this claim also is seriously questioned by the critics (Sheikh 2009, for instance), Sara’s home becomes a metaphor of differences within the nation questioning the function of religion as a unifying factor for the nation. Dadi, mother, Pip and Sara herself have different approaches to religion. Dadi is passionately in love with religion, but Sara’s observation is that she used Women, History And Faith: Suleri’s Critique Of Pakistan’s National Culture In Meatless Days And Boys Will Be Boys Vol. V, No. I (Winter 2020) 639 religion only to give significance to her otherwise insignificant position in Pakistan. Surraya Suleri, Sara’s Welsh mother, is unable to understand how slaughtering goats on Eid-ul-Azha can please God because she looks at this Abrahamic ritual from outside the discursive limits of Pakistani Muslim nationhood or those of Islam. Ironically, Sara sides with this outsider position. Her father has respect for religion, but Sara suggests that her father and grandfather had employed religion only to justify their patriarchal position and their carnal/authoritative assertions. One reason for Sara Suleri’s difference of point of view is that she is a ‘literal’ observer of Pakistan’s history, to use her own self-description, whereas “nations are imagined communities” (Anderson, 1983, pp. x-xv). Pip was not such an ardent lover of Faiz politically but definitely like his poetry. Here is one of the verses he quietly recited to himself: “Kar raha tha gham e jehan ka hisaab / Aaj tum yad be hasab aaey”. Sara has translated it as follows: ‘I was counting the griefs of the world. / Today I remembered you countlessly’ (2003, p. 108). Sara questions: “What were you remembering, Pip? Was it us, or was it Mamma? Or was it Pakistan?” These are rhetorical questions because if the remembrance comes from Faiz, it is, of course, the nation, the recurring motif of his poetry, not personal affairs of love and family. But Sara, standing in literalness, outside the imagined community, can see the things and affairs with serious uninvolved unsentimental objectivity, an attitude which hardly qualifies for the sense of national belonging. Her attitude to the establishment Bangla Desh is one example of this realistic objectivity: she is not sorry at the establishment of Bangla Desh because “it was a stupid idea, anyway, to have an east wing and a west wing of Pakistan, separated by a thousand odd miles of enemy territory like a bird without a body” (2003, p. 108). The house in which Sara grew up was anomalous in one more way: the elders of the house were a highly serious breed, her grandmother, and grandfather, father and mother whereas the children were too naughty to retain any streak of seriousness. The comic joviality tempers Sara’s postmodernist playfulness that sweeps away with it various dimensions of national belonging as well. Consider one example of this playfulness from Boys Will Be Boys, that deflates an epic into a mock-epic: … Tillat at her junior school [had] a friend called Mushtabshera. Part of me groaned inside me when Tillat in all innocence mentioned her friend’s name to Shahid … “Mushtabshera?” repeated Shahid with surprised delight. He immediately began to concoct rhymes of epic dimensions to go with that somewhat epic name, and we all had to agree was that the best he came up with was “Mushtabshear, hamla tera!” … We gradually became accustomed to hearing that refrain throughout the house. (2003, p. 81) Sara describes the event of going to a clinic for a pregnancy test with a fear that might have to abort and sums up the incident with a heavy, tragic compassionate expression: “To abort in Pakistan – an over aborted country – would have been quite messy” (2003, p. 144). Stylistically, it is typically representative expression: she narrates a silly personal tale and then raises it in implications to Pakistani culture, history and ideology. “… [U]nmarried women are not supposed to be in need of pregnancy test in Pakistan” (p. 114). The comment is tongue-in-cheek questioning of women’s right to their body in Pakistani culture. The phrase “an over aborted country” reflects Sara’s bitterness for what Pakistan as a state and a nation has gone through since her inception. Conversely, telling along with the big issues of history and politics when she weaves small silly events, she is developing an “inventory of traces” to use Aijaz Ahmad’s phrase (1999), which otherwise go untold but carry the real cultural significance. Z. A. Suleri’s marriage with Mare Jones before the establishment of Pakistan is a classic example of continuities and intimacies manifested between colonial and proto-national spaces. Resultantly, Sara, being genetically rooted in both colonial and national histories, gives a hybrid response to the issue of Pakistani culture, history and identity. The decision of getting married into another history was easy and even normal when in the previous generation an example had already been set; she was repeating her mother’s example of stepping into another history, and her mother’s subdued position as well, as she suggests in her relationship with her husband, Goodyear. Her postcolonial voice cannot be representative: it is neither a true reflection of the life in Pakistan, nor it is thoroughly placed in the indigeneity. It is informed by variously gleaned understandings from different histories. Her diaspora Ghulam Murtaza, Mazhar Hayat and Syed Ali Waqar Hashmi 640 Global Social Sciences Review (GSSR) experience has enriched her in many ways, but it is more of elitist cultural overlap and intimacy than indigenous rooted sensibility. Conclusion Suleri has well interwoven big events of Pakistani history with minor day-to-day happenings in domestic life to see them in a different light and from the perspective of marginalized segments, i.e. children and women. Key events, festivals and celebrations and mourning in Pakistan are under constant focus of Meatless Days. The text brings before us a visible picture of life in Pakistan, the man-woman relationship, the dreams and desires of the parents and children, the generation gap between them, rather the whole feel of life in Pakistani culture. Suleri seems to suggest that woman’s status does not secure or guarantee her voice or space: Dadi with her elitist flair for drama and delicacy of Urdu, Mama with her insightful grasp of Jane Austen, Ifat with her leopard’s head, the maid working even the day next to her new-born baby’s death and Baji despite being the wife of one of the most influential men in Pakistani politics, all are equally condemned to ‘thingification’ in the hands of patriarchy. Ifat’s husband, Javed, was Major in the army; maid’s husband was a non-entity – not even mentioned in the text; Mama’s husband, Sara’s father, Mr. Suleri, was the director of ISI, senior editor of The News, a profile columnist of The Pakistan Times and Nawa-e-Waqt and editor-in-chief of The Pakistan Times, and all these ladies suffered: differences of the husbands’ socio-economic positions do not affect the fates of their wives in either way. Sara’s conclusion is that academic awareness or social position cannot resolve the crisis of woman’s subjection; it is the discourse that runs through the capillary structure of the society that is responsible for it. This discourse comprises political to say that solely lies with men, pseudo-religiosity that empowers men and ‘rationalizes’ women’s subjection, and established socio-cultural patterns that normalize man’s exploitative role in socio-physical relationships. Women, History And Faith: Suleri’s Critique Of Pakistan’s National Culture In Meatless Days And Boys Will Be Boys Vol. V, No. I (Winter 2020) 641 References Ahmad, A. (1999). Lineages of the present. London: Verso. Anderson, B. (1983). Imagined communities. New York: Verso. Ashcroft, B., Griffith, G. & Tiffin, H. (1995). Postcolonial reader. London: Rutledge. Ferraro, G. (2001). Cultural anthropology. Belmont: Wadsworth. Harasym, S. (1990). The postcolonial critic: Interviews, Strategies, Dialogues. London: Rutledge. Lovesey, O. (1997). Postcolonial self-fashioning in Sara Suleri’s meatless days. The Journal of Common Wealth Literature, 32(35), 35-50, 15/1/2021 from Oxford University Library Database. Murtaza, G. (2011). Metaphor and patriarchy: A linguistic analysis of metaphors in Sara Suleri’s Meatless Days. Published by Berlin: Lambert Academic Publishing. Ray, S. (1993). Memory, Identity, Patriarchy: Projecting a past in the memoirs of Sara Suleri and Michael Ondaatje. 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work_o3optqwjcndczogifcfltzvjz4	----	The Crossing Fee: Iain Bamforth IAIN BAMFORTH Iain Bamforth is an internationally distinguished figure in the field of the medical humanities. He has worked as a GP in Europe, held positions as a hospital doctor at the American Hospital of Paris, and in the Australian outback, and worked with the World Health Organization, including spells on community health projects in south-east Asia. His publications include The body in the library: a literary history of modern medicine, a book of essays, The good European: essays and arguments, and many articles in journals ranging from the BJGP to The Times Literary Supplement. Born in Glasgow in 1959, Iain Bamforth has published five collections of poetry: The Modern Copernicus (1984), Sons and Pioneers (1992), Open Workings (1996), A Place in the World (2005), and, most recently The Crossing Fee (2013), from which the poems published here are taken. His sometimes demanding poetry is characterised by a rigorous intellectualism wedded to an international vision. It shows a sharp ear and eye for local details, from the ‘piped-in petrochemicals of the polar night’ in Shetland to a ‘mudflow saga’ in Indonesia, and the poems often draw on an undertow of religious sensibility, insistent even when he writes of the potato: ‘pabulum of the Christian faith’. Bamforth is also a skilled translator, both of prose and poetry. His version of Hendrik Marsman’s Memories of Holland with its Scottish-accented ‘iridescent smirr’ has an immediately attractive lyricism, though it concludes with a Bamforthian note of cherished menace. Robert Crawford, Professor of Modern Scottish Literature and Bishop Wardlaw Professor of Poetry, School of English, University of St Andrews, St Andrews. DOI: 10.3399/bjgp13X665323 THE CROSSING FEE IAIN BAMFORTH Carcanet Press Ltd, 2013 PB, 80pp, £8.96 978-1847771438 Base matter In Wanam there was the one river the colour of anthracite and a smell straight out of the pickled-egg jar, a warren of shops, gangways and a pub (the sign read ‘Pap’) with its two waria owners offering sugary refreshment and a mind-blow. The whole yawning village rested on planks above the sludge, with ropes and ladders descending to where the boats were tethered, one marked ‘Bintang Laut’ and the other ‘Polisi’. This was a town subdued to its elements, and they were one, and it was without radiance, being toxic. Every fish in the sea seemed to be in the Chinese processing plant back of town, ready to be dismantled and spirited away for reassembly in another part of the planet; the fish complacently waiting, in solid frozen blocks. Walking there as one of the visiting party I suddenly felt uncomfortable, almost ashamed to be standing on the walls of Dis in this vortex of immensity. And there was the treatment centre, with its benches and two sickbeds, the only emergency care in any direction. But who would be left to treat, when the land of mud sucks everything into the sweet shared slime of shiftless penultimate floors and landing stages, and the world is an improvisation, where our feet might be? The ferryman was waiting there, among such base matter, ready to escort us back, if not to civilisation at least to the district officers who spoke on our behalf, though the sea had drained away, weighted by lunar indifference, and left a vista of such stunningly featureless flatness only laughter could absorb the infinite slippage. Low tide, it seemed, in our world of excess and depletion. Wanam is a small town on the channel separating the island of Kimaam from mainland Papua, which I visited in March 2007. Medical resources in the area were almost non-existent except for the rudimentary hospital and dispensary maintained by a Chinese fishing company, and its facilities were very limited. It was the only clinic for hundreds of miles in any direction. This rather melancholy poem reflects my sense of isolation in the native immensity of Papua, where the locals are left to their own devices. Rural Papua’s infant and maternal mortality rates are among the highest in the world, and much higher than those of the rest of Indonesia. Books The Review 206 British Journal of General Practice, April 2013 Wanam, Papua, April 2007. ADDRESS FOR CORRESPONDENCE Robert Crawford School of English, University of St Andrews, St Andrews, Fife, Scotland, KY16 9AR, UK. E-mail: rc4@st-andrews.ac.uk British Journal of General Practice, April 2013 207 Memories of Holland From the Dutch of Hendrik Marsman Thinking of Holland I see broad rivers slowly chuntering through endless lowlands, rows of implausibly airy poplars standing like tall plumes against the horizon; and sunk in the unbounded vastness of space homesteads and boweries dotted across the land, copses, villages, couchant towers, churches and elm-trees, bound in one great unity. There the sky hangs low, and steadily the sun is smothered in a greyly iridescent smirr, and in every province the voice of water with its lapping disasters is feared and hearkened. This is my translation of the work which was voted by Dutch readers as their favourite poem of the century. Four years after publishing it, Hendrik Marsman drowned in the English Channel in 1940 on the way to Britain when his ship was torpedoed by a German submarine. The translation of Herinnering aan Holland was commissioned by the Written World Project and broadcast on BBC Radio Scotland in 2012. Iain Bamforth, GP, Independent Scholar, Freelance Public Health Consultant, Strasbourg, France. For more details of the book please visit www.carcanet.co.uk DOI: 10.3399/bjgp13X665332 ADDRESS FOR CORRESPONDENCE Iain Bamforth 86 Rue Kempf, 67000 Strasbourg, France. E-mail: iainbamforth@orange.fr The most important thing about ‘Classics’ is that they are shared. They are experiences we all have in common. Or at least things that we can refer to in common. As such they are links between us which form the very substance of our culture. And they do this, it seems to me, whether or not they are particularly great art. But when they are great art, and we recognise in the shared experience they afford truths about our own humanity, exquisitely expressed, that is something special indeed. Three-quarters of a mile to the south west and almost within sight of our bedroom window is the room where Jane Austen wrote or completed all of her six novels. It was in that room, exactly 200 years ago this 28 January, that she took delivery of her own copy of the newly published Pride and Prejudice. And on the celebration day itself a family of our friends who had been involved in the preparation arrived there at 5 am to find the BBC already installed. The father is a trustee of the museum; the daughter was to play the contemporary piano for the broadcasts throughout the day; the mother had arranged the cake, with its facsimile of the title page, to be cut on the evening news. Albeit by proxy, we too felt involved. Like many who went straight into medicine from a narrow education in science I came late to the classics. I could easily have never come at all. I grew up thinking that Jane Austen was one of those stuffy writers you were supposed to read but never did. It was that word ‘supposed’ that turned you off. Nothing could be more calculated to make you read something else. The urge to read for pleasure must surely come from inside, and that ‘supposed’ is not a good way to start. For some reason I gradually did get involved. My closest encounter with our own legend down the road was a few years ago when I was allowed access to her personal collection of musical scores, three volumes of which are written in her hand, (that was how you got your music in those days: you borrowed it and copied it.) I had just been trying my own hand at writing music, as part of a year of music with the Open University, and I knew how impossible it seemed to be to avoid mistakes. But one of the wonders of those precious, densely-written pages, as I turned them with my white-gloved hands, was the total absence of corrections. Subsequently, with two friends, I performed a few of the songs there in the museum. One of the friends, a soprano, had been a patient, with the special bond of having been one of my ‘mums’. The other friend accompanied on the box piano straight from the figured bass in (photocopies of) Jane Austen’s handwritten manuscripts. And so it goes on. I studied Northanger Abbey, the first of Jane’s completed books, in another part of my Open University course. And with another friend, a historian, I devised an entertainment based on it for our little drama group. And so it goes on. A wonderful and ever- growing enrichment to our lives. Jane Austen’s House Museum has averaged 35 000 visitors in recent years, from 136 different countries in the last two. That is the measure of the human bond that the sharing of great art can bring. And that is the measure of how deeply human experience is shared. The RCGP is one of many organisations to have chosen the wonderful motto Cum Scientia Caritas. In recent decades the College, and this Journal, have been big on the science part. But the humanity, which is at least as big a part of medicine, and the very heart of general practice, has retreated into second place. Alec Logan, over many years, has made a huge contribution to redressing that imbalance with his gloriously eclectic Back Pages section of this journal. His best legacy, as he leaves us, would be for the College to reassert the centrality of the humanities, and the great shared heritage of art itself, in our unique, all-inclusive generalism. James Willis, GP (retired), Author. http://www.friendsinlowplaces.co.uk/ DOI: 10.3399/bjgp13X665341 Shared humanity: a Jane Austen bicentenary The Review ADDRESS FOR CORRESPONDENCE James Willis 28 Borovere Lane, Alton, Hants, GU34 1PB, UK. E-mail: jarwillis@gmail.com 
work_o7y6b2lluvaadbx5l3hvzfdgba	----	Point of View in Narrative Discourse Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 158 ( 2014 ) 160 – 165 Available online at www.sciencedirect.com 1877-0428 © 2014 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. This is an open access article under the CC BY-NC-ND license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/). Peer-review under responsibility of Dokuz Eylul University, Faculty of Education. doi: 10.1016/j.sbspro.2014.12.062 ScienceDirect 14th International Language, Literature and Stylistics Symposium Point of view in narrative discourse Ivdit Diasamidze* Shota Rustaveli State University, Ninoshvili srt.35, Batumi 6000, Georgia Abstract Having a storyteller is a vital element for any story: a narrative voice, real or implied, that presents the story to the reader. When we talk about narrative voice we are talking about point of view, the method of narration that determines the position, or angle of vision, from which the story is told. The nature of relationship between the narrator and story, the teller and the tale, is always crucial to the art of fiction. It colors and shapes the way in which everything else is presented and perceived, including plot, character, and setting. Alter or change the point of view, and you alter and change the story. The choice of point of view is the choice of who is to tell the story, who talks to the reader. It may be a narrator outside the work (omniscient point of view); a narrator inside the work, telling the story from a limited omniscient or first-person point of view; or apparently no one (dramatic point of view). These basic points of view, and their variations, involve at the extreme a choice between omniscient point of view and a dramatic point of view – a choice that involves, among other things the distance that the author wishes to maintain between the reader and the story and the extent to which the author is willing to involve the reader in its interpretation. However, the question of point of view is as complex and complicated as it is important. A narrative is a form of communication. According to G. Genette, every text discloses traces of narration; all narrative is necessarily telling and showing by making the story real and alive. A story-teller or narrator that is called point of view is present in all verbally told stories. The present paper is based on different pieces of fiction like The Lagoon by J. Joseph Conrad, The Last Tea by D. Parker. © 2015 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. Peer-review under responsibility of Dokuz Eylul University, Faculty of Education. * Ivdit Diasamidze. Tel.: +995 577 504481 E-mail address:ivditidiasamidze@gmail.com © 2014 The Authors. Published by Elsevier Ltd. This is an open access article under the CC BY-NC-ND license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/). Peer-review under responsibility of Dokuz Eylul University, Faculty of Education. http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1016/j.sbspro.2014.12.062&domain=pdf 161 Ivdit Diasamidze / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 158 ( 2014 ) 160 – 165 Key words: point of view; narrative discourse; omniscient; limited omniscient; first person point of view; stream of consciousness; dramatic point of view. 1. Introduction Point of view is one of the basic elements of a story that determines the perspective from which a reader experiences the narrative. It establishes the relationship between readers and a literary text including all the other crucial elements. The choice of point of view is the choice of who is responsible for telling the story, who talks to the reader. It may be a narrator outside the work (omniscient point of view); a narrator inside the work, telling the story from a limited omniscient or first-person point of view; or apparently no one (dramatic point of view). These four basic commonly used points of view, and their variations, indicate an author’s choice that defines to what extent he wants his readers to be involved in its interpretation. 1.1. Omniscient point of view With the omniscient point of view (sometimes also referred to as panoramic, shifting or multiple point of view), an “all-knowing” narrator firmly imposes himself between the reader and the story, and retains full and complete control over the narrative. The omniscient narrator is not a character in the story and is not at all involved in the plot. The narrator is free to tell us much or little, to dramatize or summarize, to interpret, speculate, philosophize, moralize or judge. He or she can tell us directly what the characters are like and why they behave as they do; record their words and conversations and dramatize their actions; or enter their minds to explore directly their innermost thoughts and feelings. When the omniscient narrator speaks to us in his own voice, there is a natural temptation to identify that voice with the author’s, although it may seem to reflect the author’s beliefs and values, it is as much the author’s creation as any of the characters in the story. (Japaridze, T, 2005:58). Omniscient narrator frequently occurs in 18th and 19th century novels (e.g. Fielding’s “Tom Jones” and Thackeray’s “Vanity Fair”). In “Vanity Fair” the narrator frankly assumes the role of puppeteer, “the Manager of the Performance”, in a manner that may seem offensive and condescending to modern readers who are used to more realistic treatment. “But my kind reader will please to remember that this story has “Vanity Fair” for a title, and that Vanity Fair is a very vain, wicked, foolish place, full of all sorts of humbugs and falseness and pretensions. And while the moralist, who is holding forth on the cover (an accurate portrait of your humble servant), professes to wear neither gown nor bands, but only the very same long-eared livery in which his congregation is arrayed; yet, look you, one is bound to speak the truth as far as one knows it, whether one mounts a cup and bells or a shovel-hat; and a deal of disagreeable matter must come out in the course of such an undertaking.” (Thackeray, W, Makepeace, 2011:59). Some critics draw a distinction between omniscient methods that permit their narrator to comment freely in their own voices, using “I” or the editorial “We” (editorial omniscience) and those that present the thoughts and actions of characters without such overt editorial intrusions (neutral or impartial omniscience). In the example cited Thackeray is clearly among the former. There is an obvious tendency in modern literature away from using omniscience – in part because of an intellectual temperament that tends to destruct, and even deny, absolutes and all-knowing attitudes – twentieth – century authors continue to debate its value and exploit its advantages. The choice of point of view is always a matter of appropriateness. The omniscient point of view, while inappropriate to some short stories, is certainly very appropriate to large, panoramic novels like Tolstoy’s epic “War and Peace”, in which this mode of narration is used to suggest the complexity and scope of Russian life itself. The great adventure of the omniscient point of view, then, is the flexibility it gives its “all-knowing” narrator, who can direct the reader’s attention and control the sources of information. But as we move away from omniscient telling in the direction of dramatic showing, the narrator progressively surrenders these adventures, restricts the channels through which information can be transmitted to the reader; as a result, the reader is involved more and more directly in the task of interpretation. 162 Ivdit Diasamidze / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 158 ( 2014 ) 160 – 165 1.2. Limited omniscient point of view With a limited omniscient (also referred to as third-person or selective omniscient) point of view, the narrator is limited to enter the minds of characters by selecting a single character to act as the center of disclosure. Thus what the reader knows and sees of events is always restricted to what this focal character can know and see. At times the reader may be given direct access to this focal character’s own “voice” and thoughts through dialogue or presented dramatically through monologue, represented speech or stream of consciousness. On all occasions, the reader’s access is indirect; it is the narrator’s voice, somewhere on the sidelines, that tells the story and transmits the action, characterization, description, analysis, and other informing details upon which the reader’s understanding and interpretation depend. The character chosen as narrative center, and often referred to through the use of a third- person pronoun as he or she, may be the protagonist or may be some other major character. Often, however, the assignment is given to a minor character that functions in the role of an onlooker, watching and speculating from the periphery of the story and only minimally involved, of at all, in its action. Joseph Conrad exploits omniscient third-person point of view in the story “The Lagoon” enabling the narrator to reveal the thoughts of the character. Besides readers are not under the narrator’s complete influence as they have to draw inferences on their own. (Tevdoradze, N, 2010:9). Have a look at the following lines from “Pride and Prejudice” by Jane Austen: “When Jane and Elizabeth were alone, the former, who had been cautious in her praise of Mr. Bingley before, expressed to her sister how very much she admired him.” “He is just what a young man ought to be,” said she, “sensible, good humoured, lively; and I never saw such happy manners! — so much ease, with such perfect good breeding!” (Austen, J, 1996:8). These lines demonstrate a fine use of the third person point of view. The excerpt shows the reader two different ways of the use of the third person point of view. Jane Austen first presents two leading characters Jane and Elizabeth, from the third person point of view and then shows us that the two characters are talking about Bingley from their own third person point of view. This can be a good example of the use of dual third person point of view -first by the author and then by the characters. The advantages of the limited omniscient point of view are the tightness of focus and control that it provides and the intensity of treatment that it makes possible. These advantages explain why the limited omniscient point of view is so admirably suited to the short story, whose restricted scope can accommodate full omniscience only with great difficulty. 1.3. First-person point of view The use of first-person point of view places still another restriction on the voice that tells the story. It involves the author’s decision to limit his omniscience to what can be known by a single character. This character refers to him or herself as “I” in the story and addresses the reader as “you”, either explicitly or by implication. As with limited omniscience, first-person narration is tightly controlled and limited in its access to information. The first-person narrator, while free to speculate, can only report information that falls within his own first-hand knowledge of the world or what he comes to learn second hand from others. First-person narratives, however, are necessarily subjective. The only thoughts and feelings that first-person narrators experience directly are their own. The implications of this incorrect subjectivity are crucially important, for it means that the reader can never expect to see characters and events as they actually are but only as they appear to be to “I” narrator. For this reason it is always necessary to pay particular attention to the character that fills that role – to his or her personality; built –in biases, values, and beliefs; and degree of awareness and perceptivity- in order to measure his reliability as a narrator. The first-person point of view has its advantages, however, not the least of which is the marvelous sense of immediacy, credibility, and psychological realism that autobiographical storytelling always carries with it. Mark Twain wrote “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” but he does not tell the story; Huck tells the story and he begins thus: “you don’t know about me, without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, but that ain’t no matter. That book was made by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There were things he 163 Ivdit Diasamidze / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 158 ( 2014 ) 160 – 165 stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing, I never seen anybody, but lied, one time or another, without it was Aunt Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly – Tom’s Aunt Polly, she is – and Mary, and the Widow Douglas, is all told about in that book – which is mostly a true book; with some stretches, as I said before.” What Huck says and the confidential and intimate way in which he says it are of course deliberately calculated to engage the reader’s sympathy and trust. (Cope, V. H, 2012:1). Similarly, Edgar Allan Poe wrote “The Cask of Amontillado,” but the story is told by a man whose name, we learn later, is Montresor. Here is the opening: The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, But when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. (Beaty. J,& Hunter. J.P,1973:67) Each of these passages gives a reader a very strong sense of the narrator, that is, of the invented person who tells the story, and it turns out that the works are chiefly about the speakers. Not all the protagonist-narrators tell their own stories. Sometimes the protagonist- narrator is charged with the responsibility of telling someone else’s story, as Nick Carraway, the protagonist of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s “The Great Gatsby”, is charged with the responsibility of telling Jay Gatsby’s. Hamlet, the protagonist, explains the feeling of melancholy, which afflicts him after his father’s death in the following lines (from Shakespeare’s “Hamlet”, Scene II of Act II). “I have of late,—but wherefore I know not,—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory.” (The complete works of William Shakespeare 1997). This is one of the best first person point of view examples. The use of first person point of view gives us a glimpse into the real inner feelings of frustration of the character. The writer has utilized the first person point of view to expose Hamlet’s feelings in a detailed way. The first-person narrator is frequently not the protagonist at all, but rather a character whose role in the plot is clearly secondary. He or she may, in fact, have almost no visible role in the plot and exist primarily as a convenient device for transmitting the narrative to the reader. The narrator of Faulkner’s “A Rose for Emily” is a good example. Often such narrators have greater freedom then the protagonist-narrator. From their positions at the periphery of the action they may move among the other characters with relative case, using them as sources to acquire helpful information. Minor characters serving as first- person narrators very often appear in the role of confidant, in whose wisdom or judgment (or presumed neutrally) others seem willing to confide. In their relationship to the other characters and to the actions of the plot, first-person narrators may be either interested and involved or disinterested and detached. In either case, however, they are always subject to hidden biases and prejudices in their telling of the story. Minor characters serving as narrators, no less than major ones, must be watched constantly, especially if the reader has reason to suspect that they may be other than totally reliable guides to the truth of what they report. 1.4. Stream of consciousness Stream of consciousness is a narrative device that attempts to give the written equivalent of the character's thought processes, either in a loose interior monologue (see below), or in connection to his or her actions. Stream- of-consciousness writing is usually regarded as a special form of interior monologue and is characterized by associative leaps in thought and lack of some or all punctuation. Stream of consciousness and interior monologue are distinguished from dramatic monologue and soliloquy, where the speaker is addressing an audience or a third person, which are chiefly used in poetry or drama. In stream of consciousness the speaker's thought processes are more often depicted as overheard in the mind (or addressed to oneself); it is primarily a fictional device. (Stevenson, R, 1992:39). The term "Stream of Consciousness" was coined by philosopher and psychologist William James in The Principles of Psychology (1890): consciousness, then, does not appear to itself as chopped up in bits ... it is nothing joined; it flows. A 'river' or a 'stream' are the metaphors by which it is most naturally described. In talking of it hereafter, let's call it the stream of thought, consciousness, or subjective life. Stream of consciousness is the technique of characterization that renders from the inside the conscious or unconscious content of the human mind and the myriad of thoughts, perceptions, feelings, and associations that ebb and flow there. To the extent that an author chooses to locate the center of narrative authority exclusively 164 Ivdit Diasamidze / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 158 ( 2014 ) 160 – 165 inside the mind of a single character and to record external reality (including speech and action) only as it registers its impression upon that mind, stream of consciousness can also be used as a variation of first person point of view. An excellent example is offered by opening passage of William Faulkner’s “The Sound and fury”: “Though the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting. They were coming toward the flag was and I went along the fence. Luster was hunting in the grass by the flower tree. They took the flag out, and they were hitting. Then they put the flag back and they went to the table, and he hit and the other hit. Then they went on, and I went along the fence. Luster came away from the flower tree and we went along the fence and they stopped and we stopped and I looked through the fence while Luster was hunting in the grass”. (Faulkner W, 2004:5). The speaker is Benjy Compson, the thirty-three-year-old idiot whose point of view dominates the first section of Faulkner’s novel. But the voice that addresses the reader is not Benjy’s speaking voice. Rather we are made privy to his thought and sensation unfolding within Benjy’s infantile mind as he watches golfers through the fence. Stream of consciousness used as first-person point of view is of course difficult to sustain over a long period of time because of the heavy demands it makes on the author and reader alike. Besides, it prevents the author from providing stage directions and clarifying comments and from asserting other forms of direct control over the development of the narrative. To avoid these difficulties, and still full adventure of the possibilities of stream-of- consciousness narration, authors will typically utilize the omniscient or limited omniscient point of view, which allows the necessary external control while making it possible to explore the content of the mind of one or more of the characters. 1.5. Dramatic point of view In the dramatic (or objective) point of view the story is told ostensibly by no one. The narrator disappears completely and the story is allowed to present itself dramatically through action and dialogue. With the disappearance of the author, telling is replaced by showing; and the illusion is created that the reader is a direct and immediate witness to an unfolding drama. Without a narrator to serve as guide, the reader is left largely on his own. There is no way of entering the minds of the characters; no evaluative comments are offered; the reader is not told directly how to respond, either intellectually or emotionally, to the events or the characters. The reader is permitted to view the work only in its externals, from the outside. Although the author may supply certain descriptive details, particularly at the beginning of the work, the reader is called on to shoulder much of the responsibility for analysis and interpretation. He or she must deduce the circumstances of the action, past and present, and how and why the characters think and feel as they do on the basis of their overt behavior and conversation. The Last Tea by Dorothy Parker is the perfect example of the dramatic point of view where author chooses to only share the action of a scene and not the internal thoughts or emotions of a character. Readers are largely left alone to speculate, make conclusion, and comprehend characters inner personalities. (Tevdoradze, N, 2010:101). When dramatic point of view is compared to the perspective from which we observe a film or a stage play, this analogy might be helpful but by no means perfect. The writer of fiction, whose medium is language, selects and arranges language within a printed page and exercises far greater control than either the filmmaker or dramatist in focusing the reader’s attention. The dramatic point of view appeals to many modern and contemporary writers because of the impersonal and objective way it presents experience and because of the vivid sense of the actual that it creates. Point of view is an integral tool of description in the author’s hands to portray personal emotions or characters’ feelings about an experience or situation. Writers use a point of view to express effectively what they want to convey to their readers. 165 Ivdit Diasamidze / Procedia - Social and Behavioral Sciences 158 ( 2014 ) 160 – 165 References Tevdoradze, N.(2010). The principles of text analysis and interpretation. Tbilisi: Ilia State university:. Japaridze, T.(2005) The elements of fiction (book one). Tbilisi : Tbilisi State University:. Sylvan, B., Morton, B., William, B. (1993). An introduction to literature Fiction/poetry/drama.(10th ed.). Harper Collins College Publishers. Beaty, J., & Hunter, J.P.(1973). The Norton introduction to literature (shorter 7th ed.). New York-.London:.W.W. Norton & Company. The complete works of William Shakespeare (1997). New York: Gramercy Books. Random House Value Publishing.. Stevenson, R.(1992). Modernist Fiction: An Introduction. Lexington: University of Kentucky. Austen, J.(1996). Pride and Prejudice. London: Penguin Classics. Thackeray, W., Makepeace. (2011). Vanity Fair. Google Books. Retrieved on October 17, 2014 Cope, V. H.(2012). Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn: Text, Illustrations, and Early Reviews. University of Virginia Library. Retrieved. Fitzgerald, F. S.(2006). The Great Gatsby. (Bloom, Harold, ed.) New York: Chelsea House Publishers. Faulkner, W.(2004). Sound and Fury. London: Vintage. 
work_oagfsvvobbgcrhicufaxdoowwi	----	ROP volume 58 issue 4 Cover and Front matter THE REVIEW OF POLITICS Aristotle and the Republican Paradigm Christopher Nadon Deep Ecology and Liberalism Gus diZerega The Performative Contradiction: Habermas and the Critique of Reason Martin Morris Narrative in Voegelin's Account of Consciousness Thomas W. Heilke Review Essay: A Mirror of Enlightenment: The Rational Choice Debates Joseph V. Brogan Book Reviewers include— Alasdair Maclntyre, Sanford Lakoff, Robert Kraynak, Eva Brann, Jean Yarbrough, and John Lukacs Fall, 1996 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 34 67 05 00 02 04 04 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 12 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0034670500020404 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms THE REVIEW OF POLITICS Editor WALTER NICGORSKI Managing Editor DENNIS WM MORAN Book Review Editor PETER R. MOODY, JR. Assistant Book Review Editor V. BRADLEY LEWIS Associate Editors Fred R. Dallmayr E. A. Goerner Philip Gleason Thomas Werge Former Editors Waldemar Gurian M. A. Fitzsimons Frederick J. Crosson Thomas Stritch Donald P. Kommers Editorial Advisory Board Henry J. Abraham Alasdair Maclntyre University of Virginia Duke University Charles W. Anderson Harvey C. Mansfield University of Wisconsin-Madison Harvard University Shlomo Avineri Mary Nichols Hebrew University of Jerusalem Fordham University Robert F. Byrnes Doris Marie Provine Indiana University Syracuse University Ernest L. Fortin Arlene Saxonhouse Boston College University of Michigan Gerald Garvey Kenneth W. Thompson Princeton University University of Virginia Samuel Krislov Glenn Tinder University of Minnesota University of Massachusetts- Arend Lijphart Boston University of Catherine Zuckert California-SanDiego Carleton College Secretary: R o b e r t a J. F e r k i n s Editorial Intern: Peter C. M e i l a e n d e r Production Manager: M a t t h e w E . D e C a r o l i s THE REVIEW OF POLITICS, without neglecting the analysis of institutions and techniques, is primarily interested in the philosophical and historical approach to politics. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 34 67 05 00 02 04 04 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 12 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0034670500020404 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms THE REVIEW OF POLITICS Published Quarterly by the University of Notre Dame, Indiana Vol. 58 Fall 1996 No. 4 Christopher Nadon Aristotle and the Republican Paradigm: A Reconsideration of Pocock's Machiavellian Moment 677 Gus diZerega Deep Ecology and Liberalism: The Greener Implications of Evolutionary Liberal Theory 699 Martin Morris On the Logic of the Performative Contradiction: Habermas and the Radical Critique of Reason 735 Thomas W. Heilke Anamnetic Tales: The Place of Narrative in Eric Voegelin's Account of Consciousness 761 Review Essay: Joseph V. Brogan: A Mirror of Enlightenment: The Rational Choice Debate 793 Reviews: Alasdair Maclntyre: TO LIVE AND LET LIVE Review of John Gray's Enlightenment's Wake: Politics and Culture at the Close of the Modern Age 807 Sanford Lakoff: THE THREAT OF COMMUNITY Review of Steven Kautz's Liberalism and Community 809 Cecelia A. Rodriguez: PIETY AND THE PHILOSOPHIC LIFE Review of Peter J. Ahrensdorf's The Death of Socrates And The Life Of Philosophy 811 Robert P. Kraynak: SPECULATIONS ON THE EARLIEST WRITINGS OF HOBBES Review of Thomas Hobbes's Three Discourses: A Critical Modern Edition of Newly Identified Work of the Young Hobbes. Edited by Noel B. Reynolds and Arlene W. Saxonhouse 813 Eva T. H. Brann: ARISTOTLE FROM A WOMAN'S PERSPECTIVE Review of Anne Crippin Ruderman's The Pleasure of Virtue: Political Thought in the Novels of Jane Austen 817 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 34 67 05 00 02 04 04 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 12 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0034670500020404 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms John Francis Burke: HEGEMONY AS BODY POLITICS Review of Richard C. Trexler's Sex And Violence: Gendered Violence, Political Order, and the European Conquest of the Americas 819 Jean Yarbrough: THE AUTHOR AND THE ARCHITECT Review of The Republic of Letters: Correspondence between Thomas Jefferson and James Madison. Edited by James Morton Smith 821 R. Bruce Douglass: TOLERANCE WITHOUT DISTANCE Review of Glenn Tinder's Tolerance and Community 826 Peter Lindsay: TRUST AND THE BOTTOM LINE Review of Francis Fukuyama's Trust: The Social Virtues and the Creation of Prosperity 829 Robert Huckfeldt: PARTICIPATION AND ITS CONTEXT Review of Sidney Verba, Kay Lehman Schlozman, and Henry E. Brady's Voice and Equality: Civic Volunarism in American Politics 832 Sharon R. Murphy: DEMOCRACY THROUGH THE LENS OF CHRISTIAN THEOLOGY Review of John W. De Gruchy's Christianity and Democracy, A Theology for a Just World Order 834 James G. Ryan: MOSCOW TREASURES Review of Harvey Klehr, John Earl Haynes, and Fridrikh Igorevich Firsov's The Secret World of American Communism ... 838 John Lukacs: AN ENCOUNTER OF PEOPLES Review of Klaus-Dietmar Henke's Die Amerikanische Besetzung Deutschlands 840 Steven J. Brady: FORCED TO BE FREE Review of Richard L. Merritt's Democracy Imposed: U.S. Occupation Policy and the German Public 845 Denise Schaeffer: TRIUMPH OF THE WILL Review of Wendy Brown's States of Injury: Power and Freedom in Late Modernity 847 Thomas E. Kaiser: KINGS, LAW, AND PROPERTY Review of Blandine Kriegel's The State and the Rule of Law 850 Cris Toffolo: MORAL OBLIGATIONS OF NATIONALISM Review of David Miller's On Nationality and Review of Michael Billig's Banal Nationalism 852 Chalmers Johnson: THEORETICAL IMPLICATIONS OF THE JAPANESE WAY Review of William K. Tabb's The Postwar Japanese System: Cultural Economy and Economic Transformation 854 Donald A. Downs: BUT THEY KNOW WHAT THEY LIKE Review of Alice Goldfarb Marquis's Art Lessons: Learning from the Rise and Fall of Public Arts Funding 857 Sean J. Savage: PHOENIX RISING Review of Mary C. Brennan's Turning Right in the Sixties: The Conservative Capture of the GOP 859 Debra L. DeLaet: FROM GEOPOLITICS TO GEOGOVERNANCE Review of Richard Falk's On Humane Governance: TowardaNew Global Politics 862 h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 34 67 05 00 02 04 04 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 12 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0034670500020404 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms Contributors to This Issue CHRISTOPHER NADON is Assistant Professor in Political Science in Trinity College, Hartford. GUS DiZEREGA is Research Associate in the Institute for Governmental Studies at the University of California, Berkeley and Adjunct Professor of Social Science in Santa Rosa Junior College. MARTIN MORRIS is a Postdoctoral Fellow at Duke University. THOMAS W. HEILKE is Assistant Professor of Political Science in the University of Kansas. JOSEPH V. BROGAN is the Chair of the Political Science Department in LaSalle University in Philadelphia. ALASDAIR MacINTYRE, author of After Virtue, is Professor of Philosophy in Duke University. SANFORD LAKOFF is Research Professor of Political Science in the University of California, San Diego. CECILIA A. RODRIGUEZ is Assistant Professor of Political Science in Southwest Texas State University. ROBERT P. KRAYNAK is Professor of Political Science in Colgate University. EVA T. H. BRANN is Dean of St. John's College (Santa Fe) and author of The World of the Imagination. JOHN FRANCIS BURKE is Associate Professor of Political Science in the University of Houston-Downtown. JEAN YARBROUGH teaches politics in Bowdoin College. R. BRUCE DOUGLASS is Dean of the Faculty in Georgetown University. PETER LINDSAY is a Lecturer in Social Studies in Harvard University and author of Creative Individualism: The Democratic Vision of C. B. Macpherson. ROBERT HUCKFELDT is Professor of Political Science in Indiana University. SHARON R. MURPHY teaches in the International Studies Program in Nazareth College. JAMES G. RYAN is Assistant Professor in the Department of General Academics in Texas A&M University at Galveston. JOHN LUKACS, author of Historical Consciousness: Remembered h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 34 67 05 00 02 04 04 D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 12 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0034670500020404 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms Past, is Professor Emeritus in Chestnut Hill College. STEVEN J. BRADY is a doctoral student in Notre Dame's Department of History. DENISE SCHAEFFER teaches political philosophy and feminist theory in Holy Cross College.THOMAS E. KAISER is Professor of History in the University of Arkansas at Little Rock. CRIS TOFFOLO teaches political science in the University of St. Thomas. CHALMERS JOHNSON is with the Japan Research Institute. DONALD A. DOWNS is Professor of Political Science, University of Wisconsin. SEAN J. SAVAGE is Assistant Professor of Political Science in St. Mary's College, Notre Dame. DEBRA L. 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work_oazrxpvuhbcjbnrow7fjsawrse	----	Foster may speak of a general tendency among his small totals, but I remain doubtful. CHARLES W. HIEATT Cambridge, England To the Editor: I appreciate Don Foster’s generosity in giving versions of Shaxicon on disk to colleagues. Charles Hieatt and I have made use of it since 1993, while waiting for part of the now complete Shakespeare Dictionary materials from the Shakespeare Database in Munster, a project associated with the names of Marvin Spevack and H. J. Neuhaus. Foster’s formula and the graphs constructed from it de­ velop a principally accurate picture, based on statistically appreciable quantities (1090-91). However, I’m puzzled to find in one numerator a total of rare words including all their repetitions but in both denominators totals of rare words excluding their repetitions. And in fact Foster fi­ nally multiplies instead of dividing as his formula asks. |Editor’s note. See the correction on page 434.] Unless you’ve used Shaxicon, you can’t appreciate its power and (as we see it) its pitfalls. A “rare word” in Fos­ ter’s sense is one used in up to twelve of Shakespeare’s plays, and the count embraces all possible inflectional forms of the word, because any competent English speaker who can use one form has mastery of them all. Sums as a verb is one word with summ'd, summeth, hath summed, are summed, and so on, but not with the nouns sum, sums, sum’s, and sums These nouns together form another word, as in a dictionary entry. Consequently, for Shaxicon the difference between the verb sum and the noun sum is as great as the difference between sum (n. or vb.) and dearth, an arrangement that seems at best ap­ proximative. Second, Shaxicon (contrary to dictionaries and to our practice) treats two nonfinite forms of a verb as separate words. For Shaxicon the phrases “defeated enemy” and “defeating the enemy” would entail two words distinct from the finite verb, although both the par­ ticipial adjective and the gerund are automatically avail­ able to any competent English speaker who says, “She defeated enemies.” This turns hosts of unrare words into rare ones. There are other important difficulties, some unavoidable. Foster seems to me to impose on this structure loads that it can’t bear. For instance, Foster says that because Shakespeare played the part of Egeon in The Comedy of Errors at various times, he held Egeon rare words in cre­ ative memory when he wrote Henry VIII. Thus, although Egeon rare words form only 11.9% of the rare words in Errors, they make up 22.0% of the Errors rare words ap­ pearing in Henry VIII (1090). But this increase in percent­ age amounts to only 6 words of the 853 rare words in Shakespeare’s presumed part of Henry VIII, a statistically trivial quantity. Vocabulary can identify its owner, but a word relates to context as well as to user. In a mass of Shakespeare’s words, contexts may cancel one another out, and the au­ thor may be revealed; however, a set of 6 words out of 853 reliably indicates only the fictional events being evoked. This observation is especially important for Fos­ ter’s claim that Shakespearean authorship of A Funeral Elegy is more assured because 40.5% of the Errors rare words in the poem are Egeon words. Foster neglects the point that Egeon’s speeches and Elegy are both mostly lugubrious recitals of disaster. How many of the insig­ nificant number of rare words common to the two texts are more likely to be required by shared contexts than by shared authorship? Only attentive study of the con­ texts of each pair of words will give an answer. Foster’s corresponding point that only 11.4% of the Errors rare words shared with Jonson’s Every Man in His Humor are Egeon words is unsurprising: Jonson’s comedy is un- lugubrious (1092). Even the persona of the poet, deduced in this case from forty-four works, is an equally valid datum, faulty as it has sometimes proved in the past. Some of Foster’s evi­ dence (e.g., the Shakespearean who for which [1084]) is striking, yet I still prefer to believe that the persona behind the Tudor commonplaces and sanctimony in Elegy be­ longs to some other WS, a sometime Oxonian under strong Shakespearean influence (as Foster describes John Ford in another connection). Admittedly, none of WS’s other works have been iden­ tified, but nor have those of many an Anon. And where are the outpourings of William Peter’s “well-abled quill” {Elegy 238)? I’m not convinced by Foster’s comments in his annotations of the poem or by the implausible notion of the Bard’s hoping to regain credit in Oxford, where malice had ruined his youthful hopes (Elegy 145-52; note to 154). The poet describes Peter as “there” (presumably Oxford) and then “here,” where parents bear witness to children—presumably around Exeter, not Stratford (154, 156-74). But was even Oxford meant? Are “there” and “here” ambiguous? In an article forthcoming in Shake­ speare Studies in 1997, Katherine Duncan-Jones shows that “education and new being” (152) likely means “birth and upbringing.” So “there” may mean not Oxford but the West Country of both Peter and her William Sclater (who, unlike Peter, attended Cambridge, not Oxford; see Foster 1092). Using Shaxicon, furthermore, Charles Hieatt and I have arrived at dates for the composition and revision of Shakespeare’s Sonnets that differ from Foster’s estimates and largely confirm the preliminary results achieved in Anne Lake Prescott’s and our “When Did Shakespeare Write Sonnets 1609?” (Studies in Philology 88 [1991]: 69-109). He says most of the sonnets were composed late; we believe that many were written around 1593-94, when sonnets had become popular in England, although many were revised or added later, sometimes much later. Shaxicon is a valuable introductory tool, but other evi­ dence, including the contexts of each pair of words pro­ duced by it, must supplement it. A. KENT HIEATT Deep River, CT To the Editor: Almost a decade ago, in his Elegy by W. S.: A Study in Attribution (1989), Donald W. Foster first explored the possibility that Shakespeare might have written A Fu­ neral Elegy. A product of meticulous research and scru­ pulous argument, the book reached no firm conclusion on this question, but in subsequent presentations to the Shakespeare Association and the MLA, Foster has gone from cautious advocacy to unequivocal certainty. Now in his October 1996 PMLA article he concludes that “A Fu­ neral Elegy belongs hereafter with Shakespeare’s poems and plays .. .” (1082). In the article Foster almost completely ignores the strong evidence against Shakespeare’s authorship, much of which he considers in his book. Lines 139-40 (in which “country” means home area, a sense in common usage as late as Jane Austen), 145-78, and 557-60 clearly imply that WS committed a youthful indiscretion and will learn from it to avoid scandal in the future. I find it impossible to believe that at forty-eight and about to re­ tire Shakespeare could have been concerned about his “endangered youth” and “days of youth.” Foster ex­ plained in 1989: “It is certainly possible in the phrase ‘the hopes of my endangered youth’ to envision a poet who is speaking as a young man, perhaps a man even younger than Peter himself. Indeed, those readers who are disinclined to accept Shakespearean authorship of the poem may find here an insurmountable objection, one that counterbalances all evidence that Shakespeare may have written the poem” (Elegy by W. S. Yld). The elegy in its entirety provides the most compelling evidence against its attribution to Shakespeare. That the supreme master of language, at the close of his career, could have written this work of unrelieved banality of thought and expression, lacking a single memorable phrase in its 578 lines, is to me unthinkable. The poem is not simply uninspired, it is inept in its stumbling rhythm, its conventional and flat diction, its empty sententious­ ness. Nowhere in the work do I encounter Shakespeare’s creative signature, despite Foster’s astounding statement that the poetry of the Elegy is “no better, if no worse, than what may be found in Henry VIII or The Two Nobel Kins­ men” (Elegy by W. S. 201; my emphasis). Selecting al­ most any passage at random—for example, 525-36—I see a pedestrian prosiness, an absence of concreteness and specificity, a lack of any true affective quality. What I find most distressing in Foster’s article is his confident assertion that study of A Funeral Elegy will open “new critical directions,” presumably for the study of Shakespeare’s work generally (1092). That inclusion of the poem in the canon, already promised for three lead­ ing editions of the collected works, will legitimate A Fu­ neral Elegy as a proper, even exciting, object of critical and biographical study is a dismal prospect indeed. SIDNEY THOMAS Syracuse, NY To the Editor: I read Donald W. Foster’s essay with great interest. Partly on the basis of information supplied in the essay, I believe that the author of A Funeral Elegy was Elizabeth Cary rather than Shakespeare. The subject of the Elegy, William Peter, was born in Devonshire in 1582 and lived in Oxfordshire from the late 1590s to 1609, when he returned to Devonshire, where he married Margaret Brewton. He was murdered in Janu­ ary 1612. Shakespeare was eighteen years older and lived mainly in London during Peter’s entire adult life; he would have had little opportunity to have become a close friend of Peter. Cary was three or four years younger than Peter and lived mainly in Oxfordshire during Peter’s more than ten years of residence in the vicinity. Cary married in 1602, but the union was arranged and apparently love­ less. In the early years of her marriage Cary did not reside with her husband, who left England in 1604 and returned in 1608, the year before Peter left Oxfordshire and Cary gave birth to her first child. (Information about Cary’s life can be found in the introduction to The Tragedy of Mariam, ed. Barry Weller and Margaret W. Ferguson [Berkeley: U of California P, 1994].) After noting the grief felt by Peter’s friends, the Elegy poet singles out one of them: Amongst them all, she who those nine of years Liv’d fellow to his counsels and his bed 
work_oc6752ffcbbuzcrojqq7pfgptm	----	The Difficult Beauty of Mansfield Park The Difficult Beauty of Mansfield Park Author(s): Thomas R. Edwards, Jr. Source: Nineteenth-Century Fiction, Vol. 20, No. 1 (Jun., 1965), pp. 51-67 Published by: University of California Press Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2932492 Accessed: 20/09/2010 00:32 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use, available at http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp. JSTOR's Terms and Conditions of Use provides, in part, that unless you have obtained prior permission, you may not download an entire issue of a journal or multiple copies of articles, and you may use content in the JSTOR archive only for your personal, non-commercial use. Please contact the publisher regarding any further use of this work. Publisher contact information may be obtained at http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucal. Each copy of any part of a JSTOR transmission must contain the same copyright notice that appears on the screen or printed page of such transmission. JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. University of California Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Nineteenth-Century Fiction. http://www.jstor.org http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucal http://www.jstor.org/stable/2932492?origin=JSTOR-pdf http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucal The Diffcult Beauty of Mansfield Park THOMAS R. EDWARDS, JR. FROM THE Reverend James Stanier Clarke on, there have been those who see no problem in Mansfield Park; it is a pleasing tale of virtue rewarded, and this is enough. But such readers are happily rarer today than a hundred years ago; some of our best critical minds have boggled at accepting Fanny Price and Jane Austen's endorsement of her,' and the novel's difficulties have to be faced. Even its admirers have had to season their praise-often for "technical" successes-with uneasy confessions that its moral frame may be simpler than the fictional life it controls and judges.2 Only Lionel Trilling observes that such uneasiness marks the prime virtue of the novel, whose greatness is "commensurate Thomas R. Edwards, Jr., is a member of the department of English, Rutgers University. 1For good statements of the case against the novel, see: D. W. Harding, "Regu- lated Hatred," Scrutiny, VIII (1940), 346-362 (reprinted, with other valuable essays, in the excellent collection Discussions of Jane Austen, ed. William Heath [Boston, 1961], pp. 41-50); C. S. Lewis, "A Note on Jane Austen," Essays in Criticism, IV (1954), 359-371 (Heath, pp. 58-64); and the pertinent chapter in Marvin Mudrick, Jane Austen: Irony as Defense and Discovery (Princeton 1952). Mr. Mudrick's is the most uncompromising condemnation, and the most carefully analytical; my reading (and, I suspect, Lionel Trilling's too) was in large part arrived at by trying to answer his objections, and I take this to indicate how vigorous and intelligent his case is, even though I almost entirely disagree with it. All quotations from Mansfield Park are from the edition of R. W. Chapman, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1926); I give page references to this edition, and (in roman nu- merals) chapter references to the numerous other editions which (unlike Dr. Chap- man's) number the chapters consecutively, without regard for the original three- volume form. 2See, for example, Reginald Farrer, "Jane Austen," Quarterly Review, CCXXVII (1917), 1-30 (Heath, pp. 85-86); Joseph M. Duffy, Jr., "Moral Integrity and Moral Anarchy in Mansfield Park," ELH, XXIII (1956), 71-91; Charles Murrah, "The Background of Mansfield Park," in From Austen to Joseph Conrad, ed. R. C. Rath- burn and Martin Steinmann, Jr. (Minneapolis, 1958), pp. 23-34; and Andrew H. Wright, Jane Austen's Novels, rev. ed. (London, 1961), pp. 123-134. 3Lionel Trilling, "Mansfield Park," in The Opposing Self (New York, 1955) (Heath, pp. 87-98). My dissents from Mr. Trilling's views will not, of course, dis- guise the extent of my indebtedness to his indispensable essay. [51] 52 Nineteenth-Century Fiction with its power to offend." 3 One learns more about Mansfield Park from Mr. Trilling than from anyone else; but while I share his belief in its greatness, I must confess some doubts about his way of reading it. Although Fanny is indeed conceived ironically, I think Jane Austen likes her and wants us to like her too-and despite Mr. Trilling's invocation of "the shade of Pamela," I find it quite possible to do so. Nor can I accept his view of Henry and Mary Crawford; surely they are presented consistently, and with entire persuasiveness, as being more gravely flawed and less charm- ing than he finds them, even at first reading; and in Mary, espe- cially, Jane Austen diagnoses a moral disorder that, because less under conscious control, is both more alarming and more pitiful than the deliberate insincerities and impersonations with which he charges them. In short, Mr. Trilling concedes too much to the opposition, even to the extent of accepting the idea that the novel's praise "is not for social freedom but for social stasis," that it rejects "spiritness, vivacity, celerity, and lightness . .. as having nothing to do with virtue and happiness." Fanny and Edmund do reject freedom and vivacity, to be sure, and they are right to do so, considering who they are, but Jane Austen's view of the rejection is considerably more complicated and troubled than theirs. Mansfield Park does speak, as Mr. Trilling says, "to our secret inexpressible hopes" of escaping the "demands of personality" and secular complexity, but it warns as well that such an escape would cost us dearly. It is first of all a singularly "beautiful" novel, one in which Jane Austen draws more than usual upon "scenic" resources.4 We attend more to where people are and what they are doing, and, more important, scene makes fuller contact with moral meaning. The excursion to Sotherton reveals this mingling of scene and meaning at its fullest. In contravention of Mrs. Norris' plans for organized sightseeing, the young people, meeting with an outward door, temptingly open on a flight of steps which led immediately to turf and shrubs, and all the sweets of pleasure-grounds, as by one impulse, one wish for air and liberty, all walked out (p. 90, ix). The tangled syntax reflects another entanglement, of motive and 4This is the point of Mr. Murrah's essay; both he and Mr. Duffy say that the Sotherton episode is important. The Difficult Beauty of Mansfield Park 53 evaluation, which the setting expresses too: it is good to thwart Mrs. Norris and all calculations about pleasure, yet the "impulse" seems too easily satisfied, the "sweets" too "immediate." (Are not gardens "tempting" places?) Guests should wait for invitations, but more than good manners seems at issue. There follows a dance-like movement through the landscape of lawn, Wilderness, and park, in which personal groupings, and the romantic possi- bilities they imply, dissolve and reform; Henry and Maria slip into the locked park, jealously followed by Julia and Rushworth; Mary and Edmund rejoin a lonely Fanny and are welcomed back by Authority in an amusingly theatrical tableau: "on [their] reaching the bottom of the steps to the terrace, Mrs. Rushworth and Mrs. Norris presented themselves at the top" (p. 103, x). Happily, it is not the novelist but the characters who seek to exploit the scene's obvious symbolic possibilities. Mary, for one, has a lively sense of what might be done with the landscape: "We have taken such a very serpentine course; and the wood itself must be half a mile long in a straight line, for we have never seen the end of it yet, since we left the first great path. "But if you remember, before we left that first great path, we saw directly to the end of it. We looked down the whole vista, and saw it closed by iron gates, and it could not have been more than a furlong in length." "Oh! I know nothing of your furlongs, but I am sure it is a very long wood; and that we have been winding in and out ever since we came...." "We have been exactly a quarter of an hour here," said Edmund, taking out his watch. "Do you think we are walking four miles an hour?" "Oh! do not attack me with your watch. A watch is always too fast or too slow. I cannot be dictated to by a watch" (pp. 94-95, ix). Mary wants the Wilderness to be a Forest of Love (or at least Dalliance); her terms-serpentine course, first great path, not seeing to the end of it-playfully hint at an allegory of possible emotional involvement. She aims at a charming "femininity," but her projection of the scene as a Spenserian forest where time and space are suspended seems strained and coy. If Edmund (as so often) misses the point with his blundering addition of the iron gates and his inept insistence on furlongs and watches, we must 54 Nineteenth-Century Fiction still agree that time and space do exist, both as they affect people (Fanny is tired) and in their resonances as moral metaphors-to romanticize like this is to risk losing your bearings. The danger becomes clear when Henry and Maria stand foiled by the gate: "Your prospects, however, are too fair to justify want of spirits. You have a very smiling scene before you." "Do you mean literally or figuratively? Literally I conclude. Yes, certainly, the sun shines and the parks looks very cheerful. But un- luckily that iron gate, that ha-ha, gives me a feeling of restraint ancl hardship. I cannot get out, as the starling said." As she spoke, and it was with expression, she walked to the gate; he followed her. "Mr. Rushworth is so long fetching this key!" "And for the world you would not get out without the key and with- out Mr. Rushworth's authority and protection, or I think you might with little difficulty pass round the edge of the gate, here, with my assistance; I think it might be done, if you really wished to be more at large, and could allow yourself to think it not prohibited." "Prohibited! nonsense! I certainly can get out that way, and I will" (p. 99, x). This innuendo-ridden talk is what Edmund's stolid belief in time and space unwittingly saved him from. Jane Austen predicts the final disaster of Maria and Henry, but the moment evokes views of obligation and licence that are more than aspects of "plot" or "character." Freedom is tempting because it may be wicked. Each -Henry slyly, Maria impetuously-uses the setting to mirror improper interest in the other; since neither admits that the conversation is "figurative," they can dally with perfect efficiency (for both, getting into the park easily becomes "getting out") with- out taking any responsibility for their insinuations. People who imply that they mean more than they say, yet refuse to say what they mean, are both irritating and dishonest, and Fanny, though as usual she can't quite say it, senses thoroughly what is at stake: "you will certainly hurt yourself against those spikes-you will tear your gown-you will be in danger of slipping into the ha-ha. You had better not go." Setting becomes the image of moral violence. The whole episode is beautifully drawn, but like other great moments in Mansfield Park it represents more than a local triumph of "technique," to be weighed against a pervasive failure of dis- The Difficult Beauty of Mansfield Park 55 crimihiation and understanding by the author.- The beauty of the novel, its brilliant combining of Jane Austen's1 usual mastery of speech and incident with a new sense of what setting can express, serves the end of a subtler statement and development of the novelist's grasp of the fictional "life" she deals with. Though it would be hard to prove, I think we are told less in this novel than in her others; evaluations are less clear-cut, judgments less re- liant on any moral schematism, significance more dependent on. our "reading" of scenes. If we look in Fanny for the signs that so firmly place Jane Austen's other heroines we will not find them, nor are Edmund, Mary, and Henry so distinctly given moral location. But this blurring of the outlines of comedy of manners (or fairytale)5 creates not confusion but a new generosity and seriousness in the presentation of "theme." The theme presented has to do with meddling, seeking to impose one's will on creatures entitled to wills of their own, treating other lives as though one's designs for them were their chief reason for being. Stated so broadly, this is the theme of Emma and, it less prominently, of the other novels too; at this level of generality, indeed, it is the theme of most classic fiction and many of our difficulties with life. But in Mansfield Park it gets a fullness of treatment not to be equalled until the triumphs' of George Eliot and James.6 There is first Mrs. Norris, whose selfish meddling is the novelist's hint of deeper significance elsewhere. Miss Lascelles remarks that her favorite phrase is "between ourselves," "with its suggestions of conspiracy and wire-pulling"; 7to this might be added the set of variations-"I perfectly comprehend you," "I entirely agree with you," "that is exactly what I think," etc.-that at least once reveals its theme: " 'If I were you' " (p. 55, vi). Mrs. Norris, in other ways demonstrably Jane Austen's most nearly psychotic creation, yearns to merge with other existences, and she deeply resents resistence: [Fanny] likes to go her own way to work; she does not like to be dic- Both Mr. Harding and Mr. Lewis suggest Cinderella as a pattern for Fanny Prike.,ut -Edmund, her reward for suffering, is hardly a Prince Charming; it -is the' Crawfords, not Jane Austen, who impose fantasy upon truth. 6 Barbara Bail Collins, "Jane Austen's Victorian Novel," Nineteenth-Century Fiction, IV,(1949), 175-185, recognizes that Mansfield Park anticipates some of the methods of Victorian fiction, but in her view it is "a forerunner of the dowdy propriety and piety which blossomed in the 'fifties." 7Mary Lascelles, Jane Austen and Her Art (Oxford, 1939), p. 164. 56 Nineteenth-Century Fiction tated to; she takes her own independent walk whenever she can; she certainly has a little spirit of secrecy, and independence, and non- sense, about her, which I would advise her to get the bettter of (p. 323, xxxii). Although Sir Thomas, recently guilty of the same view, thinks this unjust, Mrs. Norris has put her finger on something. Behind her softness of manner, Fanny does indeed resist, and her aunt's sense of this impels her astounding attempt virtually to become Fanny: Depend upon it, it is not you that are wanted; depend upon it it is me (looking at the butler) but you are so very eager to put yourself forward. What should Sir Thomas want you for? It is me, Baddeley, you mean; I am coming this moment. You mean me, Baddeley, I am sure; Sir Thomas wants me, not Miss Price (p. 325, xxxii). For an appalling moment, her madness reveals itself not simply as a yearning for intimacy with Sir Thomas's power but as a desperate hunger for the identities of other people, even the most insignificant. But the contagion is wider spread. Tom Bertram's peevish com- plaint about Mrs. Norris- "it raises my spleen more than any thing, to have the pretence of being asked, of being given a choice, and at the same time addressed in such a way as to oblige one to do the very thing" (p. 120, xii)-reveals, as Fanny sees, his will to have his own way, as when by extravagance he cheer- fully deprived Edmund of half his income or tried to bully Fanny into joining the company of Lovers' Vows ("Let her choose for herself as well as the rest of us," Edmund had then to urge him). Lady Bertram is in her own vegetable way quite as selfish as her sister and daughters; Sir Thomas sadly comes to see that he has spoiled his family not only by indulgence but by repressing their moral freedom; even Edmund attempts to urge Fanny into Henry's arms. Robbing people of their choice lies at the heart of virtually every significant incident in the novel. Something disturbingly more than a lack of sincerity vitiates the charm of the Crawfords. We notice that Henry is attracted to Fanny as to a puzzle: I do not quite know what to make of Miss Fanny. I (lo not under- stand her. I could not tell what she would be at yester(lay.... I must The Difficult Beauty of Mansfield Park 57 try to get the better of this. Her looks say, "I will not like you, I aim determined not to like you," and I say, she shall (p. 230, xxiv). Lawrence would know what to make of this hunger for "knowing," this will to destroy another's separateness. Henry is of course more than a Lovelace, and his "moral taste" is sufficient to appreciate Fanny's capacity for feeling, but the growth of his love gets consistent qualification: It would be something to be loved by such a girl, to excite the first ardours of her young, unsophisticated mind! (p. 235, xxiv). [His vanity] convinced him that he should be able in time to make [her] feelings what he wished.... [His love] made her affection appear of greater consequence, because it was withheld, and determined him to have the glory, as well as the felicity, of forcing her to love him (p. 326, xxxiii). His will to dominate, to recreate the world as an image of his wishes, keeps him from ever quite recognizing her reality as "an- other." Nor is this a matter of the narrator imposing a commentary on Henry that his speech and behavior won't support; when, for example, Mary doubts that Fanny would much appreciate their dissolute uncle, Henry can airily reply that "he is a very good man, and has been more than a father to me. Few fathers would have let me have my own way half so much. You must not prejudice Fanny against him. I must have them love one another" (p. 296, xxx). It is not moral imperception-his tone suggests some amusement about both his uncle and himself-but his determination that both Fanny and the Admiral shall be objects to manipulate that defines the irony. Mary is a richer figure, subject to more complex attention and concern, but she too shows a corruption by will. As in her dismis- sal of time and space at Sotherton, she likes to imagine worlds more congenial than the real one. Edmund's simple determination to be ordained seems to her (pp. 227-228, xxiii) a deliberate insult, shattering her trust in a different, imaginary future: "It was plain now that he could have no serious views, no true attachment, by fixing himself in a situation which he must know she would never stoop to." She suffers from not being able to strike back at Sir Thomas, the presumed "destroyer" of her "agreeable fancies"- "not daring to relieve herself by a single attempt at throwing ridi- 58 Nineteenth-Century Fiction cule on his cause" (p. 248, xxv). As for any child, what others do has always direct reference to herself, as when she equates,.Edmund's "adhering to his own notions" with "acting on them in defiance of' her" (p. 286, xxix). This wilfulness must, to be sure, be weighed against her appreciation of Edmund himself (as well As her dream bf him as a "man of independent fortune"), and against her' ability to rebuke herself: "She was afraid she had used some strong-some contemptuous expressions in speaking of the clergy,' and that should not have been. It was ill-bred-it was wrong. She wished such words unsaid with all her heart" (p. 286, xxix). The dashes indicate the difficult' achievement of honesty, as she resists the tempting understatements of her fault. She engages mnore of our sympathetic interest than her brother, but Mary, rather more gravely than Emma Woodhouse, is prey to what Jane Austen's revered Dr. Johnson called "the dangerous prevalence of imagina- tion." Only Fanny recognizes the perils of will, in resisting Ednmund's advancement of Henry as a fit object for her reforming powers: "I would not engage in such a charge," cried Fanny, in a shrinking accent-"in such an office of high responsibility!" "As usual, believing yourself unequal to anything!-fancying every thing too much for you!" (p. 351, xxxv). Edmund seldom appreciates subtlety; far from "fancyihng," Fanny here recognizes both the difficulty and the impropriety of disturb- ing the existences of other people, however bad. She comes as close as she can to explaining this when Henry seeks to draw her into intimacy by soliciting her advice: "When you give me your opinion, I always know what is right. Your judgment is my rule of right." "Oh, no!-do not say so. We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be" (p. 412;, klii). The reader who thinks Conscience a quaint concept is (as he de- serves to be) in trouble here. Fanny's inner guide is her only defense against will, her own or someone else's. Mansfield Park, a novel without miracles, has no instance of one character converting another by sitting down for a good, serious talk. Rather, those who have a conscience, like Edmund and Sir Thomas. work out The Difficult Beauty of Mansfield Park 59 their salvations in the quiet privacy of their own thoughts, while those who have none, like Henry and Mrs. Norris, or who cannot find the privacy to listen to theirs, like Mary and Maria, find no refuge from the desolations that the will insists on. Indeed, had Jane Austen wanted to continue the pattern of titles begun with Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice, she might have called Mansfield Park (inelegantly enough) Conscience and Consciousness. Opposed to conscience, the inner guide, is "consciousness" in a common eighteenth-century sense: "Having one's thoughts and attention unduly centred in one's own per- sonality; and hence, apt to imagine that one is the object of ob- servation by others; Self-conscious." 8 (C. S. Lewis, who rejects this meaning as a semantic impossibility, offers another equally relevant-having a secret which you think someone shares-and admits that being in such a state may make you be and look "self- conscious.")9 In Mansfield Park, people are constantly watching one another, gauging their effect on their listeners, searching, as in a mirror, for signs of their own existence. The Crawfords, if not the source of the infection, are at least the agents of its spread. When Mary congratulates Lady Bertram upon the peace which, for bystanders, must follow the selection of Lovers' Vows, she re- marks: " 'I do sincerely give you joy, madam, as well as Mrs. Norris, and every body else who is in the same predicament,' glancing half fearfully, half slyly, beyond Fanny to Edmund" (p. 143, xv). Such consciousness is usual in Mary's conversation: "Miss Craw- ford turned her eye on [Fanny], as if wanting to hear or see more, and then laughingly said, 'Oh! yes, missed as every noisy evil is missed when it is taken away.... But I am not fishing; don't compliment me'" (p. 289, xxix). And even her letter-writing is tainted: To have such a fine young man cut off in the flower of his days, is most melancholy. Poor Sir Thomas will feel it dreadfully. I really am quite agitated on the subject. Fanny, Fanny, I see you smile, and look cunning, but upon my honour, I never bribed a physician in my life (p. 434, xlv). For her, being conscious is a way of achieving relationship-she shares with others the amusing pretence of her wickedness and thus assures them that it is a pretence-and so of assimilating 8 OED, "Conscious," def. 9. 9 C. S. Lewis, Studies in Words (Cambridge, 1960), p. 187. 60 Nineteenth-Century Fiction people to the needs of her will. That we are made to see it partly as a pathetic effort to escape isolation in the self is a tribute to the fairness and compassion with which Jane Austen presents Mary. Because less is at stake for him, Henry's more assured conscious- ness can be drawn with a lighter touch. In the fine comedy of chapter xxxiv, his reading of Shakespeare, his renouncing of ama- teur theatricals, and his discussion of preaching with Edmund are all calculated for their effect on Fanny, whom he keeps looking at and interrogating: ". . . nineteen times out of twenty I am thinking how such a prayer ought to be read, and longing to have it to read myself-Did you speak?." stepping eagerly to Fanny, and addressing her in a softened voice; and upon her saying, "No," he added, "Are you sure you did not speak? I saw your lips move. I fancied that you might be going to tell me I ought to be more attentive, and not allow my thoughts to wander. Are you not going to tell me so?" "No, indeed, you know your duty too well for me to-even supposing She stopt, felt herself getting into a puzzle, and could not be pre- vailed on to add another word (pp. 340-341). The strands of the theme come together. Henry's will to compel her love, however comically softened, aims at incorporating her into'his performance-even to the extent of writing her lines for her-and her conscience, which again forbids her to dictate to anyonie, is touchingly endangered by the whisper of imagination ("even supposing"). Henry watches Fanny, Edmund (unwittingly drawn into the mannerisms of conscious play) watches them both, and 'with Jane Austen we watch them all. But at the center Henry watches not Fanny but himself as her response reflects him, en- joying with some justice) his own performance for its sheer inven- tive gusto. And when he has finally got her alone: "Do I astonish you?"-said he. "Do you wonder? Is there any thing in my present intreaty that you do not understand? I will explain to you instantly all that makes me urge you in this manner, all that gives me an interest in what you look and do, and excites my present curiosity" (p. 342). But of course he can't explain, fully; involved is not simply his love as he would explain it, but a deeper self-love that can respond The Difficult Beauty of Mansfield Park 61 to others only in proportion to their potential for becoming him- self, in effect, by becoming his creatures. Mansfield Park, with its clashes of will and consciousness, is in fact a world of children, most of them struggling not to grow up. Henry has, preeminently, the child's fascination with the idea of changing his identity, as his delight in acting suggests. If Edmund can make him yearn for the clerical life, William Price, for a moment, arouses his hitherto unrecognized love of seafaring and honest toil (pp. 236-237, xxiv). Or lacking other stimulus, his Protean interests can be absorbed by a game of "Speculation," with an opportunity to manage other hands than his own (p. 240, xxv). But play is more than a relief from boredom. The planned performance of Lovers' Vows is wrong, I think, because it uses the theatrical blurring of art and life in the service of calculated dalli- ance. Mary inquires: "What gentleman among you am I to have the pleasure of making love to?" (p. 143, xv), and as usual the joke is no joke at all for those who share her consciousness. Both Mr. Trilling's idea about the moral dangers of "impersonation" and Miss Lascelles' remark that Jane Austen disapproves of "make- believe that is not acting" 10 are pertinent. Mary and Henry use the play to approach closer to their objects, and those objects, Maria consciously and Edmund confusedly, understand this and accept it. They are not acting but disguising emotional reality in art; but in another sense the Crawfords are always acting-life and art are for them not distinct, and to draw Maria and Edmund into their impersonations, for which the play is only a more or less acceptable public vehicle, is to threaten their living identities without exposing their own in return. That they all sense this appears in their response to Sir Thomas's surprise return, which Jane Austen describes as "consternation," "a moment of absolute horror." The terms are excessive only if measured by adult values, and these are not the ones that apply: ... after the first starts and exclamations, not a word was spoken for half a minute; each with an altered countenance was looking at some other, and almost each was feeling it a stroke the most unwelcome, n'iost ill-timed, most appalling! ... Every other heart [except Yates's and Rushworth's] was sinking under some degree of self-condemnation or undefined alarm, every other heart was suggesting "What will become of 10 Lascelles, Jane Austen and Her Art, p. 68 n. 62 Nineteenth-Century Fiction us? What is to be done now." It was a terrible pause.... Jealousy and bitterness had been suspended; selfishness was lost in the common cause (p. 175, xix). This is more than idle mock-heroic fun; they respond like children who have been caught at some nasty, secret indulgence, and they know it and can only unite in their guilt. The horror is quite real and, from their viewpoint, quite justified, although they soon dis- cover that the adult view-Sir Thomas's-is more liberal than they had supposed. It is a crucial moment when Sir Thomas steps into his billiard room and finds himself on the stage of a theater, "opposed by a ranting young man, who appeared likely to knock him down backwards"; but adult equilibrium is equal to the threat, the stage comes quietly down, and art and life momentarily get sorted out. There is little charm in these children, whose dominant emo- tion seems to be malice. Mary recommends Henry to Fanny by celebrating "the glory of fixing one who has been shot at by so many; of having it in one's power to pay off the debts of one's sex! Oh, I am sure it is not in woman's nature to refuse such a triumph" (p. 363, xxxvi). One suspects she has been reading Etherege, but the life she observed at the Admiral's was fairly Etheregean, and her relish in the idea of "paying off" someone recalls her thwarted wish to hit back at Sir Thomas. Even cruder malice impels Tom's and Maria's "glee" at Edmund's descent from "that moral eleva- tion" they have always resented, when he agrees to act in the play (p. 158, xvii), and in Maria's struggle with Julia for Henry's atten- tions: Maria felt her triumph, and pursued her purpose careless of Julia; and Julia could never see Maria distinguished by Henry Crawford, without trusting that it would create jealousy, and bring a public disturbance at last. Fanny saw and pitied much of this in Julia; but there was no out- ward fellowship between them. Julia made no communication, and Fanny took no liberties. They were two solitary sufferers, or connected only by Fanny's consciousness (p. 163, xvii). In this nursery-world of aggression and spite, only Fanny has full consciousness in the better sense, sympathetic understanding of what others feel. She too is a child-witness her timid withdrawals The Difficult Beauty of Mansfield Park 63 to her "nest of comforts" in the East room-but only in her (and to some extent, Edmund) is childhood given its happier associa- tions of innocence and tender affection. But while Fanny measures the profound moral disturbances in her companions, she is scarcely the monument of feckless virtue she has been taken to be. Though she lacks irony, she has a streak of disconcerting common sense that has almost equal force, as in her mild remark that "let him have all the perfections in the world, I think it ought not to be set down as certain, that a man must be acceptable to every woman he may happen to like him- self" (p. 353, xxxv). Nor is she sentimentally exempted from Jane Austen's ironic scrutiny," as her fondness for quoting Scott warns us.12 We hear of her "feeling neglected, and ... struggling against discontent and envy" (p. 74, vii); we see her hardly able to suppress laughter when Tom's rude remark about Dr. Grant is almost over- heard (p. 119, xii); we see her in the grip of abysmal self-pity for having excluded herself from the play (pp. 159-160, xvii), where the proper response is not simple commiseration but a reflection that if she will insist on being good, she had better learn to valule virtue properly, by experiencing its cost. For all her affectionate concern for Fanny, Jane Austen keeps her distance even in the later episodes, when Fanny begins to growv up. Most notably, we see her human limitations in her reactions to Edmund and Mary. "It was barbarous to be happy when Ed- mund was suffering. Yet some happiness must and would arise, from the very conviction, that he did suffer" (p. 279, xxviii). Ed- mund's defense of Mary provokes something close to venom: 'Tis nonsense all. She loves nobody but herself and her brother. Her friends leading her astray for years! She is quite as likely to have led them astray. They have all, perhaps, been corrupting one another (p. 424, xliv). She can quite unfairly attribute Mary's renewed interest in Ed- mund to his monetary prospects when Tom seems near death- Mary's motive is surely not simple greed but the feeling that being "I find that M. C. Bradbrook has made this point, with a different set of quota- tions from mine, in "A Note on Fanny Price," Essays in Criticism, V (1955), 289-292; but the irony shows Miss Bradbrook that "Fanny is a goose, with more than a pliant disposition and light blue eyes in common with Harriet Smith." 12 Miss Lascelles (Jane Austen and Her Art, pp. 48-51) points out that Janle Austen is usually amused by people who quote familiar literature. 64 Nineteenth-Century Fiction a clergyman's wife would be pleasant if one could cut a figure of style. After Edmund gives Mary up, Fanny tells him of her interest in Tom's dying-perfect delicacy might after all have spared Mary this; and Fanny's reaction to Edmund's misery is decidedly mixed: She knew [he was suffering], and was sorry; but it was with a sorrow so founded on satisfaction, so tending to ease, and so much in harmony with every dearest sensation, that there are few who might not have been glad to exchange their greatest gaiety for it (p. 461, xlviii). This wry assessment, taken with the other revelations of her im- perfection, warns us not to love her too uncritically; she may be "my Fanny" to Jane Austen, but the tone of indulgent affection confesses that there may be something in her to forgive. Far from being unreasonably "protected" by the novelist, Fanny is her most vulnerable heroine, and so her most human one. Fanny's moral views win out, but not through any betrayal of the "life" the novel has rendered. The presentation of Henry and Mary consistently reveals the psychic weakness at the heart of their apparent vitality and strength, and virtually every incident under- lines their disastrous effect on people whose weakness is less talented and skilful. Limited as it is, Fanny's morality has after all a good deal to recommend it as Mr. Trilling makes eloquently clear); to condemn Mansfield Park because in it "the deadly sins are passion and infidelity" 13 is to invoke a sophistication that, with suitable subtlety in defining "passion," would have puzzled or dismayed George Eliot, James, Tolstoy, or Lawrence. But if we are chastened by Fanny's simple virtue, we are by no means invited to embrace it as some triumphant moral imperative. Jane Austen's narrative detachment in the last chapter marks not loss of interest or embarrassment about Mary and Henry, but an un- derstanding that the union of Fanny and Edmund falls somewhat short of solving the universe. Each, for the other, represents an accepted limit of achievement. Fanny is what Edmund's ironically conceived sobriety of virtue has deserved, and no more. Edmund in fact seems the most convincing of Jane Austen's heroes-convincing because he is "placed" by the reservations we are consistently made to feel about him. Both his reality and his limitations are finely secured by his account to Fanny of his final interview with Mary: 13 Mudrick, Jane Austen, p. 180. The Difficult Beauty of Mansfield Park 65 She was astonished, exceedingly astonished-more than astonished. I saw her countenance change. She turned extremely red. I imagined I saw a mixture of many feelings-a great, though short struggle-half a wish of yielding to truths, half a sense of shame-but habit, habit carried it. She would have laughed if she could. It was a sort of laugh, as she an- swered, "A pretty good lecture upon my word. Was it part of your last sermon? At this rate, you will soon reform every body at Mansfield and Thornton Lacey...." She tried to speak carelessly, but she was not so careless as she wanted to appear.... I had gone a few steps, Fanny, when I heard the door open be- hind me. "Mr. Bertram," said she, with a smile-but it was a smile ill- suited to the conversation that had passed, a saucy playful smile, seem- ing to invite, in order to subdue me; at least, it appeared so to me. I resisted; it was the impulse of the moment to resist, and still walked on. I have since-sometimes-for a moment-regretted that I did not go back; but I know I was right; and such has been the end of our ac- quaintance! (pp. 458-459, xlvii). There is much here to respect. Edmund tries to report honestly and fairly, to sort out truth from personal bias, and his hesitations prove his own mixed feelings. But it is his report, and we may as- sume that Jane Austen sees further. Mary's "sort of laugh" is the final victory of consciousness over both conscience and any genuine feeling; we regret it, not simply because it must banish Mary from the Mansfield world, but, more deeply, because she almost under- stood the issue. Her last smile even Edmund saw as possibly am- biguous, and we may find it movingly so. Is it saucy and impeni- tent, or is the nearest she can come to a gesture of apology and regret? Is it, even, the neurotic's desperate plea to be understood and forgiven despite all his resistances? But if we ponder what might have been, for Edmund the door must close forever; and we needn't scorn his inability to bear very much reality until we know we can ourselves. Mary's complex troubled consciousness can have no place in the settled society of Mansfield but this is a criticism of that society as well as of Mary. We may trust Jane Austen to know that the price of peace is considerable simplification. The novelist's parting with Henry is less successful. He is called "cold-blooded" in his vanity which accords oddly with the Henry we have been made to see almost exuberantly enjoying his gifts; and Jane Austen seems unduly insistent about what he has missed: Could he have been satisfied with the conquest of one amiable woman's affections, could he have found sufficient exultation in overcoming the 66 Nineteenth-Century Fiction reluctance, in working himself into the esteem and tenderness of Fanny Price, there would have been every probability of success and felicity for him.... Would he have deserved more, there can be no doubt that more would have been obtained.... Would he have persevered, and up- rightly, Fanny must have been his reward-and a reward very voluntar- ily bestowed-within a reasonable period from Edmund's marrying Mary (p. 467, xlviii). The novel totters on the brink of a miracle. Those nervous modi- fiers ("deserved more," "and uprightly") leave unsolved a problem about the Henry we know. Could he deserve more and yet remain Henry Crawford as the novel has defined him? His attraction to Fanny stems from her resistance, from his need to prove the strength of his will by breaking hers; his seduction of (or by) Maria is no failure in him or in the novelist, but the inevitable fulfilment of his compulsive need to dominate and his passion to change identities. Children do grow up, and (less commonly) people do change their ways, but surely more than a Fanny Price is required to change a Henry Crawford so radically. For all Jane Austen's shrewdness about how people get married, the novel's moral design quivers for a moment. But the miracle of Henry's redemption remains subjunctive, and I see no other flaw in Mansfield Park. The final withdrawal of the novelist from her created world, if it smacks a little of Field- ing's excessively "healthy" scorn for those who believe in fiction, provides a necessary perspective on the Mansfield society. Edmund and Fanny receive an affectionate but knowing farewell, in an idiom that mocks Edmund's own fussy speech: Even in the midst of his late infatuation, he had acknowledged Fanny's mental superiority. What must be his sense of it now, therefore? She was of course only too good for him; but as nobody minds having what is too good for them, he was very steadily earnest in the pursuit of the blessing, and it was not possible that encouragement from her should be long wanting (p. 471, xlviii). Like Fanny, he will never quite know what he missed, and we must agree with the novelist that, on the whole, it is better that they don't. This is not to say that Fanny and Edmund are simply the butts of Jane Austen's dark comedy. She does, however, include them in The Difficult Beauty of Mansfield Park 67 a larger field of irony that they never get out of, and thus the novel differs from her other mature works, where the heroes and heroines are either mostly exempt from irony (like Mr. Knightley or Anne Elliot), or win their release from it as the plot brings them to know what Jane Austen knows-or most of it-about life. Fanny and Edmund learn less, but that is the point; for once we are to con- sider how people who, like most people, have no superabundance of wit and charm and wisdom are to get along in the world. They get along, quite simply, by avoiding what they cannot understand, which in Mansfield Park is the struggle of tormented souls like Mary and Henry to define their own reality by denying reality to other people. Jane Austen does not forbid us to hope that integrity and liveliness of spirit may coexist in people, but she knows that when they clash, as they often will, the latter usually wins; if we are compelled to choose, Mansfield Park reluctantly admonishes us to opt for integrity. Pride and Prejudice and Emma show amply Jane Austen's preference for the union of brilliance and con- science, but they show also that it may have to be achieved by virtually miraculous means, by those changes of heart that happen lamentably more often in novels than in life. In Mansfield Park, virtue is its own reward, and for once Jane Austen firmly insists that it may have to make do with itself.14 This meaning, if I am right in finding it, is no failure of the novelist's integrity but its triumph, and a prediction (as Emma, for all its radiance, is not) of what fiction was to be for the masters of the next hundred years. 14 Mr. Trilling, who plays with this same proverb, says that virtue gets more than itselt, because Fanny grows up to be the virtual mistress of Mansfield Park. Literally, of course, she becomes mistress of Mansfield Parsonage, and Jane Austen resists what must have been the sore temptation of killing Tom to make her heroine rich; Fanny gets, in effect, the life Mary could not accept, and it seems pretty minimal when we think of what Elizabeth Bennet or Emma or even Anne Elliot get. Then too, there is Edmund! Article Contents p. 51 p. 52 p. 53 p. 54 p. 55 p. 56 p. 57 p. 58 p. 59 p. 60 p. 61 p. 62 p. 63 p. 64 p. 65 p. 66 p. 67 Issue Table of Contents Nineteenth-Century Fiction, Vol. 20, No. 1 (Jun., 1965), pp. 1-102 Front Matter [pp. ] The Ironic Vision of Emily Brontë [pp. 1-18] Billy Budd and the Limits of Perception [pp. 19-34] Desperate Remedies and the Victorian Sensation Novel [pp. 35-50] The Difficult Beauty of Mansfield Park [pp. 51-67] The Theme of Alienation in Silas Marner [pp. 69-84] The Structure of The Portrait of a Lady [pp. 85-95] Notes and Reviews Review: untitled [pp. 96-98] Review: untitled [pp. 99-101] Review: untitled [pp. 101-102] Back Matter [pp. ] 
work_ocrseietknfkhl3xqi5m3km7jm	----	Microsoft Word - Nicolau Felix HyperCultura Biannual Journal of the Department of Letters and Foreign Languages, Hyperion University, Romania Electronic ISSN: 2559 - 2025, ISSN-L 2285 - 2115 Vol 4, no 1/2015 Cultural and Institutional Memory as (a) Means of Progress (Part II) ....................................................................................................... Felix Nicolau Culture as Profitable Memory at David Lodge ………………………………………………………………………………………………………. Recommended Citation: Nicolau, Felix. “Culture as Profitable Memory at David Lodge”. HyperCultura 4.1 (2015) Felix Nicolau, ”Culture as Profitable Memory at David Lodge”. Cultural and Institutional Memory as (a) Means of Progress (Part II) HyperCultura, Vol 4, no 1/2015 Page 2 Felix Nicolau The Technical University of Civil Engineering, Bucharest Culture as Profitable Memory at David Lodge Abstract The world of academia is perceived as a competitive milieu full of rivalry. University teaching staff in Britain find themselves in the midst of a whirlpool of ideological and conceptual trends. The effort of academics to stay tuned and to keep up with every new intellectual issue transforms universities into a fierce professional environment. David Lodge humorously analyzes the effects of this excessive professionalization on the academics’ personalities and personal lives. His approach in Changing Places: A Tale of Two Campuses (1975) and Small World: An Academic Romance (1984) is different from the tenser one adopted by Malcolm Bradbury in The History Man (1975). Keywords: academia, rivalry, David Lodge, Britain, development Introduction The aim of such intellectual impetus is not personal development, but a life-long effort to get better integrated into the social system. The subtitle of the first novel, A Tale of Two Campuses, is an intertextual link to Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. The opening statement of the Victorian novel testifies, unwillingly of course, to the loose morals and intellectual principles of the times. What Dickens announced as Nietzschean epistemological perspectivism, has become a sign of debilitation or, at least, complete disorientation in postmodernism: It was the best of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the Spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way… (Dickens 1). 1. A Seductive Profession for Acting Skills In such a slippery environment, people cling to whatever offers them at least short-term certainties. During the ‘70s and until the ‘90s, university teaching was a profession of the stage. Students expected to be seduced on all planes by their tutors. Even the timid Philip Swallow – only possessing budding charisma until he reaches full maturity – gets involved in putting “spells” on his students. One of his “victims” reproduces such an episode in her test paper: Question 5. By what means did Milton try to justify the ways of God to man in Paradise Lost? – My tutor Professor Swallow seduced me in his office last February, if I don’t pass this exam I will tell everybody. John Milton was the greatest English poet after Shakespeare. He knew many languages and nearly wrote Paradise Lost in Latin in which case nobody would be able to read it today. He locked the door and made me lie on the floor so nobody could see us through the window. I banged my head on the wastepaper bin. He also considered writing his epic poem about King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, which is a pity he didn’t as it would have made a more exciting story (Lodge 288). I had to reproduce the quotation in full as its implications, besides its humor, are revealing. Milton’s puritanism is abruptly abolished by the academe. Neither are the intellectual guides spiritual masters. Lodge exploits the myth of King Arthur and his knights - for instance, Morris Zapp declares: “Scholars these days are like the errant knights of old, wandering the ways of the world in search of adventure and glory” (Lodge 291). “Adventure” obviously stands for “affairs”. But more Felix Nicolau, ”Culture as Profitable Memory at David Lodge”. Cultural and Institutional Memory as (a) Means of Progress (Part II) HyperCultura, Vol 4, no 1/2015 Page 3 than an errant knight, the postmodern academic assumes the role of an actor. There is an issue of imagology here: the academic actors and actresses resort to a plethora of means in order to seduce their young auditorium - they try to keep fit, to be fashionable and updated even in terms of pop culture, to be trendy when it comes to theoretical developments, and to stay in contact with the world-wide academic milieu and with the political one, too. For example, Morris Zapp jogs even if he dislikes physical training, buys sophisticated clothes and invests in a new sports car able to transmit his sexual openness. The same Zapp fascinates Swallow’s 11-year-old daughter with his knowledge of pop-music and cartoons, while he greedily absorbs the latest literary theories with the declared purpose of becoming the highest paid English professor in the world. Even the provincial Philip Swallow, once arrived in the USA, becomes caught up in the political turmoil. Above all, university lecturers need to stay in good shape in order to stand up to the demands of the academic stage. That is why the private lives of the best professionals are different from the common bourgeois families. A discussion between the former erotic rivals in Changing Places, but on friendly terms in Small World, between the anti-theoretical British Swallow and the over- theoretical American Zapp, synthesizes the attitude of some academics. Swallow: “Perhaps that’s what we’re all looking for – desire undiluted by habit”. Zapp invokes the “Defamiliarization” (Ostranenie) of the Russian Formalists and quotes Viktor Shklovsky: “Habit devours objects, clothes, furniture, one’s wife and the fear of war... Art exists to help us recover the sensation of life” (Lodge 306). 2. Stimulants for Vitality and Hypocrisy The question is whether these super-professionals are super-beings boiling with vitality or they suffer a devitalizing process the more they climb the social ladder. “The sensation of life” is guaranteed at different persons by the same stimuli. This unsuspected similarity explains the involuntary swapping of wives between two characters with opposite profiles. Harold Bloom remarked that the swarming opportunities and collective enthusiasms of the ‘60s and ‘70s were just traps set by the establishment. The authentic avant-gardist movements were over: “The Nineteen Sixties benefit from a general nostalgia compounded by political correctness and the sad truth that erstwhile Counter-culture has become Establishment-culture, visible upon every page of The New York Times” (Bloom 2). This competitive, not to say aggressive behavior characteristic to men, generates strange responses from women: Hilary, Swallow’s wife, when informed about her husband’s infidelity, instead of divorcing him installs central heating in the house. The cheated wife reacts like a responsible mother, but her husband’s problems are weird. While he is cheating on her, he is fearful of Zapp’s allure as a perverse Humbert Humbert in front of his daughter Amanda, possibly a future Lolita (Lodge 112). When Zapp reveals an unexpected humanitarian side by asking Hilary to shelter his American ex-student, the pregnant Mary Makepeace, Swallow reproaches her from his location in the States for accepting “an unmarried mother on the premises” (Lodge 120). Once his hypocrisy is revealed, he tries to make amends by inviting Hilary to the USA. She rejects his proposal using Mary Makepeace’s psychoanalytical-feminist interpretation: “men always try to end a dispute with a woman by raping her, either literally or symbolically” (Lodge 130). The humorous intertextuality masks the utmost confusion in regards to crucial choices made in his life. Thus Zapp is a catastrophic father. He had walked out on his daughter from his first marriage “leaving her a five-dollar bill to buy candy” (Lodge 126), a decision considered by his second wife, Désiréé, “the most sordid transaction in the history of conscience-money” (Lodge 126). The twins resulted from his second marriage take to cultivating marijuana, or what their mother calls “avant-gardening” (Lodge 126). The competitive life grants no time for family or for spirituality. The interesting fact is that these competitors are not forced to climb up at a quick step the professional ladder. The tempo is set by everyone depending on their ambition. At the beginning of Changing Places, in the year 1969, we meet two academics, Philip Swallow and Morris Zapp. The former is only a lecturer who has published a few essays and reviews: “He lacked will and ambition, the professional killer Felix Nicolau, ”Culture as Profitable Memory at David Lodge”. Cultural and Institutional Memory as (a) Means of Progress (Part II) HyperCultura, Vol 4, no 1/2015 Page 4 instinct which Zapp abundantly possessed” (Lodge 12). Zapp is a full professor and published “five fiendishly clever books (four of them on Jane Austen)” (Lodge 12). 3. Poststructuralist Kitsch Under such circumstances, “self-realization and self-fulfilment have become central aspirations of self-polity […] in which every desire is a potential right, it is forbidden to forbid” (Goulimari 65). Hedonism and maximal professional development are more than interconnected: they fuel each other. One cannot resist the tough rhythm of competition without renewing their pleasures. At the same time, competition is a pleasurable activity in itself. Only those academics that evolve between these two poles are able to establish complex communicational routes. The other ones, the monomaniacs, become isolated and bury themselves in all sorts of minutiae. This is the reason why the Euphoria State University, with its gorgeous surroundings (rivers, lakes, forested mountains and a splendid bay), favors the gathering of highly-competitive academics. If the American euphoric paradise suggests Californian geography, the British Rummidge University reflects the dire cityscape of Birmingham, encompassed by factories, smog and motorways. Academic life here gets asphyxiated by routine and pettiness. The broken parallelism between the two institutions is described by the quality of the symbolic simulacra they both find pride in. Rummidge and Euphoria have on their campuses a replica of the inclined Tower of Pisa, but restored to verticality in both cases. The American replica is built of white stone and “twice the original size”, while the British one is made of red brick and “to scale” (Lodge 10). The architectural artifices are telling about the pomposity and loftiness on the one hand, and of pitiful scarcity on the other. When the two universities pay no attention to the original materials of construction and, even worse, change the peculiar and authenticating mark of a renowned monument, they both fall into hubris, through excess or through an insignificant approach. In postmodernity, hubris is imbued with kitsch. Bad taste should not be the attribute of superior education. But, again, what are the purposes of such an elite education? Zapp dreams of writing the ultimate book on Jane Austen. This aspiration has structuralist implications: civilization is a hierarchical structure and some interpretations are central while others fall at the periphery. Structuralism is implicitly colonialist. Ten years later, Zapp makes a pirouette and gives up Jane Austen studies taking to poststructuralism. Not that he disliked his initial preoccupations, on the contrary, but he needed to stay fashionable if he wanted to remain active in the communicative relay of the academic world. On the other hand, Zapp’s humor makes him more suitable to relativistic poststructuralism than to rigid structuralism. That is why his conference paper, Textuality as Striptease, excludes the possibility of establishing a final meaning. True intellectual existence implies an eternal quest: The classical tradition of striptease, however, which goes back to Salome’s dance of the seven veils and beyond, and which survives in a debased form in the dives of your Soho, offers a valid metaphor for the activity of reading. The dancer teases the audience, as the text teases its readers, with the promise of an ultimate revelation that is infinitely postponed (Lodge 253). Aiming at a crystal-clear understanding of texts and, in the end, of the world, would be similar to living as a possessive and reductionist couple does. Zapp invokes psychoanalytical hermeneutics: “Freud said that obsessive reading […] is the displaced expression of a desire to see the mother’s genitals” (Lodge 254). The text reacts as an untameable bachelor to this superficial and target- oriented reading: “The text unveils itself before us, but never allows itself to be possessed; and instead of striving to possess it we should take pleasure in its teasing” (Lodge 254). Felix Nicolau, ”Culture as Profitable Memory at David Lodge”. Cultural and Institutional Memory as (a) Means of Progress (Part II) HyperCultura, Vol 4, no 1/2015 Page 5 4. Academic Weaponry The transparency of meaning encourages, paradoxically, the earthliness of the researchers. Multiple interpretational approaches seem to excuse the necessity of indulging in material attachments. Matter can be spiritualized following Zarathustra’s perspective: “Remain faithful to the earth, my brothers, with the power of your virtue! Let your bestowing love and your knowledge serve the meaning of the earth” (Nietzsche 57). Excess is the rule of thumb in this academic enclave. A postmodernist mythology of hubris is frantically frequented by those who aspire to the highest ranks of academia. Swallow, in his turn, if he is not a fertile and creative scholar, compensates this drawback with excessive scrupulosity in examining his undergraduates. When Zapp arrives at Rummidge University and browses through Swallow’s observations on his students, he is amazed at the level of knowledge regarding students’ public and private lives (Lodge 14). In the same manner, in Small World, the young Angelica Pabst shows an erudition that baffles even the all-knowing ever-trendy Morris Zapp. She masters mediaeval culture as well the latest theories in literary criticism (Lodge 257). If Zapp is an academic who approaches the university as if it were a corporation and “aims for financial and sexual success, loves power and is not despised or punished for being crass, sexist, competitive, hedonistic and horny” (Showalter 78), Angelica, as her name suggests, is fond of knowledge not only as power, but as intellectual nutrient in itself. She does not belong to that category of “successful female intellectuals [who] are necessarily either frigid or sexually deviant in one way or another” (Björk 120). She follows the same track pursued by the older academics: flies to conferences all over the world, writes articles and books and carries out extensive research documentation. But we can suppose, on account of her passion, that The Robbins Report of the Committee on Higher Education from 1963, upon which the Conservative Government of Margaret Thatcher based their politics of cutting financial resources for the universities, would not affect her dramatically. 5. Variegated Perks The main difference between Philip Swallow and Morris Zapp is the approach to pleasure. Zapp “professionalizes” pleasure whenever he resorts to it, which is not a rare choice. Maybe the pun of the proper name (“to zap”) aims exactly at this superficial, but edgy speediness. Even the private facets of pleasure are part of a competitive endeavor, as Désiréé confesses: “with Morris it had to be a four-star fuck every time. If I didn’t groan and roll my eyes and foam at the mouth at climax he would accuse me of going frigid on him” (Lodge 144). This is one reason – getting tired with such performances in marriage – for Désiréé’s transformation into a writer of feminist best-sellers. Philip Swallow indulges in milder pleasures, even if, with the chance of landing on the American territory, he diversifies the range of hedonistic involvements. He reads out of pure interest and does not have a Ph. D. The English academic milieu tolerates such a relaxed professional life. In exchange, Morris Zapp is disconcerted by the cosy atmosphere of the British university: “No talk of ‘lows’ or ‘highs’ here: all was moderate, qualified, temperate” (Lodge 173). A non-competitive environment seems stifling for him, as he needs external stimuli. Sex is another mark of domination and that is why he interprets Jane Austen’s later novels in terms of Eros and Agape. When one male character of Jane Austen offers a woman a pencil without lead, this is interpreted as a psychoanalytic suggestion of impotence (Lodge 186). Such a “hermeneutic of suspicion” (Ricoeur 34) is indicative of the fissures in self-assurance and in inner resources. In order to boost his energy, Morris Zapp proposes “group marriage”, as a unique opportunity to “pool their [the two swapping couples] resources” (Lodge 213). In Small World: An Academic Romance, the academic is presented as a modern knight-errant, flying from one conference to another. The archetypal model for the globalized academic world is the Arthurian romance. But exactly as it happened in Camelot, the knights – be they old or new – need challenges in order to preserve their high-spirits. Intellectual and spiritual contemplation does Felix Nicolau, ”Culture as Profitable Memory at David Lodge”. Cultural and Institutional Memory as (a) Means of Progress (Part II) HyperCultura, Vol 4, no 1/2015 Page 6 not constitute a sufficiently-powerful incentive. Derek Pearsall highlighted Arthurian passivity, if not exhaustion: In the English tradition from which he was transplanted, King Arthur himself had a very limited romantic interest: he has no interesting love-affairs either before or after his early marriage. It seems impossible to imagine any being invented for him. So in Arthurian romance he is relegated to the role of, at best, a great king who stays at home while his knights go off on romantic adventures and report back to him, or, at worst, an ineffectual cuckold. Nothing is said of his campaigns against the Saxons and the Romans. Arthurian romance has Arthur’s court as its background or point of reference, but it is not about Arthur (Pearsall 20). Conclusion We should consider King Arthur’s wisdom and self-possession as an explanation for his sedentary attitude. On the contrary, faculty members in the postmodern era continuously seek stimulants to keep them in the academic race. The imperative of external stimuli indicates that they are not super-humans, but only super-clerks, dependent on the resources allocated by the government to the universities. Sooner than later, in Margaret Thatcher’s epoch the politicians spotted the weak point and aimed at it: universities were forced to become corporatist in their educational approach. Felix Nicolau, ”Culture as Profitable Memory at David Lodge”. Cultural and Institutional Memory as (a) Means of Progress (Part II) HyperCultura, Vol 4, no 1/2015 Page 7 Works Cited Björk, E.L. Campus Clowns and the Canon. David Lodge Fiction. Stockholm: University of Umeå, Almquist and Wiksell, 1993. Print. Bloom, Harold, ed. Bloom’s Modern Interpretations: Ken Kesey’s One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest. New York: Infobase Publishing, 2007. Print. Dickens, Charles. A Tale of Two Cities. London: Penguin Books, 1994. Print. Goulimari, P, ed. Postmodernism: What a Moment?. Manchester: Manchester UP, 2011. Print. Lodge, David. A David Lodge Trilogy: Changing Places, Small World, Nice Work. London: Penguin Books, 1989. Print. Nietzsche, Friedrich. Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None. Translated by Adrian DelCaro. New York: CUP, 2006. Print. Pearsall, D. Arthurian Romance: A Short Introduction. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 2005. Print. Ricoeur, Paul, ed. Hermeneutics and the Human Sciences. Translated and introduced by John B. Thompson. London: CUP, 1981. Print. Showalter, E. Faculty Towers: The Academic Novel and Its Discontents. Oxford: OUP, 2005. Print. Author Felix NICOLAU teaches Intercultural Communication and Creative Writing, The Theory of Translation in the English Language, The History of English Literature and Italian as a Second Language. He has a Ph. D. in Comparative Literature. He is also a writer and a poet. His most recent/ important publications include: Anticanonice (Anticanonicals, 2009); Codul lui Eminescu (Eminescu’s Code, 2010); Estetica inumană: de la Postmodernism la Facebook (The Inhuman Aesthetics: from Postmodernism to Facebook, 2013); Take the Floor. Professional Communication Theoretically Contextualized (Bucureşti: Tritonic, 2014); Cultural Communication: Approaches to Modernity and Postmodernity (Bucureşti: ProUniversitaria, 2014); Comunicare şi creativitate. Interpretarea textului contemporan (Communication and Creativity. The Interpretation of the Contemporary Text) (Bucureşti: ProUniversitaria, 2014). He is member in the editorial boards of several magazines: Poesis International, The Muse – an International Journal of Poetry and Metaliteratura. His areas of interest are Translation Studies, the Theory of Communication, Comparative Literature, Cultural Studies, and British and American Studies. Contact: felixnicolau1@gmail.com 
work_ogpidrhqgrbzhhgccfpsje4rji	----	10.11648.j.ijla.20140204.16 International Journal of Literature and Arts 2014; 2(4): 123-129 Published online August 10, 2014 (http://www.sciencepublishinggroup.com/j/ijla) doi: 10.11648/j.ijla.20140204.16 ISSN: 2331-0553 (Print); ISSN: 2331-057X (Online) Discipline, resistance and self-improvement: Three phases in the growth of Fanny Price Yingying DENG, Joan Qionglin TAN College of Foreign Languages, Hunan University, Changsha, Hunan, China Email address: shuihendyy@163.com (Yingying Deng), joantan@hotmail.co.uk (Joan Qionglin Tan) To cite this article: Yingying DENG, Joan Qionglin TAN. Discipline, Resistance and Self-Improvement: Three Phases in the Growth of Fanny Price. International Journal of Literature and Arts. Vol. 2, No. 4, 2014, pp. 123-129. doi: 10.11648/j.ijla.20140204.16 Abstract: Fanny Price is a remarkable heroine of Mansfield Park written by Jane Austen. Based on Michel Foucault’s power theory and the related theories about subjectivity construction, this paper aims at analyzing how Fanny tries to adopt, resist and make the most of the underlying various power mechanisms in a patriarchal society and how she achieves her own self-education and self-improvement. It contends that through three phases of discipline, resistance and self-improvement, Fanny successfully transforms herself from an inferior “outsider” into a noble and elegant lady welcomed by the middle class in British society in the early 19 th century. Keywords: Fanny Price, Mansfield Park, Michel Foucault, Disciplinary Power, Technologies of the Self 1. Introduction Jane Austen (1775–1817), one of the most influential female writers in the British literature, mainly explored women’s marriage and life in the British countryside in the late 18 th century and the early 19 th century and truly reproduced love stories between ladies and gentlemen in the Victorian era. Austen created six novels in her lifetime, among which Pride and Prejudice (1812) is most well-known, while Mansfield Park (1814) is fairly controversial. Critics have mixed reviews on Mansfield Park; some appreciate the orthodox morality exhibited in the heroine Fanny Price and the skillful writing tactics of this novel; while others hold that Fanny Price is the most dull, passive or even conservative one in all Austen’s heroines. Traditional interpretation of the protagonist Fanny Price focuses on interpreting her personalities. For example, the critic Avrom Fleishman suggests that “Fanny is presented not as a paragon of virtue, but as a weak woman with self-defensive and self-aggrandizing impulses” (1967:46). And Nina Auerbach compares Fanny to some famous monsters appeared in some literary works, like monsters Grendel and Dr Frankenstein (1983:208-223). In the same year, Margaret Kirkham justifies Fanny’s position in Jane Austen, Feminism and Fiction by praising her as an example of “the typical conduct-book heroine” in Austen’s novels. The critic Susan C. Greenfield focuses her analysis on Fanny’s ethical principles and virtues, especially the interior virtues and authority (1994: 306-322); while Anna Despotopoulou interprets Fanny and her personalities from the perspective of “differentiating feminine power” (2004:569-583). Few critics try to analyze the underlying various power mechanisms in a patriarchal society which contribute to her personalities. Though Mary Chan tentatively proposes that Fanny suffers from the paradoxical gaze in Mansfield Park, she fails to present a complete picture as to how Fanny adopts, resists and makes the most of the power mechanisms and finally enjoys a happy ending. Hence, this paper attempts to reinterpret the heroine Fanny Price from the perspective of Michel Foucault’s power theory and the related theories about subjectivity construction. It contends that Fanny’s growth from an inferior “outsider” into a noble and elegant lady has gone through three phases, that is, discipline, resistance and self-improvement. Also, this paper articulates that Fanny is not a submissive and conservative heroine as reviewed within traditional interpretations; on the contrary, she is a heroine who knows how to make the most of the disciplinary power for her self-education and self-improvement. In this respect, she is a representative of new women who is conservative, but open and brave enough to pursue her own happiness and social status in a disciplinary society. Michel Foucault, one of the most celebrated thinkers in the 20 th century, is also a distinguished French philosopher and historian. He produced many thought-provoking works, International Journal of Literature and Arts 2014; 2(4): 123-129 124 such as The Archaeology of Knowledge (L'Archéologie du Savoir, 1969), Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (Surveiller et punir: naissance de la prison, 1975) and The History of Sexuality (Histoire de la sexualité, 1976-1984), which exerted great influence on the then humanities and social sciences. In particular, the power-knowledge (pouvoir-saviour) theory proposed by Foucault has challenged many traditional interpretations of power in the Western societies. Foucault holds “that traditional conception of power is defined as prohibitive and negative and is used to prohibit people from doing something”, but in fact, “power is much more complicated than this”(Foucault, 1980:147). As the critic Mo Weiming points out, “Power is not an institution or a mechanism which is used to ensure the submission and obedience of citizens in a particular nation; neither is it a licit way to conquer compared with violence; nor is it a general ruling system exerted by one constituent or group on another, the effect of which is permeated into the whole social body by continuous derivation.” (1996:264). Instead, power is a kind of complicated, mobile and unstable relation. Meanwhile, Foucault analyzes power from the perspective of deconstructionism and concludes that the essence of power is “decentered”, “fragmented”, “discontinuous” and “diverse”, which is quite subversive and revolutionary. Foucault redefines power from the micro level and first proposes the notion of disciplinary power in Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison. Quite different from the previous punishments, Foucault points out that the punishment in the modern society is not a physical one any more; instead, it is “replaced by a punishment that acts in depth on the heart, the thoughts, the will, the inclinations” (Foucault, 1991:16). Though body is not the target of punishment, it is still the object of imprisonment. The disciplinary power in modern society is a kind of technical strategy which aims at controlling and disciplining individuals and groups both in body and soul and complying them to social norms and requirements by a series of instruments. Such instruments include “hierarchical observation, normalizing judgement and their combination in a procedure that is specific to it, the examination” (Foucault, 1991: 170). Among them, the most typical is Foucault’s employment of panopticon put forward by British philosopher Jeremy Bentham to illustrate how the disciplinary power works in the whole society. The disciplinary power consists of external and internal disciplinary power. The external disciplinary power mainly refers to the political-economic power and ideological power, which is termed as the construction of individuals by the external controlling technologies, namely, individuals in this sense are jointly constructed by sociality and historicity. The internal disciplinary power refers to the self-disciplinary power which is defined as the construction of individuals by technologies of the self, and individuals in this sense is constructed by self-ethics. The heroine Fanny Price goes through a transformation from resistance to self-improvement under the joint function of these two disciplinary powers. 2. Fanny’s Resistance to External Disciplinary Power Foucault adopts panopticon to vividly elaborate how the disciplinary power works in the whole society and the operating principle can be summarized as follows, at the periphery, an annular building; at the center, a tower; this tower is pierced with wide windows that open onto the inner side of the ring. The supervisor in the central tower can supervise every prisoner in every single cell, observe their behaviors and pass the normalizing judgement to those prisoners who fail to fulfill the requirements. However, prisoners have no sight of the supervisor and even have no idea when they are supervised and when they are not (Foucault, 1991: 200). Gradually, the effect of panopticon is that the prisoners will internalize the external supervision and achieve the goal of self-supervision and discipline themselves to comply with the social standards and requirements. This paper contends that Mansfield Park described in Austen’s novel can be regarded as one kind of Bentham’s panopticon, as it corresponds to one of Foucault’s disciplinary technologies, namely, space allocation and space orientation. The Park has its own disciplinary and punitive rules, which is concretized by Sir Thomas Bertram’s country gentlemen’s ethics and “the frugal and practical ethics” and “more rational and less implied teachings” beheld by the emerging bourgeoisie (Lane, 2005: 114). What is more, Foucault specifically mentioned in The Eye of Power that “one doesn’t have here a power which is wholly in the hands of one person who can exercise it alone and totally over the others. It is a machine in which everyone is caught, those who exercise power just as much as those over whom it is exercised” (Foucault, 1980: 156). Therefore, everyone in the Park, high or low, shall be submitted to these rules. Once violated, no one can escape the due punishment, as it is evidenced by two examples: the expulsion of Maria Bertram and Henry Crawford after their elopement; the exclusion of Mary Crawford because of her philistine, self-centeredness and contempt of social ethics. 2.1. Fanny’s Resistance to Political-Economic Power Mansfield Park is an epitome of the patriarchal society, in which social status matters a lot. Fanny sojourns in the Park as a charity ward and Sir Thomas Bertram is her benefactor which lays the foundation of Fanny’s inferior position in the Park at its source. Sir Thomas Bertram is the center of the whole family and dominant in almost all family affairs, from Antiguan plantation to Fanny’s horse-riding and the heating in the East Room. Sir Thomas Bertram has the absolute authority over everyone and everything in the Park and is rather hard on his own children, which can be illustrated by everybody’s reaction to his departure to Antigua: Their father was no object of love to them; he had never seemed the friend of their pleasures, and his absence was 125 Yingying DENG and Joan Qionglin TAN: Discipline, Resistance and Self-Improvement: Three Phases in the Growth of Fanny Price unhappily most welcome. They were relieved by it from all restraint; and without aiming at one gratification that would probably have been forbidden by Sir Thomas, they felt themselves immediately at their own disposal, and to have every indulgence within their reach. Fanny’s relief, and her consciousness of it, were quite equal to her cousins’； (Austen, 2009: 737) The temporary absence of Sir Thomas frees Fanny from his constant surveillance and censorship so that Fanny feels relieved. This can well evidence that Sir Thomas acts as an invisible supervisor of Fanny’s actions and speeches and disciplines her with his inherent ethical conduct standards. The authoritarian tone permeates almost the whole novel, as it can be seen from Fanny’s coming-out ball held by Sir Thomas. Before the ball ends, Sir Thomas advises Fanny to take a rest. Superficially, Sir Thomas shows his concern to his little niece. Substantially, this concern carries a ring of authority and coerciveness, as it is depicted in the novel, “‘Advise’ was his word, but it was the advice of absolute power...” (Austen, 2009: 871). Another typical case in point is Sir Thomas’s fury at Fanny’s sheer refusal to the playboy Henry’s proposal regardless of his repeated persuasion. He banishes Fanny from the Park and sends her back to that poor family in Portsmouth on the ground of home visits, for he thinks that Fanny’s refusal is contempt of his absolute authority. Finally, Fanny is permitted to go back to the Park only after she realizes her mistakes and a series of incidents threatening the stability and ethics of the Park, such as the elopement of Maria and Henry; the severe illness of Tom and Mary’s instigation of Edmund to take place of Tom’s rank of nobility. The reason why Sir Thomas wants Fanny back to the Park lies in that Fanny’s inherent virtues and absolute submission to his authority and ethics that he hopes set up a model for others in the Park, stable the order and rescue people from losing the basic morality. All of these fully exhibit how Foucault’s series of disciplinary instruments work in the Park: Fanny’s behaviors and speeches are closely monitored to ensure that she is submissive to the authority and ethics in the Park; once violated, she will be punished by Sir Thomas’s normalizing judgement — “exile” so as to discipline her to be qualified spokeswoman of morality in the Park. Fanny’s great aunt Mrs. Norris is another figure who exerts great influence on Fanny’s life. Mrs. Norris voluntarily acts as a housekeeper in the Park and is keen on meddling and bossing around, but refuses to help others. From the first time she meets Fanny, “Mrs. Norris had been talking to her the whole way from Northampton of her wonderful good fortune, and the extraordinary degree of gratitude and good behavior which it ought to produce...” (Austen, 2009: 726-727), which is an employment of social ethics restraint mechanisms to remind Fanny of not forgetting her inferior identity and social status. She supervises Fanny’s behaviors and speeches from time to time. On the one hand, she never considers Fanny as one member of the Park, so whenever there are group outings, she autonomously degrades Fanny and discourages her from going. So, when Mrs. Rushworth invites the Bertrams to visit Sotherton, Mrs. Norris self-asserts that Fanny should stay behind and accompany Mrs. Bertram. On the other hand, once Fanny fails to subsidize her own life in the Park by doing some needlework, she will be bitterly criticized and satirized by Mrs. Norris without considering the reasons. For example, on one occasion Fanny lies on the sofa due to her illness, Mrs. Norris criticizes her and thinks that “it is shocking trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a sofa” (Austen, 2009: 759). It is the incessant admonition and criticism that teaches Fanny the rules of survival in the Park, which is the exact effect the political-economic disciplinary power intends to yield and fulfill. Surely, apart from Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris, Fanny exposes herself to the visible or invisible surveillance of other people in the Park. This is what Foucault proposed: “Power relations are open text; the exercise of power relations comes from everywhere and is not confined to specified domains” (Mo Weiming, 1996: 265) or specified objects. Public opinions are expressions of the disciplinary power. The first moment Fanny enters into the Park, she feels the ubiquitous surveillance: “...She was disheartened by Lady Bertram’s silence, awed by Sir Thomas’s grave looks, and quite overcome by Mrs. Norris’s admonitions. Her elder cousins mortified her by reflections on her size, and abashed her by noticing her shyness; Miss Lee wondered at her ignorance, and the maid-servants sneered at her clothes...” (Austen, 2009: 727). The whole Park is a panoptican in which Fanny lives as a “prisoner” and unconditionally receives everybody’s hierarchical surveillance and censorship from Sir Thomas to her cousins or even servants. In the following eight years, even though Fanny has internalized the survival and game rules in the Park, she cannot slacken off and has to live cautiously and prudently in everybody’s “gaze”. As an “outsider” and “intruder”, Fanny’s reaction to this surveillance has changed from original fear and shyness to decent living therewith after a period of adoption. Superficially, Fanny shows her absolute submission to Sir Thomas’s authority and lives by his codes of conduct and ethics. “...You (Fanny) seemed almost as fearful of notice and praise as other women were of neglect”(Austen, 2009: 826). However, Fanny’s ostentatious cowardice, obedience and silence, to some degree, is her resistance to the political-economic disciplinary power, as she does not want to ingratiate herself with the male in the patriarchal society with her inherent beauty and virtues. In order not to be interfered by the outside disturbances, she tactfully creates her own space by making use of the East Room (a disused study room) in a limited space allocation and space orientation, in which she can express her ideas freely, soothe her wounded feelings and do whatever she wants to do without worrying about others’ surveillance and punishment. The critic Anna Despotopoulou comments that “From her early childhood, she builds a unique feminine space for herself which remains uncontaminated and uninterrupted by male involvement” (2004: 570). The East Room where International Journal of Literature and Arts 2014; 2(4): 123-129 126 Fanny successfully transforms herself from an inferior “outsider” into a noble and elegant lady fully manifests the awakening of her feminine consciousness and struggling against the suffocative disciplinary power, which contributes to Fanny’s being beneficiary and master of this power. 2.2. Fanny’s Resistance to Ideological Power Edmund Bertram is the only one of all Bertrams who is ready to associate with Fanny from the beginning and he can be regarded as an enlightened mentor who helps Fanny acquaint herself with her life in the Park. When Fanny is fearful and anxious about the life, it is Edmund who “directs her thoughts and fixes her principles”, “assists the improvement of her mind and extends its pleasures” , “encourages her taste and correct her judgement”(Austen, 2009: 934, 731) and stimulate her interests to learn and read. Edmund’s identity is special for he is trained to be a potential clergyman by Sir Thomas, so in his association with Fanny, his inherent ideas and thoughts will infiltrate into Fanny’s mind unconsciously. A good case in point is the discussion of the clergyman as a job among Mary, Edmund and Fanny. Mary tries to dissuade Edmund from taking orders and becoming a clergyman, because she thinks a clergyman is nothing and cannot gain distinction, arguing that the influence and importance of the clergyman and his sermons are small or even little. But Edmund and Fanny highly disagree with her ideas and retort that what Mary describes may occur in the big cities like London, but the situation is quite different in the nation at large, especially in the small countryside. Here, “A clergyman has the charge of all that is of the first importance to mankind, individually or collectively considered, temporally and eternally, which has the guardianship of religion and morals, and consequently of the manners which result from their influence” (Austen, 2009: 770). And the influence of a clergyman does not depend on the high or low position; instead, it lies in whether a clergyman fulfills his duties or not in governing the conduct and fashioning the manners of a large congregation. From this discussion, it is obvious to conclude that Edmund’s influence and inculcation on Fanny about his opinions of clergyman and religion are great and deep-rooted in the process of helping Fanny adapt to the life in the Park, which is Edmund’s way of exercising the ideological disciplinary power on Fanny. He successfully disciplines Fanny to identify with him in religion and morals and become another spokeswoman and advocate of his opinion by constant exposure and discussion. Fanny’s religious cognition and recognition gained from this invisible disciplinary power is precisely what the then society advocated, which foreshadows her happy ending. Sir Thomas’s exercise of the ideological disciplinary power on Fanny is achieved by appreciation and admonition. Sir Thomas greatly appreciates Fanny’s sheer refusal to play a role in Lovers’ Vows and deems that she well maintains the ethical tradition of the Park after he returned from Antigua. Sir Thomas’s another way to discipline Fanny is to warn her by admonishing and punishing other people. After Mrs. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford’s elopement was exposed to the public, Mrs. Norris suggests that Maria should be embraced again by her family members, but Sir Thomas refuses it flatly, “...he would not, by a vain attempt to restore what never could be restored, by affording his sanction to vice, or in seeking to lessen its disgrace...” (Austen, 2009: 971). On the contrary, he banishes Maria and Mrs. Norris who spoilt Maria heavily from the Park. Sir Thomas successfully embeds and reinforces his ethics and code of conduct into Fanny’s cognition by appreciation and encouragement, which is the manifestation of reward principle in the modern prison institution. In the meanwhile, he explicitly admonishes Fanny that any misconduct which goes against the moralities of single or married ladies will be heavily condemned and punished by disavowing the eloping Maria. All of these are targeted at submitting Fanny to his ideological control, which vividly illustrates Foucault’s new idea of disciplinary power in the modern society, that is, this kind of disciplinary power is not confined to the physical punishment, but more about the control and discipline of thoughts and cognition. Fanny’s cleverness lies in her recognition that though her cognition and ethics are disciplined by Edmund and Sir Thomas, she can well internalize it and act it on others. Fanny’s resistance fully elaborates the mutuality of power: on the one hand, everyone can exercise power freely and becomes the acting subjects over others; on the other hand, everyone can become the controlled objects of other people. This resistance is achieved by Fanny’s “feminine gaze”. Gaze is a relationship between seeing and being seen; and it is also a process of wielding power on others and being controlled by others. We can obviously read from the novel as to how Fanny expresses her silent but still forceful rebellion by her unique “feminine gaze”. Since ancient times, female has been humiliated by male sexual and erotic gaze and oppressed by male authority. However, Fanny once broke off male humiliating and sexual gaze through her unique gaze, which, to some degree, has challenged the patriarchy ideology (Gamman, 1989: 15-16). Put Henry’s moral quality aside, Fanny shows her due appreciation of this playboy, who she once observed Henry’s reading hours with her appreciating gaze. The critic Anna Despotopoulou remarks that “Fanny views Crawford as he habitually views her - as an art object” on the artwork market (2004: 581), which evidences that Fanny successfully counterattacks male sexual gaze with female judging and sexual gaze. Besides, Edmund feels confused about himself, his notion of ethics and love, and is even on the verge of going wrong; especially after recognizing Mary’s self-centeredness, he falls into despair. Fanny enlightens him by face-to-face chats over stroll after dinner and encourages him to get out of the confusion and finally make the right choice with her determined gaze. It is Fanny who helps Edmund “...had so well talked his mind into submission as to be very tolerably cheerful again” (Austen, 2009: 970). Fanny’s counteraction precisely subverts the patriarchal discourse and the traditional idea that only the powerful male gaze can control 127 Yingying DENG and Joan Qionglin TAN: Discipline, Resistance and Self-Improvement: Three Phases in the Growth of Fanny Price the female, which is the convincing evidence of female gaze’s powerful reaction and female’s interior authority. 3. Fanny’s Self-Improvement under Internal Disciplinary Power Foucault devoted himself to studying the evolution of the subjects in his several books, such as Madness and Civilization (Histoire de la folie à l'âge classique - Folie et deraison, 1961), The Order of Things (Les Mots et les choses: une archéologie des sciences humaines, 1966), Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison and The History of Sexuality, in which he switches his notions from the earlier “Knowledge Subject” to “Power Subject”, and then to the later “Ethical Subject”. The construction of the latter two Subjects is fulfilled by technologies of domination and technologies of the self. Foucault’s definition of “technologies of the self” is the kind of technologies “which permit individuals to effect by their own means or with the help of others a certain number of operations on their own bodies and souls, thoughts, conduct, and way of being, so as to transform themselves in order to attain a certain state of happiness, purity, wisdom, perfection, or immortality” (Foucault, 1988: 17). After perusing the Stoic works in the ancient Greek and Roman times and the doctrinal practices of the early Christianity, Foucault concludes four technologies of self: “letters to friends and disclosure of self; examination of self and conscience, including a review of what was done, of what should have been done, and comparison of the two; askesis and the interpretation of dreams” (Foucault, 1988: 17). This paper contends that these four technologies can be categorized into two self-improving technologies: one is internal self-improving technologies which indicates that individuals effect themselves by their own means, including examination of self and conscience, askesis and the interpretation of dreams; the other is external self-improving technologies which individuals effect themselves with the help of others, including letters to friends and disclosure of self. These two technologies are closely related to the function of internal self-disciplinary power, which fully exhibits in Fanny’s transformation from an early ignorant intruder into a graceful lady within the Park. Due to the panoptican-like surroundings of the Park and the ubiquitous gazes of various people, Fanny’s life is characterized by constant examinations of self and conscience and askesis. However, askesis here does not only refer to Fanny’s repression of sexual desires as some critics propose, it also refers to the repression of political-economic and ideological desires. Unconsciously, she interiorizes the disciplinary effects of political-economic power, religion and ethics into self-surveillance and self-examination, which changes her opinions of social politics, economy, religion and ethics. This is what Foucault points out in his interview The Eye of Power: “There is no need for arms, physical violence, material constraints. Just a gaze. An inspecting gaze, a gaze which each individual under its weight will end by interiorizing to the point that he is his own overseer, each individual thus exercising this surveillance over, and against, himself”(Foucault, 1980: 155). Fanny’s self-surveillance fully manifests in her sheer refusal to play the role of a cottager’s wife in Lovers’ Vows. What is more, even when others in the Park are complacent about being able to play, she still strongly opposes to the playing of Lovers’ Vows in the Park, because she knows it well that the play and their behaviors violate the social ethics and “subvert the codes that govern ladylike behavior” (Knox-Shaw, 1996: 216). And their behaviors will damage single ladies’ reputation and be severely condemned by Sir Thomas. Therefore, though Fanny greatly appreciates Edmund’s any interests and hobbies before, she feels deeply disappointed about Edmund’s decision to play the role of Anghat. In her sub-consciousness, her self-surveillance has overcome the deep-rooted admiration for her cousin. Any behavior or recognition which goes against the then social ethics and moralities, especially challenges Sir Thomas’s authorities, will be vigorously rejected by Fanny. On hearing of the elopement of Mrs. Rushworth and Mr. Crawford, her reaction is strong enough to deem that “it was too horrible a confusion of guilt, too gross a complication of evil, for human nature, not in a state of utter barbarism, to be capable of!”(Austen, 2009: 958), which is a perfect embodiment of Fanny’s voluntary self-examination and self-askesis. Consequently, whenever and wherever she is, Fanny is always cautious about her words and actions and fulfills her self-examination and self-surveillance, which is the ultimate aim that Foucault’s disciplinary power attempts to achieve. Put it another way, the disciplined individuals will voluntarily abide by the social law and rules under the weight of long-term supervision and potential penalties, which encourage them to fashion themselves into a self-disciplined and self-cautious social members. Another way to achieve self-disciplinary power is to gradually change oneself with the help of others. Foucault proposes that writing letters to friends and disclosing oneself is one form to achieve self-improvement. However, this form is far beyond writing letters; and any other communication forms which can achieve the aim of effecting individuals on their own bodies and souls, thoughts, conduct, and ways of being can be regarded as functional forms of self-disciplinary power. The first person to help Fanny improve herself in the Park is her mentor Edmund, her brother William-substitute and “the sympathetic, attentive father-teacher” (Murray, 1997: 23) in the long absence of Father. Before Fanny becomes accustomed to the life in the Park, it is Edmund who helps her to alleviate loneliness and fears by giving her brotherly care and nearly fatherly love. When Fanny first attends the coming-out ball, she realizes the fact that her beauty is admired and gazed by various suitors, including Sir Thomas, which upsets her a lot. Still, it is Edmund who encourages Fanny to frankly accept admiration and attention. Therefore, it is natural for her to consider Edmund as an indispensible person in her life. International Journal of Literature and Arts 2014; 2(4): 123-129 128 Apart from Edmund, other people, such as her cousins Maria and Julia and her friend Mary Crawford, have also contributed to her growth into an elegant lady, even though their contributions are unintentional. When Fanny first comes to the Park, her cousins exhibit their versatile talents and geographical and historical knowledge before her. Their versatility and extensive knowledge are in stark contrast with Fanny’s utter ignorance, which stimulates Fanny to pay more attention to the cultivation of talents and the growth of knowledge. Mary’s help to Fanny lies more in stimulation and inspiration. Mary, an aristocratic lady coming from London who is cheerful, sincere and versatile, is the first lady Edmund admires. To Fanny who loves Edmund secretly, she is an appropriate woman for Fanny to learn from. Fanny tries her utmost to learn Mary’s manners and behaviors and her talents, so as to achieve her self-improvement. In the meanwhile, she learns lessons from other people’s mistakes and reflects on her own behaviors. For example, from Maria and Henry’s indecent behaviors in Sotherton and in the rehearsal of Lovers’ Vows, and Mary’s bold and reckless speeches, she gets to know what reservedness and fidelity really mean and what ethical codes can not be transgressed and despised. In his later years, Foucault emphasizes that “individuals should emancipate themselves from generalized and normative restraints and restore their free, ethical and aesthetic existence” (Yang Dachun, 2002:173). Although Fanny completes her Subject Construction under the disciplinary power weight of the social prevailing and normative ethical codes, she never loses herself and subjective freedom and falls prey to be a passive Subject. On the contrary, she retains her own feminine consciousness and independence and pursues a free, ethical and aesthetic lifestyle and attitude, which is Fanny’s self-determined “mode of existence or lifestyle”. This kind of existence is, to some degree, “aesthetic and ethical choice”, contrasting to ethic modes which are closely related to mandatory principles (Deleuze, 2012:108). This recognition Fanny gains is the most important and crucial step in her growth into the future mistress in the Mansfield Park and the essential phase in her successful self-construction. 4. Conclusion Although the whole Mansfield Park is just like the panoptican depicted by Jeremy Bentham and Fanny is exposed to the complicated and disciplinary surveillance and examination from time to time, she artfully and flexibly converts the various disciplinary powers, whether political-economic power, ideological power or self-supervision and self-examination, into the impetus to self-improve and self-mature. Doubtlessly, Fanny finally achieves her dream of becoming a noble and elegant lady welcomed by the middle class in the early 19 th century British society. She transforms other people in the Park with her unique scrutinizing gaze, makes them realize their mistakes and helps them achieve self-improvement and self-realization. As the critic Mary Chan comments, “Fanny becomes the model prisoner under the rule of the panoptic gaze, and in the process, she learns to become a better observer than anyone else. Finally, Fanny exhibits an alternative gaze, one based on spectatorship, which contravenes and subverts the panoptic gaze that appears so powerful in the text” (Chan, 2002: 39). Fanny restores the disordered Mansfield Park life into a new order with her inherent virtues and rigorous ethical practices, which wins universal recognition and approval from Sir Thomas and other people in the Park. Consequently, she ends up with a happy marriage life with her most admired cousin Edmund. Fanny’s happy ending indicates that though the disciplinary power is pervasive and ubiquitous in the modern society, it is not fearful and it is, to some extent, an important tool to justify the existence of human beings and their life, namely, what human beings mean to be human. Individuals in the disciplinary society can not be passively controlled by these powers, instead, they should take advantage of them to self-improve and self-educate and finally achieve their own fulfillment and happy endings. References [1] A. Fleishman, A Reading of Mansfield Park: An Essay in Critical Synthesis, Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1967. [2] N. Auerbach, “Jane Austen’s dangerous charm—feeling as one ought about Fanny Price”, In Jane Austen: New Perspectives, Janet Todd, Eds. New York and London: Holmes and Meier, 1983, pp.208-223. [3] M. Kirkham, Jane Austen, Feminism and Fiction, Brighton, UK: Harvester Press, 1983; New York: Methuen, 1986. [4] S. C. Greenfield, “Fanny’s misreading and the misreading of Fanny: women, literature, and interiority in Mansfield Park”, Texas Studies in Literature and Language, 1994, vol. 36. 3, pp.306-322. [5] A. Despotopoulou, “Fanny’s gaze and the construction of feminine space in Mansfield Park,” The Modern Language Review, 2004, vol. 99. 3, pp. 569–583. [6] M. Chan, Vision and Visibility: Power and the Observer in Jane Austen’s Novels. Hamilton: McMaster University, 2002, unpublished. [7] Minan Wang, “Power,” In Key Words of Western Literary Theory, Yifan Zhao, Zhongzai Zhang, and De’en Li, Eds. Beijing: Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press, 2006, pp. 442–456. [8] Minan Wang, “Foucault,” Foreign Literature, 2010, vol 3, pp. 83–93. [9] M. Foucault, “The eye of power,” In Power/Knowledge: Selected Interview and Other Writings 1972–1974, Colin Gordon, Eds. Hetfordshire: Harvester Press Limited, 1980, pp. 146–165. [10] Weiming Mo, The Destiny of Subject--A Study of Foucault’s Philosophy (Zhuti de Mingyun--Fuke Zhexue Sixiang Yanjiu). Shanghai: the Joint Publishing Company Ltd, 1996. 129 Yingying DENG and Joan Qionglin TAN: Discipline, Resistance and Self-Improvement: Three Phases in the Growth of Fanny Price [11] Binghui Chen, “Foucault’s outlook on power (Fuke de quanli guan),” Journal of Xiamen University (Social Sciences), 2002, vol. 4, pp. 84–90. [12] M. Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of a Prison, Trans. A. Sheridan, London: Penguin Books, 1991. [13] M. Lane, Jane Austen’s World: The Life and Times of England’s Most Popular Novelist, London: Carlton Books Limited, 2005. [14] J. Austen, Mansfield Park, In Selected Works of Jane Austen, Shanghai: World Publishing Corporation, 1814. [15] L. Gamman, “Watching the detectives: the enigma of the female gaze,” In The Female Gaze: Women as Viewers of Popular Culture, L. Gamman and M. Marshment, Eds. Seattle: Real Comet Press, 1989, pp.15–16. [16] L.H.Martin, Et al. Technologies of the Self: A Seminar with Michel Foucault, Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1988. [17] M. Foucault, The Use of Pleasure, In The History of Sexuality Volume 2, Trans. Robert Hurley, New York: Pantheon Books, 1985. [18] M. Foucault, The Care of the Self, In The History of Sexuality Volume 3, Trans. Robert Hurley, New York: Pantheon Books, 1986. [19] P. Knox-Shaw, “Fanny Price refuses to kowtow,” The Review of English Studies, New Series, 1996, vol. 47. 186, pp. 212–217. [20] D. Murray, “Spectatorship in Mansfield Park: looking and overlooking,” Nineteenth-Century Literature, 1997, vol. 52. 1, pp. 1–26. [21] Dachun Yang, “A new subject--a discussion of Foucault’s later thoughts (Bieyi zhong zhuti—lun Fuke wanqi sixiang de zhiyi),” Zhejiang Social Sciences, 2002, vol. 3, pp. 169-173. [22] G. Deleuze, Pourparlers (Zhexue yu quanli de tanpan),Trans. Liu Hanquan, Nanjing: Yilin Press, 2012. 
work_okly4pxzmfexteypz6i345qrte	----	section of my university’s library and are never checked out, except by the intrepid literary scholar. Conversely, the works quoted in “cultural” journals line the literature sections of the library and enjoy occasional outings. I be­ lieve that cultural studies should be viewed as an area of interest separate from but cognate with literary studies. If literary studies should motivate interest in the factors in­ fluencing the constitution of texts, cultural studies should yield an even larger picture, which exposes the agencies affecting the emergence of other art forms and reveals the connections between these forms. The indistinct in­ termingling of the cultural and the literary may be very “cultural,” but it is not particularly helpful for achieving the aims of either cultural or literary studies. MORADEWUN ADEJUNM0B1 University of Botswana There is evidence for the old idea that some literature transcends culture: works have been read with delight in different periods. Shakespeare was warmly received in a nineteenth-century America that hated kings, although there are few “Americans” in Shakespeare, few characters below the aristocracy, almost none with ideals of social mobility. And what of the reception here of Jane Austen, whose novels include almost no characters below the landed gentry? Perhaps the nineteenth-century Americans who enjoyed Shakespeare and Austen were ignorant of cultural studies and thus could encounter European class assumptions without disgust. The bliss of reading in­ volves a good deal of ignorance—or of imagination, of suspension of disbelief. The teacher of literature, as a teacher of pleasure, can set the weight of the world aside. Literature that does not transcend culture may benefit greatly from cultural studies. The appreciation of satires, epigrams, and sermons from earlier periods depends on historical notes, a kind of attenuated cultural studies. One might argue that cultural studies tends to turn all literature into satire or sermon. Measure for Measure, which does not transcend its context, can be read as satire or as com­ mentary on the spousal Canons of 1604 or on the change of reign. The issues in the play—handfast marriage, sex­ ual passes or harassment, and the change of political authority—make Measure for Measure teachable. My freshman students delight to recognize some of their concerns in it. But Othello is not on my freshman read­ ing list, because in transcending culture the work forgoes this appeal. Literature that transcends culture may be damaged or undermined by cultural studies. I think this has happened to Austen, whose early admission to the canon made aca­ demic rediscovery impossible. And it has not helped her recent fortunes that Austen’s main, almost her only, sub­ ject is the marriage of true minds. 1 believe that Austen now is less assigned (in high school and college), though more read, than ever; film has "taught” her works in a way that our classrooms cannot. One could argue that lilm and TV set the curriculum now. No wonder cultural stud­ ies seems important: it shows how culture dominated lit­ erary production and reception in the past, just as media culture controls us. ALAN POWERS Bristol Coniitutnilv College, MA I have a career in English largely because 1 serendipi- tously mentioned my interest in British cultural studies when I went on the job market in the mid-1980s. The lit­ erary academy was just discovering the work of the Birm­ ingham Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies, as the sessions on cultural studies organized by the Sociologi­ cal Approaches to Literature group for the 1988 MLA meeting signaled. 1 had been drawing on Birmingham cultural studies since I read a review of Dick Hebdige’s Subculture: The Meaning of Style in Trouser Press in 1979, and the appearance in PMLA of my article featur­ ing the Sex Pistols, in 1991, might have seemed a sign that cultural studies had influenced literary studies. In fact, I was realizing that cultural studies was dead on ar­ rival in the United States. The effort to relate cultural studies and the literary, which has largely been futile, started at least with Ray­ mond Williams’s The Long Revolution, in which Williams held that “it is with the discovery of patterns” running through a variety of texts “that any useful cultural analy­ sis begins.” The goal of reconstructing these patterns should be to “reveal unexpected identities and corre­ spondences in hitherto separately considered activities” ([Penguin, 1965] 63). The subsequent effort of British cultural studies to enlarge the range of cultural forms that counted was a political intervention, intended to counteract the views of other leftists—including, ironi­ cally, the founder of the Birmingham center, Richard Hoggart—that youth culture was worthless. In Hiding in the Light, Dick Hebdige describes a general “cartogra­ phy of taste,” in which “by pursuing a limited number of themes . . . across a fairly wide range of discourses it may be possible ... to modify the received wisdom,” both within the academy and outside it ([Routledge, 1988] 48). When confronting the literary, cultural studies ought to reveal “the extent to which one of the major functions of literary criticism as an institution” is to cor­ don off “those cultural forms based on mechanical and electronic reproduction” (Colin MacCabe, The Linguis­ 
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work_op3doyl64fcx7hmtko3acq7ane	----	Forum Correcting the Record on Leo Strauss When I was young we thought we could count on the New York Times for accuracy. But we've re- ceived nothing near accuracy in the Times's recent articles about Leo Strauss and his influence. The real question about those articles should be, it seems to me, What has hap- pened to the Times! That's beyond my competence. It might not be a very appropriate topic for a daily newspaper, but since the Times has spread the stuff it has about a man who deserves much better, people who know something about Strauss and Straussians should be allowed to try to straighten out their misin- formed readers. Looking for de- mons is not the best way to account for election results one doesn't like. Brent Staples's prejudiced out- burst, to paraphrase one of Strauss's favorite authors, Jane Austen, does not deserve the compliment of ra- tional opposition. Richard Bern- stein tried and succeeded at being more fair. But first some facts. Robert Bork is not a Straussian. (I think he'd be better off, if he were.) In fact, he has been criti- cized in print (not as a judge, but as a thinker, or scholar) for his rel- ativism by more than one Straus- sian. Both William Bennett and William Kristol have studied and taught philosophy. They both ex- hibit the kind of good sense that indicates they might have been in- fluenced by Leo Strauss. While it is true that most of Strauss's students are labeled politically as more or less conservative, there are some thoughtful Straussians who are clearly known as liberals, and who, for instance, supported Bill Clinton for president. There is no single contemporary political stance that follows necessarily from Strauss's teaching. The one person who, understand- ably, has ticked off the Times's writers most is my old friend and fellow student, Allan Bloom. "Pro- fessor Strauss appealed to conser- vatives like Mr. Bloom because he was unapologetically elitist" (Bern- stein). Elitism, used in this way, sounds almost like some congenital disease. People who use the word seem to think that it automatically licenses them to ignore the political arguments of those they disagree with. The closest natural, nonideo- logical word to what the users of the term call elitist is probably the word snob. Leo Strauss was in many ways extraordinary, but his manners reflected his rural small town background: they were sim- ple, direct, and natural, in no way snobbish. Allan Bloom too was cer- tainly no snob, but occasionally he allowed himself to look like one. What attracted us to Strauss was no mystery. We had been attracted to philosophy and especially Plato by our undergraduate studies. Strauss's courses and person were unlike anything we had seen before (or have seen since). Books we thought we had understood fairly well turned out to be far more chal- lenging, fascinating, bold, careful, and intricate than anyone had ever led us to believe. In his teaching Strauss himself exhibited a delight and joy in learning that could not help but be catching. The first ef- fect of all this was quite humbling: we learned that what we thought was our best was not good enough. I can still hear the "sinister" elitist Bloom, in the middle of a discus- sion after one of those classes say- ing something like, "Oh Larry, isn't it wonderful that two little guys like us can take part in these things!" Allan Bloom was a thoughtful, sometimes brilliant, very articulate, pesky, sometimes outrageous, man. He was also a lot of fun, which explains in part why he was such an effective teacher. When we were in college, the dominant view in the social sci- ences was Max Weber's that state- ments of fact and judgments of value must be strictly distinguished, that social science must be ethi- cally neutral. What first attracted many of us was Strauss's powerful critique, if not refutation, of that view: it became possible for us to argue, as social scientists, that seg- regation in the south (and north) was wrong, that Joseph McCarthy was a dangerous demagogue, that liberal democracy was better than Marxist totalitarianism: it freed us from the debilitating view that to attempt to understand what consti- tutes a good society is nothing more than spelling out one's own emotional preferences. Critics confuse Strauss's critique of the philosophy of liberalism with an attack on liberal democracy it- self, despite the fact that he criti- cizes the philosophy in part for its failure to defend liberal democratic institutions adequately. There is an entire book dedicated to this sub- ject: The Crisis of Liberal Democ- racy: a Straussian Perspective, K. L. Deutsch and W. Softer, eds., [SUNY Press, 1987]. The best arti- cle I know on this topic is in that book, "Leo Strauss and the Crisis of Liberal Democracy," by Hilail Gildin. It includes the observation, "That Strauss and the classics fa- vored the rule of law rather than men and were averse to arbitrary government is not plain to all. That is because although their support of the rule of law was unhesitating, their approval of it was not unqual- ified." The most intelligent and ade- quate defense of the rule of law must not blind itself to its inescap- able defects. Gildin carefully ex- plains why Strauss could argue "that liberal or constitutional de- mocracy comes closer to what the classics demanded than any alter- native that is viable in our age." Most, if not all of us, run up against what we believe to be petty and not so petty injustices almost every day. It's not too difficult to appreci- ate why decent people dream about December 1995 659 Forum or long for perfectly wise and just governors, for what Plato referred to as "philosopher kings." Strauss taught, following Plato, why, de- spite the purity and nobility of that longing, it was not, and could per- haps never be, politically viable; that, given human beings as we know them, the second best, the rule of law, is the politically best. All this should remind politically literate Americans of The Federal- ist, No. 51. Some final remarks about the buzz word elitism. Those who use the word, it seems to me, misun- derstand the virtues of American democracy: the good in their minds which is opposed to the evil, elit- ism, would seem to be unbridled egalitarian democracy. The word elite is, of course, originally French, derived from the word for elect. It is a collective noun mean- ing basically the elect, those who have been elected or chosen, some- times by God or nature, for some special task. The founder of the Democratic Party used a classical Greek word for elite: "May we not even say, that that form of govern- ment is the best, which provides the most effectually for a pure se- lection of these natural aristoi into the offices of government? The arti- ficial aristocracy is a mischievous ingredient in government . . . " (Thomas Jefferson, Letter to John Adams, 10/28/1813). The founder of the Republican Party cautions us: "I think the authors of [the Decla- ration of Independence] intended to include all men, but they did not intend to declare all men equal in all respects. They did not mean to say all were equal in color, size, intellect, moral developments, or social capacity. They defined with tolerable distinctness, in what re- spects they did consider all men created equal—equal in 'certain inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of hap- piness.'" (Abraham Lincoln, Springfield, Illinois, 6/26/1857). American democracy, I believe most people would agree, stands or falls by free elections. Free elec- tions would seem to presuppose both inequalities of ability to fulfill the offices for which the elections are held, and the capacities of vot- ers roughly to discern those in- equalities. The "nice" word for these inequalities is merit. Free elections, to sum up, introduce a principle of merit into our political system, predicated on inequalities of ability to fulfill the offices for which the elections are held. Rep- resentative democracy, The Feder- alist teaches, is the way to avoid the usual pitfalls of direct democ- racy: The specter of direct elec- tronic democracy, the threats to genuinely deliberate and rational democracy, should cause us to re- consider those arguments carefully. The health and long life of liberal democracy, both the classics and The Federalist teach, depend upon an enlightened citizenry that is clear about the limitations as well as the virtues of democracy. No one, as far as I know, put it better than Lincoln (in his First Inaugu- ral): "A majority held in restraint by constitutional checks and limita- tions, and always changing easily with deliberate changes of popular opinion and sentiment is the only true sovereign of a free people." Unbridled egalitarian democracy is one of the most direct roads through demagoguery to despotism. Bridled, or constitutional and rep- resentative, democracy would seem to be the way for those who are interested in combining political freedom with high civilization over the long haul. Laurence Berns 5?. John's College Politics and Literature: Still Alive and Well As an "outsider" as far as the practicalities of American academia are concerned, I have been privi- leged to play some part in the rec- ognition of the importance of "poli- tics and literature" in the discipline as recognized by "the emergence of an Organized Section devoted to the study of politics and litera- ture," reported in the Symposium on Literature and Politics in the June 1995 issue of PS. Catherine Zuckert concludes her brief intro- duction with the comment that the contributions to this symposium, originally delivered at a roundtable at the 1994 Annual Meeting, "What Literature Can Teach Us About Politics," "provide . . . examples of some of the kinds of work that can be done in this new subfield." The appearance of this work, as a major feature in PS, is so wel- come that I hesitate to quibble, particularly with Catherine Zuckert herself, whose work in this subfield I have been aware of and have ac- knowledged, both personally and publicly, over the last 15 years or so. But there, in effect, is the basis of a necessary, rather than merely pedantic, reservation. The Orga- nized Section is indeed new: the subfield certainly is not. For instance, on the semi-orga- nized level, as my 1983 PS survey of the "politics and literature" scene indicates, APS A has an hon- orable record of encouragement dating from at least the early 1960s. And as I also indicated there, and in my updating in 1993, many American political scientists have long taught, published and deliv- ered conference papers on "politics and literature." ("Politics and Lit- erature," News for Teachers of Political Science, Fall 1983, pp. 17-19 [American Political Science Association]; "Only Connect: Poli- tics and Literature 10 Years Later, 1982-92," PS: Political Science & Politics, June 1993, pp. 257-62). Mention should also be made, in this context, of Benjamin Barber and Michael McGrath's edited col- lection, The Artist and Political Vision (Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books, 1981) and of the papers that I edited in Reading Political Sto- ries: Representations of Politics in Novels and Pictures (Savage, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1992), both of which well demonstrate what Zuckert refers to in relation to the symposium contributions: that they "represent different approaches and interests," "are intended to be suggestive," and "provide elegant and enticing examples of some of the kinds of work that can be done." Indeed, the roundtable pa- pers printed in PS nicely comple- ment the earlier indications of what can be done. The same issue of PS that con- tains the symposium also includes the provisional program for the 660 PS: Political Science & Politics Forum 1995 Annual Meeting. Those of us who have sometimes despaired about the lack of imagination—and recourse to imaginative sources—of our colleagues should be encour- aged by the number of papers— some dozen or so outside of the Organized Section panels—that re- fer to art forms of various kinds. I welcome the evidence that film and drama, as well as fiction and po- etry, are being brought into politi- cal analysis and discussion in ways that, as Catherine Zuckert and I, and many others, from a variety of political science perspectives, have long argued, can only enhance political understanding. Maureen Whitebrook University of Sheffield Moving?, Moving?, Moving? Donft Forget to Notify APSA To ensure that all your subscriptions, membership information, and mailings reach you, return this form to APSA at least one month before you move. Name: Work Address: Membership Number: Home Address: Phone/Fax:. E-Mail:. APSA will mail to your work address unless indicated otherwise. Please mark with an H which items to send to the home address: Renewals Journals PSN Please return to: Membership Office, American Political Science Association 1527 New Hampshire Ave., NW, Washington, DC 20036; or fax : (202) 483-2657 December 1995 661 
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work_opg24kmpkvbizb5ktowsg5dmya	----	Forum Correcting the Record on Leo Strauss When I was young we thought we could count on the New York Times for accuracy. But we've re- ceived nothing near accuracy in the Times's recent articles about Leo Strauss and his influence. The real question about those articles should be, it seems to me, What has hap- pened to the Times! That's beyond my competence. It might not be a very appropriate topic for a daily newspaper, but since the Times has spread the stuff it has about a man who deserves much better, people who know something about Strauss and Straussians should be allowed to try to straighten out their misin- formed readers. Looking for de- mons is not the best way to account for election results one doesn't like. Brent Staples's prejudiced out- burst, to paraphrase one of Strauss's favorite authors, Jane Austen, does not deserve the compliment of ra- tional opposition. Richard Bern- stein tried and succeeded at being more fair. But first some facts. Robert Bork is not a Straussian. (I think he'd be better off, if he were.) In fact, he has been criti- cized in print (not as a judge, but as a thinker, or scholar) for his rel- ativism by more than one Straus- sian. Both William Bennett and William Kristol have studied and taught philosophy. They both ex- hibit the kind of good sense that indicates they might have been in- fluenced by Leo Strauss. While it is true that most of Strauss's students are labeled politically as more or less conservative, there are some thoughtful Straussians who are clearly known as liberals, and who, for instance, supported Bill Clinton for president. There is no single contemporary political stance that follows necessarily from Strauss's teaching. The one person who, understand- ably, has ticked off the Times's writers most is my old friend and fellow student, Allan Bloom. "Pro- fessor Strauss appealed to conser- vatives like Mr. Bloom because he was unapologetically elitist" (Bern- stein). Elitism, used in this way, sounds almost like some congenital disease. People who use the word seem to think that it automatically licenses them to ignore the political arguments of those they disagree with. The closest natural, nonideo- logical word to what the users of the term call elitist is probably the word snob. Leo Strauss was in many ways extraordinary, but his manners reflected his rural small town background: they were sim- ple, direct, and natural, in no way snobbish. Allan Bloom too was cer- tainly no snob, but occasionally he allowed himself to look like one. What attracted us to Strauss was no mystery. We had been attracted to philosophy and especially Plato by our undergraduate studies. Strauss's courses and person were unlike anything we had seen before (or have seen since). Books we thought we had understood fairly well turned out to be far more chal- lenging, fascinating, bold, careful, and intricate than anyone had ever led us to believe. In his teaching Strauss himself exhibited a delight and joy in learning that could not help but be catching. The first ef- fect of all this was quite humbling: we learned that what we thought was our best was not good enough. I can still hear the "sinister" elitist Bloom, in the middle of a discus- sion after one of those classes say- ing something like, "Oh Larry, isn't it wonderful that two little guys like us can take part in these things!" Allan Bloom was a thoughtful, sometimes brilliant, very articulate, pesky, sometimes outrageous, man. He was also a lot of fun, which explains in part why he was such an effective teacher. When we were in college, the dominant view in the social sci- ences was Max Weber's that state- ments of fact and judgments of value must be strictly distinguished, that social science must be ethi- cally neutral. What first attracted many of us was Strauss's powerful critique, if not refutation, of that view: it became possible for us to argue, as social scientists, that seg- regation in the south (and north) was wrong, that Joseph McCarthy was a dangerous demagogue, that liberal democracy was better than Marxist totalitarianism: it freed us from the debilitating view that to attempt to understand what consti- tutes a good society is nothing more than spelling out one's own emotional preferences. Critics confuse Strauss's critique of the philosophy of liberalism with an attack on liberal democracy it- self, despite the fact that he criti- cizes the philosophy in part for its failure to defend liberal democratic institutions adequately. There is an entire book dedicated to this sub- ject: The Crisis of Liberal Democ- racy: a Straussian Perspective, K. L. Deutsch and W. Softer, eds., [SUNY Press, 1987]. The best arti- cle I know on this topic is in that book, "Leo Strauss and the Crisis of Liberal Democracy," by Hilail Gildin. It includes the observation, "That Strauss and the classics fa- vored the rule of law rather than men and were averse to arbitrary government is not plain to all. That is because although their support of the rule of law was unhesitating, their approval of it was not unqual- ified." The most intelligent and ade- quate defense of the rule of law must not blind itself to its inescap- able defects. Gildin carefully ex- plains why Strauss could argue "that liberal or constitutional de- mocracy comes closer to what the classics demanded than any alter- native that is viable in our age." Most, if not all of us, run up against what we believe to be petty and not so petty injustices almost every day. It's not too difficult to appreci- ate why decent people dream about December 1995 659 Forum or long for perfectly wise and just governors, for what Plato referred to as "philosopher kings." Strauss taught, following Plato, why, de- spite the purity and nobility of that longing, it was not, and could per- haps never be, politically viable; that, given human beings as we know them, the second best, the rule of law, is the politically best. All this should remind politically literate Americans of The Federal- ist, No. 51. Some final remarks about the buzz word elitism. Those who use the word, it seems to me, misun- derstand the virtues of American democracy: the good in their minds which is opposed to the evil, elit- ism, would seem to be unbridled egalitarian democracy. The word elite is, of course, originally French, derived from the word for elect. It is a collective noun mean- ing basically the elect, those who have been elected or chosen, some- times by God or nature, for some special task. The founder of the Democratic Party used a classical Greek word for elite: "May we not even say, that that form of govern- ment is the best, which provides the most effectually for a pure se- lection of these natural aristoi into the offices of government? The arti- ficial aristocracy is a mischievous ingredient in government . . . " (Thomas Jefferson, Letter to John Adams, 10/28/1813). The founder of the Republican Party cautions us: "I think the authors of [the Decla- ration of Independence] intended to include all men, but they did not intend to declare all men equal in all respects. They did not mean to say all were equal in color, size, intellect, moral developments, or social capacity. They defined with tolerable distinctness, in what re- spects they did consider all men created equal—equal in 'certain inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of hap- piness.'" (Abraham Lincoln, Springfield, Illinois, 6/26/1857). American democracy, I believe most people would agree, stands or falls by free elections. Free elec- tions would seem to presuppose both inequalities of ability to fulfill the offices for which the elections are held, and the capacities of vot- ers roughly to discern those in- equalities. The "nice" word for these inequalities is merit. Free elections, to sum up, introduce a principle of merit into our political system, predicated on inequalities of ability to fulfill the offices for which the elections are held. Rep- resentative democracy, The Feder- alist teaches, is the way to avoid the usual pitfalls of direct democ- racy: The specter of direct elec- tronic democracy, the threats to genuinely deliberate and rational democracy, should cause us to re- consider those arguments carefully. The health and long life of liberal democracy, both the classics and The Federalist teach, depend upon an enlightened citizenry that is clear about the limitations as well as the virtues of democracy. No one, as far as I know, put it better than Lincoln (in his First Inaugu- ral): "A majority held in restraint by constitutional checks and limita- tions, and always changing easily with deliberate changes of popular opinion and sentiment is the only true sovereign of a free people." Unbridled egalitarian democracy is one of the most direct roads through demagoguery to despotism. Bridled, or constitutional and rep- resentative, democracy would seem to be the way for those who are interested in combining political freedom with high civilization over the long haul. Laurence Berns 5?. John's College Politics and Literature: Still Alive and Well As an "outsider" as far as the practicalities of American academia are concerned, I have been privi- leged to play some part in the rec- ognition of the importance of "poli- tics and literature" in the discipline as recognized by "the emergence of an Organized Section devoted to the study of politics and litera- ture," reported in the Symposium on Literature and Politics in the June 1995 issue of PS. Catherine Zuckert concludes her brief intro- duction with the comment that the contributions to this symposium, originally delivered at a roundtable at the 1994 Annual Meeting, "What Literature Can Teach Us About Politics," "provide . . . examples of some of the kinds of work that can be done in this new subfield." The appearance of this work, as a major feature in PS, is so wel- come that I hesitate to quibble, particularly with Catherine Zuckert herself, whose work in this subfield I have been aware of and have ac- knowledged, both personally and publicly, over the last 15 years or so. But there, in effect, is the basis of a necessary, rather than merely pedantic, reservation. The Orga- nized Section is indeed new: the subfield certainly is not. For instance, on the semi-orga- nized level, as my 1983 PS survey of the "politics and literature" scene indicates, APS A has an hon- orable record of encouragement dating from at least the early 1960s. And as I also indicated there, and in my updating in 1993, many American political scientists have long taught, published and deliv- ered conference papers on "politics and literature." ("Politics and Lit- erature," News for Teachers of Political Science, Fall 1983, pp. 17-19 [American Political Science Association]; "Only Connect: Poli- tics and Literature 10 Years Later, 1982-92," PS: Political Science & Politics, June 1993, pp. 257-62). Mention should also be made, in this context, of Benjamin Barber and Michael McGrath's edited col- lection, The Artist and Political Vision (Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books, 1981) and of the papers that I edited in Reading Political Sto- ries: Representations of Politics in Novels and Pictures (Savage, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1992), both of which well demonstrate what Zuckert refers to in relation to the symposium contributions: that they "represent different approaches and interests," "are intended to be suggestive," and "provide elegant and enticing examples of some of the kinds of work that can be done." Indeed, the roundtable pa- pers printed in PS nicely comple- ment the earlier indications of what can be done. The same issue of PS that con- tains the symposium also includes the provisional program for the 660 PS: Political Science & Politics Forum 1995 Annual Meeting. Those of us who have sometimes despaired about the lack of imagination—and recourse to imaginative sources—of our colleagues should be encour- aged by the number of papers— some dozen or so outside of the Organized Section panels—that re- fer to art forms of various kinds. I welcome the evidence that film and drama, as well as fiction and po- etry, are being brought into politi- cal analysis and discussion in ways that, as Catherine Zuckert and I, and many others, from a variety of political science perspectives, have long argued, can only enhance political understanding. Maureen Whitebrook University of Sheffield Moving?, Moving?, Moving? Donft Forget to Notify APSA To ensure that all your subscriptions, membership information, and mailings reach you, return this form to APSA at least one month before you move. Name: Work Address: Membership Number: Home Address: Phone/Fax:. E-Mail:. APSA will mail to your work address unless indicated otherwise. Please mark with an H which items to send to the home address: Renewals Journals PSN Please return to: Membership Office, American Political Science Association 1527 New Hampshire Ave., NW, Washington, DC 20036; or fax : (202) 483-2657 December 1995 661 
work_ouw52e6pxjgvjotec2urbi6eeu	----	john 32 Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 27 SMALL PLEASURES: ADAPTATION AND THE PAST IN BRITISH FILM AND TELEVISION J o h n C a u g h i eJ o h n C a u g h i eJ o h n C a u g h i eJ o h n C a u g h i eJ o h n C a u g h i e The adaptation of classic literature, or more precisely the construction of certain literary works as classic—the classic serial—has been a characteristic of British television almost since television began. Certainly, since television resumed its normal service after the break in transmission enforced by World War II, the novels of Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, Conrad, Dickens, and occasionally Henry James, have been adapted and sometimes readapted. In the mid-1990s, adaptations of Pride and Prejudice (1995), Middlemarch (1994) and Martin Chuzzlewit (1994) not only reaffirmed the status of the BBC as the cornerstone of national broadcasting, but also confirmed its cultural prestige overseas. It also, of course, secured it a healthy slice of the substantial international market in 'quality television’. In the 1980s, endless adaptations of E.M.Foster, suffused with the charms of manners and costume and basking in the warm glow of the past, have made adaptation a cultural dominant in representations of Britain, helping to shape the perception of Britishness - or at least of Englishness - as a quality whose real meaning can be found in the past, and whose commodity value can be found in the heritage industry. Revealingly, the Government Ministry now charged with the administration of culture in Britain has been renamed the Department of National Heritage. 28 John Caughie And yet academic film and television criticism in Britain— inclined by habit towards the analysis of popular culture, more comfortable with the soap opera or the Hollywood melodrama than with ‘high culture’, and always suspicious of the ‘elitist pretension’ of adaptation and the literary tradition—has remained deafeningly silent. In this article, I want to examine some of the issues which determine the allure of the past for British film and television, and to suggest some of the aesthetic, and inherently political questions which it raises. Jean Luc Godard has said, ‘Before you talk about art in the cinema, you must always talk about money’. While feeling considerable unease about the extent to which the vocabulary of the market has insinuated itself into the field of culture as if it were a natural language, it seems impossible to describe the current condition of the cinema in Britain— or anywhere else—without also talking about money. Indeed, one of the virtues of the study of film and television in an academic context is the extent to which such obviously commercial forms force a new dialogue between industry and art, commerce and creativity. Some dialogue between these terms, which idealist versions of cultural criticism have seen as mutually exclusive since at least the middle of the nineteenth century, seems necessary if we are to prevent considerations of identity and culture from slipping off into national— or nationalistic—essentialisms. Cultural identities happen under certain conditions, and they are shaped not simply by the private insights and expressions of individual artists but by the public determinations of law, economy and money. This is not to say that private insight, passion and imagination are terms to be extirpated from critical discourse by a ruthless materialism (though we in Film Studies came dangerously close to such an ‘intellectual cleansing’ in the enthusiasm for scientific analysis and remorselessly rationalist discourse out of which our discipline was formed after 1968). Rather, my fairly modest proposal would be that the terms of creativity and imagination exist in particular relations with the material conditions which form, transform and sometimes deform them. Men make their own history, as old Marx Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 29 said, but not always in conditions of their own choosing. So if I talk about money and markets, it is not with any enthusiasm for the vocabulary but because these seem to me to be some of the determinations which shape the images through which Britishness (or Scottishness, or Irishness, Englishness or Brazilianness) is defined. Film—at least at the international level—is a tradable good, and what it ultimately deals in are marketable images. I do not think the British are temperamentally equipped to make the best use of the movie camera.’ (Satyajit Ray ) Isn’t there a certain incompatibility between the terms ‘cinema’ and ‘Britain’? (François Truffaut) These two quotations hang like a millstone round the neck of British cinema, appearing in almost every book published and every article written, as if they were some kind of final judgement and all-embracing explanation. I am not satisfied, however, that the perceived inadequacies of British cinema as an industrial form continually lurching from renaissance to despair, or of British film as an aesthetic form which has never quite evoked the passion of criticism which is evoked by Hollywood cinema, European cinema—or indeed by Latin American cinema—can simply be laid at the door of temperament. I have always had difficulty with the notion of national temperaments, particularly in a country which is so temperamentally diverse, and even perverse, as the so-called ‘United’ Kingdom. At the same time, the quotations cannot be dismissed altogether: not everything can be explained by market forces, and it seems evident that certain aesthetic and cultural forms may be dominant within a culture, a historical dominance which establishes the system of values to which other forms aspire. If this is so, Britain, or at least England, has a literary culture, and it is the prestige of literary forms (in which, for television, I would include drama) which sets the standard and assigns value to other—upstart—forms like film and television. Much of the British cinema which has received attention 30 John Caughie over the last decade and a half is a highly literate cinema, a literacy which, in recent years, it may have learned from the success of adaptation and the classic serial on television. On the other hand, just to retain an element of scepticism, it is worth recalling that when Lindsay Anderson was asked about the exclusive use of adaptations of novels or plays in the British New Wave of the late 1950s/early 1960s, he suggested that in an industry as fragile and precarious as the British film industry the only way you could raise the money to make a film was to base it on a work which had already had success in another form, a success which gave it a guaranteed audience. To that we might add, before we exclusively read the recent obsession with the adaptation of classic novels as a symptom of Britain’s desire in uncertain times to return to a more secure past, that the adaptation and re-adaptation of novels which are more than fifty years old may also have something to do with copyright law. If the United States spoke Spanish, Britain would have a film industry. (anon) Within the logic of the global market, nations are not simply mapped out as nation-state territories, but as linguistic markets. Britain inhabits the linguistic market—English—which is not only the largest but also the richest in the world, and the one which has by far the largest proportion of national populations for whom English is the second language. This obviously makes it the most lucrative market, and Britain should be able to capitalize on this. There is a snag. Britain cohabits this market with the United States, the country which has had the most successful film industry since the First World War, and particularly since the arrival of sound, like a tower of Babel, breaking the universality of the language of cinema, and fragmenting it into linguistic markets. British cinema, conditioned by a national history of imperialism to conquer the world rather than belong to Europe, has continually tried to place itself in a competition with Hollywood which history and logic suggest it cannot win. Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 31 To oversimplify: if an American film is successful it can recover much of its now astronomical costs of production from North American box office receipts alone. This is a simple fact of population: there are enough consumers in the market to support a large scale industry with streamlined modes of production. What a successful film earns from overseas distribution is then largely profit. (And if it is not successful, it is only a small dent in the global profits of the multinational company by which all Hollywood studios are now owned.) If a British film is successful, on the other hand, it is still almost impossible that it will be able to make enough profit on British box office receipts alone to invest in the next film. The circulation of capital between production and exhibition is arrested, the development of a streamlined industrial mode of production is prevented, and films are produced by entrepreneurs working in something like a cottage industry. In this system, if a British film fails, there is not the cross-capitalization of the multinational parent company to protect it from disaster, and capital investment in film production is a very high-risk business. There are simply not enough people in the British domestic market to support a film industry of the kind which has historically been defined by Hollywood, and which has more recently been characterized by the increasing conglomeration and globalization of the ‘leisure industries’. Even to make enough profit to ensure continuity of production, British films must be successful overseas—and overseas has traditionally meant North America. This is where the relationship between national cultures and markets begins to become clearer. If it is to be successful in America, British cinema has to sell the images of Britain which Americans are prepared to buy, or at least which American distributors and exhibitors believe Americans are prepared to pay to see. In the terms in which the international image market defines success, it is not enough to reflect the changing complexities of our lives to ourselves, we must project the kinds of images of our lives which others have come to expect of us. For Britain, in the 1980s and 1990s, this has very often meant the representations of a classic literature in which irony and wit are rendered 32 John Caughie as English quaintness, and the national past is captured like a butterfly on a pin in a museum of gleaming spires, tennis on the lawn, and the faded memory of empire. Scotland, more recently and almost predictably, has been called upon to revive the values of the tired old Western, rediscovered yet again, as it was by Scott at the beginning of the nineteenth century, as a frontier territory perched on the edge of Europe, playing out the values of Highland wilderness and lowland civilization, noble savages and cultured but corrupt gentry. Now all national cinemas—except possibly the Bombay cinema— live in the shadow of Hollywood. But whereas it has been possible to persuade governments in many non-English-speaking nations that the national culture is tied to the national language, and therefore a national cinema speaking the national language should be protected and supported, in Britain, recent governments have shown themselves immune to this argument. British consumers, like most consumers, have shown a preference for American films, and language provides no barrier. One of the undoubted, and most insidious, discursive successes of Thatcherism has been the replacement of the concept of ‘the public’ with that of ‘consumers’, and the consequent redefinition of words like ‘freedom’, ‘choice’, and ‘liberty’ along market lines. Words which are still haunted by the ghosts of the barricades have become part of the routine vocabulary of the market and its philosophes. Within that discursive shift, British consumers freely choose American films and it is not for the government to inhibit that choice by protection or support. The market, in this case the global market, must protect its own, and if British films cannot compete with the might of Hollywood, so be it. Britain’s only recourse is to develop a niche within world cinema and television — heritage film and classic serial — a niche which it is developing quite successfully, a kind of art cinema balanced precariously between a European sensibility and the North American market. British film is alive and well and living on television. (anon.) Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 33 Since the early 1980s, and the introduction of the fourth terrestrial television channel, Channel 4, it has become increasingly difficult to talk about film in Britain without also talking about television. From A Room with a View (1985) to Howards End (1991), with British successes like The Crying Game (1992), Naked (1993), Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994), Shallow Grave (1994), Trainspotting (1996) to its credit, and even with an involvement in such European films as Kieslowski’s trilogy, Three Colours Red, White and Blue, Channel 4’s investment in film production has been central not only to the health of British cinema, but has made a significant contribution to European cinema. Channel 4 opened in November 1982. Its remit had two important injunctions, laid on it by the Conservative government of the time in the Act of Parliament which brought the new channel into being. First, it was to be a publisher-broadcaster. That is to say, it was not to be a producer of programmes but a commissioner. It was staffed not with camera operators, editors and directors, but with commissioning editors, whose responsibility it was to commission the making of programmes from independent producers; and with buyers, who bought programmes on the international market (largely from USA, but also from Europe, North Africa, and, indeed, Latin America). The aim was that twenty-five per cent of the programme time of Channel 4 was to be taken up by independent production. This was in a context in which the two other sources of indigenous television programmes in the UK, the public service BBC and the commercial television network , were almost exclusively the preserve of in-house production. The second injunction was that this new channel should innovate and experiment in its scheduling, and should seek to address audiences which had not previously been addressed. This was a unique injunction in the history of the British regulation of culture. A third aspect of Channel 4’s relationship to film is significant. The Channel demonstrated that after forty years of jealousy and rivalry it was possible for cinema and television to lay down their arms and cooperate. Channel 4 challenged the conventional wisdom that a 34 John Caughie television screening killed a film’s chance of success in the cinema, or vice versa, and it adopted the practice of allowing the films in which it invested to have as full a life as possible in the cinema before they were shown on television. The result should have been obvious all along: the cinema functioned as a shop window , and the word-of- mouth, the reviews, and even the awards which a film gathered built up a larger audience for the television screening than it might otherwise have had. In this way, Channel 4 was able to sustain not only the mainstream successes of British cinema in the 1980s and 1990s, but was also able to bring to a much wider audience more marginal, ‘eccentric’ or avant garde directors like Derek Jarman, Peter Greenaway, Sally Potter or Isaac Julien. It is not appropriate here to go into the intricacies of British broadcasting and the even more arcane topic of regulation, but some of the effects of Channel 4’s innovation are worth noting. On the one hand, at the national level, the remit to be innovative and to address audiences not previously addressed created a context in which voices were indeed heard on television which had previously been invisible and inaudible in public culture. Most dramatically, the interests of the Afro-Caribbean and Asian communities and of the gay and lesbian communities became a part of public culture (albeit a still marginal part) in quite a new way. Regionally, socially, culturally - groups of people had access to national television in a way which had never happened before, and Channel 4 introduced a diversity into television which has played a large part in diversifying British culture— the British public sphere—as a whole. This diversity at the local level, of course, may be invisible at the global level. On the other hand, at the international level, Channel 4’s commitment to the funding of independent film production brought a level of success and international prestige to British film which it had not had at least since the early 1950s. Channel 4 did not wholly fund these films, but by providing the first £500,000 or so and by guaranteeing some public distribution (at the very least on television), Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 35 it allowed films to attract investment. More than just enabling the production of a number of high profile individual films, however, Channel 4 created the beginnings of an infrastructure in which such films could be produced. So successful was this aspect of the new Channel that in the 1990 Broadcasting Act the injunction to commission twenty-five per cent of programmes from independent producers was extended to all terrestrial broadcasters. The paradox is that a Channel which was seen as unruly, sexually licentious, and unorthodox almost to the point of subversion introduced an economic system which became the orthodoxy. The answer to the paradox is that while Channel 4 may have been an anathema to conservative ideologists it was music to the ears of conservative, market- oriented economists. What it did was to transform unruly film producers into small business men and business women, sensitive to the market and responsive to its conditions. If the market was strong, production could expand; if it was weak, Channel 4 could cut its commissions and the sector would retract. Economically speaking, Channel 4 travelled light and its flexibility was a stick with which the Thatcherites delighted in beating the inertia of the monoliths of British broadcasting—the BBC and the commercial companies—whose broad and ponderous backs did indeed invite a little beating. It would be extremely ungracious not to welcome the success of recent British cinema, a success which is almost entirely dependent on the convergence of film and television. The welcome, however, is tinged with just a little suspicion that something of the local has been lost in television when its success is measured by the awards of the global film industry. This is not meant to defend the indefensible or to suggest it would have been better to stay in the security wing of the 1960s, but simply to raise the question of what happens to a national television, a national television which historically has been central to the national public culture, when it becomes part of an international art cinema. 36 John Caughie Art cinema/ Quality cinemaArt cinema/ Quality cinemaArt cinema/ Quality cinemaArt cinema/ Quality cinemaArt cinema/ Quality cinema Let me now move to the notion of a British art cinema, a notion which always seem to invoke a hesitation and an immediate need to qualify. If the concept of a European art cinema is formed by the experience of the Italian art cinema of Visconti, Antonioni, Fellini, the Scandinavian cinema of Bergman, the Spanish (or French or Mexican) cinema of Bunuel, the Polish cinema of Andrej Wajda, the German cinema of Herzog, Kluge or Fassbinder or the French cinema of almost anyone you care to name from Renoir and Truffaut to Godard and Duras; or if the concept is formed by the memory of films like La Strada, L’Avventura, Last Year at Marienbad, The Seventh Seal, Senso, Ashes and Diamonds, Jules et Jim, Tout va bien, Fear Eats the Soul ; in short, if the concept of an art cinema is of a cinema which became one of the late flowering glories of twentieth century modernism, then it is hard to find a body of work in British cinema which occupies the same place in European or world culture. Peter Greenaway has the mannerisms, but the matter always seems to me to be lacking. On the margins, directors like Sally Potter, Terence Davies and Derek Jarman are undoubted contenders but their interest is precisely in their position on the margins rather than in the mainstream of national or world culture. Historically, Britain’s unique contribution to world cinema has been the documentary movement, a cinema befitting the utilitarianism and empiricism of British traditions in thought, an art cinema, as Alan Lovell once said, which has no time for art. The cinema which I am really concerned with here, and its cognate area in television—the cinema which has characterised in the international imagination Britain’s relationship to its past—is a quality cinema rather than an art cinema. This term, ‘quality cinema’, needs some brief description since the term now perhaps has a unique significance in Britain— though it refers to that same tradition de qualité, the quality tradition formed by films based on adaptations mainly by Laurens and Bost in the 1940s and 1950s in France, which Truffaut Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 37 denounced in the 1953 article which polemically launched the politique des auteurs (the auteur policy) in Cahiers du cinéma. (And the term can also be applied to more recent French adaptations like Cyrano, Jean de Florette and Manon des Sources.) In British film, the notion of a quality cinema is associated with critics like Dilys Powell, C.A. Lejeune and Graham Greene writing in the 1940s and 1950s in the midst of a postwar cultural reconstruction which covered all the arts. For the cinema this attempt to found a British tradition of quality hinged on the distinction of the best of British cinema, and it was expressed as a conscious desire for a national cinema distinct from the mere entertainment of Hollywood. The guarantee of that distinction was frequently adaptation from texts which were already prestigious in theatre or literature, and it is associated with theatrical adaptations like The Importance of Being Earnest (1952), Olivier ’s Henry V (1945) or Hamlet (1948), literary adaptations like Brighton Rock (1947) and Odd Man Out (1947), and perhaps most characteristically, with David Lean’s adaptations of Dickens in Great Expectations (1946) and Oliver Twist (1948). More recently the term ‘quality’ has been given new life in the debates surrounding the re-regulation of television in the late 1980s. Fears of the complete destruction of the values of public service broadcasting if television were thrown completely to the market were addressed by introducing something called the ‘quality threshold’, an undefined notion of quality which bidders had to satisfy if they were to be awarded a franchise to operate one of the regional commercial stations. Again, in the public debate which surrounded the introduction of new legislation for television, the shorthand for what was meant by quality in the public mind came to be defined with strong roots in adaptation: the titles which were wheeled out time after time as examples were Brideshead Revisited (1981), adapted from Evelyn Waugh, and The Jewel in the Crown (1984), adapted from Paul Scott’s trilogy of the British Raj. These two became the hallmark of quality, and it was their television success nationally and internationally, coming at 38 John Caughie the same time as such cinema successes as Chariots of Fire (1981), Ghandi (1982), and Passage to India (1985) which firmly established British quality cinema in a particular and peculiar relationship to the past, a relationship which, through the work of Merchant/Ivory, blossoms into an oddly obsessive love affair with the work of E.M. Forster. Quality television returns again and again to adaptation, with Andrew Davies’ 1995 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice (already adapted at least once every ten years since the war) achieving international success by re-writing irony as romance. If we set aside the more avant-garde, experimental or at least modernist films which Channel 4 stimulated, and the diversity which it enabled, and concentrate on the quality cinema and television which constructed the image of Britain outside of Britain, the overwhelming impression must be one of a nostalgia lovingly created out of costume and sepia tints. The notion of a ‘quality’ cinema, or, more tenuously, of a British art cinema seems to have come out of the 1980s inextricably linked to discourses of literary and cultural heritage. From Chariots of Fire to Howards End (1991), films seem continually to return not simply to the past in general, but to a very particular past: to the period in the first few decades of this century before and after what in Britain is known as the ‘Great War ’, the historical moment in which the land- owning aristocracy began to give up the reigns of power to the new urban bourgeoisie, and in which Britain began to detect the fault lines in its Imperial destiny. Heritage, history and memoryHeritage, history and memoryHeritage, history and memoryHeritage, history and memoryHeritage, history and memory It seems impossible to talk about this relationship with the past without acknowledging Fredric Jameson’s magisterial warnings on the effacement of history by historicism, or without considering the place of this nostalgia mode within the wider nostalgia mode which Jameson locates as one of the characteristics of postmodernism, or of the cultural logic of late capitalism. The nostalgia film, he says, Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 39 was never a matter of some old-fashioned ‘representation’ of historical content, but approached the ‘past’ through stylistic connotation, conveying ‘pastness’ by the glossy qualities of the image, and ‘1930s-ness’ or 1950s-ness’ by the attributes of fashion.1 The description clearly fits both television costume drama and the recreations of the world of Forster in the Merchant/Ivory series. The charge which Jameson lays against this ‘mesmerizing new aesthetic mode’—‘the waning of our historicity'—is that it denies us the ‘lived possibility of experiencing history in some active way’2. History becomes the present in costume, showing us only human continuities and lingering generalities of tone and style—the seduction of the image—without the formal distance and the historical particularity— the rebellious detail—which might enable us to experience difference and change. I have a great admiration, and even fondness, for Fredric Jameson’s work, and I firmly believe that the most interesting postmodernists are the ones who are now or once were Marxists, but I am concerned that the cognitive mapping which he proposes might end up as a tourist map, giving a certain security around the main points of orientation of postmodern culture, but without the difficult topographic detail which would allow us to distinguish between a precipice and a steep grassy slope. In particular, I am concerned that cognitive mapping, like postmodern criticism itself, at least in the hands of someone less passionate than Jameson, can end up only in the constant description and redescription of a kind of cultural phenomenology. As well as understanding the general relationship which postmodern culture has to the past, I think we need to be able to distinguish within this relationship between this representation of the past and that representation of the past—to distinguish between Chinatown and Body Heat in a way which Jameson does not, or between Fay Weldon’s writerly and feminist adaptation of Jane Austen in 1980 and Andrew 40 John Caughie Davies’ televisual and ahistoric adaptation in 1995; or even to distinguish between the historicism of Merchant/Ivory’s costume drama adaptation of Forster in Room with a View (1985)and their more historical account of Howards End, which offers a more uneasy account of class difference and change in England. So the past and our relationship to it is not entirely stable nor is it lacking in its own contradictions and tensions, and it cannot simply be described, and then dismissed, by blanket terms like heritage or nostalgia. In Britain, the critical tendency in film criticism has been to ascribe heritage to Thatcherism and its (highly selective) appeal to the values of the Victorians (self-sufficiency and family, but not public works), and the association of anything with Thatcher seems to prevent further thought. While it is certainly true that at a time when Britain had some difficulty in selling most things, it became particularly adept at selling the past, those of us who are film scholars, or who have an interest in cultural studies, would have to afford to the heritage film and the representations of the national past in both film and television at least the same attention as we used to afford to the Western or the melodrama, discriminating between this Western and that Western, this melodrama and that melodrama, and finding in them, through critical analysis rather than description or cognitive mapping, the secret workings of values, ideologies and contradictions. D e t a i lD e t a i lD e t a i lD e t a i lD e t a i l I want here to take a detour through Naomi Schor’s discussion of detail in her book, Reading in Detail: Aesthetics and the Feminine 3. I am interested generally in thinking about detail as a foundational term for an aesthetics or poetics which is specific to television, and here, more particularly, in thinking about the ways in which analysis might approach representations of the past in both television and film. In the wider terms of the analysis of cultural history, Schor’s discussion opens Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 41 questions of the particular and general which have been central to modernist and postmodernist debates in this century. In her book, Naomi Schor traces the history of detail in aesthetics from the contempt in which it was held by Sir Joshua Reynolds and the Royal Academy in the eighteenth century to its new-found status in the dialectics of the particular and the general in modernism and in the historiography which derives from Foucault. ‘The great style in painting’, says William Hazlitt in the 1780s, ‘consists in avoiding the details, and peculiarities of particular objects’; and ‘Genius’ according to Reynolds, ‘consists principally in the comprehension of A WHOLE; in taking general idea only’ . A ‘nice discrimination’, he says ‘of minute circumstances, and a punctilious delineation of them, whatever excellence it may have (and I do not mean to detract from it) never did confer on the Artist the character of Genius.’ 4 This privileging, as Schor demonstrates, is not gender neutral, for while the sublime (which is anti-detail) is ‘manly noble dignified’, Dutch painting is excluded by Reynolds from the Great Tradition because it is too much based on detailed observation of particularities: ‘Flemish painting [...] will appeal to women, especially to the very old and the very young, also to monks and nuns and to certain noblemen who have no sense of true harmony’. 5 In her introduction, Schor establishes some of the parameters of reading in detail and reading detail. To focus on the detail , she says, and more particularly on the detail as negativity, is to become aware, as I have discovered, of its participation in a larger semantic network, bounded on the one side by the ornamental, with its traditional connotations of effeminacy and decadence, and on the other, by the everyday, whose ‘prosiness’ is rooted in the domestic sphere of social life presided over by women. In other words, to focus on the place and function of the detail since the mid-eighteenth century is to become aware that the normative aesthetics elaborated 42 John Caughie and disseminated by the [Royal] Academy and its members is not sexually neutral; it is an axiology carrying into the field of representation the sexual hierarchies of the phallocentric cultural order. The detail does not occupy a conceptual space beyond the laws of sexual difference: the detail is gendered and doubly gendered as feminine. 6 The ornamental, the everyday and the feminine: the resonances for television theory are suggestive, and for the representation of the past in both cinema and television, from costume drama to classic adaptation, they are striking. Period detail and the particularities of mannerisms rather than grand narratives and the Grand Style seem indeed to be central to the allure of the past. Modernism’s concerns, however, complicate the status of detail, throwing the detail into dialectical tension with the whole. ‘The reconciliation of the general and the particular ’, say Adorno and Horkheimer in their critique of the Culture Industry, of the rule and the specific demands of the subject matter, the achievement of which alone gives essential, meaningful content to style, is futile because there has ceased to be the slightest tension between opposite poles; these concordant extremes are dismally identical; the general can replace the particular, and vice versa. 7 Without that tension, the detail is subsumed within the general, and becomes mere style. The detail loses its rebelliousness, its ‘protest against organization’, and ‘is liquidated together with the idea’ which it expressed. 8 In the Arcades Project, Benjamin’s ambition was to present the very consciousness of the nineteenth century through its material details. Starting from a citation from Goethe, ‘everything factual is already theory’ 9, Benjamin, according to Susan Buck-Morss, Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 43 retained the notion that the Arcades project would present collective history as Proust had presented his own - not ‘life as it was’, nor even life remembered, but life as it has been ‘forgotten’. Like dream images, urban objects, relics of the past century, were hieroglyphic clues to a forgotten past. Benjamin’s goal was to interpret for his own generation these dream fetishes in which, in fossilized form, history’s traces had survived. 10 And as Benjamin himself says, As Proust begins his life story with awakening, so must every work of history begin with awakening; indeed, it actually must be concerned with nothing else. This work [the Arcades Project] is concerned with awakening from the nineteenth century. 11 The principle which Benjamin adopted was to be the presentation of what he called ‘dialectical images’ in montage: material details replete with history, a history which could be unlocked and allowed to speak for itself through the technique of montage. The principle of construction, says Buck-Morss, is that of montage, whereby the image’s ideational elements remain unreconciled, rather than fusing into one ‘harmonizing perspective’. For Benjamin, the technique of montage had ‘special, even total rights’ as a progressive form because it ‘interrupts the context into which it is inserted’ and thus 'counteracts illusion’. 12 ’Method of this work’ notes Benjamin: ‘literary montage. I have nothing to say, only to show.’ 13 44 John Caughie How does this help us with heritage cinema or with television’s encounter with the past in the classic adaptation? It seems to me it offers a way of approaching both the pleasures of classic period adaptation, and the disappointments. The pleasures are indeed pleasure in detail, our engagement is held not by the drive of narrative but by the observation of everyday manners and the ornamental. In this context, it is interesting that the Radio Times 14 published the cover photograph of the wedding of Elizabeth and Darcy in the most recent adaptation of Pride and Prejudice (‘The wedding of the year’) the week before the wedding actually happened, anticipating wedded bliss while at that point in the episodic sequence of the transmitted story the characters were still at loggerheads. The pleasure was not in what will happen, but in how. The important point is that the pleasure in detail is a pleasure in profusion, and, for analysis, this pleasure has to be thought differently than a pleasure governed by the Law of the Father and driven by desire and lack. It is, if you like, a small pleasure, a pleasure of observation rather than of fantasy and identification, a pleasure in the ornamental and the everyday which the history of aesthetics has assigned to the feminine, a pleasure which the academy, and academic film and television theory has not regarded as manly, noble or dignified. The disappointment, of course, is that the pleasure in period detail is not so much an awakening from the nineteenth century as a slumbering in it: it does indeed, as Jameson claims, deny us the ‘lived possibility of experiencing history in some active way’. History becomes the present in costume, showing us only human continuities and lingering generalities of tone and style—the seduction of the image— without the formal distance and the historical particularity—the rebellious detail or the materiality of Benjamin’s ‘dialectical image’— which might enable us to experience difference and change. So I come to a definition of quality cinema which says something about its relationship to the past : to borrow a phrase from Colin McArthur, quality cinema is an art cinema which has missed its historical appointment with the challenges of modernism. It is this evasion which Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 45 sets British quality cinema apart from the great modernist tradition of art cinema in Europe. Reading in detailReading in detailReading in detailReading in detailReading in detail I want to suggest, then, that attention to detail offers a way of understanding both the pleasures and the disappointments of heritage film and classic serial, and provides a mode of approach which might allow us to account for those pleasures and disappointments in a more analytical way than blanket dismissals or denunciations of postmodern nostalgia permit. Let me end by suggesting some of the questions that attention to detail might raise. First, irony. It seems to me an irony in itself that British quality film and television adaptation is drawn, like a butterfly to a flame, to a literature which is itself deeply ironic, to texts whose central defining ironic trope resists easy translation into the visual. The nineteenth- century novels of Austen, Eliot, Dickens, the twentieth-century novels of E.M. Forster or Evelyn Waugh are sown through with an ironic discourse which continually nudges the reader into judgement, assigning to him or her an understanding of the social which the characters do not have. Consider Jane Austen’s famous first line in Pride and Prejudice : ‘It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a single man possessed of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’ What happens when that is transferred from the narrator’s discourse to Elizabeth Bennet? It assigns to Elizabeth a knowledge of her social and historical situation, a knowledge which in the novel is shared between author and reader over the heads of the characters. In adaptation, characters become knowing and textual irony, the discourse of the narrator, becomes Elizabeth Bennet’s arch knowingness. The ironic trope of an embryonic modernism regresses historically into the wit of an earlier classicism. Or think of E.M Forster ’s famous authorial intervention in Howards End : 46 John Caughie Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its highest. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect, and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to either, will die. 15 This is missing from the film — quite correctly, since its ironic complexity would have been reduced to banality in the mouth of a character — but with it goes the irony of Forster’s own discourse, his radical but complex plea for a liberal humanism, and his modernist agonism. Irony is not an impossible figure for cinema. It has been a commonplace of film theory, at least since Colin MacCabe’s influential essay on realism in Screen in 197416, that the metadiscourse, the discourse which is the discourse of knowledge and which allows us to place all the other discourses in a hierarchy of truth, is located in the realist film in the mise en scène. Don’t trust what the characters say, trust what you see. It is the mise en scène which gives to the spectator an understanding of the characters’ situation which the characters themselves do not have. The detail of the mise en scène may stand in an ironic relation to the other discourses. But what happens when the space of irony, the mise en scène, is occupied by quality and the loving recreation of period? Quality cinema, the classic serial, sell a particular relation to the past, a relationship based on feel rather than on understanding, on slumbering rather than awakening, on a profusion of detail rather than the dialectical image, on nostalgic longing rather than the ‘lived possibility of experiencing history in some active way’. The money shots17 fill the screen with connotations of pastness, a pastness which has become a thing in itself. The space of the ironic authorial discourse is taken up with shots which caress the past into living presence, the directness and complexity of Forster ’s ironic relationship to class and empire is suffused with warm light and lost in the lingering period detail which is the hall-mark—and the trade- mark—of the quality film. Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 47 Second, the author. I no longer feel embarrassed by the concept of the author, and I am prepared to dispense with all the baffles of narratology. It is Jane Austen who connects Pride and Prejudice to a social history - a social history which is not simply adapted for the present but which gives us a sense of historical difference and consequently a sense of our own temporality. Here we can make some of the discriminations which Jameson does not make. When Fay Weldon adapts Pride and Prejudice, she makes a serious effort to retain the voice of Jane, and the adaptation is marked by quite theatrical dialogue. But what she offers is an interpretation of the past, of women’s relation to the marriage trade and the entailment of property. It is an interpretation of the past for and from the present, in many ways an interpretation which Jane Austen could not possibly have made herself. And the interpretation lies in details of character and nuance of speech. When Andrew Davies adapts the same novel, with a much clearer sense of both the televisual image and of the international market , Jane is commodified, lost in sweeps of romantic ahistoricism and generality. In Merchant/Ivory’s loving recreation of the early years of this century, Forster, it seems to me, and his modernist irony, is nowhere to be found. And third, the actor. I only want to signal this, but it seems to me that in its historical ignorance—and its ignoring—of the detail of acting, film and television studies is peculiarly unable to discuss television drama. When it decided that film was narrative, film theory seems to have forgotten that it was also the performance of a narrative, actors pretending to be people they weren’t. However much the classic serial may lovingly recreate the past with a profusion of detail, the body of the actor is stubborn: the furniture may be authentic nineteenth century, but the body of the actor and its gestures are our contemporary. This might be where the analysis would start, for it is acting, the portrayal of character and manners, which seems to me to provide much of the pleasure of period film and the classic adaptation. The pleasure is a pleasure in performance, rather than the more seductive pleasure of 48 John Caughie identification: a pleasure in the observation of the details of gesture and inflection, in watching skill with the relaxed detachment and critical judgement which Brecht associates with the aficionado of boxing, or which Benjamin associates with the loss or aura: a small pleasure in ornament and the everyday rather than the overwhelming jouissance of the Sublime and the Grand Style. To suggest finally where the profusion of detail and the rebellious detail might meet, and to think about how otherwise the past might be represented, I want to refer to Andreas Huyssen’s recent book, Twilight Memories: Marking time in a culture of amnesia. 18 Huyssen is intrigued by ‘the paradox that novelty in our culture is ever more associated with memory and the past rather than with future expectation.’ 19 But rather than express this purely in the terms of loss which Jameson employs, he sees in it something of ‘society’s need for temporal anchoring when in the wake of the information revolution, the relationship between past, present, and future is being transformed.’ 20 Rather than simply dismiss the new relationship to the past as a mixture of nostalgia, heritage and enterprise, he sees in the museum a chance to ‘reclaim a sense of non-synchronicity and of the past.’ 21 But it is a past reconceived as something different. He proposes in the figure which forms the title of his book—twilight memories—an image which might make the past strange again. Twilight, he says, is that moment of the day that foreshadows the night of forgetting, but that seems to slow time itself, an in-between state in which the last light of the day may still play out its ultimate marvels. It is memory’s privileged time. 22 I would add to that that twilight is also the time when detail stands out and begins to break its organic relationship with the general: the ‘floating detail’ which Naomi Schor sees as both authenticating memory and making it strange, or the rebellious detail which Adorno and Horkheimer see as a point of resistance to the generality of Small Pleasures: Adaptation and Past... 49 administrative rationality. This seems to me to evoke a different relationship to the past and to adaptation which can be sensed in the in-betweenness of Sally Potter’s Orlando (1993), or in the floating detail of Jane Campion’s The Piano (1993), or in the queerness of Jarman’s Edward II (1991). The object, then, is not to lose the connection to the past which adaptation and the classic serial offer us, but to rediscover it, yet again, as another and a different country. N o t e sN o t e sN o t e sN o t e sN o t e s 1 Fredric Jameson, Postmodernism, or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (Durham: Duke University Press, 1991), p. 19. 2 ibid., p.21. 3 Naomi Schor, Reading in Detail: Aesthetics and the Feminine (London/New York: Routledge, 1989) 4 ibid., p.12. 5 ibid., p.20. 6 ibid., p.4. 7 Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer, ‘The Culture Industry’, in Dialectic of Enlightenment, translated by John Cumming (New York: Seabury, 1972), p. 130. 8 p.12. 9 Susan Buck-Morss, The Dialectics of Seeing: Walter Benjamin and the Arcades Project (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1991), p.28. 10 ibid., p.39. 50 John Caughie 11 ibid. 12 ibid., p.67. 13 ibid., p.73. 14 The Radio Times is the weekly British television programme guide. 15 E.M. Forster, Howards End [1910] (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1989), p. 188. 16 Colin MacCabe, ‘Realism and cinema: notes on some Brechtian theses’, Screen, 15:2 (1974). 17 ‘Money shots’ are the shots in which the film proclaims that it is expensive — and therefore ‘quality’. 18 Andreas Huyssen, Twilight Memories: Marking Time in a Culture of Amnesia (New York/London: Routledge, 1995). 19 ibid., p.6. 20 ibid., p.7. 21 ibid., p.34. 22 ibid., p.3. 
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work_p4yrb4tdobekhlzmitrcbynfle	----	Rewriting Romance : Elizabeth Hamilton’s Memoirs of Modern Philosophers and Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l'Université de Montréal, l'Université Laval et l'Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. Érudit offre des services d'édition numérique de documents scientifiques depuis 1998. Pour communiquer avec les responsables d'Érudit : info@erudit.org Article « Rewriting Romance : Elizabeth Hamilton’s Memoirs of Modern Philosophers and Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey » Megan Taylor Lumen: Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Lumen : travaux choisis de la Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, vol. 31, 2012, p. 169-181. Pour citer cet article, utiliser l'information suivante : URI: http://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1013075ar DOI: 10.7202/1013075ar Note : les règles d'écriture des références bibliographiques peuvent varier selon les différents domaines du savoir. Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d'auteur. L'utilisation des services d'Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d'utilisation que vous pouvez consulter à l'URI https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Document téléchargé le 5 April 2021 09:53 lumen xxxi, 2012 • 169-181 Rewriting Romance: Elizabeth Hamilton’s Memoirs of Moder n Philosophers and Jane Austen’s Northanger A bbe y Megan Taylor University of Ottawa Elizabeth Hamilton’s Memoirs of Modern Philosophers (1800) and Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey (1817) are novels about novels. Each seems to challenge popular sentimental and Gothic fiction in the same way, by ridiculing or debunking their melodramatic romantic conventions. But Austen’s criticism is far less savage than Hamilton’s, which is unforgiving in its treatment of romance. Austen, by contrast, pokes affectionate fun at romantic formulas to revise without rejecting them, while Hamilton’s very rigidity of purpose makes it difficult for her to maintain a consistency of representation. Even as she attempts to expose the weaknesses of romantic excess, Hamilton frequently finds it necessary to resort to those very conventions in order to heighten the suspense or emotional impact of her own plot. Austen’s more intention- ally inclusive approach is not marred by these kinds of inconsistencies, and this difference lends an authority to Austen’s criticism that is somewhat undermined in Hamilton’s. Ultimately, this difference also illuminates the contrast between each author’s sense of her reading public, and the way in which she engages in the act of fiction. Austen’s deft renovation of romantic convention demonstrates a faith in her readers, and in romance, that Hamilton’s more contradictory and inflexible approach precludes. In her anti-Jacobin novel Memoirs of Modern Philosophers, Hamilton’s critique is most squarely aimed at the tenets of the “New” or “Modern Philosophy,” which emerged in the late eighteenth century Lumen 31.final.indd 169 12-10-25 6:15 PM 170 1 Megan Taylor as a set of revolutionary ideals championed by such radicals as William Godwin and Thomas Paine. Claire Grogan explains that, like many conservative writers, Hamilton worried that this new ideology pro- moted “selfish, romantically self-indulgent and obsessive behaviour.”1 By identifying romance as one of the pernicious qualities Hamilton deplores in the “New Philosophy,” Grogan flags the ancillary target of Hamilton’s satire: the novel. In Memoirs the term “novel” is a disap- proving label applied strictly to the eighteenth century’s more sensa- tional works of literature: romance, melodrama, sentimental fiction. While Hamilton’s work is primarily seen as a critique of incendiary politics or philosophy, it also attacks such literature on the same grounds as it attacks Jacobin doctrine. Hamilton connects the two as both romanticize “the individual’s rights and caprices,”2 and she considers that this romanticism can have a dangerously destabilizing effect on a reader; in her later history Memoirs of Agrippina, Wife of Germanicus, Hamilton writes of novels that “the brilliant illusions of fancy may affect the sensibility of the heart, and so far captivate the understanding as to render it unwilling to exert itself in detecting the fallacy of arguments which have spoken so powerfully to the feelings.”3 In Memoirs, Hamilton sets about deflating this romantic fallacy through her narrator’s sarcastic running commentary on the ridiculous implausibility of novelistic conventions. She peppers the novel with moments that seem to promise the dramatic episodes expected by romance readers, and then disappoints those expectations by portray- ing a more “realistic” version of events. Bridgetina’s coach journey is mundane, contrary to the novelistic commonplace that “an heroine could not travel twenty miles, without encountering so many strange incidents, that the reader no sooner had notice of her having mounted her horse, than his imagination was upon the spur for some great event.”4 Henry Sydney, young and hardy, recovers steadily from a seri- ous indisposition despite the fact that “a dangerous fit of illness would 1. Elizabeth Hamilton, Memoirs of Modern Philosophers, ed. Claire Grogan (Toronto: Broadview, 2000), 237 (hereafter cited as MMP). 2. MMP, 16. 3. Elizabeth Hamilton, Memoirs of Agrippina, Wife of Germanicus, (London: Cruttwell, 1804), http://books.google.ca/books?id=oJM2PFYIoy8C&pg=PA118&dq= %22memoirs+of+ agrippina. 4. MMP, 237. Lumen 31.final.indd 170 12-10-25 6:15 PM Rewriting Romance 1 171 in his circumstances have been vastly more becoming, and much more natural, in the hero of a novel.”5 And in the concluding chapter, Hamilton mockingly predicts and then frustrates her reader’s hope that all the characters will be happily married off, claiming a more realistic position for her work than that of the romantic comedy which ends in weddings for all. In a less lighthearted vein, Hamilton continues this attack on novelistic convention through two of her principal characters, Bridgetina Botherim and Julia Delmond. The former has the dubious honour of providing comic relief throughout the novel, and so her fate is less severe than Julia’s. But both girls, avid novel readers, are pun- ished for misguidedly aspiring to live the melodramatic life of the heroines that people their favourite books. In Bridgetina, Hamilton punctures the convention of the peerless romantic heroine found in any Radcliffe or Lewis novel by creating her opposite. As an anti-her- oine, and as a nasty caricature of contemporary radical novelist Mary Hays, Bridgetina is not just ordinary but superlatively unpleasant: she is short, scrawny, and crooked; she has a shrill voice, a scraggly neck and a lazy eye; she is selfish, improper, and completely lacking in self- awareness or common sense. Yet thanks to her voracious reading habits, Bridgetina models herself on the impossible paragons of femi- ninity in romantic fiction. In the grotesque disparity between her heroine’s imagined charms and actual qualities, Hamilton’s satire is at its cruelest, a bitter attack on the impropriety and implausibility of novelistic conventions. All of Bridgetina’s numerous attempts to behave like the heroines she admires are thwarted by the prosaic and some- times unpalatable realities of everyday life. Each time Bridgetina begins to rhapsodize about her tormenting passion for her lover, as every proper sentimental heroine ought to do, she is prematurely cut off by various, but invariably ordinary, events: her mother’s peevish reprimands; an unruly herd of pigs; the rude jostlings of a crowded London street.6 By allowing the mundane not only to interrupt but to replace Bridgetina’s narratives in this way, Hamilton shows that such flights of fancy are inconsistent with reality. Their inappropriateness, moreover, is heightened by the reader’s awareness that Bridgetina’s 5. MMP, 347. 6. MMP, 119, 157, 303. Lumen 31.final.indd 171 12-10-25 6:15 PM 172 1 Megan Taylor musings over the consuming love that she and Henry Sydney share are not grounded in fact but are pathetically adrift in self-delusion. Henry, along with the rest of the novel’s more discerning characters, has noth- ing but pitying contempt for Bridgetina. The censure of the polite world is bad enough, and Hamilton makes it clear that to act on selfish and implausible desires is to court universal disdain. The sensible Maria Sydney speaks for herself, her friends, and implicitly the reader when she condemns Bridgetina’s pursuit of Henry to London as “shameful…absurd… and preposterous”;7 several people whom Bridgetina encounters on her travels even con- clude that she is mad.8 But Bridgetina exposes herself to more serious consequences than that of a damaged reputation. Traveling around London unaccompanied, with insufficient money and no knowledge of the city or of human nature, Bridgetina is variously robbed on the street, wrongly arrested, and almost imprisoned. Hamilton is careful to demonstrate that not only are Bridgetina’s romantic ideals incompat- ible with truth and common sense, but they can also lead to genuine danger. Julia Delmond is the principal sufferer of the real evils that Bridgetina only glimpses, and this is the more serious figure in Hamilton’s satire of romantic convention. Although she is beautiful, generous, and sensible – the quintessential romantic heroine and the very opposite of Bridgetina – Julia’s unchecked reading of novels and romances ulti- mately proves fatal: In vain did [Julia’s] reason revolt at the absurdities which abounded in these motley tales; in the kindling passions of her youthful bosom they found a never-failing incentive to their perusal. Imagination, wild and ungoverned imagination reigned paramount in her breast. The investi- gation of truth had no longer any charm. Sentiment usurped the place of judgement, and the mind, instead of deducing inferences from facts, was now solely occupied in the invention of extravagant and chimerical situations.9 This passage is perhaps the novel’s most absolute condemnation of romance, claiming that such escapist reading teaches young people, 7. MMP, 291. 8. MMP, 240, 260. 9. MMP, 86. Lumen 31.final.indd 172 12-10-25 6:15 PM Rewriting Romance 1 173 who are intellectually and emotionally vulnerable, to shun “the inves- tigation of truth” in favour of false sentiment, of “extravagant and chimerical situations.” Hamilton uses Julia to demonstrate what disas- ters can come of such privileging of the imagination. Faced with the mystery of her lover Vallaton’s parentage, Julia draws on the conven- tions of sentimental fiction to concoct elaborate fantasies about his noble birth. She unquestioningly believes his amorous professions as they correspond with her idea of how a hero and a lover should behave. As a result, Julia is persuaded to elope with a man who proves himself to be a rogue and a liar; she is ruined, robbed, abandoned, and almost sold into sexual slavery, escaping only to die repentant in an unmarried mothers’ and destitutes’ charitable home. This is the fate of romance in Memoirs: Julia and Bridgetina stand in for romance readers, and Hamilton shows that the best they can hope for in the real world is humiliation and censure, and the worst they must fear is ruin and death. Thus, over the course of Memoirs, Hamilton consistently posits that romantic expectations are not only silly and inaccurate but harmful, and that the novels that promulgate them are in this respect dangerous. How, then, do we reconcile Hamilton’s message with her medium? For Memoirs is, of course, an instance of the very literary form that Hamilton attacks. Some critics do not see this as a problem: The Anti- Jacobin Review in September 1800 wrote of Hamilton that “the public is infinitely obliged to her… for… having given [her critique] in the form of a novel; for the same means by which the poison is offered, are, perhaps, the best by which their antidote may be rendered efficacious.”10 This reviewer obviously makes an important distinction between the corrective satire of Hamilton’s novel and the romantic fiction she is writing against. There is some evidence, however, that Hamilton her- self had doubts about this distinction, and about the corrective power of fiction. She writes that any “work of the imagination,” regardless of its nature, may be so managed, as to be admirably calculated to promote the reception of a favourite theory, but can never be considered as a con- firmation of its truth. Nor will the theory built upon such a basis be of 10. Anti-Jacobin Review and Magazine 7 (December 1800), in Appendix C of Memoirs of Modern Philosophers, ed. Claire Grogan (Toronto: Broadview, 2000), 409. Lumen 31.final.indd 173 12-10-25 6:15 PM 174 1 Megan Taylor long duration… the chasm will at length be broken, and then the system which had been supported by its influence, will inevitably sink into disgrace.11 Thus Hamilton creates an even more problematic paradox for herself: not only has she written a novel whose “favourite theory” is an attack on other novels, but she then also writes of novels that their theories cannot be trusted. This conflict seems to have worked its way into the text of Memoirs, for its negative opinion of romance is compromised by its frequent, and apparently sincere, use of the conventions of sen- sational fiction it at other moments decries. We have already seen how Hamilton has laughed at the idea that Henry, a healthy young man, should suffer a relapse of his illness simply because it would be more romantic for him to do so.12 And yet, only a few pages earlier, this is exactly what has happened. Henry is recovering well from a minor injury when he discovers that he has a new rival for the affections of his beloved Harriet, and this realization sends him into an immediate decline: “Trifling was the pain of the wound [Carradine’s] hand had given, in comparison of that which his conduct now inflicted on the heart of Henry… When Doctor Orwell went to enquire for his young friend on the following morning, he… received intelligence of Henry’s increased indisposition,” which pro- gresses until Henry finds himself in “the utmost danger.”13 The idea that a mild injury should become a life-threatening illness through the hero’s jealousy for his beloved is a familiar one in melodramatic romance, and Hamilton capitalizes upon it here even as she debunks it elsewhere. Deliberately amplifying the pathos created by Henry’s illness, Hamilton spends pages describing the anguished suffering of Henry’s friends anticipating the worst. Similarly romantic and equally unrealistic are Julia’s final appear- ance and the novel’s conclusion. In a coincidence that would honour the most sensational fiction, Julia’s fatal illness brings her to the very charitable institution that belongs to Mrs. Fielding, the hostess and intimate acquaintance of Julia’s closest friends. And in an ending that would do justice to the most melodramatic romance, every character 11. Hamilton, Agrippina, xi. 12. MMP, 347. 13. MMP, 333. Lumen 31.final.indd 174 12-10-25 6:15 PM Rewriting Romance 1 175 in Memoirs gets what he or she deserves: Julia, the repentant fallen woman, dies absolved by her friends and by God; Vallaton, the irre- deemable villain, is executed; the less culpable sinners Bridgetina, Mr. Myope, and Mr. Glib, are put on the road to redemption, and the four virtuous young people are rewarded with happy marriages. The neat and implausible poetic justice of this ending undermines Hamilton’s claim that she offers a more realistic version of life than does romance. And her apparent dependence upon the very conventions of romantic fiction that she attempts to satirize further destabilizes the critique she levels against them. Austen’s Northanger Abbey, on the face of it, takes a similar critical position to Hamilton’s Memoirs as it too is apparently preoccupied with mocking Gothic novels and their conventions. The novel begins with the teasingly anti-Gothic characterization of Catherine Morland, much like that of Bridgetina Botherim. She is at once declared to be the heroine of the piece and yet described in exceedingly unheroic terms. The novel opens with the tongue-in-cheek assertion that, “no one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy, would have supposed her born to be an heroine.”14 Austen’s narrator continues to describe Catherine along the same mocking, unromantic lines: “she had a thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark lank hair, and strong features… She was fond of all boy’s plays, and greatly preferred cricket not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic enjoy- ments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, feeding a canary-bird, or watering a rose-bush.”15 Here Austen, like Hamilton, if less severe, subjugates the extravagant qualities of a romance heroine to the com- monplace attributes and interests of a real little girl. Throughout the novel, Austen at first seems as consistently as Hamilton to deny both reader and (mock)heroine alike the melodramatic events of romance in order to privilege the realism of the everyday. Like Bridgetina and Julia, Catherine’s love of Gothic fiction nourishes her expectations for romance in real life, and she is continually disappointed by her discoveries. The hoped-for gloomy, ancient abbey proves to be a modern English home; a mysterious chest and cabinet yield nothing 14. Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey, ed. Claire Grogan (Toronto: Broadview, 2002), 37. Hereafter cited as NA. 15. NA, 37-8. Lumen 31.final.indd 175 12-10-25 6:15 PM 176 1 Megan Taylor but prosaic linen and bills for the same; and the evil patriarch sus- pected of “murdering or shutting up his wife” turns out to be not a lustful bandito but a mere greedy snob.16 Many critics and readers have understood this deflation of romance as a straightforward condemnation similar to Hamilton’s. Catherine must learn to suppress her imaginative desire for the Gothic and accept the realities of ordinary life.17 We should, however, be wary of taking Austen’s ridicule at face value after encountering the startlingly emphatic intercession of her narrator, who defends the very novels that she proceeds to mock; novels, writes Austen in this famous passage, are works “in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best chosen language.”18 This seeming paradox – a novel that both defends and makes fun of novels – is also reminiscent of Hamilton’s work, and has led some critics to dismiss Northanger Abbey as self-contradictory or self-defeating19 much like, as I have argued, Hamilton’s Memoirs. I would contend, however, that in Austen this seeming contradiction exists on a superficial level only, and that Northanger Abbey is engaged rather in a complex effort of reconciliation. Austen mocks certain aspects of Gothic fiction to demonstrate how novelistic conventions are not literal representations, but reflections – distorted, but potentially illuminating, reflections – of everyday truths. Claudia Johnson describes the renovating approach of Austen’s parody, arguing that Austen’s mock-gothic juxtaposes the ‘alarms of romance’ to the ‘anxiet- ies of common life’ in order to enable us to see their interdependence. Rather than merely asserting the reality of one and dismissing the non- reality of the other… we see them each anew, and we are struck first by 16. NA, 236. 17. See, for example, Patricia Meyer Spacks, “Muted Discord: Generational Conflict in Jane Austen” in Jane Austen in a Social Context, ed. David Monaghan (Totowa: Barnes & Noble, 1981), 172; Stuart M. Tave, “The Expectations of Catherine Morland” in Some Words of Jane Austen (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1973), 62. 18. NA, 60. 19. See, for example, George Levine, “Translating the Monstrous: Northanger Abbey,” Nineteenth-Century Fiction 30, no. 3 (Dec. 1975): 338-40, http://www.jstor. org/stable/2933073. Lumen 31.final.indd 176 12-10-25 6:15 PM Rewriting Romance 1 177 their apparent distinctness and next by their apparent indistinguish- ability.20 In the development of Austen’s heroine, in the undercurrent of real evil and danger that can be sensed in some of the novel’s most mundane events, and in the positive use to which Catherine puts some of her Gothic sensibilities, Austen shows how, properly adjusted, romance can be a powerful medium of interpretation and a source of real improvement and pleasure for its readers. As we have earlier seen, Austen takes great pains to describe the unheroic qualities of Catherine Morland. Austen seems to suggest that since Catherine has none of the elaborate trappings of the romance heroine, she must be the opposite, an extremely ordinary girl. But over the course of the novel, as we become more acquainted with Catherine, we realize that this dichotomy is too simple. Catherine is far from ordinary; in fact she possesses all the qualities that make her a heroine, if a heroine of the everyday: she has a delicate but unaffected sense of propriety and deference for authority;21 she is principled but never obstinate;22 she is kind and good-natured;23 and she is variously described as displaying “the real delicacy of a generous mind” and speaking with “simplicity and truth, and without personal conceit.”24 Despite the accusations of ignorance and naivety from many readers and critics, Catherine possesses from the outset of the novel a sound intuitive sense. Although in her kindness she gives the benefit of the doubt to the obnoxious John Thorpe, the coquettish Isabella, and the disin- genuous Captain Tilney, she is never truly deceived by them. Catherine notes John Thorpe’s boorishness on first meeting him, she very early identifies the marks of selfishness and greed in Isabella, and she under- stands the impropriety of Captain Tilney’s addresses to her friend.25 Taken together, these qualities show that although Catherine is far from the histrionic heroine of Gothic fiction, she is equally far from ordinary. 20. Claudia L. Johnson, introduction to Northanger Abbey, eds. James Kinsley and John Davie (Oxford: OUP, 2003), xiv-v. 21. NA, 118-19. 22. NA, 114. 23. NA, 141. 24. NA, 77, 91. 25. NA, 72, 79, 106, 113-14, 154. Lumen 31.final.indd 177 12-10-25 6:15 PM 178 1 Megan Taylor Much like Catherine’s supposed naivety, too much has been made of Gothic fiction’s negative influence over her. It is certainly true that Catherine’s reading of such romances affects her response to certain external stimuli: she is eager to visit ruins and abbeys, and she has exaggerated hopes about the interest an antique chest or a dark cabinet might hold. But these are mere superficialities, purely aesthetic preoc- cupations. When it comes to important matters – to judging people and to assessing situations – Catherine’s reading never leads her astray. Contrary to the dictates of Gothic fiction, when she sees Henry Tilney accompanied at an assembly by a strange woman, Catherine rationally concludes that this woman is his sister, whom he has mentioned, and not a love interest, since he has never alluded to one. So instead of “turning a deathlike paleness, and falling in a fit on Mrs. Allen’s bosom, Catherine sat erect, in the perfect use of her senses, and with cheeks only a little redder than usual.”26 When Catherine’s Gothic fantasies lead her to suspect General Tilney of some horrible crime, it is true that she has not grasped the complex reality of the situation, but neither has she entirely misjudged the General. When his actual faults come to light – his greed in courting Catherine for a daughter-in-law when he supposed her to be rich, and his shocking, even dangerous discourtesy in expelling her from the Abbey when he discovers her to be poor – it is Henry, and not Catherine, who is surprised. Henry Tilney – commonly considered the novel’s bastion of order and com- mon sense27 and the one who rebukes Catherine for her outlandish suspicions of his father – is the one who has misjudged: “Henry, in having such things to relate of his father, was almost as pitiable as in their first avowal to himself. He blushed for the narrow-minded coun- sel which he was obliged to expose.”28 Indeed, throughout the novel Henry attempts to dispel the sense of the Gothic that colours Catherine’s vision of the world. But while at certain moments it seems as though Henry’s common sense dominates the narrative, Austen arranges these moments so that the reader retains a feeling of Gothic unease that is no longer associated with the “alarms of romance” but with the “anxieties of common life.” For example, 26. NA, 75-76. 27. See, for example, Levine, “Translating,” 340; Tave, “Catherine,” 56. 28. NA, 236. Lumen 31.final.indd 178 12-10-25 6:15 PM Rewriting Romance 1 179 Henry mocks Eleanor and Catherine for misunderstanding one another when Catherine obscurely alludes to the publication of a new Gothic horror novel and Eleanor thinks she is describing actual civil violence. Henry laughingly dismisses the issue, but the reader is left to consider authorship and anarchy side by side; this confusion is also, as Johnson points out, “an insight, as both riots and gothic novels evoke the terror of moral anarchy.”29 Similarly, when Henry chastises Catherine for her outrageous suspicions of his father, he implores her to “remember that we are English, that we are Christians…Could [such atrocities] be perpetrated without being known, in a country like this, where social and literary intercourse is on such a footing; where every man is sur- rounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies, where roads and newspapers lay every thing open?”30 Such a reproof has, at least tem- porarily, its intended effect on Catherine, who determines to abandon her “visions of romance” forever.31 But the reader, again, is left to ponder the potentially sinister implications of living “surrounded” by “voluntary spies.” This sense of unease increases when the General shows his true colours. Although not a murderer, he nevertheless exposes Catherine to very real danger when he expels her from his house and forces her on a seventy mile journey unaccompanied and, as far as he knows, penniless. Catherine’s “visions of romance” which lead her to suspect the General in the first place are thus modified, yet justified; Catherine feels that “in suspecting General Tilney of either murdering or shutting up his wife, she had scarcely sinned against his character, or magnified his cruelty.”32 Northanger Abbey’s juxtaposition of the frightening with the mundane emphasizes the shades of grey in every character and situation, and shows that a Gothic sensibility is a helpful tool to detect such nuances. Ultimately, the influence of Catherine’s Gothic reading proves to be more beneficial to her than not. As we have seen, it provides a medium through which she can understand General Tilney that, while distorted, is nevertheless closer to the truth than her natural diffidence and respect for authority might have allowed her to come. But more than a lens of interpretation, Catherine’s novel reading also offers a 29. NA, xv. 30. NA, 195-96. 31. NA, 196. 32. NA, 236. Lumen 31.final.indd 179 12-10-25 6:15 PM 180 1 Megan Taylor source of harmless pleasure and even independence. When Isabella tries to convince her that she would pine away – in high romance heroine fashion – if Henry Tilney left Bath for good, Catherine stoutly and cheerfully replies, “No, indeed, I should not. I do not pretend to say that I was not very much pleased with him; but while I have [The Mysteries of ] Udolpho to read, I feel as if nobody could make me miserable.”33 Catherine, although she is hardly aware of it, derives strength and insight from her Gothic reading, and thus, while Austen might send up its extravagances, she subtly affirms its power and posi- tive influence. In this way Austen’s burlesque of Gothic fiction is a more complex, and more successful, criticism than Hamilton’s attack on romance. Austen, while mocking the melodramatic excesses of Gothic fiction, also identifies its truth by adapting its conventions to suit, and even to explore, the workaday world of middle-class England. Hamilton, on the other hand, strenuously resists any such reconciliation; she attempts to privilege an entirely romanceless reality, yet inconsistently relies upon the conventions of romance she rejects. Thus we can see a strik- ing difference in the scope and effectiveness of each author’s critique, and from it we can extrapolate an understanding of each author’s wider sense of fiction and its readers. Austen’s heroine, even in her youth and innocence, can fearlessly peruse the pages of the wildest romance and emerge not only unscathed, but strengthened. This indicates that, as Johnson observes, “despite [a] concern with the dangers of fiction… Austen did not [have a] deep anxiety for the moral stability of readers, and… she relied more confidently on her audience’s ability to read properly.”34 Hamilton’s rigid and contradictory criticism reveals, by contrast, both an attraction to romance and yet, as Mark Phillips notes, a serious fear that “the novel… symbolizes the kind of loose exercise of the imagination that weakens the rational capacities in a young and uninstructed reader.”35 Austen and Hamilton represent not only differ- 33. NA, 63. 34. Claudia L. Johnson, “The ‘Operations of Time, and the changes of the Human Mind’: Jane Austen and Dr. Johnson Again” in Jane Austen: Critical Assessments, ed. Ian Littlewood, vol. 2 (London: Helm, 1998), 139. 35. Mark Salber Phillips, “‘If Mrs. Mure Be Not Sorry for Poor King Charles’: History, the Novel, and the Sentimental Reader,” History Workshop Journal 43, (Spring 1997): 121, http://www.jstor.org/stable/4289493. Lumen 31.final.indd 180 12-10-25 6:15 PM Rewriting Romance 1 181 ent views of romance, but different views of romance’s readers. And yet in their broader concern with the impact of reading, these authors are also united – they share a common interest in fiction not only as a means to entertain, but as a force to influence and instruct, for better or for worse. Lumen 31.final.indd 181 12-10-25 6:15 PM 
work_p5lj6jxybbh5rcnqm3v7xzxbfu	----	Computational Linguistics and Deep Learning Last Words Computational Linguistics and Deep Learning Christopher D. Manning∗ Stanford University 1. The Deep Learning Tsunami Deep Learning waves have lapped at the shores of computational linguistics for several years now, but 2015 seems like the year when the full force of the tsunami hit the major Natural Language Processing (NLP) conferences. However, some pundits are predicting that the final damage will be even worse. Accompanying ICML 2015 in Lille, France, there was another, almost as big, event: the 2015 Deep Learning Workshop. The workshop ended with a panel discussion, and at it, Neil Lawrence said, “NLP is kind of like a rabbit in the headlights of the Deep Learning machine, waiting to be flattened.” Now that is a remark that the computational linguistics community has to take seriously! Is it the end of the road for us? Where are these predictions of steam- rollering coming from? At the June 2015 opening of the Facebook AI Research Lab in Paris, its director Yann LeCun said: “The next big step for Deep Learning is natural language under- standing, which aims to give machines the power to understand not just individual words but entire sentences and paragraphs.”1 In a November 2014 Reddit AMA (Ask Me Anything), Geoff Hinton said, “I think that the most exciting areas over the next five years will be really understanding text and videos. I will be disappointed if in five years’ time we do not have something that can watch a YouTube video and tell a story about what happened. In a few years time we will put [Deep Learning] on a chip that fits into someone’s ear and have an English-decoding chip that’s just like a real Babel fish.”2 And Yoshua Bengio, the third giant of modern Deep Learning, has also increasingly oriented his group’s research toward language, including recent excit- ing new developments in neural machine translation systems. It’s not just Deep Learn- ing researchers. When leading machine learning researcher Michael Jordan was asked at a September 2014 AMA, “If you got a billion dollars to spend on a huge research project that you get to lead, what would you like to do?”, he answered: “I’d use the billion dollars to build a NASA-size program focusing on natural language processing, in all of its glory (semantics, pragmatics, etc.).” He went on: “Intellectually I think that NLP is fascinating, allowing us to focus on highly structured inference problems, on issues that go to the core of ‘what is thought’ but remain eminently practical, and on a technology ∗ Departments of Computer Science and Linguistics, Stanford University, Stanford CA 94305-9020, U.S.A. E-mail: manning@cs.stanford.edu. 1 http://www.wired.com/2014/12/fb/. 2 https://www.reddit.com/r/MachineLearning/comments/2lmo0l/ama_geoffrey_hinton. doi:10.1162/COLI a 00239 © 2015 Association for Computational Linguistics Computational Linguistics Volume 41, Number 4 that surely would make the world a better place.” Well, that sounds very nice! So, should computational linguistics researchers be afraid? I’d argue, no. To return to the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy theme that Geoff Hinton introduced, we need to turn the book over and look at the back cover, which says in large, friendly letters: “Don’t panic.” 2. The Success of Deep Learning There is no doubt that Deep Learning has ushered in amazing technological advances in the last few years. I won’t give an extensive rundown of successes, but here is one example. A recent Google blog post told about Neon, the new transcription system for Google Voice.3 After admitting that in the past Google Voice voicemail transcriptions often weren’t fully intelligible, the post explained the development of Neon, an im- proved voicemail system that delivers more accurate transcriptions, like this: “Using a (deep breath) long short-term memory deep recurrent neural network (whew!), we cut our transcription errors by 49%.” Do we not all dream of developing a new approach to a problem which halves the error rate of the previously state-of-the-art system? 3. Why Computational Linguists Need Not Worry Michael Jordan, in his AMA, gave two reasons why he wasn’t convinced that Deep Learning would solve NLP: “Although current deep learning research tends to claim to encompass NLP, I’m (1) much less convinced about the strength of the results, compared to the results in, say, vision; (2) much less convinced in the case of NLP than, say, vision, the way to go is to couple huge amounts of data with black-box learning architectures.”4 Jordan is certainly right about his first point: So far, problems in higher-level language processing have not seen the dramatic error rate reductions from deep learning that have been seen in speech recognition and in object recognition in vision. Although there have been gains from deep learning approaches, they have been more modest than sudden 25% or 50% error reductions. It could easily turn out that this remains the case. The really dramatic gains may only have been possible on true signal processing tasks. On the other hand, I’m much less convinced by his second argument. However, I do have my own two reasons why NLP need not worry about deep learning: (1) It just has to be wonderful for our field for the smartest and most influential people in machine learning to be saying that NLP is the problem area to focus on; and (2) Our field is the domain science of language technology; it’s not about the best method of machine learning—the central issue remains the domain problems. The domain problems will not go away. Joseph Reisinger wrote on his blog: “I get pitched regularly by startups doing ‘generic machine learning’ which is, in all honesty, a pretty ridiculous idea. Machine learning is not undifferentiated heavy lifting, it’s not commoditizable like EC2, and closer to design than coding.”5 From this perspective, it is people in linguistics, people in NLP, who are the designers. Recently at ACL conferences, there has been an over-focus on numbers, on beating the state of the art. Call it playing the Kaggle game. More of the field’s effort should go into problems, approaches, and architectures. Recently, one thing that I’ve been devoting a lot of time to—together with many other 3 http://googleblog.blogspot.com/2015/07/neon-prescription-or-rather-new.html. 4 http://www.reddit.com/r/MachineLearning/comments/2fxi6v/ama_michael_i_jordan. 5 http://thedatamines.com/post/13177389506/why-generic-machine-learning-fails. 702 Manning Computational Linguistics and Deep Learning collaborators—is the development of Universal Dependencies.6 The goal is to develop a common syntactic dependency representation and POS and feature label sets that can be used with reasonable linguistic fidelity and human usability across all human languages. That’s just one example; there are many other design efforts underway in our field. One other current example is the idea of Abstract Meaning Representation.7 4. Deep Learning of Language Where has Deep Learning helped NLP? The gains so far have not so much been from true Deep Learning (use of a hierarchy of more abstract representations to promote generalization) as from the use of distributed word representations—through the use of real-valued vector representations of words and concepts. Having a dense, multi- dimensional representation of similarity between all words is incredibly useful in NLP, but not only in NLP. Indeed, the importance of distributed representations evokes the “Parallel Distributed Processing” mantra of the earlier surge of neural network methods, which had a much more cognitive-science directed focus (Rumelhart and McClelland 1986). It can better explain human-like generalization, but also, from an engineering perspective, the use of small dimensionality and dense vectors for words allows us to model large contexts, leading to greatly improved language models. Espe- cially seen from this new perspective, the exponentially greater sparsity that comes from increasing the order of traditional word n-gram models seems conceptually bankrupt. I do believe that the idea of deep models will also prove useful. The sharing that oc- curs within deep representations can theoretically give an exponential representational advantage, and, in practice, offers improved learning systems. The general approach to building Deep Learning systems is compelling and powerful: The researcher defines a model architecture and a top-level loss function and then both the parameters and the representations of the model self-organize so as to minimize this loss, in an end-to-end learning framework. We are starting to see the power of such deep systems in recent work in neural machine translation (Sutskever, Vinyals, and Le 2014; Luong et al. 2015). Finally, I have been an advocate for focusing more on compositionality in models, for language in particular, and for artificial intelligence in general. Intelligence requires being able to understand bigger things from knowing about smaller parts. In particular for language, understanding novel and complex sentences crucially depends on being able to construct their meaning compositionally from smaller parts—words and multi- word expressions—of which they are constituted. Recently, there have been many, many papers showing how systems can be improved by using distributed word represen- tations from “deep learning” approaches, such as word2vec (Mikolov et al. 2013) or GloVe (Pennington, Socher, and Manning 2014). However, this is not actually building Deep Learning models, and I hope in the future that more people focus on the strongly linguistic question of whether we can build meaning composition functions in Deep Learning systems. 5. Scientific Questions That Connect Computational Linguistics and Deep Learning I encourage people to not get into the rut of doing no more than using word vectors to make performance go up a couple of percent. Even more strongly, I would like to 6 http://universaldependencies.github.io/docs/. 7 http://amr.isi.edu. 703 Computational Linguistics Volume 41, Number 4 suggest that we might return instead to some of the interesting linguistic and cognitive issues that motivated noncategorical representations and neural network approaches. One example of noncategorical phenomena in language is the POS of words in the gerund V-ing form, such as driving. This form is classically described as ambiguous between a verbal form and a nominal gerund. In fact, however, the situation is more complex, as V-ing forms can appear in any of the four core categories of Chomsky (1970): V + − N + Adjective: an unassuming man Noun: the opening of the store − Verb: she is eating dinner Preposition: concerning your point What is even more interesting is that there is evidence that there is not just an ambiguity but mixed noun–verb status. For example, a classic linguistic text for being a noun is appearing with a determiner, while a classic linguistic test for being a verb is taking a direct object. However, it is well known that the gerund nominalization can do both of these things at once: (1) The not observing this rule is that which the world has blamed in our satorist. (Dryden, Essay Dramatick Poesy, 1684, page 310) (2) The only mental provision she was making for the evening of life, was the collecting and transcribing all the riddles of every sort that she could meet with. (Jane Austen, Emma, 1816) (3) The difficulty is in the getting the gold into Erewhon. (Sam Butler, Erewhon Revisited, 1902) This is oftentimes analyzed by some sort of category-change operation within the levels of a phrase-structure tree, but there is good evidence that this is in fact a case of noncategorical behavior in language. Indeed, this construction was used early on as an example of a “squish” by Ross (1972). Diachronically, the V-ing form shows a history of increasing verbalization, but in many periods it shows a notably non-discrete status. For example, we find clearly graded judgments in this domain: (4) Tom’s winning the election was a big upset. (5) ?This teasing John all the time has got to stop. (6) ?There is no marking exams on Fridays. (7) *The cessation hostilities was unexpected. Various combinations of determiner and verb object do not sound so good, but still much better than trying to put a direct object after a nominalization via a derivational morpheme such as -ation. Houston (1985, page 320) shows that assignment of V-ing forms to a discrete part-of-speech classification is less successful (in a predictive sense) than a continuum in explaining the spoken alternation between -ing vs. -in’, suggesting that “grammatical categories exist along a continuum which does not exhibit sharp boundaries between the categories.” 704 Manning Computational Linguistics and Deep Learning A different, interesting example was explored by one of my graduate school class- mates, Whitney Tabor. Tabor (1994) looked at the use of kind of and sort of, an example that I then used in the introductory chapter of my 1999 textbook (Manning and Schütze 1999). The nouns kind or sort can head an NP or be used as a hedging adverbial modifier: (8) [That kind [of knife]] isn’t used much. (9) We are [kind of] hungry. The interesting thing is that there is a path of reanalysis through ambiguous forms, such as the following pair, which suggests how one form emerged from the other. (10) [a [kind [of dense rock]]] (11) [a [[kind of] dense] rock] Tabor (1994) discusses how Old English has kind but few or no uses of kind of. Beginning in Middle English, ambiguous contexts, which provide a breeding ground for the reanalysis, start to appear (the 1570 example in Example (13)), and then, later, examples that are unambiguously the hedging modifier appear (the 1830 example in Example (14)): (12) A nette sent in to the see, and of alle kind of fishis gedrynge (Wyclif, 1382) (13) Their finest and best, is a kind of course red cloth (True Report, 1570) (14) I was kind of provoked at the way you came up (Mass. Spy, 1830) This is history not synchrony. Presumably kids today learn the softener use of kind/sort of first. Did the reader notice an example of it in the quote in my first paragraph? (15) NLP is kind of like a rabbit in the headlights of the deep learning machine (Neil Lawrence, DL workshop panel, 2015) Whitney Tabor modeled this evolution with a small, but already deep, recurrent neural network—one with two hidden layers. He did that in 1994, taking advantage of the opportunity to work with Dave Rumelhart at Stanford. Just recently, there has started to be some new work harnessing the power of dis- tributed representations for modeling and explaining linguistic variation and change. Sagi, Kaufmann, and Clark (2011)—actually using the more traditional method of La- tent Semantic Analysis to generate distributed word representations—show how dis- tributed representations can capture a semantic change: the broadening and narrowing of reference over time. They look at examples such as how in Old English deer was any animal, whereas in Middle and Modern English it applies to one clear animal family. The words dog and hound have swapped: In Middle English, hound was used for any kind of canine, while now it is used for a particular sub-kind, whereas the reverse is true for dog. Kulkarni et al. (2015) use neural word embeddings to model the shift in meaning of words such as gay over the last century (exploiting the online Google Books Ngrams corpus). At a recent ACL workshop, Kim et al. (2014) use a similar approach—using word2vec—to look at recent changes in the meaning of words. For example, in Figure 1, they show how around 2000, the meaning of the word cell changed rapidly from being 705 Computational Linguistics Volume 41, Number 4 Figure 1 Trend in the meaning of cell, represented by showing its cosine similarity to four other words over time (where 1.0 represents maximal similarity, and 0.0 represents no similarity). close in meaning to closet and dungeon to being close in meaning to phone and cordless. The meaning of a word in this context is the average over the meanings of all senses of a word, weighted by their frequency of use. These more scientific uses of distributed representations and Deep Learning for modeling phenomena characterize the previous boom in neural networks. There has been a bit of a kerfuffle online lately about citing and crediting work in Deep Learning, and from that perspective, it seems to me that the two people who scarcely get men- tioned any more are Dave Rumelhart and Jay McClelland. Starting from the Parallel Distributed Processing Research Group in San Diego, their research program was aimed at a clearly more scientific and cognitive study of neural networks. Now, there are indeed some good questions about the adequacy of neural network approaches for rule-governed linguistic behavior. Old timers in our community should remember that arguing against the adequacy of neural networks for rule-governed linguistic behavior was the foundation for the rise to fame of Steve Pinker—and the foundation of the career of about six of his graduate students. It would take too much space to go through the issues here, but in the end, I think it was a productive debate. It led to a vast amount of work by Paul Smolensky on how basically categorical systems can emerge and be represented in a neural substrate (Smolensky and Legendre 2006). Indeed, Paul Smolensky arguably went too far down the rabbit hole, devoting a large part of his career to developing a new categorical model of phonology, Optimality Theory (Prince and Smolensky 2004). There is a rich body of earlier scientific work that has been neglected. It would be good to return some emphasis within NLP to cognitive and scientific investigation of language rather than almost exclusively using an engineering model of research. Overall, I think we should feel excited and glad to live in a time when Natural Language Processing is seen as so central to both the further development of machine learning and industry application problems. The future is bright. However, I would encourage everyone to think about problems, architectures, cognitive science, and the details of human language, how it is learned, processed, and how it changes, rather than just chasing state-of-the-art numbers on a benchmark task. 706 Manning Computational Linguistics and Deep Learning Acknowledgments This Last Words contribution covers part of my 2015 ACL Presidential Address. Thanks to Paola Merlo for suggesting writing it up for publication. References Chomsky, Noam. 1970. Remarks on nominalization. In R. Jacobs and P. Rosenbaum, editors, Readings in English Transformational Grammar. Ginn, Waltham, MA, pages 184–221. Houston, Ann Celeste. 1985. Continuity and Change in English Morphology: The Variable (ing). Ph.D. thesis, University of Pennsylvania. Kim, Yoon, Yi-I Chiu, Kentaro Hanaki, Darshan Hegde, and Slav Petrov. 2014. Temporal analysis of language through neural language models. In Proceedings of the ACL 2014 Workshop on Language Technologies and Computational Social Science, pages 61–65, Baltimore, MD. Kulkarni, Vivek, Rami Al-Rfou, Bryan Perozzi, and Steven Skiena. 2015. Statistically significant detection of linguistic change. In Proceedings of the 24th International World Wide Web Conference (WWW 2015), pages 625–635, Florence. Luong, Minh-Thang, Ilya Sutskever, Quoc V. Le, Oriol Vinyals, and Wojciech Zaremba. 2015. Addressing the rare word problem in neural machine translation. In Proceedings of the 53rd Annual Meeting of the Association for Computational Linguistics and the 7th International Joint Conference on Natural Language Processing (Volume 1: Long Papers), pages 11–19, Beijing. Manning, Christopher D. and Hinrich Schütze. 1999. Foundations of Statistical Natural Language Processing. MIT Press, Cambridge, MA. Mikolov, Tomas, Ilya Sutskever, Kai Chen, Greg S. Corrado, and Jeffrey Dean. 2013. Distributed representations of words and phrases and their compositionality. In C. J. C. Burges, L. Bottou, M. Welling, Z. Ghahramani, and K. Q. Weinberger, editors, Advances in Neural Information Processing Systems 26 (NIPS 2013). Curran Associates, Inc., pages 3111–3119. Pennington, Jeffrey, Richard Socher, and Christopher D. Manning. 2014. GloVe: Global vectors for word representation. In Proceedings of the 2014 Conference on Empirical Methods in Natural Language Processing (EMNLP 2014), pages 1532–1543, Doha. Prince, Alan and Paul Smolensky. 2004. Optimality Theory: Constraint Interaction in Generative Grammar. Blackwell, Oxford. Ross, John R. 1972. The category squish: Endstation Hauptwort. In Papers from the Eighth Regional Meeting, pages 316–328, Chicago. Rumelhart, David E. and Jay L. McClelland, editors. 1986. Parallel Distributed Processing: Explorations in the Microstructure of Cognition. Vol. 1: Foundations. MIT Press, Cambridge, MA. Sagi, Eyal, Stefan Kaufmann, and Brady Clark. 2011. Tracing semantic change with latent semantic analysis. In Kathryn Allen and Justyna Robinson, editors, Current Methods in Historical Semantics. De Gruyter Mouton, Berlin, pages 161–183. Smolensky, Paul and Géraldine Legendre. 2006. The Harmonic Mind: From Neural Computation to Optimality-Theoretic Grammar, volume 1. MIT Press, Cambridge, MA. Sutskever, Ilya, Oriol Vinyals, and Quoc V. Le. 2014. Sequence to sequence learning with neural networks. In Z. Ghahramani, M. Welling, C. Cortes, N. D. Lawrence, and K. Q. Weinberger, editors, Advances in Neural Information Processing Systems 27 (NIPS 2014). Curran Associates, Inc., pages 3104–3112. Tabor, Whitney. 1994. Syntactic Innovation: A Connectionist Model. Ph.D. thesis, Stanford. 707 
work_p62okbw73zarfks47xv6j4jbrq	----	Jane Austen and Bishop Butler | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 35, Issue 2 September 1980 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction   Next Article [Footnotes] Article Navigation Research Article| September 01 1980 Jane Austen and Bishop Butler Philip Drew Philip Drew Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1980) 35 (2): 127–149. https://doi.org/10.2307/2932966 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Philip Drew; Jane Austen and Bishop Butler. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 September 1980; 35 (2): 127–149. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2932966 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search [Footnotes] [Footnotes] 1 "Jane Austen and the Moralists," Oxford Review, 1 (1966), 5-185 1 Oxford Review 1966 rpt. in English Literature and British Philosophy, ed. S. P. Rosenbaum (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1971)Rosenbaum English Literature and British Philosophy 1971 Google Scholar   2 Anthony, Earl of Shaftesbury, Characteristicks of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times, 2nd ed. corrected, 3 vols. (London: John Darby, 1714), II, 172-73Anthony 2172 II Characteristicks of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times 1714 Google Scholar   3 The Works of Joseph Butler, D.C.L., ed. W. E. Gladstone, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1896)Gladstone The Works of Joseph Butler, D.C.L. 1896 Google Scholar   5 Butler's criticism of Shaftesbury in sec. 20 of the Preface to Fifteen Sermons 6 Henry Sidgwick in the fourth chapter of his Out- lines of the History of Ethics for English Readers, 6th ed., enlarged (London: Mac- millan, 1962)Sidgwick 6fourth chapter Outlines of the History of Ethics for English Readers 1962 Google Scholar   7 Preface to Three Sermons, 3rd ed. (Cambridge: Deightons, 1855), p. v3v Three Sermons 1855 8 History of Ethics, Introd., pp. xxiv-xxv 9 Persuasion, p. 246 Jane Austen's novels are to The Novels of Jane Austen, ed. R. W. Chapman, 3rd ed., 5 vols. (London: Oxford Univ. Press, 1932-34)Austen 3The Novels of Jane Austen 1932 Google Scholar   10 Mansfield Park, p. 247 11 Emma, p. 397 12 "What Became of Jane Austen?" in Jane Austen: A Collection of Critical Essays, ed. Ian Watt, Twentieth Century Views (Englewood ClifEs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1963), p. 140Watt What Became of Jane Austen? 140 Jane Austen: A Collection of Critical Essays 1963 Google Scholar   13 Sylvia Townsend Warner, Jane Austen (London: Longmnans, 1951), p. 20Warner 20 Jane Austen 1951 Google Scholar   14 Martin Price, in "Manners, Morals, and Jane Austen," NCF, 30 (1975), 27510.2307/2933070275 15 Mansfield Park, p. 361 16 Deontology (1834), edited by Bowring from Bentham's MSS Sidgwick in History of Ethics, p. 244 17 Stuart M. Tave, Some Words of Jane Austen (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1973), ch. 5Tave ch. 5 Some Words of Jane Austen 1973 Google Scholar   19 Pride and Prejudice, pp. 135-36 21 North British Review, 52 (1870), 129-52129 52 North British Review 1870 Lionel Trilling (Sincerity and Authenticity [Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1972], pp. 81-82)Trilling 81 Sincerity and Authenticity 1972 Google Scholar   Jane Austen: Bicentenary Essays, ed. John Halperin [Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1975], p. 32Halperin 32 Jane Austen: Bicentenary Essays 1975 Google Scholar   22 Fifteen Sermons, I, sec. 10 23 George Eliot on Geraldine Jewsbury's Constance Herbert (1855) Essays of George Eliot, ed. Thomas Pinney [New York: Columbia Univ. Press; London: Routledge, 1963], p. 135Pinney 135 Essays of George Eliot 1963 Google Scholar   24 Northanger Abbey, pp. 20, 250 25 Alan R. White, "Conscience and Self-Love in Butler's Sermons," Philosophy, 27 (1952), 329-4410.2307/3747901329 This content is only available via PDF. 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work_pa3u7hfkinft5ng25pnjdit6k4	----	[ PMLA theories and methodologies Feminist Criticism: A Tale of Two Bodies SHARON MARCUS SHARON MARCUS, associate professor of English and comparative literature at Columbia University, is the author of Apartment Stories: City and Home in Paris and London (U of California P, 1999) and Between Women: Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England (Prince ton UP, forthcoming 2007). FOR FEMINIST CRITICISM TODAY IT IS, AS PERHAPS IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN, THE BEST OF TIMES AND THE WORST OF TIMES. WHEN A CRIT ical school becomes the topic of a PMLA roundtable, it is safe to say that scholars currently consider it both solidly entrenched and dangerously diminished. Indeed, many would say that feminist crit icism s success is the very sign of its failure, an indication that it has lost the renegade dynamism of its early days as an upstart outsider in the academy and declined into yet another stale paradigm on the verge of obsolescence, fit only to be recycled in anthologies or as sessed in essays such as this one. All that, however, is to conflate feminist criticism's state, its con dition and circumstances, with its role, its actions, functions, and effects. The role of feminist criticism, its function in literary studies, in higher education, and in the culture at large, is less susceptible to fluctuation than its state. A role consists of acts, and though acts are inevitably inflected by how their agents feel and are perceived, they are also independent of and even defy public opinion regarding their success or failure, popularity or desuetude. To discuss feminist criticism's role is thus to ask, What does femi nist criticism do? I have no radically new answer to this question. Fem inist criticism has been successful enough to make its goals familiar ones that can be quickly summarized. (1) Feminist criticism negates the status quo by questioning misogyny and other invidious gender distinctions and by analyzing constructions of femininity and mascu linity. (2) Feminist criticism constructs definitions of gender that do not depend on female inferiority or male supremacy, expanding our sense of what women and men are, have been, and might become and asking what it might mean to be free of gender altogether. (3) Feminist criticism attends to differences among women, often by being self critical, and thus extends its purview not only to gender in general but to all inequalities that affect women or intersect with gender. How well is feminist criticism doing at what it does? To answer that question, we need to distinguish among its diverse arenas of action, 1722 ? 2006 BY THE MODERN LANGUAGE ASSOCIATION OF AMERICA This content downloaded from 128.59.222.12 on Tue, 22 Mar 2016 16:30:49 UTC All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 121.5 Sharon Marcus 1723 which I will provisionally divide into four three institutional and one cultural: hiring, teaching, scholarship, and cultural production. Although as an intellectual project femi nism focuses on gender, not on women alone, in its institutional role feminism is much more a women's affair?focused on and carried out by women. In all three institutional arenas, a "best of times, worst of times" diagnosis applies. Hiring: For the sake of specificity, let me focus here on literature departments, to which most readers of PMLA belong. The good news is that more women than men now earn PhDs in literature, and there are more tenured women than ever before. The presence of femi nists in most literature departments has helped to reduce sexism in hiring, tenure, and promo tion and generally increased the professional ism with which those activities are carried out. Most literature professors now accept feminism as a valid mode of scholarly inquiry, both as a specialization and as a perspective to incorpo rate into general education. On the other hand, despite changes in the gender composition of the PhD pool, men still dominate the tenure track and all levels of the tenured faculty, es pecially the full-professor ranks. Nor does an increase in the number of tenured women nec essarily improve the position of feminist pro fessors. Although the worst of our internecine culture wars has subsided, there is still a sense that one shouldn't have too many feminists (or queer theorists, or people working on race) in one department, and the feminization of the PhD pool means there is often palpable relief when the best candidate in a search turns out to be a man. I see few signs of worry that de partments with almost no women (mathemat ics, physics, economics) are going down the tubes, but when women start to achieve par ity in a department (which often means that they dominate the junior ranks), people fret that it may be losing prestige, and they bend over backward to make sure that men stay well represented, as of course they continue to be in the upper echelons of every field.1 Teaching: How well a given literature department carries out the work of feminist criticism varies with the interests of par ticular faculty members, but women's stud ies classes are full in most universities, and, as a result, anthologies of feminist criticism are a growth area in publishing.2 Teachers in a variety of courses habitually pose ques tions about gender, and feminists have raised everyone's awareness of pedagogical issues such as the different rates of participation by male and female students.3 If asked di rectly, most students would say that they are not feminists, yet most also respond in the affirmative if asked whether they hold posi tions associated with liberal feminism, such as women's right to equal pay for equal work. When I taught Contemporary Civilization at Columbia University, I found that students who represent a cross section of undergradu ates consider Mary Wollstonecraft less femi nist than they are?less willing to admit the complete equality of men and women, more determined to associate women with moth erhood and unpaid domestic labor, more in vested in heterosexuality, more insistent on the superiority of Christian European orga nizations of gender. Although they do not call themselves feminists and although the course does not focus explicitly on gender issues, my male and female students already possess and readily wield the tools of feminist criticism. Despite the incorporation of Mary Woll stonecraft and Virginia Woolf into Columbia's "great books" curriculum, when it comes to what we teach rather than how we teach or what our students believe, the picture is sur prisingly mixed. John Guillory influentially argued that there is no relation between rep resentation in literary canons and political representation (7), but this does not prove that representation in academic fields of knowl edge does not matter on less narrowly defined grounds. It would be absurd to argue that be cause what we teach does not produce direct political change?assigning Virginia Woolf sr o t & 3 a 1 ft *?* 3T 0 0. 0 0 ft This content downloaded from 128.59.222.12 on Tue, 22 Mar 2016 16:30:49 UTC All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 1724 Feminist Criticism: A Tale of Two Bodies PMLA 4ft 0 o 0 JZ +>? E 0 41 X does not lead to more women in Congress?it therefore has no effect on social attitudes and on the politics of knowledge. When there are no women writers on a syllabus, or fewer than there could be, the message is that wom en's writing is less valuable than men's, that women, by extension, are worth less than men, and that female students will be valued only if they devote themselves to what really counts? the masterworks of genius that too many syl labi still assert to be male handiwork. The failure to incorporate works by women into literature syllabi is all the more inexcusable given how successful feminist scholars have been at making female authors visible and legible and thus at changing the very notion of what literary language, value, and accomplishment mean. Ironically, the less inventive the course, the more likely it is to re flect those feminist innovations, since anyone who assigns a major literary anthology (Nor ton, Longman) uses a textbook that know ingly incorporates female authors. When it comes to individual works by women writers, however, the results are less consistent, at least in the nineteenth century, the period I teach most often. Major publishers like Penguin and Oxford are surprisingly conservative about what they keep in print, and with the demise of Virago's reprint series, people who want to teach lesser-known novels by women must of ten rely on cumbersome photocopies. This is not always a problem with a built-in gender bias; it can be as difficult to find affordable editions of novels by Charles Reade, Charles Kingsley, or Sheridan Le Fanu as it is to locate teachable copies of works by Dinah Mulock Craik, Margaret Oliphant, Eliza Lynn Linton, Harriet Martineau, Rhoda Broughton, Fran ces Trollope, or Charlotte Yonge. Broadview, an adventurous Canadian press, is willing to reprint works by women writers popular in their day but now known only to specialists. Not so a series like Barnes and Noble Classics, which enlists packaging, marketing, distribution, and pricing to per petuate the fame of works that already have name recognition and can thus add luster to the Barnes and Noble brand. Of the roughly 190 books in print in Barnes and Noble Clas sics, only 32, or seventeen percent, are by women (and 6 of those 32 works are by one woman alone, Jane Austen). A series that can find room for Joshua Slocum's Sailing Alone around the World (1895) on the grounds that it was an "instant best-seller" in its day features no similarly imaginative choices of works by women. It seems that books, like bodies, more readily acquire the patina of au thority as they age if they are masculine. That an avowedly canonical series can expand to fit popular entertainment like Scaramouche and The Count of Monte Cristo but not Lady Audleys Secret or Stella Dallas suggests that lasting literary value is still more readily at tributed to men than to women. Scholarship: Feminist literary criticism has been one of the most important, pro ductive, and foundational developments of the last thirty years, as Rita Felski has deftly shown in Literature after Feminism. Few would dispute this fact, but it nonetheless risks erasure because of a distorted political economy of citation. The more eminent the critic, the less likely she or he is to cite those with less academic or intellectual prestige (unless they are friends or former students). The dead are cited more than the living, the French more than all other nationalities com bined, the old with greater frequency than the young, work in prestigious journals more of ten than articles in lower-profile venues (even when the substance is almost identical)?and men more often than women. Feminist work by women is often read, repeated, and even rebutted without the ben efit of being cited. D. A. Miller's Jane Austen, or The Secret of Style, for example, reads as the work of someone conversant with the full range of Austen scholarship, but its minimal notes cite only one article on Austen that is not by Miller himself. Miller engages classic This content downloaded from 128.59.222.12 on Tue, 22 Mar 2016 16:30:49 UTC All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp i2i.5 I Sharon Marcus 1725 feminist points about the limits placed on fe male authority and authorship (33) and the inequality of men and women in marriage (45) but makes no mention of the many Aus ten critics?Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar, Mary Poovey, Claudia Johnson?who raised these issues long before he did. This may seem a pointless cavil in the case of a short book whose notes make no claim to be exhaustive, but the problem is curiously replicated in a tome weighing in at the other end of the scale, Michael McKeon's The Secret History of Do mesticity, 717 pages long with an additional 120 pages of notes. The notes to the introduc tion represent domesticity as a topic that has been studied only by men (719), although elsewhere McKeon does refer to feminist historians. Feminists in his own field, liter ary criticism, fare less well; for example, the notes to the book's final pages, on Pride and Prejudice, cite only a fraction of the apposite work by feminist literary critics?although, like Miller, McKeon directs the reader to his own work several times (839). The point is not that these two critics have a particular animus against female critics or feminist criticism; it is precisely that they don't, and yet their books evince patterns of citation that favor men even when the pool of excellent relevant scholarship amply features women. Those patterns are reproduced throughout our discipline in the work of many ambitious scholars, female and male. Once a footnote be comes a sign of status conferred or borrowed rather than a survey of relevant sources that errs on the side of thoroughness, it is almost inevitable that everyone will cite men more frequently than women, because, as with the canon, we all accord superiority more readily to men. We should all monitor this uncon scious tendency in our own work; otherwise, as university presses ask authors to cut notes and eliminate bibliographies, the only ones left standing will be those with so much or so little prestige that to acknowledge a debt to them only enhances the author's own value. So much for the work feminist criticism has done?often used, less often cited. What of the work to do? There is a pervasive sense that feminist criticism has no future and only the shred of a present, that no one is doing feminist work anymore. I hear this expressed most often by graduate students who observe anxiously that eminent scholars who used to write about women and gender are now writ ing more general studies that do not explicitly focus on women or on gender. The concern that such shifts will be the death of feminism seems to me overstated and misplaced. Jour nals like Signs and Differences continue to thrive. To define an object of study in terms other than gender does not eliminate gen der from an analytic framework. Indeed, we need broadly conceived studies of knowledge, aesthetics, economics, and space that incor porate feminist insights and introduce them to readers who would never pick up a book with "women" in the title but will gravitate to one about the "big questions"?the novel, the market, the city. Conversely, scholars who focus on gender in tandem with race, sexu ality, and nationality may seem to some to have abandoned pure feminism, when in fact feminism has been vitalized by the study of gender as one vector of difference inseparable from others. If it is correct that feminist scholarship now faces an impasse, one cause is its difficult relation to the problem of academic genera tions. Like all scholars, feminists thrive on the critique of existing paradigms, but their work survives only by transmitting paradigms, and few paradigms?even feminist ones?can survive the relentlessness of feminist cri tique. Scholarship in the humanities often at taches itself to the authority of precedent, to the reproduction of a fixed body of revered knowledge, but feminist criticism, premised on questioning received authority, has an uneasy relation to cultural conservation.4 In stitutions exhibit a great deal of inertia, and their slow rate of change means that feminist ft 0 ft' 3 a I 3T a o *(* ?? This content downloaded from 128.59.222.12 on Tue, 22 Mar 2016 16:30:49 UTC All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 1726 Feminist Criticism: A Tale of Two Bodies PMLA o 0 o 0 X *H 41 ? is C TO e criticism has not been around long enough to become a fixture. At the same time, academic institutions in the United States place such a high value on innovation and rapid turnover of ideas that no mode of inquiry, not even one as devoted to change as feminism, can stay current. Feminist criticism is no longer the latest trend and is unlikely to become a tra dition. In a moment such as the current one, when young critics of all stripes have only ag ing revolutionaries to rebel against and, as a result, everything old is new again, feminism has a hard row to hoe. So what happened to the best of times in my tale of two feminisms? To answer that re quires fleshing out my title's allusion to the concept of the king's two bodies, developed by Ernst Kantorowicz in 1957 and given a new lease on life by Lynn Hunt, who used it to analyze representations of Marie Antoi nette (93-94). The theory accords the mon arch two intertwined bodies, a mortal one, which dies and thus changes when one ruler replaces another, and an immortal one, which represents the institution of monarchy. To the extent that feminist criticism has an immor tal body, or aspires to one, it does so through the academy, which entrenches authority and transmits a fixed corpus of knowledge. I would like to conclude by suggesting?and this is an eminently feminist point?that feminism's mortal body is currently better suited than its immortal one to carry out the roles of feminist criticism and that the mortal body of feminist criticism is the vital, messy corpus of culture itself. In the case of literary criticism, this corpus is contemporary fiction and poetry; in the case of cultural studies, it is film, television, performance, music, fashion, and virtual media; in the case of history, the increasingly prominent media of documenta ries and museum exhibitions. Feminist critics may have reason to feel dejected about their insecure hold on univer sity life, but the literature that thrives today gives cause to celebrate. To be sure, liter ary institutions such as the New York Times Book Review and the New Yorker remain dominated by men; women wrote twenty one percent of the articles published by the New Yorker in 2004, and books by women accounted for only twenty-eight percent of reviews in the New York Times Book Review in 2003.5 But literary institutions are not the basis of literature: readers are, and readers of literary fiction are predominantly female. Pre cisely because women are more willing than men to read fiction by both sexes (Felski 49), male and female writers now have to appeal to women readers. As a result, while feminist criticism may be on the wane in the academy, it is flourishing in literature. Many contempo rary authors show signs of being influenced by decades of feminist politics and scholarship in disciplines including literature, history, psychology, art history, and religious studies. Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code, over three years on the best-seller list, which relentlessly invokes Christianity's suppression of the eternal feminine, would not exist without the work of Elaine Pagels and Marina Warner. In more literary fiction, the critique of misogyny and invidious gender distinctions, the valuing of women's perspectives, and the recognition of differences among women are far more ap parent in novels by today's writers under fifty than in works by their counterparts of thirty years ago. Compare, for example, Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections, with its lampoon of male lust and its adoption of varied points of view that include those of a suburban matron and a hip young lesbian, to the early novels of Philip Roth, Norman Mailer, or Saul Bellow. This is not to deny that when women write female comedy or tragedy, their works are swaddled between pink covers and dismissed as "chick lit," as ephemeral satire or sentimen tal trash, while equivalent works by men, far from being reduced to "dick lit," are hailed as heartbreaking works of staggering genius. Books by men thus still garner more reviews and prizes, but publishers increasingly real This content downloaded from 128.59.222.12 on Tue, 22 Mar 2016 16:30:49 UTC All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 121.5 Sharon Marcus 1727 ize that their survival depends on recogniz ing the importance of women readers and the achievements of women writers. A rapid survey of bookstores in the United States?which carry mostly anglophone lit erature?will confirm that books by women in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom are successfully carrying out a key task of feminist criticism: expanding our sense of women's stories, the stories women tell and the stories that can be told about them. One could make this claim about novels that rep resent contemporary adolescence and family life, but literature's vital feminist role currently emerges with even more clarity in historical fiction by female novelists. Women writing historical fiction evince a willingness, typi cally associated with men, to tackle abstract questions of history, economics, and power, which they combine with an affinity, usually considered female, for portraying everyday life and personal relationships. In her recent novel Brookland, for example, Emily Barton combines a familial narrative about mother hood with an urban epic about building a monumental bridge. Like feminist academics, women writers are rewriting history from be low, drawing attention to the sexual and racial politics of narrative, and placing previously marginalized figures at the center of represen tation. In a novel called My Jim, Nancy Rawles puts the supporting actor of Huckleberry Finn at the center of a tale told by a female slave who loves him. In The News from Paraguay, Lily Tuck creates a vision of nineteenth-century Paraguay at once panoramic and elliptical by telling a story of war through vignettes whose multiple points of view show how rul ers and ruled, men and women, both make history and are unmade by it. Isabel Allende's Daughter of Fortune achieves a similar sweep in its portrayal of a woman making her way through gold rush California, while Linda Holeman's The Linnet Bird puts women at the center of stories of empire and racial passing in nineteenth-century England and India. Among the many recent novels that draw at tention to women's aesthetic capacities and centrality to the history of painting are Sarah Dunant's The Birth of Venus and Pauline Hold stock's A Rare and Curious Gift. Relationships between women, which underscore the femi nist point that, even in male-dominated so cieties, women do not derive value from men alone, are the central axis of lesbian historical fiction by Sarah Waters and of Lisa See's recent novel about nineteenth-century China, Snow Flower and the Secret Fan. If one enters "feminism is dead" as a search term in Google, one finds a host of articles pointing out that the reports of its demise have been greatly exaggerated. In her introductory remarks to the Thirtieth Scholar and Feminist Conference, Janet R. Jakobsen compares feminism to royalty, announcing, in the title of her talk, "Feminism is dead (long live feminism)." She also astutely sug gests that the feminism whose loss is now so often mourned was largely a creation of the mainstream media and may never have been alive. Or it was, but that was only one mani festation of feminism's mortal body, which is always dying but also always being replaced by other mortal bodies that help breathe life into feminism's institutional carapace. Notes 1. For excellent links to articles that discuss the position of women at every level of academia in multiple disciplines, see the Web site created by the Office of the Vice Provost for Diversity Initiatives at Columbia University, especially its links to reports and data. See also "Inequities." 2. Space prevents me from exhaustively documenting this claim, so let me offer as representative a partial list of titles that appeared (as first or later editions) in 2005 alone: Kennedy and Beins; Ferriss and Young; Zinn, Hondagneu-Sotelo, and Messner; Hunter College Wom en's Studies Collective; and Kolmar and Bartkowski. 3. As Rita Felski points out, "Feminist criticism is a widespread and well-known field of study that, accord ing to one Modern Language Association survey, has had 3" $ 0 5* w? sy 3 & 1 y o a o o 2. This content downloaded from 128.59.222.12 on Tue, 22 Mar 2016 16:30:49 UTC All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp 1728 Feminist Criticism: A Tale of Two Bodies PMLA & o o ? X' ? (0 o 4J X more impact on the teaching of literature than any other recent school of criticism" (5). 4. On the vexed relation of women writers and femi nist criticism to tradition, see Gallagher. 5. See Merrick, particularly the link "remedial math." Works Cited Felski, Rita. Literature after Feminism. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 2003. Ferriss, Suzanne, and Mallory Young, eds. Chick Lit: The New Woman's Fiction. New York: Routledge, 2005. Gallagher, Catherine. "A History of the Precedent: Rhet orics of Legitimation in Women's Writing." Critical Inquiry 26 (2000): 309-27. Gilbert, Sandra, and Susan Gubar. The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination. New Haven: Yale UP, 1979. Guillory, John. Cultural Capital: The Problem of Literary Canon Formation. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1993. Hunt, Lynn. The Family Romance of the French Revolu tion. Berkeley: U of California P, 1992. Hunter College Women's Studies Collective. Women's Realities, Women's Choices. 3rd ed. New York: Oxford UP, 2005. "Inequities Persist for Women and Non-Tenure-Track Faculty." Academe Mar.-Apr. 2005: 20-30. American Association of University Professors. Apr. 2005. 17 July 2006 <http://www.aaup.org/surveys/05z/zrep.htm>. Jakobsen, Janet R. "Introduction: Feminism Is Dead (Long Live Feminism)." S&F Online 3.3-4.1 (2005). 17 July 2006 <http://www.barnard.columbia.edu/sfonline/ sfxxx/intro_01.htm>. Johnson, Claudia. Equivocal Beings: Politics, Gender, and Sentimentality in the 1790s: Wollstonecraft, Radcliffe, Burney, Austen. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1995. -. fane Austen: Women, Politics, and the Novel. Chi cago: U of Chicago P, 1988. Kantorowicz, Ernst H. The King's Two Bodies: A Study in Mediaeval Political Theology. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1957. Kennedy, Elizabeth Lapovsky, and Agatha Beins, eds. Women's Studies for the Future. New Brunswick: Rut gers UP, 2005. Kolmar, Wendy K., and Frances Bartkowski. Feminist Theory: A Reader. 2nd ed. New York: McGraw, 2005. McKeon, Michael. The Secret History of Domesticity: Pub lic, Private, and the Division of Knowledge. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 2005. Merrick, Elizabeth. Miss Grace's Salon. 17 July 2006 <http://www.gracereadingseries.com/blog/>. Miller, D. A. fane Austen, or The Secret of Style. Prince ton: Princeton UP, 2003. Office of the Vice Provost for Diversity Initiatives. "Re ports and Data." 9 May 2006. Columbia U. 17 July 2006 <http://www.columbia.edu/cu/vpdi/reports_data.html>. Poovey, Mary. The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer: Ideology as Style in the Works of Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelley, and fane Austen. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1984. Zinn, Maxine Baca, Pierrette Hondagneu-Sotelo, and Michael A. Messner, eds. Gender through the Prism of Difference. 3rd ed. New York: Oxford UP, 2005. This content downloaded from 128.59.222.12 on Tue, 22 Mar 2016 16:30:49 UTC All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp Contents p. 1722 p. 1723 p. 1724 p. 1725 p. 1726 p. 1727 p. 1728 Issue Table of Contents PMLA, Vol. 121, No. 5 (Oct., 2006) pp. 1385-1796 Volume Information Front Matter Editor's Column: Uprooted Words on a Bookshelf in Chernivtsi [pp. 1393-1404] Enabling Fictions and Novel Subjects: The "Bildungsroman" and International Human Rights Law [pp. 1405-1423] The Other Interesting Narrative: Olaudah Equiano's Public Book Tour [pp. 1424-1442] Beauty along the Color Line: Lynching, Aesthetics, and the "Crisis" [pp. 1443-1459] Native Sons and Native Speakers: On the Eth(n)ics of Comparison [pp. 1460-1474] Austrian Inner Colonialism and the Visibility of Difference in Stifter's "Die Narrenburg" [pp. 1475-1492] Traducing the Soul: Donne's "Second Anniversarie" [pp. 1493-1508] Little-Known Documents The First Published Review of Octavio Paz's "The Labyrinth of Solitude" [pp. 1509-1513] Editor's Note [pp. 1514-1514] The Humanities in Human Rights: Critique, Language, Politics Foreword: ANDs, INs, and BUTs [pp. 1518-1525] Who Is the Human in Human Rights? The Child: What Sort of Human? [pp. 1526-1535] Relative Humanity: Identity, Rights, and Ethics: Israel as a Case Study [pp. 1536-1543] On Making Dehumanization Possible [pp. 1544-1551] Humanity in the Field of Instrumentality [pp. 1552-1557] Inhumanity and the Limits of Narrative The Monstrosity of Human Rights [pp. 1558-1565] Child Witnesses: The Cases of World War I and Darfur [pp. 1565-1576] Human Rights, Storytelling, and the Position of the Beneficiary: Antjie Krog's "Country of My Skull" [pp. 1577-1584] Who Gets to Be Human on the Evening News? [pp. 1585-1592] Two Poems Triptych in a Time of War [pp. 1593-1595] Bengali Market [pp. 1596-1597] Language Rights and Rights of Language "Where Are Human Rights...?": Reading a Communiqué from Iraq [pp. 1597-1607] Close Reading [pp. 1608-1617] Language Rights [pp. 1618-1620] Politics and Paradoxes for the Future The Debate about Gender, Religion, and Rights: Thoughts of a Middle East Anthropologist [pp. 1621-1630] Disappearing Acts: On Gendered Violence, Pathological Cultures, and Civil Society [pp. 1631-1638] In the Long Run: Rights, Sovereignty, and Bombing [pp. 1638-1642] Triumphs and Travails of a Cold War Remedy [pp. 1643-1650] Human Rights without Borders: The Movement for Moral Globalization and Universal Protection [pp. 1651-1655] Summaries of Four Papers [pp. 1656-1658] Afterword [pp. 1658-1661] Correspondents at Large Human Rights in Latin America Rape and Human Rights [pp. 1662-1664] Cuando Vienen Matando: On Prepositional Shifts and the Struggle of Testimonial Subjects for Agency [pp. 1665-1669] Useful Humanism [pp. 1670-1673] Trauma and Performance: Lessons from Latin America [pp. 1674-1677] Theories and Methodologies Feminist Criticism Today Breaking the Whole Thing Open: An Interview with Nellie Y. McKay [pp. 1678-1681] The Case of Lady Anne Clifford; Or, Did Women Have a Mixed Monarchy? [pp. 1682-1689] "Jouissance", Cyborgs, and Companion Species: Feminist Experiment [pp. 1690-1696] The Currency of Feminist Theory [pp. 1697-1703] The Futures of Feminist Criticism: A Diary [pp. 1704-1710] Feminism inside Out [pp. 1711-1716] Feminist Deaths and Feminism Today [pp. 1717-1721] Feminist Criticism: A Tale of Two Bodies [pp. 1722-1728] Notes on the Afterlife of Feminist Criticism [pp. 1729-1734] "I Am Not a Feminist, but...": How Feminism Became the F-Word [pp. 1735-1741] Forum Race, Class, and the Uncanny [pp. 1742-1743] Fostering Periodical Studies [pp. 1743-1743] Shakespeare at Oxford? [pp. 1743-1744] Minutes of the MLA Executive Council [pp. 1745-1746, 1748, 1750] Abstracts [pp. 1795-1796] Back Matter 
work_paajdqtprvd6zawdqggsazvbu4	----	Microsoft Word - 1999Keats.docx 1 [Note: This is a pre-copyedited, author-produced PDF of an article published as “Indifference and Epistolarity in The Eve of St. Agnes.” Romanticism 5.2 (1999), 127-146.] Indifference and Epistolarity in The Eve of St. Agnes Erik Gray There is a self-contradictory quality about Keats’s The Eve of St. Agnes that has struck readers from the very first. Richard Woodhouse, who recorded his thoughts about the poem while it was still in manuscript, admired it in general, but was shocked, even repulsed, by a few of the stanzas.1 Above all he objected to Porphyro’s stratagem for seducing Madeline in her sleep. Yet as Woodhouse admits, there are ‘no improper expressions’ used, and it seems surprisingly prudish of Woodhouse to disapprove of Keats’s account of the seduction. Betrayal, rape, murder, and other horrors are stock elements of romance; Woodhouse particularly liked and approved of Keats’s Isabella, which involves a gruesome decapitation and gothic suggestions of necrophilia. Porphyro’s actions are sinister, perhaps, but as elements of a romance plot they are not unusual or unexpected. I believe that Woodhouse misplaced his feelings of shock, which were in fact caused by another, far more anomalous circumstance. What is most surprising about The Eve of St. Agnes is not the rape2 itself, but the fact that Madeline does not die. This may seem a strangely negative distinction, but Madeline’s survival is truly remarkable: characters in romance who are crossed or betrayed in love, as well as those, more obviously, whose lovers die, almost invariably pine to death before the poem is over. This is equally true of men as of women: Isabella dies at the loss of Lorenzo, Lycius dies 2 immediately upon the unmasking of Lamia, and Ludolph in Otho the Great, flagging from the moment he learns of Auranthe’s treachery, perishes definitively when he learns of her death. Or to take a larger sampling, Byron’s Eastern Tales: the Giaour, hardiest of the heroes, survives his Leila by just a few years; Zuleika in The Bride of Abydos dies for grief over Selim even before he is killed; Medora dies of misery over the Corsair – whether in despair of his return or in grief that he has betrayed her with Gulnare is unclear; and Lara and The Siege of Corinth show the same pattern. Examples abound in other authors.3 Thus the traditions of romance lead us to expect a passionate response from Madeline – if not death by pining, then suicide (like Lucretia) or violence (like Philomela). Instead, Keats provides a strange passivity, bordering on indifference – which explains why Woodhouse was offended by the story, as he presumably was not by ‘The Rape of Lucrece’. Madeline’s reaction when confronted with the terrible reality of her own rape is not to feel the betrayal deeply, but quite the opposite – to submit to the inevitable and to turn her attention away from her grief to more practical matters. Porphyro and the narrator, I shall argue, react in a similar fashion at the other crucial moments of the poem. This is perhaps the most distinctive feature of The Eve of St. Agnes: after each build-up the reader encounters a peculiar dissipation of tension, a seeming indifference on the part of the characters or the narrator that disappoints our expectations of a climax. All these occasions are characterized by the same tactics of submission and evasion that Madeline displays. The claim that The Eve of St. Agnes refuses to conform to the standards of romance will hardly come as a surprise. The old view (put forward by Wasserman and others in the 1950’s) that both Madeline and Keats cope with the 3 difficulties of their world by entering a realm of imaginative transcendence has long been contested by a ‘skeptical’ school of criticism.4 But my reading differs from the usual skeptical or ironic view of the poem (first advanced by Jack Stillinger) in that I consider the anti-romantic strain to be highly localized. There is nothing extraordinary about a crafty hero or a flawed heroine. The true anomalies come at the points that Woodhouse singled out for comment: first the ‘3 stanzas’ or so describing Porphyro’s almost passive betrayal of Madeline and her subdued reaction, and then the final stanza, where the narrator ‘attempt[s] to play with his reader, & fling him off at last’ (II, p. 163). These anti-climactic moments of submission and evasion contrast with the tenor of the rest of the poem, which may be ironic, but is at least deeply, passionately ironic. How are we to reconcile such discordant elements? My feeling is that the answer is to be found in Keats’s letters, which provide a model of a mixed genre, at once romantic and anti-romantic. Although they continue to be read much as the poems used to be read – as triumphs of the imaginative spirit confronting life’s challenges – Keats’s letters show a capacity for the same seeming indifference or insensitivity as is shown by the characters and narrator of his poem. The personal letter is often seen as one of the most intimate forms of writing, and Keats’s letters in particular are appreciated for their sensitivity. But the epistolary mode offers special ways not only of addressing but also of avoiding issues of deep human concern, and I believe that Keats was adept at taking advantage of these possibilities. This duality is familiar to every letter-writer: letters allow one to transcend the limits of the self, but also to retreat into the self and to ‘fling off’ the world; Keats’s letters are not unique in this respect. But Keats’s distinction is, first, to have combined both 4 aspects of letter-writing with such brilliant ease in individual letters; and second, to have applied epistolary methods to his verse. For I believe that The Eve of St. Agnes is, in its hybrid nature, the most epistolary poem of the Romantic period. I therefore begin my discussion with an exploration of the dark or ‘indifferent’ side of letter-writing. I then examine Keats’s letters and their willingness to submit to their own limitations as a form of consolation or self-defense. Finally I turn to The Eve of St. Agnes and other poems which are all, by Keats’s own account, ‘unpoetical’ because of their incorporation of epistolary methods. By writing poems the way he wrote letters – that is, by having recourse to submission and evasion just when one would expect an imaginative or ‘metaphysical’ climax – Keats opened up poetry to a realm of experience it had previously excluded. Letters of Resignation Jane Fairfax in Emma rarely says anything beyond the common courtesies: she is in a delicate position, and tries to reveal as little as possible about herself. It is all the more surprising, therefore, when she suddenly bursts forth with a long speech about the post office. Her panegyric comes just when she is engaged in an unpleasant disagreement with Mrs. Elton: ‘The post-office is a wonderful establishment!’ said she. – ‘The regularity and dispatch of it! If one thinks of all that it has to do, and all that it does so well, it is really astonishing! . . . So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears! So seldom that a letter, among the thousands that are constantly passing about the kingdom, is even carried wrong – and not one in a million, I suppose, actually lost! And when one considers the 5 variety of hands, and of bad hands too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the wonder!’ The speech is extraordinary partly, as I have said, on account of its speaker, and partly on account of its subject-matter. If Jane wishes to end an argument by changing the subject, then we expect her to do what any well-bred English person would do – talk about the weather. That is what Mr. Knightley does: Austen speaks at one point of ‘the quiet transition which Mr. Knightley soon afterwards made to “What does Weston think of the weather; shall we have rain?”’5 For this ‘quiet transition’ – or rather, evasion – Jane, inexplicably it would seem, substitutes her thoughts on postage. Such a substitution at this moment, when Jane wishes to avoid confrontation, seems both unusual and unnecessary. Discussion of the weather provides the perfect deflection from any inflammatory subject, because weather is the ultimate marker of conversational indifference. Nobody can do anything about it, nobody feels passionately about it, but everyone has at least a minimal interest in it; people can therefore agree to resign themselves to the subject of the weather just the way they must resign themselves to the weather itself.6 Letter-writing, both as a practice and hence, potentially, as a topic of conversation, would appear to be very different – active and confrontational, rather than evasive. By their very nature letters are a means of conquering distance and division; they do not submit to limitations but seek to overcome them, both physically and imaginatively. Letter-writing manuals in the nineteenth century claimed that composing a letter was ‘related to prayer in its effort to transcend absence and in the determination to think one’s way into the other person’s presence’.7 Letters find a transcendent model, moreover, not only 6 in prayer but in Scripture: Paul’s epistles, which ‘summoned into being … the early Christian communities’, were a feature of every church service (at least after the fourth Lateran council of 1215) and consequently made a ‘major contribution … to subsequent epistolary tradition’.8 By the nineteenth century the Pauline epistles no longer served as a direct model for private correspondence; yet the ideal of creating community by means of letters had by no means been lost. ‘Romantic correspondence’, one critic suggests, aimed at ‘intense mutual intimacy and identification’; it thus resembled Romantic poetry in its attempt to establish community based on sympathy: ‘Indeed, Romantic definitions of poetry, especially lyric, are strikingly accurate descriptions of [Romantic] letters’.9 A poignant example of the continuing link between poetic and epistolary inspiration comes in Tennyson’s In Memoriam, where the spiritual reunion with Hallam for which the poet has been longing is at last achieved only when Tennyson reads ‘those fallen leaves that keep their green, / The noble letters of the dead’. Another view of letters would see them as an important discourse not only for the Establishment (such as the Church) but also, and perhaps pre- eminently, for marginalized groups, especially women. A letter is the refuge of the powerless, the means by which those who have no means of directly addressing someone who is at a remove (physical, social, or emotional) can nevertheless communicate. Mary Favret has argued that in the period just before Jane Austen was writing, ‘women writers used the familiar letter for entry to the world of politics’, as a subversive tool of revolution.10 Jane Fairfax is a good example of a woman who uses letters, if not for subversion, at least for empowerment. It is only by her secret correspondence with Frank Churchill that 7 she is able to maintain the contact that eventually allows her to overcome her disadvantages and to maintain her social position. Thus letters tend to be viewed as constituting, in various ways, an active, transcendent genre, with powers akin to those of poetry or prayer. Yet the letter not only can be but often is a mode of submission and evasion. People will frequently write a letter not as a means of establishing contact, but as a way of avoiding direct contact, because the subject to be considered – a piece of bad news, for instance – is too painful to discuss in person. And the letter-writer in such situations will often seize upon the conventions of the letter, which allow for and even encourage evasions. A letter is understood to be a motley and extemporaneous assortment of observations11; hence the topic may be changed in a moment without any lack of decorum. It is perfectly acceptable, for example, for a letter that begins ‘I am sorry to report that uncle died yesterday’ to conclude ‘The weather continues cold, but sunny’: the turn away from care, which would be tasteless in a poem called ‘On the Death of my Uncle’, is made possible by epistolary protocol, which is in this sense unpoetic. Another solacing convention is that of submitting to the circumstances of writing – claiming that one must write in haste or cut oneself short. Jane Austen parodies such manoeuvres in an early epistolary story, ‘Amelia Webster’: Dear Maud I write now to inform you that I did not stop at your house in my way to Bath last Monday. – I have many things to inform you of besides; but my Paper reminds me of concluding; & beleive me yrs ever &c. Amelia Webster12 8 ‘My paper reminds me of concluding’ would not be a sufficient explanation for a poem or an essay that said nothing at all. But cutting oneself short is not only allowed, but expected from letter-writers; there is a reason why condolence cards are so tiny as to leave almost no room for a message. When one writes a letter, therefore, one is submitting, but often gladly submitting, to the inevitable and all-powerful conventions of a letter. In this sense Jane Fairfax’s invocation of the post office is not essentially different from an invocation of the weather: both involve submission to an indisputable force. For the whole postal system has often been viewed as a sort of deity or juggernaut. For Thomas De Quincey, the postal system in the form of the English Mail Coach was a near-omnipotent power, at once thrilling and deadly.13 (In our own time we have the example of Miracle on 34th Street, the old Christmas favorite, at the end of which the post office, rather than the court system, is allowed to determine identity – specifically, the identity of Santa Claus.) Such a perception of the power of the postal system lends a sense of resignation to the very act of letter-writing. Consider, for instance, this post-script from a letter of Keats to Fanny Brawne: ‘I know before night I shall curse myself for having sent you so cold a Letter; yet it is better to do it as much as in my senses as possible’ (II, p. 124). Keats’s confused haste (‘as much as in my senses as possible’) conveys beautifully the excitement of the moment of submission – the moment when one drops the valentine into the mailbox and thinks, ‘It is out of my hand; the letter legally belongs to the post office now; there is nothing I can do.’ Every letter is thus, in a sense, a letter of resignation. Yet even once we have recognized that letters and letter-writing may often impose restrictions on the self rather than enabling the writer to transcend 9 limitations, it may still seem strange to turn our attention to Keats’s letters. Keats, the possessor of an ‘unmisgiving’ imagination, the man of Negative Capability, willing to work on in spite of doubts and uncertainties, is the last person one would suspect of practicing submission, with its implications of lack of effort or ambition.14 Moreover, since Keats’s letters are almost the only prose of his we have, and since they have at times received as much or even more critical attention than the verse, it is fair to say that the image of Keats as the champion of imaginative transcendence derives in great part from his letters. The image has of course been deconstructed, historicized, and qualified often15, but I wish to do something rather different: to show from the letters that side by side with the transcendent Keats there coexisted a being who was eager to take advantage of the letter’s limitations, of the ‘Weather continues cold, but sunny’ option. This same Keats, who seems indifferent only in comparison to the mythologized hyper-sensitive Keats, is also evident in the mature poetry, notably The Eve of St. Agnes. Consider for instance the long journal letter to George and Georgiana Keats of December 1818 – January 1819, which exemplifies what De Quincey calls ‘the graces which belong to the epistolary form’16 – spontaneity, freedom, familiarity. It contains familiar Keatsian reflections on the sublime and invigorating force of imagination, in the form of the poems ‘Fancy’ and ‘Bards of Passion and of Mirth’, the latter of which ‘is on the double immortality of Poets’ (II, p. 25). But it also contains, at the beginning, the very worst news that Keats ever heard, or had to impart: the death of his brother Tom. It is extraordinary, given this beginning, that the great majority of the letter reads just like any other letter of Keats: it jumps from subject to subject with fine carelessness, and never 10 refers again to any subject it has left. One might expect that Keats, who was writing poems about immortality at the time of the letter, would have some consolation to give to his brother George; and indeed he does manage one vague sentence: ‘I have scarce a doubt of immortality of some nature o[r] other’.17 But most of the comfort he gives and takes comes from moving on to other subjects. He dwells as briefly as possible – a few sentences – on the circumstances of Tom’s death before hurriedly passing to his own circumstances and asking news of George’s: ‘I will tell you as nearly as possible how all go on . . . . How are you going on now? The going[s] on of the world make me dizzy –’.18 The dizziness inspired by “going on” was Keats’s best medicine; he moves within a page from family news to Shakespeare to the hygienic habits of Eskimos, and never looks back. Even in actually breaking the news of the death, Keats takes advantage of one of the limitations of written correspondence in order to ease the shock, especially for himself. George and Georgiana were in America when Keats wrote, and his letter would not reach them for weeks or months – a circumstance, as Charles Lamb points out in his essay on ‘Distant Correspondents’, that a letter-writer must consider: [W]hat security can I have that what I now send you for truth shall not before you get it unaccountably turn into a lie? . . . [N]ews from me must become history to you . . . . No person, under a diviner, can with any prospect of veracity conduct a correspondence at such an arm’s length. Two prophets, indeed, might thus interchange intelligence with effect; the epoch of the writer (Habakkuk) falling in with the true present time of the receiver (Daniel); but then we are no prophets.19 11 Lamb’s invocation of the prophets calls to mind the transcendent biblical model of epistolarity (though his jocular reference is to the Old Testament, not to Paul) and reminds us how far modern letters fall short of the ideal. But what for Lamb is an annoyance – the double time-frame involved in epistolary communication – is for Keats a relief. He could not, unfortunately, hope that his news would ‘unaccountably turn into a lie’ as it crossed the Atlantic; but he could hope that the effect would be mitigated by the time-lapse: ‘My dear Brother and Sister, You will have been prepared, before this reaches you for the worst news you could have, nay if Haslam’s letter arrives in proper time, I have a consolation in thinking the first shock will be past before you receive this’. For once Keats actively wishes to have been pre-empted. In these circumstances, to be belated is a source not of anxiety but of comfort; and it is the letter that makes such comfort a possibility. Keats’s use of the letter-writer’s prerogatives (changing the subject, cutting oneself short) in order to avoid unpleasant news is by no means unconscious. A few months earlier, when Tom’s illness had taken a turn for the worse, Keats deployed these same tactics, self-consciously using a digression about letter-writing to postpone the sad message: I have a few things to say to you and would fain begin upon them in this fo[u]rth line: but I have a Mind too well regulated to proceed upon any thing without due preliminary remarks . . . . So how can I with any face begin without a dissertation on letter writing – Yet when I consider that a sheet of paper contains room only for three pages, and a half how can I do justice to such a pregnant subject? (I, p. 367) 12 He manages to stretch out his ‘dissertation on letter writing’ by drawing up a table showing the different types of letters, thus filling as much space as possible. At last he comes out with ‘I wish I could say Tom was any better’, resigning himself more easily to the communication when he has only a page and a half left on which to write. Even in Keats’s most celebrated letters, those which have established the terms by which we discuss not just Keats’s imagination but the Romantic imagination, we find the same evasive tactics. The famous ‘Adam’s dream’ passage, in which Keats asserts that ‘What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth – whether it existed before or not’, is used, surprisingly enough, as a means of avoiding the issue. The letter begins with advice to Bailey on how to deal with a painful slight he has received, but cuts itself off to discuss imagination instead: But I am running my head into a Subject which I am certain I could not do justice to under five years s[t]udy and 3 vols octavo – and moreover long to be talking about the Imagination – so my dear Bailey do not think of this unpleasant affair if possible – do not – . . . it will all go on well. (I, p. 184) We might expect Keats’s thoughts on Imagination to provide a response to Bailey’s difficulties – advising him either to re-imagine the world until his fancy becomes truth, or at least to escape and lose himself in the glories of a fantasy world. But the above passage reveals a surprising willingness to rely not on the powers of imagination, but on the less ambitious expedient of sheer evasion. Keats’s explicit response to the unpleasant situation makes use of the same epistolary devices we have already noticed: a change of subject for lack of space; 13 ‘going on’; and the advice simply not to think about it. Keats’s letters are as much about running away from the world as about re-imagining it; the passage about the ‘Mansion of Many Apartments’, for instance, is preceded by this: So you see how I have run away from Wordsworth, and Milton; and shall still run away from what was in my head, to observe, that some kind of letters are good squares others handsome ovals, and others some orbicular, others spheroid . . . . If I scribble long letters I must play my vagaries. (I, p. 278) One does not usually picture Keats ‘running away’ from the challenge of Milton and Wordsworth, or from his own thoughts; but that is exactly what letters, as a genre and as a subject, allow him on occasion to do. I do not mean to imply that there is utter disagreement between the passages about the redemptive power of poetic imagination and the ones I have been quoting. But it is only by looking at the moments in his letters when Keats uses epistolary conventions to help him shirk his subject that we can fully appreciate the more familiar passages. It does no real discredit to Keats to say that he sometimes longed to avoid confronting unpleasant truths (although it might tarnish the image of him as a ‘hero’ to which his letters gave rise20); far from sullying him, Keats’s claim to be allowed to ‘play [his] vagaries’ humanizes him. Keats’s picture of the poet as a being possessed of so strong an imaginative sympathy with others that ‘he has no Identity . . . he has no self’ (I, p. 387) is too extreme to be taken literally. But if we incorporate the note of submission into these claims – recognize, that is, that Keats’s ‘camelion poet’ not only transcends self but at the same time relievedly resigns accountability for himself – then we are suddenly able to take Keats’s figure, if not literally, yet seriously. In the letter 14 to Bailey containing the passage on ‘Adam’s dream’ – a passage which, as we have already noted, is intended to distract Bailey from his worries, not to confront or resolve them – appears the following claim about selflessness: The setting sun will always set me to rights – or if a Sparrow come before my Window I take part in its existince and pick about the Gravel. The first thing that strikes me on hea[r]ing a Misfortune having befalled another is this. ‘Well it cannot be helped.’ (I, p. 186) The first sentence is often quoted, the second almost never; but they are in fact inseparable. Not only does self-transcendent identification with the sparrow coexist with submission and evasion, it depends upon them. The imaginative going out of self takes place only when the self can then be sheltered in a safely delimited form: a sparrow, a chameleon, or – a letter. ‘If I scribble long letters I must play my vagaries’: ‘must’, because the letter’s ‘direct communication of spirit’ (as Keats calls it) would otherwise be too strong, leave the writer too vulnerable; it needs to be balanced with a measure of helpless indifference. These moments when Keats uses letters to resign full agency indicate his humanity, in that they reveal a man who was at times ‘most unpoetical’, not composing or dreaming or even blushing, but merely trying to avoid or postpone a painful admission.21 They also indicate what might be called his humanism. Keats willingly accepts the non-transcendent, non-Pauline aspects of correspondence, just as he willingly engages in a very secular form of resignation – resignation in this case to the demands of letter-writing.22 A Keats who runs away seems somehow less extraordinary, less mythical, and that may explain in part why criticism has not paid attention to this aspect of his letters; but it cannot be the full explanation. The reason for this neglect is rather that Keats’s 15 submission makes him seem less ambitious, and therefore a less important object of criticism; to admit that evasive tactics are sometimes necessary is to reduce the claims made for the ability of the poetic imagination to conquer any difficulty. But we should take Keats at his word when he says that ‘the fancy cannot cheat so well / As she is famed to do’; his letters show that when fancy was insufficient, Keats was ready to turn to more mundane remedies – cutting himself short, changing the subject, hoping to be pre-empted. And the same tactics are to be found in his verse. The Feel of Not to Feel It The submission and evasion of the letters is not echoed, for the most part, in Keats’s versified letters and epistolary poems; but this should not surprise us. When I burst into song, I do not (if I can help it) burst into atonal song, even though atonal music is an important sub-genre of twentieth-century music. Nor should we expect Keats’s letters when they leap into verse, or Keats’s poems when they adopt epistolary form, to display indifference, which is after all a secondary characteristic of letters. Thus although a significant proportion of Keats’s earliest poems (such as ‘To my Brother George’) are ‘like letters’ in that they have ‘explicit and singular addressees’23, they do not take advantage of epistolary deflections; indeed, these are the poems that seem to maintain the most untroubled faith in the sufficiency of imagination for all situations. The earliest verse in which these epistolary tactics do become apparent are the lines ‘To J. H. Reynolds, Esq.’, which form part of an actual letter to Reynolds and which Keats did not intend for publication. The poem resembles the earlier 16 poems in its initial exaltation of the power of fancy, but at the end can not prevent the encroachment of unpleasant realities: Still do I that most fierce destruction see, The shark at savage prey – the hawk at pounce, The gentle Robin, like a pard or ounce, Ravening a worm – Away, ye horrid moods [. . .] Do you get health – and Tom the same – I’ll dance, And from detested moods in new Romance Take refuge – Of bad lines a Centaine dose Is sure enough – and so “here follows prose.” – (I, pp. 262-3) The shifts resemble those of the earlier letter to Bailey: Keats’s sympathetic participation with the robin, as with the sparrow, quickly grows too intense – its ‘identity’ presses upon him – and he shifts subject. Once again his sympathy leads him to think first of those to whom ‘a Misfortune [has] befalled’, in this case Reynolds and Tom, and again he turns to ‘refuge’ from the thought. Although he suggests soothing himself with poetry (‘new Romance’ refers to Isabella, which he was writing at the time), his actual refuge is ‘prose’: he uses two epistolary devices (cutting himself short and changing the topic), and finishes his letter with a discussion of the weather: ‘The Rain is Come on again’ (I, p. 263). This self-solacing abandonment of the ambitions of poetry – the final lines, in contrast to the rhapsodic ekphrasis earlier in the poem, are merely a versified ‘my paper reminds me of concluding’ – represents the first integration of epistolary devices into the verse. A different form of submission appears at the beginning of The Eve of St. Agnes as the basis for the ritual that Madeline performs: young virgins are meant 17 to turn away from the world ‘And couch supine their beauties, lily white; / Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require / Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire’ (52-4).24 This is a rather exalted form of submission, the self- abnegation that traditionally precedes a trance or vision; but it does not remain exalted for long. When the reality of the world, in the shape of Porphyro, encroaches upon this mystery, Madeline abandons her transcendent hopes, but not her methods. Her reaction to the revelation of Porphyro’s treachery is unsettling, even uncanny, because it is a repetition in a coarser tone of the Christian resignation with which she began, now forcibly secularized into something close to insensitivity: No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine! Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. – Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring? I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine. (328-331) What begins as a betrayed woman’s rant or refrain (the first line has an incantatory rhythm reminiscent of Martha Ray) is suddenly cut off by the wholly unexpected ‘I curse not’. The moment is astounding: none of Madeline’s actions can have prepared the reader for her self-censorship, nor for her explanation. The reason she gives for falling silent rather than continuing to pour forth Ovidian reproaches (‘Cruel!’ ‘traitor’) is not, as some readers have thought, that she has achieved the lover of her dreams, but rather that she has ‘lost heart’ for such a passionate reaction. Critics who looked for a parallel to Madeline’s awaking in the letter to Bailey were looking in the right letter, but at the wrong place25; Madeline seems to have read not the passage on Adam’s dream, but rather Keats’s advice that precedes it: ‘do not think of this unpleasant affair if 18 possible – do not – I defy any harm to come of it – I defy – … it will all go on well’. ‘Going on’, which distracted and so solaced Keats after Tom’s death, is exactly the tactic Madeline employs. Madeline’s sudden acceptance of her situation, her conscious decision to curse not (and die not), and her willingness to forget the past constitute the crucial act of submission in the poem. It recalls similar moments of more or less conscious resignation of agency earlier in the poem (‘she heeded not . . . she saw not’ [59, 62]), but taken to such an extreme as to be qualitatively different. Earlier she had submitted to privation in the hopes of making dreams come true; now she submits to the inevitable disappointment of such hopes. Her act is not, however, unique in the poem, though it is the most surprising and has caused the greatest amount of critical disagreement. The second major crux, the much- revised and much-discussed stanza 36 (the sexual consummation), immediately precedes Madeline’s awakening and contains a similar act of disappointed submission on the part of Porphyro. This may sound strange, since he seems to get exactly what he wants in this stanza; but as Leon Waldoff argues, sex with Madeline is not exactly what Porphyro wanted.26 Porphyro’s original plan, on learning of the St. Agnes ritual, is to achieve transfigurement, to become part of Madeline’s dream. His hope is disingenuous, of course, since he plans to orchestrate his own sublimation, but it still represents an imaginative, even artistic means of persuasion. When he is unable to wake Madeline from her sleep and is on the point of failing utterly, he next aspires to the drowsy numbness or swoon to which Keats also turns when fancy fails him: ‘Open thine eyes, for meek St Agnes’ sake, / Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth 19 ache’ (278-9). What he achieves, however, is neither an imaginative resolution nor a sublime dissolution, but a much messier ‘solution’, as stanza 36 suggests: Into her dream he melted, as the rose Blendeth its odour with the violet, – Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows Like Love’s alarum pattering the sharp sleet Against the window-panes; St. Agnes’ moon hath set. (320-4) What is the valence of ‘solution’ in these lines? Following ‘melted’ and ‘blendeth’ it at first suggests an ethereal and fluid intermingling, but this connotation does not last long – only the length of a caesura. A post-lapsarian Miltonic rainstorm immediately intrudes, and the icy ‘sleet’, which fails to rhyme with ‘violet’ and ‘set’, picks up instead the sounds of ‘solution sweet’, a mocking echo that is then repeated when ‘sleet’ becomes the initial rhyme-word of the next stanza. The sweet solution is thus quickly revealed to be a false potion, whose effects soon wear off and reveal the other, more mundane or even tawdry meanings of ‘solution’: a compromise, a fallback, a trick. Porphyro’s ‘Solution’ occupies the same position in the stanza as Madeline’s ‘I curse not’, and performs, if viewed correctly, the same function. To see this moment as signifying the resignation of high aspirations involves giving Porphyro credit for psychological complexity and sensitivity – an interpretation for which the poem gives ample warrant. Porphyro resembles Keats at this moment: not only does he sing ‘La belle dame sans mercy’, but his ‘drows[y] . . . soul doth ache’ like that of the speaker of ‘Ode on Melancholy’. Meanwhile, his ‘warm, unnervèd arm’ (280) on Madeline’s pillow resembles the ‘nerveless’ arm of Saturn, another would-be poet-figure who wishes to ‘fashion forth’ a world 20 out of his imagination but fails, thwarted by physical limitations (Hyperion I, 18, 142). If we consider Porphyro as a poet, even as Keats’s alter ego, who hoped either to enchant his love or else swoon to death, then his failure to do either and his forced reliance on a debasing stratagem look less like a salacious triumph than a concession to necessity and a recognition of his loss of agency. Agency, indeed, has been slipping away from Porphyro until he, like Madeline before him, has come to resemble a statue (‘smooth-sculptured stone’ [297]). But the culmination comes when Porphyro, like a desperate letter-writer, abandons himself to whatever solution is at his disposal. Keats’s usual recourse when the imagination somehow fails, as I have mentioned, is death or numb oblivion, in poems from ‘On Seeing the Elgin Marbles’ to ‘Ode to a Nightingale’ to ‘Bright Star’. Both options (imagination and oblivion) have a sublime or transcendental or, in a general sense, poetic quality to them. This is not true of the third option and final resort, mere ‘solution’ or indifference. Keats himself draws this distinction in his other great ‘winter’ poem, ‘In drear-nighted December’: But were there ever any Writh’d not of passed joy? The feel of not to feel it, When there is none to heal it, Nor numbed sense to steel it, Was never said in rhyme. (19-24) Never yet said in rhyme, perhaps. But not long afterwards Keats would create Madeline and Porphyro, and express in rhyme the feel of not to feel it. Both characters, faced with disappointments (though of very different magnitudes27), 21 find themselves unable either to ‘heal’ them or to numb themselves through death or swooning, and so cope in a more unpoetic fashion. Their approach is epistolary: when they fail to transcend the limits of subjectivity, they change the subject. But what in Keats’s letters is inconspicuous (‘I will speak of something else or my Spleen will get higher’ [I, p. 179]) becomes in his poetry an anomaly, a source of scandal and debate. I mentioned at the beginning that the characters’ seeming insensitivity at the climax of the plot is echoed in the poem’s final stanza. This parallel was pointed out by Michael Ragussis: The unsettling effect of the poem’s conclusion begins to look like an integral part of the poem when we realize that it parallels the poem’s central action. By this I mean that the reader’s surprised awakening in the last stanza from a simple romance of happy love (that is all the poem has pretended to be) resembles Madeline’s own awakening to a cold winter storm and the prospect that she has been deceived.28 Ragussis goes on to equate Madeline’s reaction not only with that of the reader but with the final gesture of the poet, and this latter I believe is the crucial similarity. The poet’s abrupt dismissal of the characters whom he has followed and scrutinized in such detail (down to the color of their eyelids) gives the reader one last shock. Up until the final stanza the present tense has alternated with the past almost indiscriminately; hence ‘And they are gone’ looks at first like an historical present, referring to the time of the story. The jolt that follows – ‘ay, ages long ago / These lovers fled away’ – reveals that the preceding phrase refers to the present time (they are now gone, vanished), and sets the fictional time and characters all at once at an immense distance. This sudden withdrawal by the 22 poet, or narrator29, may strike the reader as an unfeeling act: the abrupt replacement of Madeline and Porphyro by Angela and the Beadsman (who are then grotesquely killed off) offended Woodhouse. But the main characters’ parallel acts provide not only a model but an impetus for this one. Porphyro’s messy compromise rules out any purely happy ending, and Madeline’s refusal to die in traditional poetic fashion precludes the usual tragic ending to a romance of betrayed love. If Keats’s abandonment of his own characters seems unpoetic in its evasiveness, that is because rhyme has no established way of dealing with the feel of not to feel it.30 So Keats deploys instead the more prosaic tactics of the letter-writer: he wraps up his characters, directs them to a certain address (‘o’er the southern moors’), and sends them posting. His final gesture is to drop them in a poetic mailbox like a nervous valentine – ‘There – they are out of my hands now – there is no more I can do.’ ‘The most unpoetical of any thing in existence’ In the first half of this essay I argued that submission and evasion were forms of indifference associated with the post. My reading of The Eve of St. Agnes associates these categories also with the ‘post–’: the post-coital and post-humous, that is, and the disappointment that comes with what Keats calls ‘passed joy’. Keats’s poem joins these modes together upon the hinge of anti-climax. Anti- climax had already figured in Romantic poetry in the Simplon Pass episode of Wordsworth’s (yet unpublished) Prelude. But where Wordsworth recuperates the moment of disappointment by invoking the Imagination to convert failure itself into an instance of the sublime, Keats treats such moments indifferently. Anti-climax is neither deplored nor celebrated but merely accepted. The Eve of St. 23 Agnes is a poem for and about people whose lives – and letters – creep on alike after moments of great disappointment or great happiness. The poem thus militates, however unobtrusively, against its own status as a romance. Like Porphyro, the reader enters the poem expecting to find either love or death; like Madeline, the reader awakes from the climax to find neither – only bitter anti-climax to which she must submit. Keats then repeats his characters’ acts of submission in a final stanza that cuts short the story and changes the subject by shifting attention to the minor characters. It is possible to sublimate even these anomalous moments: Wasserman’s reading is so seductive because it performs for The Eve of St. Agnes what Wordsworth did for himself in the Simplon Pass episode. But Keats provides no retrospective imaginative justification for the disappointment of his poem. In the midst of his gorgeous verse he admits the elements of an unpoetic world, the world of letter-writers who change the subject, of lovers for whom consummation is neither heaven nor hell, but a vague disappointment to be dealt with and left behind. The tempting retort would be that if there is a definition of poetry that excludes Keats and The Eve of St. Agnes then that definition must be changed; and indeed I believe that Keats, together with his contemporaries31, did change notions of poetry to include modes of indifference. But we should also remember that at the time that he was writing his most important letters and poems, Keats considered himself to be unpoetic. His claim that ‘A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence’ (I, p. 387) is not usually taken to reflect his opinion of his verse, but only of his life; Keats seems to maintain the traditional distinction between the nature of a poet and the nature of his work: a poet can logically be unpoetical, though a poem can not. This distinction would 24 be satisfactory were it not that Keats so often represents poets, and notably himself, in his verse; and this fact requires us, I believe, to scrutinize Keats’s claim a little more closely. The assertion that poets are characterless and unpoetical is part of an argument intended to convince Woodhouse that Keats can not be held responsible for what he has said. This shrinking from accountability qualifies Keats in his epistolary mode for the title of ‘unpoetical’, at least according to his own definition. Indeed, the whole passage is self- fulfilling: a poet who, far from claiming that his words are immortal, wishes his words to be ignored, and therefore invents an argument about unpoetical or ‘camelion’ poets, has already shown himself to be no poet in any traditional sense.32 Moneta in The Fall of Hyperion is therefore only echoing the sentiments of Keats the letter-writer when she tells the narrator that he is no true poet. In fact, Keats’s introduction of himself as a major character in a narrative poem has very much the same effect as the introduction of that other unpoetical character, Madeline. According to ‘In drear-nighted December’ the traditional realms of poetry include ‘healing’ misery and giving way before it (‘numbed sense’). But although the narrator of The Fall of Hyperion is at first threatened by numbness and almost dies, he stubbornly refuses to give way, and (like Madeline) survives. ‘Thou hast felt / What ’tis to die and live again’, Moneta tells him (I, 141-2). We may believe that he has thus survived the threat posed by the ‘miseries of the world’ because he is a poet, and can ‘heal’ them so far as to reach what Keats and Wasserman call the ‘bourne of heaven’. But he falls short of this ideal: the true poet ‘pours out a balm upon the world’, Moneta says; Keats (the character) merely ‘vexes it’ (I, 201-2). Like Madeline, he falls between the two extremes: too 25 energetic to expire but unable to be cured through imagination, not a poet but ‘a dreamer’. Thus Moneta’s accusation, which otherwise seems so strange (how can Keats be other than a poet?), makes sense in the light of the parallel with Madeline and with the letter to Woodhouse: Keats is not a poet but a letter- writer; when he can neither ‘heal’ nor ‘steel’, he chooses ‘not to feel’, to submit to the necessity of pain rather than to overcome it. Thus Moneta, Jack Stillinger, Richard Woodhouse, and Keats all seem to agree that there is an element in Keats’s poetry, and most especially perhaps in The Eve of St. Agnes, that is unpoetic. One could react to this element negatively, as Woodhouse did, asserting that it ruins an otherwise good poem. Or one could go the opposite way, as modern critics are likely to do, and assert that the anti- romantic elements in Keats are deeply subversive of generic norms, and so constitute admirable poetic innovations. I believe the latter position to be closer to the truth, though not quite accurate. All through this essay I have used the term ‘unpoetic’ rather than the critical workhorse ‘subversive’, not only because it is Keats’s own term for himself but because it reflects more exactly the nature of his distinction. The tactics deployed in The Eve of St. Agnes do not undermine or redefine the reader’s expectations so much as disappoint them. Keats does indeed expand our notions of what poetry can include, but he extends them downward rather than upward. Whether or not the duality of The Eve of St. Agnes is directly modelled after Keats’s letters is impossible to prove or disprove and is, strictly speaking, irrelevant. Whether or not they provide the model, letters provide a parallel to the poem much closer than any ‘higher’ or more poetic genre. In the 1800 Preface to Lyrical Ballads Wordsworth had claimed that poetry is to be found 26 among humble people and in common language, both (he asserted) heretofore excluded from poetic consideration. But Wordsworth’s democratizing manifesto did not set poetry open to all aspects of human experience, but only to those in which the passions are particularly excited. Keats, though without fanfare, went one step further, and found romance even in submission and evasion, in dispassion and anti-climax – in short, in indifference, that most unpoetic of moods. Department of English Princeton University 1 See Woodhouse’s letter to John Taylor, in The Letters of John Keats, ed. by Hyder E. Rollins (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1958), II, pp. 161-5. This edition of the letters is hereafter referred to parenthetically in the text. 2 Woodhouse certainly believed Porphyro’s action to constitute a rape. Keats leaves the issue more uncertain; nevertheless, I have throughout this essay used words such as ‘rape’ and ‘betrayal’ to describe Madeline’s unquestionably unhappy ordeal, rather than trying to equivocate in each instance. 3 Madeline is not, however, unique. Major parallels in Romantic poetry include the Solitary in The Excursion, who should have died of grief as the Wanderer believes he has in Book II, and Byron’s Don Juan. 4 The critical debate over the poem is so familiar and so extensive that instead of running through the usual litany of names (Wasserman, Stillinger, Sperry, etc.), I refer the reader to Jack Stillinger, ‘Multiple Readers, Multiple Texts, Multiple Keats’, JEGP, 96 (1997). pp. 545-566, and his forthcoming book on the poem’s 27 critical heritage, Reading “The Eve of St. Agnes”: The Multiples of Complex Literary Transaction. 5 Jane Austen, Works, ed. by R. W. Chapman, vol. IV: Emma (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1933), pp. 296, 41. 6 Herbert F. Tucker, Jr., writes brilliantly about the contradictions of weather in Tennyson’s ‘St. Simeon Stylites’. Simeon strives to achieve sanctity, yet his bid for canonization is dependent upon meteorology: ‘Every recapitulation of his weather-beaten agon confirms a defeated dependence upon the external contexts that his flagging sense of self obliges him perennially to withstand’; resignation to this dependence is one of the ‘furious denials, on Simeon’s part, that he bears responsibility for anything’; ‘From Monomania to Monologue’, Victorian Poetry, 22 (1984), pp. 131, 127). Simeon’s denial of responsibility is just a hysterical version of Knightley’s ‘Shall we have rain?’ – an invocation of a higher power as a justification of irresponsibility, or irresponsiveness. 7 Cécile Dauphin, “Letter-Writing Manuals in the Nineteenth Century,” in Roger Chartier, et al., Correspondence: Models of Letter-Writing from the Middle Ages to the Nineteenth Century, tr. by Christopher Woodall (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1997), p. 132. 8 William C. Dowling, The Epistolary Moment: The Poetics of the Eighteenth-Century Verse Epistle (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), p. 38. 9 Thomas J. McCarthy, Relationships of Sympathy: The Writer and the Reader in British Romanticism (Aldershot: Scolar Press, 1997), pp. 87, 94. 10 Mary Favret, Romantic Correspondence: Women, Politics, and the Fiction of Letters (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 7. 28 11 See Susan J. Wolfson, ‘Keats the Letter-Writer: Epistolary Poetics’, Romanticism Past and Present, 6 (1982), pp. 43-61, especially pages 44-6 on what the article calls (in a felicitous misprint) ‘the flexiblility of letter-writing’. Wolfson provides an excellent discussion of the poetic nature of Keats’s letters, with which my own account of the epistolary nature of the poetry coincides at many points. 12 Austen, Works, ed. by Chapman, vol. VI: Minor Works (1954), p. 48. 13 The deadly power of the mail, in the form of a mail-coach, reappears in Tess of the d’Urbervilles, chapter 4. Tess later reveals another aspect of the submission involved in sending off a letter: the possibility that the dangerous letter will never arrive. Tess did not intend her letter to Angel in chapter 33 to miscarry, nor did she probably even reflect upon the possibility; but when it does fail to reach its destination, she ‘jump[s]’ to accept the fact as fated. 14 The statement about Negative Capability ‘has often been taken to express the prevailing principle of Keats’s thought’, Stuart M. Sperry, Keats the Poet (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973), p. 62, and has just as often been queried and complicated. Still, this perception of the importance of Negative Capability for Keats rightly persists, supported by many other passages in the letters, such as the assertion that what is best in human nature is the impulse ‘by which a Man is propell’d to act and strive and buffet with circumstance’ (I, p. 210). 15 Marjorie Levinson notably undertakes all three operations at once, curbing and questioning most earlier criticism, heterogeneous as that criticism was. ‘The poetic I describe, following the lead of Keats’s contemporaries, is the opposite of “unmisgiving”’. Yet her Keats remains transcendent: ‘The triumph of the great 29 poetry is . . . its subversion of those authoritarian values’; see Keats’s Life of Allegory: The Origins of a Style (London: Blackwell, 1988), p. 5. 16 Thomas De Quincey, Literary Reminiscences (Boston: Ticknor, Reed, and Fields, 1851), I, p. 240. 17 II, p. 4. ‘Scarce a doubt’ and ‘of some nature’ are hardly wholehearted; and as Rollins points out, Keats expresses serious doubts when he himself falls sick a year and a half later. 18 II, pp. 4, 5. Immediately after this last phrase Keats admits, ‘sometimes I fancy an immense separation, and sometimes, as at present, a direct communication of spirit with you’. This seems to me to put two aspects of letter-writing into a single sentence: the letter at once brings two people into communication, and also reminds them of their distance, which (as I argue below) can be a comfort. The ambiguity of the word ‘fancy’ is notable: not only does Keats sometimes imagine an immense distance, he sometimes desires it. 19 Charles Lamb, Selected Prose, ed. by Adam Phillips (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1985), pp. 137-9. 20 Lionel Trilling wrote in 1951 that ‘because of the letters it is impossible to think of Keats only as a poet – inevitably we think of him as something even more interesting than a poet, we think of him as a man, and as a certain kind of man, a hero’; see ‘The Poet as Hero: Keats in His Letters’, The Opposing Self (New York: Viking, 1955), pp. 3-4. 21 Christopher Ricks’s brilliant study, Keats and Embarrassment (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974), also sets out to ‘humanize’ Keats, but its method is the opposite of mine. Two of Ricks’s basic premises are, first, that art deals with 30 difficult or ‘embarrassing’ situations ‘not by abolishing or ignoring’ them, but just the reverse; and second, that Keats was ‘especially sensitive’ to such situations and displayed ‘insight and human concern’ (p. 1). Ricks sought to correct the image of Keats the dreamer by showing his sensitive involvement with mundane minutiae; I wish to temper this image of the sensitive Keats by pointing to his moments of evasion. 22 It is always a surprise when one reads through Keats’s letters to encounter the one to Fanny Keats in which he instructs her in her catechism (II, pp. 49-51). Keats’s letters may not always be resigned, but they are so consistently secular that this letter stands out as an anomaly. 23 Andrew Bennett, Keats, Narrative and Audience: The Posthumous Life of Writing (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 65. 24 All quotations refer to The Poems of John Keats, ed. by Jack Stillinger (London: Heinemann, 1978). 25 The critical reading of the Adam’s dream passage as an allegory for Keats’s poetry is associated above all with Wasserman, but has survived into more recent decades: ‘Keats’s use of Adam’s dream as a paradigm for the imagination is really paradigmatic for the way his own imagination works’; see Leon Waldoff, Keats and the Silent Work of Imagination (Urbana and Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1985), pp. 57-8. 26 See Waldoff, pp. 64-71. 27 I do not mean to play down the difference: Porphyro means to win Madeline imaginatively, and when he is disappointed in this quest he seduces her physically, whereas Madeline, who had put her trust in heaven, is ‘disappointed’ 31 of her hope in a far more painful sense. If I do not make more of this important distinction, it is because I think we are in no danger of forgetting it. Stillinger’s skepticism about Porphyro’s actions has been expanded by subsequent critics; see, for instance, Beverly Fields, ‘Keats and the Tongueless Nightingale: Some Unheard Melodies in The Eve of St. Agnes’, The Wordsworth Circle, 14 (1983), pp. 246-250. 28 Michael Ragussis, ‘Narrative Structure and the Problem of the Divided Reader in The Eve of St. Agnes’, English Literary History, 42 (1975)pp. 378-394, quoting p. 380. This article deserves to be listed together with Stillinger and Sperry as one of the chief contributions to the ongoing critical debate. 29 Although it is of course inadvisable to equate the narrator with the poet, at this moment it seems to me that their interests are the same – to shock the reader by what Woodhouse calls a sudden ‘Change of Sentiment’. This change is in the narrator’s interests as a means of incorporating (though not resolving) the conflicting strands of the narrative into a single conclusion, and in Keats’s interest as a way of expressing what Bennett calls his ‘anxiety of audience’. See Bennett, pp. 23-4, and also Margaret Homans, ‘Keats Reading Women, Women Reading Keats’, Studies in Romanticism, 29 (1990), pp. 341-70. 30 In fact, there are very close precedents for this unsettling messiness and seeming disregard for characters in Shakespeare’s so-called ‘problem plays’. The ‘problem’ with Measure for Measure and All’s Well that Ends Well lies in the audience’s discomfort with the tawdriness of the bed-trick (a solution similar to Porphyro’s) and with fact that the heroine ends up with a man who is unworthy of her. But the disregard belongs first to the heroine. Mariana’s ‘I crave no other, 32 nor no better man’ (Measure for Measure V, 1, 419) is ambiguous: it could mean that she is so transported as to believe Angelo the best of husbands; but it more likely means that she realizes she has no choice, and is resigned to getting nothing better. The parallel to Madeline, who may be read as achieving a much- desired union at the end, but who more likely (I think) merely makes the best of it, is supported by the famous echo of Measure for Measure IV, i, 31-2 (‘upon the heavy / Middle of the night’) in line 49 (‘Upon the honeyed middle of the night’). 31 The most notable contemporary example of poetic indifference is Byron’s Don Juan, whose hero is, like Madeline, a survivor of heartbreak that would usually kill a romance hero. 32 See David Luke, ‘Keats’s Letters: Fragments of an Aesthetic of Fragments’, Genre, 11 (1978), pp. 209-26, especially pages 217-19, for a discussion of Keats’s paradox and its significance for modern theories of the relationship between writer and writing. 
work_pd5tcecymndexavntufnigju3i	----	history deeply marked by multiple modalities of diaspora. She inds this complex diasporic his- tory igured in the stories of Jhumpa Lahiri’s collection Interpreter of Maladies. Gajarawala, on the other hand, notes that the Dalit texts she examines refer to the Partition rarely and that when they do they challenge its centrality in the conventional narrations of South Asian history. Because of this “unreading” of nationalist his- toriography, she says, the Dalit texts complicate historicist strategies of literary analysis. Koshy and Gajarawala, then, read the Parti- tion in contrary ways and to contrary ends. he diferences between their readings are instruc- tive for my purpose, which is to suggest exten- sions and emendations of their arguments. My inclination, emerging out of an attention to the vernacular, is to refuse—like the Dalit texts ex- amined by Gajarawala—what may be called the exceptionalism of a Partition- oriented account of South Asian history. It cannot be denied that the Partition, sometimes described as the larg- est displacement of humanity in the shortest pe- riod of time, is one of a handful of pivotal events in the twentieth- century history of South Asia. It is also true that vast segments of South Asia remained relatively untouched by it and that in parts of the region (e.g., South India) the Parti- tion is more an abstract and bureaucratic than an experienced or viscerally felt reality. A ver- nacularized approach to South Asian history— attentive to the difering experiences of diferent regions—is one way to expose Partition excep- tionalism: the view of the Partition as a singular event set apart from and above others. A critical approach routed through the vernacular might also throw useful light on Gajarawala’s reading of Dalit texts. Is it really true that Dalit texts are mainly characterized by a rejection of “the overwhelming weight of the historical in our systems of interpretation” (587)? Or might it rather be that alongside an unreading these texts advance an alternative history sometimes hard to recognize without a sensitivity to vernacular forms of knowledge? he Buddhism recovered and constituted as a version of history by Dr. Ambedkar and, before him, by the Tamil Dalit intellectual Pandit Iyo- thee hass suggests the latter possibility. As, in a diferent way, does P. Sivakami’s Tamil Dalit novel he Grip of Change. his alternative his- tory, I would suggest, is more easily recogniz- able when we attend to the vernacular, for it is in vernacular forms of knowledge above all that such a history has persisted, oten for centuries. Can a similar argument be made about the texts that Gajarawala reads? I cannot say, because I have not yet read them, but the question is worth asking. In any event, her particular read- ing should not be generalized into an argument about Dalit texts as such. I hope it is clear that my aim is to suggest, in a spirit of commendation and dialogue, how a robust notion of the vernacular might extend intriguing aspects of the arguments initiated by Koshy and Gajarawala, or else resolve vexatious conundrums in them. While I have focused on these two critics, my remarks are made possible by a form of comparison across languages and cultural contexts. I thank Koshy and Gajarawala as well as Friedman for their contributions. S . S h a n k a r University of Hawai‘i, Mānoa R e p l y : Like S. Shankar, I wanted to read some of the essays in PMLA’s May 2011 issue immedi- ately. I would add that I thoroughly approve of the changes that Marianne Hirsch and Pa- tricia Yaeger brought to the journal as its edi- tors. PMLA now regularly highlights new ields (witness the essays on oceanic studies in the May 2010 issue and on animal studies in that of March 2009) and includes special sections ad- dressing issues shared across many subspecial- ties in these ields. Shankar’s letter performs the kind of juxta- positional comparative reading that I advocated as one fruitful method of comparison—that is, the setting of two (or more) texts side by side, paratactically rather than hierarchically, to see what new general insights such a juxtapo- sition might enable. Susan Koshy’s argument 644 Forum [ P M L A about “minorit y cosmopolitanism” arising out of South Asian diasporas assumes a histo- ricity for which the Partition of India in 1947 is foundational, Shankar argues; conversely, Toral Gajarawala’s analysis of Dalit writing, Shankar maintains, exhibits a diferent histo- ricity, for which Partition is peripheral. That Partition could carry two such radically difer- ent meanings raises the issue of how history is represented and to what extent its representa- tion operates within an epistemology produced through nineteenth- century European realism (based in the bourgeois subject and the nation- state) or within what Shankar calls “vernacular forms of knowledge” (in Dalit literature, based in a collective identity excluded from full citi- zenship within the nation- state). What new insights emerge from the juxta- position of Koshy’s and Gajarawala’s arguments? For Shankar, the comparison is productive be- cause it fosters an interest in the vernacular, the subject of his forthcoming book. In his letter, the term vernacular refers at diferent points to language, region, and “forms of knowledge.” I eagerly await the book for more- sustained dis- cussion of the term’s meanings. But in the let- ter, its spectrum of meanings parallels current notions of translation that range from linguistic to cultural. In this broader sense, comparisons of all kinds are a form of translation—a put- ting of one term into the context of another, a form of cognitive crossing over from one to the other. However, I wonder how vernacular as a geographic marker signifying diferent regions of South Asia (regions deined by their language group but geographic nonetheless) relates to the term as a “form of knowledge.” he vernacular mode of knowledge Shankar invokes seems akin to what many in native studies are calling indig- enous knowledge, an epistemology contrasting sharply with the hegemonic ways of knowing imposed by conquering peoples. Since many people in India speaking or writing what are known as vernacular languages are not Dalits and are in fact associated with elites or more- privileged castes, I worry about the imprecision of the term vernacular as Shankar uses it in his letter. I also wonder how his use of the term re- lates to Sheldon Pollock’s fascinating argument that vernacular writing and culture have para- doxically been inspired and enabled by the exis- tence of such lingua francas as Sanskrit, Latin, and En glish (“Cosmopolitan and Vernacular in History”; Cosmopolitanism; ed. Carol A. Breck- enridge et al.; Durham: Duke UP, 2002; 15–53). Aside from the question of the vernacular, I see other insights emerging from Shankar’s interesting juxtaposition of Koshy’s and Gaja- rawala’s arguments. First, Shankar’s observa- tion about the diferent meanings of Partition in each essay highlights the luidity of centers and peripheries, whose meanings depend heav- ily on shiting perspectives and epistemologies. What is central to one group is peripheral to another—an insight that I believe ought to in- form more postcolonial, diasporic, global, and minority literary studies. Second, both vertical and horizontal scales in the relation between the global and the local are signiicant. No his- torical phenomenon is purely local or purely global; the narratives about such phenomena are “glocal,” with traces of the global in the lo- cal and vice versa, a logic I irst learned from Edward Said ’s seminal chapter “Jane Austen and Empire” in Culture and Imperialism (New York: Vintage, 1993; 80–96). The particulari- ties of Dalit history in Dalit narratives are af- fected by global historical forces (like Partition) whether or not such large- scale events drive the Dalit narratives; similarly, the global cannot exist separate from its situated articulation in time and space, as is evident in narratives by di- asporic South Asian writers like Jhumpa Lahiri. hird, the juxtaposition of the two essays brings into focus the dialogic relation between the “minority” and the “cosmopolitan” (to pick up the terms that Koshy conjoins) and, through this relation, the tension at the heart of all com- parison between commensurability and incom- mensurability. By “minority cosmopolitanism,” Koshy means the “translocal” identifications that diasporic people maintain as they experi- ence their status as minorities (594), forever for- eign, in their new countries. But as Garajawala’s 1 2 7 . 3 ] Forum 645 essay brings vividly to life, Dalit writers are also minorities within the caste society of India. As citizens of India, they too feel or are treated as forever foreign, though as a result of caste, not national origin. What then is the meaning of minority in these two essays? How is the purely local and particular related to the cosmopoli- tan? Is the affirmation of the local nature of Dalit knowledge different in epistemological terms from the airmation of the uniqueness of Partition? Historically and politically, they are different. But in epistemological terms, each depends on a notion of pure particular- ity or exceptionalism. Entirely local or unique knowledge inherently resists comparison. But the insight that comparing Koshy’s cosmopoli- tan minority with Gajarawala’s Dalit minority brings is that phenomena so diferent in kind nonetheless share a related epistemological logic. hey are “in/commensurable,” the slash signifying the connection of similarity and the disconnection of diference. Susan Stanford Friedman University of Wisconsin, Madison Reply: I appreciated S. Shankar’s comments re- garding the recent issue of PMLA on Asian writing and, in particular, regarding my essay “Some Time between Revisionist and Revo- lutionary: Unreading History in Dalit Litera- ture.” Shankar leshes out how attention to the vernacular—linguistic and contextual—is a crucial part of any demand for new theoretical practices and new models of reading. he ques- tions that guide my own work have also been determined by this attention. In the case of Dalit literature, reading not only Hindi but also the many “hindis” within Hindi has worked in concert with the global anglophone to pro- duce a comparatist project of all my intellectual endeavors. The project of “unreading,” then, is particular to the relational work I see these texts doing vis- à- vis Indian historiography and the challenge they pose to hegemonic tropes of historical agency. Attention to the vernacular also demands, I would suggest, a careful at- tention to the various aesthetic forms in which South Asian histories might be embedded, of- ten made legible only by new methodologies. I would like to take a moment to address Shankar’s other concern, which, I believe, of- fers an opportunity to have a dialogue on the production of theoretical knowledge. Shankar questions whether it is possible for all Dalit texts to be read in the way I suggest: as compli- cating or challenging outright a historicist lit- erary discourse. My reading of Dalit literature, he writes, “should not be generalized into an argument about Dalit texts as such.” Shankar seeks to remind us here of the self- diference of the Dalit—indeed, any subaltern—project, the treelike lineages that vary regionally, linguisti- cally, and politically. But it seems that Shankar’s argument is less about what some or all Dalit forms of textuality do or do not do than about the kinds of claims that can be made about subaltern literatures. In some sense, then, his question is about what can only be termed, in our postmodern times, the politics of general- ization alongside the will to particularize. Not only is the Dalit text read as the social location of a particularized and nontransferable eth- nographic speciicity; it is also only it to com- ment on its own self or selves. I argue that we should challenge this critical impulse. In a mo- ment that has generated a discourse of “world literature,” for the Dalit text to move beyond its particularity it must demonstrate its own worldliness for the sake of its legibility. While particularism is to some degree the water in which Dalit literature swims (particularism of caste, of history, of language), its critical imper- ative (my own, as well) is to surpass it. I read the Dalit text not simply as self- relective but also as productive of a certain metanarrative—in other words, “iction as theory.” It is when we read the Dalit text relationally—in dialogue with, or as a dialectic response to, its many others (the novel, uppercaste culture, a hegemonic “Indian” his- tory)—that we can speak of the Dalit text as such. The “Dalit text as such” refers as much to the individual text as to the larger ideologi- 646 Forum [ P M L A 
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work_pi6aoxhgp5ey5ln3esdhdnmhem	----	"Horatio the Hero: The Depiction of Horatio Nelson in Contemporary Historical Fiction" Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l'Université de Montréal, l'Université Laval et l'Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. Érudit offre des services d'édition numérique de documents scientifiques depuis 1998. Pour communiquer avec les responsables d'Érudit : info@erudit.org Article "Horatio the Hero: The Depiction of Horatio Nelson in Contemporary Historical Fiction" Martha F. Bowden Lumen: Selected Proceedings from the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Lumen : travaux choisis de la Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, vol. 29, 2010, p. 129-142. Pour citer cet article, utiliser l'information suivante : URI: http://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012031ar DOI: 10.7202/1012031ar Note : les règles d'écriture des références bibliographiques peuvent varier selon les différents domaines du savoir. Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d'auteur. L'utilisation des services d'Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d'utilisation que vous pouvez consulter à l'URI https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Document téléchargé le 5 April 2021 09:53 9. Horatio the Hero: The Depiction of Horatio Nelson in Contemporary Historical Fiction Horatio, Lord Nelson, continues to be one of the great heroes of England for his combination of bravery, charisma, and mighty conquest. Two events in his life, however, rendered him a flawed hero: his involve- ment in the tribunal in the Bay of Naples in 1799, after the short-lived republic of Naples, where he and Sir William Hamilton were widely considered to have treated the Neapolitans, especially Commodore Caracciola, to summary and incomplete justice on behalf of an utterly corrupt regime; and his flagrant affair with the married Emma Hamil- ton, wife of Sir William, and his treatment of his wife. In his own time, these events were less important to most people than his victories at the Battle of the Nile and Trafalgar. Robert Southey wrote his 1813 biog- raphy of Nelson as a guidebook for young men wishing to follow in Nelson's illustrious footsteps: Many Lives of Nelson have been written; one is yet wanting, clear and concise enough to become a manual for the young sailor, which he may carry about with him till he has treasured it up for example in his memory and in his heart. In attempting such a work I shall write the eulogy of our great national hero, for the best eulogy of NELSON is the faithful history of his actions, and the best history must be that which shall relate them most perspicuously.1 While Southey subsequently refers to the Bay of Naples affair as the sole blot on Nelson's record, he recounts all the myth-creating stories to compose a portrait of a man born to be a hero, and insists, against all the evidence, that the love affair with Emma Hamilton was platonic. 1 Robert Southey, The Life of Horatio Lord Nelson [1813] Amazon Kindle edition. LUMEN XXIX / 2010 1209-3696 / 2010 / 2900-0129 $14.00 / ©CSECS / SCEDHS 130 Martha F. Bowden Admirers found many ways to honor him. In 1802, a young Irish- man named Patrick Prunty or Brunty changed his name to Bronte on entering St. John's College, Cambridge; by 1811, he had added the umlaut over the "e."2 His daughters made this more refined version of the family name famous, but it originated in the dukedom granted to Nelson by Ferdinand, King of Naples, in 1799. Streets, rivers, and cities across what used to be the British Empire still reflect Nelson's various names and titles (Horatio, Viscount Nelson of Burnham Thorpe, Duke of Brontë). In Brampton, Ontario, just outside the city of Toronto, the streets in the nineteenth-century core of the city include Queen, George, Clarence, Peel, Wellington, and Nelson. Toronto has Burnhamthorpe Road; and as one drives towards Burlington, it is possible to take the Trafalgar Road to Trafalgar and Bronte before the route passes Bronte Creek Park. Not far away is Palermo, named for the second capital of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, to which Nelson evacuated the royal family in the wake of the Neapolitan Revolution. There is evidence, however, that some of his contemporaries were not as blindly enthusiastic. Jocelyn Harris, in "'Domestic Virtues and National Importance': Nelson, Captain Wentworth, and the English Napoleonic War Hero," argues that Jane Austen develops the character of Wentworth in Persuasion from several heroic figures, including the Nelson of Southey's biography. In the process, she "tests various mod- els... and finds them wanting."3 Nelson fails in several areas. Austen adjusts his appearance from the battered and fragile figure that was Nelson by the time he became the Hero of the Nile (blind in one eye, minus an arm, pale and slight) to a much more vigorous frame; Wen- tworth looks every inch the hero. She incorporates many of Nelson's best characteristics, notably his kindness to his subalterns. Nonethe- less, Nelson's behavior, like his appearance, is not suitable for her pur- poses, Harris notes; Austen sets the novel in Bath, where, while Nelson was considered a hero, his treatment of his father and his wife, both of w h o m lived there, were equally well-known. Despite her affection for the navy in which her brothers served, Austen could not completely accept its greatest contemporary figure as a model: "the adulterous 2 Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, s.v. "Brontë, Patrick (1777-1861)" (by T.J. Winnifrith), http://www.oxforddnb.com (accessed July 25,2008). 3 Jocelyn Harris, "'Domestic Virtues and National Importance': Lord Nelson, Cap- tain Wentworth, and the English Napoleonic War Hero," Eighteenth-Century Fic- tion 19 (2006-7): 202. 4 Ibid., 189. http://www.oxforddnb.com Horatio the Hero 131 admiral was no exemplar for the 'domestic virtues' lauded in the last sentence of her novel/' Nelson's legend is built on signature elements: his personal mod- esty; his striking achievements, such as capturing one ship from the deck of another, referred to by Patrick O'Brian in the introduction to his novel, Master and Commander; his gift for exactly the right expres- sion ("England expects every man to do his duty," the signal to the fleet at the commencement of the Battle of Trafalgar). Like James Wolfe, he paid the ultimate price and his death was accorded a similar, Pietà-like depiction in a painting by Benjamin West. But the unease his contem- poraries felt at the discrepancy between his exploits in the navy and his behaviour both in the Bay of Naples and in his private life, while it tarnished but did not erase his heroism in his own day, continues in our own. No one doubts that his exploits are remarkable, but his private character is increasingly emphasized and seen as problematic. In con- temporary historical fiction, the effect of the emphasis on the private shortcomings is to undermine his heroic stature. This essay examines the strategies of a number of contemporary novels that concern them- selves with the figure of Nelson, either as a central character or as a peripheral figure. Nelson's absence from a critical twentieth-century novel paradoxi- cally underlines his importance as an English hero. When Winston Smith, the anti-hero of George Orwell's anti-Utopia, Nineteen Eighty- Four, goes to Victory Square for an assignation with a girl he has met at work, he spends the time before she arrives wandering about, look- ing at the architecture, and taking "a sort of pale-colored pleasure," the only kind available in this grey domain, in identifying St. Martin's Church, "whose bells, when it had bells, had chimed 'You owe me three farthings.'" The church has been converted into a wing of the enor- mous civil bureaucracy, a propaganda museum whose exhibits feature weapons of war and scenes of atrocities by the enemy. He sees a man on a horse, "which was supposed to represent Oliver Cromwell," and, on a great fluted column, the head of Big Brother, looking "southward toward the skies where he had vanquished the Eurasian airplanes."6 In the reversed world of Oceania, in which England is not randomly upturned but mirror-imaged, the man who works for the Ministry of 5 Ibid., 181. 6 George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-four, Foreward Thomas Pynchon, Afterword Erich Fromm. Plume/Harcourt Brace Book. (New York: Penguin Group, 2003), 116,101- 102. 132 Martha F. Bowden Truth, where he spends his time rewriting history, and where papers sent d o w n the memory hole are blotted out of existence, is unaware of the extent to which his country's history has been erased and upended. He has no way of knowing that he is standing in Trafalgar Square, because the dicta of the new regime have required particularly rigorous relabeling. Charles I, defeated by Oliver Cromwell, has had his identity replaced with his conqueror's, although CromwelTs victory was nota- bly short-lived. Even more significantly, however, the hero of Trafalgar, who is the key emblem of the time when Britannia ruled the waves, and who gained many of his successes by ignoring authority, has been eliminated altogether, and a new icon, the emblem of the repressive government that has blurred entirely the distinction between slavery and freedom, has replaced him. In a world in which irony is a luxury that no one can afford, it would be pointless to tell Smith that the ship on which Nelson lost his life, in the midst of his greatest naval engage- ment, was called the Victory. In the twentieth century, novelists have drawn on the figure of the martyred hero of Trafalgar for images of ultimate heroism. William Rivers, one of the central characters in Pat Barker's Regeneration tril- ogy, and historically a distinguished psychologist w h o treated soldiers sent home from the front in World War I, was named for his ancestor, "who, as a young midshipman, had shot the man w h o shot Lord Nel- son." The Rivers family has gloried in the connection ever since, even changing the Nelsonian mythology: "And the great man, dying, had not indulged in any effete nonsense about kissing Hardy, nor had he entrusted Lady Hamilton to the conscience of a grateful nation. No, his last words had been, 'Look after Will Rivers for me.'" Young William, weeping in response to his first haircut, is held u p to the treasured fam- ily icon, a painting of his namesake stoically having a leg amputated without anesthetic, as a model for the correct behavior. Later, seeing the weight of ancestry on a native medicine man he is observing in the South Seas, Rivers repeats the phrase that sums u p the burden of his own inheritance: "It was worse...than being the great-nephew of the man w h o shot the man who shot Lord Nelson."7 Even more pervasive is Nelson's influence on Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin series, not surprisingly because it is set in the British Navy in the Napoleonic period. The second sentence of the Author's Note at the beginning of Master and Commander uses one of Nelson's most famous exploits to support the contention that in this period 7 Pat Barker, The Ghost Road (New York: Plume, 1996), 11,94, 233. Horatio the Hero 133 "improbable reality outruns fiction...Nelson leaping from his battered seventy-four-gun Captain through the quarter-gallery window of the eighty-eight gun San Nicolas, taking her, and hurrying on...to board the towering San Josef..." Jack Aubrey establishes some of his flair by his associations with Nelson; the description of him on the first page of Master and Commander includes the detail that he wears "the silver medal of the Nile in his buttonhole."8 He regales dinner guests with tales of the two dinners he ate in the great man's company; at one of them, Jack tells his audience without irony or self-consciousness, Nel- son asked him to pass the salt. The description of Nelson that O'Brian places in Jack's mouth encapsulates the entire Nelson mythos, reflect- ing the reverence with which he was viewed by his men and the pecu- liar combination of gentleness and power that he commanded: "He is very slight — frail — I could pick him u p (I mean no disrespect) with one hand. But you know he is a very great man directly." Jack quotes one of Nelson's trademark pithy comments ("Never mind maneuvers — always go at 'em") as well as one of the over-the-top declarations of patriotism for which he was equally well known: "he was telling us all how someone had offered him a boat-cloak on a cold night and he had said no, he was quite w a r m — his zeal for his King and country kept him warm." Both the w a r m t h of expression — sentimental com- ing from anyone else as Jack realizes: "It sounds absurd, as I tell it, does it not?" — and Nelson's lack of hesitation in repeating it are typical of the man.9 Jack has other connections — he was at the Battle of Saint Vincent, which he celebrates every year, and he escorted the Généreux to shore when the British navy under Nelson captured it at Mahon. He wears his hair "loose and long," as a tribute to his hero.10 But more striking than the references to Nelson is the character of Jack Aubrey himself, whose charisma, rapport with his men, aversion to sadistic discipline, and difficulties with authority all mark him as being cast in the Nelson mold: "He walked with the utmost confi- dence, as if he had just w o n the battle of the Nile in person."11 Stephen Maturin, that observer of men, as reflective as Jack is active, sees in his 8 Patrick O'Brian, Master and Commander, The A u b r e y / M a t u r i n Series (New York: WW. Norton & Co., 1990), 13. 9 Ibid., 130-31. 10 Patrick O'Brian, Post Captain, The Aubrey/Maturin Series (New York: W.W. Nor- ton & Co., 1990), 38, 250; Master and Commander, 173. 11 O'Brian, Master and Commander, 31. 134 Martha R Bowden friend's admiring description of his hero a portrait of Jack himself: "Ld. Nelson, by Jack Aubrey's account, is as direct and unaffected and ami- able a man as could be wished. So, indeed, in most ways, is JA himself, though a certain careless arrogance of power appears at times."12 Other characters note this similarity; Diana Villiers observes to Babbington, one of Jack's admiring midshipmen, that "Captain Aubrey must be very like Lord Nelson," and Babbington agrees enthusiastically13 Even his troubles with the admiral Lord Keith echo Nelson's own career; Keith is known as the only commander w h o m Nelson ever disobeyed. Jack's exploit in capturing the Spanish xebec, the Cacafuego, is very like that of Captain Cochrane, one of Nelson's protégés. According to Edgar Vincent, one of Nelson's modern biographers, Nelson met Cochrane in Palermo; Cochrane notes in his autobiography the encouragement he received from Nelson, and quotes the tag that Jack also remembers so fondly: "Never mind the manoeuvres, always go at them." Vincent describes the connection between the two as "Like had been speaking to like, for as a dashing, aggressive, h u m a n e frigate captain, Cochrane would prove to be at least Nelson's equal."14 By extension, we may include Aubrey here too, although there are distinct differences as well. Like Austen, O'Brian changes the physical appearance of his avatar of Nelson; Jack is far from frail — ruddily healthy, he inclines to stoutness rather than an ethereally slender frame. David Donachie's Nelson and Emma trilogy, unlike the O'Brian opus, may be safely avoided without any reader missing an engag- ing or inspiring literary experience. My own faltering patience with its clichés, redundancies, and other infelicities of style was completely eroded when Donachie failed the litmus test for historical fiction, that it should get the small details correct. Historical fiction has license to speculate, and there are many u n k n o w n details in the romance of Emma Hamilton and Nelson where the novelist may do so, but under 12 Ibid., 203. 13 O'Brian, Post Captain, 46. 14 Edgar Vincent, Nelson: Love and Fame (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2003), 356-57. Dean King with John B. Hattendorf, Harbors and High Seas: An Atlas and Geographical Guide to the Complete Aubrey Maturin Novels of Patrick O'Brian, 3rd Edition (New York: Henry Holt and Co., 2000), 49-50, notes that O'Brian admits "he modeled many of the events of the novel...on Lord Cochrane," including the taking of the Cacafuego, but does not connect the "manoeuvres" tag with Cochrane. The line is quoted differently in Vincent's and O'Brian's texts. Horatio the Hero 135 no circumstances is it safe to say that Homer wrote The Aeneid.15 The work is useful as a treatise on the trademark events of Nelson's life in his pursuit of hero status, however, for all writers agree that at the age of eighteen Nelson had decided that he would become, not a Lord of the Admiralty, but a hero. Thus Donachie recounts his arrival at his first position as a midshipman (a tale much told but which Vincent dis- putes16), his wounds, his rapport with his men, his message to his fleet before Trafalgar, and his miraculous feats of navigation. Like the Riv- ers family, however, Donachie feels a need to rewrite the troublesome death scene in his own way — the ship's surgeon, recording the hero's last hours, changes "Kiss me, Emma," to what has come d o w n in his- tory Even the most admiring fiction and the most adulatory biography stumbles over the Hamilton affair and the tribunal in the Bay of Naples. Southey, despite his willingness to dismiss the relationship with Emma Hamilton as a platonic infatuation, can find nothing to justify the actions of the tribunal, and explicitly links it with Emma's deleterious influence. He describes Nelson's repudiation of Ruffo's treaty with the revolutionaries as, "A deplorable transaction! a stain upon the memory of Nelson and the honour of England! To palliate it would be in vain; to justify it would be wicked."18 Of the hasty execution of Caracciolo, the Neapolitan Commodore, he is even more condemnatory, implicitly charging Nelson with both self-deception and infidelity: "Doubtless, the British Admiral seemed to himself to be acting under a rigid sense of justice; but to all other persons it was obvious that he was influenced by an infatuated attachment — a baneful passion, which destroyed his domestic happiness, and now, in a second instance, stained inefface- ably his public image." 15 '"Aeneid/ said Nelson, stepping forward to give the agreed password, appropri- ate, since it was the title of Homer's tale, which was partly about the flight of royal survivors from the sack of Troy" (David Donachie, Tested by Fate, The Nelson and Emma Trilogy 2 [Ithaca, N.Y.: McBooks Press, 2000], 370). 16 Vincent believes the story emerged from Nelson's own strong impulse to self-dra- matize, although he notes that Nelson's father had been careless about sending him off. (Vincent, Nelson: Love & Fame, 17). 17 David Donachie, Breaking the Line, The Nelson and Emma trilogy 3 (Ithaca, N.Y.: McBooks Press, 2004), 359. 18 Southey, Life of Horatio, Lord Nelson. 19 Ibid. 136 Martha F. Bowden Donachie uses Emma Hamilton as an excuse to provide the explicit sexual details that romance fiction apparently now requires, and that Nelson's life would be distinctly lacking otherwise. The sordid p u b - lic affair in the Bay of Naples, however, unlike the private one, draws from him an awkward form of apologetics. His Nelson, aware of the persuasive power of Caracciolo's argument, and having the power to refute the sentence, hesitates because he thinks the Commodore is "arrogant/' He takes counsel from his two most trusted advisors, Sir William and Lady Hamilton; Emma is presented as conflicted, but Sir William, the seasoned diplomat, announces that the execution must go forward: "Clemency would only be construed as weakness." Thus the real villain is the political Hamilton, not the heroic Nelson or the tender-hearted Emma, and Nelson signs the death warrant because he feels he has no choice: "though he might be the King's representa- tive, he was not empowered to interfere in an internal matter." When Caracciolo is led to the scaffold, Nelson cannot meet his eyes. None of this explanation squares with the historical image of the independent Nelson whose attitude towards commands he disliked was to ignore them, and who never flinched from his enemies, nor apparently felt compelled to question his own actions. As vindication, it is hardly suc- cessful.20 O'Brian deals with Nelson's lapse by deflecting the criticism to a minor character w h o is speaking to Maturin, so that Jack's hero wor- ship can continue unabated. The critique is further removed from Nel- son himself by laying the blame on Emma Hamilton in a misogynistic tone that is typical of the sailors O'Brian portrays. Maturin has been attempting to reassure Macdonald, w h o has had an arm amputated, and whose stump is healing well: "Tn a few weeks' time you will rival Nelson, spring one-handed from ship to ship — happier than the Admiral in that you have your sword-arm still.'" The marine is at first reassured, but is not entirely pleased by the comparison. He claims that "'he is no hero of mine. Caracciolo sticks in my gullet. And then there is his example... Whoremongering — lingering in port — hanging officers who surrender on terms. A pretty example!...I hate women. They are entirely destructive."21 His words reveal betrayal, disgust, and a need to find some other villain. Like Southey, he finds it necessary to per- suade himself that the love affair is at the root of the matter, although he does not believe it is platonic. 20 Donachie, Breaking the Line, 48-49. 21 O'Brian, Post Captain, 348. Horatio the Hero 137 The conflict between the hero and the villain is most brilliantly por- trayed in Barry Unsworth's Losing Nelson, although it is not historical fiction but a novel about an obsession with history. Charles Cleasby, the protagonist, who is laboring to write a biography of Nelson, gradually loses what little grasp he has on his sanity in attempting to reconcile his devotion to the man with his idol's shortcomings. Cleasby has a theory of historical parallelism in which people in the present live their lives as doubles of historic figures from the past. He eventually comes to believe that he is Nelson's double: "I did not then...see myself as an angel like him, a creature of radiant violence. That came later. At the time I thought of myself merely as a repository of his essence, a sort of memorial urn. But I knew that the same forces had moulded us both — thoughts of his childhood led me always back into the labyrinth of my own." 2 His life is calibrated to Nelson's career; his ritual recre- ations of Nelson's battles, played out in real time on their anniversaries every year, make Toby Shandy's bowling-green fortifications look like a casual weekend hobby. Thus his desperate attempt to write a life of Nel- son is an even more desperate sortie at explaining his own. Eventually the two identities merge: "In spite of all appearances to the contrary, in spite of my obscure life, I knew that he and I were at one, we were like diamond and carbon."23 He links his destiny even more closely to his hero by determining that his own role, like Nelson's decision to be a hero, should be a life pursuit that would make his memory immor- tal: "My name would be joined with his for as long as his deeds were remembered. Charles Cleasby, the vindicator of Horatio Nelson."24 He is able to rationalize the affair with Emma Hamilton and the treatment of his wife, "the strange discrepancy between his private and his public life," in an act of deliberate self-deception that resembles Southey's resolution of the question of adultery. Most sensible people would consider Nelson's attempt to have wife and mistress together in a kind of harmonious community as delusional at best and brutally selfish at worst. Cleasby, however, desperately attempts to explain it as a kind of heroic self-confidence: "He expected the fear and antagonism of the women to melt in the w a r m breath of his enterprise, as the odds had melted at Cape St. Vincent and would again at Trafalgar. Sure mark of the hero, this believing so completely in the transforming power of 22 Barry Unsworth, Losing Nelson (New York: WW. Norton, 2000), 63. 23 Ibid., 104. 24 Ibid., 111. 138 Martha F. Bowden his desire." The paralyzing problem is "that time of travesty in Naples and Palermo,"26 and the tribunal at the Bay of Naples, "the heart of the problem that had held u p my book and exhausted my mind for more than two months...I was beginning to feel the usual nausea of defeat, that slackening and slipping away of the mind which seemed like a foretaste of death." The visit to Naples that is supposed to resolve all the doubts, to retrieve from the "great heap of argument" the "bright fragment that would clear his n a m e " subverts the usual biographical assumption that retracing the subject's footsteps leads to an illumina- tion of the life. Instead he discovers that there is almost no record at all of the Hamiltons having been there, and no desire on the part of the Neapolitans to revisit that part of their history The first reference to Nelson in Susan Sontag's The Volcano Lover rises through the consciousness of Maria Carolina, Queen Consort of Naples, for w h o m he is a peripheral figure in her overwhelming concern for the welfare of her sister Marie Antoinette. In this initial appearance, he is referred to by his own name: "The British naval commander w h o had anchored in the bay for five days, Captain Nelson, had w o n a great vic- tory over the French, and been most encouraging about British resolve; but the Queen placed little trust in military solutions."29 Thereafter he is known chiefly as "the hero," a term whose irony increases with his fame. To the Cavalière and his wife he is a m a n on the verge of being famous: "When they first saw him, he had not fought any important battles. But he had the look, the hungry look that evinces the power to concentrate utterly on something, of one destined to go far...A star is always a star, even before the right vehicle has been found, and even after, when the good parts are no longer available. And the thirty-five- year-old captain was undoubtedly a star — like the Cavaliere's wife." ° The Cavaliere's recognition that the young man "will be the bravest hero England has ever produced" is overshadowed by its conflation with stardom, with staging and self-representation, and the equiva- lency with the Cavaliere's wife sounds a note of warning. 25 Ibid., 76-77. 26 Ibid., 92. 27 Ibid., 117. 28 Ibid., 111. 29 Susan Sontag, The Volcano Lover: A Romance (New York: Picador/Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1992), 182. 30 Ibid., 188. Horatio the Hero 139 He comes back to Naples five years later, after the Battle of the Nile, after "History promoted h i m / ' and "War confiscated parts of his body," a fully-fledged hero who "vaulted into their lives." Yet the ambiva- lence continues, constructed by layers of references that are only slightly separated by more transparent text. Thus the conventional attribution of fame to the spirit of the time, "It was a time for concentrated men of preposterous ambition and small stature who needed no more than four hours of sleep a night," is first supported by a deceptively lyrical description of "the rocking sea and the lurching ship," giving chase and winning battles, the succession of ships and promotions, and is then dislocated by an unhappy comparison with the terror of the people of Naples, "the small concentrated man who had taken over a fractured revolution and transposed its energies into a seemingly invincible cam- paign for the French conquest of Europe."32 The connection with Napo- leon is as obvious as the ambiguity: is it heroic to want to be a hero? Or do heroes simply emerge, with becoming modesty and reluctance, from the eruption of extraordinary events? For Southey, Donachie, and Jack Aubrey, it is perfectly reasonable, indeed exemplary, to wish to be a hero. Donachie's failure is most pointed here; he begins well, with Nel- son's visit with his mother to see Benjamin West's famous history paint- ing, The Death of Wolfe. But when towards the end he asserts Nelson's diminished desire for heroism (a development that no other depiction of the hero mentions) he misses the central irony — that Nelson too will have his death recorded by West, in a similar mode, and one that is in fact closer to the historical conditions of his death than Wolfe's. Sontag, however, is less generous, and more insistent, more troubled about the impulses behind the drive: "He intended to be a hero. He wanted to deserve praise, to be decorated, remembered, to figure in history books. He saw himself in history paintings, as a portrait bust, as a statue on a pedestal, or even atop a high column in a public square."33 Sontag's Nelson sees heroic identity as far more a matter of fame and praise in the public forum than of actions. An unrecorded hero is apparently no hero at all. She forces us to consider that in granting him the adulation he desires so strongly history is not rewarding his worthy ambition but is complicit in his vanity. 31 Ibid., 189,191. 32 Ibid., 189. 33 Ibid., 193. 140 Martha F. Bowden The love affair between the hero and the Cavaliere's wife is not particularly problematic to Sontag, who in fact describes it and the tri- angle with a great deal of sympathy. Her Emma Hamilton, although undoubtedly a self-promoter, has a generosity of spirit that allows her to inspire passion in two men who had rarely felt such an emotion. About the Bay of Naples tribunal, however, she is merciless, and less inclined to apologetics than any other of these writers. She refuses to blame the Cavalière, who is as diplomatic as in Donachie's portrayal, but here counsels prudence, suggesting that "it might be well to fol- low custom and defer the execution for another twenty-four hours"; the hero goes ahead regardless. She presents the rationalization for his execution of Caracciolo in an indirect discourse from which the autho- rial voice is as far distanced as irony can set it: "By the rules of war the hero had no right to abrogate Ruffo's treaty with the rebels, no right to abduct and execute the Bourbon monarchs' senior naval officer or even to receive him on board an English ship as a prisoner; but this was not war. This was the administration of punishment." Her acidic descrip- tion of the procedure against the rest of the revolutionaries suggests her own opinion of the proceedings: "After lynching comes judicial mur- der, which involves a good deal of paperwork."34 Her summation of the event speaks overtly, challenging any attempt to explain or vindicate: If they were a mob, one would have said that the beast had had its fill of blood. Since they were individuals, claiming to be acting for the public good — My principle is to restore peace and happiness to mankind, wrote the hero — one says that they did not know what they were doing. Or that they were dupes. Or that they must have felt guilty after all. Eternal shame on the hero!35 Mrs. Cadogan, the Cavaliere's mother-in-law, accuses Nelson of loving glory more than her daughter: "Why go about the boat in his admiral's frock coat and his stars so a French sharpshooter could find him easy and kill him, if he wanted to stay alive to come back to her...Women may be vain, but when a man is vain it is beyond believing, for a man is willing to die for his vanity."36 The last voice is Eleanora de Fonseca Pimental's, whose execution is announced immediately before the 34 Ibid., 287. 35 Ibid., 298. 36 Ibid., 403. Horatio the Hero 141 declaration of eternal shame. She expresses her contempt in a more thorough erasure than the forces of Big Brother; rather than convert the identity of the heroic figure, she dismisses him entirely, as being beneath her notice: "I will not deign to speak of my hatred and con- tempt for the warrior, champion of British imperial power and savior of the Bourbon monarchy, who killed my friends."37 In a sad and sane moment early in Losing Nelson, Cleasby has a mel- ancholy revelation while reflecting on extrapolating truth from leg- end in the life of Nelson: "Horatio Nelson is the English hero; he has no rival. No threat of rivals in the future, either — this country will never produce heroes again. "38 But it may well be that we are culturally unable to accept the concept of the hero, without some tincture of reluc- tance or irony, some need to remind ourselves that he is "only human." Whether by insisting on bringing forward what his early apologists wished to hide, as in Donachie's use of Emma Hamilton to add a sexual charge to a largely emotionally constrained life, or O'Brian's careful placement of criticism, or Sontag's repeatedly drawing attention to the disjunction between Nelson's behavior and appearance on one hand and his heroic reputation on the other, so that the word "hero" becomes indelibly ironic, none of these texts holds the transparently uncritical tribute so evident in Southey Nor does modern biography allow hagiography Vincent presents his subject in carefully measured terms, describing his charisma while stressing the uncertainties of the visual record. But he also writes of Nel- son's addiction to attention and his equally great "thirst for love." As the title of the book suggests, these two attributes are the central facts of his character. He was abnormally aggressive and addicted to battle, but capable of genuine kindness; he was possessed of much common sense, but not always in touch with reality.9 Vincent's discussion of the tribunal is also balanced. After carefully rehearsing the details of the case, and stressing the uncertainty of the evidence, he asserts his doubt that Sir William Hamilton was particularly influential, and makes a persuasive argument for the true source of unease about the incident. It is not so much the ruthlessness with which the rebels were treated — he notes that 4 per cent of the rebels were executed,40 although that figure 37 Ibid., 418. 38 Unsworth, Losing Nelson, 62. 39 Vincent, Nelson: Love & Fame, 1-3. 40 Ibid., 332. 142 Martha F. Bowden would probably not have mollified Sontag — nor that Nelson carried out Caracciolo's execution with more expedition than was customary. Instead, he declares that the blot on Nelson's reputation came about because his actions served to restore a kingdom that was known to be "rotten to the core": "Occasionally Nelson gives real cause for doubt about his grip on reality, or his honesty."41 Given the necessary differ- ences in tone and evidentiary methodology between biography and fic- tion, this judgment is not significantly different from Sontag's: "He did not see himself as gullible and vain," declares the narrator,2 where the clear subtext is that he is certainly both, and lacking in self-awareness to boot. Nelson's status as a hero is not in dispute, in the uncritical sense that he himself understood the term; that he and his greatest battle must be erased from Victory Square in Nineteen Eighty-Four, to be replaced by an image of the most powerful icon in the government, is indica- tive of his importance. But what the other novels highlight, whether deliberately or inadvertently, is contemporary difficulty with heroism itself. Sontag's increasingly ironic use of the word "hero" suggests that we are no longer able to treat the private vices and shortcomings of leaders as irrelevant to their public reputation. Unlike Southey, the twentieth-century writers about w h o m I have written all concentrate on his humanity, and under that scrutiny the possibilities for traditional heroism evaporate. The tribunal at the Bay of Naples and the affair with Emma Hamilton can no longer be avoided, brushed aside, or explained away. Like Jane Austen, we expect the domestic life to be as beyond reproach as the evidence of bravery. On the other hand, the empha- sis on his humanity has the corollary effect of making his weaknesses understandable. When his frail physical appearance ceases to be part of his legendary superhuman nature — the ethereal and murderous angel of light that Charles Cleasby clings to — and when he is seen for what he is, with all his shortcomings, it becomes possible to reconcile his great accomplishments with the foibles of his personal life, without diminishing the accomplishments or finding it necessary to turn a blind or apologetic eye to the foibles. That may be the modern form of hero- ism. MARTHA F. BOWDEN Kennesaw State University 41 Ibid., 334-35. 42 Sontag, The Volcano Lover, 193. 
work_posidt25wbhm7ntzflkfryw7ea	----	Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be Alright | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1177/1049909109331889 Corpus ID: 29122198Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be Alright @article{Pies2009EveryLT, title={Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be Alright}, author={R. Pies}, journal={American Journal of Hospice and Palliative Medicine®}, year={2009}, volume={26}, pages={213 - 213} } R. Pies Published 2009 Medicine American Journal of Hospice and Palliative Medicine® From the combination of knowledge and actions, someone can improve their skill and ability. It will lead them to live and work much better. This is why, the students, workers, or even employers should have reading habit for books. Any book will give certain knowledge to take all benefits. This is what this every little thing gonna be alright tells you. It will add more knowledge of you to life and work better. Try it and prove it.  View on SAGE ncbi.nlm.nih.gov Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper Topics from this paper Sodium gon (grade) Oxygen Hospital Information Systems Rosa Columbidae Fill Auditory pitch Related Papers Abstract Topics Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_pqn6svb2abb6rhq6kmgnv5nsyi	----	Texts and Documents INDEX OF PLACE NAMES Allerton 22, 30, 77, 78, 135, 152, i66 Angram 26 Arome, see Harome Bagby I48 Baldersby (Baudersby) 173 Braford 51 Cold Kirby (Caud Kyrby) 75 Cowesby (Cousby) 39 Coxwold (Cochold, Cockhold, Cockshold) 58, 133, I44, 146, 177, 185 Dale, The I62 Daletown 25 Hackenyeats i6o Harome (Arome, Pharom) 83, i8i Hawnby (Haunby) 40, 50, I63 Helmsley (Hemsley) 110, 114 Hollme bower 74 Hutton, see Sand Hutton Kepwick (Kepweek) 147 Kilvington 8I, I II, 170 Kirby, see Cold Kirby Kirby Wisk (Kirkby Wysk) i i, ioo,. Ioi Kirkby (Kerkby, Kyrkby) 137, 142, 184 Knayton 88 Landmoth 80 Maunby 103, 174 Murton 93, 109 Northallerton, see Allerton Old Byland (Baland) 49, 56, 59, 71 Oldstead (Old Steade) I 15, 120, 126 Osmotherley (Osmutherle) I04, i88 Otterington 53, 57; -, Great 95 Pharom, see Harome Pickering 131 Pickhill (Picoll) I 51, 182 Richmond 159 Sand Hutton (Sandhuton) 6o, 64, 68 Scawton (Scauton) 176 Sidney Sussex College 37 Silton 67, II8, 143 Skipton 178 Sowerby 12, 45 Thimbleby 28, 46, go Thirkleby 155, I67 Thirsk 79, 102, 112, II6,127, 138, 149, 150 Thornbrough (Thorneburg) 94 Thorn(e)ton 48; - le Moor (in the Mor) 171, 172 Tilehouse (Tylehowse) 14, 27, 43 Topcliffe (Topliefe) I5 Upsafl 62, 84, 91 Society Reports THE WORSHIPFUL SOCIETY OF APOTHECARIES OF LONDON FACULTY OF THE HISTORY OF MEDICINE AND PHARMACY FIRST AWARDS OF HONORARY FELLOWSHIP AT the inaugural session of the First British Congress on the History of Medicine and Pharmacy which was organized in London by the Faculty on 28th-3oth September I960, the Faculty's Chairman and Congress President, Dr. W. S. C. Copeman bestowed the Honorary Fellowship ofthe Faculty upon Sir Geoffrey Keynes and Professor Owsei Temkin. This new distinction is awarded for outstanding services to scholarship in the history ofmedicine and the number of Honorary Fellows is not to exceed twelve at any one time. Conferring the first Honorary Fellowship on Sir Geoffrey Keynes, Dr. Copeman said: In presenting Sir Geoffrey Keynes as the first Honorary Fellow of the Faculty we salute a man who has contributed and continues to contribute through a long and busy career to the I88 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300026168 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300026168 https://www.cambridge.org/core Society Reports advance of British medicine. Sir Geoffrey is not content to make history as a pioneer in many surgical fields, he has also written about his predecessors (as was said of Edward Gibbon) both luminously and voluminously. His historical researches extend far beyond medicine into the history of British science and literature from Donne and Evelyn and Hooke, from Jane Austen and Hazlitt, to Rupert Brooke and Siegfried Sassoon. His expertise as an art historian has led him to the chairmanship of our National Portrait Gallery, while he is most widely known as a profound student of the dual genius of William Blake. He is a book collector of outstanding discrimination, who uses his collections as a tool of scholarship. His studies in medical history range across the centuries from Ambroise Pare' to Sir William Osler. Here in -the City ofLondon we salute him as our leading authority on the life and writings of his great predecessor at St. Bartholomew's-William Harvey. In the absence of Sir Geoffrey Keynes in Rome, his award was received by Sir Arthur Porritt, President of the Royal College of Surgeons of England, who ex- pressed Sir Geoffrey's gratitude and appreciation of the honour accorded him and his regret that he was unable to be present. Dr. Copeman then conferred the Fellowship on Professor Temkin with the following account of his services to scholarship: In bestowing our Honorary Fellowship upon Professor Owsei Temkin the Faculty pays tribute to an erudite and modest scholar who has this year celebrated the 25th anniversary of his installation as Professor of the History of Medicine at Johns Hopkins University. He is also Director of the Institute of the History of Medicine in that university and has shown himself a worthy successor to his distinguished predecessor, the late Henry Sigerist. Founded by William Henry Welch on the lines of Sudhoff's famous institute at Leipzig where both Sigerist and Professor Temkin received their training, the Institute at Baltimore has already produced many fine professional medical historians. It is also an inspiration to us to know that all medical students at Johns Hopkins attend a course in history given by Professor Temkin and his assistants. Dr. Temkin's own contributions to the history ofclassical and mediaeval medicine have been many and his authoritative history of epilepsy entitled 'The Falling Sickness' is a model for all who attempt to trace the history of a disease. As teacher and as editor of the well known Bulletin of the Histor of Medicne he has always shown himself to be the counsellor and friend of the young aspirant. in medical history. As an individual he exemplifies the Faculty's own ideals and objectives, and as a representative of all that is best in American scholarship in our field he has, in accepting our Honorary Fellowship, helped to forge yet another of the many links which bind our two countries together. Professor Temkin's award was received on his behalf by Mr. S. Everett Gleason, the Cultural Attache to the American Embassy in London, who read the following message from Professor Temkin: I wish to express to the Faculty of the History of Medicine and Pharmacy of the Worshipful Society ofApothecaries ofLondon my sincere thanks for awarding me its Honorary Fellowship. The institution of this Fellowship for services to scholarship in the history of medicine will, I am sure, be welcomed by historians everywhere. It is my belief that scholarship, especially in the form of research, gives to the history of medicine the impetus needed for carrying it forward and preventing it from being an immutable reflection of a dead past. Research is born out ofnew questions and a willingness to find new answers, and at the same time it implies the scholar's responsibility for accuracy and truthfulness. New visions of medicine's position between yesterday and tomorrow, therefore, need the support of historical scholarship if they are to have our confidence. In the field of the history of medicine, which combines many 189 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300026168 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300026168 https://www.cambridge.org/core Society Reports tasks, the role assigned to scholarly research may well be stated again, if only to give us some assurance that even investigations without direct, pragmatic value may lead us in new directions and provide the basis for new convictions. I hope you will forgive me for inflicting these general observations upon you, for they help to indicate my feelings in having been chosen the recipient of one of your first Honorary Fellowships. Such personal pride as may be pardonable is enhanced by the thought that in selecting me you have not minded crossing the ocean. With my thanks I would like to send my greetings to this Inaugural Meeting. The First British Congress on the History of Medicine and Pharmacy will be acclaimed everywhere as an event of great significance. Though circumstances prevent me from being present on this illustrious occasion, I feel deeply gratified by the thought that my thanks and my greetings are to be c6nveyed to you by a representative of my country. Please accept my thanks, my greetings, and my very best wishes for your endeavours. SECOND BRITISH CONGRESS ON THE HISTORY OF MEDICINE AND PHARMACY THE theme of the Second British Congress on the History of Medicine and Pharmacy, which is being organized by the Faculty in cooperation with The Chemical Society, will be 'Chemistry in the Service of Medicine'. The Congress will be held in London from 27th-29th September I96I. Further details and application forms for member- ship will be available shortly from the Honorary Secretary, Dr. F. N. L. Poynter, Wellcome Historical Medical Library, The Wellcome Building, Euston Road, London, N.W.i. BRITISH NATIONAL COMMITTEE FOR THE HISTORY OF SCIENCE THE Council ofthe Royal Society has decided to set up a British National Committee for the History of Science with the following membership-Chairman: Sir Harold Hartley; Sir Gavin de Beer, Lord Fleck, Professor D. M. Newitt, Professor E. N. da C. Andrade, Professor D. McKie and Professor W. D. M. Paton to represent the Royal Society; together with representatives from the British Society for the History of Science, the Newcomen Society and the Faculty ofHistory ofMedicine and Pharmacy of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. The function of the new National Committee will be to maintain contact with the Division of the History of Science of the International Union for the History and Philosophy of Science with the object of facilitating international cooperation, to recommend to the Royal Society proposals for scientific action or matters for discussion which it may be desirable to bring before the General Assembly of the Union, and also to select delegates to represent the adhering organization (the Royal Society) at the General Assembly of the Union. Dr. W. S. C. Copeman has been nominated to serve as the representative of the Faculty of the History of Medicine and Pharmacy of the Society of Apothecaries on this Committee for a period of three years from i January I96I. 190 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300026168 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300026168 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_psuefqkk6nhoxd7r6xukpdigjm	----	2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of-integers.nb Pronunciation of the integers with full use of the place value system Thomas Colignatus http://thomascool.eu May 9 2018 � Thomas Cool CC-BY-NC-ND Abstract Kids in kindergarten live in a world of sounds, so that the pronunciation of numbers is important. When they start learning to read and write, the co-ordination of (i) sounds, (ii) words and (iii) numer- als is important. We already have the place value system fully in the numerals but not yet in written words and pronunciation. It appears that we can provide for a pronunciation of the integers with the full use of the place value system. The definitions should become an ISO standard, though the notebook and package still are quite simple. This notebook and package provide an implementa- tion for English, German, French, Dutch and Danish. Keywords mathematics education, place value system, pronunciation, Common Core, Mathematica, Wolfram language, programming, package MSC2010 97M70 Mathematics education. Behavioral and social sciences Cloud This notebook with package is also available at: (1) http://community.wolfram.com/web/cool (2) https://www.wolframcloud.com/objects/thomas-cool/MathEd/2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of- integers.nb (3) https://zenodo.org/record/1244009 or DOI 10.5281/zenodo.1244009 for this notebook and package and https://zenodo.org/record/1244064 or DOI 10.5281/zenodo.1244064 for the PDF I have not seen this implementation of pronunciation elsewhere (except in Chinese), so please refer to these locations so that others can find the full documentation. Contents 1. Introduction 2. Discussion 3. Example in English 4. Zig in German and tig in Dutch 5. Translate versus transliterate 6. Key properties of the package 7. The package 8. ISO standard 9. Conclusions 10. Appendix. French, Dutch and Danish 11. Literature Start (subsection for the initialisation cell with the package) 2 2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of-integers.nb 1. Introduction A picture says more than a thousand words: 25 = 2 � 10 + 5 = two�ten five PronounceIntegers�25, Speak � False� two�ten five� The trailing center dot is deliberate and indicates the ghost of departed one. The strict use of the place value system is that 1 is actually 1 of 1. PronounceIntegers�25, Speak � False, Simplify � False� two�ten five�one Kids in kindergarten live in a world of sounds, so that the pronuncation of numbers is important. When they start learning to read and write, the co-ordination of (i) sounds, (ii) words and (iii) numer- als is important. We already have the place value system fully in the numerals but not yet in written words and pronunciation. This notebook and package provide an implementation for English, German, French, Dutch and Danish. The user can supply other languages. Only needed are 17 terms, for sign, ten digits, and the six names for the powers of 10 to a million. The system proposed here is simple but still supports a full use of the place value system for educa- tion in elementary school. It hould become an ISO standard, so that researchers, educators and textbook publishers have stability of their enviroment. Even when schools would not implement the system, researchers require a standard to correct for confounding by the natural languages. The suggestion is that schools indeed embrace this full use of the place value system, so that the common language used at home can be regarded as a dialect of the mathematical language only. Kids can deal with such differences in language. I discussed the issue in: � (2015a), A child wants nice and no mean numbers � (2015b), The need for a standard for the mathematical pronunciation of the natural numbers. Suggested principles of design. Implementation for English, German, French, Dutch and Danish. The documentation and argumentation in this present notebook is rather brief, and the reader is referred to (2015ab) for the more involved discussion. The current notebook and package only provide for a software implementation in Mathematica. The reason for this supplement is that I am currently looking at the US Common Core State Standards (2018) and applications of Mathematica. Though the package contains the full system, with definitions for an ISO standard, it has practical limitations, like the million maximum and no relation to current pronunciation in the natural languages (already provided by Mathematica though). The main purpose of this notebook is to set some first steps towards implementation and to circulate the idea. Programming on language is quite involved, and implementing change even more. The discussion on content can be short: see (2015ab). Below, I briefly mention some history and other researchers. The main section explains the working of the package. It will be most instructive though to start with examples that highlight the properties. The main body of the text will use 2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of-integers.nb 3 English and German while French, Dutch and Danish are in the Appendix. PM 1. The center dots are not pronounced. PM 2. The West reads and writes from left to right, while the numbers came from a region in India that read and wrote from right to left. We can leave this issue as it is, for there is advantage in starting with the biggest value. 2. Discussion 2.1. History and others Jane Austen (1775-1817) apparently still wrote “three and twenty” insteady of “twenty-three”. The English speaking people are lucky that they managed the change. Norway managed the change in the 1950s. Fred Schuh (1875-1966) of TU Delft proposed this in the 1950s in Holland but didn’t convince the minister of education. I am not aware of others who think alike nowadays. In Germany there is a small movement with Lothar Gerritzen to change their "ein und zwanzig" into "zwanzig eins": https://zwanzigeins.jetzt/ In Denmark there are Lisser Rye Ejersbo and Morten Misfeldt at Aarhus: http://vbn.aau.dk/da/publi- cations/danish-number-names-and-number-concepts(7b79a70d-d42b-49dc-af1f-75775c9292f6)/ex- port.html China uses the full place value system. Fateman (2013) discusses computerised speaking of math, with a proper distinction between how we currently pronounce the numbers and how we “should” do this. It is much wider and deeper than my present purposes. 2.2. Main advantages To teach the place value system, it is advisable to actually use it. � Words and pronuncation would be co-ordinated with the numerals. (Number: numeral, words, pronunciation.) � The workflow is into a single direction, not jumping around. � Merely speaking a number aloud can already solve calculation questions. � Kids do not have to grope around in the dark. Current co-ordination failures often are not discussed so that kids simply do not know why they find issues complicated. � There will be a sizeable gain in teaching and learning time, that can be spent on real issues. � Research on mathematical skills and number sense is highly contaminated by this pronunciation issue. Much research draws invalid conclusions. Doing good research is quite impossible because you cannot simply experiment on kids by first training them on your own theory on the place value method. We neither can compare international results when there is such variety. (In studies in Holland and Denmark, kids were observed to use English, and telling others to do so too, because they better understood the numbers in that way.) 4 2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of-integers.nb 3. Example in English The following describes the notebook and package (and not the English language as it is). There could be a difference between the output that the package generates, intended for interactive learning, and texts that a textbook could show. For example, a textbook could have two�ten five but the package puts in some more blanks. 3.1. Writing and speaking There is a difference between speaking and writing (default). In both cases, a center dot indicates a combination of the weight and the value of the place, which dot is not pronounced. Writing uses a wider space to separate the place value positions, and speaking uses a pause. The present pause might be a bit long, but this length was pleasant for the transliteration of other languages. PronounceIntegers�21, Speak � False� two�ten �one PronounceIntegers�21� ��default Speak � True�� two�ten �silence msec�"300"�� �one 3.2. Simplify For the place value, it is important to recognise that 1 is actualy 1 of 1. But after a while this meticu- lous accuracy becomes annoying. It is advisable to use the place value system, but it is also accept- able to simplify “one hundred” into “hundred” and not to mention “zero hundred”. Nevertheless, for teaching it is important to show both the whole system and its simplification. PronounceIntegers�1, Speak � False� one PronounceIntegers�1, Speak � False, Simplify � False� one�one Above, there has been simplification of 21, indicated by a remaining center dot. If we do not sim- plify than we see the results of strictly follow the rules. PronounceIntegers�21, Speak � False, Simplify � False� two�ten one�one 3.3. The sign We only write and speak the minus sign explicitly, and that a number is positive. The proper pronun- ciation is “negative”, because “minus” is used for the binary operation. Unfortunately, Mathematica uses Minus[x] for -x, and also pronounces it that way. Wikipedia (a portal and no source) regards 2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of-integers.nb 5 “negative” as American English, and this fits that Stephen Wolfram came from the UK, but the better diagnosis is that British English is imprecise. Minus�10� �10 Speak��� PronounceIntegers���, Speak � False, Simplify � False� negative one�ten zero�one PronounceIntegers����, Speak � False� negative ten 3.4. Myriad and lakh Remarkably, there are no specific terms for 104 and 105 in all the languages in the package. The figure 12,345 is pronounced as 12 thousand etcetera. This is another breach upon the place value system, different from the ones that we mentioned earlier. Wikipedia (a portal and no source) observes the lack too, and mentions Greek myriad and Indian lakh. I have adopted these words for the languages mentioned in the packages too. It takes some adjustment to hear 500,000 being pronounced as 5 lakh, but such adjustment is the very purpose of the exercise. PronounceIntegers�500 000, Speak � False� five�lakh 4. Zig in German and tig in Dutch In English there is no conflict between 19 = ten nine and 90 = nine�ten, and with the current use of nineteen and ninety. For German there is this conflict: 19 is currently pronounced as neun-zehn, which conflicts with the place value pronunciation of 90. Dutch has the same problem. Comparable to English “ty”, German uses “zig” at the end of 40, 50, 60, 70, 80 and 90. Dutch has “tig”. We thus may use zig for 10 in German and tig for 10 in Dutch. For me, this flash of insight was a major step for accepting that there is scope for a full use of the place value system (in Holland). Thus the words above 30 remain the same but we only require changes for 10-30. Germans or Dutch who have a problem with zig or tig but who still want to make full use of the place value system, could also consider borrowing “ten” from English, or use scientific “deca” (though two syllables). PronounceIntegers�19, Speak � False, Language � "German"� �zig neun� PronounceIntegers�90, Speak � False, Language � "German"� neun�zig 6 2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of-integers.nb PronounceIntegers�19, Speak � False, Language � "Dutch"� �tig negen� PronounceIntegers�90, Speak � False, Language � "Dutch"� negen�tig The German association “Zwanzig-eins” are not fundamentalists. PronounceIntegers�21, Speak � False, Simplify � False, Language � "German"� zwei�zig ein�ein PronounceIntegers�21, Speak � False, Language � "German"� zwei�zig �ein Current German makes a distinction between “eins” for 1 separately and “ein” for further use. Current German uses “sieben” for 7 separately, and further has combinations with “sieb”. Such deviations happen in natural language but a systematic use has only one application, and I took what currently are most frequent: ein and sieb. (Danish has “syv”.) PronounceIntegers�77, Speak � False, Language � "German"� sieb�zig sieb� PronounceIntegers�77, Language � "German"� sieb�tzeeg �silence msec�"300"�� sieb� The present proposal clashes with the “Zwanzig-eins” movement on the numbers 0-20 that are important for education: zig for zehn, and thus also 11-19 using zig, and zwei�zig, to show the working of the place value system. Arbitrary in my implementation are: ein for eins, sieb for sieben, dreißig would also become drei�zig. See Colignatus (2015b). Remember also my distinction between the math language in school and the dialect of current language. My suggestion is that the movement could become stronger if it includes the full place value system alongside their original views. 5. Translate versus transliterate The user can adapt the $Language in the Preferences of Mathematica, and then the provided words will be pronounced properly in the specified language. The package indicates the proper values by the option True. However, there will be users who have Mathematica running under one specific language (e.g. $Language = “English”) and who still have interest in the pronunciation of the different languages. In that case, transliteration may help. Above, we saw “zig” in German being transliterated by “tzeeg” in English, for the simple reason that the current setting of $Language is “English”. The package can be simple since we only require 1+10+6 = 17 transliterations per language, to pronounce the integers from -9,999,999 to 9,999,999. 2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of-integers.nb 7 6. Key properties of the package Key properties of the package are: � Written output is always in the words selected by the Language � “language” option. The words themselves are user-supplied in PronounceIntegersRules[“language”], with the option True � {settings}. � Spoken output will be a transliteration of those words using Speak. This transliteration is user- supplied in PronounceIntegersRules[“language”], option “transliteration language” � {settings}. The transliteration language would generally be $Language. � Implemented are English, German, French, Dutch and Danish, assuming that $Language (the transliterator) is English. � $Language has been set in the Preferences of Mathematica. The user can provide other languages. � For each language the user provides: (i) option True � words for the minus sign, digits 0 ... 9 and values 101, ..., 106, in the relevant language, and (ii) option “transliterator language” � the same input as above but now as a transliteration in terms of that transliterator language (commonly $Language). Thus it is possible to have Language � Korean and a transliteration in “SpeakTransliteration” � “Japanese”. Currently though, the latter only works when $Language = “Japanese” too. The current programme structure allows for future changes on this. PronounceIntegersRules�"German"� �True � �Negative � negativ, N � �null, ein, zwei, drei, vier, fuenf , sechs, sieb, acht, neun , Power � �zig, hundert, tausend, myriad, lakh, million , English � �Negative � nayguhteef, N � �nuhl, ayen, tsvwaayie, dry, fear, fuihnf , sex, sieb, akht, noin , Power � �tzeeg, hoondert, tausand, myriad, lakh, meelyohn 7. The package The package has: ? Cool`MathEd`PronounceIntegers`� Cool`MathEd`PronounceIntegers` PronounceIntegers PronounceIntegersRules SpeakTransliteration 8 2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of-integers.nb ? PronounceIntegers PronounceIntegers�n� gives n up to place value 10^6 as text or in Speak, and the latter with pauses for hearing and possible transliteration in the system default language �e.g. English�. Options with defaults are: Language "English" uses PronounceIntegersRules�"English"�, see there SpeakTransliteration : $Language �often "English"�, see there Speak True, Length a string that contains an instruction for the length of pause, that is used between the positions, Join "�" to join the texts of the weight and place value, default the �unpronounced� center dot Symplify True eliminates terms with 0 weights and replaces 1 P by P, for P � 1, 10, ..., 10^6 ? SpeakTransliteration SpeakTransliteration is an option of PronounceIntegers with default $Language. It selects the relevant setting from the PronounceIntegersRules. If the Language option is equal to the transliterator �$Language� then writing and speaking will be done from the True rule. When the option Language is set to another value, then the integers are written from True but spoken by the transliterator ? PronounceIntegersRules PronounceIntegersRules�"Language"� � �True t, "OtherLanguage" f , with t � �Negative string, N �strings for 0...9 , Power �strings for 10, ..., 10^6 , for the true way of writing and pronunciation �when this original language � $Language�, and f � �... similar ... for the transliteration into the actual $Language. See the examples for "English" �f is not required given $Language � "English"� and "Dutch" �t � f�. Negative how the minus sign is written or pronounced �better as negative� N �names how the digits 0 ... 9 are written or pronounced Power �names how 10 ... 10^6 are written or pronounced . See SpeakTransliteration for checking on $Language. Implemented are English, German, French, Dutch and Danish �with some guessing�. The languages have �Greek� myriad for 10^4 and �Indian� lakh for 10^5 8. ISO standard 8.1. ISO and NEN The package contains the definitions for the full use of the place value system in a way that fits education: both the full structure and the simplification on 0 and 1. It should become an ISO stan- dard, so that educators, researchs and textbook and software publishers have a persistent environ- ment. There are some limitations on maximum million and language particulars, but those are not material to the standard. In Holland, NEN is the portal for International ISO: https://www.nen.nl/About-NEN.htm. They are no public utility so that the development of norms and standards must be paid for by users. They also 2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of-integers.nb 9 public utility so that the development of norms and standards must be paid for by users. They also have a crowd-sourcing option for such initiatives: https://nencrowd.nl. Before they allow the use of this option, they want some guarantee that there is a community with an interest in the project. In this case, it would be researchers, the Ministry of Education and publishers. To my regret, I have met no interest yet. 8.2. Open source journals Publication could be done in an open access journal, and the proper way to get open access jour- nals is by the universities, see Gowers (2017) and my letter to VSNU, Colignatus (2016). Present (paywall) journals have also specialisations on approaches to education and psychology, may require field testing on actual implementation, and apparently are not open to the particular approach of redesign of mathematics education that this notebook and package present. Thus I observed that such journals can publish invalid research but will not publish or even report about this present proposal for improvement. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes. 9. Conclusions It is obviously advantageous when not only the numeral but also the words and pronunciation fully use the place value system. It is only a question whether the educational system would be willing to adapt. The package gives the full definitions for a full use of the place value system for kindergarten and elementary school. Still it is simple and has some design features that must be arbitrary. The transliteration is only provided for some quick indications and not the key part. The notebook and package look meagre compared to the wealth and subtlety that already exist for the pronunciation of the natural languages and current conventions on pronouncing the numbers. The awkward ways of the past are being hardcoded now. Hopefully some of those resources can be used to support the full use of the place value system. I have not seen this implementation of pronunciation elsewhere (except in Chinese), so please refer to these locations so that others can find the full documentation. 10. Appendix. French, Dutch and Danish For Dutch, the design questions are similar like German. PronounceIntegers�9119, Speak � False, Language � "Dutch"� negen�duizend �honderd �tig negen� PronounceIntegersRules�"Dutch"� �True � �Negative � min, N � �nul, een, twee, drie, vier, vijf , zes, zeven, acht, negen , Power � �tig, honderd, duizend, myriad, lakh, miljoen , English � �Negative � min, N � �nuhl, ayn, tway, dree, fear, vaif , zes, zayven, akht, naigen , Power � �tikgh, hon dairt, duuzand, myriad, lakh, milyoon For French and Danish I again refer to Colignatus (2015b) for their current complexity. Danish can use ti and French can use dix, so we do not need a new word for 10. 10 2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of-integers.nb PronounceIntegers�9189, Speak � False, Language � "French"� neuf�mille �cent huit�dix neuf� PronounceIntegersRules�"French"� �True � �Negative � negative, N � �zero, un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf , Power � �dix, cent, mille, myriad, lakh, million , English � �Negative � nayguhteef, N � �zeyroh, uhnn, duh, trouwah, kahtruh, saink, sees, seht, weet, neuhf , Power � �dees, sahn, meel, myriad, lakh, meelyon PronounceIntegers�9189, Speak � False, Language � "Danish"� ni�tusind �hundrede otte�ti ni� For Danish, I transliterated listening to Google Translate. I might not hear subtleties that native speakers would hear. PronounceIntegersRules�"Danish"� �True � �Negative � negativ, N � �nul, en, to, tre, fire, fem, seks, syv, otte, ni , Power � �ti, hundrede, tusind, myriad, lakh, million , English � �Negative � nayguhtew, N � �nul, ayn, toh, trya, fear, fem, sex, suwe, ude, knee , Power � �tee, hoonah, toosind, myriad, lakh, meelyohn 11. Literature Thomas Colignatus is the scientific name of Thomas Cool, econometrician and teacher of mathemat- ics, Scheveningen, Holland. Colignatus, Th. (2015a), A child wants nice and no mean numbers, (1) website: http://thomascool.eu/Papers/NiceNumbers/Index.html (2) PDF on Zenodo: https://zenodo.org/record/291979 (3) Publisher for a print: https://www.mijnbestseller.nl/shop/index.php/catalog/produc- t/view/id/118082/s/a-child-wants-nice-and-no-mean-numbers-79074-www-mijnbestseller-nl/ Colignatus, Th. (2015b), The need for a standard for the mathematical pronunciation of the natural numbers. Suggested principles of design. Implementation for English, German, French, Dutch and Danish, https://zenodo.org/record/292984 Colignatus, Th. (2016), Letter to VSNU and others on membership dues and open access publishing, https://boycottholland.wordpress.com/2016/10/12/letter-to-vsnu-and-others-on-membership- dues-and-open-access-publishing/ Common Core Standards (2018), Number & Operations in Base Ten, http://www.corestandards.org/- Math/Content/NBT/ with also Understand place value Fateman, R. (2013), How can we speak math?, https://people.eecs.berkeley.edu/~fateman/papers/s- peakmath.pdf Gowers, T. (2017), The end of an error?, https://www.the-tls.co.uk/articles/public/the-end-of-an- error-peer-review/ 2018-05-09-Pronunciation-of-integers.nb 11 
work_pzfcyfywvveohca2aoddc623na	----	TF_Template_Word_Windows_2016 On the Individuation of Words Abstract: The idea that two words can be instances of the same word is a central intuition in our conception of language. This fact underlies many of the claims that we make about how we communicate, and how we understand each other. Given this, irrespective of what we think words are, it is common to think that any putative ontology of words, must be able to explain this feature of language. That is, we need to provide criteria of identity for word-types which allow us to individuate words such that it can be the case that two particular word-instances are instances of the same word-type (on the assumption that there are such types). One solution, recently further developed by Irmak (2018), holds that words are individuated by their history. In this paper, I argue that this view either fails to account for our intuitions about word identity, or is too vague to be a plausible answer to the problem of word individuation. Keywords: Metaphysics of Words; Criteria of Identity; Metaphysics; History; Language Pre-Proof Copy – Please cite published version J.T.M. Miller a a Department of Philosophy, University of Nottingham, UK james.t.m.miller@gmail.com On the Individuation of Words The idea that two words can be instances of the same word is a central intuition in our conception of language. This fact underlies many of the claims that we make about how we communicate, and how we understand each other. Given this, irrespective of what we think words are, it is common to think that any putative ontology of words, must be able to explain this feature of language. That is, we need to provide criteria of identity for word-types which allow us to individuate words such that it can be the case that two particular word-instances are instances of the same word-type (on the assumption that there are such types). One solution, recently further developed by Irmak (2018), holds that words are individuated by their history. In this paper, I argue that this view either fails to account for our intuitions about word identity, or is too vague to be a plausible answer to the problem of word individuation. I Perhaps the most defended view in the metaphysics of words are those views that posit genuinely existing word-types. Such views can be further split into the platonists that take word-types to be eternal abstract entities (Katz 1981, Wetzel 2009); and views that take word-types to be abstract artefacts (Irmak 2018). Despite various differences between these versions of type-realist views of words, most prominently concerning whether words are created or eternal entities, they agree that what is it for two particular word- instances or tokens to be the same word is for them to both be instances of the same type.1 This, naturally, leads to questions about the individuation of word-types and of word- instances. Though connected, these two issues need to be carefully separated. The latter is the question of what connects word-instances such that two instances are instances of the same word-type. The former concerns how we differentiate the types themselves. The focus in this paper is on solutions to the problem of individuating word-types, and thus, unless specified, in the rest of this paper the term ‘word’ will refer to types, not instances. 1 Other prominent options, which I will not discuss here, are nominalism, which has been largely undefended since Quine (1960) and Bloomfield (1933), though see Miller (Ms.) for a recent, sympathetic discussion, and a stage-continuant model (see Kaplan 1990, 2011); It is well recognised that trying to individuate words through their phonetic, orthographic, or semantic properties is flawed. On so-called form- or shape-theoretic conceptions of words, which hold that two words are instances of the same word if they share the same relevant (physical) shape or form, a quick reflection on the multitude of different pronunciations, spellings, and examples of different handwriting and fonts makes it very hard to see what in terms of shape or form is truly had in common between intuitively genuine cases of multiple instances of the same word. Two people can clearly say the same word despite pronouncing the word differently. ‘Color’ and ‘colour’ are similarly the same word, despite the difference between US and British spelling. Homophones are distinct words even though they are pronounced the same, and ‘bank’ and ‘bank’ are distinct despite being spelt (and pronounced) in the same way. Further to this, it seems intuitively to be the case that words undergo phonetic and orthographic change. The ‘Great Vowel Shift’ did not create a new language.2 Even it were the case that the shift led to speakers struggling to understand some others, this does not mean that there was a change in language, nor a change in the identity of the words that underwent a change in their pronunciation. Thus, we can reject views that individuate words through their phonetic or orthographic properties. A semantic account fares little better. Words undergo semantic change just as they undergo phonetic and orthographic change. On some occasions, this even involves a word coming to mean something entirely distinct from its original meaning. Take the recently well-discussed (on the internet) example of many people using the word ‘literally’ as a near synonym of ‘figuratively’. This form of use is prevalent across many places online, and has got a lot of people very angry.3 Does this mean that the word has changed, or are 2 For more on the Great Vowel Shift, including on the debate about the causes of it, see Nevalainen and Traugott (2012). 3 See https://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/misuse-of-literally. Note also that literary greats such as F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce, Charlotte Brontë, and Charles Dickens all used literally to mean figuratively on occasion. The supposed ‘modern’ use of the term is much older than some seem to realise. https://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/misuse-of-literally. people using a homophone or homograph in such cases? It seems far more reasonable to think that, if anything, the meaning of the word has changed, and that the word itself remains the same.4 Semantics, therefore, is also not a good guide to the identity of words. In light of these, and other problems, theorists have explored versions of an account that places the historical properties or the origin of words as central to their individuation. Thus: Origin: Words w1 and w2 are identical iff w1 and w2 have the same originating event (where the originating event is the first performance of a word) (Hawthorne and Lepore 2011: 477).5 Origin, though, is still too crude a proposal. There are many cases in which words share an originating event, but are not intuitively the same word. Many distinct words in English, for example, derive from the same Latin root. Furthermore, it rules out unperformed words, or at least assumes that words only come into existence when performed. We might try to respond by allowing that a mental performance of a word is sufficient for origin, but either way, origin does not seem satisfactory due to its demand that there is for each word exactly one performance that is the first performance of that word (Hawthorne and Lepore 2011: 477). Irmak has used these problems to motivate a broader account where words are individuated via their history. This account places etymology at the centre of our inquiries into word identity: ‘Etymology, then, is not merely an empirical investigation concerning the history of words as linguistic units, but also a proper investigation of word identity’ (2018: 12), where what we are interested in tracking are the ‘changes in their orthographic 4 i.e. that this use did not bring into existence the homophonous word ‘literally’ such that we would now need to distinguish between two words: ‘literally1’ and ‘literally2’. Use, at best, changed what the singular word meant. 5 Hawthorne and Lepore attribute this view to Richard (1990) and Millikan (1984). See also Kripke (1980). and phonological forms, and meanings and/or functions’ (2018: 12). Irmak thus proposes (2018: 12): History: Words w1 and w2 are identical if and only if they have the same history. We are not told what facts are included in history, but we can assume that given Irmak thinks that he view avoids the problems associated with origin, that they include both origin and other performance facts, potentially including the mental performances of words (if such events count as performances). Thus history does not require, as origin did, that there is exactly one event that is the first performance of a word. A word could have two distinct originating events, just so long as both events are part of the history of that word. History seems to give us the right answers for many of our intuitions about language. The difference between ‘color’ and ‘colour’ is insignificant as they share the same history. Homophones, homographs, and synonyms are distinct words because their histories are different, and ‘in virtue of significant differences in their histories, specifically the particular way and the time they were borrowed from the donor language, doublets are successfully rendered different yet cognate words despite sharing a common root’ (Irmak 2018: 13). It is accepted that the view is not entirely without problems (Irmak 2018: 13). Words overlap and even share etymologies, both within a language, and across languages. That is, how and when do overlapping words become distinct under this account? How many new uses, and how distinct from other uses, before a new word exists? This is presented as a purely epistemological problem. In what remains, I will argue that the problem goes deeper, and that there is no interpretation of ‘same history’ that provides us with a plausible account of word individuation. II Let us canvass some possibilities, beginning with the strongest reading of ‘same’, where same means identical such that we get: History*: Words w1 and w2 are identical if and only if they have an identical history. However, read this way, History* means that words are, in fact, almost never identical. The reason for this is that history is an ever-growing set of (etymological) facts. The history of the words that I am producing instances of right now is different from those instanced by Jane Austen and Charles Dickens. This is, in part, because the history of my words includes the influential use of words by famous authors that may have adjusted their meaning, made them more popular, changed their spellings, or had any number of effects that contribute to that word’s history. The words that I am producing instances of have a history that includes their use by Austen, whilst Austen’s do not. Thus it cannot be that Austen and I ever instanced the same word. This, of course, works for more familiar cases too. ‘Color’ and ‘colour’ do not actually share an identical history as the history of ‘color’ includes various uses in America, whilst ‘colour’ in Britain (as well as various other differences). This is a serious enough issue that History* cannot be a plausible account of word individuation. If words cannot, in principle, be shared by speakers of the same language at two distinct times under a given theory, then I propose that that is sufficient reason to reject that theory of word individuation. An alternative might be to say it is enough that H1, the set of history facts that individuates w1, is subset of H2, the set of history facts that individuates w2. We might then say that when I write w1, and Austen has written w2, then w1=w2 iff all the facts that are members of H2 are members of H1. Thus, Austen and I can write the same word, despite H1 and H2 not being identical. Thus we get: History**: Words w1 and w2 are identical if and only if they have the same history, or if the history of w1 is a subset of w2. This, though, will not work. One phenomenon we want to be able to explain is how borrowed words are new words in the language into which they are introduced, distinct from the different but cognate word with which they share a root. But History** does not allow for this. For example, ‘aardvark’ is a borrowed word in English from Afrikaans. In Afrikaans, ‘aardvark’ is now an obsolete term, having been replaced by ‘erdvark’. This shared root means that ‘aardvark’ and ‘erdvark’ have a significantly shared history. The English word has a history that includes all of the history of the (now obsolete) Afrikaans word as a subset. That is, the full etymology of ‘aardvark’ in English will include all the etymological facts of ‘aardvark’ in Afrikaans, at least up until the moment of that the word was borrowed. Thus, at that moment at least, the two words would satisfy history**, but intuitively they are still distinct words. Given this, we might say that the histories only have to be sufficiently similar: History***: Words w1 and w2 are identical if and only if they have the same or sufficiently similar history. However, this is so vague as to be unhelpful. Taking about the ‘aardvark’ example from above. ‘aardvark’ (in English) and ‘erdvark’ (the current term in Afrikaans) have a significantly shared history. Are they then the same word? For myself, intuitively they are not, but History*** leaves open the possibility that they are. At the same time, ‘color’ and ‘colour’, intuitively are the same, but History*** leaves open the possibility that they are not. The problem is that it is not clear at all how much similarity is required to determine questions about word identity. At worst, in the above case identity in history may not be sufficient for word identity: an English instance of “aardvark” and an Afrikaans instance of “erdwark” do not count as instances of the same word, despite sharing their history. It should be noted that such vagueness in the notion of ‘sufficient similarity’ is not unique to history, but is common to many of the proposals for word individuation. Versions of the same problem have been argued as being sufficient to reject the attempt to individuate words through their shape or form (Wetzel 2009; Hawthorne and Lepore 2011; Irmak 2018), through meaning (Irmak 2018), and through the intentions of speakers (Cappelen 2000). If we accept, as most have, such an issue to be enough to lead us to reject those other proposals, then it would seem that it should be enough to reject history too. III In what remains, I will respond to some immediate objections to my argument. It might be responded that I have confused word types with word instances. That is, that I have used history applied to word instances to make a point about a theory aimed at providing a criteria of identity for word types. However, whilst I have used word instances in making my point, in each case the question has been about whether history can provide individuating conditions for types. History is taken to provide a solution to that question as, by individuating word types, we aim to be able to individuate the instances. I asked whether w1, an instance of which was produced by Austen, is the same word as w2, an instance of which was produced by me, here in 2018. On any reasonable specification of how much history w1 and w2 must share to be identical, either the theory produces the wrong answer (e.g. Austen and I did not instance the same word), or becomes as vague as the previously outlined positions. Thus, though w1 and w2 are instances, the conclusion is about whether or not the proposed criteria of identity for the type, W, explains how w1 and w2 are instances of the same word, One way that my objection could be avoided is by adopting a version of Platonism where, given that words are eternal unchanging entities, the history of a word already includes facts about uses of that word in the future (from our current perspective). This would avoid the problem as it would allow us to say that the word that Austen and I instance do have the same history, as the history of the word instanced by Austen (and me) includes all the facts relating to my use of the word, and all other instancings of the word. However, this immediately has some very strange consequences for how we think of words in that it would make it the case that the history of a word is predetermined, or even necessary. That is, if history already includes facts about all uses of a word in the future, then we would have to accept that those future uses could not be different, else the word would actually be a different word. This is highly counter-intuitive. We think that various aspects about language and words are contingent, including facts about whether, say, some word is adopted by some community of speakers, or comes to be spelt or pronounced in a different way. It should not be the case that how we individuate words means that it is necessary that ‘shew’ came later to be spelt ‘show’, or that a word will shift its meaning. Furthermore, this response would make the practical job of individuating words almost impossible. We simply would not know whether the full history of two instances of words used now are the same word as history includes relevant facts about future uses. Perhaps for the Platonist, this is not too problematic; they after all already have to handle objections about how it possible for us to in any sense come to know or grasp eternal unchanging abstract entities.6 However, this at least shows that the view is more counter- intuitive than it might initially seem. Furthermore, even if those problems can be avoided, this route is not available to at least some realists about word-types such as Irmak who argues that words, though being abstract, still come into existence (2018). If words genuinely come into existence, then it seems as though it would not be the case that the word would have all of its historical facts at that moment of creation. If a major benefit of history is that we can maintain our intuitive way of speaking that a word’s history changes and grows over time, then that benefit would be lost if we adopt this response to the arguments above. One further response might be that I have been overly metaphysical in my reasoning here. Perhaps: looking for precise boundaries for word identity will either result in determinate answers to complicated cases where major revisions are required in our linguistic practices concerning word identity, or in so far as it attempts to respect and even justify such practices it will eventually fail. It must be noted that for the vast majority of cases the problem does not even arise. The concern here is about those cases where the similarities and differences in word histories are not even nearly decisive (Irmak 2018: 13) However, first, in the examples I have used here, I have shown that these concerns arise for all sorts of ordinary words. ‘aardvark’ is not an unusual case, and it is not a (particularly) uncommon word. It seems that these problems do not arise in the vast majority of cases only because we are not looking. Analogously, to those who have not read the metaphysical literature, the puzzles about material composition only arise in the most strange and extreme examples, but that should not that persuade us that there is no question there. We might have other reasons for thinking that the questions are non-substantive, but that we do not normally care about whether a table is really just particles-arranged-tablewise is by itself no reason to think that no good answer is forthcoming. Similarly, just because I do not, in ordinary 6 See Benacerraf 1965, 1983 and Field 1980, 1989 for discussion of such problems; see Wetzel 2009 for a response to these concerns. conversation, stop the speaker to ask whether they are uttering an instance of ‘w1’ or ‘w2’ because the context tells which it is, not does free us from the metaphysical puzzle, irrespective of whether we want to be revisionists about linguistic practices or not. It may that determinate answers on this topic, as with many in metaphysics, would seem to require revisions to our linguistic practice, but only if we think that we should (let alone could) abide by correct metaphysical principles in all parts of our lives. Compositional nihilists do not think that people should stop talking as if composite objects exist. A revisionist metaphysics of words does not mean that we think that people should stop talking whatever way is best for them in a particular context. In both cases, if truly revisionary, then some account might be needed to explain why other less revisionary accounts should not be favoured. However, none of this is an argument against looking for precise boundaries; only to be aware of the consequences for any proposed precise boundaries on both philosophical and ‘common-sense’ contexts. IV The lack of a good account of criterion of individuation for words is well-recognised. This has lead Hawthorne and Lepore to the position of ‘sloppy realism’ wherein we accept that there must be some criterion of individuation for words, but that we cannot (at least currently) specify them (2011). Despite the arguments in this paper, I am more hopeful than that. Like Irmak, I do think that there are objective facts about the individuation of words (Irmak 2018: 13), even if such facts will involve facts about humans, and I think that we can at least improve on our accounts of what such facts are. But even granting this, history, as currently stated, is either too vague or too restrictive, and thus is not a significant improvement on previous theories of word individuation. Acknowledgements I would like to thank Anna Bortolan, and audiences in Berlin, Nottingham, Oxford, and at the 13th Conference of the Italian Society for Analytic Philosophy (SIFA) for highly useful discussions about topics in this paper. References Benacerraf, P. 1965. “What Numbers Could Not Be.” Philosophical Review, 74: 47–73. Benacerraf, P. 1983. “Mathematical Truth.” In Philosophy of Mathematics, eds. P. Benacerraf and H. Putnam. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bloomfield, L. 1933. Language. New York: Henry Holt. Cappelen, H., 1999. ‘Intentions in Words’, Nous, 33, no.1: 92-102. Field, H. 1980. Science without Numbers. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Field, H. 1989. “Realism and Anti-Realism about Mathematics.” In his Realism, Mathematics, and Modality. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.. Hawthorne, J., and E. Lepore, 2011. ‘On Words’, Journal of Philosophy, 108, no. 9: 447- 485. Irmak, N. 2018. ‘An Ontology of Words’, Erkenntnis. Online First: https://doi.org/10.1007/s10670-018-0001-0. Kaplan, D. 1990. ‘Words’, Aristotelian Society Supplementary, 64: 93–119. Kaplan, D. 2011. ‘Words on Words’, Journal of Philosophy, 108, no. 9: 504-529. Katz, J.J. 1981. Language and Other Abstract Objects. Totowa, New Jersey: Rowman and Littlefield. Katz, J.J. 2000. Realistic Rationalism. Cambridge: MIT Press. Kripke, S. 1980. Naming and Necessity. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Miller, J.T.M. Ms. ‘Against Words as Substances’. Millikan, R. 1984. Language, Thought, and Other Biological Categories. Cambridge: MIT Press. Nevalainen, T., and E. C Traugott,. (eds.). 2012. The Oxford Handbook of the History of English. Oxford: Oxford University Press Quine, W.V.O. 1960. Word and Object. Cambridge: MIT Press. Richard, M. 1990. Propositional Attitudes: An Essay on Thoughts and How We Ascribe Them. New York: Cambridge University Press. Wetzel, L. 2009. Types and Tokens: An Essay on Abstract Objects. Boston, MA: MIT Press. 
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work_pifuzo2cd5fvhjc3x5ypbqs7pu	----	Microsoft Word - THESIS -- I am Excessively Diverted.docx “I AM EXCESSIVELY DIVERTED”: RECENT ADAPTATIONS OF PRIDE AND PREJUDICE ON TELEVISION, FILM, AND DIGITAL MEDIA by Whitney Cant B.A., The University of King’s College, 2012 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF ARTS in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Film Studies) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) April 2014 © Whitney Cant, 2014 ii Abstract It is a truth universally acknowledged that Jane Austen is the proverbial choice for adaptation, especially her most famous novel Pride and Prejudice, published in 1813. Remarkably, this two hundred-year-old novel written by a lady who never married, always lived at home, and died at the age of forty-one, is one of the most timeless stories in English literature. Adapters are drawn to the story of Elizabeth and Darcy, both to pay reverence to the original, and to impart their own vision of the classic tale of first impressions. In the past two decades, the most creative, popular, and financially successful adaptations have emerged: the 1995 BBC miniseries Pride and Prejudice directed by Simon Langton, the 2005 feature film Pride & Prejudice directed by Joe Wright, and the 2012 transmedia storytelling experience The Lizzie Bennet Diaries directed by Bernie Su. This thesis utilizes the three components of Linda Hutcheon’s A Theory of Adaptation (2006) to discuss these works at length. After a preliminary chapter outlining the major adaptations theories, in Chapter Two I examine the 1995 BBC miniseries as a formal entity or product; in Chapter Three I discuss the 2005 film as a process of creation; and in Chapter Four I analyze the 2012 transmedia experience as a process of reception. This thesis argues that each of these adaptations does something remarkably different to set itself apart from the novel and the adaptations before it. I claim that adaptations of Pride and Prejudice from the 1990s onward respond back to the most recent adaptation just as much as they do the original novel, affirming the increasing popularity of Pride and Prejudice as an adaptive source text. iii Preface This thesis is original, unpublished, independent work by the author, Whitney Cant. iv Table of Contents Abstract.………………………………………………………………………………….ii Preface.…………………………………………………………………………………..iii Table of Contents.……………………………………………………………………….iv Acknowledgements.……………………………………………………………………...v Introduction: A Truth Universally Acknowledged.……………………………………1 Chapter One: The Politics of Adaptation Theory.……………………………………..9 Chapter Two: A Formal Entity or Product: The 1995 BBC Miniseries…………….27 Chapter Three: A Process of Creation: Joe Wright’s 2005 Film……………………48 Chapter Four: A Process of Reception: The Lizzie Bennet Diaries 2012 Transmedia Storytelling Experience……………………………....………………………...68 Conclusion: For The Love of Austen.…………………………………………………85 Filmography.……………………………………………………………………………90 Bibliography.……………………………………………………………………………91 v Acknowledgements It is a truly wonderful moment when you discover your passion and I was fortunate to find mine at an early age. I would like to thank the University of British Columbia’s MA graduate program in Film Studies for giving me this opportunity to write about that passion, and for giving me a legitimate reason for spending hours watching adaptations of Pride and Prejudice. I would like to thank my supervisor Brian McIlroy for inherently knowing how I needed to be supervised, challenging me to explore my options, giving me the time and space I needed to craft this thesis, and for guiding me on this journey of writing. I am extremely grateful to the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada for funding the second year of my degree through the Joseph L. Bombardier Graduate Scholarship and giving me the financial security to explore my passions. I would also like to extend my thanks to The University of British Columbia for a Graduate Initiative Scholarship and to the Foundation for the Advancement of Aboriginal Youth Scholarship for helping to fund the first year of my degree. Thank you so much to my family for always supporting me and loving me no matter what. I would like to thank Hank Green for taking what we both agree is “the best story of all time” and turning it into the most creative and exciting adaptation of Pride and Prejudice I have ever encountered and which inspired this thesis. Thank you to the various film score composers whose music has provided the soundtrack for my writing and kept me focused on finishing each chapter. Lastly, I would like to thank Jane Austen for writing a novel that has brought me so much joy and entertainment through its pages and through the visual representations that have been made of it. I was excessively diverted. 1 Introduction: A Truth Universally Acknowledged “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice It is said that “other books are read; Austen’s are devoured. […] Other novels can be read through once and soon forgotten, but our favourite Austen novels haunt us our entire lives” (Carson xi-xii). Adaptations of Jane Austen’s novels, especially Pride and Prejudice, equally haunt our lives, and haunt future adaptations as well. Written during the Regency period of England, Austen’s novel about first impressions is unique to her time period and its social rules and expectations, but it is anything but dated. The love story of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy traverses time periods and cultures, and as of March 31, 2014, it is the most popular of her novels to be adapted, with nineteen P&P works listed with Jane Austen as author on the Internet Movie Database (“Jane Austen,” web). This is not a comprehensive list, nor is the inventory in Deborah Cartmell’s book Screen Adaptations: Pride and Prejudice: The Relationship Between Text and Film,1 as both omit adaptations the other lists, and neither includes The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. But the IMDb list is the best source currently available to tally these, as it is an electronic resource and is frequently updated. Linda Hutcheon, the adaptation theorist who guides my analyses in this thesis, argues that as humans we desire the same story over and over again, much like we desire the same bedtime story every night as children, but we also need that story to change each time (Hutcheon 176). Every adaptation of Pride and Prejudice is the same, yet different, satisfying our desire for sameness and giving us 1 This book offers the most comprehensive list of Pride and Prejudice adaptations in print as it is one of the newest publications, in 2010. Other less comprehensive lists can be found in Jane Austen in Hollywood (Troost and Greenfield, eds. 1998) and Jane Austen on Screen (Macdonald and Macdonald, eds. 2003), see Bibliography for both. 2 something new to experience with each adaptation; Hutcheon calls this “repetition without replication” (Hutcheon 7). Looking at the history of adaptations of her novels, Jane Austen is conspicuously absent from before the sound era, according to Deborah Cartmell, a foremost scholar on adaptations of Austen’s work. She argues, While filmmakers in the silent period produced plenty of adaptations of the plays of Shakespeare and the novels of Dickens, Charlotte Brontë, and Tolstoy, it seems that no cinematic value or potential was detected in Austen’s novels. It’s easy to understand why: stripped of their words, the novels would appear quite absurd; […] nothing much happens in Austen’s stories, the pleasure being in the choice of words and in the verbal subtleties (Cartmell 4). However, since sound began to be used in filmmaking in the late 1920s, Austen’s novels have graced the screens of movie theatres and the televisions of living rooms around the world, most notably in the Western, English-speaking world. Given the length of her novels, Austen was more appropriately adapted to television more than feature films up until the 1990s. At this point in time, more creative and liberal adaptations, usually headed by women, began to grace the silver screen, and this movement began to be categorized as “Austenmania” (Hudelet 148). Rachel Brownstein argues, “Why adapt Pride and Prejudice for the screen? Better to ask, why not? […] Hollywood was always looking for plots, and certainly variants on that reliable plot in which a charming young lady and a handsome young man find true love in spite of impediments. Austen’s name recognition would not hurt sales [either]” (Brownstein 15). These new predominately female-driven Austen adaptations delved deeper into their source texts than the adaptations of the decades before them and, as a result, they find more connections between the novels and the contemporary world than any others. 3 What is most telling about adaptations coming out of Austenmania in the 90s, is that they adapt more than just Austen’s novels, they also respond back to previous adaptations and establish themselves as completely different from them. But, this intent differentiation does not entail complete separation. Adaptations are not separate entities in and of themselves, but rather are all connected, referring back to the original source text and to all other adaptations of that source text in existence. Unlike the earliest streamlined adaptations that only turned novels into films, these days adaptations are more ambitious. Examples include: a novel into another novel, such as Pride and Prejudice and Zombies; a novel into a graphic novel, Pride and Prejudice: The Graphic Novel; a movement into a television miniseries, with Lost in Austen as a critique on Austenmania and Darcymania (resulting from the release of the 1995 BBC miniseries); and even a transmedia storytelling experience rewritten as a novel, The Secret Diary of Lizzie Bennet, an expansion of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, which will be released in July 2014. These Pride and Prejudice examples suggest an intertextuality between source texts and adaptations, and prove the fluidity and interchangeability of that intertextuality. Thanks to 21st century adaptation theorists such as Kamilla Elliot, Thomas Leitch, and Linda Hutcheon, we now have the theoretical tools to analyze these adaptations and categorize them as two-way works, and address adaptations that use new storytelling media platforms heretofore unheard of. After surveying Elliott, Leitch, Hutcheon, and their precursors from the 1940s until the present, the theories and arguments of Linda Hutcheon in her book A Theory of Adaptation (2006) stood out as containing the best tools for this thesis. Her three forms of adaptation—a formal entity or product, a process of creation, and a process of 4 reception—perfectly align with the three Pride and Prejudice adaptations I analyze in the forthcoming chapters, as each form aids in understanding where these adaptations stand in the canon. This theoretical trio works as a chain of modes of engagement: telling, showing, and experiencing (Hutcheon 10), aligning with my perceptions and arguments of the modalities of the three Pride and Prejudice adaptations: television, film, and digital media. Each adaptation, like each mode, builds itself off the medium and success of the previous, resulting in a more intertextual experience with each adaptation. This thread begins with the 1995 BBC miniseries, which builds off Austen’s original novel, not a previous adaptation. It does, however, act as a response to the 1980 BBC miniseries directed by Cyril Coke, a faithful television miniseries that follows the trend of the previous Austen miniseries adaptations and does not attempt a new interpretive angle. The reason Hutcheon’s theories are best suited for this path of argumentation is because she defends, if not promotes, newer and newer media platforms for adaptation, and inverts the stereotypical hierarchy of source text over adaptation. Though 21st century adaptation theorists deny judgment between originary and secondary works, Hutcheon goes above and beyond this style of thinking and preferences secondary, and even tertiary, works compared to source texts. By this, I mean that Hutcheon is most interested in adaptations that adapt a source text and its already existing adaptations, because such works involve the highest amount of intertextuality and the most complex examples of what an adaptation can achieve. In addition, she is the first adaptation theorist to discuss video game and virtual reality adaptations, her arguments of which I apply to The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, the first successful transmedia adaptation. Lastly, Hutcheon argues a side of adaptation theory not usually identified at all: desire for change. Most theorists focus 5 their works on fidelity with an original text, or at least prioritize fidelity, whereas Hutcheon embraces lack of fidelity and the creativity it entails. In Chapter One, I give an in-depth analysis and categorization of the ten most prominent adaptation theorists since the 1940s, arranging them chronologically and identifying the main ideas of each and how they build off their precursors. This literature review is meant to provide a solid foundation of adaptation theory to best represent to my readers how I arrived at Linda Hutcheon’s theories and why she is the best choice. In this chapter, I also provide my own definition of adaptation and give context for adaptation as a genre inclusive of more than just literary adaptations of Pride and Prejudice. Chapter Two begins my odyssey of analyses of my three chosen Pride and Prejudice adaptations.2 In this chapter, I address the immensely popular and financially successful 1995 BBC miniseries Pride and Prejudice directed by Simon Langton, screenplay by Andrew Davies, and starring Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth. I argue in this chapter that this adaptation has become even more popular than Austen’s novel. This has been most strongly accomplished through the endorsement of Darcymania, created by Colin Firth and his infamous wet shirt scene, which has since been replicated in dozens of Austen adaptations, including the other two Pride and Prejudice works addressed in this thesis. Though its popularity has eclipsed that of the original novel, both are adapted as source texts in post-1995 adaptations, as Austen’s original characters and events remain constant, but some adjustments have been made in light of this P&P. Pride and Prejudice 2 Note: I arrived at the three P&P adaptations through a process of limitation and do not discuss the following adaptations for various reasons: the BBC miniseries Pride and Prejudice (Coke, 1980), Pride and Prejudice: a Latter Day Comedy (Black, 2003), Bride and Prejudice (Chadha, 2004), Bridget Jones’s Diary (Maguire, 2001), and Lost in Austen (Zeff, 2008). These were not included because none of these adaptations involve the same amount of intertextuality as those I have chosen, and would require discussions of their individual merits instead of their connectivity with others in the canon. 6 adaptations post-1995, and even adaptations of Austen’s other novels, comment on, or respond back to, the 1995 BBC miniseries in large or small ways, as well as reference or homage it. As an indication of its popularity, forthcoming adaptations of Pride and Prejudice are measured against this adaptation, not the original novel. Chapter Three is where I discuss Joe Wright’s controversial 2005 feature film Pride & Prejudice, screenplay by Deborah Moggach, and starring Keira Knightley and Matthew MacFadyen, which is most often compared and contrasted with the 1995 BBC miniseries, often resulting in unfavourable opinions. However, in keeping with my claim that adaptations cannot be judged against other adaptations or the source text, there is so much to be found in this adaptation that merits discussion and analysis when judgment is forgotten. This is the second of only two feature film adaptations of Pride and Prejudice, excluding the loose adaptations listed in the footnote on page five, the other adaptation being Robert Z. Leonard’s abysmal 1940 Pride and Prejudice, a strange mélange of P&P and Gone With the Wind, that does not do much for either. Because of its position in the P&P feature film canon, and because of its large advertising campaign, Wright’s 2005 film was the most talked-about Austen adaptation since the 1995 BBC miniseries. With more than three times the budget, it differentiated itself through its cinematic qualities, such as gratuitous exterior scenes, big-name actors, and a distinct, intentional gritty appearance. This brings me to Chapter Four and my final adaptation: The Lizzie Bennet Diaries 2012 transmedia adaptation directed by Bernie Su, story written by Bernie Su and Margaret Dunlap among others,3 series created by Hank Green, and starring Ashley 3 Full writing credits are given to: Jay Bushman, Margaret Dunlap, Hank Green, Rachel Kiley, Kate Rorick, Daryn Strauss, Bernie Su, and Anne Toole. 7 Clements and Daniel Vincent Gordh. This is the only updated Pride and Prejudice adaptation I am analyzing in my thesis because of what it does with that updating, which is different than those listed in the footnote on page five. First of all, transmedia storytelling is unlike any other form of storytelling that has existed before the early 21st century, because it is inherently dependent on digital and social media. Transmedia storytelling is, in effect, a story told across multiple media, requiring the audience to craft the full story using all elements, not just the primary one, in this case Lizzie’s video blog on YouTube. The series also makes use of Twitter, Facebook, and Tumblr social media sites. In an added level of intertextuality, Lizzie’s vlogs are her Masters thesis project for her degree in Mass Communications. As such, they are purposely biased, creating an angle of storytelling to Pride and Prejudice that has not been executed to this extent before. This adaptation is also extremely fluid with reality, as “a lot of people in the beginning didn’t actually know she was a fictional character” (Jenni Powell in Klima, web), and for those who did recognize its true roots, the project blended the story world with the real world. The characters of the vlog each had their own Twitter handles, Facebook pages, and were the subject of many Tumblr feeds. As an adaptation that transposes Austen’s novel into today’s digital landscape, LBD showcases the universality of the classic novel and positions itself within the framework of the social rules and expectations of the 21st century. The project addresses all the problems facing young men and women growing up with digital and social media, and touches on the hopes, fears, concerns, and ambitions of the audience through Austen’s classic characters. To end my thesis, I come to terms with what adaptations of Pride and Prejudice do for Jane Austen’s novel and identify the timelessness of the story and its unwavering 8 popularity. I also discuss Jane Austen as a cultural icon and cultural commodity, giving examples of what I call ‘Austen-inspired products.’ These are typically loose adaptations that adapt the figurehead of Austen more than they do a specific novel of hers, and approach Austen with admiration and reverence, proving the lasting impression she has made on Western culture and society. 9 Chapter One – The Politics of Adaptation Theory “You find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own.” – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice Whether we are aware of it or not, we are surrounded by adaptations. According to statistics from 1992, 85% of all Academy Award Best Picture winners and 70% of all Emmy Award-winning made for television films are adaptations, not to mention upwards of 95% of television miniseries Emmy winners (Hutcheon 4). Twenty years later, these percentages are still correct or have risen: statistics from 2011 (about twenty years after those above) declare that adaptations average about 57% of all widely released films (playing in 600 theatres or more), and were highest in 2007 at 72% of all widely released films; adaptations also prove more financially and critically successful than originals (Dietz, web). Furthermore, a quick survey of the Academy Awards website indicates that since 1990, adaptations have won twice as many Best Picture awards as originals, sixteen to eight (“Oscar History”). A look back into the other sixty-five Academy Awards will produce similar results. Within these twenty-plus years, our eyes have been opened to different forms of adaptations and new media of transformation. Films are being adapted into stage shows and operas (Lord of the Rings), classic novels are getting renewed lives in new novels (Pride and Prejudice into Pride and Prejudice and Zombies), novellas are becoming songs (Paulo Coelho’s Veronika Decides to Die into Billy Talent’s song “Saint Veronika”), books are reaching out to new (read: younger) audiences through graphic novels (Outlander, Twilight, Pride and Prejudice), and new mediums are extending the limits of how a story can be adapted (Pride and Prejudice into The Lizzie Bennet Diaries transmedia storytelling experience). The limitations that define an adaption are changing 10 and it is more important than ever to create a new, more inclusive framework for understanding and analyzing these new adaptations. The old limitations that constituted adaptations are out of date because they were based solely on literature to stage or literature to film adaptations. It is necessary for these to be adjusted to fit the new forms of adaptation cropping up. In essence, the old framework of adaptation must be adapted to apply to the new. In order to push and pull the classic rules of adaptation to fit new media, I must first explain the basics of adaptation and outline the historical progression of popular theories. One of the most interesting and frustrating things about adaptation and its theories is the fluidity and fluctuation of what an adaptation is and what it is not. There are many definitions, and even more rules of limitation, set down by established theorists, but I will outline my own criteria of defining and recognizing adaptations. Adaptation is both a process and a product, and while theorists unanimously agree on the process, they rarely agree on what constitutes a product (Hutcheon 7). But what is adaptation as a process and as a product? Adaptation as a process is the transformation of an original story from one specific medium into a different story in either the same medium or in a different medium; adaptation as a product is that resulting story in the same or different medium. According to this definition, my criterion for recognizing an adaptation is simply that the origin of a story comes from a source other than itself; this source can be from a different medium or the same medium. Furthermore, to be called an adaptation, the new story can be as similar or as different from the original as possible, but it must retain the basic story elements present in the original, by this I mean the core of the original. My definition and criteria expand the traditional limitations of what an 11 adaptation is and is not, and include examples which have up until now been intentionally left out by adaptation scholars or have not existed until now. Under the umbrella of my definition and my criteria, examples such as books into songs, films into operas, paintings into poems, books into graphic novels, films and television series into video blogs, and even books into different books, are all considered adaptations. I do not approach these new forms of adaptation alone. My definition and criteria that enable me to call these works adaptations stems from a thorough reading of well- established adaptation theories. During the course of my research, I read ten major theorists who have greatly contributed to the study of adaptation theory and have guided me to my own theories about adaptation. Of these ten theorists, I interacted with six of them in-depth and have chosen one to guide the progression of my Pride and Prejudice case studies and what I will argue about them. One of the great, yet irritating, things about adaptation theory is how well the ideas of different scholars resemble and build off the ideas of others, sometimes with very little difference. Like all theories, adaptation theory has certain fundamental cornerstones that always remain present in each scholar’s work, and act as the foundation for every new theory, as different or as similar as it is to already existing ones. Interestingly, when it comes to adaptation theory, there are two fundamental, but opposite, cornerstones, and they shifted drastically when adaptation theory itself changed. The first cornerstone is the hierarchy of different cultural media, which was the basis of all adaptation theories from its beginning to the mid-20th century; the second is the equality of different cultural media, which has been the foundation of all adaptation theories since then. 12 Film is a relatively new medium and adaptation theories are older than its invention. Therefore, the earliest adaptation theories came out of other media, primarily literature and art. Because the already existing theories about literature and art are embedded with classist bourgeois concepts, the early adaptation theorists followed suit, and created hierarchical systems of classification to apply to adaptations, and their main concern was to determine which medium had the highest cultural value (see Kamilla Elliott 2003). Naturally, this created a chasm between those who thought literature had the highest cultural value, and those who thought visual art did. This spawned numerous works in support of both sides of the argument and created theoretical camps of advocates of the word and advocates of the image. What these early theorists did not realize, however, is that words and images are two sides of the same coin. As Kamilla Elliott explains: “the mental image begins in the central nervous system and travels to the peripheral nervous system; the perceptual image originates in the peripheral nervous system and courses to the central nervous system” (Elliott 222). Both words and images are experienced through the same bodily system (the brain), but they travel to it through different receptors: the word starts in our brains and manifests something for our eyes through our imaginations, and the image starts in our eyes and manifests something for our brains through our sensorial capacities. Therefore, early theorists were arguing two sides of the same argument without knowing it: words and images are not hierarchical, but equal. The invention of film and the adaptation of literature into film complicated the argument of high cultural value among media. Film is undoubtedly an image, but it also contains words, written on intertitles (visual) or spoken in dialogue (aural), and it 13 represents both sides of the cultural value argument. Although subtitles are still a visual element, after the technical development of sound in films in 1927, they were replaced by dialogue, an aural element, thus making film a medium that is both aural and visual, equating the two sensory experiences. How can one argue whether words or images have higher cultural value than the other, when they are simultaneously represented in one art form? The adaptation of written works further complicated this because art that had up until now only been expressed through words, was now being expressed through images, or words and images. For better or worse, the invention of film destroyed the legitimacy of hierarchical cultural value scales. But until new theories could be developed, a hierarchical scale continued to be used to discuss film adaptations, mainly declaring the original written text to be of higher cultural value than the “reduced” images of the film (Elliott 215). This type of criticism continued until the mid-20th century when adaptation theories equating the film versions with their original texts began to surface, and a new trend began in adaptation theory: the demolition of the hierarchical arguments. Perhaps it is more than coincidental that the rise of these types of theories runs parallel with the rise of film criticism as a legitimate form of cultural criticism. As film itself was gaining legitimacy and respect as a cultural medium, the hierarchical classifications of film versus literature were breaking down; film was no longer below literature and art, but all three mediums shared an equal cultural value. This is where film-centric adaptation theories began and where adaptation theories really started to become interesting, as theorists negotiated this new territory of nonhierarchical cultural value. A new way of theorizing, understanding, and analyzing adaptations had to emerge. 14 One of the very first film adaptation theorists to do this was André Bazin, an already established film theorist, and contributor to the incredibly influential Cahiers du Cinéma. Published in 1948, Bazin’s article “Adaptation, or Cinema as Digest” was not translated into English until the publication of Bert Cardullo’s anthology Bazin at Work in 1997.4 Because Bazin was one of the first theorists to discuss adaptation in nonhierarchical terms, he had a responsibility to bridge the gap between the older, hierarchical adaptation theories and his own. He explains the dramatic shift in adaptation theories as follows: The clichéd bias according to which culture is inseparable from intellectual effort springs from a bourgeois, intellectualist reflex. […] Modern technology and modern life now more and more offer up an extended culture reduced to the lowest common denominator of the masses. […] I would much prefer to deal with a rather modern notion for which the critics are in large part responsible: that of the untouchability of a work of art (Bazin 22). Bazin acknowledges the old way of discussing adaptations and dismisses it, clearly announcing his preference to discuss adaptations in a more modern way and blaming critics for the hierarchical scale of cultural value, which he scorns. To Bazin, the cultural value of a work of art is determined by its exposure to the masses and a mass opinion, not by the opinion of a small elite (i.e. white, bourgeois, heterosexual, middle-aged men), a complete departure from cultural criticism at the time. But Bazin was a film theorist, and film theorists (specifically those of the Cahiers du Cinéma) broke the molds of previous criticism. To these critics and theorists, film was the first medium of high cultural value that was not only accessible to the masses, but directed at them. Bazin’s other responsibility to his audience was to come up with those new arguments about adaptation and equal cultural value among media, “not a novel out of 4 The version of Bazin’s article I am citing is found in Naremore’s collection of essays, Film Adaptation. 15 which a play and a film had been ‘made,’ but rather a single work reflected through three art forms, an artistic pyramid with three sides, all equal in the eyes of the critic” (Bazin 26). Bazin’s theory of adaptation separates the narrative from the ‘form’ (or style) in which it is presented. That is, he separates the flexible story from the corporeal medium. To Bazin, “the style is in the service of the narrative: it is a reflection of it, so to speak, the body but not the soul. And it is not impossible for the artistic soul to manifest itself through another incarnation” (Bazin 23). These incarnations do not need to be entirely faithful to the original, but fidelity of meaning is imperative: “faithfulness to a form, literary or otherwise, is illusory: what matters is the equivalence in meaning of the forms” (Bazin 20, original emphasis). All cultural media are equal, but it is impossible to replicate one medium by a different medium, e.g. a novel cannot be replicated by a film because it is not a novel, but the story within the novel can be replicated by a film. Bazin makes good arguments about the shift from hierarchical cultural value to equal cultural value among media, but his work is limited to a certain kind of adaptation: book to stage/screen. Bazin’s scope is too narrow to be useful for my thesis, but he is an excellent foundation for all the adaptation theories that followed him. In 1984, a student of Bazin’s theories published his own work on adaptation theory (among many other things) and took Bazin’s ideas to a new level.5 Dudley Andrew’s triad of modes of adaptation—“borrowing,” “intersection,” and “fidelity of transformation”—was the first new idea about adaptation since Bazin’s equality of cultural value among media. Interestingly, Andrew falls back on the hierarchical pattern 5 During the time between Bazin and the next major theorist I read in-depth, is a span of almost forty years, within which time there were other published adaptation theorists of the school of Bazin: Seymour Chatman and George Bluestone, who published adaptation theories during the 1950s and 1960s, respectively. 16 of discussing adaptations, but he re-appropriates it and employs it as an early scale of measuring textual fidelity among adaptations. Unfortunately for the purposes of my thesis, Andrew is biased towards textual originals, and has lingering bourgeois opinions: “the adapter hopes to win an audience for the [film] adaptation by the prestige of its borrowed title or subject. […] This direction of study will always elevate film by demonstrating its participation in a cultural enterprise whose value is outside film” (Andrew 30). Even the terms Andrew uses to define his theories are tinged with the notion that film is inferior to written texts: “borrowing” implies that the story will always belong to its original (read: written) medium, “intersection” implies that the medium of the original and the film medium meet, but do not combine, and “fidelity of transformation” implies that film adaptations are being judged by their fidelity with the original and that the transformation has changed the story into something the original can never have or will not want back. These presumptions turn out to be true for all three terms. Andrew explains borrowing as film adaptations using the already existing cultural value of the original to bring in larger audiences (claiming that they can enjoy everything they love about the original, while also seeing it through a new lens). Borrowing largely “seeks to gain a certain respectability, if not aesthetic value, as a dividend of the transaction” (Andrew 30). Andrew’s definition of intersection is that the adaptation is a “refraction of the original […] the film is the novel as seen by cinema” and that “all such works [of high cultural value] fear or refuse to adapt” (Andrew 31). Lastly, Andrew declares fidelity of transformation to be “the reproduction in cinema of something essential about an original text,” but it is so easy to do it wrong because the narrative content (the letter) 17 of the original is much more readily adaptable than the tone, values, imagery, and rhythm (the spirit) of the original (Andrew 31). From the mid-1980s onward, adaptation theory exploded and theoretical publications occurred almost annually. Case in point, in 1985, one year after the publication of Dudley Andrew’s work, Robert Stam published his article “Beyond Fidelity: The Dialogics of Adaptation,” and was the first theorist to move away from arguments embedded in fidelity. According to Stam, “the notion of fidelity is highly problematic for a number of reasons. First, it is questionable whether strict fidelity is even possible. […] An adaptation is automatically different and original due to the change of medium” (Stam 55). Furthermore, “the question of fidelity ignores the wider question: fidelity to what? Is the filmmaker to be faithful to the plot in its every detail? That might mean a thirty-hour version of War and Peace. […] Or is it to be faithful to the author’s intentions? But what might they be, and how are they to be inferred?” (Stam 57). While I agree with Stam that complete and utter fidelity is impossible, I think it is also impossible for there to be no fidelity whatsoever in an adaptation; indeed, the only purpose behind adaptation is to take a story already in existence and reimagine it in a different way. As the basis of his argument, Stam puts forth a classification system for adaptations, taken from the literary theory of transtextuality by Gérard Genette and modified to apply to films. Stam uses Genette’s five types of transtextual relations to analyze adaptations: “intertextuality,” “paratextuality,” “metatextuality,” “architextuality,” and “hypertextuality.” Intertextuality is “the effective co-presence of two texts,” and examples include quotation, plagiarism, and/or allusion (Stam 65). 18 Paratextuality is “the relation, within the totality of a literary work, between the text proper and its ‘paratexts,’” which are titles, prefaces, epigraphs, dedications, illustrations, etc. (Stam 65). Metatextuality is “the critical relation between one text and another, whether the commented text is explicitly cited or only silently evoked” (Stam 65). Architextuality is “the generic taxonomies suggested or refused by the titles or infratitles of a text [… that] have to do with an artist’s willingness or reluctance to characterize a text generically in its title” (generally the original title is kept to “take advantage of a preexisting market”) (Stam 65). And lastly, hypertextuality is “the relation between one text which Genette calls ‘hypertext,’ to an anterior text, or ‘hypotext,’ which the former transforms, modifies, elaborates, or extends” (Stam 66). Although these classifications are thoroughly explained, they do not correlate as easily to film adaptations as Stam proposes. They are too embedded in literary theory and are less useful to film adaptation theories. Nearly twenty years after Stam’s work on adaptation theory, Kamilla Elliott publishes her book The Novel/Film Debate in 2003, which turns out to be another turning point in adaptation theory.6 Elliott negates the previous beliefs that adaptation traffic is one way (from the original text to the new adaptation); rather, originals and adaptations are infinitely reflected and refracted, like two mirrors facing each other. Unlike every theorist before her, she argues that once the adaptation comes into existence, the original cannot be divorced from an association with it and the adaptation always refers back to the original, no matter how different it is from it. 6 During the interlude between Stam and Elliott, Brian McFarlane published his theories on adaptation, much in the same vein as Andrew and Stam. 19 This is a very uncommon statement for adaptation studies of the time, but it signals a distinct change of the types of theories to come—none of the above listed theorists discussed adaptations as having an impact on the reception of the already existing original (and, as Elliott goes on to argue, other existing adaptations of the same original). Elliott explains this: Reciprocal looking glass analogies do not eradicate categorical differentiation. Rather, they make the otherness of categorical differentiation […] an integral part of aesthetic and semiotic identity. Looking glass analogies maintain oppositions between the arts, but integrate these oppositions as an inextricable secondary identity. Two arts contain and invert the otherness of each other reciprocally, inversely, and inherently, rather than being divided from the other by their otherness. Thus difference is as much a part of identity as resemblance. Moreover, it is an identical difference, for each art differs from and inheres in the other in exactly the same way (Elliott 212, original emphasis). Every adaptation and every original that has an adaptation are irrevocably linked to each other through their identical differences. For example, in the novel Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Bingley’s sister Mrs. Hurst and her husband Mr. Hurst accompany Bingley, Caroline, and Darcy to Netherfield, but in the 2005 film Pride & Prejudice (Wright), Mr. and Mrs. Hurst have been omitted from the story. Therefore, the film is linked to the novel because it omits Mr. and Mrs. Hurst “in exactly the same way” that the novel includes the couple (exact oppositions are linkages between texts). Thomas Leitch, who is the most recently published film adaptation theorist as of April 2014, has published equally provocative theories in his book Film Adaptation and its Discontents (2007). Leitch’s scale of ten nonevaluative modes of adaptation is the most thorough and detailed system of categorization in adaptation studies and does not omit any type of adaptation (that I can think of). Progressing from the most fidelity possible to practically none with an original text, Leitch calls it a “continuum from 20 adaptation to allusion” (Leitch 116) and it is easiest to present in point form because of its intense categorization: 1. Celebrations: fosters debates about the quality of different media as vessels of adaptation, includes: a. Curatorial adaptations (“attempt to preserve their original texts as faithfully as possible”) b. Replications (maintaining “every possible element of the original text— structure, action, character, setting, dialogue, theme, tone, and so on”) c. Homage (“most often takes the form of a readaptation that pays tribute to an earlier film adaptation as definitive”) d. Heritage Adaptation (“enlarging the text under adaptation from a single specific authored text to an authorless historical or cultural text,” celebrating “an idealized past typically marked by attractive people moving through attractive places, all suffused with nostalgia for bygone times and the values they are taken to represent”) e. Pictorial Realization (“a celebration of cinema’s power to show things words can present only indirectly”) f. Liberation (the adaptation deals with and exposits “material the original text had to suppress or repress,” especially classic novels dictated by societal standards of their time, e.g. adding scenes and/or dialogue that would have been unacceptable at the time, such as a love scene between characters of a mid-19th century source text) g. Literalization (“adaptations, which celebrate not so much cinema’s essentially visual properties as its contemporary freedom from earlier norms of censorship and decorum, […] as the norm for all representations,” i.e. “words made flesh,” a complete dedication to turning the description of a source text into visuals for example) (Leitch 96-98) 2. Adjustment: “A promising earlier text is rendered more suitable for filming by one or more of a wide variety of strategies,” includes: a. Compression (“systemic elision and omission,” “whittling the material down to the right size for an evening’s entertainment”) b. Expansion (“the opposite tendency, though less often remarked, […] a surprising number of films have been fashioned from short stories”) c. Correction (“many films correct what they take to be the flaws of their originals”) d. Updating (“a far more frequent strategy is to transpose the setting of a canonical classic to the present in order to show its universality while guaranteeing its relevance to the more immediate concerns of the target audience”) e. Superimposition (“susceptibility to outside influence,” i.e. adapting a text exclusively for a specific actor to play a role or a specific director to direct) (Leitch 98-102) 21 3. Neoclassic Imitation (relocates the original setting to either a specific historical one or a fictional one to prove the universality of the original text, “works through historical specificity to generality”), also includes: a. Reverence (“satiric bent with their reverence for the past,” “it never explicitly identifies itself as a […] knockoff,” the “surprise and delight in the resemblance between two disparate cultures, a perspective that illuminates them both, is the defining pleasure of the neoclassic imitation”) (Leitch 103-106) 4. Revisions: “differ from updates to the extent that they seek to rewrite the original, not simply improve its ending or point out its contemporary relevance” (Leitch 106). 5. Colonization: “see progenitor texts as vessels to be filled with new meanings. Any new content is fair game, whether it develops meanings or goes off in another direction entirely” (Leitch 109). 6. (Meta)Commentary or Deconstruction: “not so much adaptations as films about adaptation, films whose subject is the problems involved in producing texts” (Leitch 111). 7. Analogue: not strictly an adaptation, but an analogy with or evocation of an original text, characters from that text, or the events within that text, i.e. Bridget Jones’s Diary (Leitch 113) 8. Parody and Pastiche: “two modes of reference: the first designed to satirize its models, the second not” (Leitch 116) 9. Secondary, Tertiary, or Quaternary Imitations: “filmed recordings of adaptations. Is a film version of an adaptation in another medium a second-order adaptation, a transcription of an adaptation, or something else?” Also includes “sequels to adaptations that are not also adaptations of sequels,” and “intersections of distinct franchises” (Leitch 120-1). 10. Allusion: “it is impossible to imagine a movie devoid of quotations from or references to any earlier text. […] But their continuities with other modes of intertextual reference raise special problems for adaptation theory” (Leitch 121).7 To adaptation scholars and enthusiasts such as myself, this is a treasure map of adaptation categorization (and it avoids hierarchy completely), but Leitch is quick to point out that “although these ten strategies might seem to form a logical progression from faithful adaptations to allusion, they are embarrassingly fluid” (Leitch 123). Not all of these strategies can apply to every adaptation, and sometimes more than one can, but that agrees with adaptations themselves, which are also fluid and sometimes use more 7 Note: all of these terms are Leitch’s own words. The underlined terms are the main modes of his scale of allusion and the bolded terms are the sub-modes of the scale. I have re-organized Leitch’s scale for ease of reading. 22 than one text as their original source, creating stimulating interstices. Leitch’s last word on the matter is this: “the result of this heavily overdetermined intertextual bricolage ought to be chaos or reductive irony” (Leitch 125), but it is organized chaos that is sincerely inclusive. Leitch’s work will most likely have important ramifications in shaping the future of adaptation theory, but for the purpose of this thesis, Linda Hutcheon’s work is most appealing and best suited for the forthcoming chapters. Inspired by Elliott’s work and anticipating Leitch’s, Hutcheon was the first theorist to discuss video games as products of adaptation. This is new and significant in adaptation studies—a branch of scholarship that has fought its classist bourgeois roots for over a hundred years—because adaptation theory has always been about breaking down barriers and legitimizing ‘low’ cultural entertainment. At the beginning of the 21st century, it is difficult to find a culturally lower form of entertainment than video games, but this medium’s low cultural value does not diminish its popularity. According to the Entertainment Software Rating Board, 67% of American households play video games, the average age of a gamer is 34 years old, the average age of the most frequent game purchaser is 39 years old, and 40% of all gamers are female; in 2010, gamers played for an average of eight hours a week, or 384 hours a year, 5% of their year (“How Much Do You Know About Video Games?”). As a growing new medium that attracts a wide audience, video games are following in the footsteps of film and turning to adaptation for ‘new’ gaming material, and by doing so, they are expanding the viewership of those original sources through a gaming audience. More importantly, however, video games are doing something no other product of adaptation has done before: they are providing a way of physically interacting with a text through 23 first-person or point of view (POV) games, and Linda Hutcheon was the first adaptation theorist to discuss this. Although I do not discuss video games in my thesis, Hutcheon’s arguments transfer seamlessly to my discussion of the transmedia adaptation, The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. Linda Hutcheon does not limit her work to video game adaptations, but rather gives us three perspectives from which to analyze and theorize adaptations: a formal entity or product (“an announced and extensive transposition of a particular work or works”), a process of creation (“always involves both (re-)interpretation and then (re-)creation […] both appropriating and salvaging, depending on your perspective”), and a process of reception (“a form of intertextuality: we experience adaptations (as adaptations) as palimpsests through our memory of other works that resonate through repetition with variation”) (Hutcheon 7-8, original emphasis). Hutcheon’s theories regarding a formal entity or product and a process of creation are largely the same as earlier theorists (as I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, theorists tend to agree on the process); it is her theories on the third perspective of adaptation that are most interesting. Under the umbrella of process of reception, Hutcheon outlines three modes of experiencing a narrative story in adaptations: telling (text), showing (film/TV), and interacting (video games/amusement parks). This trio of terms acts as the frame for her theories, and though all are immersive ways of experiencing adaptation, interacting is the most immersive because it requires input from its audience. Throughout this framework, Hutcheon repeats the same phrase, almost like a motto or mantra: “repetition without replication,” as well as “second without being secondary,” although not as often as the first phrase (Hutcheon 7 and 9). These two 24 phrases minutely summarize Hutcheon’s entire theory: we desire the original over and over again, but we desire to experience it differently, and the original is never superior to the adaptation; it is always equal. Here we begin to see deep echoes of Kamilla Elliott’s theories, especially the looking glass analogy and equal cultural value among media. Indeed, Hutcheon references Elliott more than any other theorist in her work, but unlike Elliott, the focus of Hutcheon’s work is the process of adaptation, specifically the process of reception (Elliott focused on the products of adaptation). As Hutcheon says, “being shown a story is not the same as being told it—and neither is it the same as participating in it or interacting with it, that is, experiencing a story directly or kinesthetically. With each mode, different things get adapted and in different ways” (Hutcheon 12). Hutcheon explores those different ways and she brings forth conclusions that speak to the popular adaptation forms of the 21st century, most especially interactive media. What is most interesting about Hutcheon’s discussion of process of reception is her clear defense, if not promotion, of newer and newer media; Hutcheon inverts the earlier hierarchy of literature above film in adaptation theory, and puts interactive media above film, and hence, above literature. This is radical, but as I have shown, new adaptation theories are all about being radical. Another of Hutcheon’s radical discussions is the recognition that an adaptation is not always experienced as an adaptation. In other words, not every audience member will be aware that the book/film/video game is an adaptation, nor be aware of the original. As Hutcheon says, “adaptation as adaptation involves, for its knowing audience, an interpretive doubling, a conceptual flipping back and forth between the work we know and the work we are experiencing;” we have to have knowledge of the original to be able to experience the adaptation as an adaptation 25 (Hutcheon 139, original emphasis). This is a statement that is largely unmentioned in other adaptation theories, but because her theories encompass the process of reception, Hutcheon sees fit to mention it. By the time Hutcheon comes to her conclusion, she has shaken us up enough with her radical ideas that we do not realize the important message she leaves us with: An adaptation is not vampiric: it does not draw the life-blood from its source and leave it dying or dead, nor is it paler than the adapted work. It may, on the contrary, keep that prior work alive, giving it an afterlife it would never have had otherwise. […] Adaptation is how stories evolve and mutate to fit new times and different places, […] there are precious few stories around that have not been ‘lovingly ripped off’ from others. In the workings of the human imagination, adaptation is the norm, not the exception (Hutcheon 176-7). Writing in 2006, Hutcheon is completely correct: adaptation is the norm (think back to the facts I began this chapter with). Her work is a great example of how time-specific adaptation theories are and how tightly they are linked with changes in society and cultural entertainment and echo what I intend to argue about my case studies of Pride and Prejudice adaptations. Her trio of terms outlines a framework I will mimic: I will argue that the 1995 BBC miniseries Pride and Prejudice is a formal entity or product, Joe Wright’s 2005 feature film Pride & Prejudice is a process of creation, and The Lizzie Bennet Diaries (2012) transmedia storytelling experience is a process of reception. These labels seem to have been made for the three adaptations I will discuss because not only do they show the different types of adaptations being made, but they also work with my argument that the formal entity or product, the 1995 BBC miniseries adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, has become a source text of equal value as Austen’s novel for forthcoming P&P adaptations, such a process of creation, Pride & Prejudice (Wright). A process of creation, in turn, becomes a source text for a process of reception, The Lizzie 26 Bennet Diaries, and this creates a chain of adaptations in which, the source text is still the original novel, but it is now seen through the lens of the most recent adaptation. This is because the novel, being two hundred years old, is no longer the strongest competition for popularity among audiences, but rather, the new adaptation competes with the most recent adaptation. 27 Chapter Two – A Formal Entity or Product: The 1995 BBC Miniseries “In essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was […] but that from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood” – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice When producing an adaptation, it is almost always a fifty-fifty chance that the adaptation will succeed, and “for an adaptation to be [truly] successful in its own right, it must be so for both knowing and unknowing audiences” (Hutcheon 121, my emphasis). There are many factors and elements that will make or break the success of an adaptation, and someone will always be around to criticize even the most successful ones. Although they can be relied on to bring in more patrons, due to an already existing audience of the original, adaptations cannot be relied on to bring in positive reviews. This is because of expectation: an audience member of an adaptation expects to see what they have pictured in their minds reading the original text, but this can never fully be the case. The very fabric of adaptation is to absorb the original and emit a new product, and there will always be elements that are lost and gained in the osmosis process. Therefore, it is crucial to address these issues of expectation and refer back to my definition of adaptation in Chapter One: the transformation of an original text from one specific medium into a different text in either the same medium or in a different medium, and the resulting story from that process. My definition, of course, goes hand-in-hand with Linda Hutcheon’s claims of what describes an adaptation: “an acknowledged transposition of a recognizable other work or works, a creative and interpretive act of appropriation/salvaging, [and] an extended intertextual engagement with the adapted work” (Hutcheon 8, original emphasis).8 Adaptation always involves change. 8 I have changed the layout of these claims from their original bulleted list for ease of reading. 28 Adapters of the works of Jane Austen face a unique predicament: they are fortunate to be adapting a text that is no longer copyrighted, but they must deal with very loyal fans and many already existing adaptations. Robert Stam’s view of this is “the greater the lapse in time, the less reverence toward the source text” (Stam 57), but Linda Hutcheon claims “the more popular and beloved the novel, the more likely the discontent” (Hutcheon 127). Yes, Pride and Prejudice is two hundred years old, but it is one of the most popular and beloved novels in the English language. Therefore, producers must tread carefully when adapting it. Despite some initial unfavourable reviews, the 1995 BBC miniseries Pride and Prejudice, has become the superior adaptation of Austen’s most famous novel, and even of all Austen adaptations: “without a doubt, this six-part miniseries is the most successful adaptation to date” and “virtually every Austen adaptation since this has entered into some sort of comparison with this Pride and Prejudice, with the 1995 adaptation invariably coming out on top” (Cartmell 8 and 75). But why is this adaptation so revered? What makes it stand out from all the rest and occupy such a high pedestal? There is plenty of evidence out there and I harness that evidence to support my own theories, all of which I divide into three categories: textual sources (addressing the novel and script), character and performance (addressing the characters and actors), and production and reception (addressing the filming and fandom of the adaptation). Within these categories, I also argue that the 1995 BBC miniseries has reached a point where it has usurped the popularity of the original novel Pride and Prejudice, and is now looked to for comparison and contrast equally as much as Austen’s novel directly. Deborah Cartmell, a leading Austen adaptation scholar, observed it too: 29 “the 1995 series in some respects has usurped the original in the minds of many fans, often shocked to discover that the lake sequence is not in the novel” (Cartmell 76). Released in 1995 on BBC in the UK, and on A&E in North America, this Pride and Prejudice adaptation is comprised of six one-hour-long episodes, directed by Simon Langton, produced by Sue Birtwistle, written by Andrew Davies, and starring Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth as Elizabeth and Darcy. At a glance, the miniseries is almost identical to the novel (excluding Darcy’s famous wet shirt scene), but upon closer inspection, it proves to be a rather ingenious interpretation of Austen’s novel that takes many liberties. These slight changes, additions, and exclusions are subtly hidden in the work, leading audiences to be surprised upon reading or rereading the novel and finding discrepancies. Even if audiences have never read Pride and Prejudice, they will at least be aware of the basic plot, which incidentally forms the foundation of almost every romantic comedy: boy meets girl, they hate each other, they grow to love each other, boy gets girl, the end. This is perhaps why Pride and Prejudice translates so well to film and television, and is so popular in those media. Contrary to the opinions of literary purists, “to be second is not to be secondary or inferior; likewise to be first is not to be originary or authoritative” (Hutcheon xiii). Adapters find Jane Austen very inviting as source material because her work can be reduced to its basic structure and put into a completely different context, but the story will still be told the same way to the same effect. Textual Sources The wonderful illusion of the 1995 BBC miniseries is that it makes many small changes that when added up seem like a lot, but audiences do not notice them because the 30 outer garb remains true to the novel, i.e. it does not change time or place, or major plot events. The miniseries’ producer Sue Birtwistle vehemently states: “we have tried during the production to be as accurate as possible, but we always felt it was more important to go for the spirit of the original book” (Birtwistle and Conklin viii). She also addresses critics by saying, “you have to offer an interpretation of the novel. There’s this nonsense which some people say about adaptations that you’ve ‘destroyed’ the book if it’s not identical scene by scene. The novel is still there for anybody to read” (Birtwistle and Conklin 3). This is an admirable statement that perfectly describes the 1995 BBC miniseries (and arguably should be a mantra for all adaptations). As Ellen Belton notes: “the BBC production creates the illusion of fidelity to the original by presenting an interpretation of Austen’s narrative that is also attuned to the sensibilities of a 1995 audience” (Belton 186). In a world of multiple Austen adaptations, especially on television, it was almost essential for Birtwistle, Davies, and Langton to take small liberties to make their adaptation stand out among the crowd, beginning the chain of adaptations building off each other, as the forthcoming chapters will illuminate. The most drastic of these changes occur in Andrew Davies’ script. Davies is no stranger to adapting classic British novels, and a quick look at his dossier shows him to be behind some of the most successful BBC adaptations of the past forty years, including four of Austen’s six completed novels: Pride and Prejudice (1995), Emma (1996), Northanger Abbey (2007), and Sense and Sensibility (2008) (“Andrew Davies,” web). Davies’ scripts are faithful to their original source material, but they also capture “a certain something in [their] air” (Austen PP 29)9 of the audience he is adapting 9 (Austen PP) refers to the novel Pride and Prejudice, as there is more than one Austen source in my Bibliography. 31 the works for. As Sue Birtwistle claims: “the goal therefore was clear – to remain true to the tone and spirit of Pride and Prejudice but to exploit the possibilities of visual storytelling to make it as vivid and lively a drama as possible” (Birtwistle and Conklin 2). Davies has a way of introducing new generations of audiences to classic novels in the most charming way possible, making many viewers become readers as well. He does not change the story, the setting, or the pivotal plot elements, so what does he do? He pulls the wool over the audience’s eyes: “Davies does not use much of the novel’s dialogue. Instead, he writes lines that sound as though they came from the novel. […] The adaptation succeeded largely because it was not an adaptation in the old style; it incorporates filmic elements and broke the obsession with fidelity that had dominated Austen serials for decades” (Troost 85, original emphasis). This is why the 1995 BBC miniseries stands out like a beacon among the vault of BBC adaptations and Austen adaptations. Some of the most quotable lines in Davies’ script are either his own writing or an amalgamation with Austen’s original prose. Davies explains: Jane Austen writes wonderfully dramatic dialogue, so I was reluctant to cut it, but it was necessary in places to do so. This was not just to make it fit into the allotted fifty-five minutes, but more importantly because there can be an almost musical quality in the way scenes dovetail – a kind of rhythm and pace which one strives for – which scenes that are too dialogue-intensive can disrupt. […] I wanted to make the dialogue sound like something that could be spoken in the early nineteenth century, but also something you wouldn’t think terribly artificial if it were spoken now (Davies in Birtwistle and Conklin 12-3). Alongside Austen’s classic quips of “a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife” and “she is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me” (Austen 1 and 7, original emphasis) are lines such as “I shall end an old maid and teach your ten children to embroider cushions and play their instruments very ill” and “what 32 does she mean scampering about the country because her sister has a cold?” (Langton, 1995). It is easy to think that Davies has tricked the audience into loving his adaptation because it seems faithful, but it is exactly what Linda Hutcheon has in mind: “adaptation is repetition, but repetition without replication,” and as a formal entity or product, adaptation is “an announced and extensive transposition of a particular work or works” (Hutcheon 7). I agree with Linda Hutcheon that adaptations must involve change to the original text, and Davies delivers that and more. Pride and Prejudice has always been Elizabeth Bennet’s story, and every adaptation tends to uphold that. The novel focuses on Elizabeth, her sisters, and their relationships, and the men disappear for large amounts of the novel. Andrew Davies addresses this in his script and offers a more balanced story. In a review of the miniseries for The New York Review, Louis Menand wrote: “this is, in short, a P&P with extra Darcy. He rides, he strides, he stares, he smolders. Rakish things are done with his hair. So that when he is finally accepted by Elizabeth, we fairly expect him to rip his own bodice before ripping hers” (Menand, web). As Menand notes, Davies offers more Darcy, and a sexier Darcy. Andrew Davies explains: “I’ve been telling it rather as if it’s a story about Mr. Darcy, whereas the book is definitely a book about Elizabeth. […] I suppose in showing that his desire for Elizabeth is the motivation of the plot, I’ve perhaps pushed it a bit more to being a story about Elizabeth and Darcy, rather than a story about Elizabeth” (Davies in Birtwistle and Conklin 3-4). The additional scenes involving Darcy away from Elizabeth are the most radical changes Davies has made from Austen’s novel. However, it is a welcome change, as Cheryl Nixon argues: The recent [1990s] film adaptations of Austen are successful because they, quite literally, ‘flesh out’ her male characters. It is imperative that the films reconfigure 33 the novels’ romance heroes. […] What was good enough for her female heroines is obviously not good enough for us; the films must add scenes to add desirability to her male protagonists (Nixon 23). Nixon means that the adaptation audience must have more to attract them to the hero than what Austen provides in her novels, and based on the success of the 1995 BBC miniseries, she is right. Davies’ decision to add more scenes of Darcy to the 1995 BBC miniseries was brought on by two reasons: one, to add desirability to a rather stolid character; and two, to smooth Darcy’s change from being proud, arrogant, and offensive to Elizabeth during his first proposal, to being kind, friendly, and generous to Elizabeth and the Gardiners at Pemberley. In the novel, Darcy’s character shifts dramatically, leaving the audience to wonder how he changed so much, and how Elizabeth is attracted to him. Upon his first read of the script, even Colin Firth, not having read the novel, did not know how the story would end, and was pleasantly surprised to find that Elizabeth and Darcy get together (Birtwistle and Conklin 98). It was a practical decision on Davies’ part to introduce scenes that show the audience Darcy’s gradual shift from proud and arrogant to kind and friendly; given that the story is presented in episodes, it would have been quite jarring for an audience to see such a drastic change in him over one or two episodes. Lisa Hopkins notes: “it is really only with Mr. Darcy that changes have been made [to Austen’s work], and as a general rule, they all tend in the same direction: to focus on his feelings, his desires, and his emotional and social development” (Hopkins 115). The most obvious scene in which these changes are evident is Darcy’s fencing match with his instructor, which works as a scene to show his gradually changing character and his desirability. He is clearly fighting something inside himself, but he is 34 outwardly vigorous, sweaty, and in a state of dress not seen by Regency female society, i.e. shirtsleeves and an exposed neck and collarbone. The audience is invited to see his physical exertion as his attempt to conquer the emotions he cannot express in society, as he says to himself, “I shall conquer this. I shall” (Langton, 1995). The common opinion of scholars is that he is referring to his attraction to, and love for, Elizabeth (see Cheryl Nixon and Lisa Hopkins), but I believe he means his other emotions. After all, it was not his attraction and love for Elizabeth that led to the rejection of his proposal and put him in this agony, it was his proud emotions and arrogant manner which came across as offensive to her. Darcy “was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit” (Austen 276), but Elizabeth straightens him out: “he learns his lesson when he falls in love with [her] and realizes that she’s at least his equal, if not his superior, in terms of wit, intellectual agility, and sense of personal dignity. He is so profoundly challenged by her that his old prejudices cannot be upheld” (Firth in Birtwistle and Conklin 105). Darcy knows that in order to get Elizabeth to love him, he must change himself and be the man who deserves her. When he proposes to her the first time, he is shocked that she rejects him and her words eat at him until their next meeting at Pemberley, but the audience does not know that without the help of connecting sequences such as the fencing scene: “while the novel leaves the reader, like Elizabeth, uncertain of Darcy’s emotions, the BBC adaptation allows no such questioning of the relationship. These added scenes of masculine physicality are easily equated with their unspoken emotional content” (Nixon 33). It does not escape irony that the most famous British novel written by a woman is enhanced for the screen by expanding the male character of Darcy, and its popularity as an adaptation is due to this expansion. This is one of the 35 reasons why new adapters look to this miniseries as inspiration for new adaptations, as much as the novel—the original story is why it is perpetually popular as a source text, but the BBC miniseries is a road map of how to make a successful adaptation of it. Character and Performance Darcy’s desirability is much easier to convey, as Andrew Davies and Colin Firth showed, with the most popular and talked about scene in any Austen adaptation to date: Darcy’s wet shirt scene. This scene has reached the point of iconicity, and “in spite of being a popular novelist and screenwriter for numerous productions, [Davies] will probably be best remembered for putting Mr. Darcy in a wet shirt,” (Cartmell 9). Likewise, the shades of Colin Firth’s career have been thus polluted by his role as Darcy, as Sue Parrill notes: “there is no doubt that Colin Firth is the definitive cinematic Mr. Darcy,” and he has yet to escape that association (Parrill 65). As 2013 was the 200th anniversary of the publication of Pride and Prejudice, a temporary 12-foot statue of a white-shirted Colin Firth as Darcy was erected in the lake at London’s Hyde Park, evoking this scene, and proving its continued legacy (“Giant Mr. Darcy Statue,” web). Almost twenty years after he played the role, the wet shirt scene still irrevocably links Colin Firth with the character of Darcy, and has sparked many references in that time (including the 12-foot statue mentioned above). It has now become almost an expected scene in other Austen adaptations and Austen-inspired films, such as Lost in Austen (Zeff, 2008) in which Amanda, who has magically exchanged places with Elizabeth Bennet, has a “postmodern moment” watching her Darcy re-enact the wet shirt scene. In Joe Wright’s Pride & Prejudice (Wright, 2005) Elizabeth watches her Darcy walking 36 across a misty field at dawn in an open white shirt, framed by swirling mists and the rising sun. The scene has even been recreated again by Firth himself in Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason (Kidron, 2004), as Mark Darcy, hammily fist-fights with Hugh Grant’s Daniel Cleaver in “eighteen inches of water” in a fountain wearing an open navy suit and white shirt. These moments of parody, pastiche, and homage are further examples of “repetition without replication,” continuing the lives of Austen’s original work through omissions, additions, and changes by adaptation (Hutcheon 7). Beyond its attractiveness for imitation, this scene provides Darcy with that desirability and sexiness that Birtwistle and Davies wanted to convey, although not as much as initially planned: “Davies originally wanted Darcy to strip off entirely before plunging himself into the lake” (Cartmell 74). If things had gone that way, the wet shirt scene would have taken a turn for the obscene and would have damaged the miniseries, putting it in the category of worst Austen adaptation instead of its current spot as best. If stiff collars and tight waistcoats and breeches are not sexy enough for an audience and complete nudity is too sexy, why is an open white shirt the perfect amount of sexiness? The answer is simple: it is not the state of undress that makes Darcy desirable, it is the action of removing layers, and what that says about his character. Darcy is the type of character that is usually described as stiff and buttoned-up, so the very action of him removing his stiff waistcoat, untying his constricting necktie, and unbuttoning his collar, is a stripping away of his arrogant shell “to his essential self, a cleansing of social prejudices from his mind” (Nixon 25). Sue Birtwistle sums up the intention of this scene beautifully: “he heads to the lake and decides to dive in – a brief respite from duty, and from the tumult of his tormented and unhappy feelings. […] In that 37 brief moment, one is reminded that Darcy, for all his responsibilities as the owner of Pemberley, is actually a young man” (Birtwistle and Conklin 5). Because of the way he conducts himself in society, the audience forgets that Darcy is a real man, and this scene works to remind—or inform—them of this: “a ‘more alive’ and ‘more active’ version of Austen’s heroes resonates with today’s moviegoers,” but “while the male character’s body is made livelier, it is more important that his emotions are made so” (Nixon 23 and 25). This ‘more alive,’ ‘more active,’ sexier Darcy portrayed by Firth set a trend for almost all of the Austen men in later adaptations: Alessandro Nivola as Henry Crawford in Mansfield Park (Rozema, 1999), Jeremy Northam as Mr. Knightley in Emma (McGrath, 2001), Matthew MacFadyen as Darcy in Pride & Prejudice (Wright, 2005), Rupert Penry-Jones as Captain Wentworth in Persuasion (Shergold, 2007), and most recently, JJ Field as Henry Tilney in Northanger Abbey (Jones, 2007) and Dan Stevens as Edward Ferrars in Sense & Sensibility (Alexander, 2008). Andrew Davies also wrote the screenplays for the latest two adaptations, and the 2008 Sense & Sensibility features a wet shirt scene very reminiscent of the 1995 miniseries—Edward chops wood in the pouring rain in a white shirt for the viewing pleasure of Elinor and the audience (Alexander, 2008). Much like Davies will forever be known for writing the wet shirt scene, Colin Firth will forever be known as playing Darcy, even though he very nearly did not take the role: “I didn’t feel I was right for Darcy. I didn’t feel I would be able to make him what he should be. He seemed too big a figure somehow” (Firth in Birtwistle and Conklin 98). But thankfully for female (and possibly male) audiences of the beloved adaptation, Firth reconsidered: “it occurred to me that I would feel rather bereaved if I turned it down. I 38 realized that I had begun to appropriate the character and I now owned it. The thought of anyone else doing it made me feel rather jealous” (Firth in Birtwistle and Conklin 99). Firth was already a well-known actor and went on to play many bigger roles, culminating in his Oscar-winning performance in The King’s Speech in 2011 (Hooper, 2011). In 2010, Deborah Cartmell observed that “even after fifteen years, articles pertaining to Colin Firth […] can’t let go of Firth’s association with Darcy, the part that made the actor a household name. […] In fact, it’s difficult to find any review of Firth’s later films without the seemingly obligatory reference to Mr. Darcy” (Cartmell 74-5). This claim remains true even now: writing for The Telegraph about Firth’s Oscar win in 2011, the first thing Jojo Moyes mentions was not that Firth had won an Oscar or something to do with his role in The King’s Speech, but rather the claim that Firth was the “progenitor of a million female fantasies in a wet white shirt and breeches,” clearly referencing his role as Darcy (Moyes, web). After almost twenty years of the shadow of Darcy hanging over his head, Firth has grown to accept, and even embrace, what the role has done for his career: “Mr. Darcy will be alive and well for the rest of my life… I would hate to see that tag leave me” (Firth in Moyes, web). It is highly unlikely that this will ever happen. Unlike Firth, Jennifer Ehle’s career has not been defined by her role as Elizabeth Bennet; she went on to become known primarily as a stage actor, most notably with the Royal Shakespeare Company. In recent years she has made more frequent film appearances, albeit almost always as a minor character (“Jennifer Ehle,” web). She even acted alongside Firth again in The King’s Speech, for which Firth won his Oscar. Perhaps the reason why Ehle’s career was not taken over by her role as Elizabeth is because her 39 performance was drawn more from Austen’s work instead of Davies’: “Elizabeth is so perfectly done in the book, there isn’t very much to do really, besides let her be herself” (Birtwistle and Conklin 4). Ehle herself states: “she manages to be a free spirit in a society that doesn’t encourage free-spiritedness, which is something that I think appeals to young women today because they can sympathize with her. So she’s quite easy to identify with. I love her wit and her intelligence. There aren’t that many female role models in literature or film who are as bright as she is” (Ehle in Birtwistle and Conklin 21). In short, what the audience sees on the screen is what they also find in the book. This does not reduce Ehle’s performance, but, rather, allows for more intriguing changes to the character compared to Firth’s very obvious changes to Darcy. Indeed, it is a common opinion among critics, scholars, and myself that Ehle is the best Elizabeth Bennet to be found on screen; and if my experience of the November 2013 UBC production of Pride and Prejudice is accurate of other stage performances, on stage as well.10 The changes made to Elizabeth in the 1995 BBC miniseries are solely physical; Davies has made Elizabeth more active, and costume designer Dinah Collin has made Elizabeth more sensually dressed, both of which suggest Elizabeth’s sexual attractiveness to Darcy. As Sue Parrill notes, “we do not see Jennifer Ehle wearing high-necked dresses or tuckers in or out of doors. She exhibits décolletage in most of her costumes—day or evening. It would be difficult for Mr. Darcy or the viewer to be unaware of Ms. Ehle’s sexual appeal” (Parrill 63-4). There are also a few evening scenes in which Ehle is shot from slightly above and her breasts are very near bursting out of her low necklines. Susannah Harker (Jane) and Julia Sawalha (Lydia) also wear plunging necklines, 10 Because of directing choices, the UBC production of Pride and Prejudice was over acted, words were wrongly pronounced, and Austen’s lovely characters were brutally caricatured. In short, it was laughable for the wrong reasons. 40 particularly Harker’s pink gown for the Netherfield Ball and Sawalha’s day gown during breakfast when they discuss the militia leaving Meryton for Brighton. In this particular scene, Sawalha’s breasts swell above her neckline as she says with longing, “a whole campful of soldiers,” wishing to follow the militia to their new station (Langton, 1995). Nearly all the female characters have low necklines—apart from Lady Catherine and the other matrons, but none are as busty as Harker, Sawalha, and especially Ehle, and do not appear as sexualized, as a result. Ehle, Harker and Sawalha’s sexualized bodies attracted attention from a wider audience than their heroes: “there was much snide press comment on the surprising prevalence of Wonderbras in Regency England” (Hopkins 117). The purpose behind the low-cut costumes and casting women who could fill them out was more than a ploy to attract media attention and a larger audience, at least for the character of Elizabeth. As mentioned above, when Davies wrote the script, he centered it on the sexual attraction between Elizabeth and Darcy (Birtwistle and Conklin 3). Many reporters and scholars misunderstood this to mean the adaptation would turn Pride and Prejudice on its head, “rewriting the novel in a thickly veiled sex-romp format” (Cartmell 8). This is not the case; yes this is a ‘sexy’ Pride and Prejudice, but it is sexy in the looks that pass between Darcy and Elizabeth, in the way they verbally spat with each other, in the touch of their hands when they dance, and of course, in the way they are dressed. In many ways, this adaptation is very close to the original novel, but it also has a life of its own created by its detachments from the novel, and those detachments have brought it to the pedestal it currently resides upon, the most popular Pride and Prejudice adaptation. 41 Production and Reception However popular film and television adaptations of Austen’s works are, there are always a few literary purists that will speak their piece against them, such as Kate Bowles: Hollywood has ‘harlequinized’ Jane Austen. True, adaptation from the novel form to the screen media has repackaged Austen’s elegant, detailed, ironic tales, making plot more important than narrative, displacing withering authorial tone with dialogue, partially decommissioning the author’s critique of eighteenth- century materialism by making a fetish of costuming and set design (Bowles 15). It is impossible to avoid displacing authorial tone with dialogue when translating a novel to screen, and narrative does tend to take a backseat to plot in that repackaging, but as Sue Birtwistle said above, producers have to offer an interpretation of the original. In that interpretation, some things get left out, others added, and more changed, but it is done with the purpose to appeal to the expected audience of the adaptation, not the original 1813 audience. The fetishism of costuming and set design that Bowles looks down on, tends to be one of the highest selling points of adapting classic novels for film and television to a modern audience. Linda Hutcheon argues: “movie audiences expect the film to have local color and to be shot on location, with characters moving through real space. After several decades, British televised versions of classic novels now generate in their viewers expectations about style, ‘sumptuous, beautiful, pictorial images, strung together smoothly, slowly and carefully’” (Hutcheon 124). The 1995 BBC miniseries can appear to fetishize costumes and locations, but it is the mark of a strong adaptation when producers find the best locations and are as historically accurate as possible with props and costumes. This adaptation of Pride and Prejudice delivers on all accounts. Up until this miniseries, no other television adaptation 42 of any of Austen’s novels had been made outside a studio. Even the 1940 film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice was made entirely on a sound studio in Hollywood, which is why it does not have the sequence in which Elizabeth visits Pemberley. Sue Birtwistle, Andrew Davies, and Simon Langton made two crucial decisions that determined the look of their adaptation and would change the way classic novel adaptations would be done from then on: they decided to make the miniseries on film and on location. Both of these choices cost more money, but the result has allowed the adaptation to be memorable. Sue Birtwistle claims: “every author is portraying a specific world, and it’s our job to recreate that world and make it accessible to an audience. Though I like to be as historically accurate as possible, I’m not prepared to be a slave to it. […] It’s much more important to grasp the spirit” (Birtwistle and Conklin 35). The spirit of Andrew Davies’ script of Pride and Prejudice would have been crushed if the miniseries had been filmed on video in a sound studio. Therefore, the whole package was necessary to make this adaptation a success: an excellent script that reinvents the original novel, historically accurate and beautiful locations, and the artistic quality of film, all of which would give it “an energy and vitality to match the book” (Birtwistle and Conklin v). The beauty of the 1995 BBC miniseries is that it takes the best of both worlds: it uses the above-mentioned benefits that are common in film adaptations, but it also has the benefit of the amount of time given to television adaptations. This is why it has become the best Pride and Prejudice adaptation: it has six hours to let Austen’s novel completely unfold, and it unfolds it in the most cinematic way possible. Deborah Cartmell notes: “this adaptation not only changed the popular view of the novel, but also influenced later screen readings of Pride and Prejudice” (Cartmell 125). Everything from 43 the writing of the script, to the casting of the actors, to the preproduction, filming, and postproduction of the 1995 BBC miniseries has made this adaptation highly detailed and of high quality. And it is just as popular today as it was when it was originally released in 1995: it was “recently voted most memorable British TV drama of all time” by BBC viewers in the UK (“Colin Firth Statue,” web, my emphasis). Scholars and I share the opinion that it is the use of real locations that is the greatest divergence from previous Austen adaptations and a large part of why the 1995 BBC miniseries is so successful, apart from Darcy’s wet shirt scene, of course. Elizabeth ‘sees through’ a bit more of Darcy than she bargained for when they meet by chance at Pemberley after Darcy’s swim, his wet shirt clinging to his torso. Her eyes are drawn to his visible chest beneath, and we get the impression she is ‘appreciating’ more than his ‘merit and worth.’ This is an example of why the press nicknamed the adaptation a ‘thickly veiled sex-romp;’ Ellen Belton cheekily notes, “the 1995 audience wants Elizabeth to have it all, and the BBC production is happy to oblige” (Belton 187). But there is more to why Elizabeth is at Pemberley and how the location proves its characterization (or fetishization according to some). As Belton noted above, a 1990s audience (predominately female) wants Elizabeth to have Darcy and Pemberley, love and money, and the BBC adaptation is happy to provide it. Austen says the same in her novel, but although she gives a good description of Pemberley, seeing a visual helps put Darcy’s wealth in perspective. There is an interesting double-tiered voyeurism in the Pemberley episode: Darcy and the audience are both looking at “Elizabeth as part of the landscape,” both parties convinced she looks like she belongs there and reluctant for her to leave it: “depicting Elizabeth so exclusively within the landscape makes it seem 44 natural for her to become mistress of what is, in the film, the most beautiful of many landscapes” (Ellington 102). Interestingly, when Elizabeth says her iconic line “of all of this I might have been mistress,” she is looking away from Pemberley, out a window to the extensive grounds, referencing her activeness and constant desire to be out of doors (Langton, 1995). As cinematic as the episodes are, and even though they can stand alone as individual films, they are first and foremost episodes in a television miniseries and are released the same way: in a serial fashion. Jane Austen translates best onto television because of the time devoted to the material, but also because watching a television series is similar to the act of reading. Deborah Cartmell says: “like the experience of reading, television series are taken in installments, prolonging the pleasure of the text, providing lengthy pauses between each episode to reflect on what’s going to happen next” (Cartmell 60). Despite Cartmell’s connection between the two media, I heartily wish good luck to anyone who attempts to read Pride and Prejudice in six hours. When a novel is adapted into a visual representation, time is compressed, bent, and confuses our perception of real time. Linda Hutcheon claims: To tell a story, as in novels, short stories, and even historical accounts, is to describe, explain, summarize, expand; the narrator has a point of view and great power to leap through time and space and sometimes to venture inside the minds of characters. To show a story, as in movies, ballets, radio and stage plays, musicals and operas, involves a direct aural and usually visual performance experienced in real time (Hutcheon 12-3). Adapting a 300-page classic novel into a miniseries (and later into a film) exchanges narrative devices such as a narrator and extensive description for visual devices; and as one page of a screenplay equals one minute of screen time, a miniseries or film presents 45 the story in real time. Therefore, we can watch the 1995 BBC miniseries and know Pride and Prejudice from start to finish, but depending on one’s reading speed, one could only read a portion of the novel in that same time. As a point of reference, the unabridged audiobooks of Pride and Prejudice on iTunes average around twelve hours, the shortest being around eleven and a half, the longest over fourteen. I noted at the beginning of this chapter that the 1995 BBC miniseries is not the first adaptation, and Deborah Cartmell notes: “since the beginning of the television era, there’s been a Pride and Prejudice for every generation, providing us with an opportunity to chart how the book has changed in its various readings” (Cartmell 22). Although Pride and Prejudice is constantly used as source material, it changes every time it is adapted. This is because it is made for the audience of the time of the adaptation, not the original audience of Jane Austen’s novel in 1813. Every adaptation is an interpretation, and as Sue Birtwistle remarked above, the novel is still there for anybody to read. When it comes to a 1990s audience of young, educated, sexually aware, working women, the miniseries “endow[s] Austen’s courtship romance protagonists with emotional displays emphasizing our current notions of ‘romance’ rather than late eighteenth century understandings of ‘courtship’” (Nixon 25). Because female audiences have more than Austen’s heroines do (e.g. social, political, and sexual freedom) they want more for Elizabeth than Austen does, and by extension more for themselves. They want a sexy Darcy (read: Colin Firth) for Elizabeth because they are living vicariously through her: “Pride and Prejudice, however, is unashamed about appealing to women—and in particular about fetishizing and framing Darcy and offering him up to the female gaze” (Hopkins 112). 46 When it all boils down, the 1995 BBC miniseries was spectacularly different from the types of Austen adaptations that were already in existence, and it set the stage for all the adaptations that followed (as I will discuss in the next chapter when I make a case study of Joe Wright’s 2005 feature film). Although it has all the appearance of fidelity at first glance, the miniseries hides its slight changes just underneath the surface, much like Darcy hides his true character beneath a veneer of pride and arrogance: “in essentials, I believe, he is very much what he ever was […] but that from knowing him better, his disposition was better understood” (Austen 175). These slight changes and additions have endeared the miniseries to an audience whose love of it has brought it to its current position as the best Pride and Prejudice adaptation. This popularity has enabled it to become the main competition for Pride and Prejudice adaptations in the late 1990s, 2000s, and 2010s, and it will likely be a point of comparison and contrast for future adaptations as well. As Deborah Kaplan says: “a film of a book will always be different from the book itself, but let us also acknowledge that film has the power to show us aspects of Jane Austen’s novels in new and revitalizing ways” (Kaplan 179). These new and revitalizing ways increase with newer adaptations of Austen’s most popular novel and offer new lenses through which to experience Pride and Prejudice. As for Joe Wright’s 2005 feature film, which I will discuss in the next chapter, its new and revitalizing way of experiencing Pride and Prejudice is to use the 1995 BBC miniseries equally as source text just as much as Austen’s novel. Its producers knew they were making the first traditional adaptation of Pride and Prejudice after the miniseries and were very aware that it was their stiffest competition. But, by being as different as possible from the 1995 BBC miniseries (and from the novel as well), it stands on its own 47 in popularity just as well as the miniseries. Linda Hutcheon has one way of looking at this: “adaptations disrupt elements like priority and authority (e.g., if we experience the adapted text after the adaptation). But they can also destabilize both formal and cultural identity and thereby shift power relations” (Hutcheon 174). In the minds and hearts of 21st century adapters and audiences, the 1995 BBC miniseries is the most popular Pride and Prejudice in existence, and will always be foremost in our minds as the best P&P adaptation. 48 Chapter Three – A Process of Creation: Joe Wright’s 2005 Film “He is a gentleman, and I am a gentleman’s daughter. So far we are equal.” – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice There is no lack of adaptations of Austen’s novels, especially Pride and Prejudice, but there are surprisingly fewer cinematic adaptations than one would expect for such a famous classic novel. The very first adaptation of any of Austen’s work made for the screen was Robert Z. Leonard’s 1940 film Pride and Prejudice, an ‘adaptation’ that focuses more on imitating the previous year’s most successful film Gone With the Wind than Austen’s novel. Around this time, other classic novels were getting the Hollywood treatment as well (Wuthering Heights in 1941, for example), but aside from Pride and Prejudice in 1940, Jane Austen’s novels were generally absent from the big screen (“Jane Austen,” web). They were, however, present on stage, and beginning in the 1960s and 70s, on television as well. But this changed in the 1990s, and for about a decade, it seemed to be the age of big screen Austen adaptations. Ariane Hudelet argues that The function of cinema and television in providing access to literary works today cannot be ignored. Jane Austen, in this regard, occupies a very special position, since her works have always called for recreation, interpretation, performance, […] a phenomenon that has been increased tremendously by the plethora of cinematic adaptations since the 1990s (Hudelet 149). It was in these years that film versions of Persuasion (Michell, 1995), Sense and Sensibility (Lee, 1995), Emma (McGrath, 1996), and Mansfield Park (Rozema, 1999) all hit the big screen, and were both popular and critically successful, particularly Sense and Sensibility. Pride and Prejudice however, is absent from this list. The hugely successful 1995 BBC miniseries was constantly re-running on television for years after its initial broadcast, so there seemed no reason to produce a cinematic version to compete with it. 49 In the mid-2000s however, it was announced that Pride and Prejudice would be made for the big screen, for the first time since 1940 (and only the second traditional cinematic adaptation to date). Audiences talked about this Pride and Prejudice for months, if not longer, before it was released, and were divided in their opinions. Some were very open to seeing the novel on the big screen again (or for the first time if they had not seen the 1940 film), others staunchly stood behind the extremely successful 1995 BBC miniseries and flat-out refused to give this new film the time of day. Pride and Prejudice is not Jane Austen’s only novel, nor the only one that has been adapted, but it seems to be the only one that audiences are continually opinionated about, more than any other Austen adaptation. Linda Hutcheon says, “if we know that prior text, we always feel its presence shadowing the one we are experiencing directly” (Hutcheon 6), and by prior text, she includes previous adaptations as well. For Joe Wright’s 2005 film, nothing overshadows it more than the 1995 BBC miniseries, which is why the film is as stylistically different from the miniseries as possible. Upon its release, critics attacked Wright’s film as a “butchering” of Austen’s most famous work (Cartmell 85). Elizabeth M. Tamny wrote a particularly scathing review for The Chicago Reader, in which her extensive critique boils down to this: By the time Lizzie and Darcy have their kiss [in the final scene], the story—some of the most satisfying plotting and character development in the English language—has been hopelessly mangled. […] Carnage is inevitable when breaking down a big novel, but the new film sends Austen’s tale through a terrible mauling. […] It’s a fitfully engaging romance, it’s just not Pride and Prejudice […] and [there’s] no living author to scream about the violation of her art (Tamny, web). On the other side of the argument, Stephen Holden’s review for the New York Times was positive: “in a little more than two hours, Mr. Wright and the screenwriter, Deborah 50 Moggach, have created as satisfyingly rich and robust a fusion of romance, historical detail and genial social satire as the time allows” (Holden, web). Holden’s review touches on the film’s limitations, but highlights its success, unlike Tamny’s unforgiving critique. There are two things to remember about the 2005 film as an adaptation of Pride and Prejudice that critics of the adaptation forget: it is a two-hour film, and it is not the 1995 BBC miniseries, both of which entail that this adaptation is going to be different. John Wiltshire goes further to say that “much of the film in fact can be understood as reacting to that earlier success: its choice of settings, its subdued Mrs. Bennet, [and] its unnerving and uncomic Mr. Collins are only some examples” (Wiltshire 98). Linda Hutcheon explains that every adaptation, particularly when looked at as a process of creation, is separate from the source text and other adaptations, and cannot be judged against prior works. She argues, “the rhetoric of ‘fidelity’ is less than adequate to discuss the process of adaptation. […] Adaptation is an act of appropriating or salvaging, and this is always a double process of interpreting and then creating something new” (Hutcheon 20, my emphasis). As a two-hour film going up against the six-hour BBC miniseries, this film makes some massive changes from the novel and the miniseries, predominantly the omission of some characters, events, and lengthy dialogue, but this does not make it inferior to its predecessors; it simply makes it different. Joe Wright’s film is a reaction to the 1995 BBC miniseries and directly contrasts with it in every way. Hutcheon’s arguments support my claim: “as a process of creation, the act of adaptation always involves both (re-)interpretation and then (re-)creation; this has been called both appropriation and salvaging, depending on your perspective” (Hutcheon 8, original 51 emphasis). My perspective on the film is that it appropriates Pride and Prejudice, and Joe Wright himself attests to this in his production notes: I got excited about new ways to film the story, which I don’t believe have been done before. I wanted to treat it as a piece of British realism rather than going with the picturesque tradition, which tends to depict an idealized version of English heritage as some kind of Heaven on Earth. I wanted to make Pride & Prejudice real and gritty—and be as honest as possible (Wright in Durgan, web). Wright’s intention of making his Pride & Prejudice11 “as honest as possible” can be seen in three distinct ways which I will discuss in the body of this chapter: his adaptation is gritty (particularly with reference to the Bennets’ financial standing), sexy (specifically more sexual than previous adaptations), and filmic (Wright constantly reinforces that this is a film). These three stylistic choices that I have identified coalesce to create an adaptation of Pride and Prejudice that is assuredly “as honest as possible,” and different from any other adaptation of the novel. Gritty Stylistic Choices Screenwriter Deborah Moggach has publicly referred to her screenplay as “the muddy hem version” of Pride and Prejudice (Cartmell 11), by which she means the dirty, real-life depiction of the story, starkly opposing the image of perfection displayed in previous adaptations, especially the 1995 BBC miniseries. Wright’s Pride & Prejudice shatters the glass ceiling of an idealized Regency period,12 specifically in his portrayal of the Bennet family and their financial circumstances. In this adaptation, it is made clear that the Bennets live on a working estate, but in the sense that it is a true farm—dirty and 11 Note: the title of Wright’s film changes “and” to “&” and though I try my best to follow Pride & Prejudice with (Wright), if I have already mentioned his name ahead of the title, I may not add this after it. When I say Pride and Prejudice I am referring to Jane Austen’s novel. 12 This adaptation is set in the late 18th century when Austen was writing the first draft of First Impressions, instead of the early 19th century as all other traditional adaptations have done. 52 muddy (among other things), with animals flocking across the yard, and no clear division between ‘upstairs’ and ‘downstairs’ (Wright, 2005). As well, all the Bennets physically contribute to the estate through necessary chores. Granted, the women’s chores extend only to drying herbs and mending their own garments, and Mr. Bennet’s to supervising the yearly pig slaughter. But, this is a strong divergence from previous adaptations where the most work done by the Bennets was adding up accounts or redecorating a bonnet. When Mr. Collins visits Longbourn, he seeks to pay a compliment to the Bennet sisters about the well-cooked potatoes served at dinner, but Mrs. Bennet vehemently claims that the family is financially able to employ a cook for this task (Wright, 2005). Even though the Bennets are relatively financially stable, in this adaptation, it is not surprising that Mr. Collins assumes that the family has cooked their own meal given their outward appearance. This is a poorer portrayal of the Bennets: the house is smaller and less pristine than in previous adaptations (frequently dirty and messy too), and the yard is significantly reduced: the back is a square space of mud lined with a small stable, and the front is a small grassy area buttressed by two giant trees, as well as a marshy duck pond across the dusty lane (Wright, 2005). This Longbourn does not have decorative flower gardens, perfectly decorated and mess-free rooms, a “prettyish kind of a little wilderness” (Austen 264), or a large grassy knoll. Like the outward appearance of the house, the clothing worn by the Bennets also speaks to their low financial status more than other adaptations. In Wright’s film, the Bennet sisters have only two or four different dresses apiece, depending on their age. For instance, Lydia, Kitty, and Mary each only have one or two dresses, all of which are almost identical. Jane has three dresses, which are intermingled with different accessories 53 to add variety, all of which are pastel colors that enhance her beauty, without much cost. Lizzie, however, has at least five dresses; as a second of five daughters to a relatively poor gentleman, this is odd, but as the protagonist of the film, it is not. Lizzie’s dresses are all green and brown earth tones that speak to her connection with the outdoors and her grounded personality, and which set off her dark hair and eyes (Wright, 2005). Aside from their everyday dresses worn and re-worn throughout the film, the Bennet sisters have special dresses for the Netherfield Ball, the most auspicious event in the film, and the original novel. All of their dresses are simple, unadorned white muslin with tiny details that individualize their otherwise uniform outfits. This is a conscious choice of the filmmaker to match late 18th century fashion: the most inexpensive material of the time was muslin, and any dyes to add color always cost extra money. Therefore, ball attendees who had lower financial circumstances often wore white muslin, and used small (read: inexpensive) details to distinguish their dresses, such as the overlapped, v-shaped neckline edged with lace for Elizabeth or Jane’s round neckline, ruched bodice, and pale blue satin ribbon round her waist (Wright, 2005). Wright’s depiction of the Bennets’ slight poverty does not dampen their spirits, but as a result, they are a more realistic, loving, and joyful family with all the same quirks and faults as one would expect, not the collection of caricatures they are portrayed as in the novel and previous adaptations. Wright’s Pride & Prejudice gives us a more personal and intimate look at the Bennet family: Mr. and Mrs. Bennet share a kiss, Mrs. Bennet experiences a hangover the morning after the Netherfield Ball, all the Bennets eat their meals with intensity instead of daintiness, Lizzie is sharp-tongued and headstrong—and even yells at the others a few times, Mr. Bennet is always in need of a shave and a clean 54 shirt, and when Kitty announces Bingley’s arrival the women make a mad dash to hide their usual activities: dozing, haberdashery, lounging, etc. (Wright, 2005). This is certainly an honest portrayal of a boisterous family of five daughters in the late 18th century and, if anything, it endears the Bennets to the audience, and allows those watching the film to feel like the Bennets are their own families. This is Wright’s attempt to make the family in his Pride & Prejudice more relatable than previous adaptations, which portray the Bennets as very distant from real families due to their comical representations. Wright’s honest portrayal of Pride and Prejudice in his film is not limited to the Bennets and Longbourn. The first large event that takes place in the film is the Assembly Ball—a public ball attended by all of Meryton society in which Bingley, his sister Caroline, and Darcy are introduced to everyone—and there is one specific difference from previous adaptations: sweat. This is the most interesting yet forgettable aspect of this scene and it deserves attention in regards to Wright’s intention of making his Pride & Prejudice as honest as possible. What is often, if not always, glossed over in period adaptations is the notion of hygiene in those times. Period films almost always depict their characters as devoid of natural instincts such as needing to urinate, brush their teeth, etc., and these characters are never portrayed as less than pristine. It is completely different for Wright to show the attendees of the Assembly Ball sweating as they dance (Wright, 2005). Regency dances are not slow and gentle; they are lively, exuberant, and great exercise, which is why it is strange that most period characters do not show outward signs of physical exertion in most adaptations. Even more interesting to note is that in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, the only exercises ladies undertook were gentle walks 55 and dancing. The Assembly Ball and the Netherfield Ball are the only social events that involve constant dancing in Austen’s novel, which spans a full year. It is completely rational to expect the Bennet sisters to be sweaty, out of breath, and physically exerted when dancing, given that they attend only two balls a year. Wright’s Pride & Prejudice is not a glossy period film that romanticizes or ignores the aspects of daily life that are less than pristine. He makes the film real, gritty, and as honest as possible, through his small adjustments to the physical appearance of the story, which in no way alters its events, but provides a fresh outlook on it. Sexy Stylistic Choices In the ten years that passed between the 1995 BBC miniseries and Wright’s 2005 film, the level of sexiness in Pride and Prejudice increased. As I mentioned in the preceding chapter, Colin Firth in a wet shirt was enough to send more than one generation of women into ‘Darcymania,’ but Wright’s film turns things up a few notches. Pride and Prejudice will always be Elizabeth Bennet’s story, but it is undoubtedly Darcy who brings audiences to the screen versions of the novel, as the target audience for its adaptations is predominantly female. Having to compete with the mass popularity of Colin Firth’s rendition of Darcy, Matthew MacFadyen stepped into a very large pair of breeches. But, with MacFadyen’s physical appearance and some slight tweaking to the character, a new smoldering Byronic Darcy came to life on the screen. In his article “Mr. Darcy’s Smile,” John Wiltshire assesses MacFadyen’s performance: In this matter of Mr. Darcy’s appearance, the film reproduces, with even more emphasis, the conception of the 1995 version. In other words, it produces a reading of Mr. Darcy which concentrates, as did that earlier adaptation, on Darcy’s compelling sexual attraction to Elizabeth. The early scenes of the BBC 56 version constantly revert to Darcy’s looking at Elizabeth, but he looks at her not with a smile but with a smolder. Overwhelming desire, troubling him because it is in conflict with social position and self-image, seems to be conveyed in his look. In the 2005 version this conflict has intensified. Miserable awkwardness at the Assembly [Ball] escalates, as the film continues, into looks in which compulsion is fused with distress (Wiltshire 98). In many ways, MacFadyen is Darcy 2.0. Everything about his portrayal of the character is intensified compared to previous adaptations: his looks, his costumes, his facial expressions, and especially his body language. MacFadyen’s appearance is rugged: tall, dark, and handsome, but broodingly so, as if his own beauty causes him anguish. He is less the flouncy, well-groomed gentleman and more the cultured, rustic man. MacFadyen’s Darcy is an enigma: he is not like in other adaptations where Darcy is initially proud and ill tempered, and kind and mannerly later in the adaptation, but secretive about his true character throughout Wright’s film. In Pride & Prejudice (Wright), Darcy is mysterious, and hides his character from all who are not very closely acquainted with him, such as his sister Georgiana; he even seems to hide parts of himself from Bingley and Caroline, his closest friends. His proud, disagreeable, and even shy manner is a mask he puts on to hide his true nature, which is within himself all along; he does not improve his character after Elizabeth rejects his first proposal, rather, he just lets her see the real him beneath. She gets a glimpse of his true self during his first proposal—his sweet affection and his temper—but it is not until she spies him with his sister at Pemberley that she sees him completely unmasked. MacFadyen’s Darcy displays more true affection than any other Darcy in all adaptations, when he surprises his sister and lifts her up in a sweeping embrace (Wright, 2005). This is the deepest look into Darcy’s true character because it is a private moment that ideally would not have been witnessed by anyone, especially Elizabeth. He not only smiles in 57 this moment, but laughs too, something that other Darcys do not do at all. When Elizabeth and the Gardiners return to Pemberley for dinner the following day, Darcy is all smiles and congeniality, and does not just give Mr. Gardiner permission and equipment to fish in his lake, but asks Mr. Gardiner to join him for the excursion, going above and beyond what other Darcys have done. MacFadyen’s Darcy is more than other Darcys because he is more than the character in Jane Austen’s novel. MacFadyen’s Darcy is also a Byronic hero, possessing qualities associated with Lord Byron’s poetry: unconventional beauty, self-imposed isolation from society, moodiness, hidden passion, high intellectual capacity, and self- consciousness (“Characteristics of the Byronic Hero,” web). MacFadyen plays the part of Darcy with all of these additional characteristics, so he is not just Darcy, but Darcy the Byronic Hero, and he showcases all the qualities listed above. By adding these elements to Darcy, MacFadyen enriches the character and allows him to make a strong impact on audiences, specifically to stand apart from Colin Firth’s extremely popular portrayal. John Wiltshire says, “Matthew MacFadyen’s Darcy is not only unsmiling, embarrassed, uncomfortable, he is plainly distressed, and to present him in this guise is clearly the director’s intention. Elizabeth twice derides Darcy as ‘miserable’” (Wiltshire 97-8). Wiltshire views MacFadyen’s performance in a negative light, but I disagree. MacFadyen brings so much extra to the role, but everything he brings is so subtle than it can be missed or misunderstood, as Wiltshire’s above comment shows. To the undiscerning eye MacFadyen’s Darcy does seem miserable, but when looked at with knowledge of the added Byronic hero elements, MacFadyen’s Darcy is extremely self-conscious, and his intentional isolation from society is to protect himself. But underneath that cold, shy 58 exterior is a loving, kind, intelligent, and passionate man. At the Netherfield Ball, he does not stand in a corner with Caroline and pass judgment on the Bennets, but silently skulks in corridors and edges of rooms, as a voyeur, unnoticed until he chooses to be noticed (Wright, 2005). The two proposal scenes are ripe examples of MacFadyen’s Darcy’s character and his portrayal of Darcy as a Byronic hero, both of which are done a particular way in the film that is contrary to the novel and all other adaptations. Wright’s Pride & Prejudice is truer to the romance of Austen’s novel than the specifics of it, and Darcy’s two proposals show this. Both proposals are set outdoors, the first during a torrential rainstorm, and the second at dawn. Each time, Elizabeth and Darcy are completely alone, which allows sparks to fly and passions to swell, resulting in two different outcomes for the couple. Darcy’s first proposal moves out of the cozy setting of Mr. Collins’ home in the novel and other adaptations to a ‘Temple of Apollo’ stone gazebo, in an unknown location in Hunsford. Elizabeth runs across a bridge and under the awning of the gazebo to escape the torrential rainstorm, and as she is catching her breath Darcy suddenly appears, as if he has been following her (Wright, 2005). He invades her solace from the storm, and instigates a storm of emotions in her. In this scene, the rainstorm stands as a pathetic fallacy, mimicking the heightened emotions of both characters, and Dario Marianelli’s score intensifies the moment with a passionate crescendo of strings and horns. Marianelli’s score is peppered with Elizabeth’s orgasmic gasps of breath (from running to escape the rain), which culminate in a sharp intake when she sees Darcy, imitating an achievement of climax, and adding to the pathetic fallacy (Wright, 2005). Both Elizabeth and Darcy display a palpable sexual chemistry as both their passions and their tempers 59 flare, intensified by the cinematography. Wright employs a hand-held camera and cross- cutting techniques to gradually frame Elizabeth and Darcy from medium shots to close- ups, and never frames them both in the same shot (Wright, 2005). This signifies that Elizabeth and Darcy have very different feelings towards one another (Elizabeth just learned from Fitzwilliam that Darcy broke up Jane and Bingley), and they are blinded by their passion and anger, which almost causes them to have a lusty kiss. The gradually closer framing suggests that over time, something will bring them closer together and they will fall in deep, lasting love with each other. As passionate and violent as the first proposal is, the second is subdued, gentle, and caring. These two scenes are in every way opposite of each other. Where the first took place during a torrential rainstorm and used mobile framing and cross-cutting techniques, Darcy’s second proposal takes place on a misty morning just before dawn, with fewer and longer cuts, and Darcy and Elizabeth are shot in the same frame. Darcy strides towards Elizabeth through the mist, the pre-dawn sky silhouetting his Byronic figure, his ground-sweeping coat open to reveal a white shirt (an homage to Colin Firth’s wet shirt scene). In this scene, everything is peaceful, graceful, and loving. It can still be considered a pathetic fallacy, but a much more restrained one: the music is soft and sweet, intermittent with twittering birds, Darcy and Elizabeth speak barely above a whisper (as if to preserve the gentleness of the scene), and as the sun rises, the couple is silhouetted, just as Elizabeth accepts Darcy’s proposal and kisses his hands (Wright, 2005).13 This scene signifies that Elizabeth and Darcy’s love for each other is strong, but will not tear them apart like their passion during the first proposal; theirs is a love based 13 Poor MacFadyen seems to be suffering from allergies in this scene, and barely avoids sneezing while saying “I love—I love—I love you” (impressive acting on his part). 60 on mutual affection, respect, and caring for the other. Instead of their potentially destructive anger and passion mimicked by the torrential rainstorm in the first proposal, here their love is synonymous with the rising sun, full of joy, warmth, and promise. Like how Andrew Davies adjusted Austen’s original words in the 1995 BBC miniseries, here Deborah Moggach gives MacFadyen a line that could have been written by Austen, but was not. In professing his love to Elizabeth, Darcy says, “you have bewitched me body and soul,” words that speak volumes of the depth of his affection for her, and his Byronic hero attributes (Wright, 2005). This line has grown so popular that it has joined the ranks of true Pride and Prejudice quotations. Similar to those Austen fans who believe Colin Firth’s wet shirt scene is in the novel, so too do they believe Austen penned this line. Linda Hutcheon argues that this is what declares an adaptation a success: when what is adapted becomes original in the minds of the audience. She claims, “perhaps one way to think about unsuccessful adaptations is not in terms of fidelity to a prior text, but in terms of a lack of the creativity and skill to make the text one’s own and thus autonomous” (Hutcheon 20). Wright’s Pride & Prejudice contains ample amounts of creativity, but not all of its creative liberties were as accepted as Darcy’s above line. Depending on which version of the film one watches, the film will end prematurely with the final scene being Mr. Bennet in his study, or it will end properly with Elizabeth and Darcy sharing a kiss. If it is the first, than one is watching the British version, if the second, one is watching the North American version. Among Austen fans and film critics, the proper final scene is the most despised of all the creative scenes in the film. The kiss between Elizabeth and Darcy is not in the novel, but it is not new to Austen adaptations. In fact the very famous 1995 BBC miniseries ended with Elizabeth 61 and Darcy sharing a kiss, but the context of that adaptation versus Wright’s film is what causes dissent among audiences. In the 1995 BBC miniseries, Elizabeth and Darcy share a chaste kiss as they drive away from their wedding. In Wright’s Pride & Prejudice, Elizabeth and Darcy are sharing a post-coital kiss while admiring the stars in their nightclothes. Austen fans are very protective of the novel and do not like having their treasured story sexualized: they love Elizabeth meeting Darcy in a wet shirt, but they do not want to see Darcy and Elizabeth in bed together, or even the suggestion of it. Wright’s Pride & Prejudice is not meant for those protective fans; it is intended for new fans who are open to new ways of envisioning the novel, as honestly as possible. Filmic Stylistic Choices Television and film entail different expectations for what an adaptation will look like, so there are a variety of stylistic elements one will see in a film that one would not see on television. Aesthetically speaking, film takes more liberties than television and produces diverse results. Linda V. Troost argues who she thinks Wright imagines his audience to be for his film: This Pride and Prejudice aims to attract a very different audience – teenagers – who will gravitate toward a film that looks superficially like Pirates of the Caribbean crossed with Wuthering Heights: an edgy heroine in stays (Keira Knightley) meets a broody hero in a long coat (Matthew MacFadyen) – the music swells as emotions boil and the fog thickens. […] Its style hopes to attract the youthful audience that loved The Princess Bride, the audience that actually goes to the movie theatres, rather than the older audience more likely to stay at home and watch, for the hundredth time, a DVD of Colin Firth diving into the pond (Troost 87). I definitely agree with Troost that Wright is trying to achieve a certain stylistic effect and trying to attract a certain kind of audience, one that is assuredly younger. In certain 62 scenes, Wright employs specific stylistic elements to cause certain results. As I mentioned above when comparing Darcy’s two proposals, the cinematographic style changes in each scene. Like the two proposals scenes, the two ball scenes also have opposite cinematographic styles. Wright opens the scene of the Assembly Ball, the first ensemble scene in the film, with a tracking shot of the room leading up to the arrival of Bingley, Caroline, and Darcy; he then employs a hand-held camera for close-ups and quick shifts in focus to highlight specific characters. The cinematography is very helter-skelter in this scene, but it suits the tone of the event: a public ball that is rowdy, crowded, and a lot of fun, with a large vibrant band in the balcony. Costume designer Jacqueline Durran and production designer Sarah Greenwood have also created a distinct color palette of woodsy browns and greens that emphasize that this is a country event, and it is relaxed and amiable. Here, everyone is at ease, talking and cajoling, and wearing comfortable clothing, not their best finery. The barmen duck and turn to avoid getting their trays of ale knocked to the floor by dancers, and children playfully weave through the couples (Wright, 2005). The Netherfield Ball is quite the opposite. It is a private ball that has been meticulously designed and organized (most likely by Caroline, as the mistress of Netherfield) and is the most ornate event the Bennets have ever been to—or anyone invited from Meryton. As a result, it looks completely aesthetically different from the Assembly Ball. For this ball, guests must be invited, come dressed in their finest garments, and be on their absolute best behavior. The band is a much more refined string quartet with a single flutist, liveried footmen stand along the walls with silver trays of champagne, and the Bingleys have set aside salons for guests to sit and converse if they are not dancing 63 (Wright, 2005). There is another distinct color palette at this ball: white with hints of black and red, inspired by a London street, the complete opposite of a casual country dance. The ladies are all wearing white or ivory dresses (discussed earlier in this chapter), the men don dark coats (black, deep blue, or forest green), and the militia officers are dressed in their red regimentals. The cinematography is significantly different as well. When Elizabeth enters Netherfield and begins looking for the absent Wickham, her search is captured in a long take that continues until Elizabeth is accosted by Mr. Collins and must dance with him. This is a beautifully employed cinematic device because it gives the camera (read: Wright) an excuse to showcase the “breathtaking” “general splendor” without hearkening back to picturesque traditional filming of Austen adaptations (Wright, 2005). The 1995 BBC miniseries almost exclusively films the Netherfield Ball scene in long shots that show the entire ballroom and everyone in it, emphasizing its grandeur (Langton, 1995). One of the most beautiful moments in Wright’s film (and there are many) is Darcy and Elizabeth’s dance, set to the same music used in the 1995 BBC miniseries, a baroque song called “Rondeau” from the Abdelazer Suite written by Henry Purcell, and using the same dance movements, those of “Moniek’s Maggot” (Albright, web).14 This is a much more personal dance than the others during the ball, and involves much closer proximity between partners, allowing for intimate conversations, and locked eye contact. This dance shows the attraction and chemistry between Darcy and Elizabeth (even if she is yet unaware of it), but Wright’s cinematography makes it more evident. After they have discussed polite nothings and Elizabeth makes a quip about Mr. Darcy’s treatment 14 On the 2005 film’s soundtrack, this song is called “A Postcard to Henry Purcell.” 64 of Mr. Wickham there is a cut to a match-on-action—Elizabeth and Darcy’s dance movements continue into the new shot as if a cut never happened—only now they are completely alone in the ballroom. John Wiltshire argues that This creates a disorienting and troubling effect, but it makes a clear point. […] It is indicating that there is, even at this early stage, a passionate, magnetic attraction that holds the two together. Dangerous and inconvenient, not necessarily productive of pleasure—that is why the camera moves so differently from that joyous kinship with the dance which is conveyed in so many other Austen ball scenes (Wiltshire 109). The cinematography of this moment is truly exquisite: the camera moves like another member of the dance, swaying and swooping, moving toward and away from Elizabeth and Darcy, not worrying about framing them straight-on, perfectly, or in the same shot, and Wright does not cut until the end of the dance and there is a match-on-action of Elizabeth curtseying and they are once again among all the other dancers (Wright, 2005). The purpose of this scene is to show the magnetic attraction between Elizabeth and Darcy, but it is also purely aesthetic, a gratuitous display of beauty, and it is in Wright’s Pride & Prejudice because this is a film, showing off that it is a film. Wiltshire adds, “in this beautifully conceived, filmed, and edited sequence, takes merge and fade into each other, and render a visual equivalent of absorbed, dreamlike contemplation” (Wiltshire 109). Another noteworthy aesthetic moment that is gratuitously beautiful and not strictly necessary to the narrative is Elizabeth on a swing in the Bennet yard. Charlotte has just come to tell Elizabeth that she has agreed to marry Mr. Collins after Elizabeth refused him. Once she walks away, Elizabeth contemplates Charlotte’s decision and spins in circles, the camera cutting back and forth between shots of Elizabeth on the swing, and three slow pans of the yard, showing the seasons changing and time passing (Wright, 65 2005). In one of these pans, it is pouring rain and for an inexplicable reason, there is a small wooden sailboat in a muddy puddle in the yard. The other two pans show the yard in drier seasons and have no odd items like the boat. Even though it is not always immediately evident how these gratuitously beautiful scenes relate to the narrative, they are memorable, which is perhaps their main intention, and reveal how Wright is trying to make his Pride & Prejudice stand apart from the novel and other adaptations, specifically the 1995 BBC miniseries. His intentions of standing apart from the novel and the hugely successful miniseries are announced in the opening scene of the film: Elizabeth is shown walking and reading a book at dawn, which on Close inspection (for those patient enough to capture the image on pause) reveals the book to be Pride and Prejudice itself, […] While David Roche reads this meta-adaptive moment as an announcement of the film’s infidelity to Austen, that the adaptation will leave the book behind to create something different, Elizabeth’s possession of the book establishes a key connection between author and heroine (Cartmell 112). This brings to light the most important filmic stylistic choice of Wright’s entire adaptation that immediately sets it apart from the 1995 BBC miniseries: Elizabeth. The film begins with Elizabeth, ends with Elizabeth, and features her in every step of the narrative; one can count on a single hand the number of shots in the film in which she is absent, and she is present in every scene. There are also a large number of scenes that show only Elizabeth, a luxury the BBC miniseries does not take. It is very clear that Wright’s Pride & Prejudice is Elizabeth’s story: it is cinematically told from her perspective and through her subjective perception. Wright does this through subtle techniques such as featuring Elizabeth more than previous adaptations, including gratuitous scenes depicting her alone in thought (in place of scenes that address events 66 and characters that have been omitted), and giving Elizabeth a more powerful role, rendering Mr. Bennet more passive and resigned. To those who know the original novel, it is quite noticeable that many of Mr. Bennet’s lines have been given to Elizabeth. Her attitude suggests that she has a position of power in the family as the most sensible of the daughters, and she takes charge of the situation when Lydia runs away, reading Mr. Bennet’s letter and informing Jane that “Wickham’s a fool if he accepts less than ten thousand pounds” (Wright, 2005). It is also worth mentioning that Elizabeth wears masculine style clothing on occasion. In stark contrast to her sister’s feminine dresses, she is sometimes seen wearing a shirt and vest styled dress in white and light brown, as well as a dark colored great coat (floor-length) instead of a more feminine cape or shawl, or the light-colored and femininely-styled coats of other ladies (Wright, 2005). Wright uses these masculine costume choices to bring attention to Keira Knightley’s delicate and beautiful feminine features, especially her lips and eyes (her eyelashes are particularly noticeable), and perhaps to disguise her slim and small-chested figure, which contrasts Jennifer Eyre’s buxom appearance. All of these subtle techniques bring attention to Elizabeth, allowing her to always stand out from the scene, reminding viewers that it is always her story. Linda Hutcheon argues, “part of both the pleasure and frustration of experiencing an adaptation is the familiarity bred through repetition and memory” (Hutcheon 21), so Wright makes every stylistic choice with the intention of being different from the novel and all other adaptations before his, most especially the 1995 BBC miniseries. His own admission is that he wants his Pride & Prejudice to be as honest as possible, but that can 67 be interchanged with wanting it to be as different as possible, and he achieves this goal. Wright took on a hefty challenge of creating a Pride and Prejudice that can challenge the 1995 BBC miniseries for popularity among audiences.15 It was never a question of whether or not Wright’s Pride & Prejudice could outshine Robert Z. Leonard’s Pride and Prejudice—any film of the novel could do that—but if it could challenge the BBC miniseries. In many ways, Wright’s film has done something beyond this task: it has become one of the most successful films of the romance genre, and was nominated for four Academy Awards, including Best Actress for Keira Knightley and Best Score for Dario Marianelli (“Pride & Prejudice Awards,” web). Ariane Hudelet explains why this is: “Jane Austen’s texts had already given way to rituals before the age of film, […] but cinema has brought the phenomenon to a more significant level, by expanding the range of the audience concerned, in terms of place, gender, and social class” (Hudelet 156-7). Wright’s film definitely reaches out to a new audience, but it also reaches out to a larger audience, expanding the reach of Jane Austen and insuring that her legacy grows. Wright’s Pride & Prejudice is like a perfect autumn afternoon: the lush, spring foliage (the original novel) has blossomed for the long months of summer (the BBC miniseries), but comes to its end, creating the most beautiful, yet temporary season with the most vibrant colors (the two hour film), and squeezes out the last bit of beauty before winter comes (when the novel, the miniseries, and the film end). Fortunately, the end has not yet come, as Bernie Su’s 2012 transmedia storytelling experience, The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, is the latest, most creative, and arguably most unique adaptation of Pride and Prejudice that has ever been produced. 15 This adaptation is not more popular than the BBC miniseries, but it is certainly one of the most popular Austen films that has been made (of any of the novels), and is almost equally successful as the miniseries. 68 Chapter Four – A Process of Reception: The Lizzie Bennet Diaries 2012 Transmedia Storytelling Experience “She told the story, however, with great spirit among her friends, for she had a lively, playful disposition, which delighted in anything ridiculous.” – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice To say that the face of film and television storytelling is changing would be an understatement. As audiences change, so do ways of watching entertainment, and along with them, adaptations. In the last decade, a new form of media has appeared and become a game-changer for film, television, and adaptation. Transmedia storytelling has fundamentally changed the way audiences view visual entertainment, and is defined by Henry Jenkins as “a process where integral elements of a fiction get dispersed systematically across multiple delivery channels for the purpose of creating a unified and coordinated entertainment experience” (Jenkins qtd. in Stein and Busse 13-4). Transmedia storytelling takes advantage of the progress of digital media and the increasing popularity of social media to create a fusion of entertainment directed at an entirely new audience. It relies on the interconnectedness between sites like YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, etc. to create a web of story elements that could stand alone, but the whole story is only fully experienced when all the elements come together. This is a very unconventional storytelling device, but it is steadily growing in popularity thanks to the Emmy-award winning series The Lizzie Bennet Diaries (Su, 2012), the most successful transmedia story experience of this emerging medium, creating an adaptation that offers “Austen-for-the-masses” (Bowles 18). Developed by Hank Green and Bernie 69 Su, and inspired by the Lonelygirl15 project,16 The Lizzie Bennet Diaries (LBD), took a story so familiar and made it new, challenging the forms of media used for adaptation (and storytelling in general), affirming the popularity of Austen and the ingenuity of transmedia storytelling. YouTube, “the third most popular Internet site in the world” (Van Dijck 111), is the foremost website for viewing video content, as “Internet market research company comScore reported that the service accounted for 37 percent of all Internet videos watched inside the United States, with the next largest service, Fox Interactive Media, accounting for only 4.2 percent” (Burgess and Green 2). Plainly speaking, YouTube is a digital media phenomenon that is growing exponentially, and it is not likely that it will slow down in the near future. Like other social media sites, YouTube provides a service and creates a community bolstered around that service. YouTube’s community is one of amateurs and professionals who upload videos and share them with the public, inviting views, comments, and responses, which are collectively addressed as ‘participatory culture.’ This is “a term that is often used to talk about the apparent link between more accessible digital technologies, user-created content, and some kind of shift in the power relations between media industries and their consumers” (Burgess and Green 10). YouTube is a free service for those wishing to view and post videos, blurring the boundary between industries and consumers; as well, the increasing quality of technology for affordable prices is blurring the boundary between professional and amateur. The uniqueness of “YouTube’s rapid rise, diverse range of content, and public prominence in the Western, English-speaking world make it useful for understanding the evolving 16 Originally thought to be a real girl’s video diary, Lonelygirl15 was the first attempt by a media company to tell a fictional story through the ‘authentic’ form of video blogging (vlogging) and profit from this new media (Burgess and Green 28). 70 relationships between new media technologies, the creative industries, and the politics of popular culture” (Burgess and Green vii). Nothing encapsulates the interstice of these three things better than The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. For a 200-year-old story, Pride and Prejudice continues to be remarkably fresh and consistently adaptable, even to a brand new medium that is not even a decade old. As Olivia Rosane explains: Jane Austen’s internet success isn’t so surprising. She is, after all, one of those few authors who live on as both a pop-cultural phenomenon and a dissertation topic. In fact, given her talent for snarky dialogue, Austen and the internet seem like a perfect match. For what do we use social media, after all, but to make sport for our neighbors, and laugh at them in our turn? (Rosane, web). The intricacies latent in Pride and Prejudice through the use of various narrative tools (narrator, dialogue, letters, etc.) set things up very nicely for a transposition to transmedia storytelling, as these narrative tools get translated into social media tools. The Lizzie Bennet Diaries uses YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, and Tumblr to illustrate the story of the Bennet sisters, but though its storytelling format is what made it unlike any other adaptation, the fact that it is Pride and Prejudice is “what connected with audiences. Without them, this would have just been an experiment” (McNutt, web). Telling a story across media is an amazing concept, but LBD succeeded because it was Jane Austen’s classic novel, beloved by millions. As the first successful transmedia storytelling experience, LBD blew open the doors of visual entertainment media and how audiences experience stories, setting a trend that is sure to continue, but the series “is also a well- made adaptation of Pride and Prejudice that deserves the basic distinction of being an engaging story well told” (McNutt, web). 71 This brings me to Linda Hutcheon’s third and final theory of adaptation: process of reception, that which is “an extended intertextual engagement with the adapted work” and is experienced as a palimpsest with one’s memory of the original work, indicating the most creative liberties from original to adaptation (Hutcheon 8). What is important here is that though many changes are made, “the story is the common denominator, the core of what is transposed across different media and genres, each of which deals with that story in formally different ways” (Hutcheon 10). It is important for adapters to take creative liberties, even extensive liberties, because these (sometimes drastic) changes allow one to see the original in a new light, one that highlights something one never saw in the original, but was there all along. With the case of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, the audience is given a major updating of Pride and Prejudice, with changes to story elements, plot events, and style of presentation. Looking immediately at the stylistic presentation, LBD is a series of one hundred videos ‘made’ by Lizzie, ranging from three to seven minutes, as well as three parallel video series by Lydia, Charlotte, and Gigi (Darcy) on YouTube, which combined, total over nine hours of video. The series also employs Twitter handles for every character, Facebook pages, Tumblr accounts, and even a legitimate LLC company website for Pemberley Digital, which is now the name of Hank Green’s company, currently producing more transmedia adaptations. This intricate web of story elements and stylistic presentation create an example of what Hutcheon calls interactive adaptation, in which “the interactive, physical nature of this kind of engagement entails changes both in the story and even in the importance of story itself,” engaging audiences “immediately and viscerally” (Hutcheon 13). YouTube is a very immersive medium of entertainment, immediate and visceral, because it “revolutionize[s] the experience of 72 lean-back TV into lean-forward interactive engagement” (Van Dijck 110), offering a platform to watch videos, but also comment on them, participate in community reactions to them, and even respond back to them with videos of one’s own. The irrefutable most common video on YouTube is the talking head, audience- directed video blog, better known as the vlog. The majority of vlogs are amateur and authentic, but very recently this authenticity has been mimicked to create assumed real amateur vlogs that are entirely scripted, most notably The Lizzie Bennet Diaries. This is the most popular form because “not only is the vlog technically easy to produce, generally requiring little more than a webcam and basic editing skills, it is a form whose persistent address to the viewer inherently invites feedback,” creating a medium of participatory culture (Burgess and Green 54). Adaptation is an innate human desire for repetition without replication, as Hutcheon argues, so participatory culture in today’s digital age is the logical next step. Transmedia storytelling fulfills the human craving for the same, coupled with the human need for change, with the added fantasy of participating in one’s favourite same story and its repetition without replication. With The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, viewers “did not possess the agency to change the events of a 200 year old story, [but] they did embrace the opportunity to interact heavily with the characters through the communication channels carved out for them in the narrative” (Anderson, web). The very basis of transmedia storytelling is to immerse the audience in the project and let the story world bleed out into reality, allowing audiences to temporarily suspend reality and live in the story world the same way they live in the real world. Through this suspension of reality, The Lizzie Bennet Diaries creates the most 73 immersive adaptation of Pride and Prejudice ever made, and it could only have been done in today’s digital culture. As the camera begins to roll, Lizzie opens her vlog with the famous first line of Pride and Prejudice, but once this line is spoken, LBD appears to ricochet away from every other Pride and Prejudice adaptation that has come before it. Although the series is remarkably different from previous adaptations, there are little hints and nuances in Lizzie’s videos that speak to the interconnectedness of adaptations, wherein previous Pride and Prejudice adaptations are used for source material just as much as Austen’s novel. In Chapter Two I discussed how the 1995 BBC miniseries adapted the original Pride and Prejudice novel, and in Chapter Three how Joe Wright’s 2005 film adapted the 1995 BBC miniseries; now The Lizzie Bennet Diaries continues this chain, adapting the novel and Wright’s 2005 film, and including tiny homages to the 1995 BBC miniseries. Adaptations are always responding back to the original source text, but they are also reacting to previous adaptations, specifically the most recent one before them. They are never competing with the source text for popularity, they are competing with previous adaptations; therefore, they take the most recent adaptation as their source text and build off it. This usually entails that the new adaptation is very different from the previous one(s), and that it presents itself as ‘the adaptation that is or does X.’ For example, the 1995 BBC miniseries is the sexy Pride and Prejudice, and Joe Wright’s 2005 film is the gritty Pride and Prejudice; following this chain, The Lizzie Bennet Diaries is the Pride and Prejudice for the digitally literate audience, especially the 20-something woman. Using the tools of today, LBD seamlessly applies Austen’s 200-year-old story to today’s world of digital literacy, social media, and being a young woman in the twenty- 74 first century. This implies attaining post-secondary education (and then some), getting a fulfilling career (or even just a job), and finding the Darcy amid the Wickhams of today’s dating pool. LBD proves the timelessness of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, as Rosane claims: “watching a story that has survived two centuries play out over new media is an assurance that something of our humanity remains constant between the world of quills and parchment and the world of styluses and screens” (Rosane, web, my emphasis). This timelessness is of course, reimagined in The Lizzie Bennet Diaries in a very positive way, as Jane and Lizzie’s end results are no longer falling in love and getting married, but finding themselves and their places in the world. Pride and Prejudice will always be the story of a woman who was never afraid to be herself, and always followed her heart and achieved her own desires, but in today’s world this means more than finding a husband. Myles McNutt recognizes that “in its choice to tell the story entirely through direct-address video blogs set in the present day, The Lizzie Bennet Diaries takes a contemporary approach, weaving details and dialogue from the novel with storylines and characterization that better reflects 21st century sensibilities” (McNutt, web). These 21st century sensibilities are portrayed side-by-side with elements of the novel, but also with dialogic aspects of Joe Wright’s 2005 film, and nods to the 1995 BBC miniseries. This is apparent from the very first episode, as Lizzie explains who she is: “I’m a 24-year-old grad student with a mountain of student loans, living at home, and preparing for a career. […] I like rain, classic novels, and any movie starring Colin Firth” (Su, 2012). To the regular vlog-watcher, this second sentence would not stand out as anything particular, but to the Pride and Prejudice fan—who is already knowledgeable 75 enough to know this is an adaptation of P&P—these three things are references to Joe Wright’s 2005 film (rain), Jane Austen’s novel (classic novels), and the 1995 BBC miniseries (any movie starring Colin Firth), three source texts that have created the foundation for LBD. The nuances accumulate as the series goes on, including original lines from the novel such as “a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman” (Austen PP 19) and “I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun” (Austen PP 285). Continuing the tradition set by Colin Firth in the 1995 BBC miniseries, there is, of course, a wet shirt scene. In the first episode where Wickham appears, he and Lizzie are chatting towards the camera, when Lydia comes in and unashamedly ‘accidentally’ pours a cup of water on Wickham’s t-shirt, forcing him to remove it, giving the audience a prolonged view of his well-defined chest and abs, which Lydia practically salivates over (Su, 2012). Since LBD was produced in 2012, it should come as no surprise that the wet shirt scene has transformed into a shirtless scene, but what is interesting is that it is Wickham instead of Darcy. Dialogue from Wright’s 2005 film appears as well, such as Darcy’s rebuff of Lizzie asking him if he likes dancing: “not if I can help it” (Wright, 2005), and Darcy’s first proposal scene, reworked into a declaration of love, as well as their subsequent argument, which is dialogically and physically reminiscent of Wright’s film (Wright, 2005). Truth be told, this episode is more than reminiscent; it is almost a transcription of the words and gestures of Keira Knightley and Matthew MacFadyen, though the dialogue has been updated to modern speech, and there is no ‘almost kiss,’ as Lizzie is fuming with anger and Darcy is very wary of that (Su, 2012). A chain of adaptations of a single source text “is arguably not a postponement of pleasure; it is in itself a pleasure. […] Like ritual, this kind of repetition brings comfort, a 76 fuller understanding, and the confidence that comes with the sense of knowing what is about to happen next” (Hutcheon 114). In this repetition, certain story elements are expected to occur, as “the story is the common denominator, the core of what is transposed” (Hutcheon 10), but this does not mean that the story elements have to be portrayed exactly the same. In The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, some Pride and Prejudice plot events are seamlessly adaptable to today’s society and culture, but others must be creatively adjusted to fit the 21st century. Though some of them are the same and others different, all of the story elements retain their original intentions, and the core of Pride and Prejudice remains throughout the series. Some story elements that are the same as the novel are: Jane and Bing falling in love but torn apart by Darcy (Bingley has become Bing Lee), Mr. Collins being a thickheaded annoyance, and Darcy writing Lizzie a letter to explain himself after his botched declaration of love (Su, 2012). Events that have been updated are: Charlotte accepting Mr. Collins’ offer to be partner of his digital media company, not his wife; Jane and Lizzie being guests at Netherfield for nearly a month on the pretense that their house is under renovation, not Jane’s illness (though she does get a slight cold while there); and of course Wickham still nearly destroying Lydia’s reputation by posting a sex tape of them with a countdown to its release, though of course Darcy steps in before it reaches the end (Su, 2012). It is no surprise that these events unfold as naturally as they did in Austen’s novel and in other adaptations, but the viewer’s interest remains constant, because “we keep watching not to know what will happen, but how it will” (Rosane, web, my emphasis). Pride and Prejudice is so well known, that for the purpose of my analysis, the medium of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries matters more than the 77 story, but LBD also proves that the popularity of Pride and Prejudice continues in today’s digital age, two hundred years after the novel’s publication. Karen Swallow Prior argues that “LBD is said to have changed the face of storytelling because of the way the multiple platforms allow fan interaction to add zigzags and layers to the old linear story […] and the format has been called the perfect ecosystem of a story world” (Prior, web). Unlike adaptations in film and television, the characters of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries are not untouchable; they are active in social media, allowing fans to connect with them as tangibly as they do with their own friends and acquaintances. In Film Studies there is the phrase, ‘breaking down the fourth wall,’ meaning the characters are aware of, and interact with, the camera; but in transmedia storytelling, there is no fourth wall to begin with. The core of a vlog is that the character in front of the camera is speaking directly to the audience his/her videos are reaching, and Lizzie is as aware of this as any real vlogger would be. Throughout the series, Lizzie makes many off-handed comments that imply her cognizance of the fact that she is speaking to a public audience, and that she has certain responsibilities to them, the most important of which is telling the truth. She is very aware though, that she provides a version of the truth; early in the series, after Charlotte and Jane post a video addressing this, Lizzie fights back with, “of course I’m biased, it’s my video blog” (Su, 2012, original emphasis). Before Lizzie shares the video of Darcy professing his love to her, she opens the episode by saying this: “we’ve had some crazy things happen on camera, and there have been several moments that we didn’t include, so this was not an easy decision to make. But it seems like these videos are bigger than me now” (Su, 2012). This shows that Lizzie has come to terms with the fact she must be more objective in her 78 videos for the sake of her viewers, especially when Darcy expresses his unawareness of her dislike of him, and she accidentally reveals that she has a vlog, blurting out, “you were unaware? Then why don’t you watch my videos” (Su, 2012). Lizzie’s immediate horror of having revealed her videos to Darcy is peculiar because, until she let the cat out of the bag, she assumed Darcy would not have known about them at all. Lizzie shares the events of her life through vlogs that any member of the public can see, so why has she been in a false sense of security that the people she speaks about and imitates would not see them too? Lizzie is embarrassed when she finds out that Caroline has seen them, and even more so when Gigi Darcy admits to being an avid viewer, because she openly talks about, mocks, and derides their brothers, though more Darcy than Bing of course (Su, 2012). In posting her videos, Lizzie knows that they are available for anyone to see, but she almost expects them to remain private from Darcy and Bing, as well as anyone who knows the men. Though Bing knows Lizzie films herself, and appears in a few videos, he believes that Lizzie is recording video letters to Charlotte, not video blogs for the whole world to see; he does not realize otherwise until very late in the series, and is the last to know (Su, 2012). Lizzie, however, has shifted in her opinions: early in her vlogs she never questions sharing personal information about herself, her sisters, and everyone they know, but as the series progresses, she begins to think differently, and asks permission before posting videos involving others, suggests turning off her camera multiple times, and even tries to dissuade Gigi Darcy from sharing private information (Su, 2012). The openness of digital media, and the common abuse of this openness, is a constant moral string throughout the series, and though The Lizzie Bennet Diaries creates entertainment with this touchy subject, 79 The series does not shy away from raising ethical questions about the new form. […] Over the course of the series [however], the videos are ultimately a redemptive force. […] There isn’t a problem the internet causes that it can’t also resolve. Which makes it seem less like a disruption than another, newer but increasingly familiar, part of life (Rosane, web). Although Lizzie does not regret her decision to put her life and the lives of her sisters and friends online for all to see, her vlog teaches her a moral lesson about what the internet can do when it is misused (Su, 2012). Olivia Rosane argues: “beyond smoothing away the wrinkles of the past, The Lizzie Bennet Diaries goes out of its way to make us comfortable with the technologies of the future” (Rosane, web). The internet can be a scary place, but it does not have to be if one has the tools to navigate it well. The same can be said about life as a twenty-something woman in today’s society and culture. In the 21st century, young women can do so much more than just marry and have children, as Jane and Lizzie do in Austen’s novel, and LBD takes Austen’s Mrs. Bennet’s serious voice of wanting her daughters married to rich men as comic fodder. Lizzie often harshly imitates her mother’s outdated marriage hopes for her daughters, as Jane says of one of Lizzie’s skits, “Lizzie this isn’t very nice,” and Lizzie asks, “is it true?” and Jane responds, “well yes, but you always make mom seem unhinged” (Su, 2012). In the 21st century, it is not sensible for Lizzie and Jane to find husbands by the end of the series, and Lizzie’s costumed portrayals of her mother’s desires to have her daughters married to rich, single men are clearly comedic. Lizzie and Jane are in their mid-twenties, and though some women do marry around this age, the viewer wants something better for them than Austen’s literary ending. LBD deals with real problems plaguing the twenty-something women of Lizzie’s audience: achieving post-secondary education, the resulting debt from that, getting a job and establishing a career to pay off 80 those debts, and moving away from home. These issues are addressed constantly throughout the series, and by the end, every female character in the vlog has either a really good job with opportunity for advancement, or a planned career trajectory underway. Charlotte, who was the first to get a good-paying job and move away from home, has risen in the ranks of the digital media company she works for, and is now running the company’s current office as Mr. Collins heads to “the cosmopolitan metropolis of Winnipeg, Manitoba” to set up a new branch of offices (Su, 2012). Jane, who began the series with an entry-level job in the fashion industry where she was overworked and underpaid, briefly works for a company in LA, and ends the series starting an amazing job in New York (Su, 2012). And Lizzie, who has spent the series finishing her Masters degree, as the vlog is her thesis project, uses what she has learned to begin developing her own digital media company, which she will establish in San Francisco (Su, 2012). Of course, finding love is also important to Jane and Lizzie, but it is more important to find themselves and their places in the world before they decide to share their lives with others. Pride and Prejudice ends with the marriages of Jane and Lizzie, as do all adaptations of the novel, but The Lizzie Bennet Diaries reimagines these proposals into creative endings to the love stories of the two couples. After Bing leaves Jane and moves to LA, viewers watch Jane transform into a stronger person, more aware of what she wants out of life and what she is prepared to give up. When Bing returns, he asks Jane if they can get back together, but Jane initially refuses because she does not want to give up her career for any man, even Bing. As a result, he ‘proposes’ that he move with her to NYC, which Jane accepts with a few conditions (Su, 2012). Before their breakup, 81 Jane might have given up her career for Bing, but certainly not now. Lizzie and Darcy follow a similar pattern: Lizzie was her own person all along, and had a strong idea of what she wanted to do, which was to work in the digital media industry. Her drawback, however, was her reluctance to move away from home, which Charlotte forced her to admit (Su, 2012). In the second-last episode, when Lizzie and Darcy are reunited and both declare their love for the other, Darcy offers Lizzie a job at his digital media company Pemberley Digital—a company instead of a mansion. Lizzie refuses, however, staying true to herself, and instead of working for Pemberley Digital or for one of Darcy’s competitors, she is “thinking of becoming one of your competitors” (Su, 2012, original emphasis). Although Pride and Prejudice taught Regency women to follow their hearts and marry for love, in the 21st century The Lizzie Bennet Diaries teaches another lesson. Excitingly, “what Jane Austen did for the novel, LBD creators Hank Green and Bernie Su do for the vlog, and digital media generally” (Rosane, web): they bring recognition to a new medium, and encourage young women to seek out more than what society tells them they are capable of accomplishing. LBD teaches young women to get postsecondary education, find careers they love, and advance themselves in those careers, or create their own. More than these lessons though, LBD teaches young women they can have it all. As an added meta-layer to this, YouTube has recently begun airing commercials before its videos, including those of LBD. One of these commercials is for Cover Girl, starring Ellen DeGeneres, Queen Latifah, P!nk, Janaelle Monae, Katy Perry, Sofia Vergara, Becky G, and Olympic hockey player Natalie Wiebe—all women who have been told that they “can’t” do something and have proved those people wrong, and Covergirl is 82 using this ad to start the social media trend #GirlsCan, (a great message to accompany The Lizzie Bennet Diaries). It can be argued that this is what Jane Austen has been saying all along and in fact, the moral of her novel, and every Pride and Prejudice adaptation made of it, can be saying the same thing: girls can. It almost seems like fate that Pride and Prejudice is the first successful and popular transmedia story, as it is largely claimed to be one of the most popular novels ever written in the English language, with the most recognized first line ever written. According to The Big Read, an endeavor to find the most popular books of all time according to British readers, undertaken by the BBC in 2003, Pride and Prejudice is the second most popular book of all time, second only to J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings (“The Big Read,” web). Pride and Prejudice has retained its immense popularity in this brand new medium because Transmedia is not simply re-telling the same story through a different medium, as in adapting a book to film, […] nor is it just franchising. […] Rather, at the heart of transmedia storytelling is the interactive ‘storyworld,’ which, like The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, blurs the lines between fiction and non-fiction, creator and audience, narrative and non-narrative (Rosane, web). Because Austen’s novel is 200 years old, it has become a bit of a catalyst in the world of adaptations as a story that can be tweaked and adjusted without changing the core of the story, as Bernie Su stated of making LBD: “we kind of want to preserve the greatness of it” (Su in Klima, web). There is an undeniable reverence with which adapters approach Pride and Prejudice, attesting to its high status in today’s culture, but also its versatility and adaptability. It is a very inviting source text because of the popularity of the original story and the immense amount of changes that can be made to it while still retaining what is essential. With The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Hank Green and Bernie Su show that if you 83 “treat the fans and the source material with the reverence they deserve […] you will reap the benefits of that loyalty” (Klima, web). YouTube as a medium relies entirely on loyalty of viewership, and this is how the elements of transmedia storytelling come into play. They turn a series of videos loosely based on Pride and Prejudice into an internet phenomenon, and inspire future endeavors of the same type of adaptation. What is truly unique about transmedia storytelling is that The individual pieces do not stand alone. A single story is broken into pieces and spread across multiple conduits to the audience. […] It relies on the audience to put all the pieces together to assemble the story. While this may seem like a lot of work to go through when it’s just a lot easier to press play on a video and sit back and watch, in many ways this type of transmedia merely mimics the way we consume information in our daily life – through email and social media, the radio and TV, and any information channel we can find. Transmedia attempts to use this already existing behavior pattern and repurpose it for telling stories (Bushman, web, my emphasis). It is an undeniable fact that digital and social media have changed our lives and our society, so of course they would change entertainment and adaptations. Matching the high speed with which we absorb the world through social media, and the immediateness of digital media, LBD is not just an adaptation, it is an experiment of being in-the- moment, for, as Hank Green says: “the experience of consuming The Lizzie Bennet Diaries as it happened was so cool. [… It] can never exist the way that it did when it was happening, it can never be as rewarding as it was right when it was occurring. […] That real-time element in so many different facets, not just the stuff that we were doing through social media, but the stuff that the fans were doing” (Green, web). Transmedia storytelling works best in today’s digital society, creating a participatory experience where the industry and the consumer collectively add elements to the story and enrich the experience beyond the one-sided viewing of film and television entertainment. Jay 84 Bushman, one of the producers of LBD states, “there’s a demand for this kind of storytelling. I think there’s a recognition and an acceptance that digital and internet- enabled storytelling is the way of the future” (Bushman, web). I am more than inclined to agree. 85 Conclusion – For the Love of Austen “Til this moment I never knew myself.” – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice Adapters of Jane Austen share with the world what they find between her pages, what meaning can be found by those who dedicate their time and energy to discovering it, and share their findings with new generations and inspire new lovers of her novels. Throughout this thesis I have explored what others have hypothesized about adaptations of Pride and Prejudice, and given my own views on the subject, and here comes the epiphany that has been growing during this process: adaptation is not a simple mirroring between original and adapted, or a continuous reference backwards and forwards; adaptation is a road. It is a familiar road that one has gone down before, but it has changed: there will be parts of the road that are very much the same, others that are very different, but it will lead to the same place, for a road cannot change its destination. When it comes to our favourite stories, it is never the end; stories like Pride and Prejudice are so meaningful to us and so powerful throughout time that we can never close the book and be fully satisfied, for we will always want more: the same yet different, repetition but never replication. Linda Hutcheon has guided me through this exploration of Pride and Prejudice adaptations: first with a formal entity or product which I used to analyze the 1995 BBC miniseries, then with a process of creation for Joe Wright’s 2005 film, and lastly with a process of reception to examine The Lizzie Bennet Diaries 2012 transmedia storytelling experience. Through the use of these navigational tools I have argued that no adaptation is better than another, and the purpose of creating adaptations is not to incur judgment 86 between the adaptation and the original or between multiple adaptations. The integral purpose of an adaptation is to extend the love of a story as far and wide as it will reach, testing its durability across modalities. Things such as “sequels and prequels are not really adaptations, nor is fan fiction. There is a difference between never wanting a story to end […] and wanting to retell the same story over and over in different ways. With adaptations, we seem to desire the repetition as much as the change” (Hutcheon 9). Adaptation is appreciation and creativity combined into one. It tests the flexibility of the original story, but also the limits of different media, as “each medium and each mode of engagement brings with it not only different possible kinds (imaginative, visual, physical) and degrees of immersion, identification, and distance but also different critical traditions that have valued one extreme or the other” (Hutcheon 134). Through adaptation, we learn which media tend to work best for which stories, such as television for Pride and Prejudice, but also what can be accomplished by those who dare to try something different, such as The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, which is setting the trend for tomorrow’s digital entertainment. Through analyzing the plethora of Pride and Prejudice adaptations, I have found that there is no author more beloved by adapters than Jane Austen. She is most certainly popular, and definitely successful among viewers, but there is something else that brings producers back to her time and time again, especially to her most famous novel Pride and Prejudice. There is something latent in this novel that acts like a magnet, drawing those who wish to recreate it across time periods and cultures, excluding no one. Maybe it is its inclusivity, but maybe it is something else, something that cannot quite be captured by words or images or social media. It is really just a novel written by a woman who never 87 married, lived at home her whole life, did not move far from the area where she was born and grew up, and died at the age of forty-one; and yet everywhere you go, Pride and Prejudice is beloved by millions. Olivia Rosane claims with reason that, “watching a story that has survived two centuries play out over new media is an assurance that something of our humanity remains constant between the world of quills and parchment and the world of styluses and screens” (Rosane, web, my emphasis). How this Regency authoress wrote a story that continues to resonate 200 years later is a question that we still cannot fully answer. But Austen’s novels are only part of her popularity in today’s society and culture, as Ariane Hudelet argues: The cinematic Jane Austen could also be seen as a cultural phenomenon at the turn of the twenty-first century. The cinematic Austenmania (which started in 1995, and in spite of many prophecies of its demise, has continued to develop until now) has slightly altered the meaning of ‘Jane Austen’ as a public phenomenon, a cultural icon. The relationship between Austen and films has led even her texts […] to be read differently—today, Jane Austen is cinematic also because film has changed the way we know her (Hudelet 148). This cultural icon of Jane Austen has given rise to what I like to call ‘Austen-inspired products’: books, films, and social media sites that have appropriated Austen in the most respectable and reverential ways possible, most of the time. Author Bill Deresiewicz says: Jane Austen is an author, uniquely, whom we all feel the need to possess—which means, to rewrite, to retell. It’s not enough for us to read her stories, we also have to turn them into our own. […] We don’t do it with anyone except Jane Austen. Surely it’s because she has an unsurpassed ability to make us feel as if we know her characters as well as we know the people in our own lives. They’re friends of ours—no wonder we want to keep gossiping about them (Deresiewicz, web). Examples of Austen-inspired adaptations are: the novel Pride and Prejudice and Zombies by Seth Grahame-Smith, the novel and film Austenland by Shannon Hale and directed by 88 Jerusha Hess, the two part miniseries Lost in Austen directed by Dan Zeff, the novel and film Bridget Jones’s Diary written by Helen Fielding and directed by Sharon Maguire, the novel Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict by Laura Viera Rigler, the novel and film The Jane Austen Book Club written by Karen Joy Fowler and directed by Robin Swicord, the film Becoming Jane directed by Julian Jarrold, the YouTube video “Jane Austen’s Fight Club,” the song “Jane Austen is My Homegirl,” and an infinite number of sequels, prequels, retellings, and nonfiction lifestyle guides inspired by Austen’s classic novels. As peripheral material to the original novels and their multiple adaptations, these Austen- inspired books, films, and videos further foster Jane Austen’s status as a cultural icon and increase her popularity beyond her novels. This popularity encourages a desire among Austen fans for more and more, rendering Jane Austen a commodity that inspires Austen- related products, and always more adaptations. As counterintuitive as it may seem, the commodification of Austen-inspired products and more adaptations does not negatively affect the sales of her six original completed novels. In fact, it breeds new editions and new cover art like rabbits, due to the fact that her novels are in the public domain and continue to be immensely popular; according to goodreads.com, there are 1,710 editions of Pride and Prejudice (“Pride and Prejudice Editions,” web). This begins the cycle anew: readers will pick up Pride and Prejudice or Sense and Sensibility or Emma or Persuasion or Northanger Abbey or Mansfield Park, become infatuated with the novel, taken in by the characters, and inspired to create something that homages or adapts it. Linda Hutcheon rightfully claims, “we need the ‘same’ stories over and over, then, as one of the most powerful, perhaps the most powerful, of ways to assert the basic ideology of our culture. But adaptations are not 89 simply repetition; there is always change. Of course, the desire for change, […] may itself be a human universal (Hutcheon 176). So, in the end, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a reader in possession of an Austen novel, must be in want of nothing but more of the same timeless story told across any modality. 90 Filmography Austenland, dir. Jerusha Hess, Sony Pictures, 2013. Web. Mar. 16, 2014. Becoming Jane, dir. Julian Jarrold, 2 Entertain, 2007. Mp4. Bride and Prejudice, dir. Gurinder Chadha, Miramax, 2004. DVD. Bridget Jones’s Diary, dir. Sharon Maguire, Alliance Atlantis, 2001. DVD. Jane Austen’s Fight Club. Jul. 23, 2010. YouTube. Web. Mar. 16, 2014. Lost in Austen, dir. Dan Zeff, BBC, 2008. Mp4. Pride & Prejudice, dir. Joe Wright, Focus Features, 2005. Mp4. Pride and Prejudice, dir. Robert Z. Leonard, MGM, 1940. DVD. Pride and Prejudice, dir. Simon Langdon, A&E, 1995, 2 discs. DVD. The Jane Austen Book Club, dir. Robin Swicord, Sony Pictures Entertainment, 2007. DVD. The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, dir. Bernie Su, Agreeable Entertainment, 2013. YouTube. Web. July 18, 2013. Sense & Sensibility, dir. John Alexander, BBC, 2008. Mp4. 91 Bibliography Albright, Susi. “English Country Dances as Seen in Jane Austen Movies.” Yahoo! Voices. Nov. 30, 2009. Web. Feb. 7, 2014. Anderson, Michael. “How a Year of Video Blogging Brought Jane Austen to YouTube.” Wired Magazine. April 5, 2013. Web. Mar. 13, 2014. “Andrew Davies.” The Internet Movie Database. 2013. IMDb. Nov. 29, 2013. Andrew, Dudley. “Adaptation.” Film Adaptation. Ed. James Naremore. New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 2000. Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. New York: Bantam Books, 1981. Austen, Jane, Laurence Sach, and Rajesh Nagulakonda. Pride and Prejudice: The Graphic Novel. Hanover, NH: Steerforth Press, 2013. Austen, Jane and Seth Grahame-Smith. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Philadelphia: Quirk Books, 2009. Bazin, André. “Adaptation, or the Cinema as Digest.” Film Adaptation. Ed. James Naremore. New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 2000. Belton, Ellen. “Reimagining Jane Austen.” Jane Austen on Screen. Eds. Gina and Andrew F. Macdonald. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Billy Talent. “Saint Veronika.” Billy Talent III. Atlantic/Roadrunner, 2009. Mp3. Birtwistle, Sue and Susie Conklin. The Making of Pride and Prejudice. London: Penguin Books, 1995. Bowles, Kate. “Commodifying Austen.” Jane Austen on Screen. Eds. Gina and Andrew F. Macdonald. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Brownstein, Rachel. “Out of the Drawing Room, Onto the Lawn.” Jane Austen in Hollywood. Eds. Linda Troost and Sayre Greenfield. Louisville, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1998. Burgess, Jean and Joshua Green. YouTube: Online Video and Participatory Culture. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2009. Bushman, Jay . “The Lizzie Bennet Diaries and the Power of Transmedia.” Interview by Julie Gray. Just Effing Entertain Me. Apr. 25, 2013. Web. Mar. 4, 2014. 92 Carson, Susannah. A Truth Universally Acknowledged: 33 Great Writers on Why We Read Jane Austen. Forward by Harold Bloom. New York: Random House Trade Paperbacks, 2010. Cartmell, Deborah. Screen Adaptations: Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice: The Relationship Between Text and Film. London: Methuen Drama, 2010. “Characteristics of the Byronic Hero.” University of Michigan-Dearborn. PDF. Apr. 7, 2013 Coelho, Paulo. Veronika Decides to Die. New York: Harper Collins, 2006. “Colin Firth Statue: TV exec adds Drama to stunt.” Media Monkey. Jul. 10, 2013. The Guardian. Web. Dec. 3, 2013. Deresiewicz, Bill. “Jane Austen Porn: We’re All Guilty.” The Huffington Post. June 9, 2011. Web. Mar. 13, 2014. Ellington, H. Elisabeth. “A Correct Taste in Landscape.” Jane Austen in Hollywood. Eds. Linda Troost and Sayre Greenfield. Louisville, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1998. Elliott, Kamilla. Rethinking The Novel/Film Debate. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Gabaldon, Diana and Hoang Nguyen. Outlander: The Exile. New York: Random House, 2012. “Giant Mr. Darcy Statue appears in London’s Hyde Park.” CBC Books. Jul 8, 2013. CBC. Web. Nov. 29, 2013. Gray, Julie. “The Lizzie Bennet Diaries and the Power of Transmedia.” Just Effing Entertain Me Blog. April 25, 2013. Web. July 18, 2013. Green, Hank. “Thoughts on Lizzie.” YouTube. Apr. 29, 2013. Web. Mar. 13, 2014. Holden, Stephen. “Marry Off Those Bennet Sisters Again, but This Time Elizabeth Is a Looker.” The New York Times. Nov. 11, 2005. Web. Apr. 3, 2013. Hopkins, Lisa. “Mr. Darcy’s Body.” Jane Austen in Hollywood. Eds. Linda Troost and Sayre Greenfield. Louisville, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1998. “How Much Do You Know About Video Games?” Entertainment Software Rating Board. 2010. Web. November 13, 2013. Hudelet, Ariane. “The Construction of a Myth.” The Cinematic Jane Austen. Eds. David 93 Monaghan, Ariane Hudelet, and John Wiltshire. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2009. Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Adaptation. New York: Routledge, 2006. “Jane Austen.” Internet Movie Database. 2013. IMDb. Feb. 7, 2013. “Jennifer Ehle.” Internet Movie Database. 2013. IMDb. Nov. 29, 2013. Kaplan, Deborah. “Mass Marketing Jane Austen.” Jane Austen in Hollywood. Eds. Linda Troost and Sayre Greenfield. Louisville, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1998. Keen, Andrew. The Cult of the Amateur. New York: Doubleday/Currency, 2007. Klima, Jeff. “The Lizzie Bennet Diaries Odyssey Part 1: Producer Bernie Su Talks with NMR About All Things LBD [Interview].” New Media Rockstars. Apr. 29, 2013. Web. Mar. 4, 2014. Klima, Jeff. “The Lizzie Bennet Diaries Odyssey Part 2: Cast & Crew Talk their LBD Experiences [Interview].] New Media Rockstars. Apr. 30, 2013. Web. Mar. 4, 2014. Klima, Jeff. “The Lizzie Bennet Diaries’ Odyssey Part 3: The Principal Cast Discuss P&P and Life After TLBD [Interview].” NMR. May 1, 2013. Mar. 13, 2014. Leitch, Thomas. Film Adaptation and its Discontents. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2007. PDF. Li, Shirley. “Best of 2013 (Behind the Scenes): The Stars of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries on Filming the Emmy-winning Web Series.” Entertainment Weekly. Dec. 19, 2013. Web. Mar. 4, 2014. Lord of the Rings. Dir. Matthew Warchus. Princess of Wales Theatre, Toronto. Feb. 4, 2006. McNutt, Myles. “Webseries Phenom the Lizzie Bennet Diaries Made it to 100 Entries (and Beyond).” AV Club. Feb. 3, 2014. Web. Mar. 4, 2014. Menand, Louis. “What Jane Austen Doesn’t Tell Us.” The New York Review. February 1, 1996. Web. November 16, 2013. Meyer, Stephanie and Young Kim. Twilight: The Graphic Novel, Volume 1. New York: Orbit, 2010. Moyes, Jojo. “Oscar Winner Colin Firth.” The Telegraph. Mar. 1, 2011. Web. Nov. 29, 2013. 94 Naremore, James. “Introduction: Film and the Reign of Adaptation.” Film Adaptation. New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 2000. Nixon, Cheryl. “Balancing the Courtship Hero.” Jane Austen in Hollywood. Eds. Linda Troost and Sayre Greenfield. Louisville, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1998. “Oscar History.” The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. 2013. Web. November 13, 2013. Parrill, Sue. Jane Austen on Film and Television. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2002. “Pride & Prejudice Awards.” Internet Movie Database. 2013. IMDb. February 7, 2014. Pride and Prejudice Editions. GoodReads. Web. Mar. 13, 2014. Prior, Karen Swallow. “The New, Old Way to Tell Stories: With Input From the Audience.” The Atlantic. Oct. 18, 2013. Web. Mar. 4, 2014. Rosane, Olivia. “Comfort Vlog: Lizzie Bennet Diaries and the Taming of Digital Media.” The State. May 15, 2013. Web. Mar. 13, 2014. Stam, Robert. “Beyond Fidelity: The Dialogics of Adaptation.” Film Adaptation. Ed. James Naremore. New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 2000. Stein, Louisa Ellen and Kristina Busse. “Introduction: The Literary, Televisual and Digital Adventures of the Beloved Detective.” Sherlock and Transmedia Fandom: Essays on the BBC Series. Jefferson: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2012. Ebook Library. Web. Feb. 8, 2014. Tamny, Elizabeth M. “Familiarity Breeds Another Attempt.” The Chicago Reader. Dec. 1, 2012. Web. Apr. 3, 2013. “The Big Read” BBC. August 2004. Web. Mar. 13, 2014. Troost, Linda. “The Nineteenth Century Novel on Film: Jane Austen.” The Cambridge Companion to Literature on Screen. Eds. Deborah Cartmell and Imelda Whelehan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Van Dijck, José. The Culture of Connectivity: A Critical History of Social Media. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Wiltshire, John. “Mr. Darcy’s Smile.” The Cinematic Jane Austen. Eds. David Monaghan, Ariane Hudelet, and John Wiltshire. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2009. 
work_q2gngude5bgw7idni2fittdtlm	----	David Sackett and the birth of Evidence Based Medicine: How to Practice and Teach EBM | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1136/bmj.h3089 Corpus ID: 7898080David Sackett and the birth of Evidence Based Medicine: How to Practice and Teach EBM @article{Richardson2015DavidSA, title={David Sackett and the birth of Evidence Based Medicine: How to Practice and Teach EBM}, author={Peter E H Richardson}, journal={BMJ : British Medical Journal}, year={2015}, volume={350} } Peter E H Richardson Published 2015 Medicine BMJ : British Medical Journal Smith has written a most interesting obituary of Dave Sackett, whom I first met in 1995 at his office at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford.1 I was publishing director for Churchill Livingstone and had made the appointment directly with him by email, of which he was a prolific and early user. Sackett sat at a very large screen, talking to …  View on BMJ ncbi.nlm.nih.gov Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 9 CitationsBackground Citations 3 View All Topics from this paper Obituary Speech 9 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Evidence-Based Medicine in Otolaryngology Part 7: Introduction to Shared Decision Making Allison K Ikeda, P. Hong, S. Ishman, S. Joe, G. Randolph, Jennifer J Shin Medicine Otolaryngology--head and neck surgery : official journal of American Academy of Otolaryngology-Head and Neck Surgery 2018 11 PDF Save Alert Research Feed What does evidence mean? Most languages translate "evidence" into "proof". A. Price, B. Djulbegovic Medicine Journal of evaluation in clinical practice 2017 1 Save Alert Research Feed Shared Decision-Making in Diabetes Care S. Tamhane, R. Rodríguez-Gutiérrez, I. Hargraves, V. Montori Medicine Current Diabetes Reports 2015 37 Save Alert Research Feed The RIGHT Extension Statement for Traditional Chinese Medicine: Development, Recommendations, and Explanation Runsheng Xie, Yun Xia, +5 authors Yi Guo Psychology, Medicine Pharmacological Research 2020 1 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed The Struggle for Evidence in Physical and Rehabilitation Medicine: Publication Rate of Randomized Controlled Trials and Systematic Reviews Is Growing More Than in Other Therapeutic Fields S. Negrini, W. Levack, F. Gimigliano, C. Arienti, J. Villafañe, C. Kiekens Medicine American journal of physical medicine & rehabilitation 2019 8 Save Alert Research Feed CRITICAL APPROACH TO THE ALTERNATIVE TREATMENT OF CHRONIC KIDNEY DISEASE IN DOGS AND CATS Jeff Munoz-Pérez, Chiara Alessi Medicine 2018 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed A Mobile Health App for the Collection of Functional Outcomes After Inpatient Stroke Rehabilitation: Pilot Randomized Controlled Trial L. Li, Jia Huang, +8 authors A. Wong Medicine JMIR mHealth and uHealth 2020 PDF View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Science as momentary truth. L. Silva Medicine Brazilian journal of otorhinolaryngology 2017 Save Alert Research Feed Core competencies in osteopathy: Italian register of osteopaths proposal Paola Sciomachen, C. Arienti, +6 authors M. Longobardi Medicine 2018 11 Save Alert Research Feed Related Papers Abstract Topics 9 Citations Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_q37swapwcrbh7dymkpxvciud5q	----	Review of Lisbet Kickham, Protestant Women Novelists and Irish Society | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 60, Issue 2 September 2005 Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Review Article| September 01 2005 Review of Lisbet Kickham, Protestant Women Novelists and Irish Society MARY JEAN CORBETT MARY JEAN CORBETT Miami University Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Literature (2005) 60 (2): 266–269. https://doi.org/10.1525/ncl.2005.60.2.266 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation MARY JEAN CORBETT; Review of Lisbet Kickham, Protestant Women Novelists and Irish Society. Nineteenth-Century Literature 1 September 2005; 60 (2): 266–269. doi: https://doi.org/10.1525/ncl.2005.60.2.266 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. 2004 by The Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Review of Lisbet Kickham, Protestant Women Novelists and Irish Society' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Review of Lisbet Kickham, Protestant Women Novelists and Irish Society Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_q5h5457wxnaptagx6fk25pyk6a	----	10.11648.j.ijla.20140204.15 International Journal of Literature and Arts 2014; 2(4): 110-122 Published online July 30, 2014 (http://www.sciencepublishinggroup.com/j/ijla) doi: 10.11648/j.ijla.20140204.15 ISSN: 2331-0553 (Print); ISSN: 2331-057X (Online) Regulated Hatred in Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Persuasion (1816) by Jane Austen Najlaa Hosny Ameen Mohammed Assistant Professor of English Literature, English Department, Vice-Dean of Huraymilaa College of Science and Humanities, Shaqra University, Riyadh, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia Email address: nhsayn@su.edu.sa To cite this article: Najlaa Hosny Ameen Mohammed. Regulated Hatred in Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Persuasion (1816) by Jane Austen. International Journal of Literature and Arts. Vol. 2, No. 4, 2014, pp. 110-122. doi: 10.11648/j.ijla.20140204.15 Abstract: This research examines the theory of ‘regulated hatred’ in two masterpieces by Jane Austen: Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Persuasion (1816). To analyse these novels, the paper adopts an interdisciplinary approach, including psychological, biographical, and New Historicist approaches; taking its inspiration from the theory initially introduced by D. W. Harding in his article ‘Regulated Hatred: An Aspect of the work of Jane Austen’ (1940), alongside C. J. Jung’s theory of ‘the formation of artist’s creativity’ highlighted in his article ‘Psychology and Literature’ (1930). The study is divided into three sections. The first section introduces the theoretical aspects of the research, outlining Harding and Jung’s theories. A brief overview of the plot of the two novels is set out, to assist in establishing the author’s narrative techniques. The second section investigates the psychological theories of Austen’s two novels Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility in reference to the theoretical framework. There is also an examination of the ways in which Austen employs her hatred toward both her enemies and unpolished manners in society, through an examination of her narrative techniques from a psychological, biographical and New Historicist approach. These include: her varying tones, her artistic representation, her tyrannical style and intellectual perspective, and the unequal treatment of her characters. In addition, there is a discussion of Austen’s motives in writing these two novels. This section discusses the assumptions behind the attempt to deduce new literary, social and political interpretations of Austen’s art, examining her novels as, amusement and entertainment, social critique, or as an outlet of her inner emotion with the aim of reforming the ills of society. The third section illustrates the ways in which Austen adopts a new form of realism; in particular, how she employs her pen to revolutionise the ruling standards of social groups. Austen is seen to address the internal struggles of society successfully, by sympathising with, or disdaining, her characters in both novels. The study, therefore, offers a complementary understanding of the inner psychology of the creative Jane Austen, as well as of her art and the era in which she lived. Keywords: Introduction, Theoretical Framework, Jane Austen's Characters, Conclusion 1. Introduction The novel is a flexible and free literary genre. Among its salient features are that its language renews itself by incorporating numerous layers of literary language, permeated with laughter, irony, humour, satire, and an infinite number of artistic techniques to disclose reality. This research begins by introducing the ways in which the well-known author, Jane Austen, employed her novels Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility to express the moral and social reality of the nineteenth century, with an emphasis on the techniques she adopted to reveal her viewpoint. The hypothesis behind this research is that regulated hatred is an important aspect in both novels, which are deemed not only as a source of relief, entertainment and amusement, but also as a severe (although disguised) social criticism of nineteenth-century manners. Like Shakespeare before her, Austen utilised her pen to send masked and indirect messages to those individuals around her that she found distasteful. 2. Theoretical Framework This section will illuminate the theories of Harding and Jung. 111 Najlaa Hosny Ameen Mohammed: Regulated Hatred in Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Persuasion (1816) by Jane Austen 2.1. D. W. Harding and Psychological Theory Denys Clement Wyatt Harding (1906-1993) is a professor of psychology and eminent critic of English Literature. Harding asserts that good literary criticism provides a similar level of enjoyment to novels, but with a far smaller commitment of time and energy. He has written a number of different essays focusing on “Austen's concern with the survival of the sensitive and penetrating individual in a society of conforming mediocrity”. Moreover, Harding's critical method is viewed as an amalgam of: an acute sensitivity to Austen's fictional techniques with an informed understanding of the social and historical particulars that conditioned the possibilities for the precise responses of characters in the worlds that surround them. (Justice, 1998) Harding first published his well-known article “Regulated Hated: An Aspect in the Work of Jane Austen” in ‘Scrutiny’, during the 1940s. He began with the skewed emphasis that it is distasteful to read Jane Austen as the writings of ‘cosy’ and hypocritical hagiographers 1 : a conventional notion he fiercely attacks. He offers two assumptions: the first indicates that many critics and readers admire her texts as a source of amusement; the second is that her texts imply regulated hatred and embedded criticism towards the ill manners and distasteful individuals within her society. This research attempts to scrutinise Austen’s two novels from the perspectives raised by these two assumptions, employing a psychological envisioning, hence the additional introduction of Jung’s theory of the artist’s creativity. 2.1.1. First Assumption Austen’s novels have been viewed as a source of relief and excitement, both by the public and first-hand critics, as echoed in histories of literature, university courses, literary journalism, and polite allusions. To illustrate, due to the atmosphere surrounding her work, she offered an exceptionally favourable exposition of urbanity. Many are excited by the impression that “she provided a refuge for the sensitive when the contemporary world grew too much for them”; Harding mentions Beatrice Kean Seymour’s quotation in regard to Austen’s novels: In a society which has enthroned the machine-gun and carried it aloft even into the quiet heavens, there will always be men and women-Escapist or not, as you please- who will turn to her novels with an unending sense relief and thankfulness. (Harding, 1940: 260) She is viewed as having succeeded admirably in expressing the gentler virtues of a civilised social order. Harding also asserts that: she was a delicate satirist, revealing with inimitable lightness of touch the comic foibles and amiable 1 A hagiography is designed to serve a political agenda. Oxford Dictionary of English, 7 th ed., 2010. weaknesses of the people whom she lived among and liked (Harding, 1940: 263). 2.1.2. Second Assumption However, after an in depth examination of her novels, Harding concludes that there is “a seriously misleading impression”. He notices: Fragments of truth have been incorporated in it but they are fitted into a pattern whose total effect is false. And yet the wide currency of this false impression is an indication of Jane Austen’s impression is an indication of Jane Austen’s success in an essential part of her complex intention as a writer: her books are, as she meant them to be, read and enjoyed by precisely the sort of people whom she disliked; she is a literary classic of the society attitudes like hers, held widely enough, would undermine. ((Harding, 1940: 264) Harding draws the readers’ attention to the fact that “unexpected astringencies occur which the comfortable reader probably overlooks, or else passes by as slight imperfections, trifling errors of tone brought about by a faulty choice of words” (Harding, 1940: 265). Since Harding focuses primarily on Mansfield Park, Northanger Abbey, Emma and Pride and Prejudice, the analysis presented in this research will complement this work by focusing on Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility. 2.2. C. G. Jung and Psychological Theory Carl Gustav Jung (1875-1961) was a student of Freud, but his perspective was more congenial to literature. In his preface, David Lodge illustrates that Jung was: much more sympathetic than Freud towards visionary, religious and even magical traditions, readily endorsed the claims of literature to embody knowledge-knowledge of a kind particularly vital to alienated, secularised modern man; and his assertion that ‘it is his art that explains the artist, not the insufficiencies and conflicts of his personal life He established his own school of analytical psychology. (1972: 174) In his article ‘Psychology and Literature’ (1930), Jung also asserts that psychology is the study of psychic processes or activities. The study of literature for the human psyche is viewed as the womb of all the sciences and arts. Thus, psychological research can be designed to explain both the formation of a work of art and to reveal the factors that make an individual artistically creative. In the first instance, the researcher must attempt a psychological analysis of a definitely circumscribed and concrete artistic achievement, while in the second analysis the living and creative human being is presented as a unique personality (Jung, 1930: 175). Jung demonstrates that the creative aspect of life (which finds its clearest experience in art) baffles all attempts at rational formulation. Any reaction to stimulus can only be depicted in its manifestations: it can be obscurely and vaguely sensed, but never wholly grasped and attained. It is for this reason that many critics have debated Austen’s art, International Journal of Literature and Arts 2014; 2(4): 110-122 112 and her goals and incentives are still under discussion. It is an important principle of psychology that psychic events are derivable and various. That is to say, it is a principle in the study of art that a psychic product is something in, and for, itself- whether it is the work of art or the artist that is in question. Hence, the researcher attempts to study Austen’s inner artistic psychology and the motivations behind her writing. In order to analyse Austen’s two novels satirically and technically, a brief overview of the plot must be introduced first. The first novel Persuasion concerns the Elliots of Kellynch Hall, a family with three daughters (Elizabeth, Anne, Mary) and their father, Sir Walter Elliot. When the family find themselves in financial trouble, they are forced to move to Bath and rent out the family estate to Admiral and Mrs. Croft. Eight and a half years previously, Anne had been persuaded by Lady Russell, a trusted family advisor, to turn down an offer of marriage from Captain Fredrick Wentworth. Wentworth has since (due to the Napoleonic wars) become a man of rank and wealth, and has now come to propose to Louisa, the sister of Anne’s brother-in-law. Meanwhile Anne’s cousin, William Elliot (the heir to Kellynch Hall) seeks out Anne as his wife. During the course of the novel a number of accidents take place that prove the mutual and deep affection between Anne and Wentworth. Louisa eventually becomes engaged to Captain Benwick, a depressed naval officer, mourning the death of his wife. Mrs. Smith, an old friend of Anne (and whom Anne frequently visits as she is poor and sick) reveals the greedy and immoral character of Mr. Elliot, which as caused her husband’s bankruptcy. Finally, Anne and Wentworth are reconciled and happily married. Sense and Sensibility revolves around a widow, Mrs. Dashwood, and her three daughters: Elinor, Marianne and Margaret. Although Mr. Dashwood, on his deathbed, asked his son to promise to take care of his half-sisters, John gives them nothing, because of his greedy wife, Fanny. Due to Fanny’s ill-treatment, the mother and her three daughters subsequently relocate to live near the Middletons at Barton Park, where they make new acquaintances. These include a retired officer, Colonel Brandon, and the impetuous John Willoughby. Willoughby openly courts Marianne and she falls deeply in love with him. Rumours of their engagement spread, yet, without warning, Willoughby travels to London leaving, Marianne heartbroken. Meanwhile, Lucy Steele, a new acquaintance of Elinor at Barton, reveals to Elinor her secret engagement to Edward Ferrars, Elinor’s beloved. Elinor and Marianne travel to London with their new acquaintance, Lady Middleton’s mother, Mrs. Jennings. Colonel Brandon informs Elinor of Willoughby’s history of callousness and debauchery. On hearing of Edward’s engagement to Lucy Steele, Mrs. Ferrars instantly disinherits him, passing his fortune to his brother, Robert. This change of fortune ensures that Lucy Steele becomes engaged to Robert instead of Edward. Edward proposes to his beloved Elinor, and Marianne and Colonel Brandon also become engaged. The research will prove its hypotheses by focusing on several characters, examining Austen’s literary and intellectual techniques and investigating the incentives behind her writing, in relation to Harding and Jung’s psychological theories. The approach is thus psychological, biographical and New Historicist. The New Historicist approach focuses on the manner in which literature can disguise power relations at work within the social context in which it was produced. This often involves forging connections between a literary work and conflicting powers, mainly political (Peck and Coyle, 2002: 182-4). To establish whether regulated hatred is a prominent aspect in Jane Austen’s two novels Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility, this research will investigate the manner in which Austen employs her hatred towards unpolished manners in her society, and towards her enemies, by examining her narrative techniques, her varying tones, art of representation, intellectual perspectives and her treatment of her characters using all three approaches. The aim is to achieve a new literary, social and political interpretation of Austen’s art. 3. Jane Austen’s Characters This section explores Austen’s motivation behind the creation of various characters in the two novels. Some are merely caricatures (through which she humorously criticises the malicious in her society), others are samples of good-nature and perceptive individuals, on which she intends her readers to model themselves, while others serve as ‘rakes’,(through which she reactivates and shapes her plot). 3.1. Regulated Hatred Directed Toward Specific Characters Harding sheds considerable light on the novelist Jane Austen’s sensitive intelligence, living in her world of news and gossip interchanged amongst a large family. Despite the fact that she appreciates the influence of civilisation on society, she vehemently attacks social intercourse riddled with gossip, vulgarity and superficial friendliness. Caricature serves her purpose, allowing her to attack these distasteful figures in a civilised and indirect manner, in the sense that it is difficult to say “where caricature leaves off and the claim to serious portraiture begins” (Harding, 1940:264). Jane Austen appears to feel profound regulated hatred toward the uncivilised, impertinent and unrefined amongst the upper-middle class characters in her novels. For instance, in Persuasion, Mrs. Clay, is the epitome of ‘female vulgarity’, ‘ill-breeding’ and ‘triviality’. Mudrick, in his book entitled ‘Jane Austen: Irony as Defence and Discovery’ illustrates that she is “a lower-class opportunist, determined to rise by humbleness”, and, after her unfruitful marriage, she approaches Sir Walter by the “tenacious softness of her personality” and flattery: “flattery is Sir Walter’s daily food, and no one feeds him more eagerly 113 Najlaa Hosny Ameen Mohammed: Regulated Hatred in Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Persuasion (1816) by Jane Austen than Mrs. Clay” (Mudrick, 1952: 210). As Austen states in Chapter Three: “…for Mrs. Clay was present: her father had driven her over, nothing being of so much use to Mrs. Clay’s health as a drive to Kellynch” (Persuasion, 2007: 16). Not only does Austen call on her readers to condemn and despise Mrs. Clay’s spiteful traits, but she also, according to Mudrick, intervenes to “dissolve into the impassioned participant”(Mudrick, 1952: 211). In Chapter Two, Austen describes Mrs Clay as one “who ought to have been nothing … but the object of distant civility” (Persuasion, 2007: 14). Austen has a dual aim in introducing Mrs. Musgrove. Firstly, Austen’s ‘regulated hatred’ is clear in “detecting false currency, or so relentless in exposing it” and in her “impatience against the slack thought and ready-made pretences that pass current in the world” (O’Neill, 1970: 21). This is made clear by Mrs. Musgrove’s “large fat sighings over a son whom alive no one had cared for” (Persuasion, 2007: 60).Even his sisters called him ‘poor Richard’ (Persuasion, 2007: 44). Secondly, Mrs. Musgrove’s son is seen as a ‘savage caricature’ on account of the fact that he “serves as a pretext for abusing Mrs. Musgrove, who ‘loves to grieve publicly for the son she lost at sea’” (Mudrick, 1952: 211). He is “a thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove who had never done anything to entitle himself more than the abbreviation of his name, living or dead” (Persuasion, 2007: 44). According to this psychological approach, Austen criticises Mrs. Musgrove for her hypocrisy and insincere grief over her deceased son. Sir Walter is introduced purposefully by Austen to denote a typical ‘rake’, that is, to develop events and bring about comic effect, on the one hand, and as a representation of Regency England, through which she sheds light upon Charles II, on the other (Sales, 1996: 172). Mrs. Clay, Mrs. Musgrove and Sir Walter are ultimately defined as ‘rakes’ that Austen: could picture them ironically as flirts and agreeable triflers; she could respond to what she considered evil in them, however, not by picturing them, but only by giving them up to the annihilating disapproval of her society (Mudrick, 1952: 221). Austen’s regulated hatred towards Sir Walter Elliot is due to the fact that “vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot’s character; vanity of person and of situation” (Persuasion, 2007: 4). Austen calls him a ‘fool’ (Persuasion, 2007: 55) and ‘not very wise’ (Persuasion, 2007: 21) for being totally preoccupied by the physical beauty of “the number of [the] plain women” in Bath (Persuasion, 2007: 123). From the viewpoint of the New Historicist, Sir Walter’s admiration of “his face and figure in a large looking-glasses” and his obsession with a book on baronetage since “he sees his family history as being unique and fascinating”, stands for the story of Charles II whose family was “eventually being rewarded for loyal rather than outstanding political services”. Sales contends that “it is possible that the title was purchased because it was granted at the accession of Charles II when ‘honours, [the Court of Wards and Liveries and Tenures in Capite] were openly on sale’” (1996: 172). In Persuasion, Mrs. Smith and her sister Nurse Rooke also embody ‘rakish’ characteristics. However, “Austen’s texts can sometimes speak in the voice that they also mock” (Pinion, 1973: 222). Sales puts forward the theory that, despite her marginalisation, Mrs. Smith “still embodies the moral sickness of the high society world she used to inhabit”. A cynical gossiper, Mrs. Smith’s narrative style is characterised by being circular, rather than linear, in the sense that some information reaches her by an indirect route (Sales, 1996: 196-7): “it does not come to me in quite so direct a line as that; it takes a bend or two, but nothing of consequence” (Persuasion, 2007:178). Moreover, she might stand for the ‘regency reader-in-the-text’ on the account that she “reads as well as listens to stories about ‘silver-fork’ life in Bath” (Persuasion, 2007: 197). Mudrick adds that she is “the most tiresome of Jane Austen’s characters” (1952: 222) for she is a poverty-stricken and sick widow who takes care of her baby while contriving to make her living through gossip and hand-made products. In other words, Mrs. Smith is considered to represent women’s marginalisation in society. Austen uses Nurse Brooke as a caricature to disclose her ‘regulated hatred’ for gossip and gossipers in England during the eighteenth century. Harding proposes that “the implications of her caricatures as a criticism of real society, is brought out in the way they dovetail into her social setting” (Harding, 1940: 265). To illustrate, Nurse Brooke’s “conversation as well as her medical skills helps to maintain the invalid’s morale” (Sales, 1996: 193): Call it gossip, if you will, but when Nurse Rooke has half an hour’s leisure to bestow on me, she is sure to have something to relate that is entertaining and profitable: something that makes one know one’s species better. One likes to hear what is going on, to be au fait as to the newest modes of being trifling and silly. To me, who lives so much alone, her conversation, I assure you, is a treat. (Persuasion, 2007: 135) Austen ironically portrays Nurse Rooke as ‘a medical practitioner’ who treats the person, as well as the illness. For example, she not only brightens up Mrs. Smith’s existence with her gossip, but she encourages her to knit as well; this allows her to make things she can sell to her richer clients. The representation of Nurse Rooke also sheds light upon the Apothecaries’ Act of 1815, which did not improve the “lowest rungs of the female midwives’ profession”. Austen sympathises with the marginalised and demands “some form of regulation and basic training for both male and female midwives” (Sales, 1996: 195). Austen does not customarily explore her historical context in her novels; more typically, she subversively exposes the sickness within society itself, seeking reform and change. Harding asserts that “Jane Austen pays tribute to the virtuous and fundamentals of her upbringing, ranging herself with those whom she considers right on the simpler International Journal of Literature and Arts 2014; 2(4): 110-122 114 and more obvious moral issues” (Harding, 1949: 570). To exemplify, Mrs. Palmer, in Sense and Sensibility “enjoys a thorough womanly good-nature”. However, “Austen’s method of positively representing a mere negative is ingenious and happy” (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 15). She is a foolishly good-natured woman who believes that in order to be perfect she ought to imitate the virtuous and refrain from associating with the ill-bred. Richard Simpson points out that “Mrs. Palmer’s nullity is represented first by her total want of intellectual discrimination”, besides which, “when she talks, her entire want of discrimination is shown in her failure to see the contradiction of contradictories” (O’Neill, 1970: 15). Her speech concerning Willoughby is a good example of the way in which Mrs. Palmer is intended as a thoroughly insane and vain character: She was determined to drop his acquaintance immediately, and she was very thankful that she had never been acquainted with him at all. She wished with all her heart Combe Magna was not so near Cleveland; but it did not signify, for it was a great deal too far off to visit; she hated him so much that she was resolved never to mention his name again, and she should tell everybody she saw, how good-for-nothing he was. (Sense, 1896: 115) Harding elaborates that Austen’s foible is to “all[y] herself with virtues that are easy to appreciate and reasonably often met with. The result, as one would expect, is “distinct tendency to priggishness” (Harding, 1940: 267). Hypocrisy, snobbery, false currency and social pretensions are principal among those adverse traits of eighteenth-century society against which Austen launches her attack. For example, in Sense and Sensibility, Fanny (Mrs. John Dashwood) is a typical caricature of the hypocrite, who, after the death of Mr. Dashwood, shows her dislike towards his widow and daughters, treating them as visitors in their own home: “Mrs. John Dashwood now installed herself mistress of Norland; and her mother and sisters-in-law were degraded to the condition of visitors” (Sense and Sensibility, 1896: 5). Her husband, Mr. John Dashwood twists his “father's last request….that [he] should assist his widow and daughters" (Sense, 1896: 5) and (under the pressure of his dominant and greedy wife), is convinced that “five hundred pounds would be a prodigious increase to their fortunes!” (Sense and Sensibility, 1896: 5). Furthermore, Lucy Steele flatters Lady Middleton and her children excessively to maintain her company, as Lady Middleton is an upper class woman: I am only waiting to know whether you can make your party without me, or I should have been at my filigree already. I would not disappoint the little angel for all the world: and if you want me at the card-table now, I am resolved to finish the basket after supper.(Sense, 1896: 78) Lucy Steele is a caricature of the opportunistic, ill-bred female who seeks new acquaintances from among the aristocracy. This is the reason why Lady Middleton prefers the company of Lucy Steele rather than that of Elinor and Marianne, because of the former’s constant flattery of her and her children: Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton's behaviour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all. Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them good- natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical; but THAT did not signify. (Sense, 1896: 131) Lady Middleton’s character in Sense and Sensibility resembles that of Sir Walter in Persuasion; both find excitement and amusement in flattery and social hypocrisy. It is evident that Austen disapproves of any reserve in “honesty and candour; not only the truth but the whole truth, must be vital of any character of whom she herself is to approve” (O’Neill, 1970: 21). According to Jung’s focus on the psychological formation of the artist, Austen is originally formed for “elegant and rational society, excelling in conversation as much as in composition”, as described by her brother (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 4). Her personality is reflected in the way she treats her characters, as either reasonable or with foibles. 3.2. Jane Austen’s Techniques 3.2.1. Jane Austen’s Tone Jane Austen’s tone, whether ironic or disapproving, serves as a good indicator of her regulated hatred towards malicious figures and detestable traits in her class. Harding draws the readers’ attention to the fact that “unexpected astringencies occur which the comfortable reader probably overlooks, or else passes by as slight imperfections, trifling errors of tone brought about by a faulty choice of words” (Harding, 1940: 264). Murdick states that: her tone is personal, only as personality is contained and sheltered in the social mind; and [yet] she escapes an unequivocal involvement by persuading society to applaud and reaffirm its prejudices. (Mudrick, 1952: 207). For example, in Persuasion, Mudrick states that her tone is full of “a compulsive exasperation turned at unpredictable moments against any character who fails to advance the interests of her heroine”(Mudrick, 1952: 207). Suffering from “the same diffused careless snobbery of smartness and rank” of her ‘foolish father’, the elder sister, Elizabeth, is contemptuous of Anne, feeling that she herself has had the position of the Lady of Kellynch Hall: she had the consciousness of being nine-and-twenty to give her some regrets and some apprehensions; she was fully satisfied of being still quite as handsome as ever, but she felt her approach to the years of danger, and would have rejoiced to be certain of being properly solicited by baronet-blood within the next twelvemonth or two. (Persuasion, 2007: 6-7) In order to save money due to their father’s financial distress, Elizabeth takes no gift home for Anne after their yearly visit to London. Furthermore, she does not welcome Anne in Bath: “Then I am sure Anne had better stay, for 115 Najlaa Hosny Ameen Mohammed: Regulated Hatred in Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Persuasion (1816) by Jane Austen nobody will want her in Bath” (Persuasion, 2007: 29). On behalf of Anne, Austen criticises and avenges for Anne by her victorious tone in saying: Very, very happy were both Elizabeth and Anne Elliot as they walked in. Elizabeth arm in arm with Miss Carteret, and looking on the broad back of the dowager Viscountess Dalrymple before her, had nothing to wish for which did not seem within her reach; and Anne—but it would be an insult to the nature of Anne’s felicity, to draw any comparison between it and her sister’s; the origin of one all selfish vanity, of the other all generous attachment. (Persuasion, 2007: 162) With the same angry, but silent and sheltered tone, Austen expresses her irritation at Sir Walter as “he was not only growing dreadfully in debt” (Persuasion, 2007: 9) because of his extravagant life, but it also led to him being force to rent out his ancestral seat to the Crofts. A New Historicist interpretation suggests that he resembles the Prince of Wales, who sought control of his father’s political house, during the Regency Crisis (Sales, 1996: 172). Austen’s disapproving tone is clear in her reserved and indirect dealings with Mrs. Musgrove. To illustrate, Mrs. Musgrove is disdained by Austen since she is unaware of the good values of her sensible protagonist Anne, and is blinded by her snobbish attitude of mourning her son in public, instead: They were actually on the same sofa, for Mrs Musgrove had most readily made room for him; they were divided only by Mrs Musgrove. It was no insignificant barrier, indeed. Mrs Musgrove was of a comfortable, substantial size, infinitely more fitted by nature to express good cheer and good humour, than tenderness and sentiment; and while the agitations of Anne’s slender form, and pensive face, may be considered as very completely screened, Captain Wentworth should be allowed some credit for the self-command with which he attended to her large fat sighings over the destiny of a son, whom alive nobody had cared for. (Persuasion, 2007: 60) In addition to Mrs. Musgrove, her helpless son pains Austen for “he had been sent to sea, because he was stupid and unmanageable on shore” (Persuasion, 2007: 44). The author’s personal attitude of being intolerant and vengeful against malicious and snobbish characters is reflected through Austen’s varying tones. Her tone is the mirror of her temperament. 3.2.2. Austen’s Art of Representation Austen skilfully displays powerful sentiments, vivid imagination, sound sensibilities and deep insights into her characters: her style is marked with ‘the economy of art’ (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 8). Austen is skilled in representing lively characters and lifelike actions, in controlling the language her characters speak, and in drawing diverse social situations through which she can convey her perceptive messages. For example, in Sense and Sensibility, Mrs. Jennings is a portrait of the aristocratic woman who has no occupation or hobbies and finds interest in making new social acquaintances: Mrs. Jennings was a widow with an ample jointure. She had only two daughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world. In the promotion of this object she was zealously active, as far as her ability reached; and missed no opportunity of projecting weddings among all the young people of her acquaintance. She was remarkably quick in the discovery of attachments, and had enjoyed the advantage of raising the blushes and the vanity of many a young lady by insinuations of her power over such a young man (Sense, 1896: 20). Austen is not only “a delicate satirist, revealing with inimitable lightness of touch the comic foibles and amiable weaknesses of the people whom she lived among and liked”, but also she offers an “exceptionally favourable opening to the exponents of urbanity” (Harding, 1940: 263). The same exuberant style can be found in Persuasion in the description of Captain Frederick Wentworth: He had always been lucky; he knew he should be so still. Such confidence, powerful in its own warmth, and bewitching in the wit which often expressed it, must have been enough for Anne… His sanguine temper, and fearlessness of mind, operated very differently on her. She saw in it but an aggravation of the evil. It only added a dangerous character to himself. He was brilliant, he was headstrong. (Persuasion, 2007: 24) Mudrick states that Captain Wentworth “possesses all the new bourgeois virtues- confidence, aggressiveness, daring eye money and the main chance” (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 69). Being a man of feeling and a man of business, Captain Wentworth is regarded by Pinion as “the centre of the stage” (1973: 129), and is viewed as attractive both by Austen and her protagonist Anne. In her books, Austen rewards her sensible ‘different- from-the-rest’ heroine by ensuring that she is finally married to the handsome, sensible and sensitive bachelor prince. Persuasion mocks the convention of love at first sight. Austen develops her plot expressing “conservative scepticism about the truth of man’s spontaneous feeling” (qtd. in Walder, 1896: 229). It is only at the end of the novel that Anne and Wentworth marry, after their feelings have developed, their understandings deepened and their love has grown. Besides which, marriage at the end of a conservative novel is the fulfilment of a personal moral quest. In Sense and Sensibility, Murdick illustrates that Marianne is “the life and centre of the book” (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 100), Austen describes her in Chapter One: She had an excellent heart;--her disposition was affectionate, and her feelings were strong; but she knew how to govern them: it was a knowledge which her mother had yet to learn; and which one of her sisters had resolved never to be taught. (Sense, 1896:3) The heroine’s sensitivity and finer moral insights are seen as being sanctioned by good-breeding and religious International Journal of Literature and Arts 2014; 2(4): 110-122 116 civilisation: “it hasn’t the power that comes from having created or moulded her, and it can claim no credit for her being what she is” (Harding, 1940: 269). The quality of her representation stands out as characteristic and remarkable in the drawing of her characters. 3.2.3. Austen’s Tyrannical Style In contrast, a large number of critics attack Austen’s ‘dramatic ventriloquism’, in the sense that she makes her characters her ‘mouth-pieces’ (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 8). Her tyrannical style is mirrored in her tone. In his article ‘A Great Victorian Assessment of Jane Austen’, Lewes states that “she loses her hold on us directly she ceases to speak through the personae; she is then like a great actor off the stage” (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 10). Kavanagh also concurs with Lewes on this point, adding that the only defect in Miss Austen’s works is “that everything is said in the same tone” and that “she could not speak the language of any strong feeling, even though that feeling were ridiculous and unjust” (O’Neill, 1970: 12). To illustrate, her monotonous tone may reflect the fact that: the people she hated were tolerated, accepted, comfortably ensconced in the only human society she knew; they were, for her society’s embarrassing unconscious comment on itself. (Harding, 1940: 263) Her tyrannical style is also evident in extracts of dialogue. Morgan speaks of the tyranny of convention over “the means employed to pass from dialogue to narrative and back again’ (qtd. in Lascelles, 102).An example of this is the following conversation in Chapter Six of Persuasion: Anne gave her credit, indeed, for feelings of great consideration towards herself, in all that related to Kellynch, and it pleased her: especially, as she had satisfied herself consequently full of strength and courage, till for a moment electrified by Mrs Croft’s suddenly saying,— “It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my brother had the pleasure of being acquainted with, when he was in this country.” Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing; but the age of emotion she certainly had not. “Perhaps you may not have heard that he is married?” added Mrs Croft. She could now answer as she ought; and was happy to feel, when Mrs Croft’s next words explained it to be Mr Wentworth of whom she spoke. (2007: 43) The same style, showing Austen intervening in the dialogue repeatedly, is apparent in Sense and Sensibility: Marianne felt for her most sincerely; but she did more harm than good to the cause, by turning very red and saying in an angry manner to Margaret, "Remember that whatever your conjectures may be, you have no right to repeat them." "I never had any conjectures about it," replied Margaret; "it was you who told me of it yourself." This increased the mirth of the company, and Margaret was eagerly pressed to say something more. (2007: 31) Despite various habits and colours of expression, Austen’s style is marked with a jarring sensation of transition and consciousness. Lascelles substantiates the fact that her grand style differs from the eighteenth-century novelists, in the sense that her ambitious consciousness results in an unaffected style for a plain relation of situations and circumstances (Lascelles, 1993: 103). Her narrative is introduced through the depiction of her characters involved in interrelated social interactions, and the description of their situation. Austen’s art lacks impersonality, which is held to be among the characteristics of the artistic novelist. Not only Flaubert, but also the intellectual Anton Chekov, highlighted the fact that the novelist should be as objective as possible, and not impose either their own standpoint or tone on the text, characters or reader. Lubbock remarks that: a really artistic writer ought not to appear in his story at all. But of course with every touch that he lays on his subject he must show what he thinks of it; his subject, indeed, the book which he finds in his selected fragment of life, is purely the representation of his view, his judgment, his opinion of it. (qtd. in Mudrick, 1952:219) According to Jung, the creativity of the artist appears in the literary ability to express his/her sentiments in a dramatic presentation, to personify their feelings in a living mood, rather stating them in a clear-cut and overt manner (1972: 176). Moreover, Booth’s theory of the ‘objectivity of fiction’ substantiates the fact that the art of fiction “is essentially persuasive or rhetorical” in the sense that both the verbal style and narrative strategies are mediums reflecting the writer’s point of view, although not in a manner that is manipulative (Booth, 1961:567). 3.2.4. Austen’s Intellectual Perspectives In Persuasion, Austen, on behalf of her heroine, Anne, reveals her sympathy with the navy as a source of national pride: His genius and ardour had seemed to foresee and to command his prosperous path… He had distinguished himself, and early gained the other step in rank, and must now, by successive captures, have made a handsome fortune. She had only navy lists and newspapers for her authority, but she could not doubt his being rich; and, in favour of his constancy, she had no reason to believe him married. (Persuasion, 2007: 26) Through the character of Captain Wentworth, the ‘fine gentleman’, and Admiral Croft, the ‘man-of- war’(Persuasion, 2007: 62), Austen reveals not only her political views about the officers of the Navy (i.e. their fortune, their ranks, their salaries) but also states that they hold charm and an attraction for young girls at home. That is, they are imbued with gallantry and bravery: “he had every thing to elevate him which general attention and deference, and especially the attention of all the young women, could do” (Persuasion, 2007: 63). Even Sir Walter, who had previously disdained Captain Wentworth for his ‘obscure birth’, admires ‘his superiority 117 Najlaa Hosny Ameen Mohammed: Regulated Hatred in Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Persuasion (1816) by Jane Austen of appearance’ that “he saw him repeatedly by daylight” and at last “prepares his pen, with a very good grace, for the insertion of the marriage in the volume of honour” (Persuasion, 2007: 216), i.e. Sir Walter is delighted at the end of the novel to add the name of Captain Wentworth to the book of Baronetage, which he regards as a gauge of nobility in the upper nineteenth-century society. 3.2.5. Unjust Treatment of the Foible Characters in Contrast to the Central Ones Simpson criticises Austen for her inaccurate portrayal of her ‘foible’ characters, in the same way that she perfects her sensible protagonist; to him, she lacks “the eye of the skilful naturalist” (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 15). Austen creates one-dimensional characters, both to amuse and to create forward momentum in the plot. For example, in Persuasion, Austen limits the space occupied by Mr. Elliot in the life of Anne, on account of the fact that he is foolish and immature, while paying lavish attention to ‘the prudent’ Wentworth. Even Wentworth serves her central character: “Anne’s being tempted, by some man of talents and independence, to enter a state for which she held her to be peculiarly fitted by her warm affections and domestic habits” (Persuasion, 2007: 25). Furthermore, in the light of a psychological and biographical approach, it is important to shed light on the character of Jane Austen herself within the social network of relations, and among people of different manners. Her brother essentially describes her nature as conservative and ruminative: Faultless herself, as nearly as human nature can be, she always sought, in the faults of others, something to excuse, to forgive or forget. Where extenuation was impossible, she had a sure refuge in silence. She never uttered either a hasty, a silly, or severe expression. In short, her temper was as polished as her wit … She was tranquil without reserve or stiffness; and communicative without intrusion or self-sufficiency. (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 7). This may explain why she wishes her protagonists to be sincere, refined and moral. Cecil terms this ‘the moral- realistic view’, in which she adopts a conviction that a man’s duty in life is to be genteel and civilised, yet in an imperative way (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 33). Butler considers that Austen (like the great nineteenth-century novelists) manages to “change the reader’s relationship to the consciousness of the central character” so that they become emotionally and intellectually engaged “rather than critically in the inward experience a novel has to offer” (Walder, 1896: 225). She relies on the reader sharing her beliefs and lessons through her major characters, such as the well-mannered Captain Fredrick Wentworth, the affectionate Marianne, and the prudent Elinor, etc. Harding asserts, “the heroine is in some degree isolated from those around her by being more sensitive or of finer moral insights or sounder judgment” (Harding, 1940: 264). An example of this is Lady Middleton, in Sense and Sensibility, who acts as a ‘well-bred wife’ resigning herself to accompanying the Steeles who are malicious and importunate, and “gives her husband genteel reprimand on this subject five or six times every day” (1896: 66). Similarly, in Persuasion, Anne (who takes after Jane Austen to the greatest degree), enjoys the company of Mrs. Musgrove, yet she sees her as “not much educated, and not at all elegant” (2007: 35) and dislikes her close-minded elitism. Marianne in Sense and Sensibility and Anne in Persuasion accord with Austen when it comes to their patterns of thinking: “Marianne, though always unwilling to join any of their parties, was persuaded by her mother, who could not bear to have her seclude herself from any chance of amusement, to go likewise” (Sense, 1896: 77). Similarly, “[Anne] had but two friends in the world to add to his list, Lady Russell and Mrs Smith” (Persuasion, 2007: 219). In Sense and Sensibility “the heroines are still nearer perfection”, Austen designates her heroine (like herself) as a typical representation of “sound judgment and good feeling”; however, “the social world may have material power over her, enough to make her unhappy” (Harding, 1940: 269). The heroine is inclined to be independent and self-reliant of those distasteful characters about her and therefore isolated. Marianne and Elinor, for instance, should be spending much of their time in the company of “malicious and importunate women”, such as the Steele sisters, Mrs. Ferrars, and Fanny Dashwood (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 99). Elinor contrives to avoid them for their impertinence and sheer stupidity: Elinor, with great civility, declined the proposal. Her sister was perhaps laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing gown, and therefore not able to come to them. "Oh, if that's all," cried Miss Steele, "we can just as well go and see HER." Elinor began to find this impertinence too much for her temper; but she was saved the trouble of checking it, by Lucy's sharp reprimand, which now, as on many occasions, though it did not give much sweetness to the manners of one sister, was of advantage in governing those of the other.(Sense, 1896:117) Harding illustrates that “[Austen] is never a submissive alliance with the representatives of virtue and good feeling in her social world- there is only a selective alliance with certain aspects of their characters” (1972: 270). 3.3. Why Does Austen Write This section explores Austen’s concerns and the purposes behind her novels. On the one hand, it aims to tackle her critics (including Murdick) who regard her as writing for the sake of entertainment and delight, i.e. art for art’s sake. Jane Austen is thought to write books for commercial profit, or special travel-book or booksellers. On the other hand, critics such as Williams regard her writing as social criticism, coated with irony and comedy. Harding and Jung, both well-known psychologists, provide not only an interpretation of Jane Austen’s inner mind as International Journal of Literature and Arts 2014; 2(4): 110-122 118 that of a shrewd novelist, but also explore and scrutinise her art from a psychological perspective. Harding offers her readers a new meaning of her sensible characters, or those with foibles, and the social circumstances, while Jung judges the formation of the writer’s psyche saying that “it is his art that explains the artist, not the insufficiencies and conflicts of his personal life; he establishes his own school of analytical psychology” (1972: 175). 3.3.1. Art for Art’s Sake Both readers and critics find Jane Austen’s novels a source of delight, relief and entertainment. Austen is a skilled novelist at weaving diverse characters, ironical situations, comic scenes, social interaction and a joyful atmosphere. Macaulay comments that “We have no hesitation in placing Jane Austen, a woman of whom England is justly proud”. Macaulay and Murdick liken her to William Shakespeare, in thatshe uses her art as a representation of the social world around her, with vivid descriptions and amusing relationships (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 6). Moreover, Lewes is of the opinion that her works are ‘art for art’s sake’. Murdick agrees with Lewes that her art “is no more than interesting speculation”. That is to say, Austen in Persuasion sends no message to her readers, as her main goal in writing it is “amusing and edifying her family”. He adds that: “Persuasion is a partial failure as a work of art”. As far as her bourgeois society is concerned, Persuasion is a novel of courtship and marriage. Schorer points out that it is a novel about marriage as ‘a market place’ and about the female as ‘marketable’. Austen employs marriage and romantic subjects “as it performs to this day, the double function of entertainment through titillation and the conveying in palatable form a particular kind of philosophy of life” (qtd. in Walder, 1896: 208). Schorer additionally observes that, Jane Austen discriminates between two orders of values: the moral and the material (Mudrick, 1952: 240). To exemplify this, Anne and Wentworth’s engagement is regarded as emphasising Austen’s viewpoint that these two bourgeois lovers recognise the role of a game that states that material conditions and moral conventions if amalgamated (not necessarily in an equal way) will lead to a comfortable life and a happy ending. Furthermore, “her marriage to the handsome prince at the end is in the nature of a reward for being different from the rest and a consolation for the distresses entailed by being different” (Harding, 1940: 270). Jane Austen recapitulates her message in the last chapter: “Anne was tenderness itself, and she had the full worth of it in Captain Wentworth’s affection” (Persuasion, 2007: 219). That is, Anne and Wentworth succeed in overcoming the conflict between two worlds of love and economics (i.e. internal and external pressure) and those of personal feelings and social facts. Sense and Sensibility is seen by Lerner as ‘after Emma, the undoubted masterpiece’, contending that it is intended as comic relief. Austen has created a highly entertaining satirical novel. Her satire critiques the lavishness of social decorum, as well as the embarrassing situations of her snobbish caricatures. Yet Harding views satire as ‘misleading’, for “she has none of the underlying didactic intention ordinarily attributed to the satirist. Her mode is not missionary; it is the more desperate one of merely finding some mode of existence for her critical attitudes” (Harding, 1940: 271). Harding considers that the satirist should have a meaningful message behind his satire, not simply to entertain the associates of everyday life. From a psychological viewpoint, Harding observes that: [Austen] had a deep need of their affection and a genuine respect for the ordered, decent civilisation that they upheld. And yet she was sensitive to their crudeness and complacencies and knew that her real existence depended on resisting many of the values they implied. The novels gave her a way out of this dilemma. This, rather than the ambition of entertaining a posterity of urbane gentlemen, was her motive force in writing. (Harding, 1940: 271) For example, Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Palmer are both rich subjects of satire in Sense and Sensibility. Mrs. Jennings, Lady Middleton's mother, was a good- humoured, merry, fat, elderly woman, who talked a great deal, seemed very happy, and rather vulgar. She was full of jokes and laughter, and before dinner was over had said many witty things on the subject of lovers and husbands; hoped they had not left their hearts behind them in Sussex, and pretended to see them blush whether they did or not. (Sense, 1896: 19) Austen delineates Mrs. Palmer in the following terms: “It was impossible for any one to be more thoroughly good- natured, or more determined to be happy than Mrs. Palmer” (Sense, 1896: 62). Although Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Palmer are minor characters, , they take control of their own happiness by satirising others or intervening in people’s lives, unlike her Austen’s heroines, Elinor and Marianne, who are both incapable of their own decisions and happiness. Readers view them as desirable characters due to their ‘self-determination’ and ‘independence’ (Anderson and Kidd). Richard Simpson sheds light upon the fact that Austen, in a satirical manner, “shows as admirable a discrimination in the characters of fools as of people of sense… a conversation full of wisdom and wit” (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 15). However, despite a recognition of the serious dilemma posed by Austen “being intensely critical of people to whom she also has strong emotional attachments”, Harding (along with other critics) disapproves of Austen’s futile satire, since it invites the carefree enjoyment and mere entertainment of her all her readers (Harding, 1940: 272). 3.3.2. Social Criticism Williams, in his article entitled ‘The English Novel’, states that “the paradox of Jane Austen is then the achievement of a unity of tone, of a settled and remarkably 119 Najlaa Hosny Ameen Mohammed: Regulated Hatred in Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Persuasion (1816) by Jane Austen confident way of seeing and judging, in this chronicle of confusion and change” (Walder, 1896: 237). Williams further observes that, following the agricultural revolution, Austen observes a considerable improvement and expansion of the standard of living across the classes. Flattery, snobbery and moral pretension formulated the ruling standards within the English society at that time, but Austen draws the reader’s attention to a new social experience: one that can be seen as a social and moral criticism. For example, in Persuasion she develops “an everyday uncompromising morality which is in effect separable from its social basis and which, in other hands, can be turned against it” (Walder, 1896: 238). She therefore moulds characters and actions with an aim of serving her reformative aim, i.e. amending the sickness of social behaviour in her society. In Sense and Sensibility, Austen undisguisedly criticises the extravagant parties of the upper class through Mrs. Jennings: The dinner was a grand one, the servants were numerous, and every thing bespoke the Mistress's inclination for show, and the Master's ability to support it. In spite of the improvements and additions which they were making to the Norland estate, and in spite of its owner having once been within some thousand pounds of being obliged to sell out at a loss, nothing gave any symptom of that indigence which he had tried to infer from it;-- no poverty of any kind, except of conversation, appeared-- but there, the deficiency was considerable. (Sense, 1896: 125) In this comic scene, Austen employs her satire to critique the lavishness of social decorum. The narrator employs humour to overtly criticise the financial exaggeration of the parties thrown by the upper class: “The comic part of her [Austen’s] character illustrates admirably her capacity for keeping on good terms with people without too great treachery to herself” (Harding, 1940: 263). It is clear that Austen is highly aware of the ‘crisis of the knowable community’, which is a natural result of the growth of towns, cities and metropolis. Subsequently, the size of awareness, consciousness and realisation of the outside world is also deepened. As concluded by Williams, this is an awareness of the function of the objects and subjects, of observers, of what they desire and what needs to be known (qtd. in Walder, 1896: 235-6). All the characters in Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility are fundamentally obsessed with being settled securely within the upper class and accompanying the aristocracy. Marriage and a profession are the main goals of the majority of her characters, in order to attain the superiority and the social standards of the upper class. For example, in Persuasion Lady Russell advises the youthful Anne to turn down Captain Wentworth’s proposal, because “she had prejudices on the side of ancestry; she had a value for rank and consequence” (2007: 10). Yet when he returns as a wealthy naval officer, her viewpoint is completely altered. Austen writes in the final chapter: “Lady Russell, in spite of all her former transgressions, he could now value from his heart” (Persuasion, 2007: 219). Austen argues her moral lessons and viewpoints through comparison and contrast. Harding adds that she provokes her readers to revolt against ‘the moral horror of values’, such as snobbery, social pretension, imprudence, to mention but a few. On the other hand, she also teaches her readers “the duty of the individual to immerse himself in the events about him and to accept his obligations to his acquaintances finely and squarely” (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 88-9). Responsibility is another lesson Austen intends her readers to learn. For example, Marianne in Sense and Sensibility suffers due to her imprudence and selfishness: “She was sensible and clever; but eager in everything: her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation. She was generous, amiable, interesting: she was everything but prudent” (Sense, 1896: 4).Throughout the course of the novel, Marianne grows, both from the heartbreak of her experience with Willoughby, and from hearing that Edward, whom her sister loves, is engaged to Lucy Steele. Austen depicts her movingly in Chapter 37: If you can think me capable of ever feeling--surely you may suppose that I have suffered NOW. The composure of mind with which I have brought myself at present to consider the matter, the consolation that I have been willing to admit, have been the effect of constant and painful exertion. (Sense, 1896: 138) This moment of self-discovery and self-abasement represents Marianne’s development from a reckless, selfish, indiscreet innocent into a prudent and self-controlled young woman, who is capable of managing her own sentiments and of supporting those around her. It is clear that a number of critics propound that Jane Austen conveys important moral messages through her novels Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility, and they are not designed merely for entertainment. 3.3.3. To Survive Jane Austen’s purpose for writing her novels has been a source of controversy among respected critics. Close examination of her psychological feelings, along with specific biographical notes, provides different interpretations from the point of view of Jung’s theory of creativity. The core of his theory being that: In the case of the work of art we have to deal with a product of complicated psychic activities – but a product that is apparently intentional and consciously shaped. In the case of the artist we must deal with the psychic apparatus itself. In the first instance, we must attempt the psychological analysis of a definitely circumscribed and concrete artistic achievement, while the second we must analyse the living and the creative human being as a unique personality. (Jung, 1930: 176) To illustrate this, it is often considered that Anne’s love affair in Persuasion is Jane Austen’s own. In the light of the biographical approach, Anne’s emotion “proves not merely the biographical fact that Jane Austen had loved, but the aesthetic fact that she was no longer afraid to say so” (Mudrick, 1952: 227). Additionally, the growth in Anne’s International Journal of Literature and Arts 2014; 2(4): 110-122 120 mindset and personality resonates with Austen’s own intellectual growth as a writer. None of Austen’s previous heroines, by temperament or accident, equals Anne. At the same time, Austen writes Sense and Sensibility to consciously and manageably (if not fully) express her embedded condemnation of the ill-manners and sickness of the upper levels of her society. For example, Lucy Steele shows Colonel Brandon unusual respect and interest in an attempt to take advantage of his wealth and generosity: As for Colonel Brandon, she was not only ready to worship him as a saint, but was moreover truly anxious that he should be treated as one in all worldly concerns; anxious that his tythes should be raised to the utmost; and secretly resolved to avail herself, at Delaford, as far as she possibly could, of his servants, his carriage, his cows, and his poultry. (Sense, 1896:154) Austen here criticises Lucy’s manipulative efforts, specifically also commenting on the hypocrisy and fake feelings of the upper class in general. Austen shows intelligence in that she avoids any conflicts or confrontation with “the social group having such ambivalence for her” (Harding, 1940: 270). She therefore employs her sweet-covered satire to send strong messages to her enemies and the people she detests. Harding’s theory of regulated hatred is worth noting as an aspect of Austen’s novels. It is not one that signifies a degrading or underrating of her art, or scorning a remarkable novelist. Rather, Harding contends that “she succeeded admirably in expressing the gentler virtues of a civilised social order”. He further asserts that “she was a delicate satirist, revealing with inimitable lightness of touch the comic foibles and amiable weaknesses of the people whom she lived among and liked” (Harding, 1940: 263). Austen is described by Marilyn Butler in her article ‘Jane Austen and the War of Ideas’ as ‘a Christian writer’, due to the fact that she enhances “the score of good taste, and of practical utility, by her religion being not at all obtrusive”. Jane Austen aims to detach herself from ‘the ideological convulsions’ spread in the nineteenth century, and for this reason, she was fully aware of handling her ‘didactic content’ (Walder, 1896: 224). Austen’s brother described her as: “without the slightest affection she recoiled from everything gross. Neither nature, wit, nor humour, could make her amends for so very low a scale of morals” (qtd. in O’Neill, 1970: 8). She is characterised as being reserved and conservative, delicate and honest, religious and devout. In his article ‘Why Write?’ Jean Paul Sartre (1949) discusses the ‘regulating mission’ of the writer, that he/she “neither foresees nor conjectures; he projects” (Sartre, 1949: 373). From this viewpoint, Austen reads her society, disdains its demerits and thus takes a decision of changing its incongruous aspects through her pen, and yet maintains an outstanding position in that same society. To survive as a novelist, and as a well-known member of the upper levels of her society, Austen as “a novelist, therefore, part of her aim was to find the means for unobtrusive spiritual survival, without open conflict with the friendly people around her whose standards in simpler things she could accept and whose affection she greatly needed” (Harding, 1940: 571). Moreover, Leo Bersani in ‘A Future for Astyanax’ (1976) accounts for releasing the imagination via language as a form of realism: a strategy to serve society by “containing and repressing its disorder with significantly structured stories about itself” (Walder, 1896: 245). Austen’s Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility both partially form a spiritual and psychological outlet for Austen’s hidden emotions and unrevealed thoughts. The unique aspect of Austen’s art is that she consciously uncovers the peculiarities of her society, and knows how best to ‘represent’ it. She favours making her readers laugh at the faults they tolerate in themselves and their friends. However, her intention is to exaggerate their faults in order to make fun of them, yet at the same time her satire could be viewed as “a mock assault and not genuinely disruptive … Satire such as this is obviously a means of admonitions but of self-reservation” (Harding, 1940: 272). For example, many of her characters believe that hypocrisy is an unavoidable facet of human nature, and an essential component of polite society. In Sense and Sensibility, Fanny finds the cold and dull Lady Middleton to be “one of the most charming women in the world!” (1896: 123). The exclamation mark at the end suggests the insincerity, vanity and pretension involved in such false appraisal. Such an aesthetic gesture, single word, or even odd tone, is seen by Said as a break in the constraints of representation; realism must innovatively seek a new descriptive mode (Walder, 1896: 260). Austen’s narrative style renders her a modernist novelist. Austen develops ‘a form of the signified’, i.e. narrative structure itself, along with satirical speeches, ironic sentences and farcical conversations. Her narrative style is invented, but intentionally so, in order to be considered as ‘art for art’s sake’, and for mere entertainment. As stated by Edward Said, she empties the sign, and degrades it in order to infinitely postpone its objective and to challenge, in a radical fashion, the age-old aesthetic of ‘representation’ (Walder, 1896: 261). To illustrate, Austen endeavours to highlight certain evils in her society and its social members, not through direct straightforward manner, but through an indirect and disguised manner. 4. Conclusion The theory of regulated hatred is employed effectively in Jane Austen’s novels Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility in order to revolutionise in a distinguished manner the ruling standards of her social groups and to furnish her society with polished and impeccable manners. This research has investigated and examined her narrative techniques, varying tones, art of representation, tyrannical style, intellectual perspectives, and unjust treatment of her characters, in the light of the psychological, biographical and New Historicist approach. Furthermore, Austen writes new kind of realism that she established both as a member 121 Najlaa Hosny Ameen Mohammed: Regulated Hatred in Sense and Sensibility (1811) and Persuasion (1816) by Jane Austen of the upper levels of her society and as a novelist whose task is to improve its manners. Austen has been influenced by the philosophy of Descartes, Locke and Johnson, regarding literature as the barometer, inspiration and a guide of society, and that the narrative methods and procedures embody the circumstantial view of life. Persuasion and Sense and Sensibility convey ethical, personal and emotional truths. In offering her readers two plots (right and wrong), two types of characters (prudent and imprudent), two orderly worlds (moral and material), Austen naturalises the didactic tradition. Intelligently, and with intent, she focuses on sensible, genteel and civilised characters, on the one hand, and satirises, disdains and dehumanises human foibles. Austen’s goal behind modelling her characters is that her readers share both her beliefs and her lessons. Anne and Captain Wentworth, Marianne and Elinor are examples of well-mannered protagonists. Lucy Steele, Lady Middleton, Mrs. Palmer, Sir Walter and Mrs. Musgrove are representatives of hypocrisy, false appraisal, social pretensions, flattery and impertinence. Austen’s subtlety as a writer is such that the inattentive reader (as illustrated by Harding and Butler) may well remain unaware of this aspect of her work. It is the reader who bears the responsibility to choose the path he/she wishes to trace in the future. Austen’s sense of responsibility to her audience goes beyond language, to discover non-verbal truths. Austen is an unconventional writer, focusing on the internal struggle with self-conscious efforts and realistic literary methods through which she establishes her moral enterprise of truth telling, and extends the limits of human sympathy. The preoccupation of Jane Austen as a novelist is personal conduct. Her aim is to test the social norms and standards that govern human behaviour in a number of realistic situations. Austen is aware of the fact that, unlike the settled ‘traditional’ world, nineteenth-century society reveals an obsessive preoccupation with estates, incomes and social positions, which are seen as instigators of all relationships in society at that time, whether in relation to marriage, friendship or professional life, etc. The methods and techniques witnessed in Austen’s novels interlock with a new sense of awareness, with historical consciousness and social rapports. Her readers, she understands, are not passive, but active creators, and destroyers, of the values of both individuals and relationships. For this reason, she deliberately creates characters and actions with the intention of bringing about improvement. In this sense, Jane Austen relates to later writers, such as Coleridge, George Eliot and Matthew Arnold, in that she develops uncompromising everyday morality and social consciousness that is, in effect, separable from its social basis and economic growth. Morality is independent of class; ethics and morals are unchangeable through time. The prominent theory, regulated hatred, is not only regarded as an aspect of Austen’s art, but it is also a means of expression, a secured mask, and an aesthetic style with dual incentives: to change the mood and to ameliorate society, to laugh at the fools and to propel them into self- consciousness. New critical theories by critics such as D. W. Harding, C. J. Jung, Raymond Williams, Linda Hutcheon, and M. M. Bakhtin, provide a new significance and interpretation when applied to old or modern works of fiction, including for instance, William Shakespeare, Anton Chekov and George Orwell. References [1] Allen, George. Critics on Jane Austen. London: Unwin Ltd, 1970. Print. [2] Anderson, Kathleen and Jordan Kith:“Mrs. Jennings and Mrs. Palmer: The Path to Female Self-determination in Austen’s Sense and Sensibility”. Jasna.org. 19 Jan. 2014. <http://www.jasna.org/persuasions/printed/number30/anders on.pdf>. Web. [3] Austen, Jane. Persuasion. England: An Electronic Classics Series Publication, 2007. Print. [4] Austen, Jane. Sense and Sensibility. Manybooks.net.1896. <http://manybooks.net>. Print. [5] Booth, Wayne C. “The Rhetoric of Fiction”. 1961. 20 th Century Literary Criticism. Ed. David Lodge. England: Longman, 1972. 565- 579. Print. [6] Drake, Sylvia. “D. W. Harding and Austen’s letters”. LiveJournal.com. 16 th Mar. 2011. 2 Jan. 2014. <http://misssylviadrake.livejournal.com/42528.html>. Web. [7] Jung, Carl Gustav. “Psychology and Literature”. 1930. 20 th Century Literary Criticism. Ed. David Lodge. England: Longman, 1972. 565- 579. Print. [8] Justice, George. “Fine Fresh Hatred”. Athlone Press: Jasna.org, 1998. 20 Jan. 2014. <http://www.jasna.org/bookrev/br162p20.html>. Web. [9] Harding, D. W. “Regulated hatred: An Aspect of the Work of Jane Austen”. Scrutiny, Vol. VIII, March 1940. 20 th Century Literary Criticism. Ed. David Lodge. England: Longman, 1972. 565- 579. Print. [10] Lascelles, Mary. Jane Austen and Her Art. London: Oxford, 1939. Print. [11] Lester, D. James and Lester, D. James Jr. Writing Research Paper. 11 th ed. United States. Pearson education, inc. 2005. Print. [12] Mckillop, Ian. “Obituary: Professor D. W. Harding”. The Independent. 3 May 1993. 2 Jan. 2014 <http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/obituary- professor-d-w-harding-2320717.html>. Web. [13] Mudrick, Marvin. Jane Austen: Irony as Defense and Discovery. England: Princeton University Press, 1952. Print. [14] Neill, S. Diana. A Short History of The English Novel. London: Jarrolds, 1951. Print. International Journal of Literature and Arts 2014; 2(4): 110-122 122 [15] O’Neill, Judith. Critics on Jane Austen. London: George Allen and Unwin Ltd, 1970. Print. [16] Oxford Dictionary of English. 7 th ed. 2010. Print. [17] Stevenson, Angus (Ed). Oxford Dictionary of English. England: Oxford, 2013. Print. [18] 20 th Century Literary Criticism. Ed. David Lodge. England: Longman, 1972. 565- 579. Print. [19] Peck, John and Coyle, Martin. Literary Terms and Criticism. England: Macmillian, 2002. Print. [20] Pinion, F. B. A Jane Austen Companion: A Critical Survey and Reference Book. London: Macmillan, 1973. Print. [21] Raith, John (Ed.). “History of Parliament Trust”. British History Online, 1819. 14 Jan. 2014. <http://www.british- history.ac.uk/report.aspx?compid=47272>. Web. [22] Sales, Roger. Jane Austen and representations of Regency England. London: Routledge, 1996. Print. [23] Sartre, Jean-Paul. “Why Write?”. 1949. 20 th Century Literary Criticism. Ed. David Lodge. England: Longman, 1972. 565- 579. Print. [24] Walder, Dennis. Approaching Literature: The Realist Novel. London: Routledge, 1896. Print. 
work_q5kqdjqjjbhwzealrb63flldby	----	VLC_46_3-4_BookReviews 612..616 4. Charles Dickens, David Copperfield, ed. Jerome Buckley (New York: Norton, 1990), 9. 5. Charles Darwin, The Origin of Species, ed. George Levine (New York: Barnes & Noble, 2004), 76–77. 6. Alex Woloch, The One vs. the Many: Minor Characters and the Space of the Protagonist in the Novel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003). 7. Steven Shapin, A Social History of Truth: Civility and Science in Seventeenth-Century England (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994). Character JILL GALVAN THE scholarly story of Victorian character has long been a story ofinteriority. According to Deidre Lynch’s influential account, by the end of the eighteenth century, print consumers were stratified by their approach to character: reading with taste (distinctly from the masses) meant reading for interpretable insides.1 Ian Watt’s classic history of the novel presumes a dense psychology in describing the novelistic indi- vidual as a modern subject navigating the choices of her socioeconomic world.2 Readings premised on psychical conflict likewise assume inner- ness. Since the work of Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar, for instance, it hardly seems possible not to read a character like Jane Eyre as riven by deep selfhood.3 But in recent scholarship, another story is emerging. Broadly speak- ing, this newer work emphasizes character as a dynamically relational form: a mobile entity shaped by interaction—whether with the reader, other characters in the storyworld, or both. Character here is experiential in a nearly physical sense—a matter of movement, perception, and change. It exists formally or phenomenologically, in time and space. An early inkling of this approach is Alex Woloch’s The One Vs. the Many, which reads fictional persons as jostling for space and for the read- er’s limited attention within a crowded “character-system.”4 More recently, S. Pearl Brilmyer interprets Middlemarch’s characters as soft, mutable beings with attributes emerging from their encounters in a 612 VLC • VOL. 46, NO. 3/4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000384 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000384 https://www.cambridge.org/core material field.5 A key concept for Brilmyer is affect—felt, sensory phenomena—and this is also the basis of Summer Star’s reading of Middlemarch’s realism: George Eliot’s peopled environment seems genu- ine because of readers’ “liminally conscious perception that moment to moment draws us to the object world and substantiates belonging to it as fellow, bodily objects.”6 Jonathan Farina’s study of character, while con- cerned with prose turns of phrase rather than material spatiality, also ties nineteenth-century fictional personhood to form and affect. For writers ranging from Jane Austen to Anthony Trollope, he suggests, character was a relational style comprising both people and things; selves, inextricable from objects, acquired moral and emotional value through a performative mode that was supple, tactile, frictional, alive with “frisson.”7 With their attention to character as an experience of contact, such perspectives put pressure on the idea of interiority. Indeed, in a tangen- tial trend, other critics have questioned the individual’s private outlines, claiming, rather, intersubjectivity or a blending with (social or natural) surroundings. This latter work, too, has a strong phenomenological bent. David Kurnick suggests that in reading the novel as a genre defined by interiority, critics have overlooked its yearning for the collective, exter- nal space of the theater and thus its “fundamental ambiguity” about the “public/private distinction.”8 Rachel Ablow’s book on Victorian pain argues for the “impersonality” of this most troubling of affects. Pain’s ontological incommunicability is a means for authors to navigate, and sometimes transcend, the distinction between self and other.9 In an essay linking Tess of the D’Urbervilles to psychoanalytical object-relations theory, Alicia Christoff sees Thomas Hardy’s protagonist as “diffuse and dissolved” and her solitary moments as inclusive of other presences, not unlike the experience of the novel-reader herself.10 But perhaps the most provocative new views of fictional personhood are those that, more than simply tempering a notion of innerness, emphatically deny its existence. Brilmyer proposes that the typical Middlemarch character is not, as has often been thought, a “hidden or buried kernel of personality, but instead . . . a socially determined mate- rial figuration.”11 Interestingly, this denial also appears in the work of recent modernist scholars. In general, in fact, there has been a remark- able overlap between Victorian and modernist theories of narrated selves. Certain concepts—non-individuation, embodied experience, affective relation, and the difference between interiority/depth and exte- riority/surface—are cropping up in both. For Rochelle Rives, drawing on CHARACTER 613 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000384 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000384 https://www.cambridge.org/core Maurice Merleau-Ponty, modernist authors turn away from “humanist” models of discrete psychology, implying the “impersonality” of the encoun- ter and its emotional, ethical, and political potentialities. Rives puts this in dramatically spatial terms: rejecting the belief that “humans have depths to be plumbed or expressed,” modernist authors imagine interaction on a “flatten[ed]” “surface” that “exteriorizes collective emotional experi- ence.”12 Omri Moses stresses the modernist (e.g., Bergsonian) fascination with vitalism—living interconnection and flux—to offer, similarly, an account wherein ethics arise from momentary, affective responses. Most relevantly here, he asserts a difference between this dynamic state of being and static Victorian personality. Whereas Henry James, Gertrude Stein, and T. S. Eliot envision character as situational and processual, George Eliot’s selves are “centered” and limited in moral action by the “unity and orderliness” of their social environment.13 But as is apparent from the stimulating Victorianist criticism sur- veyed above, such distinctions are misleading—though also entirely pre- dictable, given the way English studies often charts the course of literature. Moses’s account is tacitly one of aesthetic progression: in the twentieth century, fiction outgrows its faith in coherent selves, becoming more attentive to the vagaries and perplexities of existence, as well as the flexibility of temporal, spatial, and (hence) narrative form. Scholars often note that historical periodization risks obscuring valuable insights. And yet on the topic of aesthetics and representation, the distinction between Victorianism and modernism seems intransigent, often, as in this case, to the diminution of the former. In recent studies of character, however, I see an opportunity to jet- tison the idea of progression and to trace cross-period resonances instead. As this work highlights, questions of social ethics, often associ- ated with Victorian literature, do not mutually exclude attention to per- ceptual and sensual form, often associated with modernist literature. Aiding this reconciliation is the affective turn in both subfields. Intriguingly, Kristy Martin’s book on the “rhythms of sympathy,” though focused on modernist authors, includes George Eliot in the introduction, demonstrating the disciplinary bridge in even this most seemingly quin- tessential of Victorian affects. For Martin, sympathy—here theorized, like Moses’s character, through a discourse of vitalism—moves between, and therefore disturbs the boundaries of, individuals. Its ethic involves not deliberation or “autonomy” but instead “sensuous and epiphanic” feel- ing.14 I’d suggest that with all this attention to vital dynamism, the fiction of individuality, and the interrelation of people with their surroundings, 614 VLC • VOL. 46, NO. 3/4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000384 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000384 https://www.cambridge.org/core we are witnessing in both subfields a phenomenologically posthuman shift: a serious consideration of how we might read characters and their shared embodiment in light of the fallacies of liberal humanism.15 At the same time, paradoxical as it may seem, I’d urge that scholars not abandon the concept of interiority altogether, as simply synonymous with determined psychological identity. For on the contrary, the new phys- icalist view of character accentuates interiority (or depth) as itself a dimen- sional concept, and that we can read its interrelational position in multiple productive ways.16 Contact between persons may well entail an experience of continuity. But, as narratives from Middlemarch (and prior) on through To the Lighthouse (and afterward) also depict, that moment of contact just as often entails an impression of isolation, misunderstanding, difference: a sense of separate insideness, necessarily opaque or exterior from the per- spective of someone else. This, too, is a significant feeling. It is also signifi- cant aesthetically, as a matter of perception and point of view. “She could be herself, by herself,” Mrs. Ramsay thinks, in Woolf’s novel. “Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep, but now and again, we rise to the surface, and that is what you see us by.”17 Part of what fascinates readers about Mrs. Ramsay, as about Dorothea Brooke, or any number of Victorian characters, is the lived impermeability of that surface—mysteri- ous, sometimes socially troublesome—even as she flexes, vitally, ethically, to her narrative environment. NOTES 1. Deidre Lynch, The Economy of Character: Novels, Market Culture, and the Business of Inner Meaning (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1998). 2. Ian Watt, The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1957). 3. Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979). 4. Alex Woloch, The One vs. the Many: Minor Characters and the Space of the Protagonist in the Novel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003), 14. 5. S. Pearl Brilmyer, “Plasticity, Form, and the Matter of Character in Middlemarch,” Representations 130, no. 1 (2015): 60–83. 6. Summer J. Star, “Feeling Real in Middlemarch,” ELH 80, no. 3 (2013): 839–69, 842. 7. Jonathan Farina, Everyday Words and the Character of Prose in Nineteenth- Century Britain (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2017), 20. CHARACTER 615 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000384 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000384 https://www.cambridge.org/core 8. David Kurnick, Empty Houses: Theatrical Failure and the Novel (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012), 3. 9. Rachel Ablow, Victorian Pain (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2017), 3. 10. Alicia Christoff, “Alone with Tess,” NOVEL: A Forum on Fiction 48, no. 1 (2015): 18–44, 25. 11. Brilmyer, “Plasticity,” 71. 12. Rochelle Rives, Modernist Impersonalities: Affect, Authority, and the Subject (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012), 8, 14. 13. Omri Moses, Out of Character: Modernism, Vitalism, Psychic Life (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2014), 6, 9. 14. Kristy Martin, Modernism and the Rhythms of Sympathy: Vernon Lee, Virginia Woolf, D.H. Lawrence (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 7, 10. 15. This upshot has generally been indirect, though some critics, e.g., Ablow and Rives, consider liberalism and humanism explicitly. 16. For other accounts of the spatiality of depth hermeneutics, in response to recent critical dismissals of it, see Deanna Kreisel, “The Madwoman on the Third Story: Jane Eyre in Space,” PMLA 131, no. 1 (2016): 101–15, and Zachary Samalin, “Plumbing the Depths, Scouring the Surface: Henry Mayhew’s Scavenger Hermeneutics,” New Literary History 48, no. 2 (2017): 387–410. 17. Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse (San Diego: Harcourt Brace, 1981), 62. Child MARAH GUBAR “ONE must have a heart of stone,” Oscar Wilde allegedly quipped,“to read the death of Little Nell without laughing.” It’s odd that so many of us know this bon mot, since it comes to us not from Wilde him- self, but from a second-hand recollection of a conversation with him reported thirty years after he died.1 Perhaps we’ve embraced this epi- gram not just because it’s funny, but also because we like to think of Wilde as a witty iconoclast who anticipates our own skepticism about 616 VLC • VOL. 46, NO. 3/4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000384 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:19, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000384 https://www.cambridge.org/core Character Notes Child 
work_qam6c65mqnbzllv3sepo6atape	----	Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 1 “ ‘The More Subtle Inquisitor:’ Arthur Machen as Early Reviewer of Dubliners for Grant Richards” Christine Ferguson, University of Stirling The torturous publication history of Dubliners is now well known to Joyce scholars, having received its most extensive and nuanced explication by Clare Hutton. In her masterful account of the collection’s vexed transit from Heinemann through to Grant Richards, Maunsel & Co. and then back to Richards again, she challenges the critical mythology which positions Richards in 1906 as a cowardly, irascible or careless publisher beholden to the squeamish moral sensitivities of his printer.i The new, more complex picture she paints of Dubliners’ early reception at Grant Richards and Maunsel and Co. points instead to the role of multiple actors and material factors in shaping the fate of the work. A letter in the Vodrey Collection of Arthur Machen Papers at Princeton University dramatically expands our understanding of the early Richards-Joyce negotiations even further by revealing for the first time an additional, and hitherto unacknowledged reader, of the 1906 Dubliners manuscript for Richards: the Welsh gothic writer and mystic Arthur Machen. The unlikely pairing of these two figures from seemingly opposite ends of the early twentieth-century literary spectrum— one a cosmopolitan pioneer renowned for his radical aesthetic innovation, the other a reactionary popular fiction writer best known for his Stevensonian pastiches and jingoistic ghost stories— can transform our understanding, not only of Dubliners’ publication history, but of the literary affinities and networks which connected popular and vanguard artists in the early modernist era.ii Born in Caerleon in 1863, Machen migrated to London in the early eighteen- eighties to launch his literary career. After a few failed experiments in reviving eclipsed literary styles, and a brief stint as cataloguer with the occult publisher George Redway, he gained fame— or at least notoriety— with a series of sensational early- Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 2 nineties horror stories, most notably The Great God Pan (1894), published in John Lane’s Keynotes series. Condemned by some of its contemporary critics for its decadence and perceived obscenity— the Westminster Review dubbed it “an incoherent nightmare of sex”— the novella borrowed the fragmented narrative style of Stevenson’s The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde (1886) to describe the life of the beautiful but unspeakably evil Helen Vaughan. iii Born out of coercive sexual union between a victimized street girl and the pagan deity Pan, she grows up to unleash a wave of suicidal destruction amongst London’s aristocratic men. Although one of Machen’s more commercially successful stories, The Great God Pan was by no means his favorite, and he bitterly resented the financial pressures that induced him to continue pumping out works in this vein, such as 1895’s The Three Impostors, for the rest of the decade “To recook that cabbage which was already boiled to death,” he laments in his 1923 autobiography Things Near and Far, was “a kind of agony.”iv In 1897, he completed The Garden of Avallaunius, the ambitious semi- autobiographical symbolist künstlerroman that he hoped would launch a new phase in his literary career and which many of his admirers then and since have regarded as his greatest accomplishment.v The manuscript was that year offered to and rejected by Grant Richards, who, despite his admiration for the novel, cautioned against publication lest it break with the established Machen horror brand;vi later Richards relented and published the book under its new title, The Hill of Dreams, in 1907. These experiences align Machen and Joyce in a number of compelling and unexpected ways at the fin de siècle: both were writers of Celtic origins at work on autobiographically-inspired artist novels, ambivalent about literary commercialization, and due to experience considerable setbacks in their dealings with an appreciative if financially cautious Grant Richards. Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 3 Despite The Hill of Dreams’s initial rejection, Machen continued to correspond and work with Richards in the first years of the twentieth century, publishing with the house his critical study of the Western romance tradition, Hieroglyphics (1902), and in 1906 a new compilation of his eighteen-nineties gothic tales, The House of Souls. Machen was somewhat cynical about the latter enterprise, only consenting to the publication in deference to the dire financial exigencies that sadly daunted his entire post-Victorian career. “My only object, you know, [in] complying with your desire re: these books and stories,” he writes in an early 1906 letter to Richards, “is to get a little money. Otherwise the whole lot should have stayed in oblivion so far as I am concerned.”vii This penury may well have compelled him to take on the manuscript blurbing and reviewing work for Richards that the Vodrey collection evidences. The archive contains two letters from Machen written in response to reviewing requests from Richards. In one, Machen turns a job down, saying of the unidentified manuscript, “I am very sorry; but I cannot think of anything today about the book. I am sure you will concoct a much better paragraph than I could.”viii In the other, he offers a brief but rapturous review of what he refers to as Joyce’s “Irish Stories.”ix Machen’s readiness to turn down vetting requests for manuscripts that did not inspire him makes his enthusiasm for Dubliners all the more significant. The letter containing Machen’s report to Richards is undated, but seems, through its reference to a recent, vituperative review of Machen’s The House of Souls in the Manchester Guardian, to have been published in mid-to late July 1906.x This timing positions it at a particularly crucial point in Joyce’s increasingly fraught negotiations with Richards. Joyce had sent the original manuscript of Dubliners, containing twelve of the collection’s ultimately fifteen stories, to Richards in late November 1905;xi on the 17 of February 1906, Richards wrote to accept, identifying Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 4 himself and some as yet unnamed others as readers, and indicating his willingness to publish even though he doubted its profitability: “I do not see that it has any of those selling qualities for which a publisher has naturally to look […] However, I admire it so much myself, and it has been so much admired by one or two other people who have read it, that we are willing to take the risk of its publication […].”xii In late April, Richards developed cold feet after his printer refused to publish the newly added “Two Gallants.”xiii Over the next few months, he wrote to Joyce requesting new changes both to this and other stories before finally retracting his acceptance on September 24th, despite Joyce’s concession to a number of revision requests.xiv What version of the manuscript did Machen see, and what, if any, impact did his recommendation have on Richards’s final decision in the autumn of 1906? As Machen makes no specific reference to the two stories added later in 1906, “Two Gallants” and “A Little Cloud”— “The Dead” wasn’t completed until 1907 (JJII 264)— he could have received the manuscript early in the year, a possibility further suggested by the fact that Richards identifies only Filson Young as external reader to Joyce in his letter of May 10th. Regardless of when Richards decided to enlist Machen, it is clear that his quest for the Welshman’s opinion represents his caution about the manuscript and desire to enlist a diverse group of readers for this attractive but potentially risky publishing venture. Machen’s s succinct but unequivocally positive response to Dubliners openly acknowledges the potentially actionable nature of its sexual references. Fascinatingly, the story that seemed to him most problematic in this respect was not either of the ones rejected by the printer— “Two Gallants” and “Counterparts”— but rather the one identified by Joyce himself as the more scandalous tale, “An Encounter.” “The printer denounces Two Gallants and Counterparts,” Joyce had written to Richards on Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 5 May 5th, but “[t]he more subtle inquisitor will denounce An Encounter, the enormity of which a printer cannot see because he is, as I have said, a plain blunt man […]” (Letters II 134). The “enormity” to which Joyce refers, is, of course, the implied act of public masturbation performed by the “queer old josser” that the story’s two schoolboy protagonists witness when they play truant from school (D 26). Machen identified the suggestion right away. In its entirety, his letter reads: My Dearest Richards, I have read the Irish stories with very great interest. They are undoubtedly very good, and very original, and I think the author ought to be encouraged most heartily to devote himself to literary work. It is so refreshing to read work which is utterly free from the loathsome tricks and fakes of book manufacturing, of the stale literary pastry which forms the stock-in-trade of most of our writers. It is a pity that one of the best of the tales— “An Encounter” is (I should think) just over the line of the printable. Many of the others, excellent as they are, would be better, perhaps, if there were a little more “story” in them. But the total impression of lower-middle-class life in Dublin that one gets from the whole book is wonderful. I hope the “House of Souls” is doing decently. The “Manchester Guardian” man seems cross! I shall be glad to hear what you think of the sample chapter of the possible new book which I sent in. If you decree its existence I must, I think, write first a parody of a well-known hymn— Earth hath many a noble city Manchester doth all excel— I am going out of town from Monday to Saturday next. Yours, Arthur Machen The new book of his own to which Machen refers here is almost definitely The Secret Glory (1922), a savage indictment of the public school system cum modern Grail story which depicts the spiritually adept schoolboy Ambrose Meyrick’s entrustment with, and eventually martyrdom for, the sangréal.xv Thus, even while himself occupied with a fantastical tale about the mystical regeneration of the world through a lost mythological object, Machen was able to recognize the brilliance of Joyce’s Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 6 symbolic-realist meditations on the lives and psychological sufferings of Dublin’s petit bourgeois. Perhaps this appreciation was no contradiction. Despite his frequent blasts against literary realism, Machen was himself fascinated by mundane experience and its potential to evoke moments of spiritual ecstasy.xvi The latter function forms the basis of the novella that is undoubtedly his masterpiece, “A Fragment of Life.” Serialized in his friend A.E. Waite’s Horlick’s Magazine in 1904, and then revised for inclusion in The House of Souls, it tells the story of Edward Darnell, a clerk living in Shepherd’s Bush clerk who, in between shopping for stoves with his wife and negotiating servant problems, experiences epiphanic visions of an ancient, pagan landscape that lies beyond the bricks and mortar of modern London. The narrative closes with a fragment from Darnell’s manuscript account of his erotic, mystical union with this fantastical Ur-space: So I awoke from a dream of a London suburb, of daily labour, of weary, useless little things; and as my eyes were opened I saw that I was in an ancient wood, where a clear well rose from grey film and vapour beneath a misty, glimmering heat. And a form came towards me from the hidden places of the wood, and my love and I were united by the well.xvii Machen’s fictional epiphanies, although, as Nick Freeman has argued, less secular and fleeting than their counterparts in the canonical modernist works of Joyce, Mansfield, and Woolf, nonetheless share their faith in the ability of everyday urban experience to not only accommodate but also to catalyze sudden moments of intense emotional, aesthetic, and even spiritual revelation.xviii Having only recently completed the revisions of “A Fragment of Life” when he read the Dubliners manuscript, Machen may have recognized ‘Araby”’s unnamed boy protagonist or “A Painful Case”’s James Duffy as more tragic and less mystically elect versions of his own Darnell. Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 7 Machen’s enthusiasm for the early Dubliners can help us rethink his own frequently asserted anti-modernism. Throughout the latter half of his increasingly fraught and obscure literary career, the writer was routinely curmudgeonly in his assessment of the modernist avant garde, complaining, for example, in his 1924 essay collection Dog and Duck about, Cubism, Vorticism, Post-Impressionism; verse that doesn’t scant and doesn’t rhyme. [N]ovels that make one think of stupid post-mortem or a dull dissection: this is what we have in place of Tennyson, Swinburne, Rossetti, Dickens, Thackeray, the Pre-Raphaelities, and the great illustrators of that despised age, the wood-engravers whose work has become to us miraculous.xix Similarly, in a letter to his correspondent Munson Havers from the same year, he remarks “As to modern writers of fiction; I know very little about them. When I do read a modern novel, I often make two reflections. Firstly, ‘How very clever’; secondly, ‘And yet this can never last’.”xx Nostalgic literary reactionary as he may in these instances position himself to be, Machen would have known at the time of writing these statements that he had himself been present at, and helped to encourage, the launch of one of the most important careers in literary modernism. Admittedly, it seems unlikely that Machen would have been as encouraging and positive about Ulysses (1922) as he was for the more narratively conventionally 1906 Dubliners; nonetheless, both Joyce texts share what was for Machen the considerable virtue of rejecting the didactic, empirical tendencies of the earnest late Victorian social novels that he had lambasted in Hieroglyphics and elsewhere. Machen’s response to Dubliners constitutes a previously unknown and highly suggestive episode in the publishing history of the short story collection which could and should elicit investigation into further affinities and identifications between these two writers in the early years of the twentieth century. Machen and Joyce, after all, shared far more than just a publisher in this period. Both writers were independently Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 8 pioneering an epiphanic narrative style rooted in the short story form; both too would see their early careers shaped, and even stalled, by accusations of immorality as they tried to move beyond the constrictions of the surrounding literary marketplace in their as yet inexplicit but nonetheless potent allusions to the deviations and perversities of sexual life.xxi Above all, Machen and Joyce were linked by a mutual commitment to probing the intensity of the unseen worlds that lay beneath the surfaces of social convention and rational thought, one that marks them as fellow travellers despite their radically different conceptions of the nature of these spaces, choices of literary technique for expressing them, and positions with Europe’s Anglophone literary sphere. Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 9 Bibliography Arthur Machen to Grant Richards, 17 January 1906, C0240, Letters to Grant Richards, 1905-23, Vodrey Collection of Arthur Machen Papers, Princeton University Library. Arthur Machen to Grant Richards, n.d. [circa July 1906], C0240, Letters to Grant Richards, 1905-23, Vodrey Collection of Arthur Machen Papers, Princeton University Library Ellman, Richard. James Joyce. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982. Ellman, Richard, ed. Letters of James Joyce II. New York: The Viking Press, 1966. Freeman, Nick. “Arthur Machen: Ecstasy and Epiphany.” Literature and Theology. 24.3 (2010): 242-55. Gekle, William Francis. Arthur Machen: Weaver of Fantasy. Millbrook, NY: Round Table Press, 1949. Hutton, Clare. “Chapters of Moral History: Failing to Publish Dubliners.” The Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America. 97.4 (December 2003): 495-519. Joyce, James. Dubliners, ed. Robert Scholes in consultation with Richard Ellman. New York: Viking Press, 1967. Machen, Arthur. “The Bowmen.” London Evening News. (29 September 2014): 3. “A Fragment of Life.” The White People and Other Stories, ed. S.T. Joshi. London: Penguin, 2011. The Great God Pan: and the Inmost Light. London: John Lane, 1894. Hieroglyphics. London: Grant Richards, 1902. The House of Souls. London: Grant Richards, 1906. “The Poor Victorians.” Dog and Duck. New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1924. Things Near and Far. London: Martin Secker, 1926. The Three Impostors; or, The Transmutations. London: John Lane, 1895. “New Novels.” Manchester Guardian. 11 July 1906: 5. The Philistine. The New Fiction (A Protest Against Sex Mania) and Other Papers. London: Westminster Gazette Office, 1895. Reynolds, Aidan and William Charlton. Arthur Machen. Oxford: Caerlaen Books, 1988. Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 10 Richards, Grant. Author Hunting By an Old Literary Sportsman: Memories of Years Spent Mainly in Publishing, 1897-1925. London: Hamish Hamilton, 1934. Memories of a Misspent Youth: 1872-1896. London: William Heinemann, 1932. Scholes, Robert. “Grant Richards to James Joyce.” Studies in Bibliography. 16 (1963): 139-60. Starrett, Vincent. Arthur Machen: A Novelist of Ecstasy and Sin. Chicago: Walter M. Hill, 1918. Sweetser, Wesley D. Arthur Machen. London: Arthur Machen Society, 1960. Valentine, Mark. Arthur Machen. Bridgend: Seren, 1995. Vechten, Carl Van. Peter Whiffle: His Life and Works. New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1927. Bibliography i Clare Hutton, “Chapters of Moral History: Failing to Publish Dubliners,” The Papers of the Bibliographical Society of America 97, no. 4 (December 2003): 497. ii For examples of Machen’s Stevensonian style, see The Great God Pan and The Inmost Light (1894) and The Three Impostors (1895); of his patriotic World War 1 ghost stories, see “The Bowmen” (1914). iii The Philistine, The New Fiction (A Protest Against Sex Mania) and Other Papers (London: Westminster Gazette Office, 1895): 101. iv Arthur Machen, Things Near and Far (London: Martin Secker, 1926), 104. v Vincent Starrett, Arthur Machen: A Novelist of Ecstasy and Sin (Chicago: Walter M. Hill, 1918): 16; Carl Van Vechten, Peter Whiffle: His Life and Works (New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1927): 194; Wesley D. Sweetser, Arthur Machen (London: Arthur Machen Society, 1960): 104; Mark Valentine, Arthur Machen (Bridgend: Seren, 1995): 69. vi Things Near and Far, 121. vii Arthur Machen to Grant Richards, 17 January 1906, C0240, Letters to Grant Richards, 1905-23, Vodrey Collection of Arthur Machen Papers, Princeton University Library. Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 11 viii Arthur Machen to Grant Richards, 26 January 1907, 2040, Letters to Grant Richards, 1905-23, Vodrey Collection of Arthur Machen Papers, Princeton University Library. At the time of writing, I have only had access to the Machen side of this correspondence; the Grant Richards archive at the University of Illinois Urbana- Champaign may indicate further evidence of these arrangements. Richards’s two autobiographies, Memories of a Misspent Youth, 1872-1896 (1932) and Author Hunting by an Old Literary Sportsman: Memories of Years Spent Mainly in Publishing, 1897-1925, have almost as little to say about Machen as they do about Joyce (who is not mentioned in either); as such, it is difficult to assess from these the full extent of the two men’s working relationship. ix Arthur Machen to Grant Richards, n.d. [circa July 1906], C0240, Letters to Grant Richards, 1905-23, Vodrey Collection of Arthur Machen Papers, Princeton University Library: 1. x “New Novels,” Manchester Guardian (11 July 1906): 5. The review critiques what it views as the arrogance of Machen’s preface, negatively contrasts his work to Maeterlinck’s,and accuses his fiction of cultivating physical disgust instead of the numinous mystery for which it aims. xi Robert Scholes, “Grant Richards to James Joyce,” Studies in Bibliography 16 (1963): 142. The original Dubliners comprised “The Sisters,” “An Encounter,” “Araby,” “The Boarding House,” “After the Race,” Eveline,” “The Clay,” “Counterparts,” “A Painful Case,” “Ivy Day in the Committee Room,” “A Mother,” and “Grace”; “Two Gallants,” “A Little Cloud,” and “The Dead” were yet to come. xii Grant Richards to James Joyce, 17 February 1906, in Robert Scholes, “Grant Richards to James Joyce,” Studies in Bibliography 16 (1963): 143. xiii Hutton, “Chapters of Moral History,” 499. Attributed by Joyce to a sense of bourgeois puritanical outrage, the printer’s objections may in fact, as Hutton argues, have had more to do with his fear of prosecution under the 1857 Obscene Publications Bill. xiv Grants Richards to James Joyce, 24 September 1906, in Scholes, 151. xv Aidan Reynolds and William Charlton, Arthur Machen (Oxford: Caermaen Books, 1988): 103. Although started in 1907, The Secret Glory did not see print until 1922 when it was finally published by Martin Secker. Accepted for publication in Dublin James Joyce Journal published by James Joyce Research Centre and National Library of Ireland 12 xvi Machen’s most sustained critique of realism comes in Hieroglyphics, in which he repeatedly elevates the romance tradition over the realist and identifies as “the enemy” as those “who maintain that fine literature is a faithful reflection of life, and think that Jane Austen touched the point of literary supremacy” (36). xvii Arthur Machen, “A Fragment of Life,” in The White People and Other Stories, ed. S.T. Joshi. (London: Penguin, 2011): 222. xviii Nick Freeman, “Arthur Machen: Ecstasy and Epiphany,” Literature and Theology 24.3 (2010), 242. xix Arthur Machen, “The Poor Victorians,” Dog and Duck (New York: Alfred A Knopf, 1924), 147. xx Arthur Machen to Munson Havers, 1924, in A Few Letters from Arthur Machen, (Cleveland: The Rowfant Club, 1932), 29. xxi William Francis Gekle, Arthur Machen: Weaver of Fantasy (Millbrook, NY: Round Table Press, 1949), 44. In addition to the controversy around The Great God Pan, Machen has also caused a stir with his 1890 short story “A Double Return,” in which a man returns home from a painting trip in Cornwall to discover that his wife has the night before been visited by, and presumably taken to her bedroom, a lookalike rival who she took for him. The St James Gazette, original publisher of the tale, dropped Machen from their contributor list following the furor. 
work_qgiq6spd4rcknekgvhztvfy7ku	----	Feature Selection in Text Clustering Applications of Literary Texts: A Hybrid of Term Weighting Methods (IJACSA) International Journal of Advanced Computer Science and Applications, Vol. 11, No. 2, 2020 99 | P a g e www.ijacsa.thesai.org Feature Selection in Text Clustering Applications of Literary Texts: A Hybrid of Term Weighting Methods Abdulfattah Omar College of Science and Humanities Prince Sattam Bin Abdulaziz University, Saudi Arabia Department of English, Faculty of Arts, Port Said University Abstract—The recent years have witnessed an increasing use of automated text clustering approaches and more particularly Vector Space Clustering (VSC) methods in the computational analysis of literary data including genre classification, theme analysis, stylometry, and authorship attribution. In spite of the effectiveness of VSC methods in resolving different problems in these disciplines and providing evidence-based research findings, the problem of feature selection remains a challenging one. For reliable text clustering applications, a clustering structure should be based on only and all the most distinctive features within a corpus. Although different term weighting approaches have been developed, the problem of identifying the most distinctive variables within a corpus remains challenging especially in the document clustering applications of literary texts. For this purpose, this study proposes a hybrid of statistical measures including variance analysis, term frequency-inverse document frequency, TF-IDF, and Principal Component Analysis (PCA) for selecting only and all the most distinctive features that can be usefully used for generating more reliable document clustering that can be usefully used in authorship attribution tasks. The study is based on a corpus of 74 novels written by 18 novelists representing different literary traditions. Results indicate that the proposed model proved effective in the successful extraction of the most distinctive features within the datasets and thus generating reliable clustering structures that can be usefully used in different computational applications of literary texts. Keywords—Feature selection; frequency; PCA; term weight; text clustering; TF-IDF; variance; VSC I. INTRODUCTION With the increasing access to e-texts and the availability and power of computational tools, there has been an increasing amount of humanities computing literature on text analysis and interpretation. Studies of this kind are generally classified under the broad heading computer-assisted text analysis (CATA). CATA includes numerous applications including authorship attribution, stylometric analysis, theme analysis, the use of imagery, genre classification, characterization, and textual analysis [1-4]. In spite of the effectiveness of VSC methods in resolving different problems in these disciplines and providing evidence-based research findings, the problem of feature selection remains a challenging one. For reliable text clustering applications, a clustering structure should be based on only and all the most distinctive features within a corpus. For this purpose, this study proposes a hybrid of statistical measures including variance analysis, term frequency-inverse document frequency, TF-IDF, and Principal Component Analysis (PCA) successively for selecting only and all the most distinctive features that can be usefully used for generating more reliable document clustering that can be usefully used in authorship attribution tasks. The study is based on a corpus of 74 novels written by 18 novelists representing different literary traditions. II. LITERATURE REVIEW The literature suggests that text clustering (simply putting similar texts together) is central in almost all CATA applications [5, 6]. It is used as a starting point for many of the CATA applications including thematic analysis, genre classification, stylometry, and authorship attribution [5, 7-14]. It is known that studies in these disciplines have always been done using non-computational methods. With the development of computational approaches; however, critics and researchers have come to think about how effective computational approaches are in identifying meanings within texts. Now, it is often assumed that computational approaches prove effective in better understanding texts in question [15]. This is best described as a process of decoding meanings within texts [16]. Despite the relative success of studies of this kind, they are met with a strong wave of objections from a number of critics and scholars. They still think that their success in the interpretation of texts is still far from detecting what a text is exactly about [17, 18]. This can be attributed to the unfamiliarity of the world of computational theory and methodology to literary scholars. Ramsay [19] suggests that ―the inability of computing humanists to break into the mainstream of literary critical scholarship may be attributed to the prevalence of scientific methodologies and metaphors in humanities computing research‖ [19, P. 167]. One might even suggest that the unfamiliarity with computational and mathematical approaches has generated in literary scholars the belief that all computational and statistical approaches are somehow antithetical to literary critical approaches. This would explain the gap we see between literary critical theory on the one hand and computer-based text analysis and quantitative approaches on the other: the majority of critical theory researchers have never argued the need for using computational mathematical approaches to supplement widely Paper Submission Date: January 19, 2020 Acceptance Notification Date: February 12, 2020 (IJACSA) International Journal of Advanced Computer Science and Applications, Vol. 11, No. 2, 2020 100 | P a g e www.ijacsa.thesai.org used critical approaches [20-22]. Critics of the involvement of computational methods in literary criticisms always argue that human reasoning is crucial and can never be replaced in understanding and interpreting texts. They argue that so far there is no computer-assisted system that is capable of accounting only for all the linguistic and meta-linguistic features of texts. Defenders of computational text analysis, on the other hand, argue that the use of a computational framework in literary studies is objective, quantifiable, and methodologically consistent [23-27]. Hockey asserts that computational tools are useful adjuncts to literary criticism. She contends that without computational tools, critics have only human reading, intuition, and serendipity to use in literary criticism. Many of the defenders even go beyond that, arguing ―without the computer, the interpreter is nothing more than some Romantic Aeolian harpist drowning in the phenomenological abyss of their own impressions‖ [19, P. 168]. This can be reflected in the significant increase in the application of computational methods in literary studies over the recent years. In numerous thematic reviews of different literary texts, text clustering is central in thematic analysis applications. This is the arrangement of texts by topic with the purpose of investigating thematic interrelationships within texts [7, 9, 14, 28, 29]. The main assumption is that text clustering methods are effective in identifying what a text is about. Consequently, thematic hypotheses can be based on clustering results. It is even argued that computational techniques are effective in generating new insights and interpretative ideas about thematic reviews of different literary texts [14, 28]. Likewise, Ramsay [13] indicates that genre classification which remained distant from computational and mathematical applications for a long time, is now making use of computation technologies and more specifically text clustering approaches to adjudicate some genre classification problems and objectively assign literary texts to appropriate genres. With the high development of text clustering algorithms and methods, genre classification studies draw more heavily on computational methods for more accurate results and better performance [13, 30-35]. Interestingly, the works of Shakespeare have been the subject of many computer-based genre classifications [13, 34, 36]. Using cluster analysis methods, Jockers classified 37 Shakespearean plays into three main clusters, comedy, history, and tragedy as shown in Fig. 1. The literature also suggests that text clustering methods are now used in stylometry- the investigation of the quantitative properties of an author‘s style, and authorship attribution [33, 37-45]. The claim is that results based on computer-based methods are accepted by many as more accurate than those based on conventional non-computational methods. In spite of the potentials of computational approaches and text clustering methods especially the capacities for analyzing large quantities of data and generating results that are objective and replicable, there are still many problems and challenges with these approaches that may affect the reliability and acceptability of such methods [46-49]. One main problem is the effectiveness of text classifiers to identify and extract only and all the most distinctive features or variables within a corpus for generating clustering structures that can be usefully used in different applications. Although the issue has been extensively investigated in different disciplines including data mining and information retrieval, very little has been done in relation to the problem of feature selection in text clustering applications on literary texts. This study addresses this gap in the literature by proposing a model that combines together three statistical methods, namely variance, TF-IDF, and PCA. Fig. 1. Jockers‘ Genre Classification of 37 Shakespearean Plays. (IJACSA) International Journal of Advanced Computer Science and Applications, Vol. 11, No. 2, 2020 101 | P a g e www.ijacsa.thesai.org III. METHODOLOGY A. Methods For the purposes of the study, an experimental study is used where different term-weighting methods are tried to develop a model that best identifies and extracts only and all the most distinctive variables within datasets. Term weighting is a pre-processing step in text clustering applications where each term is assigned its appropriate weight in all documents within a corpus with the purpose of enhancing the text clustering performance [50-52]. Term frequency is still one of the most widely used term weighting approaches in text clustering applications [53-57]. However, term frequency approaches alone are unsuitable for the text clustering of literary texts. This study experiments a combination of different term weighting methods including variance, TF-IDF, and PCA. 1). Variance: Document clustering depends on there being variation in the characteristics of interest to the research question; if there is no variation, the documents are identical and cannot be classified relative to one another [57-60]. The assumption is that variables describing the characteristics of interest are thus only useful for clustering if there is significant variation in the values they take. The intuition for variance is that if a word is used in all or most of the documents in a document collection then that word is more likely to be more important than words that do not vary considerably [53]. Accordingly, documents can be clustered according to the basis of variance. The implication is that variables of significant variation can be retained and variables with little or no variation can be removed. Although variance is an important factor in the assessment of variable importance, retaining the variables that have significant significance is not a guarantee that the data matrix is built up of the most distinctive vectors. Consequently, it should be used along with different term-weighting methods. 2). TF-IDF: TF-IDF is currently the most common method of calculating term frequency. It is widely used in information retrieval and text mining for identifying the most important variables within datasets. Numerous studies have concluded that TF-IDF works well but they do not explain why this happens [51, 59, 61-64]. The development of IDF came at the hands of Karen Spärck Jones in 1972 with the publication of her article ―A statistical interpretation of term specificity and its application in retrieval‖. Spärck Jones [65] was the first to propose the measure of term specificity and the term came to be known as Inverse Document Frequency IDF later. The underlying principle of specificity is the selection of particular terms, or rather the adoption of a certain set of effective vocabulary that collectively characterizes the set of documents. In statistical terms, specificity is a statistical property of index terms. Statistical specificity is explained in relation to term frequency. This is based on counting the number of documents in the collection being searched which contain the query [61, 65]. Given that the term frequency of a document is the number of terms it contains, specificity of a term is the number of documents to which it pertains [65]. Logically, if descriptions are longer, terms will be used more often. This may lead to the assumption that if a query is frequently repeated in a document, this document is related to the query. This assumption can be, however, falsified. Spärck Jones [65] argues that a query term that occurs in many documents is not necessarily a good discriminator, and should be given less weight than one which occurs in a few documents. Spärck Jones‘ specificity or inverse document frequency IDF was later coupled with term frequency where it has been extensively used in many term weighting schemes [61, 66, 67]. In TF-IDF, the most discriminant terms are the highest TF-IDF variables. This is computed by summing the TF-IDF for each query term and a high weight in TF-IDF is reached by a high term frequency in the given document and a low document frequency of the term in the whole collection of documents [51, 59, 66, 67]. The implication to document clustering is that if the highest TF-IDF variables, which are taken to be the most discriminant terms, are identified, then unimportant variables can be deleted and data dimensionality is reduced. 3). PCA: PCA is one of the basic geometric tools that are used to produce a lower-dimensional description of the rows and columns of a multivariate data matrix [50, 68-70]. The main function of PCA is to find the most informative vectors within a data matrix. Jolliffe [71] explains ―The central idea of PCA is to reduce the dimensionality of a data set consisting of a large number of interrelated variables, while retaining as much as possible of the variation present in the data sets [71]. It can be thus described as a technique for data quality [69]. To put it simply, PCA performs two complementary tasks: (1) organizing sets of data and (2) reducing the number of variables without much loss of information. In many text clustering applications, PCA is used along with cluster analysis so that clustering is based on the most distinctive vectors within data sets. The literature suggests that PCA is used a great deal in text clustering applications prior to performing cluster analysis. The link between both cluster analysis and PCA is that both are concerned with finding patterns in data. It is sometimes advised that cluster analysis is based on PCA results so that the clustering structure is built on uncorrelated vectors. In spite of the computational mathematical nature of PCA, this section is only concerned with the idea of data reduction. The main assumption behind PCA is that a matrix with huge data sets can be reduced so that the most distinctive vectors are identified with the purpose of best expressing the data and revealing hidden structures. Although some of the discarded or deleted variables can be important for clustering, PCA works to perform a ‗good‘ dimensionality reduction with no great loss of information. The underlying principle of PCA is that it removes correlated variables within datasets so that it describes the covariance relationships among these variables. Fielding [72] explains that PCA ―transforms an original set of variables (strictly continuous variables) into derived variables that are orthogonal (uncorrelated) and account for decreasing (IJACSA) International Journal of Advanced Computer Science and Applications, Vol. 11, No. 2, 2020 102 | P a g e www.ijacsa.thesai.org amounts of the total variance in the original set‖ [72, P. 16]. The process is done by means of computing the principal components scores by measuring all the variables in the data set. In so doing the variables that have the highest loading or weight are identified as principal components and other variables are discarded. The resulting principal components can then be used in subsequent analyses. Given a two- dimensional vector space with dimensions x and y shown in Fig. 2A, it is possible to transform the distribution of the data as an orthogonal linear representation as shown in Fig. 2B. The data vector coordinates are then recalculated relative to the new basis. This has the effect of generating a highly correlated 2-dimensional vector space, as shown in Fig. 3. Finally, the data vector coordinates are then computed on a given principal component. The variables are weighted in such a way that the resulting components account for a maximal amount of variance in the dataset. This is shown in Fig. 4. (a) A Two-Dimensional Space of the Data. (b) An Alternative Orthogonal Basis for Data. Fig. 2. A Representation of a 2-Dimensional Space in Two different Ways. Fig. 3. A Highly Correlated 2-Dimensional Vector Space. Fig. 4. Testing Variance in Data using TF-IDF. As seen in the above figure, X' captures almost all the variation in the data, and Y' only a small amount. If Y' is simply disregarded, then the data can be restated in just one rather than the original two dimensions with minimal loss of information, and the data dimensionality has been reduced. The idea is extended to any data dimensionality. So given a data matrix of 100 rows and 1000 columns, the data matrix can be re-described in a lower number of dimensions given that there is redundancy among the variables; that is, they overlap with one another in terms of the information they present. One of the main issues in PCA, however, is determining the number of meaningful principal components (PCs). B. Data This is based on a corpus of 74 novels written by 18 novelists representing different literary traditions. These were alphabetically ordered and coded as shown in Table I. C. Procedures For text clustering purposes, a data matrix M was built. The matrix included all the 74 novels. Three pre-processing steps were carried out. First, all non-alphabetical ad punctuation marks were removed. The texts were converted into what is called bag of words (BOW). Second, stemming was carried out where only lexical types were retained. Third, texts were normalized in terms of length so that variation in text length has no negative impacts on the reliability of text clustering results. A matrix M was thus generated consisting of 74 rows (the number of texts) and 37435 vectors (all the lexical types in the texts). One major problem with this matrix is data dimensionality. That is, the matrix is composed of so many variables which makes it impossible for any text clustering system to generate reliable clustering structures. In the face of this problem, a model of three term weighting methods was proposed. First, a variance analysis test using ANOVA was carried out for the M74, 37435. It was found out that the only 1000 variables are the highest density ones. So it was decided that variables 1-1000 to be retained and variables 1001-37435 to be removed. This can be shown in Fig. 5. Second, a TF-IDF analysis was carried out. Based on the TF-IDF test shown in Fig. 6, only the variables with the highest TF-IDF values are retained. It was decided that the highest 200 TF-IDF frequencies to be retained. So far, the Matrix is composed of only 200 variables (M74, 200). (IJACSA) International Journal of Advanced Computer Science and Applications, Vol. 11, No. 2, 2020 103 | P a g e www.ijacsa.thesai.org TABLE. I. A LIST OF THE SELECTED NOVELS AND SHORT STORIES Code Title of the novel/short story Author M01 A Daughter of Isis Nawal El-Saadawi M02 A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man James Joyce M03 A Shabby Genteel Story Thackeray M04 Adventures of Huckleberry Finn Mark Twain M05 Aisha Ahdaf Soueif M06 Arabian Jazz Diana Abu Jaber M07 Basil Wilkie Collins M08 Beloved Toni Morrison M09 Bird Summons Leila Aboulela M10 Birds of Paradise Diana Abu Jaber M11 Catherine Thackeray M12 Colored Lights Leila Aboulela M13 Daisy Miller Henry James M14 David Copperfield Charles Dickens M15 Dubliners James Joyce M16 Elsewhere, Home Leila Aboulela M17 Emma Jane Austen M18 Far From the Madding Crowd Thomas Hardy M19 God Help the Child Toni Morrison M20 Hard Times Charles Dickens M21 Home Toni Morrison M22 I Think of You Ahdaf Soueif M23 In Love and Trouble: Stories of Black Women Alice Walker M24 In the Eye of the Sun Ahdaf Soueif M25 Jude the Obscure Thomas Hardy M26 Lady Chatterley's Lover D. H. Lawrence M27 Memoirs of a Woman Doctor Nawal El-Saadawi M28 Meridian Alice Walker M29 Minaret Leila Aboulela M30 Mrs. Dalloway Virginia Woolf M31 My Name is Salma Fadia Faqir M32 Nisanit Fadia Faqir M33 Northern Abbey Jane Austen M34 Oliver Twist Charles Dickens M35 Origin Diana Abu Jaber M36 Orlando: A Biography Virginia Woolf M37 Paradise Toni Morrison M38 Persuasion Jane Austen M39 Pillars of Salt Fadia Faqir M40 Pride and Prejudice Jane Austen M41 Sandpiper Ahdaf Soueif M42 Sense and Sensibility Jane Austen M43 Song of Solomon Toni Morrison M44 Sons and Lovers D. H. Lawrence M45 Sula Toni Morrison M46 Tar Baby Toni Morrison M47 Tess of the D'Urberville Thomas Hardy M48 The Bluest Eye Toni Morrison M49 The Captain's Doll D. H. Lawrence M50 The Cask of Amortillado Edgar Allan Poe M51 The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County Mark Twain M52 The Color Purple Alice Walker M53 The Fox D. H. Lawrence M54 The Glided Age Mark Twain M55 The Luck of Barry Lyndon Thackeray M56 The Map of Love Ahdaf Soueif M57 The Mayor of Casterbridge Thomas Hardy M58 The Moon Stone Wilkie Collins M59 The Portrait of a Lady Henry James M60 The Rainbow D. H. Lawrence M61 The Raven Edgar Allan Poe M62 The Tell Tale Heart Edgar Allan Poe M63 The Translator Leila Aboulela M64 The Voyage Out Virginia Woolf M65 The Waves Virginia Woolf M66 The Woman in White Wilkie Collins M67 To the Lighthouse Virginia Woolf M68 Ulysses James Joyce M69 Under the Greenwood Tree Thomas Hardy M70 Vanity Fair Thackeray M71 Washington Square Henry James M72 Willow Trees Don't Weep Fadia Faqir M73 Women in Love D. H. Lawrence M74 Zeina Nawal El-Saadawi Fig. 5. Variance Analysis Test of the Matrix M74, 37435 using ANOVA. (IJACSA) International Journal of Advanced Computer Science and Applications, Vol. 11, No. 2, 2020 104 | P a g e www.ijacsa.thesai.org Fig. 6. TF-IDF Test of the Data Matrix M74, 1000. As a final step, PCA was carried out in order to extract only the most distinctive variables within the matrix M74, 200. Based on the PCA test shown in Fig. 7, only the first 50 variables were retained. The matrix thus is reduced to only 50 variables which are thought to be the most distinctive features within the corpus. Fig. 7. A PCA of the Data Matrix M74, 200. IV. ANALYSIS In order to test the effectiveness of the proposed model, cluster analysis is used. This is a technique whereby similar texts are grouped together. The assumption is that there is a strong association between members of the same group or cluster as sharing the same characteristics. The closer texts to each other, the more similar they are and vice versa. These should be texts that can be classified under a given genre and/or written by the same author. K-means clustering, one of the simplest and most popular cluster analysis methods, is used for the task [73-75]. In this process, every data point (the novels in our case) is assigned to the closest center or nearest mean based on their Euclidean distance. Then, new centers are calculated and the data points are updated. This process continues until there is no further iterations and changes within the clusters as seen in Fig. 8. Using K-means clustering, the texts or data points of the matrix M72, 50 were assigned to three groups as seen in Fig. 9. This is based on the number of centroids within the clustering structure. It should be noted, however, that the identification of the number of classes can be different from one researcher to another. In order to validate the results of the clustering performance, hierarchical cluster analysis is used. Hierarchical clustering is as simple as K-means clustering and it results in a clustering structure consisting of nested partitions. The results can be seen in Fig. 10. In testing the clustering performance based on our proposed model, results of the K-means clustering are compared to those of hierarchical cluster analysis. Results indicate that there is complete agreement between the members of each cluster/group in the two clustering structures. In the two clustering structures, there are three main distinct classes. These are shown as follows. Group 1 includes 20 texts. These are 20 novels and short stories. The most distinctive lexical features of this group are words like Islam, veil, marriage, obedience, exile, young, woman, and virginity. Texts included in this cluster are Ahdaf Soueif‘s Aisha, I Think of You, In the Eye of the Sun, Sandpiper, and The Map of Love; Diana Abu Jaber‘s Arabian Jazz, Birds of Paradise, and Origin; Fadia Faqir‘s My Name is Salma, Nisanit, Pillars of Salt, and Willow Trees Don't Weep; Leila Aboulela‘s Bird Summons, Colored Lights, Elsewhere, Home, Minartet, and The Translator; and Nawal EL- Saadawi‘s A Daughter of Isis, Memoirs of a Woman Doctor, and Zeina. These texts can be suggested to be belonging to a class of literature known as Anglophone Arabic literature [76- 78]. Fig. 8. K-Means Clustering. Fig. 9. K-Means Clustering of the Data Matrix M 74, 50. (IJACSA) International Journal of Advanced Computer Science and Applications, Vol. 11, No. 2, 2020 105 | P a g e www.ijacsa.thesai.org Fig. 10. A Cluster Analysis of the Data Matrix M 74, 50. Group 2 is the biggest one as it includes 49 novels and short stories. These include Charles Dickens‘ Bleak House, David Copperfield, Great Expectations, Hard Times, and Oliver Twist; Thomas Hardy‘s Jude the Obscure, Far From the Madding Crowd, Tess of the D'Urbervilles, The Mayor of Casterbridge, and Under the Greenwood Tree; Henry James‘ Washington Square, D. H. Lawrence‘s Sons and Lovers, and Virginia Woolf‘s Mrs. Dalloway and The Wave. It can be seen that these texts share some features such as the portrayal of the world as we know it and the discussion of realistic problems. This cluster includes the novels that can be described as realistic novels. Within Cluster 2, however, we can identify 4 sub-clusters or subclasses. The first subclass includes the texts written by Charles Dickens, Thomas Hardy, William Thackeray, and Wilkie Collins. These are described as social realistic novels [79, 80]. The second subclass includes the texts written by American Victorian writers Henry James, Mark Twain, and Edgar Allan Poe. Poe‘s texts are, however, distant from those of James and Twain as Poe is adopting a different style, the Gothic tradition, in addressing some realistic problems. The third subclass includes the novels and short stories that best described as modernist novels. These are the books written by James Joyce, D. H. Lawrence, and Virginia Woolf. These represent the modernist novels. The fourth subclass includes 11 novels. These are Toni Morrison‘s novels Beloved, God Help the Child, Home, Paradise, Song of Solomon, Sula, Tar Baby, and The Bluest Eye; and Alice Walker‘s In Love and Trouble: Stories of Black Women, Meridian and The Color Purple. These texts are similar to other members of the same group (Cluster 2) in the sense that they all address realistic problems. However, they form a distinct class by themselves as focusing more on the problems of the Black communities. Group 3 includes only 5 novels. These are Emma, Northanger Abbey, Persuasion, Pride and Prejudice, and Sense and Sensibility. These are all written by Jane Austen and belong to the same literary tradition of what is referred to as the Romanticism [81-83]. It is also clear that the four texts (IJACSA) International Journal of Advanced Computer Science and Applications, Vol. 11, No. 2, 2020 106 | P a g e www.ijacsa.thesai.org Emma, Persuasion, Pride and Prejudice, and Sense and Sensibility are very close to each other forming a subclass while Northanger Abbey represents a separate subclass. This hints that the first four texts are thematically similar to each other while Northanger Abbey has a different theme. It is obvious that the intra-cluster similarity is high. That is, members of each group are similar to each other as the data inside each cluster is similar to one another. It is also clear that each cluster holds information that isn‘t similar to the other clusters. It can be claimed then that the clustering performance based on our proposed model generated a distinct structure even though different interpretations can be suggested. V. CONCLUSION This study addressed the problem of feature selection in the text clustering applications of literary texts. It proposed an integrated model for extracting the most distinctive features within datasets. The proposed model combines together three different term weighting methods: variance, TF-IDF, and PCA. In order to test the proposed model, a corpus of 74 novels and short stories was designed. Using VSC methods, the selected texts were classified into three distinct classes. It can be concluded that the proposed model is successful in extracting the most distinctive features within datasets. 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work_qugttcsyrrdo3jkpshshswlp64	----	The Case for Chick Lit in Academic Libraries Illinois Wesleyan University From the SelectedWorks of Stephanie Davis-Kahl January 28, 2008 The Case for Chick Lit in Academic Libraries Stephanie Davis-Kahl, Illinois Wesleyan University Available at: https://works.bepress.com/stephanie_davis_kahl/1/ http://www.iwu.edu https://works.bepress.com/stephanie_davis_kahl/ https://works.bepress.com/stephanie_davis_kahl/1/ 1 The Case for Chick Lit in Academic Libraries Defining the Genre Since the publication of Bridget Jones’s Diary in 1996 (in the United Kingdom) and 1998 (in the United States), chick lit has been a rapidly growing popular cultural force, spawning films, websites, publishing imprints, how-to manuals and a group of genuinely talented, interesting writers with compelling stories to tell about modern women struggling and succeeding with work, relationships, motherhood, infertility, finances and yes, the right shoes to wear with the right dress. This article makes a case for chick lit as a viable and necessary area of collecting for academic libraries by investigating its impact on the publishing world, exploring its relationship to women’s writing and academia, and finally, by providing a roadmap to building a core chick lit collection. The definition of chick lit varies widely and is tinged with shades of backlash. Carole DeSanti, the United States editor for Helen Fielding (Bridget Jones’s Diary) and Melissa Banks (The Girls’ Guide to Hunting and Fishing) notes: Initially, women writers were trying to find a way to write about their lived experience that was vibrant and authentic and creative and artful. Now there’s a range of definitions for chick lit, but the one we seem to be settling in with is the one that trivializes and dismisses it (Danford 2003). Jenny Colgan, author of Amanda's Wedding, said in an interview with Utne Reader in 2004, "Chick lit is a deliberately condescending term they use to rubbish us all. If they called it slut lit it couldn't be more insulting" (Razdan 2004). As for a formal definition, The Oxford English Dictionary offers the most reflective of the true intentions of the genre: “literature by, for, or about women; esp. a type of fiction, typically focusing on the social lives and relationships of women, and often aimed at readers with similar experiences” (Oxford English Dictionary 2007). The website WordSpy also defines chick 2 lit in a positive light as “a literary genre that features books written by women and focusing on young, quirky, female protagonists” (WordSpy 1999). The origin of the term itself tells an interesting story and perhaps sheds some light on why some are vehement in their disdain for the genre as a whole. Though the venerable Oxford English Dictionary and the website WordSpy note that the one of the first uses of the term was in 1996 in a piece by Vicki Hengen in The Boston Globe's Living Section, Hengen’s reference was actually in response to an article by James Wolcott in The New Yorker, in which he characterizes journalistic writing in the nineties as “sheer girlishness” and refers to “pop-fiction anthologies like ‘Chick-Lit,’ where the concerns of the female characters seem fairly divided between getting laid and not getting laid” (Wolcott 1996). The anthology he refers to in his article is Chick-Lit: Postfeminist Fiction, edited by Cris Mazza and Jeffrey DeShell and published in 1995, a year before Bridget Jones’s Diary was published in the United Kingdom and three years before its publication in the United States. The choice of the term as the title of the anthology was completely unrelated to the term as we know it today, as Mazza explains: "This was the ironic intention of our title: not to embrace an old frivolous or coquettish image of women but to take responsibility for our part in the damaging, lingering stereotype" (Ferriss, Young 2006a). What began as irony took a turn and morphed into a marketing and sales gimmick that simultaneously denies the authors assigned to the genre any claim of legitimacy or talent: “I find myself saying, ‘I sold my first novel, but it’s only chick lit’” (Danford 2003). Reactions and Responses The argument over the legitimacy of the genre remains alive and well, reflecting the long-standing derision towards women’s writing. Literary figures George Eliot, who 3 called women’s writing “frothy, prosy, pious, pedantic” (Eliot 1856) in her essay “Silly Novels by Lady Novelists” and Nathaniel Hawthorne with his infamous quote “America is now wholly given over to a damned mob of scribbling women” (Ticknor 1913) are perhaps the two best examples of the antagonism towards women’s writing. Virginia Woolf defends women’s writing in A Room of One’s Own: But it is obvious that the values of women differ very often from the values which have been made by the other sex; naturally, this is so. Yet it is the masculine values that prevail. Speaking crudely, football and sport are ‘important’; the worship of fashion, the buying of clothes ‘trivial’. And these values are inevitably transferred from life to fiction. This is an important book, the critic assumes, because it deals with war. This is an insignificant book because it deals with the feelings of women in a drawing–room (Woolf 1929). The negative attitude persists into the 21st century, especially towards chick lit. Author Jennifer Weiner echoed Woolf when she pointed out: It’s sexist when critics automatically relegate anything concerning young women’s lives to the beach-trash Dumpster bin – especially when they’re automatically elevating anything about young men’s lives to the exalted spheres of Literature (Weinberg 2003). Professor Lola Young, chair of Britain’s prestigious Orange Prize for Fiction panel, made national news in Britain when she publicly decried the “cult of big advances going to photogenic young women to write about their own lives, and who they had to dinner, as if that is all there was to life” (Bristow 1999). Esteemed authors Doris Lessing and Beryl Bainbridge later added their voices to Young’s in criticizing chick lit, with Bainbridge using very similar language to Eliot’s: “It is a froth sort of thing” (Davies 2001). Most recently, New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd discussed chick lit in her column, declaring “[T]hey’re a long way from Becky Sharpe and Elizabeth Bennet. They’re all chick and no lit” (Dowd 2007), setting off a firestorm of angry responses from readers and authors alike. In the Chicago Tribune, author Roxana Robinson mused, 4 This is why the issue is so charged: It seems that the mere declaration of gender confers belittlement. And why is this? Could this be that old, outdated bugaboo, gender discrimination? Aren’t we way past that? But it’s hard to see this as anything else. […] No wonder this is all so confusing: sometimes “women’s” applies to the subject, and sometimes to the author (Robinson 2005). A troubling observation is how much of negativity towards chick lit comes from other women writers, and this begs the question why. One explanation may be that chick lit is seen as a betrayal of feminism and its call for equality, e.g., if women are writing unashamedly about clothes, shopping, drinking to excess and sex, then how far how we truly come? Another explanation is the confusing message sent by some chick lit about the joys of being single and a feminist vs. finding a man. Protagonists are well-educated single women with exciting jobs, but are unhappy because, despite all their accomplishments, they lack a fulfilling relationship with a man: “Bridget [Jones’s Diary] neatly expresses the tensions of a woman who recognizes the rhetoric of feminism and empowerment, but isn’t always able to relate this to her fulsome desire for a hero from a Jane Austen novel” (Whelehan 2000). Lastly, the sometimes intense focus on appearance, accessories and the body in chick lit is a source of discomfort for some. The tendency of critics to over-generalize detracts from the creative and interesting characters and plots in chick lit; however, librarians have the opportunity to go beyond generalizations to thoroughly explore and acquire the most compelling examples of the genre. With all the controversy, chick lit is now a fixture on the popular culture and fiction landscape. Several major publishers responded to the popularity of chick lit by establishing dedicated imprints: Harlequin/Red Dress Ink, HarperCollins/AvonTrade, Pocket/Downtown Press, Kensington Publishing Group/Strapless. Opinions about this decision vary. On one hand, a separate imprint allows publishers, booksellers and readers 5 to easily identify what they are selling and buying. With the competition for chick lit readers becoming fierce, marketing can be tailored to a specific demographic. On the other hand, fulfilling the high demand may mean lower standards: “The field will start to blur, and you won’t be able to distinguish the good from the bad,” said literary agent Deborah Schneider (Jain 2003). While some may group romance novels in with chick lit, representatives of the two genres acknowledge similarities – both are about women struggling with some aspect of the personal life, both genres have crossed over into Christian fiction – but maintain that the two are very different. First, chick lit has a broader focus on relationships. As one publisher explains: “There are only so many stories you can do with girl-finds-boy in NYC. We’ve expanded our list to include chick lit, meaning mother-daughter relationships, sister relationships, anything that’s centered [on] women” (James-Enger 2003). The expansion of the genre into ‘mom lit’ and ‘work lit’ also sets it apart from the romance novel, and the growing number of voices and perspectives through books written by African-American, Latina and Asian authors is another significant difference. The audience for chick lit and romance is also markedly different: “This generation wouldn’t be caught dead reading a bodice ripper. They’re more cynical, more savvy” (Jain 2003). Another development in chick lit that sets it apart from romance noted in The New York Times last March is the internationalization of the genre. Authors from countries as varied as Finland, Italy, India and Japan are contributing to the market and selling copies. Some may see this as an example of Western literary colonization; others see it as proof that the chick lit genre is dynamic and adaptable. Helen Fielding described this trend, saying, “I think it had much more to do with zeitgeist than imitation” (Donadio 2006). 6 Academia’s reception of chick lit as a legitimate area of study has been lukewarm, at least in the area of research and scholarship. Reasons behind the reluctance to study the genre could include a distaste for the term itself; a belief in the conventional wisdom that all chick lit is about stiletto heels, pink drinks, and men; or an assumption that very popular, highly marketed and lucrative literature must be too ‘low culture’ to warrant scholarly consideration. A search for “chick lit” in the MLA International Bibliography database yields less than a dozen results from peer-reviewed journals. Searching for “Helen Fielding” is more productive with 14 results, and the search results for “Bridget Jones’s Diary” mirror those of the “Helen Fielding” search with the exception of one record. Searches for prolific chick lit authors such as Jennifer Weiner, Marian Keyes and Sophie Kinsella result in one to two items per author. Similar searches in the databases GenderWatch and Contemporary Women’s Issues yield more results from independent magazines and journals such as Bitch, Iris and Feminist Collections, with insightful and often positive commentary on authors, on Bridget Jones, and on the sometimes misleading marketing of chick lit and of writing by women. Another indication of interest in the genre as an area of study is the small group of dissertations (four) and master’s theses (six) produced since 2005 in the subject areas of American, British and modern literature and women’s studies. Topics of the dissertations range from examining consumerism, postfeminist sexual politics and representations of single women in popular fiction. It remains to be seen whether or not chick lit will remain an area of interest at the level of doctoral study, but there is anecdotal evidence that there are those in academia who see chick lit as a viable area of scholarly attention. Suzanne Ferriss and Mallory Young, editors of Chick Lit: The New Woman’s Fiction, recount the reaction to their call for proposals for their book: 7 But we also received an astonishing number of e-mail messages from students grateful to see someone in the academic world taking their interest in chick lit seriously. We have since discovered that many of those women had been – and are being – discouraged by their (mostly female) professors in women’s literature and women’s studies from considering chick lit a legitimate area of scholarship” (Ferriss, Young 2006b) Ferriss and Young go on to list potentially compelling themes in chick lit -- identity, sexuality, friendships as family, balancing work and relationships -- and ask, “Shouldn’t feminist criticism be open to the latest crop of women’s popular fiction?” (Ferriss, Young 2006b). Their argument is strengthened by the themes’ timelessness and universality to any genre of writing. The authors’ conclusions illuminate how chick lit could be used in the classroom to explore not only generational differences in feminism, but also to explore and discover why works of classic fiction endure, and to develop an appreciation for the “intricate plots, subtle characterizations, memorable language” of those works. Giving students a vocabulary to explain the strengths and limitations of a particular book or specific genre is powerful, as is allowing a student to use material they connect with as a basis of their exploration. In short, chick lit can be a starting point for discussions of why women’s writing matters, the evolution of women’s writing, and the importance of women’s perspectives in fiction, whether it is popular or literary. Developing a collection of chick lit would connect students to those discussions and may help spark their intellectual explorations into the genre by lending credibility to the works and their authors. Building a Core Chick Lit Collection Ferriss and Young ask a question at the core of this article: if students want to study chick lit from a specific disciplinary perspective, why stop them? This article extends the question into the library sphere, arguing that the library has a responsibility to provide access to those works, just as we would to any other area of study. It is 8 perhaps even more important in the case of chick lit because of the disparagement of the genre and the controversy over the definition of the term. Librarians need to look beyond the “swimming in pink” (Dowd 2007) marketing techniques and see chick lit as an important representation of modern women’s writing. Dismissing chick lit as unimportant diminishes the authors’ voices, perspectives, and their experiences to the point of exclusion. Further, libraries are the place where users can immerse themselves in the development of new and emerging genres. Chick lit firmly belongs in the history and evolution of fiction – fiction in general and fiction by women – because of its popularity, its accessibility to the reader, and because it represents issues that modern women face. A collection of chick lit is especially key for those libraries that support popular culture studies, a field that has undergone much growth and is accepted as a legitimate field of study. The study of popular culture and chick lit is well-matched, as the former explores how our pastimes and entertainment define and shape our society, and chick lit is both a product of and influence on our society. Women’s studies is another area that may be interested in chick lit, as the genre is one expression of how women see each other, themselves, their relationships, work and family life. Librarians should build a collection that represents the genre, supports the needs of current and future scholars from a diversity of disciplines who wish to study the genre further, and goes beyond Bridget Jones’s Diary. Standard collection development practices apply when developing a vibrant and foundational chick lit collection, especially for those unfamiliar with the genre: consulting bestseller lists, reviews, and reading the books that are considered core (several of which are listed below). Librarians who want to become more acquainted with the genre overall can take additional steps, such as consulting with the local public library to gather circulation statistics and reader’s advisory 9 information to identify possible selections among the many titles in the genre and investigating blogs written by and for chick lit authors and readers. Booksellers are another avenue for gathering information about new authors with strong voices, interesting stories, or new premises that will help to provide a fuller picture of the genre as a whole. Further, surveying students and faculty is a very direct way of soliciting ideas for titles and authors, and may even open the door to discussing why it is important for the library to collect in this area. After the research phase, there are five guidelines specific to chick lit to consider before embarking on the selection process. The first is how to strike a balance between seminal texts such as Bridget Jones’s Diary, The Girls Guide to Hunting and Fishing, and Good in Bed and subsequent titles that embody the best of the genre. Another important choice to make is whether to collect the complete works of prolific writers or to instead select the most representative works of those writers. The variations within the genre, e.g., mom-lit and work-lit, should be well represented by titles like The Devil Wears Prada, I Don’t Know How She Does It, and The Nanny Diaries. The works that set the stage for Bridget Jones and that are important works in their own right should also be acquired: Candace Bushnell’s Sex in the City and Terry McMillan’s How Stella Got her Groove Back are two examples. Since the popularity of chick lit is holding steady and the genre is growing to include voices from ethnic, international and religious authors, attention must be paid to the works of these writers not only to support their perspectives but also to support diversity in the genre itself. Lastly, criticism of the genre deserves to be on the shelf to demonstrate that chick lit has a place in cultural and literary studies. Future Directions 10 There are excellent opportunities for further research on this genre. First, investigating the foreign and domestic reaction to, the marketing and availability of, and the inclusion in library collections of international chick lit in the United States would be a fascinating look at women’s writing from around the world and the international book market. Exploring the growing number of ethnic chick lit authors and their contributions to the genre is another valuable research area. Surveying users to gauge their positive or negative responses to having any popular fiction, much less chick lit, included in an academic library collection would provide interesting insight into how our users perceive our collections. Lastly, analyses could be performed of which libraries lead the way in collecting chick lit in general, highlighting which authors and titles are most represented. In a Journal of Popular Culture editorial, Gary Hoppenstand (2004) said, “the immeasurable value of those libraries and archives that collect and preserve popular culture cannot be overestimated.” Chick lit is undoubtedly an economic and literary force in popular culture today simply by virtue of its success in the book market and entertainment industry. Modern women writers deserve their place on our bookshelves, and libraries have a responsibility to document their success and the development of this important genre for students and scholars alike. The author wishes to express gratitude to Chad Kahl, Lynda Duke, Sarah Wessel and Andrea Morris for their invaluable help with this article. Bibliography Bristow, J. 1999, “Women's fiction: piddling the books”, LM. [Online]. Retrieved October 13, 2007. Available: http://web.archive.org/web/20000531060910/www.informinc.co.uk/LM/LM122/LM12 2_CW_Bristow.html. "chick lit." 1989, The Oxford English Dictionary, 2nd ed. OED Online, Oxford University Press. [Online] Retrieved August 15, 2007. Available: http://dictionary.oed.com/cgi/entry/50038056. 11 “chick lit.” 1999, WordSpy. [Online] Retrieved August 15, 2007. Available: http://www.wordspy.com/words/chicklit.asp. Danford, N. 2003, “Is chick lit still chic?”, Publishers Weekly, vol. 250, no. 42, pp. 5-20. Davies, H. 2001, “Bainbridge picks a fight with Bridget Jones”, Daily Telegraph (UK). [Online] Retrieved October 14, 2007. Available: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2001/08/24/nbook24.xml. Donadio, R. 2006, "The chick-lit pandemic", New York Times Book Review, Section 1, Column 1, pp. 31. Dowd, M. 2007, “Heels over Hemingway,” New York Times, Section A, Column 6, Editorial Desk, pp. 15. Eliot, G. 1856, “Silly Novels by Lady Novelists,” reprinted in Narrative/Theory, ed. D. Richter, Longman Publishers, New York, pp. 35. Ferriss, S. & Young, M. 2006a, Chick lit: The New Woman's Fiction, Routledge, New York. Ferriss, S. & Young, M. 2006b, "A generational divide over chick lit", Chronicle of Higher Education, vol. 52, no. 38, pp. B13-B14. Hengen, V. 1996, “Pictures perfect ; rock gems ; chick lit ; Literary Life”, The Boston Globe, Living Section, pp. 67. Hoppenstand, G. 2004, "Editorial: collecting popular culture", Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 38, no. 2, pp. 235-238. Jain, A. 2003, "Head over heels for sassy chick lit", Crain's New York Business, vol. 19, no. 43, pp. 1, 41. James-Enger, K. 2003, "The scoop on chick lit", The Writer, vol. 116, no. 11, pp. 42-45. Razdan, A. 2004, “The Chick Lit Challenge”, Utne.com. [Online] Retrieved July 26, 2007. Available: http://www.utne.com/issues/2004_122/promo/11091-1.html. Robinson, R. 2005, “A simpler, acrimony-free definition of ‘women’s fiction’”, Chicago Tribune, pp. 1. Ticknor, C. 1913, Hawthorne and his Publisher, Houghton Mifflin Company, New York, pp. 141. Weinberg, A. 2003, "She's come undone: demise of postfeminist writing", Book, no. 29, pp. 46-49. Whelehan, I. 2000, Overloaded: Popular Culture and the Future of Feminism, The Women’s Press Ltd., London, pp. 136. Wolcott, J. 1996, "Hear me purr", New Yorker, vol. 72, no. 12, pp. 54. 12 Woolf, V. 1929, A Room of One’s Own, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, New York, pp. 77. Illinois Wesleyan University From the SelectedWorks of Stephanie Davis-Kahl January 28, 2008 The Case for Chick Lit in Academic Libraries Microsoft Word - ChickLit_Academy_Revised.doc 
work_qwg5js2ojfgrpc7zexsevqrlhu	----	BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL VOLUME 282 7 MARCH 1981 Dealing zvith the Disadavantaged Communicating with patients with speech problems JANET THRUSH Explaining a problem to the doctor depends entirely on the ability to com- 4 J r |\municate. The person with a speech / 19 t P 8;1 \ difficulty is at an obvious disadvantage at a consultation and anything the doctor can do to help will not only Iernational YarOf save him time in tortuous question- Disabled lPeo ing, but will also save the patient great embarrassment. Speech prob- lems may be divided into those affecting only expressive speech or talking and those involving language in all its forms. Talking may be impaired due to loss of voice, as in laryngectomy; defective articulation, as in Parkin- son's disease; or lack of fluency, as in stammering. These patients have no difficulty in understanding and, unless there is an additional handicap, they can always communicate in writing. When language ability is impaired, however, both expression and comprehension of speech are affected, and writing and mime, being dependent on internal language, are unable to provide alternative means of communication. The following suggestions will help the doctor to get the best possible communication with patients with a speech problem and in a further article I will suggest ways to help those who have a language difficulty. General points (1) People with all types of speech problem speak better when they are relaxed. Concealing the pressures on your time and spending a few moments making the patient feel at ease save time later when the patient has to talk. (2) Do not treat speech-handicapped people as if they were mentally deficient; they are not. (3) People with defective speech are sometimes thought to be drunk or just fooling about, particularly on the telephone. If the receptionist is aware of this, she is less likely to be dismissive on the wrong occasion. If it is very difficult to understand what the patient is saying, it is best to say so tactfully and extract the necessary information by questions which can be answered with "Yes" or "No"-for example, it is no good asking "Can you come on Tuesday or Wednesday ?" Each part of a question must be taken separately. (4) Keep out extraneous noise by shutting doors and windows. Talking is very tiring for speech-handicapped people even without the need to compete with passing cars, and having to repeat usually launches the stammerer into a stammer. Stammering It is easy for the fluent speaker to underestimate the amount of courage it takes a severe stammerer to enter any situation Newton Ferrers, Devon JANET THRUSH, LCST, speech therapist where he is totally dependent on his speech. The doctor can help him by remembering the following suggestions. (1) Maintain personal contact with the speaker even when he is blocking completely. There is no need for this to develop into a staring match, but refrain from shuffling papers, sorting out drawers, and generally making it clear that your attention is elsewhere. (2) Do not finish sentences for the patient unless he is totally stuck and you are pretty sure you will get it right. (3) Advice such as "Take a deep breath before you start," "Talk more slowly," is rarely helpful and often irritating. (4) Some people find it so difficult to confess to having a stammer that they reappear in the surgery on several occasions, making up reasons for their attendance, before they can screw up courage to ask for help. It is difficult to deal with this, but if the doctor is aware that it occurs, the patient is less likely to leave the surgery with yet another bottle of cough medicine, when he really wanted a referral for speech therapy. (5) Children passing through the normal non-fluency stage at the age of 3 or 4 are sometimes mislabelled stammerers and then live up to the label. Early referral to the speech therapist could avoid this by providing support and reassurance for the parents. Dysarthria Dysarthria is a difficulty in articulating or enunciating words. Comprehension is intact. (1) Resist the temptation to pretend that you have understood when you have not; it rarely saves time in the long run and may be frustrating for the patient. (2) Do not shout. (Just as people tend to raise their voices when talking to foreigners, they do so with the speech-im- paired.) (3) A reminder to slow down may help. (People with Parkin- son's disease find this particularly difficult to remember.) (4) Do not "talk down"; just because someone cannot speak properly does not mean that he cannot understand. Nursing and remedial staff sometimes need reminding of the irritation caused by the "how are we today ?" approach. (5) Pay attention when the patient is speaking; do not sort through notes etc. (6) The effort of talking is very tiring. If possible, divide up the consultation by doing the physical examination in the middle. (7) Ask the patient to write down salient points before a return visit if communication is very difficult; writing may be very time-consuming. Voice disorders, including laryngectomy (1) Anticipate when the patient needs to interrupt you and give him chance to do so. Dysphonic patients and those who have undergone laryngectomy often have difficulty in initiating speech, so it is difficult for them to butt in when someone else is talking. 802 o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J (C lin R e s E d ): first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.2 8 2 .6 2 6 6 .8 0 2 o n 7 M a rch 1 9 8 1 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL VOLUME 282 7 MARCH 1981 803 (2) Use lip-reading; watching a patient's lips may give sufficient additional clues to enable you to understand. (3) Encourage the use of the laryngeal vibrator if the patient has one; patients are sometimes self-conscious about using vibrators in unfamiliar surroundings. Children If the child is old enough to be attending the surgery alone then the preceding points will apply, and if he is accompanied by an adult the problem of communication will be circumvented, but a few points are worth making. (1) Talk to the child wherever possible; because he does not speak clearly does not mean that he does not understand. (2) The presence of a few toys and a relaxed approach will, with the speech-handicapped as with the normal child, prevent an examination turning into a tussle and future visits to the doctor becoming a cause of nightmares. (3) Do not feel that a child should not be referred for speech therapy because he is too young or he has no speech at all. Letter from . . . Chicago Reading aloud GEORGE DUNEA At the beginning of a new presidency we may well reflect on Plato's view that the human race will enjoy no respite from evil until its leaders "become genuine and adequate philosophers, and political power and philosophy are brought together." Yet we may at least enjoy the comforting thought that most of the effective leaders of the past, many of whom have conferred great benefits on humanity, were far from being intellectuals. Few of these successful men of action would have understood the raptures of the literary critic who, in a recent review on Jane Austen, extolled the pleasures of reading aloud as a peaceful enriching way of establishing an atmosphere of intimacy between the author and his readers, with frequent pauses for discussion- "especially on the many nights when there is nothing on TV." And I was vicariously reminded of the rather unkind and undoubtedly apochryphal anecdote about a head of state who after his heart attack was confined to complete bed rest, as was the fashion of the times, while the doctors hovered anxiously over his ailing myocardium, periodically tranquilising the populace with reassuring press releases. After a few days, the time of maximal danger having passed, the patient asked to see the newspapers. The doctors, however, denied his request, fearing he might become too tired from moving his lips. Achiever facilitator For those who find the written word less of a challenge, however, Jane Austen remains an ever-present source of delight. Not that the liberated twentieth-century woman would readily agree with the observation that, "a woman, especially if she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can." For, unlike the earlier Hanoverian and Regency ladies, the modern executive woman is so busy pursuing her career that she would be well served by having a "wife" in the home. Unfortunately, as Maryanne Vandervelde points out, only 200°4, of husbands are of the "non-achiever facilitator" kind, who would do the housework, take care of the children, plan their lives around their successful wives, and readily move if their successful better half had an opportunity of promotion in another Cook County Hospital, Chicago, Illinois GEORGE DUNEA, FRCP, FRCPED, attending physician city. Leaving out the "non-achiever obstructionists," who amount to less than 5% of husbands, we find that most men, over half, conform to the traditional "achiever obstructionist" pattern; and that less than one-quarter belong to that ideal type, the "achiever facilitator," who helps and encourages his wife, shares the household responsibilities, and is not threatened by her success. Some ambitious women, of course, retain the option of never marrying, getting divorced, or having no children. But returning to the achiever facilitator who reads aloud with his wife, we find that this blissful couple devoured all of Trollope during one summer and all of Miss Austen during the next. A reference to Sanditon, the fragment finished by Another Lady, from Australia, reminded me of the formidable Lady Denham, who at the age of 70 was still opposed to taking physic and had never consulted a doctor. She was determined that no member of that particular tribe should ever set foot in her beloved seaside resort, for, "it would only be encouraging our servants and the poor to fancy themselves ill"; and even her dear Sir Harry might have stayed alive had he not put himself in the hands of a doctor: "Ten fees, one after another, did the man take who sent him out of this world. I beseech you ... no doctors here." Crisis of excess Echoing Lady Denham's view, some 200 years later, are those alarmed by the predicted surplus of doctors in the US, especially as each new doctor generated an additional $300 000 in expenses to an already overinflated annual medical bill of $256 billion. Yet what in the 'sixties was deemed to be a crisis of access is rapidly becoming a crisis of excess; so that an estimated deficit of 50 000 doctors in the late 'sixties could turn into a projected surplus of as many as 130 000 by the year 2000, with one doctor for 200 people. Already the number of doctors has grown from 320 000 in 1970 to 440 000 last year, with a pre- dicted "inexorable" increment to almost 600 000 by the end of this decade. And, while some shortages may persist in unpopular areas, the overall projection is one of too many doctors engaging in cut-throat competition for patients, with an increased focus on the financial aspects of medicine, practising perhaps at a higher cost per patient visit, with more laboratory tests, more o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J (C lin R e s E d ): first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.2 8 2 .6 2 6 6 .8 0 2 o n 7 M a rch 1 9 8 1 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
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work_r7pmphf6erhhtcfi4hfrg2l6zq	----	The Moral Landscape of Mansfield Park | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 26, Issue 1 June 1971 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction   Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| June 01 1971 The Moral Landscape of Mansfield Park Ann Banfield Ann Banfield Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1971) 26 (1): 1–24. https://doi.org/10.2307/2933466 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Ann Banfield; The Moral Landscape of Mansfield Park. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 June 1971; 26 (1): 1–24. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2933466 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1971 By The Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'The Moral Landscape of Mansfield Park' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: The Moral Landscape of Mansfield Park Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_rec24n4ilrbfvlp5iirozr6skq	----	Title “Trust me, I’m telling you my life story”: Queer Return in the memoirs of Jeanette Winterson and Jackie Kay Author Eileen Pollard Publication FORUM: University of Edinburgh Postgraduate Journal of Culture and the Arts Issue Number 15 Issue Date Autumn 2012 Publication Date 12/12/2012 Editors James Leveque & Lizzie Stewart FORUM claims non-exclusive rights to reproduce this article electronically (in full or in part) and to publish this work in any such media current or later developed. The author retains all rights, including the right to be identified as the author wherever and whenever this article is published, and the right to use all or part of the article and abstracts, with or without revision or modification in compilations or other publications. Any latter publication shall recognise FORUM as the original publisher. University of Edinburgh Postgraduate Journal of Culture and the Arts Issue 15 | Autumn 2012 FORUM | ISSUE 15 Eileen Pollard 2 “Trust me, I’m telling you my life story”: Queer Return in the memoirs of Jeanette Winterson and Jackie Kay Eileen Pollard Manchester Metropolitan University This essay will consider the notion of ‘queer return’ through examining the experience of adoption in Jeanette Winterson’s Why be happy when you could be normal (2011) and Jackie Kay’s Red Dust Road (2010). I will use definitions of Derrida’s ‘eccentricity’ to expand the remit of the word queer. This paper will consider the notion of ‘queer return’ through examining the representation of adoption in contemporary memoirs. I refer, in particular, to the memoirs of Jackie Kay, Red Dust Road (2010) and Jeanette Winterson, Why be happy when you could be normal? (2011). These books work to re-present earlier fictional accounts of the adoption experience, in Adoption Papers (1991) and Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit (1985) respectively. I will use definitions of ‘eccentricity’ to expand the remit of the word queer; I want to clarify that I am not using it strictly in terms of sexual identity, quite the opposite. This has nothing to do with assuming heterosexual identity is normative/straightforward, but rather distances my argument from understanding the writing of Winterson and Kay as notionally lesbian. For any so-called ‘straight’ writer, their work is not read as notionally anything to do with sexual preference and it is precisely the sensitivity of my examples that prove this point. I will acknowledge the wider theoretical discourse within which my ideas regarding repetition sit; however, this is a brief essay designed merely to ‘interrupt’ current popular Deleuzian trends. I will reapply ex-centricity as a deconstructive practice inherited from Jacques Derrida so as to offer a decentred reading of the queer narratives of these memoirs (Derrida, “Ellipsis” 371-378). This paper concerns memoir and its form reflects the subjectivity of the content; consequently, this paper embraces the use of “I.” However, in the manner of A Room of One’s Own (1929), this “I” is not “me,” the author of this paper – “‘I’ is only a convenient term for someone who has no real being. Lies will flow from my lips, but there may perhaps be some truth mixed up with them; it is for you to seek out this truth and to decide whether any part of it is worth keeping.” (Woolf 29-36). In this sense, this paper is always already a repetition of the famous Woolfian fallacy. My starting point then for this exploration of Jeanette Winterson’s Why be happy when you could be normal? (2011) and Jackie Kay’s Red Dust Road (2010) is the contemporary French philosopher Jean-Luc Nancy, whose work explores the relationship between lack, meaning and repetition in writing. One of Nancy’s major influences is Jacques Derrida, and his debt to Derrida’s thought is particularly apparent in his essay Elliptical Sense, which explicitly explores the connection between writing, lack and difference: “Meaning is lacking to itself; it misses itself; and this is why ‘all meaning is altered by this lack.’ Writing is the outline of this altering” (Nancy 177). There is much at work in this quotation, but I choose to emphasise the sense it conveys of writing as outlining an FORUM | ISSUE 15 Eileen Pollard 3 inaccessible yet enabling lack, which facilitates my analyses in this paper. Moreover, in Specters of Marx, Derrida describes the function of the revenant in Hamlet (the return of the father as a ghost) in terms of repetition without the first time. So, the ghost is Hamlet’s father, though simultaneously occupying a position at a remove since the apparition is different from what has gone before. The ghost is understood in the text as Hamlet’s father, the same, though entering for the second time necessarily constitutes a departure, or difference. This understanding of repetition (without original) in Specters of Marx will also be useful for reading the problematic origins in the memoirs under scrutiny here (Derrida 1-5).1 It is important to consider for a moment the memoir genre as nostalgic. Salman Rushdie published his memoir Joseph Anton in 2012, and I feel that such “repetition” (the facts of Rushdie’s life have of course already entered into print) is far from straightforward; it concerns an act of finalising “the past,” an authorising movement towards mastery. The definition of “nostalgia” in the Oxford English Dictionary suggests an impossible displacement of time: “Sentimental longing for or regretful memory of a period of the past.” It constitutes a longing for something that never was, i.e. a single, unified story about the past. Moreover, in Rachel Cusk’s “sequel” to her first memoir, Aftermath: On Marriage and Separation, the text occupies an impossible polarity: “It was [my husband’s] story, and lately I have come to hate stories. If someone were to ask me what disaster this was that had befallen my life, I might ask if they wanted the story or the truth” (Cusk 3). 2 Here, on the one hand, there is “truth,” and on the other there are “stories;” one might want to call Cusk’s analysis naïve, but really it is all part of the story, and the real agency remains within the text. This strange, and estranging, sense that the truth is something we can grasp and master, totally other to the process of story telling, however wrong-headed, is a symptom of our cultural moment. It concerns, I think, a rejection of the necessity of imitation (repetition is the theme of my essay, imitation the form) and repetition for the meaning-making process, and instead triumphs a celebration of the absolute – the hallowed and unassailable original. I also want to outline several caveats to this paper. The writings of Winterson and Kay are not my specialism. Moreover, my focus here is memoir as repetition rather than the earlier fiction or poetry, although the “originary” status of both Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit and Adoption Papers will be briefly considered. I will deliberately emphasise my own subjective position in response to the sensitivity of these memoirs, appropriately in line with a suspicion of “personal” truth as inherited from Woolf’s famous essay. And finally, in order to keep my introductions brief, I will assume some readership familiarity with the work of Winterson and Kay, but please beware, I am asking more questions than I can answer. I push a consideration of the troubled status of “origins” and originals in the aforementioned Why be happy and Red Dust Road. Memoir is a retrospective form offering the reader a time- displaced narrative; furthermore, there is deconstruction at work within the work of such nostalgia, as I have already tried to illustrate. And there is a sense that memoir is inherently repetitive anyway (apart from the fact that seemingly everyone is doing it, all repeating the same process for their own FORUM | ISSUE 15 Eileen Pollard 4 “lives”) – these writers are copying each other into the memoir form, and explicitly playing with notions of imitation and repetition. It is apparently a written repetition of experience, though this privileges experience as somehow fully present in a way that makes me slightly uncomfortable, and that I intend to undermine. Consequently, the genre provides an interesting means through which to explore the singularity of adoption, which explicitly helps limit my field and focus on lack as both formally and thematically significant. Winterson’s Why be happy when you could be normal? published in 2011 explicitly repeats material from Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, her first novel from 1985, a fraught relationship I will consider in more detail shortly. Primarily though, Why be happy describes the psychological breakdown that prompted Winterson to trace her birth mother; the following quotation reveals some of the pain informing this difficult decision: The baby explodes into an unknown world that is only knowable through some kind of a story – of course that is how we all live, it’s the narrative of our lives, but adoption drops you into the story after it has started. It’s like reading a book with the first few pages missing. (5) Despite the poignancy of this statement, as with Nancy, Winterson’s writing emphasises the possibilities offered by such ‘primary’ lack: “The missing part, the missing past, can be an opening, not a void” (5). A point of departure perhaps, offering return? What Derrida described as the return of the always still to come, from Friedrich Nietzsche, which prevents a word, a concept, an object, returning so completely to itself that the demarcation whereby it took on meaning entirely vanishes – resulting in full presence, or death. For example, the reappearance of a full stop is accepted as identical to all previous full stops, and yet it is also a departure since if it were truly identical it would be indistinguishable. Red Dust Road was published a year earlier in 2010 and implicitly orbits material from Adoption Papers through re-presenting childhood, adoption, motherhood and, most significantly, perspective. Primarily though, Red Dust Road focuses on questions of race, belonging and rejection affected by the tracing of Kay’s Nigerian birth father. The emotional sensitivity of such content immediately raises an experience versus narrative problematic. Considering the painful reality of the adoption experience it seems callous to analyse the real insistence in these texts to reach an origin, or resting point, that can explain everything; this seems an understandable objective for an adopted child who has grown up.3 However, such insistence is very marked, as illustrated by this extract from Red Dust Road: I’ve become so accustomed to reading everything in signs. I have done this all my life; but now that I’m in Nigeria, my obsession with what things mean suddenly seems to make sense, because everybody does it. It is an Igbo4 way. (Kay 246) FORUM | ISSUE 15 Eileen Pollard 5 This is why it is necessary to highlight the subjectivity of my position as reader of these texts. I am a white woman raised by my birth parents, which makes me uncomfortable with the implicit criticism my analysis carries, i.e. that Winterson or Kay may believe that they have located the “truth,” but I know different. Tracing is obviously a process that informs identity, recognition and belonging. Yet I contend that the notion of such a stable arrival – “It is an Igbo way” – is potentially a constructed one, however packed with powerful real-life consequences and effects. Perhaps then it is easier to consider, why now? Why are these memoirs being published now? For example, Winterson’s memoir states explicitly that 1985, the year Oranges came out, “wasn’t the day of the memoir” (3), meaning that it was not an attractive publishing proposition in the eighties, though it is in the post-nineties. Why has it come-of-age post-millennium: Red Dust Road (2010), Why be happy when you could be normal? (2011), and Aftermath (2012). This pattern leads me to think that truth, origin and narrative in recent memoirs, especially those repeating earlier fictions, constitute an emerging “Queer Return” in contemporary writing, primarily by women. I will now strengthen my application of such a category by suggesting a few possible meanings. Firstly, “queer” in the Oxford English Dictionary: one definition of this adjective is – “Strange, odd, peculiar, eccentric.” And I wish to highlight the eccentric meaning of queer. Ex- centricity is a deconstructive practice inherited from Derrida that I will reapply so as to decentre the narratives of these memoirs (“Ellipsis” 371-378). Moreover, I consciously resist the stability implied by any use of the author’s perceived sexual identity in order to “explain” their texts. Nancy, for example, is a male philosopher, therefore his sexuality is not up-for-grabs; consequently, within the remit of this paper neither is the orientation of either Winterson or Kay. “Return,” I define more straightforwardly via the parallels, repetitions and reversals that connect Why be happy and Red Dust Road of which I choose to develop five, although I believe there to be more at work. The first is adoption and displacement, as already noted, but especially its representation as a “missing piece” in both memoirs and I have two clear examples of this emphasis. In Why be happy, Winterson writes: “The feeling that something is missing never, ever leaves you – and it can’t, and it shouldn’t, because something is missing” (5). This affecting description is echoed by Kay in Red Dust Road: “Often people would even use that expression, don’t you want to find out the missing pieces to your jigsaw?” (193). My second evocation of re-turn develops my earlier point regarding textual re-presentation of earlier fiction or poetry. Why be happy quotes extensively from Oranges whereas Red Dust Road, perhaps more notably, omits any mention of Adoption Papers. Yet Kay’s memoir utilises different typefaces in order to distinguish between timeframes and perspectives, which is the same technique used in her first poetry collection. Therefore, both the form and the content (or perhaps content and tone) of Kay’s earlier work surface again in Red Dust Road. And this notion of re-surfacing helps introduce my third parallel, which is the appearance of “truth” as like a palimpsest in the two memoirs. By palimpsest, I mean a manuscript that has been written over and over yet the earlier writing, though obscured, is still partially legible, or repeated. The following description in Red Dust FORUM | ISSUE 15 Eileen Pollard 6 Road, concerning the past of Kay’s adoptive parents, works to clarify this sensation of instability: “Somehow, even though I’ve been told this story of my parents’ meeting in New Zealand many times, each time a new bit surfaces that I hadn’t noticed before” (16, my emphasis). Kay’s memoir perhaps handles this idea of problematic “truth” with more subtlety than Why be happy. For example, during Winterson’s first meeting with her birth mother, her mother asks whether Mrs Winterson was in fact a covert lesbian, which apparently shocks Winterson. However, this reaction seems rather odd in the context of the allusions made about the “Mrs Winterson” in Oranges. Of whom Miss Dewsbury remarks: “‘She’s a woman of the world even though she’d never admit it to me. She knows about feelings, especially women’s feelings’” (Oranges 105-6). As Adam Mars-Jones writes in his rather scathing, though extremely entertaining, review of Why be happy: “It’s as if Jeanette Winterson is so determined not to be defined by her first book that she has forgotten what’s in it” (3-8). It perhaps comes as no surprise considering Winterson’s oeuvre that her search to locate the “truth” is even more absolute than Kay’s in Red Dust Road. And this leads me into my final point of connection/re-turn, and to some extent reversal, across the two memoirs, the status of God, religion and in particular Evangelical Christianity. There is certainly more to be explored surrounding the workings of the adoption, preaching and writing dynamic, as this quotation from the perspective of Kay’s adoptive parents illustrates: “And you are special. You were chosen” (Kay 13). However, what I wish to emphasise here is the chiasmus affected across the two texts by the position of Winterson’s adoptive parents as Evangelical Christians and the implied movement of Kay’s birth parents towards Evangelism (independently of each other) potentially in response to having had a child adopted. There is much play in both memoirs concerning the phrase “born again” and its application in the sense of born first and adopted second. Kay writes explicitly in Red Dust Road: “[My father] told me the only way he could possibly acknowledge me would be if I agreed to be born again” (258). There is the religious meaning, but also the connotation of being born in the right time and place as well. Yet despite such similarities, there are also differences between these narratives, which emerge through perspective, chronology and especially control. This becomes most apparent regarding trust – “‘Trust me, I’m telling you stories’” (641) from Winterson’s The Passion published in 1987, arguably her most famous line, which I have shamelessly utilised for the title of this paper. However, Mars-Jones does not trust Winterson’s stories and explicitly criticises Why be happy for factual inaccuracies. For example, Winterson’s memoir forms the following argument concerning the social disadvantage of Jane Austen’s gender position: “Henry James did no good when he said that Jane Austen wrote on four inches of ivory – i.e. tiny observant minutiae” (Winterson 2011: 3). A seemingly innocuous remark one might think, but not for Mars-Jones, who blisteringly ripostes: The person who compared Jane Austen’s writing to painting on ivory (two inches wide, rather than four) was not Henry James but Jane Austen, writing to her nephew in 1816, a quarter-century or so before James drew his first, possibly condescending, breath. (3- 8) FORUM | ISSUE 15 Eileen Pollard 7 It is pedantic perhaps, but it raises the point that memoir is judged differently although its processes parallel fiction; and this is rather queer (or ex-centric, like queer return). Winterson is still telling a story, yet that is apparently not critically acceptable within this form. Kay also writes of familial and authorial exaggeration during story telling. Yet in terms of account and chronology, Winterson’s memoir is much more linear than Red Dust Road. As previously suggested, Kay’s text plays with both time and perspective leading to a reading experience of fragmentation that partially echoes the tracing process. Moreover, Kay’s memoir exhibits a specific narrative ex-centricity. It reveals fragments of information out-of-sequence, and then much later “chronologically” explains them. There are numerous examples of this practice however I will provide one in order to clarify. A man named “Okey” is introduced casually as the man who meets Kay at Lagos airport, without any further explanation (204). Yet the very casualness of the mention suggests he has already appeared, though he has not. Then, twenty-one pages later, in a backdated section entitled simply “2009” (represented in a different typeface) he is introduced as Nigerian writer, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s brother (225). Notably, there is no allowance in the text for any prior use of his name. It is queer and, like Winterson’s seemingly provocative inaccuracies, it is a characteristic that highlights the memoir genre as just as constructed or artificial as fiction, and perhaps even more so. This question of “trust” concerns an engagement with the process of construction, not merely the face value of its end product, in this case the memoir. Moreover, the figure of the author, and their agency (so seductive within memoir) is also part of this process of legitimising the coherent “truth” of the account. Yet it is a ruptured position, a story, subject to the same unravelling, if scrutinised, as any text. This is reminiscent of what a critic wrote of “alternative” singer Avril Lavigne; she pointed out that it is perfectly possible to manufacture the un-manufactured look.5 This leads me to surmise that it is equally possible to manufacture the look of an un-manufactured “truth.” In conclusion then, this is partly why I have resisted using apparently “known” facts about these authors, such as sexual orientation, in order to centre meaning in their texts. It is not that I do not think such “knowledge” stimulates meaning, but I contend that it cannot ever fix it. That today is the day of the memoir is a cultural symptom; one, I believe, of a dis-ease to fetishise an origin, an original, that is beyond reproach and precedes any notional repetition. Why be happy and Red Dust Road cannot escape the narrative processes that also define the earlier problematised fictive originals. But why do they try? And that is the question we should repeatedly be asking. Notes FORUM | ISSUE 15 Eileen Pollard 8 1 Gilles Deleuze discussed these ideas in his seminal Difference and Repetition while Jean Baudrillard wrote on postmodern simulation without original in Simulacra and Simulation. I, however, have chosen to focus on Derrida’s thought purely because it is so unpopular. 2 While this paper was initially in preparation, Rachel Cusk published a second memoir entitled Aftermath: On Marriage and Separation (2012), which generated even more media commotion than her first one A Life’s Work: On Becoming a Mother (2001). Moreover, confession is both historically and generically another form of repetition, or ‘return’ as a cultural symptom that will always be with us. 3 Experience is again privileged as “present,” original and stable, in terms of the old “cause and effect” model. 4 The word Igbo refers to the people from a region of Nigeria that forms part of Kay’s heritage. 5 “Once it is clear that Lavigne is about as punk rock as traditional liver sausage and that it is quite, quite possible to manufacture 'unmanufacturedness', it becomes easier to relax and enjoy her” (Empire 10). FORUM | ISSUE 15 Eileen Pollard 9 Works Cited Baudrillard, Jean. Simulacra and Simulation. Trans. Sheila Faria Glaser. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994. Cusk, Rachel. A Life’s Work: On Becoming a Mother. London: Fourth Estate, 2002. — Aftermath: On Marriage and Separation. London: Faber and Faber, 2012. Deleuze, Gilles. Difference and Repetition. Trans. Paul Patton. London: Continuum, 2004. Derrida, Jacques. Specters of Marx: The state of the debt, the work of mourning and the new international. Trans. Peggy Kamuf. London: Routledge, 1994. ---. “Ellipsis.” Writing and Difference. Trans. Alan Bass. London: Routledge, 2008. 371-378. Print. Empire, Kitty, “Mean Lavigne.” Observer Review.16 March 2003. 10. Print. Kay, Jackie. Adoption Papers. Tarset: Bloodaxe, 1991. — Red Dust Road. London: Picador, 2010. Print. Mars-Jones, Adam. “Mrs Winterson’s Daughter.” London Review of Books 34 (2012). 3-8. Print. Nancy, Jean-Luc, and Peter Connor. “Elliptical Sense.” Research in Phenomenology 18 (1998). 175-190. Print. “nostalgia, n.” Oxford English Dictionary. OED Online. September 2012. OUP. Web. 17 September 2012. <http://www.oed.com/view/Entry/128472?redirectedFrom=nostalgia>. “queer, adj.1.” Oxford English Dictionary. OED Online. September 2012. OUP. Web. 3 Mar. 2012. <http://www.oed.com/view/Entry/156236?rskey=TrxnDs&result=2&isAdvanced=false> Rushdie, Salman. Joseph Anton: A Memoir. London: Jonathan Cape, 2012. Winterson, Jeanette. Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit. London: Vintage, 1991. — The Passion. London: Penguin, 1988. — Why be happy when you could be normal?. London: Jonathan Cape, 2011. Woolf, Virgina. A Room of One’s Own. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1945. http://www.oed.com/view/Entry/128472?redirectedFrom=nostalgia http://www.oed.com/view/Entry/156236?rskey=TrxnDs&result=2&isAdvanced=false FORUM | ISSUE 15 Eileen Pollard 10 Author Biography Eileen Pollard is currently in her third year of PhD study in the English department of Manchester Metropolitan University, UK. Her thesis explores the writing of Hilary Mantel through the thought of Jacques Derrida. She has published several short articles on the work of Mantel, Virginia Woolf and Bernard Stiegler. 
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work_rhih2svogfcg5idb4rnpxolx4e	----	Miranda, 14 | 2017 Miranda Revue pluridisciplinaire du monde anglophone / Multidisciplinary peer-reviewed journal on the English- speaking world  14 | 2017 Early American Surrealisms, 1920-1940 / Parable Art Pierre Morère, Sens et sensibilité : pensée et poésie dans la Grande-Bretagne des Lumières Marc Porée Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/10026 DOI : 10.4000/miranda.10026 ISSN : 2108-6559 Éditeur Université Toulouse - Jean Jaurès Référence électronique Marc Porée, « Pierre Morère, Sens et sensibilité : pensée et poésie dans la Grande-Bretagne des Lumières », Miranda [En ligne], 14 | 2017, mis en ligne le 03 avril 2017, consulté le 16 février 2021. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/10026 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/miranda.10026 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 16 février 2021. Miranda is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/10026 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Pierre Morère, Sens et sensibilité : pensée et poésie dans la Grande- Bretagne des Lumières Marc Porée RÉFÉRENCE Morère, Pierre, Sens et sensibilité : pensée et poésie dans la Grande-Bretagne des Lumières (Lyon : Presses universitaires de Lyon, coédition ELLUG-PUL, collection « Esthétique et représentation : monde anglophone, (1750-1900) », 2015), 340 p, ISBN-13 : 978-2-7297-0895-5 1 Il faut savoir gré à Pierre Morère, professeur émérite à l’Université Stendhal-Grenoble 3, de nous rappeler avec force quelques évidences oubliées. Non, le dix-huitième siècle britannique ne fut pas le seul siècle des romanciers. Il fut aussi le siècle des poètes, et des grands poètes, par dessus le marché : Pope, Cowper, Thomson, mais encore Smart, Rochester, Young, Blake, Beattie (dont Morère est un grand spécialiste), et bien sûr William Wordsworth, sur la fin de la période. Son ouvrage, sobrement intitulé Sens et sensibilité, entreprend une réhabilitation en bonne et due forme des conceptions et des réalisations poétiques d’un siècle présenté à tort comme hostile à la poésie. Il n’en fut bien sûr rien. De surcroît, et là encore notre gratitude envers lui est grande, Morère s’efforce de rétablir dans ses droits ce qui est ordinairement présenté, au mieux ou au pire, c’est selon, comme relevant d’un seul préfixe opportun : le pré de pré-romantisme. Ne voulant pas céder à la tentation téléologique qui préside souvent aux histoires de la littérature, laquelle gauchit la perspective en la subordonnant à un devenir perçu a posteriori comme inéluctable, Morère refuse d’escamoter tout le long amont du romantisme, au motif qu’il n’aurait existé que pour mieux (s’) y préparer, pour en être le « Prélude ». Pierre Morère, Sens et sensibilité : pensée et poésie dans la Grande-Bretagne... Miranda, 14 | 2017 1 2 Rien de tel ici ; la poésie du dix-huitième siècle anglais ne fut ni une antichambre ni même un long vestibule, tout au plus un « sofa » sur lequel elle se sera étendue, et encore, jamais mollement, mais plutôt ardemment et conceptuellement, le plus souvent. Venue de loin, nourrie de son fonds propre, elle n’aura pas été propédeutique ni même liminaire, sauf en toute fin de parcours, avec les Ballades lyriques de Wordsworth et de Coleridge. Non, elle fut pleinement elle-même, existant à part entière, sans rien d’ancillaire ni de subordonné, et c’est d’un regard dépouillé de toute perspective cavalière, et a fortiori fuyante ou dépravée, que Morère envisage les liens unissant la pensée des Lumières et la poésie, faisant de cette dernière la résultante d’une dialectique, autant bien tempérée que bien trempée, entre foi et ferveur, tempérance et excès, réalisme et imagination, réalité et rêve, réel et surréel. Non, encore, elle ne fut pas placide ou complaisamment ordonnée : Morère souligne, à l’occasion, les désordres, les sources d’aliénation ou d’angoisse, les questions sur le mystère de l’au-delà restées sans réponses. 3 Divisant son riche matériau en deux plans — le plan des « prolégomènes », conceptuels suivi du plan des « phénomènes » pour adopter le vocabulaire philosophique d’un Emmanuel Kant —, Morère en profite pour batailler contre le classicisme français, et les Lumières françaises (encore que leurs philosophes soient assez peu convoqués). Avisé autant que perspicace, il pointe la montée en puissance du sensualisme, tout en ne cachant rien de ses limites, ni des intuitions supra-sensorielles qui se firent jour chez les poètes, plus souvent qu’à leur tour, d’ailleurs. 4 Sans le dire ouvertement, encore, Morère ambitionne, après d’autres, de corriger le strabisme divergent d’un T.S. Eliot, quand ce dernier pointait la soi-disant funeste dissociation of sensibility survenue après Milton, à l’origine d’une impossibilité pour les poètes postérieurs de penser et de sentir simultanément. C’est au contraire une sensibilité unifiée, pleinement réconciliée, à l’unisson, qu’il nous présente, par le prisme de laquelle, assurément, les poètes surent penser et sentir in the same breath. Autre redressement ou correctif : le primat du sensible, dont Morère entreprend de remotiver les potentialités poétiques. Et s’il ne parle pas, stricto sensu, de « partage du sensible », pour reprendre les termes de Jacques Rancière, il n’en omet pas moins de relever toutes les implications, pour les lecteurs de poésie, d’une telle orientation. En définitive, c’est par un chiasme parfait qu’il cadre son propos : la poésie des Lumières sera passée d’un empirisme ouvert et d’un sensualisme étroit à un sensualisme ouvert prenant le pas sur un « empirisme restrictif » (p. 308). Soit les trois moments d’une dialectique ainsi résumée : « une première phase normative encore inspirée des classiques, une étape réceptive fondée sur les données du sensualisme, et une amorce de synthèse entre création et réception énoncée dans les préfaces des Lyrical Ballads » (p. 306). 5 On le voit, la démarche est celle d’un chercheur, qui s’emploie à placer sa démarche sous le signe, précisément, d’une « recherche » (bien plus que d’une quête). L’influence de la philosophie du temps, avec ses nombreuses Enquiries, y est pour beaucoup. « Une poétique de la recherche », nous est-il dit en quatrième de couverture : procédant avec méthode et détermination — deliberately, aurait dit Samuel Johnson, le « Great Cham » — Morère développe son programme, lequel suit très exactement l’ordre des mots avancés dans son titre et son sous-titre, à savoir « sens et sensibilité », d’une part, « pensée et poésie » de l’autre. Où l’on comprend que la pensée précède la poésie, tout en lui étant étroitement associée. C’est donc principalement en historien des idées que Pierre Morère, Sens et sensibilité : pensée et poésie dans la Grande-Bretagne... Miranda, 14 | 2017 2 Morère analyse l’effervescence intellectuelle du temps, laquelle s’exprime en autant de « mécanismes mentaux », lesquels s’avèrent déterminants pour expliquer en quoi ils « ouvrent aux poètes les voies du sensible » (p. 11) ; sont ainsi passés en revue les philosophes et les penseurs, de Locke à Hume, en passant par Berkeley, Shaftesbury, Adam Smith et Burke. Locke s’y taille la part du lion, à juste titre, mais le scepticisme de Hume n’est pas absent du propos, pas plus que son relativisme, qui revient à situer le goût dans la sphère du purement subjectif ; c’est même sa sociologie de l’esthétique qui permet de mettre en avant « le contexte dans lequel les arts peuvent s’épanouir, c’est- à-dire une dialectique du beau et de l’utile » (p. 287). 6 Tout en accordant la priorité aux systèmes de pensée, Morère n’en oublie pas de prendre en charge des objets plus transversaux, tels que la pensée du bonheur, thème central de la pensée des Lumières, la pensée de la nature, de l’élan vital (voir la confiance placée par Pope dans les instincts, dont Morère nous rappelle combien elle s’explique, malgré son caractère « inattendu »), la pensée de l’homme, dont l’Essay on Man du même Pope est un sommet auquel sont consacrées une bonne trentaine de pages denses et éclairantes. Aux côtés de la pensée du relatif, la question du théisme, tout aussi centrale, est traitée de la plus convaincante des manières. Reste la pensée de la poésie, ou à tout le moins du poétique, que Morère aborde sous ses angles essentiellement critique et théorique. « Le poème est-il déterminé par le paradigme du sens ou par les réalité empirique, écrasante, de la sensibilité ? » (p. 13) ; « en quoi l’œuvre versifiée est-elle de nature transcendante ?” (p. 13). Telles sont les deux interrogations majeures qui traversent le livre, et c’est à la lumière des réponses qui leur furent apportées que Morère se fait fort de recontextualiser ce qu’il nomme le « site du poétique » (p. 13). 7 Plus précisément, Pierre Morère se veut à la recherche de ce qui engage la réflexion sur des voies nouvelles, lesquelles avaient en partage la connaissance des mondes extérieurs et intérieurs, tout comme l’apparition de nouvelles sources d’inspiration dans le domaine de la poésie (p. 264). Au fil des décennies, celles-ci s’affirmeront. Rétrospectivement, on y aura perçu l’absolutisation croissante du poétique et du littéraire en tant que tel, la montée en puissance de la critique comme genre à part entière, l’assomption du moi, du Logos et de la subjectivité, les émois et les transports du corps, l’ébranlement provoqué par la Révolution française — de quoi faire céder les dernières digues retenant ce qui n’était pas, à dire vrai, le siècle de la raison, mais bien celui, la distinction est de taille, celui des « sens régulés par le jugement » (p. 62). C’est dire si, pour l’exprimer autrement, le glissement progressif et résolu vers l’imagination y était dès le début inscrit en germe… 8 Conduit de main de maître, l’ouvrage fait toucher du doigt à chaque instant la nature particulière de la réflexion qui animait penseurs et poètes, quasiment envisagée dans ce qui en constituait le grain, et en tout cas les moindres nuances. Solidement charpentée, rédigée avec une clarté exemplaire, l’enquête fera date par sa volonté de viser l’équilibre et d’aller au fond des choses, au cœur de ce qui est perçu comme l’interpénétration, finalement heureuse, du sensible, du pensif ou du spéculatif, et du poétique. Rien n’y est bousculé, et c’est de façon en tout point mesurée que Morère procède ; il suffit de se reporter aux nombreux index, et en particulier à celui des noms propres et des œuvres, pour mesurer sur pièces la place conséquente prise, respectivement, par chacun des protagonistes du temps : les dosages y sont effectués au trébuchet, confirmant ainsi l’intuition selon laquelle penser, c’est peser, et Pierre Morère, Sens et sensibilité : pensée et poésie dans la Grande-Bretagne... Miranda, 14 | 2017 3 inversement. Certes, on pourra toujours discuter de certaines attributions ou proportions : les 5 pages dévolues à Blake pèsent sans doute peu au regard des 40 dévolues à Addison ou même des 15 affectées à Thomson. Mais ce que Morère écrit des flamboiements et autres ruptures assumées par le premier sont profondément justes, même s’il fut sans l’ombre d’un doute bien davantage qu’une « exception » qui confirme la règle, et il n’y a pas grand-chose à redire de sa compréhension de la place, relative, prise par chacune des œuvres selon une perspective qui se veut contemporaine à elles. 9 Doté d’un sens très sûr de la formule, dont il n’abuse cependant pas, l’auteur avance avec calme et méthode et c’est tout aussi posément qu’il conclut, en ouvrant sur le dépassement des sens (déjà mis en œuvre par Blake, fera-t-on tout au plus observer) et l’aspiration à la transcendance qui seront l’apanage du romantisme. Chemin faisant, Morère n’aura rien caché du caractère à la fois proliférant et « disparate », pour ne pas dire inégal, des œuvres poétiques dont il n’aura retenu que les plus saillantes. La partialité d’un Johnson, avec son anglo-centrisme et son néo-classicisme résolument tory, n’échappe pas non plus au regard justement critique de l’auteur, dont on connaît par ailleurs le fort tropisme calédonien (à cet égard, les sections consacrées aux penseurs écossais comptent parmi les plus stimulantes du livre). C’est du reste au même Samuel Johnson que Morère a dernièrement consacré un autre ouvrage, sous la forme d’une traduction de ses Lives of English Poets, en collaboration avec son collègue de Grenoble, le romanticiste et poéticien Denis Bonnecase.1 On voit et on salue la cohérence du propos, qui revient à faire rimer, en toutes circonstances, critique et vérité. 10 Deux motifs d’étonnement, pour finir, même s’il convient d’en relativiser la portée. Jane Austen, qui prête pourtant son titre à l’ouvrage dont il a été question, n’y est jamais nommée en tant que telle. Il est vrai qu’elle ne fut ni poète ni penseuse. Quant à la belle illustration de couverture, représentant une chouette effraie, non seulement on la doit à un Français, Robert Nicolas, peintre, dessinateur et graveur de son état, mais encore ce dernier exerçait-il ses talents au XVIIe siècle. Il fallait donc que le choix d’un « hybou de campagne », selon la graphie du temps, s’imposât impérieusement. 11 Point n’est besoin d’aller chercher bien loin le pourquoi d’un tel choix: emblème de la sagesse, donc de la philosophie, la chouette prend son envol au crépuscule, quand retombe l’agitation de la journée. Oiseau de nuit, sa forte et éclatante présence suggère de manière assurément subliminale que les Lumières britanniques étaient travaillées, de loin en loin, par leur envers nocturne, obscurément intérieur et rapace. L’un des grands mérites de l’ouvrage de Pierre Morère consiste, de fait, dans sa très perspicace élucidation de ce qui fut tout à la fois un besoin de sens commun et une volonté de composer avec les sens, avec le corps sensible, en privilégiant pour ce faire les voies et les moyens propres à la poésie. Quitte à ce que cette dernière, effraie décidément plus singulière que commune, s’affranchisse, in fine, d’un tel programme, et achève de prendre son envol, non sans avoir troqué la sensibilité contre la sensation. Mais ceci est une autre histoire… Pierre Morère, Sens et sensibilité : pensée et poésie dans la Grande-Bretagne... Miranda, 14 | 2017 4 NOTES 1. Samuel Johnson Vies des poètes anglais. Choix de textes, traduction et présentation de Denis Bonnecase et Pierre Morère. Paris : Librairie du Sandre, 2016. INDEX Mots-clés : sens, sensibilité, sensualisme, poésie, imagination, philosophie, ferveur, connaissance, néoclassicisme, lumières, esthétique Keywords : sense, sensibility, sensualism, poetry, imagination, philosophy, fervour, knowledge, neoclassicism, enlightenment, aesthetics AUTEURS MARC PORÉE Professeur des Universités ENS-PSL, Prismes EA 4398 Pierre Morère, Sens et sensibilité : pensée et poésie dans la Grande-Bretagne... Miranda, 14 | 2017 5 Pierre Morère, Sens et sensibilité : pensée et poésie dans la Grande-Bretagne des Lumières 
work_rnfw57letnggrh2kfq475plinq	----	Historians are from Venus, Ecologists are from Mars Comment Historians are from Venus, Ecologists are from Mars SIMON POOLEY* Imperial College Conservation Science, Munro Building, Silwood Park Campus, Buckhurst Road, Ascot, Berkshire, SL5 7PY, United Kingdom Previous calls for cooperation between historians and conservation scientists published in ecological and con- servation journals have been made by nonhistorians. This Comment on Szabó and Hédl’s (2011), paper “Advancing the Integration of History and Ecology for Conservation,” provides the other half of the sought-for antiphonal duet from the perspective of an environmental historian. Most calls for interdisciplinary research frame their discussions in terms of problems to be overcome. They elaborate reasons for the failure of this union to be con- summated, and this shapes discussions of what is to be done. In their welcome article, Szabó and Hédl follow this route, noting contrasting tendencies toward gener- ality versus particularity for ecologists and historians, re- spectively, and mismatches in scale and precision of data collection. They frame the lack of ecological research be- fore 1800 as a “major obstacle to successful cooperation between history and ecology” but then show that this lack of ecological data is really an opportunity for ecol- ogists to gain from history (Szabó & Hédl 2011, p. 685). Helpfully, they advise us to pay attention to “difficulties in communication rather than to fundamental differences between the 2 disciplines” (Szabó & Hédl 2011, p. 681). Yet, they also suggest there exists a fundamental divide between the social and natural sciences (not to mention humanities). In the practice of interdisciplinary research, this fundamental divide is more often a divide between those who do primarily quantitative research and those who do primarily qualitative research. Szabó and Hédl’s suggestion that there is a communica- tion breakdown between the “two cultures” of the social and natural sciences, exacerbated by the poor editorial practices of interdisciplinary journals, is arguably now less true than the authors suggest (their references span 1959–1999). More recent analyses of the publication of interdisciplinary research in ecological journals find mat- ters somewhat improved (e.g., Reyers et al. 2010). Of ∗email s.pooley@imperial.ac.uk Paper submitted March 15, 2013; revised manuscript accepted April 8, 2013. This is an open access article under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial License, which permits use, distribution and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited and is not used for commercial purposes. course, structural challenges for collaboration do remain, and power differentials in funding levels and eligibility between disciplines bedevil interdisciplinary research on conservation problems. To paraphrase Jane Austen: it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single discipline in possession of good funding must be in want of research partners. Szabó and Hédl suggest that ecologists are character- ized by a focus on generality and historians by a focus on particularity. This is a very broad statement, but inter- esting in light of the recent production of “big histories” (e.g., Christian 2004; Spier 2010). These histories either seek to impose major periodizations on all dimensions of Earth’s history, including human histories, or to mine history for data to test predictive models. As Robin and Steffen (2007) observed, the former are plagued by the heterogeneity of human histories (e.g., the very differ- ently timed development of agriculture and industrial- ization in Europe vs. Australia) and the unevenness of available historical evidence resulting from these hetero- geneities. Devised without the input of historians, the Integrated History and Future of People on Earth (IHOPE 2009) project aims to recover useful data from the past for testing predictive social–ecological models. Projects include building a dynamic model of the social–ecological interactions and ultimate collapse of the Maya. In prac- tice, marrying up archaeological and cultural sources will be challenging, as will adequately incorporating human agency. These big histories, along with the kinds of large-scale historical panoramas offered by Jared Diamond and E.O. Wilson, are united in offering histories in which human agency, while present, operates within and in response to larger deterministic frameworks of evolution and en- vironmental contingencies. They offer informed specu- lation on why human societies behaved and developed as they did, rather than detailed attempts to reconstruct 1481 Conservation Biology, Volume 27, No. 6, 1481–1483 C© 2013 The Authors. Conservation Biology published by Wiley Periodicals, Inc., on behalf of the Society for Conservation Biology. DOI: 10.1111/cobi.12106 1482 Historians are from Venus, Ecologists are from Mars these trajectories through the use of historical sources. To these “evolutionary meta-histories” (Sörlin & Warde 2007, p. 117), environmental historians bring a human scale, a sense of human agency (can you model a Hernán Cortés?) and open a dialogue with the extensive liter- ature on, for example, the reasons for the ascendancy of Western Europe and its New World territories. They aim for more synthetic analyses of causation than those attempted by science-based and big-history historians on the one hand, and social scientists and historians allergic to any whiff of biological determinism on the other. By no means do all environmental historians “[focus] on specific cases and [approach] the study of general patterns with caution” (Szabó & Hédl 2011, p. 682). This is a long-running tendency, but the breakthrough books in the discipline are works of synthesis that tackle big issues and themes, for instance Alfred Crosby’s Ecological Imperialism (1986), Richard Grove’s Green Imperialism (1995), and John McNeill’s Mosquito Empires: Ecology and War in the Greater Caribbean, 1620–1914 (2010). Sörlin and Warde (2007) urge environmental historians to move beyond regionalized, local studies and write more ambitious histories along such lines. Szabó and Hédl’s discussion of research methods provides a useful characterization of the different ap- proaches of historians and ecologists. However, it of- fers a narrow version of how conservation scientists ac- tually work and misses the interdisciplinary nature of good environmental history. What, then, is good en- vironmental history? Worster (1988) exhorted environ- mental historians to study how the biophysical world shapes human history and how humans understand and shape the natural world through time by: addressing the ecological study of nature, including humans, cul- tivated and domesticated species, and flows of mate- rials; the socioeconomic dimensions and interactions of social–ecological systems; and the ways in which human cultures and ideologies have been shaped by nature and have shaped our conceptions of and ef- fects on nature. At the very least, this schema implies scientific literacy and the comprehension and use of scientific data alongside the more traditional materi- als and techniques of social, economic, and cultural histories. If Reyers et al. (2010) are correct that cultural and social values and their political expressions drive pol- icy and management priorities, which in turn drive how resources are managed and ultimately how knowledge acquisition is structured and funded to enable this, then it is necessary to try to understand the relations between all these dimensions of conservation (including the bio- physical). By taking a historical approach, these kinds of relations can be unraveled, and although they may be convoluted, they are not irreducibly complex. Deconstruction, Divorce, and Disequilibrium If one acknowledges common cause and agrees that al- leged methodological incompatibilities are exaggerated, then why has there been so little collaboration be- tween conservation scientists and environmental histori- ans? Certainly, structural issues remain within academic institutions and funding bodies. Also recall that conser- vation scientists and environmental historians courted divorce early on. The debate over the limits of objec- tive knowledge of the 1980s and 1990s deeply polarized some social scientists and humanities scholars from bi- ological scientists and environmentalists (Proctor 1998). Conservationists, including Michael Soulé, responded an- grily to assertions by the U.S. environmental historian William Cronon and others that wilderness is a cultural construct. They argue that ideas of nature may not ex- ist outside cultural understanding, but nature certainly does, and wild things have rights and value independently of human understanding (Cronon 1995; Soulé & Lease 1995). There was another reason for this vehement response to constructivist attacks on scientific authority—ecology was going through a major theoretical shift. Field ob- servations of populations of wildlife had shown abrupt fluctuations that equilibrium-based principles could not explain (Botkin 1990). Chaos theory and develop- ments in mathematical modeling challenged fundamen- tal aspects of equilibrium-oriented ecosystems ecology. These new perspectives challenged the assumption that nature tends toward stability, emphasizing rather in- stability, disequilibria, and chaotic fluctuations in bio- physical environments. How, then, does one predict or measure environmental degradation? How indeed does one determine what is natural at all? (Worster 1994). This was also a challenge for environmental historians, who looked to ecology for baselines against which to measure the effects of human interventions on nature. On the one hand, some feared the consequences of a scientifically justified relativism about environmental change. On the other hand, the cyclical time of sys- tems ecology was displaced by a historical conception of time, where irregular natural disturbances and pe- riodicities of natural variation play an important role. Human disturbances can cause long-term or permanent ecosystem shifts. By implication, to understand and man- age an ecosystem, it is necessary to investigate its en- vironmental history. This is not to discover some past prehuman (or pre-European) baseline or natural state (although problematizing taken-for-granted baselines is important), but rather to reconstruct histories of ma- jor events and shifts and to help establish what Szabó (2010, p. 383) rightly emphasizes: the “historical range of variability.” Conservation Biology Volume 27, No. 6, 2013 Pooley 1483 Back to the Future In their conclusion, Szabó and Hédl call not for collab- oration, but for the integration of historical concepts into ecological research by conservation professionals. Although a historical awareness is useful for conserva- tionists, scientists should not be expected to become historians and should not expect to become historians through adopting some notional historical toolset. As Lowe et al. (2009) suggest, this instrumental approach to other bodies of expertise has not proven fruitful for interdisciplinary relationships. A working partnership is preferable to integration, which may well result in a dilution rather than a con- centration of skills. Collaboration suggests a dual role for historians in conservation research. First, environmental historians can contribute conceptually to research plan- ning, offering historical perspectives for question formu- lation and development. Second, where a historical per- spective is judged relevant, the contextual particularities of a project will determine what kinds of historians, and with what particular experiences, should be wooed to provide the necessary historical perspective. For example, historical analyses can reveal how con- servation problems and solutions have been framed over time by competing scientific, political, cultural, and other groups (e.g., Davis 2007). It can show why particular ap- proaches were favored and how success has been evalu- ated. This allows the questioning of dominant narratives and the reconsideration of sidelined perspectives (e.g., Pyne 2010). Historical analyses reveal the conjunctions of environmental and societal factors that cause unintended consequences to flow from interventions based on sound scientific generalizations. Environmental history contributes the capacity to in- tegrate ecological, socioeconomic, and cultural informa- tion into coherent narratives of change over time. Not least of these should be the histories of conservation itself. These narratives should be clear, critical, and com- prehensible to policy makers and practitioners. As an environmental historian, I am just as interested and in- vested in the future of conservation as I am intrigued and challenged by its past. Acknowledgment I gratefully acknowledge an Imperial College London Ju- nior Research Fellowship and the stimulus and comments of colleagues at Imperial College Conservation Science. Literature Cited Botkin, D. B. 1990. Discordant harmonies: a new ecology for the twenty- first century. Oxford University Press, New York. Christian, D. 2004. Maps of time: an introduction to big history. Univer- sity of California Press, Berkeley. Cronon, W. 1995. The trouble with wilderness. Pages 69–90 in W. Cronon, editor. Uncommon ground: toward reinventing nature. W.W. Norton, New York. Crosby, A. W. 1986. Ecological Imperialism: the biological expansion of Europe 900–1900. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, United Kingdom. Davis, D. 2007. Resurrecting the granary of Rome: environmental his- tory and French colonial expansion in North Africa. Ohio University Press, Athens. Grove, R. H. 1995. Green imperialism: colonial expansion, tropical island edens and the origins of environmentalism, 1600–1860. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, United Kingdom. IHOPE (Integrated History and Future of People on Earth). 2009. About IHOPE. Available from http://www.aimes.ucar.edu/ihope/ (accessed April 2013). Lowe, P., G. Whitman, and J. Phillipson. 2009. Ecology and the social sciences. Journal of Applied Ecology 46:297–305. McNeill, J. R. 2010. Mosquito empires: ecology and war in the greater Caribbean, 1620–1914. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, United Kingdom. Proctor, J. D. 1998. The social construction of nature: rela- tivist accusations, pragmatist and critical realist responses. An- nals of the Association of American Geographers 88:352– 376. Pyne, S. J. 2010. America’s fires: a historical context for pol- icy and practice. Forest History Society, Durham, North Carolina. Reyers, B., D. J. Roux, and P. J. O’Farrell. 2010. Can ecosystem ser- vices lead ecology on a transdisciplinary pathway? Environmental Conservation 37:501–511. Robin, L., and W. Steffen. 2007. History for the anthropocene. History Compass 5:1694–1719. Sörlin, S., and P. Warde. 2007. The problem of the problem of envi- ronmental history: a re-reading of the field. Environmental History 12:107–130. Soulé, M., and G. Lease, editors. 1995. Reinventing nature? Re- sponses to postmodern deconstruction. Island Press, Washington, D.C. Spier, F. 2010. Big history and the future of humanity. Wiley-Blackwell, Malden, Massachusetts. Szabó, P. 2010. Why history matters in ecology: an interdisciplinary perspective. Environmental Conservation 37:380–387. Szabó, P., and R. Hédl. 2011. Advancing the integration of his- tory and ecology for conservation. Conservation Biology 25:680– 687. Worster, D. 1994. Nature’s economy: a history of ecological ideas. 2nd edition. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, United Kingdom. Worster, D. 1988. Doing environmental history. Pages 289–308 in D. Worster, editor. The ends of the Earth: perspectives on modern envi- ronmental history. Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, United Kingdom. Conservation Biology Volume 27, No. 6, 2013 
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work_rwp6ja52r5falcyvxjrayatzzq	----	“Folk stylistics” and the history of reading: a discussion of method 1 ‘Folk stylistics’ and the history of reading: a discussion of method Katie Halsey (Institute of English Studies, University of London) Abstract The Reading Experience Database 1450-1945 contains more than 20,000 pieces of evidence about reading habits and practices over five centuries, and of these, more than 1000 directly discuss the literary style of the works read, while others make indirect comments on style. This evidence shows literary critics and common readers alike commenting on issues of “good” or “imitable” style; describing how easy the work is to read aloud, recording their impressions of the “morality” of the style; identifying anonymous authors by their style; and making literary judgements on the basis of style. By tracing these remarks over a long historical period (1450 to 1945), we can reconstruct the prevailing stylistic concerns of individual readers and communities of readers, and test grand historical or literary narratives against the everyday experiences of common readers. This article focuses on the period 1800-1945, and considers the ways in which the historicist and evidence-based methods of the new sub-discipline of the history of reading might be used to complement traditional stylistic analyses and methods. Keywords: history of reading; style; nineteenth century; actual readers; hypothetical readers; reading aloud; morality in literature; affective fallacy; Jane Austen; Virginia Woolf Introduction What has the history of reading to do with stylistics? More than thirty years ago, Wolfgang Iser suggested that the meaning of a literary text could only be brought into being through a dynamic relationship between text and reader: „one must take into account not only the actual text but also, and in equal measure, the actions involved in responding to that text‟ (Iser, 1974: 274). Roland Barthes had previously espoused a more extreme position, claiming that an enduring literary work does not even exist until it is read, or – in Barthes‟ terminology – „written‟ by the reader (Barthes, 1971: passim) i . Theoretical positions that foreground the act of reading, such as those of Iser, Barthes, Stanley Fish and Hans Robert Jauss, combined with the burgeoning interest in the history of the material book over the past twenty years, have led inexorably to a focus on readers, both contemporary and historical. Reader- response theorists challenged literary critics to take the act of reading seriously, and, although for many years it was impossible to talk seriously about either authors or readers as actual human beings – in the 2 discipline of stylistics, for example, it has been a widely-accepted terminological principle that „It should always be borne in mind that “author” means “implied author” and “reader” means “implied reader”‟ (Leech and Short, 1981: 262) – eventually a new sub-discipline, the history of reading, was born. This sub-discipline poses questions not only to literary theorists, but also to stylisticians: in part because many of the latter refer to or speculate about readers and reading (see Allington and Swann 2009), but more importantly because, when we are analysing the style of past works, it will clearly help us to avoid anachronism if we have some idea of how „style‟ functioned and was understood at the time when those works were composed. We need to understand both the habitus and the habits of readers if we are to contextualise literature properly (see Bourdieu, 1979: 170-75 for a full discussion of habitus). Historians of reading study actual (as opposed to „inscribed‟ [Iser, 1974], „intended‟ [Booth, 1961] „implied‟ [Iser, 1974; Leech and Short, 1981], „ideal‟ [Genette, 1972; Bakhtin, 1986] or „hypothetical‟ [Fish, 1967]) readers, as well as the cultural, social, political and economic conditions surrounding the production and reception of books and texts. The discipline thus overlaps with scholarship on the sociology of taste. The history of reading uses a range of different methods, and encompasses a large variety of evidence, which divides broadly into two types: statistical evidence relating to the availability of books and texts to readers and readerships (see, for example, St Clair, 2006, and works on literacy, such as Cressy, 1980; Spufford, 1999; Vincent, 2000); and evidence that records individual or group reading experiences (see, for example, Baggerman, 1997; Brewer, 1996; Colclough, 2004; Grafton and Jardine, 1990; Pearson, 1999). Evidence of availability might consist of printers‟, publishers‟ or booksellers‟ records, library subscription books, library catalogues, library loans registers, lists of censored works, auction catalogues and so on, as well as evidence about literacy rates. Evidence of reading experiences includes diaries, autobiographies, letters, marginalia and annotations, sworn testimony, commonplace books, reading notebooks, and official surveys, such as the Mass Observation project, now archived at Sussex University (www.massobs.org.uk). In addition, fictional representations of reading constitute a type of evidence employed in the history of reading, although their use is somewhat contested. Literary criticism and stylistics also have a place in the history of reading. As Jauss puts it: A literary work, even if it seems new, does not appear as something absolutely new in an informational vacuum, but predisposes its readers to a very definite type of reception by textual strategies, overt and covert signals, familiar characteristics or implicit allusions. It awakens memories of the familiar, stirs particular emotions in the reader and with its „beginning‟ arouses expectations for the „middle and end‟, which can then be continued intact, 3 changed, re-oriented or even ironically fulfilled in the course of reading according to certain rules of the genre or type of text. (Jauss, 1970: 12) By combining an analysis of the stylistic features of the text, the „textual strategies, overt and covert signals, familiar characteristics or implicit allusions‟ – i.e. what a text itself signals through its formal and linguistic qualities – with an understanding of the expectations that a reader brings to a text – that is, the cultural expectations, common in a given historical period, about what the genre of work, author or specific work in question is, does, or should be/do – we can begin to situate texts and their reception histories more precisely within a history of reading, and reverse the decontextualising assumptions of many „reader-response‟ approaches. Readers are, as countless critics have pointed out, as various as they are many, and each act of reading is different. A reader may respond completely differently to the same text on the second or subsequent reading, and many readers do not respond to texts in the ways that one might expect. It is impossible to reconstruct the expectations that every individual will bring to their reading experiences, because there will always be unanticipated, or unknown factors that influence readers and reading experiences. All that we can hope to do, therefore, is to take a broad view of the evidence within a historical period, and consider carefully what that evidence might mean. One form of expectation that readers can be assumed to have brought to their reading of literary (and other) texts is an understanding of „style‟, and there is in fact a great deal of available evidence regarding popular beliefs about style in different historical periods. By analogy with „folk linguistics‟ – a term used „to refer to popular beliefs about language, many of which differ from (professional) linguistic understandings‟ (Swann, Deumert, Lillis and Mesthrie, 2004: 112) – I term the study of these beliefs „folk stylistics‟. This can be related to the work of Eugene Kintgen, who suggested that, using Fish‟s (1980) model of interpretation, it should be possible „to reconstruct what stylistics would have been like in earlier periods‟ (Kintgen, 1992: 93). Kintgen‟s attempt to reconstruct the interpretative conventions of Elizabethan readers constructs, to use Jauss‟s phrase, a „horizon of expectations‟ (Jauss, 1970: 12) for the Elizabethan reader; in other words, Kintgen identifies the interpretative strategies that were familiar to Elizabethan readers, in this case through an analysis of their writings on language and style. Thus, in Kintgen‟s essay, stylistics plays a part in the history of reading by showing us what an Elizabethan reader saw and valued in the style of the texts he read. My approach will differ from Kintgen‟s in focusing primarily on the first-hand or „anecdotal‟ writings of readers, rather than on 4 published treatises on style and language, but my aim is similar: to reconstruct and analyse the assumptions made by historical readers through a close study of their comments on literary works, and in so doing to suggest ways in which the future study of literary works might benefit from a consideration of some of the evidence used by historians of reading. This evidence can tell us not only about how past readers may have read the texts that interest us, and about why and how reactions to those texts have changed over time, but also about how those texts are likely to have been written to be read. In this essay, I will discuss the stylistic preoccupations of readers in the period 1800-1945. I will focus on three specific issues – the value placed on works that are suitable for reading aloud during the nineteenth century; nineteenth-century conflations of style and morality; and the frequency with which readers respond to texts viscerally, rather than intellectually, throughout the period – in order to reconstruct, from the recorded responses of readers, the particular sorts of expectations (and prejudices) that they brought to the texts they encountered. ii My evidence derives from an AHRC-funded research project, the Reading Experience Database (www.open.ac.uk/Arts/RED and www.open.ac.uk/Arts/reading), which seeks to gather as much data as possible about the reading habits and practices of British readers and overseas visitors to Britain in the period 1450-1945, and makes this information available as an online resource. 1 Reading Aloud Dorothy Wordsworth‟s Grasmere journal for Sunday 6 December 1801 presents a fairly typical scene of reading throughout the nineteenth century: „In the afternoon we sate by the fire: I read Chaucer aloud, and Mary [Wordsworth] read the first canto of The Fairy Queen‟ (Darbishire, 1958: 87). In the mid-century, on 31 st December, 1854, George Eliot noted in her journal: „Began Stahr‟s “Torso”... G [George Henry Lewes] read “Coriolanus”. I read some of “Stahr” to him, but we found it too long winded a style for reading aloud‟ (Harris and Johnston, 1998: 41). A month later, Eliot recorded: „Tried reading the 2nd part of Faust aloud, but gave it up, as it was too difficult for G. to follow it rapidly enough‟ (Harris and Johnston, 1998: 43). These pieces of first-hand evidence remind us of the importance of reading aloud throughout the nineteenth century, and prompt us to look again at the oral and aural features of texts written for a nineteenth-century audience. Eliot comments on the „long winded‟ style of Adolf Stahr‟s Torso: Kunst, Künstler, und Kunstwerken der Alten (1854) precisely because the style makes it difficult to read aloud, while Goethe‟s Faust also suffers when judged by the http://www.open.ac.uk/Arts/RED http://www.open.ac.uk/Arts/reading 5 same criteria. Complicated syntactical structures and complex ideas characterise both these texts, to which is added the difficulty of reading in a foreign language. It is perhaps no wonder that Lewes found them hard to follow and Eliot laid them both aside; what is significant is the expectation that all texts, even difficult foreign-language ones, should be accessible to a listener when read aloud. In the period under consideration, readers frequently comment on the quality both of the texts that are read aloud, and on the quality of the reading itself, and it is evident that reading aloud well was a skill to be nurtured. When his mother told Edward Bulwer Lytton that she did not like Jane Austen‟s novels, the explanation that immediately sprang to his mind was that she must have heard them incompetently read aloud: You surprise me greatly by what you say of Emma and the other books. They enjoy the highest reputation, and I own, for my part, I was delighted with them. I fear they must have been badly read aloud to you. At all events, they are generally much admired, and I was quite serious in my praise of them. (Bulwer Lytton, 1913: 1:457) Here it is possible to reconstruct something of the expectations of a reader coming to Jane Austen‟s novels in the 1830s: they „enjoy the highest reputation‟, and „are generally much admired‟. It seems likely, therefore, that Elizabeth Lytton could have expected to be impressed by them, as her son was, and to be willing to praise them. Her dislike may be, in part, the result of disappointed expectations. Bulwer Lytton‟s assumptions about the quality of the performance of reading aloud also point to some stylistic features of Austen‟s novels: they contain a high proportion of dialogue, as well as Austen‟s innovative use of free indirect speech, in which the voices of the characters can sometimes be heard through the narrator‟s supposedly neutral tones. Austen‟s novels were originally written to be read aloud within the family circle – family sources and Austen‟s own letters frequently refer to the fact that her compositions were read aloud in this way – and her mature novels, as well as the remaining juvenile „effusions‟ bear the traces of this, being full of elliptical allusions, jokes, and an easy assumption that the audience will make the necessary connections between characters and ideas. Nonetheless, they are not easy to read aloud, demanding from the reader the ability to present the voices of a variety of different characters, as well as to recognise and deal with a slippery and complex narrative voice that does not consistently separate itself from the idioms and distinguishing voice- patterns (idiolects) of the characters. As Austen herself wrote of the first edition of Pride and Prejudice, „a “said he” or a “said she” would sometimes make the Dialogue more immediately clear – 6 but “I do not write for such dull Elves/ As have not a great deal of Ingenuity themselves”‟ (Le Faye, 1995: 202). Knowledge of the style of Austen‟s novels, coupled with a recognition of the importance of reading aloud at this period thus allows us to contextualise Elizabeth Lytton‟s response to Austen‟s novels. Like Austen, many nineteenth-century writers read their manuscripts aloud to family and friends in order to gauge audience reaction before publication. Dorothy Wordsworth‟s journals record William frequently reading his poems – including „The Recluse‟, „Peter Bell the Third‟, „The Seven Sisters‟, „Ruth‟, „Point Rash Judgement‟, „The Pedlar‟ and „The Butterfly‟ – aloud to her, and „Joanna‟ and „The Firgrove‟ to Coleridge. Coleridge read parts of „Christabel‟ aloud to the Wordsworths on at least three occasions, and Dorothy Wordsworth‟s diaries also record scenes of reading „together‟ such poems as „The Pedlar‟, „The Prelude‟, the „Descriptive Sketches‟, and the „Lyrical Ballads‟, both before and after publication, and note occasions when she transcribed Wordsworth‟s poems and then read them back to him (Darbishire, 1958: 27, 47, 48, 50, 57, 63, 66, 93, 104, 115, 118, 123, 127, 132). Recent scholarship has clearly established Dorothy‟s role not only in transcribing, but also in revising and redrafting Wordsworth‟s manuscript drafts, and it is probable that this process usually began with reading aloud, as this entry from the Grasmere Journal of 18 April 1802 suggests: “William met me at Rydale [...] We sate up late [...] He met me with the conclusion of the poem of the Robin [i.e. „The Robin and the Butterfly‟]. I read it to him in bed. We left out some lines” (146). Wordsworth was not the only author to consider reading his manuscripts aloud to be a necessary trial before submitting the manuscript for publication; many writers throughout the nineteenth century and beyond followed this practice. Robert Louis Stevenson‟s stepdaughter writes: After lunch was always a pleasant time at Vailima [...] that was the time Louis usually chose to read aloud something he had written. We were an eager, attentive audience, and when he had finished he welcomed suggestions and we were free to say whatever we liked. Usually we were unanimously enthusiastic, especially over chapters of „Weir of Hermiston‟ [...] once, however, he read a story called „The Witch Woman‟ that none of us cared for very much. My mother said it showed the influence of a Swedish author Louis had been reading, and was not in his own clear, individual style. She made no comment when he sent it to his publisher, and nothing more was heard of „The Witch Woman‟. (Field, 1937: 294) These family-circle listeners and readers commented on literary influence, plot, clarity, and originality of style, and it is evident that they saw their role as being one of critical engagement with the text. „In the evening I read aloud Charlie‟s compositions, which show very good sense in their effort to arrive at 7 exactness of expression about common things‟, wrote George Eliot in October of 1861, for example (Harris and Johnston, 1998: 102). iii Listeners may also have a role in deciding whether or not controversial material should be sent into the public domain, as we see in this extract from Stevenson‟s stepdaughter‟s memoir: Louis announced that he had written something he wanted us to hear. When we had taken our seats round the centre table he stood before us with a manuscript in his hand [...] then in his deep voice vibrant with emotion, with heightened colour and blazing eyes he read aloud the „Father Damien Letter‟. iv Never in my life have I heard anything so dramatic, so magnificent. There was deep feeling in every sentence – scorn, indignation, biting irony, infinite pity – and invective that fairly scorched and sizzled. The tears were in his eyes when he finished. Throwing the manuscript on the table he turned to his wife. She who had never failed him, rose to his feet, and holding out both hands to him in a gesture of enthusiasm, cried: „Print it! Publish it!‟. (Field, 1937: 245) They may even be the means of bringing literary works into being: there are many of Tennyson‟s poems, for example, which would have been lost without his wife‟s work as an amanuensis (see Thwaite, 1996: 275). Although we read, analyse and evaluate the printed versions of Tennyson‟s poetry, we should remember that his was primarily an oral art. v It seems from the collected evidence that reading aloud and hearing works read aloud actively helped readers to judge style. In 1899, Joseph Conrad was advised by R.B. Cunninghame Graham to read Chaucer aloud in order to appreciate the style, although the attempt was unsuccessful: „Chaucer I have dipped into, reading aloud as you advised. I am afraid I am not English enough to appreciate fully the father of English literature. Moreover I am generally insensible to verse‟ (Karl et al, 1986, 2: 172). Anne Lister, as a note in her diary dated 15 May 1824, suggests, found reading aloud more helpful than Conrad: „From 7.40 to 9 1/2 reading aloud to myself from p.42 to 50 (very carefully) vol. I Rousseau's Confessions. I READ this work so attentively for the style's sake. Besides this is a singularly unique display of character‟ (Whitbread, 1992: 103; my italics). The evidence in diaries, letters, autobiographies and other first-hand accounts suggests that many published texts in this period had already been tested by having been read aloud before they even reached the publisher. Readers could (and did) expect that the books they bought or borrowed should conform to conventions that would allow them to be read aloud, and they valued clarity and simplicity of style highly. The expectation that works would and could be read aloud therefore forms part of the horizon of expectations of a nineteenth-century reader. 8 2 Morality and style: nineteenth-century perceptions It is worth remembering, too, the part played by expectations about morality in the period under consideration. While many readers were dismissive of suggestions that books could inculcate morality, or even that reading had anything to do with the morals, an older idea about the close connection between moral principles and reading still influenced many readers in the nineteenth century. In Practical Education, Maria and R.L. Edgeworth write: „Formerly it was wisely said, “Tell me what company a man keeps, and I will tell you what he is” but since literature has spread a new influence over the world, we must add, “Tell me what company a man has kept, and what books he has read, and I will tell you what he is”‟ (Edgeworth and Edgeworth, 1996: 2:183). This connection was still current as late as 1901-19, when Edwin Muir, working as a clerk in Glasgow, „demanded from literature a moral inspiration which would improve my character‟ (Muir, 1940: 114). The conduct literature of the eighteenth century had consistently linked aesthetic and moral taste, suggesting that the latter could be inferred from the former. The following passage from Hannah More‟s Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education (1799) is typical of the genre: I would make it the criterion of true taste, right principle, and genuine feeling, in a woman, whether she would be less touched with all the flattery of romantic and exaggerated panegyric, than with that beautiful picture of correct and elegant propriety, which Milton draws of our first mother, when he delineates Those thousand decencies which daily flow/ From all her words and actions. (More, 1799: 1:7) There existed, therefore, a close (if sometimes unconscious) association between literary style and morality, which pervades many of the responses of nineteenth-century readers to the works they encountered, to the extent that works in which the style was perceived to be good, while the moral tendency was considered to be bad, were considered to be particularly pernicious. Jane Austen‟s novels were considered, in the early nineteenth century, to be particularly salutary in combining „elegant language‟ with „pure morality‟ (Chapman, 1954: 431) vi , while Lord Chesterfield‟s Letters to his Son fell into the opposite category, condemned by Benjamin Newton in 1817 for combining a „gentlemanly style‟ with a „lax morality‟ that is „shocking to every serious thinking man‟ (Fendall and Crutchley, 1933: 53). Very frequently, readers comment on the „morality‟, „decency‟, „purity‟, or „goodness‟ (or lack thereof) they find in the printed matter they have been reading as if it were a necessary adjunct to the style. The 9 Austen family, for example, were revolted by Madame de Genlis‟s Alphonsine: „Alphonsine did not do. We were disgusted in twenty pages, as, independent of a bad translation, it has indelicacies which disgrace a pen hitherto so pure; and we changed it for the Female Quixotte, which now makes our evening amusement...‟ (Le Faye: 1995, 115-16). Nellie Weeton, writing in January 1813, comments on M.A. Hanway‟s Ellinor, or the World as it is, a novel in four volumes: „An entertaining production written in a light, easy style […] [The story] cannot have the slightest tendency to injure the morals of any reader, whether they have common sense or not…‟ (Hall, 1969: 2: 78). Thomas Egerton praised Austen‟s Mansfield Park „for it‟s [sic] Morality, & for being so equal a Composition‟ (Chapman, 1954: 431), while Lady Caroline Lamb commented on the „immorality‟ of Robertson‟s History of Scotland on the grounds that his portrayal of Mary, Queen of Scots made her appear too sympathetic (Douglass, 2006: 38). Of course, some readers considered art to be more important than morality, as Macaulay shows in his scribbled marginalia in King Lear, written some time between about 1815 and 1850: „Excellent! It is worth while to compare these moral speeches of Shakspeare [sic] with those which are so much admired in Euripides. The superiority of Shakspeare‟s [sic] observations is immense. But the dramatic art with which they are introduced, – always in the right place, – always from the right person, – is still more admirable‟ (Trevelyan, 1978: 2:415). For Macaulay, „dramatic art‟ is clearly „more admirable‟ than „moral speeches‟. Sarah Harriet Burney, on the other hand, felt style to be less important than the „corruption‟ she sensed when reading Madame de Stael: „Do you agree with me in thinking, that with all her brilliant varnish, she is corrupt at heart? Had Satan himself written “Pauline”, one of the stories published with “Zuma”, he could have produced nothing more offensive to decency, more detestably disgusting‟ (Clark, 1997: 176). Mary Shelley, similarly, thought „cleverness‟ no excuse for „immorality‟, writing to Charles Ollier on 16 December 1831 of William Johnson Neale‟s Cavendish; or, the Patrician at Sea (1831): „It is very clever – but the beginning is best – & it is immoral – why [wr]ite about certain things; it is bad enough that they are‟ (Bennett, 1983: 2:152). Strictures about immoral reading making immoral readers are obviously behind Elizabeth Barrett‟s comment to Mary Russell Mitford in a letter of 27 November 1842, in which she writes: „Leila [...] made me blush in my solitude to the ends of my fingers – blush three blushes in one – for Her who could be so shameless – for her sex, whose purity she so disgraced – & for myself in particular, who cd hold such a book for five minutes while a coal-fire burnt within reach of the other‟ (Kelley and Hudson, 1988: 6:179). It is clear that Barrett found the book both immoral and badly written, writing a month later to Mitford: 10 Because I would not, could not send you Leila a serpent book both for language-colour & soul-slime & one which I could not read through for its vileness myself, […] I sent this Jacques, which seemed to me to stink less in the phrase, altho‟ the bearing & countenance & general moral tone are identically bad [...] Indiana, less revolting as a whole leans alike & with the bent of the author's peculiar womanhood, to the sensual & physical – and yet that work does appear to me very brilliant & powerful, & eloquent beyond praising. (Kelley and Hudson, 1988: 6:233) Although Barrett claimed to “blush” for Leila‟s shamelessness, it seems here that her preoccupation is less with the immorality of George Sand‟s books than with the lack of literary merit in Leila and Jacques. Nonetheless, her insistent commentary on the morality of these literary works demonstrates her powerful sense that judging the morality of a work is an integral part of making judgements about its literary quality. Barrett‟s view of Sand was shared by others. Indeed, by 1867, praising the artistry of Sand while denigrating the immorality of the works had become a „commonplace criticism‟: To say the truth, much as I like reading them [French writers] & specially Balzac and Sand, & little as I am given to overstrictness in my tastes, I do believe that the commonplace criticism is correct. I do think they are as a rule prurient & indecent & that they treat love affairs a good deal too much from the point of view of the whore and the whoremonger. They are very clever and very artistic; but I don‟t think delicate either in the sense of art or morals. The books are put together with great skill to produce a given effect; but the effect is apt to border on the nasty & they are too anxious to keep everything in due harmony to give proper contrasts & variety of real life. (Bickness, 1996: 54) We see here a subconscious dislike of the French nation, as well as the disapproval of works that are „clever and artistic‟ but immoral, in Leslie Stephen‟s comments about Balzac and Sand. Passing the time by reading on board the HMS Pelorus moored off Jeddah in 1859, Albert Battiscombe, a lieutenant of the Royal Navy, went further still, considering „the generality of French novels‟ to demonstrate bad morality: Reading the Les filles des plâtre [sic] by M. Xavier de Montépin vii it is like the generality of French Novels, and does not give a very exalted notions of French morals; the more I read French books, the more I am struck at the immense difference there is between the two nations that are only seperated [sic] by a narrow channel, twenty miles across; Customs manners & morals are entirely different; there is no nation in the world so much in love with domestic happiness & domestic comfort as the English, and none less so, than the French; that which affords great pleasure to our neighbours, excites only disgust in an Englishman; this I gather not only from the Books I read, but also from what I saw myself during my stay in France, and the older I get, the more thankful I am that I was not born a Frenchman. (Battiscombe, 1857-59:138) 11 Battiscombe‟s chauvinism is probably more extreme than that of many, but there is no doubt that, despite appreciation of its „artistry‟, French fiction was regarded with suspicion by numerous nineteenth-century British readers on the grounds of its supposed licentiousness. When Caroline Clive wrote to Mary Mitford to ask for recommendations for a book club she had just started with some neighbours in 1848, she felt the need to stress that any French novel recommended must be „moderately moral‟, but only asked that an English book be „very amusing‟ (L‟Estrange, 1882: 2:93- 94). The disapproval of „naughty French novels‟ already had a long history by the middle of the nineteenth century, and any nineteenth-century reader who dabbled in reading them knew that some justification for their taste was conventionally expected, even if he or she did not feel it was actually needed. The insistent stress on the morality of books can be traced to a fear about the ways in which readers might be judged by their choice of reading matter. As late as 1931, Virginia Woolf could conclude in her diary, after commenting on Scott‟s Ivanhoe and Hugh Walpole‟s Judith Paris, that her own judgements, though couched as opinions about style, come down to a „question of morality‟, adding, „we are all moralists; with a temporary standard‟ (Bell, 1977- 84: 4:41). Despite the various literary movements of the nineteenth century that attempted to separate art from morals, readers seem to have continued to judge works on the basis of their morality throughout the nineteenth century, because of a deep-rooted belief that style and morality could not be separated, and that literary and moral taste could not be divorced. The furores over the publication of Joyce‟s Ulysses in the 1920s, of Nabokov‟s Lolita in the 1950s and the Chatterley trial of 1960 suggest that such views remained current well into the twentieth century. When considering responses to literature that discuss style in the nineteenth century, therefore, it is as well to remember that comments about style are often actually comments about morality and vice versa. „Taste‟ of all kinds is culturally relative and culturally determined; nineteenth-century writers and readers expected both to judge and to be judged in moral terms, and their commentary on the morality of the works they read seems entirely natural in this context. Emotional responses to literature and the ‘affective fallacy’ On 16 August 1922, Virginia Woolf wrote of James Joyce‟s Ulysses, which had come out in novel form that year: 12 I have read 200 pages so far – not a third; & have been amused, stimulated, charmed interested by the first 2 or 3 chapters – to the end of the Cemetery scene; & then puzzled, bored, irritated, & disillusioned as by a queasy undergraduate scratching his pimples [...] An illiterate, underbred book it seems to me: the book of a self-taught working man, & we all know how distressing they are, how egotistic, insistent, raw, striking, & ultimately nauseating [...] I may revise this later. I do not compromise my critical sagacity. I plant a stick in the ground to mark page 200. (Bell, 1977-84: 2:188-89) By 6 September, on finishing the book, she had not revised her opinion: I finished Ulysses, & think it a mis-fire. Genius it has I think; but of the inferior water. The book is diffuse. It is brackish. It is pretentious. It is underbred, not only in the obvious sense, but in the literary sense [...] I‟m reminded all the time of some callow board school boy [...] full of wits & powers, but so self-conscious & egotistical that he loses his head, becomes extravagant, mannered, uproarious, ill at ease, makes kindly people feel sorry for him, & stern ones merely annoyed; & one hopes he'll grow out of it; but as Joyce is 40 this scarcely seems likely. I have not read it carefully; & only once; & it is very obscure; so no doubt I have scamped the virtue of it more than is fair. (Bell, 1977-84, 2: 199-200) Noticeably, in both these extracts, Woolf‟s commentary focuses insistently on the book‟s effect on her (she is „stimulated, charmed interested‟, then „puzzled bored, irritated, & disillusioned‟; the work makes her nauseated and queasy, it „reminds‟ her of working men and callow schoolboys, which leads to further emotional responses: pity and irritation). Her response is couched in terms of physical revulsion, and it is what the book makes her feel that matters to her here, rather than how that effect is created. Faced with the novelty of Joyce‟s technique, Woolf, usually an elegant and accurate critic of style, cannot describe the work and falls back on the vocabulary of affective response. It is as if Woolf has been overcome by her snobbish dislike of the „underbred‟ book to the extent that „critical sagacity‟ seems no longer relevant to her. Though Woolf herself was far from a „common reader‟, in this case her reaction is not that of the highbrow literary critic, but of the middlebrow reader. viii On 30 August 1922, The Nation published a review of Ulysses by Gilbert Seldes that focused on the book‟s stylistic innovations, identifying it as a burlesque of The Odyssey and praising the fact that the style („a travesty of the whole of English prose‟) so closely matched what Seldes saw to be its subject matter (the defeat of „ecstasy and lyric beauty‟ by „the reality of experience‟). Seldes discussed the form of the novel, as well as its „method‟, describing and analysing Joyce‟s „stream of consciousness‟ narration (Seldes, 1922: 211-212). He commented on the different types of parody throughout the book before turning to a close textual analysis of the play scene, described as „a masterpiece‟, and concluded: 13 This epic of defeat, in which there is not a scamped page nor a moment of weakness, in which whole chapters are monuments to the power and glory of the written word, is, in itself a victory of the creative intelligence over the chaos of created things and a triumph of devotion, to my mind one of the most significant and beautiful of our time. (Seldes, 1922: 212) On 7 September, Leonard Woolf showed his wife Seldes‟ review, which changed her opinion of the book: „L. put into my hands a very intelligent review of Ulysses, in the American Nation, which, for the first time, analyses the meaning, & certainly makes it much more impressive than I judged.‟ (Bell, 1977-84, 2:200) Virginia Woolf, it seems, needed the prompting of a reviewer to re-focus her attention on the meaning of the work (by which it seems to me she means the style, as the burden of Seldes review is that style and meaning are so interconnected as to be inseparable) rather than on the effects it had on her. Virginia Woolf‟s emotional and physical reactions are not unique; it is very common to find such responses to literature, in diaries, letters and other sources, and they are not confined to works as insistently physical as Ulysses. The majority of nineteenth-century readers record emotional as well as intellectual responses to texts. Readers record being „moved‟ by literature in a vast number of different ways: weeping, laughing, shaking in terror, recoiling in disgust, falling asleep with boredom, and hurling books across the room in anger are only a tiny sample of the kinds of reactions recorded. Frequently, readers record an ardent sense of friendship, either with fictional characters, or with the author, as in this letter of 1830, from Catharine Sedgwick to Mary Russell Mitford: My dear Miss Mitford, I cannot employ the formal address of a stranger towards one who has inspired the vivid feeling of intimate acquaintance, a deep and affectionate interest in her occupations and happiness. You cannot be ignorant that your books are re-printed and widely circulated on this side of the Atlantic[…] your name has penetrated beyond our maritime cities, and is familiar and loved through many a village circle and to the borders of the lonely depths of unpierced woods – that we eagerly gather the intimations of your character and history that we fancy are dispersed through your productions – that we venerate „Mrs. Mosse‟, are lovers of „Sweet Cousin Mary‟ and have wept and almost worn mourning for dear bright little „Lizzie‟, that, in short, such is your power over the imagination that your pictures have wrought on our affections like realities. (L‟Estrange, 1882: 1: 216) It seems that nineteenth- and early twentieth-century readers prized the sorts of works that provoked these kinds of intense emotional responses – although almost completely forgotten today, Mitford‟s Our Village, to which Sedgwick‟s letter refers, had been an immediate success, going into a second 14 edition almost immediately, selling well on both sides of the Atlantic, and spawning four further volumes of Village stories. Although emotional responses tend to be dismissed by literary critics, thanks to the overwhelming influence of the „affective fallacy‟ argument (Wimsatt and Beardsley, 1954), the historian of reading must acknowledge such reactions, and the past importance attached to them, as an integral part of the history of reading. They may even, if we look carefully enough, tell us something previously suppressed or ignored about the text itself, and suggest why some works fade out of memory while others remain popular with successive generations of readers and critics. Conclusion As we can see from the evidence presented above, real readers do not necessarily respond to texts like „hypothetical‟, „implied‟, or „ideal‟ readers. They are not Bakhtinian „superaddressees‟, whose perfect sympathetic understanding of the texts in hand can be taken for granted (Bakhtin, 1986), or Barthesian „writers‟ of texts. They do not seem to form consistent „imagined communities‟, the members of which envisage others reading as they do and bind themselves into nationhood through their reading (see Anderson, 1983), although the shared dislike of the French in the examples above suggests that the concerns of nationhood may play a substantial part in reading experiences (c.f. Absillis in this issue). The readers considered in this paper do share some features with „interpretive communities‟ (Fish, 1980) – including shared reading practices that may now seem alien to a twenty-first century readership; shared ideas about style and morality; and a shared prejudice about French literature – but this theoretical construction does not take account of the variety and messiness of actual reading practices, which defy attempts to theorise and define them. I hope, however, that these examples have demonstrated the extent to which both reception histories and studies of the formal and stylistic qualities of literary works might benefit from taking account of the ways in which actual historical readers respond to texts. Acknowledgements The author would like to thank Daniel Allington and the anonymous reviewers of Language and Literature for their helpful suggestions on reading earlier drafts of this essay. Thanks are also due to Rosalind Crone, Shafquat Towheed, Simon Eliot, Bob Owens, the contributors to the Reading Experience Database 1450-1945, and its funding body, the Arts and Humanities Research Council. i Barthes‟ argument also distinguishes between the „text‟ (an enduring literary work of quality, which demands that its readers should engage actively with it in reading it, to the extent that it is constantly actively „written‟ and „re-written‟ by its successive readers, thus gaining new life with each reading) and the „work‟ (which needs only a passive readerly engagement, thus never gaining new life). A „work‟ could therefore be said only to exist in the very brief time-span of a 15 single reading, whereas a „text‟ is constantly renewing itself in a fruitful engagement with other „texts‟ in the mind of its reader(s). In this essay I do not use Barthes‟ rather specialised meaning of „text‟ and „work‟, using the two terms interchangeably, and differentiating only between „text/work‟ (work of literary art that can exist in many different forms) and material book (single physical artefact). ii First-hand evidence of reading must, in itself, be subject to interpretation, since readers, in recording their reading, may have a variety of motivations, and the reliability of their testimony may be variable. For a full discussion of the issues involved in the interpretation of recorded reading experiences, see Halsey (2007); Allington (2007) looks at the interpretative problems raised by readers‟ and viewers‟ representations of their own „inner‟ and „outer‟ responses to texts. iii „Charlie‟ is Charles Lewes, son of Eliot‟s common-law husband, G.H. Lewes. iv Robert Louis Stevenson, „Father Damien, an Open Letter to the Reverend Dr Hyde of Honolulu‟ (Sydney, 1890). v I am grateful to the anonymous reviewer of Language and Literature who alerted me to Emily‟s role in producing Tennyson‟s poetry. vi This is not the place for a history of the novel; it must suffice to note that the poor reputation of the genre in Austen‟s period is also relevant in considering readers‟ expectations. vii Xavier de Montépin was taken to court over the supposed indecency of Les filles de plâtre (1855). He was fined 500 francs, and sentenced to three months‟ imprisonment. viii The most relevant studies of middlebrow readers and culture are Radway (1984 and 1997), Rubin (1992) and Long (2003). See also Fuller (2008). References Allington, D. (2007) „“How come most people don‟t see it?”: slashing The Lord of the Rings‟, Social Semiotics 17: 43-62. Allington, D. and Swann, J. 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(2003) Book Clubs: Women and the Uses of Reading in Everyday Life. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. More, H. (1799) Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education, 2 vols. London: T. Cadell and W.Davies. Pearson, J. (1999) Women’s Reading in Britain, 1750-1835: A Dangerous Recreation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Radway, J. (1984) Reading the romance: women, patriarchy, and popular literature. Chapel Hill: University of California Press. Radway, J. (1997) A feeling for books: the Book-of-the-Month Club, literary taste, and middle-class desire. Chapel Hill: University of California Press. Rubin, Joan Shelley (1992) The making of middlebrow culture. Chapel Hill: University of California Press. 18 Seldes, G. (1922) „Review of James Joyce, Ulysses‟, The Nation 115 (2982): 211-12. St Clair, W. (2006) The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Spufford, M. (1996) „Literacy, trade and religion in the commercial centres of Europe‟ in K. Davids and J. Lucassen (eds), A Miracle Mirrored: the Dutch republic in European perspective, pp.229-283. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Swann, J., Deumert, A., Lillis, T. and Mesthrie, R. (2004) A Dictionary of Sociolinguistics. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Thwaite, A. (1996) Emily Tennyson: the poet’s wife. London: Faber. Vincent, D. (2000) The Rise of Mass Literacy: Reading and Writing in Modern Europe. Cambridge: Polity. Whitbread, H., ed. (1992) No Priest But Love: excerpts from the journals of Anne Lister from 1824- 1826. Otley: Smith Settle. Wimsatt, W.K. and Beardsley, M. (1954) The Verbal Icon: Studies in the Meaning of Poetry Lexington: University of Kentucky Press. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Kurtz_Wimsatt,_Jr. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monroe_Beardsley 
work_rxphzwcy7rbxtmcmsmhtjowsmy	----	The Very Idea of Epistemology Economics and Philosophy, 5, 1989, 1-6. Printed in the United States of America. LETTER TO THE EDITORS THE VERY IDEA OF EPISTEMOLOGY A Comment on Standards DONALD MCCLOSKEY University of Iowa In a recent issue of Economics and Philosophy, you reflected on the referee reports so far (Hausman and McPherson, 1987). It's an interesting piece. You note that ill temper and misunderstanding occur not between econ- omists and philosophers, as one might have anticipated, but between different schools inside economics or philosophy. You note that the numerous cases of good temper and good understanding from the ref- erees exhibit "McCloskey-ish" scholarly standards, "partly tacit and much more flexible" than the received Methodology. You manage to conclude nonetheless that "the exercise of informed judgment, guided by broad and evolving principles of assessment" still rests on "implicit or explicit epistemological principles" (emphasis added). In short, the McCloskey-ish view of what happens and what should happen in sci- ence is accurate and even nice, but still must somehow, ultimately, in the end, in the last analysis, "rest" on epistemology. You asked in the editorial for comments. I'm glad to oblige. At the beginning, though, let me offer some thanks and one complaint. Thanks for the attempt to coin an adjective from my name. The pity is that it doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. Hmm. McCloskeyite? No. Mc- Closkeyish? Gak. Well, never mind. My one complaint is that your scripting of the McCloskeyean po- sition highlights the antipositivism in the first few chapters of The Rhetoric of Economics (McCloskey, 1985). Let me draw your attention to the other seven chapters, the literary analysis of economic texts. It's the main point of the book, yet no student of philosophy has gotten beyond © 1989 Cambridge University Press 0266-2671/89 $5.00 + .00 1 terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 https://www.cambridge.org/core 2 DONALD MCCLOSKEY Chapter 3. The droning debate in Western culture about Methodology and Epistemology is 2,500 years old, after all, and still hasn't arrived at a conclusion. My early chapters, beating the dead horse of positivism, are conventionally methodological (even if they attack methodology), which must explain why methodologists feel comfortable in them. But frankly I think they are a little tedious. Really, how many times must we go over Milton's Article? He himself didn't take it all that seriously, judging from his practice. By contrast, literary criticism, Talmudic com- mentary, Biblical exegesis, close reading, and rhetoric have illuminated every text of our civilization from Moses and Homer down to Jane Austen and the commercials for Miller Lite. So far no one has seen that eco- nomics is a text, too. As Chapters 4 through 10 show, when we use math or metaphors we are talking. Gosh. Now that's interesting. But I won't look a gift horse in the mouth: I'm glad we agree that "modernist ritual," as you put it, "narrowly rule-bound," is dead; and that after all, "there just isn't much choice in this interdisciplinary setting but to think hard about the arguments before you." I suppose that's what good scholars have always done. People of sense - this lets out the Publication Manual of the American Psychological Association, for example (see Bazerman in Nelson [1987]) - do not spend a lot of time worrying about whether a work has proper Scientific Methodology. You and I agree, then, that we should tell economists that being narrowly rule- bound is out of fashion, and when it was in fashion, it was juvenile. We both want economists to stop mugging each other with positivistic and other Methodological clubs. We agree, too, that there does exist a "middle ground" between day-to-day, small-m method (for instance: Use statistical significance when the problem is a sampling problem) and glorious, humanity-mak- ing sprachethik (for instance: Do not sneer at arguments merely because the person making them is a friend of Milton Friedman's). The middle ground is called Methodology. Your editorial seems to claim that McCloskey does not believe in its existence. I want to make clear that I do. My own experience as an editor, like yours, suggests that "standards for judging papers . . . seem to derive in important measure from theories of knowledge . . . that carry normative implications" (emphasis added). Methodology exists all right. The question is whether it should. You do not argue the point, but leave the impression that you think Methodology in economics and its big brother Epistemology in philosophy are desirable. I merely note that you are being inconsistent. Your own experience as editors suggests the opposite normative conclusion: Methodology and Epistemology spoil conversations; let's get rid of them. Consider your point that the ill-temper and misunderstanding occur inside fields, not between different fields. We all have this experience. If a classicist invites me - an ignoramus on things Horatian - to think terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 https://www.cambridge.org/core LETTER TO THE EDITORS 3 such and such about Horace's use of structure in his first three books of odes, I have no trouble being flexible in mind and open in spirit. But when she asks me to think such and such about the Roman economy and ventures an economic thought of her own, I start closing up, since I am supposed to be an expert on things economic: "What's this non- sense, anyway? My Lord, if that's so I'm out of job." If you have nothing in your brain or pocketbook about Horace you are, as we say, "open- minded." It is interference with established modes of thought, not a new thought on an entirely different subject, that generates academic static. The closer the broadcasting bands, the greater is the interference. Now what's the problem here? Are these "established modes of thought" equivalent to the modest, desirable small-m method, the rules of getting regressions right and making demand curves slope down? As you argue, no. On small-m matters no one gets very excited. A paper violating some small-m rule of method is easily fixed: "[I]t is usually possible for the author of an otherwise worthy paper to spruce up his or her argument suitably." On the other hand, do the established modes of thought make peo- ple so cross because they disagree about some lofty matter of sprachethik, some high-level point about the morality of scholarship? No again, al- though we economists and philosophers really should pay more atten- tion in our writings and in our teachings to the morality of scholarly dispute. It is not only classical scholarship in the age of Bentley that is disfigured by the extraordinary spectacle of men of learning and genius, of au- thority and divinity, brawling about Greek and Latin texts, and calling each other names for all the world like bookies on a race- course or washerwomen in a back street. For this vehemence of temper and virulence of language were . . . unhappily characteristic of the profession as a whole. (Woolf, 1925, p. 198) What then causes malicious misunderstanding among scholars - the Bad Referee reports? The cause is not lowly method or lofty sprachethik. It is middle-brow Methodology. Like nations and religions, the schools in economics and in philosophy maintain their solidarity and their def- initions of barbarians by means of Methodological talk: for example, such-and-such is "serious Scientific work," that is, the way we Hellenes talk; the rest is bar-bar-bar. What is objectionable about such sneering is not that it gives us standards, worked out in good conversation within the field. Having standards is obviously good, as I argue in detail in Chapters 8 and 9. No one believes that anything goes in argument. What is objectionable about such sneering, on the contrary, is that it imports unexamined standards from the outside with no respect for sprachethik within eco- nomics or philosophy. An American philosopher who starts discussing terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 https://www.cambridge.org/core 4 DONALD MCCLOSKEY Heidegger or Habermas seriously will be sneered at (an eminent Amer- ican philosopher told me recently without shame that he had never read any Hegel and furthermore didn't intend to). "That Continental stuff is just not serious work." An Austrian economist who uses econometrics or a Marxist who uses continuous production functions or a Minnesota rational expecter who uses macro arguments without micro foundations will simply by ostracized from his tribe. "It's not serious work." These are Methodological convictions. They are not the modest, concrete rules of method ("a f-statistic assumes the error is like a drawing from an urn") or the grand, moral rules of sprachethik ("really, you should stop sneering ignorantly at Hegelians or post-Keynesians and try reading what they have to say, on the plausible assumption that they, like you, are serious and honest scholars"). The Methodological convictions are something in between, neither rules of art nor rules of morality. They cause only mischief. We agree, of course, that any conversation that is not going to ramble pointlessly must adhere to temporary agreements about what is relevant. A seriously considered limitation of the argument is always a good idea. Narrowness is not always a bad idea. (Economists at this stage will trot out an argument from speciali- zation: "Don't you believe in the division of labor?", they will say when, for example, one queries some autistic speciality hostile to every intel- lectual value in economics except those imported unexamined from the department of mathematics. "Shouldn't I be allowed to specialize in ar- guments from micro foundations of overlapping generation models whose central reasoning is copied out from a handbook of electrical engineering and be allowed to sneer at everything else?" What the econ- omists forget when they use such an argument is that specialization is good only when accompanied by subsequent exchange. Exchange requires looking into what other people have produced and buying some of it. Otherwise we in our specializations are just piling up soybeans and microfoundations in the backyard.) The problem comes when the narrow, temporary agreement is graven in stone, and elevated to a Methodological Commandment. It will be sweet work for psychologists, say, to talk long and hard about Observable Behavior, temporarily setting aside arguments from intro- spection. But if they make the methodological rule permanent, throwing introspection into a nonscientific outer darkness forever and ever on merely Epistemological grounds, they fall into absurdities. Two behav- iorist psychologists make love. One says to other, "You enjoyed that. Did I?" What I wonder about is the claim, asserted repeatedly in philosophy since Plato, but never examined directly, that some temporary and prac- tical narrowing of the conversation should be made permanent because it satisfies an Epistemology forever true. I, therefore, cannot make out terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 https://www.cambridge.org/core LETTER TO THE EDITORS 5 what you are arguing when you say that scholarly "standards . . . are [not] a mere ratification of whatever practices turn out to be effectively persuasive." I cannot see why you view "effective persuasion" as "mere," to be spurned. It seems good enough to me. It had better be good enough, since it's all we've got. Effective persuasion would of course be spurnable if there were something better. But I reckon there isn't. Justified true belief is an admirable ideal. If people are not made to justify their assertions and do not believe them, the conversation will, of course, be a poor one (as is the very conversation of epistemology, on precisely these grounds). But there is no route aside from human persuasion to know whether the third part of the definition applies: True. Epistemology has not yet solved its self-imposed problem - its only problem - of getting outside human conversations to decide what to believe on grounds other than what is persuasive to humans. The mischief arises from the very idea of epistemology, the idea that there is an intellectual free lunch out there waiting to be seized that will allow us to decide whether such-and-such is true for all time. I repeat that I'd rather quietly drop the whole matter and get back to economic history or rhetorical analysis. The insistence that every issue is philo- sophical is one of the rare excesses of philosophers, parallel to the econ- omists's sin of economism. It amounts to insisting that we should never get off the subjects proposed by Plato (just as economism insists that we should never get off the subjects proposed by Adam Smith). That Plato emphatically wished to change the subject away from rhetoric has long been a disability in trying to reintroduce rhetoric. But I'm saying that his subject comes from arbitrary definition, not from something we should respect. The crux is that nothing can provide the "knowledge" defined by epistemology. This "knowledge," as distinct from the effective persua- sions by which we run our lives, is "whatever it is that is in the mind of God" or "what we will know at the end of history" or "what we will never, ever come to disbelieve." It is hopelessly nonoperational. The project of demarcating the world once and for all into what is Knowledge and what is Mere Superstition seems likely on past form to lead to absurdities, such as the demarcation into earth, air, fire, and water. The categories have present use, mainly the use of letting our less secure philosophers batter certain people for being uselessly Nonscientific (for instance, Vergil, Jesus, Dante, Darwin, Marx, Freud). But it is just as well to bear in mind that the categories have only present use. As Borges put it, "obviously there is no classification of the universe that is not arbitrary and conjectural. The reason is very simple: we do not know what the universe is" (p. 104). God does. We don't. Niels Bohr said once that physics was not about the universe, but about what we as human beings can say about the universe. Better stick to saying useful things terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 https://www.cambridge.org/core 6 DONALD MCCLOSKEY about our sublunary life, about how we can effectively persuade each other for here and now. Rhetoric is man's project; Epistemology is God's. I think that the early experience of Hausman and McPherson as editors argues for a richer, rhetorical theory of how people argue than the one provided by Epistemology of the usual sort. The recent excep- tions in philosophy I can think of are philosophers thinking in rhetorical terms, such as Keith Lehrer and Carl Wagner's Rational Consensus in Science and Society (c. 1981) or Douglas Walton's Arguer's Position: A Prag- matic Study of Ad Hominem Attack, Criticism, Refutation, and Fallacy (1985). The workaday principles of assessment in moral or scientific matters constitute a "rhetoric of inquiry," for which see Nelson et al. By saying they "constitute" a rhetoric, I mean merely that a rhetorical and literary approach will probably reveal more about a field, seeing it more clearly and understanding its workings better than the philosophical approach hitherto popular and embodied in the title of this journal. But the older and philosophical approach does not, therefore, have zero marginal product. It, too, contains arguments, which in some rhet- orics may effectively persuade. Philosophy is embedded in rhetoric. And to apply the rhetoric, it's hard to see how the usual talk about Episte- mology persuades. REFERENCES Borges, Jorge Luis. 1952 (1964). "The Analytical Language of John Wilkes." In Other Inquisitions. New York: Simon & Schuster. Hausman, Daniel M., and McPherson, Michael S. 1987. "Standards." Economics and Phi- losophy 4:1-7. Lehrer, Keith, and Wagner, Carl, c.1981. Rational Consensus in Scienceand Society. Dordrecht, Holland: Reidel. McCloskey, Donald N. 1985. The Rhetoric of Economics. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Nelson, John, Megill, Allan, and McCloskey, D. N.(editors). 1987. The Rhetoric of the Human Sciences. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Walton, Douglas N. 1985. Arguer's Position: A Pragmatic Study of Ad Hominem Attack, Criticism, Refutation, and Fallacy. Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press. Woolf, Virginia. 1925 (1953). The Common Reader. First Series. New York and London: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:10, subject to the Cambridge Core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266267100002224 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_s2gjmma4e5cwdeopnsgufex3zm	----	Anthony Trollope's Libraries | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 31, Issue 1 June 1976 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| June 01 1976 Anthony Trollope's Libraries Richard H. Grossman ; Richard H. Grossman Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Andrew Wright Andrew Wright Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1976) 31 (1): 48–64. https://doi.org/10.2307/2933306 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Richard H. Grossman, Andrew Wright; Anthony Trollope's Libraries. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 June 1976; 31 (1): 48–64. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2933306 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1976 Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Anthony Trollope's Libraries' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Anthony Trollope's Libraries Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_s7fgyycvwrfnplf6oyqju377ne	----	JBR_57_4_Pre-1800_Book Reviews 840..878 than England did. Lesger, by contrast, argues that features of an urban renaissance were visible in Amsterdam as early as the late sixteenth century. Armstrong examines plans for the purely notional Carolina colony of Azilia (it was never built) to reveal that while English entrepre- neurs modified their urban ideals in response to the needs and conditions of colonial life (espe- cially defense against native populations), they often had little practical experience of the challenges that colonial settlements faced. If The English Urban Renaissance Revisited has a weakness, it is a lack of the topical and meth- odological coherence needed to make these individual studies truly comparative with one another. It is at times difficult to tell whether the differing impressions of urban change con- veyed in each essay result from historical or material realities or from the individual terms and documentary sources a particular scholar chooses to use. But the editors’ and contributors’ commitment to expanding and updating the range of historiographic and methodological assumptions and influences that informed Borsay’s concept of the urban renaissance nearly thirty years ago makes this diversity of approaches preferable to an enforced conformity. Each essay is methodologically consistent within itself, and many offer illuminating compara- tive work, as in Green’s “The Big House in the English Provincial Town,” where the political underpinnings and social motivations for “out-of-scale” (116) houses in Newcastle, Oundle, and Durham are carefully juxtaposed. Another strength of Green’s essay, which is characteristic of the volume throughout, is a circumspect handling of the term “classicism,” which, as Green notes, is anachronistic when applied to Georgian architecture. The seventeenth- and eigh- teenth-century term was “regular,” and viewers were as likely to link the style to contemporary Italy as they were to ancient Greece or Rome. Thus, if The English Urban Renaissance Revisited does not reassess the value of Borsay’s thesis with a definitive conclusion, it does challenge and reapply the terms of that thesis in a collection that is engaging in its range and impressive in its scholarly discipline. Anne M. Myers University of Missouri myersanne@missouri.edu SHEILA JOHNSON KINDRED. Jane Austen’s Transatlantic Sister: The Life and Letters of Fanny Palmer Austen. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2017. Pp. 312. $34.95 (cloth). doi: 10.1017/jbr.2018.132 Sheila Johnson Kindred’s Jane Austen’s Transatlantic Sister: The Life and Letters of Fanny Palmer Austen reveals that being able to connect your work to Jane Austen is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, Fanny Palmer Austen’s interesting story would probably never had been told if it was not for her connection to her famous sister-in-law. However, on the other hand, while her story should stimulate further scholarship on the role of naval wives, and while it does deepen our understanding of Jane Austen’s sources, Kindred struggles to tell the whole story of either. This work is a lovely picture of a life and it struggles to make a larger scholarly intervention for just that reason. Kindred brings to life the story of Francis Palmer Austen, a native of Bermuda who married Jane Austen’s favorite brother, naval captain Charles Austen. Kindred traces Fanny Austen’s life chronologically through eight chapters, from her birth in Bermuda through her death in 1814, with a final chapter covering her possible influence on Jane Austen. Kindred uses these chap- ters to flesh out the character of Fanny Austen and to give life to the world she inhabited. The reader feels Kindred’s deep affection for Fanny and those connected to her, which animates the larger stories that roll along underneath: naval life and the world of the Austens. 860 ▪ Book Reviews at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2018.132 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available mailto:myersanne@missouri.edu https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2018.132 https://www.cambridge.org/core Kindred uses many sources to reconstruct Fanny Austen’s world. She uses baptismal records, newspapers, portraits, and naval records, but she holds a special place for Fanny Austen’s letters, twelve of which survive and are reproduced within the book. I can understand the urge to include the whole text of the letters. They do help connect the reader to Fanny Austen herself and her voice is heard loud and clear. However, the approach does interfere with the analysis of the letters and the flow of the book. Kindred elaborates on issues spoken of in the letters and this can feel repetitive. Plucking out the key points and integrating quotes might have been more effective. However, the focus on letters is telling and insightful since these were the tools that Fanny Austen had to hold her world together and they provide a view into the mobile world of those tied to the sea, especially that of naval wives. One of the great successes of this book is to remind us of the unique position of naval wives. As Kindred shows, Fanny Austen was more mobile, but also more isolated than many of her landlubber contemporaries. Kindred outlines the close ties between different naval officers and their families, links that would be stretched and strained as the Admiralty moved these men and often their families around the vast reaches of the empire. Unlike her family on shore, Fanny Austen would often be separated from her husband and lacked a geographically stable social network. People and homes shifted and the closest she had to a permanent home of her own was the captain’s quarters of ship. This different reality isolated her from other women and challenged her ability to live up to the domestic expectations placed on women. However, as Kindred suggests, it might also have caused her to subtly challenge some of those expectations, an attitude that may have influenced the construction of some of Jane Austen’s naval wives, such as Mrs. Croft, who argued that women were “rational creatures” rather than “fine ladies.” This book challenges scholars to look more carefully at naval wives, a necessary and exciting intervention. However, the story of one life cannot thoroughly explore the lives of all naval wives. Not only might Fanny Austen be exceptional, but there is much we do not know of her life, and the book is understandable peppered with “might haves.” Thus, while the work calls attention to the need for more scholarship on naval wives, it is not the definitive statement on it, nor is it meant to be. Kindred also uses her study to examine how much of an influence Fanny Austen might have had on Jane Austen’s fiction. After reading Kindred’s work it is hard to deny this possibility. Fanny’s story and her letters would make anyone who has read Persuasion sit up and listen. While Kindred cannot definitively connect Fanny Austen’s conversations with Jane Austen to the latter’s works, it is obvious that Jane Austen, with two naval brothers and two naval sisters-in-law, lived in a world familiar with the navy and its unusual lifestyle. Focusing on Fanny reminds readers that her female naval connections were as important as her male. Kindred adds a chapter at the end of the book exploring exactly how Fanny’s traits and life might have influenced specific characters. The desire to do this is understandable, but attempt- ing to directly attach specifics about Fanny’s life to specific characteristics feels unnecessary and unfruitful. The preceding text does enough to convince readers of Fanny Austen’s influence without trying to nail it down specifically, especially since rarely are characters direct replicas of known personages. Kindred’s book is a nice addition to scholarship on the lives of naval wives and will, one hopes, prompt further studies of the place and role of these women. It also adds another strand into the tapestry of influences upon Jane Austen. While the book may not transform the scholarship on either subject, it does help to augment our understanding of both, and for that Kindred should be commended. Lindsay O’Neill University of Southern California ljoneill@usc.edu Book Reviews ▪ 861 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2018.132 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:15, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available mailto:ljoneill@usc.edu https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2018.132 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_s7rgc5itrjgwdola7skz5cxvwe	----	Obituary British Heartjoumal, I970, 32, 122. Hugh Barber Hugh Barber, who died recently at the age of 92, had been a distinguished physician at Derby for sixty years. He was a student at Guy's in the last years of the nineteenth cen- tury when Henry Howse, who had journeyed to Edinburgh in I870 to study Lister's anti- septic methods and introduced them to Guy's, was a senior surgeon. Barber was born at Sheffield in I877, the son of Christopher Barber, a stockbroker, and came of a Quaker family with long medical traditions. After schooling at York, and Owens College, Manchester, he came to Guy's and, like many others, loved it all his life. Here he did well and after the usual house appointments was chosen as Medical Regis- trar for I903-06, days when there were only two of them. Then, as he wanted to get married, he decided to join Dr. George Price in family practice at Derby. Probably he felt sure that Arthur Hurst would be the next physician on the staff, and he was appointed the next year. Hurst had been his pupil and often emphasized what a fine teacher Barber had been as registrar. Barber played cricket and football for Guy's and the United Hospitals. He had already captained Yorkshire's second eleven and twice played for their first eleven. Two years after going to Derby, he became physician to the Derbyshire Royal Infirmary. In 1914 -i8 he served as pathologist to the 39th General Hospital, B.E.F. in France. After the war his consulting work increased consider- ably and he took the membership of the Royal College of Physicians in I926 and was made a Fellow in 1933, only the second to practise in Derby. He became a member of the Association of Physicians in 1929, then an un- usual distinction for a physician of a non- teaching hospital. He founded the East Mid- lands Society of Physicians in 1943, the first of many similar regional societies. Having won the Derbyshire golf championship in 19I3, he still played for the county when he was 60. His wife died thirty years before him and one daughter, a distinguished bacteriologist at Hammersmith, was killed in a motor acci- dent. But two daughters survive him and nothing gave him greater happiness than tak- ing his grandchildren up Scafell Pikes and Great Gable. Barber's most important work was as a physician because, in addition to his extensive knowledge of medicine and commonsense, he had wide understanding of and deep sympa- thy with most men and women. His work on renal rickets or renal osteodystrophy and on traumatic injury to the heart, especially 'A fatal case of myocardial contusion' and 'Electro- cardiographic changes due to trauma' (British Heartjournal, I941, 3, 127; I942,4,83), were additional distinctions. It was partly for this paper that he was elected to the British Cardiac Society. M.C. writes 'Here I grew to like him and admire him and we had many talks at their meetings during the next fifteen years. He gave me his 1959 book The Rewards of Medi- cine and Other Essays, many of which had appeared in the Guy's Hospital Gazette. It is an excellent bedside book for any doctor. There are interesting chapters on Erasmus Darwin, who had practised at Derby more than a century before him and suggested a theory of evolution long before his grandson o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://h e a rt.b m j.co m / B r H e a rt J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /h rt.3 2 .1 .1 2 2 o n 1 Ja n u a ry 1 9 7 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://heart.bmj.com/ Obituary 123 Charles Darwin persuaded the world with The Origin of Species; and on the sort of medical history he would like to have been taught as a student. Others were on the medi- cal wisdom of Jane Austen, on Smollett, and why every doctor should read The Expedition of Humphrey Clinker, and on the act of dying, a subject not discussed as often as it should be. In The Value of Fiction in Medical Education he suggests there should be an examination for doctors or perhaps debates on several questions including: Have the young ladies described by Jane Austen and the modem girl much in common? Would the maiden lady in Cranford who rolled a ball under the bed to exclude a hidden burglar have been less courageous than ourselves in air raids ? His earlier book The Occasion Fleeting shows how a physician trained in observational medicine felt, thought, and spoke in the first half of the twentieth century.' M.L. writes: 'Medical Derby was shaped by Hugh Barber, and there was never one so warmly regarded and deeply respected as he. 'Physicians of my vintage came to know him when he was already in his eighties, but, because of his lively kindness and interest, the years fell away from the legend, and he became our good friend and wise contempor- ary. He illuminated our meetings, refreshed us with his clinical sense, and enthralled us with his personal memories of William Osler and W. G. Grace. 'The summer meeting of the Cardiac Society, with the sight of his old friends, was his particular pleasure. When tragedy be- reaved him, we held our breath and feared the outcome, until we saw the quality that was courage holding him together. 'A little longer, and on his ninetieth birth- day, we all sat around him in friendship, with Charles Baker to make the link with Guy's and complete his happiness. Hugh Barber was not a sentimental man, and would not have us be so, but his was a special simple greatness that we shall remember.' MAURICE CAMPBELL MICHAEL LEVEAUX o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://h e a rt.b m j.co m / B r H e a rt J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /h rt.3 2 .1 .1 2 2 o n 1 Ja n u a ry 1 9 7 0 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://heart.bmj.com/ 
work_s3ofvt733vdfllyn4ivmfg7sba	----	44.4flint. Kate Flint 873SEL 44, 4 (Autumn 2004): 873–945 873 ISSN 0039-3657 Recent Studies in the Nineteenth Century KATE FLINT In his unforgettably entitled memoir, Walter Benjamin at the Dairy Queen, novelist, essayist, and bookseller Larry McMurtry writes of how, when an undergraduate, he was “never especially interested in literature courses. Where literature was concerned I preferred from the first to go my own way, roving around on the great open range.”1 Encountering a year’s worth of books in nine- teenth-century studies creates a similar sense of boundless, yet illusory plenitude and freedom, especially when the grazing is as rich as it was in 2003. But as McMurtry knows well, even the largest ranges have fences, and as I tried to corral this year’s books into some semblance of order, I was again and again made aware of the organizational properties of artificially erected bound- aries. In the first place, there is the need for a review article to construct its own narrative, make its own links. This is easy enough when there are, say, a handful of books that cluster around a single author (although monographs focusing on just one writer were not conspicuously in evidence this year), or when several works deal with similar topics, whether it be colonial re- lations or the politics of language or publishing history. But what has stood out for me this year is the number of studies that are groundbreaking in their singularity of subject matter, and where the most obvious common ground is their commitment to interdisciplinarity. And, as Maria H. Frawley puts it in her intro- duction to Invalidism and Identity in Nineteenth-Century Britain, first quoting Toby Gefland: “‘Historical boundaries, problems of societies, do not respect disciplinary boundaries’ . . . it makes as Kate Flint is a professor in the department of English at Rutgers Univer- sity. She is the author of many distinguished publications. Among them are The Victorians and the Visual Imagination (2000); The Woman Reader, 1837– 1914 (1993); and Dickens (1985). Angelia Fell new muse 874 Recent Studies much sense to stress that disciplinary problems do not respect historical boundaries” (p. 9). This encapsulates a double issue. First, “the nineteenth century”—unless elastically, if necessarily stretched into the catch-all term “the long nineteenth century”— is itself an unsatisfactory label with which to lasso Romanticism or Modernism, let alone the trajectories taken by philosophy, medical history, or theories of criminality. Second, many of the best of this year’s books, while literature features centrally within them, can, one hopes, be read as avidly by historians of econom- ics or labor or technology (to single out one broad, interlinked field that has produced some important work) as by literary schol- ars. I The high point of this year’s roundup, for me, was encoun- tering as many hybrid books as I did, in which nonliterary dis- courses were treated with a sharp ear for tone and nuance—not taken either as shadowy “background” or as self-evidently au- thoritative, but entering into a mutually illuminating dialogue with imaginative writing. Yet for all the innovation that may be found in interdisciplinary work this year, one of the most impor- tant books—one that will surely make a major difference to how we read—is an ambitious study that revisits a very familiar area of literary studies: characterization. Alex Woloch’s The One vs. the Many: Minor Characters and the Space of the Protagonist in the Novel is in some respects conceived in a traditional comparativist mode. Framed by the Iliad and Aristotle at one end, and Sophocles at the other, Woloch advances his argument through an ostensibly highly selective library of texts: primarily Pride and Prejudice, Great Expectations, and Le Père Goriot, ex- tending outward to Emma, a handful of further Charles Dickens novels, and La Comédie Humaine as a whole. But his intellectual scope, as he tackles what has long been “the bête noire of narratology” (p. 14)—the literary character—is vast. His approach is a formalist one: not concerned with psychoanalytic readings, even in their most muted model of patterns of readerly identifica- tion, he nonetheless is insistent that we pay careful attention to how “narratives themselves allow us to construct a story—a dis- tributed pattern of attention—that is at odds with, or divergent from, the formed pattern of attention in the discourse” (p. 41). The gains of this mode of critical reading can be seen when we consider so-called “minor” characters, looking both at their spe- Kate Flint 875 cific descriptions (and Woloch is well aware that these can be very schematized—indeed, he is not afraid of resurrecting the Forsterian concept of the “flat” character), and at how they are “inflected into a complex narrative system” (p. 125). On occasion I could have wished Woloch less prolix, but he is never dull, and his method of reading, his insistence that we pay close attention to “character-space,” has without doubt impacted on how I have subsequently read fiction. Another example of a turn to innovative close reading, al- though one which this time moves across apparently discrete disciplines in order to collapse their boundaries, is Amy M. King’s Bloom: The Botanical Vernacular in the English Novel. Flowers bloom; so do young girls—or, as King puts it with more precision, “Bloom is a lexicon that combines sex, social position, bodily facts, and affective life into one word, a word that leads us back to Linnaeus and the social-sexual fluidity of his taxonomic system” (p. 5). By bringing together human courtships and botanical sys- tems, King persuasively demonstrates how writers were able to imbue fiction with sexuality, while still remaining perfectly deco- rous. From Emma Woodhouse to Isabel Archer, the very fact of entering a garden suddenly becomes erotically charged—as does contact with mosses, ferns, hybrid plants, or (Hetty) sorrel. George Eliot’s landscapes, indeed (as one might well expect from a novel- ist so closely interested in the natural sciences) are filled not just with significant vegetation, but with the problems inherent in “the epistemologies of natural history” (p. 182): species that dis- rupt secure categorization. The end point of King’s argument is, naturally, James Joyce’s Molly, “where the suddenly liberated, and wildly proliferated, signifier of ‘bloom’ opens up what had only been an implicit prior content” (p. 222). This is a study that not only illuminates how courtship narratives can be replete with sexual reference and yet still “respectable,” but also perfectly dem- onstrates how the tracing of the implications of just one highly charged word brings out the inseparability of scientific and liter- ary cultures. Moving from the natural to the mechanical, one sees a sig- nificant increase of interest in the topics of technology, inven- tion, and industry, and their relation to nineteenth-century literary culture. Clare Pettitt’s Patent Inventions: Intellectual Property and the Victorian Novel breaks new ground in the way in which it moves among literary, manufacturing, and legal issues. It offers an extremely illuminating study of the development of ideas con- cerning invention and intellectual property in the nineteenth cen- 876 Recent Studies tury, and their implications for theories of the literary market- place, authorship and readership, and individualism. Writing with a strong grasp of diverse historical contexts, Pettitt shows how the topic of invention (and related questions of production and ownership) continually surfaces in imaginative fiction, both as a theme in its own right and as a vehicle for the discussion of the inspiration and labor that goes into the making of literary texts. In both cases, the issue of ownership, once the item produced circulates in the marketplace, was pressing: both writer and in- ventor were faced with the problem of how far it might ever be possible to own a creative act. She examines issues concerning originality and utility, twin poles in a debate about authorship that developed around Romantic theories of individuality and Utilitarian concerns of public usefulness; considers how labor was conceptualized in a modern democracy; looks at the Great Exhibition in relation to growing anxieties about copying and mass reproduction; engages with ideas about publicity and propriety (and with issues of gender difference in this respect); and shows the interweaving—an interweaving well recognized by Dickens, for one—of patent reform and literary copyright issues. Brilliantly, when discussing the later decades of the century, Pettitt shows how debates about electricity—not an invention as such—did not center around the ownership of its power, but of its applications, and relates this to the similar shift in the debate over literary property, with originality coming to be seen to subsist in style, rather than in matter. While her literary focus is largely on fic- tion, Pettitt’s study importantly breaks down disciplinary barri- ers in showing us how debates about innovation and creativity linked manufacturing and aesthetic spheres in the nineteenth century: another important demonstration of how asking inter- disciplinary questions can open up our field. Pettitt’s study sits very interestingly alongside Joseph Bizup’s, Manufacturing Culture: Vindications of Early Victorian Industry, one of several excellent volumes to appear this year in the Uni- versity of Virginia Press’s consistently strong Victorian Literature and Culture series. Bizup links the industrial and the aesthetic, or humanistic, not through imaginative writing in the form of fiction, but by his examination of the language that was used by early Victorian advocates of industry themselves. This language “crystallized in the second quarter of the nineteenth century around the specific and defining goals of aestheticizing automatic manufacture, on the one hand, and reconciling its processes with the productive and receptive capacities of the body, on the other” Kate Flint 877 (p. 14). Thus he looks at the humanizing terms through which the mechanical could be made acceptable, something especially problematic in the context of other accounts that sought to em- phasize the damage machines could cause the human body; he considers those who, like Charles Babbage, saw abstract intel- lectual beauty in the machine; explores the aesthetic response to actual manufactured goods, and turns to the Great Exhibition of 1851 as a discursive site in which all these strands come to- gether. I found his fourth chapter, which identifies the figure of the “savage” as a rhetorical link between the discourse on the factory system and the discourse on design, of particular inter- est, since it opens up a number of issues about the place of “sav- agery” in mid-Victorian theories of “civilization” and “progress”: issues that lie at the heart of attempts to understand the type of society that industrialism was producing. Our understanding of the context of the Great Exhibition, incidentally, is enhanced by Elizabeth Bonython and Anthony Burton’s The Great Exhibitor: The Life and Work of Henry Cole. Following the trail of the relationship between the aesthetic and society leads one to David Wayne Thomas’s Cultivating Victo- rians: Liberal Culture and the Aesthetic. This is an ambitious book, despite its introductory caveat that it is but “a preliminary recon- sideration of liberal agency, understood as a crucial feature of modern aesthetic culture” (p. ix). Thomas aligns himself with those who resist the reduction of aesthetics to ideology—as would, one hopes, all the writers of the most alert and interesting of the studies discussed here. More problematic for him is how to affirm the integrity and importance of aesthetic experience, reliant as it is on self-reflecting individuality, without also supporting, or ap- pearing to support, much more pernicious and blinkered social tendencies: ones associated with an atomistic, as opposed to an aware and discriminating, individualism. Thomas traces this important ethical and philosophical question through three ma- jor Victorian writers on aesthetic matters: John Ruskin, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and Oscar Wilde. In this company, a chapter devoted to the Victorian public and the case of the Tichborne Claimant seems somewhat surprising, but Thomas explains its presence by demonstrating how the public debate around the Claimant (an imposter who laid claim to a noble inheritance) mobilized debates about subjective agency and objective authen- ticity that lay at the heart of the concerns surrounding emerging tendencies in liberal culture. What happens, in other words, when one projects subjectivity onto objects, and how much autonomy 878 Recent Studies can, or should, one have in making such projections? Thomas makes some large claims for the implications of his work, and it is not always an easy read: moreover, as he himself says, the reader might best view his chapters as “semiautonomous essays in their respective contexts, efforts to understand the salience, and assess the various effects, of modern critical self-conscious- ness in specific historical frames” (p. 48). Overall, Cultivating Vic- torians operates less as an argument than as a stimulus to reflection about the place of, and opportunity for, individual agency in Victorian culture, and its relationship to that liberal ideal which Thomas identifies and terms “many-sidedness” (he offers an as- tute analysis of the Rev. Mr. Farebrother, in Middlemarch, in ex- plaining the resonances, and desirability, of this quality). On a related theme, but a more coherent read, is Lauren M. E. Goodlad’s Victorian Literature and the Victorian State: Charac- ter and Governance in a Liberal Society. In the opening pages, Goodlad describes herself (as so many of the authors discussed in this piece could do) as “a scholar engaged in cross-disciplinary Victorian studies, trailing, as it were, on the long coattails of the new historicism” (p. vii). Like Thomas, she eschews the narrow definition of liberalism, as signifying bourgeois economic ideolo- gies, in favor of the more slippery ways in which the Victorians customarily understood the term. Her particular concern is to explore how liberalism situated itself in relation both to negative liberty (setting itself up against state interference) and to positive liberty, emphasizing the importance of self-betterment, of char- acter building, and social betterment through collective enter- prise. Goodlad’s writing is informed by Michel Foucault, but for her, his later essays on governmentality, pastorship, and liberal- ism are in fact much more useful to the Victorianist than earlier (and to date far more influential) work on discipline, since they “help to elucidate the century-long paradox of securing pastoral care for the building of character in a nation of allegedly self- reliant individuals and communities” (p. xiv). The core of Goodlad’s book examines specific works of Victorian fiction as they engaged with those idiosyncratic forces that went into the expansion and modernization of the British nation state: above all, she consid- ers the middle-class engagement with the social world that we find in Dickens, Frances and Anthony Trollope, George Gissing, and H. G. Wells. But her range of reference moves far beyond fiction to engage with the work and writing of philanthropists, sanitary and administrative reformists, and self-styled pastors, as she illuminatingly shows how the fictions mobilize and appeal Kate Flint 879 to Victorian ideas about social relations, responsibility, individu- alism, self-improvement, charity, and embourgeoisement. One favorite subject of philanthropic intervention is addressed in Lynn M. Alexander’s thorough and knowledgeable Women, Work, and Representation: Needlewomen in Victorian Art and Lit- erature. The image of the Victorian seamstress has long been acknowledged as an icon of woman’s economic exploitation, an icon made the more poignant and affecting to contemporaries by the fact that sewing was an activity that, whether executed for money or not, crossed classes. Alexander’s achievement is to go beyond the stereotype of the stereotype, as it were, and explore the ways in which the image of the seamstress changed across the decades: first focused on her suffering, then becoming a sym- bol for the working poor, and then—as a result of increasing fa- miliarity—turned into a sentimental figure, playing on Victorian viewers’ and readers’ sense of the pathetic. Alexander reads vi- sual materials—whether paintings, illustrations of fiction, or Punch cartoons—with the same care that she analyzes both familiar and less well-known authors of fiction (Elizabeth Gaskell and Charlotte Tonna, Julia Kavanagh and Anne Marsh), and is con- vincing in her demonstration of the degree to which both novel- ists and artists increasingly assumed a knowledge of social issues among the consumers of their works. These needlewomen would not, of course, have a market if it were not for an economy that was increasingly based on the de- sires of the individual consumer, a topic addressed by Gordon Bigelow in Fiction, Famine, and the Rise of Economics in Victorian Britain and Ireland, a clearly argued, if somewhat leaden work which brings the industrial novels of Dickens and Gaskell into dialogue with contemporary theories of political economy. He shows that despite their protests against “a mechanic and rigidly progressive theory of capitalism,” the grounds of their humani- tarian critique “helped to solidify the central assumptions of mod- ern, neoclassical economics: the unique integrity of the subject and the authenticity of its behavior in the market” (p. 182). This, in itself, is unlikely to cause surprise: the value of Bigelow’s book lies primarily in his demonstration of his thesis through a me- ticulous examination of the language of economic theorists. Work is also at the center of Morag Shiach’s fine Modernism, Labour, and Selfhood in British Literature and Culture, 1890–1930: yet another book whose impact refuses our traditional period boundaries (except to the extent that Modernism, like Romanti- cism, makes a mockery of dividing up periods according to cen- 880 Recent Studies turies). Opening with a discussion of philosophical explorations of modern labor and selfhood (from John Locke and Adam Smith through to Friedrich Nietzsche, Olive Schreiner, and Sigmund Freud), Shiach moves on to consider how “our understanding of labor is inflected by technology”—through representations and utilizations of the typewriter and the washing machine (includ- ing its offspin, “dirty laundry”)—before giving two more excellent chapters, this time focused on the career of Sylvia Pankhurst and the degree to which she was able to think of her creative output as “work,” and the place of labor in D. H. Lawrence’s imagi- native writings. The General Strike and its place in the imagining of human labor in the early decades of the twentieth century is the topic of the final chapter. As Shiach hopes, these readings, with their discussion of the pleasures and pressures of work; the distinctions and similarities between intellectual, creative, and manual labor; the impact of work, particularly mechanized work, on our sense of temporality; and the questions of autonomy ver- sus collectivism which are necessarily always at stake, indeed “help us to understand more of our own conflicted and yet in- tense relations to the activity and the significance of human labour” (p. 14). Over the last year, two books have appeared that concentrate on the work performed by particular senses, John Picker’s Victo- rian Soundscapes and Janice Carlisle’s Common Scents: Compara- tive Encounters in High-Victorian Fiction. Picker’s study of Victorian interest in the “subjective nature of sensation” means that he does not attempt to reconstruct a singular Victorian soundscape, but rather chooses to write “an analysis of the experiences of particular individuals listening under special cultural influences and with discernable motivations . . . for hearing as they did” (p. 14). He chooses certain discrete social and literary instances: the street noises which threatened to drown out domesticity (most famously impacting on the aurally sensitive Thomas Carlyle, who constructed a sound-proofed study); the ways in which George Eliot incorporated Hermann von Helmholtz’s studies in the physi- ology of hearing into the strained silences and stifled speech of Daniel Deronda; and the literary and cultural repercussions in Britain of the invention of the phonograph. Perhaps less suc- cessful is the way he stretches his argument from the material, physical effects of sound waves to the implications of the ca- cophony of the Victorian world on an author’s (often, but not always, much more metaphorical) voice. To some extent this book suffers from being a pioneering work on an important topic: its Kate Flint 881 stretch is wide, and its final impression is more one of an assem- blage of independently fascinating essays than of a developed argument, though it does remind one—like the books I have al- ready discussed—of the multifaceted impact of technology on Victorian lives. Janice Carlisle, too, concentrates upon the cultural values enacted through and by the senses, particularly the sense of smell, and shows that these were often regarded as “second nature,” taken for granted. Yet after reading Common Scents, it becomes impossible to take the smells that often waft into the pages of Victorian novels for granted in any way whatsoever. Concentrat- ing on the 1860s, Carlisle produces a pharmacopoeia of examples which do not just illustrate the importance of our making con- nections between developing physiological and psychological theo- ries of perception and bodily reception, and literary representation, but which also show how associations with certain smells, dur- ing this period, were inseparable from class distinctions. What the nose registers was used to make quick discriminations when two individuals meet on the page, or when a person passes into an unfamiliar environment. This observation goes far beyond noting how, say, the heroine of Rhoda Broughton’s Cometh Up as a Flower objects to the “mixed flavour of pigs and of that objec- tionable herb called southernwood” when she goes charity visit- ing (quoted p. 29), since Carlisle shows that envy, as well as recoil, may be stimulated by the operations of the middle-class male olfactory organs. She ties in Victorian male melancholia to “an unacknowledged loss of direct physical contact with the product of artisanal labor” (p. 20), an interesting—and convincing—take on this undoubted fictional phenomenon. Both Carlisle’s and Picker’s books are important for their interest in how the senses register modernity, and for the broader social implications of the ways in which the outside world penetrates the bodily senso- rium, whether the ear accommodates, or is jarred by, the impact of technology and of commerce; whether the nose smells the prox- imity of the poor or the odor that belongs to the habits of an- other—and often threateningly socially ascendant—class. In Wilkie Collins’s The Woman in White, the tetchy self-styled invalid, Mr. Fairlie, constantly guards against his body being troubled by the outside world, asking that Walter Hartright go “‘[g]ently with the curtains, please—the slightest noise from them goes through me like a knife.’” Hartright, made of stouter stuff, comments, not without mild sarcasm, as he handles a portfolio which has come from a sale, that “my nerves were not delicate 882 Recent Studies enough to detect the odour of plebeian fingers which had offended Mr Fairlie’s nostrils” (chap. 6). The role and representation of the invalid is the topic of Frawley’s enjoyable and thoughtful Invalid- ism and Identity in Nineteenth-Century Britain, another study that should be commended for its confident and illuminating travers- ing of disciplinary boundaries. While connections between medi- cine and literature have been one of the areas in which important interdisciplinary work has taken place for some time, Frawley approaches her topic from the point of view of the patient, rather than of medical authorities. Indeed, as she puts it, “Signifying not simply a medical condition or exclusively a social role, inva- lidism might more profitably be thought of as cultural mentality” (p. 3). To elucidate the implications of this, Frawley examines fiction and poetry, hymnals and prayer books, travel accounts and tracts, and what emerges very strongly is that whereas the long-suffering near-hypochondriac, such as Mr. Fairlie, might have formed one recognizable type, invalidism—often long-drawn out—brought its own particular rewards with it. For invalids, like so many in Victorian society, were preoccupied by the idea of being useful, of turning their suffering to positive ends, or of uti- lizing the possibilities that it brought them. This might, of course, mean offering religious consolation to others, but it might also entail writing of their travels, or of their own explorations of sub- jective experience, or of the nature of privacy. Frawley quotes Robert Louis Stevenson as just one “among many invalids to claim that extended illness revealed ‘the real knot of our identity, that central metropolis of self, of which alone we are immediately aware’” (p. 61): invalid narratives, as she demonstrates, offer in- sight not just into the impact of medicalization on a patient, but on Victorian practices of understanding and constructing identity and interiority. Her wide-ranging examples are not just fascinating in their own right for the light that they throw on a figure typi- cally erased from, or obscured by, history, but also for the ways in which they enable her to show how central issues in Victorian culture may be traced, and indeed better understood, through sources that at first sight might look marginal and unpromising. One area in which Victorian medical and psychological writ- ings have frequently been appealed to is in understanding the composition, and above all the consumption, of sensation fic- tion. Caroline Levine greatly adds to our comprehension of this genre’s workings—and indeed, of the plotting of Victorian fiction in general—in The Serious Pleasures of Suspense: Victorian Real- ism and Narrative Doubt. This is a book that makes one rethink Kate Flint 883 the place of “suspending—hesitating, deferring knowledge, ‘hang- ing fire’” (p. 162) within Victorian novels, from Jane Eyre through to Dorian Gray—indeed, not the least of its achievements is the new understanding it gives of the pleasures offered by certain canonical texts. If “suspense” has often been thought of as a struc- tural device, particularly adapted to the needs of serial fiction, Levine shows that it has much more far reaching epistemological repercussions, arguing that Victorian writers and readers “un- derstood suspenseful narrative as a stimulus to active specula- tion” (p. 2), and, as such, its structure was closely related to the ways in which scientific experimentation relied on the active po- tential in hypotheses, speculation, and imagining a future. Be- yond this, Levine very effectively demonstrates how this mode of reading ties in completely with how Victorians regarded that vexed topic, “realism.” Moving forward from the emergence of realism as a skeptical, experimental method in Ruskin’s writing, through George Eliot’s understanding of it as “a failed attempt to replicate the world’s truths” (p. 16), to the ways in which to “James, Pater, and Wilde, realist narrative appeared remarkable, in retrospect, for a naive ingenuousness, an uncritical struggle for transpar- ency” (p. 199), Levine’s elegant and persuasive study gives full weight to the artifices involved in “realist” narrative representa- tion, and to the evolving recognition and exploitation of these artifices by Victorian novelists. A further work that encourages us to look at the relationship of plotting and the self-conscious use of narrative effects to en- gage and startle readers is Peter K. Garrett’s Gothic Reflections: Narrative Force in Nineteenth-Century Fiction. Like his Victorian Multiplot Novel, this concerns itself with how readers grapple with complex texts; how they arrive at their own lines of sense-be- stowing narrative reason. Garrett takes what we might call some classic Gothic texts—first “The Turn of the Screw,” then back to Horace Walpole, Matthew Lewis, Ann Radcliffe, and Edgar Allan Poe, among others—before examining the monstrous trio, Fran- kenstein, Jekyll and Hyde, and Dracula. In conclusion, in what is to me the strongest section, Garrett looks at Gothic elements in Dickens, George Eliot, and Henry James, drawing particular at- tention to “their self-conscious use of plots driven by the force of destiny” (p. 141). If some of the cornerstones of his argument will cause little surprise or dissent—such as his comment that it is “part of the nature of Gothic to play with terror, though not to master it” (p. 44)—it is good to have Gothic narrative strategies traced in this way across the nineteenth century as a whole. 884 Recent Studies II From studies that offer new insights through their methodol- ogy, whether through their encouragement of certain styles of analysis or the juxtaposing of ostensibly different disciplinary areas, I shall now pass to works that are more conventionally thematic in their approaches. The areas of bodily and family re- lations, whether healthy or malfunctioning, have been prominent in feminist studies this year. Julie Kipp’s Romanticism, Mater- nity, and the Body Politic deals with maternity both literally and figuratively: with the politicizing of maternal bodies and the maternalizing of political bodies; with the authoring of mothers and the mothering of texts. She examines the revolution in theo- ries of mothering that took place during this period, and then explores many of the problems inherent in the concept of mater- nal sympathy, something which not only frequently rendered women sacrificial victims, but which also too frequently mutated in literature into pathological obsession. Kipp offers sophisticated and nuanced readings of Gothic mothers and their frequently monstrous sympathies, of the figure of the Irish wet nurse (through Maria Edgeworth’s Ennui), and of maternal sympathy in relation to The Cenci, in a densely argued demonstration of quite how socially and culturally constructed the concept of motherhood is in this period. Kipp includes a further chapter on infanticide, in which she concentrates on The Heart of Midlothian, arguing that child murder and mother love not only go hand in hand, but that “both become representative of the kind of dangerous sympa- thies Scotland fosters in her loving ‘children’” (p. 18). Infanticide also forms the topic of a wide-ranging collection edited by Jennifer Thorn, Writing British Infanticide: Child-Mur- der, Gender, and Print, 1722–1859, and of Josephine McDonagh’s Child Murder and British Culture, 1720–1900. This emphasis must be seen as part of a wider turn in gender studies to examine the uncomfortable phenomenon of the violent woman, who reaches her popular apotheosis in the “unnatural” figure of the murder- ing mother, and also of the ongoing determination in feminist literary scholarship to disrupt the tracks—so well-worn as to have left deep wheel ruts—of the domestic angel and her demonic coun- terpart. Although not drawing on literary texts, Martin J. Wiener’s Men of Blood: Violence, Manliness, and Criminal Justice in Victo- rian England also came my way, and is also a part of this ongoing debate concerning the relations of gender and violence, and the emotional (and hence sociopolitical) potency of the topic, then and now. Kate Flint 885 McDonagh’s volume draws on a large number of different genres in order to examine the idea of child murder in British culture in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. While one would expect her to look at certain central literary texts, such as Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal, William Wordsworth’s “The Thorn,” George Eliot’s Adam Bede, Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s “Runaway Slave,” and Thomas Hardy’s Jude the Obscure, these are set in a far wider context of court records, newspaper reports, fairy tales, anthropology, and Marcus’s sinister, neo-Malthusian “Book of Murder.” For her interest is not so much in specific in- stances, whether factual or literary, as in the ways in which the very idea of child murder circulated within society. Different types of murder (and she instances violent deaths, deaths from ne- glect, sacrificial and vengeful deaths, murders committed out of desperation, sympathetic and redemptive deaths, and the par- ticular controversies raised by real or imagined Irish infanticide) have the potential to open up all kinds of other issues, from the conditions of the poor and the best ways of ameliorating them, to ideas about insanity, gender difference, parenting, “savagery,” nationalism, and progress. Necessarily, exploring changing ideas about the nature and value of childhood occupies a central part of McDonagh’s work. What impresses most of all (quite apart from the delight of witnessing her deft deployment of all kinds of fasci- nating circumstantial details), is the way in which she demon- strates that “child murder carries out its effects not only within a designated moment, but also over time,” arguing that “one of its most significant characteristics is that it acts as a bearer of mean- ings from previous contexts, and functions as a mechanism of historical memory” (p. 11). This is an important study not just because of its careful tracing of the many ramifications of this emotive (and emotively deployed) theme over two centuries, but also because it offers an exemplary account of how we might go about studying the complex phenomenon of cultural transmission. Familial relations of a very different kind form the subject matter of Angelique Richardson’s Love and Eugenics in the Late Nineteenth Century: Rational Reproduction and the New Woman, which considers the ideas concerning human selective breeding that were in circulation at the end of the nineteenth century. Developed by Charles Darwin’s cousin Francis Galton in the 1860s, and drawing on theories of evolution, eugenics looked to provide solutions both for the problems of the urban poor and for the challenge of maintaining national supremacy. Richardson shows how these theories had particular resonance for a number 886 Recent Studies of intellectually and politically concerned women in the period, who firmly believed that “the women of Britain could best serve the race, the country, and their own interests through the ratio- nal selection of a reproductive partner” (p. 215). This was the view that time and again comes across in the fiction of some of the best known New Woman authors, particularly Sarah Grand and George Egerton (although, as she shows, resistance to eu- genics is an important aspect of Mona Caird’s work). Richardson’s achievement is to get us to recognize this fact and its implica- tions, as well as the part played by their writings in the late- century debates between the hereditarians and the environmentalists. This is a bravely revisionist reading, which will give considerable pause for thought to all those who have enthusiastically embraced and celebrated the progressive, protofeminist aspects of the New Woman movement. One under- stands freshly that the resistance to romance which can be found in so many of the New Woman novelists and polemicists is less a defiant call for woman’s autonomy and self-determination than a demand for rational reproduction. Richardson exposes not just the class biases, but in some cases the antihumanitarianism of these writers. Legislation over the lives of others, albeit nonhuman ones, forms a part of David Perkins’s Romanticism and Animal Rights, a work which, building on the ground well established by Keith Thomas and (for a slightly later period) Harriet Ritvo, considers interspecies activities such as hunting, pet keeping, working with animals, badger baiting and cockfights, and eating animals. His is an altogether more literary emphasis than that of his prede- cessors, moving between John Clare and Charles Lamb’s “Dis- sertation upon Roast Pig”; William Blake’s “Lamb,” and other lesser-known pieces, such as John Aikin and Letitia Barbauld’s “The Council of Quadrupeds,” viewing the colonizing process from the point of view of the wild animals. In their different ways, very many of these works contributed to sentiments that worked to form a growing body of political and polemical opposition to the abusive exploitation of animals. Whether the period saw much improvement in the actual lot of animals is far more open to ques- tion, but Perkins persuasively analyzes a number of examples which illustrate how literary attitudes certainly shifted—even if, on occasion, the ultimate object of sympathy involved was the human condition, with sympathy toward another sentient crea- ture simply a vehicle. Ritvo, incidentally, has an excellent essay on “Ordering Creation, or Maybe Not” in a rich volume edited by Kate Flint 887 Helen Small and Trudi Tate, Literature, Science, Psychoanalysis, 1830–1970: Essays in Honour of Gillian Beer, a scholar who has done so much, of course, to further the importance of interdisci- plinary study, especially between literature and science, while consistently and quietly emphasizing the crucial importance of our staying attuned to the imaginative possibilities that literary writing—and that the literary aspects of scientific writing—af- ford. The nineteenth century is well represented in this volume with essays by Nigel Leask (on Alexander von Humboldt and Dar- win), George Levine (on Darwin and sexual selection), Helen Small, who writes on the concept of risk in Henry Buckle and Hardy, and Sally Shuttleworth (“The Psychology of Childhood in Victo- rian Literature and Medicine”) as well as by Ritvo’s contribution. The natural world is also the subject of Eric G. Wilson’s The Spiritual History of Ice: Romanticism, Science, and the Imagina- tion, which examines the fascination with this life-endowed, creak- ing, shifting, alluring form at the turn of the nineteenth century. He opens by noting the recent rise in glacial studies, and in part attributes these to the same sorts of preoccupations that were around two centuries ago: “potential connections between millennial disquiet and polar meditation suggest that ice, in its striking, extreme forms—deathly bergs and crushing floes, cre- vasses and calving glaciers—shares the same paradoxes as West- ern visions of apocalypse” (p. 2). Wilson discusses a number of examples, some familiar (the Shelleys on Mont Blanc and the Mer de Glace, the Ancient Mariner) and many less so, as he con- siders ice crystals, glaciers, and the poles, integrating the writ- ings of scientists, geologists, and travelers with imaginative works in order to bring out (to use the terms in which he writes of the Antarctic) “ice as void or plenitude, annihilator of meaning and generator of significance” (p. 163). He stops short of the continu- ing Victorian interest in these topics, at the hands of Ruskin, John Tyndall, and others: Ruskin, certainly, with his melancholy apprehension about the significance of shrinking glaciers, would have provided an example of a concerned environmentalist help- ing to set up those connections between contemporary and Ro- mantic ecological issues with which Wilson frames his study. Returning to gender-based criticism, several books have looked at particular aspects of Victorian queer writing and soci- ety. Frederick S. Roden, in Same-Sex Desire in Victorian Religious Culture, considers sites where Christian—specifically Catholic— religion intersected with homoeroticism. He throws light both on the emergence of queer identities during the period and on the 888 Recent Studies role of religion—particularly its capacity to provide an empower- ing spiritual voice. Building on David Hilliard’s classic article of 1982 on the Victorian connections between gay men and Anglo- Catholicism (which provided a potent combination of the devo- tional and the aesthetic), Roden extends his investigation to encompass women (Christina Rossetti, “Michael Field”), as well as Gerard Manley Hopkins, Wilde, John Gray, and a number of less familiar names. His emphasis is less on physical affection (many of his subjects, were, indeed, celibate) than on erotic en- ergy, whether expressed as love, sublimated into friendship, or embraced as the driving force behind literary creation—as well as being directed toward divine worship. His points are well illus- trated through close reading, though his overall argument is marked by a rather heavy-handed Foucauldian style. Victorian homoerotic energy is also at the center of James Najarian’s attentively argued Victorian Keats: Manliness, Sexual- ity, and Desire, in which he shows how while on the one hand, John Keats was frequently condemned throughout the nineteenth century for his sensuousness and “effeminacy,” these were pre- cisely the qualities of his verse that such writers as Hopkins, John Addington Symonds, and Walter Pater were to find particu- larly attractive and enabling in their constructions of—Najarian uses the term in relation to Pater—“an erotically inclusive aes- thetics” (p. 159). Matt Cook’s London and the Culture of Homo- sexuality, 1885–1914 is a more wide-reaching and altogether more intellectually suggestive work of cultural history, looking both at the anxieties that were voiced about male-male relationships af- ter the passing of the Labouchère amendment and at the emer- gence of what might be termed a gay-rights movement during this time. His concern, in other words, is for the most part with desires that were far from sublimated: Cook maps a gay London whose occupants frequented certain bathhouses and bars, clubs, and bachelor chambers, and relished encoded references—so that, for example, Lord Henry’s peregrinations in the early parts of The Picture of Dorian Gray take him, for those in the know, to places that would have particular resonances for those familiar with London’s homoerotic haunts. Yet at the same time, this was a society living under the shadow of prosecutions and blackmail, leading to—as Cook phrases it—“parallel feelings of alienation and belonging” (p. 145): feelings which he very ably identifies in a number of the works that he discusses. The “cultural politics of embodiment”—as Paul Youngquist terms it in Monstrosities: Bodies and British Romanticism (p. xxxi) Kate Flint 889 has come in for a good deal of post-Foucauldian study, and there is nothing particularly surprising in Youngquist’s conclusion that bodies are culturally shaped for social ends, wherever they are represented. But his is a spirited account, well (sometimes grue- somely) illustrated; drawing on comparative anatomy and freak shows, and on authors who range from John Locke to Mary Shelley, Blake to Olaudah Equiano. What does it mean to pos- sess beauty? To engage in “bad habits”? And how do monstrous bodies unsettle social norms, and why are they so fascinating? Youngquist’s grasp of different discourses, as well as the confi- dence with which he investigates them, makes his answers to these questions enjoyable to read. John Gordon’s Physiology and the Literary Imagination—stretching from the Wordsworths through Dickens, Hopkins, T. S. Eliot, James Joyce, Dylan Tho- mas, and Sylvia Plath—is ambitious in its reach, as it investi- gates what each of these authors had picked up from popular medical and pseudomedical science, and how these assumptions about the inner workings of bodies feed into their subjects and metaphors: it is an accumulation of examples, rather than an argument, but frequently compelling (whether dealing with Wordsworth’s actual likely knowledge of bleeding with leeches, or the epidemic of blushing in Dombey and Son) in its details. Mary Wilson Carpenter’s fascinating Imperial Bibles, Domes- tic Bodies: Women, Sexuality, and Religion takes a far less well- worn route into exploring how Victorians came to hold certain opinions about bodily functions and relations, whether mastur- bation, menstruation, circumcision, or same-sex liaisons. Her study is another interesting example of a generic hybrid. In part, it is book history, looking at the many Family Bibles which ap- peared during this period, often with notes, commentaries, illus- trations, and interpretive apparatus which give a real insight into how people read or were intended to read (or to jump over certain passages) in the scriptures. She shows the importance for social and literary history of paying attention to commercial religious publications, which have often been passed over in favor of more “serious” theology. “The commercial British Family Bible was both advertisement and cultural icon for what the British family wanted to be, but it is also a representation of how what that family wanted to be changed as the nation and its universe changed” (p. 5). The second part of the study, which looks in more detail at Villette, Daniel Deronda—no stranger to circumcision criticism— and Victorian schemes of the apocalypse, is not always as con- sistent: Carpenter sometimes strains textual metaphors for a 890 Recent Studies sexualized significance which may not always convince, and I was not sure that her employment (and interrogation) of recent psychoanalytic sexual theory necessarily added to her argument. Overall, however, this intellectually inquisitive book considerably adds to our understanding of the work of popular Christianity in Victorian England and—potentially—the colonies. III From the language of the body, I move to studies that treat language in a less metaphorical sense. Richard Marggraf Turley, in The Politics of Language in Romantic Literature, argues that “if we continue disregarding the conduits of thought linking Romantic authors to the philological debates of the day, we ignore a vital element in the production of Romantic literature” (p. 190). He is well aware of the importance of those who have pioneered this view (such as Hans Aarsleff, Olivia Smith, and Linda Dowling), but offers less emphasis on those works that elucidated theories of language as such than on showing how Wordsworth, Keats, and Percy Shelley, among others, built on their and their audi- ences’ knowledge of language controversies, with the underlying belief that “political reform could be achieved ‘simply’ by reform- ing poetic language” (p. 130). This optimism, as he demonstrates, crumbled in the following decades. Close attention to language also lies at the heart of Charles Mahoney’s Romantics and Ren- egades: The Poetics of Political Reaction. He revisits a familiar area—what he terms “the predicament and pathos of romantic writing” (p. 12), that is, its fall from revolutionary aspiration into reactionary disclaimer—in order to argue that this apostasy is less a political failure than the effect of literary language. While Mahoney is certainly well aware of the historical contexts of the writing he discusses (primarily that of Wordsworth, Samuel Tay- lor Coleridge, Robert Southey, and above all of their arch poetico- political critic, William Hazlitt), his attention falls largely on Regency literary and political discourse, and, especially, on the implications of the ways in which both poetry and criticism em- ployed a vocabulary of standing and falling. Unfortunately, it is not always easy to distinguish Mahoney’s own literal and figura- tive linguistic deployment of the same vocabulary: when he cri- tiques Hazlitt for fluttering “above the verge, blind to the precipitous inclination of his own rhetorical excesses” (p. 166), he could usefully have cast an eye over his own practices. Kate Flint 891 Charles I. Armstrong’s Romantic Organicism: From Idealist Origins to Ambivalent Afterlife is even more ambitious in its at- tention to formalism: it sets out the radicalization of the idea of organic unity as it is found in German idealism, and follows its influence not just in the writing of Wordsworth and Coleridge but into the more recent theoretical work of I. A. Richards, Georges Bataille, Hans-Georg Gadamer, and Jacques Derrida. Yet while showing that “the organicist approach is beset with self-contra- diction and insuperable aporias” (p. 186), Armstrong’s own anx- iously self-reflective, qualificatory prose is a poor vehicle for his advocacy of organicism, since it (and the text’s problems with proofreading) display its liabilities as much as its possibilities. Both of these works show up a real problem, noticeable this year in work throughout the period: that while there is a welcome turn toward a very close reading of texts which simultaneously acknowledges the historical and philosophical contexts of their formation, critics need to bear in mind the desirability, for the reader, of an over-arching shape as clear as Wordsworth’s idea of a Gothic architectonics, or Johann Gottlieb Fichte’s belief in a scientific structure taking the coherent form of a building. IV An underlying theme in much writing this year on the Ro- mantic period has been the connections that contemporary writ- ers pursued between nationalism and literature. The theme of Britain’s relationship to other cultures, both internal and exter- nal, is pursued more openly in a number of volumes. The last decade has witnessed the growth of what has become known as “four nations” British literary history, and a re-evaluation of the place of the Celtic in eighteenth-century and Romantic studies in particular. The collection of essays edited by Gerard Carruthers and Alan Rawes, English Romanticism and the Celtic World, builds on this interest, and is especially alert to the part that Celticism (seen in both positive and abusive terms) played “as a tool in the construction and expansion of the post-1745 British state” (p. 1). This volume contains many strong essays: I would single out David Punter’s fascinating unpacking of the resonances of “Gwendolen,” as Blake uses this proper name; Bernard Beatty on the force of “Celtic memories” in Byron’s thought; Michael J. Franklin’s piece on Sir William Jones, the Celtic Revival, and the Oriental Renais- sance; and William Brewer on Felicia Hemans, Byronic cosmo- politanism, and the ancient Welsh bards, as essays which struck 892 Recent Studies me as particularly fresh, but such is the consistency of this vol- ume that this selection seems somewhat invidious. J. R. Watson and Murray G. H. Pittock write informatively about internal tour- ism (concentrating on Wordsworth in North Wales, and the im- portance of Walter Scott for British tourists, respectively), and their themes foreground the movement of both people and ideas in Celtic spaces: the establishment of dialogues which charac- terizes the composition as well as the thematics of this volume. The best of the pieces collected together in Helen Gilbert and Anna Johnston’s In Transit: Travel, Text, Empire (which moves from the marriage tourist trade in early early-nineteenth-century Gretna Green to contemporary eco-tourism) offer close readings of little-known texts: Claudia Brandenstein on Lady Nugent’s “Grand Tour of Duty in Jamaica, 1801–1805”; Jo Robertson’s examination of the fascination with corporeality—whether their own or that of natives—shown by travelers in India; and Helen Tiffin’s discussion of the ways in which nineteenth-century travel writers investigated and sensationalized the headhunters of Borneo: a fascination with the exotic which she rightly connects with the contemporaneous pressures of modernity and its pres- sures on the individual psyche—as exemplified in Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim. Anna Johnston’s essay in this volume, on missionary travel narratives, brings out their role in collecting and circulat- ing knowledge about the colonial world: as she puts it, they “were crucial to the ways in which Britons understood the peoples and places of Britain’s growing dominions, particularly in relation to the Pacific” (p. 80). Interesting writing that deals with Britain’s relationships with her colonies continues to appear, including Steve Attridge’s Na- tionalism, Imperialism, and Identity in Late Victorian Culture: Civil and Military Worlds; Patrick Brantlinger’s Dark Vanishings: Dis- course on the Extinction of Primitive Races, 1800–1930; Johnston’s Missionary Writing and Empire, 1800–1860, and Upamanyu Pablo Mukherjee’s Crime and Empire: The Colony in Nineteenth-Century Fictions of Crime. Attridge’s book is strongly influenced by Ed- ward Said, although not uncritically so: he is very well aware of the slippery valency of such figures as the British soldier, who may not be used consistently within popular culture to signify the nationalism and patriotism with which others would seek to invest them. Attridge writes well about the relations between civil and military society, and between class interests and class con- flicts, whether in popular poetry of the Boer War or in Indian Mutiny novels, and he investigates the dichotomy encapsulated Kate Flint 893 in the subtitle to his good chapter on Rudyard Kipling’s Barrack Room Ballads, “the soldier as hooligan or hero.” The ambivalence of another stock figure is brought out in Johnston’s work, which makes it impossible to write off—were one tempted to be overinfluenced by a Dickensian take on the type—the Victorian missionary as solely a creature of misdirected overzealousness. What emerges strongly is not just how mission- aries were caught between imperial and religious agendas, but also how they sought to influence the development of empire through their observations about gender, race, domesticity, and civility (she shows how they were particularly keen to “normal- ize” sexual relations and to ensure the establishment of nuclear families). Yet while she acknowledges that “European concep- tions of racialized and sexualized orders of savagery profoundly influenced missionary practices and representations of different colonized peoples” (p. 164), she also gives some weight—I would have liked more—to how they functioned as proto-anthropolo- gists, and shows how the traffic was not just one-way: how, for example, “British femininity might have to be rethought in the aftermath of its encounter with Indian culture” (p. 105). Johnston has drawn extensively on the archives of the large and influential London Missionary Society, but the fact that there are numerous other missionary archives, and that she has chosen to concen- trate on Indian, Australian, and Polynesian missions, is indica- tive of the rich potential for further literary work in an area that is starting to attract a growing number of historians. Missionaries, of course, attracted a number of native con- verts, who became missionary voices in their own right. Unfortu- nately, these are not voices with any significant role in Brantlinger’s book. He gives us a detailed and inevitably depress- ing account of the prevalent nineteenth-century belief in the idea that primitive races were on their way toward extinction, a view- point increasingly supported by so-called scientific and genetic theory, and shows well how Social Darwinism was employed to enable the spread of imperialism. The belief that indigenous peoples were biologically inferior was used, as is well known, to bolster colonial domination, and Brantlinger demonstrates how such theories were also turned on “degenerate” and impover- ished white peoples such as the Irish after the Famine. Although, carrying his argument through into the 1930s, he shows that while such views were central to Fascism and Nazism, the gradual renewal of aboriginal peoples in various parts of the world was starting to call such theories into question, he misses the oppor- 894 Recent Studies tunity of showing how their voices could on occasion also be heard strongly in the nineteenth century, not just bewailing their lot but engaging with emergent forms of modernity. Nonetheless, he produces a welcome amount of unfamiliar evidence in support of his survey, and the loaded metaphoric language of many of his quotations points to the amount of work that still remains to be done on the rhetorical modes in which offensive imperialist ideas were spread and endorsed. Mukherjee offers an insightful study of the changing ways in which the discourse of crime was employed to understand, imag- ine, and rule India during the greater part of the nineteenth cen- tury. He draws on the ways in which crime is written about in histories and in legal studies to illuminate the fiction of the pe- riod from Scott’s “The Surgeon’s Daughter” to Collins’s The Moon- stone. He is especially interesting on the writing of Philip Meadows Taylor, one of the prime examples through which Mukherjee dem- onstrates his convincing underlying premise: that while on the one hand, Indians can be criminalized in various ways—as muti- neers, Thugs, and dacoits—such insurgent tendencies may be juxtaposed with loyal and legal Indians, prime instruments for the humanizing, reformist tendencies in British rule. Yet “crimi- nal” dissent may also be read as legitimate protest against Brit- ish oppression—something that Mukherjee shrewdly links back to the ways in which criminals could appear as quasi-heroic in the Newgate fiction of the 1830s and ’40s. Fictions of crime emerge as “both enabling and disabling tools of authority” (p. 190)—a generalization which, as Mukherjee shows in his conclusion, may be taken well beyond the nineteenth century. The subject of crime lies at the center of three further inter- esting books: Lawrence Frank’s Victorian Detective Fiction and the Nature of Evidence: The Scientific Investigations of Poe, Dickens, and Doyle; Simon Joyce’s Capital Offenses: Geographies of Class and Crime in Victorian London, and Lisa Rodensky’s The Crime in Mind: Criminal Responsibility and the Victorian Novel. Each one of these brings criminal acts into extensive dialogue with other discourses and disciplines. Frank is concerned to place the de- velopment of nineteenth-century detective fiction in the broader contexts of unearthing historical knowledge and embedded nar- ratives in a contingent universe, looking to geologists, anthro- pologists, and theorists of evolution for models of “reconstructing past events from fragmentary and inadequate evidence” (p. 6). “Like the geologist or the paleontologist, the detective explains a fact or an event by placing it within a chronological series; he Kate Flint 895 then imaginatively transforms it into a chain of natural causes and effects, leading backward in time to some posited originating moment” (p. 157). While sometimes Frank’s analogies themselves involve a good deal of hypothesizing, his close readings demon- strate very clearly the parallels that may be drawn between modes of narrative explanation in ostensibly very different genres. Rodensky’s book is likewise concerned with the telling of nar- ratives, whether in novels or in courts of law. Her focus is on Victorian ideas and ideals concerning criminal responsibility— the relationship between states of minds and acts, “between ele- ments of crime and the questions of responsibility these relations raise” (p. 7)—questions, of course, that also surfaced in the works on infanticide that I discussed earlier. She concentrates on the writings of Dickens, George Eliot, and the barrister and judge James Fitzjames Stephen, who not only was responsible for con- sidering these issues in legal settings, but also deliberately sought to provoke discussion about the responsibilities of the novelist when it came to representing social problems. In this consis- tently intelligent study, I was particularly struck by the discus- sions of the questions raised by Middlemarch and Daniel Deronda—and by Bulstrode and Gwendolen’s portrayals, more particularly—“what is the relation of a criminal state of mind to a criminal act? When does a criminal intent become a criminal act?” (p. 90). The value of this thoughtful book lies not just in adding to our understanding of the relationships between law and literature, but to debates about the developing Victorian no- tions of the inner self and of personal identity. Simon Joyce’s book looks more at the locations of crime than at crimes themselves, or their protagonists. He engages in “liter- ary geography”—borrowing the phrase and to some extent method from Franco Moretti—and considers what happens when we map a criminal act (in the Newgate novel, in Dickens, in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde or The Picture of Dorian Gray) onto what can be known about the actual urban and social conditions pertaining to the spot where it supposedly took place. His findings, unsurprisingly, lead him to discuss the shift in literary fashions from working- class crime to crimes committed by the privileged classes. Where his argument becomes more interesting and innovative is when he considers (partly through the double lives of criminal protago- nists, partly through parallel literary genres) the relationship of upper-class crime to the concomitant fascination with hard-edged naturalism, and the criminal violence in such fictional locations as Arthur Morrison’s Jago, and analyzes the flip side of this: the 896 Recent Studies political potential—even if it only existed in Walter Besant-like fantasy—of “a new cross-class alliance of those at the top and bottom of society against the middle ground of late-Victorian lib- eralism” (p. 233). Another explicit disavower of the utility of the earlier Foucault in treating of Victorian social and urban condi- tions, Simon Joyce offers a very helpful materialist consideration of the realities of criminal activity in Victorian London in relation to criminal fictions of the period. V Simon Joyce makes good use of the connections between emergent Victorian sociology and contemporary practices of car- tography. Helen Groth’s Victorian Photography and Literary Nos- talgia is an important addition to studies that examine the effect of this new visual technology on recording the material world and on literature. Nancy Armstrong and Jennifer Green-Lewis’s work has concentrated on issues of realism, authenticity, and illusion; Groth’s concern is above all with photography’s power to arrest time and with the ways in which Victorians knew that they were getting glimpses into a rapidly disappearing past. Pho- tography, in other words, encouraged them to confront their own modernity. Moreover, she has moved away from the tendency to consider photography alongside fiction: Groth gives her atten- tion to the literary marketplace in general and poetry in particu- lar. She examines what it means to market literary texts such as the poetry of Wordsworth and Scott with photographic illustra- tions; how Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s Casa Guidi Windows may be read in terms of a sequence of photographic flashes; how Julia Margaret Cameron and Alfred Tennyson both believed that mass production stifled creativity, yet were happy to exploit its possi- bilities when the means of control were in their hands; and what exactly was invested in the art of photographic portraiture of authors. Groth has a strong sense of the melancholic potential of photography, something which was already well recognized by Victorian commentators, and of the way in which it frequently reflected “a need to touch, to possess, and to know both the past and present” (p. 189)—a seductive practice, and metaphor, in other words, at a time when history seemed to be moving onward relentlessly, and transport and communication often pressed “against the limits of what the mind could take in at a glance” (p. 18). Thoroughly informed by both current photographic theory and by Victorian writings on the subject, Groth’s book is very Kate Flint 897 comfortable with its interdisciplinarity: it offers further persua- sive proof of the importance of considering cultural issues across generic boundaries. Photography, in Groth’s hands, has been better served than other aspects of the visual arts this year (with the notable excep- tion of Lorraine Janzen Kooistra’s work on Christina Rossetti, discussed below). Bruce Haley, in Living Forms: Romantics and the Monumental Figure, looks at the early-nineteenth-century lit- erary fascination with human forms that had no accompanying verbal text mediating their impressive, daunting presence. Monu- ments, as Haley explains, are simultaneously signs of absence and are “dense apparitional presences” (p. 10), and he works this premise out in relation to a wide variety of examples. He is at his strongest when dealing with actual sculptures, but his terms stretch wide, including Coleridge’s Shakespeare Gallery, Hazlitt’s recurrent dwelling on certain portraits, and a whole range of sculp- tural figures that turn up in the writings of Lord Byron, Keats, Hemans, and others. While the book constitutes a useful gallery of examples of memorialized figures in Romantic writing, its du- tiful style fails to bring its subject matter to life. Liana F. Piehler’s Spatial Dynamics and Female Development in Victorian Art and Novels is a modest, careful, slightly schematic, but nonetheless useful and up-to-date assessment of the differing modes in which physical space and inner space are brought into dialogue with one another in a range of major Victorian novels. These are read alongside a judicious selection of contemporary works of art. VI Thematic volumes necessarily merge into studies of particu- lar genres. While some significant work on the novel has already been noted, there are a cluster of good works dealing with poetry, too, especially in the earlier part of the century. Jon Mee’s Ro- manticism, Enthusiasm, and Regulation: Poetics and the Policing of Culture in the Romantic Period hinges on the evolving under- standing of the term “enthusiasm” during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. On the one hand it shifted from signi- fying an excess of religious feeling to describing a generally more dangerous, fanatical, and unpredictable crowd mentality; on the other, it came to be identified with the intense feeling thought necessary for the production of successful poetry—yet which also, in its turn, could erupt into uncontrolled and excessive outbursts. This is a highly intelligent and lively argued study, giving a com- 898 Recent Studies prehensive and nuanced account of the rhetoric of enthusiasm inherited by Romantic writers from eighteenth-century authors ranging from Locke to political pamphleteers, before turning to a more detailed analysis of four key writers. As one might expect, these include Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Blake, but Anna Barbauld is also up there, and Mee valuably revises the essen- tialist tendency to see her primarily “as a creature of sensibility rather than someone also closely involved with the developing poetics of enthusiasm” (p. 212). Simon Bainbridge’s British Poetry and the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars: Visions of Conflict is a useful study of an area of Romantic studies which has received a growing amount of atten- tion over the last few years. Although he claims that he does not set out to provide a comprehensive overview, in fact his concen- tration on certain key examples that show how writers saw the “mediation of the war to the public as a crucial part of their role” (p. viii), or how war impacted on their sense of their development as poets, functions as an excellent introduction to the field and to the broader issue of the relationship between imagination and history in the Romantic period. Bainbridge looks at the writings of Charlotte Smith, Coleridge, Southey, Byron, and Hemans, and is particularly convincing in showing how Scott’s metrical ro- mances altered the ways in which war was to be presented in the century that followed: “In a period when warfare was seen to have taken on a new form, to have become ‘modern,’ Scott’s phe- nomenally successful tales of ‘Border chivalry’ transformed the imagining of war, presenting it as heroic, shaped by the conven- tions of romance, and framed by the conventions of the pictur- esque” (p. 120). Scott was a significant mediator between the old view of war as something under man’s control, and the post- Enlightenment apprehension that this unstoppable engine was some kind of machine run out of control; and throughout, Bainbridge brings out very well the tensions that evolve in the poetry of war during this period around the topics of individual- ism and impersonality. The theme of politics and poetry is also found, albeit in a very different vein, in E. Warwick Slinn’s Victorian Poetry as Cultural Critique: The Politics of Performative Language. Slinn uses speech- act theory to argue for continuity between the meaning of a po- etic trope and the social function of language, and does this through the close reading of five poems: Robert Browning’s “The Bishop Orders His Tomb at Saint Praxed’s Church”; Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s “The Runaway Slave at Pilgrim’s Point”; Arthur Kate Flint 899 Hugh Clough’s “Dipsychus”; Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s “Jenny”; and Augusta Webster’s “A Castaway.” Ostensibly, these are all poems about social issues, either focusing on specific topics— slave abuse, prostitution—or more generally addressing matters of religion, hypocrisy, social justice, and moral conscience. But rather than offering social contextualization, Slinn, concentrat- ing on the performative implications of these texts, demands that we pay attention to those acts of self-expression through which individuals describe and construct their worlds and their selves. These readings re-affirm the interpretive open-endedness of the dramatic monologue, placing their emphasis on the poetic tools used to interrogate subjectivity. The Brownings also form the subject of Mary Sanders Pollock’s Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning: A Creative Partnership. This is for the most part a straightforward account of their initial courtship correspondence, their creative and intellectual exchanges, their mutual physical attraction, and their professional partnership, which “allows us to hear differences, but also allows us to hear how the work of each resonated with the poetry of the other” (p. 8). The study is best when it deals with verbal analogies and borrowings, least successful when it makes its occasional dives into psychoana- lytic criticism. Returning to fiction, Pamela Regis’s A Natural History of the Romance Novel considers this subgenre, at once highly popular but lacking in kudos, in its various manifestations from the 1740s to the 1990s. She argues that as a type, it is not dependent upon women being held in bondage (whether by their emotions or by more tangible ties), but, rather, is about women’s freedom. But Regis underestimates, or underacknowledges, the ways in which Tania Modleski and Janet Radway have already argued that ro- mance fiction promotes the ideals of affective individualism and companionate marriage, and she can only reach her conclusions through an exclusion of possibilities for satisfaction outside the parameters of heterosexual courtship and betrothal. Moreover, she chooses texts selectively: Trollope’s take on romantic invest- ment looks somewhat different when seen through the lens of The Small House at Allington, say, rather than the “first-rate court- ship plot” (p. 93) concerning Lucy Robarts which is to be found within Framley Parsonage. While not confined to any one genre, Ruth Robbins’s clearly- written Pater to Foster, 1873–1924 will be a very useful introduc- tion for students of the period, particularly those who turn to it for an understanding of the persistence and transformation of 900 Recent Studies realism, or for a survey of the shifts that took place in poetic form during these years. It does, however, downplay the influence of both Continental and transatlantic literary and social forces, and even Empire is largely invoked in the context of the identity cri- ses manifested in turn-of-the-century masculine romances. VII As I mentioned early on in my review, single-author studies (with the exception of biographies) have, in general, been less in evidence this year than studies that sample a range of authors: a phenomenon which illustrates the convergence of interdisciplinarity with the increasingly dominant form of Ph.D. theses (and hence of first books). Nonetheless, some significant volumes have appeared: I treat these, broadly speaking, chrono- logically. Julia M. Wright’s Blake, Nationalism, and the Politics of Alien- ation, while starting by acknowledging Blake’s reputation as in- dividualist, largely addresses his concern with community, especially the community of the nation. She uses such matters as Blake’s interest in art as reflection of national condition, his figuration of national bards, and his defense of English language to show his alertness to the extent of textual political power, whether related to such publically legitimized arenas as parlia- mentary or coffee-house debate or the broader domain of popu- lar opinion. These are intelligent close readings which build on the foundational work of David Erdman and, more recently, Mee. Morton D. Paley’s The Traveller in the Evening: The Last Works of William Blake is devoted to the literature and art that Blake pro- duced during the last ten years of his life—including the wood engravings for Robert John Thornton’s Virgil; seven engravings for Dante’s Divine Comedy; and the culmination of Blake’s life- long engagement with the Bible, including the manuscript poem The Everlasting Gospel, his last illuminated book, The Ghost of Abel, and the powerful, dramatic Illustrations of the Book of Job. Paley’s study moves between a materialist analysis of the compo- sition, production, publication, and distribution of the works, and a detailed interpretive engagement which brings out Blake’s sus- tained mental energy. If, as one would expect, Blake’s creations never “conform to received or generally accepted views of their subjects” (p. 178) as they had been treated by other poets, illus- trators, and scholars, neither are they necessarily consistent with Blake’s own earlier work, notwithstanding the fact that, intellec- Kate Flint 901 tually, Blake continued in his unwillingness to accept the estab- lished Church. While his practice in the graphic arts continued to move between the illustrative and the symbolic, his individu- alism took some new forms. Paley brings out how visually his works are more given to dramatic oscillations between light and shade, and he also, in a supplementary note on the Visionary Heads, gives due weight to Blake’s increasing imaginative sportiveness. But the value of this volume lies in its wealth of detail, both interpretive and informative, rather than in any sus- tained overarching argument. This year, Blake scholars will also be truly thankful for the appearance of the second edition of G. E. Bentley Jr.’s Blake Records, with its inclusion of new and up- dated material—material fronted by the debunking of “Seven Red Herrings,” including—alas—the confirmation that “There is no contemporary evidence to support the story of Blake and Catherine naked in the garden at Hercules Buildings” (p. xxvii). Jane Austen has been well treated by two books concerned with her style: Bharat Tandon’s Jane Austen and the Morality of Conversation, and D. A. Miller’s Jane Austen, or The Secret of Style. Tandon’s work is in some respects relatively conservative in its premises, arguing that, with the literary models of conver- sational morality, sentimental reading, and fictional didacticism open to Austen, and having a multiplicity of possible readerships, the novelist “composed a fictional style which does not depend on either sentimental congruences between text and reader, or on exemplary models,” and that her novels are as “interested in the setting of puzzles as in the quality of the solutions” (p. 54). His study’s strength lies in the way in which his close and inde- pendently minded readings show how this works in practice; and in the way in which he asks some challenging formal questions: are, for example, the obvious “set pieces,” the “most prominent sequences” (p. 212), the most important ones in the novel? And what might our answer tell us both about how Austen disrupts our own readerly expectations, and about the awkwardness of critics when faced with the novel? “Awkward” is certainly not a word that one would dream of applying to D. A. Miller’s exquisite, original, meditative, and pro- vocative volume, written in a style that is like a collision between Austen herself and the more epigrammatic modes of Roland Barthes. What, Miller debates with himself, is “Style”? Does it under-represent the person who deliberately, self-consciously deploys it—or is it the ultimate manifestation of selfhood? What relationship may there be between style on the page and the style 902 Recent Studies that an individual character expresses or in relation to which she is placed? How in this respect does free indirect discourse func- tion? Does style have a human face? And if so, how might it be gendered? I feel uneasy extracting these questions to ponder be- cause they suggest a rhetorically aggressive study: not so. Miller is continually provocative, but in an allusive, highly crafted— stylish—way: writing which is the product of deep immersion in Austen’s fiction and its affect. A quite different sort of book is Jon Spence’s biography, Becoming Jane Austen: a lively read, but very uneven. As one would anticipate from someone who has already published on the wills in Austen’s family, he is good not just on legacies but also on economics more generally. On the other hand, the paucity of direct evidence about parts of Austen’s life leads him to be far too over-reliant on the fiction, especially her early works, as offering clues to her life history; and he overspeculates both about her relationship with her cousin Eliza de Feullide and her possible romantic attachment to the Irish lawyer Tom le Froy. Stephen Cheeke’s Byron and Place: History, Translation, Nos- talgia is a tri-partite work which considers the importance of be- ing literally and figuratively present in a place to the poet’s self-construction. He looks at the implications of the idea of “be- ing there” and of authority that comes from experiencing events first-hand in Byron’s poetry up to 1818; his self-imposed exile in Italy and the process of translation and acculturation that was attendant upon it; and, post-1821, the poet’s nostalgia for En- gland—whether for the now-unattainable early years of the Re- gency or for a recent past of which he had no immediate knowledge. Drawing on both a Bachelardian poetics of space and Lefebvrian attention to the cultural critique of social space, Cheeke asks what it might mean, indeed, to have an “authentic” experi- ence in a place—something that was to prove increasingly trouble- some as the century went on (as is testified to by Clough’s anxious traveler Claude in Amours de Voyage, quoted by Cheeke in his introduction). While he shows Byron to have been especially sus- ceptible to “an awareness of the strangeness and power of being in places of historical fame,” to the aura, or, as he put it, the “halo” of place (p. 9)—even if increasingly ambivalent, even ironic, about the functions of nostalgia and memory—one can think of a good number of nineteenth-century writers to whom the ques- tions raised in this book will be very pertinent. Kipp’s book on Romanticism and maternity had perhaps sur- prisingly little to say about Mary Shelley. However, the Cambridge Companion to Mary Shelley, edited by Esther Schor, pulls together Kate Flint 903 a lively and original collection of essays from a range of distin- guished contributors. Divided into three sections, on “The Au- thor of Frankenstein,” “Fictions and Myths”—which looks at her other novels and her shorter works—and “Professional Personae” (Shelley as editor, biographer, travel writer, letter writer, and cul- tural critic), this volume succeeds in giving both due weight to the influence and importance of her best-known novel and to the diversity and energy of her other productions, some of them as bold and experimental as Frankenstein. Schor’s own essay, on Frankenstein and film; Diane Long Hoeveler, on the impact that the text has made on feminist studies, queer theory, and disabil- ity studies; and Jay Clayton’s exploration of the Monster’s after- life in replicants and robots, are particularly good at showing how the life of this text has leapt into a number of other forms. Yet perhaps the most striking thing about this volume is the im- pression it succeeds in giving of Mary Shelley not as some ad- junct to Percy Bysshe (indeed, Susan Wolfson’s impressive study of the editorial work she performed on her poet-husband’s writ- ings makes it clear the degree to which she shaped the poet’s reception in the decades after his death), but as a radical and innovative thinker in her own right. Rightly, when read together, these essays bring out the major areas of debate in Mary Shelley studies—what were the limits of her liberalism and of her femi- nism? How far—as Timothy Morton interestingly argues—did she hold an innovative view of culture as a collective social product, and how would such a view interact with her positions on the responsibilities and burdens of the individual ego? This was one of the most stimulating and provocative collections of essays that I read, and, important as it will be to Shelley scholars, it also raises many questions important to scholars of Romanticism, and of women’s writing, more generally. Stephen Gill’s Cambridge Companion to Wordsworth is also a very welcome collection of pieces from a galaxy of strong Roman- tic scholars, including Frances Ferguson (a fascinating essay on “Wordsworth and the Meaning of Taste”), Lucy Newlyn, Wolfson, Nicholas Roe, Paul Hamilton (who situates the poet within recent evaluations of British Romanticism), and Gill himself, who, in his piece on “The philosophic poet,” brings out how Wordsworth demands that we become philosophic readers ourselves. Turning to biographies, this year has seen the publication of a number of lives of women and men who were themselves dis- tinguished by their interdisciplinary interests and activities. Anne Stott’s Hannah More: The First Victorian is the first full-length 904 Recent Studies biography of this polymath (playwright, Evangelical, novelist, poet, political writer, and reformer) for fifty years. Drawing extensively for the first time on More’s unpublished correspondence, Stott, in her thorough and very readable biography, not only makes her out to be a lively personality, but also thoughtfully explores the ambiguities involved in assessing her role as a woman in public life. While ostensibly antifeminist, she wished for women “to re- alize their spiritual and intellectual potential” (p. xi), and she enjoyed and utilized her celebrity to the full. “By 1800,” Stott writes, “she had become one of the most influential lay people in the Mendips, and she was using this influence in an almost reck- less fashion” (p. 243). Nor did More’s contradictions end there. She worked for change in many microcosmic areas but did not wish to see any radical changes in the structuring of a hierarchized society; she taught working men to read but was strongly against the extension of the franchise. Stott does not just articulate her ideas well, but by showing the contexts in which they were dis- seminated, More becomes a means of exploring important links between publishing, politics, and religion, complementing, for example, the study of the radical publisher John Johnson by Helen Braithwaite, which I discuss later. To my mind, the most problematic aspect of Stott’s biography is its subtitle, which ef- fectively denies More (1745–1833) her place in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. In seeking to define her by an era’s supposed mentality, this appellation passes up the oppor- tunity to use such a path-breaking career as More’s to challenge the rigidity of period boundaries. Stott is adept at treating some of the more awkward aspects of More’s career, noting that she has received some bad press in studies of Romantic women writers and intellectuals, particu- larly for her cavalier patronage of Ann Yearsley, the “milkwoman” poet. She gives a balanced account of this episode, concluding that “perhaps the key lay in More’s inexperience rather than her arrogance. In her dealings with Yearsley she had for the first time become a patron rather than a client” (p. 77). Yet even if Stott’s tone is much more measured, she is perhaps more of an apolo- gist for her sometimes difficult subject than Leslie Mitchell ap- pears to be in Bulwer Lytton: The Rise and Fall of a Victorian Man of Letters. As Mitchell admits, Lytton could be arrogant, tended to lack a sense of humor, and, feeling perpetually undervalued, often reacted defensively: his countrymen frequently found his protestations of his importance “eccentric and self-regarding” (p. 129). Lytton’s interests, and the genres in which he was produc- Kate Flint 905 tive, were extraordinarily far-reaching. A writer of political com- mentaries and journalism, poetry and plays, his fiction has started to receive more attention recently, partly because the diversity of its subject matter reads in itself like a catalog of successive Vic- torian fictional enthusiasms: the dandy novel; Newgate fiction; accounts of provincial life; medieval narratives; a couple of occult novels; and a final trio of works (The Parisians, The Coming Race, and Kenelm Chillingly) which offer prophetic discussions of the state of society before and after the coming of Socialism. Mitchell gives an energetic account of Lytton’s life and works, although he is himself something of a conservative reader of fictional tech- niques. Nowhere is this more apparent than when, in the midst of his undeservedly harsh treatment of Rosina Bulwer Lytton, he remarks—as though she was crazed to hold such a view—that “Rosina saw the legal and political systems as a male plot. A woman had difficulty in making her voice heard at all. Her novels are full of digressions on this point” (p. 56). Less jaunty and populist in its style is Nicholas Capaldi’s John Stuart Mill: A Biography, a very welcome new intellectual life of Mill, which gives full weight not just to his philosophical and technical writing but also to his status as a public intellectual. Capaldi shows how Mill made a number of diverse fields—from ethics to epistemology—widely intelligible, and hence demon- strates the role he had in facilitating debate, whether around issues of literature, religion, or sexual politics. The highly read- able biography is particularly illuminating about Mill’s status within nineteenth-century theories of the place of the creative artist and the imagination, and it gives extended and thoughtful treatment to his intellectual and personal relationship with Harriet Taylor. Capaldi’s conclusion, that Mill is still highly relevant to- day; that his “humanistic critique of the technological project and the moral-theological critique of the modern corruption of the soul are still with us” (p. 365), is both a useful summary of the central humanitarian stance of this thinker and an explana- tion for why his preoccupations can be seen to intersect with those of many other mid-Victorian writers. The same might be said to be true of the subject of Bernard Bergonzi’s A Victorian Wanderer: The Life of Thomas Arnold the Younger (like Capaldi’s book, and Stott’s Hannah More, published by Oxford University Press, who are to be congratulated on the quality of the biographies that they are currently bringing out). Tom Arnold might have been less intellectually tenacious than his father, the Rugby headmaster, or his older brother Matthew, 906 Recent Studies but he shared the latter’s tendencies toward vacillation. How- ever, while Matthew was able to let these emerge in the anguished, deliberate, and deliberating self-contradictions of his poetic per- sona, Tom expressed them through his peripatetic mode of liv- ing, moving from Oxford to New Zealand, Tasmania, Dublin, Oxford, and then back to Dublin. Spiritually, he moved into the Catholic Church, out of it, and back again. Continually spurred onward by financial difficulty, he was a prolific journalist (much for the Catholic bimonthly, The Rambler) and knew a good cross- range of Victorian literary society, from Wordsworth to Hopkins, Clough to Lewis Carroll. As colonizer, administrator, education- alist, scholar (he published an edition of Beowulf), reviewer, and writer, Tom Arnold becomes, in Bergonzi’s spirited account, si- multaneously a study in what it could mean to be a younger brother in the Victorian period—particularly when one’s elder sib- ling was spectacularly successful—and a means of coming at many of the central issues of the age from the often unexpected angle created by Tom Arnold’s own unpredictable positions and tem- perament. Bergonzi remarks of him, in his introduction, that he had “some of the qualities of a character in a Victorian novel; not a central figure, but one of those lesser characters whom one would like to see more of ” (p. 2), and, while this in itself calls to mind the unwritten trajectories lying behind the lives of those who, say, make a cameo appearance in the pages of Trollope, it also returns us to the insights of Woloch. If examining a minor character in a novel involves, as it must, “not just the specific descriptions of particular characters but also how these charac- ters are inflected into a complex narrative system” (p. 125), then one may extend Woloch’s methodology to see how biographical subjects, even if not conspicuously innovative, prominent, or scan- dalous in their own rights, may be used to elucidate the “larger, dynamic construction of dominant and subordinate elements within the narrative”—or social—“totality” (p. 125). Vincent Newey, The Scriptures of Charles Dickens: Novels of Ideology, Novels of the Self, deals not as directly as the title sug- gests with Dickens’s overt and sublimated religious views, but rather with exploring the familiar (though enduring) topic: how did the Victorians negotiate the idea of a meaningful life in an increasingly secular world? It offers a very full reading—full to the point of heavy-handedness—of a small clutch of Dickens’s fictions (A Christmas Carol, Oliver Twist, David Copperfield, Great Expectations, and Our Mutual Friend), but insights into individual moments are subsumed into some extremely familiar observa- Kate Flint 907 tions: that “Dickens . . . reflects and puts into place, for immedi- ate want of a better phrase, a bourgeois ideology” (p. 5), and that his dialectical imagination “puts into relief and under question its own ideological core, and insists that we perceive truth and values from various, sometimes conflicting, angles” (p. 162). Some interesting observations about Dickens’s employment of the im- agery of wheels—in both an industrial and mechanized context, and in relation to “the wheel of life”—are made by Elizabeth A. Campbell in Fortune’s Wheel: Dickens and the Iconography of Women’s Time, although her overall attempt to link Dickens’s interest in cyclicality to a Kristevan notion of “women’s time” is less than convincing. She would have been well advised to have engaged much more fully with Victorian historiography. Three volumes have appeared in Oxford University Press’s World’s Classics “Authors in Context” series, each of which offers students an energetic, informative, and accessible introduction to a major writer and to their social and literary milieu. Andrew Sanders’s Charles Dickens gives a brisk account of Dickens’s life before moving on to chapters on politics and society; The Literary Context (strong on the practices of revising, redrafting, and seri- alization); London and Class; Utilitarianism, Religion, and His- tory; Science and Technology; and, by way of conclusion, an exceptionally wide-ranging chapter on the ways in which illus- tration and theatrical adaptation, film and television have en- sured that many different versions of Dickens’s characters and preoccupations have become established within successive phases of popular culture. John Sloan’s Oscar Wilde is good on the so- cial and literary milieu in which Wilde was writing, although less illuminating on the “recontextualizing” aspect—there is no men- tion of Albert Lewin’s 1945 Picture of Dorian Gray, for example, a cinematographic tour de force filmed under the moralistic shadow of Hollywood’s Hays Code. Patricia Ingham’s Thomas Hardy is an exceptionally lively and informative study from beginning to end: her discussion of class, of gender, and of science—among other topics—will be stimulating to those who know Hardy well, in ad- dition to being extraordinarily useful to students encountering him for the first time. Several other worthwhile books have appeared on Hardy this year. In Thomas Hardy and the Survivals of Time, Andrew Radford takes a relatively well-worn topic—Hardy’s attitudes toward his- tory and time, especially as refracted through contemporary sci- entific discourse—and manages to deepen our knowledge of this context through invoking the doctrine of “survivals,” a term coined 908 Recent Studies by E. B. Tylor in Primitive Culture (1871). Hardy borrows this term in The Return of the Native: its implications reach into his “imaginative assimilation of scientific and humanistic pursuits dedicated to reconstructing the course of man’s collective past” (p. 22) as a whole. Radford’s study also engages with Hardy’s knowledge (which we can trace through his notebooks as well as his fiction) of the British amateur antiquarian and archaeological traditions, as represented in contemporary periodical literature, and this work will be interesting for those concerned with the transmission of nonspecialist forms of scientific discourse as well as Hardy scholars. T. R. Wright’s Hardy and His Readers is an excellent study of the relationship that Hardy had with his read- ers (whether publishers, critics, or individuals). He shows how the novelist’s natural tendency was to be uncompromising, re- fusing to bow to popular pressure. Yet—as a very helpful chapter demonstrates—from the late 1880s, writing for the Graphic, Hardy began consciously to address a dual audience. While some very influential work on this area has been done in the 1970s, espe- cially by Mary Jacobus and J. T. Laird, Wright’s clear and well- researched argument allows one to see the different ways in which Hardy kept his readership in mind throughout his career. He writes well, too, about the vexed reception of Jude, but makes it very clear that, however the popular myth may go, the antago- nism that this work received was not the motivating factor that led him to abandon writing fiction. Rather, Wright argues, Hardy undertook this “severe critique of late Victorian ideology” (p. 189) precisely because he knew that he was going to embark on no more full-length novels. Alicia Carroll, Dark Smiles: Race and Desire in George Eliot offers a straightforward, if not at first sight particularly groundbreaking, account of the ways in which George Eliot “be- came deeply engaged in representations of desire which often question and subvert the status quo of white innocence and dark desire” (p. xv) that provided one of the most frequently encoun- tered conventions of Victorian sexual assumptions. But more strik- ing than her argument (albeit a well-supported one) that George Eliot often practiced a form of reverse Orientalism, privileging the Other over the English, are Carroll’s demonstrations that George Eliot frequently appropriated the stories of “Others” for her own purposes (her reading of The Thousand and One Nights in relation to Daniel Deronda is especially illuminating) and that race itself is frequently an unstable category in her writing. This, in turn, serves to show how cautious one needs to be in general- Kate Flint 909 izing about Victorian attitudes toward racial identities. Carroll’s alertness to the nuances and suggestivity of George Eliot’s style runs through her own well-written study, not least in her laud- able alertness to the ironies of Theophrastus Such’s voice. The context of George Eliot’s writing is valuably extended by Delia da Sousa Correa’s George Eliot, Music, and Victorian Cul- ture. The author’s extensively researched and musically knowl- edgeable study considers the considerable importance of music to George Eliot’s own life, while showing how her incorporation of musical references into her imaginative work is far from simple. Allusions to music and performance may say far more about her own art and profession as a writer than about music as such; but at the same time, her expertise and interest were such that each of her musical references assumed an equally knowledge- able audience. Correa is equally illuminating about the part that music was expected to play in women’s lives (and about George Eliot’s manipulation of these expectations); as an agent in creat- ing community more generally; and about the constant interplay between music and science in her social world and in her texts. Correa writes well about the use George Eliot makes of the “highly equivocal status” (p. 7) of music during this period—at once granted considerable spiritual pre-eminence and regarded sus- piciously as possessing dangerous emotive force. Whether ex- ploring the close connections between music—both actual and metaphorical—and sexual passion in The Mill on the Floss or shed- ding new light on Klesmer and Mirah as different sorts of musi- cians in Daniel Deronda, Correa’s book is an excellent example of interdisciplinary studies brought to bear on a single author. Or, one might say—and this is a mark of how this type of scholarship functions at its best—this study shows, in exemplary fashion, how unpacking the multiple aspects of one part of cultural life in the work of one particular writer can act as a focal point for a broader understanding of—in this case—the place of music in mid-Victorian culture as a whole. There has been a recent well-merited increase of interest in Vernon Lee, and two excellent and complimentary studies on this prolific and challenging writer have appeared this year. Vineta Colby’s Vernon Lee: A Literary Biography is a compelling read. Putting Lee into the fullest possible biographical, literary, and cultural contexts (and not glossing over the fact that she did not have the easiest of personalities), Colby wisely does not strive to make her multifaceted subject fit one mold. Rather, she seeks to explain why it is, quite, that she is so hard to pin down. “In the 910 Recent Studies end,” Colby writes, “Vernon Lee fits into no single category. She was too late to be a Victorian, too early to be a Modernist. She was a nonmilitant feminist, a sexually repressed lesbian, an aes- thete, a cautious socialist, a secular humanist. In short, she was protean” (p. xii). As Colby goes on to show, her intelligent mind welcomed intellectual and personal change and growth; she was passionately attached to places, to art, to music. While Lee never wrote an autobiography, her historical, philosophical, and aes- thetic writing was filled with her strong personal preferences and with the impress of the texts, individuals, and settings that had influenced her. Lee experimented with different narrative forms and with various modes of subjectivity. Christa Zorn, in her Vernon Lee: Aesthetics, History, and the Victorian Female Intellectual like- wise writes from the standpoint that Lee “can be read as a cat- egory of her own” (p. xxvii) and also points out the difficulties attendant on trying to make her output fit conventional catego- ries. For example, she notes that, while around two-thirds of Lee’s work consists of essays, “they vary so much in form, subject, and intention that the genre name becomes almost meaningless” (p. 68). Her study is much more text based—in the sense of a con- ventional literary study—than is Colby’s and pays particular at- tention to the relationship of gender to Lee’s thought and forms. For example, Zorn shows how Lee was both influenced by, and resisted, the ways in which the modern Paterian aesthetic sensi- bility evolved from a tradition of male subjectivity—and yet also could fall into what seem today like clichés, as when identifying “the unknowability of history with the unknowability of woman” (p. 167). Important additions to our understanding of the place of women in the history of aestheticism—revisionist work which owes a good deal to the recent scholarship of Talia Schaffer and Kathy Psomiades—these two studies also ensure that Lee herself emerges as a precursor for the major tendency that I have been identifying in this year’s work: the way in which much of the most exciting scholarship simply refuses to fit within neat cat- egories. VIII Aesthetic work of a different kind provides the focus of what was, for me, one of the most exciting studies to appear in the multifarious, burgeoning area of the History of the Book. Lorraine Janzen Kooistra’s Christina Rossetti and Illustration offers a de- tailed account of the production and reception of illustrations to Kate Flint 911 Rossetti’s poetry, devotional prose, and writing for children (if something as bizarre as Speaking Likenesses deserves that la- bel), reaching from Rossetti’s own somewhat tentative drawings to the present day. More than an account of the various strands of the fantastic, whimsical, Gothic terror, decoration, quasipornography, sentimentality, poignancy, and macabre that have variously been called upon to complement her writings (“One trademark of a classic is its extraordinary ability to mutate to accommodate changing cultural traditions” [p. 213], Kooistra writes), and more than a detailed and fascinating account of pub- lishing trends in relation to illustrated books over the last cen- tury and a half, this well-illustrated account also is important to our understanding of Rossetti’s modes of thought and composi- tion. Kooistra brings out well the workings of her visual imagina- tion, both in her compositions and in supervising the visual packaging of their publication, as well as showing “the very ma- terial effects” that successive illustrations to Rossetti “have had on reception and interpretation” (p. 13). While on the subject of Christina Rossetti, incidentally, one should note the excellent essay about her by Jacqueline Rose in her On Not Being Able to Sleep: Psychoanalysis and the Modern World. Initially appearing as a review of Jan Marsh’s Christina Rossetti: A Writer’s Life (1994), this piece gains new resonance through being placed in the con- text of broader speculation about the biographical treatment of women, helping to pose questions about the gender implications for studies of suffering and vulnerability. Although not a critical study but an edition of correspon- dence, the volume edited by Morton N. Cohen and Edward Wakeling, Lewis Carroll and His Illustrators: Collaborations and Correspondence, 1865–1898, like Kooistra’s work, gives a clear sense of the vision of his characters that Lewis Carroll carried in his head, and the exacting authority that he wielded—or attempted to wield—over his illustrators. The brief biographies of the illus- trators included (John Tenniel, Henry Holiday, Arthur Burdett Frost, Harry Furniss, and Emily Gertrude Thomson) offer useful outlines of the histories of their publishing relationships with Lewis Carroll. Haunted Texts: Studies in Pre-Raphaelitism, edited by David Latham, also sheds light on the bibliocritical issues surrounding the movement. The volume pays tribute to the work of William E. Fredeman and the critical foundation that he laid for Pre-Raphaelite studies. The history of these studies is well outlined by Latham in the introductory essay, and the volume includes, among other good pieces, a provocative essay by J. Hillis 912 Recent Studies Miller, which, while ostensibly about J. A. M. Whistler’s paint- ing/Algernon Charles Swinburne’s poem “Before the Mirror,” is among other things a meditation on how a computer-adept per- son “will read literature of the past differently” (p. 140) in this new age of multimedia study. Two books stand out for their contribution to our understand- ing of publishing from the point of view of the publisher rather than the author. Helen Braithwaite’s Romanticism, Publishing, and Dissent: Joseph Johnson and the Cause of Liberty examines the importance of this major bookseller of late-eighteenth-cen- tury England, who published such authors as Joseph Priestley, William Cowper, Mary Wollstonecraft, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Erasmus Darwin. Johnson was strongly rebuked during his life- time as a “radical” publisher; this study emphasizes that what truly drove him was a passion for ideas and debate. Believing that discussion had to be conducted without ideological parti- sanship, he was further motivated by a fervent wish not to be attached to, or associated with, any particular party. By looking closely at the books he was responsible for bringing out, Braithwaite demonstrates that Johnson’s reputation as a dan- gerous radical was undeserved, despite some of the famous (or, for some contemporaries, notorious) volumes with which he was associated. Over and beyond this, Braithwaite’s recuperation of Johnson brings out the way in which the radicalism of the period may most usefully be associated with the idea of debate, rather than sedition—whether the topic was religious or civil liberty, war with America, political representation, or the French revolu- tion. The study offers a detailed account of a significant cross section of the intellectual community of the time, and of the in- tellectual center and facilitation provided by Johnson for a whole range of writers who wished “to encourage scepticism and intel- lectual independence and produce change by enlightening the people” (p. 58). George J. Worth gives us a much-needed account of the rise and fall of Macmillan’s Magazine, 1859–1907. “No Flippancy or Abuse Allowed” is his subtitle, which offers a neat summary of the ethos that Alexander Macmillan, the head of the publishing firm, sought to impose on the magazine which first appeared in 1859, and which was to form a recognized vehicle for the broad range of concerns associated with the Christian Socialist move- ment and with the outlook of Frederick Denison Maurice in par- ticular. Worth is a thoughtful historian: he is aware from the start that despite the huge amount of archival material at his disposal, Kate Flint 913 there are some crucial facts about the periodical’s operation that we will never know, whether because of gaps or contradictions in the material or because of what documents tend to fail to tell us about human motivations. He is straightforward in describing the gaps in his own study, too, that result from his reluctance to reproduce materials readily available elsewhere. Where he ex- cels, to my mind, is in exploring how the Magazine dealt with its authors, juggling their periodical work and the related books which they also often brought out (Worth fruitfully takes Margaret Oliphant as his case study), and in investigating its long-drawn- out decline, as Macmillan’s was increasingly unable to attract the same quality of author that it had earlier and gave off a de- cidedly backward-looking aura. Anya Clayworth has edited a very useful Selected Journalism of Oscar Wilde for Oxford World’s Clas- sics; it not only shows him responding to a range of contempo- rary topics—from Americans in London to cookery to Swinburne and Honoré de Balzac—in typically flippant and abusive style, but also demonstrates how his early, ephemeral pieces were the ground on which he was to establish not just stylistic maneuvers but also themes to which he would return time and again. The collection of essays edited by Kim Wheatley, Romantic Periodicals and Print Culture, includes some interesting pieces, especially Lisa Niles’s article on “Blackwoods, the Maga for the Single Man,” as does E. J. Clery, Caroline Franklin, and Peter Garside’s volume, Authorship, Commerce, and the Public: Scenes of Writing, 1750–1850, which contains essays touching on, among other issues, the professionalization of privacy, anonymity, mar- keting and feminist editing, library management, state patron- age, and the growth of literary markets. Many critical studies now give much fuller attention to the idea of an audience and to the activity of reading than used to be the case: one further example, to those already discussed, is Emily Allen’s Theater Figures: The Production of the Nineteenth-Century British Novel, with its emphasis on actual and implied perfor- mance. This may be the reason that there has not been much recent publishing in nineteenth-century studies that has focused explicitly upon the role of the reader. I have already considered one notable exception, however—T. R. Wright’s Hardy and His Readers—and mention should also be made of Catherine J. Golden’s Images of the Woman Reader in Victorian British and American Fiction, which examines the recurrent figure of the woman reader in fiction and, most notably, in illustration to popu- lar novels, on both sides of the Atlantic. Her conclusions, how- 914 Recent Studies ever, do not offer any redrawing of the established understand- ing of the Victorian woman reader: the heterogeneity of her prac- tices; her hunger for texts; and the anxieties that her reading practices stimulated. It comes as no surprise to learn that “Fic- tional women within the pages of these Victorian British and American novels, and others standing behind them, communi- cate that women read for education and empowerment, as well as for gentility and socialization, all the while that critics feared fiction for its biological, medical, and moral repercussions and criticized it widely” (p. 230). However, while many of the fictional examples are familiar to those interested in these debates (Jane Eyre, The Mill on the Floss, The Doctor’s Wife, Little Women), the inclusion of discussion of illustrations of women readers usefully extends our understanding both of the re-iterative effect of ste- reotypes and of the ways in which the trope of the woman reader traveled transatlantically. As with so many books this year, John Plunkett’s Queen Victoria: First Media Monarch is hard to fit neatly into any cat- egory, but it certainly adds considerably to our understanding of the power of the media—particularly the illustrated media—in creating the monarchy. He is not just concerned with the formal representations of Victoria and the ways in which the royal house- hold became increasingly adept at recognizing the power of the media, and manipulating it accordingly, but also with the ways in which she was made over in a variety of satirical and radical periodicals, in a manner that—as Dickens, among others, recog- nized—sometimes had a decided sexual dimension. Plunkett writes well of the part played by the photograph in her image making—“the modernity of the camera, like that of ‘news,’ was claimed to reform the nature of the monarchy” (p. 198), and of the changing relationships between journalists and the royal fam- ily. This lively account is restricted to the first half of Victoria’s reign, partly because she then went into a protracted period of mourning and withdrawal from public life, partly because of the significance of developments in print and visual culture during this period, and partly because, “following Victoria’s creation as Empress of India in 1876, there was an imperial reinvention of the monarchy that deserves a study in its own right” (p. 10). On the strength of this volume, packed with compelling detail as well as demonstrating the growing power of the royal culture indus- try, one hopes that Plunkett will write it himself. Kate Flint 915 IX Queen Victoria falls into the category of someone who is not strictly speaking a literary figure, but whose social and cultural presence is central to our understanding of the nineteenth cen- tury. On a smaller scale, the same may be said to be true of a number of figures whose letters have been published this year. Ann B. Murphy and Deirdre Raftery’s Emily Davies: Collected Letters, 1861–1875 covers the years of her greatest social and political activity. Most of these letters have not previously been published, and they throw an enormous amount of light on Davies’s work in relation to women’s suffrage, education, and journalism; her involvement in the Langham Place circle; her editing of English Woman’s Journal; and the founding of Girton College. Davies was a lively, direct, and—when the occasion de- manded it—rhetorically pragmatic correspondent. Likewise, Jane Carlyle: Newly Selected Letters (edited by Kenneth J. Fielding and David R. Sorensen, and incorporating a significant amount of new material) conveys a sense of this woman’s spirited—some- times difficult, often angry—personality, deeply engaged in events and the lives of herself and others, and endearingly irreverent and volatile. The editors’ commentary which links the letters en- sures that the volume reads almost as autobiography. Jane Carlyle may have remarked, apropos of Charles Darwin’s Origin of Spe- cies, that she “was no oyster!—nor had no grandfather as oyster within my knowledge” (p. 247), but a more serious picture of the scientist’s thought is necessarily conveyed by volumes 11, 12, and 13 of The Correspondence of Charles Darwin, edited by Frederick Burkhardt et al., and covering the years 1863–65. The latest volume—Volume 6—of the Collected Works of Florence Night- ingale, Florence Nightingale on Public Health Care, likewise shows Nightingale to have been another public figure adept at persua- sive, forceful argument in her letters and short polemical pieces on the topic of responsible and effective health care, and also to have been a very effective plain communicator in such works as Notes on Nursing for the Labouring Classes. Her remarks on the environment of the poor, and on the effects of noise on the sick, are only some of the issues about which she writes that are likely to be of importance to cultural scholars of the period with an interest that goes beyond sanitation and the obtaining and train- ing of nurses: moreover, the question of woman’s employment— whether paid or voluntary—is necessarily an important one throughout. 916 Recent Studies X On the topic of editions, both Oxford World’s Classics and Penguin have brought out many reissues and new editions: Austen and Dickens have both been very well served in this respect, and one should also note Zachary Leader and Michael O’Neill’s good edition of Percy Bysshe Shelley: The Major Works for World’s Clas- sics. Broadview has continued its excellent work in making long- out-of-print (as well as classic) nineteenth-century texts available in new editions which contain very useful contextual materials as well: these include Grant Allen’s The Type-Writer Girl; Marie Corelli’s Wormwood, and Ella Hepworth Dixon’s The Story of a Modern Woman, as well as Solveig C. Robinson’s anthology, A Serious Occupation: Literary Criticism by Victorian Women Writ- ers. Marcus Wood has, in The Poetry of Slavery: An Anglo-Ameri- can Anthology, 1764–1865, collected together a truly valuable collection of poetry relating to slavery from both Britain and the United States, many of the verses culled from obscure sources. Unfortunately the editorial material is overfull of bombast and problematic generalizations. Jerome McGann has produced an attractive edition of Dante Gabriel Rossetti: Collected Poetry and Prose with a characteristically illuminating and stimulating in- troduction: this is an edition which will come into its own when the on-line Rossetti Archive project is fully complete. XI Finally, the fascination with considering how both we and our predecessors look back to, reprocess, and repossess earlier periods continues. James Najarian’s consideration of Victorian Keats offers one example of how the later nineteenth century looked back on the writings of the Romantic period, and Joel Faflak and Julia M. Wright’s collection of essays, Nervous Reac- tions: Victorian Recollections of Romanticism offers further inti- mations of Keats’s later reception, this time at the hands of Sara Coleridge (as addressed by Joanne Wilkes). Sara Coleridge, in- deed, is the topic of two other essays in this eclectic volume, which is strongest when it addresses individual instances of tex- tual transmission. Presenting a far more sustained sense of a Romantic afterlife is Ian Reid’s Wordsworth and the Formation of English Studies. Reid takes a very different route in tracing this poet’s continuing impact from that put forward in Stephen Gill’s admirable study of his iconic status in Wordsworth and the Victo- Kate Flint 917 rians (1998): his concern is with the various ways in which this figure has been appropriated by the literary academy and what this reveals about the changing “curricular and pedagogic struc- tures [which] have incorporated normatively several assumptions that derive from the ethical and aesthetic postures of Romanti- cism” (p. 213)—the importance of “imaginative” writing; the privi- leging of certain genres; the imperative of paying attention to both national cultural heritage and literary expressions of selfhood; and the foregrounding of readers’ responses to texts. And, as this study shows through its interesting close examination of schol- arly trends in Britain, the United States, and Australia, “[i]n many cases these assumptions have been framed in ways that have a specifically Wordsworthian character” (p. 214). Reid is himself an Australian scholar, and in addition to his insights into the role that Wordsworth has played in providing personal guidance and political inspiration to public figures outside Britain, he has a very illuminating chapter on the place of Wordsworth as poet of empire, a poet both rebelled against and reappropriated by postcolonial writers. Reid is well aware that the contours of literary studies have changed somewhat and that the shaping voice of Wordsworth is less strong today than hitherto. But this does not mean that the influence of the long nineteenth century does not continue to be felt within cultural production. Less academic in orientation (both in terms of a focus on institutional politics and in relation to its own engaged style) is Shirley Dent and Jason Whittaker’s sug- gestive and provocative Radical Blake: Influence and Afterlife from 1827, which itself surely owes a good deal to the iconoclasm of its subject. We are given a rapidly moving account of the ways in which Blake has been seen by such writers as Yeats, Swinburne, and Bataille as a visual and visionary artist; of the place that he has played in debates about nationalism and internationalism (from Derek Jarman’s The Last of England to the different con- texts in which “Jerusalem” is sung); and of his role in America, whether in the abolitionist movement in the early years of the republic or in the work of Allen Ginsberg. The importance of Anne Gilchrist in shaping her husband’s influential life of Blake is noted, as are other women who have worked with his texts, including Patti Smith and Angela Carter. There is an especially valuable chapter on the influence Blake has had on representations of London, whether by James Thomson or Iain Sinclair. As a study in textual transmission, this book often raises questions that it does not quite answer (although it has some interesting material 918 Recent Studies on Blake forgeries); as a resource and a testimony to Blake’s long- standing radical impact, it has much to offer. The difficulty of where to draw lines when it comes to literary periodization is brought out, too, by John Beer’s subtle, beauti- fully written Post-Romantic Consciousness: Dickens to Plath, a sequel to his Romantic Consciousness. At once ambitious and economical, Beer takes a number of key instances and writers— Dickens’s Mystery of Edwin Drood, the writings of F. W. H. Myers and members of the Society for Psychical Research, William James, Martin Heidegger, John Paul Sartre, Václav Havel, Vir- ginia Woolf, Lawrence, Plath, and Ted Hughes—in order to bring out shifting attitudes toward identity, selfhood, and the negotia- tion of those underlying questions “raised by a world created by conscious rational organization and one which might be less amenable to mental analysis” (p. 3). This is a book that brings literature into dialogue with one of the largest of philosophical topics—“the strange game of hide and seek that Consciousness plays with Being” (p. 42)—and does so in a way that makes one turn back to reading literature re-alerted to the enormity of the underlying questions which are embedded in its imaginative con- structions. Another writer to deal with the Society for Psychical Research—quite differently, albeit in another work which straddles the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries—is Alex Owen in The Place of Enchantment: British Occultism and the Culture of the Modern, which addresses the late-century fascination with medi- ums, strange spiritual encounters, and experimentation. While not dealing in a sustained way with literary issues (although Yeats’s engagement with the Golden Dawn, his interest in astral journeys, and his overall fascination with the occult are consid- ered at some length), this is a book that both helps to place much strange fin-de-siècle writing into a full context, and also explores in what ways many Victorians regarded the fin-de-siècle not so much as “fin” as representing a new beginning. Looking forward; looking backward. The centenary of Victoria’s death in 2001 provoked widespread reassessment of the life and importance of this monarch (Plunkett’s study adds valuably to work by Adrienne Munich and Margaret Homans, in this respect), of the impact of her reign, and of its cultural legacy. John Kucich and Dianne F. Sadoff’s collection of essays, Victorian Afterlife: Postmodern Culture Rewrites the Nineteenth Century, which ap- peared in 2000, set a high standard for this mode of reassess- ment, and 2003 witnessed several other texts that develop this theme. Christoph Lindner, in Fictions of Commodity Culture: From Kate Flint 919 the Victorian to the Postmodern, pairs nineteenth-century and late- twentieth-century texts in order to ask questions about the forms and representation of consumerism in both periods: Gaskell with Irving Welsh’s Trainspotting; Vanity Fair and Martin Amis’s Money; The Eustace Diamonds and the phenomenon of Madonna; and The Secret Agent with the rise of British punk. A final chapter examines Don DeLillo’s White Noise to bring out what the author believes to be “the void at the very core of late twentieth-century consumer culture” (p. 167). Lindner draws extensively on some of the major commentators on the topic of consumer culture in both the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, from Thomas Richards to Jean Baudrillard; and on some themes which have become familiar to students of commodification and the Victo- rian novel—department store windows; Karl Marx on commodity fetishism—with the result that some of his analysis of individual novels seems quite familiar in its emphasis. He is, moreover, a little too prone to write as though his chosen novels were origi- nally written to fit his thesis. But the juxtaposition of texts from two centuries is intelligently done and the book as a whole func- tions as a stimulating way to trace the representational origins of themes which have later become culturally dominant. One obvious way in which nineteenth-century texts experi- ence strong but significantly transformed afterlives is through their translation to the screen. Two volumes published by Cam- bridge University Press, Jane Austen on Screen (edited by Gina Macdonald and Andrew F. Macdonald), and Dickens on Screen (edited by John Glavin), while focusing on the adaptations that the works of their respective authors have received, raise a num- ber of issues that are pertinent to the many debates that center around the translation of nineteenth-century fiction into film more generally: how “purist” should one be? (and what are the dangers of lapsing into prettified costume drama?) How best to convey a distinct narrative voice—especially when, like Austen’s, it is an ironic one? If a director chooses to use the medium of film for interpretive ends, rather than remaining “faithful” to the origi- nal—as Patricia Rozema does with Mansfield Park, say, an adap- tation treated peculiarly grudgingly by Jan Fergus in her essay—is this disruption to be celebrated or regretted? How far do audi- ence expectations and desires, translated into the profit motive, bear on the eventual product, and to what extent does the pro- cess of adaptation demand the consideration of the historical dis- tance between original text and filmic translation? And then, again, what can one learn about the historical conditions of film expec- 920 Recent Studies tations when we watch a movie, such as David Lean’s Great Ex- pectations (1946), that may in many ways seem to employ out- moded cinematographic and social conventions? While both of these volumes contain a number of stimulating essays, they are far from being the companion volumes that their format would suggest. Glavin’s volume is much the quirkier of the two; it seems to expect that many of its readers will already have considerable familiarity not just with films based on Dickens’s novels but with the scholarship surrounding these interpretations. Certain of these short essays stand out for their freshness and intelligence (John Bowen on the ways in which David Copperfield’s dramati- zation of the formation of the subject is quasi-filmic in nature; John Jordan on Great Expectations on Australian television; Garrett Stewart on “Dickens, Eisenstein, Film”), but the volume as a whole lacks coherence, entertaining though much of it is. The Macdonalds’ collection, however, appears to be aimed at adoption for a class encountering these issues for the first time (as is evidenced by the study questions near the back). Opening with a discussion of the polarization that has grown up between those Austen enthusiasts who want to see the page translated as “authentically” as possible to the screen and those who look on the medium of film as offering unsurpassed opportunities for imaginative (re)interpretation, the volume offers two excellent essays by Harriet Margolis (“Janeite Culture: What Does the Name ‘Jane Austen’ Authorize?”) and Jocelyn Harris (on “Translation, Imitation, and Intertextuality in Jane Austen on Screen”) before proceeding to studies of film versions of individual novels. John Mosier’s essay “Clues for the Clueless,” which closes the volume, while preferring the freedom of Amy Heckerling’s Clueless and Rozema’s film to all other versions, provocatively concludes “No film has yet been made worthy of Austen” (p. 251). Finally, two volumes stand out for their sustained examina- tion of the Victorian period from the vantage point of the early- twenty-first century: the collection of essays edited by Christine L. Krueger, Functions of Victorian Culture at the Present Time, and Jay Clayton’s ambitious and extremely stimulating Charles Dickens in Cyberspace: The Afterlife of the Nineteenth Century in Postmodern Culture. Somewhat in the mode of Kucich and Sadoff, Krueger’s collection had its origins in a 2000 MLA panel, with the result that some of the essays are briefer than one would wish. Nor, moreover, are all the essays equal when it comes to relating past to present: Florence Boos’s brisk catalog of nineteenth-cen- tury working class women poets does not really grapple with the Kate Flint 921 interesting question it poses: how should we read such works in today’s political contexts? And Krueger’s own piece, on Mary Carpenter’s reform campaign on behalf of children accused of crime and the ways in which it intersected with the type of ap- peal made in social-problem fictions, is fascinating in its own right, but leaves too little space to explore the topic she raises in her conclusion about the ways in which contemporary legal theo- rists use particularistic narrative evidence. But the best essays— which include Simon Joyce’s demonstration that the problems of looking back to the Victorian period are complicated by the many contradictions of the period itself; Miriam Bailin on today’s mar- keting of “Victorian” artefacts; Ellen Bayuk Rosenman on the ways in which television and film adaptations of Victorian fiction rede- fine the complex critique of commodity culture within the novels themselves; and Sharon Aronofsky on Victorians on Broadway— all contribute toward the pieces in the final section (by David Barndollar and Susan Schorn, and Sue Lonoff) that ask how we can best teach the long, complex Victorian novel, given our stu- dents’ reading skills and the technologies open to us. Ronald Thomas centers his essay in Krueger’s volume, “The Legacy of Victorian Spectacle,” on the “overly ambitious visions” that resulted in London’s Millennium Dome and their parallels to the Crystal Palace and the Great Exhibition. Jay Clayton, too, begins with this apt and tempting point of comparison in order to raise one of his book’s central questions: “what is the place of the past in contemporary culture?” (p. 13). His exciting study covers a good deal of varied ground. Clayton is less interested in adap- tation and transformation than in intellectual parallels—between, for example, Babbage’s Difference Engine and today’s highly funded programs in computer intelligence and genetic engineer- ing; Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and cyborg theory (another ver- sion of the piece by him that appears in Schor’s volume); telegraphs, Hardy’s A Laodicean, and Friedrich A. Kittler’s work on discourse networks; and an investigation of the relationship that recent fiction has maintained with Darwin’s writings. But Clayton’s book goes beyond the Victorian period to raise ques- tions that are highly pertinent to all of us who are uncertain quite what labels we now bear—literary critics? cultural theo- rists? cultural historians? “If periods are cognitive tools,” Clayton asks, what kind of knowledge do they yield? Many critics have been tempted to answer “normative” or “dominant,” but 922 Recent Studies that oversimplifies the range of their usefulness. Period concepts can reconfigure one’s understanding of the past, challenging received wisdom rather than reproducing the status quo. The more complex answer is that periods yield disciplinary knowledge. They exist and function solely within the modern ensemble of disciplines, which are most visible in the academy and its allied sectors, such as pub- lishing, educational services, libraries, research founda- tions, commercial databases, and other information industries. To label a form of knowledge as disciplinary is not to trivialize it but rather to indicate the kind of cul- tural work it undertakes. (p. 142) This passage succinctly draws together many of the issues with which this review essay has been concerned. Yet the impact of literature does not, and must not, stay within the academy, with its pragmatic and political tendencies to herd and reherd academic studies into disciplines. This is the domi- nant motif that runs through many of the best studies this year. Even if they themselves are couched in ostensibly traditional aca- demic discourse, they demonstrate, over and over again, how nine- teenth-century thinkers and writers did not necessarily operate within the enclosures to which they have subsequently often been confined. And the most stimulating of these studies gesture, too, to why it would be a serious mistake to confine the impact of nineteenth-century writing to “the academy and its allied sec- tors.” Paul Hamilton’s important contribution to understanding the impact and importance of Romantic thought, Metaromaticism: Aesthetics, Literature, Theory, provides an admirable case in point. Many of the chapters in this volume (for example on Coleridge and William Godwin, Keats, Scott’s narratives and Revolutionary historiography, and on aspects of recent Romantic criticism) have previously been published: intensely thoughtful on the language and philosophy of Romanticism, they are often challenging, if worthwhile, to read. But the volume is framed by a sustained discussion of the place of Romantic thought today and its rela- tionship to ethical and political imperatives (even if one suspects the language in which this analysis is couched is only, in fact, going to reach those within academe). For Hamilton, such thought has implications that reach beyond the generous open- mindedness promised by open-ended relativism. His hope lies in the degree to which the multifariousness of Romantic thought, Kate Flint 923 worked through (if on occasion vehemently opposed) in many different ways during the nineteenth century, may inaugurate a new respect for difference, informed through sympathy; under- standing, though not damagingly idealizing, Others; and express- ing a due cynicism about one’s own self-sufficiency. “From this perspective,” writes Hamilton, “metaromanticism gives us a salu- tary political vision extending beyond the confessional state, be- yond the commercial consensus of liberal democracy that succeeded it . . . This vision reaches towards a society possessing the arts of accommodating the mixed allegiances that have to remain in dialogue for the frail postcolonial civilization in which we live to survive” (p. 22). Connecting the past to our present, in other words, goes way beyond considering how the nineteenth century is reworked by the culture industry or by tourism. It involves an investigation of the deep underlying personal, philosophical, economic, and po- litical issues that animated and perplexed that century, and which still continue to resonate. Interdisciplinary nineteenth-century studies, by redrawing the lines through which we have become accustomed to think of the past, are uniquely positioned to help us bring out these continuities, as well as divergences, from our cultural past. NOTE 1 Larry McMurtry, Walter Benjamin at the Dairy Queen: Reflections at Sixty and Beyond (1999) (New York: Touchstone, 2001), p. 102. 
work_satbbhxhnjdvxhpxjf5zdbchia	----	Microsoft Word - Dooley.docx 1 South Asian Review, Vol. 33, No. 2, 2012 Archived at the Flinders Academic Commons. http://dspace.flinders.edu.au/dspace/ This is the author’s final proof of this article 2 Gillian Dooley Naipaul’s Women Revisited Gillian Dooley Flinders University [Abstract: This article is a reconsideration of V.S. Naipaul’s attitude toward women, following from the author’s 2005 article “Naipaul’s Women.” Various recent statements Naipaul has made about female authors, including Diana Athill and Jane Austen, are examined in the light of his writings, both fact and fiction, about women in general and women writers in particular. Some consideration is also given to his relations with women in his personal life, including his sister and his wife. The final assessment is that Naipaul’s impatient “off the cuff” statements about women in interviews and at public events are not reflected in his nonfiction writings.] n a 2005 article published in the South Asian Review, I defended V.S. Naipaul against the common charge that he is a hater of women. I wrote that the belief that he is a misogynist seems to be based on a small sample of his fiction, and does not take into account the complexity of his oeuvre. I concluded that “women, in Naipaul’s fiction, are rarely central but often important, and are not singled out for his anger or contempt” (Dooley, Naipaul’s Women 101). Naipaul’s recent novels, Half a Life and Magic Seeds, are more misanthropic in general, I decided, than misogynist in particular. However, for various reasons I have begun to wonder recently why I should continue to defend him. Re-reading my article six years later, I am struck by its intemperate tone. It is not that there is any point in particular on which I have changed my opinion, but I seem to have approached the work of my fellow scholars in an unattractive, and perhaps unreasonable, crusading spirit. I am, after all, a female and a writer myself, and since Naipaul has recently very publicly attacked women writers, I would probably be included among those whom he is criticizing. As he is singling out two writers whom I greatly admire, I thought it was perhaps time to revisit my examination of the subject, this time analyzing his attitude toward women both as writers and as fellow human beings. To this end, I will look at the criticisms that Naipaul has made of Diana Athill and Jane Austen, and then go on to consider his depictions of women in his last three major works of nonfiction. I Naipaul’s Women Revisited 3 Some would question if Naipaul deserves any attention at all: whether he has behaved so badly that we should just ignore him now. Laura Miller, for example, says that “there’s little evidence that Naipaul has ever behaved kindly to anyone” and that therefore perhaps we should “just scrap the whole thing” and refuse to read his books, despite their power (Miller). Patrick French points out in his biography that much of Naipaul’s public rudeness can be attributed to “picong,” a Trinidad expression that comes “from the French ‘piquant,’ meaning sharp or cutting, where the boundary between good and bad taste is deliberately blurred, and the listener sent reeling” (xiii). According to French, Naipaul’s devastating and aggressive manner in interviews is actually a means of defending himself: His technique was to repeat things he had said before, but make them sound new, throwing out controversy like chaff to deflect attention from his real, inner, writerly self. . . . When academics berated him for his views, he responded in Trinidad street style, making it sound like British haughtiness. (410) I am certainly not inclined to forgo the pleasure of his writing to make some kind of principled stand about his bad behavior. I can open just about any of his books at random and be mesmerized by the balance and grace of his sentences and the clarity of his insight—even if it is an insight that comes from a certain wilful blindness. He is expressing his own personal, idiosyncratic point of view, rather than a political point or a deeply reasoned argument, and it is not necessary to agree with his opinions to find him eminently readable. Nevertheless, one cannot help but suspect that Naipaul is being hypocritical in various ways. For one, he hates being labelled. Diana Athill says that he cancelled his contract with Secker and Warburg because “when they announced Guerrillas in their catalogue they described him as ‘the West Indian novelist’” (Athill, Stet 232). The imposition of ideologies is a constant preoccupation in his writing. As I have written elsewhere, “For anyone to impose their beliefs about progress, human happiness, and correct behaviour upon others is a dangerous presumption. Naipaul’s dislike of causes no doubt arises from a personal fear of being subjected to such impositions” (Dooley, VS Naipaul 35). This being so, it seems doubly unfair for him to say that he believes women writers are “quite different. . . . I read a piece of writing and within a paragraph or two I know whether it is by a woman or not. I think [it is] unequal to me” (Fallon). In addition to running this article online, The Guardian posted a quiz featuring passages by ten unidentified authors, prompting readers to choose whether they thought a given passage was written by a man or a woman (Naipaul Test). I took the test myself, and I am quite ashamed to say that I achieved six 4 Gillian Dooley out of ten; but I only got such a high score because I recognized a passage from Naipaul’s A House for Mr Biswas. Most of the time I was just hazarding a guess, and several people I know scored lower than I did. Jane Austen has long been a focus of Naipaul’s contempt. The Guardian article, reporting on a recent interview at the Royal Geographical Society, quoted Naipaul as saying that he “couldn’t possibly share [Austen’s] sentimental ambitions, her sentimental sense of the world” (Fallon). But Naipaul first singled out Austen decades earlier. In a 2007 article on what I called his “blind spot” about Austen, I concluded that: He has dismissed Austen as “essentially a writer for women” and though I do not believe he is absolutely a misogynist he has never shown a great interest in the world of women. The trappings of the female world of the early nineteenth century—accomplishments, sprigged muslin and marriage—seem irretrievably trivial to him and blind him to Austen’s wit and penetration, despite the satire, irony and comedy which they so patently and consummately share. (Dooley, “What Trouble I have with Jane Austen” 38) Despite his easy scorn of Austen, Naipaul shows little evidence of having read much of her work. He has admitted to having read Pride and Prejudice and Emma during his youth in Trinidad and finding them incomprehensible—and, presumably as a consequence, boring. More recently, he has read Northanger Abbey and found the heroine, Catherine, to be a “terrible vapid woman,” with her “so-called love life” (Dhondy 21). As I discussed in my article, this is a seriously skewed reading of the novel: it is hard to see Catherine as vapid, and she never mentions love in the way he suggests. I was interested to read a recent article by Janet Todd that discusses the animosity of nineteenth-century American writers to Jane Austen. She discusses the fact that the American man, in heroic mold, would define himself as against society, which, because it is “often gendered female, becomes an entrapping combination of the older generation, sex, love, family, house, and community” (Todd 29). She pursues this notion further, applying it not just to American men, but also to American male authors: He is drawn into his own mythic creation, inventing a different form for his vision. As the hero does not accept the constraints of the house, so the author refuses the constraints of genre. The authentic writer-hero grows vast like the nation and what he creates must share his stature. (Todd 29) There is much here that chimes with Naipaul’s vision of himself as a writer, in particular his notion of the author as sui generis. He has said, Naipaul’s Women Revisited 5 “You have to be very clear about the material that possesses you, and you’ve got to find the correct form for it . . . The one that feels true to you” (Burn). He sees himself as largely self-made, acknowledging few influences and role models: Joseph Conrad is one, his father Seepersad Naipaul another. He mentions Gogol, Balzac, and Orwell with admiration, but there is not a large body of complimentary references to other male writers to set against his remarks about their female counterparts. He is rarely warm and generous in his praise of any other writer. It is interesting, too, that Todd talks about the “constraints of the house” (29). One of Naipaul’s remarks quoted in the RGS interview was that a woman could not be his equal as a writer because “inevitably for a woman, she is not a complete master of a house, so that comes over in her writing too” (Fallon). Todd continues with an analysis of the American male writer’s particular problem with Austen: All this is far from Jane Austen, who stands for almost everything such writers were trying to avoid. She is not mythic, she does not see the individual against the world, and she is not uncompromising. There is another factor of course. The universal man is just that: a man. His is a supremely masculine version of a supremely masculine type of individualistic, anti-social heroism. (Todd 29) This perceptive assessment also resonates strongly with remarks Naipaul has made about Jane Austen, and with the views he has expressed (and implied) throughout his life about women and their role in society. I do not fundamentally believe that Naipaul is as original and unique as he would have us think, and I went out of my way to identify some of his literary influences in my book. Nevertheless, I had been used to the idea of Naipaul as an original thinker, and perhaps I had fallen a little for the notion of his independence of mind and even his lack of intellectual forbears. However, Todd’s article about American male writers’ attitudes to Austen, and by extension the world of women writers, contains so many echoes of Naipaul that I am beginning to wonder if there is an area of unacknowledged influence to be explored there. This would be fertile territory for another article, but I will not pursue it here. As for what Austen would have thought of Naipaul, it is only an amusing diversion to contemplate such a thing. But in Paul Theroux’s memoir, he is quoted as saying, “Dance? I’ve never danced. I’d be ashamed of it. It is something out of the jungle” (Theroux 276). Perhaps he subconsciously remembered, long ago, reading of Mr. Darcy saying contemptuously to Sir William Lucas in Pride and Prejudice that dancing “has the advantage . . . of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world.—Every savage can dance” (Austen 25). Of course Mr. Darcy changes his mind: this is the 6 Gillian Dooley proud, unreconstructed Darcy of Chapter VI. Perhaps we could see Austen, in a fanciful anachronism, wittily avenging Naipaul’s contempt for her, and mocking him, along with her hero, for such a pompous view of an innocent pastime. Diana Athill was Naipaul’s editor at the London publisher Andre Deutsch for nearly thirty years. Though he mentions her with gratitude for her role in his career in A Writer’s People (2007), he said in 2011 that her writing is “feminine tosh”—though he added, comically, “I don’t mean this in any unkind way” (Flood). When asked to comment, Athill laughed off his opinion: “I can’t say it made me feel very bad. It just made me laugh . . . I think one should just ignore it, take no notice really” (Flood). No doubt she is right not to take personal offence, but it is interesting to look at these kinds of statements in a larger context. Peter D. Fraser has pointed out that Naipaul tends to pontificate “on matters on which he is less of an expert than he thinks” when he is in “less considered mode (that is, neither in his fiction nor non-fiction but usually in interviews and slighter pieces)” (214). Naipaul is a sublime writer himself, and has written some perceptive criticism, so it might be contended that he is something of an expert when it comes to assessing the writing of others. He told Aamer Hussein that “a good critic is someone who reads a text with a clear mind; most people are merely reading to find out what they already know” (160). However, it is difficult to reconcile his dismissal of Athill’s writing with an unprejudiced reading of her work. Athill is the author of several books, most of them memoirs. In one of her memoirs, Make Believe, she recounts her friendship with Hakim Jamal and Gale Benson, whose tragic and appalling story became the basis for Naipaul’s novel Guerrillas.1 It is an original and very candid book, clear-eyed and unsentimental. The sexual act is described in plain, direct language, and Athill’s feelings toward Hakim are described in a way which might be seen as unfeminine: For an instant I had felt piercingly something which I suppose men to feel more often than women: the alarming power of beauty. It was a physical sensation, as though a floor under my heart had given way and it was about to drop into a gulf of excruciatingly intense longing for this magical creature. Once my eyelids shut the image out, the feeling stopped. Afterwards I was pleased I’d had it, but even more pleased that it had only lasted a few seconds: how appalling to be lastingly the victim of such a feeling simply because of how someone looked! (Athill, Make Believe 29) This matter-of-fact, unromantic tone when writing about love and sex is typical of Athill, and the fact that she describes the overwhelming feeling she had as more frequently felt by men than women perhaps increases the sense of transgressing traditional gender boundaries. Naipaul’s Women Revisited 7 Athill has continued to write into her late 80s and beyond. She won the Costa Biography Award in 2008 with Somewhere Towards the End. In this memoir she talks frankly about the pains and pleasures of getting old and facing death, including the waning of sexuality that comes with age. It is difficult to see any of this as sentimental or “feminine tosh.” My suspicion—although one cannot really know for certain—is that Naipaul finds Athill’s frankness about sex and its pleasures extremely uncomfortable. In his own writing, sex almost always has an unpleasant and often violent dimension, as if he has never really got past the feeling he had in his twenties, when he wrote, “I cannot write Sex. . . . I would be embarrassed even at the moment of writing. My friends would laugh. My mother would be shocked, and with reason” (Naipaul, “London” 13). If I am right, then paradoxically, it is not the femininity in Athill’s books, but their failure to conform to his standards of femininity that bothers him. But then he may not have persisted with her books long enough to discover this aspect of them. If this is true, it is another area of hypocrisy: he said of the Indian response to his work, “I find that people who respond violently usually haven’t read the books. And I no longer forgive this” (Wheeler 44). One suspects that if he found them to be “feminine tosh,” then he might have decided not to read beyond the first few pages. Naipaul merited his own chapter in Athill’s book about her career in publishing, Stet. She documents the difficulties involved in publishing the work of someone with such a prickly, over-sensitive nature. At first she and his other friends were careful not to offend him because of his race. But she found it increasingly difficult to like him: I thought so highly of Vidia’s writing and felt his presence on our list to be so important that I simply could not allow myself not to like him. I was helped by a foundation of affection laid down during the early days of knowing him, and I was able to believe that his depressions hurt him far more than they hurt me. (Athill, Stet 226) But then he wrote Guerrillas, the book based on the story of Athill’s friends Hakim Jamal and Gail Benson, and she “could not like the book” (Athill, Stet 227). She told him as much, though she later regretted it, and it led to his (temporary) departure from Andre Deutsch. When he thought better of it and came back to the fold, she says, My private sun did go back behind a film of cloud, but in spite of that there was satisfaction in knowing that he thought himself better off with us than with them, and I had no doubt of the value of whatever books were still to come. (Athill, Stet 232) If Naipaul read this book—which he may not have, as he dislikes reading about himself (“I’m not a debater. How can I be concerned about people who don’t like my work? . . . I don’t read these things. 8 Gillian Dooley I’m nervous of being made self-conscious” [Schiff 137])—but if he did, then there may well be some hurt feelings implicated in his assessment of Athill’s writing. And what of other female writers? Patrick French says that during his time as a regular book reviewer for the New Statesman, from 1957- 61, “he read extensively among women writers, and often gave them better reviews than the men” (French 195), particularly praising Muriel Spark, Edna O’Brien and Attia Hosein. He stopped reviewing regularly in 1961, writing in a Times article that he preferred to return to the classics, including the Brontës (French 196). But despite the admiration he expresses for these women writers, one searches in vain in his anthologized literary criticism for serious consideration of any female writer, and although he often discusses other male writers in the interviews collected in Conversations with VS Naipaul, the only references to women authors are the dismissive ones to Jane Austen that I have already discussed, and an admission that he does not know Virginia Woolf (Hussein 157). Naipaul’s attitude toward women more generally is revealed in a 1994 interview with Stephen Schiff: I was an extremely passionate man, and utterly heterosexual—an adorer of women, all my life. What has happened now is that, with age, women have sunk in my esteem quite a bit. I’m no longer blinded by this way of looking at them. So in a way that’s a kind of loss. One has lost this excitement about women. . . . But I adored women. I thought they were wonderful. I loved their voices. I loved the quality of their skin. I loved everything about them. (Schiff 145- 46) This objectification of women might explain the difficulty Naipaul has in taking their subjectivity seriously, which is a requirement for taking their writing seriously. It also, perhaps, adds weight to my suspicion that Athill’s books make him uncomfortable partly because of their sexual frankness. If his esteem for a whole class of people is based solely on their physical attributes, he is not likely to be interested in their intellectual output, and is likely to be disconcerted when they coolly turn their gaze back on his sex, as Athill has—and indeed, as Austen often did. The elephant in the room, as it were, in discussing Naipaul’s attitude to women, is his first wife, Patricia.2 One could read every one of Naipaul’s nonfiction books without ever knowing he had such a thing as a wife. The index of Conversations with VS Naipaul contains neither an entry under Patricia Naipaul, nor any entries for “wife” or “marriage.” In the interviews, however, she is an seemingly servile presence that occasionally appears, “brings tea and slips away” (Atlas 100). Sometimes she reproves him, and occasionally she irritates him. Naipaul’s Women Revisited 9 In his 1991 interview, he was asked what his wife did: “‘She does nothing, nothing at all!’ he replied, laughing, as if the question were ridiculous” (Winokur 124). However, he later admitted that he leaned on her heavily as a listener and adviser as he wrote. Patrick French had access to Patricia Naipaul’s diaries when writing Naipaul’s biography, and from them we learn what this dependence cost her. Their courtship is charted in letters, Naipaul’s wavering commitment to her prefiguring their fraught and difficult marriage. An intelligent woman who was just as highly educated as her husband, she found her own ambitions, to write or even simply to act in an undergraduate play, were squashed. Naipaul’s reaction when she was diagnosed with cancer in 1989 was a revealing mixture of rage and irritation at the interruption to his work, and shame at his rage. She underwent a mastectomy and was in remission for some years, but the cancer returned and she died in 1996, after forty years of marriage. She was devastated by the revelations he made in a 1994 interview about his sexual past. She already knew that there was a mistress, Margaret Gooding—another story there, of course—but she was unprepared for his announcement to the world that he had been, in the early days of their marriage, “a great prostitute man” (Schiff 145). Too late he realized what he had done, and he told French, “It could be said that I had killed her. It could be said. I feel a little bit that way” (French 471). Naipaul’s relationship with his mother was also a vexed one, but he was close to his older sister Kamla. Many of the letters between the siblings were published in 1999 in Gillon Aitken’s collection Letters Between a Father and Son, along with the correspondence with his father Seepersad. Aitken wrote in his introduction that “there is an enlightening carelessness in the absence of reserve between Vidia [i.e. V.S. Naipaul] and his sister” (Naipaul, Letters xii). He seemed quite relaxed in his relations with her. In 1949 he wrote to her from Trinidad when she was studying in Benares: My darling, I want you to promise me one thing. I want you to promise that you will write a book in diary form about your stay in India. Try to stay at least 6 months—study conditions; analyse the character. Don’t be too bitter. Try to be humorous. . . . Your book will be a great success from the financial point of view. (Letters 8) Kamla never wrote her book: she returned to Trinidad after their father’s death and worked as a teacher to support the family. (None of his sisters became writers, though his brother Shiva did and, before the shock of his early death, Naipaul was routinely disparaging about his “mediocrity” [French 425]). Naipaul’s fictional female characters are, on the face of it, not particularly attractive. Athill speaks for many readers when she writes, 10 Gillian Dooley “He is not interested in writing about women, and when he does so usually does it with dislike” (Athill, Stet 224). However, few of Naipaul’s fictional characters of either sex are what one would call likeable, and in this respect, the men are not much better than the women. As I said in my 2005 article, “Women, in Naipaul’s fiction . . . are, on the whole, treated with no less, nor more, sympathy and respect than their husbands, brothers, sons, and lovers” (Naipaul’s Women 101). The fact that they are not central, that men hold the subject position in Naipaul’s fiction, could be interpreted as sexist, but Naipaul has always been a writer who needs to inhabit a subject position similar to his own in his characters, and I can imagine the outcry if he ever were to choose to write from a female point of view. But another possible source of illumination of Naipaul’s attitude toward women is his nonfiction. One of the great pleasures of these books is the unexpected, though usually fleeting, personal connections he makes on his travels, and these are often with women. Sometimes the women he meets conform to a reassuring model of femininity, like the wife of a founding member of the Shiv Sena in India: A Million Mutinies Now: “Mrs Raote was a pale-complexioned, handsome woman; and, as so often in Indian homes, the simple and apparently artless devotion of the wife to her husband was something that made an impression” (43). A little later he explains the cost of this devotion in Hindu family life: To be tormented by a mother-in-law was part of a young woman’s testing, part, almost, of growing up. Somehow the young woman survived; and then one day she became a mother-in-law herself, and had her own daughter-in-law to torment, to round off a life, to balance pain and joy. (49) Another Indian woman he meets is less conventional. Mallika, wife of the Dalit poet Namdeo Dhasal, had written an autobiography in Marathi, a story not only of love, but also of disillusion and pain . . . She was passionate about the freedom of women; but in her own life, because of her love for Namdeo, she found that she had lost some of her autonomy. (99) He discusses her book with her for three hours, complimenting her on a particular image, drawing her out about the frank expression of her sexuality. After relating their discussion, he goes on: The first part of Mallika’s book had ended. . . . “Male ego is the most hideous thing in our present society. Women find quite a pleasure in boosting it. . . . I do not believe that for anybody called Namdeo I should surrender my entire life.” But the book was also an account of her obsession with the man and his poetry and his cause, and her Naipaul’s Women Revisited 11 consequent lack of freedom. The second part of the book ended: “This has been the journey of a defeated mind.” (109) How poignant, and ironic, that he should devote ten pages of his book discussing this autobiography, while his own wife wrote in her diary: I really began to feel this urge to write, about the world in which I found myself, in the late sixties. . . . I was in daily contact with someone > – I will call him, for convenience sake, the Genius – < who could do the sort of writing I wanted to do, any sort of writing, superbly well. It wasn’t his example which set me off, I was strangely dead to that, it was his character. He was once supposed to have said to a woman . . . whom he had just met at a party, ‘It doesn’t matter what you think.’ He didn’t need to say that to me. He made it painfully obvious. . . . I felt assaulted but I could not defend myself. (French 440-41) Patricia’s autobiography was never written. In the Iran of Beyond Belief, in the mid-1990s, Naipaul met only a few women. He recalls his earlier visit: In February 1980 I had seen young women in guerrilla garb among the students camped outside the seized US Embassy. . . . I remember one plump young woman, in her khakis, coming out of a low tent on this freezing afternoon with a mug of steaming tea for one of the men: her face bright with the idea of serving the revolution and the warriors of the revolution. . . . I don’t think that young woman with the mug could have dreamed that the revolution to which she was contributing . . . would have ended in this way, with the old- fashioned tormenting of women. (225) He talks about the sister of his guide, Mehrdad, who had little chance of getting married, since too many men of suitable age had been killed in the eight-year war. She simply stayed at home when she came home from work: silent, full of inward rage, her unhappiness a shadow over the house. . . . It was too difficult for her to go out; and now she had lost the will. (225) He arranges to meet another woman, an expatriate who has returned to visit her elderly parents. During the visit he describes two versions of womanhood. A friend of Mrs. Seghir, divorced, was “friendly and fat, bursting out of her long skirt, and she had fat, greedy lips, made for food alone” (227). The malice of this portrait is somewhat tempered by the description of Mrs. Seghir’s mother, helping her husband to the lunch table. “She, very small and thin, her eyes weak behind her glasses, was still wifely and solicitous: such emotions go on to the end: it was affecting” (228). This from the writer who criticizes Austen for her “sentimental ambitions, her sentimental sense of the world!” (Fallon). But perhaps we can trace some feeling for Patricia, who died 12 Gillian Dooley during the writing of this book, in this sentimental touch. Of course, only a couple of months after her death, he married again. It seems significant that Naipaul defines all of these women in terms of their marital statuses, though undoubtedly in contemporary Iranian society, marital status is an important factor in determining the limited range of freedoms a woman might enjoy. As Naipaul describes it in Beyond Belief, Iran is an oppressive society for women, and if anything, Pakistan is worse. He writes angrily of the “older informal systems” that were showing through the more recent British institutions, including “the veiling and effective imprisoning of women, and giving men tomcatting rights over four women at a time, to use and discard at will” (251). He meets a woman who has been attacked and disfigured by her husband and his nephew, and who has escaped to a shelter for battered women. She is an example of the “people who are . . . voiceless and without representation.” Naipaul gives her a voice: She said that nothing gave her pleasure now. All she wanted was to get her children back. But something had happened since she ran away from her husband: she was not frightened now. . . . “I am not supposed to feel pleasure or happiness.” And suddenly she began to laugh. She was laughing at me, my strange questions, my clothes, the fact that I needed an interpreter to talk to her. The laughter had been building up inside her, and when it came she couldn’t control it, remembering only, for manners’ sake, to turn aside and cover her mouth and butchered nose with her palm. (255) Typically, Naipaul tells this woman’s story as he hears it, including the problems he has understanding the details and the difficulties of communicating through an interpreter, but the final paragraph is especially characteristic in the way it punctures the tragedy of the situation with the woman’s own completely individual response to Naipaul, this incomprehensible being she was confronted with. It does not show the woman in a flattering light, but it jolts the reader out of an easy kind of pity. Ten years later, Naipaul wrote The Masque of Africa: Glimpses of African Belief, published in 2010. It is soon quite clear that, with all the continent’s troubles, women have more power and independence in most of the African societies he visited than in the Islamic societies he visited. In fact, the first personal encounter he describes in the book is with a Ugandan woman, Susan: “She was a poet of merit and a literature teacher at Makerere. She was less than forty and slender and delicate, with a beautiful voice” (28). This is a surprise: he has found a woman writer, in fact a good woman writer, “a poet of merit.” Whether Naipaul’s Women Revisited 13 this is a personal judgment or a matter of reputation, it is surely significant that this is the first thing we hear about her. Then, of course, comes the physical description. Naipaul always likes to give concrete details of the people he meets and the places he visits—and men are as carefully described as women. But this is an extremely sympathetic description of a woman with a terrible family history of persecution: “there was so much in her quick heart and mind that couldn’t be contained in a simple religious definition,” he says (28). In this elegant sentence, Naipaul acknowledges the individuality and complexity of this particular woman, with a respect and generosity that is often missing from such descriptions. In Nigeria, he takes a swipe at Islam when visiting a palace containing a harem: “Islam living out its good old ways at its African limits” (147). In this quote, Naipaul’s distaste for Islam’s polygamous culture surfaces once again, though treated here with genial irony instead of the forensic rage of his remarks about Pakistan in Beyond Belief, quoted above. In Gabon, on the other hand, in the forest, he is told that women “are the real power. A woman may not exercise power, but she gives it to her son. . . . This country was not made for men” (227). Naipaul makes no comment on this, but the man he is interviewing is clearly spooked by the power of these forest women, who are “witches” and who make “many ritual sacrifices” (227). The balance of power between the sexes in these societies is clearly quite different from that in the Islamic societies in other parts of Africa. Several times in Africa, Naipaul employs female guides and even a female bodyguard. Fatima, in South Africa, is a woman of color who has “literary ambitions” and whose character has been shaped by Apartheid. “Someone less remarkable would have been crushed,” Naipaul says (285), and he uses her story as an example of the difficulties of finding an identity in a country where, even after the end of Apartheid, “race was all in all” (288). What a contrast to his tart response to a discussion between Indian writers Shashi Deshpande and Nayantara Sahgal in February 2002: “My life is short. I can’t listen to banality. This thing about colonialism, this thing about gender oppression, the very word oppression wearies me” (Gibbons). This is perhaps an example of Naipaul allowing his irritation to get the better of him in “less considered mode,” as Fraser has it (214), or an example of the “picong” French describes, “where the boundary between good and bad taste is deliberately blurred” (xiii). This, of course, hardly excuses his bad behavior and discourtesy to his fellow authors. Where does all of this leave us? In Naipaul’s three most recent nonfiction books, there is little evidence of any animosity toward women. Some are criticized, but, as I found in my study of attitudes toward women in his novels, his criticism of women is not 14 Gillian Dooley disproportionate when compared with his criticism of men. Usually his women are treated with respect, their stories and opinions given equal weight to men’s. Naipaul’s women are often described in physical terms, but so are his men, and it is part of Naipaul’s method to give his reader a clear picture of the places and people he meets. Also, there are several woman writers among those he interviews. Writing these books is, of course, quite a different matter from speaking “off the cuff” in interviews or at public talks, where for some reason Naipaul too often allows his petty irritations free reign. This might partly be explained by something he said in a 1990 interview. Travelling in the southern states of the USA, he “began to feel that the people he met could help [in constructing a picture] more than he had permitted in the past. He would let them talk, keeping himself much more in the background” (Robinson 111). This idea seems to require taking people of either sex on their own terms and allowing them an independent voice to a degree that he might not feel necessary in his life outside of writing; or, as French suggests, his provocative statements may be designed as a means of defending his “writerly self” (410). The outrageous sexism of his remarks about women writers would not, of course, have been unusual in the years when he was struggling to make his mark, before the feminist movement took off in the 1960s and ’70s—in the days of Kingsley Amis, Evelyn Waugh and their ilk. As French points out, Naipaul’s use of “picong” is devastating, with the Oxford accent, the beautifully modulated voice, and the expression of venomous opinions more at home on a Port of Spain street corner. But although this might be the explanation for how the behavior began, it is hardly an excuse for its continuance well beyond the time when Naipaul needed to assert himself in a world that was inclined to treat him with disregard. In The Enigma of Arrival he wrote of how, before he could make a beginning, “man and writer” had to “[come] together again”; that “both were really the same” (Naipaul, Enigma 135). But can one, after all, divide the man from the writer? Looking at the things he says alongside the things he writes, it may be the only way to redeem him. Otherwise, he stands condemned for hypocrisy, for labelling women in a way he hates to be labelled himself, for writing from exactly the personal and subjective point of view, and sometimes with a sentimental tone, that he despises in women writers, and for judging the writing of women authors without having necessarily read it. As James Ley wrote in the Australian Book Review, “if we start purging the corpus of modern literature of scoundrels, egotists, adulterers, cranks, dipsomaniacs, hypocrites, perverts, depressives, religious nuts, and political crackpots, there will be precious little left” (Ley 32). Naipaul’s Women Revisited 15 It is to be hoped that the heat of these controversies will fade with time, as is usually the case. After all, though what Mark Twain or Alexander Pope say of their contemporaries is still of historical interest, it has little bearing on the place of their work in the literary canon. Naipaul has admitted that he is not free from bias: “For works to last, they must have a certain clear-sightedness. And to achieve that, one perhaps needs a few prejudices” (Hardwick 47). These prejudices, advantageous perhaps when balanced by the considered act of writing, may lead to impatient and intemperate behavior in a person, when under pressure or in an uncongenial situation. But the seduction of his writing, in a distinguished corpus of books published across a career spanning more than half a century, will endure as Naipaul’s true legacy to the literary world, long after the scandal of his verbal outbursts becomes merely a historical curiosity. Notes 1. Jamal and Benson were both involved in the Black Power movement in Trinidad. Benson, Jamal’s lover, was murdered there by Black Power leader Michael X in 1971. Jamal was killed in Boston in 1973, apparently as a result of a factional dispute within the movement. 2. The following section relies heavily on my review of Patrick French’s biography of Naipaul, The World Is What It Is, in the South Asian Review 28.1 (2007) 206-09. Works Cited Athill, Diana. Make Believe. London: Sinclair-Stevenson, 1993. Print. —. Stet. London: Granta, 2001. Print. Atlas, James. “V.S. vs the Rest.” Conversations with V.S. Naipaul. Ed. Feroza Jussawalla. Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 1997. Print. Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. 3rd ed. Oxford: OUP, 1932. Print. Burn, Gordon. “The Gospel According to Naipaul.” Weekend Review 9-10 July 1994: 4. Print. Dhondy, Farrukh. “Farrukh Dhondy talks to VS Naipaul.” Literary Review Apr. 2006: 20-25. Print. Dooley, Gillian. “Naipaul’s Women.” South Asian Review 26.1 (2005): 88-103. Print. —. VS Naipaul, Man and Writer. Columbia: U of South Carolina P, 2006. Print. —. “What Trouble I have with Jane Austen: VS Naipaul’s Blind Spot.” Idiom 44.1 (2008): 32-38. Print. Fallon, Amy. “VS Naipaul Finds No Woman His Literary Match Not Even Jane Austen.” Guardian. Guardian, 2 June 2011. Web. 22 June 2011. Flood, Alison. “V.S. Naipaul’s Attack ‘Just Made Me Laugh’ says Diana Athill.” Guardian. Guardian, 3 June 2011. Web. 22 June 2011. Fraser, Peter D. “Review of G. Dooley, VS Naipaul, Man and Writer.” Caribbean Studies 38.1 (Jan.-June 2010). 212-15. Print. 16 Gillian Dooley French, Patrick. The World Is What It Is: The Authorized Biography of V.S. Naipaul. London: Picador, 2008. Print. Gibbons, Fiachra. “Naipaul Lets Rip at ‘Banality’ of Indian Women Writers.” Guardian. Guardian, 22 Feb. 2002. Web. 28 Feb. 2005. Hardwick, Elizabeth. “Meeting V.S. Naipaul.” Conversations with VS Naipaul. Ed. Feroza Jussawalla Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 1997. 45-49. Print. Hussein, Aamer. “Delivering the Truth: An Interview with VS Naipaul.” Conversations with VS Naipaul. Ed. Feroza Jussawalla Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 1997. 154-61. Ley, James. “Jim the Penman.” Australian Book Review. September 2011. 32. Print. Miller, Laura. “Good Books, Bad Authors.” The Book Show. Australian Broadcasting Corporation. Radio National, 27 June 2011. Radio. Naipaul, V.S. Beyond Belief: Excursions Among the Converted Peoples. New York: Random House, 1998. Print. —. The Enigma of Arrival. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1987. Print. —. India: A Million Mutinies Now. London: Minerva, 1991. Print. —. Letters Between a Father and Son with introduction and notes by Gillon Aitken. London: Little, Brown, 1999. Print. —. “London.” The Overcrowded Barracoon. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1976. 9-17. Print. —. The Masque of Africa: Glimpses of African Belief. London: Picador, 2010. Print. Schiff, Stephen. ‘The Ultimate Exile.’ Conversations with VS Naipaul. Ed. Feroza Jussawalla. Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 1997. 135-53. Print. —. “The Naipaul Test: Can You Tell an Author’s Sex?” Guardian. Guardian, 2 June 2011. Web. 22 June 2011. Robinson, Andrew. “Going Back for a Turn in the East.” Conversations with V.S. Naipaul. Ed. Feroza Jussawalla. Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 1997. 110-13. Print. Theroux, Paul Sir Vidia’s Shadow: A Friendship across Five Continents. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1998. Print. Todd, Janet “‘Suicide Is More Respectable’: Why Nineteenth-Century Americans Hated Miss Austen.” The Jane Austen Society Report for 2010. 27-35. Print. Theroux, Paul. Sir Vidia’s Shadow: A Friendship across Five Continents. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1998. Print. Wheeler, Charles. “‘It’s Every Man for Himself’—V.S. Naipaul on India.” Conversations with VS Naipaul. Ed. Feroza Jussawalla. Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 1997. 39-44. Print. Winokur, Scott. “The Unsparing Vision of V.S. Naipaul.” Conversations with V.S. Naipaul. Ed. Feroza Jussawalla. Jackson: UP of Mississippi, 1997. 114-29. Print. 
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work_segzvcjpebehjdhiv6ikyhgqey	----	Narr142-Nelles William Nelles is Professor of English and Associate Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of Massachusetts Dartmouth. His published work in narrative theory includes a book, Frame- works, and numerous journal articles. NARRATIVE, Vol. 14, No. 2 (May 2006) Copyright 2006 by The Ohio State University Omniscience for Atheists: Or, Jane Austen’s Infallible Narrator The comparison of the traditional novelist to God has received many memo- rable formulations. While Flaubert and Joyce emphasize the author’s ubiquity, invis- ibility, or silence, the quality usually adduced for comparison is omniscience, as in Sartre’s complaint about Mauriac: like God, he “is omniscient about everything re- lating to his little world” (15). For Sartre, of course, this is a bad thing: “God is not an artist. Neither is M. Mauriac” (25). As Meir Sternberg has demonstrated, the god being compared in these formulations is specifically the God of the Old Testament: “Homer’s gods,” he notes, “like the corresponding Near Eastern pantheons, certainly have access to a wider range of information than the normal run of humanity; but their knowledge still falls well short of omniscience, concerning the past and present as well as the future” (88). Sternberg explicitly includes Jane Austen’s narratives within this biblical model: “Surely . . . one assumes that, like all novelists, she enjoys the privilege of omniscience denied to tellers in everyday life. She invokes different rules, we say. But if it is convention that renders Jane Austen immune from all charges of fallacy and falsity, it is convention that likewise puts the Bible’s art of nar- rative beyond their reach. For the biblical narrator also appeals to the privilege of omniscience—so that he no more speaks in the writer’s ordinary voice than Jane Austen does in hers, but exactly as a persona raised high above . . .” (34). J. Hillis Miller explains how “This immanent omniscience is . . . like the knowledge tradi- tionally ascribed to God. It is an authentic perfection of knowledge. The omniscient narrator is able to remember perfectly all the past, to foresee the future course of events, and to penetrate with irresistible insight the most secret crevice in the heart of each man. He can know the person better than the person knows himself . . .” (64).1 William Nelles chf But in the twenty years since Sternberg’s book—and in significant measure be- cause of the interest sparked by his book—the premise that all heterodiegetic narra- tors exercise Godlike omniscience has been questioned.2 Sternberg argues that “omniscience is a qualitative and therefore indivisible privilege. . . . The superhuman privilege is constant and only its exercise variable” (183). While this logic would doubtless be true of “real” omniscience, it does not seem compelling with regard to “pretend” omniscience, which might readily be imagined as divisible. The “demand for a God’s Eye View or Nothing” (Putnam viii) may be a limiting dichotomy that prevents us from exploring alternative models.3 Omniscience might instead be thought of as a toolbox, with different novelists using the different tools within it in distinctive ways. My own survey of discussions of omniscience identifies four pri- mary tools in that box: omnipotence, omnitemporality, omnipresence, and telepathy. To get ahead of myself for a moment, I’ll argue that Austen’s narrators are more ac- curately described as “infallible” than “omniscient”: at least on the basis of these four features, the infallible narrator as defined here is not a type of omniscient narra- tor. I take no position on the larger question of whether “omniscience” is always a misnomer; Austen’s narrators, however, utilize so few of these standard tools so sparingly that the label is not useful for discussing her practice. Indeed, it seems to have hampered prior analyses of Austen’s method. Austen’s career, at least in her handling of point of view, has long been treated as the exemplification of Haeckel’s Law that “ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny,” as her novels rehearse in perfect sequence all of the evolutionary stages of the genre. She begins with the early epistolary drafts, in which the novels have no omniscient narrators at all. Later, she revises them into third-person omniscient novels with en- gaging and judgmental narrators, effectively rendering extinct the earlier genre of the epistolary novel. During the course of writing these novels she gradually weans her- self from what Marvin Mudrick calls her “early tendency to assert an arbitrary om- niscience over the objects of her irony” (84). Finally, in Emma and Persuasion, she evolves from the daughter of Dr. Johnson into the mother of Henry James, pioneer- ing the novel with a central consciousness or filter and a more reticent narrator.4 In The Rhetoric of Fiction, Wayne Booth outlines the final stage of this progression: “In Emma there are many breaks in the point of view, because Emma’s beclouded mind cannot do the whole job. In Persuasion, where the heroine’s viewpoint is faulty only in her ignorance of Captain Wentworth’s love, there are very few. Anne Elliott’s con- sciousness is sufficient, as Emma’s is not, for most of the needs of the novel which she dominates” (250 –51). Just as a play has a certain number of speaking parts, so an Austen novel has a certain number of what we might call “thinking parts,” characters whose conscious- ness the narrator reveals to us. Given the critical narrative outlined above, one might expect to see that number start out very large and narrow down to a single central consciousness. If one measures omniscience quantitatively, as Booth suggests, counting how many minds the narrator has access to, then Persuasion, in which the narrator reveals the consciousnesses of ten characters, is no different from Emma, in which she also reads the minds of ten characters. But not only is there no progression from Emma to Persuasion in this regard, there is no pattern of progression at all in Austen’s Infallible Narrator 119 Austen’s novels: Northanger Abbey has ten thinking parts, Sense and Sensibility twelve, and Mansfield Park thirteen. Only Pride and Prejudice, with nineteen think- ing parts, stands out.5 Discussions of omniscience assign it a broad and variable range of characteris- tics, many of which have little to do with omniscience per se. Critics often apply the label to passages of exposition, but most of these, at least in Austen, communicate information about incomes or family ties that constitutes common knowledge in that world, known to the characters as well as the narrator. The narrator of Persuasion tells us that Anne and Captain Wentworth had fallen in love and separated seven years ago as a courtesy to us as newcomers to the neighborhood, but we learn noth- ing that Sir Walter, Elizabeth, and Lady Russell don’t know. In fact, we are assured that if Wentworth’s brother and sister hadn’t been out of the country and Anne’s sis- ter, Mary, away at school, they would have known all about it too, as would have anyone in the “Kellynch circle” (Persuasion 28).6 Other critics conflate the idea of narrative reliability with omniscience, but as far as factual or mimetic matters go, virtually all narrators are reliable—lying narra- tors are very rare—and as far as narrative judgments go, Jonathan Culler seems right in his argument that the narrator’s wisdom is “offered for our consideration and as- sent, in a mode of persuasion.” When the narrator asserts, “It is a truth universally ac- knowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife” (Pride and Prejudice 3), the reader is being asked to ponder the statement: to accept it literally (as does Mrs. Bennet) or to dismiss it outright are both inadequate responses (the rich single men do turn out to need wives). The universal truth is downgraded to relativistic worldly wisdom. Austen’s trademark irony seldom allows such claims to be taken at face value; they must be gauged by the degree to which the events of the novel corroborate them. While omniscient narrators are reliable and do offer exposition and commentary, they share these attributes with non-omniscient narrators, including first-person narrators, with writers of nonfiction, and with tellers of natural narrative. For the purposes of this discussion, then, I’ll stipulate that there are four core attributes of omniscience, listed here by degree of Godliness: The most Godlike narrators of all present themselves as omnipotent, as the cre- ators of their narrative worlds, as in Denis Diderot’s Jacques le Fataliste: “Vous voyez, lecteur, que je suis en beau chemin, et qu’il ne tiendrait qu’à moi de vous faire attendre un an, deux ans, trois ans, le récit des amours de Jacques, en le séparant de son maître et en leur faisant courir à chacun tous les hasards qu’il me plairait” (476; “You see, reader, that I am well underway, and that it is entirely up to me to make you wait one year, two years, or three years for the story of Jacque’s loves, by sepa- rating him from his master and making each of them go through all the perils that I please.” [my translation]). Such omnipotence is not strictly speaking an attribute of omniscience, but it logically entails omniscience: since the narrator has invented everything in this world, he must know everything there is to know about it. The second attribute of omniscience is omnitemporality: as defined here at least, narrators are omnitemporal when they engage in frequent external anachronies of substantial reach.7 Most of Balzac’s narrators are touchstones for such temporal mobility. They can move freely throughout the past: “But now, the extraordinary 120 William Nelles devotion of this beautiful and magnanimous woman demands some explanation; and, briefly, here is Madame Hulot’s story” (31). He then pieces together events from 1799, 1797, 1792, 1804, 1806, and so on as he works his way back to 1838 to com- plete the analepsis. While even extensive knowledge of the past can be rationalized in human terms, complete knowledge of the future is definitively denied to humans and would require a Godlike agent. Prolepses are rarer than analepses in narratives, but Balzac again provides numerous examples: “The following day those three exis- tences . . . were all to be affected by Hortense’s naïve passion, and by the singular events that were to be the outcome of the Baron’s ill-fated passion for Josépha” (82). Balzac is not just making a general prediction, along the lines of “that’s going to cause problems,” but demonstrating complete knowledge of the “singular” manner in which each character’s destiny will work out.8 The third attribute of omniscience is omnipresence, the ability to “go every- where and see everything,” which implies complete knowledge of present events; as J. Hillis Miller explains, “this perfect knowledge is rather that of pervasive presence than that of transcendent vision” (69, 64).9 The omnipresent narrator can report si- multaneous events widely separated by space, as in these three consecutive sen- tences from the “Wandering Rocks” section of Joyce’s Ulysses: Maggy, pouring yellow soup in Katey’s bowl, exclaimed: —Boody! For shame! A skiff, a crumpled throwaway, Elijah is coming, rode lightly down the Liffey . . . between the Customhouse old dock and George’s quay. The blond girl in Thornton’s bedded the wicker basket with rustling fibre. (227)10 The fourth attribute of omniscience, perhaps the one we think of first, is telepa- thy or mind reading, the ability to narrate characters’ thoughts and feelings. I con- sider here only the reporting or summarizing of characters’ thoughts; commenting upon them once they are known requires no postulate of omniscience. These four features, then, omnipotence, omnitemporality, omnipresence, and telepathy, are denied real human beings and are uniquely reserved to omniscient nar- ration. Of these, Austen eschews the first three almost entirely. Austen’s narrators do occasionally approach the rhetoric of omnipotence, most often when they step forward on the final pages to wrap things up at an accelerated pace. While the narrator of Mansfield Park does admit to being a writer, she adopts the familiar realistic pose that she can direct the presentation of the story, but not alter the fabula itself, as (my) italics suggest: “Let other pens dwell on guilt and mis- ery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can . . . (461). Austen typically couches her comments in phrases suggesting probability or expectation, knowledge of human nature rather than omnipotent control: “My Fanny indeed at this very time, I have the satisfaction of knowing, must have been happy in spite of every thing. She must have been a happy creature” (461); Mr. Rushworth “might set forward on a second, and it is to be hoped, more prosperous trial of the state—if duped, to be duped at least with good humor and good luck” (464); of Mrs. Norris and Maria, “It may reasonably be Austen’s Infallible Narrator 121 supposed that their tempers became their mutual punishment” (465); had Henry stayed the course with Fanny, “there would have been every probability of success and felicity for him” (467). Indeed, by this point in the narratives, the narratee is equipped with adequate knowledge to judge for itself the fitness and probability of these speculations: “Who can be in doubt of what followed?” Austen asks at the end of Persuasion, and of course we are in no doubt at all—indeed, the outcome “cannot be doubted” (269, 272). The major exception to Austen’s refusal of omnipotence is Northanger Abbey, in which the narrator on three occasions admits to being a novelist. The first admis- sion is triggered when Catherine and Isabella “shut themselves up, to read novels to- gether. Yes, novels;” (37). The narrator then launches into a two-page defense of that unfairly despised genre, but she never makes any comment about her own control of her story. In the other instances, she apologizes for making her hero realistic rather than romantic with the ironic claim that “the credit of a wild imagination will at least be all my own” (243) and shows herself “aware that the rules of composition forbid the introduction of a character not connected with my fable” (251). These intrusions are occasions for exercising her wit on the conventions of novel writing rather than for making pronouncements about the fates of her characters.11 I don’t want to ap- pear to be rationalizing exceptions, and there are certainly some inconsistencies in Austen’s handling of point of view. As Booth observes, “Jane Austen never formu- lated any theory to cover her own practice . . .” (245); “. . . her technique is deter- mined by the needs of the novel she is writing” (250). As a parody of contemporary novel writing, Northanger Abbey demands parody of the contemporary delight in claims of narratorial omnipotence; but none of Austen’s other novels claim such a capacity. Her normal narrative persona resembles those of the Victorian novelists an- alyzed by J. Hillis Miller: “Immanent rather than transcendent, thereby lacking one aspect of divine knowledge, the omniscient narrator . . . has knowledge of a world which he has not created . . .” (64–65). The second feature of omniscience is omnitemporality, especially knowledge of the future. David Lodge’s survey of novels that display “daring time-shifts back- wards and forwards across the chronological span of the action,” convinces him that, “it is perhaps in this respect that authorial omniscience most closely mimics the om- niscience of God, who alone knows the beginning and end” (“Uses” 237). Far from having this godlike freedom, Austen’s narrators are temporally quite restricted. As the plot of Persuasion winds down, for example, the narrator is obliged to leave us with some loose ends: “Mrs. Clay’s affections had overpowered her interest, and she had sacrificed, for the young man’s sake, the possibility of scheming longer for Sir Walter. She has abilities, however, as well as affections; and it is now a doubtful point whether his cunning or hers may finally carry the day; whether, after prevent- ing her from being the wife of Sir Walter, he may not be wheedled & caressed at last into making her the wife of Sir William” (250). As the shift to present tense and the deictic “now” establish, Austen is imagining a time-bound narrator to whom the fu- ture is inaccessible, not at all the sort of omniscient narrator who, as Miller puts it, “has ubiquity in time . . . and knows everything there is to know within that all- embracing span” (10).12 122 William Nelles In fact, there is a virtual taboo in Austen on any narrator’s prolepsis whatsoever, including internal prolepses. The limit of narrative vision into the future is reached in such minor examples as, “She and Mary were actually setting forward for the great house, where, as she afterwards learnt, they must inevitably have found him . . .” (Persuasion 53). Even this sort of flash-forward, which only looks ahead a matter of minutes, and to an event firmly within the narrator’s knowledge of these past events, is exceedingly rare in Austen.13 An Austen narrator is not just bound by a “now” at the end of the story that she can’t see beyond; she is also bound by the “now” of the action she is narrating moment by moment, and is prohibited from looking ahead to future events even if they will occur before the narrator’s final “now.” Such restraint contributes to that reliability without omniscience that defines the infallible narrator. Samuel Johnson hits the nail on the head in a comment aptly cited by Christopher R. Miller: “the truth is, that things to come, except when they approach very nearly, are equally hidden from men of all degrees of understanding; and if a wise man is not amazed at sudden occurrences, it is not that he has thought more, but less, upon fu- turity” (242). Furthermore, an Austen narrator also has limited access to past events, seldom extending beyond the protagonist’s childhood; in this regard they resemble homodiegetic rather than heterodiegetic narrators. When larger analeptic reaches are necessary, Austen takes pains to naturalize the narrator’s knowledge, as when the de- tails of Sir Walter’s birth and family are given by means of his own reading of his copy of the Baronetage (Persuasion 3). Austen’s approach to omnipresence, our third aspect of omniscience, is perhaps the most idiosyncratic aspect of her handling of point of view. Oddly enough, an Austen narrator can only read minds within a radius of three miles of her protagonist; this is specified as being precisely the distance from Longbourn to Netherfield (Pride and Prejudice 32) and also from Kellynch Hall to Uppercross Cottage (Persuasion 31). And even this level of privilege occurs rarely. Normally the narrator can only read the minds of characters within sight or hearing of the protagonist. Austen’s nar- rator is under house arrest, and the protagonist of the novel is her ankle bracelet. Take Pride and Prejudice, for example: in Chapter IV the narrator first presents a scene between Jane and Elizabeth at Longbourn, then summarizes a parallel scene with Darcy and his party at Netherfield, three miles away; this is the absolute limit of an Austen narrator’s range in shifting point of view (16 –17). The three mile radius ap- pears to always have Elizabeth as its fixed center. On three other occasions the narra- tor can read a character’s mind when Elizabeth is in another part of the house, and once when she is walking in another part of the grounds. And even in some of these cases, the point of view is not shifted across space in the mode of “meanwhile back at the ranch,” but “handed off ” as it were, from Elizabeth to another character: “. . . Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room. ‘Eliza Bennet,’ said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her . . .” (40). The narrator does not occupy all of space simulta- neously like God, nor teleport herself through space like Captain Kirk—she simply stays behind to hear two speeches, after which Elizabeth returns to the room. In every other case of telepathy in Pride and Prejudice—and these are numerous—the char- acter whose mind is being read is within Elizabeth’s audiovisual field. This degree of spatial restriction hardly seems consonant with handbook definitions of omniscience. Austen’s Infallible Narrator 123 Sternberg pronounces the biblical narrator omniscient on the basis of three of my four factors: “For one thing, the narrator has free access to the minds (‘hearts’) of his dramatis personae. . . . For another, he enjoys free movement in time (among nar- rative past, present, and future) and in space (enabling him to follow secret conver- sations, shuttle between simultaneous happenings or between heaven and earth)” (84). Austen’s narrators, by contrast, cannot see the future (or much of the past), and are narrowly restricted in their freedom of movement. The lack of overlap alone would suffice to differentiate her omniscience from biblical omniscience. The single privilege of omniscience that her narrators enjoy, then, is their ability to read charac- ters’ minds. Now, one might reasonably object that this is still a godlike privilege. But let’s take a closer look at how telepathy works in Austen. In Mansfield Park the narrator relays to us Sir Thomas’s reaction to the proposal that he take the poor relation Fanny into the household: “He thought of his own four children— of his two sons—of cousins in love, & c.;” (6). So far, a textbook exam- ple of omniscient narration. But I’ve cut Austen off in mid-sentence; the passage continues: “but no sooner had he deliberately begun to state his objections, than Mrs. Norris interrupted him with a reply to them all whether stated or not. ‘My dear Sir Thomas, I perfectly comprehend you. . . . You are thinking of your sons—but do not you know that of all things upon earth that is the least likely to happen . . .’ ” (6). Austen’s narrator does have the ability to read Sir Thomas’s mind, but Mrs. Norris has the same privilege. And Mrs. Norris is not the sharpest tool in the shed by any means. Emma, which has been the most intensively studied of the novels in terms of point of view, will help illustrate further Austen’s radical attenuation of omniscience, and also suggest how impressionistic some of that intensive study has been. Even at the basic level of enumerating the narrative devices used, we find widely divergent claims. One end of this spectrum is occupied by F. R. Leavis, who asserts, “every- thing is presented through Emma’s dramatized consciousness” (19n), while Booth, at the other end, claims that there are numerous breaks from Emma’s point of view. Somewhere in the middle we find such critics as Lodge, who lists three exceptions— one glimpse into Mrs. Weston’s mind, one into Knightley’s, and the expository au- thorial introduction—“but with these reservations,” he asserts, “it is true that the action of the novel is narrated wholly from Emma’s perspective . . .” (“Jane” 177). Yet the narrator also reads the thoughts of Mr. Woodhouse, Harriet, John Knightley, Mr. and Mrs. Elton, Mr. Weston, and Miss Churchill, a total of ten different thinking parts; why do we so seldom recall all these exceptions? In part, because Austen keeps her uses of authorial telepathy under the radar by naturalizing and motivating mind reading as a human rather than divine pursuit, and one routinely exercised by average—and especially above-average—human beings. The shift away from Emma’s point of view that every critic remarks upon is the first one, found in Chapter V. The chapter is devoted to a single scene, at which Emma is not present (though of course well within the three-mile mind reading limit). As we have noted, such scenes without the protagonist are rare in Austen, and this unusual stretch of her spatial policy may be the real reason critics have seized upon it. The mind reading that actually occurs is quite pedestrian: at the end of the 124 William Nelles chapter, which has consisted entirely of dialogue, we are told of Mrs. Weston that “Part of her meaning was to conceal some favourite thoughts of her own and Mr. We- ston’s on the subject as much as possible. There were wishes at Randalls respecting Emma’s destiny, but it was not desirable to have them suspected . . .” (56).14 Booth chooses this scene to illustrate Austen’s use of selective omniscience, and his analy- sis is that the “shift is made simply to direct our suspense . . . when Mrs. Weston sug- gests a possible union of Emma and Frank Churchill.” As he goes on to note, “One objection to this selective dipping into whatever mind best serves our immediate pur- poses is that it suggests mere trickery and inevitably spoils the illusion of reality. If Jane Austen can tell us what Mrs. Weston is thinking, why not what Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax are thinking?” (254). My response would be that it’s easy to tell what Mrs. Weston is thinking, and difficult to tell what Frank and Jane are thinking. Within about twenty pages we learn that Emma has long since figured out Mrs. Weston’s thoughts: “She had frequently thought—especially since his father’s marriage with Miss Taylor—that if she were to marry, he was the very person to suit her in age, character and condition. He seemed by this connection between the families, quite to belong to her. She could not but suppose it to be a match that every body who knew them must think of. That Mr. and Mrs. Weston did think of it, she was very strongly persuaded; and . . . she had . . . a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being coupled in their friends’ imaginations” (79 –80). Not only does Emma know what Mrs. Weston is thinking, everybody who knows them knows what she’s thinking, and Emma knows what all of them are thinking. Indeed, Mrs. Weston only hopes to conceal her thoughts “as much as pos- sible,” naturally apprehending the likelihood of her thoughts being read. Everyone is thinking this because of sociocultural evidence, not telepathy, because of her and Frank’s “age, character and condition,” because of “the connection between the fam- ilies.” As Alan Palmer remarks, “Our thought is, in many ways, social, public, overt, and observable” (39).15 In Northanger Abbey, Austen allows Henry Tilney to explain part of the method: “How very little trouble it can give you to understand the motive of other people’s actions. . . . How is such a one likely to be influenced? What is the induce- ment most likely to act upon such a person’s feelings, age, situation, and probable habits of life considered?” (132).16 Much of the rest depends upon reading body lan- guage and expressions, especially of the eyes. Marianne’s mind is so easy to read that Elinor has to create a distraction “to prevent Mrs. Jennings from seeing her sis- ter’s thoughts as clearly as she did” (Sense and Sensibility 167). Like many of Austen’s heroines, Elinor has full command of these techniques: she knows how to gauge Mr. Palmer by reference to “his sex and time of life” (304), and is particularly adept at mind reading by means of subtle visual cues: “she could not help believing herself the nicest observer of the two; she watched his eyes, while Mrs. Jennings thought only of his behaviour;—and while his looks. . . , because unexpressed by words, entirely escaped the latter lady’s observation;—she could discover in them the quick feelings, and needless alarm of a lover” (305). Not every person is so easily read, however. Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax are good at blocking telepathy. When Emma tries to read Jane’s mind during an Austen’s Infallible Narrator 125 evening at Hartfield, she is forced to concede, “There was no getting at her real opin- ion. Wrapt up in a cloak of politeness, she seemed determined to hazard nothing. She was disgustingly, was suspiciously reserved” (111). Knightley is similarly stumped, because she does not have an “open temper” (193). Recognizing that Jane’s manners are designed to prevent her mind being read, Emma says to Mrs. Weston, “Oh! Do not imagine that I expect an account of Miss Fairfax’s sensations from you, or from any body else. They are known to no human being, I guess, but herself ” (135), and our human narrator is of course included.17 My own analysis would thus be 180° from Booth’s: the narrator’s ability to read Mrs. Weston’s mind, but not Frank Churchill’s or Jane Fairfax’s, is thoroughly motivated at the level of realism, and par- allels the characters’ own demonstrated abilities. Anne Elliot also becomes adept at controlling her manners so that other charac- ters can’t read her mind; the climactic scene in which she reads Wentworth’s love let- ter in company derives its tension from this high-stakes challenge: “The absolute necessity of seeming like herself produced then an immediate struggle” (238). Ear- lier in the novel, she did react when she saw Captain Wentworth unexpectedly, but fortunately “Her start was perceptible only to herself. . . .” Wentworth, on the other hand, showed his emotions, so that “For the first time, since their renewed acquain- tance, she felt that she was betraying the least sensibility of the two.” Having spotted him first, “She had the advantage of him, in the preparation of the last few moments” (175). In the same scene, Anne also reads Elizabeth’s and Wentworth’s minds when they see each other: “She saw that he saw Elizabeth, that Elizabeth saw him, that there was complete internal recognition on each side; she was convinced that he was ready to be acknowledged as an acquaintance, expecting it, and she had the pain of seeing her sister turn away with unalterable coldness” (176). The following morning Anne observes Lady Russell observing Wentworth, and at once “she could thor- oughly comprehend” her emotions; her only regret is that, because of the need to conceal her own desires, she can’t herself sneak a peek at Wentworth: “The part which provoked her most, was that in all this waste of foresight and caution, she should have lost the moment for seeing whether he saw them” (179). If Anne were only an invisible observer on the scene, who could look around freely without being watched herself, she could easily figure out everyone’s thoughts and feelings. That is, if she were only a narrator. But despite not being invisible, Anne knows within seven pages that Wentworth still loves her. Wentworth himself is amazed that it takes her so long to read his thoughts: “Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have un- derstood my wishes?—I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine” (237). Many of Austen’s characters who share that “something more of quickness” that characterizes Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice 5) read minds with nearly the frequency, if admittedly not the accuracy, of the narrators. One might note, for example, that while the narrator of Emma reads a total of ten different minds, Emma herself is nearly as omniscient—she reads seven, and would have been able to read a couple of others had she not been out of hearing during crucial conversations. It might be said that omniscience is Emma’s goal in life; rather, it has been said, by Frank Churchill: “I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse . . . to say, that she desires to 126 William Nelles know what you are all thinking of ” (248). Emma’s problem stems not only from the difficulty of reading other characters’ minds, but also from the difficulty of reading her own. The infallible narrator’s greater perspicacity and reliability are at least partly attributable to her disinterestedness and objectivity. If Elizabeth had not been “blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd,” she would have done a better job of fathoming Darcy’s character, and her own: “Till this moment, I never knew myself ” (208). To adapt Erich Auerbach’s famous distinction from the opening chapter of Mimesis, Austen’s world is essentially a transparent one, like Homer’s, rather than an opaque one, like the Bible’s.18 And the ability to penetrate this world imaginatively is not divine at all, but thoroughly human. Austen’s theory of narrative omniscience is implicit in her famous remark that “3 or 4 Families in a Country Village is the very thing to work on” (Parrish vii). Notice, by the way, that these three or four families work out pretty closely to the ten or twelve thinking parts we typically get in an Austen novel. Within this restricted social circle, one can learn people’s manners well enough to read their minds. Austen herself claimed the ability, as Park Honan notes in citing one of her letters, “to speak of how ‘all Chawton would feel’ as she came to know this village virtually in its entirety” (268). The greatest obstacles to mind read- ing occur when someone from outside the circle enters it, or when the protagonist leaves her circle. As the narrator of Persuasion specifies, “Anne had not wanted this visit to Uppercross, to learn that a removal from one set of people to another, though at a distance of only three miles, will often include a total change of conversation, opinion, and idea” (42); “She acknowledged it to be very fitting, that every little so- cial commonwealth should dictate its own matters of discourse . . .” (43). Mind read- ing is possible because of the characters’ intimate knowledge of the mores and manners of their circle; by means of cultural factors such as age, income, and family ties; and on the basis of visual cues such as body language and facial expressions. As may be inferred from these criteria, mind reading can occur only within one’s own social class: even the narrator is barred from reading the minds of the lower classes. Another key element, which I have reserved for the end, is gender. The need to develop telepathy, and its restriction within a three-mile radius, are in part functions of women’s enforced passivity and immobility. In Persuasion Austen considers the probable effects of this isolation upon even the privileged, in analyzing “Elizabeth Elliot’s sentiments and sensations” faced with “her scene of life . . . a long, unevent- ful residence in one country circle” (7). As often happens in Austen, her protagonist, Anne, makes the same point about women: “We cannot help ourselves. We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us” (232). The three-mile limit on mind reading may be realistically motivated by the range of women’s physical mo- bility. The longest walk undertaken in Austen is Elizabeth’s three-mile hike to Netherfield, and physical limitations on a woman’s opportunities for regular visiting and social interaction would largely dictate the circumference of her social circle: “The village of Longbourn was only one mile from Meryton; a most convenient dis- tance for the young ladies . . .” (Pride and Prejudice 28). Again the narrative situa- tion closely parallels Austen’s own: “since they had no carriage their visitings could not extend far,” but she was able “to walk to Alton [just one mile from Chawton] sev- eral times a week in all weather” (Honan 265, 261). Austen’s Infallible Narrator 127 The template for the narrator in Austen is not at all a Godlike omniscience, but a very human skill: the ability of a perceptive and thoughtful person, given enough time and sufficient opportunity for observation, to make accurate judgments about people’s character, thought processes, and feelings. Austen’s protagonists are markedly less fallible by the end of the novel as they narrow the gap between their growing reliability of judgment and the infallibility of the narrator. Conversely, the narrator shares many of the characters’ limitations of mobility. Like her protagonists, she can observe and analyze, but not foresee or control, social and personal out- comes; like them, she cannot really act upon her knowledge—possessing it must suf- fice. At the risk of making my conclusion too simple and obvious, the model for Austen’s infallible narrators is not God in heaven, but Jane Austen, more or less as she describes herself in a letter to Cassandra, written about the time she begins work- ing on Emma: “. . . as I must leave off being young, I find many Douceurs in being a sort of Chaperon for I am put on the Sofa near the Fire & can drink as much wine as I like” (Parrish 330, my emphasis).19 ENDNOTES 1. For J Hillis Miller, the only difference is that, unlike God, “the omniscient narrators of Victorian nov- els . . . have perfect knowledge of a world they have not made. . . . The narrator . . . is like an imma- nent God who has perfect knowledge not of his own creation, but of the creation of another God, an eternally existing world which he has somehow been able to penetrate, flowing into it like a ubiqui- tous sea or like a pervasive perfume which can pierce the most hidden recesses, entering freely every- where” (65 –66). 2. While this dissatisfaction with the traditional model of omniscience stems primarily from the interpre- tive and theoretical problems it poses, it may be fueled in some part by humanistic suspicion of the re- ligious ideology that ineluctably accompanies that model. David Lodge, writing about Graham Greene’s fiction, suggests that “it is not difficult to establish a normative correlation between omni- scient authorial narration and an explicitly Christian perspective on events; and, correspondingly, be- tween limited narrators and a more secular, humanist perspective” (“Uses” 236). Nicholas Royle spells out some of the implications of this correlation: “The use of the words ‘omniscient’ and ‘omniscience’ in the context of narrative fiction remains inextricably entangled in Christian motifs, assumptions and beliefs. To assume the efficacy and appropriateness of discussing literary works in terms of ‘omni- scient narration’ is, however faintly or discreetly, to subscribe to a religious (and above all, a Christian) discourse and thinking” (260). Jonathan Culler, who, will-he nil-he, appears to be a lightning-rod in the current debate over omniscience, has been admirably open regarding his own reservations in this re- gard in his chapter on “Political Criticism: Confronting Religion” in Framing the Sign. 3. My thanks to Nina Leacock for this citation. Thanks also to Alison Case, Shalyn Claggett, Kimberly Costa, James Phelan, Brian Richardson, and Lori Williams for useful advice and support. 4. C. S. Lewis makes both comparisons: “She is described by someone in Kipling’s worst story as the mother of Henry James. I feel much more sure that she is the daughter of Dr. Johnson . . .” (34). In terms of my topic, recall Caroline Gordon’s advice to Flannery O’Connor that an omniscient narrator “never speaks like anyone but Dr. Johnson” (O’Connor 923). The James comparison is perhaps better known from Virginia Woolf’s comment about the development of Austen’s narrative technique: “She would have been the forerunner of Henry James and of Proust . . .” (Southam 283). 5. The flexibility and subtlety of Austen’s use of free indirect discourse produces many instances in which readers might disagree about how to count some of these examples. Who hasn’t wavered over lines like “He had not forgiven Anne Elliot” (Persuasion 61)? Does the third-person reference to 128 William Nelles Anne point to the narrator reading his mind, or does the error (he has forgiven her) make it Anne’s at- tempt at telepathy? My figures are necessarily approximations, but I have tried to count things con- sistently; in this case, Anne is reading Wentworth’s mind, on the admittedly circular principle that all wrong guesses are intradiegetic in infallible narration. Furthermore, this particular wrong guess is characteristic of Anne’s conservative interpretations of Wentworth’s behavior at other points: “She understood him. He could not forgive her,—but he could not be unfeeling” is clearly marked as Anne’s mind-reading (91; my thanks to Jim Phelan for the example). While the number of thinking parts is fairly constant in Austen, the frequency with which these consciousnesses are accessed does vary. My numbers bear out Lodge’s conclusion that “There is considerable variation between the nov- els in the amount of switching from one character’s perspective to another’s and in the degree to which the narrator explicitly invokes her authority and omniscience,” and he is certainly correct in having pointed out that “In Pride and Prejudice, for instance, such effects are frequent” (“Jane” 176). I would add, however, that they are far more frequent in Mansfield Park. 6. All citations of Austen are to Chapman’s edition. 7. The terminology is of course taken from “Order,” the first chapter of Gérard Genette’s Narrative Dis- course. Genette himself calls Proust’s narrator “omnitemporal” (70) on the basis of his manipulation of anachronies. 8. A strict constructionist might object that such internal prolepses—or even external prolepses—are effectively rendered retrospective because the narrating instance must occur later than the final story event narrated. By this logic, knowledge of the future is restricted to intradiegetic narrators like God or Cassandra, who can be shown to narrate events that occur after their narrating of them; a story event narrated by an extradiegetic narrator, on the other hand, must occur prior to the narrating of it. But if this makes Balzac’s narrators slightly less Godlike, they remain just as easy to distinguish from Austen’s in this regard. 9. I do not mean to imply that believers or theologians consider omnipresence, or for that matter any of these factors, to be attributes of the biblical God. My claims are limited to the “beliefs” held by liter- ary critics, who frequently do include omnipresence among these attributes. Richard Maxwell’s valu- able article demonstrates the importance of omnipresence for narrators in Dickens’ novels. 10. Although I’m using “Wandering Rocks” to illustrate omnipresent narration, it might be used just as well to exemplify the spatial limitations so often imposed on omniscient narrators: even the spectac- ular mobility of Joyce’s narrator is confined within the city limits of Dublin, his own version of the three mile island (a gnomon in this case of the literal island of Ireland). One might distinguish such relatively mobile Joycean “multipresence” from the relatively fixed “unipresence” of Austen’s narra- tors and the literally universal “omnipresence” (since the only presence?) of the biblical narrator of the opening of Genesis. 11. Susan Lanser makes a similar point: “Except in Sense and Sensibility, all these instances of authorial ‘I’ are located in the final chapters of the novels and, as in Lady Susan (and Northanger Abbey), either parody fictional convention, or qualify, personalize, and render ambiguous the resolutions to plots” (72–73). Lanser’s valuable discussion of the strategies by which Austen’s narrators “disclaim both omniscience and reliability” (68) is couched primarily in terms of a theory of “authority” that extends beyond omniscience as I’m defining it here. 12. Several of the examples cited above under “omnipotence” to illustrate Austen’s habitual recourse to locutions like “must have been” and “might” may be reinvoked here as denials of omnitemporality as well. 13. Some of Austen’s characters, on the other hand, excel at foreseeing the future: “It seemed as if Mr. Shepherd, in this anxiety to bespeak Sir Walter’s goodwill towards a naval officer as tenant, had been gifted with foresight. . . .” His prescience proves, of course, to rest upon Admiral Croft “accidentally hearing—(it was just as he had foretold, Mr. Shepherd observed, Sir Walter’s concerns could not be kept a secret,) —accidentally hearing of the possibility of Kellynch Hall being to let . . .” (21). The repetition of “accidentally” cues the reader to dismiss both accident and prophecy as explanations. Austen’s Infallible Narrator 129 14. The passage continues, “and the quiet transition which Mr. Knightley soon afterwards made to ‘What does Weston think of the weather? Shall we have rain?’ convinced her that he had nothing more to say or surmise about Hartfield.” Note that Mrs. Weston reads Knightley’s mind and Knightley assumes both telepathy on Mrs. Weston’s part, in her ability to tell him what her husband thinks, and prophecy, in Mr. Weston’s ability to predict the weather. Mind reading and “foreseeing,” as Austen likes to call it, are regular activities for her characters (although her narrators scrupulously avoid foreseeing events). Austen’s letters demonstrate the historical author’s own propensity for mind reading in real life: “It was a pleasant Evening, Charles found it remarkably so, but I cannot tell why, unless the ab- sence of Miss Terry—towards whom his conscience reproaches him with now being perfect indiffer- ent—was a relief to him” (Parrish 327–28). 15. Palmer’s essay, which includes examples from Emma, is one of many valuable recent contributions to cognitive narratology, which aspires to link narrative theory with research on human minds and con- sciousness undertaken in the social and biological sciences. While no one questions that science can teach us much about narrative theory, the benefits in the other direction are less certain: most cogni- tive narratologists believe with Lisa Zunshine that “our expertise could make a crucial difference for the future shape of the whole field of cognitive science” 287), while Paul John Eakin, who finds the same scientific work enormously stimulating, speaks for those who consider that the jury is still out: “Perhaps cognitive psychologists will step forward to say that it does” (311). 16. Christopher R. Miller’s illuminating analysis of another instance of a character’s mind-reading re- veals a mechanism paralleling that remarked above (note 13) by which characters’ ability to foresee events proves to rest upon their ability to manipulate them. In this case Henry produces the thought that he claims to read: “Henry characteristically plays on probabilities: Catherine must be thinking about something, and there is a decent chance that she is thinking about him. In any case, the very presence of a questioning observer determines the nature of the answer: even if Catherine were not thinking about Henry, the question forces her to do so now” (245). 17. Similarly, Mr. Eliot in Persuasion is not susceptible to mind reading, even to so accomplished a reader as Anne: “who could answer for the true sentiments of a clever, cautious man, grown old enough to appreciate a fair character?” Mr. Eliot resembles Jane Fairfax in that “he was not open” (161), and therefore—as the book metaphor suggests—could not be read. 18. Sternberg also frequently emphasizes “the opacities of existence” that pervade the biblical world (98). 19. Austen’s niece Caroline noticed of “her part of the household work” that “the tea and sugar stores, were under her charge—and the wine” (Park 265; Caroline’s emphases). WORKS CITED Austen, Jane. The Novels of Jane Austen. Edited by R. W. Chapman. 3rd rev. ed. New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1969. Balzac, Honoré de. Cousin Bette. Translated by Marion Ayton Crawford. London: Penguin, 1965. Booth, Wayne C. The Rhetoric of Fiction. Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1961. Culler, Jonathan. Framing the Sign. Norman: Univ. of Oklahoma Press, 1988. ———. “Omniscience.” Narrative 12.1 (2004): 22–34. Diderot, Denis. Œuvres. Edited by André Billy. Paris: Gallimard, 1951. Eakin, Paul John. “Selfhood, Autobiography, and Interdisciplinary Inquiry: A Reply to George Butte.” Narrative 13.3 (2005): 307–11. 130 William Nelles Genette, Gérard. Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Translated by Jane E. Lewin. Ithaca: Cor- nell Univ. Press, 1980. Honan, Park. Jane Austen: Her Life. New York: St. Martin’s, 1987. Joyce, James. Ulysses. New York: Modern Library, 1992. Lanser, Susan Sniader. Fictions of Authority: Women Writers and Narrative Voice. Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1992. Lewis, C. S. “A Note on Jane Austen.” In Jane Austen: A Collection of Critical Essays, edited by Ian Watt, 25 –34. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1963. Lodge, David. “Jane Austen’s Novels: Form and Structure.” In The Jane Austen Companion, edited by J. David Grey et al., 165 –78. New York: Macmillan, 1986. ———. “The Uses and Abuses of Omniscience: Method and Meaning in Muriel Spark’s The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.” Critical Quarterly 12 (1970): 235 –57. Maxwell, Richard. “Dickens’s Omniscience.” ELH 46 (1979): 290 –313. Miller, Christopher R. “Austen’s Aesthetics and the Ethics of Surprise.” Narrative 13.3 (2005): 238 –60. Miller, J. Hillis. The Form of Victorian Fiction. Notre Dame: Univ. of Notre Dame Press, 1968. O’Connor, Flannery. Collected Works. Edited by Sally Fitzgerald. New York: Library of America, 1988. Palmer, Alan. “The Construction of Fictional Minds.” Narrative 10.1 (2002): 28 – 46. Parrish, Stephen M., ed. Emma. 3rd ed. New York: Norton, 2000. Putnam, Hilary. Preface to Pursuits of Reason. Edited by Ted Cohen, Paul Guyer, and Hilary Putnam. Lubbock: Texas Tech Univ. Press, 1993, vii-xii. Royle, Nicholas. The Uncanny. New York: Routledge, 2003. Sartre, Jean Paul. Literary and Philosophical Essays. Translated by Annette Michelson. New York: Col- lier, 1967. Southam, B. C., ed. Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage 1870–1940. Volume 2. New York: Routledge, 1987. Sternberg, Meir. The Poetics of Biblical Narrative. Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press, 1985. Zunshine, Lisa. “Theory of Mind and Fictional Consciousness.” Narrative 11.3 (2003): 270 –91. Austen’s Infallible Narrator 131 
work_sflyzzfy3nbtnlwi4moc6korom	----	Jane Austen Adapted | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 30, Issue 3 December 1975 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| December 01 1975 Jane Austen Adapted Andrew Wright Andrew Wright Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1975) 30 (3): 421–453. https://doi.org/10.2307/2933078 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Andrew Wright; Jane Austen Adapted. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 December 1975; 30 (3): 421–453. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2933078 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1975 By The Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Jane Austen Adapted' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Jane Austen Adapted Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_shmgc735qnfw3haeapt7wbeore	----	Lexis , Book reviews Lexis Journal in English Lexicology  Book reviews | 2018 Viviana GABALLO, English in Translation Studies: Methodological Perspectives Eum, 2009, 150 pages Virginie Pfeiffer Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/lexis/2131 DOI : 10.4000/lexis.2131 ISSN : 1951-6215 Éditeur Université Jean Moulin - Lyon 3 Référence électronique Virginie Pfeiffer, « Viviana GABALLO, English in Translation Studies: Methodological Perspectives », Lexis [En ligne], Recensions, mis en ligne le 13 novembre 2018, consulté le 24 septembre 2020. URL : http:// journals.openedition.org/lexis/2131 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/lexis.2131 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 24 septembre 2020. Lexis is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/lexis/2131 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Viviana GABALLO, English in Translation Studies: Methodological Perspectives Eum, 2009, 150 pages Virginie Pfeiffer RÉFÉRENCE Viviana Gaballo English in Translation Studies: Methodological Perspectives. Eum, Translation Studies, Macerata, 2009. ISBN : 978-88-6056-221-0, Prix : 12,5 €, 150 pages 1 Ce recueil de huit articles commence par une introduction de l’éditrice du volume, Viviana Gaballo. Les articles regroupés dans cet ouvrage proviennent des communications lors de la Ninth International Conference of the European Society for the Study of English (ESSE) et traitent de l’utilisation de la langue anglaise enseignée dans les cours de traduction. L’objectif de ce recueil est double : compiler différentes approches méthodologiques en lien avec l’enseignement de l’anglais dans les formations de traduction mais aussi mettre en évidence les différences dans la façon d’aborder la recherche en traduction selon les pays. Après ces remarques préliminaires, l’éditrice du recueil présente chaque article individuellement en exposant leurs méthodologies et problématiques respectives. 2 Dans son article « Developing English Translation Competence in Higher Education Training: Methodological Considérations », Anca Greere cherche à comprendre l’utilisation de l’anglais dans les études supérieures européennes. Pour cela, elle se base sur les programmes de licence et master du département des langues modernes de la Faculté de Lettres de l’Université Babes-Bolyai en Roumanie. 3 L’auteur divise son article en trois parties. Dans sa première partie, elle analyse l’utilisation de l’anglais dans les études supérieures selon les formations. Les Viviana Gaballo, English in Translation Studies: Methodological Perspectives Lexis , Book reviews 1 formations non linguistiques, c’est-à-dire dont le but premier n’est pas l’apprentissage d’une langue étrangère, peuvent proposer soit des cours de langue, soit des cours enseignés en langue étrangère, soit l’intégralité du programme enseigné en langue étrangère. L’auteur rappelle que ce dernier cas de figure peut être problématique lorsque l’institution ne n’assure pas du niveau d’anglais des professeurs et des étudiants, ayant une conséquence négative sur la qualité des études. Les formations linguistiques qui regroupent deux types de formations : la formation des enseignants de langue et la formation des spécialistes linguistiques tels que les traducteurs et les interprètes, insistent davantage sur l’apprentissage de l’anglais à l’oral et à l’écrit. Ces formations subissent de grands changements depuis ces dernières années car elles encouragent les étudiants à poursuivre leurs études au niveau du master afin d’être plus compétitifs sur le marché du travail. L’anglais enseigné en master est ainsi plus spécialisé et incite les étudiants à finir leurs études en ayant acquis le niveau B2/C1. 4 L’auteur poursuit son article en présentant les défis auxquels doivent faire face les formations linguistiques. Elle explique que ces formations ont parfois du mal à faire valoir leur qualité et leur intérêt sur le marché du travail à l’heure où beaucoup savent juste suffisamment comprendre et parler anglais pour prétendre pouvoir effectuer des missions de traduction ou d’interprétation, ou se permettre de juger la qualité de ces formations. 5 Dans sa troisième partie, l’auteur étudie les programmes de formation des traducteurs et leur approche méthodologique concernant l’enseignement de l’anglais. Elle explique que l’objectif de la licence en matière d’enseignement de l’anglais se concentre sur l’acquisition de la langue et des connaissances culturelles qui lui sont associées tandis qu’au niveau du master, les étudiants utilisent leurs connaissances linguistiques pour se perfectionner et les appliquer spécifiquement au métier de traducteur qu’ils préparent. Les programmes de formation développent un cadre de compétences qui s’appuient sur différents modules : phonétique, morphologie, syntaxe, phraséologie et pragmatique. L’auteur fournit des tableaux récapitulatifs des compétences acquises par les étudiants pour chaque module. Non seulement les étudiants suivent des modules linguistiques tels que ceux présentés précédemment, mais aussi des modules de traduction dans lesquels l’aspect linguistique est primordial tels que : analyse de texte, traduction, traduction spécialisée, communication interculturelle, culture et civilisation... L’auteur fournit des tableaux récapitulatifs pour les trois premiers modules indiqués. 6 L’auteur conclut son article en précisant que l’enseignement de l’anglais dans les programmes de formation des traducteurs doit se baser sur une approche spécifique qui prend en compte les différents éléments qui constituent la langue. L’auteur rappelle aussi l’importance d’enseigner l’analyse comparative entre deux ou plusieurs langues avec lesquelles l’étudiant va travailler au quotidien dans sa profession de traducteur. 7 L’objectif de l’article de Viviana Gaballo intitulé « The Umbilical Cord Cut: English as Taught in Translator-Training Programs » est triple : renforcer l’importance de l’enseignement de la traduction dans l’apprentissage des langues étrangères, faire valoir l’interaction entre les théories de traduction et les théories pédagogiques et apporter une définition de la notion de translation competence. 8 L’auteur divise son article en trois parties. Dans sa première partie, elle analyse la traduction en tant que compétence linguistique et outil d’apprentissage linguistique. Elle passe en revue les principales méthodes d’enseignement et d’apprentissage des Viviana Gaballo, English in Translation Studies: Methodological Perspectives Lexis , Book reviews 2 langues étrangères : Grammar-Translation approach, Direct approach, Reading approach, Audio-Lingual approach, Functional-Notional approach en évaluant le degré d’importance accordée à la traduction pour chacune de ces méthodes. Ces dernières années ont vu s’opérer un changement majeur car la traduction bénéficie désormais d’une place importante au sein des programmes d’apprentissage des langues étrangères. L’auteur conclut cette partie en rappelant l’existence du CECRL (Cadre Européen Commun de Référence pour les Langues) qui a valorisé la cinquième compétence, à savoir la traduction. 9 Dans la partie suivante, l’auteur analyse le lien entre les théories pédagogiques et la traduction. Elle se fonde sur les propos de Vygotsky, Bruner, Piaget et Nuthall qui expliquent que l’apprentissage est désormais perçu comme un processus interactif qui nécessite la collaboration et l’implication de l’apprenant. Cette théorie pédagogique basée sur la participation et la communication a un lien direct avec l’activité de traduction dans la mesure où cette dernière crée un espace partagé dans lequel s’échangent les avis, les connaissances et les conseils. L’auteur est favorable à l’enseignement de cette forme de collaboration dans les formations de traducteurs. 10 Dans sa troisième partie, Gaballo aborde la notion de translation competence et passe en revue les points de vue divergents des théoriciens qui se sont attaqués à cette notion. Elle rappelle que traducteur n’est pas seulement quelqu’un qui maîtrise la langue cible et que le domaine de la traduction se doit de reposer sur une base théorique solide. Elle établit une distinction claire entre la translation performance et la translation competence et propose un schéma dans lequel elle met en évidence les différentes composantes du processus de traduction pour évaluer de façon quantitative et qualitative la compétence acquise par les étudiants en traduction. 11 L’auteur conclut son article en rappelant l’importance d’intégrer la traduction dans l’apprentissage de l’anglais, apprentissage qui ne doit plus seulement s’effectuer sur le mode de la transmission mais aussi et surtout sur le mode de la collaboration. 12 Bengu Aksu Atac commence son article « English for Translation versus Translation for English: A Qualitative Study » en passant en revue les différentes méthodes d’apprentissage des langues depuis le XVIIIe siècle et explique la place qu’occupe la traduction pour chacune de ces méthodes. À l’époque contemporaine, la traduction est perçue comme un exercice permettant de renforcer la compréhension des langues étrangères, d’acquérir du vocabulaire et d’envisager l’apprentissage des langues comme un processus dynamique. L’auteur prend l’exemple des cours d’anglais enseignés à l’Université Atilim et note qu’aucun cours de traduction n’est proposé bien que les enseignants utilisent parfois quelques activités de traduction dans leur cours. Il existe cependant un département de traduction/interprétation qui vise à former les futurs traducteurs turcs dans différents domaines, et c’est cette filière qui retient l’attention de l’auteur. En effet, le but de son article est d’interroger des étudiants de cette filière pour tenter de comprendre la nécessité des cours d’anglais. L’auteur leur a demandé de répondre à un formulaire de 7 questions dont les réponses sont données sous forme de graphiques dans l’article. Les réponses montrent que les étudiants apprécient les cours d’anglais proposés et que ces derniers sont importants pour leur formation de traducteur. 13 L’auteur termine son article en proposant des conseils aux enseignants concernant la manière d’inclure des cours de traduction dans leur programme d’enseignement de l’anglais. Les six conseils proposés sont les suivants : privilégier des cours de traduction Viviana Gaballo, English in Translation Studies: Methodological Perspectives Lexis , Book reviews 3 avec des étudiants qui parlent la/les même(s) langue(s), expliquer l’importance de la relecture, expliquer les erreurs commises, favoriser les réussites de l’étudiant pour l’encourager, diversifier les types d’exercices proposés, et créer des ressources et des évaluations appropriées. L’auteur conclut son propos en expliquant que les cours d’anglais sont nécessaires pour les étudiants apprentis traducteurs. 14 Karim Sadeghi commence son article intitulé « The Art of ‘Transition’: The Case of Iranian EFL Learners » en rappelant que la compréhension est le pré-requis de tout acte de traduction. La compréhension et l’interprétation du texte source sont deux éléments clés de la traduction. Il poursuit en expliquant la signification du mot « transition » qui est une combinaison des processus de traduction, d’interprétation et de composition à ne pas confondre avec le mot « transitions » qui représente des exemples d’erreurs de traduction. 15 Dans sa première partie, l’auteur propose une définition de la traduction en reprenant celles de Nida et Catford et insiste sur la notion d’équivalence du texte cible vis-à-vis du texte source. Il rappelle le rôle clé du traducteur et des choix qu’il doit faire. Il explique ensuite les différents sens du mot « interprétation ». Le premier sens correspond à la compréhension du texte source. Le deuxième sens correspond à l’activité parallèle à celle de la traduction mais dans sa version orale. Le troisième sens consiste à un autre type de traduction dans lequel le traducteur est libre de faire passer le même message que le texte source tout en se détachant de celui-ci. 16 Dans sa deuxième partie, l’auteur revient sur la signification du mot « transition » qui est l’art de la « traduction-composition », c’est-à-dire que le texte traduit provient en partie du texte source mais aussi et surtout de l’interprétation qu’en a fait le traducteur. L’exercice revient à isoler quelques mots clés du texte source puis à créer un texte cible à partir de ces mots clés. Le texte cible forme alors un ensemble cohérent dans la langue cible mais est très différent du texte source. 17 L’auteur explique son processus de recherche dans la troisième partie de son article. Il a analysé les résultats d’une soixantaine d’étudiants iraniens en cours de traduction avancé qui devaient traduire 10 extraits de l’anglais à l’iranien pour valider leur cours de traduction. Les résultats montrent que 90 % des étudiants ont fait des erreurs de traduction dues à un manque de compréhension du texte source. L’auteur inclut certains exemples pris dans les copies des étudiants pour montrer qu’ils ont plutôt réalisé un exercice de composition voire d’interprétation plutôt que de traduction. 18 Les résultats révèlent que les textes produits par les étudiants sont grammaticalement corrects dans la langue cible mais qu’une fois comparés aux textes sources, les différences sont multiples et notables. Le problème majeur qui explique ces différences relève d’un manque de compréhension des textes sources. L’auteur conclut donc que le niveau d’anglais de ces étudiants traducteurs n’est pas suffisant pour effectuer correctement le transfert de la langue source vers la langue cible. Il rappelle aussi que les enseignants responsables de cours de traduction doivent développer les compétences de compréhension de leurs étudiants. Il est important de s’assurer de la compréhension du texte source avant même de passer au transfert linguistique. 19 Dans son article « Learning the Ropes: How First-Year Translation Students Develop Their Translator Identity », Mari Pakkala Weckström a pour objectif de comprendre la formation de l’identité traductrice chez les étudiants de première année. Pour cela, elle leur demande de fournir des commentaires détaillés accompagnant chaque traduction réalisée. Le but de l’étude est davantage d’analyser le processus de réflexion des Viviana Gaballo, English in Translation Studies: Methodological Perspectives Lexis , Book reviews 4 étudiants que d’évaluer la qualité de leurs traductions. L’auteur s’appuie sur des exemples concrets de deux traductions commentées réalisées à plusieurs mois d’intervalle. Elle arrive à la conclusion que les étudiants ont progressé entre les deux devoirs, leurs commentaires étant plus pertinents et plus précis pour le deuxième devoir. Elle remarque que les commentaires permettent aux étudiants de réfléchir aux processus et à leurs choix de traduction et les rendent ainsi davantage conscients de leur travail de traducteur. 20 Dans son article « Developing the Sensibility to Language Effects in Translator-Training Courses », Paola Faini prend l’exemple de deux textes littéraires, Emma de Jane Austen et Selected Works from Virginia Woolf pour montrer que le traducteur doit être particulièrement vigilant à respecter le rythme et l’expressivité d’un texte littéraire lors du transfert vers la langue cible. Il semblerait que la plupart des traductions, même les meilleures, modifient ce rythme à cause des caractéristiques de la langue cible qui ne permettent pas de reproduire toutes les caractéristiques de la langue source. Le but de son article est de montrer que le traducteur littéraire doit être conscient des effets que sa traduction produit. Le traducteur doit donc s’attacher à trouver un nouvel équilibre rythmique dans la langue cible. L’auteur conclut son article en rappelant que les changements sont nécessaires dans l’acte de traduire mais que certains sont acceptables tandis que d’autres pourraient être évités et il revient au traducteur de maîtriser la langue cible afin de reproduire au mieux la sensibilité qui se dégage des textes littéraires. 21 Dans son article « Assessment in Translation Teaching: A Research Perspective », Mihaela Cozma s’intéresse aux modalités d’évaluation dans les programmes de formation des traducteurs professionnels. Les enseignants doivent fournir des critères d’évaluation précis et donner des commentaires pertinents aux étudiants pour qu’ils s’améliorent. La translation competence qui regroupe les aspects suivants : language competence, discourse competence, thematic competence, cultural competence, professional competence et transfer competence doit être au cœur de l’évaluation. Pour évaluer cette compétence complexe, le formateur doit établir une grille d’évaluation qui prend en compte plusieurs critères de manière à augmenter l’objectivité de l’évaluation. L’auteur fournit un exemple de grille d’évaluation avec une description des critères associés à chaque catégorie. Elle finit son article en rappelant que le correcteur ne doit pas perdre de vue les effets produits par la traduction sur le lecteur cible et que les erreurs de contre-sens voire de non-sens doivent être les plus pénalisées lors de l’évaluation. 22 Le dernier article de ce recueil intitulé « Writing and Translating in English as a Lingua Franca » s’intéresse à l’anglais en tant que langue internationale et à sa simplification pour être compris par le plus grand nombre et plus facilement traduisible dans d’autres langues. L’auteur, Stefania Taviano, étudie deux exemples d’entreprises qui proposent des services de simplification de l’anglais, c’est-à-dire transformer des textes complexes en textes plus simples et créer des textes directement en anglais simplifié. Elle note tout de même que l’utilisation de l’anglais simplifié n’est pas encore répandue de manière homogène à l’échelle mondiale et qu’il n’est pas forcément plus aisé de traduire des textes eux-mêmes traduits en anglais simplifié. De plus, si l’anglais simplifié venait à être massivement répandu, cela pourrait mettre en danger le rôle et la tâche des traducteurs à qui on pourrait demander de traduire un texte en anglais simplifié puisqu’il s’agit supposément d’une langue plus facile et accessible à tous. Une autre dérive plus inquiétante pourrait aussi être le recours systématique à la traduction Viviana Gaballo, English in Translation Studies: Methodological Perspectives Lexis , Book reviews 5 automatique. L’auteur conclut son article en donnant son point de vue : elle ne pense pas que English Lingua Franca (ELF) soit la solution à une compréhension mutuelle globale. Elle rappelle aussi que le rôle du traducteur est en évolution rapide depuis ces dernières années et que la traduction joue un rôle clé dans la société mondialisée d’aujourd’hui. 23 Ce recueil de huit articles est très riche grâce aux différentes problématiques abordées par les auteurs. Tous les articles reposent sur une composante pratique très forte puisque la plupart des auteurs s’appuient sur des exemples concrets relevés pendant leurs cours ou au sein de l’Université dans laquelle ils enseignent. Cela donne une dimension particulièrement pragmatique à l’ouvrage qui peut être utilisé comme un manuel de bons conseils à l’usage des formateurs responsables de programmes d’enseignement de la traduction professionnelle. Le seul bémol de cet ouvrage vient peut-être du manque de diversité des représentations qui se concentrent essentiellement sur l’Europe du Sud et de l’Est avec six des huit articles venant d’Italie, de Roumanie et de Turquie. Peut-être qu’une approche plus internationale avec des interventions venues d’autres pays et/ou continents et dans des contextes universitaires plus variés permettrait d’avoir une vision plus globale et plus diversifiée sur la place qu’occupe l’anglais dans les études de traduction. AUTEURS VIRGINIE PFEIFFER Virginie Pfeiffer, Université de Lyon (Jean Moulin Lyon 3), France. Virginie Pfeiffer est ATER à l’Université de Lille et doctorante à l’Université de Lyon (Jean Moulin Lyon 3) sous la supervision du Professeur Denis Jamet. Sa thèse porte sur la traduction de la littérature jeunesse australienne. Viviana Gaballo, English in Translation Studies: Methodological Perspectives Lexis , Book reviews 6 Viviana GABALLO, English in Translation Studies: Methodological Perspectives 
work_si7hd7hhu5ccldoa3rdoo7clsa	----	Book Reviews conference held at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, organized by the Wellcome Unit for the History of Medicine. It is the latest in the Wellcome Institute Series in the History of Medicine with all contributors being associated with the Wellcome Institute in some senior academic capacity, save for Professor Luis Garcia-Ballester who is a member of the CSIC Unit of the History of Science in Barcelona. The work delves into the history of medical ethics starting with the Greek tradition and ending around the time of Thomas Percival's Medical ethics of 1803 (although some chapters raise issues which extend into the early twentieth century, such as Andreas- Holger Maehle's superb piece on the development of the ethics of animal experimentation). Four themes could be said to link the chapters: the sources and influences which underly the declaration of medical ethical principles; the way in which ethical guidance given to doctors fluctuated over time; the relationship between the practice of medicine and the creation of ethical principles governing the conduct of practitioners; and the gradual increase in the extent and scope of ethical regulation in the profession. These themes are explored in a variety of contexts which describe how ethical principles evolved to meet a number of practical ethical dilemmas. For example, Johanna Geyer- Kordesch's discussion of infanticide in eighteenth-century Prussia, Michael J Clark's examination of the involuntary confinement of the mentally ill in Victorian Britain, Ole Peter Grell's analysis of the religious and ethical dilemma faced by physicians during the plague years of whether they should stay and treat the afflicted or flee in order to treat patients of the future, and Andreas-Holger Maehle's lengthy consideration of the ethics of vivisection already noted. As is usual in writings on medical history, a number of authors deal with these themes from the viewpoint of famous writers in the history of medical ethics (such as Gabriele de Zerbi, a teacher of philosophy and medicine at the University of Padua in the 1490s, Friedrich Hoffmann, Professor of Medicine at the University of Halle in the 1690s, and Thomas Gisborne, an Anglican clergyman writing in the 1790s). It would, perhaps, have been preferable to have allocated more space to chapters which dealt with other crucial ethical dilemmas such as emotional and sexual relationships between doctors and patients, professional confidentiality (both mentioned briefly in passing by Roger French), and abortion. For the present reviewer, those chapters which examined specific ethical issues worked better than those which considered specific practitioners' writings on medical ethics, the latter of which tended to be largely illustrative accounts of the ethical tracts in question. None the less, each chapter provides new insights into the nature and antecedents of the ethical regulation of medicine from a wide variety of geographical and historical perspectives. Russell G Smith, University of Melbourne John Wiltshire, Jane Austen and the body: 'the picture of health', Cambridge University Press, 1992, pp. xiii, 251, £30.00 (0-521-41476-8). Medical historians consulting this book may wonder "why Jane Austen?" rather than Aphra Behn, Defoe, Richardson, Smollett, Sterne, Scott, Thackeray, George Eliot, Henry James, James Joyce, or any number of others who were interested in "the body?" It is not a question John Wiltshire wants to hear, nor one he answers. He writes about the author from an already privileged position, as if his readers had agreed in advance that Austen should be the subject of an inquiry about matters bodily and medical, even when construed in the loosest sense. Readers with other perspectives may think this material could have been better cast as a substantial "essay" that was not enlarged into a book. Others will have preferred more self-reflection on the principles guiding the method used, i.e., why, for example, the interpretations eschew 109 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059603 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059603 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Reviews psychoanalytic and psycho-historical approaches so assiduously. This is an author inherently offended by realms psychiatric. Nevertheless, the book is useful, well written, always intelligent, and engages a number of areas, not least demonstrations of the developing discourse sometimes called "literature and medicine". Wiltshire shows that all six major Austen novels concern themselves with the body in its normal and pathological states, and speculates about the conditions and circumstances under which this can occur for a novelist who never attended university, let alone was medically trained. He is thoroughly familiar with the novels and their interpretations, and writes lucidly and often persuasively about their characters and plots. If the reader happens already to be an aficionado of Austen's fiction, this is the book to read about her treatment of illness and the body. I doubt its task will be repeated; if it is, it will have been because another approach was preferred: more theoretical, philosophical, and medically informed. Medical historians who happen not to be interested in literary analysis may not be as persuaded as I have been, or as enthusiastic. They will be unable to deny Wiltshire's command of his texts and facility with words but will wonder how he proceeds from symptom to organ to organic body to diagnosis and, finally, to the interpretation of complex characters and the conditions of their minds and bodies. For example, consider Marianne Dashwood's "illness" in Sense and sensibility. She is clearly love-sick and many critics, long before Wiltshire, have noted her malaise; but it has been less than clear what specifically afflicts her, how the condition develops, and what Austen's background (reading, knowledge, symptomatic analysis) was in relation to the condition described. Wiltshire makes some fine observations about the details of Marianne's "illness", but does not answer crucial questions about background with any degree of historical rigour. It is, perhaps again, a tendency not to want to address specific questions, as in the matter about the choice of author (Jane Austen). Missing from this discussion is the precious author herself-even herfemale body-and a firm sense of her anatomical and medical mindset when pinpointed in a firmly medical- historical context. Wiltshire may respond that authors cannot be known: after all, "what is an author?" as Foucault asked. Besides, Austen's life remains shrouded in uncertainty: all we can do is surmise that she must have known about this or that medical theory or diagnosis-the rest, especially Austen's personal psychology, is prodigiously unclear. It is possible that Austen may have absorbed a great deal about these matters, but much more about the medical milieu of her day is known than Wiltshire expounds here, and if one proceeds on the premise that "we can assume Jane Austen knew everything", then why not assume she was in touch with the best anatomical and medical ideas of the time? More medicine rather than less, I am suggesting, if one adopts this approach for a writer of the English Regency whose intellectual mindset and daily rituals are not recorded in the depth they are for other great novelists. Still, the book is excellent and forces readers to consider the possibility that the Austen we have known was too narrowly construed in our mindsets. G S Rousseau, Aberdeen and Oxford Teresa Santander, El Hospital del Estudio (asistencia y hospitalidad de la Universidad de Salamanca), 1413-1810, Salamanca, Centro de Estudios Salmantinos, 1993, pp. 280, illus., no price given (84-86820-16-2). The city of Salamanca, located geographically and ideologically in the heartland of Old Castile, has an exceptionally rich history. An important part of this history is linked to its university. Founded in 1218 by Alfonso IX, it soon turned Salamanca into one of the medieval centres of learning. The long history of the university, in which names such as those of the theologian and poet Fray Luis 110 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059603 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:16, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300059603 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_sj2t5jaa4redfk4ela5iszz4di	----	Pittock, M. (2016) Introduction: Scottish romanticism. European Romantic Review, 27(4), pp. 425-431. (doi:10.1080/10509585.2016.1190101) This is the author’s final accepted version. There may be differences between this version and the published version. You are advised to consult the publisher’s version if you wish to cite from it. http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/120527/ Deposited on: 04 July 2016 Enlighten – Research publications by members of the University of Glasgow http://eprints.gla.ac.uk http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10509585.2016.1190101 http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/120527/ http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/120527/ http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/ http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/ 1 Introduction: Scottish Romanticism Murray Pittock* * murray.pittock@glasgow.ac.uk University of Glasgow The idea of national Romanticisms is of course central to the idea of Romanticism itself, but while this is widely acknowledged in many contexts, in the post 1945 era the delineation of national Romanticisms within the British Isles became fuzzy and ill-defined: indeed in many cases, omitted or repressed. The reasons for this are, as I argued in Scottish and Irish Romanticism (2008; 2011), strongly bound up with the rejection of a Herderian and social notion of Romanticism and Romantic literature in the postwar era in favor of a unified-but in fact quite narrow-aesthetic definition. The growth of historicist and thematic studies of the Romantic era in the post 1980 period was an important corrective to this trend, but in many respects did little to change the denationalized nature of Romantic criticism linked to the British Isles, nor indeed did it alter the undergraduate curriculum, as Sharon Ruston’s groundbreaking 2006-7 survey showed (Higgins and Ruston (2010)). The denationalizing of Scotland in particular was not merely a matter of focusing on a core canon of ‘British’ writers and pushing less well-known figures or women such as Charles Maturin, Maria Edgeworth, Susan Ferrier or Sydney Owenson to the margins. It was so extreme that writers of unquestionable global significance were simply excluded from the core areas of Romantic curriculum and study. The influence of Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns are felt in every part of the globe: yet while in the 2 1930s, Burns normally ranked in the middle of the pack of “Big Seven” poets by the number of articles published, by the 1950s he was in a catastrophic decline. At the time of Ruston’s study, he did not form a core part of the English literature curriculum anywhere in the UK, though he had some presence in Scotland: yet there were 23 editions of Burns in print. The poet was being sold on London railway bookstalls while being regarded as too outré to teach to London undergraduates, almost the reverse of the situation with respect to some of the great figures of Modernism. Scott, for whom the tired quip of the “Great Unread” is still utilized as a label to cut off further thought or the presentation of any evidence, was the first of the Scottish Romantics to be comprehensively re-edited from 1985: the resulting uncompromisingly scholarly and largely hardback edition of the Edinburgh Edition of the Waverley Novels has sold well in excess of 100 000 copies. The market for Scott today clearly and demonstrably dwarfs that for some other Romantic writers regarded as more ‘mainstream’ as surely now as it did in the period which William St Clair has so ably examined in The Reading Nation in the Romantic Period (2004). In the 1930s, Scott was set for School Certificate in England; in 1989, the present author was asked at a major UK university how Scott could be taught to English undergraduates at all. The shift was nigh on complete. The situation described above has begun to ease in the years following the 2002 Chatterton lecture,1 begun to give way in the case of Scott and Burns as surely as it began to do in the case of Scottish Romanticism more comprehensively in Katie Trumpener’s Bardic Nationalism (1997). Although the marginalization of the major Scottish Romantics was to some extent the result of an Anglo-American critical turn which can be traced back to the 1930s, criticism and polemical history had their own role to play, sometimes viewing these writers as the purveyors of “Scotch Myths”, the 3 “sham bards of a sham nation” in Edwin Muir’s words, manufacturers of ersatz national epics and fake tartan iconographies, an unfortunate caricature which was lent unjustified credibility by the later work of Hugh Trevor-Roper, notably his essay in Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger’s collection, The Invention of Tradition (1983), which attacked the world of James Macpherson just before Fiona Stafford rescued his reputation in The Sublime Savage (1988). The discipline involved in recovering, editing and annotating texts in the major editions of Scott (1985) and Hogg (1991) helped focus renewed attention on these writers. Criticism followed in the wake of these editions, including Leith Davis’s Acts of Union (1998), Janet Sorensen’s The Grammar of Empire (2000), which marked a welcome attempt to integrate Gaelic writing into a study of Scottish literature, and collections such as English Romanticism and the Celtic World (eds. Carruthers and Rawes, 2003) and Scotland and the Borders of Romanticism (Eds. Davis, Duncan and Sorensen, 2004). Ian Duncan’s and Murray Pittock’s conference on Scottish Romanticism in World Literatures, held at Berkeley in 2006, helped to return global attention to some of the key developments of the period, and the organizers provided their own distinctive approaches in Scott’s Shadow (2007) and Scottish and Irish Romanticism (2008) shortly afterwards. An increasing range of single author studies supplemented these analytic explorations, including Andrew Lincoln’s Walter Scott and Modernity (2007), Ann Rigney’s The Afterlives of Walter Scott (2012) and Robert Crawford’s The Bard (2009). The development of a new Burns edition in 2008-10 marked a further point in the move towards a re recognized national Romanticism, and a Ramsay edition may be on the horizon in 2015. Moreover, the Reception of British and Irish Authors in Europe series, edited by Elinor Shaffer, a Coleridge specialist, showed a welcome openness to the enormous influence that the writers of Scottish Romanticism enjoyed 4 internationally, with The Reception of Ossian in Europe (2006), The Reception of Sir Walter Scott in Europe (2007) and The Reception of Robert Burns in Europe (2014) all appearing, in company with a two volume Reception study of Byron. The Edinburgh University Press Companions series produced four Companions on Scottish Romantic writing, including the present author’s Edinburgh Companion to Scottish Romanticism (2011). The lineaments of an alternative literary history, in which-as Courthope had argued many years before, and Rosenmeyer as late as 1969- Allan Ramsay was as much a progenitor of Romanticism as Thomas Percy, began to re-emerge (Rosenmeyer (1969), 10). The re-nationalization of Romanticism did not simply affect Scotland. The work of Luke Gibbons (Edmund Burke and Ireland (2003), Gaelic Gothic (2004)), Jarlath Killeen (Gothic Ireland (2005)) and Mary Jean Corbett (Allegories of Union in Irish and English Writing (2000)) among others in Irish literature began to redefine the potential of the Romantic era in Ireland, as well as demonstrating the inflection of genre (see below) through increasingly acute thematic explorations of the Gothic in Ireland, and the particular local cultural significance of the Big House, portraits, vampires and other symbols of expropriation and its legacies. Theoretical concepts such as ‘auto-exoticism’, introduced by Joep Leerssen in Remembrance and Imagination (1996) became central to the debate over the re-emerging critical interest in the national tale, Owenson and in particular Edgeworth, who like her Scottish counterparts, was sustained by a critical scholarly edition, in this case the 12-volume Works (1999-2003) under the general editorship of Marilyn Butler. Dialogue between Scottish and Irish Romanticism became increasingly visible as the first decade of the new century progressed, as the re-emergence of an understanding of the national qualities of Romanticism opened up the possibility in literature of a ‘four nations’ 5 approach which had begun in history much earlier, and one where dialogue between these nations as well as dialogue between them and London could be seen to be key to the development of their structures of national Romanticism. Developments such as these were prioritized through the Irish-Scottish Academic Initiative, run from the University of Aberdeen through much of its funded life from 1999-2009, and the Ireland-Wales Research Network run by Claire Connolly in 2007-9. Wales too- though with a much more powerful linguistic divide than either Scotland or Ireland- became engaged with this debate in books such as Sarah Prescott’s Eighteenth- Century Writing from Wales (2008) and most significantly the Iolo Morganwg and the Romantic Tradition in Wales and Wales and the French Revolution major projects run from the Centre for Advanced Welsh and Celtic Studies (Canolfan Uwchefrydiau Cymreig a Cheltaidd) in Aberystwyth. The case for distinctive national Romanticism-and indeed a distinct national culture more generally- can be seen as resting on a number of premises. First is the presence of a distinctive public sphere within the country in question. In Ireland’s case, this rested in the period on the complex relationship of the surviving or collected national culture with the independent professional and associational national life run by and for the Anglican ascendancy in what was until 1801 the parliamentary capital of Dublin, and in Wales’s on the language and the efforts made by Welsh cultural societies to promote a distinctive national life through it and the traditions it represented, heightened to the point of invention by the cultural enterprise of Iolo Morganwg. Scotland meanwhile retained and indeed continued to develop a distinctive civic society in the years after Union with England 1707. Most of the national institutions-the Church, the Law, the schools and universities, the banks and the professional organizations – had designedly been left intact by the Union. At a 6 time when government was remote and attempted to do far less than it does now, the retention of the institutional and associational life of the former Scottish state was very important, as was its further development and renewal. In this sense, the Scottish Enlightenment (particularly the ideas of Hume, Robertson and Smith in areas such as association, stadial history or sympathy) was very much closer to the world of Romanticism than the Enlightenment is often held to be elsewhere. Far larger percentages of the population were engaged in professional occupations in Edinburgh in particular, but also in the other major cities, than was the case outside London in England. From the 1690s, there was distinctive and increasingly assertive and independent newspaper culture, while the clubs and societies of the Enlightenment generated a distinct national tone of the teleology of civility, the application of reason to knowledge in a context of material improvement, which added an interest in commercial and later technological progress, ‘useful learning’, to the models of the French philosophes, and presented in the foundation of institutions such as the Royal Society of Edinburgh (1783) and the University of Strathclyde (Anderson’s University, 1796) a radical connectivity between social utility, female education and access to higher education for the poorer in society (David Livingstone was to be perhaps the outstanding nineteenth century product of this) which were highly influential in a range of developments from the founding of Birkbeck College to the early campaigns for female suffrage. This paradox of striving for modernity amid the relics of an ancient nation which was no longer a state can be seen in the practice of many of the Romantic writers: Scott, President of the Royal Society of Edinburgh from 1820-32, may have been a pioneer of the historical novel, but he was also a pioneer of domestic gas lighting. By this time, the power of Scottish periodical culture 7 in the shape of Blackwood’s and the second Edinburgh Review had come to dominate not only Scottish but wider literary and critical debates throughout the British Isles. The second feature of a national culture, and in this case a national Romantic culture, is that of inflection of genre, seen both in a distinctive approach to the politics and use of language, and in the concept of “altermentality” ,where national elements in literature are in part created and sustained by particular inflections in genre, and that such inflections are important in developing a picture of the features of a literary landscape which exemplify the performance of a culture. (Pittock (2008), 25). Inflection in genre can be demonstrated in a number of media, from architecture to music; it can be seen in distinctive approaches to language politics and the use of register; and it can also be visible in the way literature is used to address or confront distinctive topics. An example of the first might be the hybridization of Scottish and classical music explored in David Johnson’s Music and Society in Lowland Scotland in the Eighteenth Century (1972) and subsequent studies, quite different from the development of music culture in England, and which both preserved the national tradition in an apparently “authentic” but effectively highly hybridized variant, which in turn made writers like Burns more attractive to major composers such as Beethoven and Haydn. The development of the use of literary Scots or Hibernian English in writers such as Ramsay and Edgeworth is an example of the second, while the whole national tale phenomenon in Ireland and its successors in Scott’s novels is an example of a distinctive approach being articulated from what sociologists might describe as “peripheries”, as is the adoption of the supernatural as a national identifier in Scottish 8 Gothic. Just at the very cultural moment when “English” was born as a discipline out of the marriage of rhetoric and belles lettres to the homogenization of linguistic norms in the pursuit of an internationally applicable commercial and imperial civility, so the challenge the British state had in understanding its own peripheries-let alone its global mission-was linguistically foregrounded by the Romantics in Scotland and Ireland. Chapter 8 of Edgeworth’s Ennui, a novel in so many ways influenced by Adam Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments (6th ed, 1790), provides a textbook display of the breakdown in uniform commercial language, as Glenthorn asks question after question without receiving in return any answers he understands. Hiberno-English turns out to be no English at all. If altermentality and its accompanying inflections of genre are key to national culture in the Romantic era, so too is the taxonomy of glory. This is the creation or adoption of a literature or culture, which traces its national development from a remote past, which was less politically problematic than the present. In the aftermath of Culloden, both Alasdair MacMhaighstir Alasdair’s Birlinn Chlann Raghnaill and James Macpherson’s Ossian poetry are clear examples of that quest for an examination of the problems of the present through the invocation of a heroic past, a feature notably present both in Ireland and in Wales through the work of Iolo Morganwg. This formation of national antiquity was very influential outside the Anglophone world on the development of national movements and epics in Europe, as can be seen from the reception of Scott in cultures innocent of his Enlightenment historiographical paradigm and the creation of national epics in Finland and elsewhere as catalysts for political and cultural renewal. Collecting, or collecting with the addition of editing or inventing, was one of the key strategies used in the construction of the taxonomy of glory. 9 The last dimension of national cultures in Romanticism to be identified is that of the distinctive performance of self in diaspora, which can lead to the adoption of other cultures as mirrors for one’s own. The defensive adoption of orientalism in Scotland and Ireland (v. for example Joseph Lennon, Irish Orientalism (2004), Sydney Owenson’s The Missionary, Scott’s use of Judaism or Islam to problematize the English heroic history of Richard the Lionheart or Moore’s Lalla Rookh) is one feature of this, as is the adoption of minority or oppressed cultures elsewhere in the world. Examples include Boswell and Corsica, Elphinstone, Hindu supremacism and the opposition to Anglicization in India, Joseph Hume and Greece, Octavian Hume and the Congress Party, William Lyon Mackenzie and the 1837 Canadian rising, Sheridan and the Maroons, Cochrane and Chile, Alexander MacGillivray, Chief of the Creeks and John Ross, Chief of the Cherokee, Charles James Napier’s radically prophetic Colonization (1835) and many others. The networks, familial relations, education, politics and formations of outlook that led up to these can collectively be described as “fratriotism”, the understanding of the self through identification with an other seen as sharing some of the same challenges and problems, “the transmutation of patriot discourses from the first to the third person” (Pittock (2011 [2008]), 240). The essays which follow in this volume all bear out the distinctive themes of Scottish Romanticism, and indeed national Romanticisms more generally. Pauline Mackay’s “‘Low, tame, and loathsome ribaldry’: Bawdry in Romantic Scotland” presents one aspect of the incorporation of native song tradition into poetic subject matter which seamlessly incorporates “low” culture for “high” audiences in a classic act of altermentality and its challenge to the equation of metropolitan and polite. The presentation in “The Jolly Beggars” of the traditions of native Scottish festival poetry in a form verging on the bawdy showed the inflection of traditional genre into a new 10 frame which could serve as a means of the articulation of the sexual and radical politics characteristic of the 1790s but presented in an almost carnivalesque format. Indeed, the application of Bakhtin to the autochthonous ideology of Scottish Romantic writing is a very profitable one. It is one of the reasons we misunderstand Burns as in reality the peasant he sought to portray, as the poet towards the end of his life typically had more income than Jane Austen, and earned as much from the Edinburgh edition of his poetry as Smith did from The Wealth of Nations. Murray Pittock’s “Thresholds of Memory: Birch and Hawthorn in the Poetry of Robert Burns” examines the incorporation of native and folk traditions into an interrogation of the key questions of human existence, nativizing the existential in a classic case of the inflection of genre towards the non-rational, “folk” elements being used to characterize the British peripheries, and being adopted there in turn in order to provide a nativist identity. Vivien Williams’ “The bagpipe and Romanticism: perceptions of Ossianic ‘northernness’” looks at one of the key cultural markers of Scotland through the prism of the taxonomy of glory and the power of Ossianic reception, as well as the rather loose but highly persistent cultural symbol of the bagpipes; Caroline McCracken-Flesher’s “Better to Arrive: the Last Voyage of Walter Scott, Romantic” shows the importance of the realization of self through other cultures and the banality of the “Northern Minstrel” out of his element, while Angela Esterhammer’s “John Galt’s The Omen: Interpretation and its Discontents” examines another feature of the distinctive heteroglossia of mind which was a key part of altermentality in such features of Scottish and Irish writing in the period as Maria Edgeworth’s unreliable narrator, James Hogg’s double narratives or Robert Burns’ triumphant interrogation of the antiquarian’s lust for the supernatural in Tam o’Shanter. The five contributors come from four different countries and work in three: 11 and this is an earnest of the importance of Scottish literature, reflected in the first World Congress in 2014, which was oversubscribed at the first call for papers, with further Congresses due in Vancouver in 2017 and Prague in 2020. References Higgins, David and Ruston, Sharon, eds. Teaching Romanticism. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010. Print. Pittock,Murray. Scottish and Irish Romanticism. Oxford: OUP, 2011 [2008]. Print. Pittock, Murray, ed. The Edinburgh Companion to Scottish Romanticism. Edinburgh: EUP, 2011. Print. Rosenmeyer, Thomas. The Green Cabinet: Theocritus and the European Pastoral Lyric. Berkeley and Los Angeles: UCP, 1969. Print. 1 Murray Pittock, ‘Robert Burns and British Poetry’, Proceedings of the British Academy 121 (2003), 191-211. 
work_sl3b5skuxvfrziy6gu7nwdeer4	----	ORIGINAL ARTICLE Jane Austen’s lifelong health problems and final illness: New evidence points to a fatal Hodgkin’s disease and excludes the widely accepted Addison’s A Upfal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . J Med Ethics; Medical Humanities 2005;31:3–11. doi: 10.1136/jmh.2004.000193 Jane Austen is typically described as having excellent health until the age of 40 and the onset of a mysterious and fatal illness, initially identified by Sir Zachary Cope in 1964 as Addison’s disease. Her biographers, deceived both by Cassandra Austen’s destruction of letters containing medical detail, and the cheerful high spirits of the existing letters, have seriously underestimated the extent to which illness affected Austen’s life. A medical history reveals that she was particularly susceptible to infection, and suffered unusually severe infective illnesses, as well as a chronic conjunctivitis that impeded her ability to write. There is evidence that Austen was already suffering from an immune deficiency and fatal lymphoma in January 1813, when her second and most popular novel, Pride and Prejudice, was published. Four more novels would follow, written or revised in the shadow of her increasing illness and debility. Whilst it is impossible now to conclusively establish the cause of her death, the existing medical evidence tends to exclude Addison’s disease, and suggests there is a high possibility that Jane Austen’s fatal illness was Hodgkin’s disease, a form of lymphoma. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Correspondence to: Annette Upfal, School of English, Media Studies and Art History, The University of Queensland, Brisbane Qld 4072, Australia; a.upfal@uq.edu.au Accepted for publication 1 March 2005 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . T he spectre of disease and early death hung over Jane Austen in the final 2 years of her life, as she continued to work on her novels, whilst her body weakened and wasted and ultimately failed her at the age of 41. The nature of her illness had baffled her medical advisors, and still remains a subject of controversy. Current medical opinion, biographers, and ency- clopaedic reference all lean towards a diagnosis of Addison’s disease, which involves destruction of the adrenal glands, but other medical opinion surmises that Jane may have been suffering from Hodgkin’s disease, a form of cancer. Both diseases were unidentified and untreatable in Austen’s lifetime, and the outcome was always fatal. The futility of this death from an illness that now offers recovery, with the image of a dying writer struggling to use a pencil, when a ‘‘pen was become too laborious’’1 and above all, regret for the novels that were yet to be written, have added a sense of pathos to Austen’s iconic status. Biographers generally date the onset of this fatal illness, to the beginning of 1816, and close to her 40th birthday.2 She would live just 18 months more. The mythic appeal of a ‘genius whose life is cut tragically short’ magnifies the contrast between the healthy, vital woman, struck down by fatal illness at the height of her creative powers, and the sad, wasted figure she became. Biographers have also tended to follow this line and ignore or trivialise previous episodes of illness that are documented in Jane’s letters. Deirdre Le Faye, for example, a pre-eminent Austen authority, remarks that ‘‘up to the end of 1815, Jane had been remarkably free from ailments.’’ She did qualify this, however, by adding ‘‘So far as is known’’.3 In fact a medical history is threaded through the surviving Austen letters, which reveals that she suffered other, and unusually severe and debilitating illnesses, and was particularly susceptible to infection. There were also episodes of a chronic conjunctivitis that began in her early twenties, and became increasingly frequent in later years, impeding her ability to write. Despite traditional accounts, this was not a case of a healthy person being suddenly struck down with a fatal illness. New medical evidence suggests that Jane was already suffering from an immune deficiency and fatal lymphoma in January 1813, when her second and most popular novel, Pride and Prejudice, was published. Four more novels would follow over the next 5 years, written or revised in the shadow of her increasing illness and debility. The final novel, Persuasion, was published in January 1818. But Jane had died 6 months earlier on 18 July 1817, and a fragment of a new novel lay abandoned in her writing desk. Whilst it is impossible now to conclusively establish the cause of her death, the existing medical evidence tends to exclude Addison’s disease, and suggests there is a high possibility that Jane’s fatal illness was Hodgkin’s disease, a form of lymphoma. The importance of a close examination of Jane Austen’s medical history goes far beyond the satisfaction of establishing a retrospective diag- nosis for her various symptoms, and intended for an audience of medical professionals. Its sig- nificance should be seen rather against a context of the scant documentary evidence of Jane’s life, and an intense public interest in everything relating to her. The first biography, a Memoir, was published in 1870. The early trickle of interest since that date has become an avalanche of titles concerning her in the past 50 years, with every known aspect of her life and work placed under scrutiny. But through it all, Jane Austen, the person, remains an enigmatic and elusive figure. 3 www.medicalhumanities.com o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm h .2 0 0 4 .0 0 0 1 9 3 o n 1 5 Ju n e 2 0 0 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ There is so much in her life that is missing. She kept no diaries or personal journals, and her most revealing letters were destroyed by her sister Cassandra after her death. Other material was lost or distorted by family members half a century later, in an effort to present a sanitised version of her life, and it is very unlikely now that any new letter or personal remembrance will emerge. The biographer is left to rescan the existing inadequate evidence, and sometimes, very rarely as in this case, the letters yield up something exciting and new. These seemingly nondescript scraps of medical history lead to insights that transcend the barriers of Cassandra’s ruthless culling, and at times are startling and almost voyeuristic in their intimacy. Knowledge of the illness provides the detail of symptoms that would have been excluded from the letters. Le Faye, the most recent editor of Jane Austen’ Letters, notes that some letters have a line cut out, relating to ‘‘physical ailment’’ and considers that Cassandra simply destroyed any letter that ‘‘described physical symp- toms rather too fully’’.4 A detailed medical history reveals the extent to which illness impacted on Austen’s life, on family relationships, on her ability to work, and even left its traces on the last manuscripts. It offers a tangible impression of Jane, the woman, coping with illness whenever possible, by cheerfully dismissing it from her mind, and later struggling to maintain her own good humour and a sense of normalcy in her life, as the symptoms of disease overwhelmed her body. Illness was to dominate the first few months of her life as well as the last. Her nephew and first biographer, JE Austen Leigh, faced with an almost total lack of family letters or other evidence was forced to admit that he knew ‘‘little of Jane Austen’s childhood.’’5 By some quirk of chance, a family letter describing her birth at Steventon Rectory on 16 December 1775 has survived, and forms an important, first suggestion of a serious medical problem. Jane was born 4 weeks overdue, according to her parents’ calculations. Her father even made a joke about it in this letter to his sister-in- law, Susanna Walter. Dear Sister, You have doubtless been for some time in expectation of hearing from Hampshire, and perhaps wondered a little we were in our old age grown such bad reckoners but so it was, for Cassy certainly expected to have been brought to bed a month ago.6 But was it just a case of bad reckoning? It seems very unlikely considering that the Austens had six children already and from the evidence of this letter, had never previously miscalculated their dates. Birth was always a worrying and disruptive time for any family. Childbirth was managed at home without medical assistance, and even if the birth were trouble free, the new mother would be kept in bed for at least 2 weeks. Somebody else would have to run the household and arrangements were made well in advance. It was vital to these arrangements that the estimated confine- ment date was as accurate as possible. It was simply too important to get wrong. A normal pregnancy is calculated as 40 weeks from the last menstrual period, and over 80% of births occur between the 38th and 42nd week. Only 5% continue, as in Jane’s case, after the 43rd week.7 A pregnancy that continues after 42 weeks is considered postdate, and the fetus may be severely at risk. There is a heightened risk of birth injury or death, and over 20% of postdate infants show signs of wasting of tissues - a medical condition known as post- maturity, which in severe cases can be fatal. If a pregnancy is postdate, the modern obstetrician will usually order tests to monitor the fetus and to decide whether or not to intervene. In the 18th Century it was a matter of letting nature take its course. The postmature infant was described by the classic authority, SH Clifford,8 as showing signs of late-onset wasting of tissue, due to placental insufficiency. If a pregnancy is prolonged, the placenta begins to degenerate and the fetus may receive inadequate nutrients from the mother, resulting in soft tissue wasting.9 According to her father’s description, Jane Austen seemed normal at birth, and this is quite consistent with post- maturity: Last night the time came, and without a great deal of warning, everything was soon happily over. We have now another girl, a present plaything for her sister Cassy and a future companion. She is to be Jenny and seems to me as if she would be as like Henry, as Cassy is to Neddy.10 The fetus continues to grow in the womb and the infant is long and thin, with some tissue wasting. It is interesting that George Austen noted a close resemblance to his fourth son, Henry, born 4 years earlier. Both children had hazel eyes, but Henry was also very tall for his age.11 and the father must have noticed that this baby too, seemed quite long. A close inspection of the baby may have shown signs of tissue wasting, which caused the skin to hang in loose folds, especially on the arms and legs. There would be signs in behaviour as well, including listlessness, irritability, and feeding problems which would persist for some time, with the baby failing to thrive, and incessantly irritable. Various studies reveal the stress placed on the mother-child relation- ship, with postmature babies described as ‘‘difficult’’ by their mothers. They also had more severe illnesses in the first year of life. These findings also applied to postdate babies who did not show obvious signs of tissue wasting at birth, and the problems were more severe for those born after 43 weeks (Sims, p 291).7 Jane would have been frail and probably ill in the first months of her life and this seems to be confirmed by her christening in the church being delayed until she was almost four months old (Le Faye, p 27).3 According to Mrs. Austen’s child-rearing practice, the baby was weaned at 3 months, and then sent to a ‘‘good woman’s’’ for at least a year, a farm worker’s wife, who lived in the nearby village of Deane.12 Jane was moved there sometime after her April christening, and certainly before the first week of June, when her parents were on holiday in London.13 The circumstances of Jane’s birth raise the possibility of an immune deficiency, related to postmaturity, (Beers, p 1026)9 and her medical history of both unusually severe infections and chronic infection, is consistent with an immune dis- order. But there is also a compelling argument against this. A child with an immune deficiency in the 18th Century would be extraordinarily lucky to survive to adult life. Most disorders that present from birth would render her suscep- tible to fatal chicken pox, or if she were lucky enough to survive, she would have been at the very least severely disabled by it. One factor, however, that might have preserved the young Jane’s life was the isolated location of her family home, and consequent lack of exposure to childhood epidemics. Steventon, Jane’s loved home for the first 25 years of her life, was a remote village in the Hampshire Downs, about 7 miles south-west of Basingstoke. Access was by a narrow and winding dirt lane, full of potholes, and in wet weather became virtually impassable. The village itself was just a straggle of farm labourers’ thatched cottages, each with its 4 Upfal www.medicalhumanities.com o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm h .2 0 0 4 .0 0 0 1 9 3 o n 1 5 Ju n e 2 0 0 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ own small garden, and set in a pretty, wooded valley close to a stream and the village green. The rectory was a short distance from the end of the village, and stood on the corner of a 3-acre block, with its own dairy and small farm, and a tiny stone church high on the hill behind it, just glimpsed behind a screen of sycamores and elms. Reverend George Austen leased a nearby 200-acre farm as well as farming his own glebe land. Mrs Austen had her dairy, poultry yard, piggery, vegetable garden, and beehives to supply the house. Bread was baked, and beer was brewed and stored in the cellar, together with a large supply of Mrs Austen’s honey mead and some homemade wine. The rectory’s self-sufficiency extended to the education of the children. The Austen boys were educated at home by their father, until entering university or the navy. Apart from two brief periods, he supervised the formal education of his daughters as well. The Austen biographer Claire Tomalin notes that in an age when ‘‘few families were spared the deaths of several children,’’ the Austens did not lose a single one of their eight children (Tomalin, p 6).2 According to family tradition, Jane did become danger- ously ill however, within a few months of being sent away to school. In April 1783, Jane, aged 7 and Cassandra, 10, were sent with their 12 year old cousin Jane Cooper to Oxford, to board with Mrs Ann Cawley, the widowed sister of Dr Cooper. Sometime later in the year Mrs Cawley moved her few pupil boarders to Southampton and was soon in the midst of an epidemic of ‘‘putrid fever’’, which was raging in this town by late August. Jane and Cassandra were both infected, but Mrs Cawley did not inform their parents (Le Faye, pp 47-49).3 Fortunately, Jane Cooper wrote to her own mother, who came immediately in her carriage to rescue all three and move them to her home in Bath.14 In some accounts both Mrs Austen and Mrs Cooper arrived to take their daughters home, but all agree that Jane Austen nearly died of this illness. In one version her life was saved by a remedy that the mothers brought with them.15 The ‘‘putrid fever’’ was in fact epidemic typhus, brought to Southampton that August by troops returning from service in Gibraltar (Le Faye, p 48).3 It is associated with cramped, insanitary conditions, and transmitted to humans in faeces of the human body louse. The symptoms include a constant headache and high temperature. About the fourth day the characteristic pink spots appear and rapidly darken and cover the whole body, only excluding the face, palms and soles of the feet. After 14 days, in uncomplicated cases, the temperature drops and the patient spontaneously recovers. The disease can be extremely serious in adults, and mortality increases with age, and is as high as 60% in persons aged 50 years or more (Beers, p 1228).9 Mrs Cooper was 47 years of age, and became fatally infected and died at her home in Bath on October 25th. In these fatal cases, death occurs from heart failure about day 14 of the illness.16 Mrs Cawley may have been negligent in not contacting the Austens, but perhaps she was aware that this disease is characteristically mild in children up to the age of ten.17 In any case, it would have been out of the question to take the girls home to the rectory, where they might introduce the infection to their brothers, or worse still, Mr Austen’s 3 or 4 pupil boarders. The fear of infection in an age when no adequate treatment was available, is reflected in Sense and Sensibility in the Palmer family’s immediate abandonment of their home when Marianne Dashwood’s illness is described by the apothecary as ‘‘having a putrid tendency’’ and he allows ‘‘the word ‘infection’ to pass his lips.’’18 Mrs Palmer had left with her baby within the same hour. No other scrap of medical evidence remains from Jane’s childhood. The major resource for a medical history consists of her own surviving letters, including 97 to her sister Cassandra, written over a 20 year period. Unfortunately, these only date to 1796, when Jane was already aged 20. Despite Cassandra’s censorship, these letters, supplemented by other evidence, do provide medical insights, and reveal for example that Jane suffered from chronic conjunctivitis, with the first episode occurring in January 1799, when she was aged 23: Wednesday – I have had a cold and weakness in one of my eyes for some days, which makes writing neither very pleasant nor very profitable, and will probably prevent my finishing this letter myself. My Mother has undertaken to do it for me. . . . This complaint in my eye has been a sad bore to me, for I have not been able to read or work in any comfort since Friday, but one advantage will be derived from it, for I shall be such a proficient in music by the time I have got rid of my cold, that I shall be perfectly qualified in that science at least to take Mr Roope’s office at Eastwell next summer.19 In a letter written 2 weeks later, the problem had worsened, and spread to both eyes,20 indicating a viral infection.21 The first symptoms would seem like a ‘‘cold in the eye’’ with redness, watering, and itching, followed by sensitivity to light, (photophobia), and discomfort that could quickly become severe. The eyelids would look sore and swol- len. This condition is often called ‘‘red eye’’ because of bleed- ing under the conjunctiva, and the white of the eye becomes bright red either in part, or totally (Macpherson, p 214).16 The discomfort of her eye did not prevent her from attending a ball a few nights later, but her account of this ball contains the rueful comment ‘‘I do not think I was very much in request—People were rather apt not to ask me till they could not help it;—One’s consequence you know varies so much at times without any particular reason.’’22 Biographers have seized upon this statement as evidence that Jane, unlike the heroines of her novels, was physically unattractive. But a young lady at a ball who was suffering from the ‘red eye’ was unlikely to be ‘very much in request’. It not only affected her appearance. Her partners would be concerned about catching a possible infection. No wonder gentlemen were ‘apt not to ask till they could not help it.’ Her last comment gives an insight into the way she viewed her own illness. She had dismissed the problem of her sore eye so effectively from her mind, she was unconscious of its effect on others. She attended another ball the following week, with a predictable aggravation of her symptoms. My eyes have been very indifferent . . . keeping them so many hours open on Thursday night, as well as the dust of the ball-room, injured them a good deal. I use them as little as I can, but you know and Elizabeth knows, and everybody who ever had weak eyes knows, how delightful it is to hurt them by employment, against the advice and entreaty of all one’s friends.23 There is no cure for the virus, and treatment, then, as now, would focus on relief of symptoms, and avoiding further environmental irritants. Cold compresses and lubricants might be used, and the patient restricted to a dark environment. Recovery is usually spontaneous within 3 to 6 weeks. But in severe cases, that continue longer, there is inflammation of the cornea (keratitis), with marked photo- phobia, pain in the eyes, and some temporary blurring of vision (Barza, p 799).21 Jane Austen’s lifelong health problems and final illness 5 www.medicalhumanities.com o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm h .2 0 0 4 .0 0 0 1 9 3 o n 1 5 Ju n e 2 0 0 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ Jane’s case must have been severe, because there is a reference to her eyes in the next surviving letter, written 4 months later, a day after her arrival in Bath on a family visit. ‘‘I find no difficulty in doing my eyes.’’24 This comment implies that Cassandra had been acting as nurse, and treatment for the conjunctivitis was still necessary. The January letters describe the onset of acute conjuncti- vitis. By May, the infection had become chronic, and would persist, with remissions and recurrences over the years. At first there might be long gaps between recurrences, and the attacks would never be as long or severe as that first episode. In the final years of her life, the recurrences would be more frequent and disabling. In September 1813, she was staying with her brother Henry at his house in London, and there is the one exasperated comment. ‘‘My eyes are quite tired of dust and lamps.’’25 Her niece Caroline Austen, who as a child often visited the Austen cottage at Chawton, also remem- bered Aunt Jane having problems with her eyes: She could throw the spilikens for us, better than anyone else, and she was wonderfully successful at cup and ball— She found a resource sometimes in that simple game, when she suffered from weak eyes and could not work or read for long together.26 Years earlier, in that first episode of acute conjunctivitis, Jane had expressed her frustration at not being able to read or work as she wished. But she was a young woman then, with hopes and interests quite apart from her writing. At Chawton, her writing and books was the centre of her life. She tried to ignore the increasing symptoms of her disease, and continued to write, only to be defeated at times by episodes of conjunctivitis, when the work had to be put aside. The first major period of creative writing was at Steventon, although her work was not published until many years later. Jane was aged 20, the same age as Elizabeth Bennet when she wrote the first draft of Pride and Prejudice. The early versions of Sense and Sensibility and Northanger Abbey were also written in this period. According to family tradition, Jane, then aged 25, was so distressed to leave Steventon that she fainted on being suddenly told that her father was retiring and they were moving immediately to Bath.27 After their arrival in May 1801, there is a gap of more than 3 years in the letters, a sure sign of problems, which Cassandra censored. Mr Austen died in January 1805, leaving his widow with a tiny income, which was supplemented annually by her sons. Jane herself was penniless. The three Austen women had no settled home, and were expected to save expenses by making long visits amongst their relatives.28 On 2 July 1806, they made a final move from the cheap lodgings in Bath, and, as Jane later expressed it, ‘‘with what happy feelings of escape!’’29 The trio then set off on a round of family visits, where Jane became infected with an unusually severe case of pertussis or whooping cough, whilst staying with their rich Cooper relatives in Staffordshire. The Austens arrived on 14 August, and remained for about 5 weeks, as one by one, the young Cooper children went down with this illness (Le Faye, pp 157-8).3 In this case there was no question of leaving to escape the infection. Whooping cough was then overwhelmingly a disease of babies and young children, and adults were not considered to be at risk. The disease is very uncommon after the age of ten (Macpherson, p 634).16 If an adult is infected, the symptoms are usually mild, and described as catarrhal, and the duration of the illness is short and considered as ‘‘troublesome, but rarely serious’’ (Beers, p 2308).9 Towards the end of their stay, Jane contracted the infection, and by the time the Austens reached their new lodgings in Southampton on 10 October, she was becoming progressively worse. Whooping cough usually resolves within 3 to 4 weeks, but severe cases can persist up to 3 months. As the illness progresses to the second or spasmodic stage, the patient develops the frequently recurring attacks of violent and convulsive coughing, followed by the whoop, a loud and distinctive in drawing of breath. Large amounts of mucus are expelled and there is frequent vomiting. This stage usually lasts 2 weeks, but in severe cases can continue for more than a month, and often with respiratory complications, including broncho-pneumonia (Beers, pp 2306-8).9 There is one surviving reference by Jane Austen to this illness, in a letter written 2 months later to Cassandra: A few days ago, I had a letter from Miss Irvine . . . She supposes my silence may have proceeded from resentment of her not having written to inquire particularly after my hooping cough, and […]. She is a funny one.30 Miss Irvine was a distant relative and family acquaintance who lived in Bath. If news of Jane’s whooping cough had circulated even amongst her acquaintances in Bath, she must have been seriously ill, and her own family had been concerned for her recovery. The second stage of the illness was severe and prolonged enough for Cassandra to send out anxious letters to family members and friends, and for letters of enquiry to be made to Southampton about her progress. Miss Irvine obviously felt guilty that she had not ‘‘inquired particularly.’’ Jane’s letters from Southampton show that in October 1808 she suffered another infective illness, which may also have become chronic. Saturday, October 1—Mr Lyford called on tuesday to say that he was disappointed of his son and daughter’s coming, and must go home himself the following morng;— and as I was determined that he should not lose every pleasure I consulted him on my complaint. He recom- mended cotton moistened with oil of sweet almonds, and it has done me good.—I hope therefore to have nothing more to do with Eliza’s receipt than to feel obliged to her for giving it as I very sincerely do.31 The complaint is revealed in her next letter as being with her ear, and she mentioned hearing loss. Mr Lyford was the elderly surgeon who had looked after the Austens at Steventon, and knew the family very well due to his frequent attendances on Mrs Austen. His call on them at Southampton was a social visit. It is interesting the way Jane trivialises her need for medical advice, and jokes that it is all for Mr Lyford’s benefit. In fact her symptoms had been severe and prolonged enough for Cassandra to enclose a suggested remedy with the letter Jane had received that day from Godmersham in Kent. Jane was almost certainly suffering from otitis externa, an infection of the outer ear, and possibly associated with a painful boil in her ear. Her symptoms would have included itching and severe pain accompanied by a foul smelling discharge. There would be a gradual onset of hearing loss as the ear canal became swollen and filled with debris from the discharge (Beers, p 669).9 These symptoms had persisted for more than 2 weeks in her case, and must have been very distressing. If the itching is treated, the inflammation will usually subside. The modern treatment would probably include removing the infected debris, ‘‘followed by careful packing of the external ear with some soothing lotion’’ (Macpherson, p 182).16 This is essentially the same treatment that Mr Lyford 6 Upfal www.medicalhumanities.com o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm h .2 0 0 4 .0 0 0 1 9 3 o n 1 5 Ju n e 2 0 0 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ prescribed. Oil of sweet almonds is a soothing and non- allergenic oil that is still used in alternative medicine to treat eczema or dermatitis. Mr Lyford’s advice was to pack the ear with a piece of cotton material that had been moistened with the oil. The treatment was effective. A week later, Jane described herself as cured. ‘‘I am much obliged to you for enquiring about my ear, and am happy to say that Mr Lyford’s prescription has entirely cured me. I feel it a great blessing to hear again.’’32 There are no further references to ear problems in her letters, although there were probably recurrent episodes of otitis. But she could now manage the infection and treat the symptoms as soon as they appeared. Jane’s history of unusually severe and chronic infections suggests an immune deficiency or perhaps the presence of some underlying infection such as Tuberculosis, which was then very common. In early Tuberculosis, the disease may remain latent for years or have no overt symptoms (Macpherson, p 601).16 But in the absence of further evidence, this issue cannot be resolved, and remains speculative. Early in 1809 Jane’s immensely wealthy brother Edward Austen Knight finally offered his mother the rent free occupancy of one of the houses he owned in Chawton village, close to his own estate. It was Jane’s first settled home in the 8 years since leaving Steventon Rectory, and she lived there for the rest of her life. Her novels were published in this Chawton period, with Sense and Sensibility appearing in October 1811. There is a gap in the letters from January 1809 to April 1811, and again from June 1811 until the end of October, 1812. The letters that Cassandra destroyed may have included references to new medical problems, and it is possible that Jane contracted her fatal disease during this period. The nature of this disease remains controversial, and apart from the widely accepted Addison’s disease, other possibilities might include leukemia, Hodgkin’s disease, non Hodgkin’s lymphoma, Tuberculosis, and sys- temic Vasculitis. But the evidence provided in Jane’s letters of 1813, points to the presence of a lymphoma, possibly Hodgkin’s disease. In January 1813, Pride and Prejudice was published, and a few months later Jane was experiencing symptoms of severe neuralgia, mainly documented in the diary of her niece, Fanny Knight. Edward and his family occupied the Great House at Chawton that summer whilst their main residence, Godmersham, was being painted. The Great House was just a short walk from the Austen cottage, and there are frequent references to Aunts Jane and Cassandra in the diary. On 18 July there is an entry of Aunt Jane suffering from ‘‘a bad face ache,’’ and episodes of pain continue for at least the next 2 weeks. On 2 August Fanny notes that Aunt Jane ‘‘slept here and suffered sadly with her face.’’33 These episodes of neuralgia persisted. On 15 September, Jane had just arrived at her brother Henry’s house in London with the Knights and would continue with them to Godmersham. The following day she wrote reassuringly to Cassandra that she had ‘‘no pain in my face since I left you.’’34 But a week later, at Godmersham, she admitted that the pain had returned, and ‘‘rather severer than it had been lately. This has worn off however and I have scarcely felt anything for the last two days’’.35 These symptoms describe a facial or trigeminal neuralgia associated with a previous infection of herpes zoster or shingles. This most severe form of neuralgia involves any one of the three divisions of the trigeminal nerve of sensation to the face. In herpes zoster, a virus invades the ganglia of the nerves, causing inflammation, and the resulting severe pain. Sometimes however, there is post herpatic pain that may recur over months or even years. In cases of immune deficiency, the acute stage of the infection may exceed 2 weeks, and the post herpatic pain is likely to persist longer and to be more severe (Beers, pp 1294-5).9 Herpes zoster is caused by the varicella-zoster virus, the same virus involved in chicken pox, but zoster is a disease of adults rather than children. Zoster occurs most often in immune-depressed or elderly persons. ‘‘Most adults who acquire the disease have had chicken pox in childhood’’ (Macpherson, p 275).16 Fanny Knight’s younger sister Lizzie also remembered her aunt’s sufferings with neuralgia. She described how some- times she saw Aunt Jane walking along the path from Chawton village to the Great House, and obviously in pain, ‘‘with head a little to one side, and sometimes a very small cushion pressed against her cheek, if she were suffering from face-ache, as she not unfrequently did in later life’’ (Le Faye, p 27).33 Jane Austen’s neuralgia affected the second division of the nerve and the pain would have been focused in the cheek and upper jaw. The pain affected one side of the face, and would be episodic, sometimes recurring about the same time each day whilst the attack lasted. Pain could also be precipitated by cold, or by taking a mouthful of hot or cold fluid. One medical text describes the pain as ‘‘devastating’’, and that for some patients who suffer frequent attacks, ‘‘the pain may be so intolerable as to make life a burden’’ (Macpherson, p 598).16 Jane was a very private person, and the pain must have been intense for her to walk out in public with a cushion pressed to her face. It also shows the level of her determination to disregard pain and illness. Most people would have remained at home and tried to relieve the symptoms. She continued her social engagements with her family, even though the walk to the Great House was enough to bring on the pain. There was pain every day, but that didn’t stop her from making the journey to London and Godmersham. Far from feeling that life was a burden, the letters she wrote in the midst of the attack are quite cheerful. In that first letter from Godmersham, she is in ‘‘high glee’’ and ‘‘delighted.’’ The letter begins and ends with a joke.36 Herpes zoster is very unusual in a young person, and indicates a pre-existing immune deficiency, associated with a lymphoma, such as Hodgkin’s disease. In Jane’s case, this must have pre-dated 1813. It is even possible that Jane already had a fatal lymphoma when her first novel, Sense and Sensibility was published in October 1811. The herpes zoster virus can be activated by systemic disease, particularly Hodgkin’s disease. Infections with herpes zoster are common in patients with this disease.37 The relationship is so pronounced that one study recom- mends that patients diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease be educated in early self-diagnosis of herpes zoster in order to receive prompt treatment.38 Hodgkin’s disease is a form of cancer, and in Jane’s time, there was no possible treatment. There is persuasive evidence that Jane suffered from Hodgkin’s disease, and within a few years it would end her life. Recent medical evidence suggests a close association between Hodgkin’s disease and a previous history of infectious mononucleosis (glandular fever).39 Glandular fever is commonly described as the ‘‘kissing disease’’ which is hardly compatible with the familiar image of Jane as a prim and inexperienced spinster. In fact that image is very misleading. In her youth, at Steventon, ‘‘she was established as a very pretty girl,’’ (Austen, p 5)26 and attended balls and assemblies at the age of sixteen. The few surviving letters of her early twenties suggest that Jane was quite adept at light- hearted flirtations. There is a reference to one unwanted admirer trying to steal a kiss, whilst another tried to trap her alone with him, and in another letter she has been reproved Jane Austen’s lifelong health problems and final illness 7 www.medicalhumanities.com o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm h .2 0 0 4 .0 0 0 1 9 3 o n 1 5 Ju n e 2 0 0 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ by Cassandra for openly flirting with a young man at a private ball. One rather malicious former neighbour described Jane in the Steventon years as ‘‘the prettiest, silliest, most affected husband-hunting butterfly she ever remembers’’ (Le Faye, p 81).3 Glandular fever is more common among adolescents aged 15–17,’’ (Macpherson, p 381)16 and whilst no records remain for those years of her life, it cannot be excluded. Hodgkins disease, or lymphadenoma is a ‘‘condition in which the lymphatic glands all over the body undergo a gradually progressive enlargement’’ (Macpherson, p 277).16 The cause is unknown, but there is evidence suggesting an association with a pre-existing immune deficiency.40 As the disease spreads there can be a wide range of symptoms, including gastric and bone involvement. There is a consider- able degree of anaemia, and the patient becomes progres- sively weaker. The progress of the disease can be slow or intermittent, with periods when the patient feels some improvement. The outcome however, before modern che- motherapy and radiotherapy, was always fatal. In 1814, the letters are cheerful as ever, although once again a small batch of letters have been destroyed. Pride and Prejudice had proved a great success and Mansfield Park was published in May. Jane also began writing a new novel, Emma, in January. Her brother Henry acted as her agent in negotiations with publishers and Jane needed to visit him in London three times this year. There are a few references in the letters to tiredness, but no specific mention of illness other than a cold.41 In early March 1815, in a letter to her niece, Anna Lefroy, Jane seems to have been referring to an episode of illness. Unfortunately, most of the page has been torn away. Only a scrap remains at the bottom, and continues ‘‘I cannot flourish in this east wind, which is quite against my skin and conscience’’.42 Typically, she has trivialised her illness, and turned it into a joke. Cold weather itch is quite common in winter, when the skin tends to become dry, and Jane seemed to be blaming the effect of the cold east wind on her skin. But itching, or pruritis, without skin rash, can be an early symptom of Hodgkin’s disease, particularly in women.43 It is also a common complaint of patients with this disease and it has been reported that over 85% of patients will experience pruritis at some stage of their illness (Kaplan, p 120).37 ‘‘It is characterised by symptoms of burning and intense itching occurring on a localized skin area, usually the lower legs’’ (Cavalli, p 109).43 As the disease advances, the pruritis becomes generalized. The itching is severe enough to induce intensive scratching, leading to multiple, blood encrusted excoriations and scabs on the trunk and/or lower legs (Kaplan, p 120).37 Any further references to this illness have not survived. After this letter, there is a gap of 6 months before the letters begin again. In August 1815 Jane Austen began work on Persuasion. The writing would continue somehow through increasing bouts of illness and family problems. A family crisis occurred in October, when Henry Austen suffered a life threatening illness. His sister Jane was staying with him in London at the time, whilst he helped her to arrange the publication of Emma. She wrote to Cassandra on 17 October, describing Henry as ‘‘not quite well – a bilious attack with fever.’’44 Cassandra seems to have destroyed the letters that quickly followed, with their details of Henry’s deterioration and danger. Just 1 week later, Henry was thought to be dying. His brothers Edward and James and sister, Cassandra, came immediately to London and the brothers were there a week until Henry was out of danger. Cassandra however, was away from Chawton for a month, which must have been extremely inconvenient for James Austen’s wife, Mary, who had to stay with Mrs Austen until Cassandra’s return.45 This arrangement could only be justified if Jane was also ill or at least not well enough to nurse her brother. Jane’s illness seems to be confirmed by Caroline Austen’s report that ‘‘In the earlier stages of her malady, my Aunt had had the advice, in London, of one of the eminent physicians of the day’’ (Austen, p 15).26 This was probably Dr Matthew Baillie, who was treating Henry Austen in this illness, and was one of the Prince Regent’s physicians (Le Faye, p 225).3 She may have consulted him about the pruritis, and other unspecified symptoms. Emma was published at the end of December, 2 weeks after Jane had returned to Chawton, and she never visited London again. Henry Austen in his Biographical Notice of Jane Austen wrote that ‘‘the symptoms of a decay, deep and incurable, began to show themselves in the commencement of 1816. Her decline was at first deceitfully slow; and until the spring of this present year [1817], those who knew their happiness to be involved in her existence could not endure to despair’’ (Austen, p 138).1 Biographers have accepted this dating as the beginning of her illness, but it can also be interpreted as the date when family members realised that something was seriously wrong. Her niece Caroline also considered that ‘‘Aunt Jane’s health began to fail some time before we knew she was really ill’’ (Austen, p 13).26 In March 1816, there was a new family crisis when Henry Austen was declared bankrupt following the sudden failure of his London bank, and his brothers suffered heavy losses as well’’ (Austen, p 47).45 Jane’s health also was deteriorating. At the beginning of May, Edward Knight and his daughter Fanny came to Chawton cottage for 3 weeks, but Jane was too weak to accompany Cassandra and Fanny on their daily walks. The day after the Knights returned to Kent, Jane and Cassandra set off to try the spa waters of Cheltenham for 2 weeks. Johanna Schopenhauer, who visited Cheltenham in this Regency period, noted in her travel diary that this spa catered especially for those with ‘‘skin ailments, scurvy and such complaints.’’46 Jane may have been seeking treatment for her skin and the worsening problem of the pruritis. On their way home, the sisters paid a visit to very old friends, the Fowle family at Kintbury. During their stay, the family ‘‘received an impression that Jane’s health was failing – altho’ they did not know of any particular malady’’ (Austen, page 14).26 When they returned home on 15 June, Jane was even weaker and needed the donkey carriage to move about. In July, she attributed a pain in her back to her distress on Cassandra going away for a few weeks. Despite her illness, she completed Persuasion in August. In September, the family called in a well-known physician, Dr. White, for his opinion. Typically, Jane laughed about this visit, and intended ‘‘nursing myself up now, into as beautiful a state as I can.’’47 Through the first months of winter, she felt that she was improving, and this is quite consistent with the progress of Hodgkin’s disease. On 23 January 1817, Jane noted that she was ‘‘getting stronger than I was half a year ago,’’48 and a letter to a close friend the following day is just as optimistic. She added, ‘‘I am more and more convinced that Bile is at the bottom of all I have suffered, which makes it easy to know how to treat myself.’’49 Three days later, in this spirit of optimism, she began work on a new novel, the fragment now known as Sanditon, and worked steadily through February and into March. On 20 February she wrote to her favourite niece Fanny that ‘‘I am almost entirely cured of my rheumatism; just a little pain in my knee now and then, to make me remember what it was and keep on flannel, - Aunt Cassandra nursed me so beautifully.’’50 On 13 March she wrote hopefully ‘‘I am got 8 Upfal www.medicalhumanities.com o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm h .2 0 0 4 .0 0 0 1 9 3 o n 1 5 Ju n e 2 0 0 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ tolerably well again,’’51 but on 18 March she abandoned the manuscript after a severe bout of illness. On 23 March she wrote to Fanny again, including a description of other and distressing symptoms: Many thanks for your kind care for my health; I certainly have not been well for many weeks,and about a week ago I was very poorly, I have had a good deal of fever at times and indifferent nights, but am considerably better now, and recovering my Looks a little, which have been bad enough, black and white and every wrong colour.52 The rest of this long letter is full of family news and good humour, and characteristically begins with a joke. But just 1 week later, there was another severe episode of ‘‘Bilious attack, attended with a good deal of fever’’, and Jane’s letter to her brother Charles on 6 April attributes this ‘‘relapse’’ of her ‘‘complaint’’ to the shock of her uncle’s will.53 Jane’s 12 year old niece, Caroline Austen, saw her, for the last time, during the early part of April. Aunt Jane was keeping to her room, and the visit was a very short one. ‘‘I was struck by the alteration in herself - She was very pale - her voice was weak and low and there was about her, a general appearance of debility and suffering’’ (Austen, p 15).26 A few days after Caroline’s visit, there was another episode of fever, which Jane described in her letter of Thursday 22 May: An attack of my sad complaint seized me . . . the most severe I ever had - and coming upon me after weeks of indisposition, it reduced me very low. I have kept my bed since the 13.of April, with only removals to a Sopha. Now, I am getting well again, and indeed have been gradually tho’ slowly recovering my strength for the last three weeks. I can sit up in my bed & employ myself . . . My head was always clear, and I had scarcely any pain; my cheif sufferings were from feverish nights, weakness and Languor. - This Discharge was on me for above a week, & as our Alton Apoth did not pretend to be able to cope with it, better advice was called in. Our nearest very good is at Winchester, where there is a Hospital and capital Surgeons, and one of them attended me, and his applications gradually removed the Evil. - The conse- quence is, that instead of going to Town to put myself into the hands of some Physician as I should otherwise have done, I am going to Winchester instead.54 Despite the optimistic tone of this letter, she had secretly written her will on 27 April, and left it, unwitnessed, in her writing case (Le Faye, p 248).3 On 27 May, she wrote cheer- fully from Winchester, but in a shaky, uneven hand. ‘‘I will not boast of my handwriting; neither that nor my face have yet recovered their proper beauty, but in other respects I am gaining strength very fast.’’55 Two days later she states that: My attendant is encouraging, and talks of making me quite well. I live chiefly on the sofa, but am allowed to walk from one room to the other.56 But immediately after this letter, the fever returned again. Jane’s brother James made frequent visits to Winchester, and wrote to his son, James Edward, on 12 June, preparing him for news of Jane’s death. The symptoms which returned after the first four or five days at Winchester [30 May] have never subsided, and Mr. Lyford has candidly told us that her case is desperate. . . . It is some consolation to know that our poor invalid has hitherto felt no very severe pain - which is rather an extraordinary circumstance in her complaint. I saw her on Tuesday [10 June] and found her much altered, but composed and cheerful. She is well aware of her situation . . . Lyford said he saw no signs of immediate dissolution, but added with such a pulse it was impossible for any person to last long.57 But the following day: Suddenly she became much worse - Mr. Lyford thought the end was near at hand, and she believed herself to be dying - and under this conviction she said all she wished to say to those around her (Austen, pp 16-17).26 The youngest brother Charles, who had been summoned urgently from London, arrived early on 13 June to find ‘‘my sister very ill’’ but notes on 15 June, ‘‘Jane a shade better.’’ He made another diary entry on 19 June before returning to London; ‘‘Jane a little better. Saw her twice and in the evening for the last time in this world as I greatly fear, the Doctor having no hope of her final recovery’’ (Le Faye, pp 251-2).3 On 19 June also, Mrs. Austen passed on the latest report from Winchester. Jane has had a better Night than she has had for many weeks, and has been comfortable all day, Mr. Lyford says he thinks better of her than he has ever done, tho must still consider her in a precarious state.58 Caroline Austen recorded that: ‘‘Contrary to any expecta- tion . . . Aunt Jane continued very cheerfully and comfortable, and there began to be a hope of, at least, a respite from death’’. During these months of illness, Jane’s ‘‘sweetness of temper never failed her; she was considerate and grateful to those who attended on her, and at times, when feeling rather better, her playfulness of spirit prevailed, and she amused them, even in their sadness . . . I need scarcely say she was dearly loved by her family (Austen, pp 16-17).26 On Monday 14 July Mrs Austen wrote again to Anna ‘‘Charles Knight came this morning: he saw her [Jane] yesterday, and says she looked better and seemd very cheerful’’.59 The following morning, St.Swithin’s Day, Jane felt energetic enough to compose some comic verses about the saint, which she dictated to Cassandra. But that same evening the fever returned. Cassandra noted ‘‘a visible change, she slept more and much more comfortably, indeed during the last eight and forty hours she was more asleep than awake. Her looks altered and she fell away.’’ Late on Thursday afternoon Cassandra returned from an errand to find Jane recovering from a ‘‘seizure’’ of ‘‘faintness and oppression.’’ Another quickly followed, and she suffered for about half an hour before Mr Lyford arrived and ‘‘applied something to give her ease and she was in a state of quiet insensibility’’ that continued until her death in the early hours of the following morning.60 Mr Lyford supposed some large blood vessel had given way.61 Sir Zachary Cope, in an article in the British Medical Journal in 1964, was the first to offer a diagnosis of Jane Austen’s illness.62 He considered that she was suffering from Addison’s disease, secondary to Tuberculosis of the supra- renal glands, in which fatigue, increasing weakness, and crises or relapses in times of mental stress, are characteristic Jane Austen’s lifelong health problems and final illness 9 www.medicalhumanities.com o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm h .2 0 0 4 .0 0 0 1 9 3 o n 1 5 Ju n e 2 0 0 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ symptoms. Night fevers, however, are not symptoms of Addison’s disease, as a correspondent, FA Bevan, pointed out in the following issue of the journal. Bevan suggests an alternative diagnosis of Hodgkin’s disease, ‘‘could account for all the symptoms mentioned, including the skin pigmenta- tion and the initial pain in the back.’’ He cites the case of his own patient, with confirmed lymphadenoma, whose disease, ‘‘which was without marked enlargement of superficial lymph nodes, ran a similar acute course to Jane Austen’s.’’63 Despite this immediate challenge to Cope’s diagnosis of Addison’s disease, his article has been cited in Austen biography and literary studies for the past 40 years, and Addison’s disease is generally accepted as the cause of her fatal illness. The new edition of Le Faye’s authoritative biography of Jane Austen, published in the past year, again cites Cope, and repeats his claim ‘‘that early in 1816 she [Austen] fell victim to the then unrecognised Addison’s Disease’’ (Le Faye, p 236).3 Cope points to evidence of Addisonian crises, triggered by emotional stress, and considers that Jane’s disease was ‘‘precipitated’’ by the ‘‘severe mental shock’’ of Henry Austen’s bankruptcy in March 1816. But the existing medical evidence supports a much earlier date for the commencement of her fatal disease. He also considers that the shock of her uncle’s will brought on another Addisonian crisis in April 1817. In fact this episode is not a relapse or crisis, but part of a cyclical pattern of fever which can be traced from early February 1817, and continued until her death. Jane’s own letters in the last 4 months of her life, documenting these periods of night fever of 1 or more weeks, which she described as her ‘‘complaint’’, alternating with similar afebrile periods, provide evidence that she suffered from Hodgkin’s disease. This cyclic pattern of fever, known as the Pel-Ebstein fever, is ‘‘a classic clinical sign in Hodgkin’s disease . . . When fever occurs, it usually peaks in the evening, and falls precipitously in the early morning hours, resulting in drenching night sweats.’’64 It is also associated with significant haemolysis, and an autoimmune haemolytic anaemia (Kaplan, p 121).37 Kaplan suggests that there is increased red blood cell destruction during periods of high fever, and refers to a study which measured the mean loss of haemoglobin in a fever period as 14 percent. This finding is consistent with Jane’s increasing weakness after each attack. Pel-Ebstein fever is an ominous symptom, indicating ‘‘far advanced disease’’ (Kaplan, p 117),37 and a standard reference describes it as ‘‘virtually diagnostic of Hodgkin’s disease.’’65 Cope considers that Jane’s description of her face in March, 1817, as being ‘black and white and every wrong colour’ is ‘‘almost pathognomonic of Addison’s disease’’ (Cope, p 272).62 The hyperpigmentation or tanning of the skin associated with Addison’s disease, however, is inconsistent with her being described as ‘‘very pale’’ shortly afterwards in April (Austen, p 15).26 Cope also suggests that ‘‘there is no disease other than Addison’s disease that could present a face that was ‘‘black and white’’ and at the same time give rise to the other symptoms described in her letters’’ (Cope, p 272).62 He had overlooked Hodgkin’s disease. Idiopathic thrombocytopenia purpura, is a rare syndrome associated with Hodgkin’s disease (Cavalli, p 111).43 and is a further haematologic complication that may occur in the advanced or terminal stage of the disease.66 It may affect the face and can be devastating to the patient.67 The symptoms begin with a scattering of red spots, which gradually progress to purple, then darken again, and in some cases turning black. A few days later the spots gradually begin to resolve, and change in colour like a bruise, turning green before fading to a yellowish brown and disappearing. This is consistent with Jane’s letter of 25 March describing her looks as ‘‘recovering again,’’ and in April, they had gone completely when she was described as ‘‘very pale.’’ The ‘‘black and white and every wrong colour’’ of her face describes this process in contrast to the underlying severe anaemia. New crops may soon appear and the process begins again, and in Jane’s letter of 27 May, the purpura had returned.68 Tuberculosis was frequently associated with Hodgkin’s disease in the 19th Century, with pathologists observing Tuberculosis in about 20% of autopsies on patients with Hodgkin’s disease. One authority of this period considered that ‘‘tuberculosis follows Hodgkin’s disease like a shadow,’’ and it is possible that Jane had this disease as well as the fatal lymphoma (Kaplan, p 236).37 Jane Austen’s biographers have seriously underestimated the extent to which illness affected her, throughout her life, and mistakenly continue to describe her fatal illness as Addison’s disease. While no strict proof is available, there is a high possibility that a lymphoma such as Hodgkin’s disease caused her early death. This disease, unknown in Jane’s lifetime, was identified by the work of Thomas Hodgkin in 1832. Her final letters, written some fifteen years earlier, with their clear, observant assessment of her symptoms, may describe the first recorded case of Hodgkin’s disease. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I wish to acknowledge the substantive contribution of Ian Frazer to this paper, in his kind assistance in discussing the issues involved, and suggested revisions to the manuscript. Professor Ian Frazer, FAA FTSE MBChB(Edin) MD(Melb) FRCPAD FRCPA Professor/Director, Centre for Immunology and Cancer Research, University of Queensland, Australia. REFERENCES 1 Austen H. Biographical Notice of the Author. In: Sutherland Kathryn, eds. A Memoir of Jane Austen and Other Family Recollections. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002:138. 2 Tomalin C. Jane Austen: A Life. London: Viking, 1997:256. 3 Le Faye D. Jane Austen: A Family Record [new ed]. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004:235. 4 Le Faye D, ed. Jane Austen’s Letters [3rd ed]. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995:xv. 5 Austen-Leigh JE. A Memoir of Jane Austen. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1926:43. 6 Letter. Austen, George to Susanna Walter, 17 December 1775. In: Austen - Leigh RA, ed. Austen Papers: 1704–1856, London: Pottiswoode, Ballantyne & Co, 1942:32. 7 Sims ME, Walther FJ. Neonatal Morbidity and Mortality and Long- term Outcome of Postdate Infants. Clinical Obstetrics and Gynaecology 1989;32:285. 8 Clifford SH. Postmaturity with placental dysfunction. Journal of Paediatrics 1954;44:1. 9 Beers MH, Berkow R, eds. The Merk Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy [17th ed]. New Jersey: Merck Research Laboratories, 1999:2130. 10 Letter. Austen, George to Susanna Walter. 17 Dec. 1775. See reference 6, 32–33. 11 Letter. Austen, Mrs. Cassandra. to Mrs. Walter, 20 August 1775. See reference 6, 31. 12 Letter, Mrs. Cassandra Austen to Susanna Walter, 6 June 1773. See reference 6, 29. 13 Letter, Woodman, John to Warren Hastings, 11 June 1776. See reference 6, 82. 14 Chapman RW. Facts and Problems. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1948:23. 15 Austen-Leigh MA. Personal Aspects of Jane Austen. Folcroft, Pa: Folcroft Library Editions, 1974:22. 16 Macpherson G, ed. Black’s Medical Dictionary [37th ed]. London: Black, 1992:604. 17 Mc Phee J, Pupadakis A, Tierney L, eds. Current Medical Diagnosis and Treatment. New York: McGraw Hill, 2001:1341. 18 Austen Jane. Sense and Sensibility. London: Penguin Classics, 1995:287. 19 Letter, Jane to Cassandra Austen, 8–9 January 1799. In: Jane Austen’s Letters: [3rd ed], Collected and Edited by Deirdre Le Faye. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995:33–34. 20 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 21–23 January 1799. See reference 19, 36. 21 Barza M, Baum J. Infectious Conjunctivitis. Infectious Disease Clinics of North America 1992;6:798. 22 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 8–9 January 1799. See reference 19, 35. 23 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 21–23 January 1799. See reference 19, 36. 10 Upfal www.medicalhumanities.com o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm h .2 0 0 4 .0 0 0 1 9 3 o n 1 5 Ju n e 2 0 0 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ 24 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 17 May 1799. See reference 19, 41. 25 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 16 September 1813. See reference 19, 222. 26 Austen C. My Aunt Jane Austen [new ed]. Winchester: Jane Austen Society, 1991:7. 27 Austen-Leigh W, Austen -Leigh R. Jane Austen: Her Life and Letters, A Family Record [2nd.ed]. New York: Russell, 1965:155–6. 28 Letter. Henry Austen to Frank Austen 28 Jan 1805, and Letter, James Austen to Frank Austen 30 Jan 1805. See reference 6, 234–6. 29 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 1–2 October 1808. See reference 19, 138. 30 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 7–8 January 1807. See reference 19, 114–5. 31 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 1–2 October 1808. See Reference 19, 140. 32 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 7–9 October 1808. See reference 19, 144. 33 Le Faye D. Fanny Knight’s Diaries: Jane Austen Through Her Nieces’s Eyes. Winchester: The Jane Austen Society, 2000:27. 34 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 15–16 September 1813. See reference 19, 220. 35 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 23–24 September 1813. See reference 19, 226. 36 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 23–24 September 1813. See reference 19, 224–8. 37 Kaplan H. Hodgkin’s Disease [2nd ed]. Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1980:145. 38 Maung ZT, et al. Patient education for self-referral and on-demand treatment for herpes zoster in lymphoma patients. Leukemia and Lymphoma 1993;11:447–52. 39 Cartwright RA, Watkins G. Epidemiology of Hodgkin’s Disease: A Review. Hematological Oncology March, 2004;22:15. 40 Harris NL. The many faces of Hodgkin’s disease around the world: What have we learned from its pathology? 4th International Symposium on Hodgkin’s Disease. Annals of Oncology 1998;9(Suppl.5):s45–56. 41 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 9 March 1814. See reference 19, 262. 42 Letter. Jane Austen toAnna Lefroy, late February- early March 1815. See reference 26, 289. 43 Cavalli F. Rare Syndromes in Hodgkin’s Disease. 4th International Symposium on Hodgkin’s Disease. Annals of Oncology 1998;9(Suppl.5):s109–13. 44 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 17–18 October 1815. See reference 19, 291. 45 Austen C. Reminiscences of Caroline Austen. Le Faye D, Introduction and Notes. Winchester: Jane Austen Society, 1986:46–7. 46 Sales R. Jane Austen: Representations of Regency England. London: Routledge, 1994:206. 47 Letter. Jane to Cassandra Austen, 8–9 September 1816. See reference 19, 320. 48 Letter. Jane to Caroline Austen, 23 January 1817. See reference 19, 326. 49 Letter. Jane Austen to Alethea Bigg, 24 January 1817. See reference 19, 326–7. 50 Letter. Jane Austen to Fanny Knight, 20 February 1817. See reference 19, 329. 51 Letter. Jane Austen to Fanny Knight, 13 March 1817. See reference 19, 333. 52 Letter. Jane Austen to Fanny Knight, 23–25 March 1817. See reference 19, 335. 53 Letter. Jane Austen to Charles Austen, 6 April 1817. See reference 19, 338. 54 Letter. Jane Austen to Anne Sharp, 22 May 1817. See reference 19, 340. 55 Letter. Jane Austen to James Edward Austen, 27 May 1817. See reference 19, 342. 56 Letter. Jane Austen to Frances Tilson? 29 May 1817. See reference 19, 343. 57 Letter. James Austen to J. E. Austen-Leigh, 12 June 1817. See reference 27, 392–3. 58 Letter. Mrs Cassandra Austen to Anna Lefroy, 19 June 1817. See reference 3, 251. 59 Letter. Mrs Cassandra Austen to Anna Lefroy, 14 July 1817. See reference 19, 253. 60 Letter. Miss Cassandra Austen to Fanny Knight, 20 July 1817. See reference 19, 344–5. 61 Letter. Mrs Cassandra Austen to Fanny Lefroy, 19 July 1817. See reference 3, 253. 62 Cope Z. Jane Austen’s Last Illness. Reprinted from BMJ July 1964 in Jane Austen Society Collected Reports 1(1949–65); Alton. 267–72. 63 Bevan FA. [Letter to ed]. British Medical Journal 1964:384. 64 Austen KF, et al. eds. Samter’s immunologic diseases. Vol.1. [6th ed]. Philadelphia: Lippincott Williams & Wilkins, 2001:362. 65 In: Humes HD, ed. in chief. Kelly’s Textbook of Internal Medicine [4th ed]. Philadelphia: Lippincott Williams and Wilkins, 2000:1691. 66 Fernandoz O, Morales E, Toledo J. Autoimmune Processes Terminating 24 Years in Hodgkin’s Disease. British Journal of Haematology 1992;81:308. 67 Goldman AC, et al. Facial Purpura. The Laryngoscope 2001 Feb;111(2):209. 68 Letter. Jane Austen to James Edward Austen, 27 May 1817. See reference 26, 342. bmjupdates+ bmjupdates+ is a unique and free alerting service, designed to keep you up to date with the medical literature that is truly important to your practice. bmjupdates+ will alert you to important new research and will provide you with the best new evidence concerning important advances in health care, tailored to your medical interests and time demands. Where does the information come from? bmjupdates+ applies an expert critical appraisal filter to over 100 top medical journals A panel of over 2000 physicians find the few ’must read’ studies for each area of clinical interest Sign up to receive your tailored email alerts, searching access and more… www.bmjupdates.com Jane Austen’s lifelong health problems and final illness 11 www.medicalhumanities.com o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://m h .b m j.co m / M e d H u m a n itie s: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jm h .2 0 0 4 .0 0 0 1 9 3 o n 1 5 Ju n e 2 0 0 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://mh.bmj.com/ 
work_sm5t366pajflnhuogvantobvvm	----	CUBIERTA-SUMARIO 21mm INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO COMO PRAXIS DEL TRABAJO SOCIAL FERNANDO VIDAL FERNÁNDEZ 1 RESUMEN: El artículo sostiene que el dualismo moderno, que defiende el estatuto objetivista de la ciencia social, es una operación ideológica de la Restauración, que está en la matriz de la modernidad del siglo XIX. En realidad, las vidas inte- lectuales de los principales pensadores sociales, incluyendo los que defendían lo contrario, está marcada por un profundo compromiso histórico en el que su pensamiento era una forma de acción social pública. El artículo presenta la pala- bra castellana de origen latino «investigacción», que tendría su correlato eti- mológico en la inglesa «investigaction», como un modo de formular el enfoque metodológico a esa contradicción. PALABRAS CLAVE: Metodología de la Ciencia Social, Teoría Sociológica, Trabajo Social. ABSTRACT: The paper maintains that the modern dualism, which defends the objeti- vist status of the social science, is an ideological operation from the Restaura- tion, which it is in the matrix of the modernity of the XIX Century. Actually, the intellectual lives of the main social thinkers, including those who defend the opposite, is marked by a deep historic engagement in which their think is a way of social public action. The paper presents the Spanish word of latin origin «Inves- tigacción», which has their etymological correlate in the English word «Inves- tigaction», like a way of express the methodological focus of this contradiction. KEY WORDS: Methodology of the Social Science, Sociological Theory, Social Work. «Aquellas profesiones que no están implicadas en la misma vida sino preocupadas por verdades abstractas son las más peligrosas para el joven cuyos principios no están todavía firmes y cuyas convicciones todavía no están fuertes e inamovibles. Al mismo tiempo estas profesiones pueden parecer las más gloriosas si han echado raíces en nuestros corazones y si somos capaces de sacrificar nuestras vidas y todas las empresas por las ideas que imperan en ellas». KARL MARX 2 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 1 Fernando Vidal Fernández (Vigo, 1967) es doctor en sociología y profesor titu- lar del Departamento de Sociología y Trabajo Social de la Universidad Pontificia Comi- llas de Madrid. fvidal@chs.upco.es 2 KARL MARX (1835): Reflexiones de un joven sobre la elección de una profesión. Primera publicación: Archiv für die Geschichte des Sozialismus und der Arbeiterbewe- gung, 1925. OME, vol.1. Escrito entre el 10 y el 16 de agosto de 1835. Bruno Bauer, la principal influencia en el joven Marx de Berlín, dejó escri- ta una idea que interpreta el núcleo central de la historia moderna del pen- samiento social: «la teoría es la práctica más sólida», que podría ser expresa- da de otras maneras como lo más práctico es una buena teoría o la teoría es lo más práctico. Transmite dicha frase una forma de hacer ciencia que la entiende primeramente como una acción: pensar es, antes que nada, actuar, investigar es intervenir: como dice Rousseau, conocer es hacer. Nos dice tam- bién que cuando existe un problema que requiere intervención, en muchas ocasiones la más eficaz acción es la modificación de las representaciones cul- turales (morales, credenciales, sentimentales o narrativas) que en el fondo sostienen dicha situación. Es más, pensar socialmente es una acción espe- ranzadora ya que mira donde los hechos, por pésimos que sean, no tienen la última palabra sobre la Historia. En la actualidad esa necesidad de buenos y eficaces activos de pensamiento se manifiesta progresivamente con mayor claridad y dramatismo. Los viejos dualismos entre pensamiento y acción son remanentes de una política científica que busca restarle fuerza transforma- dora a la ciencia y la proyección emancipadora que puede trascender desde la acción. Frente a esos dualismos progresivamente se es consciente de la necesidad de integrar investigación y acción, pensamiento y praxis, lo cual sintetizamos en la fórmula investigacción. Esa integración se plantea como una urgente demanda dadas las condiciones de segunda modernidad, en las que las políticas de sentido reclaman progresiva atención pese a un Estado con frecuencia neutralista. Este debate no es un juego especulativo sino que responde a las necesidades más urgentes de nuestro tiempo. Así, la verdade- ra teoría es la que transforma porque la verdad no puede menos que hacer libres. Así, buscar científicamente la verdad requiere buscar las encrucijadas históricas en que comprometerse, para que no ocurra eso que nos recuerda Zygmunt Bauman que dijo Gordon Allport: los científicos sociales no resuel- ven nunca problemas sino que simplemente los aburren 3. 1. FERDINAND TÖNNIES, UN EJEMPLO DE INVESTIGACCIÓN En esa búsqueda del pensamiento necesario para la acción justa, no esta- mos solos sino que nos incorporamos a un compromiso histórico de nume- rosa gente empeñada en descubrir las verdades que hacen bien. El diálogo con esas personas se da principalmente por el estudio de su obra, por los mensajes que metieron en las botellas arrojadas al océano, en libros envia- dos por la Historia. El estudio de la teoría es acogerse al acompañamiento F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO358 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 3 ZYGMUNT BAUMAN (1999): La cultura como praxis, Paidós, Barcelona, 2002. de la gente que pensó ideas que movieron el mundo, seguir su itinerario para aprender a pensar, para que nos cuenten los secretos de su saber y las pasio- nes que les comprometieron. La historia de la sociología es sobre todo una historia de ideas que movieron el mundo, ideas sobre las que los sujetos y actores históricos han hecho pivotar las palancas de sus movimientos para mover el mundo en una dirección u otra. Esa prioridad de las ideas, de los modos de mirar el mundo, no ha sido históricamente un comportamiento alejado de la realidad, meramente academicista o especulativo sino que en la mayor parte de los itinerarios intelectuales de los pensadores sociológicos, nos encontramos con vidas en las que han estado íntimamente unidos pen- samiento y acción no como dos actividades paralelas sino como dos herra- mientas de praxis histórica, aunque no siempre en una dirección emancipa- dora. Para la mayor parte de los pensadores, la formulación y puesta en circulación de nuevas visiones de la realidad era su mejor manera de inter- venir en un mundo en cuya transformación participaron militantemente. Gran parte de su objetivo estratégico consistía en crear nuevas visiones del mundo que formaran las ideas desde las que los sujetos actuaban. Al igual que las visiones de los mapas del mundo configuran nuestra configuración de las cercanías y lejanías, de las visualizaciones de «los nuestros» y «los otros», tal como ilustró el debate en torno a la proyección del mapamundi de Arno Peters (http://petersworldmap.com) donde se demostró la relación entre ciencia, poder y representación mental cotidiana, el pensamiento social busca configurar los mapas de la realidad en los que los actores se situarán, vincularán y moverán. Ferdinand Tönnies es un caso temprano que ilustra perfectamente esta idea. Alemán de la región norteña báltica de Schleswig-Holstein, procedía de una familia dedicada a la exportación ganadera por todo ese mediterráneo del norte que supuso la Liga Hanseática. La Liga Hanseática constituyó un «nostrum» transigente y liberal en la cuenca del Norte desde Inglaterra hasta Lituania, con una peculiar historia insuficientemente conocida para la con- ciencia mediterránea. Originario de una región rural pero criado en una fami- lia dedicada al comercio internacional, el eje de la búsqueda de Ferdinand Tönnies se centraba en cómo era posible compatibilizar las ventajas de la sociedad contractual que expandía el capitalismo con la vida comunitaria del mundo cotidiano tradicional, es decir rehacer el proyecto histórico en las nuevas condiciones de modernidad. Desde el inicio de su trabajo sociológi- co fue su referencia Schopenhauer, sobre cuya teoría de la voluntad edificó su interpretación para explicar los tiempos que vivían sus contemporáneos. Según él, la naturaleza humana siempre está constitutivamente tensada entre una voluntad instintiva pasional y una voluntad intencional instrumental, lo cual se proyecta societalmente en dos estructuras socioculturales que com- ponen nuestra vida colectiva: comunidades naturales (como la familia) y aso- F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO 359 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 ciaciones contractuales (por ejemplo, la empresa) que vamos equilibrando procurando el progreso a la vez que no se arriesga la sostenibilidad sociable e identitaria del sistema. Dichas categorías, formuladas hace cien años, con- tinúan manteniendo cierta vigencia y son discutidas en nuestras actuales circunstancias en las que también vemos escindirse nuestras vidas cotidia- nas entre un sistema económico global e identidades culturales de los dis- tintos lugares. Ese binomio tönniesiano de comunidad-asociación resultó tener un éxito tal que fue profusamente adaptado por su amigo Max Weber y por Durkheim para explicar las grandes tendencias de cambio de su tiem- po. Efectivamente, según Tönnies, el mundo estaba atravesando una transi- ción de sociedades comunales a sociedades contractuales, lo cual posibilita- ba el alcance de muchas innovaciones pero a la vez desproveía de un marco comunitario de sentido a masas enteras de emigrados y urbanizados. La solu- ción para él era generar asociaciones comunalizadas guiadas por el princi- pio fraterno de la cooperación y compañerismo. Así lo descubrió en sus estu- dios empíricos, porque Ferdinand Tönnies no solamente trabajó teóricamente buscando las categorías necesarias para explicar el mundo y guiar la acción sino que realizó numerosos estudios de campo concretos. Tal es así que fue pionero en la introducción de métodos de investigación estadísticos en el mundo alemán. Él mismo realizó «informes sociales» al estilo de los que lle- vaban a cabo contemporáneos suyos como Charles Booth en Inglaterra sobre la pobreza en Londres o Fréderic Le Play en Francia sobre las familias obre- ras. Consideraba que dichos informes, que él incluía en el campo de la socio- grafía o descripción objetiva de procesos y condiciones sociales, debían cons- tituir la base sólida sobre la que llegaría a levantarse el edificio del pensamiento sociológico del futuro. Entre los realizados personalmente por él destacan su estudio sobre la gran huelga de estibadores y trabajadores portuarios de Ham- burgo en 1896 y 1897, seguido de otro sobre la situación de los obreros en los grandes muelles de aquella magnífica ciudad. Además de un talento altamente especulativo, Tönnies nunca dejó de retro- alimentar sus ideas con exploraciones directas de inmersión en la realidad para dialogar con los actores y conocer internamente sus vidas; incluso su compromiso social se intensificó conforme avanzó en edad hasta que llegó un momento en el que la crisis de los tiempos le condujo a dar un paso defi- nitivo adelante. Socialista toda su vida, el anciano Tönnies al final de su vida se inscribió testimonial o martirialmente como miembro del Partido Socia- lista en 1932, en un momento en que afiliarse era un signo contracultural de resistencia y compromiso, cuando atemorizados por el auge y poder de los nazis, muchos de los militantes partidarios del socialismo lo abandonaban. Tönnies murió cuatro años después. La vida de Tönnies no es una excepción. Pensador sociológico de prime- ra magnitud, no ocupa un lugar prominente en el panteón sociológico, sino F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO360 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 que tiene una obra reducida aunque altamente significativa y todavía inter- pelante. Es un teórico medio con aspiraciones moderadas (hizo su carrera en la pequeña universidad de Kiel, donde permaneció marginado por la admi- nistración prusiana en razón de sus ideas políticas) del que apreciamos la lucidez de su análisis, la puesta en circulación de algunas categorías que sir- vieron para explicar y movilizar y la integración pensamiento-vida, teoría- práctica y sociología teórica-aplicada. Podríamos destacar otros muchos auto- res que subrayaron dicha integración como es el caso de Max Weber quien comienza estudiándo las comunidades agrarias de la actual Alemania orien- tal; Durkheim, de quien no es posible valorar correctamente su obra, sin entender la integración que existía entre su sociología de la educación (que maduró en una sociología de la cultura) y su participación protagonista en la reforma republicana de la educación en Francia. Toda la historia del pen- samiento sociológico está atravesada de esas vidas que comprometieron su tarea de pensamiento a favor de distintas causas, frecuentemente en senti- dos opuestos. Desde las ideas extravagantes de Comte a favor del estatalis- mo ilustrado, pasando por las cinco generaciones marxianas que hicieron suyo el principio de unidad entre praxis y teoría, hasta llegar a la refunda- ción de la cultura americana por parte del pragmatismo de la Escuela de Chicago, la militancia del estructuralismo francés en los movimientos de los sesenta o actualmente las complicidades que existen entre el pensamiento de Anthony Giddens con la formulación de la Tercera Vía del laborismo britá- nico y socialdemocracia europea en general. Que pensar es una forma extre- madamente eficaz de intervenir emancipatoriamente en el mundo lo pone de manifiesto la brutalidad de los enemigos de la libertad contra ellos. De ello da testimonio el final de la vida de Simmel, contra quien, aunque lle- gando tarde, los nazis se ensañaron tanto con su obra quemando abundan- te material inédito de su hogar, como contra su familia siendo su hijo vícti- ma de un campo de concentración como castigo póstumo contra el gran Simmel. Saben de ello también los jesuitas teólogos de la liberación que fue- ron asesinados en El Salvador porque su forma de pensar llamaba a las cosas por su nombre y desvelaba los crímenes de los poderosos como el niño al Rey desnudo. 2. CUANDO EL PENSAMIENTO SE DESCOLOCA EL MUNDO Dicho compromiso no es privativo de la teoría sociológica contemporá- nea sino que es un factor presente en todo el curso del pensamiento sobre lo social que atraviesa la historia de las ideas desde su inicio. Así, conocemos el compromiso de Jenófanes. Jenófanes, nacido en Colofón (Asia Menor), fue F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO 361 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 un aristócrata que dejó su ciudad natal probablemente en torno a los trein- ta años, posiblemente cuando los Medos tomaron la ciudad, y tomó la vida de poeta itinerante viajando durante diez años por numerosas regiones de Grecia y Sicilia para hacerse presente en las reuniones aristocráticas locales, en las que cantaba relatos, mezcla de verso homérico y prosa milésica (la pri- mera vez que se relató el pensamiento en prosa fue en la tradición milésica) a través de los cuales intentaba hacer propaganda, divulgación de las doc- trinas religiosas milesias. Posiblemente el exilio de Jenófanes imprimió un sentido crítico que se vio reforzado por la libertad y precariedad de su vida itinerante, que le llevó a tener una idea universalista de igualdad de la con- dición humana y de reconocimiento de un monoteísmo que sustentaba dicha igualdad y unidad. En esa dirección, resulta muy inspiradora la vida intelectual de Platón, tal como la reconstruye Miguel García-Baró 4. Platón, discípulo de Sócra- tes desde temprano, contempló cómo su maestro asumía la sentencia por la que el tribunal público popular le condenó a muerte en razón de su fide- lidad a la sacralidad que él concedía a las leyes de Atenas. Sócrates muere porque considera que dicha sentencia, aunque injusta se ajusta, se adecua a la ley fundada en las divinidades atenienses. A fin de cuentas, Sócrates reconoce que la ciudad-Estado de Atenas es un cierre político que no se puede trascender y que merece la muerte. La violación de su sentencia de pena de muerte, desobedeciendo a la factible tentación de huir ayudado por sus muchos amigos, hubiera supuesto para él la negación de los prin- cipios que sostuvo con su voz y vida. Sócrates muere y su entorno sufre un trastorno radical en sus ideas por la contradicción de la ejecución del hom- bre más sabio y bueno de Atenas. Platón sufrirá un trauma de tal calibre que se exilia de la ciudad y simbólicamente sale de la ciudad y se refugia en Mégara, a apenas diez kilómetros de Atenas, la ciudad de la que habían partido muchos de los tiranos que tomaron Atenas dominándola bajo su mando. Platón, por el contrario, no avanza desde Mégara a la toma de Ate- nas sino que, a la inversa, abandona Atenas en dirección contraria a la que en varias ocasiones tomó la tiranía. Atenas es sabido que no es sólo una ciudad sino que es el paradigma de La Ciudad, es el arquetipo mítico del pensamiento occidental de la comuni- dad política, por tanto del Estado. El proceso de Sócrates podríamos tradu- cirlo sin desvirtuarlo excesivamente si decimos que Sócrates es un patriota que muere por lealtad a su patria-Estado y que prefiere sacrificar su vida, aun a sabiendas de la injusticia, antes que constituir su vida en una amena- za contra Atenas o traicionar su vida con su supervivencia durante unos pocos F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO362 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 4 MIGUEL GARCÍA-BARÓ (2004): De Homero a Sócrates. Invitación a la filosofía, Sígue- me, Salamanca. años más. Sócrates asumió una injusticia por solidaridad con ese propio Esta- do que le condenaba. Platón se fue de Atenas, lo que Sócrates no hizo casi nunca, desengañado de la justicia de Atenas, comprendió dolorosamente que la búsqueda de la verdad y el bien no podía tener como límite las fronteras del Estado sino que la verdad estaba por encima de Estados y tiempos, que la verdad y el bien trascendían todos los imperios y lugares; que no era el bien el que estaba sujeto a la Atenas sagrada sino que Atenas debería estar sujeta al bien más sagrado. Platón no quiere quedarse donde se paró su maes- tro Sócrates para quien su diálogo no pasaba las fronteras de la ciudad; Pla- tón cruza los límites y cree que su pensamiento tiene que enraizarse en lo más alto, en lo más trascendente. Podríamos decir que la reacción de Platón fue una revisión de la religiosidad socrática incapaz de negar a Atenas, y Pla- tón lo hace inspirándose en un retorno a los misterios órficos en los cuales existía una relación directa y pasional con la divinidad, sin mediaciones polí- ticas. Sócrates sostuvo una teología política que sacralizaba las leyes histó- ricas de un Estado o imperio; teología política que establecía que es tabú la violación de las leyes fundamentales de dicho Estado. Por ello los romanos siempre admirarán tanto esta teología política, tan favorable a su dinámica imperialista. Platón, en cambio, abandona la teología política, la sacraliza- ción de la república política, para explorar una nueva disciplina: la teología física, por la cual los hombres hablan de lo divino tal como es en sí mismo, no a través de mediaciones históricas o locales como Estados, doctrinas o Imperios. Platón y Aristóteles llamarán teología expresamente a lo que ahora mismo reconocemos como dialéctica o filosofía primera. Platón cruza las fronteras de su patria para practicar la metafísica, un pensamiento libre capaz de llegar hasta lo más alto y más profundo; el genio platónico se desata revo- lucionando el pensamiento humano hasta un grado que todavía hoy no hemos comprendido en toda su extensión. Para Platón, el logos humano, nuestra consciencia, tiene una relación posible con el logos divino que trasciende todas las patrias y doctrinas, lo cual es revolucionario porque supera todo el pensamiento y retórica de legitimación política articulada hasta ese momen- to. La metafísica platónica, una de las mayores cimas investigadoras de la historia de la Humanidad, tuvo una dirección revolucionaria que quería supe- rar el republicanismo ateniense capaz de matar a Sócrates, hacer un mundo más justo. Para solucionar los problemas de raíz, hay que pensar radicalmente: pensar desde los fundamentos. La historia el pensamiento antiguo y medie- val, hoy olvidado por una sociología autorreferencial que como el Barón Munchausen quiere elevarse tirando de su propia coleta y que así pierde los fundamentos sobre los que reformaron el pensamiento social los soció- logos modernos, tiene muchas lecciones vitales y científicas que nos encon- tramos reformuladas en la actualidad atribuyéndoles una novedad que no F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO 363 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 es tal. La sociología tal como fue refundada en la modernidad y tal como fue desarrollada tanto por el pensamiento marxista como por el pragma- tismo americano, el funcionalismo europeo, el estructuralismo o la feno- menología americana, hunde sus raíces en una profunda filosofía social, en un pensamiento social primario que nutre sus principios y presupues- tos científicos. El olvido de la filosofía es la condena contra la sociología y el Trabajo Social a un pensamiento débil como el que señala Vattimo; la ciencia social no puede hacer pensamiento consistente si no dialoga con sus raíces en la filosofía. Todos los grandes innovadores de la sociología tuvieron una fuerte formación filosófica que les llevó a un diálogo sufi- cientemente radical con la filosofía como para poder generar ideas útiles para el mundo. Una sociología aplicada que no dialogue con las demás cien- cias humanas en el campo común de la filosofía social, alimentada por las aportaciones de los distintos afluentes disciplinares, es una sociología seca o condenada a ser mero pragmatismo al servicio de unos intereses que pro- bablemente no está capacitada para conocer. Además de que el pensamiento social fue reformulado como sociología por la labor de los filósofos socia- les de la Ilustración tanto en Francia como en Alemania o Escocia, los gran- des pensadores fueron conscientes de que la autonomía científica de la sociología no podía sostenerse si dicha autonomía suponía desarraigo de la filosofía. Los grandes sociólogos, los que crearon nuevas visiones de la sociedad, fueron innovadores que supieron aplicar lúcidamente el diálogo que mante- nían con la filosofía y que supieron contribuir a ésta informándola con las realidades que iban desentrañando. Así, Karl Marx inició su pensamiento desde el epicureísmo y levantó su armazón apoyado en Hegel; Max Weber se alimentó de las fuentes neokantianas; Durkheim aplicó muchos pensamien- tos rousseaunianos. Pero no sólo los grandes teóricos sino que quienes inno- varon la sociología aplicada lo hicieron gracias a la inspiración en el pensa- miento social radical: la estadística británica estaba cebada por el liberalismo escocés; los estudios de la Escuela de Chicago fueron sociología aplicada por- que aplicaron los principios del pragmatismo; lo más aplicado de la etno- metodología fue su aplicación del pensamiento social fenomenológico ins- pirado en la obra de Husserl que Schutz desembarcó en Nueva York; la innovación alrededor del socioanálisis y el grupo de discusión de Jesús Ibá- ñez fue generada desde un fundamento filosófico de tal calado que quien no gusta de ello no puede entender casi nada y sustituye la semiología por la mera contabilidad semántica al analizar un grupo de discusión. El Trabajo Social, ante los nuevos problemas con que la II modernidad desafía al mundo, debe superar las trampas que le han puesto en el camino quien quería res- tarle fuerza emancipadora escindiendo la acción del pensamiento, la socio- logía aplicada de la teoría sociológica; debe integrar pensamiento y acción F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO364 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 en un paradigma de investigacción de Trabajo Social, en madurar su para- digma de ciencia social, tal como lo expresaba Jesús Ibáñez, de una sociolo- gía aplicada a una sociología implicada. 3. UNIDAD ENTRE INVESTIGACIÓN Y ACCIÓN La idea de la unidad entre pensamiento y acción, entre investigación y acción, no es nueva aunque los tiempos que vivimos agudizan la urgencia de su necesidad. En realidad, se ha hecho presente en los momentos y lugares donde se forja un proyecto histórico realmente emancipador como fue el caso de la Teología de la Liberación en el tiempo de postmodernidad, en el pen- samiento de la generación intelectual de cometas cristianos de los treinta en el infierno nazi (cometas: vidas cortas y brillantes en tiempos de oscuridad: algunos ejemplos son Dietrich Bonhoeffer, 1906-1945, finó con 39 años en un campo de concentración; Emmanuel Mounier, 1905-1950, muerto con 45 años de un infarto tras una intensa vida de riesgo y compasión; Simone Weil, 1909-1943, fallecida martirialmente con 32 años; Edith Stein, 1891-1942, fallecida con 51 años en un campo de concentración…), en el pensamiento judío jasídico perseguido por toda Europa, en el pensamiento marxista de la solidaridad obrera en el París del siglo XIX. Llama la atención la radicalidad del planteamiento que Marx hace sobre la teoría, cuya validez científica viene otorgada por su utilidad práctica. Marx aprendió esta lección en el curso de su tesis sobre el epicureísmo. El epicu- reísmo sabemos que es una de las escuelas inspiradas en el pensamiento socrático, dotado de tal profundidad y amplitud que no sólo generó el segui- miento de una escuela sino que provocó varias comunidades doctrinales. El problema epicúreo vuelve sobre algo que ya habían discutido los sofistas y que en nuestro tiempo va a ser la gran preocupación pragmatista: una idea que no soluciona un mal, no tiene validez. La tesis epicúrea más profunda era una aplicación fiel a Sócrates: un criterio para conocer si algo es verda- dero es discernir si saberlo es bueno. O dicho de otro modo: las visiones de la realidad incompatibles con la idea de bien son falsas. El pensamiento jude- ocristiano había dicho que la verdad hace libre, lo cual, de otra manera, sig- nifica que lo que no libera no es verdad o no es completamente verdad. Es la versión epicúrea la que influye más expresamente en el pensamiento mar- xiano cuando éste establece que la teoría es una forma de praxis y reclama que la filosofía y el pensamiento, la producción de conocimiento, abandone la pura especulación lúdica, irrelevante o bastarda por su apoyo a intereses injustos, y se verifique a la luz de su capacidad transformadora. El pensa- miento cristiano diría que las tesis se verifican por su potencia liberadora o F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO 365 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 más bien que no puede haber contradicción entre verdad y bien, que la ver- dad libera. Sea lo que sea, la pronunciación marxiana de la antigua tesis de la verificación práctica del conocimiento, de la identificación entre teoría y praxis, obtuvo un impacto muy profundo en la conciencia moderna y su apli- cación a la revolución proletaria todavía es objeto de reflexión acerca de cómo la producción de conocimiento debe gobernarse por criterios de búsqueda del bien; sólo si se busca el bien se puede encontrar la verdad. Esta es la gran lección platónica: el amor es el culmen de la inteligencia, el amor (implica- ción, unidad, integración) es la mejor matriz de inteligibilidad. En palabras de John Berger en su obra El tamaño de la bolsa (Taurus, Madrid, 2004), «el amor es la mejor garantía contra la idealización». Efectivamente, se suele identificar la teoría o el pensamiento con un idealismo sin pies; se le estig- matiza como una especulación frívola que no se compromete en la transfor- mación, cuando en realidad estamos viendo que el pensamiento teórico es un activo de la acción humana. Puede ser una eficaz intervención concreta a favor de intereses materiales muy históricos y localizados. Tampoco debe- mos ceder a la caricaturización de la acción como un activismo sin cabeza. Efectivamente, también puede haber un idealismo de la acción, un activis- mo idealista, pero la acción cuando comporta narración de la misma (eva- luación, reflexión, compartir, etc.) acaba destilando pensamiento teórico en diferentes grados. La clave no está en el dualismo entre pensamiento-acción o teoría-empiria sino en el modelo de ciencia que los integra. 4. ESTRUCTURA POLÍTICA DE LA CIENCIA Una ciencia se constituye si tiene un objeto específico, una metodología apropiada y una comunidad de pensamiento. En las últimas décadas se ha insistido intensamente en la crisis del objeto de la sociología ya que son suje- tos que incluyen en su campo de observación a los sujetos que están pen- sándolos. Más todavía se ha debatido sobre las tecnologías de campo ade- cuadas, las metodologías de investigación. Pero poco o casi nada de atención se ha prestado a la cuestión de la comunidad. Fundada durante la Restaura- ción como un modo de restarle potencial revolucionario al pensamiento social, la academia ha conservado su dominio en unas sociedades en las que los gobiernos, a través de sus aparatos universitarios y la discrecionalidad de los planes de I + D + I modelan y modulan la dirección de la ciencia. Pensar los fundamentos de las ciencias sociales requiere repensar las comunidades en que dialoga el curso de nuestra investigación, los proyectos históricos a los que nos ponemos a disposición, la gente a que servimos con nuestra labor de creación, los compañeros a los que unimos nuestra historia para pensar. Así, F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO366 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 el sujeto histórico al que nos incorporamos se convierte en una condición para alcanzar la verdad que hace bien, el pensamiento necesario para la acción justa. Esta es la principal innovación marciana a la filosofía de la ciencia social y estuvo reflejado en su vida y en la de otras muchas personas que sa- bían que la única forma de hacer una sociología justa era buscar la implica- ción suficientemente justa como para que revele verdades. Conocer cosas es una misión que requiere pericia pero es accesible a la mera mirada; pero para desvelar el rostro verdadero de los acontecimientos necesita de sabiduría y pertenece al orden de la revelación: la revelación sólo acontece si quien pien- sa se entrega a la realidad, es un don, no un mérito ni un logro esforzado o voluntad inteligente. No es accesible a quien le guía la malicia ni a quien le pesa demasiado su propio yo; puede alcanzar un conocimiento táctico, pero no la sabiduría que permite el acceso a las verdades profundas de la reali- dad. La sabiduría es una búsqueda que el bien guía de la verdad. Sólo se logra por a donación de quien busca, por su implicación, por su entrega de cora- zón a la realidad que mira. La realidad revela su interior principalmente a través de esa misma relación de entrega, de esas disposiciones de apertura, de vulnerabilidad, de acceso, de disponibilidad a ser interrogado: «las pre- guntas del sabio son la mitad de su sabiduría», dijo el judío Slomó Ibn Gabi- rol 5. Pasa de examinarla y medir sus exteriores a estar inmerso en ella ya sin ser capaz de distinguir el límite entre su interior y el exterior del hecho. El pensador interioriza esa realidad hasta que él es más mundo y el mundo está más en él. Sin esperar frutos intelectuales, la implicación guía el proceso de inteligibilidad, piensa para alguien y el otro se convierte en el lugar de reve- lación, en lo que Ignacio de Loyola llama «conocimiento interior» del otro. Pensar no es el fruto de una distancia sino de un encuentro, es la narración de un acontecimiento dialogal: pensar es un encuentro. John Berger, lo expre- sa muy acertadamente respecto a la pintura: «Cuando una pintura carece de vida se debe a que el pintor no ha tenido el coraje de acercarse lo suficiente para iniciar una colaboración. Se queda a una distancia «de copia». O, como sucede en los períodos marienistas como el actual, se queda a una distancia histórico-artística, donde se limita a hacer unos trucos estilísticos de los que nada sabe el modelo. Acercarse significa olvidar la convención, la fama, la razón, las jerarquías y el propio yo» 6. La razón no existe como fenómeno distinto del sentimiento, el valor o la acción, del sentido en el mundo y la Historia, de la propia narración (narracción también), todos trenzan un solo proceso de inteligibilidad. Para pensar bien, para conocer la verdad, encontrarse con la verdad, hay que sen- F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO 367 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 5 SLOMÓ IBN GABIROL (aprox. 1045): Selección de perlas. Máximas morales, senten- cias e historietas, Ameller Editor, Barcelona, 1977: 43. 6 JOHN BERGER (2001): El tamaño de la bolsa, Editorial Taurus, Madrid, 2004: 22. tir a fondo y sentir bellamente. La belleza no es sólo una estética armonista, sino que en ocasiones la belleza, para representar sentimentalmente los acon- tecimientos sufre, se contradice, enmudece, ennegrece. La belleza del hecho concentracionario pasa por la belleza del duelo y el horror. Por el contrario, hay una belleza armonista que engañosamente representa la maldad como era la representación clasicista de la raza aria en la estética olímpica nazi; como señala la Biblia, el mal casi siempre se disfraza de luz bella. La belleza es el sentimiento consolador, que muchas veces pasa por el dolor o la con- tradicción. Sólo quien siente en profundidad piensa en profundidad: sólo piensa hondo quien valora o actúa en profundidad. Es un sentimiento que desborda límites más allá de la sensibilidad, un sentimiento que llega a ser juicio de verificación y criterio de bondad. En el par «Sentido y sensibilidad» que magistralmente analiza Jane Austen 7 en su novela, el sentimiento pro- fundo se convierte en juicio, la consolación discierne, podría escribir Ignacio de Loyola: consolación que es proximidad, com-pasión, con-suelo, compañía, un sentir que sabe. La teoría no es una acción de palabras sino que la mejor teoría es capaz de generar hechos, la propia pronunciación compromete al corazón y a la persona con un proyecto histórico y un sujeto comunitario. Se necesita un pensamiento que no es sólo una fábrica sofista de discursos sino un emplazamiento del corazón, palabras que crean lugares. De nuevo vemos una afinidad entre pensar y pintar tal como lo describe John Berger: «Un lugar es más que una zona. Un lugar está alrededor de algo. Un lugar es la extensión de una presencia o la consecuencia de una acción. Un lugar es lo opuesto a un espacio vacío. Un lugar es donde sucede o ha sucedido algo. (…) El problema es que muchos cuadros no llegan a convertirse en lugares. Y cuando un cuadro no llega a con- vertirse en lugar, no pasa de ser una representación o un objeto deco- rativo, una pieza del mobiliario. ¿Cómo logra un cuadro convertirse en lugar? No vale de nada que el pintor busque el lugar en la naturaleza (…) Es semejante a un agujero en la arena dentro del cual se ha borra- do la frontera. El lugar de la pintura empieza en este agujero. Empie- za con una práctica, con algo que se está haciendo con las manos, las cuales buscan la aprobación del ojo, hasta que el cuerpo entero está contenido en el agujero. Entonces hay una posibilidad de que éste se convierta en un lugar. Una pequeña posibilidad» 8. Efectivamente, el pensamiento social comienza por una práctica, por la compasión histórica: una conmoción y una implicación hasta que la vida entera está comprometida con la misión de llamar a las cosas por su nom- F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO368 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 7 JANE AUSTEN (1811): Sentido y sensibilidad, Editorial Andrés Bello, Barcelona, 2000. 8 JOHN BERGER (2001): El tamaño de una bolsa, Editorial Taurus, Madrid, 2004: 35. bre y genera por tanto situaciones o lugares participadas por el pensador y otros. Pensar socialmente no es sólo pensar lo social, sino pensar con otros de modo que esa primera condición comunitarizadora se convierte en un analizador histórico de la realidad. Así, la sociología de implicación es otra institucionalización de la ciencia que se libera de su corporatización restauracionista (que estirilizó la ciencia en un objeto decidido por las políticas universitarias, en una metodología positivista y en una comunidad academicista) para unir su historia al sujeto histórico que articula el proyecto histórico que hace avanzar el eje histórico: el empoderamiento solidario de los sujetos. El pensamiento es una vía de empoderamiento singular y comunitario. 5. INVESTIGACCIÓN COMO VIDA Morin y Bauman, Ibáñez o Schutz, Marx y Tönnies, Platón o Sócrates, son y eran conscientes de que su pensamiento era un modo crucial y multiplica- dor de intervenir en la solución de las necesidades más urgentes del mundo y lo hicieron entregando su vida a dicha misión. La investigacción del Trabajo Social no es una actividad de praxis y pensamiento circunscrita al desempe- ño profesional sino que finalmente implica a toda la persona y al mundo en que vivimos, compromete integralmente al sujeto con la realidad y eso es así porque para penetrar en la comprensión responsable de la misma realidad tenemos que entrar en diálogo con toda la existencia. Según Goethe, cuando más conoce uno el mundo, más se conoce a uno mismo; es más, sólo quien conoce el mundo se conoce a sí mismo. El hombre es capaz de conocer y es algo que es propio del acontecimiento humano. El hecho humano comienza cuando se da esa condición: capaz de conocer con otros radicalmente la rea- lidad. Y con tal profundidad sucede eso que un solo hombre podría alcanzar en el curso de una vida un conocimiento de la realidad cualitativamente supe- rior a todo lo que se había conocido hasta el momento. Un hombre, en el tiem- po de su vida, puede hacer un viaje más allá de lo conocido hacia la concien- cia de lo que es la realidad. Esos viajes a la realidad son sobre todo una experiencia personal de un individuo frente a la existencia. A lo largo de los siglos, han existido personas que han realizado estos viajes de conocimiento y cuyo viaje nos lo han hecho llegar desde entonces. Estas personas han dado con palabras para expresar su conocimiento y esas palabras se han converti- do en una referencia que universalmente puede inspirar otros viajes a la rea- lidad. Esos son los clásicos. Los clásicos no lo son por su antigüedad: muchos pensadores antiguos no son clásicos. Otros pensadores contemporáneos, por el contrario, sí pueden estar produciendo una nueva clase de pensamiento. F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO 369 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 Hay quien entiende que el clásico es aquel que ya está clasificado; nosotros vamos a entenderlos como personas que han obligado a reclasificar el pensa- miento. Parece que los clásicos son aquellos que están colocados en las estan- terías, pero en realidad son aquellos que nos han descolocado al resto. En la praxis de sentido y en el sentido de praxis del Trabajo Social que hemos enfatizado, el diálogo cara a cara con todas las personas que tienen algo que descubrirnos es fundamental no sólo para aprender lo sabido hasta el momento sino para innovar más allá de los límites. El diálogo con los clá- sicos, su acompañamiento intergeneracional, es el principal medio de apren- dizaje para pensar 9. Sus vidas, dedicadas a la intervención en el mundo dotán- dolo de nuevas categorías, nuevos esquemas, nuevas visiones, se abren a nosotros para que aprendamos a integrar acción y pensamiento, solidaridad y sentido. La incidencia en las representaciones culturales que inciden en los procesos de exclusión y liberación, en los problemas sociales y procesos de emancipación, es una actividad necesaria para mejorar la vida de la gente afectada por la injusticia y el sinsentido. Esa conciencia es creciente en muchas organizaciones civiles que invierten parte de su patrimonio en investigación y sensibilización pública, tendencia que irá aumentando en la conciencia además de que la mejora de la calidad de la intervención hace necesario un mayor esfuerzo en la evaluación, y la investigación que implique pensamiento y diálogo con la realidad a través de trabajos de campo. 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LÓPEZ SÁENZ, M. C. (1998): Herbert Marcuse (1898-1979), Madrid: Ediciones del Orto. LUKES, S. (1973): Émile Durkheim. Su vida y su obra, Madrid: CIS, 1984. MACEY, D. (1993): Las vidas de Michel Foucault, Madrid: Cátedra, 1995. MARCUSE, H. (1954): El hombre unidimensional, Barcelona: Ariel, 1987. MASSET, P. (1969): El pensamiento de Marcuse, Buenos Aires: Amorrortu. MCLELLAN, D. (1973): Kart Marx: su vida y sus ideas, Barcelona: Editorial Crítica, 1977. MORENO, F. (1981): Hombre y sociedad en el pensamiento de Fromm, México: Fondo de Cultura Económica. MOUNIER, E. (1936): «Manifiesto al servicio del personalismo», en E. MOUNIER, Obras completas, Salamanca: Mensajero. PICÓ, J. (2003): Los años dorados de la sociología (1945-1975), Madrid: Alianza. RITZER, G. (1992): Teoría sociológica clásica, Madrid: Mcgrawhill, 1993. SACRISTÁN, MANUEL (1998): El orden y el tiempo: introducción a la obra de Antonio Gramsci, Madrid: Editorial Trotta. SÁNCHEZ DE LA YNCERA, I. (1994): La mirada reflexiva de G. H. Mead, Madrid: CIS. F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO 371 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 SEBASTIÁN, J. R. (1994): Irving Goffman. De la interacción focalizada al orden in- teraccional, Madrid: CIS. TABERNER, J., y ROJAS, C. (1985): Marcuse, Fromm, Reich: el freudomarxismo, Madrid: Editorial Cincel. UÑA, O., y HERNÁNDEZ, A. (dirs.) (2004): Diccionario de sociología, Madrid: Univ. Rey Juan Carlos. UREÑA, E. M. (1977): La teoría de la sociedad en Freud, Madrid: Editorial Tecnos. WEBER, M. (1920): La ética protestante y el espíritu del capitalismo, Barcelona: Península, 1991. — (1922): Economía y sociedad, México: Fondo de Cultura Económica, 1984. WEBER, MARIANNE (1995): Biografía de Max Weber, México: Fondo de Cultura Eco- nómica. WRIGHT, F. L. (1998): Autobiografía 1867 [1944], Madrid: El Croquis Editorial. [Aprobado para su publicación en marzo de 2006] F. VIDAL, INVESTIGACCIÓN: EL PENSAMIENTO SOCIOLÓGICO372 Vol. 64 (2006), núm. 124 MISCELÁNEA COMILLAS pp. 357-372 
work_soey7ecg4felnhp75etkzaefnm	----	Miranda, 18 | 2019 Miranda Revue pluridisciplinaire du monde anglophone / Multidisciplinary peer-reviewed journal on the English- speaking world  18 | 2019 Guerre en poésie, poésie en guerre Exposition Vanité, identité, sexualité, Grayson Perry Olivier Thircuir Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/19570 DOI : 10.4000/miranda.19570 ISSN : 2108-6559 Éditeur Université Toulouse - Jean Jaurès Référence électronique Olivier Thircuir, « Exposition Vanité, identité, sexualité, Grayson Perry », Miranda [En ligne], 18 | 2019, mis en ligne le 17 avril 2019, consulté le 16 février 2021. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/ 19570 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/miranda.19570 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 16 février 2021. Miranda is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/miranda/19570 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Exposition Vanité, identité, sexualité, Grayson Perry Olivier Thircuir 1 Helsinki, Museum of contemporary Art Kiasma 2 13 avril – 2 septembre 2018 3 Paris, Musée de la Monnaie 4 19 octobre 2018 - 3 février 2019 5 Commissaire : Lucia Pesapane Craft of art 6 L’exposition de Grayson Perry manifeste une réinvention de l’art décoratif pour servir une satire de la société britannique. 7 Patience et humilité sont siglées sur le réservoir rose bonbon du custom de Grayson Perry. Son deux-roues vrombit rive gauche de ses éclats acidulés. C’est une moto aux roues bleu électrique, percées de larges perforations, avec une généreuse selle de mobylette, frangée de lanières de cuir. Sur le porte-bagage, un reliquaire portatif pour accueillir Alan Measles, un doudou, fétiche, porteur depuis l’enfance des valeurs masculine de l’artiste qui se travestit pour dévoiler les ressorts d’une société en crise : vanité, masculinité et sexualité. C’est donc à moto que Grayson Perry braque, depuis le 10 octobre 2018, les valeurs de l’Hôtel de la Monnaie. Ce faisant, il propose des représentations désaxées de la souveraineté britannique, de ses majestés, de ses invisibilités, de ses non-dits, de ses fondements. On peut certes poser comme hypothèse que l’institution de la Monnaie frappe sur son avers les valeurs faciales d’un état, sur son revers le visage de son souverain. Ici le peuple, là, la reine. De son côté, Perry use de cet espace hautement symbolique qu’est la Monnaie pour proposer son droit de tirage (licence to kill contre un impérialisme guerrier), son droit de battre monnaie (feu sur l’ordre financier de la City), sa réflexion sur un code viril à dégonfler (vanité du mâle), sur une émission de valeurs (masculinité, sexualité) : Grayson Perry y oppose une Exposition Vanité, identité, sexualité, Grayson Perry Miranda, 18 | 2019 1 histoire du Brexit, humble, touche à tout, un spectacle rebelle et pauvre, dans une série de contre-exemples qui glorifient une salutaire médiocrité, riche d’une culture aux hybridités plurielles, un éloge du common people. Fine arts rechapés 8 Perry représente les paradoxes de la société britannique en utilisant des techniques modestes qui ont fait leurs preuves au Royaume-Uni depuis les inventions du mouvement art and craft. L’humilité et la patience s’exprime par la gravure, l’art de la tapisserie, ou l’art de la mode ; mais la céramique aussi pour dégonfler nos petits volumes ou la sculpture en fonte, dont la rouille évoque une mémoire ouvrière, orpheline de ses modèles de vie et de ville. 9 La robe et le cape sont surpiquées de maints rapiéçages, boutonnées de symboles voyeurs, gonflées d’appendices mammaires bene pendentes : il s’agit de protéger l’exhibition de Claire, double travesti de Perry. Des robes de Claire qui travestissent l’artiste, déniaisent les pudeurs néoclassiques du l’amateur parisien autant que l’ego d’une capitale de la fashion. S’invente en ces bord de Seine, en face du Louvre, ain’it Mr. Ingres, une nouvelle odalisque de bande dessinée, gonades et pénis offerts à l’intaille xylographiée (Reclining Artist 1). Populaire, Perry préfère la robe de Françoise à la toilette de la duchesse de Guermantes. Le vêtement féminin hybride jouxte alors la nudité mâle pour proposer une masculinité féminisée et désarmée. Map of nowhere 10 Sa tapisserie est une mappemonde de géographies autour desquelles pivotent les valeurs du millenium : elle récite un fourretout de slogans, un pot-pourri de références pour étudiant en cultural studies. Sur ce mille-fleurs de mots et de choses, l’aède craftsman tisse pour les lecteurs de Barthes une mythologie britannique : ses héros moyens ou bas, ses marques de bières, ses stadiums, ses chaînes de télévision, ses expressions creuses qui nouent la sociabilité d’un East-end façon nice cuppa tea. D’un autre côté, à l’opposé de l’exhibition du dérisoire, Perry file l’éloge de Julie Cope dans une hagiographie de la femme ordinaire, divorcée puis remariée, décédée trop jeune. Julie can cope, semble nous dire Perry, c’est-à-dire que seule, en tant que common woman, elle parvient à contenir les contradictions d’une société en forte mutation. À l’inverse, le tisserand de l’Essex démonte les algorithmes bancaires du yuppie blairien. Ainsi peut-on voir ce mythe dénigré de Tim Rockwell dans la grande série finale qui retrace l’ascension et la chute tragicomique d’un premier de cordée d’outre-Manche. Ce Tim Rockwell est un Richard Branson le petit de la computing technology : il incarne la laideur d’une classe arriviste, qui chasse à courre les places de l’aristocratie que l’on sait dégénérée. (The upper class at bay, 2012). Spoilons l’épilogue : tout ça finit mal, et pour cette bourgeoisie montante, et pour feue l’aristocratie dépouillée (#Lamentation 1). Britain is best 11 Enfin, l’art majeur de celui qui se définit comme un control freak : technique superbement maîtrisée qui a valu le Turner prize en 2003 à ce potier génial, le craftsman le plus doué de sa génération. Son art réinventé de la céramique souffle sur la vanité de Exposition Vanité, identité, sexualité, Grayson Perry Miranda, 18 | 2019 2 l’esprit anglais, et pour recouvrir cette panse d’ale gonflée ( Queen’s Bitter), et pour moquer ce narcissisme jingoistic, par un jeu irisé de transparences délicates, à même de refléter les fantasmes d’une société toujours corsetée dans un syllabus érotique étriqué, comme au temps de Jane Austen. Car s’il s’inspire de l’art d’un Bernard Leach, il en renouvelle le classicisme formel par une abondance et un jeu de contraste où les incrustations polychromes exhibent les tensions sociales, anthropologiques et érotiques du royaume élizabéthain des années 2010. L’artiste s’y manifeste avec le plus de réussite : on y admire sa patience, son wit, un art de la couleur que le tissage généré par ordinateur ne peut égaler dans les tapisseries. 12 Pour circuler allègrement dans ce fatras de conflictualités, l’art de la customisation de la moto est donc le vecteur dégenré qui désigne un ennemi esthétique : l’académisme mâle et prétentieux des élites capitalistes dont les flux sont canalisés depuis la City. Cheers Mister Hirst ! Avec cette exposition débordante, voici de la mécanique pour fluidifier la circulation des idées, de l’humour pour dérouter les humeurs, et de la semence faite à la main pour projeter, du royaume de Harvey au pays de Denis Papin, les liquides refroidis du fiasco néo-thatchérien. La cape et la chape dévoilent l’homo anglicus et ses sacrements blasphémés par un doudou divinisé. Sous les robes et les tapisseries de Perry se dévoile un artiste en Pénélope. C’est la kraft de Perry au sens d’une puissance, non pas souveraine, mais patiemment féminine et créatrice. INDEX Mots-clés : art, identité, nouvelle masculinité, hospitalité, sexualité, société, vanité, céramique, tapisserie Keywords : art, identity, new masculinity, hospitality, sexuality, society, vanity, ceramic, tapestry Thèmes : British art AUTEUR OLIVIER THIRCUIR Agrégé externe de lettres modernes, collège G. Mélies, Paris. Bachelor of Engineering, UCL ; professeur formateur, membre du GIPTIC de lettres. olivier.thircuir@gmail.com Exposition Vanité, identité, sexualité, Grayson Perry Miranda, 18 | 2019 3 mailto:olivier.thircuir@gmail.com Exposition Vanité, identité, sexualité, Grayson Perry 
work_sq4l64fk7nhcnlrhteodxp7zki	----	Looking back Archives of Disease in Childhood, 1975, 50, 85. Sir James Spence DONALD COURT After twenty years we may be far enough away from the man to make it possible to view James Spence in some sort of perspective, and to consider how he came to exert so profound an influence upon the development of paediatrics in this country. Dr. Donald Court followed Spence as Professor of Child Health in Newcastle in 1955, after working with him for the previous eight years. On 26 May 1954 James Spence died. Those who worked with him never doubted for a moment that he was a man to be remembered, and this impulse was confirmed by the immediate appreciation shown by men and women all over the world. Today his name is linked with the chair of Child Health in the University of Newcastle, with essays for medical students and student nurses, and with a medal awarded by the British Paediatri_ Association for outstanding contributions to the advancement or clarification of paediatric knowledge within the fields of clinical or social paediatrics, clinical science, epidemiology, or family practice. At the Association's Annual Meeting in 1974 the 14th James Spence medal was presented, with the customary words, 'This is the greatest distinction the British Paediatric Association can confer'. At a Regional Paediatric Society Meeting a few months before, his photograph was not recognized except by a handful of older members. The two ex- periences, each true in their setting, suggested the need for a revaluation of the man and his work. Spence valued the historical approach but observed that 'doctors rarely read medical history before the age of 45, and by then it was generally too late to modify their prejudices'. I am writing then for paediatricians before that age. Why should they read it? Not as an act of professional piety-a scientific culture does not encourage ancestor wor- ship-but because repeated contact with excellence is a necessity for professional growth. There is no biography of Spence through which this contact can be made; only the short, sensitive collage of his life by his friend John Charles that introduces his collected writings.' This is not wholly a disadvan- tage as we can return to his achievements and see the man through his work. After 20 years perspec- tive is sharper and allows a clearer analysis of his profound, continuing, and often unrecognized influence on the development of paediatrics. Why did he become a paediatrician? The reasons are as obscure as the entry was dramatic. His medical education was traditional, though quickly seasoned by the salt of war and sealed by the Military Cross for 'conspicuous gal- lantry in tending the wounded under heavy fire'. The trend of his early postwar training was towards adult medicine, and he was to remain in part an adult physician for 20 years. Yet in 1924 he became physician to a day nursery in Newcastle and by 1925 had changed it to a hospital where mothers lived and shared in the care of their children. Within a year the young physician had grasped the central importance of the mother-child relationship for paediatrics and applied it in everyday hospital practice. Some have understood and followed, but half a century later, despite official encouragement, many still prefer professional convenience to the logic of biology. In such a situation we should look again at his reasons.2 3 'It is an advantage to the child. It is an ad- vantage to the mother, for to have undergone this experience and to have felt that she has been responsible for her own child's recovery establishes a relationship with her child and confidence in herself which bodes well for the future. It is an advantage to the nurses, who learn much by contact with the best of these women, not only about the handling of a child but about life itself. It is an advantage to the other children in the ward, for whose care more nursing time is liberated. In teaching hospitals it is of further advantage to the students, who gain a practical experience of the form of nursing they will depend on in their practices and learn to recognize the anxieties and courage which bind mothers to their children during illness: a lesson which fosters the courtesy on which the practice of medicine depends.' Why did Spence grasp the principle and start the practice so swiftly ? Six months as a casualty 85 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://a d c.b m j.co m / A rch D is C h ild : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /a d c.5 0 .2 .8 5 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 7 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://adc.bmj.com/ officer at Great Ormond Street Hospital in 1919 must have opened his eyes to the needs of children and to the achievements and deficiencies of their medical care. Yet most at home in Northumbria, he must have felt that it was there that the answers to the unanswered questions were more likely to be found. In his home setting this extension of the family was self evident, would be accepted, and should be tried. There were also people in New- castle, particularly the Medical Officer of Health, who were ready to listen to his ideas and ideals and to give him a job. Social paediatrics In the same eventful year, 1924, he became a part-time medical officer in a child welfare clinic, and from now on paediatrics in the hospital and in the community were to claim a substantial part of his ti me and an increasing share of his interest. In 1932 the following appeared in the annual report of a charitable dispensary, 'The committee are gravely concerned about the great increase in poverty, sickness, and malnutrition among the poorest classes of the city'. The words were noted in London, the Chief Medical Officer was quickly in Newcastle, and Spence was asked by the City Health Committee to 'carry out an investigation into the health and nutrition of certain of the children of Newcastle upon Tyne between the ages of one and five years'. He accepted and the developing paediatrician became a social in- vestigator. Adopting the comparative method, he compared city (slum) children with children from professional families as to height, weight, and the incidence of rickets, anaemia, and other deficiency diseases.4'5 He concluded that the main immediate cause of the malnutrition of the city children was the physical damage caused by infective diseases promoted and perpetuated by unsatisfactory housing and an inadequate diet. This time another central paediatric insight-the relation between nutrition, infection, and a defective environment- was derived, not as in the case of the mother-child relationship by the direct application of biology, but by epidemiological inquiry. It is still the central problem for the majority of the world's children. For Spence it pointed plainly to the need for continuing study of the causes of death, of the frequency and character of illness in young children, and the relationship of both to the quality of family life and community provision. The epidemio- logical studies which followed in the next 30 years were a logical sequel to this experience. If the Mother and Babies Hospital was Spence's most humane innovation, the development of social paediatrics was scientifically his most significant. This time the example was seen and followed. In the words of one of the followers, 'His discovery of the social dimension in child health created a new climate for paediatrics in Britain and the United States, and we are only at the beginning of its influence'.6 Epidemiology is now firmly established in paedia- trics and longitudinal studies are the order of the day. James Spence would have approved but would have asked to what practical ends the data would lead. In his own words, 'Surveys and inquiries which make an intrusion into family life demand a justification beyond the mere satisfaction of curiosity. They can only be justified if they are designed to answer questions that are worth answer- ing, which have not been answered before, and which cannot be answered in any other way. The extension of knowledge has not been our only or perhaps our predominant motive. This is a local record made for a local purpose, intended to help family doctors, clinical teachers, medical officers of health, and public health nurses'.7 Paediatric education His contributions to paediatric education took longer to mature but were the final and, some would say, the fullest expression of his personality. He began by setting out the facts. 'In 1942 pro- vincial universities in England spent only a total of ,£400 on training and research, varying from £20 a year in Sheffield to £90 a year in Bristol.' The answer in his view was inescapable, 'If it be con- ceded that paediatrics is no minor speciality but a major part of medicine itself, that its development is necessary both for the science and practice of medicine, and that it is an instrument of great value in the instruction and training of the medical student, then the part which universities should play becomes clear. Each university should establish a Department of Paediatrics adequately staffed for teaching and research based on a child- ren's hospital or children's department fitted for the work. They should seek to do this in a way which fosters a close contact between paediatrics and other branches of medicine, and with the University Departments of Pathology, Anatomy, and Physio- logy. It would be valuable also to foster a colla- boration between paediatrics, which concerns itself closely with the whole welfare of the child, and the nonmedical sciences which are also concerned with the child'.8 In this, as in so many things, Spence was a 20th 86 Donald Court o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://a d c.b m j.co m / A rch D is C h ild : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /a d c.5 0 .2 .8 5 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 7 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://adc.bmj.com/ Sir James Spence century son of the Enlightenment. 'He was im- patient of the small mind and myopic vision and he grew very restless when he saw that large and im- portant views were being evaded because of tradi- tion or detail." Decisive in thought and incisive in speech his most scathing judgements were directed at the existing arrangements for medical education. 'Medical education in this country is bedevilled by the fragmentation of its curriculum, by the irrelevance of its arrangement, by its examin- ation system, by the authority of extramural professional bodies who can impose their will upon the universities, and by the tendency of teaching hospitals to lose their facilities for the under- graduate education of medical students and to become places for the training of specialists.'7 Today in spite of our professional repentance and the stirrings of change, that judgement has still not been fully faced. In 1943 he was invited to occupy the Chair of Child Health in Newcastle. Although the first whole-time appointment of its kind in England, this was not the first chair in Britain and he always acknowledged the example and contribution of Glasgow, Edinburgh, and Birmingham. While he shared the Birmingham emphasis on clinical science and the need for specialization in paedia- trics, his primary aim was a university, a medical school, and a department of child health related in study and service to the community in which it was placed. And he added with the conviction of experience and without sentimentality, 'the first aim of my department is comradeship not achieve- ment'. Between 1940 and 1944 he became a member of the Medical Committee of the Nuffield Provincial Hospitals Trust, the Committee on Medical Education set up by the Royal College of Physicians of London, the University Grants Committee, and the Medical Research Council. His persistent advocacy within this circle of the need for and the benefits of academic departments of paediatrics was an important cause of their increase to 22 over the next 30 years. Spence was always a teacher: facing the swift calamitous illness in the ward, painting a vivid portrait of child and disease in the 20 minutes he allowed himself for a clinical lecture, sensitively releasing the hidden fears of a mother in outpatient consultation, and in lively conservation over tea in the department with staff and visitors. How easy and vivid it seemed to us at the time; yet it was much more than a mixture of singular intelligence, widely remembered experience, and personal charm. As in other fields of life that excited his interest, he had selected and sharpened his 'instruments ofteaching'.9 Reminding us that you cannot dig effectively with a rake or fork with a hoe, he asked himself and his staff exactly what learning experience they thought should take place at a child health clinic, in an outpatient consultation, on a ward round, with a tutorial group, in a seminar, in a clinical and in a systematic lecture, and in library or lodging with a journal, monograph, or textbook. He practised and refined them, reaching an understanding of educational principle and a mastery of method still surprisingly neglected by medical teachers today. World paediatrics Invitations to travel were only accepted when the department in Newcastle was established and his service on national councils and committees generously discharged. The first, and the most satisfying and significant visit, was in 1948 to Australia and New Zealand. He felt completely at home and shared his experience and himself to the full; and the advance of the Australian Paediatric Association which followed was a measure of his ability to inspire and unite the men and women who heard him. The following year he visited the United States and Canada delivering the Cutter lecture in the Harvard School of Public Health and the Blackader lecture to the Canadian Medical Association. They were skilfully designed and brilliantly delivered, but North America was not ready for social paediatrics. In the Autumn of 1949 at the invitation of the British Council he went to lecture and examine in Czechoslavakia. This short contact with totalitarian rule disturbed him deeply; exposing how great was the threat to that freedom of speech, and professional independence in which he so passionately believed. It is surprising that, in spite of a lively visit from Dr. Cicely Williams, he never went to the Third World where the attitudes and priorities developed in his early community studies in Newcastle are still relevant. The British Paediatric Association Spence was a professional with a life-long interest in professional associations. This only ended in October 1953, when, knowing he was mortally ill, he gave his presidential address to the Newcastle and Northern Counties Medical Society on 'Institutional Medicine.'" The opening (and like Jane Austen he believed in memorable open- ings) was characteristic. 'It is, I think, one of the inherent peculiarities of an Englishman that if you scratch him he begins to brood over his institutions. 87 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://a d c.b m j.co m / A rch D is C h ild : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /a d c.5 0 .2 .8 5 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 7 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://adc.bmj.com/ 88 Donald Court And then from time to time he reforms them.' It began in the lively friendship with Donald Paterson and Leonard Parsons-organization man, clinical scientist, and social paediatrician-which created the British Paediatric Association. There can be no doubt of his affection for the Association and of its meaning for him. Yet his contribution was different, more intimate and less directive, and he did not become President until 1950. He was content to let it grow, enjoying the friendship and the conversation, knowing that the national re- sponsibilities would increase, and knowing too that they would not be carried effectively unless the friendship held. The man himself Has the man emerged from his achievements ? Not with the eclat that coloured his life. With such a subject the writer's temptation to be anec- dotal has been strong; I believe resistance was right and the reason plain. After 20 years I can see more clearly the greatness of his achievements and understand how for many they were obscured by the fascination of his personality. Those who knew him have their memories; those who did not can be excused for not recognizing him simply by name. We who worked with him and enjoyed his friendship knew also that there were frontiers we did not cross. It was an essential part of the man that he was a mountaineer. And it is not surprising that many of his contemporaries saw him as an 'enchanting companion', 'perhaps the most attractive personal- ity I ever met', exercising an influence which was 'so largely personal that it is difficult to pay tribute to it so that future generations will understand the esteem in which he was held by his contempora- ries'.' One of the most fitting descriptions I know of James Spence was written of another man; I have used it because it brings us happily into conversa- tion with him and illustrates both the personality and the paradox. 'A charmer, an actor, that was only to win you; once he had you where he wanted he attacked with discreet questions, stirred you into argument; if you were slow to respond he trailed his coat; if you were pron to agree he switched over and took the other side. You knew he was a Tory-fatal to presume on it-he would turn Socialist just to get you going. You knew he was romantic, he would turn shrewd and practical. Try the other way round and he was away on some poetic flight. He was like a man in a paper-chase throwing a trail of bits of his life to you but running away all the time; meanwhile he had got everything out of you. It was irresistible. It took years to get to the bottom of him if you ever did. But the lasting impression was of a very clear, strong, decisive, and practical mind."" We can now sense how such a man achieved ascendancy so quickly in professional encounter and why his influence remained alive for transitory visitor and daily colleague alike. One of the former, now a child psychiatrist with a special involvement with epilepsy, tells of meeting him over tea in the Department, and how as he was about to leave, Spence, who had been talking about many things, turned and said, 'You should study seizures'. He has continued to do so ever since. And the bias and the blindness, what of that ? There was less than the strength might lead us to expect. A very good clinician, an admirer of Thomas Lewis, he spoke often of clinical science but made no lasting contribution to it; a hard fact which I suspect was one of his greatest disappoint- ments. And as the gifted amateur suspects the professional, so his intuitive understanding of people made him unwilling to recognize the extent and complexity of mental ill health in children and resistant to the development of child psychiatry as an independent discipline. He had a love of the novel-new faces, new stories, new ideas-and a capacity for distilling their essence and adding it quickly to his current counsel, which, though refreshing, was bound at times to lead to superficiality of judgement. A patrician by temperament, there was a pardonable streak of vanity, recognized but never out of hand. Even when you were sure he was wrong, you always emerged wiser from the encounter. One test of greatness is how long a man remains a contemporary. In most things James Spence is still alongside and in the human, social, and educational implications of paediatrics beckoning us forward. My hope is that some will now want to enjoy the man and his conversation for themselves; his selected writings1, a book which rests comfortably in the hands, will allow them to do so. REFERENCES Spence, J. (1960). The Purpose and Practice of Medicine. Uni- versity of Durham Publications, Oxford University Press. 2 Spence, J. C. (1947). The care of children in hospital. The Charles West Lecture. British Medical_Journal, 1, 125. 3 Spence, J. (1960). Pp. 246-247. 4 Spence, J. C. (1934). Investigations into the Health and Nutrition of Certain of the Children of Newcastle upon Tyne Between the Ages of One and Five Years. Newcastle upon Tyne Corpora- tion Health Department. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://a d c.b m j.co m / A rch D is C h ild : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /a d c.5 0 .2 .8 5 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 7 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://adc.bmj.com/ Sir James Spence 89 5 Spence, J. (1960). Pp. 142-157. 6 Herbert Burch, personal communication, 1972. 7 Spence, J., Walton, W. S., Miller, F. J. W., and Court, S. D. M. (1954). A Thousand Families in Newcastle upon1 Tyne. Oxford University Press, London. 8 Spence, J. (1960). Pp. 14-15. 9 Court, D. (1954). The Instruments of Teaching. University of Durham Medical Gazette, November. 0 Pritchett, V. S. Source unknown. Correspondence to Professor S. D. M. Court, British Paediatric Association, 23 Queen Square, London WC1N 3AZ. o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://a d c.b m j.co m / A rch D is C h ild : first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /a d c.5 0 .2 .8 5 o n 1 F e b ru a ry 1 9 7 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://adc.bmj.com/ 
work_sq2lpvpzcjh25he6jqjkx4cwvi	----	Music and Literature: Ethel Smyth, Virginia Woolf, and “The First Woman to Write an Opera” Music and Literature: Ethel Smyth, Virginia Woolf, and “The First Woman to Write an Opera” CHRISTOPHER WILEY I’m awfully proud—thats not the right phrase—that you’ve started again on the autobiography, partly owing to me. I was thinking the other night that there’s never been a womans autobiography. Nothing to compare with Rousseau. Chastity and modesty I suppose have been the reason. Now why shouldnt you be not only the first woman to write an opera, but equally the first to tell the truths about herself? Isnt the great artist the only person to tell the truth? I should like an analysis of your sex life. As Rousseau did his. More introspection. More intimacy. I leave it to you; for as you see I cant make my pen take my ply this cold morning. – Letter from Virginia Woolf to Ethel Smyth, 24 December 1940.1 Ethel Smyth’s (1858–1944) later life was significantly enlivened by her frequent contact with Virginia Woolf (1882–1941), from which a fruitful, if sometimes strained, friendship blossomed that was curtailed by Woolf’s suicide in March 1941. By the time of their first meeting in February 1930, Smyth, having overcome substantial opposition to her chosen career path and challenged traditional notions of the place of women within music composition internationally, had written six operas, a Mass, and many other chamber, orchestral, and vocal works, and was working on what was to be her last major composition, her oratorio The Prison.2 Her increasing 2 deafness may have compelled her to develop a secondary career as writer of memoirs, biographical and other sketches, as well as polemical essays,3 but music remained her greatest passion, her first “string,” and her “real love.”4 Woolf had similarly attained the professional success that established her as a pioneering modernist by 1930, having published the first six of her nine novels, as well as many newspaper articles, book reviews, and other essays (some of which were collected in her anthology The Common Reader, the first volume of which had appeared in 1925), including her foundational feminist polemic, A Room of One’s Own (1929).5 Investigation of the continuing intellectual dialogue that took place between these two pathbreaking artists enriches our understanding of wider differences between the disciplines of music and literature, their histories, canons, and art, as well as revealing much about the underrepresentation of women that both felt acutely, and against which they campaigned fervently in their writings. One product of this dialogue was Woolf’s letter of 24 December 1940, written toward the end of their decade-long association. Her words have typically been cited by scholars as evidence either of the inherent difference between autobiographies merely written by women and a woman’s autobiography that delineated faithfully a complete existence, or of her belief that the latter could not be achieved through conventional male paradigms and therefore had the potential to elude classification as such.6 Woolf’s strange claim that no women’s autobiographies had been written by 1940 would seem, at face value, to stand up to little scrutiny. The very suggestion can hardly have been received positively, given that it was directed to someone who had recently published her fourth chronological volume of memoirs, which Woolf had read in the July of that year,7 not to mention several other collections of auto/biographical episodes and a travel-book.8 However, as I have explored in a previous study titled “‘When a woman speaks 3 the truth about her body’: Ethel Smyth, Virginia Woolf, and the Challenges of Lesbian Auto/biography,” Woolf’s continual criticism of Smyth’s manifold literary undertakings, when read in conjunction with her biographical theories and feminist critiques, would seem to indicate her belief that Smyth’s writings could not be positioned as genuine women’s autobiographies.9 Woolf held that her friend’s procedure of narrating stories exclusively relating to herself was overly egotistical, insisting on her own individuality through repeated use of the first-person singular; close reading of A Room of One’s Own identifies that she viewed this practice as phallocentric.10 By contrast, Woolf progressively edited out her own authorial voice from her texts, substituting those of multiple fictitious narrators in its place by way of endeavoring to reflect women’s multifaceted nature more accurately. The excerpt from Woolf’s correspondence quoted above provides a crucial piece in the epistemological jigsaw, in that Smyth’s perceived failure to relate faithfully her experiences as a woman in her autobiographical works is directly aligned with her omission to recount the truth about her sex life. Suzanne Raitt has commented that “[Smyth’s] published writing, although absolutely frank about the passion and the romance of her feelings for women, remains resolutely silent about the sexual aspects,”11 which is all the more revealing if one considers that an understanding of her sexuality is fundamental to an appreciation of her life and work. Rather than adopting Woolf’s more pluralistic outlook, however, Smyth continued to produce irredeemably self-centered narratives, preferring the masculine autobiographical model; perhaps she believed that this strategy offered the best available means for her to ingratiate herself within music’s strongly male-dominated canons. Thus, judged by Woolf’s criteria, she did not represent herself authentically as a woman and a lesbian in her texts.12 4 To probe further into the relationship between the two disparate artistic disciplines under scrutiny, consideration of Woolf’s curious statement from the point of view of music and musicology, rather than that of literature, proves illuminating. A parallel reading of the published texts and private correspondence of Smyth and Woolf may explicate the other far-reaching claim made in the course of the oft-quoted passage of the epigraph; for Woolf did not merely suggest that there had never been a woman’s autobiography, but also that Smyth was the first woman to compose an opera.13 The latter factual error has, quite understandably, often been overlooked by those scholars whose interest lies primarily within the realms of Woolf studies or women’s autobiography. Although Smyth had surprisingly little to say about other women composers, she did discuss one particular figure at some length, her older contemporary Augusta Holmès (1847– 1903), whose operas predated Smyth’s own. Reading Smyth on Holmès, Woolf should have recognized the inexactitude of her assertion. Woolf’s words may instead be understood to reflect the view that though Smyth’s autobiographies subscribed to traditional, masculine paradigms and hence did not represent her womanly experiences fully, her operas evinced a sympathy with her feminist and lesbian proclivities that is absent from her memoirs.14 After all, Smyth was keenly aware of the sexual prejudice she experienced throughout her compositional career, as well as the heavily gendered criticism prompted by her music.15 Modern hermeneutical readings of some of Smyth’s works through the lens of gender and sexuality, notably by Elizabeth Wood,16 have contributed weight to these arguments in two main areas: first, bringing to light her resistance to, and subversion of, gendered conventions established within music, such as her undermining and reappropriation of the principles of sonata form and her preference for the mezzo-soprano (rather than soprano) voice for operatic heroines; and second, calling attention to Smyth’s practice of inscribing 5 herself, and others, into her music, by employing strategies analogous to those by which contemporary lesbian writers (including Woolf) eluded the censor by couching autobiography in the guise of thinly-veiled fictional narrative. Coming at such a pivotal juncture in her correspondence, Woolf may have had a deeper meaning in mind in making this claim, one inextricably linked to her strikingly bold statement on women’s autobiography. Investigation of Woolf in relation to music has increased in recent years,17 with several scholars focusing specifically on aspects of her fascinating association with Smyth.18 That Woolf is invariably at the center of inquiry has led certain important aspects of the counterpoint between the two artists to be overlooked, not least the ways that Smyth, as an authority on music, directly influenced Woolf’s own writings.19 By shifting the focus to Smyth, this essay explores issues of specifically musicological relevance, such as the reasons why a woman composer might have constructed herself as a solitary figure, even within contexts in which the number of females actively creating music was recognizably growing. Smyth implicitly presented herself as standing apart from the improving status of women composers that was modestly starting to assert itself during her lifetime. By the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, music history chronicled a number of precedents for women writing opera, as well as the activities of sundry female contemporaries with whom Smyth was in direct contact. A comprehensive scrutiny of Smyth’s literary output reveals that its coverage of women composers other than herself was quite restricted and fitful, and often cast in a somewhat dismissive, unflattering vein, with telling traces of revisionism evident between her earlier and later writings. Smyth thus presented Woolf with an incomplete impression of the extent of women’s contributions to the field; understandably, Woolf echoed her friend’s portrayal of herself as a unique figure. Later sections of this essay examine arguments advanced by Smyth 6 concerning the different opportunities afforded to aspiring (female) professionals within music and literature as well as the obstacles exclusively posed by music criticism. Smyth’s self- centered feminist writings will be compared with Woolf’s more inclusive offerings in order to investigate the junctures at which their inquiries corresponded and diverged, yielding insights into the broader relationships between their respective disciplinary standpoints. Woolf’s possible motives for not probing the underrepresentation of women in music at greater length in Three Guineas (1938) will also be discussed, as this polemical successor to A Room of One’s Own sheds additional light upon her intellectual relationship with Smyth. Woolf’s ostensibly dismissive attitude toward Smyth’s writings can be read within the wider context of her general opinion of her friend’s literary gifts. Even in Smyth’s earliest autobiographical productions, the two-volume Impressions that Remained, Woolf found her to be colloquial, frank, and egotistical. Woolf exercised tact when she articulated her thoughts publicly in The New Statesman, in which she touched upon Impressions that Remained in the course of reviewing Smyth’s second extended literary offering, the miscellany of autobiographical episodes titled Streaks of Life.20 But privately she confided to Lytton Strachey, “It’s a pity she can’t write; for I don’t suppose one could read it again. But it fascinates me all the same.”21 When she came to know Smyth, Woolf’s judgment mellowed a little: Impressions that Remained was described as “fascinating,” a “masterpiece,” and even “immortal”—at least when she was addressing its author.22 Though her criticisms of Smyth’s drafts could be harsh, Woolf persistently encouraged her friend to continue writing autobiography.23 Woolf was so delighted that Smyth’s third chronological volume of memoirs, As Time Went On…, had been tentatively dedicated to her that she even attempted to persuade the composer to repeat the gesture with a subsequent book.24 At the same time, Woolf’s words occasionally call into 7 question just how carefully she paid attention to Smyth’s work. After having known the author for nearly a decade, Woolf wrote of rewarding the nighttime hours when she was woken by airplanes by reading “Ethel Smyth—Gleams of Memory.”25 That was, of course, not the title of one of Smyth’s publications.26 Woolf’s attitude toward Smyth’s compositions was colored by a similar sense of ambivalence. As noted at the beginning of this essay, in one hastily written letter she rather generously described Smyth as the first woman to compose an opera;27 elsewhere Woolf expressed indifference toward Smyth’s music and an uncertainty as to her wider place in music history. A little under a year after their first meeting, Woolf confided to her diary: I suspect [Smyth’s] music is too literary—too stressed—too didactic for my taste. But I am always impressed by the fact that it is music—I mean that she has spun these coherent chords harmonies melodies out of her so practical vigorous, strident mind. What if she should be a great composer? This fantastic idea is to her the merest commonplace: it is the fabric of her being. As she conducts, she hears music like Beethoven’s.28 Woolf’s observations, made after having attended a rehearsal of The Prison, were perceptive. Smyth had been trained in the Teutonic traditions of the nineteenth century (Woolf had previously noted in her diary that “they say she writes music like an old dryasdust German music master”29), and she did aspire to Beethovenian heights. In her formative years, Smyth’s interest in music was kindled by her mother and then, more dramatically, by a governess who had studied at the Leipzig Conservatory, whose example inspired Smyth to enroll in the same 8 institution in the late 1870s. At the Conservatory, she studied under Carl Reinecke and others, before becoming disillusioned and leaving to take lessons with Heinrich von Herzogenberg. She settled in Germany for over a decade before circumstances compelled her to return home; during that time she became acquainted with some of the country’s most renowned musical personages including Brahms, about whom she later wrote at length,30 and Clara Schumann. In Impressions that Remained, Smyth was to cite the discovery of Beethoven’s music as a major factor that guided her steps toward Germany.31 Beethoven remained one of her favorite composers thereafter, and, as Woolf’s words hint, exerted an influence on her music. As Jane Bernstein has observed, there are notable similarities between the style and character of Beethoven’s iconic Missa Solemnis (1819–23) and Smyth’s own Mass (1891), a large-scale setting of the Ordinary that, like Beethoven’s work, is cast in D major.32 Comparisons between the two scores likewise permeate the analysis of Smyth’s Mass by Donald Francis Tovey.33 Through her study in Germany and her admiration for Beethoven and Brahms, Smyth was well versed in the conventions of the musical patriarchy she was to subvert in her own output. At the heart of that œuvre lie the operas that Kathleen Abromeit has collectively described as “an almost unbelievable accomplishment for a woman composer of the day.”34 Despite Smyth’s achievement and Woolf’s claim, Smyth’s operas were hardly the first to have been composed by a woman. The disjointed history of women writing opera can be traced back to the virtual beginnings of the genre in Italy at the turn of the seventeenth century. The first female operatic composer is generally acknowledged to have been Francesca Caccini (1587– ?1641), the daughter of Giulio Caccini, whose Euridice (1600–1601) was the first ever published opera.35 As Suzanne Cusick has shown through critical reading of the work, Francesca Caccini’s 9 one surviving opera, La liberazione di Ruggiero dall’isola d’Alcina (1625), may indeed be seen to be true to her womanhood.36 Francesca Caccini’s precursory example may have been exceptional, but it was by no means the only one. Others included Elisabeth-Claude Jacquet de la Guerre (?1665–1729) and Maria Theresia von Paradis (1759–1824), neither of whom had been entirely forgotten to music history; and as a study by Jacqueline Letzter and Robert Adelson has demonstrated, women such as Isabelle de Charrière (1740–1805) had been notably active in the writing of opera in late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century France.37 It is highly unlikely that Woolf—or, for that matter, Smyth—knew anything about Caccini or any of these precursors; in the absence of evidence from primary sources, their awareness of earlier women composers is conjectural at best. However, Woolf was by no means wholly ignorant of the field of music, nor of the extent of the sexual discrimination within that profession even during her own day. In October 1920, nearly a decade before she met Smyth, Woolf had drawn upon her case in an epistolary exchange with literary editor Desmond MacCarthy (writing under the pseudonym “Affable Hawk”) in The New Statesman, by way of demonstrating the challenges encountered by women who endeavored to pursue a musical career.38 If proof be needed that she could cite contemporary woman composers other than Smyth, A Room of One’s Own contains a barbed response to critic Cecil Gray’s misogynistic comments concerning Les Six member Germaine Tailleferre (1892–1983): The woman composer stands where the actress stood in the time of Shakespeare. Nick Greene . . . said [in Woolf’s fictitious story] that a woman acting put him in mind of a dog dancing. [Samuel] Johnson repeated the phrase two hundred years later of women preaching. And here, I said, opening a book about music, we have 10 the very words used again [by Cecil Gray] in this year of grace, 1928, of women who try to write music. “Of Mlle. Germaine Tailleferre one can only repeat Dr. Johnson’s dictum concerning a woman preacher, transposed into terms of music. ‘Sir, a woman’s composing is like a dog’s walking on his hind legs. It is not done well, but you are surprised to find it done at all.’” So accurately does history repeat itself.39 As Peter Jacobs has noted, Woolf received a basic musical education in her childhood, and enjoyed listening to music throughout her life.40 She was also distantly related to Vaughan Williams, a champion of women composers during his time at the Royal College of Music, through his first wife Adeline, a cousin on Woolf’s mother’s side. Woolf’s writings attest that opera was a particular preoccupation. She published two essays on the subject in The Times in 1909;41 and as scholars such as Jane Marcus and Emma Sutton have recently shown, her novels reflect a thorough understanding of the plots, structures, and conventions of certain canonical works, including Wagnerian music drama (not least Der Ring des Nibelungen) and Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte.42 Her knowledge of the former, which is also demonstrated by her two Times articles, is especially relevant to the present inquiry given the patent Wagnerian influences reflected in Smyth’s early operatic œuvre. Yet the passage of Woolf’s correspondence quoted in the epigraph offers no indication that the author was aware that Smyth might have had any antecedents among female opera composers. As noted, Smyth’s own writings would have provided Woolf with only a limited idea of women’s activity in this field. Although Smyth urged for solidarity among female musicians, she generally glossed over the existence of women composers past and present, only mentioning 11 them in passing. In her essay “A Final Burning of Boats” (published in 1928 in the book of the same title), for example, there is a brief allusion to Dorothy Howell (1898–1982), in the context of her exclusion from the then recently-published third edition of Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians (1927–28).43 However, Smyth diluted the force of her observation by declining to supply any further information about Howell, who, as a woman forty years her junior and at the outset of her musical career, had achieved only limited public recognition.44 One reason for Smyth’s having mentioned Howell at all lay in the potential for a pointed comparison with a male near-namesake, Herbert Howells. Aside from rhetoric, it is unclear why Smyth chose Howell as the solitary example of a female composer whom she held to have been wrongly omitted from this landmark text. There were certainly others she could have cited in support of her arguments. Similarly ambiguous is Smyth’s description of Howell as “composer and Professor at the Royal Academy of Music,” which suggests that a case for her inclusion in a music dictionary could be made as much on the basis of her teaching as for any other reason.45 On the basis of Smyth’s words, an uncharitable reader might have been led to suppose that Howell was a teacher rather than a composer by profession. One of the most famous female composers of all time, Clara Schumann (1819–96), surfaces on a number of different occasions in Smyth’s memoirs, especially when the two women became acquainted during Smyth’s time studying in Germany. Yet Smyth’s memoirs typically discuss Clara as an acclaimed concert pianist, and as the wife of Robert Schumann and mother of his children, without alluding to her compositional activity.46 The sole exception occurs in a letter Smyth wrote to her mother in April 1878, quoted in Impressions that Remained: 12 I went to Breitkopf and Haertel—the music publishers par excellence in the world. The nephew, who conducts the business, Dr. Hase, I know very well and he is quite one of the most charming men I ever met. . . . Well, he began by telling me that songs had as a rule a bad sale—but that no composeress had ever succeeded, barring Frau [Clara] Schumann and Fräulein [Fanny] Mendelssohn, whose songs had been published together with those of their husband and brother respectively. He told me that a certain Frau [Josephine] Lang had written some really very good songs, but they had no sale. I played him mine . . . and he expressed himself very willing to take the risk and print them. But would you believe it, having listened to all he said about women composers, and considering how difficult it is to bargain with an acquaintance, I asked no fee!47 Given Smyth’s tendency to pass over other examples of women composers, this passage is particularly fascinating for its mention not just of Clara Schumann’s creative musical endeavors but also those of Fanny Mendelssohn (1805–47) and Josephine Lang (1815–80). What is most telling about this allusion to a total of three antecedents is that it occurs not in the autobiographical narrative itself, but in the correspondence that she was wont to reproduce wholesale in dedicated sections of her volumes. Though her contemporary personal documents did at least acknowledge the compositional activities of women aside from herself, the story that she recounted retrospectively for publication painted a somewhat different picture.48 Nonetheless, in this instance, the fact of Smyth’s having several precursors is presented as actually inhibiting her as she sought to publish her own music. The representative of Breitkopf & Härtel with whom she spoke, Dr. Hase, noted that the reason the songs of Fanny Mendelssohn 13 and Clara Schumann had entered into print was that they appeared in the same volume as those of celebrated male composers to whom they were related.49 That was obviously an option unavailable to Smyth. Moreover, the lack of commercial success of Josephine Lang’s published music is couched as a precedent that was potentially harmful to her. Subsequent history suggests that this assessment was not necessarily accurate: in 1882, just four years after Smyth’s visit to their offices, Breitkopf & Härtel were to issue a posthumous collection of forty songs by Lang. This fact alone provides an indication as to whether such a venture would have been considered commercially viable. Taking Smyth’s account at face value, however, the publisher’s representative ranked highly those of Lang’s songs that had appeared in print by 1878; the inescapable implication of his words—notwithstanding the point that songs generally sold poorly—is that their failure to attract buyers may have been connected to the composer’s gender. Having heard Dr. Hase’s comments on the risk involved in publishing the music of women composers, Smyth felt unable to bargain for a fee for her music, and so lost out financially as well. In the whole of Smyth’s literary output, as noted, only one female composer received extensive discussion. Augusta Holmès was the subject of a dedicated essay (originally written in July 1921) in A Final Burning of Boats, which provided a sketch of her character, an evaluation of her music, and an account of Smyth’s visits to her in 1900 and 1902, the first of which was later retold in What Happened Next.50 It is these sections of Smyth’s writings, if any, that would have alerted Woolf that Smyth was not the first woman ever to have written an opera. Holmès was over ten years older than Smyth, and her four operas were all completed by 1884, roughly a decade before Smyth had written her first.51 Though only Holmès’s La montagne noire was actually performed, she had at least brought an opera to the stage in advance of Smyth, whose 14 Fantasio was premiered in Weimar in 1898, three years after Holmès’s work had been received (coolly) at the Paris Opéra. But despite writing about Holmès at such length, Smyth did not always appear well disposed toward her. The portrait she painted of her senior contemporary is hardly a flattering one; Holmès, at that time middle aged and ailing, is introduced in What Happened Next as “a convalescent arrayed in a red flannel dressing-gown . . . short and fat, her red hair powdered white . . . and her white face, helped out with black, red, and white, vigorously and wildly applied, as by one who could not be bothered to use a looking-glass and preferred doing her face ‘by heart.’”52 And, though Smyth enjoyed and even promoted some of her music, her description of her as “the nearest approach to a large-scale woman composer that the world had yet seen” could reasonably be construed as dismissive.53 Her views on La montagne noire, meanwhile, left little doubt as to exactly how highly she rated her senior contemporary as a composer of opera: much of the music was student’s work. But, child though she must have been when most of it was written, she invariably rose to the big situations, and given her strong dramatic instinct and the pages upon pages of warm, beautiful, melodious music in it, a second opera from her pen might have been a masterpiece. But it was never to be written.54 Putting aside her pointed comments about the putative immaturity of La montagne noire, both this and other of Smyth’s observations led the reader to believe that it was Holmès’s first and only opera. But Smyth, who had met Holmès on two separate occasions and knew much about her both by reputation and from mutual friends, would surely have been aware that this 15 was not the case. Even more startling is her disparaging remark “Of her opera I only heard a part; but knowing what I do about the difficulties of opera composers, especially plus the handicap of sex, the astonishing fact about it was that it existed at all.”55 In A Room of One’s Own, Woolf reproached Cecil Gray for making a similar pronouncement about Germaine Tailleferre, and the similarity of Smyth’s assessment to that of Gray illuminates her attitude toward Holmès. Having read A Final Burning of Boats,56 Woolf would have disapproved of Smyth’s evaluation; this may provide a reason why it is the one of the least discussed of Smyth’s volumes in their entire correspondence. Even more revealing is the shift in Smyth’s presentation of the nature of her relationship to Holmès between her earlier article and Holmès’s appearance in What Happened Next some two decades later. In A Final Burning of Boats, Smyth had identified that she had sought her initial meeting with Holmès on the grounds that she was “a fellow-struggler in the thicket of opera”; the pretext for her second visit was provided by Smyth’s desire to talk about her opera Der Wald, which was then being staged in London.57 Smyth’s implication was that Holmès was a “fellow-struggler” not just because they were both opera composers, but also because they were both women who had endured hardship in the course of securing stage productions of their works.58 In contrast, Smyth’s subsequent account of their meeting in What Happened Next included a codetta absent from the original: “When we parted after three hours’ ardent conversation, we embraced with fervour. I . . . felt we really were friends. Just at the end [of the meeting] there was a touch of symposium; ‘Adieu chère collègue,’ she said—a remark I pretended not to hear.”59 Why was it so important to Smyth to be seen as ignoring Holmès’s parting words? By her own admission, the two women had enjoyed an amiable conversation. Her earlier essay had been titled “Augusta Holmès, Pioneer” (ironically, using the exact same term 16 with which Woolf would describe Smyth ten years later in a speech to be quoted presently). But why should somebody Smyth deemed to be a “fellow-struggler” in 1921 not also be considered her colleague in 1940? Just as she seems to have shifted her ground on other women composers between her correspondence written in the late 1870s and Impressions that Remained, Smyth ultimately appears to have chosen not to regard Holmès as an ally in her crusade to overcome prejudice within the male-dominated music profession.60 As with Josephine Lang, the fact of Smyth’s having encountered another instance of a woman who had turned her attentions toward music composition—and even, in Holmès’s case, the writing of opera—was at best a coincidence, and at worst a hindrance. Smyth’s writings often retail the discrimination she experienced as a woman composer, and how she and her work suffered at the hands of the coterie of power-wielding decision- makers to whom she collectively referred as the Inner Circle, the Group, the Elders, or the Machine. In view of the strength of her feeling that the musical patriarchy was conspiring against her, Smyth’s apparently prejudicial attitude toward fellow female composers might seem paradoxical. Yet, if the words Woolf quoted from Cecil Gray were any reflection of prevailing male opinion of women composers, it is unsurprising that Smyth took measures to distance herself from other examples of “women who try to write music” (to borrow Woolf’s description), and hence from the stigma that came with being bracketed in that denigrated category. She did not want to be seen as a vamp like Holmès or a salon composer like Lang. Smyth insisted on being evaluated on her own terms as equal to men; she did not want feminine allies who would have been considered weak. She viewed herself only as the precursor of “a future chain of great women composers.”61 It appears likely that she isolated herself from female counterparts in an attempt to insinuate herself into the otherwise masculine domain of musical 17 canon. This strategy succeeded to a remarkable extent. While she lamented that “the public . . . mildly says from time to time: ‘Strange that there are no great women composers!,’”62 her own writings contributed little to addressing this imbalance lest it affect the status of her own music. Who can blame her? Woolf perpetuated Smyth’s self-portrait as a unique phenomenon distinct from any previous female composers. At the event that was to be the pinnacle of their relationship, their joint presentation at the meeting of the London/National Society for Women’s Service on 21 January 1931 on the subject of “Music and Literature,” Woolf paid homage to her friend as being “of the race of pioneers, of pathmakers . . . [who] has gone before and felled trees and blasted rocks and built bridges and thus made a way for those who come after her.”63 Woolf held that her own profession was the only one that had been available to women of earlier periods, in stark contrast to disciplines such as music and the visual arts. In Three Guineas, which had its origins in this speech, she wrote: the profession of literature, to give it a simple name, is the only profession which did not fight a series of battles in the nineteenth century. . . . We cannot debar women from the use of libraries; or forbid them to buy ink and paper; or rule that metaphors shall only be used by one sex, as the male only in art schools was allowed to study from the nude; or rule that rhyme shall be used by one sex only as the male only in Academies of music was allowed to play in orchestras.64 Smyth confirmed Woolf’s perception of the differences between their respective professions in terms of the possibilities they held for women. Her writings repeatedly express the 18 opinion that the difficulties experienced by women in music were far greater than in the other creative arts. She drew specific comparison between music and literature, notably in her polemical essay “Female Pipings in Eden” (1933, from the volume of the same title), which included a chapter dedicated to the topic.65 Smyth’s embrace of this reasoning is understandable to the extent that her literary output may be regarded as self-serving. She knew well that she had a broader audience for her books than for her scores, and sought to stimulate public interest in her music through literary writings that were both entertaining and polemical.66 Nonetheless, her activities within both spheres—her first and second “strings”—meant that she was well qualified to comment upon the differences between them. Her arguments rest on such firm foundations that they cannot be dismissed merely on the grounds of authorial agenda. She held that it was eminently possible to teach oneself how to write literature, by reading privately, observing life, and recounting one’s experiences to friends; hence in earlier periods of history, “nobody could prevent women from writing novels on the sly.”67 To Smyth’s mind, the book trade was “divinely simple”: printing was comparatively cheap, hence publication carried limited financial risk; the sole mediator between author and public was the publisher; there was much more scope for books and authors to coexist amicably; and even if a particular novel did not find favor with the critics, members of the public could easily buy their own copies and decide for themselves. By baleful contrast, engraving music was expensive; performances of large-scale works could not be mounted without the mediation of publishers or copyists to reproduce the parts; conductors and their associated committees were primarily interested in performing the “old favourites” of the repertory, for fear of losing audiences and the financial support provided if they did not; and any new works that somehow found their way to the concert hall were often relegated to oblivion after a single performance. Given these obstacles, and the consequently 19 limited room for contemporary composers in concert programs, Smyth contended that it was unsurprising that the musical establishment was governed by favoritism, string-pulling, and male solidarity. Her observations may be reinterpreted as reflecting the reality that there was significantly more space available for women within literary canons than those of music, where hegemonic rankings were therefore more tightly enforced. Smyth’s point about the significance of critical opinion, meanwhile, was addressed more fully in another essay in the same volume, “Where Musical Criticism Goes Astray.”68 There she argued that anybody could repeatedly read a poem, view a painting, or even attend a play (typically given as a series of performances), but that public opinion on a new musical work— presentations of which were few and far between—lay to large extent in the soiled hands of the press. Smyth held that music critics were faced with a thorny task in that they were required to judge a given score on a single hearing. Further, they had to evaluate a new work on the basis of a performance that could be seriously flawed, without knowing whether the blame for any perceived faults lay with its composer or with an insensitive conductor, limited rehearsal time, or even the absence of necessary instruments. She cited a number of instances in recent music history in which the initial criticism had been negative of pieces subsequently recognized as masterpieces. Smyth believed that the press could never kill off a work that is “really alive,” yet her view was that a dismissive critique might nevertheless “induce a state of suspended animation which may last longer than the life of the unfortunate composer.”69 Reading the output of Smyth and Woolf in tandem inevitably leads to speculations as to whether there was an element of competition between them, with their various writings implicitly responding to one another.70 Many of the views presented thus far are drawn from the intellectual fruits of their friendship: speeches they delivered on a shared platform; the literature 20 that resulted from them; and essays passed from one to the other for comment prior to publication.71 A certain amount of tension did exist between the two women, even despite—or perhaps, precisely because of—their belonging to different eras, artistic disciplines, and sociopolitical backgrounds. If Smyth’s chapter in “Female Pipings in Eden” was intended to demonstrate how much more problematic the path to professional success was for a woman in music than in literature, then one of her principal comparators for the latter field was Woolf herself. An early draft of “Female Pipings in Eden” included references to Woolf, which so displeased the novelist that she recommended that Smyth remove them. Woolf went so far as to annotate Smyth’s manuscript to show how the offending text could be modified.72 Smyth looks to have complied, insofar as Woolf’s name does not appear in the published version. Conversely, Woolf initially seemed to concede the point in her speech to the London/National Society for Women’s Service. Woolf admits that the story of how she became a successful author of literature was “very tame” compared with that of Smyth in music.73 As her own history unfolds over the course of the speech, however, it becomes clear that the pursuit of her own career was not as untroubled as her words at first suggest, and her ironic claims of tameness merely serve to reinforce the harsh reality of the plight of the professional woman in the Edwardian era. This disparity between the perspectives articulated by the two women was surely the result of their distinct disciplinary positions. It was most telling when both drew upon the same piece of evidence to illustrate different points. In A Room of One’s Own, Woolf recounted the tale of Jane Austen’s hiding her manuscripts so that her visitors would not see her work; the anecdote was provided as evidence of the extreme measures that one nineteenth-century woman was compelled to take in order to write a novel, given the need for discretion even within the supposed sanctity of her own home.74 When Smyth alluded to the same story in “A Final 21 Burning of Boats” (which had been published in the year prior to A Room of One’s Own), it was to demonstrate that “On certain fields the battle is won” :75 she sought to show that it was at least possible for a woman to become a published novelist at a time during which she could not have been, say, a composer. Smyth’s words resonate strongly with those of Woolf in the extract from Three Guineas quoted above, in which she discussed the absence from literature of the sex- oriented “battles” found in other disciplines; and it was by no means the only juncture at which the two writers seemed independently to be advancing opinions that, though serving different purposes, ran very much along the same lines. One of the clearest examples of this congruity has its origins in A Room of One’s Own, in which Woolf stated, with reference to Coleridge’s renowned view of the androgyny of the “great mind”:76 it is natural for the sexes to co-operate. . . . The normal and comfortable state of being is that when the two live in harmony together, spiritually co-operating. If one is a man, still the woman part of the brain must have effect; and a woman also must have intercourse with the man in her. . . . It is fatal to be a man or woman pure and simple; one must be woman-manly or man-womanly.77 A Room of One’s Own had indirectly precipitated Smyth’s initial meeting with Woolf, having interested her sufficiently to lead her to seek out its author. Given her engagement with the volume, it is hardly unexpected that Smyth was to write in an analogous manner just a few years later in “Female Pipings in Eden”: “Art is bi-sexual, the female element implicit with the male.”78 Where Woolf’s subject had been the writer’s necessity to draw on elements of the 22 opposing sex, Smyth’s observation touched upon the continuing exclusion of women from certain professional orchestras and the fresh perspectives that their admission within others had brought to music performance. Nonetheless, both women held that the ideal state for art would be one that combined both male and female aspects, and that the presence of women—whether creating original works or providing new interpretations of existing art—enriched their respective disciplines. Smyth made the link between the two fields explicit; elsewhere in the same essay she wrote: “Few deny that the Brontës and Jane Austen brought a new note into our literature. Why then should not our musical contribution be equally individual and pregnant?”79 However, whereas Woolf had written in A Room of One’s Own that “a woman writing thinks back through her mothers,”80 Smyth elected not to follow her friend’s example. Woolf repeatedly paid tribute to literary women in history, including Aphra Behn, Fanny Burney, Jane Austen, the Brontës, and George Eliot, but, as discussed above, Smyth was disconcertingly quiet about her female precursors. As Woolf noted, history offered no traditions of women in music that were truly comparable to those in literature;81 at the same time, Smyth eschewed some valuable opportunities to raise public awareness of those women composers who had achieved recognition. Even her earliest biographer, Christopher St John, conceded, “It is a mistake . . . to assume that there never had been any women composers before Ethel Smyth.”82 As her memoirs attest, Smyth knew of Fanny Mendelssohn, Josephine Lang, Clara Schumann, and Augusta Holmès, to which list we might add Germaine Tailleferre, if only on the basis of Smyth’s reading of A Room of One’s Own. It seems highly likely that she had also encountered the music of Louise Reichardt (1779–1826) during her time in Germany, as Reichardt’s songs, which had been published in the early decades of the 1800s, retained their popularity throughout the century. 23 Moreover, Smyth could not have avoided taking notice—perhaps even with envy—of the successful women composers active in Britain during her lifetime, including Maude Valérie White (1855–1937) and Liza Lehmann (1862–1918).83 Through her early involvement with the Society of Women Musicians, which was founded in 1911, Smyth must have encountered both Lehmann (its inaugural president) and White, together with other acclaimed female composers such as Cécile Chaminade (1857–1944) and Rebecca Clarke (1886–1979).84 White’s autobiographical writings include a story of Smyth visiting her cottage at Taormina, presumably in 1903 during the tour of Sicily recounted in What Happened Next.85 Smyth, conversely, omitted any reference to White’s hospitality. Elsewhere, Smyth had crossed paths with another contemporary, Adela Maddison (1866–1929), whose orchestral Irische Ballade (1909, now lost) she offered to convey to the composer Frederick Delius with the aim of securing its performance.86 Notwithstanding the manifold unchronicled encounters that Smyth must have had with other women composers and their music over the course of her long and busy career, a number of noteworthy connections can be easily drawn between her and some of the very same figures she neglected to mention in her prose. As evidence, Smyth’s discussion of exclusions in the third edition of Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians once again becomes relevant here. Most of the women composers cited in the previous paragraphs were included in this edition of the monumental dictionary, though many were given short shrift. Maddison, however, continued to be omitted, and since Smyth had helped to promote her on at least one previous occasion, it is curious that Smyth did not seek to put forward her case in this instance too; perhaps she felt more sufficiently distanced from Dorothy Howell, who was some two generations younger.87 Whatever the reason, rather than recognize and promote her rivals in her literature, Smyth wrote 24 self-serving polemics on the plight of the woman composer that were mere adjuncts to her autobiographies. In lieu of citing contemporaries, Smyth provided an extraordinary “origin myth” for women in music, reaching back to the origins of Woman herself according to biblical legend. The Garden of Eden story that frames Smyth’s most fiercely feminist essay, and from which she derived its title,88 is on the face of it chillingly simple: when Eve first took a reed to her lips and started to play, Adam’s reaction was hostile to say the least. In Smyth’s tale, music thereafter became an overwhelmingly male-dominated domain, in which women were silenced and from which they were excluded at every opportunity and by every means available.89 Jane Marcus has observed that “Female Pipings in Eden does for women in music what Virginia Woolf did for women in literature; it gives women artists a myth of their own creative origins and urges them to struggle for possession of the past in order to forge the future.”90 If Smyth’s feminist writings can be regarded as musical counterparts to Woolf’s own, then the nature of the general relationship between them, in terms of the scope of their coverage, also warrants further exploration. Although Smyth alluded to topics as diverse as literature, the visual arts, politics, and even science in the course of her tirades, her attentions were always focused narrowly on the field of music, usually on herself and her experiences as a composer. One passage of “Female Pipings in Eden” unabashedly proclaimed her self-referential approach: If you have reached a mature age, and are still more or less in possession of your faculties, people have had time to find you out, and will know whether or no[t] a study like this is born of lack of balance, non-perception of the other side of a question, disregard for truth, ill temper, inflamed egotism, or vindictiveness . . . One hopes to be acquitted of these things, but Lord! what does it matter?91 25 By contrast, Woolf endeavored to incorporate discussion of women’s situation in more general terms across the social, political, and professional spectrums rather than to concentrate on her own sphere of activity. Woolf’s diversity meant that her broad and humane connections between various other disciplines precluded the focus evinced by Smyth. To use the terms set forth by Isaiah Berlin, Woolf was a fox, knowing many things, whereas Smyth (for all her multifarious activities) was a hedgehog who knew one big thing: herself.92 Woolf seemed to acknowledge that music was Smyth’s field, and that the composer should be the one to write about it. Toward the end of her life, she suggested that Smyth write a “Common Reader review of music,”93 presumably one fashioned after her own literary example.94 Ten years earlier, having read Smyth’s short article “Composers and Critics,”95 Woolf had written, “What I should like would be, in another article, a purely objective statement of the exact disabilities (not being allowed to play in orchestras etc which women suffer in music.).”96 Without her deference to Smyth on musical topics, Woolf might have undertaken this task herself; as we shall see momentarily, she briefly considered doing so. But Woolf was aware that music was not her area of expertise. In a different context she once remarked to Smyth, “As well [to] ask a deaf donkey to criticise Mozart.”97 Woolf did indeed shy away from detailed consideration of music per se in her feminist literature. However, her reticence was not simply due to her perception that there was little she could usefully add to Smyth’s previously published critiques, or to her having little desire to expand into her touchy friend’s territory. In the course of writing Three Guineas, Woolf sent Smyth a request for information on the opportunities denied to women in music: 26 Information wanted: Are women allowed to play in orchestras? When was this, allowed, if so: and are they now musically, (as far as training goes) equal with the other sex? I’ve now got to produce, in the usual fury and despair and haste, what should have been a booklet, and has swollen to a book, in which this fact, or fiction, occurs, and I want it to be accurate, but have lost my note, so appeal to you.98 Though Smyth did not address these questions exhaustively in “Female Pipings in Eden,” Woolf would nonetheless have found there many answers to her queries. Smyth discussed at some length the musical training and orchestral opportunities available to women, notably that some of the major orchestras had tentatively opened their doors to female players (around the time of the First World War), but many had since endeavored to exclude them again.99 It is even conceivable that the lost note to which Woolf referred in her letter had been taken from “Female Pipings in Eden,” which had recently fascinated her.100 Otherwise, it seems curious that Woolf waited so long to initiate this discussion, given that Smyth was the obvious person for her to approach. Whatever the reason for this eleventh-hour solicitation of information, and whether or not a reply was forthcoming from Smyth,101 Woolf ultimately included in Three Guineas few notable references to music. The first occurs toward the end of the opening chapter, in a passage contending that the only real profession available to the “educated man’s daughter” (to use Woolf’s frequently repeated formulation) was marriage itself: It was with a view to marriage that [a woman’s] mind was taught. It was with a view to marriage that she tinkled on the piano, but was not allowed to join an 27 orchestra; sketched innocent domestic scenes, but was not allowed to study from the nude; read this book, but was not allowed to read that, charmed, and talked.102 Two further allusions to music, both found in Woolf’s concluding third chapter, are also worthy of mention. One has already been quoted; the other occurs in the course of discussing the activities that nineteenth-century daughters might have pursued were it not for their fathers preventing them from doing so: “Some wanted to learn music, not to tinkle domestic airs, but to compose—operas, symphonies, quartets. Others wanted to paint, not ivy-clad cottages, but naked bodies.”103 These three passages may clearly be read as echoes of one another, not least because they all place the practice of forbidding women from painting the nude side by side with that of prohibiting them from joining orchestras;104 in one passage, they are presented as being general policies of schools of art and music respectively. Woolf’s consistent grouping of music with other disciplines, particularly the visual arts, suggests a reluctance to consider this field purely on its own. This pattern is confirmed by several additional passing references to music in Three Guineas that are too inconsequential to warrant specific examination here.105 Another of Woolf’s recurring themes is that the one form of music-making that was socially acceptable for a woman was that of desultory domestic piano-playing. The image invites comparison with the character Rachel Vinrace, the music-loving protagonist of Woolf’s first published novel, The Voyage Out, who had attained a high standard on the instrument by early adulthood.106 At one point in Three Guineas, the pastime is explicitly identified as a way of entrancing marriage prospects, for a woman who was seen as an “accomplished” pianist could indeed attract suitors with her fetching talent; as William Weber has noted, to be presented in salon performance with the aim of obtaining a spouse was a common practice in the nineteenth century.107 28 What, exactly, lay in Woolf’s mind as she wrote these passages about music in Three Guineas? Rachel Vinrace aside, the picture that Woolf painted of the unmarried woman idly tinkling on a cottage piano doubtless had its origins in the novels of Jane Austen that she so adored,108 with their plethora of heroines for whom—like the author herself—the instrument was an important part of their lives: Marianne Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility; Elizabeth and Mary Bennet in Pride and Prejudice; Jane Fairfax and Emma Woodhouse in Emma; Anne Elliot in Persuasion.109 Reading between the lines, however, the figure who emerges most strongly from the discussions of music in Three Guineas is Smyth herself. Whereas “Female Pipings in Eden” had previously indicated that the issue of women’s exclusion from orchestras was rather more complex than Woolf’s treatment suggested, Smyth’s essay nonetheless appears to have exerted significant influence on her friend. The emphasis that Woolf placed on the orchestral scene, and on the formal training available to women in conservatories (as against, for instance, exploring the current status of women as singers, music teachers, or composers), bears traces of having absorbed the very elements around which Smyth’s discussion had crystalized in “Female Pipings in Eden,” especially the second chapter, “Women’s Training Hitherto.”110 Moreover, Smyth had quite literally overcome the opposition of her father, an upper middle-class army general, in order to have a career in music at all. Her memoirs relate that there had never been great sympathy between them.111 He reportedly considered his young daughter’s ideas of studying music in Leipzig to be nonsensical; he despised her early harmony tutor, Alexander Ewing, for his role in educating her. In consequence, the daughter became increasingly disobedient, secretly borrowing money and traveling to London unchaperoned to attend concerts. Her behavior became so ungovernable that she and her father soon clashed on a daily basis: she refused to attend church; she declined to sing at family dinner parties; and she even completely 29 stopped speaking to people. Ultimately, her father had no option but to consent reluctantly to his daughter’s plans. Woolf would also have appreciated that Smyth determinedly pursued a professional career in music rather than marriage. Quite aside from the issue of her sexuality, Smyth indicated that the nature of her artistic activities ruled out matrimony. In Impressions that Remained, she wrote pointedly, “Where should be found the man whose existence could blend with mine without loss of quality on either side? . . . My work must, and would always, be the first consideration.”112 Most importantly, in Woolf’s eyes, Smyth was that pioneering woman who strove to compose operas, symphonies, and quartets, rather than consign herself to the light- hearted piano airs that contemporary society deemed to be appropriate for women. Although Smyth never saw to completion her early sortie into the realm of the symphony (unless The Prison, from its subtitle, is to be regarded as such), she did write several string quartets, in addition to the six magnum opuses whose existence led Woolf to refer to her as “the first woman to write an opera.” If Woolf’s words are no more than the result of lack of historical knowledge or an authorial slip, then Smyth’s self-centeredness would go far to account for it. But if those words are to be interpreted along the lines proposed earlier in this essay, then there is clearly a further reason why Woolf held that Smyth’s operas represented genuine “women’s work” in the way that her autobiographies did not. By resisting the strictures of the patriarchal music establishment as well as the crushing burden of history, Smyth may have made an authentic and focused contribution to the self-representation of women through her operas that was far more powerful than the diffuse narcissism of her literary writings. Within this context, Woolf’s statement that “there’s never been a woman[’]s autobiography” must be examined in greater detail. Woolf’s use of the term “autobiography” 30 implies that she did not view anything in her own output as such, to say nothing of many broadly analogous writings by a wide range of other female authors. Given that modern critics have turned to documents such as correspondence, diaries, autobiographical fragments, and fictional discourses as faithful records of women’s self-narration,113 Woolf seems to have unwittingly adopted a disconcertingly patriarchal view by discounting these sources in favor of fully fledged published autobiographies, such as Cardinal Newman’s seven-part Apologia pro vita sua.114 She even remarked upon the absence of a female counterpart to Rousseau, whose Confessions is commonly considered to be the “father” of modern autobiography.115 Yet she was aware that by writing a letter, the author gave “back a reflection of the other person.”116 Surely, the document discussed here is no exception. Given my arguments that Woolf held Smyth’s texts to have been written according to masculine autobiographical paradigms, as epitomized by her jarring egotism and especially her persistent recourse to the bruising, patriarchal “I,” it is no surprise that Woolf’s objections to these practices are particularly pronounced in the case of “Female Pipings in Eden,” in which Smyth’s voice is heard at its most strident. Woolf commented upon an early draft of this polemic that as you will guess what I criticise is what you say to be necessary—that is the autobiography. I hate it. I dont think it adds any thing to what you have said. I think the personal details immensely diminish the power of the rest. Because one feels—but I wont go on; for I am aware that I may be prejudiced. I hate any writer to talk about himself. . . . I hate personal snippets more and more. And the mention of “I” is so potent—such a drug, such a deep violet stain—that one in a page is enough to colour a chapter. . . . 31 . . . give all the facts and all the dates; the more the better; but let them be about other people, not E[thel] S[myth]. My own longing in reading your article is to escape the individual; and to be told simply, plainly, objectively. . . . You will say Oh but I must cite my case because there is no other. But my dear Ethel your case is that there are a thousand others. Leave your own case out of it; theirs will be far far stronger. Enough, I only say this because—well, I didnt write “A room” [i.e. A Room of One’s Own] without considerable feeling even you will admit; I’m not cool on the subject. And I forced myself to keep my own figure fictitious; legendary. If I had said, Look here am I uneducated, because my brothers used all the family funds which is the fact—Well theyd have said; she has an axe to grind; and no one would have taken me seriously . . .117 The genre of unashamed first-person autobiography was clearly anathema to Woolf, but it was nevertheless one into which she had ventured and failed. Her deeply personal memoir “A Sketch of the Past”—which, significantly, included some intimate details about her own sexual history—was abandoned in November 1940, just one month prior to writing the letter quoted in the epigraph of this essay.118 Could Woolf’s inability to come to terms with the genre of the memoir provide an explanation why she continued to encourage Smyth’s idiosyncratic brand of literature, even as she castigated its egocentricity and inferior writing? Did she recognize that Smyth, for all her literary flaws, was nevertheless capable of producing an androgynous text that, though it adhered to the patriarchal model of conventional autobiography, remained stubbornly faithful to the author’s gender? Was the purpose of that letter, written on the eve of what was to be her final Christmas, an invitation to her friend to take up the challenge where she had left off? 32 If so, were her words “I leave it to you” in reference to more than the effects of the cold winter morning on her pen? Writing of the dynamic interaction between these two extraordinary artists, Hermione Lee has remarked, “Ethel’s monomania and narcissism felt to Virginia like a grotesque parody of her own self-absorption.”119 It is deeply ironic, for instance, that Woolf used A Room of One’s Own to explain to Smyth why “Female Pipings in Eden” should not merely recount the author’s own case—thereby drawing on the example of herself while simultaneously counseling Smyth to refrain from this same practice. In view of the considerable synergy between the opinions advanced by the two writers, it may have become apparent to Woolf that the self-centered Smyth was too similar to her for comfort. For Woolf, the safest course was to skate quickly over musical subjects, for otherwise Smyth’s egotism might have been too readily recognizable in her own feminist critiques. On the other hand, Smyth did not concern herself with such scruples. As indicated earlier in this essay, she referred to her literary activity as “a second string whereon to play, as well as one can, the tune life is always making up in one’s heart.”120 It would seem, however, that Woolf’s evasion of music—the very area that was the focus of Smyth’s life and prose—might have served a wider purpose than merely allowing her friend the space to play that particular tune unaccompanied. Notes 33 Christopher Wiley is Senior Lecturer in Music and Director of Undergraduate Studies at City University London, UK. He is the author of articles appearing in Music and Letters, Comparative Criticism, Biography, and Journal for Eighteenth-Century Studies, as well as book chapters on subjects as wide-ranging as Haydn, Michael Jackson, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. His doctoral dissertation, Re-writing Composers’ Lives: Critical Historiography and Musical Biography, undertaken at the University of London, provides a critical examination of musical biography through comparative studies of texts on several canonical composers. He is currently preparing a monograph on the earliest volumes of the celebrated “Master Musicians” series (1899–1906). Other research interests include music and gender studies, popular music studies, and music for television. This essay originated in a paper delivered at The Fourteenth Annual International Conference on Virginia Woolf, “Back to Bloomsbury,” Institute of English Studies, University of London, UK, 24 June 2004, which in turn developed from an earlier study of Ethel Smyth and Virginia Woolf (see note 9 below). I wish to thank Irene Zedlacher and the editors and anonymous readers at The Musical Quarterly for their generous and insightful input. 1 Virginia Woolf to Ethel Smyth, 24 December 1940, in The Letters of Virginia Woolf, ed. Nigel Nicolson and Joanne Trautmann, 6 vols. (London: Hogarth, 1975–80) [henceforth Letters], 6:453. In referencing personal documents, I follow the dating suggested by the editors (though rendering the dates themselves in a standardized form) and, when quoting, I adhere to the spelling and punctuation of the original. 34 2 A comprehensive list of Smyth’s works, compiled by Jory Bennett, is found in The Memoirs of Ethel Smyth, ed. Ronald Crichton (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Viking, 1987), 373–81. 3 Elizabeth Wood has recently provided a detailed analytical account of Smyth’s deafness, its onset, and its implications for her later compositional career, in her article “On Deafness and Musical Creativity: The Case of Ethel Smyth,” Musical Quarterly 92, nos. 1–2 (Spring– Summer 2009): 33–69. 4 Ethel Smyth, What Happened Next (London: Longmans, 1940), 2. Elsewhere in her literary texts, Smyth had similarly developed the metaphor of her music and her writing being, respectively, her first and second “strings.” 5 Virginia Woolf, The Common Reader: First Series (London: Hogarth, 1925); A Room of One’s Own (London: Hogarth, 1929). For the record, Woolf’s novels (all published by Hogarth Press of London, which she owned jointly with her husband Leonard, unless otherwise stated) are as follows: The Voyage Out (London: Duckworth, 1915), Night and Day (London: Duckworth, 1919), Jacob’s Room (1922), Mrs Dalloway (1925), To the Lighthouse (1927), Orlando: A Biography (1928), The Waves (1931), The Years (1937), and Between the Acts (1941); her other major publications include Flush: A Biography (1933), Three Guineas (1938), and Roger Fry: A Biography (1940). 6 See, for instance, Linda Anderson’s discussion in “Virginia Woolf: ‘In the Shadow of the Letter “I,”’” in her Women and Autobiography in the Twentieth Century: Remembered Futures (Hemel Hempstead: Prentice Hall/Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1997), 42–75, at 46–47. 7 See Woolf to Smyth, 9 July 1940, in Letters, 6:403–04. 35 8 Smyth’s four volumes of chronological autobiography, which recount the first fifty years of her life, are Impressions that Remained: Memoirs, 2 vols. (London: Longmans, 1919); As Time Went On… (London: Longmans, 1936); and What Happened Next; a further volume, A Fresh Start, was unfinished at her death in 1944. Her other book publications are: Streaks of Life (London: Longmans, 1921, 2/1924); A Three-Legged Tour in Greece (London: Heinemann, 1927); A Final Burning of Boats etc. (London: Longmans, 1928); Female Pipings in Eden ([London]: Peter Davies, 1933, 2/1934); Beecham and Pharaoh (London: Chapman & Hall, 1935); Inordinate (?) Affection: A Story for Dog Lovers (London: Cresset, 1936); and Maurice Baring (London: Heinemann, 1938). 9 For a more comprehensive explanation of some of the arguments summarized in the next two paragraphs, see Christopher Wiley, “‘When a woman speaks the truth about her body’: Ethel Smyth, Virginia Woolf, and the Challenges of Lesbian Auto/biography,” Music and Letters 85, no. 3 (August 2004): 388–414; inevitably, in expanding its themes, a small amount of material drawn from this earlier article is reworked in the present essay. 10 See Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, 150. 11 Suzanne Raitt, “‘The tide of Ethel’: Femininity as Narrative in the Friendship of Ethel Smyth and Virginia Woolf,” Critical Quarterly 30, no. 4 (Winter 1988): 3–21, at 14. 12 Like many lesbian-identified women, Smyth’s sexuality was complex, not least owing to her long-standing relationship with the writer and philosopher Henry Brewster, which has recently been subjected to renewed scholarly scrutiny by Amanda Harris in “The Smyth– Brewster Correspondence: A Fresh Look at the Hidden Romantic World of Ethel Smyth,” 36 Women & Music: A Journal of Gender and Culture 14 (2010): 72–94. Nonetheless, I follow the lead of a range of modern lesbian theory in considering that this in no way compromises Smyth’s being located within the broad spectrum of female homosexuality that Adrienne Rich famously termed the “lesbian continuum.” Rich, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 5, no. 4 (1980): 631–60, repr. in her Blood, Bread and Poetry: Selected Prose 1979–1985 (New York: W.W. Norton, 1986), 23–75. 13 Smyth’s six operas are Fantasio (1892–94), Der Wald [The Forest] (1899–1901), Les naufrageurs [The Wreckers; Standrecht] (1902–04), The Boatswain’s Mate (1913–14), Fête galante (1921–22), and Entente cordiale (1923–24). 14 This is the interpretation I put forward in “‘When a woman speaks the truth about her body,’” 401–02, 409–12. 15 Two frequently cited instances of sexual rhetoric in discourse on Smyth’s works (specifically, indicating that the nature of her music is somehow unexpected from a woman composer) are George Bernard Shaw’s review of a performance of Smyth’s Overture to Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra in 1892, and John Fuller Maitland’s discussion of Smyth’s Mass in D in the second edition of Grove’s Dictionary, which was reproduced almost verbatim in the following three editions. [George] Bernard Shaw, Music in London 1890–94, 3 vols. (London: Constable, 1932), 2:36–40, at 37 (originally published in The World, 2 March 1892); [J.A. Fuller] M[aitland], “Smyth, Ethel Mary,” in Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. J.A. Fuller Maitland, 2nd ed., 5 vols. (London: Macmillan, 1904–10), 4 37 (1908): 490–91, at 490. That Smyth was indeed aware of, and objected to, the gendered remarks occasioned by her music is evident from her subsequent correspondence with Shaw; see Smyth, “A Final Burning of Boats,” A Final Burning of Boats etc., 3–54, at 34–36. 16 See in particular Elizabeth Wood, “Performing Rights: A Sonography of Women’s Suffrage,” Musical Quarterly 79, no. 4 (Winter 1995): 606–43, in which a variety of musical codifications of lesbianism (and feminist tendencies) are identified in relation to Smyth’s works associated with the period she devoted to the women’s suffrage movement between 1910 and 1912. Other of Wood’s enlightening articles in which similar lines of inquiry are pursued include “Gender and Genre in Ethel Smyth’s Operas,” in The Musical Woman: An International Perspective, vol. 2, ed. Judith Lang Zaimont, Catherine Overhauser, and Jane Gottlieb (Westport, CT: Greenwood, 1987), 493–507; “Lesbian Fugue: Ethel Smyth’s Contrapuntal Arts,” in Musicology and Difference: Gender and Sexuality in Music Scholarship, ed. Ruth A. Solie (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 164–83; “Sapphonics,” in Queering the Pitch: The New Gay and Lesbian Musicology, ed. Philip Brett, Elizabeth Wood, and Gary C. Thomas (New York: Routledge, 1994), 27–66, at 44–55; and “The Lesbian in the Opera: Desire Unmasked in Smyth’s Fantasio and Fête galante,” in En travesti: Women, Gender Subversion, Opera, ed. Corinne E. Blackmer and Patricia Juliana Smith (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995), 285–305. For further discussion, see Wiley, “‘When a woman speaks the truth about her body,’” 410–11. 17 Among several other studies see, for example, Peter Jacobs, “‘The Second Violin Tuning in the Ante-room’: Virginia Woolf and Music,” in The Multiple Muses of Virginia Woolf, ed. 38 Diane F. Gillespie (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1993), 227–60; Patricia Laurence, “The Facts and Fugue of War: From Three Guineas to Between the Acts,” in Virginia Woolf and War: Fiction, Reality, and Myth, ed. Mark Hussey (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1991), 225–45; Émilie Crapoulet, Virginia Woolf: A Musical Life (London: Cecil Woolf, 2009); and Emma Sutton, Virginia Woolf and Classical Music: Politics, Aesthetics, Form (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2013). 18 These include Jane Marcus, “Virginia Woolf and Her Violin: Mothering, Madness, and Music,” in Mothering the Mind: Twelve Studies of Writers and their Silent Partners, ed. Ruth Perry and Martine Watson Brownley (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1984), 180–201, repr. in Marcus, Virginia Woolf and the Languages of Patriarchy (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987), 96–114; Raitt, “The tide of Ethel”; and Elicia Clements, “Virginia Woolf, Ethel Smyth, and Music: Listening as a Productive Mode of Social Interaction,” College Literature 32, no. 3 (July 2005): 51–71. There are also a number of biographical texts on one of the women that feature a dedicated chapter on the other. 19 For instance, Elicia Clements has asserted that “Smyth did not influence Woolf’s musical thinking directly,” a view I hope to have nuanced in the course of this essay by adding wider context. Clements, “Virginia Woolf, Ethel Smyth, and Music,” 51. 20 Virginia Woolf, “Ethel Smyth,” The New Statesman, 23 April 1921, repr. in The Essays of Virginia Woolf, ed. Andrew McNeillie, 4 vols. (London: Hogarth, 1986–94; vols. 5–6, ed. Stuart N. Clarke, 2009–11), 3:297–301. 21 Woolf to Lytton Strachey, 30 November 1919, in Letters, 2:405. 39 22 See Woolf’s letters to Smyth of 11 February 1930 (Letters, 4:136); 1 April 1932 (Letters, 5:40); and 11 and 13 May 1936 (Letters, 6:39). 23 See Woolf’s letters to Smyth of 7 September 1932 (Letters, 5:101); 21 October 1932 (Letters, 5:112); 27 and 29 August 1934 (Letters, 5:326); 11 and 13 May 1936 (Letters, 6:39); and 9 July 1940 (Letters, 6:404). 24 See Woolf’s letters to Smyth of 12 March 1936 (Letters, 6:21); 20 April 1936 (Letters, 6:27); 17 September 1938 (Letters, 6:272); and 9 January 1939 (Letters, 6:309). Presumably, Woolf had in mind Smyth’s next volume of memoirs, What Happened Next. 25 Woolf to Smyth, 14 April 1939, in Letters, 6:326. 26 The editors of The Letters of Virginia Woolf, Nicolson and Trautmann, suggest that Woolf “probably invent[ed] it as a collective title for all [Smyth’s] autobiographies” (Letters, 6:326n2). It is more likely that Woolf simply made a rather embarrassing mistake, given that the recipient of the letter was none other than Smyth herself. At first glance, it may appear that Woolf was endeavoring to reference Streaks of Life, though surely she would have known the title of that volume well enough by 1939. Another possibility is that Woolf was using a title that the composer had considered, but ultimately discarded prior to publication. 27 The letter starts “I’ve only ten minutes before driving off across the hill to lunch” and ends “This is a scribble, but write, and I will try to find a better mood soon.” Woolf to Smyth, 24 December 1940, in Letters, 6:453, 454. 40 28 Virginia Woolf, diary entry, 28 November 1919, in The Diary of Virginia Woolf, ed. Anne Olivier Bell and Andrew McNeillie, 5 vols. (London: Hogarth, 1977–84) [henceforth Diary], 4 February 1931, 4:10. 29 Woolf, diary entry, 16 June 1930 (Diary, 3:306). 30 See Smyth, “Brahms,” chap. 24 of Impressions that Remained, 1:261–70, and “Recollections of Brahms,” Female Pipings in Eden, 57–70. 31 See Smyth, Impressions that Remained, 1:85. 32 See Jane A. Bernstein, “‘Shout, Shout, Up with Your Song!’ Dame Ethel Smyth and the Changing Role of the British Woman Composer,” in Women Making Music: The Western Art Tradition, 1150–1950, ed. Jane Bowers and Judith Tick (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1986), 304–24, at 309–10. 33 Donald Francis Tovey, “Ethel Smyth: Mass in D, for Chorus and Orchestra,” in Essays in Musical Analysis, 7 vols. (London: Oxford University Press, 1935–44), 5:235–42. Woolf knew Tovey during his long tenure as Reid Professor of Music at Edinburgh University; Smyth’s The Prison received its first performance at one of Tovey’s Edinburgh concerts, conducted by the composer, on 19 February 1931. 34 Kathleen A. Abromeit, “Ethel Smyth, ‘The Wreckers,’ and Sir Thomas Beecham,” Musical Quarterly 73, no. 2 (1989): 196–211, at 200. 35 Although the earliest surviving complete opera is Jacopo Peri’s Euridice (1600), to which Caccini himself contributed various numbers, Caccini hastily composed and published a setting of the entire opera such that his version appeared in print first. 41 36 Suzanne G. Cusick, “Of Women, Music, and Power: A Model from Seicento Florence,” in Musicology and Difference, ed. Solie, 281–304. The opera’s plot is itself telling, in that the fate of the eponymous Ruggiero is entirely dependent upon the outcome of the conflict between the two sorceresses who wield the real power in the opera, Alcina (his captor) and Melissa (his liberator). More significant for this article is the matter of the musical setting. According to Cusick, Caccini’s music constructs male and female characters (in particular, Ruggiero and Alcina) differently in terms both of melody and tonality, for instance, in the tendency to write in sharp keys for the former and flat keys for the latter. See Cusick, “Of Women, Music, and Power,” 290–301; see further her “Francesca Caccini,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Opera, ed. Stanley Sadie, 4 vols. (London: Macmillan, 1992), 1:669. While a note of caution should perhaps be raised with respect to such a reading of a work written during a period when little documented evidence exists for the mapping of binaries of gender onto those of tonality, the potential for the use of sharp and flat keys to underscore polar opposites such as male and female would surely not have been lost on composers of the time, especially since the prevalent tuning systems gave rise to distinct characteristics being identified with individual keys. On the subsequent recognition by writers on music of such characteristics and their implications to composers, see Rita Steblin, A History of Key Characteristics in the Eighteenth and Early Nineteenth Centuries, 2nd ed. (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 2002). Speaking in general terms, very little of the music of opera may be regarded as truly gender-neutral, since the vast majority of its passages are inextricably associated with one or more characters and hence with their sex. When 42 considered alongside Smyth’s output in the genre, one can only conclude that Caccini’s La liberazione di Ruggiero provides, on the face of it, a broadly comparable instance of “women’s opera,” but one that antedates those of Smyth by nearly three centuries. 37 Jacqueline Letzter and Robert Adelson, Women Writing Opera: Creativity and Controversy in the Age of the French Revolution (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001). 38 See The New Statesman, 2, 9, and 16 October 1920, for the article by MacCarthy that had prompted Woolf’s initial letter, and their subsequent exchange; Woolf’s discussion of Smyth is to be found in the 16 October edition. For further information, see “The Intellectual Status of Women,” Appendix III, Diary, 2:339–42, where Woolf’s correspondence is reproduced. 39 Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, 82–83. The internal quotation is from Cecil Gray, A Survey of Contemporary Music (London: Humphrey Milford for Oxford University Press, 1924), 245– 46. Gray’s discussion of Tailleferre concludes in much the same vein: “Considered apart from her sex, her music is wholly negligible.” In fact, his text was first published four years earlier than the date cited by Woolf, though her point still stands. 40 See Jacobs, “The Second Violin Tuning in the Ante-room,” 231–32. 41 Virginia Woolf, “The Opera,” The Times, 24 April 1909, and “Impressions at Bayreuth,” The Times, 21 August 1909, both repr. in The Essays of Virginia Woolf, ed. McNeillie, 1:269–72 and 288–93, respectively. 42 See, for example, Jane Marcus, “Enchanted Organ, Magic Bells: Night and Day as a Comic Opera” and “The Years as Götterdämmerung, Greek Play, and Domestic Novel,” in her Virginia Woolf and the Languages of Patriarchy, 18–35 and 36–56, respectively; Emma 43 Sutton, “‘Within a Space of Tears’: Music, Writing, and the Modern in Virginia Woolf’s The Voyage Out,” in Music and Literary Modernism: Critical Essays and Comparative Studies, ed. Robert P. McParland (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2006), 50–65. 43 Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. H.C. Colles, 3rd ed., 5 vols. (London: Macmillan, 1927–28). Smyth would undoubtedly have had a special interest in the treatment of women composers in this publication given the gendered nature of discussion in her entry in the previous edition (see above, n15). 44 Indeed, Howell only ever attained the status of a minor composer. Though she had shown significant early promise—her symphonic poem Lamia was premiered at one of Henry Wood’s celebrated Promenade Concerts in 1919 (she was aged just 21)—the expectations that she generated in musical circles in the 1920s were ultimately not sustained. Tellingly, she was added to the fourth edition of Grove’s Dictionary (1940) but became one of a number of women composers omitted from the sixth (1980, edited by Stanley Sadie, as The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians), which was published two years prior to her death. She was reintroduced in the seventh edition (2001), via The New Grove Dictionary of Women Composers, ed. Julie Anne Sadie and Rhian Samuel (London: Macmillan, 1994). 45 Smyth, “A Final Burning of Boats,” 49. 46 See, for instance, Smyth, Impressions that Remained, 2:35–37, 73–75, and 84–87. 47 Smyth to her mother, April 1878, quoted in Smyth, Impressions that Remained, 1:236–37. 48 A rare reference to the compositional activity of Elisabeth (Lisl) von Herzogenberg, one of the most influential characters in Smyth’s entire life, similarly occurs in a passage of 44 reproduced correspondence. Smyth wrote: “She is absurdly musical and though she doesn’t compose much (only songs), is the first feminine musical genius (bar Frau Schumann) that I have met.” Smyth to her mother, 7 April 1878, quoted in Smyth, Impressions that Remained, 1:237. 49 Specifically, the three songs of Clara Schumann’s op. 12 were combined with nine by her husband Robert and jointly published as his op. 37, Zwölf Gedichte aus F. Rückert’s “Liebesfrühling” (Leipzig, 1841); six of Fanny Mendelssohn’s songs were published under her brother Felix’s name, three each in his Zwölf Gesänge, op. 8 (Berlin, 1826–27) and Zwölf Lieder, op. 9 (Berlin, 1830). However, both of these women composers had also published works on their own, the bulk of Clara Schumann’s output being issued separately. 50 Smyth, “Augusta Holmès, Pioneer” [July 1921], A Final Burning of Boats etc., 126–36, and What Happened Next, 156–57. Holmès’s “Home Rule” song, which Smyth was fond of performing, is also discussed in As Time Went On…, 129–30; her symphonic poem Irlande is mentioned, in connection with Henry Wood, in A Final Burning of Boats etc., 80. 51 Holmès’s four operas—Héro et Léandre, Astarté, Lancelot du lac, and La montagne noire— were composed between 1875 and 1884. 52 Smyth, What Happened Next, 157. 53 Smyth, What Happened Next, 156. 54 Smyth, “Augusta Holmès, Pioneer,” 131. 55 Smyth, “Augusta Holmès, Pioneer,” 131. 56 See Woolf to Smyth, 15 September 1930, in Letters, 4:213. 45 57 Smyth, “Augusta Holmès, Pioneer,” 133, 134. 58 Jann Pasler has argued that the early reception of Holmès’s music was linked to gender in terms of its supposed masculine characteristics; see the chapter “The Ironies of Gender, or Virility and Politics in the Music of Augusta Holmès,” in her Writing Through Music: Essays on Music, Culture, and Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 213–48. 59 Smyth, What Happened Next, 157. 60 Smyth may have been suspicious of Holmès because she was known to have had a scandalous—yet obviously heterosexual—private life, given the string of love affairs that characterized her early adulthood (possibly including one with her composition teacher, César Franck) and her long association with the poet Catulle Mendès (with whom she had five children, but never married), as well as the general level of attention she was said to have received from men. 61 Smyth, “Female Pipings in Eden,” Female Pipings in Eden, 45, emphasis added. 62 Smyth, “Female Pipings in Eden,” 33. 63 Virginia Woolf, “Speech Before the London/National Society for Women’s Service, January 21 1931,” in The Pargiters by Virginia Woolf: The Novel-Essay Portion of The Years, ed. Mitchell A. Leaska (London: Hogarth, 1978), xxvii–xliv, at xxvii–xxviii. Earlier drafts of the start of the speech are even more strongly worded in this respect (see ibid., xxvii and 165). 64 Virginia Woolf, Three Guineas (London: Hogarth, 1938), 162, 163. Woolf’s observation about women’s exclusion from orchestral playing was potentially misleading in that it did not acknowledge the possibilities that existed by the time of writing for women to join orchestras. 46 Lady Radnor’s all-female orchestra had been celebrated in England at the turn of the twentieth century, and a number of professional women’s orchestras were founded in the 1920s and 1930s on both sides of the Atlantic. In particular, the British Women’s Symphony Orchestra had previously come to Woolf’s attention, in that Smyth praised the ensemble in her essay “Female Pipings in Eden,” 49. 65 Smyth, “Literary and Musical Careers Contrasted,” chap. 3 of “Female Pipings in Eden,” 14– 18. See also “A Final Burning of Boats,” esp. 7–11. 66 See Wiley, “‘When a woman speaks the truth about her body,’” 413. 67 Smyth, “Female Pipings in Eden,” 14. The two later quotations in this paragraph are taken from pages 15 and 16, respectively, of the same source. 68 Ethel Smyth, “Where Musical Criticism Goes Astray,” Female Pipings in Eden, 71–86. 69 Smyth, “Where Musical Criticism Goes Astray,” 79. 70 Elicia Clements has recently argued the latter point with specific reference to A Room of One’s Own and Female Pipings in Eden. Clements, “‘As Springy as a Racehorse’: Female Piping in Eden as Rejoinder to Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own,” in Felsensprengerin, Brückenbauerin, Wegbereiterin: Die Komponistin Ethel Smyth / Rock Blaster, Bridge Builder, Road Paver: The Composer Ethel Smyth, ed. Cornelia Bartsch, Rebecca Grotjahn, and Melanie Unseld (Munich: Allitera Verlag, 2010), 55–68. My essay adds further context to this suggestion by demonstrating that the reciprocal influence between the two women’s writings extended much further than these two texts alone, and by no means traveled in a single direction (from Woolf to Smyth) exclusively. 47 71 Jane Marcus has speculated that the fourth chapter of Smyth’s “Female Pipings in Eden” must have formed at least part of her speech delivered to the London/National Society for Women’s Service because it includes the story of the Woking Golf Course mentioned in Vera Brittain’s oft-cited report on the event (quoted in Woolf, “Speech Before the London/National Society for Women’s Service, January 21 1931,” xxxiv–xxxv, unnumb. fn.). Marcus, “Thinking Back through Our Mothers,” in New Feminist Essays on Virginia Woolf, ed. Marcus (London: Macmillan, 1981), 1–30, at 22. Though the suggestion is not in itself inconceivable, the tale recounted in “Female Pipings in Eden” is not the one to which Brittain alluded, but a separate incident concerning the Golf Course at Cromer (19–20); the Woking anecdote is instead to be found in Smyth’s “A Final Burning of Boats,” 39–40, which had been published several years prior to her speech. Despite an offer from Woolf on behalf of Hogarth Press, Smyth’s speech was never published verbatim, and consequently has not survived. 72 See Woolf to Smyth, 6 June 1933, in Letters, 5:192. 73 Woolf, “Speech Before the London/National Society for Women’s Service, January 21 1931,” xxix. 74 See Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, 100–102. 75 Smyth, “A Final Burning of Boats,” 7. Despite her claim that Austen wrote her books “in secret,” Smyth would have been aware (as would Woolf) that Austen’s literary activity was known to her family and friends. Elsewhere, Smyth related that her great-uncle and Austen had been “close friends,” and that Austen had surreptitiously attempted to find out his true 48 feelings about one of her novels via a mutual acquaintance. See Smyth, Impressions that Remained, 1:5. 76 “The truth is, a great mind must be androgynous” (1 September 1832). Specimens of the Table Talk of the Late Samuel Taylor Coleridge, [ed. Henry Nelson Coleridge], 2 vols. (London: Murray, 1835), 2:96. 77 Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, 147–48, 157. 78 Smyth, “Female Pipings in Eden,” 47. 79 Smyth, “Female Pipings in Eden,” 9–10. 80 Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, 146. 81 Of the substantial body of scholarly work undertaken in recent years on the feminist deconstruction of music history and the corresponding recovery of its mostly forgotten women composers, Marcia J. Citron’s Gender and the Musical Canon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993) stands out for its groundbreaking analysis of the agents by which females have been largely excluded as composers from the canons of Western art music. 82 Christopher St. John [Christabel Marshall], Ethel Smyth: A Biography (London: Longmans, 1959), 82n1. 83 On female composers active in England during this time period, see Sophie Fuller, “Women Composers during the British Musical Renaissance, 1880–1918” (PhD dissertation, King’s College, University of London, 1998), which includes case studies of White, Lehmann, Frances Allitsen [Mary Frances Bumpus] (1848–1912), Rosalind Ellicott (1857–1924), and 49 two others to be introduced presently, Dora Bright and Adela Maddison. All six of these figures were born within ten years of Smyth. For some illuminating discussion of Smyth’s silence over other women composers in her writings, and its wider historiographical implications, see ibid., 137–41. 84 On Smyth’s relationship with the Society of Women Musicians (SWM), see Laura Seddon, “The Instrumental Music of British Women Composers in the Early Twentieth Century” (PhD dissertation, City University London, 2011), 77. Chaminade was herself president of the SWM in 1913–14; as a founding member, Clarke’s involvement with the Society predated her period of success as a composer, though my point nonetheless stands. See further, Laura Seddon, British Women Composers and Instrumental Chamber Music in the Early Twentieth Century (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013). 85 See Maude Valérie White, My Indian Summer: A Second Book of Memories (London: Grayson & Grayson, 1932), 12. As noted above, no corresponding account of such a meeting is to be found in Smyth’s writings. Her Sicilian tour of 1903 is briefly discussed in What Happened Next, 227–29. 86 See Sophie Fuller, The Pandora Guide to Women Composers: Britain and the United States 1629–Present (London: Pandora, 1994), 204. 87 Writing in January 1928, the date given for both the essay “A Final Burning of Boats” and the volume of the same title, Smyth would have had access to the first three volumes of the third edition of Grove’s Dictionary (all published in 1927), in which an article on Maddison would have been found. Maddison’s career may have been over by this time (she died in 50 1929 following a prolonged period of illness), but she had not appeared in the dictionary’s second edition (see n15) either. Other omissions included Dora Bright (1863–1951), a more established composer than Dorothy Howell by 1927, and probably also more historically significant; and the prolific but short-lived Morfydd Owen (1891–1918), much of whose music had then recently been published posthumously in a multivolume edition (1923–24). 88 It was a title that engendered disapproval from Woolf, who deemed it “diffuse” and “facetious when you mean to be serious.” Woolf to Smyth, 6 June 1933, in Letters, 5:192. 89 See Smyth, “Female Pipings in Eden,” 3; see further, ibid., 6 and 55–56 for the continuation of and conclusion to the tale. 90 Marcus, “Thinking Back through Our Mothers,” 26. 91 Smyth, “Female Pipings in Eden,” 38. 92 Isaiah Berlin, The Hedgehog and the Fox: An essay on Tolstoy’s view of history (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1953). Berlin himself borrowed the terms from a fragment of ancient Greek poetry by Archilochus. 93 Woolf to Smyth, 6 December 1940, in Letters, 6:450. Woolf confessed to an “ulterior motive” in making this suggestion, namely her desire to “investigate the influence of music on literature” (ibid.). The final page of the letter was lost prior to publication, so it is not known how Woolf expanded upon her ideas. 94 Woolf, The Common Reader: First Series (see n5) and The Common Reader: Second Series (London: Hogarth, 1932). 95 Ethel Smyth, “Composers and Critics,” The New Statesman, 9 May 1931, 389–90. 51 96 Woolf to Smyth, 27 June 1931, in Letters, 4:348. 97 Woolf to Smyth, 13 December 1937, in Letters, 6:191. From the present vantage point, it is difficult not to read resonances of Smyth’s own deafness in Woolf’s words, but this is presumably unintended. 98 Woolf to Smyth, 24 February 1938, in Letters, 6:217, italics in original. 99 See Smyth, “Female Pipings in Eden,” esp. 7–13, 46–49. 100 Upon reading an early draft of this essay, Woolf had written to the author that “I think its very good tempered, and urbane, and, if a little diffuse, still genial, undeniable, and full of truth, and facts. What facts!” Woolf to Smyth, 19 November 1933, in Letters, 5:249. 101 The vast majority of the correspondence from Smyth to Woolf has been lost; fewer than ninety items are held in The Henry W. and Albert A. Berg Collection, New York Public Library, of which some fifteen relate to the period 1938–41. But even if more comprehensive documentation were available yet no evidence of a written response from Smyth was evident, the possibility would remain that she had replied to her friend’s request for information verbally. My suspicion, however, is that Woolf’s questions remained unanswered, because Smyth surely would have furnished her with further detail on issues such as women’s admission to orchestras than ultimately appeared in Three Guineas. 102 Woolf, Three Guineas, 69–70. 103 Woolf, Three Guineas, 249–50. 104 This observation is given further weight by an additional reference to music in the endnotes for chapter 2: “Chastity was invoked to prevent her from studying medicine; from painting 52 the nude; from reading Shakespeare; from playing in orchestras; from walking down Bond Street alone.” Woolf, Three Guineas, 298–99. 105 In addition to those quoted elsewhere in my essay, passing mentions of music in Three Guineas include: in chapter 1, Woolf’s proposition that a poor women’s college in need of rebuilding would have to “teach only the arts that can be taught cheaply and practised by poor people; such as medicine, mathematics, music, painting and literature” (page 62), and that “Musicians, painters, writers, would teach there, because they would learn” (63); her suggestion that the nineteenth-century “educated man’s daughter” living in her father’s house might, in the winter months, have “studied history and literature and music, and tried to draw and paint” (69); in chapter 2, Woolf’s engagement with the view that those professionals who achieve great success become so consumed with their work that they have “no time to look at pictures . . . no time to listen to music . . . [and] no time for conversation” (131); her observation that, irrespective of wealth, daughters of educated men may “Go to the public galleries and look at pictures; turn on the wireless and rake down music from the air; [and] enter any of the public libraries which are now free to all” (148); in chapter 3, three allusions to “pictures, plays, music and [or] books” (174), plus one to an unspecified “picture, symphony, play or poem” (175), in a discussion of how an educated man’s daughter might formulate opinions of her own; a reference to a hypothetical space in which such a person might privately “speak the truth to artists, about pictures, music, books, without fear of affecting their sales” (178); and finally, Woolf’s suggestion that the educated man’s daughter might evaluate England’s supposed superiority by “compar[ing] English painting with French 53 painting; English music with German music; English literature with Greek literature” (196– 97). 106 See above, n5 for citation. 107 See William Weber, Music and the Middle Class: The Social Structure of Concert Life in London, Paris, and Vienna (London: Croom Helm, 1975), 31. 108 Woolf’s admiration for Austen and her work is clearly demonstrated in the extent of the discussion she received in her factual literature, not least in dedicated essays including “Jane Austen,” Times Literary Supplement, 8 May 1913; “Jane Austen Practising,” The New Statesman, 15 July 1922; and “Jane Austen,” The Common Reader: First Series, 168–83, repr. in Collected Essays by Virginia Woolf, [ed. Leonard Woolf], 4 vols. (London: Hogarth, 1966–67), 1:144–54. These writings are reprinted in The Essays of Virginia Woolf, ed. McNeillie, 2:9–16, 3:331–35, and 4:146–57, respectively. 109 [Jane Austen], Sense and Sensibility (London: Egerton, 1811), 3 vols.; Pride and Prejudice (London: Egerton, 1813), 3 vols.; Emma (London: Murray, 1816), 3 vols.; Northanger Abbey and Persuasion (London: Murray, 1818), 4 vols. On music in/and Austen’s novels see, for example, Patrick Piggott, The Innocent Diversion: A Study of Music in the Life and Writings of Jane Austen (London: Cleverdon, 1979). 110 Smyth, “Women’s Training Hitherto,” chap. 2 of “Female Pipings in Eden,” 7–13. Woolf, of course, had the additional benefit of reading earlier drafts of this essay. 54 111 The information presented in the remainder of this paragraph has been garnered from Smyth, Impressions that Remained, 1:38, 110–14, and 123–27, an account with which Woolf was certainly familiar. 112 Smyth, Impressions that Remained, 2:5. 113 Of many modern studies of women’s autobiography, too numerous to cite here, that identify the necessity of expanding their scope of inquiry beyond traditional (androcentric) definitions of the term, the approach outlined above emerges particularly strongly in The Private Self: Theory and Practice of Women’s Autobiographical Writings, ed. Shari Benstock (London: Routledge, 1988). 114 [Cardinal] John Henry Newman, D.D., Apologia pro vita sua: Being a Reply to a Pamphlet entitled “What, Then, Does Dr. Newman Mean?” (London: Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts, and Green, 1864, rev. and abr. in 1865 as History of My Religious Opinions). The pamphlet in question, Rev. Charles Kingsley’s “What, Then, Does Dr. Newman Mean?”: A Reply to a Pamphlet Lately Published by Dr. Newman (London: Macmillan, 1864), was itself occasioned by Newman’s publication of letters between them as Mr. Kingsley and Dr. Newman: A Correspondence on the Question Whether Dr. Newman Teaches that Truth is No Virtue? (London: Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts, and Green, 1864). 115 Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s multivolume Les confessions, written in the 1760s and probably completed in 1770, was first published posthumously in the 1780s. 116 Woolf to Gerald Brenan, 4 October 1929, in Letters, 4:98. 117 Woolf to Smyth, 6 June 1933, in Letters, 5:191, 193; and 8 June 1933, in Letters, 5:194, 195. 55 118 Virginia Woolf, “A Sketch of the Past,” in Moments of Being: Unpublished Autobiographical Writings, ed. Jeanne Schulkind, 2nd ed. (London: Hogarth, 1985), 64–159. 119 Hermione Lee, Virginia Woolf (London: Chatto & Windus, 1996), 603. 120 Smyth, As Time Went On…, 4. Music and Literature: Ethel Smyth, Virginia Woolf, and “The First Woman to Write an Opera” 
work_sq4rsbzjxjdhjktgogo3mqrz5u	----	“Good Things Come in Small Packets”: How (Inter)national Digital Research Infrastructure can support “Small Data” Humanities and Cultural Heritage research Daniel Paul O’Donnell, University of Lethbridge, for the “Good Things” Research Team The purpose of this whitepaper is to describe a largely unrecognised and unsupported but very common research data management (RDM) use-case: that of the traditional “Small Data” Humanities and Cultural Heritage (HCH) research project producing or working with “primary source” research data (e.g. digital facsimiles, recordings, and representations of cultural objects/activities). This paper complements the submission from the Canadian Society for Digital Humanities/Société canadienne des humanités numériques (CSDH/SCHN), which is concerned with the case of research and data in the Digital Humanities more broadly, including in such small data contexts. As we shall argue in this paper, the kind of traditional data and RDM use-case we are discussing here has gone largely unrecognised by Digital Research Infrastructure (DRI) developers and policymakers — in part because the nature, size, methods of production, and purpose of these datasets are quite different from data production and management in other disciplines, and in part because the data themselves are not always understood ​as​ data (or their management as an RDM problem) by the relevant research community ​(e.g. 1,2)​. The result is that large quantities of small-project HCH research data are poorly managed and maintained and that often extremely well curated datasets produced by HCH researchers remain ● invisible, siloed, or difficult to access by Big Data researchers (where such access is appropriate and ethical); ● unnecessarily expensive to produce and maintain; and, as a result, ● in danger of premature loss or obsolescence to researchers and the wider community. The specific tools and techniques required to address these problems already mostly exist within the international DRI ecosystem. However, we are aware of no single system or provider that includes them all. We are also aware of no system or provider that specifically supports the workflow, use-case, and datatypes we describe here, including such Humanities-focussed projects as Humanities Commons. The “Good Things come in Small Packages” Partnership was created in order to promote recognition and support of this RDM use-case and has been in discussions with several developers, providers, and policymakers interested in promoting and supporting improved RDM practices for traditional “Small Data” HCH research. This exercise represents an excellent opportunity for Canada, through NDRIO, to lead internationally in supporting this societally important research. Because this use-case is so different from those of other disciplines, this paper begins with a description of the traditional “small-data” HCH research project as an RDM problem before briefly answering the CFP questions. Small, Thick, and Slow: Research data in the traditional humanities The first thing to realise is the degree to which traditional HCH research data and use-cases differ from those of Science, Technology, Engineering, and Medicine (STEM). Where STEM typically involves datasets produced through experiment or observation (i.e. “capta” or “taken things”), “Small Data” HCH often involves the deep analysis and intensive curation of very small data sets acquired to act as “primary sources” — that is to say as facsimiles, records, or models of cultural objects, events, or activities (i.e. as “data” or “given things”) that are intended to be used by other researchers for further analysis ​(for a summary see 3)​. The Good Things partnership describes these kinds of data as “Small,” “Thick,” and “Slow”: ● Small​ in the sense that they can often involve the representation of a single real-world object (the reproduction of a single novel, painting, recording, etc.), a small collection of related objects (e.g. a ​fonds DOI (this version): 10.5281/zenodo.4321073 1 DOI (latest version): 10.5281/zenodo.4321072 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?5PCF6v https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?OZ2WlI 2 or some other small collection gathered on thematic, historical, functional, or other bases), or multiple representations of the same object (e.g. photographic facsimile, transcription, and editorial text); ● Thick​ in the sense that they are usually intensely and richly curated and contextualised (i.e. thickly described), with thousands (even tens or hundreds of thousands) of words of what is in essence contextual metadata — definitions, historical analysis, comparisons to related data(sets), citations, etc.; ● Slow​ in the sense that the definition and analysis of individual data points can continue for generations — and, as Borgman argues, often represent “particularly prized acts of scholarship in their own right” ​(4)​.​1 The focus on detailed and careful contextualisation of very small data sets over what is often several generations means that HCH research data themselves are often of extremely high quality in terms of the care with which they are produced and the extensiveness and quality of what is, again, in essence, their accompanying metadata. Unfortunately, however, HCH researchers have no real tradition of understanding such data ​as​ data ​(and indeed at times argue against understanding them this way, see 1,2)​. Because data-contextualisation rather than data-production or -collection is the primary act of scholarship, there is no tradition of management, publication, or even archiving of such representational data as stand-alone research outputs (libraries and archives are in this context better considered as a type of infrastructure than research projects). In the digital age, this tradition has persisted in the largely “craft” model that digital HCH data projects have adopted for the design and construction of their datasets ​(5,6)​ — a model in which every project is independently responsible for the design, encoding, storage, and publication of its own data and analysis (and indeed, almost always, interface). As a rule, this means that the data themselves can usually only be accessed indirectly — via the larger project, using a bespoke organisational and identification system — rather than directly via standardised Digital Data Repositories (DDRs) and Persistent Identifiers (PIDs). It also leaves these data vulnerable to early obsolescence or data loss — as code breaks, links rot, and funding provided for research rather than maintenance dries up. An example of just what is lost can be seen in the case of medieval manuscript photography. Since the first modern digital editions were published in the 1990s, editors of European medieval texts have almost invariably included full-colour, high-definition photographs of the manuscripts upon which they are basing their editions (7,8)​. Just as invariably, these photographs are accompanied by a huge apparatus of what can be understood as thickly described metadata and references to other objects: diplomatic transcriptions and “reading” texts, collations establishing correspondences among different copies of the same text, codicological and paleographic descriptions, bibliographic histories, cultural and literary commentary ​(9,10)​. While best practice has long encouraged researchers to use descriptive file names ​(11,12)​, and while recent projects such as the International Image Interoperability Framework ​(IIIF; 13)​ have developed Application Programming Interfaces (APIs) for delivery and referencing, most photographs in most editions were published outside of these frameworks and standards — in custom locations, using custom naming conventions, and, usually, without an explicit machine-readable association between data and metadata. This means, in turn, that almost 30 years’ worth of expert-curated and -described cultural data is, for all intents and purposes, invisible to machine-driven “Big-Data” research — and in danger of early obsolescence and loss. The raw material is there; but lack of common standards prevents discovery for what would otherwise be a large virtual collection of intensely curated data and metadata. The fact that nearly every digital project dealing with Western European Medieval Manuscripts has designed what is in effect a custom digital data infrastructure — its own way of organising and displaying data and metadata, its own identifiers and locations, and its own way of linking analysis to the underlying data — invariably increases costs and decreases access ​(14,15)​. The fact that similar practices are ubiquitous across the Digital and traditional Humanities means that almost all digital cultural data is much more expensive to produce and curate, and far more 1 In this context, it is worth noting that traditional HCH research data is almost always non-rivalrous: it is the process of analysis and contextualisation rather than discovery that is the most-prized act of scholarship and individual disciplines can return productively to the same few well-known data points over and over again for years (e.g. Jane Austen Studies). https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?dqK9Jw https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?OQ1fbz https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?OQ1fbz https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?0RnwrF https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?efydq0 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?cbAuY1 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?2BhWrf https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?UecPUs https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?g8SFFc 3 vulnerable to loss and obsolescence, than should be tolerable. This is perhaps particularly true in the case of projects dealing with Indigenous, culturally sensitive, or endangered data — projects that face similar technological hurdles as other HCH projects with regard to the management and publication of their primary material, but also have additional obligations — such as respecting First Nations ownership and authorship (16,17)​, ensuring the right to create value from Indigenous data in ways that are grounded in Indigenous worldviews, and understanding the historical context and power differentials involved in their collection ​(18)​: a project that goes dark because it has an unsustainable architecture is a project that has failed in its obligation to ensure that data remains in or gives back to the community from which it came in an accessible format. Digital Research Infrastructure as a path forward One solution to this problem is the creation of a DRI that has been built and is operated with an understanding of this prototypical HCH research data use-case. Such an infrastructure would see itself as part of a research-to-publication workflow and help HCH researchers and research projects — and their publishers and users — to understand how careful and sustainable RDM practices can reduce their production and maintenance costs and improve longevity, discoverability, access, and impact (Figure 1 shows a conceptual model developed in partnership with Zenodo). It would provide incentives to researchers to deposit their data in DDRs by ensuring that such deposits could be subsequently and easily incorporated in the kind of traditional contextualising research project — edition, database, study, or application — that remains the primary and most valued research outputs in these disciplines. Currently, because such contextualised publication is the primary and most valued output for HCH research, adding data to a stand-alone DDR requires HCH researchers to, in essence, deposit their data twice: once within their custom-designed application using their own protocols and identifiers and then a second time in the DDR using the DDR’s protocols and standards. A better approach would ensure that DDRs — and other aspects of a centrally maintained DRI — were both incorporated into a suitable workflow ​and​ made this workflow easier to use than the traditional, custom-built alternative. The basic method — understanding a DRI as an infrastructure upon which other research tools operate, using methods such as PIDs to store, access, and transport data — is relatively established in STEM ​(see 19,20)​. But we are unaware of any attempts to develop a similarly atomic system for the publication of HCH data — the far more significant problem in those domains. The problem is not, for the most part technical: most of the major features required are already found in one or another of the major DRI projects — e.g. DDRs that can store data deposits as individual FAIR objects and serve out files to external sites (Figshare); APIs that allow URLs to be built on the basis of PIDs (Zenodo); support for the development and publishing of contextualising scholarly outputs (GitHub); robust Linked Open Data (LOD) capabilities (Zenodo); the ability to version and archive websites (GitHub + Zenodo). Likewise features that are not yet implemented — such as the ability to use arbitrary or discipline-specific ontologies for typing semantic links — are either in partial development ​(e.g. 21–23)​ or would not appear to be particularly difficult to add. https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?SExC3p https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?p38FJ1 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?t9qGtR https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?oXuYnH 4 The real problem is leadership, resources, and a holistic commitment both to understand the nature of the RDM problems presented by traditional HCH research project data and to work with leading HCH researchers, research organisations, libraries, archives, and publishers to ensure that this crucial use-case is “baked in” to DRIs from the beginning. As a country that punches far above its weight in Digital Humanities research, Canada and the NDRIO are well positioned to ensure that even the small, thick and slow get the support they need. Current Issues ● What are the main DRI tools, services and/or resources you currently use in your research? ○ Data repositories, PIDs, hosting and archiving services​. ● Do you have access to all the DRI tools, services and/or resources you need for your research? What are they? What is missing? ○ While most of the services that our research requires are present in one form or another somewhere, no comprehensive system has been established with the needs of a traditional “Small Data” HCH project in mind. A Zenodo-like deposit system would also be good. ● What are your biggest challenges accessing and using the DRI tools, services and/or resources that do exist and are available to you? ○ Lack of awareness on the part of HCH researchers, and a failure on the part of DRI developers to understand and accommodate the needs of HCH researchers, publishers, etc. Future DRI State ● What is your vision for a cohesive Canadian DRI ecosystem that would fulfill your research needs? ○ The vision promoted here is for a system that understands itself as part of an HCH research-to-publication workflow — in which data-infrastructure is a seamless part of a PID-based publication workflow. ● What are the types of DRI tools, services and/or resources you would like to use, or envision using, in the future? ○ Streaming, API-access to data stored in DDRs — the precise mix is less important than the understanding that a DRI should support the publication of HCH research data in context. ○ What is crucial, however, is training and community work to make the change from current practices to an Open, FAIR (and, as appropriate, CARE)-complaint DRI ecosystem. ● What challenges do you foresee while using integrated DRI tools, services and/or resources? ○ By its nature HCH research problematizes solutions: it is ultimately impossible to develop or impose a single solution for HCH publication. But there is still much core work that can be done to ensure that traditionally-focussed HCH projects are optimised for long term sustainability. How to Bridge the Gap ● What are the tools, services and/or resources NDRIO should leverage to achieve your desired future state? ○ Rather than proposing specific tools, we’d argue that NDRIO should consider an environment scan — looking at specific use-cases with discipline experts and comparing how such use-cases are or are not supported by existing DRIs. It is striking the degree to which most of the tools, services, and resources already exist, but are distributed unevenly across different systems. ● How do you see NDRIO’s role in addressing current gaps in the national DRI ecosystem? ○ As a national agency in a country where there a) appears to be reasonably good integration and collaboration among the three main agencies; b) is an appetite for interdisciplinary work (e.g. Frontiers); and c) funding exists for the whole research cycle from initial idea (the various discovery and development grants) to publication (ASJ), we believe that NDRIO is well-situated internationally to take the interdisciplinary approach proposed here. 5 Works cited 1. Marche S. Literature is not Data: Against Digital Humanities. Los Angeles Review of Books [Internet]. 2012 [cited 2013 Mar 30]; Available from: http://www.lareviewofbooks.org/article.php?id=1040&fulltext=1 2. Fish S. Mind Your P’s and B’s: The Digital Humanities and Interpretation [Internet]. Opinionator. 2012 [cited 2013 Mar 30]. Available from: https://bit.ly/3gKM3mC 3. O’Donnell DP. The bird in hand: Humanities research in the age of open data. In: Figshare, editor. The state of open data: A selection of analyses and articles about open data, curated by Figshare. London: Digital Science; 2016. p. 34–5. (Digital Science Report). 4. Borgman CL. Scholarship in the digital age: information, infrastructure, and the Internet. Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press; 2007. 336 p. 5. Flanders J. The Productive Unease of 21st-century Digital Scholarship. 2009 [cited 2013 May 12];3(3). Available from: http://digitalhumanities.org/dhq/vol/3/3/000055/000055.html 6. Jockers M, Flanders J. A Matter of Scale. Faculty Publications -- Department of English [Internet]. 2013 Mar 18; Available from: https://digitalcommons.unl.edu/englishfacpubs/106 7. O’Donnell DP. Move over: Learning to read and write with novel technology. Scholarly and Research Communication [Internet]. 2012;3(4). Available from: http://www.src-online.ca/index.php/src/article/view/68 8. O’Donnell DP. Back to the future: what digital editors can learn from print editorial practice. Literary and linguistic computing [Internet]. 2009; Available from: https://academic.oup.com/dsh/article-abstract/24/1/113/947909 9. McGillivray M, Asgar-Deen T, editors. Geoffrey Chaucer’s Book of the Duchess a hypertext edition. University of Calgary Press; 1999. 10. Kiernan KS. Electronic Beowulf. London, Ann Arbor: British Library. University of Michigan Press; 1999. 11. Lee SD, O’Donnell DP. From manuscript to computer. In: Owen-Crocker GR, Cesario M, editors. Working with Anglo-saxon manuscripts. University of Exeter Press; 2009. 12. Terras MM. Digital images for the information professional. Aldershot, England; Burlington, VT: Ashgate; 2008. 13. IIIF. Home [Internet]. International Image Interoperability Framework. Available from: https://iiif.io/ 14. O’Donnell DP. The Doomsday Machine, or, “If you build it, will they still come ten years from now?”: What Medievalists working in digital media can do to ensure the longevity of their research. Heroic Age [Internet]. 2004;7. Available from: http://www.mun.ca/mst/heroicage/issues/7/odonnell.html 15. Copland C, Carrell S, Davidson G, Grandfield V, O’Donnell DP. Kiernan, Kevin S. 2015. Electronic Beowulf-http://ebeowulf. uky. edu/ebeo4. 0/CD/main. html. Digital Medievalist. 2016;10. 16. Schnarch B. Ownership, Control, Access, and Possession (OCAP) or Self-Determination Applied to Research: A Critical Analysis of Contemporary First Nations Research and Some Options for First Nations Communities. JAH. 2004;1(1):80–95. 17. Bliss H, Genee I, Junker M-O, O’Donnell DP. “Credit where credit is due”: Authorship and Attribution in Algonquian Language Digital Resources. IDEAH [Internet]. 2020 [cited 2020 Jun 1]; Available from: https://ideah.pubpub.org/pub/z4ime60s/release/1 18. CARE Principles of Indigenous Data Governance [Internet]. Global Indigenous Data Alliance. [cited 2020 Nov 12]. Available from: https://www.gida-global.org/care 19. Bosman J, Kramer B. 101 Innovations in Scholarly Communication [Internet]. 101 Innovations in Scholarly Communication. Available from: https://innoscholcomm.silk.co/ 20. Kramer B, Bosman J. Innovations in scholarly communication - global survey on research tool usage. F1000Research. 2016 Apr 18;5:692. 21. Seltmann KC, Pénzes Z, Yoder MJ, Bertone MA, Deans AR. Utilizing Descriptive Statements from the Biodiversity Heritage Library to Expand the Hymenoptera Anatomy Ontology. Moreau CS, editor. PLoS ONE. 2013 Feb 18;8(2):e55674. 22. Biodiversity Literature Repository [Internet]. Zenodo; 2013. Available from: https://zenodo.org/record/3475439 23. Cui H, Jiang K (Yang), Sanyal PP. From text to RDF triple store: An application for biodiversity literature. Proc Am Soc Info Sci Tech. 2010 Nov 1;47(1):1–2. https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 https://www.zotero.org/google-docs/?FrUiB2 
work_ss73xqtd6nb4tou5nrp4oue5cy	----	Publishing - UofA Library Chat with us UAlberta Home Find a Person ONEcard Bear Tracks Maps Email & Apps eClass Library Services Subject Guides Hours & Locations About the Library Us My Account Ask Us Ask Us Chat with Us Email Us Book a Consultation Find your Subject Librarian Search Publishing at the University of Alberta Library The University of Alberta Library is an important stakeholder for scholarly publishing in Canada. Our open access publishing program supports open, sustainable, and responsible models of scholarly communication and helps to create a more equitable and robust scholarly communications ecosystem. Currently, we partner with Canadian organizations and individuals to publish fully open access scholarly journals, and with University of Alberta community members to publish open course textbooks. Journal Publishing The University of Alberta Library provides significant support to over 60 Canadian open access journals through our no-fee publishing program. We provide web hosting for journals using the Open Journal Systems (OJS) publishing software and provide several value-added publishing services. All journals partnering with the Library in this program operate under a “Diamond Open Access” model and do not charge fees to authors. Propose a new open journal title Browse our list of open journals Read our publishing policies Open Textbook Publishing Open Education Alberta provides no-fee publishing services for open textbooks and other open educational resources. Eligibility for this service requires: The creation or adaptation of content that will result in openly licensed learning materials. The creation or adaptation of content that will be used in a course. The primary creator or adaptor must be a faculty or staff member at the University of Alberta; or affiliated with a partner institution. For more information, see the Publishing Agreement for individual authors or institutions. Contact library.publishing@ualberta.ca to see if our service is the right match for your learning materials. Browse the list of Open Textbooks published by Open Education Alberta Publishing Home Journal List Open Textbooks Contact Us Get advice on where to publish from your Subject Librarian General Questions library.publishing@ualberta.ca Sonya Betz Head, Library Publishing and Digital Production Services sonya.betz@ualberta.ca Michelle Brailey Digital Initiatives Projects Librarian brailey@ualberta.ca Sarah Severson Digital Initiatives Projects Librarian sarah.severson@ualberta.ca Emily Zheng Publishing and Digitization Specialist emily.zheng@ualberta.ca Connecting. Engaging. Creating. Our People Our Policies Our Collection Open to Collaborate Accessiblity at UAL Support Us Employment Copyright Office The University of Alberta Library acknowledges that we are located on Treaty 6 and Métis territory, and we respect the histories, languages, and cultures of First Nations, Métis, Inuit, and all First Peoples of Canada, whose presence continues to enrich our vibrant community. University of Alberta, Edmonton, AB, Canada T6G 2R3 | This site is licensed under a Creative Commons License | Website Privacy Policy 
work_st3kpryfrvahlk2h7ytzn55p2u	----	TJhe fllodoj&nguage^ssoriatton oj America ORGANIZED 18 83 INCORPORATED 1900 Officers for the year 1952 President: Albert C. Baugh, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia 4 First Vice President: Casimir D. Zdanowicz, University of Wisconsin, Madi­ son 6 Second Vice President: Henry W. Nordmeyer, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor Executive Secretary: William Riley Parker, J<iew York University, New York 3 Treasurer: John H. Fisher, New York University, New York 3 Executive Council For the term ending 31 Dec. 1953 Merritt Y. Hughes, University of Wisconsin, Madison 6 Kemp Malone, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore 18, Md. Ira O. Wade, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J. For the term ending 31 Dec. 1953 Douglas Bush, Harvard University, Cambridge 38, Mass. Henry Grattan Doyle, George Washington University, Washington 6, D. C. Donald A. Stauffer, Princeton University, Princeton, N. J. For the term ending 31 Dec. 1954 Hayward Keniston, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor H. W. Victor Lange, Cornell University, Ithaca, N. Y. Carl F. Schreiber, Yale University, New Haven, Conn. For the term ending 31 Dec. 1955 C. Grant Loomis, University of California, Berkeley 4 Justin M. O’Brien, Columbia University, New York 27 A. S. P. Woodhouse, University of Toronto, Toronto $ Staff Assistant Editor: Robert E. Taylor, J^ew Yor/( University; Assistant to the Executive Secretary: Donna Rowell; Assistant to the Treasurer: Ruth Olson; typists: Naomi Taylor and Trudy Kalbfleisch Trustees of Invested Funds George Henry Nettleton, Yale University William Albert Nitze, University of Chicago LeRoy Elwood Kimball, tyw York University, Managing Trustee The 1953 Meeting is scheduled to be held in Boston, Massachusetts, on 17, 38, and 39 December UNIVERSITY PRESS Melville’s Quarrel with God By LAWRANCE THOMPSON. The author argues that Melville, seeking to disguise his agonized conviction of the cruelty and malice of God, consistently satirized Christian doctrine by resorting to liter­ ary deceptions that could simultaneously satirize and hoodwink his orthodox readers. This bold challenge to the conventional interpreta­ tion of Melville is brilliantly presented and fully supported by ex­ ternal and internal evidence in such a way as to reveal a sinister intent in all of the major narratives from Typee through Billy Budd. $600 Jane Austen Irony as Defense and Discovery By MARVIN MUDRICK. Jane Austen emerges from behind the comfortable assumptions of a hundred years and takes her true place among the most stalwart of the great ironists. Through an analysis of all her writings and a study of her irony in its sources and develop­ ment, the hook achieves its twofold aim of re-evaluating the novels and the growth of the novelist herself from her childhood writings, through the great novels, to Sanditm. “The most acute and illuminating analysis of Jane Austen’s novels with which I am acquainted.”—Joseph Warren Beach. $500 French Painting Between the Past and the Present: 1848*1870 By JOSEPH C. SLOANE. A study of the subject matter of French painting in the mid-nineteenth century, and critical attitudes toward it. “Invaluable as a first chapter to the history of Impressionism and Modern Art.”—Lincoln Kirstein. 256 pages, 90 collotype repro­ ductions, 9" x 12". $1200 AT YOUR BOOKSTORE, PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS 
work_sufvg3wxnrebdi2q5zwoau4zs4	----	European journal of American studies , Reviews 2013-2 European journal of American studies Reviews 2013-2 Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, eds. Must Read: Rediscovering American Bestsellers—From Charlotte Temple to The Da Vinci Code. Christina Dokou Electronic version URL: http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10162 ISSN: 1991-9336 Publisher European Association for American Studies Electronic reference Christina Dokou, « Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, eds. Must Read: Rediscovering American Bestsellers—From Charlotte Temple to The Da Vinci Code. », European journal of American studies [Online], Reviews 2013-2, document 14, Online since 28 November 2013, connection on 30 April 2019. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10162 This text was automatically generated on 30 April 2019. Creative Commons License http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/ejas/10162 Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, eds. Must Read: Rediscovering American Bestsellers—From Charlotte Temple to The Da Vinci Code. Christina Dokou REFERENCES London and New York: Continuum, 2012. Pp. 373. ISBN: 978-1-4411-6216-8. … this inquiry is concerned with the connection between popular books read for pleasure by adult Americans and the times in which those books were read.…; but flexible as the criterion may be, it would be stretched beyond the breaking point should it include dictionaries, school texts, cookbooks, government reports, or manuals on specialized subjects.1 1 Taken from James Hart’s The Popular Book, this quote might describe at once the rationale behind Must Read and its competitive advantage for those interested in the history of popular reading in the United States: it successfully navigates “beyond [Hart’s] breaking point” to encompass a number of genres, from romances to savoir faire manuals, over a period of four centuries, but it does so wisely noting that “the semantic and definitional vagaries surrounding the term ‘bestseller’,” let alone what constitutes one, can never be resolved in summary or comprehensive terms.2 This being a common post-modern caveat, especially in the enormous and complex field of Cultural Studies, it still helps this collection avoid the rather futile retrospective extraction of “bestseller recipes” (seen, for example, in James Hall’s 2012 Hit Lit: Cracking the Code of the Twentieth Century's Biggest Bestsellers;3 or taken up only with a knowing pinch of salt, as in the 2007 Why We Read What We Read by Lisa Adams and John Heath4). Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, eds. Must Read: Rediscovering America... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2013-2 | 2013 1 2 Must Read expands the usual time limits of the bestseller inquiry exponentially. Since the publication of the two basic texts in the field, with Hart’s aforementioned 1950 The Popular Book following practically at the heels of Frank Luther Mott’s 1947 seminal Golden Multitudes, there had been a hiatus of scholarly silence on the matter—perhaps because the stigma of popular fiction being shallow persisted—until roughly the end of the 20th century. Research on the specific subject of blockbusters within the field of popular reading, such as Alice Payne Hackett and James Henry Burke's 1977 80 Years of Best Sellers, 1895-1975;5John Sutherland’s 1981 Bestsellers: Popular Fiction in the 1970s;6 and his later Bestsellers: A Very Short Introduction7 focused on a specific short time-frame and dealt exclusively with literature. Clive Bloom’s incisive Bestsellers: Popular Fiction since 19008 expands into other kinds of writing, but concerns exclusively the contemporary U.K. market (as does much of Sutherland). The closest analogue to Must Read would probably be Michael Korda’s 2001 Making the List,9 with its sharp cultural analysis of fiction and nonfiction alike, categorized by decade. It should be noted here though that, while Mott somewhat set the methodology for subsequent investigations (painstakingly accumulating bestseller lists created so by “vox pop”10 and then extrapolating trends from them), Churchwell and Ruys Smith opt instead to follow the more modest yet methodologically safer model set by New Historicism and go for a focused reading of the specific bestselling books of each era, to see which ingredient(s) in them it was that resonated so successfully with their reading public. What’s more, they opt to focus on “the critically ‘neglected’ bestseller” (MR 6) to avoid revisiting texts already favored by scholarship (and, one presumes, to give the devil of popularity his due for accuracy’s sake). They thus synthesize a picture of American (bestseller) reading that functions well on both a micro- and a macro-cosmic level. 3 Following the editors’ “Introduction,” which highlights the above particularities of the book, there follows a chapter by Sarah Garland of great interest for the scholar in the field, “Missing numbers: The partial history of the bestseller.” Garland’s painstaking research shows how the primary source of data for scholarly research in the field of popular literature, i.e. booksellers’ compiled lists, are a partial source at best, since they only take into account original printings and not pirated editions (that abounded in the early years of American publishing), or miss the serialized versions of a hit item in newspapers, or rotate their list items periodically for marketing purposes, or cannot account for census and literacy figures at the time. Garland’s compelling argument bolsters the editors’ claim about the dubiousness of sweeping statements in popular culture/fiction studies, and provides a filter through which to gauge the subsequent essays. 4 Gideon Mailer’s “The history of Charlotte Temple as an American bestseller” follows chronological suit in examining the reasons for, and form of, the success of Susanna Rowson’s 1791 romantic Tale of Truth as “America’s first bestseller.” Mailer wisely avoids a retroactive focus primarily on the allure of the novel’s sensationalist element and instead weaves together a complex argument based on the pervasive puritanism of the American public at the time, with its ensuing mistrust of the “lies” and luxuries of fiction; attitudes towards truth as a marker of merit and a marketing gimmick; the mixture of explicit conservatism and implicit radicalism in the novel’s theological implications; and, most importantly, “Rowson’s debt to evangelical revivalism” which, for the author, “accounted for Charlotte Temple’s immediate and continued popularity during the first half of the nineteenth century” (MR 72). However, the latter—and focal, for Mailer—point seems a bit Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, eds. Must Read: Rediscovering America... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2013-2 | 2013 2 less than compelling, for although the excerpts he chooses to support his theory could be read so, they also do not have to be read so. 5 Rachel Ihara in the next chapter appears to make a stronger case with “‘Like beads strung together’: E. D. E. N. Southworth and the aesthetics of popular serial fiction.” An expert on serial fiction, Ihara delineates here with systematic clarity how Southworth’s mastery of “the episodic structure” allowed for a weaving of readers’ concerns into the plot of her many 19th-century serial novels, thus making the fiction du jour as much a newspaper item as the journalists’ stories and fad ads by which it was framed on the page. Southworth also created a pleasant sense of continuity and familiarity through intertextual character reappearances, diffusion of plot focus into multiple storylines, and the use of stock character types and situational motifs. Thus Ihara argues that subsequent scholarly readings of early serialized fiction in their single-volume form cannot do full justice to the aesthetics of those works. 6 “Ten Nights in a Bar-Room and the visual culture of temperance” by William Gleason takes on another offbeat perspective in reading Timothy Shay Arthur’s 1854 titillating teetotaler tale in conjunction with popular “temperance images” that had become a key component of public expression by the 1840s (MR 102). Gleason’s discussion of both the popular array of emblematic temperance images and the import of the book’s powerful visuality is well founded on historical facts and astute; however, the main argument that draws parallels between the two realms, like for example one of the book’s frontispieces and the popular image of “the Tree of Intemperance” (MR 114-15), suggests a critical alertness to visual connections that may or may not have been there for the average reader of such sensationalist narratives. This might be the reason why Gleason finally restricts himself merely to highlighting “the ways in which Arthur’s images—in words and in pictures—helped Ten Nights insinuate itself so deeply into nineteenth and early twentieth-century popular culture” (MR 126), without insisting that this “help” was in any way definitive. 7 Hsuan L. Hsu’s analysis, in “‘The Man Without a Country’: Treason, expansionism, and the history of a ‘bestselling’ short story,” of Edward Everett Hale’s short story is important in two ways: first, in showing how the long-term effects of bestsellerdom are as culturally important in terms of scholarly conclusions as the explosive immediate form of success we’ve come to associate with blockbusters. Half the article, in fact, is about the sequel named after the story’s protagonist, the novel Philip Nolan’s Friends, which “represents a key moment in Hale’s rethinking of the phenomenon of extrastate violence that links Nolan’s indefinite detention in the 1863 story with the longer development of US imperialism through the nineteenth century” (MR 142). Although that might suggest the difficulty of speaking about bestsellers in other that novelistic terms, it also points to a feature of bestsellerdom within the capitalist market, that is, the diffusion of the bestselling item as a “brand” in a variety of related (tenuously or not) products and media. Second, Hsu’s article offers an interesting deconstruction of the historic context (and subsequent reception) of the short story’s apparently patriotic theme, showing an underlying concern with expansionist and exceptionalist imperial violence. Juxtaposing a close reading of the text’s points of semantic tension to dramatically shifting attitudes about America’s international role, the essay shows “that ‘The Man Without a Country’ is as concerned with empire building as with nationalism, as much a tale of the state’s own investments in extraterritorial and extralegal force as it is a parable of treason and Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, eds. Must Read: Rediscovering America... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2013-2 | 2013 3 redemption” (MR 138)— a conclusion that rings a very sharp bell after Bosnia, Iraq and Afghanistan. 8 James Russell’s “Exhilaration and enlightenment in the biblical bestseller: Lew Wallace’s Ben-Hur, A Tale of the Christ” is one of the most enjoyable chapters of the book: glibly written and with a sharp eye for the right nuances in his close reading of the 1880 bestseller in conjunction with Wallace’s own fall from Grace as a Confederate General. Russell argues that the appeal of Ben-Hur (and its filmic adaptations) rested in its mix of “sensation and spirituality,” thrill and conversion narrative, lavish physical descriptions and hazy epiphanic encounters with Jesus, which enthralled “a sizable demographic of committed Christians who had previously avoided the ‘frivolous’ pleasures of novel reading” (MR 158). However, I cannot help but think—and in this case I take these thoughts to be the mark of an engaging piece of scholarship—that, given Russell’s suggestion that Wallace saw himself in the wronged protagonist (in terms of his odd conversion to Christianity and his grievances against General Grant—a proxy for Messala —over the botched battle of Shiloh), perhaps the immense appeal of the tale is not so much the message about being meek as Christians and giving up the chance for violent action, but, instead, the capacity of the hero to engage in precisely that kind of violent action and gain the advantageous position of the winner, the stronger man who can then choose to be merciful. This mentality best summed as “speak softly and carry a big stick,” captures perfectly America’s image of itself, especially in terms of its international relations, and would explain why readers/viewers consider the chariot race scene as the climax of the novel, not Ben-Hur’s conversion at the foot of the Cross. 9 “‘Absolutely punk’: Queer economies of desire in Tarzan of the Apes” by J. Michelle Coghlan follows with an insightful deconstruction of the sexual and relational economies of Edgar Rice Burroughs’s 1912 runaway hit, which started from the humble pulps to become a brand name for an “American merchandizing extravaganza” (MR 176) in a variety of media. While reading Tarzan as one of the “queeroes” (MR 195) of pop Americana was originally suggested by other critics—the article cites Kenneth Kidd, Dana Seitler, and the blog “Quixotic Quests of Q the Conqueror”—Coghlan’s investigation is original in considering the effect upon readers of the cross-currents of problematic and unfulfilled homosexual, cannibalistic, or bestial desire (declarative of other boundaries of class, race and ethnicity). It thus brings together the exotic jungle with the anxieties of the burgeoning American suburbia, an even more sinister jungle as often coded in the Americana imaginary. 10 The next chapter, Sarah Garland’s “Ornamentalism: Desire, disavowal, and displacement in E. M. Hull’s The Sheik” devotes its largest part in an Orientalism- and gender- informed reading of the 1919 novel best remembered as a Valentino movie, which however will bring little to the theory-savvy scholar. More useful are the historical notes about and around the text, which implicate orientalist and “ornamentalist” discourses with the romance trope and its glossing over of cultural anxieties, and most useful—and interesting—is the final discussion of female fantasy as a mode of expressing forbidden female desires, which deconstructs the novel’s stereotypical tropes and receptions. 11 The shift from Victorian attitudes to Modernity is concluded with a foray into nonfiction in “Small change? Emily Post’s Etiquette (1922-2012).” Grace Lees-Maffei’s well-written overview of nearly a century of Etiquette editions shows how “its historical value is best revealed when the various editions of Etiquette are read retrospectively and comparatively,” gauging cultural shifts from the textual ones, and raising questions on Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, eds. Must Read: Rediscovering America... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2013-2 | 2013 4 how to read the selective similarities between serialized fiction (discussed by Ihara in Chapter 4) and this kind of nonfiction that bases its longevity on its being “a work under continual revision” (MR 225). Noting how Emily Post’s writing techniques, for example her use of made-up characters with symbolic names to illustrate situations, or self- directed intertextual irony, peppered her guide with literary appeal, Lees-Maffei is raising very modern questions about the nature of authorship (the current Etiquette is a family-written text) and textual authenticity as forms of authority. 12 Chapter 11, “Blockbuster feminism: Peyton Place and the uses of scandal,” chronicles the uproar over Grace Metalious’s groundbreaking 1956 novel and how the differential interpretations of its content—lowbrow abomination for the establishment critics, but liberating and refreshing revelation of life’s dark truths for the public—built its bestseller status. Ardis Cameron devotes no small part of the essay on Metalious’s own “cult of personality” and the role it played in stirring a sensation and then keeping it broiling. Cameron’s style, combining lively moments from Metalious’s rise to notoriety/fame with a balanced exposition of the novel and its historico-cultural context, makes one want to (re-)read Peyton Place not only as a cultural marker, but as a text that marks the start of a series of contemporary attitudes about (negative) celebrity, authorship, censorship, interactive reading and individuality—the very thing one sees today culminating in (online) self-publishing, reality shows and exaggerated fan cultures (complete with fan fiction). Still, one would have liked to see a more careful proofreading of this piece, as here I discovered the majority of the book’s grammatical slip-ups. 13 Evan Brier’s “Crimes and bestsellers: Mario Puzo’s path to The Godfather” reads “crime” in two senses: not only as the sensationalist topic of Puzo’s novel that led to the history- making film trilogy by Francis Ford Coppola, but as the perception of the publishing industry as a kind of corrupting Mafia taking advantage of honest literary talent. Disheartened by his lack of success for what he thought was a far better work of his, The Fortunate Pilgrim (1965), and with the plan for his next ambitious book dismissed by his publisher, Puzo set out to write the kind of novel erudite people would supposedly hate, a piece of lowbrow crime fiction, under the assumption that this was what the hoi polloi would buy. Although, as Brier eloquently argues by weaving historical and cultural facts together, Puzo’s basic assumptions about his public and publishers’ behavior were wrong; and although he could not factor in the unpredictability of the market, or the slim odds of literary success, the result of this grudge—as in the case of Ben-Hur above—was a bestseller embedding in its plot much of Puzo’s own embittered worldview: “Had Puzo recognized the cultural worlds as it was in 1965,…he might have written the literary novel he had planned. In that case, it is likely that neither that novel nor The Fortunate Pilgrim would be well remembered today. We have benefited from his misreading” (MR 292). 14 People who enjoy verbal irony and wit are sure to enjoy the chapter by Sarah Churchwell, titled “Master of sentiment: The romances of Nicholas Sparks”: the careful juxtaposition of narrative bits with cultural information and Sparks’s own less-than- flattering pronouncements (like when he compares himself to the Greek tragedians, Shakespeare, Jane Austen and…Hemingway—MR 310-11)) occasionally had me laughing out loud. Churchwell uses Sparks as an author emblematic of a “recent resurgence of Victorian models of sentimental domestic fiction in mainstream popular romance” (MR 297), harboring “a covert but explicitly Christian agenda into ostensibly secular fiction via the rhetoric of ‘choice’” (MR 298). The close reading to which Churchwell subjects Sparks’s evangelical fiction reveals this agenda in all its sinister dimensions, especially its Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, eds. Must Read: Rediscovering America... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2013-2 | 2013 5 parochial models of femininity. The essay becomes particularly relevant in view of the recent emergence of more such pruriently reactionary hits, such as the Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey series. 15 Georgiana Banita’s reading of Khaled Hosseini’s 2003 hit in “ The Kite Runner’s transnational allegory: Anatomy of an Afghan-American bestseller” introduces an international tangent in the volume, consistent with considerations of America’s cultural hegemony in the globalized market. Through a juxtaposition of key passages with facets of the U.S. intervention in Afghanistan, Banita reveals how Hosseini caters fully to his American readers, justifying U.S. political exceptionalism and cultural imperialism through “a heavy-handed parable” (MR 320) of an Afghani U.S. citizen returning to his homeland in order to atone for an old wrong by saving a saintly friend from the violence of a sociopath Nazi Taliban rapist (!). At the same time, Banita reveals a third dimension in the novel conflating the process of reading and writing with political exchanges favoring ultimately western logocentrism and a false “universalism,” a trait exacerbated in the film version of the novel. 16 Equally austere is the critique of Dan Brown’s 2003 mega-hit, The Da Vinci Code. In “The fiction of history: The Da Vinci Code and the virtual public sphere,” Stephen J. Mexal delineates how the book, “a strange new hybrid: not historical fiction, but fictional history” (MR 343), seductively blurs the lines between past truth and the Aristotelian “impossible plausibility” to feed the American public’s penchant for conspiracy theories in a virtual world where, according to the Baudrillardians, because anything can be simulated to perfection, anything could be true. According to Mexal, Brown offers a revelatory, “coherent master historical narrative” to pacify a public discomfited by fragmented, transient realities and postmodern uncertainties (MR 347). At the same time, the individual plucky researcher triumphing against powerful conspiratorial consortia approximates the anti-establishment lone hacker favored by the virtual public: “By participating in this virtual public sphere, and debating the nature and coherency of narratives fictional and historical, the reader ultimately imagines him- or herself as an agent of a new postnational history” (MR 355). That, ultimately, is a good way to sum up the conclusions of this collection, for they reveal the precarious and wholly arbitrary nature of bestsellerdom, born out of a momentary conjecture of public trends, publishing bets, and authorial intent. NOTES 1. James D. Hart, The Popular Book: A History of America’s Literary Taste (Berkeley, Los Angeles, London: University of California Press, 1950), 283. 2. Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, “Introduction,” in Must Read: Rediscovering American Bestsellers (London and New York: Continuum, 2012), 4. Subsequent quotes from the book will be cited parenthetically by “MR” and page number only. 3. James Hall, Hit Lit: Cracking the Code of the Twentieth Century's Biggest Bestsellers (New York: Random House, 2012). Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, eds. Must Read: Rediscovering America... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2013-2 | 2013 6 4. Lisa Adams and John Heath, Why We Read What We Read: A Delightfully Opinionated Journey Through Bestselling Books (Naperville, IL: Sourcebooks, 2007). 5. Alice Payne Hackett and James Henry Burke, 80 Years of Best Sellers, 1895-1975 (New York: R. R. Bowker, 1977). 6. John Sutherland, Bestsellers: Popular Fiction in the 1970s (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1981). 7. John Sutherland, Bestsellers: A Very Short Introduction (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007). 8. Clive Bloom, Bestsellers: Popular Fiction since 1900 (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002). 9. Michael Korda, Making the List: A Cultural History of the American Bestseller, 1900-99 (New York: Barnes & Noble Books, 2001). 10. Frank Luther Mott, Golden Multitudes: The Story of Best Sellers in the United States (New York: Macmillan, 1947), 1. AUTHOR CHRISTINA DOKOU Dr. Christina Dokou is Assistant Professor of American Literature and Culture at the Faculty of English Studies at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens, Greece. Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, eds. Must Read: Rediscovering America... European journal of American studies , Reviews 2013-2 | 2013 7 Sarah Churchwell and Thomas Ruys Smith, eds. Must Read: Rediscovering American Bestsellers—From Charlotte Temple to The Da Vinci Code. 
work_swrphvdzobhttk7rxetc4p6ao4	----	Journal of Economic Perspeaives—Volume 11, Number 2—Spring 1997—Pages 153-160 Credo of a Lucky Textbook Author Paul A. Samuelson When a scholarly discipline is in a fruitful phase of innovative advance, itspares little time in studying its own history. Few know the revolutionsthat hit economic introductory textbooks half a century ago. This is a good occasion to sketch that story and, as Schumpeter would say, to review the troops. Also, I conclude with notes for historians on ideological pressures brought against postwar economics teachers. The 1920s and 1930s were a fallow period in textbook writing. Frank Taussig's (1911) classic was nearing its end: in 1940 at Harvard, we taught Economics I from it. The bestseller out of Yale was still Fairchild, Fumiss and Buck (1936), a watered- down version of Irving Fisher's (1911) text with coverage of Marshall's dd and 55 intersections. At Chicago in the 1931-32 years, Aaron Director assigned me Sumner Slichter's (1931) new text, poor-mouthing it from the beginning. Actually, it gave a pretty fair institutional picture ofthe 1920s: when I recendy reread Frank Knight's (1932a,b) polemics in the Journal of Political Economy against it, what all the shooting was about was hard to discern. The next quarter, Lloyd Mints shifted to Richard Ely's Outlines of Economics, which dated from church materials in the 1890s. Ely's later editions were written by a committee, presided over by the gifted Allyn Young. The list of competing texts was not short. Among the competent was the Garver and Hjmsen (1938) text (Alvin did the macro). Among the pedestrian were per- ennials like Wisconsin's Kiekhoffer (1936) text: it was "institutional," but primarily in the sense of being "NON-theoretical." Digression: just 60 years ago, Kiekhoffer never began his lectures before a thousand Madison undergraduates until dele- gated cheerleaders led the crowd in a Wisconsin locomotive. No kidding! • Paul A. Samuelson is Institute Professor Emeritus of Economics, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge, Massachusetts. 154 Journal of Economic Perspectives Book content is what matters. So much less was taught then in economics as compared to today. When 5,000 banks failed and mortgage delinquencies were in the millions, the bestselling texts limned the certainties of Say's Law! Taussig was little better on that when Harvard gentlemen learned it from my knee. No wonder economics enrollments eroded just when real-world problems and actions were most dramatic. An Offer I Couldn't Refuse How did all this relate to brash Paul Samuelson, whippersnapper gogetter in esoteric theory? I returned from the wartime Radiation Lab to rejoin the MIT eco- nomics department. My department head and pal, Ralph Freeman, entered my office and closed the door. This is what he said. Eight hundred MIT juniors must take a full year of compulsory economics. They hate it. We've tried everything. They still hate it. We even did a depart- mental joint product. It was the worst editorial experience of my life. After our senior colle^ue turned in his chapter, I had to say, "Floyd, this is not a chapter on public finance. It's a chapter against pubhc finance." Paxil, will you go on half time for a semester or two? Write a text the students will like. If they like it, yours will be good economics. Leave out whatever you like. Be as short as you wish. Whatever you come up with, that will be a vast improve- ment on where we are. Little did I know of the devil's blandishments. Why not give it a whirl? Here's a window of opportunity when M the books are 15 years out of date at least. Then, next summer I can put the finishing touches on Foundations, which has been await- ing publication since before Pearl Harbor. Truth defies fiction. Three years later, after night and summer slaving and following up on imcountable mimeograph handouts, the deed was done. The rest, as they say, is history. Skousen's Critique When you read the novels of Jane Austen, never do you leam that the Napo- leonic wars were going on while her characters were angling for life-cycle security with amiable spouses. When I read Mark Skousen's account of how macroeconom- ics and public policy discussions evolved in the successive editions of Samuelson's Economics, I was left with something of the same feeling as Jane Austen's readers: missed in his Whiggish retrospective is all of the drama that went into the decisions to revise; and, what matters to an audience of economist teachers and researchers, scarce hints are given about the scientific developments and innovations impinging on me as the textbook writer and teacher. (Since Bill Nordhaus cannot be held Paul A. Samuelson 155 liable for my imperfections, the present pages concentrate mosdy on those 11 Samuelson-only editions before the last decade. No distortion of the debate is thereby entailed.) The bare facts are simple. My 1948 first edition's macro concentrated on the early General Theory paradigm in which the level of money and real aggregate in- come, Y, got determined by the interplay of saving and investing propensities: y* is the (diagrammatic) root where an ascending Saving schedule rises to intersect an Investment schedule. Fed interest rates were at that time frozen by President Truman's fiat; in consequence, there was no great need to go into Keynesian li- quidity preference schedules, a la Hicks and Hansen; and postwar price levels had not yet the impetus (nor the freedom!) to soar. By the second edition, these things were changing outside the scholar's window, and his quill was busy sketching those changes. Already I lost some Keynesian partisans, a process that turned out to be "perseverant." I am pleading no alibi nor extenuation. My present-day eyes do discern re- grettable l ^ s in sloughing off earlier skins. My kind of Keynesianism was never a religion. "What have you done for me lately?" was always the batde cry. Besides, the American Keynesians—Alvin Hansen, James Tobin in his 1939 Harvard under- graduate thesis that had already added wealth to income as a determinant of spend- ing. Franco Modigliani during the war itself—all these were evolving beyond Model T Neanderthal Keynesianism. I raced along with the avant gjtrde. The recent biography of Abraham Lincoln by David Herbert Donald (1995) is such great history because its author endeavors at every stage to describe Abe's acdons and decisions using only that knowledge which at each moment was available to his protagonist. When Milton Friedman wrote for the Treasury in 1943 about war finance or proposed a 1948 macro stabilization program, no latter-day commenta- tor can validly indict him for not employing his own later Model T Monetarism model. When you use paleontological fossils to oudine the history of species, use them all. Was the Samuelson elementary text lagging behind the plethora of emerging intermediate macroeconomic textbooks in the 1948-1985 era or a pioneering en- gine in evoludonary progress? I know the answer to that, but will Professor Skou- sen's readers? Objecdvity is in the eye of the beholder. By my third edition, the "neoclassical synthesis" got set forth. To Joan Robinson, diis was surrender to the enemy: one more Keynesian friend lost. To Mark Skousen, this, incredibly, boils down to "de- mand management.'' What actually was it? And why in later edidons did those words get revised out? The "neoclassical synthesis" was no more and no less than a matter- of-fact statement that there are alternadve mixes of central bank money/credit configuradons and fiscal expenditure/tax configuradons that are compatible with full employment and price-level stability. By logical implicadon, arbitrary configu- rations of these—demand mismanagement?—can and will induce hyperinfladons and recessionary unemployments. For two reasons I later dropped the "neoclassical synthesis" verbiage. First, it 156 Journal of Economic Perspectives smacked too much of complacency: perfection is at hand, economics is an exact science, blah, blah. Second, and more important, from early on I (along with Lord Beveridge and Alvin Hansen) was fearful of a stagflation problem in a mixed- economy welfare state that strove hard for full employment while at the same time helping the unemployed in a humane way. In Camelot counsels, I was at first too pessimistic about stj^ation ahead. Alas, by 1965 and for 15 years, my fears proved only too prescient. The post-1965 decline in Keynesianism's esteem was wo<a Kuhn- ian consequence of a better paradigm replacing it. Monetarism a la Friedman for a bare two years around 1970, at the St. Louis Fed and Citibank, positivistically then did only almost as well; after that, Cinderella's hour had struck. Rather, what lowered even the self-esteem of the Keynesians and macroeconomists generally was the onset of stagflation (supply-side shocks and all that), a scourge difficult to prescribe for by any of the competing macro paradigms and quite uncalled for in the logic of either monetarism or later-time's rational expectationism. The Skousen paragraphs should be reread in light of this. Here, I do not enumerate the several places at which Skousen's critiques ap- pear to me to be inexact and nonoptimal. Space is scarce. I do strongly protest, though, when I am called an antisaving Keynesian. (At Harvard's 350th birthday symposium before an overflow crowd of 2,000, Tobin, Benjamin Friedman, Martin Feldstein and I debated this topic. Holding up his end, Feldstein similarly com- plained that Harvard had mistaught him about the virtue of thrift.) I baldly pro- claim my nonguilt. From 1950 on, in congressional testimony and writings, both Tobin and I were nagging Democratic leaders and urchins in the street toward a high-employment mix, vjeighted toward capital formation and away from current con- sumption: see Samuelson (1965; see the congressional testimony in chapter 100; see also chapters 98, 99 and 105) and Tobin (1955,1959,1960 and 1983, especially pp. 197-200). To this day, we still nag. In my case it was precisely the tools of the "neoclassical synthesis" (used in the 1955 edition assigned to EclO Harvard stu- dents) that were employed to deduce how austere budget surpluses cum expan- sionary Fed mode could augment a low-saving nation's productivity growth rate without occasioning structural unemployment. We were heroes before our time and long before the infelicities of Laffer-Remp-Reagan! Competent scholars in macroeconomics will understand the neoclassical de- ductive reasonings and the economic-historical facts that can bring back into rele- vance the paradox of thrift that my critic scorns. Yes, when the Bank of Japan's 1996 short-term interest rate is half of 1 percent, there is less new punch from open- market purchases than when nominal interest rates average 10 percent. Yes, Vir- ginia, there can be in such times shades of liquidity traps and a genuine paradox of thrift. Maybe future college sophomores will learn this the hard way—perhaps after a populist majority has temporarily put a balanced-budget amendment into the Constitution and when real-and-nominal exogenous forces cause securities mar- kets to clear at low interest rates like those prevailing back in the late 1930s. The Bible tells us: there is a time to remember and a time to forget. Alas, the Good Book does not reveal when those times occur in connection with delicate syndromes Credo of a Lucky Textbook Author 157 like the heredcal paradox of dirift. Slogans and excommunications do not a good economics make. Mark Skousen is more of a libertarian than I am. That is obvious. He was bom with a more devout belief in Say's Law than I was. That is obvious. Much could be usefully added on our many differences, but it will be a better use of my page radon to conclude with some account about past ideological pressures on teachers and textbooks, from the right and left. It is a story not well known, but fraught with historical significance. Tale of Two Texts As indicated, in the mid-1940s I suspected that it was a dme of singular op- portunity. The colleges were crowded with returning veterans. For those who had lived through the 1929-1935 Great Depression, die best of the existing texts were almost comical in their macroeconomics. That word had not yet been invented. When Edwin Nourse, the first chairman ofthe Council of Economic Advisers, asked Alvin Hansen who invented the newfangled word macroeconomics, Hansen wrote back: "I don't know. Probably Scimuelson." I have much to declare before St. Peter, but I was pretty sure that Frisch or Tinbergen was the culprit. Macroeconomics was not in the index of my £conoTOiC5 first edidon. Subsequent research suggests, however, that Erik Lindahl (1939) first used the word in Swedish and English print. I did cash in on bringing simple Keynes to the elementary classroom. But in doing that, I was packaging some of my own hooch, since it was me who had in- vented (at Harvard and MIT) the 45° / + C -I- G diagrams that became a staple on postwar blackboards. But of course they were already lurking there in the mathe- matics and the words of the Keynes-Kahn muldplier paradigm. What I did not andcipate was how strong this new virus would be and how durable would be the market prominence of my evolving brainchild. One guy's luck may be augmented by another's bad luck. The tale I shall tell has its primary interest as an important chapter in the attempts by noneconomists to censor what is taught in the university. Censors seek suppression both from the right and from the left. The 1948 Samuelson text was not the first to add a Keynesian analysis to the received versions of AfF = PQ. The late Lorie Tarshis was a Canadian who taught at Tufts University in the latter 1930s. Tarshis had been a Cambridge student from Toronto in John Maynard Keynes' lectures during the formadve years ofthe 1936 General Theory. He began before World War II to write an elementary text; on re- turning from the war, he finished The Elements of Economics at Stanford, and Houghton-Mifflin published it a full year before 1948. Lorie was a neighbor and good personal friend, but I first heard of his book when as a 1947 MIT teacher I was given a promodonal copy. It was a good book; a very good book. Maybe in 1945 I would have stuck to my mathematical-economics knitting if the Tarshis text had then been available. 158 Journal of Economic Perspectives For one year the Tarshis opus had a good sale. Under normal circumstances, my book would have inevitably become a competitor. But of course, the beginners' market is gigantic in scope, big enough for several worthy competitors: once good textbooks became available, the economics courses at most universities shot toward or to the very top in enrollment. What almost killed the Tarshis book in its tracks were vicious political and personal attacks on him as a "Keynesian-Marxist." (Ear- lier, Herbert Hoover popularized that one-word combination.) I knew well the diversities of ideologies in 1930-1950 America, but never could I understand the variety and virulence of the attackers on Tarshis from the right. Tarshis was not notorious as a leftist; before then and until his death in 1994 at a ripe, ripe age, Lorie Tarshis was a low-keyed teacher and researcher. Independentiy of John Dun- lop, Tarshis did important empirical work criticizing (!) Keynes' treatment in the General Theory of a necessarily declining wage rate when the total of employment rose. His later textbook on international trade was also an excellent middle-of-die- road contribution to that subject. The attackers, I recall, included names then considered extremely on the right: a Colonel Namm, who owned a Brooklyn department store; also someone named ZoU, from a small fascist-leaning group on the right. There was, too, a Philip Cort- ney, who headed the Cody cosmetic company and lectured at Harvard that Sumner Slichter (who was actually the academic most beloved by business^group audiences) was "the most dangerous man in America. Worse than an avowed Keynesian is this closet-Keynesian poisoning America's policy formation." Running with that pack was Rose Wilder Lane. All of us have had read to us Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Little House in the Prairie (. . .in the Forest, . . .in the. . .) or we have read them to our own children. Rose Wilder Lane, littie Rose grown up, became the author of Let the Hurricane Roar (1933), an epic about Norwegian immigrants freezing in the Dako- tas. Somewhere along the line the no-longer-young Rose became possessed of eco- nomic truth and proclaimed that it was not to be found in the dangerous Tarshis canon. I know of these details only because, later, having tasted blood in trying to root the Tarshis text out of colleges everywhere, some oithe same people turned toward my effort. God and Man at Yalehy the young Bill Buckley (1951) quoted from some of them; and others of his critiques I could recognize (from the coincidental in- exactitudes of the quoted words) were taken from the writings of these earlier critics. The joke is that Buckley's Yale was notorious in those days for its conservative old guard economists (Fred Fairchild, Hudson Hastings, Ray Westerfield, O. Glenn Saxon). I cannot judge Yale's religious orthodoxies and heresies, but its economics at that time was devoutiy orthodox. All this may now seem bizarre and comical, but it was not a joke to earnest professors at scores of colleges who came under attack by regents and alumni vis- iting committees who had been alerted to the heresies being imposed on innocent college youth. Person-years were imposed on earnest professors who had to defend the objectivity of their assigned curricula. Fortunately for me, I had considered it good business to articulate carefully just when and why an unorthodox paradigm Paul A. Samuelson 159 might make sense under certain condidons, whereas at other dmes orthodox par- adigms would commend themselves. Interested in maximizing not PQ book reve- nues but rather Q influence, I could only gain from being eclectic and centrist. Cridcs from both right and left began to complain that I wrote carefully (as if a lawyer were at my elbow). Actually, such cridcs did me a favor. Where one person stays unconvinced, so will another. Eclectically qualifying principles makes for better principles, rather than for wishy-washy banalides, and it makes for better scholarship. Prior to publication, my preliminary classroom versions came under intense attack firom several MIT businessmen alumni and board members. One spotted a list of 100 heresies. When I took pains to explicate their exposidons, he reacted with frustradon: "The whole tone is wrong. You do not inculcate sound economics. That is your trouble. To protect your own reputadon, a good man like Professor Fairchild of Yale must vet your text to cleanse out its heresies." That command exceeded my tolerance and amiability. President Karl Compton of MIT intervened widi a letter in which he proclaimed that any dme one of his professors became censorable by some outsider, he would hand in his own resignadon from office. (Later, when my book was accorded bestseller status, this pardcular businessman cridc even developed some grudging admiration for it. Money talks. Lorie Tarshis was never so lucky with any of his opponents.) All this, mind you, was just/>nor to the Joseph McCarthy era of witch-hunting in government, academia and the clergy. During that period and still afterwards, there was often a full<ourt press by various conservative groups to emphasize sound principles in high school and corporate in-house courses in economics. When the AEA cosponsored with numerous foundadons a TV Condnental Classroom course in economics, much time and energy was expended to ensure a balanced curricu- lum. (This "ethical cleansing" did not speed up creadve innovadons in the direc- tion of "monetarism" or later "radonal expectationism.") By die dme of the 1960s and 1970s, die shoe began to pinch on the other foot. Student unrest at die time of the Vietnam War led to bitter attacks on mainstream economics. To the New Left, Samuelson became the personification of what was bad about the running jackals of capitalism. Out of Denmark, in German and En- glish, came a two-volume Anti-Samuelson (Linder and Sensat, 1977). Like the mini- skirt, die radical facdon gradually subsided; but when I lectured in 1973 at Austra- lian universities, I discovered that students were disappointed that I wore neither a top silk hat nor spats. It is hard to please everyone. See Assar Lindbeck's (1971) The Political Economy ofthe New Left: An Outsider's View for a valuable account of what turned out to be a nondurable movement. I believe it is healthy for a discipline like economics to evolve in response to new developments and better understandings of historical reality. That is quite another thing from Stalinist or Chamber of Commerce coercion on the educadonal system. Funeral by funeral, economics does make progress. Darwinian impact of reality melts away even the pretdest of fanciful theories and the hottest of ideolog- ical frenzies. But there are fits and starts along the way. 160 Jmimal of Economic Perspectives References Buckley, WlKam F., Jr., God and Man at Yate. Chicago: Regnery, 1951. Donald, David Herbert, Lincoln. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1995. Ely, Ridiard T., Outlines of Economics. New York: Macmillan, 1893, 1908, 1918, 1926, 1931, 1938; after 1908 the revisions are by Thomas S. Adams, Max O. Lorenz and Allyn Young, and later by Ralph Hess. FaircUM, Fred R., Edgar S. Fumiss, and Nor- num S. Buck, Elementary Economics. Vols. 1 and 2, 3rd edition, New York: Macmillan, 1936. Fisber, Irving, Elementary Principles of Economics. New York: Macmillan, 1911. Friedman, Milton, "The Spendings Tax as a Wartime Fiscal Measure," American Economic Re- view, March 1943, 33, 50-62. Friedman, Milton, "A Monetary and Fiscal Framework for Economic Stability," American Economic Review, ]une 1948, 38, 245-64. Garver, F. B., and Alvin Hansen, Principles of Economics. Boston: Ginn, 1938. Keynes, John Maynaid, The General Theory of Employment, Interest and Money. London: Macmil- lan, 1936. Kiekhoffer, WUliam H., Economic Principles, Problems and Policies. New York and London: Ap- pleton-Century, 1936, the successor to a 1921 ver- sion. K n ^ t , Frank, "The Newer Economics and the Control of Economic Activity," Joumal of Po- litical Economy, August 19S2a, 40, 433-76. Kni^t, Frank, "Comment on Mr. Slichter's Comment on the Issues,"/OMTOO/ of Political Econ- omy, December 1932b, 40, 820-25. Lane, Rose Wilder, Let the Hurricane Roar. Lon- don: Longmans Green & Co., 1933. Undahl, Erik R., Studies in the Themy of Money and Capital. London: Allen Sc Unwin, 1939. Lindbeck, Assar, The PoUticat Economy of the New Left: An Outsider's View. New York: Harper & Row, 1971. Linder, Marc, with Julius Sensat, Anti- Samuelson. Vols. 1 and 2, New York: Urizen Books, 1977. Samuelson Paul A., Foundations of Economic Analysis. 1947. Enlarged edition, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1983. Samuelson, Paul A., Economics. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1948,1952,1955,1958,1961,1964, 1967, 1970, 1973, 1980; with William D. Nord- haus, 12th, 13th, 14th, and 15th editions, 1985, 1989,1992, 1995. Samuelson, Paul A., The Collected Scientific Pa- pers of Paut A. Samuelson. Vol. 2, Cambridge, Mass.: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Press, 1965 (see especially chapter 100, "The New Look in Tax and Fiscal Policy"; see also chapter 98, "Principles and Rules in Modem Fis- cal Policy: A Neo-Classical Reformulation," chap- ter 99, "Full Employment Versus Progress and Other Economic Goals," and chapter 105, "Fis- cal and Financial Policies for Growth"). Slichter, Sumner H., Modem Economic Society. New York: Henry Holt, 1931. SHchter, Sumner H., "Modern Economic So- ciety Further Considered: Comments on Mr. Knight's Review," /(mraa/ of Political Economy, De- cember 1932, 40, 814-20. SUditer, Sumner H., "Pseudo-Scientific Method in Economics: A Reply," Econometrica, October 1933, 1, 428-29. Tarshis, Lorie, The Elements of Economics. Bos- ton: Houghton-Mifflin, 1947. Tarshis, Lorie, Introduction to International Trade and Finance. New York: Wiley, and London: Chapman & Hall, 1955. Tauss%, Frank W., Principles of Economics. New York: Macmillan, 1911. Tobin, James, "A Dynamic Aggregative Model," foumat of Political Economy, April 1955, 31, 103-15. Tobin, James, "Reply to Professor Eisner," Economcfoumal, September 1959, 69, 599-608. Tobin, James, "Growth Through Taxation," The New Repubtic, July 25, 1960, 15-18; repro- duced in Tobin, J., ed.. National Economic Policy, Essays. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1966, pp. 78-88. Tobin, James. "Macroeconomics and Fiscal Policy." In Brown, E. C , and R. M. Solow, eds., Paul Samuetsan and Modem Economic Theory. Cam- bridge, Mass.: Massachusetts Institute of Tech- nology Press, 1983, pp. 189-202; particularly 197-200. Wilder, Laura Ingalls, The Little House on the Prairie. New York: Harper & Bros., 1935. 
work_sysuwrxvo5cxjhazbbf36riv4y	----	January 2000 Hammill, F. (2001) Cold Comfort Farm, D. H. Lawrence, and English literary culture between the wars. MFS: Modern Fiction Studies, 47(4), pp. 831-854. There may be differences between this version and the published version. You are advised to consult the publisher’s version if you wish to cite from it. http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/148864/ Deposited on: 27 September 2017 Enlighten – Research publications by members of the University of Glasgow http://eprints.gla.ac.uk http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/148864/ http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/148864/ http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/ http://eprints.gla.ac.uk/ 1 Faye Hammill As published in Modern Fiction Studies 47.4 (Winter 2001)831-854. Cold Comfort Farm, DH Lawrence & English Literary Culture Between the Wars Stella Gibbons's Cold Comfort Farm (1932) has been an incredibly popular novel. Its most famous line, "I saw something nasty in the woodshed", has become a catchphrase, and the book has sold in large numbers during the whole period since its first publication in 1932. It has been adapted as a stage play, a musical, a radio drama and two films, thereby reaching a still larger audience.1 Its status within the academically-defined literary canon, by contrast, is low. One full article on Cold Comfort Farm was published in 1978, and since then, only a few paragraphs of criticism have been devoted to the novel. Critics are apparently reluctant to admit Cold Comfort Farm to be properly "literary", and it is rarely mentioned in studies of the literature of the interwar years. This is curious, because Cold Comfort Farm is an extremely sophisticated and intricate parody, whose meaning is produced through its relationship with the literary culture of its day, and with the work of such canonical authors as DH Lawrence, Thomas Hardy and Emily Bronte. The novel's engagement with the gender issues of the 1930s also repays detailed examination. My reading of Cold Comfort Farm will focus on its relation to its literary and cultural context, and will work towards an understanding of the reasons for its marginal position in the canon of English fiction. Stella Gibbons (1902-1989) worked as a journalist during the 1920s, and became instantly famous on the publication of her first novel, Cold Comfort Farm. She went on to publish twenty-three more novels and several collections of short stories and poetry. Most of these were reasonably successful but they are now all out of print. Briefly summarized, Cold Comfort Farm concerns a London woman, Flora Poste, who loses her parents at the age of nineteen, and decides to live with some of her relatives until she marries. She chooses a family of Sussex farming cousins, the Starkadders, and resolves to tidy up their lives for them. She eventually persuades them all to abandon their eccentric behaviour and adopt what she considers to be civilized, rational lifestyles. 1 In 1965 a musical version, Something Nasty in the Woodshed was produced, and three years later the novel was made into a film. It has also been adapted for the stage by Paul Doust (first performed in 1991), and read on the radio by Kenneth Williams. A BBC radio dramatization was broadcast in May 1981, and issued as an audiobook in 1989. A second film version, directed by John Schlesinger, was released in 1997. 2 Flora is clearly marked as belonging to the fictional world of Jane Austen. We are alerted to this early in the narrative when she mentions her ambition to write a novel as good as Persuasion, and adds: "I think I have much in common with Miss Austen" (20). Flora often reads Mansfield Park to sustain her amid the chaos of Cold Comfort, and it is the progress from disorder to order in Austen's books which appeals to her. On her arrival at the farm, Flora enters into an alien fictional world; and she is evidently conscious of this, because she remarks that she hopes to collect material for a novel while she is there. Her entirely accurate preconceptions about her Starkadder relatives are derived from her reading of novels very different from those of Jane Austen. She is excited at the prospect of meeting a doomed family and discovering a "gloomy mystery" (58), and she expects her second cousins to be named Seth and Reuben, because "highly sexed young men living on farms are always called Seth or Reuben, […] and my cousin's name, remember, is Judith. That in itself is most ominous. Her husband is almost certain to be called Amos, and if he is, it will be a typical farm" (23). She makes explicit her literary source for these ideas when she remarks on discovering the tyranny of her great aunt Ada Doom, otherwise Mrs Starkadder: "So that was what it was. Mrs Starkadder was the curse of Cold Comfort. Mrs Starkadder was the Dominant Grandmother Theme, which was found in all typical novels of agricultural life. It was, of course, right and proper that Mrs Starkadder should be in possession at Cold Comfort; Flora should have suspected her existence from the beginning" (57). Flora functions as a reader as well as a character within the narrative, commenting on the story as it progresses and relating it to the patterns and conventions of the books she has read. Although Gibbons does not identify any "novels of agricultural life" by name, there are clear indications as to which authors she is parodying, and a rehearsal of her sources gives an idea of her range of reference. In the 1920s and early 1930s, she reviewed new rural fiction for the Evening Standard, and for a journal of country life, The Lady, thereby gaining a wide knowledge of the genre. Two of the most popular regional writers of the period were Sheila Kaye-Smith and Mary Webb, and many aspects of the plot, characterization and setting of Cold Comfort Farm can be traced to their work. For example, Aunt Ada Doom is based on Mrs Velindre in Webb's The House in Dormer Forest (1920), and the description of the farmhouse at Cold Comfort parodies Webb's portrait of Dormer House. The original for Flora's cousin Reuben, who is obsessed with his ownership of farmland, can be found in Kaye-Smith's Sussex Gorse (1916), while Gibbons's imaginary Calvinist sect, the Quivering Brethren, refers specifically to the Colgate Brethren in Kaye-Smith's later novel Susan Spray (1931) and more generally to the presence in many rural novels of Old Testament theology and 3 belief in a vengeful God. Gibbons also parodies the prose style of these two novelists, finding especially rich sources in Kaye-Smith's purple passages. The anthropomorphized cows, plants and porridge in Cold Comfort Farm mock the emphasis on man's intimate connections with the natural world which is characteristic of primitivist writing, and which is often expressed through the use of the pathetic fallacy. All Mary Webb's landscapes, for example, function as metaphors for human passions (see Barale 88, 100, 151). The pathetic fallacy is similarly used in the work of JC Powys and of DH Lawrence, both of whom were influenced by primitivist thinking. For the contemporary reader, DH Lawrence is the most easily identifiable of Gibbons's targets, and he is particularly important to a reading of her work because she not only parodies his prose style but also satirizes his ideas about gender and sexuality. Among the many details in Cold Comfort Farm which point to Lawrence are the incestuous desire of Judith for her son Seth, which links her with Gertrude Morel in Sons and Lovers (1913), and the name of Seth's mistress, Meriam, which recalls Paul Morel's lover Miriam. As for JC Powys, there is a certain Gothic dimension to his Sussex novels which is parodied in Gibbons's dark secrets and gloomy mysteries. Also, the critic WJ Keith identifies a reference to TF Powys's Mr Weston's Good Wine in Cold Comfort Farm (Keith 175), and Stella Gibbons's nephew and biographer Reggie Oliver emphasizes the importance of the Powys brothers among the sources for Cold Comfort Farm.2 Oliver also enumerates some of the third-rate novels which Stella Gibbons received to review or précis while she was working for the Lady, and he makes particular mention of Gay Agony (1930), by one H.A. Manhood. The names for Gibbons's characters Micah and Amos were probably borrowed from Gay Agony, and Oliver's quotation from Manhood sufficiently demonstrates that novels such as this formed part of the inspiration for Cold Comfort Farm: "Rain had come like a belated passion. Daylight seemed no more than a pale reflection surviving from some past day. […] Hissing screens obscured the moor, breaking against the windows of the Black Smock with a sound suggestive of the birth of thorns" (qtd in Oliver 142). A further possible source for Cold Comfort Farm is Ethan Frome (1911), Edith Wharton's tragic story of rural poverty and doomed love. In a brief article, Jackie Vickers lists a number of 2 Oliver's biography sets out the connections between Gibbons's novel and the work of JC Powys, and he later commented: "I may not have perhaps have placed enough emphasis on the Powys brothers (particularly JC) as a source for her parody" (letter to the author, dated 15 July 2000). See Oliver 112-119 for a discussion of the sources of Cold Comfort Farm. I am very grateful to Reggie Oliver for invaluable help with my research, and for the excellent material provided in his book. 4 striking correspondences between the two novels, which constitute persuasive evidence that Gibbons had Wharton in mind alongside the British regional writers. Tauba R Heilpern, in an unpublished essay on Cold Comfort Farm, makes a case for including Eugene O'Neill's play Desire Under the Elms (1924) among Gibbons's influences. Both books, Heilpern argues, emphasize the sinister influence of nature on human life, and include motifs of divine retribution and incest. As with Wharton, the evidence is fairly convincing, but in a letter to Ms Heilpern about her sources, Stella Gibbons said she did not consciously parody O'Neill.3 Mention should also be made of Hugh Walpole, whose four Lake District romances appeared between 1930 and 1933 and were modelled on the novels of Walter Scott. Although there are no obvious similarities between Walpole's four Herries Chronicles and Cold Comfort Farm, the foreword to Gibbons's novel parodies a pompous dedication with which Walpole prefaced one of his books. Raymond Williams in The Country and The City suggests that instead of comparing Cold Comfort Farm with its obvious early twentieth-century forbears, "it ought really to be read side-by-side with, say, Wuthering Heights, Adam Bede, Tess of the D'Ubervilles" (253). He does not argue that Gibbons parodies these authors, but that she shares some of their preoccupations, in terms of "the tension of an increasingly intricate and interlocking society" and "the changes of urbanism and industrialism" (253). However, in the cases of Hardy and Bronte, there is a certain amount of evidence that Gibbons deliberately included them among her targets. She mentions Wuthering Heights at one point, and two of the characters in Cold Comfort Farm, the incredibly ancient servant Adam and the religious bigot Amos, have similarities to Emily Bronte's character Joseph. The connection to Thomas Hardy is stronger, since he too makes heavy use of the pathetic fallacy, and some of Gibbons's nature descriptions are definitely reminiscent of those in his 1887 novel The Woodlanders (see Ariail 66-67). Gibbons also exaggerates Hardy's dependence on coincidence in his fictional plots by including a great many improbable coincidences in her own, and her choice of the name Elfine for the Starkadder daughter points to Elfride in Hardy's A Pair of Blue Eyes (1873). The relationship with Eliot is less obvious, but according to Gladys Mary Coles, who approached Gibbons about her sources: "Miss Gibbons has confirmed that she was satirising the rural tradition in the work of many authors, including Emily Bronte, George Eliot, Hardy, DH Lawrence, the Powys brothers, and Sheila Kaye- Smith as well as Mary Webb, and also the numerous minor country novelists of the early nineteen thirties" (Coles, Mary Webb 150-151). Coles uses this information to defend Webb against the charge 3 I am grateful to Tauba Heilpern for this information, and for permission to draw on her research. 5 of being the main target of Gibbons's attack, while Webb's other biographer, Dorothy Wrenn, states rather proudly that Webb's The House in Dormer Forest was the inspiration for Cold Comfort Farm (68). These contrasting approaches reflect differing assessments of the purpose and impact of Gibbons's parody. According to Coles: "Cold Comfort Farm dealt a severe blow to the genre [of the rural novel]: and it effectively damaged Mary Webb's reputation (but not immediately the sales of her books), since it helped to reinforce among academic critics and intellectuals [an] antipathy towards her work" (Flower of Light 326). Wrenn, by contrast, argues: "Cold Comfort Farm is a very entertaining book, and well worth reading. So is The House in Dormer Forest. To obtain the maximum amount of pleasure from each of them, read both, one after the other" (68). A further reason for this divergence is that Wrenn's focus is on the pleasure of reading Webb, whereas Coles's is on Webb's critical reputation. In the light of Coles's argument, it is somewhat ironic that critics and intellectuals also seem to have an antipathy towards Stella Gibbons. It is possible that this antipathy derives in part from the low critical standing of some of the authors she parodies: Mary Webb is not widely read or taught today, nor are Kaye-Smith, the Powys brothers or Walpole.4 Certain commentators have argued that the canonical status of a parody is largely dependent on the status of its target works (for examples see Rose 39, 122), and WJ Keith applies this argument to Gibbons's novel: "Cold Comfort Farm was an immense success in its time […] Inevitably, however, its point has been blunted by the decline of the genre that it helped to dislodge. […] many of its finer points will be lost on modern readers, and some of its implications need to be spelled out in detail" (175). This may be partially true, but there are two counter-arguments to be advanced. Firstly, the most recognizable target of Cold Comfort Farm, DH Lawrence, still holds a central position in the canon of English fiction, as of course do Hardy, Eliot and Bronte. Secondly, it is demonstrable that Gibbons's parody still functions effectively even though the fashion for regional fictions is so far behind us. It is certainly true that few readers today will be able to put a name to all Gibbons's sources, or recognize the specificity of her jokes as they apply to individual authors. However, the parody is ultimately directed at a fashionable genre rather than an individual, and as Margaret Rose explains: "The dual structure of parody allows it to keep both its target and its own parodic function alive. Stella Gibbons's Cold Comfort Farm, for instance, is still 4 The reputation of the women rural writers has been bolstered somewhat by the republication of Kaye-Smith's Susan Spray and Joanna Godden (1921) and Mary Webb's Precious Bane (1925) in the Virago Modern Classics series, but in the Oxford and Cambridge Companions to English Literature, the entries for Kaye-Smith and Webb refer to Cold Comfort Farm, implying that the primary reason for remembering these authors is as the targets of Gibbons's parody. 6 comic even if one does not know the specific works it parodies, because its parody of those works has evoked them for the reader while making fun of them by exaggerating their peculiarities" (122). Rose rejects the contention that a parody will no longer be recognized as such once its originals have been forgotten, and argues that parody's ambivalence derives from "its ability to criticise and renew its target as a part of its own structure" (41). This can be applied to Gibbons in that she recreates the primitivist novels within her text and inscribes their conventions onto her work, thereby ensuring their continued existence. For example, the women rural novelists often relied on Victorian- style melodramatic plots, revolving around "family hatreds, ancient houses and violent elemental interventions" (Trodd 104). These plots dated rapidly, causing the novels to fall out of fashion while Lawrence and Hardy continued to be widely read. Cold Comfort Farm parodies rural melodrama by setting up two mysteries in the novel - what happened in the woodshed, and what are the unspecified "rights" which Judith and Ada attribute to Flora. Gibbons declines to solve either of these mysteries, except by hinting that the explanations are entirely trivial; and yet some of the interest of her narrative depends on the reader's curiosity about them. Thus Cold Comfort Farm situates itself in a somewhat contradictory position: both in the tradition of rural writing and also outside it, commenting on it from a position of ordinary common sense. This positioning is typical of parodic texts. Gibbons depends on the traditional structures of the agricultural novel - the family feuds, the isolated setting, the landscape description, the gloomy mysteries - but she also critiques the use of these motifs in the texts she parodies. Many of her jokes can only be fully appreciated by a reader familiar with a number of novels by half a dozen rural writers, and in this way, Gibbons seems to be addressing a reader who is an avid consumer of rural fictions; yet through her mockery of those fictions, she constructs a reader who shares her scepticism about primitivist writing. A further ambivalence inheres in Gibbons's relationship with the concepts of literature and literariness; and this, again, can be discerned through attention to the kind of reader which is constructed by the text. Gibbons's many intertextual references and subtle parodic and satiric strategies seem to address themselves to a sophisticated, highly-educated and widely-read audience, but her criticism of the literary establishment is evidently directed towards a reader of common sense, who distrusts elites. The author's foreword to the novel provides the first indication of this tension: "I 7 found, after spending ten years as a journalist, learning to say exactly what I meant in short sentences, that I must learn, if I was to achieve literature and favourable reviews, to write as though I were not quite sure what I meant but was jolly well going to say something all the same in sentences as long as possible" (7). This implies that "Literature" is defined according to the rather arcane tastes of an elite, who have sufficient power to influence literary fashions. Her reference to journalism is glossed by the English Studies Group at the Birmingham Centre for Contemporary Culture Studies, in their article on 1930s fiction: "The middlebrow novel takes journalism as its model. […] [Cold Comfort Farm] ironically disclaims any pretensions to 'literary' status - a disclaimer entirely characteristic of middlebrow writing" (14-15). Gibbons's foreword is addressed to one Anthony Pookworthy, Esq, and Pookworthy represents Hugh Walpole, whom Gibbons once interviewed. According to Reggie Oliver, she saw in Walpole "not only an over-rated writer with an unduly high opinion of himself, but the representative of a smug, self-congratulatory literary establishment" (76). The letters she puts after Pookworthy's name, ABS, LLR, stand for Associate Back Scratcher and Licensed Log Roller, clearly indicating that she perceives the literary establishment as exclusive and somewhat corrupt. Gibbons's ridiculing of the literary elite firmly aligns her novel with a middlebrow or commonsense position, and this is reinforced by the fact that Cold Comfort Farm was published not by one of the elite publishers, such as Cape, Hogarth, Chatto or Faber, but by Longmans. It was reprinted in 1938 by Penguin, which was "by then the most successful of the new distinctively middlebrow publishing ventures" (English Studies Group 14). Gibbons's choice of a sustained comic mode also functions to align her work with the middlebrow, since she employs comedy to ridicule certain unambiguously "literary" texts, and to articulate a common-sensical outlook in opposition to them. Her use of humour as a method of highlighting the failings of the rural novel is particularly effective in the light of the humorlessness of her originals. She writes in her dedicatory foreword: You see, Tony, I have a debt to pay. Your books have […] given me […] joy. It is just possible that it was not the kind of joy you intended them to give […] But it was joy all right. […] I have more than once hesitated before the thought of trying to repay some fraction of my debt to you by offering you a book that was meant to be … funny. For your own books are not … funny. They are records of intense spiritual struggles, staged in the wild setting of mere, berg or fen. Your characters are ageless and elemental things, tossed like straws on the seas of passion. You paint Nature at her rawest, in man and in landscapes. The only beauty that lights your pages is the grave peace of fulfilled passion. (8) 8 The age-old hierarchy of tragedy over comedy persists to a certain degree in many literary histories, and this may be a further reason why Cold Comfort Farm is not admitted to the ranks of "Literature". Further, as Reggie Oliver points out, Gibbons's tendency to eschew the artistic functions of subversion and questioning and instead attempt to "amuse, elevate, inspire, even comfort" through her writing was unfashionable in the interwar years. Oliver suggests that her "warm and optimistic" attitude "went against the grain of modernism" (124), and that this has affected assessments of the importance of her writing. A second mention of book reviewers in Gibbons's foreword suggests that their discriminations between "Literature" and non-literary writing are fairly spurious: it is only because I have in mind all those thousands of persons, not unlike myself, who work in the vulgar and meaningless bustle of offices, shops and homes, and who are not always sure whether a sentence is Literature or whether it is just sheer flapdoodle, that I have adopted the method perfected by the late Herr Baedeker, and firmly marked what I consider the finer passages with one, two or three stars. In such a manner did the good man deal with cathedrals, hotels and paintings by men of genius. There seems no reason why it should not be applied to passages in novels. It ought to help the reviewers too. (7-8) Baedeker, in EM Forster's A Room With A View (1908), is firmly associated with vulgarity, but Gibbons uses Baedeker to represent the common-sense middlebrow position, in opposition to pretentiousness and elitism. Her asterisk system ridicules the way that passages of "fine writing" in rural novels are isolated from the rest of the text. Several of the agricultural novels of the period, particularly those of Webb and Kaye-Smith, include many dialect words, and the attempt to represent regional speech contrasts sharply with the lyric landscape descriptions in the educated voice of the narrator. This inevitably constructs the characters as far less cultured and articulate than the author, an attitude which Gibbons apparently found patronising, but which Anthea Trodd suggests was deliberate: "For the mostly urban reader for whom [Kaye-Smith] is writing, Sussex is picturesque, historical, literary, but she is constantly pointing out that this view is entirely alien to [her heroine] Joanna" (Trodd 105). Gibbons, by contrast, has her Sussex character Elfine appreciate the countryside and write poems about it in a manner which, although naïve and eccentric, is yet presented as far more authentic than the rhapsodizing of the visiting London author, Mr Mybug. Gibbons uses her asterisk system to dramatize a conflict between two literary modes - the melodramatic and metaphorical style of the regional novel and the brand of understated realism used by Gibbons's beloved Jane Austen. These two modes are, of course, represented by the earthy 9 sensuality of the Starkadders and the matter-of-fact rationality of Flora respectively. The following extract describes the first meeting between Flora and Reuben: "Hullo", said Flora, getting her blow in first. "I feel sure you must be Reuben. I'm Flora Poste, your cousin, you know. How do you do? I'm so glad to see somebody has come in for some tea. Do sit down. Do you take milk?" * * * The man's big body, etched menacingly against the bleak light that stabbed in from the low windows, did not move. His thoughts swirled like a beck in spate behind the sodden grey furrows of his face. A woman … Blast! Blast! Come to wrest away from him the land whose love fermented in his veins, like slow yeast. […] Break her. Break. Keep and hold and hold fast the land. The land, the iron furrows of frosted earth under the rain-lust, the fecund spears of rain, the swelling, slow burst of seed-sheaths, the slow smell of cows and cry of cows, the trampling bride-path of the bull in his hour. All his, his … "Will you have some bread and butter?" asked Flora, handing him a cup of tea. "Oh, never mind your boots. Adam can sweep the mud up afterwards. Do come in." Defeated, Reuben came in. (77) From Reuben's point of view, Flora belongs to a separate social world with a set of rules he does not understand. To the reader, however, it is clear that Flora and Reuben speak different languages because they are characters from two entirely different kinds of novel. The clash of discourses which results from their encounter is evident in the above quotation, which juxtaposes the conventional phrases of ordinary social intercourse with the highly metaphorical and colourful language used to describe Reuben. This description is a very obvious imitation of Lawrence's rhythmic prose, repetitive phrasing, and frequent use of sexual imagery, and it also has affinities with the style of the women rural novelists. The imitation is so little exaggerated that it is only marked as parodic by its incongruity with the register used in the rest of the passage. Compare, for example, the opening description of the Brangwens in Lawrence's The Rainbow (1915): Their life and inter-relations were such; feeling the pulse and body of the soil, that opened to their furrow for the grain, and became smooth and supple after their ploughing, and clung to their feet with a weight that pulled like desire, lying hard and unresponsive when the crops were to be shorn away. […] They took the udder of the cows, the cows yielded milk and pulse against the hands of the men, the pulse of the blood of the teats of the cows beat into the pulse of the hands of the men. (10) Gibbons's contrasting of different fictional discourses, and the commentary on it which she provides in the foreword, indicate the emphasis which the book places on the subjectivity of perception. One phrase which often occurs in the three-star passages is "the farm crouched, like a beast 10 about to spring". But after many repetitions of this phrase, the narrator eventually observes: "The farm no longer looked like a beast about to spring. (Not that it ever had, to [Flora], for she was not in the habit of thinking that things looked exactly like other things which were as different from them in appearance as it was possible to be.)" (204). At one point, Flora explicitly highlights the contrast between her literal mode of perception and the metaphorical one which prevails in the world of rural fiction: "Flora supposed that some people would say that [Amos] walked in a lurid, smoky hell of his own religious torment. In any case he was a rude old man" (86). She contrasts her own straightforward evaluation with a far more melodramatic and literary one, and adds: "it was too true that life as she is lived had a way of being curiously different from life as described by novelists" (87). Once again, the middlebrow position of commonsense is set up against the perceived pretentiousness and distortion of regional writing. The word "middlebrow" in this article, following the usage by the Birmingham English Studies Group, is intended to be non-evaluative, but the term is used by more conventional literary historians with derogatory intention. Alison Light, discussing Paul Fussell's 1980 book on travel writing between the wars, comments on this, and links it with gender: "Fussell's account is one of many which suggests in how many different ways aesthetic judgements are intertwined with those about gender. Just as for him truly literary culture and the masculine are inseparable, so the feminine is implicitly associated with the 'middlebrow', a term always bordering on contempt" (7). This masculine bias in the definition of "Literature" is the major cause of Gibbons's antipathy towards the literary establishment; it is also one cause of her neglect by that establishment. The literary elite which Stella Gibbons resists is clearly characterized as masculine because she uses Walpole as its representative. This is reinforced in the body of the novel when Flora correctly predicts that the Bloomsbury author Mr Mybug is about to claim that Branwell Bronte wrote Wuthering Heights. Flora comments: "There has been increasing discontent among the male intellectuals for some time at the thought that a woman wrote Wuthering Heights" (76). Gibbons's objection to male intellectuals, and their undervaluing of female intelligence, was strikingly justified by some of the reviews of Cold Comfort Farm. Several reviewers expressed incredulity that a mere journalist, and a woman at that, could have produced such an accomplished work, and one even speculated that Stella Gibbons was a pen-name of Evelyn Waugh. Despite the similarities between Waugh's comic and parodic practice and Gibbons's, it is difficult to imagine how a reviewer could mistake Cold Comfort Farm for a male-authored book, since 11 there are several points in the narrative when feminist ideas emerge and the narrator appears to be envisaging a female reader. This is most clearly visible in the treatment of DH Lawrence and his attitudes to women and to sexuality. In the late 1920s Stella Gibbons was part of a social set in which Lawrence's ideas were being used by men as an excuse for harassment of women. She told Libby Purves in a 1981 interview on Radio 4: "I got in with a rather intellectual set […] in Golders Green. The men used occasionally to try to kiss me and also to talk to me about sex, like Mr Mybug does. […] Lawrence was just beginning to be a cult with these people". Lawrence described his attempt to follow the instincts of the flesh as a "religion" (Lawrence, Letters 53) and this provided Stella's male acquaintance with a rationale for seducing women, and accusing those who rejected their advances of being sexually repressed. This behaviour is reproduced in Mr Mybug, and Gibbons attacks the followers of Lawrence through Mybug's Lawrentian poses and dubious views about sexuality and gender. On meeting Flora in Sussex, he greets her: "Hullo, Flora Poste. Do you believe that women have souls?" (100), and when she says she is not very interested, he replies, "Aren't you? Good girl … we shall be all right if only you'll be frank with me. As a matter of fact, I'm not very interested in whether they have souls either. Bodies matter more than souls" (100-101). His insistence on frankness about sex and his privileging of the body over the mind instantly demonstrate that his ideas are derived from reading DH Lawrence. His attitudes to women - marked out by his patronising phrase "good girl" and his readiness to believe that women might be spiritually inferior to men - also link him to DH Lawrence. Lawrence's belief in man's natural right to dominate woman is clearly evident in his essay Fantasia of the Unconscious (1922), in which he asserts man's "supreme responsibility to fulfil his own profoundest impulses, with reference to none but God or his own soul, not taking woman into count at all" (97). He also refers to the "genuine, not spurious, divinity" of a man, and to the chaos which would ensue if women were given increased power (97). Mr Mybug echoes some of Lawrence's most reductive ideas about women, telling Flora, for example, that: "a woman's success could only be estimated by the success of her sexual life" (122). By having such a ridiculous character express such sentiments, Gibbons reveals her contempt for this aspect of Lawrence's thought. His views gained legitimacy through their affinities with the theories of the sexologists of the period, who believed that physical and mental health were damaged by prolonged celibacy. Lawrence, however, went further than the sexologists in that he attempted to elevate sexuality over intellectual activity, and was convinced that social problems could be solved through heterosexual sexual fulfilment. These ideas were most famously articulated in his novel Lady 12 Chatterley's Lover (first published in expurgated form in 1928), and are mocked by Gibbons through the speeches of Mr Mybug: "There were many homosexuals to be seen in Hyde Park. Prostitutes, too. God! those rhododendron buds had a phallic, urgent look! Sooner or later we should have to tackle the problem of homosexuality. We should have to tackle the problem of Lesbians and old maids" (121- 122). This passage demonstrates that Gibbons's characterization of Mybug is partly parody of Lawrence's prose and partly satire of his ideas, and of the enthusiastic readers who espoused them. Contemporary theorists of parody contend that parody is directed at literary or linguistic targets, that is, coded forms of discourse, literary genres or particular texts; whereas satire may attack the actual values and behavioural practices of a certain society or group more directly (see Hutcheon 43-45; Rose 80- 86). Linda Hutcheon points out that many writers use parody for satiric purposes, and that women authors from Jane Austen onwards have found this particularly effective. Hutcheon's comment illuminates Gibbons's strategy of parodying Lawrence's writing in order to satirize his view of woman's role as primarily sexual and reproductive. In terms of sexuality and women's roles, Gibbons is firmly aligned with Austen and against Lawrence. Lawrence's own comment on Jane Austen adds an interesting dimension to Gibbons's juxtaposition of the fictional worlds of the two authors: "In the old England, the curious blood- connection held the classes together […] we feel it in Defoe or Fielding. And then, in the mean Jane Austen, it is gone. Already this old maid typifies 'personality' instead of character, the sharp knowing in apartness instead of knowing in togetherness, and she is, to my feeling, thoroughly unpleasant" (A Propos 333). Lawrence insists on defining Austen in terms of her lack of sexual experience, and fails to acknowledge that for a woman in her era, the control of the rational mind over the desires of the body was absolutely necessary for social survival.5 Lawrence wrote in his 1930 essay A Propos of Lady Chatterley's Lover: "When a woman's sex is itself dynamic and alive, then it is a power in itself, beyond her reason" (316), a view which is explicitly satirized by Gibbons. Like many of the women in Lawrence's fiction, the Starkadder females view themselves as being subject to the forces of nature, particularly in terms of sexuality and fertility, but Flora vigorously rejects this outlook. She would have agreed with novelist Winifred Holtby, who argued in 1932 that sexologists and psychologists were limiting women's possibilities by 5 Despite the total dissimilarity between their work, Sheila Kaye-Smith was a fan of Austen's. Kaye-Smith and Gladys Bronwyn Stern's book Talking of Jane Austen (1943) is extremely admiring of its subject. 13 claiming that their primary source of fulfilment was sex and motherhood.6 Meriam, the hired girl at Cold Comfort, becomes pregnant by Seth regularly every spring, imitating the reproductive patterns of the natural world; and Flora is determined to rescue her. She meets Meriam shortly after the birth of her fourth child, and finds her already predicting her next pregnancy: "who's to know what will happen to me when the sukebind is out in the hedges again and I feels so strange on the long summer evenings-?" "Nothing will happen to you, if only you use your intelligence and see that it doesn't," retorted Flora firmly. [...] And carefully, in detail, in cool phrases, Flora explained exactly to Meriam how to forestall the disastrous effects of too much sukebind and too many long summer evenings upon the female system. Meriam listened, with eyes widening and widening. "'Tes wickedness! 'Tes flying in the face of Nature!" she burst out fearfully at last. "Nonsense!" said Flora. "Nature is all very well in her place, but she must not be allowed to make things untidy." (69) Flora rejects Meriam's passive construction, "what will happen to me", and replaces it with an active one: "use your intelligence and see that it doesn't." In this way, she resists Lawrence's contention that women are governed primarily by their bodies rather than their minds. The introduction of contraception to this rural backwater is related to the debates in the 1930s around family planning and childcare, and is part of the novel's larger engagement with gender issues. Gibbons's consideration of the possible power of the woman in literature and in 1930s society is couched in comic terms throughout, yet it is worth analyzing seriously, since it is a major element of her subtly inflected theme of progress versus stagnation. The conflict between Flora and her great-aunt Ada Doom clearly relates to this theme, because Flora's modern thinking is contrasted with Ada's clinging to tradition, epitomized in her repeated pronouncement that "there have always been Starkadders at Cold Comfort". Ada claims that ever since a mysterious shed experience which befell her as a small girl, she has not been quite right in the head. She uses her supposed madness in order to keep the enormous Starkadder family under control: whenever anyone threatens to disobey her, or to leave the farm, she has "an attack". However, Flora recognizes in her aunt a degree of astuteness and decision which makes her a possible ally rather than an enemy: 'I saw something nasty in the woodshed,' said Aunt Ada Doom […] 'Twas a burnin' noonday - sixty-nine years ago. … And me no bigger than a titty-wren. And I saw something na-' 'Well, perhaps she likes it better that way,' said Flora soothingly. She had been observing Aunt Ada's firm chin, clear eyes, tight little mouth, and close grip upon the Milk Producers' Weekly Bulletin and Cowkeepers' Guide, and she came to the conclusion that if Aunt Ada was mad, then she, Flora, was one of the Marx brothers. (171) 6 See Holtby, Virginia Woolf (29). The point is reinforced in Holtby's novel South Riding (1935). 14 But before Aunt Ada can become Flora's ally, she must relinquish the kind of power which she holds, and accept Flora's version of self-fulfilment. The Birmingham English Studies Group points out that: "Flora's […] struggle against Aunt Ada Doom […] can be seen as a conflict between two forms of female power: Aunt Ada, representing the power which accrues to the female within the traditional extended family, is opposed by the power of the newly independent woman" (16-17). This is certainly true to an extent, but the situation is complicated by the fact that Flora makes Ada over in the image of conventional femininity. She tempts her away from the farm with a Paris hotel brochure, an issue of Vogue magazine and some photographs of glamorous middle-aged socialites. In this instance, then, Flora appeals not to the committed feminist but to the ordinary woman reader, and the ground of her appeal is the pleasure which a woman with a degree of autonomy can gain for herself. Flora's version of feminism is one particularly designed to appeal to a middlebrow reader, because it is not based on political idealism, but can co-exist with a fairly conventional lifestyle. Part of Flora's mission is to transform the Starkadders into "normal" people, and her conception of normality includes observance of codes of dress and social behaviour. She reiterates that she is "properly dressed" whereas the Starkadders wear peculiar shawls, cardigans and handmade jewellery. She insists that her young cousin Elfine wear court shoes and adopt a less eccentric hairstyle. None of this betokens a politically radical woman, yet Flora's seizing of power within the Starkadder family presents a clear image of female ascendance and defiance which exists in a curious tension with her emphasis on conventional feminine behaviour. In terms of her matchmaking and interfering, Flora is comparable to Austen's Emma Woodhouse, but she is more successful than Emma. She rewrites the plots of the Starkadders' lives, introducing them to particular people and arranging their destinies exactly as a novelist would. Flora, as mentioned before, is a reader within the text; she is also a novelist within the novel. This is signalled by her initial remark that she will be collecting material for a novel while at the farm, and becomes increasingly evident as her power over the other characters is revealed. Her Austenian aesthetic biases which explain Flora's endorsement of marriage, and her requirement for closure and happy endings, all of which contrast with the plots and value-systems of the majority of regional fiction. Gibbons's choice of an epigraph from Mansfield Park, "Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery", gestures towards the large measure of grief, misery and unhappy liaisons which feature in 15 rural fiction. Flora makes sure that all the single characters, including herself, are married off by the end; but again, there is a tension between conservatism and freethinking, since she also intervenes to divide Judith from her husband Amos, and send them off abroad separately. For Judith, self-fulfilment and marital duty are in conflict. In her case, Flora does not insist on the primacy of the marital tie, and her view in this situation aligns her with feminist thinkers. In the area of women and employment, there are similar ambiguities which demonstrate the way that the novel balances between conventionality and feminism. Flora herself refuses to take up a career - a choice which was not characteristic of the forward-looking, unmarried woman of the 1930s.7 As Anthea Trodd points out, the increase in career opportunities for women in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries had led to the emergence of the "working girl", who was financially independent and perceived as glamorous and pleasure-loving. The novel attests to this when Flora's friend Mrs Smiling comments to her: "You know perfectly well that you will be miserable if you haven't got a job when all your friends have" (15). Cold Comfort Farm is set "in the near future" (6), which raises the possibility that Gibbons may be extrapolating slightly from current trends; nevertheless Flora's choice to live on her relatives until she has found a suitable husband makes her seem rather old-fashioned. On the other hand, her reason for this choice implies that she expects to have more personal power if she lives with relatives than if she becomes an employee. When Mrs Smiling suggests that she get a job, Flora replies: "I am sure it would be more amusing to go and stay with some of these dire relatives. Besides, there is sure to be a lot of material I can collect for my novel; and perhaps one or two of the relations will have messes or miseries in their domestic circle which I can clear up" (21). In her book on women's writing in the 1920s and 1930s, Alison Light argues that the literature of the period represents the home as a space newly available for women's creativity and control. This generalisation could be applied to Cold Comfort Farm since it is in the domestic space that both Ada and Flora exercise power and (in Flora's case, at least) creativity. Although she is in many ways a conventional woman, in the context of Cold Comfort Flora is emphatically the representative of modernity and progressive thinking. She shows the Starkadders the attractions of modern conveniences, aeroplane and car travel, London fashion houses, and psychoanalysis, and as a result, they leave the farm one by one. This aspect of the novel refers to the 7 The same was not true of married women. Anthea Trodd, in her extremely useful book on women's writing 1900-1945, explains that it was the norm in the 1930s for women to give up work when they married - the idea that a man's status and 16 anxieties evident in much rural fiction about the violence of change, modernisation and urbanisation. The enormous contrast between Flora's London milieu and the life of the Sussex farm replicates a characteristic of regional fiction which is pointed out by Anthea Trodd: "Despite their reception as affirmations of the continuity of rural life, it was their insistence on the gulf between countryside and urban modernity which characterized the rural novels" (108). Cold Comfort Farm actually exaggerates this because its futuristic setting means that Flora is able to travel in private planes and use video telephones, while the Starkadders have no bathroom and wash dishes using a thorn twig. As KDM Snell points out in his book on the regional novel: "In Cold Comfort Farm the apparent distance between the rural and urban worlds was magnified: like a modern anthropologist, the urbane heroine finally leaves the earthbound churlish boors and returns to the metropolis by aeroplane" (52). Stella Gibbons did have a great love for the countryside, and her ecological concerns, and dismay at industrialisation are evident in some of her poetry (see Oliver 54). But since none of the modern lifestyle choices which Flora advocates are presented as at all damaging, Gibbons cannot be said to share the nostalgic attitude of writers such as Webb, who laments the estrangement between man and nature, and celebrates characters who still live in harmony with the natural world. This aspect of the rural novels is cited by Anthea Trodd as an explanation for their high status during the interwar years: "The classic status enjoyed by rural writing in this period derived from the insistently diffused belief that the real England was rural England [...] in which continuity with the past was still clearly visible" (103). In the 1928 Literary Fund speech, Stanley Baldwin endorsed the value of Mary Webb's work, and suggested that a common love of the countryside, as articulated in Webb's writing, was one basis for national unity. Other successful examples of rural writing by women were Flora Thompson's Lark Rise to Candleford (1939), Vita Sackville-West's long poem The Land, which was published in 1926 and won the Hawthornden Prize, and Constance Holme's Westmoreland novels, which were published in the World's Classics Series. During the 1920s, both Holme and Webb won the prestigious Prix Femina-Vie Heureuse, and Cold Comfort Farm was awarded this same prize in 1933 despite the fact that it ridicules the previous prizewinners. The Femina prize demonstrates that Gibbons's novel benefitted from the prestige achieved by rural writing in general, and partly explains why the novel had a higher status at the time when it was published than it does today. Cold Comfort Farm may ridicule certain aspects of rural writing, but it respectability depended on his having a wife who did not need to work was so pervasive that between 1901 and 1931 only 17 does not ridicule the countryside. The love of nature and of beauty which are evident in Gibbons's poetry surface momentarily in some of the less ridiculous descriptive sentences in Cold Comfort Farm, and attest to what Raymond Williams refers to as the "suburban uneasiness, a tension of attraction and repulsion" (253) which can be found in the novel's attitude towards the countryside, and towards the literature which celebrates it. According to Reggie Oliver, Gibbons "could never entirely identify with Jane Austen. The poet in Stella, mystical, deeply entranced by the world of nature, was more akin to Christina Rossetti. […] There was, as it were, an Elfine as well as a Flora Poste side to Stella Gibbons" (89-90). The Elfine "side" actually admired DH Lawrence: Gibbons especially praised his verse, and once described him as a genius ("Do Women Write Novels?"). Her own poetry is at times somewhat reminiscent of Lawrence's, particularly her early poems "The Fabled Ones" and "The Giraffes". This love-hate relationship with Lawrence is reflected, on a larger scale, by Gibbons's ambiguous positioning both within and outside the tradition of rural writing as a whole. The fluctuations in the status of Cold Comfort Farm in relation to the English literary canon can be explained with reference to the priorities of readers and critics in different periods. In the 1920s and 1930s, writing "which recorded life in rural England enjoyed a special kind of prestige" (Trodd 103), and some of this prestige accrued to Cold Comfort Farm because of its inextricable connections. with straightforward regional writing. The erosion of the relationship between the countryside and English national identity caused a decline in the literary standing of Cold Comfort Farm along with other once-popular regional writers. The low-point in its status seems to have occurred during the 1960s and 1970s, and editions of the Oxford and Cambridge Companions to English Literature which date from this period do not even list Gibbons. In more recent editions, Cold Comfort Farm merits a brief entry, which suggests that there has been a small improvement in its status. This contention is supported by the recent promotion of the novel as part of the Penguin twentieth-century classics series, and by Penguin's issue of a new edition dated 2000. However, I also looked Gibbons up in twenty-one literary survey studies and reference books, almost all published between 1988 and 2000, and she was mentioned in only half of these. The studies of regional fiction which I consulted referred to her in passing, as did one of the three books on parody, whereas the companions to twentieth-century literature omitted her entirely. Only three of the ten guides to the literature of the 1930s or the interwar 10 per cent of married women were recorded as working (14). 18 years mentioned Gibbons, and two of those three were devoted to the women's writing of the period. However, all five of the general handbooks of women's literature included an entry for Gibbons.8 Stella Gibbons's gendered perspective and preoccupation with issues of female power is one aspect of her work which sets it apart from the kind of literature which is generally perceived as typical of her period. This would explain why there is a certain interest in her on the part of specialists in women's writing, but very little among experts in the writing of the 1930s. Alison Light comments: It is extraordinary how much the literary history of 'the inter-war years' […] has been rendered almost exclusively in male terms: whether it be the doings of the right-wing aesthetes or the radicalism of the 'Thirties poets', the dying moments of English liberalism, the late flowerings of high modernism, or the making of social documentary and social realism - it has been male authors who are taken to represent the nation as well as those who are disaffiliated from it. (6) The separation between high culture and popular culture which became entrenched during the heyday of literary modernism continues to inform our judgements about the literature of the 1920s and 1930s, as does the association of the popular or middlebrow with the feminine. These assumptions about gender, popularity and literary value are part of the explanation for Stella Gibbons's marginalisation. Further, the humorous, non-political content of her work is discontinuous with the literary trends of her era. These factors are compounded by her uneasy relationship with the (male) literary establishment, and her deliberate distancing of her book from contemporary conceptions of the literary. It seems, therefore, that literary-historical accounts of the interwar years have left out Cold Comfort Farm because it does not fit with the broad paradigms used by critics. Raymond Williams's comment on the novel -"what has to be said about that odd work is not easy" (253) - is perhaps representative of the uncertainty of literary historians and critics when faced with Cold Comfort Farm. Works Cited Ariail, Jacqueline Ann. "Cold Comfort from Stella Gibbons." Ariel: A Review of International English Literature 9.3 (1978). 63-73. Barale, Michele Aina. Daughters and Lovers: The Life and Writing of Mary Webb. Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan UP, 1986. Beauman, Nicola. A Very Great Profession: The Woman's Novel 1914-1939. London: Virago, 1983. Blain, Virginia, Patricia Clements and Isobel Grundy (eds). The Feminist Companion to Literature in English: Women Writers from the Middle Ages to the Present. London: BT Batsford, 1990. Coles, Gladys Mary. The Flower of Light: A Biography of Mary Webb. London: Duckworth, 1978. - - -. Mary Webb. Bridgend, Mid Glamorgan: Seren Books, 1990. 8 Gibbons is mentioned briefly in Beauman; Blain et al; Cunningham; Keith; Rose; Sage; Schlueter and Schlueter; Shattock; Snell; Todd and Trodd. She is omitted from Dentith; Hanscombe and Smyers; Hawkins-Dady; Hutcheon; Hynes; Joannou, Women Writers; Joannou, Ladies Please Don't; Light; Montefiore; and Willison. 19 Cunningham, Valentine. British Writers of the 1930s. Oxford: OUP, 1988. Dentith, Simon. Parody. The New Critical Idiom Series. London: Routledge, 2000. English Studies Group, Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies, University of Birmingham. "Thinking the Thirties." In 1936: The Sociology of Literature. Vol II. Ed. Francis Barker et al. University of Essex, 1979. 1-20. Gibbons, Stella. Cold Comfort Farm. 1932. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1982. - - -. "Do Women Write Novels?" Lady (Jan. 1931). Hanscombe, Gillian and Virginia L Smyers. Writing for their Lives: The Modernist Women 1910- 1940. London: Women's Press, 1987. Hawkins-Dady, Mark (ed.). The Reader's Guide to Literature in English. London and Chicago: Fitzroy Dearborn, 1996. Heilpern, TR. "The Sources of Cold Comfort Farm". Unpublished undergraduate dissertation. U of Manchester, 1976. Holtby, Winifred. Virginia Woolf. London: Wishart, 1932. Hutcheon, Linda. A Theory of Parody: The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms. New York and London: Methuen, 1985. Hynes, Samuel. The Auden Generation: Literature and Politics in England in the 1930s. London: Viking, 1977. Joannou, Maroula (ed.). Women Writers of the 1930s: Gender, Politics and History. Edinburgh: Edinburgh UP, 1999. - - -. Ladies Please Don't Smash These Windows: Women's Writing, Feminist Consciousness and Social Change 1918-1938. Berg Press, 1988. Kaye-Smith, Sheila and Gladys Bronwen Stern. Talking of Jane Austen. London: Cassell, 1943. Keith, WJ. Regions of the Imagination: The Development of British Rural Fiction. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 1988. Lawrence, DH. A Propos of Lady Chatterley's Lover. 1930. Rpt. in Michael Squires (ed), The Works of DH Lawrence: Lady Chatterley's Lover; A Propos of Lady Chatterley's Lover. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1993. 305-335. - - -. Fantasia of the Unconscious. 1922. Rpt. with Psychoanalysis and the Unconscious in the Phoenix edition. London: Heinemann, 1961. - - -. The Selected Letters of DH Lawrence. Ed. James T Boulton. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1997. - - -. The Rainbow. 1915. Ed. Mark Kinead-Weekes. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1989. Light, Alison. Forever England: Femininity, Literature and Conservatism Between the Wars. London and New York: Routledge, 1991. Montefiore, Janet. Men and Women Writers of the 1930s. London: Routledge, 1996. Oliver, Reggie. Out of the Woodshed: A Portrait of Stella Gibbons. London: Bloomsbury, 1998. Purves, Libby. "The Road to Cold Comfort Farm." Listener 105 (14 May 1981). p.639. Rose, Margaret A. Parody: Ancient, Modern and Postmodern, Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1993. Sage, Lorna. The Cambridge Guide to Women's Writing in English. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1999. Schlueter, Paul and June Schlueter (eds). An Encylopedia of British Women Writers. New York and London: Garland Publishing, 1988. Shattock, Joanne. The Oxford Guide to British Women Writers. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1993. Snell, KDM. Editor's introduction to The Regional Novel in Britain and Ireland 1800-1990. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1998. 1-53. Todd, Janet (ed). Dictionary of British Women Writers. London: Routledge, 1989. Trodd, Anthea. Women's Writing in English: Britain 1900-1945. Harlow: Addison Wesley Longman, 1998. 20 Vickers, Jackie. "Cold Comfort for Ethan Frome." Notes and Queries 40.4 (Dec. 1993). 498-500. Williams, Raymond. The Country and the City. 1973. London: Hogarth P, 1985. Willison, IR (ed.). The New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature. Vol 4: 1900-1950. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1972. Wrenn, Dorothy PH. Goodbye to Morning. A Biographical Study of Mary Webb. Shrewsbury: Wilding, 1964. 
work_t4o434bos5hrxjo2ov333tyrbu	----	Iperstoria – Testi Letterature Linguaggi www.iperstoria.it Rivista semestrale ISSN 2281-4582 Recensioni/Reviews Issue 12 – Fall/Winter 2018 215 Dialoghi traduttologici. Il testo letterario e la lingua inglese Michela Marroni Chieti, Solfanelli, 2018, pp. 203 Recensione di Annarita Taronna* Denso e ambizioso. Così si profila, fin dalle prime pagine, il libro di Michela Marroni, una studiosa curiosa e critica che con questa sua ricerca si inserisce nel dibattito sulla traduzione e sugli studi letterari proponendo riflessioni teoriche e ipotesi metodologiche particolarmente innovative. Partendo dallo stato dell’arte dei Translation Studies sia in ambito nazionale che internazionale, l’autrice indaga le diverse questioni che caratterizzano questo campo di studi e le diverse (inter)testualità in esso implicate. Fra tutte, emerge la necessità di approfondire la fenomenologia dell’atto traduttivo ponendo l’accento sul soggetto che traduce e sui problemi che è chiamato di volta in volta ad affrontare. Partendo dall’assunto che ogni traduttore ha un suo punto di vista, non solo sulle strategie da trattare ma anche sulla posizione da assumere rispetto alla cultura ricevente, l’autrice individua nell’“inventiveness” (capacità inventiva) la principale peculiarità del mestiere di (saper) tradurre. Affidandosi alla propria creatività, il traduttore di un testo letterario- ma non solo- deve vincere una sfida, ma più precisamente deve sapere utilizzare gli artifici disponibili senza per questo minare l’essenziale letterarietà dell’opera originale, vale a dire cercando * Annarita Taronna è ricercatrice in Lingua e Traduzione Inglese presso il Dipartimento di Scienze della Formazione, Psicologia e Comunicazione dell’Università di Bari. I suoi ambiti di ricerca includono gli studi sulla traduzione, gli studi culturali e di genere, la lingua e la letteratura chicana e afroamericana. Ha pubblicato diversi articoli in ambito nazionale e internazionale ed è autrice di tre libri: Pratiche traduttive e gender studies (Aracne 2006); Interrogating the language of advertising. Dis/similarities between English and Italian ads (Papageno 2006), Black Englishes. Pratiche linguistiche transfrontaliere Italia-USA (Ombre Corte 2016). È inoltre curatrice di diversi volumi sulla teoria e prassi della traduzione interculturale, sugli studi di genere, traduzione e censura, sulle letterature di frontiera e sulla didattica dell’inglese come L2. Attualmente è impegnata in un progetto di ricerca sul ruolo della mediazione linguistica nei contesti migratori d’emergenza (i.e: CARA, CIE, SPRAR) e sulle varietà di inglese utilizzate tanto dai mediatori quanto dai migranti appena sbarcati sulle sponde del Mediterraneo. Iperstoria – Testi Letterature Linguaggi www.iperstoria.it Rivista semestrale ISSN 2281-4582 Recensioni/Reviews Issue 12 – Fall/Winter 2018 216 l’invisibilità. Il successo dipende dalla capacità di sapere “inventare” una lingua che dialoghi con l’originale. A sostegno di questa concezione ben definita del ruolo del traduttore, Marroni vede nell’utilizzo delle note di traduzione il terreno più fertile da cui fare emergere elementi ermeneutici che rivelano le scelte del traduttore. Per dare corpo e sostanza alle sue riflessioni teoriche, la studiosa guarda alle traduzioni dei grandi classici del passato che pongono il traduttore dinanzi a un dilemma: storicizzare o modernizzare il testo di partenza? Attingendo alle sue letture di scrittori del Settecento inglese come Defoe e Swift e ad autori dell’Ottocento come Jane Austen, George Eliot, Charles Dickens, l’autrice sposta il punto di osservazione sul tema poco discusso dell’obsolescenza delle traduzioni dell’opera letteraria. Assumendo che non esiste una traduzione definitiva dei classici, Marroni ci ricorda che il sistema culturale di una nazione avrà sempre bisogno di nuove versioni come segno della permanente trasformazione nel tempo delle conoscenze, dei costumi e del linguaggio. Per dare validità alle sue tesi, la studiosa compie una doppia operazione: da un lato, prende in esame diverse opere letterarie inglesi e rintraccia, con molta accuratezza, la storia delle loro traduzioni italiane e dei loro traduttori; dall’altro, esplora con altrettanta accuratezza i profili bio-bibliografici di alcune note traduttrici inglesi che hanno fatto della loro attività traduttiva un progetto politico e, per certi versi, potremmo dire protofemminista. Alla prima operazione corrisponde l’analisi delle quattro traduzioni italiane di Mansfield Park di Jane Austen di cui Marroni prende in considerazione non solo il piano dell’interpretazione del testo, ma anche quello del linguaggio. Spingendo l’analisi traduttologica ben oltre quello che studi precedenti hanno fatto sugli stessi temi, l’autrice indaga il modo in cui alcuni segmenti testuali incentrati sul tema dell’influenza – che alcuni parenti avrebbero provato ad esercitare sulla protagonista imponendole un matrimonio con Henry Crawford - sono stati resi in italiano dai vari traduttori. Un altro interessante case- study attraverso cui la studiosa ripercorre la storia delle traduzioni dei classici inglesi e dei loro traduttori è il confronto tra le traduzioni italiane di Ulysses: quella di Giulio de Angelis; quella di Enrico Terrinoni e quella di Gianni Celati. Qui lo sforzo compiuto non è soltanto di analisi traduttiva, ma intertestuale, estetico e politico, visto che Marroni fa evincere un dialogismo fra tutte e tre le traduzioni che vivono l’una affianco all’altra in un gioco di ipotesi e possibilità interpretative scaturite dal confronto con il testo originale. Con la seconda egregia operazione, Marroni traccia i profili bio-bibliografici di Sarah Austin e George Eliot nelle vesti di traduttrici. Il lavoro di traduzione di Sarah Austin ci viene presentato come un atto traduttivo culturalmente impegnato e al tempo stesso come un’operazione editoriale dal forte impatto socioeconomico. Vista la rilevanza politica del lavoro austiniano, si potrebbe parlare di traduzione come consapevole deviazione strategica dell’originale. In altri termini si tratta di un processo di appropriazione da parte della traduttrice che svolge l’importante funzione di mediatore culturale nel quadro di un discorso ideologico mirato, per dirla con Marroni, “a fare dell’inglese la lingua in grado di controllare le altre lingue esattamente come la borghesia vittoriana negli stessi anni mirava a divenire un centro egemonico capace di controllare ai vari livelli i popoli oltre i confini nazionali” (p.110). Il discorso su Austin s’innesta esattamente sul problema della femminilizzazione della traduzione nei primi decenni dell’Ottocento. In tal senso, la peculiarità della posizione di Austin sta nel fatto che ogni suo comportamento professionale mirasse a trasformare punti di debolezza, così come si evince dalla sua scelta di studiare il tedesco che non si riteneva fosse una lingua particolarmente congeniale alla mente femminile. Marroni rintraccia ancora questioni di genere e di potere relative alla pratica traduttiva ripercorrendo l’esperienza di George Eliot la quale, oltre ad essere esponente di spicco della grande tradizione del romanzo inglese, fece ascoltare la sua voce autorevole anche in ambito traduttologico nel ruolo di traduttrice di importati lavori di filosofia e teologia. La studiosa ci presenta una Eliot attenta osservatrice dei processi traduttivi e dell’impatto socioculturale prodotto in Inghilterra dai libri tradotti in altre lingue così come emerge dal suo saggio intitolato “Translations and translators” e apparso su Leader il 20 ottobre 1855. Di questo saggio, Marroni enfatizza, come segue, la riflessione di Eliot sul ruolo del traduttore e delle responsabilità che pertengono all’atto traduttivo di cui enuclea tre elementi fondamentali: “la pazienza che vuol dire un richiamo allo svolgimento del lavoro secondo ritmi che consentono verifiche e controlli anche da parte di atre persone qualificate; la fedeltà che, dal unto di vista della sua personale esperienza, rimanda alla necessità di Iperstoria – Testi Letterature Linguaggi www.iperstoria.it Rivista semestrale ISSN 2281-4582 Recensioni/Reviews Issue 12 – Fall/Winter 2018 217 avere un rapporto di rispetto verso il testo originale; e un senso di responsabilità da parte del traduttore che deve fare di tutto per penetrare nelle profondità del pensiero dell’autore che sta traducendo” (p.141) Per concludere, la chiarezza e la fluidità narrativa con cui l’analisi storica, teorica, linguistica e traduttiva è stata condotta in maniera quasi capillare su tutti i temi proposti nel volume di Marroni, permette al lettore di apprezzare i nuovi orizzonti testuali inaugurati dalle donne che hanno fatto della traduzione uno spazio intertestuale liminale, politico, femminista, come se non ci fosse più un originale cui tornare a guardare. 
work_t6sxfc6uzrbtlnokomrlyddb4e	----	SYMPOSIUM Bioethics and Literature: An Exciting Overlap Grant Gillett & Lynne Bowyer # Springer Science+Business Media Dordrecht 2014 This symposium represents the first major foray of the Journal of Bioethical Inquiry into what may well be- come one of its significant strands of scholarship. The JBI has always encouraged critical and marginal areas of bioethics scholarship and particularly those which make use of contemporary continental philosophy and cultural theory in addition to traditional analytic methods. For that reason this symposium is an expression of a “natural fit” or a “match made in heaven” (or at least the Platonic version of that idea). The authors span times and sites in history and culture, from ancient Greece to present day Brisbane. They draw on a variety of literary genres and figures, ranging from Greek tragedy to an epic Chinese novel; from Jane Austen to William Styron, a major American novelist and essayist; from the modern English science fiction of Kazuo Ishiguro, a Japanese expatriate in London, to the 20th-century English poetry of Philip Larkin. The symposium also engages with some recurrent concerns in bioethics: transplantation and self-sacrifice; spirituality and mental disorder; death and dying; autonomy and being-in-the-world; alienation and the illness journey; and the margins of illness as health and culture intersect. There is a certain thematic unity as one might expect where the poetic and literary treatment of human phenomena comes into engagement with scientific biomedicine and its understandings of the vulnerabilities and failings that flesh is heir to. Holistic and narrative views of human life and the complex intersecting relationships and entanglements that form the human soul are bound to underscore many features of a patient’s illness. However, these can be neglected in the relentless search for effective treatments and ever more sophisticated ways to understand the pathophysi- ology and genesis of disease. In the process of trying to master a hugely complex subject with an expanding range of expert technologized discourses, medical stu- dents can rapidly lose sight of the values and broadly humanistic and spiritual leanings that inspired them to take up medicine in the first place. That process of loss and “moral drift” often continues in residency and pro- fessional life and is only recognised when some person- al or clinical crisis foregrounds it. The process of socialisation and subjugation initiated by medical education can be withering in its intensity as students pursue accreditation and acceptance in their chosen vocation, which often requires sometimes punishing vocational and specialist training. In such an environment the echoes of an idealistic youth and the values that sustain us can become increasingly attenuat- ed and faint. Bioethics and the literature spawned by illness help us to reclaim those fragments of self that have been starved of nourishment and desiccated through frantic neglect. This symposium aims to foster an interest in this re-humanising process on behalf of bioethics. It has been a great privilege to edit this col- lection and we hope you will enjoy the foray into literary appreciation and the poetic contemplation of illness and disease that it encourages. Ancient Greece offers us Euripides’ Alcestis, which is discussed by Robin Hankey and Grant Gillett (2014) as a contribution to an understanding of the currents running through discussions about close and costly gifts in live organ donation scenarios, especially those Bioethical Inquiry (2014) 11:135–136 DOI 10.1007/s11673-014-9538-z G. Gillett (*): L. Bowyer Otago Bioethics Centre, University of Otago Medical School, 71 Frederick Street, DunedinPO Box 9011, New Zealand e-mail: grant.gillett@otago.ac.nz L. Bowyer e-mail: lynne.bowyer@otago.ac.nz within families. Mal Parker from Brisbane (2014) gives us a series of poetic reflections on contemporary clinical life and reminds us of the ever present issues of mortality, compassion, and identity that we encounter there. Flora Huang and Grant Gillett (2014) engage with The Story of the Stone, whose title alludes to the over- arching spiritual reality in which we live and move and have our being. This text is also known as The Dream of the Red Chamber, an allusion to the “red dust world” of human mortality and evanescent suffering. It confronts us with an understanding of the unique value and destiny of each human life as it is worked out in detail in our situated, complex, and passionate engagements with others. At the same time it resonates with the strivings of mystics and prophets as they are found in every culture. Jim Nelson (2014) brings Jane Austen into close conversation with a contemporary study of hypochondria to provide a rich exploration of the socio- historically located faces of health and disease as they affect real human beings and all the ills that human flesh (and mind) succumbs to. William Styron, sensitively examined by Simon Walker (2014), is a major American novelist and essayist, who is brought to a remembrance of “all the joys” that had marked his life among others and which it would be wrong for him to negate by the self-destructive act of suicide. The struggle that ensues is a telling reflection on the value of human life and the importance of the engagement with others that fills life with meaning. Neil Pickering (2014) focuses on Philip Larkin and, in particular, Larkin’s use of illness to examine human identity and the value of human life. Larkin’s medical world is alienating and reductive: It extracts a person from the life context in which their richness of being is to be found, creating a rupture through which their humanity is drained away. Through a via negativa we are again invited to contemplate the uniqueness of each human being and the fact that life is beautiful. Kazuo Ishiguro’s novel, Never Let Me Go, is submitted to an Heideggerian exploration by Lynne Bowyer (2014). What emerges is a nuanced re-conceptualisation of au- tonomy as an attentive and caring being-in-the-world- among-others, based on a recognition of the fragility of life. It is a re-conceptualisation that is both more de- manding and more content-ful than the commonly ac- cepted rational individualist model that dominates much of contemporary bioethics. In so far as that model loses sight of our vulnerable and interdependent human exis- tence, literature can be a kind of (philosophical) therapy for that lesion in our thought. References Bowyer, L. 2014. Autonomy and why you can “Never Let Me Go.” Journal of Bioethical Inquiry 11(2). doi:10.1007/ s11673-014-9533-4. Gillett, G., and R. Hankey. 2014. Duties to kin, through a tragi- comic lens. Journal of Bioethical Inquiry 11(2). doi:10.1007/ s11673-014-9513-8. Huang, F., and G. Gillett. 2014. Bao-yu: A mental disorder or a cultural icon? Journal of Bioethical Inquiry 11(2). doi: 10.1007/s11673-014-9511-x. Nelson, J.L. 2014. Odd complaints and doubtful conditions: Norms of hypochondria in Jane Austen and Catherine Belling. Journal of Bioethical Inquiry 11(2). doi:10.1007/ s11673-014-9522-7. Parker, M. 2014. Five pieces. Journal of Bioethical Inquiry 11(2). dois:10.1007/s11673-014-9523-6, 10.1007/s11673-014- 9529-0, 10.1007/s11673-014-9531-6, 10.1007/s11673-014- 9530-7 and 10.1007/s11673-014-9532-5. Pickering, N. 2014. A random blend: The self in Philip Larkin’s poems “Ambulances” and “The Building.” Journal of Bioethical Inquiry 11(2). doi:10.1007/s11673-014-9521-8. Walker, S. 2014. Spinoza, Styron, and the ethics of healing. Journal of Bioethical Inquiry 11(2). doi:10.1007/s11673- 014-9526-3. 136 Bioethical Inquiry (2014) 11:135–136 Bioethics and Literature: An Exciting Overlap References 
work_t7hbdygu3nbxvfrhphsa3r266u	----	IVO BARROSO, UM TRADUTOR DE OBRAS COMPLETAS Entrevista 183 eNTREVISTA 184 Ivo Barroso Entrevista 185 IVO BARROSO, UM TRADUTOR DE OBRAS COMPLETAS Ivo Barroso é um dos mais importantes tradutores literários brasi- leiros. Ao longo de décadas dedicadas às letras, traduziu algumas das grandes obras da literatura ocidental, escritas originalmente em inglês, italiano, francês, espanhol e alemão. Sua carreira, construída com tenacidade, revela uma ligação de vida inteira com a literatura, através da escrita de ensaios, poemas e do exercício obstinado da tradução de grandes autores. Nasceu em Ervália, MG, mas se educou, como tantos intelec- tuais mineiros de sua geração, no Rio de Janeiro, então o centro político e cultural do país. Estudou direito e línguas e literaturas neolatinas e logo se envolveu na pujante indústria cultural carioca da época, participando ativamente das principais publicações cul- turais do período como o Suplemento Literário do Jornal do Brasil, dirigido pelo irrequieto Mário Faustino e a célebre revista Senhor, de que foi um dos fundadores. Ivo Barroso ampliou e refinou sua educação estética com uma longa permanência na Europa, moran- do na Holanda, em Portugal, na Inglaterra, na Suécia e na França, atuando como jornalista e como funcionário do Banco do Brasil. Seu projeto tradutório corre paralelo ao dos concretistas, de quem esteve próximo em certo momento, mas é bastante pessoal. Entre os autores traduzidos há uma notável diversidade, com pre- domínio do grande cânone ocidental: dos clássicos Dante e Shakespeare aos modernos Jane Austen, Leopardi e Rimbaud. Na literatura do século XX o leque de escolhas é amplo e híbrido, englobando figuras, diversamente apreciadas pela crítica e pelo público, como T. S. Eliot, Montale, Herman Hesse, Gide, Malraux 186 Ivo Barroso e Perec. Ivo Barroso cruza também os gêneros: traduziu muita poesia e muita ficção, mas traduziu igualmente teatro. Ivo Barro- so exerceu, com competência, uma modalidade de tradução rela- tivamente rara no Brasil, a das obras completas, traduzindo a tota- lidade dos escritos de dois autores-chave da modernidade: Rimbaud e T. S. Eliot. Esse é um tipo de trabalho que envolve anos de pes- quisa e uma disciplina extraordinária e é da mais alta relevância para a formação das culturas, como provou eloqüentemente o exem- plo dos tradutores românticos alemães. Cabe notar ainda outras facetas desse tradutor de tempo com- pleto: o seu trabalho de antologizador, de editor e crítico de tradu- ções. Em O torso e o gato, faz uma antologia pessoal de 50 poemas das línguas que domina e que representam uma espécie de paideuma pessoal. Como editor tem dois trabalhos de relevo: o volume Poe- sia e prosa, de Baudelaire, pela Nova Aguilar, e o livro À Margem das Traduções, em que resgata os textos de crítica tradutória feitas por Agenor Soares de Moura na imprensa. Finalmente, cabe des- tacar a colaboração constante de Ivo Barroso para jornais e revis- tas, sobretudo as resenhas de traduções recentes. Walter Carlos Costa UFSC Cadernos de Tradução: Você traduz de vários gêneros? Qual deles considera o mais difícil? Ivo Barroso: Tenho traduzido prosa e verso. A dificuldade não está no gênero, mas no texto em si. A tradução de poesia obriga a certos condicionamentos (métrica, rima, ritmo, etc) que podem implicar maior elaboração do trabalho, uma multiplicidade de ten- tativas para se obter a qualidade e o estilo necessários. Mas há Entrevista 187 textos em prosa que, de forma diferente, apresentam também gran- des obstáculos (Joyce, Perec e, em alguns casos, até mesmo Umberto Eco). CT.: Você já traduziu textos técnicos? Se sim, quais os problemas deste gênero? Ivo: Comecei traduzindo e revendo livros de economia, matéria que faz parte de meu currículo. Notava que alguns tradutores acer- tavam perfeitamente na transposição do texto corrido, mas não raro naufragavam na terminologia específica, o que denotava sua falta de formação técnica. Em qualquer especialidade não literária, além das qualidades inerentes ao bom tradutor, exige-se um conheci- mento preciso do assunto, uma adequação vocabular, para que as informações transmitidas não sejam falseadas por conceitos ou vo- cábulos alheios à matéria. CT.: Você usa tradução de outras línguas para auxiliar na tradução de uma determinada obra e autor? Ivo: Só em casos especiais. Durante muitos anos me preparei para traduzir o Doktor Faustus, de Thomas Mann. Como não tenho gran- de intimidade com o idioma alemão, passei a lê-lo nas línguas que conhecia e comparava as soluções com o texto original. Infeliz- mente (ou felizmente para os leitores) não cheguei a traduzi-lo... No caso de Rimbaud, também, vez por outra, por curiosidade, recorro a outras traduções para ver como os colegas estrangeiros se saíram de passagens por mim consideradas difíceis. Mas, habi- tualmente, concentro-me apenas no original. CT.: Por que você traduz de várias línguas? De qual língua você prefere traduzir e por quê? 188 Ivo Barroso Ivo: Porque prefiro traduzir os livros que têm um significado espe- cial para mim e nem sempre eles foram escritos numa mesma língua. Não sinto muita diferença de traduzir de uma ou outra das poucas que conheço, mas canso-me quando tenho de recorrer com freqüência ao dicionário. Sinto-me mais à vontade traduzindo do italiano, cujas nuances me parecem mais familiares. CT.: Como iniciou a sua trajetória como tradutor? Ivo: Acho que desde cedo tive um grande desejo de conhecer lite- raturas estrangeiras. Comecei a “ler” livros em inglês e francês antes mesmo de aprender devidamente essas línguas. Não me sa- tisfazia apenas com a leitura, queria sempre escrever em portugu- ês a frase ou verso que tentava ler. Nos anos 50 ganhei um concur- so de traduções patrocinando por Rubem Braga na revista Manche- te: um soneto de e.e.cummings (“it may not always be so...”). A premiação me animou a vencer um pouco minha timidez e mandei outra tradução (Rilke, “Ein Gott vermags..” ) para o Suplemento Dominical do Jornal do Brasil; foi quando recebi o convite de Ma- rio Faustino e Reynaldo Jardim para fazer parte da equipe. Até que um dia Ênio Silveira me convenceu a traduzir “Une Saison”. E aí a loucura começou. CT.: Você acha que as teorias ajudam a traduzir melhor? Você segue alguma teoria? Ivo: Claro que todo tradutor consciente precisa conhecer os funda- mentos de seu ofício, o que os grandes teóricos conceituaram a respeito: Steiner, Mounin, Todorov, Benjamin etc. e Paulo Rónai, Brenno Silveira, Agenor Soares de Moura, são leituras indispen- sáveis. Mas não advogo a idéia de que sem elas não se possa ser um bom tradutor. Sou favorável a que os cursos de formação de tradutores devam dar ênfase aos trabalhos práticos, aos exercícios Entrevista 189 em conjunto, às discussões em cima de textos, reservando um lu- gar condizente, mas nunca exclusivo, ao ensino teórico. CT.: Como você vê o papel da crítica atual sobre tradução? Ivo: Sempre achei que a única maneira honesta de se criticar uma tradução (principalmente de poesia) é mostrando outra melhor maneira de fazê-la. Para tanto é preciso que o crítico seja igual- mente tradutor, tenha experiência suficiente para estar integrado na atividade. Porque há certos teóricos que escrevem nos jornais... Mas veja o grande exemplo: Henri Meschonnic, considerado um dos papas do assunto, em seu livro Poétique du traduire analisa oito traduções francesas do soneto 27 de Shakespeare (“Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed”), em todas apontando inadequações, vacilos vocabulares, paráfrases desviatórias etc. Aí o leitor espera que ele afinal apresente a SUA tradução perfeita. E, quando o faz, a decepção é grande: “Las de l´effort, à mon lit je recours,/ Le cher repos aux peines du voyage,/ Mais lors commence en ma tête un décours,/ Qui le corps épuisé, l´esprit ravage”. Soluções pífias para versos grandiosos. Onde está o insuperável jogo de palavras com as duas acepções (verbo e substantivo) de “ work” (“To work my mind, when body´s work´s expired”)? Só para efeito de rima é que “décours” serve para traduzir “journey”. Seria possível fazer sobre a dele as mesmas restrições que ele fez sobre as demais. Donde se vê que na prática a teoria é outra coisa. CT.: Você traduziu uma obra surrealista, Nadja de André Breton. Qual a sua ligação com o movimento surrealista? Ivo: Conheci em Lisboa, onde morei dez anos, o Mário Cesariny de Vasconcellos, considerado a maior expressão viva do movimento em Portugal, tradutor de Rimbaud. Ele achava que “Une Saison en Enfer” devia ser traduzido por “Uma Cerveja no Inferno” porque 190 Ivo Barroso no tempo de Rimbaud havia em Charleville uma cerveja que se chamava “saison”. Achei que o movimento era (ou tinha sido) muito doido e resolvi traduzir Nadja usando uma linguagem que “admiti” comigo fosse surrealista. Eis tudo. CT.: Você traduziu a Poesia Completa de Arthur Rimbaud. Há de ser poeta para traduzir um poeta? Ivo: Acredito que sim, principalmente no caso de Rimbaud, em que é perceptível uma evolução poética de poema a poema e quase de verso a verso. Acompanhar essa ascese requer fôlego, maleabilidade rítmica, adequação vocabular etc. Traduzir em pro- sa um poema, principalmente com as implicações que há em Rimbaud, é simplesmente um crime (de traição). CT.: Além de Rimbaud, você também traduziu Shakespeare, Baudelaire, Eliot e Montale, entre outros. Qual autor lhe deu mais trabalho? Qual destas traduções você prefere? Ivo: Todas essas traduções deram trabalho, mas nada se compara ao prazer do tradutor de poesia quando encontra (ou acha que en- controu) a solução sonhada. Rimbaud é hors concours, mas não escondo um certo pendor pelos sonetos shakespearianos. CT.: Você colabora como crítico no Jornal de Poesia. Acredita que a crítica pode ajudar a traduzir melhor? Ivo: Não faço propriamente crítica de tradução, mas quando rese- nho um livro cuja tradução me agrade não deixo de assinalar seus Entrevista 191 méritos. Em caso contrário, procuro justificar a razão de não havê- la apreciado. Recentemente, num livro italiano, assinalei que o tradutor havia, em determinados trechos (que transcrevi) “baixado o tom” da narrativa, introduzindo palavras de gíria ou expressões grosseiras em passagens onde, no original, havia um coloquialismo, uma linearidade quase aliterária, mas, em momento algum – e aí estava a mestria da autora – vulgaridade ou grosseria. O tradutor certamente quis dar maior “realismo” ao texto, e “aggiornou” o vocabulário com termos como “paquerava”, “bituca”, “dar no pé” etc. anacrônicos em relação à época em que o romance se situava, e em desacordo com a forma habitual com que os personagens se exprimiam. Estou certo de que a análise serviu para demonstrar aos tradutores em geral que não é preciso apelar para o rasteiro a fim de se obter naturalidade nos diálogos. A adequação vocabular é um dos grandes requisitos da boa tradução. CT.: Você afirmou numa entrevista para o Correio das Artes de 22 de abril de 2005 que “o tradutor é um masoquista”. Poderia expli- car melhor? Ivo: Bom, sofri durante anos traduzindo a obra completa de Rimbaud. Sofri, no sentido de que li e anotei duas centenas de livros, escrevi e reescrevi páginas sem conta, reformulei tudo a cada novo estudo que saía sobre o poeta e sua obra. O trabalho minucioso de cada verso. As frustrações. O sempre aquém. E agora, que estou fina- lizando a última parte – a Correspondência – sofro de novo com a infelicidade do gênio, a amputação da perna, a morte-jovem, de- pois de tanta canseira e sacrifícios. Persistir em trabalhos dessa natureza só pode ser propensão ao masoquismo... CT.: Conhecendo o estatuto do tradutor no Brasil, você acredita que possa existir a profissão de tradutor no sentido pleno do termo? 192 Ivo Barroso Ivo: Dificilmente. Os tradutores, apesar de terem um sindicato e uma associação, estão longe de ser unidos, de terem espírito de clas- se. O mercado é disputadíssimo e a oferta supera de muito a deman- da. Não conheço tradutores profissionais, no sentido de que vivam exclusivamente de seu trabalho como tradutor. A TV a cabo surgiu como um grande mercado, mas a esta altura umas poucas firmas já o dominam, os tradutores trabalham para elas como tarefeiros. A saída tem sido empregos estáveis em que a pessoa possa atuar tam- bém como tradutor (firmas comerciais, jornais, hotéis etc.). CT.: Quais são os seus projetos atuais de tradução? Ivo: Quando terminar o Rimbaud, quero dar uma parada e atuar apenas como jornalista, além de preparar meu segundo livro de poemas. Durante todos estes anos a tradução impediu que eu desse curso à minha obra pessoal, mas quando lancei “A Caça Virtual e outros poemas” em 2001 e sai finalista no prêmio Jabuti, ganhei ânimo para me lançar novamente na carreira solo. CT.: Você costuma pedir para alguém revisar as suas traduções? Ivo: Evito. O revisor acha às vezes que o empregador não reco- nhecerá seu trabalho se ele não emendar nada no texto. Aí, para mostrar serviço, emenda o que não devia. Num dos meus livros, durante anos e anos, em duas editoras diferentes, o revisor muda- va sistematicamente o meu “família cuidosa de aparências” para “família cuidadosa de aparências”. Só consegui evitar a emenda, encarregando-me pessoalmente da revisão. Gosto de rever; é quando tenho oportunidade de melhorar ainda alguma coisa ou outra... CT.: Em que tipo de situação textual, prosaica ou poética, o tradu- tor pode se permitir “adaptar” a sua tradução? Entrevista 193 Ivo: Só entendo a “adaptação” como válida em casos muito par- ticulares, principalmente naquele em que o texto, traduzido tal qual, nada dirá ao leitor brasileiro, embora seja claro e significa- tivo para o leitor do original. Cabem aí dois recursos: encontrar uma equivalência (uma isotopia, como dizia Antônio Houaiss) ou colocar uma nota de pé de pagina, esclarecedora; de outra for- ma, o leitor brasileiro sairá perdendo. Em minha tradução de Os Gatos, de Eliot, tive que lançar mão várias vezes de adaptações, de equivalências, de substituições de chistes ingleses por outros tantos nossos, etc. senão seria trair o leitor apresentando-lhe ver- sos que, engraçados em inglês, seriam anódinos numa simples tradução. CT.: Você costuma rever suas traduções por ocasião de novas edições? Ivo: Sim, com freqüência, e emendo bastante. Às vezes chego a escrever prefácios para melhor situar a obra, como fiz agora n 36ª edição de O Lobo da Estepe. CT.: Como você escolhe os metros em língua portuguesa para tra- duzir metros das línguas de você traduz poesia? Ivo: Nos Sonetos de Shakespeare usei decassílabos, que são mais ou menos correspondentes aos pentâmetros iâmbicos do original. Na tradução de poetas franceses, italianos ou espanhóis procuro observar a mesma métrica: alexandrino, octossílabo, dissílabo (há um soneto de Rimbaud assim) etc. Decisão difícil tive que tomar ao traduzir (depois de inúmeras tentativas) o poema “Mémoire”, de Rimbaud. Escrito em alexandrinos aparentemente regulares, com rimas do esquema abba, esses versos no entanto, à medida que avançam, mostram um anseio do poeta em romper aquela estrutura rígida, o que ele vai fazendo com espantosos enjambements, interrupções, recorrências, etc. É um momento 194 Ivo Barroso que antecede sua mudança radical de estilo, quando o verso for- mal já não lhe é suficiente e tem que recorrer ao poema em prosa das “Iluminações” para exprimir-se. Diante dessa insuportável tensão, acabei optando por traduzir o poema sem rimas e sem métrica, obedecendo a um ritmo interior que é hoje o próprio território da poesia moderna. CT.: Entre métrica, significado e efeitos sonoros, a que elementos você atribui maior peso? Ivo: A tradução integral leva em consideração todos esses elemen- tos, que quanto mais observados melhor fazem o poema traduzido aproximar-se do original. CT.: Qual é, em sua opinião, o impacto da literatura traduzida na literatura brasileira hoje, em seus diferentes gêneros? Ivo: Dada nossa condição de país culturalmente carente, o que nos vem de fora parece sempre de melhor qualidade ou que reflete tendências mais avançadas do que as nossas. Daí os Eliots, Rilkes, Pounds acabarem criando entre nós legiões de diluidores. O mes- mo se aplica à prosa. Mas a verdade é que esse conhecimento estimula a criatividade. Não há poetas ou escritores “naïfs”; a arte exige cultura. CT.: Você acha que a tradução pode ser considerada uma instância de aprendizado para o escritor? Ivo: Todo poeta devia traduzir, até só como exercício. Aprende-se muito com a tradução, pois o tradutor é um leitor privilegiado, que esmiúça o texto à procura do “fiat” que transforma um conjunto de palavras em emoção poética. Didier Lamaison, o impecável tradutor Entrevista 195 de Drummond para o francês, disse que encontrou em minhas tradu- ções de Rimbaud muita coisa que lhe passara despercebida quando leu o poeta em sua própria língua. Cito o exemplo aqui não como vanglória, mas para acentuar as vantagens do aprendizado pela tradução. Entrevista concedida a Andréia Guerini e Marie Hélène Catherine Torres UFSC 196 Ivo Barroso APÊNDICE POESIA TRADUZIDA Antologia Poética - O Torso e o Gato Arthur Rimbaud - Uma Estadia no Inferno - Poesia Completa - Prosa Poética Erik-Axel Karfeldt - Poesias Eugenio Montale - Diário Póstumo T. S. Eliot - O livro dos Gatos William Shakespeare - 30 sonetos PROSA TRADUZIDA André Breton - Nadja André Gide - A Volta do Filho Pródigo André Malraux - A Condição Humana August Strindberg - Inferno Georges Perec - A Vida, Modo de Usar - A Coleção Particular + Viagem de Inverno Entrevista 197 Hermann Hesse - O Lobo da Estepe - Demian Italo Calvino - Seis Propostas para o Próximo Milênio - O Castelo dos Destinos Cruzados - As Cosmicômicas - Palomar Italo Svevo - A Consciência de Zeno - Senilidade - A Novela do Bom Velho e da Bela Mocinha Jane Austen - Razão e Sentimento - Emma Marguerite Yourcenar - Golpe de Misericórdia - O Denário do Sonho - O Tempo, Esse Grande Escultor Nikos Kazantzakis - Ascese Romain Rolland - Colas Breugnon Shel Silverstein - Uma Girafa e Tanto (infantil) T. S. Eliot - Teatro completo Umberto Eco - O Pêndulo de Foucault 
work_t7xicvoqfvdmtpw2txapxg3yiq	----	Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher DA N I E L A . K AU F M A N The word ‘philosophos’, in Greek, means ‘lover of wisdom’, and the association of philosophy and wisdom is one of long and distin- guished standing in the history of the West. It is my view, howev- er, that this relationship is overstated; that while some philosophers, undoubtedly, have been concerned with the cultivation of wisdom, they are in the minority. For the most part, if we are speaking of the dominant or ‘mainline’ tradition in philosophy, the primary pre- occupation of philosophers has been with knowledge, and not only are wisdom and knowledge not the same, but they are, in many ways, opposites.1 This essay is devoted to identifying the distinctive characteristics of wisdom and knowledge, with an eye towards distinguishing the mainline philosophical tradition from two philosophical ‘counter- cultures’, the first of which is essentially conservative in tempera- ment, the second whose spirit is thoroughly radical. Aside from the fact that I think it is important to look at the history of ideas through alternative lenses, so that we may avoid excessively con- ventional, textbookish interpretations of the past—interpretations which prevent us from taking advantage of the full breadth and depth of our predecessors’ insight and understanding—I also think it is imperative that we have a clear understanding of what kind of endeavour mainline philosophy is, so that we may be in a position to examine it critically. I will not actually engage in a critical exami- nation of mainline philosophy in the present essay—my aim is to provide the backdrop, against which such a critique can take place— but my feelings on the subject likely will be obvious, even to the Philosophy 81 2006 129 doi:10.1017/S0031819106000076 ©2006 The Royal Institute of Philosophy 1 The distinction I will make here is somewhat similar to that which Nicholas Maxwell makes between ‘knowledge inquiry’ and ‘wisdom inquiry’ (see his ‘Science, Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Public Good’, in Scientists for Global Responsibility Newsletter, No. 26 (February 2003), pp. 7-9), although our respective conceptions of what wisdom consists of dif- fer substantially and our inquiries into the subject stem from what are sub- stantially different political orientations (though it appears to me that we are motivated by essentially similar social and political concerns). most casual of readers.2 §2 The term ‘wisdom’ suggests a synthesis of intelligence and sound judgment. The wise person is one whose intelligence is prudential- ly applied to life, in all of its many, varying dimensions. ‘Prudence’, which means ‘good sense’, in addition to sound judgment, implies good habits, the development of which requires extensive, varied experience, and because wisdom is so intimately connected with experience, it cannot be understood in isolation from the common beliefs and practices, which constitute the framework within which one’s experience is interpreted. The wise person is not one who has adopted the ‘view from nowhere’—to employ an expression which aptly describes mainline philosophy’s preferred stance3—for he can- not separate the questions ‘Is it true?’ ‘Is it good?’ and ‘Is it right?’ from the questions ‘What will be its impact on real people and real life?’ and ‘What will be its effect on that which is already in place?’ which require us to pay attention not only to current opinions and practices but to the opinions and practices of our predecessors. In contrast with being intelligent or knowledgeable, for which one can imagine entirely general, abstract definitions, in terms of IQ or the number of justified, true beliefs one holds in a particular subject, what it is to be wise is much more ineffable, something that can be fully comprehended only in its particular instances; that is, in the context of a specific cultural and social framework. To be knowledgeable in physics or biology means the same thing, whether one is in New York or Bombay, but wisdom in such things as rais- ing children, conducting business, or governing a state will mean entirely different things, depending upon the time, place, and peo- ple one is talking about. It is in this essential relationship to common experience and common sense that wisdom’s inherent conservatism is most appar- ent. I refer to wisdom as conservative and not intransigent or reac- tionary, because the traditions of behavior and thought upon which Daniel A. Kaufman 130 2 Like Maxwell—and as indicated above—my inquiries are ultimately motivated by social and political concerns, but I prefer to reserve discus- sion of them for another time and place. 3 This is the title of Thomas Nagel’s important—and revealing—book, The View from Nowhere (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989). it is based do progress, but in an evolutionary, organic manner; in a way that is responsive to lived experience and which honours prece- dent, but does not blindly follow it. As Michael Oakeshott has explained, changelessness is not a conservative attribute: ‘No tradi- tional way of behaviour, no traditional skill, ever remains fixed; its history is one of continuous change’, he says. ‘The appearance of changelessness…is an illusion which springs from the erroneous belief that the only significant change is that which is…induced by self-conscious activity’.4 What counts as wisdom changes, but always slowly and deliberately, like a great ship turning in the sea. There are no quick turns, no sudden revolutions in wisdom. In meditating upon these attributes of wisdom, it would appear that the mainline tradition in philosophy has had little interest in it. Prudence has not been afforded a high place on its agenda. Mainline philosophy’s primary preoccupation has been with what is true—and within the context of what is true, what is good and what is right, abstractly conceived—and with this concern foremost in mind, philosophers have been prepared to jettison common beliefs and practices and the history and traditions that underlie them, on the epochal equivalent of a moment’s notice. For mainline philosophy, ‘What will be its impact on real people and real life?’ and ‘What will be its effect on that which is already in place?’ have been, at best, irrelevant questions and at worst, obstacles to what it has believed to be intellectual, moral, social, and civic progress. This philosophical temper began in the classical past, with Plato, who identified truth with the ideal rather than the actual and who consequently believed that the quest for knowledge, which he thought supreme amongst human aims, must take us away from the world of ordinary experience and common sense and towards the purely intellectual realm of the Forms. It was Plato who in the Republic conceived a politics based entirely in abstract reasoning, rather than experience; who opined that society should be ruled by intellectuals, because of the knowledge that they possess;5 and who lamented that but for the common folk, who do not understand what the ‘true’ political leader does, this dream might be at least partly realized (‘partly’, because no Form can be fully realized in the actual world), a point brought to life in his Parable of the Ship.6 Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher 131 4 Michael Oakeshott, ‘The Tower of Babel’, in Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays (New York: Basic Books, 1962), p. 64. 5 Plato, Republic, tr. Paul Shorey, in Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns, eds., Plato: The Collected Dialogues (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989) (473d-e). 6 Ibid., 488a-489e. This lack of understanding on the part of the common folk, not to mention their alleged ‘avarice’ and ‘greed’, is one reason why Plato despised democracy, with its ‘assigning…of equality to equals and unequals alike’, which he believed renders it both ‘anarchic and motley’.7 In the modern era, it was René Descartes who most effectively gave voice to this essentially rationalistic view that reason alone should govern what we believe and do and consequently that our common sense and inherited customs and practices are worth- less.8 In the Discourse on Method and Meditations on First Philosophy, he argued that every inquiry, if it is to discover the truth (and he gives no indication that he thinks inquiry has any other aim) must cast aside precedent and start anew with self-evi- dent first principles, raw perceptual intuitions, and deductive and inductive inferences, all coordinated by way of a quasi-mathe- matical/scientific methodology: ‘I could not do better than to try once and for all to get all the beliefs I had accepted from birth out of my mind’, Descartes announced in the Discourse on Method, ‘so that once I have reconciled them with reason I might again set up either other, better ones or even the same ones’.9 ‘Those long chains of reasoning…that geometricians commonly use to attain their most difficult demonstrations, have given me an occasion for imagining that all the things that can fall within human knowl- edge follow one another in the same way…’10 Francis Bacon had thought much the same (though he rejected the deductivism that would become a hallmark of at least the popularized forms of Cartesianism) and devoted much of his New Organon to the fight against ‘received doctrines’11 and the ‘idols’ that he believed ham- per human intellectual progress, most significantly, common lan- guage and ordinary speech, which Bacon labeled the ‘idols of the market place’, and established belief systems, which he called the Daniel A. Kaufman 132 7 Ibid., 558c-d. 8 By ‘rationalism’ I mean the view that every human belief and practice must have a rational justification, as a basic condition of adequacy. Clearly, on this reading of the word, both empiricism and rationalism, as tradi- tionally defined, may count as rationalistic philosophies. 9 René Descartes, Discourse on the Method for Rightly Conducting One’s Reason and for Seeking the Truth in the Sciences, 3rd Edition, tr. Donald A. Cress (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co., 1993), p. 8. 10 Ibid., p. 11. 11 Francis Bacon, Novum Organum, in The New Organon and Related Writings, ed. Fulton H. Anderson (New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Co., 1960), p. 43 (Aphorism xxi). ‘idols of the theatre’.12 (In his New Atlantis, Bacon pined for a society run by scientists, a vision lampooned with great effective- ness by Jonathan Swift, in the short ‘Voyage to Laputa’, from Gulliver’s Travels). Later, Immanuel Kant,13 in the process of defining ‘enlightenment’, would describe it as ‘…man’s release from his self-incurred tutelage’, by which he meant the freeing of the individual from the beliefs of others—and particularly the beliefs of one’s predecessors—and from the traditions established on the basis of them: Tutelage is man’s inability to make use of his understanding without direction from another. Self-incurred is this tutelage when its cause lies not in lack of reason but in lack of resolution and courage to use it without direction from another. Sapere aude! ‘Have courage to use your own reason!’—that is the motto of enlightenment.14 While those like Bacon, Descartes, and Kant were advocating rationalism in a general way, across the disciplines, Thomas Hobbes, John Locke, and the other purveyors of social-contrac- tarianism, the modern mainline tradition’s official political philosophy, were busying themselves with its more specific appli- cation to social, political, and even ethical subjects, arguing that rather than looking to the opinions and practices of our predeces- sors for guidance in how we ought to live, we should instead deter- mine our social, and political forms of life—even our morals—on the basis of esoteric thought-experiments; we should ‘start from the original foundations’, as Descartes had put it, in speaking of knowledge more generally in the Meditations. Indeed, Hobbes argued in his Leviathan that prudence should have no role to play in philosophy whatsoever; that reason alone should govern all of our deliberations. ‘[W]e are not to account as any part thereof that original knowledge called experience, in which consisteth pru- dence’, he wrote, ‘because it is not attained by reasoning..., and is Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher 133 12 Ibid., pp. 47-66 (Aphorisms xxxviii-lxviii). 13 Of course, inasmuch as he devoted much of his work to delineating the limits of reason and to rejecting speculative metaphysics, Kant opposed the kind of rationalism found in Descartes. But in the broader sense that we have been discussing—particularly, in the sense of rejecting any authority but that of reason and sensory intuition—Kant is most certainly a rationalist. 14 Immanuel Kant, ‘What is Enlightenment’? in Foundations for the Metaphysics of Morals and What is Enlightenment, tr. Lewis White Beck (New York: The Bobbs-Merrill Co., 1959), p. 85. but a memory of successions of events in times past’.15 Hobbes then went on to dismiss classical and medieval thought with the sweeping judgment that ‘there is nothing so absurd that the old philosophers…have not some of them maintained’.16 The announced method of the original social-contract theorists was to derive ethical, social, and political positions entirely on the basis of an assessment of the ‘natural condition’ of mankind and from speculation as to what such a natural man, if rational, would choose. Of course, this allegedly ‘natural’ condition of mankind was simply the reductive picture of human nature recommended by the then-new mechanical sciences, while ‘rational’ meant nothing more than the sort of instrumental rationality that one finds in modern economics and increasingly in political science, which treats the hedonic calculus as the sole ground on which human decision is based. As for determining what such a man ‘would choose’, as is commonly the case when philosophers invoke counterfactuals, woolly thinking abounded (a counterfactual, after all, is a state of affairs for which there can be no evidence). But adoption of these new paradigms was essential to the social-contract theorists’ larger project of removing moral and political questions from the jurisdic- tion of religion and philosophy and placing them within the purview of the sciences, in the hope of creating a comprehensive ‘science of man’, so with the exception of the philosophers belong- ing to the conservative counterculture—Burke, most prominently— and a handful of reactionaries, such as Joseph de Maistre, social contractarianism went largely unopposed, despite its questionable assumptions about human nature and its dubious logic. The thought behind the science of man was that one should be able to explain and predict human behavior in much the same way that one explains and predicts the motions of physical bodies, an idea that prepared the ground for psychology and the other social sciences and remains their governing assumption to this day. Politics, on this view, is essentially social engineering, and the chief political virtues, as Alasdair MacIntyre has pointed out, are not those excellences of character that have been identified with the classical statesman, but rather the narrower, amoral, and apolitical virtues of the managerial classes; that narrow cluster of excellences that comprise what we commonly call ‘efficiency’.17 In the Daniel A. Kaufman 134 15 Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, Edwin Curley, ed. (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co., 1994), p. 454 (Part IV, Ch. XLVI, §2). 16 Ibid., p. 457 (Part IV, Ch. XLVI, §11). 17 Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue, 2nd Edition (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1984), esp. Ch. 3, 6, & 8. Introduction to Leviathan, Hobbes anticipates this conception of politics-as-engineering, when he compares man to a machine and a polity to an artificial man,18 and in his ‘map’ of the sciences, he sug- gests that politics is a branch of natural science and that ethics is a branch of physics, the main concern of which is with the causal rela- tions that govern human sentiments or, as Hobbes put it, ‘conse- quences from the passions of men’.19 Despite criticisms from com- munitarians, Christian humanists, conservatives, and others, this conception of politics remains the dominant paradigm in philosophy today, as evinced by the fact that John Rawls’ A Theory of Justice, a contemporary exercise in rationalistic social-contractar- ianism (one that recommends a rigorous program of social engi- neering, affected primarily through the compulsory redistribution of private property), is widely thought to be the most important work of political philosophy written in the last century.20 As for contemporary mainline philosophy, considered more generally, still felt today is the powerful presence of Logical Positivism, with its ambitions to ‘correct’ or otherwise systematize ordinary language, and omnipresent is the philosophy of Willard van Orman Quine, according to whom natural science is First Philosophy and in whose thought intentionality and all of the dis- tinctively human complexities, ambiguities, and contradictions that come with it are eliminated in favor of a logically pure extensional- ism in language and a rigorous behaviorism in psychology, the main advertisement for which would appear to be its evidential trans- parency and experimental efficiency. It has been in its penetrating, sometimes tart response to main- line philosophy’s rationalism and consequent imprudence that the philosophically conservative counterculture of which I have spoken has both defined and distinguished itself. At the head of this coun- terculture is Aristotle who, in a handful of sentences in the Nicomachean Ethics, punctured the entire inflated balloon of Platonic perfectionism in ethics and politics, when he observed that ‘it is the mark of an educated man to look for precision in each class Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher 135 18 Hobbes, Leviathan, pp. 3-4 (Introduction). 19 Ibid., p. 48 (Part I, Ch. IX, §3). 20 In a survey of philosophers in the United States and Canada, con- ducted by The Philosophical Forum, of the 25 most important philosophi- cal books of the twentieth century, A Theory of Justice was ranked third, after Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations and Heidegger’s Being and Time. See ‘What are the Modern Classics? The Baruch Poll of Twentieth- Century Philosophy’, The Philosophical Forum, Vol. 30, No. 4 (1999), pp. 329-346. of things just so far as the nature of the subject admits’21 and that ‘matters concerned with conduct and questions of what is good for us have no fixity…’22 (Winston Churchill, in responding to the per- fectionist argument against democracy, famously remarked that democracy is the worst form of government…except for all the oth- ers.) Aristotle also believed that the development of sound ethical and political positions requires not only that historical and contem- porary common views not be ignored, but that they must be taken into consideration in every instance: ‘[W]e must consider happiness in the light not only of our conclusion and our premises, but also of what is commonly said about it; for with a true view all the data har- monize...’23 In the modern era, the conservative counterculture’s banner was first raised by David Hume, who criticized mainline philosophy for its immoderate approach to inquiry—its relentless, single-minded pursuit of the truth—which he correctly surmised can only lead to radical skepticism or, as Hume referred to it, Pyrrhonism. Pyrrhonism, of course, is a quintessentially imprudent philosophy, for it cannot be lived or even, for that matter, honestly believed, a point made not only by Hume, but by his contemporary Thomas Reid and later, in the twentieth century, by G.E. Moore. ‘The great subverter of Pyrrhonism or the excessive principles of skepticism is action, and employment, and the occupations of common life’, Hume wrote in the first Enquiry. ‘These principles may flourish and triumph in the schools… But as soon as they leave the shade..., and are put in opposition to the more powerful principles of our nature, they vanish like smoke, and leave the…sceptic in the same condition as other mortals.’24 ‘[W]hat do I gain [by skepticism]…?’ Reid asked. ‘I resolve not to believe my senses. I break my nose against a post that comes my way; I step into a dirty kennel; and, after twenty such…rational actions, I am taken up and clapt into a Daniel A. Kaufman 136 21 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, tr. Sir David Ross (New York: Oxford University Press, 1980), p. 3. 22 Ibid., p. 30. 23 Ibid., p. 15. [Emphasis added] I should mention that my own inter- pretation of Aristotle on this subject has evolved. In earlier, more Platonic days, I was inclined to view Aristotle’s philosophy systematically; his posi- tions on the various “special sciences” as applications of his metaphysical views. 24 David Hume, Enquiries Concerning Human Understanding and the Principles of Morals, L.A. Selby-Bigge and P.H. Nidditch, eds. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), pp. 158-9 (Sec. XII, Part II, §126-127). [Emphasis in the original] madhouse.’25 ‘It is, of course, the case that all philosophers who have held such [skeptical] views have repeatedly…expressed other views inconsistent with them…’, Moore observed dryly. ‘One way in which they have betrayed their inconsistency, is by alluding to the existence of other philosophers’.26 Moore’s efforts to counter Pyrrhonism, by corralling philosophical investigation within the confines of ordinary language and common sense, bore fruit in the philosophy of the later Wittgenstein—and especially the Wittgenstein of On Certainty—and in the ‘ordinary language’ philosophy that flourished at Oxford in the middle of the last cen- tury and which represented a revival of Humean and Reidian ways of thinking, cast in the linguistic idiom characteristic of twentieth- century thought. But, it is with respect to questions of ethics, politics, and values, more generally, that mainline philosophy’s imprudence stands out most glaringly, and it was on these fronts that Edmund Burke, the conservative counterculture’s greatest political spokesman, pressed his own brand of anti-rationalism: I cannot stand forward and give praise or blame to anything which relates to human actions and human concerns on a simple view of the object, as it stands stripped of every relation, in all the nakedness and solitude of metaphysical abstraction…Circumstances…give in reality to every political principle its distinguishing color and discriminating effect. The circumstances are what render every civil and political scheme beneficial or noxious to mankind.27 Indeed, it was precisely in the difference between prudent social evolution and its imprudent, revolutionary counterpart, that Burke saw the crucial distinction between England’s bloodless revolution of 1688 and the anything-but-bloodless French revolution a centu- ry later. The English revolution affected changes from within the boundaries of England’s existing institutions, which the agents of the revolution respected. ‘It is true, that, aided with the powers derived from force and opportunity, the nation was at that time, in Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher 137 25 Thomas Reid, An Inquiry into the Human Mind on the Principles of Common Sense, Derek Brookes, ed. (University Park, PA: Penn State University Press, 2000), p. 169-170 (Ch. 6, Sec. 20). [My brackets] 26 G.E. Moore, ‘A Defence of Common Sense’, in Philosophical Papers (New York: The Macmillan Co., 1959), pp. 40-41. [My brackets] 27 Edmund Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France, in Edmund Burke: Selected Writings and Speeches, Peter J. Stanlis, ed. (Washington D.C.: Regnery Publishing, 1963), p. 514. some sense, free to take what course it pleased for filling the throne’, Burke wrote, ‘but only free to do so upon the same grounds on which they might have wholly abolished…every other part of their Constitution. [T]hey did not think such bold changes within their commission.’ 28 In contrast, the French revolution was grounded in an abstract conception of Right—in a philosophy—and thus came entirely from outside the historical and political framework of France. Its temper, consequently, was not one of moderate change but instead, had all the feverish intensity (and devastating results) of a coup. Burke believed that how we understand political change—as a form of evolution that involves continuity with the past or as a rev- olution that is the result of embracing an abstract philosophy— plays a large part in determining how that political change manifests itself, and in fact, this was precisely what determined how the very different revolutions of 1688 and 1789 turned out: progressively in the case of the English, regressively in the case of the French (where an old-style medieval monarch was replaced by an even older, clas- sical-style Emperor). It is because Burke saw clearly the relation- ship between looking to tradition for guidance and moderation on the one hand and absolute obedience to reason and radicalism on the other, that he feared that mainline philosophy must always run the risk of sliding into radicalism. For this reason, Burke, over the course of his career, chose to root political principles in history rather than in philosophical theories: You will observe that from Magna Carta to the Declaration of Right, it has been the uniform policy of our Constitution to claim and assert our liberties as an entailed inheritance derived to us from our forebearers…, without any reference whatever to other more general or prior right…We have an inheritable crown, an inheritable peerage, and a House of Commons and a people inheriting privileges, franchises, and liberties from a long line of ancestors…[T]he people of England well know that the idea of inheritance furnishes a sure principle of conservation, and a sure principle of transmission, without at all excluding a principle of improvement. It leaves acquisition free; but it secures what it acquires.29 Daniel A. Kaufman 138 28 Ibid., p. 521. 29 Ibid., p. 528. Along these lines, Russell Kirk wrote the following about Burke: He…defended the liberties of Englishman against their king, and the Of course, Burke’s worries were well founded: a second, philosoph- ically radical counterculture did arise in the Enlightenment, on the grounds that mainline philosophy, far from being too imprudent, was, in fact, not imprudent enough. At its head was Jean-Jacques Rousseau, whose commitment to abstract principles and antipathy for common practices and beliefs—and particularly, for common mores30—have no counterparts in the history of philosophy prior to him, with the exception of Plato, and Rousseau’s work throbs with an emotional intensity that is entirely absent from the Platonic dia- logues (Burke referred to Rousseau as ‘the insane Socrates’). Beyond fueling the French revolution, Rousseau’s philosophy would supply many of the philosophical ideas, not to mention the temper, for the totalitarian philosophies of Marx and Lenin and of their heirs in the Frankfurt School and today’s New Left.31 That Rousseau’s political philosophy, even more than the philosophies of Hobbes and Locke, begins from an unreal picture of human nature is no better illustrated than by the opening para- graphs of his Discourse on the Origin and Foundations of Inequality Amongst Men, in which Rousseau forthrightly says: ‘Let us begin…by setting all the facts aside, for they have no bearing on the Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher 139 liberties of Americans against king and parliament, and the liberties of Hindus against Europeans…, not because they were innovations, dis- covered in the Age of Reason, but because they were ancient preroga- tives, guaranteed by immemorial usage. Burke was liberal because he was conservative. Russell Kirk, The Conservative Mind from Burke to Eliot, Seventh Revised Edition (Washington D.C.: Regnery Publishing, Inc. 1985), p. 21. 30 [A] vile and deceitful uniformity reigns in our mores, and all minds seem to have been cast in the same mold. Without ceasing, politeness makes demands, propriety gives orders; without ceasing, common cus- toms are followed, never one’s own lights. One no longer dares to seem what one really is…., and in this perpetual constraint, the men who make up this herd we call society will…do all the same things unless stronger motives deter them. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Discourse on the Sciences and Arts, in Jean- Jacques Rousseau: The Basic Political Writings, tr. Donald Cress (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co., 1987), p. 4 (Part one, ¶7). 31 There is an ongoing debate as to whether Rousseau’s philosophy is itself totalitarian. That it has been one of the primary intellectual sources of totalitarianism, however, is largely undisputed. question’.32 That Rousseau’s attention is utopian rather than prac- tical, is demonstrated by the concern with perfect equality, perfect freedom, and perfect individuality that pervades all of his political writings. That politically, Rousseau means to go far beyond Plato is evident in the fact that he thinks that these abstractions should be imposed on people; that although nature may make human beings unequal, and social dependency may further this inequality and rob us of some of our individuality, making us less free than we would otherwise have been, it is up to the State to correct this; to make us equal, where we are unequal, and to remake our freedom, where we have lost it—‘[A]lthough [men] may be unequal in strength or in genius’, Rousseau wrote in On Social Contract or Principles of Political Right, ‘they all become equal through agreements and law’,33 after which he says: Anyone who dares to undertake the founding of a people should feel himself capable of changing human nature…, of transform- ing each individual, who by himself is a perfect and solitary whole, into part of a greater whole from which this individual receives…his life and his being…; and of substituting a partial and artificial existence for the physical and independent existence we have all received from nature….The more impotent these nat- ural forces are, and the greater and more enduring the acquired ones are, the more solid and perfect the institution…, so that if each citizen is nothing and can do nothing except through all the others…, it can be said that legislation has reached the highest level of perfection it can attain.34 Finally, that Rousseau believes that substantial coercion by the State will be necessary in this ‘remaking’ of human equality and lib- erty—including State intrusion into private and non-governmental social relationships and especially those that comprise what Robert Nisbet has called the ‘intermediate institutions’ that lie between the individual and the State, such as the family, the church, the volun- tary civic association, and the private business35—is indicated by, Daniel A. Kaufman 140 32 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Discourse on the Origin and Foundations of Inequality Amongst Men, tr. Julia Conaway Bondanella, in Alan Ritter and Julia Conaway Bondanella, eds., Rousseau’s Political Writings (New York: W.W. Norton & Co., 1988), p. 9. 33 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, On Social Contract or Principles of Political Right, in Rousseau’s Political Writings, p. 98 (Bk. I, ch. 9, ¶8). 34 Ibid., p. 108 (Bk II, ch. 7, ¶3). 35 Robert Nisbet, ‘Rousseau and Equality’, in Rousseau’s Political Writings, p. 244. among other things: (1) his endorsement of far-reaching State cen- sorship of writing and speech;36 (2) his belief in mandatory and exclusively State-run education;37 (3) his argument for the elimina- tion of organized, institutional religion, centered around God, and its replacement by ‘Civil Religion’, in which obedience is solely to the State;38 and (4) his advocating the State’s intrusion into the very consciousness of the individual, in order to insure loyalty to the prin- ciples of perfect equality and liberty : [I]t is no small matter that the state is tranquil and the law respected, but if one does nothing more, there will be more appearance than reality in all this, and the government will have difficulty making itself obeyed… If it is good to know how to make use of men as they are, it is better still to make them into what one needs them to be; the most absolute authority is that which penetrates a man’s inner being and is exerted no less on his will than on his actions. Certainly, people are, in the long run, what the government makes of them…Form men, therefore, if you want to command men…39 §3 I have maintained that the mainline tradition in philosophy has held knowledge as its highest aim and has shown little interest in wis- dom. I have described two philosophical countercultures, one con- servative, one radical, which have emerged in opposition to the mainline tradition, and I have suggested that radicalism is the nat- ural outcome of taking the inclinations and ideas of mainline philosophy to their logical conclusions. My task now is to explain, in a deeper way, the relationship between the unadulterated quest for the truth and radicalism on the one hand and between the culti- vation of wisdom and moderation on the other. My method will be one of personification: I intend to uncover the contrastingly radical and moderate natures of knowledge and wisdom, by painting what Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher 141 36 Rousseau, On Social Contract, p. 165 (Bk. III, ch. 7, ¶6). 37 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Discourse on Political Economy, in Rousseau’s Political Writings, p. 73. 38 Rousseau, On Social Contract, pp. 166-173 (Bk III, Ch. 8). This idea of civil religion seems a particularly French predilection. One finds an even more grandiose, bizarre version of it in the late writings of Auguste Comte. 39 Rousseau, Discourse on Political Economy, pp. 66-7. are, in effect, psychological portraits of the knowledgeable and the wise person, with an eye to identifying the relevant differences in their respective characters. These difference were addressed with great perceptiveness by Aristotle, whose account rests essentially upon differences in both the objects and the modes of philosophic (by which he meant meta- physical), scientific, and practical reasoning. When one is involved in philosophic or scientific enquiry, one’s intellect is turned in the direction of the truth. When one is engaged in practical reasoning, it is directed towards the conduct of life.40 Excellence in each is described by Aristotle as ‘wisdom’—practical and philosophic or scientific, respectively—but only excellence in the second is ‘wis- dom’, in the sense that we have been talking about, while excellence in the first is what we ordinarily would call ‘knowledge’ or ‘erudi- tion’. The person who possess practical wisdom is the one with whom we identify sound judgment and behavior, while the person who possesses what Aristotle calls philosophic or scientific wisdom would be most aptly described today as ‘intellectual’ or ‘learned’. Notice, in this regard, that it would be quite odd to say of someone, solely on the basis of the fact that he was knowledgeable in a num- ber of subjects, say mathematics, physics, and chemistry, that he was wise, for wisdom is predicated on one’s having benefited from substantial experience, while being knowledgeable speaks only to the possession of information in a subject-area, which commonly takes a good amount of time to accumulate, but which—in the case of a genius, for example—may not. It is for this reason that wisdom is never present in children, though knowledge, as in the case of child prodigies, may well be. Aristotle’s description of the difference between the practical and the scientific or philosophic forms of life adds both color and depth to this distinction that we have been making between wisdom and knowledge; between the fruit born of practical wisdom and that stemming from pure intellection. For Aristotle, the life governed by practical wisdom is one of moral, social, and civic virtue, while the life over which philosophic reason rules is an amoral, contemplative existence. In part, this is merely a question of semantics: moral, social, and civic virtue involve goodness in one’s social behavior, so to the extent that the life spent pursuing knowledge is secluded and inactive, it literally cannot be a life of moral, social, or civic virtue. But beyond the issue of definition, there is a more interesting sense in which Aristotle believes that the process of searching for truth is at odds with the development of moral, social, and civic virtue. The Daniel A. Kaufman 142 40 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, pp. 137-158. life that the truth-seeker chooses is asocial—and consequently amoral—in a way that goes beyond its mere lack of activity. Jonathan Lear, in a discerning commentary on Aristotle’s con- ception of the contemplative life, has said that ‘the contemplative life is by its nature unethical’,41 and no one who has had experience with theoretical scientists and other research scholars, who are con- sumed by their inquiries—the most obvious contemporary counter- parts to Aristotle’s contemplators—can deny that we often suffer from a distinctive lack of good sense—of sound behavior and sound judgment—in conducting the non-intellectual, ordinary parts of our lives; a quality that the expression ‘absent-minded professor’ only begins to capture. Singular devotion to a specific task and especially one that involves highly theoretical questions in science, abstract ideas in philosophy, mathematics, and logic, or perfection- ist notions of goodness and beauty, can easily have the effect of eras- ing the world and the people in it. The scientist and the mainline philosopher, both of whom I will speak of as ‘contemplators’, in the Aristotelian sense of the term, fall into a kind of tunnel-vision, as a result of their utter absorption with the respective objects of their efforts. Without putting too hard an edge on it and intending the comparison in a purely descriptive sense, there can be an element of sociopathy to this form of life. Ordinary people and common life can be irritating, even hateful in their untidiness, their irregularity, and their imperfection, so the scientist or philosopher may be inclined to ‘correct’ them; to make them fit the particular image of perfection that he has formed in his mind. In any form of life, where one’s attention is fixed upon a perfect object, when conflicts arise, one’s inclination is either to change the offending thing or to reject it. In the clash between the universal, consistent, perfect world of the contemplator and the particular, inconsistent, imperfect world of the common run of humanity, the latter must either be corrected or rejected, because its particularity, inconsistency, and imperfection render it unsuitable to reason’s methods and distasteful to the contemplator’s palate. Similarly, when we consider those clashes that occur within the universe of pure intellection—that is, between rival philosophical or scientific schemes—the stark, binary quality of the contemplator’s world, of the true and the false, the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, requires that the false, the bad, and the ugly must also be transformed or discarded. Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher 143 41 Jonathan Lear, Aristotle: The Desire to Understand (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 315. [Emphasis added] If perfect truth, goodness, and beauty are the ends of pure intel- lection, then consistency is the primary virtue for the contemplator, because everything must fit together in order to be perfectly true, beautiful, or good. Anything that does not fit must be eliminated, and since truth, beauty, and other forms of perfection are the con- templator’s sole ends, there is no reason that the eliminating should not be done decisively and at once. ‘[H]is disposition makes both destruction and creation easier for him to engage in, than accep- tance or reform’, Oakeshott says. ‘To patch up, to repair he regards as a waste of time…’42 If consistency is the primary virtue of the contemplator, a certain lack of consistency is the chief virtue of the wise person. More pre- cisely, the wise person must have the capacity for appropriate, responsive improvisation. He must recognize and more importantly, accept that real life and real people are characterized by particulari- ty, heterogeneity, and irrationality—that is, by imperfection—and he must be capable of responding appropriately to the ever-shifting, fluctuating currents of human life that result. Whatever pure intel- lection may reveal to be true, good, or beautiful, the wise person will suspend judgment as to whether it is desirable, until he has seen how it plays out in real life, amongst real people. This is most apparent in ethics and politics, where the contem- plator’s demand for consistency and universalizability entails moral and political positions which often are at odds with what common sense would identify as decent and humane. This is certainly true of Kant’s moral philosophy, which insists that if an action is moral- ly right in one circumstance, it must be morally right in all circum- stances, since the moral significance of an action lies in the univer- salizability of its maxim. It is not a coincidence that Kant arrives at this view, after meditating upon ethical concepts like ‘right’, ‘good’, ‘duty’, and ‘ought’, taken entirely in the abstract and not as they are actually used in ordinary language and common practice. The wise person, of course, must view this sort of ethics as unacceptable from the start, because its commitment to absolute consistency and universality and resulting distance from real life entails a rigid eth- ical outlook, which inevitably runs roughshod over human beings. To him, Kant’s so-called morality of rational persons looks much more like the triumph of principles over people. A similar rigidity plagues Utilitarianism, with its exclusive concern for maximizing utility, though the inhumanity that can result is of a different vari- Daniel A. Kaufman 144 42 Oakeshott, ‘Rationalism in Politics’, in Rationalism in Politics and Other Essays, p. 4. ety from that engendered by Kantianism. Under Kantianism, peo- ple are sacrificed to moral abstractions, but with Utilitarianism, some people’s happiness is sacrificed for the sake of the happiness of others, who either are more numerous or whose happiness is deemed greater, by some other measure. This essential difference between the morals of the contemplator and that of the wise person is well-illustrated in Kant’s ‘On a Supposed Right to Lie for Philanthropic Concerns’, which address- es the ethics of truth-telling and lies. A critic has argued that Kant cannot possibly be correct on this subject, because in real life, there will be some occasions in which the right thing to do is tell the truth and some occasions in which the right thing to do is lie. (I am oblig- ed to lie, for example, if the person I am talking to is a murderer, inquiring into the whereabouts of his next victim, which are known to me.) This criticism well illustrates the sense in which for the wise person, morality always must be inconsistent and particular, rather than consistent and universal, if its application to real human beings, in real circumstances, is to be decent and humane. But Kant, in responding to his critic, insists on universality and consis- tency at all costs, and argues that one must always tell the truth, no matter what, a position for which he offers nothing more than the uncompelling, though characteristically abstract rationale that to permit even one lie ‘does harm to humanity in general, inasmuch as it vitiates the very source of right’.43 To take another example, this one political, freedom, taken abstractly abstract, is a good, and for the contemplator, this is rea- son enough to think it desirable and to recommend the overthrow- ing of any social or political system that does not maximize it. But the wise person will reserve judgment about the desirability of free- dom, until he sees how it is exercised by specific people in specific times and places. He will ask, as Burke does, whether because ‘lib- erty in the abstract may be classed amongst the blessings of mankind’, we should therefore ‘felicitate a madman who has escaped from the protecting restraint and wholesome darkness of his cell?’ and he will agree with Burke that because ‘the effect of lib- erty to individuals is that they may do what they please: we ought see what it will please them to do, before we risk congratulations’.44 This struggle between the contemplator and the wise person is also played out in the most unlikely of areas, namely in metaphysics Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher 145 43 Immanuel Kant, ‘On a Supposed Right to Lie Because of Philanthropic Concerns’, in Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals, tr. James Ellington (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co, 1993), pp. 64-5. 44 Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France, p. 515. and epistemology, where one would think that the perspective of pure intellection is overwhelmingly favored. Take, for example, the belief that the external world exists. For the contemplator, the question is solely one of truth and justification, with consistency once again playing the role of the essential regulating principle, and consequently his thinking goes something like this: (1) The sole determinant as to whether or not we should believe something is whether or not the belief is true; (2) The strength of our justifica- tion for a belief is the sole indicator as to its truth; (3) Therefore, beliefs for which we have no justification should be jettisoned (this is the reason, for example, why we no longer believe in witches); (4) The belief that there is an external world is one for which there is no justification (see the various skeptical arguments); (5) Therefore, we should not believe that there is an external world. The wise person will find this line of thought objectionable, not because he denies that in addressing the question of which beliefs we should hold, truth and justification are of great importance, but because he rejects the notion that they are of exclusive importance. He will insist that we must also attend to the usefulness of the belief in question, in all its varying dimensions, its role with respect to other beliefs that people hold, the price to be paid if it is abandoned, and a host of other practical considerations. In short, prudence will compel him to consider elements relevant to human belief other than truth and falsity, and consequently, he will reject the contem- plator’s robotic application of the principle of consistency to our beliefs. Particularly in the case of fundamental metaphysical and existential beliefs, like the belief in the external world or in the exis- tence of other minds, the wise person—who thinks that as is the case with ethical obligation, the epistemological ‘ought’ implies ‘can’—will want to consider whether it is even possible to forgo such beliefs. He will observe that as a matter of fact, people do not treat their beliefs in a consistent fashion; that we may be ready to rid our- selves of some beliefs for lack of justification, while at the same time insisting on keeping others, though they be equally lacking in justi- fication. The fact of human inconsistency is important to the wise person and will not only determine how far he is willing to pursue what may turn out to be a matter of purely academic interest, but will also operate as a constraint on the judgments that he applies both to and within the world of human belief. He will not so quickly throw around accusations of irrationality, simply because a belief is shown to lack warrant, nor will he so readily suggest that a belief be jetti- soned, solely because it lacks a certain kind of epistemological pedi- Daniel A. Kaufman 146 gree. The wise among us, as Hume put it, ‘[w]hen we see, that we have arrived at the utmost extent of human reason…’, will ‘…sit down contented; tho’ we be perfectly satisfied in the main of our ignorance, and perceive that we can give no reason for our most gen- eral and most refined principles, beside our experience of their real- ity’.45 The contemplator, in contrast, will produce argument after argu- ment, in order to prove to the world that the world does not exist, a venture which beyond being weird (prove to the world that the world does not exist?), is entirely futile, for while proofs demonstrating that the belief in the existence of the external world is unwarranted are easy to come by, it is impossible to get anyone to actually believe any of them. Or like Kant, he may think it ‘a scandal to philosophy’ that no proof of the external world exists and find himself com- pelled to write treatises like the Critique of Pure Reason to prove that it does, which, in addition to being futile—Hume demonstrated, quite convincingly, that there can be no proof for the existence of the external world—is also needless, inasmuch as it is attempting to prove something that everyone already believes. §4 Further illumination as to these contrasting pairs of relationships— between pure intellection and the revolutionary spirit on the one hand and between wisdom and moderateness on the other—and with respect to the character of mainline philosophy can be found if we consider some of the core differences between the sciences and the liberal and fine arts. These differences stem, at bottom, from divergences in the respective missions of these distinctive forms of activity. The understanding that science pursues is pure. Science is not a practical but rather, an intellectual endeavor, entirely concerned with the accumulation of knowledge. I do not mean to imply that the fruits of scientific knowledge are not routinely employed in practice, but only that the sole value pursued by science is truth. The significance of the various applications of the truths discovered by science to human life is a matter of moral, social, and political values, not scientific ones. Whether or not current theories in nuclear physics are true or false is a matter of scientific values, but Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher 147 45 David Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature, L.A. Selby-Bigge and P.H. Nidditch, eds. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978), p. xviii. whether or not those theories should be used to manufacture hydro- gen bombs is a question of moral, social, and political ones. The scientist, by virtue of the very nature and values of his trade, must be a revolutionary. I am not suggesting that he must be polit- ically radical, but rather, that he must be a radical partisan of the truth; he must be ready to abandon any hypothesis or theory on a moment’s notice, if reason and evidence require it. The fact that a theory has been long held, is much loved, or occupies a central place in a civilization has no bearing whatsoever on whether it is true or false and thus, is irrelevant to the scientist’s decision to retain or scrap it. After all, each and every one of these things was true of Aristotelian physics and cosmology—they had prevailed for nearly two thousand years and enjoyed a central place in Christian doctrine and in the common folk-wisdom of the people of the West—but this did not prevent, nor should it have prevented, those like Copernicus, Galileo, Descartes, and Newton from abandoning them in what was, historically speaking, a blink of the eye. In contrast with the purity of understanding sought by science, what the liberal and fine arts seek is impure, meaning that they are concerned as much with practice as with the accumulating of infor- mation. Their mission is the cultivation of the aesthetic, moral, and political dimensions of human life. ‘Cultivation’ suggests better- ment, and the betterment sought by the humanities and liberal arts includes among many things, the nurturing of good taste, the devel- opment of humane sentiments, and the cultivation of moral, social, and civic virtue, all for the greater purpose of rendering human life more civilized. Our production and consumption of literature, music, theater, and all other manner of liberal and fine arts, then, are more a matter of our being better people and living better lives than they are about becoming more intelligent or adding to the stock of our knowledge. Aristotle’s recommendation of tragic drama for its psychologi- cally curative effects—his theory of catharsis46—is duly famous, because inspired, but in fact, he believed that every one of the liter- ary art forms benefits the human character in its own distinctive way, a view that I want to extend to the liberal and fine arts more generally. This is one of the key ways in which Aristotle’s views on the subject of art differ sharply from those of Plato, who thought that the arts were intellectually and morally corrupting and should be abolished. But if we believe that morality is practical and not Daniel A. Kaufman 148 46 Aristotle, The Poetics, tr. James Hutton (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 1982), p. 50. theoretical—that moral virtue is a matter of wisdom and not of intellection—we must see that the liberal and fine arts are directly implicated in its development, for wisdom and good habits are cul- tivated primarily in experience and only secondarily through teach- ing (and by ‘teaching’ Aristotle means a kind of apprenticeship, rather than explicit instruction), and the liberal and fine arts play a central role both in our experience and in our interpretation of it. I have spoken at some length about the wise person’s capacity for ‘appropriate, responsive improvisation’, in the face of the particu- larity, heterogeneity, and imperfection that define human life. These characteristics are what make impossible formulae or rules of human behavior and thought, which is why wisdom rather than knowledge is the most important attribute for those whose primary task is to deal with human beings and their lives. The unavailabil- ity of formulae or rules is also what prevents wisdom from being taught in the manner that one teaches subjects like atomic physics or organic chemistry, whose content consists entirely of informa- tion. ‘Practical knowledge can neither be taught nor learned, but only imparted and acquired’, Oakeshott explains, ‘It exists only in practice, and the only way to acquire it is by apprenticeship to a master—not because the master can teach it (he cannot), but because it can be acquired only by continuous contact with one who is perpetually practising it’.47 It is through the guidance of a master craftsman that an appren- tice experiences all of the particularities and heterogeneities—the messy realities—of the craft in which he is seeking to gain expertise, and it is only through repeated experience under the master’s guid- ance that he will develop the good judgment, dispositions, and habits required to make him a master of that craft in his own right. What is true in the case of crafts is also true with respect to human life, which is why Aristotle compares the development of moral virtue to the acquisition of virtues of craft,48 but in life our masters include our mothers and fathers, older siblings, school teachers, reli- gious and other community leaders—indeed, all of the wise adults that help to usher us through the process of maturation. I would argue that our life-masters also include those great writers of liter- ature and other artists, who are capable of creating worlds that so resonate with real life that they provide another set of experiences through which we can cultivate moral, social, and civic virtue, as well as manners, taste, and all of the other forms of excellence that belong to the practical rather than the intellectual side of human Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher 149 47 Oakeshott, ‘Rationalism in Politics’, p. 11. 48 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, pp. 28-29. nature. Alice Crary, in a recent essay that is particularly apropos to our present subject, says that the finest novels… …may draw us into more intimate relations with some characters than others, give us discordant accounts of a specific situation through the eyes of different characters and leave us with ambiguous accounts of central events in the lives of some char- acters. And, in doing these things [it] may elicit a variety of emo- tional responses. It may lead us to empathize with and love some characters and despise or pity others, to find certain aspects of a state of affairs funny and others boring, to find some features of a mode of life important and others unimportant, and so on.49 Gilbert Ryle recognized many of the works of Jane Austen as hav- ing this quality—in his famous essay on Austen, he said that Austen is ‘a moralist’ though not a ‘moraliser’50—and Crary, much of whose essay is on Ryle-on-Austin, observes that ‘Ryle attempts to show that Jane Austen’s conception of human understanding, like his own, leaves room for the possibility of forms of instruction which persuade us in that they engage our feelings’.51 This ‘wine-tasting method’, as Ryle calls it, is simply what we have been describing as learning from experience rather than from instruction; as develop- ing a set of dispositions and habits rather than acquiring a stock of justified, true beliefs. Indeed, the worlds created by the novelist, playwright, and painter may provide this learning in a manner that is even more effective than actual experience, for if the artist is real- ly good at what he does, he will offer us all the particularities, incon- sistencies, fluctuations, and imperfections of real life, but in cir- cumstances that are contrived to showcase those aspects of charac- ter, thought, and action that are relevant to the specific moral, social, political, or other human virtues and vices on exhibition. ‘Jane Austen’s people are, nearly always, alive all over, all through and all round’, Ryle says, ‘displaying admirably or amusingly or deplorably proportioned mixtures of all the colours that there are, save pure White and pure Black’.52 Daniel A. Kaufman 150 49 Alice Crary, ‘Does the Study of Literature Belong Within Moral Philosophy? Reflections in Light of Ryle’s Thought’, Philosophical Investigations, Vol. 23, No. 4 (October 2000), pp. 324-5. 50 Gilbert Ryle, ‘Jane Austen and the Moralists’, in Collected Papers, Vol. I (New York: Barnes & Noble, Inc., 1971 ), p. 276. 51 Crary, ‘Does the Study of Literature Belong Within Moral Philosophy’? p. 326. 52 Ryle, ‘Jane Austen and the Moralists’, p. 285. 53 I want to thank Michael Boyle, whose extensive historical knowledge, critical acumen, and friendship were invaluable to me in writing this essay. Because they are prime examples of the cultivated human soul and key players in the process of human cultivation, our greatest writers and fine artists always have had a connection to their prede- cessors, which our scientists have not had and should not have. As strange as it may sound, the artist is fundamentally less radical, the nature of his work fundamentally less revolutionary, than the scien- tist and his theories, for running through every artistic movement are striations of orthodoxy. Indeed, art history itself is the story of one continuous process of organic change, rather than one of suc- cessive revolutions. In painting, for instance, one can identify a sin- gle conceptual arc that begins in the Renaissance and terminates at the end of the modern era, one which provides continuity between modern art movements and their predecessors, despite the superfi- cial appearance of unconnectedness. Modernism may have seemed radical at the moment of its inception, but once even a little time had passed, it quickly became clear that it was really conservative, in our sense of representing organic change, rather than revolution. In stark contrast stands the history of science, where there are no comparable connections between Newtonian mechanics and its Aristotelian predecessor or between Relativity and Quantum Mechanics and Newtonian physics to those that we find in painting, between the Mannerist and the Renaissance, the Baroque and the Mannerist, the Romantic and the Baroque, and the Modern and the Romantic. The breaks between paradigms in science constitute revolutions that are abrupt and total, while in the liberal and fine arts, such ‘paradigm shifts’ are gradual and partial. Pulling together all that I have said, over the course of this essay, and in closing, it would appear that mainline philosophy is more appropriately classified with the natural and social sciences than with the humanities or liberal arts, because its fundamental interest has been in knowledge rather than wisdom, and its fundamental inclination has been to oppose established beliefs and practices and not only the beliefs and practices of the common, ‘vulgar’ folk, but those of its own predecessors. Mainline philosophy, like science, has been an overwhelmingly present- and forward-looking enter- prise; ready to drop the prevailing assumptions and dispositions of the age, at a moment’s notice.53 Missouri State University Knowledge, Wisdom, and the Philosopher 151 
work_tbaed66uuzhdhfphuimifxxyfe	----	Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29, p. 151-168 DOI Number: http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies.12404 ISSN: 1308-2140, ANKARA-TURKEY Article Info/Makale Bilgisi  Referees/Hakemler: Doç. Dr. Şafak ÜNÜVAR – Yrd. Doç. Dr. Ayhan KARAKAŞ This article was checked by iThenticate. KÜLTÜREL MİRAS KAPSAMINDA EDEBİYAT TURİZMİ DENEYİMİ: SAİT FAİK ABASIYANIK’IN İZİNDE OTOETNOGRAFİK BİR ÇALIŞMA* Samet ÇEVİK** ÖZET Edebiyat turizmi, yazarların doğduğu, yaşadığı, eserlerini kaleme aldığı müze statüsündeki gerçek mekanlara; yazarların eserlerindeki kurgusal karakterlerle bağlantılı yerlere ya da edebi figürlerden dolayı popüler hale gelmiş destinasyonlara yapılan seyahatleri ifade etmektedir. Özellikle yazarların doğduğu, hayatlarının bir kısmını geçirdiği ve çalışma alanı olarak kullandıkları evler otantiklik, nostalji ve yazarla bir bağlantı kurmak arayışında olan edebiyat turistleri için oldukça çekici mekanlardır. Yazarla bağlantılı bu gerçek mekanlara yapılan seyahatler kültürel miras deneyiminin de bir parçası olmaktadır. Bu çalışma, kültürel miras kapsamındaki gerçek mekanlara yönelik edebi mekan deneyimini otoetnografik bir yaklaşımla ele almaktadır. Kültürel deneyimi anlamak amacıyla kişisel deneyimin betimlendiği bir yöntem olarak tanımlanan otoetnografiyi kullanarak çalışmada, müze yorumlama biçimlerinin, otantikliğin, edebi farkındalığın ve diğer edebi mekan özelliklerinin edebiyat turizmi deneyimi üzerindeki etkisi tartışılmıştır. Bu amaçla araştırma alanı olarak, Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın yaşadığı, pek çok eserini kaleme aldığı ve 1959’dan bu yana müze ev statüsünde hizmet veren İstanbul Burgazada’daki Sait Faik Abasıyanık Müzesi seçilmiştir. Çalışmadan çıkan en önemli sonuç yazarla bağlantılı gerçek mekanlar açısından yorumlama biçimleri, otantiklik, nostalji, edebi farkındalık, yazarla kurulan duygusal bağlantı gibi kavramların birbirleriyle bağlantılı olduğu ancak bunların içinde en önemlisinin yorumlama biçimleri olduğudur. Edebi bir mekanda seçilen yorumlama biçimleri diğer kavramları da olumlu ya da olumsuz şekilde etkileyerek edebiyat turistinin nihai deneyiminde belirleyici olmaktadır. Anahtar Kelimeler: Kültürel Miras, Edebiyat Turizmi, Sait Faik Abasıyanık, Otoetnografi * Bu çalışma, 4-8 Ekim 2017 tarihleri arasında Marmaris’te düzenlenen Uluslararası Turizm ve Kültürel Miras Kongresi’nde sözlü bildiri olarak sunulmuştur. ** Yrd. Doç. Dr. Bandırma Onyedi Eylül Üniversitesi Erdek Meslek Yüksekokulu, El-mek: scevik@bandirma.edu.tr http://dx.doi.org/10.7827/TurkishStudies. 152 Samet ÇEVİK Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 LITERARY TOURISM EXPERIENCE AS PART OF CULTURAL HERITAGE: AN AUTOETHNOGRAPHIC STUDY IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF SAIT FAIK ABASIYANIK ABSTRACT Literary tourism refers to trips to actual places in the museum context where authors were born, lived, wrote their works; to places associated with fictional characters in authors’ works or to destinations that have become popular due to literary figures. Especially houses where authors were born, spent a part of their lives and used as a work area are highly attractive sites in terms of literary tourists seeking authenticity, nostalgia and a connection with the author. The trips to these actual houses are also part of the cultural heritage experience. This study discusses literary places experience to actual places within cultural heritage with an autoethnographic approach. By using autoethnography which is defined as a method of describing personal experience in order to understand the cultural experience, the effect of museum interpretation forms, authenticity, literary awareness and other literary place characteristics on literary tourism experience is discussed in the study. For this purpose, Sait Faik Abasıyanık Museum in Burgazada, İstanbul where Sait Faik lived, wrote many of his works and where has been operated as a museum house since 1959 was chosen as research area. The most important result of the study is the concepts of interpretation forms, authenticity, nostalgia, literary awareness, emotional connection with the author are related to each other for literary places but the most important concept is interpretation forms. The selected interpretation forms influence the other concepts positively or negatively and are determinative in the ultimate experience of literary tourists. STRUCTURED ABSTRACT Conceptual Framework Literary tourism which is an important and growing sector of the tourism industry originates when the popularity of a literary depiction or the stature of an individual author is such that people are drawn to visit the places that the author wrote about or was associated with (Busby and Klug, 2001). There are many different types of literary tourism. Butler’s (1986) study is the most accepted study among the studies that classify literary tourism. Subsequent studies have evaluated literary tourism based on this classification or have added new categories to this classification. Butler classified literary tourism in four categories (Butler, 1986 cited in Busby and Klug, 2001): 1. Aspects of homage to an actual location 2. Places pf significance in the work of fiction 3. Appeal of areas because they were appealing to literary and other figures. Kültürel Miras Kapsamında Edebiyat Turizmi Deneyimi: Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın… 153 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 4. The literature gains popularity in a sense that the area becomes a tourist destination in its own right. “Travel writing” by Busby and Klug (2001) and “Film-induced literary tourism” by Busby and Laviolette (2006) was proposed as fifth and sixth type of literary tourism in this classification. In 2011, Mintel presented “literary festivals” and “bookshop tourism” as a kind of literary tourism. This study is included in the category of actual location related with the author which is the first type of literary tourism. This actual places where authors were born, spent a part of their lives and used as a work area have attraction component for their fans. There are some important concepts for actual places related with authors in the literary tourism. These are authenticity, nostalgia, interpretation forms, commodification, literary awareness and emotional connection with the author. Tourists are seeking “real thing” in other words an “authentic experience” but they also want evidence that these things are authentic (Stiebel, 2004). For this reason, authenticity requires careful interpretation in terms of place planners and managers. This may vary from elaborate multimedia displays to basic directional signs (Herbert, 1996). Nostalgia links to an emotional involvement with the past, the evocative power of objects and the need to escape a less meaningful present (Gentile and Brown, 2015). The emotional and intellectual relationship between the author and the reader also brings up literary awareness which is another important concept in terms of literary tourism. Literary awareness refers to the level of knowledge and interesrt in the author or his/her works. Method The aim of the study is to examine key concepts in terms of literary tourism through a personal experience of an actual place related to the author. For this purpose, autoethnographic approach was used in the study. Alongside my personal experience, I conducted an interview with the museum official to gain information about the history, functioning and interpretation forms of the museum. During my experience I took only photos. After my visit I took notes on each section of museum by means of these photos. Then I began to write autoethnographic report about my literary tourism experience with the help of photos, notes and interview data by examining thoroughly in terms of important literary tourism concepts such as interpretation forms, authenticity, nostalgia, literary awareness and emotional connection with author. As both the number of academic studies on literary places in Turkey is few and as literary tourism in general remains behind the other types of tourism, this cultural experience is crucial in mediating the development of concepts related to literary tourism. Results My admiration for Sait Faik is based on the last few years although I have read many of his stories in my education life. After reading more introductory articles about his life and memoirs about him, I began to look at him with a different eye and when I read his stories wtih this 154 Samet ÇEVİK Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 perspective I realized Sait Faik’s naive language, the sincerity in his narrative, the ingenuity of his narration about ordinary people in everyday life and his deep human love. It was at the same time that I have discovered Sait Faik in this real sense and I began an extensive research in the field of literary tourism. I conducted this research both as a literary tourist who admires Sait Faik and well-informed about his life and works and as a researcher who knows literary tourism characteristics and important elements in literary places that tourists seek. On August 16, 2017 I went to İstanbul Burgazada for the first time to go to Sait Faik’s house. When I entered Sait Faik’s house, I went towards guest room which is “Number 1” on the left. This is also connected with an intermediate door with the dining room which is “Number 2”. All the rooms in the house are numbered in this way. I realized that the general decoration of the museum adopts a very stylish and simple style as it is in these two rooms on the ground floor. There is not much objects in the museum and this simple design makes the museum more effective. The only message the museum wants to give to visitors is Sait Faik’s life story. So, according to this aim, many objects have been left out of concept. Through this interpretation form, I made my visit without moving from the story of Sait Faik’s life and without focusing on a different object which will lead to the breaking of my connection with him. I did not need a guide to accompany in the museum. Because all the information belonging to Sait Faik is presented on the big panels and under each of the exhibited documents, detailed explanations are written in Turkish and English. Just as in every literary tourist, I had also doubts as to whether the objects at home were really the objects used by the author. However, I can say that many of features in this house are in a position to remove these doubts. The museum was opened very shortly after his death. So, it seems quite possible to hide and preserve the original objects. The museum official are underlined that all the objects exhibited are original. The room that Sait Faik used as a bedroom and study room is a room that can emotionally influence every literary tourist who is a fan of the author like me. I can say that this is the most private room of the house in terms of nostalgia feeling. In other rooms on the same floor, important milestones of his life are exhibited through documents and personal objects. I had the opportunity to see the original documents and objects about these periods while reading the information about his life from the panels in these rooms. Personal objects such as identification card, cigarette box, glasses case, election certificate, pen rack are also exhibited which is very valuable in terms of authenticity and nostalgia. The more a literary tourist knows the author’s life and works, the more experience the literary tourist gets becomes different while visiting the house. The higher the level of literary awareness, the more likely the literary tourist establish an emotional connection with the author. In this respect, I see myself as a literary tourist with a high level of literary awareness because of my high level of interest in Sait Faik and knowledge about his works. Kültürel Miras Kapsamında Edebiyat Turizmi Deneyimi: Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın… 155 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 Conclusion The most important result of the study is that the concepts of interpretation forms, authenticity, nostalgia, literary awareness, emotional connection with the author are related to each other for literary places but the most important concept is interpretation forms. The selected interpretation forms influence the other concepts positively or negatively and are determinative in the ultimate experience of literary tourists. Through selected interpretation forms, literary places that can present the authentic experience with evidences and documents meet the expectations of literary tourists. A literary place in which the real objects of the author are exhibited also provides nostalgia feeling and in this sense it is appealing to literary tourists in terms of wittnessing a period. The actual literary places associated with the author should determine their interpretation decisions considering wishes and expectations of literary tourists and the elements that motivate them. The Sait Faik Abasıyanık Museum with its original design and decoration concept which focuses only on the message to be given, successfully presents the authenticity experience and feeling of nostalgia. Another important result of the study is that the concept of literary awareness increases the quality of literary tourism experience. Thus, literary places should consider the motivations of literary tourists with higher literary awareness level in their interpretation decisions and anecdotes or memoirs which are relatively less publicly known about the author’s life should be exhibited in the place. However, interpretation decisions should be made that provide information about the author’s works or life story to literary tourists with lower literary awareness level or serendipitous tourists for the purpose of recognizing the author. Keywords: Cultural Heritage, Literary Tourism, Sait Faik Abasıyanık, Autoethnography 1. Giriş Ünlü bir kişiyle bağlantılı mekanlar kültürel miras sektörünün önemli bir bileşenidir (Smith, 2003). Özellikle yazarların doğduğu, yaşadığı ve çok iyi bilinen eserlerini kaleme aldıkları gerçek mekanlar birer kültürel miras unsuru olarak turistik destinasyonların önemli değerlerini oluşturmaktadır. Bu değerler orijinaline sadık kalınarak korunduğunda ve sürdürülebilirliği sağlandığında bulunduğu bölgenin turizm gelişimine katkı sağlamaktadır. Dünya çapında turizm destinasyonlarının tanıtılması ve gelişiminde edebiyat bağlantısı önemli bir rol oynamaktadır (Busby ve Shetliffe, 2013). Başta İngiltere olmak üzere Avrupa’nın pek çok ülkesinde edebiyat turizmi, kültürel miras turizminin önemli bir türü olarak ilgi görmekte ve aynı zamanda bir araştırma alanı olarak da edebiyat turizmine odaklanan akademik çalışmalar gerçekleştirilmektedir. Edebiyat turizminin bu gelişimiyle ilgili olarak Müller (2006), edebi mekanların artık sadece yazarın eserlerinin geçtiği yerler ya da çalışma ortamlarının deneyimlenerek zenginleşme arayışının olduğu yerler değil, yerel ekonomiyi desteklemek için turizmi geliştirmeyi amaçlayan ve modern turistlerin ihtiyaçlarını karşılayan turistik çekicilikler haline geldiklerinden bahsetmiştir. Konuya Türkiye açısından bakıldığında, edebiyat turizmi açısından güçlü bir potansiyelin olduğu ancak hem bir kültürel miras turizmi türü olarak hem de bir akademik araştırma alanı olarak yeterince ön plana çıkamadığı söylenebilir. Edebiyatın turizmle ilişkisine odaklanan, 156 Samet ÇEVİK Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 Türkiye’deki edebi mekanları araştırma alanı olarak seçen, edebiyat turizminde önemli kavramları ele alan ya da edebiyat turisti motivasyonlarını araştıran çalışmaların sayısı çok az bir düzeydedir. Edebiyat turizminin farklı birçok türü bulunmaktadır. Bu çalışma yazarlarla bağlantılı gerçek mekanları içeren edebiyat turizmi türü kapsamındadır. Yazarlarla bağlantılı gerçek mekanları ziyaret eden edebiyat turistleri bu mekanlarda hayranı oldukları yazarlara dair izler bulma peşindedirler. Çalışmada otoetnografik yaklaşım kullanılarak gerçek bir edebi mekan deneyimi üzerinden edebiyat turizmi için önemli olan kavramların ve edebi mekanlarda olması gereken özelliklerin anlaşılması amaçlanmıştır. Bu amaçla öncelikle edebiyat turizmi kavramı ele alınmış, edebiyat turizmi türleri ve edebiyat turizminde ön plana çıkan kavramlar işlenmiştir. Daha sonra da bu kavramlar açısından bir edebiyat turistinin edebiyat turizmi deneyiminden elde edilen bulgular otoetnografik yaklaşımla sunulmuştur. 2. Kavramsal Çerçeve Turizm endüstrisinin büyüyen ve önemli bir sektörü konumunda olan edebiyat turizmi, edebi bir eserin popülaritesi ya da bir yazarın prestiji nedeniyle yazarın eserlerine konu ettiği ya da kendisinin ilişkilendirildiği destinasyonlara ve mekanlara yapılan ziyaretlerle ortaya çıkan bir turizm türüdür (Busby ve Klug, 2001). Edebiyat turizminin hangi turizm türü içerisinde değerlendirilmesi gerektiğine dair literatürde farklı görüşler bulunmaktadır. Bazı çalışmalarda edebiyat turizminin miras turizmi kapsamında ele alındığı görülmüştür (Squire, 1996; Herbert, 2001; Smith, 2003). Bazı araştırmacılar ise edebiyat turizmini kültür turizminin bir türü olarak ele almaktadırlar. Robinson ve Andersen (2002) antropolojik ve sanatsal açıdan edebiyat turizminin kültür turizmi içerisinde değerlendirilmesi gerektiğini öne sürmüşlerdir: “Ziyaretçilerin ve turistlerin, mekanların kültürel mitolojilerinin bir parçası haline gelen insanlarla kültürel değerlerin belirleyicilerini keşfetme, tanımlama ve oluşturmalarını içerdiğinden antropolojik açıdan kültür turizminin bir alt çeşididir”. Öte yandan yaratıcı sanatlara dayalı bir turizm türü olduğu için sanatsal açıdan da edebiyat turizminin kültür turizminin bir türü olduğunu savunan yazarlar, sanatsal kültür turizmi olarak edebiyat turizminin farklı olduğunu, çünkü edebiyatın diğer sanat türleri gibi olmadığını öne sürmüşlerdir. Görsel sanatlar ve müziğin aksine edebiyat, okuyabilen ve yazarın sanatsal ve anlamsal kalıplar yaratmak için bir araya getirdiği sözcükleri ya da eserinde kullandığı geleneksel üslupları anlayabilen herhangi biri ile potansiyel olarak kişisel bir düzeyde bütünleşebilir. Bir başka deyişle, yazar ve okur sanatı paylaşmada birbirine yakındır, çünkü okur yazarın dünyasına kolaylıkla dahil olabilir. Esasen kültür turizmi ile miras turizmi birbirine çok yakın iki turizm türüdür. Hoppen vd. (2014) çalışmalarında bu iki türün arasındaki en temel farkın miras turizminin daha çok mekana dayalı bir turizm türü olması olarak belirtmişlerdir. Bu çalışmada ise edebiyat turizmi kültür turizmi ve miras turizminin birleşiminden oluşan kültürel miras turizmi kapsamında bir niş turizm türü olarak ele alınmıştır. Genel bir çerçeveden bakıldığında edebiyat turizmi, kültürün dahil olduğu birçok turizm çeşidiyle yakından ilişkilidir. Örneğin, yazarların mezarlarını ziyaret etmek de edebiyat turizmi kapsamında değerlendirilmektedir. Bu, edebiyat turizminin hüzün turizmiyle yakın ilişkisi olduğunu göstermektedir. Çalışmalarında Tolic vd. (2009) Eugene Ionesco’nun; Brown (2016) ise Jean Paul Sartre ve Simone de Beauvoir’in mezarlarını ziyaret deneyimlerini otoetnografik yaklaşımla ele almışlardır. Edebiyat turizmi ile hüzün turizmi ilişkisini gösteren diğer bir örnek de dünyaca ünlü “Anne Frank’ın Hatıra Defteri” kitabının yazarı Anne Frank’ın Amsterdam’da bulunan ve müze statüsünde faaliyet gösteren Anne Frank Müze Evi’dir. Bu müzeyi araştırma alanı olarak seçtikleri çalışmalarında Busby ve Devereux (2015) müze ziyaretçilerinin motivasyonları üzerinden edebiyat turizmi ile hüzün turizmi ilişkisini açıklamaya çalışmışlardır. Edebiyat turizminin etkinlik turizmi ile de yakın ilişkisi söz konusudur. Edebiyat festivalleri, edebiyat turizminin önemli bir ürünü olarak dünyanın birçok bölgesinde giderek artan etkinlikleri ifade etmektedir. Ülkemizde de edebiyat Kültürel Miras Kapsamında Edebiyat Turizmi Deneyimi: Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın… 157 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 festivallerinin sayıları her geçen yıl artmaktadır. Ülkemizdeki önemli edebiyat festivalleri arasında 2009 yılından beri uluslararası çapta düzenlenen İstanbul Tanpınar Edebiyat Festivali; İzmir Uluslararası Edebiyat Festivali, Orhan Kemal Edebiyat Festivali, Uluslararası İstanbul Şiir ve Edebiyat Festivali, Kara Hafta Polisiye Festivali sayılabilir. Edebiyat turizminin yakın olduğu bir diğer alan ise popüler kültürün de içinde yer aldığı medyadır. Busby ve Klug (2001) çalışmalarında edebiyat turizmini medyayla ilgili turizm başlığı altında film ve televizyon turizmiyle birlikte ele almışlardır. Edebiyat turizminin kendi içinde birçok farklı türü bulunmaktadır. Literatür incelendiğinde, edebiyat turizmini sınıflandıran çeşitli çalışmalara rastlansa da bu konuyla ilgili en çok kabul gören çalışmanın Butler’in (1986) çalışması olduğu görülmüştür. Sonraki çalışmalar, edebiyat turizmini Butler’in sınıflandırmasını temel alarak değerlendirmişler ya da bu sınıflandırmaya yeni kategoriler eklemişlerdir. Butler, edebiyat turizmini dört kategoride değerlendirmiştir. Bu kategoriler şu şekilde sıralanabilir (Butler, 1986’dan aktaran Busby ve Klug, 2001): 1. Gerçek mekanlara yapılan seyahatler: Bir yazarın hayatıyla bağlantılı olan, genellikle yazarın doğduğu, yaşadığı, çalışma alanı olarak kullandığı ya da öldüğü evlere yapılan ziyaretleri ifade etmektedir. 2. Kurgusal mekanlara yapılan seyahatler: Yazarların eserlerine konu olan mekanlara yapılan ziyaretleri ifade etmektedir. 3. Edebi figürlere hitap eden destinasyonlara yapılan seyahatler: Bu kategori, destinasyon yöneticileri tarafından destinasyonun edebi figürler aracılığıyla pazarlama ve tanıtım çabalarının yoğun şekilde yapıldığı destinasyonlara seyahatleri ifade etmektedir. 4. Bir yazarın ya da eserin popülaritesine dayanan destinasyonlara yapılan seyahatler: Herhangi bir çaba olmaksızın tamamen bir yazarın ya da eserinin popülaritesine dayanarak turizmde ön plana çıkmış destinasyonlara yapılan seyahatleri kapsamaktadır. Bu sınıflandırmaya beşinci edebiyat turizmi türü olarak gezi yazarlığını öneren Busby ve Klug (2001: 321) gezi yazarlığını, “mekanların ve insanların yeniden yorumlanarak geniş kitlelere iletilen bir araç” şeklinde tanımlamışlardır. Daha sonra başka bir çalışmada, Busby ve Laviolette (2006: 149) bu sınıflandırmaya altıncı edebiyat turizmi türü olarak film kaynaklı edebiyat turizmi türünü önermişlerdir. Film kaynaklı edebiyat turizmi, “bir destinasyona hem filmin izlenmesi hem de uyarlandığı edebiyat eserinin okunmasından kaynaklı geniş çaplı ilginin sonucu olan turizm türü” şeklinde tanımlanmıştır. Yedinci ve sekizinci edebiyat türünü Mintel (2011) edebiyat turizmi ile ilgili yayınladığı raporda önermiştir. Mintel’in önerdiği bu türler Edebiyat Festivalleri ve Kitapçı Turizmi türleridir. Mintel’in raporunda edebiyat festivallerinden özellikle İngiltere’de sayılarının her geçen yıl arttığı, katılımcıların yazarlarla ya da diğer ünlülerle etkileşim kurabildikleri ve yazarların eserlerini tanıtabildikleri etkinlikler şeklinde bahsedilmiştir. Sekizinci turizm türü olan kitapçı turizmi ise turistlerin bir destinasyonu ziyaretlerinde o bölgeye özgü rehber kitaplar, haritalar gibi unsurlar için ya da yerel yazarlar tarafından yazılan kitaplar için yerel kitapçıları ziyaret etmeleridir (Mintel, 2011’den aktaran Hoppen vd., 2014). Edebiyat turizminin sekiz türü Tablo 1’de gösterilmektedir. 158 Samet ÇEVİK Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 Tablo 1. Edebiyat Turizmi Türleri 1. Gerçek mekanlara yapılan seyahatler Butler (1986) 2. Kurgusal mekanlara yapılan seyahatler 3. Edebi figürlere hitap eden destinasyonlara yapılan seyahatler 4. Bir yazarın ya da eserin popüleritesine dayanan destinasyonlara yapılan seyahatler 5. Gezi yazarlığı Busby ve Klug (2001) 6. Film kaynaklı edebiyat turizmi Busby ve Laviolette (2006) 7. Edebiyat festivalleri Mintel (2011) 8. Kitapçı turizmi Bu çalışma edebiyat turizminin birinci türü olan yazarla bağlantılı gerçek mekanlar kategorisinde yer almaktadır. Yazarlarla bağlantılı olan mekanlar ziyaretçiler için çeşitli çekicilik unsurları oluşturabilmektedir. Bu mekanlar yazarların kişisel hayat hikayelerine içsel bir ilgi duyan kişileri çekmektedir. Bu mekanlara yapılan ziyaretler, hayranlık duyulan kişilerle sıkı ilişkisi olan mekanlarla bağlantıya geçmeyi, bu kişilerin eşyalarını ya da hatıratını görmeyi ve belki onlara dokunmayı sağlamakta ve ortam bu tür temasların deneyimsel kalitesini artırmaktadır. Ayrıca bu mekanlar sadece yazarların hayatlarıyla bağlantılı olan yerler değil aynı zamanda eserleriyle de bağlantılı olan yerlerdir. Gerçekle kurgunun bu birleşimi, bu mekanlara özel bir anlam yüklemektedir (Herbert, 1996). Yazarın doğduğu ya da yaşadığı ev gibi özellikli bu mekanlar ya da yazar tarafından yaratılan veya yazarın hayatıyla bağlantılı bütün alanlar, edebiyat tutkunu için oldukça önemlidir ve bir ziyareti hak eder. Yazar evleri, evsel mekanların bir samimiyet ve aşinalık duygusu uyandırmasından dolayı özellikle dikkat çekmektedir. Yazının soyut niteliği belki de çelişkili bir biçimde edebiyat turizmi içerisinde evsel mekanın çekiciliğini teşvik eder. Edebiyat turisti için belki de bu yeteneğin çalıştığı küçük sıradan bir masayı ya da uykusuzluk çektiği rahatsız görülen bir yatağı görmek ilham verici olabilir (Stiebel, 2007). Robinson (2002), yazar evlerinin birçok pazara hitap ettiğini ve tartışmasız bir şekilde en güçlü turizm kaynağı olduğunu ileri sürmüştür. İlgili literatür incelendiğinde yazarla bağlantılı gerçek mekanlara ilişkin birçok çalışmaya rastlanmıştır. Bu yazarlar arasında; Dylan Thomas, Jane Austen (Herbert, 2001); John Milton (Santesso, 2004); Robert Burns (Bhandari, 2008); Mary Russell Mitford (Booth, 2008); Honoré de Balzac (Petroman vd., 2008); Vladimir Nabokov, Alexander Pushkin (Wallace, 2009); Virginia Woolf (Robertson ve Radford, 2009); Lord Byron (Busby ve Shetliffe, 2013); Anne Frank (Hartmann, 2013; Busby ve Devereux, 2015) ve Gabriele D’Annunzio (Gentile and Brown, 2015) yer almaktadır. Gerçek mekanlara yönelik yapılan edebiyat turizminde bazı önemli kavramlar söz konusudur. Bunlar arasında otantiklik, nostalji, yorumlama, metalaştırma, edebi farkındalık, yazarla duygusal bağlantı kurma gibi kavramlar sayılabilir. Bu kavramlar birbirleriyle bağlantılı kavramlar olmakla birlikte ziyaretçiler açısından yazarla ilişkili gerçek edebi mekanlarda otantiklik arayışının en başta geldiğini söylemek yanlış olmayacaktır. Otantikliğin turizmle ilgisini ilk kez MacCannell (1975) ortaya koymuştur. MacCannell’e göre, turistler gündelik yaşamlarıyla ilişkilendirilen unsurlardan ziyade daha derin deneyim gereksinmeleriyle güdülenmektedirler. Turistler, kültürel turistik üreticiler tarafından sahnelenen otantik unsurları ve alanları bulmaya çalışan maceraseverlerdir (MacCannell, 1975’ten aktaran Fawcett ve Cormack, 2001: 688). Turistler, “gerçek olanı” bir başka deyişle otantik bir deneyimi aramaktadırlar ancak bununla birlikte bu unsurların otantik olduğuna dair bazı kanıtlar da istemektedirler (Stiebel, 2004). Bu nedenle otantiklik, edebi mekanlarda mekan planlayıcıları ve yöneticileri açısından dikkatli bir yorumlamayı gerektirmektedir. Tüm edebi mekanlarda olduğu gibi yazarla ilişkili gerçek mekanlarda da Kültürel Miras Kapsamında Edebiyat Turizmi Deneyimi: Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın… 159 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 yorumlama hayati bir unsurdur. Bu, özenle hazırlanmış multimedya gösterimlerden temel yönsel işaretlere kadar geniş bir yelpazede karşımıza çıkabilmektedir. Her mekan biçimler ve verilmek istenen mesajlar açısından tutundurma ve yorumlamada seçimlerle karşılaşmaktadır. Yorumlamanın ekonomik ve kültürel amaçları söz konusudur. Yorumlama ziyaretçi çekmek suretiyle para kazanmak gibi ekonomik düşüncelere dayanabildiği gibi yazar ya da eserleri hakkında bilgiyi artırmak ve anlaşılmasını sağlamak gibi kültürel düşüncelere de dayanabilmektedir (Herbert, 1996). Fawcett ve Cormack (2001) çalışmalarında üç yorumlama biçiminden bahsetmişlerdir. Bunlar, yenilikçi, akılcı ve eklektik yorumlama biçimleridir. Yenilikçi yaklaşım, şıklığı ve stilin sadeliğini ve otantik ya da gerçek bir geçmiş için nostaljiyi öne süren bir yaklaşım biçimidir. Bu yorumlama biçimi, belirsizliğe yer vermeyen gerçek bir turistik yorumlamayı getirmektedir. Akılcı biçim, bürokratik olarak onaylanmış birtakım yorumların ayrılması ve kanalize edilmesi için son derece bilinçli bir planı belirtir. Daha çok mekan yöneticilerinin kendi hayal güçleri doğrultusunda turistleri davet ettikleri kurguyla ilişkili edebi mekanlarda tercih edilen bir yorumlama biçimidir. Eklektik biçim ise yapılandırılmamış, çok yönlü ve pek çok turistik yorumları davet eden bir biçimi göstermektedir. Bu yorumlama biçiminin kullanıldığı edebi mekanlarda kurguyla gerçeğe bir arada yer verilmektedir. Yazarla ilişkili gerçek mekanlarda otantikle birlikte aranan diğer kavramlar da nostalji ve yazarla kurulan bağlantıdır. Gentile ve Brown (2015), edebiyat turistlerinin motivasyonlarını ele aldıkları otoetnografik çalışmalarında edebiyat turistlerinin motivasyonlarının nostalji ve kaçış gibi itici faktörler aracılığıyla güçlü bir biçimde etkilendiği sonucuna ulaşmışlardır. Nostalji geçmişle duygusal bir ilişki, nesnelerin hatırlatıcı gücü ve daha az anlam içeren günümüzden kaçışla bağlantılıdır. Yazarların çalışmalarından ortaya çıkan bir diğer motivasyon da yazarla okuyucu arasındaki duygusal ve entelektüel ilişkidir. Bu ilişki de edebiyat turizmi açısından bir diğer önemli kavram olan edebi farkındalığı gündeme getirmektedir. Edebi farkındalık, edebiyat turizmine konu olan yazar ya da eserlerle ilgili olarak ziyaretçilerin bilgi ve ilgi düzeyine işaret etmektedir. Bu konuya ilişkin yapılan çalışmalar incelendiğinde edebiyat turistlerinin yazara ve evin bulunduğu konuma göre değişen farklı edebi farkındalık düzeylerine sahip olduğu görülmüştür. Bu çalışmalardan birinde Herbert (2001) iki örnek olay incelemesi gerçekleştirmiş ve Jane Austen ile bağlantılı edebi mekanda turistlerin yazarın eserlerine olan hakimiyetinden dolayı edebi farkındalıklarının yüksek olduğu sonucuna ulaşılırken, Dylan Thomas ile bağlantılı mekanda yazarın edebi eserlerine karşı bilgi düzeylerinin düşük olduğu ortaya çıkarılmıştır. Başka bir çalışmada Busby ve Shetliffe (2013) şair Lord Byron’un yaşamış olduğu Newstead Abbey’de bir çalışma gerçekleştirmişler ve buraya gelen turistlerin şaire karşı edebi farkındalıklarının oldukça düşük olduğu sonucuna ulaşmışlardır. Bununla birlikte edebiyat turistlerinin milliyetleri, ikametleri, meslekleri ve eğitim düzeylerinin edebi farkındalık düzeylerini etkilediği ortaya çıkarılmıştır. Örneğin, profesyonel ve yönetimle ilgili mesleklerdeki turistlerin daha ciddi bir edebiyat bilgisi olduğuna ulaşılırken, öğrencilerle karşılaştırıldığında emeklilerin daha yüksek bir edebi farkındalık düzeyine sahip oldukları görülmüştür. 3. Yöntem Araştırmanın amacı, yazarla ilişkili gerçek bir mekana ilişkin kişisel bir deneyim aracılığıyla edebiyat turizmi açısından önemli kavramları incelemektir. Araştırmada bu amaçla otoetnografik yaklaşım kullanılmıştır. Başlangıçta kendi halkının kültürel çalışmaları olarak tanımlanan otoetnografi terimi, günümüzde etnografik ve otobiyografik niyetleri birleştirmeyi amaçlayan belirli bir yazı biçimini ifade etmektedir. Otoetnografik bir yaklaşım belirlemenin amacı, hem özneyi (bilen) hem de nesneyi (incelenmekte olan) eşzamanlı olarak gözlemlemektir (Schwandt, 2007: 16). Birincil veri olarak araştırmacının kişisel deneyimlerini kullanan otoetnografinin amacı, sosyal bilimler perspektifinden 160 Samet ÇEVİK Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 bakıldığında, sadece kişisel hikayeleri anlatmak değil, araştırmacının kişisel deneyimleri aracılığıyla sosyal olgulara ilişkin kavrayışların geliştirilmesidir (Chang, 2013: 108). Otoetnografiyle etnografi arasında benzerlikler ve farklılıklar söz konusudur. Etnograflar gibi otoetnografi yapanlar da veri toplamak, bu verileri analiz etmek, yorumlamak ve raporlar üretmek suretiyle sistematik olarak benzer bir araştırma süreci takip ederler. İkinci olarak, otoetnograflar da etnograflar gibi analiz ve yorum yoluyla kültürel bir kavrayışa ulaşmaya çalışırlar. Bir diğer özellik, otoetnografiyi etnografiden ayırmaktadır. Otoetnografi yapanlar birincil veri olarak kendi kişisel deneyimlerini kullanmaktadırlar (Chang, 2008: 48). Ancak otoetnografi yaklaşımı sadece kişisel deneyimlerin anlatılmasından fazlasını ifade etmektedir. Bu yaklaşım, birden fazla delil kaynağına dayanan bilimsel ve meşru raporlar üretmektedir. Bir başka deyişle otoetnografik çalışmalarda yalnızca araştırmacının kişisel görüşleri yer almaz, bu görüşler aynı zamanda bu görüşleri onaylayan başka verilerle desteklenmektedir. Veri toplama yöntemleri arasında görüşme, katılımcı gözlem ya da belgeler ve eserler gibi ikincil kaynaklar yer almaktadır (Duncan, 2004: 31). Brown (2016) bir otoetnografik çalışma üretme sürecinin nispeten daha açık olduğunu ileri sürmüştür. Araştırmacılar raporlarını yazarken başlangıç noktası olarak kendi deneyimlerini kullanırlar. Araştırma sürecinde günlük tutabilirler, notlar alabilirler, deneyim esnasında fotoğraf çekebilirler ve hatırlatıcı olması açısından belgelerden yararlanabilirler. Benzer şekilde Chang (2008) otoetnografinin metodolojik olarak araştırmacı dostu bir yöntem olduğunu öne sürmüştür. Bu yöntem araştırmacılara başlangıçtan itibaren birincil veri kaynaklarına çok kolay erişme olanakları sunmaktadır, çünkü veri kaynağı araştırmacının kendisidir. Aynı zamanda okuyucu dostu bir yöntemdir. Kişisel olarak ele alınmış, merak uyandıran yazı stili geleneksel akademik yazı stiline göre okuyuculara çekici gelmektedir. Bu otoetnografik çalışmada müzeyi ziyaretim esnasındaki kişisel deneyimlerimin yanı sıra bu deneyimden topladığım verileri desteklemek için müze yetkilisiyle müzenin tarihi, işleyiş ve yorumlama biçimi gibi konularda bilgi almak için bir görüşme gerçekleştirdim. Deneyim esnasında sadece fotoğraf çektim, ziyaretimin ardından raporu yazmaya başlamadan önce bu fotoğraflardan yararlanarak müzenin sırasıyla her bölümüyle ilgili notlar aldım. Daha sonra bu fotoğraflardan ve notlardan yararlanarak yaşadığım bu edebiyat turizmi deneyimini, yorumlama biçimi, otantiklik, nostalji, edebi farkındalık, yazarla bağlantı kurma gibi edebiyat turizmi için önemli kavramlar açısından irdeleyerek raporu yazmaya başladım. Çalışmada, otoetnografik araştırmaların birçoğunda olduğu gibi birinci kişi ağzından anlatımı tercih ettim. Hem Türkiye’deki edebi mekanlara dair akademik çalışmaların sayıca çok az olması hem de genel olarak edebiyat turizminin diğer turizm türlerine göre geri planda kalmış olması nedeniyle anlattığım bu kültürel deneyim, otoetnografi yönteminin de amacına uygun olarak, edebiyat turizmine ilişkin kavramların gelişmesine aracılık etmesi açısından önem taşımaktadır. 4. Bulgular 4.1. Sait Faik’in Evine Doğru Sait Faik Abasıyanık Türk Edebiyatı’nın önemli yazarlarından biridir. 1906 Adapazarı doğumlu yazarın Medar-ı Maişet Motoru ve Kayıp Aranıyor adlı iki adet romanı ile Şimdi Sevişme Vakti adlı bir adet şiir kitabı olsa da Sait Faik denildiğinde akla ilk olarak onun öyküleri gelir. Öykü kitapları; Semaver, Sarnıç, Şahmerdan, Lüzumsuz Adam, Mahalle Kahvesi, Havada Bulut, Kumpanya, Havuz Başı, Son Kuşlar, Alemdağ’da Var Bir Yılan ve Az Şekerli’dir. Sait Faik Milli Eğitim tarafından da çok okutulan bir yazar olmasından dolayı herkesin eğitim-öğretim dönemi boyunca kendisi ya da öyküleri hakkında az çok bilgi sahibi olduğu bir yazardır. Kültürel Miras Kapsamında Edebiyat Turizmi Deneyimi: Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın… 161 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 Çocukluğumdan itibaren eğitim-öğretim hayatımda birçok hikayesini beğenerek okumama rağmen Sait Faik kalemine olan hayranlığım son birkaç yıla dayanmaktadır. Kendisinin hayatını daha yakından tanıtıcı yazıları ve anıları okuduktan sonra ona farklı bir gözle bakmaya başladım ve öykülerini bu gözle yeniden okuduğumda Sait Faik’in naif dilinin, öykülerindeki samimiyetin, günlük hayatın içindeki sıradan insanları anlatışındaki ustalığının ve derin insan sevgisinin farkına vardım. Sait Faik’i bu gerçek anlamda keşfedişim ile edebiyat turizmi alanında geniş çaplı bir araştırma yapmaya başlamam aynı zamanlara rastlamıştır. Bir yandan akademik bir çalışma için edebiyat turizmi alanında yayınlanmış uluslararası araştırmaları, bir yandan da Sait Faik’in öykülerini okurken bu çalışmanın fikri de kendiliğinden ortaya çıkmış oldu. Önceki bölümlerde değindiğim gibi, edebiyat turizmindeki önemli konulardan biri de edebi farkındalıktır. Bu çalışmayı hem Sait Faik’in kalemine hayran, onun hayatı ve eserleri hakkında yeterli donanıma sahip bir edebiyat turisti hem de edebiyat turizminin özelliklerini bilen, edebi mekanlarda önemli olan ve edebiyat turistlerinin aradığı çeşitli unsurlar hakkında fikri olan bir araştırmacı olarak gerçekleştirdim. Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın evine gitmek için 16 Ağustos 2017 tarihinde ilk kez geldiğim Burgazada’da iskeleden çıktığım anda meydanda bulunan birçok tabela beni karşılıyor. Bu tabelalardan Sait Faik Abasıyanık Müzesi’ne ait tabelayı bulduktan sonra, tabelanın gösterdiği tarafa yönelip masalsı Burgazada sokaklarına giriş yapıyorum ve Sait Faik’in yürüdüğü yollarda yürümeye başlıyorum. Burgazada sokaklarının sakinliği, tarihi evleri ve evlerden sokaklara taşan rengarenk çiçeklerin eşliğinde yürürken başlangıçta yolumu kaybetsem de karşıma çıkan birkaç farklı Sait Faik Abasıyanık Müzesi tabelasının yardımıyla evi bulmam zor olmuyor. Bahçe kapısından içeri girer girmez Sait Faik’in oturan bir heykeliyle karşılaşıyorum ve “hoş geldin” diyor adeta. Bu evin geçmişi hakkında biraz ön bilgim vardı ama eksik taraflarını da görüşme yaptığım evin yetkilisinin verdiği bilgilerle tamamlıyorum. Bu ev 1938 yılında bir Rum aileden Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın babası tarafından satın alınmış. Babası aynı yıl vefat ettiğinden bu evde daha çok Sait Faik annesi ile birlikte yaşamış. İstanbul Şişli’de başka bir evi de olduğundan, Sait Faik önceleri bu eve yazları uğramış ancak hayatının son dönemlerinde sağlık problemlerinden dolayı sürekli olarak adadaki bu evde yaşamaya başlamış ve adayı öykülerine ince ince işlemiş. Sait Faik hayatının son yıllarında bir gün Darüşşafaka okullarından birine gitmiş ve orada derslerine girdiği öğrenciler tarafından çok iyi, sıcak bir şekilde karşılanmış. Buna çok memnun olan Sait Faik, yaşadığı bu deneyimi annesine anlatırken mal varlıklarının Darüşşafaka’ya bağışlanabileceğine ilişkin fikrini ileri sürmüş. Annesi bu beyanı vasiyet olarak kabul etmiş ve oğlunun ölümünden sonra evi herkese açık, ücretsiz müze olması koşuluyla Darüşşafaka Cemiyeti Derneği’ne bağışlamış. Ben de Makbule Abasıyanık’ın vasiyeti üzerine ücretsiz gezeceğim bu üç katlı evin girişteki basamaklarını çıkıp kapıyı aralıyorum ve Sait Faik’in dünyasına giriş yapıyorum. 4.2. Müzenin Yorumlama Biçimi Sait Faik’in evine giriş yaptığımda sol taraftaki odaya yöneliyorum. Öncelikle buraya yönelmemin sebebi buranın “1 – Misafir Odası” şeklinde adlandırılmış olmasıdır. Burada oldukça şık ve sade bir tarzda dekore edilmiş bir odayla karşılaşıyorum. Misafir odası olarak kullanılan bu oda, 2 No’lu Yemek Odası ile bir ara kapıyla bağlantılı durumda bulunuyor. Alt kattaki bu iki odanın duvarlarında Sait Faik’in hayatında önemli etkileri olan ve çoğunu okuyucularının da tanıdığı ünlü kişilerle olan anıları ve fotoğrafları büyük panolarda sergilenmiş. Böylece evde gezilen ilk odada Sait Faik’in hayatının tam ortasına girerek yaşam öyküsünün en renkli anılarıyla karşılaşıyorum. Bu anlamda müze bu yorumlama biçimiyle çok önemli bir şeyi başarıyor ve edebiyat turistini ilk andan yakalayarak Sait Faik’in hayatına çekiyor. 162 Samet ÇEVİK Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 Alt kattaki bu iki odada olduğu gibi Sait Faik Abasıyanık Müzesi’nin genel dekorasyonunda oldukça şık ve sade bir tarz benimsendiğini görüyorum. Müzede karmaşık bir eşya yığını yok ve bu sade tasarım müzeyi daha etkin kılıyor. Görüşme yaptığım müze yetkilisinden müzenin gelen ziyaretçilere vermek istediği tek mesajın, Sait Faik’in yaşam öyküsü olduğunu öğreniyorum. Dolayısıyla müze tasarlanırken kullanılan tümü orijinal olan eşyalar ile sergilenen belgeler sadece Sait Faik’in yaşam öyküsünü aktarma amacına uygun olarak seçilmiş ve bu amaçla evdeki pek çok eşya da konsept dışı bırakılmış. Özellikle annesi Makbule Abasıyanık’ın bu evde daha uzun süre yaşadığı göz önüne alınacak olursa evdeki ona ait pek çok eşyanın sergilenmediği anlaşılmaktadır. Seçilen bu konseptin aslında Makbule Abasıyanık’ın “sadece oğlum anlatılsın” şeklindeki vasiyetine dayandığını öğreniyorum. Tercih edilen bu yorumlama biçimi edebi mekanlar için oldukça başarılı bir seçim, çünkü eğer tüm eşyalar yazarla bağlantısı olduğu ya da nostalji hissi uyandırdığı gerekçesiyle sergilenmiş olsaydı çok sayıdaki eşya bir etnografya müzesini çağrıştıracak ve bu edebi mekan asıl amacından uzaklaşmış olacaktı. Sait Faik Abasıyanık Müzesi’nin sadece yazara odaklanarak bir edebiyat turistinin yazarı tanıma, anlama ve onunla bağlantı kurma motivasyonuna uygun bir şekilde tasarlandığını rahatlıkla söyleyebilirim. Evin farklı odaları arasında geçiş yaparken Sait Faik’in yaşam öyküsünden çıkmadan ve zihnim onunla kurduğum bu bağlantının kopmasına neden olacak farklı bir objeye odaklanmadan müze ziyaretimi gerçekleştiriyorum. Müzeyi gezerken bir rehberin eşlik etmesine ihtiyaç duymuyorum ve sonradan müze yetkilisinden de bireysel ziyaretçilere rehberlik hizmeti verilmediğini ancak istenildiği takdirde gruplara bu hizmetin sunulduğunu öğreniyorum. Müzede Sait Faik’e ait bilgiler büyük panolarda sunulmuş ve her oda numaralanıp adlandırıldığı gibi sergilenen her belgenin altına da o belgenin ne olduğu Türkçe ve İngilizce dillerinde ayrıntılı bir şekilde yazılmış. Dolayısıyla bir edebiyat turisti olarak evi gezdiğim sırada herhangi bir soru sormaya gerek duymadan yazarla baş başa kalma imkanı buluyorum. 4.3. Otantiklik ve Nostalji Bir edebiyat turistinin edebi bir mekanda aradığı en önemli özelliklerden biri olan otantiklik açısından Sait Faik Abasıyanık Müzesi evin pek çok alanında beklentilerimi karşılıyor. Evin, yazarın hayatının bir kısmını geçirdiği gerçek ev olduğunu ziyaretim öncesinde biliyor olmam evin içindeki eşyaların otantikliği açısından da beklentimin yüksek olmasına neden oluyor. Her edebiyat turistinde olduğu gibi bende de evi gezerken evdeki eşyaların gerçekten yazarın yaşadığı zaman kullanılan eşyalar olup olmadığı konusunda şüpheler yok değildi. Bu tür şüpheler ölümünün üzerinden yıllar geçmiş bir yazarın evini gezen her edebiyat turisti için – aksi belirtilse bile – oldukça doğal şüphelerdir. “Bu masa gerçekten yazarın çalıştığı masa mı?”, “O hikayeleri gerçekten bu kalemle mi yazdı?”, “Bu masada mı yemek yiyorlardı?” şeklindeki sorular yazar evlerini gezen edebiyat turistlerinin zihinlerinde sürekli dolaşıp durmaktadır. Ancak bu evdeki pek çok özelliğin bu şüpheleri ortadan kaldıracak nitelikte olduğunu söyleyebilirim. Her şeyden önce Sait Faik’in 1954’e kadar yaşadığı bu ev, ölümünden çok kısa bir zaman sonra ve annesi halen hayattayken 1959 yılında müze olarak açılmış. Dolayısıyla orijinal eşyaların saklanması ve korunması oldukça mümkün görünüyor. Ölümünden 50-60 yıl sonra yazarın anısını yaşatmak için açılmış olan bir müze evde sergilenen eşyaların gerçek olup olmadığı konusundaki şüpheler son derece haklıdır, ancak Sait Faik Abasıyanık Müzesi bu açıdan oldukça şanslı bir konumda bulunuyor. Misafir odasındaki oturma gruplarının ya da yemek odası takımlarının dönemin özelliklerini yansıtan mobilyalardan oluşması ya da yatak odasındaki yatağın üstünde sergilenen pijamasının yakasındaki sararma izleri, yatağın altında bulunan eski ayakkabılar otantiklik konusundaki şüphelerimin ortadan kalkmasını sağlıyor. Sonradan görüştüğüm müze yetkilisi de sergilenen tüm eşyaların orijinal olduğunun altını çiziyor. Sait Faik’in yatak odası ve çalışma odası olarak kullandığı oda, benim gibi yazarın hayranı olan her edebiyat turistini duygusal olarak etkileyebilecek bir oda. Odanın kapısında durup odayı ilk Kültürel Miras Kapsamında Edebiyat Turizmi Deneyimi: Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın… 163 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 gördüğümde, bir öyküsünden evdeki odasıyla ilgili okuduğum ancak o an tam olarak hatırlayamadığım bazı satırlar beliriyor zihnimde. Odanın içine girdiğimde ise Semaver kitabındaki “Şehri Unutan Adam” öyküsündeki bu satırlarla duvarda karşılaşıyorum. “Ayakucuma düşüp kırılan neşemi gözlerimle topladım. Ters yüzüne evime dönüp odama kavuştum. Dört duvar, bir pencere, bir valiz içinde birkaç kitap ve bir demir karyola… Hasılı mukaddes bir hapishane olan odamda düşünmeden, hatta okumadan gezindim durdum.” (Semaver, s. 64) Bu odanın yaşattığı nostalji hissi bakımından da evin en özel odası olduğunu söyleyebilirim. Çünkü bu oda, Sait Faik’in kişisel dünyasına açılan oda aynı zamanda. Yatağın üzerinde sergilenen yakası sararmış pijaması, hastalığı döneminde kullandığı sıcak su torbası, başucunda duran sürahisi, çalar saati, yatağın altında duran eskimiş ayakkabıları, yatağın karşısındaki çalışma masası, masada bulunan karalama kağıtları ve hayranı olduğu yazarlara ait kitaplar ile Sait Faik’in kişisel dünyasına tanıklık eden bu oda yaşanmışlık hissini son derece başarılı bir biçimde aktarıyor. Yazarın bu kişisel alanından ayrılıp aynı kattaki diğer iki odaya yöneldiğimde ise bu kez Sait Faik’in kişisel eşyaları, fotoğrafları ve belgeler aracılığı ile 1906’da başlayan hayatının önemli dönüm noktalarına tanıklık etme şansı buluyorum. “Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın Yaşam Öyküsü I” ve “Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın Yaşam Öyküsü II” olarak adlandırılmış bu odalarda, bir yandan panolardan hayatının önemli noktalarına dair bilgileri okurken bir yandan da odadaki camlı bölmelerden bu dönemlere ilişkin belgeleri görme imkanı var. Örneğin, 1928’de Bursa Erkek Lisesi’nden mezun olduğunu ve İstanbul Üniversitesi Edebiyat Fakültesi Türk Dili ve Edebiyatı Bölümü’ne kaydığını yaptırdığını okuduktan sonra, camlı bölmede Bursa Erkek Lisesi diplomasını ve İstanbul Üniversitesi kimlik kartını görüyorum. Başka bir örnek olarak, panoda 1931 yılında Grenoble Üniversitesi’ne yazılmadan önce Fransızcasını ilerletmek için Champollion Lisesi’nde Fransızca derslerine gittiğini okuduktan sonra camlı bölmede sergilenen eşyalar arasında bu lisede kullandığı okul defterini görüyorum. Bunların dışında bu odalarda otantiklik ve nostalji açısından oldukça değerli olan yazarın ajandası, seçmen kartı, TCDD indirim kartı, sigara kutusu, gözlük kabı, zarf açacağı, tespihi, yazı takımı, kalemliği gibi kişisel eşyaları da sergileniyor. Evde tercih edilen yorumlama biçiminden dolayı odalarda kullanılan eşyalar orijinal olsa da evin gezdiğim bazı odalarının eski hallerine dair sunulan bilginin eksik oluşu gerçek bir ev hissinden biraz uzaklaşmama neden oluyor. Örneğin yaşam öyküsünün belgelendiği odalar ya da kitap odası olarak düzenlenen odalar Sait Faik ve annesi yaşarken nasıl bir haldeydi ve ne amaçla kullanılıyordu? Ya da örneğin evin mutfağı neredeydi? Buranın artık müze statüsünde hizmet veren bir mekan olduğunun bilincinde olmama rağmen, bu odaların orijinal hallerine dair bilgiler ve varsa fotoğrafların da bulunmasının bu eksikliği giderebileceğini düşünüyorum. Ancak bu hisse evi gezerken değil, sonradan tekrar düşündüğümde kapıldığımı da belirtmem gerekir, çünkü ev gezilirken bu negatif düşüncelere fırsat vermeyecek kadar etkileyici bir güzelliğe sahip. 4.4. Edebi Farkındalık ve Yazarla Bağlantı Edebiyat turizminde ön plana çıkan konulardan biri olan edebi farkındalık, yazara ilişkin genel bilgi ve ilgi düzeyini gösteren bir kavram olarak ifade edilmektedir. Bir edebiyat turisti yazarın hayatı ve eserleri hakkında ne kadar fazla bilgi sahibiyse, evi gezerken yaşayacağı deneyim de o ölçüde farklılaşmaktadır. Edebi farkındalık düzeyi ne kadar yüksek olursa, edebiyat turistinin yazarla duygusal bir bağlantı kurması da o ölçüde mümkün olacaktır. Bu açıdan müzeyi gezerken kendimi Sait Faik’e olan ilgi düzeyimin ve eserleri hakkındaki bilgi düzeyimin yüksek oluşundan dolayı edebi 164 Samet ÇEVİK Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 farkındalığı yüksek bir edebiyat turisti olarak görüyorum. Müzeyi gezerken panolardaki yazıları tek tek okuyorum ve panolarda anlatılan anekdotların bir kısmını daha önceden bildiğimden o anekdotlara ilişkin objeleri orada görmek farklı bir deneyim yaşamama, sanki o olayın bir tanığıymışım gibi hissetmeme sebep oluyor. Örneğin, evin ilk gezdiğim misafir odasında duvarda Bedri Rahmi Eyüpoğlu imzalı bir tablo bulunuyor. Bu tablo Bedri Rahmi tarafından “Mercan Usta’nın yüzü suyu hürmetine Sait Faik’e” şeklinde imzalanmış bir tablo ve yanında da tablonun hikayesi anlatılıyor. Mercan Usta boyacılık yapan gerçek bir karakter ve Bedri Rahmi ile Sait Faik’in dostluğunun pekişmesinde etkili olduğu Bedri Rahmi tarafından dile getirilmiştir. Sait Faik, “Son Kuşlar” kitabı çıktığında Bedri Rahmi’nin atölyesine giderek kitabı imzalar ama aynı zamanda Bedri Rahmi’nin masada duran kitaplarından birini alarak ondan da imza ister. Kitapları karşılıklı imzalayıp birbirlerine uzattıklarında ikisi de hayretle aynı şeyi yazdıklarını görürler kitabı imzalarken: “Mercan Usta”. Bunun üzerine Bedri Rahmi Mercan Usta’nın resmini çizerek, bir testiyle birlikte Sait Faik’e hediye eder. Müzede tablonun altında bu testi de sergilenmekte ve Bedri Rahmi’nin imzası okunmaktadır. Sait Faik aynı zamanda çoğu öyküsünde olduğu gibi “Gün Ola Harman Ola” adlı öyküsünde de gerçek bir karaktere yer vererek Mercan Usta’yı anlatmıştır. Bu öyküyü ve bu anıyı bilen birinin evdeki bu odayı gezerken yaşayacağı deneyim ile öyküyü bilmeyen, anıyı evde okuyan ya da belki de okumadan geçip giden birinin edebi mekanda aynı deneyimi yaşaması şüphesiz mümkün değildir. “Canım Mercan Ustam! Ellerinden hürmetle öperim. Biz de bir zanaat ehliyiz: Yazı yazıyoruz a. Ne Mercan Usta’ya, ne kilimleri dokuyan ellere, ne yazmaları boyayanlara, ne kalıpları dökenlere, ne çeşmibülbülleri üfleyenlere saygı duyduk. Saygı duymadık da ne oldu? Dünyayı birbirine kattık işte… Sofralarımızı, kapılarımızı, gönlümüzü kapadık. Kapadık da ne ettik? Dünyayı birbirine kattık.” (Son Kuşlar, s. 46) Görüşme gerçekleştirdiğim müze sorumlusuna bu konuyla ilgili olarak gelen turistlerin daha çok Sait Faik’i bilen, eserlerini okumuş kişilerden mi yoksa adaya gelmişken burayı da gezelim diyen tesadüfi turistlerden mi oluştuğunu soruyorum. Bunu oranlamanın zor olduğunu ancak Sait Faik’in özellikle okullarda çok okutulan bir yazar olmasından dolayı en azından birkaç öyküsünü bilen kişilerin çoğunlukta olduğunu belirten yetkili, bu durumun müze için de bir avantaj olduğunu ekliyor. Müzeyi gezdiğim sırada panoların başında dakikalarca dururken, belgeleri tek tek incelerken ve fotoğraflarken birkaç ziyaretçinin hızlı bir şekilde müzeyi gezdiklerine şahit oluyorum. Edebi farkındalık düzeyiyle edebiyat turistlerinin yazarla duygusal bağlantı kurma motivasyonu arasındaki doğrusal ilişki benim açımdan evin pek çok noktasında ortaya çıkıyor. Zaten edebi farkındalık düzeyi düşük olan tesadüfi turistlerin yazarla bağlantı kurmak gibi bir motivasyonları olmadığı da çok net bir biçimde söylenebilir. Bu konuyla ilgili olarak bir diğer obje de hayatının son dönemlerine ait belgelerinden birinde karşıma çıkıyor. Ara Güler’in kendisiyle ilgili anılarından bahsettiği bir yazıda, Sait Faik’in Fransa’ya gitmek için yaptığı pasaport başvurusunda kendisine mesleğinin ne olduğunun sorulduğuna, Sait Faik’in de bunun üzerine “yazarım” şeklinde cevap verdiğini anlatır. Başvuruyu alan kişi ise, yazar olduğuna dair bir belge getirmesini ister Sait Faik’ten ancak Sait Faik bir türlü bu şekilde bir belge sunamadığından pasaporttaki ilgili kısma “San’atı: Yok” şeklinde yazılır. Bu anıyı ilk okuduğumda Sait Faik gibi Mark Twain Derneği üyeliğine de seçilmiş bir yazar için bu şekilde bir hükmün yazılmış olmasına hem şaşırmış hem de bunu çok ironik bulmuştum. Müzeyi gezerken bu pasaporta rastlamam ve pasaporttaki “San’atı: Yok” yazısına şahit olmam bu yüzden beni oldukça etkiledi. Ayrıca yine bu odada Mark Twain Cemiyeti fahri üyeliğine seçildiğine dair belgeyi görüyorum. Bu üyeliğe Atatürk’ten sonra seçilen Kültürel Miras Kapsamında Edebiyat Turizmi Deneyimi: Sait Faik Abasıyanık’ın… 165 Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 ikinci Türk’tür Sait Faik ve bu üyeliğe seçildikten sonra o dönemler gazetecilik yapan Yaşar Kemal’in kendisiyle röportaj yaptığını müze yetkilisinden öğreniyorum. Bu üyelikle ilgili olarak yazdığı şu satırları hatırlıyorum: “Bana Mark Twain Cemiyeti fahri üyeliği verildi, dünya edebiyatına ettiğim hizmetten ötürü. Birçokları gibi ben de şaşırdım. Dünya edebiyatına hizmet filan etmediğimi söylememe ne hacet… Bu, üyelik verilmesi için uydurulmuş nazik bir sebeptir sanırım. Atatürk’ten sonra benim üye olmam benim için ne büyük şereftir. Bir milletin yetiştirdiği en büyük çocuğu ile o milletin kendi halinde bir küçük hikayecisinin Amerika’da bir cemiyette buluşmaları küçük hikayeci için ne bulunmaz şerefli bir fırsattır…”(Şahmerdan, s. 140) Evin çatı katında düzenlenen iki odası tamamen evi gezenlerin yazarla duygusal bağlantı kurmalarına hizmet edecek şekilde tasarlanmış. Odalardan biri “Sait Faik’in Burgazada’sı” temasıyla düzenlenmiş. Sait Faik’in denizi, balığı, balıkçıları çok sevdiğini hikayelerinden çok rahat bir şekilde anlamak mümkündür. Kahramanlarının çoğu balıkçılardan, ekmeğini denizden kazananlardan oluşur. Hatta kahramanı balık ya da martı olan hikayeleri de vardır. Ayrıca hikayelerinde balıkçılık terminolojisine olan hakimiyeti de bu sevginin bir kanıtıdır. Kendisi ile ilgili yazılan anı ve yazılarda da Burgazada’da boş zamanlarında balıkçılık yaptığı sık sık tekrarlanır. O yüzden yazarın bu özelliğini bilen benim gibi bir edebiyat turisti için bu oda oldukça özeldir. Çünkü bu odada Sait Faik’in çok sevdiği denize, balığa, balıkçılara kısacası onun Burgazadası’na ilişkin yazdığı öykülerinden alıntılarını, hayatının daha çok son yıllarında kendini kötü hissettiği zamanlarda kullandığını öğrendiğim çatı katındaki bu odada okuyabilmek ve o hikayeleri yeniden zihnimde canlandırmak benim açımdan oldukça etkileyici bir deneyimdi. Bu odada aynı zamanda onun yurtdışından özel olarak getirttiği orijinal balıkçılık malzemelerine ve Sait Faik denilince akla ilk gelenlerden biri olan meşhur şapkasına da tanık oluyorum. Çatı katındaki diğer oda ise “Mektup Odası” olarak düzenlenmiş. Bu odada mektup yazmayı çok seven Sait Faik’e gelen ve onun gönderdiği mektupları orijinal halleriyle görebilmek mümkün. Latin alfabesiyle yazılmamış olan mektupların arka sayfalarında çevirileri de bulunuyor. Sait Faik’in nispeten özel yaşamına tanık olduğum bu oda sadece yazarla duygusal bağlantı kurmak açısından değil, kendisine mektup yazıp bırakılabildiği için ona bir şekilde ulaşabilme imkanı vermesi açısından da edebiyat turistleri açısından oldukça özel bir oda konumunda bulunuyor. Bu katı da gezmeyi bitirdikten sonra aşağıdaki katlara tekrar bir göz atarak bahçeye çıkıyorum. Sait Faik’in “hoşça kal” diyen heykeliyle vedalaşıp O’nun evdeki dünyasından ayrılıyorum ve kendimi adada kurduğu dünyasının sokaklarına bırakıyorum. Sonuç Kültürel miras turizminin bir çeşidi olan edebiyat turizmi, içinde geniş bir potansiyeli barındırmasına rağmen akademik olarak nispeten daha az araştırılan turizm türlerinden biridir. Bu çalışma, edebiyat turizmine ilişkin literatürde geçen önemli kavramların kişisel bir deneyim aracılığıyla irdelenmesi amacıyla gerçekleştirilmiştir. Bu amaçla çalışmada kişisel deneyimler üzerinden sosyal olgulara dair kavrayışlara ulaşmaya çalışan bir yaklaşım olarak otoetnografi yöntemi benimsenmiştir. Çalışmadan çıkan en önemli sonuç edebi mekanlar için yorumlama biçimleri, otantiklik, nostalji, edebi farkındalık, yazarla kurulan duygusal bağlantı gibi kavramların birbirleriyle bağlantılı olduğu ancak bunların içinde en önemlisinin yorumlama biçimleri olduğudur. Mekanda seçilen yorumlama biçimleri diğer kavramları da olumlu ya da olumsuz şekilde etkileyerek edebiyat turistinin nihai deneyiminde belirleyici olmaktadır. 166 Samet ÇEVİK Turkish Studies International Periodical for the Languages, Literature and History of Turkish or Turkic Volume 12/29 Edebiyat turistleri hayranı oldukları yazarın doğduğu, çalıştığı ya da hayatının bir kısmını geçirdiği gerçek bir mekanda yazarın kullanmış olduğu gerçek kişisel eşyaların arasında otantik bir deneyim arayışındadırlar. Seçmiş oldukları yorumlama biçimi aracılığıyla edebiyat turistlerinin aradıkları bu otantik deneyimi, kanıtlar ve belgeler ile sunabilen edebi mekanlar edebiyat turistlerinin beklentilerini karşılamaktadırlar. Yazarın kullanmış olduğu gerçek eşyaların sergilendiği bir edebi mekan beraberinde nostalji hissini de yaşatmakta ve bu anlamda da bir döneme tanıklık etmeleri açısından edebiyat turistleri için çekici gelmektedir. Böylece edebiyat turistleri kısa bir süreliğine de olsa gündelik hayatın rutininden uzaklaşıp otantik bir mekanda hayranı oldukları yazarın izinde geçmişe yolculuk imkanı bulmaktadırlar. Gentile ve Brown’un (2015) otoetnografik çalışmasında da benzer şekilde nostalji hissinin ve kaçış güdüsünün edebiyat turistlerinin motivasyonlarının belirleyicileri olduğu sonucuna ulaşılmıştır. Başka bir otoetnografik çalışmada ise Brown (2016) otantiklik arayışının en önemli motivasyon unsurlarından biri olduğunu fakat kendi deneyiminde otantiklik açısından beklentileri karşılanmadığı için kötü bir edebiyat turizmi deneyimi yaşadığını vurgulamıştır. Dolayısıyla otantik bir deneyim edebiyat turizmi açısından, özellikle de Butler’in (1986) sınıflandırmasının birinci türü olan gerçek mekanlara yönelik seyahatler kategorisi için hayati bir önem taşımaktadır. Yazarla bağlantılı gerçek edebi mekanlar edebiyat turistlerini motive eden unsurları, onların istek ve beklentilerini göz önüne alarak yorumlama kararlarını belirlemelidirler. Sadece verilmek istenen mesaja odaklanan bir tasarım ve dekorasyon anlayışıyla, tümü orijinal olan eşyalarıyla ve belgelerle Sait Faik Abasıyanık Müzesi edebiyat turistlerine aradıkları bu otantiklik deneyimini başarılı bir şekilde sunmakta ve nostalji hissini yaşatmaktadır. Çalışmadan çıkan diğer bir önemli sonuç da edebiyat turistlerinin yazara ilişkin ilgi ve bilgi düzeyini ifade eden edebi farkındalık kavramının edebiyat turizmi deneyiminin kalitesini artırmasıdır. Yazarın hayatının önemli noktalarını bilen, eserleri hakkında yeterli donanıma sahip turistler bu mekanları daha bilinçli bir şekilde gezecek ve edebi farkındalığı düşük olan turistlere göre daha anlamlı bir deneyim yaşamış olacaklardır. Edebi farkındalık düzeyinin yüksek olması deneyim sırasında yazarla duygusal açıdan bir bağlantı kurulmasını da sağlayacak ve edebiyat turisti yazarın hayatının bir tanığıymış hissini yaşayabilecektir. Edebi mekanlar açısından yorumlama kararları alınırken edebi farkındalığı yüksek olan turistlerin motivasyonları mutlaka göz önünde bulundurulmalı, yazarın hayatına ilişkin nispeten kamuoyunda daha az bilinen anekdotlara ve anılara yer verilmelidir. Bununla birlikte, edebi farkındalığı daha düşük olan ya da tesadüfi turistler için de yazarın ve eserlerinin tanınması ve yazara dair farkındalığın artırılması amacına yönelik olarak yazarın yaşam öyküsüne dair bilgiler sunan yorumlama kararları alınmalıdır. Otoetnografik yaklaşımla gerçekleştirilen bu çalışma, bir araştırmacı ve bir edebiyat turisti gözüyle yazarla ilişkili gerçek bir edebi mekandaki kişisel deneyim üzerinden edebiyat turizmine ilişkin kavramları değerlendirmeye çalışmıştır. Gelecek çalışmalarda, nitel ya da nicel araştırma yöntemleri benimsenerek daha geniş kitlelere ulaşılabilir ve edebiyat turistlerinin motivasyonlarını belirleyen unsurlara yönelik araştırmalar gerçekleştirilebilir. KAYNAKÇA Abasıyanık, S. F. (2017). Semaver (9. Baskı). İstanbul: Türkiye İş Bankası Kültür Yayınları. Abasıyanık, S. F. (2015). Son Kuşlar (6. Baskı). İstanbul: Türkiye İş Bankası Kültür Yayınları. Abasıyanık, S. F. (2017). Şahmerdan (4. Baskı). 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work_tbhzy7ji4zhqhac6sz66cico2i	----	Small, thick, and slow Towards an Open and FAIR data culture in the Humanities Daniel Paul O’Donnell University of Lethbridge IIT Gandhinagar December 18, 2019 DOI (this version): 10.5281/zenodo.3581520 DOI (latest version): 10.5281/zenodo.3581519 About this paper ● Going to be speaking of how data are used in the humanities and implications for infrastructure design ○ How infrastructure currently interacts with typical humanities research practices ○ Why humanities researchers have been slow to adopt such infrastructure ○ How this infrastructure can be adapted to support (and improve) humanities research without requiring it to abandon its primary features/strengths ■ “Small” — focussed on very small number of data points or sets ■ “Thick” — involves intense curation and analysis of these few data ■ “Slow” — the same data points can be subject to years (generations) of subsequent, alternate, and supplementary analysis About this paper ● Important to recognise that I’m dealing in generalities ○ Not all humanities data are small or “representational” in focus ○ Not all humanities work is about thick description ○ Not all humanities work is about reworking old material ● But much is and these are the ones that are least well catered to in current infrastructure About me ● Traditionally trained medieval philologist and textual critic ● Means history of “big” and small data techniques ○ Thesis (1996) was analysis of (unpublished) database of textual variation in the Old English poetic canon ■ Letter-by-letter differences in about 20 poems surviving in more than one copy from the pre-conquest period ○ Later (2005) did 100,000 word edition of 9-line Cædmon’s Hymn (s. viii) ○ Now working on 5 object “edition” of the cross in pre-conquest England ● But ○ Coming from a textual/linguistic/literary approach ○ Focus on “editing” (i.e. the development and publication of “Primary Source” material — mediated representational data) Traditionally, humanists resist speaking of data ● “Primary sources” = Texts, artifacts, objects of study ○ Can be originals (i.e. the artifact itself) ○ More often mediated and contextualised in some way (i.e. an edition, transcription, or similar) ● “Secondary sources” = Works of other scholars (often based on “Primary sources”) ● “Readings” (1) = Passages, extracts, quotations for interpretation or support ● “Readings” (2) = Interpretation, the end product of research (literary study) Traditionally, humanists resist speaking of data ● These definitions are highly contingent ○ “Primary source” in one context can be the “secondary source” in another (and vice versa) ○ Or simultaneously “Primary” and “Secondary” (e.g. a critical edition) ● Also hard to constrain “[a]lmost any document, physical artifact, or record or human activity can be used to study culture” and arguments proposing previously unrecognised sources (“high school yearbooks, cookbooks, or wear patterns in the floors of public places”) are valued acts of scholarship” (Borgman 2007) How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data are different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) are often more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement, then analysed ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What are his data? How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data are different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) are often more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement, then analysed ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What are his data? The finches? How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data are different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) are often more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement, then analysed ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What are his data? The notes about the finches? How does data work in other fields? “represent[ation of] information in a formalized manner suitable for communication, interpretation, or processing” (NASA 2012); “the facts, numbers, letters, and symbols that describe an object, idea, condition, situation, or other factors” (NRC 1999) The finches. But in the humanities? ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data”: ○ Very specific and often provisional (i.e. small); ○ Dialogic in nature — defined and changed by the interpretative context (i.e. thick); ○ Frequently revisited to reanalyse or recontextualise (i.e. slow). ● Not produced so much as found. But in the humanities? Usually the Finch. ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data”: ○ Very specific and often provisional (i.e. small); ○ Dialogic in nature — defined and changed by the interpretative context (i.e. thick); ○ Frequently revisited to reanalyse or recontextualise (i.e. slow). ● Not produced so much as found. But in the humanities? Usually the Finch. Sometimes the notes. ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data”: ○ Very specific and often provisional (i.e. small); ○ Dialogic in nature — defined and changed by the interpretative context (i.e. thick); ○ Frequently revisited to reanalyse or recontextualise (i.e. slow). ● Not produced so much as found. But in the humanities? Usually the Finch. Sometimes the notes. And sometimes Darwin. ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data”: ○ Very specific and often provisional (i.e. small); ○ Dialogic in nature — defined and changed by the interpretative context (i.e. thick); ○ Frequently revisited to reanalyse or recontextualise (i.e. slow). ● Not produced so much as found. But in the Humanities? ● Some evidence: 1. Humanities “data,” unlike science “capta,” are almost always practically and theoretically non-rivalrous. ■ Humanities researchers rarely have an incentive (or capability) to prevent others from accessing their raw material. ■ 200 years of Jane Austen studies based on five main pieces of data. 2. No traditional methods around the preservation of those “facts, numbers, letters, and symbols that describe an object, idea, condition, situation, or other factors.” ■ Nobody cares if your notes are well-preserved, unlike lab books. The “Digital Humanities” don’t change this ● DH adds to this basic distinction, but doesn’t change it: ○ We can now have “capta” (intermediate “observations” extracted algorithmically to form large data sets that then require interpretation) ○ We can now work across complete historical or geographic corpora: ■ E.g. all known nineteenth-century English periodicals; every surviving tract from the U.S. Civil War ○ We can do deductive, hypothesis-driven work ○ Introduces issue of reproducibility: ■ Since deductive work based on algorithmically derived data-sets can be checked (for completeness, opposing examples, etc), it can be more important to publish method. ■ People might care about your notes. The “Digital Humanities” don’t change this ● But the distinction between “capta” and “data” is not teleological — DH (and especially not “big data” DH) is not the perfection of the Humanities ○ “Big data” (“big capta”) DH is not better than “small data” Humanities — it allows different kinds of questions and approaches to questions ○ Not all DH is “big capta” — you can answer traditional humanities questions with the assistance of computation ● Sometimes (many times) “big capta” simply misses the point ○ Intensive curation and analysis of small data sets remains a major function of humanities research (small) ○ Dialogic definition of data remains a major method (thick) ○ Revisiting data to reflect current concerns remains a core purpose (slow) Why does this matter? ● Although much humanities research is (appropriately) “small, thick, and slow,” it is also, in theory, useful for “big capta” work ○ Collectively, traditional humanists produce a lot of very high quality data ■ Intensely curated datasets and data points; ■ Broadly compatible with each other (i.e. each generation re-edits and reconsiders the canon; reconsiders historical events, etc.); ● If we could find a way to capture the value of this traditional data in a way that would allow them to be reused, ○ We’d have extremely useful material to repurpose ○ We’d be maximising the benefit of the traditional work that has been done on it FAIR data ● In many sciences, there is a technically similar opportunity (though it involves a very different purpose): ○ Traditionally, scientists have not been good at publishing their data — they’ve published the analysis and conclusions (i.e. the relevant bits) ○ Reasons have included ■ Lack of fora: no means to distribute data; ■ Lack of will: publishing data means exposing real world messiness ■ Lack of reward: data are not “first class research objects” (credit is meaningless) ○ This hinders both reproducibility (can’t easily check your method) and development of new science (can’t build on your results) FAIR data ● FAIR (Findable, Accessible, Interoperable, Reusable) data and data citation principles are attempt to address this by establishing data as “first class research objects” — i.e. objects for which scientists can get credit ● Goal is to standardise and formalise the way in which data is published in order to ensure its entry into the scientific record and reuse. ● Encourage data publication, solving the forum problem ● FAIR data can be ○ Found and accessed by others without negotiation ○ Used in new use-cases or to reexamine old ones FAIR data F1. (meta)data are assigned a globally unique and eternally persistent identifier. F2. data are described with rich metadata. F3. (meta)data are registered or indexed in a searchable resource. F4. metadata specify the data identifier. A1 (meta)data are retrievable by their identifier using a standardized communications protocol. A2 metadata are accessible, even when the data are no longer available. I1. (meta)data use a formal, accessible, shared, and broadly applicable language for knowledge representation. I2. (meta)data use vocabularies that follow FAIR principles. I3. (meta)data include qualified references to other (meta)data. R1. meta(data) have a plurality of accurate and relevant attributes. R1.1. (meta)data are released with a clear and accessible data usage license. R1.2. (meta)data are associated with their provenance. R1.3. (meta)data meet domain-relevant community standards. FORCE11 (2014): http://bit.ly/IITGN-FAIR FAIR Data Bosman and Kramer 2016 FAIR Humanities? ● You might think this would work well for Humanists ○ Publication of Data as “First class research object” is inherent in several traditional strands of humanities research ■ Editing ■ GLAM ■ Concordances and Corpora FAIR Humanities? ● But FAIR small data is by-and-large uneconomical (and uninteresting) for small data researchers — whether digital or traditional ○ Reproducibility is still generally not a priority ■ Disagreement about the role of women in 19th C factories more likely a difference of emphasis or interpretation than falsification ■ You don’t need my precise dataset to critique my argument ○ Even data publishers focus on small, contextualised, datasets ■ e.g. an edition of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is intended to support secondary work on that novel — not work on novels generally FAIR Humanities? ● The features that are required for reuse require (in essence) a separate, standalone, publication ○ Deposit in repository ○ Standardised metadata ○ (Potentially) loss of key interpretative context and information ● None of this is (necessarily) required for success of original publication ● Much of it (may) require additional work and costs that detract from without improving the original research ○ Unlike STEM, reproducibility is simply generally not an issue of importance FAIR Humanities ● Instead of a modular workflow as in Bosman and Kramer 2016, in the Humanities, (data) publication (and processing) still tends to be done on a project-by-project basis ○ Individual websites ○ Larger “clubs” that you have to join (Europeana) ● The purpose in each case is what you might call “local” publication: ○ Making the data accessible for project-specific purposes, without concern for Interoperability or Reusability ● Has longer term implications as well: ○ Projects die (URLs rot) ○ Not machine readable ● Since the mid-1990s, there have been hundreds if not thousands of digital editions published of medieval and renaissance texts. ● Almost all of these contain high quality digital photographs of the original artifacts, often with very detailed, research-based expert commentary and analysis (transcriptions, bibliographic and other descriptions, etc.) ● Represents, in theory, a potentially huge, extremely rich, dataset for new cross-project work ○ Automatic scribe identification ○ Dating training sets ○ History of the Book The case of manuscript photography The case of manuscript photography ● Because the purpose of these photographs has been to support the contextual analysis and/or supply users with representations of the individual objects in question, very few are easily recovered or used by machines: ○ Few/no standards for metadata, APIs, etc ○ Very few explicitly connected to expert description ○ Relationship to other images and publication status not machine readable ● Result is a lost opportunity to create a “big capta” dataset of thickly described data from hundred of individual “small data” projects ● Reason was that it was in nobody’s interest to contribute to the Commons So what to do? ● The solution to this is to accept the traditional nature and use-case involved in the production and consumption of Humanities research data ○ I.e. recognise that FAIR must accommodate the small, thick, and slow as easily as it does the big stand-alone examples from STEM ● That means that we have to either ○ Work within the traditional Humanities research workflow ○ Encourage traditional Humanities researchers to work within ours ● As long as FAIR data publication means, in essence, publishing small, thick, and slow data twice (once in context and once without), we will never fully reap the benefit of these important and potentially huge cultural datasets We’ve been here before ● The New English Dictionary provides a non-digital model for this ○ Based on “historical principles” (i.e. definitions from and supported by historical quotations) ○ Massive crowd-sourced big-data collection, involving thousands collecting 1.8 million quotation slips from thousands of books prepared by generations of authors, scholars, and publishers (i.e. small data datasets) ○ In essence, an analogue version of what we want to do digitally We’ve been here before ● They had the same problem ○ Discovered almost immediately after setting up the reading programme that the texts they were planning to use were unsuitable ■ Not available in modern editions ■ Poor or difficult-to-determine quality ○ In other words, they discovered that they needed to improve and standardise the small datasets from which they were going to draw their big data records. We’ve been here before ● Solution? Create platform for new editions ○ Text societies and publishers to publish editions that met the NED’s requirements ○ Encouraged leading scholars to edit (and later reedit) the texts they needed ○ Very symbiotic relationship between what was going on in historical textual research at the time and the needs of this big-data dictionary ● Result was an increase in high quality small-data editions and better big-data data set for NED We’ve been here before ● What we need is something similar for the digital age ○ A workflow that encourages small-data researchers to prepare their datasets in a way that ■ Respects their traditional requirements for the intensive curation and analysis of individual data points or small datasets ■ Opens these small, thick, and slow datasets up to big data analysis ■ Does not increase (and preferably reduces) the cost of production, publication, and maintenance ● A workflow in which suitability for “big capta” research is inherent in the publication “small data” workflow rather than a separate step. What can I do? ● Not going to solve this problem in this paper ○ FAIR Data was the result of cross-disciplinary team working over several years through many rounds of consultation: ■ Largely focussed on a field in which data is abs/extractable ■ In which practitioners were in theory committed to data-sharing ■ In which “data” was a concept they were comfortable with ○ NED/OED was a major, society-sponsored, national effort focussed on a single data set. ● Also need to get away from idea that things would improve if only people would use my solution ○ Major issue in Humanities data is ring-fencing: my project, our club What can I do? ● Next paper I’m going to show a conceptual prototype of one possible approach to FAIR data publication in the Humanities ○ Not the solution but a solution to something we really haven’t thought about that much. ● But real change is going to require system-wide cultural shift ○ Development of tools, systems, and practices that are themselves FAIR ○ Development of culture that considers non-FAIR data to be infra dig ○ But that does both of these while understanding and respecting ■ The value and purpose of Humanities research ■ The nature and purpose of Humanities data collection (including reluctance to call data “data” Questions to ask yourself ● Are my data findable? F1. (meta)data are assigned a globally unique and eternally persistent identifier. F2. data are described with rich metadata. F3. (meta)data are registered or indexed in a searchable resource. F4. metadata specify the data identifier. Questions to ask yourself ● Are my data findable? ● Are my data accessible? A1 (meta)data are retrievable by their identifier using a standardized communications protocol [that is] A1.1 open, free, and universally Implementable. A1.2 allows for an authentication and authorization procedure, where necessary. A2 metadata are accessible, even when the data are no longer available. Questions to ask yourself ● Are my data findable? ● Are my data accessible? ● Are my data interoperable? I1. (meta)data use a formal, accessible, shared, and broadly applicable language for knowledge representation. I2. (meta)data use vocabularies that follow FAIR principles. I3. (meta)data include qualified references to other (meta)data. Questions to ask yourself ● Are my data findable? ● Are my data accessible? ● Are my data interoperable? ● Are my data reusable? R1. meta(data) have a plurality of accurate and relevant attributes. R1.1. (meta)data are released with a clear and accessible data usage license. R1.2. (meta)data are associated with their provenance. R1.3. (meta)data meet domain-relevant community standards. Questions 
work_tk6jxc6wgnbcrbtsex25lxbdfq	----	ISSN 1923-1555[Print] ISSN 1923-1563[Online] www.cscanada.net www.cscanada.org Studies in Literature and Language Vol. 18, No. 1, 2019, pp. 33-35 DOI:10.3968/10877 33 Copyright © Canadian Academy of Oriental and Occidental Culture Austen and Dickens’s Different Views on Their Female Characters and on Women in Nineteenth Century CHEN Xinyin[a],* [a]English department, Sichuan University, Chengdu,China. *Corresponding author. Received 22 December 2018; accepted 30 January 2019 Published online 26 February 2019 Abstract By looking at how authors characterize their characters in novels, by analyzing how authors make their characters talk, behave, think, we can catch a glimpse of how they think of their characters, as well as a specific social group those characters represent. In this paper, we will focus on Jane Austen and Charles Dickens’s different views on their female characters’ nature and on nineteenth century women’s nature in general by extension, based on their different female characterizations and their usages of language to do so in Northanger Abbey and Oliver Twist. Generally, this paper reaches the conclusion that Austen rejects female conformity in nineteenth century, while Dickens reinforces it. Key words: Characterizations; Female conformity; Nineteenth century novels; Northanger Abbey; Oliver Twist Chen, X. Y. (2019). Austen and Dickens’s Different Views on Their Female Characters and on Women in Nineteenth Century. Studies in Literature and Language, 18 (1), 33-35. Available from: h t t p : / / w w w. c s c a n a d a . n e t / i n d e x . p h p / s l l / a r t i c l e / v i e w / 1 0 8 7 7 DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.3968/10877 INTRODUCTION In general, I hold the view that Austen makes her female characters multifaceted in Northanger Abbey, while Dickens, in Oliver Twist, makes his one-dimensional. In Northanger Abbey, Austen is very alert to the differences, or gaps, between different female characters, even in minor ones: Catherine is everything but a heroine, who is fond of all boys’ plays and does not care much about beauty; Isabella cares little about her friend’s feelings, and pursues only after her own gratification; Eleanor is a lady of subtle and refined sensibility, and is intelligent and rational; although Mrs. Allen appears only in a few pages, her ordinariness and lack of sensitivity can still be sensed. Dickens, however, makes many of his characters in Oliver Twist, especially female ones, idealized and therefore flat; they have similar traits, and talk, behave very much the same. Although it is probably because by simplifying them, identifying them with very obvious traits as they appear (such as a phrase they repeat often and striking physical characteristics), it is easier to remind reader of them, in a novel published serially, in long periods, and populated with so many characters (Forster, 1956); it is a fact that many of Dickens’ female characters share similar traits: Mrs. Bedwin, Mrs. Maylie and Rose are extremely kind, caring, and altruistic, without many other distinguishing personal characteristics; Charlotte and Mrs. Sowerberry always follow what others say and do, and their personalities appear quite vague; ambivalent as Nancy is, she transforms to a pure, innocent, vulnerable victim in her last stage, and appears to be quite similar to characters we mentioned before. 1. RESEARCH METHODOLOGY In characterizing female characters in a novel, the usage of language to show how they talk and behave plays an essential part, and analyzing it closely in order to get general ideas about their attitudes towards female nature, from part to the whole, is therefore necessary. In following passages, comparison in usage of language to reinforce the characterization of Catherine Morland and Isabella Thorpe in Northanger Abbey, Rose Maylie, Mrs. Bedwin, Mrs. Maylie in Oliver Twist, will be discussed. 34Copyright © Canadian Academy of Oriental and Occidental Culture Austen and Dickens’s Different Views on Their Female Characters and on Women in Nineteenth Century 2. ANALYSIS OF TEXT Catherine Morland is innocent, matter-of-fact, and too young to know much about life. She lives in a family that seldom aims at wit of any kind, and is therefore unworldly, not in the habit of telling lies and rejecting others. When she comes into the room after John, a man she does not like, asks her to go out, she hides to avoid his attention: She fidgeted about if John Thorpe came towards her, hid herself as much as possible from his view, and when he spoke to her pretend not to hear him...she might not appear, however, to observe or expect him, she kept her eyes intently fixed on her fan. (Austen, 2008, p.53) She does not talk; she is not used to using speeches to express her feelings because to her, words are too direct and hurting for others. Instead, she moves to make herself unnoticed, thus escape from John’s attention. But even when doing so, she does not want to make John uncomfortable; she acts in a way quite negative, making herself as uninfluential as possible. Later on, when John flatters her, saying he thinks she is the prettiest girl in Bath, she replies: “Oh! Nonsense! How can you say so?” and is “much less gratified” (Austen, 2008, p.69). She does not like flattery; she does not see beauty as an essential qualification of a girl either, or, she does not know or care how to use her beauty to achieve her goal. That can also be proved by the topics of conversations she has with others: most of them are about literature; almost none about relationships. Reasons of this lay both in her familial influence and in her nature. Isabella Thorpe, on the other hand, is duplicitous and coquettish. She likes talking very much, and she frequently uses exaggerated, emphatic and categorical words in her speeches to take a false persona to cover the truth; she acts in a playful way intended to make men find her attractive when saying she does not like them at all at the same time. In the letter she writes to Catherine to free herself, she “has a thousand apologies to make”, only loves James, abhors Captain Tilney the most and will never be plagued with him again, and has a pretty good nature of her own (Austen, 2008, p.159); when she is in Pump-room with Catherine, she intensely denies her looking for Captain Tilney by claiming: “I am not looking for anybody. One’s eyes must be somewhere, and you know that what a foolish trick I have for fixing mine, when my thoughts are an hundred miles off. I am amazingly absent; I believe I am the most absent creature in the world. Tilney says it is always the cane with minds of a certain stamp.” (Austen, 2008, p.103) Her argument fills with inconsistent excuses; she likes to quote some so-called “general principles” to make them truthful, but they are abstract and empty. One’s eyes must be on somewhere cannot explain why hers are “continually bent towards one door or the other, as in eager expectation”, and the relationship between moving eyes and absent mind does not make sense. Besides, Catherine is not likely to know how Isabella fixes her own eyes. Yet when the person she is looking for enters, she “earnestly fixed her eyes on him as he spoke, and soon caught his notice”, while she is saying she is sure he will not see them. She pouts and scolds him: “Psha, nonsense! Why do you put such things into my head? If I could believe it—my spirit, you know, is pretty independent...my heart, indeed! What can you do with hearts? You men have none of you any hearts.”(Austen, 2008, p.106) She uses modal particle, exaggeration and enantiosis in a rather quick cadence, not to criticize, but to make Captain Tilney think she is an independent, attractive woman; to flirt with and to seduce him; that is soon after she knows James, her fiancé, is not as rich as she expects him to be. Her spirit does not seem to be independent at all. Unlike Catherine, Isabella can be seen as a gold- digger who is only interested in wealthy man, and whose mind is preoccupied by equality between subordinating to wealthy man and wealth. In Dickens’ Oliver Twist, however, many of his female characters seem to have very similar interior traits. Rose Maylie is kind, pure, and a little self-despised. When she rejects Harry for his love, she says: “Yes, Harry, I owe it to myself that, a friendless, portion-less girl, with a blight upon my name, should not give the world reason to suspect that I had sordidly yielded to your first passion, and fastened myself, a clog, upon all your hopes and projects. I owe it to you and yours to prevent you from opposing, in the warmth of your generous nature, this great obstacle to your progress in the world. ” (Dickens, 2003, p.289) In her speech, negative, inferior words toward herself (friendless, blight, sordid, clog, etc.) are constantly used, and she even sees herself as an obstacle, a clog, preventing Harry from his glorious future; it seems that she herself does not have value, that she does not see herself as an independent human-being; her value depends on the world’s opinions to her; she is an appendage to others. There is a very strong contrast between the first half and the second half of her words, in which she owes every sordid, disdained thing to herself and every aspiring, wonderful thing to Harry. She despises passion; and she is so pure, vulnerable and innocent, that she implies: sacrifice me for your future. Mrs. Bedwin is kind, gentle, caring. Seeing Oliver gradually recovered, she is “in a state of considerable delight”, and “cried most violently” (Dickens, 2003, p.89). She says: “Never mind me, my dear. I’m only having a regular good cry.” and asks Oliver to dress up, because “the better we look, the more Mr. Brownlow will be pleased” (Dickens, 2003, p.90). She never thinks of herself, because she asks others not to mind her; she does not mind herself either, for all she cares are others. She devotes herself; she is happy, crying violently, dressed up not because of her self-pleasure, but because of others’ 35 Copyright © Canadian Academy of Oriental and Occidental Culture CHEN Xinyin (2019). Studies in Literature and Language, 18 (1), 33-35 pleasures. Similarly, Mrs. Maylie is also kind, caring and vulnerable. When Rose is suffering from a bad fever, she says in a trembling voice to Oliver: “I have been very happy with her for some years; too happy, perhaps, and it may be time that I should meet with some misfortune of losing the dear girl who has so long been my comfort and happiness. Oh! What should I do without her!” (Dickens, 2003, p.266) Again, she is happy, because she is with Rose; she almost collapses, because Rose is in great pain; and she does not know what to do without Rose. All her pleasures, sufferings, fortune and misfortune depend on others; the topic of her speeches is always someone else, and she is the one who is marginalized and influenced by others. She does not have distinct individual traits; she smiles, cries, enjoys, suffers, but none of these is for herself. And like the other two, Dickens does not arrange for her words that exhibit her mental activities; He does not tell us, or perhaps does not care about what they are thinking about. Of all the three female characters discussed, their similar utterance show: they have no ego; they seek no value of themselves; they depend on others; they give and sacrifice everything, but ask for nothing. OBSERVATIONS From Austen and Dickens’ descriptions of particular individuals, maybe we can catch a glimpse of their general ideas of women. By creating very different female characters in Northanger Abbey, Austen may think that, in general, women are varied and multifaceted. They have their independent ideas, and make their own choices. Maybe some traits of them are not in the line with mainstream values in society at that time, but they are vivid, authentic, and human. Austen rejects female conformity; she thinks women are neither subordinating to men, nor mere belongings or decorations that are put in house, delicate but spiritless and out of touch with reality. By establishing one-dimensional female characters in Oliver Twist, Dickens shows his general understandings of idealized women: they should be pure, innocent, sexless and vulnerable. They are perfect, but are deprived of all authenticity and freedom; they are virtuous, but only as the symbol of morality and order to save society from evil forces, rather than as real human-beings. He thinks that they do not have, or should not have ego; they are sacrificing, falling, yielding, dependent, and waiting to be rescued; they have no power to run their own destinies. CONCLUSIONS In conclusion, differences in language using show Austen and Dickens’ attitudes toward their female characters and toward woman in general. By portraying non-conventional female characters, Austen rejects the conformity required for Victorian women and attempts to change it with her writing, while Dickens, on the contrary, reinforces it by creating very typical female characters in Victorian era who are angelic and sacrificing. REFERENCES Austen, J. (2008). Northanger Abbey. Oxford, England: Oxford University Press. Dickens, C. (2003) Oliver Twist. London, England: Penguin Classics. Foster, E. M. (1956). Aspects of the novel. New York: Mariner Books. 
work_tmt6by3ydbfozpigda72gb24eu	----	Sciendo You need to enable JavaScript to run this app. 
work_tnri3lqn2vepbahozbensfu7oq	----	The Romance Publishing Industry and Its Reputation Vol.:(0123456789) Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 https://doi.org/10.1007/s12109-019-09703-2 1 3 The Romance Publishing Industry and Its Reputation Lauren Cameron1 Published online: 23 January 2020 © The Author(s) 2020 Abstract Romance has always had a negative reputation, but is this reputation justified? This study examines the negative stigma surrounding the billion dollar romance publish- ing industry in the USA and UK. The potential causes are discussed, and testimoni- als from contemporary romance readers and writers provide a basis for the case that this judgemental stance should be removed. Keywords Romance · Fiction market · Perception of romance · Book community · Romance authors · Readers Introduction Romance fiction is one of the most popular fiction genres in the United Kingdom and the United States, but there is a stigma surrounding it.1 This stigma shames romance readers and writers, because society sees romance fiction as “trashy”.2 This creates small communities of romance readers that support each other while often hiding their love of the books. Despite its reputation, it is a billion-dollar industry.3 Romance is an intrinsically feminine genre, which creates a problem in misogy- nistic societies that are attempting to police women’s bodies and minds.4 The strug- gle to implement feminism is not just a problem within the UK and USA, but it is also holding back the romance community from being acknowledged as a legitimate section of fiction readers. The aims of this study are to discover how the negative perception of romance came about, and how it has changed throughout the history of the genre. The cultural influence of misogyny in the UK and USA will be examined * Lauren Cameron laurencameron@live.ca 1 Edinburgh Napier University, 33 Calder Road, Edinburgh EH 11 3PF, UK 1 [14]. 2 [24]. 3 [14]. 4 [24]. http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1007/s12109-019-09703-2&domain=pdf 2 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 1 3 in relation to the romance genre to determine whether patriarchal values have any influence on the negative stigma.5 Romance is a genre that is valuable and legitimate, and also not what most people believe it to be. Perception of romance has been heavily skewed by a select few nov- els. There are very few academic studies that positively reflect romance. With only negative voices present, it cannot be conclusively said that romance has no value. By presenting the other side of the argument, new information can be added to the academic study of the fiction market. Defining Romance Romance is a subgenre in fiction that must contain two main components: a central love story, and an emotionally satisfying ending.6 In the US alone, romance is a bil- lion dollar industry.7 Within this genre, there are further subgenres: historical, erot- ica, etc. For the purpose of this study, contemporary romance will be the focus. Con- temporary romance must meet the basic qualifications of romance, while also being a reflection of the time period it is written in.8 Typically, contemporary romances include any romance set in the time period it is being written, within 50 years.9 All romance novels that were once contemporary but now considered historical provide insight into the state of romance throughout its history. Today’s contempo- rary romance is focused on two things: bodily autonomy, and a push towards diver- sity.10 Early romance novels saw heterosexual white women defying social norms, overcoming personal struggles, and finding happiness, a theme that has continued today with much more diversity.11 Terms used to describe romance novels are often problematic and used to keep romance contained in a box.12 By calling a book an “easy-read”, it implies that the readers of the genre are not intelligent. “Porn” implies that readers only read the novels for sexual reasons; to categorize every romance novel as an outlet for sexual frustration diminishes the genre and women.13 Finally, “trash” implies that the nov- els are bad, when the entire point of romance is to examine human relationships.14 The first novel considered a romance was Pamela; or Virtue Rewarded, by Sam- uel Richardson.15 Published in 1740, it was the first novel to be written solely from the female point of view, and to feature a love story with a “happily ever after”.16 6 [16]. 7 [22]. 8 [21]. 9 [21]. 10 [1]. 11 [16] 12 [25]. 13 [25]. 14 [18]. 15 [7]. 16 [7]. 5 [13]. 3 1 3 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 Writers such as Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë published successful romance novels, but the genre did not take off as a mass market industry until the 1930s, with the founding of Harlequin.17 It was the first company to change with the romance genre; selling romance novels was about convenience for women, which was a business plan that allowed them to become a powerhouse in a multi-billion-dollar industry.18 Today, the romance audience is 82% female, with 92% reading print, 64% eBooks, and 35% audio books. Romance publishers have kept up every step of the way, allowing them to maintain 23% of the USA book market.19 Modern romance is thought to have begun in 1972, with the publication of The Flame and the Flower by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss.20 This was the first romance novel to contain an explicit sex scene, which then launched a trend in romance that continues to this day.21 However, it also contained problematic content.22 This novel had many explicit rape scenes, as did its contemporaries, which was a huge prob- lem from the elevated perspective of the twenty-first century.23 However, in 1972, women in the UK and the USA could not get a credit card, and marital rape was not considered a crime.24 Idealized and glamourized explicit rape as a plot device has since been eradicated from the genre, but as we can see with the current #MeToo movement, our society has not had the same revelation.25 The heroes in romance reflect the sociopolitical times. For example, with the eco- nomic crash of the early 2000s, romance saw a rise in billionaire heroes.26 Now, with feminism strengthening and the rise of #MeToo and the current political cli- mate, the alpha male hero no longer works alongside the strong female heroine.27 Contemporary romance novels reflect the times they are written in, and these novels have drastically changed from the versions released in 1972. The Issue Romance, as a genre, has been ridiculed by larger society since its advent. Despite consistently being a best-selling genre and billion-dollar industry, romance still receives little to no respect. Author Penny Reid states that she has seen her books called “trashy romance”, “fluffy”, “smut”.28 In a 2019 article about upcoming 17 [16]. 18 [16]. 19 [21]. 20 [16]. 21 [16]. 22 [22]. 23 [22]. 24 [6]. 25 [25]. 26 [20]. 27 [25]. 28 [17]. 4 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 1 3 novels, Cosmopolitan called a romance novel “too well written to be considered romance”.29 This insults the writers and readers of the genre. One of the most recent instance of romance shaming that renewed the debate had to do with author and politician Stacy Abrams.30 Abrams is a bestselling romance novelist. She went on the Stephen Colbert show to discuss her political career. Instead, Colbert got out one of her novels, which Abrams politely admitted to writ- ing. Abrams was clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going, because Colbert’s tone and the tone of the audience were ridiculing. Colbert then proceeded to read one of the sex scenes in her novel, to her obvious discom- fort, and then laughed.31 Abrams was being shamed for being a successful author. Abrams is so much more than her romance career, and to out something she clearly prefers to keep private insults her and the genre. The Debate The debate about whether romance is a worthy genre goes back to its advent. Not just romance, but women’s writing as a whole. Because romance is a female dominated genre, it is seen as more lowbrow than almost any other genre. Despite being a female dominated field, romance receives just as much backlash from women as it does from men. In 1856, George Eliot described women’s writing as “frothy, prosy, pious, and pedantic. However, there was another perspective as well, otherwise women’s writing would not have survived. Virginia Woolf said: “[…] the values of women differ very often from the values which have been made by the other sex; […]. Yet it is the masculine values that prevail. […] This is an important book, the critic assumes, because it deals with war. This is an insignificant book because it deals with the feelings of women in a drawing- room”.32 Woolf correctly identified the main problem with romance: it deals with women’s feelings. What Academics are Saying The differing opinions on romances worthiness as a genre come from those who read it, and those who do not. Those within the community make convincing argu- ments for why it is worthy. However, most pieces written on romance in the past 20 years were not written by people who read the genre, and therefore do not offer a full perspective, or a positive one. Hannah Eisley Burnett argues that the shame surrounding romance draws its readers together into a community.33 Eisler-Burnett’s thoughts are that romance 33 [5]. 29 [23]. 30 [15]. 31 [15]. 32 [4]. 5 1 3 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 would sell even more incredibly if it was not so highly ridiculed by society as a whole.34 By building a community of romance readers, the shame associated with reading it loses power and disappears.35 Sarah Wendell argues that it is a genre focused on emotional development and self-actualization, that values women’s emotions and desires.36 Jennifer Weiner agrees, and she thinks that these books are so criticized because they are about women. Weiner say, “It’s sexist when critics automatically relegate anything con- cerning young women’s lives to the beach-trash Dumpster bin-especially when they’re automatically elevating anything about young men’s lives to the exalted spheres of Literature”.37 The fact that readers continue to read the genre despite the shame placed upon them shows that the genre is interesting and worthy.38 Pamela Regis argues that romance is the most popular genre, but popularity does not equal acceptance.39 Crit- ics characterize the genre from a few reviewed texts, which are gate-kept by men.40 Nora Roberts has written and published over 200 novels, but her books have only been reviewed by the New York Times twice, despite consistently being best-sell- ers.41 A reader’s rejection is based on personal taste, whereas a critic’s opinion is meant to be based on “reasoning and sufficient evidence”, and the majority clearly are not.42 Critical rejection of romance novels began to emerge in the 1960s, alongside first- wave feminism.43 Germaine Greer said, “romance nourishes disappointed women, creates unattainable fantasy, and is cause and effect of women’s oppression”.44 Fem- inists in this time did not like how passive women were, but Regis argues that this is a deliberate misreading of the genre.45 Just because a woman’s story has a love story, does not mean that the woman is passive; the novels try to reaffirm women’s independence by giving them choice in their own happiness.46 Krentz argues that romance novels are subversive, because they show a woman holding power but not abusing it.47 Krentz, Wendall and Regis are some of the only academic voices advocat- ing for romance. The other voices are much more negative, such as an article that claims the idealized versions of love that romance presents lead to psychosexual 34 [5]. 35 [5, 141]. 36 [24]. 37 [4]. 38 [11]. 39 [18]. 40 [18]. 41 [7]. 42 [18]. 43 [18]. 44 [9] 45 [9] 46 [9] 47 [11]. 6 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 1 3 problems, perpetuates gender roles and does not demonstrate safe sex practices.48 Jade Deveraux argues back that “Supposedly women who read [romantic novels] are so stupid that they can’t tell a story from reality. Is anyone worried that the men who read spy thrillers are going to go after their neighbours with an automatic weapon?”.49 Deveraux’s point demonstrates that Iqbal’s point is about policing women’s minds and bodies. As well, contemporary romance novels have adapted to keep up with reliable contraception and consent.50 Is Romance Feminist? In her study, Linda Christian-Smith argues that romance novels are anti-feminist because men give meaning to the women.51 But do the women in the novels not also “complete” the men? The story is meant to be focused on them finding love, not the other aspects of their lives, because that is not the genre. The couples, whether men and women, men and men, or women and women, complement each other, and choose to live their lives together. Christian-Smith did a study of 30 girls at a lower middle-class school to see the effects of reading romance on teenagers. According to her, girls read romance for four main reasons: to escape, entertainment, because they enjoy it, and to learn about love.52 Christian-Smith argues that romance novels are the reason girls are getting in trouble in school, and that these young girls are failing their classes because they read romance.53 However, the girls were women of colour in a low income area who are not given as many choices in society. Perhaps the most concerning idea of Chris- tian-Smiths’ was that girls only get part-time jobs to be consumers, and put them- selves in situations where they may have a romantic encounter.54 In direct contrast to Christian-Smith’s ideas, Drew Himmelstein says, “reading romantic novels is a useful way for teenagers to learn about relationships and experi- ment with their sexual imaginations in a safe space. At a time when adolescents are developing the neural pathways for sexual pleasure and fantasy that will carry them into their adult lives, stories and characters provide a vivid world that is both “titil- lating and educational”.55 By allowing teenagers to learn about sex and romantic situations from romance novels, they view is less as a forbidden thing, but a way to connect with another person, and are therefore more likely to have respect for their own bodies and sex itself.56 Romance novels teach girls to be a part of a sexual rela- tionship, not just an accessory.57 48 [10]. 49 [10]. 50 [16]. 51 [3] 52 [3, 176] 53 [3]. 54 [3, 183]. 55 [8]. 56 [8]. 57 [8]. 7 1 3 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 Christian-Smith’s ideas would reflect that romance is not feminist. However, she has never been immersed in the genre. No one is saying that romance novels all represent feminist values; author Courtney Milan argues that romance is not inher- ently a feminist genre, but it is changing to become so.58 Romance explores what it is to be a woman, and draws feminists because there are so many women in the business.59 These feminists are making sure women are represented and empowered with the books they read.60 As well, romance is feminist because it welcomes women from all over the world to explore and talk about books that they love.61 Romance and its adaptation and ability to explore new issues and diversity make it unique.62 Romance as a genre has room for critiquing, as all genres do, but it needs to be informed critique based on actual evidence.63 The Romance Formula The other main point of contention about romance is that the books follow a “for- mula”.64 This is true; a romance novel needs an emotionally satisfying ending, and it has to have a love story. Typically, the first sex scene will occur 60% of the way through the story, followed by a fall out between the hero and heroine, and then a reconciliation.65 However, how the characters get there varies in thousands of dif- ferent ways. Krentz argues that crime, which is seen as a more literary genre, also follows a formula: there is a crime, there is someone trying to solve it, there is a con- flict, the false suspect, and then the true criminal.66 Yet crime is not seen negatively, because it is a male dominated genre.67 This shows that it is the women that are the issue, not the formula. Reader Experience Thanks to sites like Amazon and the increasing numbers of self-published authors, US and UK romance novels are accessible all over the world, creating communities. The shame surrounding romance forces readers to rely on others and creates the idea that romance should be a reader’s “dirty little secret”.68 Many readers do keep the 64 [2]. 65 [5]. 66 [11]. 67 [11]. 68 [5]. 58 [13]. 59 [13]. 60 [13]. 61 [25]. 62 [20]. 63 [18]. 8 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 1 3 books they read a secret if it is romance, because of one too many negative interac- tions or shared experiences that shame them into hiding. Three Facebook romance book club groups were interviewed, totaling 14,730 members, with 74 members choosing to participate. The first group was Kennedy Ryan Books, a book club dedicated to diverse romance, with 6598 members at the time of the interview and 17 responses. The second group was Krista and Becca Ritchie’s Fizzle Force, dedicated to general contemporary and LGBTQ+ romance, with 4224 members and 11 responses. The final group, Mariana Zapata’s Slow Burners, focused on contemporary romance with a “slow burn” (the characters do not become a couple until 70% through the novel) with 3908 members, and 40 responses. Finally, 6 participants chose to remain anonymous. All participants were aware of a stigma and negativity or judgement surrounding the romance genre, even if they had not experienced it themselves. Their differing reactions to this judgement can be attributed to human character and outlying fac- tors. Though not all participants experienced the stigma in the same way, all were aware of a negativity surrounding romance as a genre, but stated that this would not prevent them from reading the books that they enjoyed. All of the participants were female; this was expected, as romance is a female dominated genre, and those men that had the opportunity to participate declined. Since romance is targeted mainly towards women, having all female responses does not limit the scope of this study. The female respondents represented various demographics: married, single, white, BAME, LGBTQ+, teenagers, adults, etc. The majority of participants were highly educated, with at least a college degree. This counters Christian-Smith’s argument that reading romance is the reason young girls are doing poorly in school.69 As well, people generally think that romance readers are “undereducated, overweight, undersexed”, but this reader data shows that is not true.70 Of the 74 people who responded, 48% got overly negative reactions when they say they read romance, 13% said they got strictly positive reactions, and 39% stated that they received a mix of the two. Of these same responses, 64% said that they were very open about their love of reading romance, 29% said they kept it a secret from those in their “real life”, and 7% did not have applicable responses. Since only 13% of readers received positive reinforcement for reading romance, it is surprising that the majority of romance readers do not hide it, when they are more likely to get a negative reaction. This shows that since Eisler-Burnett’s publication, there seems to have been a shift in the shame women feel about reading romance. Women no longer let the shame control them and are much more open about their love of the genre, despite the risk of being shamed for it. The shame has not gone away, but the control it holds has. Readers feel shame attempting to be forced upon them for reading romance, either by those close to them, online and in the media, or complete strangers. Despite this, many either seek out communities, keep it a secret, or share their love for the genre. 69 [3]. 70 [25]. 9 1 3 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 The differences in the readers who felt comfortable and those who did not seem to have a personal factor. Some readers stated that it was their age that had made them more comfortable with being open about their reading. Younger readers tended to keep their interest in romance to themselves for fear of parental backlash. Some common themes that appeared throughout reader responses were where the shame they felt came from; there was not one single participant that denied that the shame existed. Everyone agreed that society had to do with the shame they felt, even if they had not personally had a negative interaction. Most respondents who had had a negative interaction stated that it came from someone they knew, or someone within their community. One reader stated that whenever one of her friends sees a book with a two-star or lower review, he states that it would be a book she would like, because she likes “trash”. Several women also echoed that men were the ones to comment negatively on their reading choices; one woman stated that her uncle routinely makes her uncomfortable about reading romance, sexualizing the books. Several women raised an interesting point: their husbands are the only ones in their lives threatened by them reading of romance novels. They feel threatened by the male characters in the books; one woman said her reading of romance contrib- uted to her divorce. Not all husbands were like this; another woman attributes her love of romance and her husband’s support of it to their 40-year relationship. How- ever, this echoes Wendell’s idea that men feel that romance readers will not be able to tell fiction from reality, and reinforces her idea that women can, in fact, tell the difference.71 Readers who discovered the genre at the recommendation of someone in their lives were typically more open about their love of romance, whereas women who had discovered the genre on their own kept it a secret from those in their “real life”, because they do not have the support needed to combat the shame being forced upon them as a genre. Many respondents said that discovering romance was a source of happiness, which reflects the idea that romance is an escape into a world where women do have a voice. Author Experience Six authors completed the interview. Jessie Edwards was interviewed for her role within the RWA. Elizabeth May was contacted because she writes both romance and sci-fi, as well as fantasy. Elle Kennedy is a self-published author, who also writes LGBTQ+ romance. Kennedy Ryan writes BAME and diverse romance. Rebekah Weatherspoon writes BAME and LGBTQ+ romance. Samantha Young and Sarah Maclean are traditionally published authors. Susannah Nix is self-published and focuses on romance featuring heroines in STEM. Tessa Dare is a best-seller, and one of the most well-known names in romance. Finally, Adriana Anders is an author who reached out after seeing the reader interview questions, and she is an award- winning romance author. The questions asked centered around the authors’ romance 71 [24]. 10 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 1 3 careers, the reactions they get to their profession, and why they write romance. Edwards received a list of questions about the RWA and its purpose within the romance community. When asked about common misconceptions they receive, the authors all had very similar responses. 40% said that the most common misconception they received was that romance was for unintelligent or lonely women. 40% said that people gener- ally thought their books were “porn”, and 20% said that people commonly thought that their books were unrealistic. Most authors negative interactions came from their books being referred to as “porn”. Anders argues that this is false and reduc- tionist, because romance does not have to contain sex scenes. Nix’s romances are “closed door” because they do not contain explicit sex scenes. Anders argued, “can you imagine if we referred to all thrillers as violence-porn?” This would not hap- pen, because it reduces the genre to one element. As well, she argues that a sci-fi novel written by a man “riddled with explicit, poorly-written sex scenes gets posi- tive attention, when romantic fiction gets an eyeroll”, simply because it is written by a women, which is the root of the problem. Most of the authors had mostly positive interactions when they said they write romance, with a few small negative interactions. The negative interactions typically came from twitter “trolls” who had not actually read their books, or from people they knew in real life reducing their careers to “fluff”. The authors felt that these terms reduced the hard work that went into writing and producing their books. Rebekah Weatherspoon said that she was careful to surround herself with supportive people, which helps to block out the negativity that she might otherwise receive. Nix, Kennedy and Young all stated that they began writing in other genres before moving into romance. Even today, Young says that her romance is more focused on the psychological aspects of romantic relationships. Nix chose to take her scientific knowledge and bring it to romance by exploring women in STEM in romantic rela- tionships. Kennedy chose to move from thrillers to romance, often combining the two genres, because she loves the happily ever after aspect of romance. Kennedy and Anders both stated that the romance community was full of some of the most intelligent men and women that they have ever met, so to see it reduced to “fluff” or “porn” is disheartening. All of the authors interviews had the utmost respect for their readers, so the view that they are anything less than intelligent, diverse human beings is an idea that comes from outside of the community; the same place that judges romance novels as lowbrow. They describe the romance community as “unique”, “tight-knit” and “inclusive”, and say that they have never experienced something like it with any other book genre, something that was echoed by the reader responses. The romance community has a formal community, known as the Romance Writ- ers of America. This group is a collection of romance authors who support each other, and Jessie Edwards says that “Romance authors are the most active, engaged, and unified community”. They use their platform to talk about feminism, diversity and politics, and to stay in touch with their readers, moreso than any other genre. Edwards also pointed out that romance is at the forefront of publishing innovation, thanks to the community that surrounds and supports it. From online self-publishing to reader interaction, if publishing adapts a trend, romance did it first. The power of 11 1 3 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 the romance community is so strong that it can change the entire publishing commu- nity, and yet it is still underestimated. Findings The academics referenced studied romance and its effect on society, but very few study its reputation. Much of the literature available about romance is very negative and one sided, with the positive voices featured some of the only ones available. The negative voices are often unsubstantiated and heavily influenced by the soci- etal stigma surrounding romance, rather than actually fact. The positive data is often written by academics within the romance community, which again further reflects the idea of romance readers enjoying the genre while those outside of the commu- nity disparaging it. The results of all of the interviews conclude that there is shame surrounding the romance fiction community. Several respondents offered theories of why this could be; one woman attributed it to Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James and the nega- tive attention it brought to the romance community. However, most of the readers had been reading romance and feeling the shame surrounding it decades before the publication of Fifty Shades. The common denominator seems to point to romance being a female dominated genre, meant for women, contributing to feminism, and therefore it is an enemy of the patriarchy. These reader comments echo what aca- demics who support the romance genre have found; romance is seen as less because it values and supports women.72 Romance is a genre about women taking control of their bodies; female readers can see themselves in the characters they read about, and that is empowering.73 Girls are conditioned to search for love from a young age, while men are not, which cre- ates a disconnect in society.74 By reading romance, girls and women can fulfill the need for love that society has forced upon them, without the disappointment that men in real life often provide when compared to the princes girls are taught to look for.75 Most women agreed that what they are reading is not reality, but they want to read romance anyway, because it brings them happiness. To elevate books targeted towards men over those about women is sexist.76 The patriarchy places men above women, and so often women’s interests are demeaned in order to keep this social order. Is romance demeaned because it is actually not well written, or because it appeals mainly to women? Considering some of the classical canon today is romance, signs point to the shame surrounding romance being another way to police women’s bodies and minds. Jane Austen, Charlotte and Emily Brontë all wrote romance that is worshipped today, and yet our contemporary 72 [24]. 73 [24, 6]. 74 [18]. 75 [9]. 76 [4]. 12 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 1 3 romance authors are demeaned and looked down upon.77 Just because something is written by women, for women, does not mean that it should be relegated to a lesser tier. Further proof of the negativity surrounding romance having to do with women and not the actual book content is evident when you compare it to crime fiction. Crime is a typically male dominated genre and is heralded as one of the best in fic- tion. However, it follows a formula, it contains adult content, and is a best-selling genre, just as romance is.78 The only differences between these genres is that one is targeted towards men, whereas the other is targeted towards women. If crime can be lauded as a highbrow fiction genre, how can we classify all romance as lowbrow? There is bad romance just as there is bad crime fiction, but both genres also have stand-out exceptional work. The fourth best-selling fiction author of all time is Danielle Steel. She is the best- selling fiction author currently alive, having written 179 books.79 The fact that she is one of the best-selling authors of all time should be enough to elevate the genre, and yet it is still seen as less because she is a woman, and because women are the ones that typically buy her books. In contrast, Nicholas Sparks is a male author often her- alded for writing romance, despite the fact that he does not. His books are general fiction, because they do not contain an emotionally satisfying ending, one of the two main criteria.80 Despite this, he still gets labelled as a romance author and praised for writing it. He does not like the label romance, because he believes the books he writes has more “depth” than romance, and he does not like the genre.81 This prob- lem is two-fold: it is a man demeaning romance and objecting to being associated with it, and it is also a man being heralded as a wonderful romance writer, while the woman who is the best-selling fiction author currently alive is still seen as less for writing romance. One reader had a particular stand out response that contributed to the theory that misogyny is the reason romance gets a bad reputation. She was recently in line at a bookstore, and two elderly women in front of her stated that they would never buy a book written by a woman. There is still an idea in society that books written by men are better, and while this idea is still present there is no way for romance to thrive. Despite the negative patriarchal influence on romance, the romance community is thriving within itself. This community is mainly online, in places like Goodreads or Facebook book groups. However, some women stated that they went so far as to make separate Facebook and Goodreads accounts so that people from their “real life” would not know about their love of romance. Others stated that they were lucky enough to have support, which made them feel comfortable enough to share their love of the genre. 77 [16]. 78 [11]. 79 [12]. 80 [21]. 81 [19]. 13 1 3 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 One of the main complaints academics have against romance as a genre is that it is not “feminist”. However, like any genre, it has been growing and changing. To say that today’s romance is completely un-feminist is reductive. Almost all contempo- rary romance novels display bodily anatomy and women making their own choices when it comes to sex, something larger society has still not been able to do, despite the advances in feminism. Anders described romance as “subversive feminist liter- ature”, because it is “a genre written primarily by women, for women, and about women” who are looking for “personal, emotional and physical fulfilment”. Con- temporary romance covers all sorts of feminist topics, from discrimination in the workplace to abortion, so to write is off as “fluff” or “trash” when it has so much to offer and teach on these subjects is harmful to the feminist movement. As well, academics are once again diminishing female intelligence. As has been established, women know how to tell the difference between fiction and reality. Along those lines, they are also able to tell what is feminist and what is not. If they do happen to read a romance novel without a strong, feminist main character, they can still be a feminist. Feminism is not a static state, but one that is ever changing and growing as society does, just like romance. Weatherspoon pointed out in her interview that her writing changes with the political and social climate, because she is learning more every day. Romance and feminism have grown together. Romance is intrinsically feminist, because it gives a voice to women to write about the female experience.82 Romance novels contain stories of women reaching their dreams with the support of those around them and finding love in addition to that. For some women, finding love and starting a family is their goal, and feminism is supposed to be about giving women a choice; if that choice is to get married, it needs to be respected, otherwise the foundations of feminism fall apart. Romance, as a genre, deserves more recognition within the fiction market. Librar- ies and bookstores need to have a more prominent display and selection of romance novels for readers to see and to generate interest. Many bookstores do not have romance specific sections but will have a crime section on prominent display. By adding a specific romance section, romance is validated. Romance is a genre that is mainly online, and this is something that needs to change in order for romance to be seen as a valid. Readers also need to combat the personal shame they feel. As the reader inter- views indicate, many readers have already begun to do this by being open about the fact that they read romance. If readers, personally, do not feel shame about reading and enjoying romance, then the negative judgment from outsiders becomes moot. Even if it is only being open about it online, it is still a small step in the direction of a genre that is dedicated to women being accepted by society as a whole. If readers do not let themselves be shamed, they cannot be shamed, and the oppressive voices lose their value. Words like “fluff” and “trash” need to be taken out of the vernacular surrounding romance. They diminish the intelligence of writers and readers. No explanation or justification is needed for reading romance, because readers should be able to enjoy 82 [13]. 14 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 1 3 a genre they love. Romance readers are smart, diverse, often educated women who just want to be able to read without societal commentary on their intelligence. A book does not need to be on a short list for a literary award to be worthwhile, and the idea that only books with that potential should be read is harmful to the readers and authors who truly love the genre. The necessary happy ending is what people love about it, and is a poor excuse for demeaning the genre; no one truly has issue with a book ending happily, it is just one of many reasons that people use to hide less acceptable objections.83 The main reason that people do not accept romance is because it is a genre targeted at women, showing them having control of their bodies and minds.84 In the USA, laws are being passed in 2019 to control women’s bodies.85 When that is considered, it is easy to see that the same voices that want to repress women’s voices would also want to eradicate a genre that promotes these very things. Reader responses showed that the negative judgment they received came from a few spaces: the men in their lives, conservative and religious friends, the same voices attempting to make laws and set limitations on what women can do.86 Not all members of these communities think this way, but there are some voices outnumbering the others. The misogyny surrounding the genre can be seen in countless places: husbands believing their wives cannot tell the difference between the fiction and reality, Sta- cey Abrams being mocked for writing romance, romance authors being told their work is “trash”.87 Romance has been fighting to survive against misogyny since its advent, and the common result is that is has thrived. People argue that it is too for- mulaic, but other similar fiction genres receive no backlash, proving that this is not the true problem.88 It is a genre that promotes women’s voices, and for that reason should be at least given consideration for true equality.89 Romance is not for every- one, just like any other genre. However, no other genre is continuously mocked by those that do not read it. This is not just a fiction market issue; it reflects the larger issues of misogyny in UK and US society, something that needs to be improved in all areas so that women can make their own choices about their bodies, careers, and reading. Romance deserves a better reputation. Open Access This article is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, which permits use, sharing, adaptation, distribution and reproduction in any medium or format, as long as you give appropriate credit to the original author(s) and the source, provide a link to the Creative Com- mons licence, and indicate if changes were made. The images or other third party material in this article are included in the article’s Creative Commons licence, unless indicated otherwise in a credit line to the material. If material is not included in the article’s Creative Commons licence and your intended use is not permitted by statutory regulation or exceeds the permitted use, you will need to obtain permission 83 [18]. 84 [11]. 85 [26]. 86 [26]. 87 [15]. 88 [11]. 89 [13]. 15 1 3 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 directly from the copyright holder. To view a copy of this licence, visit http://creat iveco mmons .org/licen ses/by/4.0/. References 1. Billings, L, Christina H. Writing Romance Novels Is a Feminist Act.” Time, March 20, 2017. https ://time.com/47183 50/roman ce-novel s-are-femin ist/. 2. Chelton MK. Searching for birth parents or adopted children: finding without seeking in romance novels. Reference and User Services Quarterly. 2018;57(4):266–73. 3. Christian-Smith L. Voices of resistance: young women readers of romance fiction. In: Weis Lois, editor. Beyond silenced voices: class, race and gender in United States Schools. New York: State University of New York Press; 1993. 4. Davis-Kahl S. The case for chick lit in academic libraries. Collection Building. 2008;27(1):18–21. 5. Eisler-Burnett Hannah. Shame game: romance novels and feminist shames, a mad lib for collective feeling. Women and Performance: A Journal of Feminist Theory. 2018;23(1):140–4. 6. Flood, A. ‘Women are having different fantasies’: romantic fiction in the age of Trump. The Guard- ian, March 8, 2018. https ://www.thegu ardia n.com/books /2018/mar/08/women -are-havin g-diffe rent- fanta sies-roman tic-ficti on-in-the-age-of-trump ?fbcli d=IwAR1 stHOV W6F7F jvzd7 BZWwH 7uvXK zkMKA bD0-8_fFBkI V5Y-61Or0 k8AY_8. 7. Harris, M. The history of the romance novel. Tribune, February 16, 2017. https ://www.erick sonli ving.com/tribu ne/artic les/2017/02/histo ry-roman ce-novel . 8. Himmelstein, D. Sexy novels are good for your teenager’s brain and body. Daily Beast, July 10, 2019. https ://www.theda ilybe ast.com/sexy-novel s-are-good-for-your-teena gers-brain -and-body. 9. Hopkins Lisa. After Austen. London: Palgrave Macmillan; 2018. 10. Iqbal K. The impact of romance novels on women’s sexual and reproductive health. J Fam Plann Reprod Health Care. 2014;40:300–2. 11. Krentz JA. Dangerous men and adventurous women. Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press; 1992. 12. Leach, S. How the hell has Danielle steel managed to write 179 books?” Glamour, May 9, 2019. https ://www.glamo ur.com/story /danie lle-steel -books -inter view. 13. Luther, J. Courtney Milan on feminism and the romance novel. Shondaland, February 27, 2019. https ://www.shond aland .com/inspi re/books /a1675 2742/court ney-milan -on-femin ism-and-the- roman ce-novel /. 14. Mohammed, F. The business of the romance novel. Jstor Daily, February 11, 2019. https ://daily .jstor .org/the-busin ess-of-the-roman ce-novel /. 15. Moran, L. Stephen colbert flusters stacey abrams by reading her own romantic fiction. Huffington Post, April 4, 2019. www.huffi ngton post.com/abram s. 16. Pagan, A. A brief history of the romance novel. New York Public Library, February 15, 2018. https ://www.nypl.org/blog/2019/02/15/brief -histo ry-roman ce-novel -recom menda tions . 17. Penny Reid. I’ve seen my books called…. Twitter, June 3, 2019. https ://twitt er.com/ReidR omanc e/ statu s/11356 15107 59189 2993. 18. Regis Pamela. A natural history of the romance novel. Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania; 2003. 19. Rivera, J. Sparks explains his process and why he hates the label ‘romance’. MediaBistro, 2018. https ://www.media bistr o.com/inter views /so-what-do-you-do-nicho las-spark s-bests ellin g-roman ce- novel ist/. Accessed 8 June 2019. 20. Rockett, D. Resistance in romance. Chicago Tribune, 2017. http://digit aledi tion.chica gotri bune. com/tribu ne/artic le_popov er.aspx?guid=0b277 2ff-eafb-4993-b6f9-4bac6 6a2fc 59. Accessed 2 June 2019. 21. RWA. About the romance genre. Romance Writers of America; 2018. https ://www.rwa.org/ Onlin e/Resou rces/About _Roman ce_Ficti on/Onlin e/Roman ce_Genre /About _Roman ce_Genre .aspx?hkey=dc7b9 67d-d1eb-4101-bb3f-a6cc9 36b52 19. 22. Sutherland J. You can judge a person by their book covers. Guardian Features Pages. 2005;2:113. 23. Warner, K., Sabrina, R.W. 29 Legitimately good erotic novels you must read. Cosmopolitian, February 27, 2019. https ://www.cosmo polit an.com/enter tainm ent/books /a3650 6/eroti c-novel http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://time.com/4718350/romance-novels-are-feminist/ https://time.com/4718350/romance-novels-are-feminist/ https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/mar/08/women-are-having-different-fantasies-romantic-fiction-in-the-age-of-trump%3ffbclid%3dIwAR1stHOVW6F7Fjvzd7BZWwH7uvXKzkMKAbD0-8_fFBkIV5Y-61Or0k8AY_8 https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/mar/08/women-are-having-different-fantasies-romantic-fiction-in-the-age-of-trump%3ffbclid%3dIwAR1stHOVW6F7Fjvzd7BZWwH7uvXKzkMKAbD0-8_fFBkIV5Y-61Or0k8AY_8 https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/mar/08/women-are-having-different-fantasies-romantic-fiction-in-the-age-of-trump%3ffbclid%3dIwAR1stHOVW6F7Fjvzd7BZWwH7uvXKzkMKAbD0-8_fFBkIV5Y-61Or0k8AY_8 https://www.ericksonliving.com/tribune/articles/2017/02/history-romance-novel https://www.ericksonliving.com/tribune/articles/2017/02/history-romance-novel https://www.thedailybeast.com/sexy-novels-are-good-for-your-teenagers-brain-and-body https://www.glamour.com/story/danielle-steel-books-interview https://www.shondaland.com/inspire/books/a16752742/courtney-milan-on-feminism-and-the-romance-novel/ https://www.shondaland.com/inspire/books/a16752742/courtney-milan-on-feminism-and-the-romance-novel/ https://daily.jstor.org/the-business-of-the-romance-novel/ https://daily.jstor.org/the-business-of-the-romance-novel/ http://www.huffingtonpost.com/abrams https://www.nypl.org/blog/2019/02/15/brief-history-romance-novel-recommendations https://www.nypl.org/blog/2019/02/15/brief-history-romance-novel-recommendations https://twitter.com/ReidRomance/status/1135615107591892993 https://twitter.com/ReidRomance/status/1135615107591892993 https://www.mediabistro.com/interviews/so-what-do-you-do-nicholas-sparks-bestselling-romance-novelist/ https://www.mediabistro.com/interviews/so-what-do-you-do-nicholas-sparks-bestselling-romance-novelist/ http://digitaledition.chicagotribune.com/tribune/article_popover.aspx?guid=0b2772ff-eafb-4993-b6f9-4bac66a2fc59 http://digitaledition.chicagotribune.com/tribune/article_popover.aspx?guid=0b2772ff-eafb-4993-b6f9-4bac66a2fc59 https://www.rwa.org/Online/Resources/About_Romance_Fiction/Online/Romance_Genre/About_Romance_Genre.aspx%3fhkey%3ddc7b967d-d1eb-4101-bb3f-a6cc936b5219 https://www.rwa.org/Online/Resources/About_Romance_Fiction/Online/Romance_Genre/About_Romance_Genre.aspx%3fhkey%3ddc7b967d-d1eb-4101-bb3f-a6cc936b5219 https://www.rwa.org/Online/Resources/About_Romance_Fiction/Online/Romance_Genre/About_Romance_Genre.aspx%3fhkey%3ddc7b967d-d1eb-4101-bb3f-a6cc936b5219 https://www.cosmopolitan.com/entertainment/books/a36506/erotic-novels-you-must-read/%3futm_source%3dtwitter%26utm_medium%3dsocial-media%26src%3dsocialflowTW%26utm_campaign%3dsocialflowTWCOS 16 Publishing Research Quarterly (2020) 36:1–16 1 3 s-you-must-read/?utm_sourc e=twitt er&utm_mediu m=socia l-media &src=socia lflow TW&utm_ campa ign=socia lflow TWCOS . 24. Wendell S. Everything I know about love I learned from romance novels. Naperville: Sourcebooks Casablanca; 2011. 25. Wendell S, Tan C. Beyond heaving bosoms: the smart bitches’ guide to romance novels. New York: Touchstone; 2009. 26. Wright, J. Women who miscarry could be criminally investigated under Georgia’s new abortion law. Harper’s Baazar. 2019. https ://www.harpe rsbaz aar.com/cultu re/polit ics/a2745 4956/what-does-georg ias-abort ion-law-mean-women -who-misca rry/. Accessed 28 July 2019. Publisher’s Note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. https://www.cosmopolitan.com/entertainment/books/a36506/erotic-novels-you-must-read/%3futm_source%3dtwitter%26utm_medium%3dsocial-media%26src%3dsocialflowTW%26utm_campaign%3dsocialflowTWCOS https://www.cosmopolitan.com/entertainment/books/a36506/erotic-novels-you-must-read/%3futm_source%3dtwitter%26utm_medium%3dsocial-media%26src%3dsocialflowTW%26utm_campaign%3dsocialflowTWCOS https://www.harpersbazaar.com/culture/politics/a27454956/what-does-georgias-abortion-law-mean-women-who-miscarry/ https://www.harpersbazaar.com/culture/politics/a27454956/what-does-georgias-abortion-law-mean-women-who-miscarry/ The Romance Publishing Industry and Its Reputation Abstract Introduction Defining Romance The Issue The Debate What Academics are Saying Is Romance Feminist? The Romance Formula Reader Experience Author Experience Findings References 
work_tqralrsdgzcahlkz25xvsyxgly	----	Microsoft Word - Elliott_Celebrity Authorship_Pure.docx 1 The celebrity of anonymity and the anonymity of celebrity: picture identification and nineteenth-century British authorship Kamilla Elliott, Lancaster University Post-referee, pre-proofs version. 18 month embargo by Taylor & Francis This article examines how the spaces between the words and images of various forms of picture identification (portraits, cartes de vistes, and early cinema) navigated the space between anonymity and identification to construct British writers as celebrities during the long nineteenth century. Literary authors in that period did not become celebrities by words alone, but through intersemiotic relations between words and images. These relations varied across technologies and ideologies, sometimes collaborating, sometimes vying for dominance, sometimes contradicting each other. These relations complicate and challenge late twentieth-century theories of authorship as well as illuminating nineteenth-century dynamics. Keywords: authorship; celebrity; picture identification; intersemiotic relations; portraiture; early cinema A dextrous half concealment of oneself—or even an entire mystery, so as to cause a universal inquest, as to ‘who is he I wonder?’ has been no idle charlanterie: and has been, more than almost anything else, ancillary to publication. Hence half the fame of Junius and three-fourths of that of Walter Scott.—Don Roll. De L. S. de la Manch, 1832 Joseph A. Boone and Nancy J. Vickers consider that ‘the middle ground is essential to anyone attempting to understand the breadth, depth, and intensity of the exchanges between […] producers and consumers’ of celebrity, as are middle grounds between ‘modes of oral communication between performer and audience […] the copying and circulation of manuscripts, the invention of print […] and the creation of electronic 2 media’ (Boone and Vickers 2011, pp. 905-906). This article treats two interrelated middle grounds, tracing how the spaces between the words and images of portraits navigated the space between anonymity and identification to construct British writers as celebrities during the long? nineteenth century. Richard Schickel has controversially claimed that ‘there was no such thing as celebrity prior to the beginning of the twentieth century’; before that, he argues, there was only fame (1985, p. 21). The Victorians, however, did distinguish between celebrity and fame, deeming the former a more trivial affair, as Schickel and others have done. In 1863, for example, Matthew Arnold assessed that Spinoza’s successors ‘had celebrity[;] Spinoza had fame’ (1863, p. 255). Spinoza’s celebrity endured and became fame, while his imitators had only the temporary popular flutter of his reflected image. Celebrity belongs to the present; only longevity stretching into the future can confirm fame. As in the twentieth century, nineteenth-century celebrity was embedded in pictorial images—but so too was fame. The public wanted to identify the famous and celebrated by pictures as well as words. In his preface to Portraits of Illustrious Personages of Great Britain, Edmund Lodge attests: ‘As in contemplating the portrait of an eminent person we long to be instructed in his history, so in reading of his actions we are anxious to behold his countenance’ (Lodge 1814, p. 2). Picture identification then and now consists of a combination of words and images. While today picture identification most commonly takes the abbreviated forms of passports, identity cards, and driving licenses, in the nineteenth century, named portraits were often starting points for more extensive identificatory processes, in which proper names spun into bulky biographies and faces into full-length bodies, as in Lodge’s volumes. 3 Today many critics worry about a ‘cultural shift towards a culture that privileges the momentary, the visual and the sensational over the enduring, the written, and the rational’ (Turner 2004, p. 4); in the nineteenth century, the focus was on tensions, rivalries, and collaborations between written and pictorial aspects of picture identification. The words and images of picture identification engage in reciprocal referentiality: the name identifies the image; the image identifies the name. Picture identification indicates a further reciprocity between pictures and persons: pictures identify persons, but persons also identify pictures. In the long nineteenth century, named pictures generated aesthetic, moral, and biographical discourses that further identified cultural ideologies and values. Debates over whether words or images are truer indicators of identity were particularly fraught in discourses of celebrity authors, whose celebrity initially was predicated on their production of words. At times, their images seemed to cement and confirm that celebrity; at others, they appeared to undermine it, as I detail below. Picture identification took various forms from engraved frontispieces to photographic cartes de visite to early motion pictures. Portrait frontispieces were often used to announce the identities of hitherto anonymous or pseudonymous authors within their works. By contrast, cartes de visite often identified authors apart from their proper names and writings. While some authors argued for the superior powers of images over words to represent their identities, others withheld their images from publication, forging a pictorial anonymity in order to be identified solely by their names and writings, as I demonstrate below. At the turn of the twentieth century, anonymous actors portrayed dead celebrity authors in motion pictures. These incursions of the theatrical into photographic realism and interchanges of moving images with filmed still portraits destabilized and fragmented older word-image 4 relations, such as named painted or engraved portraits. Consumers began to clamour for the names of anonymous actors such as ‘The Biograph Girl’, Florence Lawrence, who became a named attraction from 1910, when she moved to the Independent Motion Picture Company. Increasingly, celebrity authors were displaced by celebrity actors in motion pictures. Joining changing technologies, cultural ideologies created further variations in the picture identification of authors. In the first half of the century, picture identified authors were expected to manifest other values besides literary merit, depending on their class and gender. Bourgeois authors were invariably required to manifest moral character; those of noble birth could dispense with it and still be celebrities. For bourgeois women, the moral content of their writings often weighed more heavily than their literary merit; with the advent of photographic portraiture, popular hunger for female beauty placed new pressures on the picture identification of women writers, although as I argue below, photographs, like drawn and painted portraits, could be and were retouched. The point to glean from these and other expectations is that literary celebrity did not live by literature alone, but by images and other indices of cultural value, which literary celebrity was expected to confirm. Literary Authors and National Print Galleries No biography is complete without a portrait.—‘The Vanity Fair Album’ (1873: 384) The People’s Art Union’s1 Historic Gallery of Portraits assesses that ‘The union of History, Painting and Sculpture, and their dependence upon each other is so apparent as to render unnecessary any further observation’ (Anon 1845, p. v). Yet in any 5 academic study, further observations are generally made. Prior to the print technologies that made illustrated literature increasingly affordable, portraits were held in private collections, only occasionally exhibited to the public. The preface to the Biographical History of England, celebrates engraving’s dissemination of portraiture: ‘no invention has better answered the end of perpetuating the memory of illustrious men than the modern art of engraving’ (Granger 1769, p. xiv). This eighteenth-century illustrated portrait gallery privileges royals, aristocrats, and the dead: those whose past celebrity has become present fame. In the nineteenth century, however, William Jerdan’s National Portrait Gallery (1830-34) celebrates present- day celebrities, seeking to cement their current celebrity as future fame by fixing their picture identification in print: it is the grand object of the National Portrait Gallery to preserve and transmit to posterity the features and the memory of those who have earned greatness in the present age in all the paths that lead to distinction or to glory […] their plan embraces beauty, illustrious birth, the church, the law, the army, the navy, the sciences, the fine arts, and the literary character. (Jerdan 1830, 1: pp. 7-8)2 Although Jerdan’s criteria include ‘illustrious birth’, no one appears solely on that basis; all of his aristocrats must manifest professional achievement as well. Concomitantly, his first picture-identified authors, George Gordon, Lord Byron (volume 1) and Sir Walter Scott (volume 3), are of noble birth, bridging older and newer criteria for celebrity. His other literary authors—William Wordsworth, Hannah More, and Jane and Anna Porter—are middle class. All are celebrated for their moral character as well as literary merit: Wordsworth for his benevolence, beauty, universal sympathy, natural religion, and faith in universal moral harmony (Jerdan 1833, 4: p. 3).3 Moral character plays an even greater role in Jerdan’s picture identification of female authors, outweighing their literary merit: while the gallery’s men are the most 6 celebrated authors of the day, the women are not. Anna Porter is implicitly set against more popular women authors such as Ann Radcliffe, hailed for ‘the purity of her moral character, and the elevating religion of the soul … the simplicity of her manners, the affability of her temper’ (Jerdan 1834, 5: p. 7); Jane Porter is commended for ‘grave deportment’ (Jerdan 1834, 5: p. 8). While Byron is admitted to the gallery, no morally dubious middle-class author of either gender is allowed. Even so, he is judged by bourgeois values for his ‘wretched morality’ (Jerdan 1830, 1: p. 4), while Scott is lauded for his rejection of aristocratic ‘indifference’ and ‘selfishness’ and for undertaking literary labour rather than living in entitled indolence (Jerdan 1832, 3: p. 1). In both its exclusions and inclusions, the gallery inscribes a closed circuit of cultural value in which celebrities are valued according to bourgeois ideologies and bourgeois ideologies are valorized by celebrities. Anonymous Authorship and Picture Identification A portrait will not tell you all you want to know about a man; but it throws important light upon his character, and supplies a clue to much that might otherwise be dark and hidden.—‘The Vanity Fair Album’ (1873, p. 384) For Michel Foucault some 150 years later, it is the proper name that allows authors to become subjects of discourses that celebrate them (Foucault 1984). However, the fact that nineteenth-century authors often published anonymously and that consumers were obsessed with seeing pictures of authors problematizes the applications of his theory to the period. In 1830, 80% of novels were published anonymously or pseudonymously (Griffin 2006, p. 49). The proper name that constitutes the core of Foucault’s theory was thus more often than not withheld, substituted, collapsed into 7 initials, and displaced by common nouns (for example, ‘by a lady’). The common noun ‘author’ was frequently identified by the proper names of book titles (for example, ‘by the author of “Waverley”’; ‘by the author of “Sense & Sensibility”’). Some works were entirely unsigned by any of these substitute indicators (Griffin 2006, Eckroth 2012). Another limitation of Foucault’s theory for discussions of nineteenth-century literary celebrity is his distinction between the author function from the biographical connotations of an author’s proper name: ‘the author’s name, unlike other proper names, does not pass from the interior of a discourse to the real and exterior individual who produced it’ (Foucault 1984, p. 107). As with film stars of the twentieth century (De Cordova 1990, p. 98), the biographical lives of celebrity authors were a central public focus: ‘we are no sooner interested by the writings of an author, than our curiosity is awakened for his history, his fortune, and his character’ (Anon 1788, p. v). For many scholars, such interest is as essential to the definition of celebrity as the proper name (Ives 2012, p. 1). More central to my focus in this essay, Foucault’s emphasis on the proper name and verbal discourse obfuscates the centrality of visual representation to celebrity (Boone and Vickers 2011, p. 907). When nineteenth-century authors undertook the passage from anonymity to celebrity, whether by their own agency or that of others, during their lifetimes or after their deaths, they did not do so by proper names and words alone, nor merely by words and images working ‘in tandem’ (Ives 2012, p. 4); they did so by forging intersemiotic1 exchanges of words and images within various forms of picture identification. 1 Intersemiotic refers to a translation or exchange between two different types of media (Banting 1995, p. 11). 8 Picture identification requires a proper name; the honorific picture identifications of print galleries therefore rested uneasily with conventions of anonymous authorship. All of the authors celebrated by Jerdan began their careers anonymously (Griffin 2006, pp. 49-50; Stott 2003, pp. 63 and 97; Greenfield 1996, p. 268). Discussing the failure of John Keats and Thomas Chatterton to attain celebrity in their lifetimes, Leo Braudy considers that: ‘In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century an increasingly fame-choked world was beginning to reach out for solace and value to anonymity and neglect as emblems of true worth’ (Braudy 1986, p. 425). However, the etymologies of anonymity (‘without a name’) and celebrity (‘drawing a crowd’) indicate that the two words are not antonyms; nor are celebrity and fame: rather, celebrity is implicated in the etymology of fame (‘celebrated in fame’), while nameless authors became objects of discourse without proper names, and were celebrated in the sense of ‘much talked about’ (OED). Griffin identifies pragmatic reasons for anonymous publication in the period: ‘modesty, anxiety over reception, and fear of prosecution […] to explore assumed identities, to escape a prejudged reception based on one’s previous work, or to trick one’s critics’ (Griffin 2006, pp. 48 and 50). Nineteenth-century critics were every bit as savvy as twentieth-century scholars, understanding that authors published anonymously as a ‘gimmick to attract attention and sustain sales’ (Hayden 1970, p. 4). Stephanie Eckroth’s statistical study of the Romantic literary marketplace challenges prior feminist explanations for female anonymity, demonstrating that men were as likely to hide their names as women (some even used female pseudonyms), and that successful female novelists who revealed their proper names following anonymous beginnings garnered the highest book prices (Eckroth 2012, pp. 20 and 26-28). Anonymity, then, fuelled and enhanced celebrity in various ways. 9 Although Foucault considers that an author’s proper name is required for her to become a function of discourse, the absence of authorial proper names ushered in a host of celebratory discourses, arguably more than the proper name alone. Scott, for example was nominated ‘The Great Unknown’, along with a panoply of other celebratory adjectives and common nouns (Hayden 1970, p. 4), laying a verbal red carpet along which he could reveal his proper name at the Annual Theatrical Edinburgh Fund Dinner in February 1827 (Anon 1827, p. 154). The nineteenth-century passage from anonymity to celebrity further problematizes Roland Barthes’s poststructuralist theory of ‘the death of the author’. Barthes’s resounding poststructuralist obituary for Romantic theories of transcendent, original, individual, expressive authorship reconfigures relations among authors, texts, and readers: [W]riting is the destruction of every voice, of every point of origin … the voice loses its origin, the author enters into his own death, [when] writing begins … [There is] no other origin than language itself, language which ceaselessly calls into question all origins … it is language which speaks, not the author … [A] text is not a line of words releasing a single ‘theological’ meaning (the ‘message’ of the Author-God) but a multi- dimensional space in which a variety of writings, none of them original, blend and clash … a text is made of multiple writings, drawn from many cultures and entering into mutual relations of dialogue, parody, contestation, but there is one place where this multiplicity is focused and that place is the reader, not … the author. (Barthes 1977, pp. 142, 143, 146, 148) 10 Although Scott announced his identity in a speech at the dinner, it was widely canvassed prior to that in various oral and printed discourses; following his announcement, he maintained anonymity within the pages of his published works; only after his death did his proper name appear on them, as on a tombstone. In an anachronistic parody and literalization of Barthes’s theory, the biological death of the biographical author allows the proper name to be printed. Scott’s death further allowed him to be picture identified as the author of his books within and apart from their pages, as engraved portraits were purchased in the thousands. These worked less to satisfy a quest for his name than to identify his personality. When in 1834 Charles Tilt printed and sold 14,000 mezzotint engravings of Charles Robert Leslie’s portrait of Scott, an Atlas reviewer read the image to identify Scott’s character through his physiognomy: We have never seen a greater power of expression than is lodged in the eyes of this portrait … the benevolence that breathes between the lips, impressed indeed with the energy of thought, but mild in their firmness […] all as vivid and as faithful as in the picture itself and that is all but reality. (Anon 1834, p. 307) The images of portraits, then, opened spaces for authorial identity to be written by others beyond the proper name and public actions and for these identifications to be identified with ‘reality’. Named portraits were also spaces in which to contest the relative identificatory authority of words and images. Both writing and portraits were deemed to manifest soul, psyche, and character (ref). Romantic theories of expressive authorship viewed writing as the expression of the author’s biographical life: ‘The life of Wordsworth is 11 in his works, and the biographer can do little more than give the outline of a career, to be filled up from his own pages’ (Jerdan 1833, 4: p. 3). Chorley similarly conflates the biographical and authorial identities of Felicia Hemans: ‘the woman and the poetess being one’ (Chorley 1828, p. 5). Today, in spite of theoretical refutations of expressive authorship, scholars still write of ‘reading Scott’ and other authors, conflating authorial names with the names of their works (Elliott, 2012a, p. 179). Such conventions were fuelled by anonymous publication: we have seen that, in the absence of a proper name, authors were often identified by the proper names of their novels. When novels were titled with the names of their protagonists, authors were further nominally identified and often conflated with principal characters. Such associations were intensified in novels purporting to be written by their protagonists. In 1839, Charles Dickens used picture identification not only to assert his authorship over his illustrators (Cohen 1980) and the playwrights who adapted his fiction (Gould 2011, p. 130), but also to set his biographical authorial identity against the authorial claims of his characters. Until its last instalment, Nicholas Nickleby was credited as ‘edited by Boz’, Dickens’s pseudonym, and authored by its eponymous protagonist. The frontispiece illustrations to earlier instalments, following literary conventions, represented Nicholas. However, the frontispiece of the final instalment displaced Nicholas with a portrait of Dickens engraved from a painting by Daniel Maclise. It further displaced the usual printed caption bearing the protagonist’s name with a facsimile of Dickens’s signature, ‘Faithfully yours, Charles Dickens’ (Patten 2001, pp. 16-33). In the book that followed the serialization, the authorial portrait and handwritten signature lie on the left page facing a printed title page that confirms that the novel’s author is Charles Dickens. 12 This picture identification did more than reveal this author’s proper name; it was also deemed to reveal his character. Today, biographers still read the characters of authors through their fiction, while handwriting, especially autographs, still serves as proof of legal identity. Many nineteenth-century critics believed that a man’s character is manifested in his writing. The penmanship of one individual differs widely from that of another individual […] When a man signs his name, he does something which, so to speak, brings out himself; and he generally throws into his signature a decisiveness which in the rest of his writing you may vainly look for. (Anon 1858, p. 11) The epigraph to this section indicates that portraits too were seen to indicate character. Writing and portraiture, however, were not seen to represent character in the same ways. Rather, they were perceived to engage in a reciprocal, inverse relationship: Romantic theories of writing emphasised expressivity; neoclassical theories of portraiture foregrounded immanence; expressivity moves from the inner to the outer; immanence moves through the outer to the inner (Elliott 2012b, pp. 28-29). Together, picture identification exposes and invades identity from the inside out and the outside in. Authors therefore wrestled for control over their picture identification and wrangled over which aspects of picture identification would predominate in their identification. Writing foregrounds authorial agency; unless the author has drawn a self-portrait, portraiture emphasises the artistic agency of another, while its passive immanence prioritizes viewer penetration of and discourses upon the image. Dickens’s handwritten signature asserts the expressivity and individuality of the writing author against the impersonality and uniformity of print; although it too is mass-produced, ‘the facsimile autograph created the illusion of cultlike aura in an age of mechanical reproduction’ (Blake 2008, p. 42). It further asserts the self-identifying, 13 expressive authorial body writing against the body painted and engraved by other hands and the words uttered by viewers upon that image.4 While Jane Austen’s identity was not revealed in print until after her death, Charlotte Brontë cast off anonymity during her lifetime to identify herself as author of Jane Eyre when its authorship was conflated with that of her sisters. She seized on their deaths to write a biographical notice identifying them as dead authors and herself as a living author. She equally bristled at being identified with her fictional protagonist. When her literary idol, William Makepeace Thackeray, introduced her as Jane Eyre, she protested vehemently, insisting that she would never introduce Thackeray as one of his characters (Smith 1900, pp. 790-791). Dickens and Brontë were not alone in shaking off anonymity to differentiate their identities from other authors and their own characters. George Eliot revealed her identity when another author claimed to have written Adam Bede. But George Eliot was not her biographical name. Kyriaki Hadjiafxendi considers that Mary Ann Evans hid behind the male pseudonym George Eliot ‘in order to empty out her name from her personality and separate her life from her work’ (Hadjiafxendi 2013, p. 189). Patricia Zakreski extends the idea beyond Eliot and the female gender: The belief in literature as a revelation of personality was repeatedly denied by writers throughout the second half of the nineteenth century not only because it destabilised private respectability; it also undermined the perception of literature as a professional occupation for both men and women. (Zakreski 2006, p. 138) Yet intriguingly, while Brontë would not identify Thackeray with his characters, she readily identified him with his portrait: ‘At a late hour yesterday 14 evening I had the honour of receiving, at Haworth Parsonage, a distinguished guest, none other than W. W. Thackeray, Esq.’ The letter describes the arrival of his portrait, which she continues to mockingly conflate with his person: Mindful of the rites of hospitality, I hung him up in state this morning. He looks superb in his beautiful tasteful gilded gibbet. For companion he has the Duke of Wellington … and for contrast and foil Richmond’s portrait of an unworthy individual, who, in such society, must be nameless [Charlotte Brontë]. Thackeray looks away from the latter character with a grand scorn, edifying to witness. (Brontë 2004, p. 128) Tellingly, while she makes no rhetorical distinction between Thackeray and Wellington and their portraits, she differentiates herself from her own portrait, nominating it a ‘character’. The distinction suggests that she denies identity to others’ identification of her; by contrast, her letter makes no distinction between her verbally represented self, the ‘I’ of the letter, or her signature at its end. She is thus willing to equate her identity with her autobiographical writing. Beyond her conflation of Thackeray with his portrait, Brontë’s possession and reading of it grant her authority to identify and judge him as a character and to do so in writing: To me the broad brow seems to express intellect. Certain lines about the nose and cheek betray the satirist and cynic; the mouth indicates a childlike simplicity—perhaps even a degree of irresoluteness, inconsistency—weakness in short, but a weakness not unamiable. (Brontë 2004, p. 128) 15 Following her conflation of the man and portrait, she engages physiognomy to read the portrait as moralist and art critic, differentiating Thackeray the man from his portrait: The engraving seems to me very good. A certain not quite Christian expression […] an expression of spite, most vividly marked in the original, is here softened, and perhaps a little—a very little—of the power has escaped in this ameliorating process. (Brontë 2004, p. 128, original emphasis) Paradoxically, while engraving allows the wider dissemination and discursive judgment of celebrity portraits, its artifactuality mitigates that judgment by softening the irreligious expression of spite in the painting that it copies. Yet Brontë proclaims herself undeceived and ‘hangs’ Thackeray all the same. Here and elsewhere, discourses on picture identification from the 1790s on granted unprecedented discursive authority to women over those considered to be their social superiors (Elliott 2012b, pp. 171-185). In this case, a nameless, fledgling woman author judges and gibbets a male literary lion. Brontë’s own ‘nameless’ portrait, unlike Thackeray’s, was not mass-produced and circulated until after her death in Gaskell’s biography (1857), both supporting feminist claims about the immorality of circulating images of early Victorian women during their lifetimes (e.g., Smith 1999, pp. 93-94) and protecting Brontë from similar character judgments. However, the popularity of women authors in engraved print galleries and the fact that moral critiques extended to male as well as female picture identification (Fern 1862) moderates feminist claims. 16 Aesthetic as well as moral conventions restricted the picture identification of women authors early and mid-century. Both Jane Austen’s brother and Charlotte Brontë refused to send portraits of their dead siblings to accompany their biographical notices, probably because they were amateur productions by family members. By contrast, when Charlotte died, her portrait by George Richmond fulfilled aesthetic conventions (see the bibliography for a link to the portrait). Eventually, in the absence of any professional portrait, Cassandra Austen’s sketch of Jane (Figure 3) was altered by watercolourist James Andrew before engraving by William Home Lizars (Figure 4) for her nephew’s memoir in 1870 (Kirkham 2005). As female authorial names were not always accompanied by portraits, so too, portraits of female authors did not always bear their proper names. When Samuel Laurence’s portrait of George Eliot was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1867, it was identified only as ‘The author of “Adam Bede”’ (Anon 1881, p. 47). While critics have explicated this in terms of Eliot’s sexual impropriety and mid-century prudery, that the highly moral Elizabeth Gaskell was also unnamed decades later in a posthumous portrait suggests that other dynamics were operative. Writing of Gaskell’s bust erected at Knutsford post office in 1898, a critic considers that ‘Sufficient indication is given of the name in the fact that a copy of “Cranford” lies at the base of the figure, together with a quill pan and a laurel wreath’ (Payne 1900, p. 120). Here it seems that while the sculpted image is no longer deemed immodest, to name it with her proper name goes one step too far. The portrait undoes Gaskell’s declaration of her authorial name forty-one years earlier on the title page of Charlotte’s biography, where she too used the death of a ‘sister’ author to identify herself not only as the author of the biography, but also of her hitherto anonymously published novels, doing so more definitively than Brontë, who retained her 17 pseudonym in print. The bust re-anonymizes Gaskell’s authorship even as it claims to celebrate it, displacing her biographical name with the title of her most celebrated work and pictorial symbols of authorship. If picture identification was often lacking for women authors, women authors were equally often considered lacking for picture identification. The primary claims to picture identification for females had for centuries been rank and beauty; the beautiful Countess Blessington met these criteria and her portraits were exhibited, engraved, and widely circulated unproblematically much earlier in the century (Hawkins 2012). By contrast, she was deemed lacking in literary merit: Chorley critiques Blessington for ‘display[ing] little—too little, perhaps—of the authoress’ in her writings (Chorley 1828, p. 36, original emphasis). Richmond’s portrait of Charlotte Brontë and Laurence’s of Eliot were, by all contemporary accounts, highly flattering. The reproduction of Laurence’s portrait (see Figure 1), together with a carte de visite photograph of Eliot on the National Portrait Gallery website (see Figure 2), allows viewers to make a comparison. Similarly, Austen’s portrait by Cassandra (Figure 3), was not only clothed and coiffed by Andrew to suit Victorian tastes (Figure 4), her sharp, satiric, squinting, intellectual face was redrawn to meet standards of female beauty and moral character (Kirkham 2005, pp. 70 and 77). The partiality (in both senses of the word) of such picture identifications resulted in layers of pictorial anonymity and pseudonymity being retained or reinscribed. 18 Fig. 1 Samuel Laurence’s portrait of George Eliot [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons Fig. 2 George Eliot (Mary Ann Cross (née Evans)), carte de visite, London Stereoscopic & Photographic Company © National Portrait Gallery, London Fig. 3 Portrait of Jane Austen in watercolour and pencil by Cassandra Austen (c. 1810) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons Fig. 4 Engraving of Jane Austen by William Home Lizars from a watercolour by James Andrews of Maidenhead based on an unfinished work by Cassandra Austen [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons) 19 Photographing Celebrity Authorship [T]he use of the carte de visite, in making us familiar with the features of those who have made themselves famous, is indubitable. It seems as if we could not realize the nature of a man's sayings or doings unless read by the light of his countenance. (Wynter 1863, pp. 315-316) Photographic technologies expanded picture identification and produced new interchanges between anonymity and celebrity. While contemporary scholars join Walter Benjamin’s critique of mechanical reproduction (Easley 2013, p. 39; Blake 2008, p. 42), in 1863 Andrew Wynter cautions, ‘It is a great mistake to suppose that the art of [photographic] portrait-taking has degenerated into a mere mechanical trade’ (Wynter 1863, p. 308). Many Victorians saw photographs as portraits painted by the sun in interaction with chemicals, a product of nature and science rather than art, a process that intensified the immanence of portraiture. In 1843, Elizabeth Barrett Browning considered the daguerreotype to be ‘the very sanctification of portraits’, preferable to ‘the noblest Artist’s work ever produced’, because it was a ‘facsimile’ of the body, ‘the very shadow of the person lying there fixed for ever’, and ‘delicate beyond the work of the engraver’ (Browning 1983, 2: pp. 357-358). Anne Thackeray found photographic portraits to be more revealing of another’s identity than words: ‘a photograph of your friend will to a certain point, tell you more about him in one minute than whole pages of elaborate description. You see him himself—the identity is there’ (Thackeray 1876, p. 358). When new technologies allowed photographs to be affordably mass-produced, photographic cartes de visite (small photographs, approximately 9 x 6 cm, mounted on card) of celebrities and unknowns sold between 300 and 400 million annually, peaking in 1862 (Blodgett 1979, p. 67).5 In that year, American columnist Fanny Fern contrasts the sacred, private, intimate exchange of one-of-a kind portraits, whether 20 painted or daguerreotype, to the promiscuity of mass-produced photographs publicly displayed: There was a time when the presentation of one’s ‘likeness’ meant something. It was a sacred thing, exchanged only between lovers or married people, kept carefully from unsympathizing eyes, gazed at in private as a treasure apart. But we have changed all that now. People like their faces to hang out at street doors, and in galleries, to lie on everybody's and anybody's table in albums, and to be hawked about promiscuously and vulgarly […] for the gaze of the curious. (Fern 1862, p. 12, original emphasis) Like Brontë and Thackeray, Fern makes no rhetorical distinction between persons and their representations. Cartes of male authors circulated more widely than those of women: a periodical journalist indicates that ‘Literary men have a constant sale: Dickens, Thackeray, and Trollope, are bought for every album’ (‘Cartes de Visite’, Once a Week 1862, p. 136); no female author is mentioned. Apart from their dowdy Queen, the public preferred female photographs of beauties, particularly princesses, actresses, and singers. In this context, popular sensation fiction writer Mary Elizabeth Braddon forged a bridge across two indices of value for this new mode of picture identification, just as author-aristocrats Byron, Scott, Blessington, and Morgan had done for engraved picture identification in the 1830s. Braddon had been an actress and was considered attractive; her carte de visite circulated widely from 1865. One posted on the National Portrait Gallery website indicates that it did not bear the author’s name in print, but rather a caption gesturing to older anonymous practices of crediting authors: ‘Authoress of Lady Audley’s, Secret, Aurora Floyd &c.’. The carte, however, bears her proper name as autograph; it appears to have been added by the 21 author in heavy black ink. This was, however, not peculiar to women or authors; most cartes de visite did not bear printed names at all. Instead, they bore the names of the studios that produced them. The assumption was that the name was unnecessary; the face ‘told’ the name. One of the hallmarks of nineteenth-century authors who passed from celebrity to fame (in Arnold’s sense) is that their cartes identify them to posterity without names, by contrast to the thousands of unidentified cartes of unknowns circulating today among collectors in antique shops, galleries, museums, and reprinted in books or posted on the World Wide Web. By the end of the century, it was commonplace to picture identify women authors whether they were beautiful or not. In 1893, Helen C. Black published Notable Women Authors of the Day: Biographical Sketches with Portraits, collecting them together in a series published in Lady’s Pictorial. Many were not particularly notable, even then; few were beautiful by standards of the day; all include autographs. As with Dickens’s and Brontë’s portrait signatures, many address the reader-viewer in the second person (‘Very sincerely yours’, ‘Ever yours affectionately’), perhaps to offset third-person objectification and physiognomical judgment. The picture identification of living women authors within the pages of their own fiction was pioneered in the last quarter of the century. In 1875, the daring Ouida (Marie Louise de la Ramée) sent a photograph of herself to be engraved for the frontispiece of the German edition of her novel, Signa (Moody 2013, p. 116). By the end of the century, portraits of authors were common in works of fiction regardless of gender. As with the withholding of the name early in the century, late in the century, withholding one’s portrait in a quest for pictorial anonymity intensified the celebrity effect of subsequently providing one. For years, Marie Corelli (Mary Mackay) forbade publication of her photographs. Wanting to be identified by words produced 22 by her body rather than images of her body produced by others, she substituted her autograph on title pages and imprinted her embossed initials on book covers (White 2013, pp. 205-207). When she finally authorized a photograph to be printed in The Treasure of Heaven (1906), it broke sales records, selling 100,000 copies on the first day. While this was undoubtedly a savvy business move, Corelli may have withheld her image for other reasons: she insisted that the photo be retouched to make her appear younger and more slender (White 2013, p. 212; see Pope 2009 for before and after images). Here, a female author renders her own picture identification pseudonymous and partial—quite literally so, as she orders parts of her body and facial lines to be removed. Yet more often than not, photographic technologies produced a loss of control over one’s images. In 1856, Dickens protested against ‘the multiplication of my countenance in the Shop-Windows’ (Dickens 1995: 8.245). With the advent of Kodak cameras, authors were constantly photographed by fans; while they could withhold their autographs, they could not elude photographic capture. Thomas Hardy and Ouida both expressed distaste for being ‘kodaked’; Ouida wrote of ‘[t]he intolerable Kodak’ and ‘the intolerable interviewer’ who jointly sought to picture identify her in the popular press (Green-Lewis 1996, p. 68; Ouida 1897, p. 187). With the development of photographic technologies, the general population was not only able to afford to be photographed, but also to take photographs, democratizing and dispersing celebrity picture identification. Moving Picture Identification The advent of moving pictures created other dynamics between anonymity and celebrity. Living authors appeared on screen in propria persona. The prologue to Masks and Faces (Ideal 1917), for example, depicts dramatists George Bernard Shaw, 23 James Barrie, and Arthur Pinero discussing the beneficial exchanges of theatre and film (see Elliott 2003, pp. 115-116). In this and other films, moving images of authorial bodies are divorced from their names, as in cartes de visite, announced by film credits on separate title cards rather than below their images. Their moving bodies speak, but their uttered words are muted and represented as writing on title cards. These ruptures between pictures and names and the substitution of writing for speech opened up new intersemiotic exchanges between and within words and images, simultaneously building on and fracturing older modes of picture identification. The representation of muted speech as writing reinforces the notion that writing expresses the biographical author; it equally blurs distinctions drawn between the two by linguists and philosophers. Early films representing dead authors also rework prior technologies of picture identification. The establishing shot for a 1922 British film of Vanity Fair, for example, represents Thackeray’s face carved out in filmic close-up from a three- quarter-length frontispiece portrait produced for an 1898 edition of his collected works. Still portraits in film conventionally signal dead or absent persons; the image presents the author as dead and absent not only in fact, by also contrast to the moving images of his fictional characters. His dead image simultaneously births and authorizes the film (its copyright is predicated on his biographical death), and the film is credited to other authors. By contrast, the Edison company’s 1915 film of Vanity Fair presents ‘Thackeray’ (played by Harold Hubert) as a living author writing the book and, implicitly, the film, which is bookended by scenes of ‘Thackeray’ starting to write the book and finishing it (see Elliott 2012a). In ‘The Death of the Author’ Barthes perceives ‘Writing [to be] that neutral, composite, oblique space where our subject 24 slips away, the negative where all identity is lost, starting with the very identity of the body writing’ (p. 142). Barthes castrates the writing hand from both speech and body as ‘a pure gesture of inscription’ (1977a, p. 146). Edison’s Vanity Fair (1915), however, restores the writing hand to the body and represents ‘the very identity of the body writing’. Unlike Edison’s Thackeray, the actor playing the writing ‘Dickens’ in the film company Zenith’s Old Scrooge (1913) remains uncredited. To credit the actor would attach two names to one picture, undermining both the author function and the authorial picture identification. Foucault considers that the author function is lost when an author is proven not to have written texts attributed to him; in literary film adaptation, however, the author name and function extend to works that the author is known not to have written. Old Scrooge undertakes a redoubled exchange of anonymity and celebrity. As mentioned above, the actor playing Dickens is not credited. Seymour Hicks, on the other hand, who wrote the screenplay and took the role of Scrooge, is not credited as the film’s writer. This enhances the author illusion performed by the actor playing Dickens and foregrounds Hicks’ own celebrity as an actor. Moreover, far from differentiating the author from his characters, ‘Dickens’ becomes a character in the film, costumed and shot like his characters. In the Nordisk film company’s David Copperfield (1923), this equation of the author with the characters becomes didactic. Its penultimate scene depicts David celebrating the success of his first novel; the final sequence claims character name as authorial pseudonym: Intertitle: Fifteen years later we find a famous author in the happiest period of his life. He calls himself--David Copperfield . . . Long shot: David, Agnes, and three children seated in a garden 25 Superimposed title: . . . But his real name is . . . CHARLES DICKENS . . . Medium close-up shot: a middle-aged uncredited actor as Charles Dickens The picture identification, achieved by interplays and overlays between film words and images, reinscribes celebrity and anonymity through eponymity. However, the removal of the pseudonym and revelation of the ‘real name’ are undermined by the moving images that represent the ‘real’ Charles Dickens by an actor. The withheld name of the actor subverts the revelation of the ‘real name’ with a new anonymity. Since two named actors have already represented the child David (Buddy Martin) and the young man David (Gorm Smidd), the final shot presenting an uncredited, middle- aged actor as Charles Dickens gives the audience a total of six actors and characters in search of an author. If the identical images and names of mass-produced picture identification seek to fix an individual identity, the picture identification of early cinema multiplies and fragments names and faces so that the author’s identificatory indeterminacy arises from a surplus rather than an absence or lack of images and names. Increasingly, the public’s quest to discover the identities of anonymous actors would create a new craze for picture identification (de Cordova 1990, p. 98) that would eclipse the interest in picture identifying literary authors. Many critics find emptiness and nonexistence—anonymity—at the core of mass-produced picture identification (e.g., Easley 2011, p. 39). Structuralist theorists declare an essentialist opposition between words and images (Elliott 2005, pp. 1-2), and poststructuralist theorists proclaim the death of authors and a divorce between biographical and literary author names. However, as we have seen here, the picture identification of authors over the long nineteenth century actually forged a panoply of competing, conflicting, changing intersemiotic relations between the words and 26 images that navigated passages from anonymity to celebrity to reveal the interdependence of all four. Notes 1 The People’s Art Union was established in 1837 ‘for the advancement of the Fine Arts’ (Morning Chronicle, 11 April 1837). 2 In 1788, the editors of the Catalogue of Five Hundred Celebrated Authors of Great Britain, Now Living also assessed that ‘The world is now better disposed to do justice to living merit’ (1788, p. iv; see Ives 2012, p 1). 3 Each entry begins on a new page 1. 4 Dickens only picture-identified himself within his fiction once: subsequently, he returned to convention, allowing frontispieces representing characters to face the title page. 5 See Blodgett for the technical specifications of cartes de visite. Notes on contributor Kamilla Elliott is Professor of Literature and Media in the Department of English and Creative Writing at Lancaster University. Her principal teaching and research interests lie in relations between British literature of the long nineteenth century and other media. Author of Rethinking the Novel/Film Debate (Cambridge University Press, 2003) and Portraiture and British Gothic Fiction: The Rise of Picture Identification, 1764-1835 (Johns Hopkins University Press, 2012), she is currently working on sequels to both: Rethinking the Adaptation/Theorization Debate and British Literature and the Rise of Picture Identification, 1836-1918. Professor Kamilla Elliott English and Creative Writing Lancaster University Bailrigg, LANCS LA1 4YD Office: County Main B211 k.elliott@lancaster.ac.uk References 27 Anon, 1788. Catalogue of Five Hundred Celebrated Authors of Great Britain, Now Living. London: R. Faulder. Anon, 1827. Sir Walter Scott, the Avowed Author of the Waverley Novels. The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, 9 (242), 3 March, 154-155. Anon, 1834. Leslie’s Portrait of Sir Walter Scott. In: A. A. Watts, ed., The Literary Souvenir. London: Longman, Reese, Orme, Brown, Green, & Longman, 307. Anon, 1858. Graphiology. 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Screened Writers. In: D. Cartmell, ed. The Blackwell Companion to Literature, Film, and Adaptation. Oxford: Blackwell, 179-197. —, 2012b. Portraiture and British Gothic Fiction: The Rise of Picture Identification, 1764-1835. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Fern, F., 1862. Then and Now. The American Scrap Book and Magazine of United States Literature, vol. 2, 12. Foucault, M., 1984. What is an author? In: P. Rabinow, ed. The Foucault Reader. New York: Pantheon, 101-120. Gaskell, E.C., 1857. The Life of Charlotte Brontë. London: Smith, Elder, and Co. George Eliot, carte de visite, by London Stereoscopic & Photographic Company albumen print. Available at http://www.npg.org.uk/collections/search/portrait/mw189744/George-Eliot- Mary-Ann-Cross-ne- Evans?LinkID=mp01124&search=sas&sText=george+eliot&role=sit&rNo=8 [Accessed 25 July 2016]. Gould, M., 2011. The Theatre. In: S. Ledger and H. Furneaux, eds. Charles Dickens in Context. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 125-132. 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In: J. O. Hayden, ed. Walter Scott: The Critical Heritage. London: Routledge, 1-24. Ives, M. C., 2012. Introduction. In: A. R. Hawkins and M. C. Ives, eds. Women Writers and the Artifacts of Celebrity in the Long Nineteenth Century. Farnham: Ashgate, 1-12. Jerdan, W., 1830-34. National Portrait Gallery of Eminent Personages of the Nineteenth Century; with Memoirs, 5 vols. London: Fisher, Son, & Jackson. Kirkham, M., 2005. Portraits. In: J. Todd, ed. Jane Austen in Context. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 68-82. Lodge, E., 1835. Portraits of Illustrious Personages of Great Britain, with Biographical and Historical Memoirs of their Lives and Actions. London: Harding and Lepard, vol. 1. Moody, N., 2013. Defending Female Genius: The Unlikely Cultural Alignment of Marie Corelli and Ouida. In: A. King and J. Jordan, eds. Ouida and Victorian Popular Culture. Farnham: Ashgate, 108-128. Ouida, 1897. An Altruist and Four Essays. Leipzig: Tauchnitz. Patten, R. L., 2001. From Sketches to Nickleby. In: J. O. Jordan, ed. The Cambridge Companion to Charles Dickens. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 16- 33. Paul, F., 1917. Masks and Faces. London: Ideal Film Company. Pope, C., 2009. The Mysterious Marie Corelli: Queen of Bestsellers. Notes from a Victorianist and Small Publisher, 12 May. Available from: http://blog.catherinepope.co.uk/2009/05/the-mysterious-marie-corelli-queen- of-bestsellers/. Accessed 12 June 2015. Payne, G. A., 1900. Mrs. Gaskell and Knutsford. Manchester: Clarkson & Griffiths. Rowden, W. C., 1922. Vanity Fair, Tense Moments with Great Authors film series, London: Master Films. Sandberg, A. W., 1922. David Copperfield. Copenhagen: Nordisk Film. Schickel, R., 1985. Intimate Strangers: The Culture of Celebrity in America. Chicago: Gideon Productions, Inc. Smith, G. M., 1900. Charlotte Brontë. Cornhill Magazine, 9, December, 778-795. 31 Smith, S. M., 1999. American Archives: Gender, Race, and Class in Visual Culture. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Stott, A., 2003. Hannah More: The First Victorian. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Thackeray, A., 1876. Toilers and Spinsters and Other Essays. London: Smith, Elder, & Co. Turner, G., 2004. Understanding Celebrity. London: Sage. White, L., 2012. Commodifying the Self: Portraits of the Artist in the Novels of Marie Corelli. In: A. R. Hawkins and M. Ives, eds. Women Writers and the Artifacts of Celebrity in the Long Nineteenth Century. Farnham: Ashgate, 205-218. Wynter, A., 1863. Photographic Portraiture. Subtle Brains and Lissom Fingers, and Other Papers. London: Robert Hardwicke, 297-317. Zakreski, P., 2006. Representing Female Artistic Labour, 1848-1890: Refining Work for the Middle-Class Woman. Farnham: Ashgate. 
work_tt2cjt5gy5hddizfll7vpxb2p4	----	International Journal of Language Academy ISSN: 2342-0251 DOI Number: http://dx.doi.org/10.18033/ijla.328 Volume 3/4 Winter 2015 p. 43/50 International Journal of Language Academy Volume 3/4 Winter 2015 p. 43/50 THE ROLE OF VARYING VIEWPOINTS OF READERS IN EXAMINING A NOVEL: A STUDY ON READER-RESPONSE APPROACH AND PERSONAL CONSTRUCT THEORY1 Bir Roman İncelemesinde Okuyucuların Çeşitli Bakış açılarının Oynadığı Rol: Okur Merkezli Yaklaşım ve Kişisel Kurgu Teorisi Üzerine Bir Çalışma Muhammed Metin ÇAMELİ2 Abstract The primary goal of this study is to find out perspectives of a group of English language learners as autonomous readers upon a detailed examination of a novel throughout eight sessions named as “literature sessions” held on a weekly basis. The study is based on the implementation of a process incorporating the assumptions of Reader- Response Approach and Personal Construct Theory as the fundamental means in its essence. The novel examined during the sessions referred was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen and the participants consisted of 10 prospective ELT and ELL Departments students attending sessions at Istanbul Aydın University English Preparatory School in 2012 -2013 Academic Year. A questionnaire administered that aimed to find out the attitudes of the participants to the act of reading a novel from many aspects was given at first. Following that, literature sessions were held and written responses of the learners about the topics discussed were collected and the points on which they agreed or disagreed were illustrated with the help of tables. The analysis of the results of the questionnaire given before the sessions, the response papers collected and the tables presented in the study were very serviceable in making an observation of the shift in their perspectives of themselves as independent readers. This being the case, this study with its results may be an initiative for other studies concerned with the same issue with more participants. Key Words: Novel, independent reading, reader-response approach, personal construct theory. Özet Bu çalışmanın temel hedefi, “Edebiyat Oturumları” olarak adlandırılan ve sekiz hafta boyunca düzenli olarak gerçekleştirilen oturumlar aracılığıyla, İngilizce öğrenen bir grup öğrencinin özerk okuyucu nitelikleri yardımıyla bir romanın detaylı analizine ilişkin bakış açılarını keşfedebilmektir. Çalışma, Kişisel Kurgu Teorisi ve Okur Merkezli Eleştiri yaklaşımlarının varsayımlarını asli yöntemler olarak bünyesinde bulunduran bir işlemin uygulanmasına dayanmaktadır. Atfedilen oturumlarda incelenen roman Jane Austen’ın Pride and Prejudice (Gurur ve Önyargı) adlı eseridir ve çalışmaya 2012- 2013 Eğitim-Öğretim yılında İstanbul Aydın Üniversitesi Hazırlık Okulunda öğrenim gören ve ileride eğitim alacakları bölümler 1 An earlier version of this study was previously presented in Çukurova International ELT Teachers (CUELT) Conference: An Insider View into Practice, in Adana, Turkey, May 21-22, 2015 2 Instructor, Istanbul Aydın University, e-mail: metincameli@aydin.edu.tr Article History: Received 28.10.2015 Received in revised form 14.11.2015 Accepted 21.11.2015 Available online 15.12.2015 http://dx.doi.org/10.18033/ijla.328 file:///E:/3-4%20IJLA/IJLA%20SON%20YAYIN/metincameli@aydin.edu.tr Muhammed Metin ÇAMELİ International Journal of Language Academy Volume 3/4 Winter 2015 p. 43/50 44 İngiliz Dili ve Edebiyatı ile İngilizce Öğretmenliği olan 10 öğrenci katılmıştır. Bir romanın incelenmesi konusuna ilişkin katılımcıların çeşitli yaklaşımlarını ortaya çıkarmak hedefiyle kendilerine öncelikle bir anket uygulanmıştır. Bunu takiben, edebiyat oturumları düzenlenerek öğrencilerin bu oturumlarda tartışılan konulara değin fikirlerini içeren yorum metinleri toplanmış, öğrencilerin hemfikir olduğu ve de olmadığı noktalar tablolar aracılığıyla görsele aktarılmıştır. Oturumlardan önce uygulanan anketin sonuçlarının analizi, her oturumdan sonra toplanan yorum metinleri ve çalışma içerisinde aktarılan tablolar, katılımcıların özerk okuyucular olarak kendilerinde gördükleri değişimleri gözlemlemelerinde oldukça faydalı olmuştur. Bunların ışığında, bu çalışma, sonuçlarıyla birlikte, aynı konuya ilişkin daha fazla katılımcı ile gerçekleşen çalışmalar için öncü olabilme niteliğine sahiptir. Anahtar Sözcükler: Roman, bağımsız okuma, okur merkezli eleştiri, kişisel kurgu teorisi. INTRODUCTION It is widely known that the question of teaching literature with its direct relevance to exploring the role of readers has invariably been an object of attention for a large number of researchers in the literary realm. The studies carried out with a view to defining the role of readers in literary analysis have also emphasized the significance of the interaction between a reader and a literary text since they are believed to be inextricably intertwined with one another. Iser (Tompkins, 1980, p.55) stresses the crucial nature of the relationship between a text and its reader by touching on the dependency of making of meaning in a work on its reader to introduce the peculiarity of the realization of meaning during the process of reading. Based on this premise, it can be said that it falls more to the reader than to the instructor for determining the main conveyance of a novel analyzed in a literature course. The novel as a genre is an ideal medium for gaining a better insight into the interaction between a reader and a text in that it is the genre that enables readers to identify themselves easily with what is being narrated. As Frye (2000) maintains” The novel tends to be extroverted and personal; its chief interest is in human character as it manifests itself in society.” (p. 9) In other words, the vivid presentation of human experience and worldly events in a novel with its projection of the lifestyle of the period in which it was written make it simpler for many readers to associate what they read with what they experience in real life. Apart from that, the privilege of the genre lies behind its sense of liberty inherent in its narrative mode as it is pointed out by Robert (2000)”The novel can do what it wants with literature; it can exploit to its own ends description, narrative, drama, commentary, monologue, and conversation; it can be either in turn or at once, fable, history, parable, romance, chronicle, story and epic.” (p. 58) Relevantly, this emergence of the combination of teaching literature and the study of the interaction between a reader and a text as a crucial component of the present study calls into question the role of differing opinions of readers in a thorough analysis of a novel. Each distinct reader has the great potential of bringing a new dimension to the ways in which a novel can be examined thereby rendering it almost impossible to say that there is a fixed way of teaching the particulars of a novel in a literature course. As stated by Rosenblatt (1995) “Teaching becomes a matter of improving the individual’s capacity to evoke meaning from the text by leading him to reflect self critically this process. The starting point for growth must be each individual’s effort to marshal his resources in relation to the printed page. The teacher’s task is to foster interactions- or more precisely, transactions between individual readers and individual literary texts.” (p. 25-26) The Role of Varying Viewpoints of Readers in Examining a Novel: A Study on Reader-Response Approach and Personal Construct Theory International Journal of Language Academy Volume 3/4 Winter 2015 p. / 45 LITERATURE REVIEW The presence of an abundance of researches along with many methods considered to be effective in clarifying the issue of how to teach a novel and using the novel as a means to create independent learners make it fairly necessary to have a mental exercise upon the extent of the power of a learner rather than that of an instructor as the provider of knowledge in this process. That being the case, the first striking element of the issue in question can be said to be the central place the novel occupies as a genre with its relatedness to theories of Reader- Response and Personal Construct in the overall analysis of the present study. Taking into consideration the priority that the novel gives to tackling with human experience, the significant nature of the novel as a complementary part of literary studies seems to be certainly indisputable while the issue of defining what a novel is has remained remarkably contentious. However, in broader terms, it might be depicted as a piece of work in prose with its components of meaning like its plot, theme or the specific message inherent in it to be conveyed, whereas, figuratively, it might be likened to a building with many windows, each of which opens to another aspect of humanity to be known. As Crane (2007) puts it likewise “Defining the novel is easy: It is a fictional prose narrative of substantial length. While one may question the distinction between fact and fiction or the requirement the novel be written in prose, this simple definition seems generally apt, describing the books we commonly label as novels. ” (p. 1) A clarification upon the particulars of the novel as a genre in accordance with the purpose of the present study makes it essential to lay a great deal of emphasis on Reader Response Theory that could be regarded as one of the most influential one thanks to the change it brought with itself to the world of literary criticism starting from the early phases of 1940s and onward. Louise Rosenblatt, as the proponent of the theory, is doubtlessly the critic who is worthy of being mentioned as a highly distinguished figure since the change referred is actually a drastic change that led to the formation and adoption of new conceptions of teaching literature with her theory. Based on the premise that the meaning of a literary text resides in a reader’s mind, the theory obviously seeks undiscovered reasons why readers of the same text respond quite differently to it. As it is claimed by Rosenblatt (1995)“The reader, drawing on past linguistic and life experience, links the signs on the page with certain words, certain concepts, certain sensuous experiences, certain images of things, people, actions, and scenes. The special meanings and, more particularly, the submerged associations that these words and images have for the individual reader will largely determine what the work communicates to him.” (p. 30) In the content of the present analysis, another pre-eminent figure “Wolfgang Iser” occupies a remarkable place under the title of a critique of Reader Response Criticism with his special concentration on the study of the response of distinct readers to a literary work. The first and most important fact to be indicated about him is Iser meets on a common ground with Rosenblatt in terms of the way in which he believes how the meaning of a literary text should be studied on the part of any reader. Iser’s noticeworthy element in his analyses of a reader’s role in literature is apparently the effort he puts into making it clear for all the readers from all walks of life that the particular ways through which they interpret a work are certainly what make them who they are as readers. As Lategan (1991) mentions “According to Iser, the text contains certain deliberate “gaps” or “open spaces”. These structured blanks spur the reader to action and entice him or her to supply the missing information in order to make sense of what is said. In this way the text requires an input from the reader and makes the reader responsible for the realization of the text as meaningful discourse.” (p.150) Underlining the influence of one’s Muhammed Metin ÇAMELİ International Journal of Language Academy Volume 3/4 Winter 2015 p. 43/50 46 background or life experience just like Rosenblatt does, Iser aims to turn readers into more conscious individuals of the power they have as autonomous meaning-makers. He attaches a great deal of importance to having a better insight into the reading process and reader reception as Freund (1987) puts it likewise, “Iser’s name is associated with the school Rezeptionsasthetik that has sprung up at the university of Konstanz in West Germany, whose focal interest, as the name indicates, is the aesthetics of literary reception. Within this framework, Iser’s special concern is the reading process without which the aesthetics of reception cannot be described.” (p.135) Under the guidance of Reader Response Theory, the study of the novel as a genre with a view to defining the role of a productive reader who is assumed to produce the meaning in a work with his/her own means requires to elaborate on the illumination provided by “George Kelly” with the cores of his “Personal Construct Theory” to a serious extent. Personal Construct Theory, as the name carries with itself the word “construct”, is related to the notion of constructivism that bases the origin of all the things in the world on people’s ability of constructing in their minds how everything should operate together with their expectation of substantiating what they believe to be true as regards their worldviews. From Kelly’s perspective, everyone in the world is like scientists who have their own constructs on every single thing or event they experienced or are likely to experience in the future. As Midgley clarifies (2000) “The other important aspect of Kelly’s philosophy is his claim that an individual works to construct his or her reality primarily in terms of activities. Thus, what is of primary importance in the construction of a reality is the alternative paths for action that the individual has taken, or could take in the future. It is the things that are perceived as impacting on decision-making for actions that become part of a reality.” (p. 26) Therefore, it is right to claim that what Kelly achieves through the theory which functions like an explanatory part of understanding how people can define themselves as independent decision-makers in their lives and as producers of meaning of a novel or any other work in the field of literature, too. As Fransella (1995) points out, “Kelly tried to encompass all aspects of human experiencing within his single theory of personal constructs. We are forms of motion. We are experiencing, living beings. We are our feelings, our thoughts, and our unconscious processes. He tried to build into his theory descriptions of everything we talk about as relating to being human-learning, motivation, emotions and perceptions.” (p. 51) The parallelism between Personal Construct Theory’s main messages and those of Reader Response Theory along with its relevance to defining the leading role readers play in studying a novel becomes also much easier to understand when Kelly’s corollaries are studied. His corollaries that are made up of eleven ones in total are highly important for the present analysis in that an examination of them definitely helps the hidden reasons behind individuals’ different perspectives in literary interpretations to come to the fore. Among the corollaries, “Fundamental Postulate” stands out as the most essential one to be introduced in regard to its elaboration on the psychological processes of people. For Kelly, going deeper into these processes facilitates the task of grasping what constitutes the anticipation differences among people as Monte and Sollod (2003)stress in their analyses of Kelly and his corollaries, “ A key word in Kelly’s fundamental postulate is anticipate because it is the need for prediction that Kelly sees as fundamental.” (p. 537) By processes, Kelly actually means a person’s experiences, thoughts, feelings which all come together to enable people to have varying anticipations about the world. Furthermore, what is more to-the-point about Kelly’s corollaries, especially about the postulate, is its applicability to the field of literature since what is proposed through it by Kelly renders it possible for a researcher to see why readers do not think in the same way while interpreting the message of a work. The Role of Varying Viewpoints of Readers in Examining a Novel: A Study on Reader-Response Approach and Personal Construct Theory International Journal of Language Academy Volume 3/4 Winter 2015 p. / 47 When all the points emphasized are taken into account, it is appropriate to hold the view that the integration of Reader Response and Personal Construct Theories into the investigation of the reasons of the inconsistencies among readers’ interpretations enhances individuals’ understanding of the fact that each reader has to be differentiated from one another in terms of the varying methods they employ to reach to the bottom of a literary work. More importantly, it can also be maintained that the relationship between these two theories and the usage of the novel for the targeted success of the study demonstrate one important point: the process of studying a novel is not necessarily made up of attempting to ingrain the very conventional methods of teaching a novel to the minds of the students by turning them into dependent and nearly incapable individuals of putting themselves across to the others. Methods Participants The participants of this study consisted of 10 students of prep classes of ELL and ELT Department of Istanbul Aydın University in 2012-2013 academic year. All the participants took part in the study voluntarily and their ages ranged from 18 to 25 with the average of 20. The group consisted of 10 female students who participated in the literature sessions held regularly throughout eight weeks. In the process of data collection, they had 28 hours language courses in a week and they studied English in intermediate or upper-intermediate level. They also had at least 4 hours of reading lesson in their own prep class schedule. Their literary background and engagement with literature differed from one another; however, what they shared in common was that they were quite fond of literature as the individuals having spent much of their free time reading English novels independently. Instruments During the data collection period, all the instruments used in the study were: 1. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen was utilized as the novel about which all the participants had long discussions each week after having been assigned some specific sections of the work. The discussions about the literary medium referred provided the participants with the opportunity to share their own viewpoints with one another and to make an observation of themselves as independent decision- makers of the meaning inherent in the novel. 2. A questionnaire written in Turkish, with the aim of preventing any comprehension difficulty from coming to the surface, was utilized. The centralized concern of the questionnaire was to find out learners’ varying viewpoints upon the analysis of the novel as genre coupled with the methods they adopt for a better comprehension of it. The questionnaire administered had three sections. 3. Following each literature session, response papers of the participants were collected and utilized to be able to have an overall analysis of their understanding of reading process and more importantly, of the examination of an English novel. Procedure The information about the chapters of Pride and Prejudice to be covered together with some important pages and lines to be read were given to the participants before each literature session so that they all could be well-prepared for the discussion. Starting from Muhammed Metin ÇAMELİ International Journal of Language Academy Volume 3/4 Winter 2015 p. 43/50 48 the first session to the eighth one, the students seized the chance of exchanging their perspectives with each other regarding the key points ranging from defining who an independent reader is to major themes of the novel or a comparative study of the remarkable conceptions like the role of women projected in the novel with the one projected in the modern world. In addition to that, they were able to integrate other fields of studies such as psychology or philosophy into the subject matter of the discussion thereby making a visible progress in the process that led them to realize they key that they hold in their hands as the mere decision–maker of messages to be sent in the novel. Data Analysis On the basis of the results of the questionnaire administered and of the literature sessions held, the data elicited from the participants helped to compare the answers and feedback of each one of them about the things asked in the questionnaire and discussed in the sessions. The comparison is primarily dependent upon learning strategies and studying methods of the participants concerning the subjects that are especially at the center of the sessions. To add, the data elicited can be said to have shed light over the uncertainty of determining the level of students’ view of how to analyze a literary work with the methods they prefer to employ. Results The analysis of the items in the questionnaire and of the elements in the literature sessions together with the illustration of them with the help of tables is a highly significant component of the present study. Considering the number of tables that are 18 in total, 1 table was formed depending on the study of the items in the questionnaire and 1 another table was formed depending on the study of the elements in the literature sessions and they were chosen as exemplary ones and shown below. The illustration of the tables below proves the extent to which they served the purpose of having an overall assessment of students’ understanding of the ways in which a novel should be examined. Table 4.1 Students’ Attitudes towards Reading Novels in English 1: Always 2: Usually 3: Sometimes 4: Never Considering the purpose and function of the item 1, the table above can be said to demonstrate that students like reading novels in English and they have an obvious interest in studying this specific genre. The frequency of students who said that they always enjoy reading novels is 50 percent and of students who said that they usually like it is 40 percent. The presentation of the results with the percentage given is an adequate evidence to prove that reading novels appeals to the students’ interest. As for item 2 that aimed to investigate whether students regard themselves as successful in reading novels, 1 2 3 4 f % f % f % f % Item 1 5 50 4 40 1 10 - - Item 2 2 20 7 70 1 10 - - The Role of Varying Viewpoints of Readers in Examining a Novel: A Study on Reader-Response Approach and Personal Construct Theory International Journal of Language Academy Volume 3/4 Winter 2015 p. / 49 it can be claimed that students really find themselves good at reading this genre since the frequency of the students who claimed that they usually believe themselves to be good at reading novels is 70 percent. Table 5.8 Students’ opinions about the progress they have made as autonomous learners The results above presented with the help of the discussion and questions in the last session demonstrate the fact that the participants agree with the view that the sessions held played a significant role in shaping their characteristics as independent readers of a novel. Their satisfaction with their parts in the discussions is self-evident from their response to the questions and from their feedback since 80 percent of them believes that what they thought before starting to analyze Pride and Prejudice and what they think after the final session pose a contrast to one another. In other words, most of them had the presupposition that embarking on the task of examining a literary work by basing the interpretation about the essence of it on what they consider to be crucial may not be an ideal way to come to a consensus, however 8 students out of 10 changed their perspective as regards the ideal analysis of a work thanks to the literature sessions held. Conclusion The number of the students participating in the study was ten, thus the results cannot be generalized. The results of the present study may be an initiative for other studies concerned with the same issue with more participants. Considering the findings of the data analysis, it must also be emphasized that they helped to gain a much better insight into the varying perspectives of distinct learners as regards the issue of creating independent readers with the usage of the novel as a genre. Literature Session Eighth The Overall Analysis of All the Major Points Discussed and A Self- Evaluation of the Progress Made as Independent Learners f % Before I started taking a part in the sessions held, I used to believe that a thorough analysis of a work meant merely studying it with the help of the teacher perspectives. 8 80 Literature sessions helped me to be convinced about the fact that discussing ideas about a literary work with other participants has a direct influence upon increasing a learner’s self-esteem both for himself and for the others thereby respecting each other’s varying ideas. 8 80 Now, I have the idea that examination of a literary incorporates many parts and renders it possible for learners to do an independent study when necessary. It does not necessitate a teacher-based evaluation of what is true or what is wrong about the particulars of a book. 7 70 Muhammed Metin ÇAMELİ International Journal of Language Academy Volume 3/4 Winter 2015 p. 43/50 50 All the things reanalyzed, the participants who helped with their utmost to conduct the study, to have a mental exercise on the questions posed, to prove their ability as independent learners were the ones contributing to the administration and success of the present study to a serious extent. References Crane, G. (2007).The Cambridge introduction to the nineteenth century American novel. New York: Cambridge University Press. Fransella, F. (1995). George Kelly. London: Sage Publications. Freund, E. (1987). The return of the reader/reader-response criticism. New York: Methuen. Frye, N. (2000). From anatomy of criticism: Four essays. In McKeon, Michael, A Critical Anthology Theory of the Novel A Historical Approach. Baltimore, Md: The John Hopkins University Press. Iser, W. (1980). The Reading Process: A phenomenological approach. In Tompkins, Jane P., Reader-Response Criticism from Formalism to Post Structuralism Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press. Lategan, B.C. (1991). Reception: Theory and practice in reading romans 13. In Hartin, P.J and Petzer, J.H., Text &Interpretation New Approaches in the Criticism of the New Testament. The Netherlands: Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data. Midgley, G. (2000). Systemic Intervention: Philosophy, methodology, and practice. New York: Kluwer Academic/Plenum. Monte, C. F. and Robert N. S. (2003). Beneath the mask an introduction to theories of personality. USA: 7th Edition, Wiley. Robert, M. (2000). From origins of the novel. In McKeon, Michael, A Critical Anthology Theory of the Novel A Historical Approach. Baltimore, Md: The John Hopkins University Press. Rosenblatt, L. M. (1995). Literature as exploration. New York: 5th Ed. The Modern Language Association of America. 
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work_u24t7jjk6ve2jnilx5do2jerou	----	Chicago By Frank Lentricchia --------------- Criticism and Social Change Lentricchia has written an ideal complement to After the New Criticism. By taking up the central arguments and political implications of the work of Paul de Man, Lentricchia goes beyond his earlier critique as he revises, from his explicitly activist position, the consequences of poststructuralist theory. "Frank Lentricchia's new book is a pleasure to read. ... 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work_u7t2a7mhkjacpdbkqteipunypu	----	67 ―The mere habit of learning to love is the thing‖: Janeitism and/in Karen Joy Fowler‘s The Jane Austen Book Club Gabriela-Iuliana COLIPCĂ-CIOBANU  Ioana MOHOR-IVAN** Abstract To the present day, Jane Austen has remained a subject of almost religious adoration for her numerous fans, the Janeites, who keep returning to her writings, take interest in the films and the popular works derived from them, and even seek to surround themselves with objects that remind them of their ‗beloved‘. Determined by the desire to engage in social practices that emulate Austenian sociability (O‘Farrell 2009: 478-80), many of Jane Austen‘s ―everyday enthusiasts‖ (Wells 2011: 11) have joined reading groups/ book clubs in order to discuss her fiction and to better understand its meanings. The flourishing of book clubbing and the reflection on the symbolic values attached to Jane Austen as an icon in the contemporary popular culture are foregrounded in Karen Joy Fowler‘s The Jane Austen Book Club (2004), a postmodernist novel which focuses on several issues in today‘s American society such as gender relations, private lives, public social interactions/rituals and cultural practices or rivalry between the arts, yet all seen in relation to the reception of Austen‘s novels by ―everyday‖ American readers. The paper proposes an analysis of this novel, considered illustrative for both postmodernist writing practices and the development of ―Austen cult and cultures‖ (Johnson 1997) at the turn of the new millennium. Key words: Jane Austen, popular culture, postmodernism, intertextuality, reading practices/reader response Introduction Rivalling Shakespeare in terms of popularity with contemporary audiences, Jane Austen ranks among the best known and cherished names in English  Associate professor, PhD., ―Dunărea de Jos‖ University of Galați, gabriela.colipca@ugal.ro ** Professor, PhD., ―Dunărea de Jos‖ University of Galați, ioana.mohor@ugal.ro Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 68 literature. The Shakespeare myth, sustained by myriad forms of interpretation, adaptation and appropriation of the Bard‘s work, seems to be still essentially symbolic of a highbrow tradition of sophistication, prominence in the theatre and academic study requiring specialist expertise, despite the numerous attempts at overcoming the high/low culture divide through its integration in artistic products representative of and/or appealing to popular culture. Austen, though, as a literary and cultural icon emerging from an equally wide range of forms of reshaping her fictional worlds, is much better anchored in contemporary popular culture, being often perceived as ―common cultural property rather than the domain of specialists‖ (Lanier qtd. in Wells 2011: 20). On the one hand ―the favourite author of literary men‖ (unsigned review, 1870 qtd. in Fowler 2005: 263) and of academics – starting with R. W. Chapman (1923) and F. R. Leavis (1948)1 – Jane Austen has, on the other hand, gradually made her way to mass audiences‘ hearts through intense commodification and commercialization to the point of becoming, to use Henry James‘s famous, yet derogatory, phrase, ―dear, our dear, everybody‘s dear, Jane‖ (1905 qtd. in Southam 1987: 230), as both her novels and her persona ―have acquired a cult status‖ (Simons 2009: 471). Considering Austen‘s reception in the late twentieth century and early twenty-first century, Judy Simons remarks that: Never best sellers in their author‘s lifetime, today Austen‘s six novels have consistently high sales and are available across the world in paperback and hard cover editions from dozens of publishing houses. Her books have proved sufficiently elastic to suit the full range of modern media. (Simons 2009: 471) Particularly as a result of the boost given to the Austen cult by the 1995- 1996 film adaptations of Austen‘s most famous novels (Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Emma), the popularity of the English novelist‘s literary heritage has increased among ―everyday enthusiasts‖ (Wells 2011: 11), i.e. non-academic readers who devotedly return to her writings and take interest in the films and the popular works derived from them. What some critics label as today‘s ―Austenmania‖ (Pucci and Thompson 2003: 1) is often connected to the ―numerous re-presentations in the forms of novels, movies, television series, and fan fictions that keep flourishing from her fictional worlds and characters‖ (Svensson 2013: 203), recasting and Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 69 reconfiguring Austen in ―multimodal‖ forms of experience (Svensson 2013: 204). As Susanne R. Pucci and James Thompson explain, The Austen phenomenon is located within the interstices of the oral, visual, and spatial delivery systems, systems that reinforce each other and in turn reinforce the interaction among these media. Increasingly, this is the way cultural experiences are disseminated and consumed: see the film, read the book, buy the soundtrack, check out the Web site, visit the ‗actual‘ Austen sites in English country houses and countryside... (2003: 5) Thus, Austen herself, as a cultural icon, has become ―multi-faceted‖, liable to be marketed, in her turn, as ―a commodity, an industry, a corporation, and a celebrity‖ (Dryden 2013: 103). The ever-growing community of Janeites – mostly women nowadays – from all corners of the globe is able to experience Austen through more traditional forms related to the book- printing, film and television industries, but also through the ―new and developing modes of literacy and sociability‖ (Mirmohamadi 2014: 3) provided by the internet, be it in the forms of online platforms for literary and fannish production, blogs and message boards, or the YouTube channel (see also O‘Farrell 2009). Oscillating between ―attraction to social formation and removal from it to private readership‖ (O‘Farrell 2009: 480), the individuals constituting present-day ―Austenian subcultures‖ engage differently, in a more or less participatory manner, with Austen‘s work and biography, as well as with Austen-related cultural products, causing, hence, the ―Austen phenomenon‖ to evolve in multiple directions. Numerous professional writers, themselves Austen lovers, have contributed to and/or reflected on contemporary modes of reinforcing and sustaining the ―Austen brand‖ (Foster 2008). Some have chosen to customize Austen‘s life and work to the expectations of the new generations of Janeites, seeking to make connections and to close their ―gaps‖ in new texts that rely on a wide range of techniques from parody, pastiche, burlesque, shifts in narrative perspective, recontextualization, timeline expansion, to adaptation to popular genres like crime/mystery, fantasy/horror, erotica or Christian romance2. Equally capitalizing on Austen‘s popularity, others have engaged in more complex intertextual games with Austen‘s writings that would simultaneously allow them to pay tribute to ―dear Jane‖ and to explore various aspects of life in the contemporary society, the ―Austen phenomenon‖ included. Next to Helen Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 70 Fielding, the famous English author of Bridget Jones‘s Diary (1996), the American novelist Karen Joy Fowler, with her Jane Austen Book Club (2004), is a relevant example for this latter category. From the very title, Karen Joy Fowler‘s novel The Jane Austen Book Club (2004) announces itself as a symptom of the wide spreading of the ―Jane Austen syndrome‖ (Garber 2003) in the turn-of-the-millennium American society and a representation of patterns of behaviour that characterise at least some of today‘s Janeites – who oscillate between ―the fantasy of authorial possession‖ in the act of reading (O‘Farrell 2009: 478), the desire of ―becom[ing] the secret friend[s]‖ of Jane Austen (Mansfield 1920 qtd. in O‘Farrell 2009: 478), and the urge to seek opportunities to interact with other Austen lovers and, thus, to interiorize and to put into practice the Austenian ‗lesson‘ on ―sociability as an exercise in management of time, life and world‖ (O‘Farrell 2009: 480). This comes as natural from a writer who openly declares her love for Austen (―I‘ve always loved Austen. I read her books over and over again.‖ – Fowler, May 2004) and her adherence (even if temporarily) to the book clubbing ‗subculture‘: What I like about book clubs is how often they demonstrate the incredible controlling power the reader has, in the end, over the reading experience and the text. In the way book clubs usually operate, you‘ve all read the same book and you‘ve come to talk about it, but of course as you talk about it, you‘ve not read the same book at all: you‘ve sometimes read utterly different books. I‘ve been in a club with a fairly steady group for about five years, and I still cannot predict who‘s going to like what, or why. Obviously we bring our life stories to it, but I think we also must bring our last-week histories to it, so you pick up a book in a good mood or a bad mood. It has an enormous impact. (Fowler, December 2004) Such statements actually suggest the need for a more thorough consideration of The Jane Austen Book Club. This paper endeavours to prove that it is not just another Janeite‘s attempt at paying homage to her ‗idol‘ and at producing a text that engages in a more or less sophisticated dialogue with her work. Hidden under the ‗clothes‘ of what, at first sight, appears to be mere chick lit, there is a postmodernist novel that seriously considers current ways of engaging with and responding to literary texts (in this case, Jane Austen‘s) as well as the social practices they engender, Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 71 while also reflecting on issues of concern for the contemporary American society. At the crossroads: between highbrow and lowbrow That Karen Joy Fowler‘s intention is to blur, as expected from a postmodernist novel, ―the boundaries between popular and high art, between mass and elite culture‖ (Hutcheon 2006: 116) is indicated by both elements of the novel and the paratexts that frame it. Set in Sacramento Valley, California, the plot of the novel focuses on a group of six characters, five women (Jocelyn and Sylvia, both in their early fifties; the thirty year old Allegra, Sylvia‘s daughter; the sixty-seven year old Bernadette and the twenty-eight year old Prudie) and a man (Grigg, in his early forties). They have different backgrounds: Jocelyn is a dog breeder; Sylvia works as a librarian; Allegra is glamorous, gay, fond of extreme sports and keeps, for a while, the company of a young would-be writer, Corinne; Bernadette had been trained for a career in the entertainment business but chose that of a wife and married several times; Prudie teaches French at a high school; and Grigg has ―a temp job at the university, part of the secretarial pool‖ and is ―based in the linguistic department‖ (Fowler 2005: 137). For all these characters, the participation in the book club, initially organised by Jocelyn in her attempt to help her life-time friend Sylvia get over the difficult moment of her divorce from Daniel, ―her husband of thirty-two years‖ (2), also becomes an opportunity to bridge or simply ignore the differences between informed (e.g. Grigg‘s) and rather naive (e.g. Jocelyn‘s) ways of understanding literature, in particular Austen‘s novels. Interestingly and somewhat ironically, the paradoxical mixing of highbrow/lowbrow approaches to Jane Austen that pertain to the readers inside and outside the academic circles is most obvious in the construction of Prudie as the ‗true Janeite‘ in Fowler‘s novel. Prudie‘s academic training determines her to peruse the novels she reads and to fill numerous index cards ―in order to remember it all‖ (83), yet she refers to Jane Austen using only her first name, ‗Jane‘, hence in a very unscholarly manner which is rather reminiscent of the popular culture reception of the English writer ―as if she is a friend or even a family member‖ (Wells 2011: 3). Moreover, Prudie proves to lack the detachment required of a literary critic and, like the amateur Austen readers in the book club, embraces the idea that reading Austen‘s novels could function as a ―therapeutic practice‖ (Wells 2011: 22), Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 72 helping her find solutions to her personal problems. Along the same lines, it is worth mentioning that Prudie is explicitly associated with the ―ascribing [of] ‗divinity‘ to ‗Jane‘‖ (Lynch 2005: 113) characteristic of Austen‘s representation in the popular culture3, as it can be seen from the ‗coda‘ to Chapter Three, which focuses on ―read[ing] Mansfield Park with Prudie‖ (Fowler 2005: 81). In Prudie‘s dream, a God-like Jane Austen helps her regain peace of mind and overcome grief at her mother‘s death (which turns out particularly traumatising for Prudie, though she and her mother had had a difficult relationship): Without actually ascending a staircase, Prudie finds herself upstairs, alone, in a hall with many doors. She tries a few, but they‘re all locked. Between the doors are life-sized portraits interspersed with mirrors. The mirrors are arranged so that every portrait is reflected in a mirror across the hall. Prudie can stand in front of these mirrors and position herself so that she appears to be in each portrait along with the original subject. Jane arrives again. She is in a hurry now, hustling Prudie past many doors until they suddenly stop. ―Here‘s where we‘ve put your mother,‖ she says. ―I think you‘ll see we‘ve made some improvements.‖ Prudie hesitates. ―Open the door,‖ Jane tells her, and Prudie does. Instead of a room, there is a beach, a sailboat and an island in the distance, the ocean as far as Prudie can see. (115-116) Also, the exchange of opinions on Jane Austen and her novels (Emma, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, Northanger Abbey, Pride and Prejudice, and Persuasion, in the order in which they are referred to in the six ‗corresponding‘ chapters of Fowler‘s text) among the members of the book club both hints at the ―validation of the amateur reading association‖ as social practice and raises ―critical issues which concern Austen scholars: ownership, status, reception, genre, and the postmodern‖ (Simons 2009: 473). Equally relevant of Fowler‘s endeavour to efface the distinction between high and popular culture, as well as academic and amateur readers of Austen, are some of the paratexts added to her novel. Her so- called ‗Reader‘s Guide‘ is actually a quotation from Martin Amis‘s article ―Jane‘s World‖, published in The New Yorker in January 1996: Jane Austen is weirdly capable of keeping everybody busy. The moralists, the Eros-and-Agape people, the Marxists, the Freudians, the Jungians, the Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 73 semioticians, the deconstructors—all find an adventure playground in six samey novels about middle-class provincials. And for every generation of critics, and readers, her fiction effortlessly renews itself. (Amis qtd. in Fowler 2005: 251) Thus, Fowler uses a voice of authority in the present-day world of highbrow novel and academic studies to reinforce the ultimate message of her novel, namely that Jane Austen is above high art/ popular culture divisions as her novels ‗speak‘ to the readers, irrespective of the age and the (sub)culture they belong to. The following paratexts – ‗The Novels‘ (252-257) and ‗The Response‘ (258-283) – seek to meet the expectations of both uninformed and scholarly readerships. The former provides the ordinary reader with accessible plot synopses of the six novels by Jane Austen with which Fowler‘s own work establishes intricate intertextual relations. The latter addresses the connoisseur in literary criticism and invites her/him to embark on a long, yet fascinating ‗journey‘ along the ‗convoluted paths‘ of Austen‘s reception, recording comments by Austen‘s family members and friends providing her with feedback on her novels (e.g. Mansfield Park and Emma), as well as by ―critics, writers, and literary figures‖ considering ―Austen, her novels, her admirers, and her detractors through two centuries‖ (260) (from 1812 to 2003). Pastiching and departing from Austenian models It is important to notice that the fragmented discourse of Fowler‘s novel, marked by repeated movements back and forth in time, and the breaking up of the text by the use of spaces, titles in different font, small drawings of chairs, the introduction of ‗codas‘ to every chapter, several emails (exchanged between Grigg and his sisters) and even an advertising poster for an invented mystery novel (A Murder of Crows by Mo Bellington) (200), is largely held together by a cleverly-woven web of intertextual connections. Fowler introduces in her novel excerpts of various length from Jane Austen‘s Mansfield Park and Ann Radcliffe‘s Mysteries of Udolpho, from negative comments on Austen‘s novels by the American writers Mark Twain and Ralph Waldo Emerson or from the ‗treatises‘ of an eighteenth- century dancing master, Kellom Tomlison, in order to subtly hint at the deep meanings attached to the experiences that shape her characters‘ identities. More complex, though, are the links that establish between Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 74 Austen‘s and Fowler‘s fiction, beyond mere quotation. Fowler‘s exercise in ―artistic recycling‖ of Austen‘s work (Rabinowitz 1980 qtd. in Hutcheon 1985: 15) may be labelled as pastiche: it ―operates more by similarity and correspondence‖ (Hutcheon 1985: 38) with Austenian plots, characters and even writing style, and ―remains within the same genre as its model[s]‖ (Hutcheon 1985: 38). Fowler – the Janeite entwines in her narrative discourse realism with romance, the keen observation of interactions within both the domestic and the public spaces with the representation of the inner world of the characters. As Judy Simons rightfully remarks, [Fowler‘s novel] reinforces both Austen‘s provincial appeal – the six who form the club are small-town inhabitants, and as two members are a mother and daughter, a replica of Austen‘s ―three or four families in a country village‖ – and her transatlantic portability. The setting, in an American suburb with a distinctively twenty-first century outlook and culturally specific environment, indicates Austen‘s ability to transcend geographical distance and national boundaries. (2009: 473) Even if writing for and about another age and cultural environment, Fowler largely follows the Austenian ‗recipe‘: she constructs her novel around the making, breaking and re-making of couples, ultimately opting for a happy ending as the resolution of all narrative equations (see Tauchert 2005: 15). Nonetheless, she avoids falling into the trap of slavish and unproblematic imitation of her Austenian models. Thus, Jocelyn, who is single at the beginning of the novel, resembles Austen‘s Emma, as she is always in search for the right match for her friends. While they were still in high school, she‘d introduced Sylvia to the boy who would become her husband, and she‘d been maid of honour at the wedding three years after they graduated. This early success had given her a taste for blood; she‘d never recovered. (Fowler 2005: 3) That accounts for her endeavouring to find ―suitable young men‖ for Sylvia‘s daughter Allegra, ―switch[ing] to suitable young women‖ when she found out that Allegra was gay, and, maybe (as Sylvia suspects), even for her inviting Grigg – whom she had accidentally met at a hotel in Stockton where she participated in ―the annual meeting of the Inland Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 75 Empire Hound Club‖ and he attended ―a science fiction convention‖ (126) – to join the book club4. Her very profession, running a kennel and breeding Rhodesian Ridgebacks, allows Jocelyn to give ample time to this ‗hobby‘ of hers, i.e. match-making, and Fowler uses it as a source of metaphoric, somewhat ironic, hints at the profile of the ideal husband as envisaged by women in the postfeminist age, which is not very far from the one drawn in Austen‘s Emma and Pride and Prejudice: ―The dog show emphasizes bloodline, appearance, and comportment, but money and breeding are never far from anyone‘s mind‖ (39). However, Jocelyn‘s interactions with Grigg throughout the six months (from April to August) covered by the novel‘s storyline indicate that she is equally conceived as a contemporary Elizabeth Bennet who must get over deceiving ―first impressions‖, give up her pride and finally accept that the man with ―nice eyelashes and a funny name‖ who, she initially thought, ―didn‘t interest her in the slightest‖ (157), is actually her Mr Darcy. In the aftermath of the crisis that leads to her separation from Daniel, favoured by miscommunication between the spouses and Daniel‘s feeling that, for him at least, marriage has stopped being a source of fulfilment and happiness, Sylvia is revealed as having much in common with Anne Eliot from Austen‘s novel Persuasion. She continues to love her ex-husband, though she is trying to come to terms with his being involved with another woman (Pam), and enjoys the thought that Daniel might believe her attached to another man (when, while at home, preparing a few things to take to the hospital, after Allegra‘s accident, Daniel overhears a message Grigg left Sylvia on the phone, inviting her to have lunch with him). Daniel too slips into the shoes of Captain Wentworth when he chooses, as a means of reconciliation with Sylvia, a letter in which he confesses that he still loves her and asks to be given a second chance. The two are ultimately reunited, so their story ends happily, just like that of their Austenian counterparts. But, as in the case of Jocelyn, there is much more to say about Sylvia‘s Austenian dimensions. Her relationship with Allegra, her daughter, who comes back home to support her after the divorce, discloses her similarity to another Austenian character, Elinor Dashwood. Sylvia is, hence, the embodiment of ―sense‖, showing restraint, when it comes to expressing her feelings for her ex-husband Daniel, and being deeply devoted to Allegra (even more plausibly so, since, with Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 76 Fowler, Sylvia is a mother, not a sister figure) when the latter gets injured at a local climbing gym and is hospitalised. That Allegra stands for ―sensibility‖ among Fowler‘s characters is repeatedly implied in the novel. This gay Marianne Dashwood turns out to be, like her Austenian model, ―everything but prudent‖, ―sensible and clever, but eager in everything; her sorrows, her joys, could have no moderation‖ (Austen 2012: 5). That accounts for Allegra‘s enthusiasm with extreme sports like skydiving and climbing, ignoring the inherent risks, her loss of self-control when betrayed by her lover Corinne, her Willoughby (who takes advantage of Allegra‘s bedtime confessions to make up for lack of inspiration and to make a name as a short-story writer), as well as for her attempt at regaining her equilibrium at home, in Sylvia‘s company, until she can find love and happiness again (with Dr. Yep). Only in the Epilogue does Fowler depart from the Austenian formula and proposes a less ‗happy‘ ending to Allegra‘s quest for the right match: she moves ―back to San Francisco and back with Corinne‖ (Fowler 2005: 249), much to the dissatisfaction of her family and friends who find it ―hard to have a good feeling about the relationship‖ (250). Trapped between an authoritarian mother, who seems, above all, interested in preparing her daughter to become a star in Hollywood, and an indulgent father, a dentist who is ―pushed and prodded and coaxed and sulked‖ by his wife until he gets his daughter ―introduced to someone somewhere in that chain of someones‖ (166), Bernadette unavoidably reminds the reader of one of the Bennet girls in Pride and Prejudice. Her first marriage may strike one as quite similar to the Lydia Bennet – Wickham subplot line in Austen‘s novel5. Bernadette and John, her Wickham, ran off to Vegas to get married, without her parents‘ blessing, but John, a politician who ―made the best first impression‖ (182), proved, in fact, to be a ―climber‖ who cared only about his image in the eyes of the voting public, and lacked integrity and loyalty. The end of Bernadette‘s relationship with John seems to complicate even more the connection between Fowler‘s and Austen‘s characters: John ultimately ran off with Bernadette‘s little sister, without having divorced, and Bernadette‘s father ―had to go looking all over the state for them to bring [her] sister home‖ (191). There may be more than one way of reading this final twist in the story of Fowler‘s characters. On the one hand, it may provide evidence of Fowler‘s intention of ‗playing‘ with details from Pride and Prejudice shuffling them in pastiching Austen: Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 77 Bernadette is temporarily ‗dressed‘ in Elizabeth Bennet‘s ‗clothes‘, betrayed by Wickham, who chose to elope with her younger sister Lydia, while Bernadette‘s father is shown as Mr Bennet-like, desperate to find his silly daughter. On the other hand, though, taking into account a popular practice among Janeites, namely that of turning into writers producing new texts ―to fill in the gaps – in both Austen‘s novels and her biography – according to their own desires‖ (Foster 2008), this may be indicative of Fowler‘s attempt at imagining a possible continuation of Lydia and Wickham‘s story, of course updated and transposed into another cultural frame, which would show the former allegedly learning a lesson and the latter unable to change his despicable character. The important thing is that Bernadette, this modern American Lydia, never loses faith in the power of love and, despite failures in her subsequent marriages, she still believes in happy endings (Fowler 2005: 243). She finds the inner resources necessary to start all over again with a new husband, Señor Obando, who finally seems to be closer to the Mr Darcy ideal (as mentioned in the Epilogue). Edward Neill interprets Bernadette‘s marriage with Señor Obando as ―a kind of parody of Austen‘s repeated, yet differenced, marriage-plot outcomes in her six completed novels‖, but he seems to draw a somewhat similar conclusion in relation to Bernadette‘s choice of marrying again as ―entailing a ‗triumph of hope over experience‘‖ (2004: 252). As for Prudie, the youngest member of the Jane Austen book club, her image connects back to that of Fanny Price in Mansfield Park. Her personality is, like Fanny‘s, profoundly influenced by the difficult relationship with her mother and by social marginalization, here rendered in the form of high school experiences that Prudie did not ―remember with satisfaction‖ (Fowler 2005: 87). Moreover, this Fanny Price ‗reloaded‘ is equally caught in a love triangle: she goes through the ‗test‘ of resisting the ‗charms‘ of the dangerously flirtatious and amoral Trey Norton, one of her students, whom she observes in ‗action‘ first with Sallie Wong (another student of hers) and then at the rehearsal of a school production of Brigadoon, where he dares approach her, before accepting that, after all, the steady, ―dependable‖ Dean, her husband, is her Edmund and the best companion for her6. Last but not least, Grigg, the only male member of the book club, is not deprived of certain intertextual complexity. His past, especially a ―poignant episode‖ (Simons 2009: 473) of his youth, when a camping trip Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 78 with his father ends up as ―a 1970s Gothic nightmare set in a mansion, which has been taken over by drug-taking hippies‖ (Simons 2009: 473), points to his being partly envisaged as a male version of Catherine Morland. Nonetheless, his present, which reveals him eager to get Jocelyn‘s attention, after their first meeting in the elevator of a Stockton hotel, and to integrate into the Jane Austen book club, brings about his metamorphosis into a Mr Darcy in pursuit of the woman he loves. Even Grigg‘s profile seems broadly reminiscent of that of Austen‘s ‗most wanted‘ bachelor: he is portrayed as attractive, physically and, though not financially, definitely intellectually7. He is not just a ―science-fiction addict‖ (Simons 2009: 473), but an avid and open-minded reader whose list of readings includes a wide range of texts from the early gothic to postmodernism, and, after his joining the book club, Jane Austen. That is an opportunity for Fowler to further expand the dialogue with other texts in her novel by means of references to Ann Radcliffe and Ursula Le Guin, in particular, but also to Arthur C. Clarke, Theodore Sturgeon, Philip K. Dick, Andre Norton (aka Andrew North), Connie Willis, Nancy Kress or Patrick O‘Brian. All these characters that Fowler creates drawing on Austenian hypotexts have their share of troubles but also of happiness and the end of Fowler‘s novel is unmistakably tributary, like that of Austen‘s novels, to ―the magical framework of romance‖ (Tauchert 2005: 7): Sylvia and Daniel get back together, Grigg and Jocelyn become a couple, Bernadette gets married again, Allegra is temporarily involved with Dr. Yep8 but then returns to Corinne, and Prudie and Dean‘s relationship is probably improved. Nevertheless, as already mentioned, in Fowler‘s novel, pastiche does not work simply by imitation of Austenian plot patterns but also by the more or less extended imitation of Austen‘s writing style. As with Austen, important building blocks for character construction at the discursive level are what Mieke Bal calls the ―piling up of data‖ regarding the ‘reality‘ that makes up the so-called ―frame of reference‖, as well as the relations to other characters and to itself (2002: 119, 125). Thus, The Jane Austen Book Club ‗piles up‘ details which prove the American writer‘s interest (akin to Austen‘s) in the recording of various aspects of life in the contemporary society. That gender differences, gender relations and the renegotiation of the individual‘s identity at the intersection of multiple perspectives on femininity and masculinity are very much of the heart of Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 79 the novel is demonstrated by the life stories of the six protagonists. Jocelyn must work through the trauma of being raped when she was still a teenager. After having been married for thirty-two years, Sylvia must cope with the painful experience of the divorce, which is all the more traumatizing for her as she was born in a Catholic family. The gay Allegra openly expresses her sexual orientation and is constantly in search for someone to love and be loved by. Bernadette likes ―the getting married‖ but not ―being married‖ and is still looking for the man who would make her feel she could ―fit [her] whole self into a marriage‖ (Fowler 2005: 193). Concerned about gender stereotypes and how they influence the expectations of partners in a relationship, Prudie must discover what would make her content: sexual gratification in a potential affair with an available student or marriage with a responsible and loyal man like Dean. Largely influenced by his very close relationship with his three sisters (Amelia, Bianca and Cat), Grigg comes to be perceived even by his own parents as effeminate (―more of a girl than any of the girls‖ – 143), so his father has to ―teach him to be a man‖ (143) and lamentably fails to do so. The picture of the late twentieth and early twenty-first century American society, as painted in Fowler‘s novel, is then completed by further details. Some regard parent – child relationships, seen as close (in Sylvia and Allegra‘s case), difficult (in Bernadette‘s and Grigg‘s cases) or conflict- ridden (in Prudie‘s case). Religious differences are focused on in the references to Sylvia‘s Catholic family and the detailed representation of sect life as witnessed by Bernadette while living in Colorado in Reverend Watson‘s commune. Politics and the race for power are alluded to in the story of John, Bernadette‘s first husband. Multiculturalism is hinted at in the presentation of Sylvia Sanchez‘s family and childhood amidst a Spanish-speaking community in Chicago (most likely, a Mexican-American one, as suggested by the reference to Sylvia‘s father writing for the newspaper La Raza – 209). Many ‗bits‘ of these ‗slices of life‘ in the contemporary American society are, though, incorporated in the large flashback sections of the novel that look almost like six ―dramatic monologues‖ (Hinnant 2004: 20), which disorder the coherence of the main narrative. It is true that there are plenty of instances in Jane Austen‘s novels which confirm the appeal of introspection to the English writer (that finds its best expression at the discursive level in the use of free indirect discourse) and that there is a Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 80 sense of nostalgia in Austenian narratives. But, for Austen‘s characters, the past should be thought of as long as ―its remembrance gives [one] pleasure‖, as Elizabeth Bennet puts it in Pride and Prejudice (2012: 389), so their nostalgia is ―a form of forgetting – a winnowing of the specific, emotional disturbance, and unpredictability of reminiscence into a diluted, vague, comfortable retrospect‖ (Dames qtd. in Hinnant 2004: 20). At this point, Fowler departs from the Austenian model and, as if trying to provide new evidence of the fact that there are continuities with modernism in postmodernist writing (Hutcheon 2006: 118), her characters are haunted by their past. Hence, past events, as narrated through Fowler‘s six ―centres of consciousness‖ (to use Henry James‘s terms), steal the attention of the reader and even tend to dominate the narrative discourse to the detriment of the storyline set in the present. That explains why some of the reviewers of The Jane Austen Book Club (e.g. Mullan 2004; Hinnant 2004) tend to downgrade the merits of Fowler‘s novel and reproach to it the fact that the book club, which is supposed to provide the main narrative thread of the novel, ―remains a convenience for gathering the novel‘s capsule stories‖ (Mullan 2004). Yet, such criticism seems utterly unfair and ignorant of the main function(s) of the series of discussions occasioned by the Jane Austen book club meetings in Fowler‘s novel: they show her interest in manifestations of the ―Austen phenomenon‖ in contemporary America and give substance to the metafictional dimension of the novel. Metafiction in practice Fiction writing and the relationship between ‗reality‘ and the literary text that is supposed to represent it entwine with gender issues and are in focus not only in the account of Allegra‘s bitter experience with Corinne, who ‗copies‘ her partner‘s life stories in short stories that she sends for publication in hopes of gaining visibility as a writer, but also in the ‗coda‘ to Chapter Five which encloses ―promotional materials for a new Terrence Hopkins Mystery by Mo Bellington‖, A Murder of Crows (Fowler 2005: 200). Ironically, this mystery novel, which is advertised as maybe ―Bellington‘s best ever‖ (200) draws, judging by its brief description, precisely on Bernadette‘s ‗adventures‘ in Reverend Watson‘s commune, as recounted by Bernadette, at a gathering of the club members at ―the annual fund-raiser Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 81 for the Sacramento Public Library‖ (158), in an attempt to counter the male writer‘s prejudiced opinion of ―women‘s stuff‖ (182) (Jane Austen‘s novels included) as lacking ―good plot‖ (182). The debate on the ‗ingredients‘ of good fiction that involves Mo Bellington and Bernadette raises ontological questions ―about what sort of world is being created at each moment in the text, and who or what in a text [the reader] can believe or rely on‖ (Malpas 2005: 24). If Bellington proclaims himself ―kind of a stickler for accuracy‖ (Fowler 2005: 193) who values the ―discovery phase‖ (193) as it gives him access to stories he might recycle in his own fiction, Bernadette ―shade[s] a few things‖ in the construction of her plot, ―add[ing] some bits. Sports. Lingerie. Sexy little sisters. Guy stuff.‖(193), to the point that it is difficult to tell (as Prudie realizes) ―which parts were true and which weren‘t‖ (193). Reminiscent of the postmodernist mindset is also the idea, expressed in the same chapter, this time in a discussion between Sylvia and Allegra, that fictional characters could escape authorial control and have a ―secret life‖ of their own: ―Are you saying Austen meant [Charlotte Lucas] to be gay?‖ Sylvia asked. ―Or that she‘s gay and Austen doesn‘t know it?‖ Sylvia preferred the latter. There was something appealing in thinking of a character with a secret life that her author knew nothing about. Slipping off while the author‘s back was turned, to find love in her own way. Showing up just in time to deliver the next bit of dialogue with an innocent face. If Sylvia were a character in a book, that‘s the kind of character she‘d want to be. (171) More often than not, though, the reflections on the text production – text reception continuum tend to veer onto the subject of Austen‘s readings and re-presentations in the postmodern American culture. As Mary Ann O‘Farrell points out, Exploring their discreet Austens together, the participants in her Jane Austen book club, Fowler seems to suggest, make a society out of personal and private obsessions and demonstrate that society itself is so constituted. And thinking about the function of author-based communities for an Austenian readership that is attached to a sense of victorious and possessive oneness with Austen means recognizing a readership that, in the course of developing subcultures, embodies the tension and enacts the play between private obsession and public relations. (2009: 478-479) Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 82 The very structuring of the group of book club participants is meant to draw attention to and simultaneously undermine stereotypical perceptions of the contemporary Janeite. The predominance of women among the members of the book club in Fowler‘s novel signals her acknowledging the gender-marked profile of the target audience for Austen‘s novels and for the various forms (which include film adaptation) of expanding her universe as part of the ―huge phenomenon‖ referred to as ―Austenmania‖. Most present-day Austen fans are women whose ―appreciation of [Austen‘s] novels stems in part from her depiction of women‘s life‖ (Wells 2011: 16), and more specifically from her representation of love relationships from the perspective of a feminine consciousness as always (though sometimes rather implausibly) ending happily with ―ideal marriages that somehow resolve all real (social) contradictions for her heroines and their communities‖ (Tauchert 2005: 19). And when they seek to ―explore, dissect, and reconfigure her life and fiction‖ in their own writings, women writers inspired by Austen (Fowler included) ―do not ‗talk back‘ to her so much as converse with her‖ (Wells 2011: 16); hence Fowler‘s use of pastiche rather than parody in her novel. That may also account, as some reviewers of the novel suggest, for Fowler‘s choice of a rather uncanny narrating voice that tells the story of the book club meetings. Dismissed by some as ―bizarre‖ (Mullan 2004), Fowler‘s narratorial ‗we‘ might help convey a certain sense of solidarity and sociability by metaleptically connecting the female writer (Fowler) and the female readers, the real-life Janeites, to the female characters of the novel, the fictional ones. Patricia O‘Conner comments on this peculiarity of Fowler‘s style in the following terms: Most intriguing of all is the occasional narrator who steps in to describe the group‘s meetings in an unexpectedly cozy first-person plural: ―We were quiet for a minute, listening to the fly buzz, thinking our private thoughts.‖ But the speaker isn‘t any one of the six book club members. Then who is it? Some ghostly collective presence? Jane herself? Reader, is it ... us? (2004) Interestingly, though, Fowler‘s book club also includes a man, Grigg, who has never read Austen‘s novels but is willing to do so in order to integrate in the group. It is not clear whether Grigg evolves into an ‗Austen devotee‘, but he definitely has the profile of what the early twentieth-century society Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 83 would have called a Janeite: a ―cultured‖ and ―sensitive‖ man (Johnson 1997: 213), with certain knowledge of literary criticism, whose admiration for Austen‘s novels is motivated by the questions they raise and her writing style rather than by romance. It is equally true that Grigg is conceived as a male character that escapes the patriarchal stereotypes of masculinity and remains more ‗in touch‘ with his feminine side. Even so, by creating this character, Fowler appears to have made a step forward towards reminding her readers that Jane Austen is ―everybody‘s dear‖ (no irony or pejorative meaning intended)9, irrespective of gender, age or education differences. Furthermore, for all Fowler‘s characters, as for all Austen‘s ‗lovers‘ – ―especially, but not exclusively, women‖ – reading Austen ―[has] to do with growing up‖, finding answers not only to academic questions (like Grigg‘s or, sometimes, Prudie‘s) but mostly to personal ones; hence, it becomes a means ―to find meaning and to understand themselves‖ (Wells 2011: 21). But, as a novel about how Austen‘s novels are read nowadays, Fowler‘s The Jane Austen Book Club is, above all, meant to investigate reading practices in their multiplicity. In line with Barthes‘s theory according to which the ―birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the author‖, since ―the reader is the space on which all the quotations that make up a writing are inscribed without any of them being lost‖ (2001: 1469-1470), Fowler believes that ―[e]ach of us has a private Austen‖ (2005: 1)/―[e]veryone has a private Austen‖ (288). So she sets out to illustrate in her novel various perceptions of Jane Austen, as the members of her fictional book club ―view Austen through the lenses of their own experiences, creating a kaleidoscope through the sum of their little bits of Austen‖ (Foster 2008). Having chosen as a motto a quotation from Jane Austen‘s Emma that, avant postmodernism, implies that there is no single, absolute truth (―Seldom, very seldom does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken.‖ – 2012: 874), Fowler lays out, from the very Prologue, different images of a commodified Austen in the contemporary popular culture. Jocelyn‘s Austen wrote wonderful novels about love and courtship, but never married. (Fowler 2005: 1) Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 84 Bernadette‘s Austen was a comic genius. Her characters, her dialogue remained genuinely funny, not like Shakespeare‘s jokes, which amused you only because they were Shakespeare‘s and you owed him that. (1-2) Sylvia‘s Austen was a daughter, a sister, an aunt. Sylvia‘s Austen wrote her books in a busy sitting room, read them aloud to her family, yet remained an acute and non-partisan observer of people. Sylvia‘s Austen could love and be loved, but it didn‘t cloud her vision, blunt her judgment. (2) Allegra‘s Austen wrote about the impact of financial need on the intimate lives of women. If she‘d worked in a bookstore, Allegra would have shelved Austen in the horror section. (4) Prudie‘s was the Austen whose books changed every time you read them, so that one year they were all romances and the next you suddenly noticed Austen‘s cool, ironic prose. Prudie‘s was the Austen who died, possibly of Hodgkin‘s disease, when she was only forty-one years old. (4) Only Grigg‘s image of Austen remains initially unknown (―None of us knew who Grigg‘s Austen was.‖ – 5), a welcome instance of mystery to arouse the reader‘s curiosity and an open door to the integration of a different approach to Austen, more akin to the academic‘s/literary critic‘s, in the broader ‗picture‘ of Austen‘s reception at the turn of the millennium. For Grigg, at least, Austen‘s Northanger Abbey is particularly appealing because ―it‘s all about reading novels. Who‘s the heroine, what‘s an adventure? Austen poses these questions very directly‖; that is why, in Grigg‘s opinion, ―there‘s something very pomo going on there‖ (138). Moreover, Grigg takes interest in the intertextual links that connect Austen‘s novel to Radcliffe‘s Mysteries of Udolpho and their impact on the very construction of Austen‘s narrative discourse: ―Austen‘s imitated the structure, made all her choices in opposition to that original text. Assumes everyone has read it‖ (139). That definitely distinguishes Grigg from his interlocutors and fellow readers in the book club to whom ―it hadn‘t occurred (…) to read [Udolpho]‖ (―Some of us hadn‘t even realized it was a real book.‖) (139). Fowler further lays stress on the tension in reading practices between the cultivated (open-minded) and the naïve (yet prejudiced) reader in Grigg‘s dialogue with Jocelyn about characters in fiction: Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 85 ―I like books about real people,‖ Jocelyn said. ―I don‘t understand the distinction.‖ Grigg‘s eyes had returned to the road. ―Elizabeth Bennet is a real person, but the people in science fiction books aren‘t?‖ ―Science fiction books have people in them, but they‘re not about the people. Real people are really complicated.‖ (173) The relativity of interpretation in the process of reading, another issue of interest for the academy, is pondered over by Prudie (whose paradoxical espousing of academic reading habits and popular reader enthusiasm has been previously discussed). Interestingly, in her reflections on Austen‘s reception in the contemporary society, Prudie also brings forth the academic concern about fidelity in film adaptation10 and her parti pris definitely reminds one of the old-fashioned, yet still enduring, belief in the superiority of literature to film: The great thing about books was the solidity of the written word. You might change and your reading might change as a result, but the book remained whatever it had always been. A good book was surprising the first time through, less so the second. The movies, as everyone knew, had no respect for this. (82) The multiplicity, yet arbitrariness, of reader responses is intertextually sustained in the ‗coda‘ to Chapter Two by quotations from letters of publishers who rejected the now highly appreciated Pride and Prejudice and Northanger Abbey when first submitted for publication, as well as from American writers (Mark Twain and Ralph Waldo Emerson) who dismissed Austen‘s novels as second-rate literature, in utter contrast to subsequent generations of writers and critics who have looked up to them as literary models. Equally noteworthy is the fact that, in this novel which carries on, in its own terms, the already ‗old‘ tradition of actively and creatively interacting with the Austenian text, the metafictional dimension naturally incorporates illustrative examples in this respect. Bernadette, who ―always like[s] to know how a story ends‖ (199), seems to be satisfied with the details provided by J. E. Austen-Leigh in his Memoir of Jane Austen (1869) regarding the way in which Austen herself chose to round off, to the amusement of her family members, the ―career of some of her people‖ Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 86 (2002: 119), like Mary and Kitty Bennet. But Allegra proves to be the most ingenious and creates, using famous quotations from Austen‘s novels, a modified version of the ―black Magic 8-Balls‖ (Fowler 2005: 233), which she names Ask Austen, that could give each of the club members the possibility of receiving ‗advice‘ from their ―dear‖, ―divine‖, ―matchless‖ Jane (Johnson 1997: 214). Allegra‘s initiative is, in fact, the crowning expression of the present-day Janeite‘s tendency to use Austen ―for a goal of self- improvement‖ (Wells 2011: 22), being thus somewhat akin to those special forms of interactive engagement with Austen‘s world(s) that are the Austen-inspired advice books (e.g. Lauren Henderson‘s 2005 Jane Austen Guide to Dating and Jane Austen‘s Guide to Romance: the Regency Rules, etc. – see Wells 2011). Finally, with ‗Questions for Discussion‘ (Fowler 2005: 284-286) (which is one of the paratexts), Fowler takes further her postmodern melange of realism, romance, intertextuality and metafiction, setting the basis for a potential metaleptic dialogue between her characters and her readers on: the themes, characters and style of Austen‘s novels; Austen‘s biography; the relationship between reality and fiction; the relationship between the literary text and its film adaptation(s), as well as their impact on the readership/audience; cultural hierarchies; gender relationships; private lives and public interactions; rituals and cultural practices in the contemporary society. Concluding remarks An international bestseller at the time of its publication, featuring in ―the New York Times 100 Notable Books of the Year and The Australian‘s Book of the Year list‖ (Simons 2009: 473), available to the readers in printed and audio book form, Karen Joy Fowler‘s The Jane Austen Book Club soon followed what has already become a trend in the ―Austen phenomenon‖, being adapted for the screen in 2007 by Robin Swicord. Unavoidably, the filmic hypertext departed, in many ways, from Fowler‘s novel. That is not actually something to deplore, as, after all, fidelity in adaptation is unlikely, even undesirable. Most importantly, though, apart from the semiotic differences between novel and film, it was Swicord‘s reading of The Jane Austen Book Club that caused many of the deep meanings of Fowler‘s postmodernist novel to get ‗lost‘ in adaptation. In Swicord‘s film, there is little concern about ―making distinctions but not making choices (...) between Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 87 the popular and the elite‖ (Hutcheon 2006: 116). The pastiching of Austenian models, so prominent, yet not slavish, with Fowler is significantly altered and, in some cases, somewhat simplified in the film, which, while still drawing on Mansfield Park, Emma and Persuasion, definitely privileges Pride and Prejudice as ‗everybody‘s favourite‘. The constant movement back and forth in time that was largely responsible for the fragmentation of the novelistic discourse and the introspective plunging into the characters‘ past are done away with, the film filling occasionally the ‗gaps‘ related to the nature and the past of the characters by mere hints in the protagonists‘ dialogues. Only the metafictional dimension, strongly anchored in the present of Fowler‘s participants in the Jane Austen book club, makes it more explicitly to the screen and, even so, is altered, the filmic metatext being clearly focused on the exploration of American amateur readers‘ response to Austen‘s novels and the proliferation of the ‗cult of Austen‘ in the contemporary American society. Altogether, with its interest in romance and its emphasis on Austen as ―an antidote to our fractured, busy lives‖ (Swicord qtd. in Fowler 2007: 171), Swicord‘s film (which unmistakably fits into the category of romantic comedies) provides a better picture of today‘s Janeitism in the American society than Fowler‘s novel does. With Fowler, Austen‘s reception in the contemporary American culture is but one of the many aspects explored with the ‗tools‘ of postmodernism. Fowler‘s ‗lessons‘ about text production and, especially, text reception, about cultural dynamics and the role of Austen as a catalyst for private emotions and public interactions, are integrated in a cleverly crafted novel that, from behind the ‗mask‘ of chick lit, raises questions about ‗reality‘ and its literary representations, social practices, cultural phenomena and literary hierarchies. Acknowledgement A less extensive analysis of Karen Joy Fowler‘s novel The Jane Austen Book Club was included in a forthcoming article ‗Jane Austen între canonic și popular‘ included in the volume Jane Austen: glose, înțelesuri, interpretări, edited by Michaela Mudure (Cluj Napoca: Casa Cărții de Știință). Notes 1 In 1923, R. W. Chapman published at Clarendon Press, in five volumes, The Novels of Jane Austen, ―the first scholarly edition of any English novelist – male or female – to appear‖, ―ever since acknowledged to be the authoritative edition of Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 88 [Austen‘s] works‖ (Johnson 1997: 218). A few decades later, Professor F. R. Leavis, in his study The Great Tradition (1948), ―dignifies Austen as well as the great tradition of English fiction she originated by insisting on her moral seriousness‖ (Johnson 1997: 219). Thus, they have paved the way for ―the rise of Austen as an academic field‖ (Johnson 1997: 221) in development since mid-twentieth century. 2 Among the numerous texts that have appropriated Austen‘s work and biography ―to accommodate niche markets‖ (Foster 2008), the following could be mentioned: Arielle Eckstut, Pride and Promiscuity: The Lost Sex Scenes of Jane Austen, 2001; Debra White Smith, Austen Series, 2004-2006; Linda Berdoll, Mr Darcy Takes a Wife: Pride and Prejudice Continues, 2004; Sarah Arthur, Dating Mr. Darcy: A Smart Girl‘s Guide to Sensible Romance, 2005; Seth Graham-Smith, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, 2009; P. D. James, Death Comes to Pemberley, 2011, etc. For a detailed analysis of ‗hybrid‘ writings produced in the American cultural space, which mingle Austenian patterns with elements of erotica, horror and Christian romance, see Wells 2011: 177-205. 3 In the filmic adaptation of Fowler‘s novel (2007, dir. Robin Swicord), Prudie remains an embodiment of the Janeite as ―special‖, ―set (...) apart from the contemporary world‖ (Cobb 2012: 209) because of the ―mystical nature‖ of her relationship with her ‗idol‘, Jane Austen. However, Prudie‘s Austen-dominated dream vision in the novel is replaced by a ―surreal moment‖ in the film that switches the stress from uneasy mother – daughter relationships, as represented in Mansfield Park, to difficult love relationships, as portrayed in Mansfield Park and Persuasion. In Swicord‘s film, as Prudie is about to cross the street to meet one of her students, Trey Norton, for a sexual tryst, the signal flashing the words WHAT – WOULD – JANE – DO, and then repeatedly, in red, the words DON‘T WALK, determines her to give up the idea of having an affair and to return to her husband Dean, with whom she is reconciled after they read together Persuasion. The scene, Shelley Cobb remarks, signifies ―otherworldliness about being a reader of Austen‖, ―a distinction reinforced by the postmodern, ironic play on the once ubiquitous Christian bracelet imprinted with the letters WWJD (What Would Jesus Do)‖ (2012: 208-209). 4 Fowler chooses to keep her readers in the dark about the reason why Jocelyn invites Grigg to join the book club and merely has Sylvia speculate about it: ―Sylvia had always suspected Grigg was intended for her. Of course, she didn‘t want him, but when had that ever stopped Jocelyn?‖ (Fowler 2005: 225). The 2007 filmic adaptation of Fowler‘s novel explicitly points to Grigg‘s being intended as potential replacement for Sylvia‘s husband Daniel, thus emphasising the similarity between Jocelyn and Austen‘s Emma as match-maker figures. 5 In the 2007 filmic version, Bernadette‘s role in the plot and her representation as a modern counterpart of one of Austen‘s characters in Pride and Prejudice are significantly reconsidered. As Fowler admits herself, Bernadette is given ―a larger Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 89 role‖ in the film, ―put[ting] the book club together‖ and ―serv[ing] as a universal confidante and a somewhat bawdy reader of Austen‖, unlike her ―dishevelled, repetitive Bernadette‖ (Fowler 2007: 170). In addition, Swicord‘s Bernadette places herself differently in relation to the Austenian world of characters and, in a conversation at the annual fund-raiser for the Sacramento Public Library, claims that she had experienced all the types of marriages presented in Pride and Prejudice and identifies herself as the Charlotte Lucas type, as she married at 17 with the first man who proposed to her. 6 On screen, the love triangle that includes Prudie, her husband Dean and Trey Norton, the student, is amply developed and Prudie is more explicitly shown as thinking herself in love with Trey, indulging in clandestine meetings with the boy she is sexually attracted to, going along with his flirtatious ‗games‘ when she accepts to help him rehearse for the Brigadoon performance and almost ready to make the ‗final step‘ of consummating their relationship, from which she is prevented by the ‗divine Jane‘, as shown in Note 1. As far as the evolution of Prudie and Dean‘s marriage is concerned, it is given new intertextual connotations as it becomes another story about ‗second chances‘ like Austen‘s Persuasion, which the two characters read together and which helps them overcome misunderstandings so that they could be reunited as a couple. 7 Though she generally praises Swicord‘s adaptation of her novel for the screen, Fowler feels, nonetheless, sorry to find that, in the film, ―Grigg had become a wealthy man‖. She explains: ―Readers still insist on seeing him as an Austen hero when I meant him to be an Austen heroine. I still like him best when he has no money, no connections, nothing that can tempt someone to marry him, beyond his own good heart and impeccable taste in books‖ (2007: 171). 8 Commenting on the end of the film adaptation of Fowler‘s novel, Shelley Cobb remarks that, even though Allegra is shown, at a certain point, enjoying the company of Dr. Yep, the final sequence of the reunion of the Jane Austen book club members at a charity event reveals Allegra without a partner. It is true that ―[t]he film does not self-consciously highlight her status. However, as the camera pulls away from the table, it is impossible not to notice all the couples next to each other and Allegra on her own. (…) The specialness of being an Austen reader-fan and the happy endings it offers to the heterosexual white women (…) is not available to (…) the lesbian woman‖ (2012: 223-224). 9 Henry James‘s now famous phrase was originally integrated in a sarcastic comment on the emergence and rapid proliferation of the ―cult of Jane Austen‖ (Lynch 2005: 111) among mass readerships, owing to ―the body of publishers, editors, illustrators, producers of the pleasant twaddle of magazines; who have found their ‗dear‘, our dear, everybody‘s dear, Jane so infinitely to their material purpose, so amenable to pretty reproduction in every variety of what is called tasteful, and in what seemingly proves to be saleable, form‖ (in Southam 1987: Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 90 230). Here, the statement in which James‘s phrase is enclosed carries no ironic undertones, but literally refers to Fowler‘s belief that Jane Austen as a literary and cultural icon may transcend highbrow/lowbrow boundaries, as well as challenge and appeal to academic and non-academic readers, women and men, alike. 10 Surprisingly for a representative of the popular culture, Jocelyn – whom Prudie met ―at a Sunday matinee of Mansfield Park‖ (Fowler 2005: 81) – seems to share Prudie‘s opinions about film adaptations as disappointingly distorting Austen‘s fictional worlds. As a matter of fact, both Prudie and Jocelyn seem to voice Fowler‘s own expectations regarding film adaptations of Austen‘s work, as expressed by the American writer in the article ‗What Would Jane Cut?‘: ―All I want in an Austen movie is perfect fidelity. Jane Bennet is supposed to be prettier than Elizabeth. Is she? Is Mr. Knightley much, much older than Emma, as written? Has Edward Ferrars been made sexier and more charming than he should be? I don‘t want a more romantic version. I don‘t want a happier ending. What I want is no monkeying about.‖ (Fowler 2007: 169) References Austen, J. (2012) The Complete Novels of Jane Austen. New York: Race Point Publishing Austen-Leigh, J. E. (2002) A Memoir of Jane Austen and Other Family Recollections. Ed. by Sutherland, K. Oxford: Oxford University Press Bal, M. (1997) Narratology. Introduction to the Theory of Narrative. Second edition. Toronto, Buffalo, London: University of Toronto Press Barthes, R. (2001) ‗The Death of the Author‘. In The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Ed. by Leitch, V. B. New York and London: W. W. Norton & Company, 1466-1470 Cobb, S. (2012) ‗What Would Jane Do? Postfeminist Media Uses of Austen and the Austen Reader‘. In Uses of Austen: Jane‘s Afterlives. Ed. by Dow, G. and Hanson, C. Houndmills & New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 208-227 Dryden, R. G. (2013) ‗Inventing Jane. Pleasure, Passion and Possessiveness in the Jane Austen Community‖. In Global Jane Austen. Pleasure, Passion, and Possessiveness in the Jane Austen Community. Ed. by Raw, L. and Dryden, R. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 103-118 Foster, B. (2008) ‗Pimp My Austen: The Commodification and Customization of Jane Austen. Persuasions On-Line, vol. 29, no. 1. Available from http://www.jasna.org/persuasions/on-line/vol29no1/foster.html [12.02.2017] Fowler, K. J. (2004) ‗Karen Joy Fowler. A California comedy of manners. Interview by Katherine Wyrick‘. BookPage [online], May 2004. Available from Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 91 http://bookpage.com/interviews/8251-karen-joy-fowler#.WeXJjFSCxdg [24.10.2016] Fowler, K. J. (2004) ‗The Karen Joy Fowler Book Club‘. LOCUS online. The Magazine of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Field [online], December 2004. Available from http://www.locusmag.com/2004/Issues/12Fowler.html [24.10.2016] Fowler, K. J. (2005) The Jane Austen Book Club. London: Penguin Books Fowler, K. J. (2007) ‗What Would Jane Cut?‘ Persuasions, No. 29, 169-73. Available from http://www.jasna.org/assets/Persuasions/No.-29/fowler.pdf [12.02.2017] Garber, M. (2003) Quotation Marks. New York: Routledge Hinnant, C. H. (2004) ‗Austen the Facilitator. Book Review – The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler‘. JASNA News, vol. 20, no. 2 (summer), 20. Available from http://www.jasna.org/bookrev/br202p20.html [24.10.2016] Hutcheon, L. (1985) A Theory of Parody. The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms. New York and London: Methuen Hutcheon, L. (2006) ‗Postmodernism‘. In The Routledge Companion to Critical Theory. Ed. by Malpas, S. and Wake, P. London and New York: Routledge, 115-126 Johnson, C. L. (1997) ‗Austen Cults and Cultures‘. In The Cambridge Companion to Jane Austen. Ed. by Copeland, E. and McMaster, J. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 211-226 Lynch, D. S. (2005) ‗Cult of Jane Austen‘. In Jane Austen in Context. Ed. by Todd, J. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 111-120 Malpas, S. (2005) The Postmodern. London and New York: Routledge Mirmohamadi, K. (2014) The Digital Afterlives of Jane Austen: Janeites at the Keyboard. Hampshire, New York: Palgrave Macmillan Mullan, J. (2004) ‗An Altogether Bad Idea‘. The Guardian [online]. 30 October. Available from https://www.theguardian.com/books/2004/oct/30/fiction.janeausten [24.10.2016] Neill, E. (2004) ‗―Little Women?‖ Karen Joy Fowler‘s Adventure in Austenland‘. Persuasions, no. 26, 249-254. Available from http://www.jasna.org/persuasions/printed/number26/neill.pdf [20.08.2017] O‘Conner, P. T. (2004) ‗Books. Mr Darcy Is a Boorish Snob. Please Discuss‘. The New York Times [online]. 2 May. Available from http://www.nytimes.com/2004/05/02/books/mr-darcy-is-a-boorish-snob- please-discuss.html [24.10.2016] O‘Farrell, M. A. (2009) ‗Austenian Subcultures‘. In A Companion to Jane Austen. Ed. by Johnson, C. and Tuite, C. Malden, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 478-487 Pucci, S. R. and Thompson, J. (2003) ‗Introduction: The Jane Austen Phenomenon: Remaking the Past at the Millennium‘. In Jane Austen and Co. Remaking the Past Cultural Intertexts Year IV Volume 7 (2017) 92 in Contemporary Culture. Ed. by Pucci, S. R. and Thompson, J. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1-10 Simons, J. (2009) ‗Jane Austen and Popular Culture‘. In A Companion to Jane Austen. Ed. by Johnson, C. and Tuite, C. Malden, Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 467-477 Southam, B. C. (ed.) (1987) Jane Austen. The Critical Heritage. Vol. 2. 1870-1940. London, New York: Routledge Svensson, A. (2013) ‗Pleasure and Profit. Re-presentations of Jane Austenʼ s Ever- Expanding Universe‘. In Global Jane Austen. Pleasure, Passion, and Possessiveness in the Jane Austen Community. Ed. by Raw, L. and Dryden, R. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 203-220 Swicord, R. (2007) The Jane Austen Book Club. [DVD]. USA: Sony Pictures Classics Inc., John Calley Productions Tauchert, A. (2005) Romancing Jane Austen. Narrative, Realism, and the Possibility of a Happy Ending. Hampshire, New York: Palgrave Macmillan Wells, J. (2011) Everybody‘s Jane. Austen in the Popular Imagination. London, New York: Continuum 
work_ufhws5tz6bafvm77z4wjgtrrlu	----	Northumbria Research Link Citation: Beadle, Ron (2013) Managerial Work in a Practice-Embodying Institution - The role of calling, the virtue of constancy. Journal of Business Ethics, 113 (4). pp. 679-690. ISSN 0167-4544 Published by: Springer URL: http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s10551-013-1678-2 <http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s10551-013-1678-2> This version was downloaded from Northumbria Research Link: http://nrl.northumbria.ac.uk/11545/ Northumbria University has developed Northumbria Research Link (NRL) to enable users to access the University’s research output. Copyright © and moral rights for items on NRL are retained by the individual author(s) and/or other copyright owners. 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To read and/or cite from the published version of the research, please visit the publisher’s website (a subscription may be required.) http://nrl.northumbria.ac.uk/policies.html 1 Managerial work in a practice-embodying institution – The role of calling, the virtue of constancy. ABSTRACT What can be learned from a small scale study of managerial work in a highly marginal and under-researched working community? This paper uses the „goods-virtues-practices- institutions‟ framework to examine the managerial work of owner-directors of traditional circuses. Inspired by MacIntyre‟s arguments for the necessity of a narrative understanding of the virtues, interviews explored how British and Irish circus directors accounted for their working lives. A purposive sample was used to select subjects who had owned and managed traditional touring circuses for at least 15 years, a period in which the economic and reputational fortunes of traditional circuses have suffered badly. This sample enabled the research to examine the self-understanding of people who had, at least on the face of it, exhibited the virtue of constancy. The research contributes to our understanding of the role of the virtues in organizations by presenting evidence of an intimate relationship between the virtue of constancy and a „calling‟ work orientation. This enhances our understanding of the virtues that are required if management is exercised as a domain-related practice. Keywords: MacIntyre, Practice, Virtue, Calling, Constancy, Circus 2 Introduction What can be learned from a small scale study of managerial work in a highly marginal and under-researched working community? This paper uses the „goods-virtues-practices- institutions‟ framework to examine the managerial work of owner-directors of traditional circuses. Inspired by MacIntyre‟s arguments for the necessity of a narrative understanding of the virtues, interviews explored how British and Irish circus directors accounted for their working lives. A purposive sample was used to select subjects who had owned and managed traditional touring circuses for at least 15 years, a period in which the economic and reputational fortunes of traditional circuses have suffered badly. This sample enabled the research to examine the self-understanding of people who had, at least on the face of it, exhibited the virtue of constancy. This paper uses the evidence of these interviews to suggest an intimate relationship between this virtue and a „calling‟ work orientation. The research contributes to our understanding of the role of the virtues in organizations by presenting evidence of an intimate relationship between the virtue of constancy and a „calling‟ work orientation. This enhances our understanding of the virtues that are required if management is exercised as a domain-related practice. The paper proceeds in four parts. In Part One we briefly recapitulate the argument for seeing good management as a type of practice, one whose purpose is the maintenance of institutions in which the external goods of money, success and power are pursued in order to achieve goods internal to the particular practices pursued within an institution (Moore 2005, Beadle and Moore 2006). In Part Two we review the results of research on work orientation to suggest a relationship between the notion of „calling‟ and the virtue of constancy. In Part Three we use the findings of the life-history interviews to illustrate the notion of a calling to managerial work. Part Four draws conclusions. Part One: Virtues, Goods, Practices and Institutions Evidence of the relationship between virtue and performance is accumulating. Inspired by the positive organizational scholarship movement studies have reported relationships between the virtues of leaders and team performance (Palanski et al 2011), between organization – level virtues and organizational performance (Cameron, K.S., D. Bright and A. Caza 2004; Chun, R. 2005; Bright, D., K. Cameron and A. Caza, 2006) and between individual level character strengths and a range of outcomes including increased life- satisfaction (Park et al 2004), organizational citizenship (Rego et al 2010), affective commitment (Rego et al 2011) and student performance in assessment (Peterson and Park 2006) to name but a few. Whilst these studies provide significant empirical support for claims made by both positive psychology and virtue ethics about the utility of virtue for the achievement of goods, researchers inspired by Alasdair MacIntyre‟s „goods-virtues-practices-institutions‟ framework (Moore and Beadle 2006) argue that the relationship between the pursuit of excellence and of organizational success is more complex. Whilst the virtues are always required for the achievement of human excellence their relationship to the achievement of organizational goods is contingent upon the purposes pursued by the organization. This casts doubt on any simple assertion of a relationship between the presence of virtue and organizational 3 success. Indeed as Bunderson and Thompson‟s (2009) study of the „calling‟ work orientation of zoo-keepers has demonstrated, we have strong reasons to believe that employees‟ commitment to particular goods (in this case the welfare of animals) may provoke suspicion towards the institution. Bunderson and Thompson do not consider whether zoo-keepers‟ suspicion is a feature of the same virtues that enable them to be good zoo-keepers. However the relationship between commitment to the pursuit of genuine excellence and the pursuit of organizational goods is a preoccupation of MacIntyrean organizational analysis. Why so? For MacIntyre, claims to the achievement of excellence in products and performance are only intelligible within the context of an ongoing socially co-operative activity whose standards develop over time (MacIntyre 2007 [1981], p.194). These activities are labelled as practices in MacIntyre‟s oft-cited definition of practice as: “[a]ny coherent and complex form of socially established cooperative human activity through which goods internal to that form of activity are realized in the course of trying to achieve those standards of excellence which are appropriate to, and partially definitive of, that form of activity, with the result that human powers to achieve excellence, and human conceptions of the ends and goods involved, are systematically extended.” (MacIntyre 2007 [1981], p.187) The standards that define excellence within particular branches of science, arts, sports and productive crafts have their own histories – histories which are always those of achievement but also of failure, frustration and conflict. These histories are also those of the institutions that provide the settings for such work, but the achievement itself is to be judged by standards independent of those of their settings. So for example Joseph Swan‟s invention of the incandescent light bulb is an achievement in the history of industrial chemistry quite independent of its role in the development of the Swan Electric Light Company. On the MacIntyrean account virtues are required for the achievement of goods internal to practices for three distinct types of reason. First, for practices to develop over time, relationships between practitioners must be informed by the virtues. It is only where relationships exemplify such virtues as courage, justice, wisdom, temperance and just generosity (MacIntyre, 1999) that practitioners will be able to engage in the type of practical reasoning that enables the standards of excellence to be agreed, determines how they might be taught, evaluates the progress made by apprentices, enables comparison between their products and so on. Thus, students must exercise the virtue of humility in order to learn from teachers (MacIntyre 2007 [1981], p.190, MacIntyre 1990, p.92), gatekeepers must apply standards justly when determining entry to their communities of practitioners (MacIntyre 2007 [1981], p.192) and their shared deliberation must observe the precepts of natural law (MacIntyre 2009, Velasquez and Brady 1998). Secondly individual practitioners must exercise virtues such as diligence, temperance and fortitude to develop the technical skills that are required by every practice (MacIntyre 2007 [1981], p.193, Crawford 2009). Artistic, sporting, professional and craft-work provides examples aplenty of such virtues - the attention to detail of artists, accountants and actors, 4 the resilience of nurses in military hospitals, the dexterity of circus acrobats, the persistence of mechanics and members of corps de ballet, the courage of downhill skiers. Thirdly, the virtues are required to create and maintain the institutions which provide practices with the resources without which they cannot continue. However inasmuch as practices are ordered towards the achievement of internal goods, so institutions are: “characteristically and necessarily concerned with … external goods. They are involved in acquiring money and other material goods; they are structured in terms of power and status, and they distribute money, power and status as rewards. Nor could they do otherwise if they are to sustain not only themselves, but also the practices of which they are the bearers. For no practice can survive for any length of time unsustained by institutions. Indeed so intimate is the relationship of practices to institutions – and consequently of goods external to the goods internal to the practices in question – that institutions and practices characteristically form a single causal order in which the ideals and creativity of the practice is always vulnerable to the acquisitiveness of the institution, in which the cooperative care for common goods of the practice is always vulnerable to the competitiveness of the institution. In this context the essential feature of the virtues is clear. Without them, without justice, courage and truthfulness, practices could not resist the corrupting power of institutions.” (MacIntyre 2007 [1981], p.194). The tension between the achievement of goods internal to practices and the external goods required by the institutions that house them is the central feature of MacIntyrean organisational sociology (Moore and Beadle 2006). Cases vary widely between practice – embodying institutions (MacIntyre 1994, p.290) in which wise leadership (Schwartz and Sharp 2010) attends to the sustainable achievement of goods internal to practices and those in which virtue requires courageous resistance to vicious purposes (Conroy 2010). Where institutions have corrupted practices, resistance may be manifest in some cases by the establishment of alternative institutional forms (Krogh et al 2012), in others by whistle- blowers (Beadle and Moore, 2011) or by trade unionists and community organisers (MacIntyre, 2008) as: “The virtues which we need in order to achieve both our own goods and the goods of others … only function as genuine virtues when their exercise is informed by an awareness of how power is distributed and of the corruptions to which its use is liable. Here as elsewhere in our lives we have to learn how to live both with and against the realities of power.” (MacIntyre 1999a, p.102) As Kempster et al (2011) have recently argued, institutional leaders are pivotal to the practice-institution relationship not only in their decisions and their establishment of decision-making processes but also in the institution‟s own sense-making around purpose. Krogh et al‟s (2012) example of the impact of MITs decision to license code to commercial organization provides one illustration. The response to a managerial decision which contravened the purpose of the work as understood by many of the practitioners who undertook it was the creation of the Free Software Foundation as an ”institutional alternative to the firm … to preserve free access to software developed by people who shared the 5 virtues of the social practice” (Krogh et al 2012, p.665). As this example illustrates, the virtues and vices of institutional leaders impact significantly on the purposes pursued by the institution and how these purposes are understood. In this context MacIntyre‟s condemnation of the failure of modern management to resist the corruption of practices has been trenchant (MacIntyre 1977a, 1979, 2007 [1981]). For MacIntyre, the context-free Weberian manager cannot resist the corruption of whatever practice they are managing. Whilst the accuracy, realism and implications of this diagnosis caused much debate following the publication of After Virtue (Brewer 1997, Dawson and Bartholomew 2003, Dobson 1996, 1997, Horvarth 1995, Mangham 1995, McCann and Browsberger 1990, Wicks 1997), recent MacIntyrean work has considered how to characterize management which successfully balances the claims of internal and external goods (Crockett 2005, Moore 2012). In such practice-embodying institutions management becomes not a context – free ideal type but an embodied activity in which managers pursue the ends of particular practice-based domains (Dunne 2005, Beabout 2012) and in which: “practitioners‟ ethical judgements cannot afford to lose sight of the context of practice itself: of the specific kind of purposes, relationships and predicaments that constitute that context.” (Hogan 2010, p.91) Managerial virtue should be understood as involving an ongoing commitment to the pursuit of the goods of both practices and institutions in such a way that both are sustained. This has led Beabout to characterize such managerial virtues as domain-related (Beabout 2012). Such close, detailed understanding of the practice-context is essential to the making and sustaining of institutions (MacIntyre 2007 [1981], p.194) and requires, as a necessary condition, the virtue of constancy. Why is this? The virtue of constancy is implicit in every other virtue for no-one can be accounted virtuous in some particular respect if their acts and dispositions manifest these virtues on some occasions but not others. To be accounted as virtuous our actions “must be persistent, reliable and characteristic” (Annas 2011, p.8) for without the virtue of constancy “all the other virtues to some degree lose their point” (MacIntyre 2007 [1981], p.242). For example, to be considered practically wise is to be one to whom others turn for trustworthy advice whenever such is required (Schwartz and Sharp 2010). We should not confuse constancy, as understood within the virtue tradition, with its emotivist cousins, consistency or reliability. An agent can be consistently or reliably vicious for such dispositions are not necessarily directed towards good purposes. Constancy however is directed to goods and we cannot hope to become any kind of practitioner if we lack the virtue of constancy. As we shall see however our opportunities for the exercise of such constancy are limited by the social structures we inhabit and it is to this relationship that we now turn. Part Two: Constancy and Calling The agent who exhibits the virtue of constancy leads a unified narrative life, one in which “the commitments and responsibilities to the future springing from past episodes in which obligations were conceived and debts assumed unite the present to past and future in such 6 a way as to make of a human life a unity.” (MacIntyre 2007 [1981], p. 242). Commenting on Jane Austen‟s characterisation of this unity, MacIntyre continues: “By the time Jane Austen writes that unity can no longer be treated as a mere presupposition or context for a virtuous life. It has itself to be continually reaffirmed and its reaffirmation in deed rather than in word is the virtue which Jane Austen calls constancy.” (MacIntyre 2007 [1981], p.242 emphasis added). Why can constancy no longer be assumed? In papers drawing on empirical studies of power company executives MacIntyre characterized the compartmentalization of social roles as a modern moral predicament. In our roles as citizens, family members and organizational agents we must accord to known facts quite different valuations (MacIntyre 1977, 1979). What is a significant factor in our decision making as parents, for example the long-term consequences of waste disposal, can play no role in our decision-making as executives in minimising the cost of such disposal. Alongside the impact of such conceptual compartmentalization is its social counterpart in which, as Sennett (1998) has subsequently argued, rapid transitions between contexts undermine long term projects and corrodes our ability to make commitments and be held to account by trusted companions. Their absence makes it easier for us to fool others and ourselves for it denies us the standards that inhere in a single intelligible narrative: “What kind of narrative may be embodied in a particular human life and therefore what kind and degree of intelligibility that life can possess … depends both on the activities of particular other individuals and upon the nature and coherence of the social structure inhabited by the agent, as well as upon the individual agent him or herself” (MacIntyre 1987b, p.28) Whilst many of us can announce virtuous intentions or claim virtuous attributes it is only the test of ongoing active commitment that enables us to distinguish the virtue of constancy from simulacra (MacIntyre 1999). So it was for Austen and so it remains for us. However in order to exercise the virtue of constancy in our work we need both to engage in the types of relationships characteristic of practice – based work and to understand such work as being potentially meaningful (Beadle and Knight 2012). What does this require? Since the publication of Bellah et al (1985), research into work orientation has found important relationships between the principal goods sought from employment and our evaluation of work outcomes (Wrzesniewski, McCauley, Rozin and Schwartz 1997). Research has located largely stable and exclusive orientations towards work as job, career and calling. Job orientation represents a transactional approach to work in which work is regarded as something to be endured for the sake of the resources it provides (Wrzesniewski 2003). Career orientation represents a willingness to sacrifice current desires for the sake of future personal achievement. Calling orientation represents a desire to undertake work for its intrinsic goods and to continue to pursue these goods over long periods of time. It thus provides an example of the virtue of constancy directed towards particular practices. Research suggests that work orientation is indeed stable over time though some empirical research suggests that habituation within pro-social work contexts can encourage the development a pro-social work orientation (Grant 2007, 2008). 7 Preferences for intrinsic and extrinsic rewards are predictive of a range of affective responses (Demerouti 2006; Kasser and Ryan 1993, 2001; Kau et al 2000, Malka and Chatman 2003). Those with a calling orientation towards intrinsic rewards gain most satisfaction from work (Wrzesniewski, McCauley, Rozin and Schwartz 1997) and seek to „craft‟ their work to create opportunities for increasing meaningful interactions at the workplace (Wrzesniewski & Dutton 2001, Wrzesniewski 2003, p.305-307). Recent arguments have however suggested a distinction between those whose calling orientation encourages them to craft whatever work they happen to be doing into something personally meaningful from those for whose calling generates its affect only through undertaking particular work (Hall and Chandler 2005, Pratt, Lepsido and Pradies, forthcoming). Bunderson & Thompson's (2009) research provides evidence to show that zoo-keepers exhibit strong calling orientations toward zoo-keeping and will sacrifice higher salaries and career opportunities to maintain their jobs as zoo-keepers. However many take up other roles in order to support themselves and in these roles theirs is a transactional „job‟ orientation. Calling to a particular role is therefore characteristic of virtuous engagement with practices, the type of engagement which distinguishes those who would maintain their relationship to their practice even in the most testing circumstances. MacIntyre‟s (1994, p.284-286) contrast between two fishing crews summarises the argument. In one crew members and owners are principally directed to the satisfaction of market demand for fish in order to achieve the goods of wages for crew members and profits for owners. Such crews would abandon the occupation if greater remuneration and profits become available elsewhere. However participation in the practice of fishing can transform the desires of fishermen and motivate the very „calling‟ orientation that practitioners require: “continuing allegiance to one‟s fellow crew members and to the way of life of a fishing community will therefore not be conditional upon the economic rewards being such as to enable one to satisfy one‟s individual antecedent desires, those that one brought with one when first initiated into the life of a fishing crew.” (MacIntyre 1994, p.286) Alongside fishing, the other examples MacIntyre cites of virtuous practice-institution combinations commonly lie at the margins of modern economic activity. Despite this, others have applied MacIntyre‟s framework to enquiries in a number of large-scale work contexts including banking (Van der Ven 2011), oil and gas (Crockett 2005), retail (Moore 2012) , health-care (Conroy 2011, Dawson, 2009, Kempster et al 2011), open-source software (Krogh et al 2012) and pharmaceuticals (Kay 1997). MacIntyre however maintains that the perspective afforded by marginal activities enables us to understand mainstream economic organization in terms of the virtues (MacIntyre 2010a). MacIntyrean research has therefore also addressed marginal contexts such as that of the Lakota Sioux (Nicholas 2012, esp. Ch.4) and indy-media (Salter 2008). Likewise circuses are practice-institution combinations which stand, literally and figuratively, at the edge of the modern economic order (Carmeli 1987, Parker 2011) and within which MacIntyrean 8 empirical research has already been undertaken (Beadle and Kőnyőt 2006, Beadle forthcoming) and welcomed by MacIntyre (e.g. MacIntyre 2010b, p.17). Part Three: The lives of Circus Directors Method On the MacIntyrean account we cannot explain either the maintenance or the corruption of practices and institutions without an understanding of the role played in the former by the virtues and of the latter by the vices. This is however to undertake social enquiry in a way that is quite distinct from that of value-free social science (Achtemeier 1994) and shares much with research methods associated with the hermeneutic tradition which seeks to disclose the narrative self-understandings of agents (Beadle and Moore 2011). It is important that data analysis distinguishes between the subjects‟ self-understanding and the researchers‟ interpretive set, in this case that of MacIntyre‟s „goods-virtues-practices- institutions‟ framework. The translation of agents‟ terms into this set is therefore a preoccupation of MacIntyrean enquiries (Crockett 2008) and strategies have included the use of substitute terminology, for example success substituting for external goods in the questioning strategies of researchers. Whilst none of this resolves the apparent tension between the realist ontology which allows for MacIntyre‟s conceptual framework to be deployed in interpreting text with methods shared with an anti-realist hermeneutic tradition (though see Beadle and Moore 2011 for discussion), it does ensure that the translation of agents‟ terms to those of the conceptual framework is rendered explicit and therefore open to critique. The research project reported here sought to establish the self-understanding of the owner- directors of British and Irish traditional travelling circuses about their work. Given that the test of virtues is not the assertion of agents but their actions the selection of research subjects was pivotal to the validity of the project. A measure of constancy was therefore used to define the sample and a high bar was set to ensure that, like MacIntyre‟s fishing crews, subjects had persisted with their work over a long period of time. Of an estimated 40 travelling circuses in Britain and Ireland, the vast majority are privately owned by individuals and families known as Directors. Threshold costs for travelling circuses are relatively low and many circuses begin with little more capital than that with which they tour. Circuses are therefore easily started and easily discontinued as the weather, lack of available pitches, increasing fuel costs and competition from alternative entertainments and other circuses can cause cash crises within weeks of the start of the circus season. Whilst there is no source of authoritative data for the industry anecdotal evidence suggests that circus survival rates are low. What is evident from lists of travelling circuses published annually in „King Pole‟, the Circus Friends Association Quarterly, is that few circuses sustain over years, fewer still over decades. Across Britain and Ireland there are no more than ten Directors who have toured circuses for more than a decade. The length of commitment to the life of a circus owner was therefore an appropriate measure both of their effectiveness and of their constancy. A purposive sample comprised six subjects who had been circus owner-directors for at least 15 years and whose mean period of continuous circus ownership and touring exceeded 20 years. This is the first time that circus owner-directors have been 9 the subjects of an academic paper. Each of these owner-directors is a public figure and well-known within the industry. In assuring individual anonymity considerable caution has been exercised to conceal details that would enable them to be identified, hence the omission of demographics or a numbering system. Whilst influenced by life-story interviewing (Atkinson 1998), the semi-structured interviews undertaken here were more directive and addressed recollections of becoming circus directors, subsequent learning, management practices and reasons for continuing. To promote communicative validity probing questions were used to elicit concrete examples (Sandberg and Pinnington 2009). Interviews took place in directors‟ caravans which had the additional advantage of providing visual cues to which the directors referred on a number of occasions (e.g. filing cabinets and photographs of circuses, artists and family members). Interviews lasted for between 45 and 90 minutes and were transcribed with subjects confirming transcripts for accuracy once proper names had been removed. A „realist‟ form of template analysis (King 1998) was used to analyse data with coding categories drawn from MacIntyre‟s „goods-virtues-practices-institutions‟ framework. The analysis that follows begins by considering the distinction between the work of practice and the work of the institution in a travelling circus. This provides a context from which we consider the limits of managerial work in this practice-rich environment. Finally we consider the „calling‟ of Circus Directors. Practices and Institutions Traditional travelling circuses present a range of practices to a paying audience. These practices centre on acrobatics, comedy and more contentiously, animal performance, each of which contain further sub-divisions within which circus performers define themselves as jugglers, wire-walkers, musical clowns, animal trainers acts and so on. Each of these can be regarded as practices in MacIntyre‟s sense as each has identifiable internal goods, standards of excellence, exemplars and traditions through which their histories have developed. Each of these practices may be performed in a range of institutional contexts but the development of circus as an institution sustained many, invented some (e.g. the flying trapeze) and continues to provide a context that enables practices to take particular forms. Two directors explained their progress into directorship in precisely such terms. For one, circus provided a context within which his clown troupe could enhance their practice in a way that proved impossible in other contexts: “Very often we found in theatres that we couldn‟t do various routines because they either didn‟t have the necessary wing space or they didn‟t have height on the flies or too much height on the flies. No two theatres are obviously the same and it occurred to me that if we were working in a circus that there would be many many restrictions but the restrictions would be the same wherever we were … so we kind of drifted into preforming in a tent … and once you start putting clowns in a tent you become a circus quite quickly really.” 10 For another a career as a zoo-keeper had involved training and presenting animals but by the 1970s, animal performance and interaction was actively discouraged by zoos. This director first joined the circus because: “I felt as though as zoo director I was actually a jailor and I didn‟t want to run an animal Wormwood Scrubs [a British prison] … having a circus is the only legal way I can work closely with animals because it would be frowned upon in zoos.” Whilst circuses provide a mode of institutionalization which may be commodious for the practices it houses, the relationship between the goods internal to such practices and the goods pursued by the institution is complex. Every circus director highlighted the tension between the evaluative standards of practitioners which focus on the achievement of goods considered most difficult within the relevant practice and the evaluative standards of the audience upon whose favour circuses depend: “You can think it‟s a fantastic act but if the people are all going out to the toilet there‟s something wrong … that‟s really what you‟re doing it for, the public.” According to another director: “What I think is a good show is not necessarily what the public thinks is a good show … what I like might be very specialist but you see what I like may be very technical. I know that a forward somersault is harder than a back somersault so I appreciate it but nobody, no member of the public does.” With rare exceptions such as „horsey people‟ the declining popularity of circus and its condemnation by animal rights activists has done much to breach the evaluative standards of the audience from those of practitioners: “So that‟s why we have things like the Monte Carlo [circus] festival for excellence judged by its peers but the bread and butter thing that keeps us all alive is not excellence, it‟s what the public like … we are prostitutes selling our art to the public, and it don‟t matter actually whether we‟re good at it or not; it matters whether we satisfy our clients.” In this context the market incentives for British and Irish performers to develop excellent acts are undermined alongside the incentives to circuses for hiring them. The practical rationalities (MacIntyre 1987a) of those committed to the internal goods of the practice thus become further removed from those of employers. Nevertheless the circus directors who were the subjects of this research have achieved financial stability over long periods and each agrees that the pre-requisites for this comprise a good show with effective marketing and accessible sites. But if the standards of excellence internal to the practices of the circus arts do not define a good show, how is a good show to be defined? Directors point to the audience‟s experience of the show as a whole as the measure of its quality. Whilst their emphases differ widely they all maintain that quality is judged not by the excellence of particular acts alone but by the quality of lighting and music, the pace of the show, the balance between different types of acts (both in terms of a variety of acts and 11 variation of the number of artists in each act), levels of customer service, amenities available to customers, reasonable pricing and novelty. The importance of novelty has for example encouraged directors to move from not presenting animal acts (when this was once a novelty) to presenting them (which is now a novelty) with both being justified by their effectiveness in generating external goods. The production of effective marketing and booking accessible sites provided the initial apprenticeship for two of the directors in this study. Whilst one was later to become the director of his father‟s circus, the other became a circus director after moving from this institutional work (“the business side of it”) to the work of practice. He recalls a conversation with his father when he was first considering taking out a circus of his own: “he very wisely said „well you think you know it all but you only know one side of the business, you have never been a performer, you have never really worked with the animals‟ ” For ten years, both as a performer and later as a director he went on to present wild animals in the ring which: “gave me a bit of respect from the other artists because they could see that I wasn‟t simply a manager because it would be very easy for artists to say „Well what does he know? He‟s never been in the ring‟ … a comment that they might justifiably express” These extracts indicate both the stability of the distinction between the work of practice and the work of the institution in the narratives of circus directors and some areas of tension that persist between the pursuit of these goods. However conflict between them is reduced by both the exercise of and limits to managerial discretion institutionalised in both contractual relationships and cultural mores. The limits of managerial discretion Much of the managerial discretion exercised by Directors takes the form of „house rules‟ that apply within individual circuses and that are determined by Directors and communicated to performers before contracts are signed. Directors regularly expressed the view that whilst performers may be in the ring for no more than an hour each day, they were members of the circus community for twenty four hours. House rules were the rules of the community as a whole and the Directors‟ right to develop and enforce them was accepted within circuses. To ensure that rules were observed and to maintain relationships within the circus, Directors emphasized the avoidance of favouritism in their treatment of performers and employees. The expression of the virtue of justice requires directors to exercise other virtues including constancy, temperance in their own exchanges with performers and the courage to enforce rules where these are breached regardless of their relationship with the offender. Examples of house rules included provision of electricity to caravans (performers routinely own and maintain generators to use after the central supply has been turned off for everyone), ensuring that everyone smiles at the audience in the Finale, not spilling water on the audience, not hanging out washing (“my father always used to say you never go to the 12 Palladium to see the manager‟s drawers hanging in the foyer”), not playing music after 11pm, not wearing black costumes and matters of hygiene (“my great grandfather sacked [Charlie] Chaplin for not washing before he put his make-up on”). The exercise of justice in the administration of rules both asserted and limited the directors‟ discretion but within the bounds of that discretion their management style varied considerably with some Directors expressing pride in their personal strength in dealing with performers whilst others emphasized a preference for being gentle and others the need for a family atmosphere. Whatever their style however and whatever rules they imposed on their show, a second limit on managerial discretion was the physical, contractual and cultural boundary of the ring fence. Once the contract was signed between performers and directors before the circus season began, directors‟ power over the performers‟ work in the ring was strictly curtailed. This degree of autonomy in the exercise of their practice distinguishes traditional travelling circuses from other forms of theatrical performance (Lister 2004) and guarantees the autonomy of performers in the creation and expression of their practice. Directors may re- order the presentation of acts, though physical limits such as the need to move mats and props constrain this, and they may give advice and make suggestions to acts but what they cannot do is to order an act to change what it does in the ring. Even when contracts do not appear, such as in the relationships between the Director and family members on the show, the value placed on artistic freedom of the performer prevents the Director from determining the content of the act. If the Director is also the leader of the act or teaches in the circus school, then it is in the latter capacity that changes can be made in the act. When describing this limit, directors used a variety of justifying reasons including lack of technical knowledge, respect for artists‟ work and the greater amenability of artists to take suggestions before a circus begins touring: “We don‟t change a lot during the season, to be able to change things you have to carry people with you, you can‟t force it on them and the best time to do that is at the start.” Even if performers made their own changes during the season another director: “Wouldn‟t even dream of going to them and saying „Look don‟t take something out without my permission first‟ “ In a context in which contracts are agreed for one touring season at a time and few artists remain with a particular circus for more than two years, this limit to managerial discretion means that the selection of acts and short rehearsal period before the tour are critical if Directors are to achieve their vision for the show. But such limitations to managerial prerogative were accepted as the ongoing and defining condition of being a Director of a circus rather than merely a director of the theatrical display of circus skills. The „Calling‟ of Circus Directors Looking back over the changes they had experienced in their time as circus directors some improvements had made life easier including the reliability of vehicles, payment facilities, better materials for tents, greater availability of electricity and the provision of machinery to 13 drive stakes into the ground. All have reduced the hazards and sheer physical labour involved in an organization that moves often and literally, if not metaphorically, constructs and deconstructs itself at each site (Parker 2011). However much else had worsened. The bureaucracy required to run a circus had exploded with changes to the requirement for licenses to be granted by local authorities before every visit, the increasing regularity of checks by health and safety agencies and customs and excise authorities and demonstrations by animal rights activists, bans on the use of local authority grounds for circuses with animals and the declining popularity of circuses were regularly cited. In such an environment why should they continue? When I posed this question one answer dominated, that it wasn‟t for the money. Some laughed as they said this and cited other work such as tent – making and building horse-boxes that would generate greater income or cite family members who earned more as successful performers in continental Europe. But money, for them, was not the point. The distinguishing characteristic of MacIntyre‟s (1994) virtuous fishing crew is expressed in this response. When moving to their positive reasons a series of repeated themes were evident, all of which suggest a self-understanding that falls within the scope of a „calling‟ orientation productive of a specific type of enjoyment (Bellah et al 1985, Wrzesniewski et al 1997). Four types of justification are evident: the enjoyment of practice, the goodness of the show, reputation/family tradition and circus as a unique way of life. The enjoyment of practice was uppermost in the reasoning of one director for whom the circus offers the only institutional environment within which he could maintain his practice of animal training and presentation. When he stopped working in zoos and began with the circus he recalled that: “I wasn‟t a very good trainer… I even did silly things that I thought what a good idea I‟m going to put two arms in the lions‟ mouths so I had a lion either side of me held me arms and I couldn‟t get out (laughs) .. I hadn‟t worked out how to teach them to let go on cue so I was stuck there for five minutes like Jesus Christ on the cross with a lion clasped on each arm.” Later, the absence of other circuses able and willing to present wild animals meant that his only option was to direct his own show. His life history exhibits constancy in its directedness towards particular goods regardless of the controversy over the ethics of the practice itself. But for others, most of whom no longer perform in the ring, different goods prevail. As we have seen directors describe what constitutes a good show in different ways but the idea of „the good show‟ resonates with them all as the expression of the uniqueness of circus as a form of live entertainment. One director illustrated this through recalling particular incidents which demonstrated the potential effects of circus on the audience, effects unavailable in other institutions: “I can‟t overestimate the satisfaction, the absolute satisfaction I get from the public going out of the show and saying „that‟s fantastic‟ and we have had some very nice touching things happen over the years … where little kids were dying and have sent letters in … the parents have sent letters in saying you know „that‟s the first time 14 little Jonny has smiled in three years and he‟s dying of leukemia and you‟ve made him smile‟ and things like that … and things like that are very touching because I can‟t see the kid with leukemia getting the same kick from watching a video or going to the cinema but the fact of our efforts have really made that boy‟s .. a child‟s day you know … to think you can bring so much pleasure into people‟s lives is … and this is the truth.. I‟m not giving you some bullshit to write in a magazine … it gives me a lot of pleasure to think that I can do something good for people.” The third type of justification was around reputational goods conferred by other circus people, both directors and performers, rather than by the audience: “I know this sounds conceited and all the rest of it but everyone‟s got an ego haven‟t they? I like it when I go abroad and I get a lot of recognition abroad … far more than I get in this country … from other circus people directors, artists, fans …you know when I go to America or anywhere in Europe I always get treated with tons of respect and tons of honour and that‟s nice … I‟m not going to overdo it but it‟s a nice thing to have.” Another director observed: “When you get other circus people and you know what they‟re talking about you … you hear that they‟re saying like „that‟s the show‟ like „this is the show to see‟ “ In cases where directors had inherited their role circuses were named after the family and reputational goods were valued for redounding on the family as a whole. They represented a family tradition and directors intended to pass both their circuses and their reputation to their own children: “It‟s important to me because we‟ve kept our name clean all these years and people know us by our name … they know exactly who we are and I think people … respect the fact that you use your name and you‟re not changing.” Another said of circuses that change their name: “They have all come and gone and they are having to change their name every couple of years … because they got a quick fix and that‟s it but through all of them we‟ve just kept our own name and our own standards and … you know … we‟re still doing as good now if not better than the rest of them … so that‟s the biggest personal satisfaction is that we‟ve got where we have without any assistance and using our own name … and we haven‟t been frightened to put our name up …you know … in lights.” The final recurring justification was the role of the director in maintaining the circus itself - a working and travelling community whose history and traditions span centuries and continents. This features not only in the interview data reported here but also in the testimonies of circus directors from previous generations. In 1967 the Circus Director Cyril Bertram Mills wrote: 15 “Once you have spent a year or two with circuses you become infected with something nobody has ever been able to inspect or define.” (Bertram Mills, 1983 [1967], p.56) Directors used phrases such as “there is no better way of life”‟. One tried to capture it in this way: “Circus to me is a way of life … It isn‟t a job … I always say I‟ve never had a job … this is my life that I‟ve decided to do and I‟ve decided to do it for all this time … we work all day to be in that ring … that‟s what we do … All of the building up and pulling down is all because of that ring … that round thing in the middle there with sawdust … hallowed ground.” Part Four – Conclusions What can be learned from a small scale study of managerial work in a highly marginal and under-researched working community? First, the subjects of this research have demonstrated the virtue of constancy through maintaining their circus businesses despite a worsening environment for the industry as whole. Their explanations for such resilience are predicated on the uniqueness of circus as an institution and stated in terms resonant of a „calling‟ work orientation. To be intelligible, virtues must be intentional and hence require objects that animate their exercise. Equally to be „called‟ is to be called towards something, something of significant, perhaps over-riding value in a person‟s understanding of the directedness of their lives. This paper, though consistent with the argument that „calling‟ is an inherently moral concept (Hall and Chandler 2005, Pratt, M.G., C. Pradies and D.A. Lepisto (forthcoming)) suggests further that calling cannot be realized without another inherently moral concept, the virtue of constancy. Whereas previous research on the calling orientation has focused on non-managerial employees, this paper provides evidence of both calling and constancy amongst business owners or managers. If management is to be exercised as a domain-related practice (Beabout 2012) then the domain in which it is exercised must itself be capable of providing the virtue of constancy with an appropriate object. For the subjects of this research, circus provided exactly this. Future research should examine the role of constancy and calling in other practice-embodying institutions to gauge the range of contexts in which managerial work is so animated. Secondly, this paper has illustrated the theoretical resources that MacIntyre‟s work provides for understanding and researching organizations in a way that bridges what are often regarded as separate domains of business ethics and organization studies. The paper has shown that the concepts of practice, of goods internal and external to practices, and of the relationship between practices and institutions, can be meaningfully deployed to interpret textual data. Third, within MacIntyrean scholarship the role of the manager has remained controversial. If we are to argue that management may be conducted as a practice (Moore 2005, Moore 16 and Beadle 2006, Beabout 2012) we must be able to specify goods internal to it. This paper suggests that the „product‟ of managerial practice in the travelling circus can be seen as the synergies achieved between the practices housed within the institution. The idea of „the good show‟ is a synergy of components which may be experienced and evaluated discretely against standards internal to particular practices (e.g. quality of music or lighting) and additional standards apply to the patterned combination of elements that make up the show. This paper provides evidence of significant affective responses both to the goods of particular practices and to these synergistic goods. When directors take pride in the show this is not the external good of status enjoyed for its own sake but recognition of the achievement of goods internal to management as a domain-related practice (Beabout 2012). It follows that if such goods as „the good show‟ are and can only be the results of combinations of practices within institutions then it might be sensible to speak of goods internal to institutions themselves. When Philip Astley created the modern circus in the 18 th century (Kwint 2002) his entrepreneurship combined previously disparate practices in a new institutional form and gave rise to the potential emergence of new practices, most famously the flying trapeze. But he also created something with its own goods, traditions and the affective responses and when such institutions began to travel, circus became a form of communal life in which: The shared making and sustaining of the types of community within which the common good can be achieved – families, farming, households, fishing crews, local forms of political community – are activities which themselves have the structure of practices, within which the same virtues are needed for the achievement of goods internal to those practices as are needed elsewhere. (MacIntyre 1994, p. 288) MacIntyre‟s (2008) acceptance of Keat‟s criticism that the classification of goods internal and external to practices does not exhaust the heterogeneity of goods is consistent with a re- imagining of goods internal to institutions as being the goods of such communities. This notion brings us closer to the prerequisites for management to be exercised as a domain- related practice. 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work_ugxdf5my2vh7rab3hhkbapnjmu	----	INDEX TO VOLUME 58 | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 58, Issue 4 March 2004 Previous Article   Article Navigation Research Article| March 01 2004 INDEX TO VOLUME 58 J. BRISTOW ; J. BRISTOW University of California, Los Angeles Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar T. WORTHAM T. WORTHAM University of California, Los Angeles Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Literature (2004) 58 (4): 573–575. https://doi.org/10.1525/ncl.2004.58.4.573 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation J. BRISTOW, T. WORTHAM; INDEX TO VOLUME 58. Nineteenth-Century Literature 1 March 2004; 58 (4): 573–575. doi: https://doi.org/10.1525/ncl.2004.58.4.573 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. 2004 by The Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'INDEX TO VOLUME 58' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: INDEX TO VOLUME 58 Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_ujkkhe2adjeitna6aydnynnqmm	----	Small, thick, and slow Thinking about data and research publication in the Humanities in the age of Open and FAIR Daniel Paul O’Donnell University of Lethbridge Curtin University November 25, 2019 DOI (this version): 10.5281/zenodo.3554760 DOI (latest version): 10.5281/zenodo.3551790 About this paper ● Going to be speaking of how data are used in the humanities and implications for infrastructure design ○ How infrastructure currently interacts with typical humanities research practices ○ Why humanities researchers have been slow to adopt such infrastructure ○ How this infrastructure can be adapted to support (and improve) humanities research without requiring it to abandon its primary features/strengths ■ “Small” — focussed on very small number of data points or sets ■ “Thick” — involves intense curation and analysis of these few data ■ “Slow” — the same data points can be subject to years (generations) of subsequent, alternate, and supplementary analysis About this paper ● Two parts: ○ 1: The problem of Humanities data ○ 2: A solution About this paper ● Important to recognise that I’m dealing in generalities ○ Not all humanities data are small or “representational” in focus ○ Not all humanities work is about thick description ○ Not all humanities work is about reworking old material ● But much is and these are the ones that are least well catered to in current infrastructure About me ● Traditionally trained medieval philologist and textual critic ● Means history of “big” and small data techniques ○ Thesis (1996) was analysis of (unpublished) database of textual variation in the Old English poetic canon ■ Letter-by-letter differences in about 20 poems surviving in more than one copy from the pre-conquest period ○ Later (2005) did 100,000 word edition of 9-line Cædmon’s Hymn (s. viii) ○ Now working on 5 object “edition” of the cross in pre-conquest England ● But ○ Coming from a textual/linguistic/literary approach ○ Focus on “editing” (i.e. the development and publication of “Primary Source” material — mediated representational data) Part 1 The problem of humanities data Traditionally, humanists resist speaking of data ● “Primary sources” = Texts, artifacts, objects of study ○ Can be originals (i.e. the artifact itself) ○ More often mediated and contextualised in some way (i.e. an edition, transcription, or similar) ● “Secondary sources” = Works of other scholars (often based on “Primary sources”) ● “Readings” (1) = Passages, extracts, quotations for interpretation or support ● “Readings” (2) = Interpretation, the end product of research (literary study) Traditionally, humanists resist speaking of data ● These definitions are highly contingent ○ “Primary source” in one context can be the “secondary source” in another (and vice versa) ○ Or simultaneously “Primary” and “Secondary” (e.g. a critical edition) ● Also hard to constrain “[a]lmost any document, physical artifact, or record or human activity can be used to study culture” and arguments proposing previously unrecognised sources (“high school yearbooks, cookbooks, or wear patterns in the floors of public places”) are valued acts of scholarship” (Borgman 2007) How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement, then observed ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement, then observed ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement, then observed ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? The finches? How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement, then observed ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? The notes about the finches? How does data work in other fields? ● In fact, in the sciences, it is the notes. ● “Data” = “represent[ation of] information in a formalized manner suitable for communication, interpretation, or processing” (NASA 2012); “the facts, numbers, letters, and symbols that describe an object, idea, condition, situation, or other factors” (NRC 1999) The notes about the finches. But in the humanities? ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data” ● Very specific and often provisional: small; ● Depends on interpretation and argument (argue whether something is data): thick; ● Frequently revisit the same datasets to see them differently, provide new contexts, reuse: slow But in the humanities? ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data” ● Very specific and often provisional: small; ● Depends on interpretation and argument (argue whether something is data): thick; ● Frequently revisit the same datasets to see them differently, provide new contexts, reuse: slow Usually the Finch. But in the humanities? ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data” ● Very specific and often provisional: small; ● Depends on interpretation and argument (argue whether something is data): thick; ● Frequently revisit the same datasets to see them differently, provide new contexts, reuse: slow Usually the Finch. Sometimes the notes. But in the humanities? ● Can be both “data” and “capta”, but very often “data” ● Very specific and often provisional: small; ● Depends on interpretation and argument (argue whether something is data): thick; ● Frequently revisit the same datasets to see them differently, provide new contexts, reuse: slow Usually the Finch. Sometimes the notes. And sometimes what Darwin thought he was doing in his notes about the Finch. In Humanities, “Data” is arguably mostly “Finch” ● Interesting proof: Humanities “data,” unlike science “data” is almost all practically and theoretically non-rivalrous. ● Humanities researchers rarely have an incentive (or capability) to prevent others from accessing their raw material. ● 200 years of Jane Austen studies based on five main pieces of data. Usually the Finch. Sometimes the notes. And sometimes what Darwin thought he was doing in his notes about the Finch. The “Digital Humanities” don’t change this ● DH adds to this basic fact, but doesn’t change it: ○ We can now have “capta” (intermediate “observations” extracted algorithmically to form large data sets that then require interpretation) ○ We can now work across complete historical or geographic corpora: all known nineteenth-century English periodicals; every surviving tract from the U.S. Civil War ○ Introduces the possibility of deductive work ○ Makes method questions more important than when you worked inductively from the collections you could access The “Digital Humanities” don’t change this ● But DH is not the perfection of the Humanities ○ A lot of research continues with “data” rather than “capta” ○ This “traditional” work remains sound and important ○ The distinction between “capta” and “data” is not teleological ■ “Big data” (“big capta”) DH is not better than “small data” (traditional) Humanities ■ Not all DH is “big capta” (you can do traditional work with computers) ■ “Big capta” approaches to Humanities questions can miss the point ● Intensive curation and analysis of small data sets remains a major function of humanities research Why does this matter? ● Although much humanities research is (appropriately) “small, thick, and slow,” it is also, in theory, useful for “big capta” work ○ Collectively, traditional humanists produce a lot of very high quality data ■ Intensely curated datasets and data points; ■ Broadly compatible with each other (i.e. each generation reedits and reconsiders the canon); ● If we could find a way to capture the value of this traditional data in a way that would allow them to be reused, ○ We’d have extremely useful material to repurpose ○ We’d be maximising the benefit of the traditional work that has been done on it Why does this matter? ● But FAIR small data is by-and-large uneconomical for small data researchers ○ Their goal is to publish contextualised small-data datasets to ■ Serve as primary sources for others ● e.g. an edition of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice is intended to support secondary work on that novel ■ Support very specific arguments about the specific instance ● e.g. that there are three versions of Hamlet ○ The features that are required for reuse require (in essence) a separate, standalone, publication ■ Deposit in repository ■ Standardised metadata ■ Loss of key interpretative context and information ● Since the mid-1990s, there have been hundreds if not thousands of digital editions published of medieval and renaissance texts. ● Almost all of these contain high quality digital photographs of the original artifacts, often with very detailed, research-based expert commentary and analysis (transcriptions, bibliographic and other descriptions, etc.) ● Represents, in theory, a potentially huge, extremely rich, dataset for new cross-project work ○ Automatic scribe identification ○ Dating training sets ○ History of the Book The case of manuscript photography The case of manuscript photography ● Because the purpose of these photographs has been to support the contextual analysis and/or supply users with representations of the individual objects in question, very few are easily recovered or used by machines: ○ Few/no standards for metadata, APIs, etc ○ Very few explicitly connected to expert description ○ Relationship to other images and publication status not machine readable ● Result is a lost opportunity to create a “big capta” dataset of thickly described data from hundred of individual “small data” projects So what to do? ● The solution to this is to accept the traditional nature and use-case involved in the production and consumption of Humanities research data ○ I.e. recognise that FAIR must accommodate the small, thick, and slow as easily as it does the big stand-alone examples from STEM ● That means that we have to either ○ Work within the traditional Humanities research workflow ○ Encourage traditional Humanities researchers to work within ours ● As long as FAIR data publication means, in essence, publishing small, thick, and slow data twice (once in context and once without), we will never fully reap the benefit of these important and potentially huge cultural datasets We’ve been here before ● The New English Dictionary provides a non-digital model for this ○ Based on “historical principles” (i.e. definitions from and supported by historical quotations) ○ Massive crowd-sourced big-data collection, involving thousands collecting 1.8 million quotation slips from thousands of books prepared by generations of authors, scholars, and publishers (i.e. small data datasets) ○ In essence, an analogue version of what we want to do digitally We’ve been here before ● They had the same problem ○ Discovered almost immediately after setting up the reading programme that the texts they were planning to use were unsuitable ■ Not available in modern editions ■ Poor or difficult-to-determine quality ○ In other words, they discovered that they needed to improve and standardise the small datasets from which they were going to draw their big data records. We’ve been here before ● Solution? Create platform for new editions ○ Text societies and publishers to publish editions that met the NED’s requirements ○ Encouraged leading scholars to edit (and later reedit) the texts they needed ○ Very symbiotic relationship between what was going on in historical textual research at the time and the needs of this big-data dictionary ● Result was an increase in high quality small-data editions and better big-data data set for NED What to do ● What we need is something similar for the digital age ○ A workflow that encourages small-data researchers to prepare their datasets in a way that ■ Respects their traditional requirements for the intensive curation and analysis of individual data points or small datasets ■ Opens these small, thick, and slow datasets up to big data analysis ■ Does not increase (and preferably reduces) the cost of production, publication, and maintenance ● A workflow in which suitability for “big capta” research is inherent in the publication “small data” workflow rather than a separate step. What to do? ● What we need, therefore, is a similar approach for the digital age, that is comfortable dealing with the small, thick, and slow nature of the work ○ Has to accept that most Humanities research is (properly) about a small numbers of objects (small) ○ That the purpose of most Humanities research is to analyse these small number of datapoints intensely (thick) ○ That researchers are going to want to rework these individual data points as part of the natural progress of their research (slow) ● A workflow in which suitability for “big capta” research is inherent in the publication “small data” workflow rather than a separate step. Part 2 Being FAIR to the small, thick, and slow Introduction ● In the rest of this talk, I’m going to talk about the “Data-First” approach we are developing for the Visionary Cross Project 1. The project and some of our parameters 2. Background issues and models 3. The implementation 4. Further work 32 About the Visionary Cross Project ● 9 year-old SSHRC funded project to produce an “edition” and “archive” of the “Visionary Cross cultural matrix” in Anglo-Saxon England ○ “Edition” means “Scholarly mediated reproduction” ○ “Archive” means “dataset of facsimiles and transcriptions” ○ “Visionary Cross Cultural Matrix” means “Collection of individual objects that also belong together for cultural reasons” 33 ● Objects include some of the best known objects and texts from Pre-conquest England and Scotland. 34 About the Visionary Cross Project ● Objects include some of the best known objects and texts from Pre-conquest England and Scotland. 35 About the Visionary Cross Project Vercelli Book Dream of the Rood and Elene poems (s. x/xi, South) ● Objects include some of the best known objects and texts from Pre-conquest England and Scotland. 36 About the Visionary Cross Project Ruthwell Cross (s. Viii, North) ● Objects include some of the best known objects and texts from Pre-conquest England and Scotland. 37 About the Visionary Cross Project Bewcastle Cross (s. viii, North) ● Objects include some of the best known objects and texts from Pre-conquest England and Scotland. 38 About the Visionary Cross Project Brussels Cross (s. x/xi, South) About the Visionary Cross Project ● Interesting as individual objects and as a group: ○ Span period temporally, geographically, linguistically ○ (possibly) Earliest attested poetry ○ Complete runic poem ○ Include 1 of only 2~3 examples of poetic quotation ○ “Multiply attested” poetic text (>3% of the corpus) ○ Related to each other thematically (cult of the cross) and textually and/or artistically 39 About the Visionary Cross Project ● In other words we anticipate use as both ○ A traditional small-data project (as well as a not-so-traditional small-data project): ■ Individuals coming to us for limited amounts of data in the context of our thick description because they want to use our material as the primary source for subsequent work ○ A contribution to potential big-data purposes: ■ Data that can be used, reused, supplemented, and aggregated by others without negotiation Project Requirements A. Flexible: ○ Choose to view individual/group in appropriate format B. Extensible: ○ Add, rearrange, or reuse material without negotiation C. Authoritative: ○ Preserve credit/responsibility for all contributions D. Durable: ○ Permanently discoverable and available ○ Low/no maintenance 41 Different approaches over the years ● Wiki? ○ Flexible (e.g. categories/entries) (A) ○ Add and (re)connect material without negotiation (B) ○ But ■ Doesn’t preserve Authority (C) ■ Requires ongoing maintenance (D) ■ One kind of presentation (A) 42 Different approaches over the years ● Game engine ○ Provided different ways of organising material and good at object/collection (A) ○ Preserved authority (C) ○ Some engines allowed some external contributions (B) ○ But ■ Requires others to use our system (B) ■ None strong on external contributions (B) ■ Requires ongoing maintenance (D) 43 OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Repository for MS information, images, transcriptions ● Built to replace a previous “turning the pages” type interface for MS collections ○ Open the collection up to machine access (i.e. via rsync, ssh, ftp, etc) ○ Maintain human readability 44 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Essentially a lightly-skinned directory structure (i.e. a RESTful-like API) ○ Human-readable HTML pages 45 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Essentially a lightly-skinned directory structure (i.e. a RESTful-like API) ○ Human-readable HTML pages 46 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Essentially a lightly-skinned directory structure (i.e. a RESTful-like API) ○ Human-readable HTML pages 47 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Essentially a lightly-skinned directory structure (i.e. a RESTful-like API) ○ Human-readable HTML pages 48 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Essentially a lightly-skinned directory structure (i.e. a RESTful-like API) ○ Human-readable HTML pages 49 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● Love approach because it touches on all parts of vision ○ Flexible (i.e. A): can skin different groupings, focus on individuals or collections ○ Extensible (i.e. B): can extract from system ○ Authoritative (i.e. C): preserves authority ○ Durable (i.e. D): requires no software maintenance 50 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ OPenn (http://openn.library.upenn.edu/) ● But not perfect ○ Inflexible (i.e. A): Hierarchical data structure (can’t have machine readable virtual collections) ○ Not extensible (i.e. B): ■ Additions/reorganisations require server access ■ Collections are “official” (entire libraries/fonds) ○ Not durable (i.e. D): ■ Publisher responsible for maintaining server ■ No persistent identifiers 51 http://openn.library.upenn.edu/ Requirements (further points) E. Externally registered persistent identifiers F. Users need to be able to present alternatives/additions to our material inside or outside the same system G. Has to be “Publish-and-Forget”: once we are finished with it, it needs to be maintained by others. 52 Our solution ● Use Zenodo and GitHub to create an OPenn-like data repository, while answering its lacunae ● A “Data-first” approach to publication that 1. Is human and machine readable 2. Preserves attribution 3. Open to non-negotiated addition, reorganisation, reuse 4. Uses standard, third-party-maintained, persistent IDs 5. Maintained for free by others (requires no post-publication maintenance by the project) 53 Zenodo ● EU-funded OpenAire Data Repository ○ Hosted at CERN ○ Guaranteed by EU ○ Accepts “all research outputs from all fields of science” ○ Assigns DOIs to all submissions (“conceptual” and “record”) ○ Based on Invenio Digital Repository Engine ■ Excellent metadata and LOD capabilities 54 GitHub ● Code repository, version control, distribution system ● Used by millions for developing code-based projects ● Recently added ability to publish web-pages using Jekyll-based “GitHub pages” ● Based on Open Source Git ● But ○ Recently bought by Microsoft (it’s always been private) ○ Not archival (conditions of use allow for suspension of service for any reason at any time) 55 Interaction of Zenodo and GitHub ● GitHub repositories can be archived in Zenodo ○ Snapshots are deposited in Zenodo as Zipped directories ○ Given a Zenodo DOI and treated like any other record ● Means: 1. Replace GitHub’s non-guarantee with Zenodo’s permanent guarantee 2. Presentation (versions) are also citable research objects (FAIR data AND FAIR code) 56 An example: Cædmon’s Hymn ● Originally CD-ROM (2005) ● Now online (2018) ● Code published using GitHub pages ○ https://caedmon.seenet.org/ ○ https://seenet-medieval.github.i o/caedmonshymn ● Code base preserved as Zenodo object (in all versions) 57 https://caedmon.seenet.org/ https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn An example: Cædmon’s Hymn ● Originally CD-ROM (2005) ● Now online (2018) ● Code published using GitHub pages ○ https://caedmon.seenet.org/ ○ https://seenet-medieval.github.i o/caedmonshymn ● Code base preserved as Zenodo object (in all versions) 58 https://caedmon.seenet.org/ https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn An example: Cædmon’s Hymn ● Originally CD-ROM (2005) ● Now online (2018) ● Code published using GitHub pages ○ https://caedmon.seenet.org/ ○ https://seenet-medieval.github.i o/caedmonshymn ● Code base preserved as Zenodo object (in all versions) 59 https://caedmon.seenet.org/ https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn An example: Cædmon’s Hymn ● Originally CD-ROM (2005) ● Now online (2018) ● Code published using GitHub pages ○ https://caedmon.seenet.org/ ○ https://seenet-medieval.github.i o/caedmonshymn ● Code base preserved as Zenodo object (in all versions) 60 https://caedmon.seenet.org/ https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn https://seenet-medieval.github.io/caedmonshymn Visionary Cross as Data ● Combining two systems allows us to publish a data-centric edition that is ○ Flexible ○ Extensible ○ Authoritative ○ Durable ○ Externally registered persistent IDs ○ Maintained by others 61 Heart is the Zenodo record ● Basic unit of edition (1 record = 1 datum) ● Provides machine readability, extensibility, persistence, and archiving ● *Also acts as document server for rest of edition 62 Zenodo record ● Human and machine readable metadata record + file(s) ● *Typed “additional identifiers” ● *Two kinds of DOIs: ○ “Conceptual” (latest) ○ “Version” (current) ● *RESTful files URLs ○ No link rot 63 Zenodo record ● Human and machine readable metadata record + file(s) ● *Typed “additional identifiers” ● *Two kinds of DOIs: ○ “Conceptual” (latest) ○ “Version” (current) ● *RESTful files URLs ○ No link rot 64 Zenodo record ● Human and machine readable metadata record + file(s) ● *Typed “additional identifiers” ● *Two kinds of DOIs: ○ “Conceptual” (latest) ○ “Version” (current) ● *RESTful files URLs ○ No link rot 65 Zenodo record ● Human and machine readable metadata record + file(s) ● *Typed “additional identifiers” ● *Two kinds of DOIs: ○ “Conceptual” (latest) ○ “Version” (current) ● *RESTful files URLs ○ No link rot 66 Edition is built around records 67 68 69 70 71 72 Advantages to this system 73 ● Like OPenn ○ Human and Machine Readable ● Improve on OPenn ○ Persistent IDs (can be used RESTful) ○ FAIR ○ Not restricted to hierarchical arrangement or read only ○ Can be exported to variety of standards ○ Can be added to or rearranged by others ○ Maintained by archival specialists (i.e. commitment to preservation) ● Supports small, thick, and slow publication in a FAIR format ● What is interesting about this approach is that it is accidental ○ While most features are supported, ■ Not all are (e.g. arbitrary ontologies) ■ Those that are are inconsistent across repositories (e.g. streaming; typed other identifiers) ■ Support is often tentative or inadvertent ● Conceptual vs Record DOIs ● Restful DOI-based API ● While the ability to support Humanities data is there, the systems have not been designed with Humanities data in mind ● Supporting small, thick, and slow data is something that can be accommodated with relatively little work Disadvantages ● Next steps are to formalise this use case and feature-set ○ Build a prototype publication system within Zenodo/Github ○ Formalise and commit to the required features where they are tentative ○ Develop the few features not found specifically in Zenodo ○ Test system out on existing publications and data ○ Disseminate the model in order to encourage other systems to adopt it ● Just put together a Partnership for a SSHRC Partnership Development Grant ○ CERN/OpenAIRE ○ Toolmakers ○ Data projects ● Goal is to start prototyping this next year. Next steps Questions 
work_umborvwodze4pgx5d43oac5vzy	----	Byron e il femminile: La verità in maschera (Alessandra Calvani) Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 63 Alessandra Calvani – Università di Roma Tre Byron e il femminile: La verità in maschera calvani@uniroma3.it Se con la parola “fascino” intendiamo dare un nome a quella capacità di attrar- re e sedurre del tutto fuori dell’ordinario che costituiscono la caratteristica più rilevante di particolari luoghi, oggetti o persone e se consideriamo l’intensità con cui a volte questa dote si manifesta, tanto da essere considerata una sorta di malia 1, d’influsso malefico esercitato grazie all’intervento di qualche potere diabolico cui è quasi impossibile sottrarsi, allora Lord Byron può senz’altro es- sere definito uno degli uomini più affascinanti di tutto l’Ottocento. Celeberri- mo in patria, la sua fama lo precedeva ovunque andasse. Conobbe personal- mente quasi tutti i personaggi più famosi a lui contemporanei, da Mme de Sta- el a Shelley; più di una generazione lo elesse a proprio mito, fino a creare una vera leggenda intorno alla figura dello scrittore che contaminò non poco an- che i giudizi letterari sulla sua opera. Le ragioni che hanno portato ad un suc- cesso simile sono sicuramente varie e mai come in questo caso può essere utile indagarle: con Lord Byron infatti non abbiamo semplicemente uno scrittore famoso, che certamente non era il solo personaggio celebre dell’Ottocento, ma ci sembra piuttosto di assistere alla creazione di un mito letterario, di un personaggio pensato e studiato per essere “venduto” al pubblico, insomma la sensazione è quella di essere di fronte ad una straordinaria operazione di mar- keting, sicuramente senza precedenti, operazione assolutamente moderna che per la vastità e l’entità delle proporzioni raggiunte può essere paragonata, non uscendo di metafora, alla pubblicizzazione di un marchio di fabbrica. Quanto consapevolmente una simile impresa sia stata perseguita dal protagonista non è facile da stabilire, di certo, i suoi primi tentativi letterari non lasciavano pre- sagire il clamoroso successo che lo avrebbe letteralmente travolto da lì a pochi ———————— 1 D’altronde la parola fascinum in latino significava appunto incantesimo, malia, che a sua volta deriva dalla parola latina malus, cattivo. Alessandra Calvani Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 64 anni. Hours of Idleness, del 1807, una delle prime opere di Byron 2, sono una raccolta di versi scritti alla maniera “sentimentale”, niente di più, eppure già in questo primo tentativo, è possibile scorgere un primo embrionale progetto, una prima volontà di successo. La poesia cui Byron aveva cercato di ispirarsi era quella dei Della Cruscan, in particolare, Jerome Mc Gann suggerisce la deri- vazione degli Hours of Idleness dagli Hours of Solitude di Charlotte Dacre 3, autrice di poesie sentimentali piuttosto note ai contemporanei. Ma la stroncatura dell’Edinburgh Review gli fa rinnegare il proprio modello e con English Bards and Scottish Reviewers sancisce questo cambiamento di posizione. La bocciatura dell’Edinburgh era inevitabile: quella dei Della Cruscan era una poesia tipicamen- te femminile, poco consona ad un pubblico e ad un autore maschili. La codifi- cazione dei ruoli nell’Ottocento era molto rigida: difficile, se non impossibile, per una donna uscire dall’ambito che le era stato riservato, ossia quello della famiglia 4 e del sentimento. Le autrici che riuscirono a raggiungere il successo come poetesse devono questo loro risultato proprio all’aver accettato il ruolo che era stato loro assegnato, basti per tutte l’esempio di Marie Williams, poe- tessa di gran moda, distrutta da uno scandalo sentimentale che ha definitiva- mente sancito la non identità del personaggio idealizzato con quello reale e quindi la fine della sua “gloria” poetica. Bisogna inoltre considerare come lo scrivere poesie “sentimentali” fosse anche una fonte di guadagno per le autrici, il che costituiva una violazione inaccettabile, un primo atto di ribellione alla consuetudine che voleva la donna in posizione di totale dipendenza soprattut- to economica rispetto all’uomo, prima causa della loro oppressione. Il tema del femminile romantico è certo un argomento da approfondire meglio, quello che però mi preme soprattutto evidenziare è proprio questa precisa scelta di Byron di rinnegare la fonte della propria ispirazione, sacrificandola alle con- venzioni dell’epoca proprio perché, come afferma lo studioso Mc Gann, Hours of Idleness was still judged too mawkish and sentimental – this time not by a provincial audience, but by the mighty and male Edinburgh Review […]. The proc- ess is one in which Byron tries to redeem himself and his work by making a scape- ———————— 2 La prima opera in assoluto dell’autore è infatti del 1806, Fugitive Pieces, che Mc Gann caratterizza come: “distinctly marked by that sort of very respectable poetry which English Bards ridiculed in the sentimental verse of various writers, and particularly in the work of Dacre and in the work of his later close friend Tom Moore” (in Mc Gann 2002:56). 3 “This verbal echo is in fact only one part of the massive act of allusion to Dacre which constitutes the title page of Byron’s book” (Mc Gann 2002:54). 4 E non è un caso se le scrittrici di romanzi gotici identificassero spesso proprio all’interno delle mura domestiche i loro “persecutori” e la propria dimora come il luogo della loro “detenzione”, senza poi considerare come da sempre i luoghi chiusi, circoscritti, possano sì essere riparo e protezione ma anche occultamento e quindi luogo in cui poter scatenare i più bassi istinti al riparo da occhi indiscreti. In proposito vedi anche A. Castol- di, “Lo spazio del desiderio”, in Innocenti 1995:45-59. Byron e il femminile Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 65 goat of writers and writing which had given literal birth to his own imagination. (Mc Gann 2002:5) La questione quindi sembra delinearsi meglio: il giovane Byron, allora diciot- tenne, legge poesie sentimentali e ne trae la primissima ispirazione. Pubblica i Fugitive Pieces, ma immediatamente ne sospende la stampa pubblicando però su- bito dopo gli Hours of Idleness, che Mc Gann definisce: “a deliberate effort to tone down the ‘sentimentalities’ which had so heated up, in their presumably different ways, the readers of Fugitive Pieces” (2002:56). Purtroppo anche questo secondo tentativo fallisce e Byron decide allora di sacrificare la primitiva vena sentimentale per dare al pubblico e ai critici della Edinburgh ciò che chiedevano. In realtà, Mc Gann definisce l’attacco condotto da Byron nei confronti della po- esia di Charlotte Dacre un atto di “bad poetic faith” (ibid.:57), e vedremo poi quanto effettivamente il poeta abbia tagliato i ponti con questo genere di poesia. È comunque evidente come, con la pubblicazione del Childe Harold, il passaggio dal femminile al maschile sia ormai decretato. È lecito a questo punto volere in- dagare meglio i motivi che hanno portato Lord Byron a disconoscere le proprie radici, la propria fonte d’ispirazione; perché Byron ed i critici dell’Edinburgh Re- view sono così pronti a condannare la poesia sentimentale, di matrice femminile, per esaltare invece la nuova poesia, questa volta “virile” o quanto meno ritenuta tale, proposta da quello stesso autore che avevano stroncato senza esitazione? Innanzitutto una prima notazione: se di norma siamo abituati a considerare il femminile romantico come quella sorta di figura eterea e idealizzata che veniva rappresentata nelle opere letterarie e teatrali dell’Ottocento, faremmo bene a considerare anche una circostanza di non poco conto circa l’origine di tali opere, ossia l’essere tutte o quasi state scritte da autori, non da autrici. Il personaggio raffigurato quindi risponde chiaramente alla concezione maschile del femminile, ma non dice niente su come le donne rappresentavano loro stesse. In realtà, an- che se abitualmente le opere del romanticismo inglese più studiate e conosciute sono sicuramente quelle dei poeti da sempre considerati più rappresentativi dell’epoca, ossia Wordsworth, Coleridge, Blake, Keats, Shelley e Byron, non dobbiamo dimenticare l’esistenza di scrittrici, anche piuttosto famose tra i con- temporanei, oggi purtroppo per lo più dimenticate. Analizzando tali opere ci sorprenderemmo allora nello scoprire come e quanto l’immagine ed il ruolo del femminile differiscano l’uno dall’altro. In genere si è portati a credere che i poeti del sentimento debbano necessariamente affidare un ruolo importante alle don- ne, almeno come co-protagoniste degli avvenimenti descritti, ma analizzando meglio le loro opere noteremmo alcuni particolari che portano a riflettere. Consideriamo infatti la rappresentazione della Natura nei poeti romanti- ci: tutti la identificano come femminile. Ora se pensiamo al ruolo di fonda- mentale importanza che la Natura ha nella poesia dell’Ottocento non po- tremmo che attribuire alla cosa una conferma del valore positivo attribuito al Alessandra Calvani Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 66 femminile e della funzione fondamentale che svolge nell’universo romantico. Andando ad osservare con più attenzione però, noteremmo che tale Natura costituisce l’oggetto del desiderio maschile, oggetto che l’uomo vuole possede- re. Mellor notava come: …by identifying nature as the external objective world which the self-conscious sub- ject must penetrate, posses and interpret, even to the point of “forcing some lone ghost / Thy messenger, to render up the tale / Of what we are”, [my italics] as the problematic Narrator of Percey Shelley’s Alastor puts it in an image that suggests a calculated and violent rape of Mother Nature, these poets often go further than pre- vious poets in denying to Nature her authority. (Mellor 1993:21) L’artista romantico allora, che attribuisce alla Natura il potere di creare, di dare vita e che perciò è rappresentata al femminile, non esita ad eliminare qualsiasi ostacolo che venga a frapporsi tra sé e la conquista di tale potere. L’artista al- lora diviene colui che crea, mentre la Natura-donna è solo un mezzo, è la fon- te d’ispirazione, è ciò che consente al poeta di elevarsi ad uno stadio superiore, letteralmente “cannibalizzando” l’altro e assumendone così le caratteristiche. Ecco allora che quando i poeti romantici insistono sulla loro capacità di ama- re, di sentire fortemente e più degli altri, stanno in realtà appropriandosi anche di quel terreno che da sempre era considerato l’unico interamente di proprietà delle donne. L’amore-passione è ciò che viene esaltato di più dalla cosiddetta seconda generazione romantica, il che sembrerebbe suggerire un’effettiva va- lutazione del femminile in termini positivi in quanto rappresentazione di un al- tro che è però degno dell’amore del poeta, considerazione questa completa- mente ribaltata da Anne Mellor che notava: “But when we look closely at the gender implications of romantic love, we discover that rather than embracing the female as a valued other, the male lover usually effaces her into a narcissi- stic projection of his own self” (Mellor 1993:25). È quello che fa Shelley quando parla di Mary Godwin, affermando che la loro somiglianza è tale che se descrivesse le sue qualità sentirebbe di parlare delle qualità sue proprie: è il desiderio di vedere nell’altro un nuovo se stesso. Questa fusione può essere raggiunta solo con la scomparsa dell’altro, con l’annullamento delle diversità e della divisione esistente tra gli amanti. Così Mellor osserva come Manfred’s embrace of his sister-bride Astarte – chosen because she “was like me in lineaments – her eyes, / her hair, her features, all, to the very tone / Even of her voice, they said there like to mine; / But soften’d all and tempered into beauty” (Act II, sc ii, 11:106-109) – is fatal; and both the Byronic hero of the Turkish Tales and Don Juan leave in their wake a series of female corpses, from Medora and Kaled to Haidée.” (Mellor 1993:26) Nell’amore romantico dunque non trova spazio il riconoscimento dell’altro; il Byron e il femminile Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 67 poeta è troppo preso dalla propria individualità e solo ad essa può dedicarsi completamente 5, ecco allora che il femminile deve essere assimilato per essere trasformato in maschile: “The woman must finally be enslaved or destroyed, must disappear or die. […] In matters of love, these poets frequently, and nar- cissistically, idolized female mirrors of themselves, mirrors inevitably shattered by their biographical experiences of female otherness” (Mellor 1993:26). Il Romanticismo, quindi, compie una vera e propria incursione nel femminile, minaccia duramente l’esistenza di ciò che è altro, ma lo fa più subdolamente che in passato, rischiando perciò di riscuotere un successo totale nell’impresa. Il poeta romantico si appropria così delle caratteristiche del femminile che più ritiene degne di sé, consegnando tutto il resto al silenzio o alla categoria del negativo, del demoniaco. Quanto di ciò che si è finora affermato possa essere ritrovato nelle opere di Byron è piuttosto facile da constatare. L’eroe byroniano, sensibile e inna- morato, ha sempre al suo fianco una figura femminile eterea, immateriale che puntualmente non sopravvive al passaggio dell’eroe 6. Non troviamo perso- naggi femminili dotati di una personalità forte, in grado di competere con quella del protagonista e qualora le donne di Byron mostrassero capacità d’azione, coraggio o anche semplicemente indipendenza di pensiero, suscite- rebbero solo orrore e non ammirazione perché i loro atti non possiedono mai la forza della ragione, ma solo la violenza dell’istinto 7. Pensiamo a Conrad e alla moglie del sultano che uccide il proprio consorte per salvarlo: il travesti- mento e la morte sono ciò che le consentiranno di restare accanto all’amato in una sorta di espiazione del proprio peccato fino alla catarsi finale. L’immagine della donna indipendente, capace di vivere senza la presenza maschile, è asso- ———————— 5 È la stessa forte coscienza di sé e della propria individualità che secondo Thorslev impedirebbe agli eroi di Byron di annullarsi nell’Assoluto, provocando quel Weltshmertz che caratterizza gli eroi dell’Ottocento. 6 Del resto è Byron stesso che nel Don Giovanni dirà: “Alas! The love of women! It is known / To be a lovely and a fearful thing; / For all of theirs upon that die is thrown, /And if ‘tis lost, life hath no more to bring / To them but mockeries of the past alone, / And their revenge is as the tiger’s spring, / Deadly, and quick, and crushing; yet, as real / Torture is theirs, what they inflict they feel. / They are right; for man, to man so oft un- just, / Is always so to women; one sole bond / Awaits them, treachery is all their trust; / Tought to conceal, their bursting hearts despand / Over their idol, till some wealthier lust / Buys them in marriage – and what rests beyond? / A thankless huband, next a faithless lover, / Then dressing, nursing, praying, and all’s over.” (Don Juan, II.199-200.1585-1600). 7 E Byron in particolare paragona spesso le sue compagne più “indisciplinate” ad a- nimali selvaggi, per lo più alle tigri, come nel caso di una lettera scritta a John Murray, nella quale, parlando della sua relazione con la Fornarina e raccontando di quando, una sera di tempesta, lei lo aspettava in ansia sui gradini di palazzo Mocenigo, afferma: “La sua gioia nel rivedermi era mescolata anche ad una vena di ferocia e mi fece pensare ad una tigre che abbia salvato i suoi cuccioli” ed ancora “In breve era, come ti ho detto prima, uno splendi- do animale, bellissimo e vitale” (in. Byron 1985:88-92). Alessandra Calvani Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 68 lutamente negata, la studiosa Mellor notava anzi come: Neither Shelley nor the other romantic poets ever imagined a utopia where women existed as indipendent, autonomous, different – but equally powerful and respected – authors and legislators of the world. When a female character or principle asserts her independence or difference in canonical Romantic poetry, she is all too frequently defined as an evil to be eradicated or overcome. (Mellor 1993:28). Byron in particolare, nonostante l’estrema sensibilità dei suoi eroi, non ha mai mostrato riguardo per la dignità femminile 8 e ironizza sulle donne intellettuali 9 “who have ‘hen- pecked you all’ and portrays a powerful female ruler, Empress Catherine of Russia, as a bloodthirsty whore” (Mellor 1993:27). Del resto l’accusa d’effeminatezza lo aveva sempre molto colpito. L’Ottocento non la ri- teneva una caratteristica degna di lode ed anzi esistevano tutta una serie di tratta- ti ‘medici’ che descrivendone le cause cercavano di eliminarne l’effetto. Il fem- minile era associato alla passività, al languore, alla rilassatezza e la masturbazione era ritenuta la causa principale dell’effeminatezza. Non solo, tali trattati descri- vono l’onanismo come nocivo e pericoloso e ne parlano come di una pratica comune soprattutto tra le ragazze, che se negli uomini provocherebbe passività, nelle donne porterebbe alla manifestazione di doti maschili, caratteristica questa assolutamente orribile nell’Ottocento. La repressione sessuale era totale. Quella di effeminatezza era quindi un’accusa grave e Byron non esita a scagliarla contro Keats, accusandolo di onanismo in poesia. In realtà il suo sembra essere più un atteggiamento, un comportamento da assumere necessariamente in pubblico se si voleva riscuotere successo. L’accusa di effeminatezza l’aveva sempre spaven- tato, cosa questa dimostrata anche dalla fretta con cui ha ritenuto opportuno di- sconoscere la sua poesia quando una simile accusa gli era stata rivolta; la sua omosessualità poi lo metteva ancora di più in pericolo 10 e più di un conoscente lo aveva criticato per una certa sua languidezza, per la sua vanità, per una certa dose si passività che non si addicevano all’eroe dei suoi romanzi. Se questo quindi era il femminile per l’uomo romantico, come vedevano ———————— 8 In una lettera a Thomas Moore, del 28 gennaio 1817, afferma ad esempio che “la fortuna di sicuro è donna, ma non p** come le altre (sempre salvando tua moglie e mia so- rella da questa condanna generale)”, (Byron 1985:29) o ancora in una lettera a Hoppner del 10 gennaio 1820, “Per Madame Cicognara, invece, è proprio un mistero […] se è vero il suo racconto, almeno come lo riferiscono le sue com-puttane. Riesco a capire come le nuove regole debbano aver prodotto una forte con-catin-azione tra le gentildonne venezia- ne” (Byron 1985:111) e le citazioni possono continuare ancora a lungo. 9 In particolare, parlando di Felicia Hemans in una lettera a John Murray del 12 agosto 1820, l’accusava di scrivere “false stilted trashy style which is a misture of all the styles of the day – which are all bombastic” e concludeva dicendo “if [she] knit bluestockings instead of wearing them it would be better”, (Byron 1974-1982:158,182 vol. VII). 10 L’omosessualità in Inghilterra era reato da pena di morte. Byron e il femminile Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 69 se stesse le scrittrici dell’Ottocento? La loro idea del femminile differiva com- pletamente da quella dei loro colleghi uomini. Il punto dolente, sul quale tutte o quasi insistevano, era il problema della fondamentale eguaglianza di uomini e donne e di conseguenza sul diritto all’istruzione femminile. Fin dal 1790 Ca- therine Mackaulay aveva posto la questione con la sua Letters on Education ed il suo discorso venne successivamente portato avanti dalla Wollstonecraft che volle attaccare la definizione stessa di femminile come legata all’emotivo e all’illogico; le donne potevano essere capaci di sentimenti, ma erano assoluta- mente prive di razionalità. Anne Kostelanetz Mellor attribuisce la diffusione e la promozione dell’idea di “rational woman” (1993:40) a personaggi quali Mary Astell, Hanna More e Mary Wollstonecraft, il cui pensiero ebbe notevole influenza sulle scrittrici inglesi negli anni tra il 1780 ed il 1830. Marie Edge- worth, nella sua Belinda, dà un chiaro esempio della nuova ideologia romantica al femminile. Vari sono i “tipi” rappresentati, dalla donna intrigante e alla mo- da, dotata di spirito ma che ha anche molto sofferto (Lady Delacour), alla campionessa dei diritti della donna, Harriet Freeke. In realtà, “[she] goes in Edgeworth’s opinion too far. […] She assumes the worst aspects of masculin- ity – tyranny over the weak, cruelty, infidelity, physical violence – rather than fusing, as Belinda does, the positive qualities of both genders” (Mellor 1993:42). Il vero ideale di donna proposto dalla Edgeworth è piuttosto rappre- sentato dalla protagonista, Belinda; è lei che riesce ad ottenere un matrimonio basato sull’uguaglianza e la compatibilità della coppia; come precisa ancora Mellor (1993:44), “Clarence Hervey achieves the same only after he has reco- gnized that the truly valuable relationship is with a woman who is not inferior or grateful dependent but his equal in intellectual and moral achievements”, e non è un caso che la critica abbia preferito la figura di Lady Delacour a quella di Belinda. L’immagine della donna razionale che realisticamente sceglie il me- glio per il proprio futuro, non è l’immagine maschile della donna sentimentale e passionale, che sacrifica tutto all’amore di un uomo. Le scrittrici “femmini- ste” dell’Ottocento non vogliono una donna aggressiva, che assuma caratteri- stiche maschili, sarebbe stato assurdo proporre un simile modello. Se l’eccen- trico poteva caratterizzare l’eroe byroniano, non avrebbe assolutamente potu- to riscuotere favore alcuno in una donna. Tuttavia, anche la figura della freak- ish feminist viene rappresentata dalle scrittrici inglesi, ma non perché venga considerata un modello da seguire, ma più semplicemente per mostrare la loro estraneità a tale personaggio ed assumere così un tono più rassicurante, cui po- teva essere concessa la possibilità di venire ascoltato. La donna nell’Ottocento vede ancora e realisticamente il matrimonio come l’unica possibilità che le vie- ne concessa per vivere un’esistenza dignitosa. Questo è un dato di fatto da cui non si può prescindere. Le è concesso però di indirizzare la sua scelta verso l’uomo a lei più adatto, quello che le può consentire un’esistenza tranquilla Alessandra Calvani Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 70 grazie alla stima che riuscirà a conquistarsi presso di lui. Ciò che quindi va as- solutamente evitato è proprio il cedere alle passioni, alle tentazioni dell’irra- zionale e molte scrittrici 11 si sforzano di descrivere i pericoli cui va incontro una ragazza incapace di mantenere il dominio di sé. Anche Jane Austen de- scrive le proprie eroine come donne soprattutto di “buon senso”. Per lei, ciò che effettivamente deve esserci alla base dell’amore di una donna è la gratitu- dine, gratitudine per la bontà dimostrata nei suoi confronti, cosa questa rivela- ta dalla stessa Jane Austen nella precisa scelta dei termini che utilizza nel de- scrivere la vita coniugale di una delle sue eroine, precisando appunto come “…Darcy still has the power not to allow either his sister or his wife to “take liberties” with him. He remains the master of Pemberley, controlling the “lib- erties” of all the women enclosed within” (Mellor 1993:57). Anche l’idea di stato e di governo vista dal punto di vista femminile è completamente differente da quella maschile. Le scrittrici proponevano una sorta di stato-famiglia, nel senso che il modello famigliare doveva essere esteso al governo della nazione: “feminine Romanticism was distinctly class-biased in favor of the middle class, trating the lower classes as ‘children’ to be governed, controlled, and reformed, and incorporating the heroic virtues previously as- signed to the aristocracy into the middle class” (ibid.:59). La società doveva essere cambiata, ma non con guerre e rivoluzioni, piut- tosto invece gradualmente, grazie alle cure e alle attenzioni di coloro che de- vono sorvegliare il loro sviluppo. Da quanto abbiamo detto appare quindi evidente come, a differenza del Romanticismo maschile che privilegiava l’individualità dell’uomo, nel Roman- ticismo femminile il rapporto con l’altro era invece fondamentale. La donna romantica non è un individuo a se stante, vive in famiglia ed è grazie al ricono- scimento dell’altro da sé che sente la forza della propria dignità. Naturalmente non tutte le autrici erano “femministe”, molte anzi erano le scrittrici 12 che nel- le loro opere, soprattutto poesie, rappresentavano quella stessa eterea, passio- nale ed emotiva figura femminile che tanto successo aveva riscosso presso il pubblico 13. Abbiamo visto come Mc Gann accenni all’influsso che questo ti- po di poesia sentimentale aveva avuto su Byron e come attribuisca ad un vero e proprio atto di bad poetic faith l’aver rinnegato la sua iniziale fonte d’ispirazione. Secondo l’autore inglese tuttavia, Byron resterebbe debitore nei ———————— 11 Vedi ad esempio Letters of Julia and Caroline di Mary Edgeworth e Julia di Helen Maria Williams. 12 Vedi Letitia Elizabeth Landon e Felicia Hemans. 13 In particolare, la Mellor afferma: “Together, Burke, Rousseau and Byron define the hegemonic domestic ideology of the Romantic period: the construction of the ideal woman solely as daughter, lover, wife and mother, one who exists only to serve the inter- ests of male children and adults, and whose value is equated with her beauty, submissive- ness, tenderness and affection” (Mellor 1993:109). Byron e il femminile Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 71 confronti della poesia sentimentale, in particolare per quel che riguarda la cen- tralità del tema dell’amore; ciò sarebbe evidente nella rappresentazione delle relazioni tra uomini e donne che lo scrittore inglese esemplifica nella sua poe- sia negli anni tra il 1808 ed il 1816 (Mc Gann 2002:58). Ora Mc Gann afferma che nella visione sentimentale dell’amore, “when an individual only pretends to the intensities and sensitivities of sentimental love, he (or she) betrays not merely the persons who are love-engaged, they betray love itself in its fullest expression” (ibid.:59). Byron accetta una tale concezione della relazione amorosa, “the partner […] is his epipsyche; and that a total love – experience – physical, mental and spiritual – is the goal” (ibid.:59). In realtà abbiamo visto come questa sia una visione interamente maschile del rapporto amoroso: in questo caso o l’altro viene assimilato oppure il poeta sentirà tutta la frustrazio- ne dell’impossibilità di fondersi con l’oggetto del desiderio. Byron non fa ec- cezione e Mc Gann rileva anzi come: “even in his Childe Harold mode Byron typically represents himself true to love, but cruelly kept from it by interven- tions beyond his control […]. In any case, love is lost – mysteriously, fatally lost, but not by the will of Childe Byron, who is at all times and in all places love-devoted” (ibid.:59). L’impossibilità quindi di raggiungere l’identificazione con l’amata viene attribuita ad una colpa da imputare all’amata stessa. L’amante byroniano è sempre fedele, è l’oggetto del desiderio che si sottrae al suo amore, anche semplicemente con la morte o dedicandosi ad un altro a- mante come vorrebbero suggerire le poesie dedicate a Mary Chaworth, Susan Vaughan, Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster e Lady Caroline Lamb; la rap- presentazione di questo “Byronic myth” (ibid-.:59) verrebbe sviluppata dal po- eta tra il 1808 ed il 1816 in una serie di liriche composte appunto pensando al- le donne citate poco prima. Mc Gann prende in esame tre liriche in particola- re, “[Again Deceived! Again Betrayed]”, scritta per Susan Vaughan, la lirica scritta per Caroline Lamb che inizia con “Go – triumph securely – that trache- rous vow” e “When We Two Parted”, dedicata a Lady Frances. In tutte e tre queste poesie Byron è l’amante ingannato e tradito dalla sua donna. Secondo Mc Gann si tratterebbe di tre esempi di “lying like truth, a work which once again deceives and betrays sentimental love by its pretences to faithfulness and candor” (ibid.:60). La prima lirica venne scritta appunto per Susan Vaughan, “a Newstead servant-girl” (ibid.:60), in occasione della scoperta del tradimento di lei da par- te di Byron. L’inganno non sarebbe però quello della ragazza, ma quello per- petrato da Byron stesso nei suoi confronti, illudendosi di credere nella sua fe- deltà e nello stesso tempo illudendola; “But the greater deception of the po- em, and the source of its strenght, lies in its assent to its own self-deception” (ibid.:60). Mc Gann ritiene che il poema voglia mostrare come in realtà siano le costruzioni della propria mente a ferire e a tradire l’altra persona e se stessi. Alessandra Calvani Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 72 Anche nella poesia scritta per Caroline Lamb incontriamo la figura dell’ingan- natrice, solo che questa volta l’inganno risiede nel fatto che, pur essendo Lady Caroline perfettamente fedele al suo Byron, pure ha ingannato qualcun altro per esserlo, ossia il marito, “The poem therefore sets out to immagine the fu- turity of such a love-relationship, to imagine the certainty of Byron’s loss of her and the corresponding certainty of her “career” of deceit” (ibid.:62). L’ultima considerata, “When We Two Parted”, completa il ciclo, anche perché “Byron for the first time deliberately casts the poem as a work of de- ception” (ibid.:62), pubblicandolo con una falsa data per evitare riferimenti di- retti alla sua relazione con Lady Frances. Secondo Mc Gann la falsa datazione della poesia vorrebbe suggerire che quanto accaduto nella vita di Byron tra il 1808 ed il 1816, costituisca piuttosto la rappresentazione delle sofferenze del poeta stesso perpetrate dalla mano di donne infedeli ed insincere (ibid.:62). I versi scritti per Annabella Milbanke saranno il coronamento di questa sua rap- presentazione di sé. Lady Byron infatti sarà l’infedele per eccellenza, colei che non è rimasta vicina al suo compagno quando ne aveva bisogno, colpevole di una sorta di “moral adultery”, come lo definisce Mc Gann (ibid.:63) 14. In real- tà il vero inganno è quello della mente. L’io romantico non troverà mai la sua donna ideale semplicemente perché troppo preso da se stesso. “The unfaith- fulness of Byron’s many women, therefore, is in the end a Byronic figura of the betrayed and betraying imagination, which is specifically a male imagina- tion” (ibid.:64). La morte dell’idea del femminile byroniano sarebbe rappresen- tata dalla morte di Astarte, “Manfred’s homunculus, his imagination, and the triumph figured in this play is the triumph of Manfred’s “life” over the long disease of his imagination” (ibid.:64). Ciò che è importante notare è il fatto che le liriche di cui abbiamo parlato non sono state scritte da Byron per essere pubblicate, che infatti vennero pubblicate solo dopo la sua morte. Secondo Mc Gann quindi, nelle opere pubblicate tra il 1808 ed il 1816, “Byron’s myth of the fallen women is distinctly muted” (ibid.:65) ed anzi lo studioso nota come sia lo stesso meccanismo di “occultamento” che Byron aveva attivato ad essere occultato; “I speak not – I trace not – I breathe not thy name: this no- ———————— 14 In particolare Mc Gann analizza alcune opere di Byron, tra cui Sardanapalus, in cui l’autore, attraverso il travestimento dell’opera letteraria, approfondirebbe, in maniera indi- retta, questioni personali. Nello specifico con Sardanapalus Byron si rivolge alle tre donne che dominavano la sua vita nel 1821: Teresa Guiccioli, Augusta Leigh e Lady Byron. A quest’ultima Byron assocerebbe il personaggio di Zarina, moglie affettuosa e indulgente, benevolente nei confronti del marito nonostante tutto. Le somiglianze con la vicenda reale di Byron non sarebbero certo sfuggite al suo pubblico e nemmeno a Lady Byron, per la quale lo scrittore ha creato un ruolo diverso da quello assunto nella vita reale. Sardanapalus allora sarebbe una maschera per Byron stesso che dietro la finzione scenica cercherebbe in realtà d’instillare nella mente del suo lettore l’immagine di una donna e di una moglie, quale avrebbe dovuto essere se avesse amato veramente il proprio compagno. Byron e il femminile Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 73 torious unpublished poem may stand as the epigraph of the Byronic mode” (i- bid.:65). L’inganno perpetrato dall’immaginazione, questa sarebbe quella male- dizione, quel misterioso segreto che perseguita tutti gli eroi byroniani. Eppure il Lord Byron degli anni tra il 1817 ed il 1824 è molto diverso ed è nel Don Giovanni che il cambiamento si mostra appieno (Mc Gann 2002:66). Donna Giulia è il nuovo personaggio femminile; niente è cambiato, la donna è ancora colei che inganna, la differenza sta nella consapevolezza dell’inganno. Giulia conosce se stessa, non cerca di costruire un’immagine di sé diversa da quella che è in realtà, “[she] is a figure of simpathy and undersanding” (i- bid.:67). Mc Gann in particolare analizza una parte della lettera di Giulia a Giovanni: “My brain is feminine, nor can forget - / To all, except your image, madly blind; / As turns the needle trembling to the pole / It ne’er can reach, so turns to you my soul” (Don Juan I.195.1557-60). Due sono gli scrittori di queste righe: Giulia e Byron stesso. Giulia afferma che il suo Giovanni è la sua anima, la sua metà. Dicendo ciò Giulia parla direttamente al suo creatore, co- me sua compagna. Questa creatura dell’immaginazione, “Byron’s feminine brain”, come la chiama Mc Gann (2002:67), rende esplicita la verità che si na- sconde all’interno della dinamica dell’amore sentimentale, come Byron lo con- cepisce nei suoi poemi: “that it is a mechanism of truth telling, a procedure whereby figures of imagination tell the truth about their creators, whether the latter are aware of those truths or not” (ibid.:67-8). Il cambiamento descritto in Donna Giulia è un cambiamento di concezione dell’autore, una diversa cogni- zione del mentire e del dire la verità. Le donne nel Don Giovanni sono tutte in- gannatrici, tutte mentono ma “far from standing as a figure of reproach, ho- wever, Byron’s feminine brain becomes in Don Juan a device […] of redem- ption” (McGann 2002:68). Il cambiamento è evidente soprattutto nell’XI can- to, quando, parlando dell’ipocrisia dei politici i quali vivrebbero di bugie eppu- re non sanno mentire con spavalderia, Byron afferma: Now What I love in women is, they won’t Or can’t do otherwise than lie, but do it So well, the very truth seems falsehood to it. And after all, what is a lie? ‘Tis but The truth in masquerade; and I defy Historians, heroes, lawyers, priests to put A fact without some leaven of a lie. (Don Juan XI.36-7.286-92) Byron dunque ritiene che tutti siano “ingannatori”, ma che comunque esista una differenza tra il “lie” ed il “cant”. Se entrambi i termini infatti descrivono un allontanamento dalla società, tuttavia “the canting person reifies these de- ceptions, seeks to turn them from images of falsehood into figures of ‘truth’” Alessandra Calvani Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 74 (Mc Gann 2002:69). Tale distinzione definisce in effetti quella che è una vera e propria critica alla concezione romantica della “artistic truth” (ibid.:71). Byron infatti sembrerebbe propendere piuttosto per l’artificio poetico o più esatta- mente per ciò che lui stesso chiama “truth in masquerade”. In realtà, tale veri- tà in maschera racchiude al suo interno un’altra verità, più profonda e ce ne viene l’intuizione proprio dalla definizione stessa: quel truth in masquerade infatti rimanda al prose in masquerade dell’English Bards and Scottish Review che così defi- niva la poesia di Rosa Matilda/Charlotte Dacre. Mc Gann fa notare come l’allusione, consapevolmente o meno, ci riporti comunque a quella sorta di “peccato originale” byroniano, all’aver cioè occultato e nascosto la fonte della sua primissima ispirazione, rivelando quindi, lui stesso, una violazione alla sua stessa teoria. Se infatti Byron sembra aver superato le proprie frustrazioni a- vendone identificato la causa nell’inganno operato dalla propria immaginazio- ne, se è la consapevolezza dell’inganno a fare la differenza senza la necessità di dover mascherare i propri artifici da sincerità, qui tuttavia ci troveremmo di fronte ad un caso in cui la consapevolezza dell’inganno non avrebbe agito 15. In particolare, Byron, alle accuse di oscenità rivolte al suo Don Giovanni 16, si sarebbe difeso affermando che la lussuria è una cosa seria e non può essere suscitata dal comico, opponendo al suo poema i poemi sentimentali di Tom Moore e di Keats. In particolare Mc Gann afferma: Byron’s argument is that the verse of erotic sentimentality-Charlotte Dacre’s “prose in masquerade”, John Keats’s “p[i]ss a bed poetry” […] – turns sex from a matter of the body to a matter of the brain. Sex in poetry becomes “serious” when is delivered over to the imagination. At that point the pleasure of the text becomes not normal but, literally, erotic. (Mc Gann 2002:71-2) ———————— 15 Mc Gann sembrerebbe quindi propendere per un’allusione inconsapevole alle pa- role dell’English Bards, ma se consideriamo che la teoria del truth in masquerade viene svilup- pata appieno nel Don Giovanni, questa potrebbe semplicemente essere una confessione del- le violazioni commesse in passato, o ancora, più suggestivamente considerata l’opera nella quale la teoria viene esposta, un’incursione di spirito sterniana, una di quelle battute che tanto angustiavano i suoi lettori e che alla fine di un discorso in cui aveva con impegno cercato di convincere il pubblico di una cosa venivano poi improvvisamente a negarla con due parole. Ed in effetti, pensiamo anche ad altri episodi del Don Giovanni. Nel II canto in- fatti Byron parla con passione dell’amore delle donne, “dolce e terribile”, e della fine squal- lida che necessariamente le attende avendo gli uomini un’idea diversa dell’amore. Tale di- scorso precede la presentazione della passione di Haidée per Giovanni, ma dopo aver de- scritto l’eccezionale semplicità, purezza, candore del loro amore, Byron conclude con un “lascio Giovanni e Haidée a perorare la loro causa verso tutti quelli che leggono”, che non mi sembra proprio in tono con la profusione di parole di poco prima. 16 Tra l’altro, rispondendo alle critiche che il suo amico Hobhouse gli rivolgeva ri- guardo al Don Giovanni, Byron affermò, “if people make application is their own fault!” (Mc Gann 2002:121), affermazione che ricorda molto una frase simile detta da Sterne a proposito del Sentimental Journey. Byron e il femminile Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 75 Se ciò è vero, è vero anche però che parte della verità del Don Giovanni agisce ancora sotto forma di deception e untruth; Mc Gann infatti fa notare (2002:73) come la critica di Byron al “sentimental eroticism” di Moore e Keats, possa in realtà essere rivolta a buona parte dell’epica byroniana, non ultima la scena dell’harem, dove il lettore e Byron con lui, assiste ai sogni e alle fantasie di una giovane donna anche se il narratore non è consapevole della sua “voyeurist perspective” (ibid.). “We see this innocence of his mind in his blithe assump- tion that the scene and events could only be imagined as he has imagined them” (ibid.), ma questo è semplicemente un artificio, una bugia e “…the es- sential wit of the episode arises from the narrator’s conscious assumption of an innocent eye, his pretence […] that he is himself unaware of the word-plays and double meanings of his own discourse” (ibid.:73-4). Il legame tra sesso e immaginazione è quindi evidente: “the harem episode is a theatrical display of a certain kind of “sex in the head” – an onanism of poetry fully the equal of Keats’s” (ibid.:74). Ma se anche fosse possibile trovare altri episodi del genere nelle opere di Byron, tuttavia ciò non basterebbe a rendere meno affascinante la sua “truth in masqerade”; un’eccezione è sempre auspicabile perché si dice confermi la regola. Byron, amante del carnevale, può essersi lasciato troppo sedurre da quei suoi travestimenti e finire per fingere di essere ciò che non era. Come lo ha definito Manganelli nella sua presentazione alle Lettere Italiane, “Byron […] era una maschera, anche una maschera invadente, supponente, eroica” ed “in Italia l’uomo che non esisteva trovò ciò che lo affascinava: una moralità da opera buffa, psicologia da carnevale, conversazione da teatro, a- mori recitati, tutto falso e tutto vero nella insensata veracità del gioco scenico” (Byron 1985:5-6). BIBLIOGRAFIA “Byron George Gordon” (1969) in I Giganti della letteratura mondiale, Milano, Mondadori. Byron G. (1985), Lettere Italiane, Napoli, Guida Editori. Byron G. (1816), Il Giaurro – frammento di novella turca, Osservazioni di Lodovico di Breme, Milano. Byron G. (1986), The Complete Poetical Works, Oxford, Clarendon Press. Byron G. (1974-1982), Byron’s Letters and Journals), Ed. Leslie A. Marchand. Cambridge, Mass.: Harward University Press. Calvani A. (2004), Il viaggio italiano di Sterne, Firenze, Cesati Editore. Coote , S. (1988), Byron: The Making of a Myth, London, The Bodley Head. Alessandra Calvani Linguæ & – 2/2005 http://www.ledonline.it/linguae/ 76 Crisafulli Jones L. M. et al. (a cura di, 1995), Romanticismo europeo e traduzione, in Atti del seminario internazionale Ischia 10-11 aprile 1992, Napoli, Valentino editore. Kemeny T. (a cura di, 1993), Byron George Gordon, Opere scelte, Milano, Mondadori. Fasano P. (1974), Stratigrafie foscoliane, Roma, Bulzoni. Innocenti L. (1995), Scene, itinerari, dimore. Lo spazio nella narrativa del ‘700, Roma, Bul- zoni. Mc Gann J. (2002), Byron and Romanticism, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Mellor A. K. (1993), Romanticism and Gender, New York, Routledge,. Porta A. (1923), Byronismo italiano, Milano, Casa Editrice L. F. Cogliati. Quennell P. (1999), Byron in Italia, Bologna, Il Mulino,. Thorslev P. L. Jr. (1965), The Byronic Hero, Minneapolis, University of Minne- sota Press. 
work_umvfepd4njecvfy5ida7oxz2b4	----	The Academic Book of the Future The Academic Book of the Future is a research project funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) in collaboration with The British Library (BL) and is concerned with how scholarly work in the arts and humanities will be produced, read and preserved in coming years. The project is run by a team from University College London (UCL) and King’s College London (King’s), with support from the Research Information Network (RIN). The project has built a Community Coalition of more than 100 organizations and individuals. The project and the Coalition are holding a whole range of events and carrying out research projects on a variety of relevant topics. The key event for 2015 is Academic Book Week, 9-16 November 2015, which has been taken up enthusiastically by the Publishers Association (PA) and the Booksellers Association (BA), as well as the Association of Learned and Professional Society Publishers (ALPSP), and was launched in July 2015 with a large announcement in The Bookseller. Events celebrating the diversity, innovation and influence of academic books will be held across the UK, with participation from institutions elsewhere in Europe and also in the USA, Canada, Japan and Australia. The Academic Book of the Future Introduction The Academic Book of the Future1 is a research project funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) in collaboration with the British Library (BL), and is concerned with how scholarly work in the arts and humanities will be produced, read and preserved in coming years. The context of the project is one of rapid change: change in the educational landscape in the UK and elsewhere, change in academic careers and promotion structures, change in the political landscape and the funding models for education and learning, along with change in technology. Run by a core team of five people from University College London (UCL) and King’s College London (King’s), and led by co-author Dr Samantha Rayner, the project has an advisory board, and the AHRC and the BL have set up a strategy board to support it. The project also uses the expertise of the Research Information Network (RIN), who act as principal consultants2. What is particularly important is that the core team has built a Community Coalition of more than 100 individuals and organizations: scholars, readers, librarians, publishers, university departments and booksellers across the UK and internationally, with many more now expressing an interest in being involved in the project. Clearly, this is a timely initiative. At the heart of our investigations is the key question: what do we actually mean by an academic book? The short answer is that it is a long-form publication that makes an original contribution to scholarship. The gold standard of long-form publications in the arts and humanities has been for many years the monograph. As Geoffrey Crossick points out in his recent report on monographs and open access (OA), ‘Academics across a wide range of arts, humanities and social science disciplines see monographs as central to the advancement and communication of knowledge, and they have done so for many generations. Across arts and humanities disciplines, as well as law, good monographs are the equal of good journal articles in terms of the importance that is attached by academics to publishing . . . For a significant part of the UK research community, by some calculations a majority of that community, the monograph and the research book more generally are central to their discipline’3. Insights – 28(3), November 2015 The Academic Book of the Future | Marilyn Deegan and Samantha Rayner SAMANTHA RAYNER Director of the Centre for Publishing Department of Information Studies University College London ‘The context of the project is one of rapid change’ MARILYN DEEGAN Professor Department of Digital Humanities  King’s College London 70 In examining the differences between journal and book publication in the humanities, Crossick also points out, ‘Books must be understood best as a vehicle for long-term knowledge communication, preservation and curation, rather than solely as an asset for short-term exploitation and with an associated short shelf-life’4. The monograph, however, is not the only long-form publication that we need to consider as an academic book. Collections of essays, critical editions and exhibition catalogues come under the ‘book’ rubric, and in some of the non-textual disciplines, such as archaeology, anthropology and film studies, long-form publications can be collections of photographs, films, or multimedia presentations. Increasingly, books are produced in digital form: as e-books that are modelled closely on the print format, or as enhanced formats that incorporate media other than the textual, and that link to resources outside themselves. While open access is currently one of the central debates in the academy, and is of course an area of concern for us, this is not solely a project about OA. There are many other investigations into this currently taking place, such as the research undertaken by Crossick, Open Access Publishing in European Networks (OAPEN)5 and others. We are following all of these closely and incorporating their findings into our thinking. Our community is a broad one, and there are many shades of views on all the aspects of the academic book – so, while open access is important, it is only one of many key issues to be considered. In particular, the project needs to take account of the complexity of academic book production and use within and beyond the academy. The academy, after all, is not the only place where serious scholarship takes place. Many freelance writers and journalists produce scholarly works drawing on impeccable research, for example, the excellent historical biographies by Michael Holroyd, Richard Holmes, Claire Tomalin, or Amanda Foreman; the World War Two histories of Anthony Beevor; books on the Crusades by Richard Barber and many more. Academics are not the only people who read works of scholarship, either. As Jonathan Bate remarked in 2014, ‘The substantial work of serious scholarship with a wider reach than that of the immediate academic sub-field is a precious thing, at the core of our cultural life and intellectual discourse’6. Bate’s example is Eamon Duffy’s The Stripping of the Altars, which had a wide readership beyond the academy, largely due to the imagination of the publishers who promoted and circulated the work to the communities outside academe that were best placed to receive it. There are vast numbers of other works that could be cited in this category; it has always been the case that certain works of scholarship had a broad general readership, and this is increasing with the growing popularity of history, classics and other humanities disciplines in television documentaries and debates, and with the impetus towards an impact agenda. In a recent article in The Guardian, Sam Leith claims that, ‘The mainstream may be getting dumber by the day, but we are living in what looks like a golden age of publishing for, of all people, the university presses’7. University presses are, he remarks, engaging in ‘chewy, interesting subjects treated by writers of real authority but marketed in a popular way’. His argument is that university presses can take risks with books that trade publishers might avoid. The project is watching with interest to see how this trend develops. The Academic Book of the Future project: research questions and activities Research questions Early on in the project we formulated a series of research questions, which we are constantly refining in the light of discussions with colleagues across all the areas represented in our Community Coalition. These questions range across academic disciplines and apply to all stakeholders. We wish to examine views and perceptions about the changes in the nature of research, the research environment and the research process; changes in the processes ‘university presses can take risks with books that trade publishers might avoid’ ‘while OA is important, it is only one of many key issues to be considered’ 71 through which books are commissioned, approved or accepted, edited, produced, published, marketed, distributed, made accessible and preserved; the roles academic books of different kinds play in the advancement of knowledge both in the academic community and beyond; the legal and economic frameworks, especially in relation to open access; political pressures (the Research Excellence Framework (REF), the push towards OA, the increasing impact agenda, pursuit of research funding); and how academics, publishers and librarians across the rest of the world – especially in the global south and in developing countries – perceive these issues. In order to interrogate these questions to the fullest extent possible, we are engaging in a whole range of activities, as a project core team and as a wider community. Activities From our initial planning phase, even before we were awarded the Academic Book project, we were certain that we needed to involve many different organizations in all aspects of the project. With a small core team, it is impossible to range as widely as necessary, but with the help of the broader community, much can be achieved. Accordingly, we asked for an unassigned sum of money that we could allocate as the project progressed, rather than committing funds right at the beginning. This, we felt, would give us maximum flexibility to respond to new ideas coming in. The core team and RIN carry out a great deal of desk research and analysis; we organize events; we attend and give talks at other events; we commission blog posts, and we meet with people across the community. Our first action was to direct RIN to carry out an initial literature review, which was delivered in December 2014. This is available online and will be added to as the project progresses8. Comments and additions are welcome. RIN is also working with publishers and learned societies to look at publication from the production side, and has held a number of focus groups and meetings. The first focus group for publishers was held at the 2014 London Book Fair, and since then RIN has developed a detailed schedule of questions for interviews with publishers, covering such issues as overall trends in proposals/submissions and publications, including such matters as subject and disciplinary breakdowns, editorial and production processes, trends in sales and marketing, rights issues (including third-party rights), relationships between print and e-books, open access, impacts of changes in roles of other stakeholders and in the wider environment, and plans for the future. RIN has also undertaken a considerable amount of desk research relating to American university presses, including reports from the Association of American University Presses (AAUP). Related to these activities, Anthony Cond, Chief Executive of Liverpool University Press, has proposed a conference for university presses, under the auspices of the project. Cond suggests that the definition of a university press and the plurality of current models of university press publishing present some important questions about best practice, the relationship between presses and their host institutions, and the direction of travel for the scholarly publishing ecosystem as a whole. 9 Although the AAUP has held an annual conference for several decades, this will be the first event to focus on the university press in a UK context. There are at present approximately 20 university presses in the UK for whom this event will be an essential forum to benchmark existing practices and map out possible future developments. The conference will also provide a useful primer for the increasing number of UK universities that are considering the launch of their own imprints through library repositories, corporate communications departments or as discrete entities.  Simon Tanner (Project Co-Investigator from King’s) is undertaking a major analysis of Research Excellence Framework (REF) 2014 data from the arts and humanities as a means of learning more about the academic books created and deemed worthy of submission in the last REF cycle. Within this panel, the data can be investigated by unit of assessment subject area and by research output type. It is then possible to take a broad slice across the whole ‘Comments and additions are welcome’ ‘There are at present approximately 20 university presses in the UK’ 72 panel or to interrogate by output type, and then look at each subject area in detail. This gives some information on the publishing trends in these subjects and certainly REF submission trends. It will also be possible to find out which books are cited in impact case studies. This might provide an indication of how books connect to the impact factors described in the REF. A series of other possible queries can also be formulated: book format/length, gender of authors, books per submitting institution, number of OA books, etc. This research is at an early stage and we are very aware of the caveats around statistical data and the REF. However, this analysis is yielding some very interesting pathways to follow. We are co-ordinating a whole range of events over the next year, and have a number of embedded projects running or at the planning stage. For instance, we will hold a one-day conference on the visual book at the University of York in October, hosted by the Art History department, and inviting academics, publishers, librarians and copyright specialists to debate the particular problems that visual materials pose for publication. Also planned for October is a symposium at Lincoln University: ‘The Impossible Constellation: What might the [Academic] Book of the Future look like in the digital age’? In April 2016 a conference on ‘The Academic Book of the Future: The Future Space of Bookselling’, will be held at Bangor University. The core project team has a busy programme of meetings and conference attendance, and more events are regularly being proposed by our Coalition. We funded a workshop on digital ethnography and the ‘Ethics of Circulation’ in June (of which there is a report available on our website10), and, also in June, the University of Manchester funded a workshop on the project. In April, co-author Marilyn Deegan and Guyda Armstrong (Senior Lecturer in Italian at University of Manchester and member of our Advisory Board) gave a presentation at Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island, on the project’s aims and objectives and research questions, as a result of which Brown University has now joined our Community Coalition and will be holding events in Academic Book Week. In June, Nick Canty, as well as Professor Claire Squires and Professor Alexis Weedon from our Advisory Board, took part in a round table on ‘The Academic Book of the Future’ at the SHARP (Society for the History of Authorship, Reading and Publishing) Congress in Montreal, and in July Rebecca Lyons spoke at the Eleventh International Milton Symposium in Exeter with another member of our Advisory Board, Professor Tom Corns. All these events – and others, captured on our website – have helped the project’s reach to spread and give space for new voices to take part in the debates. It is vital to the team that we give access to these conversations to as many people as possible, given the impact that the subject has to all those engaged in research, or in the production or use of academic books. The projects that are currently under way are: · an investigation into new publishing practices, with an emphasis on new technologies, being carried out by the Humanities Research Institute at Sheffield University · a small research project on the academic book in the developing world, with particular emphasis on Africa, which is being run by Marilyn Deegan and Caroline Davis (Oxford Brookes University) · The Academic Book in the US, a research project by Anthony Watkinson · Kathryn Reeve (Bath Spa University) is investigating the role of the editor in academic book production and also careers and changing roles in academic publishing · Claire Squires (Director of the Stirling Centre for International Publishing and Communication) and Simon Rowberry (Stirling) are compiling a report on peer review · Susan Greenberg (Roehampton University), the Higher Education Representative for the National Association of Writers in Education, is working with the BL on the discoverability of creative writing PhD theses. ‘This might provide an indication of how books connect to the impact factors described in the REF’ 73 Many more projects are being planned, and we are still receiving ideas from colleagues about new avenues to pursue and new projects to engage in. We are planning a project on the preservation of complex digital forms of academic books which will follow on from the Humanities Research Institute report on new publishing technologies. Also in the inception stage are projects on copyright; the importance of book publishing for early career researchers; the newly reconfigured university library and how students are using ‘free’ content; sound and audio: non-textual content in the academic book; and bookselling. A joint piece of research is being planned between Australia and Wales on early career researchers, the REF and open access. Academic Book Week Our flagship event for the next few months is Academic Book Week, 9–16 November 2015, which is intended to be a celebration of the diversity, innovation and influence of academic books. This has been taken up enthusiastically by the Publishers Association (PA) and the Booksellers Association (BA), as well as the Association of Learned and Professional Society Publishers (ALPSP), and was launched in July 2015 with an announcement in The Bookseller. We hope to increase awareness of the variety and accessibility of the academic book, engaging media and alerting policymakers to its importance as part of the intellectual ecosystem of the UK. We want to make the academic book more accessible to a wider general audience, extend the debate about the Academic Book of the Future and enhance the wider debate about the value of the arts and humanities. The response to Academic Book Week has been extraordinary: we have proposals flooding in for events to be held during that week, not just in the UK. Organizations in the US, Canada, Japan, Europe and Australia all want to engage with us. One key activity is the grand debate, which we are calling ‘Opening the Book’. This was proposed by Kathryn Sutherland, Chair of our Advisory Board and Professor of Bibliography and Textual Criticism at Oxford University, and was initially intended as an Oxford University event. However, the themes (the future of the monograph, the Crossick report, OA, digital versus print, etc.) are of such general interest that we decided to make it much more widespread. Oxford participants in the debate will be Oxford scholars and librarians, Oxford University Press, the Oxford Monographs Committee, doctoral students and postdoctoral candidates. The proposition for this Oxford-based ‘Opening the Book’ debate is the Future of the Academic Monograph with reference to the Crossick report and other projects and publications about open access. The Academic Book Project is extending an invitation to the debate across a number of national and international organizations during Academic Book Week, and will capture and edit together the outputs from the various contributions. Such outputs may take the form of podcasts, recordings, blogs, tweets, Storifys, written reports, etc.. The project will compile a large report (format not yet decided) collecting all the views expressed and making them widely available. The other major output from Academic Book Week will be a Palgrave Pivot publication on the Academic Book of the Future. This will be produced by Palgrave over the month of November under its ‘an academic book in a month’ model. Other events in Academic Book Week will be exhibitions in libraries and bookshops throughout the UK (and we hope elsewhere), panels such as ‘Should we trust Wikipedia?’, being organized by Michael Pidd in Sheffield on 11 November, and a Crossover books panel with Greg Jenner (CBBC Horrible Histories consultant), Mathew Lyons (historical novelist), Ros Barber (historical novelist and academic) and Kathryn Sutherland (Jane Austen scholar). Conclusion The project ends on 30 September 2016, but the debate does not end there. The project team could probably continue running events and research projects for a further two or three years, so enormous has the interest and response been across all parts of the arts and humanities community. However, at the end of the project we will have a very substantial ‘Many more projects are being planned’ ‘a celebration of the diversity, innovation and influence of academic books’ 74 body of work made widely available in the form of a final report on all our activities, plus the Palgrave Pivot book, blog posts, tweets, Storifys, podcasts, reports from all of the embedded projects and the report of the grand debate in Academic Book Week. This will be widely disseminated and we hope that the momentum will continue and that many of the activities will survive in some form. We especially hope to see Academic Book Week become a regular event. This is a subject that will engage people for many years to come: it is one that matters, not only in terms of jobs, economies and outputs, but also in terms of ethics and the integrity of scholarly communication. Access must come with trustworthy standards of quality, and secure plans for the preservation of all the kinds of books highlighted in the project. There will be plenty of scope for follow-on work for our partners: the future of the academic book is full of complex challenges that tug at systems not yet able to comprehensively solve them. And yet, as Crossick so appropriately reminds us, ‘There is much to be gained by working with the grain, and much to be lost by not doing so’12. In working so closely with all our Community Coalition partners, we hope, at least, that the grain of all initiatives and ideas will be made more visible, and enable the future of academic books to become more accessible, in the widest sense of that term, to our global networks. Competing interests The authors declare that they have no competing interests. References and notes 1. The Academic Book of the Future: https://www.academicbookfuture.org (accessed 27 August 2015). 2. Project team leaders and principal consultants: Dr Samantha Rayner (Principal Investigator); Nick Canty (Co-Investigator); Rebecca Lyons (Project Research Associate), University College London; Professor Marilyn Deegan (Co-Investigator); Simon Tanner (Co-Investigator), King’s College London; Dr Michael Jubb, Research Information Network (RIN: www.rin.ac.uk). 3. Crossick, G, Monographs and Open Access, A report to HEFCE, 2015, p.13: http://www.hefce.ac.uk/pubs/rereports/year/2015/monographs/ (accessed 28 August 2015). 4. Crossick, G, ref. 3, p. 25. 5. OAPEN: http://www.oapen.org/home (accessed 27 August 2015). 6. Bate, J, ‘Open and Closed’, The Times Literary Supplement, 10 January 2014: http://www.the-tls.co.uk/tls/public/article1360491.ece (accessed 28 August 2015). 7. Leith, S, ‘The crisis in non-fiction publishing’, The Guardian, 26 June 2015: http://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jun/26/is-there-a-crisis-in-high-calibre-non-fiction-publishing-sam-leith (accessed 28 August 2015). 8. ‘Academic Books of the Future: An Initial Literature Review’: https://academicbookfuture.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/initial-literature-review-with-references.pdf (accessed 27 August 2015). 9. Cond, A, ‘The university press is back in vogue’, The Bookseller Blog, 18 August 2015, http://www.thebookseller.com/blogs/anthony-cond-309360 (accessed 25 August 2015). 10. The Academic Book of the Future – Towards an Ethics of Circulation: http://academicbookfuture.org/2015/07/30/ethics-of-circulation/ (accessed 27 August 2015). 11. Page, B, ‘First events for Academic Book Week revealed’, The Bookseller, 16 July 2015: http://www.thebookseller.com/news/first-events-academic-book-week-307427 (accessed 28 August 2015). 12. Crossick, G, ref. 3, p. 70. ‘we hope that the momentum will continue’ http://www.academicbookfuture.org http://www.hefce.ac.uk/pubs/rereports/year/2015/monographs/ http://www.oapen.org/home http://www.the-tls.co.uk/tls/public/article1360491.ece http://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/jun/26/is-there-a-crisis-in-high-calibre-non-fiction-publishing-sam-leith https://academicbookfuture.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/initial-literature-review-with-references.pdf http://www.thebookseller.com/blogs/anthony-cond-309360 http://academicbookfuture.org/2015/07/30/ethics-of-circulation/ http://www.thebookseller.com/news/first-events-academic-book-week-307427 75 Article copyright: © 2015 Marilyn Deegan and Samantha Rayner. This is an open access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution Licence, which permits unrestricted use and distribution provided the original author and source are credited. Corresponding author: Dr Samantha J Rayner Director of the Centre for Publishing Department of Information Studies, University College London, Foster Court, Gower Street, London WC1E 6BT, UK Tel: +44 (0)20 3108 1139 | E-mail: s.rayner@ucl.ac.uk | Twitter: @uclpublishing @samantha ORCID ID: http://orcid.org/0000-0002-3046-5699 To cite this article: Deegan, M and Rayner, S, The Academic Book of the Future, Insights, 2015, 28(3), 69–75; DOI: http://dx.doi. org/10.1629/uksg.258 Published by UKSG in association with Ubiquity Press on 06 November 2015 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ mailto:s.rayner@ucl.ac.uk http://orcid.org/0000-0002-3046-5699 http://dx.doi.org/10.1629/uksg.258 http://dx.doi.org/10.1629/uksg.258 http://www.uksg.org/ http://www.ubiquitypress.com/ 
work_umxtyaf5sjcjzov4jzw27263de	----	untitled Highlights from this issue doi:10.1136/thoraxjnl-2016-208373 Nicholas Hart, Gisli Jenkins, Alan Smyth, Editors-in-Chief HAPPY 70th BIRTHDAY THORAX March 1946 saw the appearance of new journal, from the Association for the study of Diseases of the Chest, edited by Norman Barrett and J G Scadding. Thorax was born. In 1946, a year’s sub- scription cost 25 shillings and each edition contained 4–5 original manu- scripts. Seventy years and 603 issues later, Thorax publishes around 10 original manuscripts per issue (along with editor- ials, reviews and education pieces) and costs rather more for a year’s subscription. This month in the journal, we celebrate the 70th birthday of Thorax and the con- tribution of the exceptional clinicians and scientists who have published in the journal over the years. In this issue, former editors Anne Tattersfield (1987– 91) and Anthony Seaton (1977–82), aided by an ensemble of previous editors, recount the history of Thorax through a selection its most influential papers (see page 203, Editors’ choice). The last 70 years have seen huge advances in the treatment of tuberculosis, the prevention of occupational and smoking related lung disease and significant steps in improving the care of people with asthma, COPD and cystic fibrosis. We believe Thorax has played an important part in these achieve- ments and we thank the previous editors, editorial teams and contributors to the journal. BLOOD GASES WITHOUT TEARS? Having arterial blood sampling is one of the more unpleasant aspects of a hospital admission for an exacerbation of COPD. On page 210 of the journal, Tricia McKeever and colleagues commit the heresy of asking if this unpleasant and painful procedure adds additional infor- mation. They conclude that venous samples are significantly less painful and perform well in comparison with arterial samples for pH and bicarbonate measure- ment. In a linked editorial, Andrew Hitchings and Emma Baker applaud the approach but suggest that venous sam- pling is not yet ready to take the place of the arterial stab and that a randomised trial of treatment directed by venous sam- pling is needed (see page 208). WHAT IS THE POINT OF INTRAVENOUS ANTIBIOTICS IN CF? To paraphrase Jane Austen: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a cystic fibrosis patient in possession of a pulmon- ary exacerbation must be in want of a two week course of intravenous antibiotics.” The two week course of “IVs” is another sacred ritual of chest medicine and one under pinned by little evidence. On page 223 of the Journal, Sonya Heltshe and colleagues describe the discordant clinical outcomes from intravenous antibiotic courses in 123 CF patients. Smaller improvements in FEV1 were associated with failure to recover baseline lung func- tion but, paradoxically, were also asso- ciated with a longer interval before the next IV treatment. Symptomatic improve- ment was not associated with either incre- ment in lung function or time to next IV treatment! “PREDICTION IS VERY DIFFICULT, ESPECIALLY IF IT’S ABOUT THE FUTURE” Niels Bohr may or may not have made this absurdist statement about prognosti- cation. However, predicting pulmonary exacerbations in CF might lead to earlier treatment and better outcome (retarding long term deterioration in lung function). On page 216 of this month’s Thorax, Bradley Quon and colleagues describe novel plasma protein biomarkers which can predict exacerbations in CF. They use a combination of discovery and replication cohorts (104 patients in total) to identify a panel of 6 biomarkers which have 90% sensitivity and 45% specificity for predict- ing exacerbations within 4 months. However, this is only slightly better than CRP (a more familiar biomarker) that has a sensitivity of 90% and specificity of 35%. As well as further replication and validation, the authors propose a future clinical utility study. More prognostication from British Colombia – on page 267 of the Journal, Wenjia Chen and colleagues report findings from an administrative database of over 13,000 individuals, classified as having severe asthma. What happened next? Improvement was seen in 83% of patients (transitioning to moderate or mild status) 10 years after incident severe asthma. Poor prognostic factors were low socioeconomic status, co-morbidity and adherence. What? The latter is likely to be confounding by reverse causation. LUNG CANCER – AN ITALIAN JOB? There are a number of reasons why one might want to live in Varese (Northern Italy), rather than the UK: the climate, the food, and the quite extraordinary number of professional cyclists who live there (including the veteran Stefano Zanini)–to name but a few. However, a comparative study, performed in 2000, showed that earlier treatment on lung cancer was a further advantage (compared with Teeside in the UK). In this month’s Thorax this comparison is revisited (see page 230). In both the UK and Varese, emergency resec- tions have declined and performance status has improved. However the resec- tion rate in Teeside (whilst improving from 7% to 11%) has still not reached the 24% rate in Varese and fewer cancers in Teeside are early stage. STICK OUT YOUR TONGUE AND SAY AAAHHH… Traditional teaching is that respiratory examination should include examination of the airway from mouth (or anterior nares) to alveolus. So having a good look in the throat may avoid missing an import- ant diagnosis. See this month’s image and test your diagnostic skills when faced with something nasty in the posterior pharynx (see page 294). Thorax March 2016 Vol 71 No 3 i Airwaves o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://th o ra x.b m j.co m / T h o ra x: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /th o ra xjn l-2 0 1 6 -2 0 8 3 7 3 o n 1 5 F e b ru a ry 2 0 1 6 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1136/thoraxjnl-2016-208373&domain=pdf&date_stamp=2016-01-27 http://thorax.bmj.com/ https://www.brit-thoracic.org.uk/ http://thorax.bmj.com/ Highlights from this issue Happy 70th birthday Thorax Blood gases without tears? What is the point of intravenous antibiotics in CF? “Prediction is very difficult, especially if it's about the future” Lung cancer – an Italian job? Stick out your tongue and say aaahhh… 
work_uoo2r5vohndanfourfkgow7lli	----	171-194-------08-08-À±Á¤¿Á+.hwp 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 An Analytical Study on the Books Selected in ‘One Book, One City’ Reading Campaigns in the U.S.A. 윤 정 옥 (Cheong-Ok Yoon)* 목 차 1.머리말 1.1 연구의 배경 1.2 연구의 방법 2. 선행연구 3. ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 선정 책의 분석 3.1 선정된 책의 체 분포 3.2 연도별 선정 추이 3.3 가장 많이 선정된 세 권의 책 3.4 ‘Seattle Reads’와 ‘One Book, One Chicago’ 선정 책의 향 4. 맺음말 록 이 연구의 목 은 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동에서 선정된 책들의 계량 특성에 나타난 성장과 변화의 황을 이해하는 것이다. 1998년부터 2013년 6월까지 15년간 미국의회도서 도서센터 웹사이트의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동의 주별 작가별 리스트에 등록된 2,220개 로그램 선정 책 1,037종을 심으로 연도별 선정 분포와 변동 추이를 살펴보았다. 선정 책들의 연도별 로그램 분포, 선호된 책의 연도별 추이, ‘Seattle Reads’와 One Book, One Chicago 같은 선도 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 책 선정에 미친 향 등을 살펴보았다. 주요한 발견 내용은 다음과 같다: 첫째, 1,037종 2개 이상 ‘한 책’ 로그램 선정 책은 278종(26.8%)이며, 단 1개 로그램 선정 책은 759종(73.2%)이다; 둘째, 최다 선정 책은 To Kill a Mockingbird (84개 로그램), Fahrenheit 451 (53개), The Kite Runner (50개)로 나타났다; 셋째, ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 확산에 따라 개별 ‘한 책’ 로그램의 독자 책 선정은 증가하는 추세이다; 넷째, ‘Seattle Reads’와 ‘One Book, One Chicago’ 선정 책들의 향은 차 축소하는 경향이다. ABSTRACT The purpose of this study is to understand the current status of ‘One Book, One City’ community-wide reading campaign by analyzing the characteristics of the books selected during the past fifteen years. According to the lists of ‘One Book, One City’ Reading Promotions Projects’ available from the website of the Library of Congress, the Center for the Books, a total of 1,037 books were selected by 2,220 ‘One Book’ programs. Major findings are as follows: First, 278 books (26.8%) and 759 books (73.2%) were selected by more than two ‘One Book’ programs and one program, respectively; Second, three most popular books were To Kill a Mockingbird (chosen in 84 programs), Fahrenheit 451 (in 53 programs), and The Kite Runner (in 50 programs); Third, with the wide diffusion of ‘One Book’ campaigns, the selection of unique books by individual ‘One Book’ programs has increased, and the impact of the books selected by ‘Seattle Reads’ and ‘One Book, One Chicago’ has gradually decreased. 키워드: ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동; 미국 독서운동; 지역사회 운동; 책 선정; 시애틀 리즈; 원 북, 원 시카고 ‘One Book, One City’ Reading Campaign; Reading Campaigns in the U.S.A.; Community Movement; Book Selection; Seattle Reads; One Book, One Chicago * 청주 학교 문헌정보학과 교수(jade@cju.ac.kr) 논문 수일자: 2014년 1월 15일 최 심사일자: 2014년 2월 7일 게재확정일자: 2014년 2월 13일 한국문헌정보학회지, 48(1): 171-194, 2014. [http://dx.doi.org/10.4275/KSLIS.2014.48.1.171] 172 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 1. 머리말 1.1 연구의 배경 지난 1998년 미국 Washington 주 Seattle에 서 처음 시작된 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동(이하 ‘한 책’ 독서운동이라 부름)은 미국 역의 여러 지역사회에서 진행되고 있다. ‘한 책’ 독서운동 은 크고 작은 지역사회에서 체로 일 년에 한 번 정도 한 권의 책을 선정하여 함께 읽고 토론 하며 각종 행사와 로그램을 진행하는 형 방식으로 진행되고 있다. 미국 Library of Congress Center for the Books 웹사이트의 “‘One Book’ Reading Promotion Projects”에는 그동안 진행된 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 주별(州別) 로젝트 리스트(Library of Congress 2013a)와 선정된 책들의 작가별 리스트(Library of Congress 2013b)가 공개되고 있다. 이 리스 트들에는 ‘한 책’ 독서운동을 진행하는 지역사 회가 자발 으로 자료를 등록하는데, 간혹 정확 한 실시연도 혹은 읽은 책을 등록하지 않는 경 우가 있어 모든 데이터가 완벽하게 최신성을 반 하지는 못 한다. 하지만 재까지 진행된 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 체 면모를 악하기에 부족 함이 없다. 2013년 6월 30일 재 주별 리스트에는 모두 590개의 ‘한 책’ 독서운동 로젝트가 등록되어 있다. 이들 가운데 실제로 한 번이라도 로그 램을 시행한 로젝트의 수는 584개이며, 체 시행된 로그램 총수는 2,102개에 이른다. 여 기에서 ‘한 책’ 로젝트란 특정한 지역사회의 개별 ‘한 책’ 독서운동 자체를 의미하고, 로그 램이란 개별 ‘한 책’ 로젝트에서 한 번에 시행 되는 사례를 의미한다. 를 들어 ‘Seattle Reads’ 라는 ‘한 책’ 로젝트는 매년 5월 한 번 로그 램을 시행하고, ‘One Book, One Chicago’라는 ‘한 책’ 로젝트는 매년 4월과 9월 두 번 로 그램을 진행하 다. 거의 부분의 ‘한 책’ 로 젝트들은 부분 한 번의 로그램에 한 권의 책을 선정하여 읽지만, 일부 로젝트들은 어린 이, 청소년, 어른 등 연령 마다 한 권씩의 책을 선정하기도 하 다. 이에 따라 모두 1,037종의 고유한 책이 선정된 것으로 악되었다. 이 에 미국의 ‘한 책’ 독서운동에서 주로 2 개 이상의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정된 책들의 주제, 발행연도, 장르 등 특성을 심으로 하여 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 , 집합 인 지향 을 이해하고자 한 연구들이 있었다(윤정옥 2007; 2012). 이 연구에서는 그동안 ‘한 책’ 로그램들 에서 선정된 모든 책들의 수량 분포의 특성과 변동 추이를 살펴보고자 하 다. 선정된 책들의 연도별 로그램 분포, 선호된 책의 연도별 추 이, ‘Seattle Reads’와 One Book, One Chicago 같은 선도 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 책 선정에 미 친 향 등에 하여 살펴보고자 하 다. 이로써 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동에서 선정된 책 들의 계량 특성에 나타난 성장과 변화의 황 을 이해하는 것을 연구의 목표로 하 다. 1.2 연구의 방법 이 연구에서는 2013년 6월 30일 재 Library of Congress Center for the Books 웹사이트에 등록된 ‘한 책’ 독서운동 로젝트들의 주별 리 스트 선정 책들의 작가별 리스트에 수록된 데이터를 분석하 다. 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 173 1998년부터 2013년까지 등록된 2,220개 ‘한 책’ 로그램 여기에서 선정된 고유한 책 1,037종의 리스트를 엑셀 일로 만들어 주별, 지역별, 연도별, 작가별, 시행연도별로 분석하 다. 한 모든 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 매년 진행한 로그램의 정보를 즉각 갱신하여 등록하는 것 은 아니므로, 필요한 경우 개별 ‘한 책’ 로젝 트의 공식 웹사이트 등을 직 조사하여 2013 년 재까지의 로그램 시행여부를 확인하고, 선정 책과 행사 등 련 데이터를 보완하도록 하 다. 2. 선행연구 지난 몇 년 동안 미국의 ‘한 책’ 독서운동에 하여 꾸 히 연구를 수행해 온 윤정옥(2005; 2007; 2008; 2009; 2012)은 그 성과를 취합하여 1998년 ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’ 의 시작 이래 2012년까지 십여 년 간 된 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 의미를 종합 으로 평가하고자 시도하 다. ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 지속 인 성장 과 확산 황을 검토하고, ‘The Big Read’의 향, 그동안 ‘한 책’으로 선정된 책들의 주제, 장 르 등 특성과 경향, 자에 한 선호도 등을 분 석하 다(윤정옥 2013a). 윤정옥은 이후 다른 연구(2013b)에서 2013년 6월 당시까지 Library of Congress Center for the Books 웹사이트에 등록된 584개의 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들의 주별 작가별 데이터를 심으로 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 확산도와 지속성 황을 다시 검토하 다. 최 의 ‘한 책’ 로젝트 등장을 기 으로 하여 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 태동기(1998년-2001년), 성장기 (2002년-2006년) 재도약기(2007년- 재)의 세 시기로 나 어 살펴보았다. 한 주요한 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들의 웹사이트 등을 분석하여 어 도 50개(8.9%) 이상의 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 십 여 년 이상 지속되며, 특히 기에 시작된 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 보다 안정 으로 진행되고 있음을 확인하 다. 한 ‘One Book, One Chicago’를 포함한 몇몇 선도 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 형 인 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 형태에 변화를 시도하 는 양상을 포착하여, 향후 보다 새로워지는 “ 신”의 가능성을 강조하 다(윤정옥 2013b). 한편 그동안 우리나라의 ‘한 책’ 독서운동에 하여 꾸 한 심을 가져온 이용재는 이들 일 련의 연구(이용재 2006; 2008; 2009; 이용재, 황은주 2008)에서 우리나라 지역사회의 특수성 과 공공도서 의 고유한 상황에 알맞은 지역사 회 독서운동 발 략을 제시하 다. 특히 부산 의 ‘원북, 원부산’ 독서운동을 직 주 하면서 경험 사례 분석을 통해 지역사회와 도서 의 다각 이며 호혜 인 력모델을 정립하고자 하 다. 그밖에는 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 국내 황 에 한 주목할 만한 후속 연구가 이루어지지 않았다. 2003년 서산의 ‘한 책’ 독서운동 시범사 업 이후 청주, 부산 등 여러 지역사회에서 꾸 하게 진행되는 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 국내 황 개별 로젝트의 지속성과 특색에 한 분석이 기 되는 시 이다. ‘한 책’ 독서운동이 그동안 미국뿐만 아니라 캐나다, 국, 호주 등지에서도 진행되었으나, 주로 특정한 지역사회의 ‘한 책’ 운동에 한 사 례보고 형식의 연구들이 수행되었다(Rodney 2004; Sumner 2003; Watkins 2003a; Watkins 2003b), 한 Bowron 등(2005)은 미국 Indiana 174 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 주 Indianapolis에서 진행되는 ‘One Book, One City: Indy Reads’에 한 지역사회의 참여도, 책의 출 순환, 참여자의 반응 등을 분석하 며, ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 의미를 살펴보고자 하 다. Palmer와 Peterson(2007)은 ‘한 책’ 독서운 동 로그램이 지역사회에서 도서 이 다양한 기 들, 특히 다른 도서 들과 력할 수 있는 ‘이상 인 기회’임을 강조하며, North Carolina 주 New Hanover County에서 2005년 진행된 ‘One Book, One Community’의 사례에 하여 기술한 바 있다. 주목할 만한 연구는 국 University of Birmingham에서 Fuller와 Sedo에 의하여 이루 어졌다(Fuller and Sedo 2004; 2005; University of Birmingham 2006). 이들은 독서운동에 련된 3개년 로젝트의 일환으로서 캐나다 Ontario 주와 미국 Seattle에서 ‘한 책’ 독서운 동에 참여한 사람들 참여하지 않은 사람들에 한 조사를 수행하 다. 이들은 설문지, 코드 북 등 원자료를 공개하고, 책과 독서라는 문화 상의 사회학 분석을 시도하 으며 연구결과 를 단행본으로도 출간하 다(Fuller and Sedo 2013). 3. ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 선정 책의 분석 3.1 선정된 책의 체 분포 ‘한 책’ 로젝트에서 2013년 6월 재까지 선정된 책들은 모두 1,561종이다. 이들 가운데 하나 이상 로그램에서 선정된 책들의 복을 제거한 고유한 책의 종수는 1,037종이다. 이들 을 선정하여 읽은 ‘한 책’ 로그램의 수는 모두 2,220개에 이른다. 여기에서 시행 로그램 횟 수가 앞 에서 언 한 2,102개가 아니라 2,220 개로 나타난 이유는 일부 로그램에서 한 번에 한 권 이상의 책을 읽었고, 이를 별도의 로그 램으로 인정하 기 때문이다. 를 들어, Oregon 주의 주 역 ‘한 책’ 로젝트인 ‘Oregon Reads’ 는 2009년 단 한번만 시행되었는데, 연령별로 책 을 나 어 성인은 Lauren Kessler의 Stubborn Twig를, 어린이는 Deborah Hopkinson의 Apples to Oregon을, 청소년은 Virginia Euwer Wolff 의 Bat 6를 각각 읽게 하 던 것을 볼 수 있다. 이럴 경우 실제로는 한 개의 ‘한 책’ 로젝트에 서 한 번의 로그램이 시행되었지만, 3권의 책 각각이 한 개 로그램에서 읽힌 것으로 간주하 여 3개 로그램이 시행된 것으로 보았다. 이 연 구에서는 가능한 한 각각의 책과 로그램의 연 계성을 악하고자 하 으므로, 고유한 1,037종 의 책, 그리고 이들을 읽은 2,220개의 로그램 을 심으로 살펴보았다. <표 1>은 지 까지 2,220개 ‘한 책’ 로그램 에서 선정된 1,037종의 책들을 선정한 로그램 빈도에 따른 순 를 보여 다. 지 까지 가장 많은 로그램에서 ‘한 책’으로 선정된 작품은 Harper Lee의 To Kill a Mockingbird로서 모 두 85개 로그램에서 선정되었다. 그 다음으로 는 Ray Bradbury의 Fahrenheit 451이 53개 로그램에서 선정되었으며, Khalid Hosseini의 2003년 베스트셀러 소설 The Kite Runner가 50개 로그램, Homer Hickam의 Rocket Boys (October Sky)는 38개 로그램, Ernest J. Gaines의 A Lesson Before Dying은 25개 로 그램, Mitch Albom의 Tuesdays with Morrie 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 175 자명 서명 지역 선정 로그램 종수 총 로그램 Harper Lee To Kill a Mockingbird Bay Minette (Alabama) 2003 등 84 1 84 Ray Bradbury Fahrenheit 451 Anchorage (Alaska) 2007 등 53 1 53 Khaled Hosseini The Kite Runner Zionsville (Indiana) 2005 등 50 1 50 Homer Hickam Rocket Boys Grove Hill (Alabama) 2006 등 37 1 37 Greg Mortensen Three Cups of Tea Richardson (Texas) 2009 등 30 1 30 Ernest J. Gaines Lesson Before Dying Miami (Florida) 2003 등 25 1 25 Mitch Albom Tuesdays with Morrie Long Beach (California) 2002 등 21 1 21 Barbara Ehrenreich Nickel and Dimed Peoria (Illinois) 2006 등 20 2 40 Bill Bryson Walk in the Woods Augusta (Maine) 2004 등 19 4 76 F. Scott Fitzgerald The Great Gatsby 주 역 (Arkansas) 2006 (TBR) 등 18 2 36 Lois Lowry The Giver Middletown (Connecticut) 2003 등 17 2 34 Leif Enger Peace Like a River Pasadena (California) 2003 등 16 1 16 T.C. Boyle Tortilla Curtain Carlsbad (California) 2004 등 15 1 15 John Grogan Marley and Me Burbank (California) 2007 등 14 2 28 Barbara Kingsolver Animal, Vegetable, Miracle Belmont (Massachusetts) 2009 등 13 1 13 Sara Gruen Water for Elephants Winnetka-Northfield (Illinois) 2007 (성인) 등 12 5 60 Christopher Paul Curtis Watsons Go To Birmingham - 1963 San Joaquin County (California) 2005 등 11 3 33 Sandra Cisneros House on Mango Street Jacksonville (Florida) 2004 등 10 3 30 Rudolfo Anaya Bless Me, Ultima Yuma (Arizona) 2003 등 9 4 36 Rick Bragg All Over But the Shoutin' 주 역 (Arkansas) 2003 #1 - 8 6 48 Kate DiCamillo Because of Winn-Dixie Orlando (Florida) 2003 등 7 7 49 Tom Brokaw Greatest Generation Long Beach (California) 2007 등 6 9 54 Julia Alvarez How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents San Bernardino (California) 2007 등 5 21 105 Russell Banks Sweet Hereafter Vigo County (Indiana) 2005 등 4 27 108 Rachel Carson Silent Spring Bridgewater (Massachusetts) 2008-09 #2 등 3 38 114 Jhumpa Lahiri Interpreter of the Maladies 주 역 (District of Columbia) 2004 등 2 133 266 Paul Auster Invention of Solitude Buffalo (New York) 2005 1 759 759 1,037 2,220 <표 1> ‘한 책’ 선정 책과 로그램의 분포(2013년 6월 재) 는 21개 로그램에서 각각 ‘한 책’으로 선정되 었다. 이들의 순 는 이 연구(윤정옥 2012) 에서 살펴본 2010년 6월의 것과 다르지 않다. 다만 당시까지 59개 로그램에서 선정되어 Fahrenheit 451보다 많이 읽힌 것으로 나타난 The Kite Runner가 실제로는 50개 로그램에 서 선정되었고 데이터 오류로 인하여 순 가 바 었던 것으로 확인되어, 정정하 다. Barbara Ehrenreich의 Nickel and Dimed 와 Mark Haddon의 Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time은 각각 20개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되어 읽혔다. Bill Bryson의 176 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 Walk in the Woods 등 43종의 책은 19개 로 그램, F. Scott Fitzgerald의 The Great Gatsby 등 2종의 책은 18개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 각 각 선정되었다. Jhumpa Lahiri의 Interpreter of the Maladies 가 2004년 District of Columbia의 주 역 로 그램과 2006년 가을 Chicago의 ‘One Book, One Chicago’의 두 개 로그램에서 선정되었는데, 이 책을 포함하여, 모두 133종의 책들이 각각 2 개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되었다. 체 책 1,037종 가운데 2개 이상의 로그램에서 선정 된 책은 278종으로 26.8%에 해당한다. 그밖에 759종의 책은 각각 1개 로그램에 서만 선정되어 읽혔다. 를 들어 Paul Auster 의 Invention of Solitude는 2005년 New York 주 ‘If All Buffalo Read the Same Book’에서 만 선정되어 읽혔고, Lance Armstrong의 It's Not About the Bike는 2004년 California 주 Bakersfield의 ‘One Book, One Bakersfield’에 서만 선정되었다. 이처럼 단 1개 로그램에서 만 선정된 책은 체 책 1,037종의 73.2%에 이 른다. 체 사분의 삼 정도가 단 1개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되었다는 은 체로 지역 사회마다 자체의 고유한 ‘한 책’ 로그램에 합한 책들을 독자 으로 선정하여 읽는 흐름이 생성된 것이 아닌가 하는 추측을 가능하게 한다. 3.2 연도별 선정 추이 <표 2>는 1998년부터 2013년까지 연도별로 체 1개 로그램에서 선정된 책 최다 로그램에서 선정된 책 연도 로그램 총수 선정 책 총수 책 수 체 로그램 총수 비 제목 선정 로그램 총수 체 로그램 총수 비 1998년 1 1 1 100% The Sweet Hereafter 1 100% 1999년 2 2 2 100% A Lesson Before Dying 1 50.0% 2000년 3 2 1 50.0% A Lesson Before Dying 2 66.7% 2001년 14 13 12 92.3% A Lesson Before Dying 2 14.3% 2002년 149 94 75 79.8% To Kill a Mockingbird 17 11.4% 2003년 196 118 87 73.7% Fahrenheit 451 15 7.7% 2004년 280 209 174 83.3% Tuesdays with Morrie 10 3.6% 2005년 318 204 163 79.9% The Kite Runner 28 8.8% 2006년 354 242 200 82.6% The Kite Runner 14 4.0% 2007년 396 268 225 84.0% To Kill a Mockingbird 19 4.8% 2008년 212 159 136 85.5% Three Cups of Tea 13 6.1% 2009년 134 105 93 88.6% Animal, Vegetable, Miracle 8 6.0% 2010년 75 66 56 84.8% Three Cups of Tea 3 4.0% 2011년 54 47 41 87.2% Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close 3 5.6% 2012년 21 20 19 95.0% Caleb's Crossing 2 9.5% 2013년 11 11 11 100% Animal, Vegetable, Miracle 1 9.1% 합계 2,220 1,561 평균 85.4% - - - <표 2> 연도별 최다 로그램 1개 로그램 선정 책 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 177 선정된 책의 총수, 시행된 로그램의 총수, 가 장 많은 로그램에서 선정된 책의 서명과 로 그램 수 체 로그램에서의 비율, 단 한 개 로그램에서만 선정된 책의 총수 체 로 그램에서의 비율 분포를 보여 다. 이 책들 가 운데 To Kill a Mockingbird와 같이 많게는 수 십 개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되어 읽힌 책 들도 있지만, 두서 개 로그램에서 선정된 책들도 있다. 따라서 앞 에서 언 한 바와 같 이 여러 개 로그램에서 선정된 책 총수 1,561 종의 복 수치를 제거하면 실제 선정된 고유한 책은 1,037종이며 모두 2,220개 로그램에서 읽혔다. 윤정옥은 이 연구(2013)에서 ‘한 책’ 독서 운동의 발 연 을 태동기(1998년-2001년), 성장기(2002년-2006년) 재도약기(2007년- 재)의 세 개 시기로 나 바 있다. 이 연구에 서도 이러한 구분에 따라 각 시기별로 시행된 ‘한 책’ 로그램의 총수와 그 로그램들에서 선정된 책들의 황을 다음과 같이 살펴보았다. 3.2.1 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 태동기: 1998년-2001년 우선 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 태동기라 하 던 1998 년부터 2001년까지는 최 의 ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’ 출범 이후로 서서히 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 시작된 시기이다. 이 시기는 아직은 많은 로그램이 시행되지도 않았고 책 들의 다양성도 보이지 않았기 때문에 어떤 책이 특별히 선호되었는가를 논하는 것은 큰 의미가 없다. 그러나 어느 정도는 ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’에서 선정된 책이 향을 미쳤 다고 할 수 있다. 1998년 ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’ 이 처음 선정한 최 의 ‘한 책(One Book)’은 Russell Banks의 The Sweet Hereafter 고, 1999년에는 Ernest J. Gaines의 A Lesson Before Dying을 선정하 다. 1999년에 처음 시작된 Kansas 주 Lawrence의 ‘Read Across Lawrence’ 에서는 독자 으로 Avi의 Nothing But the Truth를 읽었다. Library of Congress Center for the Books 웹사이트에는 2000년 모두 3개의 ‘한 책’ 로그 램이 진행되었다고 등록되어 있다. New York 주 Rochester의 ‘If All of Rochester Read the Same Book’과 역시 New York 주 Buffalo의 ‘If All Buffalo Read the Same Book’, 그리고 Virginia 주의 주 역 로그램 ‘All Virginia Reads’이다. ‘If All of Rochester Read the Same Book’과 ‘If All Buffalo Read the Same Book’는 이름도 ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’을 그 로 따라서 붙 고, 둘 다 A Lesson Before Dying을 읽을 책으로 선정하 다. ‘All Virginia Reads’는 William Styron의 Sophie's Choice가 읽을 책으로 선정하 다. 그런데 ‘If All of Rochester Read the Same Book’의 공식 주 기 인 Rochester의 Writers & Books 웹사이트에는 이 ‘한 책’ 로젝트가 시작된 것은 2001년으로 기록되어 있어, Library of Congress Center for the Books 기록과는 상 충된다. 그러나 그 해 첫 번째 책으로 A Lesson Before Dying을 선정한 것은 사실이며, 두 번째 해인 2002년에는 The Sweet Hereafter를 읽을 책으로 선정하 다(Writers and Books 2002). ‘If All of Rochester Read the Same Book’에 서 책의 선정 이유나 기 은 별도로 명시하지 178 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 않았으나, ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’ 에서 선정하 던 책을 연속하여 선정한 것으로 나타났다. 2001년에는 Library of Congress Center for the Books 웹사이트에 모두 14개 ‘한 책’ 로그 램이 진행되었고, 이들 2개 로그램(14.3%) 이 A Lesson Before Dying을 읽었다. 나머지 12개 로그램(92.3%)은 각자 독자 으로 선 정한 책을 읽었다. ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 태동기라 할 1998년부터 2001년까지의 이 시기에는 시행 된 20개 ‘한 책’ 로그램들 5개 로그램 (25.0%)에서 선정된 A Lesson Before Dying 이 가장 선호된 책이며, 따라서 ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’에서 읽은 책이 분명 향을 미쳤다고 할 수 있다. 그런데 한 가지 흥미 로운 은 ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’ 에서 최 로 선정된 책은 The Sweet Hereafter 이었는데(Seattle Public Library 2013b), A Lesson Before Dying을 선정한 ‘한 책’ 로그 램들이 더 많다는 것이다. 여기에서는 살펴보지 못하 지만 이러한 개별 책의 선정에 반 된 상 선호도와 이유 등도 차후 심도 있게 검토 해 볼 만한 주제가 될 것으로 보인다. 3.2.2 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 성장기: 2002년-2006년 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 성장기라고 여겨졌던 2002 년부터 2006년 사이에는 새롭게 시작된 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 많았다. Library of Congress Center for the Books 웹사이트에 등록된 데이터에 따 르면 2002년 한 해에만 미국 역에서 모두 129 개의 ‘한 책’ 로젝트가 시작되었고, 2003년 86 개, 2004년 93개, 2005년 77개의 새로운 ‘한 책’ 로젝트가 각각 시작되었다. 2006년에는 63개 로 다소 어들긴 하 지만, 이 오년 동안 모두 448개의 ‘한 책’ 로젝트가 새로 시작되었고, 일 회 이상 로그램을 지속한 로젝트들도 다수 이다(윤정옥 2013b). 이 기간 동안에는 진행된 ‘한 책’ 로그램 수 도 많을 뿐만 아니라 선정된 책들의 종수도 많 다. 그러나 이 기간 에는 2개 이상의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정된 책들의 비 이 비교 높 고, 몇몇 책들은 여러 개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 집 으로 선정되는 양상이 찰되었다. <표 2>에서 보는 바와 같이 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 기간 동안 매년 고유한 한 권의 책이 단 1개 로그램에서 선정된 비율이 평균 85.4%인데, 이 기간 동안에는 그보다 다소 낮은 70% 후반 혹은 80% 반이다. 이 기간 몇 권의 두드 러지는 책들이 등장하 고, 복수의 로그램에 서 이들이 선정되었음을 나타낸다. 2002년에는 모두 149개 로그램이 시행되 었고, 94종의 책이 선정되었다. 가장 많이 선정 된 책은 To Kill a Mockingbird로서 모두 17개 로그램(11.4%)이 선정하 다. 이 책은 바로 해인 2001년 가을 Chicago에서 시작되어 크 게 주목을 받았던 ‘One Book, One Chicago’에 서 처음으로 선정되었던 책이다. 한 A Lesson Before Dying을 모두 9개 로그램이 읽었다. 따라서 앞서 언 한 바와 같이 ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’ 혹은 ‘One Book, One Chicago’가 선정한 책들의 향이 드러난다고 하겠다. 그밖에는 John Grisham의 A Painted House를 포함하여 75종의 책(79.8%)이 각각 1개의 로그램에서 선정되어 읽혔다. 2003년에는 모두 196개 로그램이 시행되 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 179 었고, 118종의 책이 선정되었다. 그 가운데 가장 많이 선정된 책은 모두 15개 로그램(7.7%) 에서 선정된 Ray Bradbury의 Fahrenheit 451 이다. 이 책은 2002년 처음으로 Indiana 주 Lafayette, Florida 주 Palm Beach 등 네 곳의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정된 이래, 2003년에는 가장 많은 로그램에서 선정된 책이 되었다. To Kill a Mockingbird는 8개 로그램에서 선 정되어 두 번째로 많이 선정되었다. 단 1개 로 그램에서만 선정되어 읽힌 책은 한국계 작가인 Chang Rae Lee의 A Gesture Life를 포함하여 87종(73.7%)이었다. 2004년에는 모두 280개 로그램이 시행되 었고, 209종의 책이 선정되었다. 가장 많은 로 그램에서 선정된 책은 Mitch Albom의 Tuesdays with Morrie로 모두 10개 로그램에서 선정되 었다. Tuesdays with Morrie는 2002년 California 주 Long Beach가 ‘Long Beach Reads One Book’을 시작하면서 처음으로 읽은 책인데, 2003 년에는 모두 7개 로그램에서 선정되었고, 2004 년에는 가장 많이 읽힌 책이 되었다. 이해에는 한 개 로그램에서만 선정되어 읽힌 책은 James Watson의 The Double Helix를 포함한 174종 (83.3%)이었다. 2005년에는 모두 318개 로그램이 시행되 었고, 204종의 책이 선정되었다. 가장 많은 로 그램에서 선정된 책은 The Kite Runner로서 모두 28개 로그램(8.8%)에서 선정되었다. 체 책들 1개 로그램에서만 선정되어 읽힌 책은 163종(79.9%)이었다. 2006년에는 모두 354개 로그램이 시행되었고, 242종의 책이 선 정되어 읽혔다. 이해에도 가장 많이 선정된 책 은 The Kite Runner 고, 모두 14개 로그램 (4.0%)에서 선정되었다. 체 책들 1개 로 그램에서만 선정되어 읽힌 책은 200종(82.6%) 이었다. 이처럼 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 성장기라 할 수 있 는 이 기간 동안에는 많은 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 새로 시작되었고, 매년 동시에 많은 ‘한 책’ 로 그램이 시행되었다. 한 To Kill a Mockingbird, Fahrenheit 451, The Kite Runner, Tuesdays with Morrie 등 두드러지는 몇 권의 책들이 여 러 개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 동시에 선정되는 양상을 나타냈다. 3.2.3 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 재도약기: 2007년- 재 2007년은 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 재도약기가 시 작된 해로 볼 수 있다. 2006년 시범사업으로 시 작되었던 National Endowment for the Arts (이하 NEA라 부름)가 추진하는 지역사회 고 문학 독서운동인 ‘The Big Read’ 독서 이니 셔티 (이하 ‘The Big Read’라고 부름)가 이때 국 으로 출범하 기 때문이다. ‘The Big Read’ 는 공식 으로 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 모형을 채택 한다고 천명하 고, 따라서 여기 참여하는 지역 사회들이 Center for the Books 웹사이트에 등 록되지 않았다 해도, 2007년을 기 으로 ‘한 책’ 독서운동이 재도약하 다고 보아도 무방할 것 이다. <표 2>를 보면 2007년에 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 역사 상 가장 많은 ‘한 책’ 로그램이 진행되었 고, 가장 다양한 책들이 선정된 것을 알 수 있다. 2007년에는 75개의 새로운 ‘한 책’ 로젝트가 시작되었고, 모두 396개 ‘한 책’ 로그램이 진 행되어, 2006년보다 42개 로그램이 증가하 180 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 다. 한 모두 268종의 책이 선정되어, 2006년 보다 26종이나 증가하 다. 이 해 진행된 396개 ‘한 책’ 로그램들에서 가장 많이 선정된 것은 To Kill a Mockingbird로 모두 19개 로그램 이 선정하 고, 그 밖에 Maya Angelou의 I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings 등 225종 (84.0%)의 책은 각각 1개 로그램에서만 선정 되어 읽혔다. 다시 To Kill a Mockingbird의 선 정이 늘어난 것은 이 책이 ‘The Big Read’의 시 범사업 당시부터 추천 도서목록에 포함되어 있 기 때문에 그 가시성이 다시 높아졌기 때문은 아닌가 추정할 수 있다. 실제로 2007년 Center for the Books 웹사이트에 등록된 ‘한 책’ 로 그램들 가운데 ‘TBR’(‘The Big Read’를 의미 함)에 참여하 다고 밝힌 것은 모두 25개이다. ‘TBR’ 참여 ‘한 책’ 로그램들 에서는 3개 로그램이 Rudolfo Anaya의 Bless Me, Ultima 를 선정하 고, 3개 로그램이 Ray Bradbury의 Fahrenheit 451, 4개 로그램이 Willa Cather의 My Antonia를 선정하 다. John Steinbeck의 The Grapes of Wrath은 2개 로그램, F. Scott Fitzgerald의 The Great Gatsby는 5개 로그 램, Zora Neale Hurston의 Their Eyes Were Watching God은 4개 로그램에서 선정되었고, To Kill a Mockingbird도 4개 로그램에서 선 정되었다. 2008년에는 모두 212개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램이 진행되었고, 159종의 책이 선정되었다. 2007년 과 비교하면 진행된 ‘한 책’ 로그램의 총수가 무려 174개나 감소하 는데, 실제로 2007년에 새로 시작되었던 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들 가운데 42 개가 단 한 차례만 로그램을 진행하고 단된 것을 포함하여, 격한 감소세를 보인 것이다. 2008년에 선정된 159종의 책 가운데 가장 많은 로그램에서 선정된 책은 Greg Mortenson의 Three Cups of Tea(13개 로그램)이고, Alice Hoffman의 Blackbird House 등 136종(85.5%) 의 책은 단 1개 로그램에서만 선정되었다. 이 해에는 ‘TBR’로 참여한 ‘한 책’ 로그램이 4개 로 To Kill a Mockingbird는 2개 로그램이, Fahrenheit 451와 My Antonia를 각각 1개 로그램이 선정하 다. 2009년에는 모두 134개 로그램이 진행되었 고, 105종의 책이 선정되었다. Barbara Kingsolver 의 Animal, Vegetable, Miracle(8개 로그램) 이 가장 많은 로그램에서 선정되었고, Nancy Rawles의 My Jim 등 93종(88.6%)의 책이 1개 로그램에서만 선정되었다. 2010년에는 모두 75개 로그램이 시행되었 고 66종의 책이 선정되었다. 다시 한 번 Greg Mortenson의 Three Cups of Tea로 가장 많은 3개 로그램에서 선정되었으나, 향은 미미 하다. 그밖에 Barack Obama의 Dreams from My Father 등 56종(84.8%)의 책이 1개 로 그램에서 선정되었다. 2011년에는 모두 54개 로그램이 시행되었고, 선정된 책은 47종이다. 이 가운데 Jonathan Safran Foer의 Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close가 3개 로그램에 서 선정되었고, Chris Cleave의 Little Bee 등 41종(87.2%)은 1개 로그램에서만 선정되었 다. 그밖에도 복도가 높지 않아 Warren St. John의 Outcasts United, Homer Hickam의 Rocket Boys, Rebecca Skloot의 The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, 그리고 Harper Lee 의 To Kill a Mockingbird가 각각 2개씩의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되었을 뿐이다. 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 181 2012년에는 21개 로그램이 시행되었고, 이 들 2개 로그램에서 선정된 Geraldine Brooks 의 Caleb's Crossing을 제외하고는 모두 19종 (95.0%)의 서로 다른 책들이 19개 로그램에 서 각각 읽혔다. 2013년에는 11개 로그램이 시행되었고, 이들은 각각 다른 책들을 읽었다. 이 시기를 보면 2007년을 정 으로 2008년과 2009년에 시행된 ‘한 책’ 로그램 수가 격히 어들고, 2010년부터는 그 감소세가 한 것 으로 보인다. 그 다고 해서 이 시기를 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 쇠퇴기라 하지 않고, 오히려 ‘재도 약기’라고 보는 것은 앞 에서도 지 한 것처 럼 ‘한 책’ 로젝트를 진행하는 모든 지역사 회가 시행한 로그램을 Center for the Books 웹사이트에 즉각 등록하지는 않으며, ‘The Big Read’에 참여하는 ‘한 책’ 로그램이 모두 다 여기 등록되지는 않는다고 해도, 이 독서 이니 셔티 를 통해서도 ‘한 책’ 독서운동이 꾸 히 확산되고 있는 것은 사실이기 때문이다. 실제로 ‘One Book, One Chicago’도 2013년까지 진행 되고 있음에도 불구하고 2010년 이후 데이터는 Center for the Books 웹사이트에 등록되어 있 지 않고, ‘If All Buffalo Read the Same Book’ 과 같은 몇 개의 다른 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들도 그 다(윤정옥 2013b). 한 2007년부터 ‘The Big Read’를 통해서 연간 팔구십여 개의 지역사회 가 ‘한 책’ 독서운동에 참여하고 있으나(National Endowment for the Arts 2013b), 이들 소수만 Center for the Books 웹사이트에 등 록되어 있다. 실제로도 Center for the Books 웹사이트에 2010년 이후 등록된 ‘한 책’ 로 그램들 가운데 ‘TBR’을 명시한 로그램은 없었다. 3.3 가장 많이 선정된 세 권의 책 <표 3>과 <그림 1>은 ‘한 책’ 독서운동에서 선정되었던 1,037종의 책들 가운데 가장 많은 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되었던 세 권의 책, 즉 To Kill a Mockingbird, Fahrenheit 451, 그 리고 The Kite Runner의 연도별 선정 추이를 보여 다. <표 3>에서 각 책의 제목 아래 ‘비율’ 항목은 매년 시행된 체 로그램 총수 비 그 해에 해당 책을 선정한 로그램 총수의 비율 을 나타낸다. 2001년부터 2013년 사이 시행된 2,220개 로그램 체에 비해서 보면, 이 기 간 동안 To Kill a Mockingbird는 모두 84개 로그램(3.8%)에서, 그 다음으로 많이 선정된 Fahrenheit 451은 53개 로그램(2.5%)에서, 그리고 그 다음으로는 The Kite Runner가 모 두 50개 로그램(2.3%)에서 각각 선정되었다. 따라서 이 3권의 책을 선정한 187개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램은 체 2,220개 로그램의 8.4%에 달하며, 각 책의 선정 연도별 추이는 다음과 같 이 다소 흥미로운 양상을 보인다. 3.3.1 To Kill a Mockingbird 우리나라에는 ‘앵무새 죽이기’라는 제목으로 잘 알려져 있는 To Kill a Mockingbird는 꾸 히 많은 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되기는 하지 만 2002년과 2007년에 격한 증가세를 보인다. 그것은 앞 에서도 지 한 바와 같이 2001년 ‘One Book, One Chicago’에서 처음 이 책이 선 정된 이후, 2002년에 새로 시작된 ‘한 책’ 로 젝트들 가운데 17개가 이 책을 선정하 기 때문 으로 보인다. 한 National Endowment for the Arts의 ‘The Big Read’ 2006년 시범사업 182 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 연도 선정 책 총수 시행 로그램 총수 To Kill a Mockingbird Fahrenheit 451 The Kite Runner 선정 로그램 비율 선정 로그램 비율 선정 로그램 비율 2001년 13 14 1 7.1% 0 0.0% 0 0.0% 2002년 94 149 17 11.4% 4 2.7% 0 0.0% 2003년 118 196 8 4.1% 13 6.6% 0 0.0% 2004년 209 280 8 2.9% 5 1.8% 4 1.4% 2005년 204 318 9 2.8% 5 1.6% 28 8.8% 2006년 242 354 11 3.1% 6 1.7% 14 4.0% 2007년 268 396 19 4.8% 13 3.3% 2 0.5% 2008년 159 212 4 1.9% 5 2.4% 2 0.9% 2009년 105 134 2 1.5% 1 0.7% 0 0.0% 2010년 66 75 2 2.7% 0 0.0% 0 0.0% 2011년 47 54 2 3.7% 1 1.9% 0 0.0% 2012년 20 21 0 0.0% 0 0.0% 0 0.0% 2013년 11 11 1 9.1% 0 0.0% 0 0.0% 1,561 2,220 84 3.8% 53 2.5% 50 2.3% <표 3> 최다 로그램 선정 책 3권 <그림 1> 최다 로그램 선정 책 3권의 연도별 분포 2007년 국 출범을 한 선정도서 목록에 이 책이 포함됨으로써 다시 한 번 가시성이 증 되었기 때문인 것으로 추정할 수 있다. 2007년에 To Kill a Mockingbird를 선정한 ‘한 책’ 로그램은 모두 19개로 체 시행된 396 개 로그램의 4.8%에 이른다. 2003년과 2004 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 183 년에 8개 로그램, 2005년에 9개 로그램, 2006년에 11개 로그램이 이 책을 선정했던 것에 비하여 늘어난 것이다. 2007년 Alabama 주 Huntsville, Illinois 주 Peoria,  Mississippi 주 Starkville, North Carolina 주 Western North Carolina의 3개 ‘한 책’ 로그램은 ‘The Big Read’에 참여하면서 이 책을 읽었다고 하 다. 이들 Huntsville-Madison County Public Library가 주 하는 ‘Get Caught Reading’은 2002년부터 매년 시행되었던 ‘한 책’ 로젝트 인데, 2007년에는 ‘The Big Read’로 이 책을 읽 었다. 그러나 그밖에는 Center for the Books에 등록된 ‘한 책’ 로그램들 가운데 실제로 ‘The Big Read’에 참여하면서 이 책을 읽었다고 한 로그램 수는 많지 않았다. National Endowment for the Arts(2013b) 에 따르면 ‘The Big Read’의 본격 인 시행 첫 해인 2007년 상반기(1월-6월)에는 Alabama 주 Huntsville-Madison County Public Library, California 주 San Mateo의 Peninsula Library System 주 로그램 등 모두 19개의 ‘The Big Read’ 참여 로그램에서 To Kill a Mockingbird 를 선정하 다. 2007년 하반기(9월-12월)에 는 Ohio 주 Toledo의 Toledo-Lucas County Public Library, Pennsylvania 주 Kittanning 의 Kittanning Public Library 등 모두 27개의 ‘The Big Read’ 참여 로그램에서 이 책을 선 정하 다. 2007년 한 해만 해도 모두 46개 지역 사회가 ‘The Big Read’에 참여함으로써 To Kill a Mockingbird를 읽은 것이다. 그러나 이 들 가운데 단지 3개 지역사회만 Center for the Books 웹사이트에 자신의 ‘한 책’ 로그램을 등록하면서 ‘TBR’로 명기하 으므로 나머지 43 개의 선정 황은 반 되지 않았다. 3.3.2 Fahrenheit 451 우리나라에서는 ‘화씨 451’이라는 제목으로 번역된 바 있는 Ray Bradbury의 Fahrenheit 451 한 2002년 처음 4개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에 서 선정된 이후 2003년과 2007년에 선정 로그 램의 격한 증가세를 보인다. 이 책은 2002년 Indiana 주 Lafayette의 ‘One Great Read, One Greater Lafayette’, Michigan 주 East Lansing 의 ‘One Book, One Community’, California 주 Los Angeles의 ‘One Book, One City L.A.’, 그리고 Florida 주 Palm Beach의 ‘Read Together Palm Beach County’ 등 4개의 ‘한 책’ 로그 램에서 맨 처음 ‘한 책’으로 선정되었다. 그 이후 2003년에는 13개 ‘한 책’ 로그램, 2004년과 2005년에는 각각 5개 로그램, 2006년에는 6 개 로그램, 2007년에는 13개 로그램, 2008 년에는 5개 로그램, 2009년과 2011년에 1개 로그램에서 각각 선정되어 모두 53개 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 읽혔다. 이 책도 ‘The Big Read’의 2006년 시범사업 부터 선정도서 목록에 포함되어 있었고, 국 시행 이후 이를 선정한 지역사회도 지 않 았다. 2007년 상반기에 Alaska 주 Anchorage 의 Anchorage Municipal Libraries, Arkansas 주 Fayetteville의 Fayetteville Public Library 주 로그램 등 모두 15개의 ‘The Big Read’ 참여 로그램이 이 책을 선정하 고, 하반기 에는 Virginia 주 Abingdon의 Barter Theatre, Wisconsin 주 Waukesha의 Waukesha Public Library 주 로그램 등 모두 22개 지역사회 의 로그램에서 이 책을 선정하여 읽었다. 즉 184 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 2007년 한 해만 해도 Fahrenheit 451을 선정한 로그램이 37개에 이른다. 그러나 이들 가운 데 Center for the Books 웹사이트에 ‘TBR’로 등록한 곳은 New Hampshire 주의 주 역 로그램, Indiana 주 Bloomington, Kansas 주 Topeka 등 단 3개 로그램 뿐이다. 이처럼 Center for the Books 웹사이트에 ‘The Big Read’로 선정된 To Kill a Mockingbird와 Fahrenheit 451의 황이 모두 반 되지 않았음 에도 불구하고, 2007년도에 두 책을 선정한 로 그램 수가 더욱 증가한 것에는 ‘The Big Read’ 의 향이 있을 수도 있다. ‘The Big Read’에 서는 2006년 시범사업에서 Fahrenheit 451, The Great Gatsby, To Kill a Mockingbird, Their Eyes Were Watching God이라는 네 권의 책을 추천 도서목록에 포함시켰다. 2013 년 12월 재까지 추천 책은 모두 36권으로 늘 어났고, ‘The Big Read’에서는 이들의 주제를 성장(Coming of age), 용기(Courage), 범죄와 정의(Crime and Justice), 정체성(Identity), 용(Integrity), 상실(Loss), 사랑(Love Stories) 이라는 일곱 개 범주로 나 어 소개하고 있다. 여기에서 To Kill a Mockingbird의 주제는 성 장, 용, 용기, 범죄/정의, 정체성의 다섯 가지, Fahrenheit 451의 주제는 용기, 범죄/정의, 정 체성의 세 가지로 소개되고 있다(National En- dow ment for the Arts 2013a). 한편 To Kill a Mockingbird는 “많은 어린 독자들에게 이 소 설은 그들이 나 에 읽는 모든 책들을 비교하는 상이 되는, ‘최 의 큰 읽을거리, 즉 어른 얘기 (their first big read, the grown-up story)’” 임을 강조하 고(National Endowment for the Arts 2013c), Fahrenheit 451은 공상과학소설 이면서도 “문학 고 이며 구한 베스트셀러 라는 보기 드문 탁월함을 달성”한 작품이라고 극찬하고 있다(National Endowment for the Arts 2013d). 이처럼 이 책들의 문학 가치와 문화 요성이 거듭해서 강조됨에 따라, ‘The Big Read’에 참여하지 않는다 하더라도 ‘한 책’ 로그램을 진행하는 지역사회들이 다시 한 번 이 책들을 ‘함께 읽을거리’로서 주목할 수도 있 다는 것이다. 3.3.3 The Kite Runner 아 가니스탄 출신 미국작가인 Khaled Hosseini 의 자 소설작품인 The Kite Runner는 우 리나라에는 ‘연을 날리는 아이’라는 제목으로 번역되어 알려졌다. 이 책은 2003년 미국에서 처음 발행되어 베스트셀러가 되었고, 2004년 California 주 Woodland의 ‘Woodland Reads’, Connecticut 주 Eastern Connecticut의 ‘One Book, One Region’ 등 4개 로그램(1.4%)에 서 처음 선정된 이래 모두 50개의 ‘한 책’ 로 그램에서 선정되었다. 이 책은 특히 2005년에는 Ohio 주 Cincinnati 의 ‘One the Same Page Cincinnati’를 비롯하 여 28개 로그램(8.8%)에서 선정되어 그해 가 장 많은 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정된 책이 되었 고, 2006년에도 14개 로그램(4.0%)에 선정되 어 역시 가장 많은 로그램에서 선정된 책으로 자리매김 하 다. 2007년에는 Texas 주 Allen County의 ‘Allen READS’와 Massachusetts 주 Nantucket의 ‘One Book One Island’의 2개 로그램, 2008년에도 New York 주 Schenectady 의 ‘One County, One Book’과 North Carolina 주 Rockingham County의 ‘Rockingham Reads’, 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 185 2개 로그램에서 각각 선정되었다. 이처럼 2004년부터 2008년까지 5년 동안 많 은 주목을 받았던 The Kite Runner는 2009년 부터는 어느 곳의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서도 선정 되지 않았다. 2005년 The Kite Runner를 선정 하 던 ‘One the Same Page Cincinnati’는 이 책이 2003년 처음 간행된 이후, “비평가들에게 매우 칭찬을 받았고, 국의 독자들을 사로잡았 으며, 꾸 히 베스트셀러 목록에 오르고 있다.” 는 을 강조하 다. 한 작가인 Isabel Allende 가 이 작품을 “문학과 인생의 모든 한 주제를 탐구하는 감동 이며 환기시키는 소설”이라고 평하 음을 선정의 이유라고 하 다(Cincinnati Public Library 2005). 그럼에도 불구하고 미국 문학의 고 반열에 올라선 것으로 평가되며 꾸 히 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되고 있는 To Kill a Mockingbird와 Fahrenheit 451과 비교하여 볼 때, 아직 고 으로까지 평가되지는 못하는, 특정 시 의 베스트셀러인 The Kite Runner가 가졌던 ‘한 책’으로서의 향력은 약화된 것으 로 보인다. 3.4 ‘Seattle Reads’와 ‘One Book, One Chicago’ 선정 책의 향 <표 4>는 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 선구 로젝 트인 ‘Seattle Reads(이 ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’)’와 ‘One Book, One Chicago’ 가 매년 선정한 책들의 목록과 매년 이 책들을 선정한 ‘한 책’ 로그램의 수를 보여 다. 아울 러 <표 5>는 이 책들 가운데 3개 이상의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정된 책들의 연도별 황을 보 여 다. <표 5>에서 첫 의 S는 The Sweet Hereafter를, 다음 의 L은 A Lesson Before Dying을 각각 의미하도록 책 제목의 두문자만 으로 표시하 으며, 앞 에서 이미 살펴본 To Kill a Mockingbird는 포함시키지 않았다. ‘Seattle Reads’는 최 의 ‘한 책’ 로젝트로 서, 그리고 ‘One Book, One Chicago’는 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 선풍 확산의 계기를 제공한 ‘한 책’ 로젝트로서 선구 상을 갖고 있다. 한 이들은 지 까지 꾸 히 진행되어 표 인 지속성을 보여주기도 하 다. 지 까지 ‘한 책’ 독서운동에서 선정된 1,037종의 책 가운데 ‘One Book, One Chicago’에서 선정되었던 To Kill a Mockingbird가 가장 많이 선정된 책이고, ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’에서 선정되 었던 A Lesson Before Dying도 여러 개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정된 바 있다. 특히 이들은 매번 책을 선정할 때마다 독서와 토론을 한 참고자료를 매우 꼼꼼하게 비하고 온라인 오 라인으로 제공하여, 다른 ‘한 책’ 로젝트 들도 이를 활용할 수 있도록 허용하고 있다. 따 라서 이 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 어떤 책을 선정하 는가가 다른 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들의 책 선정에 어 느 정도 향을 미칠 수 있다고 보았다. 그러나 다음과 같이 실제로 선정된 책들의 연도별 선정 분포도를 검토한 결과는 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 기단계를 제외하고는 ‘Seattle Reads’와 ‘One Book, One Chicago’가 선정한 책들이 그 게 큰 향을 미쳤다고 단정하기는 쉽지 않음을 보 여주었다. 물론 ‘ 향’을 어떻게 정의하는가에 따라 이 달라질 수도 있을 것이다. 그러나 여기에 서는 이들이 선정한 책들이 나 진행되는 ‘한 책’ 로그램들에서 얼마나 많이 선정되는가 하 186 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 시행 연도 Seattle Reads 로 그램 시행 시기 One Book, One Chicago 로 그램 1998 The Sweet Hereafter (Russell Banks) 4 1999 A Lesson Before Dying (Ernest J. Gaines) 25 2001 Fooling With Words (Bill Moyers) 1 가을 To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee) 84 2002 Wild Life (Molly Gloss) 1 Night (Elie Wiesel) 5 가을 My Antonia (Willa Cather ) 8 2003 A Gesture Life (Chang-Rae Lee) 1 A Raisin in the Sun (Lorraine Hansberry ) 1 가을 The Things They Carried (Tim O’Brien) 17 2004 [The works of] Isabel Allende The Coast of Chicago (Stuart Dybek) 1 가을 In the Time of the Butterflies (Julia Alvarez) 4 2005 When the Emperor Was Divine (Julie Otsuka) 19 The Ox-Bow Incident (Walter Van TilburgClark) 1 가을 Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen) 3 2006 Persepolis (Marjane Satrapi) 7 One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch (Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn) 1 가을 Interpreter of the Maladies (Jhumpa Lahiri) 2 2007 The Namesake (Jhumpa Lahiri) 12 Go Tell It on the Mountain (James Baldwin) 1 가을 The Crucible (Arthur Miller) 4 2008 The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears (Dinaw Mengestu ) 1 The Long Goodbye (Raymond Chandler) 1 가을 The Right Stuff (Tom Wolfe) 2 2009 My Jim (Nancy Rawles) 1 The House on Mango Street (Sandra Cisneros) 1 가을 The Plan of Chicago (Carl Smith) 1 2010 Secret Son (Laila Lalami) 1 Brooklyn (Colm Tóibín) 1 가을 A Mercy (Toni Morrison) 1 2011 Little Bee (Chris Cleave) 2 Neverwhere (Neil Gaiman) 1 가을 The Adventures of Augie March (Saul Bellow) 1 2012 The Submission (Amy Waldman) 1 Gold Boy, Emerald Girl (Yiyun Li) 1 가을 The Book Thief (Markus Zusak) 4 2013 Stories for Boys (Gregory Martin) 1 2013-14 주제: Migration <표 4> ‘Seattle Reads’와 ‘One Book, One Chicago’ 선정 책 는 을 ‘ 향’이라고 보았다. 3.4.1 ‘Seattle Reads’ 선정 책 <표 4>에 따르면 먼 ‘Seattle Reads’에서 1998년부터 2013년까지 선정된 14권의 책 가운 데 반인 7권은 2개 이상의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에 서 선정되었으나, 나머지 7권은 다른 곳에서는 선정되지 않았다. 우선 최 로 선정되었던 The Sweet Hereafter는 이후 2002년, 2005년, 2007 년 등 띄엄띄엄 다른 3개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에 서 선정되었으나, 그 간격이 멀어 직 향 력을 논하긴 다소 어렵다. 오히려 두 번째 해인 1999년 선정된 A Lesson Before Dying은 후속 ‘한 책’ 로그램들에 어 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 187 연도 98 99 00 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 합계 S 1 1 1 1 4 L 1 2 2 9 3 2 2 1 0 1 2 25 When the Emperor Was... 3 5 5 2 3 1 19 Persepolis 1 3 1 0 1 1 7 The Namesake 2 2 1 2 4 0 1 12 Night 1 1 3 5 My Antonia 1 1 5 1 8 The Things They Carried 2 3 1 2 3 2 1 1 2 17 In the Time of the Butterflies 1 1 1 0 0 1 4 Pride and Prejudice 1 1 1 3 The Crucible 1 1 1 1 4 <표 5> ‘Seattle Reads’와 ‘One Book, One Chicago’ 선정 책의 연도별 선정 느 정도 향을 미쳤을 수도 있다고 보인다. 이 책은 이후 모두 24개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선 정되어, 가장 많이 선정된 책들 하나가 되었 다. 특히 2000년과 2001년과 같이 기에 시작 된 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들 여럿이 이 책을 선정하 고, 이후 ‘한 책’ 독서운동이 크게 확산되기 시작 한 2002년 시작된 9개의 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들에서 도 선정된 것으로 보아 이미 잘 알려진 이 책을 선정한 것이 아닌가 하는 추측을 할 수 있다. 2001년 선정된 Bill Moyers의 Fooling With Words, 2002년 Molly Gloss의 Wild Life, 2003 년 Chang-Rae Lee의 A Gesture Life 등은 다 른 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되지 않았다. 한편 ‘If All Seattle Read the Same Book’은 2004 년 ‘Seattle Reads’로 이름을 바꾸면서 한 권의 책이 아니라 한 작가, 즉 Isabel Allende의 여러 책을 읽기로 하 다. 이후 2005년부터 다시 한 권의 책을 읽는 방식으로 환하면서 일본계 미국작가 Julie Otsuka의 When the Emperor Was Divine을 선정하 다(Seattle Public Library 2013a). <표 5>에서 보는 바와 같이 이 책은 Seattle 보다 앞서서 2004년 Connecticut 주 Westport의 ‘WestportREADS’ 등 3개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 이미 선정된 바 있다. 2005년 ‘Seattle Reads’를 포함한 5개 로그램, 2006년 5개, 2007년 2개, 2008년 3개, 그리고 2009년 1 개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되었다. 모두 19 개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램이 이 책을 선정하 지만, 후 계로 보아 ‘Seattle Reads’의 선정이 다른 ‘한 책’ 로그램들에 직 인 향을 미쳤다고 하기는 어렵다. 2006년 선정된 Marjane Satrapi의 Persepolis 는 모두 7개 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되었는데, 이 책도 ‘Seattle Reads’보다 앞선 2005년 Michigan 주 Chelsea의 ‘Chelsea Reads Together’에서, 2006년에는 Massachusetts 주 Martha's Vineyard 의 ‘One Book-One Island’ 등 3개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 이미 선정되었다. 2007년 선정된 Jhumpa Lahiri의 The Namesake는 모두 12개 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되었다. 2004년 Massa- chusetts 주 Cambridge의 ‘Cambriege Reads’ 등 2개, 2005년 Massachusetts 주 Lexington 188 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 의 ‘One Book, One Lexington’ 등 2개, 2006년 1개, 2007년에는 ‘Seattle Reads’를 비롯하여 3개 의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 이 책을 선정하 고, 2008 년에는 Connecticut 주 Danbury의 ‘One Book, One Community’ 등 4개 로그램, 2010년에 는 Massachusetts 주 Stoughton의 ‘Stoughton Reads Together’가 이 책을 선정하 다. Persepolis 와 The Namesake는 ‘Seattle Reads’의 선정 이 후에 여러 로그램에서 선정되었지만, 그 에 도 이미 자체 으로 이들을 선정하여 읽은 ‘한 책’ 로그램들이 여럿 있으므로, 이들 한 그 향을 받았다고 하기는 어렵다. 2008년부터 2013년 사이 선정된 Dinaw Mengestu의 The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears, Nancy Rawles의 My Jim, Laila Lalami 의 Secret Son, Amy Waldman의 The Submission, Gregory Martin의 Stories for Boys 등은 모두 ‘Seattle Reads’에서만 선정되었다. 2011년 선 정된 Chris Cleave의 Little Bee는 이보다 앞선 2010년 California 주 Santa Monica의 ‘Santa Monica Reads’에서 선정되었으므로 ‘Seattle Reads’와는 무 하다 할 수 있다. 3.4.2 ‘One Book, One Chicago’ 선정 책 2001년 가을에 처음 시작된 후 매년 과 가을, 두 차례 시행되었던 ‘One Book, One Chicago’ 는 2012년까지 읽은 책이 23권이고, 이들 가운 데 반을 조 넘는 13권의 책이 다른 곳에서 는 선정되지 않았으며, 3개 이상의 ‘한 책’ 로 그램에서 선정된 책은 7권이다. 2001년 가을 첫 번째로 선정한 To Kill a Mockingbird가 지 까지 가장 많은 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정된 책 이 되었음은 주지의 사실이다. 그러나 그 밖의 ‘One Book, One Chicago’ 선정 책들도 다른 ‘한 책’ 로그램들에 그 게 많은 향을 미쳤 다고는 단언하기 어렵다. <표 4>와 <표 5>에서 보는 바와 같이 2002년 선정되었던 Elie Wiesel의 Night은 5개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되었는데, 4년이나 지 난 2006년에 1개, 2007년에 3개의 ‘한 책’ 로 그램이 다시 이 책을 선정하 다. 2002년 가을 에 선정된 Willa Cather의 My Antonia는 모두 8개 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되었다. 이 책은 2005년 1개 로그램, 2007년 5개 로그램 2008년 1개 로그램에서 선정된 것이다. 이 책 한 ‘One Book, One Chicago’ 선정 이후 2년 이 지나서야 다른 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되 었다. 2003년 가을 선정된 Tim O’Brien의 The Things They Carried가 17개 ‘한 책’ 로그램, Julia Alvarez의 In the Time of the Butterflies 는 4개 로그램, Jane Austen의 Pride and Prejudice는 3개 로그램, Arthur Miller의 The Crucible은 4개 로그램, Markus Zusak 의 The Book Thief는 4개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램 에서 선정되었다. 2012년 가을 선정된 Markus Zusak의 The Book Thief는 다른 ‘한 책’ 로그램들에서 먼 읽힌 책이다. 2006년 Indiana 주 Zionsville의 ‘One Book/One Town’와 Vincennes의 ‘One Book, One Community’에서, 2007년 Virginia 주 Loudoun County의 ‘One Book-One Community’, 2009년 Massachusetts 주 North Reading의 ‘North Reading Reads’에서 각각 이 책을 선정 하여 읽었다. 따라서 이들의 선정은 ‘One Book, One Chicago’과는 무 하다. 그밖에 2006년 가을 선정된 Jhumpa Lahiri 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 189 의 Interpreter of the Maladies와 2008년 가을 선정된 Tom Wolfe의 The Right Stuff, 두 책 은 ‘One Book, One Chicago’ 외 단 1개 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정되었고, Lorraine Hansberry 의 A Raisin in the Sun, Stuart Dybek의 The Coast of Chicago 등 13권은 다른 곳에서는 선 정되지 않았다. ‘One Book, One Chicago’는 2013년부터는 한 권의 책이 아니라 하나의 주제를 심으로 일 년 내내 여러 권의 책을 읽는 방식으로 변화 하 다. 따라서 그 첫 시도로서 ‘One Book, One Chicgo 2013-14’는 “이민(Migration—How has it shaped Chicago?)”을 주제로 삼아, 2013년 가을 Isabel Wilkerson의 The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration을 맨 처음 읽을 책으로 정하 고, 2014년 까지 Chicago Public Library와 지역사회 트 기 들이 다양한 방식으로 로그램을 진행하기로 하 다(Chicago Public Library 2013). 따라서 향후 ‘One Book, One Chicago’에서 선정되는 특정한 책이 다른 ‘한 책’ 로그램들의 책 선정에 직 인 향을 미치기는 더 어려워졌다고 하겠다. <표 4>와 <표 5>에 따르면 To Kill a Mock- ingbird와 A Lesson Before Dying을 제외하 면 실제로 ‘Seattle Reads’와 ‘One Book, One Chicago’에서 선정된 책들이 다른 ‘한 책’ 로 그램들의 책 선정에 그 게 직 인 향을 미 쳤다고 보기 어렵다. 그러나 이들 여러 권이 ‘The Big Read’의 추천 도서목록에 포함됨에 따라 간 이나마 ‘한 책’ 독서운동 자체에 미 치는 향력은 있을 것이라고 기 된다. 2013년 12월 재 ‘The Big Read’의 추천 책 36권 가운 데, ‘Seattle Reads’에서 선정되었던 A Lesson Before Dying, When the Emperor Was Divine, The Namesake, The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears, ‘One Book, One Chicago’에서 선정되었던 My Antonia, The Things They Carried, In the Time of the Butterflies, To Kill a Mockingbird 등 모두 8권이 포함되어 있 다(National Endowment for the Arts 2013a). 4. 맺음말 ‘한 책’ 독서운동에서 2013년 6월 재까지 Library of Congress, Center for the Books 웹 사이트에 등록된 2,220개 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정된 책 1,037종을 분석한 결과는 다음과 같 이 요약할 수 있다: 첫째, 1,037종의 책 가운데 어도 2개 이상 의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정된 책은 278종이며 (26.8%), 단 1개의 로그램에서 선정된 책은 759종이다(73.2%). 10개 이상의 ‘한 책’ 로그 램에서 선정된 책은 모두 33종(3.2%)이며, 이 들을 선정한 ‘한 책’ 로그램의 총수는 681개로 체 2,220개 로그램의 30.7%에 달하 다. 둘째, 지 까지 가장 많은 로그램에서 선정 된 책은 Harper Lee의 To Kill a Mockingbird (84개 로그램)이고, Ray Bradbury의 Fahrenheit 451(53개)와 Khaled Hosseini의 The Kite Runner (50개)가 그 뒤를 이었다. To Kill a Mockingbird 와 Fahrenheit 451은 꾸 히 선호되는 한편, The Kite Runner는 2005년과 2006년 사이 가 장 선호되었지만, 2009년 이후 더 이상 선정되 지 않았다. 한 개별 연도별로 보면 A Lesson 190 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 Before Dying, Tuesdays with Morrie, Three Cups of Tea 등의 책들이 특정 연도에 선호된 것으로 나타났다. 셋째, ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 확산과 발 시기를 태동기(1998년-2001년), 성장기(2002년-2006년) 재도약기(2007년- 재)로 나 어 보았을 때, 우선 태동기에는 책들의 다양성이 크지 않았고, 성장기에는 진행된 ‘한 책’ 로그램 총수와 선정 책들의 종수가 많지만, 특히 몇 권의 두드러지 는 책들의 선정 비율이 높았다. ‘The Big Read’ 의 출범과 함께 시작된 재도약기에는 연간 팔구 십여 개 지역사회가 ‘The Big Read’를 통해 ‘한 책’ 독서운동에 참여하게 되었고, 개별 ‘한 책’ 로그램들도 다양한 책들을 독자 으로 선정 하는 것으로 보 다. 넷째, 선도 인 ‘한 책’ 로젝트인 ‘Seattle Reads’와 ‘One Book, One Chicago’에서 선정 된 책들은 기의 To Kill a Mockingbird와 A Lesson Before Dying을 제외하고는 다른 ‘한 책’ 로그램들의 책 선정에 그 게 직 인 향을 미치지는 않았던 것으로 보인다. 다만 이들이 선정했던 책 8권이 ‘The Big Read’의 추천 도서목록에도 포함되어, 향후 ‘한 책’ 독서 운동 자체에서도 계속 선정되어 읽힐 가능성은 인정되었다. 이 연구에서는 지난 십여 년 동안 진행된 ‘한 책’ 독서운동에서 읽은 책들 가운데 어도 2개 이상의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서 선정된 책들은 “미국이라는 다문화 사회의 다양한 인종 , 민 족 배경을 가진 구성원의 삶을 그린 기 성격의 교양소설이나 가정소설 형식의 비교 최근 간행된 미국문학작품”이라는 특성을 나타 냄을 확인한 바 있다(윤정옥 2013b). 그러나 이 러한 집합 특성은 1998년부터 2013년까지 선 정된 1,037종의 73.2%, 즉 사분의 삼 정도를 구 성하는, 단 1개의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서만 선정 된 개별 책들의 특성까지를 반 하지는 못한다. 이번 연구에서는 이 책들을 포함하여 그동안 선정된 모든 책들의 수량 분포 연도별 변 동 추이에 을 맞추어 살펴보았다. 이들의 체 인 흐름을 보면 이 기간 동안 여 히 몇 권의 선호되는 책들이 있긴 하지만, 어도 책 선정에 한 한 개별 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들의 독자 성, 다양성 고유성이 확장된 것으로 볼 수 있다. 왜냐 하면 체 책들 사분의 삼 정도가 단 1개씩의 ‘한 책’ 로그램에서만 선정되었다 는 사실은 많은 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 독자 으 로 합하다고 단한 고유한 책들을 다양하게 발굴하고 선정하여 읽었음을 의미하기 때문이 다. 한 ‘한 책’ 독서운동의 확산 기에는 특정 한 몇몇 책들, 특히 선도 인 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들 이 선정했던 책들을 다른 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 따라서 선정하는 비율이 비교 높았던 한편, 시간이 흐르면서 독자 인 책 선정의 비율 이 조 씩 높아지고 있기 때문이다. 지 까지 ‘한 책’ 독서운동에서 선정된 책들 의 흐름을 체로 계량 인 측면에서 서술하며 이 책들의 , 집합 특성만을 살펴보았다. 이 연구에서 더 나아가(한편) 연구자는 이 책들 을 읽은 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 어떤 기 으로 이 들을 선정하 는지, 특히 특정한 책을 유일하게 선정하 다면 그 이유는 무엇인지, 꾸 히 지속 되는 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들이 기에 설정한 책의 선정 기 과 방향을 유지하고 있는지, 한 지 속되는 ‘한 책’ 로젝트들과 한 두 차례만 시행 된 후 단되는 로젝트들 사이에 책 선정의 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 191 방향이나 목표 등에 차이는 없는지 등 여러 가 지 의문을 갖게 되었다. 향후 차근차근 이러한 의문 들을 하나하나 살펴보며, ‘한 책’ 독서운 동의 발 궤 을 따라가도록 하겠다. 참 고 문 헌 [1] 윤정옥. 2013a. 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 . 서울: 조은 터. [2] 윤정옥. 2013b. 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동의 지속성에 한 연구. 한국도서 ․정보학회지 , 44(3): 5-27. [3] 윤정옥. 2012. 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 분석. 한국도서 ․정보학회지 , 43(4): 47-68. [4] 윤정옥. 2009. 미국의 지역사회 독서운동에 한 연구: The Big Read를 심으로. 한국도서 ․정보학회지 , 40(2): 311-333. [5] 윤정옥. 2008. ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동의 실천 과제: ‘책 읽는 청주’의 사례를 심으로. 한국문 헌정보학회지 , 42(1): 63-81. [6] 윤정옥. 2007. ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동의 실행단계별 특성의 분석: 국내외 사례를 심으로. 한국 문헌정보학회지 , 41(1): 5-32. [7] 윤정옥. 2005. 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동의 동향과 특성의 분석. 한국문헌정보학회지 , 39(3): 27-44. [8] 이용재. 2009. 도서 과 지역사회의 력 방안 - ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 운동을 심으로. 한국도서 ․정 보학회지 , 40(3): 5-23. [9] 이용재. 2008. ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 운동의 단계와 발 략: ‘원북 원부산 운동’을 심으로. 한국도 서 ․정보학회지 , 39(3): 247-265. [10] 이용재. 2006. 한국 독서운동의 단계와 망: ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 운동을 심으로. 한국비블리아 학회지 , 17(1): 5-25. [11] 이용재, 황은주. 2008. ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 운동의 특성과 실천방안 연구: 독서토론도움자료를 심으 로. 도서 , 63(2): 48-70. [12] American Library Association. 2003. “One book, One Community: Planning Your Community-wide Read.” [online] [cited 2007. 1. 18.] <http://www.ala.org/ala/orc/onebookguide.pdf> [13] Arkansas Center for the Books. Arkansas State Library. 2011. “If All Arkansas Read the Same Book 2010.” [online] [cited 2011. 1. 28.] <http://www.library.arkansas.gov/centerforthebook/Pages/ARsameBook.aspx> 192 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 [14] Bowron, Patrick, Buck, Katherine, Micheel, Ryan and Mihelich, Amanda. 2005. “A Uniting Force: The One Book, One City Program in Indianapolis.” Indiana Libraries, 24(1): 7-12. [15] Chicago Public Library. 2013. “One Book, One Chicago 2013-14.” [online] [cited 2013. 11. 2.] <http://www.chipublib.org/eventsprog/programs/oboc/13_warmth/oboc_13_greeting.php> [16] Cincinnati Public Library. 2005. On the Same Page. “The Kite Runner." [online] [cited 2011. 2. 6.] <http://www.cincinnatilibrary.org/samepage/2005/tkrbook.html> [17] Connecticut. Center for the Books. One Book, One Region Committee. 2013. “One Book, One Region. Eastern Connecticut.” [online] [cited 2013. 11. 27.] <http://onebookoneregion.org/?page_id=65> [18] Dempsey, Beth. 2004. “LJ News-FRONT DESK: Mockingbird Rules One-Book, One-City.” Library Journal, 129(14): 13. [19] Fuller, Danielle and Sedo, DeNel Rehberg. 2013. Reading Beyond the Book: The Social Practices of Contemporary Literary Culture. New York: Routledge. [20] Fuller, Danielle and Sedo, DeNel Rehberg. 2005. “Mass Reading, New Knowledge?: Reading for Community in Contemporary Southern Ontario.” Presentation delivered at “Material Cultures and Creation of Knowledge” Conference, held at the University of Edinburgh (The Centre for the History of the Book), 22-24 July, 2005. [21] Fuller, Danielle and Sedo, DeNel Rehberg. 2004. Unpublished Minireport to the Organizing Committee of One Book, One Community, Kitchener/Cambridge/Waterloo. ON, Canada, 9 November 2004. [22] Library of Congress. The Center for the Books. 2013a. “‘One Book’ Reading Promotion Projects.” [online] [cited 2013. 6. 30.] <http://www.loc.gov/loc/cfbook/onebook/> [23] Library of Congress. The Center for the Books. 2013b. “‘One Book’ Reading Promotion Projects: Selected List by Author.” [online] [cited 2013. 6. 30.] <http://www.loc.gov/loc/cfbook/onebook/authorlist.php> [24] National Endowment for the Arts. Big Read. 2013a. “Our Books: Theme.” [online] [cited 2009. 4. 20.] <http://www.neabigread.org/books.php> [25] National Endowment for the Arts. Big Read. 2013b. “History/Overview of The Big Read.” [online] [cited 2013. 11. 27.] <http://neabigread.org/program_history/> [26] National Endowment for the Arts. The Big Read. 2013c. “To Kill a Mockingbird. Preface.” [online] [cited 2011. 2. 6.] <http://www.neabigread.org/books/mockingbird/> [27] National Endowment for the Arts. The Big Read. 2013d. “Fahrenheit 451. Preface.” [online] [cited 2011. 2. 6.] <http://www.neabigread.org/books/fahrenheit451/index.php> 미국의 ‘한 책, 한 도시’ 독서운동 선정 책의 황 분석 193 [28] Palmer, Liza and Peterson, Elizabeth. 2007. “Grassroots Collaboration: Growing Community with the ‘One Book, One Community’ Program.” Technical Services Quarterly, 24(3): 51-65. [29] Rodney, Mae L. 2004. “Building community partnerships: The ‘One Book, One Community’ experience.” C & RL News, 65(3): 130-2, 155. [30] Seattle Public Library. 2013a. “Seattle Reads. "What Has Seattle Read in Years Past?” [online] [cited 2013. 11. 20.] <http://www.spl.org/audiences/adults/seattle-reads/what-has-seattle-read-in-years-past> [31] Seattle Public Library. 2013b. “Seattle Reads. A Reading Group Toolbox for the Works of Russell Banks." [online] [cited 2013. 11. 20.] <http://www.spl.org/Documents/audiences/adults/SeattleReads/1998-BanksToolbox.pdf> [32] Sumner, Ward. 2003. “One Jackson, One Book.” Mississippi Libraries, 68(1): 3-5. [33] University of Birmingham. 2006. “Beyond the Book: Mass Reading Events and Contemporary Cultures of Reading in the UK, USA and Canada.” [online] [cited 2007. 1. 8.] <http://www.beyondthebookproject.org> [34] Watkins, Christine. 2003a. “Grassroots Report: Hundreds of Communities, Hundreds of Books.” American Libraries, 34(2): 55. [35] Watkins, Christine. 2003b. “Grassroots Report: One Country, One Conference, One Book.” American Libraries, 34(3): 83. [36] Writers & Books. 2002. “If All of Rochester Read the Same Book… 2002.” [online] [cited 2013. 11. 20.] <http://www.wab.org/if-all-of-rochester-read-the-same-book-2002/> •국문 참고자료의 영어 표기 (English translation / romanization of references originally written in Korean) [1] Yoon, Cheong-Ok. 2013a. ‘One Book, One Community' Reading Promotion Campaign in the U.S.A. Soul: Joun Geultoe. [2] Yoon, Cheong-Ok. 2013b. “A Study on the Continuity of ‘One Book, One City' Reading Campaign in the U.S.A.” Journal of the Korean Society for Library and Information Science, 44(3): 5-27. [3] Yoon, Cheong-Ok. 2012. “An Analysis of Books Selected in ‘One Book, One City' Reading Campaigns in the U.S.A.” Journal of the Korean Society for Library and Information Science, 43(4): 47-68. [4] Yoon, Cheong-Ok. 2009. “A Study on the Community Reading Campaigns: ‘The Big Read' in the U.S.A.” Journal of Korean Library and Information Science Society, 40(2): 311-333. 194 한국문헌정보학회지 제48권 제1호 2014 [5] Yoon, Cheong-Ok. 2008. “The Action Plans for ‘One Book, One City’ Reading Promotion Campaign: A Case Study of ‘Reading Cheongju’.” Journal of the Korean Society for Library and Information Science, 42(1): 63-81. [6] Yoon, Cheong-Ok. 2007. “An Analysis of ‘One Book, One City' Reading Campaign: Case Study of Campaigns in Korea and Other Countries.” Journal of the Korean Society for Library and Information Science, 41(1): 5-32. [7] Yoon, Cheong-Ok. 2005. “An Analysis of the Trend and Characteristics of ‘One Book, One City' Reading Campaign in the U.S.” Journal of the Korean Society for Library and Information Science, 39(3): 27-44. [8] Lee, Yong-Jae. 2009. “Collaboration Among Libraries and Communities through ‘One Book, One City' Reading Campaign.” Journal of Korean Library and Information Science Society, 40(3): 5-23. [9] Lee, Yong-Jae. 2008. “The Present Stage and Development Strategies for ‘One Book, One City' Campaign: A Case Study of ‘One Book One Busan' Project.” Journal of Korean Library and Information Science Society, 39(3): 247-265. [10] Lee, Yong-Jae. 2006. “The Present Stage and Prospects of the Reading Campaign in Korea: with Special Reference to ‘One Book, One City' Projects.” Journal of the Korean BIBLIA Society for Library and Information Science, 17(1): 5-25. [11] Lee, Yong-Jae and Hwang, Eunju. 2008. “A Study on the Characteristics and Action Plans for ‘One Book, One City' Reading Campaign.” Doseogwan, 63(2): 48-70. 
work_upsicoui3bgvhnhtyfpt4s2lzq	----	www.sciencemag.org SCIENCE VOL 301 25 JULY 2003 443 E X H I B I T S Regaining One’s Marbles The Internet has accomplished what decades of public cam- paigns and bitter squabbling haven’t: reuniting the famous mar- ble frieze from the Parthenon in Athens, a sculpture 160 meters long that wrapped the temple with religious and mythic im- agery. Although the actual frieze remains in fragments housed in Athens, London, and Paris, archaeologists and the public can now study a complete online version at this site maintained by the Greek government. Created between 447 and 432 B.C., the meter-high frieze de- picts some 360 human figures, more than 250 animals, and the 12 gods of Olympus, all in a sacred procession to the Acropolis. Two hundred years ago, the British diplomat Lord Elgin sawed off and carted away half of the frieze, and the marbles remain at the center of a heated debate over repatriation. The virtual tour brings together for the first time all the remaining stones from Elgin’s section, now in the British Museum, and the sections held by the Louvre and the Acropolis Museum. You can scrutinize dig- itized photos and stone-by-stone descriptions of the frieze, or read background information regarding its design and history. This group of horsemen (above), for instance, formerly galloped along the north side of the temple. Where stones are incomplete due to damage, drawings of the missing sections dating back to the 17th and 18th centuries supplement the photos. zeus.ekt.gr/parthenonfrieze/index.jsp?lang=en&w=1152 R E S O U R C E S Warming Up to a Frigid Sea Bering Climate, a new site from the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, offers a wealth of data for research- ers studying the ecosys- tems and climate of the Bering Sea and how they might respond to global warming. Such questions are particularly important because the sea supplies half of the seafood eaten in the United States. Visitors can trawl more than 40 data sets on ice cover, winter surface temperatures, salmon catches, and other measurements. You can download the data, plot them, or check for correlations between data sets. A photo gallery lets you meet some of the sea’s denizens, such as this puffin (above), and a plethora of links summons other sources of information. www.beringclimate.noaa.gov/index.html D A T A B A S E The Lowdown on a Killer Bug Tuberculosis, the disease that slayed John Keats, Jane Austen, and George Orwell, remains a leading killer, responsible for about 2 million deaths world- wide every year. Researchers working to foil the evasive TB bacterium can round up plen- ty of information on its genes and proteins at TubercuList, a genomic database from the Pasteur Institute in Paris. The site brims with data on some 4000 genes from Mycobac- terium tuberculosis. Pick a gene and learn the function of the protein it encodes, call up a map showing its chromoso- mal location, or pinpoint near- by genes. Each entry also lists relevant references and lets you download the gene’s DNA sequence or the amino acid sequence of its protein for fur- ther analysis. genolist.pasteur.fr/TubercuList NETWATCH edited by Mitch Leslie C R E D IT S : (T O P ) N A T IO N A L D O C U M E N T A T IO N C E N T R E O F G R E E C E ;W IL L IA M F O L S O M /N A T IO N A L M A R IN E F IS H E R IE S S E R V IC E /N O A A ; C O M P U T E R G R A P H IC S L A B /U N IV E R S IT Y O F C A L IF O R N IA , S A N F R A N C IS C O Send site suggestions to netwatch@aaas.org. Archive: www.sciencemag.org/netwatch S O F T W A R E Molecules on Parade Aimed at everyone from drug de- signers to researchers tracking the nuances of protein evolution, Chimera is a jazzy molecular model- ing package from the Computer Graphics Lab at the University of California, San Francisco. Users can import atomic coordinates from databases such as the Protein Data Bank or upload their own measure- ments, then manipulate and analyze molecular architecture. The program flags likely hydrogen bonds and pinpoints landmarks such as he- lices or sheets within messy 3D data.You can create catchy graphics—for example, the program lets you install windows in bulky molecules to expose their internal organization. What looks like a piece of chewed bubblegum in this image (above) is a molecule of the antitumor drug netropsin wedged be- tween two DNA strands. Chimera can also parse protein sequence data, aligning matching segments and illustrating the structures they encode.The package is free for researchers in academia, government, and nonprofit organizations, and its creators plan to release a revamped version every 6 months. www.cgl.ucsf.edu/chimera o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://scie n ce .scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://science.sciencemag.org/ DATABASE: The Lowdown on a Killer Bug DOI: 10.1126/science.301.5632.443d (5632), 443.301Science ARTICLE TOOLS http://science.sciencemag.org/content/301/5632/443.4 CONTENT RELATED file:/content/sci/301/5632/netwatch.full PERMISSIONS http://www.sciencemag.org/help/reprints-and-permissions Terms of ServiceUse of this article is subject to the is a registered trademark of AAAS.ScienceScience, 1200 New York Avenue NW, Washington, DC 20005. The title (print ISSN 0036-8075; online ISSN 1095-9203) is published by the American Association for the Advancement ofScience © 2003 American Association for the Advancement of Science o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 h ttp ://scie n ce .scie n ce m a g .o rg / D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://science.sciencemag.org/content/301/5632/443.4 http://www.sciencemag.org/help/reprints-and-permissions http://www.sciencemag.org/about/terms-service http://science.sciencemag.org/ 
work_ut2d6oyfr5ar3orykmmq4qqvje	----	Review of The Afterlives of Eighteenth-Century Fiction, ed. Daniel Cook and Nicholas Seager (CUP, 2015) Regan, S. (2017). Review of The Afterlives of Eighteenth-Century Fiction, ed. Daniel Cook and Nicholas Seager (CUP, 2015). The Review of English Studies, 68(283), 182-184. https://doi.org/10.1093/res/hgw102 Published in: The Review of English Studies Document Version: Peer reviewed version Queen's University Belfast - Research Portal: Link to publication record in Queen's University Belfast Research Portal Publisher rights © The Author 2016. Published by Oxford University Press 2016; all rights reserved This is a pre-copyedited, author-produced PDF of an article accepted for publication in The Review of English Studies following peer review. The version of record [insert complete citation information here] is available online at: http://res.oxfordjournals.org/content/early/2016/08/30/res.hgw102 General rights Copyright for the publications made accessible via the Queen's University Belfast Research Portal is retained by the author(s) and / or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing these publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy The Research Portal is Queen's institutional repository that provides access to Queen's research output. Every effort has been made to ensure that content in the Research Portal does not infringe any person's rights, or applicable UK laws. If you discover content in the Research Portal that you believe breaches copyright or violates any law, please contact openaccess@qub.ac.uk. Download date:06. Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1093/res/hgw102 https://pure.qub.ac.uk/en/publications/review-of-the-afterlives-of-eighteenthcentury-fiction-ed-daniel-cook-and-nicholas-seager-cup-2015(4976ef17-22e9-4fe4-a7f4-09720b5f2abb).html 1 DANIEL COOK and NICHOLAS SEAGER (eds). The Afterlives of Eighteenth-Century Fiction. Pp. x + 304. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015. Cloth, £65. Adaptations, appropriations and associated ‘afterlives’ abound in recent scholarship on the ‘long’ eighteenth century, not least in discussions of fiction. Books such as Jane Spencer’s Aphra Behn’s Afterlife (2001), Ann Rigney’s The Afterlives of Walter Scott (2012) and M-C. Newbould’s Adaptations of Laurence Sterne’s Fiction (2013) take their place among a raft of studies that explore, among other things, the illustration, European reception, and screen adaptation of works by Defoe, Swift, Sterne, Austen and Scott. Austen, notoriously, has her own mini-industry of afterlife studies, which includes such titles as Uses of Austen: Jane’s Afterlives (2012) and The Digital Afterlives of Jane Austen (2014). A related if more thematic study, much-referenced in the book under review, is David Brewer’s The Afterlife of Character, 1726-1825 (2005). ‘Afterlives’, we may surmise, are in modish rude health in the academic discourse on the eighteenth-century novel. Yet in some ways this remains a rather sprawling field of enquiry, encompassing as it does a broad body of imaginative responses, produced in various media across a number of centuries. The Afterlives of Eighteenth-Century Fiction looks to draw together some of these disparate strands and to give greater focus to the subject. The editors set out their conceptual stall in a smart introduction, which flags critical resistance to the ‘tyranny’ of the ‘original’ text (p.5), and in Daniel Cook’s wide-ranging opening essay, which critiques a notion of ‘proprietary’ authorship that depends upon historically-specific constructions of legal copyright and creative originality. Intriguingly, the two pieces that follow consider not afterlives but origins and precursors. Enquiring, teasingly, whether the novel might itself be the ‘afterlife’ of romance, Michael McKeon traces the convention of ‘family romance’, or ‘discovered parentage’, from the Norman Conquest up to Austen. He is especially engaging 2 on Richardson’s misleading hints concerning Pamela’s higher birth, and the heroine’s ‘mock- discovery’ that ‘her real parent is her actual parent’ (pp.68, 56). In a discussion of the ‘afterlives of the picaresque’, Leah Orr argues that chapbook versions of picaresque narratives and folktales, which pared away plots to focus on central protagonists, represent the ‘missing link’ between seventeenth-century (criminal) narratives and the Defovian novel proper. This argument has the great virtues of clarity and explanatory power while also depending on some overly neat distinctions between elements purely of plot and other narrative ‘incidents’ that serve to reveal character (pp.86, 80). Two of the standout essays illustrate the collection’s methodological diversity. In a deft and elegantly argued critical analysis, Sarah Raff shows how Richardson’s conception of guardianship in Sir Charles Grandison was subtly revised by Dickens in Bleak House, in the figure of John Jarndyce. In a more archival piece, Nicholas Seager examines newspaper serialisations of works by authors such as Behn, Swift and Defoe. This richly researched essay attends to financial and legislative contexts, readers’ exertions of taste, and the treatment of serialised works that were variously abridged, curtailed, or in some cases even expanded beyond the original narrative – as with the serialisation of Moll Flanders in Thomas Read’s London Post (p.124). Subsequent essays extend this focus on dissemination and editorial alteration. M-C. Newbould explores George Kearsley’s anthologies of authorial ‘beauties’ through the examples of Fielding and Sterne. Her essay is particularly illuminating on the successive recalibrations of The Beauties of Sterne, which ran through thirteen editions during the 1780s and 1790s. Dahlia Porter examines the mixed fortunes of verses originally included in late-century novels but subsequently extracted as ‘portable excerpts’ (p.155). Whereas sonnets from Charlotte Smith’s Emmeline (1788) became the author’s own lyrical expressions in later editions of her Elegiac Sonnets, Ann Radcliffe’s fictions were reduced to historical footnotes in anthologies that reprinted their verses alone. 3 Together, Seager, Newbould and Porter foreground the re-mediation of novelistic material in other print-cultural forms: newspapers, miscellanies, anthologies, reviews. Another group of essays broadens the focus to visual and theatrical culture. Departing from strictly novelistic afterlives, David Brewer considers alternative models of personation in ‘high-end’ puppet performances of Fielding’s drama. His essay energetically conveys the challenge that these multilayered performances pose to current thinking about fictional ‘character’, although whether this adds up to a ‘vernacular theory’ of eighteenth-century fictionality is moot (p.175). Michael Burden’s assured (if somewhat condensed) piece sketches the different kinds of alterations – including the incorporation of spectacular visual effects – involved in the adaptation for musical theatre of Pamela, Caleb Williams, Frankenstein and Ivanhoe. In another of the collection’s highlights, David Taylor addresses Gillray’s celebrated 1803 caricature, The King of Brobdingnag and Gulliver. Registering at the outset that the print is ‘almost too familiar’, Taylor nonetheless offers a richly detailed, contextualised account of its political message – not least its innovative casting of George III as a ‘peace-loving patriarch’ (pp.212, 223). Three further essays move us forward to the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Robert Mayer’s account of Defoe on screen contains some fascinating discussion of Patrick Keiller’s post-industrial re-visionings of Robinson Crusoe and of the short animated film The Periwig-Maker (2000), an ‘essay in epidemiology’ that responds to A Journal of the Plague Year (p.240). Jillian Heydt-Stevenson writes persuasively about recent screen adaptations of Sense and Sensibility which exemplify the shift towards the kind of romantic comedy, focused on the happiness of couples, that the novel itself resists. Finally, Peter Sabor assesses similarities of subject matter and comic technique in Austen’s History of England (completed in 1791, but not published until 1922) and Sellar and Yeatman’s 1066 and All That (1930). 4 This is a pithy and suggestive essay, if also one that hedges its bets on the question of direct influence. The collection as a whole would have benefitted from the inclusion of an essay on eighteenth-century fiction and the novel today – on the model of Sarah Raff’s discussion of Richardson and Dickens. More attention could also have been paid to its organising metaphor. As the editors observe, ‘afterlife’ is conceived here as a ‘capacious’ and ‘inclusive’ term (p.5). The collection undoubtedly benefits from this encouragement to flexibility, but at a cost to conceptual definition. ‘Afterlives’ implies both cultural and temporal distinctions, a point that bears particularly on Seager’s discussion of newspaper serialisations, some of which followed hard on the heels of the original publications. These serialised extracts might easily be viewed as part of the works’ early histories rather than as subsequent ‘afterlives’ – particularly for those readers who first encountered the novels in this way. When, indeed, does a textual ‘life’ become an ‘afterlife’? And is it critically desirable to regard all forms of a work, beyond its initial publication, as posterior to, and distinct from, the – supposedly tyrannous – original? While the framing concept might have been expressed more precisely – if more prosaically – as ‘other’ lives rather than ‘after’ lives, the diversity of works analysed is itself testament to the range of engagements on display in this excellent collection. The essays, which are substantially footnoted and usefully cross-referenced, are of a consistently high standard. Cook, Seager and their contributors are to be commended for helping to shape the field as well as extending it through this significant new body of research. Shaun Regan, Queen’s University Belfast 
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work_uvfsjc7cyfgetmah32ytmboxum	----	Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, The Magic of Sociality, and Radical Fantasy humanities Article Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, The Magic of Sociality, and Radical Fantasy Nicholas Birns Center for Applied Liberal Arts, New York University, New York, NY 10003, USA; nb2003@nyu.edu Received: 17 September 2020; Accepted: 12 October 2020; Published: 21 October 2020 ���������� ������� Abstract: Despite huge sales and publicity on its issuance in 2004, Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell has received comparatively little sustained critical attention. This article argues that much of this neglect proceeds from assumptions that the book is nostalgic for a sovereign magic, when in fact its historicity is a way of shaking up time itself. I argue Clarke is looking to the early nineteenth century as the earliest possible modernity, a time in which magic is intertwined with the world much as it would be today if magic arose now. Examining the sociable magician Norrell, the questionably resurgent medieval king John Uskglass and the African-descended manservant Stephen Black provide different models of what the interrelationship between magic and reality can be and serve to destabilize any sense of a sovereign past in the book. The book’s plural magical modernity’s counter any atavistic sovereignty. By taking the reading of Clarke’s novel beyond nostalgic sovereignty, one can understand how it participates in the twenty-first century revaluation of fantasy as politically progressive and epistemically radical. Keywords: radical fantasy; sovereignty; Susanna Clarke; modernity; multiculturalism 1. Clarke as Radical Fantasist Susanna Clarke’s 2004 novel Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell has often been associated with pastiche. Jenny McDonnell described the book as undertaking “a pastiche of nineteenth-century literary conventions” (McDonnell 2015, p. 153). Pastiche is indeed a highly relevant mode to the appreciation and analysis of the book. Clarke’s emulation of early nineteenth-century styles of writing and address are a crucial ingredient in creating a fine-grained, discernibly past world, in which magic is still real. As Douglas Charles Kane points out, the book was a “major commercial and critical success” (Kane 2018, p. 133) and won “numerous awards and accolades”. The popular success of Clarke’s novel (which includes a television adaptation and a board game based on it) did not, however, always lead to a view of the novel as radical and subversive. Sylwia Borowska-Szerszun argues that Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell aims to bring “repressed voices” (Borowska-Szerszun 2015, p. 4) to light and not only swerves away from but rejects the sovereign and nostalgic proclivities of much of the existing fantasy canon, or at least the interpretation of that canon by certain critics. This essay argues that the novel does indeed assert repressed voices, but it also maintains that we need to understand its complicated sense of modernity and historicity, sovereignty and temporality, to understand just how it does this. We will see this most declaratively in the last section, on the importance of the African-born Stephen Black in the book and the way he represents a very different sort of magic to the comfortably “English”. Most academic commentary on the novel either praises its resurrection of magic or excoriates what is seen as its nostalgic pastiche. I wish to take a different tack, celebrating the novel’s fantastic vision but aligning it with a vision that is contemporary and provocatively anti-hegemonic. The first section of the essay will be devoted to Clarke as radical fantasist. There is a lot of evidence in her text that her intentions are highly radical, but the book’s historical setting has tended to mask this. By this, I do not Humanities 2020, 9, 125; doi:10.3390/h9040125 www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities http://www.mdpi.com https://orcid.org/0000-0002-9133-5265 http://www.mdpi.com/2076-0787/9/4/125?type=check_update&version=1 http://dx.doi.org/10.3390/h9040125 http://www.mdpi.com/journal/humanities Humanities 2020, 9, 125 2 of 13 mean that it is historical as such but rather that it is set in a certain period best known for reaction to the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars. Clarke’s novel is set during and after the defeat of Napoleon, so there is a tendency to assume its ostentatious parading of English gentility is intended as a triumphant rebuke to the overweening aspirations of the French Imperial arriviste. Yet there is much that is radical and little that is reassuring in the novel. It looks at a wide range of English society, across class, racial, gender, corporeal, and temporal boundaries, and therefore its magics are varied as well: mendacious and forceful, nostalgic and prophetic, professorial and charismatic. The presence of magic does not augur magical sovereignty. By ‘sovereignty’, I mean the tendency to see the irruption of magic onto a realistic world as involving a repeal or regression of modernity. Despite appearing, in its rhetoric of the revival of magic and its fusty, mock-scholarly footnotes, to play into such formulation, Clarke’s novel actually sketches its own version of a heterogeneous modernity. Elizabeth Hoiem contends that Clarke goes back into the past as “as a living text, newly received and interpreted in the present” (Hoiem 2008, online). What Hoiem analyzes as the way magic in Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell at once slides in rather inconspicuously yet also subverts hierarchical and establishment ideas of Englishness renders Clarke’s sense of the past far from cute or cloying, as pastiche might seem. Hoiem states that Clarke’s novel makes readers “rethink our relationship to history, not as something lost that we must recover or anachronistically alter . . . ”. Just because Clarke employs history as a setting, it does not mean she posits it as a given or as a substrate. Whether it be the nearer history of the urbane early nineteenth century or the deeper medieval history of magic’s medieval sources, Hoiem stresses that Clarke is not looking to history as a stable past but using it to upset the apple-cart of temporality itself through magic. The following question is asked by Jonathan Strange himself, two-thirds of the way through the novel: “How can we restore English magic until we understand what it is we are supposed to be restoring?” (Clarke 2004, p. 686). It is an open question in Clarke’s novel, and the reception and interpretation Hoiem speaks of ramifies as much as clarifies the process of understanding of which Jonathan Strange speaks. I would extend Hoiem’s analysis by pointing out how variegated magic is in the book, the way it migrates form a category of inefficacy to one of efficacy, and a category of playful bemusement to one of real risk and danger. Magic in the novel hovers between being a quirky adornment of the given society and an existential threat to it in a way that makes every iteration of magic distinct and contingent. The very figure of Norrell dictates that we cannot, without some form of tension, have both magic and pastiche, thaumaturgy and footnotes. Norrell has learned his magic from books, from within the matrix of print culture, which in many ways is coextensive with modernity itself. Even late in the book, after he has both established his fame and is aware of the currents of magic in the real and spirit worlds, Norrell is still looking for magic from the printed book. He applauds Lord Portishead’s latest book of magic, which has “just arrived from the printer” (p. 519). Norrell and Strange (who at this point is cooperating with Norrell) both applaud Lord Portishead’s antagonism towards the Raven King and his elision of John Uskglass’s deeds from the history of English magic. This might make one think Clarke is belittling this book-bound magician who is fighting a battle against more visceral and primordial forces. However, Clarke herself is evoking magic through the mechanism of print culture. Evoke the Raven King as she might, she is bound to the medium favored by Norrell. If the lesson of Norrell is that print culture cannot fully master magic, Clarke is part, also, of this inability to master. In this sense, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell might augur a unitarily nostalgic identity of pastiche and magic far less likely. There is a decisive radicalism, an opening of society to responsiveness, in Clarke’s representation of nineteenth-century England. Borowska-Szerszun sees Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell as representing the supersession of the domestic by the uncanny. This is a process Farah Mendlesohn has termed “escalation” (Mendlesohn 2008, p. 151). Yet the sociality found in the novel draws Clarke’s world towards a modernity intermittently found in our own world, rather than othering magic as grounded in an authoritarian sovereignty. What Douglass Thomson calls the “domestication of the marvelous” (Thomson 2011, p. 325) might also be termed embedding the marvelous in sociality. Sociality, that is to Humanities 2020, 9, 125 3 of 13 say a sense of ongoing urbane interrelation in the present, in the novel exudes a sense of commitment to a shared world. But sociality also displays a felt awareness of how all the elements in that world, fantastic and real, impinge on each other in a modern way. That Strange and Norrell’s imprisonment in limbo at the novel’s conclusion is so wrenching for us is precisely because they seem so much part of our own world. If they can be in limbo, so, potentially, can we. Though Clarke’s 2020 novel Piranesi is in no way a sequel to Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, it has a similar interweave between magical and real time and a sense that the magical and mundane are not sufficient in their own terms, that each needs to find solutions to its enigmas in the other (Clarke 2020). Neil Gaiman has noted (Gaiman 2015, online) that the footnotes seem to be written by someone closer to Strange and Norrell’s time than our own. This is a sign that the future timeline of the novel does not diverge drastically from ours, that whatever was transacted between Faerie and England does not overly transmogrify the latter. Footnotes provide a narrative terminus ad quem. They give a sense that the action of the novel is chronicled retrospectively from a vantage point in which no decisively new order has been established, no ordinary way of being has been overthrown. What critics have seen as atmospheric pastiche in Clarke’s novel may be something closer to a reality effect. No figure exemplifies this more than the character at once most prominent in the narrative and easiest to underestimate: Mr Norrell. 2. Mr Norrell’s Sociable Magic The remainder of this essay will focus on three major characters: Mr Norrell, the magician who emerges from his Yorkshire sequestration to become the toast of high society during the Napoleonic Wars; John Uskglass, the Raven King, ruler of northern England for three centuries in the Middle Ages and, according to his acolytes, waiting like Arthur to return as king; and, most importantly, Stephen Black, the African-descended servant who, at the end of the book, becomes king in a fairy realm. Each of these characters tug the implications of the book away from pastiche in its most uncomplicated sense. Rather than being situated comfortably within an imagined conservative pastiche, they demonstrate the novel’s sociality, in which fantasy itself yields radical political implications. Norrell himself is a paradox. He represents the modern magician, the magician who is assimilable in polite, urbane society. Jonathan Strange and, later, the renascent specter of the fairy king, John Uskglass, conjured by the street magician Vinculus, come to challenge Norrell. It seems as if the novel is upending Norrell’s halfway magic for a full-bore neo-medievalist re-enactment. Yet the book’s very register, its embedding in the sociality of the early nineteenth century, is Norrellian. In other words, its most obvious stylistic traits, its Jane Austen-like qualities, are, with respect to the more primal magic of Strange and Uskglass, modern. Mr Norrell reopens the entire question of English magic after a long abeyance. Magic aside, Norrell is a conventional haute-bourgeois Englishman who is anti-French, anti-revolution and in favor of the politics of Lord Liverpool, for whom he “works on some magic to help guard against Napoleon Buonaparte ever escaping again” (Clarke 2004, p. 590). A footnote says being both a Strangeite and a Norrellite is like deciding to be both Whig and Tory (Clarke 2004, p. 841). The Byronic Strange is more a figure of the Left, but his actions do not impede the British military cause, even if his magic, like Romanticism itself, is an answer to the imaginative emptiness that accompanied Britain’s long victory. Certainly, there is nothing like Byron’s or Shelley’s active resentment of the victory of the given order of things at Waterloo, ratified at the Congress of Vienna, nor even Wordsworth and Coleridge’s reluctant embrace of an establishment whose flaws they had condemned as youths. Maria Farrell gets to the heart of the barriers to reacting to the temporal placement of the novel: “Strange & Norrell, and the political and military elite they become part of, share the historical amnesia and blindness to misfortune that is perhaps common to any establishment newly built on a shaky foundation” (Farrell 2006, online). Farrell understands that Clarke means to critique this state, initially, by introducing the more farouche Strange as a counterpart to Norrell’s establishmentarian gentility, and later through the more primordial magic of John Uskglass. This is fairly apparent to serious Humanities 2020, 9, 125 4 of 13 readers of the book, but the general climate of opinion surrounding Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell has been inhibited by this impression of Regency historical complacence, filtered through the character of Norrell. However, as Farah Mendlesohn says, Strange’s rough magic is an “intrusion” (Mendlesohn 2005, p. 1) that is “brought into the controlled mannered world of society”. Norrell wants to keep magic “vested in himself only”. He is, according to Mendlesohn, a “knowledge miser” (p. 3). To my mind, Mendlesohn’s statement is an under-reading of Norrell. To see him only as a magician, incomplete because he is too rational and establishment-friendly, is to shoehorn Norrell into a position where the novel can only ironize and scourge him. Norrell, as an actual, competent magician, is himself an intrusion into the world of the untalented Friends of English Magic we see at the beginning. He is the novel’s sustaining reality-effect. The world of society in which Norrell flourishes, a world of urbanity and even gentlemanliness (unlike in Shakespeare’s Macbeth, magic in Clarke is not dominated by women), is the world in which Clarke’s characters live and have their being. As Douglass H. Thomson points out, the novel’s title seems to contrast Strange and Norrell. But it may in fact illustrate their alignment, their common cause, and, in the end, their common fate. Farrell argues that this remains true even when wilder realms come to the forefront. Appearances can be deceiving. In Clarke’s work, northern England is presented as a world fundamentally wilder and stranger than southern England. Here, Clarke resembles Sir Walter Scott. In Scott’s Waverley novels, Highland Scotland is a world whose disjuncture from the urbane, socially sophisticated present of England and Lowland Scotland is so extreme that it seems magical, to challenge the ruling consensus. Conversely, when Scott sets his fiction in urbane and polite settings, it is to defer the very idea of wilder, more primitive magic or to refine it dialectically into modernity. Similarly, Clarke’s interest in quirky, remote places is characteristic of her outlook, but her braiding of those places (such as the North of England) into sociality also establishes a dialectic between the tame and the wild. The animating tension of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is between the magic of its content and the realism of its form. That this dynamic remains a tension is why the question of sovereignty and identity cannot be simply resolved. If either magic or realism were to totally win out—if realism would make magic inoperable, or magic to burst realism’s carapace—the terrain of Clarke’s novel would cease to exist. From the urbane sociality of the Friends of English Magic, who discover Norrell and lure him out of Hurtfew Abbey, to the way that even the novel’s most eldritch personified figure is labeled “the gentleman with the thistle-down hair”, the novel unfolds in a mode of the cultivated, polite Enlightenment male. This urbanity is epitomized by Norrell, who, as a magician, seeks to upend the normative order but who as a social figure very much incarnates the same. Moreover, the setting of the novel is cosmopolitan, including Portugal, Spain, and Italy. Even Venice and Padua, where so much of the action of the latter part of the book transpires, are city-states, not organic nations: places in which refined and mannered life transpires. As magical as Clarke’s world is, it is also ordinary. The magic of sociality and how it is studied in Clarke’s world (particularly by Norrell) is reminiscent of the way science was studied by the Royal Society and other real-life learned bodies. Part of this is a gradual effect of ascension, or relapse, into magic from the humdrum world of everyday England. But the magical world of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is also an intensification of the commonplace. Moreover, even as the modern magicians gesture towards a charismatic magical past, the sources of their magic lie in books produced since the late fifteenth century and are therefore part of print culture. Mr. Murray, the bookseller who Drawlight and Lascelles enlist to market Norrell’s magicianship within print culture, embraces the “absolute novelty” (Clarke 2004, p. 121) of the subject of magic. Magic is present within print culture and does not supersede that culture in the quest of more mystical antecedents. Even if Norrell rejects Murray’s plan to have him write for the Edinburgh Review (as Jonathan Strange eventually does) on the grounds of its propensity for “radical opinion” (Clarke 2004, p. 120), this is a rejection of vehicle, not of mode. The work of magic in Jonathan Strange is bookish, whether in the books cited by Mr. Norrell, the books cited in the footnotes, or the book that is the body of the London street magician, Vinculus. Humanities 2020, 9, 125 5 of 13 Print culture may be a symptom of what John Clute calls Clarke’s sense of “the thinning of the world” (Clute 2009, p. 118), evidenced by the decline of magic. But the comeback of magic is only manifest within a print-cultural matrix. Mr Norrell is a powerful magician, yet he is also a homebody. He is always associated with the ordinary and the everyday, even as the reemergence of magic, of which he is the most prominent example, threatens to transform modern Europe. Norrell is described as “the dullest man in Yorkshire” (Clarke 2004, p. 41) in terms that suggest he must have had considerable competition. Hurtfew Abbey, the secluded abode where Norrell practices magic, has its antiquity “all in the name” (Clarke 2004, p. 13) and is a “handsome and square and solid-looking” product of the banal, modern era of Queen Anne. Norrell’s humdrum, near-at-hand qualities both play off against and situate his magicianship. He epitomizes the magic of sociality that pervades the book, even if it is unfolded in ways very different from Norrell’s by other practitioners. Notable here is that Clarke’s novel is set directly in the era of Romanticism. Tobin Siebers has suggested that Romantic fantasy, by “aestheticizing superstition” (Siebers 1984, p. 77), came close to epitomizing counterrevolutionary and anti-enlightenment mentalities. Indeed, Jonathan Strange, the more Romantic of the two magicians, encounters Byron in Switzerland, at the height of his fame and his friendship with Shelley. But not only is the rivalry between the magicians highly qualified and as replete with stormy collegiality as mano-a-mano polemics, but the two men end up first as compadres and then similarly at bay at the novel’s end. The relationship between the two principal characters does not conjure an unfettered Romanticism. Magic in the novel is less a substitute for Romanticism than its parallel. There are allusions to Romantic subjects that are both sly and sympathetic, such as the mention of the “poor charcoal-burner” (Clarke 2004, p. 770) of the Wordsworthian locale of Ullswater. Magic provides the same challenge to familiar norms as Romanticism, but it does so through different means. Whereas Romanticism suggests magic, the magicians in the novel actually perform magic. What Tobin Siebers terms “the Romantic fantastic” is an important strand in Romanticism, but the fantastic in Romanticism is always suggestive and otherworldly. It reveals, in Siebers’ words (Siebers 1984, p. 20), “the role of superstition in all literary representation”. This is close to Clarke’s sense of magic as a phenomenon intermixing with the known world, but rather than propagating a gossamer overlay of the mysterious, Clarke populates her world with practicing magicians drawing upon concrete magical archives. In mien, Clarke’s procedure is near to what Siebers sketches, but in modem, it is more grounded in ordinary life through the magic of sociality. The last name of Emma Wintertowne, later Lady Pole, the first character we meet to be significantly taken to the other-world, signifies this grounding. First of all, “Wintertowne” is not an actual English surname. Secondly, it implies both a sense of location and the emptying out of that location, a winter town, an inhospitable place, a locale that is hard to occupy. Place in Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is at once vital in occasional terms and yet never burdened with a sovereign identity. Even at the end, suspended in otherworldly limbo and stuck in the world where half of Miss Wintertowne has been stuck for much of the book, Norrell abides in the nearby and near-at-hand, the social and sociable. “He need never leave the house is he does not wish it” (Clarke 2004, p. 1006), pronounces Strange. Strange’s wife, Arabella, notes that Norrell does not like to travel—even as far as Portsmouth—but now he is suspended in a realm of “Impenetrable Darkness” (Clarke 2004, p. 1005). But Norrell’s sociable magic remains urbane and gentlemanly. He is not plunged into a realm of pure rough magic, and nor is the book. Its magic of sociality stays within a social modernity that the re-emergence of magic problematizes but never entirely pierces. 3. The Ambiguities of John Uskglass Jonathan Strange seems, at first, the opposite of Norrell. He is risk-taking and edgy where Norrell is bourgeois and stolid. He is brash and bold where Norrell is studious and sober. He solicits the dark side where Norrell’s practice of magic is at once about profiting from and containing the inherent Humanities 2020, 9, 125 6 of 13 irrationality of the magical realm. But Clarke leavens this structural antagonism by also making Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell somewhat of a buddy-novel. That the two men are increasingly reliant on each other and are caught in the same predicament at the end underscores how, in the greater sense, they are really alike. Both are white men within modernity who are able to channel aspects of that particular modernity to achieve notoriety and success as magicians. Both, in turn, see their efforts fall short, as there are currents at work in the world that they cannot control. This is the abiding, complex irony contained in the most probative element of the novel’s title, the “&” in Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. Conversely, the true opposite to Norrell is not Strange but John Uskglass. This section of the essay will concentrate on John Uskglass and how he is antithetical to the modernity of both Norrell and Strange, as well as being cherished as the source of true English magic by those who wish for its decisive reemergence. This is the memory, and possible resurrection, of Uskglass, who was transported to the realm of Faerie as a child and gained magical powers. He returned to England in the early Norman era and ruled the northern part of the country as its fairy king for three hundred years, ending in 1485 when, in both this world and our own, the Tudor dynasty came to power. The eclipse of John Uskglass is matched almost exactly to the emergence of the modern world, in which Columbus and Gutenberg exist alongside multiracial identities and print culture. The wish of Jonathan Strange to revive John Uskglass is at the heart of the potential of magic to fully rend the veil of reality. But in the novel, that veil is only slightly breached. Douglas Charles Kane states that, “despite the novel’s equivocal ending, there is a definite sense that magic has been successfully reincorporated into English life” (Kane 2018, p. 144). The possible reemergence of John Uskglass is undeniably an index of this reincorporation. But I question a reading of Clarke’s portrayal of the Raven King as epitomizing a virtuous magical redoubt in northern England. Uskglass is a less definable figure than he at first looks; it is not ever certain that he is definitively returning. He seems to be a metaphor for the medieval because he is a figure whose disappearance makes modern England emerge, even if his potential revival challenges that modernity. As Daniel Baker asserts, Clarke draws parallels between “historical portrayal” (Baker 2011, p. 1) and “fantasy fiction” that are more finely grained than alternate history as we have come to know it. That the book samples genre-fiction conventions while clearly aspiring to a mainstream reception outside genre canons is indicative here. To fully discern the way John Uskglass is important to the book (although not as important as Stephen Black), we will have to understand Baker’s insight that the book does not privilege one layer of reality over another. In particular, the reincorporation of the white Uskglass is not given precedence over the emergence of the genuine power of African-descended Stephen Black. As Baker says, the novel merges “seen and un-seen, reflection and reality” (Baker 2011, p. 2) in a way that does not yield to constructing a sovereign redoubt. In this respect, we might ask: what does ‘English’ magic mean in the book? What does it mean when opposed to French magic, Portuguese magic? Is it self-satirical, as if there is something inherently un-magical or humdrum in the very idea of Englishness? Is English magic opposed to Celtic magic? Hoiem sees Clarke’s rendition of English magic as inclusive of gender and racial pluralism. Clarke bolsters this in her contribution to the Crooked Timber symposium on her work, maintaining that “England is a set of contradictions” and that Uskglass is not necessarily uncomplicatedly or essentially English. The novel depicts northern England, the realm of John Uskglass, as the source of magic. This takes the often-subordinated North and affirms it as the real England because it is the magical England. Norrell is the character who most opposes the Uskglass-based paradigm and seeks to build a “practical magic” (Clarke 2004, p. 9), harnessed and limited for “the principles of reason and science”. But even he is Northern, from Yorkshire. Norrell’s inconspicuous refuge of Hurtfew Abbey is a downsized, modern reflection of Uskglass’ Northern redoubt. By opposing the wilder North with the more urbane South, Clarke is upending the typical dichotomy of power in English history. She is writing of the time when the North shifted to an industrial mode of production, which, although not shaking the hegemony of the South, did make it more populous and, after parliamentary reform, more electorally Humanities 2020, 9, 125 7 of 13 potent. Although the North at times is cast as romantic in ‘mainstream’ English literature—in Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, for example—more often it is seen as prosaic, as in Elizabeth Gaskell’s North and South or Dickens’s Hard Times. Indeed, Avebury, Stonehenge, Glastonbury—the traditional locales of magic in England—are all in southern England. Also, as Clarke realizes, Scotland is a problem for this thematic. When John Uskglass was fairy king of half of England, his realm was the northernmost part claimed by the king in London. But, in the novel, Great Britain is a united island. With the end of the Stuart dynasty after the last claimant Cardinal Henry’s death in 1807—coincidentally the same year Norrell emerges to publicly practice magic—George III is incontestably King of Scotland as much as England. So, if John Uskglass were to resume his kingship of the northern half of England, his realm would be a magical enclave, flanked by the British king’s realm on two sides. Clarke invents the fictional Hebridean island of Athodel (Clarke 2004, p. 376) as an equivalent, though much smaller, northern magical redoubt for Scotland, as was Uskglass’ kingdom for England’s. That Athodel is inaccessible hints that Uskglass’s kingdom is not as solid as it might seem. Relevant here is a footnote (Clarke 2004, p. 769) that tells the reader, even as Childermass is warning Lascelles that he is “in the north now. In John Uskglass’s own country”, that Uskglass’s own subjects often saw him more familiarly than reverently and spoke of him often in ribaldry. Also, his spending time as a boy in the land of Faerie makes him ’other’ not just in terms of time but identity. Uskglass is a figure radically un-English even as he epitomizes the force of English magic. The truth about Uskglass is somewhere between Lascelles’ Norrellian view that “his day was done four hundred years ago” and Drawlight’s summation of Strange’s view that the “old alliances still held” (Clarke 2004, p. 759). Clarke leaves us in suspension between those two alternatives, with the hint that Uskglass’s authority was in the grain of daily life, “taking particular delight in stories and ballads that show him at a decided disadvantage”. This is corroborated in a story in The Ladies of Grace Adieu, “John Uskglass and the Cumbrian Charcoal Burner” (Clarke 2006). Here, the humble northern charcoal burner comes off the best against the Raven King. If, in Clarke’s world, magic has returned to England, so have “other changes of a more prosaic nature” (Clarke 2004, p. 25). Indeed, it is in the South, where he never reigned, where Uskglass is treated with more respect. His own subjects are irreverent, treating him more like a lord of misrule than as a monarch. His great contemporary advocate is Vinculus, a street magician who comes off as a hustler and charlatan. Uskglass, in his one manifestation in the present, rewrites the symbols written on Vinculus’s body to, as Hoiem argues, signify something not yet apparent, or open to interpretation. It is revealed that Uskglass did not in fact like to rule. Indeed, his chief minister, William Lanchester, was the true power in the realm for many years. Uskglass’s capital is in Newcastle, not in the historic cathedral city of York where, paradoxically, the anti-nostalgic Norrell lives. There is always a provisional, ready-to-hand quality to Uskglass’s magical reign. Uskglass is a Lord of Misrule, making him a more endearing and comic figure but also making him, for all his Faerie otherness, part of a world of modern manners that is as much comic as tragic or horrifying. It all comes down to one basic question: who is John Uskglass? Is he a person, a kind of a spirit, a way of looking at the world? It is not coincidental that Uskglass disappears just as the modern age begins, in the fifteenth century, the era of Gutenberg and Columbus. And then magic comes back, in the time of Romanticism, when people have had enough of technological improvement. Clarke’s English magic both replaces Romanticism and alludes to it. Francisco Goya is described (Clarke 2004, p. 358) as painting a portrait of Jonathan Strange during the latter’s sojourn in Spain with the British Peninsular army, tying Strange into an image-world of anti-Napoleonic resistance that is ipso facto Romantic. Stephen Black’s saving Byron from the gentleman with thistle-down hair evinces an empathetic association between magic and Romanticism. But it also hints at a duality: Romanticism is a realm of imagination. Magic is something that is real and can alter reality. Farah Mendlesohn argues that the novel’s end sees “the refreshing of England” by a revived fairy-kingdom. Yet magic is not always associated with sovereignty. The magician Martin Pale, Humanities 2020, 9, 125 8 of 13 who was not a king, resembles Dr. Dee of Elizabethan fame more than any potentate. Unlike Uskglass, Pale did not claim to exercise sovereignty or hegemony over a discrete portion of land. Indeed, just as the denizens of Faerie have three times turned to human kings because they “detest the hard work of government” (Clarke 2004, p. 831), magic and sovereignty can be said to have an inherently uneasy relationship. John Uskglass seems ambivalent about his own role as King, and, wherever he is in the ‘now’ of the novel, he may be more comfortable in a perennially residual role than as the outright wielder of authority. Notably, the name “Uskglass” contains the element “Usk”—a Welsh river with more affinities to Celtic figures such as Merlin (Caerleon-on-Usk was an oft-featured place in Arthurian myth) than English magic. In addition, the “-glass” suffix signifies transparency, not sovereignty. “When the magician goes away or dies” (Clarke 2004, p. 838), the houses “disappear”—a condition that Clarke’s footnote-narrator notes in the cases of Martin Pale and Ralph Stokesey. Thus, magic is hard to stabilize as the foundation for permanent authority in modernity. It is more fluid, comical, and social than that—and more radical. Uskglass seems to possess far more sovereignty if we see him as part of Clarke’s worldbuilding: as a vast backcloth that at once secures the past and re-envelops the present. He would have encompassed this to a greater extent, even with the presence of Stephen Black, if Clarke had written a sequel that decisively chronicled his re-emergence. However, as of 2020, she has not done so. As we must provisionally read Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell as an individual book, not part of a series, we have only the fragmentary suggestion of Uskglass’s re-emergence and no sovereign epiphany of it. Although a full consideration of the plot details of Piranesi lies outside the scope of this essay, it is an abstract and suggestive book, spare and un-festooned by the detritus of world-building. As such, Piranesi indicates that suggestion rather than realization, interstitial conjuring rather than worldbuilding muscle, may be what Clarke as a fiction writer is more about. This might lead us to see Uskglass less as the heart of the novel’s temporal desire and more as a mixing agent for levels of time and reality that is not meant simply to be the real, vindicated substrate of it all. Thus, if we read John Uskglass as simply representing the hold of the magical past over the modern present, the book is going to be tugged back more in the direction of high fantasy than is intended. One might conclude that effectual magic would be even more an embodiment of the restraining force of the past on modernity, what Giorgio Agamben, (Agamben 2011, p. 7) drawing on St. Paul’s Epistle to the Thessalonians, have called a katechon, that which holds back. A resurgent Uskglass could well be the katechon, both in terms of modernity itself and, more particularly, Norrell’s distinctive personal variety of modern magic. Jason Josephson Storm has cautioned against “the myth of disenchantment”: that modernity had often claimed to banish magic but never successfully done so. Certainly, it is important that the novel reveals Uskglass and his wild, medieval magic as a force that is possibility still latent in the fabric of the universe. But it may be tht the medieval otherness of Uskglass is thus a katechon rather than something heterotopic, other, radical, something more in line, in its revealing of alternate possibilities in modernity, with queer and multiracial discourses than with a nostalgic idea of sovereignty. Or, it may be that we need the presence of Stephen Black to lure the temporal medieval otherness of Uskglass into a truly ontological otherness that would wriggle away from being a katechon in favor of being heterotopic. Without the presence of Black, Uskglass might seem a resurgent substrate whose reemergence would convince the world that, in a Latourian sense (Latour 1993), it is, and should be, one that has never been truly modern. Uskglass is a heterotemporal figure, a rebuke of what Elizabeth Freeman calls “chronobiopolitical” (Freeman 2010, p. 10) normativity. Queer studies scholars such as Freeman have seen temporal regimes of the present as attempting to anneal differences that are as much temporal as sexual. The novel’s male dyads, with their inevitably queer overtones, are echoed by the reemergence of the past as something that questions the present. Thus, Uskglass’s temporal otherness is another way to question the hierarchies whose ultimate subversion is the emergent power of the African-descended manservant in the house of Sir Walter Pole, Stephen Black. Humanities 2020, 9, 125 9 of 13 4. The Heroism of Stephen Black Stephen Black is Uskglass’s rival in magical sovereign power. As an African-born man whose rise in society disturbs typical assumptions of how sovereignty and organic authority are bound to whiteness and white privilege, Black represents a very different aspect of the novel than magical restorationism would presume. Black is a testimony to the simple historical fact that there were people of color who participated in ordinary British life long before the post-World War II Windrush generation. Clarke is bearing witness to the reality of black people in Britain in the early 1800s. By having Black so intimately involved in a plot concerning the restoration of English magic, Clarke is also urging the reader to consider black Britishness as part of the very concept of England itself. One could castigate the novel for ending with Black partitioned off from England as the ruler of the kingdom of lost-hope. But, conversely, one could also say that Black is a ruler, and Clarke’s world contains many migrations between fairy and real-world kingdoms. Black manifests himself in social terms in a set of linked worlds that, in representamina and social tenors, are contested. The novel is structurally anchored by male dyads: Stephen Black and the gentleman with thistle-down hair, Drawlight and Lascelles, Honeyfoot and Segundus, necessarily Strange and Norrell themselves. There are also topical dyads: Britain and France, South and North England, the real world and Faerie, and past and present. Elizabeth Freeman’s point that different planes of temporality can parallel queer or dissident sexualities renders these dyads more than playful, sometimes startling pairings, allowing them to structurally interrogate the represented world they uphold. Of all these dyads, though, the most consequential may well be that between Black and the gentleman. The gentleman’s love for Black prevents him from realizing Black sees through his motives, loathes them, and is determined to stop him. Whereas the gentleman wants to use Black for nostalgic and authoritarian purposes, Black, as Hoiem points out, has an agenda that is about going forward rather than regression into a past where he would not have been included. Black is the member of those dyads most able to break through them. Stephen Black certainly makes the book more multicultural, but his presence also stands against a sovereign concentration of authority in favor of a more plural one, in which authority is not linked to sovereign mystique. Likewise, Black’s diadem is his hand, transformed so that his authority is of England but not in it, sourced from Africa but not derived from it, effective on English soil but not authorized by it, possessing both genuine force and elasticity. Black’s abjuring of his quest for his own origins dilates any sovereign attachment to place while retaining Black’s own particular, specific, and geographically derived identity. Even the ‘bad’ side, represented by the gentleman, wants Stephen Black to be king and recognizes his merit. Furthermore, Clarke depicts that merit as potentially raising Black to a good eminence. Daniel Baker perceptively sees Black at the center of discourses of radicalism in the novel. In his steadfast moral compass, Black is reminiscent of Olaudah Equiano, the leading black British writer of the 18th century, though lacking Equiano’s Christianity. But in his urbanity and ability to register the British social scene, Black is also reminiscent of Ignatius Sancho, a prominent black British man of the late eighteenth century who was both an abolitionist activist and keen observer of British society. Sancho, like Stephen Black, was born on a slave ship, was closely linked to an English aristocratic family, and operated in British society with brio (Sancho 1782). Whether Clarke studied either Equiano or Sancho as models for Black, Black as character has some of the best traits of both men. That both men existed means Clarke’s pastiche of a period style does not mean whiteness: Sancho and Equiano wrote in the style of their time as much as Jane Austen did. Acknowledging multiracialism can take represented worlds beyond nostalgia. Stephen Black is a figure of great consequence in the novel. The fact that the actual King of England has lost his mind further elevates the stakes of sovereignty in the novel and makes it a Regency romance in more than one way. The madness of King George III prompts the gentleman with thistle-down hair to see the throne as a sede vacante. Black recognizes the incongruity of his becoming king of England. When the gentleman promises him a kingdom, Black suggests that this Humanities 2020, 9, 125 10 of 13 kingdom is in Africa, where he has biological roots. But the gentleman says, “it is a kingdom where you have already been” (Clarke 2004, p. 340). It is not, then, a question of birth-identity; it is one of association. The combination of his own perceived personal merit and, even if it is not legitimized by blood-ties, the fact that he has been situated in England makes Stephen Black a viable English king. Thus, any racialized stereotypes are disassembled. Black indeed reveals a basic (if, for normative racialism, uncomfortable) similarity between the white men in the book. Whether upper or lower class, wanting to contain magic or liberate it, overtly evil as the gentleman or tolerably self-applauding as Jonathan Strange, all represent an analogous sort of agency. New wonder-worker is but old squire writ large, if maybe more eldritch. If modern temporality is taken up by the reassertion of an eterotopic medieval or magical temporality, but human agency is stuck in the same ruts of gender and privilege, then what has been accomplished? Clarke does not romanticize or sentimentalize Stephen Black, who, after all, shows he can operate in some pretty tough representational neighborhoods. But she does show how not only his race but his gentle and polite urbanity—mirroring traits manifested in the writings and deeds of real-life African-descended figures such as Equiano and Sancho—render his agency different from any white male in the book: Strange, Norrell, the gentleman, Drawlight, even Uskglass himself. This radical revision of agency leads to another reading of Stephen Black’s conclusion at the end of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. Black might seem King ‘only’ of the forlorn fairy land of lost-hope, allowing this to be interpreted as an exclusion of a black man from the English polity and implying that a black man can never truly be English (even less King of England or, given the precedent of John Uskglass, in England). But Stephen Black does become a king, and does so outside of Africa, in a place where he has absolutely no blood-ties: a world that is not even his own. He becomes a king transnationally, in the face of the constraint of blood and identity. He kills the gentleman with thistle-down hair even though he knows it will end his chances of ever finding his true African name and any organic identity. For this, he does not get kingship in England, but he gets kingship nonetheless. When one observes that being a king in a fairy land is, in John Uskglass’ case, very much a carrière ouverte aux talents in terms of qualifying as a King in England, Stephen’s monarchic prospects are much brighter. Clarke by no means closes the door to Stephen Black someday wielding power in his adopted England. The scene of Stephen’s defeat of the gentleman with the thistle-down hair shows how the autochthonous elements of England—“rooks and magpies and redwings and chaffinches” (982)—fight for Black against the gentleman, demonstrating Stephen’s earthly authority in England. Here, the most immanent and granular elements of English soil itself fight on behalf of the ideals and convictions of a black man. Norrell and Strange misread the presence of Stephen Black as that of Uskglass, and when they call out epithets for the Raven King, such as “the king” or the “nameless slave”, they do not imagine that they apply just as aptly to Black. But, as Thomson points out, the prophecy serves as a “simultaneous herald” (Thomson 2011, p. 322) with respect to Uskglass and Black—and, I would add, one that cannot just apply to both equally. “The nameless slave” is, as a sobriquet for John Uskglass, a poignant remnant of his changeling origins, but the term is far more raw when applied to Stephen Black. Even though Norrell only agrees to help summon John Uskglass at the very end of the book under pressure from Strange, Norrell is in a sense the architect of Stephen Black’s ‘kingship’, just as his efforts to save Miss Wintertowne (later Lady Pole) conjure up the gentleman with the thistle-down hair, who saw Stephen Black’s potential. Norrell may not be the most powerful force in the book, but he is connected to all the other forces. A purely medieval John Uskglass would not be inflected by blackness the way a Uskglass re-interpolated in a modern England, where racial pluralism is undeniable, would be. In his review of Lord Portishead’s book on magic in the Edinburgh Review of 1815, interpolated as a false document in Clarke’s novel, Jonathan Strange says that English magic is built upon the “foundations” (Clarke 2004, p. 531) that John Uskglass made and that “we ignore these foundations at our peril”. If we do not study them, Jonathan Strange warns, “cracks will appear, letting in winds from God-knows-where” (Clarke 2004, p. 531). Stephen Black constitutes one of those cracks. Norrell Humanities 2020, 9, 125 11 of 13 disturbs modernity by practicing magic. Strange disturbs Norrell’s conformist magic by championing Uskglass. Yet, as his anxiety about winds and cracks displays, Strange himself knows and fears that the resurgent sovereignty of Uskglass might be destabilized. Could the unwanted cracks and unwelcome winds augur, in the person of Stephen Black, what Toni Morrison calls “an Africanist presence” (Morrison 1992, p. 5) in the represented world of Clarke’s novel? It might be tempting be to see both Uskglass and Stephen Black as little more than subversive forces that destabilize the serene façade of the Georgian world. They certainly both function as others to the settled social consensus that the events chronicled in the book so profoundly disturb. But the organic nostalgia represented by Uskglass and the dynamic cultural difference represented by Stephen Black cannot simply be represented on the same plane, as breakers of the consensus. Clarke is aware of the historical discourses of both Romantic medievalism and abolitionism. Even though these flourished at the same time and were perhaps rejoinders to a certain sort of neoclassical absolutism, their challenge to that absolutism is of a fundamentally different character. Likewise, today, anti-racist resistance is of a fundamentally different order than interrogations of modernity’s teleological ordering of temporality. Clarke’s novel shows how recent events, such as the toppling of the statue of the slave-dealer Edward Colston in Bristol in June 2020, are at once in a long tradition of popular English resistance against a repressive establishment but also introduce a new critique of white hegemony. For all its surface nostalgia, Clarke’s inclusion of Black, and her foregrounding of his power, show the heterodoxy of her narrative frame. Notable also is the way Stephen Black at once accepts the gentleman’s estimate of his political potential while rejecting his unseemly motives. Stephen plays along with the gentleman and fools him into believing he is in his thrall, only to turn on him after the (supposed) murder of Vinculus and the threat to Lady Pole. The gentleman does not realize that Stephen has mysteries in him that cannot be penetrated, moral mysteries that, in this world of magicians, have the force of magic. Stephen Black dreams (506) that the city of Birmingham is in a piecrust. Just as the mundane English world at the beginning of the novel does not expect magic, the mundane can be as mysterious as the magical if the magical does not expect it. Black claims a link with England because he happens to be there, because it is his place now. His relation to it is not inherent, although it is extremely specific. Discussions of critical race theory, white fragility, and Afrofuturism in the years since the novel came out have only accentuated and clarified Black’s importance. As much as the emergence of Stephen Black drives home the anti-essentialism and anti-organicism of Clarke’s vision, it is important to consider Black’s efficacy in this process alongside Norrell’s and Uskglass. Without the presence of Norrell’s modernity of manners, which the novel questions and suspends but never entirely jettisons, and without the presence of Uskglass’s self-exposing, carnivalesque medievalism, which never coalescences around a stable point of archaic atavist, Stephen Black would not matter. Black achieves a kind of citizenship in Clarke’s Romantic, magical, and counterfactual world. This is much as Equiano and Sancho achieved a kind of citizenship in the factual Enlightenment world of our timeline. Paul Youngquist refers to Equiano’s “characterless person and un/fixed identity” (Youngquist 2013, p. 41) in terms strikingly similar to the aura conjured by Black’s namelessness and ability to infiltrate worlds. With regard to the real-life Equiano and Sancho as well as the fictional Black, there were processes afoot in English society that, even though far from intending to be anti-racist, nonetheless ended up contributing to anti-racism. This gestures to the importance of the sociality and urbanity in Black’s representation. That Stephen Black wields power in the book means that the book is not just about illustrating the hold of the past through sovereign magic. Uskglass’s otherness in terms of temporality mirrors Black’s otherness in terms of race. These alterities are tacitly allied with Norrell’s modernity in resisting a nostalgic sovereignty. Readers may feel that, despite the title, both Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell are false bottoms, stalking-horses for the primal magic of John Uskglass. But Clarke’s mesh of modernity means there is no way to tell false bottom from true bottom. Instead, there are interchanges between remote and cosmopolitan, present and past, pastiche and passion. John Clute (Clute 2009, p. 119) Humanities 2020, 9, 125 12 of 13 says Clarke’s novel is “wedded to the thinning it depicts”. Clute meant this as a criticism. But, as a characterization, it can be turned into a positive. Clarke’s magic of sociality, what Kane calls Norrell’s “neurotic avoidance” (Clarke 2004, p. 136) of magic is, in the deepest sense, a form of magic that ramifies and complicates the concomitant, more fundamentalist magics. Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell cannily juxtaposes the past represented by Uskglass, the present represented by Norrell (and Strange), and the future represented by Stephen Black. To fully understand Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, we have understand how its magic of sociality is the source of its radical epistemic challenge. Funding: This research received no external funding. Conflicts of Interest: The authors declare no conflict of interest. References Agamben, Giorgio. 2011. The Kingdom and the Glory: For A Theological Genealogy of Economy and Government. Stanford: Stanford Univ. Press. Baker, Daniel. 2011. History as fantasy: Estranging the past in Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. Otherness: Essays and Studies 2: 1–16. Borowska-Szerszun, Sylwia. 2015. The Interplay of the Domestic and the Uncanny in Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. Crossroads: A Journal of English Studies 2: 4–12. Clarke, Susanna. 2004. Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. London: Bloomsbury. Clarke, Susanna. 2006. The Ladies of Grace Adieu. London: Bloomsbury. Clarke, Susanna. 2020. Piranesi. London: Bloomsbury. Clute, John. 2009. Canary Fever. Essex: Beccon. Farrell, Maria. 2006. The Claims of History. Crooked Timber. Available online: http://crookedtimber.org/2005/11/29/ the-claims-of-history/ (accessed on 12 January 2020). Freeman, Elizabeth. 2010. Time Binds: Queer Temporalities, Queer Histories. Durham: Duke University Press. Gaiman, Neil. 2015. Why I Love Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. The Guardian. May 2. Available online: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/may/02/neil-gaiman-why-i-love-jonathan-strange-and- mr-norrell (accessed on 10 January 2018). Hoiem, Elizabeth. 2008. The Fantasy of Talking Back: Susanna Clarke’s Historical Present in Jonathan Strange & Mr, Norrell. Strange Horizons. October 27. Available online: http://strangehorizons.com/non-fiction/articles/ the-fantasy-of-talking-back-susanna-clarkes-histo (accessed on 19 March 2018). Kane, Douglas Charles. 2018. A Modern fairy-story. Mythlore 37: 133–46. Available online: https://dc.swosu.edu/ mythlore/vol37/iss1/9 (accessed on 14 January 2020). Latour, Bruno. 1993. We Have Never Been Modern. Translated by Catherine Porter. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. McDonnell, Jenny. 2015. Review of Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. Irish Journal of Gothic and Horror Studies 14: 153–57. Mendlesohn, Farah. 2005. Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. New York Review of Science Fiction. New York: Bloomsbury Publishing USA, pp. 1–3. Mendlesohn, Farah. 2008. Rhetorics of Fantasy. Middletown: Wesleyan Univ. Press. Morrison, Toni. 1992. Playing In The Dark. Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press. Sancho, Ignatius. 1782. Letters of the Late Ignatius Sancho, An African. In Two Volumes. To Which Are Prefixed, Memoirs of His Life. London: Nichols. Siebers, Tobin. 1984. The Romantic Fantastic. Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press. Thomson, Douglass H. 2011. Dread and Decorum in Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. In 21st Century Gothic: Great Gothic Novels Since 2000. Edited by Daniel Olson. Lanham: Scarecrow, pp. 319–26. http://crookedtimber.org/2005/11/29/the-claims-of-history/ http://crookedtimber.org/2005/11/29/the-claims-of-history/ https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/may/02/neil-gaiman-why-i-love-jonathan-strange-and-mr-norrell https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/may/02/neil-gaiman-why-i-love-jonathan-strange-and-mr-norrell http://strangehorizons.com/non-fiction/articles/the-fantasy-of-talking-back-susanna-clarkes-histo http://strangehorizons.com/non-fiction/articles/the-fantasy-of-talking-back-susanna-clarkes-histo https://dc.swosu.edu/mythlore/vol37/iss1/9 https://dc.swosu.edu/mythlore/vol37/iss1/9 Humanities 2020, 9, 125 13 of 13 Youngquist, Paul. 2013. Race, Romanticism, and the Atlantic. Alders Hot: Ashgate. Publisher’s Note: MDPI stays neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. © 2020 by the author. Licensee MDPI, Basel, Switzerland. This article is an open access article distributed under the terms and conditions of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) license (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). http://creativecommons.org/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/. Clarke as Radical Fantasist Mr Norrell’s Sociable Magic The Ambiguities of John Uskglass The Heroism of Stephen Black References 
work_uvugdlgkvzg65nzwp2fpvt7doy	----	UDK 821.163.6.09Pajk P. Katja Mihurko Poniž Fakulteta za humanistiko Univerze v Novi Gorici TRIVIALNO IN/ALI SENTIMENTALNO? ARABELA PAVLINE PAJK, ŠTUDIJA PRIMERA V prispevku izhajam iz vprašanja, ali je za pripovedno prozo Pavline Pajk ustrezna umestitev pod okrilje trivialne literature in v kolikšni meri so v tem besedilu prisotne prvine sentimental- nega pripovedništva. Izsledke analize motivnih, pripovednih in oblikovnih posebnosti romana arabela soočam s spoznanji Mirana Hladnika v študiji Slovenski ženski roman v 19. stoletju, kjer je to delo na kratko primerjal z romanom Skrivnost stare gospodične nemške pisateljice Eugenie Marlitt in zapisal, da je slovenski ženski roman nastal ob zgledovanju pri njej. S primerjavo obeh romanov in recepcije nemške pisateljice na Slovenskem razmerje med njo in Pavlino Pajk na novo osvetljujem ter odgovarjam na vprašanje, zakaj so ji njeni sodobniki vztrajno očitali, da je bila posnemovalka Eugenie Marlitt. The author proceeds from the question whether it is appropriate to classify Pavlina Pajk’s prose as trivial literature and to what extent elements of sentimental narrative prose are present in her text. The results of the analysis of the thematic, narrative, and formal peculiarities of the novel arabela are juxtaposed with Miran Hladnik’s findings in his study Slovenski ženski roman v 19. stoletju [Slovene Women’s Novel in the 19th Century], where he briefly compares this text with the novel The old mam’selle’s secret by E. Marlitt stating that the Slovene women’s novel was conceived based on the example of this German writer. By comparing both novels and the reception of E. Marlitt in the Slovene lands, the author sheds new light on the relationship betwee n E. Marlitt and Pavlina Pajk and answers the question why her contemporaries persistently accused her of being E. Marlitt’s epigone. Ključne besede: Pavlina Pajk, Arabela, sentimentalni roman, trivialna literatura, ženski roman, recepcija nemške književnosti, literarni vpliv Key words: Pavlina Pajk, arabela, sentimental, trivial, woman's novel, reception of german literature Opredelitev raziskovalnega predmeta in stanje raziskav Romanu arabela se avtorji in avtorice člankov o Pavlini Pajk (Miran Hladnik, Silvija Borovnik, Katarina Bogataj Gradišnik in Matjaž Kmecl) niso poglobljeno posvetili, saj so njihove raziskave izhajale iz drugih vprašanj. Največ pozornosti je romanu arabela doslej namenil Miran Hladnik, vendar se zdi, da je potrebno ponovno pretresti naslednja vprašanja: ali je za pripovedno prozo Pavline Pajk ustrezna oznaka ženski roman, ali je pravilna njena umestitev pod okrilje trivialne literature (Hladnik 1983: 89–90) ter v kakšnem razmerju je arabela do romana Skrivnost stare gospodične (Das Gegeimnis der alten Mamsell, 1867) Eugenie Marlitt. Izsledke analize motivnih, pripovednih in formalnoestetskih posebnosti romana arabela bom soočila s spoznanji Mirana Hladni- ka v študiji Slovenski ženski roman v 19. stoletju, kjer je to delo na kratko primerjal z navedenim romanom nemške pisateljice in na koncu razprave zapisal, da je »slovenski Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://srl.si 66 Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 1, januar–marec ženski roman nastal ob zgledovanju pri E. Marlitt« (Hladnik 1981: 291).1 Pri tem bom sledila spoznanjem o drugih možnih literarnih vzorih Pavline Pajk (George Sand, Charlotte Brontë idr.), na katere je že opozorila Katarina Bogataj Gradišnik v razpra- vi Ženski roman v evropskem sentimentalizmu, vendar jih ni obravnavala v arabeli. Njene izsledke bom prenesla na omenjeni roman in raziskala, v kolikšni meri so v tem besedilu prisotne prvine sentimentalnega pripovedništva in ali je mogoče prepričljivo dokazati povezave z romanom Skrivnost stare gospodične. S primerjavo obeh roma- nov in recepcije nemške pisateljice na Slovenskem bom razmerje med njo in Pavlino Pajk na novo osvetlila ter hkrati odgovorila na vprašanje, zakaj so ji njeni sodobniki vztrajno očitali, da je bila posnemovalka Eugenie Marlitt. Novost mojega pristopa glede na dosedanje raziskave besedil Pavline Pajk je izbira enega samega besedila, na katerem bom preverila hipotezo o prevladi sentimentalnih prvin in (ne)ustreznosti oznake trivialno. Samo s poglobljenim branjem besedila in obravnavo posameznih vsebinskih, formalnih, stilističnih in narativnih kategorij v njem, torej le v študiji primera, lahko v romanu arabela ugotovimo, v kolikšni meri je pisateljica prevzemala tuje vzorce in kaj je njen prispevek k razvoju slovenske pri- povedne proze. Revizija oznake ženski roman glede na pripovedno prozo Pavline Pajk Oznako »ženski roman« je problematizirala že Katarina Bogataj Gradišnik v razprav i Ženski roman v evropskem sentimentalizmu, kjer je opozorila, da gre za zunajliterarni termin, ki se opira na spol pisateljic in bralk, »pri tem pa ga spremlja problematičen stranski pomen, češ da je to besedilo, ki naj bi razkrivalo neke tipično ženske lastnosti, kakor so npr. pasivnost, tenkočutnost, prevladovanje čustva nad intelektom itn., ali pa celó neko domnevno ‚žensko bistvo‘« (1989: 23). Pomembno je še raziskovalno opozorilo, da je od takega pojmovanja samo korak do zelo priljubljenega uvrščanja ženskega romana v trivialno literaturo, kar je podprla z opozorilom, da Miran Hladnik obravnava ženski roman kot podzvrst trivialne književnosti (1989: 39). V literarnoved- nih razpravah se pojem »ženskega romana« v Hladnikovi opredelitvi ni utrdil, saj ga ni prevzel noben raziskovalec ali raziskovalka pisateljic iz 19. stoletja,2 razen Katarine Bogataj Gradišnik, ki je, kot je bilo pokazano, hkrati opozorila na problematičnost rabe tega termina. Kljub temu je bila sintagma ženski roman uvrščena v leksikon Literatura (2009). Opredelitev gesla sledi Hladnikovi definiciji in pojma »ženski« ne problema- tizira kakor v geslu »ženska literatura«, kjer je zapisano, da gre za problematično oz- nako, »ki je upravičena le tedaj, kadar dela izražajo poseben ženski doživljajski svet« (kos 2009: 476). Ob tem se seveda zastavlja vprašanje, kaj izražajo dela pisateljic, v 1 Miranu Hladniku se zahvaljujem za kritično branje članka in sugestije, ki so spodbudile premislek o nekaterih preliminarnih hipotezah in prispevale h končni podobi prispevka. 2 Silvija Borovnik uporablja pojem »ženska literatura« kot oznako za umetniško literaturo, ki jo pišejo ženske (1996: 10). Matjaž Kmecl postavi v članku o Pavlini Pajk navedeno oznako v narekovaje (2001: 392). V članku Prispevki slovenskih pripovednic k žanrski podobi proze 19. stoletja (Jezik in slovstvo 2010, 1–2, 47–59) sem uporabila termin »ženski trivialni roman«, kakor ga opredeljuje nemška literarna veda, vendar ne kot oznako za besedila slovenskih pisateljic. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Katja Mihurko Poniž, Trivialno in/ali sentimentalno? arabela Pavline Pajk … 67 katerih ni »posebnega ženskega doživljajskega sveta«, kaj »ženski doživljajski svet« sploh je in zakaj v leksikonu ni gesla moška literatura, ki bi označevalo »poseben moški doživljajski svet«, če je literaturo mogoče ločevati glede na ta kriterij. Zaradi pogosto- sti uporabe sintagme »ženska literatura« je gotovo ustrezna njena uvrstitev v leksikon literarnih pojmov, vendar bi moral biti termin v razlagi v celoti kritično zavrnjen in ne opremljen s skrajno problematičnimi ponazoritvami, kot je npr. uvrstitev literature Elfriede Jelinek v »žensko literaturo«. Roman Arabela in tradicija sentimentalnega romana Pavlina Pajk je roman arabela napisala že leta 1883 (prim. Erjavec/Flerè 1926: 270) in ga dve leti kasneje objavila v reviji Kres. Zgodba se dogaja na Moravskem, najbrž v Brnu, kjer živi naslovna junakinja, mlada Židinja Arabela, v hiši svojega strica Izidorja Karpelesa. Starše naj bi izgubila kot otrok. Zaradi Arabelinega bogastva, ki je bilo pridobljeno s srečko na loteriji, jo po očetovem prigovarjanju, a tudi iz lastnega nagiba, snubi bratranec Samuel. Arabela ga ne ljubi, a sprejme njegovo snubitev, saj ve, da je njen stric na robu propada in potrebuje njen denar. Zaradi finančnih težav ponudi Karpeles stanovanje v svoji hiši družini Waldek, saj ima pri zdravniku dolgove. V hišo se s starši preseli tudi sin Walter, ki je profesor. Z Arabelo sta si na začetku skorajda sovražna, a počasi se med njima razvije ljubezen, ki pripelje do poroke, saj se izkaže, da je Arabela v resnici tako kot Walter kristjanka. To izve iz dokumentov norice, ki jo je družina zaprla na podstrešje, kjer jo je naslovna junakinja romana slučajno odkrila in zanjo skrbela. Ko je Rebeka Karpeles odkrila, da nečakinja neguje blazno žensko na podstrešju, jo je preselila v klet, kjer jo je Arabela našla šele, ko je že umirala, in tako ob smrtni postelji izvedela, da je bila pokojnica njena mati. V romaneskni zgodbi je Miran Hladnik odkrival vzorec romanov Eugenie Marlitt, še posebno Skrivnosti stare gospodične. Podobnosti in razlike med romanoma bom raziskala v nadaljevanju. Zdi se namreč, da je Pavlina Pajk v arabeli predvsem pre- vzela značilne prvine sentimentalnih romanov. Že Stritarjevi sodobniki so vpeljavo sentimentalnih prvin v njegovo poetiko kritično sprejeli, kar je razumljivo glede na to, da je Zorin nastal v času, ko v t. i. velikih knji- ževnostih sentimentalni roman ni bil več aktualen. Vendar je bil sentimentalizem neločljivo povezan z idejo o enakovrednosti vseh človeških bitij, zato je bil privlačen tudi za pisateljice. Položaj žensk v 18. in 19. stoletju namreč v nobenem pogledu ni bil primerljiv s položajem njihovih sodobnikov, ki so pripadali istemu družbenemu razredu. Druga značilnost sentimentalizma, ki je bila vznemirljiva za pisateljice, je bil poudarek na kultu čustev, saj ga je bilo mogoče prenesti na svet zasebnosti, v katerem so živele meščanke, pa tudi plemkinje. Po drugi strani je bila podoba ženske, kakor so jo razvili sentimentalni romani (pasivnost, nežnost, moralnost, plemenitost) za pisateljice problematična, zato so njihovi romani pogosto odmiki od sentimentalne paradigme.3 Katarina Bogataj Gradišnik ugotavlja, da so slovenske pripovednice v 19. stoletju prevzele sentimentalni vzorec iz romana Pamela ali nagrajena krepost (Pamela, or 3 Prim. Ursula Stohler, Released from Her Fetters? Natural Equality in the Work of the Russian Senti- mentalist Woman Writer Maria Bolotnikova, aspasia 2 (2008), 1–27. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 68 Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 1, januar–marec Virtue Rewarded, 1740) Samuela Richardsona.4 Tudi v arabeli je vzorec prepoznaven v izhodiščni situaciji romana: bivanju naslovne junakinje pri bogatih sorodnikih. Vendar je že v tej situaciji viden odmik slovenske pisateljice, kajti Arabelini sorodniki so v resnici tik pred finančnim polomom in jih lahko reši le njeno bogastvo. Drugi pomem- ben odmik je v razredni pripadnosti. Naslovni lik ne izhaja iz nižjega sloja kot družina Karpeles, zaradi česar ni pomanjkljivo izobražena in v romanu ni potrebna oseba, ob kateri bi junakinja pridobila omiko in izobrazbo, kakor se to zgodi v Richardsonovi Pameli, Mansfield parku Jane Austen in v nekaterih romanih E. Marlitt (Das Heide- prinzesschen, Das Geheimnis der alten Mamsell). Arabela je kot literarna junakinja blizu liku Jane Eyre Charlotte Brontë,5 tudi ona je sirota,6 ni lepotica, okolju, v katerem živi, kljubuje na svoj način in je predana skrbi za druge. Presenetljivo je pisateljičino večkratno opozorilo, da Arabela ni privlačna. Ne samo da brez bogastva ne bi bila »vredna niti enega moškega pogleda« (Pajk 1885: 3), kakor pravi njen stric, temveč daje vtis »bolj starikave, nego pa dvaindvajsetletne gospodične« (8), večinoma svetu kaže obraz, na katerem so oči »majhne in odurne, njeno čelo neprijazno« (227). Opozorili smo že, da je v tem blizu Jane eyre, obema romanoma je skupna tudi družinska skrivnost, ki je sicer v romanih s sentimentalnimi prvinami pogost motiv. Tako v arabeli kot v Jane eyre so sorodniki na podstrešje zaprli blazno žensko in obe protagonistki jo sami odkrijeta, s tem pa dregneta v skrivnost, ki naj bi jima ostala prikrita. Tudi v arabeli velik del romana zavzema ljubezenska zgodba. V protagonistko sta kljub njeni zunanji neprivlačnosti zaljubljena njen bratranec Samuel in introvertirani, a rahločutni profesor Waldek, ki Arabele sprva niti ne opazi, a se počasi v njem razvije ljubezen do nje, ki je tako globoka, da se je zanjo pripravljen celo dvobojevati s tekmecem. Vendar pisateljica dogajanje obrne tako, da to sploh ni potrebno, ker tudi Samuel spozna, da je dvoboj romantična relikvija, ki ne bi prinesla nič dobrega. Arabela se kot večina sentimentalnih junakinj znajde v trikotniku med strastnim mladeničem, ki o svojih čustvih govori brez zadržkov, a je brez globljih moralnih vrednot, in med poduhovljenim, plemenitim in blagim, a nekoliko vase za- prtim moškim okoli tridesetih, ki je razočaran nad koketnim ženskim svetom postal »sovražnik žensk« in samotar (takšnih likov v sentimentalnih romanih ne manjka in ta vzorec prevzame celo Jane Austen v romanu Prevzetnost in pristranost).7 Vendar pri Pavlini Pajk pogrešamo dejansko razpetost med zapeljivca in plemenitega samotneža 4 Na to opozarja že Miran Hladnik v monografiji Trivialna literatura (1983: 40). 5 V nemščino je bil roman preveden, kot poroča Katarina Bogataj Gradišnik (1984: 139), že leta 1848, zato je zelo verjetno, da ga je Pavlina Pajk poznala, saj je bil dostopen v prostoru, v katerem je živela. 6 Osirotelost glavne junakinje je izhodiščna točka številnih sentimentalnih romanov in njegovih nasled- nikov. Pri Pavlini Pajk jo je najbrž potrebno povezati tudi z njeno lastno življenjsko zgodbo. 7 Katarina Bogataj Gradišnik opozarja, da je takšno razmerje Pavlina Pajk upodobila tudi v noveli Blago- dejna zvezdica, ki v številnih potezah spominja na roman Marquis de Villemer (1866) George Sand. Ker se ni ohranilo nobeno pričevanje slovenske pisateljice, da je brala prav ta roman, o dokazljivem vplivu ni mogoče trditi. A hkrati ni mogoče spregledati, da je bila navdušena bralka George Sand, saj je o njej napisala spominski članek, objavljen v Zori leta 1876. Roman bi lahko brala tudi v nemškem dunajskem prevodu iz leta 1860 (Der Marquis von Villemer, »Übersetzt von G. F. W. Rödiger. 2 Thle. Wien: Hartleben«), leto kasneje je izšel tudi v Brnu, kjer je Pavlina Pajk kasneje tudi živela (Der Marquis von Villemer, »Brünn: Buschak & Irrgang, 1861«). Za podatke o nemških prevodih in njihovih razširjenosti v avstroogrski monarhiji se zahvaljujem Kerstin Wiedemann. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Katja Mihurko Poniž, Trivialno in/ali sentimentalno? arabela Pavline Pajk … 69 ter prikaz notranjih bojev, ki jih v junakinji sproži želja po privlačnem osvajalcu. Ara- bela namreč ni zaljubljena v Samuela in vsi njeni »dušni boji« so posledica razpetosti med dolžnostima do družine in vere. Moški, s katerim se glavna junakinja na koncu poroči, je tako v arabeli kot v drugih besedilih Pavline Pajk, denimo v Blagodejni zvezdici, sposoben globoke empatije, je rahločuten in včasih le težko premaga solze (Katarina Bogataj Gradišnik 1984: 27). V slovenskem romanu je najbolje utelešen v Milanu Zorinu, a tudi profesor Waldek ima vse omenjene lastnosti. Povezava s Stritarjevim romanom ni le junakova rahločutnosti, temveč tudi vegetarijanstvo. Toda medtem ko Stritar le enkrat omeni Delino vegeta- rijanstvo kot znak njene srčne dobrote, je v arabeli na več mestih izpostavljen profe- sorjev, za 19. stoletje gotovo nenavaden, način prehranjevanja. Walterja pisateljica že na začetku označi kot vegetarijanca, ki je »tako pretiran« (1885: 71), da raje jé v svoji sobi sam, kot da bi gledal, »kako si mati in oče, po njegovem mnenji seveda, zastrupujeta življenje z mesnimi jedili« (Pajk 1885: 71). Starše Walterjeva »jako nedolžna slabost« (75) sicer nekoliko skrbi, a bralec oz. bralka izve, da je »vendar dobrega zdravja, hvala Bogu« (75), četudi svoji materi z vegetarijanstvom in posebnim prehranjevanjem dela nemalo težav, kajti njegova najljubša jed je »grahamski kruh« (285). Kljub temu ara- bela ni prvi slovenski vegetarijanski manifest, saj profesorja Waldeka ljubezen spre- obrne v mesojedca, s čimer osreči svojo mater, ki meni, da »košček dobro napravljene pečenke izda več, kakor pa cela skleda zelenjave ali pa močnatih jedij« 441). Ob tem nenavadnem odmiku od sentimentalnega junaka je presenetljiv tudi njegov videz, ki je daleč od privlačnega, ali kot ga opiše pisateljica: »Profesorjeva zunanjost je bila karakteristična, kakor njegova notranjost. Učenost mu je gledala iz vseh črt na obrazu: iz zamišljenega čela, iz resnobnih oči, ki so tako strogo gledale skozi velike očali […] Lice je bilo obrito; redki, rumenkasti lasje pa so mu že začeli siveti, in na temenu je imel majhno plešo« (182). Walter Waldek se kot večina moških likov pri Pavlini Pajk ne more meriti z vedno nekoliko skrivnostnimi junaki večine sentimentalnih romanov (oziroma tistih, v katerih so opazni elementi sentimentalne literature), za te junake se namreč mora protagonistka navadno boriti s kakšno lepšo tekmico, a v tem boju zmaga duhovito, tenkočutno in plemenito dekle, medtem ko koketa nikoli. Arabela je torej blizu angleškemu tipu junakinje, ki ni lepa, a je razgledana, tenkočutna in plemenita. V raziskovanem romanu lahko prepoznamo še eno značilnost sentimentalnega izročila: junakinjino razpetost med čustva in moralno dolžnost, zaradi katere se odpove ljubljenemu moškemu, a se stvari preobrnejo tako, da se na koncu z njim srečno združi. V tem smislu Pavlina Pajk v arabeli modificira vzorec, kajti vzrok odpovedi ni nižji stan, revščina ali vezanost na drugega moškega, temveč verska pripadnost. Arabela najprej verjame, da je Židinja, medtem ko je Waldek katoličan. Zapletu v ljubezenski zgodbi, kakor je blizu sentimentalizmu, ko junakinja pobegne, da bi ohranila svojo stanovitnost, Pavlina Pajk ne sledi. Odide namreč Walter in se vrne, ko se razjasni, da je bila Arabela krščena. Vendar je njegov odhod posledica njene stanovitnosti, saj mu Arabela pove, da kljub svoji ljubezni do njega nikakor ne more prestopiti v katoliško vero. Ovinek v odpoved, ki sledi vzorcu t. i. Entsagungsromana,8 se na koncu izkaže za premostljiv, kajti ljubezenski par v resnici pripada isti veri. 8 O vzorcu ljubezenske odpovedi in t. i. Entsagungsromanu gl. tudi Bogataj Gradišnik (1989: 37). Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 70 Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 1, januar–marec Pomembno za roman je Arabelino spoznanje, da se ne more poročiti s človekom, ki ga ne ljubi. To se ji razkrije šele, ko sama ljubi, in s tem lahko razložimo Samue- lov lik v zgodbi. Zdi se, da bi bila za tipično sentimentalno razpetost med čustvo in dolžnost dovolj junakinjina zavezanost židovski veri. Z Arabelino zavrnitvijo Samuela je Pavlina Pajk svoje besedilo postavila v romaneskno tradicijo, ki pritrjuje zakonu iz ljubezni, četudi s tem krši družbena pravila. Arabela jasno pove, da zakon, ki je sklenjen iz drugačnih nagibov, ne more biti srečen: »Medsebojno življenje dveh zakoncev pa, ki se ne ljubita, je hujše, nego privezanemu biti mrliču. Tak zakon je največja muka« (Pajk 1885: 390). Brez Samuelove prisotnosti v zgodbi Arabela takšnih besed, ki so se pisateljici očitno zdele pomembne, ne bi izrekla. Prisotnost sentimentalnih motivov bi bila v arabeli prepričljivejša, če bi bil tekst daljši. Zaradi kratkosti se namreč zdi, da jih je v besedilu preveč in niso dovolj natančno izoblikovani. Vendar je kljub temu mogoče trditi, da je pisateljica želela napisati slo- vensko različico romana s sentimentalnimi elementi. V prostoru, ki ji je bil odmerjen, a tudi v njeni premajhni umetniški moči je najbrž potrebno iskati vzroke, da se zdi njen tekst v primerjavi z romani velikih pisateljic, kot so Charlotte Brontë, Jane Austen, George Sand bolj osnutek kot umetniško delo. Vendar prav navedena imena odpirajo vprašanje, zakaj vse do Katarine Bogataj Gradišnik nihče ni Pavlino Pajk povezal z njihovimi besedili, temveč le z romani Eugenie Marlitt. Da bi odgovorili na to vprašanje, moramo predstaviti sprejem romanov nemške pisateljice na Slovenskem v času, ko je ustvarjala Pavlina Pajk. Recepcija Eugenie John Marlitt v 19. stoletju na Slovenskem Eugenie Marlitt (1825–1887) predstavlja v nemški književnosti utelešenje uspešne pisateljice, saj je vseh njenih devet romanov v času prvih objav doživelo legendaren uspeh.9 Cornelia Hobohm je v disertaciji Marlitt – Bürgerliche, Christin, Liberalin, autorin povzela jedrno zgodbo vseh pisateljičinih romanov. Otrok-ženska10 sreča neko- liko starejšega moškega, do katerega je najprej sovražno nastrojena, nato se zbližata (pogosto dekle pri tem opravi plemenito delo, ki je v povezavi s skrbjo za druge) in se na koncu poročita. Zgodba se začne s preselitvijo junakinje v novo okolje, na koncu se vse epizodne zgodbe združijo v srečni finale. V ospredju je vedno ženska, zgodba je pripovedovana z njene perspektive, poudarek je na njenem notranjem svetu, čustvovanju in refleksijah. Protagonistka je v vseh romanih lepo, mlado dekle v starosti od 17 do 23 let, premišljujoče bitje, ki si želi samostojnosti in svobode, vendar se brez težav ukloni pričakovanjem okolja, če je to cena za srečen zakon. S tem tudi izpriča, v skladu z meščanskimi nazori, svojo zrelost in odraslost. Za vse osrednje ženske like v romanih 9 Ko je roman Zlatolasa Else (Goldelse, 1866) začel izhajati v reviji Gartenlaube, so vneti bralci in bralke čakali pred uredništvom. Ko so revijo dobili, so kar na prostem, sedeč po stopnicah ali naslanjajoč se na ograje, brali iz nje. Zgodba se je ponovila tudi ob drugih romanih. Prim.: U. Bonter, Populärroman, 2005, 9. 10 U. Bonter uporablja v nemški terminologiji uveljavljen izraz Kind-Frau, ki označuje dekle oziroma žensko, ki uteleša tako otroškost kot spolno zrelo ženskost. Najpogosteje se je pojavljala v besedilih s konca 19. stoletja kot odgovor na naraščajočo žensko emancipacijo. Gl. K. Mihurko Poniž, Labirinti ljubezni od romantike do ii. svetovne vojne, Ljubljana: Sophia, 2008, 158–159. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Katja Mihurko Poniž, Trivialno in/ali sentimentalno? arabela Pavline Pajk … 71 E. Marlitt so značilni tudi velik delovni etos, glasbena nadarjenost in izobraženost ter samaritansko razdajanje in skrb za druge. Kot opozarja Cornelia Hobohm (1998: 265), so protagonistke v romanih E. Marlitt pred poroko emacipirana in relativno svobodno delujoča bitja. Njihova odločitev za zakon tako izhaja tudi iz pisateljičinega prepričanja, da se v srečnem zakonu uresniči žensko poslanstvo, s čimer ne pristaja na dogovorjene zakone, ki so bili v njenem času družbena norma (Bonter 2005: 39). Za razumevanje negativne recepcije E. Marlitt na Slovenskem se zdi smiselno opozoriti na preobrat v odnosu do nemške pisateljice, ki se je zgodil v njeni domovini leta 188511 po objavi članka Die Clauren-Marlitt izpod peresa Hermanna Friedrichsa, urednika revije Magazin für Literatur des In- und Auslandes. Friedrichs je v Marlitt videl neposredno naslednico romana Mimili (1816) Heinricha Claurena.12 Pisateljici je očital prikrito čutnost in opolzkost, ki naj bi prav zaradi zakritosti imela na bralstvo še posebno poguben učinek. Na pisateljičino stran so se postavili predvsem avtorji revije Gartenlaub e, a tudi Gottfried Keller. Očitki o domnevni spornosti romanov E. Marlitt so bili hitro ovrženi, vendar se je diskusija nadaljevala z vprašanjem o vred- nosti pisateljičinih del in pripeljala do končne sodbe, ki je pisateljičino delo popolno- ma razvrednotila. Marlitt je kmalu postala sinonim za manjvredno literaturo (Bonter 2005: 243), čeprav je med svojimi sodobniki veljala v nekaterih pogledih (kritika pridobitniškega meščanstva, ki je pozabilo na moralo, poudarjanje dobrih lastnosti ljud i, ki si sami služijo kruh, samostojnost ženskih likov) celo za progresivno pisa- teljico. Urszula Bonter vidi razloge za razvrednotenje dela Eugenie Marlit v poznih osemdesetih letih 19. stoletja predvsem v spremenjenih bralskih potrebah, na katere je vplivala tedanja družbenozgodovinska situacija, ki je omogočila nov zakon o svobodi tiska in posledično nastanek številnih novih časopisov, zaradi katerih družinske revije niso bile več osrednje meščansko čtivo. Izbruh novih časopisov in revij je omogočil prelome s tabuji, brisanje meje med javnim in zasebnim, senzacionalne novice so po- stale del vsakdanjika. Spreminjati se je začela vloga družine in zakona, ločitve niso bile več redkost, novi časi so zahtevali tudi drugačno književnost, svet, v katerem se vse vrti okrog plemenitih čustev, je postal včerajšnji svet in romani Eugenie Marlitt kot njegov najuspešnejši leposlovni izdelek povsem zastareli ali, kot navaja Urszula Bonter misel Michaela Stürmerja: »Um die Jahrhundertwende spaltete sich die Wirklichkeit. Der Kampf um die Tradition wies Züge einer Donquichotterie auf.«13 Opisana družbenozgodovinska situacija in razvrednotenje del E. Marlitt sta najbrž vplivala tudi na recepcijo nemške pisateljice konec 19. stoletja v slovenskem kulturnem prostoru. Ker je slovensko bralstvo segalo po pisateljičinih romanih in spremljalo tudi dogajanje v nemških časnikih, bom v nadaljevanju podala celovit pregled recepcije E. Marlitt tako v slovenski kot v nemški publicistiki, ki je izhajala v 19. stoletju v Ljub- ljani. S tem želim pokazati, da je bil odziv na njena dela na Slovenskem nenavadno 11 Ta preobrat v recepciji omenja tudi Miran Hladnik (1984: 42) in ga pripisuje spremembi okusa tedanje meščanske inteligence. 12 Heinrich Clauren (1771–1854) je z romanom Mimili, ki je bil njegova prva literarna uspešnica, sledil vzorcu Rousseaujeve Nove Heloize. Na Slovenskem je njegova dela ostro zavrnil Janez Trdina v povesti Ujetnica. 13 Michael Stürmer: Das ruhelose Reich. Deutschland 1866–1918, Berlin, 1994, 259. Stavek nava- jamo, ker spominja na vztrajno dokazovanje Pavline Pajk, da so tradicionalne vrednote pomembnejše od naturalističnega slikanja resničnosti. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 72 Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 1, januar–marec oster in so se nanjo sklicevali tudi tedaj, ko so pisali o temah, ki niso bile neposredno povezane z njenimi romani. Na Slovenskem imamo tako pasivno kot reproduktivno recepcijo Eugenie Mar- litt.14 Miran Hladnik piše o Marlitt kot literarnem zgledu Pavline Pajk in Luize Pesjak; vprašanje o produktivni recepciji Pavline Pajk15 bomo kritično pretresli v poglavju o njenem razmerju do nemške pisateljice. Prvo omembo Eugenie Marlitt na Slovenskem najdemo v časopisu Laibacher Zeitung v feljtonu o knjižnih novostih v nemškem govornem prostoru. Leta 1876 je bila objavljena novica o izidu romana Die Reichsgräfin Gisela. Zapis govori o vese- lju, ki je zavladalo v nemških hišah, ko je uredništvo revije Gartenlaube objavilo, da bo v naslednjem letu začel izhajati omenjeni roman, ki so ga že dolgo z napetostjo pričakovali.16 Vendar Marlitt v Laibacher Zeitung ni bila posvečena večja pozornost kot drugim nemškim pisateljicam.17 O priljubljenosti Marlitt pri ljubljanskem bralnem občinstvu ne priča le navedena novička, temveč tudi ohranjeni izposojevalni in prodajni katalogi. Njeni romani se pojavljajo predvsem v katalogu Hedwig Radics,18 kjer naštejemo kar deset njenih del, vendar so v katalogu prav tako številne tudi knjige nekaterih drugih popularnih avtoric (Natalie von Eschtruth, Berte Behrens, Sophie Schwarz, Lule Kirschner).19 Veliko število nemških knjig odkrijemo v katologu Janeza Giontinija,20 vendar Marlitt ne izstopa v primerjavi z drugimi nemškimi popularnimi avtoricami. Zanimivo je, da nobene knjige Eugenie Marlitt ne najdemo v katalogu knjižnice Janka Kersnika,21 čeprav iz drugih virov vemo, da je ni bral le ženski del družine, temveč tudi Kersnik sam, saj jo omenja tako v recenziji romana slovenske pisateljice 14 Hannelore Link je pasivno recepcijo opisala kot recepcijo, ki jo lahko beležimo na osnovi zapisov bralskih izkušenj, katalogov izposojevalnih knjižnic, distribucijskih načinov in s ponudbo knjig na prodajnih in knjižničnih policah (Link 1976: 99). Pod reproduktivno recepcijo pa razume vse napore, da bi se literarno besedilo približalo publiki, torej recenzije, poročila v publicistiki, predavanja, bralne večere ipd. (89). 15 Produktivna recepcija pomeni po Hannelore Link sprejem motivov, pripovednih postopkov, oblikovnih posebnosti kakega avtorja pri drugih ustvarjalcih. Njeni opredelitvi posameznih tipov recepcije sledi Tone Smolej v monografiji Slovenska recepcija Émila Zolaja (1880–1945). 16 Marlitts neuer Roman, Laibacher Zeitung 9, l. 1869, 43. 17 Poročila o novih knjigah so se nanašala tudi na dela Marie von Ebner-Eschenbach, Elise Polko, Rose Barach, Adeline von Bay, Eufemie Ballerstreu, Betty Paoli in Claire von Glümer. Leta 1880 je bil objavljen nekrolog ob smrti Ide Hahn-Hahn. 18 Hedwig von Radics-Kaltenbrunner je leta 1886 ustanovila prvo privatno knjižnico v Ljubljani. Prostori knjižnice so bili v njenem stanovanju. Leta 1898, ko je bil izdan katalog knjižnice, je imela preko 3586 knjig in je publiki nudila bogat izbor romanov, dram, pesniških zbirk in mladinskih knjig. Knjižnica je štela med 500 in 1000 članov, ki so lahko plačali mesečno ali letno članarino. Prim. Žigon 2010: 97–111. 19 Te avtorice so vzorec Marlittove nekoliko prilagodile novi družbeni situaciji in so zaradi tega potisnile njena dela nižje na lestvicah priljubljenosti. Prim. Bonter 2005: 240–242. 20 Janez Giontini je leta 1843 odprl v Ljubljani knjigarno in tri leta kasneje izposojevalnico knjig. Ob tem je izdal tudi obsežen katalog, ki ga je v naslednjih letih večkrat razširil z novimi naslovi. V katalogu prevladujejo knjige v nemškem jeziku. 21 Gre za družinsko knjižnico, ki je ni uporabljal le pisatelj, temveč tudi ženski del njegove družine (mati, žena in hčere). Iz ohranjenih knjig Kersnikove knjižnice, ki se je povečevala tudi po njegovi smrti, je leta 2008 zgodovinar Mitja Potočnik sestavil seznam. Pri tem je potrebno poudariti, da 882 ohranjenih knjig gotovo ne predstavlja celotne zbirke, saj je bil Kersnikov grad Brdo po drugi svetovni vojni požgan in je marsikaj izginilo v ognju. Prim. Gregor Kocijan 2009: 159–166. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Katja Mihurko Poniž, Trivialno in/ali sentimentalno? arabela Pavline Pajk … 73 Luize Pesjak kot tudi v različnih literarnih besedilih, kjer prikazuje bralke romanov Marlittove. V Kersnikovi knjižnici najdemo številne nemške pisateljice, kar potrjuje našo hipotezo, da je bila Marlitt le ena od popularnih nemških avtoric, ki so jih brali v 19. stoletju na Slovenskem. Romanov Marlittove ne najdemo v katalogu knjižnice Splošnega ženskega društva,22 kjer so sicer nemške avtorice številčno najbolje zastopa- ne. Vendar so bile na policah omenjene knjižnice nekatere številke revije Gartenlaube, kjer je objavljala. Marlitt se kot ena izmed nemških popularnih pisateljic pojavlja v spominih Marice Nadlišek Bartol: »Starejša generacija žena je imela veliko možnosti za branje. Takrat so imela naša dekleta, ki so znala nemško, na razpolago obilo duhovne hrane, ki je bila primerna njihovi starosti. Eschtruth, Marlitt, Heimburg in najbolj brana Courths-Mahler – to je bila takrat sladka kaša naših deklet. Napetost, lep slog, zanimiva snov in spodobnost, to so bile močne strani omenjenih avtoric, katerih dela si lahko dal mlademu dekletu v roke brez slabe vesti.« (Bartol 1930: 335) Kot bralka romanov Eugenie Marlitt v zgodnji dekliški dobi se v Moji prijateljici in Pismih razkrije Zofka Kveder. Besede obeh pisateljic pričajo o tem, da so bile knji- ge popularnih nemških pisateljic dekliško branje, h kateremu se starejše bralke, ko so odkrile druge avtorje in avtorice, najverjetneje niso več vračale. Zdi se, da je bila Marlitt le ena izmed tedaj zelo branih nemških pisateljic, vendar raziskava reproduktiv- ne recepcije pokaže drugačno sliko. V slovenskem kulturnem prostoru se namreč kot edina zares vplivna nemška pisateljica pojavlja samo Eugenie Marlitt, in to predvsem v delih slovenskih pisateljev. Že leta 1876 jo omeni Janko Pajk v Razgovorih, kjer ostro zavrne »samomorski in krvavi značaj« nemškega modernega romana, ki slika narodni šovinizem in socialne krize ter kot izjemo izpostavi Marlitt in Samarowa23 (Pajk 1876: 79). V Govekarjevi noveli Sama svoja bere dekle Minka romane Eugenie Marlitt. Njena bralka je nemška guvernanta Elza v Kersnikovem Ciklamnu, kjer izbor literature gotovo ni naključen, saj jo prav takrat obišče narodno zavedni dr. Hrast, ki se v pogovoru izkaže za dobre- ga poznavalca nemške pisateljice in naredi kar majhno predavanje o njej, ko ga Elza vpraša, zakaj po njegovem mnenju čez dvajset let Marlittove nihče ne bo več bral (Kersnik 1949: 125). Janko Kersnik je v Ljubljanskem zvonu leta 1888 objavil recenzijo Beatinega dnevnika Luize Pesjak. Skrit za psevdonim B je obsežen del svoje recenzije posvetil Marlittovi. Ugotavljal je, da njena dela niso umotvori, predstavljeni so namreč značaji zvečine problematični, še posebno moški, ki so vse preveč idealni ali, kakor Kersnik kritično oceni svoj spol: »Takšni nismo in nikoli ne bomo!« (Kersnik 1952: 289) Nato nekoliko presenetljivo doda, da pri Luizi Pesjak pogreša »genialnih darov, ki značijo Marlittina dela, namreč: tehnike, zamotanega dejanja in – moči, moči in strasti!« (Kers- nik 1952: 293) Čeprav Kersnik očita Marlitt marsikaj, kar tudi njemu ni bilo tuje, saj 22 Več o tej knjižnici in njenem katalogu gl. Dular 2003: 115–131. 23 Gregor Samarow je bil psevdonim nemškega pisatelja Oskarja Medinga (1828–1903), ki je v romanih prikazoval zgodbe iz novejše nemške zgodovine. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 74 Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 1, januar–marec se Ciklamen in agitator končata s poroko, je vendar presenetljivo, da je svoji literarni učenki Marici Nadlišek Bartol v branje svetoval prav dela Eugenie Marlitt, ki jo je prišteval med »dobre Nemce« (Kersnik 1984: 307).24 Leta kasneje je Kersnikovo zavrnitev Beatinega dnevnika pohvalil Josip Tominšek z besedami, da je »zdrava estetiška načela« Zvon zastopal tudi, ko se je »ostro obračal proti spisom po sladkem in osladnem Marlittinem žanru (‚Beatin dnevnik!‘)« (Tominšek 1905: 676). A ne le Kersnik, tudi drugi slovenski kulturniki in intelektualci so Marlitt glede na številne omembe njenega imena v tisku in zasebnih pismih dobro poznali. Fran Zbašnik je v eni izmed svojih gledaliških kritik zapisal, da je nekaj podobnega tistemu, kar je videl na odru, prebral v »nekem Marlittinem romanu« (Zbašnik 1896: 708). V neki drugi kritiki pa je zapisal, da vse v igri Vaški podobar »opominja preveč na lažiumetnost Marlittino in Birch-Pfeifferičino« (Zbašnik 1899: 705). O tem, kako zelo se je ta podoba ukoreninila v slovenskih literarnih krogih pričajo tudi številne omembe »Marlittovke« v Cankarjevih besedilih. Ko v noveli Nespodob- na ljubezen (1906) mlada moška pretresata razmerje med razumom in čutnostjo, eden izmed njiju za ponazoritev svojih misli pravi: »Kaj? Ti praviš, da je stara stvar, znana že Marlittovki, lastna nji in vsem filistrom – da ni to drugega, nego titel solzávega romana: razum in kri?« (Cankar 1972: 97) V romanu Novo življenje (1908) Grivarjev znanec Majer pripoveduje o ženski, ki je »bila čista kakor marlittovska Elsa« (Cankar 1974a: 68). V črtici Trubadur (1910) Cankar Marlitt omenja s sarkazmom: »Najine besede so kakor bonboni, zato rajši govoriva po nemško; slovenščina ni bonbonska, mi nismo imeli Haibunda in nimamo Marlittovke« (Cankar 1974b: 288). Za Cankarja so bili romani nemške pisateljice sinonim za osladnost, ki je primerna le za neumne malomeščanke, kar potrjujejo njegove besede iz pisma Ivanki Klemenčič (kasneje objavljenega v Slovenki pod naslovom Literarno pismo), kjer je o Misteriju žene Zofke Kveder ugotavljal, da njena knjiga ni za »tiste pokvarjeno čuteče, od Marlittinih fraz oblizane ‚ženske‘,« in menil, da take »‚ženske‘ storé najboljše, da ostanejo pri Marlit- tovki, Pajkovki in Márici ter se v resno literaturo ne vtikajo …« (Cankar 1975: 88–89). Zato je Anici Lušin v pismu 25. 7. 1898 Marlitt in njene naslednice odsvetoval: »Nemški pisatelji in pisateljice à la Heimburg, Werner, Marlitt itd. pripovedujejo neslano kakor stare devíce, ki ne poznajo življenja prav nič« (Cankar 1971: 265). Tudi Pavlini Pajk ni bilo prihranjeno primerjanje z nemško pisateljico.25 V oceni Planinske idile je Govekar zapisal: »‚Planinska idila‘ je krasna, a povsem nerealistična zbirka hiperidealnih moških in ženskih značajev po fasoni pisateljic gospej: Marlitt, Heimburg, Werner in Ouida« (Govekar 1896: 316). Podobno beremo tudi v anonimni oceni njenih Izbranih del: »Tudi oni čitatelji ali čitateljice, ki omedlevajo za Marlit- tovko, najdejo v njih nekoliko zadostila; kajti dozdeva se nam, da vsaj prva povest26 24 Najverjetneje gre pri zavrnitvi Marlitt v kritiki Beatinega dnevnika že za preobrat v recepciji njenih del, medtem ko je za časa pisma Marici Nadlišek avtorico kot večina meščanske inteligence še cenil. 25 Alenka Jensterle-Doležal je v prispevku na simpoziju Žensko avtorstvo v književnostih malih dežel 19. stoletja (Ljubljana, 22.–23. 9. 2010) opozorila na podobnosti med Planinsko idilo in povestjo češke pisateljice Anne Řehakove Nalezení diař. 26 Mišljena je povest Roka in srce. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Katja Mihurko Poniž, Trivialno in/ali sentimentalno? arabela Pavline Pajk … 75 spominja na Marlittovkine znane motive« (1895: 641). Posredno je Govekar postavil Pavlino Pajk v zvezo z nemško pisateljico v članku Portretne karikature, kjer je zapisal, da so vsi njeni spisi po kopitu nemških beletristinj (Govekar 1896a: 4). Z Marlitt so Pavlino Pajk primerjali tudi, ko sploh ni šlo za njeno literaturo, temveč je postala kar sinonim za slab, nemoderen literarni okus.27 Tako je Bežek v oceni Ljubljanskega zvona za leto 1987 ob Meškovem romanu Kam plovemo zapisal: »Da hodijo naši ‚moderni‘ v šolo k Rusom in Francozom, zameri jim le on, komur so ideal Marlittkini romani in seveda dosledno potem tudi Pavlinine povesti vrhunec domačega slovstva.« (Bežek 1898: 2) O odnosu Pavline Pajk do romanov Eugenie Marlitt lahko danes le domnevamo.28 V njenih tekstih in v pismih imena nemške pisateljice ni. Če sklepamo po Stritarjevem kratkem zapisu Franu Govekarju v odgovor,29 njegovo pismo, v katerem je izrazil ogorčenje nad gonjo proti njej in zapisal znameniti stavek »Če vas imenujejo slo- vensko Marlitt, ni se Vam treba sramovati tega priimka«,30 ni nastalo kot odgovor na njeno pismo, temveč iz lastne pobude, da bi se postavil v bran z vseh strani napadani slovenski pisateljici, kar pomeni, da ne moremo z gotovostjo trditi, da bi se Pavlina Pajk sramovala primerjav z Marlittovo. Primerjava med Arabelo in Skrivnostjo stare gospodične Miran Hladnik vzporeja v razpravi Slovenski ženski roman v 19. stoletju fabulo ro- manov arabela in Skrivnost stare gospodične ter pri tem ugotavlja, da so »podobnosti med avtoricama očitne«. Čeprav jih v primerjavi ne izpostavi, lahko iz njegovih fabu- lativnih poudarkov sklepamo na naslednje: obe protagonistki sta siroti, z gospodinjo, pri kateri živita, imata težaven odnos, pri obeh družinah živi na podstrešju starejša ženska, v obeh ljubezenskih zgodbah sta si zaljubljenca najprej nekoliko sovražna in obe se končata s poroko. Hladnik hkrati opozarja tudi na razlike, ki se mu razkrivajo v idejnosti romana in meni, da je verski mlačnosti ali celo protiverskosti Marlittove nasproten slovenski katolicizem Pajkove (Judita, arabela). Izvirnejša se mu zdi Eu- genie Marlitt, a hkrati ugotavlja, da bi verjetno »pomenljivih razlik pri pazljivejšem primerjanju našli še več«. Tej tezi lahko pritrdimo, saj se romana ne razlikujeta le po idejnosti, temveč tudi v kompoziciji, pripovednih kategorijah, formalnih in stilnih izraznih sredstvih. Zgodba v Skrivnosti stare gospodične obsega precej daljše časovno obdobje, več je tudi retrospektivnih vračanj v preteklost. Johannesova spreobrnitev iz egocentričnega 27 O pisateljičinih polemikah s sodobniki gl, tudi Testen (2009: 149–150). 28 Že v mladosti je bilo njeno bralsko zanimanje usmerjeno v italijanske, nemške in druge klasike, prebirala pa je tudi Shakespeara (Koblar 1935: 257). 29 Pavlina Pajk o Stritarjevem pismu piše: »V izdanju ‚Edinost‘ za torek 18. januarja piše Govekar v svojem članku: ‚Stritar in nova literarna struja‘ mej drugim o meni: ‚Šla se je jokat k preblagemu profesorju Stritarju itd.‘, in to da sem storila, da bi me pesnik branil napadov mojih nasprotnikov. Na to izjavljam, da jaz g. profesorja že leto dnij nisem ni ustno niti pismeno kedaj prosila, da bi me branil. Povsem nepričakovano došlo mi je njegovo od mene v ‚Slovenskem listu‘ objavljeno pismo, kateremu je bil priložen listek sledečega sodržaja: P. S. – Ko bi vam uzvidelo, ta list kako objaviti, prosto Vam; toda vsega, ali pa bolje nič. Le v celoti ima vsaka beseda svoj pravi pomen! J. S.« (Pajk 1898: 3) 30 Josip Stritar, Zbrano delo, X, 168, pismo 5. 12. 1897. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 76 Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 1, januar–marec in nesenzibilnega učenjaka v rahločutnega ljubimca se odvije počasi in je zato bolj prepričljiva kot Waldekova. Stara gospodična Hellwig, ki živi na podstrešju, je raz- gledana in mila oseba, ki Feliciti pomaga do duhovne omike, medtem ko je Arabelina mati zblaznela in je potrebna le za srečni razplet zgodbe ter v ilustracijo krutosti za- koncev Karpeles. Podobnosti so v dogajalnem prostoru, ki se pri Marlitt poleg vrta in mesteca razširi še na pokopališče. Vendar podobni dogajalni prostori niso posledica vpliva Marlitt na Pavlino Pajk, temveč gre za žanrske konvencije. Sentimentalni roman je namreč zaradi osrednjega ženskega lika, ki pripada meščanskemu ali plemiškemu razredu, večinoma vezan na zaprti prostor hiše in njegove ožje okolice, saj je bilo življenje žensk v 18. in 19. stoletju omejeno na te kraje. Romanoma je skupna junakinjina vzgoja srca najprej hladnega in nepristopnega, a v celoti znanosti zapisanega mladega moškega, ki si zaradi svoje materialne neodvisnosti lahko privošči odhod iz morečega okolja. Vendar bi tudi v tem le težko videli vpliv Marlittove, saj je takšno ljubezensko razmerje značilno za večino romanov s sentimentalnimi prvinami. O motivu nore ženske na podstrešju, ki jo je upodobila Pavlina Pajk v arabeli, lahko v monografiji The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the Nine- teenth-Century Literary Imagination Susan Gubar in Sandre Gilbert preberemo, da ima motiv daljšo tradicijo. Ker so Jane eyre, najznamenitejši roman s tem motivom, poznali tudi pri nas v nemških prevodih in predelavah (Bogataj Gradišnik 1989: 32), se zdi verjetneje, da je Pavlina Pajk motiv nore ženske prevzela neposredno iz romana Charlotte Brontë. Če primerjamo narativne strategije, ugotovimo, da v obeh romanih prevladuje avktorialni pripovedovalec, v vlogi fokalizatorja prevladujeta Felicita in Arabela, Pavlina Pajk se v jurčičevski maniri obrača neposredno na bralca oz. bralko, medtem ko v Skrivnosti stare gospodične takšne komunikacije ni. Pripoved je pri Marlitt bolj dinamična, gradi na suspenzu in je v določenih trenutkih patetična (vendar v skladu z značajem in obnašanjem romanesknih oseb – patetičen je govor Felicitinega očeta ob umirajoči ženi, nikoli ne govor hladne Brigite). Pri Pavlini Pajk je patetični govor zaradi kratkosti besedila še bolj opazen.31 Romana povezujejo preslabo motivirani negativni značaji, medtem ko je plemeni- tost nekaterih figur najverjetneje posledica zavezanosti sentimentalnemu vzorcu, kjer je poudarek na kultiviranju čustva, rahločutju, sočutju in senzibilnosti, h katerim naj teži človeštvo. Pisateljici sta ustvarili razgibani zgodbi (nemška pisateljica je pri tem gotovo spretnejša) z zapletom, ki ga razrešita delno vse prepreke premagujoča ljubezen in razkritje skrivnosti iz preteklosti. Družbena kritika je pri Marlitt skladna z dobo, v kateri je živela, in se nanaša predvsem na pomanjkanje človečnosti in srčnosti ter odmike v skrajnosti, kot je verski fanatizem Brigitte Hellwig. Pavlina Pajk je najbolj kritična do nesmiselnega kopičenja bogastva, zaradi katerega ljudje zanemarijo duhovno omiko in 31 Takšen je opis srečanja med Arabelo in Waldekom: »Arabela se sramuje, da je pri njegovem pogledu povesila oči. Hoteč poravnati svojo slabost in pokazati mu, da se njega nič, prav nič ne boji, upre še enkrat vanj svoje mirno, čisto oko. In ta pogled je bil njun prvi, globoki, osodepolni pogled.« (228) Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Katja Mihurko Poniž, Trivialno in/ali sentimentalno? arabela Pavline Pajk … 77 težijo zgolj k videzu.32 Pridobitništvu Žida Karpelesa, s katerim se postavlja pred oko- lico, zoperstavi v tiho družinsko srečo obrnjeno življenje družine Waldek. Nestrpnost do Židov je pri Pavlini Pajk omejena le na njihovo zapravljivost, kakor jo uteleša pred- vsem Rebeka Karpeles, medtem ko Arabela v pogovoru z Waldekom poudari strpnost med religijami.33 Čeprav je bila vzgojena v židovski veri, je plemenita in dobrosrčna, saj so to poteze njenega značaja. Problematičen vidik je v obeh romanih premajhno upoštevanje družbene situacije žensk v 19. stoletju, čeprav se jih obe pisateljici dotakneta. Pri Marlitt je jasno razvidn o, da je bila dekletu, ki ni pripadalo višji družbi, pot do izobrazbe zaprta, medtem ko slovenska avtorica tega vidika ne tematizira in poudari le Arabelino plemenitost v pri- merjavi z nečimrnostjo njene tete. Za nobeno pisateljico ni ideal ženska, ki pretirano skrbi za svojo zunanjost, zato tudi pri Feliciti ni poudarjena njena lepota (njej nasproten lik je Johannesova sestrična, ki vso skrb usmerja le v svoj videz in pri tem zanemarja lastnega otroka). Vendar je Felicita kljub temu privlačna v svoji neizumetničenosti in naravnosti, pisateljica na več mestih omeni njene čudovite lase. Pri Arabeli smo že opozorili, da Pajkova prav poudari, da ni lepa, a takšen je nenazadnje tudi Walter, medtem ko je Johannes moški, ki naredi vtis na svojo okolico. Problematična je idealizacija ljubezenskega para, čeprav moramo dodati, da ljube zen ni prikazana kot strast, ki bi zadela oba protagonista, temveč kot čustvo, ki se razvije postopoma kot posledica duhovnega spoznavanja, medsebojnega spoštovanja in že omenjene »vzgoje srca«, v čemer lahko vidimo tudi zavrnitev romantičnega pojmo- vanja ljubezni kot strasti.34 Pozornosti je vredna tudi pisateljičina odločitev, da osrednji lik v arabeli ni revno mlado dekle, vzgojiteljica ali družabnica, kar je pogost lik v delih Eugenie Marlitt. V Skrivnosti stare gospodične je Felicita revna in tudi konec tega ne spremeni, čeprav se izkaže, da je po materini strani plemiškega rodu. A ker družina njene matere noče vedeti za to, ji takšen razplet ne prinese bogastva oziroma se njen materialni položaj spremeni šele s poroko. Zdi se, da Pavlina Pajk ni hotela slediti zgodbi o vzponu revnega dekleta, temveč je poudarila čustvo, ki se razvije med osebama, ki sta duhovno in materialno v ena- kem položaju. Verska pripadnost je v tem pogledu tisto, kar sproži zaplet, vse drugo (Walterjevo vegetarijanstvo, materializem zakoncev Karpeles in družinska skrivnost) je podrejeno pisateljičinemu prikazu iskanja in najdenja zakonske sreče med kultivi- 32 Tudi s tem se ni prilegala slovenskemu romanskemu vzorcu 19. stoletja, v katerem je bilo v ospredju obogatitev revnega mladeniča ali kot je zapisal MatjažKmecl: »Matrimonialne združitve, s katerimi se ti romani z izjemo Zorina končujejo, so znamenje prvobitne akumulacije kapitala; meščanski kraljevič je ta kapital odčaral iz stare plemske letargije, prenesel ga je v nove, spretnejše, sposobnejše meščanske roke, pahnil ga je čez prag brezplodnosti v živahen obtok in tveganje« (Kmecl 1981: 80). 33 »Vsak človek misli, da je le ona vera prava, v katerej je rojen,« odgovori ponosno Arabela in ga neustrašljivo pogleda. »Vi gotovo tako o svojej veri sodite, jaz pa ravno tako o svojej. Le enega in istega Boga pa molite naju obeh veri, če ste si tudi v drugem jako različni. Toda pustiva to,« dostavi siloma in obrne od njega svoj pogled. »Vi ne boste mene na svojo vero izpreobrnili, meni pa je zadnja misel, da bi vas jaz pridobila za svojo.« (Pajk 1885: 228–229) 34 O razvoju pojmovanja ljubezni kot strasti prim. Niklas Luhmann: Liebe als Passion: Zur Codierung von Intiminität, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp, 1994. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 78 Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 1, januar–marec ranima, rahločutnima in plemenitima človekoma. Razumljivo je, da je to spoznanje že v pisateljičinem času delovalo anahronistično, še bolj tuje je bilo očitno kasnejšim literarnim zgodovinarjem, ki so njena dela bolj ali manj utemeljeno zavrnili ali pov- sem razvrednotili. Primerjavo med obema romanoma lahko sklenemo z ugotovitvijo, da so med njima gotovo podobnosti, vendar kljub temu, da je bila Eugenie Marlitt pri nas nedvomno bolj brana pisateljica kot angleške in francoske avtorice romanov s sentimentalnimi prvinami, ne moremo z gotovostjo trditi, da se je Pavlina Pajk zgledovala neposredno pri Marlittovi, temveč moramo dopustiti možnost, da se je navdihovala tudi pri drugih pisateljicah. Trivialno in/ali sentimentalno? Pavlino Pajk je skorajda ves čas njenega ustvarjanja spremljal očitek, da je posne- movalka Eugenie Marlitt, ki je od konca osemdesetih let 19. stoletja veljala za avtoric o manjvredne književnosti. Miran Hladnik je njena pripovedna besedila označil kot trivialna, pri čemer ta oznaka ne pomeni manjvredne literature, temveč opredeljuje funkcionalnost teh besedil. Kot enega izmed razlogov, da je določeno delo obravnaval v svoji monografiji, je navedel pretirano sentimentalnost (Hladnik 1983: 83), pri čemer ni razložil, ali je s tem mislil na sledenje motivom in vzorcem sentimentalnega romana ali čustveno preveč razburkano delo, v katerem je premalo distance do prikazanega dogajanja in oseb. Če prenesemo obe možnosti na roman arabela, lahko pritrdimo, da je v njem veliko sentimentalnih prvin, pisateljica je nedvomno na strani plemenite Arabele, saj razen o neprijetni zunanjosti ni o njej zapisane nobene slabe besede. Vendar v takšnem odnosu do protagonistke lahko odkrijemo tudi pisateljičin poskus, da bi v slovensko književnost vpeljala romaneskni sentimentalni vzorec s plemenito, moralno in razmišljujočo glavno junakinjo, ki ne stremi le k poroki, a se ji tudi ne odpove, ko ni zanjo več nobenih ovir. Sledeč Hladnikovi definiciji, da je trivialna literatura literatura »s socialno-psihološko uporabno vrednostjo« (Hladnik 1983: 17), je danes težko pre- soditi, kolikšen vpliv so imela dela Pavline Pajk na njeno bralno občinstvo.35 arabela bi bila literarna klasika če bi imela naslednje kvalitete: bolj življenjske literarne osebe, prefinjene tematizacije razrednih razmerij in kritičen odnos do njih, spretnejšo gradnjo zapleta in bolj razgibano dogajanje, večplastno prikazano družbena resničnost, bolj živ in stilistično izbrušen jezik ter večji delež ironije. Ali dejstvo, da pisateljica teh zahtev ni uresničila, pomeni, da je njen roman trivialen? Da ni imel nobenih umetniških am- bicij, da je bil namenjen zgolj zabavi za širši krog bralcev ali še bolj verjetno bralk? Iz besed Pavline Pajk, kakor jih danes razberemo iz njenih pisem in člankov, bi težko prišli 35 Ohranil se je zapis Zofke Kveder v Ženskem svetu. Tam je Joža Glonar objavil pisma Pavline Pajk Josipu Cimpermanu in Zofka Kveder se je nanje odzvala in o predhodnici zapisala: »Ko berem zdaj pisma Pavline Pajkove, mi je tako mila in draga! Zdi se mi, kakor da sem živela ž njo, jo poznala in jo rada imela kakor prijateljico. […] Da, tisto Pavlinino knjigo sem čitala z vznemirjeno dušo. Moje roke so s spoštovanjem obračale liste, a v meni se je rodila skrivna in ponižna želja, da bi tudi jaz pisala povesti in bi bile tiskane in bi doživela, da držim lastno knjigo v roki« (Kveder 1924: 111). Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Katja Mihurko Poniž, Trivialno in/ali sentimentalno? arabela Pavline Pajk … 79 do takšnega zaključka, saj je v svojem pisanju videla več kot le nekaj, kar bi bilo na- menjeno zgolj kratkočasju in ne bi pustilo globljega vtisa. Zato se zdi, da je postavljanje Pavline Pajk v razmerje do literarno uspešnejših, kanoniziranih sodobnikov, klasikov slovenske književnosti, početje, ki njena pripo- vedna besedila vselej opredeljuje kot odmike od norme in jih tako označuje le kot po- manjkljiva. Z drugačne perspektive je romane, povesti in novele Pavline Pajk mogoče ovrednotiti kot prvi in zato dragoceni poskus v slovensko pripovedno prozo vnesti del evropskega literarnega izročila in ga preoblikovati po lastnih poetoloških izhodiščih. Sklep Z metodološkim izhodiščem, da roman arabela obravnavamo kot študijo primera, smo besedilo pretresli glede na njegovo kompozicijo, naratološke kategorije ter formal- ne in slogovne posebnosti in se s tem izognili posplošujočim mnenjem o pisateljičinem delu kot zbirki besedil, ki se med seboj skorajda ne razlikujejo. S primerjalno analizo smo v besedilu odkrili številne motive iz sentimentalnega vzorca, ki jih je avtorica v svoje delo vključila na drugačen način kot njeni sodobniki, ki so izhajali, kakor je pokazala že Katarina Bogataj Gradišnik, predvsem iz tradicije Roussaujeve Nove He- loize. Pavlina Pajk je v slovenski meščanski ljubezenski roman vpeljala ženski lik kot osrednjo osebo in izpostavila zakon iz ljubezni kot najvišjo vrednoto.36 Raziskava senti- mentalnih prvin in primerjava z romanom Skrivnost stare gospodične Eugenie Marlitt sta razkrili, da je slovenska pisateljica ustvarila besedilo, ki je sicer v nekaterih motivih blizu sentimentalni tradiciji, kakor jo je uresničila tudi Eugenie Marlitt, vendar je te elemente Pavlina Pajk v arabeli oblikovala v samostojno pripovedno delo, v katerem junakinjina odločitev za zakon ne izhaja iz ničesar drugega kot iz ljubezenskega čustva, saj se njen družbeni in gmotni položaj s poroko kaj dosti ne spremeni (pri junakinjah Marlittove poroka vselej pomeni tudi družbeni vzpon).37 Kakor je bil vzpon mladega kmečkega izobraženca v meščansko družbo projekcija želje slovenskih pisateljev, je bila uresničitev zakona iz ljubezni projekcija želje Pavline Pajk, ki je bila najbrž glede na družbeni položaj žensk v 19. stoletju enako legitimna kot želja njenih sodobnikov. Toda vloga moškega je bila v tem razmerju tako zahtevna, da je bilo lažje izreči očitke o neverjetnosti in plagiatorstvu, kakor sprejeti demokratični naboj sentimentalnega vzorca (ki je sicer v delih Pavline Pajk izgubil velik del svoje ostrine) kot možen po- gled na razmerja med spoloma. Razloge za sprejem sentimentalnega in ne realističnega romanesknega vzorca pa je najbrž potrebno iskati tudi drugje in precej verjetno se zdi, da situacija Pavline Pajk ni bila lažja od tiste, ki so jo doživljale francoske pisateljice in jo je Margaret Cohen koncizno povzela z naslednjimi besedami: 36 Pri tem moramo opoyoriti, da so se njene junakinje ljubezni pripravljene tudi odpovedati, če ni v skladu z njihovim moralnim horizontom kot npr. v Dušnih borbah. Za primerjavo z jurčičevskim romanom je bistveno, da odločitev za poroko (kadar gre za lastno odločitev in ne voljo staršev), izvira iz ljubezni. 37 Pred poroko je njeno gmotno stanje takšno: »Izračunila je, kar jej je ostalo čistega, ter se določila živeti odslej od obresti in najemnine. Našla pa je, da bodo njeni dohodki še dosta večji nego njene potrebe« (Pajk 1885: 490). Vsekakor se njen položaj po poroki glede na meščansko percepcijo ženske vloge izboljša, vendar v romanu ni nobenega mesta, kjer bi pisateljica izpostavila Arabelino željo po tem. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 80 Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 1, januar–marec For the woman novelist interested in accumulating symbolic capital, it was evidently to build on the previously dominant sentimental practice of the novel, given that women were preeminent in this practice, that women writer‘s contributions to early-nineteenth-century sentimentality were widely recognized […] How much more difficult it would be to exploit the realist position, whatever its symbolic rewards. From their emergence, realist works assert their claims to literary importance by identifying the novel with men, by forging a poetics associated with masculine forms of knowledge, and by undercutting the authority of the woman writer along with sentimental (Cohen 1999: 195). S to ugotovitvijo ne želimo del Pavline Pajk prevrednotiti v literarne umetnine, temveč le opozoriti, da duhovna paradigma njenih romanov ni bila skladna z osrednjim tokom slovenske književnosti, kar je velikokrat povzročilo parcialne, neutemeljene, nestrpne in celo neliterarne sodbe o njenem pripovednem opusu. Viri in literatura Marica Bartol, 1930: Čtivo in naša dekleta. Ženski svet 8/11. 335. Viktor bežek, 1898: »Ljubljanski zvon« l. 1897. Ljubljanski zvon 31/9. 1–2. Katarina BoGataj GraDišnik, 1984: Sentimentalni roman. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slove- nije. Katarina BoGataj GraDišnik, 1989: Ženski roman v evropskem sentimentalizmu in v slovenski literaturi 19. stoletja. Primerjalna književnost 12. 23–41. Urszula Bonter, 2005: Der Populärroman in der Nachfolge von E. Marlitt: Wilhelmine Heim burg, Valeska Gräfin Bethusy-Huck, Eufemia von Adlersfeld-Ballestrem. Würzburg: Königs hausen&Neumann. Silvija BoroVnik, 1996: Pišejo ženske drugače?: [O Slovenkah kot pisateljicah in literarnih likih]. Ljubljana: Mihelač. Cornelia Brauer (hoBohm), 1993: Marlitt – Bürgerliche, Christin, Liberalin, Autorin: Eine Analyse ihres Werkes im Kontext der Gartenlaube und der Entwicklung des bürgerlichen realismus. Diss. Erfurt. Ivan cankar, 1971: Zbrano delo XXVII. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. – – 1972: Zbrano delo V. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. – – 1974a: Zbrano delo XVII. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. – – 1974b: Zbrano delo XIX. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. – –1975: Zbrano delo XIV. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. Margaret cohen, 1999: The Sentimental Education of the Novel. Princeton: Princeton Universit y Press. Anja Dular, 2003: Knjižnica Splošnega ženskega društva. Nataša Budna Kodričin Aleksandra Serše (ur.), Splošno žensko društvo: 1901–1945. Ljubljana: Arhiv Republike Slovenije. Fran erjaVec in Pavel FlerÈ, 1921: Izbrani spisi za mladino. Ljubljana: Učiteljska tiskarna. Janez Giontini, 1864: Leihbibliothek des Joh. N. Giontini … in Laibach … Haupt-Katalog über die zum öffentlichen Ausleihen bei der Eröffnung 1846 vorhandenen Werke. Eingetheilt in 25 Fach-Wissenschaften. Gratz: Gedr. Bei Leykom‘schen Erben, 1846. Fran GoVekar, 1896: Knezova knjižnica. Ljubljanski zvon 15. 315–316. Fran GoVekar, 1896a: Portretne karikature. edinost 24. 9. 4. Miran hlaDnik, 1981: Slovenski ženski roman v 19. stoletju. Slavistična revija 29. 259–296. Miran hlaDnik, 1983: Trivialna literatura. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Katja Mihurko Poniž, Trivialno in/ali sentimentalno? arabela Pavline Pajk … 81 Cornelia hoBohm, 1998: Geliebt. Gehasst. Erfolgreich. Eugenie Marlitt (1825–1887). Beruf: Schriftstellerin, Schreibende Frauen im 18. und 19. Jahrhundert. Göttingen. 244–275. Katalog der Leih-Bibliothek der Frau Hedwig von Radics, Laibach. Ljubljana, 1898. Katalog knjižnice splošnega slovenskega ženskega društva v Ljubljani. Ljubljana, 1905. Matjaž kmecl, 1981: rojstvo slovenskega romana. Ljubljana: Mladinska knjiga. Matjaž kmecl, 2001: Pavlina Doljak Pajkova, pogled nanjo ob stoletnici smrti. Branko Marušič (ur.), Jako stara vas na Goriškem je Solkan. Solkan: Krajevna skupnost. 390–395. Janko kersnik, 1949: Zbrano delo II. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. – – 1952: Zbrano delo iV. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. – – 1984: Zbrano delo Vi. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. Gregor kocijan, 2009: Janko Kersnik. Ljubljana: Založba ZRC, ZRC SAZU. Janko kos [et al.], 2009: Literatura: Leksikon. Ljubljana: Cankarjeva založba. Zofka kVeDer, 1924: Pismo gospodu dr. Glonarju. Ženski svet 2. 111–114. Hannelore link, 1976: Rezeptionsforschung: Eine Einführung in Methoden und Probleme. Stuttgart; Berlin; Köln; Mainz: Kohlhammer. Eugenie marlitt, 1978: Das Geheimnis der alten Mamsell. Celovec: Neuer Kaiser Verlag. Janko Pajk, 1876: Razgovori. Zora 5/5. 77–79. Pavlina Pajk, 1885: Arabela. Kres. 1–9, 65–75, 121–129, 177–186, 225–235, 281–289, 329–338, 385–391, 441–450, 489–496, 545–550. Pavlina Pajk, 1898: Gospodu Franu Govekarju v odgovor. edinost 23/10 (23. 1.). 3. Josip stritar, 1957: Zbrano delo X. Ljubljana: Državna založba Slovenije. Petra testen, 2009: Pavlina Pajk. Andrej Rahten [et. al.]: Nova slovenska biografija. Ljub ljana: Založba ZRC, str. 141–152. Josip tominšek, 1905: Četrt stoletja slovenskemu slovstvu na braniku. Ljubljanski zvon 25. 676. Fran zBašnik, 1896: Listek. Slovensko gledališče. Ljubljanski zvon 16. 706–710. Fran zBašnik, 1899: Listek. Slovensko gledališče. Ljubljanski zvon 19. 703–708. Zbrani spisi Pavline Pajkove. Ljubljanski zvon 14 (1895). 641. Tanja žIGon, 2010. Zwischen Laibach, Wien und Berlin: Ein interkultureller und intellektueller Austausch deutschsprachiger „Frauen der Feder“ im 19. und angehenden 20. Jahrhundert. Germanica Wratislaviensia 130 (Wrocław). 97–111. summary The author proceeds from the question whether it is appropriate to classify Pavlina Pajk’s prose as trivial literature and to what extent elements of sentimental narrative prose are present in her text. The results of the analysis of the thematic, narrative, and formal peculiarities of the novel arabela are juxtaposed with Miran Hladnik’s findings in his study Slovenski ženski roman v 19. Stoletju [Slovene Women’s Novel in the 19th Century], where he briefly compared this text with the novel The old mam’selle’s secret by E. Marlitt stating that the Slovene women’s novel was conceived based on the example of this German writer. A comparative analysis of the text shows numerous themes from the sentimental pattern that the author included in her work differently than her contemporaries, which based their work, as has been pointed out by Katarina Bogataj Gradišnik, mainly on the tradition of Rousseau’s The New Héloïse. Pavlina Pajk introduced into the Slovene bourgeois romance novel a female character as the protagonist and highlighted the marriage based in love as the ultimate value. Research into sentimental elements and comparison with the novel The old mam’selle’s secret by Eugene Marlitt has revealed that the Slovene writer created a text which is in certain themes Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2011_1_06.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 82 Slavistična revija, letnik 59/2011, št. 1, januar–marec close to the sentimental tradition of E. Marlitt, but Pavlina Pajk shaped these elements into an independent narrative text in which the protagonist’s decision for marriage is based exclusively on romantic feelings, since her financial status do not change with marriage (unlike E. Marlitt’s protagonists, whose marriage always means social advancement). Just like the young peasant intellectual’s social climb into the bourgeois society projected Slovene male writers’ desire, the realization of marriage based in love projected PavlinaPajk’s desire, which was, considering the social status of women in the 19th century, as legitimate as the desire of her male contempo- raries. However, the role of a male in this relationship was so demanding, that it was easier to accuse the writer of plagiarizing and dismiss her text as being unbelievable, than to accept the democratic charge of the sentimental model (which had lost a great deal of its sharpness) as a possible perspective on gender relationship. 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work_uyiq476qe5aghg2tlbbonvnotm	----	Book Reviews Janet Browne, Charles Darwin: voyaging, London, Jonathan Cape, 1995, pp. xv, 606, illus., £25.00 (0-224-0402-5). As Irvine Loudon has remarked, many Georgian doctors made more money from their non-medical activities than from medicine. In Robert Darwin's case, it was from the changing world of canals, roads and loans for capital enterprises. It was not until his second year at the University of Edinburgh that Charles Darwin became aware that his father was rich and that he need not depend upon medicine for a career. Or, for that matter, the Church either. It was Robert Darwin who paid some £1,800 for his son's circumnavigation of the globe on H.M.S. Beagle between 1830 and 1836, as well as subsidizing the purchase of Down House in Kent in 1842. When his father died in 1848, Charles Darwin inherited £51,000, thus ensuring him a life of comfort as a country gentleman. To Alfred Tennyson the unchanging law of the universe was change itself, a conceit that Janet Browne happily exploits in this expansive and charmingly-written analytical account of Darwin's life up to May 1856 when, at last, he began the big book, Natural selection. Potential readers who want to know whether it is worth time and expense to read yet another biography of Darwin can be categorically reassured. While eschewing any dogmatic feminist perspective, what charms, delights, informs and transforms our understanding of Darwin in Browne's original treatment is the womanly, and family, perspectives that she brings to bear on her male subject. Browne notes the affinity between the Shrewsbury home and the characters of a Jane Austen novel; Charlotte M Yonge also springs to mind. Effectively brought up by older sisters, Browne suggests that Darwin's adult fears for his own health and that of his children were echoes of the trauma he experienced with the sudden death of his mother when he was eight. When forced to leave the loving family atmosphere of home to board at Shrewsbury school, Darwin withdrew into a shell from which he never entirely escaped. Eight years' experience as an editor of Darwin's correspondence has given Browne a happy familiarity with Regency and Victorian history; exploiting this, together with her expertise as a zoogeographer, she is able to view Darwin's slow development of a theory of evolution as a product of Darwin and his society, and show that Darwin himself was a much more complex person than the later transparent autobiography suggests. Browne avoids polemics and exchanges with Darwin's many other biographers, and it is only by default, as it were, that she dismisses Adrian Desmond's Lamarckian secular and political radicals as the cause of Darwin's fearful procrastination over writing Origin. Instead, she prefers to see the noisy reception of Robert Chambers's Vestiges of creation in 1844, as well as the uncomfortable metaphysical and moral questions raised by the rejection of special creation and design, as sufficient causes of Darwin's tardiness. Besides vivid accounts of Darwin's experiences as a medical student in Edinburgh, as a potential clerical student at Cambridge, and as a gentleman naturalist companion to Captain Robert Fitzroy (who is much more sympathetically portrayed than usual), we are given a vivid account and explanation of Darwin's six-years' work on barnacle taxonomy. This reader, for one, understood for the first time the full significance of this exhausting research after Browne's analysis. It was this detailed anatomical and palaeontological work, she suggests, that finally convinced Darwin that he had a watertight case for evolution by natural selection. "God was in the details, William Paley had said-and so was natural selection" (p. 529). The first volume of the life concludes with a beautiful nautical image of Down House as a beached Beagle, with Captain Darwin in the 244 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300061056 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300061056 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Reviews fo'c'sle-study running his naval household with the aid of an Admiralty of natural history suppliers and breeders, as well as experts like Lyell, Hooker and the young Huxley in every port. Beatrice Webb once likened Herbert Spencer to a spider collecting facts on the theoretical web he was spinning; the image equally well suits Darwin. A pleasure to read, this exciting new biography deepens our understanding of Darwin as a geologist, biologist and human being. The sequel, covering Darwin's life of notoriety and fame after 1856, will be awaited with keen anticipation. W H Brock, University of Leicester Robert Rhodes James, Henry Wellcome, London, John Curtis/Hodder & Stoughton, 1994, pp. xix, 422, illus., £25.00 (0-340-60617-7). Henry Wellcome remains something of an enigma, despite this sensitive and painstaking new biography. He probably always will. Robert Rhodes James leaves few avenues unexplored in his researches into Wellcome's life. Successful entrepreneur, pharmaceutical magnate and philanthropist, Wellcome would not, one suspects, be the first choice of a biographer free to pick his own subject. He is not and was not, as Rhodes James notes in his preface, particularly famous. Fame feeds biography, ensuring at the minimum a supply of anecdote and reminiscence to enliven the bare narrative of a life. Furthermore, Wellcome did not put many of his ideas to paper-a fact which Rhodes James considers one of his most intriguing aspects, but which must also have proved one of his most frustrating. Nevertheless, the book presents a much more detailed account than has previously been available of Wellcome's life, beginning with his Minnesota childhood, the diligent years at pharmacy school and the intensely ambitious and successful period of his first positions, particularly with the firm of McKesson and Robbins. They were clearly reluctant to let him go, at the age of twenty-six, to join Silas Burroughs in London. But in the end he left with, in effect, exclusive rights to sell their products in every country bar the United States. The partnership with Burroughs, occasionally strained from the start, became at the end acrimonious and litigious. Those readers who already know something of this saga will find the detailed playing out of the dispute, with many extracts from letters between these two very different men, a fascinating and revealing part of the biography. There is also much to be leamed of that other great acrimonious dispute in Wellcome's life, his ill-fated marriage to Syrie Barnardo. Here however the author is hampered by the general paucity of sources and Wellcome's reticence. This is understandable to some extent, given the personal nature of the confrontation, but he has to depend more on Syrie's sometimes touching letters than on material which might elucidate Wellcome's views. Anxious always to think the best of his subject, Rhodes James is somewhat at a loss to explain Wellcome's seemingly harsh and absolute severing of any connection with his wife. Likewise he is perplexed at Wellcome's failure to visit his mother during the last years of her life, even though she was clearly dying of cancer and longed to see him. Money and occasional letters had to suffice. Wisely avoiding any amateur psychologizing on these matters, Rhodes James concentrates instead on conveying the growing isolation of Wellcome following these episodes. Wellcome's later life was taken up almost entirely with the business, philanthropy, and the pursuit of hobbies, sometimes successfully combining all three. "Hobby" is not a term which Wellcome would have used to describe his forays into archaeology, anthropology and collecting, nor does Rhodes James, preferring to dub him a "scholar manquC". Wellcome's great wealth and enterprise enabled him to organize projects on a grand scale, whether pharmaceutical research, archaeological digs or museum collecting. However, the largely outdated theories on which he based the latter two activities were derived from an amateur 245 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300061056 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:11, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300061056 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_uz5h3djxcngvfppzhee4vnt2yq	----	Recent Books: American Fiction | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 27, Issue 4 March 1973 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Other| March 01 1973 Recent Books: American Fiction Robert Falk Robert Falk Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1973) 27 (4): 497–502. https://doi.org/10.2307/2933529 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Robert Falk; Recent Books: American Fiction. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 March 1973; 27 (4): 497–502. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2933529 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1973 By The Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Recent Books: American Fiction' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Recent Books: American Fiction Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_uzun33er6ng73kepfztelnv5gi	----	Microsoft Word - Repository version.docx This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 1 Media Framing of Trolling and Online Abuse: Silencing Strategies, Symbolic Violence and Victim Blaming Dr Karen Lumsden and Dr Heather M. Morgan Corresponding author details Dr Karen Lumsden, Senior Lecturer in Sociology, Department of Social Sciences, Loughborough University, Loughborough, LE11 3TU, United Kingdom. Email K.Lumsden@lboro.ac.uk Tel: +44 (0) 1509 228372 Co-author details Dr Heather Morgan, Research Fellow, Health Sciences Unit, University of Aberdeen, 3rd Floor, Health Sciences Building, Foresterhill, Aberdeen, AB25 2ZD, United Kingdom. Email h.morgan@abdn.ac.uk Tel: +44 (0) 1224 438192 Abstract This article draws on British newspaper reports in order to demonstrate that trolling, and the media’s subsequent framing of trolling, involves “silencing strategies”. It is important to examine how trolling is discussed within the media to understand how it might frame public opinion, debate and action, and implicitly victim blame. The article presents findings on: the forms of (online) abuse and behaviours related to trolling in media reports, including rape threats, death threats and body shaming. It also explores the media portrayal of victims of trolling, and the advice given concerning how to respond to trolls. To comply with the message to women, which is propagated in media and popular discourses: “do not feed the This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 2 troll”, means that “symbolic violence” is exercised with the complicity of the victim(s) of trolling, which has broader implications. Keywords Framing, online abuse, rape, social media, trolling, victims Introduction This article focuses on the framing of trolling in British newspaper reports. Trolling is a form of gendered and “symbolic violence” (Pierre Bourdieu & Loic J. D. Wacquant 1992) as it is performed in relation to women and other minority groups on social media platforms such as Twitter, Instagram and Facebook (Lumsden and Morgan forthcoming). Media reports, public debate and academic research concerning the ‘dark side’ of the web have focused on the rise of online abuse including trolling (Whitney Phillips 2015), hate crime, Islamophobia (Imran Awan 2016), cyber-bulling, revenge porn, stalking, and sexting. However, the media’s framing of trolling and online abuse has been largely overlooked in academic studies. Jane (2014a: 532) argues that “extravagant invective, the sexualized threats of violence, and the recreational nastiness that have come to constitute a dominant tenor of Internet discourse”, should be a priority for academic analysis instead of being treated as a moral panic. She also points out that not reprinting examples of online abuse can undermine how academics understand the nature of trolling, as it is then deemed “unspeakable”. It is important to examine how trolling is discussed within the media to understand how it might frame public opinion, debate and action, and implicitly victim blame via “silencing strategies”. The tactics employed by trolls, including rape threats and death threats, can be viewed as examples of “silencing strategies”. “Silencing strategies” attempt to remove the individual This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 3 from participation in (online) public space (such as on social media sites), or dissuade them from engaging in further public debate (by responding to or challenging an offensive “tweet” on Twitter or photograph on Instagram). The media portrayal and framing of trolling can be said to reinforce these “silencing strategies”. For example, as we will show, the advice given to those who are victims of online abuse – “do not feed the troll” (for fear of provoking the troll further) – is a “silencing strategy”, for in doing so the victim is unable to challenge or resist abusive (i.e. sexist, racist or misogynist) language and attitudes. Underlying the trolling of visible and audible women is the deeply entrenched misogynistic idea of silencing women (Sarah Beresford 2015). “Silencing strategies” are reflected in the ways in which the media report on trolling, including: the reconstruction of the trolling event (such as rape threats, death threats, and body shaming); the representation of the (female) victim; and the advice given to victims on how they should respond to online abuse. To address our collective knowledge gap around media framing of trolling and online abuse, this article proceeds as follows. First, it reviews literature on trolling and gendered violence in online spaces. It then discusses media framing, the legitimization and normalization of violence and rape in media reports, and victim blaming. After outlining the relevance of Bourdieu’s (1990) concept of “symbolic violence” for understanding online abuse and the media framing of trolling, the discussion focuses on the methods utilised in an analysis of British press reports of trolling. Results are then presented which centre on the forms of (online) abuse and behaviours related to trolling in media reports, including rape threats, death threats and body shaming. The discussion also explores the media portrayal of victims of trolling, and the advice given to the public on how to respond to trolls (i.e. “do not feed the troll”). It is argued that trolling places victims in a powerless position and limits freedom of expression. The media framing reinforces this notion that women are (or should be) powerless, This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 4 devaluing and stigmatising them, and victim blames. The advice to women which is propagated in media and popular discourses: “do not feed the troll”, is a form of “symbolic violence” promoting victim complicity with online abuse. Review of the literature: trolling and gendered online abuse Studies of trolling have developed from concern with early internet users’ trolling of online forms and bulletin boards (also referred to as “flaming”), to the recent use of the term trolling to refer to abuse on social media sites, comments pages and blogs. Trolling differs from flaming “in that the goal of flame bait is to incite any and all readers, whereas the goal of a stereotypical troll is to draw in particularly naive or vulnerable readers” (Susan C. Herring et al. 2002: 372). Claire Hardaker (2010) claims that trolling consists of four interrelated characteristics: aggression, deception, disruption and success. Situational factors, including anonymity, have also been found to contribute to trolling interactions and behaviours (Myiah J. Hutchens et al. 2015). Analyses of online abuse also highlight the tension between “libertarian and communitarian values, in that harassment often arises in spaces known for their freedom, lack of censure, and experimental nature” (Herring et al. 2002: 374). Scholars have also studied trolling as a subcultural practice. In her work on Use Net News Groups, Judith S. Donarth (1999) focuses on the conditions which give rise to identity deception in online communities. Here, trolling is described as: “where you set your fishing lines in the water and then slowly go back and forth dragging the bait and hoping for a bite” (1999: 45). In a study of self-identifying “subcultural trolls” in the USA, Whitney Phillips (2015: 2) highlights trolling’s relationship to the wider media cultural landscape. Trolls engage in “media fuckery”, which is the “ability to turn the media against itself”. This is accomplished by amplifying or inventing a sensational news story (Phillips 2015: 4-5). This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 5 Trolling behaviour is also normalized by those doing the trolling – as play or as the lingua franca of particular platforms such as 4chan and Reddit (Phillips 2015). “Gendertrolling” is viewed as distinct from subcultural trolling, which attempts to disrupt or hijack online interactions (Karla Mantilla 2015). Gendertrolls have a motivation that is “more vicious, virulent, aggressive, threatening, pervasive, and enduring… gendertrolls take their cause seriously, so they are … able to rally others who share in their convictions… [and] are devoted to targeting the designated person” (Mantilla 2015: 11). New forms of media can therefore exacerbate issues surrounding sexual violence through the creation of digital spaces in which the perpetration and legitimization of sexual violence takes on new qualities. Online harassment is a means of excluding women’s voices from digital spaces, although it is argued that women have never been equal online (Jessica Megarry 2014). When a woman's behaviour is perceived to be deviant from the norms of submissive femininity, the online abuse received is also particularly reliant on the positioning women as sex objects (Megarry 2014). Rape and death threats are the most prominent forms of gendertrolling, targeted at women online. Rape threats which form part of the lingua franca of trolls are part of the wider re- emergence of “rape culture” within popular discourse in the past five years. “Rape culture” is: “a socio-cultural context in which an aggressive male sexuality is eroticized and seen as a ‘healthy’, ‘normal’, and ‘desired’ part of sexual relations” (Jessalyn M. Keller, Kaitlynn D. Mendes & Jessica Ringrose 2015: 5). It is: “A complex set of beliefs that encourage male sexual aggression and supports violence against women … condones physical and emotional terrorism against women and presents it as the norm …” (Emilie Buchwald, Pamela R. Fletcher & Martha Roth 2005: xi). This discourse has become normalized to the extent that This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 6 rape threats are now the modus operandi for individuals who want to critique female commentators (Jane 2014a). Online abuse both redeploys existing manifestations of rape culture and intensifies them due to the speed at which images and written communications can be shared online (Shaheen Shariff & Ashley DeMartini 2015). Sophie Sills et al. (2016) interviewed young people about their exposure and responses to rape culture on social media. Their participants were viewed as living within a “matrix of sexism” in which sexism, misogyny, and rape culture are a normalized part of everyday life. “Victim-shaming” and “slut-shaming” were viewed as commonplace (Sills et al. 2016: 7). Trolling is situated within the wider social and cultural context of the rise of “lad culture” where sexist and misogynistic language and treatment of women is lauded and admired by peers (openly and flagrantly displayed online in sites such as the ‘Lad Bible’, and racist and sexist trolling on social media sites). Trolling must be viewed within this context, as a means of silencing women’s voices online and their participation in virtual public space(s), resulting in the heteronormative masculinization of virtual space. Previous studies have highlighted a pattern to women's responses to abuse occurring in the offline context. James E. Gruber (1989) highlights four strategies of responding to abuse which include: avoidance, diffusion, negotiation, and confrontation. Research on sexual harassment in the workplace indicates that women’s responses tend to involve “non- assertiveness” towards their harassers (James E. Gruber & Michael D. Smith 2010). It is therefore also important to focus on how victims respond to their harassers online, how the media portray victims’ responses and what public advice is given on how to respond, in order to further explore how this is linked to gendered stereotypes of women as non-confrontational and silent. This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 7 Media framing The term “trolling” is now widely utilised by the media to describe the posting of offensive messages by an individual or group in addition to the more proactive, deliberate and organised hate campaigns engaged in by groups of individuals, in a pre-meditated manner. Trolling has “become a catch-all term for any number of negatively marked online behaviours” (Hardaker 2010: 224). However, the media framing of trolling and online abuse has been largely overlooked in academic studies. Media framing refers to the ways in which news stories are organized by “patterns of selection, emphasis, interpretation, and exclusion” (Caragee & Roefs cited in Nancy Worthington 2008: 4; see also Stephen D. Reese 2001; Todd Gitlin 2003; Robert Entman 2007). It is a means of identifying the hidden meanings in news stories, including which facts are included or left out (Carolyn M. Byerly 1999). As Robert Entman (1993: 52) argues, journalists “frame” by “select[ing] some aspects of a perceived reality and mak[ing] them more salient in a communicating text.” Frames can define and identify problems, make moral judgements and suggest solutions, while also serving to maintain power and the status quo (Barbara Barnett 2016; Entman 1993). Framing can shape public understanding and influence public policy (Barnett 2016). Frames also have symbolic power and use “myths, narratives and metaphors that resonate within the culture” (Hertog & McLeod cited in Anne Johnston et al. 2014: 422). Through their framing of women’s issues, the media provide ideological support for hegemonic power structures and reproduce dominant culture (Marian Meyers 1994; Zeynep Alat 2006). Therefore, we are interested in the extent to which it can be said to support and/or reproduce online discourses of trolling/abuse. Previous studies have demonstrated how violence against women is legitimized through the ways in which media reports focus on the positions of victims in terms of family, domesticity and gender norms (Deborah Jermyn This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 8 2001). Media framing of rape has the “potential to shape the societal perceptions of rape” (Stephanie Bonnes 2013: 210). In relation to media reports of sexual violence and rape in Turkey, Alat (2006: 301) notes how they adopted a “victim blaming” stance with women “accused of lying about consensual sex and calling it rape for revenge”. Michael Salter (2013) notes the ways in which victims of sexual violence and their supporters are developing online strategies for assessing and acting upon allegations of sexual violence. Despite these strategies, “the criminal justice system and ‘old media’ are underpinned by homo-social cultures and relations that can marginalise and disrupt the truth claims of … women” (2013: 238). Furthermore, media framing of women’s issues presents and reinforces traditional images of femininity where women are objectified and portrayed as passive and submissive (Laura Ashley & Beth Olson 1998; Diana B. Carlin & Kelly L. Winfrey 2009; Burnett 2016). It is therefore crucial we analyze how the old media frame victims’ stories of online abuse as a women’s issue. Bourdieu and symbolic violence Pierre Bourdieu (1998) and researchers close to him were interested in the social and political consequences of media process and were highly critical of its “symbolic power” (Nick Couldry 2003). The media, as a sphere of cultural production, can be analysed as: a single field, or a collection of fields, (each) with a distinctive pattern of prestige and status and its own values. Indeed … the media’s intermediate position between the cultural and economic poles of the wider cultural field gives them a particular interest as a field. (Couldry 2003: 657) This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 9 The “symbolic power” of the media can be understood as a power “of a self-fulfilling prophecy and is dependent on our unwitting complicity and legitimation” (Nick Crossley 2001: 318). Some concentrations of “symbolic power” are so strong that: “they dominate the whole social landscape; as a result, they seem so natural that they are misrecognized, and their underlying arbitrariness becomes difficult to see. In this way, symbolic power moves to … ‘a power of constructing social reality’” (Couldry 2003: 664). Therefore “symbolic power” in the media field (re)produces and legitimizes social categories and beliefs. In Bourdieu’s work, the concepts of “symbolic power” and “symbolic violence” are used interchangeably. Crossley (2001: 319) argues that if there is any difference in Bourdieu’s usage it is that “symbolic violence” is often used to refer to the way in which social agents “come to accept the categories and social systems which, in turn, are imposed on them – and whose power they unwittingly sanction.” However, he proposes that “symbolic power” is more appropriate here, and that we should instead understand “symbolic violence” as referring to instances in which “particular groups are systematically denied the degree of recognition enjoyed by others … instances where they are devalued or stigmatized” (Crossley 2001: 319, our emphasis). “Symbolic violence” helps to capture the “felt and/or lived suffering of those devalued, stigmatized or otherwise denied a basic level of recognition by their wider society” (ibid). To analyse the media framing of trolling, we draw on this utilisation of “symbolic violence”. For the sake of clarity, we utilise this term (instead of “symbolic power”), throughout the article, to refer to the ways that “symbolic violence” is enacted upon women (and minority groups) in media reports of trolling, resulting in their devaluing and/or stigmatization. Bourdieu’s work has relevance for feminism and analysis of gender relations. By drawing on This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 10 Bourdieu’s work, we can view “symbolic violence” as a process of social reproduction (Angela McRobbie 2004). Social inequalities (classed, racialized, and gendered) are “perpetuated as power relations directed towards [online] bodies and the ‘dispositions of individuals’” (McRobbie 2004: 103). It is violence which is “exercised upon a social agent with his or her complicity” (Bourdieu & Wacquant 1992: 167). Examples of the exercise of “symbolic violence” include gender relations in which both men and women agree that women are weaker, less intelligent and unreliable. For Bourdieu, gender relations are the paradigm case of the operation of “symbolic violence” (McRobbie 2004). We argue that “symbolic violence” towards women in the digital realm encourages complicity, while reproducing and reinforcing established gender roles. This leaks into offline spaces including the ways in which the“old media” frame online abuse and victim blame. Method Qualitative document analysis (David L. Altheide 1987; 1996) was applied to 175 newspaper reports of trolling from British national newspapers including broadsheets and tabloids. In the UK, the distinction between the tabloid and broadsheet press is based on the size of the press, with broadsheets typically larger than tabloids, and in terms of the readership, with broadsheets aimed at “the educated and professional middle classes and tabloids concentrating on the working and lower middles classes” (Katy Day et al. 2004: 168). We recognised the need to make evident examples of trolling in the British press, and the construction of the (female) victim of trolling (Jane 2014a). Hence this article aims to open doors for future studies of media framing of online abuse. We wanted to explore how the media were utilising, framing and constructing trolling as a form of online abuse. Our initial research questions were: 1) what forms of (online) abuse and behaviours are related to trolling in media reports? 3) how do the media portray the victims of trolling? 4) how do the This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 11 media portray the offender (troll)? 5) how do the media frame the victim’s response to trolling? 6) what advice do the media communicate to the public on how to respond to trolling? 7) how do the media rationalise trolling on the part of the offender? 8) how do they report on the role of external agencies including the authorities and social media corporations? 9) how do the media report on the relationship between online abuse in the virtual world and its relationship to the offline world? Sampling A search for newspaper reports was conducted using LexisNexis with the keyword “trolling” and involved “saturation sampling”. Data saturation is normatively taken to mean that data should continue to be collected until nothing new is generated and there are no more emergent patterns in the data (Michelle O’Reilly & Nicola Parker 2012). The search included the headline of articles and covered UK national newspapers over a five-year period from 4 November 20101 to 8 October 2015. From 248 results, 175 articles were included for analysis after we removed duplicate articles and those which utilised trolling in non-social media contexts. We also removed reader opinion letters. We narrowed the search to the term trolling and did not use other synonymous terms as we were particularly interested in how the phenomenon of trolling and victims’ experiences of trolling, were framed, constructed, and reported in the mainstream press. An initial search for “troll” in the headline using the above dates recovered over 3000 results which needed to be reduced for analysis, hence the decision to focus on “trolling”. We recognise this as a limitation and therefore future studies would benefit by exploring the media framing of online abuse using synonymous terms. The majority of reports we analysed were classified under the “news” category, while a minority featured in the categories of “people”, “celebrity news”, “features”, “technology”, “front page”, “politics”, “science”, “life and art” and “comment and debate”. The majority of articles This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 12 focused on trolling in Britain (with the exception of a handful which focused on the trolling of celebrities in Australia and the USA). Analysis As noted above, we used qualitative analysis “to document and understand the communication of meaning, as well as to verify theoretical relationships” (Altheide 1987: 68). This is a distinctive form of analysis because of the reflexive and interactive nature of the investigator, concepts, data collection and analysis. With this interpretive approach, the idea is to allow for reflexivity, “while being systematic and analytic, but not rigid” (Altheide 1987: 68). We were interested in the substantive content of narratives and “discourses-in-practice” (Jaber F. Gubrium & James A. Holstein 2000). We allowed our initial research questions, categories and themes to guide the analysis, but others were also expected to emerge throughout the study (Altheide 1987). We utilised a matrix to analyse the media framing of trolling which included an inventory (i.e. publication, date, length, etc.) and content variables (i.e. actors involved, topics, events, setting, context, timeframe, etc.). We began by reviewing the articles in relation to our research questions, utilising the matrix for the inventory and content. We then viewed them to explore recurrent themes which emerged naturally from the data utilising axial and open coding (Altheide 1996). In this article, we are concerned with findings on: the forms of (online) abuse and behaviours related to trolling in media reports. We will also touch upon: the media portrayal of victims of trolling; and the advice which the media communicate to the public on how to respond to trolling. Results: the framing of trolling in the British media We focus on how trolling events were framed by the British media, and how they silenced and committed “symbolic violence” against the victims. Reports of trolling referred to This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 13 multiple forms of misogyny and sexism including violence, rape, death threats, and body shaming (for instance reference to appearance, body, weight and nudity). Table 1 highlights the number of reports which included these themes, and provides a breakdown of the percentages in tabloid and broadsheet newspapers. Theme Tabloid % Broadsheet % Total number Violence 71 29 45 Rape 64 36 44 Death 66 34 70 Body shaming (i.e. appearance, body, weight, nudity) 68 32 28 Table 1: Percentage of trolling reports in British national newspapers which featured the themes: ‘violence’, ‘death’, ‘rape’, and ‘body shaming’. n=175 There was a pattern in which reports of trolling featured more frequently in the tabloid press, reflecting a general focus on stories featuring celebrities and sports personalities. The broadsheet papers more frequently cited the experiences of politicians, business people, and high profile cases of public victims of trolling. Reports of trolling in tabloid and broadsheet papers more frequently referenced death threats, followed by rape threats. Reports would often focus on trolling which included a combination of these themes. This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 14 Rape and death threats Reports of trolling in both tabloid and broadsheet British media most frequently referred to violent acts, particularly rape and death threats, experienced by female victims in the public eye, such as politicians, television presenters, and musicians. These examples demonstrate the increasingly prevalent “rape culture” which incorporates aspects of popular misogyny, and entails anti-female violent expression via the threats of rape and death (or bodily harm) directed at women online. Expressions of aggressive male sexuality are eroticized in the online sphere (Keller, Mendes & Ringrose 2015) and in the press. These reports focused on the posting of visual images online. For instance, a report referred to the Australian DJ Alison Wonderland who: received the abuse alongside a photo of herself sitting on the ground with her legs apart … Instagram trolls said they wanted to “roofie” and “rape” her … Thousands of people had “liked” the photograph … before the first of the offenders commented: “Can we rape her or something please,” tagging the other with the Instagram handle … The second responded by looping in another follower, seemingly alleging him to say: “I would roofie her”.2 The media framing of the abuse as something which the DJ “received” portrays her as a willing and submissive participant in that she was the one who opted to post the photo, thus “opening herself up” to public scrutiny. This is indicative of implicit victim blaming in that the response is framed as a direct result of her actions. The description of the photo – “sitting on the ground with her legs apart” also suggests a typical portrayal of a submissive female, with her “legs spread” and who was thus “asking for it” – asking to be trolled. This demonstrates how the media framing of “rape threat trolling” focuses on the norm of This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 15 submissive femininity and is reliant on the positioning women as sex objects (Megarry 2014). Media reports of trolling normalize “rape culture” in the online sphere. In reports of “rape threat trolling”, gender has been intersected with race, for example in the case of the blogger and YouTuber Kat Blaque, who campaigns for equality and was subjected to a “torrent of racist and sexist insults” by a user called Kenneth: Kenneth called Kat a “dumb c***” and made a reference to black culture “tearing things down”. In one post, he makes a public rape threat, telling Kat: “I'd throw you on the bed and ravage you and you'd f****** love it”. In another … after claiming that he didn't make a rape accusation, he writes: “It’s alright. You'll get yours. Remember I'm a conservative, I like my guns.”3 The media are reinforcing the myth in relation to rape that women will “enjoy it” (“you'd f****** love it”). In response to the abuse she received, Kat posted a message to followers on her Facebook page. The media framing of her response – that the threat itself did not bother her, it was the people defending him that did – also points to the normalization of rape culture and rape threats in the mainstream media framing of trolling: Kenneth threatening to rape and kill me didnt bother me. Thats part of my daily existence. Having people rush to defend him however? That fucks with me so much. Im glad i never reported my rape. I couldn't handle this 6 years ago. I can hardly handle it now. Being told to take this shit lightly really messes with me. ‘What did you expect’ are words that ring in my head. The exact words i heard when i told my friends i was raped. This is why women remain silent. And the people defending This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 16 kenneth will never get that. So many people suffer in silence and i wrote about Kenneth because its one of the rare, small victories that we can have and so many people were part of it. [sic]4 The report likens the advice to “stay silent” regarding sexual violence against women in the offline context, to the advice received by women who receive online rape threats. The rhetoric employed individualizes the women, and also focuses on her body as an object and target for violence (Kirsti K. Cole 2015). Businesswoman Jo Bertram, boss of Uber car service UK, was also sent offensive tweets: Jo Bertram … has been bombarded with offensive tweets, including messages about rape, her appearance and the suggestion that she should be “run over” … Under his Twitter name “Arnold Circus”, Kaczorowski joined a conversation thread in which other cab drivers were discussing Uber’s “safety record for women passengers”. The previous tweeter had mentioned Bertram and asked: “Wonder what she must feel every time a woman is sexually assaulted in an Uber car?” Kaczorowski wrote: “Perhaps she gets a little tingle between her legs. U never know she may like it.” In another post he called Bertram a “ropey old bint”.5 This excerpt highlights the sexist and misogynist abuse directed at a woman who is viewed as “incompetent” by men in terms of her occupation and gender. Women who entered spaces typically deemed to be “man’s domain” were viewed as “doubly deviant”: deviant for being online and deviant for daring to enter into a male-dominated workplace. As Sandy Welsh (1999: 170) argues “sexual harassment is … about letting women know they are not welcome This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 17 in certain workplaces and that they are not respected members of the work group.” Sexual harassment is an attempt by men to maintain their dominance (Kimberly Fairchild & Laurie Rudman 2008). Often, it was women’s lives in the offline context which the media rationalised as a motive for the sending of death threats. This was the case for the British television presenter Sue Perkins who received abuse after rumours (later confirmed as untrue) spread that she would be taking over from Jeremy Clarkson as a presenter on the BBC’s Top Gear programme: Sue revealed to fans on her social media account earlier this week Top Gear fans had been “wishing me dead” after it was rumoured she was being lined up to take a leading role in the motoring show. She wrote: “[since] the utterly fabricated story about me & Top Gear, my timeline has been full of blokes wishing me dead … This morning someone suggested they’d like to see me burn to death.”6 The stereotype of women as “witches” is used alongside rape and/or death threats (the latter including threats of “burning to death”), as evident in the below trolling of the Labour Member of Parliament (MP) Stella Creasy and the feminist campaigner Caroline Criado- Perez, who campaigned for a woman to appear on a bank note (with the Bank of England later choosing to print Jane Austen). The troll in this instance was jailed for 18 weeks and had: retweeted a threatening message … which read: “You better watch your back, I’m going to rape you’re a**e at 8pm and put the video all over [the internet]” … In his next message he posted: “Best way to rape a witch, try and drown her first then just when she’s gagging for air that’s when you enter” … Later that evening he wrote: “If you can’t threaten to rape a celebrity, what is the point in having them?” … He called This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 18 the Labour MP an “evil witch” and wrote: “What’s the odds of [Criado] and Creasy snuggling and cuddling under a duvet checking their tweets and cackling like witches (rape me says Caroline).”7 As also noted above in relation to the blogger, Kat Blaque, in media reports of trolling there was a tendency to draw on examples of rape threats on social media which highlighted how the victim should/would “enjoy” the sexual act. Traces of the myth that rape is a sexual act which women can enjoy are easily found in sensational and titillating coverage of rape crimes and this extends to threats of rape online (Alat 2006). Body shaming Body shaming was a prominent form of trolling which the media focused on, linked to the posting of images on Instagram, and with victims receiving negative comments linked to their appearance, in addition to rape and death threats. The presence of the “male gaze” (Laura Mulvey 1975[1992]) is evident via both mainstream media and digital media scrutiny of the female body. Megarry (2014: 50) notes that offensive comments aimed at women online often “displayed a preoccupation with physical appearance and suggested that a woman’s worth and value lies in her sexual appeal to men.” In the example below, the musician Nicki Minaj was reported to have been “mocked for her appearance” on Instagram. However, the report silences the voice of the victim and engages in victim blaming, as it likens her response to the trolls as a form of “public shaming”, making implicit the underlying advice that she should have ignored or “not fed the trolls”. Her strategy of re-posting pictures of those trolling her involved the reversal of the “gaze” to give “fans a taste of their own medicine”: This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 19 Minaj has never been one to take verbal abuse lying down, and after a string of cruel comments about her appearance on her Instagram page the rapper decided to give fans a taste of their own medicine. She had been Instagramming pictures from her brother Jelani’s wedding, which she allegedly paid for in full, when someone made comments about her hair... Minaj retaliated by going onto the Instagram accounts of people who were rude to her and posting their selfies on her account to see how they liked being scrutinised…. But following complaints she was “bullying” people, Minaj took to Twitter to justify her actions, and hit out at the double standards she gets when she tries standing up for herself: Lol can I just be on my own page minding my business in peace? Lmao. When I post a pic of a person dissin me I’m a bully? Lol this world… - NICKI MINAJ (@NICKMINAJ) August, 23 2015.8 The assertive response of Minaj in the form of reposting her abusers’ own “selfies” is framed as a form of “bullying”. This highlights the societal expectations around how women should publicly respond to (online) abuse (i.e. adopt a submissive position). Minaj’s strategy goes against the grain of the atypical “non-assertive” responses that previous studies of responses to sexual abuse have highlighted (Gruber 1989). Jane (2014b) also argues in relation to “e- bile” that it is women who speak publicly about being targeted online who then receive more abuse. Women are deemed to be “inferior” and to function for the provision of “sexual gratification for men’” however they are then denigrated for this “self-same characterization” (Jane 2014b: 566). This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 20 Media reports also focused on the historian and academic Mary Beard, who described the abuse she received after she appeared on BBC’s Question Time debate programme: They discussed whether I needed rogering, and how I was an “ignorant ****” and a disgrace to Cambridge University and woman-kind. There were more “c” words and “f” words and “p” words than you could imagine … There were also comments about what an embarrassment she must be to her husband and two grown-up children, pictures of horribly hairy legs (supposedly hers), endless comments about her pubic hair (and more), and how she was “a vile, spiteful excuse for a woman who eats too much cabbage and has cheese straws for teeth.”9 The attacks on Mary Beard can be viewed as responses to her failure to adhere to those normative standards of feminine beauty and appearance which are expected from women who enter the world of media and public commentary. This online harassment involves the utilisation of stereotypical ideas of femininity in a derogatory manner as noted by Megarry (2014). Myths in media reports abounded with regards to victimisation of women because of their “careless behaviour” (Alat 2006) or that entering into the public spotlight brought with it a number of responsibilities and expectations, including accepting that this entailed the public’s right to critique television personalities and that women who make public media appearances must abide by the norms of feminine beauty. Discussion and conclusions This article drew on a qualitative content analysis of British media reports of trolling to demonstrate the ways in which the media frame online abuse and how they implicitly victim blame. It is argued that media reports of trolling adopt the use of “silencing strategies” which This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 21 can be viewed as a form of “symbolic violence” (Bourdieu 1990). Results were presented which centred on the forms of (online) harassment and behaviours related to trolling in media reports, including rape threats, death threats, and body shaming linked to norms of femininity. The discussion also explored the media framing of victims of trolling, and the advice given to the public on how to respond to trolls (i.e. “do not feed the troll”). Although extensive work in media studies over the last fifteen years has helped to bridge the conceptual divide between the real/material and virtual/immaterial, images of this divide still pervade old media press coverage. Media portrayals of trolling and rape threats have the potential to shape societal perceptions of rape (Bonnes 2013). Victim blaming was common in media reports with women accused of exaggerating or falsifying the impact of online rape threats (Alat 2006). The myth that women can/will enjoy rape or were “asking for it”, was also reflected in media framing of victims of online abuse. The old media are still “underpinned by homo-social cultures and relations that can marginalise and disrupt the truth claims of … women” (Salter 2013: 238). Therefore, there is a need for more social scientific research into media portrayals of online abuse, experiences of online abuse, and how social media is reshaping, but also replicating, traditional practices and discourses of violence, gender and communication. Media frames of trolling reinforce the normalization of online violence against women as an extension of or proxy for gendered violence (Rena Bivens 2015). As Jenny Kitzinger (2004: 14) argues media coverage can “decontextualize abuse, encourage racism, promote stereotypes of women (as virgins or whores), blame victims, and excuse assailants.” Media reports framed victims of online abuse as powerless and submissive in line with typical norms of femininity noted in previous studies of the media framing of women’s issues (Ashley & This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 22 Olson 1998; Burnett 2016). Women were viewed as sex objects and also portrayed as passive victims of online abuse. Social media sites, through their design and the anonymity they can afford users, rest power in the hands of the troll, while the victim is encouraged in media reports and public discourses on trolling to be complicit in the ways in which they respond to online abuse via the use of “silencing strategies”. However, to adhere to the message: “do not feed the troll”, means that “symbolic violence” is exercised with the complicity of the victim(s) of trolling (McRobbie 2004). The message to women using online spaces which is reflected in media reports can be summed up as similar to the age-old sexist adage: “if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.” Victims are advised to remember that no harm is intended (i.e. it is only “banter”) and also not to provoke the troll further. These strategies do not address the issue of abuse, misogyny and sexism, but require women to be complicit in the exercise of “symbolic violence”. Bourdieu’s work is therefore useful for analysing how “social arrangement along gender lines takes shape within … media … by means of habitus adjustment to ensure conformity with the contemporary requirements” of the social media field/s (McRobbie 2004: 108). Both the old media and social media play a key role in (re)-forming and reinforcing social classifications and stereotypes. It is also problematic that trolling has become a catch-all term used by the old media to also refer to less sinister forms of debate or disagreement between various individuals/groups. This trivialises and disguises the extent and impact of online abuse as a form of “symbolic violence” towards women and other minority groups. Therefore, further work is required in feminist media studies which acknowledges the relationship between online abuse and the (gendered) frames and discourses of the traditional media. This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 23 References Alat, Zeynep. 2006. “News Coverage of Violence Against Women.” Feminist Media Studies 6 (3): 295-314. Altheide, L. David. 1987. “Ethnographic Content Analysis.” Qualitative Sociology 10 (1): 65- 77. Altheide, L. David. 1996. 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She is author of Boy Racer Culture (Routledge, 2013), co-editor of Reflexivity in Criminological Research (Palgrave Macmillan, 2014) and has published in a range of journals including Sociology, Qualitative Research, Sociological Research Online, Policing & Society and Mobilities. She is on the Editorial Board of Sociological Research Online. Research interests include policing, crime, youth culture and social media, with contributions to methodological debates on ethnography and reflexivity. Heather joined the Health Services Research Unit, University of Aberdeen in 2012. She is a Research Fellow with a multidisciplinary social science background and she contributes to the Delivery of Care programme. Heather specialises in research where technologies meet surveillance/monitoring, compliance/deviance and gender. Heather is currently exploring uses of health self-monitoring technologies (apps, wearables, etc.). Her previous work has looked at self-management of long-term health conditions, interventions for healthy behaviours in pregnancy, and gender in police CCTV. Notes 1 Although the concept of the troll was coined in the late 1980s in relation to trolling subcultures on Use Net forums (Donarth 1999), it was not until 2010 that political controversy and media attention turned to trolling on social media. In Australia and the USA attention centred on the trolling of adolescents who had committed suicide, and murder victims (i.e. the Today Show in 2010 reported on the trolling reaction to the death of three adolescent girls, while in Australia political outrage centred on the trolling of Facebook tribute pages set up for two murdered adolescents (TG Daily 2010)). In the UK, media and This is a pre-print version of the article published in Feminist Media Studies Vol.17, No.6 (December 2017). 29 political concern increased following a host of high profile trolling incidents related to Facebook tribute pages (i.e. Colm Cross was sentenced to 18 weeks in prison for targeting tribute pages including one set up for the celebrity Jade Goody, and another set up for deceased children (Ally Fogg 2010)). 2 Soldani, B. 2015. “‘You should always stand up for yourself.’ Australian DJ Alison Wonderland speaks out after Intragram trolls said they wanted to ‘roofie’ and ‘rape’ her.” Mail Online. October 8. 3 Bolton, D. 2015. “Blogger Kat Blaque tracked down her troll and got him fired.” Independent. September 30. 4 Bolton, D. 2015. “Blogger Kat Blaque tracked down her troll and got him fired;.” Independent. September 30, 2015. 5 Henry, R. 2015. “Uber boss victim of cabbie trolls.” The Sunday Times. July 5, 2015. 6 Thistlethwaite, F. 2015. “James May tells Top Gear fans trolling Sue Perkins to ‘kill themselves’ on Twitter.” Express. April 17. 7 Williams, A. 2014. “Twitter troll who threatened to rape Labour MP Stella Creasy in row over Jane Austen appearing on £10 notes is jailed for 18 weeks.” MailOnline. September 29. 8 Mandle, C. 2015. “Nicki Minaj tells trolls to stay off her Instagram after publicly shaming people for mocking her appearance.” Independent. August 25. 9 Fryer, J. 2013 “How I turned the tables on my trolls.” Mail Online. January 26. 
work_v23hgngyz5eapbjlqvz543xkji	----	POLITE CONSUMPTION: SHOPPlNG IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY ENGLAND CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10 Transactions of the RHS  (), pp. – ©  Royal Historical Society DOI: ./S Printed in the United Kingdom POLITE CONSUMPTION: SHOPPlNG IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY ENGLAND* By Helen Berry . Shopping was increasingly seen as a potentially pleasurable activity for middling and upper sorts in Hanoverian England, a distinctive yet everyday part of life, especially in London. This survey considers the emergence of a polite shopping culture at this time, and presents a ‘browse-bargain’ model as a framework for considering contemporary references to shopping in written records and literary texts. The decline of polite shopping is charted with reference to the rise of cash-only businesses at the end of the century, and the shift towards a more hurried and impersonal form of shopping noted by early nineteenth-century shopkeepers, assistants and customers. RECENT years have witnessed the rise of a flourishing historiography of consumption for the period –. Seminal works by historians such as Paul Langford, John Brewer and Peter Borsay from the late s onwards have posited the role of the middling sorts in generating new patterns of acquisition and leisure in Georgian England. In the early s, a highly influential collection of essays, edited by John Brewer and Roy Porter, and another by Brewer and Ann Bermingham, established the subject of consumption in eighteenth-century studies. These succeeded in incorporating the perspectives of economic his- torians, together with insights from historians of literary and material culture. More recently, the historiography has diversified to consider other nuanced aspects of consumerism, such as the personal use and meaning of material possessions to Georgian consumers, gender and consumption, contemporary ideas about luxury and the significance of * I should like to thank Scott Ashley, Jeremy Boulton, Anthony Fletcher, Elizabeth Foyster, Andrew Kaye, Peter Rushton and Roey Sweet for their generous help with additional comments and references.  Paul Langford, A Polite and Commercial People: England – (Oxford ); John Brewer, The Pleasures of the Imagination: English Culture in the Eighteenth Century (); Peter Borsay, Urban Renaissance: Culture and Society in the Provincial Town, – (Oxford, ).  Consumption and the World of Goods, ed. John Brewer and Roy Porter (); The Consumption of Culture, –: Image, Object, Text, ed. John Brewer and Ann Bermingham ().  Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10        ‘hidden’ second-hand markets. Many have welcomed this trend as an important counterpoint to the over-emphasis on the supply side of eighteenth-century markets, which to a large extent resulted from a pressing concern to anatomise the origins of the Industrial Revolution. It is no doubt symptomatic of the vastness of the subject, however, and the many different approaches to its study, that the historiography of consumption, and the historiography of politeness, have often experi- enced a failure of communication. In one corner, we find historians quantifying wage-rates, while in another, we find them re-reading Shaftesbury. The controversies generated by such differences of approach to the study of politics, culture and economics in eighteenth- century historiography are frequently animated. One significant omission in the increasingly well-worked area of eighteenth-century ‘consumer studies’ is the almost total failure on the part of historians to consider how goods were acquired. Material things transport themselves from shops into people’s homes and are mysteriously described as part of the process of the ‘flow of goods’, or attention is given to their display and use, with little attention paid to  The re-orientation towards the consumer was anticipated by Ben Fine and Ellen Leopold in ‘Consumerism and the Industrial Revolution’, Social History,  (), –; for new directions, see Amanda Vickery, ‘Women and the World of Goods: A Lancashire Consumer and her Possessions, –’, in Consumption and the World of Goods, ed. Brewer and Porter, –; Beverley Lemire, Fashion’s Favourite: The Cotton Trade and the Consumer in Britain, – (Oxford, ); see also idem, ‘Consumerism in Pre-Industrial and Early Industrial England: The Trade in Secondhand Clothes’, Journal of British Studies,  (), –; Stana Nenadic, ‘Print Collecting and Popular Culture in Eighteenth-Century Scotland’, History,  (), –.  The vast literature on the economic history of eighteenth-century England in a global perspective may be no more than represented here; see for example J. Thirsk, Economic Policy and Projects: The Development of a Consumer Society in Early Modern England (); Carole Shammas, The Pre-Industrial Consumer in England and America (Oxford, ); Jan de Vries, ‘Between Purchasing Power and the World of Goods: Understanding the Household Economy in Early Modern Europe’, in Consumption and the World of Goods, ed. Brewer and Porter, –; Nuala Zahedieh, ‘London and the Colonial Consumer in the Late Seventeenth Century’, Economic History Review, ,  (), –. Influential in studying the Shaftesbury model of politeness is the work of Lawrence Klein; see his ‘The Third Earl of Shaftesbury and the Progress of Politeness’, Eighteenth-Century Studies,  (), – ; and idem, ‘Politeness for Plebes: Consumption and Social Identity in Early Eighteenth- Century England’, in Consumption of Culture, ed. Brewer and Bermingham, –. A useful over-view of the recent historiography is Sara Pennell, ‘Consumption and Consumerism in Early Modern England’, Historical Journal, ,  (), –.  As witnessed, for example, by the criticism levied against the work of Neil McKendrick by economic historians Ben Fine and Ellen Leopold for his ‘trickle-down’ theory of cultural emulation. McKendrick’s hypothesis was that the dissemination of genteel taste was a stimulant to the rise of commercial culture, whereas Fine and Leopold’s preference is for a more precise study of the incomes that made consumer spending possible. See Ben Fine and Ellen Leopold, The World of Consumption (), –; The Birth of a Consumer Society, ed. Neil McKendrick, John Brewer and J. H. Plumb (). Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10    the social interactions (in addition to the economic means and processes) which were required to procure them. Yet it is here, at the moment of purchase, that the exercise of politeness interacted with the complex forces of economic opportunity and choice. The expectations of polite society, and motivation to better oneself socially, did not cause people to buy things: as the work of Lorna Weatherill has shown, the idea of social emulation is an insufficient model to explain the distinctive spending habits of the middling sort. In any case, the impulse to acquisition was in itself as variable as the individual consumer, and proscribed according to a range of factors such as financial means, degree of access to local markets and awareness of the variety of goods on offer. However, if we pause to consider the influence of prevailing social norms, beyond trying to uncover an elusive causal relationship, we may see how a vital component of the routine lives of eighteenth-century people who were among, or who aspired to join, the ranks of what was known at the time as ‘polite society’ has been largely overlooked. Shopping, unlike assembly-going, parading in pleasure gardens, con- versing in coffee houses or dancing at balls, is seldom described by historians of the eighteenth century as a distinctively ‘polite’ activity, yet it was a constituent element of, and of itself produced, a polite lifestyle. In other words, for a certain section of society at this time, polite shopping rituals framed the social experience of consumption as an everyday activity. Like assemblies and pleasure gardens, shops aimed at the middling and upper sorts (especially those in London) were crucial features of the urban landscape, the venues for the interaction of social relationships, leisure and commerce. The unwritten social rules of encounter in shops constituted a form of polite deportment, encompassing gesture, verbal exchange and a ritualised pattern of behaviour as the customer engaged with the shopkeeper. For an increasing number of middling-sort consumers with polite aspirations, the rituals of shopping could thus in themselves become a pleasurable pursuit, associated with sociability, display and the exercise of discerning taste – in sum, the performance of the Addisonian model of politeness. What follows is an investigation into a different perspective on con- sumption: the process of developing a specifically polite ‘shopping culture’ in eighteenth-century towns, including the exceptional case of  Lorna Weatherill, Consumer Behaviour and Material Culture, – (London and New York, ); see also idem, ‘Consumer Behaviour and Social Status in England, – ’, Continuity and Change,  (), –.  See in this volume, Paul Langford, ‘The Uses of Eighteenth-Century Politeness’, passim. Another useful survey of middling-sort consumers is Stana Nenadic, ‘Middle- Rank Consumers and Domestic Culture in Edinburgh and Glasgow, –’, Past and Present,  (), –. Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10        London. This survey pursues an ethnographic approach, drawing upon a wide range of contemporary sources (diaries, correspondence, didactic literature, newspapers, periodicals, plays and novels) in order to piece together something of the experience of polite shopping in eighteenth- century England. There were more places to shop, and an ever-growing range of goods to purchase, as the century progressed. Since the early medieval period, the main centres of consumption in England, outside of London, had been local markets. However, these underwent a crucial trans- formation during the period –, when trade ‘passed into the hands of shopkeepers’. In the capital, and in provincial urban loca- tions – whether spa towns such as Bath, or proto-industrial centres such as Newcastle upon Tyne, shops were increasing in number and in specialisation. While on her country-wide tour at the end of the seventeenth century, Celia Fiennes noted that in Newcastle, ‘their shops are good and are of distinct trades, not selling many things of one shop as is the custom in most country towns and cittys’. In smaller towns, fewer shops served a broad spectrum of social classes with a wider range of goods under one roof, such as Abraham Dent’s shop in Kirkby Stephen, which sold candles and soap to workmen and artisans, and luxury goods, books and stationery to local doctors and clerics. The increase in the number and range of goods in shops (even in rural areas), and signs of rapid expansion in trading activity, were thus prominent features of economic growth in England at this time. But who went shopping in the eighteenth century? The subject of consumption may be approached through the identity of the shopper,  Richard Hodges, Primitive and Peasant Markets (Oxford, ). Religious houses were also significant centres of consumption before the Reformation. See Derek Keene, ‘Shops and Shopping in Medieval London’, in Medieval Art, Architecture and Archaeology in London, ed. L. M. Grant (British Archaeological Association, London, ).  Julian Hoppit, A Land of Liberty? England – (Oxford, ), . Hoh-Cheung Mui and Lorna H. Mui, Shops and Shopkeeping in Eighteenth-Century England (Montreal and London, ), passim, observe this trend nationally, focusing chiefly upon the trade in tea.  The Journeys of Celia Fiennes, ed. Christopher Morris (), –. On the development of English towns, see Penelope Corfield, The Impact of English Towns, – (Oxford, ); The Eighteenth Century Town: A Reader in English Urban History, –, ed. Peter Borsay (London and New York, ); Cambridge Urban History of Britain, : –, ed. Peter Clark (Cambridge, ).  T. S. Willan, An Eighteenth-Century Shopkeeper: Abraham Dent of Kirkby Stephen (Manchester, ), .  Craig Muldrew has calculated that trade tokens, which served as change when small coins were scarce, were issued in over , places between  and , almost double the number of market towns then in existence. In, The Economy of Obligation: The Culture of Credit and Social Relations in Early Modern England () . See also by the same author ‘Hard Food for Midas: Cash and its Social Value in Early Modern EngLand’, Past and Present,  (), –. Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10    purpose of the trip and nature of the goods purchased. There is a distinction (a somewhat ill-defined one then and now) between ‘luxury’ and ‘essential’ items: consumables which are purchased rarely, as a special event, involving pleasure in the exercise of choice, and those repeat-buys which are mundane, for which those of sufficient means in the eighteenth century could have despatched a servant. There is shopping in person and shopping by proxy, shopping for pleasure, and of necessity. For the purposes of this study, we shall be focusing our attention exclusively upon the shopping trips made by middling or higher-ranking individuals in person, rather than by their servants. The emphasis here is thus upon polite conduct in shops, rather than the sorts of material goods purchased. This approach is useful in that it allows us to consider even small purchases of relatively mundane items (of miscellaneous haberdashery, for example). By concentrat- ing upon the social groups who comprised, or who aimed to join, polite society, we shall be able to undertake a closer study of the factors that made eighteenth-century shopping distinctive in their social milieu. Who, then, was likely to fall within this group of shoppers? It was usual for unmarried women of a higher social status to be chaperoned on shopping trips by a relative, governess or servant, but, as the female characters of Fanny Burney’s and Jane Austen’s novels illustrate, evidently even single girls could make short visits to shops unaccom- panied. The shops they visited were prescribed by the nature of the establishment, and the degree of respectability held by the shopping district. The heroine in Cecilia passed her time ‘greatly to her own satisfaction’ in London buying books, thereby furnishing herself with ‘the mind’s first luxury’. This fictional gentlewoman was also portrayed making philanthropic and solitary visits to a haberdasher’s shop in Fetter Lane, near the booksellers’ quarter in St Paul’s churchyard. Jane Austen uses the public streets and shops of Bath as the setting for encounters between the main characters in Persuasion (published in ). In Bath, high-class retailers were originally to be found in the south-east corner of the city, around the Orange Grove, the Terrace Walk and the Abbey churchyard. By the s, as Peter Borsay’s extensive study of Georgian Bath has shown, the focus was shifting northwards to where the exclusive Milsom Street was ‘developing its  Lorna Weatherill, ‘The Meaning of Consumer Behaviour in Late Seventeenth and Early Eighteenth-Century England’, in Consumption and the World of Goods, ed. Brewer and Porter, –.  Frances ‘Fanny’ Burney, Cecilia, or Memoirs of an Heiress (), ed. Peter Sabor and Margaret Anne Doody (Oxford, ), .  Ibid., –.  Peter Borsay, The Image of Georgian Bath, – (Oxford, ), . Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10        legendary reputation as a shopping mall’. An anonymous contem- porary poet described how, after breakfast in Bath, ‘You may stroll for an hour up and down Milsom-street, / Where misses so smart, at ev’ry fine shop / (Like rabbits in burrows) just in and out pop.’ For ladies in the metropolis, and in provincial towns, going shopping was a familiar part of the rhythm of their day, an activity undertaken in the morning after breakfast while men went about their business. Their afternoons were then occupied with social visits, followed by dinner at approximately four o’clock. This was a synchronised pattern to the day, followed by the wives and daughters of polite families around the country. Fanny Burney’s fictional gentlewomen found their mornings ‘all spent in gossiping, shopping and dressing’. There is much evidence in gentlewomen’s diaries and correspondence that art imitated life: like other young women of their rank across the country, Annabella and Harriet Carr stepped out on morning shopping trips from their house in Charlotte Square, Newcastle, and headed for fashionable Westgate Road. In this, as in many other customs, English women were thought by other Europeans to have considerable freedom. Johanna Schopenhauer (mother of the philosopher) recorded that in her youth in Danzig, ‘No woman of the upper classes would have gone ever so short a distance in the streets unattended by her manservant . . . no lady went to the shops to make her purchases.’ Solitary shopping trips by Englishwomen were thus not uncommon, but in general, company cemented the social pleasures of shopping, and it is instructive how many fictitious and real-life trips are described with two or more companions, friends who may or may not have been related. Groups of women on shopping expeditions were so commonplace as to attract little contemporary comment. Visitors, rather than those for whom it was a routine, were more inclined to comment on their shopping trips in English towns. In September , Sophie La Roche, from Augsburg in southern Germany, went on a trip with a female friend to Leicester- fields in London. As rather starry-eyed tourists, Sophie and her com- panion marvelled at a pastry-cook’s shop, ‘surrounded, like a large and spacious room, by glass cases, in which all kinds of preserved fruits and jellies are exhibited in handsome glass jars’. ‘What we women liked best of all’, Sophie enthused to her family, ‘was a large but delightful  Ibid.  Ibid.  Burney, Cecilia, .  A. W. Purdue, Merchants and Gentry in North-East England, – (Sunderland, ), –.  ‘E. W.’, Youthful Life, and Pictures of Travel: Being the Autobiography of Madam Schopenhauer: Translated from the German,  (), . Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10    covering made of gauze which . . . kept the flies off [the pastries].’ Where incidences of men going shopping are recorded, either in diaries or in surviving bills and account books, it is tempting to conclude that the only type of shopping that men did was for high-value, high- prestige, one-off purchases. An example of this was James Boswell’s triumphant and detailed account of how he convinced Mr Jefferys of the Strand, ‘sword cutter to his Majesty’, to sell him on credit a silver- hilted sword worth five guineas, even though he was a stranger to the shopkeeper: ‘This I think was a good adventure’, recorded Boswell, ‘and much to my honour.’ (We shall return to look more closely at this purchase later.) The horse-loving menfolk of the Baker family from county Durham were typical of provincial gentry in their preference for shopping for luxury items in London, as an extensive collection of eighteenth-century bills testifies. The main focus of their attention, however, was the trade in horseflesh (hardly ‘shopping’ in the strict sense we have defined it). Historian Margot Finn has shown how it was a common pattern for unmarried men or widowers to rely upon female relatives to shop for their material comforts and necessities, but also how some men were highly adaptable (if not acquisitive), and preferred to shop for themselves. Other evidence suggests that within families men did not conserve their energies for ‘luxury’ purchases, but were sent on short errands to buy small items for their households. Edward, Jane Austen’s brother, was sent to buy necessities for his family, newly arrived in Bath (‘I trust the bustle of sending for tea, coffee, and sugar &c., and going out to taste a cheese himself, will do him good’, observed Jane). As with servants sent on errands, when men went shopping, the female organising principle was often still in evidence. Male customers appeared in all manner of shops, even those selling women’s consumer items. The shoplifter Charles Speckman recorded in his confession from the gallows that it was not his gender,  Sophie in London, , Being the Diary of Sophie V. La Roche, trans. and ed. Clare Williams (), –.  Boswell’s London Journal, –, ed. F. A. Pottle (New Haven, ), entry for  Dec. , –.  Helen Berry, ‘The Metropolitan Tastes of Judith Baker, Durham Gentlewoman’, in On the Town: Women and Urban Life in Eighteenth-Century Britain, ed. Penelope Lane and Rosemary Sweet (Ashgate, forthcoming, ).  Margot Finn, ‘Men’s Things: Masculine Possession in the Consumer Revolution’, Social History, ,  (), . Other gender-specific accounts are Elizabeth Kowaleski- Wallace, Consuming Subjects: Women, Shopping and Business in the Eighteenth Century (New York, ); Lorna Weatherill, ‘A Possession of One’s Own: Women and Consumer Behaviour in England, –’, Journal of British Studies,  (), –; Vickery, ‘Women and the World of Goods’, –.  Jane Austen to Cassandra Austen ( May ). Jane Austen’s Letters to her Sister Cassandra and Others, ed. R. W. Chapman,  (Oxford, ), . Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10        but his youth, that had provoked comment when he asked to see some lace in a milliner’s shop. As by far the largest and most diverse commercial centre in England, London was a magnet for polite society from all corners of Britain and abroad to spend their money. Cesar de Saussure, a young French Protestant from Switzerland, described London’s four main shopping streets in the s – the Strand, Fleet Street, Cheapside and Cornhill – as ‘the finest in Europe’. Cheapside had been the hub of shopping activity in the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, although from the Restoration period onwards, the central business district for retailing shifted north and westwards, to Covent Garden, the Strand and (later) Oxford Street and Regent Street. Although London streets for passing traffic were still filled with mud, wide and handsome pavements now made leisurely browsing a more civilised and leisurely pastime. The cleanliness and convenience of the environment, and civil sociability of shopkeepers, helped to make browsing a polite activity. Sophie La Roche enthused about London’s streets, ‘pedestrians need dread neither dirt nor danger here’, a pleasure which was lacking in other European capital cities (such as Paris) at this time. To this convenience was added the extra pleasure of sensory stimulation. In Oxford Street, for example, artificial lighting was used to allow shoppers (who could pass by six-deep upon the broad pavements) to gaze at the brightly lit silver, china or glass within, long into the night. Watchmakers and glassmakers eclipsed even goldsmiths’ and jewellers’ shops with their displays of ‘fanciful clocks set in alabaster . . . gold and silver, and the richest cut glass lighted by patent lamps at night’. The booksellers placed the most expensive books in their windows, the printsellers their most eyecatching artists, while the undertaker, not to be outdone, covered his window panes with ‘escutcheons, crowns and coronets, and the lid of a little velvet coffin’. Visitors to London also commented upon the elaborately decorated street signs outside of shops, some dangerously large and heavy, which were known to cause accidents  Charles Speckman, The Life, Travels, Exploits, Frauds and Robberies of Charles Speckman, Alias Brown (), reprinted in Philip Rawlings, Drunks, Whores and Idle Apprentices: Criminal Biographies of the Eighteenth Century (), .  A Foreign View of England in –: The Letters of Monsieur Cesar de Saussure to His Family, trans. and ed. Mme Van Muyden (), .  Sophie in London, –. For a European perspective see Roy Porter, ‘Material Pleasures in the Consumer Society’, in Pleasure in the Eighteenth Century, ed. Roy Porter and Marie Mulvey Roberts (Basingstoke, ),  n. .  Sophie in London, –.  J. P. Malcolm, Anecdotes of the Manners and Customs of London during the Eighteenth Century ( vols., ), , .  Ibid. Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10    and even fatalities if they fell from their moorings. In provincial towns such as Chester, a similar process of modernisation, specialisation and competition was taking place in the retailing trades, with modern brick or plaster replacing medieval, half-timber shop fronts, accompanied by environmental improvements such as pavement cleaning and refuse collection. The imposing bow-fronted shop windows that appeared towards the end of the eighteenth century were no doubt as much a deterrent to those who could not afford the goods within as a magnet to those who could. Francis Place recorded that in April , his new tailor’s shop at Charing Cross had a frontage ‘as elegant as the place would permit’, with each of the panes of glass in the window alone costing him the grand sum of three pounds. ‘I think mine were the largest plate-glass windows in London’, he later recalled proudly, ‘if indeed they were not the first.’ Retailers in London, where the market exhibited the widest range of specialist shops, became extremely adept at attracting wealthy customers. This was evident not only in the quality of goods in stock, and the manner of their display, but also in the location of the retail outlet, and the language used to advertise the shop in trade cards and newspaper advertisements. It became fashionable, for example, to describe shops as ‘warehouses’ from the s onwards, a semantic distinction maintained by Josiah Wedgwood, who encouraged the snobbish illusion of exclusivity among his customers by such singular measures as not issuing trade cards, and choosing smart locations for his exhibition rooms. Polite shoppers from among the nobility and gentry, reflected Wedgwood, ‘will not mix with the rest of the World any further than their amusements or conveniencys make it necessary’. Another innovation made by shopkeepers by the end of the Hanoverian period was the practice of placing large and brightly coloured ‘by appointment’ crests above the doorways of their shops if they were patronised by royalty, a highly visible endorsement of the quality of the goods contained therein. As customers crossed the threshold of a shop, the royal crest over the door fostered the illusion that they were entering temporarily into a space favoured by the ruling elite, even if the latter never went there in person.  David Garrioch, ‘House Names, Shop Signs and Social Organisation in Western European Cities, –’, Urban History,  (), –; see also Ambrose Heal, Sign Boards of Old London Shops (),  and passim.  Jon Stobart, ‘Shopping Streets as Social Space: Leisure, Consumerism and Improve- ment in an Eighteenth-Century County Town’, Urban History, ,  (), –.  The Life of Francis Place, –, ed. Graham Wallas ), .  Eliza Meteyard, The Life of Josiah Wedgwood from his Private Correspondence and Family Papers,  (), –.  Ibid.  Malcolm, Anecdotes, , . Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10        The interiors of shops, particularly those where higher value and status goods were sold, were no less alluring, and, for many, intimidating. The study of the spatial organisation of the exterior and interior of shops is a burgeoning field of historical inquiry in its own right. Clare Walsh, for example, has shown how eighteenth-century goldsmiths and jewellers were highly sophisticated in their strategies of display, exhibiting high-quality and high-value specimens of their craft in long, glass-fronted cabinets. One contemporary observer likened shops on Ludgate Hill to ‘perfectly gilded theatres’ for their ‘variety of wrought silks’ and ‘so many changes of fine scenes’. Just as today, when window-shoppers may look from the street but not cross the sacred thresholds of designer emporia, there were unwritten, though widely understood, rules about who could enter these eighteenth-century theatres of consumption. These rules are by their nature extremely difficult to reconstruct in history, but are alluded to in the fictional works of contemporary writers such as Daniel Defoe, who had first- hand knowledge of retailing as a former tradesman himself. Our modern notion, for example, that a shop is either open for business or closed and the front door locked was anachronistic in this context. It was not unusual for shopkeepers to leave their premises to visit customers in their homes, or on other short errands. Usually an apprentice or servant was left in charge, but there were potential hazards in this method, as the sharp rise in shoplifting at the start of the eighteenth century testifies. In Moll Flanders (), Moll finds a silversmith’s shop unlocked, with no one in attendance on the valuable goods in the shop window. She is witnessed by a neighbour (described as ‘an officious Fellow in a House, not a Shop, on the other side of the Way’) who catches her just as she is about to steal a piece of plate. Her subsequent actions are suggestive of the normal conduct that was expected when a passer-by entered a shop and found it unattended: ‘I had so much presence of Mind as to knock very hard with my Foot on the Floor of the House, and was just calling out too, when the Fellow laid hands on me.’ Caution was required on the part of the shopper in order to avoid suspicion, particularly if he or she entered a place where valuable goods were displayed. In this scenario, the  See Clare Walsh ‘The Design of London Goldsmiths’ Shops in the Early Eighteenth Century’, in Goldsmiths, Silversmiths and Bankers: Innovation and the Transfer of Skill, –, ed. D. Mitchell (Stroud, ), –.  Malcolm, Anecdotes, , .  J. M. Beattie, Policing and Punishment in London, –: Urban Crime and the Limits of Terror (Oxford, ), –. Beattie cites the appearance of pamphlets with titles such as Hanging Not Punishment Enough a ‘Case of Traders relating to Shoplifters . . . &c.’ ().  Daniel Defoe, The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders, ed. G. A. Starr (Oxford, ), .  Ibid. Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10    silversmith responded to Moll’s protestations of innocence thus: ‘Mis- tress, you might come into the Shop with a good Design for ought I know, but it seem’d a dangerous thing for you to come into such a Shop as mine is, when you see no Body there.’ The rules of conduct varied according to location and type of shop. It was especially important to be aware of these rules when shopping in the metropolis: a telling part of Moll Flanders’s defence against the accusation of shoplifting was that she claimed to be a ‘Stranger in London . . . newly come out of the North.’ The observation of difference between social mores in different parts of England is well documented in contemporary travellers’ diaries, and suggests that Moll’s plea of ignorance as a ‘northerner’ was more than a literary conceit. While the elucidation of these cultural differences is an intricate task (and beyond the scope of the current survey) one example will suffice. The Cambridge clergyman James Plumptre, visiting the north of England in , thought it worthy to record ‘the civility of a young man, apprentice to Mr Wilkinson the Chemist’, in the market town of Morpeth. The youth advised him upon the cure for a headache, and then resisted any attempt at payment. Plumptre insisted upon giving him something, but reported that the apprentice ‘seemed scarcely to be pleased when I left an acknowledgement upon the [shop] counter’. This southern English visitor thus encountered unusually polite generosity from a northern shop assistant, but an equally unfamiliar surliness. It is surprising, given the expansion and diversification of metropolitan and provincial shops, that little was written on the subject of the art of selling in late seventeenth-and eighteenth-century tradesmen’s manuals. There was little notion of specialisation in marketing or sales techniques in the early modern period. The Compleat Tradesman: Or, the Exact Dealer’s Daily Companion (), for example, contains advice ‘For all Merchants, Whole-sale men, shop-keepers, Retailers, Young Tradesmen, Countrey- chapmen, Industrious Yeomen Traders in Petty Villages’, but consists substantively of guidance on the use of weights and measures, property and quality of goods, how to avoid bankruptcy, etc., but nothing specific on how to sell to customers. ‘Merely selling’, argues the historian of shopping, Dorothy Davis, was considered ‘child’s play, and very often children, or at least young apprentices were left to do it’. As the  Ibid.,   Ibid.  James Plumptre’s Britain: The Journals of a Tourist in the s, ed. Jan Ousby () (entry for  May ), .  ‘N. H.’, The Compleat Tradesman: Or, the Exact Dealer’s Daily Companion (). For a survey of the genre, see Natasha Glaisyer, ‘The Culture of Commerce in England, – ’ (PhD dissertation, University of Cambridge, ).  Dorothy Davis, A History of Shopping (), . Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10        eighteenth century progressed, this changed, so that shop owners became increasingly aware of salesmanship as a vital ingredient to their prosperity, less the provenance of child employees, and more in need of careful stage-management. Josiah Wedgwood explained in  that he needed a ‘Large room’ to display his various wares in their most visually appealing manner, since he anticipated that this would give him space to ‘do the needfull with the Ladys in the neatest, genteelest, and best method’. We have already seen how Wedgwood judged that his gentry customers preferred not to rub shoulders with the lower ranks on shopping expeditions. That he enticed them into his warehouse at all was a considerable achievement. A traditional mark of gentility and noble status was the ability to summon shopkeepers to a private residence or carriage parked outside a shop. In Fanny Burney’s play, The Witlings (), set in a milliner’s establishment, the proprietor Mrs Wheedle is summoned by Lady Bab Vertigo’s footman to wait upon his mistress in her coach outside. This convenient theatrical device for introducing off-stage action was also plausible in that a titled lady would not have condescended to inspect ‘trimmings’ within the shop itself. To do so would have entailed rubbing shoulders with the likes of Mrs Voluble, the wife of a prosperous merchant who (as her name implied) had few polite graces. When well-off customers of the middling sort like Mrs Voluble entered a shop, they would first have been invited to take a seat at the counter, and perhaps to take refreshment. Many illustrated trade cards and shop floor plans indicate the presence of ante-rooms, in which polite customers were invited to take tea before making their purchases. An advertisement for John Gibson’s warehouse ‘at the Shop lately possessed by Mess. Hodgson and Ormston, the Door above the Flesh- market, Newcastle’, boasted ‘The Tea Kettle will be always boiling. Gentlemen and Ladies may try the Teas.’ A subsequent advertisement for the same establishment developed an even more politely worded invitation from Mr Gibson to prospective customers: not only would he have the kettle on, but ‘every Gentleman and Lady that please to favour him with their Custom, may depend upon being well served’. Customers were often invited to take refreshment in a side room or parlour within shops, a custom which was later continued in the earliest nineteenth-century department stores.  Wedgwood, Life, –.  Fanny Burney, The Witlings () Act , in The Complete Plays of Frances Burney, , ed. Peter Sabor (), –.  Ibid.  Newcastle Courant ( Aug. ).  Ibid. ( Oct. ).  Clare Walsh, ‘The Newness of the Department Store: A View from the Eighteenth Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10    Once tea and conversation had been dispensed with, the customer would move to browsing in the shop. In an era before quality control and extensive use of brand names, the expectation was that browsing would be a visual and tactile experience, with proper scrutiny and inspection of the goods on sale. Here, the polite shopper combined the exercise of discerning taste in selecting an item that was aesthetically pleasing and suitable with a pragmatic evaluation of its merits. This was not always easy: some customers even suspected that shopkeepers deliberately kept their premises dark so that the true quality of the goods on offer would not be revealed. Jane Austen, ever a prudent shopper, wrote to her sister Cassandra in June  to express her vexation that she had wasted half a guinea on a muslin veil, bought as a present for their future sister-in-law, which turned out when she got it home to be ‘thick, dirty and ragged’. The experience of shopping then, even more than today, was bound up with sensory discernment: sight, touch and even smell were important means of gauging first hand the quality of the goods on offer. Some eighteenth-century women turned browsing into an art form, and a distinctive pleasure in its own right. The appearance of new language and social stereotypes to describe women who shopped as a form of recreation is powerfully suggestive that this was more than just a satirical play upon a pre- existing phenomenon, but a new and observable social development. Mr Spectator in August  reported his discovery among the ‘fraternity’ of Hackney-coachmen, that there was a ‘Cant’ or slang phrase for women ‘who ramble twice or thrice a Week from Shop to Shop, to turn over all the Goods in Town without buying any thing’. These women were known as ‘Silk-Worms’, by virtue of their habit of unravelling yard upon yard of cloth for inspection. Favoured by the coachmen as their best customers, the ‘Silk-Worms’ were also indulged by shop assistants, ‘for ’tho they never buy’ explained the Spectator, ‘they are ever talking of new Silks, Laces and Ribbands, and serve the Owners in getting them Customers’. On the other side of the counter, shop assistants had to be skilful in the art of flattery and reassurance, and display a considerable knowledge of their stock. The polite attendant who laboured over elaborate Century’, in Cathedrals of Consumption: The European Department Store, –, ed. G. Crossick and S. Janmain (Aldershot, ), ; see also Bill Lancaster, The Department Store: A Social History (Leicester, ).  On the increasing use of brand names for medicines, and product standardisation in the ready-to-wear clothes trade, see John Styles, ‘Product Innovation in Early Modern London’, Past and Present,  (), –.  Malcolm, Anecdotes, , .  Austin, Letters, , .  Spectator, no.  ( Aug. ).  Ibid. Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10        deportment and dress, and lapsed into obsequiousness towards his customers, was fertile ground for satire. As early as , the male shop assistants on Ludgate Hill were described as ‘the sweetest, fairest, nicest, dished-out creatures’ who ‘by their elegant address and soft speeches you would guess . . . to be Italians’. ‘These fellows’ were seemingly ‘the greatest fops in the kingdom; they have their toilets and their fine night-gowns, their chocolate in the morning and their green tea two hours after; Turkey polts for their dinner; and their perfumes, washes, and clean linen, equip them for the Parade.’ Although this account was evidently satirical, it is instructive to note the carefully calibrated response on the part of the foppish shop assistant to different ‘degrees’ of customer; an usher (whom we would now recognise as a modern ‘greeter’) waits at the door to bow to passing coaches and hand ladies in and out of the shop with ‘an obliging smile and a pretty mouth made’. Once inside, ‘ladies’ are shown the most expensive fabrics: Italian silks, brocades, tissues, English velvet embossed’. By contrast, the ‘meaner sort’ are presented with ‘fine thread satins, both striped and plain . . . Norwich crapes . . . gentlemen’s night gowns ready made, shalloons, durances and . . . Scotch plaids’. Successful eighteenth-century shop assistants would have been highly skilled at ‘reading’ their customers’ needs, and judging creditworthiness according to outward appearance. Let us return to the incident involving James Boswell and his purchase of a sword on credit, and scrutinise the exact transaction between Boswell and Mr Jefferys, the shopkeeper, more closely. Boswell records: I . . . looked at a number of his swords, and at last picked out a very handsome one at five guineas. ‘Mr Jefferys,’ said I, ‘I have not money here to pay for it. Will you trust me?’ ‘Upon my word, Sir,’ said he, ‘you must excuse me. It is a thing we never do to a stranger.’ I bowed genteelly and said, ‘Indeed, Sir, I believe it is not right.’ However, I stood and looked at him, and he looked at me. ‘Come, Sir’, cried he, ‘I will trust you.’ ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘if you had not trusted me, I should not have bought it from you.’ The rituals of polite browsing had the advantage in that it gave the shop assistant time to evaluate the customer’s status and credit through his or her outward dress and deportment, if they were not personally acquainted. The early modern economy, as the work of Craig Muldrew and Keith Wrightson has shown, was largely based upon credit net- works, with cash only used upon certain specific occasions, such as the posthumous settling of debts by the executors of a will, or when a  Malcolm, Anecdotes, , –.  Ibid.  Boswell, London Journal ( Dec. ), . Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10    traveller made purchases on a journey. An individual’s capacity to acquire goods was thus to a large extent determined by their ability to establish a personal relationship with the shopkeeper, and to convince him or her to part with them on account. The mutual return of a steady gaze, and a ‘genteel’ deportment was crucial to Boswell’s success. The diarist was gratified to have tested his own credibility as a polite gentleman, which successfully secured for him a degree of credit that was not his by right as a stranger. Returning to pay his bill the following day, Boswell thanked Jefferys (‘You paid me a very great compliment. I am much obliged to you’) but warned the shopkeeper ‘pray don’t do such a thing again. It is dangerous.’ Contrary to the idea that there was no such thing as salesmanship in the early eighteenth century, J. P. Malcolm recalled a vivid account from this period of a sales assistant actively courting a female customer with the following patter: ‘This Madam is wonderfully charming. This, Madam, is so diverting a silk. This, Madam – my stars! How cool it looks. But this Madam – Ye Gods! would I had , yards of it!’ The tactile nature of the encounter, and unusual degree of licensed handling of the customer’s person, is emphasised here. Loose fabric is gathered into a sleeve and set upon the shoulders of the customer with a: ‘It suits your Ladyship’s face wonderfully well.’ Through familiarity and general chit-chat, the shop assistant forges a social bond with the customer in a diverting conversation which masks the underlying commercial purpose of the encounter (‘Was you at the Park last night, Madam? Your ladyship shall abate me sixpence. Have you read the Tatler today?’). What we are hearing in a distant voice is the flattering tone of polite browsing in action. There was clearly a gendered dimension to the art of salesmanship, and a long-standing notion by the end of the eighteenth century that the female shopper required cajoling and flattery. References in the popular print culture from as early as the s suggest that it was recognised that male shop assistants could use their sexual allure to court women’s custom. One letter to the coffee house periodical, the Athenian Gazette, or Casuistical Mercury in  was from a young tradesman at the Royal Exchange who feared that if he were to marry, it would be the ruin of his business. He was probably a haberdasher, a business  Craig Muldrew, The Economy of Obligation: The Culture of Credit and Social Relations in Early Modern England (), –; see also his ‘Hard Food for Midas: Cash and its Social Value in Early Modern England’, Past and Present,  (), –; Keith Wrightson, Earthly Necessities: Economic Lives in Early Modern Britain (London and New Haven, ), –.  Boswell, London Journal ( Dec. ), .  Malcolm, Anecdotes, , –.  Ibid. Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10        ‘chiefly relating to the Female Sex’, and his trade was reliant upon his personal charm, for as he explained ‘I have many Visitants purely to view my Person, with the pretence of buying some trifle.’ His sales technique was to court each female customer equally, thus ‘by my fair and impartial Behaviour most have deem’d themselves the absolute Mistress of my Affections’. Whether or not this entertaining first-person account was ‘real’ is largely irrelevant for our purposes: it is one of the earliest representations of a man using his sexuality to increase his retail trade among female consumers. It is also significant that the Athenian Mercury was prompted by this scenario to mock salesmen in general for their vanity, a trait which was thought to belong more properly to the female sex. For all the rituals of flattery, and indeed flirtation, that went with sales patter, the moment came when dissembling ceased, and the customer moved to find out the price of the goods on offer. The fact that prices were not displayed had two effects upon the experience of polite shopping. First, when a person of ‘quality’ entered a shop, the immediate social exchange, mirrored in the hospitality, cordiality and deference of the shop assistant, made no reference to the express purpose of the customer’s visit: the exchange of goods or services for money. The parameters of these social interactions were framed by the social requirements of polite, ‘feminine’ sensibilities and ritual courtesy, from ‘small talk’ to the taking of tea. The goods for sale could be scrutinised and handled without mention of price – free from any commercial connotations, and discussed politely on their merits and suitability alone. Indeed, as the historian of consumption in classical Athens, James Davidson, has suggested, it is a phenomenon common to both ancient and modern civilisations that the lack of a price tag serves to increase the desire on the part of the consumer. The first stage of shopping, the browse, was facilitated essentially by social interaction. The second stage, however, the bargain, unmasked the illusion that this was a purely social encounter. It was expected that at some stage the price of the goods would be negotiated, adjusted according to the status, and skill, of the customer, and flexibility of the shop assistant. (There were certain exceptions: many eighteenth-century books, pamphlets and news-sheets had the prices printed on the frontispiece or header, although these too could be open to negotiation  Athenian Gazette or Casuistical Mercury [hereafter Athenian Mercury], ed. John Dunton, undated [Mar.–Apr. ].  Ibid. The Athenian Society’s exact retort was: ‘Sweet sir, The Character you have given of your Self denotes [what] great Humility and low Esteem you have of your self.’  James Davidson, Courtesans and Fishcakes: The Consuming Passions of Classical Athens (), –. Davidson uses the example of hetaeras (courtesans) and their skill at masking ‘fees for service’. Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10    at the point of sale.) Bargaining was integral to the experience of polite consumption, and was bound up with the notion that the higher the status of the consumer, the greater discount he or she could expect, and the easier it would be for them to obtain credit with the retailer. It was up to the customer to decide when the conversation should move to discussing actual price. Following the shop assistant’s elaborate flattery, the shopper made a bid for a price: ‘When we had pleased ourselves [looking at the goods, we] . . . bid him ten shillings a-yard for what he asked fifteen.’ The shop assistant protested ‘Fan me, ye winds, your ladyship rallies me! Should I part with it at such a price, the Weavers would rise upon the very shop.’ Quaker shopkeepers were exceptional in their refusal to take part in such haggling, since it was part of their religious conviction that they would never overcharge for goods, but offer only the lowest price they could take for them. The fact that they attracted comment for doing so is indicative that this was an anomalous practice. Cesar de Saussure told an anecdote about a man who swore that he would not pay for a piece of cloth after a Quaker merchant refused to lower his price. The man later sheepishly returned once he realised he could not obtain a cheaper one elsewhere, but the Quaker refused to serve him, since he was on oath. ‘Few merchants’, observed Saussure, ‘would have had the delicacy of feeling this Quaker merchant had.’ Polite shopping of the browse/bargain model here described belongs to an era when ties of sociability and mutual obligation, mediated through the operation of credit networks, were a prevalent and mean- ingful form of consumption for a particular sector of society, but this was soon to change. By the early to mid-nineteenth century, the rise of industrial production, economic expansion and the efforts of successive governments to rationalise the currency and encourage free trade were transforming the English economy into a modern capitalist system.  For auction sales ‘by the candle’ in coffee houses, see Brian W. Cowan, ‘The Social Life of Coffee: Commercial Culture and Metropolitan Society in Early Modern England, –’ (PhD dissertation, Princeton, ).  Malcolm, Anecdotes, , –. Another literary example of enthusiastic salesmanship, followed by a cavil upon the price, made by ‘the first architectural upholsterer of the age’, Mr Soho, in Maria Edgeworth’s The Absentee,  (), –. The upholsterer finishes his elaborate plans for his customer’s apartment thus: ‘And, of course, you’d have the sphinx candelabras, and the Phoenix argands. Oh! nothing else lights now, ma’am. Expense! Expense of the whole! Impossible to calculate here on the spot – but nothing at all worth your ladyship’s consideration!’ I am extremely grateful to Nicholas Cooper for drawing my attention to this reference.  Saussure, Foreign View, –.  The Economic History of Britain since , ed. Roderick Floud and Donald McCloskey ( vols., Cambridge, ); D. E. C. Eversley, ‘The Home Market and Economic Growth in England, –’, in Land, Labour and Population in the Industrial Revolution, ed. E. L. Jones and G. E. Mingay (). For Jan de Vries’s influential theory of an ‘industrious Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:10        Towards the end of the eighteenth century, new forms of shopping emerged. On the initiative of shop owners, many realised that there were ways of making larger profits than the old credit system had allowed. Those who witnessed a change in attitudes and practices commented upon the erosion of polite shopping rituals. One pioneer of new retailing practices in the last quarter of the eighteenth century was the bookseller James Lackington, whose novel plan was for a ‘ready-money business’ that denied credit to all customers: ‘no exception was . . . made, not even in favour of Nobility’. Universal cash-based transactions in shops required a sea-change in attitudes among shop assistants and customers alike. Lackington recorded, ‘I was much laughed at and ridiculed, and it was thought that I might as well attempt to rebuild the tower of Babel, as to establish a large business without giving credit.’ Responses from the public were at first highly unfavourable: ‘Many unacquainted with my plan of business were very much offended’, Lackington recalled, while others actually became angry and abusive. These reactions were indicative of the way in which the ability to shop had hitherto been intimately bound up with individual reputation: refusal of credit would have been highly insulting to a polite customer. The young Robert Owen also contrasted polite shopping with this new form of retailing. In his first job, working at McGuffog’s hab- erdashery in Stamford, Lincolnshire, during the s, he had served only county gentry. Owen later reflected that there had been ‘a well- established routine of politeness’ at the Stamford shop, ‘and nothing had been done in a hurry’. Flint and Palmer’s, his next employers, on the other hand, was a cash business, which Owen thought perhaps was the first ‘to sell at a small profit for ready money only’. Here, Owen observed the contrast between the old and new approaches to retailing: The customers were of an inferior class, they were treated differently. Not much time was allowed for bargaining, a price being fixed for everything, and, compared with other houses, cheap. If any demur was made or much hesitation, the article asked for was withdrawn, and, as the shop was generally full from morning till late in the evening, another customer was attended to. revolution’, see ‘Understanding the Household Economy’, in Consumption and the World of Goods, ed. Brewer and Porter, , – and passim.  James Lackington, Memoirs of the First Forty-Five Years of the Life of James Lackington (), –.  Ibid.  E. D. H. Cole, The Life of Robert Owen, (), –.  Ibid. Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:11    In part, Owen’s observations reflected upon the contrast between two separate worlds: one, that of the provincial gentry, locked into older patterns of consumption and credit; the second, a rapidly changing metropolitan environment, where an increasing sector of middle-class society had the means to acquire more consumer goods for ‘ready money’. However, as the cash nexus became more firmly entrenched, and the language of ‘sorts’ gave way to what we would recognise as class awareness, one of the signs of social change was a secretly militant objection on the part of those whose position it was to serve that their performance of politeness was both artificial and humiliating. Francis Place, himself a student of Rousseau and Godwin, resented the fact that his trade as a tailor was ‘all a matter of taste, that is, of folly and caprice’, and regarded the social expectations upon him with a degree of considerable bitterness: ‘The most profitable part for me to follow was to dance attendance on silly people, to make myself acceptable to coxcombs, to please their whims, to have no opinion of my own, but to take special care that my customers should be pleased with theirs.’ For Place, the polite show of manners that his customers expected was a source of loathing to him, a subservient self-denial of his own individualism and identity. His observations went to the heart of the problem that an increasing number of people had noticed with politeness from mid-century onwards. Originally, as Philip Carter has shown, it had been equated with ‘relaxed and genuine sociability’ as an ‘essential means of establishing the originality and merits of new modes of social refinement’, a reaction against the ‘stiff formality’ of social manners that preceded it. Politeness had offered the illusion of a civil society based upon quasi-democratic principles of civic humanism and mutual respect, accessible to anyone who studied and adopted its precepts. By the end of the eighteenth century, artisans and tradesmen were increas- ingly political in their awareness that politeness could not gloss over the social and economic inequalities upon which society was based. Shopping in the eighteenth century was neither as straightforward nor as familiar an activity as one might assume; it required a con- siderable amount of social skill and economic nous on the part of the consumer. Viewed in this light, the endless modest purchases and prices chronicled by gentlewomen in their private correspondence and personal accounts read less as proof of their inclination to luxury, nor the ‘triviality’ of their lives, than a proud record of their almost daily ability to negotiate the rules of polite consumption to their own social and economic advantage. The moment when shopkeepers started to  Place, Life, .  Philip Carter, Men and the Emergence of Polite Society: Britain – (),  and passim. Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core CUP TRAN121501 Selwood Systems 09-25-2002 13:31:11        use royal crests as marketing devices was emblematic of the social and economic transformation that took place in England during the eighteenth century. To shop at the same retail outlets as illustrious patrons represented a mark of one’s own discernment, but paradoxically, this illusion was only sustained through commodifying, and thus opening up to a wider purchasing public the very ‘quality’ which was associated with social exclusivity. It was some decades before this symbolic move towards the ‘democratisation of luxury’ was truly made possible with the arrival of the department store from the s onwards. Vestiges of eighteenth-century forms of polite shopping survive today only in specific minority situations, such as the invitation to take a seat when one enters a high-class jeweller’s shop, the personal service offered by the most expensive bespoke tailors or the habits of the current queen of England, whose personal credit is so well established that she famously carries no cash. We have seen how the application of politeness to social behaviour in shops had a dimension of staged flattery from its earliest stages. Within the context of a society where personal acquaintance and credit still had some purchase, the illusion that this was underpinned by mutual loyalty could have gone some way to authenticating polite interaction between shop assistant and customer as a genuine mark of esteem. In the transition to a cash-based economy, however, and as the nineteenth century progressed, a persistent suspicion emerged among hard-pressed shopkeepers and employees that they were merely exhibiting a sham courtesy in order to obtain the customer’s cash in the least possible time. Resistance to customary deference was a contributory factor to the class antagonism that found expression in campaigns for political reform among tradesmen and artisans of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Not only this, but the civilising vision of eighteenth-century urban life was eroded, as an overriding respect for the pound gradually replaced a polite regard for the person as society’s consuming passion.  Lancaster, Department Store, –. Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:20, subject to the https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0080440102000154 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_v6elnnvunnf3xkehmkdde7sory	----	FEMINIST TO POSTFEMINIST | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.1080/0969725X.2017.1286090 Corpus ID: 8992758FEMINIST TO POSTFEMINIST @article{Novak2017FEMINISTTP, title={FEMINIST TO POSTFEMINIST}, author={J. Novak}, journal={Angelaki}, year={2017}, volume={22}, pages={223 - 230} } J. Novak Published 2017 Sociology, Medicine Angelaki Abstract Biographical novels about historical women artists have been experiencing a veritable boom in recent years. Written mostly by women, they can be understood as women authors’ attempts to reach out across time (and often, space) to other “artistic” women whose lives “speak to us” today. It has long been a key insight of historical fiction research that a historical novel reveals more about the time in which it was written than the time in which it is set. As such, it can be assumed that… Expand View on Taylor & Francis tandfonline.com Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 3 CitationsBackground Citations 1 View All Topics from this paper Conception Conferences Femininity 3 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency Writing the biofictive: Caryl Phillips and The Lost Child Stephen Clingman Art 2020 2 View 1 excerpt, cites background Save Alert Research Feed Conniving Queen, Frivolous Wife, or Romantic Heroine? The Afterlife of Queen Henrietta Maria Susan Dunn-Hensley Art 2019 Save Alert Research Feed Writing Artists’ Lives Across Nations and Cultures: Biography, Biofiction and Transnationality M. Rensen, C. Wiley Art 2020 PDF Save Alert Research Feed References SHOWING 1-10 OF 25 REFERENCES SORT BYRelevance Most Influenced Papers Recency Interrogating Postfeminism: Gender and the Politics of Popular Culture Y. Tasker, Diane Negra, L. Spigel, Angela Mcrobbie Sociology 2007 428 Save Alert Research Feed Father and Daughter across Europe: The Journeys of Clara Wieck Schumann and Artemisia Gentileschi in Fictionalised Biographies Julia Lajta-Novak History 2012 3 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Feminism and Popular Culture: Investigating the Postfeminist Mystique R. Munford, Melanie Waters, Imelda Whelehan Sociology 2014 37 PDF Save Alert Research Feed Biofictions : the rewriting of romantic lives in contemporary fiction and drama M. Middeke, W. Huber Art 1999 15 PDF Save Alert Research Feed The Auto/biographical: The theory and practice of feminist auto/biography L. Stanley Sociology 1992 247 Save Alert Research Feed Bridget Jones's diary : a novel H. Fielding Art 1998 35 Save Alert Research Feed Chick Lit And Postfeminism Mandy Berg Computer Science 2016 14 Save Alert Research Feed The American Biographical Novel London: Bloomsbury, 2016 The American Biographical Novel. London: Bloomsbury 2016 Interview with Julia Novak 2015 ... 1 2 3 ... Related Papers Abstract Topics 3 Citations 25 References Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_vjcxmis4brf5lgui3eazsexu74	----	1 L’ANALISI LINGUISTICA E LETTERARIA FACOLTÀ DI SCIENZE LINGUISTICHE E LETTERATURE STRANIERE UNIVERSITÀ CATTOLICA DEL SACRO CUORE ANNO XIX 2011 PUBBLICAZIONE SEMESTRALE p01-1ALL2010_02_ALL 09/07/2012 19.14 Pagina 1 L’ANALISI LINGUISTICA E LETTERARIA Facoltà di Scienze Linguistiche e Letterature straniere Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore Anno XIX - 1/2011 ISSN 1122-1917 Direzione GIUSEPPE BER NAR DELLI LUISA CAMAIORA GIOVANNI GOBBER MAR ISA VER NA Comitato scientifico GIUSEPPE BER NAR DELLI – LUISA CAMAIORA – BONA CAMBIAGHI ARTURO CATTANEO – MAR IA FRANCA FROLA – ENR ICA GALAZZI GIOVANNI GOBBER – DANTE LIANO – MARGHER ITA ULRYCH MAR ISA VER NA – SER ENA VITALE – MAR IA TER ESA ZANOLA Segreteria di redazione LAURA BALBIANI – SARAH BIGI – COSTANZA CUCCHI MAR IACR ISTINA PEDRAZZINI – VITTOR IA PR ENCIPE © 2012 EDUCatt - Ente per il Diritto allo Studio Universitario dell’Università Cattolica Largo Gemelli 1, 20123 Milano - tel. 02.72342235 - fax 02.80.53.215 e-mail: editoriale.dsu@educatt.it (produzione); librario.dsu@educatt.it (distribuzione); web: www.educatt.it/libri Redazione della Rivista: redazione.all@unicatt.it - web: www.educatt.it/libri/all Questo volume è stato stampato nel mese di luglio 2012 presso la Litografia Solari - Peschiera Borromeo (Milano) I contributi di questa pubblicazione sono stati sottoposti alla valutazione di due Peer Reviewers in forma rigorosamente anonima p01-1ALL2010_02_ALL 09/07/2012 19.44 Pagina 2 l’analisi linguistica e letteraria xix (2011) 103-120 “What was done there is not to be told!” plans for im- provement and designs for ruin in austen’s sotherton court roberta grandi Mansfield Park is probably the least appreciated novel written by Jane austen. a prig1, inert and feeble heroine, fanny price has always been a sad surprise for those readers who had learnt to love austen through elizabeth bennet’s wit, elinor’s command and emma’s liveliness. austen’s mother herself reacted to the reading of the novel describing fanny as “insipid” and the usually enthusiastic niece anna admitted that she, too, “could not bear fanny”2. likewise edmund bertram lacks some charisma and mystery to make a proper romance hero, whereas the sparkle and appeal of mary and henry crawford challenge the reader’s judgment on their immoral behaviour. nonetheless, from the point of view of the critic, Mansfield Park offers matchless ele- ments for study and analysis as, by overturning the usual characterization of the protago- nists, the novel evidences more clearly the unchanged system of values of austen’s narra- tive. austen portrays in this novel, hidden by metaphors and allegories, the weaknesses and the sins of regency society while rewarding, at the same time, the virtue and honesty of her hero and heroine. one of the most important sequences, which mirrors and prefig- ures the key elements of the plot, is the episode of sotherton court that develops through chapter nine and ten but influences the entire progression of the novel. in that episode, the family property of maria bertram’s fiancée is visited in order to plan some works of improvement of its park, as the fashion of the time prescribed. during the visit, the main characters walk through the garden in small groups indulg- ing, sometimes, in improper behaviour. The object of this essay is to look at Jane austen’s treatment of landscape gardening and improvement work in Mansfield Park, focusing the attention on the episode of sotherton park and linking the ‘external’ description of nature and the characters’ responses to it to the ‘internal’ moral interpretation of the al- legorical development of characterization and plot. even if austen’s novels, at a superficial glance, may appear to be set almost exclusively in house interiors, they often present key episodes set in domestic outdoors or parks. The 1 reginald farrer in 1917 defined her “the most terrible incarnation we have of the female prig-pharisee”, quoted in e. auerbach, Searching for Jane Austen, university of Wisconsin press, madison 200�, p. 167. likewise, the famous critic lionel trilling believed that nobody “has found it possible to like the heroine of Mansfield Park”, l. trilling, Mansfield Park, in Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park, a Casebook, b.c. southam ed., macmillan, london 1976, p. 212. 2 Quoted in e. auerbach, Searching for Jane Austen, p. 167. 10� roberta grandi social and historical value ingrained in austen’s use of natural settings has been analysed and established by many scholars who have delved into a number of aspects of regency culture related to austen’s writing. rosemarie bodenheimer, in her essay Looking at the Landscape in Jane Austen, in the attempt to assert the idea that austen’s landscapes are outer representations of the characters’ inner selves, links austen’s ideas about nature and picturesque to those of William gilpin. affirming that “the picturesque figures as a kind of language, even a fiction, which may be either understood or abused by its speakers”3, bodenheimer stresses how, for austen, natural descriptions are seldom purely aesthetic elements, whereas, more often, they are revealers of the characters’ interiority: “austen’s landscape writing […] points inward, consistently pulling the emphasis away from picto- rial description itself to the vision of feeling of the viewer”�. she also points out how the detailed descriptions of the landscapes in Mansfield Park are directly related to the evolu- tion of the protagonist fanny price: Mansfield Park is the only one of Jane austen’s novels to extend the use of nature description into a series of passages which mark stages in the psy- chological development of its heroine. fanny price has, of course, been as- sociated with the tradition of sensibility: she looks out of windows and sees the sublime; she quotes cowper against cutting down trees; she is a preserver5. like bodenheimer, marvis batey illustrates the importance of gilpin’s work for austen’s idea of nature, that very “nature that William gilpin had taught Jane austen’s generation to seek out and admire with a picturesque eye”6. batey also adds interesting remarks on the detailed attention with which austen endows her descriptions of places and settings with precise geographic locations and travelling distances. similarly, philippa tristram connects austen’s taste for neoclassic nature to her sceptical attitude towards sensibility and romanticism: Jane austen remains a true palladian, untouched by rousseau. she would undoubtedly have agreed with Knight, who affirms in his Principles of Taste (1805) that ‘all refinement of taste … arises, in the first instance from this faculty of improved perception.’ her heroines, particularly fanny and anne elliot, are properly responsive to natural beauty, but their taste is without romantic spontaneity7. 3 r. bodenheimer, Looking at the Landscape in Jane Austen, “studies in english literature, 1500-1900”, xxi, 1981, �, p. 607. � Ibid., p. 622. 5 Ibid., p. 613. 6 m. batey, Jane Austen and the English Landscape, barn elms, london 1996, p. 69. see also m. batey, In Quest of Jane Austen’s ‘Mr Repton’, “garden history”, v, 1977, 1, pp. 19-20. 7 p. tristram, Living Space in Fact and Fiction, routledge, london/new York 1989, p. 16�. 105“What was done there is not to be told!” other scholars have concentrated on the role of women in regency society and on the attitude of austen’s heroines towards nature. barbara britton Wenner, interestingly evi- dences how the physical collocation of austen’s female characters in outdoor landscapes often responds to the necessity of acquiring a vantage position of “refuge and prospect”8, in order to be able, at the same time, to hide from the other’s attention and observe the other’s activities. alistair m. duckworth evidences how, according to austen, houses and landscapes are direct reflections of their owners and, consequently, the actions of improvement planned or performed can be interpreted either as signs of moral improve- ment or of excess: “Throughout Jane austen’s fiction, estates function not only as the set- tings of action but as indexes to the character and social responsibility of their owners”9. duckworth’s analysis is particularly accurate for Mansfield Park and will be drawn on in several moments of this essay. equally important is banfield’s study of the moral value of natural and artificial landscapes in the novel10. finally, alison g. sulloway’s work11 is of fundamental importance for the interpre- tation of the sotherton episode as an allegory12. she offers the clearest analysis of the characters’ expedition in the park as a direct prefiguration of the later parts of the novel. sulloway analyses austen’s use of nature as a symbolic element where the garden repre- sents “an androg ynous space, halfway between the man’s absolute freedom to travel all over england at will, and the woman’s small, restricted, domestic boundaries”13 and the actions performed in outer spaces act as symbolic representatives of the interior drives of the characters. The analysis carried out hereafter focuses on both aspects of austen’s sotherton epi- sode. on the one hand, sotherton is considered as a real park which needs improvement according to the fashion of the time and which reflects the taste and sensibility of both characters and author. on the other, it is also considered as a moral allegory of the future development of the plot, an allegory which needs to be interpreted from a psychological and symbolic perspective. 8 b. britton Wenner, Prospect and Refuge in the Landscape of Jane Austen, ashgate, aldershot 2006. 9 a.m. duckworth, The Improvement of the Estate. A study of Jane Austen’s novels, The John hopkins university press, baltimore 1971 p. 38. see also a.m. duckworth, Mansfield Park and Estate Improvements: Jane Austen’s Grounds of Being, “nineteenth-century fiction”, xxvi, 1971, 1, pp. 25-�8 and a.m. duckworth, Landscape, in Jane Austen in Context, J. todd ed., cambridge university press, cambridge 2005, pp. 278-288. 10 a. banfield, The Moral Landscape of Mansfield Park, “nineteenth-century fiction”, xxvi, 1971, 1, pp. 1-2�. 11 a.g. sulloway, Jane Austen and the Province of Womanhood, university of pennsylvania press, philadelphia 1989. 12 see also c. marsden gillis, Garden, Sermon, and Novel in mansfield park: Exercises in Legibility, “nov- el: a forum on fiction”, xviii, 1985, 1, pp. 117-125. 13 a.g. sulloway, Jane Austen and the Province of Womanhood, p. 198. 106 roberta grandi Improving Nature The necessity to improve the landscape of sotherton court is presented for the first time by its owner mr. rushworth during an afternoon at mansfield park: he had been visiting a friend in the neighbouring county, and that friend having recently had his grounds laid out by an improver, mr. rushworth was returned with his head full of the subject, and very eager to be improv- ing his own place in the same way; and though not saying much to the purpose, could talk of nothing else1�. as daniels clearly explains, “the idea of ‘improvement’ was central to landed culture”15 in these centuries and the novel clearly reflects this notion from these first lines. mr. rush- worth, a young landowner of good fortune, is extremely susceptible to the fashion of the time that identified the activity of ‘improvement’ as a sign of good education and aesthet- ic taste. The visit to his friend’s estate has left rushworth with a poignant need, almost an obsession, to renovate his own property according to the modern trend. after a few lines he speaks his mind again with these words: “it wants improvement, ma’am, beyond any- thing. i never saw a place that wanted so much improvement in my life; and it is so forlorn that i do not know what can be done with it”16. and, however excessive it may seem to a modern reader, rushworth’s attitude was nothing unusual in those times: ‘every man now, be his fortune what it will, is to be doing something at his place, as the fashionable phrase is,’ writes an enthusiast in 1739; ‘and you hardly meet with any body, who, after the first compliments, does not inform you, that he is in mortar and moving of earth; the modest terms for building and gardening’17. if it is evident that ‘improvement’ was one of the bywords of the time, what is less clear is what idea of nature was acted upon and which specific taste and sensibility guided designs and plans. first of all it is important to consider the fact that the englishmen of the time were influenced by the “the firm belief that embellished nature is nature at the top of its potential and thus it is richer and not less authentic than the wild one”18. so, an observation such as rushworth’s about his friend’s grounds, 1� J. austen, Mansfield Park. Introduction and notes by Kathryn Sutherland, penguin classics, london 1996, p. 50. from now on, the abbreviation MP is used to indicate this book. 15 s. daniels, Fields of Vision. Landscape Imagery and National Identity in England & the United States, polity press, cambridge 199�, p. 80. 16 MP, p. 51 17 p. tristram, Living Space in Fact and Fiction, p. 2. 18 “[...] la convinzione che la natura abbellita sia natura al massimo delle sue potenzialità e quindi più ricca e non meno autentica della selvaggia”, m. bellorini, “First Follow Nature”. Riflessioni e note sulla semantica del giardino nella poesia e nella cultura inglese del Settecento, isu – università cattolica, milano 200�, p. 13. The translation is mine. 107“What was done there is not to be told!” “i wish you could see compton,” said he; “it is the most complete thing! i never saw a place so altered in my life. i told smith i did not know where i was. The approach now, is one of the finest things in the country”19, would have been considered the highest possible praise: the work of the most famous landscape designers of the century, indeed, aimed purposely at helping nature to express its full potential of beauty. however, taste and sensibility were in constant evolution and at the beginning of the nineteenth century an aesthetic dispute was shaking the tenets of garden design. The neo- classic, palladian ideal, “with flights of terraces, cascades, fountains and parterres”20, had been substituted by a “beautiful nature” promoted by the art of lancelot ‘capability’ brown and, later, humphry repton, a “smooth beauty in landscape [that] produced an effect of satisfaction and agreeable relaxation”21. in the last two decades of the eighteenth century, this “beautiful nature” was challenged by another idea of beauty: the pictur- esque garden “modelled on nature”22 and promoted by William gilpin, uvedale price and richard payne Knight23. as batey clearly explains, austen preferred this last trend, describing the grounds of pemberley in Pride and Prejudice as the supreme realization of natural ‘gilpinesque’ beauty, a place where “nature’s rude views were not rejected and the characteristic abruptness of the derbyshire scene was preferred to smoothness and gradual deviations”2�. This, however, does not imply that austen was against improving works tout court: austen “was an improver herself ”25; she took part personally in the re- newal of the garden at steventon rectory and judged with approbation some changes that repton had performed on the property of her cousin. as already noticed, for austen the discriminating criterion was the good or bad sense and the good or bad taste of the improvement itself. ‘picturesque’ or ‘beautiful’ landscapists, however, shared the common belief that it was nature itself that guided the hand of the improver and indicated the necessary chang- es. in Mansfield Park this belief is clearly expressed by henry crawford talking about his choices for the renewal of his property of everingham: with the natural advantages of the ground, which pointed out, even to a very young eye, what little remained to be done, and my own consequent resolutions, i had not been of age three months before everingham was all that it is now26. 19 MP, p. 51. 20 m. batey, Jane Austen and the English Landscape, p. 68. 21 Ibidem. for an updated study on lancelot brown see J. brown, The Omnipotent Magician. Lancelot ‘Capa- bility’ Brown, chatto & Windus, london 2011. 22 Ibidem 23 see m. andrews, The Search for the Picturesque. Landscape Aesthetics and Tourism in Britain, 1760-1800, scholar press, aldershot 1989; s. copley – p. garside ed., The Politics of the Picturesque. Literature, landscape and aesthetics since 1770, cambridge university press, cambridge 199�. 2� m. batey, Jane Austen and the English Landscape, p. 69. 25 d. murray, Spectatorship in mansfield park: Looking and Overlooking, “nineteenth-century literature”, lii, 1997, 1, p. 3. 26 MP, p. 58. 108 roberta grandi This is the aesthetic idea that will also guide crawford’s advice to rushworth. in fact, even if the latter, at the beginning, seems inclined to turn to a professional landscape designer, convinced by crawford’s self assurance and Julia and maria’s pressure, rushworth will ask crawford to “inspect” the ground and “guide” his plans for improvement. “A mere nothing before Repton” The professional that rushworth had thought to engage was no less than humphry rep- ton, the heir of capability brown’s art and reputation and, by the time austen began writing Mansfield Park in 1811, the “star” of landscape design. born in 1752, repton began his career in 1788 with the commission at catton park and filled very quickly the gap left by the death of capability brown in 1783. during his life repton preferred to be called “landscape gardenist” instead of the pompous “place-maker” chosen by brown. he provided his clients with ‘before’ and ‘after’ sketches of their properties in his red books which he afterwards collected and published in works such as Sketches and Hints on Landscape Gardening (179�), and Fragments on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening (1816)27. The name of repton appears three times in chapter six during the first discussion about the renovation work to be done at sotherton: “i must try to do something with it,” said mr. rushworth, “but i do not know what. i hope i shall have some good friend to help me.” “Your best friend upon such an occasion,” said miss bertram calmly, “would be mr. repton, i imagine.” “That is what i was thinking of. as he has done so well by smith, i think i had better have him at once. his terms are five guineas a day.” […] after a short interruption mr. rushworth began again. “smith’s place is the admiration of all the country; and it was a mere nothing before repton took it in hand. i think i shall have repton”28. The use of repton’s name is in part certainly due to the fact that he was the most success- ful landscape gardenist of the time and, thanks to the opposition of the advocates of the picturesque style, he was also one of the most discussed and criticized personalities in the artistic field. Yet the main reason for this fleeting apparition of repton originates from the direct acquaintance austen had of his abilities and achievements29. 27 for more biographic details on repton see s. daniels, Fields of Vision and J. dixon hunt, The Picturesque Garden in Europe, Thames & hudson, london 2003. 28 MP, pp. 51-53. 29 see the account in m. batey, Jane Austen and the English Landscape, pp. 80-88 and id., In Quest of Jane Austen’s ‘Mr Repton’, pp. 19-20. 109“What was done there is not to be told!” her first experience of repton’s art was in 1806 after her mother’s cousin, the rev- erend Thomas leigh, had called him in 1799 to make some improvements at his rectory at adlestrop, in gloucestershire. after the work had been concluded, Jane, cassandra and their mother visited the rectory and were deeply impressed by the changes in the grounds. as repton himself reported in his red book (later published in his Observa- tions on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening 1803), he “had realised that ‘a lit- tle pool very near the house lessened the place by attracting the eye’. so he had it removed and arranged for the water to flow in full view of the house over rocks through the flower garden on its way to a far-off lake”30. however, austen had an even greater demonstration of the effects of repton’s phi- losophy and designs with the improvement of stoneleigh abbey performed in 1808-1809. The leigh family was very ancient and had properties in gloucestershire (adlestrop) and Warwickshire (stoneleigh). in 1571 the estate was divided and the branch to which Tho- mas leigh belonged inherited the properties in gloucestershire. in 1806, at the death of the last heir, Thomas leigh’s nephew James henry leigh, who already possessed the fam- ily manor at adlestrop, also inherited stoneleigh abbey thus reuniting the family estate. leigh immediately engaged repton’s help to improve and renew the property that had remained essentially unchanged from the elizabethan age. The result was an impressive red book that strangely has never been published31 but of which repton was very proud and which was, fortunately, described and commented by malins. The austens visited the property in 1806 with their cousins before the beginning of the work but austen was regularly informed of the improvements by the reverend’s sister elizabeth. austen’s opinion of repton’s changes was not always favourable and, as already seen before, the picturesque style was more palatable to her taste than repton’s frequent choices of “older, more static forms”32. however, austen appreciated the philosophy in- trinsic in repton’s work. The improver was to be, first of all, “intent upon rescuing the garden once again for social purposes”33 and – as repton declared in response to Knight’s critiques in 1795 in his Sketches and Hints – was to act according to the notion that “in whatever relates to man, propriety and convenience are not less objects of good taste, than picturesque effect”3�. austen’s attitude towards outer (and inner) spaces appears to be the same and Mansfield Park is replete with allusions and demonstrations of this guiding idea. probably the most evident example is the shrubbery: early in chapter six, during the first discussion about the improvement of sotherton, lady bertram’s advice is “if i were you, i would have a very pretty shrubbery. one likes to get out into a shrubbery in fine weather”35. even if lady bertram is not the soundest of austen’s characters, the allusion 30 e. malins, Humphry Repton at Stoneleigh Abbey, Warwickshire, “garden history”, v, 1977, 1, pp. 25-26. 31 The manuscript is held at the shakespeare birthplace trust record office (dr676/�1/�791809). 32 J. dixon hunt, The Figure in the Landscape. Poetry, Painting, and Gardening during the Eighteenth Century, John hopkins university press, baltimore/london 1989, p. 199. for a different take on this subject see c. Winborn, The Literary Economy of Jane Austen and George Crabbe, ashgate, farnham 200�, pp. 13�-135. 33 Ibid. 3� Quoted in c. Thacker, The Genius of Gardening. The History of Gardens in Britain and Ireland, Weidenfeld and nicolson, london 199�, p. 2�3. 35 MP, p. 53. 110 roberta grandi to the properties and vantages of a good shrubbery is repeated with enthusiastic accents in chapter twenty-two by fanny price and very closely recalls repton’s ideal of a garden where social and aesthetic purposes must be joined: “This is pretty, very pretty,” said fanny, looking around her as they were thus sitting together one day; “every time i come into this shrubbery i am more struck with its growth and beauty. Three years ago, this was nothing but a rough hedgerow along the upper side of the field, never thought of as anything, or capable of becoming anything ; and now it is converted into a walk, and it would be difficult to say whether most valuable as a conven- ience or an ornament […] how wonderful, how very wonderful the opera- tions of time, and the changes of the human mind!”36. suggestions of austen’s experience of repton’s work are not limited to his philosophy or ideals but also embrace very practical aspects and cover the entire Mansfield Park. first of all, there are powerful echoes in relation to the dimensions of the estates. When Tho- mas leigh required repton’s service for the first time, it was for a property, adlestrop, which measured roughly 100 acres. stoneleigh’s abbey was a much grander estate and its grounds were about 700 acres37. consequently, rushworth’s allusion to the small grounds of his friend compared to the great extension of his own park immediately invests the description with the tinge of a memory: “smith has not much above a hundred acres altogether in his grounds, which is little enough, and makes it more surprising that the place can have been so improved. now, at sotherton we have a good seven hundred, with- out reckoning the water meadows; so that i think, if so much could be done at compton, we need not despair”38. stoneleigh abbey is certainly the prototype of sotherton court, not only for its dimen- sions, but also for the description of the house itself. stoneleigh was a “gabled and mul- lioned elizabethan house to which had been added (171�-2�) a large classical mansion of local stone”39 just like sotherton, which “was built in elizabeth’s time, and is a large, regu- lar, brick building ; heavy, but respectable looking, and has many good rooms”�0. further- more, one of the additions proposed and realised by repton at stoneleigh was the crea- tion of “a charming Wilderness”�1 and sotherton can already boast one when the guests visit the grounds in chapter nine. The presence of water is another interesting element: in stoneleigh repton corrected the course of the river “bringing it nearer to the house by 36 MP, p. 193. 37 see m. batey, Jane Austen and the English Landscape, p. 88. 38 MP, p. 53. 39 e. malins, Humphry Repton at Stoneleigh Abbey, Warwickshire, p. 22. �0 MP, p. 53. �1 e. malins, Humphry Repton at Stoneleigh Abbey, Warwickshire, p. 27. 111“What was done there is not to be told!” constructing a wider channel to form an island, and by ensuring a sufficient flow of water by means of a weir and bridge”�2 and rushworth communicates the same expectation for “his own” river: “there is a stream, which, i dare say, might be made a good deal of ”�3. even more importantly, one of the main changes performed by repton at stoneleigh “was the removal of a prominent wall and line of young trees at the n.W. corner of the house, which cut the gardens in two and hid the river”�� and rushworth can foresee the same operation for his property: There have been two or three fine old trees cut down, that grew too near the house, and it opens the prospect amazingly, which makes me think that repton, or anybody of that sort, would certainly have the avenue at sotherton down: the avenue that leads from the west front to the top of the hill�5. naturally, fanny’s response to this plan is an emotional appeal to the poet of the pictur- esque, William cowper: “cut down an avenue! What a pity! does it not make you think of cowper? ‘Ye fallen avenues, once more i mourn your fate unmerited’”�6. however, repton’s influence is not the only one to be discerned in austen’s creation of sotherton court. considering austen’s admiration for the picturesque, the presence of gilpin’s ideas in some aspects of the description of the house is no surprise. first of all, in chapter eight, the first impression the reader gets of sotherton court is provided by maria’s point of view: she could not tell miss crawford that “those woods belonged to sother- ton,” she could not carelessly observe that “she believed that it was now all mr. rushworth’s property on each side of the road,” without elation of heart; and it was a pleasure to increase with their approach to the capital freehold mansion, and ancient manorial residence of the family, with all its rights of court-leet and court-baron�7. miss bertram’s triumph in the extension and importance of the property is due to the awareness that – as gilpin explained in Remarks on Forest Scenery, 1791 – “the park […] is one of the noblest appendages of a great house. nothing gives a mansion so much dignity as these home demesnes; nor contributes more to mark it’s [sic] consequence” and that “a noble park therefore is the natural appendage of an ancient mansion”�8. a lesson that �2 Ibid., p. 25. �3 MP, p. 53. �� e. malins, Humphry Repton at Stoneleigh Abbey, Warwickshire, p. 26. �5 MP, p. 53. �6 Ibidem �7 MP, p. 77. �8 Quoted in J. dixon hunt – p. Willis, The Genius of the Place. The English Landscape Garden 1620-1820, paul elk, london 1975, p. 338. 112 roberta grandi austen’s characters know very well and apply to the evaluation of a gentleman’s property in every single novel (from Northanger Abbey to Persuasion, indeed, men are weighed according to their estates and incomes and women are valued by their dowries). gilpin’s description continues with his prescription for the perfect setting, “a great house stands most nobly on an elevated knoll, from whence it may overlook the distant country”�9 and maria bertram echoes this ideal through her disappointment: it is not ugly, you see, at this end; there is some fine timber, but the situation of the house is dreadful. We go down hill to it for half a mile, and it is a pity, for it would not be an ill-looking place if it had a better approach50. nonetheless, rushworth’s optimism for the improvement work is perfectly compatible with a ‘gilpinesque’ point of view: the cutting down of trees along the avenue aims at hav- ing “the road through the park” of “the same proportion” with the park, making it “spa- cious, or moderate, like the house it approaches”51. finally, gilpin gives rushworth some hopes for the house location admitting the possibility of having a mansion that “stands with dignity, as longleat does, in the centre of demesnes, which shelve gently down to it on every side”52. The pleasure ground and the wilderness The pure aesthetic description of the artistic trends and the fashion that influenced the creation of sotherton court must now leave room to the symbolic and moral concerns developed in chapters nine and ten. We have seen how, in chapter eight, the approach to the house allows a gradual description of the park and main building. during the journey the characters all seem to enjoy the prospect and the ride in the open air, but, on the ar- rival of the party at the mansion, the atmosphere changes. The guests are invited inside by rushworth and his mother to have a light “colla- tion”53 before beginning the tour of the house. Wandering among “a number of rooms”, all furnished with “solid mahogany, rich damask, marble, gilding, and carving” and nu- merous “family portraits”5�, a slight sense of claustrophobia starts to seep into the general mood. When the party enters the family chapel, the threads that austen is slowly weaving come together: just like a catalyzer, the chapel exposes the tensions and troubles among the characters. With a blunder, mary criticizes the role and importance of clerg ymen just �9 Ibidem 50 MP, p. 77. 51 J. dixon hunt – p. Willis, The Genius of the Place, p. 3�0. 52 Ibid., p. 339. 53 MP, p. 79. 5� MP, pp. 79-80. 113“What was done there is not to be told!” a few moments before discovering the fact that edmund himself is due to take orders in a short time. This event provokes a deep uneasiness and disappointment in mary together with irritation in edmund and fanny. but they are not the only “triangle” to suffer the atmosphere of the chapel: maria bertram and henry crawford feel an evident disqui- etude at being in the place in which the former’s marriage with rushworth will part them forever. crawford’s innuendo – “i do not like to see miss bertram so near the altar”55 – is a bit too open to be missed by the jealous Julia who, as consequence, jokes ostensibly on the possibility of arranging maria’s marriage on the spot thus provoking the discomfort of everybody except the naïve mr rushworth. it is at this point, when “all seemed to feel that they had been there long enough”56, that, with manifest relief, the characters leave the chapel for the open air. The transforma- tion of the atmosphere is sudden but unmistakable: the young people, meeting with an outward door, temptingly open on a flight of steps which led immediately to turf and shrubs, and all the sweets of pleasure-grounds, as by one impulse, one wish for air and liberty, all walked out57. The pleasure ground, the specific term used to indicate the part of the garden closer to the house58, was the area that hosted the common social activities of the inhabitants of a mansion who could enjoy open air pastimes, stroll on the “elegant gravel walk” and wander among “knots of flowers, and flowering shrubs”59 or, as in sotherton, plants and pheasants60. again, as the description of this area goes on, the echo of stoneleigh abbey – “the immediate garden had remained unaltered. What other family would have left a seventeenth-century bowling green adjacent to the house?”61 – resounds: The lawn, bounded on each side by a high wall, contained beyond the first planted area a bowling-green, and beyond the bowling-green a long terrace walk, backed by iron palisades, and commanding a view over them into the tops of the trees of the wilderness immediately adjoining62. but this pleasure ground appears as well as a symbolic place, a “garden of pleasure”, a locus amenus that is “a condensation of semantic values, a repository of meanings and symbols, a workshop of signs, as multilayered as the human soul of which it is the allegory”63. The 55 MP, p. 83. 56 MP, p. 8�. 57 Ibidem 58 J. dixon hunt – p. Willis, The Genius of the Place, p. 3�1. 59 Ibidem 60 MP, p. 85. 61 e. malins, Humphry Repton at Stoneleigh Abbey, Warwickshire, p. 22. 62 MP, p. 85. 63 “un condensato di valenze semantiche, un serbatoio di significati e di simboli, laboratorio di segni, stratifi- 11� roberta grandi door “temptingly open”6� is only the first of a series of locked and unlocked gates that will open upon new spaces and new temptations. here begins the roving of the characters through what may be called a paysage moralisé65, a place where, along a path made up of different ‘stations’ and ‘trials’, the temperament and virtue of every character are put to hard test and where the real moral fibre of each one is revealed. The first ‘station’ is the wilderness, proposed by mrs rushworth as an interesting destination, a place “new to all the party”. by adding also that the “miss bertrams have never seen the wilderness yet”66, through mrs rushworth’s voice, austen seems ironically to preannounce that the readers have never seen the characters as they are going to ap- pear soon, free and unruled, victims of their whims and passions. The wilderness was a part of the park where different species of plants were put and disposed in an apparently casual order – or sometimes on the form of a maze67 – in order to give the impression of entering into an area of undomesticated vegetation, where real and wild nature could meet. sotherton’s wilderness is “a planted wood of about two acres” that “though laid out with too much regularity, was darkness and shade, and natural beauty, compared with the bowling-green and the terrace”68. The characters divide into three groups – fanny, mary and edmund; maria with rushworth and henry; mrs norris and mrs rushworth with Julia – and, so separated, venture into the wilderness. The first group to move outside of the terrace is the one composed by fanny, ed- mund and mary. it is the latter, showing an adventurous and restless temperament, to propose the walk: “This is insufferably hot,” said miss crawford, when they had taken one turn on the terrace, and were drawing a second time to the door in the mid- dle which opened to the wilderness. “shall any of us object to being com- fortable? here is a nice little wood, if one can but get into it. What happi- ness if the door should not be locked! but of course it is; for in these great places the gardeners are the only people who can go where they like”69. mary’s assured certainty that the door is locked – the second “gate” of the path – is prob- ably a subconscious reflection of her awareness of the fascination and allure of the “idea of wandering through and perhaps even losing oneself in the natural garden”70. The door, however, proves to be open and the guests can freely roam through the woods. after a while, they decide to take some rest on a bench but soon mary grows restless again – “i cato quanto l’anima di cui è stato fatto allegoria.” m. bellorini, First Follow Nature, p. 17. The translation is mine. 6� MP, p. 85. 65 m. andrews, The Search for the Picturesque, p. 50. 66 MP, p. 8�. 67 see m. batey, Jane Austen and the English Landscape, p. 25. 68 MP, pp. 85-86. 69 MP, p. 85. 70 m. andrews, The Search for the Picturesque, p. 62. 115“What was done there is not to be told!” must move,” said she; “resting fatigues me”71 – and she entices edmund to join her for another walk leaving fanny to “rest” alone with the promise to be back in a few minutes. The stratagem to steal some privacy is evident – “fanny said she was rested, and would have moved too, but this was not suffered”72 – and mary and edmund willingly decide to walk alone and “unchaperoned” in the wilderness. in this way, they fail their “moral test”. as they relate at their return, another unfastened gate led the couple to an isolated part of the park where, in complete intimacy, they were able to sit and converse but, in so doing, they did not realise that they were putting their own pleasure before propriety and respect and, engrossed by their mutual attraction, they completely forgot fanny for more than an hour: They were just returned into the wilderness from the park, to which a sidegate, not fastened, had tempted them very soon after their leaving her, and they had been across a portion of the park into the very avenue which fanny had been hoping the whole morning to reach at last, and had been sitting down under one of the trees. This was their history. it was evident that they had been spending their time pleasantly, and were not aware of the length of their absence73. The improper behaviour allowed by the privacy of the wilderness is only the first of the failed trials which fanny, from her static position on the bench, will witness. The wander- ings of the young couples – or triangles – in the woods, like a suggestive reminiscence of “a midsummer day’s dream and ultimately a nightmare”7� will lead to another gate and another moral test. The locked gate The bench where fanny sits overlooks an area where, beyond the boundaries of the wil- derness and separated by a ha-ha, the open park begins. This area, which belongs more to the countryside than to the house garden, represents the last ‘station’ of the paysage moralisé of sotherton park. The ha-ha was a sunk fence, a ditch, dug in order to separate the grounds immediately adjacent to the house from the rest of the park where cattle and wild animals could roam and graze. This architectural device, invented in the eighteenth century, could be considered “an invisible wall” that “enabled the owner to ‘look out’ into the countryside without the need for a wall”75. but the ha-ha is not the only barrier to sep- arate the wilderness from the park; the real obstacle is an iron gate, the only locked door 71 MP, p. 90. 72 Ibidem 73 MP, p. 96. 7� a.g. sulloway, Jane Austen and the Province of Womanhood, p. 211. 75 c. Thacker, The Genius of Gardening, p. 167. 116 roberta grandi met by the characters during their walk. The symbolism of the locked gate is extremely powerful: the last station is a forbidden ground, an anti-eden to which the characters will only access by escaping from the protected area of the house garden. as tristram interest- ingly points out, “[in] the incident at sotherton, […] the movement from the garden into the park, necessitating a key, invites the dangers that clarissa encounters when she escapes from the protective garden wall of harlowe place”76. chapter ten opens in the same situation where chapter nine had closed: fanny sit- ting on the bench and waiting for edmund and mary to return. during her static wait, fanny, as “the moral center of the novel”77 encounters all the other young characters that come and go, ready for their temptations and their trials. from the “zone of safety”78 of the bench at the limit of the wilderness, fanny, untouched by the allurements of the park, observes the fuss and flurry of the impossible or unrequited lovers. The first group to reach her are the members of another triangle: mr rushworth, maria bertram and henry crawford. These three people represent the official reason for the expedition at sotherton and, apparently, are performing an accurate inspection of the grounds that would allow crawford to express all his taste and experience and suggest to rushworth the best improvements. however, the real drive that moves the characters is the forbidden passion between maria and henry. and indeed, the couple of future adul- terous lovers will be the first to trespass the locked gate and enter the forbidden ground. resting for a minute near fanny’s bench, maria notices the iron gate and the park beyond and expresses the desire to continue there their exploration. henry approves her idea suggesting the direction of a small hill that could “give them exactly the requisite command of the house”79. but the locked iron gate is an obstacle to the fulfilling of their wish. rushworth is a correct and honest man and immediately finds the most obvious, and proper, solution: “he would go and fetch the key”80 while the others could wait for him with fanny at the bench. naturally the symbolic interpretation is quite obvious and, referring to it, heydt stevenson speaks of “the sexualized landscape at sotherton”81. rushworth is the owner of the land and the future husband of maria: they must wait for his key to open the gate and maria cannot walk alone with henry but must wait for rushworth. That would be the correct choice and in this way they would pass their moral test. but, quite obviously, this does not happen. as soon as rushworth is gone, maria and henry hold a conversation rich in double entendres: “i do not think that i shall ever see sotherton again with so much pleasure as i do now. another summer will hardly improve it to me.” after a moment’s embarrassment the lady replied, “You are too much a man 76 p. tristram, Living Space in Fact and Fiction, p. 2��. 77 b. britton Wenner, Prospect and Refuge, p. 70. 78 Ibidem 79 MP, p. 92. 80 Ibidem 81 J. heydt-stevenson, “Slipping into the Ha-Ha”: Bawdy Humor and Body Politics in Jane Austen’s Novels “nineteenth-century literature”, lv, 2000, 3, p. 32�. 117“What was done there is not to be told!” of the world not to see with the eyes of the world. if other people think sotherton improved, i have no doubt that you will”82. henry is merely flirting with maria, but she is on the verge of discovering the depth of her feelings realizing the mistake of getting engaged with rushworth. as a result, when crawford teases her again, her reply is intense and dramatic, almost an open confession of her sad truth: “Your prospects, however, are too fair to justify want of spirits. You have a very smiling scene before you.” “do you mean literally or figuratively? literally, i conclude. Yes, certainly, the sun shines, and the park looks very cheerful. but unluckily that iron gate, that ha-ha, give me a feeling of restraint and hardship. ‘i cannot get out, as the starling said’”83. The quotation from laurence sterne’s Sentimental Journey “becomes a way of predicting plot”8�. maria feels trapped in a golden cage into which she has willingly entered. henry appears to her to be the only possible way out of it and her acceptance of his temptation is the prelude to the real betrayal, the adulterous relationship that they will entertain af- ter maria’s marriage with rushworth. crawford, perfectly understanding maria’s feelings and perceiving her readiness, tempts her to “sin” by provoking her sense of independence and autonomy: “and for the world you would not get out without the key and without mr. rushworth’s authority and protection, or i think you might with little difficulty pass round the edge of the gate, here, with my assistance; i think it might be done, if you really wished to be more at large, and could allow yourself to think it not prohibited”85. naturally, maria’s response is precisely what henry expects: “prohibited! nonsense! i cer- tainly can get out that way, and i will”86. maria craves for henry’s “assistance” in “passing round the gate” to be “more at large” and, even if the action is evidently “prohibited”, she refuses to see the impropriety in order to move towards the beguiling sense of freedom that the forbidden ground seems to promise. as marsden gillis very effectively points out, here “transgression is literally played out before us”87. 82 MP, p. 92. 83 MP, p. 93. 8� b. britton Wenner, Prospect and Refuge, p. 71. 85 MP, p. 93. 86 Ibidem 87 c. marsden gillis, Garden, Sermon, and Novel in mansfield park, p. 121. 118 roberta grandi fanny, “feeling all this to be wrong”88, demonstrates a strong sense of propriety and a farsightedness that, perhaps not completely consciously, make her foresee the direst consequences89: “you will certainly hurt yourself against those spikes; you will tear your gown; you will be in danger of slipping into the ha-ha. You had better not go”90. evidence of her improper behaviour, and vaguely hinting at sexual imagery91, the “tearing of the gown” and the “spikes”, are immediately perceived as dangers to be avoided by choosing the other option: to wait for rushworth’s key. maria’s failure of her test will not have immediate consequences – “i and my gown are alive and well”92 – but, in the long term, maria’s escapade will lead her to ruin. The future adulterous lovers immediately disappear from fanny’s sight looking for some privacy and leaving her alone again, worried and shocked by their behaviour. The next character to reach her is Julia who, finally freed from the company of the two chap- erones, is desperately looking for crawford. on hearing fanny’s account of maria and henry’s going through the locked gate she exclaims “i think i am equal to as much as maria, even without help”93 and she immediately sets off to follow them. austen’s choice to make her pronounce this sentence has, again, a strong prophesising value: Julia will commit another kind of improper action, certainly less serious than maria’s, but she will do everything by herself, without crawford’s assistance. in chapter forty-six, just after the news of maria’s adultery, fanny is informed of Julia’s elopement with mr Yates and, later in chapter forty-eight we are also acquainted with the real reason for it: the desire to avoid the return to a house where the sin of her sister would have resulted in a stricter control over herself. as austen explains “maria’s guilt had induced Julia’s folly”9�. in this way, the sentence that Julia pronounces just before trespassing the locked gate “i am not obliged to punish myself for her sins”95 sounds particularly ironical reread in the light of the future incident. mr. rushworth’s return, finally, concludes the allegorical descent: just like fanny, rushworth is exempt from any kind of temptation, he is the master of the house, the owner of the entire place and his key is the only legitimate tool to open every gate. rush- worth’s immunity is in part due to a certain dullness of mind and his lack of reaction to the many flirtatious exchanges between maria and henry confirms this. however, he is not so dense as not to see the reason behind maria’s decision to trespass the gate with crawford, as his unexpected question to fanny clearly demonstrates: “pray, miss price, are you such a great admirer of this mr. crawford as some people are?”96. When finally the young people have all finished their rambles, it is time to go back 88 Ibidem 89 see also the idea of ‘prevention’ in e. Wright, Prevention as Narrative in Jane Austen’s mansfield park, “studies in the novel”, xlii, 2010, �, pp. 377-39�. 90 Ibidem 91 see J. heydt-stevenson, Slipping into the Ha-Ha, p. 310. 92 MP, p. 93. 93 MP, p. 9�. 9� MP, p. �33. 95 MP, p. 9�. 96 MP, p. 95. 119“What was done there is not to be told!” to mansfield park. The adventure has ended, the midsummer day’s dream has finished leaving a vague sense of obnubilation and some dim presages for the future. on the way back, the light-heartedness and the expectations felt by the characters at their arrival are replaced by disappointment and irritation: “Their spirits were in general exhausted; and to determine whether the day had afforded most pleasure or pain, might occupy the med- itations of almost all”97. The moral of improvement What might, at the beginning, have appeared as an expedition through an eden, has re- vealed itself to be a journey across a “flawed paradise”98 where forbidden fruits can be plucked at every ‘station’ and lead to sin and tragedy. many months later (in chapter twen- ty-five), the young protagonists fanny, mary, edmund and henry will remember that day with a mixture of embarrassment and reprobation. miss crawford’s synthetic description of their actions has an astonishing depth of meaning : “There we went, and there we came home again; and what was done there is not to be told!”99. mary is obviously referring to the official outcome of the expedition: the improvements suggested by henry that have changed radically the aspect and prospect of sotherton court. nonetheless, much more can be inferred from this sentence: “what was done there” cannot be narrated because many censurable things have happened that day that must remain a secret. understanding perfectly the double connotation of mary’s sentence, henry replies understating the events and trying to find a justification for the general behaviour: “i cannot say there was much done at sotherton; but it was a hot day, and we were all walk- ing after each other, and bewildered”100. he also manifests a certain regret and unease, affirming to have changed his mind since that day: “i should be sorry to have my powers of planning judged of by the day at sotherton. i see things very differently now”101. The problem is that no real change, no real growth has followed the sotherton episode. The allegory has not been understood. The premises for ruin set at sotherton are still at work under the surface. The adultery will be consumed and the elopement will take place. The following dialogue, where crawford appears to be still toying with plans for im- provement, reinforces the feeling that the characters have not much changed. This time the object of crawford’s attention is edmund’s future parsonage Thornton lacey. austen’s judgment here is strong and direct; this time there is no room for ambiguity: henry’s idea of improvement is completely wrong because it derives from a wrong assumption and pursues a wrong aim. for Thornton lacy, crawford forecasts at least a five summers’ 97 MP, p. 99. 98 a.g. sulloway, Jane Austen and the Province of Womanhood, p. 212. 99 MP, p. 226. 100 Ibidem 101 Ibidem 120 roberta grandi work for the place to be “liveable”102 and proposes radical changes such as the removal and displacement of the farmyard in order to hide the blacksmith’s shop, the re-orientation of the main facade of the house, the creation of a new garden, the annexation of the adjacent meadows and some alteration to the stream103. The wrong assumption is that edmund will be able and willing to perform such an expensive improvement of his property, an idea that the latter immediately rectifies: “i must be satisfied with rather less ornament and beauty”10�. The wrong aim is to lead edmund to change his property’s appearance to gratify mary’s mundane ambitions. Whereas edmund, in fact, is perfectly satisfied to give his house “the air of a gentleman’s residence”105, crawford intends to transform it into a “place”, a term that at the time was used to identify a gentleman’s “mansion, a country house with its surroundings, the principal residence on an estate”106, and make edmund appear “the great landholder of the parish”107. This is the kind of improvement that austen disapproves of, a project that aims at deceiving the onlookers making the landowner appear more important and rich than he really is. as duckworth clearly explains, “improvements” or the manner in which individuals relate to their cultural inheritance, are a means of distinguishing responsible from irresponsible action and of defining a proper attitude toward social change108. henry crawford’s idea of improvement and his social behaviour are utterly irresponsible and, consequently, immoral. instead, the responsible and moral plans for improvement are those made by edmund for his parsonage, which will be realized with his good sense. as austen clearly demonstrates in Mansfield Park, “good taste here is always a moral qual- ity”109. 102 MP, p. 223. 103 MP, pp. 223-22�. 10� MP, p. 22�. 105 Ibidem 106 Oxford English Dictionary. 107 MP, p. 225. 108 a.m. duckworth, The Improvement of the Estate, p. ix. see also a.m. duckworth, Mansfield Park and Estate Improvements, p. 126. 109 Quoted in m. andrews (and attributed to alexander pope), The Search for the Picturesque, p. 52. 
work_vkwxrdyz2vdp5lzynrngl4zfme	----	CSFp24 in AIDS dementia 19 Vazeux R, Cumont MC, Ciaudo C, et al. Severe HIV- related encephalopathy in children without any HIV replication in the central nervous system. The neurological and neuropsychological complications of HIV infection, update 1990, Monterey 1990, [abstract NPS-1 5]. 20 Price RW, Brew B, Sidtis J, Rosenblum M, Scheck AC, Cleary P. The brain in AIDS: central nervous system HIV-1 infection and the AIDS dementia complex. Science 1988;239:586-92. 21 Price RW, Brew BJ, Rosenblum M. The AIDS dementia complex and HIV-1 infection: a pathogenetic model of virus-immune interaction. In: Waksman BH ed, Immunologic mechanisms in neurologic and psychiatric dis- ease. New York: Raven Press 1990. Vasovagal attacks Thomas Lewis published his observations upon faint- ing attacks in 1918,' suggesting that "accurate obser- vations upon the cardiovascular system during the faints of which young men and women of nervous dis- position are the subjects have not as yet been obtained, or obtained have not been recorded." Such descrip- tions were available to Lewis, although not in the sci- entific literature. The following extracts include an early account by Diderot and analyses of the warning symptoms by Jane Austen, George Eliot, Wilkie Collins, and Arnold Bennett. Dostoyevsky mistakenly assumed the loss of posture to be precipitate rather than gradual. Dickens believed faints to be virtually a female prerogative-indeed of the twenty or so descriptions in his novels, all but one are female, the exception, in Oliver Twist, having had a previous event that suggested epilepsy was the more likely diagnosis. Dickens assumed that faints were either a response to a physical insult, or a deliberate manipulation on the part of the sufferer. The witnessing of blood-letting can be a potent trigger as Flaubert's account of a "double faint" testifies. Authors have also touched on the management of syncope in some cases with a touching belief in the efficacy of vinegar, but in others with awareness of the value of the horizontal posture. Cardiac syncope can be difficult to distinguish from vasovagal attacks, though in some cases, symptoms such as palpitations suggest the possibility, as with Captain Wybrow in Scenes of clerical life. D Diderot, 1796, The nun I moved towards the superior with my arms held out in supplication and my body leaning backwards, swoon- ing. I fell, but it was not a heavy fall. In such fainting fits when one's strength abandons one, the limbs seem to give way and as it were fold up unawares; nature, unable to hold up, seems to try to collapse gently. I lost consciousness and the sense of feeling, and merely heard confused and distant voices buzzing round me; whether it was real speech or a singing in my ears, I could make out nothing but this continual buzzing. J'ane Austen, 1811, Sense and Sensibility Marianne, now looking dreadfully white, and unable to stand, sunk onto her chair, and Elinor, expecting every moment to see her faint, tried to screen her from the observation of others, while reviving her with lavender water. Charles Dickens, 1837-9, Oliver Twist "... turned his hands in his hair; and, with a loud scream, rolled grovelling upon the floor, his eyes fixed, and the foam covering his lips." Charles Dickens, 1839, Nicholas Nickleby "Miss Petowker was at length supported in a condition of much exhaustion to the first floor, where she no sooner encountered the youthful bridegroom than she fainted with great decorum." Gustave Flaubert, 1856-7, Madame Bovary So Bovary sent for a bandage and basin, which he asked Justin to hold. "Don't be afraid, my man" he said to the already white-faced villager. "No, no, go ahead!" the man answered. And he held out his brawny arm with a touch of bravado. At the prick of the lancet the blood spurted out and splashed against the mirror. "Nearer with the basin!" Charles exclaimed. "Lookee!" said the peasant. "It's like a young fountain flowing! What red blood I've got. Should be a good sign, eh?" "Sometimes", the Officer of Health remarked, "they don't feel anything at first: the syncope occurs after- wards, especially with strong chaps like this". Instantly the yokel let go of the lancet-case which he had been twirling in his fingers: a jerk of his shoulders snapped the back of his chair: his cap fell to the floor. "I thought as much", said Bovary, putting his fin- gers over the vein. The basin began to wobble in Justin's hands. He quaked at the knees. His face went white. "Emma!" Charles called out, "Emma!" She was down the stairs in a flash "Vinegar!" he cried. "Good Lord, two at once!" George Eliot, 1858, Scenes of clerical life By jove, what a rate my heart is galloping at! These confounded palpitations get worse instead of better ... Still he might only have fainted; it might only be a fit. Sir Christopher knelt down, unfastened the cravat, unfastened the waistcoat, and laid his hand on the heart. It might be syncope; it might not-it could not be death. No! that thought must be kept far off. George Eliot, 1859, Adam Bede "Look there! She's fainting" said the landlady, hasten- ing to support Hetty, who had lost her miserable con- sciousness and looked like a beautiful corpse. Wilkie Collins, 1861, The dead secret She staggered desperately, a few paces further, and reached the first row of doors that opened on the land- ing. There nature sank exhausted: her knees gave way under her-her breath, her sight, her hearing all seemed to fail her together at the same instant-and she dropped down senseless on the floor at the head of the stairs. Fedor Dostoyevsky, 1871, The devils But she suddenly uttered a scream and fell full length on the floor in a faint. I can still hear the thud of her fall as her head hit the carpet. Arnold Bennett, 1904, Teresa of Watling Street Never raise the head of a person who has lost con- sciousness, he said coldly, it is dangerous. Teresa will recover in a few minutes. This swoon is due only to the shock and strain of the last few minutes. Arnold Bennett, 1911, Hilda Lessways She felt dizzy... the door of Sarah's wardrobe was ajar, and, in the mirror of it, Hilda could see herself obscurely, a black-robed strange young woman, with untidy hair and white cheeks and huge dark, staring heavy eyes, with pouches beneath them. The image wavered in the mirror. She thought: "Here it is again, this awful feeling! Surely I am not going to faint!?" G D PERKIN Regional Neurosciences Centre, Charing Cross Hospital, London W6 8RF, UK 1 Cotton TF, Lewis T. Observations upon fainting attacks due to inhibitory cardiac impulses. Heart 1918-20;7: 23-4. NEUROLOGY IN LITERATURE 789 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 7 .7 .7 8 9 o n 1 Ju ly 1 9 9 4 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ 
work_vl75htli5vh23baj6u7quagkbq	----	George Eliot and the Eighteenth-Century Novel | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 35, Issue 3 December 1980 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| December 01 1980 George Eliot and the Eighteenth-Century Novel Margaret Anne Doody Margaret Anne Doody Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1980) 35 (3): 260–291. https://doi.org/10.2307/3044863 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Margaret Anne Doody; George Eliot and the Eighteenth-Century Novel. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 December 1980; 35 (3): 260–291. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/3044863 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1980 Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'George Eliot and the Eighteenth-Century Novel' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: George Eliot and the Eighteenth-Century Novel Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_vlf4a4cyh5hhjbzuuh5gqlrzte	----	PSYCHIATRY AND THE MEDIA Mental health, by Jane Austen Jean Harris Hendriks In the year of the College's 150th anniversary, the President Invited essays with the title 'The Therapeutic Effects on Psychiatric Patients of a Pleasant and Congenial Environment'. Writers were asked to consider "current literature". Jane Austen knew the pleasant and congenial environment of Belgravia In 1811 when she corrected the proofs of Sense and Sensibility at 64 Sloane Street, home of her brother Henry Austen and his wife Eliza (widow of the Comte de FeuiUide who had been guillotined In 1794, two years after the French Revolution). In 1815, awaiting the publication of Emma she had stayed with them at 33 Hans Crescent. Each of these novels illustrates that, had she been in Belgrave Square today, she would have understood the essay title and could have written cogently, for her novels are indeed literature and the Issues which they address most certainly are current. She describes her ideal of a substantial institution in Mansfield Park, where therewere "no signs of contention; no raised voices, no abrupt bursts, no tread of violence was ever heard; all proceeded In a regular course of cheerful orderliness, everybody hadtheir due importance, everybody's feelings were consulted. If tenderness could ever be supposed wanting, good sense and goodbreeding supplied its place". Jane Austen's pleasant environment encompassed regular meals, comfortable clothing, unobtrusive availability of servants and equanimity of mind as to Income (or at least the prospects of inheriting income). Spaceand privacy are of the essence: "an interval of meditation, serious and grateful, was the best corrective of everything dangerous in such high wrought felicity; and she went to her room, and grew steadfast and fearless in the thankfulnessof her enjoyment" (Persuasion). The essential is a room of one's own. This world does allow vulnerable, difficult individuals independence, a sense of being valued and autonomous. In it lives Mr Woodhouse, father of Emma, hypochondriac, depressed, chronically anxious, obsessional. His asylum is his home. His creator says he is"unfit for any acquaintance but such as would visit him on his own terms". He fusses over his food, won't let his friends eat. "An egg boiled soft is not unwholesome... you need not beafraid...". When a young lady of his acquaintance is frightened by gypsies, MrWoodhouse "trembled as he sat" and "would scarcely be satisfied without Emma promisingnever to go beyond the shrubbery again". Jane Austen delineates the small world in which Mr Woodhouse and his counterpart Miss Jane Bates, an Impoverishedclergyman's daughter, with pressure of talk and an ailing mother, are contained, sustained and respected. Miss Bates and her mother receive care in the community in the way of visits, presents of legs of pork and apples, transport and entertainment with the constant assurance that this is a sign of their value, not of their dependence. But the lives of relatives are constrained in ways in which they do not recognise. Emma is held to her home by her father's anxiety, a leash which prevents her from being away for more than two hours at a time. Her marriage, a climax of the novel, takes place only because Mr Woodhouse regards a husband to his daughter as a protection against poultrythefts. Jane Fairfax, Miss Bates's niece, pines throughout the novel. Her aunt says, "She really eats nothing - makes such a shocking breakfast, you would be quite frightened if yousaw it". Her pallor is regarded as ladylike - she is probably anorexic. From Jane Austen we learn what researchers on psychiatric care tell us today. A pleasant and congenial environment, large or small In scale, requires skill and knowledge, architecture, gardening, furniture and constant maintenance. Jane Austen stresses order and cleanliness. There must be individual care and concern between human beings and a mutual respect of the kind which enables the Bates family to feel loved and valued within their community. There must be time, thought and leisure for detailed and exquisite concern regarding the grief, terror Psychiatric Bulletin (1995), 19. 101-102 101 BRIEFINGS and vulnerability of our fellow human beings. We must recognise that relatives are vulnerable and that reliable, round the clock service Is taken for granted and obtained for low wages. Jane Austen would not have completed her novels had she not relatives who were of substance, who could sustain and support her, both in London and In her country home. When considering the current costs of care In the community, psychiatrists should indeed review the literature. Jean Harris Hendriks, Consultant Psychiatrist, Child and Family Service, South Bedfordshire Community Health Trust, Dunstable Health Centre, Dunstable LU6 3SU Jones the patient Rosalind Ramsay reviews Hollywood's latest warning to psychiatrists. Another film about psychiatrists and psychiatric patients has been showing in Britain. At the première of Mr Jones, Richard Gere, who stars in the leading role spoke about"working hard" to get the role "symptomaücally and emotionally correct". Mr Jones has bipolar illness and the film allows the audience a vivid look at how the illness affects a person. The history of the presenting condition begins with Mr Jones, expansive and grandiose, asking a workmate"Do you ever feel like flying?" Minutes later Mr Jones has climbed to the top of the roof where they are working, saying "I'm going to fly..." Prevented from leaping to his death, Mr Jones finds himself a patient in an American state mental hospital. The senior psychiatrist, overworked and cynical, explains to visiting medical students that times are difficult, andresources scarce. The doctor's job is simply to "evaluate, medicate and vacate". The students Join a round of patients in seclusion. They see Mr Jones, lying on a bed, his ankles and wrists in handcuffs. It is time to medicate himforcibly: "He won't bite, we hope". But this is more than a film describing the life of a person with bipolar illness, or the philosophy of care in mental health services. In best Hollywood style it is also a film about a relationship between two people, in this case a man with bipolar illness and the young female psychiatrist responsible for his care. Mr Jones is intrusive but engaging, a textbook case of Infectious gaiety, and breaks through thepsychiatrist's professional defences. We see his doctor as a person with her own feelings and needs. In one scene In which staff and patients are mingling Mr Jones poses as a doctor and pointing to the three people talking together, he asks his visitor which one is the patient. The visitor identifies the psychiatrist.The psychiatrist's thinking, initially driven by her wish to establish a therapeutic relationship with the patient and to understand his symptoms, slips into a less professional role when she starts to Investigate his past. Working more as a private detective than as a psychiatrist she visits his ex-wife. Roles between doctor and patient reverse when Mr Jones rescues his psychiatrist from a violent Incident with another patient on the ward and asks her If she Is OK. The other doctors in the hospital are busy and although they are perhaps aware that something Is happening between Mr Jones and their colleague, they are not able to offer guidance to the young woman. The drama escalates until the doctors intervene, telling her not to see Mr Jones and to transfer him to another hospital. The film may be looking at mania through rose-tinted glasses as Mr Jones sweeps his doctor off her pedestal, but it does illustrate some of the difficulties psychiatrists face when developing rapport with patients. Her situation is made worse because she Is too busy treating patients to consider her own need for support from her peers or from the senior psychiatrist. Although she has a high reputation in the hospital, she fails in the task of maintaining 102 Ramsay 
work_vmf43eulbvgvnbakrxomr5r6ae	----	568 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 3, julij–september BARBARA PIATTI: DIE GEOGRAPHIE DER LITERATUR: SCHAUPLäTZE, HANDLUNGSRäUME, RAUMPHANTASIEN. 2. izdaja. Göttingen: Wallstein Verlag, 2009. 424 str. Tema, ki jo monografsko obravnava Barbara Piatti, je v preseku literarne vede, geografije in kartografije. To je razvidno že iz naslova, ki zajema vse glavne pro- bleme v knjigi in nakazuje hierarhijo med njimi. Literatura kot osrednji predmet literarne vede je v središču, vendar je omejena na literarna besedila in ne gre za lite- raturo kot sistem oz. polje. Jasno je, da bo šlo za nek poseben vidik literature – njeno geografijo –, kamor spada v prvi vrsti problematika literarnih prizorišč in dogajališč, ki se naslanjajo na dejanski oz. geografski prostor (Georaum). Literatura se na ta prostor nanaša in ga različno preoblikuje, s čimer se šele konstituirajo fikcijski sve- tovi, ki torej parazitirajo na realnih oz. empiričnih prostorih. Dosti manj pozornosti pa gre tistim imaginacijam prostora, ki so čisti produkt ustvarjalčeve domišljije in so od prostorskih realij večidel odvezane. Vprašanja in dileme, ki si jih zastavlja mo- nografija, bi se dalo strniti kar pod vprašanjema: kje se odvija in kam je umeščeno literarno dogajanje. Poudarjeno zanimanje za fiktivni prostor fabulativnosti, ki je skupaj z dogajal- nim časom, književnimi osebami, pripovedovalcem oz. fokalizatorjem, fabulo in li- terarnim dogajanjem ena od pomembnih, če že ne vrhovnih, kategorij pripovedi, je sorazmerno novo, čeprav ne moremo pozabiti na Bahtinov kronotop. V interesu za preučevanje literarnega nanašanja (t. i. parazitiranja literature) na dejansko obstoječe prostore oz. objekte je mogoče prepoznati »staro« vprašanje o odnosu med fikcijo in realnostjo, ki je literarnovednemu strokovnjaku bržkone najbolj poznano iz debate o literarnem času v zgodovinskih pripovednih žanrih. B. Piatti v knjigi zanima, kako vse se pravzaprav izmenjujejo energije med literarno konstruiranimi svetovi in zunaj- literarno stvarnostjo. Kakor več teoretikov pred njo za izhodišče opazovanja vzame binarno opozicijo empirični/geografski vs. literarni prostor, čeprav obenem prepo- znava nezadostnost binarnega razlikovanja. Ker omenjena izmenjava energij poteka različno, je logično, da obstaja več vrst literarno konstruiranih prostorov, ki jih razdeli na: a) fikcionalizirane prostore, b) literarizirane prostore in c) prostore fikcije. Pojmi so v ožjih razmerjih; literarizirani prostori so najširši pojem in jih avtorica bolj veže na empirični prostor, saj gre za to, kaj vse književna besedila lahko »delajo« z izseki iz geografskega prostora, najsi bodo to urbana ali podeželska območja, reke, gorovja, jezera itd. Fikcionalizirani prostori prav tako temeljijo na dejansko obstoječih prostorih (pokrajine, mesta, naravne pojavnosti itd.), ki v literaturi prevzamejo vlogo literarnih dogajališč, tako da je pojem vezan na tekstno pojavnost. Prostori fikcije pa so produkt ustvarjalne imaginacije. (piatti 2009: 23) Če si odnos med realnimi in literarno konstruiranimi prostori zamislimo v obliki lestvice, bi predlagane vrste imaginarnih prostorov lahko razporedili od tistih, ki so najbolj pripeti na konkretne realije (in bi bili torej na skali najbližje geografskemu prostoru), do docela namišljenih prostorov, ki bi bili na skali najbolj odmaknjeni od geografskega prostora. Kako pomembno se zdi avtorici vprašanje razmerja med realnimi in imaginarni- mi prostori, je po uvodu razvidno iz neposrednega nadaljevanja, kjer se vnovič, samo da z večjo mero kritičnega revizionizma, loti pomembnejših literarnovednih teorij Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_3_24.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ https://srl.si Urška Perenič, Barbara Piatti: Die Geographie der Literatur 569 prostora. Pri tem ugotavlja, da se sicer različne koncepcije v glavnem vrtijo okrog dveh skrajnih stališč. Na eni strani so zagovorniki stališča, da literatura vzpostavlja nadomestne in konkurenčne svetove (npr. Armin Ungern-Sternberg, 2003). Ti so z realnimi svetovi lahko povezani, vendar na teh podlagah med njimi nikakor ni mogo- če prisilno vzpostaviti razmerij. Govor je tudi o t. i. hiperprostoru, ki deluje po svojih lastnih zakonitostih. (ungern sternBerg v piatti in piatti 2009: 30–31) Literarnim prostorom je v tem primeru pripisan areferencialni značaj. Na drugi strani so zago- vorniki stališča, da se literarna dela v veliki meri nanašajo na zunajliterarno stvar- nost. Piattijeva pričakovano omeni Umberta Eca – od tod izhaja metafora parazita za fiktivne svetove v njihovih odnosih do realnih svetov – in se strinja, da stvarnost nujno fungira kot ozadje fiktivnih svetov (piatti 2009: 30–31). Sama ubere vmesno pot. Diferenciacija fiktivnih prostorov, ki jo predlaga, zadovoljivo premošča naspro- tje med obema vrstama koncepcij, čeprav je pri njej vseeno poudarek na različnih načinih stikanja realnih in imaginarnih svetov. Zato bi se mi zdelo smiselno govoriti o delno avtonomnih prostorih fikcije. Na prehodu med uvodnimi teoretskimi premisleki in pojasnitvijo temeljnih poj- mov, ki so abecedno urejeni in še enkrat na kratko razloženi v zadnjem delu knjige pod naslovom Glossar (361 sl.), ter osrednjim delom knjige (3. in 4. poglavje), je podan kratek zgodovinski pregled kartiranja literature. Med primeri literarnih zemljevidov iz svetovne literature, ki si jih lahko ogledamo v knjigi, so zemljevid iz Morusovega dela Utopia s praga 16. stoletja, zemljevid otoka Liliput iz Swiftovega najpomembnej- šega dela Gulliverjeva potovanja (1726), karta iz Tolkienovega Gospodarja prstanov (1954) in karta iz prve izdaje Stevensonovega Otoka zakladov (1883). Posebno skupi- no predstavljajo skeni grobo in umetelneje skiciranih zemljevidov, ki so jih naredili li- terarni avtorji sami; npr. Hardyjeva skica zemljevida za Vrnitev v domači kraj (1878), ki ji sledijo Faulknerjeve, Fontanejeve, Zolajeve, Mannove skice dogajališč (Quitt, 1891, Jefferson and Yoknapatawpha County Mississippi, 1945, Germinal, 1885, Köni- gliche Hoheit, 1909). V pregled je vključena karta iz ene od poznejših izdaj Vergilove Eneide z označbo Enejeve poti (A. Peyrounin, 1705). Izmed švicarskih avtorjev in del, ki so v knjigi natančneje obdelani, se v pregledu srečamo s karto, ki jo je napravila Erica Pedretti za Engste Heimat (1995) in vsebuje ročno dopisane komentarje, Dür- renmattovo skico dogajalnega prostora s komentarji k literarnim motivom (Plan von Konolfingen, 1960) in zemljevidom iz podzemlja gotthardskega predora izpod rok Hermanna Burgerja (Die künstliche Mutter, 1982). Zato čudi, da poglavje zaključuje zemljevid Anglije, ki ga je ob romanih Jane Austen izdelal literarni zgodovinar Fran- co Moretti in je bil objavljen v njegovi knjigi Atlas of the European Novel, 1800–1900 (1999), saj ne gre tako kot v zgornjih primerih za ilustracijo literarnega dogajanja, ki naj bi služila boljši predstavi dogajanja, ampak imamo opraviti s primerom analitič- ne uporabe karte. Ob tej karti, ki je šele privedla v razvid radij dogajanja v romanih Austenove, je obnovljena Morettijeva misel, da naj karte na področju literarne vede ne bi imele ilustrativne, ampak predvsem spoznavno vrednost. Podani so trije koraki v postopku kartiranja: izbira prostorskega vidika literarnega dela, kartiranje ter in- terpretacija karte. (moretti v piatti in piatti 2009: 51) To pomeni, da je karta samo vmesni rezultat pri kartiranju literature in ima vlogo analitičnega orodja, ki omogoča drugačen pogled na pripovedovani svet oz. morebitna nova spoznanja o literaturi. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_3_24.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 570 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 3, julij–september Od tod sledi napoved obeh osrednjih poglavij (Literaturgeographische und -to- pographische Lektüren in Space calls for action – Vierwaldstättersee und Gotthard als fiktionalisierte Landschaft),1 vendar se bralec prej (2. poglavje) seznani z zgodo- vino literarne geografije.2 Ker se je avtorica že v prvem delu knjige temeljito lotila geografskih in topografskih vidikov literarnih del, to ne deluje pretirano skladno z logiko knjige. Predstavitev zgodovine disciplinarnega področja bi pričakovali pred napovedjo osrednjega dela knjige, od napovedi pa bi si obetali takojšen prehod na aplikativni del. Med glavnimi predstavniki literarne geografije sta Siegfried Robert Nagel in Josef Nadler z literarnima atlasoma iz let 1907 in 1912. V namene boljše predstave o uporabi zemljevidov so podobno kot zgoraj objavljeni trije zemljevidi iz prvih nemških atlasov. Piattijeva jih komentira in pravi, da je z njimi mogoče ugota- vljati, katera območja so bila v posameznih obdobjih nemške zgodovine literarno naj- bolj produktivna. Vendar je že Nagel na uvodnih straneh 1. izdaje sam komentiral vse karte in podčrtal literarno najproduktivnejše cone za posamezna literarnozgodovin- ska obdobja. Je pa res, da ni pojasnil, kaj je temu botrovalo ali zakaj so bila nekatera območja literarno mrtva. V zgodovinskem prikazu pogrešamo vsaj še atlas Gustava Könneckeja iz leta 1909, ki je nastal na podlagi njegove starejše knjige iz sredine 80. let 19. stoletja. Zemljevidov ne uporablja, vendar zgodovino nemške književnosti prav tako obravnava prostorsko (npr. prostorsko umeščanje avtorjev). Med mlajšimi dosežki literarne geografije sta poleg Hansa Dietricha Schlosserja omenjena Klaus Hermsdorf (Literarische Zentren, 1999) in Alfred Ebensbauer. Prvi je obravnaval potovanja in območja delovanja pisateljev ter ugotavljal, kje vse so bila diahrono (naj) večja in najpomembnejša središča ustvarjanja (veliki centri: Berlin, Dunaj, München, t. i. glavna središča: Hamburg, Leipzig, Dresden, Frankfurt ob Majni, Köln, Breslau, Stuttgart, drugi centri: Gradec, Praga, Zürich, posamezni kraji oz. centralne lokaci- je), drugi pa je v sredini 90. letih 20. stoletja obravnaval kulturne posredniške poti in oblikovanje umetniškega okusa v prostorskih razsežnostih. Med sodobnimi projekti, v katerih se odraža povečano zanimanje za prostorske vidike literature in so bili v 90. letih znanilci prostorskega obrata, je omenjen avstrijski projekt Historischer Roman, ki je potekal med letoma 1991 in 1997 na Univerzi v Innsbrucku. Na Angleškem in Francoskem se je interes za prostorske vidike literature zbudil skorajda sočasno. Pomembnejša (pionirska) imena s področja literarne geografije so Beaurepaire-Fro- ment, Audi-Péchin, S. Gorceix, A. Ferré, J. G. Bartholomew, W. Sharp, M. Hardwick, D. Daiches, J. Flowers. Med mlajšimi predstavniki prostorskega obrata v literarni vedi je poleg Franca Morettija omenjen angleški akademik Malcolm Bradbury (Atlas of Literature, 1996), ki ima po mnenju avtorice knjige najbolj izdelan simbolni sistem za prikaz literarnih lokalitet. Bradbury loči tri vrste lokalitet, in sicer tiste, ki vzbu- jajo literarne asociacije, lokacije iz življenja avtorjev in dejanske lokacije, prikazane v literarnih besedilih. Vendar zemljevidi vlogo analitičnega orodja zares dobijo šele z Morettijem, čeprav se je mogoče s Piattijevo vnovič vprašati, ali ne bi bilo pri Mo- rettijevih grafičnih prikazih vendarle smiselneje govoriti o geometrijskih vzorcih in diagramih. (BradBury v piatti in piatti 2009: 100, 102) 1 Literarnogeografska in -topografska branja, Prostor kliče po dogajanju – Jezero Lucerne in tunel Gotthard. 2 Pri uporabi pojma ne vidim zadržkov, ker je jasno, za katere vede gre. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_3_24.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Urška Perenič, Barbara Piatti: Die Geographie der Literatur 571 V tretjem poglavju se najprej seznanimo z izvirno shemo organizacije dogajal- nega prostora v literaturi (piatti 2009: 128–131). Sestavljajo jo različne prostorske komponente, ki so v prikazu razvrščene koncentrično. Notranji koncentrični krog pomeni prostor delovanja oz. nahajanja književnih figur in je lahko sestavljen iz več manjših prostorskih enot, kot so hiša, dvorišče, hotel ipd. Obdaja ga krog, ki po- meni t. i. geografski horizont, h kateremu spadajo topografski markerji (npr. kraji, regije, ki so v literaturi samo omenjeni, ne da bi se osebe tam tudi fizično nahaja- le) in projicirani prostori (npr. lokacije spominjanja). Dogajalni prostor je v shemi v tretjem koncentričnem krogu od znotraj navzven, tako da objema celotno pripo- vedno strukturo oz. svet pripovedi in predstavlja nekakšno nadpomenko prostoru delovanja in geografskemu prostoru. Osveženo je vprašanje odnosa med dogajalnim in geografskim prostorom in avtorica spomni, da so vrste in stopnje nanašanja lite- rarnih na zunajliterarne prostore različne.3 Ko naprej pojasnjuje odnose med realnim in fiktivnim prostorom, se nasloni na različne tipologije dogajalnega prostora. Po Franku Zipflu (zipfel v piatti 2009: 131) je mogoče ločevati med fikcionaliziranimi prostori, pri katerih obstajajo tesne povezave z realnimimi prostori, prostori fikcije, kjer ni (prepoznavnih) povezav z realnimi prostori, ter kombinacijami med obema vrstama prostorov. Omenjena sta Lennard Davis (daVis v piatti 2009: 134), ki go- vori o dejanskih, fiktivnih in preimenovanih prostorih (actual-fictitious-renamed), in Earl Miner (miner v piatti 2009: 135), ki izhaja iz tridelne sheme common-pro- per-improper, kar je zelo podobno Davisovemu predlogu ( proper ima vzporedni- co pri actual, common in improper pa pokrivata neimenovane oz. preimenovane in fiktivne prostore). Najustreznejša se avtorici zdi delitev, ki je kombinacija nekoliko starejšega predloga Terencea Parsonsa (1980) ter zamisli F. Zipfla in Thomasa Pavela (zipfel in paVel v piatti 2009: 133–134). Po tej zamisli se kategorija native objects4 nanaša na dejansko neobstoječe oz. namišljene prostorske entitete in je torej stvar teksta, immigrant objects pa so tisti realni objekti, preko katerih se vzpostavljajo povezave med realnim in fiktivnim svetom (predvsem uporaba toponimov v fikcij- skih besedilih in eksplicitna poimenovanja lokacij). Vmes so t. i. surrogate objects, ki so fikcijske različice dejansko obstoječih objektov, samo da od njih bolj ali manj odstopajo. To spominja na lestvico, ki smo si jo uvodoma zamislili za prikazovanje bližine oz. oddaljenosti med fiktivnim svetom in zunajliterarno stvarnostjo, medtem ko Piattijeva na teh podlagah revidira svojo prvotno shemo: native objects umesti na ravnino imaginacije, samo da je tokrat govor o fingiranih literarnih dogajališčih in conah, surrogate objects so pri njej literarno preoblikovana dogajališča, medtem ko so immigrant objects importirana oz. uvožena dogajališča (piatti 2009: 137), ki referirajo na dejansko obstoječe prostorske realije. Kar pri konceptu navdušuje, je predvsem prizadevanje, da se na relaciji geografski–fiktivni prostor zajame čim več 3 V čisto zunanjem, tj. obodnem krogu ima svoj prostor bralec, ki je recepcijskoestetska kategorija in ni deležen tolikšne pozornosti kot druge obravnavane kategorije. V nadaljevanju poglavja je vnovič evociran Ecov pojem Enciklopedije, ki je opredeljena kot rezultat interakcije med avtorjem, besedilom in bralcem, ki v procesu branja (na ozadju svojega horizonta pričakovanj) na podlagi prostorskih nanašanj v literarnem besedilu vzpostavi prostorsko koordinatno mrežo (147 sl.). 4 Pojmi niso prevedeni, saj se je izkazalo, da prevedki, kot npr. avtohtoni objekti, niso dovolj povedni. Zato sem se odločila za opisno razlago. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_3_24.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ 572 Slavistična revija, letnik 60/2012, št. 3, julij–september različnih oblik in modelov dogajalnega prostora. Po drugi plati pa med različnimi avtorskimi koncepti razen v terminologiji, ki pogosto pokriva isto vsebino, ni bi- stvenih razlik in vsi temeljijo na enostavni binarni opoziciji imaginarno-realno. Na ravni teorije je zato toliko zanimiveje, ko avtorica (141 sl.) premišlja o kombinacijah teh različnih konceptualnih kategorij (npr. importirana in literarno preoblikovana dogajališča, importirana in fingirana dogajališča, remodelirani dogajalni prostori, ki pripadajo relativno avtonomnemu svetu imaginacije). Najzanimiveje je, ko ob posa- meznih kategorijah in njihovih kombinacijah poda primere del iz nemške in svetovne književnosti (od J. Cortázarja do G. Kellerja in A. Manzonija), na katere pogledamo iz drugačnega zornega kota. V aplikativnem delu je najprej obdelanih pet avtorjev: F. Schiller z Viljemom Tellom (1804) – Tellova topografija je precizneje obdelana v četrtem poglavju –, Friedrich Th. Vischer z romanom Auch einer (1878; gl. tudi zemljevid št. 2), Ernst Zahn (Albin Indergand, 1901, zemljevid št. 3), Meinrad Inglin (Ursprung/Die Sendung, 1933) in Christina Viragh (Pilatus, 2003; zemljevida 4 in 5). Odločitev, da se prostorske analize najprej lotimo samo ob izbranih delih, ki različno referirajo na Švico, se mi zdi dobra, saj se na ta način postavi na preizkus teorija in lahko se pokažejo morebitne metodološke pomanjkljivosti pristopa. Prav tako je do- bro, da so dela iz raličnih časovnih obdobij, saj se že iz majhnega vzorca lahko vidi, kako se diahrono spreminjata vloga in podoba Švice skozi literaturo. Kritičen bralec utegne pogrešati močnejšo povezanost med teoretičnim in aplikativnim delom, saj je vračanje k izhodiščni shemi vse redkejše na račun interpretacij posameznih del, ki se oddaljujejo od izhodiščnega koncepta, kar je spet lahko spodbudno, ker ne ostanemo na ravni samo teoretičnega razglabljanja. Četrto poglavje lepo nadaljuje načeto tematiko; analiza se od literarnih podob Švice v izbranih delih razširi na analizo korpusa 150 del. V središču obravnave sta dve območji, in sicer jezero Lucerne in tunel Gotthard; na zemljevidu št. 6 so označe- na dogajališča iz besedil korpusa. Ker se literarna geografija naslanja na geografsko znanost, je skorajda nemogoče, da ne bi sočasno tekla beseda o problemih literarnega kartiranja. Piattijeva navdušenja nad kartami ne skriva, vendar se hkrati zaveda, da vseh literarno predstavljenih prostorov ni mogoče prikazati na zemljevidu. Zemlje- vidi ravno tako niso primerni za predstavljanje dogajalnega poteka in sukcesivne izgradnje dogajalnega prostora. (piatti 2009: 190) Načini kartiranja literarnih pri- zorišč in dogajališč so enostavni, saj največ uporablja točkasto in elipsasto označe- vanje. Elipsasto označevanje se mi zdi posrečeno, saj elipsa pokriva množico točk, kar je primerno takrat, ko so lokacije v literaturi podane samo približno. Ker pa ima elipsa dve gorišči, lahko z njo označimo tudi dogajališča, ki so podana natančno, in izrišemo širše območje dogajanja. Pri Piattijevi ima elipsa dejansko več funkcij in poleg predvidenih možnosti prikazuje še radij literarnega dogajanja. (piatti 2009: 211) Najbolj zanimiv del četrtega poglavja (234 sl.) predstavlja analiza semantike prostora, ki ne utrjuje samo spoznanja o povezanosti geografskega in fiktivnega pro- stora, ampak dokazuje, da je tudi empirični prostor močno literarno opomenjen, kar dokaže s primeri literarnega turizma. Obravnavane so različne vrste dogajališč, in sicer gore, različne vrste poti (ceste, ulice ipd.), razgledišča, naravne sile, vodovja, od koder se pozornost še zadnjič zoži na najmarkantnejši točki, ki sta jezero na se- veru in tunel na jugu. Pomembnejša ugotovitev je, da v literaturi tvorita semantični Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_3_24.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Urška Perenič, Barbara Piatti: Die Geographie der Literatur 573 opoziciji: prvo predstavlja svetlo cono, medtem ko je tunel v literaturi prikazan kot temno območje. V petem poglavju (267 sl.), ki ima vlogo ekskurza, je vodilno vprašanje obrnjeno, in sicer se glasi, kako literatura oz. literarno opomenjanje prostora učinkuje na fizični prostor. Najboljši dokaz za obstoj takšnega učinkovanja je literarni turizem, kamor ne spada samo obiskovanje rojstnih in spominskih hiš, domovanj, spomenikov in grobov pisateljev, ampak tudi literarno obdelanih prostorov. Med primeri iz svetovne književnosti so Rousseaujeva Nova Eloiza, Yorkshire sester Brontë, Scottova Škot- ska oz. Wales, Grayevo in Wordsworthovo področje Lake District. Vprašanje, ki se nam ob vsem tem zastavlja, je, ali bi imele te pokrajine, regije in kraji danes dejansko takšen pomen, če ne bi našli poti v literaturo. V slovenski književnosti sta verjetno najbolj poznana primera Kosovelov Kras in slap Savica, ki je navdihnil Prešerna. Knjigo zaključuje kratka predstavitev projekta Literarni atlas Evrope, ki je v teku od leta 20065 in o katerem je več mogoče brati na spletu, seznam tujih besed in têrminov s področja literarne geografije, obsežna tabela z navedbo vseh obravnava- nih del z navedbo vseh različnih prostorskih podatov in seznam literature. V zavihku knjige je sedemnajst zemljevidov, na katere je bralec v knjigi napoten sproti. Monografija Barbare Piatti izkazuje smisel za obvladovanje velikih korpusov be- sedil, zaradi česar bomo težko nasprotovali večini posplošitev in sintez glede orga- nizacije in semantike prostora (npr. semantika morskih površin napram semantiki gorovja itn.). Odločitev za raziskovanje dveh modelnih regij sprva morda deluje pre- več regionalno zamejeno, vendar sta jezero Lucerne in Gotthard v literaturi obdelana skrbno in z veliko natančnostjo. Dragoceni so uporabljeni načini kartiranja, kar je bilo potrebno posebej domisliti, in izkaže se, da izbrani območji in nasploh Švica niso bili interesantni samo za domače oz. švicarske avtorje, ampak so navdušili vrsto drugih ustvarjalcev. V zvezi s tem sta pojma endogene in eksogene fikcionalizacije prostora, kar na kratko pomeni, da se na Švico enkrat nanašajo domači, drugič pa drugi/tuji avtorji (piatti 2009: 217). S tem ko se v prostorski perspektivi drug ob drugem znajdejo navidezno nezdružljivi avtorji in teksti, kot so Schiller, Rousseau, Manzoni, Cortázar ali Viraghova, ki so prostorsko povezani, se odpirajo možnosti za pisanje interkulturno usmerjene literarne zgodovine. Raziskava Barbare Piatti je koristna zlasti za tretji vzporedni cilj projekta, tj. kartiranje dogajališč v slovenskem zgodovinskem romanu, čeprav prav tako ne bo mogoče zaobiti nekaterih vprašanj in dilem metodološke narave, ki si jih zastavlja avtorica. Monografija bi mogla biti zanimiva za naratologe, saj pripisuje velik pomen narativni kategoriji prostora – in jo tudi temeljito razdela –, ki na področju teorije pripovedi razen pri posameznih avtorjih doslej ni bila deležna takšne pozornosti oz. ni prišlo do sistematizacij problema. Kartografi pa bi se lahko diskusiji pridružili tam, kjer gre za načine prikazovanja literature z zemljevidi. Urška Perenič Oddelek za slovenistiko FF UL Inštitut za slavistiko Univerze na Dunaju 5 Tudi na spletu. Od 11. do 13. junija 2012 je potekala delavnica z naslovom Kartografija & pripovedi. Slavistična revija (https://srl.si) je ponujena pod licenco Creative Commons, priznanje avtorstva 4.0 international. URL https://srl.si/sql_pdf/SRL_2012_3_24.pdf | DOST. 06/04/21 3.53 Powered by TCPDF (www.tcpdf.org) http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ http://www.tcpdf.org 
work_vmufbgdzfrdkxaj327pqnzk6wm	----	In Memoriam Sanford Scribner Ames, University of Cincinnati, 1 January 2016 Srinivas Aravamudan, Duke University, 13 April 2016 Sylvan Barnet, Tufts University, 9 January 2016 Raymond G. Biggar, Boston College, 30 September 2015 Christoper Bloss, Auburn University, Auburn, 26 January 2016 Mildred V. Boyer, University of Texas, Austin, 22 May 2015 Frieda S. Brown, Michigan State University, 24 January 2015 The Reverend Kenneth J. Brown, Saint Patrick’s Parish, CA, 23 May 2015 Eduardo Chirinos, University of Montana, Missoula, 17 February 2016 Ralph Cohen, University of Virginia, 22 February 2016 Sidney M. B. Coulling, Washington and Lee University, 22 February 2016 David A. Downes, California State University, Chico, 30 April 2015 Joseph J. Foley, University of Massachusetts, Dartmouth, 8 September 2015 John Lemuel Guest, Millsaps College, 21 March 2016 Russell George Hamilton, Vanderbilt University, 27 February 2016 Barbara Hardy, University of London, Birkbeck College, 12 February 2016 James L. Harner, Texas A&M University, College Station, 26 May 2016 Geoffrey H. Hartman, Yale University, 14 March 2016 David Geddes Hartwell, Pleasantville, NY, 20 January 2016 Peter Jacoby, San Diego Mesa College, CA, 13 October 2015 Elpidio Laguna-Diaz, Rutgers University, Newark, 25 January 2016 Gita May, Columbia University, 29 January 2016 William U. McDonald, Jr., University of Toledo, 13 January 2016 James Vincent McEnery, Mount Saint Mary College, 24 December 2015 Jack McLaughlin, Clemson University, 21 November 2015 James Vincent McMahon, Emory University, 14 February 2016 Stephen Jan Parker, University of Kansas, 14 March 2016 Paul W. Peterson, Gannon University, 19 January 2015 Robert Harold Price, Sam Houston State University, 6 January 2015 Brewster Rogerson, Kansas State University, 26 May 2015 Daniel Stearns Russell, University of Pittsburgh, 10 April 2016 John Seelye, University of Florida, 20 April 2015 Carole Anne Taylor, Bates College, 11 March 2015 Charles W. Wendell, Kean University, 29 June 2015 James Wiedner, University of Texas, Austin, 16 December 2014 This listing contains names received by the membership office since the January 2016 issue. A cumulative list for the aca- demic year 2015–16 appears at the MLA Web site (www .mla .org/in_memoriam). In Memoriam [ P M L A 552 PMLA 131.2 (2016), published by the Modern Language Association of America 553 www.penguin.com/academic Helen Oyeyemi WHAT IS NOT YOURS IS NOT YOURS A playful, ambitious collection of intertwined stories built around the idea of keys, both literal and metaphor- ical. �ese nine enchanting tales span time and land- scapes, teasing boundaries between coexisting realities. Riverhead • 336 pp. • 978-1-59463-463-5 • $27.00 Karan Mahajan THE ASSOCIATION OF SMALL BOMBS “An exploded-view of a small bomb that goes o� in a minor market in a corner of South Delhi. Like shrap- nel, themes of su�ering, dislocation, and redemption radiate from the blast, and none will be spared Maha- jan’s piercing gaze…[as] he shows us how bystander, bomber, victim, and survivor will forever share a patch of scorched ground.”—Adam Johnson, author �e Orphan Master’s Son. 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Paperback | $22 | £15.95 Texts and images document the disconnection between modernity and ecological crisis: do we need to reset modernity’s operating system? Copublished with ZKM | Center for Art and Media, Karlsruhe Hardcover | $47.95 | £33.95 ALSO AVAILABLE NOW HERMENEUTICA Computer-Assisted Interpretation in the Humanities Geo� rey Rockwell and Stéfan Sinclair An introduction to text analysis using computer- assisted interpretive practices, accompanied by example essays that illustrate the use of these computational tools. Hardcover | $42 | £28.95 AESTHETIC ANIMISM Digital Poetry’s Ontological Implications David Jhave Johnston A poetics appropriate to the digital era that connects digital poetry to traditional poetry’s concerns with being. Hardcover | $40 | £27.95 PIRATE PHILOSOPHY For a Digital Posthumanities Gary Hall How philosophers and theorists can fi nd new mod- els for the creation, publica- tion, and dissemination of knowledge, challenging the received ideas of originality, authorship, and the book. A Leonardo Book Hardcover | $42 | £28.95 UPDATING TO REMAIN THE SAME Habitual New Media Wendy Hui Kyong Chun What it means when media moves from the new to the habitual—when our bodies become archives of supposedly obsolescent media, streaming, updating, sharing, saving. Hardcover | $32 | £22.95 Binder4.pdf 553 555 556 557 558 559 560 561 562 563 564 565 566 567 568 569 570 571 572 573 574 
work_vpycl7evsfdzpmvae27ijuutsq	----	The Profession Professional Notes 1976 Alternate PROGRAM: Call for Papers and Panel Proposals At the APSA's 1976 Annual Meeting in Chi- cago, a number of panels will be conducted under the auspices of the "1976 Alternate Program Committee." The committee members are Martin Diamond (Chair), George Carey, Robert Horwitz, Austin Ranney, and Ellis Sandoz. Suggestions and inquiries should be addressed to the appropriate person as indicated below. Section I.American Political Institutions (eight panels) Austin Ranney, Department of Political Sci- ence, University of California, Berkeley, Berke- ley, California 94720. Section I I . Enduring Themes of the Founding (eight panels) George Carey, Department of Government, Georgetown University, Washington, D.C. 20057; and Robert Horwitz, Department of Political Science, Kenyon College, Gambier, Ohio 43022. Section I I I . Theory Greats Past and Present Ellis Sandoz, Department of Political Science, East Texas State University, Commerce, Texas 75428. Panel 1. Plato. Presiding: Joseph Cropsey, University of Chicago. Panel 2. Aristotle. Presiding: Harry V. Jaffa, Claremont Men's College. Panel 3. F. A. Hayek. Presiding: Eugene F. Miller, University of Georgia. Panel 4. Eric Voegelin. Presiding: Ellis Sandoz, East Texas State University. Panel 5. Machiavelli. Presiding: Harvey C. Mans- field, Jr., Harvard University. Panel 6. Harold Lasswell. Presiding: Robert H. Horwitz, Kenyon College. Panel 7. Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn. Presiding: Harrison E. Salisbury, New York Times. Panel 8. Saint Augustine. Presiding: Ernest L. Fortin, Boston College. Martin Diamond 1975-76: c/o National Humanities Institute 53 Wall Street New Haven, Connecticut 06510 W 0 0 D R 0 W WILSON House Library Project Pendleton Herring, the President of the Wood- row Wilson Foundation, recently published an article in Historic Preservation outlining plans for the National Trust for Historic Preservation to undertake a project to bring together at the Woodrow Wilson House Library in Washington, D.C. the books most significant in the intellec- tual life of the former President. According to Herring, "Wilson's own publications on govern- ment, politics and jurisprudence are an essential part of the story, as are his speeches and essays. His papers, now being edited by Arthur S. Link and his associates at Princeton University, are being published by the Princeton University Press. Volume 23 is in production now. Eventu- ally more than 40 volumes will be available. This is no mountain of bureaucratic documen- tation but an intensely personal collection. Thus, to a unique degree, the inspiration and stimuli that entered into the thoughts of this sensitive and idealistic leader can be studied. The Washington house in which Wilson spent his last three years after leaving the White House in 1921 was overflowing with books. Mrs. Wilson, on her husband's death, gave them to the Library of Congress with the stipulation that the collection be kept intact. These vol- umes are now available for research. Here are many of the books that Wilson treasured through a lifetime as well as many that simply accumulated over the years. The entire book list has many hundreds of titles. The indices to the first 12 volumes of the Papers of Woodrow Wilson carry more than 2700 references but the main focus is on British essayists, novelists and poets of the 19th century and, more broadly, on political theo- rists from classic times to Wilson's own day. His shelves displayed his taste as a man of letters and his interest as a student of politics, of jurisprudence and of political philosophy. The present objective is to gather for the library of the S Street residence not only a complete collection of Wilson's own writings but also those books that best represent his personal taste or that may have influenced his political philosophy. Political scientists who possess vol- umes in their field published prior to 1924 are the most likely source for aiding the National Trust in reconstituting the Wilson collection. The following list is suggestive of the many authors who might be cited: Aristotle, John Austin, Francis Bacon, Walter Bagehot, William Blackstone, Johann Kaspar Bluntschli, John Bright, James Bryce, Edmund Burke, Richard Cobden, Thomas Cooley, Albert V. Dicey, Richard Ely, Otto Friedrich von Gierke, Rudolf 54 PS Winter 1976 von Gneist, Frank J. Goodnow, John Richard Green, George Jellenik, John Locke, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Sir Henry Maine, Adolf Merkel, John Morley, John L. Motley, Montes- quieu, Plato, Sir Frederick Pollock, Herbert Spencer, Frederick Jackson Turner, Francis A. Walker. Among authors in belles lettres are Matthew Arnold, Jane Austen, Robert Browning, Charles Dickens, John Keats, Charles Lamb, Sir Walter Scott, Alfred Lord Tennyson, William Words- worth. Questions concerning titles or authors may be addressed to Dr. Pendleton Herring, Castle Howard, Princeton, New Jersey 08540; offers to donate books may be sent to Shirley Markley, Administrator, Woodrow Wilson House, 2340 S Street, N.W., Washington, D.C. 20008. order is placed, and a list of students and addresses must be attached. The issues of Preview will be mailed directly to each student. Preview was launched in 1964 in order to help the news media comprehend the decisions of the Supreme Court. Beginning with the 1973 term of the Supreme Court, the memoranda became available to teachers, students, mem- bers of the bar, and other interested persons. Professor Sherman L. Cohn of the Georgetown University Law Center is the Administrator; Meyer Kramer, Assistant Director for Publica- tions, ALI-ABA Committee on Continuing Pro- fessional Education, is Editor. Additional information on Preview may be obtained from Meyer Kramer, Editor, ALI-ABA Committee on Continuing Professional Educa- tion, 4025 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Penn- sylvania 19104. A S I A N Political Scientists Group A new executive committee of the Asian Political Scientists Group was elected at the 1975 meeting of the American Political Science Association in San Francisco with Chun-tu Hsueh as the chairman. Other committee mem- bers are: M. Lai Goel, Norman Han, Young Hoon Kang, and Uasumasa Kuroda. The committee welcomes any suggestions to promote the professional and ethnic interests of Asian political scientists in this country, and volunteers who are interested in the work. Please write to Professor Hsueh, Department of Politics, University of Maryland, College Park, Maryland 20742. Preview of the United States S U P R E M E C O U R T Cases Preview of the United States Supreme Court Cases is a unique educational tool containing a brief, though scholarly, analysis of every case argued before the Supreme Court. Prepared jointly by the Association of Ameri- can Law Schools and the American Law Insti- tute-American Bar Association Committee on Continuing Professional Education, Preview contains concise, easily read memoranda writ- ten by law teachers expert in the field. Every case argued before the Court is covered. Each memorandum gives the facts and the back- ground, and arguments of the parties, and the possible conclusions of the Court. The reader obtains a synopsis of the record and the briefs, as well as an introduction prepared by a specialist, in language that even the college student can understand. During the 1975-76 term, about 170 memoran- da will be published in approximately 52 issues of Preview. Individual subscriptions to Preview are $20 per term. In bulk orders for an entire class, the cost is reduced by half to $10. In the case of bulk orders, payment must be made in full when the S T A T E and L O C A L Government Review State and Local Government Review is a triannual publication of the Institute of Government, University of Georgia, devoted to practitioners and academics interested in ap- plied research dealing with the practical prob- lems of state and local government. As a multi-disciplinary journal oriented toward prac- titioners, the Review welcomes all articles concerning applied research, university-based public service programs and training, policy making and implementation, and programs in state and local government. The Review also publishes notes on new subjects, commentaries, and replications. Our preference is for manu- scripts which would appeal to practitioners and academics. Short to medium-length article man- uscripts (11-20 typewritten, double-spaced pages) and notes (10 pages or less) are desired, but longer manuscripts will be considered. For further information write Delmer D. Dunn, Director, Institute of Government, The Univer- sity of Georgia, Athens, Georgia 30602. ITALIAN Politics Group A Conference Group on Italian Politics has been established. Designed to enhance the study of Italian politics, the group is both international and interdisciplinary. The officers and members of the Executive Council follow: President: Norman Kogan, Professor of Poli- tical Science, University of Connecticut. Vice President: Samuel H. Barnes, Professor of Political Science, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. Executive Secretary/Treasurer: Raphael Za- riski, Professor of Political Science, Univer- sity of Nebraska, Lincoln. Members of the Executive Council: Giusep- pe DiPalma, Professor of Political Science, University of California, Berkeley; Joseph 55 Professional Notes LaPalombara, Professor of Political Science, Yale; Joseph Lopreato, Professor of Soci- ology, University of Texas, Austin; Alberto Spreafico, Professor of Political Science, University of Catania; Sidney Tarrow, Asso- ciate Professor of Political Science, Cornell University. For further information write to the Executive Secretary-Treasurer, Raphael Zariski, Depart- ment of Political Science, University of Nebras- ka, Lincoln, Nebraska 68508. GOVERNORS Handbook The Critical Hundred Days: A Handbook for the New Governor has been published by the National Governors' Conference. The volume was originally prepared as a handbook for newly elected Governors but also seeks to further the role of the States in our federal system. It covers such topics as: Approaching the Job, A Governor's Day, The Immediate Staff, Personnel and Appointments, Approach- es to Management, The First Budget and Financial Plan, The Legislative Program, Inter- governmental Relations, Ethics and Standards, and Media and the Public. Copies of the manual are available at $10.00 a copy from the National Governors' Conference, 1150 17th Street, N.W., Washington, D.C. 20036. DARWIN Collection A comprehensive edition of the letters of Charles Darwin is being planned with the sponsorship of the American Council of Learned Societies and with support from the National Endowment for the Humanities and the National Science Foundation. The edition will be arranged in chronological order with full texts and annotations and will include letters to Darwin as well as those from him. Frederick Burkhardt, President Emeritus of the American Council of Learned Societies, and Sydney Smith, Fellow and Tutor of St. Catha- rine's College and University Lecturer in Zool- ogy, University of Cambridge, are Co-Editors of the Collected Letters. Although extensive collections of Darwin's cor- respondence are available at the American Philosophical Society, in the Cambridge Univer- sity Library, and in other research libraries and archives, the edition can be made definitive only through the generous cooperation of the possessors of smaller lots of Darwin's widely scattered correspondence. It is hoped that librarians, collectors, scholars, antiquarian booksellers, and others with knowledge of Darwiniana will feel disposed to contribute their help to this project, which will make available for the first time materials that will be basic to future scholarship on Darwin and the history of 19th century science. Please direct all correspondence to Dr. Freder- ick Burkhardt, R.F.D. 1, Bennington, Vermont 05201 U.S.A. or to Dr. Sydney Smith, St. Catharine's College, Cambridge CB2 1RL, Eng- land. Contemporary F R E N C H Civilization Journal Contemporary French Civilization, a new inter- disciplinary journal devoted to the study of French speaking cultures throughout the world, is designed to address the needs of faculty (secondary and advanced levels) in French, history, political science, sociology and other related disciplines. The Editorial Board in- cludes, among others, Pierre Aubery, SUNY, Buffalo; Mustapha Benouis, University of Hawaii; Edward Gargan, University of Wiscon- sin; Genelle Morain, University of Georgia; D. Bruce Marshall, University of South Carolina; Laurence Wylie, Harvard University. Articles, annotated bibliographies, interviews, notes and reviews are solicited from persons wishing to share their knowledge and insights with a broad, diversified audience. Contributors are requested to forward the original plus two copies of the manuscript. All material—in French or in English—must be double-spaced with footnotes appearing at the end. Initially, the journal will be published biannually, with the first issue (200-250 pp.) appearing in the fall of 1976. Any special issues will be sent to subscribers at no additional cost. Editorial correspondence: B. J. Quinn, General Editor, Department of Modern Languages, Montana State University, Bozeman, Montana 59715. Books reviews: Pierre Aubery, Review Editor, Department of French Studies, SUNY, Buffalo, Buffalo, New York 14261. Subscriptions (one year: individuals, $8.00; institutions, $10.00. Two years: individuals, $14.00; institutions, $18.00. Overseas add $1.00 per year): Phillip Crant, Managing Editor, Department of Foreign Languages and Literatures, University of South Carolina, Columbia, South Carolina 29208. PI ALPHA ALPHA Established A National Honorary Society for Public Affairs and Administration, Pi Alpha Alpha, has been established by the membership of the National Association of Schools of Public Affairs and Administration. Its purposes and membership, as stated in its constitution, "shall be to encourage and reward scholarship and accom- plishment among students and practitioners of public affairs and administration, to promote the advancement of education and scholarship in the art and science of public affairs and administration, and to foster integrity and creative performance in the conduct of govern- mental and related public service operations. Membership shall be limited to those of the academic achievement and/or outstanding pub- lic service who are or have been enrolled or teach in public affairs or public administration programs in institutions which are members of 56 PS Winter 1976 the National Association of Schools of Public Affairs and Administration." NASPAA member institutions interested in establishing a local chapter of the Society should contact Samuel Thomas, Chairperson, Interim Coordinating Committee, National Honorary Society, c/o NASPAA, Suite 300, 1225 Connecticut Avenue, N.W., Washington, D.C. 20036. Society for SOCIAL STUDIES of Science A Society for Social Studies of Science was formed on August 23, 1975 at a meeting in San Francisco attended by about 50 social scientists and historians. Robert K. Merton was elected President, Robert McGinnis Secretary-Treasur- er, and a five-person Council consisting of Bernard Barber, Nicholas Mullins, Nelson W. Polsby, Derek de Solla Price, and Arnold Thackray. The purpose of the Society is to promote research, learning and understanding in the systematic social analysis of science and science policy. A newsletter and an annual meeting are planned. Political scientists having an interest in joining the Society are invited to communicate with the Secretary-Treasurer, Pro- fessor Robert McGinnis, Department of Sociol- ogy, Cornell University, 323 Uris Hall, Ithaca, New York 14853. Annual dues are $10.00. American BEHAVIORAL Scientist Special Issue The American Behavioral Scientist is preparing to publish an issue devoted to the potentials for and impediments to revolution in advanced industrial society (i.e., the United States, Cana- da, Japan, and Western Europe) and welcomes short to medium length manuscripts (10-25 pages) dealing with any aspect of this topic, including current empirical and normative theo- ries of revolution; recent (post-1965) revolu- tionary activities; potential revolutionary groups and movements; the social, political, and technological blockages to revolution; the coup d'etat; violence; riots and revolution; psycho- logical causes of revolution and violence; how technological advances facilitate and frustrate revolutionary activity; revolutions on the periphery (e.g., southern Italy, Portugal) and their implications; case studies with generaliza- ble conclusions. Manuscripts should be submit- ted, in duplicate and with return postage, by August 1, 1976, to Peter G. Stillman, Depart- ment of Political Science (Box 463), Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, New York 12601. COMMUNICATION Quarterly Communication Quarterly, the journal of the Eastern Communication Association, is seeking manuscripts on human communication. Its aim is to assist in the publication of the best new research and thought. It will publish scholarly articles, interviews, translations, and book reviews on human communication: criti- cal, historical, empirical, pedagogical, and theoretical. All manuscripts will be referred to one or more associate editors. Authors are asked to submit an original and at least one copy, following the style recommended in The MLA Style Sheet, Second Edition. There should be a cover page giving the title of the article, the author's name, address, and academic or professional affilia- tion. The next page should contain the title and an abstract of the article (100-250 words). The first page of the text should begin with the title, but should not identify the author. Footnotes should appear on separate sheets following the last page of text. Communication Quarterly requests that authors include a self- addressed envelope and sufficient postage for return of the manuscript. For further information write to Thomas W. Benson, Editor, Department of Speech Commu- nication, 227 Sparks Building, Pennsylvania State University, University Park, Pennsylvania 16802. SYSTEMS PLANNING and Development Pennsylvania State University announces a new M.S. and Ph.D. program in Community Systems Planning and Development, with emphases in criminal justice, social welfare, and health planning and administration. The program pre- pares students for research as well as adminis- trative careers in policy planning, implementa- tion and evaluation in public and private settings. An interdisciplinary faculty in law, administration of justice, medicine, hospital administration, social welfare and the social sciences offers flexible program options. For 1976-77, the M.S. option is restricted to health planning and administration. For further infor- mation and applications, write Admissions, CSPD Program, College of Human Develop- ment, University Park, Pennsylvania 16802. Applications deadline: March 1, 1976. Review Interamericana C U B A Issue The Revista/Review Interamericana is planning a special issue devoted to Cuba in the 20th Century co-edited by professors Lynn Darrell Bender and Harry Swan. Unsolicited manu- scripts of article length are welcome. They may be written in English or Spanish. Write to the guest editors at the Department of History, Political Science, and Geography, Inter Ameri- can University, San German, Puerto Rico 00753. G E R M A N Summer School of the Atlantic From June 27-August 13, 1976, the University of New Hampshire and the Goethe Institute, Munich and Boston, will again conduct the "German Summer School of the Atlantic," 57 Professional Notes with course offerings at both undergraduate and graduate (M.A.) levels. In addition to intensive language study opportunities, the 1976 program will emphasize German Studies, with a number of offerings on recent and contemporary German history and politics. There will also be three-week workshops for teachers during the session. Contact George K. Romoser, Professor of Po- litical Science, University of New Hampshire, Social Science Center, Durham, New Hampshire 03824 for further information. Institute in E V A L U A T I O N Research The Annual Summer Institute in Evaluation Research, an intensive training program, for advanced graduate students in social science and practicing evaluation researchers, will be held June 21 through July 30, 1976 at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Topics covered include the major technical and sub- stantive issues in evaluation research: design, interpretation, appraisal and contexts. Tuition grants and stipends are available. Two prerequi- sites include: two or more years of graduate study towards the Ph.D. in the social sciences, three or more years of experience (or Ph.D.) as evaluation researcher or administrator em- ployed with a government agency or private research firm, or recent Ph.D. in relevant fields seeking employment in evaluation research (eli- gible for post-doctoral fellowship). Formal training or extensive experience in muitivariate statistical analysis is required. Address inquiries to Peter H. Rossi, Director, Social and Demo- graphic Research Institute, University of Massa- chusetts, Amherst, Massachusetts 01002. Dead- line for application: April 1. S E N A T E Research The recently established U.S. Senate Historical Office is interested in learning of research in progress, or recently completed, related to the Senate and its past and current members. The office was created to serve as a clearinghouse for scholars and the general public. It will seek to promote understanding of the Senate's his- toric role through a program of publications and research services. All inquiries and informa- tion should be directed to Richard A. Baker, Historical Office, Office of the Secretary, U.S. Senate, Washington, D.C. 20510. PEACE Research Abstracts Peace Research Abstracts Journal, now in its 12th volume of publication, contains abstracts (summaries) of articles, books, reports, and conference papers on subjects related to war/ peace issues and international affairs. Every month, 625 such abstracts are published, classi- fied according to subject, under headings rang- ing from "nuclear weapons" through "United Nations" to "attitude surveys." Subscribers around the world include some of the leading universities, several external affairs departments and parliamentary libraries, and institutes of international relations, peace re- search, and strategic studies. The usefulness of PRA derives partly from the fact that its coverage is cross-disciplinary, so that it facili- tates literature searches for scholars and stu- dents and practicing politicians. The Journal is an official publication of the International Peace Research Association and has had support from UNESCO. It is published by the Canadian Peace Research Institute. The abstracting work is done by about 50 volunteer abstractors around the world. If you are interested in abstracting, please write to Dr. Hanna Newcombe, Co-editor, Peace Research Abstracts, 25 Dundana Avenue, Dun- das, Ontario, Canada. I N T E R N Directory The Directory of Washington Internships, a comprehensive guide to Washington internship programs and placements, and The Directory of Public Service Internships: Opportunities for the Graduate, Post Graduate, and Mid-Career Professional are now available from the Nation- al Center for Public Service Internship Pro- grams, 1735 Eye Street, Suite 601 B, Washing- ton, D.C. 20006. The cost of each publication is $6.00. Additional information about the activities of the National Center, their news- letter "Public Service Internship News," and membership information can be obtained by writing the above address. Cooperative P U B L I S H I N G Agreement Cooperative Imprint of Miami University and the Ohio State University Press. Miami Univer- sity has entered into a cooperative publishing arrangement with the Ohio State University Press, whereby The Ohio State University Press will publish two books a year under an imprint indicating publication by rtThe Ohio State University Press for Miami University." The cooperative arrangement will provide an addi- tional publication outlet for scholars both inside and outside Miami University submitting manuscripts of high quality. An Editorial Board comprised of Miami University faculty will have the full responsibility for the evaluation and selection of manuscripts for publication. The Editorial Board has established the follow- ing criteria: scholarly works produced by a single author or by joint authors preferred over edited collections of papers given at a confer- ence or gathered for another purpose; works of an original scholarly nature of significant re- interpretations of existing scholarship; and cre- ative contributions to literature. For further information, address inquiries to David S. McLellan, 126 Harrison Hall, Miami University, Oxford, Ohio 45056. 58 PS Winter 1976 J O U R N A L of Political Education The International Journal of Political Educa- tion has recently been established. It is designed to contribute to an increase in exchange of information that can be useful to teachers, curriculum developers, those studying social and political education, and people involved in adult education, religions and civic organization and mass media. The Board of Editors is composed of: Lee F. Anderson, Professor of Political Science and Education, Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois, U.S.A. Judith V. Torney, Associate Professor of Psychology, University of Illinois at Chicago Circle, Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A. Annette Kuhn, Professor of Political Education, Padagogische Hochschule Bonn, Germany. Dieter Schmidt-Sinns, Regierungsdirektor, Bun- deszentrale fur politische Bildung, Bonn, Ger- many. Derek Heater, Head of History Department, Brighton College of Education, Brighton, England. Ake Tails, Teacher of Political Education, Stockholm, Sweden. Willem Langeveld, Associate Professor of Politi- cal Education, University of Amsterdam (secre- tary), The Netherlands. Subscriptions for the journal are $20 annually plus postage. For further information write to H. D. Tjeenk Willink bv., c/o The Marketing De- partment, P.O. Box 58, Groningen, The Nether- lands. NASPAA Publications Several publications of the National Association of School of Public Affairs and Administration (NASPAA) are being offered at a substantial discount to APSA members who prepay and order directly, using the form below. The publications include: (1) Guidelines and Standards for Professional Masters Degree Pro- grams in Public Affairs/Public Administration; (2) Guide for the Self-Evaluation of Profession- al Masters Degree Programs in Public Affairs/ Public Administration; and (3) Graduate School Programs in Public Affairs and Public Adminis- tration, 1974 Survey Report of NASPAA Mem- ber Institutions. In addition to these publica- tions, a reprint from the March/April 1975 issue of the Public Administration Review entitled "Graduate Education in Public Affairs/ Public Administration" will be included with the order. The reprint is an in-depth analysis of the data included in the 1974 survey report. The three publications included in this special offer sell for a total of $9.00, but are being offered for a limited time to APSA members at a 50 percent discount, or $4.50 (includes the reprint). This offer is available while supplies last or until March 1. Publications will be sent via book rate mail. Orders will be filled on the same day as received if accompanied by a self-addressed mail label. For first-class postage, include an additional $1.50 per order ($3.00 for international first-class postage). To: NASPAA, Suite 300 1225 Connecticut Avenue, N.W. Washington, D.C. 20036 A t t n : Publications Send set(s) of your special offer of the NASPAA Guidelines and Standards, Self Evaluation Guide, 1974 Survey Report, and PAR reprint. Enclosed is a check/money order in the amount of $ Name . Address. .Zip_ 59 
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work_vzcj4zf5xrayhaed5io53plyny	----	Microsoft Word - Bautz,1890s AustenFinalPEARL.docx 1 Annika Bautz Abstract: This essay focuses on introductions to editions of Austen’s texts published in the 1890s. By the late nineteenth century, Austen’s popularity and status as an author of canonical texts was beyond doubt. While illustrations to the various competing editions have received critical attention in recent decades, the other main paratext, introductions, have largely gone unacknowledged, yet deserve attention both because of their cultural significance and in their own right as critical engagements with the novels. The introduction writers were men of some standing whose contributions added weight to Austen’s texts. Their emphases on realism and humour in particular, as well as the predominant view of the author as a female genius whose art – especially her satire – had a masculine quality, but without ever seeing her as overstepping female boundaries, would have influenced many thousands of readers’ engagement with Austen’s texts. Keywords: Jane Austen, paratexts, reception, George Saintsbury, Reginald Brimley-Johnson, Austin Dobson. Austen’s late-nineteenth-century afterlives: 1890s introductions to her novels This essay focuses on introductions to editions of Austen’s texts published in the 1890s. The last decade of the nineteenth century was the first in which editions of classics routinely carried introductions and other editorial material. By the 1890s, Austen’s popularity and status as a significant and canonical author was beyond doubt, as the various competing editions of her texts by different publishing houses testify to, as well as the care taken with the editions. The publishing houses who brought out editions of her novels that carried introductions in the 1890s were Macmillan, Allen, Dent, Gresham and Methuen. Apart from Methuen’s, all editions that carry an introduction also include illustrations. Prices for editions with introductions range from 1s 6d to 6s, with the majority on first publication priced at 5s or 6s. After the fall of the three-decker in 1894, 6s was the usual price for new fiction. The inclusion of introduction and the illustrations to Austen’s novels therefore justify these 2 editions of her text on a price level with new novels, which further emphasises the importance of these paratextual materials in the eyes of publishers, but also the readers who paid higher prices to obtain these editions rather than one of the much cheaper editions of Austen’s texts available in the 1890s (several editions were available at 6d and even 3d).1 While there were many more readers of sixpenny editions than of the six shilling editions, and print runs were larger the cheaper an edition became,2 the fact that there were competing editions in the higher price range indicates that there was a significant demand for editions that offered introduction and illustrations as well as the text. Whereas illustrations have received increased attention recently, introductions tend not to be mentioned. If at all, it is usually George Saintsbury who is commented on as the first to use the term Janeite, a term that, as Deidre Lynch points out, is “now used almost exclusively about and against other people”,3 which at times leads to critics ignoring analyses of Austen in the decade because they see it as “dominated by the ‘Janeites’”.4 Most studies do not mention 1890s introduction writers, so that neither accounts of Austen criticism of the period, nor of the editions the introductions appear in, or of the illustrations published in the same editions as the introductions, discuss the interpretations of introduction writers.5 The most extensive account is a seven-page discussion of 1890s editions by Brian Southam in his Critical Heritage 1870-1940 that includes a brief discussion of some introduction writers.6 This essay argues that introduction writers’ analyses are culturally significant, and that their points are worth engaging with. In the 1890s and beyond, the introductions were influential. They are more likely than other essays on a novel to reach general readers, constructing rather than just reflecting expected readership. Some of these editions sold very well: George Allen’s de-luxe edition, with 160 illustrations by Hugh Thomson, and the introduction by Saintsbury, priced highly at 6s, had sold 11,605 copies in a year, and 25,000 copies by 1907.7 Editions published in the 1890s that carried introductions are: Introduction by Reginald Brimley-Johnson NA, P, SS, MP, E, PP: all published by Dent in 1892, each with illustrations by William Cubitt Cooke. 5s. Introduction by George Saintsbury PP, published by George Allen in 1894, illustrated by Hugh Thomson. 6s. Introduction by Austin Dobson 3 PP, Macmillan 1895, ills Charles E. Brock. E, Macmillan 1896, illustrations Hugh Thomson. SS, Macmillan 1896, illustrations Hugh Thomson. NA & P, Macmillan 1897, illustrations Hugh Thomson. MP, Macmillan 1897, illustrations Hugh Thomson. All 3s6d - 5s. Introduction by Joseph Jacobs E, George Allen 1898, ills. Chris[tiana] Hammond.8 SS, George Allen 1899, ills. Chris[tiana] Hammond. 5 to 6s. Introduction by William Keith Leask PP, Gresham 1900, ills. Chris[tiana] Hammond. 3s6d Introduction by Edward Verrall Lucas PP, Methuen 1900, Frontispiece F. D. Bedford. 1s6d - 2s6d. Brimley-Johnson, Dobson, Saintsbury and Lucas (possibly the others too), were reprinted in the 1890s and 1900s, at decreasing prices (2s to, occasionally, 6d), some well beyond the nineteenth century: Dobson’s and Brimley-Johnson’s introductions were still published in the 1950s, and one of Brimley-Johnson’s even appeared in a Dent edition in 1978.9 This essay explores the introductions written in the 1890s as paratexts that would have shaped many thousands of readers’ encounters with Austen’s texts. The introduction writers The introduction writers were men of some standing in literary and cultural circles in the 1890s; their names would have enhanced an edition’s attractiveness and were in most cases as prominently displayed on the title page as the illustrator’s (see e.g. figure 1).10 Perhaps the best-known today is George Saintsbury (1845-1933), who was an eminent literary scholar, and, from 1895, Professor of rhetoric and English literature at the University of Edinburgh, as well as Fellow of the British Academy from 1911. He published books and essays, editions and anthologies, such as Dryden (1881), a History of Elizabethan Literature (1887), volumes of Essays on English Literature (1890, 1895), and many others.11 As Andrew Maunder notes about Allen’s editions of Austen’s texts, “Allen’s books were status symbols, indications of the consumer’s taste and discernment”.12 Both Thomson’s illustrations and Saintsbury’s introduction to Austen’s text would have contributed to this status. 4 Joseph Jacobs (1854-1916) was less eminent but still well known as a historian, mostly of Jewish history; a scientist and literary scholar who wrote essays on and edited texts by authors such as George Eliot, Matthew Arnold, Robert Browning, as well as Jane Austen.13 Edward Verrall Lucas (1868-1938) was a journalist and biographer (including Charles Lamb and the Lloyds, 1898), as well as editor, and, most prominently, a satirist who worked for Punch for 30 years.14 William Keith Leask (1857-1925) was lecturing classics at Aberdeen University and wrote books and essays as well as editing and introducing texts by a variety of authors including Walter Scott, Thomas Babington Macaulay, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Charles Dickens.15 Reginald Brimley-Johnson (1867-1932) is possibly the most obscure of all introduction writers, although Southam claims that he “came to be regarded as the leading Austen expert until the arrival of R. W. Chapman in the 1920s”.16 Brimley-Johnson’s 1892 collected edition represents a milestone in the history of Austen publishing in several ways, including, as David Gilson notes, being the first to contain “any editorial matter … and to make any attempt at serious consideration of the text”.17 Brimley-Johnson was a prolific editor, re-teller of stories, and provider of introductory material, on authors including Chaucer, Frederick Marryat, Fanny Burney, Walter Savage Landor, Robert Burns, Leigh Hunt, Hannah More. FIGURE 1. Title page to Mansfield Park (Macmillan, 1897). Copy supplied by the British Library from its digital collections. © Public Domain. Austin Dobson served the Board of Trade from 1856 to 1901, from 1884 as principal clerk of the marine department.18 Among his colleagues at the Board were Cosmo Monkhouse and Edmund Gosse, both poets, writers and critics.19 Dobson was a prolific writer and became a well-known poet, both in Britain and in North America. His critical writing focused on the eighteenth century: he wrote biographies of eighteenth-century figures including William Hogarth (1879), Henry Fielding (1883), Thomas Bewick (1884), Richard Steele (1886), Oliver Goldsmith (1888), Horace Walpole (1890), Samuel Richardson (1902), and Fanny Burney (1903), and numerous introductory essays to eighteenth-century texts and authors.20 In 1874, he published the Handbook of English Literature, initially intended for Civil 5 Servants, which was several times reprinted over the ensuing decades, and included an entry on Austen (one paragraph emphasising the excellence of her characterisation in particular and praising her work as “a series of novels which (on her own ground) have not even yet been surpassed”21). The level of an introduction writer’s involvement in an edition varied. Some, such as Brimley-Johnson, were editors of the texts as well, others, such as Saintsbury, provided the introduction but appear not to have been involved beyond that in the edition of the text they were introducing. Some archival material is extant that illuminates the relationship between introduction writer and publisher relating to Dobson and Macmillan.22 Dobson provided the introductory material to several of Macmillan’s editions of eighteenth-century writers, including all six Austen novels when they were published between 1895 and 1897. Before turning to the introductions themselves, this essay focuses on Dobson as a case study to explore the relationship between publisher and introduction writer and the latter’s input into an edition. Austin Dobson and Macmillan’s Austen editions Over the course of his long writing career, Dobson dealt with a variety of publishers. Although no letters survive relating to the Macmillan Austen editions with Dobson’s introductions, extant letters preserved in the Macmillan archives, spanning several decades, show how the relationship between Macmillan and Dobson developed, and how highly the former valued the latter’s contributions to the firm’s editions of eighteenth-century texts. In 1869, Dobson, not at that point well-known, offered the company four of his poems, foregoing an honorarium in exchange for reserving copyrights.23 As his literary standing increased and his relationship with Macmillan developed, he began to receive handsome payment for work published by the firm. In 1904, he agreed “to preface and annotate Mme D’Arblay’s Diary, as published by Colburn in 1842 – 6 for the sum of £200. ... I cannot anticipate that the annotation will be a very lengthy affair”.24 £200 in the context of contemporary wages in the publishing sector was a considerable amount (especially for a piece of work not considered “a very length affair”); Percy Russell in his 1891 Authors’ Manual states that a novel “should return from £100 to £500”.25 Remuneration for a novel could of course be much lower than that, as George Gissing’s New Grub Street (1891) reminds us and as William St Clair has noted (e.g. Conan Doyle receiving £30 for his first 6 Sherlock Holmes).26 Proof readers would receive between 42 and 84 shillings weekly, engravers between 30 and 40 shillings weekly, press men and machine men between 20 and 35 shillings weekly.27 The amounts Macmillan paid to Dobson therefore emphasise the added value and attraction that the firm believed Dobson’s contributions, and Dobson’s name, gave an edition of a text. Dobson perceived his task as editor and preface writer to introduce and annotate an older text for readers of a different generation. His editions often included notes and indices as well as an introduction, and he took his task seriously: several of his letters refer to the research involved in preparing an edition, or recommendations as to who the best person might be to undertake the index. For example, Dobson explains why he “cannot conscientiously accept your attractive offer” of undertaking the writing of Richardson’s life for Macmillan’s Men of Letters series: “much as I should like the money, and apart from the fact that I have already promises to fulfil, my always-growing official duties make it practically impossible for me to enter upon any prolonged work” (1 Mar 1901). But Macmillan was clearly persuasive, because in 1902 Macmillan published Richardson by Austin Dobson. There are several letters that show Dobson declining offers Macmillan made, on the grounds of time, as he insists on researching his subject thoroughly (in the case of Richardson, he mentions in particular “six ponderous MS volumes of Richardson’s correspondence at South Kensington, which I know have not been exhaustively examined” (1 March 1901)). Dobson was involved in deciding which works would be published and what paratexts would be included. Regarding Fielding’s works, he wrote to Macmillan in 1883: I have been thinking a good deal about the Fielding matter, and have come to the conclusion that it would be inexpedient to print the plays and minor works, excepting perhaps the “Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon”. But I do not see why the three novels and “Jonathan Wild”, which still sell in cheap editions, should not be published, … with notes at the end like those to Scott’s novels. (8 May 1883) His advice about paratexts is informed by his view of the marketability of texts. Scott had been annotated for decades, first by himself in the Magnum Opus edition of his works 1829- 33, and later, particularly on the expiry of the copyright (1871-5), by several publishers who tried to compete in a crowded Scott marketplace.28 Dobson was aware of the potential effects 7 annotations “like those to Scott’s novels” had on buyers and saw this as the way to market Fielding as similar to Scott in status. Dobson’s letter goes on to outline the order of works and division into a number of volumes, and offer suggestions as to type and illustrations, and possible sources for paratexts, saying that “if autographs were required, [he has] no doubt [he] could get Locks to let us facsimile his last-seller”. For another volume, he suggests using images already in print, meticulously listing where they can be found, largely in other Macmillan publications but also some in texts published by other houses (15 Dec 1880). For the D’Arblay volumes, he specifies that “the type of the text should be large, and that of the notes (which should be in double columns) not too small.” He also sends a list of portraits, buildings, and autographs for inclusion, and makes clear that the index should be undertaken by Macmillan’s indexer (5 Jan 1904). Dobson had considerable input into editions he was involved in. He also had control over the primary text. Although not described as an editor (the title page to the Burney diary describes his contribution as “preface and notes”29) he fulfilled that function, specifying when entering into the contract to “preface and annotate Mme D’Arblay’s Diary … [that it should be] understood that I may omit passages and expressions, if any, I consider objectionable” (5 Jan 1904). While no letters survive between Dobson and Macmillan regarding the Austen editions, letters relating to other editions show that he was concerned with the paratexts including the illustrations of volumes he was involved in. His exact involvement in the Austen illustrations is unclear, but Dobson and Thomson frequently collaborated and were good friends.30 Thomson had illustrated at least three of Dobson’s collections of poetry,31 as well as several of the eighteenth-century novels that Dobson had written introductions to.32 They communicated about editions they were both working on, and Thomson showed his friend his drawings, mentioning Dobson’s “delightful encouragement” several times in his letters.33 In June 1890 he writes, “I have been meditating a descent on you with a bundle of Vicar drawings, … [meaning] to ask your advice and suggestion”,34 and later that year: “There is not another soul but one whose opinion is worth anything who cares to throw me a crumb of encouragement. … I did not sleep for three or four hours last night after going to bed – for pleasure at what you said.”35 Dobson’s opinion mattered a great deal to him. On The Vicar of Wakefield’s publication, Dobson wrote to Thomson: 8 I must congratulate you on your Vicar. […] If it is not very popular, I shall be very much surprised; but in any case it is work of which you can never be ashamed – full of invention, fancy and clever characterisations, […] and everywhere loyal to Goldsmith’s text. How I wish he could have seen it!36 In the preface to his own The Story of Rosina (1895), Dobson writes that the success of his previous volume, The Ballad of Beau Brocade (1892), was “in the main attributable to [Thomson’s] designs”, and that in Rosina, “Hugh Thomson has again afforded me the invaluable aid of his fertile fancy”.37 Given their friendship and frequent collaboration, it would appear likely that they also discussed editions of the five Austen novels they were both working on. Thomson had illustrated Pride and Prejudice for George Allen, to great acclaim, including more of Dobson’s highly-valued approval: “You are at your best, the critics are shouting themselves hoarse in your praise”.38 Dobson appears repeatedly to have given Thomson confidence, and to have exerted his influence as a critic to praise him publicly. Of the six Austen novels published by Macmillan and illustrated by Dobson, Pride and Prejudice was illustrated by Charles E. Brock (because Thomson had illustrated Allen’s edition), but for the remaining five, Thomson returned to Macmillan and to collaboration with Dobson. They worked on the Austen illustrations for a period of two years, with SS and MP appearing in 1896 and Emma, NA and P in 1897. Thomson’s focus on the novels’ humour has repeatedly been noted by critics, most notably perhaps in relation to Allen’s edition of Pride and Prejudice.39 His illustrations to other novels exhibit similar characteristics, of obvious humour, and of illustrating scenes that do not occur in the text, but are spoken about, in order to emphasise that humour. For example, he includes an image of Mrs Elton’s brother’s carriage-and-four, captioned “How my brother, Mr Suckling, sometimes flies about”,40 emphasising the novel’s humorous depiction of Mrs Elton’s conceitedness. Similarly, in the text, Mr Knightley tells Emma when they discuss living arrangements for after their marriage, that he has given the matter “very long and calm consideration; he had been walking away from William Larkins the whole morning to have 9 this thoughts to himself”;41 and it is this humorous moment that Thomson chooses to depict, with William Larkins and his horse watching their master depart with sad eyes: FIGURE 2. “Walking away from William Larkins”, illustration by Hugh Thomson in: Emma (Macmillan, 1896), p.404. Copy supplied by the British Library from its digital collections © Public Domain. Dobson, too, focuses on the novel’s humour as an important element. The only critical engagement with Dobson’s Austen interpretations to date, by Southam, brushes Dobson’s six introductions off in one sentence, claiming him to have had “an aversion to any kind of fact grubbing”.42 Dobson was however an experienced critic who was well-known and respected. He also, as we have seen above, took his work very seriously and researched his topics, as well as collaborating with leading illustrators, writers and publishers of his time. Furthermore, as will be seen in the discussion below, Dobson and other introduction writers’ interpretations raise points that are relevant beyond their historical moment, many of which are familiar to twenty-first-century critics. Introductions’ themes While there were of course differences between introduction writers’ analyses, some prominent common points of focus emerge, including humour, gender, biography, genius, characters, realism, scope. Humour and gender. Irony and humour in Austen’s texts have now come to be among their best-known characteristics. However, when the novels were first published, reviews tended not to note the humour but focused instead on morality and realism, with irony first being discussed by the Shakespeare scholar Richard Simpson in 1870.43 All 1890s introductions discuss her humour as an important characteristic. While Dobson and Brimley-Johnson emphasise it much less than Thomson does in his illustrations, both bring it into their discussions as a notable element. Dobson sees “the Collins and Bates and Jennings gallery [as being] admirably reinforced by Mrs Norris [who is] uniformly diverting” (MP xiii), while a 10 negative point about NA is that there is no equivalent of Mr Collins or Mrs Norris (NA xii). Similarly, Brimley-Johnson argues for humour as an integral part of the texts’ attraction, with Emma including “a larger number than in any other novel, of supremely humorous character- parts” (E v). Where Dobson deems the humour not quite successful, as with Mr Woodhouse, he suggests that for 1890s readers, Mr Woodhouse needed some rectifying qualities to merit the attention he receives. As with other points of criticism however, Dobson excuses what could be seen as defects with a shift in the times. For example, he bemoans that there are “no servants as a source of humour” (E xiv) in Austen – which Thomson gives readers by providing the image of Larkins, for example – but sees the texts’ confinement in terms of social class as a product of the author’s times. Most introduction writers at times struggle to reconcile the satire of her texts with Austen’s gender. The only two who do not see the need to connect Austen’s humour or satire with her gender are Dobson and Brimley-Johnson (who are also the only two to provide introductory essays for all six novels). For E.V. Lucas, her satire is the defining element. At the same time though, her gender defines her satire as it necessitates repression of her satirical urge in public texts. Austen “was always a satirist” (NA vii), and had mischievous impulses, as can be seen from her letters, which he quotes to show them written with “the same hand that wrote the novels, but it is ungloved” (PP xiii). In her public texts, she “subjected the satirical bent within her”. The “spice of malice” therefore never occurred “without its rectifying smile” (Lucas, PP xii). Similarly, for Saintsbury, satire is a crucial component, which he feels has to be reconciled with her gender. Her humour gives her readers “the pleasant shocks, the delightful thrills, which are felt by the readers of Swift, of Fielding and we may here add, of Thackeray, as they are felt by the readers of no other English author of fiction outside of these four” (xix). He relates her to male authors, and sees her texts as exhibiting masculine qualities, comparing her cynicism and humour to Addison’s: In Jane Austen’s genius there was, though nothing mannish, much that was masculine. … And there is … a certain not inhuman or unamiable cruelty, … though a restrained and well-mannered, an insatiable and ruthless delight in roasting and cutting up a fool. … I do not think at all the worse of her for it as a woman, while she was immensely better for it as an artist. (xiii-xiv) 11 For him, the masculine sharpness of her humour enhances her art. William Leask, whom Southam calls “thoughtful and un-Janeite”,44 sees Austen’s satire bound up with gender too, but in very different ways: If any little vein of satire is shown in her nature it appears to be reserved for designing spinsters like Miss Bingley, or old maids like Miss Bates, who are easily regarded by their creator as having come short of human felicity by their own unfitness for the higher life of marriage.45 In Leask’s view, where there is satire in her texts, it is directed at unsuccessful husband- hunting women. The fact that Austen herself did not marry, but “contentedly … retired from the race, is little to the point” (xvi). Leask’s view is at odds with all other introduction writers’; while they at times class Miss Bates together with Mrs Bennet, Mr Woodhouse and Mr Collins, as humorous, “Miss Bates … always commands our respect”. (B-J, PP xviii). For Jacobs, too, discussion of her satire and sarcasm leads to points about gender. He cites a dialogue between Elinor Dashwood and Lucy Steele at length, inserting in brackets what he interprets each line to mean (as well as making the point also raised by many later critics, of how well Austen’s novels read as plays), to conclude “Irony and sarcasm are her chief weapons. No male novelist has gone as far as she in quiet sarcasm. There is even a hardness in the treatment of her female fools” (SS, xvii). Jacobs classes her sarcasm as going beyond that of male writers, which goes further than Saintsbury does, although, similar to Lucas who finds her capable of sharp satire but able to reign it in in public texts, Jacobs argues that the sharpest satire in SS is left over from an early draft. On the whole, his argument that her artistry is enhanced by “a sense of justice in Jane Austen which is essentially manly, if one may venture to say so” (Jacobs xviii), links his interpretation with Saintsbury’s: both see her highest achievements as masculine in tone and quality, and render associating Austen’s work with masculine artistry an accolade rather than detrimental to the author as a woman. For 1890s introduction writers, humour is one of the defining elements of Austen’s texts. The extent to which her humour is seen as gentle or satirical however varies, as does the consequent need some introduction writers feel to reconcile her gender with her texts’ satire. 12 Gender, Biography and Characters. Austen’s gender informs male introduction writers’ discussions both of the author and of her texts. Biographical accounts tend to be based on Austen-Leigh’s Memoir, with some writers following that interpretation and depicting her as “the reverse of the blue stocking, [who] generally was silent but we may be sure observant in company” (Leask, xi). Her heroines’ lives and attitudes, such as Elizabeth’s “strong family affection and domestic feeling” (B-J, PP vii) are viewed as “an absolutely faithful reflection of the author’s own quiet existence”, based on the conviction that “we can only know what Jane Austen really was by a sympathetic study of her work” (B-J, PP vii). The Memoir is not always followed and is even openly criticised at times, as when Dobson says that Austen- Leigh was a bit too careful “of his kinswoman’s good name” (PP xi). Similarly, while on the whole depicting a rather conservative Austen, Brimley-Johnson opens up the possibility of Austen as a social reformer who might have been expressing, through Emma, “a more liberal attitude than could surely have been acceptable to her generation, upon ‘the circumstances of Harriet’s birth’.” (BJ, E, vii), whereas Jacobs, while also seeing it as unconventional, blames the reference to “natural daughters … in the presence of unmarried girls’ on Austen’s times, insisting this could not happen in “modern society” because of its greater sense of what is owed to virtue. (Jacobs, SS, xx). Both see the reference to Harriet as someone’s natural daughter as daring material for a female writer (and female readers), but argue for different reasons, Brimley-Johnson giving her agency and potential political motivation, Jacobs by defending what may be perceived as unfeminine for a woman writer by blaming her times. Austen’s gender also influences introduction writers’ assessments of how she viewed her writing. For most, her gender informs her artistry. They tend to see her as “unaware of conforming to any explicit theory of writing”; writing, to her, is “an agreeable pastime”, because “ambition was practically unknown to her” (Lucas, PP xxi). In Lucas’ view, she is not a professional writer because both the public, male, spheres of publishing and finance, as well as a theory of writing, are beyond her awareness. Dobson is closest to seeing her as a professional who consciously applied her skills. He focuses on Emma watching the High Street while waiting for Harriet (ch. 27), a passage he, like many twentieth- and twenty-first- century critics, quotes at length, to argue that this scene “is not only clearly seen, but touched in with the true economy of line”, and consciously composed, in a language that testifies to the author having “lingered with patient and loving craftsmanship” over each sentence (Dobson, PP xxix). While this account is gendered too, in the patience and love for her work, 13 it is describing deliberate art. Leask, who is the most gender conservative of all 1890s introduction writers, also regards her as consciously composing, but in much more gendered terms. She may be “unlearned”, but she is “most fastidious”, taking great care over her writing: Punctilious in the phrase and social tone, her literary quality is one of the simplest and most exquisite in the language, and is a perfect contrast to the slipshod and the vulgar work that inundates the fiction of today. (Leask, PP xiii) She takes the kind of care of her writing that women might be expected to take in a public place, but in an unintellectual way. Her gender also shapes the attitudes to her as an author. Most famously, it enables Saintsbury to self-confess as a “Janite”, seeing her as “the object of the personal affection” (xi), while Lucas, six years later, comments on Janeites in a less involved way, stating that “among English novelists she is the very darling”, and that Everyone believes fondly that by no one else is she quite so thoroughly appreciated; we each can detect in her smooth pages a shade more of mischief, a thought more of insight, than our neighbour can. (PP xxv) He describes the phenomenon that twenty-first-century critics have seen as the defining element of Janeitism; deprecating other readers’ engagement with Austen to stress the superiority of one’s own readings. Austen’s gender also colours introduction writers’ interpretations of her characters. Similar to Saintsbury’s views of the author, as having masculine artistic qualities but nothing that was “mannish”, he reads Elizabeth Bennet as unexceptionable, and having “nothing of the ‘New Woman’ about her”, while being attracted to her for “being distinctly clever – almost strong- minded”. Dobson, too, emphasises Elizabeth’s being “intellectually engaging”, with an “admirable faculty for taking care of herself” (Dobson, PP, xxvi). Saintsbury, on the one hand, stresses “her being entirely destitute of ill-nature”, on the other, admires her for “a certain fearlessness [that is] very uncommon”, then concludes, famously, that “to live with 14 and to marry, … [no nineteenth-century heroine] can come into competition with Elizabeth”. Saintsbury’s reading of both author and heroine is defined by their femininity; with both, he admires what he sees as masculine humour and courage, while at the same time being anxious to emphasise that neither Austen nor Elizabeth overstep gender boundaries. Generally, introduction writers admire the characterisation of Austen’s women but alongside that is a repeated assertion that “her men are inferior to her women” (Leask, xix); Edward Ferrars wants “manliness” (Jacobs, SS, xiv), while Knightley may not have made “an ideal husband” (Dobson, Emma, xi). Her artistry contains masculine qualities, even her hand writing was “more like a man’s than that of woman” (Leask xi). The level of her genius is comparable to famous male writers, but introduction writers ensure that they represent the quality of Austen’s genius as quintessentially feminine. These readings of her texts are largely defined by her gender. This is most obvious in discussions of her life and her as an author, but also in discussions of her female and male protagonists. With all the differences between introduction writers, attitudes to gender in particular show writers to interpret as part of their historical and cultural moment. None of them see her as akin to a New Woman; where masculine traits appear they are rendered acceptable by being linked to her artistry, not to her as a woman. Genius, realism, scope, and defects. Introduction writers agree on regarding her as a genius, often in a gendered way, connected to her limited scope. While “she is [now] recognized as the first of female novelists” (Leask, v), her scope is limited. In that scope, she is perfect and on a level with Shakespeare, Scott or Fielding, who would not have “drawn a better Mr Collins, or a more lifelike Mrs Jennings” (Dobson, PP, xxiii); her writing can be described in “nothing but superlatives” (Lucas PP, xxiv). The introduction writers also provided essays on other authors’ works, such as Fielding, Scott, Richardson, Swift, Thackeray, Shakespeare in particular, and draw links between their works and Austen’s (eg Saintsbury, PP, Jacobs, SS, Dobson, PP), to say that in some respects she is like these writers, even if her scope is more limited (which sometimes leads to a verdict of “almost great enough for Fielding or for Swift himself” Saintsbury, PP, xvi). Her realism is inferior to no one’s. Her characters and plots are “delightful cut[s] from real life” (BJ, Emma, ix). Dobson sees the Eltons as “little masterpieces” because of their 15 “absolute fidelity to nature” (E xiii). As discussed above, for Dobson, Austen’s genius can perhaps most remarkably be seen in the scene where Emma observes the High Street. Like Dobson in using this scene, introduction writers indicate both her genius and its limited scope. Brimley-Johnson argues that her men are “always drawn frankly from a feminine standpoint. … She is concerned with them as an element in the life of women – the chief element” (PP, xj), thereby commenting on the realism of the heroine’s point of view, as well as on the limited scope she has as a female writer concerned primarily with women. Conversely, Dobson criticizes Fanny Price for not being close enough to real life. She is the result of a preconception – a fixed intention to create a model character of a certain type, than a study from the life. … When [Edmund] and Fanny reflect and moralise, they are on the verge of “the discovery of the obvious”. (MP, xiii) Dobson here sees realism subordinated to didacticism, similar perhaps to some twentieth- and twenty-first- century readers who have seen Fanny as the troublesome, moralistic heroine who is rarely anyone’s favourite. While introduction writers see Austen and her characters as complying with ideas of morality, in particular as regards gender boundaries, didacticism should not be overt, and certainly not dominate realism. Jacobs for example criticises Sense and Sensibility because he cannot quite acquit Austen of “the supreme crime” of didactic intention (x). In most cases where introduction writers criticise, they see the reasons for the texts’ perceived defects as lying in Austen’s living and writing in a different era. Although Lydia’s elopement, for example, is seen as not fitting the story, “it was not out of keeping with some of Miss Austen’s eighteenth-century models, nor, indeed, with the manners of her day” (Dobson PP xxv). Similarly, Austen’s lack of a stronger “romantic paste” was caused by her living in the early nineteenth century (Saintsbury, xv), and her limited knowledge of history was in part due to its being drawn “from the old and untrustworthy versions of Hume and Robertson. Jane Austen was not at all accomplished in the modern sense” (Leask, ix). Mostly, writers blame Austen’s times for defects, implying a superior decade needing to make allowances for an inferior one. Dobson is an exception here in his more general recognition of the shifts in culture between the early and late nineteenth century without one being 16 necessarily superior: while he sees 1890s’ values at odds with some elements of Austen’s texts, in some cases, this is due to “our strenuous modern ideas” (E xiv). Conclusion This essay has shown some of the ways in which Austen was read and regarded in the 1890s and beyond. Firstly, the fact that there were several competing editions in the 1890s that offered Austen’s texts with introductory essays and illustrations indicates both popularity and status. Secondly, the introduction writers were men of some standing, adding weight to Austen’s texts, but also, as the Dobson case study above has shown, potentially able to influence the text and paratexts of an edition beyond the introduction, therefore shaping readers’ engagement with the texts in manifold ways. Thirdly, in terms of the analyses themselves, while there are differences between them, some common themes emerge. Introductions usually include some discussion of Austen’s life, times, and the publication history of her novels, as well as the interpretative essay on the respective text, and therefore offer readers an introduction to text, context and author, in most cases working alongside illustrations to package the novels as early-nineteenth-century products, with the introduction writer and illustrator as cultural mediators. Introductions present the novels’ author as a genius; significantly, a female genius, whose humour and realism are her defining characteristics, but who is limited in her scope, largely because of her gender and the consequent focus on women’s lives. Introduction writers differ in their evaluation of her as a professional writer, conscious of her craftsmanship, though there is little discussion of literary technique. Writers agree however that in her artistry, and particularly her satire, she displays some masculine qualities, though ultimately, as a woman, she remains within female boundaries, even if some of her artistic qualities suggest masculine vigour. Compared to the early nineteenth century, where the most frequent criteria Austen’s novels were judged by were moral instruction, amusement and realism (connected to limited scope), the most significant development is that for 1890s introduction writers, humour has emerged as a defining characteristic.46 In terms of gender, while introduction writers allow for and even praise some unconventionality for both the author and her heroines, overall, they still see Austen and her characters as largely accepting of and well within gender boundaries, leaving this aspect for twentieth-century critics to explore as part of their cultural moment’s engagement with Austen’s texts. 17 1 Cheaper editions of Austen’s texts were, for example, Routledge’s 1s and their 6d edition, Dicks’ illustrated Pride and Prejudice priced 6d, Blackie’s editions of the novels for 1s4d/1s6d, White’s for 6d and even 3d. 2 For example, print runs for Routledge’s sixpenny edition of PP amounted to 20,000 from 1881-1901, compared to 7500 copies at 2s and 11,000 at 1s (A. Bautz, “‘In perfect volume form, Price Sixpence’: Illustrating Pride and Prejudice for a late-Victorian mass-market,” Romantic Adaptations: Essays in Mediation and Remediation, ed. C. Ruddell, C. Duffy, P. Howell (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013) 101-124. 3 Deidre Lynch, Janeites: Austen’s Disciples and Devotees (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 13. 4 Elizabeth Langland, “Pride and Prejudice: Jane Austen and her Readers,” A Companion to Jane Austen Studies, ed. L. Lambdin and R. Lambdin (Conn.: Greenwood Press, 2000), 41-56 (44). 5 For example: Laura Carroll and John Wiltshire, “Jane Austen, Illustrated”, A Companion to Jane Austen, ed. C. Johnson and C. Tuite (Oxford: Blackwell, 2009), 62-77; Katie Halsey, Jane Austen and her Readers, 1786- 1945 (London: Anthem, 2012), discusses Thomson’s illustrations in Macmillan’s edition (which also contained Dobson’s introduction) but not Dobson and also generalises critics of the period as Janeites (179); similarly, Austin Dobson, who wrote introductions to all six Austen novels published by Macmillan, is not mentioned in collections that also consider historical criticism, such as Jane Austen in Context, ed. Janet Todd (Cambridge: CUP, 2005), Kathryn Sutherland’s Jane Austen’s Textual Lives (Oxford: OUP, 2005), (which mentions Saintsbury and Brimley Johnson but not Dobson); A Companion to Jane Austen Studies, ed. Lambdin and Lambdin (2000). 6 Brian Southam, Jane Austen: The Critical Heritage 1870-1940, vol 2, 59-65. 7M. H. Spielman and W. Jerrold, Hugh Thomson: his art, his letters, his humour and his charm (London: Black, 1931), 91. 8 Christiana Hammond (1860-1900) was “the first identifiable female illustrator of Jane Austen’s novels” (Looser, 62). 9 Sense and sensibility, introduction by R. Brimley Johnson (London: J. M. Dent & Sons), 1957; Sanditon, The Watsons, Lady Susan, and other miscellanea, Introduction by R. Brimley Johnson (London: Dent, 1978); Pride and Prejudice, (Macmillan: 1926), introduction by Austin Dobson; Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, Introduction by A. Dobson, illustrated, (London: Macmillan, 1931); Pride and Prejudice; Mansfield Park, (London: Macmillan and Co, 1938), with an introduction by Austin Dobson; Sense and Sensibility, Introduction by Austin Dobson, (London: Macmillan 1951). 10 Apart from Brimley-Johnson and W. K. Leask, the introduction writers are all included in the ODNB, which is another indicator of their significance. 11 Alan Bell, “George Edward Bateman Saintsbury”, ODNB (http://www.oxforddnb.com/), accessed online 8 December 2017. 12 Andrew Maunder, “Making heritage and history: the 1894 illustrated Pride and Prejudice,” Nineteenth- Century Studies, 20 (2006), 147-69 (151). 13 Anne Kershen, “Joseph Jacobs”, ODNB (http://www.oxforddnb.com/), accessed online 8 December 2017. 14 E. V. Knox and Katharine Chubbuck, “Edward Verrall Lucas”, ODNB (http://www.oxforddnb.com/), accessed online 8 December 2017. 15 P. J. Blaire, “William Keith Leask”, Aberdeen University Review, xii (1925), 231-238. 16 Southam, CH, p.61. 17 David Gilson, “Later publishing history, with illustrations”, Jane Austen in Context, ed. Janet Todd (Cambridge: CUP, 2005), 121-159 (138). 18 S. Gwynn, “Austin Dobson”, ODNB, accessed 21 Sep 2017. 19 Alban Dobson, “Biographical Note,” Austin Dobson: an Anthology of Prose and Verse (London & Toronto: Dent, 1922), vii-xii (viii). 20 Alban Dobson, p.xi. 21 Austin Dobson, A Handbook of English Literature, rev. edition (London: Crosby Lockwood, 1897), p.184. 22 Macmillan Archives, British Library, Add MS 55010. 23 Letter 9 March 1869. Unless otherwise stated, letters are cited from the manuscript held as part of the Macmillan Archives the British Library, Add MS 55010. 24 Dobson to Macmillan, 5 January 1904. 25 Percy Russell, The Authors’ Manual: a complete and practical guide to all branches of literary work (London: Digby & Long, 1891), 212. 18 26 William St Clair, “Following up the Reading Nation,” Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, vol vi, 1830- 1914, 724. 27 St Clair, “Following up”, 723. 28 For example, A. & C. Black included notes by David Laing in their 1870-71 Centenary Edition, Wilson & Lochhead publicised their edition 1870-79 as edited by the Revd P. Hately Waddell, etc. See Bautz, The Reception of Jane Austen and Walter Scott, pp. 82-3. 29 Diary and Letters of Madam D’Arblay, as edited by her niece Charlotte Barrett, with preface and notes by Austin Dobson, in six volumes. London: Macmillan and Co, 1905. 30 Spielmann and Jerrold, p.54. 31 The Story of Rosina and other Verses, London: Kegan Paul & Co, 1895, The Ballad of Beau Brocade and Other Poems, Kegan Paul & Co, 1892, Coridon’s Song and other verses, with illustrations by Hugh Thomson and an introduction by Austin Dobson. Macmillan & Co 1894. 32 Eg, Vicar of Wakefield, Macmillan 1890, Tales from Maria Edgeworth (London: Wells Gardner, 1903), Reade’s Peg Woffington (London: George Allen, 1899). 33 E.g. letter to Dobson June 1890, cited in Spielmann and Jerrold, p.54-5. 34 Cited in Spielmann and Jerrold, p.57 35 ibid. 36 Letter 11 Dec 1890, cited in Spielman and Jerrold, pp.57-8. 37 Austin Dobson, “Preface,” The Story of Rosina and Other Verses, illustrated by Hugh Thomson (London: Kegan Paul, 1895), vii-viii. 38 Letter Oct 1894, cited in Spielmann and Jerrold, p.91. 39 See for example Devoney Looser, The Making of Jane Austen (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 2017), p.53ff. 40 Emma (Macmillan, 1896), p. 275. 41 Emma, p. 403. 42 Southam, Critical Heritage, p.62. 43 Bautz, Reception, p.108. For an account of contemporary reviews: ibid, pp. 15-46. 44 Southam, CH, p.64 45 William Keith Leask, “Introduction,” Pride and Prejudice (London: Gresham, 1900), iii-xxi (xvi). 46 For a detailed discussion of early nineteenth-century reviews of Austen’s novels, see Bautz, The Reception of Jane Austen and Walter Scott (London: Continuum, 2007), 15-23. 
work_vziwl7fp6zhopiztm7m75nqsra	----	John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism Stanley van der Ziel New Hibernia Review, Volume 21, Number 1, Spring/Earrach 2017, pp. 123-142 (Article) Published by Center for Irish Studies at the University of St. Thomas DOI: For additional information about this article Access provided by Maynooth University (19 Dec 2017 18:57 GMT) https://doi.org/10.1353/nhr.2017.0008 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/660982 https://doi.org/10.1353/nhr.2017.0008 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/660982 new hibernia review / iris éireannach nua, 21:1 (earrach / spring, 2017), 123–142 Stanley van der Ziel  John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism John McGahern’s attitude to many Irish writers from the first half of the twen- tieth century was often ambivalent. He instinctively disliked and distrusted the overt polemical stance adopted by many writers in the decades immediately fol- lowing Independence, even if he could find in those same writers qualities of style or vision that he admired and, on occasion, even echoed in his own fiction. His relationship with the poet Patrick Kavanagh is a case in point. As early as 1959 he wrote to Michael McLaverty that, “Kavanagh is an irresponsible critic and a careless poet. It is a pity he doesn’t take more care with his poems because he is richly gifted.”1 On the one hand, McGahern deplored Kavanagh’s part in the brash literary culture that existed in Dublin in the 1940s and 1950s. He later im- mortalized his youthful experience, both of being subjected to what he described in an autobiographical essay from the 1990s as “the doubtful joy of Kavanagh’s company,” and of the general atmosphere of that imaginatively and intellectually stifling Dublin-bohemian milieu, by re-imagining it in his fiction.2 Such stories about rural drifters in the Hibernian metropolis as “My Love, My Umbrella” and “Bank Holiday” draw on the future novelist’s youthful experiences of literary coteries in Dublin during his twenties, as does the brilliant satire on midcentury Dublin literary culture that is The Pornographer (1979). Kavanagh appears as a character in both those short stories, and the portrait those fictions paint is not a flattering one. The unnamed poet in the Scotch House (the pub on Burgh Quay sometimes known as Flann O’Brien-Myles na Gopa- leen’s “office”) in the earlier of the two stories, “My Love, My Umbrella,” from Nightlines (1970), draws clearly on Kavanagh and his quirks. His appearance and his reliance on baking soda as a remedy for heartburn are obviously based on the Monaghan poet. Moreover, the snippets of his conversation overheard by 1. John McGahern to Michael McLaverty, 22 August 1959, in Dear Mr McLaverty: The Literary Cor- respondence of John McGahern and Michael McLaverty 1959–1980, ed. John Killen (Belfast: Linen Hall Library, 2006), 18; hereafter cited parenthetically, thus: (DMM 18). 2. John McGahern, Love of the World: Essays, ed. Stanley van der Ziel (London: Faber and Faber, 2009), 68; hereafter cited parenthetically, thus: (LW 68). John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 124 the narrator and his lover are recognizably taken from Kavanagh’s poetry and occasional prose—his attention to “the blossoms of Kerr Pinks” as objects of aes- thetic beauty references the early seminal poem “Spraying the Potatoes,” while the idea that “a man could only love what he knew well, and it was the quality of the love that mattered and not the accident” is loosely adapted from Kavanagh’s 1959 essay “From Monaghan to the Grand Canal” (or perhaps from one of his lectures on poetry).3 “Bank Holiday,” from the 1985 High Ground collection, not only shares its title with one of Kavanagh’s poems (as do two other stories from the same collection, “Gold Watch” and “A Ballad”); its plot also includes a con- frontation between a middle-aged poet and a young civil servant which, as has been well documented, was based on a real meeting between McGahern and Kavanagh in a Dublin pub during the late 1950s.4 A number of aspects of the failed poet and one-time provincial journalist Maloney in The Pornographer also replicate recognizable traits and habits both of Kavanagh and of his contempo- rary Flann O’Brien. Maloney attends the funeral of the narrator’s aunt wearing a “wide-brimmed black hat [that] made him look more like an ageing dance- band personality than a mourner.”5 This ridiculous hat replicates the headgear considered to be “the badge of the literary man” in Dublin during the 1940s and 1950s, which was favored by both O’Brien and Kavanagh.6 Maloney’s fraught relationship with his readers draws on the same originals, as the different “acts of aggression” that Maloney perpetrates against the readers of his magazine col- umn in the form of either “‘rocks’ or ‘jawbreakers’” or unvarnished insults—“he despised [his readers] and was fond of describing [them] as ‘the local pheasantry [sic], crap merchants and bull-shitters’” (P 26)—are reminiscent, respectively, of the belligerence of O’Brien’s “Cruiskeen Lawn” columns and of Kavanagh’s cantankerous occasional journalism in Kavanagh’s Weekly and elsewhere. On the other hand, McGahern harbored great affection and admiration for Kavanagh’s achievement as a poet. He even acknowledged that its particular er- ratic nature could not have belonged to anybody possessed of a milder tempera- ment—because who else but a man possessed of Kavanagh’s “wild swing,” he 3. John McGahern, Nightlines (London: Faber and Faber, 1970), 103–04; hereafter cited parentheti- cally, thus: (N 103–04). See also Patrick Kavanagh, A Poet’s Country: Selected Prose, ed. Antoinette Quinn (Dublin: Lilliput, 2003), 273. 4. See Antoinette Quinn, Patrick Kavanagh: A Biography (Dublin: Gill and Macmillan, 2001), 298–99, and Linda Collinge and Emmanuel Vernadakis, “John McGahern” (interview), Journal of the Short Story in English 41 (Autumn, 2003), 130–31. 5. John McGahern, The Pornographer (London: Faber and Faber, 1979), 240; hereafter cited paren- thetically, thus: (P 240). 6. See Anthony Cronin, No Laughing Matter: The Life and Times of Flann O’Brien (London: Graf- ton, 1989), 111, 188–89. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 125 asked, could have rhymed “catharsis” with “arses”? (LW 92).7 On many occasions in the autobiographical prose of his last decades, McGahern stressed how Kava- nagh was, alongside Samuel Beckett, one of the “two living writers who meant most” to young writers and intellectuals coming of age in the 1950s. “Both,” he wrote, “through their work, were living, exciting presences” (LW 92). Even as McGahern carefully avoided Kavanagh’s presence on the street and in pubs, he eagerly awaited his new work published in literary magazines like Nimbus, En- counter, and X. He also sought out opportunities for hearing him lecture about poetry in more formal settings away from the public house. In 1956 McGahern attended Kavanagh’s now-infamous lecture series at University College Dublin. Like many other members of the audience, he was in later years to recall Kava- nagh’s unprofessional, often boorish antics during those talks (on one famed occasion he turned on the racing results in mid-lecture). But he would also re- member, for the rest of his life, the sometimes startling original insights that Kavanagh offered in passing during those same lectures. Some of those insights and ideas were later worked into McGahern’s fiction. One example of this is the inclusion of a snippet from a Kavanagh essay or lec- ture in “My Love, My Umbrella.” Another is the way McGahern returned more than once in subsequent decades to an idea about poetic form by which he had been struck when Kavanagh proclaimed that the sonnet was the “envelope of love” (LW 311); the poet then explained this idea by further elaborating that “the perfect way of wrapping up your love letter and sending your love was in the en- velope of the sonnet.”8 McGahern would later incorporate that simile into one of his novels. When the narrator in The Pornographer reflects on how the familiar coats and dresses of the girl with whom he is in love “had become the envelopes of a quiet love” (P 218), the echo of the Kavanagh lecture is clear. Using it in the very novel that also contains such an overt satire on midcentury Dublin literary circles in general, and on the figure of Kavanagh in particular, is McGahern’s even-handed way of paying tribute to an aspect of Kavanagh he admired.9 Obviously, McGahern’s relationship with Kavanagh was deeply conflicted. What is more, his twofold response to Kavanagh’s legacy forms a template for 7. McGahern often cited that rhyme, from the poem “A Summer Morning Walk” (first published in Arena in 1964), as evidence of Kavanagh’s unique “wild swing.” The rhyme may have been “wild,” but Kavanagh was not the first to employ it: that honor belongs to Joyce, who used it in his early satirical poem “The Holy Office” (1904). See Patrick Kavanagh, The Complete Poems, ed. Peter Kava- nagh (Newbridge: Goldsmith Press, 1972), 315, and James Joyce, Poems and Exiles, ed. J. C. C. Mays (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1992), 104. 8. McGahern’s memory of that Kavanagh lecture is recorded in Quinn, Patrick Kavanagh, 353. 9. For other occasions in The Pornographer on which McGahern assimilates phrases from Kava- nagh in his descriptions of love and art, see Stanley van der Ziel, John McGahern and the Imagination of Tradition (Cork: Cork University Press, 2016), 94–95. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 126 a pattern that he regularly repeated in his appreciation of other Irish authors of the Revival and post-Revival period. Irish writers of the first half of the twentieth century all too often wrote to a social or political agenda, such as the one McGahern identified in Kavanagh’s approach to the material of The Great Hunger—a poem he described in a 1999 seminar as “almost a great poem” be- cause, he explained, although three quarters of it is “marvellous,” he believed “it deteriorates into a sociological rant at the end.”10 Other writers spent their time forging abstract aesthetic guidelines theorizing the “Irishness” of the literary products of past and present, in the process expending the creative energies that might have been better applied elsewhere. Writers whom McGahern censured on one or both of these counts included not only Kavanagh, but also Daniel Corkery and Frank O’Connor, a writer who McGahern privately believed had “wasted his talent.”11 His harsh assessment of O’Connor undoubtedly referred to the nature of some of the stories written expressly for the conservative tastes of the high-paying New Yorker magazine—but also to O’Connor’s insistence on overtly expressing himself, in his stories as well as in works of criticism, on mat- ters that McGahern believed should properly be the concern of journalists and sociologists.12 McGahern engaged in parodies of, and comments on, the theoretical founda- tions underlying the literary and cultural Revival from his earliest fiction on- ward. His first novel, The Barracks (1963), not only contains an unrelenting cri- tique of the institutional power of the Catholic church (as many of his books do); it also concludes with a sly dismissal of the ease with which the Cuchulain myth can be put to work in the pursuit of self-aggrandizement.13 His most sus- tained engagement with the cultural tropes of the Revival and post-Revival pe- riod, however, can be found in The Pornographer. It is striking that the Cuchulain myth—which had yielded such rich narrative fruits for Yeats—is again parodied by McGahern near the end of that novel. Maloney’s suggestion that turning back time and reversing the ageing process would be like “thrash[ing] the tide back 10. John McGahern, lecture on Patrick Kavanagh, UCD, March 3, 1999. I wish to thank Catriona Clutterbuck for providing me with copies of her seminar notes. 11. Madeline McGahern, personal communication with author, April 2008. 12. In a letter to Michael McLaverty on March 9, 1960, McGahern complains about a “bad” story (possibly by Benedict Kiely) which seems “strung hurriedly together for the fat fee the New Yorker pays” (DMM 20). In another letter written later in the decade, McGahern complains that one of his own stories had fallen victim to the meddling hand of a New Yorker editor trying to bring it in line with the conventions of its house style, because “I think they think my work is too rough or some- thing.” John McGahern to Brian Friel, n.d., Brian Friel papers, National Library of Ireland: MS 37,259. 13. John McGahern, The Barracks (London: Faber and Faber, 1963), 232. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 127 with mere sticks” (P 205) obviously references Cuchulain’s battle with the sea in Yeats’s On Baile’s Strand.14 Most of McGahern’s lampoon of Revivalist and post- Revivalist pieties in The Pornographer is concentrated, however, in and around the story-within-a-novel called “Mavis and the Colonel Take a Trip on the Shan- non,” which the protagonist writes for Maloney’s pornographic magazine. “Ma- vis and the Colonel” is not just a parody of the boredom of “remarkably badly written” pornographic prose, as McGahern has said.15 It is also a satire on the familiar tropes of the Literary Revival, and especially on the didacticism and the “sociological rant[s]” of 1930s and 1940s post-Revivalist social realism. McGahern—like one of his literary heroes, James Joyce—frequently sent up the cultural stereotypes associated with the West of Ireland in the literary discourse of early twentieth-century Ireland.16 In The Pornographer, he evokes the “journey westward” in the imagination on which Gabriel Conroy feels he must embark at the conclusion of Joyce’s “The Dead.” There, Joyce substitutes the Revival’s romantic-nationalist convention of a merely physical retreat to the supposedly unspoiled Irish-speaking West, with a subtly different kind of metaphorical “journey” away from the “solid world” of the living to a site of acceptance, understanding, and communion between all the living and the dead that Joyce, though Gabriel Conroy, also situates beyond the “dark mu- tinous Shannon” in the West.17 The conclusion of “The Dead” both conforms to and breaks with the Revival’s central trope of journeying westward. The Pornographer’s version of a Gabriel Conroy-like “journey westward” cannot be found in the pornographic story about a weekend-trip to the West that the hero writes, but rather in his private resolve “to go inland, in the solitude that is both pain and joy, and there make our own truth” (P 203). The intentions of the pornographer’s literary efforts contrast starkly with this possibility for a meaningful westward journey inland, which he hopes could bring about a transformation in his private life. In the short story that the pornographer writes for Maloney’s magazine, Mavis and the Colonel’s “journey westward” is emphatically not a conventional Revivalist search for a site of moral and cultural purity among Irish-speakers in the rural West, of the sort found in those stories about “beautiful, pure faithful, 14. The Yeatsian allusion is clear from the inclusion of a reference to Yeats’s theatrical collaborator Florence Farr on the preceding page. See van der Ziel, Imagination of Tradition, 166 and 267, n. 46. 15. Eamon Maher, “An Interview with John McGahern,” in John McGahern: From the Local to the Universal (Dublin: Liffey, 2003), 149. 16. On this aspect of Joyce, see Frank Shovlin, Journey Westward: Joyce, Dubliners and the Irish Liter- ary Revival (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2012). McGahern discussed Joyce’s engagement with the theme of Irish cultural nationalism, in the famous exchange between Miss Ivors and Gabriel Conroy in “The Dead” and elsewhere, at the start of his essay “What Is My Language?” (LW 260–61). 17. James Joyce, Dubliners (1914; Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1992), 225. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 128 Connacht girls and lithe, broad-shouldered open-faced young Connacht men” that Joyce ridiculed in one of his letters. 18 Nor is it a metaphorical search for “solitude” and “truth” like that of the pornographer’s own journey, or that of Gabriel Conroy in “The Dead.” Rather, Mavis and the Colonel’s “Trip on the Shannon” is the starting point of a no-holds-barred sex romp that forcefully counters the Revivalist myth of the moral, spiritual, and physical purity of Irish country-folk in the rural Irish-speaking West. The pornographer’s short story also revisits and restates the terms of other well-known Irish cultural debates of the early twentieth century. Maloney’s face- tious description of Michael, a secondary character in “Mavis and the Colonel” who is the victim of one of the titular heroes’ perverted sexual power games, as “the very heart and soul in person of my dear friends, the plain people of Ireland” (P 162) confirms that the story is intended by McGahern as a parody of Revivalist cultural values. The epithet “plain people” directly invokes a running joke in Myles na Gopaleen’s “Cruiskeen Lawn” columns. These columns—like the satire of the language revival in The Poor Mouth (1941)—savagely satirized the rhetoric of a dominant national discourse (that of the Literary Revival of the early decades of the century, and of de Valera’s pastoral social vision in the 1930s and 1940s); the lives of peasants from the western seaboard in such idealized ac- counts bore little resemblance to the squalor and ignorance in which many in the rural West actually lived.19 Michael in “Mavis and the Colonel” is a character in a crudely drawn piece of pornographic trash, not in the literary novel in which that fiction is couched. As such, he is allowed to be much more crudely representative of a certain type of character from the social-realist literature of the period. Rather than a fully rounded character in his own right, he is little more than a cipher, not only of the sexual fantasies of the pornographer and his readers, but also of the preoc- cupations of the sociologically minded writers of the 1930s and 1940s whose arguments are ventriloquized through him. The pornographer’s story, after all, repeats a number of the major concerns of Kavanagh, O’Connor, O’Faolain, and other writers who engaged with social inequality and sexual mores in the post- Independence decades—so much so that one critic observed that McGahern’s character wrote “mighty didactic pornography.”20 Its lessons are primarily con- cerned with the area of sexuality, and the damage done to that part of human in- 18. James Joyce to Stanislaus Joyce, 20 November 1906, in Selected Letters, ed. Richard Ellmann (London: Faber and Faber, 1975), 134. 19. Many of the “Plain People of Ireland” columns are reprinted in Flann O’Brien, The Best of Myles: A Selection from “Cruiskeen Lawn,” ed. Kevin O’Nolan (London: Flamingo, 1993). 20. Lori Rogers, Feminine Nation: Performance, Gender and Resistance in the Works of John McGahern and Neil Jordan (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1998), 69. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 129 teraction by generations of church teaching and by economic hardship.21 Thus, Michael can get drunk and boast that he has never “‘gone in for the girls . . . in any serious way. I stick to this,’ he raised his glass triumphantly. ‘It’s all right for the rich. But my generation, seeing the hardship our parents had to go through, decided to stay clear. Maybe we were as well off . . . ’” (P 158). The Colonel, in turn, can affirm the same twisted psychology when he observes that it is “No wonder the country is in such a poor state. . . . An old boy like that, drinking all round the country, laughing at women, boasting he’d escaped—escaped from what?” (P 158–60). Both statements replicate the attention to the veneer of self- deception that covers the immense sadness of the Irish countryside arising from its fear of sex and procreation, a concern that also forms the central theme of Kavanagh’s Great Hunger. The social concerns of the pornographer’s story—the male fear of sex and procreation as a direct result of famine or deprivation—replicate those of im- portant poems like The Great Hunger or Brian Merriman’s Cúirt an Mheán- Oíche (The Midnight Court), the great eighteenth- century satire on sexual re- pression. But with its heavy-handed didacticism “Mavis and the Colonel” is not, as Maloney acknowledges, in the same “untranslatable league” as the lat- ter (P 162–63)—a comment that alludes to the controversial banning of Frank O’Connor’s English translation of Merriman’s poem under the Censorship of Publications Act in 1945. The adjective “untranslatable” refers to the irony by which Merriman’s original Irish was venerated as a pinnacle of indigenous literary achievement, one suitable to be taught to the nation’s schoolchildren, while O’Connor’s English translation of the same text was banned for its al- leged obscenity and likelihood to corrupt.22 If self-righteous anger, judgement, and self-expression “stink” like Flaubert’s metaphorical chamber pot, then the pornographer’s cheap didacticism is well placed in the gutter end of the literary marketplace.23 This is not to say of course (as McGahern implicitly acknowl- edges) that literature should never contain forms of social critique; the same 21. Especially in interviews, McGahern often stressed his belief that the church in Ireland “caused most serious damage in the area of sexuality.” See for example, Reading the Future: Irish Writers in Conversation with Mike Murphy, ed. Cliodhna Ní Anluain (Dublin: Lilliput, 2000), 140. 22. This irony was most forcefully articulated by Senator Owen Sheehy Skeffington during the in- famous Senate debates over the Censorship of Publications Bill. See Seanad Éireann 63 (7 June 1967), 348. 23. McGahern greatly admired Flaubert’s letter, and quoted it at length in his essay on Dublin- ers (LW 202–04): “You have made Art an outlet for passions, a kind of chamber-pot to catch the overflow of I don’t know what. It doesn’t smell good! It smells of hate!” Gustave Flaubert, letter to Louise Colet, 25 November 1853, in The Letters of Gustave Flaubert 1830–1857, ed. and transl. Francis Steegmuller (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1980), 202. McGahern often spoke out against the place of “self-expression” in art. See for example LW 14. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 130 points, differently made, can certainly have their place in great art. What Ma- loney calls the “gusto” of Merriman’s “effort”—that is, his commitment to lan- guage and truth and literary form—elevates The Midnight Court from a mere “sociological rant” into a great poem. The pornographer’s formulaic attempt at sexual titillation and self-expression pathetically fail to emulate such a feat. In McGahern’s own work, too, there is a place for well-directed social cri- tique, though never for “self-expression.” Memories of Kavanagh’s astute social observations even bleed into McGahern’s taut early masterpiece of the short- story genre, “Korea,” from Nightlines. In that story, the father’s advice to his son to leave home for England or America because “All there’s room for [in this poky place] is to make holes in pints of porter” (N 88) echoes the warning of Tarry Flynn’s travelled uncle about the dangers of staying in the native countryside in Kavanagh’s autobiographical novel: “the only thing a man could do in a place like this is drink himself to death.”24 The pornographer’s concerns with sexuality and culturally sanctioned celibacy, too, had already been treated by McGahern in that earlier volume of short stories in a more impartial spirit. Through Michael’s crass comments in “Mavis and the Colonel” McGahern is effectively revisiting the tragic case of Lavin, the title character of another Nightlines story, whose life has been marred by sexual frustrations straight out of The Great Hunger.25 McGahern’s reworking of the same material in the later story-within-a-novel demonstrates how different the result can be when a writer indulges in the sin of self-expression by making his story into a “sociological rant,” instead of an exercise in Chekhovian or Flaubertian objectivity like “Lavin.” The passing reference to the banning of his translation of The Midnight Court is not the only reference to Frank O’Connor in that section of The Pornographer. The memory of one of O’Connor’s most influential cultural interventions is subtly invoked elsewhere in “Mavis and the Colonel.” When Michael, after a few drinks, shows Mavis and the Colonel around a Shannon cruiser on behalf of his English employer, he tells them that “Mr Smith” is A gentleman. The English are a great people to spend money. They’re pure inno- cent. But your Irishman’s a huar. The huar’d fleece you and boast about it to your face. Your Irishman is still in an emerging form of life. (P 84) This damning assessment is perhaps specifically reminiscent of the conclusion of one of Sean O’Faolain’s editorials in The Bell, which proposed the existence of a contrast between the “long-stabilised, and therefore complex, form[s] of life” that may be found in other countries, with a country like Ireland, “Where the 24. Patrick Kavanagh, Tarry Flynn (1948; London: Penguin, 2000), 188. 25. See Stanley van der Ziel, “John McGahern: Nightlines,” in A Companion to the British and Irish Short Story, ed. Cheryl Alexander Malcolm and David Malcolm (Malden and Oxford: Wiley- Blackwell, 2008), 491. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 131 forms of life are still in their childhood”: between “Life and non-Life, the healthy organism and the diseased growth.”26 More important, the same kind of binary thinking about the presence or absence of social coherence that exists in different countries had led in turn to the rediscovery, first by O’Faolain in his 1948 book The Short Story and later by O’Connor in The Lonely Voice (1963), of an idea about the suitability of different genres of prose fiction to different cultural experiences that had been coined by Henry James in the late nineteenth century.27 The novel’s usual setting, according to Ian Watt’s classic study of the origins and defining characteristics of the genre, is “in a stable and cohesive pattern of social relations.”28 The short story, on the other hand, belongs to what O’Connor famously describes in the first chapter of The Lonely Voice as “submerged population groups.” O’Connor’s definition of this group stresses the unattractive individualism of such a society made up of isolated individuals: it does not mean mere material squalor, though this is often characteristic of the submerged population groups. Ultimately it seems to mean defeat inflicted by a society that has no sign posts, a society that offers no goals and no answers. The submerged population is not submerged entirely by material consider- ations; it can also be submerged by the absence of spiritual ones. . . . Clearly, the novel and the short story . . . are distinct literary forms; and the difference is not so much formal . . . as ideological. . . . The novel can still adhere to the classical concept of civilized society, of man as an animal who lives in a community, as in Jane Austen and Trollope it obviously does; but the short story remains by its very nature remote from the community—romantic individualistic, and intransigent.29 McGahern reprises O’Connor’s analysis of the dominant psychology of twentieth- century rural Ireland in his 1995 essay “The Christmas Rose,” in which he connects the “blind rancour against neighbours coupled with an equally blind grasping after even useless advantages” that he had witnessed during his own lifetime with the enduring memories of the Famine (LW 155). More important, it is visible in the obsession with “security” and the fear of the poorhouse shared by most of the father figures in his novels, from Mahoney in The Dark (1965) to Moran in Amongst Women (1990), and including also Josephine’s boring uncle 26. [Sean O’Faolain], “Attitudes,” Bell 2, 6 (September, 1941), 12. 27. O’Faolain acknowledges his debt to Henry James’s argument in his autobiography, in which he quotes from James’s 1879 study of Nathaniel Hawthorne. See Sean O’Faolain, Vive Moi! An Auto- biography, ed. Julia O’Faolain (1963; London: Sinclair-Stevenson, 1993), 244–45. 28. Ian Watt, The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson and Fielding (1957; London: Pimlico, 2000), 66. 29. Frank O’Connor, The Lonely Voice: A Study of the Short Story (London: Macmillan, 1963), 18, 20–21. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 132 in The Pornographer, who repeatedly insists that his niece take a job in a bank because “it’s secure, and you can’t beat security” (P 32). The opposition in McGahern’s story-within-a-novel between gentlemen on one side, and “huars . . . emerging form[s] of life” on the other, rewrites in comi- cal terms—its coarse colloquial idioms a world removed from the polite dis- course of conventional literary criticism—the well-known opposition between those nations and cultures where a social structure is sufficiently established to support the novel, versus the “submerged population groups” whose experiences are ideally expressed in short stories. That oversimplified trope—popularized in Ireland by two writers who, as Derek Hand has pointed out, not coincidentally excelled in the shorter rather than the longer form—has taken deep root in the consciousness of critics of Irish fiction in the second half of the twentieth cen- tury.30 It has even on occasion entered criticism of McGahern’s fiction.31 It is true, of course, that McGahern himself paid lip service to this familiar cultural trope on several occasions. He did so most notably in his 2001 foreword to Alistair MacLeod’s Island, where in an argument clearly written under the sway of The Lonely Voice he wrote that: I think of the novel as the most social of all the art forms, the most closely linked to an idea of society, a shared leisure and a system of manners. The short story does not generally flourish in such a society but comes into its own like song or prayer or superstition in poorer more fragmented communities where individu- alism and tradition and family and localities and chance or luck are dominant. (LW 212) And yet, McGahern’s simultaneous unease with the convenient simplicity of that argument is also clear—not just from his lampooning of those binaries in the “Mavis and the Colonel” story in The Pornographer, but also from the way in which, in some of his other fiction from the same period, generic form is often matched with subject matter in ways that deliberately depart from the binary thinking of that old argument. As always, as he counseled in his essay “The Solitary Reader,” McGahern was consciously discarding old “tenets that we have been told” in order to think things out for himself (LW 90). His early novels are studies of sensitive individuals at odds with the larger social reality that surrounds them; as such, they are not, in 30. Derek Hand, A History of the Irish Novel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 2–4. For brief histories of the novel-versus-short-story trope in Ireland, see for example Terence Brown, “After the Revival: Seán Ó Faoláin and Patrick Kavanagh,” in Ireland’s Literature: Selected Essays (Mullingar: Lilliput, 1988), 91–116, and John Kenny, “Inside Out: A Working Theory of the Irish Short Story,” in Frank O’Connor: Critical Essays, ed. Hilary Lennon (Dublin: Four Courts, 2007), 99–113. 31. See for example John Cronin, “John McGahern’s Amongst Women: Retrenchment and Renewal,” Irish University Review 22, 1 (Spring–Summer, 1992), 169–70. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 133 emphasis or approach, unlike the novel genre in the hands Modernist writers like Joyce or D.H. Lawrence. What is more, his last two novels increasingly turn the novelist’s steady gaze to the broader social canvas of the nineteenth-century novel—a model that should not, according to O’Connor and O’Faolain and their followers, be available to the indigenous Irish writer. With its steady focus on the Moran family fortunes against the realistic backdrop of the social and political nuances of twentieth-century Ireland, a novel like Amongst Women can hold its own beside the social and psychological depths of classic English family dramas like Wuthering Heights or Mansfield Park, while the panoramic encom- passing of an entire community in That They May Face the Rising Sun is akin to the art of Middlemarch.32 The narrator’s repeated emphasis on the “enclosed” or “completed” nature of the world of Great Meadow in Amongst Women may even be read as a sly reference to some critics’ descriptions of the generic properties of the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century novel as an “autarkic world.”33 But if McGahern’s novels deal with situations and characters belonging to a social background that is—according to O’Connor and O’Faolain—the natural sub- ject of short stories, then the opposite is often also true. In certain early works, like “Why We’re Here,” from Nightlines, and especially in the later triptych about dwindling Protestant communities from High Ground, McGahern also shows, as Declan Kiberd has written about William Trevor, how “the people about whom novels had once been written—the Anglo-Irish, Protestant ministers—were now sufficiently marginal to be fitting subjects for the short story.”34 It has also been said, moreover, that those later High Ground stories, in their scope and narrative pacing and subject matter, resemble “nineteenth-century novels in miniature.”35 McGahern’s awareness of the traditional distinction between “individualis- tic” and “intransigent” Irish short-story writers, and the “civilized” novel writers who may be found among the middle classes of England, is also clear from his 1990 interview with Arminta Wallace, in which he quipped, “The obvious case is Jane Austen: you couldn’t imagine Jane Austen writing a short story.”36 This 32. On the significance of Austen in McGahern’s late work, see van der Ziel, Imagination of Tradi- tion, chapter 2. For specific links with Wuthering Heights and Middlemarch, see van der Ziel, “Medu- sa’s Mirror: Art, Style, Vision and Tradition in the Fiction of John McGahern,” PhD diss., University College Dublin, 2008, 273–34, 330–32. 33. Roland Barthes comments that in the novel “we find the construction of an autarkic world which elaborates its own dimensions and limits, and organizes within these its own Time, its own Space, its population, its own set of objects and its myths.” Barthes, Writing Degree Zero and Elements of Semiology, transl. Annette Lavers and Colin Smith (London: Cape, 1984), 26. 34. Declan Kiberd, “Demented Bachelors,” review of The Hill Bachelors by William Trevor, London Review of Books, 8 March 2001, 31. 35. Van der Ziel, Imagination of Tradition, 66. 36. Arminta Wallace, “Out of the Dark,” interview with McGahern, Irish Times Weekend, 28 April 1990, 5. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 134 observation was grounded in his appreciation of the conventional wisdoms of Irish literary criticism. What is more, the implications of what seems at first to be no more than a casual humorous observation may be much more far- reaching, because the structure of McGahern’s thought radically repositions the terms of that old argument in a subtle, almost imperceptible way. Writing in the immediate aftermath of Irish independence in the midcentury, O’Faolain and O’Connor—despite their position as eminent short-story writers authoring academic studies intended to vindicate the artistic merit of the genre—had still treated the novel as the norm against which the short story is measured. In such a comparison, the latter is inevitably found wanting, as it is judged against the critical norms of a different literary enterprise. O’Faolain and O’Connor ulti- mately betray a form of provincialism, the insecurity of those from the margins of a culture who look to the center for validation. McGahern, by contrast, approaches the same division from the point of view of the parochial (in the sense in which that word is used by Patrick Kavanagh), who is confident of the cultural validity of his own forms of artistic expression.37 His comment that one could not imagine Jane Austen writing a short story is in its own quiet way a radical act of revision of the terms by which literary history is written. Its brilliance as a revisionist account of the history of prose fiction lies in the way it repositions the relative significance of the two genres. For McGahern, it is no longer Irish short-story writers who are found tragically lacking for their collective inability to write novels: instead, it is the foremost of mannered, “civi- lized” English novelists who is so utterly incapable of working in the shorter form that to imagine her even attempting such a thing seems ridiculous. In an interview, McGahern observed that he believed Daniel Corkery “is a bet- ter short-story writer than he is a critic. . . . I think he is a wonderful short story writer of a certain type.” Corkery’s tragedy, he agreed, lay in being remembered chiefly for his polemical criticism, rather than for his fiction.38 McGahern had discovered Corkery’s short stories after attending a lecture by Michael McLaverty at UCD in 1958, when, following McLaverty’s advice, he read the stories in the National Library.39 One story in particular stood out. In a letter to McLaverty on January 13, 1959, and then again decades later in essays and interviews, he singled out Corkery’s story “Vision” (DMM 16; LW 75). The ghost of that story can be detected in one of McGahern’s own earliest stories, “Christmas,” the story of a 37. For Kavanagh’s distinction between the “provincial” and the “parochial,” see Kavanagh, A Poet’s Country, 237. 38. Stanley van der Ziel, “An Interview with John McGahern,” appendix II in Medusa’s Mirror, 374. 39. Van der Ziel, “An Interview with John McGahern,” 374. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 135 boy who has been outplaced from an orphanage and his disillusionment with the world of adults. “Christmas” abounds with suggestions of intertextuality. Two of these have been the subject of prior criticism of McGahern’s work. First, as one of Night- lines’ stories that “recall a past experience, the pivot of which is initiation and disillusionment,” it has often been linked with the influence of Joyce’s Dublin- ers.40 The revelation with which the story concludes—“I felt a new life for me had already started to grow out of the ashes, out of the stupidity of human wishes” (N 46)—certainly recalls the final paragraph of “Araby”: “Gazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.”41 Secondly, critics have recognized the presence of W.B. Yeats’s “In Memory of Major Robert Gregory”—“Some burn damp fag- gots, others may consume / The entire combustible world in one small room / As though dried straw”—behind the boy’s burning of Mrs Grey’s gift in a handful of straw in the story’s denouement. The ghostly presence of those lines points to the theme of awakening artistic intensity that is one of McGahern’s recurring themes.42 In addition, the naming of Mrs Grey may contain another Yeatsian al- lusion. The boy’s reception of a painted wooden toy from a character named Mrs Grey, and his subsequent destruction of that toy in response to the revelation of the terrible truth about the sordid and unfair nature of adult reality, may ges- ture to the quatrain from “The Song of the Happy Shepherd” that opens Yeats’s Collected Poems. This takes as its subject the substitution of mundane reality for romantic dreaming: The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed; Grey Truth is now her painted toy . . .43 The recurrence of the word “Grey” side by side with the image of “her painted toy” in McGahern’s story can scarcely be coincidental. Critical assessments of “Christmas” have been naturally drawn to identi- fying Joycean and Yeatsian examples; these are the authors whose significance 40. Denis Sampson, Outstaring Nature’s Eye: The Fiction of John McGahern (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 1993), 87. 41. Joyce, Dubliners, 28. 42. W. B. Yeats, The Poems, ed. Richard J. Finneran (London: Macmillan, 1984), 134. The echoes of “In Memory of Major Robert Gregory” have been pointed out by Belinda McKeon, “‘Robins Feeding with the Sparrows’: The Protestant ‘Big House’ in the Fiction of John McGahern,” Irish University Review 35, 1 (Spring–Summer, 2005), 82–83, and Frank Shovlin, “The Ghost of W. B. Yeats,” John McGahern Yearbook 2 (2009), 50. 43. Yeats, The Poems, 7. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 136 McGahern continually emphasized in essays and interviews. But these are not necessarily the only intertexts at work in this tale of “initiation and disillusion- ment.” The plot and the character of the prepubescent protagonist place “Christ- mas” just as close to the example of the unfashionable Corkery as to that of Joyce or Yeats. Specific elements of language, imagery, and plotting are unmistakably indebted to McGahern’s memory of reading Corkery’s “Vision.” In both stories, the boy protagonists’ final moments of disillusionment are arranged around the gift of a new wooden toy. McGahern’s focus on a single, particular detail in the sentences that introduce the gift— “Mrs. Grey came Christmas Eve with a large box. . . . A toy airplane stood inside the box, it was painted white and blue and the tyres smelled of new rubber” (N 43)—evokes Corkery’s description in “Vi- sion” of the toy lorry given to the protagonist by his father: “The papered-up box contained a toy lorry, a real lorry . . . those wheels themselves had rubber tyres, you could smell the rubber.”44 The shared detail of the smell of the rubber tires cements the connection. In “Vision,” the boy’s new toy lorry becomes implicated in the determining moment of his loss of innocence, when he realizes that his father is not, after all, a “good judge” of worldly affairs: “My father is a good judge,” he whispered, in a changed tone, however, as if he were remembering things. He stood there in the darkness puzzled, as still as stone; his brows fixed, his eyes intent, his head tilted; as for the toy in his hands, it might as well have been a bit of an old ashplant.45 McGahern’s “Christmas” simultaneously invokes both “Araby” and “Vision.” In McGahern’s story, as in Corkery’s, a beloved toy becomes implicated in the pro- tagonist’s devaluation of human existence, and in the process loses its unique appeal before finally becoming the butt of the distraught boy’s revenge as the “pretty toy” is reduced to the “shapelessness” of a piece of firewood with just a few kicks (N 46). Thus, the burning of straw and toy in the barn in McGahern’s story’s contains allusions both to the violent feeling of disillusionment in Cork- ery’s “Vision,” and to the awakening of a new passionate intensity that we see in “In Memory of Major Robert Gregory.” In his account of discovering Corkery’s short stories in 1958, McGahern re- calls he was already familiar with Corkery’s other work at that time. He had liked his novel The Threshold of Quiet (1918), which, as he recalled in an interview with Joyce Andrews, had been among the very few books kept in his mother’s house.46 44. Daniel Corkery, Earth out of Earth (Dublin: Talbot Press, 1939), 14. 45. Corkery, Earth out of Earth, 16. 46. [Joyce Andrews], “John McGahern” (profile), in Education and the Arts: The Educational Auto- biographies of Contemporary Irish Poets, Novelists, Dramatists, Musicians, Painters and Sculptors: A Research Report, dir. of research Daniel Murphy (Dublin: Trinity College Department of Higher Edu- cation, 1987), 130. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 137 Though he had been “put off by the nationalistic essays, which at that time were more in vogue than his fiction” (LW 75), McGahern’s fiction invokes each of those aspects of Corkery’s work. In addition to his early tribute to Corkery as an exemplary short story writer in “Christmas,” McGahern on a later occasion turned his satirical attention to the polemical criticism for which Corkery is better known. Keegan, one of the laborers in McGahern’s early short story “Hearts of Oak and Bellies of Brass,” is in the habit of repeating the phrase “We who are Irish” (N 56) as part of one of his endlessly repeated mantras. The notion of Irishness may seem stable in the mind of that character—but the author was certainly aware that the question of who exactly are Irish, and who are not, is as hotly contested as any other in the literary and cultural criticism of the first half of the twentieth century. In an interview with Julia Carlson, McGahern commented on the insular and insecure cultural climate of the midcentury: It was a young, insecure state without traditions, . . . and there was this notion that to be Irish was good. Nobody actually took any time to understand what to be Irish was. There was this slogan and fanaticism and a lot of emotion, but there wasn’t any clear idea except what you were against; you were against sexuality; you were against the English.47 The nature of Irish national identity was extensively theorized during the late- nineteenth and early-twentieth century in such polemical pieces of essentialist criticism as D. P. Moran’s The Philosophy of Irish Ireland (1905), and later, in the decade following the civil war, in Corkery’s now-notorious introduction to his Synge and Anglo-Irish Literature (1931), where he introduced the idea of “three great forces which, working for long in the Irish national being, have made it so different from the English national being.”48 The simultaneous decline of Protes- tant Anglo-Ireland, in the meantime, was accompanied by the obsessive repeti- tion of its own set of cultural stereotypes in the late flourishing of the genre of the Big House novel. In the latter part of the twentieth century, McGahern would self-consciously return to the oversimplified binary oppositions between planter and Gael, native and colonizer, that had been established during that period and which were in the process of being further enshrined in the postcolonial criticism of the 1980s and 1990s. The supposedly clear fixed boundaries of national identity upon which nationalist discourse is built are frequently subverted in McGahern’s later fiction. In That They May Face the Rising Sun (2002), for example, Robert Booth, the son of an Ulster draper working in London who returns from England every year to 47. Banned in Ireland: Censorship and the Irish Writer, ed. Julia Carlson (London: Routledge, 1990), 63. 48. Daniel Corkery, Synge and Anglo-Irish Literature: A Study (Cork: Cork University Press, 1931), 19. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 138 spend the summer with Kate and Ruttledge in the Irish countryside, is described without malice by Jamesie simply as “the big Englishman.”49 McGahern’s most sustained blurring and inversion of the traditional markers of national identity can be found, however, in Amongst Women—a novel in which the central char- acter, Moran, ironically shares his surname with the philosopher of Irish Ireland. During a conversation with one of his sons-in-law, Moran is twice told that his eldest son Luke is “turning himself into a sort of Englishman.”50 The remark is intended as an insult, although the precise nature of Luke’s supposed Eng- lishness remains rather ill-defined. A number of Moran’s own actions, in the meantime, problematize the supposedly clear-cut boundaries between different nationalities, religious groupings, and social castes. In the introductory chapter of Synge and Anglo-Irish Literature, Corkery identifies the three pillars of Irish national identity as “(1) The Religious Consciousness of the People; (2) Irish Nationalism; and (3) The Land.”51 Moran breaks all these sacred commandments of Irish national being. The first is problematized by Moran’s waning religious faith. An exchange shortly before his death reveals that he has lost much of his belief in orthodox Catholicism; yet he continues to make full use of the social and domestic rituals associated with Irish Catholicism to strengthen his own position in the household.52 The second of Corkery’s three “great forces” is re- visited in McGahern’s anatomy of Moran’s disappointment with the outcome of the nationalist struggle for independence.53 The third of Corkery’s “great forces” of Irish national being, “The Land,” is both the vaguest, and, at first glance, the most preposterous of his claims. It seems inevitable, then, that it should be the one most comically parodied in one of Amongst Women’s agricultural set pieces, where Corkery’s third law for separat- ing the genuine Irish from foreign interlopers is knowingly reversed. The Catholic nationalist Moran conspicuously fails to make a connection with the land with which he is supposed to feel such a mystical affinity. Instead, he views the land he farms as a hostile force much like the English troops he had fought in his youth. When the family is making hay in the meadows, Moran breaks two of the pins 49. John McGahern, That They May Face the Rising Sun (London: Faber and Faber, 2002), 157. 50. John McGahern, Amongst Women (London: Faber and Faber, 1990), 148; hereafter cited paren- thetically, thus: (AW 148). 51. Corkery, Synge and Anglo-Irish Literature, 19. 52. Several critics have observed that the novel continually acts out the pious slogan of the Rosary Crusade of the late 1950s and early 1960s, Fr. Patrick Peyton’s “the family that prays together stays together.” See for example Siobhan Holland, “Re-Citing the Rosary: Women, Catholicism and Agency in Brian Moore’s Cold Heaven and John McGahern’s Amongst Women,” in Contemporary Irish Fiction: Themes, Tropes, Theories, ed. Liam Harte and Michael Parker (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 2000), 70. 53. See, for example, Antoinette Quinn, “A Prayer for My Daughter: Patriarchy in Amongst Women,” Canadian Journal of Irish Studies 17, 1 (July, 1991), 79–90. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 139 of the tedder on the rough ground near a tree. When his son suggests that he could change the pins, his response is that “You can’t change the ground” (AW 162)—perhaps suggesting that if that were an option, he would be all in favor of such a scheme. Moran, the narrator observes, has “no confidence” in his ability to impose his will on the uneven ground (AW 163), and it is more than obvious that he has no affinity for the work either. Crucially, his ineptitude with the land stands in contrast with the gentle touch with which his Protestant neighbor Rod- den makes some small adjustments to the machinery, and the instructions he gives Moran for operating it. In a radical act of literary-historical revisionism, the Protestant Rodden experiences none of Moran’s difficulties connecting to “The Land.” Rodden possesses exactly the instinctive understanding of and connection with the land that Moran lacks, but which, according to Corkery’s theory of “Irish national being,” he should possess in spades as a devout Catholic freedom fighter. Rodden’s connection with the land he farms is more tender and more thor- ough than that of many of the Catholics around him—a trait he shares with the gentle Kirkwoods in the High Ground stories “Oldfashioned,” “Eddie Mac,” and “The Conversion of William Kirkwood.” In those stories—which appeared in the 1980s, leading up to the publication of Amongst Women—McGahern similarly reverses some of the traditional roles and traits assigned in national- ist discourse to Catholic tenant and Protestant landlord. The eponymous cattle thief in “Eddie Mac” is a case in point. Although he is certainly not a noble and virtuous Revivalist peasant, he may initially appear at least to be a roguish hero from a Walter Scott novel. Ultimately, however, he turns out to be more Dracula than Rob Roy when, after first threatening the honor of Irish womanhood with which early-twentieth-century Abbey Theatre audiences had been so concerned, he escapes from the native soil to seek his fortune by swindling and exploiting the all-too-gullible inhabitants of “the teeming cities of the North” of England. 54 The reference to the “teeming cities of the North” in the concluding paragraph of McGahern’s story echoes the urban “teeming millions” on whom Bram Stoker’s Dracula intends to feed after his journey to England.55 It is England, not Ireland, which gets the rough end of the deal when it has to accommodate the likes of Eddie Mac. This particular rural Irish exile in urban England, at least, is not cast as a victim of native economic crisis or clerical oppression—as so many of McGahern’s Irish abroad are—but rather, as a single exception to that predomi- nantly tragic narrative about the experiences of a generation “lost” in exile.56 54. John McGahern, High Ground (London: Faber and Faber, 1985), 81. Hereafter cited parentheti- cally, thus: (HG 81). 55. Bram Stoker, Dracula, ed. Maurice Hindle (1897; London: Penguin, 2003), 60, 191. 56. McGahern referred to the “lost generation” who disappeared into England during the 1950s in Ní Anluain, 149. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 140 If the Protestant Rodden in Amongst Women is capable of making the kind of mystical connection with the land that so completely eludes Moran, then the reversal of traditional roles in the novel is completed when Moran in turn takes on some of the habits and mannerisms traditionally attributed to the landlord class. Amongst Women—a dynastic novel with gothic traits whose action centers on the fortress-like structure of “the house”—reads in some ways as a variation on the classic genre of the Big House novel from the other side of the political and religious divide.57 On many occasions Moran behaves more as a stereotypi- cal Protestant landlord during the decades of Anglo-Irish decline than an ex- guerrilla fighter made good. When he comes in from the fields with Michael and announces that “This man and me are after slaughtering a few trees out there” (AW 47), he is conforming to a cultural stereotype about impoverished Anglo- Irish landowners selling their trees in order to pay the mounting bills encumber- ing their estates. And when, immediately after, he jokes that he is so hungry that he could “tackle a live child” (AW 47), he is unwittingly casting himself in the role of one of Swift’s cannibalistic Protestant landlords and Englishmen from A Modest Proposal (1729). The social airs and graces he teaches his daughters also mark them as belonging to a different social class from those around them. The Moran girls’ belief in their own unique superiority is comically indicated during the farewells on the local railway platform, and sanctioned on that occasion by another strategically placed literary allusion to one of the great exponents of An- glo-Irish culture. The feeling of embarrassment that Maggie experiences when Rose warmly greets so many people at the train station (AW 62–63) is borrowed straight out of the first volume of Yeats’s Autobiographies, in which the poet re- calls how one of his snobbish Pollexfen aunts had taught him to look down on what they regarded as the vulgarity of the English: “My mother had shown them to me kissing at railway stations, and taught me to feel disgust at their lack of reserve.”58 It is no wonder that Moran’s daughters have come to think of them- selves as “the aristocratic Morans of Great Meadow” (AW 2). Not all of Moran’s aristocratic traits in the novel are unattractive, or even undesirable; his appropriation of some of the properties of Anglo-Irish culture may be read as a sign of his class’s inevitable social development. In Rose’s eyes, one sign of the “separateness from the people around [him]” that she finds so at- tractive is his ownership of a car. Most people would, as the narrator relays Rose’s thoughts in free indirect speech, “buy a cow or a few more fields. In these parts 57. See Eamonn Hughes, “‘All That Surrounds Our Life’: Time, Sex, and Death in That They May Face the Rising Sun,” Irish University Review 35, 1 (Spring–Summer, 2005), 147–63. On the Big House novel, see Vera Kreilkamp, The Anglo-Irish Novel and the Big House (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1998). 58. W.B. Yeats, Autobiographies (London: Macmillan, 1955), 34. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 141 a car was prized more than flowers or an orchard or a herb garden: it was the symbol of pure luxury” (AW 30). Most of McGahern’s fiction is set in the harsh rural world of mid-twentieth-century Ireland, the mentality of which had devel- oped out of the experience of the Great Famine. In that milieu, the acquisition of wealth and property had been the traditional goal of the aspirations of the social class to which the Morans belong. “Leisure and luxury,” on the other hand, “were looked upon suspiciously,” as McGahern was to write in “The Christmas Rose” (LW 155). Amid that prevailing mentality, Moran’s purchase of an object of “pure luxury” that has no real utilitarian purpose—there is no mention of his using the car for business ends, only for outings to the seaside—aligns him with the various leisured Protestants in the High Ground stories, with their interests in astronomy, flower-arranging, bee-keeping, and the cultivation of orchards that yield more produce than they can use or sell; in anything, in short, that may be “guaranteed to be perfectly useless” (HG 73, 77), as the crass title-character of “Eddie Mac” scornfully remarks on more than one occasion about his aristo- cratic neighbors. Like Rose with her taste for curtains and Michael in his cultivation of a flower garden in Amongst Women, and like the boy in “Oldfashioned” who can appreci- ate the beauty of Mrs Sinclair’s carefully arranged basket of apples (HG 41), Mo- ran is beginning to raise life, as Elizabeth Bowen remarked about that way of life, “above the exigencies of mere living to the plane of art, or at least style.”59 In these analyses of the tentative early emergence of a culture that could begin to accept luxury—and which might, one day, even come to accept the more radical con- cept of pleasure—McGahern consciously moved away from the pious monkish asceticism in whose image the nation had been created in the early part of the twentieth century, and which had then been criticised by the harsh social real- ism of the generation that followed. He did so in more incisive ways than those writers—many of them from younger urban or suburban generations—who simply rejected or ignored the Revivalist image of the poor and pure peasant as an anachronistic irrelevance, or who forgot that it had ever existed. Amongst Women, then, contains McGahern’s final sustained treatment of the stale markers that had, for such a long time, been used to delineate the perceived divide between cultural, religious, and political groupings in twentieth-century Ireland. McGahern knew that cultural and historical truths, as much as artistic one, are—to quote Oscar Wilde’s Algernon—rarely pure and never simple. This 59. Elizabeth Bowen, “The Big House,” in The Mulberry Tree: Writings of Elizabeth Bowen, ed. Herm- ione Lee (London: Vintage, 1999), 27. The connection between artistic vision and aristocratic man- ners in “Oldfashioned” was first made by James Whyte in History, Myth and Ritual in the Fiction of John McGahern: Strategies of Transcendence (Lewiston: Edwin Mellen, 2002), 55–56; it was repeated by McKeon, 74–77. John McGahern, Post-Revival Literature, and Irish Cultural Criticism 142 is why much of his creative energy throughout his career was directed into read- ing the inherited “tenets” (LW 90) of Irish cultural discourse against the grain by debunking of the myths, theories, and generalizations upon which popular ideas of nationhood were erected. It remains one of the great ironies of McGahern’s critical reception that, in a novel that was condemned by no less eminent a critic than A. N. Wilson as a glorification of nationalist violence, McGahern was actu- ally in his own quiet way engaged in an act of revisionism of some of the divisive cultural tropes that were at the very root of such violence.60  U N I V E R S I T Y O F L I M E R I C K stanley.vanderziel@ul.ie 60. See McGahern’s account of a brush with A. N. Wilson at the 1990 Booker Prize ceremony in “The Solitary Reader” (LW 94–95). 
work_w5cjk33k4jaktdmqtou6k76hxy	----	business.unsw.edu.au Last Updated 29 July 2014 CRICOS Code 00098G UNSW Business School Research Paper No. 2015 ECON 10 Review Article of Capital in the Twenty-First Century, Thomas Piketty G.C. Harcourt This paper can be downloaded without charge from The Social Science Research Network Electronic Paper Collection: http://ssrn.com/abstract=2610510 UNSW Business School Working Paper http://ssrn.com/abstract=2610510 Last saved 2015-05-26 15:33 Page 1 of 11 REVIEW ARTICLE Thomas Piketty, Capital in the Twenty-First Century. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. Cambridge, Mass and London: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2014; viii + 685 pp.: 9780674430006. RRP $77.00. Reviewed by: GC Harcourt, UNSW Australia, Australia Placed at each end of the long spectrum of responses to Thomas Piketty’s best seller (in its admirable 2014 English translation by Arthur Goldhammer) are those of Paul Krugman and Deirdre McCloskey. (I omit the responses of Tea Party right-wing nutters. The book was published in French in 2013 and evidently did not make much of an impact; it is the English translation that has caused the sensation.) In the New York Times, Krugman pronounced it to be ‘the most important book of the year — and maybe of the decade’. In a review article in the Erasmus Journal for Philosophy and Economics, McCloskey graded it as mistaken on most fronts. She concludes her amusing diatribe: ‘On the next to last page … Piketty writes: “It is possible … to have an approach that is at once economic and political, social and cultural, and concerned with wages and wealth”… he has not achieved it. His gestures to cultural matters consist chiefly of a few naïvely used references to novels he has read superficially, for which on the left he has been embarrassingly praised … His social theme is a narrow ethic of envy. His politics assumes that governments can do anything they propose to do … his economics is flawed from start to finish … a brave book [that] is mistaken’ (112). McCloskey herself gives ‘Two-and-half cheers for the new dominance since 1800 of a bourgeois ideology and the spreading acceptance of the Bourgeois Deal’ (112). As would be expected, Bob Solow in his review article in The New Republic (2014), both supports Piketty — ‘Thomas Piketty is right’ — and provides the clearest account and analysis of the issues and Piketty’s theoretical approach without ever leaving the realm of simple arithmetic. The book is nearly 700 pages long and has been 15 years in the making. Piketty handsomely acknowledges his collaborators and his mentor, Tony Atkinson, who has devoted the whole of his working life to understanding inequality of income and wealth, bringing his outstanding multi-dimensional talents to bear on theory, measurement and policy, inspired to Last saved 2015-05-26 15:33 Page 2 of 11 do so in turn by one of his mentors, James Meade. Bob Solow rightly dubs Tony ‘the pioneer and gray eminence of modern inequality studies’ (2). Piketty evidently started his career as a promising young French mathematical economist who, on the basis of theoretical papers in brownie point journals, was head-hunted to a post in an economics department in the Boston area (is he coyly not willing now to name MIT?). But he quickly tired of both American life and what he considered to be the too narrow American approaches to economics, so he returned to his native France where he is now a Professor at the Paris School of Economics. He sees himself as much an economic historian as an economist, and greatly favours multi-disciplinary approaches to issues that come under the rubric of the social sciences. As a cultured French person — is there any other? — he brings illustrations from literature, including Jane Austen, into his interpretation of empirical findings. (As I noted, Deirdre McCloskey is not that impressed with the depth of his understanding of literature.) The driving force behind his research is the tremendous growth in the last 40 years or so of inequality in income and wealth in the advanced capitalist economies. Seeing this as a return to normal developments after a prolonged blip for part of the 20th Century, especially in the long boom of post-war years up to the mid-1970s, Piketty has gone back to the principal preoccupations of the classical political economists and Marx with the long-term aspects of distribution and growth. He argues we now have so much more data to draw on. So he and his collaborators have assembled long periods of data, mostly from tax returns (including estate duty data) from a number of advanced economies — a list they are continually expanding as more countries assemble such data. Though his reading of the inferences of the theories of his predecessors leads him to pronounce them all wrong after events unfolded, he nevertheless follows their lead by trying to establish long-term laws of development (if not of motion) in modern economies. It has to be said that his readings of Ricardo, Malthus and Marx are not always accurate — he thinks Ricardo’s thought experiment account of the approach to the stationary state is descriptive analysis rather than a horrible warning of what could happen if the corn laws were not repealed. And he dismisses Marx’s account of the origin of profits in the sphere of production and the determination of the size of profits, both there and in the sphere of distribution and exchange, by hardly mentioning them. Calling Malthus ‘Thomas’ rather than Last saved 2015-05-26 15:33 Page 3 of 11 ‘Thomas Robert’ or ‘TR’ is akin to the ghastly American practice now of referring to ‘John M. Keynes’. Nevertheless, Piketty is inspired by their example, and in more modern times by Simon Kuznets, to try to do for the 21st Century what they did for their times. In his comments in early chapters on how we should ‘do’ economics, he could be writing the blueprint for the admirable French and other undergraduates now campaigning for pluralist approaches from their teachers (not exactly supported by last year’s Nobel Prize equivalent winner, Jean Tirole). But the main theoretical sections in his book with which he wishes to explain the Kaldor-like stylised facts his data have revealed is his use of an aggregate production function model which he attributes to Bob Solow (but not Trevor Swan). He forgets Solow’s (and Trevor Swan’s) careful provisos about the method and what it can and cannot achieve, and the Harrod-type problems it was designed to tackle. However, before I discuss the limitation of the aggregate production function approach, I must mention that one of his reasons for using it was to make himself heard and understood by the mainstream whose approach of choice it still is. In order to use the approach he has to conflate his concept and measurement of wealth with those of capital in his theoretical arguments, the inappropriateness of which he is explicitly rather uncomfortable. Wealth in his reading includes land, housing, financial asset holdings as well as capital goods in the more usual sense of their presence in an aggregate production function. Piketty’s principal explanation of his findings is presented as three ‘laws’: 1) the rate of profits is greater than the rate of growth; 2) the capital-to-income ratio tends to rise; 3) the share of profits in income tends to rise. Together, he argues, they imply greater and greater concentration of wealth amongst relatively fewer people, a cumulative causation process which is leading to the reestablishment of what Jayati Ghosh (2014) astutely names ‘the resurgence of patrimonial capitalism’, a feature of the 18th Century, and Lance Taylor (2014), ‘The triumph of the rentier’, as opposed to Keynes’s desire for, and prediction of, that class’s euthanasia. Here, as several reviewers have pointed out, Piketty runs into serious difficulties. In essence, his theories, when properly worked out, do not imply inferences that necessarily match his main findings, in John Rentoul’s graphic phrase about Thatcher’s Britain, the move from a world of Haves and Have Nots to one of Haves, Have Nots and Have Lots. Amongst other Last saved 2015-05-26 15:33 Page 4 of 11 requirements for his results to be rigorously established within his framework, is that the value of the elasticity of substitution between capital and labour be greater than unity. He claims this to be not unreasonable but most empirical studies suggest otherwise, that it is usually less than unity. (Even if it were unity, that is to say, Cobb-Douglas, that would not predict his findings.) The source most to go for this is Bob Rowthorn’s note in a 2014 issue of the Cambridge Journal of Economics, both for the empirical findings and the theoretical argument. So what of the use of the aggregate production function and, by implication, of the marginal productivity theory of distribution to explain the systemic distribution of income which, in turn, leads to the unequal accumulation of capital and, more widely, of wealth? Piketty is aware of the polemical debates between the two Cambridges about capital theory, initially placed in an aggregate production function setting by Joan Robinson’s 1953/54 R.E. Studs article, ‘The production function and the theory of capital. But his reading of the issues and the outcome is wrong on at least two counts. (Jamie Galbraith points this out in his critical but well informed review article of the book, Galbraith (2014).) First, Piketty does not correctly identify the theoretical and empirical issues at stake. Secondly, his claim that MIT eventually won is wrong — at a theoretical level MIT lost, as Paul Samuelson handsomely and graciously admitted in the 1966 Symposium on capital-reversing and reswitching in the Quarterly Journal of Economics. Alas, like the priest and the Levite, the profession has subsequently chosen to pass by on the other side. The most serious theorists have moved onto a different terrain — can the initial results vitiate the most rigorous form of mainstream theory, general equilibrium heterogeneous goods models associated with MIT, especially with DOSSO (1958)? The final answer is not yet in, but my reading of what has happened so far (I must admit that the formal aspects of the exchanges often pass way over my head) is ‘Yes’ — see, for example, Andres Lazzarini’s very careful analysis in the recent symposium on the issues involved in the Review of Radical Political Economics. It is a limitation of Piketty’s understanding, given his excursions into the history of our trade and his use of a title for his book that suggests that a latter day Marx is now amongst us, that he has not taken on board that the principal issue at stake here is not the measurement of capital (that is a corollary of the main issue) but the meaning of capital — i.e., what ‘vision’ Last saved 2015-05-26 15:33 Page 5 of 11 of the economy has the analyst in mind. There are two main claimants: the mainstream Arrow-Debreu, Irving Fisher ‘vision’ whereby the consumer queen is the driving force of development over time with all other agents (ugh) and institutions serving to help her achieve her aim of maximising her expected life-time utility by her periodic allocation of income between consumption and saving over her lifetime. The other ‘vision’ arises from the classical political economists and Marx: in it the ruthless and swashbuckling capitalist class (all three, industrial, commercial and financial) rule the roost and the other classes in the economy and its institutions dance to its tune as it endeavours to achieve the behavioural requirements of money making and accumulation as ends in themselves, a way of life. In the non-formal parts of Piketty’s discussion there is some awareness of this background but, despite his disclaimers and honest setting out of limitations, this is vitiated by the chosen formal structure. The economists actually involved in the debates were clearly aware of this distinction and indeed Bob Solow tried to overcome the puzzles thrown up by the measurement of capital by developing Irving Fisher’s concept of the social rate of return on investment both theoretically and empirically in his 1963 de Vries Lectures, Capital Theory and the Rate of Return. That he was not successful has been argued by both Joan Robinson (1964) and Luigi Pasinetti (1969), (1970). The economists on the Cambridge UK side, as it were, who early on perceived what was at stake include Amit Bhaduri (1969) and Anwar Shaikh (1974). Anwar wrote his PhD dissertation at Columbia on these issues and published a classic paper on the Humbug production function (1974) to draw on his theoretical discussion to criticise the arguments and practices of Solow’s 1957 article in the Review of Economics and Statistics which spawned the huge literature on the relative contributions of deepening and technical progress to the growth of overall productivity. As to the measurement and aggregation aspects of the debates, as well as Bhaduri’s and Shaikh’s external critique from a Marxist standpoint, there have been internal — i.e., within the mainstream approach — critiques, especially by Franklin Fisher, on how stringent the conditions are for aggregation and how inappropriate such an endeavour is anyway because the empirical specifications in this literature really are manipulation of identities. This has been extensively argued over many years by John McCombie and Jesus Felipe (who has also collaborated with Fisher), culminating in their comprehensive and definitive book, Felipe and McCombie (2013). Their book contains the history of the arguments from go to whoa and presents conclusions, which, because they cannot be refuted, are mostly ignored by the Last saved 2015-05-26 15:33 Page 6 of 11 profession: if something is uncomfortable follow the economist’s practice and assume it does not exist. By using the marginal productivity theory of distribution in its aggregate form, Piketty has attached himself to a Say’s Law world over the long term. This rules out any place there for the insights of Marx, Keynes and Kalecki to be brought to bear on past and present historical events and findings. A number of economists have based their criticisms of Piketty’s approach around this and have brought in, for example, Keynes’s analysis in The General Theory and Pasinetti’s contributions which incorporate classical, Marxian, Keynesian, Kaleckian, Sraffian and Kaldorian insights into his own highly original system building. This is especially true of Lance Taylor’s fine paper, Taylor (2014), which is the core paper of a symposium on these issues in the Canadian journal, The International Journal of Political Economy. Taylor shows that, properly worked out, Piketty’s own model and approach may result in the euthanasia of the rentier (more involuntarily than voluntarily), a steady state or the triumph of the rentier, Piketty’s main claim. When Keynes and Pasinetti are brought into the act, a more rich and relevant analysis makes more sense of Piketty’s findings, especially of the last 40 years or so. My own take on this is complementary to Taylor’s arguments. Keynes has shown us that there is no automatic tendency for capitalism, left to itself, to attain and sustain full employment — involuntary unemployment is always a distinct possibility. Marx’s analysis reinforces this when he argues that the capitalist class will always take steps to make sure there exists a reserve army of labour, so as to be able to ‘discipline’ the wage-earners by making the sack an effective weapon. This argument was brought into the modern era in 1943 by Michal Kalecki in his classic article, ‘Political aspects of full employment’. Tommy Balogh and Nicky Kaldor both pointed out in the 1970s that Monetarism was ‘the incomes policy of Karl Marx’, Balogh 1982, 77, that the shift in economic, political and social power from capital to labour over the long boom ceased to be tolerated by the capitalist class the world over. Add to this the inexorable rise of large multinational oligopolies which dominate markets (and governments) around the world and we may understand the events of the 1970s and 1980s as a concentrated attempt to create worldwide, cowed and quiescent work forces (beneath the guise of controlling Last saved 2015-05-26 15:33 Page 7 of 11 inflation). This would allow a large increase in the sphere of production of the potential surplus available for accumulation in the sphere of distribution and exchange. Of course, an unintended consequence of these actions was often sluggish overall demand (as Taylor noted). ‘Animal spirits’ were dimmed so that the potential surplus was not realised because of sluggish rates of accumulation, or was only realised if governments stepped in with increased government expenditure. The actual outcomes of these factors at work in conjunction with Taylor’s analysis constitutes a much more plausible narrative with which to interpret Piketty’s findings, than does his own narrative trapped within the neoclassical fairy tale. My reading of Piketty is that he is a progressive social democrat who wants, like Keynes, to save capitalism from itself. He says that he is not a member of any political party, that he is first and foremost a scholar deriving evidence-based accounts of the motions of society and suggesting, for others to take up, positive policies with which to tackle malfunctions uncovered. (His suggestion for a wealth tax evidently went down like a dead duck with François Hollande and his party in the last French election.) In the book, he advocates a world-wide wealth tax and/or for individual countries, progressive income taxes, measures any non-militant progressive would heartily agree with. But they would also agree with their proponent that, in the current political climate of much of the world, they are rather utopian proposals. Still Piketty does also point out that major historical reforms have not come about primarily by well-trained technocrats in civil services designing them, that often wars and revolutions were the necessary impulses needed to get them off the ground, and that people like Piketty have at least to start the debates going. His admirable highlighting of the extent and causes of growing inequalities the world over have, because of its timing, struck a responsive chord, resulting in his rise to mega star status, with reviews of his book by many leading economists and, recently a (no doubt widely read) symposium in the Journal of Economic Perspectives (2015), in which Piketty himself defends his major themes but does have some second thoughts. There have been as well many discussions in media outlets around the world, with attacks from both the left and the right on what he has provided: all told, not bad for an economist in his early 40s. His data base and the very full accounts of its sources and limitations, within the book and on his website, are major contributions of enormous help to like-minded researchers. Last saved 2015-05-26 15:33 Page 8 of 11 I close with some comments and criticisms, including limitations associated with his data sources. First, as I noted, his concept of wealth includes not only houses and land but also financial assets. Because of double entry bookkeeping, financial assets reflect real capital goods which are also included in the totals, and of necessity valued at market prices. Does this mean that double-counting may be part of the overall totals? Secondly, if the distribution of income is to be explained by the use of ‘capital’ and ‘its’ marginal product, this requires that ‘capital’ be measured in a unit that is independent of distribution and prices. But outside an all-purpose one commodity world — the ‘corn’ model of classical political economy — valuation is required and the prices used of necessity include profits and rate of profits components, so leading to arguing in a circle. This point was put most succinctly in Piero Sraffa’s 1962 comment on Roy Harrod’s review in the Economic Journal of Sraffa’s 1960 classic, ‘What good is a quantity of capital … which, since it depends on the rate of interest, cannot be used for its traditional purpose … to determine the rate of interest[?]’ (479). This is not a failure, as is sometimes claimed, of Sraffa (and also Joan Robinson) to understand the nature of mutual and/or simultaneous determination, but reflects the core distinction between determining factors and determined outcomes. Thirdly, there are limitations associated with use of taxation reports and the impact on them of historical cost accounting conventions and procedures. This issue was discussed in the 1960s to 1980s. In 1965, let me immodestly say, I published an article in Oxford Economic Papers, ‘The accountant in a Golden Age’. In it I showed that if an accountant were to be let loose in a Golden Age where expected and actual rates of profit coincide because expectations are always realised, nevertheless the accountant, using his/her tools, could give very misleading answers as to what the rates of profit were. Depending upon the shape of the quasi-rents associated with each investment, the method of depreciation used, whether growth was occurring or not and, if so, how fast, and on the ratios of financial to real assets in the balance sheets of individual companies, so the discrepancies between the accountant’s measure and the true figure could be very large indeed. In the early 1980s Fisher and McGowan (1983) used the same argument much more elegantly expressed to testify on whether IBM was or was not making monopoly profits. As there are Last saved 2015-05-26 15:33 Page 9 of 11 no rough rules of thumb to correct for these effects in the figures, we can only take Piketty’s findings on trust, which I am happy to do so. Finally, though Piketty realises that much of the extreme inequality is associated with the obscenely large salaries and bonuses of CEOs and managers, rather than the profits of traditional capitalists, he does not refer to the two classic volumes that started this literature, Robin Marris’s The Economic Theory of ‘Managerial’ Capitalism (1964) and Edith Penrose’s The Theory of Growth of the Firm (1959). Of course, he does improve greatly on (or at least, my) knowledge of the French literature on the issues that he analyses, so I should not complain too much. To sum up: Deirdre McCloskey goes far too far in her negative evaluation and, I would add, her asymptotic approach to a Panglossian view of the merits of capitalism even when it is red in tooth and claw. I think the profession and countries world-wide are much in Piketty’s debt for raising in a most readable way fundamental issues facing the modern world and providing much of the necessary empirical material for others to use in alternative approaches to understanding what has been discovered and what is likely to happen as the 21st Century unfolds. So Capital in the Twenty-First Century cannot be classed as a light that failed but as vital illumination for us all to get on with it. G.C. Harcourt School of Economics UNSW Australia Last saved 2015-05-26 15:33 Page 10 of 11 REFERENCES Balogh T (1982) The Irrelevancy of Conventional Economics. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Dorfman R, Samuelson PA and Solow RM (1958) Linear Programming and Economic Analysis. New York: McGraw-Hill. Felipe J and McCombie JSL (2013) The Aggregate Production Function and the Measurement of Technical Change. ‘Not Even Wrong’. Cheltenham, UK; Northampton, MA, USA: Edward Elgar. Fisher FM and McGowan JJ (1983) On the misuse of using accounting rates of return to infer monopoly profits. American Economic Review 73: 82–97. Galbraith JK (2014) Kapital for the twenty-first Century? Dissent, Spring, 1–7. Ghosh J (2014) Piketty and the resurgence of patrimonial capitalism. Real-World Economics Review 69: 138–44. Harcourt GC (1965) The accountant in a Golden Age. Oxford Economic Papers 17: 66–80. Kalecki M (1943) Political aspects of full employment. Political Quarterly 14: 322–31. Krugman P (2014) Endorsement of Piketty (2014) from an article in the New York Times. Available at: http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/25/opinion/krugman-the-piketty- panic.html?_r=0 (accessed 12 April 2015). Lazarini A (2015) Some unsettled issues in a second phase of the Cambridge-Cambridge controversy. Review of Radical Political Economics. DOI: 10.1177/0486613414557916. Marris RL (1964) The Economic Theory of ‘Managerial’ Capitalism. London: Macmillan. McCloskey DN (2014) Measured, unmeasured, mismeasured, and unjustified pessimism: a review essay of Thomas Piketty’s Capital in the Twenty-First Century (2014). Erasmus Journal for Philosophy and Economics 7: 73–115. Pasinetti LL (1969) Switches of technique and the ‘rate of return’ in capital theory. Economic Journal 79: 508–31. Pasinetti LL (1970) Again on capital theory and Solow’s ‘rate of return’. Economic Journal 80: 428–31. Last saved 2015-05-26 15:33 Page 11 of 11 Penrose E (1959) The Theory of the Growth of the Firm. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Robinson J (1953–54) The production function and the theory of capital. Review of Economic Studies 21: 81–106. Robinson J (1964) Solow on the rate of return. Economic Journal 74: 410–17. Rowthorn RE (2014) A note on Piketty’s Capital in the Twenty-First Century. Cambridge Journal of Economics 38: 275–84. Samuelson PA (1966) A summing up. Quarterly Journal of Economics 80: 568–83. Solow RM (1957) Technical change and the aggregate production function. Review of Economics and Statistics 39: 312–20. Solow RM (1963) Capital Theory and the Rate of Return. Amsterdam: North Holland. Solow RM (2014) Thomas Piketty is right. Everything you need to know about ‘Capital in the Twenty-First Century’. The New Republic, 1–12. Available at: http://www.newrepublic.com/article/117429/capital-twenty-first-century-thomas-piketty- reviewed (accessed 12 April 2015). Sraffa P (1960) Production of Commodities by Means of Commodities. Prelude to a Critique of Economic Theory. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sraffa P (1962) Production of commodities: a comment. Economic Journal 72: 477–79. Symposium: Wealth and Inequality (2015) Journal of Economic Perspectives 29: 3–88. Taylor L (2014) The triumph of the rentier? Thomas Piketty vs Luigi Pasinetti and John Maynard Keynes. International Journal of Political Economy 43. Available at: http://ineteconomics.org/blog/institute/triumph-rentier-thomas-piketty-vs-luigi-pasinetti-and- john-maynard-keynes (accessed 12 April 2015). References 
work_w6krd77i3be2rdjgmqtbgnc34i	----	Introduction “[Susan] has been suffering much from the headache and six leeches a day for ten days together relieved her so lit- tle that we thought it right to change our measures – and being convinced on examination that much of the evil lay in her gum, I persuaded her to attack the disorder there. She has accordingly had three teeth drawn, and is decid- edly better, but her nerves are a good deal deranged. She can only speak in a whisper – and fainted away twice this morning …” Jane Austen, Sanditon (1817) As this quotation shows, the difficulty in establishing the efficacy of treatments for persistent headaches is not a new one, and experimentation with new modalities, though often encouraged, may not be without side effects. There are data supporting the efficacy of acupuncture for the treatment of headache [1] and recent- ly a randomised controlled trial found it both efficacious [2] and cost-effective [3] for the treatment of chronic headache in primary care. Questions of efficacy aside, data showing how often acupuncture is used for the treat- ment of headache have not been identified. Acupuncture treatment in the United Kingdom is available on an ad hoc basis, sometimes from primary care practitioners, sometimes from private practitioners. There is no stan- dardised, university-based, structure for training in acupuncture in the UK. The aim of this study was to ascertain how often acupuncture had been used by patients with headache prior to referral to general neurology outpatient clinics. A subsidiary aim was to ascertain how many headache patients would be prepared to try acupuncture treatment, and how many would be put off by the use of needles. J Headache Pain (2005) 6:97–99 DOI 10.1007/s10194-005-0160-7 Acupuncture use for the treatment of headache prior to neurological referral B R I E F R E P O R T A.J. Larner (�) Walton Centre for Neurology and Neurosurgery, Lower Lane, Fazakerley, Liverpool L9 7LJ, UK e-mail: a.larner@thewaltoncentre.nhs.uk Fax: +44-151-529-5513 A.J. Larner Abstract Acupuncture is a popular complementary treatment for various pain syndromes. Some studies claim efficacy in the treatment of primary headache syndromes. However, data on the frequency of acupuncture use by patients with headache prior to neurological referral have not been identified. In this study, 12% of patients with headache attending general neurology outpatient clinics had already received acupuncture; of the remainder, 73% said they would be willing to try it. Key words Acupuncture • Headache • Treatment Received: 19 November 2004 Accepted in revised form: 16 February 2005 Published online: 8 April 2005 98 Materials and methods Consecutive new outpatient referrals to general adult neurology clinics served by one consultant neurologist at three hospitals in north-west England over a six-month period were assessed. Those in whom the principal reason for referral or the principal com- plaint was headache were asked (if they had not already volun- teered this information) whether they had ever had acupuncture treatment, and if so the indications for its use, how many treatment sessions were given, and its subjective efficacy. Those who had not received acupuncture were asked whether or not they would be prepared to try it as a treatment for their headaches; if not will- ing, reasons were sought. Diagnosis of headache syndromes was based upon internationally agreed criteria [4]. Results Over the 6-month period (mid April to mid October 2004), 481 new referrals were seen in 53 consecutive clinics. The principal complaint was headache in 115 (24%; 95% con- fidence interval [CI]: 20%–28%). Demographic and diag- nostic data are shown in Table 1. Referral source was gen- eral practitioner in 105 cases and another hospital practi- tioner in 10. All patients gave verbal consent to answer questions about acupuncture treatment. Twenty patients with headache (17%; 95% CI: 10%–24%) had been treated with acupuncture at some time. In 14 patients this was for headache (12% of the total headache cohort, 95% CI: 6%–18%; see Table 1 for demographic and diagnostic data), in six for other reasons (other pain syndromes: 4; obses- sive-compulsive disorder: 1; smoking cessation: 1). Only three headache patients (21%) volunteered information about their previous acupuncture treatment. The reported number of acupuncture treatment ses- sions for the headache patients ranged from 1 to 10 (mean=6; mode=6; median=6). Eleven reported that acupuncture was not helpful (one after initial benefit); three reported benefit (two with chronic migraine, one with migraine with aura). Of the 95 patients who had never received acupunc- ture, 69 (73%; 95% CI: 64%–82%) said they would be prepared to try it if it were a recognised treatment for headache. Of the 26 expressing no interest or no opinion, 11 (12%; 95% CI: 5%–19%) made comments suggesting an aversion to needles (hated needles, were squeamish, or had a “needle phobia”). Discussion The frequency of headache in this general neurology out- patient clinic population (24%), patient age and gender, and preponderance of chronic headache were similar to results in cohorts of headache patients from other general neurological outpatient clinics [5, 6]. The survey methodology was simple. Results were dependent upon patient recall, and hence liable to recall bias, but nonetheless provided some information about the frequency of acupuncture use for the treatment of headache prior to neurological referral. Acupuncture had already been used by 12%, although only one-fifth of these volunteered the fact. The apparently low efficacy of acupuncture in this cohort (3/14) is not surprising: pre- sumably referral would not have happened had acupunc- ture resolved headache. No patient with fewer than 6 treatments reported benefit. No patient had 12 treatments, Table 1 Demographic and diagnostic data Headache patients Used acupuncture for headache n 115 14 Age range, years 16–78 16–78 Mean age±SEM, years 39.9±14.1 49.7±14.7 Sex ratio M:F (male %) 43:72 (37%) 4:10 (40%) Specific diagnosis CTTH 58 2 FTTH 7 1 MO 11 – MA 11 2 CM/TM 21 8 MOH 5 1 CH/TAC 2 – CTTH, chronic tension-type headache; FTTH, frequent tension-type headache; MO, migraine without aura; MA, migraine with aura; CM/TM, chronic migraine/transformed migraine; MOH, medication overuse headache; CH/TAC, cluster headache/trigeminal autonomic cephalalgia 99 the limit in the randomised trial in primary care that sug- gested efficacy [2]. Other studies of acupuncture have shown lack of efficacy [7]. Of those not previously treated with acupuncture, the majority (nearly three-quarters) expressed interest in try- ing it, whereas 12% were not interested because of aver- sion to needles. No data about the prevalence of “needle phobia” in the general population have been identified. The problem is occasionally encountered in diabetic patients requiring insulin [8], but this is infrequent and often quickly overcome (MW Mansfield, personal com- munication). These data suggest that if acupuncture became generally available for the treatment of headache, demand would probably be high, as anticipated for any new treatment, irrespective of the potential problems with needles. Although randomised trials suggest efficacy [2], the results of pragmatic (phase IV) studies might be less encouraging. Hence, just over 10% of patients with headache attend- ing general neurology outpatient clinics had already received acupuncture for their headache, and of the remainder nearly 75% expressed interest in trying it. It would be interesting to see if similar data emerged from specialist headache and/or migraine clinics. References 1. Melchart D, Linde K, Fischer P et al (2001) Acupuncture for idiopathic headache. Cochrane Database Syst Rev 1:CD001218 2. Vickers AJ, Rees RW, Zollman CF et al (2004) Acupuncture for chronic headache in primary care: large, prag- matic, randomised trial. BMJ 328:744–747 3. Wonderling D, Vickers AJ, Grieve R, McCarney R (2004) Cost effectiveness analysis of a randomised trial of acupuncture for chronic headache in primary care. BMJ 328:747–749 4. International Headache Society Classification Subcommittee (2004) The international classification of headache disorders, 2nd edn. Cephalalgia 24[Suppl 1]:1–160 5. Carson AJ, Ringbauer B, MacKenzie L, Warlow C, Sharpe M (2000) Neurological disease, emotional disor- der, and disability: they are related. A study of 300 consecutive new referrals to a neurology outpatient department. J Neurol Neurosurg Psychiatry 68:202–206 6. Larner AJ (2003) NHS Direct for headache. J Neurol Neurosurg Psychiatry 74:1698 7. Karst M, Reinhard M, Thurn P, Wiese B, Rollnik J, Fink M (2001) Needle acupuncture in tension-type headache: a randomised placebo-controlled study. Cephalalgia 21:637–642 8. Zambanini A, Feher MD (1997) Needle phobia in type 1 diabetes mellitus. Diabet Med 14:321–323 Introduction Materials and methods Results Discussion References 
work_w7lyhpfabfaqzgiblov2gyekkm	----	Gendered Cultural Criticism and the Rise of the Novel: The Case of Defoe Gendered Cultural Criticism and the Rise of the Novel: The Case of Defoe Maximillian E. Novak Eighteenth-Century Fiction, Volume 12, Number 2-3, January-April 2000, pp. 239-252 (Article) Published by University of Toronto Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/ecf.2000.0000 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/412299/summary https://doi.org/10.1353/ecf.2000.0000 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/412299/summary Gendered Cultural Criticism and the Rise of the Novel: The Case ofDefoe Maximillian E. Novak Letme beginby saying that I am writing as àdefenderofDefoe's place in whathas sometimes beencalled "the rise ofthe novel."A few years ago, at a meeting of the Western Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies, I heard a diatribe against Defoe and his creation Moll Flanders as an ex- ample of male usurpation. By assuming the voice of a female narrator, so the argument went, Defoe had insulted women in general. The work was not so much writing as ventriloquism, and Defoe was simply exploit- ing the character of Moll and womankind to make money and for some obscure nefarious purposes. This attack resembled, but went far beyond, the accusations against Defoe in Madeleine Kahn's Narrative Transvest- ism; Defoe's writing amounted to narrative villainy.1 Shortly thereafter, I read a book which advocated replacing Robinson Crusoe with what was apparently a much more satisfying work—Charles Martin's Passages from Friday—that is, replacing a book that has maintained an audience throughout the world for 280 years with a work having a more appropri- ate message for us. Who, after all, would want to read awork that is clearly prejudiced against cannibals and opposed to vegetarian principles (among 1 Madeleine Kahn, Narrative Transvestism: Rhetoric and Gender in the Eighteenth-Century English Novel (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1991). Kahn's section on Defoe (pp. 57-102) concentrates on reminding us that Defoe is always the masculine creator behind Moll Flanders and Roxana and that his position as a writer is manipulative. The notion that Defoe experienced both "fear and envy" in assuming the voices of these characters is extremely interesting. EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION, Volume 12, Number 2-3, January-April 2000 240 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION the charges levelled against Crusoe were that he eats the goats on his is- land and appears to feel a distinct dislike for the Caribs who use what he had come to think of as his island for the purpose of devouring the nat- ives of other tribes)? That the cannibals would most willingly hack his body into pieces with their wooden swords and indeed, eventually, en- gage in an attack upon the nascent colony in The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe is not seen as an excuse. What is most at issue here is the vicious mind of the colonialist which must be castigated against all common sense.2 The basic notion behind this attack appears to be that there is no real value in Robinson Crusoe as a work of literature, that only the myth is interesting, and that we have the right to select a version of the myth that better suits our modern mind-set. Michel Tournier's Vendredi and J.M. Coetzee's Foe are not to be seen as wonderful commentaries on Defoe's original, through which we can measure the ideas ofthe eighteenth century with those of our own, but rather as salubrious replacements for a flawed view of the world.3 Some scholars are dropping Defoe from discussions of the novel. That Margaret Anne Doody's The True Story of the Novel (1996) mentions Defoe a scant three times strikes me as an historical aberration in a work claiming to offer a "true" history of the novel. How comfortable should we feel about replacing the realities of literary history and criticism with autobiographical fantasies?4 Similarly, William Beatty Warner's Licensing Entertainment, while denying any counter-hegemonic intentions, clearly wants to replace the usual Defoe-Richardson-Fielding paradigm for the origins of the novel with a Behn-Manley-Haywood-Richardson-Fielding pattern.5 2 Patrick J. Keane, Coleridge's Submerged Politics: The Ancient Mariner and Robinson Crusoe (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1994). See esp, pp. 117-23 on Martin's Passages from Friday; and Charles Martin, Passagesfrom Friday, in Steal the Bacon (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987), pp. 21-50. 3 Notable as these works are, they lack the combination of creativity and imagination that made Robinson Crusoe an inspirational work for Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Vincent Van Gogh. 4 Margaret Anne Doody, The True Story ofthe Novel (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1996). Robinson Crusoe makes it into her text only because of its archetypal cave. Although I have always objected to omitting the ubiquitous romances from an account of the publication of fiction, one of the important distinctions between fictions from the seventeenth century on, that is, between novel and romance, has been based upon an author's ability to create the illusion of reality. Doody never accounts for this critical stance, though it has dominated the past four centuries of novel criticism. 5 William Beatty Warner, Licensing Entertainment: The Elevation of Novel Reading in Britain, 1684-1750 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), p. 42. GENDERED CULTURAL CRITICISM AND DEFOE 241 Ofcourse there is nothingnewaboutthis. It repeats whathas alwaysbeen the story ofDefoe's place in British literature. For Defoe was an outsider: he was of the wrong religious community, the wrong political persuasion, the wrong class. He was a gadfly to the Dissenters, an embarrassment to the Whigs for his radicalism, a writer who made money from his writings while continuing to invest in business, and a defender of the rights of workers while attacking the middlemen who exploited them. And after 1715, Defoehad to abandonfame for anonymity. He indicated authorship of only one work between that date and his death. Before that, every literate person in Englandknewhim as the witty and infamous writer of The True-Born Englishman and The Shortest Way with the Dissenters, and when his radical opinions were quoted at length in the Sacheverell Trial, even the illiterate mobs were aware ofhis identity. I came to realize just recently how high aprice he paid for his anonymity. Browsing through the Niçois Newspapers for 1728 at the Bodleian, I came upon one with advertisements for Defoe's Plan ofthe English Commerce and for a work by Voltaire. The advertisement for Defoe's book made no mention of an author but rather trumpeted the value of the work's contents; the Voltaire notice spoke not to the excellence of the workbut to the fame of its author. AnonymityprotectedDefoe somewhat from the attacks ofhis enemies, but at what a price for someone so proud ofhis abilities as a writer. His restructuring into a great writer of fiction accompanied both the discovery of the aesthetic value of fiction and the proliferation of the cult of genius in the second half of the eighteenth century. His works had to be reassembled in order for him to appear after 1810 as a novelist among other novelists and to be treated under that category by Walter Scott. Even after the 1810 edition, he continued to be under attack by the defenders of the polite tradition who regarded Moll Flanders, Colonel Jack, and Roxana as both low and obscene. Not until Charles Lamb's remarks in Walter Wilson's Memoirs of the Life and Times ofDaniel Defoe (1830) did they find a whole-hearted defender.6 Then he was attacked by the likes of Leslie Stephen, who tried to draw a distinction between the new French realists such as Flaubert and a writer who merely had a bag of tricks.7 These assaults have been followed by criticism from any number 6 In his edition of Defoe's work published a decade after Wilson's biography, William Hazlitt quoted Lamb extensively in defence ofpublishing Moll Flanders, Colonel Jack, and Roxana in his three-volume edition. See Daniel Defoe, Works (London, 1840^4-1), l:cxl-cxli. 7 See Leslie Stephen, Hours in a Library (London: Smith, Elder, 1874), esp. pp. 4 and 20, where he argues that Defoe's fiction amounted to nothing more than "telling lies," and compares Defoe to a mere photographer compared to the true art of the painter. 242 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION of schools: the Jamesians, who found in him a want of craft; some of the New Critics, who found him lacking in true irony; the Aristotelians, who felt he did not achieve the ideal novelistic form. Most recently, feminist critics, who, despite Defoe's unique status as a believer in the strength of women's minds and characters, have found him promulgating an offensive patriarchal line of thought. There were a few influential voices defending Defoe. In hisAspects ofthe Novel (1927), E.M. ForsterusedMoll Flanders as his example of character in the novel, and Virginia Woolf, Dorothy Van Ghent, and Alan Tate all praised Defoe's genius as a writer of fiction. Defoe would have been the last writer of his time to deny that the primacy for writing fiction belonged to the French writers of romance, to Aphra Behn, and to Eliza Haywood. It was his task to make it into a form that was better anchored in history and the social realities of his time— more like what we think of as a novel and less like a romance. Such a distinction, however odd it may sound to critics of French literature such as Joan DeJean, was certainly true enough in England. DeJean has argued convincingly that in France the battle against the ex- cellence of Madeleine de Scudéry was part of a deliberate attempt by male critics to shape the canon of fiction in such a way as to exclude women.8 The author of La Princesse de Clèves, Marie-Madeleine Pioche de LaFayette, entered the canon only because her work was ascribed to La Rochefoucauld. Anyone who has read extensively in Scudéry's romances has to agree that, though her works are more loosely constructed than La Fayette's, they contain some excellent psychological insight into charac- ter. Also DeJean's accusation against male critics, particularly Boileau, of practising "critical violence" against women, and her sense that wo- men writers posed a genuine threat against the male-oriented fictional canon, are well based in fact. The attempt to do the same for English lit- erature, however, produces less effective results. Aphra Behn, Delarivier Manley, and Eliza Haywood were excellent writers with large follow- ings. Pope's mean-spirited attack on Haywood did not have the weight of state disapproval that similar attacks by government-sanctioned writers of- ten carried in France. What I object to is the attempt to apply the French model to the canon wars over English literature. Good as they are, the three women writers named above were simply never writers of world significance. Defoe was. 8 Joan DeJean, Tender Geographies: Women and the Origins of the Novel in France (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991), pp. 51-53, 77. DeJean argues that, in France, women such as Scudéry, who wrote romances, were compromised, in part, by their support of the Fronde in opposition to Louis xiv. GENDERED CULTURAL CRITICISM AND DEFOE 243 We shouldneverforget thatRobinson Crusoewas one ofthe first literary texts written inEnglish tomakeamajor impactthroughoutWesternEurope. This fact alone should cause critics to think long and hard before they begin to consider revising Defoe's place in the canon. Much has been made about the fact that Defoe did not produce a manifesto in the manner ofRichardson and Fielding. He did remark, however, that everyone had to admit Robinson Crusoe's originality. And he was right about that. Charles Gildon's lengthy attack upon Defoe and Robinson Crusoe appeared in the face of the overwhelmingand instant reputation ofDefoe's work. However much Gildon attempted to slander Defoe and his work, the very existence of Gildon's critique of Robinson Crusoe suggests how thorough was the success of Defoe's work, in much the same way as the many attacks on Richardson's Pamela merely validated its worth.9 Robinson Crusoe was reviewed extensively on the Continent, and in a preface written to a translation published in Leipzig in 1721, the editor proclaimed that it had already gone into five editions, that it was a new and original kind of fiction, and that the probable author, Daniel Defoe, had his fame assured forever.10 Those studies such as Warner's Licensing Entertainment that treat De- foe's contribution to the novel solely through Roxana, which was not a great popular success, ignore the truth of literary history. Ros Ballaster suggests ofHaywood's Love in Excess, "Only the now better-known nov- els Gulliver's Travels (1726) and Robinson Crusoe (1719) rivaled it as the most popular work of fiction in Britain before the publication ofRichard- son's Pamela in 1740."' ' Granting ourwillingness to acceptLove inExcess as an interesting work of amatory fiction, where, aside from a few dedic- atory poems, did anyone acclaim Haywood's novel as an important and serious literary work? The young lovers are almost interchangeable, the rendering of the passions mechanical, and the love scenes lubricious. So, at least, it must appear from a male perspective. French critics recog- nized the originality ofRobinson Crusoe,12 but there were any number of French writers who were better than the early Haywood at her particular form of fiction. 9 See the excellent edition by Paul Dottin, Robinson Crusoe Examin 'dand Criticis 'd (London: Dent, 1923). 10Magister Ludwig Friedrich Vischer, preface to Robinson Crusoe, 6th ed. (Leipzig, 1721), sig A3. 11Ros Ballaster, Seductive Forms: Women's Amatory Fiction from 1684-1740 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992), p. 153. 12See for example, Le Journal des Scavans (Paris, 1720), 503-8; and Jean Le Clerc, Bibliothèque Ancienne et Moderne 15 (Amsterdam, 1721), 440-41. 244 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION F I want to turn now to a consideration of two aspects ofWatt's Rise ofthe Novel which have been under particular attack by critics who feel they do not fit the newly gendered concept of the novel's origins—individualism and realism. When I was writing a review of Watt's Myths of Modern Individualism (1996), I was impressed by the extent of his reading and the power of his ideas. He modestly states, "The book is essentially an amateur's study, and it is addressed not to the scholar but to the general reader."13By this description, he appears tomean that sincehehas translated the passages he quotes from Spanish, German, and French, he cannot be held to a scholarly standard. Surely only he would think so. Nevertheless, given the title, I suspect that most of his readers would be thinking of the sections of The Rise of the Novel that deal so brilliantly with economic individualism and the nature of identity to find out what light might be thrown upon his earlier arguments. And since I began my own work on Defoe and the novel before the publication of Watt's treatise, when my teacher Edward Hooker handed me a copy of Watt's article "Robinson Crusoe as a Myth," I too was eager to know what he would say on that subject.14 As a matter of fact, Watt is disappointingly brief on myth, but his definition of individualism as both a psychological and a social phe- nomenon sends one back to his long discussion in The Rise ofthe Novel, in whichRobinsonCrusoebecomes theparadigm ofeconomic individualism. Watt's point was brilliantly made. Robinson Crusoe begins with the de- bate between Robinson and his father over the pleasures of what Crusoe's father calls "the middle State," orwhatwe would thinkofas the way of life among the upper middle class or bourgeoisie.15 Crusoe wants to go to sea; his fatherwants him to settle down to life as a lawyerorabusinessman. Cru- soe's refusal of obedience is the individualist's rebellion, but it occurs here specifically as a conflict within the middle orders—between conservat- ive ideals of mercantilism and the more adventurous world of capitalism, between the ideals of the first part of the seventeenth century and atti- 13Ian Watt, Modern Individualism: Faust, Don Quixote, Don Juan, Robinson Crusoe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), p. viii. 14Ian Watt, "Robinson Crusoe as a Myth," Essays in Criticism 1 (1951). 15Daniel Defoe, Robinson Crusoe, ed. J. Donald Crowley (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981), p. 4. GENDERED CULTURAL CRITICISM AND DEFOE 245 tudes that led to the "Financial Revolution" in the second part.16 1 wanted to do a little more reading about individualism as preparation for read- ing Watt's latest book. I knew that Karl Marx equated individualism with the life of the bourgeoisie, but I discovered that, in some ways, George Simmel was more helpful onRobinson Crusoe, since he argued that the in- dividualism associated with a kind of freedom of action and rights was typical of the eighteenth-century notion.17 Thus Crusoe, with his com- bination of revolt against his father's ideas, his abilities in trade, and his ultimate isolation on his island, becomes the paradigmatic example of individualism. I haveneverbeen entirely comfortable with the section ofTheRise ofthe Novel devoted to economic individualism, and I expressed my disagree- ment in Economicsand the Fiction ofDanielDefoe (1962), but in viewing the notion ofindividualismthrough the lens ofWatt's latestwork, I now see it as proposing a method of speaking about character in a new way. Watt saw the economic conditions of the period as creating a new type of per- sonality. Crusoe was cut off from the society into which he was born and forced to find himself under conditions of complete isolation. His eccent- ric outfit made of goat skins sets him outside of the rest of mankind in appearance, much as his refusal to follow the calling chosen for him by his father sets him apart from the community ofcontented members of the up- per middle class to which his father belonged. He was different from a Joseph Andrews, who was to find his niche in the gentry as the son ofMr Wilson. We come to understand Crusoe's attitudes and feelings by hear- ing his confessions and seeing the ways in which he acts. IfCharles Gildon saw agreatdeal ofDaniel Defoe in Crusoe, evenGildon nevertheless iden- tified him as a unique personality. And it is clear that Crusoe was unique in a way that the characters of, say, Haywood's Love in Excess or even Behn's Love Letters, based on historically real persons, were not. Yet what strikes one today in reading Watt's account of Faust, Don Quixote, Don Juan, and Robinson Crusoe—his exemplars of modern individualism—is that all are men, that from our perspective this account of four myths of modern individualism might be more aptly titled "Four Myths of Modern Masculine Individualism." And there is some truth to 16The term is that of RG.M Dickson, The Financial Revolution in England: A Study in the Develop- ment ofPublic Credit 1688-1756 (London: Macmillan, 1967). 17See George Simmel, On Individuality and Social Forms, ed. Donald Levine (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971), pp. 187-226. 246 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION the charge made by Laurie Langbauer that his magnum opus might be bet- ter titled "The Rise of the Novel by Male Authors."18 Although Watt wrote brilliantly on Richardson's Clarissa, it is clear that he was attracted to nar- ratives about men. And his book on Conrad treats a nineteenth-century male author very much in the tradition of the adventure novel begun by Defoe. Who can deny thatWatt's work is rooted in its time, revealing some of the influence of the 1950s, the decade in which men returning from the SecondWorld War convinced women, who had found that they could rivet and weld like men, to return to being "homemakers" and mothers? The ex- clusion of La Fayette's La Princesse de Clèves from consideration as a novel on the grounds that despite "all its psychological penetration and lit- erary skill, we feel it is too stylish to be authentic," appears more like a social and nationalistic gesture than a literary judgment.19The French, who write their fictions stylishly, are dismissed as effeminate compared to the more masculine styles ofDefoe and Richardson. But anyone working on the novel in 1957, when Watt's work was pub- lished, would have seen such comments in a different light. Since the numberofsuchpeople is becoming smallereachyear, letme say something about the situation in the academy at the time. Probably the most influen- tial work on the novel before 1957 was ER. Leavis's The Great Tradition (1948), which judged novels according to their sincerity, seriousness, and moral earnestness. His work took over from E.M. Forster's Aspects ofthe Novel (1927) with its tolerant acceptance of the definition of the novel as "a fiction in prose of a certain length."20 Leavis, who, as a social and edu- cational critic, was a powerful force in British thought, was unconcerned with any writer who was not truly superior—his "great" tradition. Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding were dismissed in a series of footnotes, and only Jane Austen, Henry James, George Eliot, and Joseph Conrad were con- sidered worth the reader's valuable time. The only counter to this eccentric but influential view was Eric Auerbach's Mimesis (1946), such Marx- ist works as Ralph Fox's The Novel and the People (1937), and Arnold 18Laurie Langbauer, Women andRomance: The Consolations ofGender in the EnglishNovel (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1990), esp. pp. 28-30. Langbauer demonstrates the gender bias of Watt over the opening thirty pages of her book, often displaying a wit worthy of the subject: "Watt's family romance: a fantasy of origins, initially focusing on the mother, that, Freud claims, the male subject must ultimately overcome through the identification with the father that the Oedipal resolution permits." 19Ian Watt, The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1957), p. 30. 20E.M. Forster, Aspects of the Novel (1921; New York: Harcourt, Brace, and World, 1962), p. 6. He takes this definition from Abel Chevalley, Le Roman anglais de notre temps. GENDERED CULTURAL CRITICISM AND DEFOE 247 Kettle's An Introduction to the English Novel (1951). For such writers, the accurate presentation of the social milieu that appeared in Defoe and Richardson and at least partly in Henry Fielding had a value in its own right. Marx had praised Balzac for this quality despite what he regarded as Balzac's deplorable politics. Marx's treatment of Robinson Crusoe in Das Kapital as a frequently and wrongly used example of capitalist accu- mulation had given Defoe's work particular prestige for those on the Left. Watt's work challenged Leavis at his weakest point—his refusal to pay at- tention to background and milieu. By reading the novel against historical and social developments, andby theorizing andfurther historicizingWatt's approach, Michael McKeon has, in some sense, broughtWatt up to date.21 In a review attacking McKeon's Origins of the English Novel, Warner accused Watt of having a misplaced humanist agenda and both Watt and McKeon of being heirs of Marx in valuing ideas in fiction above style and rhetoric.22 From a descriptive standpoint Warner may be right, but interesting as more fashionable discussions of print culture may be, I am not sure we are all ready to jettison an appreciation of humanistic ideals justyet. Warner's arguments againstadefamiliarizedpresentationofreality both in his exchange with McKeon and in Licensing Entertainment are to me ultimately unconvincing. In addition to these objections, Watt has been attacked by some femin- ist critics for over-valuing realism. But often, as with Doody in The True Story of the Novel, the critics confuse ekphrasis, or the detailed present- ation of a scene, with the presentation of characters within a social and political milieu.23 Romances, whether those written in the ancient world, the middle ages, or in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, have often had scenes involving a detailed description of a room filled with paintings or sculptures. Such scenes are almost always invitations to allegorical in- terpretations. Theyusually have the function ofmaking the works in which they appear less concrete, less real. The confusion is partly Watt's fault. The division between "formal real- ism," bettercalled "circumstantial realism," andpsychological realism was neververy significant for the novel. In The Rise ofthe Novel, Richardson's psychological realism is wrongly presented as an evolutionary advance, as 21Michael McKeon, The Origins of the English Novel, 1600-1740 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1987). 22William Beatty Warner, "Realist Literary History: McKeon's New Origins ofthe Novel,"Diacritics 19(1989), 62-81. 23Doody, pp. 136-42, 386-96. 248 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION ifLa Fayette's La Princesse de Clèves and the many contemporary French romances and novels treating love had not already exploited psychological possibilities inherent in such a subject. Defoe was surely interested in ren- dering the social and political milieu in which his characters moved, but he was always more interested in what went on in his characters' minds. In addition to this sacrifice of genuine literary history to a neat rhetor- ical structure, Watt never abandoned a progressive theory of the novel in which Defoe was supposed to be the primitive progenitor of Richardson. Even inhis mostrecentwork, he insists on seeing the conflictbetweenCru- soe's senseofdisobediencetowards his fatherand thepleasureCrusoe feels about his island as a kind of muddle in Defoe's mind, rather than a delib- erately created paradox—a paradox reflective of Defoe's observations on the socio-economic life of his times. That which has seemed, quite properly, as the over-valuation of a few tricks of style to create formal realism has been rightly attacked by fem- inist critics, but this has nothing to do with the nature of Defoe's fiction or with Watt's overall approach. By suggesting an ever-deepening render- ing of reality, Watt succeeded in capturing the high ground from Leavis. After Watt, eighteenth-century fiction appeared to fulfil many of Leavis's demands for greatness in the novel—seriousness, ethical intensity, and sincerity. The novels of Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding could not be dismissed in the way Leavis had attempted. In addition, as McKeon suggested, there is simply a naïve quality about the attack upon realism mounted by Warner and the feminist critics.24 The ability to capture reality has been a central tenet of art from ancient times. And in regard to prose fiction, almost every critic in the second half of the seventeenth century applauded the way in which the new novels that had succeeded the long romances captured images of real life in contrast to the ideal landscapes of the romance. Congreve spoke to this in his preface to Incognita and so did Mrs Barbauld at the end of the eighteenth century. Whenpeople half ironically praised Defoe's ability to tell a story as his one gift, they meanthis ability to create an illusion ofthe real. And whenWalter Scott spoke ofDefoe's remarkable ability to capture the real in works such as the Journal of the Plague Year, he was applauding him for what, to Scott, was an entirely unique quality. I have recently written an article on Defoe's relationship to realist painting, particularly that produced in the Netherlands, and I do not want to repeat what I said there.25 "Every novelist 24Michael McKeon, "A Defense of Dialectical Method in Literary History," Diacritics 19 (1989), 83-96. 25Maximillian E. Novak, "Describing the Thing Itself, or Not: Defoe and the Art of Describing," Eighteenth-Century Fiction 9 (1996), 1-20. GENDERED CULTURAL CRITICISM AND DEFOE 249 renders the real to some extent," says Doody,26 but who cannot distinguish the romance from the novel, the reality of the one and the typed characters and vague settings of the other? Defoe drew his characters from life and history, not from a Theophrastan catalogue.27 Recreating an aesthetic to judgeromances—aproject thatBishopHurdattempted in 176228—doesnot mean confusing romance and novel. Certainly eighteenth-century readers knew the difference.29 In an article that I wrote in Novel more than twenty-five years ago, I suggested that we would have to modify Watt's view of the British novel to include a larger flow of fiction than he had allowed,30 particularly those French and Spanish writers whose works were translated into English throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. I also argued that women novelists such as Behn and Haywood had to be made part of the discussion. Although I have recently been accused of "condescension" towards these writers, none was intended.31 The psychological power of La Princesse de Clèves is undeniable. It is one of the great novels of Western Europe, and nothing in the nature of the style can take away from the forceful presentation of the relationships of the three main characters. 26In The True Story of the Novel, Watt is made the villain, the proponent of a restrictive type of realism that stifled the romantic imagination. See esp. p. 287. 27For a somewhat futile attempt to classify Roxana in this way, see Deidre Shauna Lynch, The Economy of Character: Novels, Market Culture, and the Business of Inner Meaning (Chicago: UniversityofChicago Press, 1998), pp. 36-38. Therehad been muchconsiderationofTheophrastan character before Ian Watt wrote The Rise of the Novel, because of interest in the "Character" as a seventeenth-century form. Lynch's argument, though far more sophisticated than these early studies, may be seen as a throwback to concepts of character Watt had rejected. 28Richard Hurd, Letters on Chivalry and Romance (1762). 29Critics such as Langbauer are right about the tendency to claim evolutionary superiority for the novel in critics such as Watt, and there is no question that a gender distinction was established as early as the seventeenth century in which romances were associated with women and more historical and realist fictions with men. But even Scudéry, in one ofher didactic works, claimed an adherence to history and an attempt at achieving the real. That romances sometimes have a special appeal to women through providing sexual fantasies is no more an argument for literary excellence than the fact that men and boys are attracted to formulaic adventure stories and pornography. On the other hand, the condemnations ofAphra Behn's plays and novels and Haywood's early fiction, from the eighteenth century until the last few decades of the twentieth century, invariably has a component of moral disapproval based on the expectation ofhow women ought to behave. 30Maximillian E. Novak, "Early Fictional Forms," Novel 6 (1973), 120-33. 31Warner, Licensing Fiction, p. 66. 250 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION On the other hand, Behn's Love Letters, while having many excellent qualities, relies on a somewhatmechanistic rendering ofpassion that seems topreclude thedevelopmentofcharacters with any real depth. I alsopointed out that since the great flow of fiction was coming from France, Italy, and Spain, a narrow nationalistic view was untenable. I called for abreakdown ofeighteenth-century fiction according to the variety of its forms, but I am not convinced, particularly after Paul Salzman's account of seventeenth- century fiction by a similar method, that such an enterprise would be of much utility.32 At the same time, I prefer to think that, unless we conceive of genre as a form of strait-jacket, we should think of the Restoration and eighteenth century as a time for authorial exploration and opportunity rather than one of confusion.33 This is a case in which the critics have had a more difficult time than the authors. It seems to me that what has happened in the classroom is symptomatic. We have expanded the number of texts we use, and occasionally insert Charlotte Lennox's Female Quixote or even Haywood's Betsy Thoughtless into our courses in the novel where Frances Burney and Jane Austen have long held place. But, frankly, formulaic novels such as Haywood's Love in Excess are harder to teach than, say, Robinson Crusoe or Moll Flanders. Warner attacked Watt and McKeon for what Warner considered to be a prejudice in favour of ideas over form. I confess to sharing that prejudice. In his life as well as in his didactic writings, Defoe was always bubbling over with ideas, and, not surprisingly, they entered his fiction, making up a substantial part of what we feel to be their realist texture. Defoe's fictions are always rooted in the social and economic realities of his time. We are told in the beginning that Love in Excess is set in the period following the War of the Spanish Succession, or around 1713. It could just as well be set in the fifteenth century for all we experience of the characters' milieu. Only if we are willing to say that such information would interfere with the moments of heightened sexual experience and categorize Haywood's novel as pornography can we applaud so vague an attention to background. For critics to make a virtue of such a failure is a mistake. Haywood herself moved in the direction of the real in Betsy 32Paul Salzman, English Prose Fiction 1558-1700: A Critical History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1985). Salzman's attempt to categorize the variety of fictional forms during the seventeenth century is heroic, but in classifying Aphra Behn's Oroonoko as a "nouvelle galant," very little is gained in the way of improving our understanding of the text. Such a classification fails to take into account the incorporation of travel material, the possible autobiographical element, and the charged politics behind the action. 33I have in mind McKeon's Origins. See for example his treatment of the "unstable compound" (p. 1 13) that makes up Behn's Oroonoko. GENDERED CULTURAL CRITICISM AND DEFOE 251 Thoughtless, and scenes in which Betsy hears an aria being sung in a shop selling music or her vivid picture of a contemporary auction give a concreteness to this later novel that was lacking in her earlier work. The vagueness of romance is sometimes compensated for by an attention to mood, rich descriptions, and perceptive analysis of feelings and emotions, but without the talent ofan Ann Radcliffe, it too often becomes empty and formulaic. We have no difficulty knowing the century we are in when we read JaneAusten, norwould we wish away Marianne's discussion ofthe annual income needed by a contemporary gentleman in Sense and Sensibility. Similarly, Defoe always informs the reader about how much money his protagonists have and how much they need. A detail such as the torn piece of Pamela's dress left in the door after Mr B. pursues her tells us more than her sermons and poems. We can follow Moll Flanders as she flees from a scene of crime in London just as we can follow Austen's Anne Elliot as she wanders through the streets ofBath. We should pay attention to Scott's implied comparison between Austen and Defoe as realists who created unique characters functioning in a complex setting.34 The Russian formalists were right. Where writers succeed in defamiliarizing the real, it is a powerful element in fiction.35 Of course, in defending realism, I am aware that I am offering a male point of view with many of its limitations, but I cannot believe that we are condemned to separate male and female versions of the rise of the novel. What is needed is a degree of empathy on both sides. Much as I might be able to empathize imaginatively, it would be difficult for me to be certain that I was responding to the passionate delineations of sexual feelings of women provided by both Behn and Haywood with exactly the same awareness as their women readers in their time and ours. And am I able to respond adequately to the gossip and scandal that made Delarivier Manley's New Atalantis such a success? There is nothing very new about the idea that men and women may not share the same field of vision; 34Walter Scott compared both Austen and Defoe to painters of the Flemish school. See On Novelists and Fiction, ed. loan Williams (New York: Barnes and Noble, 1968), pp. 179, 235. 35I have frequently argued that, in terms of the product, there is no practical difference between the realist paintings of the Dutch and Flemish schools and the realist novels of Defoe and the movement of realism in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. McKeon sees what he considers modern realism "lurking" in Defoe's writings, but his historical theory will not allow him to see it as equivalent. He provides a succinct formula: "The idea of realism exists to concede the accountability of art to a prior reality, without seeming to compromise the uniquely modern belief that such reality as it is answerable to is already internalized in art itself as a demystified species of spirituality." Origins of the English Novel, p. 120. 252 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION feminists have been telling us this for decades.36 Once we acknowledge that Watt's view of "the rise of the novel" was biased in the direction of a male-oriented vision of the novel, we shouldbe able to construct a sensible history. What does not strike me as sensible is insisting entirely on the feminine nature of the form and eliminating male writers solely on the basis of gender. For those who feel that removing Defoe from the canon may somehow improve theposition ofwomen writers by making space for them in classes, it should be remembered that Moll Flanders and Roxana are among the strongest women characters in fictionbefore Mary Wollstonecraft's Maria, or the Wrongs ofWoman. I find that critics are persistently misreading both novels, particularly Roxana. It is being interpreted too strongly through the ending. I began this way of reading Roxana,31 but, in my view, such an interpretation has spun completely out of control; so let me renounce it here and now. When Roxana announces her libertine arguments about the freedom ofwomen, she feels uncomfortable about theorizing her feelings. At the same time she does not want to marry the Dutch Merchant at this point in her life. She wants to go to England to see if she can ensnare the King in much the same way that the Duchess ofMazarin came to England and ensnared Charles n. In effect, that would be the same as saying, "I want to be free to use my sexuality as I please, and I don't want anyone having control of my money." These are her feelings at the moment, and she follows them to become rich and powerful. The moral twist that Defoe puts upon this decision suggests that, in some cases, it has its drawbacks. But Defoe lived in a world in which mistresses of kings or noblemen (or at least their children) were often rewarded with titles, wealth, and power. He could be ironic on the subject, but he also accepted it as a reality. And do we really believe Roxana when she says it would have been better to starve to death? Defoe did not believe that. Many of Defoe's novels have a strong feminist message, and they should be approached critically and taught in that way.38 University of California, Los Angeles 36See, for example, Hélène Cixous's classic essay, "The Laugh ofMedusa," New French Feminisms: An Anthology, ed. Elaine Marks and Isabelle de Courtivron (New York: Schocken, 1981), pp. 245-64. The original essay appeared in 1975. 37Maximillian E. Novak, "Crime and Punishment in Defoe's Roxana," JEGP 65 (1965), 445-65. 38This essay is a revised version of a paper read at the Tenth International Congress on the Enlight- enment, Dublin, 25-31 July 1999. 
work_wcbz7vle3nedhe7oy5vduqub44	----	VLC_46_3-4_BookReviews 691..697 seeks to emphasize that Darwin responds to Galton by noting that “men did not differ much in intellect” (George Levine, Darwin and the Novelists [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1988], 182). 10. Sylvia Wynter, “Unsettling the Coloniality of Being/Power/Truth/ Freedom: Towards the Human, After Man, Its Overrepresentation —An Argument,” CR: The New Centennial Review 3, no. 3 (2003): 257–337, 319. 11. Diane Paul notes that “few professional historians believe either that Darwin’s theory leads directly to these doctrines or that they are entirely unrelated” (Diane B. Paul, “Darwin, Social Darwinism and Eugenics,” in The Cambridge Companion to Darwin [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009], 214). 12. Nihad Farooq, Undisciplined: Science, Ethnography, and Personhood in the Americas, 1830–1940 (New York: New York University Press, 2016), 44. Cannon Schmitt highlights that “Victorian science and empire are inextricable” at the same time as the theories that evolutionary scien- tists developed also could “disallow . . . the solidity necessary for easily held conviction as to their difference, superiority or right to rule” (Cannon Schmitt, Darwin and the Memory of the Human: Evolution, Savages, and South America [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009], 11). 13. Marwa Elshakry, Reading Darwin in Arabic, 1860–1950 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013), 225. Feminism ALISON BOOTH IS there a scholar who does not dream of shaping public discourse, ofchanging the history of a discipline, and more, of society? As we deplore the marginalization of the humanities and the silencing of pub- lic intellectuals, it might help to take a longer view of predecessors who had that coveted impact over time. I’m certainly not saying, “Recover the worthies.” We can see the blind spots of reform movements 1830s–1920s, and again in the 1970s–90s. But in the #MeToo moment, we should hit the refresh button. In this brief contribution, I want to remind Victorian EVOLUTION, FEMINISM 691 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X https://www.cambridge.org/core studies not to take feminism, gender, and sexuality for granted. Recent overviews of the field have charged Victorianists with neglecting theory and critique, and I would add feminism. I propose that we think back through Victorianist and feminist arrival in English departments, and rethink the structures of period, nationality, and genre. Doing so would allow us to focus more clearly on nineteenth-century women’s advocacy through writing, lecturing, and the literary, learned, and phil- anthropic clubs that were often segregated by race as well as sex and class. It is not a history of straightforward progress or inheritance. The archeology of disciplines does not keep earlier layers intact, but let’s try to be aware of how we necessarily select and discard from the collec- tions and assessments earlier experts leave behind. What is the state of Victorian studies, and why does it need to appre- ciate a history of women who publish and lecture on social causes? The judges of the 2016 annual book prize of the North American Victorian Studies Association, Catherine Gallagher and Herbert Tucker, pointed out a prevalent theme among finalists—science—when they presented the award at the NAVSA conference in Banff in November 2017. Gallagher, prominent in the materialist New Historicism that prevailed near the end of the twentieth century, surveyed the spirit of the year’s rigorous studies and found it ideologically quiescent. Gallagher remem- bers, without nostalgia, when studies of nineteenth-century disciplines would punish more, would exert more suspicion. Today’s interdisciplin- ary studies undertake work needful in our time, the Darwinian Anthropocene in which man is no longer the center. But Theory, evi- dently, is only a backup toolkit. Gallagher seemed bemused that so much had been taken for granted. A few years ago, the V21 Collective was more exasperated than bemused at the current state of the field. The first thesis of their manifesto claims that “Victorian Studies has fallen prey to positivist historicism . . . that aims to do little more than exhaustively describe, preserve, and display the past.” In other theses, the collective authors call for both “formalist interpretations that are politically astute and intellectually supple,” and “presentism.”1 While Gallagher and V21 are open to varied methodologies, they rightly per- ceive choices and costs in the turn to histories of cultural forms and knowledge systems. But, both narratives omit an approach that has been simultaneously formalist, historical, theoretical, and politically aimed at the present: feminist Victorian studies. This paradigm has not been idle, though it does not fit into the either/or of description v. theory, and it is not getting headlines. Does it go without saying that 692 VLC • VOL. 46, NO. 3/4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X https://www.cambridge.org/core the winner of the prize, Talia Schaffer’s Romance’s Rival: Familiar Marriage in Victorian Fiction, is kissing cousins with 1990s feminist studies?2 Literature and academic fields have their kinship structures too. Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote in a letter to Henry Chorley on 7 January 1845: “I look everywhere for Grandmothers and see none. It is not in the filial spirit I am deficient,” she assures Chorley.3 Feminist crit- ics could look everywhere for daughters and granddaughters, and find some like Schaffer who keep up the family ties (as in the conference she co-organized in 2017, The Woman Card).4 But, descendants of fem- inist Victorian studies do not show a great deal of filial spirit. Thinking back through our mothers, as Virginia Woolf so well illustrated, can both inspire and stifle. I don’t want to echo Madeleine Albright’s misfired jest in Hillary Clinton’s campaign about a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women. Newer scholars need to find new ways, but awareness of past struggles can help prepare for emerging ones. Remember how marginalized Victorian history, art, and literature once were. Before and after 1957, when Victorian Studies was launched as a journal and for- malism was in the ascendant, English departments expressed little warmth toward Victorian literature, and American literature as well. Both Victorian studies and American studies had to concede to Romanticists and Renaissance scholars the brilliance of their (male) poets, dramatists, and the theorists and critics who cut their teeth on them. Influential midcentury critics, looking for authenticity and desire as well as iconic texts, regarded the nineteenth century as an overstuffed nest of didacticism, kitsch narrative poetry and painting, sentiment and melodrama, and cloaked piano legs. To claim the validity that founds academic careers, Victorian studies turned to intellectual, political, and publishing history as well as writings of all kinds, not just belles lettres (for example, works by Walter Houghton, Raymond Williams, and Richard Altick);5 detecting that Victorians had sex also helped (for example, The Other Victorians).6 (Most of these foundational books are reissued in more recent editions.) But what really opened a reliable pipeline of students into the field was feminist criticism and theory. This looks easy now, as no one had forgotten George Eliot or Charlotte Brontë or Emily Dickinson. But remember the plausibility of Ann Douglass’s The Feminization of the American Mind,7 hostile to the female world of love and ritual that Sharon Marcus and Schaffer can now reassess.8 The first counter-move to the denigration of scribbling women was to use the master’s tools, the training in formalist FEMINISM 693 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X https://www.cambridge.org/core comparative literature and psychoanalytic theory, to advocate a few great women writers, not a class action suit for all nineteenth-century women. Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar offered close yet suspicious reading of Jane Eyre or Jane Austen to compete with Harold Bloom’s The Anxiety of Influence.9 The ground-breaking literary histories by Ellen Moers and Elaine Showalter and others were quickly embroiled in French feminist theory and challenges from lesbians, Marxists, and women of color.10 The goal quickly moved beyond terms of equality for an elite, and the search for women of the past who were prophetically aware of our prin- ciples soon gave way to more complicated and diverse portraits. If Victorian studies was bolstered by feminist studies of women writ- ers, it was because women had gained access to higher education. Recall how much it cost in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries to gain such access for women and people of color—a history that others have detailed. Women were accepted as novelists generations before they could speak in public and longer still before they could vote or earn degrees from the preeminent universities. The current feminization of the humanities profession (it has not happened in STEM) came after a period of decline from the 1930s–60s in the number of female academ- ics. A significant cohort of current female leaders in higher education earned tenure in English departments with work in feminist studies. These gains for a few may be precarious. But there are signs in the com- mon parlance of journalists and activists today that feminist research since the 1980s (not just in literature) has rippling if unattributed influ- ence. Before women had a foothold in academia, there were some public orators, reformers, and international authorities who commanded atten- tion in Europe and North America. These predecessors would not have been tenured professors, though some were gaining access to education or careers as librarians, nurses, or social workers, or were on the international scene as philanthropists. Since the 1830s, abolitionist and women’s rights movements spanned the Atlantic in correspondence, print, conventions, and lecture tours.11 We can look for grandmothers without revering simplified biographical icons, as the History Months might do. Here, I leaf through well- documented figures (printed short biographies are linked in my data- base, Collective Biographies of Women) who are usually kept apart in Victorian, American, or African American studies.12 Consider Margaret Fuller’s seminars, lectures, and Woman in the Nineteenth Century; Harriet Martineau’s Illustrations of Political Economy and influential assessments of the U. S. and slavery; Anna Jameson’s popularization of Italian art history 694 VLC • VOL. 46, NO. 3/4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X https://www.cambridge.org/core and famous lectures on women’s social mission; and Harriet Beecher Stowe’s star turn in Britain after Uncle Tom’s Cabin. “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” was only the beginning of Julia Ward Howe’s career as mag- azine editor, lecturer, and co-founder of the American Woman Suffrage Association and many other clubs. It is impossible to overstate the interna- tional reach at the turn of the century of very different celebrities, Charlotte Perkins Gilman and Frances Willard, misguided as they were in their nationalism, eugenics, and temperance. These white women intersected with a remarkable African American roster of eloquent lead- ers, with notable friction at the largely white-supremacist World’s Columbian Exposition of 1893.13 By 1893, there were three published col- lective biographies representing the lives of dozens of “race women,” invariably including Phillis Wheatley, Sojourner Truth, Ida B. Wells, and the elocutionist Hallie Quinn Brown, and many others who wrote or spoke authoritatively, sometimes mirroring separatist racial and gender theories. By 1933, Lifting as They Climb compiled short biographies, por- traits, and reports from many branches of women’s clubs, featuring eighty African American female activists, including the novelist Jessie Fauset and the author of the book herself, club founder and historian Elizabeth Lindsay Davis (1855–1944).14 Segregation did not entirely limit club members to the colored lecture circuit. Such figures as Ida B. Wells gave lecture tours abroad, and Mary McLeod Bethune was a member of Franklin Roosevelt’s cabinet. Victorian studies of animals, environment, technology and com- munication, cognition and affect, and sciences from astronomy to geology now join resurgent poetics and poetry studies, stylistics and digital textual studies, and book history—the trends are stimulating. Digital research has expanded access to the spectrum of women’s activism, and it has at the same time obscured materials that are in copyright but pre-Internet. Periodization and national boundaries as well as the bias toward belles lettres still tend to obscure the public humanities before there were tenured feminists. At nearly a half cen- tury of feminist Victorian studies, perhaps we can write an intersec- tional history beyond institutional (job list) categories. The déjà-vu history of women’s movements need not keep coming as a surprise. When the humanities mesh with social justice, they are strengthened by a longer and broader memory than the pseudo-scientific racism and misogyny of the neo-fascists in Europe and the United States in the present day. FEMINISM 695 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X https://www.cambridge.org/core NOTES 1. V21 Collective, V21: Victorian Studies for the Twenty-first Century, http:// v21collective.org/manifesto-of-the-v21-collective-ten-theses/. 2. Talia Schaffer, Romance’s Rival: Familiar Marriage in Victorian Fiction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016). 3. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, “Letter 1809. EBB to Henry Chorley,” The Brownings’ Correspondence: An Online Edition, Wedgestone Press, 2018, http://www.browningscorrespondence.com/correspondence/2048/. 4. Tanya Agathocleous, Richard Kaye, Caroline Reitz, and Talia Schaffer, Organizers, The Woman Card: Feminism and Victorian Studies, Past, Present, and Future (New York: A Conference at CUNY Graduate Center, 2017), https://victorian.commons.gc.cuny.edu/ 2017-the-woman-card-program/. 5. Walter Houghton, The Victorian Frame of Mind, 1830–1870 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1963); Raymond Williams, Culture and Society, 1780–1950 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1958); Richard Altick, The English Common Reader (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1957). 6. Steven Marcus, The Other Victorians (New York: Basic, 1966). 7. Steve Schnur, “Pink and White Tyranny,” Commentary, November 1, 1977; review of Ann Douglas, The Feminization of American Culture (New York: Knopf, 1977), https://www.commentarymagazine.com/ articles/the-feminization-of-american-culture-by-ann-douglas/. 8. Sharon Marcus, Between Women (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007). 9. Sandra M. Gilbert and Susan Gubar, The Madwoman in the Attic (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1979); Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973). 10. Ellen Moers, Literary Women: The Great Writers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977); Elaine Showalter, A Literature of Their Own (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977). 11. Bonnie S. Anderson, Joyous Greetings (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001). 12. Alison Booth, Collective Biographies of Women Database, http:// cbw.iath.virginia.edu. 13. On the representation of gender and race associated with the Columbian Exhibition, see Alison Booth, How to Make It as a Woman: Collective Biographical History from Victoria to the Present (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004), 214–23. 696 VLC • VOL. 46, NO. 3/4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at http://v21collective.org/manifesto-of-the-v21-collective-ten-theses/ http://v21collective.org/manifesto-of-the-v21-collective-ten-theses/ http://v21collective.org/manifesto-of-the-v21-collective-ten-theses/ http://www.browningscorrespondence.com/correspondence/2048/ http://www.browningscorrespondence.com/correspondence/2048/ https://victorian.commons.gc.cuny.edu/2017-the-woman-card-program/ https://victorian.commons.gc.cuny.edu/2017-the-woman-card-program/ https://victorian.commons.gc.cuny.edu/2017-the-woman-card-program/ https://www.commentarymagazine.com/articles/the-feminization-of-american-culture-by-ann-douglas/ https://www.commentarymagazine.com/articles/the-feminization-of-american-culture-by-ann-douglas/ https://www.commentarymagazine.com/articles/the-feminization-of-american-culture-by-ann-douglas/ http://cbw.iath.virginia.edu http://cbw.iath.virginia.edu http://cbw.iath.virginia.edu https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X https://www.cambridge.org/core 14. Elizabeth Lindsay Davis, Lifting as They Climb (Washington, DC: National Association of Coloured Women, 1933), http://cbw.iath.vir- ginia.edu/books_display.php?id=1555. Fin de Siècle MATTHEW POTOLSKY FIN de Siècle is a messy term, applicable to such a wide range of phe-nomena as to be nearly incoherent. And yet, it serves an important if underappreciated function in Victorian Studies, disrupting the hermeti- cally sealed bell jar that any period identified with the life of a monarch can become. Defined by a sense of crisis and opposition, fin de siècle names those things that were never quite assimilated into the high-Victorian moment; openly cosmopolitan, it places that moment in a global context it often resisted. Fin de siècle was first used in Britain in 1890, having been borrowed, accent and all, from France, where it had an earlier popular debut as the title of an 1888 play. Most obviously, it is a period term, but like so many other such terms, it also stands in for a characteristic style, set of affects, and dominant literary or artistic forms. A. O. Lovejoy famously argued that the word “romanticism” really designates at least three distinct “thought-complexes,” each an “exceedingly unstable intellectual com- pound.”1 Fin de siècle, I would argue, in Lovejoy’s spirit, designates no less than four “compounds”: a program, a mood, and an intellectual milieu, as well as a period in cultural history. These compounds are all “unstable”: changing the composition of one changes the nature of the others. Consider the many different period definitions in fin-de-siècle studies. In an influential essay from 1974, “Truth in Labelling: Pre-Raphaelitism, Aestheticism, Decadence, Fin de Siècle,” Ruth Z. Temple argues that the period designated by fin de siècle should properly be restricted “to the last decade of the century.”2 This restriction accords with many early schol- arly studies, notably Holbrook Jackson’s The Eighteen Nineties (1919).3 But contrary to W. B. Yeats’s sardonic claim that “in 1900 everybody got down off his stilts,” the term fin de siècle tends in practice to cover a longer FEMINISM, FIN DE SIÈCLE 697 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at http://cbw.iath.virginia.edu/books_display.php?id=1555 http://cbw.iath.virginia.edu/books_display.php?id=1555 http://cbw.iath.virginia.edu/books_display.php?id=1555 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S106015031800058X https://www.cambridge.org/core Feminism Notes Fin de Si&egrave;cle 
work_wcwima3oq5gx5e66u7bozciqea	----	Sense, Sensibility, and Soap: An Unexpected Case Study in Digital Resources for Book History Janine Barchas Book History, Volume 16, 2013, pp. 185-214 (Article) Published by The Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: 10.1353/bh.2013.0015 For additional information about this article Access provided by The University Of Texas at Austin, General Libraries (18 Nov 2013 08:02 GMT) http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/bh/summary/v016/16.barchas.html http://muse.jhu.edu/journals/bh/summary/v016/16.barchas.html Sense, Sensibility, and Soap  An Unexpected Case Study in Digital Resources for Book History Janine Barchas Unrecorded in even David Gilson’s A Bibliography of Jane Austen is the little-known fact that soap manufacturer Lever Brothers published editions of Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice during the 1890s as part of a unique marketing campaign for Sunlight soap.1 The first English com- pany to combine massive product giveaways with large-scale advertising, Lever Brothers offered a range of prizes in “Sunlight Soap Monthly Com- petitions” to “young folks” (contestants could not be older than seventeen) who sent in the largest number of soap wrappers. The Sunlight advertising blitz, targeted to working- and lower-middle-class consumers, proved such a boon to sales that Lever Brothers ran the competition for a full seven years, annually escalating the giveaways. Prizes included cash, bicycles, silver key- chains, gold watches, and—for the largest number of winners—cloth-bound books. For this purpose, Lever Brothers published and distributed its own selection of fiction titles by “Popular Authors” and “Standard Authors,” including cloth-bound editions of Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Preju- dice. By 1897, the year the competition closed, Lever Brothers had awarded well over a million volumes. Lever’s “Sunlight Library” editions were published at a time when ad- vertisements for soap, by corporate giants such as Lever Brothers and Pears Ltd., provided “an immense stimulus to popular literature,” underwrit- ing the national thirst for fiction to the tune of hundreds of thousands of pounds per year.2 In 1901 the Review of Reviews reported that Pears alone had recently spent £126,000 on advertising in a single year, surmising that much “of this a goodly sum must have found its way into the pockets of publishers.”3 Business historians calculate that Lever spent the vast sum of £2 million on advertising between 1885 and 1905, “far more than any of his competitors.”4 Lever and Pears also owned their own publishing outlets, generating annuals, miscellanies, and bits of commissioned fiction. Ad copy employed literary allusions, as in a common newspaper advert in 1886 that Book History186 praised the “BEAUTIFUL COMPLEXION” achieved with Pears’ Soap with snippets from Shakespeare and Pope: “Thou hast the sweetest face I ever looked on” and “If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face and you’ll forget them all.” The soap industry’s influence on literary taste and print culture innovations may be more significant than literary scholars have yet acknowledged. I discovered the above in a search spurred by a worn, stray copy of the Lever edition of Sense and Sensibility (Figure 1). The book is a revealing piece of social history and, considering its original production values, a remarkable survivor. While giveaways may not equate, bibliographically speaking, with ephemera, the Lever edition—printed on cheap paper and bound in decorated cloth—was not printed to last. The original inking was uneven and sloppy, with haphazard words retaining an accidental bold look while other sections of text appear gaunt and pale. The margins are mis- matched, with some pages barely spared loss of text by the binder’s cuts. Modestly attractive on the outside, the book is bound in boards covered in no-nonsense ungrained red cloth. The binding is split-fountain stamped with a floral design, boasting “Lever Bros. Ltd” in gilt at the bottom of the spine (Figure 2). The title Sense and Sensibility is stamped neatly on the decorated front cover, while Jane Austen’s name appears only on the book’s title page. But for the binding’s floral cover, there are no extras or internal illustrations, although there is a modest Arts and Crafts aesthetic to the small initial letters and typical head- and tailpieces that mark each chapter. While the central text remains serviceable, if brittle, for reading, the original mix of papers must have been of very low quality, causing the edges of the well-worn book to stripe as different gatherings browned at different rates over time. The novel’s text, which might have been set from any of the Bentley-edition derivatives circulating at the time, is not accompanied by any paratext—so neither an introduction nor a Lever puff piece glosses the novel.5 At 379 pages, the story appears to be intact, with no cuts to content. Of course I cannot be sure that the copy I examined is complete, especially since its suspiciously brighter endpapers are of higher quality than its central pages, allowing the remote possibility of a repair in even a cheap book.6 In staking a claim for this copy’s significance as a historical object, I want to stress, ironically, its low production values. Only when compared to the lurid paper covers of late nineteenth-century Railway Editions, now known as “yellowbacks,” which sold for one or two shillings at train stations, does the Lever edition’s cloth binding appear to take a step toward gentility, with its stamped multicolored design, including a hint of gilt on the spine (Figure 3). Nonetheless, the binding’s simple and sappy florals still mark it as an Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 187 Figure 2 Spine of Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility (Port Sunlight: Lever Brothers, n.d.). Figure 1 Jane Austen, Sense and Sensi- bility in red cloth (Port Sunlight: Lever Brothers, n.d.). Book History188 Figure 3 Yellowback edition of Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion (London: Ward, Lock, and Bowden, n.d.). inexpensive working-class book meant to be enjoyed as a commodity rather than fetishized as an important tome. Yellowbacks, because of their ex- tremely low production values, were not deemed of interest to bibliophiles until John Carter and Michael Sadleir urged their historical consequence in 1934.7 Perhaps giveaways such as this Lever edition are the next to be raised to academic visibility. For calibration, imagine the Lever copy of Austen’s novel beside a loftier and now-much-collected contemporary in another Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 189 type of publishers’ cloth binding: the famous 1894 Peacock Edition of Pride and Prejudice, with its gilded front cover design, gilded page-edges, and lavish line drawings and full-page illustrations by Hugh Thomson (Figure 4). The yellowback, Lever, and Peacock editions all give tangible proof of the broad market spectrum for Austen’s works at the end of that century, and the splendid ordinariness of the surviving Lever copy offers a unique window into her reception at that moment in history. Although I have not discovered any early soap ads that actually quote her novels, the Lever edition was not the first (or last) interjection of Austen into the soap business. A novel of manners such as Sense and Sensibility seems to have been deemed particularly suitable by both Lever and Pears as a vehicle for promoting soap to the working and middle classes. Viewed in conjunction with advertisements for its Sunlight and Swan Soaps, Lever’s publication of Sense and Sensibility also partakes of a pervasive nostalgia that mixes with contemporary commercial culture. Jane Austen, her literary stock increasingly on the rise after 1850, just as her copyrights were conve- niently expiring, was made an unwitting pawn in the profit-making schemes of Pears and Lever.8 Reading Austen within early commodity culture yields surprising juxtapositions and insights into how readers of cheap editions may have approached her work under the influence of the book’s pecu- liar commercial packaging. The fact that such editions seldom make it into scholarly libraries, where collections tend to focus on “firsts” (or on associa- tion copies), should not prevent us from studying them as historical objects. This essay is also a cautionary case study about how modern e-resources can supplement traditional bibliographical tools in researching word and image. The Lever Brothers edition of Sense and Sensibility bears no date. In the absence of any bibliographical record, and with no introduction or paratext to help situate or explain the copy’s existence, I only came to understand this book’s identity as a contest giveaway and late-Victorian marketing tool after scratching away at the history of Lever Brothers, a company about which I knew absolutely nothing at the start. In order to place the book in material context, I compared its visual packaging to other nineteenth-century publishers’ bindings using a number of open commercial databases. I also traced Lever advertisements across the 1890s with Gale’s scholarly database of nineteenth-century periodicals and newspapers. I will narrate my findings roughly in the order in which the facts revealed them- selves to me, because understanding the process of historical research about a visual object makes plain just how such information might be derived for similar books or items. The image-rich databases of open nonlibrary web- sites can assist in such recovery, when standard bibliographical resources do Book History190 Figure 4 Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice (London: G. Allen, 1894). Copy formerly owned by Evelyn Waugh. Harry Ransom Center, University of Texas at Austin. Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 191 not always account for books produced outside of traditional norms. Cheap cloth bindings, especially series bindings, are not usually the concern of the descriptive bibliographer, whose focus is on the publication process and authority of the evolving printed text.9 Commercial sites, including Ebay and AbeBooks, can therefore supplement the latest scholarly resources in surprising and meaningful ways. At first, a precise dating of and explanation for the Lever Brothers copy of Sense and Sensibility seemed, without Gilson’s usual aid, virtually impos- sible. To make matters worse, WorldCat (OCLC) lists no known extant library copies, in which ownership inscriptions can occasionally help date an unknown edition. The imprint on the bottom of the title page simply reads: “Port Sunlight: Lever Brothers, Limited.” As the benevolent despot of his company town, William Hesketh Lever built homes for his workers and even specified the size and use of gardens needed for healthy living. He encouraged organizations at Port Sunlight that promoted art, literature, sci- ence, and music,10 and he “insisted that all his junior staff devoted a portion of their time to education: they were given evening classes in languages, English literature, accountancy, basic science and engineering, all paid for by the company.”11 I started, therefore, to imagine Lever stocking the Port Sunlight library with edifying and entertaining books, including Sense and Sensibility. While Lever’s manifold social schemes allowed the possibility of in-house publishing merely for the education of his Sunlighters, there were—as Gilson’s bibliography and contemporary newspaper ads attest— plenty of cheap editions of Sense and Sensibility in circulation by the 1890s. In other words, if Lever only needed a dozen or so copies for a community library, publishing his own would not have been cost effective. A mandate that all Sunlight employees be equipped with their personal issue of Jane Austen seemed, even in view of Lever’s panoptic paternalism, unlikely. I therefore searched for another explanation. The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography entry for William Hesketh Lever gave me a starting point at 1889, the year production commenced at Port Sunlight. I next compared the copy’s cover art to other English books from roughly this era, using Ebay as a surprisingly effective tool. Searching for books by dates, I located and scanned hundreds of images of bindings from the period in a matter of minutes. AbeBooks, a commercial bookseller site, provided further images within specific date ranges. The style of the decorated cloth binding quickly and definitively dated the Lever edition to the 1890s, positioning it alongside several other series employing the Victo- rian idiom of symbolic flowers and issued with similar bindings. Book History192 Specifically, the decorative art of the Lever binding resembled inexpensive contemporary cloth editions in publishers’ series from that decade, includ- ing a copy of Emma published around 1892 in “The Lily Series” by Ward, Lock, and Co. of London (Figure 5). For under $20, I purchased a copy of the Lily Emma with advertisement pages at the back. These advertisements revealed that Ward, Lock promoted the hundred-plus titles in their Lily Se- ries as “gift books at eighteenpence each,” although they offered them in three formats and price points: “Very attractively bound in cloth, with design in gold and silver, price 1s. 6d.; also in cloth gilt, bevelled boards, gilt edges, 2s.; or ornamental wrapper, 1s.”12 If bought without gilt edges (my Emma had none), their attractive cloth-bound gift books, in a limited range of colors, were about as expensive as popular low-market yellowbacks. Since the Lever Sense and Sensibility resembles the “Lily Series” at “1s. 6d.” in externals (inside, Ward, Lock’s Emma proved of higher quality), the overall impression of the Lever edition proved even more modest than my anachronistic eye, swayed by the book’s age and Victorian aesthetics, had initially gauged. Interestingly, the Lily Series was deemed particularly suitable for school prizes (“Forming admirable Volumes for School Prizes and Presents to Young Ladies”), suggesting that pretty-but-inexpensive gift books comprised a familiar genre in the early 1890s. The same title could be had in different colors (Emma came in green and red cloth, and possibly other colors), so as to better tailor its look for the intended recipient. Suggestive of scholarly dismissal of this whole category of cheap books is the fact that Ward and Lock’s Emma in “The Lily Series” also fails to secure mention in Gilson’s Bibliography (WorldCat does list two Emmas in a different series by that same publisher).13 Using various e-catalogs as well as Chester W. Topp’s nine-volume bibliography, Victorian Yellowbacks and Paperbacks 1849-1905, which devotes an entire volume to cheap Ward and Lock publications, it was easy to confirm that this publisher specialized in niche marketing to the working classes through inexpensively packaged books, including a “Pansy Series” (aimed at young readers and sporting covers decorated with pansies) as well as “The Laddie Series” (targeted es- pecially to boys)14 (Figure 6). The practice of marketing serviceable series of cloth-bound books named for sunshine and flowers to the literate working classes appears to have been ubiquitous in the 1890s, with the Religious Tract Society (RTS) publishing a Sunshine Series and a Buttercup & Daisy Series, as well as its Golden Sunbeam & May Blossom Books. In fact, the RTS announced its mission as offering “Cheap Books for Children” for use as “Gifts and Rewards” in print advertisements that showed children washing their hands and faces. In other words, books were deemed suitable Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 193 Figure 5 Jane Austen, Emma in “The Lily Series” in green cloth (London: Ward, Lock, and Co., n.d.). Book History194 rewards for good personal hygiene. Given the Sunlight brand of soap for which Lever had become famous, along with what I took to be iconic daisies on the cover of its Sense and Sensibility, the Lever edition seemed to want to align itself, and by extension Jane Austen, with the mission of the RTS. These aesthetic clues were in keeping with Lever’s paternalistic vision for Port Sunlight and its community of workers, which he ruled like “a benign puppet-master.”15 A WorldCat search for titles published by Lever Brothers between 1890 and 1900 confirmed that its in-house books and pamphlets were largely Figure 6 Lew Wallace, Ben-Hur in grey cloth (London: Ward, Lock, and Co., n.d.). Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 195 concerned with the running of the firm and the advertising and packaging of soap, even when those publications exhibited a literary bent. Much energy seems to have been devoted to the Sunlight Year Book, a multipurpose an- nual filled with household advice and sundry information, including world maps, train tables, fashion plates, and even instructions about pet care. Re- leased around Christmas, this encyclopedia/address book/atlas/minipeerage swiftly became “the standard reference work for the schools to which it was given away free.” Thus the Sunlight brand gained “a respectability and ubiquitousness far beyond the bathroom and pantry.”16 These yearbooks constituted a brilliant giveaway scheme, as each page was accompanied by a unique slogan promoting Lever soap: “Don’t worry, use Sunlight soap!”; “See smiling faces all around, wherever Sunlight soap is found”; and, my personal favorite, “The best soap for washing pigeons.” It is easy to imag- ine a child studiously looking through the sections labeled “Rulers of the World” or “List of Cathedrals,” unwittingly absorbing Lever’s advertise- ment rhetoric from the volume’s headers and footers. Some of Lever’s literary publications recorded in WorldCat invoke Sun- light Soap’s mission through puns and associations. Take, for example, the choice to publish Sunny South by F. C. Armstrong as well as works by the coincidentally-named Charles James Lever (a popular fiction writer who, dying in 1872, had no apparent connection to the soap company).17 Did the squeaky clean morality of Austen’s Sense and Sensibility offer up an unseen pun in connection with slogans for soap? At first, the catalog approach dead-ended, largely because so few Lever editions of popular novels have apparently made it into academic libraries: WorldCat lists a Lever edition of Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe (one copy held by Oxford University), Scott’s The Antiquary (one copy at Edinburgh University), and Thomas Cobb’s Wed- derburn’s Will: A Detective Story (Emory owns an 1895 copy). Perhaps searching nineteenth-century newspapers for Lever soap ads would yield more bibliographic information. I turned to the new schol- arly databases of “Nineteenth-Century British Library Newspapers” and “Nineteenth-Century British Periodicals” published by Gale.18 Even though I did not find “Austen” in any soap advertisements, I did find mentions of “books” as prizes in many 1890s Lever ads, and there I was able to track “The Sunlight Soap Monthly Competition,” which ran from 1890 to 1897. Lever was the first company to design giveaways on such a grand scale. Ad- vertisements announced that the competition was “for young folks only,” urging them to send in soap wrappers for chances at various categories of prizes. A minimum number of coupons, twenty-four in 1890 and fifty by 1897, guaranteed the sender a prize for his or her efforts—in the first year Book History196 this was an art print, and it subsequently became a book. The competition started in 1890 with £600 in prizes awarded monthly. For 1894, Lever an- nounced it would award “232,800 prizes in Prizes of Bicycles, Watches, and Books, value £41,904.” With prizes reflective of working-class values, it is significant that the bulk of this marketing collateral took the form of books. The competition’s rules divided England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales into eight (later reduced to seven) geographical “districts” according to pop- ulation. Newspaper ads and fliers in 1897 explained how, every month, “the 1 competitor in each District who sends in the largest number of Sunlight coupons from the District in which he or she resides, will receive £21 cash,” the next ten would receive “carriage paid, at winner’s option, a Lady’s or Gentleman’s ‘Premier’ Bicycle, price £21.” Forty further competitors in each district received gold watches, while “the remaining Sunlight Competitors will each receive Cloth-bound Books, by Popular Authors, in the propor- tion of 1 Book for every 50 Sunlight coupons sent in.” These ads also de- tailed rules (boys and girls aged seventeen or younger; wrappers from sold products only and not dealer’s stock), eligibility (not Lever employees or families), prizes, and even the totals awarded in the different districts. In 1897 large ads from February through at least September listed detailed ac- counts of the “£66,156 in prizes of cash, bicycles, watches, and books given free during 1897” (Figure 7). This, then, was the soap circus in which Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility was made a participant. The ads proved detailed enough to roughly calculate that Lever gave away a quarter of a million books yearly during the latter half of its long- running campaign. Naturally, the Lever advertisements inflate dramatic to- tals with headline prices that use retail amounts for the bikes, watches, and books rather than Lever’s true cost. Any calculations have to take the poetic license behind advertised figures into account. For the midcompetition year of 1894, the Lever announcements proudly rank the giveaway books into four retail categories, from 5 shillings at the top end to 1 shilling at the bottom. Since cheap yellowbacks (or books in “picture boards”) retailed between 1 and 2 shillings and the popular Bentley edition of Sense and Sensibility was advertised for 6 shillings, Lever was at the low end of the print-culture marketplace, as reflected in the poor production values of its reprint of Sense and Sensibility. From these advertised tallies of books at different price points and the to- tal number given away in each category each month in one of eight districts, it was easy to calculate that in 1894 (not the peak year for prizes) Lever promised to award 230,400 books.19 If this middle year in an escalating giveaway campaign is taken as an estimated mean, then by the end of the Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 197 Figure 7 Loose advertisement flier for the 1897 Sunlight and Lifebuoy Soap Competitions. Book History198 Sunlight Soap Monthly Competitions, which ran for over seven years, Lever might have given away more than 1.5 million books, a staggering number of volumes pumped into working-class communities. Soap advertising, it now seemed, did more than just fill “the pockets of publishers.” It is not certain that all the Lever book giveaways bore a Port Sunlight imprint. The announcements do not specify the titles, and some book lots may have been bargains struck with other publishers and dealers for cheap Victorian overstock. But every book that Lever could hand out with its own name on the spine or title page served as a prominent piece of advertisement in someone’s home; surely it did not take Lever long to start publishing its own branded editions. The duration of the competition explains the lack of a date on the Sense and Sensibility title page. In a giveaway scheme with no predetermined end- point, an undated book would continue to look “new” for years. Online I found a handful of similarly undated Lever Brothers editions for sale, in- cluding a used copy of Sandford and Merton inscribed 1898 and another of Ben Hur. Both were advertised as containing an inventory of the 1897 give- aways. Since 1897 was the endpoint of the competition, presumably these lists would proudly boast of all titles given out. Physically, the binding styles of these Sunlight Library copies did not resemble that of my Lever Sense and Sensibility, with the prominent flowers replaced by a stamped binding of abstract design in the same split-fountain color scheme (Figure 8). I bought one of the copies with the advert pages, reasoning that, although the books on this list might span a wide range of popular taste, in isolation each had to sympathize with the Lever mission. How might Austen have appeared to young contestants receiving Sense and Sensibility as a Sunlight Library book? What were the associations with the soap that a first-time reader might transfer to Austen? I found that Lever soap advertisements circa 1900 tended toward the self-consciously nostalgic—a style in which Jane Austen could become a fit vehicle for the company mission and im- age. Many Sunlight Soap ads feature young people in outdated collars and costumes, posing with giant mock-ups of the Lever soaps, ostensibly to pro- mote its effectiveness on modern fabrics. The effect is often comical, since the nods to history are associative rather than credible: “to save time is to lengthen life,” reads the slogan beneath a long-running ad for Sunlight that shows a girl in the type of massive Elizabethan collar that demands a queenly amount of starch (Figure 9). Similarly, a magazine ad for Swan Soap, a bath soap marketed especially to “ladies” for the washing of skin and fine fabrics, features a retro couple in Renaissance costume crossing a Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 199 Figure 8 [Thomas Day], Sanford and Merton: A Tale for Boys in red cloth (Port Sunlight: Lever Brothers, n.d.). Figure 9 Sunlight Soap advertise- ment in The Graphic (December 6, 1902): 781. Book History200 creek by stepping on a giant piece of floating Swan Soap. The caption reads: “A Stepping Stone to happiness.” Two popular full-page magazine ads for Swan Soap feature couples in eighteenth-century costume. In one the couple is dressed in something ap- proaching Restoration attire (the gentleman wears a powdered wig, a ruf- fled front, and shoe buckles) and sits by a creek, delighted by a giant piece of Swan Soap that floats past (Figure 10). The words “IT FLOATS” are carved on the tree behind them, as befits the tradition of enthusiastic lovers. In an- other ad a couple ride in a Regency gig—the gentleman in a tricornered hat, knee breeches, and regimentals sitting beside a laughing companion who wears an elaborate bonnet—while a giant piece of Swan Soap is latched to the vehicle by the girl’s bonnet strings (Figure 11). These historically specific getups seem intended to draw a sigh of contentment from a female consumer who is duly reminded that modern washable fabrics require comparatively less effort to keep clean, the Victorian equivalent of Virginia Slim’s famous “You’ve come a long way, baby” campaign. Perhaps the company’s book giveaways also trained their audience in a historically dependant advertising idiom. Jane Austen does seem remarkably of a piece with the Regency-clad personages in Lever ads. The Lever edition of Sense and Sensibility was not the first to yoke Jane Austen to the manufacture of soap. By the 1870s yellowbacks regularly fea- tured advertisements for a range of household products, including soaps.20 An advertisement for Brooke’s “Monkey Brand” of soap appears, in fact, on the back of the yellowback edition pictured in Figure 3 (Figure 12). Gil- son also documents advertisements for Pears’ Soap attached to Sense and Sensibility on at least three occasions, first in an 1884 Routledge “Sixpenny Novel” edition.21 Cassell’s 1887 “Red Edition”22 includes what Gilson calls a “folding leaf,” entitled “Curious & beautiful optical illusion presented by the Proprietors of Pears’ Soap.”23 Armed with Gilson’s description, I located several copies of this popular advertisement floating about as loose Victorian prints on Ebay and elsewhere, and found that this was another long-running advertising gimmick modified from year to year. Early versions of the Pears’ Soap optical illusion (one extant copy was inscribed in pencil “Jubilee year 1884”) featured two large “strobic circles” and the nearby directive “Hold this Diagram by the right-hand bottom cor- ner and give it a slight but rapid circular twisting motion, when each circle will separately revolve on its own axis.” Nearby, it suggests “Please place this in your Scrap Book.” By 1887 the same advertisement found in the Graphic magazine for June 18 had increased the circles from two to seven (Figure 13). Since the illusion necessitates rapidly turning the page and even Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 201 Figure 10 Lever soap advertise- ment in Black and White (March 8, 1902): 359. Figure 11 Lever Soap advertise- ment in The Graphic (January 12, 1901): 63. Book History202 Figure 12 Brooke’s soap advertise- ment on back cover of Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion (London: Ward, Lock, and Bowden, n.d.). Figure 13 Pears’ Soap advertisement cut out of June 18, 1887 issue of The Graphic. Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 203 encourages readers to tear it out of the book for a keepsake, this Pears ad- vertisement might have had readers twirling and tearing their copy of Aus- ten’s novel—a curious example of “reader response” and of the type of non- reading activities that, Leah Price points out, Victorians took to with their books.24 Just such innovative marketing techniques earned Thomas Barratt, chairman of Pears, a reputation as one of the fathers of modern advertis- ing.25 That he practiced his art in copies of Austen may be lesser known. With these prior intersections of Pears Soap and Sense and Sensibility, the 1890s Lever printing may have been a competitive attempt to use Jane Aus- ten, an author whose own stock was rising rapidly, as an advertising vehicle. Today, Jane Austen has become an industry in her own right. The author’s name and portrait grace many nonbook products, from kitchen towels to board games, action figures to stationery, and, yes, even soaps. The 1994 UK Trade Marks Act (TMA) insists that the use of an artist’s name be meaning- fully connected to a product’s origin. For example, in the year 2000, when a toiletry business sought to register “JANE AUSTEN” as a trademark for a line of toiletries and soaps, the application was refused under s.3(1)(b) of the TMA on the grounds that “it was devoid of any distinctive character.” Legal historian Simon Stokes explains how “the application was opposed by the trustees of the Jane Austen Memorial Trust who owned Jane Austen’s house and museum in Hampshire and who had developed a trade in related souvenirs. It was held that unless educated through use to see the name dif- ferently, the public would not regard ‘Jane Austen’ as a badge of origin” for soap products.26 Perhaps my own research will someday be used to make the case for a strong historical connection between Austen and soap! In view of the history behind the Lever edition of Sense and Sensibility, such commercialization of Jane Austen’s legacy proves far less modern and alien than I would have predicted, with connections between Austen’s books and commercial advertising older and tighter than I had imagined. Only when I obtained the Lever Brothers edition of Sanford and Merton was I able to reconstruct the larger context in which Sense and Sensibility was offered as a book prize. In the advertisement pages I found a list of “The ‘Sunlight’ Library of Books by Standard Authors, given during 1897 for Sunlight and LifeBuoy Soap Wrappers”: Ivanhoe. | Throne of David. Uncle Tom’s Cabin. | Pelham. Robinson Crusoe. | Vanity Fair. Swiss Family Robinson. | Handy Andy. David Copperfield. | Andersen’s Fairy Tales. Old Curiosity Shop. | Opening a Chestnut Burr. Book History204 Night and Morning. | Pendennis. Ernest Maltravers. | Little Women and Good Wives. Eugene Aram. | Beulah. Rienzi. | Mother’s Recompense. Last of the Barons. | Barriers Burned Away. Home Influence. | Pirate and Three Cutters. The Lamplighter. | Little Savage. The Wide, Wide World. | Daisy. Pickwick Papers. | Infelice. Nicholas Nickleby. | Melbourne House. Oliver Twist. | St. Elmo. Old St. Paul’s. | Last Days of Pompeii. Kenilworth. | Paul Clifford. Bride of Lammermoor. | Scalp Hunters. Old Mortality. | Disowned. Waverley. | Devereux. Rob Roy. | Godolphin. Vicar of Wakefield. | Alice. Prince of the House of David. | Barnaby Rudge. Ben-Hur. | Days of Bruce. Midshipman Easy. | Bleak House. Valentine Vox. | The Monastery. Last of the Mohicans. | Quentin Durward. Jane Eyre. | Gulliver’s Travels. Twenty Years After. | Black Dwarf and Montrose. Aunt Jane’s Hero. | Guy Fawkes. Masterman Ready. | Harold. Tower of London. | Rifle Rangers. Vashti. | Three People. At the Mercy of Tiberius. | Shirley. Pillar of Fire. | Helen Mordaunt. Stepping Heavenward. | Flag of Truce. Pride and Prejudice. | Woman’s Friendship. Sense and Sensibility. | Little Fishers and Their Nets. Queechy. | Sandford and Merton. Three Musketeers. | Japhet in Search of a Father. Guy Mannering. | The Roll of the Drum. Harry Lorrequer. | The Tiger Hunters. Jack Hinton. | The Wood Rangers. Naomi. | The Guerilla Chief. Vale of Cedars. | Did She Love Him? Four Girls at Chautauqua. | Windsor Castle. Chautauqua Girls at Home. | Antiquary. Heart of Midlothian. | The Abbot. Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 205 Figure 14 Lew Wallace, Ben-Hur in red cloth (Port Sunlight: Lever Brothers, [1897]). From this list I learned that Pride and Prejudice was another Lever title, although I have yet to locate a surviving copy. Author names are not listed. Contestants are warned that not all of these titles are guaranteed in stock and that “lists of books on hand” will be forwarded to those who send in a self-addressed stamped envelope to the “Competition Department, Messrs. Lever Brothers, Limited, Port Sunlight, near Birkenhead.” Lever binding designs were stamped, like the Ward, Lock gift books, on a range of cases in colored cloths. Armed with these specific titles, I found Lever copies on the above list bound in beige, blue, green, and red cloth (there may have been even more colors). Thus the flower design, stamped on titles of various sorts, did not—as I had first suspected—mark a primar- ily female audience for books such as Sense and Sensibility. However, only the Lever copies containing the advertisement pages for the 1897 giveaway scheme were stamped with the abstract Victorian pattern (not the flowers), as if Lever had marked the final phase of its giveaways with a new binding style. A comparison of Ben-Hur in both binding styles (I bought the other version too) suggested that while the exterior binding style differed, the inte- rior text was still printed from the same plates (Figures 14–16). Surprisingly, Book History206 Figure 15 Lew Wallace, Ben-Hur in light brown cloth (Port Sunlight: Lever Brothers, n.d.). Figure 16 William H. G. Kingston, ed., The Swiss Family Robinson in green cloth (Port Sunlight: Lever Brothers, n.d.). Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 207 the endpapers in the Lever copies rarely matched, as if the binder had simply used whatever paper was on hand for each title. Only the 1897 copies all contained the same green patterned endpapers. Some production values, too, differed from book to book: Sanford and Merton, for example, proved heavily illustrated. With great differences in typography, paper, layout, and quality, the packaging that shaped these books into a unified series included the books’ title pages, with their Lever imprints, and the two distinct bind- ing designs. I was surprised at the implied selection criteria for this list of “Standard Authors,” which, while it includes many usual suspects and a great deal of Sir Walter Scott, contains a host of titles now utterly obscure. In fact, more than half of the company that Austen keeps on this list would not join her in the next century’s canon—not even among juvenile literature. Bibliographi- cally negligible editions such as Lever’s prize books, presumably a reflection of popularity in the late 1890s, are time capsules of their cultural moments, even when the copy text may be suspect, the production values low, and the editing nonexistent. Books worth keeping for posterity—for the preserva- tion of history—include those no one thinks to keep. I thought it had ended there. By chance, however, an Ebay search some weeks later came across a copy of Sense and Sensibility published by Miles & Miles of London (Figure 17). The binding design is almost identical to that of the flowered Lever copy, with the addition of the words “The Mar- guerite Series” on a strip of gilt on the front cover. Instead of “Lever Bros.,” the bottom of the spine on this copy reads “Miles & Miles” while the words “The Marguerite Series” appear inside the same circle that the Lever spines share, but leave empty (Figure 18). Otherwise the lettering, stamp design, split-fountain colors, and production values are identical to the bindings on the flowered Lever editions. Eventually, another copy turned up in a red cloth similar to my Lever Sense and Sensibility (Figure 19). Inside, the Lever and Miles & Miles editions are bibliographically identical, as all three are printed from the same poor plates, yet there are striking differences: the red Miles & Miles copy included a frontispiece illustration (of a couple in Victorian dress) and had greater girth, having been printed on substantially thicker paper. Once again, no edition by Miles & Miles, or any “Marguerite series,” is mentioned in Gilson. Although neither edition bears a date, if the Miles & Miles version of Sense and Sensibility predated the Lever imprint (for why would a private publisher imitate a giveaway scheme?), the resem- blance could explain the genesis of the Lever cover design. My guess is that the short-lived Marguerite series by Miles & Miles pre- dates the Lever giveaways of the 1890s. The existence of a daisy variety Book History208 Figure 17 Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility in “The Marguerite Series” in tan cloth (London: Miles & Miles, n.d.). Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 209 Figure 18 Spines of Lever Bros. (left) and Miles & Miles (right) editions of Sense and Sensibility. Book History210 Figure 19 Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility in “The Marguerite Series” in red cloth (London: Miles & Miles, n.d.). Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 211 called “Marguerite” further suggests that the stamped flowered design was originally made for the cases of this Miles & Miles series, a cheap short-lived reprint series for which I have been able to locate only two other titles, both by Dickens—Bleak House and Pickwick Papers, both included in the 1897 Lever giveaway list (Figure 20). Did Lever Brothers broker a deal with Miles & Miles once its giveaway scheme grew to include books after 1890? While there is no evidence to suggest that Miles & Miles went out of business, for it continued to print other books in the 1890s, perhaps Lever bought out its emergent Marguerite Series to use as hallmark giveaways. Although I had hitherto assumed that the Lever Brothers name in the imprint signaled that Lever had initiated the selection of its giveaway titles, this new evidence sug- gested otherwise. The bibliographical similarities made it more than likely that Lever Brothers outsourced the production of its early giveaway books to a publisher whose name was replaced, doubtless by agreement, with that of Lever on the spines and title pages of a series already in production. Had Lever, in fact, made any selection decisions in the inclusion of specific titles for its soap-promoting scheme? Perhaps I had sought interpretive mean- ing behind Austen’s inclusion in the Lever Soap giveaways in vain. Instead, Sense and Sensibility functioned as a Duchamp readymade in reverse—an object plucked out of its original artistic context in order to do the sud- den bidding of an unanticipated commercial purpose. Another few months passed before I came across yet another 1890s copy of Sense and Sensibility, again identical in text and vaguely similar in binding style, this time bearing a “Londoner Press” imprint (Figure 21). Its endpapers are crowded with advertisements (including more cleaning products). Right now, as I copyedit this article for print, a copy of Sense and Sensibility, bound in the same floral design on green cloth, bearing a “Standard Authors Publishing Company” imprint is for sale on Ebay. Lever Brothers did not secure an exclusive. As a popular book that had been out of copyright for decades, Sense and Sensibility was probably an opportunistic, almost accidental, choice for a Sunlight Library edition. My instincts to locate interpretive potential in the association between Austen and Lever had been thoroughly curbed by historical context, which was not found via the traditional bibliographical route. Ebay and AbeBooks, with their large and ever-changing image banks of book covers, had provided a visual context for that stray Lever edition of Austen’s novel. I would never have found such a range of cultural evidence for this word and image mystery in a library or scholarly database alone— and certainly not that quickly. Advertisements inside books have always been key evidence for dating a copy with an incomplete or misleading im- print. Covers have not garnered the same attention. Online commercial sites Book History212 Figure 20 Charles Dickens, Pick- wick Papers in “The Marguerite Series” in red cloth (London: Miles & Miles, n.d.). Figure 21 Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility in brown cloth (London: The Londoner Press, n.d.). Sense, Sensibility, and Soap 213 are rarely, if ever, mentioned prominently in scholarly articles, which still rely upon traditional bibliographies that, for the most part, treat cover art as accidentals of the printing process. But these days there is much more to book history than what can be found among the copies of research libraries. Notes 1. See David Gilson, A Bibliography of Jane Austen (1982; repr., Winchester and New Castle, Del.: St. Paul’s Bibliographies and Oak Knoll Press, 1997). 2. W. T. Stead, “Where Britons Are Holding Their Own: The Story of Pears’ Soap,” Re- view of Reviews 24 (July–December 1901): 437–445, 445. 3. Ibid., 443. 4. Morgen Witzel, Management History: Text and Cases (New York: Routledge, 2009), 123. 5. As a cheap reprinting, some bibliographers might not consider the Lever copy a proper “edition” worthy of documenting. Gilson himself warns that, because so few Austen reprints “survive in libraries,” many go unrecorded in bibliography. Gilson, Bibliography, 225. 6. A watermark on the front free endpaper of my copy reads “Desmond Bond.” 7. See John Carter, ed., New Paths in Book Collecting: Essays by Various Hands (1934; repr., Freeport, N.Y.: Constable, 1967), which includes an essay by Michael Sadleir that opens with a working definition: “‘Yellow-back’ was the nickname given to the particular type of cheap edition evolved about the middle of last century for display and sale on railway book- stalls. It was usually (but not always) a cheap edition of fiction; it usually (but not always) cost two shillings; its basic colouring was usually (but not always) yellow—to which last character- istic, not surprisingly, it owed its soubriquet” (127). 8. For the separate copyright expiry dates for Austen’s novels, see Gilson, Bibliography, 211. First published in 1811, the copyright to Sense and Sensibility expired in 1839. 9. Exceptional among book historians, Thomas Tanselle and Sue Allen have been calling attention to nineteenth-century publishers’ bindings as a lacuna in bibliography for decades. In 1967 Tanselle argued for more systematized descriptions of nineteenth-century cloth bindings, outlining how subjectivity in descriptions of color creates ambiguity. See Thomas Tanselle, “A System of Color Identification for Bibliographical Description,” Studies in Bibliography 20 (1967): 203-234. The problems so eloquently outlined by Tanselle may have found a partial solution in digital imaging. 10. See Edward Hubbard and Michael Shippobottom, A Guide to Port Sunlight Village (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2005). 11. Adam Macqueen, The King of Sunlight (London: Corgi, 2004), 125. 12. A similar advertising list was bound with a “Lily Series” copy of E. P. Roe’s Opening of a Chestnut Burr (London: Ward, Lock, [n.d.]), inscribed “To Jack with Grandma’s love./Xmas 1890.” That inventory only goes up to number 91 of the Lily Series, however, whereas Austen’s Emma is listed as number 121 in a similar inventory of the Lily titles attached to Ben-Hur in the Pansy series. Together, such advertising lists and inscriptions narrow dates for reprint series. 13. The New York Public Library (NYPL) catalog estimates the date of its Ward, Lock Emma to be 1889, listing it as No. 164 in a “Select Library of Fiction” series, with 435 pages. The NYPL also lists a copy of Sense and Sensibility as No. 163 in that same series, with 331 pages, as well as copies of Pride and Prejudice (340 pages) and Northanger Abbey/Persua- sion (440 pages). Gilson notes the first two NYPL copies in entries for a Ward, Lock 1881 editions of Sense and Sensibility and Emma (E53 and E57). In both cases, he assumes that the later Ward, Lock books were reprints, reasoning that “the series numbering seems not to have been constant.” He duly admits “no copy seen” with “(details derived from E57 and from as- sumption)” (256). Thus, while Gilson nowhere mentions a Lily Series, he does allow for the Book History214 existence of differently packaged Ward, Lock reprints. The National Library of Scotland (NLS) gives a 1900 date for its Ward, Lock Emma, which has, like the NYPL copy, 435 pages. I, too, did not examine the NYPL or NLS copies and cannot know the relationship between the Ward, Lock Lily Series and the Select Library of Fiction series from the same publisher—which again differs from the initial 1881 Ward, Lock edition listed in Gilson. Whether the later Lily Series constituted an Austen reprint or a new edition, however, does not matter for the purposes of my current investigation into the packaging and marketing of Austen. 14. See Chester W. Topp, Victorian Yellowbacks & Paperbacks, 1849-1905, Vol. 2, Ward & Lock (Denver: Hermitage Antiquarian Bookshop, 1995). 15. Macqueen, King of Sunlight, 124. 16. Ibid., 44-45. 17. The Lever novel reprinted under the Lever Bros. label in the 1890s is The O’Donoghue: A Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago. 18. I am immensely grateful to John Lafave of Gale Publishing who, upon hearing of my project, gave me trial access to these new products. 19. An advertisement in the Review of Reviews in 1893 promises the following monthly giveaways during 1894 in each of eight districts: 200 books at 5s.; 300 at 3s. 6d.; 400 at 2s. 6d.; 500 at 2s.; and 1,000 at 1s. That makes for a total of 2,400 winners of books per month in each of the eight districts that year, or 230,400 books as giveaways for 1894 alone. 20. See “George Routledge,” in Topp, Victorian Yellowbacks & Paperbacks. 21. Gilson, Bibliography, 261, entry E65. 22. Ibid., 262, entry E71. 23. See ibid. 24. See Leah Price, How to Do Things with Books in Victorian Britain (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2012). 25. “Thomas J. Barratt Dead: Chairman of the Firm of A. & F. Pears an Advertising Ge- nius,” New York Times, April 27, 1914, 11. 26. Simon Stokes, Art and Copyright (Oxford: Hart, 2001), 167. See also “Jane Austen Trade Mark,” Reports of Patent, Design, and Trade Mark Cases 117, no. 23 (2000): 879-892. 
work_wdaphikarbg5fpbzbf6apqkvh4	----	1 Writing good English: is scientific English a Latin language in disguise? Mauricio Rocha-e-SilvaI DOI: 10.5935/MedicalExpress.2018.mf.001 RAPID COMMUNICATION I Universidade de São Paulo, São Paulo, Brazil BACKGROUND: English is the lingua franca of science; it is the language of the two last world superpowers and the language of four out of the world’s ten greatest producers of science; it is a fairly simple language and the most hybridized language in history, with Latin and French contributing 60% of the entire English lexicon. The object of this study is to determine whether the frequency of use of imported words is a function of literary genre. METHOD: texts were randomly selected from (a) medical scientific original articles, (b) newspaper financial reports, (c) sport reportages, (d) literary texts and (e) colloquial English; for comparison a collection of similarly distributed texts were selected from Portuguese; the frequency of occurrence of Latin or Neo-Latin words was determined in the English texts as well as the occurrence of non-Latin or non-Neo-Latin words in the Portuguese texts; a one- way analysis of variance was used to determine whether significant differences occurred between genres in the two languages. RESULTS: The frequency of occurrence of Latin/French words in English text was significantly dependent on the literary genre, being maximal in medical scientific texts and minimal in colloquial English; in contrast, the frequency of occurrence of non-Latin words in Portuguese was constant throughout the same literary genres. CONCLUSION: The use of Latin/French words in English is directly proportional to the complexity of the literary genre, a phenomenon not observed in Portuguese, a typical Neo-Latin language. KEYWORDS: Medical Education, Scientific language, Ethymology Rocha-e-Silva M. Writing good English: is scientific English a Latin language in disguise? MedicalExpress (São Paulo online). 2018;5:mf18001 Received for Publication on November 20, 2017; First review on December 18, 2017; Accepted for publication on January 3, 2018; Online on January 19, 2018 E-mail: marosilva36@gmail.com ■ INTRODUCTION Over the last century English gradually became the lingua franca of science, more specially of the so called hard sciences. This has not always been the case. A century ago, German, French and Italian, amongst others, were totally valid languages for transmitting scientific novelty. After World War II, things changed. Some very good reasons helped to bring this about. 1. English had been for over 250 years the lan- guage of two successive alpha world powers. The United Kingdom emerged with the industrial revolution in the middle of the 18th century, while the United States emer- ged as an industrial giant at the beginning of the 20th cen- tury. World powers export a lot more than merchandise, and language stands very high on their export agenda. 2. English is also the native language of four among the top ten contemporary producers of science, Copyright © 2016 MEDICALEXPRESS. This is an open access article distributed under the terms of the creative commons attribution Non-Commercial License (creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/4.0/) which permits unrestricted non commercial use, distribution and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. namely the USA, the UK, Canada and Australia. Together, they account for 30% of all published original scientific articles.1 3. English is a relatively simple language in terms of syntax. Nouns are very predominantly neuter; the very few exceptions are given names, some titles, such as king/queen and a very few animals, such as horse/ mare in the domestic, tiger/tigress in the feral domains. English articles and adjectives are universally neutral. Regular verbs belong to a single conjugation which con- tains only four variant forms; 370 irregular verbs follow a fairly limited number of patters. Phrase structure can be kept very simple: the most common phrase sequence is subject verb object(s). 4. English is probably the most intensely hybridi- zed language in the history of human communication. It is probably the only living language where imported words are more numerous than the words belonging to the original family trunk. Figure 1 shows the distribution of approximately 80,000 words by origin determined http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0/ 2 MedicalExpress (Sao Paulo, online) 2018;5:mf18001 Is scientific English a Latin language in disguise? Rocha-e-Silva M There was also a nun, a prioress (…) And she was called Madame Eglantine (…) She spoke French well and very stylishly After the school of Stratford-at-the Bow ‘Cos French of Paris was unknown to her5 This obviously contains a hint of sarcasm, Chaucer making subtle fun about Mme. Eglantine’s effort to show off; but it does tell us something about life in London by the end of the 14th century. Anglo-Norman was still alive and clearly differed from what Parisians spoke at the time. The next century saw the gradual death of Anglo-Norman, abandoned in favor of English. But its very existence left behind a long trail which is still with us. From Wlliam the Conqueror to the end of the 14th century, Old English gradually evolved into Middle English: the first Latin “invasion” came with a very strong French flavor. The second Latin invasion began soon afterwards and helped to turn Middle English into Modern English, the language now in use. All of this is common knowledge, though some native English speakers, including educated ones, have a pretty vague idea about the size of the Latin “invasion”. The author has frequently come across persons who “had no idea that Latin was so pervasive in English”. We shall see that this lack of perception about the size of the invasion has roots in another probably unique feature of Modern English, which is the object of this communication: we shall examine the differential frequency of Latin and French imports into English as a function of literary genre. ■ METHOD Samples of text were collected from the following literary genres: medical scientific original articles, financial newspaper reports, sport reportages, literary texts, colloquial English, according to the following procedures: samples containing 250 – 600 words were randomly selected as described. a) Medical scientific original articles: 20 samples were collected from scientific journals. Randomly selected articles (published between 2014 and 2017) were collected from Google Scholar in the following general medical ca- tegories: cardiology, dermatology, gynecology, nephrology, neurology, pediatrics, pneumology, obstetrics, oncology and orthopedics. Abstracts or fragments of the Discussion section were chosen from 2 articles from each of the above medical chapters. b) Financial reports: 20 samples were collected from the following periodicals: The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Guardian, CNN transcripts; BBC transcripts. Four articles published in December 2017 were randomly selected from each these sources. c) Sport reportages: 20 samples were collected from the same periodicals, published over the same time period through a computerized survey of the Shorter Oxford Dic- tionary. According to this survey, approximately 60% of all words in the English vocabulary are of Latin origin, either directly or through French.2 A different survey arrived at a similar distribution.3 A very large number of Latin and French words have moved untranslated into English: vice versa, in flagrante delicto, cul-de-sac, a-propos are easily remembered examples. Neo-Latin languages exhibit a completely different pattern: figure 2 shows the origin of the vocabulary of French and Portuguese, two of the five major Neo- Latin languages: Latin contributes most of the lexicon. Spanish and Italian have not been researched for this study, but it is self-evident that their vocabularies have equally predominant Latin origins. The 5th major Neo- Latin language, Romanian, encircled by Slavic speaking nations contains a relatively small proportion of Slavic vocabules.4 Apart from English, other non-Neo-Latin European languages contain sizeable contingents of words derived from Latin. The analysis of the lexicon of these is beyond the scope of this study. However, it can be safely stated that this large contingent of “borrowed” Latin words in all European languages is a direct consequence of the Renaissance, and of the Industrial and scientific revolutions. Almost every invention, discovery or concept introduced over the past 600 years received names constructed form Latin or Greek roots, with a predominance of the former. But English stands apart from other European languages because of the French contribution. The Norman conquest of England in 1066 meant that for at least 350 years, French became the court and official language of the kingdom. It gradually evolved into Anglo-Norman, now a dead French dialect. But lines in the Canterbury Tales (written in 1380-1400)5 are very telling: Figure 1. The percent distribution of words in Modern English as evaluated by a computerized survey of 80,000 words in the Shorter Oxford Dictionary.2 3 MedicalExpress (Sao Paulo, online) 2018;5:mf18001Is scientific English a Latin language in disguise? Rocha-e-Silva M relating to baseball (n=3), basketball (n=3), boxing (n=3), cricket (n=2), golf (n=2), hockey (n=2), soccer (n=3) and swimming (n=2). Baseball and hockey articles were selected exclusively from the American sources, cricket from the British sources. d) Literary sources: 20 samples were collected from the following authors: Jane Austen (Pride and Prejudice), Hermann Melville (Moby Dick), George Bernard Shaw (St Joan), Oscar Wilde (The Importance of Being Earnest), Mark Twain (The Adventures of Tom Sawyer). Four samples were collected from each publication. e) Colloquial English: 20 samples were collected from the scripts of the following films: Clockwork Orange (Stanley Kubrick 1971), From here to eternity (Fred Zim- mermann 1953), Mighty Aphrodite (Woody Allen, 1995), Pillow Talk (Michael Gordon, 1959), Some like it hot (Billy Figure 2. The percent distribution of words in Modern French and Portuguese as evaluated by estimating the frequency of occurrence of “borrowed” non-Latin or Neo-Latin words in each language. Figure 3. Percent occurrence of Latin words in English and in Portuguese. The analysis of Variance showed that both distributions conform to normality. The distribution in English is significantly related to genre (F 4,95 = 419.5; p < 0.001), while the distribution in Portuguese showed no significant effect of genre (F 4,25 = 2.4; p = 0.075). 4 MedicalExpress (Sao Paulo, online) 2018;5:mf18001 Is scientific English a Latin language in disguise? Rocha-e-Silva M Wilder, 1959), The Apartment (Billy Wilder, 1960), When Harry met Sally (Rob Reiner 1989). All stage directions were suppressed leaving only dialogues. Technical dialogues, especially legal arguments and technical descriptions were likewise omitted. A similar, albeit limited procedure, was adopted for the same genres in Portuguese: 6 samples from each genre were collected: Abstracts of six scientific articles were collected from the SciELO collection;6 Financial and sports reportages were collected from two leading Brazilian news sources: O Estado de São Paulo and www.globo.com; literary samples were collected from writings of Machado de Assis, Eça de Queiroz, Fernando Pessoa, Vinicius de Moraes, Guimarães Rosa and Raquel de Queiroz. Colloquial Portuguese texts were collected from Facebook, but authors will remain anonymous for obvious reasons. Each English sample was marked for words of Latin or Greek origin. Each Portuguese sample was marked for non-Latin language origins. The percentage of marked words within each text was established and means and standard error for each genre were determined. Statistical analysis. A goodness of fit was performed and all five genre collections conformed with normal distribution. A one-way Analysis of Variance test was performed to compare the incidence of Latin/Greek words in each English genre. A similar procedure was performed to compare the incidence of non-Latin Language words in each Portuguese genre. Significance was assumed at p < 0.05. ■ RESULTS Figure 3 shows the results for the incidence of words of Latin/Greek origin throughout the five genres in English and Portuguese. The very tight standard deviations for each genre in both languages clearly show that all of the selected genres use a highly coherent lexical architecture which is pervasive inside each genre. Panel A exhibits results for English. Differences between genres proved to be highly significant by one-way Analysis of Variance (p < 0.001). Figure 3 also exhibits the equivalent result for Portuguese. In sharp contrast with what happens in English, all literary genres in Portuguese exhibit a very high proportion of words of Latin origin, with no significant differences between genres (p = 0.075). ■ DISCUSSION The essential finding of this study is shown in Figure 3: the frequency of occurrence of “borrowed” Latin/Greek words in English is a function of literary genre; in contrast, the use of “borrowed” non-Latin words in Portuguese is independent of genre. The explanation for this is probably related to precision. The history of the French/Latin invasion shows that whenever a new level of linguistic precision became necessary, this precision generally required the use of “borrowed” Latin words. Neo-Latin languages, here exemplified by Portuguese, required precisely the same Latin words to express precision. Therefore, no word borrowing was required. Data for Figure 3, panel B came from my own native language because it would be easier for me to derive the required samples. But I can safely hypothesize that the same pattern would occur for any Nao-Latin language. In all of them, precision is mostly brought in by Latin derived words. E v e n t h o u g h i m p o r t e d w o r d s r e p r e s e n t approximately 75% of the English lexicon, English speakers never use 75% of imported words in their spoken or written utterances. The reason for this begins to answer the question posed by the title. Normal texts contain at least 30% of crucial sentence-forming connective words (prepositions, conjunctions, articles, auxiliary verbs), which are never imported. In fact, it is virtually impossible to write naturally in any language without these vocabulary elements.7 You might of course imagine examples such as, for instance “diligent people prefer coherent, functional solutions”, which is an all-Latin phrase, but any writer worth his salt would probably write “most diligent people might prefer coherent and functional solutions”, where connectives represent 30% of the words. Another point, this one raised at the end of the introduction, relates to the fact that native English speakers are usually surprised by the size of the Latin “invasion”: I believe this study offers an explanation: in most situations, people use colloquial or literary genres, precisely the genres where the “invasion” is minimal. It would be interesting to look at the relative importance of the occurrence of “French” vs. “Latin” vocabules in this functional relation between lexicon and genre in English: I imagine that in colloquial and literary English there would be a predominance of French, whereas in science, direct Latin imports would dominate. This may be the object of a future study. It might also be interesting to study whether enhanced precision in other non-Neo- Latin languages requires the use of Latin or do these other languages have “native” words that can replace Latin? As far as German is concerned the number of Latin words is substantially less than in English. However, to understand the Latin influence over German, one must also remember that a very large number of “precision” German words were constructed as translations on Latin words. These are extremely numerous and represent the invisible transfer of the Latin culture into the German language.8 However, a quantitative study of this is beyond the scope of this study, which centered on English, because of its essential role as the lingua franca of contemporary science. 5 MedicalExpress (Sao Paulo, online) 2018;5:mf18001Is scientific English a Latin language in disguise? Rocha-e-Silva M O objetivo deste estudo é determinar se a frequência de uso de palavras importadas é uma função do gênero literário. MÉTODO: os textos foram selecionados aleatoria- mente de (a) artigos científicos médicos, (b) relatórios financeiros dos jornais, (c) reportagens desportivas, (d) textos literários e (e) inglês coloquial; Para comparação, uma coleção de textos distribuídos de forma semelhante foi selecionada a partir do português; a frequência de ocorrência de palavras latinas ou neolatinas foi deter- minada nos textos em inglês e na ocorrência de palavras não latinas ou não neolatinas nos textos portugueses; uma análise de variância unidirecional foi utilizada para determinar se diferenças significativas ocorreram entre gêneros nas duas línguas. RESULTADOS: A frequência de ocorrência de palavras latinas / francesas em texto em inglês foi significativamente dependente do gênero literário, sendo máxima em textos científicos médicos e mínima em inglês coloquial; em contraste, a frequência de ocorrência de palavras não latinas em português foi constante ao longo dos mesmos gêneros literários. CONCLUSÃO: O uso de palavras de origem latina ou francesa em inglês é diretamente proporcional à complexidade do gênero literário, fenômeno não observado em português, uma língua neolatina típica. PALAVRAS CHAVE: Educação Médica, Linguagem Científica, Etimologia. Finally, the question proposed as the title of this article has a very definite and simple answer. It is possible to write English extensively, albeit imprecisely, using few or none of the borrowed words. The Christian Lord’s prayer is a fine example: it contains 48 words, of which only two are of Latin origin: the French “deliver us” can be easily replaced by the Germanic “free us”; “temptation” is a little more difficult: you would have to go all the way back to Old English to find a good equivalent Germanic word: “costnung”; unfortunately, nobody except Old English scholars would know that “costnung” means “temptation”. Inversely, as noted above, it is virtually impossible to write a proper phrase in English using only borrowed words. The core of any language is contained in its crucial sentence-forming words (prepositions, conjunctions, articles, auxiliary verbs), all of the irregular verbs and the most common regular ones. All of this comes from the original Anglo-Saxon base. Thus, English is definitely not a Latin, nor a French language in disguise: it is a Germanic language, of the Anglian sub-family. To conclude, a word about the relevance of this study in terms of how-to-write a good English medical text. The following is especially true if you are a native speaker of any of the Neo-Latin languages. Some points are essential: (a) roughly 50% of your finished text will be of Latin origin and will consequently contain true cognates to your native language; (b) roughly 30% will be the crucial all-Germanic sentence-forming words (prepositions, conjunctions, articles, auxiliary verbs); prepositions are complicated and you must work hard to avoid mistakes; the other categories behave in a manner similar to your own native speak; (c) roughly 20% will be Anglo-Saxon words (all the irregular and most of the regular verbs, pronouns, nouns, adjectives, adverbs): irregular verbs must be learnt by heart, but all else poses little or no problems. ■ CONFLICT OF INTEREST The author reports no conflict of interest regarding this study. ESCREVER CIÊNCIA COM QUALIDADE: SERIA O INGLÊS CIENTÍFICO UMA LÍNGUA LATINA DISFARÇADA? CONTEXTO: o inglês é a língua franca da ciência; é a língua das duas mais recentes superpotências mundiais e a língua de quatro dos dez maiores produtores de ciência do mundo; é uma língua bastante simples e o idioma mais hibridizado da história, com o latim e o francês contribuindo com aproximadamente 60% do léxico inglês. See also article: A comment on “Writing Good English: Is scientific English a Latin Language in Disguise?”. Available from: http://www.medicalexpress.net.br/ details/321/a-comment-on--writing-good-english--is- scientific-english-a-latin-language-in-disguise-- ■ REFERENCES 1. Scimago Journal and country rank: www.scimagojr.com, assessed on November 15, 2017, 2017 in http://scimagojr.com/countryrank.ph p?year=2016&order=itp&ord=desc 2. Finkenstaedt T, Dieter W. Ordered profusion; studies in dictionaries and the English lexicon. C. Winter. Heidelberg. 1973. ISBN 3-533- 02253-6 3. Williams JM. Origins of the English Language. A social and linguistic history. 1986. Free Press. ISBN 0029344700 4. Cioranescu A. Diccionário etimologico rumano. 1966 Gelos, Madrid. 5. Chaucer J. Canterbury Tales; the prologue circa 1400. Translated into modern English by the author. 6. SciELO, Scientific Electronic Library Online: www.scielo.br, assessed on November 10 - 20 7. Engel J. Assessed on November 30, 2017 in https://www.quora.com/ If-60-of-English-vocabulary-is-Latin-based-why-is-it-considered-a- Germanic-language 8. Radici R. Assessed November 30, 2017 in 1. https://www.quora. com/How-many-words-in-German-borrowed-from-Latin http://www.medicalexpress.net.br/details/321/a-comment-on--writing-good-english--is-scientific-english-a-latin-language-in-disguise-- http://www.medicalexpress.net.br/details/321/a-comment-on--writing-good-english--is-scientific-english-a-latin-language-in-disguise-- http://www.medicalexpress.net.br/details/321/a-comment-on--writing-good-english--is-scientific-english-a-latin-language-in-disguise-- http://www.medicalexpress.net.br/details/321/a-comment-on--writing-good-english--is-scientific-english-a-latin-language-in-disguise-- http://www.medicalexpress.net.br/details/321/a-comment-on--writing-good-english--is-scientific-english-a-latin-language-in-disguise-- _GoBack 
work_wdvgkekmajgmdkc2xanxxesfny	----	Microsoft Word - editoriale.doc AlmaTourism  Special  Issue  N.  4,  2015:  Editoriale             almatourism.unibo.it  ISSN  2036-­‐5195     I   EDITORIAL   Enrico  Nicosia,  Fiorella  Dallari         Almatourism   continues   with   this   fourth   special   issue   to   offer   its   support   to   conferences,  events,  projects  and  associations  devoted  to  tourism  and  its  cross-­‐ fertilization.  Film-­‐induced  tourism  is  the  topic  of  the  first    edition  for  2015  (  two   special  issues  in  addition  to  half-­‐yearly  issues).   This   issue   edited   by   Enrico   Nicosia,   researcher   in   Geography,   Department   of   Education,  Cultural  Heritage  and  Tourism  -­‐  University  of  Macerata,  collects  17   essays   by   27   authors   among   national   and   foreign   academic   researchers   (University   of   Santiago   de   Compostela,   Kodolanyi   Janos   University   of   Applied   Sciences   in   Hungary,   Ashland   University   and   Arizona   State   University   in   the   United  States,  La  Trobe  University  in  Australia),  and  professionals.     The  tourism  industry  is  characterized  by  a  cross-­‐fertilization  that  resonates  with   other   areas   and   creates   interdependencies.   For   this   reason,   tourism   can   become  the  engine  of  the  local  economy  and  the  synergy  between  tourism  and   culture   can   prove   to   become   a   winning   combination.   The   need   for   diversification   and   personalization   has   priority.   The   tourists,   through   the   interaction   between   use   and   experience,   become   themselves   actors   that   can   generate  territorial  value.  It  follows  that  the  tourist  market  should  be  managed   in   an   innovative   way.   The   new   movietourist   approach   intends,   therefore,   to   identifier   hidden   needs   in   the   movements   of   the   new   tourist.   Stimulated   by   images   conveyed   in   a   non-­‐tourist   context,   he/she   becomes   interested   in   the   location  shown.   The  pioneering  studies  on  the  subject  were  published  by  Cohen  in  1986,  Butler   in  1990  and  later  Riley,  Baker  and  Van  Doren  who  in  the  90’s,  published  some   interesting  results.  Investigations  in  this  field  of  academic  research,  proceeded   slowly,  although  in  2005  Sue  Beeton,  as  Australian  scholar  at  the  University  of   La  Trobe,  provided  a  significant  contribution  to  the  advancement  of  the  studies   that  analyze  this  particular  tourist  experience,  through  hes  work  Film  Induced   Tourism.  In  Italy    we  started  talking  about  film  tourism  when  these  occasional   and   niche   flows   have   become   important   opportunities   for   the   revival   of   the   tourism  sector  in  those  places  in  which  were  carried  out  the  filming  of  movies  or   TV  series,  as  happened  in  Piedmont,  thanks  to  TV  fiction  Elisa  di  Rivombrosa,  in   Umbria   with   the   TV   series   Don   Matteo   and   Sicily   with   the   episodes   of   Commissario   Montalbano,   based   on   the   novels   of   the   writer   Camilleri   and   recently  in  Cilento,  Castellabate,  after  the  success  of  Benvenuti  al  Sud.   The  Italian  definition  of  film  tourism  differs  somewhat  from  that  of  the  Anglo-­‐ Saxon  Movie  or  Film  Induced  Tourism,  but,  even  if  it  is  inspired  to  it,  refers  to   the  relationship  between  film  products  and  tourist  product,  which  can  occur:  in   AlmaTourism  Special  Issue  N.  4,  2015:  Editoriale             almatourism.unibo.it  ISSN  2036-­‐5195     II the  search  for  information  about  the  location,  during  the  vision  of  a  film  and  in   the   purchase   of   a   tourist   product.   The   film-­‐induced   tourism   is   defined   by   Beeton   as   "visitation   to   sites   where   movies   and   TV   Programmes   have   been   filmed  as  well  as  to  tour  to  production  studios,  including  movie-­‐related  theme   parks   ...   .  what   is   it  of   interest   is  the  tourist  activity  associated  with  the  film   industry  "(Beeton  2005,  p.9),  while,  for  the  Scottish  Tourism  Board,  (1991)  as   "the   business   of   attracting   visitors   through   the   portrayal   of   the   place   or   a   place's  storylines  in  film,  video  and  television."  Moreover  Riley  and  Van  Doren   liken  the  film-­‐induced  tourism  to  Hallmark  events  as  defined  by  Ritchie:  "Major   one-­‐time   or   recurring   events   of   limited   duration   Primarily   developed   to   Enhance  the  awareness,  appeal  and  profitability  of  a  destination   in  the  short   and  /  or  long  term.  These  events  rely  For  Their  success  on  uniqueness,  status,  or   timely  significance  to  create  interest  and  attract  attention  "(Ritchie,  cit.  In  Riley   &  Van  Doren,  1992,  p.  268).  Grenier,  however,  stressed  that  the  "cinétourisme   comprend  aussi  des  célébrités  the  workship.  Décédées  même,  les  Personalities   du  cinéma,  comme  de  la  musique  du  monde  ou  politique  de  continuent  susciter   the  intérêt  du  public,  et  en  particulier  des  fans  here  souhaitent  if  recueillir  sur  la   pierre  de  ces   icônes  tombstone,  surtout   lorsque  emportées  prématurément  -­‐   Marilyn  Monroe,  James  Dean,  George  Reeves,  Farrah  Fawcett,  etc.  "(Grenier,   2011,  p.  80).     The   essays   are   overall   very   different   case   studies   with   destinations   and   locations,  as  places  or  “placesseness”,  such  as  :  the  Way  of  St.  James  or  Camino   de  Santiago,  one  of  the  most  historical  and  relevant  European  cultural  routes,   Budapest,   Malta   and   the   Fårö   Island,   Marche   and   Basilicata   regions,   the   cityscape   of   Naples,   Sicily   and     Marzamemi,   and   the   American   perception   of   Sicily.     You   can   see   the   tourism   generated   by   the   television   period   drama   as   "Downton  Abbey"  in  Highclere  Castle  and  the  village  of  Bampton  in  Oxfordshire,   or   the   film-­‐reinduced   tourism   by   the   numerous   movies   (1923-­‐2012)   devoted   the  Hatfield-­‐McCoy  Feud.  Thus  the  fan  culture  studies  posits  a  cross  disciplinary   approach   using   fan   studies   to   inform   tourism   research,   as   in   the   case   of   “Shawshank   Trail”   or   the   adaptation-­‐induced   Tourism   for   consumers   of   literature  on  screen,  as  in  the  case  of  the  experience  of  Jane  Austen  fans.   In  a  broader  and  deeper  geopolitical  vision,  as  shown  by  some  authors,  thanks   to  many  movies  and  audiovisual  works,  the  film-­‐induced  tourism  can  be  one  of   the  possible  ways  to  enhance  European  visibility,  its  entirety  rather  than  a  set  of   destinations.   This   can   encourage   cooperation   between   the   Member   States   especially   in   creating   and   developing   trans-­‐border   thematic   tourist   products   and   experiences.   The   same   is   true   for   various   representations   of   social   life,   including   the   poverty   and   degradation   of   the   poorest   urban   areas   of   the   developing  world  stimulating  awareness  and  social  engagement  for  responsible   film-­‐induced  tourism.   AlmaTourism  Special  Issue  N.  4,  2015:  Editoriale             almatourism.unibo.it  ISSN  2036-­‐5195     III This  phenomenon  has  seen  appreciable  growth  and  represents  a  considerable   opportunity  for  many  communities  to  use  filming  locations,  as    seen  in  popular   movies  and/or  television  to  draw  additional  visitors  and  potential  new  tourists   (children   in   cartoons-­‐induced   tourism?).   In   recent   times,   film   tourism   has   become  one  of  the  fastest-­‐growing  tourism  niches  in  the  world.         
work_wl3ewtoanrh4davoreq3ltlzli	----	Microsoft Word - MET2006_3.doc KULTURA I MOĆ 289 UDK: 1 Said, E. 130.2(4:5):325.3 82.09:130.2 Pregledni rad Primljeno: 07. 09. 2006. Prihvaćeno: 22. 09. 2006. RANKA JEKNIĆ Katedra za sociologiju Pravnoga fakulteta Sveučilišta u Splitu, Split ranka.jeknic@st.t-com.hr Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada u djelu Edwarda W. Saida SAŽETAK U radu se prikazuju osnovne ideje i stajališta Edwarda W. Saida o odnosu kulture i imperija- lizma te povezanosti zapadne kulture s oblikovanjem imperijalizma. U tom se smislu posebna pozor- nost posvećuje njegovu tumačenju romana kao konstrukcije geopolitičke stvarnosti i njegovu istraži- vanju osobina »imperijalizma« kakve je pronašao u djelima engleskih i francuskih književnika poput Jane Austen, Rudyarda Kiplinga, Josepha Conrada i Alberta Camusa, ilustrirajući način na koji je roman kao umjetnički oblik sudjelovao u kulturnoj konstrukciji kolonijalizma. Tekst se nadalje bavi drugom velikom Saidovom temom, koja otkriva da su »kulturni imperijalizam«, »orijentalizam« i »krivotvorenje islama« nažalost i dalje aktualne teme. Posebna pozornost posvećena je Saidovu de- mistificiranju suprotstavljanja Mi i Oni, ili Zapad i Drugi na primjeru odnosa Zapada i Islama. U nji- hovoj pozadini stoje nejednaki odnosi moći, kao i moći i znanja, a na to nas posebno upozoravaju »antisistemski pokreti« i »postkolonijalni diskurs« uopće. KLJUČNE RIJEČI: Edward W. Said, kultura, imperijalizam, kolonijalizam, postkolonijalni diskurs, »orijentalizam«, »krivotvorenje islama« 1. Uvod Polazeći od pitanja zašto smo za rad na temu kulture i imperijalizma odabrali na- vedenog autora, a ne nekog drugog, u nastavku ćemo se dotaknuti nekih od motiva za odabir navedene teme. Naime, već iz samog naslova rada uočavamo da su pojmovi kul- ture i imperijalizma ključni, no ovdje se njima nećemo baviti kao zasebnim cjelinama, što su već činili razni autori stavljajući naglasak uglavnom na ekonomske ili političke dimenzije imperijalizma. Cilj nam je prikazati i razmotriti teorijske poglede Edwarda Saida, koji je velik dio svoga opusa posvetio upravo demistificiranju i istraživanju od- nosa između kulture i imperijalizma.1 Stoga je za razumijevanje Saidova specifičnog prinosa razumijevanju tih pojmova nužno u uvodu se dotaknuti njegovih određenja tih 1 Teorijsko-povijesnom analizom imperijalizma bavili su se mnogi autori, poput Rose Luxemburg, Schumpetera, Hannah Arendt, a u novije vrijeme Paul Kennedy, Walter LeFeber, Noam Chomski itd. Me- đutim, neovisno o razlikama u njihovim pogledima, oni su se pretežno ili isključivo bavili ekonomskim i političkim aspektima imperijalizma, ne posvećujući gotovo nikakvu pozornost kulturi, koja je prema Saidu odigrala povlaštenu ulogu u modernome imperijalnom iskustvu (Said, 2002; Kalanj, 2001). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 290 osnovnih pojmova, kako bismo ih doveli u vezu te naposljetku pokazali što je kvalita- tivno novo Said ponudio u njihovu definiranju i razumijevanju te kako je to učinio. Edward W. Said (1935.–2003.) autor je i znanstvenik čiji je autorski opus dobro poznat u akademskim krugovima, prije svega teoretičarima književnosti, sociolozima, društvenim znanstvenicima koji se bave Bliskim istokom, multikulturalizmom, inter- kulturalizmom itd. Podrijetlom Palestinac, rođen je 1935. u Jeruzalemu. Godine 1947. bio je prisiljen s obitelji izbjeći u Kairo, gdje se obrazovao u britanskim školama i kole- džima; 1950. odlazi u SAD, gdje je diplomirao i magistrirao na Princetonu te doktori- rao na Harvardu, nakon čega je radio kao američki profesor komparativne književnosti na Sveučilištu Columbia.2 Upravo je te podatke Said u svojim djelima isticao kao bitne činjenice, jer je odrastao kao Arapin sa zapadnjačkim obrazovanjem i »oduvijek osje- ćao da je pripadnik oba svijeta, a da pritom nikada nije potpuno pripadao samo jed- nom« (Said, 2002: 33). Posebno se to pokazalo mučnim kada je Amerika povela impe- rijalistički rat protiv kultura i društava arapskoga svijeta (Said, 2002). Ne treba posebno naglašavati da je Saidovo »pripadanje« objema stranama uvelike utjecalo i na odabir, tumačenje i demistificiranje tema kojima se bavio. Za sobom je ostavio bogat opus da- nas nezaobilaznih djela za sve one kojima je predmet interesa društvo i kultura.3 U nji- ma se Said bavi širokim spektrom tema. Mi ćemo izdvojiti dvije, međusobno povezane, koje ćemo radi jasnijeg izlaganja ovdje napose razmatrati. Obje oblikuju temu iz naslo- va rada, a pod zajedničkim nazivnikom postkolonijalnoga diskursa Edwarda W. Saida. Prva velika tema koju ćemo u radu analizirati, a kojoj je Said posvetio i knjigu pod na- slovom Kultura i imperijalizam,4 jest odnos kulture i imperijalizma, odnosno poveza- nost zapadne kulture s oblikovanjem imperijalizma, pri čemu ćemo se posebno zadržati na njegovu tumačenju romana kao konstrukcije geopolitičke stvarnosti te pokušati ilu- strirati Saidovo istraživanje načina na koji je roman kao umjetnički oblik sudjelovao u kulturnoj konstrukciji kolonijalizma, kao i načina na koji je utjecao na stavove o kolo- niziranoj periferiji. Nakon toga postavit ćemo okvir razumijevanja druge velike teme, 2 Biografski podaci preuzeti iz članka B. Romić (2003). 3 Tek nakon njegove smrti valorizacija njegova rada kod nas je postala nešto prisutnija, a o tome da je nje- gova vrijednost tek nedavno »otkrivena« u Hrvatskoj, najbolje svjedoči mali broj prevedenih djela iz boga- tog autorova opusa: Orijentalizam (Zagreb, 1999.), Krivotvorenje islama: kako mediji i stručnjaci određuju način na koji vidimo ostatak svijeta (Zagreb, 2003.). Knjiga Covering Islam: How the Media and the Ex- perts Determine How We See the Rest of the World (1981.) treća je u nizu Saidovih knjiga u kojima progo- vara o suvremenom odnosu između islamskog, arapskog svijeta, odnosno Istoka na jednoj strani i Zapada na drugoj strani; prva je knjiga Orientalism (1978.), a druga je The Question of Palestine (1979.) (Said, 2003: xxxix). Posljednja prevedena knjiga kod nas je Od Osla do Iraka, auto-karta u prilogu (Zagreb, 2005.). Osim toga, nekoliko je članaka prevedenih u časopisima Treći program Hrvatskog radija i Književ- na smotra, a u povodu njegove smrti i u Reviji za sociologiju, studentskom časopisu Diskrepancija, dvo- tjedniku Zarez itd. 4 Otprilike pet godina nakon objavljivanja Orijentalizma 1978., Said je počeo prikupljati ideje i podatke o općim odnosima između kulture i imperija, i kao rezultat tog rada nastao je niz predavanja održanih 1985. i 1986. na sveučilištima širom SAD-a, Kanade i Engleske, koja su osnova knjige Culture and Imperialism (1993.). U želji da proširi argumente iz Orijentalizma i postavi širi obrazac odnosa između modernoga metropolskog Zapada i njegovih prekomorskih teritorija, kao teorijsku građu koristi europske zapise o Africi, Indiji, dije- lovima Dalekog istoka, Australiji i Karibima, odnosno upotrebljava »afrikanističke i indološke diskurse« koje promatra »kao dio općeeuropske težnje da se vlada dalekim prostorima i narodima« (Said, 2002: 9). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 291 koja zapravo dokazuje kako su »kulturni imperijalizam«, »orijentalizam« i »krivotvore- nje islama« i dalje aktualne teme, što ćemo ilustrirati primjerima iz Saidovih djela Ori- jentalizam te Krivotvorenje islama. U njima, naime, Said progovara o suvremenom odnosu između islamskoga, arapskog svijeta, odnosno Istoka na jednoj strani i Zapada, odnosno Francuske, Velike Britanije i posebno SAD-a na drugoj strani. Zadržat ćemo se na njegovu demistificiranju odnosa Mi i Oni kao nasljeđu imperijalizma. 2. Određenje osnovnih pojmova Prema Saidu, »kultura«5 je riječ koja znači dvije stvari: »Prvo, ona obuhvaća sva ona područja, poput vještine deskripcije, komunikacije i reprezentacije, koja su donekle neovisna o ekonomskom, društvenom i političkom području, i uglavnom postoje u um- jetničkim oblicima kojima je zadovoljstvo jedan od glavnih ciljeva« (Said, 2002: 10). U to spadaju i narodne predaje o dalekim svjetskim krajevima, jednako kao i stručna znanja primjerice etnografije ili sociologije (Said, 2002). S obzirom da ćemo se u po- sebnom poglavlju osvrnuti na Saidovo tretiranje romana kao onoga kulturnog oblika koji je prema njegovu mišljenju imao veliku važnost za stvaranje imperijalnih gledišta i pogleda, valja naglasiti da se autor u tom kontekstu posebno zadržao na modernom im- perijalizmu Zapada devetnaestoga i dvadesetog stoljeća. Dakako, Said ne smatra da je samo roman bio važan, ali on je »ono estetsko djelo čija je veza s ekspanzivnim društvi- ma Britanije i Francuske posebno zanimljiva za proučavanje. Prototip modernog europ- skog romana je Robinson Crusoe, a svakako nije slučajno što je tu riječ o jednom Eu- ropljaninu koji za sebe stvara feudalno imanje na nekom dalekom, neeuropskom oto- ku« (Said, 2002: 11). U tom kontekstu Said ističe koliko se malo pozornosti posvećuje položaju i moći pripovijedanja u povijesti i svijetu imperija, odnosno ističe svoju ključ- nu argumentaciju da su upravo priče u središtu svega onoga što su istraživači i pisci govorili o stranim i dalekim svjetskim krajevima, te da su osim toga one postale i meto- dom kojom kolonizirani narodi potvrđuju svoj identitet i postojanje vlastite povijesti (Said, 2002: 11). Naime, nije sporno da se glavna bitka u imperijalizmu »vodi oko zemlje, ali kad je dolazilo do toga tko posjeduje zemlju, tko ima pravo na njoj se na- staniti, obrađivati je, tko je održava, tko ju je ponovno osvojio i tko sada određuje njenu budućnost – onda vidimo da su se sve ove teme još ranije promišljale i preispitivale u pripovijesti, gdje se o njima već neko vrijeme čak i odlučivalo« (Said, 2002: 11). Dakle, za odnos kulture i imperijalizma6 veoma je značajna upravo ta moć pripovijedanja, od- nosno moć blokiranja nastanka drugačijih pripovijesti (Said, 2002). 5 Saidovo određenje kulture kao načina života ljudi na tragu je starog antropološkog određenja kulture kak- vo nalazimo u poznatoj Tylorovoj definiciji kulture kao složene cjeline koja »uključuje znanje, vjerovanje, umjetnost, moral, zakon, običaj i sve druge sposobnosti i navike čovjeka kao člana društva« (prema Eag- leton, 2002: 46). Saidovo je definiranje kulture dakako oslobođeno tradicionalnoga antropološkog eurocen- tričnog i evolucionističkog pogleda na tzv. »primitivne kulture«, koji je u konačnici »kolonijalistički«, a slično određenje kulture kao načina života ljudi nalazimo i kod Raymonda Williamsa, koji »nudi četiri različita značenja kulture: kao pojedinačna duhovna navika; kao stanje intelektualnog napretka društva u cijelosti; kao umjetnosti; kao cjelokupni način života skupine ljudi« (Eagleton, 2002: 47). 6 Terminom »imperijalizam« Said se koristi kako bi naglasio »praksu, teoriju i stav dominantnog metropol- skog središta koje vlada udaljenim teritorijima«, a »imperij je formalni ili neformalni odnos u kojem jedna Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 292 Drugo Saidovo određenje pojma kulture jest njezino gotovo neprimjetno odre- đenje kao koncepta koji uključuje »uzvišeni element« poput »skladišta onog najboljeg znanja i mišljenja svakog društva« (Said, 2002: 12). S vremenom ona postaje veza s nacijom ili državom i »odvaja 'nas' od 'njih', i to gotovo uvijek s dozom ksenofobije« (Said, 2002: 12). Na taj način shvaćena kultura postaje izvorom identiteta, što Said po- vezuje s raznim netolerantnim, ksenofobičnim, nacionalističkim »vraćanjima tradiciji«, a s pomoću toga kultura postaje »nekom vrstom pozornice na kojoj se različiti politički i ideološki ciljevi uzajamno potiču« (Said, 2002: 12). Kultura tada postaje »bojno po- lje«7 na kojemu se suprotstavljeni politički ciljevi sukobljavaju (Said, 2002). Poteškoće u toj ideji kulture Said ilustrira primjerom američkih ili francuskih studenata koji su naučeni čitati »svoje klasike« i »slaviti svoju naciju i tradiciju« dok poštovanje svoje kulture ne uključuje i poštovanje »tuđe«, nego se često omalovažava, pa čak i napada (Said, 2002). Zbog toga u humanističkim znanostima nastaje ne-bavljenje temama po- put »ropstva, kolonijalističkog i rasističkog ugnjetavanja i imperijalnog podčinjavanja, na jednoj strani, i poezije, književnosti i filozofije društava u kojima takve okrutnosti po- stoje« (Said, 2002: 13). Said tako ističe da je vrlo malo britanskih ili francuskih umjet- nika kojima se divio dovodilo u pitanje ideje o »podređenim« ili »inferiornim« rasama, kao ideje onih koji su upravljali Indijom ili Alžirom te ih provodili u praksi kao nešto samo po sebi razumljivo (Said, 2002). To su, naime, bile općeprihvaćene ideje i one su, kako kaže, tijekom čitava devetnaestoga stoljeća poticale imperijalno osvajanje terito- rija u Africi. I dok čitamo djela Josepha Conrada, Jane Austen, Rudyarda Kiplinga ili Alberta Camusa, o kojima će biti više govora u sljedećem poglavlju, valja se prisjetiti kolonijalne ekspanzije i imperijalizma, kao i tada vladajućih teorija o postojanju »infe- riornijih rasa«,8 teorija o »nigerima« i sličnim idejama toga vremena, što se nerijetko zanemaruje, a bitno je za razumijevanje tih romana (Said, 2002). Kao što smo spomenuli, empirijsko izvorište Saidovih analiza u Kulturi i imperi- jalizmu jest roman kao oblik europske kulture neraskidivo povezan s imperijalizmom. Said dakako ne tvrdi da je roman (ili kultura) »prouzročio« imperijalizam, nego smatra da su imperijalizam i roman, kao najmlađi književni oblik čije je pojavljivanje vezano uz Zapad, kulturni artefakti društva koji su ojačali jedan drugoga, pa je gotovo nemo- guće tumačiti roman a ne pozabaviti se na neki način i imperijalizmom i obrnuto (Said, 2002). Said čak zaključuje da »bez imperija uopće ne bi ni postojao europski roman ka- kav poznajemo danas« (Said, 2002: 149). Osim toga, ističe da je roman jedan kvazien- ciklopedijski kulturni oblik u kojemu postoji strogo reguliran mehanizam zapleta, ali i čitav sustav društvenih odnosa utemeljenih na postojećim institucijama buržoazijskoga država kontrolira stvarni politički suverenitet drugog političkog društva, a koji se može postići silom, poli- tičkom suradnjom, ekonomskom, društvenom ili kulturnom ovisnošću, ili kraće, imperijalizam je proces, odnosno politika stvaranja imperija i njegova održanja« (Said, 2002: 50). 7 Said je na tragu diskursa Michaela Foucaulta i drugih teoretičara moći, i književnost vidi kao polje na ko- jemu se može uočiti djelovanje političke moći, kao i političke i ideološke bitke oko nje (Said, 2002). 8 Valja imati na umu i ulogu društvenih znanosti tog vremena, kada je primjerice sociologija pod utjecajem G. Le Bona kao znanstvenu prihvatila teoriju rasnih tipova u kojoj Le Bon razlikuje primitivne, inferiorne, osrednje i superiorne rase, iz kojih je proizlazilo stajalište da domoroce i njihove zemlje ne treba promatrati kao »entitete« nego kao »posjede« itd. (Kalanj, 2001; Said, 2002). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 293 društva i njihovoj vlasti i moći (Said, 2002). Nadalje, proučavajući neke od najvećih metropolskih kultura unutar geografskih konteksta njihovih borbi za imperij, Said primjećuje »jasnu kulturnu topografiju«, kao način na koji se »strukture mjesta i geo- grafskih odnosa javljaju u kulturnim jezicima književnosti, historije ili etnografije, po- nekad aluzivno, ponekad jasno izloženo« (Said, 2002: 117). Djela koja Said analizira nisu međusobno povezana niti imaju veze sa službenom ideologijom »imperija«, ali među njima Said uočava strukture koje se ponavljaju, kako u britanskim tako i u francuskim i američkim romanima. Napominje da ne ulazi u to jesu li te strukture zapravo neka vrsta pripreme za imperijalno osvajanje, idu li samo usporedno s tim osvajanjima, ili možda na (ne)promišljen način predstavljaju posljedicu imperija, već se zadržava na konstata- ciji da su u zapadnim kulturama koje su najviše dominirale udaljenim prostorima up- ravo zapanjujuće učestale »geografske artikulacije« (Said, 2002: 118). Time smo se dotaknuli jednog od ključnih Saidovih termina, a to je pojam »kon- trapunktnog čitanja«, odnosno termin »contrapuntal analysis«, koji se oslanja na teoriju glazbe gdje označava »istodobno suzvučje« (Said, 2002). Mogućnost i potreba takva čitanja i analize jest u promatranju različitih iskustava koja tvore ono što Said naziva »preklapajućim teritorijima i isprepletenim povijestima«, a posebno »preklapanje« me- tropolskih i nekoć koloniziranih društava (Said, 2002: 65).9 Kontrapunktno čitanje su- protnost je »jednoglasnom« čitanju, odnosno ono je istodobno uzimanje u obzir onoga što se pripovijeda u Zapadnoj povijesti, kao i povijestima onih protiv kojih je usmjeren taj navedeni dominantni diskurs, ili kraće, obraćanje pozornosti i na imperijalizam i na otpor (Said, 2002: 116). »Kontrapunktnim« pristupom nemoguće je tumačiti engleski roman 19. stoljeća i onaj s početka 20. stoljeća, ignorirajući ili ne dotičući geopolitičku stvarnost toga vremena, odnosno kolonizaciju, otpor ili nacionalizam starosjedilačkog stanovništva (Said, 2002: 116). U tom kontekstu Said objašnjava zašto je snažan nagla- sak stavio baš na odnos romana i Engleske, odnosno istaknuo vezu modernoga britan- skog romana i Britanskoga Carstva, a ne nekog drugog. Naime, on ističe dominantnost britanskoga imperija,10 koji je proizvodio i održavao instituciju romana i u tome nije imao značajnijih europskih konkurenata s obzirom da mu je to Francuska postala tek nakon 1870., kada se sjeverna Afrika javila kao neka vrsta metropole u francuskoj kulturi, a dotad je roman u engleskome društvu dosegnuo slavu vodećega umjetničkog i intelek- tualnog oblika (Said, 2002). Drugi odgovor koji Said ističe odnosi se na samog tvorca romana. Naime, »biti engleski pisac značilo je nešto sasvim posebno i drugačije nego 9 Said poseže za prošlošću tretirajući je kao najčešću strategiju za tumačenje sadašnjosti i iznosi neke od či- njenica iz prošlosti: tijekom devetnaestoga stoljeća dotad neviđena količina moći bila je u rukama Britanije i Francuske, a tek kasnije se proširila i na SAD; bilo je to vrijeme vrhunca »uspona Zapada« i to je omogu- ćilo gomilanje teritorija i podanika u zadivljujućim razmjerima; npr. 1800. zapadne su sile polagale pravo na 55 % Zemljine površine, a u stvarnosti su držale oko 35 %; zatim su 1878. imale 67 %, što znači da se stopa rasta kretala i do 285.000 četvornih kilometara godišnje; do 1914. godišnja stopa popela se do 800.000 četvornih kilometara, a samo Europa pokrivala je sveukupno oko 85 % svjetske površine (Said, 2002: 47). 10 Primat britanskoga i francuskog imperija ne zasjenjuje ekspanziju drugih, međutim, one su Saidu zanim- ljive za analizu upravo zbog osvajanja dalekih i »primamljivih« teritorija koji su im bili tisućama kilometara udaljeni, odnosno ispitivanja kulturnih oblika i strukture osjećaja koje takva udaljenost proizvodi, kao i činjenice da je prekomorska dominacija bila svijet u kojemu je živio i odrastao (Said, 2002). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 294 biti, recimo, francuski ili portugalski. Za britanskog pisca je 'tuđina' nešto za što on ne- jasno i nezgrapno osjeća da je tamo negdje, da je egzotično i strano, nešto čime na ovaj ili onaj način 'mi' moramo gospodariti i u tome 'slobodno' trgovati, nešto što se mora ugušiti čim domoroci krenu u otvorenu vojnu ili političku pobunu. Roman je umno- gome pridonio ovakvim osjećajima, shvaćanjima i opisima, i tako postao osnovni ele- ment učvršćenog viđenja, ili pak 'kabinetskog' kulturološkog pogleda na čitav svijet« (Said, 2002: 156). Na kraju, potrebno je u kratkim crtama odrediti pojam »postkolonijalnoga dis- kursa«, koji objedinjuje navedene pojmove, a ujedno je i polazna točka za razumije- vanje Saidovih djela o kojima ćemo u nastavku pisati. Naime, njegova su djela repre- zentativna za »postkolonijalni diskurs« koji nadilazi tradicionalne teorije razvoja, kom- plementaran je globalizacijskome ozračju, a pojavljuje se »kao obnova kritičkog pro- mišljanja razvoja, nejednakosti, kulturnih razlika i odnosa među kulturama« i svoju no- vost temelji na »preispitivanju 'već' riješenih problema imperijalizma, kolonijalizma i kolonijalne baštine općenito« (Kalanj, 2001: 43). Prema Kalanju taj »postkolonijalni diskurs« osporava kolonijalističku viziju svijeta koja počiva na »binarnim podjelama« i naglašava da svijet nije »podijeljen u puko dvojstvo« ili suprotstavljene tabore, »već da ga tvore brojne, pojedinačne i promjenjive razlike« (Kalanj, 2001: 43). Radi boljeg raz- umijevanja Saidova specifičnog prinosa postkolonijalnom diskursu, 11 valja naglasiti dva temeljna stava postkolonijalne kritike. Prvi je stav osporavanje »estetskog univer- zalizma« kao univerzalnoga književnog kriterija procjenjivanja djela, zbog kojega se tzv. »bijela« eurocentrična norma nametnula kao univerzalni kriterij, promovirajući su- periornost svega onoga što se smatra Europom i europskom kulturom, ili superiornost Nas, nasuprot inferiornosti svih onih koji se u odnosu na to javljaju kao Drugi, ili kao Oni (Said, 2002). Postkolonijalni diskurs afirmira upravo tu »drugost« i nastoji srušiti stereotipe i stereotipne predodžbe o »drugima«. Drugi stav postkolonijalne kritike na tragu je Foucaultova dijagnosticiranja našeg vremena kao »epohe prostora«,12 za razli- ku od 19. stoljeća kao epohe povijesti, i odnosi se na rast »interpretativnog značaja pro- stora unutar kritičke društvene misli« (Grgas, 1996: 268). Postkolonijalni diskurs na- glašava prostornost13 kao činilac koji se mora uzeti u obzir prilikom povijesno-društve- nih analiza jer se i na području geografije eurocentrična norma nametnula kao univer- zalni kriterij, »razvlašćujući neeuropske 'intelektualne strukture'«, što ilustrira Saidov na- vod: »Crta se povlači između dva kontinenta. Europa je moćna i artikulirana. Azija je poražena i daleka« (Grgas, 1996: 269). U nastavku ćemo prikazati Saidovo »kontrapunktno iščitavanje« kanonskih djela zapadnoeuropske književnosti, s naglaskom na britanski roman i njegove veze s impe- 11 Nema dvojbe da je Said izvršio jedan od najznačajnijih utjecaja na postkolonijalnu kritiku knjigom Ori- jentalizam (1978.), koja se u hrvatskome prijevodu pojavila tek dvadeset godina poslije (1999.). 12 Prema Foucaultu povijest je bila velika opsesija devetnaestoga stoljeća, »s njegovim temama o razvoju i zastoju, krizama i ciklusima, o neprestance nakupljajućoj prošlosti s velikom prevagom mrtvih i prijetećim uleđenjem svijeta«, dok će današnja epoha biti poglavito epoha prostora (Foucault, 1996: 6). 13 Prostor prema Foucaultu »u zapadnjačkom iskustvu ima vlastitu povijest« i stoga je »nemoguće zanema- riti kobno sjecište vremena i prostora« (Foucault, 1996: 6). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 295 rijalizmom Britanskoga Carstva, kroz djela Josepha Conrada, Jane Austen i Rudyarda Kiplinga i francuskoga imperijalnog iskustva kroz djelo Alberta Camusa. Uzimajući u obzir Saidovo razumijevanje »onoga što se odigrava u to vrijeme«, nećemo ulaziti u is- crpne prikaze sadržaja navedenih romana. Naime, na tragu onih autora koji zastupaju »tezu o bitnoj samosvojnosti, samostalnosti i autonomnosti stvaralaštva i bića umjet- nosti, ali jednako tako i njihovoj povijesno-društvenoj, kulturalnoj i humanoj posredo- vanosti«, zadržat ćemo se samo na onim elementima Saidove analize koji su u okviri- ma sociologije umjetnosti, odnosno onima koji roman kao umjetničko stvaranje pove- zuju s društveno-povijesnim uvjetima te društveno-povijesnim značenjem i funkcijom romana kao umjetničke tvorbe koja je imala veliku važnost za stvaranje imperijalnih gledišta i pogleda (Skledar, 1996: 972). To su elementi koji ilustriraju na koji se način »društveni bitak iskazuje u umjetničkom djelu kao uvjetujući, ali i kao njegov konstitu- tivni moment«, odnosno na koji je način zapadni imperijalizam prisutan u romanu kao njegov uvjetujući i konstitutivni element (Mikecin, 1985: 1). 3. Roman kao posrednik geopolitičke stvarnosti Prvi u nizu Saidova »kontrapunktnog iščitavanja« romana zapadnoeuropske knji- ževnosti u knjizi Kultura i imperijalizam djelo je Srce tame14 engleskoga književnika Josepha Conrada (1857.–1924.), pisano između 1898. i 1899. Priča romana smještena je na palubu broda usidrenog na Temzi, na kojemu stari pomorac Marlow okupljenim pri- jateljima pripovijeda o putovanju u središte neistraženoga kontinenta, o svojim doživ- ljajima u Africi i putovanju rijekom Kongo u srce džungle (Said, 2002). Radnja se do- gađa u Africi i prikazuje kolonijalno ugnjetavanje i pljačku, o kojima pripovijeda Mar- low, koji je u središtu priče i koji putuje u unutrašnjost Afrike gospodinu Kurtzu, ok- rutnu upravitelju »Unutrašnje postaje« kojeg se domoroci boje i daruju mu gomile slo- novače, što ga čini najuspješnijim bijelcem na tom području (Said, 2002). U kontekstu Kurtzove »pljačkaške avanture«, Marlowova puta uz rijeku i same pripovijesti koja progovara o »imperijalnoj vlasti, vlasti bijelih Europljana nad crnim Afrikancima, nad njihovom slonovačom« te o »vlasti civiliziranih nad primitivnim tamnim kontinentom«, Said iz Conradova romana izdvaja dva moguća zaključka, odnosno dvije vizije u post- kolonijalnom svijetu nakon Conradova vremena (Said, 2002: 82). Prvi je pretvaranje svijeta u službenu sliku kakvu je imao europski, odnosno zapadni imperijalizam, što ilustrira bahatom tvrdnjom američkoga intelektualca: »Pokaži mi Zulu Tolstoja« (Said, 2002: 75). Drugi zaključak odnosi se na Conradovu nemogućnost zamišljanja alternati- ve imperijalizmu, s obzirom na njegovo tretiranje afričkih, azijskih ili američkih urođe- nika kao onih koji nisu u mogućnosti ostvariti nezavisnost, što je određeno shvaćanjem europskoga tutorstva kao datosti, bez kojega i nakon kojega Conrad nije mogao predvi- djeti što će se dogoditi (Said, 2002). Na kraju romana Conrad shvaća da se »tami« mo- 14 Said izdvaja sljedeći citat iz Srca tame: »Osvajanje tuđe zemlje, što najčešće znači otimačinu od onih sa drugačijom bojom kože ili nešto plosnatijim nosovima – nije baš neka ljepota kad se malo bolje pogleda. Tu otimačinu opravdava jedino ideja. Ideja što stoji u njenoj pozadini; ne čak ni sentimentalna pompa, već samo ideja; i nesebična vjera u ideju – u nešto što ćemo podići na pijedestal, čemu ćemo se do zemlje pokloniti i prinijeti žrtvu« (Said, 2002: 8). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 296 ra priznati nezavisnost i to kroz lik Kurtza, koji to prihvaća na samrti, i Marlowa, koji se sjeća Kurtzovih posljednjih riječi, i utoliko su oba lika otišla ispred svog vremena shvaćajući da to što oni nazivaju »tamom« ima svoju autonomiju, ali s druge strane oni su istodobno i ljudi svojega vremena jer nisu mogli shvatiti da to što oni smatraju »ne- europskom tamom« predstavlja jedan neeuropski svijet koji se opire imperijalizmu ka- ko bi jednoga dana imao svoju nezavisnost i suverenitet, a ne, kako navodi Conrad, »da bi ponovno uspostavili tamu« (Said, 2002: 83). U tome Said vidi Conradovo tragično ograničenje, kao ograničenje čovjeka svoga vremena. Autor kojega Said s uvažavanjem citira u još radikalnijoj kritici Conrada i njego- va djela jest Nigerijac Chinua Achebe, pisac koji je svojim književnim djelom i kritič- kim idejama posebno pridonio usvajanju postkolonijalnoga diskursa, a prema kojemu je Conrad »rasist koji starosjedioce Afrike nije promatrao kao ljude« (Said, 2002: 302). Afrikanci su, naime, u Conradovu djelu prikazani kao divljaci koji žive u »tami«, u ne- kakvoj »zoni sumraka«, između barbarstva i civilizacije, pa Achebe kao središnju temu u svojim romanima, pjesmama, kratkim pričama i esejima ističe potrebu razračunava- nja s afričkom poviješću imperijalizma i kolonijalizma te ispravljanja negativne koloni- jalističke slike o Africi i bavljenja utjecajima kolonizacije na afričko društvo (Ulrich, 2002). U tom smislu bitno je naglasiti da je njegov prvi roman Things Fall Apart (1958.) zapravo prva knjiga koja govori o europskoj kolonizaciji iz afričke perspektive i smatra se prekretnicom u afričkoj književnosti, s obzirom na to da su prije Achebeova romana o tzv. »tamnom kontinentu« pisali samo zapadnjački autori, koji su Afriku opisivali koristeći se nemilosrdnim stereotipima (Ulrich, 2002). Drugi u nizu britanskih romana koje Said analizira u kontekstu odnosa između »kulture i imperija«, a ističe kao »savršen primjer« ovisnosti metropolske ekonomije o prekomorskim teritorijima, roman je engleske književnice Jane Austen (1775.–1817.) Mansfield park (1814.). Naime, u tom romanu, koji je nastao prije »otimačine oko Afrike«15 i službenoga imperijalizma, Jane Austen progovara o zbivanjima na jednom plemićkom imanju u Engleskoj, te usput napominje kako je glavni junak Sir Thomas Bertram u stanju održavati svoj posjed zahvaljujući robovlasničkoj plantaži koju ima u Antigui na Karibima. Na osnovi te robovlasničke plantaže Said uspostavlja novu »mo- ralnu geografiju« romana, postavljajući Jane Austen na početak one linije u engleskoj književnosti koja vodi do Conrada i Kiplinga, u čijim se djelima otvoreno uspostavlja kolonijalna perspektiva i »geografsko upisivanje, teorijsko mapiranje i iscrtavanje teri- torija«, kao i hijerarhizacija prostora zbog koje su metropolsko središte i njegova eko- nomija shvaćani kao ovisni o prekomorskim teritorijima i njihovu ekonomskom izrab- ljivanju (Said, 2002: 127). Ilustrirajući navedeno, Said navodi i odlomak iz Načela političke ekonomije (1965. /1848./) liberala J. S. Milla: »Teško da se ovi (naši daleki posjedi) mogu smatrati zemljama... prije će oni biti daleka poljoprivredna ili proiz- vodna imanja koja pripadaju većoj zajednici. Naše kolonije na Zapadnoindijskim oto- cima, na primjer, ne mogu se smatrati zemljama s vlastitim proizvodnim kapitalom... (one su prije) mjesta na kojima je Engleskoj zgodno proizvoditi šećer, kavu i nekolici- nu drugih tropskih dobara...« (Said, 2002: 127). Uspoređujući Millovo tretiranje kolo- 15 Godina 1878. uzima se kao početna kada je u pitanju »otimačina« oko Afrike (Said, 2002). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 297 nija s usputnim crticama o Antigui u romanu Jane Austen, Said izvodi tri zaključka: prvi je »kako se svaki, pa čak i najusamljeniji engleski grad (Mansfield, na primjer), mora uzdržavati od prekomorskih teritorija«; drugi je vezan uz robovski rad na plan- tažama šećera (koji je ukinut tek tridesetih godina devetnaestoga stoljeća), odnosno Sir Thomasov posjed na Karibima, i treći je zaključak da obitelj Bertram ne bi ni postojala bez kolonijalne klase vlastelina i bez spomenutih plantaža šećera i trgovine robljem (Said, 2002: 180). Treći britanski roman koji Said analizira roman je engleskoga književnika Rud- yarda Kiplinga (1865.–1936.) Kim (1901.). Za razliku od Conradovih prikaza imperija- lizma koji su vezani uz Afriku u Srcu tame (1899.), južna mora u Lordu Jimu (1900.) i Južnu Ameriku u Nostromu (1904.), Kiplingovo najveće djelo usredotočuje se na Indiju, prostor kojim se Conrad nikada nije bavio (Said, 2002: 250). Za razliku od prije nave- denih autora, Kipling nije samo pisao o nekom prekomorskom teritoriju, on je bio rođen u Indiji, govorio je hindi, a u ranom djetinjstvu živio je slično samom sahibu (gospoda- ru) Kimu, liku u romanu, školovanje je završio u Engleskoj i u Indiju se vratio 1882. te radio u Punjabu kao novinar (Said, 2002). Indija je već krajem devetnaestoga stoljeća postala najkrupniji i najunosniji britanski posjed, pa stoga i ne čudi da je od trenutka prvoga britanskog pohoda na Indiju 1608., pa sve do odlaska posljednjega britanskog namjesnika 1947., Indija imala velik utjecaj na život u Britaniji (Said, 2002). Kim je ro- man koji donosi sliku indijskoga života i mozaičnu priču o Indiji, njezinim običajima, kulturi, ali i o bijelcima, Englezima, kao i priču o dječaku Kimballu O'Hari koji je siro- če bijelih roditelja i koji s kreposnim tibetanskim svećenikom luta Indijom te kasnije postaje dijelom plana Britanske tajne službe (Said, 2002). No, nećemo ulaziti u za- mršenu radnju samog romana, već ćemo ukazati na Saidovo »raščaravanje« orijentali- zirane Indije. Naime, kroz cijeli roman Said nalazi autorove komentare o »nepromjenji- voj prirodi istočnjačkog svijeta u odnosu na isto tako nepromjenjivi bijeli svijet. Tako npr. 'Kim laže kao Istočnjak'; ili nešto kasnije: 'svaki od dvadeset i četiri sata u danu za Istočnjaka je isti'«, ili: »istočnjački instinkt trgovaca«, zatim »pradavna azijska provi- zija« itd. (Said, 2002: 277). Drugi je važan lik glavna figura svjetovne vlasti, pukovnik Creighton, koji je etnograf16 i vojnik, a prema Saidu zasigurno lik kroz koji progova- raju osobna Kiplingova iskustva (Said, 2002). Tumačeći Kima treba imati na umu dvije stvari. Prva je da autor romana »ne piše samo s mjesta dominantnog gledišta bijelog čovjeka unutar jednog kolonijalnog posjeda, nego i iz perspektive glomaznog koloni- jalnog sistema čije su gospodarstvo, način rada i historija još ranije dosegnuli status go- tovo prirodne činjenice. Imperij je za Kiplinga neupitan« (Said, 2002: 253). Drugo što Said naglašava jest da je Kipling pripadao povijesti, ali je bio i veliki umjetnik, te da je sam roman pisan u trenutku kada su se odnosi između britanskoga i indijskog naroda mijenjali u korist sve otvorenijega indijskog otpora britanskoj vladavini (Indijski nacio- nalni kongres osnovan je 1885.), dok je unutar vladajuće kaste britanskih kolonijalnih dužnosnika došlo do značajnije promjene stava nakon pobune 1857. (Said, 2002: 253). 16 Kipling je prvi romanopisac koji je izravno u svom djelu povezao antropologiju kao modernu društvenu znanost i kolonijalizam, a na tu ideju cilja i Lévi-Straussova aluzija o antropologiji kao »sluškinji ko- lonijalizma«; na tom tragu Said se osvrće na povijesnu činjenicu da su često upravo antropolozi upoznavali kolonijalne vladare s navikama i običajima starosjedilaca (Said, 2002: 281). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 298 Četvrti i posljednji roman kojeg ćemo se u kratkim crtama dotaknuti roman je Alberta Camusa (1913.–1960.) Stranac (1942.), koji Said dovodi u vezu s »francuskim imperijalnim iskustvom«.17 Camus je rođen u Alžiru i živio je ondje u vrijeme kada je »Francuska u Alžiru stvarala svoju drugu Francusku«, najprije otimajući zemlju od sta- rosjedilaca, zatim otimajući im kuće, šume i nalazišta rude, te sustavno tjerajući Alžir- ce u bijedu i na marginu samog Alžira (Said, 2002: 311). U kontekstu takva »otetog« Alžira Said ukazuje na tri metodološki sporne točke o kojima treba voditi računa prili- kom čitanja Camusovih romana. Prvo je dovođenje u pitanje izbora geografskog ambi- jenta u romanima u kojima je radnja smještena u Alžir, kada se smatra da je riječ o Francuskoj uopće (osobito o Francuskoj pod nacističkom okupacijom), što Said tumači kao prikriveno opravdanje francuske vladavine ili kao ideološki pokušaj da se francus- ka vladavina i njezina stogodišnja prisutnost u Alžiru ovjekovječi (Said, 2002). Druga sporna točka tiče se vrste podataka nužne za pisanje djela, u pogledu kojih je Said osobito kritičan prema Camusu, koji je vjerovao da se ukorijenjenost kolonizatora mo- že spasiti i produljiti nakon 1960., što je godina njegove smrti, a povijest je krenula u drugom smjeru i dvije godine nakon toga Alžir je oslobođen od francuskog posjedo- vanja i svojatanja (Said, 2002). Treća sporna točka »za Camusove zgusnute tekstove« jest proučavanje detalja, i pritom strpljenje i upornost, pri čemu Said izdvaja nekoliko primjera, a mi ćemo spomenuti jedan od njih: »Meursault usmrćuje Arapina, ali taj Arapin nema ni imena ni povijesti, a o majci ili ocu da i ne govorimo« (Said, 2002: 318). Utoliko u Camusovim romanima Said čita i pronalazi ono čega u njima »nema« eks- plicitno, a to su pojedinosti francuskoga imperijalnog gospodarenja koje je počelo 1830. i nastavilo se kroz čitav Camusov život i njegova djela (Said, 2003). O tome najbolje svjedoči Camusova oštra politička izjava o Alžiru koju je iznio u jednom eseju, a koja sažima bit onoga što o Camusovim političkim stavovima treba znati: »A kada je riječ o Alžiru, tu je formula nacionalne nezavisnosti predvođena jedino strašću. Još nikad nije postojala nikakva alžirska nacija. Židovi, Turci, Grci, Talijani ili Berberi imaju isto to- liko prava da zahtijevaju upravu nad tom virtualnom nacijom. A kako stvari stoje, Ara- pi nisu jedini narod u Alžiru... Francuzi su također starosjedioci Alžira i to doslovno. Štoviše, čisto nacionalni arapski Alžir ne bi bio u stanju steći ekonomsku neovisnost bez koje političko oslobođenje nije ništa drugo do obična obmana. Bez obzira na nepri- mjerenost francuskog pothvata, njegovi su razmjeri toliki da se nijedna druga zemlja ne bi danas usudila preuzeti odgovornost« (Said, 2002: 324). Nakon upoznavanja s Camu- sovim političkim stavovima svjesniji smo njegovih ograničenja u pogledu svojatanja Alžira, ali i činjenice da nakon toga navedeno djelo nije moguće tretirati kao »izraz uni- verzalnosti slobodne ljudske egzistencije«, već istodobno u Strancu treba vidjeti »agen- ta tlačiteljske kulture«, a u Camusu – ne predstavnika »europske svijesti« nego »zapad- ne dominacije nad neeuropskim svijetom« (Kalanj, 2001: 53; Said, 2002). 17 Optiku francuskoga imperijalnog iskustva Said prikazuje i kroz ulogu znanostî poput sociologije (nadah- nute spominjanim G. Le Bonom), psihologije, povijesti i antropologije, koje su procvjetale nakon 1880., a mnoge i doživjele vrhunac na Međunarodnim kolonijalnim kongresima 1889. i 1894., primjerice na Među- narodnom kongresu kolonijalne sociologije 1890. ili na Kongresu etnografskih znanosti u Parizu 1920. (Said, 2002; Kalanj, 2001). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 299 U navedenim primjerima »kontrapunktnog iščitavanja« kanonskih djela zapad- noeuropske književnosti Said je prepoznao »retoričke figure koje se stalno ponavljaju u opisima 'tajanstvenog Istoka', kao i stereotipi o 'afričkom (ili indijskom, irskom, jamaj- čkom, kineskom) umu', predodžbe o tome kako se primitivnim ili barbarskim narodima donosi civilizacija«, o tome kako »oni« nisu kao »mi«, te »stoga zaslužuju da njima gospodarimo« itd. (Said, 2002: 10). Na sljedećim stranicama analizirat ćemo upravo tu temu, koju ćemo argumentirati primjerima iz Saidovih djela u kojima progovara o suvremenom odnosu između islamskoga, arapskog svijeta, odnosno Istoka na jednoj strani i Zapada, odnosno Francuske, Velike Britanije i posebno SAD-a na drugoj, i po- tvrđuje kako su »kulturni imperijalizam«, »orijentalizam« i »krivotvorenje islama« i dalje aktualne teme, koje nismo ostavili u kolonijalnoj prošlosti. 4. Mi i Oni – nasljeđe imperijalizma Već u uvodnim stranicama knjige Orijentalizam Said postavlja tezu o Orijentu kao gotovo »europskom izumu« koji »od starine bijaše mjesto romanse, egzotičnih bića, sjećanja i krajolika« itd., te o orijentalizmu kao europskom predstavljanju Orijenta (Said, 1999: 7). Pod pojmom orijentalizma Said podrazumijeva nekoliko stvari, a izdvaja sljedeće: prvo, sam pojam »orijentalizma« konotira s europskim kolonijalizmom; drugo, orijentalizam je način mišljenja utemeljen na razlici između »Orijenta« i »Okcidenta«18 i treće, orijentalizam se može tretirati kao »zapadni način da se dominira Orijentom, da ga se restrukturira i ima nad njime vlast« (Said, 1999: 9). Povezujući dalje svoje tuma- čenje orijentalizma kao kulturne i političke činjenice s Gramscijevim pojmom hegemo- nije, Saidovo tumačenje orijentalizma omogućava bolje razumijevanje načina kulturne dominacije i zaključak da je upravo tu na djelu »kulturna hegemonija« prema kojoj je »orijentalizam« proizvod kulture »Zapada« koja ga je proizvela takvim da je »više od- govarao kulturi koja ga je stvorila nego svojemu tobožnjem predmetu« (Said, 1999: 32). S obzirom na temu odnosa Mi i Oni bitno je naglasiti teze koje Said izdvaja o »orijentalnoj zaostalosti, degeneriranosti i neravnopravnosti s obzirom na Zapad«, koje uspoređuje s »idejama o biološkoj osnovi rasne nejednakosti«, u obliku »znanstvenih« podjela rasa na »napredne i zaostale« ili »Europljane-Arijce i Orijentalce-Afrikance«, o čemu je bilo govora krajem 19. stoljeća (Said, 1999: 267). U tim tipologijama o napred- nim i natražnim rasama, kulturama i društvima, Said nalazi osnovu imperijalizma, koji vodi ideja da te »necivilizirane« »napredne sile trebaju sebi pripojiti ili zauzeti« (Said, 1999: 267–268). Posljednja etapa orijentalizma, koja je obilježena američkom domina- cijom Orijenta, počinje od Drugoga svjetskog rata, a analizi te etape nakon 1973., Said je posvetio najviše pozornosti u knjizi Krivotvorenje islama, o kojoj će poslije biti više riječi. Zasad ćemo izdvojiti Saidov zaključak da iza svih tih predodžbi »vreba prijetnja džihada« i zaključak u obliku »bojazni« da će »muslimani (ili Arapi) zavladati svije- tom« (Said, 1999: 368). Na islam se pritom gleda kao na »monolitan, prijeziran prema 18 Said objašnjava pojam »Okcidenta« ili »Zapada« kroz dominaciju Britanije i Francuske nad Orijentom i orijentalizmom od početka 19. stoljeća do kraja Drugoga svjetskog rata, a nakon toga Amerika preuzima ulogu dominiranja Orijentom (Said, 1999: 10). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 300 običnom ljudskom iskustvu, induktivan, reduktivan, nepromjenjiv« (Said, 1999: 382). Odatle i zaključci »orijentalista« o islamu kao »prototipu zatvorenih društava«, uz su- gestiju da riječ islam »označuje istodobno i društvo, i vjeru i prototip i stvarnost«, a re- zultat je »zlonamjeran ideološki prikaz 'nas' i 'njih'« (Said, 1999: 383). Said dalje za- ključuje da knjige i članci o islamu i Arapima »ne unose apsolutno nikakvu promjenu u žustre antiislamske polemike iz srednjeg vijeka i renesanse«, te da je gotovo sigurno da ni o jednoj drugoj etničkoj ili vjerskoj skupini ne bi moglo biti pisano na sličan način (Said, 1999: 368). Izdvaja sljedeće dogme orijentalizma: apsolutna i sustavna razlika između Zapada »koji je racionalan, razvijen, human, superioran« i »Orijenta« koji »od- stupa od naravnog oblika, koji je nerazvijen, inferioran«; te dogme stvaraju orijentalisti, dakle zapadnjaci čiji se tekstovi »uvijek preferiraju u odnosu na izravan dokaz proiz- išao iz suvremene orijentalne stvarnosti«; sljedeća dogma kaže »da je Orijent vječan, jednolik i nesposoban sebe definirati«; i prema posljednjoj je dogmi »Orijent u svojoj srži ili nešto čega se treba bojati« ili je »nešto što treba nadzirati« (Said, 1999: 385). Ono što Said naglašava u Orijentalizmu, a ponavlja u knjizi Krivotvorenje is- lama, jest da »pojam 'islam', u onom smislu u kojem se danas koristi, znači jednu jed- nostavnu stvar, a zapravo je djelomično fikcija, djelomično ideološka oznaka, a najma- nje označavanje vjere po imenu islam« (Said, 2003: xl)19. Nadalje, »puno toga što se može vidjeti i pročitati u medijima o islamu predstavljeno je kao agresija koja proizlazi iz islama jednostavno zato što je 'islam takav'«, ili »krivotvorenje islama jednostrana je aktivnost koja sakriva ono što 'mi' radimo i umjesto toga, naglašava ono što muslimani i Arapi jesu po svojoj vlastitoj izopačenoj prirodi« (Said, 2003: xviii). Autor osporava neke od generalizacija o islamu kao monolitnoj religiji koja uređuje islamska društva od vrha do dna, o tome da su Crkva i država u islamu zapravo jedno itd. (Said, 2003: xii). Naglašava i veliku ironiju u činjenici da se na Zapadu »islam« povezuje s onim če- mu se opire i velik broj muslimana: »kazni, autokraciji, srednjovjekovnoj logici i teo- kraciji« (Said, 2003: 51). Na sljedećim stranicama sumirat ćemo neke od središnjih Saidovih teza i pri- mjera, uspoređujući ih s Huntingtonovim djelom kao reprezentativnim za onaj »drugi način« tumačenja kulturnih razlika. Naravno, riječ je o Huntingtonovu djelu Sukob ci- vilizacija i preustroj svjetskog poretka u kojemu je razradio tezu20 da nakon urušavanja komunističkoga svijeta i hladnoratovske podjele najvažnije razlike među narodima nisu ni ideološke ni političke ni gospodarske, nego kulturne, a najvažniji i najopasniji suko- bi neće se dogoditi između društvenih klasa bogatih i siromašnih nego između različitih 19 »Ni na jedan bitan način se riječ 'islam' u uobičajenoj zapadnoj uporabi izravno ne podudara s nevjero- jatno raznolikim životom koji se odvija u islamskom svijetu, a koji broji više od 800 000 000 ljudi, proteže se preko milijuna četvornih kilometara teritorija, uglavnom Afrike i Azije, i broji desetke društava, država, povijesti, zemljopisnih područja, kultura« (Said, 2003: xl). 20 Sukobi nakon kraja Hladnoga rata više neće biti ideološki ni ekonomski, nego će se svijet sukobljavati zbog razlika u kulturama. Sada je podijeljen na sljedeće civilizacije: kinesku, japansku, hinduističku, islam- sku, pravoslavnu, zapadnu (Europa, Sjeverna Amerika, Južna Amerika, Australija i Novi Zeland), latino- američku i možda afričku (Huntington, 1998: 64–67). Središnji su elementi svake kulture i civilizacije jezik i vjera (Huntington, 1998: 81), a postavljajući opće pitanje o povezanosti moći i kulture, zaključuje da »ras- pored kultura u svijetu odražava raspored moći« (Huntington, 1998: 119). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 301 civilizacija (Huntington, 1998: 44). Potaknuvši veliku »buru«, teze o sukobu civiliza- cija i danas su u središtu rasprava,21 a samo djelo izazvalo je toliko komentara, ospora- vanja i analiziranja da bi prenošenje samo dijela tih debata mogla biti tema za sebe. Mi ćemo samo izdvojiti teze koje su najvažnije za našu temu, a one se tiču »krvavih gra- nica islama«, što i sam Huntington u djelu navodi kao izjavu koja je privukla najviše kritičkih primjedaba (Huntington, 1998: 317). Huntington smatra da su takve kritike neutemeljene te da je njegova teza ne samo valjana nego ju je potkrijepio »kvantita- tivnim dokazima iz svih nemotiviranih izvora« (Huntington, 1998: 317). Osvrnut ćemo se na prirodu tih dokaza. Huntington izdvaja dva autora22 i članak New York Timesa te zaključuje da su »početkom devedesetih muslimani bili umiješani u više nasilnih sučeljavanja između skupina nego li nemuslimani, a na sukobe između muslimana i ne- muslimana otpadaju dvije trećine do tri četvrtine međucivilizacijskih ratova. Granice islama doista su krvave, a takva je i njihova utroba« (Huntington, 1998: 317). Nakon tog zaključka autor obrazlaže »muslimansku sklonost nasilnom sukobu« i ukazuje na vezu »između islama i militarizma« koja je »posve jasna« (Huntington, 1998: 317). Nadalje, sugerira čitatelju »da je islam oduvijek bio religija mača«, da je »nasilno pod- rijetlo usađeno u temelje islama« te da su »militarizam, neprobavljivost i blizina ne- muslimanskih skupina stalne značajke islama i mogle bi objasniti sklonost muslimana prema sukobu« (Huntington, 1998: 323–325). Huntingtonovo djelo neiscrpan je izvor takvih citata, no smatramo da su navedeni reprezentativni za našu temu. Ono što je, prema Saidu, Huntington želio promovirati jest nepomirljivost »islama« i »Zapada«, te izjednačavanje »islama« i gotovo svakog muslimana, a rezultat toga jest podjela svijeta na nepomirljivi »Istok« i »Zapad« (Said, 2003: 32). Huntingtonova paradigma, prema Katunariću, smatra islamski svijet jedinstvenim u njegovu »antizapadnjaštvu« i »anti- amerikanizmu«, podilazeći time načinu na koji islamski fundamentalizam gleda na is- lamsko-arapski svijet, a u pozadini toga stoji ratovanje koje potvrđuje nepremostivost razlika (Katunarić, 2003: 113). Said s druge strane, progovara o toj očitoj podjeli svijeta na »Izrael i Zapad« i »islam i ostale«, na nepomirljivo »mi« i »oni«, odnosno »mi-protiv-njih«, te demistifi- cira zapadnu aroganciju pri poimanju Zapada kao svjetovnoga, racionalnog i kulturno superiornijeg svijeta, nasuprot svijetu »islama« koji vodi iracionalna mržnja prema svjetovnom svijetu i bijes (Said, 2003). Iz toga nadalje proizlazi da smo »mi« ili da je naš svijet »svijet Izraela i Zapada«, a »oni« su ili »njihov svijet« je svijet »islama i os- talih«, te se »mi« moramo »braniti od njih, ne politikom ili debatom nego bezuvjetnim neprijateljstvom« (Said, 2003: xxvii). Iz takvih podjela, tvrdi Said, proizlazi nekoliko važnih posljedica, među kojima izdvaja nastanak specifične slike islama koja je ograni- čena i temelji se na stereotipima, zatim stvaranje konfrontacijske političke situacije u 21 O tome koliko je Huntingtonova paradigma »sukoba civilizacija« i danas u središtu rasprava, najbolje svjedoči činjenica da je u sjedištu UNESCO-a od 17. do 19. siječnja 2004. održan forum pod naslovom »Su- kob civilizacija neće se dogoditi« s provokativnim temama, npr. »Islam – Zapad: imaginarni lom?«, »SAD: zajednički neprijatelj ili diobeni saveznik?«, »Živi li arapski svijet drugu kolonizaciju?« itd. (Cvjetičanin, 2004). 22 Izvor prvog dokaza jest Ted Robert Gurr, autor članka objavljenog u International Studies Quarterley iz rujna 1994., a druga je autorica Ruth Leger Sevard (Huntington, 1998: 316). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 302 kojoj smo »mi« protiv »islama«. Sve to nadalje ima posljedice i u samom islamskom svijetu, a zapravo najviše govori o »kulturnim institucijama, politici informiranja i ob- razovanja, kao i o nacionalnoj politici«, a ne o islamu (Said, 2003: 33). Saidova knjiga prepuna je podataka o »kulturnom ratu protiv Islama«.23 Oštro kritizirajući Huntingto- novu teoriju »sukoba civilizacija«, kao i Fukuyaminu24 tezu o »kraju povijesti«, Said za- ključuje da im je zajednički model kolonijalizma 19. stoljeća, koji se temelji na premisi prema kojoj Europljani »da bi trgovali s dobitkom, moraju nametnuti politički pore- dak« (Said, 1999: 444). Kao jednog od najgorih autora Said ističe britanskog orijentalista Bernarda Lewisa, umirovljenog profesora sveučilišta u Princetonu. Između ostalih pri- mjera izdvajamo njegov esej »Korijeni muslimanskog bijesa«. Esej se pojavio u rujan- skom izdanju The Atlantica, a Said nam opisuje dizajn naslovnice za taj broj iz kojeg je razvidna simbolika uvoda u Lewisov esej: »U čitatelja bulji muslimanska glava s turba- nom i suženim očima punim bijesa, u zjenicama mu se odražavaju američke zastave, a njegovo držanje izražava mržnju i bijes« (Said, 2003: xxv). Said ukazuje na vezu iz- među Lewisa i Huntingtona u zaključcima o »islamskom bloku u obliku polumjeseca, od izbočenja Afrike do središnje Azije koji ima krvave granice« (Said, 2003: 32). Izdvojit ćemo još nekoliko aspekata koje smatramo bitnima za razumijevanje i postavljanje teme Mi i Oni u Saidovim djelima. Prva je Saidovo objašnjavanje poima- nja islama na Zapadu općenito, a posebno u SAD-u, a druga je korištenje te slike »is- lama« na Zapadu, a posebno u SAD-u (Said, 2003: 2). Analizirajući »društvene znanst- vene predodžbe«, kao i »pučke slike« te »izvještaje« američkih i zapadnih medija, Said zaključuje da većinu njih karakterizira otvoreno neprijateljstvo prema muslimanima i islamu, kao i stereotipiziranje i generalizacije o islamu i islamskome svijetu (Said, 1999, 2003). Riječ koja se automatski povezuje s islamom jest fundamentalizam (iako ga je moguće povezati sa svakom religijom). Za prosječna čitatelja zapadnih tiskovina ili televizijskoga gledatelja, fundamentalizam i islam su istoznačnice, a uz islam se nalaze i pojmovi radikalizma, ekstremizma, terorizma, džihada, iracionalizma, divljačkog bijesa, mržnje i nasilja (Said, 1999, 2003). O tome najbolje svjedoči »prosječna« slika američkog studenta o muslimanu kao »do zuba naoružanom, bradatom fanatičnom teroristu koji se namjerio uništiti svog velikog neprijatelja, SAD« (Said, 2003: xxi). Ukratko, ono što se u medijima provlači kao zaključni koncept je sljedeće: »Fundamen- talizam je islam je sve-protiv-čega-se-sada-moramo-boriti kao što smo se borili protiv komunizma tijekom hladnog rata« (Said, 2003: xv). Nizom ilustrativnih primjera za takvu tvrdnju25 Said ukazuje i na bitnu i vrijednu komparaciju američkoga rata protiv 23 Jedan od osnovnih zadataka koje je Said postavio u knjizi Krivotvorenja islama jest argumentiranim pro- pitivanjem medijske zbilje pokazati kako zapadni mediji i stručnjaci stvaraju »krivu« sliku islama i odre- đuju način na koji »prosječni« čitatelj i gledatelj gleda na »islam« i na islamske zemlje, prezentirajući nam niz zastrašujućih tvrdnji i stereotipa koji se vežu uz islam, niz autora, novinara, znanstvenika te novinskih i filmskih uradaka koji potkrepljuju početnu misao iz naslova djela (Said, 2003). 24 Ironizira Fukuyaminu tezu: »'mi' Amerikanci moramo sagledati sebe kao ostvaritelje kraja povijesti« (Said, 2002: 560). 25 Navedimo nekoliko primjera: nedjeljni New York Times u svojoj »Week in Review« 21. siječnja 1996. ob- javio je članak pod naslovom: »Crvena prijetnja je nestala, ali evo nam islama«, a u istom članku autor nala- zi tezu kako na »islam«, ili »zelenu prijetnju« treba gledati kao na prijetnju zapadnim interesima (Said, 2003: xv). U mnoštvu primjera koje Said navodi i komentira možemo spomenuti još neke od naslova: »Ne Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 303 komunizma i američkoga rata protiv »islama«, te zaključuje kako se »tvrdnja da daleki američki interesi trebaju vojnu zaštitu od nestabilnosti i ustanaka prebacila iz Vijet- nama na bliže područje, u muslimanski svijet« (Said, 2003: 29). Drugi je bitan Saidov zaključak da se o muslimanima i Arapima zapravo izvještava i raspravlja ili kao o poten- cijalnim teroristima ili kao isporučiteljima nafte, opskrbljivačima benzinom itd. (Said, 1999, 2003). Upravo je nafta ključna za razumijevanje, jer se prije velikog rasta cijena OPEC-a početkom 1974., »islam« nije u medijima tako razmatrao, a od te prijelomne godine analiza sadržaja zapadnih tiskovina otkriva nam naslove poput: »Nafta: pitanje američke intervencije«, »SAD u opoziciji« itd. (Said, 2003: 27). Medijska zaokuplje- nost revolucijom u Iranu 1978.–1979., koja je na političku scenu dovela novog vladara i predsjednika Islamske Iranske Republike, Ajatolaha Homeinija, nastavila se 1980., izvještavanjem o ratu između Iraka i Irana, o sovjetskoj intervenciji u Afganistanu te medijskim izvještavanjem o »islamskom terorizmu« tijekom osamdesetih i devedesetih godina (Said, 2003). Said kritički procjenjuje »značenje priče o Iranu« te analizira kako je izgledalo medijsko predstavljanje Irana Amerikancima od 4. studenoga 1979. kada su iranski studenti okupirali Američko veleposlanstvo u Teheranu. Prema Saidu, čini se kao da je u medijima postojao dogovor da su »Iranci počinili ratni čin protiv američkog veleposlanstva, iako u biti nitko nije mislio da je to što su SAD učinile Iranu zbaciva- njem Muhameda Mosadeka 1953. god. doista bio ratni čin« (Said, 2003: 88). Pitanja koja Said postavlja – zašto je Iran bitan (a isto pitanje danas postavljamo i za Irak, kao i za cijeli Bliski istok) te zašto je »islam« bitan i kakva vrsta izvještavanja nam treba – nisu apstraktna, a ako ne želimo promašiti samu bit stvari, njihovo razma- tranje treba demistificirati odnos moći i znanja u tom kontekstu (Said, 2003: 100).26 Po- lazeći od premise da je sve znanje o ljudskom društvu povijesno znanje i počiva na miš- ljenju i tumačenju koje opet ovisi o situaciji, Said naglašava da ispod svakog tumačenja drugih kultura, a posebno islamske, stoji odluka intelektualca ili znanstvenika »treba li staviti intelekt u službu moći ili u službu kritike, zajednice, dijaloga i osjećaja za mo- ral«, te upozorava kako upravo takva odluka mora biti prvi postupak u tumačenju. Po- zivajući na zdrav razum i kritičku procjenu završava apelom: »Ako je povijest znanja o islamu na Zapadu bila odviše blisko povezana s osvajanjem i dominacijom, došlo je vrijeme da se te veze potpuno raskinu« (Said, 2003: 129). 5. Zaključak U radu smo analizirali dvije međusobno povezane i isprepletene teme koje smo razdijelili radi jasnijeg izlaganja Saidovih teza. Prva tema odnosila se na povezanost bojimo se ničega osim islama«, »Islamska vjera je naš jedini neprijatelj«, »Nećemo biti sigurni sve dok is- lam ne spusti svoj mač« itd. (Said, 2003: xxiii). 26 Prema Saidu, političko tumačenje »islama« uključuje ortodoksno i antitetično znanje: kanonsko ili orto- doksno tumačenje islama najrasprostranjenije je i najutjecajnije i na njega nailazimo na sveučilištima, u vladi i medijima, a antitetično znanje odnosi se pak na manji dio znanstvenika i stručnjaka koji mu se su- protstavljaju (Said, 2003: 121–127). Uspjeh ortodoksnog izvještavanja Said pripisuje političkom utjecaju i moći tih ljudi i institucija, a posljedica toga nije samo određeno znanje o islamu nego i određeno tumačenje (Said, 2003). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 304 zapadne kulture s oblikovanjem imperijalizma, pri čemu smo se posebno zadržali na odnosu umjetnosti i društva, odnosno Saidovu tumačenju romana kao posrednika geo- političke stvarnosti. Na primjeru prethodno analiziranih romana željeli smo ilustrirati da umjetničko djelo postoji i djeluje u neraskidivu jedinstvu triju konstitutivnih eleme- nata: »tvorca, autora (proizvoditelja) djela (koji je u isti mah i pojedinac za sebe i 'en- semble društvenih odnosa'), medija (materije) u kojem se djelo obistinjuje, konkretizira, te primalaca i uživaoca djela (publike, društva)« (Mikecin, 1985: 1). Naime, primjenju- jući navedenu tipologiju konstitutivnih elemenata djela na prethodno analiziranim ro- manima ne smijemo zaboraviti, govorimo li o njihovim čitateljima, da su zapadni pisci poput Austen ili Camusa sve do sredine dvadesetoga stoljeća pisali isključivo za zapad- nu publiku, pa čak i kada su opisivali likove i mjesta koja su se odnosila na preko- morske teritorije pod vlašću Europljana (Said, 2002: 143). Nadalje, i sam autor djela čovjek je svoga vremena, što je Said možda najbolje ilustrirao na primjeru Alberta Ca- musa i njegova političkog stava prema Alžiru. I konačno, prisjetimo se Saidova dovo- đenja u vezu forme pripovijetke, odnosno romana kao »moći« pripovijedanja, i romana kao nositelja »kulturne topografije«, odnosno načina na koji se strukture prostora i zem- ljopisnih odnosa javljaju u raznim romanima, katkad aluzivno, poput usputnih crtica o Antigui u romanu Jane Austen, a katkad jasno izloženo, poput Conradove Afrike, Kiplingove Indije ili Camusova Alžira, o čemu smo pisali u prvom dijelu rada. Dakle, upravo kroz prizmu odnosa tih triju elemenata možemo tumačiti i Saidovo bavljenje umjetničkim djelom, dakako ne isključivo kao »odraza društvene zbilje«, ali ni isklju- čivo kao zasebne prakse koja se ne može dovoditi u vezu s društvom u kojem nastaje. U Saidovu pristupu, naime, zasigurno nema ni isključivosti ni jednoglasnosti ni odvaja- nja, već upravo suprotno, ima povezivanja, odnosno »kontrapunktnosti«, a znakovitima se u tom smislu čine riječi Paula Valeryja: »Svako djelo jest djelo koje tvore i druge stvari, a ne samo jedan autor« (Mikecin, 1985: 9). Drugu temu postavili smo u širi okvir odnosa kulture i društva, prikazujući Sai- dovo demistificiranje odnosa Mi i Oni, ili Zapad i Drugi na primjeru odnosa Zapada i islama, u pozadini kojih stoje nejednaki odnosi moći,27 odnosno »tvrdokorna nejedna- kost moći između Zapada i ne-Zapada« (Said, 2002: 347). Naime, nejednakost odnosa moći, odnosno demistifikacija odnosa moći i znanja teorijska su podloga Saidova pri- stupa istraživanju odnosa kulture i imperijalizma, kako prilikom kontrapunktnoga išči- tavanja pisaca poput Jane Austen, Conrada, Kiplinga, Camusa i ostalih, tako i prilikom analiziranja medija, odnosno zapadnih tiskovina i društvenih znanosti. Naime, u svim tim oblicima ljudskoga duha i kulture Said otkriva i tumači »strukture shvaćanja i od- nosa«, koje se ponavljaju, a Said ih je ilustrirao širokim spektrom primjera, od orijenta- lizirane Indije u Kiplingovu romanu Kim do suvremenoga medijskog diskursa na pri- mjeru svijeta »islama«. Zajedničke su im retoričke figure i razni stereotipi koji se ponav- 27 Poimanje kulturnoga imperijalizma Kalanj dodatno objašnjava definirajući američki ekspanzionizam kao načelno ekonomski, ali koji u velikoj mjeri ovisi o »neumorno ponavljanim kulturnim ideologijama i idejama samorazumijevanja i propagiranja Amerike i amerikanizma«, naglašavajući da i američki istraži- vači upozoravaju na bremenitost »rasnim predrasudama, neočekivanim izljevima interesa i snažnim pri- tiscima na teritorije koji su geografski i intelektualno udaljeni tisućama kilometara« (Kalanj, 2001: 54). Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 305 ljaju u opisima tajanstvenog i orijentaliziranog Istoka, predodžbe o tome kako se »pri- mitivnim« narodima donosi civilizacija, o tome kako »oni« nisu kao »mi« te stoga za- služuju da se njima gospodari itd. (Said, 2002). A upravo u tome Said nalazi model ko- lonijalizma 19. stoljeća, odnosno osnovu imperijalizma, koji vodi ideja da te »necivili- zirane« ili »nazadne« »napredne sile trebaju sebi pripojiti ili zauzeti« (Said, 1999: 268). Nadalje, iz Saidovih primjera može se nedvojbeno zaključiti da su i dalje na dje- lu procesi »kulturnog imperijalizma«, »orijentalizma« i »krivotvorenja islama«. I danas su, naime, prisutne podjele na »nas – civilizirane« i »njih – barbare«, kao i podjela na Istok i Zapad, iz čega slijedi da su pred nama i dalje stari zadaci prevladavanja etnocen- trizma i evolucionističkoga pogleda na »druge kulture«, bavljenja rasnim, imperijalis- tičkim i kolonijalističkim stereotipima i njihovim komentiranjem, kao uostalom i raširene hegemonije orijentalizma. Na tom tragu željeli smo naglasiti da se u stvarnosti kulturne razlike nalaze svuda, među nama i oko nas, i ne vode u »sukob« uzrokovan »kulturnim razlikama«.28 Jer kada bi samo postojanje kulturnih, etničkih, religijskih i drugih razlika bilo dovoljno za izazivanje sukoba, »odavno nas više ne bi bilo« (Katu- narić, 1996: 833). Kulturne razlike u sasvim određenim političkim okolnostima postaju samo »izgovor«, a kultura postaje sredstvom političke mobilizacije i »odbacivanja Dru- goga« (Katunarić, 1996; Kalanj, 2000; Said, 2002). Tim zaključcima, osim Saida, pri- družuje se i Eagleton konstatirajući da kultura, kao i kulturne razlike u tom kontekstu postaju dio rječnika političkoga sukobljavanja, ili još kraće »moneta političke borbe« (Eagleton, 2002: 51). Povezujući ih s Eagletonovom sintagmom »kulturnih ratova«, možemo zaključiti da je najilustrativniji primjer kulturni rat protiv islama koji smo spomenuli (Kalanj, 2000; Eagleton, 2002; Said, 2002). Kritizirajući Huntingtonovu pa- radigmu »sudara civilizacija« željeli smo stati na stranu onih autora koji je osporavaju te naglasiti da ne možemo govoriti o sukobu ili sudaru kultura i civilizacija, već da je riječ o »sukobima« ili »sudarima« između onih koji promovirajući ih ostvaruju određe- ne političke ciljeve. Tu se dakako referiramo na one autore koji smatraju »da se političke elite koriste kulturnim razlikama, izazivajući sukobe, kako bi svoje uske interese pre- odjenule u kolektivne interese i time povećale, pa i perpetuirale svoju moć« (Katunarić, 1996: 847). Said se, međutim, ne zadržava samo na imperijalizmu dominantne kulture, ni kada je riječ o francuskoj ili britanskoj kulturi kolonizatora devetnaestoga stoljeća, ni današnjoj američkoj. Tema koju Said posebno ističe jest povijesno iskustvo otpora imperiju, odnosno kultura »otpora«, ali ne u smislu pukog odgovora na imperijalizam, nego kao protuteža načinu na koji se poima ljudska povijest, odnosno kao zahtjev da se povijest jedne zajednice promatra cjelovito i ukupno, s otklonom od onih pokreta koji su širom imperijalnoga svijeta bili oživljavani raznim nacionalizmima (Said, 2002). Ako je kolonijalizam bio sustav, zaključuje Said, onda je i otpor morao postati sustavan (Said, 2002). U tom kontekstu bitno je naglasiti Wallersteinovo tumačenje »stvaranja 28 Ideja da »razlika« znači netolerantnost, nesnošljivost, isključivost i u konačnici vodi u sukob, nasljeđe je srednjeg vijeka, a zatim i kolonijalizma, rasizma, rasijalizma, imperijalizma itd. Pitanje koje treba postaviti jest tko su danas »nositelji« takvih ideja i tko se »sukobljava«, jer smatramo da to zasigurno nisu ni kulture ni civilizacije. Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 306 'antisistemskih pokreta' kao posljedica historijskog kapitalizma« (Kalanj, 2001: 55; Said, 2002). Citirajući Wallersteina, Said objašnjava da ljudi koje je sustav »primorao da unutar njega igraju podčinjene uloge« izranjaju kao njegovi protivnici koji »remete sustav, postavljaju zahtjeve, izlažu argumente koji dovode u pitanje totalitarne prisile svjetskog tržišta« (Said, 2002: 583). Kalanj također zaključuje da su upravo ti pokreti usredotočeni na »promjenu imperijalno komponirane svjetske zbilje« (Kalanj, 2001: 56). U tom kontekstu pokretima i kolektivnim identitetima bavi se i Castells ukazujući na pojavu snažnih identiteta otpora koji stvaraju oni subjekti koji su obezvrijeđeni i/ili stigmatizirani, a to dovodi do stvaranja »komuna ili zajednica«, u kojima Castells vidi najvažniji tip izgradnje identiteta u našem društvu, nazivajući to »isključivanjem onih koji isključuju od strane isključenih« (Castells, 2002: 19). Izrazom »isključivanje« Cas- tells tumači i širenje političkoga islamizma i islamskoga fundamentalističkog identiteta u devedesetim godinama kao društvene procese koji su vezani uz neuspješne gospodar- ske modernizacije koje su provedene u većini muslimanskih zemalja tijekom sedamde- setih i osamdesetih, te dinamiku društvenoga isključivanja i/ili krize nacije-države (Cas- tells, 2002: 29; Katunarić, 2003: 119). Prema Saidu, imperijalizam se nije »ugasio« niti je završio u onom trenutku ka- da je počeo proces dekolonizacije, nego je još na snazi kao »najveća sila u ekonom- skim, političkim i vojnim odnosima: pomoću njega gospodarski razvijenije zemlje pod- činjavaju one gospodarski manje razvijene« (Said, 2002: 499). Međutim, Said se ne slaže s opisima »novog imperijalizma« prema kojima je »imperijalizam nešto nezaobi- lazno i to na izrazito obeshrabrujući način – on galopira, on guta, bezličan je i determi- nistički. Akumulacija na svjetskoj razini; svjetski kapitalistički sustav; razvoj nerazvi- jenih; imperijalizam i zavisnost, odnosno struktura zavisnosti; bijeda i imperijalizam – već smo u ekonomiji, političkim znanostima, historiji i sociologiji upoznali ovakav re- pertoar koji nije toliko vezan uz Novi svjetski poredak, koliko za pripadnike kontrover- zne škole ljevičarskog mišljenja. Ipak, kulturološke implikacije takvih fraza i pojmova posve su uočljive« (Said, 2002: 499–500). Kalanj u toj Saidovoj konstataciji pre- poznaje dominantnu struju razvojnih teorija iz šezdesetih i sedamdesetih godina koje su »usprkos apokaliptičkom i obeshrabrujućem tonu« omogućile »novo poglavlje miš- ljenja koje kolonijalnu situaciju promatraju u sklopu globalizacije«, a to je situacija u kojoj »moćni postaju sve moćniji i bogatiji, a slabi sve slabiji i siromašniji« (Kalanj, 2001: 53). Sumirajući dosad navedeno, željeli smo naglasiti da ni danas, u vrijeme isticanja multikulturalizma i interkulturalizma, nismo ostavili u prošlosti podjele poput »mi« i »oni«, te da je i dalje na snazi ono što Said naziva »kulturnim imperijalizmom«, »ori- jentalizmom« i »krivotvorenjem islama«. Iz toga je razvidno da su odnosi moći, kao i odnosi moći i znanja ostali nepromijenjeni, a na to nas posebno upozoravaju »antisis- temski pokreti« i »postkolonijalni diskurs« uopće. A dok se ti odnosi moći ne promije- ne, kulturni imperijalizam i kulturna hegemonija zapadnjaka i dalje će projicirati sliku o drugim kulturama na način koji odgovara njihovim ekonomskim i političkim elitama u kontekstu ekonomskoga i kulturnog imperijalizma. Utoliko, citirajući Kalanja, nismo došli do »kraja povijesti«, ali je »zbiljski važnije pitanje jesmo li dospjeli do kraja mo- nopolizacije povijesti«, što »očigledno nismo« jer je monopolizacija još na djelu (Ka- Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 307 lanj, 2001: 56). Podjelu »mi« i »oni«, pri čemu smo i jedni i drugi »samo jedno«, Said tretira kao etiketiranje koje spada u nasljeđe imperijalizma, koji je s jedne strane učvrs- tio miješanje kultura i identiteta na svjetskoj razini, a s druge strane promovirao vjero- vanje da ljudi mogu biti samo i isključivo »jedno«, dakle mogu biti: »bijelci«, »crnci«, »Zapadnjaci«, »Istočnjaci« i slične binarne i isključive podjele koje razlikuju »nas« i »njih« (Said, 2002: 585). Zaokret od takvih podjela prema Kalanju nije lagan i uklju- čuje ideju »pluralnosti« koja iziskuje »odricanje od dominacije, etiketiranja i hijerarhi- ziranja 'drugih'«, kao i odricanje od ideje »da našoj 'kulturi' ili ' našoj' zemlji pripada (ili ne pripada) primat«, što je »krajnje ozbiljan posao nove intelektualnosti« (Kalanj, 2001: 56). Dodali bismo na kraju da tek takva nova intelektualnost može misliti jasno i kontrapunktno o drugima, kao i prihvatiti sve implikacije Saidove definicije kulture pre- ma kojoj sve kulture »vrše utjecaj jedna na drugu; nijedna nije jedinstvena i čista, sve su hibridne, heterogene, iznimno izdiferencirane i nemonolitne« (Said, 2002: 32). LITERATURA CASTELLS, Manuel (2002). Moć identiteta. Zagreb: Golden marketing. CVJETIČANIN, Biserka (2004). »Civilizacije, kulture, dijalog«, Zarez, Zagreb, 29. siječnja 2004. EAGLETON, Terry (2002). Ideja kulture. Zagreb: Naklada Jesenski i Turk. FOUCAULT, Michael (1996). »O drugim prostorima« (preveo Stipe Grgas), Glasje, Zadar, god. 3, br. 6, str. 6–14. GRGAS, Stipe (1996). »Prostornost u društvenim znanostima«, Filozofska istraživanja, Zagreb, god. 16, br. 1 (60), str. 267–273. HUNTINGTON, Samuel P. (1998). Sukob civilizacija i preustroj svjetskog poretka. Zagreb: Izvori. KALANJ, Rade (2000). Ideje i djelovanje: ogledi o kulturnim promjenama i razvoju. Zagreb: Hrvatsko sociološko društvo – Zavod za sociologiju Filozofskog fakulteta. KALANJ, Rade (2001). »Kulturni imperijalizam. Kritički pogledi Edwarda Saida«, Socijalna ekologija, Zagreb, god. 10, br. 1-2, str. 43–58. KATUNARIĆ, Vjeran (1996). »Tri lica kulture«, Društvena istraživanja, Zagreb, god. 5, br. 5-6, str. 831–858. KATUNARIĆ, Vjeran (2003). Sporna zajednica. Novije teorije o naciji i nacionalizmu. Zagreb: Naklada Jesenski i Turk – Hrvatsko sociološko društvo. MIKECIN, Vjekoslav (1985). »Hauserova sociologija umjetnosti«, u: Arnold Hauser. Socio- logija umjetnosti. Zagreb: Školska knjiga, str. 1–14. ROMIĆ, Biljana (2003). »Edward W. Said: 1935–2003.«, Revija za sociologiju, Zagreb, god. 34, br. 3-4, str. 224–226. SAID, Edward W. (1999). Orijentalizam. Zagreb: Konzor. SAID, Edward W. (2002). Kultura i imperijalizam. Beograd: Beogradski krug. SAID, Edward W. (2003). Krivotvorenje islama: kako mediji i stručnjaci određuju način na koji vidimo ostatak svijeta. Zagreb: V. B. Z. SKLEDAR, Nikola (1996). »Umjetnost iz socio-kulturnog vidika«, Filozofska istraživanja, Zagreb, god. 16, br. 4 (63), str. 969–975. ULRICH, Gioia-Ana (2002). »Glas Afrike«, Zarez, Zagreb, 24. listopada 2002. Ranka Jeknić, Kulturni imperijalizam Zapada…, Migracijske i etničke teme 22 (2006), 3: 289–308 308 Ranka Jeknić CULTURAL IMPERIALISM OF THE WEST IN THE WORK OF EDWARD W. SAID SUMMARY This article presents the main ideas and views of Edward W. Said on the relationship between culture and imperialism, and also on the link between Western culture and the formation of imperia- lism. Hence, special attention is given to Said’s interpretation of novels as constructions of the geopoliti- cal reality: i.e. the characteristics of “imperialism” are examined as found in such English and French writers as Jane Austen, Rudyard Kipling, Joseph Conrad and Albert Camus, illustrating the way how novels as an aesthetic form participated in the “cultural construction” of colonialism. In the next part of the discussion, the paper presents another main topic of Edward Said that reveals how “cultural impe- rialism”, “orientalism” and “covering Islam” are still, unfortunately, current topics. Special attention is given to Said's demystification of the opposition between “us” and “them”, or “the West” and “Others”, through the example of the relationship between “the West” and “Islam”. Behind this issue, unequal po- wer relations exist, as well as unequal relations of power and knowledge; “anti-systemic movements”, especially, and the “post-colonial discourse”, in general, warns us of this. KEY WORDS: Edward W. Said, culture, imperialism, colonialism, post-colonial discourse, “orienta- lism”, “covering Islam” Ranka Jeknić L'IMPÉRIALISME CULTUREL DE L'OCCIDENT DANS L'ŒUVRE D'EDWARD W. SAID RÉSUMÉ Le présent article expose les idées et positions fondamentales d'Edward W. Said quant à la cul- ture et l'impérialisme, ainsi qu'à propos de la connexion entre la culture occidentale et la formation de l'impérialisme. A ce sujet, l'autoresse se penche plus particulièrement sur son interprétation du roman en tant que construction de la réalité géopolitique et sur sa recherche sur les caractères de l'«impéria- lisme» puisés dans les œuvres d'écrivains français et anglais, tels que Jane Austen, Rudyard Kipling, Joseph Conrad et Albert Camus, en illustrant la façon dont le roman en tant que forme artistique a participé à la construction culturelle du colonialisme. Dans la suite de l'article, l'autoresse s'intéresse à un autre grand thème de Said, qui montre que l'«impérialisme culturel», l'«orientalisme» et la «falsifi- cation de l'islam» continuent malheureusement d'être des thèmes d'actualité. La démystification par Said de l'opposition entre Nous et Eux, ou entre l'Occident et les Autres, à partir de l'exemple des re- lations Occident – Islam fait l'objet d'une réflexion soutenue. En toile de fond se trouvent des relations inégales de puissance, ainsi que de pouvoir et de connaissance, ce qu'indiquent notamment les «mouve- ments antisystémiques» et le «discours postcolonial» en général. MOTS CLÉS: Edward W. Said, culture, impérialisme, colonialisme, discours postcolonial, «orienta- lisme», «falsification de l'islam» 
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work_wpepzu2wzzgqhoh4mkv4tysla4	----	143 Intertextual Ever Afters: Fictionalised Biography and Compensatory Adaptation in Shakespeare in Love and Becoming Jane Lucia OPREANU∗ Abstract The paper aims to explore the fusion of intertextual borrowings and imaginative historical recreation in John Madden’s 1998 Shakespeare in Love and Julian Jarrold’s 2007 Becoming Jane in an attempt to establish the full extent of the similarity between the strategies employed in their scripts and the relevance of the insights they provide into issues concerning literary authorship and a wider cultural landscape. This will entail both a comparative assessment of the two cinematic endeavours and a side-by-side analysis of each film script and the literary work whose plot it mirrors (Romeo and Juliet and Pride and Prejudice respectively). Particular attention will be paid to the ways in which isolated lines or entire episodes from William Shakespeare’s tragedy and Jane Austen’s novel are subtly adapted or simply pilfered to fill in gaps in two similarly elusive biographies and to account for the inspiration behind two of literature’s most enduring couples, whilst also somehow compensating for the missing element of romance in the real lives of their creators. In focusing on the complex fusion of literary biography and adaptation to be discovered under the surface of apparently facile (albeit bittersweet) romantic comedy, this exploration will ultimately try to assess each film’s relevance in the context of the constantly escalating interest in William Shakespeare and Jane Austen and the daunting intertextual (and multimedial) universes radiating from these two centres of the western and universal canon. Key words: adaptation, authorship, biopic, intertextuality, reception Introduction While the public’s fascination with “celebrated lives and the privileged insight that the screen seems to promise” via “the snappily titled ‘biopic’” (Hand 2016: xi) is, by no means, a recent phenomenon, the popularity of luciaopreanu@yahoo.com ,Dr., Ovidius University of Constanţa ∗ Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 144 dramatizations focusing on the lives of literary figures only dates back to the early 1990s, having since then escalated into a considerable and still growing trend (Shachar 2016: 199). Likewise, the academic establishment has only lately started to consider all the ramifications of cinematic engagements with “literature, literary culture and literary readerships as audiences” (Higson 2011: 103) and to explore the potential of this “unappreciated genre […] of low repute” (Bingham 2010: ix-3) that initially tended to command almost “as much critical derision as industrial visibility” (Vidal 2014: 2). Primarily disparaged for its frequently “cavalier […] handling of historical fact,” the biographical picture has also found some staunch defenders among those who argue that capturing “the essence of a life” (Vidal 2014: 1-2) does not necessarily entail a mere “recounting of the facts” of someone’s existence and can rely on a number of unconventional approaches in its “attempt to discover biographical truth” (Bingham 2010: 7), simultaneously reconstructing and deconstructing the “life, repute and legacy of […] its renowned subjects” (Hand 2016: xi). Regarded by some scholars as “one of the most intriguing and ubiquitous examples within the field and practice of adaptation” (Hand 2016: xi) and by others as a related but distinct subgenre whose appeal relies mostly in its ability to provide “an engagement with respectable literary culture that goes beyond the adaptation itself” (Higson 2011: 103- 104), the biopic is an essentially fluid and eclectic cinematic form. Its narrative weaves “the partly factual, partly fictional story of a real person’s life or a significant portion of that life” and often “combines melodrama, history, psychological drama, biography, and documentary” (Hollinger 2012: 158). While the need to “‘complete’ history” by filling in “what didn’t happen with what a viewer might wish to see happen” (Bingham 2010: 8) is a common feature of numerous categories of films, this endeavour acquires a particularly interesting dimension in the case of literary biopics. The latter are frequently characterised not only by a “romantic vision of key moments in the life of a writer” purporting to “throw light on the creative process or the source of the writer’s fiction” (Higson 2011: 103-104) but also by an intricate fusion of biography and fiction. To give but two examples, biopics such as Shakespeare in Love (1998) and Becoming Jane (2007), the two cinematic productions analysed in this paper, engage in acts of reverse autobiography, working on the assumption that texts such as The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet and Pride and Prejudice respectively might have drawn inspiration from real incidents and relationships from the lives of their Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 145 creators. Therefore, they use details and protagonist profiles lifted from the literary sources to fill in biographical gaps, embellishing an otherwise fragmentary and dry personal narrative with unlikely yet appealing elements of adventure and romance. Shakespeare in and out of Love John Madden’s Shakespeare in Love opens, like almost every biopic (Custen 1992: 51), with title cards that firmly anchor the cinematic narrative in the historical London of 1593 and the “glory days of the Elizabethan theatre” (Madden 1998), whilst simultaneously invoking the two “households, both alike in dignity” (Shakespeare [1597] 1994, I.1: 1) of Romeo and Juliet via the image of rival playhouses “fighting it out for writers and audiences” (Madden 1998). The film then goes on to desacralize the legendary Bard of Avon into “a starving hack with a bad case of writer’s block” and to bootleg literary episodes into a “pseudo-biography of Shakespeare’s life” by means of a “star-crossed romance between Will and heiress Viola De Lesseps” which “both mirrors and intertwines” (Rothwell 2004: 248) in rather transparent fashion with The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet. In addition to Will and Viola as the alleged real-life inspirations behind Romeo and Juliet – doomed not by “ancient grudge” (Shakespeare [1597] 1994, I.1: 3) but by the equally insurmountable barriers of class and prior commitment – the various members of the Capulet household and entourage are recognizable in Viola’s highly pragmatic father, largely absent mother, devoted nurse and noble yet essentially unappealing suitor. At some level yet another adaptation of the most frequently screened “play, Shakespearean or otherwise” (Brode 2000: 42), the film also represents an act of “appropriation in that it fabricates a biographical story of the dramatist’s early theatrical career” (Wray 2011: 513) by suggesting that Will’s personal experience of true love transforms into the well-known tragedy of “star-crossed lovers” (Shakespeare [1597] 1994, I.1: 6) by means of “an unmediated, transparent act of composition” whereby “Will appears to write his ‘original’ love story as he lives it” (Lehman and Starks 2002: 11). The almost magical transformation, “as if by alchemy” (Anderegg 2004: 48), of words spoken spontaneously by the various characters into the familiar lines of the play is mediated quite convincingly by a script which not only edits “together moments from rehearsals and a performance of Romeo and Juliet with the amorous and entrepreneurial adventures of the film’s own Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 146 characters” (Anderegg 2004: 41) but also features humorous intertextual nods to contemporary culture: “Henslowe: The show must... you know... Will: Go on.” (Madden 1998) It moreover combines the finality of the lovers’ separation with the hopefulness of the open ending generated by the seamless transition from the tragic denouement of Romeo and Juliet to the (rewritten) opening lines of Twelfth Night. As an interesting detail of this fusion between reality and fiction, the triple occurrence of the same words from Romeo and Juliet – “Oh, I am fortune’s fool!” (Shakespeare [1597] 1994, II.4: 136) – in a variety of contexts posits art and life in a continuum, highlighting, in equal measure, the Aristotelian concept of art and Wilde’s “reverse mimesis” (Burwick 2001: 161) whereby “Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life” (Wilde 2004: 26). First, the line is uttered by the besotted playwright as he prepares to attempt a risky ascent to Viola’s balcony: “Oh, I am fortune’s fool, I will be punished for this!” (Madden 1998). It then emerges during the first public performance of the play, featuring – after Viola’s banishment from the theatre – Will in the role of Romeo, only to be followed within minutes by a whispered reiteration in the course of Will and Viola’s painful reunion: “Oh, I am fortune’s fool. You are married?” (Madden 1998). Occupying an equally prominent place at the centre of two crucial scenes that not only blur the boundaries between reality and fiction but also mark the beginning and ending of Will and Viola’s short-lived romance, this leitmotif helps create a sense of circularity. It moreover provides a smooth passage from off-stage despair to flawless performance in which the two actors simultaneously deliver their respective lines and convey a very personal message, rendered considerably more poignant by the fact that Viola is given the chance to play the lead heroine. Her emergency appearance in the role of “the Capulet commodity Juliet” rather than that of “the young wayfarer” she had auditioned for and rehearsed has been interpreted as a reminder of the fact “that she ‘wears the pants’ only in fiction – not in the real performance where money is on the line” (Lehman 2002: 139). Yet, it is quite interesting to point out that Will’s address occasions another blurring of gender roles the moment he adapts one of Juliet’s lines to allude to Viola’s new civil status – “If you be married, my grave is like to be my wedding bed.” (Madden 1998) – much in the same way in which, in an earlier dialogue, he had used Ophelia’s words from a yet unwritten play to voice his disappointment: “I was the more deceived.” (Madden 1998) The back and forth movement “from gender role to gender role” and from “bed to stage” in which Romeo and Juliet’s lines “become exchangeable, Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 147 interchangeable” (Coursen 2003: 85), echoing the gender-swaps familiar from other plays by Shakespeare, may not save Viola from a life of “domestic slavery on a Virginia tobacco plantation” (Lehman 2002: 139) but reinforces the impression that, throughout her brief romantic involvement with Will, her position is that of an equal partner rather than a subordinate. As far as the presence in the film of actual historical figures from Shakespeare’s artistic entourage is concerned, far from serving a merely comedic purpose, the numerous instances in which Will is the reluctant recipient of enthusiastic praise of his chief rival’s genius also act as reminders of the fact that, while posterity has bestowed upon Shakespeare the undisputed status of “Center of the Canon” (Bloom 1994: vii), in the 1593 London captured in the film nobody would have “compared him to the brilliant Christopher Marlowe” (Brode 2000: 41). Voiced by fans ranging from random boatmen – “I had that Christopher Marlowe in my boat once!” (Madden 1998) – to the unfeeling Mr. Fennyman – “Of course, it was mighty writing. There is no one like Marlowe.” (Madden 1998) – these expressions of unadulterated admiration culminate in the memorable scene in which almost all the aspiring actors auditioning for Romeo and Ethel regale Shakespeare with the same lines from Doctor Faustus: Second actor: I would like to give you something from Faustus by Christopher Marlowe. Henslowe: How refreshing! Second actor: “Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, and burnt the topless towers of Ilium?” (Madden 1998) While the informal eulogy shared with Viola – “Marlowe’s touch was in my Titus Andronicus and my Henry VI was a house built on his foundations.” (Madden 1998) – merely echoes the critical opinion whereby early Shakespearean drama is likely to have benefitted from the influence of a then more illustrious contemporary, the cinematic narrative takes this indebtedness considerably further: Marlowe: Romeo is... Italian. Always in and out of love. Will: Yes, that’s good. Until he meets... Marlowe: Ethel. [...] The daughter of his enemy. [...] His best friend is killed in a duel by Ethel’s brother or something. His name is Mercutio. Will: Mercutio… good name. (Madden 1998) Marlowe’s actual input on plot development is as much of a joke as the idea that a play the action and characters of which were borrowed from The Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 148 Tragical Historye of Romeus and Juliet, a 1562 poem “based on earlier versions of the same well-known and popular story”, could “have been named anything very different from what it is” (Anderegg 2004: 42). Nevertheless, scenes like the one above serve as reminders of the initial “joint ownership” (Aaron 2005: 17) of plays later on attributed to a sole genius, illustrating the tradition of “collaborative authorship or division of labour” (Vedi 2012: 9), an equally common practice in Elizabethan theatrical production and the contemporary film business. Likewise, far from conveying the impression of shameless plagiarism, Shakespeare’s portrayal as “a literary magpie, hearing many of the lines he will eventually write spoken first by other characters” (Purcell 2009: 160) highlights his ability to respond “to every mood, every position and disposition” (Bate 1998: 152), as well as to often unlikely sources of inspiration. Written by a team combining the literary expertise behind “the most celebrated (post)modern combination of veneration for Shakespeare with irreverent pastiche” (French 2006: 138) and an insight into the mechanisms of Hollywood production, the script represents a relatively safe fusion of homage and irreverence, yet it has been the target of considerable criticism for its ostensibly “‘lowbrow’ treatment of Shakespeare and the Shakespearean text” (Anderegg 2004: 43). The decision to rebrand Will Shakespeare as a romantic hero, a lover rather than an intellectual, thereby “granting him humanity” (French 2006: 153), might be indeed dismissed by somewhat inflexible scholars as a rather gratuitous move aimed to attract a wider audience and condemning the film to the questionable status of romantic comedy. However, it is perhaps more important to observe how much information about the Elizabethan theatre industry and drama in general the film nevertheless delivers, simultaneously providing “a popular and welcome counterweight to modern scholarly edited texts, which tend to ‘freeze’ Shakespeare’s plays in a way that would amaze the dramatist” (Halio 2003: 58), were he still alive and able to see them. Most positive reviews have also chosen to point out the considerable, if largely inconspicuous, skill behind a product that somehow manages to simultaneously function as an art film and a highly commercial blockbuster, much like the mistaken identity “crowd tickler” (Madden 1998) that Philip Henslowe enthuses over in the opening scene, allowing the cultural elite to “share in-jokes denied to hoi polloi” (Rothwell 2004: 248) yet pleasing both categories in almost equal measure: [T]he film is in general ingeniously designed to appeal to a variety of audiences, to both flatter the susceptibility of those for whom ‘art’ is pretty Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 149 much a bore as well as the more or less ‘academic’ or ‘educated’ audience, the teachers and students who can recognize the allusions to Elizabethan theatre and sixteenth-century culture. (Anderegg 2004: 42) Written in the “layered style” (Thompson 1999: 1) advocated by David Lodge, the script combines a series of sophisticated allusions clearly “aimed at Shakespeare scholars” with jokes that “anyone who has survived the ninth grade in the US can enjoy” (Desmet 2002: 11). While not all viewers are likely to distinguish accurate historical facts from blatant inaccuracies, even those unfamiliar with the actual canon can appreciate the ways in which the fictitious transformations undergone by the ludicrously titled Romeo and Ethel, the Pirate’s Daughter manipulate “the mystique of Shakespearean authorship” by redefining “Shakespearean drama as a labor of love” (Lehman and Starks 2002: 10) and outline the stages of the apparently fluid metamorphosis of a creative idea into a compelling spectacle. Losing Darcy, Finding Jane Prompted to a large extent by the enthusiastic public and critical response to Shakespeare in Love, Becoming Jane displays the same tendency to romanticize “authorship by depicting real life inspiration, insisting on the link between author and heroine” (Cartmell 2012: 29), and relies on similar intertextual strategies to fill in biographical gaps by means of details, character profiles and episodes lifted from a familiar work of fiction. While this has resulted in parallels that are conspicuous enough to prompt “accusations of being dangerously derivative” (Cartmell 2012: 29), it should be noted that the latter biopic does not merely replicate its more prestigious cinematic precursor but engages in a complex fusion of biography, fiction and adaptation that blends together embellished historical details, elements from Austen’s text and nods to recent films. Based on Jon Hunter Spence’s 2003 semi-biographical Becoming Jane Austen, the almost homonymous 2007 British-Irish romantic drama directed by Julian Jerrold constitutes “a logical extension of previous adaptations’ tendencies to unite the central character with the author” (Cartmell 2010: 114) in an endeavour to compensate for the fact that the limited insight contemporary scholarship has into Austen’s life appears “too dull or uneventful to make it likely cinematographic material” (Gómez-Galisteo 2011: 235). The efforts made to reincarnate the various protagonists of Pride and Prejudice as members of Austen’s household and its relatively wide Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 150 network of acquaintances surpass the similar endeavours made in Shakespeare in Love in both scope and subtlety. Thus, even the least enthusiastic Austenite among its viewers can notice the numerous parallels between the intelligent and independent Elizabeth Bennet and her creator, as well as between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and their considerably less irresponsible and improper historical avatars. More dedicated readers can also recognize Jane Bennet’s endearing combination of optimism and diffidence in Cassandra’s timid musings, Mr. Bingley’s amiable character in Robert Fowle’s good-natured behaviour, Mary’s misguided attempts to entertain others and Lydia’s flirtatiousness in Lucy Lefroy’s appalling musical performance and dubious amorous overtures, and Mr. Collins’ efforts to ingratiate himself with all in John Warren’s obsequious interventions. What is, however, even more interesting to observe is the fact that, far from merely featuring the ostensible historical original behind each individual character, the film script actually appears to both merge distinct novel identities into cinematic conglomerates and divide the features of certain fictional protagonists between several on-screen personas; thus it not only pre-empts the naive tendency to draw overly- simplistic parallels between reality and fiction but also highlights the intricate fusion of different sources of inspiration behind each of Austen’s complex creations. The viewer’s first glimpse of the extensive grounds and elegant mansion in the vicinity of the modest Austen estate, as well as the overbearing and controlling personality of its owner in conjunction with her affectionate introduction of her nephew – “Wisley is indispensable to my happiness.” (Jarrold 2007) – are likely to prompt an immediate analogy between Lady Gresham and Lady Catherine de Bourgh, somewhat clouded by the realization that Mr. Wisley does not quite share the masculine appeal of the various cinematic incarnations of Mr. Darcy. Notwithstanding his tall person, social awkwardness and considerable wealth, Mr. Wisley is a less convincing candidate for the enviable status of real-life Darcy than the penniless Thomas Lefroy. The latter’s good looks, sophisticated London airs and, above all, blatant disregard for the feelings of others single him out as the likely historical inspiration behind Austen’s most eligible bachelor, even before his casual dismissal of Austen’s literary efforts – “well, accomplished enough, perhaps, but a metropolitan mind may be less susceptible to extended, juvenile self-regard.” (Jarrold 2007) – echoes Darcy’s equally cavalier response to Elizabeth’s physical charms: “‘She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 151 humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.’” (Austen 2006: 12) This impression is further augmented by Austen’s irritated reaction to his behaviour in the course of a gathering where, in yet another echo of Chapter III in Pride and Prejudice, the “scarcity of gentlemen” (Austen 2006: 11) puts a damper on the festivities: “Well, I call it very high indeed, refusing to dance when there are so few gentlemen.” (Jarrold 2007) The fact that, in this particular instance, it is Lefroy who overhears Austen’s rude remark results in the same gender reversal already discussed in reference to Shakespeare in Love and reinforces the idea that the fatal flaws of pride and prejudice equally apply to the male and female protagonists. The same combination of straightforward parallels and intricate fusions characterises the rest of the text, with certain scenes – Mr. Austen’s insistence that “Jane should have not the man who offers the best price but the man she wants” (Jarrold 2007) or Mrs. Austen’s outburst upon becoming aware of her daughter’s refusal to marry Mr. Wisley – unambiguously echoing familiar literary episodes. Other analogies are considerably more fluid. Thus, Lady Gresham’s righteous indignation in the face of Jane’s rejection of Wisley – “My nephew, Miss Austen, condescends far indeed in offering to the daughter of an obscure and impecunious clergyman…” (Jarrold 2007) – might strike viewers as the closest cinematic equivalent to Lady Catherine’s unwelcome intervention until Judge Langlois’s condescending behaviour and refusal to sanction his nephew’s union with Jane provide an even more appalling example of narrow-mindedness, arrogance and interference in the lives of others. Likewise, the clear echo of Darcy’s sentiments in Mr. Wisley’s dignified decision to curtail his pursuit of Jane – “I am vain enough to want to be loved for myself rather than my money.” (Jarrold 2007) – reinforces the idea that, for all of Lefroy’s appeal, Lady Gresham’s unassuming nephew is a closer match for the protagonist that emerges from the novel. Indeed, for some viewers it might also serve as a confirmation of the fact that the current view of Darcy as the heart-throb of British fiction owes less to Austen’s original description than to the irresistibly handsome actors invariably cast to play him. While Shakespeare in Love expands its intertextual scope to engage other texts than Romeo and Juliet in its playful dialogue with canonical literature and popular culture alike, Becoming Jane mostly widens its horizons by means of nods to the 2005 adaptation of Austen’s novel Pride and Prejudice, even though the more dedicated admirers of the 1995 BBC Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 152 mini-series might prefer to engage in comparisons between Lefroy’s glamorous attire – “Green velvet coat, vastly fashionable.” (Jarrold 2007) – and the garment repeatedly favoured by Colin Firth’s Darcy – “No, no, the green one.” (Langton 1995) – for momentous encounters with Elizabeth. Not only do the costumes created for Becoming Jane and the 2005 Pride and Prejudice reveal the endeavour to simultaneously satisfy historical accuracy and contemporary fashion, but the same strategies are employed to constantly direct the viewer’s gaze towards the central female protagonist. Even more conspicuously, the same skilful combination of camerawork and choreography is employed to convey the growing attraction between Tom and Jane, with dancing scenes used as the background of their escalating romance: in Wright’s 2005 adaptation, the brief illusion of Darcy and Elizabeth dancing alone emphasises the extent to which, in a room full of people, they are oblivious of anyone else; likewise, in the corresponding scene in the biopic, the two are equally incapable of toning down their gestures of affection, tearing their gaze away from each other or indeed realizing that their feelings are painfully visible to everyone else with a vested interest in their movements. The ending entails a reversal of these circumstances, in the sense that the very formal and public setting of the protagonists’ last encounter only allows for the delivery of a personal message through de agency of literature, in a scene highly reminiscent of Will and Viola’s tearful on-stage farewell. Notwithstanding the relatively large crowd in attendance, Jane’s Pride and Prejudice reading functions as an extremely intimate confession meant to be decoded by a single member of her audience, all other listeners being blissfully unaware of the fact that Elizabeth’s sobering realization mirrors the perfect compatibility between two people whose ‘happily ever after’ remained unfulfilled: She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man, who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was a union that must have been to the advantage of both; [...] But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what connubial felicity really was. (Austen 2006: 344/Jarrold 2007) Conclusions Produced by the same studio and based on a similar endeavour to depict “the lives of prominent writers” whilst “focusing in some way on the Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 153 process of writing” (Higson 2011: 103) and revisiting familiar texts in search of “clues to help imagine the lives of their creators” (Hwang 2014: 93), Shakespeare in Love and Becoming Jane share an impressive number of features. Common denominators range from their focus on “a visionary with a pure, one of a kind talent or idea who must overcome opposition” (Bingham 2010: 7) to the limited time span only covering a brief episode in the dim and distant youth of a canonical writer and the premise of an impossible relationship as the inspiration behind a timeless literary couple. The decision to use details gleaned from a work of fiction to fill the gaps in a largely unknown personal history, simultaneously transforming a not particularly eventful biography into a quite sensational narrative and compensating for the somewhat unfair lack of (documented) romance in the real lives of famous writers is part of a relatively widespread phenomenon, largely championed by fans determined to enrich the love lives of their cultural idols with “embellished or invented” (Schuessler 2016: 1) amorous interludes. As elaborated on by the curators of the 2016 “Will & Jane: Shakespeare, Austen and the Cult of Celebrity”, an exhibition featuring artefacts as diverse as historical documents and questionable popular culture tributes, the list of similarities between the two writers comprises elements that go “beyond sheer literary genius” and range from “their scantily recorded intimate lives, which leave tantalizing holes to fill” (Schuessler 2016: 1) to a current “celebrity status [...] created through repetition and reproduction” (Rea 2016: 1). While this last parallel might be quite easy to dismiss as a natural side-effect of the contemporary tendency to recycle and re-commodify the culture of the past, it is quite interesting to observe that the intrinsic similarities between the Shakespearean and Austenean spirit had been pointed out almost a century earlier by a writer whose own ratio of literary success to personal happiness seemed at least as unfortunate: [W]riting without hate, without bitterness, without fear, without protest, without preaching. That was how Shakespeare wrote, I thought ... and when people compare Shakespeare and Jane Austen, they may mean that the minds of both had consumed all impediments; and for that reason we do not know Jane Austen and we do not know Shakespeare, and for that reason Jane Austen pervades every word that she wrote, and so does Shakespeare. (Woolf 1992: 73-74) Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 154 While the impact of the “parallel cultural afterlives” accompanying their gradual and inexorable metamorphosis into “icons, beloved almost as much for their imagined personalities and our feelings of intimacy with them as for anything they wrote” (Schuessler 2016: 1) has dispelled most of the aura of mystery surrounding their biographies and innermost thoughts, there is no denying the illusory nature of this familiarity: “Like with Shakespeare, it’s hard to read Austen and know what her opinions really were about much of anything” (Fowler 2005: 285). One can only hope that the fascination cinematic productions such as Shakespeare in Love and Becoming Jane might exert over a largely uninformed public can help add romantic appeal to literary history without simultaneously transforming its texts into forgettable consumerist items, keeping its authors alive in collective memory and drawing new generations of viewers turned readers to the texts whose plots and characters they revisit and reshape. References Aaron, M.D. (2005) Global Economics: A History of the Theatre Business, the Chamberlain’s/ King’s Men, and Their Plays, 1599-1642. Newark: University of Delaware Press Anderegg, M. (2004) Cinematic Shakespeare. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield Austen, J. (2006) Pride and Prejudice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Bate, J. (1998) The Genius of Shakespeare. London: Picador Bingham, D. (2010) Whose Lives Are They Anyway? The Biopic as Contemporary Film Genre. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press Bloom, H. (1994) The Western Canon. The Books and School of the Ages. New York: Harcourt Brace & Company Brode, D. (2000) Shakespeare in the Movies: From the Silent Era to Shakespeare in Love. Oxford: Oxford University Press Burwick, F. (2001) Mimesis and Its Romantic Reflections. Pennsylvania: The Pennsylvania State University Press Cartmell, D. (2010) Screen Adaptations: Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice: A Close Study of the Relationship between Text and Film. London: Methuen Drama Cartmell, D. (2012) ‘Familiarity versus Contempt: Becoming Jane and the Adaptation Genre.’ In Adaptation and Cultural Appropriation: Literature, Film, and the Arts. ed. by Nicklas, P. and Lindner, O. Berlin and Boston: De Gruyter, 25-34 Coursen, H. R. (2003) ‘Disguise in Trevor Nunn’s Twelfth Night.’ In Shakespeare in Performance: A Collection of Essays. ed. by Occhiogrosso, F. Newark: University of Delaware Press, 84-92 Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 155 Custen, G. F. (1992) Bio/pics: How Hollywood Constructed Public History. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press Desmet, C. (2002) ‘Introduction.’ In Shakespeare and Appropriation. ed. by Desmet, C. and Sawyer, R. London and New York: Routledge, 1-14 Fowler, K. J. (2005) The Jane Austen Book Club. London: Penguin Books French, E. (2006) Selling Shakespeare to Hollywood: The Marketing of Filmed Shakespeare Adaptations from 1989 into the New Millennium. Hatfield: University of Hertfordshire Press Gómez-Galisteo, M. C. (2011) ‘A Damsel in Distress: Jane Austen’s Emma Goes Clueless.’ Current Trends in Anglophone Studies: Cultural, Linguistic and Literary Research. Salamanca: University of Salamanca, 234-243 Halio, J. L. (2003) ‘Romeo and Juliet in Performance.’ In Shakespeare in Performance: A Collection of Essays. ed. by Occhiogrosso, F. Newark: University of Delaware Press, 58-70 Hand, R. J. (2016) ‘Foreword.’ In Adaptation, Intermediality and the British Celebrity Biopic. ed. by Minier, M. and Pennacchia, M. London and New York: Routledge, xi-xii Higson, A. (2011) Film England: Culturally English Filmmaking Since the 1990s. London and New York: I.B. Tauris Hollinger, K. (2012) Feminist Film Studies. London and New York: Routledge Hwang, J. M. (2014) ‘Recycling historical lives: South Korean period biopics and the culture content industry.’ In The Biopic in Contemporary Film Culture. ed. by Brown, T. and Vidal, B. London and New York: Routledge, 84-100 Jarrold, J. (2007) Becoming Jane [DVD]. UK and Ireland: HanWay Films, UK Film Council and Bórd Scannán na hÉireann Langton, S. (1995) Pride and Prejudice [DVD]. UK: British Broadcasting Corporation and Chestermead Lehman, C. (2002) ‘Shakespeare in Love: Romancing the Author, Mastering the Body.’ In Spectacular Shakespeare. Critical Theory and Popular Cinema. ed. by Lehman, C. and Starks, L. S. Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 125-145 Lehman, C. and Starks, L. S. (2002) ‘Introduction: Are We in Love with Shakespeare?’ In Spectacular Shakespeare. Critical Theory and Popular Cinema. ed. by Lehman, C. and Starks, L. S. Madison: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 9-20 Madden, J. (1998) Shakespeare in Love [DVD]. USA and UK: Universal Pictures, Miramax, The Bedford Falls Company Purcell, S. (2009) Popular Shakespeare: Simulation and Subversion on the Modern Stage. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan Rea, S. (2016) ‘Shakespeare, Austen and the Cult of Celebrity.’ Carnegie Mellon University News, 29 August. available from https://www.cmu.edu/news/stories/archives/2016/august/cult-of- celebrity.html [5 March 2019] Cultural Intertexts Year VI Volume 9 (2019) 156 Rothwell, K. S. (2004) A History of Shakespeare on Screen. A Century of Film and Television. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Schuessler, J. (2016) ‘Lit’s Dynamic Duo, Will and Jane, Shared Path to Pop Stardom.’ The New York Times, 4 August. available from https://www.nytimes.com/2016/08/05/books/will-jane-two-literary- superheroes-united-in-pop-culture.html [5 March 2019] Shachar, H. (2016) ‘Authorial Histories. The Historical Film and the Literary Biopic.’ In A Companion to the Historical Film. ed. by Rosenstone, R.A. and Parvulescu, C. Malden and Oxford: Wiley Blackwell, 199-218 Shakespeare, W. (1994) The Complete Works. Oxford: Clarendon Press Thompson, R. (1999) ‘Interview with David Lodge.’ The Camelot Project. available from http://www.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/intrvws/lodge.html [1 March 2019] Vedi, S. F. (2012) Elsinore Revisited. Bloomington: Xlibris Vidal, B. (2014) ‘Introduction: the biopic and its critical contexts.’ In The Biopic in Contemporary Film Culture. ed. by Brown, T. and Vidal, B. London and New York: Routledge, 1-32 Wilde, O. (2004) The Decay of Lying. Whitefish: Kessinger Publishing Woolf, V. (1992) A Room of One’s Own and Three Guineas. Oxford: Oxford University Press Wray, R. (2011) ‘Shakespeare on Film, 1990-2010.’ In The Edinburgh Companion to Shakespeare and the Arts. ed. by Thornton Burnett, M., Streete, A. and Wray, R. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 502-521 Wright, J. (2005) Pride and Prejudice [DVD]. UK and USA: Focus Features and Universal Pictures 
work_wsnnhyrl3rfthhpgzvgvnpoxxe	----	Communications Letters to the Editor To the Editor: This marks the seventh year that I'm reporting on the sex participation balance at our national meetings. (Virginia Sapiro and I are preparing a more comprehensive assessment of participa- tion opportunities for the Winter PS. We would appreciate hearing from those with either hor- ror or success stories to relate or with sugges- tions about strategies for getting onto the program or institutional changes for opening up the process.) 1978 1977 1976 1975 1974 1973 1972 Chair- persons 15.3% (20/131) 15.5 19.0 9.6 12.2 13.0 5.6 Paper Givers and Workshop Participants 19.8% (99/500) 16.8 13.6 12.6 13.4 11.3 12.1 Discussants 16.7% (35/210) 14.7 18.2 9.9 10.0 13.6 10.8 Thus, female participation has become substan- tial. Yet it is distributed unevenly, being highest in sections and panels chaired by women. The two (out of 16) sections chaired by women had somen as 41.2% of the chairpersons, 18.2% of the papergivers and 33.3% of the discussants. The 20 panels headed by women had women as 32.9% of the papergivers and 30.3% of the discussants. (These panels contained 28.3% of the women giving papers at the convention and 28.6% of the convention's female discussants.) There were the usual assortment of stag panels: Intergovernmental Systems in Urban Areas (0-1,0-6,0-2) Science and Humanism in Teaching Political Science (0-1, 0-7) The Political Scientist on the Policy-Analytical Team (Roundtable) (0-1, 0-6) Empirical Applications of Analytical Political Theory (0-1, 0-6, 0-2) Overseeing or Overlooking?: New Techniques of Legislative/Executive Review (0-1, 0-5, 0-2) Theory of Legislation (0-1, 0-8) Models of Institutions and Institutional Pro- cesses (0-1, 0-5, 0-2) Methodological Problems in Policy Analysis (0-1,0-4,0-3) The Use and Abuse of Scientific, Technical and Privileged Information in Policy Making (0-1, 0-8, 0-1) Contemporary International Developments and America's Changing Political and Commer- cial Interests (0-1, 0-8) There were other customary variants: (a) A virtually stag panel: Contributions of Analytic Theory to Normative Theory (0-1, 1—10). (b) A female chair but an otherwise male panel: Alternative Policy Instruments (1-1, 0-6, 2-3). (c) A woman as chair and women as discus- sants: Cross-National Comparative Public Policy (1-1, 0-6, 2-3). (d) A male chairman but a balanced panel: The Methodological Issues and Concepts in Experi- mental Research (0-1, 3-5, 1-2); Impact of Minorities [racial not sex] on Urban Politics (0-1, 3-6, 1-2); and Group Identification, Politi- cal Ideology and Participation (0-1, 3-6, 1-2). (e) Other examples of where a female chair makes a difference: East-West Comparisons: Views from Below (1-1, 3-4, 1-2); Determinants of Urban Policy: Public Opinion, Interest Groups and Movements (1-1, 2-4, 1-1). (f) Women Studies topics: Sociology and Poli- tics: New Directions in the Political Participa- tion of Women at the Local and National Levels (1-1, 2-6, 2-2); The Role of Women in Develop- ment (1-1, 3-4, 1-1). It is with relief that I report that the Business Meeting voted overwhelmingly not to hold the 1979 meeting in Illinois, a state which has failed to ratify the E.R.A. I had great apprehen- sion that failure to move the meeting would have resulted in a catastrophic downturn in female participation at the 1979 meeting. Martin Gruberg University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh To the Editor: May I offer some observations regarding W. Landis Jones' remarks in the Summer 1978 PS? As Director of the President's Commission on White House Fellowships he is concerned that only 7 percent of the people awarded Fellow- ships in 13 classes have been political scientists. He concludes that an explanation ("The simple answer") may be that political scientists do not apply in great numbers. It is certainly true that those awarded fellow- ships do seem to come disproportionately from major industries and the military. It would also appear that they come predominately from major urban centers. This last point suggests one of two additional, if not alternate, reasons why more political scientists are not Fellows. 582 PSFaW 1978 L T Educators in general are not uncommonly consigned, for purposes at least of feeding and clothing themselves and any family, to institu- tions only indirectly linked to urban environ- ments at best. As financing of education be- comes tighter, all institutions, but particularly those not convenient to urban settings, suffer deterioration or absence of facilities. Thus "making a name" becomes progressively more difficult as does publishing. Furthermore, en- couraged anonymity impedes advancement (ser- vice) which is one criterion of the Fellowship selection process. Thus the second reason for the dearth of political science White House Fellows appears. Jones notes that " [ t ] h e readers of the applica- tions are looking for people early in their career who are showing signs that they will one day be leaders in their professions." Yet proof of this potential lies in establishing the fact that one is already a leader: "too few political scientists stress on their applications the community service aspect of their professional lives (Ah ha! we do apply, we just don't get accepted!). This community service can be to the broader community . . . or to the profession." In short, the White House Fellowship is not a fellowship in the traditional sense. That is, it does not assist those whose potential may be real but whose isolation professionally (as with the stereotype of the community college) and environmentally (rural wilderness) deters all but minimal evidence of that potential. Instead, those already in leadership positions are re- warded for their success. To paraphrase an old adage, the President's Commission on White House Fellowships will give you a fellowship the way banks will give you money, provided you can prove to their satisfaction that you don't need it. Herein also lies a challenge to the Association: find ways to help those newer to the discipline and/or leadership, who want to produce, over- come accidents of geography and sociology. Raymond L. Chambers Bainbridge Junior College Dear Professor Epstein:* We know we speak for a considerable number of political scientists when we say there is reason to be distressed (to put it mildly) by the action taken at the recent business meeting to boycott the City of Chicago because of the failure of the State of Illinois to ratify the Equal Rights Amendment. We insist that this action is (as it was ruled by President Wahlke to be) a clear violation of the constitution which provides (in Article I I , section 2) that the Association "will not commit its members on questions of public policy nor take positions T h e above letter is published in PS at the request of the writers. not immediately concerned with its direct purpose," which purpose is described as the encouragement of "the study of Political Sci- ence." By overruling President Wahlke and then voting to boycott Chicago, the meeting made it appear that the American Political Science is no respecter of rules (even its own rules) and no respecter of constitutions (even as it agitates for an amendment to the Constitution). We think it essential that you act to prevent this sort of thing once and for all. The Constitution of the United States may or may not require amendment—we take no stand on that issue—but the constitution of the APSA is quite obviously in need of amendment. It was written for a profession that is no longer what it was. Its authors assumed that political scien- tists could be trusted to govern themselves or, even in the absence of the instruments of enforcement, could be trusted to observe rules mutually agreed upon. In short, unlike James Madison and his colleagues, our particular founders assumed that, whatever might be said about men and women in general, political scientists were indeed "angels" whose govern- ment required no "auxiliary precautions." That, quite obviously, has now been proved to be not applicable to the present membership and the Association must act accordingly. As the rules now stand, the Association cannot be prevented from marching to the beat of any zealous drummer who manages to pack a business meeting, and with fewer members in attendance at the annual meetings, and fewer still at the business meetings, it is becoming easier to do this. What is required, therefore, is a constitutional amendment further limiting the authority of these business meetings; to bring this about is, we think, the most important business likely to arise during your term of office. Sincerely, Walter Berns University of Toronto (on leave) Valerie Earle Georgetown University Robert A. Goldwin American Enterprise Institute To the Editor: I was one of about 9,600 in the 10,100 member APSA who thought he had better things to do with the Saturday evening and Sunday morning of Labor Day weekend than attend yet another lengthy and rancorous association business meeting. I therefore found George Will's syndi- cated column of September 14 an informative account of some disturbing events. I recom- mend it to the 9,599 or so others in whose name 360 were able to defy President John Wahlke's ruling on the clear meaning of the APSA Constitution's ban on committing its members on questions of public policy. Surely we political scientists can think of a better way 583 Communications of governing ourselves than to make the consti- tution subordinate to whatever temporary ma- jority happens to control a rump business meeting. Here is Will's column: # Such Resolute Political Scientists Enough of sobriety, gentle reader. Let us turn, instead, to the recent convention of the Ameri- can Political Science Association. "Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery," said Jane Austen, and so say I, turning to APSA's business meeting in New York earlier this month. In 1976, the APSA, always energetic about occupying the moral, high ground, declared that it would not convene in any state that rafused to ratify the Equal Rights Amendment, as long as ERA was pending before the states. That strategy of trying to buy ratification reflects the understandable reluctance of ERA sup- porters to rely on their arguments about the merits of the amendment. But in 1973, APSA contracted with the Paimer House, a Hilton hotel in Chicago, to convene there in 1979. In 1976 Illinois had not (as it still has not) ratified ERA, but the deadline for ratifying was March 1979, before APSA's au- tumn convention, so APSA assumed that ERA could not be pending at convention time. However, it now seems possible that Congress will extend the deadline to 1982. Faced with the prospect that ERA might be pending and unratified in Illinois in autumn 1979, APSA this month voted, by 4 to 1 , to renege on its Palmer House contract. Hilton sent a tough (well, semi-tough) talking fellow to threaten to sue APSA—unless APSA agreed to meet in another Hilton hotel. But Hilton also sent another fellow to say how much Hilton valued APSA's friendship. This demonstration of the fiber of the business community left APSA convinced that Hilton was not to be taken seriously. Had the vote gone against Chicago by less than a two-thirds majority, the issue would have been submitted to the entire APSA membership by mail ballot, and the outcome might have been different. APSA business meetings have a peculiar composition: Imagine the political temperaments of people whose idea of a well- spent Saturday afternoon is one spent passing resolutions in hotel ballrooms. The meeting overturned a ruling by the chair- man that support for ERA violates APSA's constitution, which stimpulates that APSA will not take stands "on questions of public pol- icy," except regarding academic freedom and freedom of expression. Not even political scien- tists can believe ERA is such a matter, but the majority at the business meeting was at least even-handed. It showed as much contempt for its constitution as for its contractual obliga- tions. Next, the meeting rejected, overwhelmingly, a 584 PSFsW 1978 proposal that APSA not participate in the International Political Science Association's 1979 meeting in Moscow. Those opposed to participation argued the impropriety of holding a political science convention in a nation where political science is impossible. (Free investigation of, say, power relations or interest groups in Soviet government is unimaginable.) They also argued that to hold the IPSA meeting in Moscow at a time of increased repression, and when many natural scientists are refusing to go there, would amount to "scabbing against the protest movement." Those who favored going to Moscow used the arguments and rhetoric that have been used for about 61 years. From the IPSA: " . . . influence on the growth of international dialogue and increasing levels of mutual knowledge, toler- ance, and the reduction of extreme aspects of ethnocentricism . . . contribute to the building of bridges of trust and confidence. . . . " From the State Department: " . . . influence Soviet and Eastern European behavior on human rights by continuing contacts. . . . " So it came to pass that political scientists, having voted to shun Chicago in the name of "human rights," voted to go to Moscow. By this time all but the most avid activists had drifted away into the scented dusk of Manhat- tan, and the meeting looked like something left on the beach by the tide. Fortunately, someone had the wit to notice the absence of a quorum. That dissolved the meeting before it could vote to condemn the University of Maryland, with- out an investigation, for not giving the chair- manship of its political science department to a Marxist who, his supporters say, has a "right" to the job. "But, my dear sir," cried Mr. Weston (in Jane Austen's "Emma"), " i f Emma comes away early, it will be breaking up the party." "And no great harm if it does," said Mr. Woodhouse. 'The sooner every party breaks up the better." Michael J. Malbin National Journal (on leave) To the Editor: Last year I participated in the evaluation of applicants for the NSF Graduate Fellowship program. For the purpose of this program political science is grouped together with sev- eral other fields including philosophy and his- tory of science, geography and economics. I was surprised to discover the very few number of political science applicants. A number of individuals on the panel had served in this capacity for several years and they indicated that this showing for political science was in no way unusual—students entering graduate school in political science apparently do not often apply to this program. Undoubtedly, there are several reasons for this. To qualify for the award, an individual must •Copyright 1978 Washington Post Co. Reprinted with Pi mission. either be completing his/her senior year or have completed the senior year but be no further than the first semester into a graduate program. My guess is that these students tend to fall between two stools with respect to counseling in most institutions. Undergraduate counselors are typically more concerned with lower class- men and their problems as related to such matters as curriculum; most of these counselors are not particularly aware of fellowship oppor- tunities for graduating seniors. Typically a graduating senior turns for advice to a mentor with whom he/she has worked over the years and my guess is that, like myself, not too many of us are informed about fellowship opportuni- ties that exist independent of graduate institu- tions. Or, if informed, the strong scientific aura of the National Science Foundation may have made some feel that unless a student had the equivalent of a major in mathematics and science, he/she would not qualify. If the gradu- ating senior faces a problem, just imagine the plight of the entering graduate student. He/she typically knows no one in the department and must rely on a frequently overworked and too busy graduate advisor for information and counseling; there is no one who specially looks out for his/her interests and can alert the student to the possibilities of the NSF grant. By the time the graduate student becomes known to a faculty member of the December deadline has passed and with it the very last chance to qualify for the fellowship. Obviously the purpose of this open letter is to urge the political science community to encour- age more students to apply for this very lucrative and prestigious award. As fellowships and scholarships shrink in number and size, it seems incredible that our good students are not utilizing the opportunities that do exist. The National Science Foundation award is for THREE YEARS at the current rate of $3,900, and the student can use the fellowship at any accredited institution he/she chooses. This is not to imply that the award is easy to win; the competition is certainly stiff and only those students with excellent backgrounds and good references should be encouraged. But surely there are many of these around. It should also be noted that the scientific aura of this granting agency has been overblown. A student who proposes to follow a typical program in politi- cal science involving some aspect of research almost surely qualified. Someone who wishes to study political science in order to become a better politician is not too likely to win an award; but most individuals who propose the standard graduate program leading to a teach- ing-research position are eligible. I hope the political science community will make the work of the next set of panelists harder than it has ever been by encouraging a large number of students to apply. The interest- ing thing about these fellowships is that as the number of applicants, especially quality appli- cants, increases, so do the funds. The more top-quality political scientists that apply this year, the more fellowship money there will be in subsequent years. Dina A. Zinnes Indiana University 585 
work_wu6ouh3xm5bjxpsnp6belvrdsi	----	iau1100244a The Role of Astronomy in Society and Culture Proceedings IAU Symposium No. 260, 2009 D. Valls-Gabaud & A. Boksenberg, eds. c© International Astronomical Union 2011 doi:10.1017/S1743921311002444 Hobbits, Hogwarts, and the Heavens: The use of fantasy literature and film in astronomy outreach and education Kristine Larsen Physics and Earth Sciences, Central Connecticut State University, 506 Copernicus Hall, 1615 Stanley St., New Britain, CT 06050, USA email: larsen@ccsu.edu Abstract. Due in part to recent (and ongoing) film adaptations, the fantasy series of C.S. Lewis (The Chronicles of Narnia), J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter), Philip Pullman (His Dark Materials), and J.R.R. Tolkien (The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings) are being introduced to a new audience. Many astronomers and astronomy educators are unaware of the wide variety of astronomical references contained in each series, and the myriad possible uses of these works in astronomy education and outreach. This paper highlights activities which educators, planetariums, and science centers have already developed to utilise these works in their education and outreach programs. Keywords. Science fiction and fantasy, popular culture, literature, film In his classic essay, On Fairy-Stories, philologist and fantasy writer J.R.R. Tolkien (Tolkien 1997) argued that fantasy “does not destroy or even insult Reason; and it does not either blunt the appetite for, nor obscure the perception of scientific verity. On the contrary, the keener and clearer the reason, the better the fantasy it will make”. Although literary critics have argued for a distinction between fantasy and science fiction, with only the latter considered to be based on scientific principles, in the case of four specific fantasy series –those of C.S. Lewis (The Chronicles of Narnia), J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter), Philip Pullman (His Dark Materials), and J.R.R. Tolkien (The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings), the distinction is significantly blurred. Regardless of the specific classification used, the works of all four authors can and have been successfully used in astronomy education and outreach, as described in this paper. Considered the archetype of its literary class, J.R.R. Tolkien’s sweeping fantasy series centered on Middle-earth consists of The Silmarillion (1977), The Hobbit (1937), and The Lord of the Rings (1955), as well as a number of posthumously published works (edited by his son, Christopher), including twelve detailed volumes of drafts and alter- nate texts referred to as the History of Middle-Earth series. Each of these works draws heavily on Tolkien’s academic interests in language, culture, mythology, and science, and contain an impressive litany of astronomical knowledge, reflecting Tolkien’s childhood interest in astronomy and other sciences (Tolkien 1997). Astronomical references in the works of Tolkien include constellations, a detailed creation myth, mythical explanations for eclipses and lunar phases, the Morning Star, auroras, the use of meteoritic iron in weaponry, the development of several precise calendars, and the use of lunar phases to coordinate the chronology of events in The Lord of the Rings. Detailed descriptions of astronomical references in Tolkien’s works can be found in Quiñonez & Raggett (1990) and Larsen (2005,b, 2006, 2007, 2009). The Lord of the Rings has consistently topped a number of readers’ polls conducted in several countries over the past decade, and the 306 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311002444 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311002444 https://www.cambridge.org/core Fantasy literature and film in astronomy outreach 307 movies based on the trilogy broke sales records around the world. Two movies based on The Hobbit are due to be released in 2012 and 2013. One of Tolkien’s closest friends was C.S. Lewis, and the pair belonged to a small lit- erary/social circle known as The Inklings. Lewis was an amateur astronomer and used both his own small telescope and the Oxford University Observatory (Ward 2008). The Chronicles of Narnia series is comprised of seven books published between 1950-1956 which documents the parallel universe of Narnia from its creation to its destruction. Characters include stars who have retired from the sky and star-gazing dwarfs and cen- taurs, and topics such as constellations, meteors, planetary alignments, the Evening Star, and the deaths of stars find a place in the Narnian cosmology. The series has sold over 100 million copies worldwide, and the second movie based on the series was released in 2008, with a third to follow in 2010. Phillip Pullman describes science as a topic that he was “fascinated by at home and turned off by at school” (Gribbin & Gribbin 2007). His Subtle Materials trilogy, comprised of The Golden Compass, The Subtle Knife, and The Amber Spyglass (1995-2000), is filled with philosophical debates and an exploration of the tension between fundamentalist dogma and scientific exploration. Main character Lyra Belacqua travels between parallel universes, and in the process the reader learns much about aurora, dark matter, and evolution. Iorek Byrnison, the much-beloved king of the polar bears, makes his own armor out of meteoritic iron. The series has won several prestigious awards, and came in third behind The Lord of the Rings and Jane Austen in a 2003 BBC readers poll. The first book has already been made into a film (2007), and there has been discussion of adapting the second book for the big screen. No recent fantasy series has sold as many copies as those of J.K. Rowling’s Harry Pot- ter universe (or ‘Potterverse’). The seven novels have broken all sales records, and movies based on the first five books have opened to extremely large and enthusiastic crowds. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince is due to open in theaters in July 2009, with two movies based on the final book due to open in 2011 and 2012. As with the other authors discussed, Rowling has interwoven a great deal of astronomy into her series. In book five, Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix, the young protagonists study the Galilean moons of Jupiter in preparation for the astronomy portion of their Ordinary Wizardry Level (OWL) exam, which entails an observational astronomy practicum using a tele- scope. Numerous characters sport astronomical names, such as Sirius Black, Andromeda Tonks, and Merope Gaunt, further introducing Rowling’s young readers to astronomical concepts and terminology. Astronomical references in the Potterverse are explained in detail in James (2007), Krisciunas (2003), and Pasachoff (2003). Therefore, just as numerous authors have successfully utilized works of science fiction in astronomy and physics education and outreach (e.g.. Allday 2003; Barnett & Kafka 2007; Dubeck 1994), these and other fantasy series can act as valuable partners in our as- tronomy education and outreach toolkits, and should be exploited often and shamelessly in order to interest the general public (and college students) in astronomy. Given the plethora of astronomical references in these works, astronomy educators have a wide va- riety of astronomical concepts which can be illustrated. For example, a lecture on auroras can be introduced with one of Pullman’s beautifully descriptive passages on the Northern Lights from The Golden Compass (e.g.. Pullman 2007). Similarly, citations from these works can be used on exams and other assessments to measure students’ ability to apply their astronomical knowledge to interdisciplinary situations. For example, students can apply their understanding of the end stages of stellar evolution to passages from Lewis’s The Magician’s Nephew which describes a dying world orbiting a red giant star (e.g., https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311002444 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311002444 https://www.cambridge.org/core 308 K. Larsen Lewis 2008). Students can also relate the ancient and medieval concept of the music of the spheres to the musical modes of creation of the universes of Middle-earth and Narnia. Since both the tales of Narnia and Middle-Earth contain detailed creation myths, these stories can be used as concrete examples for the analysis of creation myths, without the worry of offending students of any ethnic or religious background. Students can further apply their understanding of the function and format of creation myths by writing their own creation myth for an alien world with parameters set by the instructor. An example assignment can be found at http://www.physics.ccsu.edu/larsen/paper 1.htm. Lab exercises can also be developed around the astronomical references found in these works. For example, the lunar chronology of The Lord of the Rings is the basis of an exercise entitled What Day is it, Dr. Frodo?, while the constellations of Middle-Earth are the central focus of The Stars of Middle-Earth. Both exercises appear in the Astronomical Society of the Pacific’s volume Cosmos in the Classroom 2004 (Larsen 2004). The most extreme case is, of course, the development of an entire course focusing on the astronomy or other sciences found in these works. An example is The Science of Middle-Earth, a course for first-year students not majoring in the sciences. The course was taught as part of a learning community with a section of Freshman Composition. The same cohort of students was registered for both sections, and read The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, and selections from Tolkien’s letters and the History of Middle-Earth volumes. Among the scientific topics covered were science and religion, ancient astronomy, the night sky, calendars, star birth and death, formation of the earth and moon, plate tectonics, volcanoes, meteorites, the origin of life, evolu- tion, and genetic engineering. A course syllabus and other materials can be found at http://www.physics.ccsu.edu/larsen/courses fall 2007.htm. While astronomy education certainly affords opportunities for the creative use of fan- tasy literature and film, outreach activities are more flexible in terms of time, content, and audience. Therefore, fantasy series are even more valuable to the astronomy out- reach specialist. An obvious example is planetarium shows and star parties, the sta- ples of astronomy outreach. Harry Potter themes have been successfully utilized in star parties by the Jodrell Banks Observatory Visitors Center and other organisations, es- pecially when such events have been tied in with the release of books in the series (http://www.strudel.org.uk/blog/astro/000676.shtml). The December 2008 Venus-Jupiter conjunction also afforded a natural tie-in with the Potterverse (Larsen 2008), given the inclusion of the Galilean satellites, planetary align- ments, and viewing Venus in a telescope in the Hogwarts OWLS exam. Visitors to the observing sessions at Central Connecticut State University’s Copernican Observatory re- ceived a special OWLS exam certificate. NASA also used the OWLS astronomy exam as the basis for a feature article on the Galilean moons (http://www.nasa.gov/vision/ universe/solarsystem/02jul harrypotter.html). The New Jersey Center for Educa- tion has developed a Harry Potter planetarium show, The Skies Over Hogwarts based on astronomical themes and characters in the series (http://www.raritanval.edu/ planetarium/planetarium.htm). The classic starwheel activity done in numerous class- rooms and astronomy workshops can easily be adapted to either Middle-Earth or the Potterverse. For example, Chapter III of The Fellowship of the Ring contains the follow- ing detailed description of the midnight sky in late September: Away high in the East swung Remmirath, the Netted Stars, and slowly above the mists red Borgil rose, glowing like a jewel of fire. Then by some shifts of airs all the mist was drawn away like a veil, and there leaned up, as he climbed over the rim of the world, the Swordsman of the Sky, Menelvagor with his shining belt. Tolkien (1994) https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311002444 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311002444 https://www.cambridge.org/core Fantasy literature and film in astronomy outreach 309 Remmirath is the Pleiades, Borgil is Aldebaran, and Menelvagor is most obviously Orion. Turning to the Potterverse, fans can be enticed to study the constellations by turning the classic free online planisphere ‘Uncle Al’s Skywheel’ (available at http://www.lhs. berkeley.edu/StarClock/skywheel.html) into a Harry Potter Starfinder by simply labeling Alphard and Bellatrix, and coupling it with a genealogy of the Black family (e.g. http://www.hp-lexicon.org/wizards/blackfamilytree.html). Rowling’s chief astronomical error (having the Hogwarts students view Orion before midnight in June) can easily be illustrated using this planisphere. The activity can be tied to a planetarium show focusing on the constellations, or with an activity in which flashcards are made for each of the relevant constellations and stars (e.g. http://www.ccsu.edu/astronomy/ SiriusBlack.docx). As mentioned previously, the Galilean moons of Jupiter are described in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix as part of astronomy professor Aurora Sinistra’s dreaded essay. The characteristics of these moons can be explored in a number of hands-on activi- ties, such as making scale models of Jupiter and the Galilean moons and the Earth-Moon system using paper and string. A useful scale is to make Earth approximately three inches wide. In this model, a quadrant of Jupiter is roughly the size of a full-size sheet of news- paper. Centaurs figure prominently in the Potterverse, and play the rôle of astronomers (or at least stargazers). This connection can be used to introduce children and adults to Sagit- tarius as a constellation, and the myriad astronomical objects contained within its bor- ders. Among these is notably the center of our galaxy. The galaxy is mentioned in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, when Harry contemplates purchasing a moving model on a shopping trip to Diagon Alley. The structure of the galaxy can be discussed in this context, using an extension of the ‘glitter galaxy’ (http://www.enchantedlearning. com/crafts/astronomy/glittergalaxy). Instead of using actual glitter, glitter glue pens of the appropriate colors (red and blue for the spiral arms and yellow for the central region) cut down considerably on the mess, and globular clusters can be depicted by tiny pieces torn from cotton balls and glued to the paper. Numerous authors have successfully utilised science fiction works such as Star Trek and short stories by Isaac Asimov as tools in teaching science since the 1950s. Classic fantasy series, such as those by Tolkien, Lewis, Pullman, and Rowling are beginning to take their rightful place in this tradition. As explained in this paper, the astronomical references are there for the taking, and the only limitation to their use in astronomy outreach and teaching is the creativity of the astronomical community. For additional examples and resources, the interested reader is directed to http://www.ccsu.edu/astronomy/ hobbits.htm. References Allday, J. 2003, Physics Education, 38, 27 Barnett, M. & Kafka, A. 2007, J. College Sci. Teaching, 36, 31 Dubeck, L. W., Mosher, S. E., & Boss, J. E. 1994, Fantastic Voyages: Learning Science Through Science Fiction Films (Woodbury, NY: AIP Press) Gribbin, M. & Gribbin, J. 2007, The Science of Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials (New York: Laurel-Leaf) James, C. R. 2007, Mercury, 36, 20 Krisciunas, K. 2003, Sky & Telescope, 106, 12 Larsen, K. 2004, in Cosmos in the Classroom 2004, A. Fraknoi & W. Waller (eds) (San Francisco: Astronomical Society of the Pacific), p. 237 Larsen, K. 2005a, Tolkien Studies, 2, 161 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311002444 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311002444 https://www.cambridge.org/core 310 K. Larsen Larsen, K. 2005b, Mallorn, 43, 49 Larsen, K. 2006, Mallorn, 44, 22 Larsen, K. 2007, Tolkien Studies, 4, 223 Larsen, K. 2008, CAP Journal, 4, 16 Larsen, K. 2009, in The Mirror Crack’d: Fear and Horror in J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and its Sources L. Forest-Hill (ed) (Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing), p. 169 Lewis, C. S. 2008, The Chronicles of Narnia (New York: Harper Collins) Pasachoff, J. M. 2003, Sky & Telescope, 106, 12 Pullman, P. 2007, His Dark Materials (New York: Alfred A. Knopf) Quiñonez, J. & Raggett, N. 1990, Vinyar Tengwar, 12, 5 Tolkien, J. R. R. 1994, The Lord of the Rings (Boston: Houghton Mifflin) Tolkien, J. R. R. 1997, The Monsters and the Critics (London: Harper Collins) Ward, M. 2008, Planet Narnia: The Seven Heavens in the Imagination of C. S. Lewis (Oxford: Oxford University Press) https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311002444 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1743921311002444 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_wuo45whc3zetdjbpo4dmswd32e	----	Transatlantica, 1 | 2003 Transatlantica Revue d’études américaines. American Studies Journal  1 | 2003 State of the Union Tony Tanner. The American Mystery. Cambridge : Cambridge UP, 2000. 242 p. (préface d’Edward Saïd, introduction de Ian F. Bell). Marc Chénetier Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/680 DOI : 10.4000/transatlantica.680 ISSN : 1765-2766 Éditeur AFEA Référence électronique Marc Chénetier, « Tony Tanner. The American Mystery. », Transatlantica [En ligne], 1 | 2003, mis en ligne le 05 avril 2006, consulté le 25 septembre 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/ 680 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/transatlantica.680 Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 25 septembre 2020. Transatlantica – Revue d'études américaines est mis à disposition selon les termes de la licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d'Utilisation Commerciale - Pas de Modification 4.0 International. http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org http://journals.openedition.org/transatlantica/680 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/ Tony Tanner. The American Mystery. Cambridge : Cambridge UP, 2000. 242 p. (préface d’Edward Saïd, introduction de Ian F. Bell). Marc Chénetier 1 Tony Tanner nous a quittés. Tony Tanner ne nous a pas quittés. Tony Tanner ne peut pas nous quitter. Parce qu’il est depuis peu décédé. Parce qu’il nous offre ces pages aujourd’hui. Parce qu’il faudra toujours se nourrir de ses grands livres et mesurer à leur aune propos et jugements sur la littérature américaine. Sans lui, naguère, qui eût osé s’aventurer dans les terres inexplorées de la fiction récente ? Pourtant, dans son splendide isolement, ce courageux maverick n’a jamais cédé à la tentation de tracer les lignes droites séparatrices qui navrent le Pynchon de Mason & Dixon, livre auquel le dernier essai (et seul inédit) de cet ultime recueil est consacré. Pas plus qu’il ne s’est laissé lui-même enfermer dans un champ particulier. A peine le croyait-on occupé à traquer les rémanences de la littérature américaine du dix- neuvième siècle dans les œuvres des contemporains, qu’il se promenait du coté de Bath au bras de Jane Austen. A peine le croyait-on éloigné des neuves amours de City of Words, qu’il nous donnait l’un des meilleurs livres jamais écrits sur Pynchon. A peine l’imaginait-on revenu à l’étude de la littérature anglaise qu’il repartait pour l’Amérique. Peut-être cette permanente hésitation, au gré d’une fascination-répulsion qui n’est pas inconnue des américanistes européens, trouva-t-elle un point d’équilibre dans ses derniers travaux sur Henry James, à l’œuvre duquel, au reste, The American Mystery consacre trois beaux essais. 2 Découvreur, peut-être Tony Tanner le fut-il moins lorsqu’il parlait d’écrivains encore peu étudiés que lorsqu’il affrontait les classiques. Sa capacité à relire, à rénover le regard, à renouveler le mystère des textes les plus labourés et à en modifier la problématique reconnue (ici The Great Gatsby ou Moby-Dick) ; sa vaste culture littéraire, qui lui permettait, à tout moment et à la fois, d’opérer les liaisons les moins attendues entre écrivains temporellement et culturellement distants, de relativiser les prétendues « avancées » et de juger de la valeur des « nouveautés » selon les exigences des piliers de la tradition ; une générosité intellectuelle qui n’avait d’égale que son intransigeance (Tanner est intraitable envers ceux qu’il admire, en témoignent ses lectures très Tony Tanner. The American Mystery. Transatlantica, 1 | 2003 1 critiques de Vineland ou de Underworld même si le recueil culmine sur l’auteur du premier et emprunte son titre cryptique et fertile à l’auteur du second) : telles pourraient être les caractéristiques majeures d’une œuvre critique comparées à laquelle rares sont les voix enfuies ou contemporaines qui vaillent, et négligeables les innombrables et insipides produits de circonstance de la mondaine et laborieuse industrie contemporaine du CV. On ne saurait pourtant omettre de cette liste brève deux autres traits parmi les plus importants : une voix très particulière et une fascination / compréhension profonde des tensions pérennes de l’imaginaire américain. 3 Tony Tanner savait, aux moments qu’il fallait, être délicieusement corrosif. Mais si sa voix garde toujours la trace des vives réactions que lui inspiraient la médiocrité, l’incohérence, la complaisance ou la facilité, elle garde aussi celle du goût réel pour la conversation, pour le dissentiment complice, qu’entretint toujours celui qui n’écrivit que pour qui était désireux, sérieusement, passionnément, de comprendre une littérature et une culture dont les contradictions lui inspiraient à la fois enthousiasme et perplexité. L’écriture de Tony Tanner, on le verra d’un bout à l’autre de ce volume, est méticuleuse, méditative, nécessaire, mûrie, réfléchie, enchaîne questions et hypothèses libres de tout jargon, de toute mode, en déprise absolue d’avec les débats incidents, traque les anxiétés de la geste américaine sous les écritures les plus différentes. Page après page, c’est une intelligence cultivée au travail, digne de toutes les admirations : souci du texte, sensibilité aux moindres aspérités, dialogue du lointain et du proche, de l’esthétique et de l’éthique, rigueur, dépassement constant des idées reçues, bonheurs de prose. 4 Du rêve absolu de l’ouvert à la mélancolie pynchonienne (« What if America was just America ? »), Tanner explore tout l’espace du déploiement des possibles enfuis et d’un réel navrant. Sans jamais se hausser suffisamment le col pour trancher, il écrit dans l’intervalle, entre la conscience d’une législation possible et le refus d’y avoir recours. On entend s’affronter dans sa pensée sa sympathique écoute des textes, selon la logique interne de leur tragique magnificence, la conscience de l’impossibilité qu’il y a pour un Européen à réellement adhérer aux prémisses de cet objet d’étude, sa chaleureuse attention et son amour immodéré envers les marginaux d’une culture à qui ils ont donné sa littérature. Il faut l’entendre écouter Emerson « who sought to find a mode of writing which, as it were, seemed to dissolve itself even as it began to settle, stiffen, and congeal — a writing seemingly in a state of permanent transition », l’entendre écouter Hawthorne, dont le ton « as always tends uncontrollably towards the facetious, so that, even if he wants to take something seriously, by the time he has finished talking about it he has either undermined, ridiculed, banalised, or vaporised it », l’entendre — dans ses trois essais sur Melville : White-Jacket, The Confidence Man et Moby-Dick, ou dans les trois qu’il consacre à Henry James — raffiner plus avant les causes de son admiration, l’entendre radicalement décaper les ironies du contrat énonciatif dans The Great Gatsby (il écrit dans ce texte, génialement, que « The American dream is not an index of aspiration but a function of deprivation » et l’on pense à Lindsay, confiant à ses carnets : « America overstimulates her youth and overdrugs her middle-aged. That is her crime »…), il faut goûter son sens aigu de la formule qui n’est jamais simple formule (sur Howells : « corrigible folly rather than irremediable evil is the order of the day » ; sur Fitzgerald : « out of the great last chance that was America—America has contrived to make itself utterly accidental and accident-prone » ; sur Don DeLillo, ce « latter-day American urban Transcendentalist » : « the panic inside the plastic » ; sur Pynchon, à Tony Tanner. The American Mystery. Transatlantica, 1 | 2003 2 l’œuvre entièrement tendue sur « a great subjunctive premise » : « What Pynchon realizes […] is that the best way to be deadly serious is to be whimsically unserious. ») pour comprendre que Tony Tanner n’était pas seulement un connaisseur avisé de la meilleure littérature des Etats-Unis mais qu’il a sa place, pour avoir si intimement compris sa raison d’être et ses modes de déchirement, auprès des plus grandes voix de la critique de notre temps qui ont su être immenses d’être aussi profondément personnelles. Quelque part, peut-être — et si l’on veut bien faire litière de la spécificité des corpus — , entre celle de Jean-Jacques Mayoux et celle de Jean Starobinski s’élève la voix de Tony Tanner. 5 C’est dire qu’on ne concluera pas en disant que ce livre « stimulant sera de la plus grande utilité, etc », mais en proposant simplement que se priver du plaisir si pur donné par le spectacle d’une si pure intelligence au travail serait un pur scandale. 6 Tony Tanner n’a jamais ménagé la culture américaine. Il n’a jamais non plus ménagé ses efforts pour tenter de la faire comprendre. On dit communément, s’agissant d’amitiés factices, opportunistes et complaisantes, « with such friends, who needs enemies ? » En inversant la formule, on sera tenté de dire : « Avec de semblables critiques, quel besoin la littérature américaine aurait-elle de banals thuriféraires ? » INDEX Thèmes : Recensions AUTEUR MARC CHÉNETIER Université Paris VII-Denis-Diderot / IUF Tony Tanner. The American Mystery. Transatlantica, 1 | 2003 3 Tony Tanner. The American Mystery. 
work_wvby232fvfdspmabsmwarxel7e	----	Moral Drama in Barchester Towers | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 19, Issue 1 June 1964 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| June 01 1964 Moral Drama in Barchester Towers W. David Shaw W. David Shaw Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1964) 19 (1): 45–54. https://doi.org/10.2307/2932786 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation W. David Shaw; Moral Drama in Barchester Towers. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 June 1964; 19 (1): 45–54. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2932786 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1964 By The Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Moral Drama in Barchester Towers' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Moral Drama in Barchester Towers Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_wy3zz7vc4vbstjo5iccsmidaya	----	Zombie Shakespeare This is a repository copy of Zombie Shakespeare. White Rose Research Online URL for this paper: http://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/118494/ Version: Published Version Article: Cummings, Brian (2016) Zombie Shakespeare. Palgrave Communications. 16063 (2016). pp. 1-4. https://doi.org/10.1057/palcomms.2016.63 eprints@whiterose.ac.uk https://eprints.whiterose.ac.uk/ Reuse This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution (CC BY) licence. This licence allows you to distribute, remix, tweak, and build upon the work, even commercially, as long as you credit the authors for the original work. More information and the full terms of the licence here: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/ Takedown If you consider content in White Rose Research Online to be in breach of UK law, please notify us by emailing eprints@whiterose.ac.uk including the URL of the record and the reason for the withdrawal request. COMMENT Received 22 Jun 2016 | Accepted 15 Aug 2016 | Published 6 Sep 2016 Zombie Shakespeare Brian Cummings1 ABSTRACT The year 2016 has seen an unprecedented level of interest occasioned by the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death. This interest is in marked contrast to the surviving information concerning the event: the cause, place and even date of Shakespeare’s demise are all unknown. Moreover, attention to the mere fact of death adds nothing to knowledge of Shakespeare’s work; rather it distracts attention. This article surveys the anniversary cele- brations in relation to the contrasting life records, arguing that the Anniversary has produced a “Zombie Shakespeare”, a twenty-first century biographical fantasy indicative of commo- dification rather than literary or creative imagination. This article is published as part of a collection on Shakespeare studies. OPENDOI: 10.1057/palcomms.2016.63 1 Department of English & Related Literature, York, UK PALGRAVE COMMUNICATIONS | 2:16063 | DOI: 10.1057/palcomms.2016.63 | www.palgrave-journals.com/palcomms 1 W illiam Shakespeare died in Stratford-upon-Avon on 23 April 1616, exactly 400 years ago (Schoenbaum, 1991: 3).1 It was his fifty-second birthday.2 Not until Samuel Beckett contrived to be born on Good Friday, and to die at Christmas, has an artist managed his own dying so neatly (Knowlson, 1996: 704).3 Exit, with a dead march. Muffled trumpets sound. Meanwhile a noise of voices, everywhere, joins in a cacophony of commemoration. Royalty pays respect to royalty. Trailing pikes, accompanied by a death knell. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales broadcasts a Shakespearean eulogy to Her Majesty the Queen to celebrate her ninetieth birthday, with a deft backhander to old Shagspear in return. Stars of screen and stage join the chorus. Dame Judi Dench and Sir Ian McKellen trade Hamlet jokes with the heir to the throne. A scream, below. As a one-off Midsomer Murder mystery, John Nettles examines Shakespeare’s Legacy for Yesterday, the Freeview RAF / Nazi Reunion Channel. Fresh discoveries are announced. On the Isle of Bute, a new copy of the First Folio has been found in the library of Mount Stuart. At the National Archives, Shakespeare’s last will and testament is examined—yet again— this time by X-ray, to show that the second page (intake of breath) was drafted at a different time from the others, and that at least four or five different inks were used. Leaving his “second best bed” to his wife may not, after all, be a husband’s final cutting slight. Not even the authorial bones are left undisturbed. An archaeological dig organized by Staffordshire University, disseminated via Channel 4, reports that the skull has been stolen.4 Even Shakespeare the Zombie cannot rest in peace, is not perhaps even there. Does the death of Shakespeare matter? It is hardly news. Nor are the so-called “new” discoveries “news”. As on so many matters, Malone was the first in arguing that giving Anne the second best bed was worse than ignoring her altogether: “he had recollected her,—but so recollected her, as more strongly to mark how little he esteemed her” (Malone, 1780, vol. 1: 657). However, already, before the beginning of the nineteenth century, George Steevens countered in the same book that this was a gross over- reading of the manuscript (Malone, 1780, vol. 1: 655). Since the biggest and best bed would automatically go to the principal heirs —Shakespeare’s elder daughter and her husband—the next best bed could just as easily be a mark of affection. As for the bones, the American Shakespearean Norris announced in 1876 that to get a photograph of Shakespeare’s skull “would be a great thing” (Norris, 1876: 40). But he was already too late: Irving in 1818 reported the grave being opened by accident but yielding nothing but dust. Even so, “it was something, I thought, to have seen the dust of Shakespeare” (Irving, 1819–1820: 65). Why do we keep repeating ourselves? Two hundred years ago, Irving had given up on the earthly remains of Shakespeare. He knew, in ways that are salutary in this year of manic Überkitschlichkeit, that the bodily author is now no more than a figure of speech, of little more significance than the name of Homer or the ghost of Sophocles. Indeed, it is a fair enough statement that we possess more significant information about the biography of Sophocles than about that of Shakespeare. The body hunters deny this. The curators at the National Archives have understandably stressed the relevance of their research to the understanding of Shakespeare. The late addition to the will shows, apparently, that Shakespeare was still showing interest in his affairs after his retirement, a month before he died; this also contradicts his reputation as a “miser”. But do either of these things show anything meaningful at all about the understanding of the “historical William”?5 Shakespeare had no reputation as a “miser” in his lifetime; and there is no evidence whatsoever that he “retired”. Both ideas have been invented to fit the paucity of real information. The life-records of Geoffrey Chaucer, edited by Crow and Olson for Oxford University Press, number 656 pages (Crow and Olson, 1966). They contain not one reference to the writing of Chaucer. Yet even this is better than what we know of Shakespeare’s life. At least we know what Chaucer was doing when he was not writing. We know the life of Sophocles as a writer indeed much better than we know Shakespeare. In the case of Sophocles, we know that he won the prize at the Dionysia for the first time in 468 BCE (beating Aeschylus!) (Easterling and Knox, 1985: 764). This tells us three things we do not know about Shakespeare: the date of Sophocles’s earliest recognition for his writing; the names of the judges, who included the Athenian general Cimon, so giving some political context; and (wondrous to remark) an actual performance date of a surviving work— Triptolemus.6 That is the depth of our ignorance of Shakespeare: we do not have a single piece of external evidence precisely dating a first performance of a single play. That is not to say that, to paraphrase Game of Thrones, “we know nothing”. Historical extrapolation of the career of Shakespeare is reasonably solid at least in outline. The Palladis Tamia of Francis Meres (a Rutland churchman) in 1598 gives us a bare terminus ante quem for a number of plays (Meres, 1598, sig. 2O2r).7 But by far the largest body of evidence for knowledge about Shakespeare’s writing comes from the surviving editions of his plays. The life-records, paltry as they are, tell us about the wrong things. He owed money on taxes in London in 1597 (Schoenbaum, 1975: 162).8 He had some dealings in malt in Stratford in 1598 (Schoenbaum, 1975: 179).9 From a literary point of view, however, the sole records that are helpful come from the theatre: share-owning documents from the acting companies, or the names of other actors (Schoenbaum, 1975: 199).10 Shakespeare owned one-tenth of the share of the lease of the Globe Theatre on its opening in 1599; likewise he owned a seventh of the share of the lease of the Blackfriars Theatre from February 1612 (Schoenbaum, 1975: 154).11 Even so, these are records of Shakespeare the actor and not Shakespeare the writer. Indeed, they are outshone once more by the literary remains (Erne, 2003: 14). It is the Quartos that give the most evidence of actual performances, whether in the theatres or at court. And it is the Folio that gives the only account surviving of Shakespeare’s methods or feelings as a writer: “His mind and hand went together: and what he thought, he vttered with that easinesse, that wee haue scarse receiued from him a blot in his papers” (Shakespeare, 1623, sig. πA3r). That is it. Let us say it, then, amid the tawdry memorials and endless TV shows: The death of Shakespeare is of no interest whatsoever. Except in so far as it is symptomatic of the kind of distracted attention we pay to his life: in all the BBC tributes, only Philomena Cunk got this point.12 It is only by inference we can say he died at all. Nobody paid the slightest attention to the death of Shakespeare until fifty years after the event. Like so much in his life the story is a fabrication, first supplied by the Reverend John Ward, who became vicar of Stratford in 1662. Ward was a commonplace rural parson and kept 18 volumes of miscellanies, of pharmacy, anatomy, pious musings, and good intentions to study Arabic, Anglo-Saxon and Hebrew. He knew (in all likelihood) Shakespeare’s nephew Thomas Ward, who had inherited the poet’s house in Henley Street; and he refers to a “Mrs Queeny”, possibly Shakespeare’s daughter Judith, who scandalously married Thomas Quiney the vintner and taverner, and survived into the Restoration. Could it be, then, that it was Judith who spitefully confided to Ward (as he then sensationally recorded) that her father died after a heavy drinking session with his old boozing literary friends Ben Jonson and Michael Drayton? To provide authenticity, Ward invented a post-hangover fever to explain his author’s demise (Schoenbaum, 1975: 242).13 COMMENT PALGRAVE COMMUNICATIONS | DOI: 10.1057/palcomms.2016.63 2 PALGRAVE COMMUNICATIONS | 2:16063 | DOI: 10.1057/palcomms.2016.63 | www.palgrave-journals.com/palcomms Sadly, since this is a terrific story, there are some problems with evidence. First, Drayton is believed to have avoided alcohol. The inferred pretext of celebrating his daughter’s wedding squares oddly with Shakespeare simultaneously downgrading her part in his will (Schoenbaum, 1991: 78). While later biographers have sniffed haughtily at the dubious- ness of this story, the fever (sometimes said categorically to be typhoid) persisted in more finished and scholarly tellings, even though there is not the slightest knowledge of Shakespeare’s ailments at any time of his life. Although the Victorians preferred not to think of Shakespeare drinking himself to death, they too liked to picture his old writing chums trotting back to the Midlands to reminisce about their Bankside hits. Nonetheless, the truth is: how Shakespeare died, and how he felt in his last months, God only knows (Duncan-Jones, 2001: 266; Greenblatt, 2012: 387). The fact is that we cannot know for certain that Shakespeare even died on 23 April. Strictly speaking, the death itself is not recorded, but only the burial in the town church of Holy Trinity. The parish register gives us this: “1616, 25 April. Will. Shakspere, gentleman” (Schoenbaum, 1975: 250).14 There is no time of death or even date; no post mortem, no mourners, no last address. Inspector Morse, never mind Barnaby, would not have had much fun in this episode. Shakespeare’s retirement from London to Stratford, so widely cited as to appear to be concrete fact, is also pure speculation. The first note of it is found in Nicholas Rowe’s Life of 1709: “The latter Part of his Life was spent, as all Men of good Sense will wish theirs may be, in Ease, Retirement and the Conversation of his Friends” (Rowe, 1709: xxxv). Rowe calculated that Shakespeare’s financial and property dealings gave him the opportunity to down tools and up sticks. It appeared natural to the manners of the polite society of the early eighteenth century, in which Rowe circulated, for an author to aspire to a country retirement and a deathbed in his native town. This all lent to the authorial life a satisfying symmetry. It is worth remembering, though, that the idea of retirement is nowhere mentioned in any record, and that the language and social fashion embodied in it are of a later period (Duncan-Jones, 2001: 249). Retirement, here, is a mere literary device: a way of returning Shakespeare home. It is entirely possible that a document will one day turn up which shows Shakespeare living in London shortly before his death. Indeed, the mortgage on a house in Blackfriars in 1613 already makes this possible (Schoenbaum, 1975: 224).15 But who cares, in any case? The reason we pay attention to the life of Shakespeare is based on two kinds of fallacy. The first is that the life of a writer, especially a great one, is always worth knowing. There are some wonderful lives of writers: in English, there are Ellmann’s Wilde, Lee’s Woolf, most of all Boswell’s Johnson. But that is because all of these writers were also interesting as people. Plenty of other biographies of writers show that this is not a necessary truth; perhaps more accurately, it is a contingent falsehood. The second fallacy is that the life of the writer is necessary to understand the writings. Borges wrote beautifully about both fallacies: The other one, the one called Borges, is the one things happen to. I walk through the streets of Buenos Aires and stop for a moment, perhaps mechanically now, to look at the arch of an entrance hall and the grillwork on the gate; I know of Borges from the mail and see his name on a list of professors or in a biographical dictionary (Borges, 1964: 246–247). Borges the man likes the taste of coffee and the prose of Stevenson. “Borges” the author of the books does so also. But the relation is like the one between an actor and the character she plays on stage or on screen. It is a mimetic relationship, parenthetic, we could say sublimated. Jorge Luis Borges, KBE, ciudadano, justifies his existence via his literature. But he is not really responsible for it, and certainly does not own it. “It is no effort for me to confess that he has achieved some valid pages, but those pages cannot save me, perhaps because what is good belongs to no one, not even to him, but rather to the language and to tradition”. Many writers have said, like Borges, that they would like us to leave them alone, and just read the books. This is true of writers, like Beckett, who hated fame, and who wrote themselves rigorously out of their books; and it is true of writers, like Proust, who wrote themselves incessantly into their books. Jean- Yves Tadié, author of Proust, one of the best lives of any writer, fastidiously writes about Proust the author and not “the other Proust” (Tadié, 2000: xvii-xx). Anyone ever tempted to write about Shakespeare’s death should read Tadié on Proust’s asthma. In Proust’s case there is at least the excuse that we know he suffered from asthma. There are vast archives of his letters, his notebooks, his proofs. And Proust, of all writers, was happiest writing about his memories. But the memories are still writings, and best studied as writing, not as theosophic hauntings. Still more is this the case with Shakespeare. His life records are extraordinarily thin. That we have even this many is down to the fact that we have looked so hard (indeed, too hard) to find them. Shakespeare’s life is the exemplary philosophical case of under- determination. In a similar way, the study of the First Folio constantly suffers from the opposite problem of over- determination. It has been studied too much. We know more about its pages, its paper, its founts, even the broken founts, than we do about any other printed book. As a result, we can make no reasonable comparison. Every so often, perhaps while watching Ben Elton’s new sitcom, Upstart Crow (ah, what a falling off was there, from Blackadder II), I think of David Lodge’s novel Changing Places (1975). In it, Professor Morris Zapp aspires to write the ultimate literary life: a series of commentaries on Jane Austen which would work through the whole canon, one novel at a time, saying absolutely everything that could possibly be said about them. The idea was to be utterly exhaustive, to examine the novels from every conceivable angle, historical, biographical, rheto- rical, mythical, Freudian, Jungian, existentialist, Marxist, structuralist, Christian-allegorical, ethical, exponential, lin- guistic, phenomenological, archetypal, you name it; so that when each commentary was written there would be simply nothing further to say about the novel in question (Lodge, 1975: 34). Perhaps the ultimate gift to Shakespeare on the 400th anniversary of his death would be, not a World Shakespeare Congress (which is of course taking place, this July and August), but a World Shakespeare Moratorium. However, this is to give in to the academic’s vice of saturated boredom. I am not yet prepared to give up reading Shakespeare, or going to see his plays. I love the new Globe A Midsummer Night’s Dream, for instance. I am even going to the World Shakespeare Congress. But I would like to see an end, sometime soon, to writings about the death of Shakespeare. Let us keep to the literary records, to the surviving texts and paratexts, including those by other writers; and to the records of the stage. The rest of the life records, let us put them in his tomb, to replace the missing skull. It is time to kill him off, properly this time. The problem with Zombie Shakespeare is the same as with zombies in general: he keeps returning, however often he is stabbed. I come to bury him, not to praise him. For, as PALGRAVE COMMUNICATIONS | DOI: 10.1057/palcomms.2016.63 COMMENT PALGRAVE COMMUNICATIONS | 2:16063 | DOI: 10.1057/palcomms.2016.63 | www.palgrave-journals.com/palcomms 3 with all zombies, it is not Shakespeare we are looking at when he comes back. It looks like him, but it is not him. Winter is coming. I am on the lookout for some obsidian. Until the next ice age, at any rate, which may even be pretty soon, let’s finally agree with the First Folio and stick to reading him. Brexit Shakespeare. Alarums. Lights fade. Silence. Notes 1 A debt to Schoenbaum, doyen of Shakespearean biographers, will be evident throughout. 2 Neither of these statements is verifiable, since the only surviving records are of baptism and burial; see below. 3 Beckett was born on Good Friday 1906; he died on 22 December 1989 and was buried the day after Christmas. 4 Online sources for the preceding, which for the benefit of posterity I declare have not been made up, may be found as following: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-36099669; http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-36122933; http://yesterday.uktv.co.uk/shows/shake speare-the-legacy-with-john-nettles/; http://www.mountstuart.com/media-and-news/ news/shakespeare-first-folio-discovered/; http://blog.nationalarchives.gov.uk/blog/ shakespeares-will-new-interpretation/; http://www.staffs.ac.uk/news/staffs-uni-aca demic-carries-out-firstever-archaeological-investigation-of-shakespeares-grave- tcm4290279.jsp. 5 “The Quest for the Historical Jesus” is the title given to the translation of Albert Schweitzer’s review of the historical criticism of the Jesus-story first published in 1906, Von Reimarus zu Wrede. 6 The source is Plutarch’s Life of Cimon, 8.8. 7 Meres lists eleven plays later found in the First Folio, and one other for which the text is now lost. 8 Shakespeare is named in the King’s Remembrancer Subsidy Roll on 15 November 1597 as a tax defaulter in Bishopgate ward who failed to pay an assessed 5s. (E. 179/146/354). 9 He is named as having illegally held 10 quarters (80 bushels) of malt or corn during a shortage (Shakespeare Birthplace Trust Records Office, Misc. Doc. I, 106). 10 In the Master of the Wardrobe record, Shakespeare is listed among “Players” who were given scarlet cloth to be worn for the King’s Royal Procession through London on 15 May 1604 (The National Archives, Lord Chamberlain’s Department, Special Events, L.C. 2/4(5), fo. 78). 11 A tripartite lease for the Globe Theatre consisted of an agreement between Sir Nicholas Brend (grounds owner), the Burbage brothers, and five members of the Lord Chamberlain’s company, which included Shakespeare. It was described by John Heminges and Henry Condell in their testimony during the 1619 Court of Requests action Witter v. Heminges and Condell. In 1615, Thomasina Ostler’s court plea has a list of shareholders for the Globe Theatre and Blackfriars property which includes Shakespeare’s name. 12 “Cunk on Shakespeare”; http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b07bgqdt. 13 The Diary of the Rev. John Ward, Vicar of Stratford-upon-Avon, Extending from 1648 to 1679, ed. Charles Severn (London: H. Coburn, 1839): 183-4. The manuscript is now in Washington D.C., Folger Shakespeare Library MS V.a.292, fo. 150. 14 Shakespeare Birthplace Trust Records Office, DR 243/1. 15 Henry Walker’s Blackfriars Gate-house was purchased on 11 March 1613 by Sha- kespeare, William Johnson, John Jackson, and John Heminges for £140; British Library, MS Egerton 1787. References Borges JL (1964) In: Yates DA and Irby JE (eds). Labyrinths: Selected Stories and Other Writings. New Directions: New York. Crow MM and Olson CC (eds) (1966) Chaucer Life-records. Clarendon Press: Oxford. Duncan-Jones K (2001) Ungentle Shakespeare, Repr. ed., Arden Shakespeare: London. Easterling PE and Knox BMW (eds) (1985) The Cambridge History of Classical Literature, vol. 1: Greek Literature. Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, UK. Erne L (2003) Shakespeare as Literary Dramatist. Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, UK. Greenblatt S (2012) Will In The World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare. Random House: New York. Irving W (1819-20) The Sketch Book of Goeffrey Crayon, Gent. C.S. van Winkle: New York. Knowlson J (1996) Damned to Fame: The Life of Samuel Beckett. Bloomsbury: London. Lodge David (1975) Changing Places: A Tale of Two Campuses. Secker and Warburg: London. Malone E (1780) In: Johnson S and Steevens G (eds). Supplement to the Edition of Shakespeare’s Plays Published in 1778; 2 vols C. Bathurst: London. Meres F (1598) Palladis tamia Wits treasury being the second part of Wits common wealth. P. Short: London. Norris JP (1876) Shakespearean gossip. American Bibliopolist; 8, 40. Rowe N (ed) (1709) The Works of Mr. William Shakespear. 6 vols. Volume the first. Containing, The Tempest. The Two Gentlemen of Verona. The Merry Wives of Windsor. Measure for Measure. Comedy of Errors. Much Ado about Nothing. Love's Labour’s Lost. Jacob Tonson: London. Schoenbaum S (1975) William Shakespeare: A Documentary Life. Clarendon Press/ Scolar Press: Oxford. Schoenbaum S (1991) Shakespeare’s Lives, New Ed., Clarendon Press: Oxford. Shakespeare W (1623) Mr. William Shakespeares comedies, histories, & tragedies. Published according to the true originall copies. Isaac Iaggard and Ed. Blount [at the charges of W. Iaggard, Ed. Blount, I. Smithweeke, and W. Aspley]: London. Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of plays, Arch. G c.7, http://firstfolio. bodleian.ox.ac.uk/text/. Tadié J-Y (2000) Marcel Proust: A Life. Viking Books: London. Additional information Competing interests: The authors declare no competing financial interests. Reprints and permission information is available at http://www.palgrave-journals.com/ pal/authors/rights_and_permissions.html How to cite this article: Cummings B (2016) Zombie Shakespeare. Palgrave Commu- nications. 2:16063 doi: 10.1057/palcomms.2016.63. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License. The images or other third party material in this article are included in the article’s Creative Commons license, unless indicated otherwise in the credit line; if the material is not included under the Creative Commons license, users will need to obtain permission from the license holder to reproduce the material. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ COMMENT PALGRAVE COMMUNICATIONS | DOI: 10.1057/palcomms.2016.63 4 PALGRAVE COMMUNICATIONS | 2:16063 | DOI: 10.1057/palcomms.2016.63 | www.palgrave-journals.com/palcomms title_link A1 A2 A3 
work_x2wtdlufu5bh5hdggq2pp5a3le	----	1995 CONFERENCE PROCEEDINGS 171 FANNY AND EPI-PHANY: RENEWING THE DRIFfiNG CHURCH IN MANSFIELD PARK Michael Giffin To insist that Jane Austen was not a theological writer, as several critics do, is to place a caveat upon literary criticism, and one which tries to prevent us from exploring what would have been obvious to her early readers. For as Marilyn Butler reminds us: "The superb draughtsmanship of Mansfield Park makes it easy to forget that they present a set of themes which are entirely commonplace in the period".! We cannot subtract theology from those themes without distorting them. Austen's age was an age of strong theological opinions. She grew up in a theological world. She was serious about her Anglican faith, and her later work was influenced by the Evangelical reform movement of the early nineteenth century.2 These influences permeate Mansfield Park, a novel which can be read as a statement of the author's theological position, a literary manifesto which speaks of a Church semper reformanda, a Church that was always in need of further reform. In noticing that Fanny Price is one of the most unlovable and unattractive heroines in English fiction, Tony Tanner throws out the challenge: What, then, was Jane Austen doing in this book? The question is worth asking because if Fanny Price is her least popular heroine, it is arguable that Mansfield Park is her most profound novel (indeed, to my mind, it is one of the most profound novels of the nineteenth century).3 Here Mr Tanner is not alone, for this profundity has been noticed by several others, as Douglas Bush suggests: 172 Religion, Literature and the Arts Project In recent years Mansfield Park has been increasingly considered Jane Austen's most profound work. It has also been called, for example by Mrs Leavis, the first modern novel, an anticipation of George Eliot and Henry James.4 So why the dissatisfaction with the character of Fanny? Perhaps it is because she exists within a novel that is so very obviously serious and didactic, in a manner that is so completely removed from any other Austen novel. Fanny is not an Elizabeth or an Emma. She is a 'let down' for those readers who want her to be something else. Yet, in wanting her to be other than what the author intended, in wanting her to be like the lovable but flawed heroines of the earlier novels, we can easily forget that Fanny is first and foremost a trope in a novel which is all about social reform and spiritual renewal. Mansfield Park is about reforming an Estate, and the largest part of this task involved renewing a Church that was, like Edmund Bertram, threatening to give in to worldly temptation, by falling in love with (and nearly marrying) Satan at work in the world. The first clue which alerted me to the theological nature of Mansfield Park was the author's description of Sir Thomas Bertram as an absentee landlord. The second clue came upon realising that it was only the presence of Sir Thomas which kept things fiOm falling apart in his Estate. When he goes and attends to his affairs in Antigua he leaves a fallen humanity to its own devices. So inevitably things fall apart. His youngest son Edmund, representing a Church which has lost much of its moral authority, is powerless to prevent the moral lapse. It is only the return of a (greatly altered) Sir Thomas which prevents the outward appearance of public scandal. But the inward mischief caused by human sin continues. And because of the nature of free will, the absentee landlord can only establish and maintain the outward structure of the created order. Social transformation must now come from a spiritual renewal within, from a new Epiphany, from a new manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles, in the form of Fanny, the pearl of great Price. Why should Jane Austen describe the novel's focus of absolute authority as an 'absentee landlord'? For it is a description of God, his nature, and his relationship with the world, that belongs to 1995 CONFERENCE PROCEEDINGS 173 Deist thought. Deism was a complex marriage between the Enlightenment and Platonic thought. Essentially Deism held that there is a supreme being, but this being does not intervene in natural and historical processes. 5 Encouraged by a classical Greek paradigm which had already separated matter from spirit, body from soul, and mind from body, Deism drew a further wedge between God and creation by insisting that God was only the creator with no further interest in the world.6 He was an absentee landlord. Austen's theology disputed this, and took the scriptural and orthodox position which rejected the negative aspects of Deist thought. According to the author's logic, in his younger days, through his metaphorical associations with Deism, Sir Thomas failed to live out a more orthodox Theism, and that is why, in the person of his second son, the eighteenth century Church faltered in his Father's image and likeness. When the absentee landlord returns to Mansfield Park, Fanny notices that Sir Thomas's "manner seemed changed", "all that had been awful in his dignity seemed lost in tenderness"? But the change came too late to repair the damage caused years earlier, in his failing to become personally involved in forming his children's disposition. Once the spiritual inadequacy of the Deist paradigm is established the rest of the novel is devoted to the questions of clerical reform and spiritual renewal. Will Edmund, who represents the drifting Church, marry the girl who represents Christ (Fanny), or will he give in to temptation and marry the harpy, Mary Crawford, the woman who represents Satan at work in the world? In considering this we are invited to wonder what guiding hand God the Father plays in such a theological scenario, given that his involvement in creation is circumscribed by the nature of free will. Here we need to consider two things. Firstly that the absentee landlord always knew Henry and Mary Crawford represented Satan at work in the world. Secondly that, during his great confrontation with Fanny in the attic of Mansfield Park, Sir Thomas knew she really loved Edmund and wanted her to marry him. For from the moment he returned to Mansfield Park it is obvious that her uncle focussed his hopes upon Fanny. She is the heart of Sir Thomas's urgent scheme for spiritual renewal and clerical reform. 174 Religion, Literature and the Arts Project In considering that Sir Thomas was quite aware of the dynamics at play on his return from Antigua, we need to tum to the very middle, to the very centre of the text, where in some Classical novels significant things are revealed. One evening at Mansfield parsonage, during a game of Speculation, played at Sir Thomas's recommendation, the major theological implications of the novel are drawn out in a complex scene. We discover that Henry Crawford (because of a fall!) stumbled upon the church and the parsonage of Thornton Lacey, a family-living designed to go to Edmund once he is ordained. Crawford wants to rent the parsonage and improve it, and so he believes that Edmund might be able to service the parish as a non-resident. His sister Mary conspires in this plan with him, as her asides during the card game reveal. So Henry puts the proposal to Edmund, suggesting that "he [Henry] might find himself continuing, improving, and perfecting that friendship and intimacy with the Mansfield Park family which was increasing in value to him every day" (p.254}. Here Satan tempts the Church, in the presence of God, with the two things which Austen felt were wrong: The practice of improvement, and the practice of clergy using absentee livings at the expense of pastoral ministry. These two concerns of improvement and absentee livings have been explored by scholars better than myself, so we will not spend time discussing them here. What is important is that Sir Thomas goes out of his way to make it perfectly clear to Henry Crawford that he is not welcome to occupy Thornton Lacey. We ought not to under-estimated the depth of Sir Thomas's intuitive awareness, for as the author writes: 'I repeat again,' added Sir Thomas, 'that Thornton Lacey is the only house in the neighbomhood in which I should not be happy to wait on Mr Crawford as occupier.' (p.255) This is an obvious threat, and its implications are quite large. For it is quite orthodox to understand Satan as a person allowed by God to test and tempt the world within the limited power that God allows him. 8 And here we have a perfect example of God dictating what those limits are to Satan. For Henry Crawford's desire to occupy Thornton Lacey is clearly part of a design to test and tempt the world, part of a 1995 CONFERENCE PROCEEDINGS 175 scheme to modernise and improve society by destroying the Church. It is a design reflected in his harpy sister's hope of occupying the parsonage in order to "shut out the church, sink the clergy, and see only respectable, elegant, modernized, and occasional residence of a man of independent fortune" (p.256). Sir Thomas has other ideas and squashes the plan, but because Henry aim is to subvert the spiritual renewal of Mansfield Park, and because he is aware that Fanny is a part of the plan for renewal, so it is precisely at this point that his attention shifts to her. The proposition that Sir Thomas knew about Crawford's design, and may have even participated in it for his own hidden purposes, is not inconsistent with the scriptural record. For just as Sir Thomas commits Fanny to Crawford, so it was God who committed Job to Satan. And while Satan inflicted terrible suffering upon Job: "In all this did not Job sin with his lips" (2.10). Likewise, Fanny never sinned with her lips. The temptation of Fanny has important parallels with Christ. For as Matthew reminds us, after his baptism: "Then was Jesus led up of the spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil" (4:1). In Job it is God who commits his servant to Satan, in Matthew it is the Holy Spirit who leads Jesus to his temptation. In such an orthodox scheme there is no reason why Sir Thomas would not commit Fanny to Crawford, that she might be forced to experience the same passion, suffering and abandonment that her Saviour experienced before her. It is quite possible that, in following this path, Fanny will ultimately accept her destiny, even if, like Jesus, that destiny seems unclear at the time. This logic is consistently pursued by the author. During the attic scene we can see Sir Thomas leading Fanny into her wilderness, into her dark night of the soul, into her passion. The passage is complex and ambiguous, for when Fanny tells her uncle that she does not want to marry Crawford, he admits: "I am half inclined to think, Fanny, that you do not quite know your own feelings" (p.316). As a character created by an author who was completely dominated by the distinction between reason and feeling, between classical and romantic, Sir Thomas is perfectly right. Fanny does not yet know her own feelings. But her passionate refusal to be tempted, by Satan or by God, and her refusal to abandon her principles, will have its rewards. For already her uncle has ventured into the attic, and on 176 Religion, Literature and the Arts Project discovering that Fanny was never allowed to have a fire, he has one lit there, and he ensures that it will remain lit for Fanny's well-being, and for the ·metaphorical well-being of Mansfield Park. This image of a fire in a cold attic is loaded with Kantian symbolism: the cold attic is pure reason and the life of the mind, while the fire is pure feeling and the life of the heart. After Fanny's wilderness experience in the attic, the tension between reason and feeling, between classical and romantic, are reconciled in a particularly theological context. Once the fire has been lit and the attic is warmed, Sir Thomas's composure and solicitude towards Fanny returns (p.323). Perhaps more than anything else it is the fire i:n the attic, a sign that the coldness of pure reason has been tempered with the embers of feeling, which makes Fanny able to reasonably cope with her feelings and confront her destiny at Mansfield Park, knowing that she is being guided, however strangely and painfully, by the author's sense of Providence. For came to the Estate with a lack of formal education, but she brought something more important, something it lacked, her enduring love for her brother William. Quite obviously she brought a Christian spirit of brotherly-Jove to a place where there was a great deal of education but no evidence of human feeling. There is no real love amongst U1e Bertram children. Their dispositions are governed by an awe of their father as patriarchal law-giver and little else. And according to the author's logic, if Tom, Maria and Julia do not really love each other, then their lives must be lived out in consequence of this want. Even Edmund, who is going into the Church, seems emotionally absent from his family, and guided more by a sense of duty than by love of family, fellow man, or God. This is why his father increasingly senses that clerical reform is not enough, that in addition to encouraging clerical residency, he must also encourage spiritual renewal. Fanny's love for William becomes the model for this renewal, and so it can be no coincidence that, at the same time Crawford focuses his evil intentions upon Fanny, so her brother William gives her the cross she is to bear, even if he cannot afford a chain to put it on. The symbolism is, like the lire in the attic, quite obvious, the cross gives Fanny's mission christological overtones which Edmund wants to encourage (naturally enough) but which Crawford is intent on subverting. 1995 CONFERENCE PROCEEDINGS 177 Hence they both contrive to give Fanny a chain on which to put her cross, which will determine under whose banner she will fight, the banner of the Church or the banner of Satan. As Tony Tanner observes: The question is, which chain will Fanny wear to carry her cross? Henry slyly forces a fancy chain on her, while Edmund later gives her a tastefully simple one. She is persuaded to wear Henry's (just as they are trying to force her to accept him as a husband), but fortunately it will not go through the cross, so she can wear Edmund's with a good conscience. Thus the two tokens of the two people she loves most are linked together round her neck when she leads her first ball: and in that moment the final emotional situation at the end of the book is foreshadowed. 9 That final emotional situation, the banishment of the forces of darkness and decay (the Crawfords and Mrs Norris), and the rehabilitation of the Mansfield Estate, is resolved according to the theological hope of the author, and according to the logic of her allegory. Jane Austen is widely held to have written novels that contain complex and powerful social commentaries. She wrote about an imperfect world. She offered her opinions about what was wrong with society, and how it might be put right. She wrote her novels in the context of her strong religious beliefs, and so we ought to acknowledge this for the sake of integrity and truth. We cannot divorce theology from her world without distorting it. 178 Religion, Literature and the Arts Project REFERENCES 1. M. Butler, Jane Austen and the War of Ideas (Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1975), p.219. 2. Ibid. p.242. 3. T. Tanner, Jane Austen (London, Macmillan, 1986), p.143. 4. D. Bush, Jane Austen (London: Macmillan, 1975), p.109. 5. A . Richardson, A New Dictionary of Christian Theology (London, SCM Press, 1983), p.149. 6. F. Cross, The Oxford Dictionary of ll1 e Church (London, OUl', 1961), p.385. 7. J. Austen, Mansfield Park (Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1983 ed), p.194. All further references to the text will cite the page numbers of this edition. 8. A. Richardson, Op.Cit. p.156. 9. T. Tanner, Op.Cit. p.159. 
work_x4avihngfjdtrpczmxlwn7ow5i	----	Shibboleth Authentication Request If your browser does not continue automatically, click 
work_x4hzvsv4ajew3eylpkyixxwsoq	----	Novel Readings: The History of a Writing Community by a Partial, Prejudiced, & Ignorant Historian King, V. Postprint PDF deposited in CURVE February 2014 Original citation: KING, V. (2013) ‘Novel Readings: The History of a Writing Community by a Partial, Prejudiced, & Ignorant Historian’. Arts and Humanities in Higher Education, 12 (1), 88 –104 doi 10.1177/1474022212467587 Website http://ahh.sagepub.com/content/12/1/88 Copyright © and Moral Rights are retained by the author(s) and/ or other copyright owners. A copy can be downloaded for personal non-commercial research or study, without prior permission or charge. This item cannot be reproduced or quoted extensively from without first obtaining permission in writing from the copyright holder(s). The content must not be changed in any way or sold commercially in any format or medium without the formal permission of the copyright holders. CURVE is the Institutional Repository for Coventry University http://curve.coventry.ac.uk/open http://curve.coventry.ac.uk/open http://ahh.sagepub.com/content/12/1/88 http://curve.coventry.ac.uk/open KING, V. (2013) Author email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk Page 1 of 11 This is a post-print of the article published as: KING, V. (2013) ‘Novel Readings: The History of a Writing Community by a Partial, Prejudiced, & Ignorant Historian’. Arts and Humanities in Higher Education, 12 (1), 88 –104 doi 10.1177/1474022212467587 Novel Readings: The History of a Writing Community by a partial, prejudiced, & ignorant Historian1 Virginia King Centre for Educational Research, Coventry University, Coventry, UK Abstract In this article, I explore the history of a higher education writing community from its establishment in 2005 to the present day. In order to provide a model of community development which may be generalizable, this inherently ‘partial’ and ‘prejudiced’ autoenthnographic account is framed by themes taken from three of the novels of Jane Austen (1775-1817) which mirror the transitions in the community’s development. These transitions, ‘Pride and Prejudice’, ‘Sense and Sensibility’ and ‘Persuasion’, enhance an existing three phase model of research group impact which comprised ‘Awareness’, ‘Exploring wider effects’ and ‘Adaptation and extension’ by articulating the social and cultural means through which we evolved from one phase to the next. My reflections lead me to make three recommendations for community survival. These are to create alliances with external researchers, to balance collegiality and strategic research endeavour, and to recruit and nurture doctoral students. KEYWORDS: academic writing, autoethnography, change model, community of practice, Jane Austen, research impact N.B. There will be very few Dates in this History. (Austen, 1791:2) Introduction This is the history of a higher education research community which was bonded by, and defined through, academic writing. Lest any Janeite be disappointed, let me explain that the ignorance referred to in this article’s title concerns my intimacy with recent Austen criticism. While Jane Austen (1775- 1817) is important to me and to my story, my article claims no importance for Austen scholars. Established in 2005 to strengthen interdisciplinary research capacity within a British teaching-led university, our community used one-to-one support, friendly critique, writing retreats, writing workshops and peer review to develop colleagues’ writing skills. Our purpose was to reinforce our host institution’s research standing through the production of journal papers and successful funding bids. As a founder member of this community, I observed it develop over six years to achieve KING, V. (2013) Author email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk Page 2 of 11 widespread recognition and an international membership of hundreds. I therefore acknowledge the possibility of partiality and prejudice. However, while our experiences are highly contextualized, the patterns of group interaction, the social norms established within the group, and the social selves identifiable amongst group members provide a personal narrative which may resonate with others (Ellis and Bochner, 2000). For the purposes of anonymity, I shall call this peer-led community Meriton2. Autoethnographic analysis (Denzin, 2006; Ellis and Bochner, 2000; Hammersley and Atkinson, 2007) of the phases through which Meriton has evolved led me to adopt three of Jane Austen’s novels as a conceit – that is, an extended metaphor – through which to deconstruct and interpret my community’s development. The analysis grounding this study draws on my own day-to- day experience, as well as on the scholarly outputs of group members, providing insights into the group’s evolving weltanschauung. Through this study, and through comparison with existing models of group and community development, I have arrived at a new composite model which conceptualizes a community’s evolution as a series of phases and transitions. The transitions supply the means by which a community may evolve. For Meriton, this meant to become increasingly effective in demonstrating research impact through our writing. The novels representing these transitions (Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion) provide a possible ‘typolog[y] that hold[s] out the prospect of application to data from other situations’ (Hammersley and Atkinson, 2007: 172). Thus I offer an understanding of the evolution of an academic community which others within the arts and humanities may find applicable to their own research or writing communities. The three key recommendations I draw from this study are to create alliances with established external researchers; to balance collegiality and strategic research endeavour, perhaps by framing the former in terms of the latter; and to ensure sustainability through the recruitment and nurture of doctoral students. Metaphorical Insights through Austen Two hundred years after the publication of her first novel, Jane Austen’s influence on western society remains significant through film, television and radio adaptations; through studies, parodies, prequels and sequels; and perhaps most tellingly through journalistic play on the titles of her novels. My lifelong love of Austen persists because I find the writing both reassuring and incisive. As Tanner (1969:10) contends, she ‘helps us appreciate the value of the real thing by juxtaposing a travesty or parodic version of it’. On similar lines, I have come to appreciate a real thing by juxtaposing a metaphorical version of itself. The universality of Austen’s writing, its ‘imaginative leaps’ (Evans, 2010: 14), and its representation through key phrases and themes, provides my means of conceptualizing Meriton, and of making sense of its members’ stories (Hammersley and Atkinson, 2007). I use Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion, the only three Austen novels that ‘set up intellectual and moral debate in their titles’ (Beer, 1998: xv), to frame the analysis, leading to a new conceptualization of community evolution which I explore in the next section. It is not that the particular stories themselves are relevant here, but that some essence encapsulated by each is apposite and provides insight into the development of Meriton and its members’ personal growth. This approach is not original. Glaser and Strauss (1967) suggest using relevant fiction to find ideas for the qualitative analysis of grounded research, while Hammersley and Atkinson (2007: 125) note that popular fiction may ‘suggest themes, images and metaphors’. Alvesson and Sköldberg (2000: 89) suggest that ‘[t]he better the metaphor, the more striking and surprising the correspondence’. The use of the three Austen novels as metaphors for the phases of Meriton’s evolution struck me this way. The idea came to me, almost fully formed, when considering how to present my work to a conference concerned with higher education communities which by chance was to hold its conference dinner at Chatsworth House, the location for the palatial Pemberley in the 2005 film of Pride and Prejudice. My train of thought began with the opening sentence of Austen’s novel3 which captures the assumption that ‘we all’ know what other people want or need, better than they do themselves; the naïvety and humorous potential of this misplaced assumption; and the social divisions implicit in such a statement. For me, this exposed uncomfortable parallels with Meriton’s first months when we assumed that the obvious benefits of our research support would attract our colleagues and when our internal divisions distracted us from our common goals. The extent to which my approach is found to KING, V. (2013) Author email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk Page 3 of 11 be valid will depend on the degree to which it fits the reader’s experience (Lakoff and Johnson, 1980). The novels each provide themes which emerged heuristically through reflection on the experience, and reflection on the related novel. These themes scaffold my analysis and are accompanied by quotations from the novels which complement my reflections. Methodology Since the evolution of this academic writing community is also my own story, I have adopted an auto- ethnographic approach to explore the experience through my own contemporary writings and memories, focusing on social action and interaction (Denzin, 2006). Like an all-seeing narrator, I have also drawn on colleagues’ reflections at least as far as they are documented in their publications. Yet, unlike a narrator, as an autoethnographer I am a ‘complete-member’ of the community I depict (Ellis and Bochner, 2000: 740), aware of the aspects which allowed the academic writing community to develop as well as those which have frustrated its development. My approach allows me to interpret the theoretical, cultural and political aspects of the narrative which emerge (Hammersley and Atkinson, 2007). This is helpful in understanding our diverse motivations and in connecting these experiences to the wider culture (Ellis and Bochner, 2000). However, in order to draw out the generalizable nature of these experiences, I have backgrounded many of the historical specifics of the context. This is a history that, like an Austen novel, apparently ignores history (Musselwhite, 1987). My analysis of the development of the Meriton community also draws on the Austen novels themselves, with a section dedicated to each of Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion. For each novel, limited critical insights are taken from two contrasting editorial introductions. The first from the dog-eared copies that lay by my bed as a student of English and Linguistics in the 1970s; the second from replacement copies bought as these events unfolded. Regarding my ethical stance: the publications on which I draw were all developed under the relevant ethical frameworks of the host institution. In adopting the perspective of autoethnography, I acknowledge the ethical issues relating to interpretation of others’ writings and actions: that is, this is my personal interpretation of this experience. Conceptualizations of Community Development In creating the Meriton community, I and my two co-founders, ‘Ellen’ and ‘Emma’, recognized that academic writing skills are vital to academic careers (Murray and Newton, 2009; Antoniou and Moriarty, 2008); and that their effective use would be crucial in advancing the institution’s existing piecemeal interdisciplinary research into a critical mass of academic writers. We visualized a community of practice (CoP) (Lave and Wenger, 1991; Brown and Duguid,1991; Wenger, 1998) in which novice writers would learn from more experienced colleagues, drawing on a shared repertoire of research methodologies and undertaking the mutual endeavour of collaborative authorship. In Wenger’s terms, Meriton could be defined as a CoP because it would be a grouping of professionals – higher education practitioners from across the institution – who were to work actively on a shared interest in academic research, solving shared problems through friendly critique of each other’s work, sharing and constructing knowledge over time through our academic writing. As I will show, this was not a straightforward undertaking. Our community’s membership was informal. It fluctuated as individuals joined and left the institution, expanding as face-to-face contact and virtual activity reached interested colleagues around the world. Meriton also seemed to mature over time as it became more embedded in our host institution and more widely recognized in the external research world. Dubé, Bourhis and Jacob (2006: 76) suggest that the identification of the current developmental phase of a CoP ‘may help explain its specific challenges and issues, and the decisions and actions that are needed to lead it to success’. Similarly, conceptualizing the evolutionary phases of a writing community may be helpful in effecting interventions in its establishment or development. But which model and which phases are most appropriate? Wenger, McDermott and Snyder (2002) proposed a maturation process for communities of practice which is divided into ‘potential’ (the phase of possibilities), ‘coalescing’ (the CoP begins its work), ‘maturing’ (the CoP’s visibility rises), ‘stewardship’ (the CoP nurtures the knowledge it has built), and ‘transformation’ (an event creates a need for renewal, change or closure). Widely debated, KING, V. (2013) Author email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk Page 4 of 11 the model was expanded by Hara, Shachaf and Stoerger (2009) with two further phases, ‘stability’ and ‘disband’. This observational model of community development follows the maturation phases from the outside, looking in. It effectively describes the functions of a CoP but is little concerned with the internal life of those involved. While focusing on the relationships in and between a CoP and its environment, it ignores cultural aspects, and is therefore of limited value to those wishing to understand or intervene in a community’s social evolution. In a review of almost 100 articles representing research into group development of the past fifty years, Arrow, Poole, Henry, Wheelan and Moreland (2004: 75) found six thematic strands. I find three of them pertinent here:  ‘Groups change systematically over time; they develop’;  ‘Group processes have temporal patterns’;  ‘Groups are complex systems characterized by nonlinear dynamics’. Thus, firstly, the systematic changes identified by the various models of group development reflect internal adjustments within a group as it sets about its focus of activity. The particular phases of developmental change are disputed, but they broadly concern patterns of behaviour which represent ‘change, stability, and continuity’ (Arrow et al., 2004: 80). Secondly, group processes within a given phase (for example, the adoption of roles) may proceed more or less quickly, for complex reasons which again are disputed. Thirdly, the internal heterogeneity of groups, their intricate organisational structures and their multiple relationships with the societies within which they are embedded have led to a range of characterizations of groups as complex systems. To characterize a group as a complex system is almost tautologous since, according to Connor (2010), society itself is a complex system. While accepting that Meriton could be conceptualized as a complex system, I present it here simply as a community – a subset of society – and must look beyond group theory for a useful framework with which to explore its evolution. Like the town of Meryton in Pride and Prejudice, Meriton could be defined by the co-location of key members, by the co- dependence of its people and by their social interaction resulting in ‘a shared understanding that the group is a group from the perspective of its members’ (Reynolds, 2011: 361, italics as in the original). However, the activities of the group and its unifying purpose of creating research impact through academic writing are important for its external recognition and may therefore hold the key to its evolution. For this, I turn to the three phase strategy which Saunders et al. (2008) suggested as the model against which to evaluate the success of the English Centres for Excellence in Teaching and Learning4 (CETLs) in embedding their innovative practices. Like Meriton, each CETL was established as a research group, and like Meriton, they set out to have impact through collaborative research and dissemination. The CETL evaluation model is depicted in Figure 1 and comprises: 1. ‘Awareness’ (largely local impact and some external engagement), 2. ‘Exploring wider effects’ (focus beyond the local network to the wider discipline and new work) and 3. ‘Adaptation and extension’ with its attendant ‘increased coordinating and cooperating with other stakeholders in using new practices, systems and processes’ (Saunders et al., 2008: 7). Figure 1. CETL change model depicting the phases of embeddeness, derived from Saunders et al. (2008) The CETL change model emphasizes the importance of collaboration, and presents its phases as developmental, their outcomes increasing in impact and embeddedness. This approach has been seen KING, V. (2013) Author email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk Page 5 of 11 as a framework for sustaining innovation in teaching and learning projects (Joyes, Turnock, Cotterill and Banks, 2009) but has been criticized as a post hoc and imposed means of evaluating the impact of the CETLs (King, 2010). Nonetheless, it reflects my experience of our academic writing community’s development as follows: 1. Awareness: we established a ‘brand’ for the community with a logo, website and local launch event. We set up one-to-one support and special interest groups, held our first writing retreat for colleagues and disseminated our strategy at external conferences. 2. Exploring wider effects: we launched a series of annual international conferences, held writing workshops and national research seminars. We published widely and involved our global network in the creation of an edited book and special issues of an international journal. 3. Adaptation and extension: we regrouped under new organisational structures to continue our work from within administrative, research and teaching departments, each working in partnership with external organisations. Our stakeholders include publishers, funding bodies, students and institution management as well as local colleagues and virtual network members. The CETL change model usefully conceptualizes the developing impact of Meriton over a six-year period. However, it omits the means by which we evolved from one phase to the next. These are social and cultural transitions as shown in Figure 2:  ‘Pride and Prejudice’ to be overcome in order to move from an ‘Awareness’ phase to that of ‘Exploring wider effects’;  ‘Sense and Sensibility’ to be balanced so as to move from ‘Exploring wider effects’ to ‘Adaptation and extension’;  ‘Persuasion’ required fully to embed our work of ‘Adaptation and extension’. Figure 2. Composite model depicting the phases and transitions in the community’s evolution. I now analyse each of these transitions autoethnographically, using metaphorical themes arrived at through reflection. Pride and Prejudice5 Newcomers ‘He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and every body hoped that he would never come there again.’ (Pride and Prejudice: 13) When ‘Ellen’, ‘Emma’ and I first arrived we were treated like visitors. Seconded as research fellows to our host department and preceded by our reputations, we were expected to bring in thousands of pounds in research income but could not authorise our own spending. Our ambivalent position was soon resolved but Meriton’s social divisions remained. Our members came from many disciplinary tribes (Becher and Trowler, 2001) whose different social interaction norms created barriers. Over the years I had learnt to collaborate with mathematicians and engineers, as well as with colleagues from the arts and humanities. However, I initially doubted the sincerity of colleagues from health science. Their cheerful and friendly ways rang false with me while they had difficulties with some other collaborators and say they found me terse and over-technical at first. Words like ‘balkanisation’, ‘brinks’ and ‘borderlands’ appeared in our early writings as we tackled our uncomfortable and competitive research world. In Meriton, as in the novel, we pre-judged and re-judged each other KING, V. (2013) Author email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk Page 6 of 11 (Tanner, 1972) perhaps because we were collaborators who vied for research grants. According to Jones (2003, xxv), Pride and Prejudice highlights the dangers of over reliance on one’s own insightfulness and requires that ‘Elizabeth’s prejudice has to fall with Darcy’s pride’. So, in a way, was it with us. But as we began to share our insights and overcome our prejudices, we realized that ‘Emma’ had ambitions beyond Meriton. She advanced her career elsewhere and, like a married daughter, lives apart but retains links with us which have proved mutually valuable. Her leaving also strengthened the bonds between those who remained, making it easier for us to evolve together. Accomplishments ‘“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must add something substantial, in the improvement of her mind through extensive reading.’ (Pride and Prejudice: 39) Meriton’s members varied in expertise as researchers and academic writers but through working and writing together we came to appreciate one another's abilities and to identify the gaps in our own skill sets. We, too, found that ‘[f]or some academics, writing and becoming a writer is a constant source of disjunction’ (Wisker and Savin-Baden, 2009: 243-4). In retrospect, it would have been wise to enrol some colleagues onto research modules or doctorate studies, but local policy thwarted this. Instead, we adopted an autodidactic approach, supplemented by collegial support. Our most productive writers suggested writing for an hour or two very early every morning, reading ‘everything’ and developing a wide repertoire of research methods so that the right choices could be made for any study. Above all, as Elizabeth Bennet is advised, and Antoniou and Moriarty (2008) assert: practice. Writing retreats structured along similar lines to the Murray and Newton (2009) retreat model aided the production of publishable outputs by colleagues from across the institution. However, we found as did Gourlay (2011), that it was difficult for those with heavy teaching and administrative loads to commit time to our collaborations. Although the support we offered was widely taken up, individuals found it difficult once back in their own departments to complete their writing tasks. Furthermore, we had no overarching theme. Like the collected letters of any community, our publications represented individual and small-group interests. The tribalism and territoriality of the different disciplines represented in Meriton created some of these divisions. Seen by some as less important than single disciplinary research, our focus on interdisciplinary research caused several potential collaborators to withdraw. Such prejudice is not easily overcome and in order to evolve, our response was to work with those who were willing to work with us. Rank ‘What a fine thing for our girls!’ (Pride and Prejudice: 6) Pride and Prejudice offers ‘the stuff of wish-fulfilment’ (Jones, 2003: xi) as a gentleman’s daughter marries a man of large fortune and high social rank. Meriton’s long-term objective was to break the barriers of the research hierarchy through collaboration with established researchers nationally and internationally, and the winning of funding riches. We found this to be partially dependent on our access to professorial role models and mentors (Macfarlane, 2011). Through personal contacts, we booked keynote speakers for our first international conference who helped to establish our validity both internally and externally. The influence of such powerful players within the wider research community brought opportunities for local colleagues whose ‘want of connection’ (Pride and Prejudice: 192) could be enhanced by Meriton’s growing network of contacts. We explored this in a conference symposium which addressed the role of the individual within a research community. In considering Becher and Trowler’s (2001) observation that academic life is more competitive in contexts where the gaining of an academic reputation is more valued, I discussed the need I was beginning to see to work ‘selfishly’; that is, for Meriton to prioritize publication and research over other distractions. It had taken time for me to appreciate the political aspects of our social context, but the process of writing my symposium paper had helped me to see things less naïvely. Indeed, we could not ignore internal politics and hierarchy: during a meeting at which we debated options for software to support our work, the chair ruled that this was not the forum for ‘arcane’ technical details. Arcane? We were dumbfounded. How could anyone believe that such matters were anything other than central to our existence? For me this was the turning point when the differences within Meriton KING, V. (2013) Author email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk Page 7 of 11 were subsumed into our joint distinctiveness. Over this first year, our sense of group identity, reinforced by external recognition of Meriton as a new player in our field, enabled us to move from the ‘Awareness’ phase to ‘Exploring wider effects’. Sense and Sensibility6 Reflection ‘Reflection had given calmness to her judgment, and sobered her own opinion ... she wished, therefore, to declare only the simple truth,’ (Sense and Sensibility: 325) Meriton’s collaborative deliberations continued to improve the quality of our research and writing, echoing experiences of characters in the novel as we benefited from others’ ‘understandings, insights and avenues for improvement’ Ghaye and Ghaye (1998: 11). I remember a conference symposium we gave in which three viewpoints were drawn together by a narrative thread. After the first two presentations, an audience member observed that he had never seen such different research approaches: mine so grounded, my colleague’s so theoretical. Our narrator managed to present this as a strength, but I was unsettled by the validity of the comment and adopted more balanced and reflective approaches in future work. Ballaster (1995: xv) comments that narrative distance in Sense and Sensibility allows events to ‘acquire the sort of perspective which can promote judgement rather than identification on the part of a reader’. One of our subsequent publications which benefited from this kind of distancing was also influenced by our contemporary experiences: we highlighted the problem of conflict within academic groupings and promoted compromise as the solution, echoing Tanner’s (1969) call for sense and sensibility to work together. During this second phase, Meriton acted with more conscious tactfulness. We developed the scale of our network in a variety of pragmatic ways, complementing our international conferences with local and national events. This ‘sense’ was balanced by the ‘sensibility’ of a growing ethical and moral sensitivity, exemplified by a concern for colleagues who might be excluded from participation. We aired this issue in a collaboratively written review of our first international conference which noted economic, geographic and linguistic barriers to participation, and our intention to seek funding to help overcome them. Income ‘A present of fifty pounds, now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for money,’ (Sense and Sensibility: 13) Austen explores the extent to which one’s income may be subject to the whim of others. We found that we had to be part of the conversation to influence our funders, and realized that ‘Emma’ had understood this much earlier. Like us, characters in the novel take part in a ‘more-or-less delicate jostling for partners, property and power’ (Tanner, 1969: 7). Research groups within our home institution were judged on their success in ‘jostling for partners’, that is, winning external funding and collaboration. This was an area in which Meriton had only partial success, with several of our bids judged favourably but failing to be awarded. Having recognized the economic barriers to conference participation, we set fees low for students and for colleagues from countries classified by the World Bank as lower income, balancing the books by charging higher standard fees. It is clear in retrospect that our concerns over our network colleagues distracted us from a necessary focus on income generation. As a funded research group we had a responsibility to align our strategy with that of our institution. Our altruism should have been underpinned by coordinated efforts to make our group profitable in other ways and, eventually, we realized this. This transition required our concern for less privileged network members to be balanced by a strategic focus on the measures of success set by our home institution for us. This was not a docile assimilation of the ‘discourse of the market and the private sector’ (Looseley, 2011: 14); rather, we saw our chosen course as one of ethical pragmatism. Kindness ‘His kindness was not confined to words;’ (Sense and Sensibility: 32) Tanner (1969: 34) argues that Austen’s novel shows that balancing sense and sensibility ‘is not easy and there is the chance of pain at every step of the way’. One of our co-authored book chapters looked more deeply at the ‘pain’ our academic colleagues had revealed in a survey we had undertaken. We KING, V. (2013) Author email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk Page 8 of 11 noted how the altruism many perceived as key to their academic role in their desire to support students and colleagues was in conflict with their increasing tendency to operate ‘sensibly’, that is, strategically and alone. This resonates with the findings of Clegg and Rowland (2010) in relation to kindness in the academy. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they identify a gendered aspect to the tensions between kindness and unkindness, with kindness largely being seen as feminine. In our community, the majority of collegial acts and altruistic critiques of others’ writing were carried out by women, suggesting a focus for future enquiry into the balancing of ‘sense and sensibility’ amongst male and female researchers. Over time, we developed trust with colleagues internationally through generous give and grateful take. Just as Austen’s novel portrays the eventual reward of dogged kindness and constancy, so this transition was characterized by steadiness of purpose in building our community network rather than moments of epiphany. Thus sense and sensibility were balanced as we moved from ‘Exploring wider effects’ to ‘Adaptation and extension’. Persuasion7 The Critical Friend ‘Mrs Smith had been able to tell her what no one else could have done.’ (Persuasion: 199) Through our earlier activities Meriton has developed an international network of critical friends: scholars who are willing to contribute to our work by offering useful feedback on scholarly outputs. All of our papers undergo detailed critique by colleagues before submission providing similar support to a writing group (Rickard et al., 2009). Additionally, where we are the editors (for books, conference proceedings and journal special issues), we arrange for anonymous but supportive peer review. This friendly critique reduces the difficulties in exposing ‘one’s ideas and identity to public scrutiny’ (Antoniou and Moriarty, 2008: 165). More formally, critical friends from another institution or discipline are paid to provide an independent voice in research projects, or, unpaid, supply critique which becomes part of a publication. We piloted this model of internal critique in our first jointly edited book to good effect, and have used it subsequently in a second edited book to ensure the rigour and international relevance of contributions. However, as one of our original authors noted rather bitterly, the weakness in giving one academic a platform to publicly critique another’s writing is the opportunity some take to promote their own work. I had tried to avert this by encouraging each author to select their own ‘friend’ and by offering the opportunity to revise the chapter once the critique had been written. In the end, I placed the critiques at the end of each chapter rather than at the start as previously planned, giving command of the platform back to the author. Admiration ‘At Lyme, he had received lessons of more than one sort. The passing admiration of Mr Elliott had at least roused him, and the scenes on the Cobb, and at Captain Harville’s, had fixed her superiority.’ (Persuasion: 226) This quotation highlights others’ influence on our valuation of those we think we know. While researching the notion of academic impact we began to recognize a parallel between what was happening to Meriton and what had happened to another research community with which we were involved. In a conference poster we explored how such groups gain status in their home institutions from the appreciation they attract externally, mirroring this theme in Persuasion (Beer, 1998). We observed that it should be easier to raise awareness, influence and instigate changes in thinking locally amongst colleagues than externally, yet our experience suggested that the converse is common. Our own management were, to an extent, persuaded of our worth because of our value in the wider academy, acknowledging this in awarding ‘Ellen’ her professorship in 2011. Commonwealths ‘…every little social commonwealth should dictate its own matters of discourse;’ (Persuasion: 41) Structural reorganisations within our home institution finally separated Meriton’s core team physically, leading to the purposeful creation of new research groups. Our role is now to bond these KING, V. (2013) Author email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk Page 9 of 11 communities as they undertake research that is strategically beneficial to our institution. We span these different discourses and, like Anne Elliot in Persuasion, we benefit from moving amongst and between them (Harding, 1965) as evidenced in our many collaborative publications. As an audience member suggested to me at one conference, ‘Meriton’ is a meta-community; what Brown and Duguid (1991: 53) would call a ‘community-of-communities’. We encourage debate and exchange between adherents of the different methodological or disciplinary ‘social commonwealths’, and our impact continues to be adapted and extended through the work of a growing number of doctoral students with the ‘new pluralistic models of thinking’ (Looseley, 2011, 17) suited to interdisciplinary research. Rather late in our development, we have recognized that nurturing these new research ‘residents’ is the key to sustaining our community. Discussion Introducing three new transitionary phases to the Saunders et al. (2008) change model addresses the social, cultural and political aspects at play in the evolution of an academic writing community seeking to have significant research impact. Since an ethnographer’s ‘writing is shaped by what they have read’ (Hammersley and Atkinson, 2007: 192), my adoption of Austen novels as metaphors provides a lens through which to analyse this community which both magnifies and clarifies my data. While characters in novels reveal their innermost thoughts and insights to the reader; a narrator can reveal what the characters hide even from themselves. My analysis delves into our collected publications and contemporaneous notes to reveal our history insightfully. As with any ethnographic study, issues of authenticity, authority and interpretation are all key (Alvesson and Sköldberg, 2000). Authenticity: I recognize that this article and those of its sources that have been published inevitably present selves which have been mediated by the process of making them public. The metaphorical alignment with Austen’s novels helps to overcome any inauthenticity in these accounts. Lakoff and Johnson (1980: 235) claim that ‘[n]ew metaphors are capable of creating new understandings and, therefore, new realities’. My intention in using this approach to explore the culture of an evolving community is to provide a model for others to consider. Authority: When we were too busy ‘doing’ to reflect, our critical friends – as in the novels – made us stop and think: the results often serving as input to subsequent research publications enhancing our standing as academic writers and our understanding of our own experiences and socially constructed selves (Alvesson and Sköldberg, 2000). Having undertaken ‘the arduous task of opening it up to inquiry’ (Schön, 1983: 289), this analysis reveals ‘those conditions of “reality” which are too often overlooked’ (Evans, 2010: 21) and thereby highlights aspects of our experience which may inform policy concerned with the development of academic writing skills to enhance research impact. Interpretation: This article has taken two years to write. Jane Austen could have written a novel on her knee in half the time. Just as there are temporal aspects to group development and reflection, I find there is a temporal aspect to the interpretation of personal ethnography since time helps to provide the necessary distance through which to understand an experience. This has enabled me to reconceptualize group development, and, perhaps, to challenge what is universally acknowledged. Conclusion This autoethnographic analysis has followed Meriton through the metaphorical transitions of ‘Pride and Prejudice’, ‘Sense and Sensibility’ and ‘Persuasion’, highlighting themes in each which are reflected in our behaviour and experience. While each transition had beneficial and troublesome aspects, together they represent a growing maturity and subtlety in the core members’ understandings of our purpose and place in the wider higher education community and in our home institution. The first transition, ‘Pride and Prejudice’, was characterized by misreadings and naïve expectations, requiring members’ preconceptions to be discarded and our insights to be shared. My key recommendation is to create alliances with powerful players within the wider research community in order to harness their influence to establish the validity of a new research group. The next transition, ‘Sense and Sensibility’, involved a period of tactful diplomacy and network building, as pragmatism was both complemented and contrasted by ethical and moral sensitivity. My key recommendation is KING, V. (2013) Author email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk Page 10 of 11 to balance collegiality and strategic activity, perhaps by framing collegial support within the terms of the host institution’s strategy. The third and current transition, ‘Persuasion’, enables Meriton to achieve influence by focusing on institutionally strategic research activity. 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(2011) ‘Making an “impact”: Some personal reflections on the Humanities in the UK’, Arts and Humanities in Higher Education 10: 9–18. Macfarlane, B. (2011) ‘Professors as intellectual leaders: formation, identity and role’, Studies in Higher Education 36(1): 57–73. KING, V. (2013) Author email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk Page 11 of 11 Murray, R., and Newton, M. (2009) ‘Writing retreat as structured intervention: Margin or mainstream?’, Higher Education Research & Development 28(5): 541–53. Musselwhite, D.E. (1987) Partings Welded Together: Politics and desire in the nineteenth-century English novel. London: Methuen. Reynolds, K. (2011) ‘Advancing Group Research: The (Non)Necessity of Behavioral Data?’, Small Group Research 42(3): 359–373. Rickard, C.M., McGrail, M.R., Jones, R., O'Meara, P., Robinson, A., Burley, M., and Ray-Barruel, G. (2009) ‘Supporting academic publication: Evaluation of a writing course combined with writers' support group’, Nurse Education Today 29(5) 516–21. Saunders, M., Machell, J., Williams, S., Allaway, D., Spencer, A., Ashwin, P., Trowler, P., Fanghanel, J., Morgan, L.A. and McKee A. (2008) ‘2005-2010 Centres of Excellence in Teaching and Learning programme. Formative evaluation report to HEFCE by the Centre for Study in Education and Training/Institution of Educational Technology’. HEFCE. Available at: http://www.hefce.ac.uk/pubs/rdreports/2008/rd08_08/ (accessed 8 November 2011). Schön, D. (1983) The Reflective Practitioner: How professionals think in action. London: Maurice Temple Smith. Tanner, T. (1969) ‘Introduction’, in Austen, J. (1811) Sense and Sensibility. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Tanner, T. (1972) ‘Introduction’, in Austen, J. (1813) Pride and Prejudice. Harmondsworth: Penguin Books. Wenger, E. (1998) Communities of practice: Learning, meaning and identity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wenger, E., McDermott, R. and Snyder, W.M. (2002) Cultivating Communities of Practice: A guide to managing knowledge. Boston: Harvard Business School Press. Wisker, G., and Savin-Baden, M. (2009) ‘Priceless conceptual thresholds: Beyond the “stuck place” in writing’, London Review of Education 7(3): 235–247. Acknowledgements Thanks are due to colleagues from Meriton who have critiqued developing versions of this article. Biographical note Virginia King FHEA is a higher education consultant specialising in project management and educational research evaluation working with a range of UK higher education institutions. In her diverse international roles as editor, conference convenor, peer reviewer, collaborator and critical friend, she has helped numerous colleagues to refine and publish their research. Her own research interests include research group strategy, virtual and physical academic communities, project visualisation techniques, and the use of technology to enhance educational provision. She has presented and published widely in these areas. Address: (corresponding author): Centre for Educational Research, JS172, Coventry University, Coventry, CV1 5FB, UK [email: v.c.king@coventry.ac.uk] 1 The article’s title is a play on the title of one of Austen’s juvenilia (1791). 2 The academic writing community’s anonymised name, Meriton, is a play on Meryton, the locality where much of Pride and Prejudice is set. 3 ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’ (Pride and Prejudice: 5) 4 Seventy-four CETLs were funded from 2005-2010 by the Higher Education Funding Council for England ‘to reward excellent teaching practice, and to further invest in that practice so that CETLs funding delivers substantial benefits to students, teachers and institutions’ (Higher Education Funding Council for England (2009) ‘Centres for Excellence in Teaching and Learning’. Available at: http://www.hefce.ac.uk/learning/tinits/cetl/ (accessed 8 November 2011). 5 Quotations are drawn from the 2003 Penguin Classics edition of Jane Austen’s (1813) Pride and Prejudice. 6 Quotations are drawn from the 1995 Penguin Classics edition of Jane Austen’s (1811) Sense and Sensibility 7 Quotations are drawn from the 1998 Penguin Classics edition of Jane Austen’s (1818) Persuasion kingcover2 kingnovel 
work_x6zszfj7xffyrnp336tcbhagv4	----	FINAL MANUSCRIPT no comments 1 '[H]andsome, clever, and rich': Andrew Davies’ Emma (1996) Ana Daniela Coelho, University of Lisbon Abstract Jane Austen (1775–1817) is not only a paradigmatic example in adaptation studies but also one of the most complex cultural phenomena of our times. The countless adaptations in various media and a seemingly never-ending interest in everything Austen-related have led to a popular construction of both Austen and her work that is equally defined by the existing body of adaptations and subsequent new recreations. Although academics in the field are now exploring this and other related phenomena, scholarly attention is rarely bestowed on the role of the screenwriter in the process. This article explores the importance of such role by considering Andrew Davies, whose work on Austen and in other heritage adaptations is proof of how one screenwriter’s vision has contributed to the contemporary image of Austen. In particular, I focus my attention on Emma/Emma, whom Jane Austen reportedly described as ‘a heroine no one but myself will much like’. My article aims at discussing the importance of the screenwriter in modelling Emma’s character to modern audiences. Especially known for BBC’s Pride and Prejudice (1995), his work on ITV’s Emma (1996) is just as meaningful and even more challenging, if less recognized. By analysing Davies’ Emma/Emma I will argue how his interpretation influenced subsequent adaptations of the 1816 novel and heroine, thus reshaping them for a twenty-first-century audience. Keywords Andrew Davies Jane Austen adaptation 2 EMMA is one of Jane Austen’s great novels. Many would argue it is her finest, but it posed many difficulties in adapting it for television. (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996) When writing Emma (1816), Jane Austen reportedly described its unlikeliness as a favourite among her readers. According to her first biography, published in 1869 (second extended edition in 1871) and more than 50 years after her death by her nephew James Austen-Leigh, the then-experienced novelist had some reservations as to the reception of her fourth published work: She was very fond of Emma, but did not reckon on her being a general favourite; for, when commencing that work, she said, ‘I am going to take a heroine whom no one but myself will much like’. (1871/2016: 241) The quotation has now become so frequent, and often misapplied, that it has in some degree mangled the interpretation of Emma, both the character and the novel. Even so, and despite its second-hand nature, its accurateness seems to be confirmed by another very similar remark made by its author. In one of her own letters, on the occasion of the publication of Emma, Austen writes: […] whatever may be my wishes for its’ success, I am very strongly haunted by the idea that those Readers who have preferred P&P. [Pride and Prejudice] it will appear inferior in wit, & to those who have preferred MP. [Mansfield Park] very inferior in good Sense. (Le Faye 2011: 319) 3 Although Austen’s comment seems to echo her nephew’s account, its context should not be overlooked. Austen was addressing the Librarian at Carlton House, James Stanier Clarke, who had informed her earlier that year that a dedication to the Prince Regent, the future George IV and a reported admirer of her novels, would be well received (Le Faye 2011: 308–09). It is by now impossible to ascertain whether Austen’s unwillingness to praise her novel originates in her nervousness in the face of an aristocratic reader such as the Prince Regent, or whether it reveals a more begrudging politeness in the face of a dedication that was nearly imposed upon her. In fact, in almost all surviving letters addressed to the Prince Regent’s librarian, Austen claims her modesty as an authoress, an attitude that seems to originate in Clarke’s tendency to suggest themes or characters for her future works. And even if Austen’s dislike of the future George IV is generally accepted (Sheehan 2006), the prospect of the dedication seems, at the very least, to have caused her a considerable amount of anxiety (Le Faye 2011: 318). Either way, such conditions were bound to make any consideration of the novel’s quality modest. Austen’s reserve also speaks to Emma’s uniqueness among the other novels in her moderately short body of work. In general terms, it emerges as a more mature novel when compared to her previously published works, particularly Sense and Sensibility (Austen 1811) and Pride and Prejudice (Austen 1813). A general tendency among critics is to divide Austen’s novels into two groups: Emma, together with Persuasion (Austen 1818) and Mansfield Park (Austen 1814), belonging to a darker set, in opposition to her earlier though later revised works, Sense and Sensibility (1811), Pride and Prejudice (1813) and Northanger Abbey (Austen 1818). Others, like the influential Marilyn Butler, go so far as to acknowledge it as ‘the greatest novel of the period’ (1975: 250). Such distinctiveness has, perhaps unsurprisingly, been transferred to screen adaptations of Emma, where the reputation of its heroine as a less empathetic character seems to have haunted her 4 adaptors, determined to prove her a true Austen heroine in the model of Elizabeth Bennett or the Dashwood sisters. ITV’s 1996 Emma is a particularly valuable example of how the process of adapting Emma is revealing of Austen’s composite reconstruction. Austen’s afterlife goes beyond the materiality of her reduced work and the scarce (and often biased) surviving biographical detail: it includes the many adaptations of both her work and her life, having created an apparently fixed image of Austen as a source of unproblematic, romantic stories taking place in a idealized past. ITV’s Emma shows us how each adaptation tries to find its place in this very particular construct. One of the lesser known of Emma’s screen versions – it is somewhat forgotten between the other two recent adaptations of the novel, Miramax’s 1996 film and BBC’s 2009 series – the production of ITV’s television film stands as a significant moment in the evolution of how this novel and this heroine’s singularity is successfully adapted on-screen. Following fast on BBC’s major success, Pride and Prejudice (1995), this ITV production aimed at becoming the new costume drama hit by enrolling several members of the latter crew, including acclaimed screenwriter Andrew Davies, as well as creating a winning cast list by combining a number of experienced actors, such as Bernard Hepton, with rising stars Mark Strong and Kate Beckinsale. This article will therefore trace the backstory of adapting Emma on- screen by re-acknowledging the importance of this particular production, allowing for a better understanding of how this very unique Austen heroine has been adapted for new audiences. In a time when Austen has been appropriated by popular culture in ways perhaps unrivalled by any other writer other than Shakespeare, this distinctiveness is all the more significant: Emma’s apparent relative shortcomings make its contemporary adaptations even more challenging and their subsequent analysis more meaningful. As had been the case with Pride and Prejudice, the way in which Davies’ script re- 5 interpreted Austen’s work would both update the novel and the heroine to a 90s’ audience and influence subsequent re-creations of Emma. From Austen, 1775–1817, to Austen 2.0 Before focusing on Davies’s Emma, it is worth recognizing that an analysis of any Austen adaptation today means taking into consideration not only the adapted work and the adaptation itself – including a number of issues connected to the process of adapting – but also Austen herself as a popular literary commodity. Invoking Jane Austen’s name today summons an array of different but interconnected concepts, interwoven by threads of both traditional literary criticism and postmodern popular culture. From the first half of the twentieth century, when her place in the literary canon was not a given fact, to her twenty-first-century status as a popular cultural icon, much has happened to shape Jane Austen’s multiple afterlives. Over the last 100 years Austen has been re-interpreted, both critically and creatively, with an unprecedented degree of simultaneity: a process that has been crucially shaped by adaptations of her work. On the one hand, her body of work has now been granted centre-stage in the history of the novel and in the literary canon. On the other hand, her widespread popularity in contemporaneity, materializing in all sorts of objects from online videogames and spin-off novels to teacups and romantic self-help guides, turns her into a distinctive case in literary studies in general and in adaptation circles in particular. This double, and sometimes paradoxical, condition has led John Wiltshire in Recreating Jane Austen to contrast Jane Austen, the author of the texts, to “‘Jane Austen’”, a ‘cultural image’ and ‘the object of idealizing and romantic fantasy’ (2004: 10). Claire Harmon also analyses this particular evolution in Jane’s Fame, ‘Jane AustenTM’, noting that Austen is ‘A genuinely popular author as well as a great one, she 6 has come to exist, more obviously than any other English writer, in several mutually exclusive spheres at once’ (2009: 243). The fact remains that this re-interpreted Jane Austen could not, in several aspects, be more at odds with the ‘real’ author and her works, the most obvious paradox being her appropriation by the romance industry when both her works and surviving biographical data openly oppose, and often criticize, such commodification. The complexity of Austen’s authorial identity, as recognized by Wiltshire’s ‘Jane Austen’ and Harmon’s ‘Jane AustenTM’ is thus cultivated by a potent combination of the adaptations based on Austen’s literary production and her (scarce) biographical facts. Together, these two apparently different spheres – one dealing with the author’s life and the other with her works – have, in Austen’s case, merged into what seems to be one unavoidable and continually growing image of Austen on-screen. The interconnectedness of this process will only increase, moreover. As each new adaptation is bound to take its place among and in relation to previous ones, the text is both defined by an existing body of works and defines in its own terms; adaptation thus both influences new adaptations and is, in turn, influenced. In more concrete terms, each new successful adaptation not only sets audience expectations but also holds creative influence, acknowledged or not, over any subsequent team of adaptors. Among the myriad of Austen adaptations, the many successful and profitable TV adaptations, including ITV’s 1996 Emma, have certainly contributed to the re-interpretation of Jane Austen in contemporaneity. So, what about Emma? As briefly discussed above, Emma’s position among Austen’s relatively modest literary production makes it a particularly enticing object of study in terms of adaptation studies. Throughout this article I wish to point out some of the aspects that have 7 contributed to Emma/Emma’s singularity and the importance it holds for both adaptations of the novel and our interpretation of them. The first paragraphs of the novel are particularly useful in this regard, serving to contextualize some of the more general but nevertheless crucial characteristics of the novel and its heroine. The first of these small but significant peculiarities is the fact that Emma is the only heroine of Austen’s main body of work whose name is also the novel’s title, thus signalling from the start her individual importance. Another even more significant element that turns this heroine into an extraordinary character is that, unlike Elizabeth or other Austen heroines, Emma does not apparently need to be saved from adverse external conditions; in other words, she does not need a Prince Charming and her more secure position allows her a financial liberty other Austen heroines are deprived of. That this liberty has, in fact, not appealed to contemporary audiences as much as the more acute financial pressures placed on the Bennet sisters, for instance, is thought provoking. Finally, and almost in contradiction to the more favourable conditions discussed in the previous paragraph, Emma is also the most constrained of Austen’s heroines in terms of spatial (and arguably social) liberty, her world being limited to her father’s estate, Hartfield, and Highbury’s society, ‘the large and populous village almost amounting to a town’ (Austen 1816/1933: 7, emphasis added). This detail, exposed to the attentive reader’s consideration in the first paragraph, should throw a different light onto the heroine’s apparently unempathetic nature. Austen’s characteristically subtle irony is meant to put the reader on their guard in terms of what to expect: Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her. (1816/1933: 5, emphasis added) 8 A careful reading of this passage offers a potential reason for the novel’s difficulty: despite the apparent advantages in comparison to other Austen heroines, Emma’s existence is monotonous and her perspectives in terms of future improvement rather narrow. In truth, her ‘blessings’ are limited to her wealth, as her intelligence and lively character are restrained by an oppressive (if kind) father in a very small rural society. In this regard, the novel’s first paragraph echoes Austen’s personal remarks on its publication, carrying more meaning than a first, candid reading otherwise reveals. Such nuances have sometimes been ignored by adaptors, as Laurie Kaplan particularly argues when analysing the first episode of BBC’s 2009 Emma: Infantilized, Emma displays annoying mannerisms that serve only to emphasize the adult Emma’s misplaced sense of superiority. […] Emma is so very unlikable as a young person that it is no wonder the ratings for the series fell dramatically – by more than one million viewers – after the first episode. (2009: 6) Kaplan also criticizes the series’ initial sequence for creating ‘an extended and irrelevant back story’ (2009: 3) that ‘obscure[s] the central consciousness of the novel’ and, as side effect, ‘turn the viewer against Emma’ (2009: 4).1 However, as Kaplan’s analysis also proves, adapting Emma is a complex process, her singularity weighing down on adaptors. Returning to producer Sue Birtwistle and script editor Susie Conklin’s words in the opening of this article, Emma is not exactly straightforward TV material. So how does the 1996 television adaptation address this issue on-screen, without overly simplifying Emma, like other adaptations such as the 2009 series would (arguably) later do? In fact, how does one adapt Emma? How is this character ‘whom no one will much like’ recreated on- 9 screen so as to gain the audience’s favour? And, in Austen’s own words, how can she compete with such ‘delightful a creature’ as Lizzie Bennet (Le Faye 2011: 210), especially given the success of BBC’s 1995 adaptation, which it immediately succeeded and which was created by the same team although for a different network? (Re)Introducing Emma to a new audience: ITV’s 1996 adaptation The deeply rooted idea that Emma is unlike other Austen heroines and the need to live up to the expectations created by BBC’s immensely successful 1995 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice thus turned ITV’s project of adapting Emma into a challenge, as acknowledged by its adaptors: Unlike most of Austen’s other heroines, Emma doesn’t need to marry for financial security which, as she points out to Harriet one day, means she can see no reason for marrying at all. But these aren’t the only qualities which set her apart. More disturbingly, particularly for a modern audience, she’s a social snob who wants everything done in her own terms, and she interferes (often with disastrous results) in other people’s lives. Without softening Jane Austen’s intentions for television, there was a need to dramatize her in such a way as to prevent the audience from switching off. (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 8) As becomes evident, the adaptors’ first and foremost concern was with the peculiarities of Emma as a heroine, that ‘which set her apart’. Bearing in mind that their first objective was to keep Austen-familiar viewers from ‘switching off’ (as the 2009 would later adaptation fail to do), this adaptation works its transformation of the heroine through a carefully constructed screenplay, also written by the prominent screenwriter 10 and author of the 1995 Pride and Prejudice series, Andrew Davies. Often neglected or, at least, hidden behind any other individual or collective authorship, the screenwriter’s contribution to a final on-screen object is often omitted, even among scholars of a discipline as self-questioning as adaptation studies. As Jack Boozer argues, ‘[…] the study of literature-to-film adaptation has generally overlooked the actual process through which a source text is transformed into a motion picture. This process includes in particular the central role of the screenplay’ (2008: 1). Despite the fact that Davies’ reputation, both then and now, set him apart as a particularly visible screenwriter,2 scarce attention has been paid to the analysis of his reshaping of Emma/Emma through the screenplay. The fact is even more surprising given the availability and even unusual prominence of the screenplay in the film’s tie-in publication, The Making of Emma (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996), which includes the complete shooting script and an 8- page-long first chapter (in an 80-page-long account) entitled ‘The script’. In fact, most of the adaptation scholarship based on Davies focuses on his screenplay for the acclaimed BBC’s 1995 Pride and Prejudice, with a special emphasis on the impact of his re- interpretation of Mr Darcy’s character. Produced immediately after this successful and climactic adaptation, ITV’s 1996 Emma is rarely the object of study, in terms of both Austen adaptations and the work of Davies. The release of the Miramax feature film in the same year, Emma (McGrath, 1996), further contributed to eclipsing this particular adaptation, even when the choice of adapting this particular novel in the aftermath of the BBC’s 1996 series should in itself arouse interest. In the case of ITV’s 1996 Emma, the strategies used by Davies are particularly thought provoking for their reshaping of Emma as a character for modern audiences and are evident in effect even in the initial sequence. Indeed, the importance of such a sequence is parallel to that of the novel’s first pages: the first images establish both our idea of the character and the feeling of the film as a whole. After a brief scene of poultry 11 theft, which starts before the title comes on-screen and in which Davies again defies the traditional opening of television costume drama, the film begins with a scene of Emma (Kate Beckinsale) and her father, Mr Woodhouse (Bernard Hepton), in their carriage as they drive Miss Taylor to her wedding to Mr Weston. The first impression of this Emma is that of a sweet young girl, loving to her friends and particularly to her valetudinarian father. In the short carriage scene, the script makes this obvious in two specific references, ‘Emma, already in, leans towards him to give him a hand…’ and ‘Emma arranges the rug over Mr Woodhouse’s knees’ (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 78).3 Although none of the indications made it through on-screen, her care and patience are evident enough, even in such a brief sequence. When alone at night with her father, Emma appears rather calm and reserved, content with her situation, which, although privileged, is somewhat sad and lonely when considering her age: an idea particularly emphasized by the gloomy and grim atmosphere of the poorly lit set used for this first scene of Hartfield at night. The snobbishness for which Emma is perhaps best known is thus absent from our first impression of the character. The various short scenes that depict Emma and her father’s attendance of Miss Taylor’s wedding and their return home also seem far from Austen’s very blunt description of her as ‘having too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself’ (Austen 1816/1933: 1). Curiously enough, the final product goes beyond Davies’ smoothing of Emma’s character, as this particular part of the script never makes it into the final cut: [Mr. Woodhouse, Emma and Miss Taylor are in the carriage, on the way to the latter’s wedding] Respectful villagers on the road are raising their hats. Emma acknowledges them graciously too, rather like royalty… When they’ve passed, the 12 villagers [as you might] look at each other, as though to say ‘All right for them’. (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 79, original emphasis) Although its omission may well be a matter of screen economy, it is interesting to find that the only hint of Emma’s pride in the first scene of Davies’ screenplay is cut, favouring instead a representation of her father, who promptly greets a group of farm workers as the carriage drives past them. It is also worth noting that the ‘[r]espectful villagers’ have been replaced by farm workers, as this scene merges with the one described next as ‘Now they’re going past a couple of ramshackle cottages of extraordinary squalor. A couple of ragged barefoot children have come out to gawp at them’ (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 79, original emphasis). The representation of the lower ranks of society is a characteristic of Davies who acknowledged he ‘wanted to give some weight to the social context of the story’ (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 13). The same strategy is used in the next scene as Mr Knightley (Mark Strong) arrives at Hartfield, at night, his first line directed at a servant to ask about him and his family. Because Emma’s snobbish attitude towards the farm workers was never shown, the contrast with Mr Knightley’s superior attitude is not offered to the viewers’ contemplation. However, he does stand out as a noble yet down-to-earth character from this very short scene. As a contrast to the Hartfield residents, Mr Knightley is drawn from the start as ‘vigorous, animated, decisive’ (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 80, original emphasis). As for Emma, even when she proclaims her abilities in matchmaking she does so in a rather timid and naïve way, thus reinforcing her positive image during the entire initial sequence. As the narrative goes on, and Emma’s meddling character becomes increasingly integral to the development of the plot, the quality referred to by Austen as ‘a disposition to think a little too well of herself’ (Austen 1816/1933: 1) is shown but simultaneously lessened. Even if the viewer is frequently denied the glimpse into the character’s 13 interiority Austen allows her reader in several moments of non-action during the novel. And although Emma’s moments of reflection and personal growth are not directly portrayed, there are several scenes in which these are hinted at, thus favouring the audience’s opinion of the character. For instance, after the Box Hill picnic, she is seen regretting the offence to Mrs Bates, which, in this adaptation, is clearly meant as more of an ill-timed joke rather than an intentional offence, the screenplay indicating ‘She says it very merrily’ (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 138, original emphasis). Even earlier, when discovering Mr Martin’s disappointment at Harriet’s refusal, Emma looks truthful when expressing her sorrow. Her snobbish attitude is subtly represented and, in contrast, Davies chooses to emphasize Emma’s ‘artistic sensibility’ (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 9). Davies thus softens Emma’s possibly annoying attitudes by making them the result of an oversensitive personality who (perhaps ironically), much like a novelist, imagines and controls other characters’ narratives. In this way, one could surmise that Emma might exist more sympathetically for Davies because of their shared ‘artistic’ qualities. As an author and screenwriter, Davies has frequently remarked on his own artistic sensibility and the importance of following his own vision.4 While acknowledging the adapting process as a collaborative effort, he is confident, much like Emma, in his creative capacity, as Sarah Cardwell explains: Davies has an unshakeable confidence in his vocation as a writer, and holds strong views on the process and purpose of writing. He argues that ‘being a writer is all about trusting your own feelings and your own perceptions, rather than other people’s’. While this may sound solipsistic, Davies is keen to emphasize his commitment to the audience’s enjoyment, stimulation and development. (2005: 194) 14 As well as sharing a belief in their own powers of narrative creativity, a further comparison can be made in the way they can both be thought of as meddling matchmakers: Davies is known for inserting romantic trysts or erotic tension inexistent in the adapted sources and Emma cannot help imagining romance where there is none. While the former is clearly more successful in his matchmaking endeavours the result of this author identification with Emma arguably contributes to her being more well received by audiences. One of the strategies used to make this artistic sensibility clear is by filming Emma’s reveries as a way of bringing her closer to audiences according to Davies; this ‘makes her much more likeable, because we all day-dream’ (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 9). This also effectively foregrounds her altruistic side, since she seems to think of everyone’s happiness except her own. Their importance is also undeniable since these fantasies amount to a total of five in a 107-minute film.5 This strategy is not entirely of Davies’ creation as it closely follows the novel itself: Austen’s narrative sometimes resorts to a similar technique in order to reveal Emma’s character and interiority to the reader. In one of the rare studies on Emma to include this adaptation, J. P. C. Brown discusses one particular scene where Emma is looking out of the window in Ford’s shop. According to Brown, adaptors have repeatedly ignored the scene’s apparently cinematic quality, choosing not to render it on-screen, effectively obscuring one of Emma’s most important traits, her active conscience (2015: 217). Despite not including this scene, ITV’s 1996 adaptation of Emma chooses to screen both Emma’s fantasies and her nightmares as a way of revealing her character. The use of such reveries, while arguably making her a more likeable character, has perhaps an unintended effect. It reinforces the ‘romantic’ aspect of the adaptation, visually summoning the complex implications the word holds in relation to Austen’s contemporaneity. This is particularly true for the last of such filmed fantasies. Accordingly, Mr Knightley’s character is developed to fit the postmodern ideal 15 of the Austen hero as being both strong and sensitive, an ambivalent conception defined by Martine Voiret: They must be stoic, independent, self-possessed […]. In the wake of the feminist revolution, we now want men to be egalitarian, sensitive, nurturing, and expressive. We, in other words, expect men to possess two sets of somewhat irreconcilable qualities. […] Jane Austen’s movie adaptations reflect this ambivalence. They translate contemporary desires for a type of masculinity that happily embodies these conflicting features. (2003: 238) Accordingly, the mature Mark Strong stresses in an interview the emotional aspect of his character, traditionally seen as one of Austen’s more sensible heroes: ‘What I found underneath, however, was a man desperately struggling with his emotions’ (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 21). In this way, the building-up of the male protagonist is done by emphasizing his emotional side, without sacrificing his manly attributes. Although more of a countryside gentleman, Mr Knightley is thus remarkably similar to Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy in the 1995 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. Davies has since explained in an interview how important the coexistence of emotional and physical characterization had been when it came to rewriting Austen’s most famous male hero: If we saw him [Darcy] suffering or just doing something very physical, the audience would treat him more like a real person, and not just have Elizabeth’s view, where she only sees him when he’s in a bad mood all dressed up in evening dress. (Cartmell and Whelehan 2007: 244) 16 Accordingly, as the 107-minute film continues, Knightley stands out as the noblest, most desirable man in the neighbourhood, especially when compared to the newly arrived and deceiving Mr Frank Churchill (Raymond Coulthard). Mr Weston’s son and the object of Emma’s initial attention, Churchill is a complex character in this film and his ambiguous behaviour, emphasized by Coulthard’s frequent expression of pain when concealing his attachment to Jane Fairfax, can be interpreted by the attentive viewer as the necessary consequence for a man who, not unlike our heroine, is not in complete control of his destiny.6 Coulthard’s performance, however, jars with what we see of Davies’ intention from the screenplay: ‘Frank Churchill is both disturbed and dangerous in my view. […] I think he’s a clever, dangerous misogynistic charmer’ (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 11). Ultimately, though, it is Davies’ less sympathetically drawn Churchill who appears in our final impression of the character in the film; in the final sequence Churchill continues to tease Jane Fairfax while talking to Emma, confirming his unreformed flirtatious nature. Ultimately, his screen representation serves the primary purpose of enhancing Mr Knightley’s exceptionality, proving him as the ideal romantic partner for Emma. The final sequence, the harvest supper, is also another manifestation of the screenwriter’s intervention in the novel’s romantic politics. This scene is intended, according to Davies, to give ‘a sense of […] wholeness in the community’ (Birtwistle and Conklin 1996: 58), as well as to offer a balanced ending to this adaptation of Emma. As an alternative to the traditional final wedding scene of Austen adaptations, the harvest supper (which ends with a dance where the three soon-to-be-wed couples take centre- stage) also responds to the audience’s expectations of a romantic climax. As Brown puts it, ‘It has an air of wish-fulfilment – for us as much as for Emma’ (2015: 229). This could in fact be the reason why the scripted conversation between Emma and Jane Fairfax, in which they apologise for each other’s behaviour, is cut from the final product. The only remnant of this conciliatory moment is the final conversation between Emma and Frank 17 Churchill. But this conversation is, instead, one that ultimately serves to underline the truthfulness of Emma and Knightley’s’ future life by hinting at its contrast in Frank and Jane’s. Emma: Looking to the future Returning to my initial question of how the 1996 ITV adaptation addresses Emma’s singularity on-screen and how it influences subsequent adaptations, I am left not with an unequivocal answer but with a new hypothesis. It is not so much that Emma is un- filmable, but that she may not fit as well into the contemporaneous Austen model where a worthy female character is rewarded with a fairytale-like ending and its attendant Prince Charming.7 Therefore, while Emma/Emma appears to offer a greater resistance to an over-explored formula in Austen adaptations, a direct consequence of this is that adaptations tend to distance themselves from Emma’s peculiarities as a heroine. The fact that this particular heroine is, on the surface, less empathetically presented – and as such also non-conforming to not only the televised/cinematic Austenian model but to wider sociocultural norms of femininity – has haunted adaptors even before they take on the project. From another viewpoint, even if no remarkable model for Emma seems to stand out (unlike the 1995 Elizabeth Bennet or Elinor Dashwood), each adaptation contributes to a contemporary vision of this complex character. In this dialogical creative process Andrew Davies’ influence is clear: his choices are pivotal in reshaping Emma as a character the audience can identify with. Unlike Austen, Davies’ screenplay avoids the potentially alienating strategy of confronting the audience with a heroine apparently so unlike any other Austen heroine. Opposed to the reader of the novel, confronted with an apparently unsuitable heroine whose limitations (personal and socially imposed) he or she is 18 challenged to understand, the viewer is presented from the start with an empathetic heroine whose failings are meant to be framed, and ultimately forgiven. Davies’ conscious interpretation of Emma implies, therefore, a reworking of a snobbish and proud character into an empathetic if flawed heroine whose personal improvement the viewer is meant to appraise. Perhaps, such a complex character, with a long psychological and emotional growth throughout the narrative, would be difficult to portray in an already particularly fast-paced film. Screen economy may on several occasions have imposed a greater softening of the character, just as Emma’s on-screen likeability may have to the series’ executive producers, but in its essence Davies’ screenplay works to build a multi-layered heroine whose flaws are meant to be displayed and taken as part of a believable heroine. As a contrast, one might look into McGrath’s film, which premiered the same year. Although also attempting to round Emma’s harsher edges for its audience, this screen adaptation of Emma adopts a different strategy. Probably the most well-known film adaptation of Emma, McGrath’s adaptation for Miramax and Matchmaker Films has left an enduring, if not necessarily successful, image of Emma as a modern, feminine, intelligent and fashionable girl. Building on Gwyneth Paltrow’s rising status as a star at the time, the film creates a feeling of ‘youthful country freshness and city-chick sophistication’ 8 ; a significant divergence from the literary character but an effective compensation for the supposed less-likeable aspects of the heroine. In the end, both strategies may have survived in twenty-first-century adaptations of Emma/Emma: BBC’s 2009 Emma retains the idea of a young and naïve girl while making her at the same time the fashionable centripetal force of a small rural society. In the end, Andrew Davies’ screenplay is a balanced adaptation of Austen’s work, as is its subsequent rendering on-screen. Davies has been highly influential in shaping and, indeed, perhaps initiating the romantic view of both Austen and her characters that has persisted from the 1990s onwards. The famous wet-shirt scene from the BBC’s 1995 19 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, for instance, did more than originate a Darcymania fandom. It is the symbol of a postmodern retake on a ‘classical’ author, revealing with extreme clarity our contemporary anxieties and wishes but also signalling the importance of the screenwriter’s role in shaping the way a text is to be reappropriated by a new audience.9 In the case of ITV’s 1996 Emma, although there is no such iconic scene, the influence of Davies’ screenplay in the re-interpretation of Emma is undeniable, particularly in his choice to write the heroine sympathetically as a naïve, inexperienced young girl rather than a calculated gossip. In order to better comprehend the ways in which Austen is re-interpreted it is thus crucial to reanalyse neglected television adaptations such as ITV’s Emma, paying special attention to the screenplay, which, in Jamie Sherry’s words, stands as ‘an interstitial text – a liminal entity that falls between two modes of storytelling’ (2016: 20). In a time when the boundaries between popular culture and the literary canon seem to overlap and blur, looking at ‘liminal’ elements may just be the most successful way to think about adaptation. References Austen, Jane (1816/1988), Emma, The Novels of Jane Austen, IV, 3rd ed., Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. ---. (1814/1988), Mansfield Park, The Novels of Jane Austen, III, 3rd ed., Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. ---. (1818/1988), Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, The Novels of Jane Austen, V, 3rd ed., Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. 20 ---. (1813/1988), Pride and Prejudice, The Novels of Jane Austen, II, 3rd ed., Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. ---. (1811/1988), Sense and Sensibility, The Novels of Jane Austen, I, 3rd ed., Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Austen-Leigh, James Edward (1871/2016), ‘A Memoir of Jane Austen’, Gutenberg Project, http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/7/9/17797. Accessed 20 December 2016. Birtwistle, Sue and Conklin, Susie (1996), The Making Of Jane Austen’s Emma, London: Penguin Books. Boozer, Jack (2008), ‘Introduction: The screenplay and authorship in adaptation’, in J. Boozer (ed), Authorship in Film Adaptation, Austin: University of Texas Press, pp. 1– 30. Brown, J. P. C. (2015), ‘Screening Austen: The case of Emma’, Adaptation, 8:2, pp. 207– 36. Butler, Marilyn (1975), Jane Austen and the War of Ideas, Oxford: Clarendon. Cardwell, Sarah (2005), Andrew Davies, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Cartmell, Deborah (2010), Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice: The Relationship Between Text and Film, Screen Adaptations Series, London: Methuen Drama. 21 Cartmell, Deborah and Whelehan, Imelda (2007), The Cambridge Companion to Literature on Screen, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Emma (1996, UK: ITV). Emma (1996, UK/USA: Miramax). Emma (2009, UK: BBC). Faye, Deirdre Le (ed.) (2011), Jane Austen’s Letters, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Harmon, Claire (2009), Jane’s Fame: How Jane Austen Conquered the World, Edinburgh: Canongate Books. Kaplan, Laurie (2009), ‘Adapting Emma for the twenty-first century: An Emma no one will like’, Persuasions, 30:1, http://www.jasna.org/persuasions/on- line/vol30no1/kaplan.html. Accessed 20 December 2016. Lawrence, Diarmuid (1996), Emma, ITV. Murray, Simone (2012), ‘Best adapted screenwriter? The intermedial figure of the screenwriter in contemporary adaptation industry’, Adaptation Industry: The Cultural Economy of Contemporary Literary Adaptation, Florence: Routledge, pp. 131–55. Pride and Prejudice (1995, UK: BBC). 22 Schwarzbaum, Lisa (2016), ‘Read EW’s original 1996 review of Emma: Take a look back, 20 years later’, Entertainment Weekly, August 9 1996, http://www.ew.com/article/1996/08/09/emma. Accessed 30 November 2016. Sheehan, Colleen A. (2006), ‘Jane Austen’s “Tribute” to the Prince Regent: A gentleman riddled with difficulty?’, Persuasions, 27:1, http://www.jasna.org/persuasions/on- line/vol27no1/sheehan.htm. Accessed 20 December 2016. Sherry, Jamie (2016), ‘Adaptation studies through screenwriting studies: Transitionality and the adapted screenplay’, Journal of Screenwriting, 7:1, pp. 11–28. Voiret, Martine (2003), ‘Books to movies: Gender and desire in Jane Austen’s adaptations’, in Suzanne R. Pucci and James Thompson (eds), Jane Austen and Co.: Remaking the Past in Contemporary Culture, New York: State Universiy of New York Press, pp. 229–45. Wiltshire, John (2004), Recreating Jane Austen, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Contributor details Ana Daniela Coelho is a PhD candidate with a funded project on Austen adaptations in the new millennium, under the supervision of Professors Alcinda Pinheiro de Sousa (Universidade de Lisboa) and Deborah Cartmell (DeMonfort University, Leicester). She is a researcher at the University of Lisbon Centre for English Studies (ULICES), holds a degree in Modern Literatures and Languages, and concluded her MA in 2013, with a dissertation titled Pride and Prejudice in two adaptations for film and television. Besides 23 adaptation, her research interests include fantasy fiction (literature and film), zombies and other undead fictional creatures, and past/present dichotomies in postmodernity. Contact: Faculdade de Letras - CEAUL Universidade de Lisboa Alameda da Universidade 1600-214 Lisboa PORTUGAL anaalcobiacoelho@gmail.com Notes 1 See Laurie Kaplan’s (2009) analysis of BBC’s 2009 Emma, quoted above, for further discussion of an over-simplified Emma. 2 See Simone Murray on ‘“Star” literary adaptors’ (2012: 147–51). 3 All references to the screenplay are from the published version in Birtwistle and Conklin (1996). 4 In a letter dated 10 July 1991 to David Snodin, Davies strongly defends his author persona, rebutting his correspondent for not realizing that artists need to be treated with care and sensitivity, as he explains: ‘writers are fragile creatures’. For further reference, the Papers of Andrew Davies (GB3071 D/061) including correspondence can be accessed through the Centre for Adaptations at De Montfort University’s Archive and Special Collections based in the Kimberlin Library (UK). Document accessed 23 November 2016. 5 These reveries are: Mr Elton and Harriet’s wedding, Emma and Frank Churchill’s imaginary meeting, the storm off Weymouth, Mr Knightley and Jane Fairfax’ wedding, Frank Churchill and Harriet galloping away. 24 6 Several scenes hint at this possibility as, for example, when Frank Churchill and Emma comment during dinner on how the pianoforte mysteriously given to Jane Fairfax must be an offer of love. In another scene, when preparing to leave Hartfield because of his aunt, Frank Churchill seems disturbed with his own lie and almost confesses to Emma before being interrupted. This strongly differs from Ewan’s McGregor’s more effusive and openly untrustworthy Frank Churchill in the Miramax film. 7 See, for example, Deborah Cartmell’s analysis of the screen openings of several adaptations of Pride and Prejudice: […] the preoccupation of most of these screen Pride and Prejudices is essentially with gender and a reiteration of what is often regarded as central to the novel’s popularity: the ‘timeless’ desire to achieve happiness through a marriage of equal minds. (2010: 58) 8 Entertainment Weekly’s original 1996 review of Emma (http://www.ew.com/article/1996/08/09/emma). 9 In Davies’ own words: [on the famous wet-shirt scene] But I think the kind of serious lesson from all this is that when it is in a visual medium it’s those visual things that stick in the mind most, just as in the book you remember the dialogue and the descriptions and the interior feelings and so on as conveyed in words. (Cartmell and Whelehan 2007: 246). 
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F I N D L E Y , D A N I E L L . N I E L S O N , a n d J A S O N S H A R M A N $90.00: Hb: 978-1-107-04314-5: 271 pp. $32.99: Pb: 978-1-107-63883-9 The Outbreak of the First World War Structure, Politics, and Decision-Making E d i t e d b y J A C K S. L E V Y a n d J O H N A . V A S Q U E Z $90.00: Hb 978-1-107-04245-2: 320 pp. $34.99: Pb: 978-1-107-61602-8 Cambridge Studies in International Relations D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 21 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 14 00 00 21 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055414000021 U N I V E R S I T Y O F O K L A H O M A P R E S S 2800 VENTURE DRIVE · NORMAN, OK 73069 · TEL 800 627 7377 · OUPRESS.COM THE SENATE SYNDROME The Evolution of Procedural Warfare in the Modern U.S. Senate By Steven S. Smith $39.95 HARDCOVER · 408 PAGES · 25 B&W ILLUS., 13 FIGURES With its rock-bottom approval ratings, acrimonious partisan battles, and apparent inability to do its legislative business, the U.S. Senate might easily be deemed unworthy of attention, if not downright irrelevant. This book tells us that would be a mistake. Because the Senate has become the place where the policy-making process most frequently stalls, any effective resolution to our polarized politics demands a clear understanding of how the formerly august legislative body once worked and how it came to the present crisis. Steven S. Smith provides that understanding in The Senate Syndrome. DISCONNECT The Breakdown of Representation in American Politics By Morris P. Fiorina, with Samuel J. Abrams $24.95 PAPERBACK · 272 PAGES · 47 B&W ILLUS. Red states, blue states . . . are we no longer the United States? In Disconnect, Morris P. Fiorina examines today’s party system to reassess arguments about political polarization while offering a cogent overview of the American electorate. Drawing on polling results and other data, Fiorina examines the disconnect between an unrepresentative “political class” and the citizenry it purports to represent, showing how politicians have become more polarized while voters remain moderate. Disconnect helps readers better understand the political divide between leaders and the American public— and helps steer a course for change. Robert Wood Johnson Foundation Scholars in Health Policy Research Congratulates Political Science Recipients of the 2014–2016 Fellowship Awards Robert Wood Johnson Foundation Scholars in Health Policy Research is a national fellowship program of the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. Each year, it provides up to nine talented social scientists with a unique and challenging two-year post-doctoral research and training experience at one of three participating universities: The University of California at Berkeley and San Francisco; The University of Michigan; and Harvard University. For information about the program, please visit www.healthpolicyscholars.org Ruth Bloch Rubin (Harvard University Site) 2014 PhD, University of California, Berkeley Jake Haselswerdt (University of Michigan Site) American Political Science Association Congressional Fellow 2013–2014 2014 PhD, George Washington University Meredith Sadin (University of California, Berkeley/San Francisco Site) 2014 PhD, Princeton University D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 21 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 14 00 00 21 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055414000021 EDITORIAL BOARD Kees Aarts University of Twente, Netherlands Lawrence Baum The Ohio State Unversity Cristina Beltran New York University Kenneth Benoit London School of Economics and Political Science, and Trinity College Dublin Carles Boix Princeton University Catherine Boone London School of Economics Shaun Bowler University of California, Riverside Janet Box-Steffensmeier The Ohio State Unversity James Ceaser University of Virginia Kanchan Chandra New York University Wendy Tam Cho University of Illinois, Urbana Champaign Nazli Choucri Massachussetts Institute of Technology Susan Clarke University of Colorado, Boulder Cathy Cohen University of Chicago Christian Davenport University of Michigan Adeed Dawisha Miami University Kris Deschouwer Free University of Brussels, Belgium Mary Dietz Northwestern University Larry Dodd University of Florida Roxanne Euben Wellesley College Francis Fukuyama Stanford University Sumit Ganguly Indiana University, Bloomington Elisabeth Gerber University of Michigan Nils Petter Gleditsch PRIO, Norway Kerstin Hamann University of Central Florida Mary Hawksworth Rutgers University Rodney Hero University of California, Berkeley Vicki Hesli Claypool University of Iowa H.N. Hirsch Oberlin College William Howell University of Chicago Leonie Huddy Stonybrook University Valerie Hudson Texas A&M University Vincent Hutchings University of Michigan Patrick James University of Southern California Jane Junn University of Southern California Timothy Kaufmann-Osborn Whitman College Gary King Harvard University Joy Langston CIDE, Mexico Jack Levy Rutgers University Stephen Macedo Princeton University Daniel Mahoney Assumption College Richard Matland Loyola University, Chicago Kenneth Meier Texas A&M University Andrei Melville Higher School of Economics, Moscow Alex Mintz IDC Herzliya, Israel Sara Mitchell University of Iowa Shaheen Mozafar Bridgewater State University Terry Nardin National University of Singapore Cary Nederman Texas A&M University Mary Nichols Baylor University Julie Novkov University at Albany Mustapha Kemal Pasha Aberystwyth University Diane Pinderhughes University of Notre Dame Todd Sandler University of Texas at Dallas Andreas Schedler CIDE, Mexico Kay Schlozman Boston College Ron Schmidt Sr. California State University, Long Beach Gary Segura Stanford University Norman Schofi eld Washington University in St. Louis Reginald Sheehan Michigan State University Olga Shvetsova Binghamton University Kathryn Sikkink University of Minnesota Beth Simmons Harvard University Etel Solingen University of California, Irvine Manfred Steger University of Hawai’i-Manoa Alex Tan University of Cantebury, New Zealand Katherine Tate University of California, Irvine Nicolas Van De Walle Cornell University Craig Volden University of Virginia Barbara Walter University of California, San Diego Carol Weissert Florida State University Linda Zerilli University of Chicago Christopher Zorn Pennsylvania State University CO-EDITORS Marijke Breuning Steven Forde University of North Texas Valerie Martinez-Ebers LEAD EDITOR John Ishiyama University of North Texas Association Offi ce Address and Membership Information: American Political Science Association individual membership dues are: $200,000+, $320; $35,000–$199,99, $271; $100,000–$134,000, $241; $80,000–$99,999, $207; $60,000–$79,999, $186; $50,000–$59,999, $170; $40,000–$49,999, $145; less than $40,000, $98; Student members, $45; Retired members with income $25,000+, $66; Retired members with income less than $25,000, $40; Life members: $3,000; Unemployed members: $45; Associate member with one journal selection, $62. 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Annual institutional print-and-electronic subscription rate (2014) is US$1297 in the United States, Canada, and Mexico, UK£716 elsewhere. American Political Science Review is sold only as part of a joint subscription with Perspectives on Politics and PS: Political Science and Politics. Single part rate (2014) is US$157 in the United States, Canada, and Mexico, UK£87 elsewhere. Periodicals postage rate paid at New York, NY and additional mailing offi ces. Institutional subscription orders and address changes should be sent to: American Political Science Review, Cambridge University Press, 100 Brook Hill Drive, West Nyack, NY 10994-2133, USA. Postmaster: Send address changes to American Political Science Review, Cambridge University Press, 100 Brook Hill Drive, West Nyack, NY 10994-2133. ©C the American Political Science Association 2014. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, electronic, photocopying, or otherwise, without permission in writing from Cambridge University Press. Policies, request forms and contacts are available at: http://www.cambridge.org/rights/ permissions/permission.htm Permission to copy (for users in the U.S.A.) is available from Copyright Clearance Center http://www.copyright.com, email: info@copyright.com. EDITORIAL STAFF Senior Editor/Managing Editor Meagan Williams Assistant Managing Editor/Post Doctoral Research Associate Ramesh Sharma Editorial Assistants Jeremy Backstrom Christine Balarezo Jeremy Brannon Benjamin Gross Angela D. Nichols Michael Widmeier APSR Intern Sanette Ludick 00030554_108-2.indd 200030554_108-2.indd 2 28/05/14 7:32 PM28/05/14 7:32 PM D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 21 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s. h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 14 00 00 21 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055414000021 A m erican Political Science R eview M AY 2014, V O L. 108, N O . 2, 235–478 A M E R I C A N P O L I T I C A L S C I E N C E A S S O C I A T I O N American Political Science Review MAY 2014 VOLUME 108 NUMBER 2 235 The Returns to Offi ce in a “Rubber Stamp” Parliament Rory Truex 252 Rethinking Care Ethics: On the Promise and Potential of an Intersectional Analysis Olena Hankivsky 265 Partisanship, Structure, and Representation: The Puzzle of African American Education Politics Kenneth J. Meier and Amanda Rutherford 281 Voting Equilibria Under Proportional Representation Seok-ju Cho 297 Respect for Human Rights has Improved Over Time: Modeling the Changing Standard of Accountability Christopher J. Fariss 319 The Legacy of Historical Confl ict: Evidence from Africa Timothy Besley and Marta Reynal-Querol 337 Was Weber Right? The Role of Urban Autonomy in Europe’s Rise David Stasavage 355 Law, Focal Points, and Fiscal Discipline in the United States and the European Union R. Daniel Kelemen and Terence K. Teo 371 The “Wisdom of the State”: Adam Smith on China and Tartary Ryan Patrick Hanley 383 The Political Economy of Ownership: Housing Markets and the Welfare State Ben Ansell 403 Can Descriptive Representation Change Beliefs about a Stigmatized Group? Evidence From Rural India Simon Chauchard 423 Social Policy and Regime Legitimacy: The Eff ects of Education Reform in China Xiaobo Lü 438 Delivering Stability—Primogeniture and Autocratic Survival in European Monarchies 1000–1800 Andrej Kokkonen and Anders Sundell 454 Elite Parties and Poor Voters: Theory and Evidence from India Tariq Thachil 478 Corrigendum 00030554_108-2.indd 100030554_108-2.indd 1 28/05/14 7:32 PM28/05/14 7:32 PM D o w n lo ad ed f ro m h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re . C ar n eg ie M el lo n U n iv er si ty , o n 0 6 A p r 20 21 a t 01 :5 3: 21 , s u b je ct t o t h e C am b ri d g e C o re t er m s o f u se , a va ila b le a t h tt p s: // w w w .c am b ri d g e. o rg /c o re /t er m s . h tt p s: // d o i.o rg /1 0. 10 17 /S 00 03 05 54 14 00 00 21 https://www.cambridge.org/core https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0003055414000021 
work_xbvlxxr3uncvfhl5xnpvtget4a	----	JBR_57_4_Pre-1800_Book Reviews 840..878 JOHN HINKS and CATHERINE ARMSTRONG, eds. The English Urban Renaissance Revisited. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2018. Pp. 239. $119.95 (cloth). doi: 10.1017/jbr.2018.131 Inspired by a reexamination of Peter Borsay’s The English Urban Renaissance: Culture and Society in the Provincial Town 1660–1770 (1989), The English Urban Renaissance Revisited is a collection of essays on urban history outside of London between the late sixteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Essays purport to reassess Borsay’s thesis that an “urban renais- sance” emerged in post-Restoration English provincial towns, as well as to test the temporal and geographic bounds of this phenomenon. The English urban renaissance, according to Borsay, was manifested in the adoption of classically derived architectural styles and robust mechanisms of social differentiation, as well as a growing attention to leisure activities and other new cultural pursuits. Applying aspects of Borsay’s thesis to historical case studies drawn from England, Scotland, Ireland, the Netherlands, Hungary, and colonial America, con- tributions to The English Urban Renaissance Revisited are informative, engaging, and densely researched. As this geographic range suggests, the editors, John Hinks and Catherine Armstrong, undersell the volume somewhat by suggesting that the essays are all rooted in the terms of Borsay’s earlier research. Instead, many of the essays address the gaps and challenge the limi- tations that necessarily occur in a temporally and geographically defined study such as Borsay’s. In this volume’s first chapter, Borsay discusses the genesis of his 1989 book (his dissertation, written in the 1970s) and identifies its blind spots, which include chronology, the possibility of regional variation, the omission of London, the focus on England (as distinct from both the British Isles and the rest of Europe), as well as his project’s limited attention to gender, religion, and politics. Ostensibly the story of Borsay’s 1989 monograph, this introductory piece offers a lively history of developments in urban and social history between 1970 and 2018. The essays in The English Urban Renaissance Revisited will be especially enriching for those scholars of English history and literature who have been conditioned to think about urban life mainly in terms of London. In three essays, one by Ann-Marie Akehurst, one by Adrian Green, and another by Jonathan Barry and George Tatham, the authors explore the relevance of Borsay’s concept in English provincial towns, while most other contributors respond directly to Borsay’s self-avowed shortcomings in the areas of gender and geography. For instance, Rose Alexandra McCormack’s essay, “Roaming, Riding and Racing,” outlines the physical and outdoor activities undertaken specifically by women in eighteenth-century spa towns. Some of these, such as walking, are familiar, while others, such as possible donkey racing, paint a less-expected picture of leisured female life. In the chapter “Was There a Scottish Urban Renaissance?,” Bob Harris argues that while some Scottish towns did undergo significant changes by the early nineteenth century, national institutions and “mentalities” (166) created distinct results. One striking feature of Harris’s essay is his emphasis on the importance of improvement and modernization in Scottish urban development, sometimes accompanied by a surprising disregard for the material traces of the past. These concepts stand in contrast to Akehurst’s characterization of eighteenth-century York in chapter two, as a place valued for its preservation and expression of historical continuity and national identity. Similarly to Harris, T. C. Barnard, Zsuzsi Kiss, Clé Lesger, and Catherine Armstrong extend the geographic bounds of Borsay’s thesis by applying central concepts of the urban renaissance to Ireland, Hungary, Amsterdam, and early America, respectively. These scholars show that while parallels to England can be identified in a few towns and social institutions, each place was shaped by national political, religious, or economic conditions that led to varied forms of urbanization and social differentiation, as well as to different chronologies of change. Kiss, for instance, finds resonances with Borsay’s thesis in nineteenth-century Hungary, pointing out that Hungary remained a predominantly agrarian society much later Book Reviews ▪ 859 at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2018.131 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2018.131 https://www.cambridge.org/core than England did. Lesger, by contrast, argues that features of an urban renaissance were visible in Amsterdam as early as the late sixteenth century. Armstrong examines plans for the purely notional Carolina colony of Azilia (it was never built) to reveal that while English entrepre- neurs modified their urban ideals in response to the needs and conditions of colonial life (espe- cially defense against native populations), they often had little practical experience of the challenges that colonial settlements faced. If The English Urban Renaissance Revisited has a weakness, it is a lack of the topical and meth- odological coherence needed to make these individual studies truly comparative with one another. It is at times difficult to tell whether the differing impressions of urban change con- veyed in each essay result from historical or material realities or from the individual terms and documentary sources a particular scholar chooses to use. But the editors’ and contributors’ commitment to expanding and updating the range of historiographic and methodological assumptions and influences that informed Borsay’s concept of the urban renaissance nearly thirty years ago makes this diversity of approaches preferable to an enforced conformity. Each essay is methodologically consistent within itself, and many offer illuminating compara- tive work, as in Green’s “The Big House in the English Provincial Town,” where the political underpinnings and social motivations for “out-of-scale” (116) houses in Newcastle, Oundle, and Durham are carefully juxtaposed. Another strength of Green’s essay, which is characteristic of the volume throughout, is a circumspect handling of the term “classicism,” which, as Green notes, is anachronistic when applied to Georgian architecture. The seventeenth- and eigh- teenth-century term was “regular,” and viewers were as likely to link the style to contemporary Italy as they were to ancient Greece or Rome. Thus, if The English Urban Renaissance Revisited does not reassess the value of Borsay’s thesis with a definitive conclusion, it does challenge and reapply the terms of that thesis in a collection that is engaging in its range and impressive in its scholarly discipline. Anne M. Myers University of Missouri myersanne@missouri.edu SHEILA JOHNSON KINDRED. Jane Austen’s Transatlantic Sister: The Life and Letters of Fanny Palmer Austen. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2017. Pp. 312. $34.95 (cloth). doi: 10.1017/jbr.2018.132 Sheila Johnson Kindred’s Jane Austen’s Transatlantic Sister: The Life and Letters of Fanny Palmer Austen reveals that being able to connect your work to Jane Austen is both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, Fanny Palmer Austen’s interesting story would probably never had been told if it was not for her connection to her famous sister-in-law. However, on the other hand, while her story should stimulate further scholarship on the role of naval wives, and while it does deepen our understanding of Jane Austen’s sources, Kindred struggles to tell the whole story of either. This work is a lovely picture of a life and it struggles to make a larger scholarly intervention for just that reason. Kindred brings to life the story of Francis Palmer Austen, a native of Bermuda who married Jane Austen’s favorite brother, naval captain Charles Austen. Kindred traces Fanny Austen’s life chronologically through eight chapters, from her birth in Bermuda through her death in 1814, with a final chapter covering her possible influence on Jane Austen. Kindred uses these chap- ters to flesh out the character of Fanny Austen and to give life to the world she inhabited. The reader feels Kindred’s deep affection for Fanny and those connected to her, which animates the larger stories that roll along underneath: naval life and the world of the Austens. 860 ▪ Book Reviews at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2018.131 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:10, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available mailto:myersanne@missouri.edu https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/jbr.2018.131 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_xcqjpxf2gbcsxepp7dnte7eohy	----	Stories of Art. By J A M E S E L K I N S Routledge. 2oo2. pp. xv + 176. £11.99. A C R O S S i n America there is a growing groundswell of complaint against Eurocentric, untheorized, male dominated, gay neglectful, racially unaware art h i s t o r i c a l survey textbooks. T h i s b o o k addresses this situation. It starts w i t h possible pictures of art history, i n c l u d i n g maps, a n d intuitive stories. It then proceeds to discuss the x o l d ' and 'new' stories that have actually been written. There is a chapter o n 'non- European' stories, and the book concludes b y examining possible perfect stories. A s ever, James Elkins's thoughts are provocative and there is plenty to agree or disagree with. O n e point must be made immediately, and Elkins himself makes it: there is a limit to what one can achieve i n a one-volume book. O n e w o n d e r s w h y , i n that case, he s h o u l d have i n c l u d e d the multi-volume Russian Universal History of Art except to make the point that the Soviet U n i o n h a d a policy of inclusion towards its nationalities and fellow-travellers. The Encyclopedia of World Art a i m e d at e v e n greater inclusiveness but it was a huge w o r k and hardly a story of art. T o be a story a text has to have a dominant narrative, otherwise it falls apart into smaller stories. Without any narrative at all it turns into an assemblage of facts and descriptions. But the books are g r o w i n g i n size a n d even G o m b r i c h complained about the weight of the last edition of his Story of Art. A s i d e from production values, the physical growth of survey volumes marks their widening compass. Early i n the twentieth century a survey w o u l d have been based u p o n a d o m i n a n t l y Western tradition of artistic production w i t h glances i n the direction of tribal and oriental art. In the m o d e r n Western tradition it w o u l d have been dominated b y works from the great male artists w i t h heterosexual ocular preoccupations. M o r e recent texts have aimed at greater inclusivity towards w o r l d cultures and greater sensitivity towards matters of race and gender. E l k i n s w o n d e r s w h a t is g o i n g o n i n h i s students' minds and asks them to draw pictures or maps of their images of art history. W h i l e this might be entertaining, one wonders whether it is particularly i l l u m i n a t i n g as neither pictures nor maps are stories. One issue that this does raise, however, is the difference between people's knowledge by description and knowledge by acquaintance. M y telling an audience my story of art w o u l d not include all the objects of m y acquaintance. A good storyteller addresses her audience's interests at the same time as building their interest; Elkins's pictures and maps do little more than demonstrate partiality and randomness. In 1975, Michael Compton, a Keeper at the Tate, made the observation that i n England working-class or lower-middleclass-people... had i n their minds only three historical concepts. They were the modern, roughly the life-time of the people concerned; there was a period called Victorian, w h i c h ended i n 1945 and began i n approximately 400 A . D . ; and there was a period of pre-history, w h i c h ended, roughly speaking, w i t h the Romans, but included things like dinosaurs and trilobites and so forth, so that nobody w o u l d have been the least surprised if Julius Caesar had ridden a dinosaur into whatever battles he fought. (Los Angeles, Museums Symposium) Life has moved on a bit since 1975, but it w o u l d still be instructive to hear people's rough stories and surmises. Like many other writers, the author locates the emergence of art historical writing w i t h the tradition started by Vasari, but given the fact that people who read Vasari read other texts as well, this is rather skewed. Vasari drew his models from Classical authors and every well- educated adult interested i n art knew their Cicero, Pliny, and Quintilian, let alone the great historians. The rhetoricians lay the groundwork for appreciating stylistic difference, Pliny for thinking about technical matters, and Herodotus was a mine of history and anecdote. Then, as Panofsky has already pointed out, the other historians come into play as well. But these were, of course, related to the history of the arts. The history of Art is quite another matter and Vasari d i d not concern himself with that, although he did have a use for the concept of disegno. After Vasari, evidence from Schlosser's Die Kunstliteratur demonstrates the prevalence of regionalism i n following texts. The pre-modern stories were not powered by a monolithic Drive to the Real. Gombrich's Story of Art was not as simple as that either, though no one seems to have noticed the ecological theory behind it N e w stories aim at greater inclusivity, but it should not thereby be thought that the older ones ignored non-European cultures. Educated people interested i n art did find space for Oriental and Middle Eastern art among their mental furniture but this was a slightly exotic taste. In England such material is housed i n the Victoria and Albert Museum, which is a museum of decorative arts. So-called tribal art was housed i n ethnographic collections. The regulating concept behind the formation of these museums was the concept of "fine art', born i n England i n the nineteenth century. Granted that the concept of fine art emerged i n Europe i n the nineteenth century, is it legitimate to use that concept to understand pictorial or sculptural practices i n other cultures? If fine art were a category like 'chair' but other cultures did not have a category 'chair', using more general categories like 'furniture' or more limited ones like 'stool', there would not be a major issue over wanting to inventorize chairs but there might be an issue i n understanding the functional place of chairs within the range of other possible artefacts. If fine art is marked off from 'decorative arts' and "crafts', then it won't include carpets, or Athenian black-figure pottery. But should it then include craft-produced paintings or sculptures? Should the craft- produced decorations of M a o r i canoes stay, with Aboriginal paintings, i n ethnography museums? Should the ethnography museums be aestheticized, like they are i n Cambridge and London, or should they be left like the Pitt- Rivers, i n Oxford, splendid classified displays of material culture? Arthur Danto addressed this issue i n his review of the infamous 'Primitivism' exhibition (77K State of the Art, 1987) as did other critics at the time. Wouldn't it be a gross act of imperialism to extend the category of fine art into areas where it has not hitherto been used? Put like that, the question sounds rhetorical but there is a real enough current debate over the question of whether international art a n d international biennales are desirable. A s Elkins recognizes, the real problem behind a multicultural story of art is one of coherence. Without some k i n d of master narrative, chapters i n the text find themselves parked next to each other for no apparent reason. L o o k i n g at other "histories', w h i c h some are not, w e find language and observations that are opaque to our w a y of thinking about art. There is an English translation of the Mustard Seed Garden Manual ofPaintingbut what is a non-practitioner of Chinese calligraphy to make of it at anything but a superficial level? H o w can one write a culturally fair account of the history of art? Elkins treats this as a practical problem. O n the basis of chronology, there w o u l d be a lot of empty pages at the beginning and unrealistically over-packed pages at the end. O n the basis of geographical area, Greenland w o u l d get a lot of (empty) pages i n comparison to a greatly reduced France and Italy. O n the basis of languages, the same spaces w o u l d be given to Iroquoian, Italian, and Itelmen. There w o u l d be no story, just a collection of entries. A t this point, the end of the book, one begins to wonder whether the right questions are b e i n g asked. Isn't there an argument to be had over the question of quality and whether it can be written off as subjective preference? What might our grounds be for arguing that Rembrandt should be included i n a history of art rather than, say, the more obscure neo-Classical painter Joseph-Marie Vien? Wouldn't writing a story of art be more like choosing a first eleven (cricket) rather than a top twenty (music)? But then that assumes that the eleven are all playing the same game. Perhaps w e are talking about landmarks rather than monuments, but then landmarks assume a direction of interest. The pubcrawler's landmarks are different from the architectural historian's. Is there such a thing as the ideal art spectator? C o u l d w e say that there are defining moments i n the history of art such that a particular w o rk , or group of works, introduces a major shift i n practice? This w o u l d be along the lines of saying that the English language w o u l d never be the same again after Shakespeare, Donne, a n d M i l t o n . A r t w o u l d never be the same again after Leonardo. Another approach w o u l d be to ask w h o rates most highly i n terms of offering a personal measure of human values. O f course there w o u l d be a variety of response but w o u l d it be possible to arrive at a reasoned consensus rather than a vote? There is no reason w h y a plurality of stories might not emerge out of differing consensual models but they w o u l d still have to make sense as coherent stories and they do not all have to be i n one book. Thames & Hudson's World of Art series offers a useful alternative to the single all-encompassing text. Wouldn't it be a good idea to give u p writing textbook histories of art altogether? Just as an aside, for American readers, Gombrich's Story of Art was never written as a textbook but as a resource for people w h o w o u l d like some entry into his w o r l d of Bildung. Some people might want to see that w o r l d smashed, others might think it w o r t h preserving but extended, as it always was, into n e w domains. Bildung was never static but expanded as interesting writers emerged, such as Ibsen, Strindberg, and Dostoeyevsky. Oriental and M i d d l e Eastern texts always formed an important element of that t r a d i t i o n . . . and Sappho and Jane Austen. RICHARD WOODHELD Nottingham Trent University 
work_xfd34nthurhh3p2fmdcyo2whvm	----	untitled Film Review: Pride+Prejudice+Zombies Miller, Catriona Published in: International Journal of Jungian Studies Publication date: 2016 Document Version Peer reviewed version Link to publication in ResearchOnline Citation for published version (Harvard): Miller, C 2016, 'Film Review: Pride+Prejudice+Zombies', International Journal of Jungian Studies, vol. 8, no. 2, pp. 136-140. <http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/19409052.2016.1160615> General rights Copyright and moral rights for the publications made accessible in the public portal are retained by the authors and/or other copyright owners and it is a condition of accessing publications that users recognise and abide by the legal requirements associated with these rights. Take down policy If you believe that this document breaches copyright please view our takedown policy at https://edshare.gcu.ac.uk/id/eprint/5179 for details of how to contact us. Download date: 06. Apr. 2021 https://researchonline.gcu.ac.uk/en/publications/66e4c489-d5f8-4200-bfe5-fb50211d103e http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/19409052.2016.1160615 FILM REVIEW Pride + Prejudice + Zombies, directed by Burr Steers, screenplay by Burr Steers, Lionsgate, 107 minutes, English Spring 2016 saw the release of the film Pride + Prejudice + Zombies (2016, Burr Steers). It is, entirely as the title suggests, a version of the Jane Austen novel with zombies. The original concept came from an editor at Quirk Books, a small publishing house based in Philadelphia, who contracted television writer Seth Grahame-Smith to realise the idea. The book was pub- lished in April 2009 and very quickly made it onto the New York Times bestseller list. By June the same year, it had been optioned by Hollywood production company Lionsgate, though it would be another seven years before the project was finally completed. Grahame-Smith’s approach was an interpolation of zombies into Pride and Prejudice (first published in 1813) rather than a complete rewrite; indeed, he remained largely faithful to Austen – at least in terms of plot, character and dialogue. However, he did shift the background of the story to an alternative nineteenth-century England that is on its knees after a plague, imported from the colonies alongside spices and silks, causes those infected to hunger for the brains of the living. The Bennet sisters, along with most of their aristocratic peers, have enjoyed extensive weapons training courtesy of their doting father (though in China rather than in Japan, the more fashionable destination among the upper classes), while their mother remains fixated on finding a good matrimonial match for her girls For many, first encountering the notion of zombies in the genteel literary world of Jane Austen is at least an irritation, if not an outrage; nonetheless, the novel and its film adaptation raise many interesting questions, for they bring together some very popular narrative tropes in one package – combining the nostalgic, and indeed romantic, appeal of Jane Austen with the gory rise of the zombie. This is a palimpsest of a text which demonstrates the complexity of a contemporary culture phenomenon – one that is intended to be playful, but at the same time contains the tendrils of a very affect-laden anxiety about the apocalypse. Although Austen was only modestly successful in her own lifetime, her work rose steadily in estimation throughout the nineteenth century before being cemented into the literary canon by cultural critic F. R. Leavis in 1948; but from the mid twentieth century onwards, largely due to the success of screen adaptations, her popularity has grown exponentially. This is demonstrated by the sheer diversity of the film adaptations, which range far beyond the more obviously faithful – often playing with the Jane Austen world. Some transfer the story to another culture, such as Bride and Prejudice (2004, Gurinder Chadha) which takes place in India; or to another time, such as the online web series The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, which began in 2012 as a contemporary vlog-style web series. Others explore the biography of the author, such as Becoming Jane (2007, Julian Jarrold); play out the fantasy of being immersed in the past, such as Lost in Austen (2008, ITV) and Austenland (2013, Jerusha Hess); still others extend the narrative world, such as Death Comes to Pemberley (2013, BBC sequel based on the P.D. James novel of the same name). Fan activity around Austen is equally imaginative. From more traditional print media such as magazine Jane Austen’s Regency World (published from Bath, of course!) to the web, there is evidence of many kinds of participation. There are numerous websites, for example – such as Republic of Pemberley, where fan fiction is a popular way of engaging with Austen’s stories. There are organised trips to England and role plays of all kinds, from traditional balls in stately homes and castles to more prosaic social gatherings. Parody and hybridity have also been explored in the YouTube film Jane Austen’s Fight Club (2010, Emily Janice Card INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF JUNGIAN STUDIES, 2016 VOL. 8, NO. 2, 136–140 http://www.tandfonline.com and Keith Paugh) and The Real Housewives of Jane Austen (2012, PlayingwFireFilms). In fact, Jane Austen is a twenty-first-century transmedia success story. The ubiquity of this activity has led fans to refer to an ‘Austenverse’ – a field of activity that is based on, plays with, intersects and extends the story world created by the Austen novels. The many adaptations for film and television form part of this; but what is interesting, and why the term Austenverse encompasses more than just the novels, is that, some time ago, the adap- tations began to refer and rely as much upon other adaptations as they did upon the ‘original’ texts. Some texts have been adapted so often and with such gusto that it is easier to regard such works as a kind of jazz variation on a theme. For example, one has only to chart the wide reuse of the ‘wet shirt scene’ invented by Andrew Davies for his 1995 BBC adaptation, which saw Darcy (Colin Firth) encounter Lizzie Bennet (Jennifer Ehle) after an impromptu dip in a pond, then recreated memorably and quite consciously in 2008’s Lost in Austen among others. In the context of considering Pride + Prejudice + Zombies, it does raise the question of a corresponding ‘zombieverse’. The zombie is not a new figure in popular culture, but unlike many other monsters, zombies do not arise from the folklore of medieval Europe – nor from Romantic and Victorian literature, such as the vampire or Frankenstein’s monster; but rather, if one is looking for origins, from Haitian folklore. According to one writer, the ‘zombie myth enters western consciousness pri- marily as a result of the US occupation of Haiti from 1915–1934’ (Boon in Scott, 2007, p. 35) through the publication of stories such as William Seabrook’s Magic Island (1929), which began ‘to draw the American public’s attention away from the Old World and toward the New, specifically the island of Haiti’ (Bishop, 2008, p. 141). However, the zombie that inhabits popular culture in 2016 does not owe much to this Haitian background, and, in fact, did not exist before George Romero’s ground-breaking film Night of the Living Dead was released in 1968. Prior to Night of the Living Dead, the few zombies that had appeared in film – such as White Zombie (Victor Halperin, 1932) or I Walked with a Zombie (Jacques Tourneur, 1943) – were like their Haitian antecedents, which Halliwell described as ‘dead people who are revived, more or less intact, to serve the purposes of the living’ (Halliwell, 1986, p. 242). They are raised by black magic to become the mindless slave of the magician who creates them; in reality, the ‘monster’ of these films is not the zombie but its master – but, as Halliwell went on to note, ‘George A. Romero changed all that’ (Halliwell, 1986, p. 248). In Night of the Living Dead, the dead rise up to consume the living, with little in the way of explanation but certainly no mention of magicians. Since Romero, films featuring zombies are a new genre: the zombie is perhaps one of the few genuinely twentieth-century monsters. To generalise, the narrative tends to centre around a small band of humans trying to survive a zombie onslaught in a variety of locations – but in vain, as these mass outbreaks are highly contagious. To be bitten is inevitably to turn into a zombie, eventually. The infected have no will of their own, being intent upon devouring the living; their main characteristic is their relent- less hunger. All escape is temporary, for the genre is also marked by the nihilism of its endings – as zombies overwhelm the survivors, everyone dies. It is apocalyptic. Nearly 50 years later, zombies are more popular than ever. In 2012, America’s TV Guide noted that the ‘zombie apocalypse has upended the entire television business. AMC’s The Walking Dead is now the No. 1 entertainment series on TV among adults 18–49 – a landmark accom- plishment for a cable show’ (tvguide.com). The Walking Dead (AMC, 2010 – ongoing) is a glob- ally popular series, based on an equally popular graphic novel series (2003 – ongoing). Spin-off series Fear the Walking Dead broke records of its own in summer 2015 and there is now a second series in production. There has also been a British series, In the Flesh (2013, BBC); a French series, The Returned (2012–15, Canal+); a blockbuster movie World War Z (Marc INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF JUNGIAN STUDIES 137 Forster, 2013), based on the bestselling novel by Max Brooks, with a sequel in production due for release in 2017; and Maggie (2015, Henry Hobson), to name but a few highlights. However, as with Austen, the zombie phenomenon extends beyond simple consumption to enthusiastic participation. There are zombie walks and runs (where participants are ‘encouraged’ along by zombie attacks) across the globe, including cities as culturally diverse as Singapore, Stockholm, Toronto and Sydney. Understanding the Austenverse and the zombieverse as successful transmediatised phenomena makes the blending of the two seem less unorthodox than at first glance. Pride + Prejudice + Zombies offers the viewer a heterogeneous diegesis; though this was once thought of as a way of jolting viewers out of their suspension of disbelief (Wollen, 1972), con- temporary audiences are much more practiced in accommodating such things – even taking ludic pleasure in the intersections of previously discrete story worlds. In this terrain, zombies at Pemberley are as acceptable as Batman and Superman coexisting in the same story. As Barthes put it in 1973, ‘any text is an intertext: other texts are present in it, at varying levels, in more or less recognisable forms: the texts of the previous and surrounding culture. Any text is a new tissue of past citations’ (Barthes in Young, 1981, p. 39) and in the era of Web 2.0, intertextuality is the natural state. What makes Pride + Prejudice + Zombies particularly complex is that intertextuality in this case does not just mean resituating the Bennet sisters as zombie killers. As already described, the film follows in the practice of referring to other Pride and Prejudice adaptations (including a shot of Darcy [Sam Riley] diving into a pond just as Colin Firth did back in 1995) while also refer- encing the post-Romero zombie canon, though it also – as any good genre should – introduces some new ideas. The zombies themselves in Pride + Prejudice + Zombies are not necessarily mindless – at least, not initially. The cause is presented as a highly infectious disease that makes the person infected hungry for brains, and consuming a human brain causes the disease to accel- erate. However, if the infected resist the hunger and eat animal brains instead, they keep their wits and their personality. Part of the background story, which is new for both the Austenverse and the zombieverse, is the idea that zombies can organise themselves. The audience is offered the possibility of zombies with agency and a specific grudge against humanity – a fairly new evolution of the trope, only hinted at in Romero’s own Land of the Dead (2005) but followed through in Warm Bodies (2013, Jonathan Levine). However, the film does revert to an ending that is consistent with the traditional zombie- verse. Things appear to be coming to a close with the traditional double wedding – in keeping with the Austenverse; but there is a final mid-credit sequence that reveals the zombie hordes, led by an angry Wickham (Jack Huston), thundering towards Rosings and the happy couples, thus reinstating the nihilistic ending so typical of zombie films. This is a change from Seth Grahame-Smith’s novel, which ends quite demurely in marital bliss, with even a possible cure for the disease on the horizon. As an already intertextual appropriation, the story had to be further reworked in order to craft it appropriately for the screen – a trans- lation of a translation, if you will – with the distinct possibility that it might have disintegrated entirely under the pressure, which goes some way to explaining the seven-year stint in ‘devel- opment hell’. Steers was the fourth director attached to the film, with at least as many writers searching for the right balance; and although Natalie Portman remained as a producer, sche- duling conflicts meant she stepped down as the star. Even a popular culture mash-up is not immune from the vagaries of the adaptation process. However, this is a Jungian journal, so what can a Jungian perspective bring to bear upon the phenomenon? Cartmell, in her book dedicated solely to Pride and Prejudice adaptations, attempts to answer the question of why we seem to have a ‘seemingly insatiable cultural 138 FILM REVIEW need for so many versions of the same story’ (Cartmell, 2010, p. 126). This is a very good ques- tion, which pertains to apocalypse and zombies every bit as much as to Pride and Prejudice. Ortiz-Hill (1994/2004, pp. 3–4) suggests a way of understanding this imaginative hinterland of contemporary culture, which contains these ‘unreal’ obsessions and fantasies, as true of the Austenverse as it is of the zombieverse. Just as the Australian aborigines speak of a ‘dreamtime’ parallel to ordinary, mundane reality, I take the geography of apocalypse to be a real and vivid territory running alongside or beneath the day to dayness of our lives. We live, in effect, in two worlds – in the foreground our daily preoccupations and activities; and behind that, a fantastic landscape of terror or ecstasy. For some time now, science fiction, horror and disaster movies have been presenting us with image after spectacular image of the end of the world as we know it – whether it be through disease, natural disaster (volcanoes, asteroids), ecological meltdown, or invasion. Without drift- ing into a discussion about which is a subset of what, it is fair to say that the zombieverse can encompass all forms of apocalypse – even, it seems, bursting into the warm nostalgia of the Austenverse. The landscape of the imagination (perhaps the term ‘cultural unconscious’ could be employed here) is lively, unruly, often dystopian and messy; some audiences at least seem to accept crossovers, hybrids and alternate universes, and are prepared to imagine the unimaginable, even the extinction of our species. I have already proposed that this film brings together two popular imaginal spaces in con- temporary culture; however, I would like to finish by suggesting that the popularity of the Pride + Prejudice + Zombies phenomenon might lie in the combination of the Austenverse and the zombieverse, which gives space for a third trope. The Bennet sisters are all brave and strong, good fighters, which in this narrative gives them an element of independence that Lizzie (Lily James) especially is quite unwilling to give up for the sake of marriage. Towards the end of the film, there are rescues a-plenty, but while Darcy does rescue Lydia from Wickham, Lizzie then rescues Darcy. Even sweet Jane (Bella Heathcote) leaps to the physical defence of a rather limp Bingley (Douglas Booth). Part of the pleasure in watching the film is seeing the Bennet sisters break out of demure prettiness to hack off some limbs. Ultimately, this may be the key to this hybrid narrative’s success. Lizzie and Jane are not just feisty conversationalists and freethinkers. They are robust rescuers of their men. The rise of the heroine with agency and her own story to tell is a growing trope in film and television, and one that audiences seem ready for. The screening I attended included some very distinct groups of young women who laughed the loudest. The fans discussing the film on the Republic of Pemberley site seem to have taken to the film as a giggle and as another fan said elsewhere, as ‘a long-time fan of Jane Austen and Elizabeth Bennett I thoroughly enjoyed this adaptation of the story. I loved the book as well but to see Elizabeth and her sisters KICKING *** [sic] was just great fun’ (fandango.com, 2016). In the end, the appeal at the heart of this strange hybrid phenomenon is neither Austen nor the zombie apocalypse, but the Bennet sisters, combining their pretty dresses with killer instincts, taking charge of themselves and riding out to save their men. As the poster for the film says, ‘Bloody lovely’. Notes on contributor Catriona Miller teaches TV script writers and media students at Glasgow Caledonian University, and publishes in the field of film and television studies, with a particular interest in Horror, Cult TV and Science Fiction genres from a Jungian perspective. She is currently working on a joint book The Heroine’s Journey: Female Individuation on Screen for Routledge. INTERNATIONAL JOURNAL OF JUNGIAN STUDIES 139 References Bishop, K. (2008). The sub-subaltern monster: Imperialist hegemony and the cinematic voodoo zombie. The Journal of American Culture, 31(2), 141–152. Boon, K. (2007). Ontological anxiety made flesh. In N. Scott (Ed.), Monsters and the monstrous: Myths and metaphors of enduring evil (pp. 33–43). Amsterdam, Netherlands: Rodopi. Cartmell, D. (2010). Screen adaptations: Jane Austen’s pride and prejudice: A close study of the relationship between text and fil UK. London: A&C Black Publishers Ltd, p. 126. Fandango Website. (2016). Retrieved February 20, 2016, from http://www.fandango.com/prideandprejudiceandzombies_ 138600/moviereviews Halliwell, L. (1986). The dead that walk. London: Grafton Books. Ortiz Hill, M. (1994/2004). Dreaming the end of the world: Apocalypse as a rite of passage. New Orleans, USA: Spring Publications. The TV Guide Website. (2012). November 2nd, 2012. Retrieved January 18, 2013, from http://www.tvguide.com/ News/Cable-Vs-Broadcast-Walking-Dead-1055456.aspx Wollen, P. (1972). Godard and counter cinema: Vent d’Est in Rosen, P. (ed) (1986) Narratives, apparatus, ideology: A film theory reader. New York: Columbia University Press. Young, R. (Ed.). (1981). Untying the text: A post-structuralist reader. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Catriona Miller Glasgow Caledonian University C.Miller@gcu.ac.uk © 2016 Catriona Miller http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/19409052.2016.1160615 140 FILM REVIEW http://www.fandango.com/prideandprejudiceandzombies_138600/moviereviews http://www.fandango.com/prideandprejudiceandzombies_138600/moviereviews http://www.tvguide.com/News/Cable-Vs-Broadcast-Walking-Dead-1055456.aspx http://www.tvguide.com/News/Cable-Vs-Broadcast-Walking-Dead-1055456.aspx mailto:C.Miller@gcu.ac.uk Notes on contributor References << /ASCII85EncodePages false /AllowTransparency false /AutoPositionEPSFiles false /AutoRotatePages /PageByPage /Binding /Left /CalGrayProfile () /CalRGBProfile (Adobe RGB \0501998\051) /CalCMYKProfile (U.S. Web Coated \050SWOP\051 v2) /sRGBProfile (sRGB IEC61966-2.1) /CannotEmbedFontPolicy /Error /CompatibilityLevel 1.3 /CompressObjects /Off /CompressPages true /ConvertImagesToIndexed true /PassThroughJPEGImages false /CreateJobTicket false /DefaultRenderingIntent /Default /DetectBlends true /DetectCurves 0.1000 /ColorConversionStrategy /sRGB /DoThumbnails true /EmbedAllFonts true /EmbedOpenType false /ParseICCProfilesInComments true /EmbedJobOptions true /DSCReportingLevel 0 /EmitDSCWarnings false /EndPage -1 /ImageMemory 524288 /LockDistillerParams true /MaxSubsetPct 100 /Optimize true /OPM 1 /ParseDSCComments false /ParseDSCCommentsForDocInfo true /PreserveCopyPage true /PreserveDICMYKValues true /PreserveEPSInfo false /PreserveFlatness true /PreserveHalftoneInfo false /PreserveOPIComments false /PreserveOverprintSettings false /StartPage 1 /SubsetFonts true /TransferFunctionInfo /Remove /UCRandBGInfo /Remove /UsePrologue false /ColorSettingsFile () /AlwaysEmbed [ true ] /NeverEmbed [ true ] /AntiAliasColorImages false /CropColorImages true /ColorImageMinResolution 150 /ColorImageMinResolutionPolicy /OK /DownsampleColorImages true /ColorImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /ColorImageResolution 300 /ColorImageDepth -1 /ColorImageMinDownsampleDepth 1 /ColorImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeColorImages true /ColorImageFilter /DCTEncode /AutoFilterColorImages false /ColorImageAutoFilterStrategy /JPEG /ColorACSImageDict << /QFactor 0.90 /HSamples [2 1 1 2] /VSamples [2 1 1 2] >> /ColorImageDict << /QFactor 0.40 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /JPEG2000ColorACSImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 15 >> /JPEG2000ColorImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 15 >> /AntiAliasGrayImages false /CropGrayImages true /GrayImageMinResolution 150 /GrayImageMinResolutionPolicy /OK /DownsampleGrayImages true /GrayImageDownsampleType /Bicubic /GrayImageResolution 300 /GrayImageDepth -1 /GrayImageMinDownsampleDepth 2 /GrayImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeGrayImages true /GrayImageFilter /DCTEncode /AutoFilterGrayImages false /GrayImageAutoFilterStrategy /JPEG /GrayACSImageDict << /QFactor 0.90 /HSamples [2 1 1 2] /VSamples [2 1 1 2] >> /GrayImageDict << /QFactor 0.40 /HSamples [1 1 1 1] /VSamples [1 1 1 1] >> /JPEG2000GrayACSImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 15 >> /JPEG2000GrayImageDict << /TileWidth 256 /TileHeight 256 /Quality 15 >> /AntiAliasMonoImages false /CropMonoImages true /MonoImageMinResolution 1200 /MonoImageMinResolutionPolicy /OK /DownsampleMonoImages true /MonoImageDownsampleType /Average /MonoImageResolution 300 /MonoImageDepth -1 /MonoImageDownsampleThreshold 1.50000 /EncodeMonoImages true /MonoImageFilter /CCITTFaxEncode /MonoImageDict << /K -1 >> /AllowPSXObjects true /CheckCompliance [ /None ] /PDFX1aCheck false /PDFX3Check false /PDFXCompliantPDFOnly false /PDFXNoTrimBoxError true /PDFXTrimBoxToMediaBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXSetBleedBoxToMediaBox true /PDFXBleedBoxToTrimBoxOffset [ 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 0.00000 ] /PDFXOutputIntentProfile (None) /PDFXOutputConditionIdentifier () /PDFXOutputCondition () /PDFXRegistryName () /PDFXTrapped /False /Description << /ENU () >> >> setdistillerparams << /HWResolution [600 600] /PageSize [595.245 841.846] >> setpagedevice 
work_xfxhrn3645hbvczk77whx3r3nm	----	Rivista semestrale online / Biannual online journal http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 16 / Issue no. 16 Dicembre 2017 / December 2017       Direttore / Editor Rinaldo Rinaldi (Università di Parma)     Comitato scientifico / Research Committee Mariolina Bongiovanni Bertini (Università di Parma) Dominique Budor (Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle – Paris III) Roberto Greci (Università di Parma) Heinz Hofmann (Universität Tübingen) Bert W. Meijer (Nederlands Kunsthistorisch Instituut Firenze / Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht) María de las Nieves Muñiz Muñiz (Universitat de Barcelona) Diego Saglia (Università di Parma) Francesco Spera (Università Statale di Milano)     Segreteria di redazione / Editorial Staff Maria Elena Capitani (Università di Parma) Nicola Catelli (Università di Parma) Chiara Rolli (Università di Parma)     Esperti esterni (fascicolo n. 16) / External referees (issue no. 16) Gioia Angeletti (Università di Parma) Franca Dellarosa (Università di Bari Aldo Moro) Gillian Dow (University of Southampton) Michael C. Gamer (University of Pennsylvania) Michele Guerra (Università di Parma) Francesco Marroni (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) Liana Nissim (Università Statale di Milano) Francesca Saggini (Università della Tuscia – Viterbo) Anna Enrichetta Soccio (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) Enrica Villari (Università Ca’ Foscari, Venezia) Angela Wright (University of Sheffield)     Progetto grafico / Graphic design Jelena Radojev (Università di Parma) †                                 Direttore responsabile: Rinaldo Rinaldi Autorizzazione Tribunale di Parma n. 14 del 27 maggio 2010 © Copyright 2017 – ISSN: 2039-0114 INDEX / CONTENTS       Special Jane Austen AUSTEN RE-MAKING AND RE-MADE. QUOTATION, INTERTEXTUALITY AND REWRITING   Editors Eleonora Capra and Diego Saglia               Austen in the Second Degree: Questions and Challenges DIEGO SAGLIA (Università di Parma) 3-11   The Anonymous Jane Austen: Duelling Canons EDWARD COPELAND (Pomona College – Claremont) 13-39   “Comedy in its Worst Form”? Seduced and Seductive Heroines in “A Simple Story”, “Lover’s Vows”, and “Mansfield Park” CARLOTTA FARESE (Università di Bologna) 41-56   Bits of Ivory on the Silver Screen: Austen in Multimodal Quotation and Translation MASSIMILIANO MORINI (Università di Urbino Carlo Bo) 57-81   Remediating Jane Austen through the Gothic: “Pride and Prejudice and Zombies” SERENA BAIESI (Università di Bologna) 83-99   Revisiting “Pride and Prejudice”: P. D. James’s “Death Comes to Pemberley” PAOLA PARTENZA (Università “G. d’Annunzio” Chieti – Pescara) 101-122   P. R. Moore-Dewey’s “Pregiudizio e Orgoglio”: An Italian Remake of Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice” ELEONORA CAPRA (Università di Parma) 123-142   Recreating Jane: “Austenland” and the Regency Theme Park MADDALENA PENNACCHIA (Università di Roma Tre) 143-154   Writing in the Shadow of “Pride and Prejudice”: Jo Baker’s “Longbourn” OLIVIA MURPHY (Murdoch University – Perth) 155-169   Reading the Austen Project PENNY GAY (University of Sydney) 171-193 MATERIALI / MATERIALS       James Frazer, il cinema e “The Most Dangerous Game” DOMITILLA CAMPANILE (Università di Pisa) 197-208   Jeux et enjeux intertextuels dans “Le Soleil ni la mort ne peuvent se regarder en face” de Wajdi Mouawad SIMONETTA VALENTI (Università di Parma) 209-233   Re-membering the Bard : David Greig’s and Liz Lochhead’s Re-visionary Reminiscences of “The Tempest” MARIA ELENA CAPITANI (Università di Parma) 235-250       LIBRI DI LIBRI / BOOKS OF BOOKS       [recensione – review]‘Open access’ e scienze umane. Note su diffusione e percezione delle riviste in area umanistica, a cura di Luca Scalco, Milano, Ledizioni, 2016 ALBERTO SALARELLI 253-257 Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters http://www.parolerubate.unipr.it Fascicolo n. 16 / Issue no. 16 – Dicembre 2017 / December 2017 MADDALENA PENNACCHIA RECREATING JANE: “AUSTENLAND” AND THE REGENCY THEME PARK Twenty years have passed since the first broadcasting, in the autumn of 1995, of the BBC miniseries Pride and Prejudice, adapted for the screen by Andrew Davies (script) and Simon Langton (direction). Starring Colin Firth, who soon became an object of desire for thousands of women viewers, the miniseries paved the way for a craze for all things Austen. The phenomenon was renamed Austenmania, and brought about a number of screen adaptations of Austen’s books, that in turn generated a multitude of further appropriations and rewritings (sequels, prequels, fan-fictions and spin offs) for both printed page and screens (cinema, TV, computer). Even though the high tide of Austenmania has by now passed, there is no doubt that Austenian textuality has expanded enormously in the last twenty years; so much so that Jane Austen’s six novels, together with her letters and unfinished works, have become the palimpsest of a large fictional world spreading through a net of interconnected media platforms, and inhabited Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 144 by characters changing and transforming over time and whenever they cross media boundaries. The Austen-on-film industry, which was revitalized by Ang Lee’s innovative adaptation of Sense and Sensibility in 1995,1 played a pivotal role in the creation of such a world: it reinvented Jane for the New Millennium, transforming her writing into audiovisual currency to be circulated in the creative economy that was launched at the end of the twentieth century.2 It also played a part, however, in the process of transforming Austen into an easily recognizable and marketable brand of Englishness, a transformation that was allowed, if not endorsed, by Conservative as well as Labour cultural politics: “Both Margaret Thatcher’s New Right governments of the 1980s and Tony Blair’s New Labour government of the late 1990s sought to establish the UK as a forward looking, enterprising nation, without wanting to discard altogether established traditions, images and identities. Both recognized that the UK was an old country but both, in Blair’s terms, wanted to rebrand it as young and vibrant.”3 In the context of Blair’s plan to re-shape Britain’s image abroad by rejuvenating it, the British creative industries continued to exploit traditional images of green pastures, magnificent manor houses and civilized manners, though with a critical twist. From Thatcher to Blair, and despite a fiery critical debate on the ‘correct’ representation of Britain, the 1 See Ang Lee, Sense and Sensibility, Columbia Pictures Corporation – Mirage, USA – UK, 1995. 2 It may be worth remembering, in this respect, that in the aftermath of his appointment as Prime Minister, in 1997, Tony Blair turned Thatcher’s Department of National Heritage into a Department of Culture, Media and Sport, championing at the same time the organization of a Creative Industries Task Force; the latter was tasked with drawing a list of activities linked to the national creative industries with the purpose of calculating the effect these industries had on the domestic economy, and of planning their further development. See T. Flew, Creative Industries: Culture and Policies, London, SAGE, 2012. 3 A. Higson, English Heritage, English Cinema. Costume Drama since 1980, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2003, p. 49. Maddalena Pennacchia, Recreating Jane: “Austenland” and the Regency Theme Park 145 heritage industry and the film industry continued to thrive by drawing on each other. Evidence of this alliance can be found in the 1998 British Tourist Authority Movie Map of the UK, an innovative promotional tool that acknowledged the phenomenon of film-induced tourism and the influence of film on destination image. On the map, the locations of costume dramas – films set in the past and usually shot at properties belonging to the National Trust – regularly appeared, together with the locations of movies set in the present and more openly following the cultural trend of Cool Britannia. As far as costume drama as genre is concerned, therefore, the map further supports the marketing of the English countryside as the perfect travel destination for consumers of Austen’s life and novels and their film adaptations.4 The fact that Austen fans or Janeites can travel almost anywhere to follow in the steps of ‘authentic’ or ‘adapted’ Jane and thus enjoy a “mixture of repetition and difference, of familiarity and novelty”5 is a truth easily verifiable online. The Wayfarers, for instance, a well-established walking tour company founded in 1984, offers a walking tour of Jane Austen’s Country that will take customers “to many of [Austen’s] haunts, including the village of Steventon where her father was Rector, and the gentle rolling countryside that forms the backdrop to much of her work”;6 while the Brit Movie Tours website still gives the possibility to book a 4 See M. Pennacchia, Adaptation-induced Tourism for Consumers of Literature on Screen: the Experience of Jane Austen Fans, in “Almatourism. Journal of Tourism, Culture and Territorial Development”, Special Issue Film-induced Tourism, 6, 4, 2015, pp. 261-268. 5 L. Hutcheon, A Theory of Adaptation, New York and Abingdon-Oxon, Routledge, 2006, p. 114. 6 Jane Austen Country. Insiders’ guide to Jane’s family life, web address www.thewayfarers.com/jane-austen. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 146 BBC Pride and Prejudice four-day Tour of Locations.7 If these are among the classic Austen packages on the market, new and more creative proposals for Janeites are beginning to appear online, such as the Jane Austen Weekends, held since 2013 at the Governor’s House in Hyde Park, Vermont, which are described on the website as “ […] a literary retreat that will slip you quietly back into Regency England in a beautiful old mansion where Jane herself would feel at home. […] Just imagine the interesting conversation with a whole houseful of Jane’s readers under one roof. Weekend guests have commented that they wish there had been a tape recorder under the dinner table so they could replay the evening again and again. It won’t just be good company; it will be the ‘company of clever well-informed people who have a great deal of conversation’. It will be the best! It’s not Bath, but it is Hyde Park and you’ll love Vermont circa 1800.” 8 The quotation from Persuasion is perfect for the ideal buyer of this packet.9 Of course, Vermont is definitely not England, but what difference does it make for the experience of the passionate Austen fan? Is the time spent in this kind of Regency theme park or on a film set less valuable than the time spent in the authentic sites of Austen’s life? Does authenticity lie in the place or in the experience the visitor is enjoying? Is the need to participate bodily in Austen’s world merely the last frontier of consumerism or does it have something to do with the ultimate meaning of art and literature and the way it can transform our lives? These are not easy questions to answer, but Austenland, a novel written by the American writer Shannon Hale, may help us reflect on such issues because it deals precisely with the psychology and behaviour of an 7 See Pride and Prejudice Tour of Locations – 4 days, web address www.britmovietours.com/?s=pride+and+prejudice&x=7&y=14. 8 Jane Austen Weekends, web address www.onehundredmain.com/events/jane- austen-weekends/. 9 J. Austen, Persuasion, edited by J. Todd and A. Blank, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2006, p. 162 (II, 4). Maddalena Pennacchia, Recreating Jane: “Austenland” and the Regency Theme Park 147 Austen fan.10 The book was published in 2007 and soon enjoyed such a considerable success in the world of Austen fandom that it was followed by a sequel in 2012, Midnight in Austenland, and then adapted for the big screen in 2013 by the author herself (screenplay) and Jerusha Hess as film director.11 Presenting itself as a chick-lit rewriting of Pride and Prejudice, the novel tells the life and adventures of a “thirty-something” New Yorker single who works as a graphic designer at a magazine: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a thirty-something woman in possession of a satisfying career and fabulous hairdo must be in want of very little, and Jane Hayes, pretty enough and clever enough, was certainly thought to have little to distress her.”12 The economic independence of the adapted heroine – that puts her in a completely different social position with respect to Austen’s original heroine – is ironically downplayed as soon as it is inserted into the revised quotation of the famous opening of Pride and Prejudice; the narrator focuses instead on Jane’s disappointing love life, which has been fashioned by Austen’s sentimental education and, consequently, seems to be ruled by a repeatedly frustrated need to find the perfect, lifelong relationship: “At a very young age, she had learned how to love from Austen. And according to her immature understanding at the time, in Austen’s world there was no such thing as 10 Interestingly, the term Austenland was first used in 2004 within the context of interarts studies: “a vast, virtual territory in a state of continuous expansion and reconfiguration. Its constantly refined terrain is composed of the picturesque, views and prospects, drawings and sketches, portraits and ‘likenesses’ accumulated by readers and critics in their explorations of Jane Austen and her works” (B. Battaglia and D. Saglia, Introduction: Picturesque Maps of Austenland, in Re-Drawing Austen. Picturesque Travels in Austenland, edited by B. Battaglia and D. Saglia, Napoli, Liguori, 2004, p. 1). 11 See J. Hess, Austenland, Fickle Fish Films – Moxie Pictures, UK – USA, 2013. 12 S. Hale, Austenland, London and New York, Bloomsbury, 2007, p. 1. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 148 a fling. Every romance was intended to lead to marriage, every flirtation just a means to find that partner to cling to forever.”13 As the narrator makes clear from the beginning, the point is that ever since the screen adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, Austen’s intelligent and ironic writing, showing with meticulous wit her characters’ virtues and faults, has been turned into a visually entrancing world, peopled by perfectly handsome Mr Darcies. It has become a romance utopia to which women like Jane wish to escape whenever their daily life feels too dull: “Jane had first read Pride and Prejudice when she was sixteen, read it a dozen times since, and read the other Austen novels at least twice […] but it wasn’t until the BBC put a face on the story that those gentlemen in tight breeches had stepped out of her reader’s imagination and into her nonfiction hopes. Stripped of Austen’s funny, insightful, biting narrator, the movie became a pure romance.”14 We are told that Jane watches the BBC Pride and Prejudice over and over again on DVD and that she does it secretly, because she feels guilty and embarrassed about her addiction to the physical sensations the film adaptation is capable of arousing. At the same time, like all true addicts, she cannot get rid of the need and is hungry for more. To ask for more is, on the other hand, what all fans do and, to be sure, the market is ready to give them what they are looking for. This is all the more true in the so- called age of “convergence”, a phenomenon that stems from three factors: “ […] the flow of contents across multiple media platforms, the cooperation between multiple media industries, and the migratory behaviour of media audiences who will go almost anywhere in search of the kinds of entertainment experience they want.”15 13 Ibidem, p. 18. 14 Ibidem, p. 2. 15 H. Jenkins, Convergence Culture. Where Old and New Media Collide, New York and London, New York University Press, 2006, p. 2. Maddalena Pennacchia, Recreating Jane: “Austenland” and the Regency Theme Park 149 Interestingly enough, the turning point of Hale’s novel happens precisely when an eccentric old aunt of Jane’s leaves her a strange gift in her will: a non refundable three-week vacation at Pembrook Park, an exclusive English country resort in Kent where “the Prince Regent still rules a carefree England”,16 as the advertisement leaflet recites. Jane decides to take her once-in-a-lifetime chance and go to Austenland, “the Area 51 of vacation resorts”,17 because she thinks she will be cured of her excessive Austenian fantasies by living them to the full, thus being purged of them in a sort of Aristotelian catharsis. In the novel, therefore, Jane is represented as passing from reading, to viewing, and then participating in the text through a growing involvement of her own body. Reading, viewing and participating, these are the three modes through which stories can be narrated and engaged with in contemporary culture. In the “telling mode”, that of literature, “our engagement [with a story] begins in the realm of imagination, which is simultaneously controlled by the selected, directing words of the text, and liberated”; in the “showing mode”, as in film adaptations, “we are caught in an unrelenting, forward-driving story […] from the imagination to the realm of direct perception – with its mix of both detail and broad focus”;18 in the third mode, the participatory one, we become agents and engage with a story in an interactive way: we may rewrite it, for example as in fan fiction, or we may plunge into it either through a few of our senses, as in videogames, or with our whole body, as in theme parks, “where we can walk right into the world of a Disney film, and virtual reality experience, 16 S. Hale, Austenland, cit., p. 13. 17 Ibidem, p.15. 18 L. Hutcheon, A Theory of Adaptation, cit., p. 23. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 150 where our own bodies are made to feel as if they are entering an adapted heterocosm”.19 Austenland may rightly be considered a kind of “adapted heterocosm”, but it is certainly more than a simple heritage theme park, or a Disneyfied version of the Regency era. If in theme parks people can enjoy a safe amusement ride through a fictional land, with no actual danger or consequences for their lives, in Pembrook Park certain risks are taken. In order to enter Austenland Jane has to sign a confidential agreement with Mrs Wattlesbrook, the owner and mistress of the place, where she accepts to be given a new name, Miss Earstwhile, dress up in Regency clothes (starting with corsets and drawers), and behave according to the social conventions of the time, minutely listed in the booklet that comes with the vacation packet. This will be the only way to engage bodily with an Austenian storyline, as Mrs Wattlesbrook explains to her guest: “It is imperative that these social customs be followed to the letter. For the sake of all our guests, any person who flagrantly disobeys these rules will be asked to leave. Complete immersion in the Regency period is the only way to truly experience Austen’s England.”20 There are “no scripts. No written endings”, at Pembrook Park and “an unexpected meeting with a certain gentleman”21 (also included in the packet), will be tailored to the customer’s needs; moreover, there will be a grand finale, a ball, where anything may happen. In this respect, Mrs Wattlesbrook’s agreement very much resembles the contract between writer and reader in the popular genre of romance. Pride and Prejudice is 19 Ibidem, p. 51. 20 S. Hale, Austenland, cit., p. 22. 21 Ibidem, p.13. Maddalena Pennacchia, Recreating Jane: “Austenland” and the Regency Theme Park 151 “generally considered the foundation text of modern romance”,22 the Ur- text of Harlequin or Mills and Boons’ novels, where the reader is sure to find the same plot over and over again: girl meets boy, the couple overcomes an obstacle, they live happily ever after. If Mrs Wattelsbrook agrees to offer Austenland’s visitors the realization of their romantic fantasies, however, there must be, on the customer’s side, an obligation to collaborate willingly with the process, by accepting the idea of suspending “disbelief” and playing a role in the fairy tale: “A ball – things happen at a ball. Cinderella happened at a ball, Jane might happen. She felt hopelessly and wonderfully fanciful. The sun on her face, the bonnet ribbon under her chin, a wrap around her arms, and a hatted-and sideburned-man at her side, all lent to perfect suspension of disbelief.”23 What Jane actually agrees to when she signs the confidential contract is to perform a role in the plot outline that Mrs Wattlesbrook has contrived for her guests; in other words, she agrees to be part of the show and interact with professional actors. Interestingly, among the genuine Regency amusements that are offered at Pembrook Park (croquet, sewing, playing cards, walking in the park and, of course, the final ball) home theatricals are also included, thus allowing Pembrook visitors to enjoy further their immersive experience using a love play-text to give voice to their own desires. It is Colonel Andrews, one of the theme park characters, who cheers up the small group of ladies bored by the relentless rain by saying: “I’ve brought the very thing from London, a script from some little play or other called Home by the Sea. There are six parts, three pairs of lovers, just right for us, and it 22 M. Wherry, More than a Love Story: the Complexity Of the Popular Romance, in The Bloomsbury Introduction to Popular Fiction, Edited by C. Berberich, London and New York, Bloomsbury Academics, 2014, p. 56. 23 S. Hale, Austenland, cit., p. 130. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 152 will give us something to pass the time before the ball, so let’s rehearse and put it on for Lady Templeton.”24 Even though “it’s hardly Shakespeare”,25 as Jane puts it, the tried and true device of the play-within-the play still has the power to bring forth metafictional speculations on the nature of performance and authenticity, or more specifically on the distinction (or confusion) between “genuine emotion and the impersonation of feeling”,26 an issue that, if it is at the core of Mansfield Park, it is also highlighted in Hale’s novel, when, for example, Jane and Mr Nobley, the Austenland’s version of Mr Darcy, happen to see Lady Amelia, one of the visitors, and Captain East, together in the garden: “Captain East and Amelia were silhouetted by starlight. They stood in front of a bench, and he was holding both her hands. ‘Are they acting?’ asked Jane, ‘I mean, rehearsing for the theatricals?’ ‘They do not appear to be speaking at the moment’ He was right. They were completely occupied with staring into each other’s eyes. […] If they were acting, they were doing a mighty fine job. ‘You think it’s real…’ said Jane. ‘It is not right to watch.’”27 Mr Nobley, who is an actor in real life and whose job is to play a part at Pembrook Park, paradoxically behaves like Edmund in Mansfield Park, censoring theatre for its dangers and opposing the idea of staging the play. An actor, however, might have a better understanding of the power of theatre on human beings and how the experience not only of watching but acting in a play might affect people. In this context, it is absolutely appropriate that Mr Nobley earnestly declares his love to the heroine on 24 Ibidem, p.128. 25 Ibidem, p.138. 26 D. Marshall, True Acting and the Language of Real Feeling: “Mansfield Park”, in “Yale Journal of Criticism”, 3, 1989, p. 88. 27 See S. Hale, Austenland, cit., p. 140. Maddalena Pennacchia, Recreating Jane: “Austenland” and the Regency Theme Park 153 stage, in the course of Home by the Sea, when the audience and fellow performers think he is just acting. Only Jane and Mrs Wattlesbrook notice, on and off stage respectively, that he has slightly changed his lines, but Jane can only tantalizingly wonder if, in doing so, he has let his true self appear for a moment. After all, she thinks: “movie actors fall in love with each other on the set all the time. Is it so outlandish to suppose it might happen to me?”28 Since Jane is not simply watching a show, but is taking part in one, she also contributes to its creation, even subverting the plot Mrs Wattlesbrook had organized for her with a final coup de théâtre. By experiencing this immersive form of tourism and leisure activity, Jane therefore changes the social environment around her, while also being changed by it beyond Mrs Wattlesbrook’s control. Unexpectedly for Jane, but necessarily for the genre, her holiday turns out to be exactly what the advertisement promised: a life-changing experience. From this point of view, Hale’s novel is extremely thought provoking, because it reveals what contemporary customers of the leisure and tourism industry more or less openly desire and what the market is trying to offer: “Consumers are increasingly striving for experiences. As products and services have become interchangeable and replicated, the search for unique, compelling and memorable experiences in the context of tourism has become a key notion. In tourism marketing, the concept of the experience economy has long provided a valuable vehicle to design, stage and deliver experiences to consumers and gain competitive advantage […] The concept of the experience economy has evolved, as consumers have become more active and empowered in playing a part in co-creating their own experience in quest for personal growth.”29 28 Ibidem, p. 135. 29 B. Neuhofer and D. Buhalis, Experience, Co-creation and Technology: Issues, Challenges and Trends for Technology Enhanced Tourism Experiences, in The Routledge Handbook of Tourism Marketing, Edited by S. McCabe, Abingdon, Routledge, 2013, p. 124. Parole Rubate / Purloined Letters 154 However fake the Regency England of Austenland may appear, the odd recreational activity the heroine experiences on her visit truly helps her to re-create herself, that is, to become more aware of her needs and desires and so refashion her life accordingly. The last pages of the novel may be read in this perspective. While Jane is waiting to take off, Mr Nobley breathlessly rushes into the aircraft cabin, sits next to her and introduces himself with his real name, saying that notwithstanding his fear of flying he is ready to follow her anywhere if she accepts his proposal to be near her for a time: “‘So,’ he said, ‘is New York City our final destination?’ ‘That’s home.’ ‘Good. There’s bound to be work for an attractive British actor, wouldn’t you think?’ ‘There are thousands of restaurants, and those waiter jobs have high turnover.’ ‘Right’ ‘Loads of theatres, too. I think you’d be wonderful in a comedy.’”30 If at the beginning of the novel the economic independence of the heroine is clearly downplayed, things change at the end: the fact that Jane has got a well-payed job in New York while her Mr Darcy will have to start his career from scratch in the Big Apple represents a considerable change in the Austen marriage plot in terms of new power relations between genders; it is a refreshing plunge into the variety of real life situations. In conclusion, if we refrain from dismissing Austenland as a simply escapist fairy-tale, we will unexpectedly find that it is also an instructive story of female personal growth and even empowerment. 30 S. Hale, Austenland, cit., pp. 190-191. Copyright © 2017 Parole rubate. Rivista internazionale di studi sulla citazione / Purloined Letters. An International Journal of Quotation Studies F16_8_pennacchia_austenland Template Copyright breve 
work_xn6sqfzhizfnfdhztilhbbpg3i	----	Book Reviews Twist with Mr Brownlow and with the Maylies, and so forth-it is a pity that the chapter is rather slender. Overall this is a stimulating work, but, by contrast with such recent books as John Wiltshire's Jane Austen and the body: 'The picture of health' (Cambridge University Press, 1991), it provides less than it promises. Roy Porter, Wellcome Institute Lynn Bindman, Alison Brading, and Tilli Tansey (eds), Women physiologists: an anniversary celebration of their contributions to British physiology, London and Chapel Hill, Portland Press, 1993, pp. ix, 166, £9.99, $15.00, (1-85578-049-6). Physiology is a fascinating field for historians of gender and of women's place in science and medicine. In the United Kingdom at least, since the late nineteenth century, women's presence as undergraduate students in the field, as medical students and as subject specialists, has been relatively strong compared to their representation in science generally. A large body of public lectures and popular writing in "physiology" was produced by women for women from the 1860s onwards. Much of this would now be labelled as health education or even sex education and dissociated from the academic discipline of physiology and its inseparable partner in Britain, the Physiological Society. Victorian women's exposure to academic physiology was controversial because of the subject's association with animal experimentation. This modest volume is not directly about these broader issues although it does allude to them. Its main purpose is to celebrate the far from modest achievement of a small number of distinguished women physiologists. In the first section, E M Tansey provides a succinct overview of the history of women in the Physiological Society, noting that their admission, in 1915, was controversial, notwithstanding their publication record. Women's presence at the Society's dinners was clearly not welcome to all leading male physiologists of the time, yet they were accepted into the Physiological Society long before many other scientific societies. Section II gives brief biographies and edited extracts from published research for eight women whose contribution to science led to their becoming Dames of the British Empire or Fellows of the Royal Society. Section III provides biographical sketches of others whose distinguished scientific contribution did not attract such public honours. The Afterword raises the questions any analytic historian would ask about any patterns in background, career paths, topic research etc. but has to admit that the small sample precludes satisfying answers. It also attempts comparisons with the current situation of women physiologists. Again, the focus on a few very distinguished women is not necessarily the best foundation for such comparisons. The book achieves its main aims of documenting the achievements of the few well, although, as often seems to be the case, these successful women scientists frustrate the historian by not generally indulging in extensive reflection on their own lives. One would hope that it will encourage others to extend the study of women's place in physiology in and outside academia to answer the broader questions it poses more satisfactorily. Mary Ann Elston, Royal Holloway, University of London Lawrence C Kolb and Leon Roizin, The first psychiatric institute: how research and education changed practice, Washington, DC, and London, American Psychiatric Press, 1993, pp. xx, 258, illus., $39.00 (0-88048-544-2). This book describes the history of the New York State Psychiatric Institute from 1896 to 1971. As historical writing it is badly flawed. No reference is made to any sources in the history of psychiatry after 1968 and the repetitive ascription of talent, foresight and 253 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060026 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:12, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060026 https://www.cambridge.org/core Book Reviews priority to various players throughout the text reflects this total lack of awareness of recent scholarship. Ira Van Gieson, the first director of the Institute, is praised as a "visionary" while Adolf Meyer apparently had extraordinarily perceptive insights into institutional needs. A series of "firsts" are emphasized: the first multidisciplinary institute in the world dedicated to psychiatric research, the first man in the United States to apply psychoanalysis clinically and to report on the use of chlorpromazine for schizophrenia (August Hoch), the first to devise an experimental model of epilepsy in animals (Nicholas Kopeloff) and so on. The attitudes conveyed by one or two passages are frankly offensive. Repeated accusations of a racist admissions policy and of failure to offer a clinical service to the local population have dogged the Institute since the 1940s. At times the authors shrug this off as the predictable complaint of social work students (pp. 93, 112), though by their own admission these researchers and educators ignored the mentally ill on their doorstep until 1958 or later. After hearing of the gifts of numerous male doctors, all the reader is told about Antoinette Schob, the supervisor of the employees' medical clinic, is that she was "a pert French woman". The housekeepers, engineers and administrators at the Institute are acknowledged in the same section as the contribution of the laboratory animals. Given that this book is methodologically and politically unsound can it nevertheless serve as a primary source of information for historians of psychiatry? There is a good deal of detail about the changing pattem of departments, personnel, committees and affiliations and a full review of the research output of the Institute which might form the basis for a study of the relationship between structure and product. However, the general reader could be misled by the rather idiosyncratic choices of emphasis made by Kolb and Roizin. For example, Adolf Meyer's seven years as director are given an abbreviated treatment in contrast to the lengthy technical review of Leon Roizin's neuropathological research (including 27 references to papers of which he was first author). Michael Gelder has provided a superior account of Meyer's work and influence in 150 years ofBritish psychiatry 1841-1991 (eds German E Berrios and Hugh Freeman, London, Gaskill, 1991). Andrew Hodgkiss, Wellcome Institute 254 available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060026 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:12, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0025727300060026 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
work_xq3djwlhgnbzjo6m42rzupknqu	----	Trollope on the Sublime and Beautiful | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 33, Issue 2 September 1978 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article [Footnotes] Article Navigation Research Article| September 01 1978 Trollope on the Sublime and Beautiful Susan L. Humphreys Susan L. Humphreys Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1978) 33 (2): 194–214. https://doi.org/10.2307/2933346 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Susan L. Humphreys; Trollope on the Sublime and Beautiful. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 September 1978; 33 (2): 194–214. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/2933346 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search [Footnotes] [Footnotes] 1 An Autobiography, The Oxford Trollope, (London: Oxford Univ. Press, 1950), p. 1818 An Autobiography 1950 2 Percy M. Thornton, Harrow School and Its Surroundings (London: Allen, 1885), pp. 434-37Thornton 434 Harrow School and Its Surroundings 1885 Google Scholar   3 Edward A. Freeman, "Anthony Trollope," Macmillan's Magazine, Jan.1883, p. 236Freeman Jan. 236 Macmillan's Magazine 1883 4 N. John Hall, Salmagundi: Byron, Allegra, and the Trollope Family, Beta Phi Mu Chapbook, No. 11 (Pittsburgh: Beta Phi Mu, 1975)Hall Salmagundi: Byron, Allegra, and the Trollope Family 1975 Google Scholar   5 N. John Hall, "Trollope's Commonplace Book, 183540," NCF, 31 (1976), 15-2510.2307/293330415 6 Four Lectures, ed. Morris L. Parrish (London: Constable, 1938), p. 101Parrish 101 Four Lectures 1938 Google Scholar   7 Moments of Being: Unpublished Autobiographical Writings, ed. Jeanne Schul- kind (Sussex: The Univ. Press, 1976), p. 70Schulkind 70 Moments of Being: Unpublished Autobiographical Writings 1976 Google Scholar   8 Thomas Adolphus Trollope, What I Remember (New York: Harper, 1888), pp. 156, 166Trollope 156 What I Remember 1888 Google Scholar   9 Sir William Gregory, An Autobiography, ed. Lady Gregory (London: John Mur- ray, 1894), p. 35Gregory 35 An Autobiography 1894 Google Scholar   10 Thomas Adolphus Trollope, p. 155 11 Frances Eleanor Trollope, Frances Trollope: Her Life and Literary Work, 2 vols. (London: Bentley, 1895), I, 180-83Trollope 180 I Frances Trollope: Her Life and Literary Work 1895 Google Scholar   12 Isabella Beeton's The Book of Household Management (London: Beeton, 1861), p. 1062Beeton 1062 The Book of Household Management 1861 Google Scholar   13 Mrs. Beeton's comment on batter pudding (p. 632): "It must be sent quickly to table, and covered plentifully with sifted sugar." 14 Lucullus 23 15 Ger6nimo Fernández, Historia del valeroso e invencible Príncipe don Belianis de Grecia (Burgos, 1547-79)Fernández Historia del valeroso e invencible Príncipe don Belianis de Grecia 1547 Google Scholar   17 Pope's Iliad, 24, 590-93 18 Robert Francis Damiens (1714-1757) 19 Jacques Gaffarel (1601-1681) Les Curiositez inouyés, 1637 20 Richmond Lattimore, ed. and trans., The Iliad of Homer (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1951), p. 60Lattimore 60 The Iliad of Homer 1951 Google Scholar   21 Ibid. This content is only available via PDF. 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work_xtg5n2p2zje3rf4m4hpiwn4f6i	----	1826 BRITISH MEDICAL JOURNAL VOLUME 287 17 DECEMBER 1983 its instability, its short duration of action, and its requirement for carefully monitored infusion techniques. For the present, then, we must accept that prostacyclin is indeed powerful and useful in extracorporeal shunts. How ironic that, despite its early claims to be a natural balancing substance in the thrombotic equation, the usefulness of prosta- cyclin has been most clearly proved in entirely man made settings where blood meets an artificial surface. In the common spontaneous vascular diseases we must recognise that not only is prostacyclin not yet of proved value but that it is unlikely to be so. The real hope here lies in the exploitation of this novel compound to generate a stable, orally active prostacyclin analogue which will have selective affinity for the platelet receptors and will have minimal effects on the heart and blood vessels. Like the inventor who answered his critics by saying "But what is the use of a newborn baby?" we should be prepared to say of epoprostenol "Wait till it grows up and has children of its own-for what the world is waiting for is 'Son of Prostacyclin.' J R A MITCHELL Foundation Professor of Medicine, Nottingham University, University Hospital, Nottingham NG7 2UH Kurzrok R, Lieb CC. Biochemical studies of human semen; action of semen on the human uterus. Proc Soc Exp Biol Med 1930;28:268-72. 2 Bergstrom S. Chemistry of prostaglandin. Nordisk Medicin 1949;42: 1465-6. 3 Bergstrom S. Isolation, structure and action of the prostaglandins. In: Bergstrom S, Samuelsson B, eds. Prostaglandins. Proceedings of the 2nd Nobel symposium. Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell, 1967:21-30. 4 Kloeze J. Influence of prostaglandins on platelet adhesiveness and platelet aggregation. In: Bergstrom S, Samuelsson B, eds. Prostaglandins. Proceedings of the 2nd Nobel symposium. Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksell, 1967:241-52. 5 Emmons PR, Hampton JR, Harrison MJG, Honour AJ, Mitchell JRA. Effect of prostaglandin E1 on platelet behaviour in vitro and in vivo. Br Med J 1967 ;ii :468-72. 6 Elkeles RS, Hampton JR, Harrison MJG, Mitchell JRA. Prostaglandin El and human platelets. Lancet 1969 ;ii :111. 7 Vane JR. Inhibition of prostaglandin synthesis as a mechanism of action for aspirin-like drugs. Nature New Biology 1971 ;231 :232-5. 8 Hamberg M, Svensson J, Samuelsson B. Thromboxanes a new group of biologically active compounds derived from prostaglandin endoperoxides. Proc Natl Acad Sci USA 1975;72:2994-8. 9 Moncada S, Gryglewski R, Bunting S, Vane JR. An enzyme isolated from arteries transforms prostaglandin endoperoxides to an unstable substance that inhibits platelet aggregation. Nature 1976;263:663-5. 10 Whittle BJR, Moncada S. Pharmacology of prostacyclin and thromboxanes. Br Med Bull 1983;39:232-8. 1 Moncada S, Vane JR. Arachidonic acid metabolites and the interactions between platelets and blood-vessel walls. N Engl J Med 1979;300: 1142-7. 12 Moncada S, Korbut R, Bunting S, Vane JR. Prostacyclin is a circulating hormone. Nature 1978 ;273 :767-8. 13 Anonymous. The prototype. Lancet 1982;ii:424. 14 Lewis PJ, Dollery CT. Clinical pharmacology and potential of prostacyclin. Br Med Bull 1983;39:281-4. 15 Sinzinger H, O'Grady J, Cromwell M, Hofer R. Epoprostenol (prostacyclin) decreases platelet deposition on vascular prosthetic grafts. Lancet 1983 ;i: 1275-6. 16 Szczeklik A, Nizankowski R, Skawinski S, Szczeklik J, Gluszko P, Gryglewski RJ. Successful treatment of advanced arteriosclerosis obli- terans with prostacyclin. Lancet 1979;i:I 1 1 1-4. 17 Mitchell JRA. Clinical aspects of the arachidonic acid-thromboxane pathway. Br Med Bull 1983;39:289-95. 1 Gryglewski RJ, Nowak S, Kostkatrabka E, et al. Treatment of ischemic stroke with prostacyclin. Stroke 1983;14:197-202. Legislation and teenage sex To paraphrase Jane Austen, it is a truth universally acknow- ledged that parliament should not make new laws when those most closely affected advise that the proposed legislation is unwise and unworkable. Earlier this month the BMA called a press conference to leave the press and public in no doubt that doctors do not want any change in the law governing the prescription of oral contraceptives for girls under the age of 16. No one doubts the good intentions of most of those who want to prohibit doctors from prescribing the pill in these circum- stances without the consent of the girl's parents; but the campaigners have mostly been arguing from conviction rather than experience. The attitude of doctors would have been very different if the call for legislation had come from the families directly affected-namely, those in which 14 and 15 year olds have been prescribed the pill-or from doctors working with teenagers. In practice the pressure has mostly come from adults shocked by reports of promiscuous sexual behaviour among adolescents but with little or no direct experience of the realities. Doctors in family planning clinics or in general practice who are asked for advice on contraception by teenage girls have to make a pragmatic assessment. Almost always these girls have already formed a sexual relationship, often stable and overt. Most have no wish to keep their mothers in the dark; of those few who do ask for confidentiality, one third can be persuaded at the first interview to tell their parents and another third agree later.' The remaining third ofgirls must believe they have very strong reasons for rejecting the doctor's advice-for doctors do always make an attempt to bring the parent into the picture.2 Who will gain from a law insisting that in these circumstances the girl should be told that she may not be supplied with a contraceptive ? At the heart of the matter are the very different ways in which people think of teenage sexuality. Should pregnancy be seen as a punishment for illicit sex ? Is fear of pregnancy really an important deterrent ? If sexually active teenagers are denied access to medical contraception are they more likely to stop having sex or to use some unreliable contraceptive technique that requires no prescription ? The BMA press conference spelt out the medical hazards of early sexual experience and of pregnancy; doctors working with schoolchildren are only too aware of the physical and psychological problems that may sometimes be associated with sexual activity in the early teens. But like it or not, doctors have to work in the real world. Over the years we have worked out a whole range of compromise solutions that seem to minimise damage to our patients; intending legislators should be extra- ordinarily certain that they have found a better answer. Timmins N. All children's treatment threatened by pill challenge, doctors say. The Times 1983 Dec 2:3 (cols 1-3). 2 British Medical Association. Minors and contraception. The handbook of medical ethics. London: British Medical Association, 1981:18. o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J (C lin R e s E d ): first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.2 8 7 .6 4 0 8 .1 8 2 6 o n 1 7 D e ce m b e r 1 9 8 3 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
work_xtgm4qelrvamrjyro6zokd4yvi	----	Convict Voices: Women, Class, and Writing about Prison in Nineteenth-Century England by Anne Schwan (review) Convict Voices: Women, Class, and Writing about Prison in Nineteenth-Century England by Anne Schwan (review) Janice Schroeder Victorian Review, Volume 42, Number 1, Spring 2016, pp. 193-195 (Review) Published by Johns Hopkins University Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ Access provided at 6 Apr 2021 02:53 GMT from Carnegie Mellon University ] https://doi.org/10.1353/vcr.2016.0049 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/663157 https://doi.org/10.1353/vcr.2016.0049 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/663157 Bo ok Reviews 193 Fresh Strange Music, through its impressive close readings and its thorough grounding in contemporary discussions of prosody and poetics, makes a compelling contribution to the study of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and of Victorian poetry more generally. c l a r a d aw s o n University of Manchester • Convict Voices: Women, Class, and Writing about Prison in Nineteenth-Century England by Anne Schwan; pp. 304. Durham: U of New Hampshire P, 2014. $68.00 paper. I n her 1912 prison diary from Holloway, the artist and suffragette Katie Gliddon documents an unnamed young prostitute calling to a friend from the confines of her cell in the night. Gliddon writes, “It is agony to us some- times to look at the door and know that we cannot open it although we have the knowledge that it is for the sake of women like that little frightened one below that we are here” (qtd. in Schwan 175). Gliddon’s brief recording of the cry of the oppressed woman encapsulates the themes of Anne Schwan’s book, which explores the cross-class relationships and intersubjectivity between elite, print-literate women and the non-elite women who made up the majority of the female population in nineteenth-century English convict prisons. The voice and perspective of middle-class women—who appear in the book both as moral prison observers and as the criminal and contained—provided opportunities for women with less power to be heard, but often in a way that sentimentalized, sensationalized, and remarginalized them. Yet Gliddon’s diary entry also gestures to solidarity between women by aligning the struggle for political representation with poor women’s social existence. Acknowledging the general absence of non-elite women’s voices from the historical record, Schwan is attentive to the risk of reducing textual representations to the containment-resistance dichotomy, arguing instead for the “complicated cultural work” (6) of the group of texts she investigates. One of the products of that cultural work, Schwan argues, was the emergence of an often-contradictory feminist consciousness. The temporal and generic range of Schwan’s investigation is expansive and, in my view, the book’s greatest strength. In seven well-researched chap- ters, Schwan moves nimbly from early century execution broadsides and chapbooks to two mid-Victorian novels featuring working-class criminalized women, the memoir of convicted women in two high-profile late-century victorian review • Volume 42 Number 1 194 cases (those of Susan Willis Fletcher and Florence Maybrick), and the prison writing of the suffrage movement. Schwan handles this diverse group of texts and writers with ease, bringing lesser-known texts and genres into conversa- tion with canonical novels and, in a brief postscript, with the neo- Victorian fiction of Margaret Atwood and Sarah Waters. Schwan’s works-cited list is an impressive document in and of itself—a gold mine of primary sources and contemporary literary and historical criticism. While I feel that the readings of George Eliot’s Adam Bede (1859) and Wilkie Collins’s The Moonstone (1868) add little that is new to the criticism of these novels, I appreciate Schwan’s methodology of reading fictionalized and historical subjects together under the umbrella of “convict voices.” The strongest illustration of this is chapter 2, which investigates the prison nar- ratives of popular novelist Frederick William Robinson, who published under the anonym “A Prison Matron.” Schwan calls his group of 1860s texts on prison life an “early social history” for middle-class readers that combined titillating exposé with sober reformist writing, proto-feminist leanings with Christian paternalism, sympathetic identification with moral condemnation, and fact with fiction (41). Both widely popular and highly respected by the penal reform community, Robinson’s two-volume Female Life in Prison (1862) and the fictional Memoirs of Jane Cameron (1863) are among the few texts to explore the prison from the perspective of female prison staff—matrons, guards, and others. The “complicated cultural work” Schwan claims for the texts she investigates in the book is best exemplified here, and this research will, I suspect, become an important bridge to further scholarship on these under-read texts. My seminar students were fascinated by Robinson, and Schwan’s chapter on his writing was a godsend. Schwan’s book joins a growing body of what I might call post-panoptic investigations of the literary discourse of the Victorian prison, including Sean Grass’s The Self in the Cell (2003), Jason Haslam’s Fitting Sentences (2005), and the body of work on female criminality and Gothic and sensation fiction. Co-author of How to Read Foucault’s “Discipline and Punish” (2011), Schwan wisely avoids reductive discussions of surveillance and disciplinarity that have come to seem almost mandatory in any discussion of the Victorian carceral imagi- nation. I did, however, wonder whether the book’s theoretical tool kit might have benefited from the critical vocabulary of subaltern studies, which is not evident here. While Schwan’s approach to the texts is not an unfamiliar one, taking its cues from feminist retrieval methods and the recovery of “subjugated knowledges,” it is also a welcome departure from the kinds of readings of Victorian penal culture—often grounded entirely in discussions of the middle-class novel—that see the presence or absence of marginalized voices as a kind of zero-sum game. Convict Voices makes a fresh contribution to a subject we thought we already knew well by bringing under-read texts to our attention, highlighting the voices of one of the most hidden populations Bo ok Reviews 195 in Victorian culture, and demonstrating the shared history of the rise of the cellular prison and the emergence of feminist advocacy. j a n i c e s c h r o e d e r Carleton University • Reading for Health: Medical Narratives and the Nineteenth-Century Novel by Erika Wright; pp. 229; Athens: Ohio UP, 2016. $79.95 cloth. As early as 2005, Diane Price Herndl lamented the “disciplinary divide between the medical humanities and disability studies” that exists in spite of obvious overlaps between the two fields (593). Though it makes a valuable contribution to Victorian medical humanities, Erika Wright’s Reading for Health reveals the continued lack of engagement between the two fields. As Wright acknowledges, her book focuses on the notion of health rather than disease or disability, unlike most corporeality-centred Victorian studies since the late twentieth century. Opening with an analysis of John Ruskin’s “call for ‘healthy literature’ ” in Fiction, Fair and Foul (1880–81; 4), Reading for Health analyzes health as a “persistent, if often overlooked” (15) thematic and formal defining feature of the nineteenth-century novel. Historicizing her approach through readings of early nineteenth-century medical texts that emphasize what she calls the “hygienic” model of health—that is, one of maintaining health and preventing disease rather than of curing and recov- ering from ill health—Wright traces narrative patterns of prevention that counter those of cure in nineteenth-century novels by Jane Austen, Charlotte Brontë, Charles Dickens, Harriet Martineau, and Elizabeth Gaskell. Moreover, Reading for Health shows us these narrative patterns with a clarity that makes their presence undeniable. However, as someone working in disability studies, I could not help but notice a want of dialogue with disability scholarship in Wright’s book (apart from its brief drawing on Maria Frawley’s Invalidism and Identity in Nineteenth- Century Britain for one chapter). The book would have benefited greatly from further attention to the discourse of disability studies, especially that which focuses on narrative. For example, I was surprised to find that Reading for Health’s discussion of the crisis and cure plot, “which imagines health as the end or beginning” (5) of narrative, made no mention of David Mitchell and Sharon Snyder’s Narrative Prosthesis, a major work that theorizes at length about this exact type of plot’s use of disability. Additionally, when discussing readers’ reluctance to appreciate the prevention narrative, explaining that 
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work_xx4lbmv54rbo7evmtfensyqk7e	----	cql015 226..238 THE BLUSH OF MODESTY OR THE BLUSH OF SHAME? READING JANE AUSTEN’S BLUSHES ‘‘LET US NOT DESERT ONE ANOTHER; we are an injured body.’’ Even as she rebukes the writers of novels who disown their own creations, the narrator of Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey famously attempts to rehabilitate the reputa- tion of the female-authored novel, commending Cecilia, Camilla and Belinda, and calling for team spirit (Northanger Abbey, pp. 32–3).1 Austen rightly recog- nises an extensive contemporary body of opinion against the novel: ‘‘no species of composition has been so much decried. From pride, ignorance, or fashion, our foes are as many as our readers.’’ But she also insists that ‘‘our productions have afforded more extensive and unaffected pleasure than those of any other literary corporation in the world’’ (p. 32). Austen reacts in a variety of ways to her contemporaries’ diatribes against reading the novel: by attributing a fear of the novel to the idiotic Mr Collins in Pride and Prejudice, for example, she neatly exposes the idiocy of the fear; in Northanger Abbey she legitimises the novel by claiming for it the qualities more commonly attributed to the irreproachable periodical essay; by exposing and re-gendering stereotypes such as that of the girl led astray by romances in Sanditon, she indicates the gendered absurdity of such stereotypes. Her own sane and rational novels, with their emphasis on the domestic and the every- day, and their small cast of characters and limited social milieu, form a corrective both to the more absurd and melodramatic of her contemporaries’ works, and to the critics and readers who tar all novels with the same brush. I would like to suggest here that Jane Austen’s prose style enacts a similar corrective to notions of the novel’s frivolity, demanding the kind of strenuous reading more commonly associated by eighteenth-century moralists with the reading of non-fictional prose. Mary Poovey argues that Austen, like Mary Shelley and Mary Wollstonecraft, was driven by the dictates of propriety, as manifested in the domestic ideology, to use strategies of ‘‘indirection and accom- modation’’, which appear at the level of content and form ‘‘as resolutions blocked at one level of a narrative and then displaced by other subjects that are more amenable to symbolic transformation’’. An example is ‘‘Austen’s imposition of a romantic resolution on the realistic premise of Pride and Prejudice’’.2 Throughout this article, I agree with Poovey that Austen employs strategies of indirection that are grounded in conduct-book notions of propriety. Where she sees such strategies as limiting and defensive, however, I argue that they are in fact pleasurable and defiant, forming part of the games of ‘‘Ingenuity’’ that Austen plays with her readers. ‘‘I do not write for such dull Elves/As have not a great deal of Ingenuity themselves,’’ Austen famously wrote to her sister Cassandra in a letter of 29 July 1813.3 Like many of Austen’s intertextual jokes Forum for Modern Language Studies Vol. 42 No. 3 doi:10.1093/fmls/cql015 # The Author (2006). Published by Oxford University Press. All rights reserved. at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ (this one appropriates Walter Scott’s Marmion4), this has its serious side. Where Poovey argues that Austen ‘‘attempts to convert the pleasure generated by imaginative engagement into a didactic tool’’ in the service of conservative morality,5 I suggest that, on the level of style, Austen’s strategic indirections – which include her characteristic free indirect discourse, her use of allusion and her parodic narrative voice – stem from and create a resistance to the ideologies that her novels’ plots appear to endorse. Austen’s style, Mary Lascelles suggests, creates a special bond between author and reader, a bond that makes readers complicit in the demands of the narrative voice and excludes those who do not understand that particular relationship: Austen’s writing is ‘‘as elliptical and indi- rect as talk among friends, where intuitive understanding can be counted on’’.6 Crucially for my argument, however, the narrative voice also plays tricks on the reader, leading her into false conclusions, and exposing the ways in which convention dictates responses to both literature and life. The questions raised by Austen’s style are thus epistemological and moral: her novels demand that her readers question not only what they know, but how they know it.7 They require, in Coleridge’s memorable phrase, ‘‘hard reading’’, not just of the novels them- selves, but of the conventions and assumptions that the novels satirise.8 ‘‘Hard reading’’ is both playful and strenuous: to take part in the games of the narrative voice a reader has to learn to read extremely carefully. Here, I will discuss one specific narrative strategy: Austen’s deployment and reformulation of a narrative convention ubiquitous in the work of her eighteenth-century predecessors: the narrative bond created by a literary character’s blush. Eloquent blood ‘‘It might with truth be said that ‘her eloquent blood spoke through her modest cheeks’,’’ writes Henry Austen of his sister, in the ‘‘Biographical Notice’’ attached to the posthumous edition of Jane Austen’s Northanger Abbey and Persuasion (1818).9 This part of Henry’s idealised portrait adopts and adapts John Donne’s lines on Elizabeth Drury: We understood Her by her sight: her pure and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, That one might almost say, her body thought. 10 It is worth noticing, as Ruth Bernard Yeazell points out, that the word ‘‘modest’’ is Henry’s addition, reflecting an unconscious assumption that eloquent blood can speak only in the cheeks of a ‘‘modest’’ woman.11 This assumption is not surprising, given the frequency with which the trope of the modestly blushing female appears in eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century writing – from con- duct books and journals to poetry and novels – and the extent to which the innate ambiguity of the blush tends to be ignored or suppressed. Blushes, both real and figurative, are ever present in the literature of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, and despite the evidence of contemporary physiologists READING JANE AUSTEN’S BLUSHES 227 at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ (who saw anger and shame as the chief causes of blushing), novelists and poets continued to insist on the innate ‘‘modesty’’ of the feminine blush. In works as different as Samuel Richardson’s Pamela (1740), Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones (1749), Fanny Burney’s Evelina (1778), Mary Hays’s Memoirs of Emma Courtney (1796) and Hannah More’s Cœlebs in Search of a Wife (1808) – all works which Jane Austen knew well – the ingenuous heroine’s blushes mirror both her modesty and the superiority of her mind. Taking as a precedent Milton’s Eve, many eighteenth-century writers insist on the perfect innocence of a blush. Since Eve can blush before the Fall of Man12 (i.e. while she is still in a state of perfect, pre-lapsarian innocence), it follows that blushes may be a mark of innocence, rather than guilty knowledge. Following in this tradition, John Gregory’s best-selling and influential conduct book A Father’s Legacy to His Daughters refuses even to recognise that the blush may hint at more than modesty: Pedants, who think themselves philosophers, ask why a woman should blush when she is conscious of no crime? It is sufficient answer, that nature has made you to blush when you are guilty of no fault, and has forced us to love you because you do so. – Blushing is so far from being necessarily an attendant on guilt, that it is the usual companion of innocence. 13 He chooses to ignore the possibility that a blush of guilt (at least on the faces of women like his daughters) could exist. Similarly, the New Lady’s Magazine tells its readers, ‘‘shamefacedness carries the very colour of virtue, and that blush which spreads itself over her face, is a mark of her abhorrence of vice.’’14 Shamefaced- ness here, paradoxically, is proof that a woman has done nothing shameful; only the innocent can still blush. Novelists of the eighteenth century find this a useful ‘‘truth’’ to assert. In Burney’s Evelina, for example, the heroic Lord Orville rejects the idea that a virtuous young lady could blush for any impure reason: when the foppish Mr Lovel claims that he has ‘‘known so many different causes of a lady’s colour, such as flushing, – anger, – mauvaise honte, – and so forth, that I never dare decide to which it may be owing,’’ he is swiftly put in his place by the assembled company, and Orville comes to Evelina’s defence, taking the true motive of her blush (embarrassment) for granted.15 This brief exchange demon- strates a handy novelistic convention: the blush can provide the reader with privileged knowledge that characters within the novel may not have. Mr Lovel reads Evelina’s complexion wrongly, but, as readers, we cannot do so because we have access to her inner thoughts, rather than only to the surface of her skin. We can therefore judge Evelina’s blush correctly. Blushes, in the modest heroine tradition,16 do not symbolise only innocence; Mary Wollstonecraft’s Female Reader (1789) makes it clear that there is a relation- ship between blushes and ‘‘mental charms’’ when it assures young women that ‘‘it is not necessary to speak to display mental charms, the eye will quickly inform us if an active soul resides within; and a blush is far more eloquent than the best turned period.’’17 In Mary Hays’s Emma Courtney (1796), the heroine, a largely autobiographical creation, assures the man she loves that she is ‘‘incapable 228 KATIE HALSEY at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ of dissimulation, the emotions of my mind are ever but too apparent in my expression’’.18 It is for this reason that Emma has to insist that her blushes are ‘‘the blushes of modesty, not of shame’’19 (italics Hays’s); since Harley can judge her emotions by her blushes, it is essential for Emma that he should interpret her blushes as modestly innocent. But it was not only radical women writers like Hays and Wollstonecraft, speaking out for greater sincerity and honesty between the sexes, who believed that the expression on a woman’s face revealed her soul. Writers from across the political spectrum present modest and express- ively blushing heroines; Hannah More’s conduct-book-as-novel, Cœlebs in Search of a Wife, for example, introduces the exemplary Lucilla Stanley, who demonstrates both her ‘‘mental charms’’ and ‘‘active soul’’ through a blush and a speaking silence in the presence of her father and her prospective suitor. The hero, looking for a wife who demonstrates ‘‘the true learning for a lady’’ (‘‘a knowledge that is rather detected than displayed’’20), is delighted to trace ‘‘her knowledge of the best authors, though she quoted none’’ from Lucilla’s blushes when the subject of ladies learning Latin arises.21 Conventionally, modesty, innocence and intelli- gence can thus all be denoted by a blush, which the informed reader will know how to read. Within the modest heroine tradition, the blush is assumed to be a guarantee of authentic emotion, a safeguard against feminine deceit. Blushing speaks the language of the heart, a language that the lips may be denied from uttering. The natural rose of a country girl’s cheeks is frequently contrasted to the artificial rouge used in the inauthentic world of the fashionable or the depraved (a marker of Sir Walter Elliot’s inability to value the authentic is his wish that Lady Russell ‘‘would only wear rouge’’ [Persuasion, p. 203]). While using rouge can counterfeit colour in an elderly, sallow or depraved face, only emotion can make the colour come and go, as it does in the face of the modest heroine, whose blushes cannot be faked. In Evelina, Lord Orville compliments Evelina’s natural complexion, by contrasting it to that created by rouge: [T]he difference of natural and artificial colour, seems to me very easily discerned; that of Nature, is mottled, and varying; that of art, set, and too smooth; it wants that animation, that glow, that indescribable something which, even now that I see it, [in Evelina’s face] wholly surpasses all my powers of expression. 22 Lord Orville rightly reads Evelina’s sincerity in her blushes, even though he is not privy to the emotions that prompt her colour.23 The natural blush informs a spectator, then, that the young woman is capable of authentic emotion, but it does not always reveal what that emotion might be. In Northanger Abbey, Catherine Morland is unable to read her friend Isabella’s blush: after telling Isabella that she does not want to marry her brother, Catherine says, ‘‘you know, we shall still be sisters’’, referring to Isabella’s engagement to James Morland. Austen presents Isabella’s reply: ‘‘ ‘Yes, yes’ (with a blush), ‘there are more ways than one of our being sisters. – But where am I wandering to?’ ’’ (p. 128). Catherine, in her innocence, does not recognise READING JANE AUSTEN’S BLUSHES 229 at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ that Isabella’s blush denotes the possibility that the two could still ‘‘be sisters’’ if Catherine were to marry Henry Tilney and Isabella his brother, Captain Tilney. The reader, on the other hand, sees exactly where Isabella is ‘‘wandering to’’. In Mansfield Park, too, Sir Thomas, although no innocent, cannot read his niece Fanny’s blushes. At the pivotal moment when Sir Thomas tries to ascertain Fanny’s motive for rejecting Henry Crawford, he suggests to her that her affec- tions may already be engaged. After this: He paused and eyed her fixedly. He saw her lips formed into a no, though the sound was inarticulate, but her face was like scarlet. That, however, in so modest a girl might be very compatible with innocence; and chusing at least to appear satisfied, he quickly added, ‘‘No, no, I know that is quite out of the question – quite impossible.’’ (MP, p. 286) Sir Thomas concludes that Fanny is not already in love, but the reader knows that her affections are indeed engaged (by the unknowing Edmund); her blush is not of innocence, but of guilt. While Fanny’s blush truly tells the language of her heart, her uncle does not speak its language, and so cannot interpret it correctly. Unlike Sir Thomas, a reader, to whom Fanny’s thoughts are usually open, has a better chance of understanding Fanny’s blushes. Although the emotions prompting her blushes are not always explicit, we are generally close enough to what Fanny has been feeling or thinking to interpret her colour better than the characters around her. And often, Austen chooses to explain a blush, to do away with the necessity for her readers to interpret it. This device is a staple of eighteenth-century fiction – Evelina, for example, writes of herself that she is ‘‘blushing for her unworthiness’’,24 while Emma Courtney writes to Augustus Harley, ‘‘I blush, when I reflect what a weak, wavering, inconsistent, being, I must lately have appeared to you.’’25 The blushes are both straightforward; we know that it is a feeling of unworthiness that brings the colour to Evelina’s cheeks, and a sense of shame to Emma’s. The convenience of the blush as a signal that allows the narrator and the reader to share privileged knowledge about the emotions that have caused the blush helps explain its popularity as a novelistic device, and thus its ubiquity in the eighteenth-century novel. By the time Austen published her first novel in 1811, the innocent blush, demonstrating the transparency, honesty and modesty of a heroine, had long been established as a convenient literary convention, or shorthand, by both eighteenth-century moral writers and novelists, allowing readers to believe in a privileged narrative bond that encouraged them to read the modest heroine’s character correctly. But there of course exists, more commonly in poetry, but also in novels, an alternative literary tradition, which recognises, as Yeazell puts it, ‘‘how equivocally the blood could speak’’.26 Despite the volumes of insistent rhetoric arguing for the innate innocence of a woman’s blush, in fact a blush can represent knowledge as well as innocence. Christopher Ricks suggests that the blush that embodies ‘‘paradoxes about innocence and guilt’’ has a particular valence during the nineteenth century, and he is certainly right to make this claim.27 These paradoxes also appear much earlier. We find in Jonathan 230 KATIE HALSEY at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ Swift’s Cadenus and Vanessa (1713), for example, the line ‘‘They blush because they understand’’,28 an explicit reference to the sexual knowledge implied by a blush. This line is later quoted in Richardson’s Pamela as a comment on the aristocratic ladies’ abilities to understand a sexual innuendo: ‘‘. . . Who, that sees her fingers, believes not, that they were made to touch any key?’’ He laughed out, and, ‘‘O, parson!’’ added he, ‘‘ ’tis well you are by, or I would have provoked a blush from the ladies’’. ‘‘I hope not, Sir Simon’’, said Mrs Jones; ‘‘a man of your politeness would not say any thing that would make ladies blush’’. ‘‘No, not for the world’’, replied he; ‘‘but if I had, it would have been, as the poet says, ‘They blush, because they understand’.’’ 29 Although throughout the novel Richardson insists that his heroine Pamela’s blushes remain pure, thus negating the insights about knowing blushing inherent in this extract, a novel without a conservative moral agenda, such as John Cleland’s Fanny Hill (1748–49), can afford to explore more fully the blush’s equivocations, as when the eponymous heroine makes the transition from inno- cence to sexual experience. During her first sexual encounter, Fanny, aroused by the caresses of the prostitute Phoebe, comments that ‘‘even my glowing blushes expressed more desire than modesty’’.30 What should be the signal of her modesty (that Fanny herself knows this is neatly demonstrated by the word ‘‘even’’) is thus transformed into the symbol of her awakened sexuality. Like Cleland, John Keats (for whom, as Ricks has ably pointed out, blushes have both a sensuous and a serious importance) plays on the potentially salacious knowingness of the blush: O blush not so! O blush not so! Or I shall think you knowing; And if you smile the blushing while, Then Maidenheads are going There’s a blush for want, and a blush for shan’t, And a blush for having done it; There’s a blush for thought, and a blush for naught And a blush for just begun it. 31 The overabundance of blushes in this ballad, coupled with the innuendo in the repeated ‘‘it’’ hardly need critical exegesis. Keats characterises ‘‘O blush not so!’’ as an ‘‘old song’’,32 and there is no doubt that it takes its place in a tradition of writing that plays up the links between women’s blushing and sexual knowledge. This link between blushing and sexual knowledge, or, more accurately, knowing- ness, forms another kind of narrative bond between narrator and reader, the narrator’s representations of the blush in these cases acting rather like a wink to those in the know, a laughing complicity that assumes a reader who ‘‘gets’’ the innuendo. The conventions of both the modest and the knowing blush depend, therefore, on a reader’s complicity with the narrator; an acceptance of a particular set of READING JANE AUSTEN’S BLUSHES 231 at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ assumptions that direct us, without telling us, to an assessment of the blush’s meaning. In Tristram Shandy (1759–66), Laurence Sterne exposes and undercuts this convention, laying bare the hidden strategy that allows the reader to inter- pret blushes correctly: – You shall see the very place, Madam; said my uncle Toby. Mrs. Wadman blush’d – look’d towards the door – turn’d pale – blush’d slightly again – recovered her natural colour – blush’d worse than ever; which for the sake of the unlearned reader, I translate thus – ‘‘L – d! I cannot look at it – What would the world say if I look’d at it? I should drop down, if I look’d at it – I wish I could look at it – There can be no sin in looking at it. I will look at it’’. 33 Deliberately ‘‘translating’’ the blush for the ‘‘unlearned reader’’, Tristram plays with the convention that allows readers to imagine that they translate blushes for themselves, pointing out the author’s or narrator’s place in manipulating our interpretations. Tristram’s ‘‘translation’’ points, too, to the knowingness of the Widow Wadman’s blush; she blushes, not because her thoughts are pure (as Evelina would), but because they are not. The ‘‘it’’ that she so desires to see is the wound in Uncle Toby’s groin. Far from being ‘‘a mark of her abhorrence of vice’’, as the New Lady’s Magazine would have it, her blush, like those of Fanny Hill and the women of Keats’s poem, is the complicated mark of her curiosity, shame and knowledge. Sterne makes this explicit to his readers. Dull elves and ingenuity Austen, who read Sterne and knew his work well enough to quote A Sentimental Journey (1768) in her Mansfield Park, draws on both traditions of writing: that of the transparently honest blush and that of the slyly knowing one. Like Sterne, she is interested in the narrative possibilities of an exploitation of the device of the blush as narrative bond. Her innovation is stylistic: using free indirect dis- course to exploit conventional expectations of what blushes should mean, the narrative voice misleads readers into misinterpretations or, to use Austen’s own term, ‘‘blunders’’ (Emma, p. 344). Austen is not averse to using the blush in a fairly straightforward way. Mr Knightley, for example, on hearing of Harriet’s refusal of Robert Martin, ‘‘actually looked red with surprize [sic] and displeasure’’ (Emma, p. 87). In the early Catharine; or, The Bower, the eponymous heroine enters a ball, with ‘‘a glow of mingled chearfulness [sic] and confusion on her cheeks’’ (SW, p. 209), while her aunt is described as ‘‘colouring with anger and astonishment’’ (p. 210). Later, Catharine, too, finds herself ‘‘blushing with anger at her own folly’’ (p. 221). The emotions – surprise, displeasure, cheerfulness and confusion, anger and astonishment – are all clearly laid out for the reader to see. In Mansfield Park, Fanny Price’s ‘‘soft skin, [. . .] so frequently tinged with a blush’’ (p. 207), does not always need readerly interpretation, for we are often told why she blushes. We hear of her ‘‘colouring at such praise’’ (p. 22), and colouring with anger (p. 78). On being pressed to take the part of Cottager’s Wife, Fanny grows ‘‘more and more red from excessive agitation’’ (p. 132), and, having reprimanded Henry 232 KATIE HALSEY at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ Crawford later in the novel, she ‘‘trembled and blushed at her own daring’’ (p. 204). Talking to William, her cheeks are ‘‘in a glow of indignation’’ when she hears that the Gregory girls will not speak to him (p. 225). Other characters – Sir Thomas, Henry, Mary, even Edmund – misinterpret Fanny’s blushes, but even when we do not have an explicit guide to Fanny’s emotions, we learn not to misread her because of their mistakes. Unlike Mary Crawford (who imagines Fanny’s colour denotes a liking for Mary’s brother, and thus ascribes her blushes to a knowingness Fanny certainly does not possess), we begin to understand what a modest girl’s blushes really mean from our proximity to a truly modest heroine. We are thus taught, through our own superior degree of knowledge over the other characters, what proper responses should be, and how misreading and misunderstanding can come about. Mary Crawford reads Fanny’s skin wrongly; she also consistently responds wrongly to moral dilemmas. Because of our special bond with the narrator, we are able to recognise and learn to condemn Mary’s responses to both skin and situations. In Persuasion, however, Austen undercuts her own use of the blush as narrative bond. Anne, having listened to talk of the connection between the Crofts and Mr Wentworth, the curate of Monkford, walks out ‘‘to seek the comfort of cool air for her flushed cheeks’’, saying to herself, ‘‘a few months more, and he, perhaps may be walking here’’ (p. 29). The chapter ends immediately, and straight after the chapter break, the narrative voice briskly explains, ‘‘He was not Mr. Wentworth, the former curate of Monkford, however suspicious appearances may be, but a captain Frederick Wentworth, his brother’’ (p. 29). Here, the narrator firmly points out that we should not assume that we can read Anne’s blush or her secret thoughts. If we do, we will draw the wrong conclusions. In Emma, Austen more consistently exploits and subverts the special relationship with the narrator as seen through the device of the blush. Emma Woodhouse, the ‘‘imaginist’’ who enjoys creating the narratives of other people’s lives, repeatedly misinterprets the blushes of Jane Fairfax and, to a lesser degree, those of Harriet Smith. Harriet’s blushes are initially fairly transparent (correctly, and conventionally, the ingenue smiles and blushes each time Emma speaks to her of Mr Elton’s supposed regard; she blushes as she sits for her picture, her cheeks glow as she reads Robert Martin’s declaration of love, and she blushes with shame as she destroys her treasured mementos of Mr Elton). However, as her experience of love and friendship increases, her complexion becomes harder for Emma to read. When others talk of Frank Churchill, and Harriet’s coun- tenance remains unmoved, Emma ascribes this to Harriet’s improved strength of mind. Harriet, who habitually blushes when she has even the smallest thing to hide, does not blush, which ought to inform Emma of her indifference to Frank, but Emma refuses to attend to the signs. Even when Harriet colours in astonishment at the idea that she might care for Mr Churchill, crying ‘‘You do not think I care about Mr Frank Churchill’’, Emma interprets Harriet’s blushes as mortification and her sincerity as fortitude (Emma, p. 395). Emma does not remain long in error, READING JANE AUSTEN’S BLUSHES 233 at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ for she and Harriet soon understand one another. Her self-deception over the history she creates for Jane Fairfax is much more long-standing. Watching Jane after she has received the anonymous gift of the pianoforte (which is supposed by most of Highbury to have come from Miss Fairfax’s guardian, Colonel Campbell, but which Emma suspects to be a love-offering from Mr Dixon), Emma interprets Miss Fairfax’s ‘‘blush of consciousness with which congratulations were received’’ as ‘‘a blush of guilt which accompanied the name of ‘my excellent friend Col. Campbell’ ’’ (p. 229). Emma is right to discern both a blush of consciousness ( Jane later acknowledges how much she has hated having to tell lies) and a blush of guilt (for she knows the piano has come from Frank Churchill, and allowing others to believe it is from Colonel Campbell is a sin of omission if not of commission), but the narrative she creates from these blushes is entirely inaccurate. The next day, Emma sees Jane Fairfax blush again, a ‘‘deep blush of consciousness’’ (p. 249), when Frank Churchill tells her that a piece of music he picks up was danced at Weymouth. Emma immediately fits this blush into the imaginary love affair she has created between Miss Fairfax and Mr Dixon, reflecting that the ‘‘smile of secret delight’’ that accompanies the blush of consciousness is the result of her ‘‘very reprehen- sible feelings’’ (p. 249) towards her friend’s husband. Frank Churchill, a master of deceit, recognises and exploits the ways in which a blush can be misinterpreted – not only does he encourage Emma in her self-deception over the two blushes above, he also suggests to Emma that he will impudently admire the ‘‘Irish fashion’’ of Jane’s curls, ‘‘and [Emma] shall see how she takes it; whether she colours’’ (p. 231). Frank thus creates a screen for himself. If Jane blushes at something he says to her, or if her face reveals her feelings by a blush, he has provided them both with an excuse for it. He knows that the eloquent blood in a girl’s cheeks can be made to tell lies. Emma, on the other hand, has far too much confidence in her ability to read the faces of others, and is keen to see whether Jane does blush. She is therefore chagrined when she discovers that Frank has put himself in her line of vision, because she sees this as a barrier to her interpretation of Jane’s motivations. Later, during the dinner at Hartfield, Jane Fairfax blushes as she explains her desire to walk to the post office, and again when Mr John Knightley hopes that she will soon be surrounded by her dearest connections. Those around her imagine she innocently thinks of her friends the Campbells and Dixons; it later transpires that she must have been thinking of Frank. Emma, though, ascribes Jane’s ‘‘glow both of complexion and spirits’’ (p. 298) to the receipt of an imaginary love-letter from Ireland, correctly reading both discom- fort and pleasure in her blushes, but misreading the circumstances behind them. Contrastingly, Mr Knightley reads Jane’s blushes more perceptively than Emma, recognising, in the children’s game of letters, that the ‘‘blush on Jane’s cheek’’ gives the word blunder ‘‘a meaning not otherwise ostensible’’ (p. 344). Almost immediately afterwards, Frank pushes the word Dixon towards Jane, who is ‘‘evidently displeased’’, and ‘‘blushed more deeply than he 234 KATIE HALSEY at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ [Mr Knightley] had ever perceived her’’ (p. 345). Mr Knightley, a better reader of complexions than Emma, does not leap to the conclusion that Jane is in love with Mr Dixon. Instead, he continues to suspect Frank of ‘‘some inclination to trifle with Jane Fairfax’’ (p. 340), and tries to warn Emma of the ‘‘symptoms of attachment between them’’ (p. 346). Once the whole story of the engagement has come out, Mrs Weston, too, can understand Jane’s blushes, telling Emma: [S]he then began to speak of you, and of the great kindness you had shown her during her illness; and with a blush which showed me how it was all connected, desired me, whenever I had an opportunity, to thank you – I could not thank you too much – for every wish and every endeavour to do her good. (p. 408) Mrs Weston correctly interprets the ‘‘blush that showed how it was all connected’’ as an acknowledgement of Jane’s jealousy of Emma. Blushes may well show how things are connected; as Emma (and with her, the reader) finds out, they may also lead one to make connections that are not there. With Emma, as readers, we are swept along in the narrative that she has created, and, with Emma, we learn that the blush can be deceptive. What we do not realise, of course, on a first reading of Emma, is how much of the narrative of Jane Fairfax’s blushes is in Emma’s imagination – a story created not by the narrator but by Emma. Because we see the action of the novel so consistently from Emma’s viewpoint, and because her tones are so frequently embedded within the narra- tive voice as Austen’s characteristic free indirect discourse, we do not know at first when Emma is wrong. We cannot, in fact, know on a first reading that the privileged knowledge we assume we have is faulty. It is not surprising that we should assume that we can read and interpret blushes correctly in Emma, because our interpretation of Emma’s own blushes is guided so that we do understand them. We witness Emma stopping ‘‘to blush and laugh at her own relapse’’ (p. 156), when she momentarily lapses back into matchmaking. We are able to interpret her ‘‘little start, and a blush’’ at the news of Mr Elton’s engagement (p. 186) as the result of surprise and embarrassment at the memory of his ill-fated proposal to her. We understand (better, perhaps, than Emma does) the ‘‘faint blush’’ with which Emma notices the ‘‘warmth’’ of Mr Knightley’s interest in Jane Fairfax. Emma’s blush represents her conscious- ness of Mrs Weston’s belief in his tendresse for Jane, and her unconscious dislike of the idea that anyone else could be of romantic interest to Mr Knightley (p. 287). At the ball at the Crown, when Mr Elton refuses to dance with Harriet, Emma’s ‘‘heart was in a glow, and she feared her face might be as hot’’ (p. 325), and a reader recognises Emma’s anger as the emotion prompting the heat of her face. With her, we feel that she deserves the mortification of being ‘‘under a continual blush all the rest of [her] life’’ over the ‘‘senseless tricks’’ she plays to bring Harriet and Mr Elton together (p. 335), and we both recognise and feel with Emma when she ‘‘recollected, blushed, was sorry’’ (p. 367) at Mr Knightley’s reproach to her after the Box Hill incident. Similarly, we understand her feelings as her colour is heightened in front of Mr Knightley by the unjust praise her READING JANE AUSTEN’S BLUSHES 235 at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ father bestows upon her attentiveness to the Bateses (p. 377). Once Emma knows the secret of Frank and Jane Fairfax’s engagement, she ‘‘could not speak the name of Dixon without a little blush’’ (p. 390), a blush that demon- strates her shame at the tissue of nonsense she created, and later she is obliged, when talking to Frank, to blush and forbid the name being pronounced in her hearing (p. 458). Her ‘‘glowing cheeks’’, as Mr Knightley tells her that he already knows of the engagement, suggest to Mr Knightley that she may be suffering from love for Frank, but we are explicitly told that ‘‘it occurred to her that he might have called at Mrs Goddard’s in his way’’ (p. 413) – the glow, we gather, comes from a fear that he may have seen Harriet. Later, Emma has a ‘‘blush of sensibility on Harriet’s account’’, for which ‘‘she could not give any sincere explanation [to Mr Knightley]’’, but the reader knows that Emma’s blush conceals Harriet’s liking for Mr Knightley as well as Emma’s guilt at being the one preferred (p. 430). Having trusted the narrator’s accounts of Emma’s blushes, we think we are in a position to trust her account of others’ blushes. Yet Jane Fairfax’s blushes show that the complexion can be misread, not only by characters within the novel, but by a reader. Like the Widow Wadman’s blush, and Anne Elliot’s glowing cheeks, the history of Jane Fairfax exposes the way the blush is used as a fictional device, and challenges the assumptions that we make about our ability to interpret novelistic codes. It teaches us, in other words, about the way we read, the assumptions we make as we are amassing knowledge. When Mr Darcy and George Wickham first come face to face in Pride and Prejudice, both change colour: ‘‘one looked white, the other red’’. Elizabeth, ‘‘all astonishment at the effect of the meeting’’, longs to know the meaning of it. ‘‘It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know’’ (p. 64). Like Emma, Elizabeth desires to interpret complexions, and it is significant that her desire is couched in terms of desiring knowledge. Like Emma, Elizabeth is swiftly drawn in to believe what is not true when she hears Wickham’s tale; her search for knowledge has gone awry. It is not only Elizabeth, Mary Ann O’Farrell suggests, who may misread what the complexions mean: correct assignment of colors to characters (correct reading of somatic signs) has sometimes proven difficult for readers of this passage, especially, perhaps, for first-time readers; [. . .] one need not know at this point in the novel that Darcy’s is the righteous, angry blanching, Wickham’s the embarrassed blush. 34 One certainly need not know that it is Darcy who turns white and Wickham red; indeed, an equally plausible explanation is that Darcy’s is the red of anger, and Wickham’s the white of fear. Or, as Elizabeth might think, Darcy is white from unjustified resentment, and Wickham red from justified anger. Neither Elizabeth nor the reader, in other words, should find a somatic sign in either men or women entirely trustworthy; knowledge of character is a tricky business, and making mistakes is an essential part of acquiring knowledge. It is particularly difficult for a reader to make the necessary judgements, especially when the narrator deliberately refuses to explain the reason for a blush, as Austen does 236 KATIE HALSEY at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ here. She uses the same trick, teasingly, when she describes Mr Knightley blushing after being accused by Emma and Mrs Weston of a liking for Jane Fairfax. The blush is deliberately left ambiguous: Mr Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons of his thick leather gaiters, and either the exertion of getting them together, or some other cause, brought the colour into his face. (p. 288; emphasis mine) The device is used again in Persuasion, when Anne realises she has been misat- tributing Lady Russell’s fixed regard on the window curtains to the sight of Captain Wentworth: ‘‘Anne sighed and blushed and smiled, in pity and disdain, either at her friend or herself’’ (Persuasion, p. 170). The reader cannot know whether Mr Knightley’s colour results from his exertion or his secret thoughts, and we are not allowed to know whether Anne blushes for herself or for Lady Russell. We are thus faced with the necessity for interpretation, and with the limits of our knowledge. The blush, then, in Austen’s writing can be both a transparent indicator of a character’s feelings, and an agent of misdirection. Austen is quite capable of teasingly using it in both ways within a single novel. The characters in Pride and Prejudice, Persuasion, Mansfield Park and Emma tend to think that a blush can always be read without difficulty, failing to realise that, when eloquent blood speaks in a person’s cheeks, it is worth listening very carefully to understand what it is really saying. Provided with greater evidence of what is happening below the surface of the skin, a reader initially learns to think that her degree of knowledge is superior to that of the characters in the novel; she feels a bond with the narrative voice from which these characters are excluded. However, as we see in Emma, a reader must then learn that the very existence of such a bond between narrator and reader is problematic. Katherine Mansfield identifies the appeal of Austen’s novels as lying in the fact that ‘‘every admirer of the novels cherishes the happy thought that he alone – reading between the lines – has become the secret friend of their author.’’35 Mansfield is only half right. Among her other teasing interpretative games with the reader, Austen’s use of blushes in Emma teaches us that even ‘‘reading between the lines’’ and becoming the ‘‘secret friend’’ of the author only brings us face to face with our own interpretative limitations. KATIE HALSEY School of English University of St Andrews St Andrews Fife KY16 9AL United Kingdom NO TES 1 All references to the works of Jane Austen will appear in the body of the text. The page numbers refer to the following editions: Pride and Prejudice, ed. J. Kinsley & F. W. Bradbrook (Oxford, 1980); READING JANE AUSTEN’S BLUSHES 237 at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ Mansfield Park, ed. J. Kinsley (Oxford, 1980; repr. 1990); Emma, ed. R. Blythe (Harmondsworth, 1985; repr. 1986); Northanger Abbey, ed. J. Davie (London, 1971); Persuasion, ed. J. Davie (Oxford & New York, 1971; repr. 1992). 2 M. Poovey, The Proper Lady and the Woman Writer: Ideology as Style in the Works of Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Shelley and Jane Austen (Chicago & London, 1984), p. 242. 3 Jane to Cassandra Austen, 29 July 1813, in Jane Austen’s Letters, ed. D. Le Faye (Oxford, 1995), p. 202. 4 Scott’s lines are as follows: ‘‘I do not rhyme to that dull elf/Who cannot image to himself.’’ W. Scott, Marmion; or, A Tale of Flodden Field, section VI, l. 38 (1808; London, 1869). 5 Poovey, p. 183. 6 M. Lascelles, Jane Austen and her Art (Oxford, 1939; repr. 1974), p. 43. 7 Although it is outside the scope of this article, it is worth noting that Austen’s writings thus belong within the eighteenth-century tradition of ethical philosophy, most famously articulated in Adam Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759), which emphasises the value of sympathy in moral education. It is vital that readers feel with and for Austen’s characters in order to benefit from the lessons in interpretation that her heroines learn. 8 S. T. Coleridge, ‘‘On the Constitution of Church and State’’, in: The Collected Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 16 vols (London, 1969–2001), Vol. X (1976), ed. J. Colmer, p. 134. 9 H. Austen, ‘‘Biographical Notice of the Author’’, in Persuasion, ed. J. Davie (Oxford & New York, 1971; repr. 1992), p. 3. 10 J. Donne, The Second Anniversarie of the Progres of the Soule, ll. 242–5 (London, 1621). 11 R. Bernard Yeazell, Fictions of Modesty: Women and Courtship in the English Novel (Chicago & London, 1991), p. 67. 12 ‘‘To the Nuptial Bowre/I led her blushing like the Morn’’ (Paradise Lost, viii. 510–11). 13 J. Gregory, A Father’s Legacy to his Daughters (1774) (London, 1795), p. 38. 14 Anonymous, ‘‘On Shamefacedness’’, New Lady’s Magazine 1 (1786), 27. 15 F. Burney, Evelina; or, a Young Lady’s Entrance into the World (1798), ed. S. Kubica Howard (Ontario, 2000), p. 180. 16 I am indebted to Ruth Bernard Yeazell for her excellent discussion of this tradition in Fictions of Modesty: Women and Courtship in the English Novel. 17 Wollstonecraft, ‘‘Preface’’, The Female Reader (1789), ed. M. Ferguson (Delmar NY, 1979), pp. xiii–xiv. 18 M. Hays, Memoirs of Emma Courtney (1796), ed. E. Ty (Oxford, 1996), p. 80. 19 Ibid. 20 H. More, Cœlebs in Search of a Wife (1808), ed. M. Waldron (Bristol, 1995), p. 218. 21 Ibid. 22 Burney, Evelina, p. 181. 23 Alexander Pope brilliantly exploits this conceit in his satirical commentary on female vanity and consumer society, The Rape of the Lock (1712–14). Belinda ‘‘sees by degrees a purer blush arise’’ only through ‘‘cosmetic powers’’ as she ‘‘arms’’ herself at her dressing table; ironically, Belinda’s ‘‘purer blush’’ is painted on and hides the impurity of thought denoted by her natural blushes (The Rape of the Lock, I, ll. 143 & 124). 24 Burney, Evelina, p. 460. 25 Hays, Emma Courtney, p. 118. 26 Yeazell, p. 67. 27 C. Ricks, Keats and Embarrassment (Oxford, 1974), p. 4. 28 J. Swift, Cadenus and Vanessa: A Poem (London, 1726). 29 S. Richardson, Pamela; or, Virtue Rewarded (1740), ed. M. A. Doody (London, 1985), p. 332. 30 J. Cleland, Fanny Hill; or, Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure (1748–49), ed. P. Wagner (Harmondsworth, 1985), p. 50. 31 John Keats to John Reynolds, 31 January 1818, in: The Letters of John Keats 1814–1821, 2 vols, ed. H. E. Rollins (Cambridge MA, 1958), Vol. I, pp. 219–20. 32 Ibid. 33 L. Sterne, The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman (1759–66), ed. T. Parnell (London, 2000), p. 524. 34 M. A. O’ Farrell, Telling Complexions: The Nineteenth-Century English Novel and the Blush (Durham NC & London: Duke University Press, 1997), p. 18. 35 K. Mansfield, Novels and Novelists (London, 1930), p. 304. 238 KATIE HALSEY at U niversity of C alifornia, L os A ngeles on July 18, 2012 http://fm ls.oxfordjournals.org/ D ow nloaded from http://fmls.oxfordjournals.org/ 
work_xzun45yo2fgc3iix5x5eoafstm	----	273 273..275 I have always been a quick reader, and this is both a blessing and a handicap. It means that my job as an editor is made somewhat easier as I can read, some might say scan, papers in a few minutes and at least pretend I have absorbed the essentials. I am far from sure that this is the case and with good literature I often fail to pick up lyrical prose, felicitous dialogue and much of the amazing poetry of language. I also may be reflecting the natural insularity of the British but feel remarkably privileged to have been born in a country which has generated the English language, a remarkable polyglot of expressive flexibility that is constantly being reformed to meet new demands. I have only read one book, Le Grand Meaulnes by Alain-Fournier1 (I have struggled with it for years in the original French), which makes me regret that because I am not really fluent in other languages I am missing something very important in translation. George Orwell Good English uses simple words, and here George Orwell is supreme. He also once wrote that all his good writing was, in his reckoning, political. I think he meant that the expression of good prose or poetry without an underlying message was in some way self-indulgent; it had to convey something more. In his autobiographical account Homage to Catalonia2 he shows this most clearly, and anyone who is uncertain about what his later novels Animal Farm and Nineteen Eighty-Four are telling us should read this account of his experiences in the Spanish civil war, when he fought on the side of the main anarchist party (POUM) against the twin enemies of Franco and the PSUC (Catalan Communist Party), the latter an organisation following the philosophy and methods of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. It was the covert and cynical actions of the PSUC, which concerned Orwell much more than the open warfare with Franco’s falangists, and his horror at their distortion of language, so upsetting to an honest writer, that is so brilliantly described in the activities of the Ministries of Truth, Peace and Love in Nineteen Eighty-Four. Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger Despite being constantly aware of Oscar Wilde’s epigram that America and Britain are two countries separated by a common language (a very frequent reminder with papers I receive from across the Atlantic), some of our very best literature in English comes from North America. Orwell’s honesty is repeated in J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye. 3 The account of the passage of Salinger’s anti-hero, Holden Caulfield, as a mixed-up adolescent who regards almost everyone he meets as a ‘goddam phony’ is raw observational insight at its best and I am convinced it is one of those books that will never really date. When I read the book I identified with Holden all the way through – I think I still do – and detested equally the people he despised, such as his handsome room-mate Ward Stradlater, who always looked neat and tidy but was a ‘secret slob’ because – why did this give me such a frisson of excitement? – in achieving his clean-cut glamour he never cleaned out the gunge from his razor. Some have criticised Salinger for not developing Holden better – the message he conveys is hardly the stuff of the American dream – but this, folks, is how it is and you cannot get away from it. I often see Holden looking at me when I am at my most portentous trying to convince a patient to do what is demanded by the system I serve, a look which is a mixture of both pity and loathing, the latter for the degree of control I have at my elbow and the former for being part of an agency that has to exercise the trappings of this nonsense which no person in his right mind could possibly believe in. Barack Obama’s dreams Orwell was a political writer but it is rare to find a good writing politician; Disraeli, Churchill, and possibly Roy Jenkins, were our last representatives in the UK. But Barack Obama is one too, and I am convinced this will be appreciated long after the honeymoon period of his presidency has passed. I read his autobiographical Dreams from My Father4 some time before he was chosen as the Democratic candidate for the White House and was subsequently amazed at his remarkable ability to keep race out of the campaign despite it clearly being an intrinsic backcloth to everything he said and did. It also helped me to understand the lottery of the place of one’s birth. Barack Obama senior was a man with most of the same qualities as his son, but as he was born into a country (Kenya) where political affiliations were tribal, his more mature reflections on the way the country should move forward after independence were lost in the farrago of in-fighting that followed the departure of the English, and he died almost forgotten and in penury. But Obama in his book also explains why in an overpopulated country with poor resources it is often necessary to be tribal and for these loyalties to trump all others. As his aunt Zeituni told him – ‘Don’t judge your father too harshly. And you must learn from his life. If you have something everyone will want a piece of it. So you have to draw the line somewhere. If everyone is family, no one is family’ (p. 337).4 To someone such as me, who rarely gives much thought to my own inheritance, a combination of traditional dogged Lancashire and more colourful Irish stock, and who rather arrogantly believes the whole world should learn to appreciate honesty, altruistic commitment and fair play, Obama explains gently why we should always be aware of the myriad ways others live their lives and the logic of their reasoning. Ulysses by James Joyce In my work with people with serious mental illness I often find that their apparent misuse and deconstruction of words may be linked to illness but sometimes contains valuable insights, and it is sad that so little of this is developed further in the chaos of psychosis. In Ulysses5 James Joyce celebrates the diversity and inventiveness of language better than anyone else I know and the way he manages to create a flow of words that gets to the heart of consciousness is onomatopoeia at its most supreme. Ulysses, a title that expresses Joyce’s ingenuity and wit perfectly, comprises over 250 000 words and yet covers just an ordinary day, 16 June 1904. Jane Austen was celebrated for making the comings and goings of ordinary life such fascinating reading, but even she could not manage to make any of her novels cover the mere span of 24 hours. I also love Joyce for jesting with both his readers and critics. Even today, no one is quite sure about all the messages that Joyce was conveying in this work and even the notion that it is equivalent to the story of Homer’s Odyssey may be a complete smokescreen or just a send-up of Homer, who I am sure would have taken the joke very well. The poetry of reaching out Joyce’s prose is really the poetry of thought and feeling, as poetry has the ability of extending understanding to places where words in ordinary context may lose their capacity to express. This 273 Chosen by Peter Tyrer The British Journal of Psychiatry (2009) 195, 273–275. doi: 10.1192/bjp.bp.109.063958 Ten books Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core particularly applies to the expression of gut emotions, especially those that are often hidden, painful or extraordinarily powerful. In this context I hope readers agree that the recent inclusion of poetry in the Journal is a valuable addition to our understanding (as distinct from the doggerel that is occasionally published and which masquerades in poetic form). Auden once described a poet as someone who likes ‘hanging around with words’ and it is the ability to stretch words to envelop emotion and its underlying structure that is the stuff of good poetry. Wisl/awa Szymborska goes one step further in doing this; she connects with the reader by making her words so intimate they reach across and grasp your hand. In ‘Conversation with a Stone’ from the volume View with a Grain of Sand6 she describes the reaction I feel when faced with a patient who is so walled off from real contact that every approach is rejected: You may get to know me, but you’ll never know me through My whole surface is turned toward you, all my insides turned away. Alienation in Kafka and Golding Franz Kafka was a man who would probably have been a regular attender at a psychiatric clinic if he was alive today – although I suspect he would have reflected so much on this he would have been a frequent DNA – but even if he had attended, we would probably have been deprived of the best of his writings. No one describes alienation better, and in Metamorphosis7 this is expressed in its most coruscating form. The reactions of a travelling salesman who realises he has changed into an insect but desperately tries to keep this from his family and employers are somewhere near to – but of course I can never be certain – the feelings of many of our patients who, equally desperately, try to preserve the appearance of normality when strange torment fills their minds. The external torments that afflict children and vulnerable adults such as those with intellectual difficulty are more obvious to others but equally insoluble to the sufferer. The best illustration that these are hidden just beneath the veneer of conventional existence but take very little to have them exposed comes from William Golding’s Lord of the Flies.8 His story of the developing savagery of children when left to their own devices unfettered by adult supervision foreshadowed the Stanford Prison Experiment 17 years later together with all its ramifications.9 We all seem to have the ability to be sadistic bullies, and I have always felt that to be the recipient of this behaviour is one of the most offensive assaults on the psyche. Often when growing up I was grateful to be a monozygotic twin as twins at least can be protected from the awful isolation that so many others must suffer at these times. The Rotters’ Club by Jonathan Coe Jonathan Coe’s The Rotters’ Club 10 brings this message even closer to home, as this account of life of a brother and sister growing up in Birmingham in the 1970s recapitulates my own experiences 20 years earlier. The school he describes was my own and its hierarchical system of headmaster, senior staff and prefects represented a lesser form of institutional bullying that was both threatening and controlling, and which I have done my best to counter whenever I have seen systems in the mental health services acting in the same high-handed manner. But Coe also describes the funny side of life in the curious microcosm of school existence. His exquisite account of his hero’s feelings when he forgets his swimming trunks and fears consequent public humiliation in the pool at the hands of the physical education teacher recapit- ulates my own absent-mindedness and the curious ways in which I managed to keep my head up just above the swirling waters of official censure. Big-Endians and Small-Endians It is allowed on all hands, that the primitive way of breaking eggs before we eat them, was upon the larger end: but his present Majesty’s grandfather, while he was a boy, going to eat an egg, and breaking it according to the ancient practice, happened to cut one of his fingers. Whereupon the Emperor his father published an edict, commanding all his subjects, upon great penalties, to break the smaller end of their eggs (p. 38).11 Whenever I read directives from people who are not permitted the luxury of thought but regurgitate communications on risk management, health and safety, gender equality, data protection, zero tolerance, and all the other petty orthodoxies of this age of regulation, as though I was completely unaware of their under- lying principles, I think of the Big-Endians and Small-Endians of Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels11 during the short time these missives pass through my hands to the waste-paper basket. I then stand back in amazement when I reflect that despite all the advances in our thinking in the past three centuries, the message of Swift’s satire is still as alive and as vibrant as it was when published in 1726. The Vanishing Face of Gaia by James Lovelock Finally, on a more sombre note, James Lovelock’s The Vanishing Face of Gaia12 is a reminder that global warming is with us and will stay with us for a very long time. It will devastate many parts of the world but here in our favoured ‘sceptred isle’, and in New Zealand and many parts of Canada, we will do very well, as I am recognising already in the productivity of my allotment. What Lovelock gets over excellently is the notion of Gaia, of the Earth as a living planet that can regulate itself if it is allowed to without interference from others. The preoccupation with green solutions such as wind farms, reduced air travel and other attempts to reduce our carbon footprints – do birds have aerial ones? – is tiny compared with the existence of man. As Lovelock points out, ‘merely by existing, people and their dependent animals are responsible for more than ten times the greenhouse gas emissions of all the airline travel in the world’ (p. 4).12 We in psychiatry do not need to be reminded that social deprivation, over-population and poverty are the stuff of serious psychiatric disorder and have been given notice that the world population will have to reduce dramatically if increased mental suffering is to be prevented. Suffering will occur anyway, as a by-product of famine and disease, if we choose to do nothing now. What I do not read In looking at the books recommended by previous authors of ‘Ten books’, I am aware that none of my recommendations have been shared by others. One might expect this but I also notice that many of our authors do recommend the same books so my isolation somewhat disturbs me. None of my books are psychiatric ones in the classificatory sense, but I have to be honest and say that I do not often use these except as reference texts. It may be that I have spent too long in community psychiatric teams and have been deskilled, but most classic psychiatric texts have little meaning for me now except for brief reference. Does this mean I need to be woken up to the reality of proper psychiatric prac- tice 13 or am I just past my sell-by date? I am not sure. Perhaps I should take some reassurance from Simon Wessely when he says ‘Let’s be frank. Doctors and scientists don’t need to read books. Our colleagues in the humanities use books to communicate – we use papers.’14 But I do get sustenance from the books I have listed and I think it helps my clinical judgements. I accept that the great works of psychiatric theory and practice are necessary for the training of psychiatrists but they have little relevance for me now, when in my present preoccupation with collaborative 274 Tyrer Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core environmental change15 I am trying to get inside the heads of people whose psychopathology represents only a tiny part of my understanding of their problems. One book on the list of no fewer than five of our previous contributors is Karl Jaspers’ General Psychopathology,16 which is still in print. Now whenever I tried to read this book when it was recommended during my training at the Maudsley Hospital I fell asleep. I know I fall asleep quite easily but not usually with such alacrity as through Jasperian exposure. Later I thought I understood the problem when I overheard Aubrey Lewis, the foundation pillar of the Institute of Psychiatry, responding to a question from one of my colleagues that he did not quite understand part of Jaspers’ explanation of some aspect of phenomenology. ‘Ah’, Sir Aubrey replied, somewhat triumphantly I thought, ‘but of course you would be able to understand it if you read Jaspers in the original German’. The Lancashire side of my personality said to me ‘Now that is the mark of the true scholar’, the Irish one sided with Holden Caulfield and said, ‘Another goddam phony’. 1 Fournier HA. Le Grande Meaulnes. Nouvelle Revue Française, 1913. 2 Orwell G. Homage to Catalonia. Warburg, 1938. 3 Salinger JD. Catcher in the Rye. Little Brown & Company, 1951. 4 Obama B. Dreams from My Father: A Story of Race and Inheritance. Canongate Books, 2007. 5 Joyce J. Ulysses. Sylvia Beach, 1922. 6 Szymborska W. View with a Grain of Sand (trans S Barañczak, C Cavanagh). Harcourt, 1995. 7 Kafka F. Die Verwandlung. Kurt Wolff, 19l5. 8 Golding W. Lord of the Flies. Faber & Faber, 1954. 9 Zimbardo PG. On the ethics of intervention in human psychological research: with special reference to the Stanford Prison Experiment. Cognition 1973; 2: 243–56. 10 Coe J. The Rotters’ Club. Penguin, 2001. 11 Swift J. Gulliver’s Travels. Doubleday, 1945. 12 Lovelock J. The Vanishing Face of Gaia. Allen Lane, 2009. 13 Craddock N, Antebi D, Attenburrow MJ, Bailey A, Carson A, Cowen P, et al. Wake-up call for British psychiatry. Br J Psychiatry 2008; 193: 6–9. 14 Wessely S. Ten books. Br J Psychiatry 2002; 181: 81–4. 15 Tyrer P. Nidotherapy: Harmonising the Environment with the Patient. RCPsych Publications, 2009. 16 Jaspers K. Allgemeine Psychopathologie: Ein Leitfaden für Studierende, Ärzte und Psychologen. Springer, 1913. Peter Tyrer Department of Psychological Medicine, Imperial College, London W6 8RP, UK. Email: p.tyrer@imperial.ac.uk doi: 10.1192/bjp.bp.109.063958 275 Ten books Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:08, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
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work_y222gvbxnbgbbdtexi5uvnjlwi	----	doi:10.1017/S1049096517001111 © American Political Science Association, 2017 PS • October 2017 985 ........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ ........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ P r o f e s s i o n s y m P o s i u m Contentious Politics in the United States: What Role for Political Scientists? ........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ Introduction Maryam Zarnegar Deloffre, Arcadia University Carrie Booth Walling, Albion College Teaching political science on college campuses in the United States in the past two years has been anything but “business as usual.” Political science faculty and their campus communities are simul-taneously witnessing a dramatic increase in ten- sion and polarization across differences as well as a resurgent community engagement around shared values and intersec- tional interests. As political scientists, we are observing a rise in racial and religious tensions, class divisions, and a deepen- ing distrust in government and democratic institutions that to us seem unprecedented. At the same time, we are witness- ing a rise in civic engagement and expression, a sustained social-protest movement, and an increase in the number of women and minorities seeking elected office for the first time. As citizens, we are working to make government under- standable to our colleagues, neighbors, and communities in a context defined by a heightened distrust of experts and a growing anti-intellectualism. As teachers, we recognize that college campuses are undergoing the same transformations taking place in American society at large and that this politi- cal, racial, religious, and economic diversity makes our college campuses sites of contentious politics. In speaking with colleagues around the country, we realized that many political scientists were grappling similarly with how to respond to the challenges facing our democratic society. Our symposium asks three main questions: What role should political scientists play in this current period of contentious politics? How can we build campuses to be both bastions of free expression and safe places for exploration? How should we engage our neighbors, communities, students, and the public? From the numerous compelling submissions to our call for proposals, it is clear that this topic has hit a nerve and that scientists are eager to engage. We offer in these pages a toolbox of sorts for political scientists seeking to navigate the contentious current politics. This symposium addresses several broad themes, includ- ing ways to strengthen civic engagement in our classrooms, across our campuses, and in our broader communities. Sym- posium authors represent diverse subfields of our discipline and various institutions from small private liberal arts col- leges to large public research universities. Collectively, the authors remind us of the ways that individuals are embedded within communities and how those communities and their values shape the behavior of individual members, making actions such as voting and bullying communal as well as individual acts. They challenge us to foster critical thinking by helping students and citizens to separate fact from false- hood and to challenge their own assumptions. They stress the need for political scientists to interrogate power hierarchies in American society as well as within our own discipline. Our authors remind us that however we choose to engage in this political moment, students and community members are watching and that our action or inaction will communicate the value of political science in addressing the challenges of contemporary society. The current political and social context in the United States is characterized in part by divisive trends, such as increas- ing partisan polarization, a surge in populist nationalism and anti-immigrant sentiment, a more fragmentary media landscape, and deepening distrust in government and civic institutions. In 2017, an overwhelming majority of American adults (86%) describe the country as more divided than in the past (Pew Research Center 2017, 1). Likewise, levels of inter- personal trust in the United States are generally low, with only 35% of respondents in a recent survey stating that “most people can be trusted” (World Values Survey 1981–2014). Although it is too early to determine whether it is a lasting trend, highly publicized hate crimes in the aftermath of the November 2016 presidential election have generated fear that hate is on the rise. From early January to early March 2017, multiple Jewish cemeteries in Rochester, St. Louis, and Phila- delphia were vandalized (Berlinger and Frehse 2017) and four mosques were burned to the ground in Texas, Washington, ............................................................................................................................................... http://crossmark.crossref.org/dialog/?doi=10.1017/S1049096517001111&domain=pdf 986 PS • October 2017 ........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ ........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ P r o f e s s i o n S y m p o s i u m : W h a t R o l e f o r P o l i t i c a l S c i e n t i s t s ? and Florida (Yan and Cuevas 2017). The Southern Poverty Law Center identified 917 active hate groups in the United States in 2016—a slight increase from 892 hate groups iden- tified in 2015. Anti-Muslim hate groups, however, grew by an alarming 197%, from 34 in 2015 to 101 in 2016 (Potok 2017). Religious bias accounts for approximately 20% of hate crimes in the United States. Another 60% of hate-crime victims are targeted on the basis of their race, ethnicity, or ancestry and approximately 20% on the basis of sexual orientation, gender identity, or gender bias (Federal Bureau of Investigation 2015). Symposium authors Michael Suk-Young Chwe and Elizabeth Levy Paluck urge citizens to act collectively to prevent hate crimes and bullying by convincing potential perpetrators that community members oppose and will socially sanction acts of hate. The current political context also is characterized by wide- spread dissatisfaction with government institutions, which translates to low levels of political efficacy. American confi- dence in Congress has decreased from 52% reporting “a great deal” or “quite a lot” in 1981 to only 21% reporting favorable views in 2014 (World Values Survey 1981–2014). Although there is some disagreement in the literature, it is generally believed that a cynical view of government affects citizen engagement and voter turnout (Gronlund and Setala 2007; Teixeira 1992/2011). Contributors Carrie Eaves and Jason Husser argue that political scientists play a critical role in communicating the importance of government. They describe how a campus-wide commitment to civic engagement can foster political participation and prepare students to become engaged and active members of society after graduation. Amy Widestrom’s article explores community influences on voter behavior and shows how the civic environment in which peo- ple live affects their attitudes toward political processes and participation in civic life. She offers recommendations about how political scientists and policy makers might empower citizens and build vibrant and active civic institutions in all neighborhoods, regardless of economic status. Like voting, social capital and civic engagement are key indi- cators of democratic health, and low levels of both threaten the fabric of American democracy (Putnam 2001). Whereas data suggest that civic and political engagement may have declined and stagnated for decades, since November 2016, Americans seem to be increasingly paying attention to and getting involved in civic life. For example, on January 21, 2017, an estimated 4.2 million people peacefully protested in 654 Women’s Marches across the United States, making it the largest protest in American history (Pressman and Chenoweth 2017). A survey conducted during the Women’s March on Washington identified a high number of first-time marchers and also found that 56% of the marchers had not participated in a demonstration in the previous five years (Benac 2017). As of this writing, it appears that civic engagement has achieved a sustained momentum. Grassroots groups such as Tuesdays with Toomey apply weekly pressure to elected officials; citizens flood town hall meetings with their repre- sentatives and jam Senate telephone lines with their calls (Hefling 2017; Wheeler and Shelbourne 2017); charitable giv- ing has surged to unprecedented heights (Itkowitz 2016); and thousands attended rallies to protect the Affordable Care Act, protest the Dakota Access Pipeline, and stand against the travel ban. In this symposium, Michael Heaney examines the ways in which contemporary activism has become politically polarized. He identifies the opportunities and challenges this presents for activists seeking to build majoritarian social movements. Americans’ distrust in institutions extends to the press and information provided by conventional news outlets. In the early 1990s, 56% of Americans had “a great deal” or “quite a lot” of confidence in the press; this percentage dropped to 23% in the 2010s (World Values Survey 1981–2014). In another large-scale representative survey, only 22% of American adults reported having “a lot” of confidence in information provided by local news organizations, and only 18% reported “a lot” of confidence in national news organizations. Notably, fully 74% of American adults believe the media is biased and “tends to favor one side when covering political and social issues” (Mitchell et al. 2016, 8). Distrust of the media combined with the proliferation of “fake news” complicates our job as educators because we now must contend with and offer correctives to a context of misinformation, skepticism, and competing interpretations of reality. It is heartening to note that despite the spread of fake news and anti-intellectual rhetoric, Americans generally continue to hold positive views of universities. Recent data suggest that 62.6% of Americans have a “great deal” or “quite a lot” of confidence in universities (World Values Survey 1981– 2014). This data point suggests that whereas the public is skeptical of information provided by the media, universities could fill the information gap. Joshua Busby’s article explores how political scientists can respond to the proliferation of fake news by using social-media platforms to inform and engage the public. He promotes an ethos of cross-ideological conversation through online engagement in the form of blogs and social-media posts on platforms including Facebook and Twitter. In seeking to deepen understandings of politics, democ- racy, and citizenship, political science provides the tools to analyze and address these trends. Indeed, the study of political science is informed by long-standing questions about power, ...What role should political scientists play in this current period of contentious politics? How can we build campuses to be both bastions of free expression and safe places for exploration? How should we engage our neighbors, communities, students, and the public? PS • October 2017 987 ........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ ........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ freedom, justice, and equality, which entails a systematic but also critical examination of institutions and processes of gov- ernments and governance. Victor (2016) argues convincingly that political scientists are “the scholars who can most lucidly understand the relationships between institutions, behaviors, and policy outcomes.” She urges political scientists to revisit disciplinary norms regarding public engagement and to rally to protect the core institutions of constitutional, republican democracy. To do so does not require suspension of the scientific method or objectivity; rather, it recognizes that most political scientists value the preservation of democracy (Victor 2016). In this vein, Alison Brysk’s article describes how a gener- ation of human-rights scholarship can guide political scien- tists in responding to an increasingly illiberal and conflicted world. She challenges political scientists as dual citizens—of their country and of the republic of letters—to “speak rights to power” by disseminating the lessons of global history, fostering support for democratic movements, and deepening civic education within and beyond the academy. Finally, in their article, Bidisha Biswas and Shirin Deylami explain how questioning dominant paradigms and promoting a pedagogy of margins challenges students to actively practice critical thinking outside of their preestablished frames of reference. The goal is to equip students to become critical consumers of information and empathetic global citizens while simul- taneously broadening their sociocultural perspectives and strengthening their conceptual knowledge of politics. The articles in this symposium share a commitment to campus and community engagement as well as to a common understanding among their authors that there is no con- flict between maintaining the intellectual credibility of our discipline and engaging the public sphere—a view that we recognize is not uncontested. We suggest that being nonpar- tisan is not the same as being apolitical. It is possible—and perhaps even necessary—for political scientists to maintain rigorous ethical and intellectual standards and still engage in applied politics. Indeed, disseminating research about how to improve the functioning of political institutions and prepar- ing citizens to be effective political participants comprise a core objective of political science (APSA 2017). In 2017, college campuses in the United States, like American society at large, are threatened by a cynical understanding of politics that feeds off fear and fosters division. Just as menac- ing is the threat of indifference to the fear, pain, and despair of so many Americans, particularly the most marginalized groups in our society. Social science research shows that being a bystander normalizes human-rights abuses and makes resistance to abuse more difficult (Staub 1989; Thalhammer et al. 2007). Elie Wiesel warned that indifference “always benefits the aggressor and never his victim—whose pain is magnified when he or she feels forgotten” (Wiesel 1999). In his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail,” Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. lamented the complacency of the white moderate, who held greater devotion to order than justice and who distanced one’s self from the injustices taking place in other American communities (King 1963). In this spirit, the authors of this symposium suggest that it is incumbent on political scien- tists to refuse to be indifferent to the political contestations of our time. Instead, the role of the political scientist should include safeguarding democratic institutions, promoting civic engagement, advancing shared values of equality and justice, and protecting those most at risk of having their rights vio- lated or their freedoms revoked. We offer a toolbox for applied action created by political scientists for political scientists who are struggling with how to effectively engage our students, our communities, and the American public at large. We imagine that not all polit- ical scientists will agree with the arguments and suggestions advanced here and some even may object to the underlying premise of the symposium—that political scientists have a responsibility to publicly engage. As such, we hope that this symposium marks a beginning rather than an ending of an important conversation about institutional values and prac- tices of our discipline. We invite conversation. We welcome dissent. Perhaps most important, we encourage engagement rather than indifference. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS We thank the symposium participants and the editors and staff at PS: Political Science & Politics for their contribu- tions to and assistance with this symposium. We offer spe- cial thanks to Celina Szymanski, Joshua Busby, and Michael Heaney for their helpful comments and suggestions. We also thank Danika Gloege and Andrea Sanchez for their research assistance. n R E F E R E N C E S American Political Science Association. 2017. “About APSA.” Available at www.apsanet.org/ABOUT/About-APSA. Benac, Nancy. 2017. “Survey: DC Women’s March Drew Many First-Time Protesters.” Associated Press, January 26. Available at https://apnews. com/712f88ea46aa40babae99702514b3344. Berlinger, Joshua, and Rob Frehse. 2017. “Jewish Cemetery Vandalized in New York, Third Case in Recent Weeks.” CNN, March 3. Available at www.cnn. com/2017/03/03/us/jewish-cemetery-vandalized-headstones-new-york. Federal Bureau of Investigation. 2015. “2015 Hate Crime Statistics.” Available at https://ucr.fbi.gov/hate-crime/2015/tables-and-data-declarations/ 1tabledatadecpdf. Gronlund, Kimmo, and Maija Setala. 2007. “Political Trust, Satisfaction and Voter Turnout.” Comparative European Politics 5: 400–22. Hefling, Kimberly. 2017. “Thousands Flood Senate Phone Lines Seeking to Halt Confirmation of Devos.” Politico, January 26. Available at www.politico.com/ story/2017/01/betsy-devos-confirmation-senate-phone-lines-234216. It is heartening to note that despite the spread of fake news and anti-intellectual rhetoric, Americans generally continue to hold positive views of universities. http://www.apsanet.org/ABOUT/About-APSA https://apnews.com/712f88ea46aa40babae99702514b3344 https://apnews.com/712f88ea46aa40babae99702514b3344 http://www.cnn.com/2017/03/03/us/jewish-cemetery-vandalized-headstones-new-york http://www.cnn.com/2017/03/03/us/jewish-cemetery-vandalized-headstones-new-york https://ucr.fbi.gov/hate-crime/2015/tables-and-data-declarations/1tabledatadecpdf https://ucr.fbi.gov/hate-crime/2015/tables-and-data-declarations/1tabledatadecpdf http://www.politico.com/story/2017/01/betsy-devos-confirmation-senate-phone-lines-234216 http://www.politico.com/story/2017/01/betsy-devos-confirmation-senate-phone-lines-234216 988 PS • October 2017 ........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ ........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ P r o f e s s i o n S y m p o s i u m : W h a t R o l e f o r P o l i t i c a l S c i e n t i s t s ? Itkowitz, Colby. 2016. “‘It’s Unprecedented in Our History’: Trump’s Election Inspired Millions in Nonprofit Donations.” Washington Post, November 30. King, Martin Luther, Jr. 1963. “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” King Papers, Martin Luther King Jr. Research and Education Institute, April 16. Available at https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/king-papers/documents/ letter-birmingham-jail. Mitchell, Amy, Jeffrey Gottfried, Michael Barthel, and Elisa Shearer. 2016. “The Modern News Consumer: News Attitudes and Practices in the Digital Era.” S Y M P O S I U M C O N T R I B U T O R S Bidisha Biswas is professor of political science at Western Washington University. She previously served as a policy adviser to the United States Department of State. Bidisha works on international security, diaspora and immigration related issues. Her recent publications are Managing Conflicts in India: Policies of Coercion and Accommodation (2013, Rowman and Littlefield) and Indian Immigrant Women and Work: The American Experience (2016, Routledge). Bidisha may be contacted at Bidisha.biswas@wwu.edu. Alison Brysk is the Mellichamp Chair in Global Governance at University of California, Santa Barbara, past president of the APSA Human Rights Section, 2016 ISA Distinguished Scholar in Human Rights, and a 2013-2014 Woodrow Wilson Fellow. Brysk is the author or editor of 12 books on international human rights, and is currently researching mobilizations against gender violence at the frontiers of globalization. She may be reached at abrysk@global.ucsb.edu. Joshua Busby is associate professor at the LBJ School of Public Affairs at the University of Texas at Austin. His research interests include transnational advocacy movements, climate governance, climate and security, global health, and US foreign policy. He is the author of two books for Cambridge University Press. He is also a permanent contributor to the Duck of Minerva blog. Follow him on Twitter at @busbyj2 or email him at busbyj@utexas.edu. Michael Suk-Young Chwe is professor of political science at the University of California, Los Angeles, who specializes in game theory and its applications. His books include Rational Ritual: Culture, Coordination, and Common Knowledge and Jane Austen: Game Theorist. He served as coeditor of the American Political Science Review from 2007 to 2009. He may be reached at michael@chwe.net. Maryam Zarnegar Deloffre is associate professor of political science in the undergraduate program in political science and graduate program in International Peace and Conflict Resolution at Arcadia University. She is author of several articles on non- governmental organization (NGO) self-regulation and accountability; global pandemic governance; human security and global health; and pedagogy. Her current research explores inter-NGO governance, accountability, and organization. She can be reached at deloffrem@arcadia.edu. Shirin Deylami is associate professor of political theory at Western Washington University. She is also affiliated with interdisciplinary programs in Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies and Arab and Islamic Studies. Her research and teaching focuses on the intersections of feminist theory, popular culture, and the complex relationship between Islam and the West. She is currently finishing a book on conceptions of the West in contemporary Islamist political theory. Shirin may be contacted at Shirin. Deylami@wwu.edu. Carrie P. Eaves is assistant professor of political science at Elon University. She may be reached at ceaves@elon.edu. Michael T. Heaney is assistant professor of organizational studies and political science at the University of Michigan. His research focuses on how social networks, social movements, interest groups, and political parties shape organizational processes and policy outcomes His articles appear in journals such as the American Political Science Review, the American Journal of Sociology, the Journal of Politics, Perspectives on Politics, Social Networks, American Politics Research, and the Journal of Health Politics, Policy and Law. He may be reached at mheaney@umich.edu. Jason A. Husser is assistant professor of political science and director of the Elon Poll at Elon University. He may be reached at jhusser@elon.edu. Elizabeth Levy Paluck is professor in the Department of Psychology and in the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs at Princeton University. Currently she also serves as the deputy director of the Kahneman-Treisman Center for Behavioral Science and Policy at Princeton University. Her research explores how people understand, follow, and disobey social norms, and has been published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, and the American Political Science Review. She can be reached at epaluck@princeton.edu. We offer a toolbox for applied action created by political scientists for political scientists who are struggling with how to effectively engage our students, our communities, and the American public at large. Staub, Ervin. 1989. The Roots of Evil. New York: Cambridge University Press. Teixeira, Ruy A. 1992/2011. The Disappearing American Voter. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press. Thalhammer, Kristina E., Paula L. O’Loughlin, Myron Peretz Glazer, Penina Migdal Glazer, Sam McFarland, Sharon Toffey Shepela, and Nathan Stoltzfus. 2007. Courageous Resistance: The Power of Ordinary People. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Victor, Jennifer N. 2016. “A Political Science Call to Action.” Vox, November 18. Available at www.vox.com/mischiefs-of-faction/2016/11/18/13673274/political- science-call-to-action. Wheeler, Lydia, and Mallory Shelbourne. 2017. “Anti-Devos Calls Jam Senate Phone Lines.” Hill, January 26. Available at https://origin-nyi.thehill.com/ homenews/administration/316321-anti-devos-calls-jam-senate-phone- lines. Wiesel, Elie. 1999. “The Perils of Indifference.” Seventh White House Millennium Evening, April 12. Available at www.pbs.org/eliewiesel/ resources/millennium.html. World Values Survey. 1981–2014. “Longitudinal Aggregate.” World Values Survey Association, Vol. 20150418. Yan, Holly, and Mayra Cuevas. 2017. “Spate of Mosque Fires Stretches across the Country.” CNN, March 2. Available at www.cnn.com/2017/03/02/us/ mosque-fires-2017. Available at http://assets.pewresearch.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/ 13/2016/07/08140120/PJ_2016.07.07_Modern-News-Consumer_FINAL.pdf. Pew Research Center. 2017. “On Eve of Inauguration, Americans Expect Nation’s Deep Political Divisions to Persist.” January 19. Available at http://assets.pewresearch.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/5/2017/01/ 19114635/01-19-17-2017-Political-outlook-release.pdf. Potok, Mark. 2017. “The Year in Hate and Extremism.” The Intelligence Report. Southern Poverty Law Center, February 15. Available at www.splcenter.org/ fighting-hate/intelligence-report/2017/year-hate-and-extremism. Pressman, Jeremy, and Erica Chenoweth. 2017. “Crowd Estimates January 21, 2017.” Open-access document available at https://docs.google.com/ spreadsheets/d/1xa0iLqYKz8x9Yc_rfhtmSOJQ2EGgeUVjvV4A8LsIaxY/ htmlview?sle=true. Putnam, Robert D. 2001. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York: Simon and Schuster. https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/king-papers/documents/letter-birmingham-jail https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/king-papers/documents/letter-birmingham-jail mailto:Bidisha.biswas@wwu.edu mailto:abrysk@global.ucsb.edu mailto:busbyj@utexas.edu mailto:michael@chwe.net mailto:deloffrem@arcadia.edu mailto:Shirin.Deylami@wwu.edu mailto:Shirin.Deylami@wwu.edu mailto:ceaves@elon.edu mailto:mheaney@umich.edu mailto:jhusser@elon.edu mailto:epaluck@princeton.edu http://www.vox.com/mischiefs-of-faction/2016/11/18/13673274/political-science-call-to-action http://www.vox.com/mischiefs-of-faction/2016/11/18/13673274/political-science-call-to-action https://origin-nyi.thehill.com/homenews/administration/316321-anti-devos-calls-jam-senate-phone-lines https://origin-nyi.thehill.com/homenews/administration/316321-anti-devos-calls-jam-senate-phone-lines https://origin-nyi.thehill.com/homenews/administration/316321-anti-devos-calls-jam-senate-phone-lines http://www.pbs.org/eliewiesel/resources/millennium.html http://www.pbs.org/eliewiesel/resources/millennium.html http://www.cnn.com/2017/03/02/us/mosque-fires-2017 http://www.cnn.com/2017/03/02/us/mosque-fires-2017 http://assets.pewresearch.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/13/2016/07/08140120/PJ_2016.07.07_Modern-News-Consumer_FINAL.pdf http://assets.pewresearch.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/13/2016/07/08140120/PJ_2016.07.07_Modern-News-Consumer_FINAL.pdf http://assets.pewresearch.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/5/2017/01/19114635/01-19-17-2017-Political-outlook-release.pdf http://assets.pewresearch.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/5/2017/01/19114635/01-19-17-2017-Political-outlook-release.pdf http://www.splcenter.org/fighting-hate/intelligence-report/2017/year-hate-and-extremism http://www.splcenter.org/fighting-hate/intelligence-report/2017/year-hate-and-extremism https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1xa0iLqYKz8x9Yc_rfhtmSOJQ2EGgeUVjvV4A8LsIaxY/htmlview?sle=true https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1xa0iLqYKz8x9Yc_rfhtmSOJQ2EGgeUVjvV4A8LsIaxY/htmlview?sle=true https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1xa0iLqYKz8x9Yc_rfhtmSOJQ2EGgeUVjvV4A8LsIaxY/htmlview?sle=true PS • October 2017 989 ........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ ........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................ Carrie Booth Walling is associate professor of political science at Albion College and associate director of the Prentiss M. Brown Honors Program. Currently she is visiting scholar at the International Policy Institute, Gerald R. Ford School of Public Policy, University of Michigan. She is the author of All Necessary Measures: The United Nations and Humanitarian Intervention published by the University of Pennsylvania Press and articles on human rights trials, ethnic cleansing and state sovereignty. Her current research explores human rights, justice and accountability norms in the Security Council and the International Criminal Court. She can be reached at cwalling@ albion.edu. Amy Widestrom is associate professor of political science at Arcadia University. Her forthcoming works include “The Effect of Political Parties on the Distribution of Income in the American States: 1917-2011,” in Social Science Quarterly, with Thomas Hays (University of Connecticut) and Chris Dennis (California State University, Long Beach), and “How Ideas Shape Urban Political Development,” in Ideas, Interests, Institutions, and Urban Political Development, edited by Richardson Dilworth (Drexel University) and Timothy Weaver (University of Albany), which is under contract with the University of Pennsylvania Press. She may contacted at widestroma@arcadia.edu. mailto:cwalling@albion.edu mailto:cwalling@albion.edu mailto:widestroma@arcadia.edu 
work_y2pjhnw3ordqnfocueooqtxlhi	----	60Copyright © Canadian Academy of Oriental and Occidental Culture ISSN 1923-1555[Print] ISSN 1923-1563[Online] www.cscanada.net www.cscanada.org Studies in Literature and Language Vol. 10, No. 4, 2015, pp. 60-65 DOI:10.3968/6777 “Golden Humor” Embodied in the Discourse of Typical American WANG Jianxin[a],* [a]Associate professor. School of Foreign Languages, Nantong University, Jiangsu, China. * Corresponding author. Received 20 September 2014; accepted 1 March 2015 Published online 25 April 2015 Abstract Gish Jen displays talent in the writing of her first novel Typical American by utilizing “golden humor”—a unique kind of humor Chinese-American writers used to illustrate frustration, humor, and eternal miracle of immigrant life. Gish Jen is good at using “golden humor” to reveal the bright side of Chinese American life. “Golden humor” inherits the “alienation” characteristic of black humor and abandons its “disillusionment” and “cynicism”, transforms and sublimates it so as to give it a more optimistic attitude, by showing showing the bright, glistening, golden spheres of American life. Key words: “Golden humor”; Typical American; Chinese American literature; Gish Jen Wang, J. X. (2015). “Golden Humor” Embodied in the Discourse of Typical American. Studies in Literature and Language, 10 (4), 60-65. Available from: http://www.cscanada.net/index.php/sll/article/view/6777 DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.3968/6777 INTRODUCTION There is a so-called “the Gang of Four” in Chinese American literary circle—Amy Tan, Gish Jen, Gus Lee, and David Wong Louie—among whom Gish Jen, with the publication of her first novel Typical American, has made herself a rising star and established her status in Chinese American literature. Many of Gish Jen’s stories and articles can be seen in The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, The New York Times, The Los Angeles Times, and The New Republic. Her stories are even included in Houghton Mifflin’s series, The Best American Short Stories of 1988 and of 1995 and The Best American Short Stories of the Century. Her first novel Typical American is a New York Times notable book of the year, and a finalist for the National Book Critics’ Circle Award. Reviewers extol the novel highly and rank Jen with such established Chinese- American writers as Maxine Hong Kingston and Amy Tan. Mojtabai (Mojtabai, 1991) comments in “The Complete Other Side of the World” as follows: No paraphrase could capture the intelligence of Gish Jen’s prose, its epigrammatic sweep and swiftness. There’s no pause, no underlining, no winking aside to the reader to signal how clever this is, how humorous that is. The author just keeps coming at you, line after stunning line (9-10). Typical American relates Ralph Chang’s progress through his life, exploring the social mobility and decline of the immigrant Chang family. The novel weaves together the lives of the Chang family—Ralph, engineer and “imagineer”; his sister, Theresa; and his delicate wife, Helen—relating their struggle for the pursuit of the American dream after emigrating from China to the United States. The happy ending for the Changs comes not in abandoning the American dream but in finding a way to make it their own. This paper aims at making a tentative study of Gish Jen’s Typical American from the perspective of discourse, so as to analyze her use of narrative strategies as well as “golden humor”, which is embodied in the novel. “GOLDEN HUMOR” “Humor” is the most astounding feature of Typical American which instantly grasps the readers by it’s “lighthearted” and “delightful” characteristics. The critic circle extolled its “heartbreaking humor”, “a sparkling humor uniquely her own” (Jen, 1991),“robust, irreverent sense of humor” (Smith, 1999), “warm humor” 61 Copyright © Canadian Academy of Oriental and Occidental Culture WANG Jianxin (2015). Studies in Literature and Language, 10 (4), 60-65 Chinese Americans in these works is endowed with more optimistic spirit to exhibit the brighter, shining or “golden” facets of the Chinese American life, thus drawing forth the adjective “golden” naturally as well as supplying the answer to the “why” and the origin of “golden humor”. Used exclusively by some Chinese American writers, “golden humor” has its own features in characterization and in story-telling, distinguishing itself from other forms of humor. “Golden humor” may also be embodied in the discourse, free direct discourse and free indirect discourse, to achieve comic effect. 2. DISCOURSE IN NARRATOLOGY Discourse may be used in three senses--- in general sense, in linguistics and in narratology. In general sense, discourse is used for all those senses of language which emphasize its “concrete living totality” (Bakhtin, 1981), or a learned discussion, spoken or written, on a philosophical, political, literary or religious topic. In linguistics, discourse denotes a “stretch of language” larger or longer than a single sentence. Some linguists restrict discourse to spoken communication; hence “a well-established definition of discourse views it as a series of connected utterances, a unit of potential analysis larger than a sentence”. In narratology discourse refers “not only to ordinary conversation and its context, but also to written communications between the writer and the reader” (Wales, 2014); hence the term literary or narrative discourse. In this sense it is “the means through which the story is transmitted” (Chatman, 1978), equivalent to the French term discours as mentioned in chapter two, the nature of which involving a relationship between a speaker/ writer and a listener/ reader. According to Chatman, story and discourse are two aspects of narrative, which signify content and expression respectively while “the aesthetic object of a narrative is the story as articulated by the discourse” (27). So the analysis of discourse may consist of the discussion of author (real or implied), reader (real or implied), narrator and narratee, as well as point of view, narration, speech and thought presentations, etc. In Style in Fiction, Leech and Short (Short, 1981) discussed separately the presentation of speech and thought in the novels as below: The presentation of speech: 1. direct speech 2. indirect speech 3.free direct speech 4. the narrative report of speech acts 5. free indirect speech (318-325). The categorization of thought presentation: 1. free direct thought 2. direct thought 3. free indirect thought 4. indirect thought 5. narrative report of a thought act (337). With the emphasis on communication, or on mode of communication, discourse is used in discussions of novels to refer to the representation of speech and thought, such as free direct or free indirect discourse, which may be further divided into free direct speech, free direct thought, (Herold, 2003), and “golden humor”—a term coined by a Chinese Prof. Zhang Ziqing, who creatively put forward the term to sum up this unique type of writing technique which was employed by Gish Jen and by some other Chinese American writers as well (Zhang, 2000). Humor, as defined in Webster’s Third New International Dictionary, is “that quality in a happening, an action, a situation, or an expression of ideas which appeals to a sense of the ludicrous or absurdly incongruous: comic or amusing quality” (Gove, 1996). Avner Ziv (Ziv, 1988) defines humor in National Styles of Humor as follows: “humor is… defined as a social message intended to produce laughter or smiling… a way of expressing human needs in a socially accepted manner.” (Introduction ix- x). The different aspects of humor—contents, situations, functions and techniques—may be influenced by culture as mentioned in National styles of Humor. The great differences among cultures can be found in these aspects of humor as every nation or every culture has its own unique styles of humor which differentiate it from other nations or cultures. Researchers have found that while most American jokes are sexual and aggressive, Chinese jokes deal more with social interaction, while nonliterate cultures have more jokes about physical environment (Shultz, 1977). The characteristics of American humor may be summed up as an anti-intellectual bent, a heavy use of exaggeration, making fun of ethnic minorities, dialect as deliciously funny, wit as a way of enforcing social norms (Ziv, 1988). As an ethnic minority of the United States, Chinese Americans are sure to meet with these forms of American humor more or less, which also inspires them with ethnic awakening to create their own style of humor in contrast to American humor, which is a bit discriminatory against ethnic minorities. The term “golden humor” was coined by a Chinese scholar, professor Zhang Ziqing (Zhang, 2000) from Nanjing University, in one of his articles. In the article, he just briefly mentioned “golden humor” to illustrate his opinions without a concrete and thorough discussion of the term itself, which left much room for further study, since up to now very few scholars have ever touched on the subject, not to speak of defining or further discussing it. Then why “golden” but not “silver” or else? To answer the question, it is unavoidable to retrace the history of first Chinese immigrants to the U.S. With the hope of making money in the gold rush, thousands of Chinese people immigrated to the U.S. as gold-diggers, many of whom settled down as the first-generation Chinese Americans. Therefore, in consideration of the aforementioned historical facts, Chinese Americans and Chinese American literature have something to do with immigration as well as “gold” more or less. Literary works reflecting the history permeate throughout the whole process of the development of Chinese American literature, such as Betty Lee Sung’s Mountain of Gold (1967) and Maxine Hong Kingston’s China Men (1980). The humor shown by some 62Copyright © Canadian Academy of Oriental and Occidental Culture “Golden Humor” Embodied in the Discourse of Typical American By this she means to tell all the truth as it is explained at the previous page of the text that “she simply could not imagine herself switching off the light and announcing into the dark that she’d had an affair” (258). Ridiculously enough, Ralph still gives an irrelevant answer, which only changes one word (“fury” to “steel”), which makes an impression on the reader that he is completely absent- minded, or rather abnormal and weird. Seeing that Ralph is in such a condition, Helen has to change her mind by saying “I’m going to turn the light off”, which indicates that in the end she gives up her attempt by also changing only one word “on” to “off”. If we change all the free direct speech in the conversation into direct speech, we are sure to sacrifice certain effects to the change. The conversation will be interrupted frequently by the introductory reporting clauses like “he said” and “she said” as well as the quotation marks. Therefore, it will increase the interference of the narrator, which will in turn decrease the sense of reality and the smoothness of the conversation. Let’s examine another example of free direct speech from the novel: It was true that he had just heard, from his wife’s soft mouth, words that set his mind to riot; she might as well have twisted knives in his ears. But what does that matter now? He saw his sister. And behind her, a second self, her stark shadow against the back wall of the garage—he saw that too (282). (The italics are mine) In the above passage, free direct speech is a bit imperceptible if without careful and intentional awareness. All the sentences above are in the past tense except one, that is, “But what does that matter now?”, which is in the present tense, whereas in common cases, the sentence should be presented as “But what did that matter then?” so as to conform to the tense of the passage. The sentence is a typical kind of free direct speech since it has omitted both the introductory reporting clause and the quotation marks of direct speech, which is originally like this: He said, “But what does that matter now?” The background of the above quoted passage is that when Grover contemptuously lets it slip to Ralph that he has had an affair with Helen, Ralph violently forces a confession from her, and in his rage, runs his car into his sister Theresa, nearly killing her in a moment he himself recognizes as half accident, half seized by opportunity. Although Helen has confessed to him about her affairs, which might “set his mind to riot”, he just does not care about it as the sentence of free direct speech suggests “But what does that matter now?” Ralph’s indignation and repentance are revealed directly without interruption as if he is saying to Helen and the readers as well. Here in free direct speech, the original words of the character get to the readers without their recognition and preparation. If we change the sentence into direct speech—He said, “But what does that matter now?”—it might seem too abrupt and out of place so that the coherence of narration will free indirect speech and free indirect thought. In this paper, the emphasis is laid upon free direct discourse and free indirect discourse in the discussion of “golden humor” that is embodied in the discourse of Typical American. 3. “GOLDEN HUMOR” IN FREE DIRECT AND FREE INDIRECT DISCOURSE Free direct discourse and free indirect discourse are extensively used to embody “golden humor” in Typical American, which also presents a typical feature of the novel. The following parts will carry out a detailed analysis of Gish Jen’s use of free direct and free indirect discourse separately so as to explore “golden humor” which is embodied in the discourse to achieve comic effect in Typical American. 3.1 Free Direct Discourse in Typical American Free direct discourse consists of two forms, free direct speech and free direct thought, which we may find some examples in Typical American. Free direct speech may record “originally” what a character says and is freer than direct speech since it appears without the accompanying clause or tag or the quotation marks. The following is a passage from Typical American: Ralph turned to her. Yes, I could strangle someone, he said simply, continuing to swing. He approached her. I am that cold. How should I tell you anything? How? I am a man become fury. I’m going to turn the light on. I am a man become steel. I’m going to turn the light off (259). The passage above is the conversation between Ralph and Helen after the failure of their business and Helen’s unexpected affair with Grover behind Ralph’s back. Considering the definition of free direct speech by Leech and Short, all the sentences in italics in the conversation may be seen as free direct speech though, in the strict sense, the first italic sentence may not be taken as free direct speech since it is followed by an introductory reporting clause. The rest of the italic sentences except the first one accord perfectly with the requirement of free direct speech since they are accompanied by neither the quotation marks nor the introductory reporting clauses. In the conversation, Helen is reluctant to tell Ralph the truth of her adultery with Grover while Ralph just gives irrelevant answers, which makes Helen feel even more nervous and give up her attempt in the end. The conversation is faithfully recorded through free direct speech, in which Helen’s dilemma and Ralph’s indifference to her words form a sharp contrast. The two “How” asked by Helen reveals her awkwardness at confessing her adultery, so in a sense the question may be regarded as asking Ralph as well as herself. However, the reply Ralph offers is rather irrelevant. Helen makes another attempt by saying “I’m going to turn the light on.” 63 Copyright © Canadian Academy of Oriental and Occidental Culture WANG Jianxin (2015). Studies in Literature and Language, 10 (4), 60-65 that “Jane Austen is the first English novelist to make extensive and sophisticated use of free indirect discourse” (Flavin 20). According to the statistics, in Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice, free indirect speech appears twenty-two and twenty-five times respectively; in Northanger Abbey it appears forty times; and in Mansfield Park speech is rendered in free indirect form (discourse) on sixty-nine occasions. Likewise, the amount of free indirect thought is also significant: Sense and Sensibility has thirty-nine instances, Pride and Prejudice forty-four, and Northanger Abbey fifty-four, while Mansfield Park has 153 instances of free indirect thought (Flavin, 1989). It is apparent that Gish Jen is imitating Jane Austen’s style. The following passage quoted from Typical American may serve as a good example of free indirect speech: “Was miracle.” This was Ralph’s version of the story. “Miracle!” And even so many years later, anyone could still hear in his voice all that the word meant to him—rocks burst into blossom, the black rinsed from the night sky. Life itself unfurled. As he apparently, finally, deserved. How else could it be, that he should find himself lying in coin-spangled ice slosh, in America, embracing—of all people—his sister? Saved! Know-It-All in his arms! Impossible! … (46). (The italics are mine) Having lost contact with his family and forgot to renew his visa, Ralph is in great trouble and feels so desperate that he even attempts to commit suicide when his older sister, Theresa, who has escaped to America, finds Ralph just in time to save him from suicidal despair. The quoted passage above is the response of Ralph to the coincidence. In the passage, we may find direct speech easily while free indirect speech may be somewhat imperceptible if without a ready and careful eye and mind. Here the transition from direct speech to free indirect speech is so natural and untraceable that it causes no sense of abruptness or awkwardness. Ralph’s excitement is generalized in direct speech in only one word “miracle”, expressing his great joy, whereas his reaction to the incredible fact is represented in free indirect speech. In the italicized free indirect speech, unlike indirect speech, the reporting clause is omitted while the original punctuation and the features of speech remain. The two dashes and the question mark in “embracing—of all people—his sister?” restore the form in his original speech as if he is still questioning himself excitedly and breathlessly. The next three exclamation marks which go immediately after in “Saved! Know-It-All in his arms! Impossible!” further reveal his excitement. Let’s change the whole sentence into indirect speech to see if there is any difference between them: He said that how else it could be that he should find himself lying in coin-spangled ice slosh in America embracing of all people his sister, that he was saved as Know-It-All was in his arms, that it was impossible. All the exclamation marks and dashes being deleted, the sentence is certainly less vivid or readable than the sentence in free indirect speech. Let’s examine another example of passage which contains free indirect speech: surely be destroyed as the reporting clause “he said” and the quotation marks seem rather redundant. What if we change free direct speech back to the past tense then? The sentence “But what did that matter then?” may seem all right as a substitute, but it is so common and insipid that it lacks the effect brought by free direct speech. Free direct thought, the other form of free direct discourse, is “particularly common in interior monologue as a twentieth-century novelistic device, where the lack of reporting clause leads to a smoother text, and reinforces the absence of an apparently controlling narrator”(Wales, 2014). The sentences are supposed to represent only those thoughts that pass through the character’s mind in free direct thought. The passage below from Typical American may serve as an example: Instead what occurred to him were ways of telling people off. It may seem to you that others are transfixed by the clarity of your mind, but actually we are just afraid if you don’t get your way you will cry. He liked that one. More often, though, the ideas that flocked to him lacked real sting. Your mother would be ashamed to see how mean you’ve become. Or, so you voted no, you have the brains of a dung fly, and what’s more, you have no manners… In your next life, I hope you are a sea clam… Why should I listen to you, with all that hair in your nose? (155- 56) The passage is taken from “Tenure” in Part III of the novel, describing the interior monologue of Ralph when he is struggling drearily to win tenure as a professor of mechanical engineering, a field he himself considers colorless. The interior monologue which is italicized is in free direct thought since they are all in present tense without any introductory reporting clauses or quotation marks. Ralph is rather anxious while waiting for the day of decision so that he resumes his habit of “imagineering”. In the first two sentences in free direct thought, he thinks of the replies he will receive from those committee members who have the right to decide whether or not he will get tenure while the rest of the italicized sentences are all the thoughts of his own replies to those who might vote against him. A certain kind of comic effect is achieved through his own replies, in which curses and personal insults pervade (e.g. brains of a dung fly, a sea clam, hair in you nose). The two different replies in his thought seem to make up a conversation, showing his great anxiety for the tenure and his nervousness before the decision. Free direct thought here is so appropriate and natural that it leads to a smoother text, and reinforces the absence of an apparently controlling narrator. 3.2 Free Indirect Discourse in Typical American In Typical American, free indirect discourse is more frequently used than free direct discourse, which may be considered a great feature of the novel. Gish Jen’s love for free indirect discourse is not without reason as she says in an interview that Jane Austen “have a really big influence” on her (Matsukawa, 1993). It is widely acknowledged 64Copyright © Canadian Academy of Oriental and Occidental Culture “Golden Humor” Embodied in the Discourse of Typical American Here Gish Jen relates Ralph’s inner life by free indirect thought with the use of stream-of-consciousness technique. As we all know, free indirect thought is one of the best ways used in stream of consciousness to reflect the continuous flow of thoughts, feelings, and memories in the human mind; the other one is free direct thought, which may also be used in stream of consciousness. In free direct thought, this technique is often called interior monologue since it always “presents a character ’s thoughts directly, without the apparent intervention” of the narrator; while in free indirect thought, it is called indirect interior monologue or narrated monologue, which is generally acknowledged in the western circle of literary criticism (Baldick, 1996). There is a slight yet obvious difference between the stream of consciousness used in free direct thought and in free indirect thought, that is, the person and the presence or absence of the narrator’s voice. In contrast to free direct thought, which is always in the first person and lacks the apparently controlling narrator, free indirect thought often replaces the first person with the third person and blends the character’s focalization with the narrative voice. In the above-quoted passage, the flow of Ralph’s thoughts leaps from one thing to another aimlessly and illogically, which brings about a ridiculous effect. The flow of his thoughts may be described as follows: at first, Ralph thinks that there may be something wrong with Helen since she often hides things; then out of curiosity and suspicion, he thinks that it is maybe an illness as he begins to observe her breath; next he finds the illness in her throat, but he envisions it at the base of his own throat and it is a cancer and needs an operation; then his thoughts jumps back again to his wife as he considers where to bury her; he even pictures a wife with no throat and ponders over his own reactions to the possibility. We may discern clearly the illogicalness and the irrelevant leap of his thoughts, in which two abrupt digressions from his thoughts of Helen to himself are extremely conspicuous. The last two sentences in free indirect thought further demonstrate the absurdity of his thoughts as he asks the same question in two different ways about his own decision on whether to marry Helen if he has known her illness or if he hasn’t known it. From the narrated monologue in free indirect thought, we may perceive a kind of humorous style. In describing the morbidity and the possibility of death of the character, Gish Jen employs not the techniques which may lead to an impression of helplessness or pessimism but reversely brings about an effect which embodies the optimism, ludicrousness and humor of Ralph as if he is seeking pleasure from “imagineering”. This just complies with the optimistic and positive theme of the novel, which reifies Gish Jen’s employment of “golden humor”. As opposed to Ralph, who, head tilted, mouth slack, looked for all the world like someone in love. Theresa saw it; anyone could have seen it. Especially when Grover, whistling, stood to leave the table. What Ralph would have done then to leave with him— good-by, Old Chao and his tenure-track job offer! Good-by, social nicety! Ralph could only ogle, though, helpless with envy, as Grover balled up his napkin. He did not push his chair in, but left it angled out like a door in midswing (95). This passage is drawn from “Love at First Sight” in Part II when Helen acts as go-between and arranges for her sister-in-law Theresa an introduction to Grover. From the title “Love at First Sight”, we may be misled as to mistake it for Theresa and Grover falling in love at first sight. Yet ironically, as a matter of fact, contrary to the expectations of all, the ones in love at first sight are not Theresa and Grover but Helen and Grover, Old Chao and Theresa, and more ridiculously, Ralph with Grover as is implied in the first sentence of the above-quoted passage “head tilted, mouth slack, looked for all the world like someone in love”. Ralph admires Grover, the American- born millionaire, at the first sight, and is eager to follow the example of Grover who behaves rudely. The sentence in free indirect speech is what he wants to declare as a departure from the social norms, which may be seen as his acceptance of typical Americanness. If he were bold enough, he would have spoken out bluntly his mind, which may be recorded in direct speech as follows: He said, “Good-by, Old Chao and your tenure-track job offer! Good-by, social nicety!” However, he is only an “imagineer” and what he can do is to “only ogle” though “helpless with envy”. Free indirect speech here is properly used to reflect Ralph’s dilemma of whether to follow the example of Grover or not, in which exclamation marks are reserved while the point of view is transformed to the third person. In addition to free indirect speech, free indirect thought is also used by Gish Jen in Typical American. The following passage is from “A New Life” in Part II, and the situation of which is that Ralph is observing his wife Helen when she is fast asleep to see if she is ill since she often hides things and there is something wrong with her breath: Was there something the matter with her? She hid things, he’d discovered—keys, batteries, letters. She kept magazines under her mattress. What else might she be keeping from him? Maybe an illness, he thought, listening hard. For she didn’t just breathe; she inhaled, then stopped, then expelled the air in a little burst. Squinting up at the ring-stained ceiling, he tried to make the sound she was making. A slight popping, as if she had been holding her breath. Or as if there were some obstruction… where? In her chest? No, in her throat. Right at the base of his own throat he thought he could feel a little door that might stick. He envisioned visits to the doctor. Cancer. An operation. Where would she want to be buried? He didn’t even know. Or worse, he pictured a wife with no throat. How would she breathe? How would she eat? He swallowed. Would he have married her if he had known this would happen? And should he have married her if he wouldn’t have? (68-9). (The italics are mine) 65 Copyright © Canadian Academy of Oriental and Occidental Culture WANG Jianxin (2015). Studies in Literature and Language, 10 (4), 60-65 CONCLUSION With respect to Typical American, Gish Jen’s strategic use of “golden humor” can be seen as a typically characteristic example of narrative techniques in Chinese American literature. Together with Black American literature and Jewish American literature as well as other ethnic literature, Chinese American literature has made up an essential part of American literature and has been included in anthologies such as Heath and Norton. Fully aware of the development of Chinese American literature, the academic circle is paying more and more attention to Chinese American literature as research works emerge in a constant stream, among which are: in America, Amy Ling’s Between worlds: Women Writers of Chinese Ancestry(1990, King-Kok Cheung’s Articulate Silences (1993), Yan Gao’s The Art of Parody: Maxine Hong Kingston’s Use of Chinese Sources (1996); in Taiwan, Shan Te-hsing and Ho Wen-ching’s Cultural Identity and Chinese American Literature (1994) and Politics of Representation and Chinese American Literature (1996), and Shan Te-hsing’s Inscriptions and Representations: Chinese American Literary and Cultural Studies (2000); in China’s mainland, Wei Jingyi’s The Chinese Story in the Western Context (2002), Cheng Aimin’s A Study of Chinese American Literature (2003), to list just a few. Regarding the study of Chinese American literature, issues such as culture, ethnic identity, and the American dream are the most frequently discussed and even the indispensable ones since they constitute the essence and characteristic of Chinese American literary works. However, one may have a kind of misconception, taking for granted that nothing more is worthy of mentioning in Chinese American literature apart from culture, ethnic identity, and the American dream. As a matter of fact, Chinese American literature has been creating unique features of its own in narrative strategies and writing techniques during long years of practice and experimentation. In consideration of this, Gish Jen’s Typical American may serve as a typical example with her intentional employment of narrative strategies, which further enriches the tradition of “golden humor” in Chinese American literature. Utilizing “golden humor”, Gish Jen tells us the story of immigration, assimilation, and occasional tensions both inside and outside of the Chang family. Though the novel mainly focuses on the Chinese American immigrant experience, Jen’s “narrative charm transcends anything considerably ‘Asian American’” (Liu). REFERENCES Bakhtin, M. (1981). The dialogic imagination: Four essays (M. H. a. C. Emerson, Trans. M. Holquist Ed.). Austin: University of Texas Press. Baldick, C. (1996). Oxford concise dictionary of literary terms. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Chatman, S. (1978). Story and discourse. Cornell University Press: Cornell University Press. Flavin, L. (1989). Austen’s persuasion. Explicator, 47(4). Gove, P. B. (1996). Webster’s third new international dictionary. Springfield Mass.: Merriam-Webster. Herold, K. (2003). Book review. Retrieved 18 Sept., 2003, from http://www.pshares.org/issues/article.cfm?prmarticle ID＝ 3173 Jen, G. (1991). Typical American. New York: Penguin Group. Liu, C. Who’s Chinese American: Gish Jen adds a new dimension to APA literature. Retrieved 20 Sept., 2003, from http://www.asianweek.com/062499/ae gishjen.html Matsukawa, Y. (1993). Melus interview: Gish Jen. MELUS, 18(4). Mojtabai, A. G. (1991). The complete other side of the world. The New York Times Book Review. Short, G. L. a. M. (1981). Style in fiction. London: Longman. Shultz, T. R. (1977). A cross cultural study of the structure of humor. In A. J. a. F. Chapman H. C. (Ed.), It’s a funny thing, humor. London: Pergamon Press Smith, W. (1999). The book that hormones wrote. Publisher’s Weekly, 246(23). Wales, K. (2014). A dictionary of stylistics. Routledge. Zhang, Z. (2000). Chinese American literature that coexists and coprospers with Asian American literature. Foreign Literature Studies, 1. Ziv, A. (1988). National styles of humor . Connecticut: Greenwood Press. 
work_ybnheftrq5eezgn7gypmx2q6lm	----	Microsoft Word - Bliss+-+CPS+Article University of Birmingham The crown prosecution guidelines and grossly offensive comment Bliss, Laura DOI: 10.1080/17577632.2017.1369574 License: None: All rights reserved Document Version Peer reviewed version Citation for published version (Harvard): Bliss, L 2017, 'The crown prosecution guidelines and grossly offensive comment: an analysis', Journal of Media Law, vol. 9, no. 2, pp. 173-188. https://doi.org/10.1080/17577632.2017.1369574 Link to publication on Research at Birmingham portal Publisher Rights Statement: Checked for eligibility: 03/09/2019 This is an Accepted Manuscript of an article published by Taylor & Francis in Journal of Media Law on 03/10/2017, available online: http://www.tandfonline.com/10.1080/17577632.2017.1369574 General rights Unless a licence is specified above, all rights (including copyright and moral rights) in this document are retained by the authors and/or the copyright holders. 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Apr. 2021 https://doi.org/10.1080/17577632.2017.1369574 https://doi.org/10.1080/17577632.2017.1369574 https://research.birmingham.ac.uk/portal/en/publications/the-crown-prosecution-guidelines-and-grossly-offensive-comment(ea5e59aa-6106-49d0-be3c-f72dfc262fc3).html The Crown Prosecution Guidelines and Grossly Offensive Comments: An Analysis Laura Bliss Department of Law and Criminology, Edge Hill University Laura Bliss, Department of Law and Criminology, Edge Hill University, L39 4QP E: Blissl@edgehillac.uk T: 01695 654335 ORCID ID: 0000-0002-9605-1798 Author Bibliography Laura Bliss is a graduate teaching assistant at Edge Hill University. Her research interests include: media law, particularly the law and social media; feminist research and aspects of public law. These interests are reflected in Laura’s PhD which examines the law’s response to online abuse, particularly abuse directed at women. The Crown Prosecution Guidelines and Grossly Offensive Comments: An Analysis This article will critically evaluate the Crown Prosecution Service guidelines concerning grossly offensive comments made via social media. Abusive comments conducted online have recently dominated newspaper headlines. The Crown Prosecution Service has attempted to give clear advice to prosecutors as to when a comment made online will go from being one that is simply offensive, to one that is so grossly offensive it warrants criminal prosecution. The guidelines were first created in 2013 and updated in 2016. This article will critically examine the guidelines and grossly offensive comments made online and consider whether a coherent and accessible document has been created. Key Words: Social Media; Grossly Offensive Comments; CPS Guidelines; Malicious Communications Act 1988; Communications Act 2003 Introduction Each day millions of comments are made online via social media platforms. For example, on average around 500 million “tweets” are sent every day.1 Social media is considered electronic communication via the use of the internet to connect with other individuals, build profiles and publicly share information.2 Social media networks include the likes of Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat. Recent figures indicate the reach of social                                                              Laura Bliss blissl@edgehill.ac.uk. The author would like to thank Adam Pendlebury and Grace Robinson for reading earlier versions of this article and for providing feedback. The author is forever grateful to Dr John McGarry for his guidance in producing this article. The time and wisdom provided by Dr McGarry has been much appreciated. 1 Internet Live Stats, ‘Twitter Usage Statistics’ (Internet Live Stats, 2016) <http://www.internetlivestats.com/twitter-statistics/> accessed 8 November 2016 2 For a range of definitions which can be associated with social media see Christian Fuchs, Social Media a critical introduction (Sage Publications 2014) 35-37 media, with 73% of individuals having access to one or more social media sites.3 With such easy access to the online world, the law has sometimes struggled to keep pace with changing technology. This is particularly the case with regard to abusive comments made online.4 Such comments can have a significant effect on those to whom they are directed. For instance, Gina Miller (the claimant who argued that the Government needed Parliamentary approval before it could trigger the Article 50 process to begin exiting the European Union5), felt the need to employ 24 hour private security protection after receiving death threats online and threats of sexual violence.6 Following the stream of online abuse aimed at Miller, Rhodri Phillips received a 12 week custodial sentence for two counts of sending menacing messages contrary to section 127 of the Communications Act 2000.7 He posted on his Facebook page, “£5,000 for the first person to ‘accidentally’ run over this [Gina Millar] bloody troublesome first generation immigrant.” The issues associated with prosecuting abusive comments made online have been well documented in recent years. The lack of consistency when it came to prosecuting online behaviour resulted in the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) introducing guidelines (the                                                              3 Office for National Statistics, ‘Internet Access – Households and Individuals 2016 – ONS’ (Office for National Statistics, 2016) <https://www.ons.gov.uk/peoplepopulationandcommunity/householdcharacteristics/homeinternetandsocialmedi ausage/bulletins/internetaccesshouseholdsandindividuals/2016> accessed 04 October 2016 4 The ever-growing issue of online abuse, particularly aimed at individuals in the public domain, has been raised as an issue before Ministers following the 2017 general election. HC Deb 12 July 2017, Vol 267, cols 152-169 5 R (Miller) v The Secretary of State for Exiting the European Union [2016] EWHC 2768 6 Lisa O’Carroll ‘Gina Miller: “I’ve been told that as a colored women, I’m not even human”’ The Guardian (London, 25 January 2017) <https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2017/jan/25/parliament-alone-is-sovereign- gina-miller-speaks-out-after-article-50-victory> accessed 6 June 2017 7 R v Rhodri Phillips Westminster Magistrates’ Court 13 July 2017 (unreported). His second count for sending menacing messages was in relation comments he made about Arthur Sube. See, Julia Gregory, ‘Aristocrat faces jail after being menacing and racist about Gina Miller’ The Guardian (London, 11 July 2017) <https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2017/jul/11/man-jail-offering-money-run-over-gina-miller-rhodri- philipps-viscount-brexit> accessed 20 July 2017 guidelines) on social media prosecutions in 2013.8 These guidelines were not without fault and, consequently, the CPS produced a revised version in October 2016.9 This article critically examines the social media guidelines and their application to grossly offensive comments made online. First, the law which criminalises grossly offensive comments will be identified. Then, three cases will be considered to illustrate why the guidelines were thought necessary. Moving on from this, the basic two stage approach introduced by the guidelines will be explored, before focusing on the concept of grossly offensive comments. This will take the format of outlining the approach to grossly offensive comments given in the guidelines, examining the significant weight accorded to freedom of expression and evaluating the defences identified by the CPS. Recommendations will then be put forward as to how the guidelines can be improved for future use. The Law The sending of grossly offensive messages is controlled under two statutes in the United Kingdom: the Malicious Communications Act 1988 (MCA) and the Communications Act 2003 (CA). The MCA was originally enacted to govern malicious communications sent by post. The CA was enacted to control the provision of broadcast services by organisations. Both have been adapted10 to cover conduct carried out via social media platforms. Under section 1 of the MCA it is a criminal offence to convey, via the use of a communications network (e.g. the internet): “(i) a message which is indecent or grossly                                                              8 Crown Prosecution Service, ‘Guidelines On Prosecuting Cases Involving Communications Sent Via Social Media’ (CPS.gov.uk, 2013) <http://www.cps.gov.uk/legal/a_to_c/communications_sent_via_social_media/index.html> accessed 27 February 2016. 9 Crown Prosecution Service, ‘Guidelines On Prosecuting Cases Involving Communications Sent Via Social Media’ (CPS.gov.uk, 2016) <http://www.cps.gov.uk/legal/a_to_c/communications_sent_via_social_media/> accessed 10 October 2016 10 The MCA has been amended to cover electronic communications by s.43(1)a of the Criminal Justice and Police Act 2001. offensive; (ii) a threat; or (iii) information which is false and known or believed to be false by the sender”. It is also an offence to send “any article or electronic communication which is, in whole or part, of an indecent or grossly offensive nature”. The actus reus of the offence is in the sending of the message, there is no need for the message to be received. However, the purpose of the sender must be to “cause distress or anxiety to the recipient or to any other person to whom he intends that it or its contents or nature should be communicated”. The CA generally deals with comments which are in the public domain, for instance a message posted on a Facebook page. Under section 127 of the Act, a message sent, via a communications device, which is “grossly offensive” or of an “indecent, obscene or menacing character” is an offence. Like the MCA, the offence is in the sending of the message; there is no need for the intended victim to receive the communication, although there has to be an intention or awareness present that the conduct was grossly offensive.11 Both the MCA and CA are similar; indeed, Scaife suggests that the Acts are interchangeable.12 However, the courts and the CPS have distinguished the key differences between the two Acts: the CA covers only communications which makes use of technology, whereas the MCA governs all communications including the postal system: A letter dropped through the letterbox may be grossly offensive, obscene, indecent or menacing, and may well be covered by section 1 of the 1988 Act [MCA], but it does not fall within the legislation now under consideration [CA].13 However, their use in an online context has created some difficulties, especially with regard to the term grossly offensive. Neither Act gives a clear indication as to what is meant by this phrase. As a result, this has created problems in cases concerning the prosecution of actions which utilise social media.                                                              11 DPP v Collins [2006] UKHL 40 per Lord Bingham at paras 8 & 10 12 Laura Scaife, Handbook of Social Media and the Law (Routledge 2015) 166 13 DPP v Collins, n.11 para 7 Pre Guidelines Cases considered by the courts before the 2013 guidelines, after recommendations for prosecution by the CPS, left the position unclear as to when conduct undertaken online would be seen as a breach of the criminal law. This is clear from Chambers v DPP.14 Here, the defendant found himself before the courts, after being prosecuted for breaching section 127 of the CA for sending a message of a menacing nature. Chambers, in January 2010, following the closure of an airport due to bad weather, posted the following comment on his twitter page: “Crap! Robin Hood Airport is closed. You’ve got week [sic] and a bit to get your shit together otherwise I’m blowing the airport sky high.” This comment later came to the attention of airport officials. As a result, Chambers was arrested and convicted under section 127 of the CA, despite the airport deeming the threat non-credible.15 He subsequently appealed his conviction and, on appeal, the Crown Court determined that the tweet was “menacing in its content and obviously so. It could not be more clear. Any ordinary person reading this would see it in that way and be alarmed.”16 Chambers and his legal team appealed the decision in the High Court. The judges during the original High Court appeal were unable to reach an agreement and consequently the matter was subjected to a second appeal in the same court. In July 2012, the High Court quashed Chambers’ conviction, coming to the conclusion that his comments, although ill thought out, were intended as a joke. Lord Judge stated: Satirical, or iconoclastic, or rude comment, the expression of unpopular or unfashionable opinion about serious or trivial matters, banter or humour, even if distasteful to some or painful to those subjected to it should and no doubt will continue at their customary level, quite undiminished by this legislation.17                                                              14 Chambers v DPP [2012] EWHC 2157 (Admin), [2013] 1 WLR 1833 15 R v Chambers Doncaster Magistrates’ Court 10 May 2010 (unreported) 16 Per Judge Jacqueline Davis found in Laura Scaife, Handbook of Social Media and the Law (Routledge 2015) 135 17 Chambers, n.14 per Lord Judge at para 28 Although this case concerned a communication of a menacing nature, rather than a grossly offensive comment, it illustrates the difficulties of prosecuting a comment made on social media. This statement made by Lord Judge can apply to grossly offensive comments, exposing a lack of clarity when it comes to determining at what point a comment goes further than being one which is merely offensive (and so lawful), to one that is so grossly offensive it should be criminalised. In R v Woods, 18 grossly offensive comments made by the defendant resulted in prosecution and conviction. Following media coverage of a young child, April Jones, going missing in Wales, Woods, under the influence of alcohol, made a number of Facebook comments in relation to April. These included: “Who in their right mind would abduct a ginger kid?” and “I woke up this morning in the back of a transit van with two beautiful little girls, I found April in a hopeless place.” These comments later took a more sinister turn when he made sexually explicit statements regarding April. His comments quickly caught other Facebook users’ attention. His remarks were actively shared across the Facebook community, where one member publicly published Woods’ home address. Consequently, around fifty people descended upon the property where Woods lived, resulting in the police having to arrest him for his own safety. He was later rearrested and charged under the CA for sending grossly offensive comments. He received a custodial sentence of twelve weeks for his actions. A different outcome occurred in the matter of Thomas.19 Thomas, a Port Talbot footballer, made a homophobic comment about the divers Tom Daley and Peter Waterfield,                                                              18 R v Woods Chorley Magistrates Court 8 October 2012 (unreported). See also, The Telegraph, ‘April Jones: Facebook troll jailed for “despicable” comments’ The Telegraph (London, 8 October 2012) <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/facebook/9594228/April-Jones-Facebook-troll-jailed-for-despicable- comments.html> accessed 25 October 2016 19 Crown Prosecution News Brief, ‘DPP Statement On Tom Daley Case And Social Media Prosecutions’ (CPS.gov.uk, 2012) <http://blog.cps.gov.uk/2012/09/dpp-statement-on-tom-daley-case-and-social-media- prosecutions.html> accessed 27 February 2016 following them coming fourth during the 2012 Olympics: “if there is any consolation for finishing fourth atleast [sic] daley and waterfield [sic] can go bum each other #teamHIV.” Despite the nature of this message being offensive, it was deemed that this message was not so grossly offensive it warranted prosecution. Subsequently, no criminal action was brought against Thomas.20 It is perhaps easy to see why the comments made by Woods were grossly offensive and so worthy of prosecution. It is less obvious why those made by Thomas were not. Or, to put the matter more pertinently, if the two cases of Woods and Thomas are on either side of a line between comments which are merely offensive and those which are grossly so, the question arises as to where that line lies. This was an element reflected in the DPP’s statement concerning Thomas: … the CPS has the task of balancing the fundamental right of free speech and the need to prosecute serious wrongdoing on a case by case basis. That often involves very difficult judgment calls and, in the largely unchartered territory of social media, the CPS is proceeding on a case by case basis. In some cases it is clear that a criminal prosecution is the appropriate response to conduct which is complained about … But in many other cases a criminal prosecution will not be the appropriate response.21 That had followed concerns raised over the “disproportionate application of the criminal law”22 with regards to social media prosecutions. Indeed, the national lead on digital crime, Chief Constable of Essex Constabulary, Stephen Kavanagh, suggested that there was a lack of consistency in prosecuting online abuse.23                                                              20 Thomas was, though, fined by his football club, Port Talbot, for his actions. 21 Crown Prosecution News Brief, n.19 22 Jacob Rowbottom, ‘Crime and communication: do legal controls leave enough space for freedom of expression?’ in David Mangan & Lorna E. Gillies (eds), The Legal Challenges of Social Media (Edward Elgar Publishing 2017) 53 23 Matthew Weaver, ‘Police are inconsistent in tackling online abuse, admits chief constable’ The Guardian (London, 14 April 2016) <https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2016/apr/14/online-abuse-police-inconsistent- digital-crime-stephen-kavanagh> accessed 1 March 2017. See, also Alex Bailin QC & Edward Craven, ‘Prosecuting social media: the DPP’s interim guidelines’ (The International Forum for Responsible Media Blog, 23 December 2012) <https://inforrm.wordpress.com/2012/12/23/prosecuting-social-media-the-dpps-interim- guidelines-alex-bailin-qc-and-edward-craven/> accessed 20 July 2017 The lack of clarity as to what amounts to a grossly offensive comment, as well as a desire to create some form of consistency across police forces,24 led the CPS to issue interim guidelines in 2013: Guidelines on Prosecuting Cases Involving Communications Sent via Social Media. The DPP, Keir Starmer QC stated at the time of publication: The guidelines will help prosecutors to make fair and consistent decisions to prosecute in those cases that clearly require robust prosecution in accordance with the Code for Crown Prosecutors, and to uphold the right to freedom of speech in those cases where a communication might be considered grossly offensive, but the high threshold for prosecution is not met.25 Following the initial interim guidelines being published, the first House of Lords Select Committee meeting took place examining how the current criminal law framework applied to social media in the United Kingdom. Here, it was put forward that the law was adequate in governing social media and the CPS guidance was “clear and accessible.”26 Despite this, the guidelines were later updated in 2016. The following section will examine the two stage test introduced by the 2013 guidelines in order to establish whether they bring sufficient clarity to the question of when a comment is so offensive as to be a crime. The Guidelines: A two stage test The guidelines indicate that a two stage approach should be undertaken when it comes to deciding if certain conduct online should result in prosecution. The CPS will look at the facts before them and establish that two elements are present in order for a recommendation of                                                              24 BBC News, ‘Lindsay Hoyle MP says Lancashire Police “inconsistent” over social media’ The BBC (London, 18 October 2012) <http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-lancashire-19992795> accessed 1 March 2017. 25 Crown Prosecution Service, ‘DPP publishes final guidelines for prosecutions involving social media communications’ (CPS.gov.uk, 2013) <http://www.cps.gov.uk/news/latest_news/dpp_publishes_final_guidelines_for_prosecutions_involving_social_ media_communications/> accessed 20 July 2017 26 Select Committee on Communications, Social media and criminal offences (HL 2014-15, 37) para 14 prosecution to occur. First, the comment or conduct in question must fall within one of four categories:  There is a credible threat of violence, either to the person or someone’s property;  The actions can be seen to amount to “harassment, stalking, controlling or coercive behaviour, revenge pornography, an offence under the Sexual Offences Act 2003, blackmail or another offence”;27  There is a breach of a court order;  The statement in question can be considered grossly offensive, indecent, obscene or false. If it can be found that the behaviour in question falls within one of these four categories, the second part of the test will be applied: the public interest test. Essentially, public interest falls on a number of considerations:28  The seriousness of the offence – the more serious the more the likelihood of prosecution;  The culpability of the defendant – here, among other things, the criminal history of the person committing the acts will be taken into account;  The circumstances and any harm caused to the victim – the more vulnerable the victim and the greater the harm, the more likely a recommendation for prosecution will occur;                                                              27 CPS Guidelines, n.9 found under Category 2: Communications Targeting Specific Individuals 28 Crown Prosecution Service, ‘Code for Crown Prosecutors’ (CPS.gov.uk, 2016) <https://www.cps.gov.uk/publications/code_for_crown_prosecutors/codetest.html> accessed 10 October 2016  The age of the defendant – the social media guidelines suggest that it will not normally be in the public interest to prosecute those under 18 years old;  Community impact – the greater the impact upon the overall community affected by the message, the more likely it is that prosecution will be recommended;  Proportionality – with reference to the evidence available, is prosecution the appropriate response. Here, consideration must be made to the cost of bringing the action before the court;  The protection of sensitive information – would it do more harm than good to release information contained in the case into the public domain. Subsequently, with regard to online comments, if prosecution is considered to be within the public interest, when the above considerations are taken into account, and the comments fit within one of the categories established in the first part of the test, then it is more likely that the CPS will recommend prosecution. The remainder of the article will primarily consider the fourth classification in the first test of the guidelines; specifically, whether there is sufficient clarity about what amounts to a grossly offensive comment. Grossly offensive comments and the guidelines As demonstrated above, a number of issues arose when it came to prosecuting actions which might amount to being of a grossly offensive nature. As a result, the CPS attempted in both the original version of the guidelines and its newest form to combat this problem. In this section, three main elements will be explored:  The question of what may be deemed a grossly offensive comment;  Freedom of expression and its implications with regard to grossly offensive comments; and  The factors specified in the guidelines that may indicate that a prosecution would be inappropriate. What is a grossly offensive comment? In the original guidelines, the section governing grossly offensive comments starts by simply stating how the MCA and CA can be applied in relation to such comments. The guidelines briefly outline the main elements of these statutes. However, there is no new information contained in this section to which the CPS or even the police did not already have access. For instance, little clarification is contained in relation to what constitutes a grossly offensive comment. Instead the CPS relies on the judgment of Lord Justice Dyson in Connolly v DPP: “The words ‘grossly offensive’ and ‘indecent’ are ordinary English words.”29 So what then comprises a grossly offensive or indecent comment? For the CPS, context is everything. Within the guidelines, the suggestion is that conduct online differs from many other forms of communication and is similar in nature to ephemeral conversations one may encounter in a relaxed, informal social setting. This is reflected further in the House of Lords Select Committee on Communications social media report, who argue that this form of communication is casual and therefore, a higher legal threshold should be applied.30 The guidelines make use of Eady J’s judgment in Smith v ADVFN to illustrate the point: ... [they are] like contributions to a casual conversation (the analogy sometimes being drawn with people chatting in a bar) which people simply note before moving on; they are often uninhibited, casual and ill thought out; those who participate know this and expect a certain                                                              29 Connolly v DPP [2007] EWHC 237 (Admin), [2008] 1 W.L.R. 276 per Lord Justice Dyson at para 10 30 Select Committee on Communications, n.26 amount of repartee or ‘give and take’.31 The analogy that comments made online can be compared to a social situation taking place in a bar is, I suggest, flawed.32 Many abusive comments made online would not be spoken in a public setting. Indeed, online abuse may seem more sinister and therefore the likelihood that a person would say such comments, without the physical presence of a screen between them and the wider public, is slim: “activities have not only replicated those in the virtual world but also have taken on their own character fuelled by an environment where anonymity is the norm”.33 For instance, in a recent interview with the BBC, two female online gamers have spoken out about the abuse they have suffered online. In the article, they speak of being harassed online, where they have received threats of rape: “the way I get harassed is about what they would do to my body, about why I don't deserve to be there because I use my sexuality - it’s all extremely graphic”.34 Comments made online are often more explicit than statements made in the “real world”. The CPS use the judgment of Lord Judge in Chambers – that satirical, rude, potentially offensive comments or unpopular opinions should be permitted – to illustrate that the comments in question need to go beyond what is considered tolerable within society.35 This is a very subjective approach; what one person might find “more than offensive,” another might not. This, therefore, adds little to our understanding of what constitutes a                                                              31 Nigel Peter William Smith v ADVFN Plc [2008] EWHC 1797 per Justice Eady at para 14 32 Further arguments have been put forward that although online communications are like everyday speech, these digital conversations remain “stored and searchable”. See, Jacob Rowbottom, ‘Casual comments and legal controls: watch what you say online’ (The International Forum for Responsible Media Blog, 13 April 2012) <https://inforrm.wordpress.com/2012/04/13/casual-comments-and-legal-controls-watch-what-you-say-online- jacob-rowbottom/> accessed 20 July 2017. See also, Diane Rowland, Uta Kohl and Andrew Charlesworth, Information Technology Law (5th edn, Routledge 2017) 306 33 Subhajit Basu & Richard Jones, ‘Regulating Cyberstalking’ (2007) 2 Journal of Information, Law and Technology 1, 4 34 BBC News ‘100 Women 2016: The women challenging sexism in e-sports’ The BBC (London, 21 November 2016) <http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/technology-37992322> accessed 22 November 2016 35 Chambers, n.14 grossly offensive comment. Simply put, the CPS has created a document of case law comments, which does very little to clearly establish the point at which the law can intervene on a matter. For better clarification, the guidelines could have contained explicit examples, in their relevant context, of comments which would be considered grossly offensive and those which would not. For example, clarifying why a Facebook comment stating that “all soldiers should die and go to hell”36 was offensive and therefore warranted prosecution but threats of physical violence via social media was not a breach of the law.37 Furthermore, the case of Woods, as mentioned previously, could have been used to illustrate how the CPS concluded that his actions warranted prosecution. Instead, the CPS has made brief references to judicial commentary, without supplying specific examples of when a comment will be deemed to be one so grossly offensive it warrants prosecution. Subsequently, the ambiguity of what would amount to a grossly offensive comment remained despite the publication of the 2013 guidelines. This is a factor which is not overcome in the 2016 updated version of the guidelines. Here, the issue of grossly offensive comments takes a similar format, though a non- exhaustive list of judicial dicta is now given. Despite the inclusion of these comments, like that of the previous guidelines, there are no explicit examples of when a statement will be regarded as one that is grossly offensive. All the judgments referred to in this section predate the guidelines themselves; essentially, the CPS has made no reference to cases which have gone before the courts between 2013 and 2016. This is a failure on behalf of the CPS. The                                                              36 R v Azhar Ahmed Huddersfield Magistrates’ Court 9 October 2012. See also, Helen Carter, ‘Man gets community sentence for Facebook post about dead soldiers’ The Guardian (London, 9 October 2012) <https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2012/oct/09/community-sentence-facebook-dead-soldiers> accessed 22 July 2017 37 Sky News, ‘McCann Trolls: Police Won't Take Action’ Sky News (London, 1 May 2015) <http://news.sky.com/story/mccann-trolls-police-wont-take-action-10361261> accessed 24 July 2017 CPS could have taken the opportunity in the updated version of the guidelines to demonstrate how they are applied in a working context. For instance, one case that came before the courts after the publication of the 2013 guidelines concerned abusive messages aimed at the feminist campaigner Caroline Criado- Perez. In January 2014, two individuals were prosecuted under section 127 of the CA following their sending of grossly offensive tweets to Criado-Perez. This followed her well- documented campaign to get the author Jane Austin printed on bank notes in the United Kingdom.38 Messages ranged from derogatory comments about Criado-Perez to threats of rape. The CPS could have taken this opportunity to give a detailed statement as to why these two individuals were prosecuted and others were not. For instance, it could have drawn on aggravated factors such as the anonymity of the messages, the continued abuse aimed at Criado-Perez by the defendants and the comments spanning over more than one social media site.39 In addition, despite the successful prosecution of these two individuals, others who had also been abusive towards the writer were not brought before the courts.40 Little clarification has been given by the CPS as to why this was the case. In addition, the case of R v Newsome41 could be used as a further example. In 2014, following the murder of a teacher, Ann Maguire, by a student, Newsome posted the following comment on his Facebook page: “Personally im [sic] glad that teacher got stabbed up [sic], feel sorry for the kid… he shoulda [sic] pissed on her too.” He was later convicted and sentenced to 6 weeks under section 127 of the CA. Again, this case could have been used to demonstrate the application of the guidelines. Reference could have been made to factors                                                              38 R v John Raymond Nimmo and Isabella Kate Sorley Westminster’s Magistrates’ Court 24 January 2014. See also, Alexandra Topping, ‘Jane Austen Twitter row: two plead guilty to abusive tweets’ The Guardian (London, 7 January 2014) <https://www.theguardian.com/society/2014/jan/07/jane-austen-banknote-abusive-tweets- criado-perez> accessed 10 October 2016 39 These factors, and more, were taken into account by the court. 40 Crown Prosecution Service News Brief, ‘CPS authorises charges in Twitter-related cases’ (CPS.gov.uk, 2013) <http://www.cps.gov.uk/news/latest_news/stella_creasy_mp_caroline_criado-perez/> accessed 26 October 2016 41 R v Jake Newsome Leeds Magistrates’ Court 4 June 2014 (unreported) which led to the conclusion that prosecution was appropriate as well as to any aggravating and mitigating considerations which may have been taken into account. The guidelines, therefore, provide little clarity as to when a comment goes further than being one deemed as offensive, to a comment considered so grossly offensive it warrants prosecution. Grossly Offensive Comments v Freedom of Expression When it comes to prosecuting online commentary, freedom of expression must be taken into account. Under the European Convention of Human Rights, citizens have the qualified right of freedom of expression.42 The guidelines give significant weight to free speech, with a high threshold test being applied to all statements in order to establish whether they warrant criminal intervention. In essence, the CPS argue that a higher threshold will be applied to potentially grossly offensive comments, owing to human rights considerations. The guidelines recognise the importance of the right of freedom of expression and state that no prosecution should be brought under section 1 of the Malicious Communications Act 1988 or section 127 of the Communications Act 2003 … unless it can be shown on its own facts and merits to be both necessary and proportionate. 43 This reflects the courts’ approach to this convention right, as suggested by Akhtar, who states that Lord Judge’s judgment in Chambers “tilts” in the direction of freedom of expression in social media law cases.44 However, other rights may be under threat when it comes to abusive comments made online, as supported by the Secretary General for the United Nations:                                                              42 European Convention of Human Rights Article 10. 43 CPS Guidelines, n.9 found under The High Threshold Test 44 Zia Akhtar, ‘Malicious communications, media platforms and legal sanctions’ (2014) 20 (6) Computer and Telecommunications Law Review 179, 181 The technical difficulty of regulating the content of messages broadcast through the Internet makes it a particularly effective means of misusing the freedom of expression and inciting discrimination and other abuses of human rights.45 The guidelines indicate the importance of protecting freedom of expression. This is consistent with the jurisprudence of the European Court of Human Rights, which gives clear primacy to this right.46 However, the guidelines fail to make direct reference to other rights which may be breached when it comes to abuse online, such as the right to respect for one’s private life.47 The balancing of convention rights against each other is nothing new for the justice system, yet the lack of direct reference to rights and considerations – other than freedom of expression – that may be in play when considering the legality of online comments, is an error.48 Concerns have been raised that the guidelines give clear weight to freedom of speech and consequently, allow “cyber-bullying to go unchallenged.”49 Following implementation of the guidelines, prosecutions for sending threating abuse online dropped by a third50 despite an increase in police reports concerning social media.51 Indeed, Agate and Ledward suggest that if the case of Woods (the individual who made grossly offensive comments regarding the                                                              45 The Secretary-General, Preliminary Rep. of the Secretary-General on Globalization and Its Impact on the Full Enjoyment of All Human Rights, 11 26-28, U.N.Doc. A/55/342 (Aug. 31, 2000) 6 46 Handyside v United Kingdom (1976) 1 EHRR 737, para 49. Such significant weight is given to the freedom of expression, as it is considered a fundamental right of a democratic society; therefore, the freedom of expression is highly protected by the European Court of Human Rights, which is reflected in the guidelines. See, European Court of Human Rights, ‘Internet: case-law of the European Court of Human Rights’ (ECHR, June 2015) <http://www.echr.coe.int/Documents/Research_report_internet_ENG.pdf> accessed 3 March 2017 47 European Convention of Human Rights Article 8. 48 For an argument suggesting that Article 8 should take precedence in cases concerning social media, see, Lorna Wood, ‘Social Media: it not just about Article 10’ in David Mangan & Lorna E. Gillies (eds), The Legal Challenges of Social Media (Edward Elgar Publishing 2017) 104-124 49 Jacob Rowbottom, n.22, 54 50 Alice Philipson, ‘Online bullies go unpunished as prosecutions for abusive messages plunge by a third’ The Telegraph (London, 30 January 2014) <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/social-media/10606329/Online- bullies-go-unpunished-as-prosecutions-for-abusive-messages-plunge-by-a-third.html> accessed 20 July 2017 51 Martin Evans, ‘Police facing rising tide of social media crimes’ The Telegraph (London, 5 June 2015) <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/crime/11653092/Police-facing-rising-tide-of-social-media- crimes.html> accessed 20 July 2017. For a critique of these figures, see, Jacob Rowbottom, n.22 missing school girl, April Jones) was presented to the CPS today, the case would never make it before the courts.52 The CPS have attempted to overcome some of these difficulties in the updated version of the guidelines by including specific sections dealing with hate crimes and violence against women and girls in the UK, where the commission of such offences may be aided by social media. Both these sections imply that comments which amount to hate crimes or promote violence against women and girls53 are likely to breach the high threshold test, and therefore warrant prosecution. This is a significant step forward by the CPS, as hate crime has recently been on the increase in the UK,54 this is especially true in relation to hate crime conducted online since the referendum in the UK on membership of the European Union.55 The CPS have thus attempted to take into account other factors outside freedom of expression in the newest version of the guidelines. This is a significant step forward in the protection of individuals from online abuse, although it is yet to be seen how these changes will be applied in reality. Proportionality                                                              52 Jennifer Agate & Jocelyn Ledward, ‘Social media: how the net is closing in on cyber bullies’ (2013) 24 Entertainment Law Review 263, 264. This is disputed by Dorfman. She is highly critical of the law’s interference with conduct carried out via the use of social media. She suggests that it is for society to dictate and comment on when an action goes beyond a statement of bad taste. For her, the guidelines are too wide and, therefore, leave open the possibility that freedom of speech will be limited. See, Rosalee Dorfman, ‘Can you say “social media prosecutions” with a straight face? The Crown Prosecution Service can’ (2013) The Leeds Journal of Law and Criminology <http://criminology.leeds.ac.uk/2013/09/05/social-media-prosecutions/> accessed 20 October 2016. 53 Sills et al state “the pervasiveness of these platforms [social network sites] – such as Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, and numerous others – has driven many social and cultural activities online” including violence against women”. Sophie Sills, Chelsea Pickens, Karishma Beach, Lloyd Jones, Octavia Calder-Dawe, Paulette Benton- Greig, & Nicola Gavey, ‘Rape culture and social media: young critics and a feminist counterpublic’ (2016) 16 (6) Feminist Media Studies 1, 5 54 Katie Forster, ‘Hate crimes soared by 41% after Brexit vote, official figures reveal’ The Independent (London, 13 October 2016) <http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/crime/brexit-hate-crimes-racism-eu-referendum- vote-attacks-increase-police-figures-official-a7358866.html> accessed 14 February 2017. See also, Jon Robins, ‘Post Brexit Hate Crimes’ (2016) 180 Criminal Law Justice Weekly 696 55 Cara McGoogan, ‘Government funds research into social media hate crime after Brexit vote’ The Telegraph (London, 9 February 2017) <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/2017/02/09/government-funds-research- social-media-hate-crime-brexit-vote/> accessed 14 February 2017 It is clear that not all grossly offensive comments made online will result in prosecution. Rowbottom states that “there are simply not the resources to prosecute all those [grossly offensive comments] that could fall foul to the letter of these laws.”56 Similarly, Chief Constable of Essex Constabulary, Stephen Kavanagh, has publicly spoken about the continued pressure on the police when it comes to online abuse: “the levels of abuse that now take place within the internet are on a level we never really expected. If we did try to deal with all of it we would clearly be swamped”.57 The guidelines reflect the notion that prosecution should only occur where it is appropriate. Indeed, prosecution is “unlikely to be necessary and proportionate” where one or more of the following elements are present: genuine remorse being expressed by the defendant for their behaviour; comments being swiftly removed from social media platforms; proof that the conduct in question was never intended for a wide audience; or if the comments can be regarded as simply a person expressing their right to freedom of speech. If some, or all, of these elements are present in a matter before the CPS, it is unlikely that a recommendation for prosecution will be put forward. However, similar to the issue of what is deemed a grossly offensive comment, little clarity is given on these factors within the guidelines. For example, what constitutes swift action in relation to removing a statement online? Could it be said that removing a comment within 24 hours is sufficient? The guidelines do not provide an answer to this question, or any indicative examples; this is a significant flaw on the CPS’s behalf. Conclusion                                                              56 Jacob Rowbottom, n.32 57 Sandra Laville, ‘Online abuse: “existing laws too fragmented and don’t serve victims”’ The Guardian (London, 4 March 2016) <https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2016/mar/04/online-abuse-existing-laws-too- fragmented-and-dont-serve-victims-says-police-chief> accessed 04 October 2016 The reasoning behind the implementation of the guidelines was to create some form of coherency and consistency when it came to the prosecution of online abuse. Nearly one year on from the updated document, there are still issues when it comes to grossly offensive commentary online. The CPS could overcome these difficulties by being more transparent in the methods they undertake when it comes to their decision-making processes of prosecuting grossly offensive material posted online. Here, the CPS should publish statements after a case is considered in the judicial system as to how they came to the decision that the matter should be brought before the courts. The recent case of R v Omega Mwaikambo58 provides an example. Although this case concerned a grossly offensive pictures rather than comments, the defendant was successfully prosecuted under section 127 of the CA. Following a fire in a tower block in Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, London, Mwaikambo published an image on his Facebook page of a body of a man killed in the disaster. The photo, which was taken by Mwaikambo, clearly displayed the deceased’s face and other distinguishing factors, after Mwaikambo opened the body bag to take the images.59 Despite numerous requests from other Facebook users to remove the photo, he did not do this, claiming that posting the image was a form of protest about how the deceased was being treated by the authorities.60 The picture was reported to police, resulting in Mwaikambo receiving a 12- week custodial sentence, despite having no previous convictions. This case could be used as an example to illustrate how the CPS reached their conclusion that the matter should go before the courts. Emphasis should be placed on how the                                                              58 R v Omega Mwaikambo Westminster’s Magistrates’ Court, 17 June 2017 (unreported) 59 The deceased had been placed in a body bag which had been left unattended following the aftermath of the fire. 60 Telegraph Reporters, ‘Man jailed for sharing photo of dead Grenfell Tower fire victim on Facebook’ ) The Telegraph (London, 16 June 2017) <http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2017/06/16/man-jailed-sharing-photo- dead-grenfell-tower-fire-victim-facebook/> accessed 26 July 2017 two-stage test, as set out in the guidelines, was applied taking into account any aggravating factors, such as his refusal to remove the pictures. This would create more clarity as to what constitutes “grossly offensive” in a social media context. Furthermore, the factors considered in cases which do not result in a recommendation of prosecution should be made available to the public, with a clear explanation as to why it was decided not to prosecute. With online abuse slowly becoming more common within society, more needs to be done to tackle this behaviour. Following the 2017 general election, the abuse and intimidation of MPs, particularly online abuse, resulted in Theresa May calling for a parliamentary inquiry to be held.61 Labour shadow home secretary Diane Abbott recalled just some of the comments she had received via social media during a parliamentary debate: In my case, the mindless abuse has been characteristically racist and sexist. I have had death threats, and people tweeting that I should be hanged “if they could find a tree big enough to take the fat bitch’s weight”. There was an English Defence League-affiliated Twitter account—#burnDianeAbbot. I have had rape threats, and been described as a “Pathetic useless fat black piece of shit”, an “ugly, fat black bitch”, and a “nigger”—over and over again.62 Other MPs were subject to similar comments, with social media playing a key part in the targeting of these individuals. The issues of consistency and how the phrase ‘grossly offensive’ should be understood have not been overcome by the publication of either the 2013 or the 2016 guidelines. Little clarity is given by the CPS as to when a comment would go beyond being simply offensive, to one being so grossly offensive it should result in prosecution. The guidelines still need further modification, to reflect recent judicial decisions and lay a basis for more strongly articulated criteria for prosecution decisions. The new guidelines should include details of the decision making processes adopted, and factors considered, in actual                                                              61 Andrew Sparrow, ‘May orders inquiry into abuse of parliamentary candidates - Politics live’ The Guardian (London, 13 July 2017) <https://www.theguardian.com/politics/blog/live/2017/jul/12/pmqs-grenfell-tower- damian-green-emily-thornberry-labour-accuse-tory-hq-of-personal-attacks-smears-and-untruths-as-mps-debate- candidate-abuse-politics-live> accessed 24 July 2017 62 HC Deb 12 July 2017, Vol 627, Col 152-170, 159 cases when deciding whether or not to prosecute. The new guidelines should also state that, when deciding on prosecution, account should be given to the significant effect online abuse can have on an individual. 
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work_yihp5sx2szg3tc6t3vi73qwp2y	----	Two or Three Things I Know about Setting Two or Three Things I Know about Setting Max Byrd Eighteenth-Century Fiction, Volume 12, Number 2-3, January-April 2000, pp. 185-192 (Article) Published by University of Toronto Press DOI: For additional information about this article [ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ] https://doi.org/10.1353/ecf.2000.0026 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/412295/summary https://doi.org/10.1353/ecf.2000.0026 https://muse.jhu.edu/article/412295/summary Two or Three Things I Know about Setting Max Byrd Aword ofconfession at first. Several years ago I strayed from the strict world of eighteenth-century scholarship and began to write fiction of my own. I started with "hard-boiled" crime novels about a predictably oversexed and wisecracking private detective in San Francisco. Then I moved on to more expansive and complicated thrillers with international themes and sinister, exotic locales such as Harvard Yard and Paris. And most recently, I have been writing historical novels about the American past, the first of which treated a few years in the life of the philosophe Thomas Jefferson. (I resist the temptation to describe this as progress from hard-boiled to egghead.) Not completely to my surprise, writing fiction has dramatically changed the way I teach the eighteenth-century novel, and also changed the kind of scholarly criticism that I assign to students or read myself. (I am in entire agreement with Johnson's observation that "theory" is "speculation by those unversed in practice.") But one thing that has not changed is my admiration for Ian Watt's The Rise of the Novel, which seems to me still the definitive account of its subject. I like especially the fact that, for all its impressive historical and sociological learning, The Rise of the Novel is a highly literary book, by which I mean that it is chiefly concerned with matters such as plot and character, the topics in my experience that EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION, Volume 12, Number 2-3, January-April 2000 186 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION working novelists and editors are chiefly concerned with, not to mention readers. And I find absolutely true and right Watt's central argument that the "defining characteristic" of the novel is "the individual apprehension of reality."1 Or to put it another way, the novelist is in love with concrete nouns. Defoe is a novelist not so much because of his myth-making powers or his ability to project himself psychologically into his narrator, but largely because his mind turns constantly and automatically, as he writes, to the names ofphysicalobjects (open anypage ofRobinson Crusoe). Carol Hou- lihan Flynn sees the great white feather bed thatMoll Flanders tosses from a burning house as a complicated symbol of death, "physical and spir- itual loneliness," and "the weight of sexuality"; but really Defoe is not much given to symbols like that—the white feather bed is simply there, like Jay Gatsby's cascade ofbeautiful silk shirts, because a novelist's ima- gination fastens with greatest delight onto things, not concepts.2 A careful reader can see the exact moment when Tristram Shandy changes from be- ing a rather vague and undefined ecclesiastical burlesque into a novel—it is the moment in chapter 21, volume 1, when Walter Shandy's wandering attention pauses to focus on "my uncle Toby's" "new pair of black-plush- breeches," and the real, literal, authentic world of what historians call "material history" suddenly falls like a rock into the story. This sense of material history is nowhere stronger than in the presenta- tion of "setting" in a novel. Watt uses the term "space" (as "the necessary correlative" of "time") and remarks on the indifference to realistic time and space in earlier writers such as Sidney and Shakespeare. The picar- esque novel of the late seventeenth century, he concedes, has incidental descriptions of realistic settings. But "Defoe would seem to be the first of our writers who visualized the whole of his narrative as though it oc- curred in an actual physical environment." (Which is exactly how anovelist works, with the scene unrolling like a strip of film in his head; alternat- ively, Ford Madox Ford advises the beginner to "write as if the action of your novel were taking place before your eyes on a brightly lit stage.")3 This discovery of setting as an element of craft is for me one of the most interesting events in the rise of the novel. From Defoe's tenacious 1 Ian Watt, The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1964), pp. 10, 15. 2 Carol Houlihan Flynn, The Body in Swift and Defoe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), p. 62. 3 Watt, p. 26; Ford Madox Ford, quoted in John Braine, Writing a Novel (London: Eyre Methuen, 1974), p. 51. ABOUT SETTING 187 and obsessive lists of physical objects in a landscape, Richardson will turn to the more suggestive and psychologically charged presentation of interior settings only—hisnarrowpassagewaysandshadowycorridors lead directly into the house of James; and Fielding will go on to be at times as topographical and systematic as an ordnance map, a liberating precision that reaches its fullest expression in Joyce's Dublin. Eventually, after the novel has passed through its Gothic filter at the end of the eighteenth century, setting will become, in the hands of writers such as Balzac and Emily Brontë, almost the equivalent ofcharacter itself. But the truth is, although Defoe was an awful stylist and a coarse, inconsistent creator of character, like most great artists at the beginning of a new tradition, he manages to lay out all the important principles. When I teach the rise of the novel, I ask my students to think about three basic rules for setting, all ofwhich can be derived from Daniel Defoe. Divide and Contrast What most readers remember first about Robinson Crusoe is, of course, the desert island. And nobodyhas written more eloquently thanWatt about the universal, nearly mythological force of that brilliant image. For the practising novelist, however, Defoe's account of the famous island is also a textbook exercise in dramatizing setting. The first thing any storyteller has to learn is how to create contrast and conflict—drama. Robinson Crusoe's memorable island is not a simple, unified, undramatic space such as a New Yorker cartoonist might draw. His island has a "good" section where he is washed ashore and where he builds an elaborate fortifiedcabin, his "Sea-shoreHouse."Farther inlandhe constructs a very different "Country House" in a pleasant shady savannah that he transforms into a farm and enclosure for his goats. The "bad" section is at the other end of the island, a long rocky beach where Crusoe finds bones and other remnants of cannibal rituals and which he avoids as much as possible, out of sheer terror that he might be captured there and devoured. And this is the sine qua non of setting. If you have a space, divide it into parts and set them in collision with one another. If you have an Isabel Archer trapped in Gilbert Osmond's "house of darkness, house of suffocation," place her again and again where she can see a window, and through the window the wide green lawn that rolls away to freedom. If you are F. Scott Fitzgerald ferrying your protagonist from one part of Paris to another—a routine novelistic task—take advantage of the natural 188 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION division and conflict of the city : "The Place de la Concorde moved by in pink majesty; they crossed the logical Seine, and Charlie felt the sudden provincial quality of the Left Bank." In so simple an act as meeting a train in pre-Civil War Washington, Gore Vidal opposes "stately avenue" and "squalid train depot" and notes that along the sidings "Huge carts stood ready to be filled with Northern merchandise to be exchanged for Southern tobacco, raw cotton, food."4 Defoe has an instinctive feeling for such division and contrast. Crusoe's cave behind his seashore house may be, as Homer Brown suggests, a per- sonal image of his fascination with being devoured, but it is also a way of doing what a novelist does automatically, at every opportunity: mul- tiply contrasts—inside/outside, light/dark.5 In the Journal of the Plague Year Defoe almost reflexively contrasts sick London with healthy coun- tryside, dangerous streets with safe interiors. MollFlanders has twoentirely different Londons: the secret place where she dwells apart, and the public commercial stretches where she goes in disguise and steals. In Robinson Crusoe, if nowhere else, Defoe also takes the next step: di- vide and contrast your characters' reactions to the setting. When Crusoe returns to the site of the cannibal feast on the beach, he has one reac- tion, Friday has another: "my very Blood ran chill in my Veins, and my Heart sunkwithin me, at theHorrorofthe Spectacle: Indeed, it was adread- ful Sight, at least it was so to me; though Friday made nothing of it."6 This is the principle that leads Somerset Maugham (a writer most unjustly neg- lectedby the academy) toplace two entirely differentkinds ofEnglishmen, Warburton and Cooper, in an outpost of the empire and have one accom- modate, one defy their surroundings. It is how Conrad deals with jungle, and Melville with the sea. At the highest level ofart, Hemingway will have two characters look at precisely the same landscape, and one, the literalist, will see nothing but an arid, sterile plain, while the other, the metaphorist, will see beautiful fertile hills that look "like white elephants."7 4 Henry James, The Portrait ofa Lady, Modern Library (New York: Random House, 1951), part 2, chap. 42, p. 196; F. Scott Fitzgerald, "Babylon Revisited," Babylon Revisited and Other Stories (New York: Scribner's, 1960), p. 211; and Gore Vidal, Lincoln (New York: Ballantine Books, 1985), p. 3. 5 Homer O. Brown, "The Displaced Self in the Novels of Daniel Defoe," £¿//38 (1971), 562-90. 6 Daniel Defoe, Robinson Crusoe, ed. J. Donald Crowley, World's Classics (Oxford: Oxford Uni- versity Press, 1981), p. 207. 7 W. Somerset Maugham, "The Outstation," Short Story Masterpieces, ed. R.P. Warren and Albert Erskine (New York: Dell Books, 1954); Ernest Hemingway, "Hills Like White Elephants," The Oxford Book ofShort Stories, ed. VS. Pritchett (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981). ABOUT SETTING 189 Present Your Setting in Motion The second rule of setting is especially congenial to someone as tempera- mentally restless as Defoe. A few years ago I attendedclasses inbomb squad training at the Califor- nia Highway Patrol Academy. One ofour lessons concernedhow to search a room in which a bomb is concealed. What the searcher does not do, of course, is look around at panic-stricken random, letting the eyejump from place to place as impulse carries it. Instead, you divide the room into quad- rants (an alternative method is to divide it into bottom third, middle third, top) and you proceed to look systematically, from quadrant to quadrant, sweeping high to low, up and down, until you find your target. And this is how a novelist presents a setting. The reader does not begin by seeing Crusoe's island all at once, as if on a static map or from an aerial view. On the contrary, slowly, inch by inch, we push aside the overhanging leaves and branches, shade our eyes, and follow Crusoe's wary, tentative footsteps deeper and deeper into the island. Only after a long period of exploration and travel will we finally reach the climactic site of the cannibal rituals and the beach with the solitary footprint, our target, so to speak. When Moll Flanders commits her first theft and turns to flee, Defoe moves us rapidly from street to street, dark alley to dark alley in the great city until we burst free of the labyrinth and sprint to safety. Nothingcouldbemoredifferent fromthe settingpresented in theopening chapter of The Portrait ofa Lady—a novel constructed mostly of houses and rooms—but the principle of motion is the same. James begins with an English summer-house at twilight, when the air has grown "mellow" and the shadows are "long upon the smooth, dense turf." Then by degrees he carries us up the lawn to the wicker chairs where three men are taking their tea, and past them on to the great brick house itself and into its rich, luxurious interior; and finally he swings back again, down the lawn to the river's edge and up once more to the tea-drinking trio (his target) and the dialogue begins. Fitzgerald follows the same principle in the sentence about Paris quoted earlier: we feel the difference between the contrasting parts ofParis only ifwe are in motion, crossing the Seine. PG. Wodehouse (mulishly neglected by the academy) often begins a Blandings Castle story by following a moonbeam from room to room or tracing an awe- struck newcomer's arrival up the gravel paths and through the gardens of that porcine Eden. When Phillip Marlowe calls on General Sternwood in his overheated greenhouse, we begin by standing on the doorstep of the mansion and proceed step by step, looking over his shoulder, through the 190 EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY FICTION entrance hallway, down the corridors, until the butler pulls open the last door, the steam rises, and we are in the general's presence.8 The Setting Must Provoke an Emotion I sometimes ask my undergraduate fiction-writing class to do a setting exercise: "describe your own room from the point of view of someone— amemberofthe opposite sex—seeing it for the first time." I hope, naturally, thatthey willusedramatic contrast andconflict (a riotousbed, aneatdesk; a clearwindow, acluttered wall) andalso lead the reader's eye systematically to a character-revealing point or image (a painting over the desk, a snow- sled hung on a door). But most of all I hope that the character seeing the room for the first time will have an emotion. Poor castaway Crusoe has the strongest possible emotions about his island: the Anguish of my Soul at my Condition, would break out upon me on a sudden, and my very Heart would die within me, to think of the Woods, the Mountains, the Desarts I was in; and how I was a Prisoner lock'd up with the Eternal Bars and Bolts of the Ocean, in an uninhabitedWilderness, withoutRedemption: In the midst of the greatest Composures ofmy Mind, this would break out upon me like a Storm, and make me wring my Hands, and weep like a Child.9 Moll Flanders, too, roars and weeps like a child at the sight of New- gate Prison, where she was born; and H.F. contemplates plague-stricken London, sometimes with curiosity, mostly with fear and trembling. The key word in Fitzgerald's sentence, quoted earlier, is, of course, "felt": "Charlie felt the sudden provincial quality of the Left Bank"; a paragraph later Charlie will look on an especially beautiful prospect of the avenue de l'Opéra and exclaim: "I spoiled this city for myself!" When Jane Austen tells Fanny Price's story, she naturally divides and contrasts: the house "in Portsmouth is the abode of noise, disorder, and impropriety. Nobody was in their right place, nothing was done as it ought to be." Therefore thehouse atMansfieldPark is notable for its "elegance,propriety, regularity, harmony" andFanny will ultimately choose it for her home. But from the very start Jane Austen's genius leads her not only to divide and contrast, but also to provoke multiple emotions from one setting. IfFanny Price will come to be happy at Mansfield Park, her^zm reaction, as a little girl, shows the opposite emotion: 8 Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1939), chap. 1. 9 Robinson Crusoe, p. 113. ABOUT SETTING 191 The grandeur of the house astonished her, but could not console her. The rooms were too large for her to move in with ease; whatever she touched she expected to injure, and shecreptabout in constant terrorofsomethingorother; often retreating towards her own chamber to cry.10 Imaginary settings with real tears in them—it is pleasant to remember that not all settings lead a novel's hero or heroine to lamentation and sadness. Crusoe will eventually dry his eyes and come to regard his island as his comfortable "Home"; at the end he calls it his "Kingdom." And when the novel has risen about as far as it can go, Huck Finn will remind us that the real world it takes for its setting can also provoke us to love: Sometimes we'd have thatwhole river all to ourselves for the longest time. Yonder was the banks and the islands, across the water; and maybe a spark—which was a candle in a cabin window, and sometimes on the water you could see a spark or two—on a raft or a scow, you know; and maybe you could hear a fiddle or a song coming over from one of them crafts. It's lovely to live on a raft.11 University ofCalifornia, Davis 10Jane Austen, Mansfield Park, ed. R.W. Chapman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988), pp. 14-15. 1 1 Mark Twain, Huckleberry Finn, chap. 19, "The Duke and the Dauphin Come Aboard." 
work_yjtkdil2pfg7hpy6i6shpc3r3m	----	VLC_46_3-4_BookReviews 759..763 during the Victorian period. Based on our current preoccupation with defining what we mean when we talk about Victorian materiality through “thing theory” and other object-based methodologies, this labor continues to haunt us today. NOTES 1. Daniel Hack, The Material Interests of the Victorian Novel (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2005), 1. 2. Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx: The State of Debt, the Work of Mourning and the New International, trans. Peggy Kamuf (New York: Routledge, 1994), 5. 3. Verax [J. J. G. Wilkinson], “Evenings with Mr. Home and the Spirits,” Spiritual Herald (February 1856): 5. 4. J[ames]Burns, “The Work of the Spiritualist, and How to Do It?” Medium and Daybreak, November 17, 1876, 722–23. 5. Rev. W. Mountford, “Thoughts on Spiritualism,” Spiritual Magazine (November 1869): 481–82. 6. M. A. Oxon [William Stainton Moses], “After All, Is There Any Such Thing as Matter?” Human Nature (May 1877): 194. 7. Oxon, “After All,” 194. 8. Epes Sargent, The Proof Palpable of Immortality, 2nd ed. (Boston: Colby and Rich, 1881), 21. 9. “How Do Spirits Make Themselves Visible?” Spiritual Magazine (June 1872): 256. 10. Karl Marx, Capital, Vol. 1, trans. Ben Fowkes (New York: Penguin, 1976), 311. Media ALISON BYERLY ALTHOUGH the term “media” postdates the Victorian period,Victorian culture was suffused with media. In fact, mediation, broadly defined, was a defining aesthetic of the period, and one could argue that the field of media studies properly begins with the nineteenth century. MATERIALITY, MEDIA 759 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000761 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000761 https://www.cambridge.org/core Many Victorian art forms sought to expand the boundaries of their medium by incorporating other media. In the world of visual art, pre- Raphaelite painters created pictures based on poems, or, like Dante Gabriel Rossetti, wrote poems to accompany paintings. Later in the cen- tury, photographer Julia Margaret Cameron created photographs to illus- trate Alfred Tennyson’s Idylls of the Kings, among other literary works. These artworks aligned representation with reproduction by disseminat- ing the original work far beyond its original instantiation, a popularizing move that anticipated later technologies of transmission. As Martin Meisel demonstrated in Realizations: Narrative, Pictorial, and Theatrical Arts in Nineteenth-Century England, theater was profoundly influ- enced by visual art and vice versa. Theatrical renderings of famous paint- ings led to an in-home version of this form of mediation, tableaux vivants, a kind of parlor game in which guests posed as famous paintings.1 A piv- otal scene in George Eliot’s Daniel Deronda adds another layer of media- tion by offering a literary depiction of an amateur actress posing as a painting.2 Nineteenth-century “program music” sought to create narra- tives or evoke scenes, as in Hector Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique (1830) or Paul Dukas’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice (1897). Commercial media also blossomed during this period. The reduced cost and improved quality of printing led to a boom in mass distribution of paper advertising products, such as leaflets, brochures, and pamphlets, as well as paper novelties, like paper dolls, cardboard toy theaters, fold-out panoramas, greeting cards, and cartes de visite featuring photographic portraits. Trade cards, which first came into use in the eighteenth century, became more lavishly illustrated forms of advertise- ment. As Ann McClintock, Thomas Richard, and Jennifer Wicke have shown, the influence of advertising media on literature and society was far-reaching.3 The Victorians also invented entirely new forms of mass media, such as the panorama or diorama, an entertainment staple of the period. Enormous 360-degree paintings filled large venues with painstakingly detailed renderings of scenes depicting great cities, such as London, Paris, Rome, or Constantinople; great battles; or even actual journeys, through what became known as “moving panoramas” that recreated a trip down the Rhine or Mississippi. Often, a narrator would offer a rem- iniscence or commentary that enhanced the documentary value of the representation. Other theatrical trappings sought to create a “you are there” sense of immersion in the scene.4 Panoramas were often accompa- nied by lectures, performances, guidebooks, maps, and other ancillary 760 VLC • VOL. 46, NO. 3/4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000761 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000761 https://www.cambridge.org/core productions, making them one of the earliest instances of multiplatform entertainment. I have argued that many forms of Victorian textual representation should also be considered media, and that the confluence and overlap among these forms gives literature a place within the trajectory of media development that leads from panoramas, through cinema, to con- temporary virtual reality and similarly immersive media experiences. All of these forms show an evolution towards increasing realism and sense of presence. The major strategies of nineteenth-century fiction strive for these same qualities. The ingratiating stance of the narrator, the cine- matic rendering of landscape, and, above all, the self-reflexivity of Victorian fiction contribute to a sense of immersion in the text that is analogous to many of the strategies performed by other media. Victorian fiction reflects the great interest in emerging technologies of communication. Telegraphy plays a prominent role in works by Arthur Conan Doyle, Thomas Hardy, Henry James, Bram Stoker, and others. As Stephen Arata noted in his seminal article on Dracula, telegrams, type- writers, and stenographic machines are crucial to generating the texts that form the basis of the novel.5 A number of Victorian scholars have compared Victorian communication networks, such as the telegraph and the postal service, to contemporary communication systems.6 Jay David Bolter and Richard Grusin popularized the term “remedi- ation” to describe the tendency of new media to reconceptualize and refashion old media forms.7 New media, they claimed, do not kill off their antecedents but rather absorb them into new modes of representa- tion. We see this process at work in the Victorian period and beyond, in the way that photographs mimic the qualities of visual and theatrical art, while turn of the century cinema continues to employ many of the strat- egies of the midcentury panorama display. These transitions are consis- tent with the kind of evolution described by Henry Jenkins and David Thorburn, who see media change as an “accretive, gradual process . . . in which emerging and established systems interact, shift, and collude with one another.”8 The Victorian obsession with media may account for the twenty-first century obsession with re-presenting Victorian texts and themes in the most contemporary media. In addition to a continuing stream of Jane Austen and Charles Dickens film adaptations, there is the wildly popular BBC Sherlock, which takes media technology as a central theme and trans- lates it from the nineteenth century to the present. Holmes’ frequent telegrams become texts, and Sherlock’s laptop computer serves as a MEDIA 761 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000761 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000761 https://www.cambridge.org/core visual metaphor for his encyclopedic brain. There have also been a num- ber of Victorian video games, including Sherlock Holmes: Crimes and Punishments (Focus Home Interactive, 2014), Victoria: An Empire Under the Sun (Paradox Interactive, 2003), and Victoria II (Paradox, 2010). And, of course, the growing field of digital scholarship related to the Victorian period is a further testament to the forward compatibility of Victorian art. The field of Victorian studies has always recognized the dynamic interconnections among different forms of art and culture in the period. Treating these forms of representation as “media” highlights their reflex- ivity, broad dissemination, and focus on engaging audiences, and it underscores the degree to which they foreshadow the evolution of many contemporary technologies of communication and representation. NOTES 1. Martin Meisel, Realizations: Narrative, Pictorial, and Theatrical Arts in Nineteenth-Century England (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983). 2. George Eliot, Daniel Deronda (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1996). 3. Anne McClintock, Imperial Leather: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in the Colonial Contest (New York: Routledge, 1995); Thomas Richard, The Commodity Culture of Victorian England: Advertising and Spectacle, 1851 to 1914 (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1990); Jennifer Wicke, Advertising Fictions: Literature, Advertising, and Social Reading (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988). 4. Alison Byerly, Are We There Yet? Virtual Travel and Victorian Realism (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2013); Richard Altick, The Shows of London (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1978). 5. Stephen Arata, “The Occidental Tourist: Dracula and the Anxiety of Reverse Colonization,” Victorian Studies 33, no. 4 (1990): 621–45. 6. Laura Otis, Networking: Communicating with Bodies and Machines in the Nineteenth Century (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2001); Catherine Golden, Posting It: The Victorian Revolution in Letter Writing (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2009); Richard Menke, Telegraphic Realism: Victorian Fiction and Other Information Systems (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2008); Jonathan Grossman, Charles Dickens’ Networks: Public Transport and the Novel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). 762 VLC • VOL. 46, NO. 3/4 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000761 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000761 https://www.cambridge.org/core 7. Jay David Bolter and Richard Grusin, Remediation: Understanding New Media (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2009). 8. Henry Jenkins and David Thorburn, Rethinking Media Change: The Aesthetics of Transition (Cambridge: MIT Press, 2003), x. Medicine MARY WILSON CARPENTER STEVEN Shapin has observed that although we live in a scientific cul-ture, most of this culture’s inhabitants have little idea of what scien- tists do and know.1 By contrast, not only do we live in a medicalized culture, but as Charles E. Rosenberg comments, “for most of us today, physicians and lay persons alike, medicine is what doctors do and what doctors believe (and what they prescribe for the rest of us).”2 Most of us today have direct, personal knowledge of what doctors do and know. This major cultural difference between “science” and “medicine” emerged in the nineteenth century when medical practice became part of everyday life. Science inhabited a much more elite sphere. Victorians read about science and scientists, but they did not have a fam- ily scientist who practiced science on them. They did have family doctors or, if they were poor, Poor Law doctors. The Victorian poor were also likely to experience hospital medicine, as more and more voluntary hos- pitals, supported by donations and open to the poor, were founded. By the last quarter of the century, more and more middle- and upper-class patients were also entering hospitals as private patients. It was in the nineteenth century that a medical profession first emerged as such. In the early part of the century, medicine and surgery were practiced by a conglomerate bunch of apothecaries, apprentice- trained surgeons who might or might not have had any formal instruc- tion in surgery or experience in hospitals, and Oxbridge physicians who were erudite in Greek and Latin medicine but might never have treated a live patient until they went into practice. By the end of the nineteenth century, legislation had imposed standards requiring univer- sity medical education and hospital training, and efforts—largely unsuc- cessful—were made to define and exclude “quacks.” MEDIA, MEDICINE 763 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000761 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S1060150318000761 https://www.cambridge.org/core Outline placeholder Notes Media Notes Medicine 
work_yqpz4m6om5axhi3tffbead2nke	----	MODERNIST FICTION Cultural Intertexts Year 2 Vol . 4 2015 61 Modernist Fiction from Sin to Art Liliana COLODEEVA  Abstract The article highlights the influence of the novelists and philosophers of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries on the emerging and development of the modern novel as a free and outstanding form of literature, and what is more – as a form of art. The paper points out the impact of such names as Henry James, Virginia Woolf, Joseph Conrad, Arnold Bennett and Malcolm Bradbury, personalities that sought to change the status of the novel through their works. Due to these authors there appeared and flourished the tradition that we now name the “modern” novel. By the turn of the century, the novel was shifting to art; it was becoming a more interesting and more influential form of literature; it was aspiring to become a far more complex, various, open and self-conscious form, one which, in a new way, sought to be taken seriously as “art”. Key words: modern novel, art, fiction, self-consciousness, stream of consciousness Many novelists of the turn of the twentieth century attempted to give a perfect definition for the ‘modern’ novel. Some of these novelists are mentioned in the present paper: Henry James, Joseph Conrad, Virginia Woolf, and others. The most convincing and influential in his attempt was the ‘literary master’, Henry James. He was concerned not only with the process of writing the novel, but also with its niche in literature. For Henry James, the novel was an art form, which in the skilful hands of the artist could enhance the perception of human experience: “the Novel remains still, under the right persuasion, the most independent, most elastic, most prodigious of literary forms” (James, 1998: xlvii). The changes that influenced and transformed the novel are thoroughly presented by Bayard Tuckerman in A History of English Prose Fiction (1894), by Ian Watt in The Rise of the Novel (1970) and by Michael McKeon in The Origins of the English Novel, 1600-1740 (2002). In the 17th century, as stated by Bayard Tuckerman, to puritans, fiction was an invention of the Evil One. The prose of the time was chiefly polemical; it instructed and guided; it provided spiritual insight, but its aim, by no means, was to entertain. Further, as stated in Prentice Hall Literature: The American Experience (1994), the puritans produced neither fiction nor drama, since they considered both sinful. They valued a plain style of writing, as they considered clear statement to be the highest goal (Tuckerman, 1894). Later, in the 18th century, the English Literature gained the perfection of prose forms of the highest importance and beauty due to such notable writers as Swift, Defoe, Addison, Bolingbroke, Richardson, Fielding, Smollett, and Hume. At the end of the 18th century, the novel had become established as a popular form of  PhD Student, ”Dunărea de Jos” University of Galați, Romania colodeevaliliana@gmail.com Cultural Intertexts Year 2 Vol . 4 2015 62 literature, as stated by Tuckerman: “In the hands of Defoe, Richardson, Fielding, and Goldsmith, it reached a high position as a work of art” (1894). The works of fiction of the 19th century have achieved a rank of dignity which seems to remain incomparable owing to such writers as Sir Walter Scott, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, William Makepeace Thackeray, Charles Kingsley, Anthony Trollope, and very many others (Tuckerman, 1894). The English author and academic, Malcolm Bradbury, was also concerned with the condition of the modern novel. In his work The Modern British Novel (1994), Bradbury claims that the essential secret of the modern novel is that it “came, but the Victorian novel did not completely go away” (5). “The powerful tradition of Victorian fiction – moral, realistic, popular – began to die, and something different and more complex came to emerge: the tradition of what we now name the “modern” novel” (Bradbury: 1). “The novel was aspiring to become a far more complex, various, open and self-conscious form, one which, in a new way, sought to be taken seriously as “art”” (Bradbury, 1994: 2). Henry James wrote his essay The Future of the Novel in 1899, where he concluded that the novel was at last coming to “self-consciousness”, and becoming a complex, speculative and modern art (Bradbury 6). When Virginia Woolf wrote her audacious essay “Modern Fiction” in 1919, she believed that the modern novel was ready to claim freedom from old convention that was just like a political revolution” (Bradbury 2). At the end of the nineteenth century, the novelists transformed the act of writing fiction into “an overflow of story-telling gift”. Novelists like Henry James, raised fiction to the art form “by casting a glance at “the mystery of storytelling””. The standards established by James’s theory of the novel, and specifically his view on narrative perspective “played a considerable part in the definition of the new conventions of the modernist novel” (Dobrinescu 2003: 203). Paul Polplawski (2012) considers that Henry James is an important key transitional figure for long-term literary innovation as he played an important role in the development of 19th and 20th century English literature. Although American by birth, he settled in England in 1876. His novels, “with their broad social realism and their detailed depiction of the mores and manners of polite society” (2012: 551) depict the peculiarities of the both the New World and the Old World. James embodied in his work the traits and specific features of the 19th century novel as well as the 20th century one. Moreover, his novels mirror cultures and traditions of both American and English societies. Henry James is obviously a pioneer of modern fiction as he was highly concerned “with style and form” and the point of view, and also due to his “experiments with narration, his interest in psychology, his fascination with the involved complexities with consciousness, perception and interpretation” (Polplawski 2012: 551). In seeking a new psychological dimension of realism in the depiction of the workings of consciousness, Henry James pushed fictional realism to a limit at Cultural Intertexts Year 2 Vol . 4 2015 63 which no further development was really possible without moving into a sort of experimentation associated with later novelists such as Dorothy Richardson, James Joyce and Virginia Woolf (Poplawski 2012: 552). Henry James’s essay “The Art of Fiction”, published in 1884 in Longman’s Magazine, can be considered one of the most significant statements on the theory of the novel. Previously, the novel was regarded as a minor literary form, unworthy of serious critical analysis. James’s theoretical approach to fiction marks a departure from the earlier nineteenth century fictional theories. He surely anticipates the condition of the twentieth century theory of fiction. An attentive perusal of Henry James’s essays on the theory of the novel reveals his predictions on the condition of the novel in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. According to James, a novel has to be artistic, and, first of all, it has to be interesting. There is only one classification of the novel that he can accept: that based on the reader’s interest in the novel. It is about liking or not liking a novel, as he points out: Some people, for excellent reasons, don't like to read about carpenters; others, for reasons even better, don't like to read about courtesans. Many object to Americans. Others won't look at Italians. Some readers don't like quiet subjects; others don't like bustling ones. Some enjoy a complete illusion; others revel in a complete deception. […] So that it comes back very quickly, as I have said, to the liking (1984: 58). James argues that a good novel derives from the fact that the writer has to possess “the sense of reality”, and considering that “reality has a myriad of forms”, it is the experience of the narrator that makes the difference. Experience, “the very atmosphere of the mind” – is the one that helps to see the unseen and to “judge the whole piece by the pattern” (1984: 52). He, finely, defines the novel as a “work of art”, a “free and serious branch of literature” (1984: 48). He insists that the literary work reflects the “quality of the mind of the producer” and that “no good novel will ever proceed from a superficial mind”. James claims that the novel represents life itself, therefore he blames Trollope for depriving the novelist of his honour to narrate, as a historian does, the events that really happened. According to James “the novel is history” (1984: 45). While to James the novel is history, to Frank Norris, the novel is not just history; it is the instrument of the novelist as “it expresses modern life better than architecture, better than painting, better than poetry, better than music” (Norris 1903). It is as necessary to the civilization of the twentieth century as the violin is necessary to Kubelik, as the piano is necessary to Paderewski, as the plane is necessary to the carpenter, the sledge to the blacksmith, the chisel to the mason. It is an instrument, a tool, a weapon, a vehicle. It is that thing which, in the hand of man, makes him civilized and no longer savage, because it gives him a power of durable, permanent expression (Norris 1903). Cultural Intertexts Year 2 Vol . 4 2015 64 Frank Norris conveyed the same beliefs regarding the modern novel in his essay “The Responsibilities of the Novelist” (1903). He claims that truth in fiction is of paramount importance, as: The People have a right to the Truth as they have a right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. It is not right that they be exploited and deceived with false views of life, false characters, false sentiment, false morality, false history, false philosophy, false emotions, false heroism, false notions of self-sacrifice, false views of religion, of duty, of conduct and of manners (Norris 1903). Henry James “pleads in favour of fiction being autonomous, thus entitled to exist in its own rights and by its own rules, and not as an offspring of reality” (Dobrinescu 2014: 68). Dobrinescu notices that “half a century later, Virginia Woolf expressed ideas similar to James’s in her essay also entitled ‘The Art of Fiction’. For modernist Woolf “theory and theorizing upon the novel” seems to be of paramount importance too. If James only appreciates whole-heartedly the artistic performance of novelists like Charles Dickens and Makepeace Thackeray, “Woolf is more explicit in her establishing the relationship between the modern and the old art of the word” (Dobrinescu 2014: 93). With their simple tools and primitive materials […] Fielding did well and Jane Austen even better, but compare their opportunities with ours! […] We do not come to write better; all that we can be said to do is to keep moving, now a little in this direction, now in that, but with a circular tendency should the whole course of the track be viewed from a sufficiently lofty pinnacle (Woolf 1925). In another essay, written by Henry James “The Future of the Novel” (1899), the novel earns the name of “prose picture”. To this extent, James again makes reference to art while speaking of the novel. He compares the process of creating a novel, with that of creating a picture, only the novel is rated much higher, for the reason that it has a great advantage: it “is the most comprehensive and the most elastic “picture”. It will stretch anywhere” (James 1988: 106). What the craftsman – or the novelist has to do, according to James, is to feed the reader’s general hunger for a “picture” – or the novel. The reader, in his/her turn, is somewhat a sly person, even an artful consumer of the content of the novel. … man combines with his eternal desire for more experience an infinite cunning as to getting his experience as cheaply as possible. He will steal it whenever he can. He likes to live the life of others, yet is well aware of the points at which it may too intolerably resemble his own. The vivid fable, more than anything else, gives him this satisfaction on easy terms, gives him knowledge abundant yet vicarious. It enables him to select, to take and to leave ; so that to feel he can afford to neglect it he must have a rare faculty, or great opportunities, for the extension of experience — by thought, by emotion, by energy — at first hand (James 1984: 102). Another advantage of the novel lies in its strength, on the grounds that it “can do simply everything”. James makes his predictions on the future of the novel based on his opinion that the future of the fiction is tightly connected with the future of the society that “produces and consumes it”. So, the quantity supplied depends on Cultural Intertexts Year 2 Vol . 4 2015 65 the quantity demanded, as there is no such a literary work, that “any human being is under the smallest positive obligation to like” (1984: 104). Apparently, the novelist, in order to succeed, should have a huge experience of life, the experience that will be the source of the imagination for his work. Joseph Conrad also conceives literature as a piece of art. He argues that “acquaintance with Mr. Henry James’s work brings a sense of happiness into one’s artistic existence” (1905). Moreover, Conrad appreciates James’s writings and compares them “to a majestic river” in his essay “Henry James - An Appreciation”: The artistic faculty, of which each of us has a minute grain, may find its voice in some individual of that last group, gifted with a power of expression and courageous enough to interpret the ultimate experience of mankind in terms of his temperament, in terms of art. […] The artist in his calling of interpreter creates (the clearest form of demonstration) because he must (Conrad 1905). Conrad asserts that James’s novels spring from “the stream of inspiration” that “flows brimful in a predetermined direction” (Conrad, 1905). On the whole, Henry James had a great impact on the modernists to come, and, so did his brother, William James, who was a psychologist, and, who, in his Principles of Psychology (1890), coined the phrase ‘stream of consciousness’, which will signify the modernist narrative technique. “William James was the first American thinker to argue that while ideology, or something very much like it, colours the whole of our conceptual life as human beings, it does not, or at least need not, determine all the ways we can reflect on this process” (Gunn 1995: 144). The liaison between the novelist (Henry James) and the psychologist (William James) grew thereafter into the creation of the James literary and psychological heritage. William James had a great influence on his brother. This is obvious due to their tight family relationship and their correspondence. More than that, the beliefs and concepts discussed by William James in his Principles of Psychology Vol. 1-2 (1890) are further taken up by his brother in his novels, essays, and also in the prefaces to his novels. For instance, William’s empiricist view of life is discernible in Henry’s preface to his novel The Portrait of a Lady. Henry James argues that the novelist should write from his own “impression or perception of life” in order to give the literary work the plentiful validity, genuineness, and sincerity: There is, I think, no more nutritive or suggestive truth in this connexion than that of the perfect dependence of the ‘moral’ sense of a work of art on the amount of felt life concerned in producing it. The question comes back thus, obviously, to the kind and the degree of the artist’s prime sensibility, which is the soil out of which his subject springs. The quality and capacity of that soil, its ability to ‘grow’ with due freshness and straightness any vision of life, represents, strongly or weakly, the projected morality. That element is but another name for the more or less close connexion of the subject with some mark made on the intelligence, with some sincere experience. […] Here we get exactly the high price of the novel as a literary Cultural Intertexts Year 2 Vol . 4 2015 66 form – its power not only, while preserving that form with closeness, to range through all the differences of the individual relation to its general subject-matter, all the varieties of outlook on life, of disposition to reflect and project, created by conditions that are never the same from man to man (or, so far as that goes, from man to woman), but positively to appear more true to its character in proportion as it strains, or tends to burst, with a latent extravagance, its mould (Henry James 1995: 7-8). In his work The Principles of Psychology (1890), specifically in his chapter on Imagination, which is definitely indispensable to the process of fiction writing, William James is completely sure that sensations and perceptions once experienced are likely to produce the same emotions and feelings even if generated by copies of them. Sensations, once experienced, modify the nervous organism, so that copies of them arise again in the mind after the original outward stimulus is gone. No mental copy, however, can arise in the mind, of any kind of sensation which has never been directly excited from without (William James 1890). If to William James the sensations are the source of experience, to Henry experience is the key to writing, as long as “one must write from experience” (James, 1888). Henry James reverses it so that impressions are the experience that brings an immense sensibility which, in its turn, leads to imagination and therefore to revelations. As reported by Giles Gunn, William James “differentiated his own position from that of many contemporary ideological critics who take their cues from an Althusser or a Macherey—Bercovich among them—by insisting that our needs do not thereby inevitably imprison us within our notions” (1995: 145). Gunn argues that “James reasoned that even if we cannot determine whether these inventions or interpretations of ours, these ideological “Others” or “Thats,” possess any absolute or real structure – or if they have any, whether that “structure resembles any of our predicated whats” – we can assisted by their critical imagination, determine the difference it makes to think so, or the alterations in experience that would be necessary if we thought otherwise” (Gunn 1995: 145). On the whole, regarded as sinful by the puritans in the 17th century, fiction, had undergone profound changes in the 18th and 19th centuries, and was elevated into an art form in the early 20th century through the influential works of Henry James, Virginia Woolf, Joseph Conrad, Arnold Bennett and others. Modernist fiction was placed on the same level with philosophy, history, painting and music. In a period when old traditions and values in literature were disappearing, new approaches and knowledge were gaining ground. By the turn of the 20th century, the novel was shifting to art; it was becoming a more interesting and a more influential form of literature. Cultural Intertexts Year 2 Vol . 4 2015 67 References Barry, P. (2002) Beginning Theory: An Introduction to Literary and Cultural Theory. Second Edition; Manchester University Press Baym, N. (2003) (ed.) The Norton Anthology of American Literature. Shorter Fourth Edition. Norton and Company. New York. London Bradbury, M. (1994) The Modern British Novel, second edition, London: Penguin Books, available from http://ru.scribd.com/doc/130189387/Bradbury-Malcolm-The- Modern-British-Novel#scribd Conrad, J. (1905) Henry James – An Appreciation. In Conrad, J. (1921) Notes on Life and Letters, available from https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/c/conrad/joseph/c75nl/chapter2.html Dobrinescu, A. (2014) The Discourse of Modernism. The Novel, second edition, Ploieşti: Editura Universitatii Petrol-Gaze, 31-132 Eagleton, T. (1996) Literary Theory. University of Minnesota Press, pp. 135-60 Gunn, G. (1995) Beyond Transcendence or Beyond Ideology: The New Problematics of Cultural Criticism in America. In Hutner, G. (ed.), The American Literary History Reader, Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 131-148 Hall, P. (1994) Literature: The American Experience. Englewood Cliffs, New York James, H. (1998) The Ambassadors, Oxford World’s Classics, Oxford University Press, New York James, H. (1995) The Portrait of A Lady, Oxford World’s Classics, Oxford University Press, New York James, H. ([1884] 1888) “The Art of Fiction” in Partial Portraits, Macmillan, available from http://public.wsu.edu/~campbelld/amlit/artfiction.html. James, W. Principles of Psychology Vol. 1-2 (1890) available from http://psychclassics.yorku.ca/James/Principles/ Norris, F. (1903) The responsibilities of the novelist and other literary essays, 1870-1902 available from https://archive.org/stream/responsibilities00norruoft/responsibilities00norruoft _djvu.txt Poplawski P. (ed.) (2012) English Literature in Context, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press Sanders, A. (2000) A Short Oxford History of English Literature, second edition, Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press Tuckerman, B. (1894) A History of English Prose Fiction. New York, The Knickerbocker Press; available from http://www.gutenberg.org/files/15350/15350-8.txt Tyson, L. (2002) Critical Theory Today: A User-Friendly Guide, Second Edition, Routledge, pp. 12-52 Woolf, V. Modern Fiction, 1919-1925, available from https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/w/woolf/virginia/w91c/chapter13.html http://psychclassics.yorku.ca/James/Principles/ https://archive.org/stream/responsibilities00norruoft/responsibilities00norruoft_djvu.txt https://archive.org/stream/responsibilities00norruoft/responsibilities00norruoft_djvu.txt http://www.gutenberg.org/files/15350/15350-8.txt https://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/w/woolf/virginia/w91c/chapter13.html 
work_yqvknskanrhzjnoxnkdnqw32vm	----	International Conference on Music in Eighteenth-Century Britain; The Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / La société canadienne d’étude du dix-huitième siècle All Rights Reserved © Canadian University Music Society / Société de musique des universités canadiennes, 1997 Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d’auteur. L’utilisation des services d’Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d’utilisation que vous pouvez consulter en ligne. https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Cet article est diffusé et préservé par Érudit. Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l’Université de Montréal, l’Université Laval et l’Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. https://www.erudit.org/fr/ Document généré le 5 avr. 2021 21:53 Canadian University Music Review Revue de musique des universités canadiennes International Conference on Music in Eighteenth-Century Britain; The Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / La société canadienne d’étude du dix-huitième siècle Paul F. Rice Volume 17, numéro 2, 1997 URI : https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1014799ar DOI : https://doi.org/10.7202/1014799ar Aller au sommaire du numéro Éditeur(s) Canadian University Music Society / Société de musique des universités canadiennes ISSN 0710-0353 (imprimé) 2291-2436 (numérique) Découvrir la revue Citer ce compte rendu Rice, P. F. (1997). Compte rendu de [International Conference on Music in Eighteenth-Century Britain; The Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / La société canadienne d’étude du dix-huitième siècle]. Canadian University Music Review / Revue de musique des universités canadiennes, 17(2), 134–136. https://doi.org/10.7202/1014799ar https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/cumr/ https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1014799ar https://doi.org/10.7202/1014799ar https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/cumr/1997-v17-n2-cumr0494/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/cumr/ CONFERENCE REPORTS / COMPTES RENDUS DE COLLOQUES International Conference on Music in Eighteenth-Century Britain; The Cana- dian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies/La société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle. The fourth conference organized by the Centre for Eighteenth-Century Musical Studies (Cardiff University of Wales) was presented in the Department of Music from 9 to 12 July 1996, with the theme of "Music in Eighteenth-Century Britain." Sarah McCleave, who admirably organized the conference and coped with a last-minute change of venue, provided a balanced programme which featured topics relevant to church music, the oratorio, music and social context, Italian music and musicians, library collections, journals, concert music, key- board music, and music for the theatre. Speakers came from Canada, the United States, Italy, Germany, France, and the British Isles. With some thirty presen- tations in all, the conference provided a remarkable opportunity not only to assess music in eighteenth-century Britain, but also the current scholarly interest in this fertile area. The conference began with a keynote address by Peter Holman, "Eigh- teenth-Century English Music: Past, Present, Future." Holman, who acts as the series director for Hyperion's "The English Orpheus" recordings, spoke from his personal experience of having worked on the more than thirty-seven recordings in this series, often performing himself with the Parley of Instru- ments. Holman called for a revisionist history of English music, and one that would be more pro-active in overcoming traditional views about the music of native-born composers, views which appear to have been informed by a sense of cultural inferiority. Holman's more subjective comments surprised some in the audience; however, his point may well have been proven by the papers which were presented at this very conference. One might have expected that, in a conference such as this, the music of Purcell, Arae, Boyce, the Linleys, and Samuel Wesley might have figured prominently. Instead, the music of native-born composers appeared in only about one-quarter of the presentations. Holman also took part in a concert presented by members of the Parley of Instruments, and which featured trio sonatas, theatre songs, ballads, and cantatas by Handel, Boyce, and Arne. It was clear that this group deserves the fine reputation which has developed from their recordings. Also evident was the high quality of the music that they performed. One can only hope that the major publishing project that was "brain stormed" until late one evening at the conference will eventually come to pass. Certainly, it will be difficult to 17/2(1997) 135 encourage more performances of British music of this era until scores and performing parts are readily available. Canadians taking part at the conference included: (1) Sarah McCleave (Cardiff University of Wales), "Provincial Taste and Publishing Practices: Perspectives Offered by the Mackworth Collection"; (2) James Bohun (St. John's College, Cambridge), "The Social and Political Contexts of Opera at the Accession of George II"; (3) Patricia Debly (Brock University), "Haydn's Uanima del filisofo: An Italian Opera all'ingleseV; and (4) Paul F. Rice, "Style and Influence in the Instrumental Music of John Abraham Fisher." In all, the conference proved to be a rewarding experience, and one that will hopefully encourage further research in the area of eighteenth-century British music. The twenty-second conference of the Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies/La société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle was held at the Harbour Towers Hotel in Victoria, B.C., from 17 to 20 October 1996, under the sponsorship of the University of Victoria. The conference was presented in conjunction with the Northwestern Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies, and Carol Gibson-Wood prepared an efficiently-run and well-organized con- ference. Delegates attended from France, Germany, Canada, and the United States. The theme of the conference, "Theatre of the World/Le théâtre du monde," attracted a wide variety of topics and approaches to the study of the eighteenth century which clearly reflected the interdisciplinary nature of this society. Two plenary speakers were invited: (1) Béatrice Didier (École Normale Supérieure, Paris), "La réception de Topera par les philosophes"; and (2) John Barrell (University of York, U.K.), "An Entire Change of Performances?: Politics and Playbills: 1794-5." Both presentations were particularly in step with the theme of the conference, and were greatly appreciated by the conference delegates. Music continues to figure less prominently in the meetings of this society than the undersigned would like to see. The society offers opportunities to musicians of a nature not always found in other scholarly societies. The following papers on musical topics were presented: (1) Barbara Reul (Univer- sity of Victoria), "Forget Me Not: G.P. Telemann, J.F. Fasch, and the 'Minor Master' Syndrome in Germany"; (2) Ursula Rempel (University of Manitoba), "Domestic Theatricality or Theatrical Domesticity: Perceptions of Music and Performance in the Novels of Jane Austen"; (3) Anette Guse (Queen's Univer- sity), "Opera on Stage and on Screen: Reflections on the Hamburg Opera (1678-1738) and Its Modern Counterpart"; (4) Alexander Sokalski (University of Saskatchewan), "Operas Based on the Chevalier de Boufflers's Reine de Golconde"\ (5) David Schroeder (Dalhousie University), "Hanswurst and Carnival in Mozart's Magic Flute"\ (6) Paul F. Rice (Memorial University), "John Abraham Fisher: A Career in Music in Late Eighteenth-Century Lon- don"; and (7) Mark Anderson (University of Victoria), "The Popularity and 136 CUMR/RMUC Criticism of English Pantomime during the 1720s." Other papers, particularly those in the area of theatre, often proved to be relevant to the study of music. The conference delegates were further treated to the Canadian premiere of L'imprésario delle canarie, two comic intermezzi with music by Domenico Sarri set to a libretto by Pietro Metastasio. These intermezzi were originally performed between the acts of Sarri's serious opera, La Didone abbandonata, in 1724. The performance, staged in the recital hall of the School of Music (University of Victoria), was sung by Meghan Atchison (soprano) and Brian Arens (baritone), accompanied by a student orchestra and all led from the harpsichord by Dr. Erich Schwandt. The text satirizes operatic conventions of the day, but is cloaked in music of great interest and melodic beauty. In addition to extended and informative programme notes written by Dr. Gordana Lazarevich, a full text and translation was given to the audience. Bravo to Drs. Lazarevich and Schwandt for providing this rare and fascinating operatic experience, also to the enthusiastic and talented student cast and orchestra! I am pleased to announce that the twenty-third meeting of the society will be hosted by the University of Western Ontario from 16 to 19 October 1997. The conference theme will be "Le temps et ses représentations au XVIIIe siècle/Représentations of Time in the Eighteenth Century." The conference organizer will be Dr. Thierry Belleguic. Paul F. Rice "Johann Friedrich Fasch und sein Wirkin fur Zerbst," International Scholarly Conference on the Occasion of the Fifth International Fasch Festival, Zerbst, Germany, 18 and 19 April 1997. Twenty scholars from Germany, Canada, the United States of America, Great Britain, Russia, and South Africa met on the occasion of the Fifth International Fasch Festival in Zerbst to present their research results on the life and works of Zerbst Court Kapellmeister Johann Friedrich Fasch (1688-1758). In contrast to two previous international conferences in 1993 and 1995 which have done little to advance our knowledge regarding Fasch's musical environment and his compositional process,1 the International Fasch Society headed by presi- dent Konstanze Musketa had lined up a number of Fasch "specialists" and paired them with experts on music of his contemporaries. Wolfgang Ruf (Martin Luther University Halle-Wittenberg) opened the conference with the provoking "Johann Friedrich Fasch - Meister zwischen den Epochen." His thesis is that Fasch's position is determined not by the 1 The conferences which took place in 1993 and 1995 were organized by the former president and vice president of the International Fasch Society, Riidiger Pfeiffer and Guido Bimberg, respectively. Conference proceedings were published in 1995 — Fasch und die Musik im Europa des 18. Jahrhunderts, Bericht zu den 3. Internationalen Fasch-Festtagen in Zerbst 1993, ed. Guido Bimberg and Riidiger Pfeiffer (Kôln: Bôhlau, 1995) — and in 1997 — Nationalstile und Europâisches Denken in der Musik von Fasch und seinen Zeitgenossenf ed. Internationale Fasch-Gesellschaft e.V. (Dessau: Anhaitische Veriagsgeseilschaft, 1997). These contain relatively few papers dealing directly with Fasch's life and works. 
work_yr5kjqrmljbfripkn72tnxjsre	----	Some notes on James Burns as a publisher of children's books | Semantic Scholar Skip to search formSkip to main content> Semantic Scholar's Logo Search Sign InCreate Free Account You are currently offline. Some features of the site may not work correctly. DOI:10.7227/BJRL.76.3.8 Corpus ID: 161513674Some notes on James Burns as a publisher of children's books @article{Alderson1994SomeNO, title={Some notes on James Burns as a publisher of children's books}, author={B. Alderson}, journal={Bulletin of the John Rylands Library}, year={1994}, volume={76}, pages={103-126} } B. Alderson Published 1994 History Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 'The time has surely come', wrote Kathleen Tillotson in 1954, 'to break up "the Victorian novel" into manageable segments; not by novelists, or phases, but simply by concentrating upon a decade or so at a time'. 1 The signs are surely clear that the presence of these words at the start of her seminal study, Novels of the eighteen-forties., was something of a clarion-call, and for the last forty years the academic cohorts have been sweeping into the territory whose fruitfulness was made so… Expand View via Publisher escholar.manchester.ac.uk Save to Library Create Alert Cite Launch Research Feed Share This Paper 2 Citations View All 2 Citations Citation Type Citation Type All Types Cites Results Cites Methods Cites Background Has PDF Publication Type Author More Filters More Filters Filters Sort by Relevance Sort by Most Influenced Papers Sort by Citation Count Sort by Recency The Bronte Sisters and the Christian Remembrancer : A Pilot Study in the Use of the "Burrows Method" to Identify the Authorship of Unsigned Articles in the Nineteenth-Century Periodical Press E. Jordan, Ellen Hugh Alexis Craig, Ellen Hugh Alexis Antonia History 2006 4 Save Alert Research Feed Mass markets: children’s books B. Alderson, Andrea Immel, D. McKitterick History 2009 Save Alert Research Feed Related Papers Abstract 2 Citations Related Papers Stay Connected With Semantic Scholar Sign Up About Semantic Scholar Semantic Scholar is a free, AI-powered research tool for scientific literature, based at the Allen Institute for AI. Learn More → Resources DatasetsSupp.aiAPIOpen Corpus Organization About UsResearchPublishing PartnersData Partners   FAQContact Proudly built by AI2 with the help of our Collaborators Terms of Service•Privacy Policy The Allen Institute for AI By clicking accept or continuing to use the site, you agree to the terms outlined in our Privacy Policy, Terms of Service, and Dataset License ACCEPT & CONTINUE 
work_yso5qcl6efcfdd4eyhjot4pdy4	----	Post & Mail POST & MAIL Further feedback ET is very, very good indeed. It has that rare quality not usually associated with academic-style magazines - general interest. It has the stamp of the relaxed perfectionist. o Elizabeth Kirkpatrick, editor-in- chief, Chambers 20th Century Dictionary, Edinburgh, Scotland At last, my long and eagerly awaited Issue No. 1 of English Today has arrived and I hasten to let you know how pleased I am with it. It appears to be exactly what I have been waiting for for years and I am only sorry that it has come a bit late in the day for me, having retired some years ago after a life-time of teaching English to Arabs in Cairo and Tripoli, Libya, when I could well have done with such a magazine. o I- Noel Treavett, Wimbledon, England Congratulations on a thought-provoking and excellent first issue of English Today. I liked it immensely. o James Y Dayananda, Professor of English, Pennsylvania, U.S.A. ET's interesting, ET fills a gap, keep ET up! o Dr R R K Hartmann, The Language Centre, The University of Exeter, England Endangered languages If the dominance of English (or indeed other major languages) results in the extinction of minority languages, should it not be a matter for a new world organization or national organizations to ensure the survival of a linguistic species as urgently as we secure the survival of a plant or animal species? If the Soviet Union seeks to impose Russian on Uzbeks (as it does) or Italy to impose Tuscan on Romagnoli or Friulani (as it does), can we not - by means more formal than the efforts of interested individuals - seek to protect the priceless linguistic and of course literary heritage which each language necessarily possesses as a characteristic of its survival so far? I believe that your magazine has a duty to air this problem. While I was Director of the National Library Service of Indonesia in Jakarta, I collected as a matter of urgency a number of poems in regional languages in my book Indonesian Traditional Poetry. But I did this as an individual, and the Government of Indonesia has done nothing but bolster Bahasa Indonesia. I should hate to think that English Today will become a medium for bolstering English at the expense of the Celtic languages, and indeed all the other languages now seen commercially - and even in some cases culturally! - as poor relations. o Philip Ward, The Oleander Press, Cambridge, England This will not do! Am I the only reader of ET old enough to have been taught that there is a difference in function between shall and will, between should and would? At least one of your contributors does not accept that there is a difference; I wonder whether he ever heard that there was. That slur is, of course, rank heresy: he is a professor of linguistic science. I am interested in your insert on putative pronouns. Some fifty years ago I tried to persuade John o' London's Weekly that we might replace his or her, he or she, her or him by using Us, lee, ler; but, of course nothing came of it. What we must not do, it seems to me, is to accept the slovenliness of Jenny Cheshire's first sentence: 'Anyone who wants . . . must have their wits about them.' As our teachers used to say, 'This will not do.' It is ungrammatical, illogical, sloppy: quite unworthy of £ T . Please don't allow it to happen again. o John E Brown, Winscombe, Avon, England Oh yes it will! I was delighted with the opening sentence of Jenny Cheshire's 'A Question of Masculine Bias' (undoubtedly because it takes the same approach I have used in a paper I've been desultorily working on over the past few years)! 'Aha!' I thought, another rare voice speaking up for the use of singular 'they.' Unfortunately Cheshire drops the ball and echoes the all-too-usual advice of rewriting into the plural. And she seems to condone the absolutely awful usages of the combined pronoun (s/he) and the alternate pronouns. The simplest solution - and one that a few logical textbook writers are advocating - is the singular 'they' as used in Cheshire's first sentence and as used (as she points out) by most people in speech and by many (Jane Austen for one) in writing over the centuries. If Cheshire in her otherwise excellent Readers' letters are welcomed. ET policy is to publish as representative and informative a selec- tion as possible in each issue. Such correspond- ence, however, may be subject to editorial adaptation in order to make the most effective use of both the letters and the space available. coverage had only gone one bounce further to speak out for his usage, she would have given needed reinforcement to those of us who are teaching our students it's OK for them to write 'Everyone needs to be aware that their language reflects their attitudes.' o Ellen Tripp, Forsyth Technical College, Winston-Salem, North Carolina A Way with Words I am enjoying the Preview and First Issue of English Today. The item, 'A Way With Words', provided the 'lead' for one of my best lessons of the term. At least, I thought so! o John Humphries, Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk, England The article on Burgessisms in ETl is very interesting. I have often been tempted to do a bit of verbal inventing myself. Everybody knows 'couth'. Is there a case for 'biguous' as a term of approbation for the increasingly rare instances of non-ambiguous usage? What about 'pessimum' as the opposite of 'the best, taking into account many conflicting factors'? o E S Stockton, Sanday, Orkney Videoprose I am very impressed with the magazine English Today. However, I believe that there are two mistakes in 'Videoprose' (ET2:20). The 'overlay' referred to is probably a piece of plastic or card cut to fit over the somewhat abnormal keyboard of the Spectrum computer and inscribed with the uses of the keys for a particular game; this helps the player, since it is sometimes difficult to remember the uses of keys and takes too long to check the instructions during a game. The abbrevi- ation 'M/C means 'machine code'. o David Harris, Northwich, Cheshire, England Rotwelsch and Inglish Arising from the ABC of World English: The earliest that I became aware of the wider acceptance of the word 'Brit' was in reports from the EEC. This might be influenced by German 'ein Brit' [sic], 'die Briten'. I gess that the Irish hav always used Brit, being a conservativ peopl. When you com to discuss the word Welsh you might like to mention Rotwelsch - the criminal argot based on Yiddish. Something about Yiddish itself would be interesting, comparing it with Inglish. Yiddish came about as a ENGLISH T O D A Y No. 3 - JULY 1985 3 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266078400001152 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266078400001152 https://www.cambridge.org/core Semitic peopl first adopted Romance, then High German and mixt the language with Russian, Polish, Hebrew and Aramaic. Inglish came about when a Keltic peopl adopted Low German and mixt it with French, Scandinavian, Latin, Greek, Hindi, etc. Also, I wonder whether Yiddish has not influenced R.P. The broad 'a' in R.P. 'glass', 'pass', etc. is characteristic of Yiddish and was at one time considered 'vulgar'. I suspect that it passed from Yiddish into Cockney and thence to R.P. o Robert Craig, Weston-super-Mare, Avon, England Keeping ws bias to wself Jenny Cheshire's article on masculine bias in the language won the most attention - and the most praise - of all the features inETl. Sandra Graham of New York found it 'full of interesting observations', including the point that newspapers will tell us that Mrs Smith is a 'blonde, shapely mother-of-three' but not that Mr Jones is bronzed and muscular. 'I was most intrigued,' she adds, 'to learn from the biographical sketch that Ms. Cheshire, the single woman author CroonrtPHelm AN IMPORTANT NEW G U I D E TO HELP YOU WRITE CLEAR, IDIOMATIC ENGLISH AN INVALUABLE REFERENCE BOOK to be consulted again and again on questions of: * Grammar * Syntax * Style WRITING ENGLISH An essential aid for all, whether students of English as a foreign language or native speakers, who need to write English clearly and persuasively. £14.95 hbk 0-7099-3708-3 £ 5.95 pbk 0-7099-3709-1 240 pages Coming next year: INTERNATIONAL ENGLISH USAGE By Loreto Todd a n d Ian H a n c o c k A comprehensive survey of written and spoken English world-wide. Prov. £10.00 pbk 0-7099-2466-6 480 pages Spring 86 Crootn Helm, Provident House, Burrell Row, Beckenham, Kent BR3 1AT. featured in your inaugural issue, was married and had two children aged 12 and 9. Now please, without further ado, give us similar information for Richard Bailey, David Crystal, Tom Me Arthur, and Derek Brewer!' An impeccably organized request that suggests ET's editorial style is somewhat peccable. Appearances, however, can be deceptive. David Crystal's 'biodata' in the preview issue told us that 'he is married with four children', but another voice from New York warned us at the time that biographies like that were just too long - so, to counter that criticism, we shortened Professor Crystal's bio for ET\. Comparably with Tom McArthur's (although his data is/are decently amended for this issue). As regards other contributors, the'sketches are written up from what they provide, and it was Dr Cheshire herself who provided the family background. None of the other writers - for whatever reasons - thought to do so. Mr L Nyary of the North Warwickshire College of Technology was also doing some thinking - about bias - when he wrote: 'I have just read Dr J. Cheshire's article in your magazine, and I feel prompted to complain of the feminine bias of the article itself. There are some languages, my mother tongue Magyar being one, where the third person singular " h e " and "she" has one word o which applies to both genders, and " m a n " or "mankind" - translated as ember - is generic too. However, the confusion this creates is legion (another masculine concept!), especially in legal circles. Even students who might have occasion to buy Rider Haggard's She (O) in translation think the book is about a man. 'I might add that an equal case could be made complaining of the feminine bias in English,' he adds, going on to cite mother tongue, mother country, mother earth, motherland, mother-of-pearl and mother's son as examples. On the same lines, Richard Matthews adds (from Switzerland) widow/widower, nurse/male nurse, housewife/househusband, midwife (!), ladies and gentlemen and Mum and Dad as all favouring the female, and observes: 'M. Cheshire seems basically to confuse sex with gender.' We did not, however, receive many such counter-attacks. What we did receive, was a surprising number of further pronoun proposals. In the panel accompanying the bias article we highlighted a variety of neologistic genderless pronouns like co and thonself (which also attracted a lot of media attention). The proposed pronouns had all been coined in North America, but now we have some 4 ENGLISH TODAY No. 3 - JULY 1985 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266078400001152 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266078400001152 https://www.cambridge.org/core balancing inventions from Britain: • Ronald Gill of Derby wrote to say that he had been 'engaged ceaselessly for many years' in the quest for a new pronoun - 'and believe I have done it!' His choice is hey, which is 'they' without the initial t, 'which has a sort of logical aptness.' He has tried to circulate hey, hey's and heyself in at least two journals, but was neither printed nor acknowledged. • George Wardell of Reading suggests mef, a combination of 'm' for male and ' f for female: 'As a person matures, mef comes to understand mefself better.' Alongside mef, he proposes that 'the proper study of humankind is hume', and that telephones are better 'humed' by both women and men rather than 'manned' by either. • Don Manley of Oxford proposes the 'half-way sound' ze ('inventing words is a fun game, so may I be allowed to play?'). The object form would be zon, possessive sons, reflexive zonself. 'There is of course a serious side to all this,' he adds, 'as your article rightly suggests. I am in the business of editing school textbooks. Woe betide if half the children illustrated in the physics experiments are not girls! I personally hate the "he (or she)" and "she (or he)" solutions; and "s/he" is horrible. And if I add a note in the preface saying that "he" means "he or she", an angry female might tell me that I am reducing half the population to a footnote! There is no easy answer.' It is easy to dismiss these neo- pronouns as a joke, and the earnestness with which they are often coined as misguided. Dr John B Sykes, editor of both the prestigious Concise Oxford Dictionary and The Incorporated Linguist (a journal for translators and other linguists published in London), wrote to us, enclosing 'a recent effort of my own along these lines - which has met with no response! It does puzzle me that no one has managed to launch some solution to this problem so generally recognized as tedious.' In the May issue of the magazine MENSA, Dr Sykes proposed 'the single letter "w" (pronounced as the vowel in "put" or "good") for the subject case, "wm" for the object case, "ws" . . . for the possessive, and "wself" for the reflexive/emphatic. This is at least distinctive.' It is; indeed, most of them are. Like the other creators and adapters, however, even someone as well placed as Dr Sykes has met with little or no response. ET has however responded by bringing this fascinating, funny, frustrating and yet serious matter out of the closet for open discussion. The English Empire Dedicated to Rudyard Kipling and Gunga Din, whose modem counterparts RK and GD address each other as follows . . . GD Your empire, when the Raj Was its jewel, was so large That the sun always shone upon a part of i t - Till August '47 When, shining down from heaven, It saw the British break the very heart of it. RK We British as a race Lost quite a lot of face In Calcutta, Rawalpindi and Lahore; But even when we'd gone Our language carried on - A phenomenon you utterly deplore. GD Yes, the Briton was a rogue Yet his language was in vogue: What irony! A most annoying oddity! Meanwhile, the British Isles Were suddenly all smiles: Your language was a saleable commodity! RK So now I am a rajah In an empire even larger, Where my language keeps repelling all marauders And in true imperial style Stirs up a lot of bile By disregarding international borders. GD This English Empire spread Though the British one was dead, And it's made a pretty profit, not a doubt of it. But in spite of what you've taught us What good has English brought us? I want to know what benefits come out of it. RK Well, there's ESP. You want our electronic wizardry. Though Science, like a vulture, Should gut your very culture, You'd love to have a VCR, like me! CHORUS: MASSED VOICES OF ELT IMPERIALISTS Yes, it's E-L-T! Learn English if you want to live like me! Though your mother tongues are dying Can't you hear your children crying, 'It's a better tongue than ours appears to be' . . . ? o Gerry Abbott, Bamenda, Cameroon A few ill-chosen words My friend Azimuth is a precisian. He pronounces the p in 'raspberry'. He refers to peroxide, correctly, as 'hydrogen peroxide'. I can't go that far with him. Still, . . . 'We used to play pingpong,' he said recently, 'and shoot each other with pistols. Now, alas, we play table tennis and shoot each other with handguns.' 'If I had to be shot,' I said, 'I'd rather be shot skillfully, with a pistol, . . . " 'Or a revolver or an automatic,' he said, . . . " . . . than unskillfully, with a handgun,' I said. 'Naturally,' he said. 'That's why we arm our policemen with service revolvers, not with service handguns.' 'And that,' I said, 'is why our legislators find it hard to take anti- handgun bills seriously.' 'Can you imagine,' he said, singing, "Lay that handgun down, Babe, Lay that handgun down! Handgun-packin' Mamma, Lay that handgun down!" . . . ?' 'But we haven't lost all our verve,' I said. '"Table tennis" does sound rather sedate, but we still play the game with pingpong balls, because we know intuitively that they have more bounce than table tennis balls could.' 'That depends on who's playing,' he said. 'The members of the White House staff play table tennis with table tennis balls. You know they do.' 'They could hardly do otherwise,' I said. 'They speak in the Federal monotone.' 'The what?' 'The Federal monotone. The tone of an official spokesman telling the reporters nothing.' 'Wrong. They don't talk to the reporters. They access the media.' 'They impact them.' 'Right. They interface with them.' 'With it, you mean. The media is singular. Like the data.' 'To read their prose, you'd think they weren't much smarter than educationists.' 'I know what you mean. For them too the problem of education is how to achieve excellence without actually teaching the kids to read.' 'They opt for implementation of the same methodology, too.' 'Which is . . . ?' 'To prioritize upgrading the students' peer-group communication skills in the affective domain and impact them to goals-oriented behaviors through letting them access experiential dynamics of interaction in a hands-on learning situation via optimal-maximal utilization of equipment such as electronic table- tennis modules for hand-eye coordination anecsetra.' o J Mitchell Morse, Emeritus Professor of English, Temple University, Pennsylvania, U.S.A. ENGLISH TODAY No. 3 - JULY 1985 5 https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266078400001152 Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. Carnegie Mellon University, on 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:09, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use, available at https://www.cambridge.org/core/terms https://doi.org/10.1017/S0266078400001152 https://www.cambridge.org/core 
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work_yxpdpqvfnnhalnoaiczmn76r34	----	54 4 January 1969 Correspondence BRnAI concentrations. In our experience patients receiving 100 mega units of penicillin daily in 1.5 litres of infusion have daily urine volumes of about 2 'litres. It may be that other alterations in renal function, as mentioned by Brunner and Frick, contributed to hypokal- aemia in their patients. Having tried a number of methods we now use a continuous infusion with three half- litres of 0.18% saline, to which is added peni- cillin G in quantities of 30, 40, 30 mega units, dividing each ration approximately equally between the sodium and potassium salt. This gives an infusion solution of approxi- mately 280 mOs/litre. We have no difficulty in obtaining potassium penicillin, and indeed alterations to the plasma sodium and potas- sium levels can be induced by varying the amount of the appropriate penicillin salt. Using this method, we have treated patients for up to three months with daily infusions of 100 mega units of penicillin without electrolyte imbalance, neurotoxicity, marked changes in serum osmolality, or indeed haemoilysis.2 " Massive " intravenous peni- cillin therapy is useful and safe, provided it is realized that as well as a large dose of penicillin the patient will be receiving a load of water, electrolyte, and possibly other solute such as glucose.-We are, etc., HILLAS SMITH. S. E. J. YOUNG. Department of Infectious Diseases, Royal Free Hospital London N.10. REFERENCES l Lerner, P. I., Smith, H. G., and Weinstein, L., Ann. N.Y. Acad. Sci., 1967, 145, 310. 2 Smith, H., Posigrad. med. 7., 1967, 43, 785. Training of Surgeons SIR,-Mr. Neville Stidolph proposes a training system for surgeons which is tied to the present requirement of about 100 new consultant surgeons per year (9 November, p. 379). Of all British candidates setting out on a surgical career only 140, which is 12% of the original field, will attain an English Fellowship each year. Thus after six years of training even those relatively few who have successfully gained a Fellowship are not assured of a consultancy. This situation, he says, " is manifestly unjust." It is therefore proposed not to increase the number of con- sultants required each year to 140 but to cut down the number of candidates who will suc- cessfully achieve a Fellowship to 100. The proposals outlined by Mr. Stidolph are presumably of a long-term character. As such it is strange to realize that his entire proposal rests upon the assumption that Britain should, would, and could employ overseas graduates to fill 75 % of the registrar posts in surgery indefinitely. Is it really feasible to plan the long-term reorganization of surgical training and staffing upon such an assumption ? At the second Commonwealth Medical Conference held last September the Indian delegation, in answer to a questionary, stated that, (a) Provision of undergraduate medical educa- tion abroad for the various categories of profes- sional staff in health services is not necessary. (b) For postgraduate or postbasic level also it is in general not necessary except in specialized branches.' The Indian delegation also stated that " there are places for 6,000 postgraduates a year in medical institutions in India."' Considering that the number of medical graduates was about 7,600 (1967) this would, therefore, indicate no shortage of postgraduate places in India. In addition, the Pakistani delegation'3 stated that, " Their own needs [in regard to training facili- ties] . . . were now limited, to a large extent, to certain more sophisticated specialties." The statements cited above are in contra- diction to the assertion that " the developing countries need and will need for many years the facilities for postgraduate and specialist training which exist . . . in the U.K." If India and Pakistan do not require the post- graduate facilities available in Britain, why then should their graduates continue to come here ? The advantages to an individual doctor from India or Pakistan who achieves an English Fellowship are obvious. How- ever, from Mr. Stidolph's figures we can see that only 6% of the overseas doctors who make the attempt do manage to achieve a Fellowship in the Royal College of Surgeons. The situation is then that large numbers of overseas doctors come to Britain to train for higher qualifications which few will achieve. Mr. Stidolph does not produce any evidence that the men coming here are " the outstand- ing products of their universities " who were " selected to be the future consultants " and teachers in their own countries. The truth is that we know very little about what happens to overseas doctors after having trained in Britain. Mr. Stidolph warns that Russia, Germany, and the United States of America provide funds and scholarships to draw overseas doctors to their countries. So that if we in Britain " do not recognize our obligation to cater for their needs the graduates will go elsewhere." At one and the same time Britain can fulfil her obligations to the Common- wealth, and keep her hospitals staffed, and the Royal College of Surgeons will be able to control more carefully than ever those who are permitted entry. There is no avoiding the fact that Britain needs more British doctors, which in turn means that a training and hospital staffing structure is required which will be based upon the work needs of hospitals being filled by British doctors. This is possible only if all doctors in training can reasonably expect to become recognized specialists (with appro- priate rewards) as proposed by the Royal Commission on Medical Education. Such changes are also likely to act as a major deterrent to emigrating doctors, the major part of whom leave this country be- cause of the frustrations they experience in trying to find permanent positions in the hos- pital service. If Mr. Stidolph's proposals are acted upon they will add to these frustrations, and thus to the volume of emigration; but then if 75 % of the junior hospital staff are to be drawn from abroad perhaps it will not matter.-I am, etc., OSCAR GISH, Research Fellow, Science Policy Research Unit. The University of Sussex, Brighton. REFERENCES Report of the Second Commonwealth Conference, Kampala, 1968, 3, p. 225. 2Report of thte Second Comsnonwealth Conference, Kampala, 1968, 1, p. 37. 'Report of the Second Commonwealth Conference, Kampala, 1968, 2, p. 189. Alcohol and Drugs SIR,-General practitioners received last month a circular from the Committee on Safety of Drugs, accompanied by a letter from the Medical Assessor. This latter con- cerns the interaction between alcohol and drugs, and what advice should be given to patients on this matter. Though I agree with most of what is said, I feel I must chal- lenge the statement embodied in the last sentence, " a commonsense rule, when you prescribe any drug affecting the central ner- vous system, is to warn the patient not to take alcohol whilst under treatment." It seems to me this is a statement typical of someone who is not in active medical prac- tice. It ought to be obvious that a complete ban on consumption of alcohol while taking such drugs is most impractical. Does the Medical Assessor not reallize that there are very many people who are on regular doses of drugs affecting the central nervous system, and very many of these naturally enough wish to drink alcohol. To tell them not to do so is anything but common sense and is the sort of advice that will be simply ignored to the detriment of both patient and doctor- patient relationship.-I am, etc., Armley, Leeds. G. E. PHILIP. Frusemide for Cardiac Failure in Infancy SIR,-Dr. K. A. Harrison (12 October, p. 84) has reported the use of ethacrynic acid for blood transfusions in 30 cases of severe anaemia of pregnancy. I would like to report the use of the diuretic frusemide in a premature infant with cardiac failure due to coarctation of the aorta who required a blood transfusion for severe anaemia. A twin, of 32 weeks' gestation, birth-weight 2 lb. 12 oz. (1.2 kg.) was noted to have a systolic murmur and absent femoral pulses on initial examination; blood pressure in the right arm was 65 mm., right leg 45 mm. systolic by the flush method. He developed cardiac failure at the age of 6 weeks, which responded to treat- ment with digoxin. By the age of 9 weeks his haemoglobin had fallen to 49%, pulse 200 per minute, respiratory rate 80 per minute, and his liver was enlarged 11 fingerbreadths. In order to avoid an exchange transfusion and to save the saphenous veins for subsequent cardiac catheter- ization he was treated with frusemide 5 mg. intravenously followed by 60 ml. of packed cells over the next 20 hours. During this period the pulse rate fell progressively to 120 per minute, and the respiratory rate fell to 70 per minute. A month later he had gained 28 oz. (0.8 kg.) in weight, and had no signs of cardiac failure. His haemoglobin was 101%. I suggest that a powerful diuretic such as frusemide or ethacrynic acid is useful in the management of cardiac failure due to anaemia in the neonatal period.-I am, etc., Radcliffe Infirmary, DOUGLAS PICKERING. Oxford. Insanity and Tumours SIR,-We read with interest the report by Dr. R. Hunter and his colleagues (6 July, p. 9) of three cases of frontal meningiomas pre- senting psychiatrically. We report below the features of one such patient who came under our care recently. A 44-year-old English woman was referred to the neurosurgical unit of the University College o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.1 .5 6 3 5 .5 4 -c o n 4 Ja n u a ry 1 9 6 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 4 January 1969 Correspondence MBuRf 55 Hospital (U.C.H.), Ibadan, on 23 April 1968, from the psychiatric unit on account of increas- ing drowsiness and the finding on physical examination of bilateral papilloedema and left hemiparesis. She had been under treatment for paranoid schizophrenia since September 1967. She was first seen in this hospital in April 1961 after miscarrying a 10-week pregnancy, her second within two years. Her outside doctor attributed these to inadequate rest in the early months of pregnancy, "due to her high sense of duty." Her first child was delivered normally at home in 1959. There was no record of her postnatal state. She delivered her second child normally in April 1964 five weeks premature. Six weeks later she reluctantly resumed duty, and for the first time in her life suffered "a terrible headache." Since then she has had recurrent attacks of frontal headaches weekly. She was treated for migraine and obtained minimal relief for four weeks. In January 1965, on account of the increasing severity of headaches and the occa- sional association of vomiting, she attended the medical outpatient department of U.C.H., Ibadan. She was found to be bradykinetic (due to repeated sedation), otherwise there was no abnormality on physical examination. A diag- nosis of depression was made. Two days later she asked for her discharge and she was sent home on meprobamate. In September 1967 she was admitted into the psychiatric unit on account of headaches, loss of memory, and talkativeness. Her usual frontal headaches became obstinate, and at their severest she vomited easily. Early in the year she had lost her job as secretary when the decay in her memory became manifest, a feature which later became progressive. She slept a lot, and, when not sleeping, talked a lot. She was admitted, and treatment was instituted for paranoid schizophrenia. There were frequent reports of her suddenly and spontaneously becoming stuporose and dribbling saliva. It became obvious that an organic lesion was probably responsible for her strange be- haviour. Radiography of skull showed some erosion of her dorsum sella. On the carotid angiograms the right middle cerebral artery was displaced medially and upwards by a mass in the middle-third of the sphenoidal wing. The vascular flush suggested a meningioma. A right temporal osteoplastic craniotomy was performed and a large dis- crete meningioma, about 5 cm. by 4 cm. by 6 cm., was removed from the sphenoidal wing. It was highly cellular and relatively vascular and histological sections later showed it to be angioblastic in nature. The patient made a satisfactory recovery and was discharged home from hospital 18 days after her opera- tion. Her headaches ceased, she became mentally clear, and talked freely without lack of wit. Her memory improved significantly, and an intelligence test performed on her while on holiday in England placed her Wechsler scale at 130. Of particular interest was the onset of the patient's symptoms six weeks after the delivery of her second child. Examples have been described of meningioma which showed accelerated development during pregnancy, and in each case the meningioma has been suprasellar, parasellar, or at the sphenoidal wing in location. Sensitivity to hormonal effects and increase in physical size of the tumour as part of the generalized water retention are reasons adduced for changes in pregnancy. What bearing the histological nature of the meningioma has on its bio- logical behaviour during pregnancy remains a subject for speculation. Any increase in size in the angioblastic meningioma of our patient during her pregnancy was probably due to engorgement of the vascular elements within the neoplasm. One of us (E. L. 0.) has witnessed enlargement of intracranial aneurysms during pregnancy.-We are, etc., ADELOLA ADELOYE. B. 0. OSUNTOKUN. E. LATUNDE ODEKU. University College Hospital, Ibadan, Nigeria. Bilateral Parietal Thinning in Bronze Age Skull SIR,-Bilateral parietal thinning or bi- parietal resorption was noted on a female cranium recovered from Harappa (in West Punjab), which is the type-site of the Indus civilization belonging to the Bronze Age cultures and dated 2300 B.C. The age at death appeared to be about 45 years. This is probably the only reported palaeo-patho- logical case from the Indo-Pakistan sub- continent. The cranium, which was unearthed from a regularly disposed burial at cemetery " R 37," is otherwise normal and well pre- served. It has two irregular large holes in each parietal bone. Examination has revealed that these holes are artificial and post-mortem breaks occurring at the sites of lesions causing depressions. These depres- sions are situated bilaterally and almost symmetrically. The thickness of the vault bones at different places beyond the margin of the lesions is on an average 6 mm. From the outer margin of the lesions, where the normal bone thickness is retained, to the margin of the breakages, there is a decreasing gradient in thickness of the bone. This thinning was due to the migration of the outer table at the area of involvement, and the gradient was formed by gradual dis- appearance of the diploic surface before finally exposing the inner table just near the margin of the holes. It thus involved a resorption of bone and a deposition of com- pact bony tissue along the surface. This condition of thinning is. by itself indicative that the woman had suffered from a lesion of a severe nature. This evidence and the specific localization suggest that it was a typical case of thinning of the parietals, which is not to be confused with other con- genital anomalies located very near to the parietal foraminae.' This condition was recognized on some ancient Egyptian crania by Smith.! He found those skulls having " strange, large symmetrical depressions of the parietal bones."' Rowling' also noted this in the mummies of Thutmosis III and Meritamon of the New Empire period, and also in Khety from the middle kingdom. This abnormality has interested pathologists as a contemporary disease involving an atrophy of the parietals, usually accompanying old age. It has been concluded that it is a congenital dysplasia of the diploe of non-progressive type and a static nature of abnormality.`' Camp and Nash' reported 119 cases (80 males and 39 females), of which 10 were 30 years or less, one was a 4-year-old child, and another one was a 9-week-old infant. Examining 26 cases (19 females ranging from 54 to 86 years), Epstein' concluded that this change is associated with post-menopausal and senile osteoporosis. A further attempt was made to reveal the cause of the disease, its peculiarity of localized susceptibility, and the role of osteoporosis and ageing in the thinning.9 Investigating only two patients, one a female of 85 years and another a male of 28 years, it was postulated that the thinning may be an acquired and progressive disease (progression was diagnosed in the female), and the localized thinning is explained in terms of decreased osteoblastic activity resulted from gonadal insufficiency, senility, or other causes of osteoporosis in a region where there is a little stress or strain.' It is apparent that this pathological change, the origin of which has been traced back to ancient civilizations, is not dependent on age or sex, but the exact cause is as yet not understood.-I am, etc., PRATAP C. DUTTA. Anthropological Survey of India, Indian Museum, Calcutta 13, India. REFERENCES I Goldsmith, W. M., 7. Hered., 1941, 32, 301. 2 Smith, G. E., Bull. archaeol. Surv. Nubia, 1908, I. 3 Sigerist, H. E., A History of Medicine, 1951, Vol. I, p. 46. New York. Rowling, J. T., Proc. roy. soc. Med., 1961, 54, 409. 5Greig, D. M., Edinb. med. 7., 1926, 33, 645. Wilson, A. K., Amer. 7. Roentgenol., 1944, 51, 685. Camp, J. D., and Nash, L. A., Radiology, 1944, 42, 42. Epstein, B. S., Radiology, 1953, 60, 29. 9Steinbach, H. L., and Obata, W. G., Amer. 7. Roentgenol., 1957, 78, 39. Dr. Thomas Percival and Jane Austen SIR,-When living in Southampton in 1808 Jane Austen sent a letter to her sister Cassandra in which she mentioned the arrival in the town of a new doctor-" We have got a new physician, a Dr. Percival, the son of a famous Dr. Percival of Manchester, who wrote moral tales for Edward to give to me."' This reference is of particular interest. Dr. Edward Percival was the eldest surviving son of Dr. Thomas Percival, whose book on medical ethics is a classic known to every doctor. Jane Austen was, however, referring to another of Dr. Percival's writings intended for young children. He married in 1767 and as his children were growing up he wrote a series of short tales, each illustrative of one of the moral virtues, so that the series demon- strated the harm produced by selfishness, untruthfulness, and the like. The first part was published in 1775, and later a second and third part were added to it. The Dictionary of National Biography states that this book " achieved great popularity," and we gather from Jane Austen's statement that her brother Edward gave her a copy when she was a little girl. The full title of the book was A Father's Instruction to his Children. Though we have no doubt that as a child Jane enjoyed reading the tales, we believe that the preface may have had more influence on her precocious mind, for in it are given the reasons why Dr. Percival wrote the book. They were three in number. Firstly, to inspire the young with a love of moral excel- lence; secondly, to awaken curiosity and to convey in a lively manner knowledge of the works of God; and, thirdly, to promote more early acquaintance with the use of words and ideas. o n 5 A p ril 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://w w w .b m j.co m / B r M e d J: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /b m j.1 .5 6 3 5 .5 4 -c o n 4 Ja n u a ry 1 9 6 9 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://www.bmj.com/ 
work_yyf4ibq2snh7fmepxeibx5sdpe	----	Abe, Fujimura, Tatsumi, Toyooka, Yorzfuji, Yanagihara develop frontal lobe dysfunction'2 13 and that damage to the frontal lobe caused by various diseases can affect eyelid movements.7-9 Therefore, eyelid apraxia may occur in patients with motor neuron disease, if the dis- ease process involves the frontal lobe. 1 Iwata M, Hirano A. Current problem in the pathology of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. In: Zimmermann H, ed. Progress in neurology. New York: Raven Press, 1979. 2 Lessell S. Supranuclear paralysis of voluntary lid closure. Arch Opthalmol 1972;88:241-4. 3 Harvey DG, Torack RM, Rosenbaum HE. Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis with ophthalmoplegia. A clinicopatho- logic study. Arch Neurol 1979;36:615-7. 4 Lapresle J, Salisachs P. Phenomenes de dissociation volontaire et automatico-reflexe au niveau de certains muscles innerves par les paires craniennes dans deux observations de sclerose laterale amyotrophique. Revue Neurologique 1976;132:157-61. 5 Goldstein JE, Cogan DG. Apraxia of lid-opening. Arch Ophthalmol 1965;3: 155-9. 6 Nutt JG. Lid abnormalities secondary to cerebral hemi- sphere lesions. Ann Neurol 1977;1:149-51. 7 Dehaene I. Apraxia of eyelid opening in progressive supranuclear palsy. Ann Neurol 1984;15:115-6. 8 Lepore FE, Duvoisin RC. "Apraxia" of eyelid opening: an involuntary levator inhibition. Neurology 1985;35:423-7. 9 Johnston JC, Rosenbaum DM, Picone CM, Grotta JC. Apraxia of eyelid opening secondary to right hemisphere infarction. Ann Neurol 1989 25:622-4. 10 Li TM, Swash M, Alberman E, Day SJ. Diagnosis of motor neuron disease by neurologists: a study in three countries. J Neurol Neurosurg Psychiatry 1991;54:980-4. 11 Heilman KM, Rothi LJG. Apraxia. In: Heilman KM, Valenstein E, eds. Clinical neuropsychology. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993:141-63. 12 Abe K, Fujimura H, Toyooka K, Hazama T, et al. Single- photon computed tomographic investigation of patients with motor neuron disease. Neurology 1993;43:1569-73. 13 Kiernan JA, Hudson AJ. Frontal lobe atrophy in motor neuron diseases. Brain 1994;117:747-57. Headache Headaches seem to be an almost female prerogative in the nineteenth century novel. None of Jane Austen's men, not even the awful Mr Woodhouse, experience them. The symptom is often used by the sufferer, whether consciously or unconsciously, as a means of avoiding a difficult social situation and afflicts, in Jane Austen's works, perhaps only the more fragile of her creations. The robust Emma Woodhouse can hardly be imagined falling back on such an expedient. Dickens, incidentally, hardly refers to any headache sufferers in his novels despite his experience of attacks of facial pain.' Jane Austen, 1811, Sense and sensibility My sister will be equally sorry to miss the pleasure of seeing you; but she has been very much plagued lately with nervous head-aches, which make her unfit for company or conversation. J7ane Austen, 1813, Pride and prejudice The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned, brought on a headache; and it grew so much worse towards the evening that, added to her unwillingness to see Mr Darcy, it determined her not to attend her cousins to Rosings, where they were engaged to drink tea. Jane Austen, 1814, Mansfield Park "Fanny," said Edmund after looking at her attentively; "I am sure you have the headache?" She could not deny it, but said it was not very bad "There was no help for it certainly," rejoined Mrs Norris, in a rather softened voice; "but I question whether her headache might not be caught then, sis- ter. There is nothing so likely to give it as standing and stooping in a hot sun. But I dare say it will be well tomorrow. Suppose you let her have your aromatic vinegar; I always forget to have mine filled." Jane Austen, 1816, Emma "Miss Fairfax was not well enough to write;" and when Mr Perry called at Hartfield, the same morning, it appeared that she was so much indisposed as to have been visited, though against her own consent, by himself, and that she was suffering under severe headaches, and a nervous fever to a degree, which made him doubt the possibility of her going to Mrs Smallridge's at the time proposed. Charlotte Bronte, 1839, Caroline Vernon "I've got a head-ache, Mary." This was a lie-told to awaken sympathy and elude further cross-examina- tion. "Have you, Adrian, where?" "I think I said a head-ache, of course it would not be in my great toe." Victor Hugo, 1862, Les Miserables This done, and saying that she had a headache, Cosette bade her father good night and went back to her bedroom ... Not that he was troubled by her headache, which he regarded as nothing but a trifling crise de nerfs, a girlish sulk that would wear off in a day or two. G D PERKIN Regional Neurosciences Centre, Charing Cross Hospital, Fulham Palace Road, London W6 8RF, UK 1 House M, Storey G, eds. The letters of Charles Dickens. Vol 2. 1840-41. Oxford: The Clarenden Press, 1969. NEUROLOGY IN LITERATURE 632 o n A p ril 5 , 2 0 2 1 b y g u e st. P ro te cte d b y co p yrig h t. h ttp ://jn n p .b m j.co m / J N e u ro l N e u ro su rg P sych ia try: first p u b lish e d a s 1 0 .1 1 3 6 /jn n p .5 9 .6 .6 3 2 o n 1 D e ce m b e r 1 9 9 5 . D o w n lo a d e d fro m http://jnnp.bmj.com/ 
work_yzdzjsciujatdk3o4w7rxcsjo4	----	10.11648.j.ijdst.20170302.11 International Journal on Data Science and Technology 2017; 3(2): 16-23 http://www.sciencepublishinggroup.com/j/ijdst doi: 10.11648/j.ijdst.20170302.11 ISSN: 2472-2200 (Print); ISSN: 2472-2235 (Online) A New Stylometry Method Basing on the Numerals Statistic Andrei Viacheslavovich Zenkov 1, * , Larisa Anatolievna Sazanova 2 1 Department “Modelling of Controllable Systems”, Ural Federal University, Ekaterinburg, Russia 2 Department of Statistics, Econometrics and Computer Science, Ural State University of Economics, Ekaterinburg, Russia Email address: zenkow@mail.ru (A. V. Zenkov) * Corresponding author To cite this article: Andrei V. Zenkov, Larisa A. Sazanova. A New Stylometry Method Basing on the Numerals Statistic. International Journal on Data Science and Technology. Vol. 3, No. 2, 2017, pp. 16-23. doi: 10.11648/j.ijdst.20170302.11 Received: March 22, 2017; Accepted: April 25, 2017; Published: May 22, 2017 Abstract: A new method of statistical analysis of texts is suggested. The frequency distribution of the first significant digits in numerals of connected authorial English-language texts is considered. Benford's law is found to hold approximately for these frequencies with a marked predominance of the digit 1. Deviations from Benford's law are statistically significant author peculiarities that allow, under certain conditions, to consider the problem of authorship and distinguish between texts by different authors. At the end of {1, 2,…, 8, 9} row, the digits distribution is subject to strong fluctuations and thus unrepresentative for our purpose. The approach suggested and the conclusions are backed by the examples of the computer analysis of works by W. M. Thackeray, M. Twain, R. L. Stevenson et al. The results are confirmed on the basis of non- parametric range Mann-Whitney and Kruskal-Wallis tests as well as the parametric Pearson's chi-squared test. Keywords: Benford’s Law, Statistic of Numerals, Text Attribution, Text Processing, English-Language Fiction, Mann-Whitney U Test, Pearson's Chi-Squared Test 1. Introduction Recently, the scope of the practical use of Benford’s law [1] has significantly expanded. Known for over a hundred years, Benford's law refers to the probability of occurrence of a certain first significant digit in the distribution of various real life data. Contrary to the common assumption that the frequency of occurrence of any first significant digit should be equal, the digit 1 occurs more likely for many data sets! According to Benford's law, in the decimal system, probability of occurrence of the digit d as the first significant ( ) ( )1lg 1 ,dP d = + (1) accordingly, the probability of 1d = should be lg 2 0.30≈ , the probability of 2d = – 0.18 , etc. An exhaustive explanation of Benford's law, covering all cases of its manifestation, has not yet been proposed, although some conditions favouring its emergence are stated. A classic experiment by Benford, showing a good agreement with (1) – analysis of the occurrence of numerals contained in articles of a randomly selected issue of a magazine – is naturally explained by the theorem by Hill [2], according to which, if one repeatedly randomly chooses a probability distribution and then randomly chooses a number according to that distribution, the resulting data set will obey Benford's law. Note that Benford himself analyzed the occurrence of numerals expressed in figures only. Incomplete understanding [3] does not preclude the successful use of Benford's law to detecting fraud in accounting and auditing data [4] and election fraud [5]; the applications suggested extend from physics and astronomy [6, 7] through seismology [8] to steganography [9] and scientometrics [10]. Zenkov [11] has shown the efficacy of counting frequencies of different first significant digits of numerals for text attribution. It was found that not only for the random combination of heterogeneous texts, but also for the coherent (Russian-language) texts to which the conditions of the afore- named theorem are not applicable, frequency distribution resembles that of Benford's law (1), but the quota of digit 1 considerably exceeds 30 per cent – at least since the word "one" formally being a numeral can actually play the role of an indefinite article. 17 Andrei V. Zenkov and Larisa A. Sazanova: A New Stylometry Method Basing on the Numerals Statistic In contrast to the traditional methodology of application of Benford's law, which treats deviations from the law as an indication of the possible existence of "falsification" (broadly defined), he placed emphasis on the comparison of these deviations for texts by different authors, showing that these deviations are statistically robust author features that allow to distinguish between texts by different authors (under certain conditions, the most important of which is a sufficiently large text). Basing on these ideas, we present here new research results concerning the distribution of the first significant digits of numerals contained in coherent English-language texts. The study is of an empirical and experimental nature. The aim of the theoretical explanation of the results (if at all possible) is not intended which, however, does not diminish the possibility of the practical use of the proposed methodology for practical problems of stylometry. For all (English-language fiction) texts subjected to computer-aided statistical analysis, we have studied the frequency of occurrence of various first significant digits of numerals, taking into account cardinal as well as ordinal numerals expressed both in figures, and (considerably more often) verbally. In the last case, the first step was to rewrite every form of a numeral with figures (e.g., ‘one thousand, seven hundred and eighty-ninth’ replaced by ‘1789’) and then to take into account the first significant digit (1) only. To identify the author's use of numerals, we previously deleted from the text all idiomatic expressions and set phrases accidentally containing numerals (‘one hand washes the other’, ‘five-o’clock’), as well as itemizations like 1), 2), 3), etc. Texts analyzed are mainly taken from the Project Gutenberg website http://www.gutenberg.org 2. Distribution of First Significant Digits of Numerals in Compound Texts The conditions of Hill theorem are best satisfied for the compound texts containing the pieces by different authors. In this case, the author peculiarities are averaged, and we obtain a Benford-like frequency-digit dependence but with a steeper drop and the occurrence of 1 much more predominant than prescribed by Benford’s law (1). The Figure 1 shows the results of the analysis of eight English-language compound fiction texts [12–19]. For each collection of stories, we see a monotone decrease of frequency; results for different collections are upon the whole similar, variations may be owing to peculiarities (for example, genre and time of creation) of texts in each collection. Figure 1. The distribution of the first significant digits of numerals in English-language compound fiction texts; the results are compared with those expected according to Benford's law (1). 3. Distribution of First Significant Digits of Numerals in Coherent Texts Usually, texts belonging to the pen of a distinct author have persistent peculiarities in the statistics of first significant digits of numerals, and their distribution is a stable characteristic of the author. As an example, we show here the distributions of the first significant digits of numerals in texts by W. M. Thackeray, M. Twain, and R. L. Stevenson (Figures 2–4). International Journal on Data Science and Technology 2017; 3(2): 16-23 18 Figure 2. The distribution of the first significant digits of numerals in texts by W. M. Thackeray. Figure 3. The distribution of the first significant digits of numerals in texts by M. Twain. Note two digit 1 outliers corresponding to texts not wholly written by Stevenson. Figure 4. The distribution of the first significant digits of numerals in texts by R. L. Stevenson. The differences in the statistics of first significant digits of numerals in texts by different authors may be not striking, as in case of novels by sisters Brontë. This is in fact not surprising in view of their common family and education background. 19 Andrei V. Zenkov and Larisa A. Sazanova: A New Stylometry Method Basing on the Numerals Statistic Figure 5. The distribution of the first significant digits of numerals in texts by the Brontës. The frequency of digit 1 can reach the two times higher value than according to Benford’s law (Figures 1–5). It is this digit as well as digits 2 and 3 (to a lesser degree) which determine the author peculiarity of texts in our approach. The occurrence of subsequent digits is subject to strong fluctuations which precludes obtaining useful information from their distribution. In Figures 2–5, the frequency of the digit 1 usually was about 0.5; as it will be shown later, this frequency can strongly differ from that value. The frequency of digit 1 is, so to speak, a ‘fingerprint’ which permits to distinguish between different authors if this frequency strongly differs for their texts. How strong should be the difference, to be regarded as significant? We will answer this question at the end of the article. 4. Text Attribution 4.1. Jane Austen and Her Imitators Domestic novels of manners by Jane Austen (1775–1817) caused numerous sequels and prequels. Related topics and even the intention to write in the same way did not prevent the imitators from stark difference in the numerals usage (Figure 6). Figure 6. The distribution of first significant digits of numerals in J. Austen's novels and in those of her epigones. Thus, Benfordian analysis can be useful in the study of text’s authorship. 4.2. Authorship of the 15th Book of Oz Lyman Frank Baum, a prolific writer whose “Wonderful Wizard of Oz” was a great success, wrote until his death 13 sequels of this book. The series was so popular that the publishers decided to continue it. The 15 th book, ‘The Royal Book of Oz’, published after Baum’s death, was written “by L. Frank Baum,…, Enlarged and Edited by Ruth Plumly Thompson” as noted on the title page of the first edition (1921). Subsequently, the point of view has spread (argued by linguistic and statistical means) that Thompson did not base the story on any notes Baum left behind, thus “The Royal Book of Oz” was entirely her own work [20]. This opinion is now generally accepted. Although this particular philological question has already been solved, we will show the results of applying our methodology. Below are the results of the statistical study of Baum’s books as well as sequels by Thompson and by other authors (Figures 7–9). International Journal on Data Science and Technology 2017; 3(2): 16-23 20 Figure 7. The distribution of the first significant digits of numerals in texts by L. F. Baum. Note a dramatic difference in the occurrence of significant digit 1 in Baum’s texts, on the one hand, and in texts by Thompson (in particular, in “The Royal Book of Oz”), on the other hand. In view of the length of the texts analyzed, this striking difference can hardly be explained by random fluctuations (unlike subsequent significant digits, which even in the books by the same author behave differently); it demonstrates the authorship of Thompson. Figure 8. The distribution of the first significant digits of numerals in texts by R. P. Thompson. Besides Thompson, many other writers created sequels for “Wonderful Wizard of Oz”. Again, the common theme did not cause the similar distributions (Figure 9). We are prone to regard this difference as a characteristic of the author's style. We tend to associate it with the psychological peculiarities that, regardless of the will and intention of the author, influence his texts. 21 Andrei V. Zenkov and Larisa A. Sazanova: A New Stylometry Method Basing on the Numerals Statistic Figure 9. The distribution of the first significant digits of numerals in sequels of Oz by other authors. Thus, the statistical method based on counting the first significant digits of numerals, is able to answer the question about the text authorship. 4.3. Testing of Methodology: Harper Lee and Truman Capote Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird", published in 1960, is considered one of the greatest novels of American literature. In 2015, short before her death, another novel, “Go Set a Watchman”, was published. Initially promoted by its publisher as a sequel, it is now widely accepted as a first draft of her famous novel. Truman Capote was a lifelong friend of Harper Lee. One of the characters in "To Kill a Mockingbird" was based on him. In contrast to Lee who in fact is the author of a sole book, he was much more prolific, and many of his works are recognized literary classics. The speculation eventually grew that Capote ghosted Lee's book. Testing this hypothesis is an interesting application of the idea about the relation of text authorship to its statistical characteristics. We have counted the frequencies of various first significant digits of numerals in novels by Harper Lee and Truman Capote (Figure 10). Results of the analysis are unexpected: properties of the novel "To Kill a Mockingbird" are far from those of Capote’s texts, but the primary draft, “Go Set a Watchman”, is close to them. It seems that Capote could help Harper Lee in writing the primary text. After having gained experience, she seems to have written her famous novel by herself. Figure 10. The distribution of first significant digits of numerals in texts by Harper Lee and Truman Capote. International Journal on Data Science and Technology 2017; 3(2): 16-23 22 We believe that our methodology can be a useful addition to traditional textual practices, taking into account sentence length, word length, occurrence of certain words and parts of speech, etc. [21, 22, 23]. 5. Conclusion Benford's law holds approximately for coherent texts. Deviations from Benford's law are statistically significant author features that allow, under certain conditions (the most important of which is a sufficient length), to distinguish between the texts with a different authorship. The actual frequency of occurrence usually is higher than the probability according to Benford's law for significant digits 1, 2, 3; for the subsequent digits the situation is reversed. At the end of {1, 2,…, 8, 9} row, the digits distribution is characterized by strong fluctuations and thus is unrepresentative for our purpose. Of course, the comparison of the distributions cannot be based merely on the detection of their subjective visual similarities/differences. To quantify, we have applied the non-parametric range Mann-Whitney U test and Kruskal- Wallis test as well as the parametric Pearson's chi-squared test. The null hypothesis, which asserts the absence of significant differences in the distributions considered, was rejected and accepted exactly in the cases, as described above, i.e. the visual assessment was correct. Acknowledgements A. V. Z. is grateful to Dr. William M. Goodman for his valuable comments. References [1] F. Benford, “The law of anomalous numbers”. Proceedings of American Philosophical Society. 1938. vol. 78. No. 4. pp. 551–572. [2] T. P. Hill, “A Statistical Derivation of the Significant-Digit Law”. Statistical Science. 1995. vol. 10. pp. 354–363. [3] W. M. Goodman, “Reality Checks for a Distributional Assumption: The Case of ‘Benford’s Law’”. JSM 2013 – Business and Economic Statistics Section, pp. 2789–2803. [4] M. J. Nigrini, Benford’s Law: applications for forensic accounting, auditing, and fraud detection. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, 2012. [5] B. F. Roukemaa, “A first-digit anomaly in the 2009 Iranian presidential election”. Journal of Applied Statistics. 2014. vol. 41. No. 1. pp. 164–199. [6] D. Biau, “The first-digit frequencies in data of turbulent flows”. Physica A. 2015. vol. 440, pp. 147–154. [7] T. P. Hill and R. F. Fox, “Hubble’s Law Implies Benford’s Law for Distances to Galaxies”. Journal of Astrophysics and Astronomy. 2016. vol. 37. No. 4. 8 pages. [8] M. Sambridge, H. Tkalčić, and P. Arroucau, “Benford’s Law of First Digits: from Mathematical Curiosity to Change Detector”. Asia Pacific Mathematics Newsletter. 2011. vol. 1. No. 4. pp. 1–6. [9] P. Andriotis, G. Oikonomou, and T. Tryfonas, “JPEG steganography detection with Benford’s Law”. Digital Investigation. 2013. vol. 9. No. 3–4. pp. 246–257. [10] A. D. Alves, H. H. Yanasse, and N. Y. Soma, “Benford’s Law and articles of scientific journals: comparison of JCR and Scopus data”. Scientometrics. 2014. vol. 98. pp. 173–184. [11] A. V. Zenkov, “Deviation from Benford’s law and identification of author peculiarities in texts”. Computer Research and Modeling, 2015, vol. 7, No. 1, pp. 197–201 (in Russian). [12] The Best American Humorous Short Stories, by G. P. Morris, E. A. Poe, C. M. S. Kirkland, E. Leslie, G. W. Curtis, E. E. Hale, O. W. Holmes, M. Twain, H. S. Edwards, R. M. Johnston, H. C. Bunner, F. R. Stockton, F. Bret Harte, O. Henry, G. R. Chester, G. MacGowan Cooke, W. J. Lampton, and W. Hastings. The Project Gutenberg eBook, eBook #10947; [13] The Short-story, by W. Irving, E. A. Poe, N. Hawthorne, F. Bret Harte, R. L. Stevenson, and R. Kipling. The Project Gutenberg eBook, transcribed from the 1916 Allyn and Bacon edition, eBook # 21964. [14] The Lock And Key Library, Classic Mystery And Detective Stories, by R. Kipling, A. Conan Doyle, E. Castle, S. J. Weyman, W. Collins, and R. L. Stevenson. The Project Gutenberg eBook, transcribed from the 1909 Review of Reviews Co. edition, eBook # 2038. [15] Shorter Novels, Eighteenth Century. The History of Rasselas, The Castle of Otranto, Vathek, by S. Johnson, H. Walpole, and W. Beckford. The Project Gutenberg eBook, transcribed from the 1903 Aldine House edition, eBook # 34766. [16] The Best of the World's Classics, Vol. V – Great Britain and Ireland, by J. Boswell, W. Wordsworth, W. Scott, S. T. Coleridge, R. Southey, W. S. Landor, C. Lamb, W. Hazlitt, T. De Quincey, Lord Byron, P. Bysshe Shelley, G. Grote, T. Carlyle, Lord Macaulay. The Project Gutenberg eBook, transcribed from the 1909 Funk & Wagnalls Co. edition, eBook # 22182. [17] The Great English Short-Story Writers, Vol. 1, by D. Defoe, J. Hogg, W. Irving, N. Hawthorne, E. A. Poe, J. Brown, C. Dickens, F. R. Stockton, M. Twain, F. Bret Harte, T. Hardy, H. James, and R. L. Stevenson. The Project Gutenberg eBook, transcribed from the 1910 Readers's Library edition, eBook # 10135. [18] A House to Let, by C. Dickens, W. Collins, E. Gaskell, and A. A. Procter. The Project Gutenberg eBook, transcribed from the 1903 Chapman and Hall edition, eBook #2324. [19] Masterpieces of Mystery, Vol. 1, Ghost Stories, by A. Blackwood, M. R. James, K. Rickford, W. F. Harvey, R. A. Cram, R. L. Stevenson, and W. D. Steele. The Project Gutenberg eBook, transcribed from the 1920 Doubleday, Page & Co. edition, eBook # 27722. [20] J. N. Binongo, “Who wrote the 15th Book of Oz? An Application of Multivariate Analysis to Authorship Attribution”. Chance. 2003. vol. 16. No. 2, pp. 9–17. 23 Andrei V. Zenkov and Larisa A. Sazanova: A New Stylometry Method Basing on the Numerals Statistic [21] The Oxford Handbook of Computational Linguistics (Ed. R. Mitkov). Oxford (a.o.): Oxford University Press, 2003. [22] The Handbook of Linguistics (Eds. M. Aronoff and J. Rees- Miller). Oxford (a.o.): Blackwell Publishing, 2004. [23] B. Ryabko, J. Astola, and M. Malyutov, Compression-Based Methods of Statistical Analysis and Prediction of Time Series. Springer International Publishing Switzerland, 2016. 
work_z3g7mbq2t5h6jfrjg4hcjewemm	----	320 320..320 From the Editor’s desk Different perspectives We sometimes forget that retinas reverse optical images and our view of the world is upside down. There is now quite a fashion in upside-down world maps in which Spain and France are ‘down under’ and New Zealand tops the living world. These maps do not just constitute an exercise in raising the confidence level of the Antipodean psyche, which to many is already far too confident, but invites more critical thinking. The value of looking at psychi- atric problems from a different perspective is illustrated by several of the papers in this issue. Cannabis is the accepted bad boy on the pathway to schizophrenia1,2 but it is equally well recognised that many people can use, and misuse, cannabis without getting a whiff of psychosis. There could be several reasons for this, the most prominently flagged being genetic differences in those who are susceptible (but this is now receiving less support),3 as well as differences in brain anatomy.4 Morgan & Curran (pp. 306–307) now offer an exciting, but hairy, explanation: some cannabis contains more of the cannabinoid called cannabidiol, a substance that is not only harmless but has some antipsychotic properties, whereas other forms, particularly the more concentrated form called ‘skunk’, contain more D9-tetrahydrocannabinol (D9-THC), that leads the consumer down the bumpy road to schizophrenia. The popular perspective of skinny fashion models illustrating the exact meaning of the behavioural term ‘modelling’ in generat- ing eating disorders in a susceptible public, perhaps best shown in an elegant study published some years ago in the Journal, 5 also has another side: the influence of the need to be thin on the models themselves (Treasure et al, pp. 243–244). This seems likely to include not only frank eating disorders but many additional morbidities (Patton et al, pp. 294–299). There is also another behavioural concept, habituation, that has a different perspective shown by Kessing (pp. 290–293). Repeated exposure to many noxious influences leads to a reduction in response as we adapt; this does not seem to be true of depression, which remains highly prevalent in the elderly6 and, once linked to adversity, tends to persist, 7 so appears to be more related to kindling than habituation. But the best example of the influence of perspective comes from the study by Freeman et al (pp. 258–263) in their novel use of virtual reality in testing the generation of paranoid symp- toms. My immediate reaction was disbelief at their description of ‘a virtual reality train ride populated by neutral characters’. How on earth can all those strange people sitting opposite me in an average journey on the London underground be described as ‘neutral’ in character? But of course they are. The computer ‘avatars’ (a word which I note describes the incarnation of a Hindu deity in human or animal form) are created to be quite aggressively neutral; is it me, being male with my ‘worry style and cognitive inflexibility’, that makes them into threatening individuals? I must try to change my mental set when travelling. Why not write a letter? Writing letters in this age of instant communication seems to have gone out of fashion, or at least it appears so in the British Journal of Psychiatry. I cannot accept that either our knockabout debate section (Luty/Carnwath, pp. 245–247) or ‘From the Editor’s desk’, despite its lofty erudition, satisfies all the questions that you un- doubtedly have burning to be answered after you read the Journal. I also hope that the pathological influence of the impact factor, which does not credit letter writers, is not inhibiting your corre- spondence, or, as Ernest Hemingway put it, ‘it’s such a swell way to keep from working and yet feel you’ve done something’. To stimulate those who have temporarily lost their corresponding facility we are now allowing letters to be sent directly (not just as eLetters) for consideration for publication in the print Journal to bjpletters@rcpsych.ac.uk, and have amended our authors’ instructions accordingly. We are also keen on expanding contributions to our ‘Extras’ section in the Journal. Please remember, we rely on you for material for ‘Psychiatry in pictures’ and the other items that show to our readers what diverse and interesting people we are. It is these pieces that give us a more human face to the world and, in the politician’s language, ‘put us in touch with our constituents’. As an avid consumer of all confectionery I have always felt a special affinity with Jane Austen, not specifically for her novels, which of course are absolutely magnificent, but through her letters, especially the apparently mundane but highly resonant ‘you know how interesting the purchase of a sponge-cake is to me’. So let us have a few more sweetmeats for the Journal table and increase our splendid fare. 1 Arseneault L, Cannon M, Witton J, Murray RM. Causal association between cannabis and psychosis: examination of the evidence. Br J Psychiatry 2004; 184: 110–17. 2 Hides L, Dawe S, Kavanagh DJ, Young RM. Psychotic symptom and cannabis relapse in recent-onset psychosis: prospective study. Br J Psychiatry 2006; 189: 137–43. 3 Zammit S, Spurlock G, Williams H, Norton N, Williams N, O’Donovan MC, Owen MJ. Genotype effects of CHRNA7, CNR1 and COMT in schizophrenia: interactions with tobacco and cannabis use. Br J Psychiatry 2007; 191: 402–7. 4 Szeszko PR, Robinson DG, Sevy S, Kumra S, Rupp CI, Betensky JD, Lencz T, Ashtari M, Kane JM, Malhotra AK, Gunduz-Bruce H, Napolitano B, Bilder RM. Anterior cingulate grey-matter deficits and cannabis use in first-episode schizophrenia. Br J Psychiatry 2007; 190: 230–6. 5 Becker AE, Burwell RA, Herzog DB, Hamburg P, Gilman SE. Eating behaviours and attitudes following prolonged exposure to television among ethnic Fijian adolescent girls. Br J Psychiatry 2002; 180: 509–14. 6 Castro-Costa E, Dewey M, Stewart R, Banerjee S, Huppert F, Mendonca-Lima C, Bula C, Reisches F, Wancata J, Ritchie K, Tsolaki M, Mateos R, Prince M. Prevalence of depressive symptoms and syndromes in later life in ten European countries: the SHARE study. Br J Psychiatry 2007; 191: 393–401. 7 Fergusson DM, Boden JM, Horwood LJ. Recurrence of major depression in adolescence and early adulthood, and later mental health, educational and economic outcomes. Br J Psychiatry 2007; 191: 335–42. 320 The British Journal of Psychiatry (2008) 192, 320. doi: 10.1192/bjp.192.4.320 By Peter Tyrer Downloaded from https://www.cambridge.org/core. 06 Apr 2021 at 01:53:14, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use. https://www.cambridge.org/core 
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work_z6kmt2gierd4jfy5erasrc2ugu	----	Writing as Thinking Keith Oatley University of Toronto Maja Djikic Harvard University Writing is analyzed as thinking that uses paper or other media to externalize and manipulate symbolic expressions. Mental operations of natural language can occur somewhat independently, and they communicate well with language that has been written, but for skilled writing these operations need elaborate installation in the mind. We explore four methods to see how expert writers externalize thoughts and interact with them: laboratory comparisons of novices and experts, interviews with accom- plished writers (mostly of prose fiction), biographical analysis of Jane Austen’s development as a writer, and consideration of Gustave Flaubert’s notes and drafts. Writers can use paper to extend their thinking, and to create frameworks of cues that enable readers of a story to construct mental models that they may enter empathetically. Keywords: fiction, drafts, external memory, cues, mental models I. A. Richards wrote: “A book is a machine to think with” (1925, p. 1). Here we propose that a pen is a machine to think with. We explore how writers’ thoughts can be improved when exter- nalized onto paper or some other medium. Fol- lowing an introduction on the relation of writing to thought, we concentrate mainly on distin- guished writers of novels and short stories. A parallel exploration could be made from the study of students’ writing (for instance, using studies of the kind reviewed in MacArthur, Gra- ham, & Fitzgerald, 2006). If writing is a kind of thinking, we should start with what is known about thinking. A recent sourcebook is edited by Holyoak and Morrison (2005). An important line of influ- ence comes from Bartlett (1932), who found that when we remember a story, we store it in long-term memory in a schema, with only a few details. Unlike artificial memory, such as a photograph or tape recording, which are fixed and passive, human long-term memory is based on meaning and actively generates meaning. The importance of Bartlett’s work for literature was emphasized by Gerrig (1993). Although reading or listening to a story is different from interacting in the real world, Gerrig shows that the cognitive pro- cesses of understanding a narrative world are those outlined by Bartlett, and are not sub- stantially different from those that allow un- derstanding of the ordinary world. Craik (1943) extended Bartlett’s idea and proposed that thinking involves translation of some aspect of the world into a schema, which he called a mental model. Manipulation of such a model can produce a new state, and this ma- nipulation is thinking. Then retranslation can occur of the derived state of the model back into terms of the world, for instance into action or words. The idea has similarities to Wittgen- stein’s (1922) proposal that “The proposition is a model of reality as we think it is” (4.01). Mental models have become important in cog- nitive psychology (e.g. Johnson-Laird, 1983; 2006; Marr, 1982). Our language is thick with terms that refer to the model-making function. As well as the terms schema and model, there are: allegory, analogy, hypothesis, metaphor, representation, simile, theory. There is substantial evidence that readers of fiction locate themselves within models of imaginary worlds cued by narratives they are reading (e.g., Zwaan, 1999; 2004). The idea of models is also used in literary studies, for in- stance by Vendler (1997) in what is generally considered the best book on Shakespeare’s son- nets. Here is the first quatrain of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 73: Keith Oatley, University of Toronto, Canada; and Maja Djikic, Harvard University. Correspondence concerning this article should be ad- dressed to Keith Oatley, University College, University of Toronto, 15 King’s College Circle, Toronto, Canada, M5S 3H7. E-mail: koatley@oise.utoronto.ca Review of General Psychology Copyright 2008 by the American Psychological Association 2008, Vol. 12, No. 1, 9 –27 1089-2680/08/$12.00 DOI: 10.1037/1089-2680.12.1.9 9 That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang (Vendler, 1997, p. 333). The center of Vendler’s commentary on this sonnet is as follows: Three models of life are proffered by the speaker . . . the first two models are linear ones—spring, summer, autumn, winter; morning, noon, afternoon, sunset, twi- light, night” (p. 334). She points out that the model in the passage quoted is of life as moving linearly from spring to winter. In the next quatrain, it moves linearly from morning to night. These models are re- placed in the next quatrain by a model of life as “the glowing of such fire . . . consumed with that it was nourished by.” The poem works by successively projecting these models onto the aging process. Life becomes no longer “ruined,” by impersonal processes of time. It is “con- sumed” by the actions of living. Although deciding among theories of think- ing is controversial, most owe something to Bartlett’s and Craik’s idea that to think is to take a problem in the world and operate on a mental version—a model of some kind—within which it is possible to make inferences. One of the functions of imaginative writing, then, is to offer cues to make this model process work for the reader. To develop a theory of writing as thinking, further steps are necessary. Critical to our pro- posal is externalization, which distributes some of the process from inside the head to the out- side world. Such distribution has been discussed by Hutchins (1991, 1995). The idea was already present in the Turing machine (Turing, 1936), which had three properties. First, it used sym- bols: binary numbers 0 and 1. Second, it could manipulate these symbols, for instance. in re- sponse to an instruction (a program) it could change a 0 to a 1. Third, it could write symbols to a paper tape memory and read symbols from the tape. The function of the external memory is storage and retrieval of intermediate results of manipulations. In mathematics it is uncontroversial that it is important to externalize symbols in well- designed representations, in order to compre- hend and manipulate their relationships. Just as mathematical representations may involve Ara- bic numerals, differential equations, and Carte- sian geometry, so a language such as English involves symbols (words) related by a syntax that implements such matters as case and tense. A writer can externalize thoughts onto paper as intermediate steps, then read them, and change the words in subsequent versions. Writing and paper of potentially infinite extent enable a kind of thinking that is not impossible without exter- nal memory, but that is made easier by storing some thoughts temporarily in the external me- dium. A second step in thinking about a theory of thinking as relevant to writing is to consider systems within the mind. It is widely accepted that there are two distinct kinds (see, e.g., Kah- neman & Shane, 2005; Stanovich, 2004). Sys- tem 1 is fast, intuitive, and based on associa- tions. System 2 is slow, sequential, and rule based. It is often proposed that whereas Sys- tem 1 is well modeled by parallel distributed processes of the kind described by McClelland and Rumelhart (1986), System 2 has symbolic properties of the kind proposed by Turing. Clark (2006a, 2006b) proposes that, with the emergence of the symbolic System 2 based on language, the mind becomes essentially a hy- brid machine: In one layer, language-based op- erations come to play an irreducible role that complements the operations of the evolutionar- ily older layer of parallel associative systems. A related approach is by Sadoski and Paivio (2001), who also identify two types of mental code of which one is verbal. They emphasize that the other, nonverbal, one is based on mental imagery that supports vivid experience. Writing as a technology of language thus offers a well- poised problem: How does a story that seems directly experienced when the reader is lost in a novel (see Green & Brock, 2002) enter via written language (see Graesser, Olde, & Klet- tke, 2002) and penetrate to the intuitive layer? In narrative understanding, as Graesser et al. show, the language layer has several modes that deal with literal and derived representations of the text, with point of view, and with genre. Whereas films interface us with a perceptual world, a short story, novel, or poem, is ad- dressed via language to our memory. This mem- ory has several aspects (e.g., short term and long term). It is thought to depend primarily on associative structures, and it supports autobio- graphical rememberings and understandings that derive from intuitive mental models of the 10 OATLEY AND DJIKIC physical and social world. It is presumably within this layer that situation models of the kind Zwaan (1999, 2004) describes are con- structed and experienced. A third step in a theory of writing as thinking is to ask what writers of imaginative literature think about. They think of many things but, since the earliest narrative writings, emotion has been salient: the sadness of Gilgamesh, the an- ger of Achilles, the shame of Adam and Eve. In a study of what stories can be regarded as hu- man universals, Hogan (2003a) has found that two kinds are most common: the love story and the story of angry conflict. Emotions are central to human life, essential to understanding others and ourselves. They need a lot of thinking about because they are often problematic. They are primary topics in conversation (see, for in- stance, Rimé et al., 1998). Paper as a secondary conversation partner allows writers and readers to think about them too. The centrality of emotions to imaginative writing has been discussed by Opdahl (2002), who adds to the verbal and imagistic codes suggested by Sadoski and Paivio (2001) a third code: an emotion code. He proposes that emo- tion is a distinct representation that is central to meaning in imaginative literature. Not only is it the engine of both character and plot, but read- ers desire to be moved by a novel or short story. Opdahl says that emotion, “belongs originally to the authors, of course, and to the characters they create, but my concern is with the readers, as they live the text vicariously” (p. 60). If we adopt the Oatley and Johnson-Laird (1987) the- ory, which parses emotion into two parts, prop- ositional and nonpropositional, we can see emo- tion not only as being able to mediate readily between verbal and intuitive aspects as mental models are constructed, but as capable of car- rying the personal core of meaning in a story, as Opdahl insists. Emotion is important in what may be called the Romantic theory of art (Oatley, 2003), which has two main hypotheses. The first is that art depends not on thinking but inspiration. The prototype is Coleridge’s (1816/1977) account of how his poem, “Kubla Khan,” came to him in a dream, “in which all the images rose up before him as things, with a parallel production of the corresponding expressions, without any sensa- tion or consciousness of effort” (p. 156). The second, articulated by Collingwood (1938), is that all real art is the articulation and expression of emotion in a language such as words, music, or painting. Opdahl’s theory of emotion as a code that represents personal meaning derives from this second hypothesis. In this article we test both hypotheses. Empirical Studies of Whether Writing Augments the Mind Olson (2001) has argued that the invention of alphabetic writing shows language to be com- posed of words, an idea that does not occur to people before they can read or write. After- wards, however, words can be cast into thoughts, and thoughts can be cast into words. One can take Olson’s idea a step further: Whereas talking and oral performances occur in a domain of utterances, writing takes place in a domain of sentences. In the domain of utter- ances there are speech acts—to warn, request, inform, and so on, and the pragmatics of con- versational turn-taking—largely, as Dunbar (2003) has shown, for purposes of maintaining relationships. In the domain of literary writing, the laws are of syntax and semantics, and the purposes are to engage attention and offer cues (to the intuitive layer) that enable the reader to create an imaginative construction or simulation (Oatley, 1999). Clark (2006a) has argued that human language creates a new evolutionary niche, and that humans become adapted to it, for instance, in conversation. Writing extends this niche, and requires further adaptation, which starts with learning to write and read. Clark’s hybrid idea implies that as one reads a written piece, it must aim at basic associative processes by means of cues, but it must also run linguis- tically on its own terms. This formulation en- ables us to maintain the twin ideas of (a) con- struction of mental models and thinking as in- volving multiple constraints as offered by parallel connectionist systems of System 1, and (b) the phenomenology of language-related streams of consciousness (see Oatley, 2007), that need to be processed sequentially in a man- ner characteristic of System 2. The phenome- nology echoes ideas of Mead (1913) that think- ing involves adopting (as it were) external forms, for instance, of voices in debate, so that they become tools in the workshop of thought. It includes, too, the idea of Vygotsky (1930) that thinking involves the internalization of cul- 11WRITING AS THINKING ture from things said in the outside world (see also Bakhtin, 1963/1984). One may imagine, then, that with the inven- tion of alphabetic writing, the language layer of the mind is augmented. A person who is writing can move back and forward between the inter- nal language layer and externalized text. Stor- age of intermediate results becomes possible in the equivalent of Turing’s paper-tape memory. But does externalization of language in writing enable anything further? This question requires consideration of research begun by Luria (1976), who studied two groups in Uzbekistan in the early 1930s: a group of illiterate people and a group who had received a brief training in literacy. Among his cognitive tests he asked: “In the Far North, where there is snow, all bears are white. Novaya Zemlya is in the Far North. What color are the bears there?” The form is a syllogism. Of 15 people in the illiterate group, only four were able to answer this question. Those who could not answer it replied, for instance, that they did not know because they had never been to Novaya Zemlya. By contrast all 15 of those in the group that had attended a literacy program could solve the syllogism, even though, as Luria says, they had “. . .at- tended school only briefly, and many were still barely literate” (p. 15). Language externalized in writing seemed to augment intuitive thought to enable language- based reasoning beyond immediate experience. A problem arose, however, when Scribner and Cole (1981) repeated Luria’s design in Liberia, with an extra group of participants. One group was without writing or schooling. A second group had attended formal school, and could read and write English. The third group (the extra group) had not been to school, but could write in an indigenous logographic script that was learned at home and used for commerce and interpersonal correspondence. Like Luria, Scribner and Cole gave abstract reasoning tasks, including syllogisms. Those with schooling could solve these tasks but the illiterate and those who could only write in the indigenous script could not. It therefore seems that thinking by means of language-that-can-be-written re- quires both a leap into a world of the imagined, as proposed by Harris (2000), and training of the kind provided by education in which a thinker can acquire confidence in this newly installed augmentation of writing-based reason- ing. Language-based thinking does not require writing, even for complex works of art. After all, Homer is thought to have been illiterate; and illiterate storytellers of the recent period who compose and perform have been recorded (Parry, 1971). The hypothesis is that the lan- guage-based thinking that occurs in composi- tion is helped by writing and also that the ma- chinery for fluent and creative writing does not install automatically, but that, like expertise in physics or chess, it needs continual effortful use and social validation. The studies of Luria, and of Scribner and Cole, seem to have gone as far as possible for testing this question on different linguistic groups. But might studies of individual writers help to understand what goes on when thoughts are externalized in writing? We approach the problem from four directions: laboratory obser- vations, content analyses of interviews with fa- mous writers, the literary biography of Jane Austen, and a succession of plans, sketches, and drafts, of Gustave Flaubert for one of his short stories. Writers and Writings Many, probably most, literary writers start on a piece by putting something on the page that will prompt thoughts they might not otherwise have had. Here for instance is Frank O’Connor, one of the most accomplished short story writ- ers in English of the second half of the twentieth century, in an interview for the magazine Paris Review: “Get black on white” used to be Maupassant’s ad- vice—that’s what I always do. I don’t give a hoot what the writing’s like. I write any sort of rubbish which will cover the main outlines of the story, then I can begin to see it. . . I just write roughly what happened, and then I’m able to see what the construction looks like. (Cow- ley, 1977, p. 167). O’Connor is talking about perhaps the most important function of paper for writers. Thoughts one achieves in one’s final draft can- not be articulated at first. They are only reached via a series of intermediate externalized thoughts. Paper can be like a conversation part- ner, but with the enhancement that the words do not dissolve into the air. What is written can also be taken up by someone else who does, as it were, the backward translation of words into mental models within which he or she can think. 12 OATLEY AND DJIKIC In this way, thought can be passed from mind to mind. Also the writer can be the reader, can replay an externalized thought in language form back to himself or herself, and take part in the iterated movement by which thoughts can be improved. Planning to Write: Writers in the Laboratory In cognitive psychology, the principal recent approach to understanding the attainment of skills has been via the study of expertise. A conclusion of this research (see, e.g. Ericsson, 1990, Ross, 2006) is that to become an expert skater, violinist, or poet, one must devote at least 10,000 hr to problem solving in the do- main of interest. The time must be spent in acquiring new knowledge and procedures. The person needs constantly to push her- or himself, or be prompted by a coach, beyond current abilities. Simply performing an activity is not enough: that is why, despite the many hours they may devote, amateur golfers do not im- prove beyond a certain point. It is important to know where to concentrate to improve current skills. In the arts, the artist must come to act creatively with a chosen medium, and transform the genres in which she or he works. The setting of goals and acquisition of skills become over- riding passions. Variations must be explored and errors made. In Ulysses, James Joyce (1922/ 1986) has his character Stephen Dedalus put the matter like this, talking about Shakespeare: “A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery” (p. 156). We need not restrict this function to ge- niuses: We can all use imperfect drafts as por- tals of discovery. The classic psychological research on writing was by Flower and Hayes (1980, 1981), and Hayes and Flower (1980, 1986). They arranged for novice and expert writers to come to a laboratory and think aloud during writing as- signments. The method generates protocols: writers’ transcribed spoken-aloud thoughts plus the writing they produced. Here is an example. (The numbers indicate sentence parts; the num- bering is from the original. Parts 12 and 13 make their way into the writer’s draft. Dashes indicate pauses of 2 s or more. ) . . . Oh, bleh!—say it allows me (10)—to use (11)— Na—allows me—scratch that. The best thing about it is that it allows me to use (12)—my mind and ideas in a productive way (13) (Hayes and Flower, 1986, p. 1109). Hayes and Flower (1986) developed a cogni- tive model of the writing process. Writing ac- complishes a set of goals and has phases of planning, sentence generation, and revising. “In planning . . . the writer generates ideas and or- ganizes them into a writing plan. In sentence generation, the writer produces formal sen- tences intended to be part of a draft. In revising, the writer attempts to improve a draft” (p. 1107). The writing plan has to solve an ill- defined problem: “What am I trying to do with this piece of writing?” The plan develops changes, sometimes radically, as the writer goes along, and often previously unsuspected goals relevant to the piece are discovered. Subpro- cesses are not typically sequential, but are wo- ven together and applied iteratively. Skilled writing is working with multiple constraints, which come into play in different phases and change. The metaphor Flower and Hayes (1980) offer is of a busy telephone operator, who jug- gles multiple calls, makes connections, and solves problems, while speaking in a calm voice. The constraints to which the writer must adapt include knowledge of the topic, conven- tions of writing, vocabulary, understanding how the world works, memories (of incidents, prin- ciples, and people), and solving the rhetorical problem of engaging the reader. Though held in memory, these pieces of knowledge may be loosely conceptualized, disparate, and even in- coherent. By contrast, most pieces of writing are aimed at being rhetorically convincing, concep- tually clear, and coherent. Hayes and Flower found differences between experts (professional writers) and novices (typ- ically students in grade-12 school or first-year university) in all three phases of the process. Experts, as compared with novices, in the plan- ning phase produced a more elaborate set of interrelated goals, including consideration for their readers; in constructing sentences, their sentence parts were 50% longer; in revising, they made three times as many alterations that changed the meaning of what they had written. Novices changed little, and only 12% of their alterations changed meaning. A comparable conclusion has been drawn in work on reading: Novice readers concentrate at the word and sentence level, as compared with experts who 13WRITING AS THINKING think about larger-scale structures and their pos- sible meanings (Graves & Fredrickson, 1995, Peskin, 1998). Among recent postulates of this line of re- search is that of Hayes (2001), that a writer’s reading of the text generated so far (stored in external memory) is more important than had initially been thought (see also Galbraith & Torrance, 2004; Hayes, 2006. On effects of word-processing see MacArthur, 2006.) Relevant to the question of what the text written so far supplies is the experience of a well-known author of detective stories, Howard Engel, who suffered a small stroke that made him unable to read. Words other than the very smallest could not be directly understood. He had to sound each one out, letter by letter, to know what it was. But the stroke spared his ability to write. His diagnosis was alexia with- out agraphia. His most recent novel, Memory Book (Engel, 2005), was written following this stroke. It is about Engel’s private detective, Benny Cooperman, who suffers a blow to the head that produces the same brain damage as that of his author. Completing the novel was a formidable task. In an interview with one of us (KO, 2006), Engel described how he wrote a first draft fairly quickly by typing into a word processor, but then needed more input than usual from editors. A copy editor with whom he had worked before tidied up the manuscript. Then his usual commissioning editor marked up his draft to show where to concentrate, for in- stance where the prose was “a bit soft,” or where he was being too wordy. At these places he spelled out his words, letter by letter, and turned them once again into language that was intelligible to him. Then he could work to im- prove the local area indicated by the editor. After this, the copy editor worked on such mat- ters as repetitions, and he corrected these. Then the copy editor read the resultant draft aloud to him in its entirety. This allowed Engel to see where paragraphs had gone in unintended direc- tions, and to see where to make larger alter- ations. He said: “It gave me a chance to stare it [the whole book] in the face, which was some- thing I couldn’t do for myself.” An important area of research has concerned short-term working memory (Baddeley, 2003), which can hold only some seven chunks of information while they are understood or ma- nipulated. It also cues long-term memory (Kellogg, 2001b). Chenoweth and Hayes (2003) have found that interfering with short-term memory interferes with fluency of writing. When novices write, they tend mainly to be prompted by their capacity-limited short-term memory of their previous sentence, rather than by any overall plan. Without help from his editors, Engel’s stroke had, in some ways, pushed his revisions back toward the novice level of concentrating on sentences. A second kind of memory is long term. For the novice writer this might contain episodic knowledge (of particular incidents) and topic knowledge (perhaps derived from books or lec- tures). The long-term memory of expert writers is enormously expanded in the domain of writ- ing. E. M. Forster (1927) and Frank O’Connor (1963) have written books that articulate some of this knowledge. It can include episodic knowledge drawn from the writers’ own lives (for instance, of how people they know might be characterized) and episodic and semantic knowledge of books they have read. It is artic- ulated for purposes of skilled reading, and it can guide the generative process of writing. Flower, Shriver, Carey, Haas, and Hayes (1989) have shown how writers bring three levels of plan- ning from long-term memory to the writing process: topic knowledge, schema knowledge, and constructive knowledge. Several studies have shown that the more elaborate a writer’s topic knowledge, the better he or she can write on that topic (Kellogg, 1994; 2001a). Schema knowledge includes conventions of writing that include the skills of a particular craft, such as plotting and character development for stories, familiarity with the structure of genres, and so forth. Constructive knowledge is a set of heu- ristics to create a representation useful to a current piece of writing, which is also flexible enough to take advantage of opportunities that emerge unexpectedly during the development of a piece. An innovation that is critical to understand- ing expert writing is by Ericsson and Kintsch (1995) and Kintsch (1998, 2005). By studying tasks such as text comprehension, they found that experts create what they call a long-term working memory, which has some of the char- acteristics of short-term memory, such as being rapidly cued and enabling manipulation of con- cepts. It is not restricted to just a few chunks, but it exists only within a specific domain. For 14 OATLEY AND DJIKIC an expert the training of skills creates a network that is organized and interconnected, and that can be cued from short-term memory. But un- like the properties of short-term working mem- ory, its properties are temporary; they last only for as long as a person maintains his or her skilled expertise in the domain. McCutchen (2000), and Chanquoy and Alamargot (2002), have shown how the development of expertise in writing involves the ability to elaborate such a long-term working memory. A key idea is that when an expert writer reads a draft he or she has written, this external memory prompts and ar- ticulates the specialized long-term working memory, which includes fluent language- generation processes, so that writers become able, as Bereiter and Scardamalia (1987) pro- pose, to do knowledge transforming rather than just knowledge telling. Kintsch (1998) says: long-term working memory “is severely constrained and does not come easily” (p. 221). He implies that over a long period, expert readers and writers can as- semble meaningful patterns and paths through a vast array of literary—language-based— knowledge, somewhat as London taxi drivers assemble a mental map of London so that they can make specific journeys. In a neuroimaging study, Maguire et al. (2003) have found that certain areas of the brains of these drivers were enlarged to an extent that correlated with the number of years spent taxi driving. Perhaps we may anticipate a comparable study of expert writers who have built a long-term working memory for writing. When working on a piece using a developed long-term working memory, a writer may per- haps be able to hold a whole piece in mind so that, as Faulkner put it in his interview for Paris Review: “Sometimes technique [constructive knowledge] charges in and takes command of the dream before the writer himself can get his hands on it . . . the finished work is simply a matter of fitting bricks neatly together” (Cow- ley, 1977, p. 129). On most occasions, the piece being written is loaded up into long- term working memory, and distributed be- tween it and the text written so far. Each part can then cue the other, so that the piece on paper is gradually, and thoughtfully, elabo- rated. When an author is writing a piece, long-term working memory holds what Faulkner called “the dream.” The metaphor of dream for a piece of fiction has been in use for a long time (see, e.g., Miall & Kuiken, 2002). Oatley (1999) has called it a simulation that runs on minds. It includes characters, their plans, actions, and thoughts. According to this idea, the discourse structure of the text in the language layer must be able to start up and sustain the simulation in the intuitive model-forming layer; the text’s suggestion structure of style, tropes, and literary sentences must be able to cue in the reader associations and memories that help bring alive the text as a kind of dream. The theory of Hayes and Flower is accepted by Sadoski and Paivio (2001), who have aug- mented it by adding their dual-coding construc- tion, and by performing several experiments that support the augmented approach. As we have proposed, a primary goal for writers of fiction is to engage the reader emotionally. Good writing is not—as novices sometimes think— doing a mind dump: emptying the con- tents of the mind onto paper. An effective piece of fiction offers the reader cues to start up and run the simulation-dream of the story world, characters, and events, a simulation in which the reader is emotionally involved. When a writer reads what she or he has written, one test is whether reading it can sustain the dream with its emotional aspects. Although an ordinary reader must take up the cues and invoke the dream, a writer who is reading a draft is trying to im- prove the cue structure so the story does come emotionally alive. In some genres the rhetorical task is well understood. In the thriller it is to create a protagonist who is likeable, then sub- ject this character to threats that will make the reader anxious on her or his behalf. The reader turns the pages quickly until the emotional relief of the protagonist’s safety is achieved. In deeper kinds of fiction, the rhetorical problem is to create what Oatley (1999) has called (following Winnicott, 1971) a space in between the text and the reader, in which the reader may create her or his own thoughts and emotions, and may accomplish a writerly reading (Barthes, 1975), or as Miall (2006), calls it, a literary reading. For this to occur the reader, too, needs to cul- tivate an articulated long-term working memory of the literary domain within which such thoughts and emotions can occur. 15WRITING AS THINKING Interviews: Writers at Work We made a selection from the 10 volumes of interviews, Writers at Work (Cowley, 1977; Plimpton, 1977a, 1977b, 1977c, 1981, 1985, 1988a, 1988b, 1989, 1992), originally published in Paris Review. The writers we selected talked about their own writing in sufficient detail to allow content analysis: they talked either about their theory of composition, or craft aspects of their writing, or both. To accommodate to the concerns of this article, we concentrated on writers of prose: short stories, novels, memoirs, and essays. Included were all the writers in Writers at Work First Series (N � 16), as well as the short-story writers, novelists, and essay- ists, in the Second Series (N � 9) (Cowley, 1977; Plimpton, 1977a). To sample from later in the interviews, the writers in the Ninth Series were used (one playwright excluded, N � 11) (Plimpton, 1992). Because women were under- represented, all interviewees except the two po- ets and one playwright in Women Writers at Work were included, where they had not already been included from the First, Second, and Ninth Series (N � 10) (Plimpton, 1989). Because our study was of expertise, all winners of a Nobel Prize for literature were considered who had included prose among their works. From this group Samuel Beckett, Boris Pasternak, and John Steinbeck were excluded: Beckett and Pasternak declined to be interviewed (their en- tries in Writers at Work are memoirs of visits to them), and Steinbeck was too ill for an inter- view (his entry is a selection from his writings). Included were 14 Nobel Laureates (27% of the total sample): prose writers: Saul Bellow, Wil- liam Faulkner, Nadine Gordimer, Ernest Hem- ingway, Gabriel Garcià Marquez, Francois Mauriac, Isaac Bashevis Singer, together with poets and playwrights whose works included some prose, Joseph Brodsky, T. S. Eliot, Pablo Neruda, Octavio Paz, Harold Pinter, George Seferis, and Derek Walcott. The total sample was 52 (16 women, 36 men). Although 56% were American, we believe the sample repre- sented generally the working methods of ex- perts who have written imaginative prose (and in some cases other genres) in European lan- guages. In this section, we test two hypotheses that derive from the Romantic theory of literary writing that we have discussed above. The first Romantic hypothesis is that the cre- ation of literary art is a matter of inspiration: as if taking dictation from a divine source. The hypothesis presumes an above-mentioned “mind dump” (even if inspired), in contrast to writing as paper-assisted thinking. All but 1 of the 52 writers expressed some theory of what they were doing when composing. A minority described some experience of inspiration (7 used the term, and another mentioned “trance” but not “inspiration”). Edna O’Brian, for in- stance, said: “When I am working I write in a kind of trance, longhand, in these several copy- books . . . I write in the morning because one is nearer to the unconscious, the source of inspi- ration” (Women Writers at Work, Plimpton, 1989, p. 356). Near the beginning of each interview, the editors reproduce a page of manuscript by the writer, typed or handwritten: a glimpse of how paper was used in composition. Except for one (a letter to the interviewer), these pages were of imaginative composition. Among these, 92% included least one revision, and in 73% there were five or more revisions. Although this in- dicates that writers do on general make revi- sions, these figures may be overestimates, be- cause it is likely that the editors of Paris Review selected the manuscript pages that exhibited changes, rather than less-interesting, carefully typed sheets. More acute, therefore, may be what the writers themselves said: all but 1 of the 45 who mentioned anything on the subject said that in at least some of their compositions they either began with a set of notes, or went through a series of drafts, or both. Perhaps the most extreme in his stated lack of dependence on paper as a medium for intermediate results (although only in one novel) was William Faulkner, who said: . . . the writer knows probably every single word right to the end before he puts the first one down. This happened with As I Lay Dying . . . all the material was already at hand. It took me just six weeks in the spare time from a twelve-hour-a-day job at manual labor. (Cowley, 1977, p. 129) On the other hand, Faulkner said he wrote The Sound and the Fury four times, each one with a different point of view, before he felt he got it right with the fifth. A different kind of indication that paper helped thinking was that 30 of the 33 writers (91%) who answered a question about whether 16 OATLEY AND DJIKIC new thoughts occurred while they were writing said they did make discoveries, for instance, of characters behaving in ways they had not antic- ipated. The second hypothesis that derives from the Romantic theory is that art is the articulation and expression of emotion in a language (Col- lingwood, 1938). This hypothesis also takes up a proposal made earlier: that prose fiction has a core of meaning, which is emotional, and which, as Opdahl (2002) says, derives in the first instance from the author. The implication is that writers of creative fiction write to resolve inner anguish. We have already tested this hy- pothesis (Djikic, Oatley, & Peterson, 2006) with the use of the Linguistic Inquiry and Word Count (LIWC; Pennebaker, Francis, & Booth, 2001; Pennebaker, Mehl, & Niederhoffer, 2003). The hypothesis is relevant to our argu- ment here: to investigate whether writers are motivated by negative emotions, known to re- quire extensive processing and resolution, so that writing becomes at least in part thinking about and working through such emotions. In our 2006 article we reported that, as compared with a sample of nine male physicists, a matched sample of nine male writers of fiction from the Writers at Work series used more negative-emotion words (including more anger- related, anxiety-related, and sadness-related words) when talking about their work. Being motivated by negative emotions does not nec- essarily imply that the process of writing cannot be enjoyed in itself. For instance, Brand and Leckie (1988) had 24 professional writers track their emotions while writing something they were working on, and found that positive emo- tions tended to increase in the course of the process. In the present sample of 52 writers, 26 said something on this subject of enjoyment. Of these 26, 25 said they did enjoy writing and 1, Georges Simenon, said: “I don’t think an artist can ever be happy” (Cowley, 1977, p. 146). Of 18 who said anything on whether writing was a matter of resolving anguish (or something comparable), 16 said that this was the case, although of these, 7 said they also enjoyed writing. Running the LIWC program on the 52 writers in our current sample produced the same results as those of Djikic et al. (2006). As com- pared with the nine physicists in our previous sample, the writers used significantly more neg- ative-emotion words when talking about their work: t(59) � �2.62, p � .05 for anxiety; t(59) � �2.47, p � .05 for anger; and t(59) � �2.58, p � .05 for sadness. Their writing ap- pears, then, to include thinking about and trying to resolve negative emotions, which therefore become important, perhaps even central, among the multiple constraints to be satisfied. The main conclusion of the content analyses of interviews confirms, in a group of people who are among the most expert of contempo- rary writers, the proposal of Hayes and Flower (1986) that writing involves revising: The ex- ternal memory of paper assists composition. Although we found some references to the phe- nomenology of being inspired, in general the Romantic hypothesis that artistic writing is principally a matter of inspiration is seriously ailing. This is consistent with research on cre- ativity (see, e.g., Weisberg, 1993), and on other domains of expertise (Ross, 2006). A conclu- sion from our test of the second Romantic hy- pothesis supports the idea that emotions of the writers are engaged in the writing of literary prose. Whereas the principal rhetorical problem of nonfiction is to be informative, that of fiction is to offer an experience that is moving. Insofar as stories and novels involve writers’ attempts to resolve their own emotions, readers will also tend to enter emotionally into the lives of char- acters and understand them empathetically (Nussbaum, 1995). As they do this, readers are enabled to explore their own emotions (see, e.g., Oatley, 2004). Literary Biography of Jane Austen: Portrait of the Artist as a Young Woman In this section and the next, we explore the idea that writing as thinking was associated with the rise of the novel and short story. Seeds of the European novel are taken to have been sown in the early seventeenth century by Cervantes. They germinated in the eighteenth century (Watt, 1957), but the flowering occurred in the nineteenth century when also the short story emerged as a discernable genre. Arguably, it was not until the nineteenth century that a tra- dition of multiple drafting of prose fiction arose, in part because until this time paper was expen- sive. We explore the development of this tradi- tion by two writers who were in its forefront: Jane Austen and Gustave Flaubert. 17WRITING AS THINKING The literary development of Jane Austen can be read in biographies by Nokes (1997), Toma- lin (1997), Shields (2001), and others. Evidence about her writing includes testimony of Aus- ten’s family (Austen-Leigh, 1869/2002; Le Faye, 2004), notebooks of early sketches, and drafts of uncompleted novels (Austen, 1993). An important aspect of Austen’s develop- ment was the movement beyond the satire she wrote in her adolescence. She was born into a literary family. Southam (2001) says, quoting members of the Austen family: “There was ‘the flow of native wit, with all the fun and nonsense of a large and clever family,’ conversation ‘rich in shrewd remarks, bright with playfulness and humour’” (p. 4). Austen’s habit of reading ex- tracts of her writing to her family began early and continued throughout her life. She had read sentimental novels of the period, which con- trasted with her morality and her high literary taste. Here, for instance, is a satirical passage written at the age of about 14, from “Jack and Alice,” in Austen’s notebook called Volume the First: On enquiring for his House I was directed thro’ this Wood, to the one you there see. With a heart elated by the expected happiness of beholding him I entered it and had proceeded thus far in my progress thro’ it when I found myself suddenly seized by the leg and on examining the cause of it found that I was caught in one of the steel traps so common in gentlemen’s grounds. “Ah,” cried Lady Williams, “how fortunate we are to meet with you, since we might otherwise perhaps have shared the like misfortune” (Austen, 1993, p. 20). By understatement and juxtaposition she could mock with hilarious derision; a task for her was to develop the satirical humor displayed in these early writings into the irony for which she be- came known. In the 1920s, Austen was established as ca- nonical by Oxford University Press and a for- midable array of scholars (Sutherland, 2006). Today she is the only pre-Victorian novelist in English who is still widely enjoyed. A venera- ble theory of why a writer continues to be read is that of Samuel Johnson (1779-1781/2006), who proposed that the reason is originality. Jackson (2006a; 2006b), however, argues that it is hard to test Johnson’s proposal in Austen’s case because, if one takes any single feature of her writing such as her treatment of moral di- lemmas of marriage for women (see Butler, 1975) or her use of free indirect style (see below), one can find predecessors and contem- poraries with the same concerns or style. There- fore, we ask a related question: Is it likely that writing and paper were useful to Austen in development of her distinctive style and other contributions? We consider three problems that she solved. A first problem was to move beyond the broad satire of Austen’s youth and from the genres available in the literary tradition of her time to the irony she displays in Pride and Prejudice. When she was 24 (in 1799), she had written three book-length manuscripts. One, called First Impressions, was sent by her father to the publisher Cadell. It was rejected. It was an early draft of Pride and Prejudice (Austen, 1813/1970). As Southam (2001) shows, this and an early draft of Sense and Sensibility (Austen, 1811/1980) were written in an epistolary style, which was popular in the eighteenth century. This style uses the practiced skills of letter writing. It allows the intimacy of first-person point of view and a certain inwardness. Exter- nalization into a manuscript that was submitted but rejected required a solution. The solution involved replacement of the epistolary style by something new. Arguably, this was an impor- tant moment in the development of Austen’s much remarked irony, which she accomplishes mainly by metonymic juxtaposition (Lodge, 1977). Metaphor and metonymy are two modes of language-based thinking; Jakobson (1988) calls them two poles of language. Whereas met- aphor is based on substitution of one mental model for another (a semantic operation), me- tonymy can be thought of as juxtaposition (a syntactic operation). Whereas metaphor is char- acteristic of poetry and drama, metonymy is characteristic of prose narrative, which has emerged more recently in historical time. It is—we would propose—more characteristic of multiply drafted prose. Look at the great open- ing sentence of Pride and Prejudice, which uses juxtaposition (Jakobson’s metonymy), no longer satirical but subtle: “It is a truth univer- sally acknowledged, that a single man in pos- session of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” The telling juxtaposition is between “a single man in possession of a good fortune” and “must be in want of a wife”— between wealth and marriage—when the ideal of marriage al- ready by Austen’s time was based on love. It is hard to imagine either the progression from 18 OATLEY AND DJIKIC Austen’s early satire to her mature irony, or this juxtaposition of economic success with love, without the externalizations of writing. It is also hard to imagine, without writing, this opening sentence being an initial setup for Elizabeth Bennet’s joke in the novel’s last-chapter-but- two in response to her sister asking how long she had loved Darcy: “I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley” (p. 332). A second problem that Austen solved was of how to enable the reader to enter empathetically into the consciousness of a character while maintaining the third-person point of view that was necessary for her irony. Abrams (1953) has pointed out that, in literary fiction in the West, problems of this kind (which may be called rhetorical) became primary during the Renais- sance. In the works of Dante, Petrarch, Cer- vantes, and Shakespeare, we see them being solved so that not just characters in a story, but the readers of the stories, experience emotions (other than pity and fear), come to realizations, and understand more deeply self and others. Part of Shakespeare’s solution, for instance, was to enable members of his audience to create from cues afforded by actors a kind of dream: a model of selfhood in the social world (Oatley, 2001, 2004). Part of Austen’s solution was free indirect style. Lodge (2002) says, “most novelists today would probably not recognize [this] term” (p. 45), but the style has become widespread. Lodge describes it as giving the reader access to a character’s consciousness. The example he offers is from Austen’s Emma (1816/2003) in which the protagonist’s attempts to match-make for her friend Harriet bring about, instead, a proposal of marriage to Emma herself: “The hair was curled, and the maid sent away, and Emma sat down to think and be miserable.—It was a wretched business . . .” (p. 106). If a writer were to express the last part of this in a first-person narrative such as a letter, it might be rendered: “I sat down and thought: ‘It is a wretched business.’” At its most typical, free indirect style dispenses with quotation marks, transposes the present tense of direct speech into past tense, and changes first person into third person (cf. Banfield, 1993). The effect is that: “We overhear Emma’s thoughts,” and be- cause some sentences lack main verbs, there occurs a “further blurring [of] the distinction between author’s voice and character’s voice” (Lodge, 2002, p. 48). We (the authors of the current article) would go further: With this style it is often unclear whether certain thoughts are the author’s, a character’s, or the reader’s. Such thoughts hover delicately in a mental space in which the reader enters not just the physical world of the novel, but its mental world. Austen was well read. Her brother Henry wrote: “It is difficult to say at what age she was not inti- mately acquainted with the merits and defects of best essays and novels in the English language” (Southam, 2001, p. 8). She may have discovered free indirect style from her reading. She de- scribed in a letter her reading of Mary Brunton’s Self-Control (1811) in which this style is used extensively. We propose that having tried out drafts of novels in epistolary style, she adopted a new mode that included free indirect style. The third problem that Austen solved was to develop what we may call the novel of social explanation, and to link such explanation to an emotional issue: the growth of love. Let us put it like this. In the history of the detective or mystery story we can see distinct moments of invention of the genre, for instance Edgar Allen Poe’s short story, “Murders in the Rue Morgue” (1841/1967), and Mary Braddon’s novel Lady Audley’s Secret (1862/1985). In a story of the mystery genre, a crime occurs and a person in the role of detective follows a protracted trail of clues to solve it. Thirty years before Poe, Jane Austen used—perhaps invented—a comparable idea, but in the social rather than the forensic domain. Graesser, Olde, and Klettke (2002) have argued that narrative comprehension al- ways contains an element of explanation at a local level, because readers must understand why characters acted in the way they did. In Austen’s stories, this issue is raised to a more global status. People sometimes behave oddly in ways that are emotionally upsetting, so the reader’s desire to know why they have done so can motivate a story. In Pride and Prejudice, for instance, Darcy is rich and presentable, the very emblem of the romantic hero, but early in the story he is rude at a ball, and in particular he is rude about Elizabeth. Only through discussion and further incident is this behavior compre- hended. Its gradual explication underlies the growing understanding between Elizabeth and Darcy, which becomes the basis of a love quite different from the romantic idea of falling in 19WRITING AS THINKING love, which inevitably is based on projections. Opdahl (2002) argues that Pride and Prejudice is evidence for his idea that emotion is a third mental code (alongside verbal and imagistic codes): That it can function in this way depends upon its being understood among a wide range of readers. We would propose that Austen was among the first to show how reading novels is about the empathetic understanding of emo- tions. As Woolf (1925/1966) put it: “Jane Aus- ten is thus a mistress of much deeper emotion than appears on the surface. She stimulates us to supply what is not there . . . something that expands in the reader’s mind” (p. 148). This kind of emotion becomes part of the tradition of the nineteenth century novel. Pride and Prejudice, set against the ruins of Elizabeth’s parents’ romantic marriage, is a love story, as Scheff (1997) has pointed out, of a kind that is rare in literature. Love occurs not at first sight, but develops as the story does. As social explanations are revealed, the reader ex- periences in parallel with the two protagonists their growing understanding of each other. In creating narratives of explanation (social or fo- rensic), there are advantages in maintaining consistency by committing events and utter- ances to paper rather than holding them less reliably in internal memory. (Genres of expla- nation are absent from oral traditions such as epics; compare also Olson’s, 2001, idea that for the most part writing is a kind of quotation.) Austen’s development enabled her to write novels in which the reader enters the minds of characters in their intimate concerns, with a combination of emotionally empathetic identi- fication and ironic detachment that is difficult to accomplish in everyday life. In terms of the two-process theories of mind discussed above, we can hypothesize that metonymic tropes al- low a written story to be accepted into the language layer of the mind, and to enter almost directly into the layer of intuitions and imagi- nation by processes of associative priming (see Hogan, 2003b). We may hypothesize that free indirect style operates in a comparable way: Because thoughts written in this style are not attributed to a speaker and may not be gram- matical, they can float in the mind and be asso- ciated with the author, with a character, and with the reader’s intuitions. The effect of both these kinds of operation is to enable an intimacy between the reader and a novel’s author or protagonist, even when a third-person point of view is used. For Austen, we know that there were juve- nilia from which we see later developments, and we know that there was at least one version of Pride and Prejudice written in a quite different way than the version that we have. Whereas many eighteenth-century novels of the nonepis- tolary kind are rather rambling, as if they are first drafts, Austen’s published novels are more tautly constructed. As with Shakespeare (Jones, 1995), so for Austen, the surviving evidence is simply two successive drafts. Other drafts do not exist. Thus our suggestion that composition was aided by externalization onto paper remains just that: a suggestion. By contrast, as we ex- plore in the next section, Gustave Flaubert care- fully preserved some 30,000 pages of his plans, notes, and drafts. Gustave Flaubert’s Manuscripts: Génétique Textuelle Gustave Flaubert is one of the most influen- tial writers of prose fiction. Understanding his paper-assisted thinking rests on what the French call avant-textes: drafts, notes, and other kinds of document. Study of such textes has pro- gressed for some 30 years under the rubric of génétique textuelle, and a collection of transla- tions into English has been published: Depp- man, Ferrer, and Groden (2004). Just as Arn- heim (1962) studied the series of Picasso’s com- position studies, sketches of individual figures, and seven photographs of successive stages of the work in progress, that went into making Guernica so, more recently, studies of literary writing have been made from avant-textes. As Di Biasi (2002) explains, Flaubert devel- oped the first explicit theory of writing prose fiction. He proposed that style cannot be sepa- rated from content, that it is a way of seeing things, and that a line of prose should be like a line of verse, incapable of being paraphrased. He thought the novel had only just been born, and was awaiting its Homer, perhaps himself. The style of this newly born genre: . . . would be as rhythmical as verse, as precise as the language of science, and with the undulations, the humming of a cello, the plumes of fire, a style that would enter your mind like a rapier thrust, and on which finally your thoughts would slide as if over a smooth surface . . . (Williams, 2004, p. 167). 20 OATLEY AND DJIKIC Flaubert problematized meaning, so that readers were encouraged to think, and he emphasized the need for the writer to remain impersonal: One should not write oneself. For writers, what emerged from the move- ment of modernism that began with Flaubert was the explicit realization that writing can be the creation of language that the reader can take as her or his own, which at the same time makes the simulation-dream of the story come alive, and which encourages reflection. Two features of prose fiction that Austen developed—irony, which allows a stereoscopic view of characters, and free indirect style, in which thoughts take on a certain independence—were further devel- oped by Flaubert. Significantly, too, for modern writing, Flaubert’s style became much more spare. He left things out. Really, what he, and subsequently Chekhov and Hemingway, ac- complished was psychological. The modern style is described by Chekhov in a letter to Suvorin of 1 April 1890: “When I write I rely fully on the reader, on the assumption that he himself will add the subjective elements that are lacking in the story” (Yarmolinsky, 1973, p. 395). Hemingway continued the idea: “I always try to write on the principle of the iceberg. There is seven-eighths of it underwater. Any- thing you know you can eliminate and it only strengthens the iceberg” (Plimpton, 1977a, p. 235). Psychologically we can understand these effects in terms of the reader having to imagine the story world from scripts and other inferen- tial devices (cf. Wegman, 1985), from the prompts of linguistic cues that the writer pro- vides within the blank space of the page. Flaubert thought his notes and drafts would show “the complicated machinery [he used] to make a sentence” (Williams, 2004, p. 166). As Di Biasi (2002) explains, the machinery con- sisted of several phases. First came what Flaubert called the “old plan,” which would change as the project de- veloped. In this stage, Flaubert would daydream around his subject, imagine his characters and their psychology, imagine key scenes, choose locations, and perhaps do some research such as reading, visiting places, interviewing. He con- tinued until he could see the story in his mind’s eye. Second, Flaubert wrote what he called sce- narios, which contained main lines of the nar- rative but in a very unfinished fashion, with semiformed phrases, and with names and places signified by x, y, z. In this way he explored vast territories and created, as it were, a set of sign- posts. Flaubert’s third stage was to write expanded drafts. Sentences and paragraphs started to take shape as he explored many possibilities of the narrative. The pages of these drafts were thick with corrections and insertions between the lines and in the margins. At this stage he might do more location work, less to check for accu- racy than to see scenes through the eyes of each of his characters. In the fourth stage, the labor of style began. In a series of drafts, elimination occurred: a page might be reduced to a phrase, and large parts of the expansive drafts were deleted. At this stage also, the text was subjected to the test of reading aloud. Further drafting occurred until everything fitted together, like a musical score, to be heard by an imagined reader. Fifth, a final draft was produced, with no further corrections. Flaubert described how he thought the artist recapitulates human history during the phases of creation: At first, confusion, a general view, aspirations, bedaz- zlement, everything is mixed up (the barbarian epoch); then analysis, doubt, method, the arrangement of the parts, the scientific era—finally he returns to the initial synthesis executed more broadly (Williams, 2004, p. 167). In Madame Bovary (1857/1964) Flaubert’s paper-assisted thinking enabled readers to expe- rience the world as seen through the eyes of Emma Bovary, for instance, in her boredoms and excitements, and at the same time ironi- cally, as if looking over her shoulder, to see, for instance, her vulgarity (cf. Lubbock, 1921). Ar- guably, this kind of view could not have been reached without extensive paper-assisted exter- nalization. For a more detailed understanding of the pro- cess, let us consider Flaubert’s “A Simple Heart” (Un Coeur Simple), a short story about “housemaid Félicité . . . envy of all the good ladies of Pont-l’Evêque (Flaubert, 1877/2005, p. 3). Félicité loves, in turn, the two children of her widowed mistress, a nephew who goes to sea, and a parrot, all of whom are taken from her by death. The story depicts these relationships and losses. It draws on scenes from Flaubert’s own childhood, and it unites several of his last- 21WRITING AS THINKING ing obsessions: the nature of maternal love, the possible superiority of uneducated people to members of the bourgeoisie such as himself, the relation of the profane to the sacred. The last section of the story (Section V) is just two pages. It concentrates on the feast of Corpus Christi, in which the sacrament is car- ried through the streets of Pont-l’Evêque and stops at a number of elaborately decorated out- door altars, on one of which, outside the house where Félicité lies ill in bed, is the stuffed parrot that she has donated. The procession reaches the altar beneath her window. We consider the sto- ry’s final paragraph, as treated by Debray Genette (2004). Here it is. A blue cloud of incense was wafted up into Félicité’s room. She opened her nostrils wide and breathed it in with a mystical sensuous fervor. Then she closed her eyes. Her lips smiled. Her heartbeats grew slower and slower, each a little fainter and gentler, like a fountain running dry, an echo fading away. And as she breathed her last, she thought she could see, in the opening heavens, a gigantic parrot hovering above her head (Debray Genette, 2004, p. 73, translation by Baldick, see Debray Genette, note 4). We propose that, in this translation, the pen- ultimate sentence misses something of the au- thor’s intention (see below). Flaubert’s words are: “Les mouvements de son coeur se ralen- tirent un à un, plus vagues chaque fois, plus doux. . .” For reasons given below, this might better be rendered: “The movements of her heart slowed down one by one, each time more vague, more soft . . .” (our translation). We also offer the translation by Whitehouse of the final sentence which, although less literal, shows Flaubert’s intention for those readers who are neither Catholic nor versed in hagiography: “With her dying breath she imagined she saw a huge parrot hovering above her head as the heavens parted to receive her” (Flaubert, 1877/ 2005, p. 40). The story took Flaubert 6 months to write— from mid-February to mid-August, 1876 —at least some of which time, as we are told in his correspondence, he was in his shirtsleeves, writ- ing through the night. The story comes out as 38 printed pages. What was Flaubert doing all this time? He was thinking using the medium of paper, in the manner explained by Di Biasi (2002), as discussed above. Extant are “three plans or résumés . . . three scenarios, a subsce- nario, two rough drafts, two fair copies, and the copyist’s manuscript” (Debray Genette, 2004, p. 72). The first plan, entitled “Parrot,” dates from the 1850s, more than 20 years before Flaubert started to write the story in earnest. At least one scenario has been lost. Debray Genette gives to the plans, scenarios, and drafts, the collective term, “Occurrences.” She discusses those parts of all 12 of them that concern the final paragraph of the story. We cannot here describe the whole of this sequence, but the following is representative. The idea of a woman who “dies in a saintly fashion” and the idea that “Her parrot is the Holy Spirit” are present in the first plan (first Occurrence, De- bray Genette, p. 74). Flaubert’s thought, which is made explicit in the story, is that the Holy Spirit is usually represented by a dove, but why not by a parrot? This is an idea that educated people would no doubt find comical. By the third Occurrence, Flaubert has written the phrase “parrot hovering above her head” (De- bray Genette, p. 79), and this remains un- changed through to the final draft. One evident function of paper is that when a satisfactory phrase is found it can be retained. For Flaubert, it seems likely that this phrase, produced by the sentence-generation process from his first plan, represented a beacon toward which he could steer. Debray Genette (2004) makes it clear that Flaubert has to think through at least three sub- stantial problems to accomplish his final para- graph. The scene (a) must go beyond the many published clichés of death, and beyond his own previous scenes of death such as that of Emma Bovary, (b) it needs to suggest the profane, physiological, process of dying, and (c) it must also suggest the sacredness of the death of a saintly person. The fifth Occurrence is a scenario crossed out with an X. In it Flaubert tries out the idea of Félicité as a saintly person with the phrase: “the acceleration of her chest of this heart (coeur) which had never beaten for anything ignoble” (Debray Genette, 2004, p. 82). A critical word is “heart” (coeur), but Debray Genette argues that Flaubert does not recognize its significance un- til the eighth Occurrence. In the sixth Occur- rence, he writes that Félicité “was flat like a statue lying on a tomb” (p. 85), with a smile, nostrils breathing, lips vibrating. In the seventh Occurrence, a plan or résumé of five parts, the paragraph is indicated in a four-line list of com- 22 OATLEY AND DJIKIC ponents of the story’s final section, Section V, as follows: “Corpus Christi / �death throes� / death of F / vision of the parr” (p. 81). The eighth Occurrence is an expanded rough draft. Debray Genette (2004) reproduces more than 60 lines of it that relate to the final six-line paragraph. Only now does Flaubert start to compose most of the sentences that will appear in this paragraph, but there are also many cross- ings out. Some rhymes such as “perroquet qui etait” are underlined. There are two rough col- umns. In the left-hand column there are physi- ological expressions such as “in the supreme nausea.” The image of the statue is also there. In the right hand column are many images: “among between the radiant clouds to the right of the son to the left of the father” . . . “the last lines of life were cast off” . . . “the rupture of soul and body” . . . “the vibrations of a string which has been plucked” (Debray Genette, p. 90). Flaubert is drawn to such images, but will eliminate them as inappropriate to his protago- nist. In the ninth Occurrence he will write and delete “like a statue on a tomb:” too stony to suggest Félicité’s sensuality (breathing in the incense) or her vision. In these choices, elimi- nation of the kind that would later be extolled by Hemingway occurs literally. If the reader is to be prompted to reflect on certain themes, a range of them may be thought about by the writer. Images of “a fountain running dry, an echo fading away” are created in the eighth Occurrence. They are pastoral, not inappropri- ate to Félicité, and they are retained. It is in the eighth Occurrence that Flaubert has the thought that will be the key to his concluding paragraph. It is likely that it was suggested to him by the word “heart” (coeur) that he wrote in the fifth Occurrence. It is the exact word—the mot juste—that unites the two aspects of Félicité’s death with which he has been struggling: “partly sensual, even sexual, and partly sublime” (Debray Genette, 2004, p. 87.) In this draft it is written in a sentence joined by a long line that runs from the phrase “movements of the heart” in the right-hand col- umn to the left-hand column 13 lines further down. Here is the whole sentence, including the joining line and deletions: “The beating move- ments of her heart of the heart —— slowed down, one by one, more slowly, each time each time further apart more soft” (Debray Genette, p. 89, our translation). Without needing to say anything else, the word heart represents the union of the profane (physiological) and the sacred (inward and spiritual), and gives the story its title: “A Simple Heart” (Un Coeur Simple). Flaubert’s methods offer a large leap beyond the idea of Hayes and Flower (1986) of writing as planning, sentence generation, and revising. If novices in the Hayes and Flower (1980, 1986) studies mainly tinkered with words and sen- tences, the grave danger for experts is of tink- ering merely with drafts. This would be a re- striction of thought imposed by what has al- ready been externalized onto paper. By means of his plans, scenarios, and expanded drafts, Flaubert prompted in himself an opposite move- ment: expansions, images, alternatives that en- abled the larger-scale “parts” (as he called them) such as scenes, sections, characters, and plot, to be conceived and arranged. Even if writers do not engage in Flaubertian expan- sions, larger-scale considerations are essential. Their identification is part of the skill of editors (e.g. Hodgins, 1993; Stein, 1999), who are less constrained by the words that have been labored over, but whose input of thought to a writer is also prompted by drafts committed to paper and submitted to them. The hour or two it takes to read “A Simple Heart” is made worthwhile by the six months of thinking Flaubert devoted to it. By the time the final fair copy is achieved for the last paragraph of the story, all moral judgments that occurred in earlier plans and scenarios such as “in saintly fashion,” have been deleted. Everything is ap- parently simple, like the simple heart. The para- graph draws the story to an end, and for the reader it is profoundly moving. Now questions such as whether the death and the vision of Félicité are physiological or spiritual, or whether the story is naturalistic or ironical, are no longer at issue. By means of his expansions, repositionings, and eliminations, Flaubert has thought his way through to what Debray Genette (2004) calls “an exact incertitude” which is able “to close the plot, and to open reflection” (p. 93). Conclusion The task of a writer of imaginative prose or poetry is to offer the reader linguistic cues to start up and sustain a simulation dream (Oatley, 23WRITING AS THINKING 1999). In order to prompt the simulation to run, they must invoke imagistic and emotional pro- cesses. In this way, we can see literary writing as offering models for the reader to construct that can be successively and sometimes even simultaneously experienced partly in language and partly as emotionally imbued intuition. As techniques of novels and short stories have been developed during the last 200 years, they have enabled new ways for sentences to enter via the language layer and cue experience and intuition about human action and interaction. 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On looking into Chapman’s Emma. Times Literary Supplement, No. 5363, 12–13. Tomalin, C. (1997). Jane Austen: A life. London: Viking Penguin. Turing, A. (1936). On computable numbers with an application to the Entscheidungsproblem. Pro- ceedings of the London Mathematical Society, Sec- ond Series, 42, 230 –265. Vendler, H. (1997). The art of Shakespeare’s son- nets. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Vygotsky, L. S. (1978). Tool and symbol in child development. In M. Cole, V. John-Steiner, S. Scribner, & E. Souberman (Eds.), Mind in society: The development of higher mental processes (pp. 19 –30). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. (Original work published 1930) Watt, I. (1957). The rise of the novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding. London: Chatto & Windus. Wegman, C. (1985). Psychoanalysis and cognitive psychology: A formalization of Freud’s earliest theory. London: Academic Press. Weisberg, R. W. (1993). Creativity: Beyond the myth of genius. New York: Freeman. Williams, T. (2004). The writing process: Scenarios, sketches and rough drafts. In T. Unwin (Ed.), The Cambridge companion to Flaubert (pp. 165–179). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Winnicott, D. W. (1971). Playing and reality. Lon- don: Tavistock. Wittgenstein, L. (1922). Tractatus logico-philosophi- cus. London: Routledge & Kegan-Paul. Woolf, V. (1966). Jane Austen. In Collected essays (Vol. 1, pp. 144 –154). London: Chatto and Win- dus. (Original work published 1925) Yarmolinsky, A. (Ed.). (1973). Letters of Anton Chekhov. New York: Viking. Zwann, R. A. (1999). Situation models: The mental leap into imagined worlds. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 8, 15–18. Zwaan, R. (2004). The immersed experiencer: To- ward an embodied theory of language comprehen- sion. In B. H. Ross (Ed.), The psychology of learn- ing and motivation (Vol. 44, pp. 35– 62). New York: Elsevier. Received March 7, 2007 Accepted June 14, 2007 � 27WRITING AS THINKING 
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work_zelg67vhhrhmvk34zuchzurepi	----	From Terror to the Terror: Changing Concepts of the Gothic in Eighteenth-Century England Copyright © Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle, 1991 Ce document est protégé par la loi sur le droit d’auteur. L’utilisation des services d’Érudit (y compris la reproduction) est assujettie à sa politique d’utilisation que vous pouvez consulter en ligne. https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ Cet article est diffusé et préservé par Érudit. Érudit est un consortium interuniversitaire sans but lucratif composé de l’Université de Montréal, l’Université Laval et l’Université du Québec à Montréal. Il a pour mission la promotion et la valorisation de la recherche. https://www.erudit.org/fr/ Document généré le 5 avr. 2021 21:53 Man and Nature L'homme et la nature From Terror to the Terror: Changing Concepts of the Gothic in Eighteenth-Century England Peter Sabor Volume 10, 1991 URI : https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012633ar DOI : https://doi.org/10.7202/1012633ar Aller au sommaire du numéro Éditeur(s) Canadian Society for Eighteenth-Century Studies / Société canadienne d'étude du dix-huitième siècle ISSN 0824-3298 (imprimé) 1927-8810 (numérique) Découvrir la revue Citer cet article Sabor, P. (1991). From Terror to the Terror: Changing Concepts of the Gothic in Eighteenth-Century England. Man and Nature / L'homme et la nature, 10, 165–178. https://doi.org/10.7202/1012633ar https://apropos.erudit.org/fr/usagers/politique-dutilisation/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/man/ https://id.erudit.org/iderudit/1012633ar https://doi.org/10.7202/1012633ar https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/man/1991-v10-man0303/ https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/man/ 16. From Terror to the Terror: Changing Concepts of the Gothic in Eighteenth-Centuiy England In the cloistered, nightmarish, supernatural world of literary Gothicism, clocks and chronology are in abeyance. Bells may chime out the hour from some lonely ruined turret, but they are unlikely to convey any clear sense of time. The action may be set in some vaguely medieval period, but without a particular decade or even century being specified. En- trapped in dank dungeons, Gothic protagonists are sequestered from the diurnal current of events. As if affected by this characteristic time- lessness, modern critics have been largely indifferent to questions of change and development in eighteenth-century attitudes to the Gothic, and too ready to identify an unbroken chain of Gothicists stretching from the turn of the seventeenth century to the end of the Romantic period. The progenitor of this approach was the most devoted of all Gothic scholars, Montague Summers, whose The Gothic Quest (1938) begins with a catch-all chapter entitled 'The Romantic Feeling/ in which eighteenth-century authors of all kinds and dates make fleeting appear- ances. Pope's 'Eloisa to Abelard/ for example, is said to 'show such Gothic influences as might almost be paralleled in Mrs. Radcliffe her- self/ while certain lines 'have not a little of the pale spirit of Monk Lewis.'1 In the same tradition, Devendra Varma's The Gothic Flame (1957) contains a chapter exploring the roots of Gothicism in Spenser, Shake- speare, and Milton, as well as in eighteenth-century graveyard poetry.2 Dan McNutt's useful secondary bibliography of the Gothic novel (1975) has a chapter on the 'Literary Background/ surveying a range of quasi- Gothic passages from authors such as Dennis, Addison, and Defoe.3 More recently, Frederick Frank's The First Gothics (1987) insists again that Pope's 'night thoughts' in Eloisa to Abelard 'anticipate ... the core of the Gothic experience/ and that in his Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (1757) Burke expounded 'the psy- chological foundations of the Gothic' even before the Gothic novel or drama had been created.4 Elsewhere Frank writes of Thomas Warton's 'The Pleasures of Melancholy' (1745), in which the poet, 'standing in MAN AND NATURE / L'HOMME ET LA NATURE X / 1991 0824-3298 / 91 / 1000-0165 $1.50 / ©CS.E.CS. / S.CE.D.S. 166 ecstatic anxiety upon the threshold of the Gothic world ... sounds precisely like a Gothic victim/5 In contrast to these and other critics who find a meaningful continuity between Dry den and Drake or the Wartons and Walpole, my purpose here is to emphasize the way in which attitudes towards Gothicism changed over the course of the eighteenth century. To do so, I have focused on theories of terror: on the writers who considered the aesthet- ics of terror in the early century, on the first uses of this term in the context of Gothicism in the 1760s, and on its new connotations in the 1790s, when terror was made incarnate by the Reign of Terror in France. It has often been noted that as a literary-critical term, the word 'Gothic' had almost entirely negative connotations throughout the first half of the eighteenth century.6 Alfred Longeuil observes that the word is synonymous with 'barbarous' during this period, and the two words are frequently coupled together; examples of this pairing can be found in Dennis, Addison, and many other authors.7 Undeterred by this fact, however, modern critics have been eager to demonstrate the prevalence of 'pre-Gothicism' in the early eighteenth century, and both Dennis and Addison, despite their pejorative use of the term, have been enlisted in this cause. It is true that some passionate defences of the use of terror and horror in literature were made by early eighteenth-century authors. In a letter written as early as 1688, Dennis terms the Alps 'not only vast, but horrid, hideous, ghastly Ruins,' and does so not in disgust but in tremulous enthusiasm. The spectacle of vast rocks and foaming waterfalls, writes Dennis, 'made all such a Consort up for the Eye, as that sort of Musick does for the Ear, in which Horrour can be joyn'd with Harmony.'8 In his later critical essays, Dennis strives to explain the paradoxical pleasure that such horrifying sights can afford. It is, however, notable that in these works, such as 'The Advancement and Reformation of Modern Poetry' (1701) and The Grounds of Criticism in Poetry' (1704), Dennis relies heavily on the authority of Aristotle and Longinus, who were them- selves preoccupied with the role of terror and horror in literature. Similarly, when Addison, in 1712, writes of supernatural phenomena that 'raise a pleasing kind of Horrour in the Mind of the Reader' and 'favour those secret Terrours and Apprehensions to which the Mind of Man is naturally subject,'9 he is paraphrasing Longinus's account of horror as a source of the sublime in his famous essay, Peri Hypsous. Rather, then, than regarding the early eighteenth-century writers on terror and horror as Gothicists before their time, it is, I believe, more fruitful to consider them in the context of their classical precursors. It is significant, in this regard, that one of the fullest accounts of the aesthetics of terror in the early eighteenth century occurs in William Smith's notes 167 to his translation of Longinus (1739), which became the standard English version of its time.10 While 'Gothic' remained a term of abuse in early eighteenth-century critical vocabulary, there was a growing interest in the sublime. Impor- tant modern studies such as those by Samuel Holt Monk and Walter Hippie have shown how writers on the sublime explored the complex relationship between terror, horror, and aesthetic pleasure and fulfill- ment.11 Treatises such as John Baillie's Essay on the Sublime (1747), Alex- ander Gerard's An Essay on Taste (1759), and, by far the most impressive and influential, Burke's Philosophical Enquiry (1757), are centrally con- cerned with this issue — yet all of these works either ignore the Gothic entirely or else equate it with primitive barbarism. Samuel Johnson, similarly, while commending Burke's essay as an 'example of true criticism' and urging critics of drama to 'shew how terrour is impressed on the human heart,' had little to say on the Gothic; the word does not occur as a critical term in his Dictionary, and in 1784 he spoke dismis- sively of the writings of Horace Walpole, founder of both the Gothic novel and drama, as 'a great many curious little things.'12 In light of this widespread critical disdain, Richard Hurd's vigorous espousal of Gothicism in his Letters on Chivalry and Romance (1762) is of seminal importance. From the outset, Hurd challenges the prevailing equation of the Gothic with barbarism, demanding 'what ... is more remarkable than the Gothic CHIVALRY?'13 Contrasting Gothic with classical literature, Hurd considers passages from Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare and Milton as examples of literary Gothicism. Although the reception of this innovative work was surprisingly positive, in a second edition of the Letters published three years later Hurd deleted some of his most interesting claims. In 1762, but not in 1765, he declares that 'the mummeries of the pagan priests were childish, but the Gothic Enchanters shook and alarmed all nature,' and 'the horrors of the Gothic' (1762), which are 'above measure striking and terrible,' becomes merely 'the Gothic' in 1765.14 An ambitious clergyman, later to become a bishop, Hurd might have been alarmed by the depiction of his work in the Monthly Review. Although the review was long and highly favourable, the terms of praise were disconcerting: 'The ORTHODOX in Poetry will, no doubt, look upon him as a daring HERETIC, and, as such, thunder out their excommunications against him.'15 Despite his retrenchments, however, Hurd was the first English critic to consider the depiction of horror and terror in literature as a mode in itself, and to term this mode the Gothic. It is regrettable that his modern editor, Hoyt Trowbridge, has sought to diminish his originality, insisting that Hurd is not 'attack- ing the critical principles or general theory of poetry which were ac- cepted in his time.'16 Letters on Chivalry and Romance goes far beyond any 168 previous work in its analysis of the Gothic, singling out for study a tradition of English writing that had not previously been identified. Some of Hurd's contemporaries, without using the term 'Gothic/ took a particular interest in the aesthetics of terror. Published in the same year as Letters on Chivalry, Henry Home, Lord Karnes's Elements of Criticism makes an interesting attempt to distinguish between 'horror' and 'terror' — a subject to which several subsequent critics would return. 'Objects that strike terror in a spectator,' declares Karnes, 'have in poetry and painting a fine effect,' but not so objects of horror, which arouse only disgust: 'Every thing horrible ought therefore to be avoided in a description.'17 Unbeknown to Karnes, Samuel Richardson had in 1748 made a similar distinction between horror and terror in a letter to Lady Bradshaigh: Those Acts, Madam, may be called Acts of Horror by tender Spirits, which only ought to be called Acts of Terror and Warn- ing'; he himself has avoided all horror, while admitting the necessity for Terror and Fear and Pity.'18 The efforts made by Richardson and Karnes to distinguish horror from terror contrast with Burke's mingling of the two terms in his Philosophical Enquiry, in which he characterises the sublime as 'a sort of delightful horror, a sort of tranquillity tinged with terror.'19 Both terms occur repeatedly in the Enquiry, and each is said, at different times, to be both the source and test of the sublime. Burke's refusal to distinguish horror from terror was vexing to subsequent theorists of the Gothic, who continued, with little success, to attempt to establish distinctions be- tween the two terms. While the publication of Hurd's and Karnes's treatises paved the way for Walpole's publication of The Castle of Otranto two years later in 1764, Walpole distanced himself from both authors. Of Hurd he declared in a letter of 1781 that 'all his writings are tame, without a grain of original- ity/ and while he thanked Karnes formally for a presentation copy of Elements of Criticism in 1762, there is no evidence of his having read it.20 Walpole's passion for the Gothic was architectural, rather than literary, and he made no attempt to justify his Gothic writings by referring to the new theorists of the Gothic mode. He was far readier to publicize his Gothicizing of Strawberry Hill than his Gothic literary productions. Only fifty copies of his Gothic drama, The Mysterious Mother (1768), were printed at his private press, and copies were withheld from the review journals. The Castle of Otranto was first published under the guise of a translation 'from the Original Italian of Onuphrio Muralto/ and Wal- pole's authorship remained unknown except to a few close friends. Only after thus testing the waters did Walpole reveal his authorship, signing the preface to the second edition of 1765 with his intitials and terming 169 the novel 'a Gothic story' on the titlepage: the first time that an eight- eenth-century novel had been so labelled by its author. The initial reception of The Castle ofOtranto was mixed. Thomas Gray, an unusually timorous reader, told Walpole that it 'makes some of us cry a little, and all in general afraid to go to bed o'nights/21 but other early readers responded with contempt, rather than terror. For Gilly Williams, a friend of Walpole, it was 'such a novel, that no boarding- school Miss of thirteen could get half through without yawning'; for an anonymous reviewer in the Critical Review 'the publication of any work, at this time, in England composed of such rotten materials, is a phe- nomenon we cannot account for'; while John Langhorne in the Monthly Review marvelled that Walpole 'should be an advocate for re-estab- lishing the barbarous superstitions of Gothic devilism.'22 Walpole's response to such criticism was to disclaim serious pretensions for his novel. In his correspondence, he repeatedly refers to The Castle ofOtranto as a work dashed off in jest, and complains of the solemnity of those who take his nonsense seriously. In his preface to the first edition of Otranto, Walpole had described the work in very different terms. In justifying his use of terror, 'the author's principal engine/ he declares that it 'prevents the story from ever languishing; and it is so often contrasted by pity, that the mind is kept up in a constant vicissitude of interesting passions.'23 Here, for the first time, an Aristotelian theory of terror had been applied directly to an eighteenth-century Gothic novel, but by an anonymous author dis- guised as translator, commenting on a purportedly medieval Italian original. In propria persona, Walpole made no such claims for his novel. Six years later, in a footnote added to his edition of Pope (1770), William Warburton made the connection between Gothic terror and Aristotelian catharsis more explicit. Observing that Otranto is set 'in Gothic chivalry/ Warburton contends that it effects 'the full purpose of the ancient Tragedy, that is, to purge the passions by pity and terror.'2* Although Walpole himself derided Warburton's account as 'an inten- tion I am sure I do not pretend to have conceived/25 the passage is of considerable importance. The editor of Pope, invoking the authority of Aristotle, had bestowed classical dignity on a new and still highly suspect literary genre, in the same way that critics such as Dennis and Addison had earlier invoked Longinus to support the growing interest in the sublime. In 1777, Clara Reeve published her novel The Champion of Virtue, subtitled, like the second edition of The Castle ofOtranto, 'A Gothic Story.' It too was published anonymously, in the guise of a translation from an old English manuscript, and like Walpole, Reeve revealed her identity in the second edition, published a year later as The Old English Baron. 170 Reeve's preface to the second edition is of considerable interest, chal- lenging Walpole's mode of Gothicism in Otranto. While describing her novel as 'the literary offspring of the Castle of Otranto,' Reeve criticizes Walpole's work for its excessive use of the supernatural, and consequent disregard for verisimilitude: 'Had the story been kept within the utmost verge of probability, the effect had been preserved, without losing the least circumstance that excites or detains the attention.'26 Walpole, in turn, disliked The Old English Baron, 'professedly written in imitation of Otranto, but reduced to reason and probability! It is so probable, that any trial for murder at the Old Bailey would make a more interesting story.'27 Nonetheless, the convention of ultimately attribut- ing apparently supernatural phenomena to natural causes became a staple device of subsequent novelists, including Charlotte Smith, Ann Radcliffe, William Godwin, and, of course, Jane Austen in Northanger Abbey. Reviewers of The Mysteries of Udolpho, as Cooke has noted, ad- mired this aspect of the novel, akin to that of the modern detective story, in which 'mysterious terrors are continually exciting in the mind the idea of a supernatural appearance, keeping us, as it were, upon the very edge and confines of the world of spirits, and yet are ingeniously explained by familiar causes.'28 The device was of particular use to politically involved novelists such as Godwin, who used it to link the Gothic and the everyday world. The lack of 'familiar causes' explaining the super- naturalism of Otranto made the work attractive to readers such as Walpole himself, who regarded Gothic fiction less as a political device than as playful fantasy. But another kind of Gothic novel descended from The Old English Baron, a work that feminist critics could justly reclaim as mother of the Gothic novel.29 In criticism of the Gothic before the 1790s, there are few references to contemporary politics. Although Samuel Kliger and more recent critics have associated the vogue for medievalism and the Gothic in later eighteenth-century England with Whig politics and ideals of personal liberty, Whig enthusiasts for the Gothic such as Walpole rarely linked politics with aesthetic taste.30 Kliger quotes a Tory spokesman, William Whitehead, writing against the Gothic in 1753, but similarly hostile pronouncements on the Gothic in the 1750s were made in the Monthly Review by Whig supporters such as Ralph Griffiths and William Ken- rick.31 Before the 1790s, the respective place of horror and terror, the proper use of the supernatural, and the necessity for imparting moral instruction, as well as mere entertainment, were the principal critical concerns. The outbreak of the French Revolution, however, utterly changed the terms of the discussion, so that in the 1790s criticism of the Gothic became inextricably linked with commentary on the current events in 171 France. Historians of the Revolution have long been concerned with the ways in which Romantic ideas of liberty and equality were used to justify violence and terror in France. There has, however, been much less discussion of the ways in which this violence affected the reception of the Gothic in England during the revolutionary decade. In his important study Representations of Revolution (1789-1820), Ronald Paulson ap- proaches this issue indirectly. He contends, rightly I believe, that the popularity of Gothic fiction in the 1790s 'was due in part to the wide- spread anxieties and fears in Europe aroused by the turmoil in France finding a kind of sublimation or catharsis in tales of darkness, confusion, blood, and horror/32 Paulson also draws attention to the use that Burke made of his own early ideas in the Philosophical Enquiry to characterise the particular horrors and terrors of the Revolution, repeatedly dis- played in Burke's later writings as appalling examples of the false sublime.33 Paulson, is not, however, concerned with the explicit connec- tions made between Gothic horror and terror and the horror and terror of the Revolution, the subject of the third part of my essay. On 25 July 1789, less than two weeks after the fall of the Bastille, Walpole wrote to Elizabeth Carter, 1 do not conceive that the whole frame and machine of a vast country can be overturned and resettled by a coup de baguette, though all the heads in it have been changed as much as when millions of Goths invaded nations and exterminated the inhabi- tants.'34 For a man who for some forty years had prided himself on his own Gothic taste, this is an extraordinary remark. Walpole has reverted to the old equation of Gothic with barbarism, and sees only such barba- rism in the fall of the Bastille and its aftermath. In the hundreds of extant letters by Walpole written between 1789 and his death in 1797, there are scarcely any references to literary Gothicism. In a letter to Lady Ossory of 1792, he refers to Charlotte Smith's recently published Desmond as 'Mrs Somebody's novel... I have never seen it, nor ever will.'35 In another letter to Lady Ossory of 1794, he admits to having read 'some of the descriptive verbose tales, of which your Ladyship says I was the patri- arch by several mothers,' but he has no sympathy with their technique of 'excluding the aid of anything marvellous/36 There are no references at all to Ann Radcliffe, William Godwin, or Matthew Lewis; the only Gothic novel in Walpole's library remained The Old English Baron by his old rival, Clara Reeve. Unlike Walpole, Reeve continued to produce Gothic fiction, but she too took a stand against the Revolution. In the preface to her final novel, Memoirs of Sir Roger de Clarendon (1793), she declares her intent of using the work as an anti-Revolutionary document, giving 'a faithful picture of a well governed kingdom, wherein a true subordination of ranks and degrees was observed, and of a great prince at the head of it/37 Britain, 172 she asserts, should 'shudder at the scene before her, and grasp her blessings the closer' (I, xx); 'shudder,' a verb closely associated with readers' responses to the Gothic, is here transferred to responses to the Terror in France. In a similar play on words at the end of the novel, Reeve declares that 'the late events have not only ruined France, but all Europe is injured by them' (III, 225). Gothic ruins have turned into the dese- crated monuments of the ancien régime. Richard Payne Knight's long didactic poem, The Landscape, was pub- lished a year after Reeve's novel at the height of the Terror, in 1794. In the third and final book, Knight contrasts the beauties of the English landscape with the dismal horrors of southern Europe and Africa, whose unhappy inhabitants are ravaged by 'fell scorpions,' 'prowling tiger,' 'scaly serpent,' 'the wolf,' 'the hungry lion,' 'fen-suck'd vapours,' 'poisonous reptiles,' 'buzzing insects,' 'pestilential flies,' 'dark gulfs of subterraneous fire,' 'blazing floods,' 'earthquakes' and 'yawning chasms.'38 Thus far, Knight presents a typically Gothic catalogue, and in subsequent verses he seems to be continuing in a similar vein: Who weeps not o'er the damp and dreary cell, Where fallen majesty is doom'd to dwell; Where waning beauty, in the dungeon's gloom, Feels, yet alive, the horrors of the tomb! ... She counts the moments, till the rabble's hate Shall drag their victim to her welcome fate! (Ill, 405-14) His victim, however, is no fictional heroine but Marie-Antoinette her- self; and in a footnote of some 1500 words Knight provides an account of the events that led to her death. Through this fusion of Gothic poetry and historical analysis, Knight implies that literary Gothicism can no longer be written without invoking current events; the 'horror' he is exploring is not merely a critical term. Knight continued his study of the links between theories of terror and real-life horrors in his Analytical Inquiry into the Principles of Taste (1805), which went through three editions in that year, and an extensively revised fourth edition in 1808. His principal adversary here is Burke, whom he accuses of naively propounding theories of terror without regard for the consequences of his ideas. At the height of his onslaught, Knight blames Burke both for fathering Gothic productions, 'which teem with all sorts of terrific and horrific monsters and hobgoblins,'39 and for being blind to the use that tyrannical oppressors would make of his justifications of terror. In his long poem of 1796, The Progress of Civil Society, Knight had also emphasized the links between Gothic writing 173 and contemporary politics. In Book six, 'Of Government and Conquest/ he writes of Scenes which, infix'd in memory, remain, And fancy's images with horror stain; Each mild impression from the heart erase, And, with terrific gloom, the soul debase. Once again, both 'horror' and the 'terrific' feature prominently in a political context, and 'gloom,' one of Walpole's favourite Gothic terms, is here transferred to the aftermath of the Terror. A similar transference takes place in an essay by Germaine de Staël, an émigrée in London from 1793 to 1795. Her political writings, Réflexions sur le procès de la reine (1793) and Réflexions sur la paix (1794) were followed by her Essai sur les fictions (1795), ostensibly devoted to literary concerns. Like other writers of the 1790s, however, de Staël could not exclude political commentary from her critical remarks. Like Clara Reeve, she had little patience with the use of the supernatural in literature: 'La fiction merveilleuse cause un plaisir très-promptement épuisé/41 But the reasons she gives for her strictures are new. In the face of the Terror, 'les crimes sanguinaires dont nous venons d'être les témoins' (II, 182), supernatural terrors have come to seem merely jejune. One result of such strictures was that Gothicists intensified the degree of horror and terror in their works to a new extreme, as Lewis did in his notorious novel, The Monk (1796). The consequence, however, was that rather than being accused of triviality and irrelevance, Lewis and other writers of high Gothic were said to have been corrupted by the excesses of the Terror. Such a charge was made by Thomas Mathias in his long splenetic poem, The Pursuits of Literature (1794-97), in which a trickle of verse is supported by a vast apparatus of notes and prefatory matter. In the preface to the third dialogue of his poem (1796), Mathias declares that 'literature, well or ill conducted, is the great engine by which ... all civilized states must ultimately be supported or overthrown/42 And in the preface to the fourth dialogue {1797), turning his attention to Lewis, Mathias identifies The Monk as just the kind of work by which the body politic was endangered. Demanding the suppression of the novel, Math- ias enquires dramatically, 'Is this a time to poison the waters of our land in their springs and fountains? Are we to add incitement to incitement, and corruption to corruption?' (p. 242). Another, wittier opponent of the high Gothic was the pseudonymous writer of an essay in the Monthly Magazine for 1797 on the Terrorist System of Novel-Writing.' We have, declares the author ironically, 174 'exactly and faithfully copied the SYSTEM OF TERROR, if not in our streets, and in our fields, at least in our circulating libraries, and in our closets/43 The author attributes the popularity of the Gothic novel at the end of the century to Robespierre, who, 'with his system of terror ... taught our novelists that fear is the only passion they ought to cultivate ... our genius has become hysterical, and our taste epileptic' (p. 103). The essay goes on to parody the typical adventures of a terrified Gothic heroine, trapped in a lonely ruined castle, in which she will encounter all that is 'horrible and terrible' (p. 104). Behind the wit is a serious charge; in using the signature 'A Jacobin Novelist/ the author implies that the novel of terror has been an apologia for the Terror and its attendant horrors. It was, of course, possible to theorize on Gothic terror in the late 1790s without alluding to the events in France, but such writing was atypical. I wish to conclude by considering two authors seldom linked together, whose remarks on the Gothic are characteristic of the Revolutionary decade: the Marquis de Sade and Jane Austen. Like de Staël, de Sade was an admirer of the English novel, in particular the works of Richard- son and Fielding, 'qui nous ont appris que l'étude profonde du coeur de l'homme, véritable dédale de la nature, peut seul inspirer le roman- cier/44 And like de Staël, de Sade draws a comparison between Gothic and Revolutionary terror. De Sade's analysis of this connection, how- ever, goes further. The Gothicist, he states, could scarcely depict events more appalling than those taking place in France: 'il fallait donc appeler l'enfer à son secours pour se composer des titres à l'intérêt, et trouver dans le pays des chimères, ce qu'on savait couramment en ne fouillant que l'histoire de l'homme dans cet âge de fer' (p. 53). While he admired The Monk, 'supérieur, sous tous les rapports, aux bizarres élans de la brillante imagination de Radcliffe' (p. 52), de Sade believed that the intensification of horror that Revolutionary terror necessitated had en- feebled the Gothic. Resorting to an excess of either the marvellous or mystification, Gothic novelists could only alienate their readers. Unlike de Sade, Jane Austen had no direct experience of the French Revolution. She was, however, a close friend of her cousin (and later sister-in-law), Eliza, Comtesse de Feuillide, whose husband was guillo- tined in February 1794, at the height of the Terror.45 And her parody of the Gothic novel, Northanger Abbey, first published posthumously in 1818 but composed in 1798-99,46 shows the same awareness of the inextricable links between Gothic terror and the Terror seen in other writers of the Revolutionary decade. The locus classicus is the passage in which the heroine, Catherine Morland, is conversing with her suitor, Henry Tilney, and his sister Eleanor. After Henry has delivered a 'short disquisition on the state of the nation,' Catherine, 'in rather a solemn 175 tone of voice, uttered these words, "I have heard that something very shocking indeed, will soon come out in London ... more horrible than any thing we have met with yet.///47 A devotee of the Gothic novel, currently immersed in Radcliffe's The Mysteries of Udolpho, Catherine is anticipating the latest 'shocking/ 'horrible' Gothic production. She does not know its 'author/ but has heard that it will be 'uncommonly dread- ful. I shall expect murder and every thing of the kind' (p. 112). Her friend Eleanor, however, supposing that some 'dreadful riot' is expected in the streets of London, assures Catherine that 'proper measures will un- doubtedly be taken by government to prevent its coming to effect.' Further complicating the passage is the nature of Henry's éclaircissement, which confuses as much as it clarifies. An ironic reading of his declara- tion to Catherine, 'my stupid sister has mistaken all your clearest expres- sions' (p. 113), would suggest that the opposite is true: that Catherine's talk of 'expected horrors in London' is obviously misleading, and cannot readily be understood to refer to Gothic horrors. But as many Austen critics have noted, such an ironic reading is unsatisfactory; the confusion between the two women is a sign of the times, and it is Henry's at- tempted resolution, rather than their misunderstanding, that seems fatuous. Although a parody of the Gothic, Northanger Abbey is not designed to show that Gothic terrors are groundless. At the end of the novel, after all, Catherine resolves that her earlier fears of Henry's father, General Tilney, were justified, and that in suspecting him of 'either murdering or shutting up his wife, she had scarcely sinned against his character, or magnified his cruelty' (II, xv, p. 247). What had seemed to be Gothic imaginings are quite rational fears, and Henry's earlier assurances — 'Remember the country and the age in which we live. Remember that we are English, that we are Christians' (II, ix, p. 197) — come to seem absurdly complacent. When Henry proceeds to state that, in England, 'every man is surrrounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies' (p. 198), he is alluding, as Robert Hopkins has shown, to government agents employed by the Pitt ministry to repress radical and reform move- ments.48 In its commingling of Gothic and natural terrors, of the Gen- eral's oppressive abbey and the oppressions of everyday life, Northanger Abbey is replying indirectly to the author of the 'Terrorist System of Novel-Writing/ the essay published in 1797, a year before Austen began to write her novel. The Gothic, she implies, is not a glorification but an acknowledgment of the dangers of the times. By the end of the 1790s, discussions of the role of terror in literature had moved far beyond Dennis's amplification of Aristotle and Long- inus. As Burke observed in Letters on a Regicide Peace (1796), all the horrors of even the most appalling Gothic novels pale before the actual 176 events his own writings depict with a Gothicist's eye for the macabre: 'out of the tomb of the murdered monarchy in France has risen a vast, tremendous, unformed spectre, in a far more terrific guise than any which ever yet have overpowered the imagination, and subdued the fortitude of man/49 Even The Monk, published in the same year as Burke's final, apocalyptic work, could scarcely evoke Gothic terrors more horrid than these. PETER SABOR Queen's University Notes 1 Montague Summers, The Gothic Quest: A History of the Gothic Novel (1938; London: Fortune Press, 1969), p. 21. 2 Devendra Varma, The Background: Origins and Cross-Currents/ in The Gothic Flame (1957; Metuchen, N.J.: Scarecrow Press, 1987), pp. 23-41. 3 Dan J. McNutt, The Eighteenth-Century Gothic Novel: An Annotated Bibliography of Criticism and Selected Texts (New York: Garland, 1975), pp. 31-47. 4 Frederick S. Frank, The First Gothics: A Critical Guide to the English Gothic Novel (New York: Garland, 1987), pp. xx-xxi. 5 Frank, The Gothic Romance/ in Horror Literature: A Core Collection and Reference Guide, ed. Marshall B. Tymn (New York: R.R. Bowker, 1981), p. 11. 6 See especially Alfred E. Longueil, The Word "Gothic" in Eighteenth-Century Criticism,' Modern Language Notes, 38 (1923): 453-60. In this essay I am concerned only with literary Gothicism; its architectural, typographical, geographical and other connotations are not part of my subject. 7 Longueil, p. 454; John Dennis, The Advancement and Reformation of Modern Poetry/ The Critical Works of John Dennis, ed. Edward Niles Hooker (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1939-43), 1,203; Joseph Addison, The Spectator 63 (12 May 1711), ed. Donald F. Bond (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965), 1,271. For further examples, see B. Sprague Allen, 'Classical Criticism of "Gothic Taste/" Tides in English Taste (1619-1800): A Background for the Study of Literature (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1937), II, 87-99. 8 Dennis, letter of 25 October 1688; Critical Works, II, 381. 9 Addison, Spectator 419 (1 July 1712), III, 571. 10 See Samuel Holt Monk, The Sublime: A Study of Critical Theories in XVIII-Century England (1935; rev. ed. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1960), pp. 10, 67-68. 11 Monk, The Sublime; Walter John Hippie, Jr., The Beautiful, the Sublime, & the Picturesque in Eighteenth-Century British Aesthetic Theory (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1957). 177 12 James Boswell, Life of Johnson, ed. George Birkbeck Hill and L.F. Powell (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1934-64), 16 October 1769, June 1784; II, 90, IV, 314. 13 Richard Hurd, Letters on Chivalry and Romance (1762), ed. Hoyt Trowbridge (Los Angeles: Augustan Reprint Society no. 101-102,1963), p. 1. 14 Hurd, p. 49. The revisions are recorded in Edith J. Morley's edition of the Letters (London: Henry Frowde, 1911). As Trowbridge notes in his edition, however (p. ii), the revisions said by Morley to have been m a d e by 1788 had in fact been m a d e by 1765. 15 Monthly Review, 27 (1762), 81. For the reception of H u r d ' s treatise, see Edward Niles Hooker, T h e Reviewers and the New Criticism 1754-1770/ Philological Quarterly, 13 (1934): 194-95. 16 Trowbridge, ed., p. iii; see also Trowbridge, 'Bishop Hurd: A Reinterpretation/ PMLA, 58 (1943), 450-65. 17 Henry Home, Lord Karnes, Elements of Criticism (1762; 6th ed. London, 1785), II, xxi, pp. 364-66. 18 Samuel Richardson, letter of 15 December 1748; Selected Letters of Samuel Richardson, ed. John Carroll (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1964), p p . 104-05. 19 Edmund Burke, Philosophical Enquiry, ed. James T. Boulton (1958; rpt. Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 1968), IV, vii, p. 136. 20 Walpole, letter to William Mason, 3 March 1781; The Yale Edition of Horace Walpole's Correspondence, ed. W.S. Lewis, XXIX (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1955), 117. For Walpole's copy of Elements of Criticism, see Allen T. Hazen, A Catalogue of Horace Walpole's Library (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1969), II, 488. 21 Gray, letter to Walpole, 30 December 1764; Yale Edition, XIV, 137. 22 George James ('Gilly') Williams, letter to George Selwyn, 19 March 1765, Yale Edition, XXX, 177; Critical Review, XIX (1765), 469; John Langhorne, Monthly Review, XXXII (1765), 394. These items are collected in Horace Walpole: The Critical Heritage, ed. Peter Sabor (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1987), 66-72. 23 Walpole, The Castle ofOtranto, ed. W.S. Lewis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1964), p. 4. 24 Warburton's note to Pope's Epistle to Augustus, 1.146; Critical Heritage, p. 75. For a useful discussion of Warburton's comment, see Arthur L. Cooke, 'Some Side Lights on the Theory of the Gothic Romance/ Modern Language Quarterly, 12 (1951): 430-31. 25 Letter to Robert Jephson, 27 January 1780; Yale Edition, XLI, 409-10. 26 Reeve, The Old English Baron, ed. James Trainer (London: Oxford University Press, 1967), p. 4. 27 Walpole, letter to William Mason, 8 April 1778; Yale Edition, XXVIII, 381-82. 28 Critical Review, 2nd series XI (1794), 361; cited by Cooke, p. 434. The attribution of this review to Coleridge made by several critics is refuted by Charles I. Patterson, T h e Authenticity of Coleridge's Reviews of Gothic Romances/ JEGP, 50 (1951): 517-21. 29 The influence of The Castle of Otranto is often overstated by critics of the Gothic; see, for example, K.K. Mehrotra, Horace Walpole and the English Novel: A Study of the Influence of The Castle of Otranto' 1764-1820 (1934; New York: Russell and Russell, 1970). In her Mothers of the Novel: 100 Good Women Writers before Jane 178 Austen (London: Pandora, 1986), Dale Spender does enthuse about Clara Reeve (pp. 230-32), but without paying any close attention to her novels. 30 See Samuel Kliger, T h e "Goths" in England: An Introduction to the Gothic Vogue in Eighteenth-Century Aesthetic Discussion/ Modern Philology, 43 (1945): 107-17; Kliger, The Goths in England: A Study in Seventeenth and Eighteenth-Century Thought (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1952); and Mark Madoff, T h e Useful Myth of Gothic Ancestry/ Studies in Eighteenth-Century Culture, 8 (1979): 337-50. Kliger's claims are challenged by Robert Donald Spector, English Literary Periodicals and the Climate of Opinion during the Seven Years' War (The Hague: Mouton, 1966), and by Michael Meehan, Liberty and Poetics in Eighteenth-Century England (London: Croom Helm, 1986), pp. 76-78. 31 William Whitehead in 77M? World, no. 12, 22 March 1753, cited by Kliger, T h e " G o t h s / " p. 116; reviews by Griffiths (1756) and Kenrick (1759), cited by Spector, p. 366. 32 Paulson, Representations of Revolution (1789-1820) (New Haven: Yale University Press [19831), pp. 220-21. 33 Paulson, pp. 57-87. 34 Walpole, letter of 25 July 1789; Yale Edition, XLII, 251. 35 Walpole, letter of 18 August 1792; Yale Edition, XXXIV, 155. 36 Walpole, letter of 4 September 1794; Yale Edition, XXXIV, 204. 37 Reeve, Memoirs of Sir Roger de Clarendon (London, 1793), I, xvi. 38 Knight, The Landscape (1794; 2nd ed. London, 1795), III, 249-79. 39 Knight, Analytical Inquiry (1805; 4th ed. London, 1808), III, i, 67, p. 384. 40 Knight, The Progress of Civil Society (London, 1796), VI, 505-08. 41 de Staël, 'Essai sur les fictions/ in Oeuvres complètes de Mme la Baronne de Staël (Paris, 1820), II, 178. 42 Mathias, The Pursuits of Literature (1794-97; 10th. ed. London, 1799), p p . 161-62. For a useful discussion of this and many other responses to The Monk, see André Parreaux, The Publication of 'The Monk': A Literary Event 1796-1798 (Paris: Didier, 1960). 43 Terrorist System of Novel-Writing/ Monthly Magazine, 4 (1797), 102. 44 de Sade, Idée sur les romans (1800), ed. Jean Glastier (Bordeaux: Ducros, 1970), p . 48. 45 For a good account of Austen's friendship with de Feuillide and exposure to Revolutionary ideas, see Warren Roberts, Jane Austen and the French Revolution (London: Macmillan, 1979). 46 For the composition of Northanger Abbey, see A. Walton Litz, 'Chronology of Composition/ in The Jane Austen Handbook, ed. J. David Grey (London: Athlone Press, 1986), p p . 49-50. 47 Austen, Northanger Abbey, vol. V of The Novels of Jane Austen, ed. R.W. Chapman, 3rd ed. (London: Oxford University Press, 1969), I, xiv, p p . 111-12. 48 Hopkins, 'General Tilney and Affairs of State: The Political Gothic of Northanger Abbey,' Philological Quarterly, 57 (1978): 213-24. 49 Burke, Letters on a Regicide Peace (1796; cited in Paulson, p. 72). 
work_zhean7744vbf7e36mmt6zfbodi	----	Microsoft Word - Slutuppsats.doc 1 Introduction “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.” (Pride and Prejudice,359) This quotation is from a well-known book by Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice. It appears at the end of the book, where Elizabeth Bennet wants Mr. Darcy to describe how he fell in love with her. The sentence singled out here does not only fit into the story but it also fits in with how many readers feel after reading Pride and Prejudice. Several readers fall in love with the book and the characters, and some even feel it hard to let go of the book and the story. Why this should be is difficult to explain and it is also difficult to explain why Jane Austen’s books have become so admired among women today. All we know is that her books speak to us even though they were written two hundred years ago. I think Jane Austen speaks to women in a way that perhaps men will never understand fully, and this is why this essay will focus on how women feel about this renowned story. Pride and Prejudice may be Jane Austen’s most popular work. She has described this novel as “her own darling child” in a letter to her sister Cassandra.1 Jane Austen also writes about Elizabeth Bennet, the main character of Pride and Prejudice and one of the most well- known female characters in English literature, saying that “I must confess that I think her as delightful a creature as ever appeared in print, and how shall I be able to tolerate those who do not like her at least I do not know”. 2Elizabeth is the one character of Pride and Prejudice who has captured most of the readers’ attention, not just because she is the main character, but also because of what she stands for and what she is going through in the book. Elizabeth is described as having a critical intelligence and a liveliness of mind. (Viviene Jones, 2003, xiii). She is lovely, clever, and, in a novel defined by dialogue, she converses as brilliantly as anyone.3 Jane Austen was proud of this special character. 1 http://www.geocities.com/Athens/8563/books/index.html, 2006-11-28, 12:11 2 Andrew H Wright: Heroines, Heroes, and Villains in Pride and Prejudice, 1.Elizabeth Bennet, in E. Rubinstein, Twentieth Century Interpretations of Pride and Prejudice (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1969) 97. 3 http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/pride/terms/charanal_1.html, 2006-11-28, 11:50 2 Jane Austen did not write for any ‘worthy’ reason, she wrote because she wanted to and because she wanted to entertain people, and that is, I believe, the whole point about her books. She did not write sermons to make people live better lives, she wrote to give the readers fulfilment, happiness, and pleasure. Many books in the 18th and the 19th century were written for the purpose of telling people what to do and how they should live their lives. An example of that is the book entitled “Advice to Young Ladies on the Improvement of the Mind and Conduct of Life”; it was published only three years before Pride and Prejudice.4 One of the reasons for Jane Austen’s enduring success, as Paul Webster points out, could be that she wrote about a world she knew and thoroughly understood.5 She only wrote of her direct experience, and because she used comic observation, to a large degree, she is more accessible than many classic writers. Despite the fact that the story was set in the early 19th century’s environment it suits today’s environment well. The aim of this essay is to get some more answers why Pride and Prejudice still affects some of its female readers and what it is in the character of Elizabeth Bennet that makes some of them want to be her. Schweickart and Flynn say that ". . . identification should be considered a significant part of the emotional appeal of any text, involving as it generally does 'experiencing the text fully, living through the events of the text as they are encountered.'"6 I will focus on how women interpret this story and identify with the character of Elizabeth Bennet. Jane Austen Jane Austen was born on December 16, 1775 in the village of Steventon in Hampshire, England. She was the seventh of the eight children of Reverend George Austen and his wife Cassandra.7 Jane did a lot of her early writing at Steventon until she was twenty-five, when her father retired and the whole family moved with him to Bath.8 In 1805 her father died and 4 http://www.geocities.com/Athens/8563/books/index.html, 2006-11-28, 12:11 5 Paul Webster, publisher, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 6 Patricinio P. Schweickart and Elizabeth A. Flynn, eds., Gender and Reading: Essays on Readers, Texts, and Contexts , 39, quoted in Hildebrand, The Female Reader at the Round Table: Women and Religion in Three Contemporary Arthurian Texts, doct. diss, Uppsala, 2001. 7 Rubinstein 1. 8 Vivien Jones, Introduction, 2003, Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, (1813; Harmondsworth: Penguin Classics, 1996) ix. 3 the family left again for Southampton, but three years later Jane, her mother, her sister and their friend Martha Lloyd moved back to Steventon. From the year they left Steventon until they moved back Austen’s writing went through a very arid period and she did not do any of her ‘major’ writing during that period. Steventon was the place where she would do her famous writing. The Village of Steventon also came to be the place where Jane remained until shortly before her death on July 18, 1817. She reached the age of forty-one. Jane Austen had no formal literary training and she enjoyed no connections with the literary society of her time.9 The only school mentioned in her life is the Abbey school, which she and her sister attended.10 She liked to read a lot of literature, and her favourite authors were Ann Radcliffe, Henry Fielding, Laurence Sterne, Samuel Richardson, Fanny Burney and Maria Edgeworth.11 Her life was not a large one; she did not live a life in the public eye. She used her unofficial life to make observations of human behaviour that are as true today as they were then. 12 She was an observer of the nature of man in society.13 An ordinary day in Jane Austen’s’ life could look like this: in the morning she would get up early and she would go and practise the piano. Then she would probably be writing after breakfast, writing secretly at her tiny little table in the dining room. To get into the room there was a door you had to pass, and it was a door that used to creak, so Austen was then able to hear if anyone came in. She did not want anyone to know that she was writing. It was not that she thought it was a disgrace to be writing. It was because she valued her privacy and did not want people to interrupt her, saying “Why don’t you do this?” which would be so tedious. Even though she wrote in secrecy she has refered to her own fiction as “the little bit (two inches wide) of ivory on which I work with so fine a brush, as produces little effect after much labour.”14 Jane Austen was certainly, like almost every girl, looking for love, but according to the norms of society she had to be in love with somebody in her own social sphere. In the late 18th century you could not choose to marry someone just like that, if you were going to have a comfortable life and not have to worry about food, clothes, and somewhere to live. Jane Austen fell in love with a man named Tom Lefroy when she was twenty. They were both very 9 Rubinstein 1. 10 Jones ix. 11 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A847505, 2006-11-28, 12:00 12 Louise West, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 13 http://www.123helpme.com/assets/16770.html ,2006-11-28, 11:55 14 http://geocities.com/Athens/8563/essays/essay5.html, 2006-11-28, 12:10 4 respectable people from the same social class, but because he did not have any money, and still had his way to make in the world, his family soon put a stop to it. He was taken back to Ireland whence he came.15 When Jane was twenty-seven she accepted a proposal of marriage from Harris Bigg-Wither, but the following day she changed her mind.16 Jane Austen never married anyone and that was not because she had experienced disappointments in love, she just did not get married. Also her beloved sister Cassandra remained unmarried. Austen gave most of her life to her family and she was said to have inspired warm affection in those who knew her the best.17 To our generation Jane Austen’s work is known as famous and well-written. In her time they were not only praising her work, there were also complaints about it, ...the accusation most regularly brought against her work is that its concerns are relatively trivial. From the earliest reviewers to very recent critics, one complaint - and a complaint it remains, however richly framed by words of the highest praise – is heard again and again: “What she does, she does well, perhaps better than anyone – though of course we all know that there is so much more to life and to literature than this.”18 The liberals of Jane Austen’s’ time considered her a “humble chronicler of her society’s customs”19 and they neglected her artistic development as well as her social criticism. Ralph Waldo Emerson said; “I am at a loss to understand why people hold Miss Austen’s novels at so high a rate, which seem to me vulgar in tone, sterile in artistic invention, imprisoned in their wretched conventions of English society, without genius, wit, or knowledge of the world. Never was life so pinched and 15 Louise West, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 16 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A1171595, 2006-11-28, 11:59 17 Rubinstein 1. 18 Rubinstein 5-6. 19 Philip Goldstein, Communities of cultural value (Lanham, MD : Lexington Books, 2001) 88. 5 narrow...all that interests in any character [is this]: has he or she the money to marry with? Suicide is more respectable.20 In 1821, when Jane Austen was still alive, Richard Whately said that “certainly no author has ever conformed more closely to real life, as well as the incidents, as in the characters and descriptions”, Whately also said that “her fables appear to us to be in their own way, nearly faultless”.21 Sir Walter Scott said “That young lady had a talent for describing the involvement and feelings and characters of ordinary life which is to me the most wonderful I have ever met with.” 22 Many voices were raised to praise Jane Austen and her works or to bring them down. Unfortunately Jane Austen did not live long enough to experience the success her work achieved later and still maintain today. Only four of her novels got published while she was alive; these were Sense and Sensibility (1811), Pride and Prejudice (1813), Mansfield Park (1814) and Emma (1815). They did not give much money or much acclaim, not as much as the novels of Fanny Burney or Maria Edgeworth, her more or less forgotten contemporaries.23 Jane Austen has described her own work Pride and Prejudice as “rather too light and bright and sparkling”.24 It might have been that she did not believe in herself and her capability. Joe Wright, the director of the latest film version of Pride and Prejudice, say’s that there is no doubt that Jane Austen changed the face of the novel. He also says that her characterisation is much deeper than in earlier writing and that the psychology of the characters is something that you do not really get in literature beforehand. As readers we feel that she was honest and wrote completely from her heart. It is said that the modern novel owes more to Austen in terms of structure than for example Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones or Samuel Richardsson’s Clarissa. When Jane Austen was writing, the novel was in its infancy and many 18th century novels were sprawling, often epistolary affairs, long-winded and melodramatic.25 Jane Austen was the first English writer to confront the real challenges of the form in which she operated. The technical challenge was that of focusing on the mind of at least one 20 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A1171595, 2006-11-28, 11:59 21 Goldstein 88. 22 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A1171595, 2006-11-28, 11:59 23 Goldstein 89. 24 Jones, 2003, xi 25 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A1171595, 2006-11-28, 11:59 6 central character while at the same time allowing that character’s world and its many inhabitants to impose themselves independently upon the reader’s attention. In Pride and Prejudice Jane Austen chooses to focus on the consciousness of one central figure, Elizabeth Bennet, from whose point of view the narrative is for the most part experienced.26 Lady Victoria Leatham, also working with the production of the film Pride and Prejudice, points out that Austen’s books allow us to see behind the scenes and see the domestic trivia, “She really manages to put us in the actual scene of everyday life from breakfast through to tea. We can see how the families had these pointless lives, and yet there were all sorts of undercurrents going on at the same time. Their days must have been so dull and so boring, especially if a girl had a good brain. To spend your life sewing and tittle-tattle, and wandering between coffee mornings, with your mother clucking over you like an old hen”.27 We do not realise how lucky we are today. An example of this from the book really points out how uneventful their lives might have been. When tea was over...Mr. Hurst had therefore nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the sophas and go to sleep. Darcy took up a book; Miss Bingley did the same; and Mrs. Hurst, principally occupied in playing with her bracelets and rings, joined now and then in her brother’s conversation with Miss Bennet. (P&P, 53-54) Pride and Prejudice is not only a romantic love story where boy meets girl, its undertones strongly satirise contemporary society: Pride and Prejudice is written as a romantic comedy whose depiction of the characters’ confusions and difficulties forcefully satirises middle-class ideals of romance and marriage. Pride and Prejudice also criticizes the social life of its time. 26 Rubinstein 11. 27 Lady Victoria Leatham, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 7 It satirises the middle class vulgarity of Mrs. Bennet, the childish frivolity of Lydia and Kitty, the aristocratic snobbery and arrogance of Darcy, Miss Bingley, and Lady Catherine, and the servile pomposity of clergymen like Mr Collins, the novel also exposes the self-indulgent sarcasm, permissiveness, or dependence of middle-class gentlemen like Mr Bennet and Mr Bingley and the cynical conformity or complacent indifference of middle-class women like Jane Bennet and Charlotte Lucas.28 When we look deep into the text and analyse it, there are more things being criticized. The story develops less familiar but more subversive notions of reading and interpretation this means that the novel assumes, in other words, that serious public reading ends up boring and pretentious, while sceptical private reading can demonstrate genuine intelligence.29 Trevor Ross said that “...true pleasures of reading could only come in relation to texts of an intellectually demanding nature”30 His educators feared that novels, which could be consumed “too easily and too rapidly”, had “injurious effects”. In that time the Victorian liberals expected reading to improve the reader and to improve their intellect.31 The life of the character Elizabeth Bennet Elizabeth Bennet, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, is the main character of Pride and Prejudice. She lives at Longbourn in Hertfordshire with her parents and four sisters, Jane, Mary, Kitty/Catherine, and Lydia. Elizabeth is a young woman of twenty who, like other girls, dreams of marriage and love. The depiction of her is as by nature capable of much happiness and enjoyment in life, she is a woman of deep feeling and strong convictions, and she is very protective of her sisters and capable of righteous anger.32 “She is honest, outspoken, and uncompromising and seems very much at home with herself. Lizzy does not care what people whom she does not like think of her and readily speaks her mind.”33 An example of this is when Elizabeth talks to her 28 Goldstein 83. 29 Goldstein 85. 30 Goldstein 90. 31 Goldstein 90. 32 Mary Riso, Heroines the Lives of Great Literary Characters and What They Have to Teach Us, (Grand Rapids, Mich. : Baker Books, 2003) 88. 33 Riso 88. 8 sister after finding out that the assembly containing the beloved Mr. Bingley is leaving Netherfield, which is assumed to be a trick by Bingley’s sisters who do not think Jane a suitable wife for their brother. “There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more I am dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of either merit or sense. I have met with two instances lately; one I will not mention; the other is Charlotte’s marriage. It is unaccountable! In every view it is unaccountable!” (P&P, 133) Here she unreservedly speaks her mind to her sister as so often before. But her sister has not got the power or will to think ill of any one. They are in some aspects opposites of each other. Her elder sister Jane is the beauty while Elizabeth is described as ordinary, attractive but not beautiful. Elizabeth is an independent woman who goes her own ways, which in her case has two distinct meanings; she is not moved by everything she hears and she decides for herself what to think and how to act; she also does a lot of walking in the surrounding landscape. She likes the freedom the out-of-doors gives, and the fresh air that makes it easier to think, she also likes to read and dance. Elizabeth has similarities with Jane Austen, who, as a young woman, enjoyed long country walks, she attended balls in many of the great houses of the neighbourhood because she took great pleasure in dancing and we also know that reading was a thing she liked to do.34 That Elizabeth likes to walk was seen as odd and different. In the beginning of the book she walks the three miles over to Netherfield to take care of her sister who has caught a cold riding horseback to the same place. And the Bingley sisters are upset about her behaviour. “Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!” “ To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, an alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to shew an abominable 34 http://www.jasa.net.au/jabiog.htm, 2006-11-28, 12:18 9 sort of conceited independence, a most country town indifference to decorum.” (P&P, 36) Instead of walking she could have taken a carriage or been ridden a horse, but Elizabeth liked to walk and so she does, not to upset anyone, just because she wants to. She is different from the other women of her time but at the same time she is very much like them. Elizabeth realises that she must take responsibility for her own education because she cannot look to either of her parents for advice, and she must ultimately depend on her own experiences, instincts, and judgements.35 This might have led to her pride, from which she unconsciously suffers. One could argue that she in some aspects was born in the wrong family, with her hopeless mother who only has marriage in mind and the lack of guidance and strength from her father.36 One should not forget that her mother, apart from talking very much and very loudly, also is obsessed with getting her daughters married, which could be seen as a considerate quality but in her case it is exaggerated. Elizabeth’s behaviour as it is described in Pride and Prejudice was not very common in the 18th century but in the story there are few objections to it: she is supported, in almost every move she makes, by her father who loves her very much. Elizabeth and her father have a very warm and respectful relationship. She often speaks her mind to him in his library where he hides from the rest of the family. He cares more about her than his wife and he thanks God for his beautiful and intelligent daughter. An example from the book clearly shows his care for her and her life when Mr. Darcy of whom she has not spoken so well, proposes to her. She tells her father that she actually loves him now, more than ever, and regrets what she has said before. “I know your disposition Lizzy. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable, unless you truly esteemed your husband; unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life”...”Well, my dear,” said he, when she ceased speaking, 35 http://www.123helpme.com/assets/16770.html 20061128 11:55 36 Riso 86-87. 10 “I have no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to any one less worthy.” (P&P, 356) Her father’s opinions are important to her even though she usually does not let anyone affect her thoughts and emotions, but subconsciously we all know that she is being affected by whatever Mr. Darcy says. Auerbach points out the following; ”the absurd authority of a Lady Catherine or a Mrs. Bennet implies that what Elizabeth chooses or what she learns does not matter because Austen shows that only the male authority of a Darcy or a Mr. Bennet can effectively legitimate a woman’s claims.”37 Courtship and Marriage As shown in Pride and Prejudice, one of the dominant features of social life in Austen’s time was courtship and marriage. In the 18th and 19th century the subject of courtship was absolutely central in life and it remained so because it involved both with the social perpetuation of the family line through inherited property and, with that, larger interpenetration of social classes. The social scene was very busy; people would go around and stay with their relations a lot. Pride and Prejudice points that out very well through all the trips to different families and relatives. In this time you did not just stay for the weekend like we do today, usually they stayed for weeks: trying to get their children married, trying to make the most of the lives they had. Courtship and marriage was important for a woman to make her way in life. At the end of the 18th century, women’s position in society had not progressed much since the 16th century. Women were not allowed to vote and their purpose in life was to take care of the children and the household. The only way a woman could advance on the social ladder were to have good connections and to marry into the rich and wealthy families. Proposals was nothing thrown over you now and then so you had to find your partner or likely partner and be together with that person as much as possible. Unlike the situation we are living in today, dating was not a simple thing. In our modern society we go around dating like we want, whenever we want. We meet our partner at a disco or a bar, some meet at work, school, or other places. Some people meet each other through friends or over the internet, some of these decide together where they are to meet, some meet at a cinema, which is rather strange because you cannot talk to each other during a movie. It 37 Goldstein 102-103. 11 can be romantic and cosy in the dark but you do not get much information from the other one. Some people meet at a café, where it is easier to talk, and you can sit there as long as you like. To talk with another person makes it also a lot easier to get to know the person you might be in love with. In our time there are many alternatives of how to do it when it comes to dating. But the life of the 18th century had another way of handling this subject. There were certain rules to follow when it came to courtship, which might have made it all easier compared to the ways we use today. Let us compare briefly on how we greet each other today and then. The most common way we use today is to shake hands, if we are more friendly we kiss each others’ cheeks, embrace each other and so on, there are so many ways of greeting another person which makes it more difficult to tell from situation to situation of how we are to greet a person. How many of us have not stretched out our hand to shake hands when the other person starts to embrace us. In the Austen period women simply did not shake hands with men. Courtship, too, was different from today’s dating. The most acceptable way to behave for a woman looking for a husband was to look like you did not want any husband.38 You should not make a fool of yourself or be too open with your feelings. So how they did manage to find each other then, was through their balls and their dance floors. It was on the dance floor you would find a good husband and a good wife. Men and women were able to be together without a chaperone and were able to talk to each other. You could dance with someone that you on a normal day would not approach and talk to. But if and when you went to a dance, or if there were a dance at the end of a party, your parents would probably always be present and you would have your mother and father watching every move you make.39 Behaviour was very important to show who you were. Elizabeth’s mother was not the best representative of behaviour but she seems to know, anyway, how to behave when she exhorts Elizabeth in the following lines. “Lizzy,” cried her mother, “remember where you are, and do not run on in the wild manner that you are suffered to do at home.” (P&P,42) Mrs. Bennet is known to speak much and loudly and so does Elizabeth too, not loudly but she speaks her mind. Mrs. Bennet is afraid Elizabeth will make a fool of herself, and what is 38 Louise West, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 39 Louise West, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 12 funny about that is that she admonishes Elizabeth when she should take a look at herself and her own behaviour instead. Elizabeth has no problems when it comes to the social matter of conversations, but general knowledge confirms that it is difficult to talk to someone who you are in love with. In the time of Jane Austen you were not allowed to talk to someone of the other sex alone, except for when dancing. It was difficult, then, if you could not come up with a subject to discuss. In the following quotation Elizabeth is looking for information from Mr. Darcy and she is very upset with him when he does not give her the answers she wants. “It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy.-I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”(P&P, 90) She is pushing him to speak. If you could not come up with a subject to talk about, you could always talk about the dance, one could compare it with our way of talking about the weather when we run out of interesting topics. During a dance was the only time the couples were alone, so to be able to use those dances in that way was a great way of forming creating contact between the lovers. Dancing with somebody was the only way allowed to have physical contact with another man or woman outside of marriage.40 That also made the whole thing very exciting. There were of course many more rules to follow which will not be mentioned in this essay. Courtship often led to marriage, and marriage was then, unlike today, of primary importance to the whole family. When it comes to marriage we are free to marry who we like, in today’s Western society that is. Today you are also assumed to marry for love. In the society of Austen’s period you were not that free, as mentioned above, to choose whom you wanted to marry. In some cases your parents already had chosen from your birth whom you were to marry. This is a little bit like parts of the Eastern society of today, where in some cases your parents chose your partner. It was also important that you married well so that you could help support you family. Especially the oldest girl in a family was under pressure to find a rich man and marry. In Pride and Prejudice this takes another turn when Lydia puts her sisters into danger of not getting married when she runs off with Mr. Wickham. Living with a 40 Joe Wright, Pride and Prejudice, 2006, Universal, DVD, bonus material 13 man before marriage in that period would ruin not only Lydia’s reputation but also her sisters’ and perhaps destroy their prospects of marrying into a respectable family. Of course every girl wanted to marry into riches and into respectable families. But in Lydia’s case she just wanted to get married before her sisters, even though that was not the intention of Mr. Wickham running off with her. Lydia really enjoys getting married before her sisters and seems not to notice that her husband finds no interest in her. “Ah! Jane, I take your place now, and you must go lower, because I am a married woman.” She longed to see Mrs. Phillips, the Lucasses, and all their other neighbours, and to hear herself called “Mrs. Wickham”, by each of them; and in mean time, she went after dinner to shew her ring and boast of being married, to Mrs. Hill and the two housemaids.…”I am sure my sisters must all envy me. I only hope they may have half my good luck”. (P&P, 300) Lydia is a very frolicsome and silly girl not older than sixteen and all she cares about is love from a handsome man. It is well described in the quotation above that she is not very mature. Today we connect marriage mostly with love and not convenience but in Austen’s time it was different. Marriage was and still is something that almost every girl dreams of. Who is going to be their prince and what will the actual wedding be like? As one can see in Pride and Prejudice, girls’ heads were filled with marriage and dresses and balls. They wanted to be secure, they wanted to have a good time, and they wanted to find a likeable person to be with, which was not always possible in that day and time. People sometimes married for convenience.41 The novel makes clear, in the figure of Charlotte Lucas, that to give oneself to a man without desire, to accede to a polite form of prostitution, is to sacrifice what is most valuable in the self, and in the figure of Mr. Bennet, that to submit to lust, or even a giddy impulse (why else would Mr. Bennet have selected the bride he did?) is to forego the possibility of rational happiness.42 41 Joe Wright, Pride and Prejudice, 2006, Universal, DVD, bonus material 42 Rubinstein 7. 14 It is a very good point and it is also very easy to trace in this story. Jane Austen was well aware of the subject - marrying for convenience - when she included the part where Charlotte Lucas marries Mr. Collins. And at the same time she satirizes people who marry out of attraction. The following text in her Pride and Prejudice is to me both comic and tragic. Her father captivated by youth and beauty, and that appearance of good humour, which youth and beauty generally give, had married a woman whose weak understanding and illiberal mind, had very early in their marriage put an end to all real affection for her. Respect, esteem, and confidence, had vanished for ever; and all his views of domestic happiness were overthrown. But Mr. Bennet was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own prudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice... To his wife he was very little otherwise indebted, than as her ignorance and folly had contributed to his amusement. This is not the sort of happiness which a man would in general wish to owe to his wife... (P&P, 229) As mentioned above you sometimes married for convenience, so it was not recommended to refuse a proposal as Elizabeth actually does twice in the story. Marriage proposals might just come once in a lifetime. But Elizabeth is a strong minded woman and certainly knows that she can neither love nor respect Mr. Collins, who proposes to her in a laughable way; “Believe me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that your modesty, so far from doing any disservice, rather adds to your other perfections. You would have been less amiable in my eyes had there not been this little unwillingness; but allow me to assure you that I have your respected mother’s permission for this address. You can hardly doubt the purport of my discourse, however your natural delicacy may lead you to dissemble; my attentions have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I entered the house I singled you out as the companion of my future life. But before I am run away with by my feelings on this subject, perhaps it will be advisable for me to state my reasons for marrying…” (P&P, 103) 15 After this Mr. Collins continues to talk about how Lady Catherine has suggested a marriage for him. Elizabeth explains to him that she cannot agree to this proposal and Mr. Collins begins to tell Elizabeth that she might never get married if she does not accept this proposal. This has no impact on Elizabeth who continues her life as usual. Then Mr. Darcy proposes to her but Elizabeth can not accept this proposal made by Mr. Darcy, which actually starts out very well, “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” (P&P, 185) But Mr. Darcy continues in a very annoying fashion. He is criticising her family and their behaviour while proposing to her and I believe we all would have said no to such a proposal. Pride and Prejudice presents different kinds of marriage. We know that Elizabeth refuses two proposals. Elizabeth does not believe in marrying for convenience and that is why she so arrogantly refuses Mr. Collins proposal. Instead Elizabeth’s best friend Charlotte Lucas accepts a proposal from Mr. Collins. The marriage is based on economics rather than on love. This was, as mentioned before, common during Jane Austen’s time; women married for convenience to save themselves from spinsterhood or to gain financial security. Another kind of marriage is the hasty marriage between Mr. Wickham and Elizabeth’s sister Lydia. It was seen as a bad marriage and Austen shows here that these marriages, acting on impulse, based on superficial qualities, quickly cool and lead to unhappiness. A happy and strong marriage takes time to build and must be based on mutual feeling, understanding, and respect. It is clearly shown in the relationship between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. This couple takes their time and they allow themselves to get to know each other before an engagement. We know that their road to an engagement is long and filled with meetings and quarrels before they decide for love and marriage. Pride and Prejudice today When searching the Internet for information about Jane Austen, and Pride and Prejudice, many sites will be found, but what is most surprising are all the webpages about Elizabeth Bennet that also are to be found. Fan listing pages are very common today. You make these pages about your favourite actor or actress and so on, but pages dedicated to a character of a 16 story are not that common. In Elizabeth Bennet’s case, there are several pages dedicated to her; even at the famous Wikipedia page, the free encyclopaedia, there is a whole chapter simply about Elizabeth. This page relates, among other things, which actresses have portrayed Elizabeth.43 Other pages that are devoted to the character are very well made, you can find all the different dresses that Elizabeth wore in the miniseries from 1995 made by BBC.44 You can download several pictures of Elizabeth but I would say that they are pictures of the actresses playing Elizabeth. There are even ‘icons’ to download so that you can use them on your own webpage. The icons are pictures of Elizabeth with small notes on saying things like “I’ll just smile” or “lovely”, commenting on the way she looks in the picture. On one of these webpages, there is a competition where the challengers are given themes and are then to create pictures from the movie with the theme. These challenges are made repeatedly on this page and you can look at the winning picture of the various themes.45 Pride and Prejudice quizzes can also be found, they tell you if you are a real Pride and Prejudice expert, which one of the characters you would be, and which of the male characters would suit you the best.46 On another page there are something called codes, which are also small pictures of Elizabeth with just her name on them in different types of writing, and the webmaster asks the members to upload more of those codes.47 On most of the pages you can read the story, too, and make comments on almost everything concerning Pride and Prejudice. There are also quotations of Elizabeth, to read if you do not want to read the whole book. There is so much to be found on the Internet when it comes to Elizabeth Bennet. A search on her name at a community page, containing online diaries, gave three hundred and eighty two matches: all of them webpages with “Lizzy stuff”. For just a character in a very well written book from the early 19th century, she is very popular. Identifying with Elizabeth today Elizabeth’s life is not as predictable and dreamlike as the life of other characters in some of the 18th and 19th century fiction. Her life is not a rosegarden, she has been through both luck and misfortunes, but in the end she gets married to the prince and receives the castle. Her life 43 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Bennet 2006-11-15, 15.15 44 http://www.austen.com/costumes/ 2006-11-15, 15.00 45 http://community.livejournal.com/austen_stills, 2006-11-15, 15.30 46 http://www.strangegirl.org/austenquiz/ 2006-11-28, 11:55 47 http://www.mourning-love.net/elizabeth/ 2006-11-15, 15.10 17 looks a lot more like our lives today: a constant search for love and respect, except that she has no career or work taking up her time. Her days are filled with what she wants to do or what she has to do about the household. Elizabeth is a free woman in our eyes; she speaks her thoughts and her mind, which might be equal to our time’s expression of girl power48. She refuses two proposals, as have been mentioned before, but she also accepts the third and last one from Mr. Darcy. That she actually gets the wealthy man in the end, as in every fairy tale, is something people still dream of. Elizabeth has the things we long for. She has a family that she loves and a home. In today’s society these things, mentioned above, can be very fairy-like for some people, it is not to be taken for granted to have a home and certainly not to have a family who loves you. Too many families today are parted or split up because of small trivial things or by larger conflicts that never get solved and remain unresolved because they never reach the surface. Parents divorce, wars in different parts of our world separate families daily, and money is another factor which often leads to conflicts, which often leads to separation. In our society today we choose to spend our time mostly hunting money because some of us still believe that happiness only can come out of a large amount of money. We spend our time working, doing our duties, and less with our families and friends, the people whom we love. This as well might lead to separations inside families. Words can be heard from disappointed children; ‘I do not know my father because he always works but my mother I love, her I see everyday’. Everything is connected, we need money to keep a home and bring food on the table, to earn money most of us have to work. More work brings more money but it takes our time instead, we get less time with our nearest and dearest which makes us unhappy and we seek happiness in material things instead, like a book that could be Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. We escape into a fantasy world where it is comfortable to be, and that is why I think Elizabeth becomes our heroine. She is living her life in a way we would like to live our lives, free and loving. She thinks like we do or might do in the same situation. The following quotation from the book seems like a very normal way to reason. “A man who has once been refused! How could I ever be foolish enough to expect a renewal of his love? Is there one among the sex, who would not 48 “A self-reliant attitude among girls and young women manifested in ambition, assertiveness and individualism.” Oxford English Dictionary, 2001 18 protest against such a weakness as a second proposal to the same woman? There is no indignity so abhorrent to their feelings!”(P&P, 322) Elizabeth is here reflecting over her situation and her relation to Mr. Darcy. With these words Elizabeth could be a woman of today, if we just give her the time and let her live through us. As said before some of us want to be like Elizabeth, independent, speak our minds openly, and walk our own ways without being afraid of what others might say. Human beings want to be free and also free from the things that bind them in their everyday life, things like school, work, and duties at home. Society forms us no matter what we say and think about it. We are moved by things that happen in the world and we do get affected by what the neighbours tell us or what we hear about on TV. In Austen’s time people were affected by what they read and we still get affected, as we can see, by reading her Pride and Prejudice. It still has its influence on us today, two hundred years after it was written. This story, two hundred years old, still affects some people so much that they come to feel like they own Elizabeth - or some other character in the book - and believe they have a right to decide over the character. When a play is to be performed, some people have to know who is going to play what character. And when they find out they might argue that some actor or actress is absolutely wrong for that role and he or she cannot do justice to that character. This happened when the latest film version was to be recorded. The actors and actresses got questions from their friends and surroundings, “Which actor was going to play that character?” and “How could they chose that actor to that role, that is totally wrong”, and so on.49 Looking at Elizabeth, then, she becomes alive through reading, through the text. The reader becomes Elizabeth by connecting herself to the character, feeling what Elizabeth feels and taking her side. The character of Elizabeth Bennet could be in any story today where women are supposed to stand up for themselves and take an equal part in society. She is out of her time and could be a woman of today, with her manners and ways of looking at life, and yet she lives in her time the time of the 19th century, the Napoleonic era. She is a heroine and that could be one of the reasons why people love her as much as they do. Elizabeth Bennet “seems to connect most directly with the active, visible, independent identity of modern femininity”.50 Jones also says that “The qualities which distinguished 49 Tom Hollander, Pride and Prejudice, Joe Wright, 2006, DVD bonus material 50 Jones xiii. 19 Elizabeth from the ‘common heroines’ familiar to contemporary audiences continue to endear her to modern readers. Elizabeth embodies a different kind of femininity from the stereotypical one that is passive, vulnerable and a child-like romantic heroine”. She is the woman some of us want to be. She does not save lives or conquer beasts but her manners are heroic in the way they are described in Pride and Prejudice. We need female heroes that are much like ourselves so that we can relate to them. It is difficult to tell why Elizabeth Bennet is a heroine for many women today but I think it has to do with her qualities, as Viviene Jones points out, “Maybe it is her liveliness and ‘active sensibility’ that secures our sympathy evens more.”51 Jones also says that; “Elizabeth’s sense and conduct are of superior order to those of the common heroines of novels.”52 In each of Jane Austen’s six novels she provides her heroine with a good marriage, but that of Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice is the most dazzling of all. Pride and Prejudice is the one love story which most comfortably fits the patterns of popular romantic fiction, according to Viviene Jones.53 Romance makes connections across history: it helps us identify and understand the continuities-and the differences-between the novel’s significance at the same time it was written and published and the appeal it still has for modern readers.54 However, Elizabeth is also an ordinary girl who makes mistakes, mistakes that people do today too, like judging too quickly. “Pride and prejudice are faults; but they are also the necessary defects of desirable merits: self-respect and intelligence.”55 She admits to herself that she regrets her refusal of the proposal from Mr. Darcy, but in the same breath she does not feel remorse at all. “And of this place,” thought she, “I might have been mistress! With these rooms I might now have been familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might have rejoiced in them as my own, and welcomed 51 Jones xxiv. 52 Jones xii. 53 Jones xi. 54 Jones xii. 55 Wright, Heroines, 97. 20 to them as visitors my uncle and aunt.-But no,”-recollecting herself,-“that could never be: my uncle and aunt would have been lost to me: I should not have been allowed to invite them.” This was a lucky recollection-it saved her from something like regret. (P&P, 236) That mistake could have given her access to Pemberley and all the riches, but she acts just like I think anyone would have done. Of course we want riches and if we are close to get it but fail we will regret it. Her acting and thinking is so natural that we take her for a real person. In Pride and Prejudice Elizabeth is prejudiced against Mr. Darcy who first attracted her and she, naturally, takes an interest in another man who seems nicer and certainly has the ‘looks’. She falls for a man in uniform, a soldier, and who has not fallen for a soldier who looks handsome? Just look at the way Mr. Wickham is described in the book. His appearance was greatly in his favour; he had all the best party of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness of conversation-a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming. (P&P,71) The officers of the-shire were in general a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of the present party; but Mr. Wickham was far beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and walk, as they were superior to the broad-faced stuffy Uncle Philips, breathing port wine, who followed them into the room. (P&P, 75) In these two quotations Mr. Wickham is described as the best looking man of his time, today we look at other things but the feelings are the same. Men or women in suits or uniforms have always attracted the opposite sex. Maybe men in uniforms attract women more than the other way around. What it is that makes people more attractive when they are dressed as soldiers, police officers or fire fighters is difficult to tell by just looking at what they are wearing. I do not think it is the colours of their clothes or how they are designed or how they actually fit the person wearing them that matters. I believe it is what their uniforms stand for, they stand for the things that we search for: security and protection, for some people they might stand for 21 danger, and in some cases they might stand for wild things. What the uniforms symbolize is what we want or would like to have in our partner. Looking at it from that point of view it is not so extraordinary to be attracted by a soldier or someone else in a uniform. Elizabeth and her sisters are attracted by these sorts of men. Women through all time have been attracted to these men. Then one could argue that Mr. Darcy, who is not a soldier, is still very attractive. His way of behaving and having a very gentlemanlike nature are also very attractive. We do not know much about the way he looks like but he attracts us through his way of being. He is well articulated in speech, he is wealthy, and he is a very sophisticated man. Mr. Darcy is a calm man and he thinks before he speaks, this to me brings associations with security. He has what Elizabeth wants and what some of the women of today still search for in a man. These things are in his favour and they make us like him even though he proposes to Elizabeth in a very impolite way the first time. Mr. Darcy is the romantic gentleman some women want and Elizabeth is the woman who dares to put herself up against patriarchal society, the woman some want to be, they are our heroes in the daily life. Conclusion My thoughts after reading and analysing this book is that Pride and Prejudice is written so well and that it is written in a way that still catches our attention. The people Jane Austen was writing about were real people, and they were put in real situations that we can identify easily with today. She deals with very simple “boy-meets-girl” set-ups, despite the entire social decor around it; the stories are universal and speak very much to us down the generations. The narrative method that Jane Austen herself arrived at in the final version of Pride and Prejudice will probably seem so familiar and so natural to the modern reader that they may need to be reminded that it was, if not invented, at least perfected by her, before being absorbed into the mainstream of English fiction. It gives the reader a sense of involvement and makes it uncomplicated for the reader to become the character while reading. Further more, “it puts the reader in a moral position at once committed and disengaged with respect to the difficulties and weaknesses of the heroine-bound to Elizabeth in her confusions and errors, yet amused and fascinated by the stubborn fidelity to her own original opinions which so complicates her struggles.”56 56 Rubinstein 12. 22 None of Austen’s novels are so immediately and directly accessible as Pride and Prejudice, oddly enough it may be these qualities that the modern reader particularly admirers and what kept it from pleasing some of the readers of its own century. P. Goldstein argues that what definitely affects us while reading Pride and Prejudice is that it is simple and realistic and we value it for its good plot, effective irony, not for its moral truth, liberal values, realistic depiction’s, feminist beliefs or social criticism.57 I think that we as readers interpret what we want to read and ignore political values if we are not interested in them. We read what we want to read, no matter what the book is criticising or not criticising and if there is any irony or none. Pride and Prejudice is relevant to society today. The reason for this is many of the themes are still being debated today, for instance feminism. The book reaches out to us two hundred years later with its characters and their lives, and this makes Pride and Prejudice special. If it did not get the attention it was worthy of when it was written, it certainly has got that now and will be given many more years, I think. Pride and Prejudice is important in today’s society; we need these kinds of stories where we can easily identify with a character. Jane Austen certainly knew what she wanted and wrote about it. That this book speaks to women in a way that men will perhaps never understand fully is wonderful in the sense of the enjoyment it gives to its readers. Women get their own fantasy place to creep into, where men cannot be in the way, the women can escape the stressful world their living in. People need to escape real life a little bit now and then, and run away in to the world where they want to be: a world that is not uncomplicated but less demanding. A world with pride and prejudice; but also a world with love, beauty, family, balls, and warm affection, things which we sometimes find it hard to find in our own world. Everything we want in our lives is to be found if we know where to look, sometimes all we need is to open up a book, and fly away. “You yearn for beauty and goodness, love and mercy-rare qualities in today’s world. Still, they can be found if you know where to look.”58 57 Goldstein 96. 58 Riso, cover. 23 Bibliography Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. 1813; Harmondsworth: Penguin Classics, 1996. Goldstein, Philip. Communities of cultural value. Lanham, MD : Lexington Books, 2001. Jones, Vivien. “Introduction.” 2003. In Austen, Jane. Pride and Prejudice. Riso, Mary. Heroines: the Lives of Great Literary Characters and What They Have to Teach Us. Grand Rapids, Mich. : Baker Books, 2003. Rubinstein, E. Twentieth Century Interpretations of Pride and Prejudice. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1969. Schweickart Patricinio P. and Elizabeth A. Flynn, eds., Gender and Reading: Essays on Readers, Texts, and Contexts . Quoted in Hildebrand, The Female Reader at the Round Table: Women and Religion in Three Contemporary Arthurian Texts. Doct. diss, Uppsala, 2001. Wright, Andrew H. “Heroines, Heroes, and Villains in Pride and Prejudice, 1.Elizabeth Bennet,” in E. Rubinstein. Twentieth Century Interpretations of Pride and Prejudice. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1969. Joe Wright, Pride and Prejudice, 2006, Universal, DVD, bonus material Internet resources http://community.livejournal.com/austen_stills, 2006-11-15, 15.30 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Bennet 2006-11-15, 15.15 http://geocities.com/Athens/8563/essays/essay5.html, 2006-11-28, 12:10 http://www.austen.com/costumes/ 2006-11-15, 15.00 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A1171595, 2006-11-28, 11:59 24 http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A847505, 2006-11-28, 12:00 http://www.geocities.com/Athens/8563/books/index.html, 2006-11-28, 12:11 http://www.jasa.net.au/jabiog.htm, 2006-11-28, 12:18 http://www.mourning-love.net/elizabeth/ 2006-11-15, 15.10 http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/pride/terms/charanal_1.html, 2006-11-28, 11:50 http://www.strangegirl.org/austenquiz/ 2006-11-28, 11:55 http://www.123helpme.com/assets/16770.html 20061128 11:55 
work_zlhewp66o5cl3agpi36pspawre	----	Lewes's Review of Wuthering Heights | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 14, Issue 4 March 1960 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| March 01 1960 Lewes's Review of Wuthering Heights Allan R. Brick Allan R. Brick Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1960) 14 (4): 355–359. https://doi.org/10.2307/3044267 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Allan R. Brick; Lewes's Review of Wuthering Heights. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 March 1960; 14 (4): 355–359. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/3044267 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Lewes's Review of Wuthering Heights' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Lewes's Review of Wuthering Heights Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_zlstouxegnfuhek364unoev3xq	----	Volume: I, Issue: 1 An International Peer-Reviewed Open Access Journal of Social Sciences GAP GYAN- ISSN: 2581-5830 http://www.gapjournals.org 72 INDIAN WAYS OF INTERACTION CAUSING GENDER INEQUALITY AS REFLECTED IN THE NOVELS OF ANITA DESAI AND GEETA HARIHARAN Dr. Savita A. Patil Associate Professor and Head Department of English Elphinstone College, Fort, Mumbai-32 savitapatil@elphinstone.ac.in 9920027009 ABSTRACT The society at large is patriarchal and marriage is a power –relationship between husband and wife. In the traditional set up after marriage a woman loses her individuality but in the present day world woman is not willing to lose her freedom. She is educated, career oriented, enterprising and thus is emotionally and economically independent. Anita Desai and Githa Hariharan proved to be writers of this change. The study brings to light how they vocalize their perception of change in women characters, in their novels through gender interaction. They focus on the identity of the individual, especially Indian woman. They highlight the advantages trans-effecting an identity to solve the conflicts arising out of gender interaction. This article explores in detail the roots of man-woman inequality in India and the socio-cultural reasons for them. It also pinpoints the advantage of having a new self-concept or new woman or modern woman. The evolution of new self concept of a new woman emerging out of a series of gender interactions arising in the select novels of Anita Desai and Githa Hariharan is traced, placing them in the frame work of sociology, psychology, ideology, history, feminism and Freudianism. Key Words: Gender, Inequality, Man-woman, Socio-cultural The history shows that male writers in their works depicted and have mostly reduced women as inferior and weak. The present paper probes all the areas to prove that the way man and woman interact is radically different from the traditional concept of gender interaction. It attempts to assume the impact of a new http://www.gapjournals.org/ Volume: I, Issue: 1 An International Peer-Reviewed Open Access Journal of Social Sciences GAP GYAN- ISSN: 2581-5830 http://www.gapjournals.org 73 self-concept arising out of a series of gender relations with its long –lasting influence on the psyche of Indian women. According to Pratima: “The synthesis of eastern and western literacy modes has given a comprehensive perspective to the Indo-English writers, and they have successfully analyzed the psychological, emotional and spiritual crisis experienced by the Indian Intellectuals as well as men and women representing the different layers of Indian Society” (180). Against this backdrop, the study explores Gender interaction in select works of Anita Desai’s Cry the Peacock and Where Shall We Go This Summer and Githa Hariharan’s Thousand Faces of Night and When Dreams Travel . Differences in interaction and difference of opinions touch every man and woman all over the world in all walks of life. This study is important because the problem of misunderstanding between man and woman is a common problem but not much of research has been conducted in this area. All human beings are involved in relationships since it takes major part of life especially that interaction is inevitable and people interact with each other because they are part of a society where it is impossible to survive without communication. Thus it is important to first be aware of the ways that men and women interact with each other, and then try to understand them in order to avoid misunderstandings and conflicts. The purpose of the study was to reveal the causes of the problem of misunderstanding between genders which may help people understand and knows themselves better as well as the consequences of the gap that exists between them. This may contribute to establishing a better understanding and acceptance of the differences of the others. Today such a concept has come to be called as ‘gender sensitization’. Anita Desai and Githa Hariharan have emerged as writers possessing deep insights into the female psyche. Focusing on the marital relations and gender interaction they seek to expose the tradition by which a woman is trained to play her subservient role in the family. The novels of Anita Desai and Githa Hariharan reveal the man made patriarchal traditions and the uneasiness of the Indian woman in being a part of them. The study includes conflict of ideas, the struggle, and controversies that men and women experience and encounter in their life. The women characters in the novels are victims of male domination. Female docility has been one of the prevalent issues ever since the human evolution began the idea http://www.gapjournals.org/ Volume: I, Issue: 1 An International Peer-Reviewed Open Access Journal of Social Sciences GAP GYAN- ISSN: 2581-5830 http://www.gapjournals.org 74 and practice of gender is given shape and meaning by the social structures of a society. An analysis of the women characters of Anita Desai and Githa Hariharan reveal the presence of a definite quest for a true self identity, their woman-centered novels and short stories give us a psychological insight into the working of a woman’s mind; especially one belonging to a typically Indian background. The years of societal and cultural conditioning teaches the Indian woman to be self-effacing, submissive and subordinate to man, suffering of a patriarchal society in silence. Githa Hariharan, by making her heroines undergo stages of self-introspection and self- reflection, makes them evolve themselves into more liberated individuals than what their biological nature or culture have sanctioned. These women strive heroically to overcome their cultural conditioning and the barriers created by society in matters of tradition and manners. They finally emerge as free, autonomous individuals, no longer content to be led, but desirous of taking a lead. In the Indian context, an ideal of self-hood in a woman requires to take into consideration the institution of marriage, wifehood and motherhood. Formerly these were the only identities women had. Even woman who wanted an identity of their own, were required to fulfill these three stages in life. In the present day also, women seek an identity of their own mostly within the family circle, without disturbing the status-quo of the Indian family set up. This working-out of their individuality is seen in the female protagonists of Anita Desai and Githa Hariharan. Women are seen to function as individuals within the familial background. Anita Desai is one of the prominent contemporary, woman writers in India, writing in English. Her novels raise important issues including: a woman’s quest for self; an investigation into the female psyche; an understanding of the mysteries of life; a woman’s encounter with the difficulties in the contemporary Indian society. The women in her novels are interrogating and defining their identities as wives, mothers, sisters, daughters and above all as human beings. Hariharan’s women characters have strength of their own, and in spite of challenges and hostilities, remain uncrushed. Most of her novels present a typical, middle-class housewife’s life. Her main concern is the urge to find oneself to create space for oneself. Her imaginative flashes and the role played by memory in her novels. She presents a conceivable story of authentic characters and not shadowy abstractions. She believes in presenting life as it is and not as it should be. For her portrayal of the predicament of middle-class Indian women, their inner conflict and quest for http://www.gapjournals.org/ Volume: I, Issue: 1 An International Peer-Reviewed Open Access Journal of Social Sciences GAP GYAN- ISSN: 2581-5830 http://www.gapjournals.org 75 identity, issues pertaining to marriage and sex, and their exploration and disillusionment. Hariharan does not believe in offering ready-made solutions. R.S.Pathak is of the view that “The Indian novel in English sustains challenges and enigmas. But it has endured the test of the time and proves its excellence”(6). The present study is a modest effort to explore how women character’s search for identity in their relationship with men in select novels of Anita Desai and Githa Hariharan. Anita Desai is indisputably one of the most powerful contemporary Indian novelists in English. Desai, (1937-), of a German mother and Bengali father, is a north Indian novelist remarkable for sensibility of inner world. She represents the welcome “creative release of the feminine sensibility” which began to emerge after the Second World War. She married Ashvin Desai, they have four children. She started writing short stories regularly before her marriage rather than the queer world of action. As a novelist Desai made her debut in 1963 with Cry The Peacock. Desai is a writer who elaborates a woman’s feelings, emotions alienation, loneliness, aloofness, and quest for self identity very clearly and beautifully. In addition to a large number of essays, articles, reviews, short stories, Anita Desai has about a dozen popular novels to her credit. Besides being a professor at various educational centers indifferent parts of the world, she is the recipient of Sahitya Akademi Award (1978), Guardian Award (1984), Booker McConnel Prize (1980), Padmashri (1990) and Neil Gunn Award (1994) etc. She considers Clear Light Of Day (1980) her most autobiographical work as it is set during her coming of age and also in the same neighborhood in which she grew up. In 1984 she published In Custody - about an Urdu poet in his declining days - which was short listed for the Booker Prize. In 1993 she became a creative writing teacher at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Her latest novel published in 2004, The Zigzag Way, is set in 20th-century Mexico. Desai has taught at Mount Holyoke College and Smith College. She is a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature, the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and of Girton College, Cambridge University. Desai is a most significant novelist, as a young woman, when she was very seriously writing, it was British writers like Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, D.H. Lawrence, E.M. Forster who influenced her and were her role models. Desai is a part of a new literary tradition of Indian writing in English, which dates back only to the 1930's or http://www.gapjournals.org/ Volume: I, Issue: 1 An International Peer-Reviewed Open Access Journal of Social Sciences GAP GYAN- ISSN: 2581-5830 http://www.gapjournals.org 76 1940's. Her new style of writing is different from many Indian writers, as it is less conservative than Indian literature has been in the past. She portrays the cultural and social changes that India has undergone as she focuses on the incredible power of family and society, relationships and the alienation between family members, paying close attention to the ordeals of women, suppressed by the Indian society. The isolation experienced by women in a male dominated society is a significant modern trend, in the Indian society women are not allowed to play any active role in decision-making. Anita Desai tries to focus on the predicament of women in the society the inner crisis in the lives of the characters. She writes about helplessness, agony, struggle and surrender. It is her style which gives dress to the inner psyche of her characters. It is the use of images, symbols, metaphors and the narrative devices which provide a good deal of peep into the disturbed psychology of characters. Desai is one of those significant fiction writers who refuse to accept traditional and idealistic approach in her work. She writes about helplessness, agony, struggle and surrender and inner psyche of her characters. Desai is widely acclaimed for her literary works and has a worldwide audience who make her a literary celebrity of great significance. The interior landscape peopled by woman characters is set against the background of man’s domination of social and domestic life with accumulated authoritarianism as its foundation are some of the themes she deals with. Githa Hariharan was born in 1954 in Coimbatore, South India, and she grew up in Bombay and Manila. She was educated in these two cities and in the United States. She worked as a staff writer in WNET-Channel in New York, and from 1979, she worked in Bombay, Madras and New Delhi as an editor, first in a publishing house, then as a freelancer. Her first novel, The Thousand Faces of Night (1992) won the Commonwealth Writers' Prize in 1993. Her other novels include The Ghosts of Vasu Master (1994), When Dreams Travel (1999), In Times of Siege (2003), and Fugitive Histories (2009). A collection of highly acclaimed short stories, The Art of Dying, was published in 1993, and a book of stories for children, The Winning Team, in 2004. Githa Hariharan has also edited a volume of stories in English translation from four major South Indian languages, A Southern Harvest (1993); and co-edited a collection of stories for children, Sorry, Best Friend! (1997). Hariharan's fiction has been http://www.gapjournals.org/ Volume: I, Issue: 1 An International Peer-Reviewed Open Access Journal of Social Sciences GAP GYAN- ISSN: 2581-5830 http://www.gapjournals.org 77 translated into a number of languages including French, Italian, Spanish, German, Dutch, Greek, Urdu and Vietnamese; her essays and fiction have also been included in anthologies such as Salman Rushdie's Mirrorwork: 50 Years of Indian Writing 1947- 1997. Hariharan wrote, for several years, a regular column for the major Indian newspaper The Telegraph and has been a Visiting Professor or Writer-in- Residence in several universities, including Dartmouth College and George Washington University in the United States, the University of Canterbury at Kent in the UK, and Jamia Millia Islamia in India, where she was Scholar-in- Residence from 2010-2012. Hariharan belongs to the second generation of postcolonial women writers like Shashi Deshpande, Arundhati Roy, Manju Kapur, Mridula Garg, Anita Nair and Shobha De who together created the image of the suffering but stoic woman eventually breaking traditional boundaries has had a significant impact. These writers have invigorated the English language to suit representations and narration of what they felt about their own women and their lives in postmodern and postcolonial India. Apart from sharing the common theme of exploring female subjectivity in order to establish an identity that is not allowed by a patriarchal society along with her fellow Indian women writers, Githa Hariharan has also created a separate identity for herself by attempting to write about non-feminist subjects like the question of writers’ freedom and the true meaning of education and teaching in the Indian milieu. Githa Hariharan started her career as a writer by attempting to write on a subject that was close to the heart to many women writers, that is, the female subjectivity and portrays the changing image of woman in the modern and the post modern era through her not so very conventional women characters. Women in Hariharan’s novels pass through the three stages of tradition, transition and modernity. Women in her novels seem to be the personifications of ‘new’ women who have been trying to throw off the burden of inhibitions they have carried for ages. Hariharan’s female characters’ resolutions conform to a re-definition of the lives of women, fulfilling the implicit political aim of the author, as she is not merely concerned in documenting reality, but she has used her novels as a medium for the exploration of the new reality and a subtle projection of values, by posing questions, by suggesting re-assessment and redefinition. http://www.gapjournals.org/ Volume: I, Issue: 1 An International Peer-Reviewed Open Access Journal of Social Sciences GAP GYAN- ISSN: 2581-5830 http://www.gapjournals.org 78 Antonia Navarro-Tejero, a Spanish writer and academician, while comparing Arundhati Roy and Githa Hariharan says “Roy and Hariharan are engaged – in different degrees – with social reforms, and this is what makes them writer-activists, as they are sensitive to gender and caste experiences. They are not so prescriptive, but offer alternatives instead of victimizing the oppressed” (38). A woman is never regarded as an autonomous being since she has always been assigned a subordinate and relative position. Man can think of himself without women. She cannot think of herself without man. And she is simply what man decrees-she appears essentially to the male as a sexual being. She is defined and differentiated with reference to man and not he with reference to her, she is the incidental, the in essential as opposed to the essential. Simone de Beauvoir finds great substance in what an eminent feminist commented about marriage: “We open factories, offices, the facilities for women but we continue to hold that marriage is for her a most honorable career, freeing her from the need of any other participation in the collective life”(67). Women have not learnt to see themselves because the mirrors they look into do not reflect them .They reflect the male idea of a women – whether married or single. The mirrors reflect the men in their lives – the fathers and brothers who are out there in the open, while women are confined in long skirts, or long sleeves, or behind purdah or the chilman. In their interface with men, the enigmatic and chaotic fabric of Indian women’s life is seen. The texture of the fleeting impulses, frustrations, disappointments, distorted vision of life of Indian Women and their emotional and transient feelings result in the fragmentation of the personality of a woman. If the interaction between man and woman is not congenial and positive in nature, it damages the relationship and distorts their peace of mind. Nilufer E. Bharucha states: “Female space is biologically recessed. The enclosure of the womb affords protection to the growing fetus and is therefore a positive factor. An andocentric world, however, has extended the analogy of biological female inwardness to create a feminine reductiveness. This is turned a biological virtue into a societal and cultural handicap. The male world, after having imposed this limitation onto women, has celebrated it in song and dance. Literary discourse has been utilized to bear witness to the circumscription of women’s worlds. The outer limits of women’s lives have also been delineated by religious scriptures. While literature and poetry have http://www.gapjournals.org/ Volume: I, Issue: 1 An International Peer-Reviewed Open Access Journal of Social Sciences GAP GYAN- ISSN: 2581-5830 http://www.gapjournals.org 79 romanticized these worlds, religious texts have provided it moral sanction and dogmatic validation. Women have always been the ultimate territories and countries on whom men have mapped their rights of possession.”(93). There are many such men and women who indulge in infidelity and wreck their own marriages. When partners become unfaithful to one another, divorce becomes the only solution. It is recommended that spouses manage their relationship with mutual understanding, fairness, and a tiny dose of conciseness, concern, commitment, compromise and compatibility. Satisfactory intimate relationship plays an important role in a successful marriage. Physical compatibility is essential to build a strong emotional bond. Sexual dissatisfaction or reproductive incapability often causes frustration leading to divorce. Divorce is an emotional and a painful scar that can be avoided with some patience and understanding. These days if people ever see a seed of doubt sprouting in their marital life, they consider it worthy visiting a marriage counselor. Theorists have identified locations or settings where gender relations might be best studied. For instance, gender as relational experience occurs on personal and intimate levels as well as on cultural and institutional levels. This suggests that gender relations and health studies can and should occur in diverse locations and contexts to more fully apprehend the multiplicity and patterns within productions of gender relations and their influence on health. Gender relations are an exciting and emergent area in need of more attention from health researchers. Health-related behaviors do not operate in isolation and need to be understood in the context of interactions within and between men and women across personal, interpersonal and institutional levels. A better understanding of gender relations and health in research and policy will have direct implication for health interventions and guide decisions about whether group, dyadic or single point programs are likely to be effective. As the French feminist Julia Kristeva says, Women are one half of the sky. The changing of the existing power relations between the two sexes would amount to a social revolution and this means that the present world order would inevitably be transformed. The real purpose of a genuine feminist should be not so much the inequality between men and women but a healthy alteration of the present rigid definition of gender discrimination. In this context it is apt to quote Chetan Bhagat, the author of bestselling book Three mistakes of my Life,” is in praise of women he strongly advocates that “when we don’t allow our women to come up, or create stress for them, we are not allowing half of India to come up”(16). http://www.gapjournals.org/ Volume: I, Issue: 1 An International Peer-Reviewed Open Access Journal of Social Sciences GAP GYAN- ISSN: 2581-5830 http://www.gapjournals.org 80 Talented, hardworking people are much in demand, mastering the skills, networking with people and figure out ways to be economically independent one ways to build relationships. Strength or positive points would always produce positive emotions that are invariably authentic, engaging or harnessing the strength produce positive emotions like harmony, happiness, satisfaction, joy, sense of pride and fulfillment. A person could be having an array of strengths. If they are not in tune with the goal or do not fit the job or profession one is in, then all the strengths are a waste or just futile. It is always advisable to identify one’s core strengths and harness them in a right way to produce results and be successful in life. One of the important strength is harmony in man woman relationship. In the western countries, the women’s issue is mostly one of identity, job equality and sexual role. In India for the majority, it is the question of stark survival. Virginia Woolf remarks: “Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged: luminous halo, a semi transport envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end”. Since the establishment of the society women is branded as the weaker sex, denied full justice, social security ,economic liberation and political awareness”(58). Sheryl Sandberg the Chief Operating Officer of Face book and the author of the bestselling book Lean In Women, Work and the Will to lead says “women should lean in to their careers and take credit for the work they do, be ambitious and unafraid to compete, to challenge the status quo and work for a better world with a distinct outlook.” (36). Sandberg simply raises the flag, announcing that it is time for women to be intentional and confident about being successful .On the converse, it challenges men to share the load with their partners in a manner that will help women lead as well and give everyone a better quality of life. This is in tune with what D.H. Lawrence in "Morality and the Novel" points out, “The great relationship for humanity will always be the relation between man and woman. The relation between man and man, woman and woman, parent and child will always be subsidiary” (l30). Fiction by women writers constitutes a major segment of a contemporary writing in English. It provides telescopic insights, a wealth of understanding, a reservoir of meaning and a basis for intellectual discussion. Through the eyes of the women http://www.gapjournals.org/ Volume: I, Issue: 1 An International Peer-Reviewed Open Access Journal of Social Sciences GAP GYAN- ISSN: 2581-5830 http://www.gapjournals.org 81 writers we can seek to realize the potential of human achievement. An appreciation of the women’s writings is essential while appraising the Indian English literature. References Bhagat, Chetan. “Don’t worry, Be Happy” The Times of India 16 July 2011, Hyderabad ed; A16. + Print. Bharucha, Nilufer E. Inhabiting Enclosures and Creating Spaces : The Worlds of Women in Indian Literature in English: Ariel: A Review of International English Literature : January 1998. Vol.29.1, 93-105.Print. Coelho, Paulo. Eleven minutes. Haper Collins: London 2003.Print. DeBeauvior Simone. The second Sex: Translated and Edited H.M.Parshley: New York, Vintage Books 1974. Print. Henkle B. Robert. Reading the Novel: An Introduction to the Techniques of Interpreting Fiction, New York: Harper & Row 1977. Print. Lawrence D.H. Morality and the Novel, in David Lodge, ed. 20th Century Literature Criticism, London: Longman, 1972. Print. Navaro- Tejero Antonia. Gender and Caste in the Anglophone-Indian Novels of Arundhati Roy And Githa Hariharan: Feminist Issues in Cross-cultural perspectives women studies. Amazon. publishers. 2005. Print. Pathak, R.S. Introduction to the Fiction of Bharati Mukherjee: A Critical Symposium. New Delhi: Prestige Books, 1996. Print Pratima. Where shall we Go This Summer?. Indian Women Novelist Set 1. Vol 4, ed. R.K.Dhawan, New Delhi: Prestige Books, 1991. Print Sandberg, Sheryl. Lean In Women, Work and the Will to lead. Amazon Publishers, 2013. Print. Woolf, Virginia, The common reader, 1st series, London: The Hogarth Press, 1952. Print. http://www.gapjournals.org/ 
work_zq6vkthmgjbwjp6v27uagt4so4	----	The Question of Vocation: From Romola to Middlemarch | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 35, Issue 4 March 1981 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| March 01 1981 The Question of Vocation: From Romola to Middlemarch Susan M. Greenstein Susan M. Greenstein Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1981) 35 (4): 487–505. https://doi.org/10.2307/3044621 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Susan M. Greenstein; The Question of Vocation: From Romola to Middlemarch. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 March 1981; 35 (4): 487–505. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/3044621 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Copyright 1981 Regents of the University of California Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'The Question of Vocation: From Romola to Middlemarch' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: The Question of Vocation: From Romola to Middlemarch Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_zrgrgvdl2faxxmngdbl47bla2i	----	Jane Austen's Lure of the Next Chapter | Nineteenth-Century Literature | University of California Press Skip to Main Content Close UCPRESS ABOUT US BLOG SUPPORT US CONTACT US Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search User Tools Register Carnegie Mellon University Carnegie Mellon University Sign In Toggle MenuMenu Content Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info For Authors Librarians Reprints & Permissions About Journal Editorial Team Contact Us Skip Nav Destination Article Navigation Close mobile search navigation Article navigation Volume 7, Issue 1 June 1952 This article was originally published in Nineteenth-Century Fiction Previous Article Next Article Article Navigation Research Article| June 01 1952 Jane Austen's Lure of the Next Chapter Edd Winfield Parks Edd Winfield Parks Search for other works by this author on: This Site PubMed Google Scholar Nineteenth-Century Fiction (1952) 7 (1): 56–60. https://doi.org/10.2307/3044137 Split-Screen Views Icon Views Article contents Figures & tables Video Audio Supplementary Data PDF LinkPDF Share Icon Share Facebook Twitter LinkedIn Email Guest Access Tools Icon Tools Get Permissions Cite Icon Cite Search Site Citation Edd Winfield Parks; Jane Austen's Lure of the Next Chapter. Nineteenth-Century Fiction 1 June 1952; 7 (1): 56–60. doi: https://doi.org/10.2307/3044137 Download citation file: Ris (Zotero) Reference Manager EasyBib Bookends Mendeley Papers EndNote RefWorks BibTex toolbar search Search search input Search input auto suggest search filter All Content Nineteenth-Century Literature Search This content is only available via PDF. Article PDF first page preview Close Modal Send Email Recipient(s) will receive an email with a link to 'Jane Austen's Lure of the Next Chapter' and will not need an account to access the content. *Your Name: *Your Email Address: CC: *Recipient 1: Recipient 2: Recipient 3: Recipient 4: Recipient 5: Subject: Jane Austen's Lure of the Next Chapter Optional Message: (Optional message may have a maximum of 1000 characters.) Submit × Citing articles via Google Scholar CrossRef Latest Most Read Most Cited Wasted Gifts: Robert Louis Stevenson in Oceania Bright Sunshine, Dark Shadows: Decadent Beauty and Victorian Views of Hawai‘i “The Meaner & More Usual &c.”: Everybody in Emma Contributors to this Issue Recent Books Received Email alerts Article Activity Alert Latest Issue Alert Close Modal Recent Content Browse Issues All Content Purchase Alerts Submit Info for Authors Info for Librarians About Editorial Team Contact Us Online ISSN 1067-8352 Print ISSN 0891-9356 Copyright © 2021 Stay Informed Sign up for eNews Twitter Facebook Instagram YouTube LinkedIn Visit the UC Press Blog Disciplines Ancient World Anthropology Art Communication Criminology & Criminal Justice Film & Media Studies Food & Wine History Music Psychology Religion Sociology Browse All Disciplines Courses Browse All Courses Products Books Journals Resources Book Authors Booksellers Instructions Journal Authors Journal Editors Librarians Media & Journalists Support Us Endowments Membership Planned Giving Supporters About UC Press Careers Location Press Releases Seasonal Catalog Contact Us Acquisitions Editors Customer Service Exam/Desk Requests Media Inquiries Print-Disability Rights & Permissions Royalties UC Press Foundation © Copyright 2021 by the Regents of the University of California. All rights reserved. Privacy policy   Accessibility Close Modal Close Modal This Feature Is Available To Subscribers Only Sign In or Create an Account Close Modal Close Modal This site uses cookies. By continuing to use our website, you are agreeing to our privacy policy. Accept 
work_zuiqzmfnrjeanljni6pmfyt26y	----	Confidences de Salon: Mina Gaga http://doi.org/10.1183/20734735.121316 Breathe | March 2016 | Volume 12 | No 1 93 @ERSpublications ERS Vice President, Mina Gaga, tells us about herself and what she admires in others http://ow.ly/UI3HV Confidences de Salon Did you always dream of being involved in medical research/ healthcare? What brought you to medical research/ healthcare? My father was a pulmonologist and pioneer; he was a clinician but also one of the first interventional pulmonologists. He loved his work and his patients and often talked with fascination and conviction about the importance of human life, respect for the patients and the need to deliver best care. These are principles I grew up with and strongly support. So medicine was a field I knew since birth and consid- ered both important and interesting. In pulmonary medicine in particular, a doctor can work in clinical care, acute and chronic, interact with the patients, perform interventions such as bronchoscopies, pleuroscopies or ventilatory support; however, there is also a very strong research field in many areas, including asthma, lung cancer, diffuse lung disease and many other areas. What is the best advice you had when you were starting your professional career? Make sure you like what you choose and work hard! What advice would you give someone at the beginning of their professional career? It is important to be interested in the field of work and to work with people you like/admire. Work hard and enjoy the everyday tasks as well as the good outcomes. There will be bad days but the end result is worth it. What has been the greatest change to make a difference in your field in your lifetime? I don’t think there has only been one change. There have been very important advances in imaging and in basic science techniques, expo- nentially advancing our understanding of patho- genesis and leading to more accurate and early diagnoses and new medications. Additionally, our relationship with our patients has been strong and should be kept strong. The input of the patients is even more important now, because we know, beyond a doubt, that it is a good relation- ship between patients and doctors and mutual understanding of the patient needs as well as the important musts in medicine that can lead to good disease management. What do you foresee being the next great thing and what do you foresee as being the biggest challenge in your field in the next 10 years? Being able to provide good quality care for all patients, at a cost that can be sustained long term. I think this is already the biggest challenge and will continue to be the biggest challenge in the future. It is a challenge that healthcare professionals, patients, policy makers and the industry should tackle together, talking to each other and making a strong and continuous commitment. European Respiratory Society Vice President Mina Gaga leads a pulmonary medicine department at the Athens Chest Hospital. Her work focusses on clinical aspects of asthma immunology and oncology as well as clinical research and medical education. She has worked as a research fellow at the Royal Brompton and Imperial College, London, and has been involved in the European Respiratory Society in many positions, including Secretary General and Director of Learning Resources. Cite as: Confidences de Salon: Mina Gaga. Breathe 2016; 12: 93–94. Confidences de Salon: Mina Gaga 94 Breathe | March 2016 | Volume 12 | No 1 What is your favourite scientific breakthrough from any field? I can’t begin to think. There have been so many! Vaccines, medications, biologicals, diagnostic tools and thousands of breakthroughs in other fields, many of which impact on the medical field. How do you see the future of the ERS? Over the next 5 years and longer? The ERS is getting bigger and I believe it will be the leader and drive changes in pulmonary care and research. I think we have very strong groups, committees and assemblies. Both the Science and Education councils are delivering an excel- lent programme for the International Congress but also many grants and courses while the Advo- cacy Committee and the ELF are getting stronger and gain visibility. The patients now have a strong voice and network within ERS, and this is a further strength. Lastly, the Society supports networking and is supported by excellent staff and I believe that this organisation will continue to make the Society stronger. Whom would you most like to thank? A lot of people! My family, my parents and my hus- band, for inspiring me and putting up with my long hours, my professors in Athens and the UK and my colleagues in the Department who all work with dedication and passion. I also learned a lot from my interaction with ERS, in the School, the Steering Committee and the office. What do you consider your greatest achievement? My two sons! And my department, I am proud of my colleagues and the patient care provided. Who are your favourite authors? I like reading and have many favourite authors, from Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde to Robertson Davies and Malcom Gladwell. I find crime fiction and historical novels relaxing and PD James is my favourite crime author. Where would you most like to live? I am a city child. I have lived in Athens and in London and have been very happy in both cities. I also like very much any city with water, be it the sea or a big river and I think I would happily live in a city like Barcelona or Sydney. What is or was your greatest journey? Is this question about trips or life? I have fond memories of many places, from small meetings in Palermo or Edinburgh to long journeys across continents with friends, family or colleagues. And I find the everyday evolution in life fascinating: how our understanding of the world around us changes with new information and new attitudes. I remember listening to a cystic fibrosis patient in Dublin and completely changing my approach to the disease or listening to Barry Kay and Steve Holgate and discovering new ways to think about disease pathways. What qualities do you appreciate most in your friends? Honesty and the ability to evolve and change with time. Humour is an added benefit! What qualities do you appreciate most in your colleagues? Again honesty, work ethic, kindness to patients and colleagues and trying to be optimistic and create/keep an ambience of optimism and good spirit. What do you consider to be your strengths and weaknesses? I am fair and strongly dedicated to my work and to carrying out what needs to be done. I want my colleagues and friends to be happy and I am there for them. I like planning ahead and try to see the whole picture, not just the detail. These I consider strengths. On the other hand, I am often too quick in my responses, something which can create friction. 
work_zya4s6pigrbrdh5ha66unqp3hu	----	Humanities Data and their Research Use Open Science Infrastructures for Big Cultural Data International Advanced Masterclass Plovdiv, Bulgaria ❖ 13—15 December 2018 Daniel Paul O’Donnell University of Lethbridge DOIs: 10.5281/zenodo.2246389 (latest). 10.5281/zenodo.2246390 (this version). About this paper ● Going to be speaking of how data are used in the humanities ● Background is small data: ○ 9-line Anglo-Saxon poem (http://caedmon.seenet.org/); ○ 5 object digital library (http://visionarycross.org). [hacked and being rebuilt] ● But data that are treated as data ○ FAIR (Findable, Accessible, Interoperable, Reusable) ○ Open ○ Focus on long-term preservation ● And data as they are used by Humanists in the Humanities ○ Very traditionally trained Germanic Philologist and Medievalist http://caedmon.seenet.org/ http://visionarycross.org Traditionally, humanists resist speaking of data ● “Primary sources” = Texts, artifacts, objects of study ● “Secondary sources” = Works of other scholars ● “Readings” (1) = Passages, extracts, quotations for interpretation or support ● “Readings” (2) = Interpretation, the end product of research (literary study) Traditionally, humanists resist speaking of data ● Our definitions are highly contingent ○ “Primary source” in one context, can be the “secondary source” in another (and vice versa) ○ Or simultaneously “Primary” and “Secondary” (e.g. a critical edition) ● Also hard to constrain “[a]lmost any document, physical artifact, or record or human activity can be used to study culture” and arguments proposing previously unrecognised sources (“high school yearbooks, cookbooks, or wear patterns in the floors of public places”) are valued acts of scholarship” (Borgman 2007) How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? The finches? How does data work in other fields? ● Resistance makes sense, because Humanities data is different from other forms of data ● In other domains, “data” (“given things”) is more properly “capta” (“taken”): generated through experiment, observation, and measurement ● Think about Darwin and his work in the Galapagos Islands ○ What is his data? The notes about the finches? How does data work in other fields? ● In fact, in the sciences, it is the notes. ● “Data” = “represent[ation of] information in a formalized manner suitable for communication, interpretation, or processing” (NASA 2012); “the facts, numbers, letters, and symbols that describe an object, idea, condition, situation, or other factors” (NRC 1999) The notes about the finches. In Humanities, “Data” is arguably mostly “Finch” ● In traditional humanities, “data” can be both “data” and “capta”, but most often ~“data” ● Interest is specific and often provisional; depend on understanding of purpose, context, identity, and form that are also open to analysis and modification ● We might base our work on ~“capta” (e.g. editions?), but also work from interpretation and without clear intermediate stage Mostly individual finches, maybe something about Darwin, maybe something from our notes In Humanities, “Data” is arguably mostly “Finch” ● Interesting proof: Humanities “data,” unlike science “data” is almost all practically and theoretically non-rivalrous. ● Humanities researchers rarely have an incentive (or capability) to prevent others from accessing their raw material. ● 200 years of Jane Austen studies based on five main pieces of data. Mostly individual finches, maybe something about Darwin, maybe something from our notes DH has the potential to bring new approach to data ● We can now have “capta” (intermediate “observations” extracted algorithmically to form large data sets that then require interpretation) ● We can now work across complete historical or geographic corpora: all known nineteenth-century English periodicals; every surviving tract from the U.S. Civil War ● Introduces the possibility of deductive work ● Makes method questions more important than when you worked inductively from the collections you could access Does this invalidate previous work? ● New forms of data introduce new types of techniques and questions: ○ Falsification as standard of proof? ○ Questions of sampling practice and bias ○ Lab books? ○ Requirement to share data protocols? ○ Requirement to share raw data? ○ Hypotheses rather than theses? ○ Report null results? ● Analogy to (and valorisation of) sciences can make this all quite challenging and disturbing ● How does it interact with our (largely intuitively understood) “humanistic method”? Fish 2012: Minding your P’s and B’s ● 2012 New York Times “Opinionator” column ● Argues “against” Digital Humanities by attempting to demonstrate something it “can’t” (or doesn’t) do: provide close reading of Areopagitica (Milton) ● Fish argues that Milton understands censorship in Protestant England as a kind of de facto counter-reformation ● A repeat of the previous mistakes made by the Catholic and Episcopal churches Fish 2012: Minding your P’s and B’s Halfway through the Areopagitica (1644), his celebration of freedom of publication, John Milton observes that the Presbyterian ministers who once complained of being censored by Episcopalian Bishops have now become censors themselves. Indeed, he declares, when it comes to exercising a “tyranny over learning,” there is no difference between the two: “Bishops and Presbyters are the same to us both name and thing.” That is, not only are they acting similarly, their names are suspiciously alike. Fish 2012: Minding your P’s and B’s ● This is also reflected in the sound pattern of the piece. In the sentences that follow the declaration of equivalence, “b’s” and “p’s” proliferate in a veritable orgy of alliteration and consonance. Here is a partial list of the words that pile up in a brief space: prelaty, pastor, parish, Archbishop, books, pluralists, bachelor, parishioner, private, protestations, chop, Episcopacy, palace, metropolitan, penance, pusillanimous, breast, politic, presses, open, birthright, privilege, Parliament, abrogated, bud, liberty, printing, Prelatical, people. Became methodological/theoretical battleground ● Fish’s piece was intended to contrast against “DH method”: I began with a substantive interpretive proposition... and, within the guiding light... of that proposition I noticed a pattern that could, I thought, be correlated with it. I then elaborated the correlation. The direction of my inferences is critical: first the interpretive hypothesis and then the formal pattern, which attains the status of noticeability only because an interpretation already in place is picking it out…. The direction is the reverse in the digital humanities: first you run the numbers, and then you see if they prompt an interpretive hypothesis…. You don’t know what you’re looking for or why you’re looking for it. How then do you proceed? The answer is, proceed randomly or on a whim, and see what turns up. You might wonder, for example, what place or location names appear in American literary texts published in 1851, and you devise a program that will tell you. You will then have data. Liberman 2012: Falsifying Fish ● Most disturbing of those who took up Fish’s challenge was Mark Liberman ● Did what a scientist might do: attempt to falsify his conclusions with additional data: ○ First looked at the distribution of Ps and Bs in the Areopagitica Liberman 2012: Falsifying Fish ● Most disturbing of those who took up Fish’s challenge was Mark Liberman ● Did what a scientist might do: attempt to falsify his conclusions with additional data: ○ First looked at the distribution of Ps and Bs in the Areopagitica ○ Then looked at the distribution of w, y, and l Liberman 2012: Falsifying Fish ● Most disturbing of those who took up Fish’s challenge was Mark Liberman ● Did what a scientist might do: attempt to falsify his conclusions with additional data: ○ First looked at the distribution of Ps and Bs in the Areopagitica ○ Then looked at the distribution of w, y, and l Liberman 2012: Falsifying Fish ● Concluded that this falsified his argument Prof. Fish begins with an "insight" about the alleged dance of p's and b's surrounding Milton's assertion that "“Bishops and Presbyters are the same to us both name and thing". Despite the paradoxically semi-quantitative nature of his idea, he presents it as an example (though clearly not a very interesting one) of the kind of literary analysis to which "digital humanities" methods are not relevant, the kind of "criticism that insists on the distinction between the true and the false, between what is relevant and what is noise, between what is serious and what is mere play". But it seems to me that a trivial application of statistical methods, humanistic or not, suggests that his idea is probably "false", "noise", and "mere play". Have I missed something? An important exchange ● In a domain in which the fundamental questions of method have not received much attention by practitioners, these posts are both about fundamental questions of evidence, discovery, and argumentation. ● If Fish is right about the degree to which DH requires us to do the opposite of what he is doing, then it represents a fundamental break with at least 125 years of previous work. ● But if Liberman is right, then DH isn’t just a fundamental break with previous ways of doing things, it is a fundamental threat ○ Introduces a new test that had not been used before: falsification. ○ But is showing up more frequently (cf. Matt Jockers vs Ian Watt and the Rise of the Novel). An important exchange ● Fortunately, Liberman isn’t actually right in his exchange with Fish--i.e. he doesn’t falsify him ● Although Fish is sloppy in his terminology, he’s not actually making a hypothesis-driven analysis of data he’s collected ● Rather, he’s providing an inductive, thesis-driven reading of a historical text: ○ Not a claim Milton did this on purpose; ○ Not a claim you can’t read the text any other way nor that no other consonants (or vowels or anything else) is important; ○ Just an argument that at this place, Ps and Bs interact in a way that can be read as supporting Milton’s argument. ● And having established this thesis, he went out and found evidence for it An important exchange ● And on these terms Liberman shows that Fish is being reasonable: ○ Shows that Ps and Bs peak where Fish says they do (one of the main peaks) ○ As Fish says, the two sounds are similar ○ That other sounds have other distributions isn’t important to argument ● Even improves it because it shows other places to look! So what have I been doing here? ● Point of this talk has been to disparage neither the (data-driven) Digital Humanities nor the (sometimes more impressionistic) traditional Humanities ● Rather it has been to point out ○ Some fundamental differences between data as we understand them in the Humanities ○ Methodological implications (and origins) of those differences ● Data-driven DH (big or small) is going to open new vistas for work in our domain ● But we have to remain vigilant and sensitive to what it is we ultimately do with these things once we have both “data” and “capta” ● In a field that is not methodologically precise, this is going to be a core challenge Thank you DOIs: 10.5281/zenodo.2246389 (latest). 10.5281/zenodo.2246390 (this version). 
work_zxfk3ms3mrahdorrh4q5mtvfae	----	59Tânia Maria de Oliveira GOMES Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 A Cinderela austeniana: uma análise sobre a intertextualidade em Mansfield Park1 Tânia Maria de Oliveira GOMES2 Resumo: Com este trabalho, propõe-se um estudo que se situe na interface entre a Linguística e a Literatura, por meio da análise de um material, a priori, literário, contemplado, nestas laudas, sob a égide dos preceitos linguísticos. Nesse sentido, objetiva-se (a) examinar a obra Mansfield Park, de Jane Austen (2012)3, à luz das noções de “intertextualidade” e “imaginários”, termos caros à Linguística do Texto e do Discurso, e, (b) investigar os possíveis pontos de contato entre a obra austeniana e o conto “Cinderela”, de Charles Perrault (1697). Com esse intuito, autores como Charaudeau (2007), Koch e Elias (2010) e Marcuschi (2008) fulguram no arcabouço teórico que aqui se elabora, viabilizando a construção de um artigo que carrega, entre os seus resultados, aquele que ratifica a aproximação entre o texto austeniano e o conto francês. Tal cotejo permite delinear uma conclusão que aponta para a importância da análise crítica sobre as produções intertextuais, uma vez que estas, por vezes, são manejadas a fim de perpetuar determinados imaginários estanques, sobretudo aqueles que cristalizam as imagens do homem e da mulher. Palavras-chave: intertextualidade; imaginários; literatura. Abstract: With this work, it is proposed a study which takes place at the interface between Linguistics and Literature, through the analysis of a material, a priori, literary, contemplated, in these pages, under the aegis of the linguistic precepts. In this sense, the objective is to a) examine the literary work Mansfield Park, by Jane Austen (2012), in the light of the notions of “intertextuality” and “imaginary”, important terms to the Text Linguistics and Discourse and b) investigate the possible points of contact between the austenian literary work and the romance “Cinderella”, written by Charles Perrault (1697). To that end, authors like Charaudeau (2007), Koch e Elias (2010) and Marcuschi (2008) blaze themselves in the theoretical framework that is elaborated here, enabling the construction of an article that carries, among its results, that one that ratifies the approximation of the austenian literary work and the French romance. Such a comparison allows us to draw a conclusion that points to the importance of the critical analysis about the intertextual productions, as these, sometimes, are managed in order to perpetuate certain tight imaginary, especially those that crystallize the images of the man and the woman. Keywords: intertextuality; imaginaries; literature. 1 Comunicação oral apresentada no VII Colóquio Mulheres em Letras: percursos da escrita de autoria feminina, Faculdade de Letras da Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais, Belo Horizonte, em 14 de maio de 2015. 2 Doutoranda em Letras (Estudos Linguísticos/Bolsista CAPES/DS) pela Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais. Belo Horizonte - MG. Correio eletrônico: tantan.maria@hotmail.com. 3 Neste artigo, tomou-se como referência a obra Mansfield Park, de Jane Austen (2012), traduzida por Alda Porto, pela Editora Martin Claret. 60 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 Mansfield Park: o palácio das ilusões4 Goza de notória familiaridade, nos imaginários discursivos, a história de uma jovem donzela que, ajudada por sua fada madrinha, comparece a um baile, calçando um sapato cuja perda desencadeia acontecimentos posteriores, na narrativa, que culminam no esperado final feliz, efetivado por meio do casamento entre a protagonista da ficção e o preclaro príncipe. Há incontáveis versões sobre esse mesmo enredo. “Na cultura ocidental, os textos escritos mais difundidos são os seguintes: a versão francesa intitulada Cinderela - O Sapatinho de Cristal, de Charles Perrault (1697), e a versão alemã, A Gata Borralheira, dos irmãos Grimm (1812)” (MARTINELLI, 2008, p.51, [grifos do autor]). Conhecidos como contos “de fadas”, apesar da inexistência de tais seres mágicos, em algumas adaptações, como a germânica supracitada, essas produções perenizam-se ao longo dos anos, traçando teias intertextuais com as narrações que as precedem e que as procedem, dentre as quais uma trama, a da Cinderela, parece tomar contornos mais voluptuosos, quando vislumbrada à luz da ótica austeniana. É, precisamente, a partir da análise da tessitura alinhavada na obra Mansfield Park, de Jane Austen, que se pretende examinar os pontos de cotejo entre tal romance e o conto em questão, na esteira da Análise do Discurso e da Linguística do Texto. No entanto, antes de avançar em direção aos balaústres teóricos, cabe, a este trabalho, contextualizar o leitor com relação à autora e a obra aqui contempladas. De acordo com Pereira e Rabelo (2012, p.46), “Jane Austen é, de forma indiscutível, um nome reconhecido mundialmente”, notoriedade inegável, segundo as estudiosas, posto que “uma busca rápida numa fonte de pesquisa on-line suscita mais de quarenta e dois milhões de resultados”; e não importa quanto tempo passe, “algumas de suas obras sempre possuem lugar de destaque nas livrarias por meio uma retradução”. Filha do Reverendo George Austen (1731-1805), patriarca responsável por uma família pertencente à “classe denominada gentry (classe média ou baixa aristocracia)”, Jane Austen envolveu-se com a literatura desde a infância, dando seguimento à sua paixão pelas letras na adolescência, período em que escreveu o seu primeiro livro 4 O título desta subseção faz alusão ao nome dado à adaptação cinematográfica, datada do ano de 1999, do livro Mansfield Park, de Jane Austen. Tal denominação, utilizada na película, já sugere um elemento intertextual entre os contos de fadas e a obra austeniana: o palácio. 61Tânia Maria de Oliveira GOMES Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 (ZARDINI, 2011, p.04). Em suas produções literárias, encontram- se alguns eixos norteadores que se perpetuam ao longo de toda a sua obra escrita. A descrição do meio rural (interior da Inglaterra), a forte presença de figuras ligadas ao clérigo, o destaque conferido à imagem da irmã, em detrimento do apagamento da persona materna, a importância conferida à literatura, ao teatro, à música e à educação, a retratação da desigualdade entre camadas sociais e, sobretudo, o protagonismo de personagens femininas e a relevância do casamento, são algumas temáticas recorrentes nos textos austenianos. Todos os elementos sobreditos acham-se materializados no livro Mansfield Park, obra descrita por Pereira e Rabelo (2012), da seguinte forma: Mansfield Park foi a quarta obra de Jane Austen, e a terceira a ser publicada. Começou a escrevê-la em 1812 e terminou em 1814. Devido ao sucesso das publicações de Orgulho e preconceito e Razão e sensibilidade, Thomas Egerton decidiu apostar em Mansfield Park, cujos exemplares foram esgotados em menos de seis meses. Austen sempre quis manter o anonimato e não assinou nenhuma de suas obras; em sua primeira obra publicada, Razão e sensibilidade, dizia apenas “by a lady” – “por uma dama” – e Mansfield, dividida em três volumes como todas as demais, traz somente “by the author of Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice”. (PEREIRA, RABELO, 2012, p.51, [grifos do autor]). Ainda segundo as pesquisadoras supracitadas, “essa foi a segunda obra austeniana a atingir as mãos dos leitores brasileiros em sua língua materna. Mansfield Park recebeu em 1942 sua primeira publicação em português [...] traduzida por Rachel de Queiroz” (PEREIRA, RABELO, 2012, p.53). No enredo de tal produção, ambientada, predominantemente, na propriedade suntuosa que dá nome ao livro, Fanny Price, personagem principal, muda-se para a casa dos tios ricos, Lady Bertram e sir Thomas, aos dez anos, a fim de ser educada pelos parentes abastados. Desde a infância, Price sofre com as constantes humilhações provocadas pela outra tia, sra. Norris, personagem autoritária e mesquinha, que se contrapõe à indolência e docilidade de Lady Bertram. É, também, a partir desse período, que surge o amor de Fanny por seu primo Edmund, filho mais novo do casal sobredito. No desenvolvimento da história, há duas passagens temporais marcadas por alguma importância. A primeira, diz respeito à morte do sr. Norris, marido da tia despótica, quando Price possuía quinze anos, período cronológico próximo à época na qual há a viagem 62 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 do sir Thomas à Antígua, a fim de tratar de negócios. Essa data marca a chegada dos irmãos Mary e Henry Crawford à vizinhança de Mansfield Park, este, um sujeito galanteador que tentará seduzir Maria e Julia Bertram, e aquela, uma fascinante e despudorada jovem que se encantará por Edmund. A segunda, marca o intervalo de tempo no qual o tio encontra-se fora, culminando com o retorno deste ao lar, fase em que Fanny completa dezoito anos. Conforme anuncia Austen (2012, p.237), o regresso de sir Thomas a Mansfield Park “causou uma mudança impressionante nos hábitos da família”, provocando uma série de acontecimentos, como o casamento da filha mais velha, Maria Bertram, a ida da jovem, juntamente com a irmã mais nova, Julia, para a capital inglesa, e a posterior viagem do primogênito Tom Bertram. Nesse período, Fanny torna-se a única jovem em Mansfield Park, assumindo, de fato, o protagonismo da narrativa, em detrimento da afonia inerente à personagem até essa segunda fase do romance, como pode ser comprovado neste excerto: Com a partida das irmãs Bertram, a importância de Fanny aumentou. Ao se tornar a única jovem nas reuniões do salão de estar, a única ocupante daquela interessante divisão familiar na qual até então lhe coubera um tão humilde terceiro plano, era impossível que não a observassem mais, pensassem nela e lhe dessem maior atenção como nunca antes; e “Onde está Fanny?” tornou-se uma pergunta comum, mesmo quando alguém não precisava dela para alguma tarefa específica (AUSTEN, 2012, p.247). A partir daí, a sra. Price é apresentada à sociedade, por meio de um baile, no qual Henry Crawford evidencia o seu desejo de desposá-la. Desenrola-se, então, uma quadrangulação amorosa, na qual Edmund Bertram apaixona-se por Mary Crawford, irmã de Henry Crawford; este, por sua vez, declara-se para Price, que o nega, insistentemente, dado o amor por aquele primeiro. Tal problemática dissolve-se com a consumação do adultério de Maria Rushworth, agora já casada, com Henry Crawford. Este, em viagem à capital, amargurado pelas recusas de Fanny e impulsionado pelo prazer de seduzir, cede à beleza de Maria, ato que se torna notícia e passa a circular nos jornais locais, como expõe Austen (2012): ...era com infinito pesar ter de anunciar ao mundo social um desastre matrimonial ocorrido na família do sr R..., da Wimpole Street. A bela sra. R..., cujo nome ingressara fazia pouco tempo na lista das damas casadas, e que prometera tornar- 63Tânia Maria de Oliveira GOMES Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 se uma líder tão brilhante no mundo elegante, abandonara o teto conjugal em companhia do conhecido e cativante sr. C..., amigo íntimo do sr. R. ... Ninguém sabia, nem o editor do jornal, o destino de ambos (AUSTEN, 2012, p.524-525). A esposa traidora é logo abandonada pelo amante, e a irmã deste, rechaçada por Edmund. Com a exclusão dos irmãos Crawford da vida da família Bertram e a partida da sra. Norris da localidade, com o propósito de dedicar-se à desafortunada sobrinha Maria, Mainsfield Park passa a fulgurar não mais como um palácio cercado de desencantos e desilusões, mas sim como lugar de equilíbrio e paz, que propicia, naturalmente, o encontro amoroso do casal Edmund e Fanny. Ocorre, desse modo, o casamento entre os primos, que selam um matrimônio marcado pelo “amor verdadeiro”. Vale salientar, que a irmã de Fanny, Susan Price, muda-se para Mansfield, ocupando o lugar da irmã na propriedade e na dinâmica social da família Bertram, sugerindo, assim, um final circular à história, no qual Susan parece estar destinada a repetir os passos, tortuosos, mas recompensantes, de Fanny Price. Feita esse célere contextualização com relação ao enredo da obra austeniana, faz-se necessário configurar o esboço teórico, sobre o qual este trabalho se edifica, com o intuito de demarcar sobre quais definições acadêmicas este estudo transita e como tais noções permitem a aproximação do romance de Jane Austen ao conto da Cinderela. Quem conta um conto, aumenta um ponto: a força dos imaginários e da intertextualidade na literatura austeniana Grosso modo, os contos de fadas remontam às tradições milenares, como bem sinaliza Abramovich (1997): [...] o maravilhoso universo dos contos de fadas se perpetua há milênios, havendo registros de que eram contados na China desde o século IX. Tal fato se justifica, de um lado, porque os contos estão envoltos no mundo da fantasia; de outro, porque partem sempre de uma situação real, de fácil compreensão para a criança. Isto porque as narrativas se passam em lugares idealizados e sem limites, mas que qualquer criança pode frequentar. As personagens são simples, passam por situações inusitadas, buscam respostas e convivem com entidades fantásticas, como bruxas, fadas, entre outros. O importante é que os contos de fadas mantêm uma estrutura fixa, partem de um conflito real, desenvolvem-se em mundo fantasioso com o auxílio de personagens mágicos e finalizam com a solução dos problemas no plano real, o que permite à criança a ideia de 64 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 que é possível abrir as portas para a fantasia, mas é preciso assumir o real (ABRAMOVICH, 1997, apud MARTINELLI, 2008, p.43). Diante de tal assertiva, observa-se a perpetuação dos contos fantasiosos entre diversas gerações, imortalidade garantida, mormente, graças à força dos imaginários sóciodiscursivos que mantêm viva a essência das histórias infantis. Frisa-se a vitalidade da “essência” narrativa, porque as distintas adaptações e versões, criadas a partir de uma diretriz basilar, alargam, acrescentam, reduzem, desvirtuam e modificam a obra original, produzindo textos outros que, em maior ou menor grau, guardam relação com a produção primeira, ainda que esta se encontre perdida no tempo. Com efeito, as noções de imaginário e de intertextualidade avultam-se como conceitos nucleares, neste estudo, uma vez que concatenam ideiais passíveis de aclarar a relação entre textos, a priori, distintos, mas que carregam, em si, uma base comum. No que concerne ao primeiro termo - imaginário -, toma-se a seguinte definição que adverte: No uso corrente, o termo imaginário é empregado no sentido disto “que existe somente na imaginação, que não é realidade”, como o diz o dicionário Robert (1990). Nesse sentido, é tomado, de preferência, em direção a uma pura invenção da mente que descreve alguma coisa que não tem correspondência na realidade e que, portanto, não é verdadeira. Nesse caso, damos-lhes como sinônimos os termos de mito, lenda, ficção, e bem frequentemente, ele é portador de um julgamento negativo como em “É uma doença imaginária”. Às vezes, o sentido básico é atraído em direção a uma construção idealizada, com, muitas vezes, o sentido de ilusão, mas não necessariamente negativa: “um mundo imaginário” que pode ser uma utopia ou um sonho não factível (CHARAUDEAU, 2007, p.52, [grifos do autor])5. Nesse sentido, o conceito estaria condicionado à raíz lexical que remete à imaginação, ao não real. Ainda que tal definição, popular no senso comum, circule de forma vigorosa no linguajar social, essa acepção não se aplica ao trabalho aqui edificado. A fim de desatar 5 Traduzido de: “Dans l’usage courant le terme d’imaginaire est employé dans le sens de ce “qui n’existe que dans l’imagination, qui est sans réalité” , comme le dit le dictionnaire Robert (1990). Et ce sens est tantôt tiré vers une pure invention de l’esprit qui décrit quelque chose qui n’a pas de correspondant dans la réalité et qui donc n’est pas vrai. Dans ce cas, on lui donne comme synonymes les termes de mythe, légende, fiction, et bien souvent il est porteur d’un jugement négatif comme dans “C’est un malade imaginaire” . Tantôt le sens de base est tiré vers une construction idéalisée, ayant parfois le sens d’illusion mais non nécessairement négatif : “un monde imaginaire” qui peut être une utopie ou un rêve non réalisable“. 65Tânia Maria de Oliveira GOMES Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 uma possível ambiguização sobre o que se entende por “imaginário”, neste estudo, adota-se a conceituação charaudiana para o vocábulo, que explica: O imaginário é um modo de apreensão do mundo que nasce na mecânica das representações sociais, que é, como dito, construído da significação sobre os objetos do mundo, os fenômenos que se produzem, os seres humanos e seus comportamentos, transformando a realidade em real significante. Ele resulta de um processo de simbolização do mundo de ordem afetivo-racional por meio da intersubjetividade das relações humanas e se deposita na memória coletiva. Assim, o imaginário tem uma dupla função de criação de valores e de justificação de ação. (CHARAUDEAU, 2007, p.53)6. Nessa perspectiva, os imaginários corresponderiam a um modo de simbolização do mundo, calcado nas representações sociais, que transformam a realidade em real significante. Sobre essa transformação, Charaudeau (2007) sinaliza: Generalizando, podemos dizer que “a realidade” corresponde ao mundo empírico por meio de sua fenomenalidade, [...] por oposição, “o real” refere-se ao mundo tal qual ele é construído, estruturado, por atividade significante do homem através do exercício da linguagem em suas diversas operações de nomeação dos seres do mundo, de caracterização de suas propriedades, de descrição de suas ações no tempo e no espaço e de explicação da causalidade dessas ações (CHARAUDEAU, 2007, p.50-51)7. Nesse contexto, o real significante associar-se-ia ao uso da linguagem como ferramenta de semiotização do mundo, capaz de produzir imaginários cuja perenização se dá nas relações intersubjetivas, nas quais a memória exerce um papel fundamental. Assim, “os imaginários são engendrados por discursos que circulam nos grupos sociais, organizando-se em sistemas de pensamento coerentes”, 6 Traduzido de: “L’imaginaire est un mode d’appréhension du monde qui naît dans la mécanique des représentations sociales, laquelle, on l’a dit, construit de la signification sur les objets du monde, les phénomènes qui s’y produisent, les êtres humains et leurs comportements, transformant la réalité en réel signifiant. Il résulte d’un processus de symbolisation du monde d’ordre affectivo-rationnel à travers l’intersubjectivité des relations humaines, et se dépose dans la mémoire collective. Ainsi, l’imaginaire a une double fonction de création de valeurs et de justification de l’action“. 7 Traduzido de: “En généralisant le propos, on peut donc dire que “ la réalité” correspond au monde empirique à travers sa phénoménalité, [...] par opposition, “le “réel” réfère au monde tel qu’il est construit, structuré, par l’activité signifiante de l’homme à travers l’exercice du langage en ses diverses opérations de nomination des êtres du monde, de caractérisation de leurs propriétés, de description de leurs actions dans le temps et dans l’espace et d’explication de la causalité des ces actions”. 66 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 criadores de valores, “que tematizam o papel de justificação da ação social e se depositam na memória coletiva” (CHARAUDEAU, 2007, p.54)8. Nessa direção, tal dimensão teórica partilha com o conceito de “intertextualidade” a importância conferida à memória, como se vê: Todos nós já conhecemos o princípio segundo o qual todo texto remete sempre a outro ou a outros, constituindo-se como uma “resposta” ao que foi dito ou, em termos de potencialidade, ao que ainda será dito, considerando que a intertextualidade encontra-se na base de constituição de todo e qualquer dizer. Em sentido restrito, todo texto faz remissão a outro(s) efetivamente já produzido(s) e que faz(em) parte da memória social dos leitores (KOCH; ELIAS, 2010, p.101). Assim, os conceitos de “imaginários” e “intertextualidade” se aproximam na medida em que ambos se valem da memória. Além disso, de modo sintético, pode-se pensar a dinâmica entre os dois termos como algo baseado em uma trajetória circular, por meio da qual os imaginários viabilizam, em grante parte, a criação de textos intertextuais que, por sua vez, lançam mão dos imaginários na decodificação de seus sentidos. Esse processo pode ser vislumbrado na construção das diversas versões do conto “Cinderela”, como se observa: Yeh-hsien, Cendrillon, Cinderella, Ashenputtel, Rashin Coatie, Mossy Coat, Kattie Woodencloack, Cenerentola: estas são algumas das primas folclóricas de Cinderela. Se ela foi reinventada por praticamente todas as culturas conhecidas, também sua história tem sido perpetuamente reescrita no cinema. Alguns exemplos seriam as adaptações feitas por Walt Disney e, ainda, muitos filmes que, ambientados na contemporaneidade, retratam a trajetória de uma jovem sofredora que é, depois, recompensada: Uma secretária do futuro, com Melanie Griffith; Uma linda mulher, com Julia Roberts; Para sempre Cinderela, com Drew Barrymore; A nova Cinderela, com Hilary Duff. Esses filmes demonstram que, devido à sua perpetuidade, os temas ligados à corte (ascensão social) e ao casamento, abordados pelo conto Cinderela, fazem parte dos conflitos das sociedades de todos os tempos. Poucos contos de fadas gozaram de tão rica sobrevivência literária, cinematográfica e musical (MARTINELLI, 2008, p. 51). No trecho acima, constata-se a intertextualidade entre distintas adaptações do conto da Cinderela, todas encadeadas pela reiteração de imaginários ligados ao casamento e ao status social. Nesse caminho, o 8 Traduzido de: “les imaginaires sont engendrés par les discours qui circulent dans les groupes sociaux, s’organisant en systèmes de pensée cohérents créateur de valeurs, jouant le rôle de justification de l’action sociale et se déposant dans la mémoire collective”. 67Tânia Maria de Oliveira GOMES Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 que se pode afirmar é que a intertextualidade, “mais que um simples critério de textualidade, é também um princípio constitutivo que trata o texto como uma comunhão de discursos e não como algo isolado”. E esse fato é relevante “porque dá margem a que se façam interconexões dos mais variados tipos” (MARCUSCHI, 2008, p.132), como as realizadas no excerto acima, todas atravessadas por imaginários sóciodiscursivos. Dessa forma, verifica-se que [...] o fato de os contos de fadas terem sido recontados de tempos em tempos os refinou cada vez mais e permitiu que tais textos transmitissem não apenas os significados neles incutidos, mas também os “encobertos”. Com isso, vemos que a perpetuidade dos contos é notória e sua atuação envolve não só a criança, mas também atinge os adultos, isto é, envolve todos os níveis da personalidade humana (MARTINELLI, 2008, p. 41). Destarte, a obra Mansfield Park, de Jane Austen, guardaria elementos intertextuais com a narrativa Cinderela, ainda que essa conexão não tenha sido explicitada pela autora inglesa. Tais correspondências entre o romance e o conto seriam passíveis de serem retomadas graças à memória dos leitores, funcionando, a obra austeniana, como um conto que tem um ponto (ou vários) acrescentado (s), mas que mantém, com aquela história infantil, os imaginários ligados ao papel da mulher, do homem, do matrimônio e do dinheiro, nas relações sociais. Nesse sentido, este trabalho se limitará à adaptação de Perrault (1697) do conto sobredito, por esta sinalizar mais índices comuns com o texto de Austen, ideia que será corroborada na análise para a qual este estudo agora se encaminha. O “era uma vez” na obra de Jane Austen Para que se possa estabelecer quais pontos intertextuais circundam as obras de Perrault (1697) e Austen (2012), reforçando determinados imaginários, faz-se necessário compreender como o escritor francês constrói a sua versão de Cinderela, o que se evindencia no seguinte trecho: A versão francesa relata a história de uma menina dócil e totalmente passiva que é maltratada pelas irmãs e pela madrasta, que nem chega a pedir para ir ao baile, apesar do seu desejo de estar lá. A fada madrinha chega para auxiliá-la e transforma seus trapos em lindos vestidos em ouro e prata, 68 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 assim como a abóbora em carruagem e o rato em cocheiro e a presenteia com um par de sapatinhos de cristal. No fim da história, após casar com o príncipe, Cinderela perdoa as irmãs e as casa com nobres da corte, ilustrando um modelo perfeito de comportamento feminino (CHRISTOFOLETTI, 2011, p.26). A partir de tal adaptação do conto, observa-se a composição de um enredo que encontra ressonância no texto austeniano. Pensando nisso, este trabalho recorre a Propp (1997, p. 29), estudioso renomado pela análise morfológica dos contos maravilhosos, quem explicita que, normalmente, um conto tem início com uma “atmosfera especial que se caracteriza pela tranquilidade épica”. De fato, a história narrada na obra Mansfield Park inaugura-se de forma calma e descritiva, como se vê: “Cerca de trinta anos atrás, a sra. Maria Ward, de Huntingdon, com apenas sete mil libras de dote, teve a sorte de conquistar o sir Thomas Bertram, proprietário de Mansfield Park, no condado de de Northampton [...] (AUSTEN, 2012, p.09, [grifo nosso]). Nesse trecho, verifica-se a relação entre os excertos sublinhados e expressões como “era uma vez...em um reino encantado”, estas encontradas nas versões de Perrault, que se aproximam, precisamente, daquelas pela marcação inicial de tempo e lugar. Com relação à protagonista, descrita pelo contista francês, constata-se que Fanny Price, heroína da obra de Jane Austen, apresenta a mesma docilidade e paciência de Cinderela, uma vez que, descrita como detentora de uma “voz meiga”, “Fanny “ era “sempre uma ouvinte muito amável e na maioria das vezes a única disponível,” sujeitando-se “às queixas e aflições de todos” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.204). Sobre os maus- tratos sofridos pela princesa perraultiana, no livro inglês, tais ações são cometidas pelas duas primas de Fanny, Maria e Julia, e, sobretudo, pela sua tia Norris, que atuam de forma semelhante, respectivamente, às irmãs e à madrasta de Cinderela. A respeito das jovens, o narrador salienta: “de fato, só dois anos separavam a mais nova de Fanny. [...] as primas mais velhas mortificavam-na com os comentários sobre o seu tamanho, e envergonhavam-na quando notavam sua timidez” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.22). Em seguida, acrescenta: “Maria e Julia eram maldosas intencionalmente, e, embora Fanny muitas vezes ficasse mortificada com a maneira como elas a tratavam, fazia um conceito demasiado baixo de seu próprio direito de sentir-se ofendida com isso” (AUSTEN, 69Tânia Maria de Oliveira GOMES Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 2012, p.28). Sobre a tia, o narrador expõe: “A sra. Norris não tinha a menor afeição por Fanny, nem desejo algum de proporcionar-lhe qualquer momento de alegria” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.97), o que pode ser comprovado nos trechos seguintes, nos quais se observa como a tia tratava a sobrinha com humilhação e desprezo, sobrecarregando-a com os afazeres domésticos, assim como ocorre no conto de fadas: - Que artifício mais tolo, Fanny, esse de se afastar e ficar a noite toda sem fazer nada num sofá?! Que tal vir sentar-se aqui e fazer alguma coisa como nós? Se não tem trabalho próprio, posso lhe dar a cesta dos pobres agora mesmo. Todo o tecido novo comprado na semana passada continua intocado. Sei que quase morri de dor nas costas de tanto cortá-lo. Você precisa aprender a pensar nas outras pessoas, e acredite em mim: trata-se da coisa mais chocante do mundo uma jovem viver largada num sofá (AUSTEN, 2012, p.88).[...] - Francamente, Fanny, tem muita sorte por receber tal atenção e tolerância! Deve ficar muito grata à sra. Grant por pensar em você, e à sua tia por deixá-la ir. Deve considerar isso um acontecimento extraordinário, pois espero que saiba que não existe um verdadeiro motivo para frequentar a casa de pessoas desse nível, sobretudo um convite para jantar, e tenha certeza de que jamais se repetirá. E tampouco imagine que o convite se deva a alguma cortesia específica a você, mas se destina aos seus tios e a mim. A sra. Grant acha que nos deve uma delicadeza ao dar-lhe uma pequena atenção, do contrário, isso jamais passaria pela cabeça dela, e tenha absoluta certeza de que, se sua prima Julia estivesse em casa, você nem sequer seria convidada (AUSTEN, 2012, p.264-265). Acerca do baile, outras semelhanças surgem no cotejo entre a história francesa e a obra austeniana. No livro Mansfield Park, assim como em Cinderela, a protagonista não expressa a sua vontade de ir ao baile, querer explicitado pelo irmão de Fanny, como se constata: “O desejo manifestado por William, de ver Fanny dançar, causou mais que uma momentânea impressão no tio” [...] Ele “continuava com firme disposição de satisfazer a tão amável sentimento, satisfazer a todos os que talvez desejassem vê-la dançar” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.303). Nesse contexto, o baile simboliza um ritual de transformação, no qual tanto Fanny Price como Cinderela debutam na sociedade, ideia comprovada no trecho: “A sra. Price, conhecida pela maioria das pessoas convidadas apenas pelo nome de batismo, agora faria a primeira apresentação social e todos a encaravam como a rainha da festa” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.319). Para a efetivação do baile, no entanto, a figura da fada madrinha, com suas instruções, é essencial, como se constata: 70 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 A fada madrinha descrita por Perrault, apesar de toda a questão da magia e da fantasia, propõe uma transformação, de certa forma, coerente com seu objetivo final e os objetos e animais que pede à Borralheira. A abóbora deve ter o seu interior esvaziado a fim de que possa ser transformada em uma carruagem com um espaço interno onde sua afilhada pudesse se acomodar. Dentre os três ratos que estavam na ratoeira, o escolhido para ser o cocheiro era aquele que possuía características semelhantes àquelas que esperava que um cocheiro tivesse, o mais gordo e de maior bigode. Os lacaios deveriam apenas ficar parados para acompanhar Borralheira ao baile e os animais que possuíam essa característica eram os lagartos do jardim. Aqui, Cinderela somente executa as ordens que lhe foram dadas pela madrinha e, assim, recebe tudo o que lhe fora prometido (CHRISTOFOLETTI, 2011, p.44). No romance de Austen (2012), o papel que caberia a esse ser protetor é materializado pelo tio de Fanny, sir Thomas, figura paternal que trata a sobrinha com afeto e cuidado, como se observa no trecho: “Sir Thomas”, logo após a chegada de Antígua, “olhava em volta e perguntava:- Mas onde está Fanny? Como não vejo a minha pequena Fanny?” Ao vê-la, “adiantou-se com uma amabilidade que a surpreendeu e comoveu, chamou-a de sua querida Fanny, beijou-a afetuosamente e observou com visível prazer como ela crescera!” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.216). O tio é responsável por satisfazer os desejos de Fanny, ainda que estes não sejam verbalizados por esta, funcionando tal qual um ser divino que adivinha as vontades de suas protegidas donzelas, ideia corroborada nos excertos: “Sir Thomas, logo depois de abrir a porta, perguntou: “Fanny, a que horas quer que a carruagem passe para buscá-la?” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.266); “É o vestido novo que meu tio teve a bondade de me dar” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.267) e “impressionou-a, profundamente, quando, ao retornar do passeio e tornar a entrar na sala da ala leste, a primeira coisa que viu foi o fogo na lareira aceso e em chamas. Um fogo! Parecia-lhe demais [...] o fato de que concedesse semelhante favor” (AUSTEN, 2012, 382). Apesar do tratamento amável do tio, não é ele o responsável por brindar Fanny com o elemento mágico, essencial, no conto francês: o sapatinho de cristal. No livro de Austen (2012), o presente ganha outra forma e o ser doador é, também, uma figura masculina. Entretanto, antes de avançar nesse sentido, cabe esclarecer como tal objeto mágico é descrito no conto de fadas: O sapatinho de cristal de Perrault está relacionado à questão 71Tânia Maria de Oliveira GOMES Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 do valor que o cristal representava para a sociedade da época, sendo muito apreciado na corte como um símbolo de poder aquisitivo (em contraste com sua situação de Borralheira). Também indicando o quanto a moça que o calçava era delicada e ajustada aos valores desejáveis para uma dama perfeita, pois até mesmo o seu jeito de andar era perfeito. Cinderela, para que possa ser devidamente reconhecida como a dona do sapatinho, tem sua imagem de moça esfarrapada prontamente transformada em a de uma mulher deslumbrante por sua fada madrinha, para então ser recebida pelo príncipe. A questão da aparência é ressaltada como fundamental para o seu sucesso (CHRISTOFOLETTI, 2011, p.44-45). No romance austeniano, assim como no conto Cinderela, a heroína martiriza-se por não saber se vestir, pois, como dito na citação anterior, a aparência diante da sociedade carrega consigo vários imaginários, dentre os quais aqueles que suscitam a importância do pertencimento a um grupo de prestígio, como se nota: [...] o “como deveria vestir-se” era um ponto de doloroso anseio; e o quase único ornamento que possuía, uma cruz de âmbar muito bonita que William lhe trouxera da Sicília, era a maior aflição de todas, pois tinha apenas um pedaço de fita para prendê-la ao pescoço; e embora a houvesse usado dessa maneira antes, seria isso admissível em tal ocasião, entre todos os ricos ornamentos com que supunha que se apresentariam as outras moças? Mas como não usá-la! (AUSTEN, 2012, p.306). Nesse contexto, é a corrente de ouro, comprada por Edmund para Fanny, que se materializa, no enredo austeniano, tal qual o sapatinho de cristal, no conto francês. Sobre o adorno, a protagonista é taxativa: “Oh, mas é linda mesmo!” [...] “Esta é exatamente como eu gostaria! É o único ornamento que desejava possuir e se ajusta com toda precisão à minha cruz. Devem ser e serão usadas juntas. Também chega num momento tão oportuno. Oh, primo, você não imagina como é bem-vinda”. (AUSTEN, 2012, p.314). Nota-se que, assim como o sapatinho ajusta-se perfeitamente ao pé de Cinderela, a corrente acomoda-se, com igual perfeição, à abertura contida na cruz. Vale ressaltar que Fanny havia experimentado tal adereço com outro colar, este presenteado pela sra. Crawford, mas esse cordão “de modo algum passava pelo aro da cruz” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.324). Além disso, o fato de o sapatinho ser “de cristal” e a corrente “de ouro” marcam o deslocamento das heroínas de uma estágio social inferior para uma ascensão à camada de prestígio. Nesse sentido, o poder mágico de tais 72 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 objetos resulta da capacidade do dinheiro em tornar as “mocinhas” adequadas para receber os seres amados, estes, homens que gozam de situação financeira superior à das protagonistas. Munidas destes objetos, Fanny Price e Cinderela puderam ir ao baile, puderam vivenciar um momento cercado de imaginários associados à distinção de classes e ao poder da riqueza. Após o baile, os enredos do romance e do conto caminham para o desfecho. No caso de ambos, os empecilhos são retirados do caminho do casal, que se vê livre para viver o seu “final feliz”, como afirma Christofoletti (2011): O final feliz, consagrado pelo casamento de Cinderela com o príncipe, é o desfecho das duas versões, entendido como a salvação e a recompensa da personagem por todo o sofrimento e a humilhação com que foi tratada por muito tempo. Em Perrault, Cinderela é tão amável e bondosa que acaba perdoando as irmãs de todo o coração e, ainda por cima, casa-as com dois ricos fidalgos da corte para mostrar que as ama e que não há ressentimento. Após o final da história vem a moralidade, que só reforça o quanto as moças devem cultivar as virtudes, os bons modos e a passividade, tal como Cinderela (CHRISTOFOLETTI, 2011, p.45). No caso de Fanny, esse desfecho é descrito da seguinte forma pelo narrador: “Com tanto e autêntico mérito, e verdadeiro amor, sem carência alguma de fortuna e amigos, a felicidade dos primos casados deve parecer-nos tão segura quanto é possível sê-lo a felicidade terrena” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.564). Nesse enlace, Fanny, assim como Cinderela, é recompensada com o casamento, após as amarguras e aviltamentos sofridos ao longo da narrativa. Nesse sentido, a efetivação do matrimônio é responsável por perpetuar o imaginário que associa a felicidade à união conjugal, tornando a figura de uma heroína solteira, como algo que ultraja a própria morfologia dos contos de fada, sejam estes atribuídos a Perrault ou a Jane Austen. Considerações finais: o esperado “felizes para sempre” em Mansfield Park Na obra Mansfield Park, o tom moralizante evindencia-se, especialmente, no desfecho da narrativa marcada pelo casamento entre Fanny Price e Edmund Bertram. Sobre essa temática, Christofoletti (2011) anuncia: 73Tânia Maria de Oliveira GOMES Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 A Cinderela da versão francesa é descrita segundo os moldes requisitados para as moças serem aceitáveis na corte e, consequentemente, desposáveis. O intuito da Cinderela de Perrault, assim como o que se prega com a moralité escrita ao final do conto para as moças da época, é que, para terem o tão almejado final feliz (casamento, algo que era extremamente importante na época), deveriam ser tais como a Borralheira, totalmente passivas, obedientes e atentas ao bons costumes (horário do baile limite como uma alusão à questão da pureza e da castidade), pois desse modo elas seriam merecedoras de um bom marido, o seu bem maior (CHRISTOFOLETTI, 2011, p.42-43). Tal qual ocorre em Cinderela, na história de Austen, Fanny Price também prova-se uma mocinha servil e aquiescente, como se vê: “Saiu logo como o tio recomendara e seguiu ao pé da letra os conselhos dele o máximo possível. Conteve as lágrimas, tentou acalmar os ânimos e fortalecer a mente. Queria provar que desejava ser-lhe obediente” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.381). Além disso, Price também posiciona-se como alguém que deve ser ensinada, adestrada, por um personagem masculino, no caso, seu tio, e, sobretudo, seu primo Edmund, como se constata, no trecho: “Ele recomendava os livros que encantavam as horas de lazer dela, incentivava-lhe o gosto e corrigia-lhe o julgamento” (AUSTEN, 2012, p.30). Esses exemplos fortalecem os imaginários que tonificam a superioridade do homem sobre a mulher, e que condicionam aquela ao papel de esposa e mãe. Além disso, no conto de Austen, o ser doador, aquele que fornece presentes e satisfaz os desejos da protagonista, não aleatoriamente, é personificado pelos mesmos personagens masculinos. Essa ideia reitera o imaginário de que cabe à mulher obedecer ao homem, sendo papel deste recompensá-la por tal postura subserviente. Esse caráter disciplinador, associado ao tio e ao primo de Fanny, próprio ao século XIX, ainda é vislumbrado, dois centenários depois, nos imaginários atuais. Há, na contemporaneidade, um série infindável de produções que se valem de mecanismos intertextuais produzindo narrativas que não apenas recriam enredos passados, baseados, por exemplo, nos contos de fadas, mas que são capazes, sobretudo, de perpetuar os imaginários ligados àquele tempo pretérito. Esse desajuste temporal, entre ideias e valores retrógados, acomodados na Pós-Modernidade, gera uma quantidade significativa de problemas comportamentais que remetem à frustração e à infelicidade. Prova 74 Entrepalavras - ISSN 2237-6321 Entrepalavras, Fortaleza - ano 5, v.5, n.1, p. 59-74, jan/jun 2015 disso é a propagação do imaginário que associa o casamento a uma salvação. Essa ideia desemboca no “complexo”, não em vão, nomeado por Dowling (2002), “de Cinderela”, que preconiza que, assim como a protagonista de Austen, as mulheres contemporâneas, encontram-se à eterna espera do ser amado, tornando-se seres passivos, à mercê de um homem que lhes possa dirigir. Daí a necessidade de se pensar, criticamente, acerca dos pontos intertextuais entre textos passados e presentes, uma vez que uma leitura mais atenta é capaz de revelar não somente as semelhanças textuais, mas também a propagação, sintomática, de imaginários reacionários e altamente redutores. Referências CHARAUDEAU, Patrick. Les stéréotypes, c’est bien, les imaginaires, c’est mieux. In: BOYER, Henri. Stéréotypage, stéréotypes: foncionnements ordinnaires et mises en scène. Langue(s), discours. Vol. 4. Paris: Harmattan, 2007. p 49-63. CHRISTOFOLETTI, Camila Fontanetti. Análise comparativa de duas versões do conto de Cinderela: a de Charles Perrault e a dos Irmãos Grimm. 78f. Monografia (Licenciatura Plena em Pedagogia) - Instituto de Biociências, Universidade Estadual Paulista Júlio de Mesquita Filho, Rio Claro, 2011. DOWLING, Collete. Complexo de Cinderela. 53 ed. São Paulo: Melhoramentos, 2002. KOCH, Ingedore Villaça; ELIAS, Vanda Maria. 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Revista Em Tese - Programa de Pós-Graduação em Estudos Literários UFMG, Faculdade de Letras / UFMG, Belo Horizonte, v. 17, n.2, p. 1 - 14, ago. 2011. Recebido em 30 de dez. de 2014. Aceito em 14 de jun. de 2015.